OK, first off: YAY for update in less than 6 months!. Second… I must admit I was actually rather anxious about posting this chapter. It goes somewhere that I questioned whether or not would fit with the rest of the story, but the handful of people I have run the idea by said it works, so I am going ahead with it. Still anxious though. I am sure you will recognize the part I'm talking about when you get to it. Of course, if you read the chapter and can't figure out what I'm talking about, even better. *wink*

Side note: The one-shot in honor of the 2,000th review is also posted. For lack of a better title, I am simply calling it "Backlash" and it takes place during Prowl and Jazz's visit to the medley from the last chapter.

Also, I will soon be starting the process of posting this entire fic (and the accompanying side-stories) on AO3. That will be a slow process because I intend to edit as I go and hopefully minimize some of the stupid mistakes that made it into the original posts here. Same deal with any continuity issues I might find. Before anyone panics, I WILL continue to post new chapters here on FF as well, so don't worry if you are not on AO3.

Prowl retrieved his energon from the rec room by habit alone, not truly processing what his frame was doing. In the same way he wondered into the observation deck; he only knew that his own quarters were now out of the question. Why Bluestreak was still using them was a mystery to the tactician, though why the mechling would change the locking codes, since he had decided to stay there, was easier to reason out. In the young mechling's place, Prowl would have probably done the same.

While he could have hacked the door controls, Prowl was remarkably hesitant to do so – especially at so late an hour – as it would inevitably serve no good but to frighten the young mech. And hurting Bluestreak further in any way was the last thing Prowl wanted to do.

His processor ached from Ratchet's recent reset of the artificial framework between his emotional and logic systems, but it was a good, healing ache. However, combined with the high emotional stimulus of the problem, it was enough to make it difficult for Prowl to figure out a solution.

On a whim he activated his short-range comm. to see if Jazz was available to help him with that matter, since the silver minibot was unquestionably better at interpersonal issues than he. But the signal came back with a ping of /out of range/.

Frowning, Prowl accessed the base logs to see that yes, Jazz had just departed on a three orn patrol. Unusual for the head of special ops, unless… yes. He had chosen to take Mirage out for his first patrol rather than assign the young mech to the Twins.

Prowl's engine gave a gentle rev, not sure what he felt at seeing Mirage getting to escape that particular torment while he had been forced to submit to those two egotistical, glitch-processored, arrogant… Prowl shut down that thought with a tiny shake of his helm. Mirage was young and damaged by his time with the Decepticons even more than he himself had been. And Mirage had not been given a choice which faction to join, having known nothing but what the Decepticon scientists had forced on him. It was illogical to get upset that Jazz would protect the youngling in an adult frame…

Just as Prowl had failed to protect Bluestreak, who was also a youngling in an adult frame. Prowl's engine revved again, because he really did not know what he could have done differently, or what he could do now.

Prowl blinked as he found himself standing before a relatively plain door. Apparently some subroutine had guided his pedes to the observation deck. With a sigh of air, he opened the door and went inside; this was as good a place to think as any and, at this time of night, it was abandoned.

Ignoring the various chairs and stools available, Prowl went to the large window that lined the fall wall and peered out at the city. Lights twinkled in buildings and mechs moved along the streets in vehicle form, their paths conforming to those of a standard patrol. Though the city still hummed as if untouched by the war, that façade was not nearly as complete as it had been when Prowl had first seen it from this very window.

More buildings bore gaping holes from large concussive rounds, exposing struts and cabling like the innards of some giant mechanical beast. And more of the upper floors were dark and vacant. Likewise, newly installed armaments had been placed without any attempt to make them inconspicuous.

Prowl felt a pang of sadness as it hit him, in that moment, in a way it had not before then. Their world would never again be as it once was. The peace that had flourished during the Golden Age, even if not truly as beatific as the history vids wanted to portray, had at least been stable. In that world, Bluestreak would have grown up as a normal mech. In that world, Prowl would still be an enforcer in Praxus. In that world, Optimus would be a religious and social leader, not a military one. In that world, Iacon's skyline would be unsullied and resplendent in towering spires and graceful skybridges, teaming with mechs and femmes going about their daily lives without fear. In that world…

Prowl's hand convulsed into a fist. That world was a dream, a fantasy belonging only to the archives of history. This was reality; this Primus forsaken war. Perhaps, Prowl allowed himself to snort air through his vents, perhaps that was why the Prime had latched onto the possibility of a ceasefire so readily. As illogical as the whole thing was, he could understand that desire for peace.

"But not at the price of slavery." Prowl murmured to himself.

He had been unable to stop the destruction of Praxus and Bluestreak might have pushed him away as a guardian, but Prowl still owed Bluestreak the chance of a better future. He could only do that by safeguarding the AllSpark and helping the Autobots win this war, because life under a Decepticon ruled Cybertron did not bear contemplation.

But Prowl knew he could do neither of those things standing around like a drone waiting to be programmed or staring out a window letting his thoughts wonder aimlessly like an organic insect. He straightened, his doorwings flaring with renewed determination. Brooding was counterproductive. He would get back to work.

The door to the observation deck slid open behind him.

Prowl tensed, only then realizing that in his brooding he had not kept tabs on his surroundings; something he never would have allowed himself to do while he had been a Decepticon. He heard multiple, light footsteps and turned, only to stiffen further, his field pulling tightly to his frame as his combat systems snapped into active readiness as he turned.

Fanning out before him were five femmes. Chromia and Elita One entered first, followed by Arcee and Moonracer, both of whom took flanking positions beside their commanders. Livewire entered last, looking distinctly uncomfortable, if not downright intimidated. The young medical technician stayed by the door, and while her counterparts leveled intense, angry glares at Prowl, she did not meet his optics, glancing instead between the other four femmes.

Prowl turned his own attention to the two leading femmes. To a bot, their optics were hard and angry, their focus so intense Prowl knew he would be lucky to escape this encounter with his armor intact.

Interestingly, while Elita One was present, it was clear she was there primarily to support Chromia. The other two – Arcee and Moonracer – were likewise there in a supportive role. While Prowl knew better than to discount any of them, he quickly calculated it was Chromia whom he needed to be most heedful of.

"Can I help you?" He asked cautiously, keeping his frame still so as not to accidentally antagonize them.

