Whoa. That is all I have to say to the response to the last chapter- it both shocked and awed me in such a way that I was stunned for many days after. The encouragement and enthusiasm you've all shown for this pairing, not to mention this particular version that I'm concocting, has been most welcome! I wish I could thank all of you personally, perhaps give a hug or two, but since this is the internet and there is the possibly that I am a crazed madwoman with chopped up bodies hiding in my basement, we shall leave the physical meetings and hugs for another time. I hope you can all make due with my most sincere cyber-thanks and some tight cosmic-hugs. Thank you so much to each and every single one of my reviewers, Shizuka Taiyou, Luck-of-the-Irishman, agent-doo, Flight of Insanity, Ragnarok347, Independent C, cmdrtekk, Blu-Calling, Alangrieal, Elita One, Optimus Bob, Faecat, Chloo, sacred histories, lady tecuma, CuriousDreamWeaver, FunkyFish1991, last ditch, Refracted Imagination, Cynthia, Katherine, Mirage Shinkiro, Peacewish, renegadewriter8, Anon., and Lecidre~ To each of you, from the bottom of my heart, thank you.

I realize that this is going to be my last post of the year, or the first post of the new year depending on where you are in the world, so in that case, I want to wish everyone luck, love, and happiness in the New Year! ^_^

Read & Review, my friends. I look forward to your thoughts~*

Chapter 2

Ratchet was still on a tangent by the time Prowl was guided safely into the med bay, and the medic miraculously was still going strong a joor later. Thankfully, Prowl knew of ways of deal with Ratchet and his tirades. He shut down his audios and merely nodded or grunted when it seemed like Ratchet was looking for an answer for whatever tangent he was currently on. Prowl's time in captivity with the Decepticons had allowed him to perfect the technique.

Another technique Prowl had perfected during incarceration was withstanding discomfort. He daren't turn his neural relays back on yet, but the pressure ratchet was exerting on his pressure sensor grid was borderline hostile. Despite the fact that the medic was trying to fix him, the process was very much like surviving physical torture. The vehemence with which Ratchet was treating Prowl's injuries was most likely a form a punishment for the foolhardy invitation Prowl had left open for Jazz.

Quite suddenly, the tactician had a very bright light shining in his optics. He blinked dazedly, jerking back. Ratchet was there, too close for comfort, examining him through narrowed optics. Prowl belatedly realized that he was being spoken to directly, rather than being ranted at, so he turned on his audios-

"-haven't said a word edgewise since you were brought in here. I can only imagine what kind of damages your processors have undergone. It will probably take orns to get them sorted out…" A scanned passed over Prowl. "No obvious damages to your vocal processor, or your audios… You spoke just fine in the hangar… Lucid, direct, aware…" Ratchet turned sharply to First Aid, who was seeing to a patient in for a minor wound won from a sparring match. "Did he present any obvious trauma while you had him in the ship?"

"Loads," First Aid replied. "But I patched the worst up with temp plating-."

"Not physical," Ratchet injected impatiently. "Mental. Did his behaviour seem off?"

First Aid blinked, peering between Prowl and Ratchet. "No, he seemed relatively fine and lucid throughout the flight. I'd say he was the same old Prowl he's always been- saner than any other mech on the ship, that's for sure."

Prowl smirked mutedly, but the movement was caught by Ratchet's trained optics.

"Ah, so now you're listening," he grumped.

Prowl turned his optics up, casting his faceplate into an emotionless mask. "My apologies. I… turned off my audios."

There was a shadow of annoyance across Ratchet's faceplate, but it was quickly replaced by self-chastisement, and then understanding. He relaxed his stance somewhat, crossing his arms across his chassis. "I'm probably the last mech you want to hear from after being in Straxis for so long. I'm not helping your condition, am I?"

"Your repairs are perfectly adequate, if not a little more painful than usual."

The medic made a snorting sound. "Sometimes I hope that if I make the experience uncomfortable enough, it would be enough for some to wise up and not want to repeat it."

Knowing that Ratchet was not talking about him specifically, Prowl nonetheless said, "I'll be sure to try harder in the future not to become a prisoner of war."

That was enough to grant a wry smile on the dusky-yellow mech's faceplate. "I can never tell if you're trying to have a sense of humour or not when you say things like that."

