Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Blindly he stumbled through the dimly lit corridors of the Ark, not caring where he was going. Above him a light dimmed and flared.

He licked his lips. The mission was supposed to be simple. Straight in and out. But he had lost two rookie agents.

Silent screams filled his processor as their faces faded. His spark pulsed rapidly. My fault. All my fault.

He took a corner and his guilt-ridden processor vaguely recognised the path his pedes were taking him.

He should stop now, he shouldn’t go. It was dangerous to go there.

But he paid no heed to the warning his processor gave. His sinking spark was pulling him there. Pulling him to the lifeline that was always there. Always ready to pull him out.

He stopped in front of a non-descript door. He lifted his hand, digits trembling as they lingered...then coded the door open.

Prowl stood from his desk as he heard someone tamper with his door. It was already deep into the dark cycle, and he was not expecting visitors. His doorwings flared as he attempted to recognise the sparksignature, but even though his acute sensors could detect a mech, he couldn’t read a signature.

He onlined his battle protocols and waited, ready to defend himself if the mech turned out to have harmful intentions. He squared his feet, feeling the thrum of the Ark's engines reverberate through him. He was ready.

The door slid open and a visored, shaking mech stumbled in.

“Jazz?” Prowl asked as he watched the saboteur slump against the wall, his normally pristine blue visor almost white. His vents flared as they sucked in air; his fists spasmed next to his sides.

Doorwings arching, Prowl disabled his battle protocols and rounded the desk. These were his private quarters, and though it was not unusual for Jazz to visit him on occasion, this certainly didn’t fit his normal amorous mood. Something is wrong. Prowl narrowed his gaze as his friend kept staring ahead of him. "Jazz, what is wrong?"

Jazz didn’t answer. Instead he pushed off the wall and marched towards Prowl. Grabbing Prowl, he pulled him flush against his own frame, his mouth hungrily devouring Prowl’s as his hands roved over the lithe tactician. His field washed over Prowl, guilt warring with desperation. It was sickening.

“Jazz…What…mmm…are you…doing?” Prowl gasped in between Jazz’s passionate kisses as he tried to push Jazz away.

“Mmm…need you…” Jazz moaned, ignoring the Praxian’s struggles. The only thing that mattered to his frazzled processor was the steadiness and comfort that was Prowl combined with a dangerous feeling he refused to acknowledge. His field pressed deeper into that fathomless, steady field.

“Jazz!” Prowl gasped as Jazz pinned him to the wall, his normal gentle ministration having an edge of desperation to it that worried Prowl. Fear started to well in him as he writhed against Jazz.

 Jazz broke the kiss and nipped at Prowl’s neck. “Need you.” He repeated as he ran his hands over Prowl’s doorwings, tweaking the sweet spots he knew revved Prowl. He pressed against Prowl as his hand slid down towards Prowl’s interface panel. The steady field wavered, ripples upsetting the calm that usually reigned. Jazz ignored it. He needed his lifeline.

“Jazz, stop!” Prowl half-commanded, half-pleaded as he tried to pull away.

Jazz froze, his processor catching up to his wild spark. He drew in ragged vents as he stared into Prowl’s concerned optics. What was he doing? Slag, what was wrong with him? “Prowl…” He drew a shaky vent as he stepped beck. “I...I'm, I’m sorry…” He rasped and shook his helm, backing towards the door.

Prowl swallowed as he stared at the retreating form of Jazz, struggling to get his vents to even out. His spark squeezed as he watched the silver form shrink in on himself. That bold, brave persona...looked so alone in that moment, so lost. Pity welled in him as he watched Jazz turn at the door. “Wait!”

The silver mech stopped, outstretched hand curling into a fist.

Prowl drew in a calming vent and walked towards the mech he considered his friend. Reaching him he laid a comforting hand on his shoulder, pressing as much calm into his field as he could manage. Something had obviously upset the saboteur enough for him to act irrationally. And he had come here, for comfort. “Jazz? Talk to me. What happened?”

Jazz turned his helm to stare at Prowl. Shouldn’t be here. His processor screamed at him as his optics fell to Prowl’s mouth before looking back into those blue optics. “I lost two agents.” He heard himself say and felt the guilt come crashing back. He turned his helm away from Prowl, ashamed to look at the tactician and the calculating coldness, but also understanding he would see in those often-guarded optics. He had to leave. Now. He was too vulnerable around Prowl.

Instead he felt Prowl’s hands slide over his shoulder and down his chassis as a warm frame pressed against his back. He shuttered his optics as warmth spread through him, pooling inside of him.

“I am sorry.”

Jazz’s resolve crumbled at the softly whispered words, knowing the rarity of such open display. He turned around, mouth once more searching for the other’s. This time Prowl didn't resist, but moved with him, mouth inviting, field open. His spark spun faster. He moaned into the kiss as he pushed Prowl towards the berth. Gently he laid Prowl down and settled between his legs, never breaking the kiss.

Prowl moaned as Jazz’s fingers dipped into seams and tweaked wires, his movements steady but considerate. The desperation that had characterised his earlier actions were gone, and Prowl felt his core temperature rise along with his arousal. This was the Jazz Prowl knew – a caring and considerate lover, and the reason why Prowl allowed him back time and again.

He gasped in pleasure at the steady thrusts, his pleasure steadily growing to the point of overload. He reached above Jazz’s helm to caress the sensory horns.

Above him Jazz groaned in pleasure as his thrusts gathered speed, his overload quickly approaching as Prowl moved with him. His mouth nibbled on Prow’s neck cables, biting, then kissing.

Prowl heard the click of Jazz’s chest plates and felt his own open in response, too caught up in passion to realise what was happening. His frame was bathed in a bright blue light and he moaned at the sight, his own spark reaching for the one so close to his.

He cried out as their sparks touched, the feelings of passion magnified tenfold as he felt Jazz overload in him. It was enough to push him over the edge and he fell blissfully into a sea of pleasure.

They came down from the overload panting hard. Their chest plates closed and Jazz rolled off of Prowl and stretched out next to him, his visor offline.

Prowl continued laying where he was. That had been intense, and it was beginning to dawn on him exactly what they had done.

They had merged. They had never merged before.

Coldness replaced the warmth, coiling around his spark. We...merged. 

Prowl swallowed his suddenly dry throat and turned his helm towards Jazz, but by the sounds of his vents he was already cycling down into recharge.

Prowl sighed and initiated his own recharging protocols, forcing down the sickness that rose in his throat.. They would need to talk about this in the morning. It was one thing to be occasional lovers, but spark-sharing was reserved for relationships. And Jazz simply did not do relationships.

And there was one, other, big danger to merging that Prowl refused to consider.

He shuttered his optics, but it was a long time before he fell into a troubled recharge.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Prowl slowly came out of recharge and dismissed his internal alarm. His chest ached. Grimacing, he reached out to his side, feeling for Jazz.

Instead, the cold padding of the berth met him.

He opened his optics and sighed.

This was nothing new. He had never woken with Jazz by his side, but somehow he had hoped that this time would be different.

He had been wrong.

Chapter Text

Prowl sat in his office on the Arks’s command deck, viewing a datapad.

The same one he had been viewing for the past two joors, but somehow had been unable to process.

All because of one mech. One single, infuriating mech.

And said mech was currently doing his best to avoid him. Actively avoid him

Prowl vented heavily as he laid the datapad down on his desk, tired of trying and failing to process it. He pressed a hand against his temple. He had to talk to Jazz about what happened the previous evening.

Exactly what he wanted to talk about was up for debate. Maybe why Jazz had sought him out in the state he was in, why his chest plates had parted so easily and why Jazz had left.

Prowl wiped a hand over his faceplate. There was one other concern he had. Something the other Autobots, not even Ratchet, knew about. And it was something that Prowl was loath to acknowledge that it frightened him.

The fact that he was a carrier.

Oh to be a carrier was deemed a blessing – it was the ability to merge sparks to form a new spark. A being that shared two mechs’ CNA. Something unique. On Cybertron, only about one-third of mechs were carriers, and they were valued and protected – and sent out of Autobot ranks to the safety of Neutral colonies or other Transformer worlds that were not involved in the Great War such as Velocitron, Combatron and Eyere. Optimus himself had made the decree, stating the preservation and continuation of their race as the main reasons.

He had managed to hide that one, teeny tiny little detail from his medical file – and thereby from the Autobots in general and his House. At first it was not such a great concern. He rarely interfaced, never merged, and had been a lower-ranking commissioned lieutenant, slowly rising up the ranks until a decisive battle where Optimus Prime had noticed him.

The Prime had insisted that he be made a part of the Iaconian Tactical Division, and be trained personally under their head tactician. His House had been delighted. After that, he had jumped quickly to second-in-command of the tactical division.

It had been in that time where he had made the acquaintance of the charming mech called ‘Jazz’. It had taken some time, and, Prowl was loath to admit, some high-grade before Prowl had allowed Jazz into his berth.

Prowl covered his optics as he remembered that evening, fondness warring with embarrassment. Jazz had returned from a mission three orns previously: half-slagged. Of course, their Chief Medical Officer Ratchet had argued vehemently that he had been three-quarters slagged, but Prowl had seen the medical files. It was definitively half-slagged.

After he was released from medbay, Jazz had insisted he spend some time with Prowl to ‘thank’ him, since it was his plan that had saved Jazz’s skidplates.

Under the blazing optics of CMO Ratchet, Prowl had agreed.

A few joors into the evening, the highgrade came out. Prowl at first protested, but Jazz, in all his infuriating charm, had eventually convinced him to at least drink one cube of the special brew.

And indeed it was a special brew. It had knocked Prowl into the higher dimensions in less time it took to salute the Prime. Everything had been somewhat fuzzy after that. Prowl remembered being fascinated with the weldmarks criss-crossing Jazz’s frame, he remembered tracing them with his finger, then he remembered Jazz kissing him, then toppling him, and then he remembered waking up – not completely alone. No. Not at all alone. He had been left with one Pit of a processor ache, but no Jazz.

Prowl dropped his hand and absently rubbed at his chest plating above his spark. Jazz did not know he was a carrier, nor was he about to tell him that either. In fact, he wasn’t about to tell anyone. There was only one other mech that knew – and he trusted that mech with his entire being. He huffed.

Besides, this was their first merge and it was possible that he had not kindled. He wouldn’t know for sure until at least two quartexes. If he had not kindled, then there was nothing to worry about.

If he had…

Prowl shut that line of thought down. He couldn’t, wouldn’t focus on that. The implications would be disastrous on too many levels. He would just have to hope that Primus would not punish him for his lack of common sense.

The entrance request to his office beeped and Prowl jumped at the sudden sound. Taking a quick moment to compose himself, he sent the ‘open’ command and waited.

To his slight irritation, Jazz came waltzing in, holding two datapads. “I got the reports you wanted.” He waved the datapads and dropped them unceremoniously onto Prowl’s desk. “Nasty reading, but it’s there.” He leaned his hip against the table and folded his arms.

“Thank you.” Prowl steepled his fingers and stared coldly at Jazz, his mask of cool indifference firmly in place. He was tempted to wait and see how Jazz played this out, but thinking back on how the mercurial Jazz kept slipping through his fingers, coupled with the statistics of the possibility of finding him alone again in the near future made his processor up. Ignoring the empty pit at the bottom of his tank, he straightened.

“Jazz.” Prowl’s optic ridges furrowed as he avoided the other mech’s optics, “About last night…”

Jazz’s smile faded and he stood up, squaring his shoulders. “Prowl, last night was a mistake. We shouldn’t have let it go that far. It was reckless.” He paused as he blew out a heavy vent. “I think we should stop seeing each other on a casual basis, for now at least. Don’t you?”

Prowl stared at Jazz. Well this certainly was not what he was thinking, but somehow not exactly unexpected either. “I was actually hoping we could talk about it.”

Jazz shrugged. “Not really anything to talk about. I get that most mechs aren’t comfortable with spark-sharing and all that, but hey. It was casual. Nothing serious.”

Prowl clenched his denta and forced himself to keep a hold of his cool façade; now was not the time to lose his self-control. Obviously Jazz wasn’t mature enough for conversations of this kind. Of course, he would rather run away and leave Prowl out of it. His grip tightened and he jerked his helm. “Of course, it was casual. I was about to suggest that we refrain from it, but if you feel that it would be better to refrain completely from casual interfacing, I will respect that.”

Jazz watched him silently. The silver mech inclined his helm. “It’s for the best Prowl. And for what it’s worth – sorry about my actions. I shouldn’t have pushed you.” Jazz said softly as he backed away. “Might want to look at those reports sooner rather than later.” He turned and was out the door.

Prowl thumped the desk with his closed fist. “Damn.” He bit, then sat glaring at the door after Jazz had left. An odd weightlessness spread through him and he leaned back in his chair. He wiped a hand over his face, shaking his helm.

He had expected some kind of fall out, but not breaking it off completely. He dropped his faceplate into his hands, drawing in deep vents to steady the frantic and painful pulse of his spark, but nothing he did seemed to take away the burning sense of loss deep in his spark.

Jazz halted just outside the door and sagged against the wall. This was for the best. He reminded himself as he tried to ignore the guilt clawing at him. The look on Prowl’s face…he knew he had hurt Prowl. But it was for the best. He was falling for Prowl, and he couldn’t. He simply couldn’t.

Last night was not your best moment, mech. First he had straggled to Prowl’s quarters in search of comfort, then he had nearly raped the mech, and then he had fragging merged with him.

What had he been thinking?! Correction, he hadn’t been thinking. And that is what scared him. Scared him to the core.

He had acted on instinct. He felt the pull of his spark towards Prowl, had since the first time they met in that stuffy little office back in Iacon. But he was special operations. Pit, he was a general, commander of spec ops and the best black ops agent the Autobots had. He couldn’t be tied down to one mech. Especially not a mech as high-ranking as Prowl.

When they had started interfacing, Prowl had been second in command of the Iaconian Tactical division back at Iaconian HQ. A higher rank than most, but not a dangerous rank per se. He had felt no qualms on acting on his interest, and enjoying the reciprocated pleasures. But when the Tactical commander had fallen in battle, Prowl was elevated to Head Tactician. Shortly after, at the time set out to board the Ark, Prime had asked him to become second in command as Ultra Magnus stepped down to become commander of a separate crew abroad the Wonderer. That was when he should have stopped seeing Prowl.

Instead, he started searching Prowl out after dangerous missions, ignoring his own warnings in the face of pleasure. He couldn’t take it not seeing Prowl. He should have ignored those bastard feelings. He should have found other mechs…there were a lot of willing frames. But he couldn’t. Against his own fragging better judgement he had continued to ignore the right course of action.

And ignoring those warning had brought him to this. Had brought him to hurting a mech that he considered a friend. A solid mech he could trust.

And Jazz couldn’t trust. Trust only got you into trouble. Or worse – it got those you cared about into trouble.

His limbs turned to lead, he pushed away from the wall. It’s for the best. Was all he could tell himself as he walked away from Prowl.

Chapter Text

“He has to go!” The blue and grey mech exclaimed as he slapped his hand on Prowl’s desk.

Prowl raised an optic ridge at the mech. The offending limb was yanked back.

“He’s a menace, sir. They are menaces! They should never have been allowed aboard the Ark.” The mech huffed sulkily as he sat back in his chair.

Satisfied that the Security director had been cowed, Prowl continued perusing the report. It was the latest report on the rather inventive antics of the terror twins, and a firm note from the mech currently seated across from him that he was done with them. From now on out, he refused to have anything to do with their disciplinary actions. In fact, he had even sent in a transfer request.

Prowl sympathised to an extent with Midriff, knowing that ever since the two frontliners had boarded their ship at the Tyger Pax port, they had been a constant menace.

They were fine soldiers, and held many distinctions in battle due to their high level of fighting skill, and their lack of self-preservation. The problem was that they had an excess amount of energy, energy that was usually spent in battles, and when they were in a fighting lull like now…that’s when they became menaces. But there were other issues as shown by their track record that attracted Prowl’s attention.

Prowl placed the report on his desk and turned to his terminal. Currently open, was the track record of both Sunstreaker and Sideswipe.

They were Kaonites, and because of this, they were readily distrusted by mechs from the Northern Hemisphere of Cybertron. This distrust only grew as they showed their worth in the fighting arenas at Autobot Academy and rumours soon started circulating that they were spies placed among the ranks for the newly formed Decepticons.

At around the same time, pranks started up – affecting mostly those involved with the spread of rumours. This lasted throughout their academy career, and when the Twins were finally placed, they were placed close to the Charr borders – it was literally the front line between Autobot territory and Decepticon territory and amongst the fiercest fighting areas. They had excelled in both damage to the enemy and damage to themselves.

They were transferred from Charr to Yuss when the medics refused to work on them any longer, stating they were suicidal and endangered the lives of their team members.

At Yuss, they were transferred to Calix because the team leader, and especially the security director of the base, grew tired of their continual pranks.

At Calix, they had been transferred out of their squad due to disciplinary issues to Uraya.

At Uraya, they had been kicked out of their squad due to ‘violent assault of an officer’. The charges were dropped, however, but they were transferred to Gygax.

At Gygax, the security director had accused them of sabotage and treason, a very serious accusation and they had immediately been detained and sent to Tyger Pax detention cells. The charges were proven false and they were released, howbeit with a note on their service records.

There, they had been separated. Sunstreaker had been sent to Charr, and Sideswipe remained at Tyger Pax.

Prowl frowned as he continued reading their files.

The separation had caused both of them to go nearly insane.  Sunstreaker became a berserker on the frontlines, with all the mechs fearing him. He was eventually labelled as a sociopath.

Sideswipe, too, became a berserker and his pranks took a more violent turn. The only reason he was never arrested by the MPs was because he left no evidence. But everybody suspected. They started avoiding the sociable mech and he spiralled downwards until he was label ‘threat to fellow soldiers’.

It was then that Base Commander Titanium had contacted Iacon HQ with a request for help. Prowl had only been second in command of the Tactical Unit at the time, and the Head of Tactical thought it would be a good exercise for Prowl to find a suitable solution.

Prowl had immediately reunited the Twins and had placed a note on their files that under no circumstances were they to be separated. He also suggested they be placed in charge of hand-to-hand training combat to the new soldiers based at Tyger Pax. It tempered the problem back to a tolerable state.

Six vorns later, when Prowl had been assigned the position of SIC, he had requested the two join them on the flagship.

Now, Prowl was beginning to doubt the wisdom of that choice.

“You have requested that only Sideswipe be transferred, even though you know on their file it is clearly stated where one goes, the other follows.”

“Sir, Sunstreaker is still tolerable when Sideswipe is not around. He even becomes a better fighter!”

“He becomes a berserker.”

“We might need that in battle.” Midriff pointed out hopefully.

“I will not have them separated.” Prowl said as he moved to ‘deny’ the transfer request.

“Sir! Either they transfer, or I!” Midriff hissed as he gripped the edges of his chair.

“Hopefully not one will be required, however, if you feel you need to be transferred, send me the request.” Prowl said coolly and closed the files, showing that he was done with the subject.

Midriff jumped out of his chair and slammed his hands down on the desk, optics burning into the SIC. “How dare you! After everything I have done you would transfer me!”

Prowl’s doorwings hiked higher on his back as the aggressive display of the Security Director. “I have not asked you to transfer. You stated that either the Twins transfer, or you do. I have already stated I will not transfer the Twins, thus the choice is your own.” He replied coldly.

Midriff growled at him as he shoved off Prowl’s desk. “Expect my transfer request within the joor!” He spat and stomped towards the door.

Once the mech was out, Prowl rested his helm on his arms. He did not have the energy for this kind of youngling-squabbles. Absently his processor wondered to Jazz, wishing that he was here to at least laugh at the bothersome mech and tell him he was acting like a youngling.

But he hadn’t seen Jazz more than three times in the past decaorn, ever since Jazz had ‘ended’ whatever was between them. He heaved a heavy sigh as he pushed himself back upright. He had work to do.

::Sideswipe. My office.::

::Yes, sir.:: came the quick reply.

Prowl wiped a hand over his faceplate and thought of possible replacements for the current Security Director. He narrowed his optics as he stared into space, a single digit tapping at the pad on his desk. Maybe he could get the Hinterland’s Security Director. He was apparently a brilliant mech, though he suffered occasional bouts of paranoia.

Prowl leaned towards his console and  accessed Teletraan 1’s database. With experienced ease the pulled up the Hinterland’s crew files and scanned until he found the one he was looking for. His keen optics flitted across the screen, his mouth hardening in determination, until he finished the mech’s file. Prowl nodded. Yes. This is the mech the Ark would need. It would be sad to see Midriff leave, however, Prowl had no interest in mechs who threw youngling tantrums. Calling up access to the space navigation charts, he searched for the last noted coordinates of the Hinterland. He nodded in satisfaction when he saw the two ships could easily alter course by only a few degrees to successfully intercept in about six decaorns.

That would be adequate. Now he simply needed to wait for Midriff’’s transfer request, and he could hail the ship.

The entry request sounded and Prowl sent the ‘open’ command.

Sideswipe came in and stood in the centre of the room, offering a smart salute as he stared at some point across Prowl’s shoulder.

Good. At least the little miscreant knew he was in trouble.

“Sideswipe reporting as ordered, sir.”

Prowl steepled his hands and leaned forward, his cold optics boring into Sideswipe as he blanked his field.

“What do you have to say for yourself, soldier?”

“It really wasn’t my fault, sir.” The red soldier in front of him said with a plaintiff edge to his voice.

“Not your fault? Sideswipe, you were caught red-handed on the Ark’s surveillance in the act of gluing Lieutenant Midriff’s door closed. How do you explain that not being your fault?” Prowl asked as he continued to stare at Sideswipe. The more he watched Sideswipe, the more he was reminded of Bluestreak. Which was illogical. This was supposed to be a fully developed mech.

“I didn’t know he was inside.” Sideswipe shrugged, “uh, sir.” He added quickly when he saw Prowl’s optic ridge raise just a millimetre.

“So you admit that you were responsible for gluing the door, but not that Lieutenant Midriff was inside. Now pray, tell me, where was he supposed to be other than his office?” Prowl asked as he felt the start of another helm-splitting processor ache. Perhaps he should ship the Twins out…maybe Ultra Magnus would be willing to take them? Prowl warmed to the thought, but kept his expression neutral as he could practically see the cogs turning in the red mech’s helm.

“Somewhere not in his office, sir?” Sideswipe quipped, optics still glued to that faraway point, but his field reeking satisfaction.

Prowl grit his denta, mentally thinking of how he could persuade Ultra Magnus to take these two off his hands. He replied evenly. “His office was the logical place to be, but apart from that, you still glued the officer’s door shut, leaving him trapped inside. It took valuable resources from the science department to dissolve the glue, not even counting the valuable time they spent trying to dissolve it instead of working on their commissioned projects. Other than that, you have treated an officer with disrespect to such an extent that he finds you ‘intolerable’ to work with.”

Sideswipe was quiet for a moment and Prowl was beginning to hope that the implications of his acts were beginning to dawn on him.

“There’s nothing against gluing a door shut in the regulations, sir.”

Prowl shuttered his optics. “Sideswipe, do you not realise the significance of your actions?”

Sideswipe remained stubbornly silent.

“Lieutenant Midriff has requested a transfer.”

Sideswipe clenched his fist as he worked his jaw. “When are we to transfer, Sir.”

Prowl watched Sideswipe, watched the optics darken, watched the stubborn resolve settle along the broad shoulders. He felt like smacking the mech upside his helm. They had so much potential yet they were always willing to throw it out the door at the first opportunity. And yet – he knew he was the only mech who truly saw their potential, saw the worth hidden deep, deep, deep down. As much as he wanted a break, he wouldn’t send the Twins to Ultra Magnus. Their records were too tainted. He straightened and arched his doorwings in a display of dominance that never failed to catch the Twin’s attention. “You will remain on the Ark, Lieutenant Midriff will transfer to the Hinterland. This is your last chance.”

Sideswipe glanced at Prowl, making optic contact for the first time since he came into the office. The optics were two shades darker than his usual mischievous tint.

“Sir?” He asked and Prowl caught the hesitance in his voice.

“What I am saying, Sideswipe, is that I lost a Security Director because of your antics. I have intervened for the last time. If the new Security Director requests a transfer, either for himself or for you, I will have you cashiered from the Autobots. Am I clear?”

“Yes, sir.” Sideswipe answered meekly.

“Good. You will report to me at 07h00 joors. Dismissed.”

Sideswipe saluted and walked out of the office.

Once he was gone, Prowl raised a hand to his helm and rubbed it absently until his console pinged with an incoming urgent request.

He opened it and vented. Midriff’s transfer request stared at him from the screen. It was orns like these that he wished he had remained a simple tactician on the field. “Red Alert, I hope you have nerves of steel.” He whispered as he sent the request through to the Hinterland.

He woke with a start, condensation dotting his helm. He lifted a hand to his chest and laid it over his spark. His chest felt tender and the metal warmer than it should.

Prowl sat up and commanded the lights be turned up. He ran an internal diagnostic and prayed that the results came back normal.

The diagnostics reported everything as normal, and Prowl laid back again and took a few calming vents.

Tenderness of the chest plating above the spark was an early symptom of carrying. He knew this, but surely his diagnostics would have picked something up if it was abnormal?

He laid back and tried to think what his carrier had told him: sometimes, when a mech thought he might be carrying, his frame might present early symptoms to satisfy the processor.

He shuttered his optics. He was only imagining things.

He really hoped he was only imagining things.

Chapter Text

Jazz sat at his favourite booth in the Ark’s recroom, lazily shuffling a half-filled cube of midgrade from one hand to the other as he watched the ebb and flow of mechs into and out of the room. Their laughter grated on him, their easy smiles and carefree attitude hitting a chord somewhere deep inside of him that wanted to make him rave at them. He pursed his lips.

At least this was better than trying to recharge alone - each time he closed his optics, his processor would helpfully supply him with vivid images of Prowl in ecstasy. His back arching, his wings vibrating, his moans…

He shook his helm as his engine gave a needy rev. It was lust, nothing else. He could easily get that from other Praxians abroad the Ark. But then again, Prowl was different. Prowl was special. He winced inwardly as his processor supplied him with the word. Too dangerous, mech. He reminded himself. He took another sip of his energon and leaned back in his chair. He pursed his lips as his musings turned inward again, making him forget the mechs in the recroom on a conscious level.

He had tried to avoid that mech, but each time he would find a datapad that needed to be delivered, or a memo that needed to be passed, and instead of sending Bumblebee or Hound, he would go himself. Granted it had only been three times the past decaorn, but it had still been three times too many.

He needed distance from Prowl. Physical and mental distance. And he wasn’t going to be getting that while he was still on the Ark.

His sensors gave a warning and he looked up. His sensors were attuned to pick up on the field of mechs, and something had obviously set them off enough to raise an internal warning.

Looking around, he saw a very peeved Sideswipe head for the dispensary. He smiled as he thought of the latest prank the red frontliner had pulled.

Jazz had been impressed, to say the least. The science division had taken nearly six joors to get something to eat through the adhesive the red twin had used, not to mention the ruckus caused by the stuck-up Security Director. He still had the recordings of his little tantrum-display. He smiled deviously. Maybe he should let it slip into the grapevine for a joor or two. It was worth watching, even though he would probably get one Pit of a reprimand – and that reprimand would probably take the form of a very sexy black and white Praxian. Nope – better not let it slip.

But the adhesive is what really impressed Jazz. He made a mental note to ask Sideswipe for the formula. Never knew when one might need something like that.

He watched as Sideswipe stomped around the recroom looking for a place to sit. Well, this might be his chance to get some gossip and the formula.

“Yo, Siders!” Jazz called and waved a hand to beckon him to join him.

It only took a few clicks for Sideswipe to stalk over to Jazz, grab a chair, and collapse dramatically into it.

Jazz suppressed a smile and cocked a playful optic ridge at the prankster. “So who pissed on your battery?”

Sideswipe cast him a sidelong glance as he sipped his energon. “Two mechs actually. First off, our beloved little Security Director actually had the audacity to request a transfer for me! Because he finds me ‘intolerable’ to work with! Just because he couldn’t get out of his office for a while. Mech has issues, if ya ask me.” He finished as he waved his cube at Jazz.

Jazz smiled openly, unable to supress it any longer. “Well, mech, I have to admit I’m impressed. The glue ya used. Mech, ya gotta give me that formula!”

“Thank-you! Finally someone who appreciated my work!” Sideswipe said overly-loud as he flung his arms wide, ignoring the crude remarks thrown from various mechs in the recroom. Sideswipe smiled broadly once they had settled and nodded at Jazz. “I’ll databurst you the formula. Took me quite a while to perfect, but I think the results were satisfactory.”

“I agree mech, I agree.” Jazz smile morphed into a grimace as he recalled the other detail Sideswipe had dropped. “Ya getting transferred?”

Sideswipe shook his helm. “Nope. Saved by the black-and-white aft. Again! Midriff’s transferred instead.” He said smugly and took another sip of his cube.

 “Serious? Well that’s good. Mech always was a bit immature for a SD if ya ask me.”

Sideswipe placed his cube on the table and leaned towards Jazz. “Yeah, but I’m telling you, Prowl was real pissed with me. Said this is the last time he’s going to intervene.”

Jazz frowned in puzzlement. “Last time?”

‘Yup. When me and Sunny were separated back at ol’ Pax, he made sure we were assigned the same unit again, and placed a seal on our records saying that we are not allowed to be separated, at least not from the same base. He’s also the one who wanted us aboard the Ark. And now this. So I guess I kinda owe him.” He replied nonchalantly as he shrugged a shoulder.

Great. Jazz did not need to know this, but somehow, it fitted Prowl’s profile. The mech cared deeply, but rarely let it show. He had just proved it again after Jazz had lost two… No, bad Jazz! Don’t go there! He scolded as he forced himself to listen to Sideswipe and not get side-tracked by his own thoughts.

“…idea what I have to do. But I won’t put it past him to make me scrub the decks of Tac with a seam-brush. Not that I mind really. For all the mech might be stiff as a gun-rod, but he’s soft on the optics if ya know what I mean.”

Jazz felt himself twitch at the remark as his fist clenched on his energon cube. Maybe inviting Sideswipe to share his table hadn’t been a good idea. The mech was rambling on about the one mech Jazz didn’t want to hear about.

“Yeah I know. But listen, I gotta run. Stuff to do ya know. See ya around.” Jazz said as he got up, not giving Sideswipe any time to answer.

He needed to get out of here. Out of the Ark.

Prowl paced in his office as he waited for Sideswipe to arrive.

He had been up since 04h00 joors, and had already completed the routine night-shift datapads. He had been unable to recharge for more than two joors after he had been woken from the pain in his chest.

He raised a servo and once again touched the armour above his spark. The metal was still warm but not tender anymore, and thinking back Prowl could not remember if it had always felt like that, and if his over-active processor was telling him it was worse than usual simply because he suspected he might be carrying.

He stopped his pacing and pinched his nasal ridge. He suspected he might be carrying. He couldn’t think like that. The implications would be too high – he would be stripped of his rank, forced to voluntarily resign from the Autobots, sent to a neutral colony, face a tribunal, face his House and his sire, not to mention he would have to tell Ratchet and Optimus that he had lied and thereby lose their trust, and Jazz. Primus what would Jazz think?

His helm was beginning to ache again. It did not bode well for his orn and the stress that usually accompanied it.

He shook his helm as if trying to dislodge the helmache. Until he couldn’t see the newspark, all these thoughts were unnecessary stresses that he did not need.

In the meantime, he had an army to run.

Chapter Text

Prowl leaned on the centre tactical display as he ran through yet another scenario on reaching the planet Paradron undetected and within six decaorns. The planet could only be reached through a vortex, making it one of the safest Autobot-controlled planets and one of their main supply centres. It also made it vital that they enter undetected, otherwise an ambush laid out on their return could be devastating.

But despite the risk, Paradron had since the start of the war been a valuable Autobot outpost. Not only did it boast rich energon supplies, but it was also the host planet to one of the four Autobot academies.

Here they would be able to not only replenish their energon stock and their soldiers, but also obtain medical supplies, scientific supplies, general supplies such as microchips, solvents and any other supplies they might need.

They needed the stores before they were to start their return voyage to Cybertron. They, or more specifically, he also needed to assess the planet’s security measures and was hoping that the new security director was up to the task for assisting him.

The new security director would have had little more than two decaorn to settle into the Ark’s routine before they were scheduled to arrive at Paradron. He just fervently prayed to Primus that the Twins would at least behave for that decaorn.

And speaking of Twins…

“What do you require, Sideswipe?”

“The main tactical floor has been scrubbed, Sir. I require a new seam-brush before I can start on your office.”

Prowl stood and walked over to inspect the floor as Sideswipe waited for his verdict. He had spent four entire orns brushing the floor. By the end of the fourth, on Prowl’s inspection, he had declared that Sideswipe had missed some areas, and he was to start over. That had been three orns ago. So in all, he had been scrubbing the fragging tac's floor for seven orns. If Prowl said he should start over now...

“It is satisfactory. You may take leave for one joor only, collect the new seam-brushes and start with my office. Dismissed.” Prowl flicked his doorwings in dismissal.

Sideswipe barely managed to salute without a growl as he heard one of the junior tacticians snicker. Primus this was humiliating.

“Census, you may assist Sideswipe with the cleaning of the depository next orn.” Prowl stated calmly as he returned to working on his scenarios.

Sideswipe smiled broadly as he watched the smile disappear from ‘Census’ faceplate. Yeah take that ya slagger. He thought as he exited the Tactical Unit. Sometimes, just sometimes, Prowl wasn’t that bad.

After Sideswipe had exited, Prowl returned his full attention to the tactical board as he wanted to be done by the time Sideswipe returned. He did not trust the mech in his office.

He did not fear Sideswipe hacking into his console or stealing valuable information, in that Prowl knew the Twins to be trustworthy. But Sideswipe was vengeful and a genius with pranks, and he did not have the energy to deal with pranks.

Prowl worked for another half-joor before he was satisfied with a scenario that would ensure their safety through the vortex. He would see to the supply demands over the next two decaorns, and also review damage assessment on the Ark made by their engineers. Once he had that, he would be able to factor in how much time they needed to spend at the shipyard for necessary repairs and which repairs could wait for the Iacon shipyard.

He headed towards his office and sat down behind his desk. He absently rubbed a hand over his optic ridge as he continued working on the logistics. He needed to transfer some of the mechs as well, and also review lists of mechs they needed to take to Cybertron. He should not forget to hand the list to the new SD to run full-background checks.

Prowl frowned. Maybe he should run those himself, and then give them to the SD. It would be a good opportunity to evaluate the level of the new mech’s thoroughness.

Turning to his console, he retrieved the list sent through on a highly encrypted frequency. He leaned back in his chair and started the checks.

Sideswipe entered the recroom and immediately started looking for his golden twin. The bond had informed him that Sunstreaker was somewhere in this room, and he was anxious to spend some time with him, especially since Sunny had started talking to him again.

“Hey Sunshine!” Sideswipe said as he plonked himself down next to Sunstreaker.

Sunstreaker shot him a warning glare as he continued buffing a piece of his forearm armour. “You are done early.” He said as he inspected the piece before continuing again.

Sideswipe shrugged as he grabbed Sunstreaker’s energon and took a sip. “Nope, not really. Prowl gave me a joor off, then back to scrubbing his office.” He said as he placed the energon cube back onto the table.

“Lenient of him.”

“Yeah I know.” Sideswipe was quiet as he thought about the past seven orns in tactical. “He’s been acting a bit off lately. I can’t really place my finger on it, he just seems, I don’t know, tired the past two orns.”

Sunstreaker lifted a single optic ridge at Sideswipe as he moved to a different part of his already-gleaming golden armour.

Sideswipe sputtered. “Well, maybe not off, exactly. I mean he’s still the same stiff, rod-up-the-aft commander.” He hesitated. “Maybe he’s always like this. Primus, the mech has been there every orn before 07h00 joors. Even when I arrived earlier yesterorn to try and impress him, the mech was already there. Probably recharges in his office.”

“Stop that.”

“Hmm? What?” Sideswipe frowned at his twin as he kicked his pedes onto the table.

“Talking too much.”

“Excuse me.” Sideswipe rolled his optics before turning to the rest of the recroom. “Not a lot of action here today. Say, ya wanna spar before my break’s up?”

Sunstreaker cast him a murderous glare as he held up his polishing cloth.

“Fine.” Sideswipe sighed. “After our shift then.”

Sideswipe didn’t bother requesting entrance as he slipped into Prowl’s office. The mech had told him to start there, so he was technically following orders.

He turned towards the desk and stopped short.

Prowl was reclined in his chair, and apparently recharging on the job. He couldn’t wait to tell Sunstreaker that he had been right: Prowl apparently did recharge in his office.

He took a step towards the recharging tactician when Prowl’s optics onlined abruptly and focused sharply on him.

“Sideswipe, I expect you to request entry before entering my office. Am I clear?”

Maybe he wasn’t recharging…Sideswipe thought as he nodded before remembering he had to give a verbal response. “Uh, yes, sir, my apologies, sir.” He waited to hear what punishment Prowl would doll out to him, but instead Prowl simply motioned him to start at the other end of the office.

Prowl watched Sideswipe drag his pedes to the other end of the office and relaxed slightly. He had not even realised he had drifted into a light recharge until his doorwings notified him of movement in the room.

He had onlined abruptly to see Sideswipe standing just inside the door. His door chime should have alerted him to someone requesting entry, but since it had not, Prowl could only deduce that Sideswipe had neglected to use it. Typical of him.

Ensuring that Sideswipe had indeed started scrubbing the floor, Prowl returned to the task of performing background checks while he dedicated a part of his processor to send inventory requests out to Engineering, Science and Medical.

Thankfully the jobs did not require much processor power.

In his corner, Sideswipe continued scrubbing the floors in silence while he kept throwing worried glances at Prowl. He had nodded off twice, and he kept rubbing his helm. Maybe this was just how Prowl was? But for the life of him he couldn’t ever remember anybody mentioning Prowl being…tired. It was usually a running joke on the Ark that Prowl never recharged more than the bare minimum required to defrag - and that only because Ratchet had threatened him with medical leave.

Prowl nodded off a third time and Sideswipe had enough. “Uh, sir? Are you ok?” He asked tentatively as he got up, watching the mech shrewdly.

Prowl looked at him with his usual coolness, although Sideswipe imagined his optics were paler than they had previously been. “I am, thank-you.” He said and turned back to his console.

“If you’re sure…”

“Sideswipe, continue with your work and please do not disturb me.” Prowl ordered and Sideswipe huffed but did as he was told. Fine, it’s not any of my fragging business anyway. Sideswipe thought grumpily as he got back down on his knees and scrubbed vigorously at some menial spot on the floor.

Yet in the joors that followed, he kept a close optic on Prowl.

Chapter Text

Prowl’s internal alarm gradually pulled him from the realm of recharge and he groggily onlined his optics. He lay there until a second internal alarm went off. Sighing, he acknowledged that one too and stretched out languidly on the berth. Primus he was still so tired.

He gradually dragged himself out of his berth and headed to the washracks. Standing under the showerhead, he turned the heat up and chose his personal solvent mix. The hot liquid hit his frame and rolled off in small streams as he stood under the relaxing warmth, lost in his troubled thoughts.

He raised a hand and rubbed his chestplates. The plating was sensitive this morning. Again.

Sighing, he ran an internal diagnostic. Once again nothing showed on the diagnostics except a raised core temperature. But then again, he had been standing under hot solvent. He turned the temperature down and waited a few clicks before running a second diagnostic. His core temperature was dropping. Nodding to himself in satisfaction, he stepped out and stretched his wings.

He winced minutely as his doorwing joints gave a tiny twinge of pain. He must have lain on them in his recharge. Stretching them again to try and ease the pain, he grabbed a soft chamois and dried his frame, taking a few breems to polish and buff his frame. He might be tired, but he was not going to go out there looking tired.

He had already caught Sideswipe casting him curious glances, and he did not need that type of attention. The fact that a subordinate had found him recharging in his office while on duty had been mortifying to say the least. It was something Prowl did not intend to let happen again.

Looking at his reflection, Prowl gave a satisfied nod and headed towards his office. Sideswipe would be continuing to neatly arrange the datapads in the depository during his ‘punishment’ shift. While Census had aided him the previous two orns, Prowl had dismissed the younger tactician after a firm reprimand on work ethics and consideration of others, leaving Sideswipe to do the work alone.

Which meant that he would probably be watching Prowl again.

Prowl idly thought about ending Sideswipe’s punishment, but the truth was that since Sideswipe had started with his punishment duties in the Tactical Unit under Prowl’s direct supervision six orns ago, not one prank had occurred on the Ark.

For the present, peace reigned upon the Ark and Prowl intended to keep it that way at least until they reached Paradron.

And that meant keeping Sideswipe in the Tactical Unit busy sorting the various datapads or other jobs Prowl could think up of.

It was mid-orn when Sideswipe straightened and stretched, satisfied with the ‘popping’ sounds the emanated from his frame.

Prowl had his decaornly command meeting scheduled in ten breems, and Prowl had given Sideswipe the time to refuel and participate in weapons’ training. Primus he missed some action, although he would admit working in the Tactical Department had its benefits.

First off, he was busy – not with glamourous work, but busy nonetheless.

Secondly, the datapads he was currently compressing and uploading into the small memory-crystals were old battle scenarios that were re-analysed. It was interesting to view the battles from a flyer’s optic perception. He was used to only see his part on the frontlines, but seeing how the entire army acted throughout a battle was fascinating and he idly wondered if he should ask Prowl about some additional tactical training. Not to mention the extra tactical training could aide him in future pranks.

He smiled as he thought about it. Well, he could only ask. The status quo couldn’t go any worse than it was at the moment anyway – it could only get better if Prowl agreed.

“Sideswipe.”

“Hmm?” He turned his helm to look at the mech then quickly stood at attention. “Yes, sir?”

“At ease. You may go. I have informed your unit commander to expect you at training room three. You will be engaged in training activities for two joors, then you are to refuel for one joor. I expect you back in my office by 20h00 joors. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.” Sideswipe asked as he relaxed his stance. “May I ask a question, sir?”

Prowl lifted his chin as he regarded Sideswipe blankly. “You may.”

“What is the possibility that I may obtain further training in tactics, sir?”

Prowl stared at Sideswipe with calculating optics and it took everything in Sideswipe not to flinch. Screw the status quo, maybe it could get worse.

“I will take your request into consideration. Dismissed.”

Sideswipe saluted and wasted no time to flee the office.

Prowl watched him leave with suspicion blooming in his processor. Why on all of Cybertron would Sideswipe request further training in Tactical? Prowl set his processor to work on the possibility as he continued gathering the datapads he would need for the meeting.

He stepped out of the Tactical Unit and nearly collided with Jazz.

“Whoa, careful there, Prowler. Ya don’t wanna drop that stack of datapads now do you?” Jazz grinned at him as he helped steady Prowl. “Let me take some o’ those.”

“Good orn, Jazz. I would appreciate that.” Prowl nodded politely as he gladly handed over some of the datapads. They walked together in silence towards the Commander’s briefing room.

“So, I hear Sideswipe’s been scrubbing floors in Tact?” Jazz said casually after a few klicks.

“Scrubbed. He is currently uploading old tactical scenarios that I intend to give to the Academy as training exercises.”

“That’s good.” Was all Jazz could think of to say. Primus, being so close to Prowl and not touching or flirting was testing his self-control.

Thankfully, they reached the briefing room and entered, taking seats opposite each other as they greeted Optimus Prime.

Optimus watched as his second and third in command came into the briefing room and took opposite seats. He smiled and nodded politely at them as they continued waiting for the other officers to arrive.

Midriff came stalking in and Optimus caught the glowering look he cast at Prowl. He frowned as he watched the mech take a seat and created a reminder to talk with him. He would not tolerate such blatant displays of insubordination, no matter the circumstances.

His audios caught the slight rev of Jazz’s engines and he looked at the saboteur, surprised to see the stern expression he levelled at Midriff. He made a mental note to talk to Jazz as well.

Thankfully, it did not take long for the others to arrive and the meeting kicked off as usual with Prowl taking the lead.

Optimus leaned back as he watched Prowl gracefully articulate the logistics of what supplies they needed, of the new recruits he planned on bringing abroad the Ark, those he planned on rotating at the base, and any other details he deemed important.

He was ever thankful to Primus for that fateful battle that had brought the young then-lieutenant to his attention. The mech had been an asset wherever he had been placed. When he had asked Ultra Magnus to take command of the Wonderer, he had not hesitated to shift Prowl to the position of second-in-command, not only of his ship, but also of the Autobot army. The mech had excelled, and continued to excel.

Logistics had never been Optimus’s forte. He could plan and fight battles, encourage and lead, sympathise and give guidance, but logistics? No, he delegated that duty to those capable of doing it.

And there was not mech more capable than Prowl. It was one of the reasons he guarded Prowl so jealously. There simply wasn’t a mech he could think of that could replace Prowl. At least not to his processor.

Optimus surfaced from his musings when Prowl delivered the closing lines and asked the heads of the various divisions to have a complete list of needed supplies ready by the end of two decaorns.

Prowl turned to look directly at the Security Director. “Lastly, as I am sure you have all heard the rumours, I wish to make the official announcement that Security Director Midriff will be transferring to the Hinterland in five decaorns.” He turned towards Optimus and gave a small nod.

“Thank-you Prowl. Chief Midriff, I, and indeed the entire Ark thanks you for your services during your time stationed here. Though I am saddened that you have transferred, I am sure that you will be an asset to the Hinterland and her crew. Till all are one.”

The room echoed with the phrase and the mechs rose and started heading towards the exist, chatting excitedly about the planned stop at Paradron.

A ping from Jazz arrested his movements and he cast a questioning look at the saboteur, then at Prowl and Ratchet. He settled back into his chair and waited for the room to empty before he sent the codes to lock the door.

“Yes, Jazz?” Optimus asked as he indicated the Spec. Ops mech to proceed.

“I need to go off-ship for a while. It’s better that I get off before we hit the vortex that would take us to Paradron.”

“Why?” Prowl asked sharply and Optimus, along with the other three mechs present, turned to look at him in mild surprise. It was unusual for Prowl to use such a sharp tone, and Prowl obviously knew that if Optimus read the dip of his doorwings correctly.

“My apologies. I was unaware of any special missions planned for this time. It is of absolute importance that we go through the vortex undetected. If our plans have been compromised I need to know.”

Well, that made sense. “Of course, Prowl. You are justified in your reasoning. Jazz?”

Jazz sighed as he looked at Optimus. “Can’t really go into too much detail. Some of the intel that we received on a botched mission about two decaorns ago has some serious implications. It needs to be checked.”

“Is there no other agent you can send?” Prowl asked.

Jazz gave a crooked smile as he watched Prowl. “Nah, not for this mission. But I’ll re-join you once you’re heading back to Cybertron. I don’t expect this mission to stretch longer than ten or eleven quartexes.

Prowl gave a terse nod and Optimus watched the two. He knew Prowl hated not being in the know, and his previous concern of Jazz’s departure sealed his intent. “Jazz, I want you to discuss your plans for leaving the Ark with Prowl. Before you leave.”

Optimus levelled a mock glare at Jazz, and Jazz returned it with a cheeky smile. “Sure thing Boss Bot.”

“And don’t you slagging dare go without my clearance!” Ratchet growled and Jazz turned towards him with a nod. “If you’re open now, we could get this dusted and done with.” Jazz looked at Optimus for permission to go.

Optimus smiled and looked around the table, noting the slightly pressed lips of Prowl. “The rest of you may leave. Prowl?” Optimus made the question an order and Prowl obediently remained.

Once the room had emptied of all mechs save the two of them, Optimus let his smile fade as he looked with open concern at his SIC.

“Is everything alright, Prowl?” Optimus asked gently.

“Yes, sir.” Prowl replied promptly and Optimus barely kept himself from sighing in frustration. As much as he valued Prowl and the mech’s skills, his personality wasn’t the easiest to work with when it came to personal levels.

“Let me rephrase, Prowl. What is bothering you?” Optimus leaned forward and waited for Prowl to answer, noting the tenseness of the jaw and the distant-look in his optics.

Prowl raked his processor for something to say that would disperse Prime’s concerns without outright lying. The last thing he could tell the Prime was that he suspected he was carrying. Despite the career-implications, Optimus would also demand to know who the sire is, and that would lead to his and Jazz’s affair, or rather their past affair.

He looked at Optimus and saw the evident concern. A plan started to form in his processor, one he had already thought about before this whole ordeal started. His spark twisted as he knew he would be shielding the truth within the next few moments, but then again, if it turned out that he wasn’t carrying it wouldn’t be a lie, or half-truth. If he was carrying, it would perhaps be a way to keep the Autobots from knowing his secrets…

“To be honest, Optimus, I am missing my brothers. Bluestreak would be graduating from the Autobot Academy at Crystal City by the end of the vorn.” Truth. “I would like to be there for his graduation.” Truth. “If you would perhaps consider granting me leave for three quartexes once we return to Cybertron, I…” he stalled, this was not exactly a lie, but it was hiding the truth with another truth which made it only half a truth… and it was from a mech that trusted him completely, from a friend. Prowl raised a hand to his helm as the ache returned. He felt torn, at the brink of breaking down. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt so out of control of his emotions and so vulnerable at the same time.

Optimus watched Prowl with growing concern as the mech hesitated and raised a hand to his helm. Maybe he had been expecting too much from Prowl? His spark clenched at the thought of not having noticed sooner the stress which Prowl was under. “Of course I will grant you leave if circumstances permit it. You have served this ship beyond what I had expected or hoped, and I know your family will appreciate the time spent with them. Send me the appropriate forms, and I will sign them.”

“Thank-you, sir.” Prowl said softly, but didn’t meet his optics. He frowned, maybe something else was wrong. “Prowl, when was the last time you saw Ratchet?”

Prowl’s doorwings shot up and he dropped his hand. “Seven decaorns ago, as per the normal routine check-ups, sir.”

Optimus narrowed his optics as he watched Prowl’s reaction, his suspicions confirmed by Prowl’s reactions. “Prowl, please make an appointment with Ratchet.” He got up and Prowl mimicked him. Walking towards Prowl, he laid a hand on his shoulder. “Prowl, you are very valuable to the Autobots.” He squeezed and let go, walking out of the room.

Prowl slowly sank into his chair as Optimus left the room and dropped his helm into his hands.

Chapter Text

Two orns later, Prowl nervously headed towards Ratchet’s lair as he begged Primus to intervene or do something to save him from this predicament. If Optimus was to find out he was carrying…it would be a personal betrayal to a mech who has only been good to him.

Maybe he should come clean, tell them he is a carrier and let them decide what they would. His spark recoiled at the idea and he quickly shelved it. Maybe the results would come back negative and prove that the tenderness of his chestplates were only thought-up symptoms, that his constant fatigue was due to being stressed over the new Security Director and the logistics of resupplying, and…

Prowl abruptly stopped and backed-up as soon as he rounded the corridor to that of the medbay. He dialled down on his nasal-receptors as the smell of disinfectants made his tank lurch. Primus since when did Ratchet use so much disinfectant?

Giving himself a moment to become accustomed to the overpowering smell and the nauseous feeling to subside, he drew up his wings into a tight ‘V’ and headed through the medbay doors.

Ratchet stood waiting with his arms folded over his broad chest and a deep frown decorating his faceplate. “So Optimus asked me to see you. Mind telling me why?”

“I believe I am overstressed.” Lie…or maybe half-truth.

“Mmmm. That’s nothing new. What else?” Ratchet glowered as he motioned Prowl to sit on the berth.

Prowl clenched his fists as he took a seat and waited for Ratchet to start the scans. His battle computer supplied him with the best course of action to divulge some of the truth while keeping his own suspicions secret. Just in the slim case he wasn’t carrying. “My doorwing joints are stiff and they are causing me some discomfort. Also, I have been experiencing helm-aches of late, but that may be due to Sideswipe.”

Ratchet gave a bark of laughter as he acknowledged that statement. “Yes, just looking at that little fragger is enough to give one a helm-ache.” He tapped one of Prowl’s dataports. “Open up.”

Prowl obediently slid the dataport open and waited for Ratchet to connect, clamping down on the nervousness. Once the medic was connected, Ratchet waited patiently for Prowl to lower his firewalls. “I’ll just be checking your antivirus, and then your sensory net to get a diagnostic of your doorwings. Are there any other specific coding you wanted me to look at?”

“No.” Prowl answered and highlighted the way for Ratchet to his sensory net log, uncomfortably aware he was deliberately trying to deceive Ratchet, even though he knew it to be a futile attempt.

“Ok.” Ratchet growled as he retrieved the data. “I’m going to run a diagnostic as well.”

Prowl simply nodded and waited, trying his best to keep the flicker of nervousness from breaching his firewalls. The last thing he needed was for Ratchet to pick up on those emotions. It felt like an eternity until the diagnostics were done and he waited for the inevitable death-knell.

“Your temperature is higher than it should be.” Ratchet said as he unplugged. “Everything else comes back normal. Well, almost everything.” He compressed his lips and looked away before venting hard.

Prowl felt the nausea return as he watched Ratchet, his spark racing as he realised that this was it. This was the part he had been dreading. “What is it, Ratchet?”

Ratchet looked at him and frowned. “This ain’t going to be easy for me to say, maybe if you were any other mech, but knowing that you are a private mech, well.” Ratchet hesitated.

“Just say it, Ratchet!” Prowl ordered as he looked to the side, unable to face the medic.

“Your spark-energy is too high. Higher than is normal for a mech of your frame.” Ratchet began and Prowl felt his spark drop. So he was carrying. Increased spark-energy was a sure sign. He shuttered his optics and looked down, waiting for Ratchet to tell him that they needed to tell Optimus, that he had to leave the Autobots behind and everything he cared about and worked so hard to achieve. He forced himself to listen to what Ratchet was saying.

“At the stage you are at, it’s not really a problem. But the longer you give it to grow, well, you got to fix it.”

Prowl looked at Ratchet, shocked that he would refer to it as a problem that needed to be fixed. Was Ratchet honestly suggesting he terminate his sparkling, Jazz’s sparkling? “I beg your pardon?”

Ratchet looked at Prowl uncomfortably. “Look. I know you aren’t comfortable with something like this…”

“You are absolutely correct I am not.”

Ratchet ignored him as he continued “…but it needs to be done. Just to dispel the charge.”

Prowl continued to stare at Ratchet coldly, his anger rising at the medic.

Ratchet threw his arms up at the notorious glacial look he was currently the recipient of. “Slag it all Prowl. If you want to overload yourself then just do it!”

Prowl reset his optics and replayed Ratchet’s last sentence. “Overload?” He asked incredulously. To dispel the charge? But he was told that it was beneficial…

“Yes, Prowl. To dissipate the charge. Most mechs have this problem and it’s why they interface on a casual basis. I’m not telling you to spark-share or some such slag.”

“You mean I just need to interface with someone to dispel some excess pent-up charge?” Prowl asked in disbelief. He suddenly felt dizzy and he grabbed the edges of the berth to keep from falling over. Ratchet hadn’t detected anything. Maybe it was pseudocyesis...his secret was safe.

“Prowl?” Ratchet asked as he stepped forward.

“I’m not really intimate with any one at this stage and I’m not really in favour of…helping…myself.”

Ratchet sighed. “I have a few that I would recommend, but due to your level of command it might be difficult.”

Prowl shook his helm. He did not want anyone touching him. “No, I would rather do it myself than have...No. Thank-you.”

Ratchet pursed his lips and nodded. “Well, now that that’s settled, moving on to other health concerns. Your fuel levels aren’t at acceptable levels. You actually need to refuel, you know. Regularly.” He headed towards a medical cabinet and grabbed a cube.

Prowl watched Ratchet return with the cube and felt like purging. He forced himself to take it as Ratchet handed it to him.

“Well, drink up.” Ratchet nodded to the cube as he placed his hands on his hips expectantly.

Prowl took a deep vent and downed the fuel. He grimaced at the horrible taste, but continued drinking until it was empty. He handed the empty cube back to Ratchet and clenched his jaw, willing the nausea to subside.

“Ok. I’m booking you off for the rest of the orn, go get some rest and take care of your problem.”

“Thank-you, medic.” Prowl said as he stood and headed to his quarters.

Prowl barely made it in time to his private washracks before purging the contents of his tank all over the floor. Leaning back against the wall, he turned the shower on to clean the mess. As he stood under the solvent, his thoughts returned to Ratchet’s assessment. He had said Prowl’s ‘spark-energy’ was too high, and that this was ‘normal’, but this was the first time that Prowl had ever experienced …whatever this was. And he had been told that 'spark energy' that were higher than normal for an extended period of time was one of the early signs that a mech was carrying. What if Ratchet’s assessment had been wrong? Then again Ratchet was not testing for a sparkling. He had no reason to be suspicious since carriers were forbidden in Autobot ranks. What if he was sparked? But then again what if it was pseudocyesis?

Prowl whined as he rested his helm back against the wall. The more he thought about it, the more he believed that he was showing real ‘symptoms’ of being sparked, not just false symptoms. But maybe, just maybe he wasn’t, or he would lose the newspark since Jazz had no intention of ‘contributing’ his fluids for the newspark's sustenance and development. He grimaced at the thought and protectively covered his chest with his arms. He didn’t want to lose his sparklet.

He turned off the solvent and stepped into his quarters, exhausted from the emotional stress. He headed towards his berth with the intention to recharge for a joor then getting some fuel, but before he could act on it his internal comm went off.

::Heya Prowler.::

Prowl stopped short and threw back his helm in disbelief. Of all the mechs to contact him, it would be Jazz. Jazz who was leaving for a mission that could not be given to another mech. He felt anger bubble up in him and he suppressed the urge to scream at Jazz.

::Prowl?::

He took a few calming vents and considered ignoring the hail, but logic prevailed.

::What can I do for you, Jazz::

::You’re not in your office, and I kinda need to go through the mission planning with you.::

Prowl shuttered his optics as he felt himself gain more control over his emotions. ::I am currently in my quarters. Ratchet has placed me on medical leave for the orn, however, we can still discuss the mission.::

::You ok?:: Jazz asked and Prowl caught the sound of genuine worry in his voice.

Do not do this to me. Prowl silently begged.

::Yes. It is minor.::

There was a pause over the line before Jazz answered. ::Ok, I’ll head your way.:: The line closed and Prowl stared at the opposite wall, not really seeing anything.

Drawing in a deep vent, he headed towards his desk and arranged the chairs so that Jazz was seated opposite him, with a desk between them. Outside of his groping reach.

The entry request sounded and Prowl sent the command to open the door.

“Hey Prowl.” Jazz said and looked him up and down.

For some reason Prowl found that the action irritated him beyond reason.

“Jazz.” He nodded tersely and motioned Jazz to the seat across him.

Jazz lifted a optic ridge and silently moved towards the indicated chair. “If this is a bad time, I could come next shift?”

“No, I would prefer to get this done with.” Prowl said as he sat down opposite Jazz and onlined a datapad.

“Prowl?”

“What is it, Jazz?” Prowl snapped as he raised burning optics glare at Jazz.

“This isn’t like you. One click your fine the next ya wanne rip my helm off. What’s going on?” He asked gently, extending his field to overlap with Prowl’s.

Prowl’s doorwings drooped as he looked to the side, ashamed that he was so open with his emotions and angry that he couldn’t control them. “I am under a lot of stress at the moment Jazz, I apologise that I am not myself at the moment.”

Jazz reached out and laid his hand over Prowl’s. “You’ve been in more stressful situations than this, and I’ve never seen you act like this.”

Prowl pressed his lips together. He has never been in a more stressful situation than this. “Jazz, are you leaving because of what happened between us?”

He felt Jazz’s field flicker before settling again. He hoped Jazz would tell him the truth.

“No Prowl. This mission is important and at the moment I am the best mech for the job.”

Prowl knew Jazz was lying. But then again, could he blame Jazz? He had been lying to both Optimus and Ratchet. And to a small extent Jazz, but Prowl’s processor had the juvenile thought that Jazz deserved to be lied to.

Jazz squeezed Prowl’s hand and he looked back at Jazz.

He wasn’t smiling. “Prowl, I will admit that I am thankful for some space between us. We’re both senior officers of the Autobot’s command team, not just the Ark’s. We’re targets and,” He hesitated and Prowl felt his field flicker again, but this time he also felt some nervousness, “I care about you a great deal. Probably more than is safe. If we were to be in a serious relationship and I was caught…Prowl, I don’t need to tell you the implications.”

Prowl stared at Jazz with a sinking spark, knowing that what he said was not only the truth, but it was logical. “I understand, Jazz. Once again I apologise for my actions. Now, shall we continue?”

Jazz smiled as he let go of Prowl’s hand. “There’s my Prowl.”

Chapter Text

Prowl and Jazz continued working on the plans for a couple of joors until they were both satisfied with a workable, viable plan. Jazz pushed his chair back and stretched his legs, crossing them at the ankles as he threw Prowl a charming grin.

“So as soon as we dock with the Hinterland, I’ll dock my own little ship under her radars and then after a coupla joors, I’ll break off and head out. Simple yet classic.”

“That is the basics.” Prowl nodded as he stood. Suddenly his world spun and  he grabbed the edge of the desk trying to steady himself. For a dizzying moment he felt the room tip over and blur.

The world eventually cleared and steadied. He felt something support him and looked up, only to realize a very concerned-looking Jazz was the reason he had not toppled over. Well, this was certainly embarrassing.

“Prowl? Are you sure you’re fine?” Jazz asked as Prowl became hyper-aware of the warmth radiating through his frame at the exact places Jazz was holding him.

“Will you please stop asking me that?” Prowl said as he straightened to try and get away from the warmth, but Jazz didn’t loosen his hold and Prowl shot him an annoyed look. “I only need to refuel. My levels are low.”

Jazz reluctantly loosened his hold on Prowl, but continued to watch the Praxian closely. “Here.” He said and unsubspaced a cube.

Prowl shook his head as he braced himself against the desk. “It is your ration. I will retrieve my own.”

“Mech, I don’t think you’ll reach the recroom in the state you’re in. If your fuel levels are so low, why didn’t Ratchet give you any?”

He did. Prowl thought, but shrugged a doorwing. “He told me to refuel more often, but I became too caught up in our planning...”

“And that is why you are going to drink this.” Jazz said as he took Prowl’s hand and pressed the cube into it.

Prowl eyed the cube like it was some kind of vile potion. The smell made him nauseous, but if he didn’t drink it Jazz would only call Ratchet in. And he honestly did not want to go to the recroom. If the smell of a single cube was enough to upset him, he didn’t want to know what the graveolent smell of energon hovering throughout the room might do. Maybe a compromise…? “I’ll drink half of it, and then you can drink the other half. Is that acceptable?”

Jazz nodded and gestured to the cube.

Prowl braced himself internally and sipped slowly on the cube. Like the one in medbay, this cube tasted horrible, but Prowl managed not to grimace as he got to the ‘half’ mark and handed the cube back to Jazz. “Thank-you.”

“No prob.” Jazz said as he resealed the cube and subspaced it. A tiny drop of energon on Prowl’s lip caught Jazz’s attention, and on impulse he lifted his hand and wiped it off.

Prowl looked wearily up at him, but didn’t move away. They stood frozen, staring at each other with flicker of desire glinting in their optics.

Jazz moved his thumb in a smooth caress up and down Prowl’s cheek, mesmerised by the act before slowly moving down and tracing Prowl’s lips.

Prowl’s optics darkened and he leaned into the touch.

Don’t…Jazz’s processor whispered, but Jazz was never one to listen. He moved his hand down and gently cupped Prowl’s chin, angling his helm up as he leaned in and placed a soft, chaste kiss on Prowl’s lips. He pulled back slightly, watching for any signs of hesitance or resistance from Prowl. If Prowl made even the smallest sound of objection he would stop, but there was none. Smiling, he leaned forward again and fitted their lips together in a well-known, passionate dance.

Prowl came alive under Jazz’s mouth and he felt the Praxian’s slender hands grip his shoulder and pull him closer, their frames pushing into each other in a bid to touch.

Jazz’s glossa played along Prowl’s lips before pressing between them. He needed so badly to taste Prowl; to experience him. He was rewarded when Prowl opened his mouth and their tastes blended. Jazz moaned at the heady taste as he deepened the kiss, his arousal spiking as he snaked his arms around Prowl’s waste and rubbed their hips together. He broke the kiss and grinned down into Prowl’s flushed face. “Primus mech, you taste so good.” Jazz said as he pressed his helm against Prowl. “If you want to stop…”

Jazz’s words were cut off as Prowl pressed their lips together again, only to brake it a click later. “Berth.” He ordered and Jazz happily complied, pulling him towards the berth.

Prowl laid spread out beneath him and he revelled at the sight of so much trust. He locked their lips again, drinking in the unique sweetness that was all Prowl as he settled on top, running his hands seductively over Prowl’s wings while sending gentle magnetic pulses.

Prowl broke the kiss as he arched against Jazz, his helm falling back at the pleasurable sensations running through his wings.

Jazz stared at him. “So beautiful” he whispered as his interface panel slid open, extending his pressurised spike.

Prowl moaned as he felt Jazz’s stiff spike rub against his interface panel. His panel slid open, already wet and eagerly awaiting the familiar fullness of Jazz’s spike.

Jazz didn’t waste time as he slipped his spike into the ready, tight valve.

Prowl arched his hips as Jazz sheathed himself fully inside of Prowl, his mouth parted and his vents dragging air into his overheating frame. “Primus, you feel so good.” He breathed as Jazz gently rolled his hip in and out, knowing that Prowl preferred a slow-build.

Jazz mouthed Prowl’s jawline, moving up to his lips as he increased his speed, capturing and swallowing the delectable moans Prowl emitted with each thrust.

Prowl wrapped his legs around Jazz as Jazz rode him, his hands lightly stroking the base of the sensitive sensory horns. Jazz groaned in approval and he pressed his helm into Prowl’s neck, enjoying the attention to those sensitive appendages.

He could feel Prowl’s overload building, and he deliberately held back on his own. He wanted to see Prowl come undone first. He raised himself so that Prowl couldn’t reach his horns.

Prowl gave a small whimper when he felt Jazz pull away slightly, but it turned to a moan as Jazz thrust harder and faster. “Nng…Jazz…so close…” He gasped and Jazz took it as encouragement.

He wanted to wait for Jazz, but the sensations cascading through his frame made it near impossible to hold back, to even think.

Jazz saw Prowl’s reserve and lifted his mouth to Prowl’s audio as he maneuverer his fingers’ over Prowl’s doorwing joints. He needed Prowl to go over the edge first.

“Let go for me.” He whispered and pressed his fingers into the sensitive joints.

Prowl cried out as his frame arched and stiffened, his valve clenching around Jazz’s length. Jazz groaned and held back his own overload with immense effort. He wouldn’t miss his favourite part of the show.

Jazz pulled his fingers out of the joints and watched as Prowl’s wings shot up and flared, fluttering back and forth exotically as he rode out his overload. It was the only time he ever saw Prowl lose control of his doorwings, and it was the most erotic thing for him to know that he was the only one allowed to watch it.

Jazz watched the delectable wings flare again, felt the heat of that tight valve clinging to his spike and couldn’t hold back anymore. He gave his own feral cry as he ejaculated into Prowl.

Prowl groaned in pleasure as he cherished the feeling of Jazz’s hot fluids coating the inside of him. He shuttered his optics as he felt Jazz pump the last of his transfluids into him. He felt Jazz give him another kiss before pulling out and settling next to him. Prowl rolled onto his side and tiredly unshuttered his optics as he stared at Jazz, his field warm and sated. “Thank-you.” He whispered reverently.

Jazz smiled at Prowl as he pulled him closer, throwing his arm over Prowl as he tucked the tactician under his chin. “I think we both needed that.” Prowl nodded and Jazz watched as Prowl shuttered his optics and pressed into him, his systems gently cycling down for recharge.

Jazz lay there for about a joor as he absently traced figures over Prowl’s doorwing, enjoying the sight and feel of the mech curled up to him, deep in a sated recharge. “Seems like I just can’t stay away from you, Sweetspark,” Jazz whispered, “and the problem is that you’ll be far better off without me.” Jazz placed a soft kiss on Prowl’s chevron and gently extracted himself.

He unsubspaced the half-empty cube and placed it on the desk before he silently exited Prowl’s quarters.

Chapter Text

Prowl woke the next orn feeling more rested and energised than he had the previous decaorn. He stretched out and turned to the side, not surprised that Jazz wasn’t there, but once again he couldn’t stop the feeling of disappointed making itself known.

He shuttered his optics in irritation as his HUD sent him a warning ping to refuel, stating dangerously low fuel levels. Prowl acknowledged it and sat up, but the moment he laid optics on the half-empty cube of energon sitting innocently on his side table, he bolted for the washracks.

He barely made it before ungraciously emptying the remainder of his tanks as he fell on his knees. Never before had he been more thankful for private washracks as he was at that moment. If he had to display this kind of behaviour in the communal washracks, Ratchet would be breathing down his doorwings, not to mention the loss of respect that would garner among the troops.

Prowl stayed on his knees until he was sure he wouldn’t purge again, his throat burning from the half-processed fuel. He haltingly stood up and ordered the shower on as he thought about the past few decaorns and the strange symptoms he had been experiencing.

He looked down at the washracks and grimaced at the traces of regurgitated energon being washed into the drain. Scratch that, he wasn’t disappointed that Jazz wasn’t in his berth this morning. To the contrary, he was utterly thankful he wasn’t present! If Jazz saw him purge his tanks like this, he would…Prowl paused and frowned as he stared at the floor. What would Jazz do?

