Greetings everyone, I promised you I wouldn't make you wait as long for this update. In fact, the only reason it took as long as it did was that I wanted to make sure I had the next chapter written (not edited yet, though unfortunately) before I posted it. You'll understand why when you finish this one. :)
Oh, if you've read Field Trip you should be able to figure out where it fits in with this chapter pretty easily. If you haven't read that one yet, it's okay and won't detract too terribly much, but some of the interactions between Prowl, Ironhide, Bluestreak and Bumblebee might seem a little odd without the back-story.
Enjoy…
Prowl rebooted less than a breem after the failsafe had activated. He blinked twice, quickly reorienting himself to his location and what had happened. Then he released a long vent and righted himself from where he had sprawled over the berth. A quick scan confirmed he was still alone.
Thank Primus for small favors.
Prowl flared his armor and then let it settle against his frame before bending over and scooping up the datapad from where it had fallen to the floor. Settling himself back on the berth he got to work, doing his best to pretend he had not glitched at all.
At least there were no distractions in the brig.
A joor and a half later the massive door to the cellblock opened and two mechs started down the corridor. Prowl grimaced. Just what he needed: visitors. Or, even worse, another inmate. For his luck, it would probably be the Twins.
Determinably, Prowl kept his attention on his work, not even scanning for a spark signature… until they stopped at the cell directly across from him.
Instinctively, Prowl glanced up and felt his faceplate go slack as he watched none other than Ironhide with Inferno as escort. Inferno was in the act of disabling Ironhide's communications. Then the big mech stepped into the cell and turned, the force field activating with a barely audible buzz.
Both inmates watched Inferno leave and then looked at each other.
"Prowl." Ironhide nodded.
"Ironhide." Prowl returned the gesture.
A moment of akward silence elapsed, which Ironhide ended by disconnecting one of his arm cannons and settling on the floor before meticulously disassembling the weapon. Prowl watched dumbly as the weapons specialist then carefully cleaned and maintenanced each piece.
After a couple of breems, Ironhide finally broke the stillness, not taking his attention off his work. "I would have thought you had seen a cannon before."
Prowl realized he was still staring and forced his gaze away briefly. Consternation brought it back to the black mech quickly, however. "My apologies. I am merely confused."
Ironhide looked up at him, cocking an optic ridge. "Oh?"
"Why are you here?" Prowl asked, feeling the pressure start to build in his processor again and ruthlessly pushed it down.
"Ah." Ironhide considered him for a moment and then went back to work detailing his cannon. "Well… they decided it was the wrong decision for me to personally charge the Decepticons we thought had attacked us. Or, at the least, that I should have done more to step up as mission commander as soon as Ultra Magnus went down."
Ironhide glanced up at Prowl briefly and then looked down quickly. "If I had done that you might not have been put in the position you were. But mostly it was because they held me responsible for abandoning a medic."
The black mech looked up at him with a wane expression. "I left Ratchet undefended… even though he was able to kick serious aft. Congrats, by the way." He released a vent and looked back at the weapon he was cleaning. "They figured that if I had immediately stepped up as overall commander, you would have at least known and might not have stepped out of line so quickly. They also decided I might have found the jamming device earlier… or that it might not have even been employed at all if Ratchet had not been left alone."
"That is conjecture." Prowl said quietly.
Ironhide nodded. "Yeah. But, based on your analysis, I agree with it as being highly plausible."
Prowl's systems chilled as if he had been doused in liquid nitrogen. Why was Ironhide not more upset? "I never intended…"
"I know." Ironhide cut him off. "Your analysis was completely impartial. Besides, I'm only in here for five orns."
Prowl jerked back, blinking his optic shutters. "That is another thing I am confused about. If our actions and decisions were deemed punishable, why are those punishments so… light?"
Ironhide looked up at him again. "Light? Three orns is 'light' for something like this." He shrugged. "Besides, these punishments aren't really intended to be truly punitive anyway."
"They aren't?" Prowl's voice dropped half an octave.
"Nah." Ironhide shook his helm, resuming the delicate work of cleaning the conductive coils of his cannon. "We make sure mechs who get into leadership positions are conscientious enough only a verbal reprimand would truly be needed to correct behavior… at least most of the time."
Ironhide finished with one coil and delicately picked up a second one before continuing. "No. Administrative punishments are intended to help keep the rest of the ranks in line."
Prowl lifted his chin as understanding finally dawned. It was much like what he had done by making Sunstreaker and Sideswipe face the reality of what their irresponsibility cost others. Except for he and Ironhide it was also a public statement.
He spoke softly, more to himself than Ironhide. "It shows we are not above the law and that if High Command will send a senior ranking mech to the brig for certain infractions, lower ranking mechs will surely be punished for the same infractions."
Looking down at his datapad, but not really seeing it, Prowl continued to ponder that reasoning-chain. "And… by keeping the punishments light in cases like ours, it also gives us confidence to use our own judgment if the situation truly requires it because there is assurance that High Command will be fair."
"Yep." Ironhide grinned at him. "Speaking of light sentences, how long are you in here for?"
Suddenly uncomfortable, remembering Ironhide would be in the brig for five orns, Prowl looked away. "One orn." He felt more than saw Ironhide's optics widen and hurried to continue. "But I am on reduced rations for a quartex."
Ironhide jerked back in surprise. "Ouch. That's a little rough." Then he grimaced, nodding to himself. "Sounds like Ultra Magnus' touch. Probably a compromise to get you out of the brig sooner. Who is going to be overseeing that?"