"Do you remember what Ironhide said about traumatizing Bleustreak?" Chromia's words were a low, fierce growl.

Prowl's struts somehow became even more rigid, dread clawing at his tank. "I do."

She took a step toward him and it was all Prowl could do not to either step back or brace for an attack. "Do you remember what I said about teaching you a lesson if it ever became necessary?"

Prowl frowned. "I remember that… promise…was contingent on whether Bluestreak began to exhibit Decepticon-like behavior."

Chromia snarled at him, the sound echoed by the angry revs of four other engines. "Both of those conditions have been met!"

Five femme engines growled in threatening harmony. Prowl stared at them, there was now no doubt about their intentions. Did they honestly expect him to just quietly accept whatever they intended to do to him? Or was that why Elita One was present? He was of equal rank to Chromia, but Elita One was by far the highest ranking individual in the room. And she knew the parameters of his ethical programming.

"Excuse me?" He asked, speaking softly, hoping not to antagonize

"You know how traumatizing a fragmentation is. And you let it happen to a youngling!" Chromia snapped at him as the four warrior femmes glided a step forward in frightening synchronization.

Prowl spoke softly, "Bluestreak fragmented himself by physically disconnecting the interface before withdrawing from the connection." The image of Bluestreak cradling his helm in pain, knowing the dangers any fragmentation posed to such a young processor, flashed across Prowl's memory. Yet it was remembering the feeling of raw shame he had experienced as he felt the mechling's hurt and betrayal that caused Prowl's armor to clamp tightly to his frame and his doorwings to dip. He continued his defense against Chromia's accusations, but his spark was not convinced. "He fragmented me as well."

"Regardless, that trauma left him so angry he hurt Bumblebee." Prowl sucked in air at this news, but Chromia was not finished. "Hurt him to the point he may have regressed." Pain leached into Chromia's words and that sent an energon dagger into Prowl's spark. "Why, Bluestreak is so angry, he has turned to the Twins for companionship!"

Prowl flinched openly at that; he had not known that Bluestreak was spending time with Sunstreaker and Sideswipe either. "I…"

Elita One cut him off with a shake of her helm. "The twins are the only ones he spends time with at the moment. He won't even go see Bumblebee, and that is after he may have caused the youngling to regress. That is a very Decepticon-like thing to do."

Prowl felt very much like a cornered turbofox as Chromia advanced toward him, hands clenching and unclenching into fists as his doorwings flared. "I was unaware of…"

"You are neglecting your caretaker and guardian responsibilities!" Chromia growled, her optics flashing dangerously.

Prowl knew where this confrontation was headed, as surely as he could compute simple mathematical algorithms. He knew, based on what Chromia and Elita One had already said, that his ethical programs would not let him fight back. Even so, self-preservation subroutines kept insisting he try and find a way to mitigate what was coming.

"Bluestreak is an adult, he has rejected me as a caretaker…" Prowl started to point out, but Elita One cut him off.

"Bluestreak is a youngling in an adult frame." She snapped at him, the anger in her field lashing at him, made worse by his continued efforts to defend himself.

Prowl looked down. He knew she was right, at some level anyway. Bluestreak was hurting, but Prowl knew no way to help him. Not now. He had offered a full explanation, and his offer had been spurned. Perhaps Bluestreak had been too overwrought to register what Prowl had offered him. With a purely internal sigh, Prowl resolved to track Bluestreak down and make the offer again. But that did not get him out of this predicament.

He had one last defense to try. He looked at Chromia, "You are aware Bluestreak has already…"

Chromia stepped toward him again, cutting him off. "We know what happened in the med bay." A quick flick of burning sapphire optics toward Livewire indicated how they had learned of the incident.

Livewire looked down, her frame heating and Prowl got the impression she did not really want to be here.

Elita One drew herself up formally. "You have neglected your caretaker and guardian responsibilities Prowl. I warned you to reconcile with Bluestreak and you had the opportunity to do so tonight. But instead, you are here. Clearly, it is time more drastic action is taken to drive home the importance of this subject."

Prowl's doorwing's flared. They thought he had merely avoided Bluestreak? "With all due respect, I…"

"Mechs may be the protectors of younglings and sparklings, but Femmes are their avengers!" Chromia purred dangerously, her optics flashing as she stepped within striking range and Prowl felt a true lick of fear. If they were actually claiming that ancient custom – and with Elita One's authority to back it up – he was truly backed into a corner from which there was no escape. Even if his ethical programs would not forcibly hold him to the promises he had given Ironhide and Chromia what seemed so long ago, they had cornered him between his own programming and ancient laws, which he was sworn to uphold.

Prowl released a vent of air and dipped his doorwings, the only thing he could do now was to yield with as much dignity as he could manage. "What vengeance do you seek?" He could not help the note of bitterness that made it into those words.

Optics widening as she was momentarily taken aback by the apparent ease of his capitulation, Chromia stepped forward cautiously. When Prowl made no move to act defensively or aggressively, she darted closer and landed a blow to his abdominal plating and then another to his leg. As he started to loose his balance when buckled plating protested holding his weight, she snagged his arm and, in a move that was purely Diffusion, flipped him expertly to his back.

The impact with the ground was enough to jar Prowl, lancing pain through his doorwings as they took the brunt of the impact. As soon as he was down he felt the unmistakable weight of a pede land on his left doowring at the same time he realized Chromia still held his right arm.

Arcee was stepping on his doorwing. She said nothing and thankfully she only kept enough pressure on the sensory panel to hold him in place, not enough to cause actual harm. But the vulnerability of his position – the intentional nature of that vulnerability – did not escape Prowl.

Forcing his vents to cycle, Prowl looked up at Chromia, who was still holding the arm she had used to leverage her throw. A second passed and he forced his frame to relax in submission to her hold, knowing this was not over yet. Apparently waiting for that, Chromia slammed his arm to the ground. The angle between the extremity and the rest of his frame strained his shoulder joint and he hissed.

Then Moonracer was there, grabbing his wrist and holding it to the floor.

"Livewire!" Chromia barked.

Shakily Livewire hurried forward. She did not look at Prowl's faceplate as she quickly removed both the primary and secondary armor protecting on Prowl's forearm, revealing the silver and gray protoform beneath.

