Oh my goodness, the response to the last chapter was so amazing! You guys honestly almost put me in happy tears with your thoughtfulness and consideration for the effort it takes to write this story. To tell you the truth, I was inspired so much by the great response from everyone that writing this chapter took almost not effort at all. Granted, the content of this chapter isn't particularly too complex, but everyone's head needs a break every once in a while, right? =P I had a couple of giggles writing this and I hope that I can inspire some smothered laughter and maybe a snort or two from a few of you. Happy readings! ^_^

Mt dearest and sincerest thanks to the reviewers of the last chapter: Vivienne Granger, PrancingTiger86, animelover1993, Dawn101, Kai-Chan94, Faecat, Optimus Bob, femme4prime, BoredTech, Jinx, FoghornLeghorn83, renegadewriter8, CNightJoy, Daklog73, Reader, Sideslip, 1bloodtempest, Midnight Marquis, Uniasus, kathy3meme, WolvesFire77, Got Buttermilk, Darkeyes17, SavvyEnigma, Phoebe Turner, Zea T, smoking caramels, Christina, Gatekat, Fiera Sabre, Peacewish, aughoti, Lecidre, Anon, and chaitea16. You are all too wonderful for words~

Special shout outs to 1bloodtempest for reading this chapter a few days ago when I had the preliminary draft done~ You're such a sweetheart! Second shout out to Lecidre, who I owe more gratitude to than I can possibly express in words. Your review spree stunned me to speechlessness~ Thank you so much for being such an amazing person!

Chapter 16

The door to the med bay hissed open in the early joors of the morning, shortly after the first shift of the orn began. Smokescreen stepped in and cast his optics around. In his immediate vicinity was Ratchet, who was walking by with his arms full of medical supplies. The moment they caught each other's optics, Ratchet stopped and arched an optic ridge at the interloper.

"You don't look like you need to be here," observed the medic, his tone as flat as his stare.

"The hospitality around this place is amazing as always, Ratchet," Smokescreen drawled.

"I haven't recharged in two orns," Ratchet huffed, shifting his armload around. "If you're looking pleasantries, I suggest you pull your head out of your exhaust pipe and go somewhere else."

Smokescreen rolled his optics. Like most Autobots, he was accustomed to Ratchet's moods. Instead of getting into a battle of wits with the irritable mech, he asked, "Where is he?"

"Where else? In his little office setup in the ICU," Ratchet said, jerking his head in the right direction. The back wall of the med bay was a clear crystal window that led into the ICU, giving medics and patients in the med bay a clear view of the room beyond. Prowl, however, was lurking in one of the far corners where he could not be seen, and preferably not be disturbed. "I can only hope you're taking him away."

"I'm just here to talk to him." Smokescreen let his gaze linger on the crystal window before refocusing on Ratchet. The tactician's stare was distinctly wry. "Refresh my memory, Ratchet- what was it this time? Another so-called accident?"

Ratchet set his supplies down on the nearest berth, crossing his arms across his chest. This was not the first time that he had been questioned over Prowl's wellbeing; there was not an orn that went by without someone coming along to see if they could trip him up with questions and find out what was really going on. Smokescreen was, by far, among the most persistent of his questioners and the most vocal about his disbelief regarding the whole situation. Instead of tripping up, the pestering only served to make Ratchet better at repeating the stories given to him. Too bad the excuses he was forced to give were quickly becoming more and more ridiculous with every incident that brought Prowl to the med bay.

"It was a driving accident," Ratchet said smoothly, his expression entirely unperturbed.

Smokescreen looked on with pure incredulity. "Really, Ratchet?"

"Really."

The tactician remained unconvinced, and rightly so. "Prowl is among the best drivers I know and you expect me to believe he had a driving accident while running a perimeter patrol with Jazz?" He gestured to himself in exasperation. "Do I look stupid to you?"

"Only every time I look at you," Ratchet replied with a smile.

"Forget I asked," Smokescreen sighed. He wasn't going to get anything out of the medic today. "Look, I'm just going to go in and speak with him. You can go back to doing whatever it was you were doing."

"You mean enjoying my peaceful existence before you walked in?"