Disconcerted, uncomfortable and irritated all at the same time, Prowl stood and paced the tight confines of the cell. "I am. They left enforcement of my own punishment to me. It makes no sense…"
Ironhide started laughing, cutting Prowl off. Peeved, Prowl looked over at the larger mech.
Raising a hand for patience, Ironhide struggled to regain control enough to speak. When he did, air was still whistling through his vents sporadically. "That would be the Prime's doing."
At Prowl's dubious silence, Ironhide continued his explanation. "Ultra Magnus is doubtfully concerned because you are a former Decepticon, that you won't take serious such a light punishment as what they usually hand down. The Prime made it a self-regulating sentence to prove that not only will you take it seriously, you are trustworthy enough to police yourself."
Prowl could only stare and Ironhide finally grew serious. "It's quite a statement Optimus is making you know. If there is a way for them to check on your complience, rest assured Ultra Magnus will use it."
Prowl managed to nod as the explanation made sense even if it made his balance systems feel unstable. It also shed light on Optimus' silent expression that had seemed to plead for understanding… and compliance? Just how much of his own honor had the Prime risked to make such a statement?
Even were Prowl not inclined to do so for any other reason, he knew he would not disappoint nor dishonor the Prime. He would comply.
He looked back at Ironhide, his voice softer. "How much are rations usually reduced in such instances? A particular amount was not specified."
Ironhide just stared at him, his optic shutters closing briefly. "Oh. Well… I guess they're leaving that to you as well."
Prowl shook his helm, at a loss. Ironhide just smiled and then went back to cleaning his cannon, leaving Prowl to his own consternation.
At one level Prowl was flattered that the Prime would make such a demonstration of his trust. But it just seemed sick to be grateful for being punished. At the same time, Prowl was worried about the sentence itself and was troubled he might not choose the right amount to hold himself to.
He covered his faceplate with his hand.
It just felt wrong to have to decide how much to punish himself… how masochistic he should be. Weird. And all in a way that made his processor ache anew.
Frustrated, Prowl paced again. Then he stopped at one of the side walls of his cell and balled his hands into fists. It would have been easier just to be given a straightforward punishment he could endure. This was…was…
"Wow. You are taking this harder than I woulda expected." Ironhide's thoughtful statement broke into Prowl's thoughts.
The tactician froze. He forced his hands to unclench and cycled his vents a couple of times and realized Ironhide was absolutely right. He was taking this far too emotionally. Perhaps a lingering effect from his recent glitch. He should look at the situation from a more logical perspective.
Immediately, blessed coolness replaced some of the heat burning through his processors.
"Indeed." He sent the weapons specialist an arched optic ridge before dipping his helm a fraction in gratitude. "And I have no cause to. You are correct."
Abruptly, Prowl returned to his seat on the berth and resumed working on the datapad had had left there. After continuing to observe him for a couple of seconds, ironhide went back to his own task. While part of Prowl's processor worked on the report he was compiling, another part puzzled out how he should approach the issue of his self-regulating sentence.
Ironhide suspected that the reduction in rations was Ultra Magnus' idea. Doubtless Ultra magnus was among those who were not in favor of his initial integration process being ended as quickly as it had been. Regardless, the Second in Command had made it quite clear he did not approve of Prowl's promotion to Second of the tactical division. In fact, it would not surprise Prowl to discover that Ultra Magnus would have preferred to see his induction into Autobot ranks delayed for at least a vorn.
Indeed, thinking back on it, Prowl remembered Ultra Magnus' notable absence, both during his swearing in and his promotion to a provisional lieutenant commander. For some reason, Prowl had never wondered about the implications of that fact before.
Pit, if his probation and integration had continued on without the accelerated pace the Prime had approved, he would probably still be on half rations…
Oh. Yes. That was the answer. He would put himself back on the same rations he had initially been kept on as a POW: half rations. Not enough to affect the performance of his duty, but surely enough to be sufficiently punitive to satisfy Ultra Magnus.
Prowl grimaced as he tagged a couple of files, linking them to his report. He was not looking forward to only having his fuel levels at a maximum of around 50% again. But he comforted himself knowing it was only temporary.
That evening when an orderly delivered Ironhide's energon ration to the weapons specialist, Prowl did not even look up from where he had started on a second datapad.
But the orderly turned to him, shifting somewhat nervously. "Inferno said I wasn't supposed to bring you any energon."
"Understood." Prowl barely glanced up.
Shifting again, the orderly beat a hasty retreat.
Prowl continued to work for a quarter breem before he felt the weight Ironhide's stare. He looked up at the black mech questioningly to see the weapons specialist was still holding his full cube of energon. He looked almost pained.
Prowl released a sigh of air and went back to work. "Take your energon, Ironhide."
"But…"
Prowl shook his helm. "Your rations have not been restricted. There is no reason you should deny yourself just because I will not be receiving any."
"It's rude to refuel in front of someone, though." Ironhide grumbled.
Prowl blinked and then forced his armor to relax over his frame. "I appreciate that. But my tanks are only at 75%, I am in no real discomfort. Please, do not trouble yourself."
Prowl met the other mech's gaze for a moment and then went back to work. Several long seconds passed and then he heard the faint sounds of Ironhide draining the energon cube and then a soft clinking as he put the empty cube in front of the cell entrance.
