The Diego Diaries: Prowl Writes a Porno (dd3 449)
-0-His turn
Prowl stood on the balcony looking over the edge. It was a long way down and he had more life to live. He weighed all of it, then threw his servos up. Walking to his chair, he sat to quietly gather himself. He picked up and looked at the data pad in his servo. Then he began to read what had been a round about journey to a story.
"The moon was huge in the dark sky of Cybertron, its partner following close by. The city sparkled like diamonds on a velvet carpet. He felt the warmth of the evening, an evening in summer and it was consoling. Far away was someone he loved, someone who didn't know he existed. Far away, that mech functioned out of his reach. It was disheartening. He looked back into his apartment, a small one that was his home when there wasn't any other place to go.
"Where are you?" he asked himself. "Why can't I find you?"
"There were no answers. He walked back into the room, the lights of the city beyond no consolation.
"The next orn was the first of the cycle. The leadership gathered to discuss the usual problems and opportunities. He looked at the one for whom he had such hopes both professionally and personally.
He had hoped Sentinel would grow out of his selfishness but it was a forlorn one. The Prime was who and what he was and nothing more. When their business was finished, he turned to the job, the one thing that was constant in his life. The orn wore on, then night came again.
"They flew by, the orns. The nights were slower, more difficult but he soldiered onward warmed by a vision of someone he loved far away. Then the news came to him when he was ready to end another shift, to face another long empty night.
"The Prime was killed, Commander."
He considered that, the death of the Prime and felt the optics of all of the command staff upon him. "Where is the Matrix?"
"The Council … they have it."
He nodded, then turned to the officer of the Orn. "Continue. This information is to be held pending general release statements from the Council. I will be at the Primal Basilica." He left without another word.
The night had settled again, the evening emerging from the daylight to open possibilities across the city. The clubs and restaurants would be filled, the theaters and bars as well. No one would know that the world was collapsing from the oddly unreal calm of the city tonight. He walked through the faceless masses, a ghost figure, his optics taking in everything without giving anything away.
The Basilica was a huge dark mass against the night sky. He took the steps aware that he was in the sights of security and its endless machines hovering above. They read his transponder and let him through, his security rating clearing his path.
Impersonal scrutiny of a life lived impersonally, he thought. His ped falls echoed in the vast cavernous interior of the great solemn building, resounding constantly until he reached a small tense crowd. Pausing with them, he watched as they turned to look at him.
"Hello, Prowl. We have trouble," one of them said.
An understatement, he thought, the death of a Prime under strange circumstances. He moved to look but they formed a wall. "I would like to see the transfer of the Matrix."
"It's already done," Neo said imperiously. "We have it here."
He looked at the box in the servos of Decimus, one of the most unworthy to hold it of the group in front of him. He himself reverenced it, this relic of his creator. It was a sliver of His pure spark. He wanted to kneel. He wanted to pray. The moment of contact with such a remarkable object as the Matrix was life changing. He felt Its warmth and he felt eternity. "The Matrix will need a host. I will accompany it to the Councilor Building."
"No," Proteus said. "We will take care of it."
"The Matrix will seek Its own host. Hiding It away won't prevent that. You do understand that don't you?" he asked coldly, his sense of offense to the greatness that was the Matrix of Primus growing in his chassis. It was bitter in his mouth, the offense he felt. "Ratchet is coming. He will need to do an autopsy of Sentinel."
"There will be no autopsy," Halogen said with the usual arrogance, using the tone that always set him on edge.
"That is not the law, Senator, as you well know. Unknown deaths or deaths by mischief require autopsy."
"Not this time, Prowl," they said turning to look as another came in. A tall bot with medical insignia walked toward them and stopped short of the sarcophagus. He stepped forward to look but Kudon moved to prevent it. "You may not view the body. It isn't decent to see."
"I'm a doctor. Tell me something I haven't seen before. The rules of the law require an autopsy. Step aside, Kudon," the medic said.
"No," Kudon said glancing around. "Guards, escort these two out."
Guards came from the dark shadows nearby and surrounded them. He glanced at the medic who nodded minutely. Turning, surrounded, they walked to the door and beyond.
-0-Much later, Autobot HQ, Iacon, Cybertron
He walked into the Operational Center, the new Prime. He was handsome but they all were. He was huge, the Primal platform unchanged for this one but for colors. He turned to receive the introductions, then halted with surprise. Looking up into a wise and handsome face, the warmth of this one's optics seemed to reach out to him. He was the one, the one he sought. This was The One.
"Commander Prowl, the Second-in-command of the Armed Forces will guide you, sir," someone was saying. "He's someone who knows everything and everyone. Prowl," the officer said. Then he left them.
For a moment they didn't speak. Then Prowl extended his servo. "Sir."
He took Prowl's servo, his own big hand warm and strong. He nodded, his optics reflecting the warmth that Prowl had always associated with him. "Prowl. Its been a while hasn't it."
"It has, sir," Prowl replied solemnly. "I'm glad to show you how things work. I'm the continuity of the operation, sir."
"So I have been told," Optimus Prime said. They stood a moment staring at each other, then noted their servos. Letting go, Prime looked around. "Perhaps a tour of the command center."
