Atonement
Chapter 2-Faint
Disclaimer: I don't own the Transformers. They officially belong to Hasbro and Takara. I'm taking them for a short spin.
Beginning of third shift. Jazz was in charge of the watch in ops. He didn't mind, all of the command staff took a shift at least once a week, including Optimus, when he was planetside. It kept them all sharp, and helped keep the troops in line. And like now, with Prowl's appearance in ops, served to further quiet down the scuttlebutt.
Prowl smiled at the mock salute Jazz offered.
"Have you seen Hot Rod?" Prowl asked.
"Not since this afternoon after the battle," Jazz said. "He was with Optimus. Prime business, probably."
"My aft," Prowl said. "He better not be shirking duty, because as my second in command, he was supposed to get me a casualty and damage report by now."
"Maybe he and boss bot are finally tradin' paint," Jazz said, so low Prowl had to strain to hear.
"You're delusional," Prowl said, dragging his friend out of ops and into the corridor so no one else could overhear their conversation.
Jazz grinned. "Those two are only gonna be able to dance around each other so long," he said. "I know the kid had it bad for Optimus before. . .y'know. . ."
"And you know this because?" Prowl asked, crossing his arms, exasperated with Jazz's logic.
"I had to listen to it almost every day for a very long time," Jazz said. "You should see the way Optimus looks at him, sometimes, too. It hurts to watch."
"They've both been through more than either of us can imagine," Prowl said.
"What about you?" Jazz said.
Prowl ignored the question. He didn't need Jazz prying into his personal life, but he knew his friend meant well.
"I'll see if Hot Rod is in his office," Prowl said. "At least it's on my way to my quarters."
Jazz clapped his friend on the shoulder, walking back into ops.
88888
Hot Rod was working on his report for Prowl when the city commander walked into his office. The young Prime snapped the stylus in his hand, cursing under his breath.
"I hope that's my report," Prowl said, not looking at Hot Rod, instead taking in the image of Optimus Prime with his feet up on the corner of Hot Rod's desk, arms folded across his middle, in recharge.
"It's almost done," Hot Rod said. "Sorry it's late, but we had an. . .emergency to deal with this afternoon. Springer is going to be out for a while, . ."
"What?" Prowl asked.
"Springer was hurt during the battle," Hot Rod said. "And there are some complications. If you want to know, you're going to have to talk to Ratchet."
Prowl turned on his heel, throwing the report back at Hot Rod. The sound of the pad hitting the desk woke Optimus.
"What's going on?"
"I wish I knew," Hot Rod said. "Prowl just threw my report back at me."
"I'd hope by now you know how to write a report," Optimus said, gently chiding the younger Prime.
"I can write a report. I'll finish it in the morning because he's not interested. I think I'm going to turn in," Hot Rod said, rising. "See you in the morning."
"Hot Rod," Optimus started. Hot Rod turned around. "Yeah?"
"Good night."
88888
Ratchet wanted nothing more than to go back to his quarters and curl up next to whichever of his mates happened to be there, but duty called. Springer was still unconscious, and unresponsive. The cortical monitor showed processor activity was increasing, so Ratchet figured he'd hopefully wake up sometime during the night or following morning. The sooner the better, because Springer's sparkling wasn't doing well. The medic picked her up, mindful of the monitors attached to the protoform.
"Brightspark, it'll be all right," Ratchet said, fervently hoping he wasn't lying to the tiny femme. "I'm doing what I can, but you need your carrier, or your sire. It's just that your aft-headed carrier wouldn't tell me when he had the chance. Little one, you're the first of your kind in so long. . .proof that we can move on, can have a future. . ."
Ratchet trailed off when he heard the med bay doors open. Prowl. Great. He started to smart off to the city commander, but stopped when he saw the strange look on Prowl's face.
"How is Springer?" Prowl asked.
"Lucky to be alive," Ratchet said. "If you're wanting my report, you can come get it sometime tomorrow. I have more important things to deal with right now."
The medic nodded toward the sparkling in his arms. "Springer got himself shot, and it triggered premature emergence of the sparkling he said he did not know he was carrying. I've had my hands full with both of them," Ratchet continued.
"Sparkling?" Prowl asked, edging closer to the medic.
"A femme," Ratchet said.
Prowl gently reached out, touching the sparkling's forehead. She stirred, then stilled. The Autobot second in commnd could not believe his optics, looking at the sparkling-his child.