He was spared from pondering the thought when he received another, more insistent ping from his HUD that his fuel levels were at critical level, and he either needed to refuel immediately or risk being slapped into emergency stasis. Groaning, he turned the shower off and pushed off the wall, and then felt the world sway.

He waited till the room stabilised, cursing softly at his weakness and stupidity.

Well, after such a good time in the berth, the morning after was probably penitence. He thought sullenly as he staggered back to the side table using the walls to support him. He bit down on his nausea as he took the cube in his hands. Either he drink it, or he goes into stasis.

He would prefer not going into stasis.

Stasis meant Ratchet, and Prowl was sure that he would not get away with his by now strongly suspected secret intact a second time from the medic.

He slowly sipped at the energon as he shuttered his optics. It helped when he didn’t see the cube, but the smell…

Prowl gagged and he quickly placed the cube back on the side table as he took a seat on his berth. Thankfully he didn’t purge what little energon he had gotten into his tank. He checked his levels and sagged as he realised he at least needed to finish that cube before he could head to the recroom to retrieve his morning ration. He eyed the ominous looking liquid with disdain. Bracing himself, he reached for the cube again and sipped, even slower this time.

His symptoms were worse than he thought they would be. The chances still existed that it was pseudocyesis, but Prowl had his doubts. It was not like he desired this carrying, so his processor had no reason to fool his frame into reacting like he was carrying. In addition, the symptoms had been too constant, and coupled with the ‘extra spark energy’ as Ratchet had said pretty much squelched the dwindling hope that he wasn’t carrying.

He cut that specific line of thoughts as he continued to sip at the cube and forced himself to think of how he was going to get through the orn. Currently, he was feeling dizzy and nauseas, but thankfully not as fatigued as usual.

He frowned as he realised he could not appear at the Tactical Unit in the state he was in for someone, and that Someone specifically being a Red, Large, Juvenile Frontliner, was bound to notice. Once Sideswipe knew something was wrong, the whole Ark would probably know in a matter of clicks. Yet staying away would only signal that something was indeed wrong, and that would bring a ticked-off Ratchet beating on his door.

So he had to go to the Tactical Unit. Maybe if he did not move around too much his tanks would settle. He could also try refuelling slowly throughout the orn on one cube instead of drinking it during refuelling times. It might keep the nausea at bay.

And speaking of drinking one cube an orn, he still needed to fetch his ration. He absently tapped a staccato beat as he thought of a way to side-step the recroom. He could use the one in the command centre…where Optimus would be. But Optimus would ask him how he is doing, and he was not sure if he could lie to Optimus again. It was not in his nature to be dishonest and it was already grating on him that he was deceiving his fellow comrades.

His battle computer presented him with an alternative and Prowl’s lips twitched up at the corners. That would do.

“Hey Sides. How’s your, uh, extra duty going?” Hound asked politely as he stood next to Sideswipe in the recroom, waiting for the frontliner to finish collecting his ration, or rather, rations.

“I’ve officially been relegated to the fuel-mech.” He said grumpily as he entered the code Prowl had given him into the dispenser.

Hound eyed the second cube and smiled broadly. “Well, I have to admit it’s not very original, but I guess it keeps you busy.”

Sideswipe scowled at Hound’s unsympathetic words as he took the cubes. “Whatever. I’ve been collecting his rations for the past decaorn. One cube at the start of his shift, one cube during mid-shift fuelling break, and one at the end of his shift.”

Hound furrowed his optic ridges as he thought about the amount of fuel Prowl was taking. “That’s quite a lot, isn’t it?”

Sideswipe shrugged. “Haven’t really thought about it. Two cubes an orn are the norm for any mech. Prowl drinks his first cube at the start of his shift, then he splits the second between his mid- and end-of-shift refuel times. So it’s not really more than any other mech.”

Hound nodded, but his face contorted in bafflement. “I always thought Prowl was rumoured to barely drink his rations. Guess we were wrong hey?”

Sideswipe frowned as he thought about Hound’s words. “Yeah, guess we were, but I have to go since the rumour mill hasn’t been wrong about the mech’s sense of punctuality. See you around, Hound.”

Hound chuckled and shook his helm as stepped towards the dispenser. “You too, Sides, you too.”

Sideswipe exited the recroom and headed towards the Tactical Unit, Hound’s words milling around in his processor. It had been a decaorn since Prowl had commed him and asked him to bring his morning ration to him in his office. Of course Sideswipe had put of his usual arguments against being a fuel-mech, since he was actually a frontline. In the end he had complied, thinking it would be a once-off. But then Prowl had continued asking him to retrieve his rations. All his rations.

Why wasn’t Prowl retrieving it himself? There was a dispenser on the command deck for the officer’s use, so why send him to get it? Maybe it was part of his punishment? But then again Prowl had not really been himself lately, or maybe he had been himself lately and it was only now that Sideswipe realised that Prowl actually did function like the rest of them.

Sideswipe frowned as he stepped inside the elevator which would take him to the deck on which the Tactical Unit was located. No one else seemed to notice anything odd in Prowl’s behaviour, but then again no one else was really looking. But was he looking?

What if something was wrong with their SIC, but everyone was too busy with their own stuff to notice or care? Sideswipe might not always like Prowl or his methods, but he owed Prowl. More than that, out of all the bases and ships they had been stationed on, Prowl had always been the fairest and seemed to look out for him and his brother. So maybe he was unconsciously returning the favour?

Sideswipe shook his head as the elevator pinged. “Stop thinking so hard, you might just crash your processor.” He murmured softly to himself as he stepped off and headed to Tactical.

He would just have to keep an optic on Prowl, and then talk to Sunny after his shift about this whole mess. His brother would probably be able to tell him he was imagining things.

Optimus sat in the briefing room and waited for the mechs to treacle in for their decaornly meeting.

He nodded pleasantly to Ironhide and Ratchet as they came through the door, talking rather animatedly about, as far as Optimus could deduct, the virtuous of shooting versus throwing wrenches at incompetent mechs to enforce discipline and common sense.

Optimus lifted an optic ridge at the two, but they only nodded in greeting and returned to their ebullient ramblings.

Optimus watched them with an amused glint in his optics, deliberating if he should enter the discussion and remind them of the virtue of the Autobot code of conduct and ethics when a brief, but strong, impression from the Matrix made Optimus look up, straight into Prowl. The Matrix thrummed again as Optimus continued to discreetly watch his Second-in-command take his seat across Ratchet.

Prowl turned his helm towards him, and Optimus was suddenly struck with the sensation that Prowl was somehow different. “Prowl.” Optimus said stately by means of greeting as he inclined his helm, shrewd optics not leaving his SIC’s faceplate.

“Sir.” Prowl returned softly, but said nothing else as he turned his attention to the datapad he had brought with him.

Optimus’s gaze lingered on him for a few more clicks before he turned his attention back to the door and the arriving mechs, but even though he greeted every officer that came in, his attention remained riveted to the tactician. There was something about him that caused the Matrix to respond towards him, and Optimus wanted to know what.

The meeting progressed as usual, with all the officers reporting back on their departments, the plans for the upcoming rendezvous with the Hinterland being given and lastly reported Decepticon activity.

Of course Prowl, as head of Tactical, had been the one leading the discussions and it afforded Optimus the opportunity to study him.

For all appearances Prowl looked fine, though perhaps a bit more drawn than usual. Optimus put that down to stress and made a note to talk with Ratchet. He doubted there was anything seriously wrong, or Ratchet would have reported it, but he still couldn’t shake the feeling or the Matrix’s impression that something was up.

Finally the meeting wound down and the mechs started leaving.

“Command?” Optimus called and his top five commanders remained seated as the others took their leave. When they were finally alone, he turned towards his two top officers. “Prowl, Jazz, I trust you have finalised your mission plans?”

“Yip. Got what we needed.” Jazz said and shot Prowl a mischievous smile.

Prowl flicked a wing at him and turned to Optimus. “The mission’s success rate is satisfactory, and the details for Jazz’s departure has been finalised.”

Optimus nodded as he turned back to Jazz, amused at the two officers. At first he had been afraid to let the two work together, but once again the Matrix had given the impression that the two would make an excellent team.

Optimus had to admit that they turned out to be an extraordinary team. The missions they planned together tended to have a higher success rate, and Prowl tended to be a lot more relaxed after one of their planning sessions. He could only assume that Jazz provided an adequate – and much-needed – challenge for Prowl’s highly sophisticated battle computer. However, when it came to Jazz’s missions, Optimus had quickly realised that they were loath to share details, and as such he never asked them to expand. As was the case now.

“Very well. When will you be leaving?”

Jazz shrugged as he threw a disarming grin at Optimus. “Soon enough, sir.”

Optimus returned the smile and didn’t ask him to elaborate. “Then that is all. Thank-you, gentlemechs.”

::Prowl?:: Optimus sent a tight comm to the tactician.

Prowl looked at him and for a moment Optimus thought he saw something like fear flint through Prowl’s optics. He continued staring at him, but saw no trace of that emotion. Maybe he had simply imagined it.

They waited until all the mechs had left before Prowl raised an optic ridge at Optimus.

“Yes, sir?” He asked as he remained seated.

Optimus paused. Exactly what did he want to ask? He knew asking Prowl why he was different without knowing exactly what that different meant would only serve to confuse the poor mech. “How are you?” He asked instead.

Prowl remained passive as he looked at Optimus blankly. “I am well, thank-you. Medic Ratchet has only given me the usual reprimand of not refuelling adequately on a regular basis and suggested some recreational activities that might be beneficial for my health.”

“Recreational activities?” Optimus asked in the hope that Prowl might elaborate, since for the life of him he couldn’t imagine what Prowl would do for recreation.

“Yes.” Prowl nodded and waited stoically.

So much for that. Optimus thought. He felt the Matrix brush up to him again and decided to go with his gut feeling that something was not completely right with the tactician. “Prowl, I consider you my friend, not just an officer. Please know that you may always come to me if something is wrong or bothering you. If it is within my power, I will help you. That I promise you.”

Prowl’s doorwings dipped and he looked down at the table. Optimus waited in the hope that Prowl would trust him enough to divulge what was bothering him. After what felt like breems, Prowl raised his impassionate optics to him.

“I will keep that in mind, sir.”

Chapter Text

Prowl wearily locked the door to his quarters as he stumbled to the couch. It had been a few taxing orns since his meeting with Optimus. It only made him feel worse for what he was beginning to see as the grand betrayal, but Prowl did not want to leave the Autobots.

He needed to be here where he was useful, where his skills with tactics and logistics can be used to the fullest. Not forced to move to some colony where he would at the most only be allowed for support services, and this not because he wasn't qualified or had a sparkling, but because the law forbid it. Optimus's law.

He sighed as he sank into the couch and absently rubbed soothing circles along his chestplates. He had to start thinking of the future instead of letting everything bog him down. Firstly, he would have to abide by the law, no matter his personal preference, and that meant he would have to start thinking of telling Optimus. It was not something he was looking forward to.

He dropped his hand and leaned back into the sofa. Maybe he should wait before he tells Optimus until he is without a doubt sure he is sparked. According to his calculations, he would know during their second decaorn at Paradron. They were leaving at the end of the third.

He briefly entertained the idea of remaining behind, since Paradron was one of the colonies accepting carriers and sparkling. It was actually a very good choice for raising his sparkling since the planet was well-defended with an Automatic Planetary Defence System and was accessible only through the Paradronian Vortex. It also had the Paradron Planetary Defence Force, which might have a position open for him since they were not actively involved with the Autobots, but were supplementary services which saw to the planet's defence and to the judiciary system. By helping to keep Paradron safe, he would inadvertently help in keeping the Autobots well-supplied and keep one of their most valuable bases safe.

And as to his sparkling, the youngling centres were more than adequate, and the PPDF even had their own youngling centre located at their headquarters. Granted they taught the younglings more about Paradon and its history than about that of Cybertron, but he could rectify that situation. The main point was that there his sparkling would be safe, and he could to some extent remain useful to the Autobots's cause.

The only problem with staying behind was that he would miss Bluestreak's graduation, and he had promised to be there. Besides his promise, he also wanted to be there.

Of course if they knew the reason he wouldn't be there, they would not object nor blame him, but Prowl did not know when he would be able to see them again if he decided to stay. And as irrational as it sounded, Prowl craved their support. He could always convince Smokescreen to join him if he chose to return to Pradron, even if it was just for a vorn or two until Prowl had settled in with the sparkling.

"You in there, Prowler?"

Prowl started as he heard Jazz's voice. Had he drifted off again without realising? Probably. He let his helm fall back on the couch as he debated if he should let Jazz in or not. He really wasn't in the mood fr interfacing.

"Prowl? You alright?"

Prowl through a hard glare at the door as he realised that he wouldn't be able to ignore Jazz in good conscience, so he sent the command for the door to open and sat up straight.

Jazz sauntered into the room and smiled as he saw Prowl seated on the couch. "You haven't been showing up at the recroom lately, so was wondering if there's a reason?" he said as he made his way to Prowl.

"I send Sideswipe to fetch my enregon." Prowl said with a straight face, already having foreseen and planned for this inevitable conversation.

He and Jazz occasionally shared a table when drinking their evening ration, but since he had started with the nasty habit of purging, he had avoided the recroom, and by default, Jazz. Yet he knew at some point Jazz would assume the reason to be him, since Prowl had hinted at not believing Jazz's true reasons for leaving, and had stopped joining him for evening rations after that evening.

"I've noticed you send Sides. Why aren't you getting it yourself?" Jazz persisted.

"Jazz, this is not about the two of us." Prowl cut to the core of the issue Jazz was hinting at, not having the energy for word games or other types of games. "I am sending Sideswipe for several reasons. Firstly, because it saves me time. Secondly, Ratchet insists I drink more fuel, and by sending Sideswipe to retrieve it, I am able to drink it while working, thereby refueling more often while not wasting time away from Tactical. Thirdly, it gives Sideswipe, who is a very social mech by nature, some time to socialize while not being destructive, and lastly, it affords me time away from Sideswipe."

Jazz rocked back and forth on his pedes as he thought about the answer, thankful that Prowl said he wasn't the reason Prowl was avoiding the recroom, but unsure if it was the whole truth. He knew Prowl better than the mech thought he did, and when Prowl wasn't completely truthful, his right doorwing had this funny little habit of twitching ever so slightly. At least it had been funny watching it while Prowl sidestepped the truth with someone else, but now Prowl was lying to him.

"Prowl, listen, I know what happened between us went a little further than we're comfortable with, but I don't want it to ruin our friendship or familiarity with each other. I still wanna be able to enjoy a cube of energon with you."

"Jazz, I am not avoiding you because of the merge. If I remember correctly, you are the one who suggested we stop seeing each other."

Jazz grimaced as he tilted his helm from one side to the other. "True, but I've been rethinking it and I think I just over-reacted. I'm ops, we don't do serious and merging is serious. I don't wanna give you the wrong idea."

Prowl looked at Jazz coldly and stood. "Believe me Jazz, I am under no illusions that there is anything more than casual interfacing between us. Now, if your suspicion that I am avoiding you are allayed, I would appreciate it if you left. I am tired."

Jazz narrowed his optics behind his visor at Prowl. "Prowl, I didn't mean to upset you."

"I am not upset, Jazz. I am tired." Prowl pointed out and waited for Jazz to leave.

"Then why weren't you recharging when I came?"

"I fail to see why that is your business."

"You are my business."

"You have made it very obvious that I am not."

"So you are ticked with me?" Jazz folded his arms over his chest.

"Jazz, for Primus' sake, stop this juvenile behaviour. I have already told you I am not avoiding you." Prowl said as calmly as possible.

Jazz unfolded his arms and took a step closer to the Praxian, their faceplates bare centimetres apart. "Prowl, there's something you ain't telling me. I can see it."

Prowl felt his energon run cold and pulled his field in tightly. The last thing he could do was tell Jazz about the sparkling, but what could he tell Jazz that would get the saboteur off his trail? Another half-truth that would hopefully fit what Jazz wanted to hear... "Alright, Jazz. To some extent I have been avoiding you, because I did entertain the idea that we could perhaps move beyond casual interfacing. I agree with you that such a notion is foolish." Prowl stopped with his explanation there. At least that had been the truth.

Jazz listened to and watched Prowl in unnerving silence. There was more to it, Jazz was sure, but if Prowl didn't want to share, he'd keep his distance, at least for now. "I'm sorry, Prowler." he said as he took a step back. "I enjoy what we have now, other than just the interfacing, and I don't wanna lose it." 'Don't want to lose you.' Went unsaid as Jazz intensely watched Prowl's face for any signs of emotions other than the passive mask he wore. Finally he glimpsed it for a click as the corners of Prowl's mouth gave a down-ward twitch before settling back into a straight line.

"Neither do I, Jazz, but I really am tired and I still have a few datapads to sign-off before I can recharge."

Jazz shrugged as he pushed Prowl back, forcing him to take a seat. "I'll help you then." He said and took a seat next to Prowl, ensuring that their hips touched.

Prowl raised an optic ridge at Jazz, but instead of placing more distance between them, Jazz only chuckled.

"Don't worry, I won't 'face ya tonight, but you know I'm a tactile mech. Consider this payback for helping you."

Prowl exhaled slowly, but didn't break the contact. True, he wasn't in the mood for interfacing, but the touch was still welcomed and enjoyed.

"So you are sending Siders, hey?" Jazz asked conversationally.

"Indeed. I wish to keep him out of trouble until our new Security Director arrives and has been briefed on the situation."

Jazz threw his helm back and laughed, leaving Prowl to wonder what he had said to garner such a reaction from Jazz. Not that he minded; it wasn't often these orns that mechs around him laughed with such abandon.

"Sorry mech." Jazz gasped. "I just find it hilarious that our new SD has to be briefed on a prankster instead of Cons."

Prowl's lips twitched at the corners. "I have not thought about it in that sense." He said wryly. "It is rather..odd."

"Odd?" Jazz laughed again as he shook his helm. "Only on the Ark."

"Yes." Prowl agreed, then added more seriously, "Though I hope this Red Alert will be able to handle him. Otherwise I will have no choice but to transfer the Twins again, and there are very few bases willing to take the Twins, and those that are willing are not exactly the best options to send them to."

"I'm surprised you go through so much trouble for the Twins." Jazz said, but Prowl missed the warmth in his voice.

"They are able and willing soldiers, and Sideswipe's pranking is simply a way to disperse pent-up energy. That is why I am endeavouring to keep him occupied in Tactical." Prowl signed off on his first datapad and reached for the second. He was very thankful that sipping on energon kept his nausea at bay, since it appeared that Jazz was determined to stay until all the datapads were done. He only hoped that he would be able to remain online until they were done.

"Still you care about them a great deal more than most commanders."

"Maybe it is because I understand what it means to be willing to fight, but unable to due to commanders." Prowl nearly bit his glossa as those words slipped out and prayed fervently that Jazz wouldn't push the issue.

Jazz paused and looked at Prowl with his optic ridges knit together. "What do you mean?" He asked sharply, his concern for Prowl quickly morphing into possessive protectiveness.

"My apologies. I should not have said that and I do not wish to discuss it."

Jazz watched Prow intently, wishing that Prowl would open to him, but in the same vent hoping he wouldn't. "Prowl..."

"Jazz, please let it lie."

He paused, Prowl's words striking a chord deeper than intended. He shouldn't know too much about Prowl, because that meant Jazz cared, which meant he was more than just a casual berth-partner. Jazz did not want to think what that could mean or that perhaps he was already beyond that point. "'K." he said and watched Prowl nod and return to his datapad. He had better follow suite.

Jazz continued working contentedly next to Prowl, quickly finishing his pile of datapads. As he set the last one down, he cast a sidelong glance at Prowl, who was still busy with his fifth datapad and froze. A click later, his grin nearly split his faceplate as he watched Prowl recharge on the couch, datapad still in hand.

"Guess you really were tired." he murmured softly as he slung an arm around Prowl's shoulders and gently pulled the mech against him, while with his other hand he extracted the datapad. He would finish that one later.

Jazz revelled in the warmth radiating from Prowl at the places where their frames touched, wishing that their situation was different. His processor went back to Prowl's words about thinking they could be more than casual lovers, and felt a fierce possessiveness take hold of him, but at the same time he felt it, he fought it.

They could not be more than that. Prowl needed someone stable, someone able to be there for him when he needed them to be. Someone who didn't interface with other mechs because it was part of their job description, or who didn't need to kill them when he was done. He should not be here. He was playing a dangerous game and losing.

Jazz unconsciously pulled the recharging mech closer. Ten more breems wouldn't hurt. Ten more breems of wishing for something that couldn't be, of dreaming of things that might be if they lived to see the end of this war. Ten more breems of feeling at home.

Venting hard, Jazz planted a kiss on Prowl's chevron and lifted the mech, halting when Prowl moved, then continued gently toward the berth. After placing Prowl on the berth, he returned to the couch and finished off the last datapad before arranging them neatly in a pile.

He paused at the door and looked back at Prowl.

"Getting in too deep, Prowler, getting in too deep." He said and left.

************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************

Note: I'll be travelling for the next five weeks, so I doubt I'll be able to update in that time. I'll only be back after 17 Dec. I'll try to update in between, but I doubt I'll have time.
Second note, I've typed this on my tablet, which doesn't have spell-check and I'm still getting used to typing on this thing, so please excuse any typos you see. I'll try to go over it again when I get back.

Chapter Text

"So I'm still waiting for an answer."

Prowl looked up from the datapad he was working on and straight into the red warrior standing at a sloppy example of attention.

"You did not ask a question." Prowl replied as he set the datapad down and leaned back in his specially-made Praxian chair.

"I did, sir. Few decaorns ago." Sideswipe replied smugly and Prowl frowned. He did not have time for Sideswipe's antics, especially not with the mischievous glint he could see twinkling in said warrior's sky-blue optics.

"Restate your question."

"Sir. I asked for further tactical training." Sideswipe said brightly. He really hoped Prowl would agree to the training, and not just so that he could use it to better plan his pranks, but he really enjoyed the work and thought it would be handy on the battle field. When they were on the field again, of course. Until then he would just have to refine the skills by means of pranking.

Prowl contemplated Sideswipe's request, his processor annoyingly reminding him that Sideswipe had indeed asked him a few decaorns ago, but he had moved it to the back of his processor due to other, more pressing matters. Now though, he knew he would have to give the frontliner an answer.

On the positive side, they needed more tactically-minded and trained soldiers, and, Prowl was loath to admit, Sideswipe had the potential to be a good tactician if his pranking record was anything to go by.

And therein lay the problem. On the negative side, Prowl had no doubt that Sideswipe would use the training for pranking. But the upside of having a front line warrior tactically trained professionally outweighed the personal apprehension. So for the Autobots, Prowl would do it, he would just need to enlighten the new Security Director.

Another plus would be that it would keep Sideswipe busy for the foreseeable future, which had its blessing and curse - blessing in that he would receive less reports regarding Sideswipe from places such as storage, medical and the current SD and thereby less data work, but the curse being Sideswipe would be in his company for the next few decaorns. The frontliner was amiable enough, and had been relatively unobtrusive during his ordering of past tactical scenarios, but he was also curios, mostly about Prowl, which begged the question of motive.

Prowl stapled his fingers on leaned forward, his gaze piercing Sideswipe, searching, until Sideswipe started twitching nervously.

"Why do you require tactical training?"

Sideswipe briefly dropped his optics to Prowl's and nervously resetted his vocaliser. "I believe it would be a valuable asset on the field for my team, sir, and on a more personal front, I enjoy it."

"I want you to know that, should I ever discover that you have employed any of your tactical training in any of your pranks, no matter how minuscule, I will ensure the punishment to be more severe. Am I understood?"

Sideswipe deflated somewhat, but the grin plastered to his faceplate still looked too exuberant for Prowl's liking. "You will commence your training after your midorn brake. Now unless you have anything else to state, continue with your assigned task."

Sideswipe smiled broadly as he snapped a salute. "No, sir. Thank-you, sir." He turned and headed back to his task. This reorganising would only have taken about another decaorn to complete, but now it was sure to keep him busy until they reached Paradron, since his tactical training was set to start in about four joors. He felt a thrill pass through his frame at the thought that Prowl of all mechs, the best tactician the Autobots have ever had to his opinion, was going to personally train him!

He felt an inquisitive ping through the bond and nearly opened a comm link to his brother, only just stopping knowing that Prowl had forbidden him to use his comm during his punishment-shifts. But he was itching to tell Sunny. He threw a cautious glance at Prowl, to see if he was paying attention. But Prowl was currently absorbed in a datapad.

Sideswipe was just about to look away when he saw Prowl wince and raise a hand to his spark, gently massaging the metal as he continued reading.

Sideswipe frowned at the display. This was not the first time he had caught Prowl rubbing his chest plates, add to that the regular dosing off, the lack of energy even though he continually sipped at his two cubes throughout the orn...it was beginning to worry Sideswipe. It wasn't any of his business, not really, but still...

"Prowl? Are you OK?" Sideswipe asked as he ignored another ping sent from his Twin and frowned when Prowl dropped his hand and sat up straighter, his face blanking from the uncomfortable expression he wore a few clicks ago.

"Yes, carry on Sideswipe." Prowl said and returned his full attention back to the datapad.

Sideswipe knew he should heed the dismissal, but his processor wouldn't let him. Something was definitively wrong with Prowl, and the mech was obviously trying to hide whatever it was. "Uh, Sir, are you sure? You've been acting off the past few decaorns, and well, uh, shouldn't you see Ratchet? If you think its necessary." He quickly tacked on when Prowl's cold optics bore into him.

Prowl stared at Sideswipe, thinking quickly. He must be exhibiting more symptoms or actions than he thought if Sideswipe was commenting on it. It would be disastrous if Sideswipe was to go to Ratchet, so the best would be to diffuse the situation - and keep Sideswipe closer to him as to not afford the much opportunity to ramble about him on the gossip vine. Prowl wilfully relaxed his armour as he spoke to Sideswipe.

"Thank-you for your concern, Sideswipe. However, I assure you that I have been to Ratchet. You need not further consider the matter." Prowl nodded as he finished and indicated, again, that Sideswipe should continue.

Sideswipe looked dubiously at Prowl. So Prowl had been to Ratchet, which implicitly implied that something was wrong. Common sense told him not to ask, but Curiosity had always been Sideswipe's preferred god.

"So..."

Annoyingly, Luck ourtanked Curiosity among the gods, and His main minion at that moment waltzed into the sacred office with an air of unadultered belonging.

"Hey Sides. Still busy in here? Why don't you take a brake. Don't tell him I said so, but I think Sunny could use some social help with training the younger bots if ya catch my drift." Jazz said as he cast a sidelong glance at Prowl, making his intentions for private conversation with Prowl clear.

Sideswipe was momentarily disappointed that he was unabe to sacrifice the sweet offering of information to Curiosity when his processor caught on the last sentence uttered by the minion. Hanging out with his twin was far, far better. "Of course, sir." He quickly got up, saluted, and slated for the door.

"I'll send you a message when you need to get your aft back here." Jazz tossed at Sideswipe as the door closed.

He turned back to Prowl and smiled. "He never could refuse an invitation to spar with his twin.

Prowl barely twitched his lips at Jazz's remark, both thankful and relieved that the saboteur had interrupted when he had. He would need to be more careful around Sideswipe in the future.

"Prowl?"

"My apologies." Prowl focused back on Jazz and inwardly cursed at himself. Forget Sideswipe, he needed to be careful around all mechs. "What can I do for you?"

Jazz smiled as he walked around Prowl's desk and came to a stop in front of him, casually leaning his hip against the desk. "Nothing in particular. Just thought I'd drop by and check on you."

"Check on me?" He echoed. Primus, what was it with these mechs? Did they have internal radar or was he simply more conscious of mechs' concerns that had always been there?

Jazz shrugged as he grabbed a round, decorative crystal off Prowl's desk and absently played with it. "I'm not used to you dropping off like that." The smile lost some of its warmth and took on a concerned edge as he replaced the crystal "You shouldn't overdo it. Don't tell Op I said this, but I think the big mech would be lost without you."

His words had the opposite effect of which he was hopping for when he saw Prowl's wings dip slightly and the tactician looked away. He frowned as he reached out and gently took Prowl's chin in his hand, turning his head to look back at him.

"Hey. What's going on?" He asked softly as he played with his finger along Prowl's lips.

"I have already told you I am tired." Prowl answered lamely, ashamed that he was lying so openly and easily to this mech.

"Yeah, you have. I tell Ratch to give you some time off?" Jazz asked as he leaned forward, his voice dropping an octave.

Prowl shook his helm as he stood and moved away from Jazz. The world suddenly spun and he flared his door wings to keep from tipping. After a brief moment, he shook his helm gently, more to righten his senses than in disagreement with Jazz. "No. There is too much administrative work to do before we reach Paradron. I have a few orns of leave scheduled while we are at Paradron. I'll take the time to rest then."

His doorwings sensed Jazz as the mech came up behind him and wrapped his arms around his waist, settling snugly between his doorwings as he pulled Prowl against him.

"You should. You work much too hard and take on more then you can handle. I worry 'bout you mech." Jazz said as he placed a kiss on Prowl's shoulder.

Prowl analysed Jazz's behaviour and his optic ridges knit together ever so slightly. This pattern of behaviour deviated from his normal, amorous behaviour, and it put Prowl off-kilter. But still, he was so tired from facing everything alone that his contact was more than welcome.

He leaned back into the embrace and shuttered his optics, wondering how much of this deviation was a genuine display of affection and how much of it was fake. His battle-computer helpfully supplied him with the freshly-derived statistics, but he deleted them, imagining that this concern was real concern from a dedicated lover.

Jazz's hands started to wonder and he felt his frame heat at the strong, suggestive movements. The visored mech's engine revved as his lips worked his way to Prowl's neck, suckling, then biting as he shifted his frame to fit closer to Prowl's.

Prowl gave an appreciative moan as he raised a hand and laid it on Jazz's helm, holding him there. He heard Jazz's fans click on, and somehow that threw a switch in his processor. This was his office, not his quarters.

Gasping he spun out of Jazz's embrace as he dragged cool air into his own, gasping vents, mortified at his behaviour, but even more so because he didn't want to lose that inappropriate contact. "This is my office."

Jazz looked around dazedly and nodded. "Office. Right. Though I ain't sorry." He turned his bright visor back to Prowl and they stared at each other, their desire clear for the other to see, but their sense of propriety stopped them from moving.

Finally Jazz cleared his vocaliser and stepped forward. "See you after shift?" He asked huskily as he slid a hand up Prowl's arm, with that simple movement not only making his intention, his want clear, but also showing that he would respect Prowl's choice.

Prowl nodded as his lips parted, his frame already charged and begging him to finish what he started. But this was an office, and though not exactly public, it was still close enough to public to be a dangerous place to show so much affection. And it was his office - a respectable place where he was expected to be professional.

But he needed the contact. His systems were running too hot and Jazz was so inticingly near...ignoring his logic centre, he leaned forward and caught Jazz's lips with his own as his hands reached up to play with Jazz's audial horns.

Jazz passionately returned the kiss as his glossa darted into the familiar taste of Prowl, wanting more. He grabbed Prowl's hips and ground his own against him, his interface panel already heated and wanting more. He needed to stop; although he had no problem with 'facing anywhere, Prowl was different. He broke the kiss and looked longingly into Prowl's wanton optics. "Unless you plan on interfacing in your office, I suggest we stop now." Jazz said thickly, his own systems running uncomfortably hot as he forced himself to think with his processor and not his frame's demands.

Prowl's answer was the locking mechanism on the door engaging and the walls sound-proofing as he pressed himself against Jazz. "Want you. Now and later." He whispered as he slid his arms round Jazz's neck, mouthing his jaw.

Jazz's engine gave an appreciative rumble as he lifted Prowl onto his desk. He slid a hand down and rubbed over Prowl's interface panel as he nibbled Prowl's neck, moving steadily up till he reached his mouth.

Prowl moaned as he spread his legs, his entire frame sensitive as he felt Jazz's warm plating against him, his hot vents ghosting over his frame and the fresh, tangy scent that was all Jazz delicately embrace him. His panel slid open and he pressed into Jazz's hand as his wet valve clenched painfully at the emptiness of the cool air, wanting so much this mech inside of him. "Jazz..." He begged and Jazz withdrew his hand and grabbed his hips.

"Foreplay later, babe." He said as he came onto Prowl with a relieved, pleasure-filled groan and set a rapid pace. As much as he wanted to draw this out, he knew this wasn't the place.

But after Prowl's shift - he would ensure that there are no interruptions or even the possibility of n interruption. He wanted Prowl all to himself this evening - to ravish this gorgeous creature withering against him until he couldn't process straight.

Their climax came all too soon and left both mechs panting as their fans clocked in overtime to cool their frames as they came down from their epiphany.

Prowl slid is hands up and cupped Jazz's helm, pressing their forehelms together as he tenderly looked into Jazz's visor, barely making out his glowing optics. "That was very unprofessional, but very good."

Jazz chuckled at that and leisurely kissed Prowl. "I agree with you on that one, but I kinda liked the unprofessional side of ya just know." He kissed Prowl again as he pulled out, hissing at the cool air around his spike. He took out a cloth from his subspace and offered it to Prowl first. "Best clean up before Siders return."

Prowl's lips twitched into a smile as he took the cloth, his touch lingering an astrosecond longer than was necessary. "I agree." he cleaned himself then handed the rag back to Jazz and watched him wipe off any trail of lubricant on his plating.

He cast a critical glance at his plating. "Well, that's about it." He said as he subspaces the cloth again and looked at Prowl. He felt his spark tug as he looked at the elegant black and white Praxian sitting on the desk in front of him, a soft smile gracing his lips and his doorwings at a relaxed angle. He smiled tenderly and nodded to himself. Prowl was without a doubt the most handsome mech he had ever berthed. And hopefully he would remain so for some time. And Jazz was hoping he would be able to talk about their casual agreement when they saw each other after shift. He had been thinking a lot lately, and although not ready to bump it up to relationship status, he was definitively wanting to offer Prowl something more stable than what they currently had going.

"What is it?" Prowl asked concernedly when he noticed Jazz staring, running a quick scan over his frame to ensure he was presentable.

Jazz smiled and bent forward to place a soft, tender kiss on Prowl's cheek. "Just thinking." He stepped back and watched with amusement as Prowl frowned at his greeting, or words. Jazz wasn't sure at which but he enjoyed watching the small signs of emotions as they flinted across Prowl's faceplate, barely perceptible unless you knew him and what to look for. "I'll see you later. Try not to work overtime, or I'll sic the Hatchet on you!" Jazz joked as he started towards the door.

"I will be on time." Prowl said as he sent the command for the doors to open and simultaneously requesting Sideswipe to bring his midorn ration. He needed it after that physical activity.

He felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth as he thought back to what had just happened, in his office of all places.

There had been something different about their interfacing this time, a deeper connection even though it lasted a fraction of the time it usually did. Maybe he had imagined it, but was it possible that there was more...affection? Prowl raised a hand to his warm chest plates and shuttered his optics. If he was carrying, maybe, just maybe Jazz would acknowledge the youngling as his own.

Prowl immediately squashed that idea as reality came crashing back into him like a tidal wave, the feelings of despair and helplessness threatening to drown him. What was he thinking? Jazz would in most probability not acknowledge the youngling, and even if he was willing, it would only endanger the bitlet even more. Prowl's tanks roiled and he bit back the need to purge.

Venting tremulously, he picked up the data pad and continued with his interrupted work. This was his reality. He could not form an emotional attachment to a mech that had no interest beyond casual interface and friendship. For his own protection.

Where moments before his spark had felt a glimmer of hope, it had been ruthlessly crushed by heavy, black despair.

Note: this is my first fic with mature sexual scenes. As such, I am experimenting with different styles (writing), so I apologise if the scenes appear somewhat stillted. I do try my best to make it appear 'natural', but as with most things in life, practice makes perfect.

Second note: this will be a long fic containing numerous short-ish chapers. My prelim outline has about 45 chapters. This may change depending on my muse's opinions and the Decepticons' insistence. At some point the summary would probably change to a more detailed summary.

This was typed on my tablet, and I have tried my best to make it as grammatically error-free as possible, but automatic spell-correcter has its own ideas.

Chapter Text

Prowl once more went over the current tactical scenario with Sideswipe, pleasantly surprised and gratefully pleased by the frontliner's knack for tactics and his willingness to learn. It was a welcome turn of events and Prowl made a note to move Sideswipe’s position within his unit to that of tactical analyzer.

After a few more sessions, of course.

At first he had thought to include Sideswipe in the junior tactician’s training group, but instead he had decided against it. Sideswipe was good, granted, but he was not at the same level as even the junior tacticians, and he would only hinder the group – something they could ill-afford at the moment. However, with Sideswipe's natural knack and some private instruction, he might be joining them in a few decaorns.

On the one hand, Prowl had actually hoped that Sideswipe was ready since it would have freed up some of his precious time. On the other hand, it kept the frontliner busy and within his sights. He could easily redeem the two joors an orn he spent training Sideswipe by taking inventory datapads to sign off to his quarters to complete.

"Do you understand?" Prowl asked as he took in the eager form of Sideswipe staring at the tactical display board.

"So you always have to have the bigger picture in mind, and choose the action with the most positive results for the long-term instead of immediate gratification?" Sideswipe asked as he turned to look at Prowl, his optics shining brightly with excitement.

“In most cases, yes.” Prowl nodded once in approval then checked his chronometer. There was exactly 17.57 breems left until the end of his shift. He could cover the next basic tactical guideline with Sideswipe within that time, although he was honestly starting to tire. He pushed the feeling aside and pressed a command for the next simulation.

As he was about to start, his comm link activated with the Prime's code. Straightening even though the Prime couldn’t see him, he turned to Sideswipe.

Sideswipe straightened to attention when he noticed Prowl’s shift in stance and waited patiently for his orders.

"That would be all for this shift Sideswipe. I expect you to review the work before or next session tomorrow. Dismissed."

“Will do so, and uh, thank-you, sir.”

Prowl waited until Sideswipe had left before he activated his comm to the Prime.

::Sir?::

::Prowl. Would it be possible for you to join me after your shift for evening ration?::

Prowl’s thoughts shot to Jazz and their appointment. He wanted to be with Jazz, even though he knew he was treading on dangerous ground by seeing Jazz as much as he had been doing. Yet he could hardly refuse an invitation from the Prime. Maybe this was a valid excuse to cancel their meeting and put some professional distance between them again. Keeping his tone neutral, he answered. ::Of course, sir. Is there anything specific you wish to discuss?::

::No. I simply wish to go over our arrangements for Paradron.::

::Very well, sir. I will see you after shift.::

He waited until Optimus had cut the connection before slowly expelling air through his vents as he raised a hand to his helm and rubbed gently at the blossoming helmache. Bracing himself internally, he sent a comm request through to Jazz.

:: Hey Prower. What's up?:: The buoyant voice drifted through his internal speaker and he gritted his denta.

::I need to cancel this evening's meeting. Optimus wishes to speak with me.::

::Oh:: a slight pause ::anything serious?::

::No, he simply wants to go over our stay details for Paradron.::

::Inconvenient timing, but guess the boss bot's gets first choice hey?::

Prowl smiled forlornly at the disappointment he heard in Jazz's voice and felt his armor tighten. He really shouldn’t, but…

::I agree. I shall keep tomorrow open…?:: Prowl’s voice tapered off into a question as he waited for Jazz’s response.

::You better.:: Jazz replied playfully and they settled into a not completely comfortable silence. ::So, I’ll see ya around. Say hi to OP for me.::

Prowl closed the line without saying anything and moved towards his datapad cabinet. He needed to get the necessary information for Prime's meeting, though he could not quite stop the odd excitement he felt at hearing Jazz’s voice.

“This is ridiculous.” He whispered to himself as he gathered the relevant datapads. He could not afford to become emotionally attached to Jazz. Their agreement was casual. And it had to remain so.

He turned towards the door when a sharp, sudden pain tore through his spark and he stumbled, dropping the datapads. He curled into himself, panting hard, as he waited for the piercing pain to subside.

Shakily he raised a hand to his spark and felt the metal. It was warmer than usual. He waited to see if the pain would come back, and after a few breems where nothing happened he started to relax, though his processor was buzzing with possibilities as to the causes of the sudden pain. None of them were overly good. His instincts screamed at him to run to Ratchet, but fear of his secret and their reaction to his betrayal kept him kneeling on the ground.

Drawing a deep vent to steady himself, he gathered the datapads he had dropped. Once they were all gathered, he carefully stood and he made his way to Optimus’s office.

Optimus looked up from the intelligence report he was reading and smiled as Prowl entered his office.

“Prowl, thank-you for coming at such short notice. I hope I have not inconvenienced you in any way?” He started formally, knowing that his second preferred the formality during their official meetings.

“Not at all, sir. I am thankful for the opportunity to go through our plans for our upcoming stay at Paradron. Where would you like to start?” Prowl said as he seated himself opposite Optimus.

Optimus’s attention focused on the slight tremor he detected in Prowl’s voice, concern rising in him as he took in the appearance of his SIC. He could barely distinguish a slight shaking at the tips of Prowl’s doorwings, and there was a tightness around his optics that had Optimus worried. He would need to take it up with Prowl, but after the last time, he would need to be careful how he approached the delicate subject with Prowl. Maybe after their informal meeting Prowl would be more open to discussion of his health. “Perhaps with some energon?” He suggested as he got up and made his way to his private dispenser. “Then we can start with the Ark’s supplies.”

He poured two cubes and went over to Prowl, handing him one. Once more Optimus noted the barely perceptible tremor in Prowl’s hands as he accepted the cube and took a small sip before placing it on the desk in front of him.

Optimus’s gaze sharpened on Prowl and he made a mental note to talk to Ratchet if Prowl was uncooperative.

“Thank-you, sir. The Ark’s energon supplies are currently at an acceptable level due to the capture of the Decepticon vessel Countermand and the seizing of their stores. Furthermore, we can also use the materials we found on the ship to trade for additional supplies on the Ark. The quartermaster has assured me that he will be able to obtain the additional supplies for an acceptable price.” Prowl handed over a datapad which Optimus accepted. “Those are the list of supplies we need. The quartermaster has recommended that we increase the amount of redox, since consumption exceeded expectation.”

“Very well. I see you have cleared his request, so I give my approval as well. However, I would also like to pay each of the crew their share of Shanix from the price the extra stores will generate once sold. They need to be able to enjoy themselves at Paradron.” He waited as Prowl made a note on an additional datapad before he continued. “Medical and engineering stores?” Optimus asked as he took another sip of his energon, noting that Prowl had yet to do so again.

“Most of our original trading stock will go into bartering for medical supplies such as tempt-plating, proto-mesh, wiring…”

Optimus listened to Prowl go through the required inventory, giving his input where needed, or making alternative recommendations which Prowl debated or accepted. They continued in this fashion for more than a joor. All the time Optimus kept his attention focused on Prowl, examining him, gauging him.

“That takes care of inventory. I have also scheduled inspection of the academy facilities since we will be recruiting some of the senior students who have successfully completed training. Ratchet has requested another medic after the last battle, and I have assured him that I will see to it that we receive a transfer or an apprentice for him.”

“Yes, another medic will be an excellent addition to the crew. And what of the transfers?”

“We will be transferring sixty-five soldiers from divisions 4, 8 and 11. We will be receiving seventy-two transfers. Our ship’s capacity will then be at 91%, including the new recruits.” Prowl answered as he switched on another datapad and handed it to Optimus.

“Some of these transfers will be going to Cybertron?” He asked as he browsed through the list of names and noted those who would be staying on the Ark, and those who would be transferring at Cybertron.

“That is correct. Since the Ark will be leaving for Cybertron directly from Paradron, it was logical to include as many of the transfers as we are able to safely accommodate.”

Optimus nodded and set the datapad down. He took his nearly-empty cube and drank the last sip. As he set the cube down, he looked at Prowl’s barely touched cube and couldn’t hide the frown any longer.

“Prowl, is the energon not to your liking?” He asked as he leaned back in his regal chair. “You’ve barely touched your cube,” he hesitated as he took in the proud mech before he added gently, “even though you appear to need the energy.”

Prowl’s wings rose on his back as he watched the Prime, defiance not quite written in his optics, though Optimus detected some other unspoken emotion. Optimus extended his field, trying to show his concern for Prowl’s health without openly asking. Prowl dropped his optics to the cube in front of him, but did not take it.

“I am sufficiently fuelled.” He said at last. “And as to…’appearing’ to need the energy, I admit that I have a slight processor ache, so I may appear to be somewhat tired.”

Optimus cocked an optic ridge at Prowl as he leaned forward. “A processor ache? Have you seen Ratchet?”

“It is a processor ache, sir. I do not believe it warrants attention from a medic.” Prowl said as he lifted his optics to look at Optimus, his wings flaring slightly and his field pulled in tight.

Optimus took in the stance of the wings and realized that Prowl was not going to budge from his standpoint. Well, if you can’t get the Praxian to the Medic, you bring the Medic to that Praxian. He was definitely going to make that call.

“Prowl, I trust that you would do what is in your best interest. However, if your processor ache continues to your next shift, I order you to go see Ratchet.” Optimus softened his voice as Prowl’s optics dropped to the desk and his wings gave an involuntary twitch. “I understand that you think it is negligible, but I prefer to know you are in a full state of health. Not just as a commander, but also as your friend.”

Prowl’s wings dipped further down and he continued to stare at the desk. “If you order it, sir, I shall do it. Now, if that is all, I still need to finalize the arrangements for the transfer of the Security Director to the Hinterland. We will be intercepting them in three orns.”

“Leave that for next shift. Go get some rest, Prowl.” Optimus said as he stood and moved towards the smaller Praxian. He gently laid a hand on Prowl’s shoulder and felt the Matrix briefly brush against his spark. He paused as he focused on the feeling, but Prowl broke his concentration when he got up and gracefully slipped from under his hand to stand a few feet away.

“Thank-you, sir. By your leave?” He asked politely, no external signs of fatigue either in his stance or his voice.

Optimus folded his hands behind his back and nodded at Prowl. “Go rest.” He said again and watched Prowl disappear through the doors. Once the doors were closed, his shoulders sagged as he leaned back against his desk. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was not right with Prowl. Prowl had always been open and honest with him. It was one of the traits he admired in the mech – yet the mech was withdrawing into himself, hiding his field and his optics. That more than anything, even the brushing of the Matrix against his spark, told him that all was not well with his SIC.

::Ratchet?::

::What?::

::You examined Prowl?:: Optimus asked, ignoring the quipped, irritated voice that filtered through his comm link.

A pause. ::Yes?::

::Nothing amiss?::

::Prime, you know I don’t talk out about my patients. Not even to you. And speaking of you, you’re scheduled to be here in eight joors.::

Optimus quirked an optic at the medic even though he couldn’t see it. ::I will make a clearing in my schedule for it.:: He drawled. ::But back to Prowl, I am worried about him.::

Another pause. ::Why?::

::It is hard to explain, except to say that it is an impression.::

::Slag it, Optimus, if my medical reports came back with anything serious, you know I would have informed you both, but there was nothing serious enough to warrant your involvement. Prowl is stressed and I’ve recommended him to get some recreational activities. Does that explain your ‘impression’?::

Optimus frowned. True Prowl was stressed at present, but he had never reacted like this before, even under more severe situations. ::He informed me he has a processor ache.::

::He’s working with Sideswipe. Can you blame him?::

Optimus smiled at the caustic, but fond, remark. ::No, probably not. I will take your word that he is simply stressed, but…keep an optic on him. I have ordered him to report to you if his processor ache continues into his next shift.::

::Good. If he gets a decent recharge, he won’t need to be here. Anything else?::

::At present, no. I will see you in eight joors.:: Optimus closed the line and turned back towards his desk.

On it stood Prowl’s nearly-untouched cube of energon.

Chapter Text

Prowl stumbled into his washracks and promptly emptied his tanks onto the clean floor.

Trembling, he sent the command for the shower to turn on and sat under the mixed spray of solvent and cleanser. Idly he watched the fluids form small rivers of silvery liquid that rushed towards the drain, only to disappear in the darkness beneath.

He shuttered his optics and swallowed down the threatening nausea.

He had lied to Optimus. His commander. Again. Lying to a commander was a serious offence, especially if it was about something that could influence his military service.

He had lied to his friend.

He recalled Optimus’s concerned optics; could still feel his field laced with concern and trust wash over him. A small whine escaped his engine as the liquid continued pelting his plating in a rhythmic stacato.

He knew he should see Ratchet. He knew he should face up to his situation. But what if he was not carrying…?

Slowly exhaling air through trembling vents, he set his battle computer to determine the possibility of being sparked. He fed it what it required - his symptoms, his need for energon, his constant fatigue, everything he noticed was different. He unshuttered his optics and stared once more at the small streams of liquid slipping down his frame.

His battle computer spit out the results.

89.67%.

He squeezed his optics shut. There was still a 10.33% chance that it was a fluke, but even as he thought it he knew otherwise.

In little more than two decaorns, he would be able to visually confirm if there was a new spark growing next to his.

And once he had that confirmation, he would have to start making preparations for his resignation from the Autobots. Even if he was not, he would have to inform Optimus and Ratchet.

He lifted a shaky hand to his now burgeoning helmache and shut all thought processes off.

Prowl remained on the washrack floor even until after the shower automatically shut off. He needed to plan, to think what his next move should be. He had known since that first morning that there was a possibility that he might be sparked, and even though he had tried to deny it, the reality was fearfully sinking in.

He needed to make preparations, but he would do that next orn.

Right now, he desperately needed to recharge.

Security officer Inferno nervously headed towards the Second-in-Command’s office on the command deck of the Ark. It was seldom that he was requested to go to that level, and usually it was only to deliver security reports to an assigned ensign in the Tactical Department. The fact that he had been requested by no other than Commander Prowl had his tanks churning.

Especially since the fallout their current Security Director had had with the Commander had soured the relationship between the Security Division and the Tactical Department.

What also added to his trepidation was that Security Director Midriff had been shirking his duties since the transfer request had been approved – and it was well-known throughout the Autobot army that Commander Prowl did not tolerate laxity in duty or discipline. Blazer, as his second, should have taken responsibility for his superior’s lack of leadership, but the mech had followed in Midriff’s pedesteps – even wilfully neglecting some of the lesser duties and thereby leaving it to the subordinates to see to. Inferno had taken it upon himself to uphold his department’s honor, but in so doing he was going above his rank by ordering mech’s to see to routine check-ups of cameras. Inferno knew he should have reported both Midriff and Blazer for shirking their duty and thereby inadvertently placing the Ark in danger, but by nature he was loyal and wished to avoid ‘tattling’ on his superiors. He also wished to avoid the confrontation that would follow…

Drawing in a calming vent, the large, red mech stopped in front of the gunmetal-grey door on which the simple glyphs ‘Commander Prowl: Head Tactician’ were etched. Steeling himself, he lifted a hand, paused, and then deliberately pressed the entry request button.

He heard the locks disengaged and straightened to his formidable height, unsure what to expect as the doors slid open.

A red frame topped by a dark helm popped out the door, grinning like a madmech. Inferno’s faceplate scrunched up as he instantly recognised it as the ‘infernal red demon’ Midriff made a point of cursing ornly.

“Hey big mech.” It said. “Prowl’s waiting! Have fun.” It winked at him before pushing past him into the corridor.

Inferno stared blankly after the warframe as it waltzed down the corridor towards the lifts while humming a catchy tune.

“Inferno.”

Inferno jolted at the cool sound of his name and snapped his attention back to the present. Squaring his shoulders, he stepped into the office and saluted. The door slid shut behind him and locked, and with that single sound all the nervousness Inferno had forgotten with the unexpected sight of the red Twin came crashing back. He stood as straight as he could at attention and waited for the commander to speak.

He tried not to flinch as Commander Prowl sat back and critically examined him from helm to pede. It was an unnerving experience and he almost let his apology for not reporting Midriff spill under the scrutinising gaze. But to talk to such a high-level commander without permission was against protocol, and now more than ever Inferno had to adhere to protocol.

“Your service records are impressive.” The stern voice said and Inferno couldn’t stop his armour tightening and his field pulling in. Even though the words were a compliment, they were said in such a flat tone that Inferno was sure they were a prequel to a good setting down. Unsure of what to say, he simply nodded. When the cool, azure optics kept staring at him unblinkingly, he cleared his vocaliser. “Uh, thank-you, sir.” He said in his booming, gravelly voice. He grimaced at how loud he sounded against the soft, but authoritative voice of Commander Prowl.

The Commander folded his hands on top of his desk. “Security Director Midriff has been less than efficient in his duties. His second, Lieutenant Blazer, has failed to report him as is his duty, and more than that he has also been neglecting duties.” Even though the voice never changed in pitch or volume, Inferno froze at the coldness he detected in it.

He continued staring directly ahead. The accusations were true, but was he expected to confirm them? Officially, he held no rank within the Security Division, as such, he couldn’t really be held accountable for his superior’s actions, or rather, lack of actions. And he certainly didn’t want to be the one to spill the cubes to the Commander. But then why was he here? He shut those thoughts off when the Commander spoke.

“It has been noted that you have taken upon yourself to see to it that the Security Divisions’ duties are carried out, even though it does not fall within your position. Do you have anything to say to this?”

“Uh, well, sir, I…” Inferno paused. Was Commander Prowl referring to his superiors’ neglect or his own actions? Choosing to focus on his own actions, he cleared his vocaliser, painfully aware that his systems were heating up under the close scrutiny of the Commander. “I felt it my duty as part of Security Division to, uh, see that the regular duties are carried out. There’s no special orders to carrying out maintenance. Part of the normal job.” His fingers twitched anxiously as he waited for the Commander’s response.

“I see. So you continued with your duties, and also directed the other staff members of Security to continue with theirs while your direct superiors did nothing.”

“With all due respect, sir, they did do their duties.” Inferno returned quickly, then clamped his mouth shut as the Commander’s glacier gaze narrowed on him.

“They neglected their duties but not performing them to the expected standard. If the Ark had been attacked in this time, and the security system had failed to operate because the Security Director had neglected to order checks on the systems to ensure they were working properly, he would have been charged with treason – an offence punishable by death according to Autobot laws. Furthermore, as his second, Blazer would also have been charged with negligence. If any of the Autobot soldiers had died in the attack, they would both have been charged with murder.”

Inferno kept his mouth shut as he thought about what the Commander had said. He had not thought about it in that light, he had simply seen it as pettiness. But with the bigger picture of bots being killed because of negligence out of pettiness…he shuttered his optics briefly and drew in a shaky vent.

“Do you understand the implications of neglecting one’s duty?”

Inferno nodded once, the gravity of his realisation portrayed in that one movement.

Commander Prowl nodded before drawing a datapad towards him. “Good. Due to negligence of duty, Lieutenant Blazer will be demoted from his position as second of the Security Division.” He made a note then replaced the datapad before looking squarely at Inferno. “Not only have you shown the most devotion in duty, taken responsibility for the actions of others, demonstrated loyalty towards colleagues and your division, and demonstrate respect towards superiors, but your file also list numerable commendations, stability of character, patience and a level head in times of severe stress. As such, I am advancing your rank to acting-Lieutenant Inferno of the Security Division abroad the Ark. You will be second in command to your new Security Director Red Alert. Active immediately. Please prepare for his arrival and a full debriefing of staff matters. Any questions?”

Inferno stared at him with his mouth ajar. “Wha?”

Commander Prowl’s optic ridge went up ever so slightly as he cocked his helm. “Please sit down, acting-Lieutenant.”

Inferno automatically sank into the proffered chair, still trying to reconcile his expectations with what the commander had actually said. He wasn’t going to be reprimanded? He was being promoted? He lifted a hand and rubbed at his helm. Was he really being promoted to a lieutenant? But…

“What about the lieutenant exams, sir?”

Prowl’s faceplates smoothed once more into a blank mask as he considered Inferno. “I have scheduled you to take the test at the Autobot Academy at Paradron. You will find the preparation manual on your private console. Once you succeed, as I am sure you will, your official rank would be that of first-lieutenant. Your pay and privileges have already been updated accordingly on Teletraan I’s systems.”

“Alright.” Inferno said as he nodded absently. “What about my duties?”

Prowl leaned forward and took a datapad off the stacked pile and handed it to Inferno. “On this datapad you will find a list of your duties and responsibilities. I warn you that this list will be edited once the new security director arrives as he sees fit.

“No problem, sir.” Inferno took the datapad and subspaced it.

“Good. Do you have any questions?”

Inferno drew in a vent and released it slowly. “I ain’t sure how the other’s in my division will take my promotion.”

Prowl looked at Inferno and dipped his head reassuringly. “I have reviewed your service record abroad the Ark, and there are no indicators that you are not well-liked and respected among the crew. Respect, however, is the most important factor. Mechs need to follow your orders, whether they like you or not. It is for their own benefit and as long as you remember that their lives, and not their opinions, are of greater value, you will succeed.”

Inferno stared at the commander. “I’ll remember that, sir.” He promised thoughtfully as Prowl’s words mulled in his processor as he studied the black and white Praxian before him. The commander really wasn’t what he had been expecting. He had a calm, authoritative field about him, and even though the commander appeared outwardly cool, Inferno could see that he cared for the mechs under his care. His processor recalled bits of their conversation. If Autobots had been killed, they would have been charged with murder….lives are of greater value than opinions…seems like he also practiced what he preached if the rumours were anything to go by.

Prowl waited a few breems until he was sure Inferno had ingested his advice before he stood. Inferno quickly followed his lead and stood straight, towering over the smaller Praxian.

“If there are no further questions, you are excused. Good-luck, acting-first Lieutenant Inferno.” Prowl nodded respectfully and his doorwings gave a small dip of respect.

Inferno felt his systems heat again at the display of respect and in turn saluted smartly. “Thank-you, sir.” His rough voice replied as he turned and exited the office.

“Congrats Lieutenant.”

Inferno stopped at the sound of the red demon’s voice and turned just in time to see a two-fingered salute casually thrown at him, accompanied with a giant grin before it disappeared into the office.

Inferno suddenly realised that he would probably be required to deal with this little pitspawn’s pranks. Cocking an optic ridge, he drew in a large vent, squared his shoulders, and walked down the command corridors.

He could do it.

Sideswipe slipped into the office with his giant smile still plastered on his face, but it faltered as he saw Prowl sitting with a hand over his optics and his doorwing slightly off-kilter from their normal position.. The doorwing twitched and Prowl sat up straight, dropping his hand to the desk as he looked at Sideswipe.

“You are becoming more punctual.” He said as he reached for a datapad.

“Uh, yeah, sir. Was curious.” Sideswipe replied watching Prowl closely as he set the Praxian’s midorn cube on the desk. He took in the pale complexion, the white, pressed lips and the tightness around Prowl’s optics and wondered what was wrong. Had the interview not gone as expected? He debated whether or not he should say or ask anything, then decided to just go ahead. “So, Inferno’s going to be writing an exam in Paradron…?” He probed as he took a sip of his own cube, mindful of Prowl’s movements.

Prowl reached out and took his own cube, all the time keeping his optics on the datapad he was reading. “Yes.”

Sideswipe sagged in relief. Good. So it wasn’t the interview, but then what? Helmache maybe? He had been having one for the past few orns. It was worth a shot asking him about it. “Uhm, is your helmache getting worse?”

Prowl looked up then and Sideswipe thought he caught surprise in his optics, but it was gone so quickly that Sideswipe had to replay the memory to be sure it was there.

“No.” Prowl firmly stated before going back to his datapad, making it clear the subject was not open for discussion.

Sideswipe raised his optic ridges at that and folded his arms across his chassis. Obviously Prowl did not like it when mech’s noticed he wasn’t ‘functioning optimally’. He should probably let it go. He’ll just continue to keep a close optic on Prowl. If it got worse, he’ll simply have to drop ol’ Hatchet a hint.

“Inferno will be writing the Lieutenant exams at Paradron.”

“Ha!  I wish him good luck! Frag, so glad I’m not him. I despise studying!” He chuckled as he took a sip of his energon, content for now to let the subject change.

“That is a pity since you are scheduled to write with him.”

Sideswipe choked.

Prowl casually glanced up from his datapad and quirked an optic ridge at the coughing frontliner, before returning to his datapad.

“What the frag?!” Sideswipe spat once his intakes were cleared from the wayward energon.

“Sideswipe, if you swear in my presence one more time, I will have you scrub my office floors with a clip-maintenance brush.”

“Yes, sir, but, uh, you really scheduled me for a lieutenant exam?”

“I have just informed you of it. However, it would be for fourth-lieutenant.”

“Why?” Sideswipe asked.

Prowl set the datapad down as he looked at the aghast faceplate of Sideswipe. “You hold no rank. With the additional training in tactical you are receiving, you will be placed in more important leadership positions. For that, you require rank.”

“Oh.” Sideswipe said, but continued staring blankly at Prowl. “I’m not good with exams.” He admitted petulantly.

“If you study, you will succeed. After our tactical training session which is due to start in two breems, you will have one joor of study time in my office. Compulsory.” Prowl added the last when he saw Sideswipe’s face scrunch and a very juvenile pout form.

“This is really necessary?”

Prowl gave a single, brisk nod.

“But what about Sunny? I mean we’re Twins. We kinda do stuff together.” Sideswipe tried another avenue of escape.

“Sunstreaker has been informed of your upcoming exam and has been extended the same courtesy. He has, however, decided to decline the opportunity.”

“I decide to decline this opportunity…?” Sideswipe tried as he pulled up his shoulder and grinned broadly at Prowl.

“Sideswipe.” Prowl took in a deep vent and folded his hands in front of him.

Sideswipe’s armour tightened and his lips twitched down as he sulked at his fate, finally admitting that there was no escape from the dark alley of examinations. “Yes, sir.” He grumbled.

“Good. Let us begin with your tactical session.”

(P.S. This chapter kind of ran away with me…so I’ll have to leave Jazz and Prowl’s date to the next chapter. Unfortunately due to the festive season and family obligations, I’ll only be able to post the next chapter after 5 January. I’m hoping to get back to regular updates after that. Happy new year to you all and thanks for the support! :) )

(P.S.S. I’ll be adding characters to the ‘character’s list’ as they are introduced.)

Chapter Text

Prowl briskly made his way to his private quarters as he scanned a datapad. According to his ledgers, he had enough shanix to enable him to purchase property at Paradron. If Paradron proved to be safe enough, it would provide a home for him and the new spark. If he was unsatisfied, it would at least be a fixed asset that would add to his, and that of his family's wealth.

Prowl stopped in front of his door and absently coded in the security code to unlock his quarters. With the amount of shanix available to him, he would be able to purchase a sizeabe house, maybe even a villa overlooking Mercury Lake.

He stepped into his quarters and froze, his doorwings fanning out behind him as they registered a spark signature.

"Heya Prowler."

Prowl’s optic ridges rose as he stared at the scene before him.

Jazz lay comfortably sprawled out on the plush couch while soft, classical music drifted from his side-speakers. On the small table in front of him were a number of energon delicacies deliciously arranged – from spiced wafers to rust sticks to hard crystals.

"Jazz?" Prowl asked as he finally got over his initial surprise and slowly walked towards Jazz. The datapad was all but forgotten in his hands as his processor raced to analyze this…odd…behavior emitting from the saboteur.

"I thought I'd get us some snacks to enjoy the evening. How was your orn?" Jazz smirked as he got up and took the datapad from Prowl's limp grasp and tossed it on the table. He grasped Prowl's hands and led him to the couch.

"Fine. Thank-you." Prowl watched Jazz suspiciously as he allowed himself to be pulled down next to Jazz on the couch. This was very odd behaviour for Jazz. Normally, for one of their evenings together, Jazz would arrive late into the dark cycle already revved up. They would then interface, usually multiple times, before falling into recharge. No energon delicacies, no sitting on the couch, and no 'how was your orn' conversations. "Jazz, is everything alright?"

"'Course." he grinned as he reached over to the tray. "Bitter or sweet?"

Momentarily thrown from the quick change of subject, Prowl turned his attention to the tray. "Uh, Sweet. Please." Usually he would prefer something acidic, like the rolled rust-copper balls, but oddly enough he craved something sweeter.

Jazz turned towards him with one of the crystallized delicacies with a molten centre. "Odd. I always thought you were a bitter mech."

Prowl cocked an optic ridge at Jazz.

"Slag! Not, like bitter, just you know, you prefer bitter things." Jazz stumbled over his explained, his visor bright. "Uh, Fuel-wise. You prefer bitter fuel. You know what, I'm just gonna shut-up. Right now." He turned his helm to face the tray.

The corner of Prowl's mouth curved up slightly as he watched the embarrassed, sputtering mech beside him. He laid a hand on Jazz's arm and waited for the mech to look at him. "Yes, my taste in confectionaries and delicacies usually run acidic, but I do enjoy sweetness from time to time." He took the treat from Jazz and popped it into his mouth.

Jazz smiled at the double entre and reached for one of the rust sticks. "Same, though I prefer sweetness over acidic most of the time. So," he nodded towards the datapad, "what's kept you busy more than a joor past your shift?"

Prowl reached for another crystal before settling back comfortably into the couch, trying to act like this odd situation was not throwing his processor for a loop. He and Jazz rarely chatted about every orn occurrences, usually only on professional matters. Maybe that is how he should view this? Maybe he should ask Jazz's opinion on the villa. Or house. After all, he had shares in the reason why Prowl needed to look for a safe place to stay. However, he would need to word it carefully.

"It was not work for the Autobots." He shifted his doorwings so that he could face Jazz better. "Lately, I have been considering investing a portion of my liquid assets. I have been thinking of investing in property on Paradron."

Jazz leaned back and scrunched up his face as he allowed his field to mingle lightly with Prowl's. He really did not know much about investing, but… "Investing in property a good idea at the moment? The markets are shot."

"True, however, there is no guarantee that other investing options are better. With property, even though the shanix should lose worth, I would still have the value of the property. I do not intend to sell it at a later stage either. So far, Paradron is appealing due to its…"

Jazz's processor drifted off as Prowl explained the reasons why Paradron, and not Cybertron was preferable to invest in. He honestly did not care for the technicalities, nope, what he cared about right then was the, shall he dare say it, animated way Prowl was talking about his investments. The mech seemed to come alive as he discussed the various pros and cons and Jazz briefly wondered what other subjects Prowl enjoyed. Whatever they are, he was going to find out.

As Prowl continued, Jazz’s optics slid down to the seductive movement of Prowl's silver lips. He wanted to catch them with his own, to taste the tangy sweetness of his mouth... He wetted his lips with his glossa. Maybe enough talking…No! He shifted and nodded as he tried to focus on what the mech was saying instead of just the mech. He had to learn to know Prowl. His likes, dislikes, subjects he found interesting. It was his private mission.

He placed an arm on the back of the couch, his hand dangling inches away from Prowl's shoulder. His attention drifted again. It was tempting to touch, but if Jazz wanted something more than casual with the dazzling mech seated next to him, then it couldn't all be about interfacing. Reigning in his desires, he focused back on the conversation just in time.

"So I shall probably be looking at either a house in Paradron City, or a villa at Mercury Lake." Prowl paused. "Which do you think would be more suitable?"

"You're asking me?" Jazz asked dubiously. Why would Prowl of all mechs ask his advice on buying property? Sure he knew about investing in shares and property, but that was about it. He didn’t know what makes one property better than another. He had never owned property. He had never even had a real home of his own. And he really wished he had paid a bit more attention to the conversation.

"You do not need to." Prowl said steadily as he reached for another treat, but Jazz could feel his field withdrawing.

Idiot. Jazz scolded himself as he filled his field with apology. "Course I wanna." He rubbed his chin nervously. "Just don't know how useful my input will be. I'm not really experienced in this. I mean, I know you mentioned net worth, or capital growth or some such, but, I honestly don’t know much about property investment."

"I trust your judgment, Jazz. You do not require experience to give me your opinion." Prowl chose a rust-stick and settle back again, his field accepting the apology and giving one in return, along with a hint of the awkwardness of the situation. "I apologize. I am not skilled with small talk, or casual talk about my affairs."

Jazz dropped his hand to gently trace patterns on Prowl's shoulder, deciding to ignore the awkwardness in Prowl’s field, but at the same time allowing his field to radiate with warmth at the trust and willingness Prowl was giving him. "You're doing good. But about the house," he leaned his helm back and stared at the ceiling, trying to use what little he knew about houses to help Prowl. Such demonstrations of trust needed to be rewarded, and Jazz was going to give his best shot. "What is your main goal? You want to live there or rent it out?"

Prowl bit off a piece of the rust stick to give him time to answer, relieved and glad that Jazz was willing to contribute to the exchange. But Jazz was an intelligence officer; he thrived on gathering data. Prowl had to be careful not to give him too much information or else he would know something was amiss.

"Possibly to live at. At present safety and security is of the utmost concern." That at least was true for all his properties. Being of the high nobility of Praxus, he had always had enemies or mechs spying on them and thus all his properties had been bought or renovated to be private, safe and secure.

Jazz rolled his helm to look at Prowl. "Maybe a villa then? If I remember correctly, the Lake districts have lush forests, making the property private, and you'd have enough warning if someone approached."

"True, but its security would lie mainly in its seclusion. Once the area has been discovered, it will not be safe anymore. In that sense, a townhouse would offer better chances of blending."

"Blending? We talking about a safehouse or private residency?" Jazz playfully quirked an optic ridge at Prowl as his fingers started pressing more firmly on Prowl's plating.

Prowl's field spiked before he could level it and Jazz felt the armour tighten momentarily before it relaxed. Instantly his senses heightened.

"I am a high-ranking officer with many enemies, Jazz. I would require a place of safety." he hesitated briefly before adding "as well as my family."

