Slow chapter is slow. Because I said so. Let the poor bots settle in before I start hurting them again.
Major thanks to all the reviewers of the last chapter: Nikkie2010, Gamemice, DemonSurfer, Chistarpax, Cybela, CNightJoy, IBrokeThe4thWall, ennui deMorte, optimus bob, Searece, Exactlywhat, NarianOpal, Faecat, Knocks, Kidara, renegadewriter8, VyxenSkye, SunlightOnTheWater, Daklog73, Qwertzu, Peacewish, Wanderling, Fianna9, Alathea2, Prowls-little-hetalian, rlylost, SweetIndigo, Ano-Hitori-Chichi, JenEvan, Haag, lodelco, Queen of the Red Skittles, Sideslip, LucasVN, Agent Or4ng3, Phoenicem Argentum, Guest, brohne, HorseLover314, electro moonlight, Jessie07, femme4jack, SwedishDragon, and evilbunny777. I love and appreciate you all for your enthusiasm and insight, your occasional fangirling (or fanboying), and definitely your thoughtfulness. =P
Where You and I Collide
Chapter 42
There never was a sight in all the known universe more welcome than the sight of home after a long absence.
Iacon was a jewel in the sea of night. Spotlights roamed the wastelands beyond fortified walls, crisscrossing like white ribbons through the dark. Glittering windows and small red beacons outshone the stars, beckoning wayward travellers toward warmth and respite offered within the walls. The twist and turn of satellites, scanners, and sensors perched on every imaginable corner reflected light like the flashing spin of distant quasars. Through the star-spattered sky, moving lights darted here and there as flight-capable Autobots performed laps around the courtyards in place of recharge that would not come to them this night.
Prowl sat back in his seat to admire as his home grew large on the front display screen.
"Looks good, don't it?" Jazz intoned airily, similarly easing back to watch the details of Iacon unfold. "Ah mean, it's not the best looking place Ah've ever been ta, but..." He made a gesture in the air when the exact words failed to come to him.
"Nobody tries to kill you here anymore?" Prowl offered lightly.
"Yeah, that," the saboteur chuckled. "That's good enough, Ah guess. How about ya? You've lived here longer."
"I am relieved to be home," Prowl replied quietly. "I am not as adventurous as you are. I am eager to be back to my duties, to restore some order back into my life. It will be nice to have a proper schedule again. It has been horrid without one."
At the mentioning of a 'schedule', Jazz made a noise of disgust with a twisted expression to match.
Prowl laughed at his partner's antics, the sound coming to him easily and freely. Their small ship filled with the handsome sound, briefly disguising Putter-Poof's death throes as the poor ship chugged and sputtered the last leg of their journey. Jazz dropped his rotten expression to match his partner's laughter. When the ship's console started bleating pathetically, they managed to tone down their unusual bout of humour to mild chuckling while Blaster's familiar figure took shape on the activated screen. Seeing the red microbot reminded Prowl that he needed to get his damaged colour perception circuits replaced.
"Well, well," said the microbot, grinning broadly. "Look at you two strangers! Didn't think I'd ever see you light up my screens again!"
Prowl cleared his vents and tried for a business-like air. "This is ICOM-7 requesting entrance into Iacon Stronghold airspace-"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know what you're looking for. It's always business with you, isn't it?" Blaster's clever fingers were already dancing across his consoles. Lights reflected across the shiny surface of his bright red armour, lighting up the excited grin splitting his features. "There. Done. You'll be heading for Hangar 2. I've alerted Ratchet to your arrival, so he'll meet you on the ground." His gaze strayed to Prowl's shoulder, with it's distinct lack of an appendage. One optic ridge arched. "Had fun, I take it?"
"Enough fun to last a lifetime," Prowl replied flatly.
"I bet," was the dry reply. "Smokescreen's been driving me and my division crazy trying to find out when you'd get back."
Prowl flinched, and then was quick to hide his expression behind an impassive mask. "I might have been mildly untactful when closing my last communiqué with him."
"Smokescreen's been quiet about the details. I just know he wants you back," Blaster shrugged, posing a sly look at the screen. "Look... I am not admitting that my division gossips, and we especially don't encrypt gossip to each other between bases when we're bored, but...if we did do slag like that, I'd say I've heard some insane stuff being talked about."
"You know better than to listen to rumours," Prowl admonished. "You are the commander of your division. You should set a better example."
Blaster was entirely unrepentant. "I wasn't admitting to anything. It was all hypothetically speaking. But, you know, on that same hypothetical train, there better be an interesting report coming from you soon to entertain me so I don't go making all the gossiping and rumours worse – you know, not that my division does that sort of thing." He winked.
"Blaster," Prowl warned tightly.
"Same old Prowl. Primus, I think I missed you while you were gone!" Blaster laughed. "You should have called ahead so more of us could be online for your homecoming. It's been hard on all the bases since Tyger Pax's attack. Seems like we haven't had good news in a long time."
"We heard about the attack," Prowl intoned with a frown.
"The Decepticons got us good with that one. Things are a mess – we could use your special touch on things, Prowl," Blaster admitted. "Believe me when I say we have only been getting a joor or two of recharge around here, but even so – if we had known you were coming, there would have been a welcome party for you." Glittering blue optics slid to the quiet silver minibot watching the conversation from the pilot's seat. Blaster inclined his head to him. "Both of you."
Jazz revved deeply. "It's fine, Blaster. Let them get what rest they can. Primus only knows what kind of trouble Ah'm gonna bring now that Ah'm back." He flashed a devilish grin, only slightly forced.
Blaster threw his head back and roared a laugh that was as genuine as it sounded desperately needed.
Prowl rolled his optics. "Are we done here, or are we going to continue socializing?"
"We're done," Blaster assured, shaking his head. "When you see Ratchet, get him to check out your vocal processor, Prowl. I don't know if it's my speakers or the way you're talking, but you got a mild catch on your words."
