Author's Note I finished this chapter. Finally. Finally. It's been a headache to get through this, to slog through the edits on this. It's a year later than I meant to release this. And hey, four days after my due date that I had promised (here, else where? I don't think I remember). Honestly? I've thrown up my hands and said… well I've said some bad words at the computer screen and am now posting it. It's not perfect. So here, I apologize for any gaffs that I have missed, and any glaring errors that have been left.

I have to mention Tiamat1972 who has put up with me during the writing, and rewriting and subsequent and frequent bitching over this chapter. Huggles!

Thank you for your patience.

See you next month, hopefully?

Off the Record

Sensors powered on one at a time. His engine started with a rev that sent vibrations skittering across his plating like so many little hydraulipedes, but it felt distant. Muffled. The virus? It couldn't be, for while he ached his diagnostics registered it as the assimilation of new repairs and new parts. His systems ran smoothly and sensory input didn't jam his processor.

Access to memory banks inundated his processor with memory files; sights, sounds, smells, tactile sensations. Helplessness. Vertigo. Capture. Escape. Starscream. Sunstreaker. Sideswipe.

Thought of Sideswipe made Prowl activate his optics. Where were they? Where was he? Most importantly, was it safe.

Medical instruments littered the shelf only a few meters from either side of his berth. A parts bin stood in one corner, a few of the neatly labeled drawers open. Prowl found no comfort in his location; he'd been inside a similar room in the Decepticon base, but it was the distinctive orange coloring of the walls and ceiling that soothed Prowl's concern.

They'd made it back to Iacon.

Or at least he had. What about Sideswipe? Sunstreaker? Were they here, too? How did they get back? How long had they been here? How long had he been offline?

Why didn't his battle computer respond? This was Iacon, wasn't it?

Prowl didn't detect a processor block, and his battle computer pinged back when he queried it. But he couldn't get any more out of it than that.

A weight shifted across his legs, and for the first time, Prowl realized that he was not alone in the room. Someone was touching him and he couldn't see them.

All of this took a matter of astroseconds to flash through his processor.

"Congratulations!"

The bright and disturbingly cheerful voice jolted Prowl from the beginning of his panic. It originated from somewhere past his protruding chestplate and reassured him that he was at the moment safe. From the Decepticons at least.

A bolt tightened into his knee. Ratchet's reassuringly familiar, but still bright and disturbingly cheerful voice carried over Prowl's chestplate. "You have managed to slag your frame, your processor, not to mention your entire sensory net worse than the twins combined. I finished on them nearly two decacycles ago. I just finished rewiring your sensors to your rebuilt frame and shiny, new processors. I haven't even booted your battle computer, yet. Why don't you lay there and get started on calibrating everything?" The last wasn't exactly a recommendation when coming from Ratchet.

Prowl held himself still to allow the calibrations to run. The extensive process would need to restart with the slightest disturbance.

Ratchet hated full calibrations. Normally because full calibrations followed the extensive repairs necessary after spark-threatening damage. No doubt, just as Prowl had just suffered.

Knowing this, Prowl did not debate with Ratchet, but started the calibrations on his systems. He watched the calibrations run through his HUD at tens of thousands of kilobytes processed per astrotick. He waited a full .2576 of a breem before he decided that enough time had passed to count for reasonable concern. "Sideswipe, Sunstreaker. What's their status?"

The sounds of tools and supplies clinking around the cupboards and drawers petered into silence.

"They're functional. Both of them are on light duty until the repairs assimilate. Neither of them recall the details of your capture or escape." Ratchet paused, Prowl might dare to say that he hesitated and when he spoke, it was far gentler than any of his previous words. "Do you remember?"

Prowl perused his memory logs, checking the files for any missing time. "I remember, but I do not recall our rescue."

Light. Bright, white light and an endless roar of sound. The sensation of tactile sensors overloading and shutting down one by one. Screams that sent spasms of desperation into his unresponsive limbs. Then voices, broken and wordless. Flickers of shadows leaning over to peer at him. Blue. lights. Blue lights that meant safety. Friends.

"Who rescued us?"

"Ultra Magnus and Overdrive's units." Ratchet's voice returned to its normal surly growl. "Although 'rescue' is apparently an overstatement. You were found nearly .40 kilometers from Halifax. It might be better to say that they picked you up, rather than rescued you. The reports said it looked like you either smashed headlong into a convoy while both were going full throttle in opposite directions, or you three had fallen a ridiculously stupid height. Guess which one my bet is on."

"Hmm."

"Sure," he drawled, punctuated by a painfully loud punch to his work counter. "You can just brush it off. You didn't see the heaps of slag they brought in and told me to repair. Fragging enough to give a mech surges." Ratchet came into Prowl's range of sight, and narrowed his optics. "Don't ever do that again."

Prowl couldn't bring himself to smile in response. "Consider it duly noted."

Ratchet harrumphed and moved away to resume his quiet sorting. "Optimus wants to know if you would be up to a debriefing. Don't move, or you'll have to restart the calibrations and then I'd have to immobilize you."

Prowl made no attempt to defy the medic. Immobilization usually did not trouble him, but at that time he didn't think he could endure it. He also had hoped to corroborate his story with Sideswipe and Sunstreaker before speaking with Optimus. "Now?"

"Now," Ratchet said and then added, "and here for that matter. You're not leaving the medby for at least another megacycle. And that's only if I'm feeling particularly charitable." Ratchet paused and shifted his weight. "If you need a little more time, then say so. Prime can wait. He'd understand."

The sensors in his leg suddenly twinged fully online and Prowl grunted at the new aches it brought with it. "No need to wait." He pinged his comm. and contacted Optimus with a request that he bring a holo unit and a cartography drive stick.

"Nice to know your personality survived the fall."

Prowl's right hand sensors finished their calibrations and he curled his hand into a loose fist. "I never validated that it was either a collision or a fall.

"Smart aft. See if I let you out of here in the next decacyle."