Jazz felt his chest tighten at the thought of Prowl being harmed and he slipped his hand around Prowl's shoulder and drew him against his chest. Logically he knew Prowl was a target, but somehow hearing it from the tactician's mouth made it so much more real. "Have you received any threats lately?"

Prowl relaxed into the warm embrace, oddly comforted by the possessiveness he could teak in Jazz’s field. “No, but it is always, and has always, been there.”

Jazz vented tiredly as he placed a kiss on Prowl’s helm. “I know, but I still don’t like hearing it.” He hesitated. “Want to protect you.”

Prowl jolted and pushed himself up to look at Jazz. “Protect me?” He repeated incredulously as his wings rose to a defensive position.

Not really the reaction I was hoping for…Jazz raised his hands placatingly and dipped his helm. It was now or never, and Jazz had enough of running. “Yes.” He said softly as he looked at Prowl.

Prowl stared into the visor and wished that he could remove it so that he could see into Jazz. He pushed his field deeper to try and get a feel, but the field only teeked possessive-care. Was it possible that by some unseen means Jazz was naturally being protective over Prowl because he was carrying? Or was it something deeper? The same thing that drove their chest plates to part? “What are you saying, Jazz?” He demanded sternly.

Here goes. Jazz vented deeply and covered Prowl’s hands with his own, looking at their entwined hands. They fit together. “I was hoping we could maybe be…more.” Jazz said as he looked up at Prowl, his visor a cobalt blue as his field pushed deeper into Prowl’s, allowing him to feel the sincerity-hope.

Prowl stared into Jazz’s visor, then at the treats. So that was what this was all about. He wanted more than just casual interfacing? Hope and desire flared in him, but the emotions barely registered when it was crushed by his current situation. The sparkling. If they were to enter a relationship now, everyone would know it was Jazz’s. That would endanger the sparklet even more, endanger him. He would become Jazz’s weakness. And what if Jazz only wanted this because of some unseen natural reaction to him carrying? If he found out, would he still feel the same? Yet the security and support a relationship offered was almost enough to risk it…“You wish to enter a relationship?” He asked carefully, trying his best utmost best to level his field.

Frag. Pushed too far. Jazz thought as he teeked the contradictory emotions Prowl was trying to cover. Prowl wasn’t ready for this. He wasn’t ready for this. Stupid! Stupid! “No, not relationship.” Jazz backpedaled. “More like lovers. Something bit more stable than casual, but not relationship.”

Prowl’s spark clenched painfully and his vents hitched. Lovers. Not  relationship; but not casual either. Disappointment flared in him but his logic centre ruthlessly beat it back. This was better – they could keep it secret, keep the sparkling safe, keep himself and Jazz safe. Yes. This was better.

“Prowl?” Jazz asked as he gently traced a doorwing, confused by the conflicting emotions he still teeked in Prowl’s field. Was Prowl only interested in casual interfacing? Had he somehow misjudged the situation?

“You have the worst possible timing.” Prowl said passively and Jazz chuckled nervously.

“Yeah, guess asking to be more than what we were before a mission really isn’t the best timing.” Relief that it was only the timing that troubled Prowl flooded through Jazz and he slumped back into the couch. “But it’s a yes, right?”

The barest of smile softened Prowl’s faceplates. “Yes.”

Jazz’s faceplate broke into a broad grin as he squeezed their hands. “Shall we confirm that?” He asked teasingly as he wagged his optic ridges suggestively.

“What do you mean?” Prowl’s smile faltered.

A small laugh escaped Jazz as he leaned forward and drew Prowl into a deep, lingering kiss as he played with his doorwing, satisfied to hear the Praxian’s engine rev in arousal. “That’s what I mean.” He pulled the Praxian up so that he was straddling Jazz’s hips, his own engine running hot. “Ride me? Then after some energon, I’ll ride you.”

Prowl smiled down at Jazz. “Sounds good.” He said and captured Jazz’s lips in a passionate, promising kiss.

Author’s note…I know I said I’ll try to update daily, but truth is it’s not going to happen, though updates will be more regular. The reason being, against my better judgment and at my muses’ insistence, I have adopted a request on LJ, which will be titled ‘Intervention’. But I will still give this story first-priority, and so updates will be as regular as possible, with Intervention being updated once a week or every second weekend.

Chapter Text

Choices We Make 15

“Good orn, Commander Prowl, sir.”

Sideswipe bounded into the office holding his and Prowl’s morning ration, his field teeking of excitement and mischief.

Prowl was on full alert the moment he teeked the mischief, but continued to read through the reports of the Hinterland’s scheduled arrival and the transfer details that was due in two joors. “Good morning, Sideswipe. You appear to be in a good mood.”

The what are you playing at went unsaid, but nevertheless, Sideswipe picked up on it and his grin stretched even wider.

“It’s the long awaited orn where I get a new security director to annoy.”

Prowl glanced up from the report he was studying and stared coldly at Sideswipe.

The red hellion bit his lip playfully as he bounced from pede to pede, unable to hide the smile and twinkle in his optics at the prospect of a new challenge.

“Sideswipe,” Prowl began as he deliberately, but neatly, placed the report on his desk and folded his hands in front of him, deciding that this situation warranted his full attention. “I was very serious when I warned you about the consequences of your pranking.”

“Aw come on, sir!” Sideswipe drew out the honorific as he threw his helm back and vented dramatically. “It helps with morale, and livens things up and it keeps security on the tip of their pedes! That’s good, isn’t it?”

“Not in the manner you are going about it. I know it would be useless to order you not to prank him, so I am not even going to waste my breath, but if this new security director resigns or asks to be transferred because of your pranking, then you can count on it that you will be on that transfer transport and dropped at the closest inhabited planet. Am I clear?” Prowl felt like he was lecturing a youngling rather than a fully matured mech.

“So I can prank him as long as he doesn’t request a transfer or leaves. Sounds good.” Sideswipe’s smile was bright enough to light the room.

Prowl briefly shuttered his optics. Primus, why was it that Sideswipe was able to push his infinite patience to the limit? “Sideswipe, if I catch you pranking, I will make all your previous punishment duties seem like a holiday.”

“Yes, sir. Challenge accepted, sir.” Sideswipe saluted and marched off to his designated work spot.

Prowl’s doorwing twitched, but he decided to ignore the irritating mech. Though he did set a part of his processor to work on methods of punishment if he should be able to prove Sideswipe as the orchestrator of chaos.

::Hey Lover.::

Prowl felt his frame tingling at the sound of Jazz’s voice and stilled, Sideswipe forgotten.

::Yes, Jazz?::

::What? No lover for me?:: Jazz playfully accused, and Prowl felt his lips twitch upward.

::Jazz, I am on shift.:: Prowl needlessly reminded him as he glanced at Sideswipe, ensuring the mech was actually working and not browsing through the datapads as he had caught him doing a few times.

::Don’t see why that’s a problem. Anyway, you have time for a quick goodbye?::

Goodbye. The word echoed in Prowl’s processor as guilt assuaged him for not being completely honest with his…lover.. ::Yes. I will be at your office in one breem.:: He quickly adjusted his schedule and stood, locking his console as he spoke to Sideswipe. “Sideswipe, continue with your duties. I will be back shortly.” He exited through Tactics and headed down the hall.

Jazz’s office was located three offices from the Tactical Unit, and sometimes served as a secure meeting place for discussing sensitive plans – or meeting ghost personnel. Prowl rarely visited it, much preferring his own office with the inbuilt tactical board and professional decorations – which in his opinion, equalled almost no decorations.

He stopped and pressed the entrance chime. Instantly the door was opened and Prowl stepped into what the saboteur referred to as ‘chaotic professionalism with some flare’.

The office was covered in knickknacks from all across the travelled universe…from the lush vegetation planet Regalis V to the dark Decepticon planet Chaar.

“’Ello my lover.” Jazz sauntered over and pulled Prowl in for a lingering kiss.

Prowl returned it willingly before breaking the kiss. He pressed his chevron guard against Jazz’s helm and closed his optics. “Is everything ready?”

Jazz encircled his waist and held him close, his field calm and supportive. “Yip. I’ll probably head to my own transport in a couple ‘a breems.”

“I still prefer another agent doing this.”

Jazz drew in a deep vent and pulled away to be able to look Prowl in the optics. “We’ve been through this Prowler, don’t go there again. I need to go on this mission.”

I need you too. Prowl dropped his optics and nodded in reluctant acceptance. “Please come back. In one piece.” he pleaded as he traced his hands up Jazz’s arms, letting them rest on his shoulders.

The saboteur smirked. “I always come back in one piece.” A playful glint lightened his optics as he pressed his hips into Prowl. “Don’t get someone else while I’m gone. I tend to be jealous.” He nipped playfully at Prowl’s neck.

“Jazz, we really can’t. Sideswipe is alone in my office.” Prowl said warningly as he felt his lover’s field take a more amorous turn.

Jazz paid him no heed as continued to nip, kiss and suck at Prowl’s neck, his field teeking of desire and his frame heating up. “Should I be worried about him?”

“What?” Prowl asked as he bared his neck, arousal slowly building.

His answer was a chuckle from the other black and white. Jazz slid his hands up and teased the doorwing joints, satisfied when Prowl pressed them into the touch.

“Jazz, we really should not…” His words were cut off as Jazz kissed him deeply, running his glossa over his lips as he begged entrance. Prowl stayed stubborn for a few seconds before submitting and moaning into the kiss. He could feel his frame heat, and it wasn’t long until his fans kicked in.

The door chimed and Prowl immediately broke the kiss and stepped back, panting as he tried to cool his frame.

“Probably ‘Raj.” Jazz panted as his own fans ran in overdrive. “And you say I have bad timing.” He added with a hint of annoyance.

Prowl smiled at Jazz and took another step back. “Are you not going to open for him?”

Jazz shook his helm. “I asked him to give us two breems to finalize some things. But  we’re definitively gonna finish this when I get back.”

Prowl drew a few deep vents, focusing on relaxing and getting his arousal under control. The last thing he wanted was Mirage to pick up on it. “Your return is estimated in seven quartexes. What leeway shall I give you if you fail to report on time?”

Jazz looked at him and nodded, thankful that Prowl turned the subject to one of immediate concern to focus on. “One quartex. If I don’t make an appearance, Mirage knows what to do.”

Prowl opened his mouth to ask what Mirage intends to do when his chest suddenly tightened as another stab of pain shot through his spark. His wings twitched as he gritted down on his denta, too late to stop a grunt from escaping.

“Prowl?” Jazz was there in an instant and gripped the tactician’s arm as he stared worriedly into Prowl’s faceplate.

Prowl swallowed as the pain subsided and gingerly his faceplate smoothed. “I am fine. It happens from time to time.”

“You’ve seen Ratch, right?” Jazz asked and Prowl caught the concern not only in his field but also in his voice.

“Jazz, I am fine.”

“That doesn’t answer my question. Mech, you’ve been actin’ out for a while. You need to see him again.” Jazz said, but hesitated to initiate a comm link with Ratchet.

He was saved that choice when both their internal comms went off and Blaster’s voice drifted through the link.

::The Hinterland is ahead of schedule and will be docking in less than a joor. They have initiated radio contact. Orders?::

::I will be there shortly.:: Prowl replied and Jazz frowned at him.

“I ain’t happy leavin’ you like this, but duty calls.” He tightened his grip until the Praxian was forced to look him in the visor. “Promise me you’ll have Ratchet check it out.”

Prowl shook his helm as he glanced away. “Jazz, it is nothing of conc…”

“Just promise me Prowl.” Jazz snapped as his patience with Prowl’s stubbornness thinned.

Prowl vented. “Fine. I will see Ratchet, but there is nothing wrong with me.” He promised.

Jazz stared hard into Prowl’s optics. Eventually he released Prowl and straightened, sending the command for the door to open. “’K. I guess I’ll have to take your word for it.” He said and Prowl caught the unhappy but accepting vibe in his field.

Mirage walked in and inclined his helm respectfully at the two commanders, but even as he did so, he raised a delicate optic ridge at Jazz. “Sir, I believe it is time to go?” He phrased the order as a question while he discreetly glanced at the Praxian.

“Yeah. Prowl and I are done for now.” Jazz said as he turned to Prowl, his field professionally blank. “Good luck at Paradron. I’ll see you on the way back to Cybertron.”

Prowl inclined his helm at Jazz. “May Primus bless your paths. Return safely, Jazz.” He turned towards the master spy and inclined his helm. “Mirage.”

Mirage waited until Prowl had left before turning towards Jazz. “Please do not take this as being forward, but what is the situation between you and Commander Prowl?” He asked directly as he stared at his superior.

“Professional.” Jazz said flatly and turned to go to his datapad cabinet.

“Professional?” Mirage sneered as he leaned against Jazz’s desk and watched him type in the commands to open the vault to Jazz’s weapons. “Do professional relationships always include increased spark-rate, over-heated frames, and moaning?”

Jazz slammed the cabinet drawer and whirled around to face Mirage. “Say it straight, Mirage. I ain’t in the mood for assumptions.” He marched past Mirage and opened a desk drawer, pulling out his plasma gun and checked to see the weapon safety was on.

“You are not focused.” Mirage scolded as he watched Jazz pluck out various daggers and a few other of Wheeljack’s inventions which he’d rather not enquire about too closely.

Jazz glanced at Mirage from under his visor. “I am focused.” How dare his insubordinate tell him he wasn’t focused?

“Alright.” Mirage gave a brisk nod. “But it’s not on the mission. And that is where your focus should be.”

Jazz stilled as he sighed resignedly. He knew Mirage was right. He was focused on Prowl. He wiped a hand over his faceplate and looked at Mirage. Mirage was one of the few mechs he really trusted, and to be honest with himself, he was venting his frustrations with Prowl on Mirage. “You’re right. Sorry” He continued taking out the last of his weaponry, playing idly with the blade as he forced himself to calm down.

Mirage’s stare was as blank as his field. “Is it official?”

“No. It ain’t official and we don’t want it known. I don’t even want Prowl knowin’ you know.” Jazz paused as he subspaced his favourite dagger. “How long have you known?”

“I’ve had my suspicions for a few vorns now. But since a few decaorns ago, you have been visiting him quite often. In down-time. Jazz, you are my superior and honestly the choices you make in your personal life is none of my business, but as your second, it is my business to ensure you are ready for this mission. You know how delicate this is. We can’t afford to lose you. Especially not because you are focused on domestic issues.”

Jazz nodded reluctantly. “I know that, Raj. And I appreciate what you’re doing. Can I…” He faltered. Could he trust Mirage with looking out for Prowl? It might be unfair, but… “Could you please, keep an optic on him? He’s, I don’t know. Something’s wrong, even though he insists everything is fine.” He flared his armour and touched the edge of Mirage’s field with his own, freely allowing the frustration and worry to be detected.

“Has he seen Ratchet?”

“Ha! Please. He says he’s already gone and ‘nothing’s wrong’. But there is. I know it. I’ve made him promise to go, but. Yeah.” He huffed. “He didn’t promise me when.”

“You could just comm Ratchet.” Mirage suggested as he inspected his fingertips. He frowned. He would need to replace the paint nanites at Paradron.

Jazz threw his hands into the air and paced like a caged cybercat. “Maybe.” He growled.

Mirage looked up from examining his finger at the pacing Jazz. “But you don’t really want to report him. Domestic issues.” He sighed as he pushed off the desk and dropped his hand. “I will look after your interests while you are away.”

Just like that the tension bled out of Jazz. “Thanks, Raj.”

“Jazz, you need to focus on the mission. I will take care of Prowl.” Mirage said seriously as he coasted towards the saboteur. “You have to get that information as quickly as possible, but don’t take any risks. I will be waiting for you at the extraction point. Don’t be late.”

“Yes, commander, sir.” Jazz mocked, but the smile took the real sting from his words. Sometimes Mirage’s knack for giving orders came through strongly, but Jazz was thankful for it.

Mirage smiled. “The Hinterland is nearly here. Time you were on your way.” He laid a hand on the saboteur’s shoulder and gently steered him towards the exit.

The Hinterland’s docking procedures flowed smoothly, and soon security director Midriff delivered his farewell speech. He had showered praise on Optimus Prime, telling him how honoured he was to have served on the flagship and how he regretted leaving, but that he had had no choice in the matter. Optimus had graciously cut him off, saying that, as much as he, too, regretted the security director’s decision to transfer, he understood and knew that he would be an excellent addition to the Hinterland’s crew, but his new crew was waiting. Midriff thanked him then, apologising profoundly that he had kept them waiting. He turned, and with no more than a curt nod and brisk salute at Prowl, boarded the transport.

“I regret to say this, but I am glad that he is leaving.” Optimus noted with a sidelong glance at his expressionless SIC as the transport glided away.

“You and I both, sir.” Prowl stated blandly as he watched the transport dock at the Hinterland.

“This new security director, uh, Red Alert? Is it?” Prowl nodded and Optimus continued. “He is the right choice?”

“I have sent you his file. He has an impeccable service record, and since his promotion to security director, none of his ships have had infiltration problems, not security breaches.”

Optimus frowned as he folded his arms over his chassis. “Then why were they willing to transfer him? Is it because the flagship requested him?” Optimus asked with genuine concern. He hated breaking up an established unit, knowing that unity and trust bound mechs and made them more than mere colleagues – it made them friends, and sometimes family. And mechs were far more willing to fight for the sake of friends and family.

Prowl drew himself up and raised his doorwings. “He is somewhat, high-strung, if the reports I read are correct.”

 Optimus cocked an optic ridge as an amused smile played at his lips. “Really? And he will be able to handle Sideswipe?”

Prowl turned unimpressed optics on Optimus.

Optimus dropped his smile and cleared his vocaliser, trying to regain his composure. Obviously this was a point of irritation for the tactician.

“Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, although formidable warriors and valuable to our crew, are not irreplaceable. They know this.” Prowl deadpanned.

“Of course. I was merrily wondering if he would succeed where others have failed.”

“If I have managed to succeed, and this mech is exactly as his record suggests, then I believe he will succeed.” Prowl stated as the transport drew closer.

Optimus hid his amusement behind his battle mask. True, his SIC had a knack for keeping unruly mechs in check. “Then we shall have to wait and see.” Optimus said as the transport door opened.

A small red and white Cybertronian got out of the transport and looked around with shrewd optics. Upon spotting Optimus and Prowl, he straightened and marched determinedly towards them.

Behind the Prime, Ironhide took a step closer, ready if the small mech tried anything, but a small hand sign from the Prime halted him. Sometimes the big, black mech took his unofficial role as guardian too seriously.

The smaller mech came to a stop in front of the Prime and bowed deeply. “Greetings, Prime. I am Lieutenant-Colonel Red Alert, former security director of the Hinterland.”

Optimus stared down at the small mech, uncomfortable with his formal display, but also knowing that it was what protocol expected. “Welcome abroad the Ark, Lieutenant-Colonel. We are pleased and grateful to have you on board.” He turned and motioned towards Prowl. “This is Commander Prowl, whom I believe you have had correspondence with. He will orientate you as to your duties and department.”

Prowl inclined his helm formally as Red Alert mimicked the action. “Welcome to the Ark. If you would follow me to my office, we can begin the orientation.” Prowl turned, but Optimus arrested him.

“Prowl, wouldn’t Red Alert prefer to be taken to his quarters first?” Optimus asked as he nodded encouragingly at Red Alert.

“Absolutely not. It is imperative that I check the systems immediately. Who knows in what state they are and I assure you, sir, I will never be able to rest easy not knowing the Ark is protected.” The small helm-horns gave a blue spark before they settled.

Optimus cycled his optics at the new security director and looked dumbfoundedly at Prowl, who, to his slight annoyance, seemed to be quite pleased with the new Security Director’s reply. Clearing his vocaliser he nodded. “Very well. I hope everything is to your standard.”

“By your leave, sir.” Prowl looked at Optimus for confirmation before continuing. “Now, if you would please follow me,” he motioned towards the elevator. “Your second, acting-Lieutenant Inferno, along with Cadet Sideswipe, is waiting in my office…”

Optimus stared at the two walking towards the elevator and vented fondly. He was distinctly aware of Ironhide stepping next to him and eyeing the two while lovingly stroking his canon.

“Think they’ll get along?” He nodded at the two officers entering the lift.

Optimus watched them talk; Prowl in his normal subdued manner, and Red Alert in a highly animated manner. He smiled broadly, thankful the battle mask hid his smile. He had a feeling his SIC and new security director would get along well, and for Prowl’s sake he was thankful. The mech needed to get out more, and he needed more mechs like him to associate with. And somehow, he had a feeling that Prowl would be good for Red Alert as well. He laid a hand on Ironhide’s shoulder.

“I think they will.”

Chapter Text

“So I’ve checked all the cameras in section A through D.”

Red Alert and Prowl slowly meandered through the lower corridors of the Ark on their ship-wide inspection.

“Even though they are in optimum condition, I’ve added another five cameras to areas I consider vulnerable. There are a few more areas I need to add more movement sensors to, and then of course I would need to check the exterior scanners one we arrive at Paradron.” Red Alert lifted a hand to his chin and rubbed it absently. “If there is a possibility to do it earlier, it would be far better.” He narrowed his optics. “I might even consider putting Sideswipe on that duty, even though I would need to triple-check them afterword.”

Prowl’s lip twitched slightly at that insinuation. In the decaorn Red Alert had been aboard, he had revised the entire security system, changed all the codes – multiple times – and demanded additional sensor nodes to be installed at places not even Prowl had considered. Prowl was very pleased with his efficiency. And more than that, he was secretly pleased that the new Security Director was giving Sideswipe as good as he was getting.

Upon their initial meeting, the two had stared hard and long at each other, gauging each other. Prowl had been forced to send Sideswipe a tight, curt reminder over the comm lines of the consequences if they lost this SD.

Sideswipe had naturally thrown his warning out the window and in his rather juvenile way, had proudly announced that he was the local security system ‘tester’ and that he was looking forward to working with Red Alert.

Prowl nearly had a spark attack.

Thankfully, Red Alert had taken it in stride and had simply remarked that, should Sideswipe succeed in breaking his security measures, he would gladly step down.

Sideswipe had thrown Red Alert a broad, no-good smile, and, curse his impertinence, had the audacity to wink at Prowl.

Prowl had immediately delegated him to scrub the entire lower deck’s floor with Wheeljack’s special solvent – using the smallest brush the quartermaster could supply him with.

That seemed to have been a sufficient reminder of respecting an officer, and with a visage of absolute horror, Sideswipe had saluted and left – leaving a gaping Inferno and a sparking Red Alert in his wake.

Prowl had spent the next ten breems ensuring Red Alert that Wheeljack’s solvent really was harmless.

Since that initial meeting, Red Alert and Prowl had met a couple of times for energon, while discussing measure to make the Ark’s systems and security measures more efficient. It had to some extent lessened the longing Prowl had for Jazz.

Prowl cut that train of thought off as he focused back on their inspection.

“I am sure Sideswipe would not mind that duty since it would give him first-hand knowledge of how your sensors work.” Prowl said evenly and waited for Red Alert to compute the consequences of such knowledge.

Red Alert stopped dead in his tracks as a small blue spark jumped between his helm horns. “Over my lifeless, grey frame!” He exclaimed and marched forward determinedly. “I will put them on myself!”

Prowl hid his amusement behind his normal emotionless façade as he followed the red and white mech at a more respectable pace, but he couldn’t quite keep the amusement out of his field.

Inferno sat dutifully watching the monitors of the Ark’s radars, noting anomalies and checking and re-checking to confirm they were natural space anomalies – just as Red Alert had shown him…multiple times.

He drew a deep vent and relaxed back into his large, padded chair, wearily rubbing his optics. It had been a long shift and he had spent most of his down-town studying for the lieutenant exams.

Since his probationary promotion to the Department’s second in command, he had learned more than he ever thought possible. At first, he had been afraid that Red Alert would disapprove of his lack of experience, but instead, he had been thrilled. Inferno smiled fondly as he remembered the pleased look that crossed Red’s faceplates.

Wonderful! Now I don’t have to get any bad habits out of you first! You’re perfect!

Not exactly a flattering compliment, but then again, Inferno wasn’t used to compliments at all. And coming from Red…well, from what Inferno has seen in the past decaorn that was high praise indeed! The little mech seemed particularly fussy when it came to mechs. The only mechs Inferno could say he trusted to some degree was the Prime, Commander Prowl and himself. So really, he should be flattered.

Beep

Inferno’s attention snapped back to the monitor and he sat forward in his chair, fully alert, as he backtracked the data on the recording device to check out the readings.

It was probably just another anomaly, but he needed to check it regardless. He frowned as he studied the read-outs. It was oddly distorted and almost undetectable, in fact, if they had still been operating under their previous security system, it wouldn’t even have shown on the radar.

“Teletraan, verify signal 2448 as of natural origin.” Inferno drawled as he closely monitored the radar screen.

‘Verification: unsuccessful.’

Unsuccessful? Inferno frowned and crossed his arms over his broad, red chassis. That can’t be right.

“Teletraan, run database comparison ta identify the anomaly.”

He drummed a finger rhythmically against the desk as he waited for the results. He had an uneasy feeling about this. Check it again. The thought came to him soundly oddly like Red. Maybe he should – Red insisted everything be checked twice, and if nothing showed, then he would have lost nothing. He turned to the monitor and typed in the command to focus the radar on that area and waited. Another small, barely discernible blip appeared, but even more distorted – and closer.

‘Verification: unsuccessful.’

Inferno wiped his hand over his mouth and vented. It was probably nothing, but…

::Red Alert, sir, I, uh, have a possible situation, but it could be nothin’:: He stumbled over the transmission.

::What kind?:: Red Alert’s sharp voice sounded instantly and Inferno shifted nervously on his chair.

::Well, there’s this, uhm, anomaly on the radar I can’t identify. Teletraan neither. But it’s very faint!:: A sudden idea of what it might be came to him, since it often displayed the same characteristics and was sometimes undetected by Teletraan 1. ::Might be solar wind since it was recorded in two locations.::

Inferno waited as he checked the radar again, running another check. The results came back empty.

::I just did another scan, and it came back empty.:: He said somewhat relieved, and feeling a tad sheepish for having called his superior.

There was a slight pause before Red Alert’s serious tone made Inferno cringe. ::I’m on my way. Try to calculate its trajectory.:: The line cut and Inferno stared at the screen blankly.

Trajectory?

Venting a resigned sigh, he reached for his exam-preparation pad. Good thing he had covered the subject of ‘trajectory’ the previous evening.

“I’m needed at the Hub. Inferno spotted an anomaly that he is unsure of. I want to make sure it’s not a threat.” Red Alert said as he stopped in front of the elevator that would take them to the lowest decks.

“Understood.” Prowl said as he bowed his helm in acknowledgement. “Do you prefer to complete the inspection at another time?”

Red Alert nodded. “Yes, it’s only the lower decks. Sideswipe is down there though…” He trailed off as his optics sharpened, seemingly staring into space.

Prowl flicked a doorwing. “I will ensure he is completing his assigned task.” And not up to something. Went unsaid as he pressed the elevator button.

His companion nodded briskly. “Thank-you, I know you run a strict schedule, so I will comm you when I am done. If you are still in the vicinity, we can complete our inspection, otherwise we will reschedule at your convenience.” Red Alert waited until Prowl confirmed then turned towards the opposite side of the corridor and hurried towards his destination.

Prowl watched him leave until the elevator pinged and the doors slipped open. He stepped inside, and pressed the lower level button.

Red Alert hurried into his department and straight towards Inferno. “What is its trajectory? And give me the readings.” He demanded as he took a seat, waving Inferno to remain seated.

“Here is the estimated trajectory path based on its location. I couldn’t calculate mass into it.” Inferno apologised as he gave Red Alert the reading.

The smaller mech grabbed the datapad and intensely studied the projected path.

His horns sparked as he flew to his console, his dexterous fingers flying across his keypad as he furiously typed commands.

Inferno watched amazed as the sensor range increased and deepened, and he absently wondered why they didn’t run at this capacity the entire time. He stood and meandered over to the radar, studying the different read-outs as Red Alert fed various commands to the radar.

Beep.

The blip appeared again on the radar and Red Alert was on it like a cyberhawk. Inferno felt that uneasy feeling return as he saw the blip was much closer to the Ark.

“Backtrack its trajectory!” Red Alert demanded as he ran three or four more scans that Inferno didn’t even know existed. Inferno quickly grabbed a datapad and ran the calculations before handing them back to Red Alert, surprised when the smaller mech uttered a curse.

The radar beeped again and this time it was showing colors in negative frames – and to Inferno’s growing horror, it clearly showed an infra-solar particle trail.

Only ships had those.

Cybertronian stealth ships.

Which meant…

“Code Red! Sound the alarm!” Red Alert shouted as his horns sparked. He turned back to his console. “Activating external shie…”

The Ark was suddenly rocked by a series of explosions and Inferno grabbed onto the nearest desk to keep himself from falling. The emergency lights flashed on and Inferno winced as the alarms shrieked their useless warnings.

 “Damage report!” Red Alert shouted as he picked himself up from the floor.

“Damage reported on lower decks one, two and four. Ark is sealing off damage areas and activating shield levels three through six.” Someone shouted out.

Red Alert looked straight at Inferno, his optics wide and his horns sparking.

“Commander Prowl is on lower deck two.”

(I’ll be doing a lot of travelling over the next two weeks. I’ll try to write as often as possible, but I hate making promises I can’t keep so I won’t be able to say when I will update this or Intervention. Sorry about that. :/ )

Chapter Text

Prowl slowly meandered down the halls of Deck 2 as he made his way towards Sideswipe, occasionally stopping to inspect a store room for moonshine energon. Thankfully, he had not as yet found any, however, that did not mean he would not find an illegal still eventually.

There was always one. Somewhere. He just had to find it.

But first, he had to check on Sideswipe. There was, in any case, a 72.59% chance that Sideswipe would know where the still was, since he was often one of the culprits responsible for the illegal contraband.

He rounded corridor  208 and stopped, idly watching Sideswipe as the red mech lazily scrubbed the corridor floor, blissfully ignorant of his commander’s presence and to all appearances seemed to be lost in the realm of his, to Prowl’s opinion, unoccupied processor.

Prowl lifted an optic ridge at the front liner’s lack of vigilance and flicked a doorwing in annoyance. Had he been an infiltrator or an assassin, Sideswipe would be a greying husk. It was obviously something he would need to have a talk about with Sideswipe. He lifted his doorwings reprovingly and cleared his vocaliser.

Sideswipe glanced up casually and cocked his helm, a devilish grin plastered on his face. “Elo, sir. Don’t come too close, you might explode.” His grin blossomed as he looked back down and continued to ‘doodle’ using the solvent as his medium and the floor as his canvas. “Though I think I should mention this solvent to Sunny. It has a nice shine to it when you apply it thick enough.”

Prowl narrowed his optics. Obviously this was not such a good punishment for the frontliner as he had hoped it would be.

“Sideswipe…”

His words were cut off as the Ark suddenly lurched and hot, searing heat flooded the corridor. Prowl grunted as he was thrown against the far wall and slid to the floor.

The blare of sirens deafened him even as it sounded muffled and far away. He shook his helm and tried to clear his thoughts.

Suddenly he was jerked to his pedes and pushed towards the end of the corridor, his helm singing and every sound muffled. He vaguely realised it was Sideswipe half-dragging, half-carrying him towards the end of the corridor.

“…alright?!”

He shook his helm again to try and get rid of the singing. “Fine.” He managed to gasp as his gyro’s stabilized and he was able to take more of his own weight. He ran a quick diagnostic. A few dents and some seared paint nanobites, but nothing his self-repair systems were unable to fix. “Status?” He asked as his battle computer automatically analysed the data collected from his doorwings, feeding him the results even as his fuzzied processor tried to compute.

Somewhere on the ship there was a fire. His olfactory sensors detected it, and his frame felt the heat – or was that just his chassis burning up?

The air pressure was wrong. It squeezed at his plating up to the point where it was difficult to vent.

The corridor was bathed in red emergency lights. The sirens were shrieking.

“I swear it wasn’t the solvent! At least I think it wasn’t! And my fraggin’ comm’s ain’t working!” He heard Sideswipe yell as they rounded the corridor.

Solvent? Prowl frowned. Wheeljack’s solvent. Had it exploded? No, it had been certified safe by Perceptor. Then what?

“FRAG!” Sideswipe spat as they came face-to-face with an engaged blast door. Sideswipe uttered a couple of choice expletives and Prowl dimly wondered where he picked up such a retinue of vulgar vocabulary. The only other mech he knew who could swear in such a fantastic manner was Ratchet…

Ah. Ratchet. Of course.

He looked at the sealed blast doors and felt his processor start clearing. Primus, what a blessing to be able to think. “Sideswipe!” He called and the frontliner looked down at him gravely. He ignored the furrowed optic ridges and the downturned mouth. “Have you tried your override code?”

“Oh!” Just like that Sideswipe’s visage changed and he leapt at the door.

Prowl leaned against the wall and shuttered his optics. His chassis felt constricted and sore. He shuttered his optics, praying that his sparkling was ok.

“Slag!  It’s not working!” Sideswipe banged his fist against the door.

Prowl reluctantly opened his optics and pushed off the wall.

“If the blast doors do not accept your override code, then it is likely the hull is breached. Step aside.” Prowl ordered as he reached for the keypad to put his override codes in. He was 98% sure that it would not work, however it might just be possible that Sideswipe’s had been suspended by Red Alert, though Prowl highly doubted the mech would do something that reckless.

He coded in his override and as he had expected, was denied.

He stepped back and vented. “The hull is breached. It would explain the air pressure change. Thankfully, it would also mean we do not have to be concerned over the fire.” He tried his comms, but as Sideswipe had stated, the comms were offline. That was never a good sign.

“I know an alternative route. Come.” Prowl said and turned shakily towards the opposite corridor. “This is corridor 209. There is a double-sided fire wall with an escape route connecting to level five with a pressurising compartment located in Section E, corridor 216. We need to head there.”

Sideswipe warily watched Prowl as he turned towards corridor 209. The tactician was shaky, and there was a tightness about his frame that positively shrieked at Sideswipe that there was something wrong. Sideswipe had a suspicion that the blast that had thrown Prowl into the wall had affected him more severely than he wanted to have known.

He pressed his lips together firmly and followed Prowl. The blast had thrown him against the wall as well, but he was used to getting thrown against, into and through stuff, if not by Cons, then by Sunny…or Ironhide. He was built to handle it. Prowl wasn’t.

“Prowl, sir, are you sure you are alright?” He asked as he jogged to catch up with Prowl, eyeing the doorwings for any signs of trembling. But he couldn’t see anything, but then again Prowl was renowned for his control over his doorwings.

“At the moment, yes.” Prowl said and glanced up at the corridor ceiling. “Sideswipe, there is a possibility that Red Alert has the cameras online and functioning. Hack into them so that we might be able to send a code through.”

“What?!” Sideswipe stumbled to a stop and gaped at Prowl. “Hack a camera? What did you like hit your helm or something?”

Prowl drew in a calming vent and turned to face the prankster. “Sideswipe, I am fully aware you know how to hack the security system. This is the only time I will ever give you permission to hack the system without facing consequences. Now do it.”

Sideswipe snapped his mouth shut and looked anxiously between the camera and Prowl. True, he could do it, but this was like signing his death warrant on the war for control of the cameras. On the other hand, Prowl had given him permission. He could only imagine the look on Red’s face when he found out that Prowl had given him permission.

He smirked as he bolted towards the camera. “How exactly is this going to work?”

A sharp, swift pain shot through Prowl and he grit on his denta to stop from grunting. The pain subsided and Prowl forced his armour to relax even as the dizziness returned.

“Sir?” Sideswipe turned towards him and the brief humour of a few clicks earlier faded.

Prowl ignored his inquisitive and worried look as he focused on answering his first question, trying to force his battle computer to stay tuned to the plan. “The blast doors are controlled out of two main hubs, one being the Security Department. Red Alert has the codes to override them, should it be safe, one at a time from the centre. He can only do that if we send him a signal of our location.”

Sideswipe huffed in annoyance as Prowl once again sidestepped his questions. He was seriously going to have a talk with the stubborn mech. No wonder he didn’t have a social life. He was too fragging ‘I can kill my own predacons and don’t need anybot’ kind of attitude and Sideswipe was sick of it. He was going to find out what the frag was up with the tactician. But later.

“Why can’t he detect us through the camera’s? If they are still functional?” He barked as he continued splicing wires. He was almost to a point where he could connect his hardline and hack the system. Just a few more wires…there!

Prowl warily looked at Sideswipe. He had obviously said something to annoy the frontliner, but honestly it was not his main concern at the moment. Small flecks of black dotted his vision and he shuttered his optics briefly. He must have knocked his helm, as Sideswipe had so graciously suggested.

“There are over 4850 cameras situated on the lower decks. Of those, 970 are located on lower deck level 2. It would be much faster to ping our position, than to wait for him to find us. We are not aware of the damage status of the ship. I would prefer not to wait.”

A grunt was all acknowledgement he received, and Prowl did not offer anything else. He had already said more than he would usually. That meant his battle computer was directing his processor. Prowl was unsure whether to be thankful or worried.

He clenched his fists. He needed to see Ratchet, but if he did, then Ratchet might find out about the sparkling. Unless he just asked Ratchet to look at his helm? His wings dipped. Ratchet was too thorough. He would look at everything to be sure his patients were in optimum health. If he looked at everything, he would look at his sparkrate, and energon pressure, and realise something was different. That would set off an entire chain of events.

“Got it!”

Sideswipe’s exclamation cut through his thoughts and he hungrily latched onto a different topic. Thankfully, it was easy to convince his battle computer to focus on the current problem as it was more immediate to his survival.

“Good. Send the following on binary code.” Prowl databurst him a file and waited for the frontliner to acknowledge he had received it.

“Ok. I got it. Luckily our short-distance links are still operational.” Sideswipe said and something about that statement sent alarm bells off in Prowl’s processor. There was something significant in that, but what?

The dizziness returned as he tried to focus on it and he felt his chest constrict. Something was draining too much energy from him. He checked his fuel levels and grimaced.

Forty-two percent.

At least it explained the dizziness. His battle computer was draining his secondary systems to continue functioning optimally. Hopefully Red Alert would be able to get them out of here fast.

“He’s responding! Sending transmission!”

Prowl acknowledged receipt and nodded at Sideswipe. “He will track us and open the blast doors as we continue to the fire escape.” He looked down the corridor and debated his next words. Red Alert had also included in the transcript that they were at Code Red and had activated all shields. That meant possible enemy contact. “Sideswipe, initiate battle protocols. There is a possibility of enemy contact.”

Sideswipe’s face turned gleefully feral as he bounded towards Prowl. “Search and engage?” He asked optimistically and Prowl shook his helm.

“Negative. We return to the upper decks so that we may re-join our respective units. Follow.” Prowl said as he led the way towards the fire escape, tracking Sideswipe with his doorwings. They continued towards corridor 216, with Red Alert opening and shutting blast doors as they approached.

They finally reached the pressure compartment in corridor 216 and Prowl nearly stumbled into it. He felt weak and dizzy, his fuel level had dropped to 40%, his helm was splitting, and his chassis was tight, hot and sore. The dark spots were increasing, blotting out more and more of his vision. He pressed a hand against his optics.

“Manually pressurising compartment to standard Ark atmospheric pressure.” Sideswipe chirped and moved closer to Prowl. They had to wait about two breems for the room to pressurise.

Prowl’s wings suddenly jerked before they went slack, followed by the tactician.

“Prowl?!” Sideswipe caught the tactician as he hit the floor and carefully rolled him over, searching for any obvious wounds and all the time cursing the stubbornness of his superior. He couldn’t see anything, but that didn’t mean he was fine. Frag! What if it was an internal injury? What if he was leaking on the inside? Sideswipe felt Prowl’s chassis and froze. It was burning hot. Too hot. Oh Primus, what if it’s a sparkcase injury?

Sideswipe  frantically reached for his cable to run an internal check, but the tactician’s moan halted him. “Prowl?” he called out tensely, his armour clamping in relief as the tactician came to.

Prowl lifted a hand to rub tiredly at his chevron and unshuttered his optics. He squinted and was surprised to find Sideswipe hovering over him. What am I doing on the floor? He pushed himself up and swallowed as he flexed his doorwings, glad to find that they were unharmed. He felt…odd.

“What the slag was that?!” Sideswipe yelled as he helped Prowl to sit up. “What the frag is going on!? Are you injured!? I need to know! Primus Prowl! What if you had just keeled over and died and I would have been blamed! Frag you!”

“Sideswipe. Enough.” Prowl said calmly as he moved his helm away from the belligerent mech and used the wall to help him stand, slumping against it for support. “I need fuel. My battle computer is siphoning too much energy from my secondary systems.”

“Argh!” Sideswipe cried as he raised his hands to throttle Prowl. “You are such a Primus-fragging aft!” He gritted through clenched denta before balling his fists and pressing them to his forehead. A moment later he felt relatively in control again and stood, unsubspacing an energon cube. “Drink.” He ordered as he grabbed Prowl’s hand and shoved the cube into it. He took a step back and folded his arms over his chassis, his field openly teeking his annoyance, anger, frustration and hints of relief.

Prowl took the cube without a word and drained it. He did not correct Sideswipe for his lack of decorum and respect, fully knowing it was, firstly, well-deserved, secondly, because he was separated from his twin in a time when his battle protocols were active, and lastly, because he simply did not have the energy to deal with it.

His chest was still tight and hurting, even though the dizziness was disappearing as his fuel levels increased.

“You can’t do this Prowl!” Sideswipe paced as they waited for the room to pressurise. “For the past few decaorn, I have caught you dropping off to sleep in your office, rubbing your chassis right above your slagging spark-chamber, which I should inform you is way too hot to be normal, and I mean that in a medical sense!” he pointed an accusing finger at Prowl before continuing his pacing, “I’ve seen you rub your helm and pretend not to have helm-aches! I’m not stupid Prowl! You’re ill! And you have been dodging Ratchet! You think I don’t know that? Frag! And then I thought you had injured your spark chamber in the blast!”

Prowl pressed his pale lips together and looked away, and for some reason that only infuriated Sideswipe even more. He felt Sunstreaker pressing persistently into the bond, enquiring, but Sideswiped was too pissed off to acknowledge him.

“Primus Prowl why don’t you just look after yourself? Do you know how valuable you are to the Autotbots? There isn’t a frontliner who doesn’t respect you, even if they don’t like you! You’ve fragging been the best tactician I’ve ever fought under! Why aren’t you looking after yourself?” Sideswipe spun towards Prowl and flared his armour. “I don’t give a frag that you are my commanding officer! I am dragging you to Ratchet when we get out of here!”

“No.” Prowl stated softly.

“No? No!?” Sideswipe spat incredulously.

“No.” Prowl repeated firmly as his armour clamped around his frame and he turned back to face Sideswipe squarely.

Sideswipe growled and marched straight into Prowl’s personal space, matching his stare. “You had better give me one FRAGGING good reason why not!” He hissed as he flared his armour dangerously.

Prowl stared long and hard into Sideswipe’s optics. He ran the different scenarios through his battle computer and barely kept himself from cringing at the results. He could not let Sideswipe go to Ratchet. It would mean utter humiliation and betrayal of the mechs he cared deeply about. Not to mention the fear of losing everything he had worked for, and facing the repercussions of having lied to the Autobot High Council about his status as a carrier. His sparkling would be taken from him, and it would reflect on both Bluestreak’s and Smokescreen’s reputations. No. He could not let Ratchet find out. Not yet.

Another alternative was to try and convince Sideswipe not to go to Ratchet, but looking into the frontliner’s blazing optics, he knew he would not be able to dissuade him. That left the last option.

But it was a gamble. A calculated gamble. And he hated gambles – even though the odds were in his favour if he had judged the mech correctly. And also, if the gamble paid off, it could be a tremendous benefit. But still – gambling was best left to Smokescreen.

His mouth felt dry and his helm dizzy. Maybe he should try option two first. “Sideswipe, please do not…”

“Prowl!” Sideswipe cut him off and inched closer, his field intrusive and unyielding.

He shuttered his optics and tucked his doorwings into his frame as he steeled himself. He really had no choice.

He took an encouraging vent, flared his doorwings and drew himself to his full height, which still left Sideswipe half-a-helm taller than him and looming menacingly.

“I am carrying.”

Sideswipe continued staring at him.

Prowl stared back.

Time seemed to stop as Prowl waited for Sideswipe to comprehend what he had just said and to see what the frontliner chose to do next.

Abruptly, his doorwings’ flicked and his processor instantly shifted his alertness into high gear as his sensor net detected five dampened spark signature heading their way. The pressure compartment gave a warning beep before it depressurised and the locks disengaged.

With a menacing snarl, Sideswipe spun towards the door as he transformed his hand into a blaster and his other into a short, broad sword. Prowl onlined his battle protocols and unsubspaced his acid pellet, aiming at the place the spark signatures would appear.

Five Decepticons rounded the corner and raised their blasters.

Prowl fired his weapon, immediately lowering the number to four, as Sideswipe charged helm-first into the fray. Even though Prowl was fully engaged in battle, one thought kept nagging at the back of his processor.

How in Primus’ realm did they get through the blast doors?

Author's note: Next update will be around 10 Feb...

Chapter Text

The first Decepticon fell lifelessly to the ground as acid pellets ate away at his chassis and spark chamber, his gurgling cry the last sound he made this side of the Well.

A second Decepticon lifted his blaster, but the sickening sound of Sideswipe’s blade cutting through his chassis arrested his movement. Sideswipe didn’t even wait to check if his blade reached the mark as he spun to the third opponent.

He dodged a blow and slammed his elbow into the Decepticon’s chassis. He grabbed his foe’s helm and thrust his sword through it.

Prowl got a clear shot at the fourth and used it, his aim true as the Con fell. He whirled around just in time to see Sideswipe ripping the helm off the last Con, but quickly turned away at the acrid smell and sight of the processed energon splattered against the walls made his tanks churn.

Sideswipe snarled as he kicked a dead Decepticon a few times before sheathing his sword. Wiping energon off his chassis, he marched over to the wall and slammed the pressure-controller. He stood with his back towards Prowl, his engine revving dangerously.

Prowl left him, well aware of his need to come down from the battle high, and thankful that Sideswipe had been with him on the lower decks. He quickly scanned the frontliner and was relieved to see only a few dents and scratches. They had been lucky.

Prowl allowed his processors to return to the puzzle of the broken comm lines, which he now had no doubt was the work of the Decepticons, and the blast doors that must have been opened to allow the Decepticons to follow them. It could not have been Red Alert, Prowl had no doubt that he was 99.95% loyal to the Autobots, but someone else might have hitched a ride on Sideswipe’s hacked message, and if they had that electronic signature, they could have mimicked it.

It might have been the work of a Decepticon agent specialised in communications. Or an infiltrator. Either way, he would need to look into it. And soon.

The wall behind him transformed and he stepped away, waiting for the signal that it was clear to go into the fire escape corridor.

Sideswipe came and stood behind him, motioning him to take the lead. Prowl spared him a glance and saw his lips in a tight, thin line and his armour flared aggressively as heat from his frame rolled over Prowl. He was pissed.

Prowl ignored him as he took the lead, but the door had no sooner closed behind them than Sideswipe called out to him. Prowl stopped and squared his shoulders as he turned to face Sideswipe. He wasn’t afraid of Sideswipe, nor would he shrivel in front of the red fighter. He was a commander.

Yet, at this moment Sideswipe held a tremendous sword over his helm. He flared his armour in a show of dominance and waited.

It was time to see if the gamble paid off.

Sideswipe opened his mouth, then closed it. He looked away and licked his lips, crossing his arms over his chassis.

“Fragging Cons always choose the worst time to interrupt. And just so you know, Sunny is pissed.” He finally grumbled. He rocked back and forth on his heels and Prowl waited patiently, but with no small amount of trepidation, for him to continue.

“So…” He bit his lip and looked back at Prowl. “I’ve run the memory file again, and I must be glitching ‘cause it says, well, it says you say you’re carrying.” He scratched his helm agitatedly before dropping his arm and scrunching his face. “Am I glitching? Is this how it feels?”

Prowl drew a vent and shook his helm. “No. Your memory file is correct.” He couldn’t bring himself to utter those words again. It had been the first time he had uttered them aloud, and now that their immediate situation was safe, his battle computer didn’t redirect his thought processes to safer avenues. His reality came crashing back. What had I been thinking? His armour clamped around him and supressed the urge to fold his arms protectively over his spark chamber and the new spark within. He was still the Second Commander of the Autobots, and so he forced his hands to remain by his side.

“Oh.”

They fell silent as they regarded each other. Around them, the Ark’s internal groaning could be heard as her metal walls shifted and her engines strained. Distantly alarms blared, but at that moment, none of it mattered.

Time seemed frozen as Prowl waited for the verdict.

Sideswipe pursed his lips. “Isn’t it against the law?”

“Yes.” Prowl stated plainly and felt his vocaliser hitch. He felt lightheaded, detached, as he stared at Sideswipe.

“You broke a law.” Sideswipe nodded to himself absently as he looked Prowl up and down slowly. “Didn’t think you had it in you.”

Prowl frowned before he could stop himself and quickly reasserted his blank mask of indifferent authority. They fell into an uneasy silence as Sideswipe walked towards the corridor wall and leaned his shoulder against it.

“This explains a lot.” He murmured as he looked at Prowl. The mech looked as calm as ever, but Sideswipe had to wonder how much of it was true and how much of it was a shield. He was used to bending the rules, even breaking them on occasion, and usually it was Prowl getting him out because it was minor infringements. But this? This was way more serious. This was like a crime against the senate itself. So who was going to bail Prowl out? He wiped a hand over his faceplate as he looked up. “Ah frag.” He mumbled. “This why you’re dodging the Hatchet?”

“So that my status remains unknown? Yes.” Prowl confirmed with a small dip of his doorwings.

Sideswipe lifted a finger and wagged it at Prowl. “I cannot believe you are as calm on the inside as you are trying to be on the outside.”

Prowl silently looked at Sideswipe before letting his shoulders and doorwings drop slightly. “I will admit that I have some trepidation to…reveal…this knowledge. You are the only one that knows.”

Sideswipe drew a deep vent as he thumped his helm back against the wall. “Yeah ain’t that a glitch?” He shook his helm. “You need to see a medic.” He whispered, once more aware of Sunstreaker angrily poking the bond. He sent a short surge back, promising an explanation soon. He was rewarded with an annoyed surge and the bond dimming.

“I know, but that would mean revealing my status. If Ratchet knows, he would be obligated to inform Optimus. Besides being the one who sanctioned the law, he would be duty-bound to inform the senate and council. I do not need to inform you of the consequences that would result in.” Prowl said and lifted a hand tiredly to rub at his aching helm.

“Yet you’ve told me.” Sideswipe pointed out as he kept staring at the ceiling.

“A calculated gamble. If I had not, you would have taken me to Ratchet.”

Sideswipe huffed in annoyance. “By all rights I still should. You need a medic. Frag Prowl. Have you ever carried before or been with someone who carried? Your symptoms aren’t normal! Your chassis shouldn’t be so hot! You’re not supposed to faint! You’re not supposed to still have headaches! Or be so tired all the time!” He pushed away from the wall and looked at Prowl. “I’m not even bringing you the right energon! You need supplements for the new spark. And for yourself!”

“I know.” Prowl stated. This was absolutely humiliating, yet in a way it was a relief to know someone else knew. He was only thankful they were alone and nobody was witnessing him be lectured by an irritated Sideswipe. He would have smiled at the irony of that thought if the situation wasn’t what it was.

“Primus, I hope you’re at least being fragged…” Sideswipe stopped as a sudden thought interrupted his tirade. “You actually interface?” He turned and looked at Prowl as if seeing him for the first time. “Slag. You sure you’re the real Commander Prowl? I mean, you break rules, you trust me with something like this, and you actually interface!” He canted his helm and frowned. “I’ve never thought of you interfacing.” He suddenly shuttered his optics and scrunched his face. “Ah frag. I just imagined that…”

Prowl’s optic twitched. What was he supposed to say to that? His private life was none of anybody’s affairs, especially not Sideswipe’s, and besides that, the only rule he had ever ignored was the one banning carriers from fighting for the Autobots. And that was only because, to him, it was blatant discrimination. And as to trusting Sideswipe – he would not call it trust, maybe something closer to desperation mixed with preservation.

And as to him interfacing…that really was none of Sideswipe’s business.

“My private affairs are none of your business Sideswipe. The only thing I am asking is that you not divulge my status to anybody.”

Sideswipe turned to face him fully, staring hard at him. All humorous and fantasy thoughts of this parallel-universe Prowl were instantly forgotten as the magnitude of the entire situation bore down on him like a Constructicon’s pile driver. “Is that an order?” He asked seriously.

Prowl was quiet as he thought it over, and then shook his helm. “No. I am asking you.”

Sideswipe drew a vent and slowly released it. This was asking a lot. If it was an order…he might still be excused…but by asking him, it made it his choice. In a way, it was making him an accomplice to breaking the law, and that would make Sunny an accomplice too. And this was a serious law – one that could get you to serve time in a detention barracks and get you a dishonourable discharge. They had worked hard to be where they were in the army – with a few hiccups along the way.

He should say no. Back out while he had the chance. He should tell Ratchet and lodge a formal complaint. It was the lawfully right thing to do.

But Prowl was asking him. It was the first time Prowl had asked him for anything.

He shuttered his optics. Prowl had always looked out for him and his brother – whether on the battle field, a base or a ship. They owed him. But was that enough? Could he gamble his own and his brother’s military careers for the sake of one mech? The Autobots had been the only home they had ever known. Could they risk it?

His processor raced back to his previous argument he had had with Prowl…Do you know how valuable you are to the Autotbots? There isn’t a frontliner who doesn’t respect you…You’ve fragging been the best tactician I’ve ever fought under…He sighed and opened his optics. Prowl was the reason they were still in the Autobots, and he was the best commander – barring Optimus – the Autobots have had since the beginning of the war. But if he was having a sparkling, they would lose him anyway.

Sideswipe swallowed at that thought. They shouldn’t be losing him just because he was having a sparkling. And it was all because of that stupid, fragging law. Anger boiled up inside him because of the unfairness of the situation. How many more mechs were there like Prowl, who weren’t allowed to fight simply because they were carriers? It wasn’t fair.

He turned wary optics on Prowl. The proud wings, the deep blue optics, the clamped frame and tight field – this was his commander, but also in a weird, twisted way something like a friend. And the reason they fought this fragging war was because of friends. And family.

So Primus slag them all.

He walked over to Prowl and stopped in front of him, staying well out of his personal space.  “I won’t keep it from Sunny.”

Prowl nodded. “I know.”

“I don’t agree with the law.”

“Neither do I.”

“You need to see a medic.”

“No.”

“Yes.” Sideswipe said sternly. “If you won’t see Ratch...” he sighed, “We are two orns away from Paradron. You can see a medic there. Prowl, there’s something not right. I’ve been around carriers and this…”

Prowl shuttered his optics. “I am sure everything is fine.” He interrupted and turned to head to the stairwell that would take them to level five.

At the small, non-descript desk, Red Alert sat staring at the console. Eventually he disconnected his cable and slowly folded it back into his casing.

He reached for the recording devise and deleted the past ten-breems’ files.

He glanced around his department and relaxed when he saw nobody had noticed him. They were too busy working on the immediate crises. Speaking of which, now that he had successfully gotten Prowl and the little miscreant out of the lower decks, he could focus on the task at hand.

“Status on the stealth?” Red Alert barked as he focused on Inferno. Once Prowl had contacted him, he had turned over the security coordination to Inferno and the previous officers to run.

“Our fighters are engaged, she is turning tail. Looks like she doesn’t have any more fight left in her. Tactical is reporting no casualties, and response teams have been sent to the lower decks to ensure no Decepticon boarded, and to extract any Autobots still located on the lower decks. Medbay is on standby.” Inferno replied promptly.

“Good. Do a sensor sweep on lower decks one through five, and if anything with any kind of signature other than a certified drone or crew member appears, lock it down and stun it!” Red Alert frowned and turned back to the console. Why would a stealth attack and then retreat without any obvious objectives? Surely one little stealth ship couldn’t think to take on the Ark? He took those thoughts and shifted them to the back of his processor. He would deal with them later. Right now, he had other things to worry about.

He watched through his cameras as Prowl hurried towards the command deck and to his post. Sideswipe had already split and run to meet his brother at their unit, so Red Alert didn’t bother tracking him.

He shuttered his optics and drew a deep vent. He would need to update and upgrade the Ark’s security systems as soon as possible. He opened his optics and observed Prowl disappear into Tactical.

Your secret’s safe with me.

Author’s note: Thanks to all those lovely reviews! Hope this chapter was worth the wait!

Chapter Text

“Welcome to Paradron, Prime.”

Planetary Commander Echelon moved his powerful frame forward into a graceful bow as he greeted Optimus Prime and his entourage upon their disembarkment from the Ark.

 “Thank-you, Commander Echelon. We are honoured to be here, and we thank you for your hospitality.” Optimus responded as he returned the bow. Behind him, his elite commanders assembled, each in their place according to rank.

“We are glad to help in any way we can, and we have honestly been looking forward to your visit.” Echelon smiled warmly as he directed Prime towards the hanger bay exit, his own elites falling into place behind him.

All around them mechs were hustling and bustling about their duties, but every now and then they would stop, stare and point at the Prime and his retinue. It was after all a rare event to have the Prime on Paradron, and everyone was hoping for a glimps of him, and of course one pit of a celebration.

In fact, the civilians within the planet's capitol, Paradron City, had already planned for the arrival of a large ship-of-war. The soldiers stationed on those ships always wanted to spend their accumulated credits. Booths were set up with every imaginable ware, parades were organised, clubs and bars stocked up on high-grade, brothels were scrubbed and advertised - it was a party waiting to happen.

That this new ship was the Prime's personal flagship only meant that the celebration would be even bigger. The Prime was after all considered the spiritual leader of the entire Cybertronian race. That meant that the priests would also be hosting an event in honour of the Prime. Only chosen mecha would be allowed to attend within the cathedral's walls, but outside of those walls - it was an excuse to allow the highgrade to flow freely.

Prowl walked stiffly behind the Prime, alongside Lt. Gen Sandstorm, Commander Echelon's SIC, as he tried to ignore the stares thrown their way. His frame still hurt and he needed to recharge, badly.

Since the incident with the stealth ship, he had barely had any opportunity to rest. Once it was discovered that five Decepticons had boarded the Ark, gotten through the fire walls, and that no evidence except their deactivated frames remained, Red Alert had gone berserk. He had had the entire Ark's codes replaces, blast doors checked, and defences upgraded as much as their limited resources had allowed. The quartermaster had of course thrown a royal fit when Red Alert had insisted on using the last of the wiring to upgrade the lower decks, and the fit had exploded into a full-blown temper tantrum after Red Alert had promtly accused him of being a Decepticon sympathiser, or Primus forbid, a spy. Stocktake had after all served on the Ark since she had been commissioned, and as he had sworn vehemently their was no one more loyal to the cause or to her.

Prowl sighed as his fingers bit into his palms. He had expected it to be a rather tense situation to resolve, but to his surprise, once he had suggested that he take over the investigation, Red Alert had backed down and apologised. He had even asked the assistence of the old mech to look for supplies needed to upgrade the Ark's security. The abrupt change had almost thrown Prowl, but since the quartermaster was placated and Red Alert seemed relatively clam, he had left it in his new SD's hands.

"So are you going to join the party tonight? I know of a few good places to hang out."

Prowl arched his brow at Sandstorm and forced his hands to relax, but before he could decline, Red Alert cut in.

"Of course not! There is too much to do!"

Sandstorm turned his helm to look at the smaller red and white mech walking right behind him. "Chill mech. What could possibly be so important that it can't be left till tomorrow?" He turned back to Prowl and smiled invitingly. "You look like you could use a good time, and I know how to give it."

"Thank-you, but I must attend to my duties first. Perhaps at another time you would be willing to show me around the city?" Prowl offered and ignored the angry rev coming from behind him. He would need to talk to Red Alert about treating their allies with a bit more respect. Besides, if he was to look at Paradron as a possible location to raise his youngling, he could use an extra contact or two.

Sandstorm extended his field invitingly and inched closer to Prowl, but stayed within the proper public distance for the procession. "I would enjoy that."

"Hmmph." Red Alert grumped as he glared daggers into Sandstorm's back, but he said no more as Echelon stopped and turned towards the Prime.

"Prime. I have prepared quarters for you and the command staff within the Palace. The barracks on the grounds have also been prepared for your soldiers. Would you prefer to settle before we continue with our meeting or would you like to proceed immediately?"

Prime turned to Prowl. His second appeared pale, his expression pinched and the wings held too stiffly. His expression softened as he glanced at Red Alert. The mech seemed to be tired as well. The past few orns have been trying for his command staff, and it was starting to show. He turned back to Commander Echelon. "We would appreciate it if we could schedule our meeting for next orn. Would 26h00 joors suffice?"

"Of course, sir." Echelon bowed his helm and stepped back. "Quarters have already been assigned to your soldiers. Lt. Gen Sandstorm will see to all your needs and ensure that everything is to your liking." He indicated Sandstorm and the golden-orange mech stepped forward, bowing deeply as he did so.

Optimus acknowledged him with a nod and turned towards Prowl. "I believe you are aquinted with Commander Prowl, my second?"

"But of course. Commander, it is good to see you again and in good health." Echelon turned towards Prowl and dipped his helm appropriately. Prowl returned the gesture and flicked his doorwings back and up as a sign of recognition.

Optimus smiled. "He will oversee the assignment of quarters and any other immediate needs that need addressing. He will also be presenting the greater part of our meeting."

Echelon raised his optic ridges as he turned towards Prowl. "Sounds like you have quite enough to keep you busy until then. Please do not hesitate to request Sandstorm to help. The mech knows his job." He nodded proudly at his second.

"Thank-you, though I admit that it is not solely I that will be doing the work. Our new Security Director, Lt. Col. Red Alert, will be assisting me with most of it."

Red Alert stepped forward and bowed, flashing Sandstorm a challenging grin.

Sandstorm cocked his optic ridge at the obstinate mech and puffed his armour slightly.

"Well, I am certainly glad to hear you have help. That being clarified, please allow us to escort you to your quarters.” Echelon waved his arm in the Palace’s direction and resumed his place next to, though never in front, of Optimus Prime.

The walk through the magnificent palace gardens were brief, but Prowl felt calmed by it. He continued polite conversation with Sandstorm until he was shown to his quarters, where Sandstorm bid his farewell, and pinged Prowl his personal comm link.

“In case you need anything.” Sandstorm grinned at him before stepping back into the hall – and collided into an highly irritated Red Alert. Prowl shuttered his optics as the two flayed like organic insects, before Sandstorm mumbled an apology and disappeared down the hall.

“Imbecile!” Red Alert spat as he walked into Prowl’s quarters armour still flared aggressively and a field teeking with hostility.

“What has he done to offend you?” Prowl asked calmly as he walked towards an intricately carved desk in the centre of his high-ceiling living room. Prowl sat down slowly and relaxed against the plush chair. Whoever had designated his room to him new of the needs of winged-frames.

Red Alert shrugged and followed Prowl, taking a seat across him as he pulled out a data-pad. “I don’t like the way he…looks.” He said with a small sniff as he raised his chin stubbornly.

Prowl’s lip twitched up at the corner as he leaned further back into the chair, the softness giving some relief to his sore frame. He slanted his helm. “How he looks?”

At you. Red Alert thought as he brushed off imaginary dirt from his knee. “Yes. He has a boxy frame and a hideous paint job. That no one has complained about it yet seems to be a small miracle.”

Prowl placed a hand over his mouth to hide his smile. “I did not think you were one for judging mechs on their paint jobs.”

Red Alert leaned back in the chair and his own mischievous smile bloomed. “Oh, I judge mechs on everything, not only the paint jobs.”

Prowl shook his helm and leaned forward, onlining the built-in console and grabbing a datapad with his other hand. “Yes, and that is what makes you so good at your job.”

Red Alert hesitated, “It’s not the only thing that makes me good at my job, but I will agree it is a significant factor. But enough of that, I am sure that the troops would like to be stationed at preferred rooms.”

Prowl nodded briskly before focusing on the screen. “I agree that we need to recheck the quarter-allocation. There are some mechs I do not want near others.”

“And I would prefer moving the Twins closer to the command staff, particularly my and your quarters. I do not trust Sideswipe to refrain from pranking while he is here.” Red Alert said as he preceded to do so.

“Usually Sideswipe is well-behaved when not bound to a ship or a base. They have military leave, so they will most likely spend their time doing more pleasurable activities.”

“I still don’t trust them that far away from us.” Red Alert said adamantly and finalised the move. It was not that he worried if Sideswipe was going to prank anyone, it was more a case of having extra security around Prowl. Especially since that imbecilic mech had been ogling a very oblivious Prowl. He snorted. He would have to find a way of alerting the Twins without making it obvious. But how?

Prowl glanced at Red Alert before accepting the move. “The closest we could get them is still two corridors away from us. If Sideswipe was determined to prank someone, then the distance will not deter him at all.”

“It is the thought that counts.” Red Alert mumbled as he frowned at his screen. They lapsed into comfortable silence, each going through their work and enjoying the productive atmosphere.

“Got it!” Red Alert shouted and Prowl jerked in surprise before quickly regaining his composure.

“Have what?” He asked as he relaxed his armour and checked his internal chronometer. It was fast approaching the 29^th joor. He needed to refuel and get some recharge soon. He lifted a hand and rubbed tiredly at his tight chest.

“I’ll place Inferno in the room next to them! Both of them need to study for the tests, so this would be a way of ensuring they do and keep an optic on Sideswipe.” Red Alert sat back with a satisfied smile as he looked at Prowl. His smile faltered as he saw the tactician rub at his chest and the doorwings hanging two degrees lower than normal. His brow wrinkled as his processor raced at how to get Prowl to rest.

He checked the list of important things to do and found that he could do most of them, and those that he could not do could be left until the next orn.

He cleared his vocaliser.

“Ok. I think that covers all that urgently needs to be done. Have you had energon yet? No? I’ll go get some while you finish up with what you are doing.” He jumped up and strode to the dispenser. He idly glanced at the list of minerals available and added potassium and iron to Prowl’s energon. He would need it. He got a cube for himself and last-click decided to add some nitrate to both cubes.

“Here you go.” He said and placed the warm cube in front of Prowl.

Prowl glanced at the reddish tint and furrowed his brow. “What did you add to my energon?” He asked as he picked the cube up and examined the reddish liquid.

“Iron, potassium, and nitrate. It’s a very good blend with a neutral pH balance.” He took a sip of his own cube and ‘mmmed’ in approval. “And if I have to be honest, you look exhausted. Those minerals will help you bounce back to your normal self. Especially since you don’t have to have Sideswipe with you all the time. Primus! I just think of the mech and I become exhausted.” Red Alert threw back his head dramatically and sighed.

Prowl smiled as he took a tentative sip, and was surprised to find that he liked the slightly acidic taste. He turned his attention back to the babbling Red Alert. He enjoyed Red Alert’s company and was looking forward to introduce him to Jazz. His smile faltered as he thought of the visored mech and he felt his tanks twist. Jazz was in enemy territory. He was the sole agent in the field and he had no back-up. What was worse was that Prowl had no way of knowing where he was or what he was doing, what state he was in or if he was even alive. If he did not return from his mission, then the sparkling was all that he would have left of his Jazz.

He swallowed hard as he felt his energon run cold.

His sparkling.

Today was eight decaorns since he had spark-merged.

Today he would be able to look at his spark and confirm a small spark growing next to his.

His vision swam and his helm pounded. He shuttered his optics.

“Prowl?”

Prowl snapped back as he looked up at Red Alert’s raised optic ridges. “My apologies.” He rasped. “I was, uhm, side-tracked for a moment. Did you ask something?”

Red Alert leaned forward and placed his hand on the desk. He allowed his field to expand with his concern and caution as he looked Prowl squarely in the optics. “I think we should both call it an evening. The past few orns have been trying on both of us and we need to rest. We can finish tomorrow.”

Prowl shook his helm and tightened his armour.  He could not go to his room yet. He needed more time. “You go ahead. If I could just finish these…”

“No, Prowl.” Red Alert said firmly and folded his arms over his chassis. “I will glare at you until you leave.” He narrowed his optics at Prowl and flared his armour.

Prowl darted his optics around the room disbelievingly. Did Red Alert just threaten to …glare…him into submission? He raised a hand and rubbed at his chevron. “Red Alert, I appreciate your concern, however, do you not think your threat a tad awkward?

“Not if it works.” Red Alert quipped without missing a beat.

Prowl grunted incredulously as he returned his attention to the datapad, feeling lightheaded but able to focus. Or at least he thought he was able to focus – but his processor kept racing back to the sparkling and Jazz, and every now and then to the glaring Red Alert.

After half a joor of rereading the same paragraph numerous times, he heaved a heavy sigh and shut-down the datapad. He looked at Red Alert. “You really are going to glare at me until I leave?” He asked dolefully.

Red Alert gave a terse nod and pressed his lips together tightly.

Prowl looked at him a few clicks more before pushing his chair out. “Very well. I will retire for the evening.”

As if a switch was thrown, Red Alert’s stern expression instantly morphed into an open smile as he stood with Prowl. “Excellent.” He rubbed his hands together. “The chances of mistakes decrease the better rested we are. I will take some of these datapads with me, just to ensure you do not return for them.” He finished and snatched up the datapads he knew he could complete and bounded towards the door.

Prowl watched him with amusement edging on his field, but it faded alongside the closing of the door.