… … …
Exactly one orn from the moment Prowl had stepped into the brig cell, Inferno was back. Silently, the red mech lowered the force field on Prowl's cell and stepped aside.
"Alright, this way, Prowl." He gestured back down the hall.
Silently, Prowl stood and followed him, though he paused awkwardly in front of Ironhide. "I will see you in four orns."
Ironhide gave him a grin. "You bet."
There did not seem to be much more he could say, so Prowl resumed walking. Once he and Inferno were back at the entrance of the cellblock, the red mech turned to Prowl, handing him a datapad.
Obligingly, Prowl confirmed his identity. There was a faint buzz and the door opened. He stepped through it ahead of Inferno.
"Prowl…" Inferno called and Prowl turned back. "If you want…?" He gestured to the tactician's control panel.
Hesitating only for a moment, Prowl finally nodded, sliding the cover aside. Inferno quickly enabled his communication systems. Without anything further needing to be said, they both turned and made their way out of the detention area. Prowl did not speak until they were almost to the lifts.
"Thank you, Inferno."
Inferno's armor flared and his optics were wide as he looked at Prowl. "Sure."
Prowl released a huff of air. No doubt the red security mech did not receive many offers of gratitude from those he had incarcerated.
As they stepped onto the lift, Inferno eyed him. "Are you alright? I mean it's been an orn since you had any energon, and…"
Prowl glanced at him. "I am well."
"No hard feelings?" Inferno asked, the pitch of his voice raised hopefully.
Prowl cocked an optic ridge at the red mech, ignoring the first fuel level warnings that flashed through his CPU as his tanks had dropped below 60%. "It was not your decision to make."
He would be down below 50% energon levels by the end of the orn; just in time to share some with Bluestreak.
"You sure?"
Prowl looked at him fully and then nodded solemnly. "You did your job, Inferno. Now it is time for me to get back to mine."
… … …
Smokescreen welcomed him back to the tactical command center as if nothing unusual or out of the ordinary had happened. Prowl was immensely grateful for that. Trailbreaker and the other mechs under his command were another story.
Trailbreaker greeted him politely, holding out a datapad that was doubtlessly filled with an overview of what he had missed while in the brig. The light brown mech's demeanor was just a touch wary, confirming he knew both that Prowl had been incarcerated and the reason why. He probably also knew about the reduction in energon rations as well and was nervous Prowl would be irritable because of it all.
Prowl took the datapad with a murmured, "Thank you, Trailbreaker."
The other tactician paced Prowl as he made his way to the terminal reserved for his use. "How are you feeling, sir?"
"I am well, thank you." Prowl powered up the terminal, preparing to get back to work
"But…"
Prowl lifted an optic ridge, looking at Trailbreaker with an expression that almost dared him to finish that statement.
Seeing the look in his commanding officer's expression, Trailbreaker decided to take a step backward instead. "Yes, sir."
Prowl watched Trailbreaker hurry back to his own terminal. While doing so he caught sight of Fusion. The younger Praxian looked a touch smug as well as worried. With a soft vent of air Prowl turned his attention to the terminal and the datapad he had been given so he could get up to speed.
Resolutely, Prowl dismissed the copper colored Praxian, and whatever continuing animosity Fusion might have, from his mind. He had work to do.
… … …
After the end of his shift, Prowl went to collect Bluestreak with a sudden surge of anxiety. What had the youngling been told about what had happened?
In the end, however, Bluestreak seemed to be completely ignorant as to the reasons for Prowl's absence or the other aspects of his sentence. This was illustrated early the orn after Prowl was released from the brig when he took the youngling to the rec-room for his morning energon and did not take any for himself.
Bluestreak frowned at him as Prowl settled into the seat next to him. "Aren't you going to get any energon?"
Thankfully there were not many mechs in the rec-room at that joor. Regardless, Prowl felt the instant attention of those who were there as if he were impaled with many lasers.
Speaking gently, Prowl forced himself to ignore the small, if rapt, audience. "No, not this orn, Bluestreak."
"Why not? Don't you need energon?" Bluestreak looked up at him with wide optics.
"Of course I do, Bluestreak." Prowl felt a tiny little smile tug on his lip plates at the youngling's concern. Then it fell away as he continued his explanation. "But I am on restricted rations right now. That means I am not allowed to have energon every orn."
Bluestreak's helm canted to the side. "You mean you won't be having any energon today at all?"
"Correct."
Bluestreak was silent for a moment, staring into his own cube. "But…why?" He looked back up at Prowl. "Why are you on… um, 'restricted rations'?"
Prowl's dooring flicked at the question. At first he considered just glossing over it, but in looking at Bluestreak he was reminded just how mature the youngling truly was, frame not withstanding. And the plea in Bluestreak's optics mirrored the expression he had worn when he had asked about Praxus before the botched mission to the badlands. No, Prowl had avoided talking about Praxus because it was uncomfortable. The youngling deserved a true answer, he would not do that to him again.
Speaking slowly, Prowl evaluated the impact of his words. "It has to do with something that happened on the last mission. I violated the regulations and went outside the chain of command."
Optics widening in shock, it was a moment before Bluestreak found his voice. "You? But… it must have been important. You wouldn't do something like that just for fun!"
Prowl let himself smile gently, almost sadly. "Perhaps. But it was still a violation of the chain of command. My superior officers have every right to punish me."
"But to keep you from having energon!"