The tactician merely shrugged. "I was not programmed with a sense of humour."

With a shake of his head, Ratchet returned to his repairs. This time around, he was infinitely gentler and refrained from ranting too much. As soon as First Aid was done with his rounds checking the status of one unfortunate fellow floating in a CR chamber in the ICU, he came in to assist with whatever he could. They didn't bother to make much conversation after that initial exchange.

Prowl was curious as to what had happened to the Decepticon known as Jazz, and a small part of him wondered if the saboteur had made it down to the brig at all or if he was shot dead before he got there, but he knew better than to show any interest in the mech. While Ratchet may have been going easier on him, that didn't mean he wasn't being watched by diamond-sharp optics for any sign of weakness or instability. It was a little too much like being back in interrogation, but even the worst Decepticon treatment would seem like a blessing compared to the wrath of Ratchet should the medic suspect anything.

"Optimus will be in soon to speak with you," Ratchet finally said as he and First Aid finished what they could, helping to ease Prowl back onto the birth so he could lay comfortably.

"No doubt he is curious of my recent actions," Prowl stated.

"I disconnected your communications, but it's been all over the comm. that Jazz is in Iacon, and that you were the one to bring him here. The base is practically in lockdown now. Not to mention Ironhide's been rather upset for the past couple of joors."

Prowl made an annoyed noise. "So it can be assumed that Optimus has been with Ironhide trying to negotiate not shooting our prisoner."

Ratchet gave a curt nod. "For once, I agree with Ironhide's methods. A 'Con that dangerous shouldn't be allowed alive in Iacon, even if he is in the brig."

That admittance was a small comfort to Prowl- not that Ratchet wanted Jazz dead, but that Jazz had made it to the brig without causing further pandemonium. Knowing that the Decepticon had kept his word and walked himself to the brig instead of instigating a riot of some sort was a relief. Perhaps Jazz had what it took to be an Autobot after all? Or was Prowl simply getting ahead of himself? Most definitely getting ahead of himself- one promise kept meant nothing.

The medic continued haughtily. "I can make excuses for your actions until the sky falls down, but that doesn't change the fact that he's here and we're all at risk because of it."

"He saved my life."

Ratchet shook his head. "Not that I don't mind having you back, Prowl, but even you have to be suspicious of the reasons behind his actions."

Prowl fixed the medic with a flat stare, one that every pre-program lacking emotions had by default- emotionless and unnervingly blank. "I am suspicious of him. I would not be the head advisor of the Tactical Division if I was not. The difference between my suspicions and yours, Ratchet, is that I'm not afraid of them."

A nerve had been hit with the words, causing the CMO to bristle. First Aid laid a hand to his mentor's arm before anything could be said that everyone would regret in the morning.

"I think it would be wise if Ratchet and I went down to the labs to see if Wheeljack has spare armour parts for you. If not, he'll just have to build them. We'll be going, right now. Come on, Ratchet…"

The little red bot started to shoo Ratchet out the door, but the CMO stopped dead in his tracks before he could be forced out. A strict finger was pointed threateningly in Prowl's direction.

"Don't you even dare do anything stupid while I'm gone; if I find out you dragged Smokescreen out of his shift to get caught up on your work, I'll dismantle you. You're on leave until I say you're fit to work again." First Aid made an impatient noise, motioning pointedly to the door. Ratchet glared down his olfactory sensor casing at the bot until he backed down, then that glare was turned back to Prowl. "And don't think you've gotten away with turning off your emotional center."

Prowl went rigid.

"Yes, that's right. Just because I haven't checked in your head yet doesn't mean I don't know the signs. As soon as you're done with Optimus, I'm turning it back on."

A scowl marred Prowl's faceplate. "That's unnecessary-."

"The pit is it. You've had it off for too long already. Any longer and the backlash might put you in stasis." With that, Ratchet slid from the med bay, leaving Prowl to himself.

There was no point in cursing after the mech, no matter how great a threat Ratchet held over his head. Turning his emotional center back on was a necessary evil, no matter how much Prowl detested the idea. As inexperienced with his emotions as he was, he couldn't just shove them away. He couldn't ignore them. Couldn't delete them. There was the blessed option of turning them off, but it only lasted for a little while, a few orns at best, and then he had to turn it back on. The backlash usually made him sick, sometimes enough to incapacitate him. During his imprisonment with the Decepticons, there hadn't been a chance to turn his emotional center back on to relieve the pressure. He couldn't risk that vulnerability. It was going to be a painful glitch switching it back on.

