Yes, I am still alive. I apologize for the obscene delay. And I apologize that this chapter is shorter than you guys have gotten used to. Please see the AN at the end of the chapter for an explanation.
Some of you guys wanted a glimpse into Prowl's past. I was actually having a hard time trying to figure out how to incorporate a little bit of back-story for you. Then I got to this point of the story and, well, it just fit. Hope you enjoy.
A gentle, almost timid hand on his arm brought Prowl out of recharge. His sensors told him immediately, before his optics booted up, that it was Bluestreak – which was why his defensive systems did not power up. An astrosecond later it registered with his processor that Bluestreak was distressed and that fact brought him to full alert immediately.
Not moving, realizing Bluestreak had crawled onto the berth and was now perched precariously on the edge, Prowl looked at him. "Bluestreak?"
"Prowl…" Tiny doorwings trembled and Bluestreak's small systems heated alarmingly. "Something is wrong."
Carefully Prowl sat up and Bluestreak moved with him so that he slid seamlessly into Prowl's lap. Prowl ran a quick scan over the youngling but found nothing physically wrong. At least nothing his untrained sensors could distinguish.
"Can you be more specific?" He asked gently.
Bluestreak pressed himself into Prowl's chassis. "My processor. It's… wrong. Off. Out of synch with my frame. I don't know. I can't really define it. And my system is running through energon so quickly, and I can't focus, and now I can't recharge. I don't know what's wrong with me."
Prowl however, recognized the symptoms. He tipped Bluestreak's chin plating up to look the youngling in the optics. "How long have you been feeling like this?
Bluestreak pulled away and looked down before leaning against him again. "Almost a decaorn now. But it wasn't this bad and it would go away. But it didn't go away this time and it pulled me out of recharge and then I couldn't get back into recharge and I was scared. Am I broken? I don't have a virus do I?
"I doubt very much you are ill, Bluestreak." Prowl soothed as he started planning what to do next, dreading the thought of waking Ratchet for something like this when he should have known something was going on long before it came to this point.
"How can I not have a virus?" Bluestreak demanded incredulously, the pitch of his voice rising in near panic. "Something is wrong. This isn't normal!"
Prowl smiled faintly. "It is, in fact, very normal." Bluestreak closed his mouth and just stared at him so Prowl continued his explanation. "This is how you would have felt within a few decaorns had we not upgraded your processor when we did. I believe you are ready for your next upgrade. Past ready, actually."
Bluestreak's optics widened and his systems headed rapidly. "But… I'm too young to be an adult! There is… I'm not ready to be on my own!"
"You forget that I have promised to be your guardian until you no longer have need of one." Prowl reminded him, flicking a doorwing to encourage him to calm down. "The only thing that will immediately change between us is that we will be the same size."
"I'm not ready for that either." Bluestreak whimpered and then clung to his chassis. Prowl felt him magnetize to his frame and sighed air through his vents.
He ran a hand over Bluestreak's dorsal plating and they sat in silence as he wordlessly tried to comfort the distressed young spark. But the small systems never powered down, Bluestreak's engine running at a constant, steady hum.
"We are only halfway through the night." Prowl murmured softly. "Can you not recharge?"
Bluestreak hesitated. "How soon will I need to upgrade?"
Prowl's engine revved as he considered the question. "I am unsure exactly. Ratchet would be the better mech to ask such a question of. I do know that the longer you delay, the worse those symptoms will become."
Bluestreak's frame trembled against his own. "I don't want to recharge. Can I get some more energon?"
"Of course." Prowl did not hesitate, though a part of his processor immediately calculated whether or not the missed recharge would negatively affect his functioning. Before the results even came back, however, Prowl dismissed them; Bluestreak needed him and that was more important.
Bluestreak just shifted his grip so that he was holding onto Prowl's frame and Prowl felt the little one's magnetic hold strengthen. Bluestreak wanted to be carried. Prowl was more than willing to oblige.
… … …
As was expected, due to the late joor – or obscenely early joor, depending on how one looked at it – the rec room was virtually empty. Prowl gathered their energon while Bluestreak clung to him like a newly sparked sparkling. Then he crossed the hall to the observation deck, which was likewise completely deserted. Choosing a seat near the window, Prowl slid into it and lifted his free hand to touch Bluestreak's helm. The youngling blinked his optic shutters slowly in evidence of just how exhausted he truly was.
"Here." Prowl handed him the cube.
Optics brightening, Bluestreak took the cube and lifted it to his lip plates and took a long swallow. Prowl did likewise and they both watched the sleep-darkened city below.
A breem passed before Bluestreak, who had ceased to be interested in the view and was studying his caretaker, broke the silence. "Prowl…"
"Yes?" Prowl turned his optics onto his charge when nothing more was forthcoming.