"They are not preventing me from having energon," Prowl corrected gently, "Only reducing how much I am allowed to have."
"It still seems rather mean." Bluestreak said, looking back at his energon cube.
Prowl put his hand on Bluestreak's tiny shoulder. "Do not fret. Drink your energon."
Reluctantly, Bluestreak put it to his lip plates and took a swallow. All the while he watched Prowl closely, but the adult Praxian just nodded encouragingly. Taking comfort in that, Bluestreak quickly downed the rest of his cube. Once that was done, the youngling quickly found something to talk about and Prowl willingly joined in the discussion, relieved to have the subject changed to anything other than himself.
Those who had watched the discussion noted that Prowl never gave any indication of displeasure or discomfort. Some assumed it was simply attributable to the same stoicism that kept him from broadcasting emotion in general. Others assumed it was because his reduction of energon rations really was not that reduced. A handful of them privately decided to keep a quiet optic on just how much energon Prowl did consume
Regardless, word spread from that point that the public records were accurate; Prowl was indeed on reduced energon rations and that he was actually seen refusing to take energon because of it. No one missed the fact he was policing himself and that his actions were that of self-denial rather than something enforced on him by a hovering warden.
… … …
As the orns stretched into a decaorn – at about the time Bumblebee finally received his language upgrades – Prowl gradually became aware of the fact that he was being carefully watched by any number of mechs. It was the same in the halls of the base and on the battlefield the couple of times his processor had been needed in the field. There were always curious optics watching him when it came time to refuel.
It was getting to the point that Prowl wished for Decepticon attacks, just so those around him would be less intense in their observations, even if it did not stop them completely.
Thankfully, none of the battles had been taxing on him physically. Indeed, it appeared that the Decepticons were back to launching mostly minor skirmishes; a fact that did not fit considering the advancements they had demonstrated in their defense of the mine in the badlands.
Something had to be going on; Megatron had to be planning something big. They were just missing it. As always, being in ignorance threatened to irk Prowl.
As the length of his sentence progressed into its second decaorn, the intensity with which Prowl was being observed became impossible for the tactician to ignore and was rather disconcerting. Especially because it was happening within the tactical department as well. If it quickly became distracting to Prowl, it was doubtless even more so to the mechs doing the gawking.
The decrease in unit efficiency irritated Prowl further.
Reaching the end of his patience, which was short anyway with his tanks having been at or below 50% for two decaorns now, Prowl looked up and pinned the mech who had paused while walking past him.
It was the 20th time the gray mech had stopped to stare at him. "Yes, Tailgate?" Prowl kept his voice carefully inflectionless.
"Um, nothing sir." Tailgate's frame heated and he quickly turned away.
Prowl released a huff of air and looked over to see Fusion was also staring at him. "Yes?"
The copper Praxian merely looked back down at his terminal.
Prowl had to subdue a rev of his engine and forced himself to focus back on his own analysis. He nearly snapped at his apprentice when a gray and white hand landed on his shoulder.
"Prowl?" Smokescreen asked quietly, optics full of concern.
Prowl huffed a vent of air again, speaking just as lowly. "What is their problem with me now?"
Smokescreen actually smiled. "They are waiting to see if you are going to explode."
Rubbing his temple plating, Prowl canted his apprentice a look. "Is there a reason they believe I will ignite like a structured combustible device?"
Snorting a laugh at Prowl's dry humor, Smokescreen shook his helm. "Can you blame them? Most mechs get a little cranky when their energon levels stay less than 75% for any length of time. And you've been at… well no higher than that for two decaorns.
Prowl froze, his vents stalling. "I had no idea my fueling habits had become such a public spectacle."
Smokescreen just shrugged and walked to one of the lower ranking mechs who appeared to be struggling with something. Prowl watched him go for an astrosecond and then made himself look at his own terminal. His intense dislike of being so… public… had his tactical computer instantly working on a way to deal with the problem.
Within astroseconds, Prowl decided he would start taking very small amounts of energon at his regular times so that it would not be so obvious that he was restricting his rations.
For some reason, perhaps the general irritableness that did come with his tanks only being somewhere between 45-50%, Prowl never stopped to consider the other effect that might manifest itself when there was no longer such visible evidence he was abiding by the review board's order.
Or, perhaps he just did not care any more.
… … …
Sure enough, the fact that Prowl was again taking energon at his regular times spred through the base. Mechs began to relax around him, though some clearly suspected he was going to be punished again for not following his orders.
Prowl continued to think their interest in his affairs ridiculous.
Bluestreak alone noted the small amounts of energon he ingested – carefully calculated so as not to let his fuel levels get to high – but, mature as he was, the youngling instinctively knew the former attention his guardian had garnered had been his fault for drawing attention to it that first orn. So he said nothing.
The strategy was so effective, even Ironhide seemed to forget he was still on restricted rations when he insisted Prowl bring Bluestreak and join him and Bumblebee for energon one orn after he had tracked the weapons specialist and the two younglings to the ancient training arena after his shift.
Ironhide had called the adventure a 'field trip'. Bluestreak and Bumblebee had had a great time, especially as they had pressured Prowl into racing Ironhide. Prowl had even enjoyed it, regardless of the fact that the physical exertion had dropped his fuel levels perceptibly. It had been good to blow off steam. It had been pleasant to be able to make Bluestreak so happy.
It had been even better to help Bumblebee overcome his difficulty with integrating the language upgrades.
