Warning: Brief robot sexual content starts at: "Prowl is floating."

"Doctor Ratchet?"

Sam and Ratchet both turn towards the entryway to the medbay to see Earthquake standing there. His massive frame filling the doorway. His bright purple eyes flicker between them as he shifts a little, his fields reach out to Sam, brushing against him in a strange way. Like seeking or searching. For comfort, maybe? Sam offers a soft smile that seems to alleviate some of the tension in the large bot. It's later now, in the actual daytime, nearing noon, and Sam has just gotten some food in him after resting. He's still drowsy and feeling off, but Ratchet has been putting together a mixture of supplements for him to take. They're starting with some drinks and Sam's already powered through one and is working on the next and they're actually really good. When Ratchet sort of explained what was in it, Sam's brain started to make a weird fuzzy sound, and it must have shown on his face because Ratchet just scoffed and rolled his eyes.

But Sam was already feeling a lot better, and his vitals were back to where the yellowish-green bot wanted him to be at, which was already a good sign. Sam would take it. Bumblebee had been there less than a half hour prior, having stayed with him while he rested but had to run drills with Jazz and Bluestreak, who were apparently the only three Spec-ops operatives planet side at the moment.

Jazz had poked his head in, gave Sam a long look before grinning, offering a two fingered salute and then order Bumblebee to follow after him, promising revenge for his "cheekiness" from the plane ride to Diego Garcia. Bumblebee executed a perfectly timed, sound-bye of "Oh, come on, man!" Which was met with a feral grin from the shorter bot and a mock seductive come-hither wiggle of his finger. The two headed off without further ado leaving First Aid laughing and Ratchet rolling his eyes in exasperation.

"Yes, Earthquake?" Ratchet asks, turning to face him, bringing Sam's mind back to the present. His blue eyes scan the black plated mech in front of him, searching for any ailments. "Are you hurt?"

Earthquake shakes his head taking a few tentative steps into the room to reveal Jolt right behind him. The smaller, blue bot meets Ratchet's gaze and makes a face that Sam doesn't understand. Ratchet's brows furrow a bit before turning his attention to a shifting Earthquake.

"No, Doctor Ratchet. This platform is undamaged. The construct would like permission to speak to the creator and see to his health."

Ratchet's brows furrow more as he looks over at Jolt, whose face remains in that look, lips in a flat line, face tight. Sam's not sure if they are speaking over comms or not, but Earthquake's shifting is making Sam nervous. Or maybe that's the large bot's anxious fields brushing against him. First Aid, a few feet away with a data pad, looks at them with his own worried frown, probably feeling the energy too.

"Yes," Ratchet finally says, stepping back from Sam. "You can see him. But I assure you, Earthquake, Sam is alright."

A tension eases from Earthquake as he makes his way over, going down on one knee in front of Sam, studying him with large purple eyes. "Is the Creator well? Doctor Ratchet is very well informed on the creator's health."

"He takes good care of me," Sam admits, a frown pulling at the corners of his mouth. He leans forward, crossing his legs on the gurney to offer the massive bot his full attention. "But talk to me, Earthquake. You seem troubled."

Earthquake hesitates, looking around for a moment as if the words he seeks were floating around his head and not inside of it. After a few moments of baited silence, he says, "Jolt has said that this construct is not bad."

Sam blinks slowly, trying to understand what that could mean. "Of course you're not."

Earthquake's shoulders loosen a bit, as if a bit relieved, but still tense. "This platform has been trying to find the words to say but has been unable to. Speaking with Jolt has helped this platform better find them. Jolt has said it might be best to speak to the Creator as this platform is very comfortable with you. As the Creator may be able to assuage this platform's fears."

Sam tries hard not to look at Jolt, offering the large, black plated bot his full attention. "Okay. Talk to me. What's got you afraid?"

"You are close to the Great Prime, yes, Creator?" Earthquake asks. First Aid stiffens, hands gripping his data pad tightly while Jolt and Ratchet share a look at one another behind the massive mech's back. Jolt's expression, now better identified as grim, is still unchanging.

Sam's stomach clenches a bit. "What's wrong, Earthquake? Did Optimus scare you?"

"Yes," Earthquake murmurs, staring unfaltering at Sam. "This platform can sometimes forget to be scared, as the Great Prime can be quite cordial, but there is much to remember while this platform sleeps. Waking Prime is less scary than sleeping Prime."

