Chapter 2 of 3 of the triple post. Happy New Year!
Warnings: hints of future slash.
Chapter 7:
The last group of minibots was moved into the temporary housing units almost three orns after the femmes were sent out to retrieve them. It was quite the example of efficiency that the sub-ops group was able to move such a large group in such a short time. Optimus Prime was very pleased and expressed his sentiment in full to ElitaOne. At the moment he was preparing his office to meet with the new Lord of the Minibots. Prince Goldbug had requested the audience as soon as he verified the last survivor was safe, but refused to say why it was so important.
Optimus set out the last of his borrowed tea set. Prowl had been reluctant to loan out such an irreplaceable heirloom, but he trusted Optimus implicitly with the last gift his sensei had given him before his deactivation. It was a beautiful set, servo-carved by a long deactivated crystal craftsmech and even came with instruction on how to prepare the old-age ener-tea once favored by the more honorable members of the nobility. The ceremonial nature of serving ener-tea signified a willingness to serve a lower-ranked individual and offered equality in whatever negotiations were to be discussed.
A comm call interrupted his fussing over the placement of the cups.
-:- Announcing His Eminence, Prince Goldbug, Lord of the Minibots. -:-
The formality of the caller caught him off guard for a moment, but he knew that the minibot royalty tended towards old-age standards. Thus, he responded in the traditional language.
-:- The Lord Prime would know the identity of this announcer before granting such freedom to entry. -:-
-:- Transmitting identity codes Lord Prime. -:-
The codes registered the mech as the grandcreation of the now-deactivated Lord Chancellor of the minibots. Optimus felt a moment of sorrow that so many mecha had deactivated to cause such young mechs to take up positions they were far from ready to take.
-:- His Eminence is granted entrance by leave of the Prime of Cybertron, Sovereign of all Cybertronians. Thank you Lord Chancellor. -:-
While he knew he had no real power to promote the mech to his grandcreator's position, the Prime's support would at least make the young mech feel less questioning of his own adequacy. The inner door to Optimus' office opened upon a stoutly built dark gold minibot who was very aptly named. The mech was a few vorns younger than Optimus, but the Lord of the Minibots appeared far older than his vorns due to the stress of the recent orns. The Prime motioned him silently to the table at which he had placed the tea set and waited, as per custom, for his guest to be seated before settling in his own chair. If Optimus had been a lower ranked noble he would have been expected to pull out Prince Goldbug's chair for him, yet Optimus was again offering equality by both allowing the younger mech to seat himself and also not expecting the new Lord to seat the Prime first.
There was an almost nervous silence in the room that Optimus doubted he would have been able to sense had he not possessed Matrix-enhanced senses. He did not breach it though, instead allowing his guest to gather himself as the truck-former poured their ener-tea. He set the cups before them both and lifted his to the Prince. "I bid you welcome in my presence Prince Goldbug, Lord of the Minibots, and extend my spark-felt relief at your safe arrival to my realm."
The gold mech inclined his helm and retracted his battlemask to sip the beverage offered to him. The soothing tea eased his nervousness and the sense of kindness exuding from the Prime gave him courage to speak as a ruler for the first time on the planetary level.
"My Lord Prime, my eternal gratitude and servitude is yours for the boon of your protection. To be granted such safety and care as you have given is beyond repayment. I would know what you require in return for your kindness and ask the favor of my creation's release from your service that he might be reunited with the remnant of his people."
Optimus did not reply immediately. He knew that protocol dictated that the Prime not offer anything without a return, but he had never liked that policy. He swirled the liquid energon in his cup as he thought about how to change the tone of the conversation without insulting his guest.
There was really no way to truly accomplish the matter and he could only hope that his own honesty would be enough. "Prince Goldbug, it has always been my own opinion that as the Prime of Cybertron I am to serve the people. For me to require servitude for aid is abhorrent to my own sense of justice and the Matrix concurs with me. If you will forgive the breach of protocol, I would prefer to simply care for your denizens as long as it is within my power to do so.