Prowl received Optimus's response and he settled in to wait for the commander. "And give the more mischevious elements free reign. Surely you jest?"

Ratchet didn't need to see Ratchet's glare to understand the silence that followed.

"How are your calibrations coming along?" Ratchet's deceptively sweet voice did not fool Prowl for an astrosecond.

"It progresses as should be expected."

"Good." Ratchet promptly smacked Prowl's left leg.

Prowl winced as the newly calibrated sensors stung at the vibrations. "That was unnecessary."

Ratchet snorted and went back to cleaning and storing his tools. "My medbay, my rules. And I say that was necessary, and if you keep running your vocalizer, I'll find it necessary to turn that decacycle into an entire megacycle."

Prowl flicked his fingers out, dismissing the threat knowingly. "As long as I have datapads, you can keep me in here as long as you need."

"After fighting with that damned virus infecting your systems, what the slag makes you think that I want you in here for even another cycle."

Prowl tilted his head. "…you had to fight with it?"

Air exploded from Ratchet's vents. "When I get my hands on the half-clocked, missparked, glitch-ridden, Pit-forsaken scrap heap that created that insult-to-programming virus, there won't be enough pieces left of him to string a molecule together!"

Still immobilized by the continued recalibrations, Prowl sought the small weight of the device he recalled storing in his bumper. He couldn't detect it. "Did you find the data stick?"

All sounds and movements ceased beyond Prowl's chestplate. Not even the rev of their engines could be heard in the silence that could have been broken by the drop of a single nut.

"Yes. Lucky slagger. You might have spared all of us a lot of worry and work if you had just activated the stupid thing. I'd already disconnected all of your non-essential sensor nodes and dug through most of your systems when Wheeljack found your little gift tucked away in your bumper. Where the slag did you get that, anyways? Not even a slagging Decepticon would be stupid enough to leave an antivirus in easy reach, and don't tell me that you snuck it from some Con stronghold."

Calibrations finished on his other hand, Prowl rapped his fingers on the table. He couldn't simply divulge that information suspicious as it might sound, not to Ratchet at least. "I couldn't activate a program when I wasn't certain if it would knock me offline when I most needed to be able to act."

Ratchet grunted. "What about my other question?"

"That information is classified."

Ratchet growled his opinion of that and he buzzed with words that never had the chance to come out.

"Ratchet, I must ask that you cease this line of questioning."

Prowl had never been so grateful for Prime's arrival.

Ratchet was silent for a long moment, before his gears ground with his frustration. "Fine. Talk to him. Then I'm going to knock him offline until I'm done. Otherwise I'm going to end up getting rid of his vocalizer and replacing it with a signal lamp."

Optimus tilted his head. "Thank you."

Ratchet finally came into view, ever-present frown on his face. A red finger swept from th side of Prowl's vision to hover in front of his nose. "You stay right there and don't move so much as a servomotor."

Prowl huffed a sigh. "I cannot move. The calibrations have not finished."

Ratchet stood with his arms akimbo and glared down at Prowl for seven point five astroseconds, before he turned and stalked out of the room.

Optimus drew closer, and one large blue hand came to rest near Prowl's magplate. "I'm glad you returned safely," his head tilted and his optics brightened in a smile, "if not quite fully functional."

Prowl winced at the proximity, at his continued helplessness. Even if he moved, his weapons were out of reach or inaccessible. He shouldn't be threatened by his commander. But if he struck quickly he could disable one optic maybe both, perhaps he could rip out a handful of neck cables.

The hand disappeared, as though Optimus had read his second-in-command's distress.

Prowl cycled his vents for a moment, seeking that place of calm from which he'd always drawn his tactics. He should respond, right? "It's good to see you, as well. Have Smokescreen and Trailbreaker been managing efficiently in my absence?"

Optimus hummed for a moment. "They've been managing, though they are eager for you to return to duty. However," and Prime's voice dropped a few octaves, full of soothing patience that bordered on command. "there is no rush."

And Prowl knew that Prime had seen his panic, and it had concerned him.

Prowl's fingers twitched as he harbored the idea that Optimus might very well put him on an extended leave. He didn't want that. Primus, the last thing he wanted was to have nothing to do. "I much prefer to do my work, as you are well aware."

Prime withdrew his hand with a reassuring pat. "We shall see. " A datapad appeared in his hand. "Now tell me what happened."

Prowl took a hundred astroseconds to compose a story that didn't reveal things Optimus did not need to know about, as well as brush over the more painful memories and still be truthful.

His fingers shook as he drew his report to a conclusion. They chattered and clicked against the berth, until Prowl curled his hand into a fist to silence them. "I lost control of the situation sir. I couldn't let them kill them, Sideswipe or Sunstreaker. It wasn't my intention to-"

A blue hand reached out and rested next to Prowl's shoulder. "That's enough. You did as any Autobot would do. As I would have expected you to do. You don't have to explain."

Prowl's optics dimmed and he couldn't bear to look at Prime. "Thank you."

Optimus remained silent for a long breem. "I believe that the next time we have such an assignment, you will either have a full escort, or we will send someone else in your stead."

"Understood." Prowl hesitated a moment, then asked in a low voice. "What of Counterpunch, is he an Autobot?"

Optimus stared down at him, his optics bright. Prowl knew right then that he would receive no answer to his question. "I cannot reveal the nature of Counterpunch's relationship to our cause. Not even to you. I would also appreciate you not mentioning his name outside this room."

"Yes, sir."

Optimus stared down at the datapad in his hands. "I don't want you to blame yourself for what happened the information that you gave them is minor compared with your safety."

"Do we know who survived the explosion? Perhaps if none of his officers made it out alive, then the information is not as lost as it would first appear…"

Optimus Prime subspaced the datapad. "We have confirmed that Starscream's trine and Mindwarp made it safely to Straxus."