Prowl was grateful they had not pried the armor plate off, until he saw Chromia brandish a short-bladed energon dagger that flared to life in her hand.

Prowl tensed but with the threat of damage to his doorwings, made clear by the merest increase of pressure from Arcee, was not stupid enough to do anything but grit his denta as the blade touched the sensitive metal of his bare protoform. There was no way he could have cut enough pain receptors to the extremity to truly dampen the feeling so he shut off his vocalizer instead.

Chromia worked with precise exactness for only the space of a second or two, though that time stretched into several breems in Prowl's perception. Then she withdrew the dagger, snapping it off and tucking it back into subspace in one smooth movement. When she stood up, Moonracer released his wrist and Arcee backed up, releasing his doorwing.

Prowl became aware that his vents were heaving, straining to cool his systems and he lay there without moving for several long astroseconds as he struggled to regain control of his systems. Even so, he did not reactivate his vocal processors until he was again sitting upright.

Aware that the five femmes were still watching him closely, Prowl finally looked at the wound Chromia had given him. Energon was oozing from it, but at a slow enough rate to indicate only small capillary lines had been cut. It was not the size or depth of the cut that made Prowl's doorwings tremble; it was the shape.

The shape that had been carved into his protoform was that of a single glyph: "Bluestreak".

Startled, Prowl looked up at Chromia.

"So you can't forget Bluestreak and your duty to him again." She stated firmly, lifting her chin challengingly. "Because if we have to do this again…" Her engine revved in wordless threat.

After a moment Prowl nodded his understanding, still not trusting himself to speak.

Livewire stepped toward him again, still grasping his armor gauntlets, but she did not hold them out for him to take. Above him, the four warriors continued to watch him with cold, wary stares. Apparently they were not quite finished with him yet. It took him a moment to figure out what they wanted and reluctantly, if silently he held his injured arm toward the medic.

Livewire's optics widened; she had not expected his continued cooperation. If Prowl had glanced at the other femmes, he would have seen that they too were surprised and were exchanging uncomfortable glances with each other.

Clearing her vents nervously, Livewire quickly stepped forward and swiftly cleaned the wound and then sprayed a silicon-based sealant over the whole glyph. The sealant would serve to protect the raw metal until his self-repair systems could seal the edges but would also serve to keep the more malleable metal of his protoform from erasing the glyph as it healed. Thankfully, it also served to coat the exposed neural sensors and the burning sting was abruptly gone.

Even so, Prowl watched the young medic work with cold, emotionless optics that were sharp; categorizing every move she made. Aware of his less than pleasant attentiveness, Livewire started trembling by the time she was securing the armor gauntlet back into its proper place. Once that was done, she turned to the buckled metal of his knee, and made quick work of straightening struts, popping dents and welding cracks closed. Then she stepped back hastily.

Prowl checked the security of the armor over his forearm himself by tugging at it gently and flexing his hand and arm. It appeared to be sealed and attached properly. Resting his left palm lightly over the spot where the gauntlet covered the mark carved into his protoform, he looked up at Elita One and Chromia.

He kept his gaze on the two leading femmes as he climbed to his pedes. Despite understanding what and why they had acted as they had, he spoke coldly, his emotions kept under tight control. "Are you done?"

"No." Elita One lifted her chin.

Prowl's doorwings flicked in agitation and his engine gave a low rev before he could catch it.

Elita's optics still had a dangerous glint to them. "You know very well that, according to the Ancient Laws, we could have done this wherever and whenever we pleased, be it in the crowded rec-room or even the tactical command."

Prowl's doorwings flicked again, his frown deepening, but he nodded once to acknowledge that statement. And in acknowledging that – at least to himself – he also had to acknowledge that the only true injury they had caused was one easily hidden from others. No one else would ever need to know what had just happened, but he would never forget.

His frame lost a touch of it's rigidity, though he was still irritated.

Responding to the hint of softening in his frame and field, the Femme Commander's posture also relaxed, her tone becoming a almost pleading. "Please keep that in mind now." She spun on her heel strut and left the observation deck.

Prowl blinked at the door that closed behind her in brief consternation but Chromia spoke before he could do or say anything else.

"Prowl, I have participated in the assault of another officer. In accordance with all applicable regulations, I am ready to accept the consequences of my actions." Chromia intoned solemnly as she stepped up to stand in front of him.

Arcee and Moonracer moved to do likewise, one on each side of Chromia.

"I have participated in an assault on a senior officer and I am ready to accept the consequences of my actions." Arcee spoke quietly, squaring her shoulder plating determinably.

Looking suddenly timid and almost frightened, Moonracer cycled her vents. "I…" She visibly braced herself. "I too have attacked a senior officer. I will accept the consequences."

Lifting an optic ridge, Prowl looked at Livewire and she flinched.

"Livewire is here by my order, not her own volition." Chromia stated firmly, drawing his attention away from the medic.

Prowl looked back at Chromia, unable to summon words as his hands clenched into fists. Regardless of ancient law and custom they had cornered him, accused him of neglecting one of the most important duties any Cybertonian could be given and had injured him – branding him in a way that would be permanent, even long after BS was a full, mature adult – without ever ascertaining if their accusations were accurate.

The fact that their allegations only mirrored his own spark's accusations in regards to Bluestreak only made him want to keen his frustration. But he would never stoop to such a level of useless display of emotion. And the throbbing ache in his processor was not helping matters at all.

Even so, Prowl's fists tightened so much the gears in his fingers strained and his engine gave a low rev. He saw all four of them flinch at that muted display of anger and it was like a splash of liquid nitrogen in the faceplate. The newly carved glyph stung sharply, but not physically so much as psychologically. He knew each and every femme on the base had cause to do him much more harm than these four had, for his actions against them when he was a Decepticon tactician, and yet they had kept this…retribution… focused on Bluestreak. And he had made mistakes with Bluestreak, and horribly so. By that, he had failed the youngling as a guardian. They had been right about that.

Just as the glyph branded into his arm would stay with him forever, so would whatever Bluestreak may become reflect on him as the young mech's guardian and caretaker. If Bluestreak was hurting his best friend, it was a direct fallout of his own mistakes and miscalculations, the fact that he had been in complete ignorance of such occurrences only highlighted how much he had failed.