"As for your creation, I am unwilling to terminate a good mech's service without the permission of that mech. Should Bumblebee come to me himself with the request, I would release him from his duties and obligations without reprisal. I would let you see him immediately to speak with him about such a decision, but he is not on base at the moment."
Goldbug's armor puffed in angry irritation. "He is my creation, I hold legal right to have him removed from military service at any time of my own choosing, and denying his presence on base to keep him from me is a move unworthy of a Prime!"
Optimus did not respond with the anger that the young prince wanted from him, but with gentle, yet firm, understanding. "I understand the legalities of your stance, but Cybertronian law states that Primal military service is not subject to regional or Citystate military laws. If Bumblebee were a member of the Minibot Militia his service would fall under your purview, however, it does not. I will not terminate him without his consent, it would be an ill turn for the loyalty he has given me. As for your other allegation, he is a member of a prestigious team of Special Operations mecha that is currently on assignment. Due to the sensitivity of Ops missions I cannot grant you any information on his whereabouts, except that he is off base. It would endanger him to do otherwise."
The minibot Prince set down his cup coolly. "I believe I will take my leave from you, it is no benefit to speak with you any longer. I expect to be informed the moment my creation returns so that I might secure his release from you."
Optimus nodded. "I will inform his commander of your request."
After Goldbug left Optimus remained at the table sipping what was left of his ener-tea. The meeting had not gone as well as he had hoped, but for a meeting with a minibot, it had gone quite well. Unfortunately, the brevity of the whole thing meant that he had been unable to discuss the relocation of the minibot population off-planet. Optimus did not imagine the inevitable discussion of that necessity was going to go over well at all. Maybe he would let Prowl sit in on that meeting.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
Smokescreen rolled over on the couch and stared at his brother. Prowl, as usual, did not even twitch a wingtip. Smokescreen stared harder, and thought perhaps that Prowl's focus might have just become 'more intense' upon his data pad. Smokescreen sharpened his stare into a glare, and… Aha! There was the aggravated wing twitch and sidelong glance.
Now that he and the black and white's attention he could broach the topic that was weighing on his spark.
"We can't stay like this forever."
Prowl frowned faintly. "Of course not, at some point we will have to go to recharge."
Smokescreen snickered. "Not this this. I meant that I can't stay on grief leave forever. At some point I will be required to return to duty and we will no longer have a caretaker for Bluestreak."
Prowl hummed as he processed that. "You are right. Your leave ends in another six orns doesn't it?"
"Mmhmm."
"Hmm." Prowl searched through possible solutions and Smokescreen went back to his bookfile until he was done. Rushing the senior tactician would do nothing but delay the process, which Smokescreen knew well from experience.
The blue and red Praxian was just about to fall into recharge when Prowl finished calculating. "There are several mechs who have expressed the desire to act as guardian and escort to our trinebrother. The Twins usually have early morning patrols and would only be capable of caring for Bluestreak after mid-orn. Ratchet and Red Alert both choose their own joors as the helms of their departments. And Jazz's shifts are mostly spent roaming around Tactical and Ops. I also think that Bluestreak would not mind if we brought him on-shift with us, provided we bring things for him to do, and would segue In nicely with the need to begin his education. What do you think?"
Smokescreen mulled it over, he had not been aware that quite so many mecha were interested in helping them. Although, he knew of at least two mechs that had not made the list and it was not to be done. There was no way he was going to be deprived of the blackmail material that watching two such powerful warriors all but melt in the presence of such a sweet mechling would yield.
"Sounds like a plan of action, but we gotta let and Prime and Ironhide have a turn too or we'll never hear the end of it."
Prowl gave a full chassis shudder before he was able to control the reaction.
"Ironhide is off base looking over a new batch of recruits and Prime is far too busy." He answered logically, all the while trying to delete the illogical image of Ironhide cuddling a youngling.
