I know this chapter is not as long as would be polite for the year+ delay in posting , and I apologize for both the delay and the brevity of this chapter. While I could have perhaps made it longer, it is at a point where the next scene is one that I want leading a chapter rather than ending one (you'll see when you get there).

First, I want to offer my sincere thanks for the many of you who have reviewed this story and who have sent me private messages of encouragement, even though I have not been able to reply to most of you.

Second, I can assure you I am not abandoning this story. A full explanation for the delay will be in the AN at the end of the chapter. Likewise, I know the editing of this chapter is not as careful as I like, but I believe the reason why will be obvious when I explain the delay at the end of this chapter.

Third, I am very grateful for all of you who have remained faithful and patient in waiting for updates to this story. You guys are awesome.


This chapter takes place after the events in Shadow Games.

Silence reigned for the first part of Prowl and Jazz's drive away from Tyger Pax. Rather, it had been silent after Jazz had finished ranting about the indignity of being restrained on his back while conscious and completely immobilized as if he were nothing but a mindless drone waiting for a reformat, leaving him unable to do anything but depend on Prowl to get him out of a tricky predicament. Prowl's quiet reminder that Jazz had chosen to remain conscious had earned him the stony silence Jazz was currently inflicting on him.

Fortunately, Prowl was comfortable with silence.

Unfortunately, the silence also gave Prowl little else to distract him from thinking about Bluestreak. Or rather, it allowed his tactical computer to repeatedly reevaluate what had happened and parade before his processor all the various things he could have done differently and perhaps have avoided the situation. To make matters even more uncomfortable, every time his processors reevaluated the issue, they delved a little further back in time as well in regards to the variables they included in their calculations.

By the time they finally crossed the territorial boundary between the Tyger Pax and Iacon territories, Prowl was internally berating himself for not more strongly opposing Megatron's decision to attack neutrals because the inexorable progress of his battle computer had ruthlessly informed him that Bluestreak would never have been orphaned at all if he had somehow managed to prevent the slaughter of neutrals in the first place.

The fact that Prowl also knew Megatron would have just had him executed and then proceed with the destruction of Praxus – because Prowl had already developed the attack plan for Iacon by that point – caused a conflict that sent a piercing pain through his processor.

And then his tactical computer immediately looped to the next logical conclusion: Prowl should never have developed the plan to attack Iacon because that was what Megatron used to plan his attack on Praxus…

Prowl tried to sever the ever-growing reasoning loop, knowing it was illogical and counter productive. But now that Jazz was secure, he had nothing else to occupy his overactive processors. At least nothing that was productive or with a priority code that would override his worry about Bluestreak.

Pain blossomed unexpectedly along Prowl's bow as he came to a sudden stop, rebounding several feet from whatever he had just run into.

The unexpected roadblock turned out to be Jazz. The saboteur had transformed and was, at that moment, rubbing his shin plating as he stared down at Prowl in consternation. Grunting at the impact, though simultaneously grateful that the frantic reasoning loop had been finally been broken, Prowl transformed.

Jazz watched the transformation sequence with pursed lip plates. Before Prowl could speak, Jazz crossed his arms. /I asked if ya have moved the Allspark out of Triplex Corda yet./

There was a mixture of rebuke and concern in Jazz's voice, his gaze inscrutable behind his visor. Prowl blinked his own optic shutters as he reprioritized his memory files.

Finally the tactician nodded. "Yes. It should be in Iacon by the time we get there. It is traveling through Peronius to help disguise its true destination."

/Huh./ Jazz did not appear to have really heard Prowl's words, his helm cocked as he peered closely at the larger mech. "Good. What's wrong with ya?"

"Excuse me?" Then Prowl realized that time he had actually heard Jazz with his audios. The original question about the Allspark had been over encrypted comm.. "Slag!"

Jazz blinked, taking half a step back and raising both hands in a conciliatory gesture. "I 'aint really that upset with ya Prowler" He hesitated then shrugged, "well, not any more, anyway."

Prowl averted his gaze, finding it difficult to speak but simultaneously feeling a stab of relief as well. He ended up blurting the words, "Bluestreak learned of my role in Praxus' destruction."

Jazz vented sharply, blinking his optic shutters at the abrupt change in topic. But, quick processored as he was, Jazz hardly missed a beat. "Discovered your evasion about it, ya mean; 'cause ya didn't actually do anything." His engine revved as he crossed his arms over his chassis "I warned ya that would happen."

Prowl's own engine revved in answer. "An eventuality I was already aware of." His optics narrowed. "You need not rub my olfactory sensor in that fact."

Jazz's optics flashed behind his visor and he lifted a hand in warning. "Easy there, Prowler. I just…"

A cackling laugh interrupted the silver minibot.

Both Autobots whirled around to see two pinpricks of red peering at them from a nearby building. As deep within Autobot territory as they were, it took an astrosecond for Prowl and Jazz to realize what was happening.

"Slagging rust-mite!" Jazz cursed but Prowl was already firing at the Decepticon spy. His acid pellets ate through the metal of the building, but the Decepticon launched himself into the sky through the shattered ceiling. Once it was air-born, metal-feathered wings unfurled as beady red optics glittered maliciously. Prowl fired again and this time Jazz did likewise, but the avian danced around their shots and cackled at them again.

"Stupid Autoscum." The bird-shaped Decepticon hissed at them, the S's extended to make his words difficult to understand. "You know who I am. I am Soundwave's optics and audios. He already knows. Killing me won't save you!"

Prowl and Jazz fired again, but missed, dodging a couple of pot-shots from the flying Decepticon symbiot as it flew out of range.

Only once the Decepticon was gone did Prowl realize that never once had Laserbeak appeared on his scanners. Before the tactician could contemplate what that meant, Jazz demanded, "Who was that?"

"Laserbeak." Prowl answered grimly. "One of Soundwave's symbiots. Recently upgraded into a flight capable frame, apparently." Prowl's battle computer clicked on, automatically cycling up to full-speed. "The Allspark!"

Jazz frowned. "It doesn't…" His optics flashed as he remembered that Prowl had answered his commed question out loud rather than via the encrypted comm.. Soundwave now knew where the Allspark was headed as well as a good idea of its itinerary. "Slag!"