All of that helped improve Prowl's mood considerably. The invitation to share energon with Ironhide was a rather remarkable demonstration of the change in his relationship with the weapons specialist. Truly his inclusion in the relatively friendly competition of the race had been a turning point in their… he could not call it a friendship. Not really.
Or perhaps it had been their shared experience in the brig.
Prowl cleared his vents, not wanting to dwell on that memory.
He focused instead on listening to the two younglings recount the race from their differing perspectives.
With a quiet chuckle at the mechlings' antics, Ironhide deposited another, larger cube before him.
Prowl blinked, a quick system check confirmed that if he drank the proffered energon he would go over his self-imposed limits. He let his doorwings dip apologetically. "I'm sorry Ironhide, but I must decline."
It took a moment for Prowl's reason to register. Ironhide's optics widened and he quickly removed the cube of glowing energy. "Right, sorry about that."
"I appreciate the offer, Ironhide." Prowl said.
Ironhide flashed him an embarrassed grin. "You still have just over one and a half decaorns to go, don't you?"
"Yes." Prowl answered softly.
Ironhide was about to say something else, but Bumblebee beat him to it. "One and a half decaorns of what?"
Beside him Bluestreak winced, looking up at his guardian. But Prowl was not irritated. Like Bluestreak, Bumblebee was a youngling and thus insatiably curious. Besides, Prowl was still amazed at how the black and yellow sparkling had metamorphosed from shy to confident and energetic in the space of one orn. Because of what had happened in that training arena.
No, he would never regret being part of that.
When Prowl hesitated, trying to figure out how to answer the youngling, Bluestreak did so for him. "Prowl is on restricted rations for a whole quartex because he, uh… went outside the chain of command on a mission. Even though he probably saved lives doing it. But rules are rules and they had to punish him anyway."
Prowl stared almost dumbly at his charge even as Bumblebee looked at the adult Praxian with wide optics. "Oh… I'm sorry." He hunkered down and shrank against Ironhide.
Prowl felt a pang that Bumblebee would draw away from him and gave the youngling a tiny smile. "Do not be, Bumblebee. You have done nothing to apologize for."
"But I know it's uncomfortable to be low on fuel and… I made you race and then… And we've been refueling in front of you."
Prowl leaned forward and slowly put a light finger on Bumblebee's shoulder. "I would not change the events of this evening, Bumblebee. Low fuel levels are nothing more than an annoyance." He allowed a tiny smirk to lighten his expression. "Besides, being able to beat your guardian was well worth it."
As he had hoped, Bumblebee relaxed, giggling.
The conversation moved on from there, and after another half joor they had finished refueling and it was time for them to part ways. However, as the four of them stepped into the hall they were approached by Inferno and two other security mechs.
"Prowl." Inferno called out as he strode purposefully toward them.
Prowl, Ironhide and the two younglings stopped, turning to look at the red mech as Inferno closed the distance between them, the two other security mechs flanking him.
Prowl stiffened, but still inclined his helm politely. "Yes, Inferno?"
Inferno glanced at Ironhide and the two younglings before looking back at him with a hint of apology in his optics. "Ultra Magnus requires your presence in the med bay. Now."
Ironhide huffed a subdued growl. "Inferno…"
Inferno grimaced, his armor tightening over his frame. "I know. But orders are orders. Sir."
"I understand." Prowl said quickly, looking at Bluestreak. "Please go with…"
"I'm going with you." Bluestreak clung to his armor.
Prowl frowned. "You may not like what you will see and you will not be able to stop what happens."
Bluestreak's fingers tightened around a black armor plate. "I don't care. You're my guardian. I'm going with you because you would go with me. I want to be there for you."
Prowl could only stare, then he allowed a weak smile and a grateful nod. "Thank you." He brushed a hand over Bluestreak's doorwing and then lifted the youngling into his arms. Once the mechling was settled against his chassis, Prowl nodded to Inferno.
Inferno considered him for a moment and then turned back the way he had come. Prowl followed silently and the two other mechs fell into step behind him. They walked in silence, except for distressed wine of Bluestreak's engine.
In the med bay Prowl was taken to where Ultra Magnus and Ratchet stood beside a berth in a far corner. Prowl gave the CMO a polite nod, lowering Bluestreak to the berth though he let the youngling keep hold of his hand, and then stiffened to attention.
"Reporting as ordered, Ultra Magnus." Prowl said with stiff formality.
Ultra Magnus considered him briefly and then, rather than acknowledge him, looked instead at Inferno. "No trouble?"
"No sir." Inferno answered with the same stiffness Prowl had spoken with.
Ratchet looked at the Second in Command with an arched optic ridge. "I told you he would come without 'trouble.' You could have just commed him yourself."
Ultra Magnus shot the CMO a quelling look and focused back on Prowl. "It has come to my attention that you are not observing the energon restrictions the review board placed on you."
Prowl's doorwing flicked even though he intended to keep it still. "That is not true, Commander."
"We will see." Ultra Magnus' armor flared at the direct contradiction. "Ratchet?"
Ratchet sent a dark glare at Ultra Magnus and then looked at Prowl, his optics snagging on how Bluestreak was all but cowering against him. When he looked back at Prowl there was regret in his demeanor and optics. "Prowl?"
Prowl nodded understanding and permission for what he knew Ratchet was asking.
Still Ratchet hesitated a moment then he stepped toward Prowl, a high-powered medical scan washing over his frame. It was followed a moment later by a second scan to confirm the first.
