A bunny came out of nowhere and smacked me in the face.

Cybertron was no longer habitable.

The war with the Decepticons had reduced their once beautiful planet to a desolate wasteland of rusting metal, and the Autobots knew that they had to leave.

They decided to do it in stages, with the smaller bases evacuating to distant planets first, then the larger, more important ones after. The main headquarters in Iacon was the last to leave.

Many groups stayed behind, however, to work as a resistance to the Decepticons that didn't chase the Autobots into the depths of space. Many mecha disliked how the Autobots had been strewn across the galaxies, some entirely lost, and directed their anger towards the mech who drew up the plans that created this mess they found themselves in.

Prowl.

But he didn't mind it. He was far too used to having insults thrown his way than was healthy, and he had developed a skin so thick you could almost see it. 'Emotionless drone' and the various other, slightly ruder, variations appeared to be a crew favourite.

He rarely socialised, and spent the vast majority of his time in his office working on reports or tactics to gain the upper hand in this endless war. He could count his friends on one hand, but even then whether or not they were 'friends' was up for debate. However, he didn't care. As long as he completed his function for his Prime, he was satisfied. As long as he was helping the war efforts, he was fine.

His Prime needed him, and so he would stay.

They had found a new home in Earth.

While no other Autobots were to be found on the planet, they were content to set up a base there to bide their time until they were able to leave and gather their lost comrades.

Earth was a utopia compared to the dead planet they have left behind. Life was thriving everywhere, from the depths of the salty ocean to the highest peaks shrouded by clouds. They had found friends in the humans - Spike, Carly, Chip and Sparkplug in particular - and despite the fact the Decepticons were lurking on the planets surface too, there was a sense of calm.

Battles were less fierce. Less bots were dying. There was less of a rush to get energon – there was an abundance of it on the organic planet.

However, as peaceful as life may be, it cannot last. The battles picked up again. Casualties increased. Prowl painstakingly planned and planned, trying to account for every single fathomable situation.

He tried.

He tried so hard.

But he didn't account for the personality of the new recruit, Hot rod. The thought didn't even cross his mind, that the rookie would end up inadvertently killing their Prime.

He had failed.

The new Prime did not need him. He did not stay.

Prowl quietly groaned as he slowly onlined. The war had ended almost a vorn ago, and everything was slowly beginning to click into place again. There were still uncertainties and discrimination towards the Decepticons who were smart enough to surrender, but other than that everything was okay.

The shuttle crash, while violent and incredibly painful, was not fatal. Ironhide was a tough old fragger and pulled through, although he couldn't walk without the help of a walking stick – an invention borrowed from the humans. Prowl was incredibly glad that nobody had died in that crash. Despite them being incredibly valuable members in the Autobot forces whom had gotten him out of a tight spot more times than he'd care to remember, he considered them to be more than just co-workers. Dare he even say it, friends.

But none of them recovered back to their previous functionality. Ironhide was by far the worst off – being shot in the head tended to do that to people – and he was the one struggling the most to keep up.

Nobody blamed him. Nobody blamed Ratchet for losing his touch, either. Nobody was blamed.

Not even Prowl.

In fact, nobody blamed Prowl as they all believed him to be dead. He was pulled from the wreckage with charred insides and a spark so weak they couldn't detect it at all. They left him at the site of the crash, war moving too fast for them to mourn, and by the time they had returned to bury their dead Prowl was gone.

Any memories of what had happened were non-existent, and all Prowl remembered was waking up in his current apartment with a datapad with medical instructions and at what time he had to be at work the next day.

Prowl tried to find out what had happened, but the trail had long gone cold and he'd given up. He thought that it may have been the Autobots, but all the reports made by them stated that he had died and when he tried to get onto the base his codes were denied and he was always sent away.

Sure – he didn't look like himself anymore, but he was still Prowl… wasn't he?