Prowl was already transforming with Jazz only a nanosecond behind him.

As they raced toward Iacon Jazz asked a question Prowl was still trying to figure out, "Why didn't we know he was there? Spark dampener?"

"Most likely." Prowl answered thoughtfully, even as his processors raced to figure out how to mitigate the damage Soundwave discovering the location of the Allspark would cause. Cease-fire aside, Prowl held no illusions that the Decepticons would not take advantage of that knowledge. "And with Laserbeak's smaller size and accordingly smaller spark signature…"

"Even your fancy doorwings couldn't pick 'im up." Jazz finished for him. "Damn."

Forcefully subduing the guilt bombarding him for his carelessness as well as the fact he had let his worries for Bluestreak distract him so thoroughly, Prowl acknowledged Jazz's observation. "We must work to mitigate the damage. Contact your operatives. I will notify the tactical team."

"Right." Then the air was alive with an unspoken transmission.

/Prowl to Smokescreen./ Prowl pinged his second in command with an urgent signal.

Smokescreen answered immediately. /Smokescreen here. How is Jazz? Did you…/

Prowl transmitted an urgent 'wait' signal to still his Second's questions. /The Decepticons are aware of the Allspark's location and destination. Reroute immediately to Crystal City./

/Reroute Allspark to Crystal City. Understood./ Smokescreen managed to get the official response out with calm, professional tones, then the transmission waivered. /How did you know?/

Prowl hesitated in answering, scanning their surroundings with renewed care. /Complicated. But we have discovered a spy. Unfortunately, he escaped unscathed./

/Mirage?/ The promise of violence was barely controlled in Smokescreen's transmission and the glyphs that accompanied that transmission.

/No. One of Soundwave's symbiots./ Prowl corrected.

Smokescreen's reply was a jumble of unintelligible cursing, then, /Reroute completed./

/Monitor the situation carefully./ Prowl commanded. /Send an armored division to Peronius and the Vertrix Plains. They need to divert now. Do not wait until they reach Peronius. That is where the Decepticons will attack. Probability: 98.327 percent./

More cursing answered, cursing that was somehow even more inventive than the earlier course of expletives. If the situation had not been so dire, Prowl would have been tempted to smile. Instead he pinged Smokescreen a discrete rebuke and an admonition to maintain his professionalism.

Smokescreen acknowledged the correction and came back a moment later appropriately subdued. /Convoy diverted, sir. But, Prowl… They were already within long-distance sensor range of Peronius. If there was an ambush in the city…/

/Slag!/ Prowl poured on more speed, internally cursing his own stupidity as well as the helplessness of being too far away to help.

With a startled noise, Jazz gunned his own engine and quickly caught up with Prowl.

The lack of comm. transmissions emanating from the saboteur spurred Prowl to ping Jazz into his conversation with Smokescreen, databursting the minibot a summary of the situation.

/Send two armored divisions. Get them there immediately!/ It took all of Prowl's significant self control not to let the panic he was beginning to feel seep into his transmission. /And arrange a data and communications link for me. I will serve as field tactician from here./

There was a moment of stunned silence from both Smokescreen and Jazz. Then Smokescreen responded with an acknowledgement of the order. /Can you manage with the distance?/

/I have advanced long distance comm. mods./ Jazz piped up /I'll make sure it happens Smokie./

Another uncomfortable pause as Smokescreen processed the rather intimate connection such a set up would require. Prowl, for his part, steadfastly did not let himself think about it. Jazz had already been in his processor too many times to count and had worked with him in a synched fashion before. This would only be…somewhat…more personal, only in reverse. Jazz would be on the receiving end of the connection.

/Acknowledged. Iacon out./ Smokescreen signed off the transmission. However, the communications silence did not last long. Even so, at the speed they were traveling, Jazz and Prowl managed to cover another ten miles before the data feed pinged Prowl's awareness.

Prowl integrated the data and then considered Jazz. /The support convoy is still en-route. Prepare for communications interlink./

/Gottcha./ Jazz's reply was grim.

It was a risk, a real risk, to attempt a hardline connection while doing anything other than standing (or sitting) perfectly still, let alone driving at near reckless speed. That did not stop either autobot from doing what needed to be done. Prowl, as the one with the largest alt mode, did his best to maintain a steady heading as Jazz edged closer and swung behind him. An astrosecond later Jazz was grappled to Prowl's frame. Prowl secured his own grappling mods to Jazz as well, to help ensure they were not separated, and then opened his dataport even as guide-arms readied to accept Jazz's cable.

/Nope./ Jazz informed him, even as his own guide arm took Prowl's cable. /Jus' in case we get separated, we need your mind intact. Me… I'm expendable right now./

Then he plugged Prowl's cable into his port and the automatic synchronization protocol took over. As always, Prowl was met with the powerful firewalls that shielded Jazz's mind. This was only the second time he had been the one to have a one-way sync with Jazz. The first time, though he had wanted to rip Jazz's mind apart in retaliation for the fragmentation the saboteur had done to him, he had been careful not to. This time he was unable to devote the focus necessary to avoid causing his friend discomfort.

Jazz grunted, and Prowl felt the slight increase in drag as the minibot put his altmode into neutral, trusting Prowl to manage the drive. A pathway lit up to Jazz's long distance communication systems. It was a part of Jazz's command cortex and Prowl did his best not to intrude into any other part of his friends processor even as he initiated the interlink.

Prowl quietly promised himself he would talk to Ratchet about upgrading his own long distance communications systems so that this would not be necessary in the future. Then he pushed that aside and focused.

As the two mechs continued to race toward Iacon, Prowl dove into his analysis, leaving just enough of his processor focused on the drive to avoid potholes and navigate the rough terrain. Another part of his processor remained painfully aware that Jazz was completely dependent on him at the moment.

Even as the armored divisions reached their destination, Prowl was deploying them to best cover the now rapidly fleeing escort transporting the Allspark. On the furthest limit of the sensor feeds, Prowl detected the aggregated spark signatures and Decepticon identification codes of the enemy.