Sam licks his lips, trying to understand what the big bot was trying to say. He thinks back to all the interactions he's seen between them. Earthquake, since the beginning, has always shone a fear of Optimus, but Sam had always chalked it up to his Primal Aura making him uncomfortable or maybe it was when he first awakened - came to life - and Optimus cut off some of his little arms. He had been scared of Optimus after that. Except no, that wasn't true.

The amalgamation - Earthquake - grabs hold of the smaller yellow being - Bumblebee - by its - his -leg, throwing it - him -into a nearby building before turning to face the charging blue and red flamed being - Optimus -, screeching in rage and... fear?

Earthquake had been afraid of Optimus since the very beginning, even before he was hurt by the Autobot leader. It had never occurred to Sam until now that there could have been some alternative reasoning behind it other than being in a battle with him. As Sam certainly wouldn't be able to keep it together if Optimus was his enemy. And to Sam's immense shame, it never occurred to him to even ask. To check in and see how the big bot was doing.

It's a bitter pill to swallow. Sam scoots off of his gurney to sit down on the metal berth, placing his hand over one of the large fingers curled over the edge. "I'm sorry, Earthquake. I'm sorry I never thought to ask if you were doing okay."

Earthquake seems perplexed by that, tilting his head slightly, his mouth covered by the collar of his armor. "You needn't feel sorrow, Creator. This platform is still able to perform tasks to the Creator's desires even while being uncomfortable."

"Yeah, but you shouldn't feel that way if it can be helped," Sam admits, feeling like a huge asshole for never noticing. "Why are you scared of Optimus, Earthquake?"

"It is the Great Prime that deactivated this platform," Earthquake says. Surprise zings through the room, replacing the growing unease from the Autobots around them. Sam can't help the little shake of his head as he tries to make sense of that. Surely Optimus has killed before, they're in war, it would be strange if he hadn't. Unbelievable, more like. But... but it didn't make any sense the way that Earthquake said it. At least not to Sam.

"You mean... you dreamed that he did it? Deactivated you, I mean."

Earthquake furrows his brow at that. "It is as Jolt said. Has this platform confused both Jolt and the Creator?"

"No, I..." Sam sighs. "I mean, you were created, here, by my use of the Allspark's energy. And you're here right now. I didn't bring you back like I did to Jazz. He couldn't have killed you. Deactivated you, I mean. How and when could he have done it and bring you back without me knowing?"

"Before," Earthquake states firmly. At the perplex look on Sam's face, he elaborates, "This platform was deactivated and then the Creator reforged it. The chassis is different, the spark is different, but this platform was gifted in the power of the Allspark and granted remembrance. From when the platform was different." Those purples eyes shine brightly, as if tellingly. Outlier.

Ratchet makes a quiet noise at that, crossing one arm over his body to prop up the one that is cupping his chin. "You... remember your time in the Well?"

Earthquake grunts. He shifts a bit, looking over at Ratchet, but appears to struggle with the words once more. "This platform was... different before. But bad. So, the Great Prime deactivated it. It... it was many, but now it is one."

"I don't understand," First Aid admits quietly, looking at Ratchet. Sam couldn't agree more. He runs his hand up and down the length of the finger next to him and feels a swell of joy from the massive mech in front of him. Purple optics crest a bit at him before looking over at First Aid, contemplatively. He tilts his helm as if having never really seen him before.

"When once was many, the spark became one when reforged," Earthquake says, then frowns, as if still unsure of the words. A lot of unsure looks.

Even though he doesn't understand, Sam pushes to the heart of the issue, the thing that he could help with. "Okay, but about Optimus, Earthquake. Is there anything that I can do to help you? Should we talk to him together?"

Brow furrows, Earthquake tilts his head. "What would the Creator like for this platform to say to the Great Prime?"

Sam shakes his head, still lightly running his hand up and down the length of the large bot's finger. "I don't know, Earthquake. Would it make you less afraid if you talk to him? Maybe tell him about these dreams? Maybe he could assuage you of some of them, if you want?"

"This construct doesn't know if there is any way to assuage this feeling," he admits, softly. "But... if the Creator wants this platform to speak with the Great Prime, then it will."

Sam scrunches his lips to one side of his mouth. "No, I don't want to if you don't want to. But if you decide that it would make you feel better, or if you're willing to try, then I will definitely go with you if you want to." Earthquake nods slowly, considering Sam's words. "Also, do you mind if I speak to Optimus about it? If you're uncomfortable but don't want to talk about it, I'm willing to talk to him on your behalf. I won't if you don't want me to."

Something warm and affectionate brushes against Sam's skin.