"Wh-what was your adult frame upgrade like?"
Prowl did not answer immediately as the question brought to the forefront of his processor those long distant orns. Finally he sighed and refocused his optics on the youngling in his lap. "There is not much to tell."
Bluestreak's expression made it clear that answer was not satisfactory, so Prowl took in another vent of air and forced himself to continue. "I had already selected my function as an Enforcer and had been training for it since I entered my third youngling frame."
Bluestreak straightened, awe filling his expression. "Really?"
"Yes." Prowl nodded, doing his best not to grimace. "I reported to the medical center, I was transferred to an adult Enforcer's frame and within a joor reported to my Senior Instructor for physical training to help fully integrate the new frame."
Frowning, Bluestreak cocked his helm to the side. "But… what about your creators? Or your guardian?" His engine gave a tiny whimper and he shivered. "You, you were alone?"
"I transferred to the Enforcer Corps' Cadet Division within my first vorn as a third frame youngling." Prowl told him, his voice carefully neutral. "By the time I transferred to adult, I had not seen my creators for well over five vorns." Bluestreak gasped and Prowl continued his story. "My Senior Instructor served both as Commander and Guardian during my vorns as a cadet." He paused and met Bluestreak's optics. "Having been a guardian myself, I now wish I had made a greater effort to stay in touch with my creators. I was not fair to them."
Prowl sighed as his recitation brought back all too familiar and suppressed memories of seeing Praxus in ruins and pain licked at his processor and spark. He had, of course, in the intervening two hundred and fifty vorns as an Enforcer, reestablished communications with his creators. Doing so had brought them great delight, though he had never been as open in returning their affection. Now, with Praxus in ruins and his creators missing and presumed dead in the slaughter, he would never be able to remedy the distance he had put between them.
"But… you were alone?" Bluestreak's shaky question pulled Prowl's attention back to the moment. "Weren't you afraid?"
Clearing his vents, Prowl pushed aside his recriminations and looked at Bluestreak. "I was tagged early as having a processor set up ideal for advanced tactics. There were very few of us in the Enforcer Corps, fewer still in my Academy class. I learned early how to be alone."
Bluestreak's helm cocked to the side and he took another sip of energon, his processor whirring as he thought, clearly straining against the physical constraints of the second frame youngling setup he was operating with.
"And your function…Tactician…" Bluestreak looked up at him again. "You make decisions that can mean life and death for mechs. A lonely job."
"Yes." Prowl admitted softly, not sure how to identify the surge of emotion which he took care not to show, that a youngling would understand so well when many adult mechs did not. "When our strategies are successful, we are praised. When Mechs get hurt or killed – or a mission fails – we are blamed, even if the fault is not directly ours."
Prowl could see the "why" in Bluestreak's expression so he explained. "We are often seen as cold and callus because sometimes we must make decisions knowing we are sending others to their deaths. Therefore we are an easy target for blame when missions do not succeed as planned."
"Is that why you never get upset when people say mean things in the rec room?"
Prowl nodded. "Mostly, yes."
"But… you aren't cold or… callused." Bluestreak whispered fiercely. "You care a great deal."
"You are generous, Bluestreak." Prowl paused, then sighed air through his vents again. "It was in the interests of teaching me to learn to be able to thrive in the isolation of my function that my Senior Instructor had me report to the medial center alone."
It might have been cruel in hindsight, to force a youngling to face that final and intimidating upgrade completely alone, but Prowl had indeed learned not to fear isolation that orn, even if he had not learned to like it yet. That had not come till vorns later.
"Did… did it hurt?" Bluestreak asked very quietly, a tremor in his voice.
Once again, Prowl pulled himself out of his memories, troubled why this situation should bring so many to the surface. "No. No more than any other frame upgrade." He paused and his voice softened. "You are at a disadvantage because you have not experienced any frame transfers prior to this one."
On impulse, Prowl reached out and put a finger on Bluestreak's shoulder and spoke with the conviction of experience. "There is no pain. You will go into stasis in one frame and online in the new one. It may be disconcerting and awkward because of the dramatic size difference and the integration process itself, but you will not be in pain."
"It was scary when I first onlined with the bigger processor." Bluestreak looked up at Prowl. "But you helped me and the fear only lasted for a few seconds."
"This transfer should be even easier, because Ratchet will be able to synch with your adult frame and help you start integrating the new systems." Prowl informed him.
"I want you to do it!" Bluestreak stood on Prowl's thigh, his optics intense.
Prowl frowned. "I am not a medic, Bluestreak. I would not be able to…"
"But I know you. I know the feel of your mind. I know you won't hurt me." Bluestreak's optics glittered with unshed lubricant.