The multitude of overlapping sensory data allowed him to create an accurate map of the area that he could navigate at will, as if seeing everything at once. As the Decepticons poured on speed to try and close the distance between them and their target, Prowl had the armored divisions break along the escort's path of travel so that the smaller force would pass between the two larger divisions.

Minor course corrections were required here and there and then he realized who two of the Autobot reinforcements were and his predictions as to the outcome of this engagement actually improved. He keyed their communications signal.

/Prowl to Sunstreaker and Sideswipe./

There was only a momentary delay and then Sunstreaker signaled a subdued acknowlegement while Sideswipe replied with a more jaunty, /Hey Prowlie… um , I mean Prowl, sir./

Prowl made a mental note to address the flippancy later even as he took a calculated risk, remembering how they always performed better when they knew why they were fighting. /The convoy you are going to protect is guarding the Allspark. It is vitally important no Decepticon is allowed to reach them./

This time the silence before their reply seemed more one of surprise than irreverence.

/The Allspark?/ Sideswipe demanded. /What the pit is it doing way out here?/

/That is classified and you do not need to know. Only that the outcome of this war depends on that convoy surviving./ Prowl issued a handful of other orders as sensory data continued to refine the information available on the approaching forces.

/Those Deceptiscum won't get the Allspark./ Sunstreaker growled over the comm. line. /Count on it./

Sunstreaker cut the connection but Sideswipe did not do so right away. /You know, if you were that forthright with Bluestreak, you might have saved yourself a lot of trouble./

Prowl's engine sputtered in shock as that seemingly random and unrelated statement jarred all the myriad of complex calculations running through his processor. Swerving sharply to one side before he regained control, Prowl furiously cut short any thought-chains that wanted to try and decipher the implications of Sideswipe's sharp comment.

"Prowl?" Jazz grunted as Prowl's swerve jarred his smaller frame.

"My apologies, Jazz." Prowl determinably refocused on the mission, pushing aside the burning guilt the miscreant frontliner had managed to ignite.

Thousands of clicks away, as Jazz and Prowl were racing toward Iacon, the escort for the Allspark was steadily closing with the armored divisions sent to protect them and only a little further away, a force of Decepticons was racing to catch the escort before they could reach further protection. Even as more data on the Decepticons came in and he was sending targeting priorities to the Autobot forces, Prowl urged the escort to even greater speed.

Prowl watched helplessly as the Decepticons came within ranged weapon's striking range of the escort before they were close enough to be covered by the armored divisions. One, then two of the escorts fell out of formation before the first of the Autobot weapons found marks in the Deception ranks. Then, the jaws of the two Autobot forces closed upon the Decepticons like a giant organic swarm, cutting them off from further pursuit of the escort.

In the melee that followed, Prowl was in his element, but the long joors spent training the Autobot forces paid off handsomely in that mechs responded on their own initiative many times before his commands were needed. He was able to focus entirely on reading the enemy and looking for weaknesses rather than on specifically directing the battle itself.

Within less than a joor the Decepticon strike force was crushed. A handful escaped, but the vast majority now littered the landscape as graying frames. And the Allspark was safely on its way to the next refuge city. Prowl sent a regiment from one of the armored divisions, with Ironhide commanding, as further protection but the rest were ordered to collect the fallen and return to Iacon.

Ironicaly, the army he had just commanded would reach their home base nearly half an orn before Prowl or Jazz would.

As soon as the battle was over and the final stand-down orders given, Prowl slowed and pulled off the road. Once stopped, he delicately released Jazz's cable and then ungrappled from his friend's frame. Jazz was a moment slower in releasing his own grappling clamps and retracting them back into his frame.

"Are you well, Jazz?" Prowl asked softly.

Jazz groaned and sank further on his struts. "Why didn't we stop ta do that in tha first place? It's not like we ever got close enough for it ta make a difference."

Prowl's engine choked and it took him a moment to reply and his words seemed sheepish even to himself. "Speed seemed urgent at the time."

Remarkably Jazz laughed, the vibration of his engine making his entire frame shake. "An emotional reaction…from you? Oh, Primus… it was worth it, just for that! Even the time spent in stasis in Tyger Pax! Well, almost. I've never heard or felt your field like this. Ha! I love it!"

Even knowing he was once again letting emotion dictate his actions, Prowl transformed just so he could cross his arms more effectively. Naturally, that just sent Jazz into another engine shaking guffaw.

When he got control of himself again, Jazz bumped Prowl's shin platting with his bumper. "Get your aft down here, Prowl. Lets go home."

With a sigh of air through his intakes, Prowl uncrossed his arms and sank back into his alt form. Jazz was right, they were needed in Iacon.

Unfortunately, now that he did not have a battle to coordinate, Prowl had more than enough time to worry about and try to figure out the meaning and implications of Sideswipe's parting transmission. He was tempted to think that the ground covered in their frantic race toward Iacon was worth the risk just so he would have less time to brood now that the battle was over.

… … …

Bluestreak looked down at his friend, Bumblebee, and had a hard time remembering how it could have possibly felt 'normal' to be that small. Apparently he had already adapted more to his adult frame than he had thought.

"What are you staring at me for?" Bumblebee demanded, his tiny doorwings tilting upward.

"I'm just having a hard time believing that Chromia would leave us alone like this."

"She said she wouldn't be gone long." Bumblebee shrugged then frowned. "I don't like you being so much bigger."

Then Bumblebee jumped up and scrambled up Bluestreak's frame. Bluestreak froze, immobilizing his frame as his friend's tiny hands slipped into cracks between platting and seams in his armor. It was a weird feeling and he was suddenly terrified of unintentionally hurting Bumblebee. Was this what Prowl had felt every time he had scampered unthinkingly over his guardian's frame?

Former guardian! Bluestreak reminded himself, thoughts of Prowl souring his mood. "What are you doing?"

His irritation came through in his voice. Bluestreak knew this, knew it wasn't fair to Bumblebee for him to take out his anger at Prowl on his friend. But he couldn't help it. Bumblebee froze, optics widening and his lower lip plate trembling.