Prowl allowed his doorwings to drop as he turned to the berthroom.

It was time.

His spark pounded with every step he took. He halted in front of the washrack mirror and stared at his reflection blankly for several breems.

This was it. This was the determining moment when reality could no longer be ignored for the possibility that it might all be a bad memory flux.

Taking a deep vent, he sent the command for his chest plates to open.

The armour folded back smoothly and Prowl shuttered his optics and drew deep, shaky vents until the final piece of armour clicked into place. He steeled himself and unshuttered his optics.

His vents hitched as he saw a tiny, lilac-coloured ball of floating light nestled closely to his own pulsating, sky-blue spark.

His world stopped spinning as his focus narrowed on that single, dim source of light.

A new spark.

He reached his hand out to the mirror – then snatched it back as if burned.

Abruptly he shut his chest plates and lurched to the side, purging his tanks onto the washrack floor. He wiped his mouth and leaned his hot frame against the cold tiles of the wall, his vents wheezing.

He trembled as his world spun about him. He pressed his helm into his hands and slowly sank to the floor.

He was going to lose everything he fought so hard for.

Author’s note: I know Prowl’s reaction seems far out, but I base this fic mostly on personal experience – if you ‘accidentally’ fall pregnant and you risk losing your job, status and friends (in my cultural environment), you react that way.

But apart from that – a special shout-out to all those reviews! You all made my day! Next weekend will be the next update – featuring Red’s favourite warrior. ;D

Chapter Text

Sideswipe meandered down the brightly lit, party-filled streets of Paradron City – so vastly different from the dim and dirty, pockmarked, lifeless streets of Cybertronian cities.

He looked around at the mechs lining the streets – dancing, laughing, and brawling. Some were very-obviously overcharged and sang along off-key with the street bands that filled the night sky with the sounds of life, while others were still on their merry way to overcharge. He was still surprised that the party was in full-swing, and that only joors after they had landed. He grinned. Thank-primus he wasn’t one of the command staff! They had to stay in until all the arrangements were made and meetings held and some other such slag.

“Whoa!” Sideswipe stopped as a drunk clattered down right in front of him. There was a moment of silence as the mech’s swaying comrades looked at him through bright, diluted optics, before they threw their helms back and smacked their thighs, roaring in laughter at their unfortunate friend’s mishap.

Sideswipe chuckled along with them, shaking his helm as he sidestepped the commotion. He felt alive again and wished for all his life that he was there getting drunk with them.

::Ah frag, Sunshine. You should see the streets out here tonight! It’s alive::

::Don’t call me that.:: was the curt reply before Sunstreaker cut the connection, leaving Sideswipe to roll his optics in dismissal.

A bright-red femme with a gleaming finish sauntered up to him, her marks clearly portraying her function as a pleasure-bot.

“You looking for a good time, soldier?” She purred as she sidled up next to him, her field warm and inviting and her scent intoxicating.

Sideswipe looked down at her luscious lips and beautifully crafted curves. For a few clicks he was tempted, but instead he shook his helm. As much as he wanted to join the party and officially start his leave, he was on a mission.

“You have a calling card?” He whispered into her pointy auditory fin as they continued walking down the busy street. “I’m looking for someone at the moment, but maybe later if you’re free…”

She tilted her chin at him and pursed her lips. “Later?” She asked sweetly as she playfully ran a long, delicate finger up his arm.

His engine gave an involuntary rev as he felt his frame heat. Primus. It’s been too long since he had a decent interface…He licked his lips as he leaned towards her, his field inviting.

She didn’t waste any time as she leaned up and caught his lips with her own, her glossa playing with his as she invited him deeper. He stopped walking and pulled her flush against him, his frame battling with his needs as his interface panel heated. He broke the kiss, panting hard.

She smiled coyly at him as she sizzled closer. “You sure your friend can’t wait?” She asked and leaned in again.

Sideswipe jerked his helm back, the reminder like a splash of frigid water against his hot plating. He wiped a hand over his faceplate.

“No.” He said hoarsely. “He’s waited too long already.”

The femme faltered as she stepped back. “Oh.” She folded her arms over her copper-red midsection as she gave a delicate shrug. “Guess a calling card is it then?”

Sideswipe nodded and lifted his hand to receive the card, well-aware he had offended the pretty femme. “This is very important.” He apologised as his optics lingered on her lips.

She allowed her gaze to rove over his strong frame as she pulled a calling card out of subspace, teasing his palm with the edge of it.

“So who is this friend?” She arched a delicate optic ridge. “Maybe I know where to find him?”

Sideswipe frowned down at her as he pondered her words. Maybe she could help? She was a local after all, and the sooner he was done the sooner he could join the party. Now only to make it sound not-suspicious like. “Well, uhm, I’m kinda looking for a medical doctor?”

She froze as she cocked her helm at him with a puzzled expression. “A medical doctor?”

Sideswipe nodded and cast a glance around him, making sure no Autobot was within earshot. Primus he wished Sunny was there with him instead of prancing in front of that Primus-fragging mirror!

A small stab through the bond notified him that Sunstreaker had caught that little thought and was not too pleased about it.

::Don’t care bro. You’re supposed to be my back-up.:: He sent over a tight comm followed by an irritated poke through the bond.

::You decided to look for a medic. I don’t want any part of thisslagging mess.::

::That’s not what you said two orns ago::

A grunt was the only thing he received and so he turned his attention back to the waiting pleasure-bot. “Well yes. But not for me!” He quickly tagged on as he felt the femme’s field withdraw. “For a stubborn friend.”

“There are a lot of doctors; you even have the CMO with you. Why doesn’t he go to him?” She shrewdly asked in her melodic voice and Sideswipe grimaced.

“It’s kind of a discreet issue. Uhm, slag, I don’t really know how to voice it. I just need someone who would look at him that would keep his trap shut.”

“It something illegal?” She asked plainly as she indicated for him to move. They were beginning to draw attention, and she didn’t want that.

Sideswipe pressed his lips together as he allowed her to direct their movement. He really shouldn’t tell her anything; he barely knew her and she was a pleasure-bot. But then again, if he had to look for a medic by himself, it might take orns. And Prowl needed to see someone fragging immediately. Well, if Prowl could take a gamble trusting him…maybe he could with the femme.

“So I didn’t catch your name.” He said as they weaved down the main street. Around them mechs were dancing and drinking, and some were being dragged away to enjoy some private time. He tried to ignore their lewd calls as he focused on the femme.

“Vibes.” The femme said as she indicated a side street. It was thankfully quieter, and provided them with a little more privacy. “So it is something illegal. Drugs?”

“What!? No!” Sideswipe said aghast at the mere thought that Prowl would use drugs.

“Then what is it? I might know a doctor, but it would cost you.”

“I figured that.” Sideswipe said as he glanced around him. He had the strangest sensation that he was being watched. Or maybe that was just his nerves.

“Well?” Vibes stamped her pede impatiently.

“Look, I can’t tell you what it is. All I can say is that the mech prefers not to go to an Autobot medic at this time. In fact, he doesn’t want to see any medic. But he needs to see a medic.” He leaned closer to the femme. “Name your price.”

Vibes looked at him squarely. “Three things: firstly, one hundred credits. Secondly, vouch for me at the Autobots. Third and last: I will take you to the medic, but I want no further involvement.”

Sideswipe scrunched his face. “You want to join the Autobots? Why? Here you don’t have to kill or fight or work boring shifts.”

“Well, I guess in the Autobots I won’t have to sell my frame orn after orn and lose whatever dignity I have left. I would rather be owned by the Autobots than by a pimp.” She folded her arms across her chest and lifted her chin defiantly.

Sideswipe rubbed the back of his neck. One hundred credits was easy to give her, not getting involved was actually one of his requirements, and he was sure he could talk Prowl into sending this little swindler to Elita One. The femme commander was always looking for new recruits, and Sideswipe had a feeling this one would fit right in among the rest of the asylum. If she was a spy – which he highly doubted – ol’ Red Alert would dissect her so badly even the Hatchet wouldn’t be able to rebuild her into a chair. Well then, the cost seemed reasonable.

“Fine.” Sideswipe grumbled. He extracted a credit chip which he loaded with 100 Shanix, and smacked into her extended palm.

“Thank-you.” She chirped and spun on her heels. She walked three steps before stopping and turning to Sideswipe. “His name is First Aid. He’s young, but good. And he’s got a spark of pure crystal. Come along then.” She nodded down the street.

Sideswipe smiled as he jogged after the femme.

At the far end of the street, the air shimmered as a sleek form materialised out of thin air.

Mirage narrowed his optics at the retreating forms and smiled ruefully. Jazz’s hunch had been right – something was wrong with Prowl. And now, thanks to one little, red idiot, he was going to find out.

The master spy turned around and blended seamlessly into the flowing, throbbing crowd. He needed to get some more information on the doctor. He accessed the Paradron system and retrieved the comm link for a doctor named ‘First Aid’. Less than a breem later, he had scheduled himself an appointment.

I look forward to meeting you, Medic First Aid.

“Inferno!”

Inferno’s spark skipped a beat as he stopped and turned to face the little red and white mech walking briskly towards him.

“Yes, Red?” He smiled warmly.

“Are you on your way to your quarters?” Red Alert clipped as he kept looking around him while at the same time seeming to keep his focus on Inferno.

“I am, yes.” Drawled Inferno as he shortened his stride so that the smaller mech did not need to hurry too much. "Spent some time out on the streets this morning, there was a lot of clean-up. Seems the mechs had a good time last night. I mostly stayed in my quarters and studied."

“Good. Is everything to your preference?” Red Alert asked as they rounded a corridor, his gaze darting up at the ceiling and quickly pinpointing the locations of the surveillance cameras.

“Yip. Honestly I’m still getting used to all the space. Usually I shared quarters with two or more mechs, so the privacy is a real bonus.” Inferno said as he stopped in front of his door, unlocked it, and motioned Red Alert inside.

Red Alert gave one more look up and down the corridor, shot a warning glare at a camera aimed directly at them, then whipped inside.

Inferno smiled and followed at a more sedate pace, but froze on the threshold as he saw Red Alert meticulously go around his room – feeling underneath cabinets, the bed, lifting the mattress to look beneath, climbing up on the table to look at the ceiling light – all the while having a nonsensical conversation about the many wonders of this partially organic world they were staying on. What…?

“The humidity is of course not a problem here – that is why we can enjoy ourselves without fear of the humidity eroding our buildings. The humidity also give rise to the lush organic forest and the indigenous wildlife. It is quite unique.”

Red Alert jumped off the table. “Alright, this room is clean. We can talk without fear of being overheard.”

The large mech frowned at Red Alert as he moved towards the sofa. “Why were you doing all that?” He asked as he waved around the room.

Red Alert looked at him askew. “Standard procedure. When you move into a room – always check for bugs or recording devices – first by scanner, then by physical examination, and then by scanner again. You can never be too trusting.”

“But why?” Inferno asked as he took a seat. He was genuinely curious to know why Red was this scared. Sure Red was a security mech, but so was he, and he was nearly as safety-paranoid as Red Alert. If it was something that would help him in his position, he needed to know it.

Red Alert beamed at Inferno’s willingness to learn and seated himself next to Inferno, folding his legs underneath him as he wiggled into the plush cushions. “You can never be too trusting. No matter where you are, or with whom you are.” He looked around the room before lowering his voice. “And that is what I need to discuss with you.”

Inferno leaned forward as he too darted his optics suspiciously around the room. “About trust?”

The smaller security mech nodded vigorously. “Yes. Inferno,” He hesitated and licked his lips, “please do not be offended, but I have investigated every, little recorded detail of your life, along with personal accounts from your friends and superiors. You see, I needed to be sure I could trust you. Commander Prowl assigned you to me and I am sure he would not have assigned any mech to me unless he trusted them, but I had to make sure. You understand, don’t you?”

Inferno folded his hands and nodded, not sure where this was heading. He wasn’t offended in the least. That Red Alert had investigated him only proved he was the right mech for the job.

Red Alert continued. “You see, I need someone whom I can,” he swallowed, “Whom I can trust and that someone is you.” He took a deep vent and shuttered his optics, rocking back and forth in agitation. This was so hard, but he needed his second.

Inferno lightly placed a finger on the mech’s knee and waited for Red Alert to look at him. “Red, you’ve looked into my records, talked to my friends and superiors, and you’ve worked closely with me the past few decaorn. You know whether or not you can trust me, and with how much you can trust me, so what’s your point?”

Red Alert blinked at him a few times before exhaling slowly. “There is an infiltrator on the Ark.”

Inferno jerked back as if he had been slapped. “A traitor?” He chocked. “On the Ark?” He flared his armour and looked around the room as if the traitor could be lurking in the shadows. “Do you know who?” He asked in a low, cold voice. Traitors? On his ship? Pit no, nobody was gonna touch his crew!

Red Alert relaxed at Inferno’s reaction, relieved to see the mech was taking this as a serious threat and not just some ‘fanciful scenario though out by a glitched, paranoid security mech’, as his previous commander had always done. He shook his helm.

“No. But the evidence…”

“This is about that incidence with Commander Prowl and Sides? Ain’t it?” Inferno said as he pursed his lips, angry at himself for not having thought about it as an inside job. He had honestly thought it was the work of some Con spec-ops. He clenched his fist. He wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

Red Alert nodded. “Yes. I have been through every piece of coding on that entire ship four times, and the only evidence I have of hacking or tampering with the system was Sideswipe’s ghost signature. And even that was a mission to find.” He folded his hands once more and began to rock. “I specifically wrote coding that recognises if there are external interferences with the coding. Even the barest of signatures would have created a variance in the data and that would have alerted me. But there was none. Which points to an inside contact. But I honestly have not been with the Ark’s crew long enough to know who has internal access and who doesn’t. I mean slag it all even Sideswipe has some sort of access.” He jumped up and started pacing the room. There were simply too many crew members he hadn’t investigated. He hadn’t had the time yet. He rubbed his hands up and down his arms as he paced like a caged cybercat.

“Then, you have the odd probability of the stealth ship knowing exactly where we were, even when we were ahead of schedule. Someone must have tipped them off, which thankfully narrows down our list of suspects to those who has the ability to send messages through to Decepticon ships. Roughly hundred-and-four.” He stopped as his optics narrowed. He spun towards Inferno and pointed a finger. “Make a note...I need to check communication logs.” He gave two steps, then stopped again. “And incidence logs.”

Inferno quickly made notes and tacked it to his internal chronometer as a reminder. He sat back and continued watching Red Alert, his own processor going over the obvious evidence. “So the Cons had someone opening the blast doors. Not too many departments have those access codes, and usually it’s only the higher-up mechs that have those codes.”

“They also erased any footage we might have had.” Red Alert threw up his arms. “Of all the times to have a Primus-slagging spy in our midst it had to be NOW!” He threw himself down on a desk-chair and wiped his hands over his faceplate, while a small blue-spark jumped between his horns. This was too much. It was a new position, a horribly out-dated security system that he needed to replace completely, crew members he did not know neither had the time to check, Prowl carrying and now a fragging spy!

Inferno grimaced at the scene before him. Poor Red. He got up and moved to stand behind the smaller mech and placed his hands on his shoulders, gently massaging the taught armour. “We’ll figure it out. I know most of the crew, I know who’s had access to security systems, and I have a lot of friends in different departments.”

“You can’t trust them!” Red Alert turned large, diluted optics at Inferno, the sparks increasing. “It might be one of them! Mechs you trust turn on you, Inferno! They…” His engine hiccupped and he buried his face in his hands as he curled in on himself. He could feel his glitch working overtime. He had to get control back.

He felt large arms embrace him and leaned thankfully back into Inferno, not caring at the moment that he looked weak, but rather that at least there was some form of solidity he could cling to in the midst of the frantic storm raging in his processor. A small part of his processor told him not to trust Inferno too much. Mechs turn on each other. He felt his tanks clench at the thought.

“Red, calm down.” Inferno’s soothing, baritone voice rolled over him. “I won’t tell any of my friends our suspicions, but I can try to gather some information. Somebot might know something we could use. A casual observation, a hint dropped. Anything is better than nothing.” Inferno spoke calmly as he continued to hold the smaller mech, oddly satisfied to know Red Alert was allowing him to do it. The mech had some trust issues, but it wasn’t Inferno’s place to comment. He only knew that Red could use a friend, and he’d be honoured if he could be that friend.

Eventually the sparks died down and Red Alert relaxed enough to wiggle out of Inferno’s embrace. Inferno stepped back to give him some room. When he was sure Red was ok, he resumed his seat on the couch, but kept his field as open as he could.

“Ok. So this is what we know. We have a spy. We trust no one. And we try to follow what little evidence we have. Sounds like a plan.”

Red Alert looked sombrely at Inferno. “That is not much of a plan.”

“No.” Inferno agreed, “But it is a plan.”

The smaller mech looked at him for a few more clicks before rolling his shoulders. “Ok. We do not talk about it. Not even over comms. We do not know to what the spy has access to. If we need to talk, I will initiate it.”

Inferno nodded.

“Good.” Red Alert checked his internal chronometer. It was almost time for Inferno’s class, and that meant Sideswipe would be in the vicinity. At least he wasn’t the only one looking out for Prowl. At least that little bit of knowledge took some of the pressure off. But then again, Sideswipe was juvenile. He vented in frustration. “Now, I believe I need to leave. You have a class regarding astrophysics in ten breems in preparation for your exam?” He stood and Inferno stood with him, nodding reluctantly. “I also need to see Commander Prowl.”

They exited his room just as Sideswipe stepped out of his room, looking oddly relaxed. Red Alert was immediately on the alert. “You are heading to the astrophysics class with Inferno?” He asked.

Sideswipe gave him a lopsided grin as he shrugged. “Yip. Pr…uh, Commander Prowl says he thinks I should be a lieutenant, so guess I have to go to classes.”

Red Alert frowned. He needed some way to tip Sideswipe on the latest developments with Sandstorm. Maybe this was the opening he needed…

“Ah, yes. Commander Prowl has mentioned that he has taken some time to train you in tactics and that he sees talent.” He stretched the last word and raised his optic ridges at the prankster.

Sideswipe grinned at him. “Yip. I’ve been honing my skills, as I’m sure you know.”

Fantastic! He had his opening. Red Alert smiled deviously at Sideswipe. “Well, I’m sure that you will have to look for different ways to ‘hone’ your skills, since you can’t prank and Commander Prowl is currently being ‘pursued’.” He shrugged and strutted down the corridor.

Three, two, one…

“He’s being what?”

Red Alert turned around to see both Sideswipe and Inferno staring at him with slack faceplates. He crossed his arms and smiled smugly. “I said, that you don’t have the advantage of private tactic lessons anymore.”

“No, no, no!” Sideswipe shook his helm as he took a step forward. “Not that, about Prowl.”

“Commander Prowl, Sideswipe.” Red Alert said sweetly.

Sideswipe huffed. “Look, I know Commander Prowl, and he is not the kind of mech to fall for anybody. In fact, I honestly don’t know of anybody he is involved with. So just ‘falling’ for a mech on Paradron on the second orn of our stay…Ain’t gonna happen.” He laughed, but Red Alert caught the edge of unease in it, and by the look on Inferno’s face, so did he.

“Well, Lt. Col. Sandstorm has made it clear he wants to show Commander Prowl a good time. So be a considerate little mech, and let him have his fun.” Red Alert turned on his heels and swaggered down the hall. “Enjoy astrophysics!” He called out gleefully.

“That was plain cruel.” Sideswipe muttered.

Inferno turned towards the frontliner, his optics shining with mirth. “You have a knack for bringing out the worst and best in him.” He said fondly.

Sideswipe raised his optic ridge at the goofy expression Inferno had as he looked at the disappearing form of the security director. What the frag? Was there some kind of love potion that was released on the Ark? If yes, he needed to go see Wheeljack ASAP.

But first…

::Yo bro?::

::What?!::

::Lt. Col. Sandstorm is making a move on Prowl.::

::…So?::

Sideswipe sighed as he followed Inferno towards the class, or at least, he was hoping that's where the big mech was headed.

::So we have to make sure the fragger doesn’t succeed.::

He felt Sunstreaker’s obvious annoyance.

::When is he going to see that medic?::

::Hopefully tomorrow. Met the medic last night, but I still need to talk to Prowl about it. I know he has meetings today, so was hoping I could maybe catch him after his last meeting this evening.::

Sunstreaker grunted. ::I’ll step in when you can’t.::

::Thanks bro. Gotta go…the physics-teacher-dude looks pissed.:: He closed the line and took a seat next to Inferno, mimicking his fellow as Inferno seemed to know what to do.

A joor into the class, his helm was pounding, his tank growling, and his attention wholly diverted to how he was going to convince Prowl to go see First Aid.

He’d bother about physics later.

Author’s note: my bad…these chapters keep getting longer! @_@ No Prowl…but movement behind the scenes need some time as well!

Thanks once again to all those who had reviewed and pointed things out to me…I appreciated them and enjoy reading them!

Chapter Text

Sideswipe sauntered down the brightly coloured hall towards Prowl’s quarters. He stopped and took a few clicks to admire the view of the city lights through the large windows. “Slag. We sure don’t have this pretty view on the Ark.” He inhaled the fresh planetary scent that hung in the air, appreciated it, then released it slowly as he turned towards his twin lagging behind and grumbling something incoherent. “Come on, Sunny.”

Sunstreaker grunted as he reached Sideswipe. “I still don’t see why I have to be here.”

Sideswipe threw Sunstreaker an irritated glance. “’Cause you’re my bro. That alone should be enough reason.” He spun around and continued towards Prowl’s quarters. “Besides, this late in the evening, I can’t risk going to his quarters alone. Would stir up rumours I really don’t want going around.”

Sunstreaker smirked, but said nothing as they neared Prowl’s quarters. They heard voices floating down the corridor, and identified one as Prowl’s, but the other’s was unknown.

::You thinking what I’m thinking?:: Sideswipe looked at his twin.

::I wasn’t aware you could think.::

::Only because you can’t think.:: Sideswipe shoved Sunstreaker good-heartedly. ::But seriously now, you think that’s Sunstorm?::

Sunstreaker shrugged, but Sideswipe felt his reluctant agreement that it was the suspected mech. Though maybe it could have been someone else. There were many mechs on the base, and Prowl was part of the command staff so obviously mechs would want to talk to him.

They halted at his door and waited as the voices grew louder.

“Yip.” Sideswipe leaned against the door. “It’s definitively Prowl. And the other is…”

“Hideous!” Sunstreaker said aghast and shuddered as he took a step back into the dimly lit hall.

Sideswipe cocked an optic ridge at his brother before he looked back at the mech walking alongside Prowl. “Ah come on Sunny. It’s just a paintjob and the lighting in here is bad.” He cocked his helm and narrowed his optics suspiciously. “But if I have to judge him on the orange and yellow paint, I’d definitively say this is our Sunstorm mech.”

Sunstreaker shook his helm and flicked his wrist in the officer’s direction. “Prowl won’t fall for him. His paintjob is too mundane.” He turned to go, but Sideswipe grabbed his wrist.

“Woah bro! We need to talk to Prowl about you know what! I’ve have this super speech prepared to convince him to go, but I need your help! And” Sideswipe jerked his helm at the hideously coloured mech, “we still need to get rid of him.”

The golden twin yanked his wrist back. “Fine.” He grumbled as he folded his arms and glared at the approaching yellow mech, his frame puffed out defiantly.

“Sideswipe, Sunstreaker. Are you not on leave?” Prowl asked as they neared. Had they done something wrong? He quickly checked his internal alerts and nearly sighed in relief. There were no complaints pending. Yet by the way Sunstreaker held himself...

The twins stood to attention and saluted him, even as Prowl felt the hostility in their fields. He also did not miss the way the two completely ignored Lt. Gen Sandstorm. Primus. Was his whole crew going to be this disrespectful? He looked at Sideswipe expectantly.

“Yes, sir, but we have some queries regarding the uh, …” Sideswipe faltered as he shot a panicked look at Sunstreaker. What query did they have?

::You moron.::

“Studying facilities allocated to members of the Ark.” Sunstreaker finished as he angrily shoved his twin through the bond.

“There are many mechs on base that can help you with that.” Lt. Gen. Sandstorm rose to his full height as he stared down at the twins. It appeared that he, too, had not missed the Twin’s lack of respect and decorum.

The Twins’ armour prickled at the disdain they felt rolling off the mech. Their armour flared dangerously and Sunstreaker angrily revved his engine in defiance as he returned the mech’s stare.

Prowl grit his denta and stepped forward. Trust the Twins to stir up trouble. He raised his doorwings by a bare inch, but it caught the attention of both twins like a magnet, and unknown to Prowl, of the yellow mech behind him. “Sunstreaker, Sideswipe. Stand down.”

The Twins’ optics shot to the mech and back, before they reluctantly obeyed. Their armour clamped around their frames in both submission and defiance, though the pinpointed look in Sunstreaker’s optics hinted more at the latter.

“You will show due respect to Lt. Gen. Sandstorm.”

::Lt. Gen. Sandstorm?:: Sunstreaker deadpanned. ::He’s a fragging lieutenant-General!?::

::…Oops?::

Engines rumbling softly, the Twins saluted Sandstorm, but it wasn’t with nearly as much polish as it had been for Prowl.

“Our apologies, sir. We were unsure of your identity.” Sideswipe’s lip curled up even as he fought to hold his expression neutral. He did not like this guy.

Sandstorm relaxed his armour as the defensiveness of the Twins subsided. He had heard many rumours of these two mechs, and it indeed appeared as if they were troublemakers. He would need to keep an optic on them. “My rank is etched on my armour. Perhaps next time before you show such disrespecting behaviour, you might want to verify those.” He flared his armour once more as he sneered at them.

Prowl briefly shuttered his optics as both Twins’ ominous, low growls etched up in volume. ::Lt. Gen. Sandstorm, with all due respect, they are my crew, I will deal with discipline as I see fit. Do not force me to undermine your authority, as you are undermining mine.::

Sandstorm relaxed his armour as he sent acceptance and an apology to Prowl for overstepping his boundaries. Prowl out-ranked him, and if he was honest, he felt sheepish for having placed Prowl in the position of having to reprimand him. Well, that did give him an opportunity to make it up to him. And he knew just how.

Prowl turned to Sandstorm, his face an expressionless mask. “If you would excuse me, Lt. Gen. Sandstorm, I will deal with their query and meet with you in two orns. Thank-you.” He bowed his helm stately and flicked his proud doorwings in dismissal.

Sandstorm saluted, cast the Twins a last, disdainful look, before he turned on his heels and marched off.

“Prowl…”

“Inside.” Prowl ordered coldly and both twins grimaced. Just great.

The large double-doors opened ominously and they trudged into the dark room.

“What exactly was that about?” Prowl asked sternly as he ordered the lights on. He was tired after having spent the entire orn preparing for and holding meetings, and he had not gotten much recharge the previous orn thanks to his processor spewing various scenarios at him now that his carrying was confirmed. Primus, why did everyone have to meet with him today? He sank down and motioned the twins to sit opposite him.

They nodded and moved over, Sidewipe’s shoulders hunched while Sunstreaker appeared not to have a single plate of regret on his frame. Prowl vented lightly. There was so much to do, so much to plan. And now this. He felt like throttling the twins, but he also knew they would not have bothered him unless it was something of importance. And it was certainly not ‘study-space’. “Explain.” He ordered curtly as he crossed his legs and leaned back.

“We don’t like him.” Sunstreaker stated obstinately as he folded his arms over his chassis, not backing down under Prowl’s stern glare.

“Like him or not, Sunstreaker, he is still an Autobot commanding officer stationed on this base and you will show him due respect.” He snapped his optics to Sideswipe. “The both of you.”

“He’s flirting with you.” Sideswipe threw his jaw out and flared his armour, openly annoyed that Prowl wasn’t disturbed by that.

“He was not.” Prowl returned calmly and sat straighter, flaring his wings in warning.

“Yes, he was too!” Sideswipe spat. “We saw the way he was looking at you! And he had no respect for personal boundaries! And you’re carrying! You can’t allow that mech so close to you! I mean, what if he tries to…”

“Sideswipe!” Prowl snapped, his control already frayed by the past orn’s emotional toll.

Sideswipe pressed his lips together and looked away, hunching in on himself. Slag it to the Pits why was Prowl so fragging stubborn?

“He’s right, Prowl.” Sunstreaker grit and Sideswipe sent him a wave of gratitude. “That mech is flirting with you. And since you’re carrying, it would not be a good idea to allow him too close.” He said and relaxed back into the soft couch.

The room descended into silence as Prowl looked away. He needed Sandstorm’s help whether the Twins like it or not, yet he had chosen to trust the Twins, and therefore could not blatantly disregard their words. He deliberately relaxed his armour and turned his helm back to them. “I appreciate your concern, however, regardless if he flirts with me or not, in future, treat him with the respect due an officer. I do not want him thinking the entire crew is undisciplined or ill-mannered.” He moved his doorwings until they were resting in a comfortable position. “I need Sandstorm’s help if I am to familiarise myself with Paradron. He will also be assisting me with new recruits as well as being my liaison with the planetary defence corps. I do not wish to sour relationships between us.”

“You can get uninterested help.” Sideswipe shrugged as he sulked next to Sunstreaker, his mouth downturned as he refused to look at Prowl.

“I do not have the luxury of finding mechs willing to help me or who have the connections I might need. I am bound to my duties save for a few orns of private leave.” Prowl said honestly.

“You don’t have to.” Sideswipe whined as he twiddled with his fingers. “We’ll do that.” He ignored Sunstreaker’s grunt.

“Sideswipe, though I am second-in-command of the Autobots, I try not to abuse that position by disrupting established procedures.” He sighed. “There are also certain things that require my personal attention.” Prowl stated. A small pang in his chassis had him moving his position on the couch again and he clasped his fists on his lap to keep himself from massaging the metal. He needed to find a medic. Unless he go to Ratchet, but the mere thought of going before his plans were ready was unthinkable. Not yet. Soon, but not yet.

“Fine. We’ll leave it, for now! But don’t think we’re not watching him!” Sideswipe wagged a finger at Prowl. He straightened his shoulders and stretched out. Now to get Prowl to go to the medic.

“So…” he drawled as he leaned his elbows on his knees and cupped his jaw. “On to other subjects. How have you been?”

Prowl’s face blanked as he watched Sideswipe’s openly curious face. “I have been well.” He ducked his helm slightly as he studied Sideswipe from under his optic ridges.

“Well as in no pain, no overly bad aches, no fainting, no nothing?” Sideswipe prodded as he swayed from side to side.

Prowl shot a suspicious glance at the golden twin, but said twin was at that moment engrossed with buffing an already gleaming piece of armour. He turned his guarded attention back to Sideswipe and folded his arms tightly about his chassis. “Nothing of concern.”

“Nothing?” Sideswipe narrowed his optics as he canted his helm. “Nothing at all?”

“No.” Prowl said with finality, his optic ridged still lowered at the red twin.

“Ok. So, aren’t you going to ask me what I’ve been up to lately?” Sideswipe put on a large, fake smiled and Prowl felt his internals go cold. What had the little miscreant done now?

He shuttered his optics and drew a deep vent. “What did you do?”

“I went out last night, and I met this really nice, sassy femme. Brought her back here as well. She’s really talented.”

Prowl’s optic ridges shot high. He was well aware of the rumours of the Twins ‘recreational activities’ involving other mechs, and he really did not want details. Did the Twins honestly think he was the kind of mech to discuss such private things? “Sideswipe, I am well aware of your recreational activities involving other mechs and I would prefer not to know anything about it. What you do in your private time is up to you, but we are not that familiar with each other that you can share those experiences with me.”

“What? Oh no, no, no, no, uhm, I meant like talent talent, not that she’s not talented in the berth, she is, but, you know. The kind you use to overcome the evil Decepticons.” He waved his hands in front of him as his frame heated up.

Sunstreaker smirked next to his twin as he revved his engine. “Oh, she’s definitively got a lot of talent.”

Sideswipe elbowed him hard and was satisfied to hear a grunt escape his golden twin. “Prowl said spare him the details.” He leaned forward. “Anyway, she mentioned she’d like to be recruited.”

“Recruited?” Prowl relaxed as his processor shifted into work-mode. Femmes were rare, and Elita had mentioned the need for more of her special agents. “I will meet her, or if I am unable to, Intel will screen her. You have her contact details?”

“Pit, yeah!” Sideswipe smiled, then sobered up. “But she also helped out in another way, and Prowl, I really need you not to fight me on this one. I know what you said about seeing a medic, but I found one! A good one that won’t breath a word and he can see you tomorrow!” Sideswipe sprang up and started pacing in front of his brother, ticking off the reasons why Prowl has to go on his fingers.

Prowl tuned Sideswipe out as the frontliner continued talking. A medic? Primus this could be a blessing. Now that he knew he was carrying, he needed to do all within his power to protect the young spark. It might not have been planned, but at the end of the orn, it had not chosen to come into being. That had been his and Jazz’s choice. It was their sparkling, and he would protect it as best as he could. He shuttered his optics. And if what Sideswipe had mentioned about the pain not being normal… “I’ll go.”

“And then you also need to…What?” Sideswipe stopped his tirade and stared at Prowl.

“Give me the details of the medic, and I’ll go.”

Sideswipe stared at him as if he had grown another helm. “Just like that?” He flapped his arms at his side. “I prepared this great speech to convince you to go.”

“You may still give it, but honestly I am tired and wish to recharge. So please send me the details, and I will contact him. Other than delivering this message, for which I am…thankful, what else do you need help with? As much as I wish it was, I simply cannot imagine that it would be study-related.”

Sideswipe ducked his chin and Sunstreaker grunted. “No, I actually hadn’t though you’de be with anybody, so Sunny…”

“Don’t call me that.”

“…came up with the reason.”

Prowl looked calmly at the golden twin polishing his arm-plating. Sunstreaker was always harder to read than Sideswipe. Where the red twin wore his emotions on his armour, the golden twin tended to bury his under a masquerade of unfriendliness. Although, most of the time it wasn’t a mask – he was not a friendly mech by nature. He sighed internally. Of all the mechs I had to choose to trust, I had to choose the Twins.

“Sunstreaker?”

The golden twin glanced up at him and momentarily paused his grooming.

“Are you…” he paused as he searched for the right word, “willing to go through with this? Do you know what you are risking?”

Sunstreaker subspaces his cleaning cloth and leaned back, his lips pressed into a thin line as he considered Prowl. Sideswipe awkwardly stood next to the couch, sending pleas over their connection, but Sunstreaker dimmed the bond.

Three breems of absolute silence passed as Prowl patiently waited for Sunstreaker to decide. He knew Sideswipe was willing, but he did not want Sunstreaker to be forced to help simply because Sideswipe was. He needed Sunstreaker to be willing to help out if his own free choice.

A pang of guilt shot through him. He was truly asking them to do too much for him. He should report himself, but the mere thought of it was enough to tighten his tanks. As soon as everything is in order.

Sunstreaker stood, puffed his armour and looked squarely at Sideswipe. Sideswipe flared his armour in return as he angled his frame towards Prowl.

Prowl patiently watched the silent byplay, but inside he felt his spark pulsing rapidly. He was being selfish, and he knew it. It grated on him, on his pride, to think he had fallen this low to seek protection for himself by endangering others. It tasted bitter.

Sunstreaker whirled around, marched three paces to the wall, exhaled loudly, then returned. He stood legs slightly apart and fists on his hips as he looked down at his commander.

“If it were any other mech, no.” He rolled his shoulder and twisted his helm from side to side, the clear ‘popping’ sound ricocheting through the room as gears popped into place. “Sideswipe.”

Sideswipe interlaced his fingers and popped them, his expression sombre. “We’ll see you around. Take care of yourself, and if you need to get stuff you can’t get yourself, just drop us a line and we’ll take care of it.” He hesitated, his optics ping-ponging around the room. “I know it’s probably as weird for you to trust us like this as it is for us to see this side of you.” He rubbed a hand agitatedly over his faceplate. How the Pit did you put into words what you felt? “I guess this is new for all of us. G’night.”

Prowl silently walked them to the door. “Sideswipe, Sunstreaker.”

The Twins halted and turned guarded optics on him. Prowl felt his vocaliser hitch and he reset it, not used to this vulnerability. The twins were doing so much more than he expected, could expect. He wished for some way that he could express his intense gratitude for what they were doing, what they were risking for him.

“Thank-you.” He said thickly even as he held his chin up, his optics not wavering.

“You’re welcome.” Sideswipe whispered and turned to Sunstreaker. The golden twin balled his fist and tapped his chest twice before turning away.

Prowl shut the door and dimmed the lights. He went to the small, well-stocked kitchenette and took a cube down from the top shelf. He slowly poured the thick, warm energon into it from the dispenser, ignoring the additives, before ambling to his tall window overlooking the palace gardens. Distractedly he stared at the organic brushes highlighted by the silvery glow of Paradron's moon. He smiled ruefully. He would never have bet on the odds that he would, one orn, have called the Twins confidants. If he had to take into relation all their quirks, the trouble they caused, the rebellion to authority, and the huge risk they were taking with their own careers, his battle computer still spit the odds out at 41.37% that they would have helped him. And yet here they were. Two mechs he least expected were helping him in a way he would never be able to repay.

He sipped his warm energon as he continued pondering his situation. He really had not had any confidants since his promotion to Second-in-Command. Of course there had been colleagues, but it was not the same as having someone to share personal information with. Even Jazz, as much as Prowl cared for him, was not truly someone who knew him outside of a professional environment.

He asked for more. His processor whispered.

He took another sip. More. Yet where was he now? He wasn’t there. He was somewhere Primus alone knew. When Prowl needed him most, he wasn’t there. And that was the essence of the problem.

Jazz was unreliable. He was black ops. One moment he would be there, the next gone for quartexes. Even when he was on base, he would only seek Prowl when he needed it. That is why ‘casual’ worked for them.

You always invited him back. He came to your office multiple time to bring you energon.

Prowl shuttered his optics as his doorwings sagged, his helm aching at the conflicting emotions running through his logic centre. True, Jazz had made some effort towards him lately, but was it enough? What guarantee did he have that Jazz would support him, or want to be with him once he knew he was carrying?

He asked for more. His treacherous processor doggedly persisted. Asked after your well-being. He risks his life to gather intelligence for the Autobots. 

He pressed his fingers to the bottom of his chevron as he cut the thought-threads. He was too tired for this kind of emotional processing. He was going around in circles and he needed to stop it or he would cause his own glitch. He half-opened his optics and lifted his helm warily.

You are carrying his sparkling.

He dropped his hand to his chassis and rested it over his spark, but grimaced at the discomfort it caused. The armour was too hot, and it was sore. I need to see a medic. He pushed all thoughts of Jazz to the back of his processor. He would analyze his emotional subroutines concerning Jazz when he had seen to his sparkling's health.

::Sideswipe.::

::Sir?::

::Do you have the medic’s details?::

::Oh right! Sending!::

Prowl received two, short messages and verified it as the medic’s details as well as Vibes’::Thank-you.:: He said and cut the connection. He took another sip of his energon and drew in a few more deep vents to cool his heating systems. He needed to take a cooling shower.

He opened the medic's details.

First Aid.

That was the name of the medic he was going to see. He grimaced. It should be Ratchet. Ratchet had been his medic since his placement with Optimus at Iacon. Soon. He told himself and initiated a communication request with the medic.

Thankfully, it was a personal comm. line.

::Hello?::

For a moment Prowl was taken aback at the young voice filtering through the connection, but Sideswipe would not have given him the incorrect details, so this had to be the medic.

::Medic First Aid?::

::Yes. How can I help?::

::My designation is Prowl. I was given your contact details by a mech designated ‘Sideswipe’. I was hoping to schedule an appointment with you at your earliest convenience?:: Prowl stopped – should he say more, or wait until he meets with the medic?

::Oh yes.:: came the soft, cheerful response. ::I remember Sideswipe. He came in yesterorn and mentioned you might be calling me to arrange an appointment for…tomorrow?::

Tomorrow? ::What time do you have an opening?::

::I can see you at 13h00 joors?::

Prowl quickly consulted his chronometer to see if there were any meetings scheduled around that time. Thankfully, there were none scheduled after 11h00 joors. Perfect. ::13h00 joors would suite me. I look forward to meeting you.::

::As do I. Take care.:: The line disconnected and Prowl stared vacantly at the silver landscape, his warm energon clasped in his hand. Tomorrow he would see a medic and confirm the state of the new spark.

He couldn’t squash the apprehension that rose in his tanks. ‘…it’s not normal…’. Sideswipe’s words rang through his processor, and only added fuel to the burning fire of fear blazing within him. He shook his helm as if to dislodge the fear. His sparkling was fine. There was nothing wrong with it.

He walked over to his desk, sinking in the chair. He needed to look at some property options and available job opportunities on Paradron. After his appointment with the medic, he might be able to view some properties within the city, but first, he needed to get permission.

He drew a deep vent and steeled himself.

::Optimus, sir?::

::Yes, Prowl?:: Optimus’s deep voice sounded.

::Would it be possible for me to take leave as of 12h00 joors tomorrow, barring an emergency, to see to personal matters? It would only be for the remainder of the orn:: Prowl said and hoped with all his being that Optimus would not make any further enquiries. He hated shielding the truth from his commander.

::Of course, Prowl, but you are free to take leave for the entire orn. Tomorrow’s meetings are not essential for you to be present.:

::Thank-you, sir, however, I do not require that time off. I will be at the meeting.:: He replied. Inwardly, he felt guilty for taking time off for personal matters when he knew Optimus would still be working, especially since he was in effect lying to Optimus. Yet it needed to be done. It was his duty to protect his sparkling.

He heard Optimus chuckle lightly and it only added to the guilt. ::Very well Prowl. I will see you tomorrow.::

::Sir.:: Prowl replied and Optimus cut the connection. He slumped in his chair and swallowed thickly. He needed to tell Optimus soon. It was not right, keeping this secret from him, but the ramifications of his choices were enormous.

He massaged his chevron base and released a long, slow vent as he turned to his console. He typed a notification to Intel, his department second, filling him in on his leave and also sending him Vibe’s information as a possible recruit which he needed to verify. He also sent a quick message to Red Alert to notify him of his absence.

He spent the next joor looking at suitable properties within the city limits, tagging a few that met his requirements and sending a message to the agent notifying him of his desire to view the property.

Finally he switched off his console, rubbing at his burning optics. He pushed himself up, stretching his stiff doorwings as he raised his hand to rub his chassis. He slowly made his way to his berth and laid down on the soft padding, thankful for the way it molded around his frame.

He shuttered his optics. Tomorrow, he would start implementing his plan.

Author’s note: I refuse to apologise for the length of chapters as my muse sees them as challenges. So, from now on, most chapters will probably be longer.

Thank-you to all the reviews! Enjoy them tons! :)

Chapter Text

Choices we make 22

Prowl pushed open the door with his spark pulsing in his throat. A waft of antiseptic greeted him and he quickly lifted a hand to his nasal ridge, blocking the pungent smell as he stepped into the small, neat examination room.

“Medic First Aid will be here shortly. Please have a seat.” The young assistant said as he held the door open. Prowl did not miss the the direct, but submissive tone in his voice neither the smart way he held himself. This young assistent had clearly been in military service. He would have lied to himself if that fact did not make him nervous. Or maybe, he was already nervous just by being in this small clinic.

Prowl nodded his thanks and gracefully entered the room and headed straight to the single desk, not one jolt of his apprehension showing in his external demeanour. He sat on the edge of the visitor's seat, back strut straight like a stylus as he waited for the young medic.

The morning’s meetings had already placed him on edge. He had struggled to retain focus throughout the meetings, catching himself often drifting between thoughts of the sparkling and of Jazz. Once or twice, he had caught Optimus looking at him and he had wondered if he had missed something important. Thankfully, most of the questions seemed to fall to Red Alert’s department, and the mech appeared more than happy to provide the answers. But it still sat ill with Prowl and he had wondered if he shouldn’t have taken the whole orn’s leave as Prime had suggested.

“Commander Prowl?”

Prowl turned his attention to the visored medic as he entered and stood. “Yes.” He dipped his wings back and down in respect for the profession. The medic was indeed young, and could not have been too long in the private field.

The medic smiled broadly at him. “I am First Aid. It is nice to finally meet you.”

“Likewise.” Prowl took a seat opposite First Aid and folded his hands on his lap. “Before we begin, may I ask you about your patient-confidentiality clause?”

First Aid sat back in his chair and casually laid a hand on his desk, tapping softly as he cocked his helm. “Cadet Sideswipe informed me that your situation was unique, and that you were reluctant to visit your own medical officer. I am a medical doctor, and as long as you are not placing others in harm, I will do my duty first to the well-being of my patients.”

Prowl nodded. “My ‘situation’…” he hesitated. What he was about to say would incriminate him, but for the sake of his sparkling, he had to push his own career, no matter how important or how hard-worked for, aside. He drew a shaky vent and squared his shoulders. “My situation is illegal within Autobot ranks.”

First Aid stilled as he looked at Prowl through a dimmed visor. He exhaled slowly. “You are carrying.” He whispered as his shoulders sagged.

 “Yes.” Prowl swallowed as his hands tightened their grip. He fought down the burning desire to leave; he had come here for his sparkling’s sake. His own fears be damned.

The medic scooted his chair forward as he rested both arms on his desk. “How long do you estimate?” He asked and Prowl was relieved to hear no judgment in his tone.

“Eight decaorns.”

First Aid smiled brightly and rubbed his hands together. “Well, that’s enough time for the spark to be visible to our optics. Have you seen it?”

Prowl nodded.

“Good! Would you please sit over there so I may examine it?” First Aid motioned to the examination table as he got up. Prowl followed him, but caught the caution in the medic’s field. Apparently there was some judgement hiding underneath the medic’s friendly demeanour.

First Aid took a scanner from next to the berth as he continued in his soft voice. “I know about you Commander Prowl. Almost everybody who knows about this war knows about you.” He motioned to Prowl’s wrist port, which the tactician obediently slid open, and plugged the scanner in, letting it run the standard tests. “I am right to assume that only a few know that you are carrying?”

Prowl idly watched the scanner running the different tests. “Three, including you.”

First Aid nodded compassionately. “I need to do a physical exam as well. Are you comfortable with it?”

“Do what you need to do, Medic.” Prowl said, but pulled his field tight. He disliked touch, especially touch from mechs he did not know.

“I will be gentle. If at any time you feel uncomfortable, let me know and I will back down for a while. I do not want to cause you any more distress.” The young medic smiled at Prowl, his field soothing in the way particular to those within the medical field.

Prowl nodded but could not keep himself from stiffening as First Aid lightly pressed on his chassis, then moved down towards the sensitive plating. His first instinct was to shield himself and the sparkling from this foreign medic’s prodding, but his processor directed him to remain still.

First Aid caught the hesitance in Prowl’s field and took a step back, smoothing his own field. “If you feel uncomfortable at any time, let me know and I will give you some space. I can only imagine the kind of stress you must have been under lately.”

“I manage.” Prowl dismissed the topic with practiced ease. “You may continue the examination. I admit it is uncomfortable to a degree, but it needs to be done.”

First Aid carefully reached out and gently traced the chest seam, noting the discomfort and wariness hanging like lichen in Prowl’s field. He stopped and laid his palm flat over the spark, caught the suppressed flinch, moved to a different area, then back again. He frowned lightly at the Praxian’s reaction. “Your plating feels warmer than it should be, and by the way you are reacting, I would say the plating is sensitive. Have you been experiencing excessive discomfort, heat or any pain in that area?”

Cold fingers raked through his plating at the medic’s words. Warmer than it should be? He shuttered his optics, the rushing sound in his audials making it hard to process what the medic had said.

“Sir?”

Prowl opened his optics and shuttered them a few times before dipping his helm.“Yes. I have experienced all of those.” His tanks roiled as the pungent smell of antiseptic assaulted him.

“Ok.” First Aid said gently and moved to the scanner. “It could mean nothing, sir, but I would need to check as it is not a usual occurrence.” He typed in a few commands as and moved back to Prowl. “I need to conduct a physical assessment. Would you be comfortable doing that now, or would you prefer some more time to accustom yourself to my field?”

Prowl clenched his hands over the berth’s side and clamped his armour. He knew this would be invasive, but he needed to know everything was fine. He needed to know that the sparkling was fine. “You may examine it now.” He sent the command for his chest plating to open and the metal slowly folded back, exposing his spark chamber. Prowl looked away as the medic leaned forward.

“You may close it.” First Aid told him after a few moments and moved back, well out of Prowl’s immediate field, and headed over to the scanner.

Prowl’s chest plating snapped shut the click First Aid was done. He slowly released the death-grip he held on the berth and looked at the medic expectantly, but the visor hid any overt emotions the medic might have shown. 

“Ok. So I have a couple of questions for you, and some of them are going to be personal. Please try to answer them, even if they make you uncomfortable.” First Aid waved him into the seat at his desk.

Prowl’s steps didn’t falter as he took a seat, his wings held high and his field tightly drawn, but inside his pedes felt like lead and his spark pounded.

“So…” First Aid began then hesitated, “I have some good news and some bad news.”

“Bad news?” He asked in a measured tone.

First Aid nodded. “Unfortunately, yes.” He cleared his vocaliser and licked his lips. “The newspark is very weak and lagging behind in its development. For eight decaorns, it should have been slightly larger and its spark pulse needed to be stronger. It’s behind on the growth track and that could point to serious problems.” He drew a deep vent. “It also means that if you do not take things easier, you could lose it very easily.” He flared his field, the apology-sadness openly displayed. “I’m sorry. I hate giving any patient this kind of news.”

Prowl stared at the young medic in strained silence. Would Ratchet have said the same? Maybe this medic was reading the results wrong, or something else. “So my sparkling is ill?” His voice sounded hollow to himself.

“Maybe. I’ll have to do a few more tests to confirm anything.” First Aid drew a datapad closer and fiddled with the top until he switched it on. “Your position currently complicates things immensely. I should send you to a specialist, but since you are an Autobot filling such a high position, they might ask you to terminate it.”

Prowl snapped out of his daze. His bright Azure optics pinned the young medic to his desk. “Terminate it?” He echoed and subconsciously flared his doorwings defensively.

First Aid bit his lip as he tucked his chin. “A…A few vorns ago, there was a similar case. Please, I…I am not supposed to talk about it, but…but I feel that you need to know.” He cleared his vocaliser and continued fiddling with the datapad. “A few vorns back, I was an intern at the Autobot Academy. A mech came in, carrying like you. He was an officer. He wanted to resign, because he hadn’t known he was a carrier. Huh, can you believe he had never gone for the tests because he had never thought it possible…but anyway, he was an officer. I can’t give too many details, but, they refused to terminate his contract. Instead, against the mech’s wishes, the newspark was terminated and the records scrubbed. The name of the mech was withheld, for obvious reasons. I left shortly after that. I could not condone those actions. We are fighting for the right to life, yet we would be willing to kill our own young.” He gave a short bark of cynical laughter and wiped a hand over his mouth as he stared back into the past.

First Aid shook his helm and shifted his focus back to Prowl. “Sorry, sir, I still tend to get caught up in that entire affair, but the bottom line of the story is that you need medical help since this is going to be a high-risk carrying, and the Autobot hospital is out of the question. Unless…” He tilted his helm back and stopped fiddling with the datapad, “Unless you want to abort it?”

“No.” Prowl shook his helm resolutely. He had not even considered terminating the new spark, and never will. It was not the sparkling’s choice to be here. That was his and Jazz’s decision. The sparkling did not need to pay for their actions with its life. And if what the young medic had just said, maybe it was Primus’s grace that he had not gone to Ratchet. He doubted Ratchet would have forced him to terminate the newspark, but the medical board might have coerced him to do it. He lifted his chin. “Absolutely not.”

First Aid visibly sagged in relief at Prowl’s assurance. “I am relieved to hear that.” He laid the datapad down. “Let’s get back to your current situation. I have a few questions I need to ask you. As I mentioned, they might be uncomfortable, but you need to answer them honestly.”

“I will do what needs to be done.” Prowl said as he steeled himself mentally. True, he was a private mech, but if this would help his sparkling, he would move his privacy aside.

“Firstly, we’ll start with the none-invasive questions. Are you on any form of medication?”

“No.”

First Aid nodded and noted it down. “It would be best for you to avoid medication at present. Even repair nanites can be harmful to a sparkling. Ok, what supplements do you use at the moment?”

“I am not on any supplements.”

First Aid looked up and furrowed his optic ridges. “None at all?” He asked.

“I was not aware I needed to be on supplements, and I did not dare access the Ark’s computer to see if I needed any.”

“Huh.” The young medic bit his cheek as he made a note. “That might explain why the sparklet is behind in its growth. I’ll give you a list of supplements you need to take. I will send them to Groove, my, uh, brother, and he will buy them for you so that you may collect it here. He’ll treat it confidentially.”

“Thank-you.”

“You’re welcome. You also need to refrain from drinking any high-grade.” He paused as Prowl confirmed. “Ok, now we are going into more personal waters. Are you ok with that?”

“Yes I am.” Prowl said and rested his hands on the armrests.

“How often do you and the sire interface and on average how many times do that end in a merge?”

Prowl shifted nervously as he felt his plating warm, but he pushed his feelings aside. This was a medical examination, and he needed to view it in a detached manner.

“We have only merged once – at conception, and interface on an irregular basis. Six times since conception.” Prowl replied.

First Aid laid the datapad down and folded his hands on his desk. “What kind of relationship are you in?”

Funny you should ask that. I do not know. Prowl pressed his lips together and drew a deep vent. Friends with benefits sounded wrong, yet that was in effect what they were, since Jazz had ‘elevated’ their casual relationship to just beneath stable relationship, but then again, it was not exactly friends with benefits because that would mean that they agreed to being just friends, but would enjoy… he cut the thoughts off.  “It is complicated.”

“So much I gather, but this is important to the well-being of the sparkling and will affect the kind of supplements I need to give you.” First Aid said sternly.

“I am not sure the sire wants to be involved.” Prowl slowly said, feeling out of his depths.

“Not sure?” The confusion in First Aid’s voice was clear to hear. “Wait, does he or she know you are carrying?” he asked as he leaned towards Prowl.

“No.”

“Maybe he wants to be involved?” First Aid pointed out.

“I have no way of knowing that.” Prowl said and looked out the small window into the busy street beyond.

First Aid scratched his jaw as he tried to piece the puzzle pieces together. Clearly his patient was not in the mood to discuss the sire, yet it would shed valuable light on the case. And since he also considered the sparklet as his patient, he had an obligation to provide the best medical care to both, and that required knowledge of the current situation. “Alright, I won’t ask about the relationship between you and the sire save when it is directly connected to both your and your sparklet’s wellbeing.”

He waited until Prowl looked at him before he continued. “Usually carrying occurs within a spark-mate or bonded relationship, where the carrier has unhindered access to the sire. The sire contributes to the CNA of the sparklet through transfluid. The more transfluid, the more shared traits. More importantly, the transfluid also supplies the youngling with needed minerals and nutrients, which lessons the amount taken from the carrier’s frame. The merging supplies the spraklet with spark-energy. Without this energy the sparklet can become weak, which, unfortunately appears to have happened in your case. It also means that the sparklet will draw what energy it can from your spark, thereby also weakening your own spark. And that’s what I’m concerned about.”

Prowl nodded slowly as the implications dawned on him. “So I have been the cause of my own sparkling’s…condition?” Prowl asked softly as guilt flooded his processor. Primus. Had he been starving his sparkling? He felt sick. He lifted a hand and pressed it over his optics. He could lose his sparkling because of his own incompetence?

“It is not your fault. I’m sure had you known you would have done something about it.” First Aid replied as his engine crooned soothingly. “The good news is that, if this is the only cause, we can remedy it. With the right supplements and enough rest, the growth will get back on track and the spark might gain strength.”

Prowl drew a shaky vent and sat straight as he dropped his hand back to the arm rest. “What if the sparklet’s strength doesn’t increase?”

“Then I would suggest talking to the sire and asking him to donate.”

Prowl gripped the armrests as he shook his helm. “At present, that is not possible. Would…would another…?” Prowl could not get himself to utter those words as his spark and processor rebelled. For the past few decavorns, Jazz had been his only interface partner, to suddenly get someone to sparkshare with was, it was unthinkable. Especially since he was carrying his and Jazz’s sparkling.

First Aid was silently relieved at the reluctance he saw in the Praxian to interface with any other than the sire, since that could complicate matters. “If we become very desperate, we could try that, but chances are that merging with another spark could have the opposite effect and actually do more harm than good. Contributing CNA on the other hand, can be done, but it is not the ideal solution.”

“Then I will take the supplements.” Prowl said tonelessly as he drummed his fingers on the arm rest. “Is there anything else I can do to help the sparkling.”

“You need to rest as much as possible, take regular meals with the necessary supplements, and try to stay out of stressful situations.” First Aid grimaced at the last one.

Prowl’s doorwing twitched.

“Yeah, I know. Not really within your powers.” First Aid pressed his lips together. “On to other things, how long are you stationed at Paradron?”

“Three decaorns.”

“And you are going where from here?”

Prowl looked sharply at First Aid. “Is it important to know?”

“You are carrying, and at some point that young bitlet is going to want to get out of your sparkchamber. It should preferably not get out in space.” First Aid smiled warmly at Prowl.

“Of course.” Prowl berated himself. That was a rather obvious conclusion to miss. “When is he due?”

“Well, if I have to do the quick calculations based on his growth curve, I’d say about the 5^th orn of the quartex Logos.” First Aid said as he looked at his calendar.

“That is nine quartexes from now.” Prowl said as he lifted his chin, his processor working on the time frame. The Ark was scheduled to arrive on Cybertron in the first decaorn of Quintus, which was one quartex before his due date. That would be adequate time to reach Praxus before Bluestreak’s graduation at the end of Logos. “We will be on Cybertron.”

“Alright.” First Aid once more started fiddling with his datapad and Prowl realised that it was the young medic’s way of releasing tension when he was unsure how to ask a question to a senior officer. No doubt a carry-over from his academy days.

“Medic First Aid.” He waited until First Aid looked at him, “If you wish to ask or tell me something, please do so without fear. I am your patient, and I trust you to be honest with me.”

The young medic’s frame heated in embarrassment but he straightened and looked squarely at Prowl even though Prowl saw straight through the bravado. “It is not directly related to your condition, but…well, my brothers and I are originally from Cybertron. We came here when I was of age so that I might join the Autobot Medical School, and Groove could complete his tactical schooling. After I finished my internship, we decided to stay on Paradron. My two eldest brothers, Hot Spot and Blades, are still with the Autobots as part of their security team, and I know that is where Streetwise and Grooves also wish to be. So, uhm, to cut a long story short, we would like to go back to Cybertron, and possibly join the war effort again. So it could have two benefits for you, firstly, you get a defensive gestalt team, and secondly, I could be your medic on the return journey.”

A gestalt? The young medic was part of a gestalt team? Prowl leaned back in his chair as he contemplated the request. “Gestalts are very valuable in the ranks, especially defensive gestalts. Yet I need to ask you something first.”

First Aid nodded and Prowl continued. “The incident you mentioned violated your moral code, and you stated that as the reason for you leaving the Autobot medical facility after your duty to them was done. How will that affect your service and loyalty?”

The young medic sagged in his chair and looked up at the ceiling. “I am not happy about what happened. The mech wanted the sparkling. But I won’t let it affect my service to the soldiers within the army. I’ll be honest. I’m not a fighter, and I probably won’t ever be able to hold a gun. I’m a medic, and I save lives. But my brothers and I, we want to help. We don’t want to sit on the side-lines and watch the Decepticons destroy our home.”

Prowl eyed the medic, his processor quickly supplying him with the benefits of a gestalt team on the Ark, as well as the added benefit of another qualified medic. This might just be the help Ratchet needed.

“Very well. I will bring you application forms that you and your brothers can complete. You will need to be certified again, but I do not believe that will be a problem as your profession is in demand within the army. And as to being my medic…” Prowl paused as he grit his denta. Ratchet was his medic. Ratchet should be his medic. “My primary medic is Ratchet, the Autobot CMO. However, at the moment he is unaware of my status.”

First Aid nodded in understanding. “What are you going to do? Are you going to keep your condition secret?”

“I would prefer not to, now that I know I am carrying. However, that said, I still have a few things I need to get in order before I can notify him.”

First Aid nodded as he stood. “Very well. If rumour is to be believed, you are to stay on Paradron for three decaorns. I would like to see you in five orns, thereafter we’ll schedule more meetings for the duration of your stay. Please try to get some rest – no racing, very little driving, no sparring, training or whatever activity could drain you too much. Remember, the sparklet is drawing energy from your spark.”

Prowl stood and bowed his helm, his field tinging with gratitude as he greeted the young medic. “Thank-you for your willingness to see me and the advice. I will be by later this afternoon to collect the necessary supplements.”

“They will be here. Either Groove or Streetwise will have it ready for you.” First Aid moved with Prowl to the door. “Commander, please, if you have any queries or needs, please contact me, no matter the joor.”

“I will keep that in mind.” Prowl said as he exited the examination room. “I will inform you at our next appointment if I can grant your request.”

His sharp optics tracked every movement of the black and white Praxian as he exited the medic’s building and waved a transport down.

Soon, a transport pulled over and the tactician got in. Interesting that he has chosen not to transform.

Mirage gracefully transformed into his alt mode and slithered undetected into the traffic, keeping a fair distance from the target, but never losing sight. They headed into a residential area, and he fell further behind, coasting the smaller streets as he followed his prey. The transport halted in front of an estate agency, and a rather rotund mech paraded out of the building, his bulky frame swaying from side like a drunken predacon as he held his large palm out in greeting.

The sleek blue hovercraft glided by at his leisure, to all appearances knowing exactly where he was headed. He carefully noted the colours and faceplate of the burly mech who greeted Prowl before he turned a corner and they vanished from his sight.

But no matter.

He would visit the humongous agent later.

Authors note: This was really a hard chapter for me to right, for personal reasons. So it is not as polished as I would like to have it, but I hope you enjoyed it non the less.

Just to clear the calendar: In my verse, one vorn is equal to 13 quartexes (months), or 52 decaorns (weeks), and 520 orns (days). The quartexas are named after the Original 13, with some adaptations. The quartexes are from first to last: Prima, Vector, Alpha, Solus, Micron, Alchem, Nexus, Onyx, Amalgam, Megtron, Liege, Quintus, and Logos. If other calendars exist, I am blissfully unaware of it. 

According to my AU calendar, Prowl and Jazz’s little one-on-one happened in the quartex of Prima.

Hope it’s clear! :) Once more, thanks to all those who reviewed!

Chapter Text

“So, how are you enjoying Paradron?” Sandstorm sizzled up to the Praxian as they disembarked the private transport that had driven them to the Paradron Planetary Defense headquarters.

Prowl glanced around them at the tall trees and neatly trimmed gardens. “Paradron City?” He asked as he took a small step forward, his doorwing twitching as sensory details flooded his sensors – the heat from the sun, the chirping, singing notes of organic avifauna, and the distant sound of a drillmaster’s high-pitched whistle.

“Yes.” Sandstorm chuckled as he placed a hand on the small of Prowl’s back, gently steering him towards the entrance of the main building.

Prowl stiffened at the contact and pulled his field tight. He turned his helm towards Sandstorm and briefly dropped his optics to indicate the offending appendage before lifting them back to Sandstorm.

Sandstorm smiled impishly and dropped his hand, but not without trailing it lightly over Prowl’s aft. He waved his offending hand at the direction of the building. “The headquarters are that way, sir.”

“Then let us proceed.” Prowl said curtly and walked towards the entrance.

They were greeted by two guards curiously watching them and asked for identity verification. Prowl databurst his glyphs to the guards and waited patiently.

“Welcome, Commander Prowl.” The guard on the right saluted. He opened the door and gestured them in. “Capt. Winglifter and Lt. Cl. Red Alert has been notified of your arrival and will meet you shortly in the waiting hall. Please proceed to the security checkpoint.”

Prowl inclined his helm and swept into the building, doorwings held high. A cursory observance showed that the building was well-maintained and orderly – the granite walls polished to such an extent that he could see his distorted reflection staring back at him.

“Sir, if you would step right this way, we could finish the security check.” A scarlet-warframe with PPD etchings saluted him and stood at attention.

“Of course.” He walked over to the security scanners and entered the machine. He waited a few clicks until the scanner beeped green, then stepped out. Another guard swept a hand-held scanner over him, before stepping back respectfully.

“All clear. Weapon: approved.” The scarlet mech said as he stepped up to Prowl. “Sir, you are authorized to carry your weapon within the building, but please refrain from removing it from subspace, as this might be seen as an aggressive action and suitable counter-actions will be taken.”

“Understood.” Prowl turned back to Sandstorm, who had undergone the same scans and received a similar warning. “Red Alert has already been assessing the systems for the past two orns; you will be working together today while I meet with Capt. Winglifter. Will that pose a problem?”

Sandstorm cocked an optic ridge and sighed, fluffing his armour in resignation. Red Alert’s antagonism had not diminished at all, though he remained strictly professional at all times. And it was only because of that professionalism, and the fact that Prowl had ordered him to, that he was willing to work with Red Alert. He opened his mouth to reply, but a rich, accented voice bellowing down the hallway interrupted him. He smiled indulgently at Prowl.

“Ah, Commander Prowl, my dear sir. How have you been?”

Prowl turned towards the blue and white seeker striding towards him with long, determined steps, a bright smile plastered over his handsome faceplate. At his side, rather hurrying to keep pace with the much larger mech, Red Alert frowned at a datapad, seemingly oblivious to the world around him as he tapped away at the screen. Although Prowl thought he caught a brief frown aimed at Sandstorm. He suppressed a sigh of exasperation and turned his attention towards Lord Winglifter.

“Capt. Winglifter.” Prowl inclined his helm in a manner befitting not only the rank of the mech, but also his social status. “It has been many vorns since I have last had the pleasure of seeing you.”

“By jove I’d say!” Winglifter chuckled good-sparkedly and reached his hand out in welcome. Prowl obligingly touched palms with him, a small smile touching the corner of his lip.

“Just look at you! You seem to glow!” The jovial seeker shook his helm and laid a hand on Prowl’s shoulder as he looked him up and down. “By gad, too long!” He said fondly and turned towards Red Alert, jumping from one topic to the next with practiced ease. “This young fellow you have here is amazing! Where did you find him? I’m of a mind to filch him from you!”

“I would not approve his transfer.” Prowl deadpanned as he folded his arms behind his back, fairly used to the large Seeker’s peculiar mannerisms.

Winglifter broke out in laughter at the resolute expression on Prowl’s faceplate. “Still the same old Lord Prowl I remember! Primus, nothing ever seems to ruffle your plates! But come!” He rubbed his hands together. “Let’s go to my office. I have some special refreshments there! Oh, and welcome, Lt. Gen. Sandstorm. I’ve not forgotten you, but I am overjoyed to seem my old friend again!”

Sandstorm politely reassured Winglifter that it was no problem and quickly took his place next to Prowl before Red Alert could squeeze in. He looked down at Red Alert, who was forced to walk on the opposite side next to Lord Winglifter, and smirked haughtily. Two can play this game. He inched closer to Prowl and was satisfied to feel the little mech’s glare burning through his plating.

Winglifter cocked an optic ridge at Sandstorm’s antics and smiled coyly down at Prowl to see if he noticed the attention. No doubt his friend had not noticed the subtle dispute for his attention. When it came to matters of the spark, Prowl was more on the oblivious side of things. He smiled. Maybe his friend needed some help. He remembered very well that Prowl, when he finally did notice, would more often than not shy away from courting, but a little romance would not go amiss. Oh, yes. It might be the perfect little thing for his dear friend’s stay at Paradron. Feeling immensely satisfied with himself, they started towards his office.

“So. Red here has been giving us some very useful pointers on strengthening our security parameters, not only the building itself, but for the entire Paradron system.” He leaned his trunk forward to look past Prowl at Sandstorm. “No doubt you will find the information helpful. I think some of these measures should be implemented without any delay!”

“I shall look into it as soon as possible. If it is satisfactory, I shall recommend it to Echelon for implementation.” Sandstorm said with another imperious look at Red Alert, who was walking on Winglifter’s other side.

“I guarantee that my systems will work!” Red Alert spat. “The sooner, the better! There are some major security holes that need to be tended to.” He pulled himself up to his full height and flicked his helm at Sandstorm.

“Of course, Red Alert.” Prowl intervened as they entered the lift. “You and Lt. Gn. Sandstorm will be reviewing those while Capt. WInglifter and I attend to private affairs.” He lowered his optic ridges at Red Alert in clear warning to remember their previous conversations regarding Sandstorm.

Red Alert tightened his lips and obstinately looked away as he clutched at the datapad. ::He started it.::

::And you will end it.:: Prowl sent back over tight comm as he raised his wings in warning.

Winglifter bit the inside of his cheek as he watched the silent byplay, well-versed in wing-signs, he was unfortunately aware that Prowl had just subdued one of his own, and of course that would simply be an unfair advantage for poor Sandstorm. Well, that wouldn’t work at all. It wasn’t as if Sandstorm was innocent…so….::Sandstorm, please try to reign in your rather profound pompous behavior. I know you are a rather bang-up chap, so please try to act it while you are here.::

::Sir, that mech has had it in for me for no reason since they landed.:: Sandstorm quipped. He kept his optics pasted on the level indicator above the lift door.

::For no reason? Dear boy are you daft? The little mech is jealous!:: Winglifter cleared his vocalizer and rolled his shoulders, trying to keep his mirth from transferring to his wings. ::Why don’t you be a good old sport and play the game like a gentlemech, huh? Prowl is exceedingly on the qui vive for politeness. Part of his genteel heritage.:: He gently nudged Sandstorm with his wing. “Oh, pardon me.” He said as he rounded his optics humorously at Sandstorm.