Looking in the mirror, Prowl realised that he wasn't. His doorwings, when they used to be held proudly up on his back with a permanent glossy sheen, now sagged and hung. They were dull and tinged with grey at the tips. Where he was previously white, he was now a dark blue that was strikingly similar to Earths oceans, and his ruby red chevron had been replaced with one as black as the rest of his body. The tips of it had started to dull similarly to his wings, grey edges seeping in.

His optics were still ice blue and piercing, but dotted with white. Prowl didn't care enough to rectify it, and nobody said anything about them. It wasn't as if he had any reason to try and look after himself.

But today he was under strict instructions to look reasonably presentable and less like he was about to 'keel over and die', as his boss had so politely put it. He'd grudgingly accepted, aware that he needed to look approachable for what he was to do today.

The local education centre had asked for the enforcers to come in and give a presentation to the younglings there about what life was like working as an enforcer. Apparently they were at the age when they had to start thinking about what they wanted to do when they were older. Prowl didn't agree with forcing them to choose so early on – it was better than being forced into it because of your frame, yes, but if you changed your mind then it was tough titties.

Still, a job was a job, and it was better than the desk jockey work they gave him. Just because he was getting on a bit, didn't mean he was completely useless. Hellooo, battle computer, anyone? Didn't see any of those around these days. Then again, they weren't exactly needed.

Pushing those thoughts out of his head before painful memories resurfaced, Prowl opened his can of polish.

The education centre was loud and full of younglings. Prowl was immensely grateful that the younger cybertronians didn't start until later – he didn't think he could handle screaming and sticky hands. His patience for both had long gone.

The mech at reception pointed him down the hall to a classroom, and when he entered he found that all of the students were already there. Strangely, there weren't any minibots, but then again that wasn't exactly unusual. As few as there were remaining after the war, there wouldn't be an abundance of them just yet.

However, something he did find incredibly strange was the presence of a Praxian sitting at the back of the room. There were only two Praxians that Prowl knew of that survived the war – himself and Smokescreen.

He knew they were Praxian because of the doorwings that sat on their back, held proudly. They were chattering away to the mech next to them, who didn't appear to be paying much attention at all, and had bright blue optics that were strikingly familiar to Prowl. He barely stopped himself from wincing.

It wouldn't do to think about them now. He had work to do.

Once the teacher had gotten the class to quieten down, Prowl began.

He was used to seeing bored faces while he spoke. This class was no different, a few even falling asleep. Electing to ignore it – they were only younglings, after all, and what he was saying wasn't life or death - he continued until his optics fell on the other Praxian and he paused.

They were watching him with rapt attention, optics bright and full of curiosity. It was off putting, truth be told. Ignoring the feeling of being watched, he continued and finished up in record time. He was about to leave when the teacher asked if any of the students had any questions.

He had nearly escaped the highly invasive questions they always asked. 'Are you bonded?' No. 'Why do you speak like that?' It's an old accent. 'What's that scar on your face from?' I'd like to know that too. 'Why did you join the enforcers?' Because it was all I had left. Blah, blah, blah. Pure drivel.

It was the Praxian at the back that piped up first.

"Why are your doorwings so low?"

Prowl stalled. He'd never had anyone ask him that before. Then again, none of the younglings knew where they were meant to be held. "Are you not enjoying your job?" the Praxian continued, helm tilting to the side. The teacher was the first to respond with a sharp "Bluestreak!"

Bluestreak looked meek and sunk back down into their seat, doorwings drooping down in apology. "I'm sorry, Officer."

Prowl quickly collected himself and shook his head. "There is nothing to be sorry for. An innocent question, yes?" When Bluestreak nodded, he forced a small smile and simply replied "War does this to you."

Bluestreaks optics widened and mouth opened slightly in shock. "You fought in the war?"

Prowl nodded. "I've sworn to never allow it to happen again." His doorwings flicked and he looked at the rest of the class. "Are there any more questions?"

Silence. He nodded again and turned to leave.

When he was out in the hallway, he heard a chair suddenly scrape back and rapid pedefalls. He turned just in time to catch the youngling that had sprinted out after him and stop him from falling flat on his face. It was Bluestreak.

"Excuse me Officer, what's your name?" He asked, desperately looking up at Prowls face, optics searching his face.

