Six Months Later…
The twins were in a playful mood today. Ironhide's growl as red corvette and yellow crossed paths mere inches in front of his bumper was unimpressed. Give it another few months, or perhaps just weeks, and Lennox might share his emotion. Not yet though.
His human brain wasn't quite as ready as Cybertronian processors to put the past behind him. It was barely six months since Sideswipe lay at death's door, and Lennox still jolted from his bunk with nightmares of finding Sunstreaker in broken pieces. Until Lennox could look at the twins without those images playing in front of his eyes, they got a pass as far as he was concerned.
Up to a point.
Sideswipe cut in front of Optimus Prime, his high fender a hair's breadth in front of the semi-truck's front windscreen. Lennox, jolted forward by the sudden check in Prime's speed, caught himself against Optimus's emblazoned steering wheel. He was already reaching, unthinking, for the centre of the wheel when Prime pre-empted him. The deep blast of Optimus's horn vibrated through Lennox's skull and then along his bones. He gritted his teeth against it, smugly satisfied to notice both Sunny and Sides put in a burst of speed that took them clear of their Prime's wrath.
They held the gap as Prime speeded up, Ironhide and Ratchet bracketing him on the multilane freeway, Bumblebee trailing them as rear-guard. There was a tangible air of excitement in the group, a restless desire to reach their destination.
Lennox had helped welcome new arrivals before. He wasn't sure there'd ever been one so eagerly anticipated.
No one had said much about the incoming Wheeljack and Bluestreak. Whether it was through superstition or just experience, the Autobots wouldn't indulge in anticipatory anecdotes – not until the two were safely landed. Even so, both Ratchet and the twins had insisted on joining the welcoming party, and Bumblebee had come halfway across the continent to do the same. More than one of those they'd left at base had been visibly reluctant to stay, yielding to their Prime's request, but not without a vented sigh or murmured grumble.
All things considered then, it was something of a surprise when, to a 'bot, the welcoming group stopped dead on the very edge of the forecast landing zone.
The twins pulled aside, Sideswipe backing onto the stony verge, Sunstreaker staying on the concrete paving lest his under-plating suffer. There was a definite nervousness in the way the two shifted on their wheels, one that Bumblebee seemed to share. As far as Lennox was a judge of their alt modes, Ratchet and Ironhide seemed amused. Certainly the major could feel the suppressed laughter in the air of Optimus Prime's cab, carried on the rich sense of presence that always filled it.
Prime was the first to speak, his tone deliberately neutral as his deep voice broadcast over the comm and echoed through his speakers.
"Sunstreaker? Sideswipe, is there a problem?"
"Just thought our scout should be the one to check things out."
Sideswipe's reply was just a little too fast. Bumblebee jolted, his headlights flickering.
"Sunny's faster than me. He could be in and out in no time."
"Frag that!" Sunstreaker's outburst was less than friendly. "Do you know how long it took to get this shine back? Ironhide's built like a tank, let him go."
Ironhide shifted, his wheels turning so he faced the younger mechs more directly. "Oh really? And just who is the officer here? If I say you go, soldier, you'll go."
"Oh, for the Pit's sake." Ratchet cycled his emergency lights, his tone disgusted. "It's not like the mech's going to explode the minute he hits the ground!"
"Are you quite willing to give assurances of that?"
"Prime!" Ratchet flashed his lights again, but even he was laughing now, caught up in the same joke the other Autobots were sharing.
One which had left Lennox cold. He shifted in the deeply contoured driver's chair, and at once felt Prime refocus on him.
"My apologies, Major Lennox. Please do not be concerned, while he may have a certain reputation, Wheeljack is a skilled and experienced engineer. His inventions have been invaluable in our struggle."
Ironhide chuckled. "When they don't go boom."
"And sometimes when they do." Ratchet revved. The sound of a vented sigh carried through the radio on Prime's dashboard. "'Jack picked up the briefing beacon, right? He knows it's an organic world. Maybe I wouldn't lay credits on it, Optimus, but I'm pretty sure he wont risk a big entrance."
Maybe the infamous Wheeljack heard him. Frankly, Lennox wouldn't put it past a Cybertronian to do just about anything.
Two cometary forms came from a blue, sunlight sky, friction-driven fireballs engulfing both as they dropped on a near-vertical trajectory. They hit the ground almost before Lennox realised they were imminent, slamming into the ground barely more than a hundred metres from the waiting mechs.