Sandstorm barely kept from rolling his optics at the larger seeker, but made a note of his words. If Red Alert was jealous, then that meant Prowl was showing some interest in him. His lips tipped upwards. He would play the game if Red Alert wanted to.

The lift door pinged their arrival and the doors swooshed open. Red Alert and Sandstorm stepped out and turned.

Winglifter shood them with his hand. “Go along you two, and have fun!”

The door closed and they were gone.

Red Alert and Sandstorm stood next to each other staring at the closed door for a few seconds. They both glanced at each other and sighed.

“Just so that you know, I am as thrilled about this assignment as you are.” Red Alert put up his chin a little, a dangerous militant sparkle in his optics.

Sandstorm levelled his gaze at Red Alert. “Indeed.” Was the grave reply.

This was going to be a long orn.

Prowl and Winglifter walked into the spacious office with its large floor to ceiling windows.

“Prowl, you don’t mind me calling you Prowl? I’m so sick of titles! Anyway, why don’t we take a seat over here?” The seeker pointed to two beautifully crafted burgundy coloured chaise longues neatly arranged around an iron low-table with magnificent views of the facility’s grounds.

“It seems, my lord, that you have reserved your love of beautiful and practical furnishings.” Prowl said as he admired the carvings on the table and the matching long chairs. He arranged himself comfortably before turning to his old friend.

“Please, Prowl, if I do not call you lord, do not call me one either. We are past the societal nicities in here.” He flipped a hand dismissively as he settled his large frame on the chaise longue and kicked his pedes up, relaxing into the comfortable padding. He reached over to the low-table and pulled open a drawer, revealing high-grade and mid-grade of various strengths. “What would you like? I remember you tend towards the acidic. I have here a special brew from Adder, a smaller town in the southern continent of Paradron. Tastes similar to Vosnian high-grade. I know it’s in here somewhere…” He leaned closer to the different labels as his words trailed off.

“I appreciate the gesture, but if I may bother you for regular mid-grade, I would be much obliged.” Prowl said apologetically as he lifted his hand to his spark. High-grade was one of the things forbidden to him by First Aid, so even as much as it pained him to disappoint Lord Winglifter, he would not go against the doctor’s orders.

“Hmmm? What’s that? No?” Winglifter said as he turned to Prowl and Prowl quickly dropped his hand.

“No thank-you. I would prefer mid-grade, as my medic has prescribed certain additives I need to take for the next few quartexes.” He saw the seeker’s face fall and quickly added: “But perhaps at some other time I would be able to partake of it.”

“Some other time? My dear sir, if I am not mistaken the Ark leaves in two decaorn’s time! Are you planning on coming back soon? Usually it takes vorns, and with the war! Who knows when we’ll have the chance to see each other again!” But even as he said it, Winglifter took out a regular mid-grade.

Prowl took the offered cube silently and stared into it, field drawn in tight. This was part two of his plan, and he was loath to implement it, but he had to. He drew a deep vent and released it slowly.

Winglifter, mistaking Prowl’s countenance as one of regret, quickly rose and laid an enormous hand on Prowl’s arm. “Ah Prowl! You know my blabbering glossa! No harm was meant in my statement. I am simply surprised by your comment. Pray, tell me what you meant?”

Prowl forced his lips to curve upwards as he looked at his host. “Of course I know no harm was meant. It is simply…” He hung his helm and shifted uneasily on the couch as he sought the correct words, but the words would not cross his vocalizer.

By this time Winglifter was more than a little worried by Prowl’s odd behavior. Surely something must be wrong? Prowl had always been such a stoic mech, and he knew he was among the few privileged to see behind the iron mask Prowl all too-frequently wore.

“Prowl, I dare say we have known each other since our third frames. What could possibly have tossed you into such a conundrum?” He leaned back and removed his hand, conscious that Prowl did not enjoy physical contact.

Prowl took another deep vent and turned his helm to look at the neatly-kept grounds, swishing the still-closed cube in his hand. He moistened his lips and reset his vocalizer, acutely aware of the other trying to read him, and at the same time offer comfort.

“I have recently…” He hesitated. No, that was not the right words. “I remember, once, you offered me a favour.”

Winglifter frowned as he cocked his helm at Prowl. “Yes, if it is within my power to do, I will do it.” The blue optics deepened as he regarded the Praxian’s stiff frame, the worrying lips. “Prowl, you need not be afraid of what you want to say.”

Prowl whipped his helm back and stared into Winglifter’s concerned optics. Was he afraid? The question haunted him as he became lost in those fathomless blue optics. Am I afraid? He broke optic contact and drew himself up. He was a commander; this hesitancy was not part of his character and he refused to bow under it. He would not. Opening his cube, he quickly added the additives and took a sip. “You once mentioned that you would be honoured to have me serve on your staff.”

Winglifter shuttered his optics rapidly in succession as his concern morphed into surprise at the sudden change in Prowl’s demeanor. “I did, yes.” He replied cautiously as he bent his helm to look at Prowl from under thick optic ridges.

“I am planning on resigning from the Autobots within the next two decaorns.”

Winglifter rocked back as if he had been slapped. “What?” He barked and sprang to his pedes, his bulging optics searching Prowl’s faceplate.

But the faceplate was blank.

“You can’t be serious!” He stuttered as he shook his helm. “Prowl! You man a vital part of the Autobot’s army! You can’t simply be replaced!” He flapped his wings dismally, his processor spinning.

“It has not been an easy decision to make, but I have made it.” Prowl said blandly and Winglifter continued to stare at him, mouth half-cocked.  “I will return with the Ark to Cybertron, where I will attend Bluestreak’s graduation. Thereafter I will return to Paradron at my earliest convenience.”

Winglifter thought he detected a slight tremor run through Prowl’s doorwings, but none of it was betrayed in his voice. He searched the Praxian’s cold optics.

“You know that it is not credits that would draw me to work, as I have sufficient means, but more a need to occupy my processor and contribute in a useful manner.”

Prowl’s words were lost on Winglifter as his attention wondered off into darker spheres. Who would take Prowl’s place? Who would be suitable? It was no secret that since Prowl’s ascension to Second-in-Command that the Autobot army had started advancing and winning battles, even to a point that they could securely hold on to territories. Lud! Since the current command team, the Autobots had actually entertained thoughts of winning this war, but now? He was not intimately acquainted with the mechs on the command team, but he was intimately acquainted with Prowl, and by that alone he knew that the mech was an integrate part of the team. No. A vital part. But more than that, Prowl loved his career, even as a noble he had formed part of the House’s army. What could possibly drive him to leave that? A medic prescribed…Primus? What if Prowl was terminally ill or some such horrid thing?!

“Good gad!” He exclaimed in distress and whirled around, his optics frantically searching for inspirations to break this freakish haze he was lost in. His optics landed on the low-table and its innocent content of high-grade. “Yes. That’s what one does!” He lurched for the cabinet, poured himself a stiff drink of high-grade, and downed it.

He gasped as the strong liquid hit his tanks, but it could not quite reach the iciness that had taken hold of his internals. He pivoted back to Prowl only to see that the mech had stopped talking and was looking at him with that same flat gaze.

He held that empty stare and he felt his armour crawl at the nothingness he saw buried beneath pale optics. “Why Prowl?” He muttered as he gently shook his helm and walked over to his seat, his processor still reeling from the unexpected revelation. “Why?”

“At present, I cannot reveal my reasons. I would simply appreciate to know if I will be welcomed here.”

“Prowl, this is not a small thing. Since I have known you, you have served in some capacity within a military structure. Are you ill? Were you injured in battle? I know the Ark landed in trouble a few orns before you entered the vortex. Were you hurt? You can tell me.” Winglifter reached out, his hand hovering over Prowl’s, but the resolute Praxian moved his hand away and sat straight, well out of reach.

“I am not injured, neither am I ill. My situation is but temporary.”

Winglifter hefted a heavy sigh as he withdrew his hand, but not his field. “Primus Prowl. I don’t know what to say old chap. Of course you will have my support, but, please reconsider Prowl! If it is only temporary, then maybe you could go on extended leave or something!”

“This is war, Lord Winglifter. Extended leave does not exist, neither do our duties end. This is for the best.” Prowl said and stood, moving to the window. “We need to discuss the Autobot’s involvement with the planetary defense plans. Also, of the students, I would like the list of those who showed the most potential. I have sent you a communique before requesting such a list.” He turned so that he was looking at Winglifter over his shoulder.

“Oh Prowl. Forgive me if I speak out of turn, but changing topics will not make the blaring reality go away.” He raised his hand to forestall Prowl from interjecting, then continued in dismayed tones; “I will respect your decision, however, to move to matters of business even though it saddens me to see you so withdrawn, even from, and I do allow myself to claim this title, friends.” He places both hands on his knees and pushed up, his frame creaking at the heaviness that had settled over his shoulders.

Prowl turned back to the window as the seeker came and stood next to him. “I do consider you a friend. Trust me when I say that when I am at liberty to talk about it, you will be amongst the first to know. But until I have not spoken to the Prime, I cannot let the information slip. For security reasons.” Prowl dipped his helm briefly before lifting his chin. “For now, we must continue with our duties. Please do not speak of what I had asked.”

Winglifter nodded his helm in acquiescence. “Then let us speak on matters of business.”

Author’s note: early. I know…hope you enjoy the chapter and a shout-out to all those who reviewed.

Chapter Text

“As you can see, the view from the main berthroom is absolutely breath-taking, and of course that is what makes this place a gem – the serenity of the forests surrounding it and the unobstructed view of Clemency Lake!”

Prowl stopped in front of the large crystal windows, admiring not only the view, but also the security offered by the surroundings. The kilos of uninterrupted forests would serve as a natural barrier while the lake, and the river flowing out from it, could serve as an additional escape route.

And those were the foremost factors Prowl cared for in a property. It had to be safe for both him and his sparkling. Whereas the properties within Paradron city were admirably large, modish and close to reinforcements like the defence force, it was difficult to monitor activity of mechs around the outside the property, which was to Prowl a major safety concern.

The Lake District property, on the other hand, was well-hidden and secluded. Access roads could be monitored, safety precautions installed, various escape routes determined and private guards employed. If an unauthorised mech was anywhere in the vicinity, he could be taken care of discreetly.

Secondary, but also of great importance, was that the property could be made self-sufficient. The small energon stream running through it could provide energon for both consumption and fuel purposes – once a small refinery system could be built – and  since the sun was a constant source of solar energy on Paradron, solar batteries could be installed for additional energy requirements.

“And through here is the main’s washrack.”

Prowl turned his attention back to Hawker, the estate agent, and followed him through to the aforementioned room. The washrack was stylish and well-equipped, with large, full-length mirrors adorning the right-most side, a large spa-bath, a shower and a waxing cubicle suitable for winged-frames. Prowl casually walked over and critically viewed each as he half-inclined his audio to the babble of the estate agent, but actively tracking him with his doorwings. He nodded in satisfaction. The bath would do very well for his sparkling, until his second frame, and the waxing cubicle had enough racks to hold the necessary polishing cloths, waxes and lotions for the both of them.

He exited the washracks and went into the hall, Hawker following short on his pedes.

“So that concludes the viewing of the second floor.” Hawker said as he motioned to the lift. “There are five more rooms on the floor above, but they were mainly used to house servants. In addition, there are two washracks, a small dispensary room, and a lounge. Would you like to view them, sir?”

Prowl consulted his chronometer and shook his helm. It was becoming quite late and he needed to drive back. He had opted to drive out to the property on his own since he wanted a feel for the accessibility, but he could feel the drain on him even though the drive had not been strenuous and he had imbibed an additional cube of enriched energon. He drew in a breath as they entered the lift. “I will inspect it at another time. May I see the grounds?”

“Of course, my Lord.” Hawker inclined his large helm about as gracefully as a dinobot would and sent the command for the ground floor. “So the property is quite large. Situated on 479 cycres, it has numerous species of fauna as well as flora, not exactly the kind you would get on Cybertron, but we have some distant cousins here.” Hawker explained as they got off the lift.

“Furthermore, there are three outhouses – cottages, you could say – for additional accommodation for personal. There is also a cabin situated on the land close to the river, but unfortunately it is not mapped, so will take some searching to find.” He saw Prowl’s doorwings flick and he hastily assured Prowl; “The keeper of the grounds, Tillsbury, knowns exactly where it is. He’s an old mech, but sharp as a blade. Yes he is! He’s been on the property since he was a youngling.”

“I would like to meet this Tillsbury when next I visit. Please arrange it.” Prowl ordered as he scrutinised the grounds. This property would suite his purposes at all ends. There was enough housing for servants as well as guards, an old keeper who knew the lay of the land, and seclusion from unwanted optics. His brow creased ever so slightly and his doorwings fanned. He would have to look into this Tillsbury character before he met him. He might even ask Red Alert to cross-check his records to see if the mech was reputable. If he was, he would enlist his services and keep him in the position of keeper of the grounds. With luck, the mech might even become loyal to him and his sparkling.

They continued strolling around the grounds for another joor, Prowl stopping every now and then to make enquiries while the voluble mech by his side answered as well – and sometimes too well in Prowl’s opinions – as he could. Soon though, Prowl bid his leave and told Hawker that he will make an offer on the property to the custodians, and he would contact him again when he wished to see the property.

“Excellent!” The burly mech clapped his hands together and rubbed them gleefully. “This property is a real gem, and you won’t be disappointed.

Prowl rolled his shoulders to loosen the armour around his sore chest as he walked to the driveway. “I would hope not.” He replied candidly and unsubspaced an energon cube, drinking its contents while Hawker finalised the contractual details he would need to make an offer. After receiving the documents, he transformed into his alt mode, taking care to transform slowly as First Aid had cautioned him to if the need arose for him to drive, and cruised at a leisurely pace down the winding roads alongside the lake.

He had driven about ten breems when a small energy spike was caught on his doorwings’ advanced sensory net. He slowed and extended his sensory net, but no blip appeared. Mentally shrugging it off, he increased his speed. It had probably been one of the native fauna.

Five breems later, however, another blip ghosted his sensory net. This one closer and more familiar. He vented in frustration and looked for a place to pull over. He noted a small path leading off the main road and turned onto it, slowing to see if his pursuer would follow.

Satisfied, he continued until the path dead-ended in an alcove on the lake’s shore and transformed, his doorwings flared and back towards the empty path behind him. He lifted his hand and gently massaging along the sore plates on his chest, waiting for the other to come. Primus he was tired. He vented softly. He should have taken a transport.

Three breems of silence passed, save for the sound of avifauna chirping and small waves lapping against the shore.

Prowl dropped his hand and straightened, holding his doorwings defensively as he turned around.

“What do you want?”

A few paces in front of him the air shimmered and an elegant, lithe blue and white frame materialised.

The master-spy and tactician stared at each other with cold, calculating optics.

“The truth.” Mirage said coldly and Prowl lifted his chin at the accusing tone.

“The truth? You have to be more specific, Mirage.” Prowl fenced, his armour settling tightly across his frame as he held the cold gaze. Inside, though, his spark was beating rapidly. With sick apprehension, he waited for Mirage to speak.

“More specific? Oh yes, I forgot.” Mirage mocked as he folded his arms across his chassis. He stalked around the guarded Praxian. “Specifics. Well, first off, let me tell you that a few decaorns ago, or more specifically, the orn Jazz left, he asked me to keep an optic on you, because he said something was off.” Mirage paused and watched the Praxian’s face for any betrayal of emotion. When he could detect none, he continued softly. “So I started following you, observing you. I soon came to the conclusion that Jazz was right. So, before I tell you the specific results of my findings, why don’t you tell me the truth of your ‘condition’.”

Prowl clenched his jaw as he stared coolly at Mirage. This could be a ploy, but even as he thought it he knew it wasn’t. Primus. He should have been more careful around Jazz.

“No?” Mirage sneered at Prowl’s extended silence. He came to a stop directly in front of Prowl, his chin raised haughtily. “I admit, Commander Prowl, I would not have expected you to break Autobot laws. The mere thought of it is enough to sicken me!” He spat on the ground and turned his blazing optics back to Prowl.

The colour drained from Prowl’s cheeks, but he remained as motionless as a statue.

“Carrying! You!” Mirage scoffed. “Does Optimus know? Ratchet?” He didn’t wait for an answer as he started pacing, his vents flared angrily. “Of course not! You’ve been lying about this the whole time! I checked your records! There’s not even a possible mention of it on your medical profile! And then you had the sheer stupidity to spark-share!” A growl escaped Mirage’s engine and Prowl’s battle protocols automatically onlined at the perceived threat. He battled them down and switched to ‘stand-by’.

“Yes, I did lie about my status. Had I not I would not have been allowed to enter the Autobot forces.” Prowl replied with forced calms even as his helm began to swim. He was not going to explain himself to a subordinate, no matter the threats Mirage held over him. Though the thought did cross his processor that Mirage was being unfair; it was not as if he was the only one that had spark-shared. Jazz had a 50% share in that.

Mirage spun on his heels and pointed an accusing finger at Prowl. “Aha! So you admit to being a fraud! And now what? You’re going to resign and keep it a secret? You honestly think the Autobot High Council or the Cybertronian Senate will let you get away with it? Even Optimus Prime has to bend to their whims! He won’t be able to protect you or that thing growing in you!”

Prowl revved loudly at the last remark. His lip curled at Mirage and heat flushed through his frame as he fought to regain the receding tendrils of self-control. In a low, tremulous voice he replied, “I will not explain my conduct to you.”

“You do not need to explain yourself to me!” Mirage spat as he glowered at Prowl. “You will explain yourself to the proper authorities! As you should have done!”

Prowl swallowed the bile that rose in his throat as he drew shaky vents trying to slow his pulse-rate. So Mirage was threatening to blow everything wide open. He pressed his lips together and shuttered his optics.

Mirage watched Prowl and growled in both anger and frustration. He felt the energon pounding in his audios as his thoughts raced to Jazz. This was going to tear Jazz apart. And he was the one mech who did not need this kind of slag, especially not after what Jazz had told him. And now this comes out. Primus.

“How could you do this to Jazz?” He ground out as he balled his fists.

Prowl opened his optics and looked up at Mirage, ignoring the small pricks of pain stabbing into his spark. “Jazz is not the only one affected by this.” Prowl said evenly. Did Mirage honestly think that he did this on purpose to Jazz?

“Of course not! You betrayed everyone! But his betrayal is the worst!” Mirage paced again, his anger reaching new heights as he knew he would have to be the one to tell Jazz. “Slag it all Prowl! He actually cared about you enough that he asked me to keep an optic on you for his peace of mind! And then you go off and get sparked by that incompetent piece of red cannon-fodder!”

Prowl rocked back as he stared at Mirage in shock. Did Mirage actually think…? “Sideswipe?” He asked incredulously as his doorwings dipped.

Mirage stopped and stared at Prowl, the anger in his optics still blazing hot. “I know you and Jazz have been seeing each other for decavorns now and nothing happened, but since that red hellion has been with you, everything has gone south. You started acting strange, shunning Jazz, lying to him. Sideswipe was the one that took you energon on an ornly basis and he was the one to find you a medic. Then the very next evening after he finds you a medic, he visits you afterhours in your room. Furthermore, they always seem to be lingering in your vicinity. I was surprised you managed to ditch them today!”

Prowl raised a hand to his helm and squeezed his optics shut. How could Mirage possibly think Sideswipe was the sire? There had been no occasion for them to be alone together in a private setting, something that Prowl had gone to large extents to ensure. So how could Mirage think that? “Sideswipe is not the sire.” He whispered. His helm felt light as he opened his optics again to look at Mirage.

The spy stood icily still, his lips still curled in a nasty sneer. “You think I believe that?”

“Whether or not you believe it, it is the truth.” Prowl dropped his hand and tried to straighten, but pain had taken a firm hold and felt like it was crushing his spark. He rounded his shoulders and folded his arms over his chest to try and loosen the plates. “Sideswipe knows I am carrying, but he is not the sire. I was forced to tell him so that my status would not be made known to Ratchet. He agreed to help me.”

Mirage stared shrewdly at Prowl as he planted his feet firmly on the pebbled ground. “Then who is?” He scowled, his anger abating as part of him wanted to believe that Prowl would at least have had the decency to stay with one lover, no matter the kind of involvement. The other part, however, hoped that Jazz had nothing to do with this.

Prowl kept his optics locked, but refused to say Jazz’s name. He was still undecided if he wanted Jazz involved. If he was going to go on trial, it would be better if no one knew the sire. He did not want to end Jazz’s career because of his own lies. Moreover, Jazz might not want to be involved.

Mirage’s optics unfocused and he turned his helm to look over the lake. Slowly his armour settled and he drew a shaky vent. “Jazz. It’s Jazz’s.” He swore as he turned his back on Prowl, unsure if he wanted to kill the tactician or not. This was going to ruin Jazz in any case.

“You are the only one that knows it is Jazz. I do not want Jazz involved. For his career’s sake.”

Mirage gave a scathing bark of laughter as he turned back to Prowl. “Jazz. You obviously don’t know him well.” He said incredulously and shook his helm. “This is unbelievable.” He hung his helm and drew in a deep vent.

“I am going to report you.”

Prowl felt the words as if they were a death knell. His chest tightened. Report you. The words echoed in his helm. Report you. Prowl swallowed slowly as a small tremor started through his frame.

Mirage lifted his helm and grunted. His optics had lost the icy anger, but that iciness had been replaced by a hard glint. “Because of Jazz, and only because of him, will I give you two decaorns to do it yourself. By the time the Ark leaves Paradron, Prime will know.” He transformed into his sleek alt mode and sped off.

Prowl stumbled into his quarters and locked the door. His limbs felt hot and his joints ached as he took a few steps inside.

Two decaorns.

He needed to resign. He needed to tell Optimus, Ratchet, Red Alert, Ironhide…all of them. His engine whined and he sank to the floor, his legs refusing to hold him upright a moment longer. Like an old, dry leaf his armour plates clattered together as he trembled. “Damn!” He whispered and pressed quivering hands over his faceplate, his vents dragging shaky breath after shaky breath.

His spark raced as scenarios fled through his processor. Everything he needed to do, his resignation, the meeting with the command, Mirage and his threat, Jazz, the sparkling, the house, all his delicate plans.

Pain flared through his chest and he curled in on himself, pressing his arms over his hot chest-plating. He needed to think, but couldn’t. The rushing sound in his audios drowned out all processes while the scorching heat slowly crept throughout his frame. He moaned. He tried to lift his helm, his arm, but they would not obey.

Two decaorns.

The pain inched upward and black spots swam in his vision. A warning popped up in his HUD, but he ignored it. He was tired. Drained. Need to rest.

He shuttered his optics.

Author’s note: I will try to update sometime this week, since I need to travel again on the weekend. :)

Chapter Text

Red Alert raced through the hallway, spark pounding, and transformed at Prowl’s quarters. He lurched for the keypad and commed it open. He cursed as a red ‘access denied’ poped up.

Close behind him, Inferno slammed on his brakes and transformed, panting hard. He had no idea what was going on. One moment he and Red had been laughing at some strange antic of Sideswipe in the class, the next Red Alert had bolted for the door and transformed.

“Red, what’s going on? What're ya doing?” He asked, but the little mech simply shook his helm as he bent over the keypad.

Inferno’s optics bulged. “Ya hacking Commander Prowl’s quarters?”

Red Alert ignored Inferno as he tapped in a last command. He didn’t wait for the door to open fully as he squeezed through and ran to the place where Prowl lay unceremoniously curled into a ball on the floor.

He gently slapped Prowl’s cheek, hoping the tactician would wake up. “Come on, Prowl.” He begged, but the tactician’s optics remained stubbornly shuttered. He felt along Prowl’s frame and his tank clenched. He was too hot. Much too hot.

“Inferno!” He turned round to see the large firemech staring with a slack jaw at the scene in front of him. “Help me get him to the washracks!”

Red Alert's sharp tone jolted Inferno out of his stupor and he swiftly moved to the commander, lifting him as easily as if he had been a sprakling. He sprinted after Red Alert into the washracks. “Why is he so hot?” Inferno asked, looking worriedly down at Prowl. He went and stood under the shower as cold liquid rained down on him and the limp tactician.

“Lay him down!” Red Alert ordered. He needed to get Prowl’s temperature down, soon, and it would go quicker if he wasn’t held against Inferno’s hot frame. Inferno nodded and gently laid Prowl down.

“What’s wrong?” Inferno asked again as he got out of Red Alert’s way.

Red Alert ignored him as he focused his attention on Prowl. Slag, slag, slag! He slapped Prowl hard over the cheek, then again but nothing seemed to rouse him. “Come on, Prowl.” He wiped a hand agitatedly over his helm and raked his processor.

First Aid! Of course, he was privy to Prowl’s details.

::Sideswipe!::

::Yeah?:: The frontliner groused. ::uh, sir.::

::Send me First Aid’s comm link now!::

::What?! How do you…?::

::It doesn’t matter! Send it!:: Red Alert reached up and took a polishing cloth from the rack, wet it, and dabbed it over Prowl’s forehelm and onto his neck. His comm. link pinged with First Aid’s number and he quickly connected. He counted the agonizing seconds as he waited for the medic to accept the connection.

“Should I go get Ratchet?” Inferno asked, but his superior shook his helm.

Red Alert swallowed the knot in his throat. Please answer your fragging comm!

::Hello?:: A young voice answered and Red Alert sagged in relief.

::First Aid? Prowl’s medic?:: Red Alert wringed the cloth and wet it again, continuing to dab Prowl with it.

::Yes?::

::Prowl collapsed and his frame is overheating. Badly.:: He sent back, not caring to explain how he knew or who he was. That could come later.

::When?!:: First Aid sounded alarmed, and it did nothing to soothe Red Alert’s frayed nerves.

::Approximately six breems. No response yet.:: Red Alert quipped and placed the cold cloth over Prowl’s chest. “Wring it out every few seconds with cold water then lay it back over his chest plating!” He ordered Inferno as he reached up and grabbed another cloth, wet it, then dabbed at Prowl’s helm.

::What’s his core temperature?::

::Hot enough for small puffs of steam to rise where the cold water hits his frame.:: Red Alert replied worriedly.

::Get him to a medic now! I’m on my way!::

Red Alert hesitated. If Ratchet was notified – then it will blow Prowl’s whole secret wide open; if he doesn’t, what would happen to Prowl? And the sprakling? But what would happen to them if the Autobots knew? He shuttered his optics and sent a quick prayer to Primus that they were doing the right thing.

“Get Ratchet!” Red Alert cried as he shook Prowl harder. “Prowl? Come on, please wake up! Prowl!”

Inferno sprang up and bolted out of the room, initiating a comm link with Ratchet even as he skidded into the corridor. His processor raced as he thought of Commander Prowl limp on the floor, his frame scorching hot, and the panic he had seen in Red’s optics. What if it was poison? But who would do that?

::What do you want? It’s my orn off!:: A gruff voice croaked.

Orn off?  That meant he was in his quarters. That was only four doors down. Inferno put in a burst of speed.

::Prowl’s down. He’s in his quarters!::

::What’s happened?:: Ratchet barked, his tone instantly professional.

::Don’t know! I’m at your…::

The door slid open and Inferno screeched to a halt as Ratchet flew past him. He spun around and gunned after the medic.

Red Alert looked up as Ratchet skidded into the washracks.

“Report!” He barked as he plugged into the Praxian. He ran his sharp optics over Prowl's hot frame and growled.

Red Alert shook his helm a he looked at Ratchet. “I saw him on the security feed, and I came.”

Ratchet’s optics unfocused and he pressed his lips together firmly. “I need to get him to medbay. His core temperature is way too high! Inferno, check for any open substances or empty cubes and take them to the lab! If this is poison, I need to know what kind!”

Red Alert cowered at those words and kept his gaze plastered on Prowl’s slack faceplate. Should he tell that it might be the sparkling? But what if it was poison? He had no guarantee that it was related to the carrying, and there was always the possibility that this might be related to an assassination attempt. He pressed a fist against his helm and clamped his armour. He should have kept a closer watch on Prowl. He should have alerted the Twins to follow Prowl. He should have...

“Stop it!”

Ratchet’s bark startled him back to the present and he looked into Ratchet’s blazing optics. “Check security feeds. I need to know what happened! Inferno, load him into me.” He pushed away and went into the living room, transformed and waited for Inferno to dispose the inert tactician into his hold.

Red Alert watched the whole process with a guilt-ridden conscience. He watched Inferno load Prowl into Ratchet's hold, and then watched Ratchet career out of the room. He raised his worried optics to Inferno. As much as he hated doing this, he had to delegate. His place at the moment was the medbay. “Inferno, please notify Blazer to check security feed and trace back Prowl’s movement from the moment he set pede on this base. I need to go to the medbay. Also, if a medic by the name of 'First Aid' were to present himself at the base, notify me immediately. If you encounter the Twins, tell them I will brief them on the situation as soon as I can. They are not to come to the medbay.”

Inferno scrunched his face up at the last, but foremost in his processor was Commander Prowl. “Do you think he’ll be ok?”

Red Alert looked unblinkingly at the door through which Ratchet had left. Would he be ok? He shook his helm slowly and hugged himself. No. He would not be ok. What if he was forced to abort to stay with the Autobots? What would that do to him? But what if he went on trial? What would Ratchet do? Or the Prime? He shuttered his optics and drew a deep vent as he turned back to inferno.

“I hope so.”

Ratchet frantically worked to get Prowl’s core temperature down. “Get the IV into him! Four pints of crystalloid coolant 246!” He barked at an assistant. He swung back to the machine as it beeped the test results.

He scanned it and frowned. That couldn’t be right.

“Icore!” He shouted at the CMO of Paradron base as he threw the datapad down on the counter. “Your spark scanner, do you have a back-up?”

“Of course I do!” The femme reached into her subspace and drew out a portable scanner. “I’ve got a reading on his core temperature! It’s still not declining!” She shouted at Ratchet. “I’m going to prepare 5mm of dantrolene.” She ran out of the room and Ratchet plugged the portable scanner into Prowl’s chest-port.

“What the frag…” He whispered in disbelief and set the scanner to run a third time. He turned to the assistant. “My office. Get the portable spark-scanner!”

A monitor screamed and he looked up. Prowl’s temperature was inching up again. “Frag!” He spun around and reached for a cooling blanket and draped it over the tactician. The scanner beeped and Ratchet grabbed at it.

“Impossible…” He narrowed his optics and gripped the scanner as his helm swam. This could not be true. It had to be the scanners reading the results wrong. It had to be his spark energy spiking.

He disconnected the scanner and plugged in, using his medical overrides to command the sparkchamber to open.

Icore raced back into the room and headed to the IV. “I’ve got 5mm of…” she trailed off as she watched Ratchet shut Prowl’s chestplates, his optics near-white and his face pinched. “Ratchet?”

“Don’t give that to him!” He barked harshly as he pulled the cooling blanket off. He grabbed a spray bottle and started spritzing tepid water onto Prowl’s frame, his processor set only on the objective of decreasing Prowl’s core temperature. The rest he would sort out later.

Icore looked down in bewilderment at the shot in her palm, then to the monitoring machine, and then back to Ratchet. Her optic ridges furrowed. “Ratchet, we have to get this into him! You know we could lose him if we don’t get his temperature down to acceptable parameters within the next twenty breems!”

“Immersion!” He turned and grabbed the scanner the assistant had brought in and plugged it into Prowl. “Prepare a CR chamber!” The assistant ran out again and Ratchet turned back to Icore. “Get the vents flowing at 40 degrees. Get tepid liquid we can spritz him with. We’ll try the evaporation method until the CR is ready.”

Icore growled at Ratchet, but subspaced the syringe. Ratchet was the CMO of the Autobot armies, and Prowl was after all his patient, so as much as this was her medbay, she’d do as Ratchet says. “I still think we need to give him dentrolene.” She grumbled and subspaced the syringe.

“And I said no!” Ratchet glared at her and she promptly shut her mouth. He outranked her. If Prowl’s spark obtained permanent damage or if he died, then it would be on Ratchet’s helm, not hers.

“Fine.” She bit out and grabbed a spray, spritzing Prowl’s frame even as she directed the vents to blow full-speed. She had her doubts this would work in time. They continued in tense silence, all the time keeping track of the red beeping on the monitor.

“CR chamber is ready!” The assistant raced back in with a gurney.

“Good. Get ready for transfer.” Ratchet said as he went to steady Prowl’s helm.

Optimus paced worriedly in the private waiting room, trying to stay the fear that welled up in his spark. For decaorns now he had been afraid that something was wrong with Prowl, and now his fears had turned to reality. He gripped his hands behind his back and thought back over the past quartexes. Was there something more he could have, should have, done?

He glanced over at the pale faceplate of Red Alert and felt his spark constrict.

Red Alert had been the one to alert him to the situation, and had been the one to greet him in the waiting room, detailing everything he knew from the moment he had found Prowl to the present. Unlike his natural brisk manner, the poor little mech had fumbled through the explanation.

After that he had taken a seat and had not moved since.

Optimus drew a deep vent and released it slowly, his engine rumbling softly.

He had not failed to notice how close his two senior commanders had become in the past quartex, nor the amount of extra effort Red Alert had put in to lighten Prowl’s load.

And if it wasn’t for Red Alert, they would probably have found Prowl too late.

Primus they couldn’t lose Prowl now. Not with the war effort finally turning in their favour. He felt the Matrix brush against his spark and he stilled, trying to determine its feelings, but the relic next to his spark was as quiet as a ghost. After a few moments, he resumed his methodical pacing – his tall legs carrying him swiftly from one side of the room to the other.

One, two, three, four. Turn. One, two, three, four. Turn.

The door to the waiting room opened, allowing the scurrying sounds of personal to spill into the quiet room and both Red Alert and Optimus spun towards it, hopeful for any bit of news on their friend.

“What is it, Inferno?” Red Alert sank back into his chair as the large red mech entered.

Inferno drew a vent and saluted Optimus Prime, and then turned to his superior. “Sir, there were no empty cubes or half-ones in his room. Footage shows he’d only been on base for about ten breems. He came in and went directly to his quarters, where he collapsed.” The large mech walked over to Red Alert and laid a hand sympathetically on his shoulder.

“And the transport he used?” Red Alert asked softly. He was aware that Prowl had been using public transports since his visit to First Aid, and if he had noted, then someone else could have noted it too.

But Inferno dashed those thoughts as he shook his helm. “We’re still checking footage, but everything points to Commander Prowl having used his alt. mode.”

Red Alert bit his lip and hung his helm, thankful for the warmth radiating from the place where Inferno’s hand rested on his shoulder. It kept him grounded and in the present; for the moment, it stayed his processor from the thoughts of what is to come. “We’ll need to explore other possibilities. Right now, we have to wait for Ratchet’s verdict. Is Blazer monitoring the security feeds?”

Inferno nodded. “Yes. He has also alerted Intel that Commander Prowl is on medical leave until further notice, so Intel will take over his duties. And as to First Aid, he is filling out forms. I'll bring him as soon as they clear him at the gates.”

Red Alert shook his helm. “Notify me before you bring him down.”

From across the room, Optimus watched the two quietly talking, grateful that they had things well in hand. He was honestly too worried about Prowl to think about practical matters. He shuttered his optics briefly. That was usually Prowl’s responsibility. His was to lead the military, encourage his mechs, and be a spiritual leader. Logistics and planning was not his forte, even though he could do it if necessary.

And he really hoped it wouldn’t be necessary in the near future.

The door opened and he turned his helm towards it. He caught his breath as time seemed to slow.

Ratchet stood in the doorway, his haggard faceplate unreadable as he stared directly at Optimus with wary, white-tinged optics.

His spark thudded dully as he waited for Ratchet to say something.

“Optimus, we need to talk.”

Chapter Text

“Optimus, we need to talk.”

“Prowl?” The question came out strangled and Optimus cleared his vocaliser. He squared his shoulders to brace for the news, but Ratchet cast a wary look at Inferno and Red Alert.

“He’s in a CR chamber. Critical, but in a stable condition.”

He remained quiet as he turned back to Optimus, his expression guarded. He flicked his optics to the two security mechs, then back to Optimus.

Optimus frowned and raised his chin. If Prowl was stable, what could it possibly be? His tank flipped as he held Ratchet’s gaze. “Red Alert, Inferno, please give us a moment.” His deep voice rolled through the small, quiet room.

“Yes, sir.” Inferno said and started to move, but paused as he noticed Red Alert was not following. He was not the only one to have noticed. Optimus turned expectantly towards Red Alert and raised his optic ridges in question.

Red Alert bit down on his fear and inclined his helm respectfully. “Sir, I think maybe I should stay?” He implored in a small voice. He already knew, with a sinking spark, that Ratchet knew the truth. But he wanted to at least speak on Prowl’s behalf. He would not stand idly by and see another mech fade to a loss that was so barbaric in nature as to be shocking.

Optimus stared at him a moment longer, reading the submissive, but hopeful posture. He felt the relic brush affirmatively against his spark. Optimus wasn’t sure what the news was, but whatever it was, the Matrix seemed to wish Red Alert here. So he turned questioning optics to Ratchet.

The medic frowned, but gave a curt nod in acceptance.

“Inferno, you are excused.” Optimus ordered and waited until the door closed behind Inferno before he gestured to Ratchet. “What is it, Ratchet?”

Ratchet wiped the back of his neck and slowly dragged his hands down. “I’m not really sure how the frag I’m supposed to say this.”

Optimus cleared his vents. “Is he damaged beyond repair?” He asked slowly, his chest tight. What if they couldn’t save Prowl? What if he lived, but he was damaged so severely that he would not be able to fulfil his function? Out of the corner of his optics, he saw Red Alert shift uncomfortably on his pedes.

Ratchet shook his helm. “You might want to sit down.” He looked at Red Alert. “Both of you. In fact, I’m going to sit down myself. Primus I wish for some fragging high-grade!” He marched over to a chair, grabbed it, and dropped unceremoniously into it. He released a hot vent of air. “Prowl overheated, badly. I’ll keep him in the CR chamber for a few joors, until I’m sure the heat spikes are over, but…there is a possibility of spark-damage. I’ll have to wait and run some more tests. What complicates the matter though, is that I cannot administer the proper medication. Not in his condition.”

Optimus took a seat rather more graciously than Ratchet, somewhat relieved at the cussing, but also disturbed by his vague words. “I am not sure I understand your meaning. Can you not wait until he is out of the CR chamber, or does the medication need to be administered immediately?"

"No!" Ratchet growled a few choice explicits and cast wary optics to Red Alert. He had not known Red Alert that long, and honestly, he was not at all sure how the rule-stick would take the news he was about to break. Could they trust Red Alert with this sensitive matter? He had shown himself particular to Prowl, and he had also been the one to take off some of the load. But this was something different. This was a crime, and even though he was obligated to report his finds to the Medical Council, they also needed some time to think. Primus! To think Prowl of all mechs had hid this from them. From him. His fist curled in as his energon boiled.

Why was the Primus- damned mechs under his command always putting him in tough spots!?

"Ratchet." Optimus's grave voice called him back and he focused on those fathomless optics. He bit back the acrid taste of betrayal as he knew the news would hurt Optimus, not because of the sparkling, no, as he knew Optimus, he would probably be overjoyed at the idea of a little bundle of parts lolling around. But to think that he had noticed something was wrong with Prowl, and, to Ratchet’s deep regret that he hadn’t listened, suggested he even see Prowl. Slag it all! If only he had listened this might have been so different. And that damn tactician!

"Prowl is carrying."

"Carrying?" Optimus repeated blandly, the word suddenly not attached to a meaning.

"Yes." Ratchet cast a side-ways glance at Red Alert's bright optics and firm-pressed lips. "Confirmed."

"How is that possible?" Optimus asked as he wiped a hand over his mouth, his optic ridges drawn closely together.

"Well, I can tell you the method, but I don't believe that's what you’re referring to." Ratchet snarked as he picked at something on his puffed armour.

Optimus shook his helm slowly, still unable, or unwilling to understand what Ratchet was saying. He felt as if Megatron had punched him in the gut. How could Prowl be carrying? Had he been carrying all this time? Was that why he had been so ill? But why didn't he tell?

"I don't know! But I am going to wring his fragging neck!" Ratchet slapped the armrests as his armour bristled.

Optimus looked calmly at Ratchet, only then realising that he must have spoken that last thought out loud. "Carrying." He repeated softly to himself, still unable to believe it.

"Huh-uhm."

Optimus and Ratchet turned their attention to the forgotten Red Alert.

"Is the sparkling ok?" He asked Ratchet gently, careful to modulate his voice so as not to upset the fiery medic any more than he already was. He needed to know what Ratchet planned on doing. Would he report it to the Council? Primus, what if they ordered Ratchet to abort it? Would he refuse? His armour started trembling as his spark sped up.

Ratchet drew a deep breath, held it, and then slowly released it, his armour settling a bit over his frame. "I honestly don't know. I'm running tests to see if the over-heating has damaged the new spark."

"The spraklet might be damaged?" Optimus asked his voice heavy with concern as he thought of the precious little life. His processor at least seemed to grasp that concept, though everything else felt disconnected.

"Prowl and the sparklet might be damaged." Ratchet grumbled. "Primus! The fragging mech should just have come to see me! The sparklet must be older than two quartexes! Do you get what that means?" He jumped up and slammed his fist into the wall. "This could have been avoided!"

"And if he did come see you?! What then?!" Red Alert sprang to his feet, his chest swelling as he glared at the chartreuse medic, his fear quickly morphing into anger. "It's illegal to be a carrier in the Autobot forces! What would you have done? Aborted it?!"

Ratchet whirled on the little mech, his visage contorted as he jabbed a finger at Red Alert. "Abort it!?” He bellowed, armour bristling and engine revving. “What kind of mech do you think I am!?"

“Well, one never knows!” Red Alert’s armour bristled in return as a blue spark jumped between his horns. “You’re not exactly taking the news very generously are you?”

“Why you!”

"Enough!" Optimus ordered firmly and both mechs shut their mouths, but continued glaring menacingly at each other, their engines hurling their unspoken threats in defiance of their Prime’s orders.

"We are commanders. We do not act this way." Optimus stood and lowered his optics at Ratchet. He waited patiently, shoulders squared, until he saw the subdued nod which meant the medic was back in control of his notorious, if justifiable in this case, temper.

He turned to Red Alert and drew a deep vent, his gentle, but firm optics holding the SD's vehement gaze. "Yes, Commander Prowl is carrying, and you were correct in your observation, Red Alert, that it is illegal to be a carrier in the Autobot forces. This might account why he did not see Ratchet, but know this: Ratchet would never,”  He paused to let the gravity of the word sink in, “never abort a sparklet just because it is against the law to have one while serving active duty. Why you would even think that distresses me greatly."

"Why I would even think that?!" Red Alert spat, knowing full well that he should show more respect, more decorum, but at that moment everything that had happened over the past few joors came crashing into him, the emotional tide swamping him as long-buried memories clawed and scraped their way to the surface.

"Because I've seen it happen before! A high-ranking mech, illegally carrying, and forced to abort!" A few more sparks danced between his horns and he tried desperately to regain his self-control, but the battle was lost. He shook his helm fiercely as he watched the denial play over Ratchet’s face. Thoughts of Dillinger flooded back and he felt himself crack. "Don't you dare shake your helm! I knew the mech! I was there! He wanted it!"

His vocaliser cracked at the last and he hated himself the more for his lack of control. Come on! Get a grip, Red! He squeezed his optics shut and pressed his fists to his temples, the memories refusing to be caged again now that they had found a suitable outlet. "They wanted it!" His armour quivered as he rocked back and forth. Get control! Get control! Not their fault! Not their fault!

A big hand touched his shoulder and the whimper turned into a wail as a few more blue sparks jumped between his horns. Control it! Control the glitch! Control it! Just vent. Slowly. Vent!

"Red Alert?"

He shook his helm as the Prime's deep voice reverberated through his slender frame. Get control! Get control! "Please don't kill it!" He begged.

“Red Alert.” Optimus ordered firmly and Red Alert looked up at him. "No one, no one, will harm the sparkling. No sparkling should ever be harmed." Optimus said, his voice hard with resolution. He watched the smaller mech tremble underneath his hand, blue sparks prancing between his horns. He looked worriedly at Ratchet.

Ratchet stood dumbfounded as he stared at Red Alert. "Who the frag would force an abortion?" He muttered disbelievingly. "An Autobot medic?" He shook his helm and drew a shaky vent. He walked over to Red Alert and crooned his engine soothingly, thankful for the core-deep medical programming that was running in full mode. All the fight left him once he understood the smaller mech's antagonism. In fact, it explained why Red Alert had been avoiding him like the plague. He lifted his optic ridge as another spark danced between Red's horns and made a note of it. Red Alert was definitively coming in for a check-up, and Ratchet was most certainly going to review his medical files. He narrowed his optics. When he found that medic...But first things first. He would deal with this issue later. "I won't force Prowl to abort. I am simply...pissed that he didn't come see me. This could have been avoided."

“You don’t know what the Council will order.” Red Alert shook his helm as he dropped his hands.

Ratchet pressed his lips together as he continued to keep a passive scanner on Red Alert, thankful to see the sparks becoming less and less. To an extent it was true – he was bound by the Medical Council’s orders, however, he would, and could, refuse to submit to a rule that stated he was to terminate an innocent spark. Once confirmed, a new spark had limited rights.

“Are you more in command of yourself?” Optimus asked Red Alert gently when the sparks had died down.

Red Alert managed to assemble a minute nod. "My a-apologies. It has been a...a stressful orn." He refused to meet Optimus's optics, ashamed by his outburst, but thankful that the glitch had settled enough for him not to go into one of his…episodes…as the previous commanders had termed it.

"Understood." Optimus said gently and squeezed his shoulder. "When you are ready, I wish to hear more of this disturbing matter. I do not, and never will, condone the killing of innocent lives." He waited a moment for those words to sink in before he removed his hand.

::Ratchet.::

::I’ve already scheduled him an appointment. I don’t like the sparks either.::

::Thank you.:: Optimus nodded minutely at Ratchet.

"Yes, sir." Red Alert whispered meekly, unaware of the private discussion. Primus he was so stupid! Why hadn’t he controlled the glitch? He should not have mentioned anything about Ranger or Dilinger…but…on the other hand, maybe it could help Prowl. Either way, he had no choice now but to divulge the information. He drew a calming vent. He’d fight those demons later. "What about Prowl?"

Optimus cleared his vocaliser as his processor spun. What about Prowl? That was the question. How did they proceed from here? Report him to the appropriate councils. They had to go by the law, yet Prowl was such an important part of command. He pinched his nasal ridge. Primus they were going to lose Prowl.

A strong sensation from the Matrix paused his movements and he turned his attention inwards, hoping for once that the relic would be forthcoming with information, but once again it left only a lingering sensation that there was something of greater importance at play. He dropped his hand, frustrated with the entire situation and the Primus-damned relic.

"Ratchet, Red Alert, for now we keep this between us. I wish to hear what Prowl intended on doing about this situation. If he even knew, which I'm sure he did." Optimus felt his armour tighten at that. Prowl must have known, and yet Prowl had lied to him about it. Why would he do that? Did Prowl not trust him?

Ratchet nodded. "I agree. I think we need some time to process this as well. Don't know about you lot, but I'm still struggling to fragging grasp..."

The doors burst open and a small, visored medic scrambled into the room, a blustering Inferno right on his pedes.

"I'm sorry, sir, he wouldn't..."

"Where's Prowl?" The young medic interrupted as he screeched to a stop. He looked from mech to mech, surprised at the amount of mechs in the room. He had thought to see only the mech who had contacted him. At least that was what the security guard had told him on his way to the room.

It was Ratchet that broke the stunned silence with his normal etiquette. "Who the frag are you?"

"Medic First Aid." The young medic turned to Ratchet. He identified the medical markings on him and felt his armour shrivel. Oh my.This was the CMO of the Autobot army, this was….his medical programming pinged him, reminding him of Prowl’s urgent condition and he braced himself. Now was not the time to be afraid, he needed to see Prowl and the sparklet. “Sir, please I need to see Commander Prowl.”

"Prowl is a senior commander of the Autobot army. If you think I'm simply going to tell you where the frag he is and give you free range then you need to get your slagging processor defragged!" Ratchet folded his arms over his chest as he stared down at the younger medic.

"Sir, I was notified that Prowl was overheating and taken to medbay. Please, I have seen him a few times and I know about his, uhm...er...condition." The young medic stumbled through the last few words as he ducked his helm, all of a sudden realising what he had done. He had just blabbered about Prowl in front of his superiors. He cast shy optics towards the tallest mech in the room and felt the energon race from his faceplate.

Oh dear.

It was the Prime.

Inferno grabbed First Aid’s elbow and drew him back. “Sirs, I’m sorry. I tried to stop him from coming in.”

Red Alert drew in a deep breath. Primus! What else was going to go wrong today? “It’s ok, Inferno. I notified him." Red Alert said then turned to the other two occupants. "He knows."

Ratchet and Optimus turned to him with wide optics and Red Alert felt his frame heat in embarrassment. The room descended into a brittle silence, only disrupted by the ominous revving of a certain chartreuse medic's engine.

"You knew." Optimus stated sadly and Red Alert cringed at the disappointment he heard in his commander’s voice, but he nodded his helm stoically.

"Very well. Ratchet, please take," He turned towards the young medic, "Medic First Aid?" He waited until the smaller medic nodded, and then continued. "Please take Medic Frist Aid to your office and learn what you can of Prowl's condition. You are Prowl's primary medic, and you must do what you deem in Prowl's best interest."

"Are you going to abort the sparklet?!" First Aid's outburst once more plunged the entire room into momentary silence until it erupted into chaos.

"Sparklet?! The commander's havin' a sparkling?"

"Why the fragging Pit does everyone think I want to slagging abort it!"

"Well, I thought, I mean...I didn't mean it that way!"

"Inferno! Close the door behind you! You don't know who's out there!"

Optimus watched the commotion with a sinking, churning tank. He wiped a hand tiredly over his optics as he internally reached out to the guiding relic in desperate hope of any answer to his repeating question.

What on Cybertron were they going to do?

Author’s note: so no cliff-hanger here. Decided to give you all a bit of a break.

Red Alert’s glitch: I see his glitch as a severe panic attack. I have a friend with PTSD, and she gets panic-attacks up to the point where she blacks out.(and believe me that is scary!) She is on heavy doses of medication and undergoing therapy, so I am taking some liberty with not putting Red through the same. Anyhow, until next time. :)

Chapter Text

            “Hmm.” Prowl’s optics slowly opened, his hazy stare trying to penetrate the dimness that permeated the room. Slowly, sounds came to his audios – humming, beeping, his shallow vents. A small crease appeared between his optics. Where on Cybertron …? He turned his heavy helm towards the source of the sounds and squinted at the faintly glowing equipment.

He tried to recall his last memories, but he only got vague impressions of a house overlooking lush forests, a burly mech lumbering next to him, a pebbled shore next to the lake.

He raised a hand to his helm, his movements slow and laborious as his entire frame ached. What happened? He shuttered his optics and sent the command for his processor to reboot, hoping it would clear his thoughts. He lowered his hand to gently rest on his chest, right above his sparkling. He grimaced at the discomfort the action caused to the sensitive plating, but he kept his hand resting there.

“How are you feeling?”

Prowl’s optics flew open in surprise as he twisted his helm towards the familiar voice. He grunted as his frame protested the sudden movements, but remained silent as he eyed the figure next to him.

Suddenly everything clicked, and with a sickening feeling he realised where he was.

Medbay!

Panicked, Prowl tried to sit up, but movement sent bolts of pain through his frame and he froze, panting. Where his frame had ached before, it positively throbbed now. He gently settled back into the soft padding of the medical berth, his optics half-shuttered.

“Steady, Prowl! You underwent surgery. I know you’re pain, but you have to try and remain calm.” Ratchet crooned his engine and extended his field, hoping to reassure Prowl he was in no danger.

Surgery? Prowl paled, his processor only concerned with one, primary matter. My sparkling! His spark raced as he squeezed his optics shut. Was his sparkling ok? Did they know? Was he still there? He clenched his jaw as processed energon rose in his throat. Why did everything feel so raw?

A hand gently touched his shoulder and Prowl flinched, his doorwings jerking painfully. He grimaced and bit back the involuntary cry that wanted to escape at the searing touch.

Ratchet quickly removed his hand. Fraggit! Of course Prowl’s neural net would be over-sensitive! He bled his apology into his field and gave Prowl a click or two to settle, but that was all he could spare. Prowl was too tense, and his systems under too much strain. He drew a deep vent.

“Prowl, calm down. I spent a couple of long joors to drag your aft back to a passable health level, so don’t go fragging get your spark racing again…” Ratchet paused and glanced at the spark monitors, cursing under his voice. Prowl’s spark rate was increasing in leaps and bounds, and it was affecting the sparkling’s spark rate as well. He sighed. This was not going to be easy. “Prowl, you have to calm down. Look at me. Look at me!” Ratchet demanded; his tone sharp to get the tactician’s attention.

Prowl tried to smooth his faceplate, but couldn’t manage to slip his passive mask on. His fingers buried into the soft bedding as he turned his helm to Ratchet.

“Prowl, on a factor of 1 to 10, what is your pain level?” Ratchet kept his voice moderate. This was not a good sign at all. No matter how much Prowl tried to hide it, Ratchet still saw the sign of suppressed pain –the rigid frame, the glassy optics, the crease between his optic ridges, the clenched jaw. Ratchet drew a deep breath.

“Prowl?”

Prowl swallowed. What had they done?  “What…Where...?” He rasped even as the spark monitor beeped its accelerated objection. His spark pounded in his chest and his shuddering vents seemed to saw through him, but he didn’t care. Primus, was his sparkling alright?

Ratchet swallowed. “Prowl, I can’t administer a pain blocker because of the sparkling.”

Prowl’s optics narrowed at him and Ratchet held his wary gaze. “I know about the sparkling, and it is exactly because of the sparkling that you need to calm down.” He said softly. “If the pain is too great, I will need to drop you back into stasis as that is the only viable option I have at the moment.” He didn’t say that Prowl had already been in stasis for close to an orn.

Prowl tried to relax despite the searing fire in his lines. He still had his sparkling. “Is he…alright?”

“He is weak. The both of you are.” Ratchet leaned his weight on the berth’s side bars. Primus how he desired to chew Prowl a new exhaust rim! All this could have been avoided, but after what First Aid had told him, and he was nauseatingly sure that Red Alert’s story followed a similar trend, then he couldn’t blame Prowl. But still. He had lied. And he had placed himself and his sparkling needlessly in danger. His hand itched to reach for his wrench and clobber some good ol’ common sense into the tactician’s helm, but what was done, was done.

Primus, he still couldn’t believe it.

Prowl’s wavering voice pulled him from his thoughts and he turned his attention back to his patient.

“Will…he be alright?” Prowl asked as he shuttered his optics again, his helm sinking back into the berth. Where did all the pain come from?

Ratchet pursed his lips. Prowl needed him, and no matter his conflicting feelings, he would do what was right.  “He is a strong sparklet.” He reached towards the berth’s setting that would plunge Prowl back into stasis. His digits hesitated. “I am, however, more concerned with your health. With your history....” Ratchet trailed off and glanced at Prowl. The Praxian’s optics were shuttered tight, his vents laborious and his spark racing. “I’ll talk to you later. I’ve had to replace most of your coolant lines. That would account for most of the pain, as I couldn’t administer repair nanites or pain blockers. Your self-repair would need to see to the proper integration. It will not only be less painful, but quicker if you are in stasis. I will monitor both you and the…the sparklet’s condition.” He didn’t wait for Prowl to acknowledge him, but instead pressed the ‘activate’ key and watched the Praxian’s faceplate relax, even though the tension in his frame took longer to bleed out.

Sighing, Ratchet drew back slightly, his hand still resting on the berth railings. “You may come in.” He called over his shoulder.

Optimus ducked his helm into the dimly-lit private hospital room, then slowly entered and headed towards the medic. He came to a stop next to Ratchet, but kept his focus on Prowl.

“How are they?”

Ratchet lifted his chin as he folded his arms over his chest. “Not as good as I wanted.”

Optimus raised his optics at Ratchet, his optics enquiring.

Ratchet pushed off the berth and motioned Optimus to follow him. “He’s in a lot of pain. That was to be expected. After we removed him from the CR chamber, I had to replace most of his coolant lines and some secondary and tertiary energon lines close to the spark. The sparkling is under stress because he is under stress.” They stopped outside of Prowl’s door and Ratchet locked it with his personal security number. He did not want any bot close to Prowl. They headed towards his office in silence.

“Ratch!”

Ratchet froze and rolled his optics in annoyance.

“Hey, yo, Ratchet. Wait up”

Optimus hid a small, bemused smile as he felt the irritation spike in Ratchet’s field. Trust the Twins to choose the most inappropriate time to intervene.

“Sideswipe, unless you are not carrying a slagging limb in one of your fragging hands, you may turn around and frag off!” Ratchet growled and swung round to face the crimson and golden brothers.

Optimus raised his optic ridges and canted his helm to the side, but didn’t turn around. He did, however, notice a few curious helms pop out from rooms at the chartreus medic’s caustic remark.

“Sir, I’ll frag off in a moment.” Sideswipe said as he jogged towards the medic and saluted. Sunstreaker followed him at a more sedate pace, growling softly at the curious faces he saw.

Ratchet ran a scan on both twins, and to his irritation they appeared to be in perfect health. So what the frag did they want?

“Then hurry. Your moment’s almost up and I have quite a lot on my plate!” He barked as his optics flashed.

“Uhm, Is Prowl ok?” Sideswipe blurted out, his faceplate contorted as he looked innocently at Ratchet.

Optimus turned around slowly and stared at Sideswipe. “You mean Commander Prowl?” He asked carefully. He had a moment to consider, when Ratchet suddenly and furiously launched himself at Sideswipe.

“YOU LITTLE PIT-SPAWN! FRAGGING MINION OF UNICRON! SIRE OF…”

Sideswipe squealed and dodged to the left. His optics wide as the furious medic stormed after him. What the Pit had gotten into the Hatchet? He turned and gunned towards Sunstreaker, who sprinted towards him. Primus bless his spark!

Optimus lunged and grabbed hold of Ratchet’s shoulder, dragging the medic back while said medic continued to spew obscenities at the red twin, fighting Optimus all the way.

“I’LL REFORMAT YOU INTO MEGATRON’S THRONE! NO, NO, I’LL REFORMAT YOU INTO…”

“Ratchet! That is enough!” Optimus ordered as he continued to drag the struggling, bristling medic back. He ignored the startled gasps and excited twittering from the medical personnel as he focused on stopping his CMO from murdering the Twins.

Ratchet, however, spurred on by righteous wrath, had taken a wrench out from subspace, and with his impeccable aim, threw it straight at the floundering Sideswipe’s helm.

The wrench hit true and a reverberating clang rang through the hospital halls echoed by a holler of painful surprise.

“Ratchet!” Optimus barked, but the medic had an evil, satisfied grin spread over his twisted visage.

Sunstreaker grabbed his brother’s arm, and with a glowering sneer at the medic, dragged Sideswipe past the gaping medical personnel and towards the hospital exits. “We’ll ask Red Alert.”

Just before the exit, Sideswipe turned wide-optics on Sunstreaker while he rubbed at the dent on his aching helm.

“What did I do?”

Optimus shut the door behind them and turned towards Ratchet, his optic ridges drawn close together.

“That…” He motioned towards the hallway, “Was highly inappropriate of an Autobot officer.”

“Made me feel better. The fragging little pit-spawn.” Ratchet muttered under his breath as his frame puffed out hot air. To think he never even saw it coming! The little Pit-spawn! His engines revved angrily.

“You will need to apologise for that behaviour, and you will be lucky if Sideswipe doesn’t press charges. That was an assault.”

“Ha!” Ratchet shrugged to loosen his armour as he headed over to his cabinet. “Wasn’t that hard. Hard enough to leave a dent, but no damage. I’ve had practice with him.” He grabbed two cubes and slammed them down. Then he reached up and grabbed a decanter filled with an ominous, sparking violet liquid.

Optimus drew himself up, his field emanating his displeasure to learn it was a ‘common occurance’. “It was still inappropriate.”

Ratchet took two gulps of his cube, then refilled it. “Well, rather him than Prowl.” He sneered as he grabbed the two cubes and went to Optimus. He shoved a cube into the Prime’s hand. “Drink that!” He pointed and headed towards the two recliners in his office.

Optimus closed his large fist over the cube and shook his helm at the unrepentant medic. Slowly he followed the medic to the indicated seat. He knew Ratchet would eventually apologise, now that the seed of his ill-actions had been planted, yet he felt the need to apologise to Sideswipe as well, since he had been present. Besides…

“You have no proof that he is the sire.”

Ratchet grunted as he held up his hand, listing the reasons. “For the past two or more quartexes, he has been with Prowl ornly, working with him in private and taking him energon. Prowl has been the one to refuse them transfer, even after that former nuisance of a SD told Prowl it was either him or Sideswipe. Prowl has saved their afts time and again where other mechs would have been discharged. And right now, before your very optics, Sides flaunts his familiarity with Prowl! How did they even know he was in here? It’s not as if we advertise it! In fact, we try to do the exact fragging opposite!”

Optimus leaned back and took a small sip of the cube, and sputtered as the liquid burned his intakes. He leaned forward in his seat. Primus this was a strong brew. He managed to swallow what he had sipped and placed the rest of the cube neatly down next to him, clearing his intakes as discreetly as he could. He rolled his shoulders and relaxed back into his seat, his processor reeling with the reasons Ratchet had supplied. It was plausible, yet somehow he doubted it. He knew Prowl, even if he did not know the Twins as well. Prowl was more in a mentorship position with those two than in a lover position with either one, and Prowl had done for them what he did for all the mechs under his command. Well, almost. He steepled his fingers as he stared at the far window, watching the dust particles float in a beam of sunshine.

“I agree that Prowl has given Sideswipe more chances than he would give most, however, I also believe it is because they are loyal, good fighters, and they really do not mean any harm with their pranks.”

Ratchet froze with his cube mid-way to his mouth and glowered at Optimus, his dark blue optics piercing through the Prime’s very armour.

Optimus felt it and quickly turned his neutral gaze back to the medic. He cleared his vocaliser. “No intentional harm.” He corrected, but the chartreus medic still pinned him with a diabolic look. He drew a deep vent. “Ratchet, If they are discharged, they have nowhere to go. There are very few mechs these orns who would give Kaonites a second-chance. Prowl knows this, and you know Prowl.”

“I thought I did.” Ratchet mumbled and cracked his helm from side to side, a loud popping sound emanating from the joints. He took the cube and threw it back in his throat. In all truth he doubted it to be the Twins, but who else was there? Sideswipe had the most contact with Prowl, and he was showing a suspicious amount of interest in the Praxian’s well-being. And truth be told, in a way he hoped it was Sideswipe, the only reason being is that Prowl needed the sire, especially now. But he could not deny what Optimus had said. Sideswipe might fall for Prowl, but he doubted Prowl would fall for Sideswipe. He curled his fist around his cube and stood. “Maybe you’re right.” He admitted grudgingly. “Another?”

Optimus shook his helm slowly from side to side, wondering how Ratchet could tank this toxic brew. He still had close to three-quarters of this vulgar liquid to finish.

“Thing is I can’t think of anybody else who might be the sire.” Ratchet shared his thoughts with Optimus as he poured another cube. “I’ll need to talk to Prowl as soon as he’s out of stasis. First Aid didn’t have a designation either, and Prowl did not want the sire involved.” He went back and sat down with a massive sigh. “Prowl needs the sire to help contribute.” He slowly sipped his cube as he stared at the ceiling. “Primus this is a mess!”

Optimus nodded and delicately picked up the volatile purple mix, if only to try and take another sip for his host’s sake. It also gave him something to do, for in all his knowledge as a prime, he honestly had no idea what they were to do. He was worried for Prowl, and preferred to keep his thoughts in the present, and refused to dwell on the future. He did not want to think of the Council, of the recent disturbing news he had heard about carriers. Primus he wished that it was two orns ago. At least then he could have asked Prowl. Now though…“I agree that the situation is not ideal.” He raised the cube to his lips.

“Not ideal!?” Ratchet snarled. “The Council is going to throw a fit! They will not be happy about losing Prowl!” What went unsaid, but both mechs couldn’t stop themselves from pondering, was what the Council was going to do.

“We will cross the bridge when we get there.” Optimus took another tentative sip and quirked his optic ridge. Hmmm. Once you got past the initial shock, the brew wasn’t so bad.

“How?” Ratchet took another mouthful of his cube, his frame relaxing further into the plush recliner.

“I am honestly not sure. We have until Cybertron to figure it out.”

Ratchet raised his optic ridges and turned his helm to look at the Prime from under his thick ridges. “I don’t know if Prowl would be strong enough for the journey back to Cybertron. Depends how he reacts to treatment the next few orns before we leave.”

Optimus paused with the cube before his lips and took it down again. “Not even if we find the sire?”

“There are…complications. I am placing him on berthrest for the remainder of his carrying.” Ratchet said and placed his cube on the copper side table. “The sparklet is quite strong, though. I’m very surprised at it, actually. After that episode, the new spark should have been reabsorbed into the creator-spark, but instead of reabsorption, it’s leeching more and more of Prowl’s spark energy. Can’t explain it.” He pursed his lips. “Even though it’s keeping the new spark alive, it is not necessarily a good thing that it’s leeching. Even more reason why Prowl needs the sire.” He paused. “Remember the Battle of Tarn?”

Optimus nodded. It had been a fierce battle, and they had been forced to retreat after Shockwave had released hundreds of drones. Prowl had been among the injured that orn, but he was not privy to the medical details. “Prowl’s team was cut off from the rest. He was badly damaged.”

Ratchet nodded and leaned forward in his chair. “I’m not going into details, since that would breech doctor-patient confidentiality, but Prowl took a hard hit to the chest. If I had known he was a carrier, I would have suggested he wait at least another sixty to eighty vorns before trying for a newspark. Seeing as I did not know, I couldn’t warn him.” He leaned back again. “According to First Aid, he has had spark-pain consistently throughout his carrying, as well as heat-spikes. And those are not a good signs. I’m definitively placing him on medical leave.”

Optimus shuttered his optics briefly as he leaned back. “The Council is on Cybertron. Is there any way we could take him safely with us, aside from external circumstance?”

“At this point in time? It’s very risky.” Ratchet scratched the back of his neck. “Although I don’t necessarily want to leave him here either. I don’t trust other medics to take care of my patients, and if what First Aid said was true about the termination sanctioned by the Council, then I don’t want to leave my patient anywhere near those slaggers.”

Optimus frowned as he leaned forward, still sipping the highgrade that was actually starting to taste nice. “I agree. I am going to launch an investigation into it. If this has been happening behind my back, I want to know, and whoever has been sanctioning it, will pay.”

“That’s good to hear, but it still does not solve the problem that Prowl is illegally with the Autobots. The Council is brutal in its finality Optimus. Prowl’s crime is serious, not because he is carrying, but among others because he deceived the Autobot army by wilfully withholding information that was compulsory to give.”

“It might be that he did not know he was a carrier. Not all mechs get tested for it.” Optimus pointed out and secretly hoped that Prowl had not known. It would certainly ease things for him before the tribunal.

“True not all mechs get tested, however Prowl is a noble. Nobles prefer made-sparks over drawn- or split-sparks. Has to do with lineage and preferred traits. So chances are that they would have performed the tests, especially seeing as Prowl is second-heir to the House.”

Optimus sighed and slowly stood. He meandered over to the window and stared at the well-kept hospital grounds. “We would need to ask him about that, too. What are the risks for Prowl if he was to go with us to Cybertron.”

“Besides the fact that the fragging Con’s may decide it’s time to say hello?”

Optimus nodded.

“Well, firstly, if his spark gets too weak, I might need to do a premature removal. Not always a good thing if you are in the middle of space with limited medical supplies and space radiation. Not to mention a crew full of unruly soldiers, and transferees, who might be over-zealous in their attention to a newspark, which would place stress on both Prowl and it.” Ratchet stood and walked over to his cabinet. He frowned. There was only enough left for one cube. Hmmm, he’d keep it for later. He still felt like he needed a few. He closed the cabinet and went to the window where Optimus stood.

“Also, Prowl is going to want to work if he is on the Ark, but that is manageable and the least of our problems.”

Optimus nodded slowly, his thoughts racing. He really did not want to leave Prowl on Paradron. If Prowl was with him, he could at least use his position to shield Prowl from attacks from other officers, or from the MP’s, or from the medics. He shuttered his optics. This did not sound like an Autobot army; more like the Decepticons. He opened his optics and drew a deep vent.

“I do not want to leave Prowl here.”

Ratchet blew air out and leaned against the window sill. “Neither do I.” He crossed his arms. “I’ll put Prowl on some intensive supplements and a lot of rest for the next few orns. It’ll probably get his health back up to safer levels to travel to Cybertron, but we still need the sire. Then again, if the sire is not on Paradron either, then that is a moot point.” He shifted uneasily. “We could ask Intel and Red Alert to divide his duties between them.”

They were silent for a few breems as each were lost in their own thoughts.

Ratchet adjusted his position as he glanced at Optimus’s expressionless faceplate. “I have to report him, but for now, I’ve sealed his medical records. I also managed to keep Prowl’s condition from the medics here. They think it was an assassination attempt, and so are not questioning my decision to seal the records. Thankfully, I have the authority to do that due to both our ranks, but it also means that I, and that young upstart medic, are the only ones that can treat him.”