"The Creator doesn't need to clear anything with this platform. It is by the Creator's dictation that this construct abides," Earthquake murmurs affectionately. His large purple eyes are bright, the fear lost in them to Sam's relief.

Sam holds out the hand not petting down the large bot's finger, towards the massive plates. Eagerly, Earthquake leans forward so that Sam can gently run his hand down the smooth plates between those beautiful eyes. Sam feels his own affection for the bot in front of him grow like a weed in the cage of his chest, which only seems to please Earthquake. Sam has to wonder, in that moment, if Earthquake could feel it down their bond. "If you say no to talking to Optimus about this, then I will respect your wishes, Earthquake. But I think that Optimus would want to know if he was making you uncomfortable, because I don't think he intends that. But it's up to you and what you want."

It's then, as Earthquake is quietly considering, that Sam realizes how close Jolt is to them, his hand resting on the large black plated mech's back. As if offering comfort. Blue eyes locked onto the back of Earthquake's head. A frowning Ratchet and an anxious First Aid share a look that Sam can't decipher.

Sam's eyes are drawn back to his first creation when Earthquake rumbles, "The Creator can speak with the Prime on this platform's behalf if that is your wish. This platform doesn't have a preference one way or the other and was content to say nothing about it until Jolt insisted."

Sam feels a smile pulling at the corner of his lips. He's not sure if it's a budding friendship or what growing between them, but he's happy that Earthquake seems to definitely have someone in his corner with him. To help him in all the things that not even Sam can help him with. "You like Jolt, huh?"

Earthquake nods slightly as to not dislodge Sam's hand. "Yes, this platform prefers the company of Jolt over all the others. Excluding the Creator, of course."

Sam's smile grows as Jolt joins him slightly, blue eyes still wrought with worry but there is some affection there. "Of course," he teases. "But I'm glad that you have Jolt."

Jolt smiles a little more while Earthquake nods solemnly. "Yes. This platform is fortunate to have Jolt to help it navigate the eccentricities of the culture of both humans and Cybertronians. This platform is still trying to learn how to better understand social norms and Jolt is very helpful in that. Time with Jolt is preferable than to any others, aside from the Creator." Jolt's plates flutter a bit and his eyes flicker, but Sam isn't wise enough in Cybertronian mannerisms to know what that means. Before Sam can analyze it further, though, Earthquake adds, "But yes, if speaking to the Great Prime is what the Creator wishes, then this platform will approve of it."

In the next month, it happened again. Sam was pulled from trying to reach the presence of something reaching back for him in a startle and panic to Bumblebee trying to calm him down. And once again, he was about where he was the time before, not far from Jazz and Prowl's room. Sam felt kind of bad, but despite Jazz not coming right out and saying it this time right from the beginning, every time he spoke Prowl was scowling at the back of his head, as if waiting for him to reveal that they had probably been sleeping together again. Sam was feeling pretty bad about interrupting their time together with whatever it was that was happening, but he was much too embarrassed to say something.

They speculated, once more, for a time trying to discern what it was that the Allspark was doing, but everyone seemed unsure. Finally, Optimus, with a furrowed brow, suggested that perhaps the Allspark was trying to do something, and they were stopping it preemptively. That seemed to get Ratchet's attention. He rubbed at his chin in thought before nodding and they agreed that next time, they would just allow the Allspark to go. His only concern, though, was that Sam was expending a lot of energy every minute that the Allspark was doing this and suggested that they might have to have him stay closer for a while because it's obviously something in the Autobot hall that it's trying to get to. They just don't know when it's going to happen next. Sam wasn't all that keen on spending an indefinite amount of time in the medbay just waiting for this to happen again.

It was then that Jazz joked that they should wait to bring Sam to the Autobot wing once he and Prowl have another night off as that seemed to be the common denominator. Prowl's wings hiked up in anger, while the other Autobots still listening in snickered at their expense, but Ratchet just cast him a long look, not reacting to the playful grin sent his way and Sam's obvious contrite. They have been working to steady their bond, according to Bumblebee. As broken bonds are hard to mend, and while Prowl doesn't appear to be in agony any longer, he still has to be feeling the wound of the broken bond. All of them do. It'll take a while for it to fully heal over for them all, but time together will help mend it.