"My name is Prowl." He replied, barely restraining himself from snapping that it was unimportant. Recognition spread over the younglings face, and his optics appeared to almost glitter.

"Do you know someone else called Prowl from when you were in the Autobots? Carrier says that they're black and white with a red chevron and ice blue optics and that they really tall and that he had to stand on the tips of his pedes to see him optic-to-optic and-"

By now he had righted himself and was nattering away much like he had when Prowl had first seen him. He suddenly jumped and stopped talking when he felt a hand fall on his shoulder, and the two Praxians turned around to see an angry looking teacher.

"Bluestreak, do we need to talk again?" They said, trying their hardest to not sound angry. Prowl found himself not wanting the youngling to get shouted at, and quickly stepped in by telling the teacher that it was fine and he had already done so. Before he could get roped into any more conversations, he strode as fast as he could out of the building.

Bluestreak pouted at the board as he wiped it clean. Even though the enforcer – Prowl, Bluestreak reminded himself, had told his teacher that he had already been 'punished' about running out of the classroom, they still insisted on giving them a more physical one. It was almost the dark cycle now and it was just him inside the school building, rubbing away at the boards.

His once clean hands were now covered in the remains of the ink used to write on the board and small fragments of the foam used to wipe it off. He was on his final board and then he could go back home again. "Carrier's probably worried…" Bluestreak mused to himself as he pulled a chair towards the board to get to the higher parts that he couldn't quite reach.

Prowl. His thoughts couldn't get away from him. He knew that he had known him from somewhere before – but what was it? The moment he walked into the room there was an undeniable sensation in his spark, and even now it still remained. He didn't like it at all.

Before long he was done, the chairs put back and the door locked. There were still a few night staff crawling around, so he didn't need to worry about locking any of the other doors, and he stepped right out into the night. It was getting colder, signalling the cold seasons impending arrival, and he shivered before beginning to run back home again.

He left the gates and turned to the left to almost run straight into another mech. He looked up to see a familiar pair of ice blue optics and a scarred cheek.

"Officer Prowl?"

"I thought you might still be here. I've been instructed to take you back home."

Bluestreak nodded, accepting that. He wouldn't like to take the walk home alone, that's for sure. It was dark and anyone could be in the shadows! Just because there was no more war, it didn't mean it was safe!

As they begun walking, Bluestreak began talking.

"Who told you to take me home?"

"The school, your teacher put in a request. They know how much you dislike the walk home when it gets dark."

"Thank you."

The walk was infinitely shorter with someone else to chatter away at, and by the end of it Prowl was feeling deaf and Bluestreak was starting to run out of time to say everything he wanted to. So he started going faster, his words merging together to the point Prowl was amazed that he had the breath to do so.

"Bluestreak, you need to breathe between sentences."

"Sorry but there's just so much I want to say I don't get to talk to adults that often and they're much more patient with me and they understand me more, well Carrier says so any way, and it feels less like I'm being ignored and I'd really like to talk to you more because you look as though you don't get to talk to people that often and you have this lonely look on your face all of the time-"

Prowl stopped listening as his intakes hitched. Was it really that obvious? He didn't crave social contact, no, nor did he care that much for it, but in truth he was lonely. Almost everything in his body had to be replaced after the crash, including his communication device. New communication device meant a new number, and nobody had it or recognised it. All attempts to call those he had considered a friend had failed and he felt rather cut off from the rest of the world.

"-and I really want someone to talk to you because I'd hate for your doorwings to get any lower because they look really sore and stiff and it's sad to see them so low, and I hate it when people are so obviously sad and nobody is helping them and I feel sad now knowing that I'll never get to talk to you again because you're fun to talk to and you're interesting and you listen-"

"If you ever want to talk, just give me a call." Prowl replied, taking a datapad out of his subspace and handing it to Bluestreak. "It sounds as though you need someone who will listen."

Bluestreak looked up with surprise to see the apartment building he lived in.