"It's the speakers," Prowl replied quickly, cancelling the channel. He let a soft sigh out of his vents. "I didn't think he would notice."
"He's trained ta pick up on auditory discrepancies. He wouldn't be doing his job right if he couldn't," Jazz replied casually, checking Putter-Poof's power output and adjusting their flight path.
Around them, the ship released a groan that somehow sounded like the last request of a tortured spark begging for the end to come. Putter-Poof shuddered, engines guttering out before sputtering back to life, barely catching them from a free fall. By all means, the ship should have died several orns ago. It was by sheer tenacity and the power of the illegal drug pumping through its systems that Putter-Poof chugged on. The drug, energizer, had been a gift from Live-wire and passed on through Chester; designed as a powerful stimulant for bots, it had been made illegal shortly before the war due to its unfortunate side-effects on living systems. It was not, however, illegal to use on machinery. The jump start supplied by the energizer had inspired Putter-Poof to work better than it ever had in the entirety of its Autobot career.
The only downside of energizer was that it had one pit of a burnout rate, and the ship was now coming down from its high.
Prowl no longer had the spark to be concerned for his impending doom now that his thoughts had veered off into worrisome territory. Though it had been a fortnight since turning his emotional centre back on, there still remained a stilted catch in his voice. It was taking an unusually long time to settle back into himself. That in itself was not bothersome to Prowl compared to the risk that someone might figure out what the anomaly meant.
Jazz glanced over from the controls, sighed, and gave his partner a light shove. "Stop that. You're thinking too loud again."
"I cannot help it, both thinking too loud and the thoughts that plague me."
"We've been over this, Prowl."
"Yes, I know, but no matter how many times we discuss it, I still worry."
"Ya mean ya still drive yourself crazy thinking about it over and over and over." For emphasis, Jazz flicked him in the side of the head – the centre of their problems. "Let it go, will ya? Instead of obsessing about all the little details of everything that could possibly go wrong, just accept it and move on."
"Says the minibot obsessed with taking Shockwave down by himself," Prowl snorted.
"Ah'm not by mahself right now, am I?" Jazz retorted smugly.
Prowl rolled his optics. "Only because I invited myself along on this mission and would not take 'no' for an answer."
"Such a stubborn aft," Jazz cursed airily. "No one is gonna notice any of your little quirks. That's just stuff ya see because ya know it's there. Ya forget that most bots aren't exactly as observant as Ah am, or as anally detail-oriented as ya are. Few bots even know that ya can turn your centre off and on. This isn't new ta ya, Prowler."
"There always exists the possibility of someone figuring it out. I cannot risk that sort of weakness." Prowl stared down at his lap, where his one hand curled into an impotent fist. "In the past, I have been careful. The effects of the backlash have never lasted this long, nor have they been this... obvious. If Blaster can pick up on it, who else might?"
Jazz drummed his fingertips against his armrest, frowning down at the consoles. He shuttered his optics, tilting his head back to think. "Okay, Ah got an offer for ya. On the off chance that someone does happen ta figure out that the near-imperceptible hitch in your voice is actually a remnant of emotional backlash, Ah'll hunt them down and wipe their memories. Ah'll make it so they never think of ya again. Ah'll keep your secret safe."
"Jazz..."
The saboteur pressed his suit with mocking eagerness. "Ah'll do it ta as many bots as ya need, free of charge. Mostly. Okay, Ah might charge ya for some, but the first one will be free."
"You are awful. Absolutely horrible," Prowl admonished without any true heat in the words.
"Not denying it," Jazz chuckled.
A sigh drifted from the tactician's vents, shivering under the watchful caress of Jazz's intent gaze. "But..."
"But?"
"Thank you for the offer, but no thank you."
Jazz quirked a shoulder, his mouthplates playing in a subtle smile. "You'll never take meh up on it."
"No, I never will. In the event that someone figures it out, I will handle it on my own."
A knowing smirk was the only reply.
Prowl rubbed the patch on his shoulder with the opposite hand, mindful of the sensitivity that still lingered. His faceplate did not flicker from its concerned expression. Try as he might to dismiss the notions of self-doubt, it was disconcertingly difficult to quiet them. Negative self-reflection was a personal demon he was unable to shed.
In the new silence of the ship, Jazz huffed a quiet laugh and turned his full attention to the controls. The moment he switched into manual control, the bulkheads sagged and relief flooded through the atmosphere. As they passed over the high walls and courtyards that comprised Iacon, puttering over squat compounds and taller administration buildings. Jets bearing the Autobot insignia came alongside their ship, shouting welcomes that were nearly drown out by Putter-Poof's lamentations.
Air Raid transformed mid-air, shading his optics against the glare of the spotlights down below as he pressed his faceplate to the small window and caught sight of the flightless occupants within the ship. He grinned devilishly, giving a jaunty wave of welcome before backflipping away into the air and reverting back to his alt mode. Being much more nimble than the larger stealth ship, he looped around and around before zipping off to rejoin his group.
"Show off," Jazz snorted.
Hangar 2's doors gaped wide in welcome, the white glare of its bare lights spilling out into the dark. Jazz came in slow, engaging anti-gravity landers to stabilize the descent, tapping on reverse thrusters to slow their forward movement to a slow crawl. His screens flashed with the number of the designated lot they would be docked at. Docking arms whirred down from the complex of machinery that loomed above the hangar, locking on with a sure grip to help scoot tiny Putter-Poof to its proper resting place.
Prowl leaned up to survey his surroundings, noting the moment the far doors hissed open and a tall mech of familiar build marched through in a determined stride.
"Ratchet's here," he announced, levering up from his seat with a stiff grunt.
"Oh joy," Jazz replied flatly, following on Prowl's heels to the exit. They disembarked without fanfare, finding the hangar predictably bare for this time of night. Two bots from engineering were on duty, one who was half-reclined on an arranged collection of crates, near enough to recharge as to be useless, and the second was the designated Hanger Master, who waved to them before his attention diverted elsewhere. Drones and other autonomous machinery constituted the rest of the moving figures in the vast room.