With that settled, they say their farewells once more. Thankfully, Ratchet just got him a few of those specialized drinks that made him feel better, and after a few scans, sent him off to his room with Bumblebee. Despite Bumblebee's physical body driving away, Sam laid in bed curled up with Bumblebee's holoform and had he truly been in his right mind, he might have been flabbergasted about this turn of events - although maybe not - but he just curled up with his head resting on Bumblebee's holoform's chest with a snoring Wheelie on the other side of the bed. He hadn't woken up either time this happened, which was a little amusing. Sam, though, slept for another ten hours before forced into getting up by an irate Ratchet.

Sam and Mikaela went to explore the island about a week after that, opting to walk as Bumblebee was running ops with Jazz and Bluestreak again, but Maggie joined them on her lunch break once they got to the only coffee shop on the island. It was family owned, it seemed, but they specialized in a lot of cultural coffees. Different beans, types of coffee, all sorts of things. And honestly, Sam didn't know anything about coffee or had anything more than a budding taste for it, but Mikaela and Maggie were more than willing to take him on the road of discovery.

Sam enjoyed trying all of their recommendations, even if more missed than they hit. But it was fun, regardless. Mikaela and Maggie were easy to be with. They were a fascinating dichogamy from one another. One a problem-causing smart Alec, ex-model who is computer smart but couldn't accurately explain what an Allen wrench is. While the other was a grease monkey, ex-delinquent who could pull apart an engine and put it back together but couldn't navigate Microsoft office. Both beautiful, both insanely intelligent in their own fields, and two of the funniest people Sam has ever met. He was greatly enjoying spending this time together with them and couldn't help but think about how teenage Sam would be dying at the mere prospect of lunch with these two beautiful women, drooling over the possibilities of them just glancing in his direction. Instead, they were laughing and joking and smiling at him and all he felt was... calm. Content. Happy.

For almost two months, a new normal set in. Lunch with Maggie and Mikaela - when Maggie's schedule allowed for it - spending time with Bumblebee and Earthquake and getting to better know the other Autobots. He even got the joy of finally, officially meeting Sunstreaker, Sideswipe's brother. Sunstreaker was as crotchety and rude as everyone led Sam to believe he was, but he was... kind, in his own way. He had hounded Ratchet insessantly about his terrible paintjob until the grouchy medic gave in and was repainted in white and red, like that of First Aid. It was standard for medics, but it also looked really good on him. He brushed off the catcalls and the cheers from nearby mechs with a snarl and a wrench hurled at the back of Mudflap's head, before stomping away to the medbay once more.

Sideswipe even convinced Sunstreaker to see to Earthquake's own paintjob. Earthquake started out resistant, not wanting to change anything about himself as this was how his creator had made him, but Sam insisted that someone with Sunstreaker's keen eye for color would only better enhance his features. That it might be nice to add some color to his plates - help activate dormant color nanites, according to Sideswipe - and if he didn't like it, they could always go back to standard black. After some playful probing by Sideswipe and the promise from Jolt that it would be okay, Earthquake approved of the rolling-eyed Sunstreaker to paint his plates. On the condition that he was still primarily black plated.

And despite his sour mood and unwelcoming attitude, Sunstreaker seemed proud of his work. As he should be. Earthquake's plates were beautiful. Primarily black, like he wanted, but with accents of silver and a beautiful purple that matched his eyes so well that Sam couldn't take his eyes off of it. Sleek and powerful. Sam loved it. And even though Earthquake was very uncomfortable with the praises he was getting, he did quietly admit to Sam that he liked it.

It was the following day, Sam was in the Hive, just... admiring the flow of all the moving parts, when the throaty roar of Optimus's engine pulls his gaze to the approaching Peterbilt. Many of the NEST agents stopped to look before going back to work, sending discreet looks, while Prowl, in one of the rare times in which Jazz wasn't here while Sam was, turns to face the Prime as he transforms into his bi-pedal mode next to the scaffolding that Sam was standing on. Despite it, Sam had to crane his neck to look up at the massive bot when a brush of adoration made his skin prickle.

"Hello to you too," Sam laughs.

Optimus goes down on one knee, resting one elbow on a thigh, looking at him curiously. "How do you feel, Sam?"

"I'm okay," Sam says, wrapping his hands on the safety bar in front of him, leaning on it a bit. "Just bothering Prowl, as per usual."

"Not at all," Prowl states firmly.

Optimus smiles and it's warm. Sam hasn't gotten the opportunity to speak with Optimus about Earthquake just yet, seeing as he's been super busy about gaining the independence of Diego Garcia, recognition from the UN - and ultimately the world - about the Autobots, and working out some unknown deal with the Egyptians about something Sam wasn't privy too. Needless to say, the older bot was very busy. This was actually the first time that Sam has been able to talk to Optimus that wasn't in passing or after sleepwalking through the base. Sam always felt bad about bothering Optimus as it seemed like he was very busy, all the time.