"Like I said, forget I asked." With a quick shake of his head, Smokescreen quickly bypassed the medic and headed for the crystal door leading into the ICU. Like most bots, he had an acute sense of dread every time he walked into the ICU; there were usually only two reasons for a bot to be in this part of the med bay; either he was in serious condition, or he was visiting someone who was on the edge of life or death. To Smokescreen's relief, he had a tertiary option now- visiting his commander in his new auxiliary office.

As expected, Prowl was sitting in the far corner of the ICU. He was positioned out of the way of the main activity of the room, set up with a basic desk, a comfortable chair to accommodate his healing frame, and the usual accoutrements a bot would need to see to office duties such as a computer, stacks of data pads, and several of his filing cabinets from his actual office. Silence reigned in the room, broken only by the rapid clicking of Prowl's fingers across the keyboard. He did not look away from the screen as Smokescreen approached.

Smokescreen cringed as he got a good look at his commander. His injuries were a few orns old now, partially healed but still a little gruesome. His faceplate was scarred down the side, one of his audios sitting at a crooked angle. His doorwings had been removed the orn he had been brought in, sent to Wheeljack for proper repairs. He looked slightly lopsided and naked with great portions of his armour removed. Smokescreen knew better than to say anything about the mech's appearance; Prowl usually found no humour in what he looked like.

"Prowl," he intoned, lacing his hands behind his back and rocking back and forth on his heels.

The clicking of the keys of the keyboard continued for a short moment after the address, then abruptly stopped. Pale optics turned up from the screen.

"Smokescreen."

Just as abruptly, Prowl's attention returned to the screen. Astroseconds later, the rapid clicking of keys started up again. A small grunt sounded as Prowl adjusted himself, jarring his sensitive back. Even on a good orn, Prowl's grasp of politeness could a little lacking. In his current condition, he could be downright brusque.

There was no point in waiting for an invitation that would never come, so Smokescreen sat down on the guest chair in front of Prowl's desk. The subjects he wanted to broach were awkward for him to consider, so he didn't speak right away. He looked at his hands. Twiddled his thumbs. Prowl continued to ignore him with practised ease. Impatience finally overrode the awkwardness, spurring Smokescreen to interrupt his commander a second time.

"This is your fifth time being in here, Prowl," Smokescreen pointed out with no shortage of admonishment.

"Congratulations on your ability to count," Prowl replied.

It took a moment for Smokescreen to wonder if his commander had just made a joke. Perhaps he was staying in Jazz's company too long and a bit of the saboteur's questionable personality was now rubbing off on Prowl. It was best not to linger too long on the thought. With a shake of his head, Smokescreen dismissed the matter and carried on with his original train of thought:

"Five times, Prowl. Five times you've come in here with the slag beaten out of you." He held up a hand, but he only had three fingers and a thumb, so he held up a finger on the other hand too to make the proper visual for five. "That's way too many times to find yourself in here by mere coincidence of circumstance. You're in here so damn often that you have your own little office back here. Don't you think that's a little ridiculous?"

"Would you rather I neglect my duties while I'm recovering? I could leave all of this work for you," Prowl said, raising an optic ridge. He did not stop typing.

Smokescreen's mouthplates pursed. "…no, I wouldn't want all your work left for me. That's not what I'm trying to get at here." He sighed, scrubbing his faceplate with his hand. He was going to have to use a new tactic in this, because what he was currently trying definitely wasn't working. He cycled air through his vents, then reached across the desk to grasp one of Prowl's forearms, stopping the mech from typing. Their gazes met. Prowl seemed to see the need in Smokescreen's optics, so he sat back and gave his second-in-command his full attention.

"We've known each other a long time…" Smokescreen began.

"We were brought online together and worked in the same precinct until the war began, and even after joining the Autobots, we were stationed on the same bases, so it is safe to say that we have known each other for our entire lives," Prowl replied easily.

"We just can't escape each other," Smokescreen joked lightly, but quickly sobered. "I do have a point with this, really. I came here for a reason. It's weird trying to bring this up with you, especially since we've never actually had a spark-to-spark before. Just hear me out, okay? And don't freak out."

"I'm listening," Prowl assured.

Smokescreen revved pensively. "We've known each other a very long time, and, well… we were brought online as part of the same set, so you're practically my brother…"

"You do treat me with a fair amount of affectionate familiarity, similar to that of siblings," Prowl pointed out.