And then there was the blustering medic who abruptly stepped into their path.
"Ratchet," Prowl greeted coolly, lifting his chin in hopes of showing no weakness.
"Prowl," the medic drawled tightly, eyeing Prowl's damages as if he were introducing a horrible plague with them.
"Miss us?" Jazz goaded.
"No." Two fingers pinched the bridge between the medic's optics. A deep drag of air whooshed in his vents, followed by its equally deep release. "Step forward. Turn around. Let me see what I'm dealing with."
They stepped forward, putting distance between them and their ship. Behind them, Putter-Poof's exhaust belched a thick cloud of soot from improperly burned energizer. The air suddenly reeked with a bitterly acrid stench. Ratchet's olfactory sensor twitched, his optics narrowing into thin slits.
"Engerizer," he stated. "Energizer is an illegal substance."
"Only when used on living systems" Prowl reasoned.
The corner of Ratchet's optic twitched. It was such a little gesture that it could have been missed by lesser bots. Being the creatures that they were, both Prowl and Jazz caught the movement. Something had already eroded the fuse to the CMO's temper, leaving behind a volatile combination of agitation and barely controlled violence. They braced themselves for the worse.
Prowl gasped when a strong hand shot out and caught his chin in a vice. Ratchet was a bare breath taller than him, though significantly more robust in shape – powerful enough to deal with even the most rowdy of patients. He loomed darkly over the tactician with a leering optic, searching for whatever answers he was seeking. When his chin was suddenly released, Prowl nearly hit the floor were it not for Jazz's quick catch of his arm.
"You didn't use it," Ratchet concluded.
"Of course I did not!" Prowl exclaimed, rubbing his offended jaw. "It's energizer. Even if it were a legal substance, it is still the foulest-tasting creation on Cybertron. I would have to be desperate to ingest it!"
Ratchet grunted.
"Ya gonna check meh?" Jazz offered warily, watching Ratchet's hands like they were rabid animals.
"No. I don't care what you do," Ratchet replied, pacing away and back again. His agitation was a potent thing in the air. He scanned Prowl and Jazz, and then scanned them again. Optics as sharp as laser scalpels trawled over their frames, taking inventory of every reason Ratchet had to be in a foul mood with them. To his credit, he appeared to be struggling with a semblance of calm – failed endeavour, but appreciated nonetheless. Prowl could not help but be curious about what might have put the medic on such a sharp edge.
Jazz coughed quietly, barely any noise at all, but it was enough to snap the wire of tension riding Ratchet. He rounded on them with the force of a hurricane. Air garbled in his vents, armour roiling on their moorings like a sea tossed by a storm, and all of Ratchet's temper was projected onto his two innocent victims.
"I leave you two to go off on some Primus-foresaken pity mission for a Neutral and this is what happens to you?" Noise and bluster rang off the walls. The one mech half dozing on his pile of crates gave a startled yelp, toppling to the side in his fright. Ratchet paid him no mind, instead focusing his ire on the pair of bots who he encompassed with a sweeping and imperious gesture. "This is what I get for believing that the both of you are high-functioning, highly capable, highly trained Autobot warriors? You are in ruins! You are a mess! I don't need this kind of slag right now!"
Jazz raised a hand to point to himself. "Not an Autobot."
"Do I look like I care?!" Ratchet hissed acidly. There was enough vehemence in his tone to make Jazz drop his hand. "Look at you! Both of you! Slinking back here like being gone for six fortnights is nothing at all! Banged up, bashed in, and looking sorrier than a couple of washed up Neutrals caught in a smelting pot! I got those recommendations sent by the Paxian medic. I know what has to be done. Do you have any idea how much work it is going to be to restore the two of you! I have enough on my plate to deal with without having this slag added to it!"
Jazz turned his olfactory sensor up. "Then don't worry about us. It's not like we desperately need ya. Ah've survived this long without ya, and there are enough medics around ta screw a new arm back on Prowl." He held up the hand missing its finger. "Mah finger can wait."
"Your finger can rust in the pit," Ratchet snapped.
The saboteur shrugged dismissively. "Ah can't say this is the best 'Welcome Home' Ah've ever had, but it ain't the worst either."
Ratchet's mouthplates dropped open to spit a retort, only to draw up short an instant later. His optics narrowed dangerously, gears turning in his head. There was something like regret in his optics just before it was swept away into an expression more befitting a bitter flavour. It was then that Ratchet mumbled "Welcome home Jazz, Prowl," with all the warmth and sincerity of a looming glacier.
"Whatever," Jazz breathed, smirking tiredly. After the stress and discomfort of facing the unknown, it was unusually pleasant to be back somewhere familiar, surrounded by bots who reacted exactly as Jazz knew they would. It was safe. A place he could let his guard down at last, relax, and begin to plot his next move against Shockwave.
A calming drag of air was taken into Ratchet's vents. His shoulders dropped, and he dismissed the saboteur with a shake of his head. "I forgot what a glitch you are, Jazz. I am glad that the two of you are back and that you are alive. But, if you think I am going to allow some other medic to head the surgery to replace Prowl's endoskeleton and install a new interfacial panel, you are completely out of your crazy mind."
"Fine, Ah'm out of mah mind. What else is new?" Jazz snorted.
Prowl gave the other bot a nudge with his elbow, hoping to curb his partner's mischief. It worked, with Jazz settling back on his heels and heaving an exhausted sigh. As much as Prowl appreciated the saboteur's attempts to distract Ratchet, thereby keeping the medic's scrutiny away from Prowl, it was late at night and Ratchet's temper was something that shouldn't be tested.
Ratchet did not miss the movement of Prowl's elbow. A heavy optic ridge arched in response to it.
"You're being quiet, commander," he noted. "Have anything to say?"