"How are you, Optimus?" Sam asks. "I know you've been running around like crazy." He wanted to offer to help but he had no idea what he could do that would be of any help. He had been running some ideas past Bumblebee about possibly starting college the next year. Maybe do online classes or something. Maybe sooner if they are able to. Bumblebee very much liked the idea - probably because Sam had no intention of actually going back to the States to get his degree.

"Many things need to get done in a timely manner," Optimus agrees, the mechanisms in his eyes spiral at the young man. "But I am fine, Sam. Thank you for asking."

"Is there something that I can assist you with?" Prowl asks, head tilted slightly.

Optimus turns to Prowl. "More like I was checking in on you, Prowl. I got your request, so I've come to relieve you early."

Sam perks at that, surprised. Prowl? Requesting off? That seemed strange.

Prowl frowns at that. "It was not a willing request, Prime. Ratchet insisted."

The mirth fades from Optimus's expression. "I do hope that you're well, old friend. Ratchet wouldn't have insisted if he didn't believe it to be entirely necessary."

"There is an unexpected drag on my processor," Prowl admits. "Ratchet seems to be worried about innocuous things in regard to my health. I am perfectly capable of performing my function without fault or faulter. He is using my day off tomorrow as justification for making me take longer."

"We have been operating on Earth's 24-hour schedule, Prowl. I don't need to be the one to tell you that a single day on Cybertron is double that. I respect that there is much that needs to get done and you are more than uniquely qualified to handle much if not all that comes across your desk, but you are not seeing to your own personal care. You put in more hours than Ratchet does, and his berth is in the medbay." Optimus moves to stand, stretching up to his incredible height and dwarfing all in the room with him. "I am inclined to agree with Ratchet. Take the time, I will forward you anything I deem myself unable to handle, and the base will still be operating when you come back. Rest. Reset."

Prowl crosses his arms over his chest, white-blue eyes narrowed as his gaze drops to the floor, contemplating. "You've worked for weeks straight with minimal defrag time," Prowl mutters, bitterly.

Optimus smiles. "And I too have been sent to berth by Ratchet and Ironhide for it. Your dedication is admirable, Prowl. But I promise, you are far too valuable to us to allow you to burn out. With the long stretches that you do, I would recommend setting aside at least two days in there sometimes to keep Ratchet from becoming overly persistent." Sounds like he knows from experience to Sam. Perhaps he's changed a lot in the next ten years, but from what he can remember of his life up until this point, he was pretty sure he would never have that kind of work ethic. He knows how to work hard in short spurts, but the dedication that the Autobots have is truly admirable.

Prowl is scowling at Optimus again. He moves closer, lowering his voice. "I am not a sparkling, Prime. I do not need to be treated as one. Jazz is back, I'm fine."

"This isn't about your bond, old friend," Optimus replies calmly, unaffected by Prowl's tone. "We all need to take some time to ourselves. For as great as you are, Prowl, even you are not immutable. We need to wind down too. I know that you're duty-oriented, but you need to take a few days at a time between these long stretches to just relax. I know things are difficult right now, but it's during difficult times that we have to all band together. You do so much for us, Prowl. Let me do this for you."

"Fine," Prowl growls, still scowling. "You are welcome to remain, but I'm staying until the designated time. I'm in the middle of too many things to just leave in the servos of someone who doesn't know what's going on. No offense, Prime. I will get it done in a timely manner, until then, I'm sure you will be able to find something to occupy your time with. And for the future, I will not be going to Ratchet with any concerns from now on." With that he turns and heads back to his workstation with his wings hiked up high in annoyance, fume is practically spewing from his ears - er, head.

Prime, serenely, turns to Sam once more, looking down at him. "I'm sorry you had to see that."

"It's fine," Sam says, waving his hand. "Prowl doesn't like to be booted out of his workspace, huh?"

"Prowl is a Praxian, their entire culture is built around service. The peoples of Praxus have jobs that are meant to be interpreted as service to one another and to Cybertron. Everything they do is because of each other and for each other. So, the majority of Praxian labor force can be found in jobs of service. Enforcers, Fire Brigade, Medics. Even things like teachers and therapists and custodians. And as Nobility, Prowl has been instilled with a deep sense of duty to his people. We, the Autobots, are most fortunate to have him. But Praxian frames are well known for their incredible health problems as they are commonly found to be running themselves into an early grave," Optimus heaves a heavy sigh, as if carrying the full weight of the consequences of a people's choice in dedication. "Prowl, Bluestreak, Bumblebee and Smokescreen are typically monitored very closely by the medics they are stationed with for this exact reason."