"Thank you, Prowl." Bluestreak smiled, quickly hugging Prowl before bounding off up the stairs to open the door. When he turned around to wave at him, Prowl was gone.

He'd forgotten what a hug felt like.

It felt weird. There were very few who were willing to touch him without the intent to harm. Most of them were dead or thought he was dead.

It felt weird, but it was also somewhat warm and he felt infinitely better. Even though it was only brief, Bluestreak most likely worried that he'd overstepped his boundaries and kept it short. Prowl wanted to tell him that he hadn't and that he was free to hug him again, but he found himself transforming and driving away as fast as he could. No – he didn't want to get too close to them. Just looking into those optics of his made his head hurt as memories he'd painstakingly locked away were brought back to the surface and recalled in chilling detail. He didn't deserve any kindness.

His apartment was as cold and dark as always, but Prowl didn't care as he made a beeline for his berth and collapsed face-first onto it. Decorum could go frag itself.

Bluestreak sang as he walked up the stairs to his floor. He didn't care if he was disturbing the neighbours – they always disturbed him – and he was in a good mood for once. Once he was at his front door, he knocked twice and waited for his Carrier to let him in.

"Hello Carrier!" Bluestreak sung the moment the door opened, bouncing in past the other mech. They huffed as they closed the door, turning an accusing look at them as their creation bounced down onto the sofa.

"Where have ya been? Ah was worried." They scolded as they walked into the kitchenette, taking a cube of energon off of the warmer and handing it to Bluestreak.

"I was at school because I got into trouble for talking again and they made me clean all of the boards so now I really need to wash my hands because they're all inky and foamy and it feels like there's grit in my joints."

"Ya really do need ta stop talkin' in class, this is the third time this groon."

"Well this enforcer came in today and they had these huge doorwings that're bigger than mine and they looked like Smokescreens and I asked them about the war and they said they fought in it and-"

"Ya didn' make 'em uncomfortable, did ya?"

"No, I've got their comm. number. Oh oh! And they said their name was Prowl although they don't look much like the Prowl you tell me about although their optics are the right colour and they've got some black on them there's not a speck of red or white it's all blue or black and they look a bit like the night sky and they've got a scar on their cheek but I don't know how old it is-"

Their carrier froze, engine audibly stalling, visor brightening. "Wha'?"

"They said their name was Prowl." Bluestreak repeated, taking the datapad Prowl had given him out of his subspace and handing it to his Carrier. "They said that this was their comm. number."

Their Carrier took the pad and looked at the number and sighing, slumping in their seat. "This ain't Prowlers number."

Bluestreak felt his doorwings droop. "Oh." He thought he'd done well. He thought he'd found the mech his Carrier had been looking for. He looked up when he felt a hand stroke the back of his helm, and he saw his Carrier smiling at him.

"Thank ya anyway Blue." They said before planting a kiss on their creations helm. Bluestreak still couldn't help but feel disappointed. Maybe there was more than one Prowl? But Carrier had told him that there weren't many Praxians working for the Autobots as the rest had been killed – so was this the right one? But the comm. number was all wrong – unless it was the number for his office? Was that the one he had received?

He hoped that this number actually worked. The thought left a bad taste in his mouth, but he'd been given a fake number more than once. He hoped this was a real number – he liked talking to Prowl. He felt calmer around him.

Prowl woke up before his alarm went off.

What woke him up was the persistent ringing in his helm, signalling that someone was trying to comm. him. It was relatively early in the morning – too early for the vast majority of the city to be awake – so who could it-

Well that was a name he didn't expect to ever see again.

::Caller I.D: Jazz.::

He picked up and was silent for a moment before speaking.

::Hello?::

::Oh thank Primus it worked:: Jazz breathed from the other side, audibly relieved. Prowl didn't reply, wanting to see what Jazz had to say. His hand hovered over his comm. device, ready to shut it off at a moments notice.

::Prowl, what happened?::

::I'm sorry?::

::The shuttle-::

::I think it's common knowledge what happened::

::Ya disappeared, Prowl. Ah thought Ah'd lost ya fer good::

::You would have if I didn't. There's a lot neither of us know::

::Ah want ta see ya again. Gotta make sure, yanno?:: Jazz replied with a laugh, although there was no mirth in it.