Heat slowly suffused his frame as he finally accepted that Chromia may have been justified to take action here.

Focusing back on the moment, he looked back at the femmes who were still waiting for his response. Then he focused on Livewire, who had clearly not wanted to be part of what had happened and was now trembling in fear – a fear she had worked so hard to overcome. Seeing her trembling at his look cooled any real animosity he might have felt for her role in all of this.

"Livewire," Prowl addressed her, his voice deliberately calm, though he had no way of knowing how that calmness made all four femmes even more nervous. "Do you agree with Chromia's assessment and reasoning concerning Bluestreak and myself?"

Chromia's engine growled, "I told you…"

"And I heard you." Prowl snapped his gaze to Chromia, his look and bearing cutting off any further attempts to speak that she might have had. "Livewire?"

Livewire took in a vent of air and considered him closely for a long astrosecond, searching his optics even though she was still trembling. Then she looked down, whispering, "yes, sir, I do."

That concession did not really surprise Prowl, he nodded once. "Then your reluctance in being here is primarily due to worry concerning your self defense training?"

All four of the femmes shifted uncomfortably, confirming his suspicions before Livewire could answer, but Prowl kept his gaze on his student.

Livewire all but wilted. "Y-yes, sir."

Despite his intention to remain cool and emotionless, Prowl felt his gaze softening. "Thank you for your honesty, Livewire." He murmured and looked down at his arm, rotating his hand as if he could see the new scar through the metal of his armor.

After a couple sparkbeats he looked back at Chromia, not deciding until that moment what he was going to do. "Your message is received Chromia, and understood."

The blue femme blinked, rocking back as if he had struck her physically. "But…"

"The rest of you are dismissed." He glanced at Arcee, Moonracer and then nodded to Livewire, "I expect to see you at the next lesson Ratchet has scheduled."

"E-even a-after this?" She looked up at him, her optics moist with lubricant.

"Yes."

She blinked several times, then she smiled tremulously in silent thanks. The other two femmes looked at Chromia uneasily and then scurried out of the observation deck, dragging Livewire with them. Left alone with Prowl, Chromia stiffened, her hands clenching, but Prowl could not read her expression. She was clearly tense and perhaps even a hint conflicted. Prowl studied her, determining how to continue, all the while she grew more and more concerned.

Finally, Prowl took a half step backward, indicating he was not planning to threaten or attack her. His processor chose that moment to remind him that Jazz was unavailable for advice that he still needed, but that as another youngling's guardian, perhaps Chromia would have some ideas. His emotional center immediately rebelled at that idea, while his logic center latched onto it with almost illogical zeal. The conflict sent a brief stab of pain through Prowl's helm.

Gritting his denta and speaking tightly, Prowl bowed to the whims of his logic center and swallowed his pride yet again. "You have pointed out my failings hand have reprimanded me for them. Perhaps… perhaps," He lowered his gaze as remaining indignation and wounded pride dissolved into a merest hint of the internal desperation he had been feeling over the whole situation for orns now.

He released a vent, "perhaps you would also be so kind as to give any insight you may have for how I might be able to reconcile the damage that has been done?"

She stared at him, her engine revving. "Why did you not speak to him tonight when you went to your quarters? I know he was there."

Prowl blinked, then understood, she must have been monitoring the security feeds in the hall. Perhaps she had even had access to the monitoring feeds Jazz had maintained in his quarters, though Prowl doubted that. He trusted Jazz's promise that no one else would know about them.

Prowl spoke softly, his left hand pressing into the armor covering his right forearm. "Bluestreak changed the locking codes on the door. It was late enough I had no wish to wake him or startle him by hacking the codes."

Chromia's optics widened. "You mean you didn't…" She trailed off, looking to the side. Then her shoulder plating actually slumped and she looked back up at him. "Oh, Prowl…"

… … …

Chromia stared at Prowl. She had not been entirely sure what to expect when she had decided to confront the stoic tactician. That was why she had first asked Elita One for her support. In the back of her processor, she had hopped that with Elita's backing it would reduce the chances that Prowl would become violent because logic would dictate he was out numbered and it would be easier to yield. Singlehandedly, Chromia was a match for almost any mech, and mechs knew that, as did she. Prowl, however, was one of the few mechs she knew could wipe the decking with her if he wished. So she had solicited Arcee and Moonracer's help as well.

In fact, as angry as she had been for both Bluestreak and Bumblebee's sake, she had not, until that moment, stopped to consider that perhaps Prowl's acceptance of her punishment was anything other than him simply choosing to take the 'safe' route.

As she watched the tactician's almost, but not quite, emotionless optics, the tale-tell tightening of the armor over his frame and the very faint undulations in his EM field along with the minute twitches of his doorwings – combined with the humble question – she started to suspect that Prowl would have acted no differently had she approached him completely by herself. Worse, she began to suspect she may have misjudged him more than she wanted to admit.

Most mechs would have been bitter and angry – especially if they had been forced to submit to such treatment – and Chromia had seen anger in Prowl's demeanor at first. It was still there, but she could now tell that the bulk of that anger was self-directed.

And just now he had asked for her advice in righting the situation with Bluestreak, and had done so honestly and contritely with just a hint of true desperation, not in anger or indignation. Chromia knew of only two other mechs who might respond like that in such a situation, Primus forbid it ever arise: Optimus and Ironhide. Maybe Ironhide.

In making that connection between Prowl and two of the mechs she would never want to hurt, Chromia suddenly felt a deep stab of guilt for having taken it as far as she had with Prowl.

"Oh, Prowl…" She closed the distance between them with a handful of quick steps and almost wanted to keen at the way he started to flinch away from her. It was painful to watch.

"I…" She softened her voice, tentatively reaching for him, but stopping with her hand half way between them. "I should never have laid a hand on you, you of all mechs. I…"

And the mark she had given him would now be permanent. She wanted to punch something. Hard.

Regaining his composure, Prowl shook his helm. "It is done, Chromia."

Chromia blinked at him, then decided to let herself draw some strength from Prowl's steadfast calm. He was, she allowed herself to truly acknowledge and accept, of the same caliber of mech as Ultra Magnus, Ironhide and even Optimus and she felt her trust in him, in his character, expand exponentially. It was odd, a part of processor noted, that such would be her reaction, but there was no denying it.

