::Iacon Police Headquarters, Whirlwind speaking. How may I assist you?::

::I need to speak to enforcer Prowl.::

::I am very sorry, medic Ratchet, but Chief Prowl is currently unavailable. What do you need assistance with?::

The medic suppressed the urge to growl. ::I don't assistance, officer, I simply need Prowl.::

::I'm afraid he's currently in an important meeting.::

::Look, I don't care if he's in a meeting with the Prime himself or if he's in slaggin' stasis! Tell him to get his aft to Iacon Central right now. This is important!::

::As it happens, he is indeed in a meeting with the Prime,:: the enforcer confirmed, unable to hide his amusement. ::Are you sure want me to disturb him?::

::Yes, please do.::

::Very well, if you insist. I'll see what I can do. What do you want me to tell him?::

::Thank you. Tell him it's about Bluestreak. And that he might as well want to grab the black and white Polyhexian on his way here.::

::Alright, but I can't promise he will come immediately.::

::Trust me, he will. Thank you.:: Ratchet disconnected the call and wrapped his servos around the distressed sparkling.

"Shh, it's alright. Prowl's on his way," he whispered so that only Bluestreak could hear him.

Large blue optics reset a couple of times to clear the static and looked at him with a hesitant, fragile hope. Ratchet smiled at the mechlet, nodding in confirmation. For the first time that orn, Bluestreak's faceplates lit up with a small but genuine smile.

"What's on that datapad?" Trust Quickdrive to ruin the moment.

"It's a drawing of Bluestreak and his enforcer friends," Ratchet valiantly fought to keep hostility from seeping into his voice.

"Prowl?" the social worker frowned disapprovingly.

Bluestreak's doorwings drooped again. Ratchet quickly grabbed the closest game datapad to distract him. (It was actually a test to determine a sparkling's spatial orientation, but little ones loved it.)

"I take it you don't like the mech? Why?"

"They are not a good match. Prowl's battle computer prevents him from understanding what a sparkling needs when it comes to emotions. You can't tell a sparkling to 'stop being illogical' when all he needs is a hug."

"I don't think that's a problem in Prowl's case," Ratchet protested. "Have you seen them together? He clearly cares about Bluestreak and it's obvious Blue adores him."

Quickdrive shook his helm. "Bluestreak only likes Prowl because he's a Praxian. After not seeing one of his frame type for so long, he would have taken a liking to any Praxian, enforcer or criminal."

Ratchet frowned again (he'd been doing that a lot in the other mech's presence). "Do you have a degree in sparkling psychology?"

"No," Quickdrive answered, unfazed by the question, "but like all social workers, I have the necessary education. Why?"

"I see. Are you familiar with Switchgear's work?"

"Some of it. Is there a point to your questioning?" he demanded.

"Yes, there is. You're saying that Bluestreak would be fond of anybot with Praxian frame." The medic quickly searched his library and allowed himself a small smile of victory when he found what he was looking for. "Switchgear actually proved in her research that such assumption is wrong." He handed the datapad to Quickdrive. "Have a seat and read chapter two – Interesting new object, interesting new mech."

"What, right now?"

"Sure. It's not that long, and you need to wait about half a joor before the additives I prescribed to Bluestreak are delivered anyway." That was not strictly true, the additives would be ready much sooner, but he needed to kill time until Prowl arrived. And there was no doubt in Ratchet's processor that the enforcer would arrive soon.

The book he gave to the annoying brown mech was a fascinating study of sparklings' reactions to various stimuli. The chapter he wanted Quickdrive to read dealt with the fact that unlike adults, sparklings decided whether they liked or disliked a mech they had never met before within the first two clicks from seeing him. According to Switchgear, colour schemes had nothing to do with it, age was of no consequence, height didn't matter (until their second upgrade sparklings had virtually no self-preservation instinct and therefore weren't intimidated even by Omega-sized mechs), voice played no part and apparently neither did mech/femme or flier/grounder distinction. And, most importantly, having the same frame type as the sparkling didn't automatically mean the sparkling would like you... Surprisingly, or maybe not, the only thing that mattered was the EM resonance. If your energy fields were dissonant, no amount of candy would make the sparkling like you. If, on the other servo, your fields resonated harmonically, the little one would immediately trust you and consider you their friend before you even looked their way.

Leaving Quickdrive to read, Ratchet went to check how Bluestreak was doing. He was astonished to find the grey Praxian smoothly breaking the high score. Not only was the mechlet moving on to level 53, he had yet to lose a life or get a penalty. Granted, doorwingers had an exceptional spatial orientation – but this was unusual even in adult Praxians. Ratchet updated Bluestreak's medical file with a recommendation to focus on developing this particular skill in his further education. With this much talent, Bluestreak might grow up to be a successful architect (imagine him combined with Sunstreaker and his aptitude for design!), pilot or even spaceship navigator...

"I... might have been a bit hasty in my conclusions," Quickdrive interrupted his musings after several breems.