"Ratchet will not hurt you." Prowl told him softly. "He is better able to avoid hurting you than I am. I know this from experience."
Bluestreak blinked as his processor strained to deal with his emotions and what he was being told. Then he lowered his helm, subsiding. "I guess you're right. When are we going to med bay?"
He sounded so much like a convicted criminal asking when his permanent off-lining was scheduled that Prowl hesitated in answering. Quickly he checked the base's schedule and noted that Ratchet's shift was to start in just under three joors. There was no need to wake the CMO for this. "Three and a quarter joors."
Bluestreak finished his energon with a nod and curled up against Prowl's chassis again. "I don't know how much longer I'll be able to do this. I want to stay with you. Even if you just go back into recharge. Please, don't make me get down…"
Prowl curled an arm around Bluestreak as his own engine hitched, remembering his own enforced solitude during this same transition. "I will not, Bluestreak."
Prowl thought for a moment, studying the tension in Bluestreak's frame, the way his doorwings trembled periodically. His own transition from youngling to adult had been without warmth or enjoyment. He was jealous to make Bluestreak's transition one he could look back on with positive thoughts. Abruptly, he made a decision and stood, making his way to the lift.
Prowl depressed the controls to drop the lift into the subfloors of the base then looked at the youngling who was looking up at him with trusting curiosity. He gave Bluestreak a tiny half-smile. "You will soon have your own alt-mode to utilize for this. Until then, we can enjoy this together."
Bluestreak's optics widened as Prowl stepped off the lift into the truly monstrous architecture of the ancient levels. Metal columns rose above them so high, they seemed to curve. Though fine metal dust floated through the air, stirred up by his passage, the air felt stale and old, as if it had never been recycled to the surface. Prowl knew that was not possible and that it was probably an illogically sentimental reaction to intruding into such an ancient part of the planet.
Even knowing there was no logical reason for it, Prowl's steps were reverent as he crossed to the giant doors that hid the underground training arena. Once the door closed, he transformed around Bluestreak.
His effort was rewarded by Bluestreak's squeak of surprise, which morphed quickly into a squeal of delighted anticipation. While Bluestreak's anxieties were not completely forgotten, they were – for the moment – overridden.
… … …
Ratchet smiled to himself as he surveyed the empty med bay. If nothing else, the four orns of peace had given him and his staff a much-needed respite. He had discharged the most injured mechs from the last battle an orn ago and, low and behold, there was no one else to take their place. Yet. He suspected the Twins would show up at his door sooner or later. Without patients to round on for the time being, Ratchet walked through the ICU to the reclamation room, but even that was empty; his staff having finished with the last casualty before his shift had begun.
With several joors left before the official start of the first shift, Ratchet thought he might actually have time to get some paperwork done.
With a sigh, he slipped into his desk chair, surveying his office. Not even a breem after his aft settled fully into the seat than a chirp sounded, alerting him that someone had entered the outer med bay. He registered two spark signatures and did not even bother scanning for an identification.
"Twins!" He growled, lurching to his feet with the hiss of hydraulics. He stalked away from his desk, warming up his vocalizer to ream their audio receptors, only to stall in the doorway of his office.
No twins were in sight.
"Prowl? Bluestreak?" He saw the way the typically gregarious youngling clung to Prowl, shying away from him and hurried closer. He looked to Prowl for an explanation, "What's wrong?"
Prowl did not answer immediately, but instead looked at Bluestreak. When the youngling only curled closer to him, he spoke softly, "Bluestreak?"
Ratchet stilled the immediate alarm that wanted to bring his systems to full alert and forced his vocalizer to a softer setting. "Are you injured, Bluestreak?"
Bluestreak shook his head 'no' and that was a relief until he started explaining his symptoms. However, as he detailed how long these symptoms had been going on, Ratchet had to fight to keep his engine from revving. Angrily, he pinged Prowl so forcefully he saw the Praxian's doorwings flinch.
Carefully polite, if a hint wary Prowl answered the ping. /Yes, Ratchet?/
/You waited twodecaorns to bring him in?/ There was unconcealed accusation in Ratchet's tone as he vented his worry at the tactician in order to keep it hidden from Bluestreak.
Prowl hesitated then lowered his optics before transmitting a wordless apology. /I only became aware of the situation five joors ago when he was unable to stay in recharge./
Ratchet's optics narrowed and he transmitted a silent growl that was pure challenge. /You missed the signs for two decaorns?/
Prowl hesitated again, looking as if he was trying to figure out a way to defend his blindness to the matter and that irritated Ratchet more than it probably should have. His optics flashed dangerously, silently daring Prowl to continue. Prowl must have seen this for his systems stilled in tense wariness.
