Vorn = 83 years/1 TF year

Deca-orn = 20 weeks/10 orns/1TF week

Orn = 2 weeks/1 TF day

Joor = 6 hours/1 TF hour.

Breem = 8.3 minutes.

Klick = less than a second

Ch. 4 – One Deca-Orn

Bluestreak sat against the wall of the hallway, amusing himself by making his doll walk back and forth in front of him, trying to get the pedes to land where they needed to.

"Well, look who we have here!"

The youngling looked up at the voice, first wary, and then faintly pleased. It was the green mech from before, when he first met Prowl. The mech had been too excited the first time they met, but after he calmed down Bluestreak decided he wasn't so bad, especially when he made the funny holograms for him. He doesn't like him as much as Jazz though. He definitely doesn't like him as much as he likes Prowl. But he's a nice mech, all in all…especially when he remembered not to come too close.

The green mech – his name was Hound, wasn't it? – was smiling as he came over. There was a blue and white mech with him, but he wasn't smiling. Bluestreak decided he already didn't like this one very much.

"Nice to see you again," Hound said as he knelt down beside him at a respectful distance. "Remember me from a couple of orns ago?"

Bluestreak nodded.

"That's great. Let me introduce to my friend, Mirage. Mirage, this is Bluestreak, the youngling I was telling you about."

Mirage inclined his head. "I'm glad to finally meet you. Hound has been talking about you almost non-stop since yesterday."

Bluestreak tilted his head at Mirage. He had a funny way of talking with his voice. Not like Jazz, he was fun to listen to and made Bluestreak want to smile along. Mirage made Bluestreak think of deep blue crystals he wasn't allowed to touch because he might break them. It made him a little bit nervous. He wasn't sure if he was going to like this mech.

While Bluestreak examined the aristocrat, Hound spotted a familiar grey pile of rags on the younglings other side.

"Hey Blue, can I look at your doll for a klick?" Hound asked.

Bluestreak hesitated, but nodded and passed over the doll. Hound had to reach over to grab it, and then held it up, looking it over. While the blanket it have been made from had seen better times, Hound could see that someone had taken great care to make a nice as doll as possible. They had stuffed it with the excess material so it would be softer to hold and made the knots good and tight so it wouldn't unravel, even trying to make the limbs evenly length and symmetrical and taking care to make an actual head. This toy, while improvised, was not hastily crafted.

"This is a nice lookin' doll you have here," Hound said sincerely. "Does he have a name?"

Bluestreak frowned. He reached over and picked up a small data pad Hound hadn't noticed before, hidden besides his legs. He tapped away on it, and then held the screen up for Hound to read.

SHE'S A FEMME. HER NAME IS SILVERSTREAK.

"Silverstreak? That's a pretty name." Hound commented. "Why'd you name her that?"

IT'S HER NAME.

"Well, yes, but what made you pick it?"

Bluestreak tapped the screen, emphasizing the sentence he had already typed, that 'it's her name.'

"Oh, I get it. She named herself, right?"

Bluestreak thought about that for a moment, then nodded in satisfaction. Yes, that sounded about right. Silverstreak had never NOT had a name, so he couldn't claim having been the one to name her.

"Did you make this yourself?" Hound asked.

Bluestreak was spared further conversation when the door he had been sitting next to opened. Prowl stepped out, and noticed the green and blue mechs in mild surprise.

"Hey Prowl. We were just keeping Bluestreak company for a bit," Hound said as he straightened.

What Prowl thought of that – good, bad, or indifferent – was, as usual, impossible to read on the tacticians impassive face. The adult Praxian just inclined his head slightly in polite acknowledgement.

"Thank you then. I'm afraid we can't stay, I have a lot of work to do. Come on Bluestreak."

The little doorwinger immediately climbed to his feet and, after taking the doll back from Hound, trotted after Prowl down the hall. Hound waited until they were out of hearing range before turning to Mirage.

"Kid follows him around like a turbo-puppy. Tell me that's not a little bit cute."

"In all honesty, Hound, I can't decide if he's adorable or creepy." Mirage gave Hound a sidelong look. "But I'm probably going to have to go with creepy."