Bumblebee. Sam thinks about the countless hours he's spent hovering over Sam. Guarding him as he sleeps or whenever he leaves. Always there. Always watching. Always quick to see to him. Sam had first thought it was because he was taking this whole 'Guardian' thing to the extreme. But then he began to wonder if it was because of Bumblebee's affection for him. Now he's starting to wonder if it was something that has been ingrained in him for his entire life. Or maybe it was a combination of all three possibilities.

Sam looks around the massive red and blue bot to see Prowl glaring at the screen in front of him. If there was a way to read angrily, that would be Prowl. Sam pulls his gaze back to Optimus. He hears the rumble of an engine approaching behind him. "I suspect this is a common fight."

Optimus smiles, and while shallow, there is warmth there. "I have known Prowl for a very long time. I know him well at this point. Smokescreen can be reasoned with, Bumblebee was raised in Iacon without the culture pressure exasperating the trait, Bluestreak was still young enough when Praxus fell that he's more flexible - at least by Praxian standards - but Prowl has been set to all the extremes of duty. Raised for it as head of his family, dedicated his functioning to his people in many ways, not just as an Enforcer, but also taking the responsibility that comes with assisting me in leading the Autobots? It is... more difficult to convince Prowl to back down than any of the others."

"'Cause he's a stubborn glitch," Ironhide rumbles, transforming next to Optimus. "At least with Jazz around he migh' lighten up a bit."

"Jazz seems to be good for him," Sam offers, looking between the two bots.

"They are good for each other, I think," Optimus murmurs, affection fluttering lightly in his fields. "Now, it is best if I see if there is anything Prowl won't slap my servos away from." Ironhide chuckles, crossing his arms over his chest and leans on one hip as Optimus turns away to go to the terminal next to the irate Praxian.

"Good luck with that, Prime."

Prowl is floating. He can feel Jazz kissing away at his throat cables, servo gently rubbing at his chassis, encouraging his chest plates to close to guard his overworked spark. Despite how irate he was before being booted out of his job by Ratchet and Optimus, Jazz was immediately all over him when the other bot returned to their hab just a few short Earth hours ago. They fragged because Jazz is still suffering from his loss of connection with his fellows and needs to be close to one of the few bonds that has rapidly repaired itself - the one that the two of them share. Normally, Prowl wouldn't be interested in fragging this much, but he too still feels the ache and the pain in their bond like a light throbbing that's getting more and more distant. Every overload, every wired connection, every spark merge, heals it more and more.

It's gotten back to the point where Prowl can feel Jazz clearly despite the space that separates them. He can feel Jazz's processor always at the edge of his own. They are even able to communicate via their bond once more, without the need for comms. At first it was the presence of the other, then it was feelings, then emotional thoughts, and just now, Prowl could hear Jazz's thanks to Primus for bringing them back together. It was distant, quiet, and had Prowl not been in the middle of willing his fritzing spark to calm, he wouldn't have heard it. But they were closing the distance from where they left off and where they are now very quickly, and Prowl couldn't be happier. Even if he was spending a lot more time trying to appease Jazz's insatiable appetite for interface.

With as much time as they had spent apart and the rawness of their bond, Prowl doesn't so much mind the high volume of interfacing for now. Prowl sighs, letting his thighs fall open again when Jazz slots his hips back in place before freezing. Through the bond and the buzzing of post overload, Prowl can feel confusion, then worry as Jazz pulls away, twisting around to look at the door to their hab. His fields steady as his overly bright visor stays focused on the door. Prowl shifts uncomfortably, still high on the overload.

"Jazz?" he murmurs, rubbing at his optics.

"Frag it," Jazz whispers, frowning. "It's Sam."

The lust bleeds from Prowl immediately as he sits up, forcing his processor to focus and sense that - yes! Just like the last two times, the power of the Allspark seems to be bleeding through the walls, stuffing their vents full of its cosmic energy. Snapping into full alertness, Jazz sends Prowl a remorseful look before pushing away from him and heading for the door. He pauses long enough by some cleaning cloths to wipe himself down and close his interface equipment before continuing on.

"Clean up, Prowler, I'll go check it out."