At least, not to herself.

Chromia drew in a deep vent of air, deciding not to shame Prowl further by being weak sparked. He had accepted what she had done to him; she would accept his acceptance. So she focused on the substance of the question he had asked her.

She spoke slowly, gathering her thoughts. "Bluestreak is hurting right now. In his processor he has been betrayed by a trusted guardian – the one mech who should never be able to betray him. He needs to understand one, that betrayal was not your intent and two, why you did what you did, even if it was a mistake and three, he needs to know how you feel, how you really feel about the decision now."

"The only way to do that effectively is through a synch," Prowl sighed.

"Then that is what you need to offer. Offer to give him whatever answers he needs." Chromia pushed, stepping closer.

"And if those answers only confirm the betrayal?" Prowl asked, the tightening of his optics hinting at a weight of internal pain Chromia would never have imagined the seemingly emotionless mech might be feeling until that moment. No wonder, Prowl had not fought back.

"At least he will understand why." She shook her helm. "He will know it was never intentional or that you ever wanted to hurt him this badly."

Prowl was silent for several seconds then shook his helm. "It is statistically very unlikely that Bluestreak will consent to another synch. Not now. Not with me."

Chromia paused, pursing her lip plates as she detected the barely-there hitch in the tactician's vents that accompanied that statement. "He may just need reassurances." She frowned, looking down and sighed. "I suspect your explanation – whatever ever form it may take – probably won't be as private as you'd probably prefer. Not with the way he has been acting and lashing out…the way he is shadowing the Twins."

She heard Prowl's engine rev and suppressed a grim smile. The fact that Bluestreak had turned to those two for comfort had to be irking the former enforcer. Indeed, considering the relationship between Prowl and the Twins, there was little question it was Bluestreak's attempt to punish Prowl. A youngling tactic, perhaps, and just as blatant as it was potentially self-destructive. Clearly Prowl recognized that as well.

"You know how bad things will go for Bluestreak if he replaces you with the Twins." Chromia continued softly but firmly. "Sunstreaker and Sideswipe might make good friends for a young mech, but they should not be guardians and mentors for a mechling as impressionable as Bluestreak. You know this."

"Painfully so." Prowl spoke through gritted denta.

Chromia lifted her chin. "Then let determination to keep that from coming to pass motivate you to do whatever you must not to fail Bluestreak again."

Prowl considered her closely for a long moment then bowed his helm respectfully. "As you say. I am impressed by your wisdom and insight. Thank you for your council."

Something about the overly-formal verbiage made Chromia narrow her optics at the tactician. "You were already planning to do something like that before I… um… before I assaulted you. Weren't you?"

Inexplicably, Prowl's lip plate twitched upward into a faint not-quite-smile. "External confirmation of my proposed strategy is welcome, especially in matters such as this, where my battle computer is significantly less efficient in determining appropriate courses of action."

Chromia chuckled. She could not help it. Then that chuckle turned into a laugh at Prowl's expression. "No, I'd image your battle computer wouldn't be much help. Not for something like Bluestreak. This…" She impulsively reached out and tapped the armor covering Prowl's spark. "This is what you need to listen to."

It pleased Chromia that Prowl did not flinch away from her this time, even as she quickly stepped away, aware of how much he preferred a wider margin of personal space. Prowl was about to say something when a soft clearing of vents came from the doorway behind her. Chromia looked over her shoulder to see Elita in the open hatchway. Prowls reaction – merely a formal lifting of his chin – made Chromia suspect the tactician was not surprised to see Elita there.

"How long have you been standing there, Elita?" Chromia asked.

Elita One glanced at Chromia but kept her focus on Prowl. "I never really left. Just a precaution. Then, when the others left looking worried and shell-shocked…" The femme commander shrugged delicately. "But I see I need not have worried."

Chromia shifted, but knew from experience and long familiarity with Optimus' sparkmate, that Elita wanted a moment alone with Prowl. The blue femme looked at Prowl and read the same understanding in his optics. She quickly excused herself.

… … …

Elita waited until the door closed behind Chromia, considering Prowl with sharp optics. But Prowl did nothing more than return her appraising look, waiting patiently. She took a step toward him, her expression thoughtful. "As their commander, I have to ask: Will anything that happened here be held against Chromia, Moonracer, Arcee or Livewire in regards to tactical operations?"

Prowl's armor flared, "I had hoped you had come to trust me more than that."

Elita's optics flashed. "Yet you evade answering the question."

Prowl's optics narrowed in the only hint of anger she could see from him. Then the expression vanished, replaced by forcible neutrality. "The Prime has ordered my processor scanned on multiple occasions, Jazz has fragmented my processor, Ultra Magnus nearly ripped a doorwing off, Smokescreen and Ironhide intentionally sent me to captured and tortured by Decepticons. None of those things has affected my performance as a tactician. What Chromia did here is significantly less traumatizing than any of those things."

Elita's optics had widened throughout his recitation and it was a long moment before she could answer. When she did, it was in a quiet voice. "Yes. You have indeed suffered at our hands. Have you finally reached the limit of your endurance in that regard, Prowl?"

Instead of maintaining his heated defense, Prowl looked aside, the tension in his frame deflating. "The Prime warned me that my existence in Autobot ranks would not be pleasant."

Elita stared, hearing the resignation in those words. "And it hasn't been."

Prowl shifted his weight, looking back at her. "Nor has it been particularly unpleasant, except in rare circumstances." Then his voice grew softer. "I made the correct decision to defect to the Autobot cause. Legally justified punishment for the serious infraction of neglecting my Charge does not change that."

Elita considered Prowl closely, only a touch of the relief she felt showing in her expression. She nodded once in sober acknowledgement. "I still have a duty to the femmes under my command."

Prowl returned her appraising look with his own, then dipped his helm, though his hands clenched. "Yes, ma'am. I understand that. I should not have become defensive. Nor should I have snapped at you. I…"

"Slaggit, Prowl!" Elita cut him off. "You have every right to be defensive. Any mech would be after that."

Prowl rocked back, shocked by her vehemence. "I'm sorry?"

Elita released a heated vent of air and shook her helm. "Just answer my question."