::Is just hearing me not enough?::

::Not fer me. Ya should know that better than anyone::

::There's a lot about you I thought I knew, although now I'm not too sure::

Jazz was quiet, and Prowl was about to shut the comm. link off and forget that this conversation had ever happened when Jazz replied.

::Ah'd like the chance ta apologise face ta face::

Prowl sighed and rubbed his face tiredly. He was getting too old for this. ::I get off my shift at three::

::Perfect. Ah'll see ya at Konditorei – tha' lil café on the corner::

::I will see you there:: Prowl replied before cutting the comm. link.

Prowl made sure to make a note of it – no doubt he'd pass this off as a dream if he didn't – and he was about to return to recharge when it suddenly hit him.

How did Jazz get his comm. number?

He wildly searched his memories for who he could have given it to, but the only thing that came up was Bluestreak. How was Bluestreak connected to Jazz?

Deciding to interrogate Jazz after his shift, he pushed it to the back of his mind and was about to attempt to recharge again when his alarm went off.

No snooze now, he had work to do.

As Prowl entered the building half a joor later than he usually did, the mecha there double took. His doorwings were held significantly higher and the colour was returning to them. While before his paint was dull, scratched and in dire need of a repaint it was now glossy and looked almost new. His optics were still speckled with white, but in time that would also disappear. The mechs brave enough to wolf whistle at him received a glare for their efforts.

He didn't want to keep Jazz waiting for him after his shift, so he made sure he looked presentable beforehand. Yes, he knew that he'd never look attractive again but he could at least try. He could at least try for Jazz.

Jazz. That single word both dragged him down and pulled him up, tearing him apart yet keeping him together. He had once trusted the mech with his own spark, and he wouldn't hesitate to trust him again. If only he didn't feel so nervous about seeing him again.

They didn't part on the best of terms. Before the shuttle – before his supposed 'death' – they had gotten into an argument that even Ironhide didn't want to muscle his way into. They'd stormed off in opposite directions whilst fuming. While everyone else was distracted with the two officers seemingly at the others throats, no one noticed the silent cassette tape witnessing the entire thing.

If they hadn't argued, they wouldn't even be in this position. Nobody would have died or gotten hurt. Still, there was no use in wallowing in what could have been.

The work was easy. Way too easy. It was almost insulting with the way they never gave him anything challenging, god forbid they gave the war veteran anything mentally straining. Not as if it was his job or anything. The datapads they gave him got boring fast, and there was nothing he could do that would entertain him in the slightest.

Sometimes when Prowl got bored, he would shoot elastic bands out of his window at the mecha below. They never knew it was him, nor had they ever guessed – he was known as the grumpy old man. Why on earth would he fire elastic bands out of his window? And so the mystery went on. But unfortunately he couldn't anymore – they'd installed a security camera in order to catch the criminal.

Surprisingly, his shift went relatively quickly. Prowl assumed it was simply nerves that made the time go faster, and when the clock struck three he was already halfway out of his office.

He had to face Jazz again.

While Prowl would like to say that he wasn't nervous at all, he was. His tanks were tied up in knots and he felt slightly nauseous. Everything he'd said to Jazz before the crash was spinning around in the front of his mind, taunting him to the point where he just wanted to run away and lie down in a gutter somewhere to be scavenged upon by street children, but he'd promised Jazz he'd be there.

So he would.

Konditorei turned out to be a nice, roomy café. The seats had fabric covers – something Prowl most certainly wasn't expecting – which looked as though they had come from Earth. He assumed that the Autobots were still going back to Earth from time to time. There was a stand full of datapads that held the cycle's news in the far corner, and Prowl made a beeline for that first before finding a table.

The only table that didn't have an obscene number of seats left was one close to the window, so that was where Prowl sat. Besides, it meant he could see Jazz coming.

If he was.

He onlined the pad before settling himself down for a long wait, almost certain that Jazz wouldn't come and would chicken out last minute. It had happened before.