"Creepy? Raj, he's a little kid whose hero-worshipping Prowl. Okay, it's a little weird since this is Prowl we're talking about, but what's so creepy about that?"

"The hero-worshipping I can handle. It's the 'waiting for him outside the waste-disposal room' that I'm having a bit of a problem with."

oOoOoOo

"I appreciate you doing this, Wheeljack. I know you're already in the middle of several projects."

"Hey, no problem Prowl, I'm just happy to help!" the engineer chirped brightly. "Okay Bluestreak, try this one for size. Just let me clip it on, aaaand…there you go. How's it feel?"

Bluestreak examined the magnetic clamp on his arm, specifically measured for his size with a small personal datapad attached and out of the way. The adults watched as he hopped down from the bench and walked around in a circle, letting his doll hang limply by one knotted arm and flapping his arm around like a one-winged bird.

"He seems to like it," Prowl observed.

"If you say so," Wheeljack said. He looked to Prowl. "If you don't mind me asking, are you sure giving him the clip is such a good idea?"

"He's far too young to have his own sub-space, Wheeljack, and he still insists on taking that doll everywhere with him. At least this way he'll have at least one hand free."

"No, I get that. It's just…he's still not talking, isn't he? Isn't this kind of enabling him so he doesn't have to?"

"I'm not a psychologist. I have no idea why he refuses to speak. But I trust he'll start when he's ready. Until then, I want him to have a ready mode of communication if he needs it."

"Whatever you say, Prowl. What does Ratchet say about it, anyway?"

"We've confirmed it has nothing to do with a physical ailment, and we have strong reasons to believe it doesn't trace back to some sort of glitch or an error in programming brought on by injury. Still, Ratchet wants to go through his programming himself in case there is something he may have – don't touch that."

Bluestreak snatched his hand away from something oblong and blinking on the work bench, looking slightly guilty.

"Wow, you're good," Wheeljack complimented.

oOoOoOo

Prowl, currently seated at his desk (covered in various reports and reference materials), looked up as Jazz knocked and entered his quarters.

"Figured I'd find you here," he said. Bluestreak was already up out of his cot where he had been reading and hurried over to say hello to the Special Op with a smile and a hug. Jazz was more than happy to return the favor.

"Hey Blue, good, t' see you again, haven't seen you in a little bit." Jazz said with a smile as he knelt down to Bluestreaks level. "Been good for Prowl?"

A vigorous nod.

"Fantastic. Sorry I can't stay t' play, but I've got a briefing t' get back to."

Bluestreaks smile faded as his wings drooped slightly in disappointment. Jazz frowned slightly in concern.

"Jazz, did you bring the report I asked for?" Prowl asked, not looking up from his charts.

"What? Oh, yeah, here is." Jazz stood and passed the data pad over to the seated mech. "This good?"

Prowl glanced over the contents. "Yes, this is excellent. I appreciate you getting this for me, Jazz. It's a unique case of a Seeker attack pattern Megatron has only used once. It could be helpful to learn why he only used it the one time and never again in spite of its success."

"Hm. Hey Prowl, when was the last time you left your quarters?"

"I refueled this morning, and it's only…" Prowl trailed off as he checked his chromometer. "Hm. I didn't realize it was so late in the orn already."

"Figures. Seriously, Prowl, you need t' take a break already before you're CPU pops from all this thinkin' you're doin'."

"My CPU doesn't 'pop' from too much thinking – that's what it was designed to do." Prowl said in what could almost be mistaken for a dry tone. "Besides, I can't take a break until I've finalized at least five different defensive and counter strikes against Seeker attacks. Megatron controls the skies, and we can't hope to win unless we can meet that edge."

What Prowl expected to happen was for Jazz to try a little longer to talk him into a break, take a hint, and then leave him to his work, as per the usual course.

He was NOT expecting for black hands to wrap themselves under his arms and pull him bodily out of his seat and drag him backwards out the door.

"What do you think you're doing?!" Prowl exclaimed in alarm.

"Staging an intervention, of course," Jazz replied glibly.

Poor Bluestreak watched them go in complete bafflement, torn between alarm, confusion, and minor panic attack. He started running after them, skidded to a halt, ran back to Prowl's desk and hastily gathered up Prowl's datapads before running back after them – they were really important to Prowl, he might want them after Jazz…finished whatever it was he was trying to do with his Caretaker.

