"Whoa!" Epps grabbed for the door handle, steadying himself with one hand while the other tugged on his seat-belt to check it. "Where's the fire?"
Lennox ignored his friend. He concentrated on his driving as he pushed the souped-up NEST jeep past one hundred miles an hour before even reaching the base perimeter. The Autobots were still ahead of him, but right now he was content just to keep them in sight.
"Seriously, Major, who is this guy? I've kind of heard them mention a Prowl but…"
"Prime's second in command." Lennox kept his reply blunt and to the point, still reeling a little himself. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Epps start in surprise, a low whistle escaping him. Lennox didn't take his eyes off the road, frowning through the windscreen. "They thought he was dead."
Ahead of them, Prime was braking to a halt, dust rising from his tyre tracks. Ironhide and Ratchet had moved to flank him, both engines revving hard. For a moment there was an impasse, semi truck, and two four-by-fours facing the slightly smaller, but still substantial, black limousine.
Lennox brought the jeep to its own squealing halt as the unmistakeable sound of transformation started up in front of them. He and Epps sat still, both of them wary of being stepped on by transforming mechs, or by the still unknown and presumably new-to-Earth newcomer.
The complex mechanical dance ended with three well-known figures looming above them to their left. Facing them, to the right of the jeep, an unfamiliar mech was unfolding with a slow movement that somehow seemed more graceful even than the usual Autobot ballet. Prowl was slighter than his three fellow officers, tall but without their bulk to his frame. Dusty black armour plates shifted aside, revealing dull, metallic-grey limbs and lending the mech a two-tone appearance. A scarlet horn-like structure, in the shape of a chevron mounted above his glowing blue optics, was the only splash of colour, and all the more vivid for that. It wasn't his most distinctive feature though.
The armoured panels that formed doors in Ironhide's alt mode and Ratchet's folded flat against their backs in bipedal form. A few other mechs, Bumblebee included, had doors that split into segments, some of which remained mobile on their backs, quivering a little when their owners were excited or flaring down and out when the mech postured for battle.
Prowl's doors were something else again. The two panels remained intact as the mech shifted, but instead of folding down out of the way, they moved up and outwards, remaining prominent and, judging by the way Prowl swept them up from their low position against his back until the tops were level with his helm, far more mobile than Bumblebee's smaller appendages. Maybe it was the indefinable air of fragility Prowl projected, maybe just the little he knew of the mech, but the graceful sweep of the doors framing Prowl's neutral faceplates put Lennox in mind of nothing so much as the wings of a Renaissance angel. Even then, this wasn't some harp-playing, ethereal being. This was a warrior, standing at the gates of Eden with fiery sword aloft.
He shook the image from his mind with an effort, wondering whether to climb out of the jeep. He hesitated to intrude as Optimus Prime took two steps forward, reaching out to lay a huge hand on each of the newcomer's shoulders. Prime's grip tightened, the hold as close as Lennox had ever seen to an embrace between two Autobots. His deep, ever-calm voice vibrated with suppressed emotion.
"Prowl. It brings me great joy to see you, old friend."
"Prime." The mech inclined his head. His voice was soft but even, betraying nothing of his reaction. "I must apologise for – "
"Nothing!" Prime's grip tightened enough that the mech's voice cut off with a quiet gasp. "I will accept no apologies from you."
Prowl's armour actually creaked under the force of Prime's hold and Optimus started at the sound. The Prime released Prowl's shoulders suddenly, his own expression disconcerted and a little alarmed as he realised he was hurting his friend.
"Prowl! I'm sorry…"
Ratchet had been staring, stunned, his optics bright and his expression curiously blank. Now the Autobot medic bustled forward. One hand reached out to steady the new mech, unbalanced after losing Prime's support, the other pulled an energon cube from subspace and pushed it into Prowl's servos.
"Drink!" Ratchet scowled, his voice gruff and firm. "What the slag do you think you're doing travelling alone? You fragging well know better."
Prowl yielded without a word, raising the cube to his lips and sipping with a slight grimace. He ignored Ratchet's question with an aloof unconcern that even Prime couldn't quite pull off. The medic's sharp look and growing frown bounced off dull armour as the newcomer turned away from the other's optics.