They walked together that first time as comrades in a terrible adventure. Prime listened, asked good questions and had no pretense.
It was as Prowl remembered. He remembered a lot but he knew that Prime had no sense of that himself. They'd met in difficult circumstances in the chaos of the Clampdown. They were on opposite sides. Prime then was a revolutionary seeking justice and hope for the masses.
He, himself was part of the machination, a silent machine that formulated possibilities for the forces that would bury this mech forever.
That moment when they saw each other, when in a riot he had the chance to take Orion Pax to prison forever, he didn't. He lowered his gun and the mech who stared at him with surprise ran away to fight another orn. He stood in the alley a long time wondering how in this moment it could all change, that it could all be different than it was.
It would plague him and he would wonder with increasing unrest where the big mech with the remarkable optics was. He'd learned his name, Orion Pax, and he had learned his occupation, longshoreman. For a long time it would be enough. Then it wasn't.
Eons later
The world he came upon was not much different from too many others. He slammed into the ground and stood for a moment, sand falling from his protoform as he shifted fully into root format. Turning to look, his optics resting on the vast sparkling ocean, he saw a figure he never expected, one that had been gone so long from his life he figured that part was over. The cold optics hardened from war and privation were captured again in the warmth of the one he had sought forever.
"Prowl."
A soft voice, that sonorous baritone … it caressed him. It soothed him, wrapping its gentleness around his very spark. He was hungry … starving for it and he hadn't known how much until this very moment. He embraced it, that soft voice for a moment before nodding slightly. "Sir," he whispered.
They stared at each other, both feeling such a depth of emotion that they dared not speak. He nodded to his Prime, his great leader … his most beloved one. "Sir, I'm glad to see you again. I had no hope."
All of the eons of travel, most of it alone had gathered inside him like a hard kernel. It was heavy in his gut as he looked at the massive format that had disappeared one despairing orn never to return until now. All of the places he'd searched alone, the only one of his kind in what seemed the infinity of space landed hard upon him. He stared with emotion, then nodded slightly.
Ratchet came and embraced him, Ratchet of the easy manner, Ratchet of the good bond and enormous circle of friends. He was overcome as the other mechs there stepped forward welcoming him, all of the familiar faces of their vexation.
Then Prime extended his servo. Prowl took it, the same strong grip, the same gentleness wrapped in unspeakable power. Softness, steel. He felt the give of Prime's servo because he could. Then it withdrew ever so slowly, falling away, taking warmth with it.
"Ratchet will help you and there will be formats to take. We are robots in disguise here. The humans refer to us this way," he said with a slight grin.
That grin. He had remembered it, the sense of emotion under great control. They were alike that way. Responsibility can crush a spark, he thought. So could loneliness and distance. He slowly walked with Ratchet to the Embassy feeling the optics of the one he wanted following.
A dance ensued. The brush of a servo against an arm, the presence of a body close to your own in consultation at the table. A subtle dance of love and desire between two encumbered by burdens of responsibility and leadership played out in public, before optics all around.
Night time was the worst part of all. The moon of this new world, a strange one overhead seemed to mock him. The moon of another civilization not their own shown brightly in the velvet sky. He was near but ultimately far away, as far as before. They walked around each other, both afraid of the moment when something would slip and it would be said.
What if he declined? What if it wasn't the same for him?
Prowl walked back inside heading for the berth that was his alone.
Alone. Alone, alone. Always alone.
Nearby, he stood in the shadow of a hangar watching the one he wanted. Prowl was beautiful to his optics. He knew the humans might feel differently but he didn't care. This one he loved. This one he had loved that moment long ago when it was in Prowl's power to shoot and end all of it forever.
But he hadn't.
That moment of impact of the transitional format on the beach, which the data received from Ops Center told him was Prowl would be etched in his memory forever. A flaming arrow traversing across the sky had awakened feelings he felt so deeply they never left him. They would always be part of his awakening joy. They would be together. He wanted to say so much, to do so much, to possess this one completely … but he was afraid.
What if Prowl didn't feel the same?
Prime moved into the light of the moon, a silvery softness that shadowed everything. Nights were hardest. That was when he craved conversation. That's when he wished confession. But the one he knew would understand him more than any other didn't know he existed.
Or so he thought.
They moved in parallel lines, their paths crossing together when professional demands required. They were so close but forever separated.
Then they weren't.
Frenzy.
It was frenzy that enveloped them, fire and fury. He was enfolded into arms that could bring down buildings, enveloped in love that had stood the test of time. All of the endless cycles of years that had passed disappeared in the fury of the moment. All of the despair, loneliness, the agony of uncertainty was burned away. Flames engulfed them, burned brightly, then faded. When it was over, they were one.
Optimus Prime and Prowl of Praxus at long last were One.
-0-In the corridor
They listened to the story of Prowl and Prime. Then Ratchet glanced down the hallway to Alor who stood silently in his doorway. He grinned and nodded. Alor nodded back, shut off his data pad and put it inside the apartment. It was quiet a moment, then Prowl spoke. :Alor, its your turn:
Alor grinned and shook his helm. :Nope. I think not, Prowl. You get the last word:
Ratchet nodded in agreement. There was nothing more to say.
-0-TBC September 25, 2013 8-1-19