Said Caretaker, meanwhile, was trying to figure that out himself.

"Jazz, this is completely unnecessary! I already told you, I don't have time to take a break right now. I don't even need one!"

"Ah, yes you do," Jazz countered. "And if you're really that set against takin' a real break, just keep workin' in the rec room where everyone can see ya, before someone starts another bettin' pool on whether or not you're on-line and/or actually exist."

"I can't work efficiently in the rec room, Jazz. Maybe you can, but I need a quiet room where I won't be interrupted…like my quarters."

"Which makes this th' perfect opportunity to expand and explore!"

Even with Jazz's glib (and infuriating) response, Prowl was receiving a ping over his comm. from him…again. As with last time, Prowl opened up the line, though he couldn't help but wonder what Jazz had to say that he didn't want Bluestreak to overhear this time.

:: Ya do realize that when yer isolating yourself, yer also isolating Bluestreak from everyone else, right? :: Jazz asked.

Prowl twisted his head around to stare at him the best he could.

:: Guess that never occurred t' you. :: Jazz went on. :: Believe it or not, Blue's not hidin' from every mech on base who isn't you. If ya won't come out of your quarters for yourself, at least do it for him. Kid's gotta have a chance to socialize and get t' know everyone. It's a healthy part of growin' up, y'know, and he won't learn not t' be afraid of everybody if yer keepin' him away from 'em. ::

Prowl looked back at the little Praxian following them. The grey youngling was trotting after them, just barely keeping all of Prowls datapads in his arms. Now that Prowl thought about it, he never had considered what it must be like for him, trying to keep himself amused while Prowl was working. He never complained once or tried to take up too much of his time or attention, though he must have been incredibly bored and even lonely as he simply waited for Prowl to be done.

Come to think of it, when was the last time Bluestreak asked for anything, except not to be left alone?

"…Could you at least let go of me, Jazz? I can walk just fine on my own."

"That's the spirit!"

oOoOoOo

A small alert in his systems woke Prowl up to full operational capacity for the third night in a row. Sitting up, it was easy to see why.

Bluestreak, his cot still pulled up next to Prowls berth, was twisting around he made small whimpering noises of distress…the only times Prowl ever heard his voice.

Another nightmare. Every night, a nightmare. After the first couple of nights of waking up to Bluestreaks screaming, Prowl finally took a hint and set up an alert system to wake him up when Bluestreak started showing signs of recharge distress…like now.

Prowl reached over and gently shook Bluestreak awake. The youngling's optics flashed on as he froze still.

"You're having another nightmare," Prowl explained simply. He started to pull his hand away, objective complete, but Bluestreak grabbed the appendage and simply held it close. Prowl could feel the little one's hands trembling. It was enough to keep him from pulling his hand away until Bluestreak had started to calm down.

Last night, after Bluestreak calmed down, Prowl would stay sitting and keep watch over him until Bluestreak fell back into recharge again, just like he did the first night, whether it took a breem or half a joor. Naturally, he expected the same for tonight.

He really needed to learn to stop expecting things where younglings were concerned.

After a long, quiet pause when Prowl was almost certain he'd slip back into recharge, Bluestreak instead sat up, releasing Prowls hand. He sat still for a moment, wringing his hands as he visibly wavered on something only he knew what. Prowl simply waited for him to make his choice.

Finally, slowly, Bluesteak stood up in the space between the beds. He hesitated again, clearly nervous, but patted himself on the chassis before bending down to gently pat the space next to Prowl on his berth, looking at Prowl as if tentatively asking for permission.

"You want to share the berth?" Prowl asked, and he couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice. It didn't make any sense from his perspective – the additional proximity would add nothing to Bluestreaks safety, and if anything it would impede Prowls ability to defend him, since he would be on the inner side against the wall, and frankly he wasn't comfortable with the close proximity…

At hearing the incredulous tone in Prowls voice, Bluestreak interpreted as a firm 'no' and quickly sat back down on his cot, keeping his optics down and submissive, looking for all the world like a poor kicked turbo-puppy.