"Slag. Then we should-"

Optimus interrupted Prowl with a hand on his chestplate. "Why don't you let Smokescreen and Trailbreaker worry about this, for now? Your only concern for the next few decacycles is to repair and recuperate."

Recuperate? With nothing at all to occupy his processor? No. That wasn't what Prowl wanted at all. He didn't need free time, he didn't need time in which he had nothing to occupy him but his memories, and he didn't need the opportunity to review everything that could have gone wrong, or did go wrong. "There is no need for that Optimus. I am fully capable of assuming my normal workload as soon as Ratchet clears me for duty."

"Is that so? Don't fragging move." Prowl locked his joints at the snarled command. "You don't have to see me to know who's talking to you." Ratchet's tone contained a hint of smugness that chilled Prowl's systems as he calculated what was about to happen.

Prowl's optics widened. Slag no.

"I suppose that I'm just going to have to hold off on clearing you for duty for that decacycle after all."

Prowl's fist clenched at his side. "You have no reason not to clear me, so protocol demands…"

Ratchet's optics brightened and he turned to speak to Optimus. "By the way Prime it would appear that we are missing some parts to complete the repairs on Prowl."

Prowl clenched his hand.

"Is that so? How fortuna-I mean sad," Optimus said in a tone that conveyed his smug smirk.

"I can't conscientiously put him back on duty if his repairs are incomplete. I will need to send away to Verax for some of those parts. Could take two decacycles… But I can extend that to four."

Prowl's optics narrowed at the ceiling, and he desired nothing more than to glare at the CMO. "You aren't keeping me in here that long."

"Oh, no. Slag no. You can move without these…. Parts, but you really shouldn't be doing any strenuous work."

"Can I ask what these 'parts' are?"

"Of course you can. But I don't have to answer. Prime f you're done, I'm going to finish what I can on Prowl before releasing him."

"Very well, Ratchet. Enjoy your vacation, Prowl."

Prowl's engine growled.

Prowl stood outside his office door, positively fuming. He had been locked out of his office. His access codes didn't work.

Furthermore, he could hear voices on the other side of the locked door. Perturbed by this, he chimed for their attention.

Rather than open the door, a voice called out through the office's comm. system. "Who is it?"

Smokescreen, Prowl snarled to himself. "It's Prowl. Open the door so I can retrieve some personal effects."

Smokescreen laughed. "Sorry, sir. No can do. Orders from Prime are that you are not to be permitted inside your office for anything."

However the door opened (if only a meter) and Trailbreaker's large arm thrust out with a box in his hand. "We did, however, go through the liberty of gathering together some of your more personal effects." The red visor peeked through the small crack in the door. "You really should enjoy more time off."

"Prowl stared at the box, and then glared up at the mech's visor. "I do take time off. That's what it means when you are off-duty. It means you are taking time off."

Trailbreaker reached a little more through the door, and the box in his hand clinked against Prowl's repaired bumper.

Prowl took a step away from the touch before he could stop himself. He stiffened, optics flashing angrily at himself, though he knew the other tactician wouldn't see it that way.

"That's not what I meant, and you know it." He paused, but when Prowl made no motion to take the parcel, he spoke in an only slightly irritated voice. "Are you gonna take it, or am I gonna just have to drop it at your feet?"

Prowl snatched the box out of Trailbreaker's hand. He didn't even bother to peruse the items inside, but immediately stuck it unsorted into his subspace. He didn't say another word to Trailbreaker, but turned on his heel and strode away. He barely suppressed the growl that had built in his engine.

They were inside his office. His office. Univited. How dare they. His office.

Prowl's steps carried him to the rec room. He had intended to go to his quarters, ostensibly for recharge and to ensure that nothing had been disturbed in his absence. His actuators seemed to have other ideas, however as he found himself sitting in a corner with a cube of energon in his hand, though he still had full tanks after leaving Ratchet's medbay. He didn't remember sitting down, or even walking through the crowded room.

He hoped he had at least acknowledged any greetings. If they caught him skipping processor cycles like that, then they would see fit to extending his 'vacation,' no doubt through the excuse of Ratchet having trouble 'procuring' his 'parts.' Or worse. If they decided that he would benefit from a few dozen sessions with Smokescreen.

No. He would not think like that. No one had noticed his automated locomotion. He was here for a legitimate reason. He was looking for someone. Yes, exactly right.

Prowl absently scanned the crowd, not really sure what he was looking for until he saw it.

Every gear in his body tightened at the flash of yellow that had caught his attention.

Where there was yellow, red was never too far behind…

Sure enough red metal caught the light and Prowl's optics not too far away from yellow sitting at the table.

Sideswipe.

Prowl's doorwings sagged as he watched the red mech walk from the energon dispenser with two full cubes. He could not measure the relief that flooded his logic relays at seeing his soldier (his lover) walking under his own power. Ridiculous, he told himself, as Ratchet would never have released him otherwise. But most importantly, seeing the warrior whole and not sparking or leaking (an open wound that spat and spewed as a hand pulled out another bundle of wires, a scream the arch of a body wrought with pain), loosened the tightness in Prowl's frame that had to do with so much more than his gears.

Sideswipe didn't acknowledge Prowl, but his optics briefly glanced toward the mech who had entered the room, a preprogrammed response most warrior-builds possessed. At least so it would seem to the casual observer.

Prowl could see the red frame tense, and the hunger in the mech's optics to say something. The need for contact.

Prowl abruptly stood and left. His cube discarded on the table.

Prowl paced in his quarters, unable to simply sit still and go into recharge. A megacycle had turned into two and Prowl had scuffed a path of white paint around the perimeter of his room. He couldn't remain still too long. He had attempted a session at the shooting range, but found he could not focus on the target. He couldn't even spar with a drone, not without ripping it apart; a waste of resources.

Prowl had no way to explain what had happened in his most recent session, but it had ended with the drone in pieces and him retreating to his room where he shook for a few uncounted cycles. He was glad that nobody had come to investigate the mess he'd left. He had not meant to lose control like... like... Sunstreaker when Sideswipe was hurt.