"Ratchet. Ironhide," he acknowledged quietly, before falling silent. At some point in the brief conversation his door-wings had dropped low, hanging, almost limp, down towards his waist. Now, they twitched, a momentary look of embarrassment crossing his faceplates as he found himself the centre of attention. Lennox realised he wasn't the only one watching the mech's mobile back appendages. He glanced up to see a frown on Ironhide's face and a sad look on Ratchet's as both mechs studied the panels. Prowl seemed to notice. He took another sip from the energon cube, winching both door-wings back up to frame his head as he did so, the gesture almost defiant.
Ironhide stepped forward, reaching out to take Prowl's forearm and holding it for a few seconds in a far-too-deliberately gentle grip.
"About time you got here," he said gruffly.
Prowl's wing-panels quivered and slumped a little despite his obvious efforts to keep them erect, his optics slid down and away from the older Autobot's.
"I was… delayed," he murmured. He sipped from the cube, apparently more to distract himself than for any other reason, before grimacing again and capping it with the flick of a digit.
Lennox frowned. The impression of fragility he'd got from Prowl was only growing stronger by the moment. The mech's black panels were dull and muted, lacking the shine he'd grown accustomed to on other Autobots. His grey plating showed hints of a more vibrant silver, long since faded. His movements were slow, his balance apparently fragile, and that was without even considering the door-wings that had once again collapsed down against his back. From the way the others were hovering, Lennox guessed their colleague's state was all too obvious to them. Prime's optics were on the energon cube. Lennox had seen Autobots down a cube like that in a single draft – and that was small bots like Bee and Jolt, not just the bulky warriors like Ironhide. Prowl seemed to be struggling to finish even a quarter of his.
Ironhide hovered beside the newcomer, hand rising and falling in an ineffective gesture of encouragement.
"Well, drink up," he urged with false jollity.
Prowl raised a brow-ridge, looking across at his old friend with a calm expression. "I'm afraid my energon capacity has never rivalled yours, Ironhide."
Ironhide seemed somewhat mollified by the terse answer. Ratchet, staying close, wasn't. His optics dimmed, his voice dropping to a growl.
"By which our genius of a tactician means he's been fuelling on such inadequate dregs that his fuel system's forgotten how to deal with decent energy."
Ratchet let the observation hang for a few moments, the deep and genuine concern of the three Autobots tangible in the air between them. At its focus, Prowl stood, apparently unmoved except for the quivering door-wings that vibrated low against his back. Prime's hand came up, hovering behind his second in a comforting gesture that the newcomer avoided, shifting slightly and pulling his door panels in close. Ratchet sighed, optics looking Prowl up and down yet again. The medic's expression was creased into a deep frown, as if he was seeing something he disliked, even beyond what the rest of them perceived.
"Let's get you back to medbay, Prowl. I want to check out these readings and take a proper look at your systems."
There was an emphasis in Ratchet's voice that seemed out of place, but no more so than the sharp look Prowl threw him. Then the new mech's expression settled back into the neutral mask Lennox was already coming to recognise. Prowl's simple nod was met with narrowed optics and an incredulous glare from his medic.
"That's it? No protest? No attempt to squirm out of it?"
"Are you implying that I often indulge in such illogical behaviour?" Prowl raised a brow ridge and for the first time Lennox saw a hint of humour in the newcomer. His door-wings shifted a little higher, and Prowl inclined his head towards the bulkier bot. "On the contrary, Ratchet, I would be pleased to accompany you, as soon as one of you clarifies a mere two points."
"Oh, really?" Ratchet asked, scepticism lacing his tone. Prime's engine rumbled, the taller mech drawing all attention to him.
"I will endeavour to answer any questions you might have."
"Then first, Optimus, perhaps you'd be kind enough to introduce me formally to your human allies?" Prowl tilted his head in yet another acknowledgement, this time looking down almost to his feet. "Major Lennox and Sergeant Epps have been remarkably patient."
Somehow it was no surprise to find the new mech could identify them by sight. Lennox could see the smile brightening Prime's optics, quirking his unmasked lip-plates.
"Of course. Major, Sergeant, I'm delighted to introduce you to the Second-in-Command of the Autobot Armed Forces, my Chief Tactical Officer and much-missed friend, Prowl."
Prowl's wings flicked out a little before settling and resuming their steady fall, his body language hard to read. Lennox had been around Autobots for long enough now though to guess that the tactician was uncomfortable with the warm introduction. The mech nodded.