Ratchet blinked, stepping back with wide optics. He tried to speak, but the words caught in his vocalizer and he looked at Ultra Magnus. When he finally spoke it was more of a hiss. "His energon levels are right at 48%.
Ultra Magnus sucked in air and looked at Prowl. Inferno and the two security mechs also hissed in disbelief. Bluestreak's fingers tightened around Prowl's wrist while the tactician merely continued to stand at attention.
"But… you had just refueled…" Ultra Magnus shook his helm.
Despite Prowl's earlier warning, Bluestreak spoke; the words coming out in a rush. "He doesn't take much. But so many mechs were watching and whispering about him when he would skip refueling entirely so he started only taking a little at a time. That was…"
Prowl put a hand on his helm, and Bluestreak trailed off. The tactician bowed his helm to Ultra Magnus, his doorwings dipping. "It was not my intention to give the impression that I was not honoring the Board's ruling, Commander. Bluestreak is right. I grew weary of every single mech acting as if they were waiting for me to snap that I resorted to this strategy."
Ultra Magnus blinked, still disconcerted. "Administrative punishment is intended to be a public statement."
The declaration was stiff and spoken with clipped tones. Prowl considered that for a long moment and then nodded, lowering his optics. "Understood, Commander. I stand corrected and will amend my behavior. Will the sentence be extended by the same amount of time it appeared I was not adhering to it?"
The large mech's optics bulged. "I…"
"You've been keeping your tanks below 50% since the review board hearings?" Ratchet interrupted, looking incredulously at Prowl.
"It seemed the most appropriate interpretation of the review board's orders as no specific guidelines were given." Prowl's voice was perfectly neutral, as if the low fuel levels had no affect on him at all.
Ultra Magnus slowly shook his helm once. "No… the sentence won't be extended. I don't have the authority to do that unilaterally. Um, thank you Prowl."
A jerk of the Commander's helm was a dismissal, but Prowl did not leave immediately. Instead, he continued to study the Second in Command. Then, as the silence grew stressed he ducked his helm.
"Thank you, sir." Prowl spoke softly, contritely. "I apologize for acting in a way that unintentionally diminished the authority of my commanders."
Ultra Magnus stared as he realized Prowl's unsolicited, formal apology was phrased in a way that publicly reinforced his position above Prowl in the chain of command. It should have been gratifying, but it only made the large mech feel self-concious and…guilty for having caused the whole scene.
However, he could do nothing but accept it or disgrace them both.
"Of course, Prowl." Ultra Magnus dipped his own helm. The last time he had been mistaken about Prowl he had not been able to make himself apologize because he feared it would make him appear weak. But Prowl had just taken away that excuse. He cleared his vents. "I know it was not intentional. I apologize for jumping to conclusions."
Prowl's helm snapped up, a flicker of unadulterated shock flashing through his optics and Ultra Magnus had a moment to wonder what Prowl had expected.
Then Prowl regained control and lowered his gaze. "Thank you, sir."
The Praxian hesitated a moment longer and then lifted Bluestreak back into his arms. He then made his respects before leaving the med bay.
Behind him, Ultra Magnus looked at Ratchet. "He has been functioning with his tanks at or below 50% for nearly three decaorns?"
Ratchet looked at him with narrowed optics. "That's what he said."
Ultra Magnus' engine revved at the bite in the CMO's words. "We did not tell him to do that."
Ratchet merely snorted air, turning to more fully face him. "The only other time Prowl was on restricted energon rations was when he was a POW. It is only logical that he would reference back to that." Shrewed blue optics sharpened. "Especially if he suspected any of the review board members issuing the injunction thought he had been allowed to become an Autobot too soon."
"You disapprove." Ultra Magnus said coolly.
Optics Blazing, Ratchet had to give himself an astrosecond to cool down. "A whole quartex at half rations is far to harsh for the offence. If it were any other mech…"
"But it isn't." Ultra Magnus barked, cutting the CMO off. "It is Prowl. A former Decepticon tactician. And, in case you have forgotten, what he did out there might have gotten you killed as well."
Ratchet's engine revved. "What happened out there, Commander, was that he saved my life." Ultra Magnus jerked back at that, but Ratchet continued, pointing a finger at his chassis. "Yours too, by extension, I might add."
"Excuse me?" Ultra Magnus had no ready retort for that.
Ratchet just shook his helm, not quite able to suppress a shudder at the memory. "You think I just booted up one orn and knew how to defend myself? The reason, the only reason that Decepticon didn't kill me and then you and the rest of your escorts was because Prowl has been devoting joors and joors of what little free time he has to training myself and the other members of my staff who want to learn."
Ratchet leaned forward, his voice softer but even more intense. "He's even continued to do so, these last three decaorns." The chartreuse mech's voice took on a layer of wonder and respect. "Even spending as much time training with him as I have, I never suspected his energon reserves were running below 50%"
Ultra Magnus said nothing for a long moment, demonstrating the respect he had for the CMO by taking the time to honestly consider his words. When the Second in Command spoke it was with thoughtful deliberation. "You mean… you think Prowl is doing that to himself because he thought that was what I would want him to do?"
"Did you?" Ratchet cocked an optic ridge. "Never mind, I don't want to know."
The medic turned away and stalked toward his office. Ultra Magnus watched him for an astrosecond and then followed. "But why? Why would he do that to himself?"