Ratchet knew the last two decaorns had been trying and draining for the tactical staff as well as for his own, but he was not about to let that be a valid excuse for neglecting the youngling in such a manner. If the logic-riddled glitch had initiated his guardian protocols, he would have picked up on the symptoms regardless of how well Bluestreak tried to hide them.
Prowl released a vent of air. /Apparently I did miss the signs./
Ratchet blinked. Prowl's transmission had been without defensiveness and the flicker in the Praxian's field indicated he would not even try to defend his lack of perception. Prowl was not going to try and excuse his failure.
The CMO refused to be impressed by that until he knew the full scope of the problem. /Well, he is still able to talk, so I don't think any permanent damage has been done./
A wordless transmission promising all manner of bodily harm to Prowl if that assessment was proven incorrect followed that commed statement. Ratchet saw Prowl's optics flick downward in silent acceptance of his threat before focusing back on Bluestreak.
Ratchet managed a smile for the youngling. "Why are you afraid? This is a good and natural thing, Bluestreak."
"I… I like being me. I'm not ready to be someone else." He curled against Prowl, leaning trustingly into the larger frame.
Ratchet blinked again then sighed. "Upgrading won't change who you are. You are only afraid because you have waited so long. If we had done this as soon as the signs made themselves known, you would be more excited about it instead."
"Oh." Bluestreak looked at a seam of armor on Prowl's chassis and slowly traced it with a fingertip.
Ratchet hesitated then, glancing at Prowl, pointed to a berth. Bluestreak allowed himself to be put on the berth but kept one hand on Prowl, closing it tightly around a metal plate. The youngling held still for the scan then moved closer to his guardian as they waited for the results.
Ratchet grimaced at what he saw and looked back at the soon to be adult. "We need to do this today, Bluestreak."
"No!" Bluestreak nearly shrieked, huddling against Prowl, optics wide and bright with alarm. "No. I don't want to be alone! Prowl was forced to upgrade alone, but I can't…" His little vents hitched. "I can't…"
"Prowl will be right here." Ratchet assured with a frown. "As will I. And anyone else you want to be present."
Then to Prowl he sent another wordless threat of painful recrimination. /Did you tell him he would be alone?/
Prowl was staring at Bluestreak with evident consternation and concern, not even looking at Ratchet. /No. In fact, I assured him he would not be alone. It seems as if his reasoning ability is compromised./
There was a hint of alarm as Prowl made that observation and Ratchet was pleased to hear it even if he himself relaxed as he understood. /A result of the strain on his processors./
Bluestreak, however, was completely heedless of the byplay between the adults as he was blinking rapidly in a visible effort to think clearly. "Bumblebee. He should be here. If he sees me transfer, maybe it won't be as scary for him when it is his turn."
Feeling his spark warm at the obvious concern for his friend, Ratchet let himself smile a tiny bit. "A good idea, Bluestreak. But you know that means Ironhide and probably Chromia will be here as well."
Bluestreak nodded, smiling a little bit in response. "That's fine."
Ratchet nodded once then addressed Prowl as much as he did Bluestreak. "I'll summon Ironhide. We need to do this soon. While this isn't an emergency, I don't want it to become one."
"Today then?" Prowl asked quietly. If it would not have been so wildly out of character for the stoic tactician, Ratchet would have sworn he heard a hint of regret in the question.
Regardless, he gave the adult Praxian another firm nod. "I already said that Prowl." He saw the tiny flick of black and white doorwings in as dramatic expression of embarrassment as Prowl would probably allow at having forgotten that fact and Ratchet softened his tone just a fraction. "As soon as we can get everyone here."
Prowl blinked, this time visibly fighting to stifle the illogical protest that it was too soon. Sudden, perhaps, but only because the glitch-processored slagger had missed the signs. It needed to be done, and Ratchet knew the tactician was aware of that, even if the stoic mech circled an arm around Bluestreak to cling to him just as fiercely as Bluestreak clung to the adult.
Ratchet saw all of this and had to hide his smirk; despite himself and his refusal to initiate guardian protocols, Prowl had obviously become attached to the youngling. They were good for each other, the CMO had to admit. Regardless of how concerned Ratchet might have been about having Prowl assigned as the youngling's guardian to begin with, they were good for each other.
Turning away from the duo to give them some privacy, Ratchet pinged an urgent signal to Ironhide. When there was no immediate response, he did so again, stronger the second time. /Ironhide, this is Ratchet. Come in./
/Ironhide here. What is it?/ Ironhide's response was sluggish as if he were still booting up fully.