Primus he was late.

Why did he agree to come at three? Bluestreak finished his classes then and needed to be let back in! He debated taking Bluestreak with him to save time, but quickly realised that it would probably cause more problems than it'd solve, so now Jazz was sprinting down the street towards Konditorei.

The moment he was inside he swept his optics over the mecha inside, searching for the distinctive black and white paint job that he'd learned to adore.

Nobody matched it.

Shoulders slumping in defeat, he was about to leave the café before he started crying when he spotted a pair of doorwings, and what Bluestreak had told him the night before played in his head.

"They've got some black on them there's not a speck of red or white it's all blue or black and they look a bit like the night sky and they've got a scar on their cheek"

The mech matched the description, right down to the scar that marred the side of their face. The way they sat screamed 'Prowl', right down to the way their legs were crossed with one pede pointing at the floor.

It was Prowl.

Jazz slid into the seat opposite him, trying to hide how nervous he was. Prowl didn't seem to notice him, engrossed with his datapad. It was only the twitch of his doorwing that told Jazz that he did know he was there.

"Heya, Prowler."

Prowl slowly looked up from his datapad, shock written clearly on his face. Jazz simply nervously grinned at him, drumming his digits on the table.

"You came." There was a hint of relief in Prowls voice as he put down the datapad.

"O'course Ah did!" Jazz pouted, crossing his arms across his chest childishly. Some things never changed, Prowl thought absently. "Sorry Ah'm a bit late though- had ta let Blue in. Ah forgot to give him a key."

"Blue? Who're they?" Prowl immediately assumed that they were Jazz's mate – bonded or not he didn't want to think about – and while a part of him was immediately hostile towards them for touching his Jazz, the other part of him was quick to accept it. Until this morning, Prowl thought Jazz believed him to be dead.

"Ah, right, yeah…" Jazz immediately shrunk back, realising that he'd let something slip. "Ah was gonna tell ya – Ah promise – but given the turn of events…" He awkwardly replied, twiddling his thumbs. Prowl raised an eyebrow, wondering where this was going. Jazz suddenly stood up, making Prowl jump and immediately get a sinking feeling in his tank.

"Ah'm gonna get us some energon, anythin' ya'd like in particular?"

"No, not really."

Jazz nodded and immediately went to order, and Prowl slumped back into his seat, completely stumped as to what Jazz meant.

When Jazz returned with two steaming cubes of energon, Prowl was still none the wiser and made sure his face showed it.

"Ah got ya the bitter one 'cause I remember ya sayin' that ya used ta like ya energon fulla lead."

"Thank you." Prowl gracefully accepted the cube that was handed to him, warming his hands with it before sipping. Sure enough, there was the bitter taste of lead and something else he couldn't quite place, but he enjoyed it. Jazz's had a layer of what looked like copper sulphate crystals on the top

"So." Prowl began, placing his cube down on the table. "You were saying?"

Jazz seemed to freeze on the spot, grip tightening on his cube. He released a vent of air as he put down his cube, placing his hands on his lap to that they were hidden under the table. He couldn't stop the shake in them if he tried. "Remember how Ah was sayin' that Ah had a… strange feelin' in meh spark? Back before Prime bit the dust."

"I thought you said that was just a virus and would pass in time-"

"Nah, it wasn't. Ah lied."

Prowls eyebrows quirked. It wasn't the first time Jazz had lied to him, but it was strange and out of character for Jazz to lie about something like this.

"Primus I really hoped tha' Ah didn't have ta say this for a while" Jazz groaned, rubbing his forehead between two digits. "It was almost worst case scenario."

The sinking feeling in Prowls tank came back, and he felt himself dreading what Jazz was going to say. "You were sparked, weren't you?" Prowl asked quietly, not able to bring himself to look up into the bright blue visor.

"Ah was."

Prowl pinched the bridge of his nose, guilt and remorse swirling around his spark. He felt like such a failure. "I'm so sorry, Jazz."

"Don't worry, he turned out just fine."