Smokescreen gave him an innocently confused look. "But both of them have asked me to keep them on our short list if we needed sitters."
Prowl twitched again and Smokescreen's faceplates morphed into a mischievous smile. "You pictures it didn't you."
Prowl's optics flickered and he twitches erratically. Then he slumped into the oncoming crash. Smokescreen snickered. "I'll just add them to the list shall I?"
There was no response from his downed brother.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
When Jazz left on his mission to Kaon Prowl wished him well and offered the appropriate wishes of luck. By the fourth decacycle of the saboteur's absence Prowl found himself sorely missing his friend's presence. He was constantly reaching for cubes that were not there, looking up every joor in expectance of seeing a dancing white frame saunter in to bother him, and desperately missing the stimulating conversations that always brightened his orn.
It was almost depressing how dependent Prowl had become on Jazz, relying on the saboteur for what little socialization he required. It was also quite the revelation for the Praxian to realize just how often he sought out the Polyhexian for advice and company when he found himself almost joorly going to Jazz's office only to realize he was not there. Prowl firmly denied himself the notion that it might be symptoms of something deeper. He would not drive his best friend away like that. Besides, it was unprofessional.
The fact that he was currently 'borrowing' Jazz's office was entirely not hypocritical at all.
Prowl justified it to himself by stating that the data he was currently working with needed an extra-secure environment, and what was more secure than an opsmecha's office? That he had only considered Jazz's office because he missed the mech had no bearing on the matter… really!
As Prowl tidied up his work for the orn and prepared to go home, he noticed something sticking out from under Jazz's desk. When he pulled the object out he realized it was a half-sized datapad, like those a sparkling or youngling might use. He was about to slide it back under, thinking that he had accidentally stumbled across one of Jazz's private younglinghood mementos, when he saw a familiar logo stamped in the upper corner. Prowl yanked it out of its hiding place and studied it closely. It was the insignia of a prominent Praxian secondary school, and Prowl knew for certain that Jazz had never attended such a school.
He turned it on to see what Praxian sparkling 'pad could be so interesting that Jazz would keep it rather than turn it over with the rest of the Praxian artifacts recovered on that darkest of dark-cycles.
What he saw nearly made him crash as his battlecomputer slotted the data into previously innocuous interactions and spun off new conclusions based on this new evidence. The story it painted was staggering and Prowl found himself rushing to finish packing up his work for the orn.
He had to talk to Smokescreen about this. Now.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
Bluestreak hopped happily along behind Sunstreaker as they walked to the rec room for last meal. For two decacycles now he had been 'liberated' from his home by a variety of sparklingsitters. Sometimes it was one or both of the Twins, sometimes it was Medic Ratchet, and sometimes it was the very nice Red Alert.
Bluestreak had been frightened at first, thinking that he was being abandoned again. However, Prowl had carefully explained to him that while they desperately wanted to spend all their time with him as a family, they had jobs they were required to do. Therefore, they had requested help of their friends and found him some caretakers to keep him from being cooped up all the time. His orns became full of adventure and learning, and Bluestreak felt his spark grow with joy every time he thought about how loved he was.
Despite the adventuresome life he was leading, Bluestreak's orns tended to be very structured. At first light he would rise and break fast with Prowl. Then they would go to either the black and white's or Smokescreen's office, where he would read the orn's lessons. If he had questions his trinebrothers made sure to set aside time to tutor him. At mid-orn fueling he sat with Optimus Prime and had a history lesson. Bluestreak really liked the Prime. Then, either the Twins or Medic Ratchet would take him for the rest of the orn. If Medic Ratchet picked him up Bluestreak knew they would like go see Wheeljack for a physics lesson and maybe a pretty lightshow from behind the protective steelglass shield in Wheeljack's lab. Bluestreak really, really liked the inventor, especially his side-finials, they flashed when he talked. In Bluestreak's high opinion, they were much prettier than Red Alert's flashy horns.