"Our guardians never minded…" Tiny doorwings shifted haphazardly, one flicking upward, the other down. "I'm sorry…"

Bluestreak sighed air heavily through his vents. "It's not that. I just… I'm not a guardian Bumblebee, I'm not even an adult and…" His engine revved petulantly. "I don't want you to fall and get hurt."

Bumblebee perked back up. "Oh. I won't fall. I haven't fallen yet." He resumed his scamper to Bluestreak's chest plating. "Besides, it's kind of like I'm training to be a scout, exploring new terrain I've never been before!"

Despite his underlying unhappiness - rekindled from thinking about Prowl - Bluestreak couldn't help smiling at that. Then, with the way Bumblebee theatrically made a point of peering around the crests of Bluestreak's shoulder plating, a laugh teased itself free of the young-adult's chassis.

Bumblebee grinned at him then, leaving off the play-acting. He settled himself on Bluestreak's shoulder and looked solemnly at the older Praxian.

"What?" Bluestreak demanded when the silence lasted too long.

"You aren't happy." Bumblebee looked down, rubbing at a spot on Bluestreak's shoulder guard. "You haven't been for several orns now."

All of Bluestreak's mirth disappeared, evaporating like water on a superheated metal plate. "No, I'm not happy. I have no reason to be happy Bumblebee. So of course, I'm not happy."

"Why not?"

It was an innocent question and Bluestreak turned his helm away so he wouldn't have to look at his friend's large, caring optics. Primus, was I ever truly that naive and innocent? Bluestreak's engine revved again as he tried to find words, or rather put words to the jumbled mess of thoughts crowding his processor and emotional core.

Finally, static lacing his vocalizer, Bluestreak spit the only word that even had a chance of encompassing everything he was feeling and thinking: "Prowl!"

"Prowl?" Bumblebee's voice trembled with confusion and concern. "But he has done so much to help you and has taken very good care of you. You said so yourself. You said he even…"

"Be quiet. You don't know anything." Bluestreak glared at his much smaller friend. It was an awkward thing to do since Bumblebee was sitting on his shoulder, but Bluestreak managed to do it regardless.

"But, you said…"

"Shut up!" Bluestreak yelled, his tenuous control snapping as he hauled Bumblebee's tiny frame off of his shoulder and held him up to optic height. "You don't know anything! It's all his fault. All of it! He said he was helping me but he lied to me! Then he fragmented me and he killed my creators! It was him. It was all him! The whole time it was him." He sobbed a hiccup through his vents. "Don't talk to me about how good Prowl has been to me."

Lubricant was welling in Bumblebee's optics and Bluestreak knew he had hurt his friend. That knowledge only made Bluestreak's spark clinch tighter and he did not think he could handle the additional emotional input; the pain.

"You're just an ignorant sparkling." Bluestreak sobbed and unceremoniously dropped Bumblebee on the ground.

"Bluestreak…" Bumblebee's tiny engine whined in protest of the rough handling as he regained his feet. "Bluestreak…"

The younger mechling reached a plaintive hand toward his older friend but Bluestreak turned away and did not see the conciliatory gesture.

Without even looking back once, Bluestreak left Bumblebee's quarters, palming the door closed. He did not stop walking until he made it to the lift and from there did not stop until he made it to the shooting range.

Behind him, as the door slid shut, Bumblebee fell to his knees, his whole frame shuddering as his engine coughed with the force of his sob. Then the young mech curled into a tight, shivering ball of yellow and black metal as air gusted unevenly through his hiccupping vents in accent to the high, undulating keen that vibrated through his frame.

That was how Chromia found her sparkling fifteen breems later.

… … …

Elita One hummed a much-simplified version of her favorite Golden-age ballad, Flight of the Crystal Stingers, as she reviewed the reports submitted by her femme-contingent scouts. Nothing exciting there, though she tagged several of them as having potential tactical importance and forwarded them to the tactical department and special operations.

Transitioning into a rough approximation of the ballad's third stanza, Elita One turned her attention to her team's readiness reports.

These were much less interesting than even the scouting reports, but they were necessary and, as a conscientious leader, Elita diligently applied herself to even the mundane duties of leadership. Within a breem she was absently tapping her fingers on the back of the datapads in rhythm to her humming.

She was barely halfway through those reports when her office door opened abruptly.

Elita started, the hand resting in her lap automatically starting the transformation into a blaster, before she recognized the spark signature of her unexpected visitor and reset the servos in her hand. At the same time she drew an intake of air to rebuke her second in command for the lack of manners.

"Chromia, this is…" She looked up and saw her friend's expression and simultaneously felt the blue femme's field flicker and pulse in distress and rage. Reports forgotten, Elita stood. "Chromia, what is it?"

Chromia's engine revved, her fists clenched to the point of audibly straining gears. She started to speak, but static was all that escaped her vocalizer. That just irritated her more and she slammed a hand on Elita's desk, making every loose object on its surface bounce.

"Damn him!" Chromia growled. "Damn him to the pit!"

"Chromia!" Elita hurried around the desk to Chromia's side and put a hand on a blue shoulder guard. "Chromia, stand down…"

"I will not stand down!" Chromia turned on Elita, her optics blazing so brightly they were almost white. "That two-bit, rust-laden, scraplet-spawn! He will pay!"

Optics widening, Elita One tightened her hold on the enraged Chromia and none-to-gently pulled her toward a chair and then pushed her into it. "What is going on, Chromia?"

"Bluestreak…" Chromia's vocalizer hissed static again and she crumpled, her frame shaking.

Alarm growing exponentially, Elita One wrapped an arm a round Chromia's shoulders and held her tightly, trying to fill her own field with calm assurance. "What about Bluestreak?"

"He… he hurt Bumblebee." Chromia looked up at her, pain and sadness and fury all vying for expression. "He hurt Bumblebee and then left him alone, hurting."

Elita jerked back, optics going wide. "How could… what do you mean he hurt Bumblebee?"

Chromia shook her head helplessly. "He isn't talking."

"You mean he won't tell you? Ratchet can…"

"No!" Raw anguish supplanted every other emotion as Chromia rose to her feet, grabbing Elita's arms and giving her a desperate shake. "No. I mean Bumblebee isn't talking at all. Whatever happened, Bumblebee has stopped talking." A keen rose past her vocalizer, making her entire frame shiver. "It's like it was before, before he figured out how to use the language upgrades."