"Perhaps." Prowl looked the CMO up and down, noting the changes since the last time they had seen each other. There was a new gouge in the medic's light yellow armour, running diagonally from the highest point of his shoulder into the thicker armour of his chassis. A sizable dent curved inward on his lower left side. A minor warp in the metal of his faceplate enhanced the storminess of his scowl.
"Have you been attacked, Ratchet?" he queried, only to find that that was the wrong question to ask.
"That is none of your business," Ratchet snapped, bristling with renewed agitation. "I don't have all night to stand around like a gormless drone. Come on! Let the Hangar Master deal with that stupid ship of yours. Let's get you to the med bay!"
Prowl fell into step behind Ratchet, with Jazz keeping pace at his side.
"The med bay? Right now? Would you rather wait until morning?" Prowl offered.
"I'm awake now." Ratchet growled. "I want to know exactly what I am dealing with now so I'm not surprised in the morning. It'll bother me if I send you away without knowing."
"What about meh? Can Ah go?" Jazz wondered.
There was no answer right away, except for the discordant tapping of their feet echoing through the empty hall. The lights above were dimmed for the graveyard shift to save energy. Ratchet, despite being painted a light yellow, was the darkest presence in the hall.
"No," said the medic.
"Why?"
"Because I said so."
Prowl watched Jazz from the corner of his optic, wondering what his partner might do. In the past, Jazz might have gone his own way because it suited him. Certainly, the reason 'Because I said so' would have been enough to spur him to do the exact opposite. This time, the saboteur offered a flash of a smirk and a careless shrug, continuing to walk by Prowl's side without so much as a hitch in his gait. Whatever Jazz might have done in the past, it did not hold sway on his decision to stay now. Their hands bumps against one another, and Prowl reached out to give his partner a grateful squeeze.
The door to med bay gave its customary pneumatic hiss as Ratchet ushered the pair in.
"This'll be quick," he said. "I want to get back to recharge."
"Of course," Prowl breathed, having no desire to stay longer than he had to. Recharge sounded like a pretty good option right then.
Lights flickered on overhead, followed by a surprised squeal from the open door of the office tucked into the side of the main bay. Someone toppled to the floor in surprise, followed by the tap of a second set of feet rushing to help the first. Embarrassed twittering filtered through the doorway, not quite quiet enough to cover up the fact two bots had been caught doing something they shouldn't have been doing.
"Moonracer," Ratchet called out, scanned the area, and then followed her designation up with a second one. "Bluestreak."
Prowl did not have time to hide his surprise before two bots stumbled out with their guilty smiles on full parade. Jazz actually laughed out loud, causing those not accustomed to the sound to jump in surprise. Moonracer looked the same as she had the orn she had come for help, albeit with a lot less dirt to obscure her pretty looks. Bluestreak, on the other hand, had changed remarkably – he stood upright and well balanced, his optics bright and full of sharp awareness. There was hardly any evidence that he had ever been a fractured little waif with as much computing power as a defunct drone.
Moonracer's hands fluttered around her chest, quickly snapping her interface panel closed. Her optics sized the CMO up before jumping to Prowl and then Jazz. She visibly startled to see the saboteur, determinedly snapping her gaze back to the medic. "Ratchet... I wasn't expecting you to be in until morning."
"I can see that," Ratchet replied dryly. "It is safe to say, I wasn't expecting you to have company."
"Yeah, about that..."
"This is not a pleasure house, Moonracer, and I hope to Primus that you do not think you are a pleasure bot while working for me in my med bay."
Moonracer had sense enough to flinch, looking appropriately guilty.
"I was just checking on her," Bluestreak sputtered, wringing his hands nervously. "It's a long night, you know, as far as nights go. It's the Dark Season. Long nights and short orns, generally speaking. Moonracer was working...by herself... during the long night. One of the patients might have woken up, and she could have used help restraining them. I thought some company would be okay. There's nothing else I was doing, really... I'm still on moderated duties, anyways. Better safe than sorry, right? So, um, I guess... I was... checking on her."
Though he appeared well recovered, there was still evidence of Bluestreak's extensive damages in his struggle to form proper sentences. He could speak, but it was noticeably stilted, stopping and starting with an awkward cadence.
"Right. So, out of the kindness of your spark, you - as a bot still on moderated duty - thought you would be enough to restrain one of my patients in the event that they had a meltdown?" Ratchet drawled, one optic ridge arching high on his brow.
"...um, yes?"
A twitch in Prowl's periphery had him glancing to the side, noting the subtle curve at the corner of Jazz's mouthplates. It was change enough to spur the tactician to rock back on his heels, shifting closer to his partner. Jazz shifted to meet him, broadening his subtle smile to reflect whatever sense of relief he was feeling. Prowl bent his head so that Jazz could murmur to him without being overheard.
"He looks good," said the saboteur with an affected warmth. "Ah think Ah've missed his rambling."
"We've been gone a while. He's had time to recover," Prowl murmured.
Their exchange went unnoticed while Ratchet continued to loom like a dark cloud, pinning his victims to the spot with a single piercing stare.
"You do remember who I have back there in the ICU, don't you?" One hand came up to consciously rub the dent in his faceplate. "Did you even bother to think of what might have happened if either one of them came online while you were busy distracting each other in my office?"
Bluestreak flinched, his fidgeting becoming more pronounced. "They wouldn't hurt me... They're my friends – and they're both sedated. I thought it was okay. Well... not okay okay, but I thought it was safe."
Moonracer stuck her olfactory sensor in the air. "I could handle them just fine. Nothing that a couple of plasma shots wouldn't take care of."
"It would take a pit of a lot more than you sorry creatures to keep the likes of the Twins down for long. If it takes more than what I have, the two of you would be scrap in no time," Ratchet sneered, but there was more fear in his tone than actual anger. His optics shot nervously to the crystal wall that overlooked the ICU, making sure two of his most dangerous patients were exactly where he left them. Then he cast a scolding look upon Bluestreak and Moonracer, never minding that Prowl and Jazz were there to witness their reprimand.