"Glad you realize it. You will get a chance to apologize to Prowl shortly, he should be on his way here."

The mech's vents stuttered in shock. "How dare you call him behind my back? That's a blatant disregard of my authority!"

"I can override your decisions when it comes to medical matters," Ratchet reminded him calmly. "And this certainly is a medical matter," he continued, not giving the social worker a chance to protest. "Bluestreak is depressed. Do you know what he needs more than medication right now? A long hug from somebot who cares about him."

As if summoned by his words, someone—hopefully Prowl—pinged the door. Not caring about Quickdrive's opinion, Ratchet let them in.

There was a burst of static from Bluestreak's vocalizer before he uttered his first words in many vorns. "Jazz! Jazzjazzjazzjazzjazz!" he cried out as he scrambled off the berth and ran towards the door.

The Polyhexian crouched and opened his servos in welcome. "Hey, Blue," he whispered as he caught the sparkling and held him close.

"I missed you! I thought I would never see you again! When you didn't come to see me I thought you forgot about me! I missed you so so much! I-" the mechlet choked on static and cried.

"We never forgot about ya, Blue. I've been searching fo' ya all this time," Jazz caressed the grey doorwings. "Now that we've found ya, we're not goin' anywhere. Ah've got you. Shhhh. We're here. We're here with ya. I'm not letting' ya go. Shhhh." He rocked the sparkling, reassured him again and again that they wouldn't leave, rubbed his back – but nothing he said or did soothed the sobbing Praxian.

Forcing his battle computer offline and finally breaking the spell holding him frozen on the spot, Prowl stepped forward and cupped the crying face. Bending down he pressed his forehead against Bluestreak's and nuzzled the red chevron with his own. Just like that, the sobs died down. Bluestreak looked at him with big static-filled optics, took his face in tiny servos and nuzzled right back with a soft whimper.

He barely noticed when Jazz handed him over to Prowl. He dug his fingers into nooks in the adult's armour and hid his face in Prowl's neck. Nobot had nuzzled his chevron since... since his creators deactivated. The small gesture of affection reassured him more than words ever could. He wrapped himself in Prowl's energy field and offlined his optics, feeling utterly drained.

"I want t' adopt Bluestreak," Jazz broke the silence. "Ah don't have a battle computer nor an advanced logic centre," he looked at Quickdrive challengingly. "I do have a well-paid job, a spacious apartment close to a daycare, and a loving an' caring partner who is very fond of Blue and who knows everythin' there is 'bout takin' care of doorwings. How's that sound?"

"Please fill in this application," Quickdrive said in a monotone business voice, databursting him a package over the short-range comm.

Jazz's optics dimmed as he focused on the form. "Is bein' bonded a prerequisite?"

"No, it's not but we prefer bonded couples. That way the sparkling won't have to suffer through the couple's breakup."

The enforcer nodded and turned to Prowl. "Well, this is certainly not how Ah imagined it but I've been wantin' ta ask ya for quite some time now. Prowler, I love ya more than a Seeker loves the sky. Will ya bond with meh?"

Staring at his beloved in surprise, Prowl suddenly found himself at a loss for words. He knew he was supposed to say something, preferably romantic, but his cutting-edge processor refused to cooperate (now of all times!). All he could do was nod. His betrothed smiled nonetheless; the saboteur knew him well. They sealed the promise with a quick, chaste kiss and Jazz ticked "engaged" as his marital status in the adoption request. He quickly filled in information about his future bondmate (ohhh, he loved the sound of that!) and returned the document to Quickdrive.

"When can we expect the answer?" he asked.

"That depends on how busy the adoption committee is. It may be tomorrow or it may be in a few groons," the brown mech shrugged, uninterested.

"Well," Ratchet stepped forward, interrupting the conversation, "now that the formalities are settled, I would like Bluestreak to stay here overnight for observation. I believe you two know where the creator rooms are. He can recharge with you if he wants. Congratulations, by the way. Now shoo, I have other patients to take care of and I don't like healthy mechs in my office!"

Bluestreak shut down before they even left the room. After a tedious discussion with Quickdrive, Prowl and Jazz found a nursebot and asked about a spare room for the three of them. Bluestreak recharged soundly that night, curled on the berth between the two enforcers, for once unplagued by nightmares.

It was a miracle how much difference one night could make. The next morning the mechlet looked much better than yesterday, especially after Quickdrive stopped by to inform them that their request had been approved.

Jazz chuckled as he watched Sideswipe and Sunstreaker drag their still sleepy but very eager adoptive creation off to the playroom, Blue's vocalizer running mile per minute.

::Jazz?:: Prowler asked over the comm.

::Yeah?::

::You hacked their system, didn't you?::

::Yep.:: There was no point in lying to his betrothed, and it wasn't like Jazz was ashamed of infiltrating the poorly secured records.

::Jazz!::

Ooops, he knew that reprimanding tone.

::Yes?::

A muffled sigh. ::I love you.::