The look Ratchet shot him then said he could not believe that Ultra Magnus could not see something that was right in front of his optics. He shook his helm. "Prowl has a deeply ingrained and profound respect for authority and those in authority. It is in his nature to honor even the wishes of those whom he respects."
Ratchet let that hang in the air between them and then he drew himself up stiffly. "More so than myself. Now, Commander, if you have any other intention of harassing Prowl, feel free to do so elsewhere than in my med bay."
Ratchet stepped into his office and slammed his hand on the door control and the metal portal slid shut.
Ultra Magnus cocked an optic ridge at the closed door, but knew the CMO's rude mannerisms did not really mean Ratchet held him in low regard. He knew Ratchet enough to know the medic did respect him; respected him enough to tell him the truth regardless of whether he wanted to hear it. If Ratchet did not respect him, he would have just told Ultra Magnus to get out.
Ultra Magnus pondered this insight as he made his way back to his own office. There was a delegation from Simfur due to arrive in a couple of orns and thus there were preparations to make.
… … …
As Prowl had feared, the fact that he again started skipping energon soon became fodder for the base gossip mill. Though now there were added to that rumors about what might have happened to make him finally 'obey orders' again. Some of the whispered speculations were downright ridiculous.
It was made worse that this time around there was not nearly as much fear in the nosy mechs' sparks as there had been when he had first come to Iacon. That there was no real effort made to disguise the fact that they were talking about him, even when he was in the room, only added to the pressure building in Prowl's processor. The unwanted attention stressed him much more than the low energon levels.
But still, Prowl managed to keep his increasing irritation controlled. Or so he thought. Not that he ever lost control and tore a mech's helm off for asking a simple question. But his voice, usually calm and even, became increasingly tart and sharp. His doorwings, which were usually held stiffly and almost immobile were jerking and twitching as if a control wire were misfiring. His tolerance for inefficiency was less than it usually was, which might not have been saying much but it did make him harder to work under. That was especially true because he also stopped working as hard to keep from offending other's sensitivities and his corrections became more blunt.
Unfortunately, these changes only served to make the fixation the other Autobots had for watching and murmuring about him even stronger. Were his processors not already stressed, he might have been able to see that his reactions were only making his situation worse. But his judgment in such matters was clouded.
For a mech that despised being in the public spotlight – especially as an object that was watched with morbid curiosity – Prowl found his temper streched tight indeed.
Prowl had grown used to the nearly constant flashes of 'warning: energon levels 50%' across his HUD during his stint as a POW. Feeling like he was an openly gawked at alien freak show was something else entirely.
Nearly half way through what was thankfully going to be his last decaorn on restricted rations, Prowl admitted to himself that his control was nowhere near where it needed to be and that it would be irresponsible to continue as if it were. Even before he reported to his shift one orn, he canceled his planned lessons with the medics and the Prime, not trusting himself to be a dependable teacher.
His decision was proven correct when Smokescreen quietly pulled him aside only half way through his shift and told him in no uncertain terms to take the rest of the orn off and to blow off some steam.
Initially Prowl took it as a personal insult, his armor flaring. He was about to object, but Smokescreen cut him off.
"The fact that you are even arguing about this only proves my point." Smokescreen frowned, hands resting on his hip joints. "Go blow off some steam."
Prowl hesitated, forcing himself consider the situation logically and, when he noticed that his processor was aching just from the effort of forcing his thoughts into a rational framework, he realized Smokescreen was absolutely right.
"Yes sir."
More grateful for the dismissal than he wanted to admit, Prowl retreated to the training rooms. But even there, he was plagued by watchers. The accumulation of spark signatures that quickly gathered outside the door at the monitor distracted him to the point of anger.
He knew why they were there: they were hoping to get a glimpse of him loosing control.
Truly their intense curiosity about his personal affairs was… vexing; plaguing him like rust. And it was all because they knew about his reduction in rations and were expecting the worst from him.
The fact that a part of his processor knew he was only a micron from proving them right only fed the internal conflict. But if he did loose control, it would be because of them not his fuel level.
In that moment Prowl knew what he needed even more than to blow off steam: solitude.
Abruptly Prowl turned around and stalked out of the training room, his hand slamming on the door controls. The door swished open and the gathered mechs scrambled out of his way. He moved forward, parting them like polarized iron filaments before a magnet. Prowl settled for glaring at any mech who met his optics, not trusting himself to be able to speak civilly.
Aware than they followed him to the lifts, Prowl stepped onto the first one that opened and spun back to look at those who had trailed him. "Do not follow me."
He slapped the controls and snapped the door closed, signaling the lift to drop.
When Prowl finally stepped off the lift onto one of the lowest usable levels of the base, the silence that greeted him was like a balm, the lack of spark signatures a welcome relief. Taking in a deep vent of the cooler, almost older air in that section of the base, Prowl headed for the ancient training arena Bluestreak had discovered.
The lights in the arena flickered on as sensors registered his spark signature. As always, the scope of the ancient architecture impressed Prowl. Doubtless this chamber dated from well before the war.
However, even surrounded by silence, Prowl could not find enough stillness to meditate.
Truly, Smokescreen knew him well.
He was there to blow off steam, so that was what he would do.
With a quiet snarl, Prowl finally let himself feel the building frustration that had been growing inside him and collapsed into his alt-mode. Revving his engine, letting the furious sound echo off the metal around him, Prowl tore through the collection of 'natural' obstacles. This time he did so at speeds far above what was advisable, but he had no sparkling in his cab to worry about. Any injury he sustained would hurt no one but himself.