He paused by one of the few shelves in his room and straightened the neat rows of datapads. He couldn't sit still, and he hated that he had nothing to occupy his time. A game of Solitary Safety lay open, but otherwise untouched on the desk. He could not even enjoy his favorite games. Impulsively he grabbed one of the data pads off the self and returned to his desk. He shoved a few stray pieces of his abandoned game out of his way and settled his arms in their place.

He activated the datapad and started reading. At least attempted. He knew the contents of this datapad as well as that of his own hard drive. Perhaps that was why his optics kept straying away from the screen to settle on the blank spaces on his wall. Or the scattered game pieces on his desk.

He couldn't focus on even the simple task of reading.

The screen cracked under the tight grip of his fingers. Where was his control? Why couldn't he do anything right?

Prowl glared at the now useless datapad. The sight of the crack in the glass inexplicably piqued his ire, and in a fit of impotent rage he turned and chucked the device at the far wall.

"Ack!"

Prowl leapt to his feet and whirled to face the source of the sudden exclamation, his gun in his hand. He trembled with the power that surged through his frame; prepared to fight (though what he couldn't name), prepared to retreat (though where didn't compute at the moment), prepared to do one to accomplish the other.

Blue optics peeked out from behind cobalt arms. "Are you done with throwing things at me, sir?"

Prowl stared at the cobalt arms, unable to register the orange chassis and red hands that should have stood out even more clearly than the Autobot insignia. The room spun as Prowl suddenly had to convince his imagers not to replace his own quarters with the one in Halifax. The mech in front of him with the Decepticons who had held him. His battle computer threatened to lock under the onslaught of conflicting emotions spurred by those cobalt arms.

A red hand suddenly grasped Prowl's shoulder plate. "Sir, are you okay?"

Prowl jerked away from the touch, smacking the hand away with his gun before turning the weapon on the mech in his office. "Who the frag are you?" Just as he said it, he realized that he didn't recognize this mech. He didn't match any personnel on base. Protocol demanded that Prowl contact security for any unidentified individuals.

"I'm Punch, sir."

The gun didn't waver from the mech. The name didn't register on Prowl's personnel database. However…

What if Optimus had acquired new personnel during Prowl's absence? Did he have the most up-to-date personnel list? He couldn't immediately recall if he'd updated his database since coming online.

But no, because he would have required access to his workspace.

"What is your unit?"

"Er…"

"Answer me or I will contact security."

The mech flinched. "Ah, wait before you do that…"

Prowl activated his comm. 'Prowl to security…'

Static.

Alarm jolted through Prowl's frame, the connection between dilemma and reason made in an astroseconds of processing power, and he lunged for the mech who was still standing in arm's reach.

Punch not only dodged the blow, but he knocked Prowl off his feet and pinned him to the floor.

Prowl lost track of what exactly happened within the following breem. The next thing he was aware of he had his back to the wall farthest from his intruder, and the mech was crouched on the floor with his hands held out like he was placating some feral drone. Prowl's gun lay some distance away from either of them, tossed to the side in the scuffle that Prowl didn't recall.

He just remembered…

A weight on his frame…

Hands on his plates…

Laughing (red) optics above a mask….

No… no. That was wrong. This was not Vertigo. This was not Halifax.

"My apologies, sir. I… react badly to being attacked. I didn't mean to frighten you."

Prowl stared at the other mech, incredulous, the words processing over and over again in his CPU. He knew there was something else he should be focused on, but he couldn't bring it forward into his active processes. "You react badly…?"

"Ah… well, yeah. Sorry. I guess you would, too?"

"Who are you?" And there it was, that thing that Prowl needed to act upon; this stranger in a base where he should know every name and face and energy signature. "How did you get in here?"

The stranger didn't stand from his crouch and slid closer to Prowl. "I'm an Autobot. Why wouldn't I be here?" He then stood and offered his red hand to Prowl.

Prowl eyed the hand, gauging the mech's stance and alertness. He hadn't been able to lay a finger on the other mech. He narrowed his optics at Punch. "An Autobot? Why aren't you in my database?"

Punch grinned, his optics narrowed above his mask with his amusement. "I may not be in the database you can access, sir, but I assure you, I'm in someone's database."

Prowl stared at the mech's face, every gear and tensor in his body winding up. Words could be spoken by anyone, and anyone could hit different tones in their speech. But just like the coded words in the cell, the way Punch said that caught Prowl's attention, activating a subroutine that undeniably identified the one speaking as an Autobot undercover agent.

The same subroutine that had clued Prowl into the red mech that Prowl could now place as one of Jazz's disguises. Primus, that was Jazz? Getting one of his agents out of Halifax… but who…?

Prowl's optics snapped up to the orange and blue Autobot. "Counterpunch."

The blue optics narrowed, but the head tilted in acknowledgement. "I'm Punch here. Let's not mention that name again, 'kay?"

A deep cover agent here? In his office? Prowl couldn't even compute what the mech could want from him. The idiot!

Prowl drew his doorwings up, gears tightening in his shoulders and side. "If you're not in our database, you shouldn't be wandering around the base on your own." Prowl flicked his wings, the image of red optics too prevalent in his processor. "Protocol dictates that you remain in your designated area, unless accompanied by your superior officer. You realize there is a reason I know nothing of you as either alias." For surely Punch was as fake a name as Counterpunch.

"Well, my superior officer leads by example; he's never been one for protocol."

"Your superior officer knows his responsibilities and only shirks those he can get away with. He would not have authorized this visit. What are you doing here?"

Punch stilled. "I had to see that you made it out okay. The boss said he would give you the information and you'd act on it. I just… wasn't sure I believed him. You spend enough time around the Decepticons and you start doubting everyone."

Prowl scowled, but his doorwings shifted in a brief moment of surprise. He regarded the mech in silent contemplation. "I stand before you, functioning and cognizant. That should satisfy you." Prowl turned his back on the mech.