“Has the young medic agreed to help?” Optimus asked as he watched one of the native avifauna fly between the trees, tending to the chicks in its nest, then fly off again.

“Yes. First Aid was quite adamant about it, and seems that Prowl already had him on the list to help on the Ark on the way back to Cybertron. He is part of a defensive gestalt. And you know how valuable they are.”

“Indeed.” Optimus frowned. “Do you think Prowl just happened to come across the medic as he was scanning the new recruits?”

Ratchet shrugged, but made a note to ask First Aid. “I’ll ask him, but it doesn’t matter. If it wasn’t for the supplements First Aid prescribed for Prowl, Prowl would be dead. So I guess I owe him that much.”

Optimus turned to Ratchet at the bitterness underlying the gruff medic’s voice. “We should not be angry at Prowl for not coming to us.” He said softly as he drew a deep vent.

“Optimus! We trusted him! I trusted him! He could at least have done the same! What excuse could he possibly have had not to!” Ratchet growled and folded his arms.

“We can only speculate, unless Prowl decides to tells us the reasons. I, too, am disappointed that he did not confide in us, but I cannot blame him for his fear. You must agree that what he stands to lose is…astounding, and facing the tribunal will not only bring him personal dishonour, but it would also bring dishonour to his family, and that might reflect on his younger brothers as well.”

“It would eventually have become common knowledge! How did he think to hide it until we came to Cybertron?” Ratchet demanded.

“I do not know, but we can ask Prowl that when the time is right.” Optimus replied gently.

Ratchet wiped a hand over his tired optics, grudgingly accepting Optimus’s reasoning. It didn’t make the vile taste of betrayal better, but he had known Prowl for a long time, and he at least knew that Prowl would have had a plan. He drew in a deep vent. “What will happen when we reach Cybertron?” He asked softly.

The Prime was silent as he returned his attention to the avifauna feeding its chicks in the nest. What would happen? He did not know. He could not think of one law case in which a high-ranking official was before the tribunal, or the Council for that matter, with a similar case as Prowl. Of course, he also knew now that it was because it never reached the courts. The ‘problem’ was solved before it ever had the chance. He gripped his cube and looked down into the sparking, violet liquid. Carriers and newsparks were meant to be sent away to colonies where they could be protected, not terminated! He pressed his lips together.

“We will report him on the way to Cybertron, but Primus be my witness, I will not let them harm him or the sparkling. If corruption has managed to poison the courts, then it would be routed out.”

“You are still subject to the Council, Optimus. You cannot deny them.” Ratchet pointed out warily.

“No, I cannot, but I will find a way around it.” He lifted the cube and took another sip.

“As far as I know, this case is unprecedented, simply because of the high rank Prowl holds. Other carriers have been sent to safe havens, their identity changed. Prowl would not be able to do that because of his lineage, and frankly, he is well-known throughout the colonies. Prowl’s safety is thus already…”

The doors slid open, and a burly, black mech lugged through.

“There you are!”

Optimus and Ratchet turned towards the mech.

“How the frag did you get in?” Ratchet asked in annoyance. “The door had my override on!”

Ironhide shrugged as he headed towards the cabinet. “I have the Prime’s override, and that one override’s yours.” He opened the cabinet and looked at its contents. “You’re not answering your comms, Optimus, and you know that is against the rules. Ah!” He grabbed the last bit of highgrade, poured it into a cube, and with one tip of his huge helm, downed it all.

Optimus quirked his optic ridge at him, then looked down at his own cube. How on Cybertron did they manage to drink this highgrade like that?

Ratchet sputtered as his optics bulged.

“Ironhide! I needed that!”

Once more the black mech shrugged nonchalantly. “So did I, after hunting his aft through the base.” He pointed towards Optimus. “So what’s this about Prowl’s safety?”

Optimus and Ratchet exchanged a glance. They needed to tell Ironhide, since the weapon specialist and Prime guard formed part of high command. Might as well be now.

Ratchet threw his hands up, shaking his helm.

“You tell the slag-eater. I’m done for the orn!” Ratchet spat as he pushed off the wall, favouring Ironhide with an evil optic and thoughts of his beloved wrench that was lying somewhere in the halls of the hospital. That had been a very special brew.

“Tell me what?” Ironhide said as he grabbed himself a seat. He ran a scan over Optimus to allay his programming’s concern that his Prime might be injured. It came back green and he casually dismissed it.

Optimus pulled himself upright and sent the command for the door to lock – using his override codes so that no one else could get in. This habit of doors opening at inappropriate times was appearing to become an embarrassing re-occurrence, and he really did not want too many mechs knowing of Prowl’s condition.

“This matter is highly sensitive, and even though it will be reported, for the safety of the mechs involved, we do not want it broadcasted outside of high-command and the few mechs who already know.”

“Ok…?” Ironhide lifted his ridges at this long introduction. He wasn’t one for long conversations. He was a mech of action.

“Prowl is carrying.”

Ironhide tilted his helm at Optimus and pursed his lips. “Huh. That’s serious. So when’s he due?”

“Ga!” Ratchet threw his arms in the air and rolled his optics. “That all you have to say?”

“No, I guess congratulations are in order. Who is the sire?”

“Si…”

“We don’t know!” Optimus cut Ratchet off before he could utter Sideswipe’s name. Ratchet might be impeccable with wrenches, but Ironhide reigned supreme with a canon – it would leave more than a mere dent.

Ironhide glanced between the two and relaxed into the recliner. “So where’s Prowl?”

“Stasis.” Ratchet bit out.

At that Ironhide frowned and sat up, leaning his bulky arms on his legs. “He ok?” He asked with genuine concern.

“He overheated badly, and both he and the sparkling are under close medical supervision.” Optimus said and headed towards Ironhide, taking Ratchet’s former seat. “But as you know, it is illegal to be a carrier in the Autobot ranks.”

Ironhide grumbled and shook his helm. “That was the dumbest law the Council had ever made!”

Optimus frowned. “I sanctioned that law.”

“No, you did not sanction their exclusion, only their protection!” Ironhide pointed out stubbornly.

“I take it you do not agree with the law then.” Optimus asked, saddened that Ironhide had never shared his opinion of the law before. What other surprises were going to surface within the next few orns? It felt like he had scratched open an Insecticon nest, and they were devouring everything he thought he knew.

“Of course I don’t, but nobot ever asked my opinion on the matter.” He shrugged and laid back, but his shrewd blue optics bored into Optimus.

Optimus stared at Ironhide without seeing him, his words having struck a chord deep within him. Opinion. He tried to think back to the time when they made the law. It had been for the benefit of carriers, the benefit of their race. With the Allspark hidden, drawing was not feasible anymore, and splitting was dangerous since it weakened the creator-spark. So the safest, and fastest, way to replenish their numbers were through the civilian carriers in Neutral or Autobot colonies. But it had been a closed case – it was the sole choice of the Council that determined whether or not carriers should be sent away or allowed to fight.

He rubbed his temple, his helm starting to ache. He needed some time to think. He stood, Ironhide mimicking him, and turned to Ratchet, who was currently fiddling with a datapad. “Notify me when you bring Prowl out of stasis.”

Ratchet glanced up and nodded, then returned to his datapad.

::And stay away from Sideswipe. That is an order.::

A grunt was his only answer.

Optimus and Ironhide exited the office and walked quietly back to the Prime’s suites.

Inside Optimus, however, it was everything but quiet.

Author’s note: I might do a one/two shot of the Battle of Tarn, since it wouldn’t fit in here.

Also: a big shout-out to  siriuslyfeisty, who helped me out of a tight spot!

Chapter Text

“I told you it was a bad idea.” Sunstreaker groused as he stalked next to Sideswipe through the wide corridors of the barracks. The golden twin’s irritation was palpable as it pulsed off him in rolling waves of heat.

“Hey, how was I supposed to know he would react that way? I just asked him how Prowl was.” Sideswipe replied as he rubbed at the dent. He pursed his lips petulantly. “And we still don’t know how he is.”

Sunstreaker cast him a wary look, his annoyance and worry warred with each other and Sideswipe caught the echoes through the twin-bond. Sideswipe briefly touched shoulders with his twin before giving the mech some more space he had not asked for, but Sideswipe knew he needed.

Sunstreaker puffed his armour and expelled the hot air running through his frame. Slag he felt like he needed a good spar. Or a Con to kill. Anything to relieve some of this pent up energy.

“Primus, Sunny. What if they know? What do you think they’ll do?” Sideswipe asked, his brow creased in worry. “I don’t like it.”

Sunstreaker shrugged, ignoring his nickname for once. “We’ll ask Red Alert.” He grumbled.

Sideswipe pushed through the bond, assuring Sunstreaker that once they knew Prowl was ok, they’d head to the training grounds. He needed the release as well. And then maybe he’d call up Vibes. He glanced at Sunny. And maybe ask her to bring a friend. They moved past their quarter’s door and knocked on Inferno’s, praying the mech was there.

It had been Inferno who had caught them in the corridor earlier that orn. He had told them quickly and softly that Red Alert ordered them to stay away from the medbay, and that the security director would contact them soon enough to notify them what was going on.

They had shared a confused look. Was something wrong with the Hatchet? Why would they need to stay away from medbay? When they asked Inferno, he simply said that Prowl had been admitted the previous orn. That was the only information he was permitted to give.

But it had been more than enough.

Inferno had then left, while the twins scurried to their own quarters. They had tried to comm Prowl, but no answer. No big surprise there. Then they had spent the next two joors frantically trying to track down the elusive Red Alert, but it was as if the mech had vanished into Paradron’s thin atmosphere. The little mech had been ignoring their comms and messages. They were impolitely thrown out of the security hub by an annoyed Blazer, told in no uncertain terms that “Lt. Col. Red Alert is not on shift’. Banging at his quarter’s entrance did not help either; it only earned them another warning from an irritated Blazer. So they had marched down to the Barrack’s cafeteria, harassed any and all mechs that might now where Red Alert was, and then received a threat from a bristling Blazer to ‘stop causing slagging trouble or be escorted to the brig!’

Out of desperation, and no little amount of frustration, Sideswipe had suggested they go see Ratchet. From under a curved optic ridge, Sunstreaker had frankly told Sideswipe it was a bad idea. “But Sunny!” Sideswipe had whined, “We’ve tried everywhere else! Hatchet has a special place for us in his dark spark! He’ll tell us!”

Getting into the secure-level of the hospital had been easy, since Sideswipe had one of Prowl’s lower identification access codes which he had been using while he worked in Tactical. The mechs stationed at the hospital wing had no idea who he was and so did not question him when he inserted the codes into the elevator, something the red frontliner was sure Red Alert would have a meltdown over. It was not strictly legal to use that code, but not illegal either. At least, Sideswipe would claim innocence if confronted. Prowl, after all, could not deny he had given him the code, neither had Prowl said he was not to use it outside of his office. Well, actually he did, but only Prowl knew it so it was his word against Sideswipe’s.

What he had not counted on was the Hatchet’s wrath at his innocent question. Seems the spot in the spark was a little smaller than he remembered.

And so now they were back at square one – locating their fugitive security director.

Sideswipe pressed the buzzer at Inferno’s door and held it in, hoping the red firemech would open for them.

“Coming!” the muffled voice floated through the door.

Sunstreaker leaned his shoulder casually against the doorpost. “You can let go. It’s starting to irritate me.”

“Sure thing, bro.” Sideswipe lifted his digit from the buzzer and bit the inside of his cheek as he clasped his hands behind his back. A moment later, the door slid open and Inferno stepped out, looking oddly drawn-out.

“Were wonderin’ when you’d show up. Com’on in.” He motioned them into his room. He waited until they were in, then glanced up and down the corridor before following them. Once inside he locked the door.

At the locks engaging, the Twins both lifted their optic ridges in question, but Inferno only pointed to the window.

In unison the Twins turned to the window and saw Red Alert sitting in the sill, shrewdly watching them. His armour glittered in the sun’s ray, but Sunstreaker could see that he was in need of a good polish. The golden mech squared his shoulders as his lip twitched. Thank primus his armour was glowing!

“Sit down.” Red Alert ordered, oblivious to Sunstreaker’s scrutiny.

For once Sideswipe shrugged and did as he was told. He touched Sunstreaker’s elbow, indicating for his golden twin to take the seat next to him. ::Ignore his finish, Sunny. We have more important things to worry about.:: He wanted to know about Prowl, and he wanted to know what Red Alert knew.

Sunstreaker examined the seat casually before dropping down into it, his faceplate blank. ::Don’t call me that.:: He relaxed into the seat and folded his arms across his chassis, his optics still roving over Red Alert, but he was more interested now in information on Prowl.

“So, why did you want to see us?” Sideswipe asked as he clasped his hands loosely between his knees, hoping Red Alert would cut to the chase.

Red Alert narrowed his optics at the red frontliner, he too having noticed and catalogued the silent exchange between the twins. He observed first Sunstreaker, with the slowly fading haughty look on his faceplate, then Sideswipe, with the massive…he squinted. What on… “Is that…?” He shook his helm. “Where did you get that dent?”

Sideswipe’s hand flew to the dent and he grimaced. “Uhm, a ‘go-away’ gift?” He suggested and Sunstreaker snorted. Sideswipe sent an irritated poke through the bond as he continued his curtailed explanation. “I’m used to receiving them. It’s not really anything of concern.” Just fragging tell us about Prowl!

The little red and white mech folded his arms over his chest and lifted his chin in challenge. “I’m not concerned about you; I’m concerned where you got it.” He said tight-lipped, optic ridges arched in warning.

“Argh! We didn’t come here to talk about my dents! We came here to learn about Prowl!” Sideswipe exclaimed. He had patience up to a level, but after…

“Alright easy there mech. It’s a delicate situation.” Inferno intervened as he took a seat next to Red Alert. “Red here has ta make sure ya ain’t bringing more trouble or attention.” He turned to Red and sighed. “He went ta the medbay.”

 Red Alert turned his quizzing gaze on Inferno. “How do you know? I’ve been here with you the entire time since you told them.”

“This is where you’ve been hiding?” Sideswipe interrupted, ignoring that Inferno knew where he got the dent. If he could change the subject, maybe they’ll let it drop. He really did not want to get in trouble for disobeying an order. Even a ‘hand-me-down’ order.

Red Alert shot him a warning glare and Sideswipe closed his mouth. He heaved a heavy vent and sat back. They weren’t going to take the bait.

Inferno looked at Sideswipe, then at the aloof Sunstreaker, then back at Red Alert. “There’s only one mech I know that gives a ‘go-away’ present in the shape of a dent. A wrench-sized dent.”

Red Alert furrowed his ridges in confusion. A wrench-sized dent? His optics snapped open and he turned to Sideswipe. “Ratchet assaulted you?!” Primus and he left Prowl in that insane medic’s care?!

“What?” Sideswipe canted his helm as his face scrunched. “No! No, no. Uhm, Ratch might be temperamental, but he didn’t assault me. Yip. Special spot in his spark. This is normal behaviour. Used to it.” He shrugged one shoulder and glared at the tattling Inferno.

Red Alert’s optics twitched as he leaned away from Sideswipe. Obviously, there was something wrong with the mech’s processor, and he would have suggested a trip to Ratchet, but obviously there was something wrong with that mech’s processor. He shuttered his optics and drew a deep vent. Why did Primus always decide to bless him with the insane ones?

“How are Prowl and the sparkling?”

All optics snapped to Sunstreaker, who had his polishing cloth out and was buffing his leg armour.

“Sunny!” Sideswipe glanced worriedly at Inferno and Red Alert, his tone aghast.

Sunstreaker turned to Sideswipe, pausing his polishing briefly. “They know we know, otherwise they would not have told us to stay away from medbay, and they would not have expected us. I’m sick of dancing around the subject.” He snarled.

Red Alert canted his helm at Sunstreaker, as if seeing him for the first time. “You are right.” He turned back to Sideswipe. “I’ve known since Prowl told you in the Ark. I’ve kept an optic on him ever since. The only time I failed to do so was yesterorn, when he went out on personal business.”

“That long?” Sideswipe drew a deep breath. He’d stew on the consequences of that statement later, but Sunny was right. They had been dancing around the subject too long and he was worried. “What happened? Are they ok?”

Red Alert shrugged as he tried to relaxed back into his chair. He and the Twins weren’t friends, but they were allies in this, and he had to trust them to some degree with Prowl. He wiped his faceplate tiredly. “I don’t know. He overheated badly, and Ratchet had to place him in a CR Chamber until his systems stabilised. As far as I understood, he was dropped into medical stasis, and the damaged lines replaced. He came out of surgery this morning and Ratchet said everything went well, but since Ratchet can’t administer any medication, including pain blockers or repair nanites, Prowl is still in medical stasis.”

“So they know?” Sideswipe asked, even though he already knew the answer.

“Yes.”

“Ah still can’t believe it. A sparklin’.” Inferno broke the silence in his thick accent. He turned towards Red Alert. “Ya know more about these things than Ah do, but what’s gonna happen to the Commander? Ah mean, he’s a good mech. Will they arrest him or somethin’?”

Red Alert dropped his helm back and drew a deep vent. “I don’t know. They’ll have to report him, but I think they’re waiting until he wakes up to hear what he planned on doing. But they have to report him. After that, it’s up to the High Council. I doubt the Prime will allow him to be arrested on Paradron. He might be suspended, or held under arrest on the Ark. It depends when they submit the report, and what Prowl’s actions were before they submit the report. He might not be arrested at all due to his value. I simply don’t know!”

“Can’t we do something?” Sideswipe asked as he looked at Sunstreaker. “I mean, it’s a sparkling. It’s not like he betrayed the Autobots or something like that!”

“It’s complicated, Sideswipe.” Red Alert moaned as his mouth turned down. Prowl had betrayed the Autobots in that he had supplied false information. If he was capable of lying about his status, what other things could he lie about? True, his military records were impeccable, and never had there been any suspicion of his loyalty. Red Alert had even been running multiple background checks on Prowl since he learned Prowl was a carrier. So far, nothing had come up. He doubted Prowl had lied about anything else, and thus, he felt his own helpless frustration at the situation.

“Then un-complicate it! Frag! Why can’t he just have a sparkling?” Sideswipe stood and paced the room. “He can still raise it on one of the bases! He’s a fragging great commander, and he’s done so much for the war effort already! It would be a crippling blow to us if he leaves, not only logistically and statistically, but with morale as well. He might seem tight-afted, but he’s got a good spark.”

“Sideswipe, sit down.” Red Alert asked, but Sideswipe shook his helm.

“It’s not fair! Why should he lose everything for something that is supposed to be a blessing from Primus? And what if the Cons hear he’s out of the military. He’s got intel! He’s valuable! They’ll snatch him, or kill him! And the sparkling too! Primus!” Sideswipe balled his fists in frustration. “Who’s going to protect him then? The military won’t be able to quickly send someone in to get him, it would have to go through proper channels first! By that time he’d be dead!”

“We will not allow that to happen.” Sunstreaker said tersely. “If he goes, we go with him.”

Sideswipe stopped and turned to Sunstreaker. “Are you serious?” He yelled. “We can’t just resign!”

Sunstreaker lifted his shoulders in a small shrug, his customary sneer gracing his handsome features. “Prowl has the means to support us. We’ll be his guards. He trusts us.”

Sideswipe folded his arms over his chest and bobbed his helm, his look dubious. “Bro, you’re assuming Prowl would take us.”

“And both of you are assuming the Council would just let him walk away.” Red Alert spat and levelled a glare at the Twins. That was his main concern. Prowl might not be arrested simply because of the value of his services. He would still be watched closely, but would the Council let him go? Red Alert shuddered. From experience he knew the Council was capable of ordering an abortion. His brother’s mate had not been given a choice. Would Prowl be given?

“What’dya mean?” Inferno drawled as he inched closer to Red Alert, his field mingling with Red’s to offer comfort. He knew Red Alert was under a lot of pressure, and it was because of that that the little mech was currently sequestered in his quarters for some R&R. Sideswipe’s pacing did not add to that goal at the moment, and had it been under any other circumstances, Inferno would have kicked them out already.

“Politics. As you’ve mentioned, he is valuable to the Autobot’s cause. He is one of only a handful of mechs with fully-integrated battle computers, and the only one with such high leadership skills. I’m more worried the Council might try to sweep this under the rug and keep Prowl in his position.” A small shiver raked Red Alert’s frame and he hugged himself.

Sunstreaker sat up and revved his engine. “Sweep it under the rug? But what about the sparkling?”

Red Alert clamped his mouth shut and leaned into Inferno, turning his helm away. Let them figure it out on their own.

“Primus…” Sideswipe whispered as he sank into his seat next to Sunstreaker, his shock mirrored through the bond with this Twin. “They’ll kill it?! Optimus would never allow that! Neither would Ratchet!” He shook his helm fiercely. Red Alert was still new. He did not know the Hatchet or their Prime personally. They would protect Prowl.

“I don’t know!” Red Alert groaned as he buried himself deeper into Inferno. “I don’t know what they plan on doing! I don’t know what the Council plans on doing! All I know is that Prowl is a valuable asset!”

“We are still Autobots! We don’t harm sparklings! We protect them!” Sideswipe grated, his optics wide as continued shaking his helm. Surely Red Alert was wrong? Besides, too many mechs knew about it – important mechs with high ranks. They wouldn’t be able to sweep it under the rug.

A harsh bark of laughter from Red Alert had Sideswipe throwing a worried glance at Sunstreaker, but his twin was staring hard at the little mech.

“So Prowl is in danger from the Autobots as well?” Sunstreaker asked. “They won’t go at it directly, so if they wanted something to happen, it would be an ‘accident’.” He leaned back and subspaced his polishing cloth. “The Bots on the Ark would never harm Prowl, orders or not. They might not like him, but they respect him.”

“I’m worried about the mechs on Paradron, not the Ark. That little medic you got Prowl mentioned some disturbing things, so I don’t trust any of the mechs here. Any of them could have harmful intentions!” Red Alert leaned forward as Inferno placed his arm behind his back for better support, then leaned back into his comforting touch, craving the physical anchor as his processor clocked over-time. “We’ll be having transfers on the Ark. Those are not part of the regiment. They have no personal loyalty to Commander Prowl.” Not to mention another, more serious problem in the form of a traitor, but the Twins did not need to know that at present.

“Provided they know.” Sideswipe said and cupped his chin in his hand, his processor working hard on a solution. “So if we keep this quiet, chances are that mechs won’t know, so that minimises the risk, right? What are the chances that Prime and Ratch would keep this quiet, even from the Council?”

Red Alert shrugged. “They are not particularly pleased with me at the moment, since they discovered I have known for most of the time. But I can talk with them. Optimus had already stated he wished to see me over…another matter, so that might be my opportunity. But aside from that, this information does not leave this room!”

“What about Sandstorm? He’s been pretty persistent, and he’s bound to learn Prowl was admitted to the hospital.” Sideswipe pointed a finger before curling it under his chin again.

“We take care of him.” Sunstreaker said in a soft tone.

Red Alert blinked and replayed those words in his audials, not sure he heard right. Take care of him?

“Bro, as much as I’d like to kill him, technically it’ll worsen the situation.” Sideswipe leaned towards his brother, his optic ridges high.

Sunstreaker cocked his optic ridge at him in return, but said nothing. His feelings on the matter were communicated strongly enough through the bond.

“No killings.” Red Alert ordered sternly and Inferno grunted his support.

“Well, y’all could wait until you hear what the Prime has to say. He and Prowl are friends after all. Ah don’t think Prime would want anything bad to happen to him.”

“True.” Red Alert sighed and pushed away from Inferno. He got up and walked a few paced before abruptly turning. They could discuss this back and forth, but they had to have more information before they could work on a viable plan to keep Prowl safe. Hmmm. He needed to arrange that meeting with Optimus sooner rather than later. No matter how uncomfortable. Sunstreaker was right. There were too many high-ranking mechs who knew, they would use subterfuge. He needed to stop Prime from sending that report until they were well away from Paradron. He spun around and rubbed his hands together.

“Ok. Here is what we are going to do. I will talk to Prime about Prowl. I will list the possible dangers, and the need to keep as quiet as possible. We cannot stop Sandstorm from approaching Prowl, if, or when, he is released from the hospital. Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, you will see to it that Prowl is never alone with that mech. I will cover you as much as possible. Inferno, you will be the digital optic watching Prowl’s every move. I will need to take some of Prowl’s duties, which means I will not have as much free time with him as possible…although…” He narrowed his optics. “I could possibly work in Prowl’s quarters, that way I could keep an optic on him.”

“Sounds good.” Sideswipe said and got up. “Just one more thing. Inferno and I are supposed to write exams in…” He grimaced at Inferno.

“Four orns.” Inferno sighed. Primus how on Cybertron was Sideswipe going to pass that test?

“Right.” He turned back to Red Alert and held four digits up, wiggling them in turn. “Four orns.”

Red Alert rolled his optic. “Fine. Sunstreaker and I will watch him the next few orns. You two had better pass that exam. It will give the both of you the needed access codes.”

“Access codes?” Sideswipe frowned, his interest piqued.

“Pass the test and you’ll find out.” Red Alert bit as he marched to the door, unlocking it. “Now, I need to head to Tactical and talk to Lt. Intel. He would now Prowl’s work schedule and what duties I will be able to take over.” He looked at Sideswipe’s helm, his lips turning downward. “And you had better pray to Primus they don’t think you’re the sire!” He stormed out of the room, ignoring Sideswipe’s vehement protests.

He paused as his sensor net tingled and he glanced up the corridor. What had triggered that? He took a few tentative steps back and carefully scanned the area. After three breems and multiple scans revealing nothing, he turned on his heels and stormed off.

He would check the security feeds later.

Filch scampered through the filthy streets of Chaar, his small, grimy frame bowed as he stuck to the shadows. A few mechs bellowed some obscenities at him, and he ducked further into the shadows, snarling his own brand of insults at them.

He turned left, then right, scrambled up a deck of stairs, then turned right again, hobbled down a few stairs and pushed open the door.

“You’re late you fragging little miscreant!” The rowdy bar owner bellowed at him. “Get your fragging aft in there and clean up that mess!”

“Sorry, sorry!” Filch wheezed as he ducked his helm. He scampered towards the corner, reaching for the bucket and cloths with scrawny limbs. He limped towards the other side of the room, avoiding the one or two servers who worked there and pushed open the doors.

Boisterous sounds and discordant music assaulted his sensitive audios as he slithered alongside the walls to the main floor. He could see mechs making out, or interfacing in not-so-private booths, while others growled over decks of cards, threats passing between them like practiced conversation. Most were armed, and Filch was sure that sometime into the darker joors of the night those armaments would be used. But that was not his concern.

His small, red optics darted from side to side as he searched for the mess his boss had told him about. Ah! There in the corner!

Filch ducked and dodged his way towards the half-hidden booth. It was another visored mech, larger than he was, and he only hoped the mech was in an amiable-enough mood, or at least as much as possible for a Decepticon.

He approached the table carefully, curling in on himself to avoid attracting unwanted attention. Oh slag! It was one of the mechs who worked in the fortress. Filch inwardly grimaced. They tended to be the violent sort.

The visored mech canted his helm at him, a sneer forming at the corners of his mouth. “Touch me and you’re dead.”

Oh. Well, amiable mood then. Filch ducked his helm low as he grovelled at the mech’s pedes, mopping up the spilled energon, all the time mumbling his unworthiness and apologies for the spilled energon, but making sure not to touch the mech. He was not taking the chance that the threat was an idle one. His frame tensed as the large, black mech’s pedes shifted, half-expecting to be kicked. It would not be the first nor last time.

He released a hot vent of air as the mech only moved his pedes a few inches away, so as not to have his pedes in the mess. Filch quickly wiped it clean and stood, retreating to the far end of the room, careful not to make optic-contact.

Twenty-two breems and three highgrade cubes later, the large black mech stood and wove his way out of the crowded, noisy bar.

Filch watched him leave from under his crimson visor, a small smile playing on his lips as he scrubbed the bar floor.

In the early joors of dawn Filch slid out of the bar, his shift having been completed. He pressed against the wall and carefully looked around the street. When no mech was in sight, he darted away, limping as fast as his scrawny legs could take him. He dared not transform, for he was too low on energon, and the meagre wage he got only supplied him with enough energon to get through the orn. So instead he hobbled from shadow to shadow. When a mech crossed his path, he would hide or alternate his route, preferring to avoid any who might pose a risk to his already failing health.

He finally reached his small shelter and ducked inside, slamming the door closed and securing the double-locks. He scanned the little room once, twice, three times. Carefully, he wobbled to the back to where his berth was pushed against the wall, half hidden behind pieces of scrap metal he had managed to steal. It wasn’t much, but it offered some form of protection in the tiny, one-roomed shelter he had managed to get. He crawled onto the hard pallet and lay on his side for twenty-eight breems, listening for any activity outside.

Slowly, his talons slid to the edge of his berth and felt along the rough edges until he came to a small dent. The edges of his lips twitched up and he pushed at the dent until he heard a soft click. Carefully, he extracted the hidden card reader and brought it to his chest. Then he unsubspaced a small chip and held it between his sharp claws, a glint in his optics as he studied the harmless-looking chip.

This was what he had been waiting for.

He smiled as he inserted it into the card reader, but his smile faded as he read the information.

Frag! How did they get this?

Icy tentacles clawed their way up his back struts; this changed his mission objectives entirely.

He needed to get word back to the Ark.

He ejected the chip and crushed it between his claws, his mouth firmly pressed as his optics narrowed dangerously.

They had a leak.

With access to command-level only information.

Chapter Text

“Ok. I’m bringing him online.”

Ratchet pressed the switch and waited. “It will take about a breem or two for his systems to recalibrate and online the necessary functions.” He stepped back to give the tactician some room and waited.

Soft systems hummed to life and Ratchet kept an optic on the monitors. Everything appeared to be normal, and his repairs appeared to have finalised in the orn he had been in stasis. The constant supply of intravenous supplements and minerals Prowl had received during his time in stasis seemed to have picked up both his and the sparkling’s health, and to say that Ratchet was pleased was an understatement.

Ratchet rolled his shoulders as he cast a look at Optimus, seated in a low chair a few meters from Prowl’s berth. Things have slowly quietened after they had learned of Prowl’s condition two orns ago, the news no longer a shock to their systems. The shock had now been replaced by something else entirely. In Ratchet’s case, it had been replaced with care for his patient and an understanding of his situation. For Optimus…well, Ratchet honestly had no clue what was mulling in that processor of his. The mech had been rather distant and pensive since their little conversation in his office.

The monitor beeped and Ratchet turned his attention back to Prowl. Blue optics were slowly coming online, and Ratchet watched for any traces of lingering pain or confusion. The confusion was there for a few clicks, seen in the optics that dimmed and glanced around, but Ratchet saw the moment it passed as Prowl’s frame relaxed.

“So…” Ratchet drawled as he leaned over Prowl, running his own scan over the tactician. “How are you feeling? Better?”

Prowl shuttered his optics twice, then nodded once. He flexed his doorwings and tried to sit up; firstly to relieve the pressure off his cramped doorwings, and secondly to be able to look at Ratchet from a more upright position. Ratchet grabbed his arm and helped him up, adjusting the berth so that the tactician still had support for his lower back, but his doorwings were free to manoeuvre.

“My thanks, Ratchet.” Prowl murmured, hints of static still lacing his voice as he adjusted his position and pulled his arm out of the medic’s firm grasp. He noted Optimus in the chair and dipped his wings respectfully.

Optimus smiled back at Prowl. “It is good to see you online again, Prowl.”

“Sir.” Prowl acknowledged, his frame stiff and angled slightly away from Ratchet.

Ratchet stepped back and cleared his vocaliser, ignoring Prowl’s cool manner towards him. He had no idea what discomfort he had caused them during the past few orns, fraggitall. A little discomfort on his part seemed like justice. But more importantly, it was finally time for the slagging answers he had been patiently waiting for the past two fragging orns!

“Now that you’re up.” He looked pointedly at Optimus, then turned back to Prowl, forcing his armour to relax. The atmosphere was already thick enough to cut through with a knife, no need to add to it. “We have some questions, and I bet you do too. You like to start?” Ratchet quipped.

Prowl stared coolly at him, replaying the memory files logged last. His doorwing twitched minutely as he recalled that Ratchet knew about the sparkling. And if Ratchet knew, then Optimus would know too. He vented softly, setting his doorwings at a higher angle. This was not how he had planned to tell them. He had planned to hand in his resignation next decaorn, before the launch. He would have told them then, in a controlled environment where he was comfortable. They deserved to have been told, not to have found out like this. His fists clenched and he briefly glanced down at it. There was nothing he could do about the situation at present, best deal with it as directly as possible. He unclenched his fists and lifted his chin, looking directly into Ratchet’s dark sapphire blue optics. Before this went further, there was something he needed to know first:

“How is my sparkling?”

The old medic’s lips quirked and he drew a deep vent. He had expected Prowl to ask about the sparkling first. Almost any carrier’s first priority was the sparklet. “Better than I expected, but still under observation. Intense observation.” He narrowed his optics at Prowl and folded his arms.

“Understood, Medic.” Prowl turned towards Optimus. He steeled himself for this conversation. Ratchet’s wrath he could handle: he had learned long ago to ignore the medic or switch his audials off during a full-blown rant, but Optimus was different. His mere presence made him impossible to ignore.

He opened his mouth to say something, but the words stuck in his vocaliser as he stared into those fathomless azure optics. What threw him was not the anger and betrayal he had expected to see simmering in those optics, but rather…remorse? He closed his mouth again and dipped his helm, his wings tucking slightly behind him in a demonstration of submission.

Optimus drew a deep vent and settled deeper into the chair. “This is not going to be an easy conversation.” He stated with a small, rueful smile.

“No, sir.” Prowl lifted his helm again, but did not quite meet Optimus’s gaze.

“Firstly, I am thankful that both you and the sparkling are alright. I…we,” he amended as he recalled all the mechs involved, “were very worried.” His tone hardened. “It could… should have been avoided.”

Prowl’s doorwings tucked further, his frame heating with embarrassment.

Ratchet shot Optimus a warning glare as the scanners picked up on Prowl’s discomfort. He had already warned Optimus not to upset Prowl. The conversation was going to be upsetting enough without making it difficult.

Optimus acknowledged Ratchet’s warning, but he did not apologise either. Prowl had erred, and the Praxian needed to know that, although not angry, Optimus was not nonchalant about the matter either.

Prowl’s armour tightened, and he finally lifted his optics to his Prime’s. “I know, sir.”

“Then why?” Optimus asked. He already knew some of the reasons, but he wanted to hear it from Prowl. He wanted to know why Prowl had not trusted him enough, despite his part in the law. They had been comrades, friends, brothers-in-arms for decavorns. He wanted to know why from the mech himself.

Prowl kept his blank gaze on Optimus, fighting to keep control of the emotions that wanted to make themselves known. It had all seemed so logical at the time – the reasons why he hid, had to hide, his carrying. Yet now he started to doubt the logicality of it all. He turned his optics to the far side, his tank churning and his vocaliser dry.

“I have no satisfactory answer for you, Prime.” He drew a vent and looked at Optimus pleadingly. “This was very unexpected. I…” He paused, his finely rehearsed speech suddenly gone. Late into recharge cycles, especially since the confirmation of the new spark, he had often laid awake and wondered what he would say to the Prime, to Ratchet, to Ironhide…to Jazz. His optics drifted as his thoughts snatched on Jazz. There was something there that was important, something involving Jazz that should be troubling him. He tried to reach for the thought, but it stayed a shadow of itself. Abruptly he dismissed it. He would return to that at a later time. He owed both Optimus and Ratchet an explanation, no matter how uncomfortable.

Optimus saw the Praxian’s optics cloud with his internal struggle, and restrained himself with an effort not to intercede. He knew there would be no satisfactory answer, yet needed to hear what Prowl had to say, what he had thought.

After a few clicks, Prowl continued. “I realise that to properly explain myself, I would need to start at the beginning.” The static-residue of his post-stasis had disappeared, leaving his voice sounding more confident than he felt. “I was in my final vorn at the Autobot Academy when the law was approved to ban carriers from joining active forces. I had worked hard to be able to enlist, because it was my duty, and my honour, to serve my home planet in the Autobot forces, as my genitors had done before me.” He swallowed and adjusted his seat. “I wanted to be an Autobot. I had been groomed to serve since my second frame and it had been my life’s goal. When the law was passed…” He drew a vent, a tremor running through his finely arched doorwings. “It was a devastating blow. I had already been approached, interviewed and provisionally accepted by the Autobots. All that was required was to fill in the necessary forms and wait for my final marks.”

Prowl shuttered his optics as he remembered those forms. It had been the first…and last…time he had ever provided false information. It had ate at him for vorns, gnawing at what little social interactions he had left until even the final dregs had all but vanished. His life in perpetual isolation had become the norm.

That was until Jazz.

And look where that had led him to. Bitterness rose in him, but he fought it down. What was done, was done. The very thing he had feared most had happened – his secret had been discovered, his lie unravelled.

He shuttered his optics and leaned back. He should have known. He exhaled slowly and opened dull optics, staring at nothing. “I should have reported it, I knew at the time, but that would only have resulted in my being sent away. I would not even have been able to remain in Praxus, since my residence is used as the Autobot Praxian Headquarters. I also knew that with my tactical upgrades, I would be valuable to my unit. I had never imagined I would rise to the rank I have.” He dropped his optics back to Optimus, not caring to hide the resignation. “The battle where we met was a fluke. The chances that I should ever have met you within my career were only 22.58%. Yet we did. You appointed me within the Iaconian Tactical Department, and from there I was promoted through the ranks. By then it was also too late to undo what I did.”

Prowl’s gaze hardened and his doorwings flared subtly. “And even if I could, I would not. I want to serve in the war. I need to do my part to save my world.”

Optimus continued staring at the defiant optics, and nodded thoughtfully at what Prowl had said – and the accusations he had left unsaid. “So you defied the law, because you did not agree with it?” He asked gently, his optics dimming slightly.

“Yes, sir.” Prowl stated squarely. Next to him, Ratchet shifted uneasily and leaned against the berth.

“Why did you not come to me when you learned you were carrying?” The medic asked, his tone not exactly accusatory, but Prowl detected the resentment in it nonetheless.

He turned towards Ratchet, secretly thankful for the reprieve and angled his doorwings in apology. “I should have, Ratchet, and I…apologise…for not coming. It is nothing against you, but I knew you would have had to report me to the Council.”

Ratchet’s frame slumped and he bit his cheek. “I still have to.” He groused. “Which leads me to my next question…how the Pit did you think to keep hiding this? Eventually it would have become common knowledge! You should have known…”

“Ratchet.”

Prime’s gentle reminder was enough for the medic to clamp his mouth shut, but not enough to stop the unhappy rumble of his engine.

Prowl, seeing it as Ratchet’s unique brand of concern, did not take offence, but it didn’t stop the pang of guilt that shot through him. “I had designed to inform you in our scheduled meeting next decaorn, when I will, or rather intended to hand in my resignation.”

The room fell into silence at Prowl’s statement.

Ratchet’s engine gave another rev as he turned his helm away, armour flaring.

Optimus looked down briefly. In the back of his processor he had known that it would not be optional, but to hear Prowl state it only brought about a deep sense of loss and regret. This was going to be a blow, not only to the Autobots, but to their command unit – to the bonds they had formed over the vorns. He drew a deep vent.

“It will not save you from appearing before the tribunal, or the Council.” Optimus pointed out gently. “By your own admittance, you had wilfully given false information about yourself.”

“I know I will need to appear before them, yet in a way,” Prowl paused, thinking how he could phrase his next words, “I wish to…plead my case before them, especially since I still hold to the belief that the law is discriminatory in nature.”

At that word Optimus’s helm snapped up and his optics narrowed at Prowl. “Explain.” He said gently, careful to keep his voice as monotone as his SIC was keeping his faceplate.

“The Council made that rule without consulting those most affected by it.” Prowl stated solemnly, glancing sideways before focusing on Optimus once more. He vented softly, his tanks uneasy. He was unsure how his next words would be received. “It denied mechs such as myself the right to choose for ourselves whether or not we decided to fight. Instead we are treated like mere objects and sent away to the closest colonies to be used, on the basest of levels, as mere breeders.”

Optimus stared at Prowl, unable to keep the roiling emotions at bay. His intakes felt hot and the room suddenly small. “The law was never intended for those purposes.” He said thickly, his armour flaring before he could clamp it. Was that what mechs thought?

“Wasn’t it?” Prowl asked softly, but it was a rhetorical question.

Optimus answered it nonetheless. “No. You know as well as I do, that with the All Spark no longer an option, and the process of splitting too dangerous, that carriers are our most valuable means of preserving our race. They need to be protected.”

“That still relegates us to the level of being a useful asset. An object of worth maybe, but still an object.” Prowl answered in a steady, low-pitched voice. His  doorwings flared as his spark sped up. He could feel the heat rising in his frame, pooling in his spark; and no doubt Ratchet picked up on it too, if his increased fidgeting and tight field were any indication. Prowl took a deep vent, realising that he was needlessly pushing his superior over a matter he appeared to have accepted. Yet he desperately needed for Optimus to understand why he had done as he did, but it seemed that his words weren’t penetrating.

“Optimus,” He tried again as a monitor beeped in the background, “I do not blame you or the law. Yet this law is discriminating against carriers. In essence, it takes away from us the very thing we as Autobots are fighting for – the right to choose our own paths.”

Optimus’s faceplate closed down, and Prowl swallowed.

He had pushed too far. He ducked his chin and forced his doorwings uncomfortably low. Primus it had felt like an eternity since the last time he had done so to Optimus. He kept his optics respectfully averted as heavy footsteps sounded across the gleaming floors.

His frame tensed involuntarily as a large hand rested on his shoulder. “Prowl.”

He lifted his doorwings, but kept his optics averted.

Optimus looked at Ratchet. The medic cocked an optic ridge and shoved off the berth. ::Try not to upset him any further. I’ll remote-monitor him.: He looked at Optimus’s tight armour and sighed. :: We’ll talk later.::

Optimus waited until the locks had disengaged on the door before he spoke again, his tone gentle. “I want us to speak as friends, Prowl. I will not deny that I do not like what I am hearing, but, I think, it is about time that I heard.” He squeezed the black and white’s shoulder and moved back to the chair, venting heavily as he took his seat again.

He knew Prowl would feel more comfortable if it was only the two of them, and honestly, he did not want to worry about Ratchet’s possible volatile reaction. The mech cared deeply for all his patients, emotionally as well as physically, whether inside or outside the medbay. Even if that care was wrapped in exasperated threats and painful wrenches.

He waited silently for Prowl to relax enough to talk. He knew on the best of orns Prowl found it difficult to overcome social barriers – in part due to his noble heritage, in other to his reserved personality.

Finally the wait paid off as Prowl shifted again, angling his frame towards Optimus. Optimus smiled faintly as he watched the tactician raise a hand and gently trace the seams of his chest. No matter the circumstances, the secrets, he was still overjoyed with the thought of new life.

“I am…sorry…that I lied about my current condition to you. I do regard you as a friend.” Prowl’s expression softened briefly before his blank mask reasserted itself. “However, I also need to inform you truthfully that, had I not been sparked, I had no intention of ever divulging my status. To you, Ratchet, or the Autobots in general. I deserve the right to choose.” He kept hold of Optimus’s gaze, hoping that Optimus would understand.

Optimus folded his hands over his abdomen, reading as much as he could of the closely-guarded mech’s optics. He nodded slowly, acknowledging Prowl’s words even as they tore at him. “The law’s intention was always to protect, Prowl, not exclude. The Council did what they thought best in the interests of Cybertron, and of the entire Transformer race.”

“Yet in doing so, they took away the right of individuals. I am aware that roughly 30% of the Transformer race is carriers, and not all of those are willing to fight. But there are some of us who want to fight. I want to be able to help defend and protect the future of our race. ” His hand curled above his spark before he dropped it to his lap. “And how many others are there with brilliant talent, gifts, that could be used to aide our cause, yet are pushed to the side because the only implied function suitable for them in this war is to produce new sparks.”

Optimus nodded and waited again for Prowl to settle. “I understand that, but Prowl, you know there are auxiliary functions that can be done to aid the Autobots. An army has to run on energon, supplies need to be manufactured, order maintained in cities by public servants. We might be at war, but we still need our economy to drive us forward. Those fields are safer.”

“It is not about being safe, Optimus.” Prowl stated firmly, looking directly at Optimus, his door wings slightly raised. “Nowhere is safe in this war. It is about the right of carriers, of sentient beings, to choose. I choose to fight this war, to use my skills as a tactician to save as many lives as I can. I have saved more lives through my function as a tactician in the Autobot army, than I will ever produce in my lifetime.”

Optimus pressed his lips together and tightened his grip. He could not deny the words Prowl said, and it sat ill with him. Not because he wanted Prowl to see things his way – he would never force a mech to abandon his views – but because he was genuinely trying to see the other’s perspective. And the perspectives he had been getting the last two orns were very different from the Council’s.

Every strut in his frame felt heavy. “Prowl, I hear what you are saying, and,” he half-smiled, “I do value and realise your service to the Autobots.” He rolled his shoulders as he tried to relieve some of the weight that leaned so heavily on him.

“Please believe me when I say that I am perturbed by the last two orns’ events, from discoveries I never imagined, nor ever wanted to imagine.” He thought back to Red Alert, to First Aid, to Ironhide, and now Prowl. “I sanctioned that law. I was in the Council rooms when it was suggested that carriers be protected for the benefit of our race. I realise it was a closed case, and acknowledge that carriers’, and perhaps the populaces’ feelings in general should have been taken into account, but weren’t. The fact still remains it is a Cybertronian law.”

Optimus observed the Praxian lying on the berth, his outward appearance as stoic as ever, but his optics belying his calm. “I will receive your resignation.”

Pristine white doorwings quivered and Optimus paused. “I have to, Prowl. It will make things easier for you. But before I do, I would like to know what you intended to do.”

Prowl’s optics tightened as he pressed his lips together. He knew he would have to tend in his resignation, but to have it received so easily…it felt like a slap in the faceplate. He ruffled his wings and recalled the plans where they were safely locked away in his processor. He would not dwell on the fact that Optimus had accepted his resignation so easily. After all, he had been the one lying to them these past two quartexes, or rather vorns if he had to be honest with himself. He drew a deep vent.

“As I have mentioned, I intended to hand over my resignation at the next command meeting. I would have given my reasons to you, but due to my high rank, I would have asked, and am still asking, that you keep the reasons for my resignation secret.”

Optimus’s ridges drew together and Prowl quickly continued, before the red and blue Iaconian could interrupt.

“The reasons why are not to hide it from the Council, but being Second-in-Command of the Autobots makes me a target. I cannot deny that I am in a weakened state, and thereby less able to defend myself.” Once more a fragment of a memory stirred and Prowl hesitated. Shaking his helm minutely, he went on. “I would prefer if neither I, nor my sparkling were made targets through the general knowledge of my carrying. There is a law that states that higher-ranking officers may appear before a closed tribunal if safety is of a concern. I shall appeal to the tribunal in this case to keep the procedure closed.”

Optimus held up his hand and Prowl promptly fell silent. “Of course. Your and the youngling’s safety would be the highest priority.” He smiled. There was one thing that bothered him, and Prowl had provided an opening for him to pose his question. “What about the sire? Will he not also be in danger?”

It was obviously the wrong question to ask as Prowl’s faceplate blanked, his wings tucked and his shoulders squared.

“I do not wish the sire to be involved. He is unaware of the situation, and I wish to keep it that way.” Prowl clipped.

Optimus frowned, but was in no way put off by the clipped tones. “He has a right to know, Prowl.”

“He has made it clear that he does not want a committed relationship. I wish to keep it that way as well. The added bonus in that is that he will not be in danger by association, by either Decepticons or the Council.” His chest tightened. True, Jazz had asked for more, but he had also made it clear he did not want a relationship.

Optimus sized Prowl up, realising that it was far more complicated than that. The mystery peaked his curiosity. “You say that, yet you were close enough to spark-merge.” He pointed out.

Prowl’s doorwings flared and his engine rumbled. “It was never intended.” He did not doubt those words. Even Jazz had said as much. And the mere fact that it had never come up between the two since only solidified Prowl’s resolve to keep Jazz out of the picture. “I can manage without him.” He said more to himself.

“Ratchet would argue otherwise.” Optimus countered, thinking of the ominous battle that lay ahead between the two stubborn mechs, and made a mental note to be present, in case they needed a referee. He narrowed his optic ridges and wondered if he should ask if it was the mech highest, or rather, the only mech on their ‘list of suspects’. He cleared his vocaliser.

“It is safe to assume it would not be Sideswipe?”

“Sideswipe?” Prowl’s optics shot wide and for a moment his doorwings drooped in surprise before he managed to catch them and locked them into a neutral position. What in the world would make Prime think it was Sideswipe?

“I had to ask. Ratchet was approaching a meltdown at the mere thought of a little Sideswipe running around with your tactical abilities.” Optimus replied dryly, hoping that the bit of humour would smooth the awkward blunder.

By the cool look Prowl was gracing him with, his strategy had obviously failed.

“Sideswipe is a subordinate, and more youngling than mature mech, even if he is a formidable warrior.” Prowl stated firmly. He smoothed his ridges, then asked in a low voice, “Why did you presume it to be Sideswipe?”

“He came looking for you in the ward, even though your condition has been kept to command-level only. Ratchet put two and two together, and Sideswipe has the dent to prove it. Even though I thought it improbable, I am relieved to hear you confirm he is not the sire.”

An amused glint appeared in Prowl’s optics, but it quickly died down. He had to tell Prime the truth. “Sideswipe knows.” Inwardly he grimaced at the dimming of Prime’s optics.

“I thought as much.” Optimus said, and something in the way he said it compelled Prowl to explain.

“I did not have much of a choice in the matter. It was either tell him or he would have taken me to Ratchet.”

“Would that have been so bad?” Optimus asked quietly. He still struggled to understand why Prowl hadn’t trusted them enough to say it at the beginning. What difference did time make?

“At that point in time, the newspark had not yet been confirmed, even though I highly suspected it. I did not want to run the risk of being exposed if there was no evidence.”

“So you would have continued to lie to us?” Optimus asked.

Prowl blinked at the hurt tone, his chest constricting to know he was the cause. “Optimus,” he moved to lean towards the larger mech. “I know what I did was wrong. Believe me when I tell you that I kept my secret out of fear of the Council, and because I knew I would disappoint you. I do value your friendship.”

Optimus drew a deep vent and stood, walking towards Prowl. “I am disappointed, Prowl,” His deep voice rumbled and Prowl glanced down, “but I do not hold your actions against you. I just hope, in the future, you would trust me more. I would have given you time, had you but asked for it, to make your plans.”

Prowl raised his helm and looked at his commander, at the compassionate optics that held so much strength yet so much concern. That is what made Optimus different than the previous Prime, and most other leaders Prowl had worked with. Optimus cared deeply. The gentle rebuke stung Prowl’s pride, but he knew he deserved it. He should have known Optimus would give him time.

“I appreciate that Optimus.”

Optimus gave a single nod, feeling as if a small part of the weight had been lifted. “I will support you through this, Prowl.”

Prowl nodded and relaxed back into the plush berth-padding, the strain starting to show in the taught metallic-skin around his optics.

Optimus drew himself to his full height and decided to wrap things up so that he could give the tactician some rest from this interrogation session, for lack of a better word. And if he were honest, he needed the break too. “We will talk more of how we are going to proceed once you are back in your quarters. Ratchet has taken you off active duty for the time being. I do, however, expect to have your resignation in my inbox as soon as possible. Once more, it is for your protection, not because I want it.” He did not want it at all, but Ratchet had to file his report, and it would be easier if the date of the report coincided with the date of Prowl’s resignation. Even if Optimus decided to withhold the resignation for a few quartexes. As Commander-in-Chief of the Autobot forces, he had a few liberties he could take.

He looked at the monitor, the screen displaying not one, but two spark-pulses, and smiled warmly. “Have you decided on a designation yet?”

Prowl thankfully latched onto the change of subject, feeling drained. “Not yet. I have not given it much thought amidst everything else.”

“Well, I look forward to hearing it.” He turned towards the door. “If you are up for it, Ratchet would like to talk to you, and then we will leave you in peace for the orn.” His expression turned sombre. “Thank-you, Prowl, for sharing your concerns. I will get back to you once I have had time to meditate on them.”

Prowl nodded and smiled wryly. “Thank-you, sir, for trying to understand.” His fingers drifted over his sparkling as he vented tiredly and leaned back into the berth shutting his optics. It had been an exhausting last few breems, and he honestly hoped Ratchet would keep it brief and not bother him about the sire. Not now. Not ever. He drew in a deep vent. A mech could hope.

 Optimus stepped out of the room, door closing softly behind him. He leaned against the door and blew out a hot, tired vent as he rubbed a hand over his tired optics. He hoped to have another conversation with Prowl, but in a different setting. How many more of the troops were there in Prowl’s position? How many felt it was discrimination? What could he do to help them? To help Prowl?

“Hu-um.”

Optimus started forward as his thoughts were interrupted only to be confronted by the visage of the irate medic hovering by the door, fists firmly planted on his hips.

“You look like slag. Go rest, and after your recharge you can mull over what he said.” Ratchet nodded towards the door.

Optimus’s lips twitched in a half-smile as he looked into the clearly concerned optics of his chief medic. “I shall do as the doctor orders.” He drawled and pushed off the wall. He stopped next to the medic and laid a hand on Ratchet’s shoulder. “Thank you, friend”. He held the medic’s gaze for a few clicks, then turned and walked down the long, narrow corridor.

Authors note: thanks to siriuslyfeisty for all her help. Hope you enjoyed the chapter. Lot of info, but need to work through this before we can get back to action scenes. ;)

Chapter Text

Red Alert stopped in front of the large ornate doors and drew a deep vent to still his fluttering spark. Glancing once more at his chronometer, he assured himself he was on time. He fluffed his light armour and let it settle over his tight frame.

Ok. Just keep it together. No need to panic; Optimus is The Prime – an ally, a friend. This is part of your duty. You've read the reports. He is a fair mech.

He rolled his shoulders, lifted his hand and pressed the entrance chime. Taking a step back, he waited nervously for the heavy door to slide open, his optics flitting from side to side.

A few clicks later, the door slid open and Red Alert quickly stepped inside the spacious reception room. He glanced around the dome-shaped room, so different from Cybertronian equivalents. Whereas Cybertronian décor preferred a minimalistic approach, with sleek surfaces and softer edges, Paradron's style was more ornate, with odd swirling patterns engraved into metallic columns, murals painted onto ceilings and woven curtains decorating the large, gilded windows. No doubt this was the most lavish suite in the palace. A suite fit for a Prime.

And speaking of which, Red Alert bowed deeply as he waited for the Prime to acknowledge him.

"Welcome Lt. Cl. Red Alert. Please be seated." Optimus said as he waved to the sofa, making an internal note of the traditional method Red Alert used to enter his presence.

Red Alert bowed again and moved forward to the indicated seating, thankful to see that the room catered for more than one frame type. He automatically headed towards the smaller chair, conveniently tucked into a corner as to allow him a clear view of the entire room – and all possible exits. He stopped and turned at the chair, waiting until the Prime had taken a seat before he took his own.

Optimus nodded to himself in satisfaction. He had guessed correctly that his new security director would prefer corners over sitting with his back to the door. Much the same as Prowl. He folded his hands loosely on his lap and leaned back. "How are the security measures coming along for the Ark?" He hoped to keep this conversation casual, and for that he needed the mech to relax enough to be frank with him. Prowl always relaxed when you talked about duties, maybe Red Alert was the same in this regard as well?

Red Alert sat on the edge of the chair, his spinal strut straight and his optics a sharp blue. Was Optimus doubting his ability to defend the Ark? He cleared his vocaliser and dipped his helm. "All to order, Sir. Most of the sensors have been replaced, and I have been able to upgrade the exterior shields. I have installed multiple back-up systems, as well as new protocols for override systems. New blast doors have been installed at strategic locations, designed specifically for sealing certain areas of the Ark off in cases of emergency. I have also installed some…extra measures if the hull is ever breached again. Furthermore, I have added rotating codes to command-level areas." He licked his dry lips. "I will give a full summary at the pre-flight officer's meeting."

Optimus nodded approvingly and smiled. "That sounds far more than I have expected. Have you managed all this along with your other duties on Paradron?" He asked, wondering if Red Alert has received a few orns off. It certainly sounded like he deserved it. A small stab of guilt struck through him as he realised that, with Prowl's new status, the little mech might not even get that luxury. He would need to think of some other way to compensate him.

Red Alert swallowed and gripped his hands in his lap even as he fought the urge to clamp his armour. Did the Prime now think he had neglected his duties on Paradron? He shook his helm. "I have been able to review the planetary defense system and add suggestions for improvement. Lord Winglifter has been very helpful with implementation. New planetary shields will take time, however, to fully activate and implement. Lord Winglifter has provided me with the energy plans to keep the shields up and running for a prolonged period of time, long enough to withstand a siege should the worst come to worst. He has also laid out further plans should the planet be attacked. I have helped with most of the planetary gun torrents, but…" He hesitated, "Commander Prowl was reviewing the defensive placement plans. Yet I believe the planet to be sufficiently defended and capable of withstanding a siege for at least two decavorn; provided the attackers manage to get through the Vortex, which remains this planet's greatest defense." He squeezed his hands before placing them next to him, gripping the edge of the chair.

Optimus nodded approvingly at Red Alert, hoping that the approval would drain some of the tension. Once more Prowl had made a good choice of staff. He doubted his former security director would have been able to complete all the tasks to this level. "I am very pleased to hear that." He hid the small frown that wanted to appear as he saw some of the tension drain from the little red mech. Maybe he did not relax when talking about duties? He drew a deep vent. This was not working. Maybe he should try the direct approach? He smiled warmly and dipped his helm. "You have done exceedingly well in your duties, Lt. Cl. Red Alert. You are truly an asset to this command unit."

The little mech relaxed some more and Optimus felt his own frame relax. "I am glad to hear that you have been able to accomplish so much in so little time. Commander Prowl had done wisely when he suggested you for transfer to the Ark." He waited to see what effect that had on Red Alert, when none was forthcoming, he continued. "Will you be able to cope with additional duties?"

Red Alert straightened again and nodded briskly. "Yes, sir."

The confidence Optimus detected in his voice was heartening. Now to bite the bullet. "Good. Now that that is settled, let us move onwards." He waited briefly for Red Alert to give a shaky acknowledgment. "I would appreciate complete honesty, Red Alert. There have been too many secrets of late. If I am to make an informed decision on a proper course of action, I need as much information as I can possibly get. I realise that it would be uncomfortable for you, but this needs to be done. I have talked with Medic First Aid and with Prowl, and now I require your input – both factual and what you suspected."

Red Alert swallowed. "Yes, sir." He flexed his digits, curling them in, then uncurling them as he thought how to start. Best treat this like another report. He drew a vent and released it slowly. "Their names were Dillinger and Ranger. Ranger was my brother, Dillinger his mate. Ranger was a corporal in the Mountain Scouting Division on the borders of Ibex and Kalis, while Dillinger was a colonel within the Intelligence and Security Division at Ibex Base. He was brilliant at what he did. They had been together since long before the war. He was unaware he was a carrier, until…" Red Alert's vocaliser stuck and he reset it. Detached, Red.

"Dillinger was unaware he was a carrier until he ended up sparked. When his direct superior learned of it, he immediately notified the base commanders, and they transferred him to Kalis Medical Centre. I was stationed at Kalis at the time. Ranger was out on a long-term scouting mission. There was no way to reach him." He drew a deep vent and looked longingly at the door. He clenched his fist and swallowed.

"I went to Dillinger. Immediately. I was a junior security response mech, so unfortunately there was no way for me to protect him. Of course, I had never thought…" He shuttered his optics. "I spoke to him. He was scared. He did not know what was going on, and I could not reassure him either. The medics dismissed me soon afterwards, apparently not having realised I was in the private room in the first place. I asked what they were going to do, but they only told me 'That's classified'. So I waited. After my next shift I went to see Dillinger. The mech was a mess. He…they…" Red Alert's vocaliser hitched and a small spark erupted from his pointy horn. He drew deep vents, trying to calm his racing spark and heated frame. Just keep it detached.

"Red Alert?" Optimus asked gently, compassion in his optics. "Would you like to retrieve us some energon? There is a dispenser in the next room."

"Yes, sir." Red Alert nodded thankfully and jumped to his pedes, walking as fast as decorum allowed him. Once outside of Prime's view, he allowed the full frame tremble to rattle him as he hugged himself. Get a grip!

Dillinger's haunted optics stared at him.

'They killed it, Red. They killed my sparkling.'

He pressed his fists to his audials, hoping to drown out Dillinger's soft, trembling voice.

"Vent…in…out." He whispered to himself.

He didn't know how many breems he stood there until the crushing vice gripping his chest loosened. He drew a shaky vent and looked around the room, hoping to see the dispenser.

Spotting it carved into a small alcove in the wall, he hurried towards it, poured two cubes of standard mid-grade, and hurried back to the waiting Prime. 

"Sir." Red Alert handed Optimus's cube to him, not meeting his optics and praying that he wouldn't say anything about his trembling hands.

Optimus took the cube and thanked Red Alert, casting his optics over the smaller frame. It appeared as if the break had been sufficient for Red Alert. Thankful he did not need to call Ratchet, he watched Red Alert take a seat and cradle his cube, looking into the warm liquid.

"They had removed the sparkling." Red Alert said in a barely audible voice. "Dillinger was crushed. He had to sign a document barring him from speaking about it, and I had to sign it too. We were given no choice. The implications if we didn’t sign it would have been immediate arrest. If we ever spoke of it to anyone, we would face a court martial on the grounds of treason. With no evidence to back it up, no mech would have believed us anyway." 

Optimus nodded sadly, his optics pinched as he listened.

"I was barred from seeing Dillinger again. A few orns later, I was called into my superior's office, and notified of Dillinger's demise. Just like that." Red Alert whispered. He rubbed his optics and dropped his hand. "I was not given a reason. I knew I had to contact Ranger as soon as I could. I did not want him hearing it like I did." He took a sip of his cube. "Unfortunately he returned to Ibex Base and not Kalis, so he was notified there. When he arrived at Kalis, he was devastated that his mate had died in an 'accident'." Red Alert's voice hardened and he gripped his cube. "They had lied about his death, about his sparkling. So I told him, because he had the right to know. To my deepest regret I told him."

"What happened?" Optimus asked soothingly.

"What happened?" Red Alert echoed as he stared into the pinkish liquid floating in his cube.

'I can't do this Red…'

His brother’s words echoed in his audios and Red Alert shuttered his optics. That had been the last time he saw his brother alive. The last words he had said.

"He placed a laser pistol to his helm and fired. That's what happened."

Optimus glanced down as his tanks roiled. He knew no words would ever suffice. As Prime he felt responsible for his faction's actions, but how could you act upon it when you didn't even know the atrocities committed within your own army? What kind of Prime did that make him? He exhaled softly as he wiped his hand over his brow. "Was the incident with the medics reported?"

Red Alert shook his helm and glanced at the door. "I don't know. I have tried to recall the files since I attained a higher rank, but I keep being thrown out. It only allows mechs with access level seven."

Optimus frowned. "Level seven? That is the clearance level required by the High Council."

"Yes." Red Alert dropped his optics. "With Ranger's and Dillinger's designations, as well as their Autobot code numbers, you will be able to access it as well, sir."

Optimus fell silent again, his pensive gaze boring into Red Alert as he nodded slowly. "With your permission, I will do that."

Red Alert glanced up. "My permission?" He asked hollowly. Why on the planet would the Prime require his permission?

"This was your family, Red Alert. You have been wronged by the actions of your superiors, and indirectly, by me as I am the leader of this faction and therefore has to shoulder the responsibility, or consequences, of their actions."

"Oh." Was all Red Alert said as he glanced down at his entwined hands on his lap. "You have my permission, sir. I don't know how many others there are that went through the same. I don't want it to happen to Commander Prowl."

"It will not happen to Prowl." Optimus said with steel in his voice. "If this law has been misused, then the law will be amended or abolished. The mechs that are responsible for the mismanagement of this law will be punished."

"Sir, some of those mechs, no matter how abhorrent their actions, were following orders." Red Alert murmured as he continued twiddling his digits. "This needs to be addressed at the top level. And mechs at the top don't like it when you close in on them."

Optimus continued looking at Red Alert and at the tight armour across his shoulders. "You fear they will retaliate or bury the evidence?"

One shoulder shrugged as Red Alert moved his hands to rest next to him. This was dangerous grounds to tread on…and in truth…he really did not know the Prime on a personal level well enough to…he cut those thoughts. This Prime was different. He drew a heavy vent. "They might." He acknowledged. "It will not be the first time. Dillinger's and Ranger's records were locked, and I was shipped to Yuss of all places after the incident. All contact I had was strictly monitored. I spent two vorns there before being shipped to Jan-Ja, then on to Protihex, then on to different ships. I've never been in the same place for over ten vorns, and it has only been since I achieved the rank of lieutenant colonel that my personal communications aren't monitored. I don't know about First Aid's story, but I can take a pretty good guess that the mechs involved with that case aren't talking about it either."

"Yes, First Aid had to sign a document as well before he was released. He did not mention to me that he was or is being monitored, though. I will look into that. Do you have any evidence that your personal communications were being monitored?"

"Of course, sir. I have all the logs stored on an external datapad." He unsubspaced a pad and held it out to Optimus.

Optimus cycled his optics as he leaned forward to take the datapad from the little mech, surprised it was on him.

"I always carry a copy with me." Red Alert defended as he sat back. "But on to a different issue. You mentioned you talked with Commander Prowl. What happens in regards to his safety?"

Optimus furrowed his ridges as he subspaced the datapad Red Alert had handed him. "What safety concerns do you have?" They had not talked about it, because honestly it had not seemed necessary. Prowl had certainly not raised any security problems.

Red Alert leaned back into his seat, as he thought over all the possible scenarios of what could go wrong. Needless to say he wasn't going to go over all of them with the Prime, but he did feel that there were a few that needed to be addressed. "Commander Prowl's personal security is of my utmost concern. There is no doubt he is a valuable asset, and I doubt the Council would let him go…" He trailed of as Optimus lifted a hand to stop him.

"Are you saying the Council would deliberately harm him?" Optimus asked in a low voice as he raised his optic ridges, slightly challenging. He might not agree with what was going on, but until he did not have hard evidence, he would not accuse the Council of deliberate wrongs.

Red Alert swallowed and forced his clenching tanks to relax. He kept his gaze on Optimus; as security director he was within his rights to speak plainly on matters he deemed of concern regarding security. "Sir, you asked about my concerns." He stated firmly, though a small quiver could be caught in the subharmonics. "The Council, or if not the Council, then two separate bodies of command staff, sanctioned the same approach to 'take care' of something that was seen as a 'problem'. 'Problem' in the sense of losing the concerned mech's skills due to a sparkling. So in the two cases we know of, the sparkling was removed from the equation, and all the mechs involved sworn to secrecy on threat of treason." He narrowed his optics at the Prime as if to gauge if the other mech was following.

Optimus nodded his acknowledgement, even though he struggled to keep his faceplate smooth and the emotions out of his optics. He could not believe that the Council would sanction the death of a new spark. Yet…he could not deny the substance of Red Alert's argument. "Continue." He motioned Red Alert on.

"I have no doubt that to date Commander Prowl is the highest ranking mech that has had this…'problem'. His skills as a tactician on the battle field are unprecedented. Furthermore, he is key to the logistics of the army, not only moving mech resources, but also gaining other necessary resources to run the army. Discipline has increased, integrated training units have become far more effective, and our troops in general have become far more effective. Since Commander Prowl was promoted to Second-in-Command, the army has actually won back territory." Red Alert sighed and briefly pinched the bridge of his nasal ridge. "I do not wish to glorify him beyond what is due, but, sir, you have to admit that to lose Prowl would be a staggering blow to the Autobots."

"I am aware of that, however, I struggle to believe that the Council will order him to terminate the new spark." They would not dare that with him, or Ratchet, so close. Especially if this has been done behind his back. Optimus steepled his digits as he leaned back into his chair. "I am honestly not sure what they would decide to do in a situation such as this."

"They might decide to let him have an 'unfortunate accident'!" Red Alert spat as he looked angrily to the side. "Nothing to permanently harm Prowl, but enough harm to cause reabsorption."

Optimus canted his helm and appraised Red Alert, surprised the mech seemed so sure of himself in this matter. He still doubted the Council would do anything like that, but he would give his new security director the benefit of the doubt – for now. He drew a deep vent and blew it out slowly. "So let us say your assumptions are true, and the Council intends to bring harm to Prowl." He could not get is over his glossa to say 'and the new spark'. "What precautions should we take?"

Red Alert's optics dimmed as he crossing his legs. "First off, limit knowledge about Prowl's current condition. Only those that has to know, should know. At present, I have in my processor: you, Ratchet, and myself. The twins already know, so they can be assigned as guards, Inferno, since he also knows, as another security mech and First Aid, as a secondary medic." He paused. "And Wheeljack should also know. He would most likely be involved with Ratchet in the protoform's design."

"Ironhide knows." Prime pointed out.

Red Alert's optic twitched. "And Ironhide." He clipped. "That is already nine mechs that are aware of Commander Prowl's condition. It should not be more than that. Too dangerous. But more on that later." He waved his hand in the air as if to dismiss the topic.

"Secondly, limit contact. There will be many new transfers on board the Ark. With the new security measures, none of them will be allowed on the command deck, the bridge or command-level quarters. Only certain mechs permanently stationed on the Ark have those access keys, and I receive a signal specific to the owner every time he uses his code to gain access. Thankfully, as far as I know, Commander Prowl is not a very social mech, and thus his general absence from the recroom will not raise suspicions."