"Is he okay?" Prowl asks, quietly, moving to his pedes and heading over to the small room to the side of their hab. Jazz doesn't respond, brows furrowed in worry as Prowl stops at the doorway to their personal wash rack. He couldn't go out there with Jazz's tansfluid all over his thighs, so he quickly washes off and closes up his panels, promising a deeper clean later. Jazz had easily slipped out and closed the door behind himself.

Once he's presentable, Prowl opens the door and steps out, helm tilted in the direction that Sam should be coming from only for Bumblebee and Jazz to both reach out to stop him from fully stepping out of the room. His wings hike up in alarm, ready to initiate battle protocols when he noticed that Ratchet, returned to his regular pain colors of white and red, and Optimus were just behind Bumblebee and Sam was at Prowl's feet, staring up at him. Both were knelt and while Optimus's expression is severe and focused, Ratchet looks increasingly uneasy. He looks between Sam and now Prowl, creases forming between his optics.

Prowl's wings flutter a bit in confusion as Bumblebee pulls away, going down into a crouch as well, tilting his helm at Sam. Jazz, though, keeps a hold of him, servo sliding from his shoulder down to his own, gripping it.

"What's wrong..?" Prowl asks slowly, looking down to meet the vacant gaze of the green eyed human. There, in the darkness of his pupil, is a pinprick of blue light. The Allspark shining inside of him. The energy is pouring off of him in waves that makes Prowl's protoform warm.

Sam holds a hand out towards him, as if beckoning the former Enforcer closer to him. Prowl looks over at Jazz, whose brow is still furrowed.

"It is a gift," Earthquake's low rumble draws the optics of the Autobots to his hulking form. Prowl had heard from some of the humans walking by that Earthquake got a new paintjob and so had Ratchet, but the SIC hadn't actually seen either of them until now. But the massive Autobot was staring intently at Sam, his small servos floating around him, fingers twitching anxiously. Or maybe excitedly.

"What do you mean, Earthquake?" Ratchet asks, fields prickling to the touch. He's uneasy, which makes Prowl more uneasy. Which in turn is make Jazz more uneasy.

"The Creator heals. Fixes what is broken. Gives life to what is dead, or dying," Earthquake rumbles. Bluestreak, who was back with the other Autobots, sandwiched between his two best friends in Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, stiffens. Bluestreak's optics find Prowl's armor, searching for damage. Jazz's field, and through their bond, floods with anxiety and fear.

"Whatchu mean, mech?" Jazz asks, voice controlled, but low. Dangerous. As if just insisting that something was wrong with Prowl was justification for deactivation. Jolt, standing at Earthquake's side, sends Jazz a stern look but says nothing.

"It's going out..." Earthquake murmurs, tilting his helm. "The Creator... will bring it back..." He shifts, purple optics brightening. "It's not too late... yes... not this time."

"Something's wrong with Prowler's spark?" Jazz asks, voice still even, but Prowl can feel the maelstrom of anxiety and fear and fierceness flowing over him. Like he could keep Prowl's spark turning manually with just his will alone. But Prowl doesn't feel like anything is wrong. Doing a quick diagnostic doesn't show anything out of the ordinary. His spark rate is still a little elevated, but his booting up tacnet is finding it in acceptable range for what the situation calls for. Still, Sam reaches up for him, again, and the power of the Allspark bleeds into Prowl's plates, making his protoform warmer still at the touch.

Since the Allspark was sent away, there has always been a chill to his protoform - to all of them. The familiar feeling of its energy always with them was a comfort, a normality that was all they ever knew was suddenly gone and they were left cold. Off. It's almost strange to feel it again after having gone so long without it.

"Ratchet, I thought Prowler was - "

"I'm fine, Jazz," Prowl snaps, not liking being spoken about as if he wasn't right there.

"He is," Ratchet says, hitting Prowl with an intense, medical scan that made Prowl's dente clench at the strangeness of it. "I don't... I don't see anything out of the ordinary." His blue optics skim over the tab on his arm again and again, as if he could have missed something the first three times.

Jazz, troubled, lowers to a hunch, staring at Sam intently. "What's wrong with my Prowler, Sammy? What is the Allspark doing?"

Despite his expression remaining stoic, strict, Jazz's fear and anxiety through their bond is too much for Prowl. His bondmate has always been keeping his emotions in check on the outside. Their bond is the only place he has felt safe revealing his true feelings. Prowl was his safe space, as Jazz was Prowl's. He didn't think there was anything wrong with himself, but then again, it's not every orn that a bot can survive an Earth decade after the traumatic deactivation of their bondmate and then somehow get reunited with him when a great artifact of their people brought him back to life once more.