"Are you?" The mech's gaze burned across Prowl's doorwings. "I'm sure that's why you're in here instead of your office, poring over old data pads instead of new reports. I'm sure that's why you're hiding in your quarters instead of finding time to be with those twins of yours."

Prowl glared at the mech from over his shoulder. Primus, he had actually forgotten that Counterpunch knew his secret. He should kill the mech before he had a chance to reveal it to anyone.

Punch laughed. "Oh? Was that murder I saw in your optics just now? And you say you are functional?"

Prowl had already frozen in shock at his own thoughts. Surely that would not be the first alternative he would think of to protect his secret.

Yet he recalled that Decepticon begging for mercy as he lay on the ground and how he'd just left him there to die in the explosion.

The door chimed then and Jazz's voice sang over the doorcomm. "Prowler~! You in there?"

Prowl's doorwings flitted back and he glanced at his unwanted visitor. "That will probably be for you."

Punch's optics lit up. "I wondered how long it would take him to track me down."

Prowl opened the door remotely from where he stood, permitting the saboteur entrance to his quarters.

Jazz waltzed in, grin on his face as always. He observed the tableau set out before him without his expression changing. "Punch, man, whatcha doing here? Ya ain't s'pposed ta be here."

"Just checking up on Prowl here. I've heard that he had a mission that went a little sour. I was actually about to leave." Punch waved as he walked out the door.

Prowl turned to Jazz, his doorwings still stiff behind him. "Your subordinate is going to get himself killed walking around here so blithely."

Jazz turned his hands palm up. "He got here no problem. I'm sure he can get back to his designated area without incident. Not like you'll have to worry about writing that report. Poor 'Breaker and 'Screen, they've done nothing but complain complain complain since ya left. They never realized how much data work ya have to go through. They wanted me to help, but I declined."

Prowl would have smiled another time. "I'm certain your reasons had nothing to do with your disdain for anything that resembles hard work."

"Hey now I don't mind hard work! Ya think I don't work hard on the field?"

Prowl didn't deign to answer that. He turned and bent to pick up the pieces of the game that had fallen off his desk in the earlier scuffle.

Fingers brushed the edge of Prowl's doorwings, and the tactician straightened, having not realized that Jazz had moved so much closer. The urge to take a step back built up, but Prowl refused to keep giving in to his emotions. Knowing, as he did, that allowing emotions to dominate him would eventually cause his battle computer to crash. The last he needed was to go back to Ratchet so soon. He allowed himself to deny that he didn't want to return to anywhere that reminded him of anywhere in Halifax.

"Hey, are you okay?"

Prowl tilted his wings. "I'm fine."

"Are ya sure? You've been-"

"I'm fine. Thank you for sending that message."

Jazz laughed, and yet despite the smile on his face, it came out as hollow as from a tube. "Yeah, well, there was no slagging way I was leaving you with the slagsucking 'Cons. Especially after what you'd been through! Not that I would have left you anyways, annnnd I'm rambling like Bluestreak."

Prowl gave Jazz a speaking look and went back to picking up his scattered game pieces. "I do not doubt that they could have been treating us like honored guests and you still would have made a point of getting us out anyways."

"Prob'ly. I'da done it no matter what, though." Jazz paused, and Prowl glanced up at his sudden silence.

"Do ya wanna talk about it?"

Prowl's optics brightened. "No." Not with you. Not with anyone. No one would understand. No one except…

"Alright. But'cha know, I'm here, if you do wanna talk, right?

"Yes, thank you." But I'll never talk to you. There are things involved that you simply cannot find out.

Jazz stood for a spattering of astroseconds, inscrutable expression on his face.

Prowl didn't know how to answer; he didn't know what kind of answer Jazz was expecting.

"Guess I should make sure my mech don't cause anymore problems." Jazz strode out of the room in Prowl's silence. "Oh hey! Here to see Prowl? Yeah, he's sulking."

Prowl straightened, ostensibly to deposit the gathered pieces into the gamebox, but also to see who Jazz had greeted at the door.

Sideswipe slipped past Jazz, who strode away from the room without a second glance back. The Toughline, however, paused to watch the mech disappear behind the doors. Contemplative optics turned on Prowl. "Sulking? I don't think I'd ever heard of you sulking before."

Prowl frowned, his systems tracking Jazz's signal away from his quarters. "I don't sulk."

Sideswipe's optics coursed over Prowl from where he stood by the door. "If you say so. Primus, it's good to see you shining again."

Prowl swept his optics over the all new, and shiny paint job. "The same."

Sideswipe moved closer to Prowl. "What was Jazz doing here?"

"He was looking in on me, to make sure I couldn't sulk in peace. The same as you."

Sideswipe grinned. "But you don't sulk."

Prowl narrowed his optics, but nodded. "That is correct, and so both you and Jazz have unnecessarily wasted your time on my account. Should I apologize for your bad judgment?"

Sideswipe's grin didn't fade. "Not to me. I don't have bad judgment. You're just in denial. Maybe Jazz will need an apology, later."

Black and white doorwings snapped up. "Denial? Denial? Sideswipe, you may wish to see Ratchet about having your optics checked. I am not in denial. I do not sulk."

Sideswipe stood in front of Prowl, and rubbed his thumb over the edge of Prowl's cheek guard. "No? Prowl you left an energon cube in the rec room without even touching it. Your desk is a mess, and don't think I can't see that datapad on the floor over there." His horned head tilted. "If you're not sulking, than what's bothering you?"

Prowl pressed his lips together, focused on a shiny spot on the red chestplate. "There is nothing bothering me. We made it out safely, and are back with the Autobots. Why should I be bothered?"

Sideswipe tilted his head, his fingertips lifting to Prowl's (broken sparking painful) chevron. "Yeah, well. Why shouldn't you be bothered? You've just been held captive by the Cons and…" He broke off, his lips pulled back from his dental plates, and vents whirring on suddenly.