Ratchet smirked at the grouchy reply. /Get your aft to the med bay. And bring Bumblebee. Chromia can come if she wants to./
/What?/ Ironhide was fully alert now, a hint of panic edging into his transmission. /Is something wrong?/
/No. Bluestreak is going to be upgraded. He wants Bumblebee to be here./ Ratchet offered simply, though he transmitted a wordless promise that Bumblebee would be brought to the med bay, even if Ratchet had to come get him himself.
Ironhide's instinctively transmitted, wordless challenge indicated his guardian protocols were running strongly, even if the big mech brushed off Ratchet's obvious baiting. /Smelter's rod, Ratchet! I thought someone was dying. Can't this wait until morning?
/I'm afraid not./ Ratchet's transmitted tone lost all it's snarky humor. /Bluestreak was keeping quiet about his readiness and Prowl missed the early signs. This needs to be done sooner rather than later./
Ironhide only gave him an unhappy, inarticulate response.
/The delay is already affecting his reasoning ability./ Ratchet pressed, sending glyphs stressing the medical necessity of his request. /I don't want to risk waiting any longer. So get Bumblebee and get your aft here. Now./
/Understood, you glitched old medic./
Ratchet signed off with a wry chuckle. Then he turned to look at Prowl and Bluestreak… and froze. He could not hear what was being said across the medical bay, but body language spoke loudly on it's own.
Bluestreak was murmuring worriedly, his optics downcast. Prowl reached out and tipped Bluestreak's chin up to meet his gaze. Whatever the logic-driven tactician said, it elicited a tiny chuckle out of the nervous youngling. That chuckle grew into an adorable giggle and Prowl responded with a warm glint in his optics and a small half-smile. Ratchet discreetly saved the image to his long-term memory cache, finding it endearing.
With a satisfied nod, Ratchet then summoned First Aid, waking his apprentice up with just as much tact as he had Ironhide. Though the younger medic did not dare snark back as the weapons specialist had, Ratchet could tell First Aid would have if had felt brave enough to do so. One orn, First Aid would feel comfortable enough to snap back at him, that would indicate his apprentice was ready to be a fully fledged medic. That orn would come. For now, by the time First Aid signed off, he sounded rather excited.
While they waited, Ratchet went to the ICU, making his way to that narrow foldaway side-berth, and gently disconnected it from the wall and activated the anti-gravity sleds. With utmost care, he pushed it out into the main med bay and toward the surgical suite. Peripherally he heard Bluestreak gasp, but kept moving. A moment later he heard the surgical bay doors open again, aware that Prowl had carried Bluestreak into the operating room to watch him set up for the procedure.
Tuning them out, Ratchet focused on his task. He transferred the lifeless frame to the primary surgical berth and hooked it up to an energon drip, filling it's lines with the life-giving energy for the first time. A few quick movements and he began lubricating the joints that had yet to move under their own power. Soon First Aid was there as well, his movements harmonizing with Ratchet's as he helped prepare the frame to accept its spark.
Sensors were attached, as well as electrodes that would provide a short burst of electrical current as the spark ignited the frame's systems. Not necessary in the strictest sense, but it made the initial power-up easier and caused less stress on the transferring mech.
Applying a small current through the frame, Ratchet gently cycled open the chest plates to expose the spark chamber. Then he paused. It was dark and lifeless, but not dead and gray. It was the breathless expectation of life, not the tragic loss of life. With alien tenderness, he brushed a hand across a gray shoulder plate.
"That's… that's going to be me?" Gentle awe suffused Bluestreak's near whispered question.
"Do you like it?" First Aid asked warmly.
Bluestreak's reply was offered in a tiny, shy voice. "It's exactly what I want. But… it's so big."
Ratchet turned to look at the youngling just in time to see Ironhide and Chromia walk in, Bumblebee watching with larger than normal optics from the crook of Ironhide's arm.
Ratchet walked over to the new arrivals with uncharacteristic gentleness. "Bumblebee, Bluestreak wanted you to witness his upgrade so that you would know you have nothing to fear when your turn comes."
Bumblebee blinked then looked at Bluestreak, giving his friend a small, almost bashful smile. "Thank you."
Ironhide looked at Bluestreak as well, frowning, "What do you fear youngling?"
"That… that I won't be myself after it's over. That frame is so beautiful, and big and I just don't see how… um…" Bluestreak looked at his pedes.
"That frame will be you the moment you online in it." Prowl spoke softly, running finger along Bluestreak's doorwing. "You will be you."
All of the adults nodded or otherwise added their agreement with Prowl's assertion and Ratchet approached the two Praxians. "Are you ready?"
Bluestreak hesitated another full second and then nodded.