Prowl blinked at her audibly a couple times, then bowed his helm. "Nothing that happened today will effect how I handle tactical situations."

Elita blinked. That was exactly what she wanted to know, why was she not satisfied with getting the answer so simply? "Excuse me?"

Cocking an optic ridge as he lifted his gaze to study her, Prowl opened his hands, then clasped them in front of himself. No, he was holding the armor covering the glyph Chromia had carved into his protoform. "Let me say it more plainly, ma'am. I understand why Chromia acted as she did. And while I may wish she had made a different choice… It is done. You both claimed your rights under the Ancient Guardianship Laws, therefore I have no legal or moral recourse. Nor will I in anyway retaliate against anyone involved when it comes to tactical considerations."

"The Guardianship Laws haven't been enforced since before the start of the war." Elita shook her helm.

"But they have not been removed from the legal codices." Prowl shook his helm. "You have your answer, Elita One. Need you continue reminding me of this humiliation?"

Elita's optics became diamond sharp. "You don't need me to remind you about what happened."

The corner of Prowl's lip plate lifted in something that was not exactly a sneer. "Indeed, Chromia ensured I will always have a reminder."

"Despite your words to the contrary, you resent that fact." Elita One spoke quietly.

Prowl froze, his optics flashing, then he looked down, his doorwings dipping fractionally. "Nevertheless, I am grateful there were no other witnesses."

Elita Just stared at him, trying to read the usually implacable mech, curious as to what was going on inside that processor of his.

As the inspection dragged on, Prowl shifted his weight. "Is there something else you wish for me to say, ma'am?"

Elita One blinked, brought back to the moment. She took a step toward Prowl. "Just tell me that you will resolve the issue between you and Bluestreak so that we will never have to revisit the matter in this manner again."

Prowl's optics narrowed. "I will do what I can to reach Bluestreak, ma'am. That part of your message tonight was heard and understood." His doorwings flared with restrained frustration. "Of course, I could have told you that without any of this, were I given the opportunity."

Elita's mouth fell open and she took a half step backward. "You mean…"

"I mean that I was already planning to offer Bluestreak the explanation he deserves." Prowl's words were tight, his optics blazing with restrained anger. "That I was sent off base mere orns after the incident happened and have only been back one orn and have not yet had the opportunity to do so, especially since Bluestreak has changed the locking code on my quarters to prevent my access to my own quarters."

Elita sucked in air through her vents as her frame heated. "We acted prematurely."

Prowl's doorwings flared in a rare display of emotion. He started to say something then stopped himself and looked away. "You have your answer, Elita One." Please leave me alone went unsaid.

"Yes." Elita's armor flared in response to Prowl's posturing. "And more. Goodnight, Prowl." Turning on her heelstrut, Elita One left the black and white Praxian to his own devices.

Behind her, Prowl merely turned back to the window, the hand clasping the armor of his forearm never releasing its grip.

… … …

Prowl did eventually return to his office, taking enough energon to keep him fueled for several days and stowing the unused cubes in a convenient cabinet. Despite the burning of his forearm – which he knew to be more psychological than physical – he did have work to do.

First he reviewed the most recent intelligence, tagging a potentially disturbing report from Helix Septum for further review and follow-up, asking Special Operations to gather more detailed information. Then he pulled up the data concerning the plan Fusion had developed.

As the chronometer ticked onward toward the new orn, Prowl tried to curb his growing impatience. Finally, he set his internal chronometer to wake him a joor before the start of the first shift and powered off for a few joors of recharge.

When he booted up three joors later, the first thing Prowl noticed was that his spinal struts ached and his neck cabling was kinked. With a grunt he pushed himself to his pedes. Stifling another groan, Prowl pressed himself through an abortive version of the twelfth Circuit Su Form to circulate lubricant through his joints. By the time that was completed most of the aches associated with recharging in a seated position were starting to fade.

"Am I interrupting something, Commander?"

Prowl straightened, turning toward Fusion, who was peeking into his office, leaning across the threshold. Prowl snorted air through his vents and waved the younger tactician inside with a twitch of his fingers. "Come in. You are early."

"A little nervous, I suppose." Fusion admitted, sliding into the seat, but looking at his hands, clasped in his lap.

Prowl cocked an optic ridge, "Your plan is solid and we have worked out the details. And Groove believes the AllSpark will be receptive to the idea."

"But…" Fusion's frame heated in embarrassment. "I've never given a briefing like this… I…I've never even been to a briefing like this."

Prowl lowered himself back into his chair and leaned back, considering the copper-colored Praxian. He was of half a processor to push Fusion through his discomfort, but the mental sting that lanced through his forearm at the thought gave him pause. There really was no reason to make this harder on Fusion than it needed to be. At length he nodded.

"Very well," Prowl said at last, with a decisive nod. "But I still want you to attend the briefing, even if you say nothing."

The tightness in Fusion's frame released and his doorwings sagged in relief. "Thank you, sir."

Prowl allowed a tiny half-smile then pinged Smokescreen to join them in his office. Within seconds Smokescreen was requesting entry. As soon as the gray and white Praxian entered, Fusion was on his feet, offering the senior tactician his seat but there was none of the awkwardness between the two of them that Prowl had caught hints of a couple times. That was good.

Prowl picked up the data pad with Fusion's plan on it and handed it to Smokescreen. "Fusion is going to brief you on the plan he developed to help safeguard the AllSpark."

Smokescreen's doorwings perked up and his optics brightened, though there was a twinkle in them that indicated he recognized the 'teaching moment' Prowl had just orchestrated, having been subject to such moments himself decavorns ago. But he said nothing, just focused on Fusion with polite if intense attention.

Fusion's vents hitched and he looked at Prowl with wide optics. Prowl merely waved him to continue.

"R-Right..." Fusion cleared his vents but stalled again.

"Fusion." Prowl called his attention when Fusion was unable to continue. He waited until Fusion looked him in the optic. "When we first met you had no qualms about forcing a Decepticon defector to submit to a true monitoring scenario, more than once." He cut off the apology he saw in Fusion's optics. "If you had the courage to do that with a potentially hostile mech, trust me when I say you are more than capable of briefing a friendly audience about a well thought out strategy."