Prowl's doorwings shivered, and he turned away from (hands that dug into his doorwings and tore strip after strip off the panels) Sideswipe. "I am fine, 'Smokescreen.' If anything my recent visitor has disturbed me more than any mere memories can."

Sideswipe laughed. "Jazz?"

Prowl disregarded the image of the orange and cobalt double agent, as Sideswipe did not need to know that mech was in this base. Not that knowing about Jazz would be any better for security purposes.

Motion caught the periphery of Prowl's optic sensors and he lurched away from the hand that reached for him.

Sideswipe lowered his hand to his side, optics narrowed. "What is it?"

Prowl straightened, "I told you I'm fine. I just…" Don't want to be touched.

No.

He couldn't tell Sideswipe that. Because it was a lie. He wanted contact, he wanted to assure himself that Sideswipe wasn't a processor phantom, and that he hadn't trapped himself into a fantasy of his non-existent creative processors. "I expected to go back to work…"

"But Ratchet stuck you on medical leave anyways. Yeah I'd heard." Sideswipe reached out again.

Prowl frowned, watching the approaching hand. "Everyone has heard, I'd assume. Stop that." He batted the hand away.

Sideswipe lifted his brow ridges, and reangled his arm. "They sure have. Am I bothering you?"

Prowl glared at the finger attempting to touch his cheek. "Wonderful. You're not bothering me." He grabbed the offending hand, before the digit could reach him. "You're just not catching any hints."

Sideswipe drew the white hand to his lips. "I'm catching them. I'm just ignoring the ones I don't like."

Systems reacted as though three dozen hydraulipedes skittered over his plating. His engine shivered. "You shouldn't do that." His vocal register dropped a few octaves, and the jitter of his engine forced a purr out of him he hadn't intended.

Sideswipe's optics brightened. His dental plates scraped at Prowl's knuckles, insufferable grin on his face. His thumb stroked over Prowl's fingers, and he pressed a kiss on the spot he'd just caressed. "Why not?" he purred back.

Prowl tugged his hand free of Sideswipe's grasp, grateful the mech hadn't tried to hold his hand. He caressed Sideswipe's cheek seam, splaying his finger across the repaired expanse of Sideswipe's cheek.

Sideswipe turned his face toward Prowl's touch, venting a contented sigh. Blue optics met Prowl's gaze, soft light glowing onto the black helm.

Prowl dropped his hand, and narrowed his optics. He took the last step into Sideswipe's space. His doorwings lifted and he pressed his nasal ridge toward Sideswipe's own face.

Sideswipe waited, not even leaning toward Prowl's lips.

Prowl could see the temptation and the effort that restraint took.

"There. See you can behave."

Sideswipe grinned. "Only for you, sparkles." His arm slid around Prowl's waist.

Prowl shoved Sideswipe away, metal clanking as Sideswipe stumbled against the desk. "That was not behaving, Sideswipe." Prowl closed the space between them again, his optics flaring. "I did not give you permission to touch me."

Sideswipe's optics dimmed, and he leaned away from Prowl.

Prowl almost snapped at him over the motion, but something in the mech's expression gave him pause. Made him back just a few centimeters from his lover.

Sideswipe turned his face away. "Prowl…" His hand fell over Prowl's on the desk. "You're avoiding the question about Jazz."

Prowl looked down at their hands on the table, black over white. Black fingers clenched onto the white hand. He registered the dentations left by the grip. Why did Sideswipe press so hard? "Well, yes. I am actually. It's a security matter."

Blue optics regarded Prowl with an intensity not normally found off the battlefield. Then comprehension lit the mech actions. "Primus! You're kidding me." A growl rumbled out of the mech's engine and he slid away from Prowl. "That fragger. Acting like he actually gives a damn about what happened."

Prowl tilted his chevron at his soldier and lover. "Why do you say that?"

Black fist clenched at his thigh, Sideswipe glared at the door. "Because he didn't do a slagging thing to stop Starscream."

Prowl's engine revved, disturbed at the mention of that name. He hadn't expected Sideswipe to bring it up. "He was on a mission, Sideswipe. He did what he could."

"Did he?" Sideswipe spat.

Prowl vented a sigh. He didn't exactly want to talk about what happened in Halifax. It was too painful, too close still for him to even think about. He had lost control; he had nearly lost Sideswipe. How close had his lover been to death. It was a fact of their relationship that often went unspoken. Prowl realized that Sideswipe would most likely die before him. But in battle. Not chained up in a Decepticon base, suffering the slow death of torture.

Light flashed across Sideswipe's chestplate as he moved closer to rest a hand against Prowl's bumper.

Prowl frowned, once again discomfited of his lover's touch of all things. He shook off Sideswipe's hands , and swung about forcing Sideswipe to stumble a step back before he could be struck by an errant doorwing.

Sideswipe reached for Prowl.

Prowl stopped his lover's hand with a tight grip. His systems jittered with the feel of hands on him. (Blue hands and red optics. Claws scraping over once pristine paint. The deep chuckle, the screeching cackle of enemies.)

Prowl suddenly realized that the two stood alone in the same room for the first time since before the Neutrals had captured them in the safehouse. He took in Sideswipe's painted and polished frame, and couldn't help but recall that beautiful paint job scored and scratched, the metal plating filled with dents and holes. Just a she couldn't help but to recall the phantom sensations of hands across his plating at Sideswipe's idlest touch.

"Don't look at me like that, Prowl. Frag, I don't want your pity."

Surprised, Prowl took in Sideswipe's own expression. "The same should apply to you. I don't want your pity."

Sideswipe straightened, as though surprised Prowl had noticed his stare. He relaxed, and met Prowl's gaze. "They really took you off duty?"

Prowl scowled and broke his lover's gaze. It wasn't Sideswipe's fault. "Yes."