Experience had its advantages. Lennox was pressing his back into the contours of Prime's seat, even as Optimus snapped a belt around him. They rode out the minor quake, the thick rubber of Prime's tires taking most of the impact, his shock absorbers managing most of the rest. A thick cloud obscured the view outside. Debris pattered across the broad windscreen, pinging off the metal frame overhead and to either side.
Around Lennox, Optimus Prime's speakers echoed with the reaction of the other Autobots, ranging from Ratchet's mildly profane resignation to Sunstreaker's deeply profane protest about his finish, with a healthy dose of Ironhide's strong laughter threatening to drown them both.
Optimus waited until some of the dust and flying debris had settled before releasing Lennox. He transformed even as the major slipped out of his cab, towering over the Autobots around him.
Ratchet was already striding forward, heading for the left-hand crater. He reached into it, hauling a bulky, well-armoured mech out by a helm appendage. His scanners snapped out, the dust and steam hanging in the air scattering enough of the energy to render them visible.
"For Primus' sake, 'Jack! Don't you ever look where you're going?"
The new mech… well, Lennox couldn't say he grinned, because a solid blast mask covered his lower faceplates, but his optics brightened, and panels either side of his helm pulsed a cheerful yellow.
"Y'know, Ratch, I did kinda make it to the right planet."
Wheeljack slapped Ratchet on the back, the gesture an openly friendly one that placed the newcomer comfortably in the circle of Prime's officers. Then the cheerful air faded a little. The mech looked across the field, to where Bumblebee and the twins were helping a second new arrival out of his own crater. Before Lennox had seen Prowl, he'd have found the new mech's appearance remarkable. Now, despite the superficial differences, the basic frame type was unmistakeable.
Bluestreak emerged from the impact crater with his rifle in hand, his door-wings held high and his optics alert for danger. His optics cycled, the weapon vanishing, as the mech recognised his welcoming committee. The high-pitched whistle of Cybertronian mingled with laughter as Bee and the twins mobbed the newcomer. Bluestreak's door-wings rose and fell with his voice, always mobile and curiously expressive.
This was a young mech. Lennox might have guessed it even without the enthusiastic greeting from Bumblebee, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. As he watched, the youthful face looked past his welcoming committee, optics flicking first to Wheeljack and then on to Ratchet, Ironhide and finally Prime with an expression of hopeful delight. Then Bluestreak's roving gaze and angled door-wings moved on, scanning the rest of their surrounds, passing over Lennox with no more than a flicker of a frown, until he completed the circuit. Bluestreak's wings slumped, his expression tightening in apparent pain as he failed to find what – or who – he was looking for. He turned back to Bumblebee's stream of questions, but his smile was strained and his door-wings held low.
Ratchet's vents hissed out. The medic shook his helm, glancing aside towards Wheeljack.
"How's he been?"
"About as you'd expect." The low-pitched question and its equally careful answer barely reached Lennox. Wheeljack's expression was impossible to read behind the mask, but his helm appendages blinked in a pale, unhappy grey. "Quiet. But strong."
Wheeljack vented a sigh, glancing back at Optimus Prime as the large mech came up behind the group. "Optimus… I'm sorry. We tried to find him…"
Optimus held up a hand. "We will discuss this when secure on base. What happened was not your fault."
Wheeljack nodded, and a twitch of Bluestreak's door-wings, a sidelong glance, suggested that Bluestreak heard too, and took little comfort in the words.
Prime laid a servo on Wheeljack's shoulder, his other extended towards Bluestreak.
"Welcome," he murmured. "You have both been deeply missed."
Bluestreak came forward, letting Prime's servo make contact. The young mech bowed, posture respectful, and then leant into the comfort, just for a moment. Prime looked at the youngster with a deep compassion. For a few seconds, Lennox thought Optimus might break his own strict rule, and voice the truth despite the risk of Decepticon surveillance. Instead, Prime spoke softly.
"Ratchet will transfer specifications for acceptable alt modes. Let us return to base. Be at peace. All will become clear."
The gates of the base were swung wide, the guards waving a welcome as Prime's newly-enlarged cavalcade returned. Lennox waved back, and Sideswipe sounded a friendly chirp of his horn. In the middle of the group, the green and white sports car and metallic-grey family sedan kept quiet, despite the curious stares that even NEST's experienced soldiers couldn't resist.