"A regression?" Elita whispered, optics wide, her spark turning cold at the possibility. "Holy Primus…"

"I don't know!" Chromia wailed, then calmed herself with a visible effort. "I don't know, but Ratchet and the others are too busy taking care of the injured in that skirmish over the Allspark to look at an otherwise healthy youngling right now. But… What if it is?"

"Chromia…" Elita's spark broke at the thought and she gathered her friend into a tight embrace.

"Of all the sweetest sparks ever created, little Bee doesn't deserve this." Chromia sobbed, loosing control again. "Younglings never recover from true regressions, not ever!"

The blue warrior's engine coughed, revved and then sputtered before coughing again. Alarmed for Chromia's sake, Elita tried desperately to calm the other femme, but how could she when her own spark was racing at the possibilities? Desperately, she blocked her bond to Optimus as much as possible, not wanting to pull any mech into this until Chromia had regained control. Not unless she had no other choice.

"We don't know that it is truly a regression yet. You said so yourself." She spoke steadily, infusing her voice and field with calmness. Or at least doing her best to do so. "True regressions are rare. More likely he is just grieving or was traumatized that…"

"Is that supposed to calm me down!" Chromia shook off Elita's hands, paced several steps away and then spun back. "Bluestreak can't be allowed to get away with doing that to another mech, a sparkling."

Elita One sighed. "We don't even know if it was something Bluestreak did intentionally. Keep in mind, adult frame or not, he is really still a youngling in processor and spark himself."

"That doesn't matter!" Chromia clenched one hand into a fist, "If he did this to Bumblebee on purpose, he will be punished. Especially if he caused a regression. I don't care what Prowl says. By the ancient laws it is my right to avenge my sparkling."

Elita froze entirely, only her optics dilating as she took in that declaration. "Chromia… you know Bluestreak almost as well as you know Bumblebee. I don't see how he could intentionally hurt his friend."

Slowly Chromia's field calmed and Elita One released a vent of air before continuing. "Besides, from what Moonracer has told me after her training session with him on the shooting range last orn, Bluestreak is himself hurting quite a bit right now and I'm sure he isn't thinking clearly. Apparently he and Prowl had a big falling out after that fragmentation incident. Bluestreak accused Prowl of killing his creators, though Ratchet denies Prowl actually did."

Chromia straightened, her hand unclenching then clenching again as her optics narrowed. "And Prowl has done nothing to restore their relationship?"

Elita looked at her carefully then gingerly sat on the edge of her desk. "According to my sources, he tried to apologize in the med bay, but Bluestreak attacked him and then stormed out. I don't know if Prowl has made any other attempts at reconciliation. He isn't exactly one to do such things in a public setting."

Chromia's engine growled again. "Yes, Bluestreak would be very hurt by that; he had all but idolized Prowl. Slaggit all! If I had known Bluestreak was in such a state I never would have left him alone with Bumblebee."

Both femmes lapsed into silence for half a breem then Chromia released a gust of overheated air and all but collapsed into the nearest chair. "Prowl has to fix this. You're right. Bluestreak is still just a youngling, this is Prowl's doing. Prowl has to fix this, whether or not he wants to, he must. Even if that won't help Bumblebee, I don't want to loose two sparklings over something so…so…stupid."

Elita One blinked at the deadly calm in Chromia's words. The emotional explosion from earlier had just been an emotional overload, probably exacerbated by the fact Chromia was likely shielding it from Ironhide so as not to disturb her sparkmate while protecting the AllSpark. This was a calm and rational Chromia planning a course of action.

But the blue femme was right about one thing. "No." Elita agreed. "We cannot let two sparklings be lost."

Chromia nodded. "Prowl should be back by the end of the orn. If he doesn't mech-up and make things right with Bluestreak…" She huffed, then smiled grimly "Well, he'll find himself motivated to do something."

Elita One considered that then nodded. It was very likely that Bumblebee and Bluestreak were two of the last sparklings of their generation. Hopefully there were neutral sparklings that survived out there somewhere, but as far as they knew, they were the last sparklings from Praxis. The very possibility that Bumblebee had suffered a regression was bad enough and was tragic all on it's own. Bluestreak could not be allowed to destroy himself or anyone else.

"Whatever happened between Prowl and Bluestreak," Elita spoke quietly, feeling ancient and dormant coding deep within her own core-programming stir. "It obviously hurt Bluestreak tremendously. So much so that he is either negligently or intentionally hurting his own friends. As his guardian, Bluestreak's behavior is Prowl's responsibility."

Chromia nodded sharply, her engine revving. "Even regulation-helm Prowl can't deny that. He will pay if he doesn't fulfill his legal responsibilities to Bluestreak because in hurting Bluestreak he also indirectly hurt Bumblebee."

Elita One lifted her chin. "Prowl does care a great deal for Bluestreak, Chromia. Will you not give him any benefit of the doubt?"

"That will depend on whether or not my Bumblebee has regressed!" She snapped, then caught herself. "And whether or not he even tries to help Bluestreak."

Elita considered that for a moment, running the situation and Chromia's stated intention against the laws and regulations she was acquainted with. Satisfied, she nodded. "Agreed. The Femme Contingent will stand together to avenge the sparklings, if we must."

"Hopefully it won't come to that." Chromia's optics flashed again.

… … …

"Ya owe me a sparing match, Prowler." Jazz drawled after the silver mech transformed as he and Prowl approached the entrance of Autobot headquarters in Iacon.

"Do I?" Prowl asked neutrally, transforming an instant after the smaller mech.

"Yep." Jazz put his hands on his hip joints and looked up at Prowl with a smirk. "Ya made me drive at high-speed while latched to your aft like a scraplet for no reason but that ya felt like racing would help matters. Least ya can do is give me a chance to whip your aft in a sparring match for the indignity of it all."

Prowl cocked an optic ridge. "Indeed?" But he still felt foolish for the whole episode and when he allowed himself to consider just how horribly everything could have gone if he had lost focus… it made him shudder. "Very well, I shall check my schedule…"

"Nope. Next orn. Once I get a good recharge and some decent energon. I'll clear your schedule if I have ta."