"Yeah," Smokescreen sighed, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

"I don't mind it," Prowl intoned, the corner of his mouthplates twitching up a tiny degree. "Your affection has never impeded your duties, and it is… welcome, even if I am not quite comfortable in returning the same affections in the same degree. However, if you think you can use sibling familiarity to shirk on your duties more than you already do, you will be sorely mistaken."

"Duly noted," Smokescreen replied.

The curve at the edges of Prowl's mouthplates widened another fraction until he flinched in discomfort. He then resumed his usual neutral expression, which was far less painful to maintain. "I doubt these pleasantries are part of what you came here to speak with me about. Since you mentioned that the subject you were addressing was awkward, I can only assume that you're here again about my current condition."

"Your powers of deduction are always astounding," Smokescreen chuckled, only slightly sarcastic but mostly well-meaning.

"It's elementary, my dear brother," Prowl replied, not at all phased by the sarcasm.

Finding himself far more relaxed than he had been on any previous occasion he had come to see Prowl, Smokescreen sat back in his seat with a vague smile on his faceplate. He consulted his clasped hands briefly, wondering where to begin. "You're my brother, right? That means we're family, and family looks out for family, right?"

"That is generally how it works, as far as I can tell," Prowl replied.

Smokescreen smothered a quiet laugh, nodding. "So, we're family and we look out for each other, and that's a great segue for me to point out that I'm concerned for you. I'm concerned as your brother and as your second-in-command. "

"Are you now?"

"Yes."

Intrigued, Prowl arched an optic ridge. "And how are you concerned for me?" Not that his current physical condition wasn't cause for concern enough. He knew that Smokescreen was anxious about that, as he had expressed his opinion on the matter a few times, so there was no point bringing it up again. There must be a new concern on the list.

Smokescreen hesitated before answering, wanting to consider his words carefully before he said anything of the matter.

Prowl leaned back in his own chair and patiently waited for whatever was going to be said. He had an idea of what it was going to be, so his concern for the matter was minimal. He was perfectly aware that this was his fifth time being brought to the med bay. It would be unreasonable not to surmise that bots were worried over his recent behaviour. More than a few commanders had come to question him, voicing their concern. Prime came in every few orns to check on him. Smokescreen came like clockwork to see him. Not many had bothered to comment on Jazz aloud, but Prowl could read them easily enough. They assumed it was Jazz torturing him, which they were essentially right. However, the beatings were by mutual agreement- not that anyone would ever learn of that. His training was between himself and Jazz; it was no one else's business. He was still capable of carrying out the mental side of his duties, even if he was physically incapacitated. His ability to carry out his appointed duties should be the extent of anyone's concern. His personal life was his own.

Soon, Prowl would figure out what it was that Jazz was trying to beat into him (or out of him, depending on the session). Once that mystery was solved, that particular part of the lessons would end- or, at least, Prowl hoped they would end. When the necessary trips to the med bay ended, Prowl would no longer be of concern to anyone. Jazz would remain under severe suspicion, but that was not a new condition.

Smokescreen heaved a heavy sigh and looked up. "Is this a cry for help?"

"…I beg your pardon?"

"This, Prowl," Smokescreen pressed, gesturing up and down at Prowl to incorporate his whole frame. "This whole thing you have going on with getting the slag beaten out of you. It was easy to pass off the first time as a real attack, and maybe the second as stepping on an active mine. But the third time? The fourth? Last time you said you fell down the stairs! Who in the pit is going to believe that? Especially when every time you're hurt, Jazz is the one to bring you in. So here I am, sincerely asking if this is a cry for help. Do you need to talk to someone?"

"What are you going on about?" Prowl demanded, rearing back.

Smokescreen continued, the floodgates open for his concerns to tumble out unimpeded. "Is the pressure of being the Head Tactical Adviser getting to you? Because if you are being overwhelmed, then it's okay to take a step back. No one is going to blame you for having a bit of a meltdown over it. It's a high-stress function that's bound to get to anybody. You don't need to keep torturing yourself to deal with the stress. You like bottling things up, I know that, but there's no need to suffer in silence like you are. There's a better way."