"Prowl would still need to visit the medbay. That is not on the command deck." Optimus said as he watched the little mech think. He was rather amused by the way his new SD went about things, more like processing aloud than actually having a conversation. His thoughts were confirmed as Red Alert's optics focused back on him and after a delayed moment, the little mech nodded.

"Of course. I am sure I will be able to get Prowl to the medbay with limited contact. If need be I will send the twins to escort him." Red Alert nodded to himself.

"Prowl would not take well to an escort." Optimus drawled, remembering all the times he had tried to persuade his tactician to have personal guards. He had argued that even he had a guard with him – usually Ironhide, but Prowl had simply refused. And since it was not in the regulations, Optimus could not force him to accept a guard.

"Maybe not, but I am sure in this case he can be convinced of the importance of guards. Especially because that brings me to my third, and major concern…" Red Alert fidgeted briefly with his fingers and Optimus saw all the nervousness from earlier descend back on the little mech.

Red Alert cleared his vocaliser. "I have no hard evidence for this, but a very strong assumption and implied evidence." He dropped his optics and uncrossed his legs.

Optimus watched the taught frame a few more clicks before his engine gently rumbled. "You are my security advisor, Lt. Cl. Red Alert. If there is an issue you feel needs to be addressed, no matter how absurd, it is your duty to name them." He waited until Red Alert looked at him before he smiled and dipped his helm.

Red Alert forcefully relaxed his armour plating. "I believe we have an infiltrator among the permanent crew of the Ark." He pressed his lips firmly together as he held Optimus's darkened gaze.

"An infiltrator?" Optimus asked in a voice so low it sent shivers up Red Alert's spinal strut.

"Yes, sir." Red Alert affirmed softly. "There have been some incidents – mainly the stealth ship that attacked us shortly before we reached Paradron's Vortex. Someone on the Ark must have dropped the shields. All security sensors surrounding the area where the ship docked were either blocked or switched off. Inside the lower decks we were virtually blind until Sideswipe was able to send me a location ping. From there it was a struggle to get the cameras working." He paused as his engine growled angrily. "In fact, the Decepticons had to have been following Commander Prowl and Sideswipe, yet when I reviewed the footage, there was no evidence of Decepticons. What's more, is that there is no evidence of how they got through the blast doors!" he slammed his fist down on the arm of his chair and huffed. It still bothered him that he was unable to get any information on it.

"I remember reading the reports that the cameras and sensors malfunctioned due to the blast. I also read that there was no viable explanation on how the Decepticons got so far into the ship without detection, even through the blast doors." Optimus frowned. "Why have you not laid these concerns out earlier?"

"I have no solid evidence, sir. Only conjecture." Red Alert's armour clamped around him. He remembered how well his previous commanders had reacted to his 'conjectures', and since then, he had been more…careful…with voicing his suspicions with regards to…spies.

Optimus let his gaze rove over the smaller mech and nodded. "I understand your reluctance as this is a serious accusation. However, in future, even if just a suspicion, please mention it."

"Yes, sir." Red Alert felt his frame heat in embarrassment, but was thankful for the open door policy. Maybe this assignment would be different than all the previous ones.

"So there is a possibility that we have traitor in our midst. Have you shared your concerns with any others?" Optimus asked.

Red Alert opened his mouth and hesitated. He probably should tell Prime that he had informed Inferno, but whenever somebot asked him if he had 'informed anyone else', it spelt trouble – of the deadly kind. For goodness sake get a grip! This is the Prime! He drew his shoulders up and pursed his lips. "Yes, sir. I have informed Acting Lieutenant Inferno shortly after the stealth-incident."

Optimus dragged in a deep vent. "Very well. I suggest you inform Capt. Mirage of all possible threats. As Head of Special Operations on board the Ark, he would be the best suited to assist you on the verification of your claims."

"I shall do so, sir." Red Alert said, his spirits dampened by the thought of working together with the aloof noble. At least Prime took his allegations as serious, and not simply a paranoid mech's false accusations of 'there's a spy in our midst!'. He picked up his cube and took another sip. "I still believe Commander Prowl should have a guard. Until we can verify my claims."

"I will speak to Prowl. Ratchet wished to release him later in the orn." He paused and glanced to the side. "You would not perhaps know who the sire is…?" Optimus asked hopefully. Prowl had been every bit as stubborn as he had feared the tactician would be, and thus far they still had no clue as to who the sire was.

"No, sir. Unfortunately I don't."

Optimus sighed and nodded slowly. He dearly wished Prowl would tell them, for his and the sparkling’s benefit. Ratchet had already tried and was now pestering Optimus to discover Prowl’s secret inamorato, but he could not, and would not, force the mech to tell. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t try finding out by himself.

Optimus checked his chronometer and realized that he had another meeting scheduled in twenty breems which he had to prepare for. He stood and inclined his helm. Red Alert quickly followed suite, draining the last of his cube as he did.

"Thank you, Red Alert for sharing your brother's story. I promise I will look into the files." He walked over and laid a comforting hand on the little mech's shoulder. "I also wish to thank you for all that you have done for Prowl. You are a unique mech, Lt. Cl. Red Alert."

Author’s note: Prowl’s up next chapter. :)

Chapter Text

"Argh! I fragging hate this!" Sideswipe exclaimed as he flung the tablet down. "I don't even want to be an officer!" He propped his helm on his fist as he sneered at the offending tablet.

Sunstreaker cocked an optic at him, then lazily turned back to polishing his armour. "The codes. Sideswipe. The codes." He smirked, knowing that it was one of the few motivations Sideswipe had for passing the exam.

"Damn the fragging codes." Sideswipe mumbled as he got up from the plush chair in the reception room that had especially been carried in for his use – so that he could study.

They were currently on guard duty in Prowl's quarters, the mech having been released the previous orn from medical. Ratchet had sworn up a storm that if Prowl even so much as got a scratch on his paint while under the Twins' care, he would personally strip them down to their bare protoforms and sell them on the black-market as pleasurebots to the lowest bidder.

They had not needed Ratchet's threats to guard Prowl, but it certainly helped to what degree they looked after him.

Sideswipe marched over to the door dividing the reception room from the office and tapped an irritating staccato beat on it.

The door slid open and he popped his helm in with a devilish grin. "You still ok, sir?"

Prowl lifted his optics from the datapad, but it was not his voice that answered.

"Of course we're still ok! What part of 'do not interrupt us' do you not understand?" Red Alert glared at the red twin and Sideswipe felt his grin widen.

"Just doing my job! Ratchet said I need to check up on him and that's what I'm doing!" He leaned against the doorframe and folded his arms over his chest, his optics sparkling. This was so much better than studying!

Red Alert narrowed his optics dangerously at the insubordination. "He's fine! We are in a meeting, so go bother Sunstreaker."

Prowl bit back a smile as he watched the interaction between Red Alert and Sideswipe. It was actually quite entertaining except that Sideswipe was actually interrupting them during a meeting that was supposed to be classified. Prowl was also 94.3% sure that this 'checking-up' had more to do with getting away from his studying than it actually was to check on his health.

"Sideswipe." Prowl called and the warrior glanced over at him, the sparkle in his optics confirming Prowl's suspicions. "How are your studies progressing?"

The sparkle disappeared and was replaced with a pout and a half-shrug. "Uhm, well."

Prowl stared at him blankly.

Sideswipe rolled his optics and shook his helm. "I'll pass!"

"You had better." Prowl warned softly as he kept his gaze pinned on the red frontliner. Besides the fact that, as his new guard, Sideswipe needed the rank for the clearance it would provide to do his work, he also wanted the frontliner to progress in his military career. Both of the twins, actually, but Sunstreaker had some social issues to deal with first.

Red Alert smirked at Sideswipe. "Well, run along back to your studies. And don't disturb us again!" He shouted and turned back to his datapad.

Prowl continued staring at Sideswipe.

He threw his hands in the air and pushed off the doorframe. "Fine! I'm going."

"Sir!" Red Alert amended over his shoulder. For Primus's sake that red hellion went out of his way to be insubordinate.

Sideswipe stopped in his tracks and once more the smile and the twinkle were back. "Why, yes! I also like the sound of that." He smiled brightly before ducking out of the room.

Red Alert narrowed his optics at the spot Sideswipe had disappeared from and gripped the datapad. "I swear that mech…." He trailed off and drew a deep vent. "Let's focus on the present before I commit a crime."

Prowl's lip twitched upward as he looked down at his own report on the locations of the planetary defence gun torrents. "I agree. There are four more positions I think essential to proper defence." They had been discussing those positions for roughly a joor, and if he had to be honest, he was starting to tire, but it was one of the areas Prime had insisted he hand over to the security director. He knew Red Alert had a busy schedule, and thus didn't want to inconvenience the mech by rescheduling.

He raised a hand to his spark and gently massaged the warm, but thankfully pain-free, metal. He flexed his doorwings and settled back, making a note of a corresponding location on the map.

"Are you still ok with continuing?" Red Alert asked still working on his datapad as he ran a discreet scan over the Praxian.

Prowl flicked his wings forward as he lifted his optics to Red Alert. "I am, thank-you." He said softly, still uneasy to know that Red Alert had known about his condition since the stealth ship incident. 

It had been humiliating when Prime told him all the mechs who knew, when they had known and how they came to know. It had, however, explained why Red Alert had been so helpful, and now that he looked back at the mech's behaviour, protective. Optimus had also informed him that had it not been for Red Alert, he would probably be dead.

So embarrassed or not, he owed him.

"Alright, but please, I am under threat from Ratchet not to over work you." Red Alert lowered the datapad and raised his optic ridges. "If I do, I will be reformatted into a…"

Ping

"I'll get it!" Sideswipe's disembodied voice floated jovially through the air as the entry chime sounded.

Red Alert looked towards the reception room and frowned. "Who would disturb us at this late joor?" He wondered aloud, eagerly listening to the Twins' conversation.

"I'll get it!" Sideswipe shouted as he jumped up from his chair, ever glad to leave the infamous datapad behind.

Sunstreaker subspaced his polishing cloth and stood, rolling his shoulders as he watched his twin near the door. "Remember to scan for spark-signature first!" He hissed.

Sideswipe pressed his palm to the keypad and froze.

"Argh!" His shoulders sagged. "It's him!" He moaned as he shot a disgruntled look back at his twin.

Sunstreaker brought his weapon system to standby status and prodded his twin through the bond.

"Sandy. Again!" Sideswipe grumbled in response as he sent the command for the door to open. He folded his arms over his chassis and flared his armour in clear warning.

The door slid open without ceremony to reveal Lt. Gen. Sandstorm - holding a tray of confections.

The triple-changer stared at the red frontliner in surprise.

The red frontliner stared at the triple-changer in annoyance. "Commander Prowl is currently occupied in a meeting, sir." Sideswipe made no effort to hide the annoyance from his voice even as his optics slipped down to the tray in open question.

Sandstorm, overcoming his initial surprise, squared his shoulders and raised his chin. "He is marked as 'off-duty' and on 'medical leave'. There is no reason for him to be in a meeting regarding the Autobot cause." He pushed past Sideswipe and into the room, coming to an abrupt halt at the murderous look Sunstreaker graced him with as the golden twin moved to stand between him and the office door sequestering their charge.

"Well, regardless of what the systems say, sir," Sideswipe chirped as he once more moved to stand in front of Sandstorm, "the fact remains he is in a meeting and is not to be disturbed. And after the events of the past few orns, as his assigned guards…" He threw his twin a cocky grin before he turned his attention back to the seething Sandstorm. "We have the authority to limit his social contact and," he cheerfully took the tray of confections from the triple-changers hand, "test everything that someone sends him."

He defiantly picked up one of the confections – he had no idea what it was – and popped it into his mouth under the glaring optics of Sandstorm.

"What are you doing!?"

Three sets of optics swung around to face an exasperated Red Alert marching towards Sideswipe.

Sideswipe, still chewing the confection, held the tray out to Red Alert. "Tstesting the suspsious shtuff."

"Don't talk with your mouth full!" Red Alert snarled as he grabbed the tray from Sideswipe, a tiny blue spark erupting from his left sensory horn. "Protocols exist for a reason! You don't taste the thing you expect to be poisonous! For Primus sake you call the labs you dim-witted moron!"

"Poisonous?!" Sandstorm echoed in astonishment as he cycled his optics at the security director. What on Paradron was going on with these mechs?

Red Alert stalked over to the small kitchenette counter and threw the tray onto it. "I'm calling Ratchet!" He spun around and faced the three mechs in the room. "We are not taking any chances after what happened! Until the investigation is cleared, we are under direct orders from the Prime to guard Commander Prowl. Sideswipe! Sit down!" Red Alert snapped. He pointed at a nearby chair and kept his narrowed optics on the red frontliner as he flopped unceremoniously down on the chair.

Sunstreaker cocked his helm to the side and took a few minatory steps towards Sandstorm. "It better not be poisoned." He warned softly as his powerful engine rumbled, his field teeking of his readiness to act with violent intent.

Lt. Gen. Sandstorm turned his dark optics to Sunstreaker, gauging the mech, but not backing down. "I have no reason to poison Commander Prowl, nor would I be so inclined. I simply wish to see how he is."

"And of course you may, thank you Lt. Gen. Sandstorm." Prowl said as he moved into the room, doorwings held high and armour tightly clamped. He drew a deep vent. "What is the commotion about?" He calmly asked the room at large.

"Lt. Gen. Sandstorm 'dropped by' without any previous arrangements and he brought you unauthorised, untested confections." Red Alert clipped and folded his arms over his chassis, chin held high as he ran sceptical optics over the yellow mech.

Sandstorm turned towards Prowl and smiled warmly, ignoring Sunstreaker's low growl of warning with the practiced ease of a drill-sergeant. "I do apologise, Commander. I was not aware such stringent measures existed, though I admit I should have thought about the possibility of those after prior events. I apologise." He bowed deeply.

Red Alert shook his helm disbelievingly at the triple-changer. "You think that cuts it?"

"Red Alert." Prowl said softly, trying to cut in before the situation went even further out of bounds. All three mechs in here knew it wasn't an assassination attempt, yet for all purposes they acted like Sandstorm was the assassin! He felt his frame heat in embarrassment.

"He's right, Commander." Sunstreaker flared his armour as he took another step closer to Sandstorm.

Sandstorm, in no manner cowed, revved his own powerful engine in warning as he flared his armour and lowered his helm, ready to take on the frontliner if he dared continue his aggressive advance.

Prowl briefly lifted a hand to his chevron before dropping it. Why did this have to happen now? He drew a calming vent and expelled it slowly. He had to diffuse this situation. He flared his door wings sharply to get their attention. "I am sure Lt. Gen Sandstorm had no ulterior motive." He stated firmly. "I will talk to him in private."

"Absolutely not!" Red Alert cried as he straightened, his optics blazing. "We are under Prime's orders to guard you, so no private meetings!" Red Alert grit his denta stubbornly.

Prowl's frame heated another few degrees and his wings twitched involuntarily. Primus this is embarrassing! He looked apologetically at Sandstorm, only to see him in a stand-off with a looming Sunstreaker.

"Well for what it's worth, I'm still kicking, but then again it might be a slow-acting poison." Sideswipe lifted a shoulder lazily as he rested his elbows on his legs, an amused glint in his optics as he watched his twin challenge the triple-changer.

Prowl spared a glance at him and had an odd suspicion that he was inciting his twin over the bond. Pressing down on the irritation that was now threatening to overcome his acute embarrassment, he flared his doorwings and turned to the red frontliner. "Sideswipe, you and Sunstreaker will go to medical so that Lt. Col. Red Alert's fears may be allayed."

"And leave you here alone, sir?" Sideswipe sat straight as he scrunched his face at Prowl. "No can do, sir. Besides, if it's slow-acting, walking will just get the energon pumping faster through my frame, which will allow the poison to act faster."

"Well, in that case you should run to the fragging medbay!" A gruff voice growled as the door slid open to reveal no other than the Autobot's infamous Chief Medical Officer. "Now what the frag is going on here?"

Prowl barely stopped his fans from kicking in. He shuttered his optics as he lifted his doorwings, wondering exactly what he could say to assist the poor Sandstorm, and what his mechs would say to worsen the already bad situation.

Unfortunately, Red Alert beat him to the explanation.

"Lt. Gen. Sandstorm is here unauthorised and he brought confections. We have no idea who attempted the assassination attempt, and this is a perfect cover to give something to Commander Prowl!"

Ratchet tilted his helm at the inflamed red mech and lifted an optic ridge. "Are you actually accusing Lt. Gen. Sandstorm of trying to assassinate Commander Prowl with confections?" He drawled.

"That is absurd!" Sandstorm growled as he finally turned his attention away from the golden Pit-spawn. "I have no reason to harm Commander Prowl, in fact I have the opposite intention!"

The room descended into awkward silence before Red Alert's engine gave high-pitched whine. "Absurd! You ordered these confections from a bakery in town! No doubt under your own name! If someone is trying to harm the command element, and they know you have your…optic…on one of them, they might have added something to the ingredients! And don't you dare shake your helm and say you know them!" Red Alert pointed his digit accusingly at the flabbergasted Sandstorm. "There are a lot of mechs out there that will do anything for a price! Did you test those confections? Did you?"

"Well, no. I had not thought about it in that light…"

"Exactly! And that is why Commander Prowl has guards! And (that?) is why you, Sideswipe, are a moron!" Red Alert huffed air out of his heated frame and spun around, pacing three steps into the small kitchenette before turning around and facing the mechs once again. "If you wish anything delivered for Commander Prowl you are to notify the Ark's security team, namely me! I clear it, you can give it! Understood?"

"Enough!" Prowl clipped as he raised his doorwings and all attention in the room diverted to him. "I am sure this is a misunderstanding. Lt. Gen. Sandstorm, I apologise for the way you have been treated. My mechs are over-sensitive at the moment and I wish you to observe it in that manner." He flicked his optics over every one of his Autobots present in the room, save for Ratchet, and dared them to challenge him.

As he had hoped, all three diverted their optics, though soft growls could be heard coming from at least two warrior engines.

"Primus. This feels like a youngling centre." Ratchet mumbled under his vents and flared his armour. "Alright the lot of you – scat! Sideswipe, go to medbay and ask Medic First Aid to tend to you." He watched Sideswipe reluctantly push up from the chair. "And don't you dare molest him!" He shouted as an afterthought as the twins disappeared through the door.

"Lt. Col. Red Alert, please wait outside." Prowl ordered after the Twins had left and Red Alert lingered on the threshold. "Lt. Gen. Sandstorm, please wait a moment before you leave."

Ratchet turned to face Prowl and ran a scan over him, noting the elevated temperature and pale faceplate. He frowned and drew a deep vent. "You have two," He lifted two digits, "breems to talk privately. I'll wait in your office." He marched towards the office and left the two mechs alone.

Prowl remained where he was as he looked at Lt. Gen. Sandstorm, then at the confections. His optics softened as he stared at the tray. The last time he had received confections, Jazz had been the one to bring it to him. A pang of longing went through him and he quickly looked away.

"I apologise, once again, for the actions of my subordinates. They have been paranoid over my safety since the incident, and even though I know it is not an excuse for their behaviour, I sincerely hope you will not think this is their 'normal'." He lifted his optics again to watch the emotions play on Sandstorm's faceplates.

Sandstorm sucked in a deep vent to settle himself and looked over at the confections. This was really not how he had hoped to spend the evening with Prowl, but then again, each attempt he had made at spending some time with the pretty tactician had always ended up thwarted…usually by the same Twin Terrors. So whether or not this situation was under aggravated circumstances, he couldn't deny that those two fraggers went out of their way to make sure he stayed away from Prowl. Whether or not Prowl realised that was up for debate.

"Would you mind if we dropped the formalities?" Sandstorm asked as he moved towards Prowl. He came to a stop a few feet away. "I had hoped this evening would turn out differently. As I had hoped all the other times would turn out differently as well."

Prowl opened his mouth, but Sandstorm raised a hand to forestall him. "Since the first time I saw you emerge from the Ark, I had wanted to get to know you. I just…you're…loyal, handsome, smart…" He motioned at Prowl, his optics darkened as he flared his field.

Prowl caught his doorwings before they could drop more than an inch and cleared his vocaliser. This was…unexpected. He suddenly wished he had taken Red Alert's advice not to have this private conversation. "I had not realised your intentions went deeper than wanting a…platonic friendship." He drew in his field and fought the urge to place his arms over his chassis – over his spark.

Sandstorm nodded his helm and smiled ruefully. "You know now." He drew a deep vent and relaxed his armour. "I know this is a long shot, and my timing is probably off, but," He took another tentative step closer, "Please, I would, I want to be more than platonic friends."

Prowl's optics snapped up and, for the first time in a very long time, he was left floundering for words. He pressed his fingers to his chevron and shuttered his optics. Sandstorm was a fine mech, sturdy, good reputation, trustworthy, kind and protective, but he wasn't…he wasn't Jazz. No mech would ever be Jazz.

And more than that, he was carrying Jazz's sparkling. He had tendered in his resignation, he was probably due a court-martial on his arrival at Cybertron, and Sandstorm was stationed on another planet.

"Sandstorm…there's some…" Primus what to say? Prowl dropped his hand and shook his helm, his armour clamping tightly around his frame and his doorwings set in a neutral position. He couldn't tell him he was in a relationship-of-sorts, because no doubt Ratchet was listening, neither could he tell him of his condition. He drew a deep vent. "I am not, or rather at present, there are…circumstances that…prohibit…"

"Time's up!" Ratchet's bellowing voice accompanied him as he stormed into the room, armour flared and faceplate's bent in a scowl that garnered no place for arguments. "Sandstorm, Prowl's still recovering and quite frankly should have been in recharge two joors ago! You can talk with him again at some other time."

Prowl nearly sagged with relief as Ratchet waved the bigger mech out of the room, disappearing with him into the corridor. He looked at his hands and noticed they were trembling.

"Primus." He drew a vent to calm his racing spark. Maybe some energon... He turned to the counter and froze.

The tray of confections sat innocently mocking him on the countertop.

Prowl slowly walked over to the confections and looked over the assortment. Picking up a rust-stick, he examined it, smiling fondly as he remembered how Jazz had gotten some for him. He had no idea where Jazz had gotten it from on board the Ark, and the mech had refused to divulge the source.

The door slid open and he looked up expectantly.

Ratchet turned to him and huffed. "Well that was awkward." His optics narrowed on the rust-stick Prowl held and he lifted an optic ridge.

Prowl carefully replaced it and drew a deep vent. "I was not planning on eating any of it." He pushed the tray away and went to sit at the sofa, having lost his appetite completely.

"Good. Much as I hate to admit it, Red Alert does have a point. Sandstorm has not exactly been quiet of his interest in you."

Prowl's doorwing twitched as he looked up at Ratchet. "Was I the only one unaware of his intentions towards me?"

Ratchet took a seat across from Prowl and eyed the tactician skeptically. "You really didn't?" He drawled.

Prowl pressed his lips together and lightly traced his chestplates. "I had other things on my processor."

Ratchet's amusement died down as he looked at the tactician. "Well, I told him there was someone else." He pursed his lips. "Was it because of the sparkling or because of the sire that you said no?"

"The sparkling." Prowl didn't look at Ratchet, knowing that the mech was going to push for more information on Jazz. He was not going to give it.

"Right." Ratchet shook his helm. "Why don't you want the sire involved?"

Prowl blanked his faceplate and sat straighter, dropping his hand to his lap as his doorwings flared. "Ratchet, we have been through this conversation before, and I honestly do not wish a repeat."

The medic growled as he sat back. "This is for your health, Prowl. And the sparkling's! What happens if you are too drained to commit the necessary energy to the newspark's development?"

"Ratchet, please." Prowl pleaded as he shuttered his optics and leaned back tiredly into the chair. "I am tired. It has been a long orn, and honestly the conversation with Sandstorm was very unexpected. I do not want to defend myself again. Let it go." He opened his optics and looked dully at the medic.

Ratchet huffed in annoyance, well accustomed to the mask Prowl so easily slid over his visage. "Alright. But Prowl," his gaze softened as he got up and moved to the tactician, laying a hand on his shoulder. "I am worried for you. You do not know what you are getting yourself into; neither do you fully comprehend the risks. I hope you realise this before it's too late." He squeezed Prowl's shoulder and walked towards the dispenser. Drawing a cube, he filled it and added the supplements Prowl needed. Stopping by the tray of confections, he subspaced it before heading back to the couch. He held the cube out for Prowl.

Prowl looked into Ratchet's concerned azure optics and for a click wished that he could tell the medic, but he quickly squashed those thoughts. He would not do that to Jazz. It was not right, nor fair, of him to force Jazz into a position he did not want to be in.

Yet it pained him to betray the mechs that cared so much for his well-being, even after what he did to them. He did not deserve to be treated like this, but he was thankful for it. More than the others will ever know.

"Thank-you, Ratchet." He said softly as he took the cube, hoping the medic understood that he meant for more than just the energon.

Ratchet smiled gruffly and nodded. "Just think about it, Prowl. Please." He folded his arms over his chassis and glared at the tactician. "Now I believe you should get some rest. If I find Red Alert keeping you up betimes with work, I'll reformat the fragger!" He warned before walking over to the door. "Comm me if you need anything. Sunstreaker will be back shortly." He walked out the door and Prowl sagged back into the couch.

"Finally. I though your visitors would never leave."

Prowl jerked upright and nearly spilled his energon over his lap. "Mirage!" He said as he quickly regained his composure. What was the noble doing in his room when he was marked as 'on medical leave'? Had something happened to Jazz? He felt the energon drain out of his faceplate as his battle computer instantly calculated the possibilities.

"Jazz is fine." Mirage said as if reading his thoughts. The blue mech shimmered into being at the far end of the room and sauntered over to the couch. He took a seat, crossing his legs primly as he looked at Prowl. "Cameras are on looped circuitry. We only have a few breems before Sunstreaker arrives."

"What are you doing here?" Prowl asked softly as he covered his spark, his wariness clear to see. Had Mirage been here throughout the entire discussion with Ratchet? Icy tentacles wound themselves around his spark and he automatically blanked his field.

"Business." The noble said as he watched Prowl closely, his armour pulled tightly to his frame. "And I came to apologise. Actually."

Prowl narrowed his optics at the clearly uncomfortable noble. Apologise? It was not uncommon for Mirage to use his cloaking device when he needed to slip in and out of his commander's offices on official business undetected, but what could he possibly need to apologise for? He tried to recall any recent memory that held reference to Mirage, but came up blank. "For what, exactly do you need to apologise?" Prowl asked at a loss.

"For my behaviour at the lake. It was unbecoming, and I admit I acted rashly in the heat of the moment. It was never my intention to bring you harm." Mirage said stoically as he raised his chin.

Prowl continued looking at Mirage, trying to remember what the noble was referring to. Bring me harm? What on Cybertron was the mech talking about? "Would you perhaps care to explain?" Prowl asked as he raised his optics ridges.

Mirage frowned at the question. "You don't remember? The lake? I confronted you on your carrying and threatened to divulge the information to the Autobots."

Prowl sat stunned. He raced through his neat processor again, looking for any reference to the lake. The only memories were those with the lake house, after that...the memories were corrupted. It suddenly dawned on him. Mirage must have been the last mech he saw before he had overheated. Mirage had to have been the trigger.

"What did you do?" Prowl demanded as he flared his doorwings and sat straight.

Mirage ducked his helm in submission and opened his frame up. The vulnerability grated at him, but his conscious demanded he make amends, for his own and Jazz's sake. "I did not touch you. However, I was very harsh in my words with you. I was angry because of your…because you hid your status from the Autobots." He said softly, optics still averted respectfully.

"Continue." Prowl ordered sternly, his cold optics boring on Mirage. He wanted to know everything the noble had said or done, and he wanted the reasons for those as well.

Mirage drew a deep vent and lifted his helm. "I was also angry because of Jazz. You had obviously merged with Jazz, and that means he will be embroiled in your case. The mech does not deserve that. He worked hard to be where he is. Other than that," he paused. This was probably the part that bothered him the most. "I am not sure whether to be pleased or angry that you wish to keep him out of your affairs. Yet that is your decision, and no matter my feelings on the matter, the fact remains I owe you an apology."

Prowl sat in silence, observing the mech before him. By his frame alone Prowl knew Mirage was genuinely apologising – he would otherwise never have averted his optics, but Prowl still had a few questions.

After a few tense breems of observing the noble, he nodded once and drew a deep vent. "Those memories are corrupt so your apology is moot, however, since you feel compelled to give me an apology, I accept it. I do have some questions, though." Prowl stated firmly as he crossed his legs and took a sip of his energon. He really hoped Mirage was the last visitor for the evening. He wanted to recharge.

Mirage lifted his optics and bowed his helm. "Thank you, sir." He drew in a vent. "You had questions?"

Prowl nodded. "Are you still planning to report me to Autobot authorities?"

Mirage shook his helm. "Prime knows, and since he is the highest form of single authority within the Autobot army, I find it useless to report you." He answered honestly.

"Second question." Prowl shifted in his seat and lifted his doorwings. This was of a more personal nature, but he was curious. "Why are you angry that I do not want Jazz involved?"

Mirage's frame heated and he looked away, his mouth suddenly dry. Jazz had asked Mirage to look after Prowl. He had failed. That had been the loudest voice in his conscious demanding he apologise to Jazz's lover. The problem was that Mirage did not think Prowl felt the same about Jazz as the saboteur felt about him, or else why would he hide the sparkling from Jazz? Yet he also knew that Jazz would feel obligated to take responsibility for his sparkling. And that choice held its own repercussions. He tapped his digits against the soft gel-like foam of the sofa. Jazz could sort that out for himself when he came back. And he had to come back, not only because of Ratchet's warning.

Mirage turned his optics back to Prowl. "Forgive me if I do not divulge my reasons. They form part of a promise and a personal opinion that might or might not be correct, but which I feel is not my place to mention."

Prowl continued to look at Mirage for a few more clicks before he nodded in acceptance. He had his own theories, but he did not want to dwell on them. Perhaps it was better if the master spy kept them to himself. "Very well. Let us leave well alone on that subject. You mentioned some other matter you wished to discuss?"

Mirage gladly took the offered bait and turned to business, his faceplate smoothing out as his bearing instantly became professional. "There has been some developments in the field." More precisely he had gotten two very disturbing reports – one from Jazz, whom had taken a great risk to send a communiqué, and one from the new security director Red Alert – both had the same message which confirmed his and Jazz's initial suspicions: they had a spy on the Ark. "I need to activate another asset on the field. You are currently the only mech on the Ark’s command team that can still authorise the deployment."

"I have tendered my resignation." Prowl countered, though he leaned forward in both interest and concern. To activate another field agent meant there was an unforeseen factor of significant importance. His thoughts raced to Jazz. Had Jazz requested another agent?

"Your resignation is not official yet. Prime is withholding it. Therefore, you still have the authority to sign off on this." Mirage stated and drew a datapad from his subspace which he handed to Prowl.

Prowl took the datapad as he placed his energon on the side table. He quickly scanned through the datapad, analysing the 'vague' particulars of the mission, the objectives and the resources necessary. Usually Jazz was the second signature used to officialise these missions, but whenever Jazz was absent, it fell to him. Prowl reached the end and looked at Mirage. "Before I sign off on this, why do we need another asset in the field?"

"I need to recall the one currently in the field. For more than one reason." Mirage said.

"Care to elaborate?" Prowl asked as he signed off on the datapad. It was not that he distrusted the mechs that fell under Intelligence and Espionage; rather he preferred to keep a tab on it so as to keep them on the right side of the ethical line. After all, they were the mechs often sent into the grey areas, and it was not uncommon to find them wandering into the darker avenues.

"Without going into detail, I have reason to believe the mech might be compromised. The mech is a valuable agent I would prefer not to lose. And…" Mirage paused briefly as he cast his gaze over Prowl. "He is needed somewhere else."

"So is the new agent going in for an extraction or replacement?" Prowl handed the datapad back to Mirage.

"Replacement." He withdrew another datapad and handed it to Prowl. "That one is for the extraction."

As before Prowl scanned through the datapad, noting the lack of specific details. "Your mission briefs are very vague." He remarked as he signed off on the second datapad and then handed it back to Mirage.

"These are very sensitive." Mirage commented as he subspaced the datapads. He leaned back in his seat and looked Prowl over. He honestly felt terrible for what his actions had caused Prowl to go through, and he knew Jazz would chew him out because of it. In that regard he had failed to look out for Prowl. His optics dropped to Prowl's chassis. It was hard to think Jazz's sparkling was forming there.

The tactician crossed his arms protectively over his chest and Mirage's optics snapped up into the cold, calculating ones of the protective carrier. He flattened his armour across his shoulders in apology for staring. "Once more, I apologise for my actions."

Prowl nodded, but did not remove his arms from protectively covering his chestplates.

"I shall take my leave, sir. I want to get the orders sent out to the mechs concerned."

Prowl stood with Mirage and took his cube of energon. He would walk Mirage to the door, then open it to check if anybody was still in the hallway, allowing the mech to slip out in his cloaked form undetected.

"Before you go, who is the agent you need to extract?" Prowl asked as he drained the last of his cube. He was under no illusion that he would be given the real designation, but it would be interesting once he got the report – if he was still in the position to get it, that was.

Mirage quirked an optic ridge at Prowl. "A scrawny little fellow by the designation of 'Filch'."

Chapter Text

Part II

"Prepare crew for transport through vortex in two breems". Optimus Prime ordered from his seat on the Ark's bridge, outwardly calm. Having successfully launched from Paradron's Morass Space Station five joors ago, they were now poised to head into the vortex that was the sole entry way to the planet's immediate cosmic airspace. Ahead lay the treacherous two breem journey through the vortex. He drew a deep vent and squared his shoulders.

Next to him, Prowl inserted a few glyphs into the keyboard imbedded into the soft metal countertop of his terminal and sat back, doorwings resting in the specially moulded chair. Cyber data rolled over his three screens, one displaying the schematics of their position relative to the jump route, another displaying the Ark’s vital engine information as they cruised towards the vortex, and the third on standby for incoming reports.

Prowl looked over at Optimus. "Technicians acknowledge request. All sections secured, sir." He stated in his calm, clear voice.

"All shields up?" Optimus asked as he looked over the members of the Ark's permanent crew, each specialist assigned to his own terminal and steadfastly monitoring the Ark's vital and sensitive systems. Once they were through the vortex and ready to engage the warp engines, Teletraan I, the ship's AI, would take full-control of flight operations.

"Shields engaged. Engineers report warp engines fully functional. Jump Technicians report the ship is aligned for the jump and waiting final authorization." Prowl entered another glyph on the screen to his right. "Prepare for entrance." Prowl intoned and braced himself against his seat. The jump through the vortex was more often than not a bumpy one.

Optimus turned back briefly to the black and white mech, his optics questioning as he held the steady gaze of his second in command – a steady gaze he had held for centivorns. His optics dimmed and cold settled in his tanks as he suddenly realised this was probably their last launch together as Commander-in-Chief and Second-in-Command.

Prowl, unaware of his superior’s internal thoughts, caught the meaningful gaze and nodded once, firmly. The Ark was ready. They were ready.

Optimus drew a deep vent and settled back in his chair, staring out the front viewport at the angry, swirling entrance of the vortex. In the distance he could make out the Paradronian space war cruisers that patrolled the area as they manoeuvred away from the entrance – it made for a fatal mistake if their ships were to be sucked into the vortex without prior preparations and shielding.

The Ark's nose inched closer to the vortex as tendrils of plasmic energy hungrily grabbed for her, pulling her along the central jump route that would once more take her to the interstellar void beyond – and home to Cybertron.

"Calibrating gyro systems." One of the technicians announced and Prowl logged it.

"Warp engines on standby." Another technician shouted.

"Ion engines engaged. Minimal thrust ." A second technician called. "Steadying for entrance."

The Ark began to tremble as she entered the vortex, her golden steel frame groaning and creaking under the pressure of external forces as they pushed at her space relentlessly. Light flooded through her viewports and momentarily blinded the occupants inside as she was completely swallowed by the emerald green tunnel.

Her frame shook as she was buffeted by external gravitational winds. The mechs within cycled their optics quickly to clear their vision.

::Increasing power to ion engines two and four.::

They had switched over to internal comms as the noise inside the stressed drowned out any and all spoken conversation.

::Structural engineers report all good.::

Optimus braced his frame as the shaking increased. He turned once more to look at Prowl, concern for his well-being at the forefront of his thoughts. The passage through the vortex was always uncomfortable, and to experience it while carrying must have been even more so.

Prowl's face was pinched, his optics shuttered, but other than that he held perfectly still. As if sensing Optimus's stare, he opened his optics and nodded firmly. He was fine.

Optimus pressed his lips together and tried to relax back into his seat. The flight through the vortex only lasted two breems, but it was two critical breams in which there was no margin for error. If the jump engines failed, or one of the ion engines faltered, it was enough to send the ship slightly of course. Should that happen, the ship would be ripped apart, her occupants crushed by the strong gravitational forces that played havoc in the vortex.

One breem into the vortex.

The shaking increased, as did the creaking and groaning. The lights faltered, only to be replaced by a low blue glow as the ship's primary electromagnetic fields were distorted and back-up power systems kicked in.

::Electromagnetic fields disrupted. Turning to hydro-matter power.::

The emerald light brightened as the swirling patterns elongated into brilliant horizontal lines that streaked past the viewports faster than the optics could keep tract of. They were nearing the exit.

::Increasing power to ion engines one and three. Decreasing drag thrusters. Maximum acceleration in ten clicks.::

The sound was deafening, and if he had not known that this was normal, Optimus would have been sorely tempted to request a structural engineer's analysis. 

Optimus briefly thought of the soldiers and crew, nestled securedly in their launch positions to wait out the bumpy, treacherous ride, and what they had to thinks of the Ark’s troubled passage. All they could do was remain safe in their seats, as protocol dictated, while the engineers and command-centre crew momentarily took their lives in their hands.

In the command centre, even the crew were securely strapped into their seats. Only the engine crew were allowed to use lifelines to roam through the Ark's large engine rooms. Optimus, however, had no fear that any of those crew would come to harm. Wheeljack might be accident-prone on occasion, but when it came to the safety of the mechs under him, he never took chances.

::Ten clicks to exit.::

Optimus watched as the viewports filled with the vortex's yawning exit. His digits tightened over the armrest and he pressed back into his seat as the engines reached their top speed.

The Ark rocketed out of the vortex at top speed. Her creaking and groaning and shuddering suddenly disappeared as they entered the calm interstellar darkness of the void beyond the vortex.

The blue lights flickered, then turned to their normal hue.

::Electromagnetic drives back online.::

Optimus released the vent he had been holding and relaxed into his seat. The dangers of the Vortex were over. He glanced over his shoulder and smiled as he saw Prowl already busy at his consoles, no doubt checking the Ark's status.

The sirens sounded to release the crew from their launch positions, allowing non-essential personnel to move around the ship again.

The comms emitted a series of shrill beeps to alert the bridge of an incoming call.

::Epsilon to the Ark. Over.::

::Ark acknowledges. Over..:: Blaster quipped. As head of communications, the host was more often than not stationed on the bridge.

::Your airspace is cleared. KEA log is being sent. Safe flight to Cybertron, and may Primus light your paths.Till all are one.Over.::

::Received. Till all are one. Over.:: Blaster signed off.

It was standard procedure to receive the 'KEA', or 'Known Enemy Activity' report from those battleships stationed outside the vortex, and Prowl wasted no time opening the log and setting his powerful battle-computer to work analysing the data.

In the time it took to reduce thrust from the ion engines to cruising speed, Prowl had read, analysed and sent a quick report to Optimus on the best route to take to Cybertron. Their aim was to avoid enemy contact – and Prowl knew in part it was because of him that Optimus had ordered it. He was immensely thankful for it, but it struck a raw neurotransmitter to know that he had basically put the Ark out of commission for her return journey.

If they were needed, would Optimus hesitate to fight because of him?

It was a question he didn't want the answer to, even though his battle-computer already supplied him with the probabilities.

Shaking himself from that train of thought, Prowl drew himself up and disconnected his dataport from the console on his left and turned to the third. It was no use dallying on the 'what ifs' and 'maybe's'. As long as he was permitted to hold his position, he would do so. And if Optimus chose to fight or run – then that was his commander's choice.

Prowl reviewed the navigational pane, their current position, and previous projected route as he waited for Optimus to send him confirmation of their altered course. The sooner he could send the coordinates to the helmsmech, the sooner he would be able to sign off on reports filtering in from the other departments and subsections. The first reports he would need to oversee would be from the engineers - the engines, turbines, structural integrity…

::This is the best route to avoid enemy contact?:: Optimus's voice broke into Prowl's internal scheduling and he straightened to attention, quickly looking over to Optimus.

"Yes, sir."

Optimus nodded and turned back to observe the bridge crew. "Very well. Proceed."

Prowl inserted his glyphs to authorise the course alteration then sent it to the helmsmech, who in turn acknowledged it and fed it into his console.

Prowl turned to his second monitor, and as he had expected, the reports were already filtering in. He was no longer needed at the bridge: it was time to return to his office.

"Prime, sir. Request permission to return to my office?" Prowl asked, his doorwings raised in question.

"Just a moment, Commander." Optimus said as he stood. "Would you please follow me to my office? There are some urgent matters we need to discuss before the next officer's meeting."

Prowl rose even as his tanks fell, quickly locking his screens. The officer's meeting Optimus was referring to was the one in which 'his' decision to resign would be made known. Prowl was not looking forward to it. At all. Straightening to his full height and smoothing his faceplates, he turned to Optimus. "Of course, sir."

The walk to Optimus's office was thankfully short, as it was situated close to the bridge. Once inside the office, Optimus motioned Prowl to take a seat on one of the chairs as he took one across from Prowl.

"How are you feeling?" Optimus asked casually after they had settled into their seats, but Prowl could see the tension in his frame and the tightly held field and mentally sighed. Optimus, or rather, all the mechs that knew had been treating him as if he was made of Praxian crystals. At first it had been slightly amusing, but now it verged on the edge of annoying.

Yet Prowl was accustomed to handling difficult situations, like with Ratchet and the Twins, so he gracefully inclined his helm and smoothed his field. "Well, thank you, sir." He answered calmly. Since Ratchet had taken over his care, he had barely felt any discomfort around his spark, although the sensitivity remained. Prowl saw it as a positive sign, but Ratchet still retained his cautious aura.

"So the stress of launch and the vortex didn't…" Optimus raised his optic ridges as he awkwardly raised a hand to indicate Prowl's chest armour.

"No, it did not." Prowl replied sternly, his mouth set and optics warning. He did not wish to discuss his sparkling.

For a moment Optimus looked poised to continue his questions, so Prowl cleared his vocaliser and took out a datapad from subspace. "I believe you had some urgent business to discuss before the next officer's meeting?"

It was underhanded, but Prowl needed to get to those reports. Ratchet had already restricted the amount of joors he could work per shift, and thus he was eager not to waste that precious time. There was somuch work to be done.

Optimus leaned back into his chair, crossing his hands on his abdominal plating. "Yes." He replied in his grave voice as he allowed Prowl to switch tactics. "Who do you recommend to replace you?" He asked cautiously, tightly controlling his field. He resisted the urge to clear his vocaliser and relaxed his armour.

Prowl flicked his wings forward as his optics dimmed, his mouth pressed in a thin line. He had run his calculations over and over, and yet he was not satisfied with the results his battle computer pinged him. It would split the work he was currently doing in two, and that was not something he wanted. It laid the way for miscommunications and ultimately fatal mistakes. But it was the best he could come up with, and that was with only an 80% success rate. The other plans fell disastrously short.

"I have pondered that question, and the truth is Optimus that there is not a single mech that will be able to do both my functions. At least not at present." He drew in a deep vent. "I have drawn up a contingency plan, as per protocol, and I believe the situation warrants the same plan. I recommend Lt. Intel to take over my duties in the Tactical Department on board the Ark. Stocktake will be able to assist Lt. Intel with the logistics concerning the Ark's supplies, but unfortunately I don't foresee that extending to the entire army. You, or Ultra Magnus would need to assume responsibility of those duties." He paused and glanced down at his datapad, gripping its edge tightly. In all his battle plans he had never foreseen the probability of this situation. He had never thought to hand in his resignation and quietly sit and discuss his successor. His hands relaxed their death-grip on the datapad's edges and he willed the anger to settle, drawing his field in tight and his armour tense. This situation was his own doing.

"Ultra Magnus?" Optimus asked as he cycled his optics in surprise at Prowl, his optics ridges drawing together.

"Yes. Ultra Magnus was second in command of the Ark before his transfer, and thus you have worked with him before. The crew not only knows and respect him as a competent commander, but he is also familiar with the command structure on board as well as the duties pertaining to the position. He is the most eligible for the position of Second General of the Autobot Army." Prowl stated softly as he dropped his optics to Optimus's chassis, those words burning over his glossa like raw acid.

Optimus drew a deep vent that rattled his armour plating as he leaned his helm back to stare at the golden-tinted ceiling. The sense of wrongness permeated his entire being and he felt the Matrix brush sadly against his spark. "I do not like this." He looked directly at Prowl. "There has to be another way."

Prowl's optics snapped to Optimus's and he raised an optic ridge in surprise. Do not make this difficult. He gently laid the datapad on his lap and raised his doorwings. "Sir, Ultra Magnus truly is the best choice, however, if you prefer…" he let his voice trail off as Optimus raised a hand to quiet him.

"I don't mean your choices. You know I have always had faith that the plans you send me are the best." Optimus shook his helm. "No. This entire situation does not settle well with me. You belong with the Autobots." Of that much he was sure. He took in the form of the Praxian across from him and saw with distaste the resignation simmering in those blue optics.

"The law is what it is, Optimus." Prowl said slowly, his doorwings held completely still. "Even should I be allowed to stay with the Autobots, I cannot have my sparkling on board an active warship. I will have to leave."

Optimus ducked his chin as his optic ridges furrowed. It was true that an active warship was no place for a little one, and Primus knew he didn't even like the idea of a carrying carrier on the ship any better. But after talking with Red Alert, First Aid and Ratchet, it was unanimously and quite animatedly decided that under no condition would they be compelled to leave Prowl at Paradron. Yet to leave the Autobots completely – Optimus didn't want to think of the ripple effect it would have. As Prowl had very modestly stated: there was no single mech with enough experience and abilities who could complete both the function of CTO and SIC at the same time.

Optimus shifted lightly in his seat, aware that Prowl was waiting for him to come to terms with the decision laid out to him. He barely stopped himself from glaring at the offending datapad resting on Prowl's lap, but once more Prowl was right. In the interim, he would need both a senior level tactician and a competent commander who, if he should fall in battle, would be able to lead the Autobots until the Matrix decided on a new Prime. At present those were two different mechs, and there was nothing that could be done about it.

He vented loudly as he held out his hand for the accursed datapad. "Let's hope Ultra Magnus has the same passion for tactics as he does for regulations." He drawled and was rewarded with a small, upward quirk of Prowl's lips.

"I am sure he will get the hang of it." Prowl assured dryly as he handed the datapad over. He watched Optimus subspace it and wondered if there was anything else. He needed to get to those reports.

Optimus relaxed back once more and Prowl hiked his doorwings. So Optimus is not done yet? Resigning himself to lose at least another half-joor, he settled back as well, studying the Prime's causal seat.

"So…" Optimus began as he steepled his digits, watching Prowl tense slightly in his chair.

Prowl grit his denta. Usually after one of Optimus's 'so's', things took a personal turn. He squared his shoulders and lifted his chin. "Yes?" Suddenly that half-joor seemed way too long.

"How are you feeling?"

Prowl briefly shuttered his optics. He was going to murder the mech who came up with that phrase. He reset his vocaliser and reigned in his emotions. Primus, since his carrying he felt like he was losing his ability to control his actions. The knowledge grated on him.

He cleared his vocaliser and blanked his field. "The same as I was feeling twenty-two breems ago, sir. I am fine." Prowl replied patiently, hoping Optimus wouldn’t catch any of his annoyance in the subharmonics. Of all the mechs currently in the know of his status, Optimus was the one who seemed to constantly worry if he was fine – multiple times in the span of a few breems. It was endearingly annoying, but unfortunately more annoying than endearing.

Optimus's optics crinkled as he smiled at Prowl's dry tone. He knew Prowl was annoyed with his constant vigilance, but it was either annoy Prowl or annoy Ratchet. As far as he was concerned, there was not much of a choice. Ratchet could be a fearsome force to deal with.

"Have you and Wheeljack had some time to finish the frame yet?" Optimus asked as he tilted his helm, eager to know more about the sparkling. The engineer had been, to no one's surprise, beyond thrilled and excited to hear about a new little Praxian wobbling around. In fact, he had immediately grabbed a datapad and had babbled on and on about frame types, possible upgrades, frame additions, and so forth until Ratchet had stepped in with his usual tact. Optimus swallowed the chuckle that wanted to escape as he focused back on the tactician.

Prowl nodded and his mouth softened slightly at the thought of the little frame safely tucked into protective gel lining and stored in the medbay. "We have. There are still a few things I am deciding on, but the frame is ready. Wheeljack and Ratchet will program it in their spare joors." His optics dimmed as his lips tipped in amusement. "Sunstreaker has offered to apply the paint nanites."

"Sunstreaker?" Optimus asked incredulously as his optic ridges shot high. "Those two never cease to amaze me." He murmured as he stroked his chin.

"Yes. It is a very large gift from Sunstreaker, and I am humbled by it."

"Mhmm." Optimus agreed as a companionable silence settled in the small office.

Prowl was the one who broke it when he sat straight and flexed his doorwings. "If that would be all, sir?" He asked as he braced his hands on the chair's arms, ready to push himself up.

Optimus looked up and around his office. There was no reason why he could detain Prowl any further, so reluctantly he nodded and got up with his senior officer. "You have five joors remaining on your shift, according to the roster. The meeting is scheduled for tomorrow. You will give Intel the rest of the reports to analyse and sign off on?"

Prowl dipped his doorwings respectfully. "Yes, sir."

"Very well. Don't work too hard." Optimus admonished with a smile and squared his shoulders. He watched Prowl disappear through the door and into the corridor before he turned to his desk.

::Ratchet?:: Optimus opened a comm to his chief medic.

::How did he handle it?:: The brisk tone of the chartreuse medic filtered through his comm as he took a seat and onlined his console, inserting his authorization codes.

::He assured me he is fine, and he doesn't look too fatigued. I did manage to keep him in my office for half a joor, but he was eager to be away. He did, however, say he would leave the rest of the reports to Intel once his shift was over.:: Optimus reported to the medic. He halted as he thought back on his words…it felt rather odd to deliver a report to someone. Shaking his helm, he requested the latest security files courtesy of Red Alert.

::Huh. Only thirty breems? You need to get more creative Prime. If I had my way he wouldn't even be on duty!::

Optimus narrowed his optics at the list of changes brought to the Ark's internal systems. It was…impressive. ::Ratchet, I know you mean well, but he is carrying, not dying. Prowl needs to work.::

::His systems will become too drained!:: Ratchet persisted.

::I understand, and you have my full authority and backing to remove him from active duty when he gets to a point where medically he cannot do the work anymore. However, I strongly suspect Prowl wants a sense of normalcy. He already finds it irritating that I ask him regularly how he is doing.::

::Well, someone fragging has to, and you're the only one he won't dare backchat.:: Ratchet conceded gruffly and Optimus could only imagine how his armour bristling and his arms crossed stubbornly over his chassis.

::Alright. We'll keep him on, but Optimus, the click I even so much as slagging suspect him overdoing it, I'm pulling medical rank!::

::We will keep an optic on him.:: Optimus submitted then changed the subject. ::You will be glad to know that our course has been altered so we expect to reach Cybertron about two decaorns before the scheduled time. Maybe even more. It would be sufficient time for you to test the new young medic to see if he would be a worthy apprentice.::

The line fell silent and Optimus waited patiently for Ratchet to respond.

::He's bright.::

Ah. High praise indeed from the ornery medic. Optimus smiled to himself. ::It is good to know that.:: He smile dimmed and he frowned at the screen. ::You are aware that our codes will be changing decaornly?:: It was a good security measure, but a personal nuisance.

Ratchet gave a bark of laughter. ::At least he is thorough!::

Optimus smiled. Yes. Red Alert was a very good addition to the command team.

An innocent monitor threw its pale light on the figure hunched before it.

Sent: Vortex cleared. Ark altered course. Beta system 3. Interception point altered to 3"2'5.9 : 8"2'6.1. Command element accounted for.

Received: Affirmative. Course altered to intercept at designated coordinates. Maintain comm. link silence.

Sent: Acknowledged. All Hail.

'Confirm deletion of logs? Enter authorisation codes.'

'Authorisation codes accepted. Deletion confirmed'.

The monitor went blank, then shut down as the figure silently got up and left the room, all traces of his messages erased.

Author's note: alas not a too long chapter…and a dire warning that updates in May and June might be intermittent, though I will try to stick to every second Friday. That said I apologise for skipping last week's update…the world conspired against me and threw me all manner of curve balls! Many thanks to my tenacious beta who pushed me to post this chapter on schedule and for your support!

1 June 15 - new alert...I've run into some unforeseen complications in real life. Due to new deadlines, I might have to move this fic on the backburner until after the deadline, which is 1 July. However, I will TRY to post before then. My sincere apologies!

Chapter Text

“Frag I’m bored!” Sideswipe threw his helm back and groaned loudly as he rocked precariously on his chair in the corner of the recroom. The boisterous room spared him little attention, save for his half-slumbering companion next to him.

“Mmm…shut-up. This is your fault.” The security mech vented beside him as he lazily lifted his helm and pushed up onto his arms. “If you hadn’t fragged Prowl and Red Alert off with that little stunt of yours, then neither of us would be in this position.”

Sideswipe’s lips twitched in wry amusement as he shrugged and dropped the chair to its forelegs. “Yeah, well. At least we don’t have to wait in the brig.” He chuckled and kicked Blazer under the table. It wasn’t his fault Blazer had been in the wrong spot at the wrong time and had given him the go-ahead.

Now they were minus a brig for at least an orn as Wheeljack and co. found some way to reverse the effects of the acid.

Blazer grit his denta and glared at Sideswipe, his distaste overpowering his own sense of boredom. “You are more trouble than you are worth. You know that?”  He hissed. His anger inched up as Sideswipe burst out laughing. Such insolence!

Primus he despised the mech. He was the reason Midriff had transferred and that half-bit, paranoid, processor-glitched, Pit-spawn now controlled the Ark’s security system. His fists clenched as he fought the urge to plant it in the red fragger’s faceplate.

What made everything worse was that the red Twin seemed to be in Prowl’s good graces, had been for the past few quartexes, too. So the Pit-spawn would probably receive a light tap on the wrist and a ‘don’t do it again’. His lip curled and he turned his faceplate to the far wall. And here he, an innocent victim of the slagger’s fragging pranks, sat waiting to hear what the precious commander was going to punish him with. Probably orns in some kind of make-shift brig.

Blazer snorted as he pushed back in his chair, placing as much distance between him and Sideswipe as permitted. Pity he couldn’t up and leave, but do that and he’d be in even more trouble.

Ever since Midriff transferred things had gone sour. He had lost his lover without so much as a ‘transfer with me’. Then he had lost his position as second to an unranked mech, who had suddenly been promoted above his own rank and his position, and to add insult to insult, here he sat, his squeaky clean record broken all because he was in the fragging wrong place at the fragging wrong time with the fragging wrong mech!

“So…”

“I said shut-up!” Blazer snarled as he flared his armour warningly, his dark optics blazing.

“What the frag mech!?” Sideswipe threw his hands up in a placating gesture even as his own armour bristled in response. The two locked optics, their engines rumbling ominously in the suddenly-quiet recroom.

::Need some help?:: Sunstreaker’s asked as he pressed through the bond.

Sideswipe adjusted his seat, shifting more of his balance to his pedes. He tucked his shoulder. One, hard blow to the jugular tube and his opponent would be down and out. Another above the sparkchamber and he’d be paying Ratchet an extended visit. A feral grin bared his denta. The green mech was outclassed, and he didn’t even know it. ::Nah bro, I’m fine. Blazer’s just being a glitch.::

“What’s going on?” An authoritative voice cut through the charged silence as the two mechs continued their stand-off.

Behind him, Sideswipe was vaguely aware of nervous chatter, of mechs huddling closer together and giving the two growling components a wide berth. His scanners dismissed them as non-threat.

Blazer was the first to break optic contact as he stood and saluted Lt. Intel.

Sideswipe reluctantly stood and did the same, keeping his sensors on the security mech. This was the first time the mech had been so antagonistic towards him, and truthfully, he wasn’t completely innocent of deserving it, but really? He had gone a bit overboard with all the growling. You did not poke a frontliner.

“I asked you a question, soldiers.” Lt. Intel came to a stop directly in front of the two perpetrators.

“Not quite sure, sir. One moment we were bored, the next we roared.” Sideswipe bit the inside of his cheek. He was going poet. His systems cycled down, his frame relaxed. Sunstreaker pulsed his soothing presence into the bond. There was no danger here.

Unfortunately the lieutenant wasn’t as impressed with his little rhyming spree. The Iaconion flared his armour and glared down at Sideswipe. “Follow me, both of you.” He clipped and turned on his heel, marching towards the lift.

Blazer shot Sideswipe another heated look, which he skilfully ignored, as he fell in behind the duo. Hopefully he could make Prowl see reason as to why the brig needed an overhaul. Sure he could have stopped when he realised Blazer had actually given him acid instead of cleaning agent, but where was the fun in that? Maybe some of Wheeljack’s shiny stuff would lighten the place up. It wasn’t like anybody was going to miss the brig.

They entered the Tactical Department and headed straight to Prowl’s office. He halted on the threshold as the door slid open. He stepped in and opened his mouth…and snapped it shut. The office was…empty? He canted his helm. This wasn’t right.

“Uhm, sir, where’s Commander Prowl?” Sideswipe asked nervously, his optic ridges knitting. Prowl was technically still on shift for another two joors. An uneasy feeling settled in the pit of his tank. Prowl hadn’t been looking so good as of late, and Sideswipe had more than once escorted him to the medbay the past two decaorns where Ratchet fussed and threatened.

Queasy, he reset his vocaliser and focused back on Intel.

Shrewd optics appraised him.

“My apologies, what was that, sir?” He asked as he cycled his optics. Out of the corner of his optics he caught Blazer barely hiding a smile. Right then he couldn’t care less what the glitch did. He was worried about Prowl.

“Commander Prowl is in a meeting. I am to take over his duty of reprimanding you, then you will be handed over to Security Director Lt. Col. Red Alert for punishment duty.” Lt. Intel walked around the desk and seated himself in Prowl’s chair.

A bolt of annoyance shot through Sideswipe as Intel made himself comfortable. It wasn’t Intel’s chair. It wasn’t Intel’s desk. And it sure as the Pit wasn’t Intel’s office. Even more than that: he was lying. Sideswipe received Prowl’s schedule every orn so that if he was needed, he knew where the tactician was. Prowl had been scheduled for deskwork.

Not meetings.

He pressed his lips together and focused on the far wall, his chin up and his processor racing. He sent Red Alert a ping asking for an update of Prowl’s schedule and nudged Sunstreaker through the bond, letting some of his worry bleed through.

A ping to his comm system revealed an updated schedule and Sideswipe accessed it while Lt. Intel yakked on and on about protocols and why washing the brig with hydrofluoric acid is a serious offence, no matter that the labelling was incorrect.

::Hey Red?::

::Lt. Col. Red Alert to you.:: Red Alert replied. ::Why did you require an update on Prowl’s schedule?::

“Yes, sir. I apologise, sir.” Sideswipe replied out loud to Intel’s blabberings::I am at present in Prowl’s office, where he is still scheduled to be, but not. Status update on his position?:: The queasy feeling returned. Red Alert always knew where everyone was.

::Maybe he went to fetch something?.:: Red Alert quipped, but Sideswipe caught the edge in his  voice.

::Negative. Lt. Intel informs me he is in a meeting.:: He was satisfied to hear the other mech halt. Then a quick ‘::hold the line::’. Red Alert’s tone told Sideswipe that the mech was upset, and instead if providing Sideswipe with a sense of gratification, he shifted nervously, wishing for all the world that Lt. Intel would just get it done with and send him to Red Alert.

::Found him. He is in his quarters.:: Red Alert hesitated. ::He is not answering his comms though. I am sending Ratchet to him. I will keep you updated.::

The line went dead and Sideswipe turned his attention back to the rant in time to hear Lt. Intel lecturing Blazer on the duties of lieutenants to keep their subordinates in line and to take responsibility for actions. Sideswipe’s armour bristled anew at the term ‘subordinate’. He rolled his optics. Primus he hoped this mech was only a temporary replacement for Prowl’s position.

“Of course, sir. I apologise for my negligence in this matter.” Blazer barked loudly like a good little cadet and Sideswipe got all the more irked at him. He rolled his shoulders, and unfortunately for him, the act was caught by Lt. Intel.

“And as for you, second lieutenant, I expect more discretion and wisdom in the future that is suitable as pertaining your new rank. This kind of negligent behaviour will not be tolerated. Am I understood?” Lt. Intel came to stand in front of him and folded his arms over his chassis, glaring coldly. A good half-helm taller than the frontliner, he made an imposing physical figure. Too bad he doesn’t have any ball bearings. Sideswipe caught himself from sneering at the mech trying to imitate Prowl.

“Understood, sir.” He ground out through clenched denta, his optics blazing as he stared into those dark optics. He was filled with instant dislike for the mech - the mech who was now supposed to be the Head of Tactical. He had had enough of mechs trying to intimidate him.

Those optics darkened even more and Intel’s armour flared. “Second Lt. Sideswipe, I will not tolerate any form of insubordination from you. I am your direct authority now, and Commander Prowl has handed over all manner of disciplinary issues over to Lt. Col. Red Alert and I, especially those concerning you. You will comply or I will see you court-marshalled.”

Searing anger lanced through Sideswipe as his digits itched to wrap themselves around the snotty mech’s throat. All respect that Sideswipe might have held for Intel evaporated and was replaced with a deep sense of loathing as he held Intel’s gaze.

“You will answer, Second Lieutenant Sideswipe!” Intel flared his armour dangerously and rumbled his engine.

“Yes, sir.” Sideswipe ground, the words tasting like bile and his faceplate pale as he fought the urge to lunge at the despicable mech in front of him.

“You will report to Lt. Col. Red Alert immediately. Dismissed!” Intel barked and deliberately turned his back on the frontliner satisfied to hear the door close behind him.

“Permission to speak freely, sir?” Blazer asked tentatively.

Intel lifted his optic ridges at the dark green mech. “Granted.” He vented as he relaxed his shoulders.

“I honestly don’t believe threatening Sideswipe was a wise move.” Blazer said carefully, his mouth pulled down in a sympathetic grimace.

Intel’s armour bristled anew and he felt a small flicker of satisfaction to see Blazer cringe and duck his helm. Of course, it was not this mech’s fault, but handling Sideswipe was tough enough without someone pointing out he was going about it all wrong.

He drew a deep vent as he regarded Blazer. Blazer had been their late security director’s second, and had often been present when Midriff had tried to deal with the twins. Perhaps he could glean some assistance from this mech? He shrugged internally. It was worth a try. Resetting his vocaliser, he relaxed his arms as he moved to sit in Prowl’s…his chair. He gestured to the seat across from him and watched as Blazer sat on the edge of the chair, back ramrod straight. At least this mech was showing proper respect.

“At ease.” Intel waved his hand in the air as if to wipe formalities out of the way. If he was honest with himself, he needed some help with Sideswipe. “You were Lt. Col. Midriff’s second for a long time, and I have no doubt that you are well acquainted with the Twin’s antics.” He waited for Blazer to nod before he continued. “So in your opinion, how should I go about, er, ‘handling’ the Twins?”

“Shoot them?” Blazer suggested and chuckled, only half serious.

Intel’s own chuckle mingled with Blazer’s as he briefly fantasizing about shooting the Twins. “I would not mind, but they are very valuable warriors. Otherwise I’m sure somebody would have done it by now.”

“True enough, sir.” Blazer said and relaxed into his chair as Lt. Intel seemed to relax. He was still careful, after earlier’s dominance  display, but maybe if he got into the mech’s good graces it would be a boon for him as well, and maybe a way back to his former position? Maybe even a promotion? Licking his lips at the prospect, he watched Intel shrewdly.

“Well, they have been a nuisance ever since they arrived on the Ark.” He leaned back and stroked his chin, his optics narrowing. “It doesn’t help to give them brig-time, since it appears to ignite Sideswipe’s, uhm, creative abilities. Usually washing the lower decks, repacking inventory alongside the quartermaster, or if he was really bad, stocktake in Medical.”

“Stockatake?” Intel drawled as he arched an optic ridge, his voice dripping sarcasm.

Blazer’s optics swivelled back to him and he smiled sweetly. “Yes. In medical. Under an irate Ratchet.”

“Ah. I understand.” Intel reset his vocaliser and sat straight, rolling his shoulders. “But those are methods of punishment, how do I ‘handle’ them?” He drew a deep vent and puffed his cheeks. Primus he did not envy Prowl his job in relation to those two.

“Handling them takes a lot more skill.” Blazer admitted as he too straightened in mimic of his superior. Firstly he needed to know why Prowl wasn’t in his office or doling out Sideswipe’s punishment, as was the norm. Something was definitely up. “The Twins respect only those who have ‘earned’ it. I know Commander Prowl has earned their respect. If you don’t mind my asking, sir, where is Commander Prowl and why isn’t he allocating punishment?” He scrunched up his faceplate as he cast  a glance around the sparsely furnished office.

Intel shifted in his chair and folded his hands on the desk, his ridges furrowing. More and more mechs in the Department were starting to ask him the same question, but after the meeting where all the commanders had been informed their SIC was resigning for undisclosed reasons, they had been asked not to spread the news.

He glanced up at Blazer’s worried optics and felt a small inkling of pity. He burned to talk to someone, anyone really. And he and Blazer had known about each other for a long time, as they were both seconds in their respective departments, not really friends, but more than acquaintances. Yet, was it enough to take the mech into his confidence?

He sighed and rubbed his optics tiredly. Truth was he was swamped with work, and he really needed an ally at the moment. He dropped his hand. “This information is not to go outside of this office.”

Blazer frowned and cocked his helm. That did not bode well. “Understood.” He said slowly as he held Intel’s gaze.

“Commander Prowl has…” He paused, maybe he shouldn’t tell Blazer the full scope just yet. He drew a deep vent. “Commander Prowl is leaving the Ark at Cybertron.”

“What!?” Blazer gasped. This was very unexpected. Prowl had been a part of the Ark’s permanent crew since she became the flagship. “Are you sure? Why?” He blurted, shaking his helm.

“No one is sure. The reasons are undisclosed, but…” Intel lowered his voice as he glanced around the room and leaned towards Blazer. “I think it has to do with his health.”

“His health?” Blazer echoed, mouth slack.

Intel nodded and leaned back. Primus it felt liberating to be able to talk to someone. “Yes. The past two quartexes the Commander’s health has been declining to such an extent that it became noticeable, even to the Department.” He nodded towards the door. “Medic Ratchet placed him on light duty two decaorns ago, and this morning he nearly fainted in his office. He took the rest of the shift off. Asked me to handle whatever situations arise.” He rubbed his brow. “Unfortunately, that included Sideswipe’s antics.”

Blazer worried his bottom lip as he stared blankly at the wall. This changed everything. He would definitively need to get into Intel’s good graces if he was to be promoted. But what could be bothering Prowl? “Do you think it was the assassination attempt on Paradron?” He asked.

Intel shrugged. “That would be my best guess. Either way, things are going to be changing around here.”

Prowl jolted awake, battle-protocols onlining. He flared his doorwings. The datapad clattered to the floor as he shot to his pedes, wobbled, then steadied himself against the desk.

His vents heaved and he searched the room for what had startled him. He was in his quarters. Alone. Data from his doorwings confirmed he was alone. He drew a deep vent and slowly released it. Alone. Safe. He rubbed his tired optics and popped his neck. Shaking his helm, he bent and picked up the datapad, off-lining his battle-protocols. He drew another deep vent as his spark continued to race. Gently he rubbed at his chassis. No doubt the sparklet had received a fright as well. Maybe he had dozed off and…

A sharp rap on the door caught his attention. Prowl drew himself up and placed the datapad on the desk. Flaring his doorwings once more he focused on the door, but the voice more than the spark-signature confirmed his visitor and he bit back a curse.

“Prowl open the fragging door or Primus help me I’ll…”

Setting his doorwings neutrally, Prowl sent the command for the door to open. What did they want? He wasn’t scheduled for another check for at least two more orns.

Ratchet nearly fell through the door. His blazing optics zeroed in on Prowl and Prowl had a moment to regret opening the door.

“What the frag took you so long?!” Ratchet bellowed a he stomped towards Prowl, motioning him to sit down.

Prowl sank into the chair and half-sparkedly resigned himself to the scan tingling over his frame. He narrowed his optics at the Medic’s fluffed armour, the calculating optics, and the brisk way Ratchet moved.

“What is bothering you, Ratchet?” Prowl asked evenly, his optics roaming the medic’s frame as he leaned back. His defence protocols pinged him in the background, urging him to at least place them on ‘active’. The medic was testy, and Prowl needed to be ready should he defend his sparklet.