However, when the Twins got him there was never a set schedule. Sometimes Sunstreaker would take him to look at Iacon from the observatories and draw whatever caught their fancy. Other times he would help Sideswipe make energon shakes or plan pranks under Sunstreaker's intensely watchful gaze. At first the latter activity had bothered him as he did not think it was okay to be mean to any mech for any reason. Sideswipe had insisted that he, the Red Frontliner Extraordinaire, was the unofficial official morale officer, second to Jazz of course, and the pranks were an unsanctioned sanctioned manner of raising the Autobots' sparks. Bluestreak relaxed when Sideswipe promised only to involve him in the good-natured pranks, though that may have been because the tiny mechling's upset faceplates after a mean-sparked prank were enough to deter even the hardest spark. Bluestreak had begun to notice though, that the times when he was not allowed to help with pranking almost always preceded one of the minibots getting hurt in some sort of extremely embarrassing public manner. It was about the only time he wanted to hit his best friends.
Best Friends. Bluestreak loved that term. The Twins were prematurely upgraded to adult frames and were truly only marginally older than him. They had confided to him that they were really only fourth frame youngling one dark-cycle when Bluestreak had been crying for his own lost innocence. They held him through his memory purges like his trine did, but they shared with him their own loss and hurt. It made him feel so much better to be ensconced between their strong frames, listening to their thrumming spark until he calmed. Those moments usually happened after his light-cycle nap and often meant his last meal was delayed while he healed emotionally.
After the last meal of his orns Prowl and Smokescreen would take him home. They would ask about his orn, even the difficult parts where he cried, and either snuggle with him on the couch to watch a vid or play a board game on the floor. When Bluestreak got tired they would tuck him into his berth and Prowl would recite a story to him until he fell asleep.
The only change to the unbelievable functioning Primus had gifted him was during battles. If the evil, nasty Decepticons attacked somewhere that the Autobots controlled, it required Prowl and Smokey, and all his other caretakers, to report for battle-duty. His trine would bundle him up in a big blanket and stash a few of his toys in subspace, then take him to the Security Hub where Red Alert would watch over him until the attack was over. It had scared him how intense Red Alert could be in his defense of Autobot territory, but the CSO's prebonded told Bluestreak that it was just Red Alert's guardian protocols demanding perfect safety for the mechling in his care.
After that Bluestreak relaxed so much that Prowl and Smokey would often return to find him sleeping, snuggled into Red Alert's chassis while the CSO stroked his wee wings. Prowl mentioned that they were good therapy for one another after the first such incident and thereafter would drop Bluestreak off in the Security Hub for morning lessons on orns when he and Smokey had meetings.
Bluestreak's life was perfect, and was finally starting to believe he deserved it.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
After last meal had ended, and Bluestreak was put into his berth, Prowl pulled Smokescreen into his berthroom. He shoved a datapad into the blue and red mech's chestplates and said, "I found this in Jazz's office. Have you been meddling in my love life again?"
Smokescreen knew that he had been meddling and he had a sneaking suspicion as to what this datapad contained. He turned it on and his concern was confirmed. It was the courtship instruction manual.
Now, Smokescreen knew that if he admitted to interfering Prowl would refuse to court Jazz and there would be broken sparks everywhere. Technically, however, Smokescreen had not become involved until after Jazz had already begun his own plans and thus he had not really meddled so much as corrected. Therefore, he had no problem with omitting certain truths in his reply.
"Where did Jazz get this? And no, I haven't meddled in your affairs since trying to help Wax-On set you up with that femme."
Prowl expelled the atmosphere trapped in his vents with an explosive sigh. "I found it under his desk. I think he has been trying to court me."
Smokescreen watched his brother begin to pace, wings twitching furiously, and knew that if he did not get Prowl verbalizing fast the mech was going to crash. "Ok, so, disregarding that you invaded an absent mech's personal workspace, tell me what you've put together to make you believe that a Polyhexian is courting you Praxian style."