At Ratchet's beckoning gesture, Prowl stepped forward. The tactician helped Bluestreak lay on the now vacant movable berth. Ratchet's spark lurched in sympathy – which he covered with a scowl – as the tiny gray hand darted out to catch the larger black hand of the adult Praxian.
"Don't leave me, Prowl." The youngling's words were more of a trembling whisper than anything else.
"I am here." Prowl answered softly, putting his free hand over Bluestreak's and sandwiching the small limb between both of his own.
Ratchet hid a smile. He hid it well, but Prowl had more depth to his feelings than most mechs would ever consider possible. Moving quickly so as to not prolong the youngling's distress, Ratchet had Bluestreak in stasis.
Impossibly tiny chestplates opened without protest to Ratchet's medical overrides and the brilliant white light of the youngling's spark bathed Ratchet, First Aid and Prowl in an ethereal glow that denied all cybertronian science. The old medic's vent's hitched because, for all Ratchet's cynicism, every time he beheld a patient's spark he could not argue about Primus' existence. The very presence of a single, living, spark was evidence of that spark's creator.
Around him, the room was filled with a similar hushed awe; in this moment his utilitarian operating room was on the threshold of being sacred ground.
Moving with careful precision, movements almost as reverent as they were skilled, Ratchet used carefully insulated tools to withdraw the small glowing orb that was held intact outside of a spark chamber by a containment field generated by the tools themselves. Distantly, Ratchet heard Bumblebee gasp at seeing a bare spark. Likewise, he was aware that Prowl had moved with his habitual grace to silently take the still lifeless hands of Bluestreak's new frame, positioning himself to be in the exact same place relative to the new frame as he had been to the youngling's sparkling frame.
Ratchet smiled to himself even if no one else could see it; Prowl took his word very seriously, even when offered to a sparkling.
With a nod to First Aid, Ratchet lowered Bluestreak's spark into the waiting spark chamber. The same astrosecond that the chamber's own containment field took over it's job in protecting that spark, First Aid sent just enough of an electric current through the frame to help cement the spark's hold over it. The next nanosecond, the frame's electrical systems flickered to life, followed an instant later by the energon pumps.
Setting the transfer tools aside, Ratchet gently synched with the new frame before powering up Bluestreak's new processors. Even sectioned off and formatted to that of a third-frame youngling so as to not make the transition too dramatic, the youngling's earlier fright made Ratchet want to be on the inside to help him come to terms with his transition.
Once the physical frame was online and stable, Ratchet began the process of on-lining Bluestreak's processors.
… … …
Prowl continued to hold Bluestreak's sparking hand until Ratchet fully off-lined the tiny frame. He felt the underlying tension – barely perceivable even in stasis – disappear when the bright pulsing star that was Bluestreak's spark was removed. He gently extracted his hand from the now inert frame.
For the briefest of moments he let his optics linger on the tiny sparkling frame. As illogical as it was, a part of Prowl wished Bluestreak could have stayed a sparkling just a little bit longer. But this was the way of life and Prowl pushed that fleeting thought aside even as he moved to the waiting adult frame.
Careful to stay out of Ratchet's way, Prowl slipped into place at Bluestreak's side, sliding his hand into the inert adult-frame's hand. He had told Bluestreak he would be there and he would be there, regardless of what Ratchet said.
But Ratchet did not protest.
From his contact with Bluestreak's frame, Prowl felt the electrical charge that helped initiate it's systems and integrate its spark. It was a unique and distinctly humbling privilege to actually feel the moment the frame metamorphosed from beautifully crafted inanimate metal to a living being.
He watched with outward impassivity as Ratchet synched with the young mech, though in reality he would not have been able to properly identify the emotions he was feeling.
Seconds passed.
Then Ratchet chuckled. It was a truly amused sound that was not tinged with the usual ire the CMO was famous for. The sound was so unexpected and out of character it took everyone by surprise. But the chartreuse medic did not explain, he just disconnected himself with swift, sure movements.
A moment later, bright – almost white – optics blinked online. They fixed unerringly onto Prowl and a dazzling smile lit the young mech's light gray face plates.
"Prowl, I… Oh!" His optics widened, shuttering rapidly. "My voice is different. It's much deeper. Wow."
Prowl felt a tiny smile tug on his own lip plates and knew his optics were glowing with satisfaction. "It suits you, though."
"You think so?" Bluestreak giggled then, the sound not quite fitting with the size of frame he was inhabiting. "I like it."
"How do you feel?" Prowl asked, an optic ridge quirked.
Bluestreak took a moment to consider the question then nodded firmly, declaring: "like myself."
Prowl helped Bluestreak sit up and the young mech looked around in wonder. His optics flitted from one thing to another, darting around almost haphazardly. "Everything is… smaller."