A brief grin flashed across the red mech's face. "You torqued?"

Prowl glared at the warrior from under his chevron.

Sideswipe suddenly chuckled and reached out, beckoning Prowl closer. "Right, stupid question."

Prowl sighed and stepped into Sideswipe's reach. "They didn't exactly ask my opinion on the matter."

Sideswipe laughed and took Prowl's elbow, trailing his fingers down Prowl's wrist to grasp the white hand. "You know, most sane mechs actually want some time off after they've been through the Pit and back. Sunny and me are still on light duty."

Prowl stared at the black hand tweaking his fingers, his optics narrow. "Well, I must admit that there should be some question of my sanity, considering I do maintain a relationship with you."

Sideswipe laughed and pulled the tactician into his embrace, black hands clenched on the white canopy. The black helm came to rest on Prowl's chest, and Sideswipe's arms tightened around the officer. Sideswipe continued to laugh, until finally he looked up with bright optics. "Sunny would definitely agree with that, sparkles."

Prowl stared down at the black helm on his protrusive hood, disturbed in ways that he could not parse with this normal situation. He forced himself to rest a hand against Sideswipe's helm. "Don't call me sparkles."

The laughter disappeared and Sideswipe tilted his head just enough to brush his lips against Prowl's nasal ridge. "Make me."

Prowl drew away, some of his systems snapping into high gear while the others continued to slog around at a normal pace. He stared down at Sideswipe who peered back up at him.

The warrior's blue optics widened when Prowl leaned back down and grabbed his chin. "Believe me, I can."

Sideswipe's ventilators cycled a little faster, and Prowl's ramped up to match. "You haven't been able to, so far."

Prowl increased the strength of his grip, until the metal squealed under his fingers. "You don't think I can make you stop for the span of a joor? I have that much free time on my hands."

The hands on Prowl's waist tightened, but he had detected the small rattle against his hip plates.

Prowl tilted his head, but it was an effort to open his fingers even a few increments. His other hand came to rest on the desk next to Sideswipe's aft. "Am I frightening you?"

A hesitant smile tugged at the corner of the warrior's mouth. "I... uh... wasn't expecting... You sure you're okay with this?"

The white hand gripping Sideswipe's chin slid up to stroke the warrior's cheek seam. "If I wasn't, would I be doing this?" The hand traveled up to snag Sideswipe's audio horn, and yanked his head back.

A soft whine escaped Sideswipe's lips. Prowl caught it before it ended, vibrations that pattered against his mouth, their lips mashed together in the rough semblance of a passionate kiss.

Sideswipe broke away first, his optics wide, but his expression otherwise unreadable. "Well, no you wouldn't. But I thought that after… I mean… I always thought… It just seems too soon, you know. I don't wanna… don't wanna hurt you."

Suddenly Sideswipe's babbling made sense, and Prowl couldn't help the soft smile that grew on his face. "I'm okay, really." To prove it, he released Sideswipe's audio horn and pressed their lips together in a far gentler kiss.

Sideswipe responded, his hands inching back to Prowl's doorwings, where his fingers played over the hinges and wires that lay within the joint. He kissed Prowl's cheek, and his chin. His dental plates scraped over Prowl's cheekguard.

Prowl turned his head into his lover's attention, but he couldn't account for the apprehension that churned his fuel tanks. He took hold of Sideswipe's audio horn and turned the mech's mouth back to his own.

This slow passion wasn't enough for him. He wanted more. He needed it. His systems surged at the feel of Sideswipe's tender caresses, the gentle strokes of hinges and wires. He allowed Sideswipe the touches, determined that the mech would not be able to touch for much longer. He could indulge Sideswipe in this. Prowl knew how his lover enjoyed being able to touch his body, and he could endure it for that alone.

He would have his turn soon enough.

Sideswipe kissed and fondled Prowl as though he would never again. Prowl could count the revolutions as his engine picked up speed, knowing the excitement that his lover felt, even if it was not something he shared at that particular moment.

Prowl decided he'd waited long enough and he shoved Sideswipe down on the desk. He shook the black fingers out of his door hinges and broke their kiss. He straddled Sideswipe's waist, his doorwings flared out to their fullest extent, a pleasing pull on his servomotors.

A black hand landed on Prowl's hood. "What the frag are you-"

He would not lose control again.

"Kneel."

Blue optics blinked at him, uncomprehending.

Prowl's fingers tightened, and his optics brightened. "Get down on your knees, Sides."

Sideswipe frowned, but obediently lowered himself, until his head came level with Prowl's torso.

Prowl regarded Sideswipe, who looked back up at him pensively. White fingers stroked down his lover's cheeks, an attempt to soothe. He doubted it worked, however, as Sideswipe tilted his head away from Prowl's fingers. Sideswipe's optics widened, and the gears throughout his body hummed tensely.

Frowning, Prowl grabbed Sideswipe's chin with his other hand and stroked his cheek again. Sideswipe jerked away, his optics bright and lips pressed together.

Prowl didn't want Sideswipe so tense; he wanted his lover to relax. He wanted Sideswipe to trust him, and he wasn't if he was so tense. Prowl kissed him, a tender press of lips. Sideswipe's optics finally dimmed, and the hum of tensor cables faded as he relaxed. The black hands reached up and stroked Prowl's magplates.

Prowl allowed this for only two breem, opening his mouth to stroke Sideswipe's lips with his dental plates. Warm air rushed over Prowl's face as Sideswipe met his kiss with an eagerness that Prowl could not stir within himself.

Finally, he couldn't take any more and he shoved the hands off his shoulders, and pushed Sideswipe away. "Don't touch me, again."

Sideswipe's brow furrowed in confusion, and then understanding widened his optics.

Prowl pressed a finger to his lips before a sound could escape. "Don't speak, until I give you permission."

Sideswipe shuddered, but nodded. Wide optics brightened and never left Prowl.