He absolutely despised his damn weakness.

Luckily, he didn't have long to ruminate over his pre-programmed shortcomings. The door hissed open at the far end of the med bay and in popped a familiar head. Prowl quirked an optic ridge.

"Ratchet said you were on duty," he said.

Smokescreen slid into the room, grinning cheekily. "Sure, I'm on duty, but it's not like anyone's going to miss me. All I was doing was reports anyways." He wandered through the bay to his commander's side, propping his hip against the berth. Despite such an easy smile on his faceplate, Smokescreen's optics were sharp and trained as they looked Prowl over. "You okay?"

"I'm fine."

"You're lying."

Prowl spared a moment to stare down his second in command. "I will be fine," he amended.

Smokescreen nodded. "Good. I don't like your job- I'd rather stay second in command any orn. There's way too much work involved being you."

"You will have to deal with it until Ratchet deems me fit for work again."

The dark-blue tactician shrugged. "Meh, just so long as you're here and you're okay, I'm good." He clapped a hand over Prowl's shoulder. "I just wanted to make sure you were alright, you know? It's not every orn that a mech gets carted off to Straxis and comes back with friends."

Prowl considered his fellow Autobot for a moment, then said, "You're referring to Jazz."

"Damn straight I am." There was an air of indignity in Smokescreen's tone.

Prowl's optics narrowed slightly. "I'm going to be defending myself endlessly over him, aren't I?"

Smokescreen finally dropped his smile for a serious frown. "There ain't no way you're escaping this one, commander. Your tactical evaluations of situations have always been bang on, and no one is going to deny that you're a damn brilliant tactical commander for this unit, but you're still pretty new to the position. Bots are still getting used to you. Suddenly inviting a Decepticon into the spark of Iacon is not going to help things."

"How many are questioning my sanity?" Not the usual kind of question a bot would ask, but when taking the Autobots' tendency for histrionics into account…

"That's hard to say," Smokescreen shrugged. "The higher-ups don't know what to make of it. You're too new for them to know yet, let alone trust, but they're all putting on brave fronts for their divisions. A lot are making excuses, saying you're not in your right mind, that you've been tortured and Ratchet needs to reprogram you. Whatever kind of slag works for them."

"What have you told the rest of the Tactical Division?"

"The truth," Smokescreen replied simply. "That you're a damned pain in the aft, but no Decepticon is going to break you that easily. If anything, I trust you. You've always known what you were doing."

Prowl risked a smirk. "Your confidence is encouraging."

"It helps when we're from the same Security Response precinct," the mech said with a laugh.

"I fear to think what the rest of the Autobots think of me." No, without his emotional center, Prowl felt no fear, but the turn of phrase felt appropriate for the situation. Surely he was impatient to know what his status was with the rest of the Autobots as a whole.

Smokescreen wrinkled his olfactory sensor casing. "It's 50/50- some still think you're a hard aft, and others think you're damn nuts."

Prowl sighed. "Lovely."

"I'm guessing Sideswipe passing it around that you came off the rescue ship a shaking, gibbering mess isn't helping things," Smokescreen intoned lightly.

At that, Prowl's optics narrowed. "No, I wouldn't suppose it would." Damn that little pit-spawned troublemaker. Not one orn went by when he wasn't causing strife for someone! "When you see him, would you send him my way? I would love to have a talk with him."

"No prob." He checked his chronometer, making a noise of annoyance. "I best be getting back to the reports, Prowl. They can only lay around for so long until they start multiplying."

"Of course."

Smokescreen reached out, both hands clasping Prowl's shoulders. He levelled his optics with his commander's. "I want you to know that I'm glad you're back. Not just 'cause you're my commander, either. You're a good friend of mine. It's real good that we didn't have to say goodbye to yet another one of our own."

Had Prowl's emotional center been turned on, he would have been touched by such a sentiment. As it was, he analyzed Smokescreen's words and determined that there was little more he could say in reply. He grasped the mech's hands and gave them a firm squeeze to convey that he understood and accepted what his subordinate was saying. One did not need to have emotions to know that being among comrades was better than being among the enemy.