Dust kicked up from the road to the main hangar, a cross-wind blowing across the broad expanse of runway and the waste ground that surrounded it. Sunstreaker's irritable murmurs about his finish did something to lighten the mood, but even so, there was a heavy atmosphere surrounding the group, and Optimus could tell his human counterpart felt it. He kept a belt wrapped gently around Lennox's shoulder, ready for any of a hundred unpredictable reactions.
It was Bluestreak who first noticed the slightly larger, black-clad sedan parked outside the hangar, his door sensors giving him an advantage over the others around him. The young Praxian's engine hiccupped and then roared. He peeled around Sunstreaker and raced ahead, forcing his unfamiliar form to its maximum speed.
Prowl transformed just in time to catch his protégé, the youngling himself transforming to throw his arms around his mentor's chest-plates. Bluestreak's helm rested over Prowl's spark, his vocaliser overspilling with near-incoherent Cybertronian. Optimus made out Prowl's name, and Jazz's, the two spoken in joy and grief and wonder as Bluestreak's Praxian sensors told him secrets that at least half the Autobots on base were still unaware of.
Wheeljack respected the reunion and didn't try to join it. He transformed and sagged on his pedes, his expression torn between anger, overwhelming relief and deep concern as he took in the still dull, still fragile form in front of him.
"Slag it, Prowl! We thought we'd lost you!"
Prowl eased Bluestreak back onto his own pedes, lifting the youngling's helm with a gentle servo.
"Jazz is gone." It was the first time Optimus had heard his second voice the bare fact without hesitation. Bluestreak flinched, unsurprised after all he'd already realised. For a moment the sniper's door-wings were as low as Optimus had ever seen then. Then the young mech straightened slowly, his expression solemn and his keens suppressed. His door-wings wavered, framing his helm but no longer drooping. Prowl nodded, a sad smile touching his lip-plates, as he studied the soldier he had helped raise. He glanced up at Wheeljack too, including the engineer as he went on. "I am deeply sorry for hurting you. I… I could not…"
"Prowl." Bluestreak reached out, his servo touching Prowl's arm, his voice low. "Don't."
Prowl paused, his own door-wings twitching. He vented hard and straightened, wrapping his usual composure around him like a cloak.
"Jazz is gone," he repeated softly. Prowl's servo rose, hovering above his own chest-plate, his optics distant. "I grieve, and always will. But grief does not define me." He refocused, shaking his helm. "There is work to be done here. I have reasons to go on. Purpose… and need…" his optics picked out Prime and then Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, "and support I value deeply."
Sunstreaker folded his arms, only his optics flashing in pleasure. Sideswipe grinned, raising a hand to his scarlet plating. "Hey, don't get soppy. You'll make Sunny blush."
The dilation of Prowl's optics and a twitch of his door-wings mingled rebuke with amusement. The tactician's gaze moved on, touching on Ratchet and Ironhide and dropping to acknowledge Lennox before returning to the young mech before him.
Bluestreak nodded. His door-wings flared, their sensors – more sensitive than anyone but Ratchet and Prowl's – probing the new world around him. "Good. That's good. And I'm here now too, and everything's going to be okay, 'cause we'll be here for you, and this world looks like it's kinda interesting, and it's going to be fun to explore and I'm sure the sparkling's just going to love it, when he comes along, and I think I kind of love it already, because you're here, and Bee and the Twins and we're going to make this new world our home!"
Lennox stared. If he'd caught the bit about the sparkling, then it had passed over his head. Not so Ironhide and Wheeljack. Optimus heard their engines pick up a note, their vents pausing as their optics widened. Prowl vented a small sigh, the subtle smile back on his faceplates as his young protégé's rambling exclamation faded into a rather stunned silence. He nodded, waving the twins ahead of him and slipping an arm around Bluestreak's shoulders to guide him into the hangar.
"Yes, Blue. Welcome home."
"Are you sure about this?"
Sideswipe caught Prowl just outside the command hangar, his servos reaching for the other mech's arm and halting his progress. The tactician disengaged with a movement too quick even for Sideswipe to follow. The front-liner held up his hands, warding off the inevitable frown from his friend and commander.
At least the mech had the decency not to pretend he didn't understand the question. Prowl folded his arms, one brow-ridge raised.
"It is a full one point five decaorns since I activated my tactical processor – 195 Earth days, or more than six months. Even Ratchet has conceded that my energy levels are now sufficient to support its renewed operation."