"I am honoured to meet allies who have earned such respect from Optimus Prime."
Prowl's voice was as stiff and unreadable as his expression. Epps nodded politely in response, still a little wary of the unknown bot, and lacking Lennox's insight into his past. Lennox tried to lighten the atmosphere. He grinned, tapping his temple in a friendly salute.
"Pleased to meet you too, Prowl. I've heard a lot about you."
"Indeed."
The flat response lacked any warmth. Prowl straightened, something in his posture suggesting that his notoriety was unwelcome. Given the circumstances of it, Lennox guessed he could understand that. He was already kicking himself as Prowl's attention returned to his Prime.
Optimus raised a curious brow-ridge.
"You had a second question, Prowl?"
Prowl didn't hesitate. He met Prime's optics, his voice steady and firm.
"Yes. I'd like to know where Sideswipe is, and what has happened to Sunstreaker."
Silence stretched out for a long, long moment.
"How the frag did you…?" Ironhide's grumbling exclamation was cut off by a sharp wave of Ratchet's hand.
"The red hellion was loud enough to be heard half way across the solar system. There's a better question – how in the Pit did Sideswipe know you were that close?"
This time Prowl's wings held very still, his expression giving away nothing. It wasn't until Prime's engine vibrated in a low rumble that Prowl vented a very quiet sigh.
"Sideswipe and his brother have many faults, but they have been assigned guard duty - and engaged in less virtuous endeavours - often enough for setting perimeter sensors to become habitual. They have been aware of my presence since my arrival in this system." Prowl's wings flicked upwards as he seemed to remember them, and stayed up, held either side of his helm. "Sunstreaker and Sideswipe made a point of transmitting information packets about Earth to me on a regular one hundred and three point seven breem cycle thereafter – until the transmissions abruptly ceased. It is not in the twins' natures to give up on a campaign so quickly and easily… or to breach a promise of secrecy once their word is given. I was growing concerned even before Sideswipe's somewhat incoherent call."
"Every hundred and three point seven breems?" Ratchet repeated incredulously.
"I must confess a certain curiosity regarding the significance of the interval." Prowl's wings quivered, his brow ridges drawing together. "I've been unable to find a reference for it on the human information networks, despite extensive investigation." His wings flicked again. "It is most frustrating."
"Frustrating enough to bring you down to investigate?" Ironhide asked the question with a wry smile, one brow-ridge raised.
Prowl's absolute stillness spoke more for his shock at the implication than any more overt reaction. Ironhide chuckled and shook his head. "Our twin terrors know you too well, Prowl."
Ratchet and Prime seemed less amused.
"How long, Prowl?" Ratchet asked quietly. "How long since the twins detected your arrival?"
This time the pause lasted a little longer.
"Ten Earth days." Prowl looked down and to one side of the humans, not meeting anyone's eyes. His door panels dropped as low as Lennox had seen them, their tips trembling noticeably. "Coming here… I'm sorry, Optimus. I…"
Prime reached out, once more resting a hand on his second's shoulder, while Ratchet and Ironhide moved closer, one on either side of their friend as if trying to shield him from the world around him.
Prime spoke softly, blue optics never leaving Prowl's.
"You are not alone. This is hard, Prowl. I realise that. I can't conceive how hard it was for you to follow my call to this system, let alone down to this planet. I consider it a gift of Primus simply to see you again. I will not make you stay if doing so proves too difficult. But know this – you are not alone, and never will be."
Prowl said nothing. His optics slid away from Optimus Prime's, his drooping wings trembling. He nodded once, gaze still fixed on the ground. It was several seconds before he drew in a shallow vent.
"Sideswipe and Sunstreaker?" he repeated, voice shorn of all emotion.
"Medbay," Ratchet repeated firmly. "Come along, Prowl, and I'll tell you all about it."
Sideswipe lay in recharge on his med-berth. Ratchet didn't need to check the medical logs to know the front-line warrior hadn't moved since his medic's quick exit. He didn't need to check the mech's vitals either. An alarm would have sounded in his comm system at any significant deviation. He checked them anyway, scowling sadly at the readings before leaning down and whispering the familiar officer-level order:
"Sideswipe, executive command: report location Sunstreaker."
The coordinates were as meaningless as yesterday's and the day before's. He recorded them with a sigh and shook his helm.
"What happened?"