"Prowl is right, Fusion." Smokescreen interjected, his optics twinkling. "I'm not here to criticize you, only to give you practice briefing higher ranking mechs."

Fusion blinked then chuckled, though his expression was that of abashed embarrassment. "Right. It was just…unexpected." When the two senior ranking tacticians only continued to regard him with calm expectation Fusion visibly gathered himself. "Right."

Taking pity on the young mech's anxiety Prowl stepped in, guiding him through a simple calming exercise.

"Shutter your optics, focus on your spark pulse." He waited till Fusion had obeyed, though his confusion was obvious. "Now cycle your vents slowly and evenly at a rate of one cycle per six spark pulses." It took four repetitions before the tension in Fusion's frame eased.

"Very good." Prowl praised, "bring to the front of your processor the information you need to impart to your audience." He waited till Fusion gave a tiny nod. "Now, unshutter your optics and tell Smokescreen what he needs to know."

Though Fusion's field still flickered with hints of embarrassment, his processor was at least more focused as he launched into the briefing Prowl knew he was capable of delivering. For his part, Prowl kept most of his attention on smokescreen, judging his reaction as an indication of how the rest of the command staff might respond.

At first, Smokescreen was dubious, then thoughtful, then his optics grew increasingly wider until Fusion was finished. Smokescreen said nothing for several seconds, then looked at Prowl.

"You really going to propose this to the Prime? Today?" Smokescreen's doorwings were twitching with barely restrained emotion.

"You don't expect him to approve?" Fusion asked, looking crestfallen.

"Don't take this wrong, sir, but this is even more ambitious than your plan to keep the AllSpark moving from city to city in order to keep it out of the Decepticon's hands." Smokescreen shook his helm. "And you know the weakness inherent in this technology."

"But we believe that can be accounted for, because we won't be using a forced bond." Fusion interjected before Prowl could answer. "And those on the team would be volunteers."

"You are assuming the technology can be adapted in that way." Smokescreen held up a finger.

"Iacon Medical's Primary Research Council's own reports, dated fourteen vorns, thrity-two cycles ago indicates that it can be. Ratchet himself was a co-author of the report." Fusion pulled up the appropriate reports and handed the datapad to Smokescreen. "As do five independent studies in the former Praxus Medical Center, Simfur's Integrated Neuroprograming Institute and Tyger Pax's Primary Medical Research Foundation."

Smokescreen quickly perused the indicated reports. "This is all theoretical. There is no practical evidence to support this, especially since every example we have seen in the field show the opposite. The killing of one mech, kills the others."

Fusion nodded. "There is sufficient evidence to suggest that is because Megatron and his scientists one, forced the bond and two, had no interest in perfecting the technology or safeguarding those they experiment on.

"But what if we cannot perfect the technology either?"

"Then we do not proceed further." Fusion spread his hands. "Don't forget, we also have to take into consideration the AllSpark itself. There are documented cases of the AllSpark saving the lives of its protectors. According to Groove, the AllSpark honors the sacrifice of those who protect it." He leaned forward in his intensity, "But the point is, sir, that it will take time to perfect the technology and develop those safeguards. That just means practical studies need to begin as soon as possible. "

"But no Autobot is formatted for this type of work. How can you be sure you will get volunteers?" Smokescreen leaned forward, his optics brightening.

Fusion hesitated, glancing at Prowl, who nodded encouragement for him to continue. "Groove said guarding the AllSpark is a calling. He said anyone who gets that calling will be willing to do whatever it takes to fulfill that calling. He… he has already volunteered. And he said he thinks he knows at least a couple other Guardians who would leave the temple to do likewise."

Silence settled over the office in the wake of Fusion's impassioned declaration. Slowly Smokescreen smiled, looking past Fusion to Prowl. "I can't wait to see how the Prime takes this." He looked at Fusion. "See, a briefing isn't anything to get all worked up about."

Fusion's engine sputtered, though he looked pleased. Prowl merely nodded in agreement when the copper-colored tactician looked at him for confirmation. Then Smokescreen stood, "Is that all you needed me for, boss?"

"No." Prowl lifted a finger. "You will also be coming to this briefing, which begins in… twenty breems. Let us go."

"Would I be wrong to bet that you want three of us as a united front for all the chaos and outrage this briefing will instigate?" Smokescreen asked, following Prowl to the door.

"I do not gamble." Prowl deadpanned. "And I would not take particular that wager if I did."

Smokescreen chuckled and Fusion just looked confused as he trailed behind the two older Praxians.

… … …

Prowl timed their arrival to the briefing room to ensure he and his subordinates arrived before everyone save the Prime. Truly, Prowl wondered just how early the Prime actually arrived at these briefings because no matter how early he arrived, the Prime was usually there.

Optimus Prime raised an optic ridge when he saw that Prowl had two mechs accompanying him rather than just his Second in Command, but he said nothing. However, Prowl could tell by the way Fusion's field fluctuated against his own that the young mech was feeling…over-awed just being in the same room with the Prime.

/Fusion./ Prowl pinged his apprentice. /Calm. Focus./

/Yes, sir./Came Fusion's abashed reply, though it was clear he was still awed. Prowl decided not to pursue the matter further.

/Prowl, are the rumors accurate that you have taken on another apprentice?/ The Prime's calm question pinged against his CPU.

Prowl filed the fact that the Prime was part of at least one rumor-mill in the appropriate place in his processor and added it to all the other information he had gained about the Autobot rumor establishment. In time, he would figure out all the back-channel communication routes. There was no telling how useful that information might be in the future.

/Yes sir./ Prowl answered easily. /But that is not my primary reason for including Fusion in this briefing./

Optimus Prime transmitted him the equivalent of a cocked optic ridge in silent inquiry.

/He is the originator of the plan I will be presenting today./ Prowl answered the unasked question.

/I see./ Something in the Prime's tone prompted Prowl to look up to see his leader was regarding him thoughtfully.

/Sir?/

/Are you alright?/ When Prowl replied with a confused glyph, the Prime expounded. /While I do not know the details, I know Elita was rather… focused… on you last night./

/Ah./ Prowl felt the glyph carved into his right forearm burn against the metal covering it. A ridiculous and impossible occurrence, but that did not stop the sensation. It took considerable effort for him not to scratch at the place. /The femmes got their message across very clearly in regards to what they expect of me in regards to Bluestreak./

The transmission he got back from Optimus was more of an inarticulate curse than actual words. The uncharacteristic response made Prowl look at Optimus with wide optics. Across the table the Prime looked down at where his hands were pressed against the table as he released a heavy sigh of air through his vents.