"Yeah." Sideswipe rolled his optics. "I've heard all about it, believe me. Doesn't mean he likes it though."
Prowl smiled, letting show that fleeting glimpse of humour that he so rarely shared.
"I have learnt over the vorns that there are many things Ratchet dislikes. Not all of his preferences confront critical issues."
"Some do." Sideswipe tilted his helm on one side, scanning the mech in front of him both passively and with an overt flare of his sensors. Prowl's door-wings twitched. "Look, Prowl. Last time you fired up the battle comp, it almost put you out of the game for good. Are you sure you should be risking…?"
Prowl's servo fluttered, not quite rising – he had more control than that – but certainly betraying his thoughts. Sideswipe didn't look down at his companion's chest-plate, but he knew better than most the state of Prowl's spark, and of his sparkling.
"Would you rather I first attempted to reboot my tactical centre in a battle situation, separated from medical supervision and with no option of aborting a dangerous internal conflict?"
"Frag no!"
The thought made Sideswipe's tanks churn. Prowl had a point… and not just because Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, alternating in their informal role as his shadow on base, were the ones most likely to be left holding the tactician as he guttered.
Sides had spoken to Bumblebee about what had happened during the whole Poland thing, with Blue and Sunny listening in to the anxious, low-pitched account. When they were all on base, of course. Prime was pretty hot about not letting word of Prowl's presence escape NEST headquarters. Even if he hadn't been, neither Sides nor 'Bee was dumb enough to go gossiping about their injured second where any 'Con eavesdropper could hear, Sunny would hold his tongue before talking about anything private, and Bluestreak would rather tear out his vocalisor than risk it. They all valued their quiet, infuriating second more than that… and none of them wanted to see Prowl burning himself from the inside out.
It was 'Bee's stories as much as Ratchet's grumbles that had sent Sideswipe in search of their second.
"Last time, I acted out of urgent necessity, knowing that my systems were severely impaired and that I was under-fuelled."
Prowl paused, and Sideswipe watched him sombrely. When their tactician reacted to the Poland business, he'd been distraught, deeply concerned, struggling to think clearly and truly doubting of his self-worth. They both knew that. Sideswipe hoped that some at least some part of it was no longer as true. Bluestreak insisted that his mentor was getting better all the time. They both knew better than to think a single decaorn was enough to heal the tactician completely.
That was what had brought him here, ready to intercept the other mech, and stop him from going through with this exercise, forcibly if necessary, if he didn't like what he saw. Prowl smiled again, tired, and a little sad, but calm.
Prowl tilted his helm, studying the front-liner, his attitude as close to confidential as the mech ever came.
"Sideswipe, I appreciate your concern, but I would not attempt this unless I felt it was safe." He sighed. "Nor would Ratchet permit it."
"Yeah, but…"
"I have submitted to every test Ratchet has required of me, and I believe this is an acceptable risk. I do not anticipate a simple NEST war-game exercise presenting a serious test to my tactical abilities, but I must know one way or the other."
The red-clad twin frowned at him, knowing he had lost the argument. "You start throwing out commands and the 'cons are gonna twig to you being here, you know?"
"This is my purpose, Sideswipe. The role to which I have dedicated a large part of my existence." Prowl shook his helm, his optics carrying a promise. "I will not intervene in a battle situation unless dire circumstance necessitates such action. I would prefer to know, in such a circumstance what my actions entail."
"Yeah." Sideswipe paced a few steps forward, a few steps back, before clearing the way into the hangar. "Just take care, okay?"
Prowl's door-wings postured acceptance, even as the mech's faceplates settled back into the neutral mask of an officer talking to his soldier.
"I believe Ironhide is waiting for you to take up your station, Sideswipe. Sunstreaker and Bluestreak are already in their assigned places."
"I'm going, I'm going."
The red-clad mech transformed, peeling out in a squeal of burnt rubber. His sensors lingered behind him, watching as Prowl walked inside to where Ratchet and Prime awaited him.
The calm, steady stream of instructions that joined the battle chatter mid-way through the engagement was soothing and reassuring in a way few things Sideswipe had heard since the fall of Cybertron could be.
The victory, decisive and unquestioned, over both circumstances and today's designated 'enemy' was sweet.
Neither matched the glow of triumph in Prowl's blue optics when he joined the post-'battle' celebrations, or the small, satisfied smile on the tired mech's lips. Nothing ever could.