The words slipped out of his mouth before Prowl even had time to comprehend what he was saying.

"I never said you couldn't."

Bluestreak immediately looked up, hopeful. Prowl wasn't about to take back what he said, so instead he scooted back and made room for the smaller one on the berth. "I have to warn you, I doubt you'll be very comfortable," he told him.

The grey youngling hardly seemed to care – he was already crawling onto the berth and curling up next to his Caretaker with the earnest trust only a child could have. Within moments he was sound asleep, curled up as closely to the now stiff Prowl as physically possible, with only the squished doll between them.

Well. This wasn't quite what Prowl had been expecting.

Prowl tried to push the youngling off of him, but any attempt to dislodge Bluestreak only made him whimper a little and hold even tighter, as if Prowl was now an oversized stuffed comfort toy. While it may have been a source of comfort and security for Bluestreak, for Prowl it was just plain uncomfortable. There was something…disconcerting about the physical contact. The hand holding, he was fine with. But this was a tad too much for him.

On the other hand, it wasn't…quite as bad as he thought it would be. Having the small warm body curled up to him with so much trust was oddly…well, frankly, Prowl didn't know how to describe the sensation. But it wasn't entirely an unpleasant one.

Either way, there wasn't much to be done except try to lie down and initiate his recharge cycle again, and hope that Bluestreak was a heavy sleeper from here on out. Prowl did so, moving carefully so as not to jostle the resting youngling too much. Just before activating his recharge cycle again, he paused, considered, and then slowly placed a hand around Bluestreaks shoulder.

His arm stayed there the rest of the night, and neither stirred again until morning.

oOoOoOo

Ironhide watched as Prowl took his now usual place at the small table in the corner of the rec. room. He and Bluestreak had become a common sight in that corner, usually staying for a little over a joor when the room was moderately full, before it hit its busiest time in the middle of the orn. While Prowl worked, Bluestreak would read, draw, amuse himself with improvised toys provided by other mechs on base, and (more recently, and slowly more and more so) 'talk' a little with the occasional mech who wandered by.

Right now, as Prowl settled in his seat and spread out his datapads, Bluestreak had deposited his game of the day and was hurrying over to the energon dispenser with two empty cubes. He wasn't holding his doll today (Silverstreak, if he remembered right from what Hound was telling everybody), but he did have his ever present miniature datapad attached to his arm. Ironhide wondered if his leaving his blanket-doll behind said something about the younglings level of comfort in the base, when before you couldn't separate him from his beloved toy with a crowbar and a tub of grease.

"Cube for your thoughts?" Ratchet asked, not even bothering to look up from the medical journal he was reading.

"Mah thoughts aren't worth a cube, Ratch," Ironhide said. "Just wonderin'…how's the kid been doin'?"

"Better than before, not as well as I would like," Ratchet said honestly, glancing up. "He's still not talking, and he's still skittish with most mechs, including me. But at least he's starting to venture out a little, though I don't think he still feels completely secure here."

"So Ah could guess," Ironhide commented.

Bluestreak kept checking over his shoulder at Prowl, as if to reassure himself that he wasn't going anywhere. Prowl, for his part, never even glanced up from drafting his reports. He might as well been living in a soundproof bubble for all the attention he was paying to everything (and everyone) else.

"You'd think he'd at least pretend to be more interested in Bluestreak," Ironhide grumbled as the aforementioned youngling filled up the cubes with energon, standing on tippy-toes to reach the dispenser. "Ah still don't know what possessed ya to think this'd be a good idea."

"Prowl makes a better Caretaker than you're giving him credit for," Ratchet defended mildly. "Talk to anyone else if you don't believe me."

"He's not even watching him! What kind of Caretaker ignores his charges?"

"The kind that knows they don't have to hover over their charges every klick of every breem. Besides, Prowl may not be a particularly affectionate mech, but he's a far cry from being a negligent one."

With two full cubes, Bluestreak stepped back from the dispenser, right into the passing Gears. His back bumped against the minibots side, doorwings rattling with the impact.

"Hey!" Gears exclaimed, and Bluestreak immediately scuttled away, pivoting around to face the grumpy mech with the drone-in-the-headlights looks and nearly spilling the cubes he just filled.