Feeling distinctly uncomfortable, Prowl eyed the exit. "Ratchet, if it is alright with you, we can come back in the morning-"
"No. I'm awake now. You stay." He drew himself up tall, crossing his big arms over his barrelled chest. "Maybe a little bit of public humiliation will let the lesson here sink into their heads."
Thus denied escape, Prowl sighed and deflated.
Ratchet rounded back on his victims. "I expected more out of the two of you. Especially you, Bluestreak. You know exactly how dangerous the Twins are when they are in one of their moods."
"I know... I know..."
"With everything that has been going on, did you think I needed to worry about the two of you sneaking around behind my back like this?"
"We didn't think you'd find out," Moonracer murmured to the tops of her feet.
"Well, I did find out and I am not at all impressed with either one of you," Ratchet chided. "I will have to think more carefully about trusting you to look after my patients in the future, Moonracer. Lives are at stake and I won't have you endangering a single one of them, not even your own. And you, Blustreak..." He shook his head. "I'll put a tracker collar on you again so I know exactly where you are all times of the orn and night. No more wandering off while on duty. No more sneaking in here for secret trysts. Primus only knows how many times you've done this!"
"This is the first time! I swear it is!" Moonracer exclaimed. "Neither of us meant any harm."
"It's the middle of the night. I'm tired and don't want to deal with this anymore. Get out, you two," Ratchet sighed tiredly, once again pinching the bridge between his optics. "Just get out. You'll hear from me in the morning."
Prowl needed to step to the left to avoid being bowled over by the pair of thoroughly chastised bots. There was barely enough time to exchange a nod with Bluestreak before the two of them were shooed away under Ratchet's dark glare. Moonracer drew up short in the hallway, ducking her head back into the med bay despite the warning growl from the CMO. She drew herself up, obviously hoping to look more confident than what Ratchat's verbal lashing had left her, meeting Jazz's aloof stare with a stupid kind of hopeful bravery.
"Jazz, I-"
"Ah'll find ya in the morning and tell ya what Ah found," said the saboteur, summarily dismissing her.
She gave a meek nod and skittered away silently.
In their wake, Ratchet huffed a disgusted snort. "Prowl, find a berth and sit on the damn thing. I'm going to see what sort of mischief they got up to in my office."
Prowl did as he was told, taking up the berth on the far side of the med bay where he could peer into the ICU through the clear crystal windows lining the wall. His curiosity had been piqued with the mentioning of the Twins. While Ratchet shuffled through the small alcove that served as his place of business, filling the air with the soft sound of his muffled curses, Prowl took his time to peruse the ICU from the safety of the main bay. It was dark in the room beyond, and many of the berths were unfortunately filled. Even the CR chambers were taken up with floating frames, nothing but indistinct dark shapes floating in the dully glowing energon. A resonance scan revealed that the Twins were, in fact, lurking in the room beyond. There was no hint of which broken outline belonged to either one of them.
Jazz slid up to Prowl's side, flicking him gently in the doorwing. The look on his faceplate was enquiring, politely curious without demanding to find out what Prowl was thinking. He appreciated the gesture, flexing his metal wing with a small grimace. The appendage was stiff, effected by rust growing into the hinges.
"How're ya feeling?" the saboteur wondered.
"Discombobulated," Prowl admitted. "It seems a lot has happened in our absence. Bluestreak and Moonracer was quite a twist."
A small grin lit Jazz's faceplate. "The world don't stop spinning just 'cause we're not in it. Ah can see Blue having a bit of fun with the Neutral. She seems the decent sort." He cast a quick glance back at Ratchet's office, raising his optic ridges at the medic's continued shuffling and bumping around. "While he's thundering around in there, Ah'm gonna check out the ICU."
"The Twins?"
"Yeah, now Ah'm curious ta see how they're doing – or, ya know, find out how many pieces they're lying in. Whichever comes first."
Prowl rolled his optics, nudging his partner toward the door. "Go on, but be careful. You have dealt with enough life-threatening situations, you do not need to go poking any more recharging beasts."
"Like the Twins could ever best meh," Jazz laughed, waltzing his way into the ICU with something of a swagger. He kept the lights off, slowly disappearing into the dark until he was nothing but a cocky shadow slinking between the rows of berths.
In short order, Ratchet returned from his rummaging with a soured look on his faceplate. In his arms were a couple of tools which Prowl assumed were meant for his appraisal, an assumption strengthened by the fact that they were set by his hip and arranged in particular order. Strong hands took hold of Prowl's frame, steady and confident in their careful manipulation. In the time that Prowl had been away, Ratchet had not lost his extraordinary talent as a medic.
"Sorry about that," the yellow mech grumbled, his indignant grunt vibrating down his arms, into his hands, where Prowl could feel it expressed against his armour. "I swear I don't conduct a pleasure house in here. I'd call it a madhouse, if anything."
"This would not be an Autobot base without it first being a madhouse," Prowl replied, with a very long list in his head for every reason that an Autobot base was a madhouse. In a mildly self-deprecating tone, he said, "Look at the company I keep."
Ratchet coughed a rough laugh.
"If you need me to discipline them, I can have something arranged," Prowl offered.
"No, don't do that. I think the embarrassment of this encounter was enough." Evidence, of course, that underneath Ratchet's gruff exterior, he did have a kind spark. The tips of his expert fingers broke apart, unfolding into thinner and thinner digits until they were long and spindly appendages perfect for slipping around Prowl's armour and taking stock of the delicate innards underneath. Every time he encountered rust, the sound of it scraping against the tips of his probing fingers was jarring and obscene. It did not hurt, but it was not a pleasant experience either.
"I assume Jazz snuck into the ICU?"
"He's over there," Prowl replied with a brief tilt of his head, not even needing to check on his partner's position. It seemed his sixth sense when it came to knowing where Jazz was had evolved to knowing where he was in another room. Jazz's silhouette slipped in front of the soft haze of the lit CR chambers. Dull blue light glinted off the shine of his horns.