"Please don't tell me this is supposed to be an intervention," Prowl groaned.

"It is if it has to be," Smokescreen replied determinedly.

"Primus, it doesn't have to be," Prowl sighed in exasperation. He pinched the metal bridge between his optics. "This really, really doesn't have to be."

"If you'd just explain what was going on, then no one would have to be so concerned," Smokescreen reasoned. "The excuses that you're feeding us just aren't cutting it. This time it was a driving accident. Last time, you supposedly fell down the stairs. What will it be next time? You walked into a wall?"

"My personal business is no one's concern," Prowl informed. He made a mental note to discuss with Jazz and Ratchet the option of formulating more believable excuses.

"Your business is our business when you're constantly being brought to the med bay looking like you were dragged through the pit and back," Smokescreen countered. "Everyone's worried, Prowl. I'm worried. Can't you just tell us what's going on? Maybe we can help you."

Prowl cast his gaze to the floor. "It's personal."

Smokescreen drew back, looking hurt. "It's personal, but Jazz is involved, right? Tell me that much, Prowl. I can pretty much guess on my own, but can't you trust me enough to tell me if it's Jazz who's doing this to you?"

Prowl flinched. "It is Jazz, but there's a reason for it."

"You won't tell me the reason, will you?" Smokescreen sighed.

"No, never."

Smokescreen deflated. They lapsed into awkward silence again. Prowl was tempted to continue his work again, but knew that it would be impolite to do so, so he remained in his seat watching his brother. While Smokescreen was an excellent tactician and well-practiced at hiding his emotions, he did not bother masking his feelings today. He was clearly concerned about Prowl, and there was no small measure of discomfort affecting him. The dark blue tactician gathered his thoughts once more, becoming increasingly restless.

"This personal business you have with Jazz…" he began quietly, unable to make optic contact. "Is it… are you… what I mean to say is… well, damn, this is really hard to ask…"

The more Smokescreen fumbled with the words, the more Prowl felt foreboding over what those words could possibly be.

Smokescreen glanced up for a moment before returning his gaze to his hands, which he was wringing in his lap. "Are the rumours true, Prowl? I mean, for the longest time, I didn't bother listening to them because they were absolute slag, but I don't know anymore…"

"Rumours about what, exactly?" Prowl growled warily.

"You and Jazz, are you… you know? I mean, it's okay if you are… Well, okay, maybe it's not 'okay', per se, because you're you and he's him, but wouldn't it be better if you weren't sneaking around about it? Sure, you somehow got Ratchet on your side, but this is some really unusual stuff going on here…" The wringing of his hands increased. It wasn't that he was a prude; Cybertronian culture was remarkably open in regards to intimate partners. But Prowl and Jazz… The mere thought of it reached levels of awkward that were unmatched by any humiliation any one bot could ever suffer.

Prowl had a pretty good idea of what he was being asked now, and did not like it one bit. In fact, he now felt a little sick. He was so stunned that he could not summon himself to cut off Smokescreen's stammering before the mech managed to embarrass them both.

"I'm not going to judge you for your personal choices or whatever, 'cause I know that some bots have different preferences for intimate liaisons, but from you? Honestly, I never would have expected it. You're just so... quiet and self-contained. I guess doing stuff like this is just a way for you break away from your inhibitions, huh?" Smokescreen revved, looking anywhere but at Prowl. "I can accept all of that, really, but when it starts to interfere with your work like this, then maybe it's time to tone it down. I can totally get why you chose Jazz to be with you. He probably makes a great partner for this whole sadomasochism thing since he's crazy as slag, but I think you're taking this crazy kink scene to a whole new level-."

Prowl buried his head in his hands. "Stop talking."

"But-."

"No."

"Prowl-."

"Smokescreen." Warning laced that one spoken designation. It was vehement enough to make the dark blue mech subside into his chair, intensely uncomfortably now. Prowl continued to wallow in his private humiliation, so much so that he could not bring his faceplate up from his palms. He should have seen something like this coming. Perhaps not this particular scenario, but one very similar to it. Autobots were notorious for their habitual gossiping. There was no way that they wouldn't start coming up with ridiculous possibilities between himself and Jazz.