Ratchet's optics dimmed at the soft question and he vented hard. He didn't speak, just transmitted the medical file on Sideswipe. Turning to face Prowl, he watched his fellow officer's expression as the mech followed the cross-references through to the main incident report.
Prowl's optics flickered, his faceplates betraying surprise, confusion and concern to Ratchet's trained optics before settling into a slight frown of concentration. Ratchet shook his helm, his hand landing on Prowl's shoulder with a firm enough tap to capture the mech's attention.
"Don't even think of it. If you try and run your tactical processor you'll be on the berth next to him before you even boot."
Prowl didn't dispute his assertion and, despite his obvious concern for the twins, he didn't make the attempt. It was another sign. Part of the bigger picture that was becoming terribly clear. Ratchet had been a medic long enough to suppress his shudder. He wouldn't show the horror building inside him. Not until he was sure.
"Up you get." He made the order soft, waving the tactician to the berth beside Sideswipe's. Prowl moved without comment, his door-wings folding neatly behind him as he lay down on the polished steel surface. The medical displays beside the berth lit with red and yellow, the tactician's physical condition alarming to say the least. Prowl's fuel systems would need a complete overhaul. His door-wings needed easing, their joints and hinges worn and gummed up with dirt. His armour was showing signs of thinning and micro-fracture up and down his frame. His energy readings were almost frighteningly low.
Ratchet noted it all, some part of his processor already working on a rehabilitation strategy. His attention though was fixed on one reading, and one reading alone. He'd suspected it from his initial scans, and it was what had frozen him out there, unable to move until the creak of Prowl's armour broke through his shock. Whatever he'd expected when he saw his friend's name glyph on the comm, whatever he'd feared, he'd never imagined this. Even faced with the first realisation, he'd hoped against hope that he was wrong. Swearing inside, he reached for his more sensitive equipment, determined to be sure.
Prowl remained still and silent as Ratchet ran first one test and then a second and third. Finally the medic lifted the scanner away from his friend's chest-plates, and looked up, fuel tanks churning.
This was impossible. No… some mechs might have believed that. Some still did. But Ratchet had worked in Iacon and Simfur. He'd read the case histories. He knew better. Vanishingly rare, yes. Impossible? No.
"By now you'll be feeling it. You've got to have been running internal scans. The right protocols are active in your systems, and half of those are under conscious control." He vented a carefully shallow breath. "Prowl… I'm guessing you already know what I'm going to say here."
Prowl's expression was neutral, but his door-wings quivered low against his back and Ratchet had been through enough with the mech to read the quiet terror in his eyes. One slender hand came up to rest above his chest-plates, protective and possessive.
"I… Please, Ratchet, just tell me. Does my sparkling have a chance?"
There it was, open between them. Ratchet took a moment to recheck his monitors and study the speck of light orbiting Prowl's faltering spark before answering. He took a moment too long. Prowl pushed himself up on his elbows. His readings picked up, stress indicators lighting the monitors in still richer shades of red.
"I know I'm weak. I put him in internal suspension as soon as I was able! I thought it might help preserve him until I could see you. I can't…"
"Stop! Calm down." Ratchet made his voice even but firm. Already his automatic programming was preparing a sedative in his wrist mechanisms, ready to be administered. He didn't dare. Prowl's state was worrying him on a second-by-second basis. Right now, it was ninety-percent pure will power keeping the tactician on his pedes. The last thing the medic wanted was to disturb that fragile equilibrium. He grimaced, weighing up what he needed to say.
"Prowl, listen to me: you did the right thing." Given the circumstances, there was nothing else he could have done. "Our systems can keep a sparkling in stasis for a quarter vorn or more before allowing it to gestate… in normal circumstances."
It was an old programming quirk, a reminder that their CNA had developed on a world plagued by periodic energon shortages. In the Golden Ages, when energon flow was plentiful, the old programming had come close to dying out completely. The long eons of war and hunger since had reminded Cybertron's people what their distant ancestors had known – that their rare offspring were too delicate and precious to chance on happenstance.
Right now though, Prowl wasn't thinking of war or starvation. His optics were turned inwards. The Praxian mech shivered, his oh-so-prominent door-wings betraying his inner turmoil. He said nothing, but his entire posture spoke for him. These were far from normal circumstances. There was no point in pretending otherwise. Ratchet didn't sigh. He spoke with level precision.