Ratchet did not bother to glance over.
"The damage to your shoulder is impressive."
"You should have seen the arm that was attached."
"I read about it." He rubbed his cheek against his shoulder, then gave his head a shake, trying to stay online with what little recharge he had. Ratchet had fantastic energy reserves to keep online for much longer than a general Autobot, meant to enable him to keep working in crisis situations when everyone else had fallen away, but even he had his limits. "Are you experiencing any discomfort? Feedback from corroded wiring? Would you say stiffness from rust has increased since you saw that Paxian medic?"
"The discomfort is tolerable compared to before, although I suspect the rust has spread." He quieted as a tool was selected and went to work on the temporary patch adhered to the caved section of his shoulder. Ratchet worked mindfully, lifting the thin plate section by section without disturbing the metal around it. Scanning probes roamed freely over the wound, documenting what his optics could not see right away.
"You're right about the rust," Ratchet intoned, setting aside the patch. "It's spread, but I am also seeing a bit of healthy new growth." With his spindly fingers, he touched a raw spot where healthy metal was attempting to regenerate. His touch sent a jolt up Prowl's neural circuits, causing him to jump.
"That is uncomfortably sensitive," he admitted with a grimace.
Ratchet cast him a wry look. "Consider it a good thing. It means the neural circuits are coming in as they're supposed to. If it was just metal coming in without the circuits, it would mean we had a serious problem."
"Meaning?"
"Your repair programming was damaged and the energy from your spark that makes your metal alive would keep growing the metal without end. You would end up with a tumorous growth that I would need to cut out, then install new repair programming, and lay down a scaffolding for the wound to heal properly. More work for me."
"I see," Prowl breathed slowly, studying the floor. "I suppose I am relieved that it hurt when you poked me."
"You better be," Ratchet grunted, continuing his careful examination. Innards were touched, weighed, scanned, poked, probed - an impressively thorough check-up for someone who wanted it to be done quickly so he could go back to recharge. Not that Prowl had expected less of the CMO. Ratchet was a perfectionist when it came to his function, a trait that Prowl wholly approved of.
"How are your wires doing? Anything I need to worry about?" Ratchet wondered amidst his perusal.
Prowl inclined his head, though the gesture went unseen as the medic's attention was elsewhere. "I was rewired at the outpost, so no feedback that I can tell, but I would like to mention that I still need you to do a bit of work in my head. I blew out a few circuits while on the mission."
"Anything important?"
"I cannot see the colour red."
"So nothing important, then. I don't have to worry about fixing it right this moment." A long groan followed Ratchet up as he stretched to his full height, propping his hip to the berth and guiding Prowl to slowly turn to give access to his back. Skilled hands surveyed the flexibility of his doorwings and hinged armour. "Wheeljack has your arm ready for you, and I have a new interfacial hub, but it may be a little while before you can get into surgery. Possibly a couple of orns. I have too many bots in critical condition."
"I understand. I can function without an arm for as long as needed. Two arms are not necessary for sitting at a desk."
"Your function has always been a bit more cerebral than the rest, which is an advantage right this moment," Ratchet shrugged. "While you're waiting to get into surgery, I'll give you a couple things to start dealing with the rust on your own. Some diluted acetic acid and sodium bicarbonate applied to the affected areas should do the trick. I know you have trouble reaching your back, so find someone to help apply the solution."
"Jazz will do it."
"Of course he will."
They startled when the window next to them rattled with an insistent knock. Jazz stood on the other side, as if summoned by the mentioning of his designation. He gave them a once over through the window, canting his head at their startled expressions, and then moved like quicksilver to the door and slipped into the main bay.
"We were just discussing you," Ratchet coughed.
"Yeah? About what?"
Prowl sat up straighter. "I will require help treating my rust. It is non-invasive, but it requires a second bot to help reach the places I can't."
"Oh." Jazz pursed his mouthplates, and then shrugged. "You're high-maintenance, ya know that?"
"It is one of my many faults," Prowl lamented dismissively.
Jazz shrugged again, hopping up on the berth parallel to the one Prowl sat on. He nudged Ratchet in the back with his foot. "The twins sure took a beating. What happened ta them?"
Prowl felt the jerk in tension as Ratchet bristled at the question.
"They're little fraggers, that's what happened to them," the medic spat.
"Tell meh something Ah don't know," Jazz snorted with a roll of his optics.
Ratchet obliged with a sneer. "Not even three orns ago, they were sent out as part of an aid convoy. A skirmish broke out when they encountered a Decepticon envoy, and the Twins did what they are wont to do whenever the opportunity presents itself."
"They killed everything and anything they could get their hands on," Jazz concluded without pause. There was no question to it, only a resigned confidence.
"They didn't manage to kill everything," Ratchet replied tightly. "The orn they manage to win their insane campaign to kill themselves, it will be the orn I can finally rest peacefully at night."
"You don't mean that," Prowl chastised quietly, shocked to hear such an admission. It went against the core programming of every medic. Life was more sacred to them than to anyone else.
Ratchet cut him a raw look full of bitterness and exhaustion. "You don't know them like I do. You don't know what they've done. I've had to piece them back together every single time their miserable afts are dragged in here, barely alive, hanging together by wires and bolts." He shuttered his optics and leaned his forehead against the cool crystal. "I know they don't want to live. But I have to do everything in my power to keep them alive because that is what I am programmed to do. Even when they fight me every step of the way."
"They're stupid and selfish," Jazz sneered. "They don't know how good they got it around here."
Prowl never imagined he would be inspired to feel pity for the Twins, but in this one case there was a twinge of something in his sparkcase. There was also the dawning realization of exactly where Ratchet's injuries had come from.
"Which one hurt you, Ratchet?"
"Not that it matters at all, but Sunstreaker. He broke loose from the CR chamber and came after me before I could summon security." Ratchet kept his stormy gaze from meeting anyone else's optics. "It's not the first time and it won't be the last. I've been so busy, I can't even pop out my own dents."