When Prowl was sure he could look his brother/second-in-command in the optic without feeling the need to dig a grave and jump in it, he took a deep drag of air and clearly said:

"I am going to say this once, and only once, so please listen carefully."

Smokescreen tensed at the growling threat in his commander voice. "I'm listening."

"Good." Prowl's optics glinted like chips of ice. "I am not involved in any type of sadomasochistic activities with Jazz. I have never, and will never be involved in sadomasochistic activities with Jazz or anyone else. My condition has nothing to do with activities where pleasure is derived from violence."

Smokescreen opened his mouthplates to say something.

"No, let me finish," Prowl ground out. "This is the most important part: I will never, ever be intimately involved with Jazz in any kind of way that may or may not include a fetish scenario. I am not interested in sadomasochism. I am not interested in any type of kink. I am certainly not interested in Jazz. He and I work together and that is it. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal clear, sir," Smokescreen mumbled.

"Good."

A long, drawn out moment of silence hung between them when neither bot had anything to say to the other. Finally, Smokescreen managed to speak:

"What am I supposed to tell the others? If you're going to keep doing what you're doing, the excuses you have now aren't going to cut it," he pointed out. His gaze seemed permanently affixed to the floor.

Prowl sighed sharply, propping his elbows on his desk and lacing his fingers together. He contemplated his predicament for several breems. It seemed he had no choice but to reveal what he was doing with Jazz, if only to prevent the spread of such ridiculous rumours. Who in the pit would believe that he and Jazz were… together… doing stuff… ? A shudder passed down Prowl's spinal column.

After much careful deliberation, the Head Tactical Advisor said, "You may inform the others that I am undergoing specialized training, courtesy of Jazz. It is violent training, but we engage in it by mutual agreement." He grimaced as he considered the word choice. "That mutual agreement has nothing to do with pleasure."

Smokescreen flinched at the sharpness of Prowl's toned. "I gathered as much, sir."

Prowl gave a curt jerk of his head. "When my training is over, I will be a stronger and more capable warrior for the Autobots."

"And if you happen to die before you complete this so-called 'training'?"

"Then I die." But he trusted in Jazz's promise not to kill him, so he worried little over the possibility of having his spark extinguished.

Smokescreen grimaced, not like the prospect of Prowl's death at all. He had no choice but to accept, though. He rose from his seat and offered a shallow bow. "I'll tell the others what you told me; that it's training. You can only hope that it will be enough to satisfy them."

"It will have to be enough," Prowl said quietly.

Smokescreen nodded, moving on to say in a matter-of-fact tone, "After I tell them, I am going to purge my memory banks of this conversation. I don't want to live the rest of my life knowing I had a conversation with you involving the words 'kink' 'fetish' or 'sadomasochism'. That is asking too much of my sanity."

He promptly turned on his heel and left the ICU. He did not even spare a word for Ratchet before he left the med bay entirely.

Prowl stared after his brother with a mix of mortification and horror. He had been just as uncomfortable with the exchange as Smokescreen had been. In fact, if his Emotion Maximum Output condition was to be believed, then he felt his humiliation a thousand times more than Smokescreen will ever be able to comprehend. And even worse for Prowl, he did not have the option of deleting the conversation.

Ratchet appeared in the doorway of the ICU, looking like he was trying very hard not to laugh. Much to Prowl's increased horror, he realized that the medic must have heard every word of his exchange with Smokescreen.

"You knew those rumours were going around, didn't you?" Prowl growled, accusation in his glare.

"I might have heard a thing or two," shrugged the medic, his smirk curving wider.

"And you never bothered to try cutting them off? At the very least, you could have warned me of them!"

The medic rolled his optics. "The Autobots are going to believe what they want to believe. Besides, it was none of my business. I promised to repeat any story you and Jazz gave me, but I never said I'd give a damn if no one believed me."

Prowl groaned, dropped his faceplate into his hands again. "If they hear of my conversation with Smokescreen, it will only make matters worse. You will tell no one of this meeting, Ratchet."

"Is that an order?" Ratchet asked, an optic ridge arching incredulously.

"Please."

"Alright, fine. No one will ever hear from me what happened here today," Ratchet replied, then looked away to laugh. "I can only imagine what Jazz will do when he hears the rumours."

"Right now, I don't want to think about it."