All of the adults laughed indulgently at that observation. Even Prowl chuckled lowly.
"Careful youngling," Ratchet warned, humor still warming his voice. "Your center of gravity and stabilization setup is very different from what it was. You will be unsteady for an orn or two."
"Yes sir." Bluestreak bobbed his head. "Yes, I can see that. I'm much bigger, so everything would have to be different. It isn't even physically possible for my center of gravity to be in the same place it was when I was smaller. This is sooo neat. It's going to take forever for me to get used to everything being so small…"
"Not forever." Prowl interrupted the building monologue gently.
Bluestreak grinned at him and opened his mouth to say something else, but Bumblebee, having managed to get free of Ironhide's arms cautiously called out, "Bluestreak?"
"Bumblebee!" Bluestreak slid off the berth and tried to step closer to his friend but lost his balance and fell to his knees. Bumblebee hopped nimbly out of the way, optics wide as he stared at his friend in with concern. "Oops." Bluestreak murmured, his faceplates heating.
"Younglings." Ratchet shook his helm in fond exasperation.
Bumblebee chuckled, covering his lip plates with his hands, but that did not stop the chuckle from turning into a giggle. When youngling and young adult's optics met Bluestreak chuckled as well and that freed Bumblebee to laugh fully. When both settled down again, Bumblebee scooted forward, tentatively brushing his fingers over Bluestreak's arm plating.
"What does it feel like?" He asked softly.
"Like… like nothing." Bluestreak frowned as he thought about it. "Everything went black and then I woke up in this frame. My processors feel like my own but bigger, much bigger, and fast, but I feel like myself, like I said, but… the frame is sooo different. But good different. My mind is so fast, so fast my vocalizer can't keep up so I'm probably rambling. I feel much stronger than before and… and bigger."
Bluestreak paused and looked up at the adults, suddenly very self-conscious. "Um, where is my sparkling frame?"
"Here." Prowl murmured softly, picking up said frame and almost reverently handing it to Bluestreak.
Bluestreak gingerly took the tiny frame, holding it in his hands as if afraid of breaking it. Bumblebee watched his friend silently, taking in everything that was happening.
"It looks… dead." Bluestreak said at last, sadness touching his voice.
"Without a spark it is nothing but metal." Prowl confirmed as gently as he could.
"It's hard to believe this used to be me." Bluestreak's vents hitched.
Prowl dropped to one knee so as to be at optic level with his still kneeling mechling and put a hand on Bluestreak's shoulder. "You are more than just the components of your frame. All of us are. What makes us individuals – who we really are – is our spark. That is why this frame," He tapped a finger on blue shoulder plating, "feels like it has always been you. It is because your spark is the same."
Bluestreak smiled and leaned into Prowl, soaking up the physical support he still very much needed from his guardian.
Bumblebee watched the two adult-frame Praxians for a moment then walked back to his guardian. "Ironhide?"
"Yes little one?" The black mech asked.
"I've decided." He nodded once; so serious it was almost comical in such a young frame. "I want to upgrade like Bluestreak did."
Ironhide's optics widened; a mix of panic and a struggle to deny the inevitable clear for all to see. "What? You don't want to be a youngling first and then…"
Bumblebee shook his helm, cutting Ironhide off and making Chromia chuckle at her sparkmate's expense. "No, sir. Bluestreak was right, and if he can do it, so can I."
Ironhide just stared at him, but Chromia chuckled again and bent to lift him into her arms. "I think we still have some time to work out all the details."
Together the three of them left the operating room. Prowl stood after the door shut behind them and helped Bluestreak back to his pedes. The young mech warbled, doorwings and an arm flinging out to catch his balance when he took a step back.
"This might take some time to get used to." He murmured, sounding irritated at himself.
"Not as long as you may think." Ratchet assured then beckoned him back toward the berth. "Come over here, there are some exercises I want you to do before I talk to Bumblebee and his guardians about a processor upgrade…"
… … …
Several joors later Prowl sat at his desk in his office at the tactical command center, though he was not actually reading the datapad sitting in front of him. Instead he watched Bluestreak, who was sitting in one of the guest chairs across from him. The young mech was intent on his own datapad, sifting through specs for different alt-modes that met his specifications. Ironhide had just commed him to let him know Bumblebee was still struggling to integrate the expanded processor and did not want company. Hence Bluestreak was with him while he was on duty. Not that Prowl minded his charge's company; it just complicated matters a little.
With a nearly silent sigh of air through his vents, Prowl sent a ping to Ultra Magnus. /Prowl to Ultra Magnus./
/Ultra Magnus here. Yes, Prowl?/ Ultra Magnus' reply was immediate.