Prowl blinked "Jazz, after that incursion, I will have duties…"

"One sparring match. Won't take that long." Jazz huffed, arms crossing over his chassis in clear challenge. "Pit, with you this distracted I'll probably be able to wipe the deck with your faceplate in a matter of breems. Then you can go back to your duties."

Prowl recoiled at that declaration, then he straightened, his doorwings flaring. "You need not insult me Jazz."

"I'm not insulting you, Prowl." Jazz shook his helm. "I just want to make use of every possible advantage you might give me." He took a step closer to Prowl and put a hand on his arm, just above the elbow joint. "Prowl, pull yourself together mech. You have a report to give the Prime and you are still off balance internally. I can feel your field roiling like a pulsar knocked off its axis right now. I think you need to blow off steam before ya crash."

Prowl blinked and ran a quick review of his memory cache of the last couple of orns and realized belatedly that he was responding with increasing emotional contamination. All the indicators pointed to an impending emotional overload. It was also telling that Jazz noticed those details before he did. Prowl considered Jazz again, feeling the genuine concern in the other's field where the small silver hand rested on his armor. It was also telling that Jazz would seek to help in such a way.

"I…am not completely in control when I spar in such a state." He murmured, forcing the shameful words past his vocalizer.

"Slag on an oil slick. I've watched the vids of your match with Optimus that one time." Jazz smirked. "If ya weren't really in control he'd be in the Well of Allsparks, not waiting up there in central command for your report."

"Still…" Prowl began.

Jazz closed the distance between them swiftly, his visor flashing dangerously. "Stop arguing. I'll make it an order if I have ta."

Prowl stared, caught off guard by Jazz's intensity. It took him an embarrassingly long time to processes what Jazz's insistence actually meant and then to process the implications of the fact that it took him so long to complete such a simple calculation. Finally, Prowl nodded with a regality that unconsciously mirrored the Prime's own bearing. "Next orn then. I shall transmit the details as soon as they are available. Thank you, Jazz."

Jazz smiled suddenly, the dangerous intensity about him evaporating as if it had never existed. The silver mech squeezed Prowl's arm before stepping back and spinning away to saunter toward the rec room. "Just don't crash till I get a chance to kick your tailpipe."

With a sigh of air through his intakes Prowl watched the saboteur disappear into the base then he took a moment to force his processor to focus on the report Jazz had reminded him he needed to make. All he wanted to do was seek out Bluestreak… but duty came before personal matters. He also knew it would be best if he waited to face the youngling until he had his emotional center better stabilized and that meant after he burned off the excess emotional build up sparring with Jazz.

With that thought in his processor, Prowl pinged the central computer with a request and then, a handful of astroseconds later he pinged Jazz with the details of the training room he reserved for their use.

Jazz's instantaneous reply was a half-hearted complaint that the first joor of the first shift was way too early in the orn. But that was accompanied by the glyphs indicating understanding and teasing.

Prowl released another huff of air. Jazz could be infuriating and confusing at times. But he was still grateful for what the minibot had promised to do for him. Then, with a revv of his engine, Prowl focused on the report he still needed to deliver to the Prime.

… … …

Prowl was admitted into the Prime's office almost immediately when he signaled his presence at the door. Thanks to his doorwings, he was not surprised to find Ultra Magnus and Elita One there as well. The Prime beckoned him forward and Ultra Magnus greeted him with a solmn nod. Elita One was a moment longer in offering a silent greeting and the look in her optics was enough to give Prowl pause.

"I see you have returned Jazz to us." Optimus spoke, pulling Prowl's attention to him. "Congratulations, Prowl."

Prowl nodded, though he grimaced. "Fighting a war is much more straightforward than politics, sir."

Optimus chuckled. "Indeed. Do I want to know what you had to do in order to obtain his release?"

Prowl hesitated. "As it had to do with something about Jazz's past from well before the formation of the Autobots, I believe he is the one who should tell this story as it is not mine to share without his permission."

"Hmm." Optimus Prime's engine hummed thoughtfully and Ultra Magnus frowned. "You know what happened with the AllSpark. It was your order that dispatched the additional forces. Report."

"Yes sir." Prowl took in a vent of air and then, as dispassionately as he cold manage, he briefly detailed the events leading up to the discovery of Laserbeak and the attack itself. Prowl then pinged the three of them with a hastily but still thoroughly compiled data packet with audio and visual recordings as well as a recap of the battle itself as distilled through the sensory feeds he had processed at the time.

It took the senior commanders several seconds to process the data. In that time Prowl waited patiently, though his processor was now screaming for recharge. Such a complicated a synced process while driving at cable-breaking speeds had taken more of a toll on him than it should have. No, that was not entirely accurate, Prowl had to acknowledge, the processing power being diverted to his emotional centers was draining more of his reserves than it had ever done before.

Was there a malfunction in Ratchet's fail safe?

A hastily performed self-diagnostic confirmed that the failsafe was intact, though the stress on those systems was dangerously near to triggering that failsafe. It was a good thing his sparring match with Jazz was scheduled for early the next orn; it would not do for his subordinates to witness him this distracted and inefficient. Let alone how humiliating it would be if he were to trigger that failsafe and crash in the tactical department.

"So…" Elita One purred, something in her voice snapping Prowl out of his contemplations and triggering his combat systems to initialize. He looked at her as she circled around to stand in front of him, though the rest of his frame remained stiffly at attention. "You were distracted by what happened between you and Bluestreak?"

Prowl's doorwings twitched, but he could not lie to a superior officer, even if he wanted to. He had seen to that with the alterations he had made to his own ethical systems. "Yes ma'am."

Engine growling, her optics flashed dangerously. "You were so distracted you failed to keep sufficiently alert to your surroundings and allowed a Decepticon spy to track your movements?"

It was not that simple, he had been unable to detect Laserbeak. He and Jazz both and failed to notice him. But the dangerous flicker in her field warned Prowl not to defend himself. As he considered how he might politely refute the accusation, Prowl's tank lurched painfully as he suddenly wondered if his emotional centers had been pulling just enough processing power from his sensors to create a blind spot big enough for Laserbeak to slip through.