"I am going to do everything I can to bring this sparkling to separation safely. Everything. I think I can, if you cooperate. But I'm not going to lie to you. The damage to your spark is severe, Prowl. The broken bond has left you weak and unstable. Your frame is drawing more power than your spark can produce. Your repair systems aren't handling your own problems, let alone the task of building a new protoform. If you try to actively carry this sparkling in the state you're in, neither of you will survive. I'm at least half sure that it's only having the sparklet resting against your spark that's keeping its beat close to regular now."
Prowl had relaxed back onto the berth as Ratchet spoke. His finger-servos rested on his chest-plates. His optics met Ratchet's, their glowing depths holding more pain than the medic could stand.
"This sparkling will never replace Jazz."
"Never." Ratchet agreed without hesitation. He forced himself to hold that pale gaze. "Nothing will ever replace Jazz. No one will expect that of you. He'll always be a hole inside you, and you'll miss him every day. But you already love this little one, Prowl, don't tell me otherwise. You could have let it gutter… let yourself fade… at any point in the last four decaorns. You came here instead."
The tactician answered him with silence, his helm dropping back and his gaze averted. Ratchet sighed.
"You're not alone any more, Prowl. But you're not well either. You need to give me – give yourself – time. This sparkling has a whole life ahead of him and I know you want him to live it, but you have to work with me, and you have to be patient."
Prowl's hand pressed down over his spark as if it pained him. It almost certainly did. He nodded slowly, a shudder rippling through his door-wings.
"I will do all you ask." He paused, glancing up at his medic. "I believe I'm entitled to request confidentiality."
Ratchet hesitated. "Optimus Prime…"
"Carries too much weight upon his shoulders," Prowl interrupted firmly. "My condition is already deeply impaired and Prime is aware of the fact. This additional concern can hardly affect his decisions further."
The mech's door-wings were drawn up high and taut, his voice certain. Ratchet stared at him, deeply dismayed that the mech intended to hide this from one of his closest friends. Prowl gazed back steadily, his voice quiet as he went on.
"If I succumb to my weakness… if I cannot do this, I know Optimus will grieve for my loss. I would not burden him with grief for my child."
It was a difficult argument to dispute. That didn't make it a good one. Ratchet's nod was slow and reluctant.
"If I feel there's a valid medical or tactical reason for Optimus to know, then all bets are off," he warned.
"Acceptable." Prowl pushed himself upright, servos spread against his berth to steady him as he swung his legs over the edge. "If you'll give me a schedule for initial repairs, I should report to Prime."
"Wait." Stepping forward, Ratchet caught Prowl's shoulder, trying to convey his compassion and support in that grip, hating himself for what he still had to ask. "There's one more thing I need to know."
Wheeljack's advance signal had been short on detail, wary of interception but not attempting to disguise the fact that Prowl was missing. Until today, Ratchet had been more focussed on the date than on the one other fact the engineer had conveyed. Prowl's condition, the sparklet's age, his evasiveness, they all added up to a picture that had set Ratchet's tanks roiling since his first scan of the new arrival. It was all he could do to keep the dread from his expression.
'Jack could have used any of a dozen terms to describe Prowl's disappearance. He'd only needed one. Wheeljack had used a Special Ops glyph that meant not only 'missing' but specifically 'missing whilst on reconnaissance'. Prowl had vanished while scouting a Decepticon base, on the day his spark-mate died, when he'd be vulnerable, unable to defend himself from… anything.
"Prowl, who is this infant's sire?"
Prowl stared at him. Ratchet watched the mech's expression, confused to see it torn between outrage and disbelief rather than the anguish he'd expected. The Praxian's door-wings came up sharply and flared to the sides. His optics blazed. He shrugged Ratchet's finger-servos off his shoulder, his voice icy cold.
"You think I'd betray Jazz before the echoes even fade?"
"Never! Betrayal didn't so much as flicker through my processor." Ratchet stood his ground, watching Prowl's expression closely, his own as calm as he could make it. "But you and I both know, Prowl, that an Autobot in Decepticon hands might not have a choice."
Prowl's anger gave way to confusion of his own. He frowned at Ratchet as if unable to comprehend his argument.
"I was never in Decepticon hands. Ratchet, I don't understand. The sparklet's sire is Jazz and no one else."