Finishing one circuit, Prowl did not even slow before plowing into another. And another. And another.
He kept going, his frame heating with his exertion, but Prowl did not care.
Because of his wild maneuvering, Prowl's energon levels slowly dipped closer to 40% and still he did not stop. Instead, he pushed himself even harder.
A part of Prowl's processor knew that his current irritation was Ultra Magnus' fault. It was the Second in Command's admonition that had resulted in Prowl having to remain more public in his refueling habits. The only reason he had done so was because a senior officer had pointed out that was expected.
Slag his programming that insisted he honor both the intent of orders as well as the glyph.
Slag all those silly mechs who thought how much energon he ingested was actually worth that much attention.
With a low growl, Prowl gunned his engine even harder, relishing the twinges he felt through his frame as his systems strained. He put on yet another burst of speed as he rounded a low, oblong-shaped metal plateau…
…And slammed on his breaks, skidding so hard he slewed to the side, his tires spinning as they fought for purchase, as Optimus stepped into his line of travel. When Prowl finally skidded to a stop, heat rippled around him, simmering the air. He waited for a sparkbeat, vents heaving, and then snapped out of his alt-mode.
Overheated metal protested the rapid transformation, but Prowl ignored the faint discomfort. "Prime."
Optimus looked at him carefully, noting his annoyance and irritation. "Prowl. This is the time we agreed to meet."
Prowl went still, frighteningly calm. "I canceled our training session. As I did with the medics."
Optimus shifted, considering Prowl a moment longer. "Indeed. I am not here as your student, Prowl."
Prowl rocked back as if slapped then quickly lowered his gaze, modulating his tone. "Prime."
Optimus did not move for a long moment and then looked around them at the recreated natural structures. "This is impressive. You came here to work off the growing emotional pressure in your processor." Optimus' probing gaze found Prowl again. "But clearly racing has not achieved that."
Prowl refused to wince, knowing by his own behavior that the Prime was right. "What is your point, Prime?"
"I suspect you came here to be away from the rank and file." Optimus nodded to him, calm gaze shrewd and calculating. "But you cannot fight any holographic opponents here, and a fight is what you need."
Prowl's armor flared in alarm. "I do not want to fight you, Prime."
"Perhaps not." Optimus gave him a tiny smile. "But you do want to fight something."
Prowl stepped backwards, alarm filling his optics. "What are you doing Prime?"
"Giving you someone to fight." Optimus said simply.
"Why do you take that risk?" Prowl shook his helm.
"Because you need it." Optimus answered gently. "And, because even now, I know my life would not truly be in danger."
When Prowl just stood there, fists clenched and doorwings quivering, Optimus nodded seriously. "This is not an offer made in ignorance, Prowl. I know what I am getting into."
Prowl hesitated for a moment longer, but deep down in his spark he knew that a sparring match was exactly what he needed. His movements made halting from the sheer volume of emotion that raged in his processor, Prowl bowed to the Prime. His bow was returned. Then, just as they had the last time the Prime had offered such a service, they collided.
The Prime's abilities had improved since Prowl's last emotionally driven fight, but he was still not at the same level as his teacher. It did, however, allow the fight to reach new heights of aggression.
The Prime undoubtedly noted the difference, but he never commented. Rather the Prime simply met the attacks as best he was able, knowing he was outclassed. Indeed, all the Prime's efforts were still not sufficient to prevent him from being slammed into the ground repeatedly.
Because of the nature of the terrain they were fighting on and the increased violence of the fight itself, both mechs quickly became liberally dented and scuffed. It was nothing serious, but more than merely cosmetic.
Even so, Prowl never violated the Prime's trust; he never truly allowed the Prime to come to genuine harm.
Because of his previous exertions, Prowl found reason and rationality were starting to return within only half a joor.
So focused on the fight – or rather on making sure he did not cause his leader real damage – and trusting the isolation of their location, Prowl did not register the approaching mech, even as he and the Prime faced off again. Doubtless the fact that he was only starting to recover from an emotional overload contributed to that lapse as well.
This time, Prowl had the larger mech on the ground just as fast as the last, but it was only due to the fact that the Prime had not thought to use one of the skills he had recently learned.
Prowl opened his mouth to remind his student of said skills, one hand still closed around a primary energon line in the Prime's chassis, but a feral scream came out instead.
A large hand landed on the leading edge of his doorwing, clamping down like a vice, buckling and crushing the sensitive metal.
The assault might have only been intended to restrain him, but with his systems running hot, his combat systems active, his prolonged stressed metal state and the survival protocols that had activated as soon as his energon levels had dipped below 35% at some point during the fight, Prowl reacted instinctively to the precieved threat and sudden pain stabbing through his doorwing.
In one smooth motion that was accomplished too fast for the optic to follow, Prowl released the Prime and unsheathed his dagger. It locked into place even as he turned, slashing at his attacker.
Prowl did not register the Prime's shout of "No!" until it was too late.
*Evil maniacal laugh*
Don't hit me! *cowers and runs to my new, reinforced cybertronian metal safe-house under the barn*
Now you see why I wanted to make sure I had the next chapter written before I posted this one. I promise, my goal is to not leave you hanging very long… pray life doesn't throw me a nasty case of rust… or a nest of scraplets… or Decepticons…
*Slams door shut and activates shield*