That possibility served to sear his processor with a stab of pain and he just barely managed to keep his voice controlled and neutral when he answered Elita One. "Yes, ma'am."

"Your carelessness cost the lives of two Autobot soldiers. Even if you managed to pull off an impressive victory." Elita One stepped closer and poked him on the chassis, right over his spark chamber and where the Autobot sigil marked his armor. "You let distraction over what happened between you and Bluestreak nearly cost us the AllSpark."

Heat washed through Prowl and he ducked his helm. "Yes, ma'am."

"Elita…" Optimus Prime was cut off as his sparkmate's armor flared aggressively.

"Do you have an excuse for this recklessness and blatant breach of professional competency?" Her words were pointed, her field held tight to her frame in anger.

Prowl managed not to flinch openly, though he could not stop the flick of his doorwings. Elita One had, either by coincidence or keen insight, managed to berate him with the same words his own processor had been flinging at him to some degree since the Laserbeak had flown away. Prowl's armor clamped tightly to his frame as he accepted the rebuke.

"I have no excuse, ma'am." Prowl's words were strained and Elita did not respond immediately. Tellingly, neither did Optimus Prime or Ultra Magnus. Had he been looking at them, he would have seen that the Prime was focused on his sparkmate, a look of concern and confusion on his faceplate while Ultra Magnus was instead focused on him, his gaze carefully neutral, though his optics burned intently.

"Perhaps then," Elita One's engine purred in a way that was rather threatening. "You owe it to yourself and the rest of us – and even the war effort itself – to do what it takes to reconcile with Bluestreak." She paused, then continued her tone harsher than before. "Before this nonsense costs more lives!"

Prowl did flinch then, his doorwings jerking visibly.

"That seems a little harsh, does it not Femme Commander?" Ultra Magnus interjected, looking rather disconcerted.

"It is the truth!" Elita One snapped, then glared at Prowl. "Look at him. Prowl knows it was well as I do. Do I make myself clear, Prowl?"

"Yes ma'am." Prowl ducked his helm. There was no point in telling Elita that was what he planned to do, as soon as he had his rampaging emotional center under better control.

"Was there anything else you need to report, Prowl?" Optimus Prime put a restraining hand on his spark mate's shoulder.

"No sir." The tightness in Prowl's voice and posture was evident to tall. "Not at this time."

Optimus Prime and Ultra Magnus glanced at each other. It was clear to both of them that, having been dressed down so thoroughly by Elita One, the tactician was not about to relax. The Circuit Su student ached to see his mentor braced like a new recruit, though Elita's sparkmate understood her passion in the matter. Clearly something had happened that he was not entirely aware of. The Prime also noted that Ultra Magnus seemed inexplicably troubled by seeing Prowl's dressing down. More so than one would expect.

"Anything more before I dismiss you?" Optimus asked.

Prowl's helm came up. "Sir, the cease fire…"

"Is still in effect." Optimus said shortly and hid a wince when Prowl's doorwing flinched again. The argument he had just had with Ultra Magnus over the matter still rankled, but Prowl had not kicked scraplet nest just yet. Optimus knew he should not jumpt to conclusions about Prowl's intentions and he modulated his tone. "Megatron denied having ordered the attack and, even though it now looks like Soundwave at least was involved, we have no proof it was actually an official Decepticon action."

Ultra Magnus frowned, his hands clenching at his side, and Optimus Prime knew his second in command disagreed. But, ever the professional, Ultra Magnus was not about to voice that disagreement in front of a subordinate.

"Sir…" Prowl shook his helm. "Soundwave's involvement implicates the entire Decepticon high command. We cannot…"

"We cannot exactly restart this war, not if he have a choice, when our head tactician is no distracted by personal troubles he reveals the AllSpark's location to the enemy." Elita One snapped, cutting Prowl off before Optimus could say anything.

"Elita." Optimus warned her gently, then looked at Prowl. "Officially maintaining the cease fire does give us time to secure the AllSpark. Especially following this breach of security. This has not changed." Optimus saw Prowl's doorwings quiver just a fraction and softened his tone again, "Do not worry Prowl, none of us are operating with the naïve belief that the cease fire is actually still in effect."

Prowl stiffened, but he nodded. "Understood Prime. By your leave, sir?"

Optimus nodded dismissal and then watched as Prowl spun on his heel strut and marched out, doorwings held high and tight.

"Was that really necessary, dearspark?" Optimus asked Elita once the Praxian was gone.

Elita One slumped, all anger bleeding out of her frame, though sorrow now leaked through to Optimus over their bond. "Whatever happened, it hurt Bluestreak tremendously." She shuddered. "And Prowl is the only one who can make it right with the mechling."

"I am sure he is aware of that, Elita." Optimus brushed her arm lightly with one hand. "You did not need to humiliate him."

Her optics flashed as she turned on him and then he was bombarded by all she had been shielding from him; the disturbing reports from Chromia and Moonracer and the implications of both. "No. Humiliation is the least of his problems." Elita One hissed. "If he doesn't do whatever it takes, the Femme Division will ensure he faces justice for such neglect."

Then Elita was gone, leaving the two large mechs to stare at each other. They both knew the ancient laws as well as any mech who had held positions of governmental leadership during the Golden Age. Optimus determined he would speak to his sparkmate in private about the matter and urge restraint. Seldom was violence truly a way to help heal pain and, for Prowl to be so distracted that he would make the mistakes he had on this mission, he was hurting indeed. He knew Elita One was aware of that, but the passion femmes were capable of when it came to sparklings was… rather infamous.

"Prowl has no idea what is coming." Ultra Magnus rumbled, his engine revving.

Optimus shook his helm sadly. "I think he is not so totally ignorant. At least not after this meeting."

"I hope he can settle whatever the problem is with Bluestreak." Ultra Magnus grunted. "I like the kid. He's got spunk, for all that his discipline still needs work."