Prowl did not stop pacing, but he did start talking. "For over a vorn now he has solicited me in the manner of a bija. All the things I would do for… before my code change, these he has done for me. He brings me fuel, he keeps me company. He has solicited my undivided attention on numerous occasions where it was not socially beneficial for him to do so. I ignored it because I knew, or I thought I knew, that he was unaware of what he was doing. Then I find this manual which makes me wonder if he did know, and was that perhaps Jazz who tried to court me as a prathama a while back, perchance thinking that because I did not respond to a bija's temptation that I myself was a bija, albeit with an extra strong will? Then I think about what might happen if I respond to his renewed temptations? What if he turns out like… him? What if he starts to resent the social strictures of my culture? Is he just doing it to get into my berth, or is this a functioning that he is truly choosing?"
Smokescreen grabbed Prowl by the pauldrons. "Whoa, whoa, let's not get ahead of ourselves. Whether he wants our culture to become his is something that can, and definitely should, be discussed with him during the courtship. Second, I seriously doubt he is or will become, anything like Sentinel. In fact, I bet if you told Jazz how that mech treated you he would try to resurrect Sentinel to kill him himself. Lastly, whether or not you respond to Jazz should depend on only one thing."
Smokescreen waited until he had Prowl's full, complete attention. "Whether or not you love him and/or feel attraction for him."
Prowl gave Smokescreen the most pitiful look to ever exist in the history of Cybertron. It was the look of a drowning mech who had been thrown a life-preserver, but in order to touch it he would have to confess his deepest, darkest, most private secret.
The blue Praxian shook his helm. "Is that a yes?"
The pitiful drowning mech nodded.
"then you need to open the courtship. You remember how, right?"
The still drowning mech shook his helm 'no'.
Smokescreen sighed.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-
Jazz peeked down through the vent into Shockwave's lab waiting for the area to be clear. The mono-opticked cannon was smart enough to learn from past infiltrations and replaced all of the mech-sized vents with multiple fist-sized vents, as well as posted a constant rotating guard. Jazz would only have a few moments to get back to the larger vents in the hall and slip inside behind the new guard. The poor grunt whose turn it was to watch over Shocky's house of horrors would have to be dealt with in a permanent manner, but that was no bother to the Jazz-meister. The currently grey mech waited patiently for his chance. It had been three and a half decacycles just getting into the base, another ten kliks was nothing.
The previous guard shifted on his peds and moved for the exit.
Jazz grinned; it was time.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-
Bumblebee spider-crawled along the ceiling highway. Then he froze. Runabout and Runamuck flirted their way down the hall underneath him and the black camouflaged minibot made a mental note that the mechs Command had labeled brothers were likely bondmates with similar names. The two Decepticons passed out of sight and Bumblebee began moving again.
As he moved deeper into the underbelly of the base the corridors became narrower and the purple hue that the higher ranking 'Cons chose for their home bases became more sinister. Bumblebee had once heard a rumor that Shockwave had chosen to alter his paint nanites to match this favored color for the camouflage advantage it gave him. The minibot was almost sure it was true because there was no other logical explanation for having such a flamboyant paint job.
The chance that the purple behemoth was lurking down here would have been worrisome if not for the surveillance tap Jazz had installed that clearly showed Shockwave in recharge on his berth. That and the way Bumblebee's ops-paint blended with the black ceilings made him confident in his movements. Bumblebee turned the last corner to the underground containment and dropped to the floor. His paint rippled and he was purple. In front of the minibot was a triple reinforced blast door that had not been on the schematic. The new addition, and its newness was quite obvious, was already blackened at the seams. This made an uneasy sensation appear in the small assassin's tanks; it seemed that the weapon was not quite stable yet, which was not a good sign for destroying it safely.
Bumblebee began to hack the lock and sent up a fervent prayer of protection to anyone who might be listening.