Prowls head snapped up audibly, optics bright with surprise. "What?"

"Ya thought Ah terminated it? No way, Prowler! Ah wasn't gonna lose th' only thin' keepin' meh goin'." Jazz laughed, placing one of his hands on the table, extending it to wiggle his digits at Prowl in invitation. "Everyone mourned, Prowler. Everyone. Ah didn't think Ah'd ever get ta see ya again."

Prowl accepted the invite, mirroring Jazz's position and linking their digits together. He felt slightly numb. Who could blame him? He'd always thought that… wait.

"So Blue is…?"

"Through 'n' through. Even got th' doorwings – though, Ah s'pose ya already knew that." Jazz smirked, immensely glad that Prowl was allowing the contact. He'd already missed it so much. "Blue's his nickname, he's really called Bluestreak."

Bluestreak. The youngling from yesterday. "He's got your optics." Was the only thing Prowl could think to say, and he could have sworn that Jazz's faceplates began to glow pink.

The café was still bustling with life, the day not quite breaking into the evening. Their cubes sat almost empty, the warmth now long gone, and they just talked. It was more than either could have ever hoped for.

Eventually, the glares of the workers and other occupants became too obvious and they quickly left, not wanting to invoke their ire any further. They had been in there for a while, and they were getting quite loud…

Now they were at a loss as for what to do. They didn't want to leave the others presence – hell, without even noticing it they'd latched onto the others hand and not let go since – and it was too late to go on a walk together. The parks would be closed, and the museums wouldn't allow any new customers in. They were walking aimlessly when Jazz finally plucked up the courage to ask Prowl if he'd like to see Bluestreak.

To which he quickly said 'yes'.

Bluestreak, as it turned out, was curled up on the sofa with a blanket wrapped around him as he watched a movie. When he heard the front door open, he immediately perked up and looked over, nearly falling off the sofa in shock as he saw Prowl walk in behind his Carrier.

"Officer?!" He yelped, scrambling to pick himself up off the floor. Jazz snickered at his creation, ignoring the glare he got from Prowl for doing so. Reluctantly, Prowl let go of Jazz's hand and walked over to help the other Praxian get up. As soon as Bluestreak was standing on his own two feet, Prowl immediately pulled him into a tight hug.

"Thank you." He quietly murmured into the younglings audial, knowing full well that Jazz could hear him perfectly. Prowl felt more than saw Jazz kneel down beside them, and the visored mech wrapped his arms around both of the Praxians.

Yup. Definitely glad Prowl was here.

Even after Bluestreak had finally been forced to go to recharge, Prowl was still there.

He really didn't want to go back to his apartment.

Besides, as it was, he couldn't anyway. Jazz had wrapped his arms around Prowls midsection, tears rolling down his cheeks as he repeatedly apologised. Prowl simply curled his arms around Jazz's shoulders, whispering to him about how it was okay and definitely not his fault. How it was his own for over reacting.

"Primus, Prowler it's not okay! Ah promised ya Ah'd bond wit' ya an-"

"And I understand why you ultimately didn't. It'd endanger Bluestreak."

"But Ah still could'a told ya!"

"If I remember correctly, we considered being sparked an almost worst-case scenario."

"Still not a reason." Jazz mumbled, burrowing his face into Prowls neck and intaking deeply. After a few moments of silence with the occasional sniff, Jazz pulled away and gave Prowl a scrutinising look. "And we are so changing your paint. Dark blue is definitely not your colour."

Prowl couldn't help but laugh, bumping his nose against Jazz's. "You want us to match again don't you?"

"Of course. It's what made our charm, Prowler."

"Charming."

Jazz chuckled, leaning his forehead against Prowls. "Can Ah assume that Ah'll be seein' a lot more of ya?"

"You wont be able to get rid of me."

I haven't seen the movie in a while so some of this maaaay be slightly skewed? I have a sinking feeling that Prowl died first…

We can pretend, okay?

Tell me what you thought & I'm still open for requests! I'm about to have my holiday so I'll have plenty of time to write.

~Llama