"That he does." Optimus agreed, remembering the little sparkling's bubbling excitement to get an 'ideals'. Primus, that seemed so long ago. Optimus shook his head, refocusing on the present. "And he is resilient indeed to have survived the destruction of Praxis and the death of his creators at such a young age. But he still needs Prowl."

"And Prowl needs him." Ultra Magnus murmured, causing Optimus to look at him sharply. Ultra Magnus was not usually so insightful.

His Second in Command gave Optimus a tight grin. "Bluestreak keeps him grounded. Keeps him balanced. Otherwise I think Prowl would loose himself in his work and never come out."

"Prowl does not reveal much of himself very readily, Commander." It was a careful question that the Prime left as a statement in order to give Ultra Magnus an out if he did not wish to answer such a potentially personal inquiry.

"Very true, Prime." Ultra Magnus nodded. "But…" He shifted uneasily and looked down. "I have learned he truly does seek the welfare of the Autobot cause over his own. Despite my own distrust and reticence in trusting him, Prowl observed a weakness in my performance and has been faithful in working to help me overcome that weakness."

"Ah." Understanding illuminated Optimus' processor, his Second's more tactically minded questions and input in staff meetings now making sense. "He is a skilled teacher, is he not?"

A gust of air exploded from Ultra Magnus' chassis as if he had worried over what Optimus' opinion might be that he was studying under a former Decepticon. "One of the best, sir, as unexpected as that is considering his history. It makes it all the more troubling to consider what must have happened to alienate him and Bluestreak."

A thoughtful and uncomfortable silence settled between them for several seconds.

Ultra Magnus shifted his weight uneasily, before continuing hesitantly. "The Femme Commander is not seriously considering invoking the ancient laws, is she, Prime?"

"Unfortunately," Optimus' engine rumbled unhappily, "she is."

… … …

His frame aching from the hard drive and his processors pummeling him with warnings about the need for recharge as well as the need to refuel, Prowl made his way slowly to his quarters.

The base halls were quiet this time of orn, for which he was grateful. Even as he made his way through the corridors, Prowl was busy scheduling the rest of the next orn. Just in case, he allowed several joors for his sparring match with Jazz. Then a block of Joors to brief and consult with the team leaders of his department: the team responsible for devising ways to protect the AllSpark should have a new list of proposals ready by now. If not, they needed to get it done.

Then, once business was taken care of, he would seek out Bluestreak. The youngling's schedule, as posted on the base's central computer, had him finishing his training with Moonracer at about the same time he anticipated he would be finished in tactical.

Yes, it was a good schedule.

Enough time should have passed to allow Bluestreak to calm down and allow a reasonable discussion about the matter. Surely he would at least give Prowl the courtesy of hearing out his explanation.

Prowl was composing what he would say to Bluestreak as he approached his door. His hand had just reached up to trigger the door control when he froze. This time his doorwings could not miss the spark signature of the mech on the other side of that door.

"Bluestreak." Prowl whispered, his frame going cold.

Doorwings flaring to take in as much data as possible, Prowl quickly determined the youngling was asleep. Why Bluestreak would be in his quarters when the mechling had refused to come anywhere near them since he was fragmented, was a mystery.

Prowl's hand trembled as he stood there, frozen with indecision. Then he curled it into a fist and dropped it back to his side.

Bluestreak was in recharge, he was not about to interrupt the young mech's much needed recharge.

With a sigh of air through his vents, Prowl turned away to go to the rec room. He would have to settle for refueling instead. Perhaps… perhaps he could do an emergency recharge cycle in his office before his sparing match.

His back to the door however, Prowl hesitated again. Was walking away right now really the best option? As he struggled to process an answer for that question pain stabbed through his processor and the world went black.


As promised, an explanation for why it has been over a year since I have updated this story, though I am sure many of you have already guessed if you have been reading the ANs all this time. While I know a number of you, my dear readers, do care about the events in my life, I am well aware that most probably do not, so I shall keep this as brief as possible. However, is you are easily triggered, stop reading now and skip to the last paragraph of this AN.

I mentioned in my previous ANs that my mother was diagnosed with stage four cancer. Helping me with this story was something she enjoyed and so I endeavored to keep up with it even while caring for her in the last stages of that horrible disease. Even after the tumor stole her vision, she asked me to read out loud what I had written.

Sadly I must report that two months after my last post she passed away. The cancer stopped responding to treatment and had metastasized to her brain and liver simultaneously and they would only treat one area at a time (radiation for the brain or chemo for the liver). While we were treating the brain tumor, the one in her liver killed her.

I know there are some of you who have held a loved one's hand as they passed from this life to the next – whatever you believe that next life to be – but there are many whom can only imagine what that might be like. While in one way it was a hallowed and sacred moment, it was simultaneously the worst event I have ever experienced. As a nurse, I have held the hands of strangers as they passed on, people who had no family present to stand by their side, but that in no way prepared me to do the same for my own mother. A mother who was also my best friend, my mentor, my coach and my advisor and my sister in Christ.

Though I felt the prayers and well wishes of many on my behalf, I sank into a grief the likes of which I have never experienced before and it took time to climb out of that pit. It took me six months before I could even take pen to paper and write anything at all. Even then, if I tried to work on anything I was working on while I had my mother's assistance I accomplished nothing but ruining the paper with my tears (Or shorting out the keyboard, as the case may be). Gradually however I was able to write something, at first a mere hundred words at a time. Then more and more until this chapter finally took shape. In many ways, just getting this thing posted at all is a personal triumph, grammar errors and all.

For anyone out there who is hurting, or mourning a loss of any significance I do want to offer a word of hope. While grief is a process that we must face and move through in our own way, and while it is not pleasant, it is not the never-ending night it feels to be right now. The sun will rise again and joy will return; cling to that assurance. Let yourself cry now, if that is what you feel, but know you will not always need to cry. I will not say that time heals all wounds, but it does give the heart space to breathe so that those wounds are not always at the forefront of your thoughts.

I cannot promise that my updates will be speedy or ever return to the 10,000 words they were before, but it is still my intention to finish this story. I just ask for your patience. All of this said, it is also my goal to offer a side-story request when this story reaches its 2,000th review. I am not sure we will get there with this chapter, but I do want to get ya'll thinking about that.