Letting his hands slide away, Smokescreen straightened up and glanced to the door. "Speedy recovery, sir," he said, quirking one last smile before making his way back out the med bay.

By some perfectly timed coincidence of the universe, the doors slid open just as soon as they snapped closed on Smokescreen's aft, this time admitting the very recognizable figure of Optimus Prime himself. Ironhide could be seen glowering right behind him. Smokescreen scooted warily around the weapons specialist, wisely giving him a wide berth. Thankfully, Ironhide had had enough of Prowl from earlier, choosing to stay in the hall while the Prime had his talk with the tactician.

Prowl moved to bow his greetings, only to be waved off.

"There's no need for such a formality at the moment. You've been through enough without adding to it," the Prime said, gentle and commanding at the same time.

Prowl straightened with some effort, only to find that Optimus had come forward to help. As subtly as he could, he tried to ease out of the Prime's hands, finding it inappropriate for a bot of such high-regard to be assisting someone such as himself, tactical advisor or not. Optimus, unfortunately, took the shying as a silent request not to be touched. He backed off respectfully.

"My apologies," he said quietly. "After such an ordeal, I doubt that you would want much physical contact, no?"

Prowl said nothing, merely stared with a blank expression. He waited for the Prime to say something of significance. He waited to be questioned of his mental faculties and of his decision to bring Jazz to base.

Seemingly unnerved, Optimus backed up until he decided there was an appropriate distance between them, and then he sat down on the berth nearest him, which just so happened to be across the aisle. A gift the Prime had that would always impress Prowl was his ability to match the stare of any mech, no matter how blank, cruel, or condescending, and yet Optimus's optics always remained the same deep, unfathomable pools of blue they always were. It was Prowl who was forced to back down, submitting to both rank and the powerful presence of Optimus Prime.

"You are a rather unique bot, Prowl," Optimus commented as soon as he saw Prowl's frame relax into submission.

"I beg to differ, Prime," the tactician replied quietly. "I was one of five brought online for my precinct on the same orn; all of us had the same frame, and our programming was relatively unvaried. I am anything but unique."

Somehow, the information caused the Prime to chuckle. "If you were not so unique in your abilities, Prowl, you would not have been appointed as commander of your division." He leaned forward minutely, his deep-blue optics watching Prowl as if he could see straight through him right to the spark. "Not many can claim to do what you did."

"Survive Decepticon interrogation techniques?"

"No, befriend a Decepticon."

Prowl's optics flashed as he registered surprise in himself. "I have done no such thing, sir," he automatically refuted.

Optimus considered his words for a moment, and then shook his head slowly. "Perhaps befriend is too strong a word."

"I intrigue him," Prowl intoned dutifully.

"I have no doubt," Optimus replied.

Such a strange statement only served to confuse Prowl. His confusion must have shown, or perhaps the Prime was just so in tune with others that he instinctively sensed the discomfort, because he immediately offered further words.

"Like I said, Prowl, you are a very unique individual. Not many are able to resist a mech of Jazz's reputed calibre to the level that you have, especially to do so and survive." There was a definite air of pride in Optimus's words, but then his optics turned curious. "It is even rarer still for a mech to become a prisoner and have his captor also be his rescuer."

"As I've said, I somehow became a fixation of intrigue to Jazz," Prowl stated. "You will read all of my experience in my report."

Optimus inclined his head, a small ghost of a smile curving his mouthplates. "Tell me now."

Obeying the order, Prowl dutifully paraphrased his experience. "My survival is greatly in debt to the unpredictable and unstable nature of the mech. He became irrationally fixated on his inability to break me, and I believe he saw it as a 'waste' to have a challenge such as myself destroyed. He orchestrated my rescue in order to preserve the chance to break me in the future."

"I see." Optimus leaned back, resting his weight on his spread hands behind him. It was a rather lax pose for a Prime, but Prowl refrained from pointing that out. "You're downplaying your role in this."

"Am I?"

"I would say so," the Prime nodded. "The level of challenge you would have had to provide for Jazz to keep such an 'unpredictable and unstable' mech interested would be astronomical. It only goes to show that you truly are deserving of the position as commander you've been granted. I obviously haven't given your mental capacities enough credit- you've surpassed every expectation."