Jazz shifted in his seat, tapping his fingers in an odd pattern. Prowl realized a moment later that it was the hand missing a finger, explaining the odd pattern. "Ya want meh ta fix him? Ah can make it so he settles down real fast."
"Jazz!" Prowl hissed.
"Don't touch him," Ratchet sighed. "Don't bother. Nothing you do will ever be able to get rid of the hatred in his spark. I can deal with whatever he dishes out."
"Whatever," Jazz mumbled, staring off into the dark of the ICU - probably plotting something for a later date.
Prowl shook his head, inspired to choose a different topic lest he spark the medic's temper again. "Bluestreak appears to have improved immensely. He seems almost back to normal."
While the topic change was painfully obvious, it came as such a relief that no one gave the tactician fault.
"You've been gone a long time," Ratchet reasoned gruffly, smoothing his palms over Prowl's back in strong, sure strokes. "Bluestreak has been improving in leaps and bounds with every file that gets sorted out in his head. Moonracer and Blue have developed quite the attachment in your absence. They've bonded over their mutual experiences in Shockwave's captivity. It's been good for Bluestreak to have someone to talk to, someone he can relate to."
"Sounds like Moonracer was able to make herself useful during her stay here," Jazz observed.
"Useful in some ways, I suppose," Ratchet sighed. "Her attentiveness has helped Bluestreak recover, but she's still distrustful of the Autobots as a whole. I would hate to see what will happen when she remembers that Bluestreak is as much an Autobot as the rest of us."
"Ah don't see why," Jazz drawled. "They're both young and having fun. Blue's had a hard enough time as it is, ya might as well let him have a little fun in his life. Weirder things have happened between Neutrals and Autobots."
Ratchet's mouthplates curved into something that was not quite a smile, but not quite a frown either. "She is not you, Jazz. As much as they like each other now, it will only hurt more when she leaves. And she will leave, there is no question about that."
"Maybe she'll choose ta stay," Jazz offered. "Ah chose ta stay. Ah like it here. It ain't the worst place on the planet ta be."
"She'd have to become an Autobot to stay," Ratchet replied with a pointed glance in the saboteur's direction.
To this, Jazz pressed his mouthplates together into a thin line.
"Would she be accepted if she petitioned for our cause?" Prowl enquired, he too letting his gaze stray to Jazz.
Ratchet shrugged. "I wouldn't say no to her recruitment. Elita One could use her, as could I. She could easily be accepted if she was willing to work and prove her worth." His gaze slid to Jazz none too subtly. "I know of another Neutral who would be accepted in a sparkbeat."
"Ah just got home, Ratchet. Ah'm tired," Jazz lamented, resting back on his braced arms. "Ah don't want ta get into that stuff right now."
Prowl leaned in with mocking conspiratorial intentions. "Note that he did not deny his eligibility to be an Autobot. I am slowly wearing him down."
"Like rust," Jazz snorted.
"Again, you do not deny it," Prowl claimed triumphantly.
"Ah'm done here," Jazz announced, hopping down from his berth. "Six fortnights is enough of your company, Prowler. Ah need a break. Goodnight."
"Goodnight," Prowl murmured to the saboteur's retreating back, unfazed by the sudden departure.
"That chased him off rather quickly," Ratchet commented airily, beginning to put his tools away now that he was done checking what he wanted to check.
Prowl swung his legs down over the side of the berth, swinging them absently. "He is sensitive to the idea. It is best not to push him on things like that. He has to come to his own conclusions."
"Do you think he will ever take the oath and become an Autobot?" Ratchet wondered idly. Around him, the med bay was not quiet, but instead filled with a soft symphony of beeping and distant chirping, the deep rattle of the vents above, and the quiet groan of recharging mechs in the ICU.
Prowl shuttered his optics, taking a deep drag of sterile air. "Yes."
"You sound confident."
One of Prowl's rare half-smiles flashed under the med bay lights. "I am more confident now than I have ever been. He is Autobot material, he just doesn't know it yet."
"A lot of other bots don't know it yet, either." Ratchet disappeared briefly into his office, dropped off his tools, and came back out with a small cube of energon. "Here. It's medical grade. It's not going to taste too great, but at least you won't have to swing by the dispensation room."
"Thanks. I've drank enough machine grade energon to last a lifetime. Medical grade will be like high-grade." Prowl took a long draught to revel in the smooth flavour and soft tingle of diluted energy. Lowering the cube, he peered down into the translucent liquid as it swilled around gently. "I realize that when I invited Jazz to come here two vorns ago, everyone thought I was out of my mind. I thought I was out of my mind. It was the most foolish, impulsive, dangerous thing I have ever done."
"Things change," Ratchet murmured.
"Jazz has changed," Prowl corrected, smiling down into his cube of energon. "He's done things that, when we started this endeavour, I never thought possible. He's shown mercy, compassion, empathy – things that not even I have a perfect grasp of. I let him in my head. I trusted him to help me when I needed him the most, and do you know what he did?"
It was rhetorical, but Ratchet asked the expected question. "What did he do?"
"He helped me, and expected nothing in return. He was in my mind; he saw my memories, felt what I can feel, but I am not afraid that he is going to use it against me."
Ratchet rocked back on his heels, assessing Prowl in a new light. "Jazz isn't the only one who has changed since he came here."
"I have hardly changed at all," Prowl countered.
"You have changed more than you think," Ratchet intoned, flicking him dead centre of his chevron. "When you were first stationed in Iacon, you would never let me anywhere near your processor. It was vorns before I figured out what you were doing with your emotional centre, and I had to drag that out of your head through deep scanning while you were laying damaged on one of my berths. You were a private bot who no one could touch, like an island existing all alone. Now look at you."
"I have a single friend. If that is all of my accomplishments, then that is a sorry state indeed."
"The mere fact that you call Jazz a friend is extraordinary. You've admitted that you let him into your head, let him see parts of yourself that you would never even show your own medic. This time, you didn't even need me to tell you to turn your emotional centre back on. You did it by yourself."