Prowl hesitated, a little trepidations about what he was about to do; afraid that the SIC might take it wrong. /I regret that I may need to reschedule our meeting today, sir./
There was a pause before Ultra Magnus replied. /What's wrong?/
/Nothing is 'wrong' per se./ Prowl hastily clarified. /Bluestreak was upgraded to his adult frame early this morning and…/
/Say no more, Prowl./ Ultra Magnus cut him off, though not with the heat Prowl had expected. /I understand. He needs you more right now. However, I was not expecting him to upgrade so soon./
Prowl released another sigh of air, focusing on his young charge and forcibly pushing away the illogical thought that insisted it was too soon. /None of us were, sir. Furthermore, sir, while he is in an adult frame, his processor is still that of a third-frame youngling./
There was a somewhat ominous silence for several long seconds and Prowl's battle computer clicked on in an attempt to calculate the best way to handle any of the half dozen most likely responses Ultra Magnus would give.
/If it will be easier, I can come to your office for our meeting./
Prowl's systems hitched. That was not what he expected the Second in Command to say. /Bluestreak will likely be with me for the next couple of orns./ Prowl blurted before thinking better of it, then grimaced as he continued. /Indeed, he is with me now./
/You have a recently upgraded youngling and you are working?/ Incredulity bled across the transmission.
Prowl blinked, looking at Bluestreak, who had hunched forward, using one finger to trace the data on the screen as it scrolled across, clearly excited about what he was reading. Bluestreak did not need him at that exact moment so it escaped him why he should not use the opportunity to work. Or at least try to.
/Indeed./ It was half question and half statement. /Bumblebee is integrating his expanded processor and is having more difficulty doing so than Bluestreak did and is shy about company, especially since Bluestreak is in an adult frame. Otherwise…/
/But you are working./ Ultra Magnus demanded again, this time with more bite to his words.
The curt reply put Prowl on guard and he replied with careful wariness. /I am a department head. I cannot neglect my duties when I am fully capable of performing both tasks./
Ultra Magnus almost cut him off. /Then we can keep our scheduled appointment time this orn./
Then the Second in Command cut the signal, leaving Prowl with the click-static of a dead line. Prowl cleared his vents, having the distinct impression that Ultra Magnus was not happy with him. He just had no idea why.
Alright. The short version is this: Two weeks after I posted the last chapter my mother was diagnosed with triple negative, stage 4, incurable breast cancer.
As you can imagine, emotionally and such, I was in no condition to write for nearly two months after she got the diagnosis. Though they have not given her a terminal diagnosis, and seem to believe she will be able to reach remission at some point, at 72 years old, this is not an easy battle for her. As of yet, we have not made any real headway, especially because the cancer stopped responding to the first chemo they had her on after a month and is now bigger than when we started. She is now on a different chemotherapy that is taking quite a toll on her.
I am her primary caregiver during the times that she needs one, thankfully though, for now there are more days that she does not need a 'caregiver'. As the only 'medical' person in the family however, I also go to every single appointment with her, even if it is just a lab draw. I would not do anything less because I love her; she is my mother and has cared for me when I have needed it throughout my life. It is the natural order of life that children have the opportunity to reciprocate that care when it is needed as their parents age. However, my mother has also insisted that I remain in school because it would help her emotionally if she did not feel that my caring for her necessitated that I "put my life on hold" (Her words, not mine). I am also still having to work of course… getting kicked out of the house because I can't pay the bills is not an option. (Good news; at my current pace, I should finish this degree in one more year…then on to the more advanced degree…yay…maybe. Ugh.)
Anyway, as you can guess, I am stretched a little thin some days. Most of this chapter got typed, proofread and edited in spare moments before I had to go to bed after frying my brain with school work while already sleep deprived or in the waiting room at the doctor's office or hospital... in between working on school assignments. And that was only when my mindset was such that I was in any condition to write. (If you've dealt with cancer at all you know the battle is full of ups and downs). At this point I have no idea how long our fight with cancer is going to last until (or if) we reach remission.
That is why it has taken me so long to get this posted. I know it is not polished (heck, I only did one editing round on it) but I simply don't have the energy or the spare time to do more, not if I actually wanted to get it posted at all. Yes, unfortunately this fic is in survival mode for the time being. As much as I enjoy writing fanfic (and this one in particular), if something has to give, this is really one of the few things I can put on a back burner. But I do NOT want to abandon this fic. You guys deserve better, so long as I can manage it. So I will do my best, but don't expect me to get things out much faster than this one was. Good news is, my mother enjoys reading this fic as much as you guys do, so right now that is the one of the best incentives I have to keep it going. :)
