Chapter 5: Proposals
28 July 1987
A week after the "baby minibots" incident, of which he was still laughing about, everyone who had tormented the little guys were released. The poor minis were then subjected to nonstop teasing after word got around. Prowl had nothing to do with it. No, sir. Not Prowl. He was a good little Autobot, remember? Never mind all the times he wanted to throttle Cliffjumper for blatantly ignoring his orders and charging in, guns a'blazing. Or Huffer's never-ending complaining...
Nope. He didn't say a word. Good luck proving it otherwise.
It was about a month later when someone decided it had become too quiet around the Ark with no skirmishes in a very long while, and thought he ought to liven everyone's day.
(He honestly wondered if they were all dropped as children, himself included for staying with these lunatics for so long.)
He was in the rec. room to get his ration when Jazz wandered in, looking nervous. Jazz...never looked nervous. Ever. If he did, Prowl would say the world was probably about to end. As it was, he watched warily as the lieutenant slowly made his way to him. Jazz stopped an arm's length away, fidgeting slightly. Prowl raised an optic ridge.
All the others were preoccupied with what was going on at their own tables, so it wasn't until Jazz suddenly dropped to his knee right in front of Prowl and took his hand they began to pay attention.
"Prowl...will you marry me?"
Dead silence, other than the spit-takes and choking sounds from the Ops table.
"Well," Sunstreaker began after a full five minutes, his cube halfway to his mouth. "Jazz finally snapped. I win. Where's Smokescreen?" He stood up and happily walked over to the table where most of the Ops bots were still trying to recover.
Prowl, who had done a marvelous impression of a statue, finally seemed to snap out of his stupor. He promptly smacked Jazz upside the head, catching him by surprise. He toppled over with a squeak. Prowl stalked off, snarling under his breath.
After his friend left, Jazz sat up and gave Smokescreen thumb's up.
"Mission accomplished. Sorta."
Sunstreaker was a bit upset he didn't get his winnings. Prowl's expression made up for it, though.
Rule #5: No one is allowed to "propose" to another, especially if it is for the sole purpose of trying to crash someone else.
Rule #5b: To whomever started the rumor that I crash at something illogical, I will find you. It will not be pleasant.
Rule #5c: Yes, I can, in fact, get away with it.
I'm sorry. I had to. (This was a pain to write, and I have no idea why.)