"Watch it kid! You've gotta pay more attention to where you're going before you hurt someone," Gears grumbled, before walking off, muttering something about younglings and clumsiness and no respect, etcetera. Bluestreak stood where he was for a couple of extra klicks, trying to figure out if he was in trouble or not. Figuring he wasn't, he hurried back over to Prowl, careful not to spill either of the cubes.

But Ironhide hadn't been watching Bluestreak. He had been watching Prowl.

The instant Bluestreak bumped into Gears, before the minibot had made any sounds, Prowls head had snapped up and he focused straight on Bluestreak, hands going completely still. Even his doorwings rose slightly with his attention. It wasn't until Gears walked off with nothing more than a cursory grumble that Prowl relaxed and went back to his drafts.

"What did I tell you?" Ratchet asked, sounding just a little bit smug. He went back to reading his medical journal while Ironhide busied himself with picking his jaw off the floor.

oOoOoOo

Wheeljack checked under the table, behind the bench, all the drawers, and lifted up and rearranged his tools and half-done projects for the third time. It was no use – the focusing crystal wasn't magically reappearing on the work table.

Odd. Wheeljack was positive he set it here just this morning. How could he have misplaced it already? Granted, his work area personified 'organized chaos', as Ratchet had oh so lovingly put it one time, but Wheeljack was usually pretty good and remembering where everything was. He definitely would remember something as important as a focusing crystal – he had others, it wasn't like losing one would completely derail his projects, but they were expensive and were getting harder to find, especially the high quality ones he needed.

Oh well. Most likely he had accidently swept it away in another box while cleaning up. He'll probably find it in a couple of deca-orns with the bolts and nuts and wonder to himself how in the name of Primus it ended up there.

oOoOoOo

Sometimes, not having your own subspace got really annoying.

Bluestreak remembered asking Prowl about why everyone but him had their own subspace, and the elder mech had patiently explained that having a private subspace was a big responsibility, and so younglings weren't allowed to have their own until they reached a certain age. They even made it a law, because it was supposed to help protect the younglings from carrying things or collecting things they shouldn't, because they didn't know better.

Bluestreak didn't exactly get it, but that's what Prowl said so it had to be true. He still didn't have any place to put his toys, though.

Ever since he came here, it seemed like almost everyone had been trying to give him a little present, like a toy, or a book file, or a game, or something they just thought he might like. Bluestreak didn't like ALL the presents, but having other mechs wanting to give him something made him feel a little bit special. But it also made him really nervous for some reason he couldn't quite figure out.

Well, except for Jazz's presents. He didn't tell anyone because he didn't want to hurt their feelings, but he liked Jazz's presents best – maybe because he brought the toys and played with him.

Prowl didn't give presents, but that's okay, because he got to be with Prowl all the time and Prowl kept him safe. He didn't need anything else.

Speaking of which, Prowl was in recharge right now. The Doctor made him take the morning off as a mini-vacation, but then Prowl stayed awake for a really long time last night to do everything he had meant to do this morning. Bluestreak didn't even know when he went to bed, he himself fell asleep when the 'to do' pile on Prowls desk was still really high. He must be really tired if he hadn't woken up yet, and Bluestreak was determined to be as quiet as possible so as not to wake him up. Which is why he had all his toys out (it's no fun to play the games alone and he didn't feel like reading) and was quietly trying to keep himself occupied.

Eventually though, as younglings often do, he got bored. Prowl hadn't so much as twitched, and Bluestreak resigned himself to maybe rereading his favorite story while he waited for his Caretaker to wake up so they could go to the rec room for a little while.

However, his mish-mash of improvised toys were all still strewn around the floor, and if nothing else, Bluestreak had picked up on how very, very neat and tidy and well kept Prowl was about his quarters, even if he didn't have hardly anything to be messy with.

(The phrase Bluestreak was looking for was 'neat freak,' but he hadn't learned the term yet).

Up until now, for lack of a better idea Bluestreak had been keeping everything shoved under his cot. But as he gathered up his few possessions, he was struck by a terribly clever idea: wouldn't Prowl be proud of him if he put his toys away properly without having to be asked? And did it better than just under the bed? But where could he…oh!