Air hissed out of his vents, and he flicked his doorwings once. Like a cyberwolf with an injured titanium moosebot, Prowl circled Sideswipe, aware of the sensors that tracked his every move.

Engine running hot already, and Prowl hadn't even touched him yet, Sideswipe crouched into himself, optics far brighter than normal. "Prowl..."

Prowl frowned, and stopped his circling. He stepped forward, and seized the back of Sideswipe's neck. "I told you not to speak." A manipulation of the flow of energy through his hands and Sideswipe's vocalizer screeched with feedback.

Prowl brought his other hand up, and traced his fingers down the seam in his cheek. He smiled, though not in humor, or even joy, and gazed into the wide optics that stared up at him. "What do I need to do to make you listen?"

Sideswipe shuddered, and his hands suddenly clamped onto Prowl's wrists. His dental plates ground together, and a whine built in his screeching vocalizer.

Prowl yanked his arms out of the warrior's hands. "I told you not to touch me!"

Sideswipe held his hands up, vocalizer glitching, mouth working to form words.

Prowl pressed his fingers down Sideswipe's back, metal squealing as paint scraped off his plates. He knelt down, his lips hovering next to the warrior's audio horn. "What is your problem? You are not usually this disobedient so early on? Do I need to start your lessons over?"

As he spoke, he kept up a current running through his hands, sending it through Sideswipe's frame, and mingling it with the warrior's own energy field.

Sideswipe twitched under his hands. Black fingers dug into Sideswipe's thighs, and the garbled whine suddenly spat like words. "Staahhhhhhhp."

Prowl narrowed his optics, and leaned around the mech to see his face. "Sides?"

Terror, and his jaw still moved in words he couldn't seem to utter.

Prowl cut the energy he had flowing through his hands, and smoothed his fingers over the plating he touched. His lover's name passed whispered past his lips again.

"Ah-" Bright optics, too bright for even arousal, gears humming, engine droning and grinding. Sideswipe shivered in Prowl's grasp. "Optimus." Blue optics finally turned to meet Prowl's alarmed gaze. "I don't-" He curled into himself, plating clattering together.

Prowl pulled away, optics wide, and face slack.

Sideswipe's clutched his arms to his chest, fingers curled over the corners of his chestplate. "I don't want to do this, right now."

Prowl rocked back on his heels. His voice sounded so small. What had he almost done? He hadn't been the only one who had suffered in that Decepticon cell. He shouldn't have pushed Sideswipe so soon. Oh Primus, he should have known better!

A small sigh shivered out of the warrior's vents. "Sorry. "

Prowl shook his head, numbly. Both to clear his processor, and to dismiss his lover's apology. "Don't be." 'It's not your fault!' He had no reason to be sorry.

Prowl should be the one apologizing.

Tentatively, Prowl reached out, and pulled Sideswipe to him. He encased the warrior in his embrace. He had never meant to hurt his lover, his friend.

Sideswipe clung to him, engine stuttering and optics still far too, too bright.

Prowl's plating still crawled with the phantom of too much touch. Even though he knew it was Sideswipe in his arms...

He had no control here.

He couldn't stay. He couldn't risk hurting Sideswipe.

He didn't want that. Primus, he would never be able to live with himself.

Prowl stepped into Prime's office.

Optimus looked up from his desk, tilted his head and raised his optic ridges. "Prowl, what an unexpected surprise. Are you enjoying your leave?"

Prowl tilted his head, glaring at Optimus. "I don't believe I need to answer that question."

Prime's optics narrowed (red optics that narrowed, and smirked) and brightened. His mask lifted in a smile, and he propped his chin in the palm of his hand.

A moment was all it took for Prowl to analyze his commander's posture. Then irritation flashed through him. Hydraulics hissed as he leaned forward an infinitesimal amount.

Prime's optics brightened, but he didn't move away from the tactician at all.

Prowl flicked his doorwings and backed a step away from subtle tease. He would not let Optimus get a rise from him with this. "I was wondering if I could have the leave lifted-"

"No."

Frowning, Prowl pulled a datapad from subspace and handed it over to his commander. "I already have Ratchet's permission," he grated the word out with a rumble of gears and buzz in his vocalizer, how it irked him to have to ask in the first place, "I simply needed your approval."

Brow ridge lifted in surprise, Prime took the datapad from Prowl and turned it so that he could read it. A sigh vented out of his mouth, and he glanced up at Prowl. "You still want to do that?"

Prowl nodded once. "It is best for us to appear that nothing has changed despite the recent incident. It was a morale booster to begin with. Give them a visual, to see that I am functioning and still capable of my duty."

Optimus' mask lowered in a frown.

So, Prowl played another card. "It is only light duty, that I am asking for. I also would find it pleasing to have the opportunity to thank Ultra Magnus for his timely intervention."

The blue optics above the stern mask dimmed.

"He is a friend, and I do miss seeing him." Let Optimus take that how he wanted.

Prime apparently interpreted that exactly as Prowl predicted. "Ah, I see." His optics drifted down to the datapad, and he examined the information written on it silently for a breem. "If Ratchet has approved, then I suppose that I have no reason to refuse. However," and his suddenly fierce tone belied the dimness of his optics, "I just got you back from the Decepticons, and I do not wish a repeat of that. I expect you to keep a full escort with you at all times throughout your trip."

Prowl tilted his head in assent. "Of course." He expected nothing otherwise. Sideswipe would not be among them. He refused to lose control in front of Sideswipe like that again.

Ultra Magnus would understand, at least partially.

Prowl hated feeling so helpless. Even the very memory of it disturbed him to the point of stalling and even fritzing his battle computer. He would deal with it, and then delete the memories from his immediate harddrive.

He couldn't delete the memory from his spark though and it would live on in phantom touches and baseless fear that would arise again in times of helplessness. In the clutches of a former friend.

Author's End Note: As a reminder, 'Optimus' is their safeword. Thus ends the Halifax arc. FINALLY. -hyperventilating on the floor-