"With help," Prowl reasoned, grimacing. "I had hoped you wouldn't notice."
"No one else is going to notice. They don't like you enough to care," Ratchet huffed. "I noticed because I have been treating you for the same nonsense for as long as I have known it's been going on, but even in this you have changed."
"I do not see how," Prowl admitted. "Nothing has changed. I still fail to control my condition. I still suffer the affects of the backlash."
A sturdy hand clapped down on Prowl's good shoulder. "You don't mess with your centre as much as you used to. You turn it on without me telling you to. You're more engaged with bots here. You are more comfortable with yourself. There is no doubt in my mind that we have Jazz to thank for this."
"Perhaps."
"If he invested as much into the Autobots as he does into you, we'd be winning this war."
"He still has some way to go before he takes any oath."
Ratchet hitched a shoulder. "The orn that I hear he is petitioning Optimus Prime to become an Autobot, he has my support. Once upon a time, he was the worst there ever was, but now... not so much. He's almost decent."
Prowl laughed quietly, heaving to his feet. "Almost decent. I think that is as close to a compliment as he will ever get out of you."
"Don't tell him I said that," Ratchet chuckled lowly. "Go on, it's late. Get some recharge. If you are planning on getting back to work tomorrow, you'll need as much rest as you can get. The Welcome Home party can wait."
Prowl bid his quick goodnights to the medic before making his escape into the hall, taking familiar hallways and lifts to the barracks. His door was the same as always, if not a little neglected from lack of use. It slid open in welcome upon his approach, admitting him into the small space that he had called home for a number of vorns. Nothing had been touched in his absence. Prowl took his time looking around.
After so long of living out of Putter-Poof's cramped quarters, his own room seemed bizarrely vast and empty. There was no noise, except for the muffled sound of his neighbours' snuffling vents. The air was cold and quiet, no swish of chaotic company coming and going. His berth, the same berth he had recharged in for vorns, looked strange to his optics.
To no one in particular, Prowl looked up at the plain metal ceiling and announced, "I am home."
There was no answer, except for a sense of echoing loneliness.
"Never mind, then."
For the first time, Prowl noticed how bare his walls were. How empty his desk was. How devoid of personal artefacts his entire room was. It was as if no one had ever lived here at all. And suddenly it bothered him that it looked like no one lived in his room. What once had been orderly and sensible now felt cold and bleak. There was emptiness in the room that Prowl no longer wanted reflected in himself.
Two steps to the sharply angled rectangular desk in the corner, Prowl jerked open a drawer and withdrew a single data pad. It was a sizeable one, with a decently sized screen. He downloaded a small file into it, activated the holographic screen, and then propped the small pad on his desk at the base of the austere light presiding over his spartan workspace. He took the time to angle the screen so he could see it from his berth.
A single step back had him bumping into his berth, prompting him to sit. The picture he had downloaded onto the data pad stared back at him, smiling faceplates offering a snapshot into the past. A picture that had been taken by a media bot hosting a piece on the fine work done by the bots in the tactical division of Simfur Capitol City Security Response. Prowl looked predictably awkward and uncomfortable in the picture, not yet the master of smiling on cue. Everyone else looked handsome and proud. Smokescreen stood by his left, shined to perfection, and Hunter was in the back with his chest out and his chin up. Kingpin was on the outskirts of the group, aloof as always.
Evasia barely stood out in the crowd, short enough to stand in the front, and nearly overwhelmed by the much larger officers around her. Her smile was sincere, though. She looked like the happiest one to be there.
The new personal touch to his room was small, but it meant something.
Maybe it did nothing to combat the loneliness in the room, but it certainly made a dent in the emptiness. Now his quarters said someone lived here – albeit, it said so in a quiet, demure voice as if not quite sure if it wanted to be overheard or not. He could have chosen a more personal picture, but this one suited him just fine. This was a first step. He wasn't overly concerned with how superficial and silly the gesture was. He watched the picture from the side of his berth and marvelled over the fact that Ratchet had been right in some small way; he had changed.
There was hope for him yet.
At his door, someone buzzed the alert before letting himself in. Prowl sat up to greet his company, and then shrugged and laid back down when it was only Jazz.
"The mission is over, Jazz - we don't have to keep doing this. You have your own room now," he pointed out.
"No Ah don't," Jazz replied hoarsely, leaning back against the wall next to the door. There were storm clouds in his dimmed optics.
This time, Prowl did sit up and swing his legs down. "What do you mean? Of course you have a room."
A humourless laugh ricocheted off the bare walls. "Yeah, Ah thought so too, until Ah walked into the room Ah've been living in for the last two vorns and it was empty."
"There's got to be some mistake. Did you walk into the wrong room?"
Jazz shot him an incredulous look.
"Okay, no, you did not walk into the wrong room."
"It's been empty for a while," the saboteur said. "Probably since the moment Ah left this place. Ah bet they didn't even wait for mah berth ta get cold before they cleared everything out. Guess Ah wasn't as welcomed back as Ah thought Ah was."
"That's not true."
"Tell that ta mah empty room." He balled a fist and pounded it hollowly against the wall at his back. "Ya mind if Ah stay here tonight? Ah got nowhere else right now."
"Of course, my quarters have always been open to you – even when the door has been locked."
The poor joke was enough to summon a half-sparked smile. The saboteur came to the berth and allowed himself to be guided up by Prowl's one good hand. The tension in Jazz's grip matched the tension in his faceplate, a hollow neutral mask that looked too forced to be uncaring. Instead, Jazz just looked hurt.
"We'll figure this out in the morning," Prowl assured, laying back on the familiar contours of his berth.
"If Ah'm even still here by then." Jazz rolled over and activated his recharge subroutines.
Prowl remained online for a while longer, staring at the ceiling, worried for the bot he was sharing a berth with, and equally concerned for how less empty his room felt now.