/I'm sorry Prowl. I tried to encourage restraint. But…/ The Prime transmitted the equivalent of a helpless shake of his helm.

/They claimed the Ancient Guardianship Laws./ Prowl supplied, his digital tone rueful despite his best intentions to keep it perfectly neutral. /There was nothing you could have done, sir./

Other mechs began arriving and Prowl acknowledged them with a silent nod of his helm as Optimus continued their private conversation.

/But they did not harm you?/ The Prime sounded somewhat confused. /Elita was after your energon for whatever happened between Bluestreak and Bumblebee./

/They were… Circumspect./ Prowl transmitted, reluctant to reveal more detail about such an intimate injury.

Optimus Prime seemed to pick up on that reluctance because he regarded Prowl with piercing cobalt optics before nodding and cutting off the signal.

Elita One chose that moment to walk into the briefing room. Prowl stiffened, sitting fractionally straighter as soon as his doorwings distinguished her spark signature among the growing number in the briefing room. She greeted the mechs she passed until she made it to her customary seat next to her sparkmate. Once there she gave Prowl a smile that, while genuine, was loaded with unspoken challenge.

"Prowl." She nodded formal greeting to him that drew the attention of more than one of those sitting at the table.

"Femme Commander." Prowl returned the formal greeting with a nod of his own that simultaneously acknowledged her greeting and declined the challenge.

Ironhide and Chromia came in shortly after that. Chromia went to take her place behind Elita One, her keen optics sharp on Prowl.

"Good orn, Prowl." Chromia purred.

"Chromia." Prowl acknowledged, studying his datapad for something to do with his hands and optics. "Good orn to you."

Ironhide slid into the chair next to Prowl, looking at him Just as keenly as the blue femme. But he said nothing.

"Can I help you, Ironhide?" Prowl asked mildly without actually looking at the weapon's specialist.

Ironhide cleared his vents, glancing at Chromia then leaned close. "Bumblebee hasn't spoken since Bluestreak… we don't really know what happened. Pray to Primus it isn't a regression."

The black mech's tone was half explanatory and half threatening. Prowl felt both Smokescreen and Fusion's fields respond to Ironhide's words and implied threat. He looked at the weapon specialist. "That is what Chromia told me last night. I am going to try and get through to Bluestreak."

"Soon, I hope." Ironhide growled lowly.

"As soon as I can manage it." Prowl murmured, sighing air through his vents.

Ironhide just stared at him, his field flaring against Prowl's before he nodded and the intensity of his posture and his glare eased back into something more normal.

Ultra Magnus had taken his seat on the opposite side of Optimus from Elita while Ironhide and Prowl were talking and was watching their interaction intensely. Prowl noticed his regard and inclined his helm with a properly polite ping.

/Is everything alright?/ Ultra Magnus sent him a tight transmission.

Prowl sighed air again. /Chromia chose to… remind me of my obligations to Bluestreak last night./ Prowl's chassis heated and his arm burned. /I believe Ironhide was just making sure I understood that he supports his sparkmate's position on the matter./

/Elita One was referencing the Ancient Laws…/

When Ultra Magnus did not continue Prowl felt his optics flash in annoyance. /They did./

Ultra Magnus' armor flared at the heat in Prowl's transmission and he frowned. Prowl realized belatedly that even though he was teaching the Prime's Executive Officer, Ultra Magnus was not one to allow him to impose on that relationship in any way.

/I am sorry sir./ Prowl was quick to transmit his formal apology before Ultra Magnus could call him on his momentary lapse. /It is just that…/

/I understand the femmes must have been hard on you./ Ultra Magnus cut him off. /And while you have my sympathies, that is no excuse for rudeness toward your senior officers./

/Yes, sir. I stand corrected / Prowl allowed his doorwings to dip a fraction in apology. /My apologies./

Ultra Magnus studied him for a long second and then nodded his acceptance of Prowl's apology.

Prowl exhaled another frame full of heated air then Smokescreen touched his shoulder, leaning down to whisper in his audial. "Is everything alright, sir?"

Prowl shuttered his optics. "That… is a long story, Smokescreen. But yes. Thank you for your concern."

Smokescreen frowned at the tightness in Prowl's voice, but nodded and stood straight again.

As if that was the cue, Optimus Prime called the meeting to order merely by lifting his right hand and clearing his vents. Once all conversation had fallen silent, the Prime looked at his Head Tactician. "As most of you probably already know, Prowl has called this meeting to discuss the security of the AllSpark and a new method of protecting it that the tactical department has been working on." There was a brief susurration from the handful of mechs who had not bothered to read the brief provided with the notification of the meeting.

Optimus lifted two fingers toward the three tacticians. "Prowl?"

Prowl accepted the metaphorical baton and stood, accessing the table's holographic displays. "That is correct sir. We are recommending the establishment of a special squad of volunteers dedicated, sworn and trained to the protection of the AllSpark. Assuming the technology in question can be safely and appropriately adapted, these mechs will be uniquely able to guard the AllSpark's."

"You actually believe a gestalt would be more able to protect the AllSpark than the Temple Guardians?" Ratchet asked, his hand darting out to grab his own datapad, his optics narrowing as he began reading the pertinent data. "Almost anyone who volunteered would need to be radically reformatted!"

"Indeed." Prowl could not stop his doorwings from flicking a centimeter. "For the moment at least, we are calling this squad, the Protectobot Corps."

Yes, I am aware that in the official cannon, the Protectobots were not designed to protect the Allspark. But I think it is silly for them to only be there to protect humanity…who, I might add, the cybertronians haven't discovered yet in this verse. As far as I'm concerned they were created for something uniquely Cybertronian and would only shift the focus of their protective programming to humanity if the AllSpark were to be lost… Or something.

For those of you Protectobot fans out there, I regret to inform you that this will remain a only supporting plot to the story of Prowl's rise to the position of Second in Command. Please don't get your hopes up that I will delve into them a great deal.