Maybe there was something wrong with his spark. The place for which it came would probably know best.

Prowl lowers to his hunches before the human male, hesitating. Sam moves closer, reaching out to place his hand as close to Prowl's spark chamber as he can reach, telling Prowl everything he needed to know about what the artifact was looking for access to. He glances between Optimus and Bumblebee, then down the hall at the other Autobots and immediately everyone was turning away, to offer him privacy, but obviously still wanting to remain close. For what? He's not sure even they know. Bluestreak is one of the last to turn away, besides Earthquake, who didn't seem aware of the cultural need to offer that respect without Jolt to guide him. Bluestreak looks apprehensions, servos needing at his stomach. He looks torn between respecting Prowl's spark by looking away, and wanting to keep watch on his elder brother, to look after him, as they had been doing for one another for the younger one's entire functioning.

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker both sling their arms around him, turning him manually, but offering him the closeness of their presence. And Prowl is thankful for them. The Terror Twins are a nightmare to deal with at the worst of times, but Prowl understands them, cares about them, and was willing to let them befriend his little brother despite the problems that they had. His innocence and naivete offers their wilder, more aggressive side some temperance that is good for all three of them. The twins learn to get close to someone who isn't them, and Bluestreak makes friends that will remain loyal and kind - as kind as Sunstreaker can manage, that is.

All in all, Prowl is proud of them.

Bumblebee rotates on the pads of his pedes to turn as much away as he can without knocking into Prowl with his doorwings, tilting them so that the sensors are angled away from Prowl's spark. Optimus lowers his chin, closing his optics, but Prowl trusts that the taller bot wouldn't look unless he deemed it absolutely necessary.

Now the only ones left were Ratchet and Jazz, both of which have seen his spark before, and Sam. Sam, who he would normally not feel comfortable seeing his spark. but the way that those vacant eyes stare back, the power of the Allspark bleeding from in tangible waves, is enough to assuage any of his feelings of propriety.

Opening his chest plates, he reveals his spark. He leans down a bit, not sure what else to do. It wasn't until he was leaned down enough for Sam's hand to reach in to touch his spark that his tacnet posed the question of if the radiation of their spark was dangerous to humans or not. Prowl stiffed by it was too late. He looks down to see Sam's pupils shrink until only the blue light remains as his hand curls into a fist with a single finger pointing at Prowl's spark. Jazz and Ratchet lean closer, as Prowl does, wondering if what ails him is not something that can be picked up on a scanner but can be seen by sight alone somehow.

Ratchet sucks in a deep vent, blue optics widening. "Prowl, you're carrying."

Jazz stiffens, optics staring intently into Prowl's chest, as Prowl is, seeing yes, a small whisp of light fluttering around his spark, orbiting it. The problem being that it's already losing energy. Its light sputtering, growing weaker, fading fast. It's normal, expected. Without the power of the Allspark, no split in spark has held, thus no sparklings have come from their peoples in millions of years.

It had to be all of their interfacing, Prowl rationalized. Jazz and Prowl have been going at it like crazy trying everything they can to restrengthen their bond. They haven't had to worry about any form of contraception because without the Allspark, there is no sparklings.

Just as he thought that Sam's finger, now decidedly pointed at the small whisp of dimming energy, flicks towards it. A bolt of blue Allspark energy flies from Sam's finger to the tiny whisp, brightening it once more. It's next rotation around Prowl's spark, reveals it far brighter than before.

"He..." Ratchet whispers, hitting Prowl with another medical scan right to his spark. "He... transferred Allspark energy directly into it. The... the spark is... viable." His wonderment, bewilderment, his tentative excitement all bleeds into his fields. Optimus sucks in a slow breath but doesn't open his optics. Bumblebee does, but he quickly turns his head away, wings fluttering a bit in excitement, surprise, and worry.

Jazz, though, is stunned. Like Prowl. They both look from the innocent rotation of the fragment of the spark orbiting his own, to each other. Too at a loss for words to begin deciphering the maelstrom of emotion being shared between their expressions and their bonds with one another.

"What'd the ol' Hatchet say?" Skids asks from down the hall. "A spark is visible?"

"Viable, idiot," Mudflap snaps, smacking his brother upside the head. "You are so dumb."

"Ow! That hurt!"

Sam smiles, then, dazed. He tilts his head, sways slightly, and mutters, "Soundwave..." before his eyes roll up into his head, and he collapses to the ground.