There was no deception or distress in Prowl's pale blue optics. Ratchet gestured the mech back onto the med berth, his spark clenching as he looked into a gaze that spoke of nothing but weariness and deep denial. He drew a sharp breath in through his vents, his optics not leaving the fragile mech in front of him. He'd have to be careful, so very careful.
"We heard from Wheeljack an orn back," he said quietly.
That got a reaction. Prowl looked up sharply, his wings quivering.
"Bluestreak?"
"'Jack said they were both fine." Ratchet didn't hesitate to reassure the mech. Prowl slumped, his optics dimming as he shuddered in pure relief. Ratchet patted his friend's shoulder in a gesture of understanding before pressing on. "They're on the way. But Prime will need to know what happened. How were you separated from them?"
"I'd intended to report to Prime himself."
"Uh-huh. Well, I asked first."
Prowl settled back against the berth, his faceplates still wary and showing his confusion… and his weariness. The lack of fight spoke volumes for his current weakness.
"I was scouting a cave-system, looking for a back way into a Decepticon outpost. I found a promising spur in the system, its entrance well-hidden." The tactician's optics dimmed, shaking his head. "I calculated a reasonable probability that the residents may have overlooked it in their perimeter defences. I was deep in the cave network when…"
Prowl's voice died away, a thin keen escaping before he could stifle it. He turned his helm, his optics gazing sightlessly at the concrete floor. Ratchet hesitated, his hand coming up to comfort Prowl and then dropping away before touching him, knowing no comfort was possible. Several seconds passed before the tactician shuddered, shaking himself.
"The bond shock knocked me offline. I was in stasis-lock for a little more than five orns." The two abrupt sentences fell into silence. "When I emerged from the cave system I found the area swarming with a Decepticon response team, assessing and repairing the rather thorough demolition that I attributed to Wheeljack's distinctive hand. I surmised that Wheeljack and Bluestreak had raided the outpost in an attempt to establish my whereabouts after I failed to return, and were forced off-world by the Decepticon response. After a brief survey to locate any evidence of their actions and possible destinations, I also left."
Ratchet stared at the mech.
"You were unconscious, alone, for five orns?"
Prowl didn't answer, and he didn't need to. Even Ratchet knew the question was redundant. The medic cycled his vents, trying to find a way to phrase what he needed to say.
"Prowl, the two of you were separated for so long… too long." He heard the keen rising in his own voice and fought it back. He needed to be professional here. Prowl deserved that from him. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, but it is impossible for you to have merged sparks with Jazz in the decaorn either side of that day in the cave. My best estimate is that the sparkling was conceived in that interval."
He expected shock from the tactician, or perhaps incomprehension – the same blank denial that Ratchet had already diagnosed. He didn't expect the look of realisation, or the small, sad smile that played across Prowl's lips.
"You fear that I was assaulted whilst stasis locked."
Ratchet's spark clenched at the calm statement. It was the only explanation he could see, the only thing that made sense in this nightmare of a war.
"Scan the spark frequency, Ratchet. Scan my infant and tell me what you see."
Ratchet didn't need to run a new scan. It was one of the standard checks – recording the frequency of the spark resonating against Prowl's as a baseline measurement for future development. It hadn't even occurred to him to look at the result, beyond checking for any warning of irregularities. Now he looked… and stared.
Jazz and Prowl had always been close in spark frequency. Close enough that the chances of another mech coming between them was one in a million, if not more. It was just part of what made their bond so strong. The sparklet split the difference between them perfectly, nestling against Prowl's spark with a frequency near identical to his own.
With numb fingers, Ratchet set a probability matrix running, trying to determine the possible harmonics of the sire's spark, and knowing before he did so that he could count the code of every mech who'd ever existed, and the chances of anyone but Jazz being this sparkling's co-creator would still be vanishingly small.
"How...?"
Prowl smiled, tired and sad. "I learnt long ago that nothing Jazz set his spark to was impossible. You believe we were not together, and yet, there was one moment when Jazz's spark and mine were in contact as deep and intimate as any we have shared. We hovered on the brink of the Matrix, both torn from our frames, both afraid and grieving. Faced with our end, in a moment beyond hope, my bond-mate pleaded for a miracle, that I might survive. Primus heard his plea. My spark returned to my frame. Jazz's could not. But when I awoke, I discovered I was no longer completely alone. Jazz wanted me to live. He ensured that I would have no choice but to make the attempt."