He could use that chest by the wall. He'd never seen Prowl open it or even look at it. He wouldn't be surprised to learn Prowl had forgotten it was even there. If he wasn't going to use it, then Bluestreak could use it to hold his toys, and he can show Prowl he can be as neat and organized as he was.

The thought of making Prowl a little bit proud made Bluestreak feel warm inside.

Now a bot with a plan, he shuffled over to the chest on his knees, undid the simple latch, and opened up the chest, expecting to find it totally empty. He was not entirely wrong, but sadly he was still mistaken.

The chest was almost completely empty, except for a few holo-cubes small enough to fit in his palm. Bluestreak knew what they were because he saw them in Jazz's quarters. But Jazz had them all over his room, displaying holographic pictures of friends and old teammates and places he had been and funny events he got to see. Bluestreak liked looking at Jazz's holo-cubes, because it was like looking into Jazz's own past and seeing what he was like.

He wished he had a few holo-cubes. Maybe then he'd be able to remember his own family and where he came from.

He really wished he could remember.

But now Bluestreak was curious. Why didn't Prowl have his pictures around his room too? What was the point in having them if you were going to hide them? Oh, wait. Maybe since Bluestreak had forgotten his family, Prowl was afraid of making him sad by having pictures of his own lying around. Or something like that.

Well, Bluestreak didn't want Prowl hiding his pictures from him. So he decided to set the pictures back out, and show Prowl that he didn't mind. Actually, he was looking forward to learning more about his Caretaker; he didn't exactly talk a lot, and when he did, it was never about himself, not really.

Curiosity now getting the best of him - and not knowing enough about privacy to stop – Bluestreak picked a holo-cube at random and switched it on.

A toy sized figure appeared, slightly transparent but fully detailed. It was a Praxian mech, colored deep purple and silver, legs apart and fists at his side in a strong, intimidating pose. His wings were held stiffly, and his optics were covered by a yellow visor that hung over a stern mouth. Whether he knew or not that his picture was being taken couldn't be determined, but every line of his body language and facial features told of a harsh personality and a powerful presence.

As soon as he saw it, Bluestreak felt like someone had grabbed his spark and tanks and squeezed.

He dropped the holo-cube like it was hot slag. It clattered at the bottom of the chest and turned itself off, but Bluestreak was already scuttling backwards on his aft in a panic, as if expecting a monster to rise out of the chest and eat him. He didn't stop until his wings hit the opposite wall.

For a moment, Bluestreak stayed completely still as his fuel pump worked over time and his spark fluttered wildly in his chassis.

Bluestreak could say in absolute honesty he had absolutely no memory of ever seeing that mech before, and even now he had absolutely no idea why a mere image of a total stranger spooked him so badly he just about felt sick.

He wasn't keen to find out either.

No longer caring about his toys, Bluestreak got up and crawled into Prowls berth next to the tactician. Still more than half in recharge, Prowl just scooted over slightly to make room and dropped an arm around Bluestreak shoulder before falling asleep again. When he woke up a few joors later, he would be completely befuddled by Bluestreak appearing on his berth again and himself having no memory of when it happened. Meanwhile, the youngling curled up close to his Caretaker, drawing all the comfort and security his presence gave as his fluttering spark finally began to stabilize again.

Bluestreak changed his mind. He didn't want to remember after all.

oOoOoOo

And so, as Prowl was wont to do, he found himself falling back into a familiar routine adapted slightly by the presence of a small grey and red shadow. He worked, rested, and spent more time in the rec. room in the last deca-orn than in the entire vorn he'd been with the army. Bluestreak, for his part, while still glued to Prowl, was becoming marginally more comfortable with the other mechs. He was still depending on the datapad and preferring a certain amount of distance between him and everyone not-Prowl (the one exception being Jazz, and no one was entirely sure how he managed it), but at least he was getting a little better…or at the very, not any worse. It was a bit frustrating to some of the mechs, Optimus included, that they were limited in what they could actually do to help him, beyond giving him a safe place to call haven.

Then Optimus was presented with a unique opportunity to help, and routine became interrupted by a major change. Or rather, two of them.