Prowl bowed his head accordingly in response to the compliment.

Optimus smiled at the familiar display. He was accustomed to being the recipient of such formalities, but none amused him more than when they were as strictly adhered to by bots like Prowl. There was something so straightforward and by-the-books about them. It didn't matter how many times Optimus told them they could drop the formalities, they never would. Prowl, most of all, would never dare.

The tactician came out of his shallow bow with a wince, taking a deep drag of air through his vents to steady himself. "I did what I had to in order to survive. I will try to continue to show that I am deserving of my position, sir."

"I have no doubt that you will." Optimus shifted his weight from one hand to the other, getting comfortable. He would have invited Prowl to drop the rigid stance and get comfortable as well, but he knew the invitation would be declined unless it was an order.

Prowl worked his mouthplates together, grinding them as he thought of what to say next, finally saying, "Jazz is a dangerous mech, sir." Probably the worst understatement of the century.

"He certainly is," Optimus allowed with an acquiescing nod. "Which begs the question, what is he doing here?"

Time for honesty, the kind of honesty that was probably going to make him lose his position as head tactical advisor for gross disregard of common sense.

"He risked his life for me, Prime," the tactician said, completely straightforward and devoid of excuses. "He contacted the Autobots of his own volition and orchestrated my escape; if he returned to the Decepticons, he surely would have been killed on sight. Unless circumstances have changed while I was gone, it is the creed of the Autobots to preserve all life. Even Decepticon life."

"Things haven't changed," the Prime stated, smiling minutely.

Prowl nodded. "I took a calculated risk in extending asylum to him. I realize the danger that I have placed everyone under. But this could be an extraordinary advantage to us if Jazz decides to ally himself to the Autobots."

"And how do you know this isn't an elaborate trap of his own making?" Optimus enquired.

"I don't. Not definitively." Prowl's optics dimmed, his expression hardening. "I can give you what the probability is for a thousand different possible scenarios, and I can further calculate a thousand different outcomes for each scenario. The thing is, sir, there was a moment before I left the Decepticon holding ground that I saw a mech who didn't know what to do or where to go. I took a chance on that." He clenched his fists for a moment. "I can't logically explain why I did it. I'm sorry."

Silence engulfed them as Prowl ceased speaking. It was a silence made heavy with the deep consideration Optimus Prime was currently fixing him with. The silent treatment had been an ally of Prowl and many others in Security Response when they questioned a suspect. It had also been to his advantage in the interrogation room when a Decepticon sat across from him. Even when a subordinate sat across from him in his office, a good, long silent treatment had broken even the most stubborn Autobot. To have it turned against him by the Prime himself was unnerving. Another natural gift of the Prime, perhaps…? Prowl started to question his earlier assumptions that the Prime would simply excuse his behaviour; had he been too hasty in the calculation…?

"I believe I've heard enough," Prime suddenly said, moving to stand.

"S-sir?" Instantly, Prowl's battle computer kicked in, yet again offering a thousand different possible scenarios and coming up with appropriate scripts for each. He opened his mouthplates to begin trying to work himself out of the miscalculated trouble he landed himself in, only to be silenced by a wave of Optimus' hand.

"Don't say anything more," the Prime ordered. Servos hissed as he stood, rolling his broad shoulders until something cracked into place. "In all the time you have been a part of the Autobots, I have never known you to do anything spontaneous. You have never taken a risk that wasn't absolutely necessary. You have always had the best interests of the Autobots in mind as you've conducted yourself." He came over and laid a firm hand to Prowl's shoulder. The tactician was grateful that his neural net was offline at the moment so he didn't break optic-contact by flinching in pain. "You have rightfully earned your title as head tactical advisor, and with that position comes a certain amount of trust. I trust you in all matters concerning the Decepticon Jazz; from here on out, he will be your responsibility."

Prowl's optics flashed. "I'm honoured, Prime."

A kind smile passed over Optimus's faceplate. "We'll see how much of an honour it will be. Jazz is not a mech to be taken lightly."

Prowl attempted to jerk a short bow. "Nevertheless, I am honoured to have your trust."

Smiling kinder still, Optimus patted the tactician once more on the shoulder before exiting the med bay. He turned at the door to impart a few last words. "I am no less honoured to have you as an Autobot, Prowl. You are a very unique individual."