Ratchet glared at Prowl from under his thick optic ridges, noting the tense line in Prowl’s jaw. He stilled. Shaking his helm slowly, he purposely relaxed his frame. “You have not been answering your comms. Red Alert pinged me to check up on you.”

Prowl frowned and checked his logs. Surely he would have heard if…oh. Red Alert had pinged him. Five time. Then Ratchet had tried, unsuccessfully, and then he had woken with the irate medic at his door. He briefly shuttered his optics.

“My apologies, Ratchet. I believe I must have…slipped…into recharge.” He sent a quick ping to Red Alert, apologising while at the same time notifying him that everything was fine and Ratchet was there.

Ratchet pressed his lips together as he tapped Prowl’s wrist port. The port slipped open and Ratchet connected. “You are burning through energon at a faster rate than anticipated. ”

“Will increasing my intake amend that?” Prowl shifted into a more comfortable position. His helm felt heavy and he shuttered his optics.

“We can try, although I doubt the good it will do.”

Prowl peered at Ratchet through half-closed shutters. “Then what do you suggest?”

“The sire?” Ratchet lifted both optic ridges. The words hung between them like an open challenge.

Prowl was not going to rise up to it.

He would not. He could do this. Alone.

He turned his helm away and shuttered his optics. He ignored Ratchet’s huff, his brisk movements as he finished the scan.

“You. Medbay. Now.” Ratchet stood and extended his hand to Prowl.

Prowl stared at the offered hand.

Ratchet closed his fist and folded his arms across his chassis. “Stop being an aft about this Prowl. We want what is best for both you and the sparkling. And right now that fragging sire would be option number one. This will go a Pit lot easier on the both of you if you allowed him to at least donate CNA!”

“Ratchet.” Prowl’s quiet voice froze the medic and Prowl waited until Ratchet deigned to look at him. “I understand your concerns.”

Ratchet shook his helm. “I don’t think you do.”

“Ratchet…” Prowl placed both hands on the chairs armrests and ducked his helm. He didn’t have the energy for another argument on the sire. It would have been a different matter had Jazz been on board the Ark. He might have been tempted to ask Jazz to at least… He drew a deep vent. At least what? Donate? Take responsibility? He lifted his helm. Jazz wasn’t here. He was scheduled back for at least another three quartexes. That excluded the time needed to recuperate off-ship. Jazz was not an option. “I understand, but please believe me when I state that it is not possible.”

The old medic narrowed his optics at the tactician.

Prowl ignored him and pushed off the chair, thankful when Ratchet grabbed his elbow and stabalised him. A refuel alert flashed across his HUD and he recoiled at the thought of going into the boisterous, smelly recroom. It was too close to mid-orn break.

“Let’s head to medbay.” Ratchet tugged him towards the door.

“I need to refuel.”

“I’ll give you a cube at medbay.”

The track towards the medbay was thankfully quiet, passing only one mech who saluted before continuing on his way.

The medbay doors slid open and First Aid scurried towards them.

“Prowl’s room is ready. The scanners are prepped and a warm cube of energon is waiting.” He smiled warmly and waved Prowl towards the back.

Prowl cocked an optic ridge at Ratchet, but the chartreus mech only made a shooing motion, a grin plastered on his old, rugged face.

Huffing, Prowl followed the younger medic.

“What are the tests for?” Prowl asked as he climbed onto the berth, relaxing against the soft gel-like padding as he watched First Aid hook up some odd-looking machines. He tentatively took the warm cube and sipped it. He preferred it when First Aid mixed the concoction. It tasted infinitely better than Ratchet’s brew.

“Two things basically.” First Aid’s gentle voice smoothed over Prowl. “First, we need to keep track of the sparkling’s growth. Secondly, seeing as the sire is not contributing, he’s drawing more from your spark. We need to make sure he doesn’t pull too much energy from you.” The young medic smiled as deft digits sought the medical port right above Prowl’s sparkchamber. “How have you been doing?”

Prowl watched the young medic, debating his answer. He could say he was feeling fine, and like Ratchet the young medic would probably know he’s lying outright, but unlike Ratchet he wouldn’t  say anything. Or he could say the truth and they’d put him on medical leave. And what on Cybertron would he do for another six quartexes stuck on a military vessel on medical leave?

“You are thinking too hard on a simple question.” First Aid grinned, his optics sparkling as he watched Prowl from underneath his optic ridges. He absently tapped a few commands into a medical datapad.

Prowl’s lips tipped upward ruefully as he shook his helm. He sipped the tangy brew, the feeling of warmth suffusing his frame as the substance hit his tanks. “I am fine.” He cleared his vocaliser as he glanced at the monitoring machines. His gaze fixated on the sparkmonitor and the second beat rhythmically pulsing. He was fine. Tired. But fine.

“Well, uhm. Ok.” First Aid placed the datapad next the berth and rubbed his hands together. “Uhm, you are going to, unfortunately, have to remain in medbay overnight, or rather for the next two shifts. Hope you didn’t have any plans.” He bit his lip as he cautiously stared at Prowl.

Prowl’s doorwings twitched. He was scheduled back at the office. Intel would probably be worried. He had told the younger mech that he was going to work in his quarters, but he would be back by mid-shift break.  It was past mid-shift break. He still had to file the inventory for quadrex Zeta-12. “I am expected back at the office. Are these unscheduled tests really necessary?”

“Well…” First Aid grimaced as he scratched his helm. “Ratchet wants to monitor your fuel combustion rate and determine the energy levels siphoned by the sparklet. So I guess they are? Is there anything I can bring you or get for you?”

Prowl cocked his helm to the side. “If you would be so kind as to bring me a tray on which to place datapads, I would be much obliged.” He leaned over the side of the berth and pressed the keys that would enable the berth to rise to support his back and more importantly his doorwings. When he turned back, the young medic stood next to his berth, his faceplate pinched and his digits fiddling.

Prowl arched an optic ridge.

“Uhm…” He motioned over his back to the main medical ward. “Medic Ratchet says…no.”

“No?”

“Yes…I mean no!...I mean, yes, Medic Ratchet says no. Argh!” First Aid covered his faceplate with both hands and tucked his armour, heat pouring off his frame. “You were pulled from active duty twenty breems ago.”

Prowl dropped back against the berth, lips pressed firmly in a straight line. Damn them all.

First Aid peeked through his digits, drew a deep breath and dropped his hands. He puffed his cheeks and blew out the air. “I…I can place you in, uh, stasis for the durations of the tests. I don’t believe it will have any negative effects on you, the sparkling or the tests.”

“No, thank-you. I prefer to be awake.” Prowl clipped as he stared at the monitors beeping their taunts around him. He had to find some way to get Prime to allow him to at least work datapads. They weren’t draining and his battle-computer could run through them in basic mode.  Thoughts of his impending trail flitted through his processor. His tanks knotted. He could not do nothing while he was stationed on the Ark. He had to work. He had to keep his processor occupied with anything else rather than speculation about the bleak future. He had to talk to Optimus. Optimus would understand. He would…

“Hey! Commander, Prowl, sir!”

Prowl shuttered his optics and ducked his chin at the familiar voice and sparksignature bounding into his so-called private room. Primus, not now. Drawing a deep vent, he steeled himself. “Sideswipe.”

“So guess what…?” Sideswipe leaned his hands onto the berth, winking at First Aid as the young medic inched away from the obnoxious mech that he had gotten to know through Ratchet’s rants.

“I do not play guessing games, Sideswipe.” Prowl flicked a doorwing dismissively at the red mech, his glacial optics warning the red mech to keep his distance. He was not in a tolerable mood.

Sideswipe ignored him. “I get to serve punishment duty here in the medbay. Which means I’ll be keeping you company! Courtesy of Red. Ooh yeah.” He punched the air and wiggled his optic ridges at Prowl.

Prowl kept his cool gaze on Sideswipe as he addressed First Aid. “I have reconsidered. If it is safe to do so, please place me in light stasis for the remainder of the tests.”

Ratchet pressed against the cold metal door in his pristine office and shuttered his optics. The office was quiet save for the ever-present hum of the external chronometer diligently ticking away the clicks on the far wall. He opened his optics and started at the red numerals blinking away precious time.

Tick-tick-tick-tick.

Mechanically it counted until another breem had passed, then another, and another.

He drew a deep vent, frame sagging as he pushed off the silver door. “Frag.”

The sparklet was siphoning too much energy from Prowl’s own spark, and it was causing the Praxian to tire quickly and run through fuel reserves faster. Unfortunately, there was not too much he could medically do to help Prowl. He was already receiving as much additives as his tank could process. Rest was the only thing he could prescribe.

Sighing, Ratchet slowly walked to his desk. He rubbed his chin methodically as his processor raced. Maybe he could talk to Perceptor about a way of refining the additives in such a way that Prowl’s systems would be able to absorb more. He didn’t dare suggest synthetic energy to Wheeljack. The mech might do something hazardous.

He plopped into his chair. Prowl was only a little more than four quartexes in and the sparklet was draining too much. It could kill Prowl. And in turn that would kill it.

“Frag it all.” He opened a joint line to Optimus, Ironhide and Red Alert.

::Prowl is as of now on full medical leave.::

::Is he alright?:: Optimus was the first to respond, their leader’s worry clear in the digital voice.

::Yes. He’s drained, that’s all, but he’s burning through energon faster than Blurr can run. It’s syphoning additional energy from his spark.:: He had warned Prowl this would happen, and the stubborn glitch hadn’t taken him seriously. And look where that landed him! The medbay, exactly as he had predicted.

::What can you do for him?:: Red Alert asked, his tone tight.

 ::Not much I can do except keep him on berthrest. I’m going to talk with Perceptor about refining the minerals even more. Hopefully his systems will absorb that. In the meantime, I’m going double his energon intake, see if it helps.:: Ratchet squinted through his office window where he could just-just see Prowl. He frowned as a blotch of red moved in-and-out of his vision. Surely that wouldn’t be…Sideswipe?

::Red Alert? What is the odd chance that Sideswipe is in my medbay?::

::Punishment duty, but more of an extra optic on Prowl.::

“Fragging Pit-spawn!” Ratchet growled as he sank back into his chair.

::What about the sire? Did you talk to Prowl again?:: Ironhide’s gravelly voice filtered through his thoughts.

Ratchet stilled. ::I got a hint on him.::

Pregnant silence filled the the comm. link.

::Ratchet?:: Optimus prompted.

Ratchet pursed his lips. ::I tried talking to him again about accepting donations from the sire, and he replied, and I quote verbatim, that ‘it is not possible’.::

::Not possible? As in terminated?:: Red Alert asked.

::I’m not sure. There is some way that we can narrow the field.:: Ratchet switched his console on and entered his passcodes. The screen beeped green then logged him into the system. Quickly he sought the ‘deceased’ log.

::I’ll check the transfer logs.:: Red Alert stated. ::It is safe to assume that the only transferee from the Ark before Paradron was Midriff?::

::Yes.:: Optimus stated. ::But a significant number of mechs transferred at Paradron.::

::That is not such a problem.:: Red Alert countered. ::I doubt Prowl would have had a relationship that deep with a common acquaintance. All I have to do is narrow down who had contact with him and…::

::I don’t wanna be a wet rag…:: Ironhide’s deep voice was enough to pause Ratchet’s perusal through the records, ::But we are sticking our olfactory’s where they don’t belong. If Prowl wanted us to know, he’d have told us. Going on like this ain’t something that sits right with me.::

Frag you Ironhide. Ratchet clamped his jaw and shuttered his optics. Deep, very deep down, he knew the black mech was right. Yet…::This is for his own health, Ironhide. Not because I’m curious.::

::Yeah? Well we all know how private a mech Prowl is. If Prowl says it ain’t possible, then maybe we should take his word for it.::

Ratchet’s fist curled in. So close. They finally have a lead and here the fragging gun-toting, tank of a mech was throwing a spanner in the works!

::You are right, Ironhide. Ratchet, Red Alert, I appreciate your efforts, but…::

::What if he’s not dead!? Prowl needs the slagger!:: Ratchet spat. He pinched the bridge of his olfactory. Didn’t they realise Prowl could die if too much energy was siphoned from his spark? He dropped his hand to the desk, staring idly at the lists of deceased mecha. They should have left Prowl on Paradron.

::Ratchet, is Prowl in dire need of the sire?:: Optimus’s calm voice pierced the fog of worry that wrapped itself tightly about his processor.

::Not yet. But he’s not far from it.:: He answered remotely.

::Keep us updated. We’ll do what we can, while still respecting Prowl’s privacy.::

Ratchet cut the connection as his optics remained on the screen. The designations on the list blurred together. The list of deceased. Would Prowl’s designation join those? The sparklet didn’t even have a designation yet. But it wouldn’t matter. The new spark would be naturally aborted once Prowl’s spark fades. It would fade alongside his carrier’s, never even realising that it was the main contributor to its own death.

Ratchet shuttered his optics and rested his helm on his arms.

He had to think of something.

Author’s note: Hope the update was worth the exceptionally long wait. Talking of which, I believe I’ll be back to regular updates on Fridays. :)

Chapter Text

Slowly the little stealth ship inched closer to the cleverly hidden hatch underneath the belly of the giant Ark. In reality, the little black stealth ship more closely resembled an evacuation pod than a ship, but she had been designed that way.

She had been designed to fool, and designed to carry but a single passenger.

Soundlessly, her passenger, a skilled pilot in his own right, maneuvered her. In the silent vacuum of space, no mech was the wiser to the docking arms reaching for her. In mere clicks, the little ship was docked in the dark chamber fitted especially to accommodate her. With a final shudder, her plates settled and her gently thrumming engine switched off.

At the soft beep Red Alert swiveled around in his chair and stared hard at the screen displaying the motion-detector data.

His optics narrowed on one small, seemingly insignificant section.

There was an anomaly.

Deft digits flew over the keyboard as he accessed and zoomed in on external cameras recently installed on the Ark. They were his optics. They had seen something.

Hawk-optics scanned every inch of the combined display.

The screen mocked him with the dark, emptiness of space. He drew a deep vent and held it.

Something…something was out there.

He could feel it.

Inside the small, hidden special operation hanger, Jazz stretched languidly, his silver frame popping pleasantly after the long, cramped ride in the little stealth ship. "Primus it's good to be back." He whispered into the welcoming darkness.

It had been a quartex since his extraction. A single, fragging quartex of getting back into shape. He cracked his neck from side to side. Mirage would not spare him longer. He drew a deep vent. Mirage was too secretive about the whole affair.

A small, nagging voice at the back of his processor told him something was up. But he was always paranoid right after a mission. Especially one with a hot extraction. He rubbed his shoulder absently. It had been a near miss, but his shoulder was still healing. At least the Cons thought ‘Filch’ was dead.

He dropped his hand and rolled his shoulder, then opened the small, hidden door that gave him access into a modified vent. That vent will take him straight to level two, and from there it would be a breeze into the fire escape corridors and then walla! Home free! 'Raj would bring out the highgrade and tell him what the frag was going on. He grinned into inky blackness.

He grabbed a hold of the handle on the inside of the vent and like quicksilver, slithered into the small passageway.

Easy as taking energon from a cyberkitten.

Red Alert jumped to his pedes as a motion detector blared to life.

"I knew it!" He slammed his fist on the table, a low growl escaping him.

"What's up, Red?" Inferno materialized next to him, his field pulled in tight and his frame tense. He bent his helm and peered at the screen, his frame nearly touching the smaller red and white mech next to him.

"There!" Red Alert pointed to a small blip. A tiny spark jumped between his two horns. "Section 2b. Lock down level two. We have an unannounced visitor." He withdrew his pistol and adjusted the stun-level. He turned bright optic on Inferno. "You armed?"

The large firemech set his jaw and nodded.

"Good. Send a notification out to all those stationed on level two to immediately evacuate to level three. Blazer!" Red Alert looked for the orange-green mech and spotted him at a console. "Observe the deck. We have possible infiltration." He cocked his stun-gun. "Should you receive confirmation, lock down the lower five levels and gas it!"

Red Alert paused, his chin up and optics focused on things only he could see. "You know what? Prep to gas level 2!"

He didn't wait for Blazer to answer him as he swung his sharp gaze around the room. Mechs sat at their stations, but he knew they were keeping a scanner on him. He felt it. Good. They needed to be vigilant. His optics snagged on two other mechs openly watching him.

"Ryder! Booster! Follow!" He motioned Inferno to his side and they set off.

No one. NO. ONE. Was going to infiltrate his ship.

Not on his watch.

Jazz meandered down the hall of level two, a soft tune playing from his side speakers. Primus it felt good to be back on friendly turf!

He glanced around. Odd that he hadn't encountered anyone yet. He'd have to talk to Prowl about that. Wasn't good to have the lower levels unmanned.

Who knew what, or who, might slink around.

"Has everyone been evacuated off level 2?" Red Alert checked his gun again. It was on the highest stun level. If the gas didn't take the intruder out, his stun gun most certainly would. He swallowed and rolled his shoulders back.

"Affirmative, sir." Inferno moved next to him, his larger frame shielding his superior. Red Alert glanced up at the red mech and shot him a quick smile.

::Blazer, deploy gas 2257.::

Jazz halted and sniffed. "What the frag?" He knelt, sensor net turned to its highest as a tangy smell tingled his olfactory.

Something wasn't right. There shouldn't be gas on this level.

Jazz jerked back, his forearm rising to his faceplate as if to shield himself from an attack. His visor flashed black as his sensors rebelled at the acrid stench.

He shook his helm and fell against the wall. The world spun and dark spots danced and spun and blinked in his visor. He cycled his optics, his spark pounding and his helm heavy.

A warning blip on his HUD informed him of systems shutting down.

He shook his helm again, black ops programming fighting and failing to keep him online. Slag. Whatever this was, it was potent. He onlined his battle protocols.

The darkness closed in and the last thing he saw was the silhouette of a mech, gun raised, and … he squinted…blue sparks?

"Argh frag!" Jazz rolled to his side and rubbed a wrist beneath his visor. His helm pounded and his sensory net glitched. “Hmmm”.

"Twenty breems. I have to admit I am impressed."

Jazz shuttered his burning optics and drew a deep vent. He calmed marginally at the familiar, and admittedly welcome, voice. "'Raj, what the Pit was that?"

"That was a gas by the name, or rather tag of 2257. Formulated by our new security director. Took you out for twenty breems."

Jazz onlined his visor and stared groggily at Mirage. The blurry image of the noble was leaning against the cell door, all languid arrogance as he smiled slyly at Jazz. Frag him.

"You didn't think to warn me?" Jazz asked as he sat up on the small, metal berth. He shook his helm and shuttered his optics, then opened them wide. Good. The world was losing its blurriness. He glanced around at the shiny walls and frowned. The walls looked almost…new? "Did the brig receive an overhaul while I was gone?"

"Last quartex. Courtesy of Sideswipe." The noble pushed off the wall and stood in front of the laser bars. "Now, we only have a few breems before Red Alert waltzes in here and let you out. He is rather…upset…that he was not notified of your return. The Prime has been dealing with him while you were soundly recharging and he is on his way to release you."

"Thank Primus for small miracles." Jazz groused and leaned his helm against the cool metal. He tagged a note in his HUD to get the formula. If it managed to knock him out for twenty breems it was worth using in operations.

"Hmmm, yes. Small miracles indeed." Mirage smirked, his elegant optic ridges arched at Jazz in a way that said that the Master Spy knew something Jazz didn't. At least not yet.

"What the frag is going on, Mirage?" Jazz grit his denta. This was not his idea of a welcome home. There was no highgrade, and he was behind bars.

"You are needed back here. Domestic issues."

Jazz frowned and leaned his back against the wall. "Domestic issues?" He massaged his temple gently, hoping it would diffuse the bludgeoning helmache.

Mirage nodded and glanced into the corner of the brig to where a camera sat staring unblinkingly at them. "We'll talk in…"

The locks of the brig doors disengaged and a small, red and white mech stepped in, helm held high and lips pressed into a thin, white line. His frame armour was tightly clamped, but the mech exhumed an aura quiet confidence about him.

Jazz cocked an optic ridge and canted his helm at the stranger. This must be the notorious inventor of gas 2257. Interesting.

"General, I am to escort you to the command centre." The mech clipped, his back ramrod straight. His optics, like molten pools of silver, stared straight at Jazz like a jeweller looking for a fatal flaw that would give away a fake gemstone.

Jazz bit back the smile and nodded, his shrewd optics calculating as he sized the mech up. Behind the suspicious optics a powerful processor hid. He would need to go through this mech’s file. "Mech, it's been a Pit of a long time since anyone addressed me by my rank." He waved a hand dismissively and pushed up. "Designation's Jazz."

The little mech continued his silent vigilance, his lips tight.

Mirage cleared his vocaliser. "Jazz, may I introduce Lt. Col. Red Alert, Security Director of the Ark. I will leave you to become acquainted." He turned and inclined his helm at Jazz, then turned and nodded at Red Alert before gracefully exiting the brig.

The door shut behind Mirage with a resounding clang that echoed through the nearly empty corridors of the brig. Jazz relaxed his stance, his perceptive optics hidden behind his visor.

Red Alert slowly stepped towards Jazz, his frame fluid and graceful like a predator as those optics kept staring unblinkingly at the saboteur.

Jazz stepped close enough to the laser bars for the heat to warm his armour.

"Why did you not hail your approach?" Red Alert came to a stop just beyond arm's length.

Smart. Jazz smirked and shrugged. "Never had to do it before. Usually clearance is given by the HOD." He tipped his helm back and folded his arms over his chassis.

"I received no notification from Capt. Mirage." Red Alert stepped forward so that only the laser bars separated them. "I don't care who the frag you are or what rank you hold. From now on, special operations will clear all departures and arrivals with me."

The laser bars shimmered then deactivated. Jazz sidestepped the security director, but halted next to the door. A playful smile gracing his handsome faceplate, he turned towards the security director. "I'll clear that with Prowl first. Now, aren't we supposed to head to the command deck?"

If he saw the way Red Alert bristled he didn't comment on it. He'd win the antsy mech over, but not while he was bristling from pede-to-helm. Mechs tended to be unreasonable when peeved.

The security director marched over to the door and inserted his codes. The door slid open and he motioned Jazz to proceed ahead of him. Not exactly a position Jazz cherished, but he’d indulge the mech for now.

The journey to the command was rather slow as they passed several mechs in the corridor, all of them wanting a few clicks to chat with Jazz.

"Hey Jazz! Welcome back!"

Jazz ignored the way Red Alert exhaled as he turned to greet the red frontliner. "Hey Siders! Whoa! That second lieutenant marking on you? How the frag did that happen?"

Jazz bumped fists with Sideswipe and the frontliner shrugged. "I honestly don't know, but I'm not complaining! You should see the override codes I got!"

Red Alert cleared his vocaliser. "Prime is waiting." His pede tapped the ground and he drummed his digits on his crossed arms.

"Hey Red." Sideswipe winked before turning his attention back to Jazz. "You up for energon later?" He placed his hands on his hips and rocked back and forth on his pedes, his faceplate flushed.

"Maybe mech. Depends on Prowl." Jazz shrugged. "Probably gonna meet with him. You know how he is."

Sideswipe stopped his rocking motion and quickly ducked his helm before shrugging.  He pulled his lips back in a grimace. "Yeah, um, I don't think he's…"

"General! The Prime. Is. Waiting." Red Alert sidled up to Jazz, his optics flashing at Sideswipe.

The look was not lost on Jazz, but he bit his glossa.

"What?" Sideswipe wagged his helm and rolled his optics. "I only…"

"Sideswipe. You are going to be late for your shift." Red Alert lifted his chin and squared his shoulder.

Jazz tilted his helm back as he watched the silent by-play between the mechs. Something was up, but he’d talk to Sides without an annoyed audience playing watchdog. "You know Sides, we'll catch that energon later." He waved and turned back towards the lift. "You coming Lt. Col?" He threw over his shoulder as he sauntered into the lift.

The doors slid closed and Jazz rolled his shoulders, popping them to release some of the building tension. The edge of being in the field hadn't left him yet, and the brittle silence and near antagonism of the mech standing next to him wasn't helping. He'd need to talk to Prowl about getting a proper welcoming party. He smiled. Maybe even a proper ‘welcome-home’ from him. In private, of course.

The lift stopped and he cleared his vocaliser, motioning Red Alert to take the lead. The mech shot him a withering look before marching out.

Thankfully the walk towards the Prime's office wasn't a long one. He exhaled in relief as the doors slid open and he meandered in. Ironhide sat in his usual spot next to the Prime, Ratchet was drumming his digits against the table's smooth surface, and Prowl's spot was empty.

Jazz shrugged off the nagging feeling that something was up. Something concerning Prowl. He watched as Red Alert took a seat next to Ratchet. Unless something drastic happened, Prowl should have been here already.

"Welcome back, Jazz. It is good to see you returned in good health." Optimus smiled kindly at him and Jazz turned his focus back to the assembled mechs.

"Thanks boss." He took his normal seat and leaned back in his chair, folding his hands over his abdominal plates. "Good to be back, though as to welcomes, I've had better."

Optimus shifted in his seat and glanced at Red Alert.

Red Alert puffed his armour and tilted his chin. "Had you, or your HOD, followed the proper protocols, then it would have been better."

"I have no doubt about that." Jazz winked at Red Alert. Now was the time to make amends. "Though I admit I'm impressed. No one's ever stopped me before or thrown me in the brig, least not on the Ark. And that gas, what was it, 2257? That's impressive stuff."

Ratchet growled. "I am checking your systems to see what that 'impressive stuff' fragged up in your frame!"

"It didn't frag up anything!" Red Alert shot back, his ridges drawn tight together.

"We'll…"

"Ratch, leave the mech. He's doing his job." Jazz lolled his helm back. Remnants of the processor ache still lingered, but it was dissipating quickly. He lifted his pedes and placed them snugly on the table. Prowl hated it when he did that, but it was comfortable.

Red Alert glanced at Jazz, his expression neutral.

Jazz winked at him and the mech quickly looked away. Good. He was making progress. But as much progress as he was making with the SD, he really needed to talk to Raj.

"So, what is this little meeting about? We still waiting for Prowl?" He glanced at the door, a frown pulling at his mouth. It really wasn't like Prowl to be late. That nagging little voice got louder.

"Prowl's on medical leave."

He whipped his helm towards Prime. "Medical leave?" He dropped his pedes to the ground.

"Yes. Indefinitely." Red Alert tacked on before any of the others could say anything. The heated look he sent the others spoke volumes, and Jazz was sorely tempted to hack into their comm lines.

He narrowed his optics, thankful that the visor hid them from the world. "Why is he on medical leave?" That little voice was screeching in the back of his processor. Was Prowl alright? What happened?

Optimus drew a deep vent and settled back in his chair. "Jazz needs to know." He spoke to the room at large, but his optics zeroed in on Red Alert. "He is the Third-in-Command of the Autobot forces. He will need to take Prowl's place until a replacement can be confirmed."

"Whoa, hold it mechs." Jazz threw his hands in the air. "Somebody had better fragging well tell me what the frag is going on."

"You really want to know?" Red Alert nodded as his faceplate contorted. "Commander Prowl resigned."

Jazz cocked his helm, optics narrowed as his gaze flitted from one sombre faceplate to another. First medical leave…and now resignation? His spark sped up and his armour tingled. 'Domestic issues...'. Mirage’s words echoed ominously in his processor. He swallowed and reclined in his seat. "Resigned?" He asked lowly, optic ridges raised as his gaze rested on Optimus. "That doesn't sound like Prowl."

"Oh for frag's sake." Ratchet blurted and slammed his fist against the cool steel of the table. "Prowl's a carrier!"

Jazz jerked his helm back as if he had been hit, the world screeching to a blinding halt. "Say what?" He cycled his optics.

"Prowl is a carrier, and according to the law, illegally in the Autobots. We only discovered it recently. I am sure you can deduce how we know that." Optimus said, his shrewd optics pinned on the silver saboteur.

"Frag." Jazz wiped a hand over his mouth plates, a coldness spreading through his core. Frag. Frag. Frag. So this was what Mirage had meant with fragging 'domestic issues'. He frowned. He hadn't been on the Ark for nearly four quartexes. A newspark was confirmed at two quartexes. The realisation hit him in the gut and he shuttered his optics. Had he read Prowl completely wrong? Did Prowl have a lover? Someone he didn’t know about? He drew a deep vent, his intakes in a tight vice as anger bubbled in boiled in his lines.

"The sire?" He bit out. So much for a fragging stable relationship. He rolled his shoulders, conscious of all optics on him. Don't broadcast your emotions. Keep it cool.

"Unknown." Optimus said and leaned back in his chair, folding his large hands over his abdominal plates.

"Prowl refuses to tell us! He fragging needs to!" Ratchet's fist uncurled and slapped into the cool steel of the round table. "He needs to!"

Jazz appraised Ratchet, the flared armour and the dark optics. Ratchet only fussed like that when a patient was in danger. If Prowl didn't tell them, then that means – "The sire isn't contributing?" He ducked his helm forward, brows furrowing in confusion. Why wouldn't Prowl allow that unless...? The anger evaporated as swiftly as it had come, replaced by coldness that permeated his entire being. His vents stuttered. Oh frag.

"No, he is not." Optimus stated calmly and shot Ratchet a warning glare.

The chartreuse medic sulked back into his chair, arms folded stubbornly over his chassis.

"How far along is he?" Jazz breathed, stubbornly trying to keep his mask from slipping. He had to confirm first before he jumped to conclusions. He laced his knuckles and cracked them, flexing his arms and loosening the taught cables.

A small, blue spark jumping between the horns of the new security director snagged his attention.

Suspicion read as clearly in the mech's optics as if he had voiced it out loud. Jazz turned his helm away.

"Just over five quartexes." Ratched ground out, his chin in the air as he fixated on something behind Optimus.

Jazz froze. Five quartexes. His numb digits furled and unfurled. Frag. He shuttered his optics. He knew there was only one mech that had bared his spark to Prowl five quartexes ago.

A coward who had run away in the name of serving his faction.

A coward that didn't want to commit.

A coward who had to make a decision.

He ducked his chin and vented out slowly. He needed to get out of here. He needed to think. He needed to talk to Prowl.

He wiped his mouth and looked at Optimus. "This is..." He trailed off and shook his helm, shifting his gaze to the ceiling.

"Yeah. Most of us felt that way when we learned about the little 'un." Ironhide shrugged, the bulky mech's first words since this whole, unreal meeting started. "But you look like slag and your visor's too bright."

Jazz nearly jumped across the table to throttle the older mech. Trust the old gunner to pick up on his state. Slag. He needed to get out of here.

"Jazz, medbay." Ratchet zeroed in on him and he felt the vice tighten. His pump was doing double-time, and he was sure every mech in the room could hear it pounding away in his chassis. He needed to get out - he needed to think. He swallowed, his throat dry.

"Ratch, mech, I'm fine. Gas just got to my helm is all!" He waved his hand in the air, hoping the mechs would take his word for it. "Just need to 'charge it off! I'll be there after I've had a couple joors to sleep it off and my debrief!" Ratchet would probe. He couldn't handle that now. Primus he just needed some time to think!

"The gas is causing side-effects?" Ratchet swirled around and glared at Red Alert. "You never mentioned side-effects?"

"It's perfectly safe! It's been tested multiple times, but it does leave a helmache." Red Alert shrugged and got up. He canted his helm as he looked Jazz over. He drew a deep vent. "I am needed back at the Hub. From now on, General, I expect to at least be notified when a vessel embarks or arrives. No details, just a notification. By your leave, Prime?" Red Alert raised his chin and arched an optic ridge.

"Dismissed." Optimus granted and folded his hands on the table, his optics pinned on the silver saboteur.

Ironhide got up as well, grunting and joints creaking. "I also need to get back to a training session with some of the newbies." He stopped next to Jazz and laid a large paw on his shoulder. His cerulean optics softened and his optics creased into a warm smile.

"Good to have you back." He patted Jazz's shoulder and exited after Red Alert.

"I want to run a check-up. This is the first time the gas has been used on this ship and it was used on one of our own." Ratchet groused and pinched his olfactory. "I want a check-up and I might just as well do your post-mission check."

"Jazz will be there after next shift." Optimus said and nodded at the medic, his soft, authoritative voice leaving no room for argument.

Ratchet dropped his hand and glared at Optimus. He drew a deep vent. "Fine."

The thwarted medic got up, his chair screeching like an unholy creature from the Pit as he stomped towards the door. He halted next to Jazz and pointed a digit centimetres from his faceplate. "I have enough stupid slaggers on this ship. Don't. Be. Late." He huffed and marched out.

The door slid shut and Jazz drew a shaky vent.

"Thanks, Op." Jazz smiled at Optimus, thankful for the small reprise. His smile faltered when the Prime's optics rested on him, piercing into the very depth of his spark.

Jazz’s spark hitched. He knows. He glanced at the door like a trapped trubo-fox. His instincts yelled at him to run. He swallowed. He would not run.

Not this time.

Optimus leaned back in his chair and raised his optics to the light fixture. "Prowl will not admit to it, but he tires quickly. He is in his quarters recharging. I suggest you do the same." Before you see him. Optimus smiled and stood, shooing Jazz with his hand.

"Yeah." Jazz drew in a deep vent and got up. He opened his mouth, but no words came. He closed it and swallowed, nodding slowly. He’d talk to Optimus later. He needed to talk to Prowl first. He lifted his helm and looked at Optimus. "Guess I'm on my way then."

“Yes.” Optimus smiled wanly, his optics troubled.

Jazz glanced away. He couldn’t stay any longer. Silently he left and hurried down the corridor, barely returning the friendly greetings from mechs he passed.

In the doorway, Optimus watched the silver mech walk away.

He shuttered his optics and rubbed a hand over his tired faceplate.

How many more were going to walk away because of that law?

Chapter Text

My apologies for missing last week's update. A few unexpected personal issues. Thank-you to all of you who reviewed/gave kudos. I really appreciate each one and enjoy reading your reviews. Had it not been for my limited (personal) internet time, I would have loved to reply. Just know that I really appreciate the support!!

That said...enjoy:

Jazz inhaled slowly, balling his fists and trying to get his racing spark under control. A draft of frigid air drifted through the corridors and caressed his frame. He shivered.

::What are you doing, General?::

Red Alert’s voice was crisp, threatening. And with good reason.

Jazz looked at the non-descript steel door in front of him and swallowed. Once he went through that door there was no turning back. He glanced down the corridor. He could still run. Prowl hadn’t told anyone – he could…

::Jazz?::

He shuttered his optics. No. He couldn’t. He was done running. He flexed his hands and rolled his shoulders.

::I need to talk to Prowl. Privately.::

::Why?::

He drew a vent. ::You know why.::

::Commander Prowl does not need any more pressure. He has enough.::

Jazz nodded. ::I know. I’m not here to add to it.::

He lifted a hand and stopped millimetres from the keypad. How many times had he gone through this door, taken what he had wanted, needed, and left.

He pressed the first few digits of his ops-override code. It was time he returned the favour.

::Jazz!:: Red Alert’s voice was taught.

::Red, trust me in this. And if you don’t trust me, ask Optimus.:: He cut the connection.

He pressed the final digit. The light blinked from red to green.

The door slid open, and he stepped through.

Prowl was vaguely aware of the sound of his door sliding open, then of light spilling into his quarters before it darkened again. He drew a frustrated vent. Couldn’t they leave him in peace for a few joors?

“I am fine.” He growled and pulled his doorwing up to shield his faceplate, hoping recharge would welcome him again into its comfortable embrace.

He waited for the mech to respond, probably Ratchet, or judging by the silence, First Aid. He flicked his doorwing, not bothering to scan. “First Aid, I am recharging and fuelling as requested.”

“Should I be worried about a mech designated ‘First Aid’?”

Prowl gasped and bolted upright. “Jazz?!” He stared at the sleek silver frame and dimly lit visor. His spark pulsed in his throat.

“Hey Prowler.” Jazz smiled as he moved forward, none of his inner turmoil visible in his smooth movements. “Thought I’d drop by. OP says you’re ill.” He canted his helm at the drooping doorwings. His smile faltered. He hoped Prowl would tell him the truth, but he had a feeling the tactician wouldn’t be as straightforward.

Prowl opened his mouth, then closed it, his tanks churning. Jazz was not scheduled to be back yet. He was supposed to be undercover for at least a vorn. His optics darted over Jazz’s frame. No obvious injuries. Relief flooded him temporarily before it was replaced with dread. He stood slowly, like a cornered turbofox. “You’re back.” He pointed out blandly and took a step back from the advancing saboteur, his doorwings flaring subtly. He should have taken a damn spark-reading before talking.

Jazz slanted his optics at Prowl’s rigid frame. So no truth then. He swallowed his disappointment. Well, he wasn’t going to wait for Prowl to figure some way to dodge him. That clever little processor was caught off-guard and it was now or never.

He drew a big vent and shrugged, relaxing his stance. They had never been this tense in each other’s presence before. “Yeah. Compromised. Got pulled from the field.” Jazz rubbed his helm and grimaced then dropped his hand. “And good thing, too.” His lips pulled into a thin, straight line as he stared at Prowl, before deliberately dropping his helm to look at Prowl’s chassis.

Prowl moved another step back and ducked his chin, forcing himself not to cover his sparkchamber. The colour drained from his face. How…? He clenched his trembling fists and forced his spark to calm.  “You know?” He asked softly.

“Yeah. I know.” Jazz said and walked forward slowly, carefully. Prowl was tense, but he had to force Prowl to talk to him now. He didn’t want to give Prowl time to think about his answers. Prowl was too methodical. He wanted honest answers.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” It had been the question that had kept Jazz from recharge through the long dark joors since that infamous ‘welcome-back’ meeting. Why? Why hadn’t Prowl told him he was a carrier? He must have suspected something. Did Prowl not trust him? Did Prowl think he wouldn’t take responsibility? Did Prowl think he didn’t want it?

Prowl shuttered his optics and drew a deep breath trying to still his innards. He shook his helm. “I was not sure…” He stopped as he felt Jazz’s hand curl around his forearm.

“Prowler, look at me.” Jazz ordered gently.

Prowl unshuttered his optics and looked at Jazz, his lips a thin, white line.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You assured me you did not wish a commitment.” Prowl said, his voice determined as he locked gazes with Jazz’s visor, wishing he could see into the optics beneath.

The silver mech nodded pensively. “I told you I want more than what we had going.”

“Yes, but you also made it clear you did not want a steady relationship – a commitment.” Prowl retorted, his optics darkening a shade and his doorwings raised. Did Jazz honestly think he would tell so that Jazz would be forced to stay in a relationship with him? What kind of mech did Jazz think he was?

Jazz stroked his thumb up and down Prowl’s forearm, feeling the tension in both his field and frame. “Yeah, I stand guilty there.” Though it’s because I thought you didn’t. He drew a vent and moved another step closer.

 Prowl bristled and pulled away.

“Prowl, I ain’t gonna hurt you.” He said as he reached for Prowl’s other arm, arresting his movement.

Prowl flicked his doorwings back, but made no other move. His felt unsteady. “’Hurt’ is not always manifested in the physical realm, Jazz.”

Jazz ducked his helm and winced. “I know.” He admitted. “And once more I owe you an apology. I’ve used you for my own pleasure, but Prowl, I won’t abandon you or my sparkling.”

Prowl’s doorwings shot up and he took a few steps back, his field flashing as he shrugged off the Polyhexian’s hold.  He lifted his chin as he stared coldly at Jazz. “I do not need nor want your care out of obligation!” He stated coldly. He would not sink that low. He would rather suffer than do that.

Jazz felt his own anger flare and he bit back the retort that sprung to his lips. Did Prowl think he was only acting out of obligation?! He clenched his fists briefly then flexed them, venting steadily. Don’t get angry. Chill, mech. T’s just emotional backlog. “Prowl, I didn’t mean it that way…”

“It certainly came out that way.” Prowl snapped as he moved to the opposite side of the room, his arms folding across his chassis.

“Prowl, please, don’t make this difficult…”

“Difficult?” Prowl echoed as his optic ridges shot up. “You have no idea what difficult is!” He flared his armour.  Jazz was not the one losing everything he had worked for, stood on the threshold of a quarter-marshal,  was carrying, and had to raise the sparkling alone…but you don’t have to…The annoying thought broke into his internal rant and he clenched his denta. Jazz did not want a part of it before, why should he be part of it now?  “Why, Jazz? Why now, would you not abandon us, when you did before?”

“Prowl, that’s not fair. I did not abandon you, I went on a mission…”

Prowl spun towards him, doorwings flared dangerously as his optics darkened. “You did not have to go on that mission! There were others capable of going! I asked you to stay!”

Jazz took a step back and pulled his armour tight. Prowl was right: the mech had asked him to stay, but he had not wanted to because of his fear of forming a commitment. By the time he had decided that he did want more with Prowl, his mission was already scheduled and it was too late to pull out. Surely Prowl knew that? He lifted his hands. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have. But I did, and now I’m back.” Jazz lifted his chin and pushed his shoulders back, his frame open. Now wasn’t the time to further aggravate Prowl. An aggravated Prowl was an unreasonably stubborn Prowl.

He removed his visor, his steel-grey optics simmering with emotions. “I won’t abandon you.”

They stared at each other, the physical rift between them transcending beyond only the distance of the room. Jazz swallowed and took a step closer. He caused this chasm, he had to take the first step to close it. He only prayed to Primus Prowl was willing to listen.

“I’m not good with truth, Prowler.” Jazz said softly as he took another step closer. “I lie for a living. It’s kept me alive.” Another small step. Jazz drew a vent as he briefly dipped his helm. “Contrary to popular belief, I’m not good with mechs either. I never had a stable family unit before. Learned that having someone close is…” He paused and licked his lips, “they more often than not get either taken away or used against ya.” He stopped halfway across the room. “You’re right. I didn’t have to go, but I went on that mission, cause we were getting close. Too close. I ran. I got away from here. Baring sparks scared the frag out of me, Prowl. I’d never done that before.”

Prowl gave a disbelieving huff as he shook his helm. “You think I have?”

“No.” Jazz shook his helm, watching Prowl closely. The doorwings were trembling slightly, his armour clamped, but he hadn’t taken a step away. “Prowl. I’m sorry. I should not have left the way I did.” He raised then dropped his hands in surrender. There was nothing more he could say. They had needed the information. If it hadn’t been him, it would have been some other agent. But in the end, if he had stayed, would this have turned out any different?

Prowl glared at him, before shuttering his optics. He needed time to think. The mech was waylaying his neatly laid-out plans. He could carry alone. He could…

He glanced at Jazz, his optics snagged by the unusual colour of the saboteur’s optics. They were calculating optics. Mystic optics. Lying optics. Beautiful optics. If Jazz stayed, that would increase the new spark’s chances of survival exponentially. It would be extra security for the two of them. But could Jazz be trusted? In all his plans Jazz had always been the one variable that he couldn’t predict. The saboteur’s unpredictability was his greatest asset in the field…but what happened when he was off the field? Could he trust, really trust Jazz to become a constant in his plans? Yet despite being a variable in his plans, Prowl had always found him to be where he needed to be, when he needed him there. Wasn’t that in some twisted way a constant in itself?

He raised a hand and massaged his temple. His battle computer rolled out scenario after scenario, calculating the chances of Jazz staying, the success rates of his plans if he did, the failure rate if Jazz should default… Primus he was developing a helmache. He needed to think. He will talk to Jazz later. When he had had time to work through each scenario. He dropped his hand and turned fully towards the silver mech. “Jazz. If I asked you to leave, would you leave?”

Jazz’s optics hardened briefly and he shook his helm. “No.”

Prowl bit back a curse at the obstinate mech. Why was he always so damn stubborn? “Jazz, I need time to think.”

“And I don’t want you thinking about this with that tac-set of yours! I want to know what you want, without calculating innumerable options and variations to your plans first. Slag it, Prowl.” He wiped a hand over his faceplate. The soft approach wasn’t working as he had hoped.

Prowl’s wings dipped, but he kept his gaze plastered on Jazz. “What I want?” He echoed blandly, his face going blank. “I want my sparkling to live. I want for him to be safe. I want to give him stability, Jazz. Do you really think you can offer that?”

“Yes. I can. The question is can you offer him that alone?” Jazz walked a few paces forward, his gaze narrowed. He was used to confronting Prowl, sometimes winning, sometimes losing, but he would not let the Praxian win this time round. The sparkling was his as well. They were both his. He fingered his diamond-visor in his hands. “You don’t know frag about carrying! You think you’re strong enough to survive the carrying during the protoform formation? Look at you! You’re at five quartexes and already you need more than double the recharge not to mention energon intake. You think your spark’s strong enough to feed the new one alone? Carriers have contributing mates for reasons, Prowl. Practical reasons. I’m not going to endanger my sparkling because you are too damn stubborn.” He folded his arms over his chassis. Frag the soft approach.

Prowl bristled, his voice dropping an octave. “And how long have you known? What gives you the right to claim him now? What…”

“I’m claiming both of you Prowl!” Jazz threw his helm back, his shoulders hunching. Primus the mech was so fragging thick! He drew a deep vent and calmed himself. Maybe he should leave, give Prowl some time to think. But if he left now, Prowl would find some way out. No. He would not lose Prowl or the sparkling because of that fragging Primus-damned battle computer.

He blew the vent out slowly and levelled his helm. “Prowl. This is not only about the sparkling. This is about us.” He pointed between the two of them. “I care about you. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t. I wouldn’t have asked for more, if I didn’t.”

The helmache was now pounding in cadence with his spark. He could feel the heat building in his frame. “Jazz…” He shook his helm, his doorwings unconsciously tucking. This was not in his plans. This was another variable.

Jazz sensed Prowl’s weakening resolve. “Prowl. I’m staying. For you and the bitlet.”

Prowl folded his arms over his abdomen, his jaw working. Part of him desperately wanted to believe Jazz. He wanted Jazz. He wanted him to stay, he wanted his sparklet to know his sire. But could he trust Jazz? Jazz had admitted only earlier that he was unreliable, a liar. Was he lying now?  He swallowed and looked at Jazz, his ridges creased. “What gives me the reassurance that you will stay?” How far can I trust you?

Jazz moved closer and pulled Prowl into his arms, his chin resting on Prowl’s helm, just above his ruby-red chevron. “In your battle plans, have I ever let you down? Failed an ops mission? Got the wrong info? You trust me there. Why can’t you trust me now?”

Prowl stiffened, his arms tightening around himself. He knew that, but for some reason it was different personally. Or was it really that different? He trusted Jazz in a professional context, why not personal? But the stakes are so much higher. He drew a deep vent. If Jazz failed in the field, he would be dead. If he failed in his personal life…they would dead. He exhaled. Jazz also didn’t realise the other implications. He didn’t realise what was at stake.

“I might be imprisoned. Carrying within the Autobots is against the law. You could be implicated. ”

Jazz shrugged, his spark burgeoning. Prowl was thinking about his career. His well-being. About him. Hope reared its helm. All those things – career, rank, it didn’t matter. Prowl and the sparklet came first. The Autobots came second. “If I need to, I will take you and run.” He whispered and pulled Prowl closer, flaring his armour protectively.

Run. That was a concept Prowl had not dwelled upon simply because the survival percentage was in the single digits if he went on his own. But with Jazz? His skill set? Was it possible? His battle computer mulled around the idea.

 “What about the Decepticons?” Prowl asked, relaxing his tight grip in the familiar heat and scent that was Jazz. Primus he had missed this, as warped as it was, and maybe still is. But he desperately needed the reassurance that other avenues were open; that should the Council decide to take his sparkling away…

“I know how to give them the slip. I also know how to blend. I’ll take care of both of you. I’ll protect you.” Jazz lightly caressed the tense armour. It would not be the first time he had to fend for himself on the streets. Be invisible in plain sight.

“We are both targets, Jazz, and even if we cannot give him a tactical advantage, Megatron will not pass up on the chance to exact revenge on two hated enemies. The risk is substantial.” He loosened his tight grip around his abdomen, Jazz’s rhythmic vents soothing his helmache.

“Babe, between the two of us, I don’t think he’ll get close.” Jazz smiled and relaxed his field, pulsing calm-acceptance. He could feel the coil of tensions in the Praxian slowly loosening. It felt good to hold Prowl like this. It felt right. His smile grew. And between them, safely nestled in Prowl’s sparkchamber, was their sparkling. Their sparkling. Jazz’s spark constricted. He would keep them safe.

“What about the Autobots? Optimus?” Prowl’s muffled voice brought him back and his smile slowly faded as Prowl continued. “He’ll lose two of his top commanders. It will be a damning blow.”

Jazz shuttered his optics and shifted his helm down, resting his forehelm against Prowl’s. “You come first.”

“If the Autobots lose, then our sparkling will not be safe.” Prowl persisted.

Jazz ran his left hand up Prowl’s back and rested it across his shoulders, holding him close. The Praxian’s frame was warm, his scent intoxicating. “There are good mechs in the Autobots. Mirage is competent. He’ll pull through. And Optimus survived without you before, he can do so again. He is a good leader.”

“He had you.” Prowl reminded him softly. “We cannot run when I am so close to my time. Ratchet and Wheeljack are already preparing the sparkling’s external frame. They will keep it in Iacon until he is old enough to have it attached to the protoform.”

Jazz’s processor sifted through that. “When are you due?”

“If all goes to schedule, two decaorns after the Ark arrives at Cybertron. Ratchet estimates between 25 and 35 Quintus.”

“Hmmm. That’s cutting it a bit close.” Jazz worried as he slowly worked his way up to a tense doorwing joint. “Well, usually they can receive their first frame at about two to three quartexes. I don’t think your court-marshal will be until the new vorn. That means we could still make it.”

Run. It was the coward’s way out. Could they really provide for the sparklet with the right upgrades, medical, energon and protection if they were constantly on the run? His battle computer churned out the results. 46% chance that their sparkling will reach his second upgrade. 24% chance that he would reach his third upgrade. 12% chance that he would reach adulthood. Prowl dismissed the idea along with the statistics. “I do not want to run, Jazz.” He relaxed as Jazz massaged a tense doorwing joint. His optics shuttered as exhaustion tainted his frame.

“Then we stay.” Jazz said and nuzzled the top of Prowl’s chevron. He could feel the Praxian sagging against him, his venting easing. “Maybe we should get you to a berth?”

Prowl pushed away from Jazz and nodded. “Yes. Ratchet will blow a fuse if I don’t get my allotted time of recharge in.” He hesitated.

“Yeah I can imagine that. I need to go see him as well for my post-mission check-up.” He took a step back and they continued staring at each other.

“So. Guess I should be going?” Jazz nodded towards the door, his brows raised.

Prowl glanced at the door, loath to admit that he would prefer Jazz to stay, but it had to come from Jazz. He was not going to ask the saboteur to stay.

“If you have an appointment it is best you keep it.” Prowl nodded decisively, but didn’t look at Jazz.

The silver mech pursed his lips and clicked his visor back on. “Don’t have an appointment for a few joors.” Come on, Prowl. Tell me it’s ok to stay. He waited.

Two breems passed without either of them moving.

Suddenly Prowl chuckled and shook his helm. “We are both acting like younglings.” He stated wirily and Jazz’s tense laughter filled the room.

“We are, aren’t we?” Jazz took Prowl’s arm and led him to the berth. He sat down and pulled Prowl down with him. “Prowl,” he tightened his grip, “I know this is unexpected. I know we’re not where we would like to be in a relationship. But we have to choose to make this work. It’s the choices we make that determine our end. I choose to be with you. And the sparkling.”

Prowl stared at Jazz, a millions scenarios working through his mind. He inhaled deeply and rested his helm on Jazz’s shoulder. This mech had been the bane of his logic circuits and battle computer for vorns, but he had to admit that he did…deeply care for this constant variable to his plans.  “It is not going to be easy.”

“No. It’s going to take a Pit lot of work. But I’m willing to invest.”

Prowl shuttered his optics. What bothered Prowl was not that he didn’t care about Jazz – he did. He knew, even if he was loath to admit to himself, that it had been love not lust that had caused his sparkchamber to open. Although undeniably it had been lust not love that had kept his berth open to the saboteur.

The problem was that as much as he needed Jazz – even more so because of the sparkling – he was still unsure if he could rely on Jazz. He opened his optics and glanced at the profile of Jazz’s strong jaw, his diamond sharp visor and his pointy horns. Only time would tell if he made a mistake in trusting the saboteur in his personal life.

“So am I.” The words were softly spoken, but he meant them. He would commit, but only time would tell if Jazz did the same.

Chapter Text

Sideswiped strolled down the corridor, precariously balancing two cubes of energon one above the other while listening to the latest beat courtesy of Blaster.

He stopped in front of Prowl’s door and pressed the entrance request, holding it just a tad longer than polite. Prowl was after all recharging, so he simply wanted to make sure the tactician heard him the first time. Besides, he always did it. It was his ‘special signature’.

He leaned against the doorframe, humming off-pitch with the tune as he waited for Prowl. The song finished and a new one started, yet still no Prowl.

“Argh. Seriously?” He frowned  and jabbed the entrance request, holding it much longer than necessary. If Prowl didn’t answer in three, two, one …the locks disengaged.

He released the button and stepped back, a Cheshire grin plastered on his face.

“Ha! Thought I’d get to use my ove….” Sideswipe trailed off and cycled his optics. “Jazz?”

“Can’t a mech get some recharge?” Jazz drawled, his tone drowsy and annoyed at the same time.

Sideswipe took a step back and glanced at the number glyphs embossed into the door frame. Did he miss Prowl’s quarters? Nope. Room 609. Prowl’s assigned quarters.

“Uhm…” He pointed at the numbers above the door, his face contorted. “This is Prowl’s room.”

“Yeah?” The silver saboteur stretched himself before glancing at the numbers. “Yup. Still the same.” Jazz confirmed and leaned back, biting back a grin as he folded his arms across his chassis.

“So…” Sideswipe tilted his helm back and peered at Jazz, his shoulders hunched. “Your quarters are different.”

“Yup.” Jazz shrugged and motioned to the two cubes all but forgotten in Sideswipe’s hands. “Those for Prowl?”

“Ah-huh.” Sideswipe bit his glossa, his optics darting back and forth. “Me and Prowl’s.”

“Oh. Well in that case, I’m pulling rank and saying thanks for the cubes.” Jazz reached out and took the cubes, before stepping back and letting the door slide shut.

Sideswipe stared at the door mouth agape. What the frag? What was Jazz doing in Prowl’s quarters? Prowl was supposed to be off duty: recharging and not to be bothered by work-related issues. Or by any issue for that matter. Ratchet had been very clear. He bit his bottom lip and lowered his ridges. There was only one mech who would know the answer. One mech that knew everything. And that one mech was only a comm line away.

 ::Red?::

::What?::

::Uhm Jazz is in Prowl’s quarters.::

::I know. Take it up with the Prime.::

The line cut abruptly and Sideswipe glanced at the camera where he knew Red Alert would be watching him. He flipped a rude sign before pointedly turning away.

Fine. He’d figure it out by himself.

So…if Jazz was in Prowl’s quarters, and both Red Alert and Optimus knew about it, then there were two possibilities. Firstly, Jazz would be meeting with Prowl to discuss duties. Knowing Prowl, it wouldn’t be far off the mark. But Jazz had looked like he had been recharging.

The cogs in his processor slowly ground…

Jazz had been recharging.

His optic twitched.

Jazz had been recharging in Prowl’s quarters.

An energon line pulsed in his temple.

Jazz had been recharging in Prowl’s quarters, with Prowl in there too.

He stopped dead in his tracks. Unbidden images sprang into his processor and he squeezed his optics shut.

“Frag me! That fragging pit-spawned, spark of Unicron…” Sideswipe clenched his fists and stomped down the corridor, a dark cloud overshadowing his normally bright visage. ::Sunstreaker, you are so fragging not going to believe this…::

“Who was that?” The drowsy voice filtered through the darkness.

“Sides.” Jazz answered and ordered the lights on dim. He sat down next to Prowl as the Praxian raised himself on his elbow. He eyed the two cubes, taking note of the difference in colour and handed the rustic one to Prowl. Carriers usually received supplements that tinted the energon that unappetising taint.

“Thank-you.” Prowl said and sipped slowly, grimacing at the tangy taste.

“You should probably thank Sides.” Jazz shrugged as he opened his own cube.

“Maybe. Depends what horrid rumours he is going to spread on finding you in my quarters.”

“Our quarters, babe.” Jazz corrected smoothly and took a sip. He raised his optic ridges at the brew. This was not regular energon. His grip tightened around the brew. “So Sides always brings you energon and takes a cube with you?”

Prowl’s doorwing twitched and he arched a delicate ridge at Jazz. “Sometimes.” He replied carefully.

Jazz pursed his lips. “Only energon?” The question came out tight and Jazz cleared his vocaliser, trying to neutralise his field.

Prowl sat up straight, his doorwings slightly flared as he studied Jazz. “We have not, nor will we ever interfaced.” It was not unheard of for carrying mecha to find CNA donars if the sire wasn’t available. But Prowl shuddered to even consider that. Especially with Sideswipe.

Jazz released a vent and nodded, the tightness in his chest lessening its vice-like grip. “I’m glad to hear that.” He reached out and stroked Prowl’s cheek. “I don’t like the idea of sharing you, even if I wouldn’t have held it against you.”

“You need not worry on that account.” A bemused smile lifted the corners of Prowl’s lips. “Besides, I have no doubt that Sideswipe finds the image of me interfacing somewhat disturbing.”

Jazz chuckled and leaned in, catching Prowl’s lips in a chaste kiss. “Believe me, lover, if he ever did ‘face you, he’d never regret it! The way you use that battle computer…” He wiggled his optic ridges.

“It does have its uses.” Prowl answered coyly, pressing the base of his chevron against Jazz’s helm.

Jazz let his hand slide down until it was resting above Prowl’s sparkchamber. The metal was warm to the touch.

Prowl leaned away from the touch, but not before Jazz felt his armour tense.

Jazz’s ridges crinkled and worry flinted through his field before he caught it. “Sensitive?” He asked and rested his hand on Prowl’s thigh instead. He needed to touch. He needed to feel Prowl.

“A little.” Prowl stated and took another sip of his energon, his doorwings relaxed.

“Has it always been sensitive? Or is it the formation of the sparkling’s protoform?” Jazz asked and dipped his digit into a seam, trying to keep the worry out of his gut..

Prowl rolled his thigh forward, allowing Jazz more access. “Since I can remember, but the sensitivity is tolerable.”

“Hmmm.” Jazz tweaked a wire playfully, frowning at the blue-ish liquid in his cube. He would need to talk to Ratchet. It wasn’t completely normal for a carrier to be this sensitive or drained.

“Jazz, I am fine.” Prowl glared at him and Jazz wisely decided to change the subject. Ratchet would tell him what he needed to know.

“Have you thought of a designation yet? Feels odd calling him ‘the sparkling’.” He paused. “Unless you have some rule in your House stating he needs to be named something, I don’t know, specific?” Jazz adjusted his seat so that Prowl’s leg was resting against his thigh.

Prowl shook his helm. “Since he is illegitimate, I am not sure that he will be titled in my House, thus the designation is irrelevant.

Jazz bristled. “He is not illegitimate. We’re mates!”

Prowl’s doorwing dipped and he glanced away. “It is not a formal arrangement, Jazz.”

“Hey! The Prime’s sitting one deck up from us. You want me to go fetch the documents that will formalise it?” Jazz challenged, optic ridges raised high. There was no way in the Pit his sparkling was going to be branded.

“Not now.” Prowl drew a deep vent. “In time we will, but not yet.”

“As long as it’s done before the sparkling arrives.” Jazz warned. “No sparkling of ours is going to be branded or slighted because of something as out of his control as illegitimacy.” He raised both hands and ducked his chin. “But we’ll talk about that later. First. Our sparkling’s designation.” He resumed his gentle caress. Silently he agreed with Prowl – they were a far from ready for making it formal, but he had already made up his mind. Prowl was going to be his mate. But it wasn’t the time for that conversation yet.

Prowl nodded and relaxed back into the berth, spreading his wings into a comfortable position. “I have thought of a few.”

“Care to share?” Jazz trailed a digit up Prowl’s abdomen. His goal was the doorwings, but Prowl needed to be mollified before he allowed access to the exotic wings.

“I have thought of Sideburn.”

Jazz pulled a face at the name. “Nah, Sideswipe might get it into his thick helm that we’re naming the newspark after him, and I am not naming my sparklkng after that terror.”

Prowl scoffed. “Of course not! I have not even thought of it in that context.”

“Good. But I still don’t like it. What other designations?”

“Silverstreak. After my carrier, but that was only an option if I had to carry alone. As my carrier was bonded into my House, his designation would not be tied to lineage.” Prowl stated, his lips slightly parted as he glanced at Jazz, “What about your creators?”

Jazz shrugged. “Don’t know their designations. Was abandoned.” He traced along the edge of a plate, ignoring the shock that permeated Prowl’s field before it levelled out again.

“I am…sorry to hear that.”

Jazz paused in his ministrations and glanced at Prowl’s optics, usually-hidden emotions simmering in the soft blue optics. He smiled. “Don’t be. It was a long time ago. Silverstreak is nice.”

Prowl rested his helm back and shuttered his optics. “I do not think we should name him after my carrier.”

“Prowl…”

“No, Jazz. Please do not press the matter. I have other designations.” Prowl’s frame tightened and he drew a deep vent.

“Alright, Prowler. We’ll choose a neutral designation.” Jazz swatted Prowl playfully on the arm. “Relax. We’re choosing our sparkling’s designation, not writing our covenant.”

Prowl opened his optics and smiled tiredly. “I want us both to be satisfied with the designation.”

“I know. And we will be. So come on, what other names does that processor have stored?”

Prowl shuttered his optics again. “My list includes Tailgate, Drift, Chase...”

“Drift?” Jazz asked. He rolled the designation around in his processor, only vaguely aware of the other designations on Prowl’s list. Drift. He liked it. “Drift sounds good.”

“Dash, Brav – Drift?” Prowl asked as he peered at Jazz through half-shuttered optics.

Jazz frowned and lifted a shoulder, trailing a digit lightly over the bottom panel of Prowl’s right doorwing. “I like the sound. You?”

“I am partial to Chase, however I want a designation we both are partial to...” He shifted, settling into the soft bedding further and flicking his doorwing out of Jazz’s reach. “Drift.” He murmured and traced a digit over his sparkchamber, his optics falling shut.

Jazz’s visor dimmed as he watched Prowl drift off, knowing that his poor effort to get Prowl aroused had failed. For now. He stroked Prowl’s cheek until the Praxian looked at him. “Then let’s call him Drift.”

 He grimaced and pulled back. “I have to go see both OP and Ratch.” He reached over and took Prowl’s empty cube. He definitively needed to talk to Ratchet. If he survived initial contact.

He rose and downed his nearly forgotten cube, subspacing the empty containers when he was done. “I can’t promise how long it’s going to take.” Jazz held Prowl’s gaze. “But I will be back.”

Prowl nodded. “I know.”

Jazz winked at him. The silver mech was nearly at the door when Prowl’s voice stopped him.

“Jazz?”

Jazz glanced back over his shoulder.

“What will you tell them?”

Jazz paused and rolled that question around in his helm. He smiled, though it didn’t quite brighten his visor. “The truth.”

Optimus sat in his office, drumming his digits against the smooth surface of his desk as he stared thoughtfully through his terminal’s display screen. He had dealt with several frantic calls in the span of four joors from his security director. He had finally had enough and told Red Alert that Jazz has a right to Prowl.

It had probably not been the wisest move, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

Then twenty breems ago, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker had requested an urgent meeting with him.

He did not need to the Matrix’s wisdom to discern what they wanted to talk about.

He had informed them he would see them in the two joors, and that whatever they thought, they had to keep to themselves.

The last thing he needed was Ratchet or Ironhide ‘interviewing’ Jazz.

He raised a hand and rubbed his scratchy optics. Primus what a mess. He rested his helm against the back of his chair. All because of one law.

He drew a vent and released it slowly. No use dwelling on it at present. There was work to do. He groaned as he peered at the screen. The last time he was in control of the resource allocation was when Prowl was Second Lieutenant of Tactical in Iacon. He was having some trouble recalling the proper allocation ratios.

Alright. First, energon and medical supplies to active battle fronts, followed by –

His entrance request chimed and he bit back a very un-primelike groan. He glowered at the mounds of datapads lying in wait on his desk. Maybe he could ignore the chime?

But even as the thought crossed his processor he dismissed it. A prime did not ‘ignore’ his door chime. No matter how tempting.

He hurriedly rearranged the datapads to look organised, then sat back, hands crossed neatly in front of him and smoothed his field.

“Enter.” He called formally and released the locks.

Jazz ducked his helm in.

“You busy?”

His optics softened and he smiled warmly at the silver mech, immensely grateful he had decided to open the door. Optimus beckoned Jazz to take a seat.

“Have you rested?” He asked politely, steepling his digits as the silver mech ambled over to a chair. “I’ve placed you on leave until Ratchet clears you for duty. It will give you time to settle back into the Ark’s rhythm.”

“Thanks.” Jazz shrugged and collapsed into the seat. He looked at the stacked desk and whistled. “Damn Boss Bot, haven’t seen your desk decked like this since…” He trailed off sheepishly and licked his lips.

“Since Prowl came on my staff. I have been acutely aware of that fact for the past quartex.” Optimus smiled ruefully. His piercing blue optics roved over Jazz, resting briefly on the tapping digit, the bouncing knee.

“Yeah. Prowl.” Jazz said and rocked back in his chair, hands crossed over his abdomen, his expression pensive.

Optimus kept his optics on Jazz as he waited for him to take the lead in the conversation he had been dreading for the past fourteen joors.

 “So you know right?”

“I have my suspicions.” He stated mildly, but with no judgement. He had known Jazz far longer than he had known Prowl. Known that Jazz never wanted to commit, never wanted a sparkling, never wanted family. Jazz had been tossed to and fro in the foster system until he was eventually tossed into juvenile hall. From there he had spiralled downward and upon his release, joined the criminal career. It had been vorns later, upon his arrest for multiple offences, that he was recruited into the Secret Services. He had accepted, and had worked himself up from rookie to captain. It was in that time that Optimus had met Jazz, and the two had started an odd, but companionable friendship as sparring buddies.

When the war came, Optimus had known he could rely on Jazz and his skills to obtain vital information.

But he had never reckoned on Jazz becoming a sire in the middle of the war. The only question now was whether Jazz was going to face his fear and take the responsibility, or take the open door Prowl had offered him.

Looking at his old-time friend, Optimus was fairly sure what Jazz would choose, and it raised his respect for the mech, but did nothing to alleviate the worry.

“You know what I’ve always told you. That I don’t want a mate or sparklings.” Jazz fiddled with his claws, not looking at Optimus.

“Yes. I remember you have said that on many an occasion.” The corner of his lips quirked up. “I especially remember you vehemently swearing that when Elita thought Mercantile would make a fabulous partner.”

Jazz chuckled, shaking his helm. “Mech, that kite would never have flown.” His laughter died down and he finally raised his helm and looked at Optimus, flicking a hand in the doors direction. “But I did find someone.”

“Hmm?” Optimus prompted. He was genuinely curious regarding their secret relationship. Seeing as he had completely missed it. It was why he had never put two and two together as to who the illusive sire could be.

“I know Prowl’s given me a chance to opt out if I want to, and I admit when I think about it too long, I’m sorely tempted to just disappear.”  Jazz rubbed the back of his neck. “But I ain’t gonna. Prowl’s mine.”

Optimus nodded, his shoulders sagging. “Even though I doubted you would run, I am glad to hear that he will not be alone. I, and all the others who know, have been very worried about Prowl.”

“Yeah me too. Haven’t been with him that long yet, but he’s way too drained. Barely stayed online for…well, you know.” Jazz shrugged and crossed his ankles, his lips turned down in worry. “I need to go see Ratchet after I’ve seen you. For both my post-mission exam and for Prowl. I want to know everything.”

Optimus grimaced. “I think it fair to warn you that he is a volatile mixture at the moment. The sparkling’s sire has been a tender subject for some time.” He flicked his digits and canted his helm, thinking out loud. “But I think knowing that you had no way of knowing might lessen the fallout.”

“I hope so. I really ain’t in the mood for a lecture right now.” Jazz rubbed a hand over his faceplate, looking everywhere but at Optimus.

Uneasy silence fell on the room and Optimus’s tank clenched. Steeling himself, he cleared his vocaliser. He felt more than saw Jazz’s gaze land on him. “I know this was not an easy decision for you, Jazz, and I respect what you have chosen.” He drew a deep vent, releasing it slowly. “Have you discussed what your plans are from here on out?”

Jazz rolled his lips and ducked his helm briefly before leaning forward in his chair, his piercing gaze on Optimus.

“I will do whatever I need to do to keep my family safe.” He paused, letting exactly what that meant sink in.

Optimus nodded.

“I know Prowl’s being court-marshalled, and if you ask me that’s pure slag! The mech hadn’t done anything wrong. If they threaten to take Drift away and throw Prowl in detention, we are gone.” Jazz jerked his helm to the side.

Optimus filed the name away for later. “Running will not be the answer, Jazz.” He stated seriously. “What of upgrades? Shelter? Fuel? The Decepticons?”

“What of the Autobots?” Jazz flung himself back in his chair, shaking his helm furiosuly. “I would rather face an enemy I can kill than face so-called allies I can’t do slag about. I know my way around, Optimus. You know if I want to take Prowl and disappear, you’ll never find us.”

“I am not doubting your ability Jazz, I am thinking of Prowl and the sparkling, Drift, was it?” Optimus canted his helm slightly in question and Jazz confirmed. “Drift will be in vulnerable protoform for at least two quartexes. You will have to wait that time for the frame to be fully developed and attached. By then Prowl’s trial will already be in progress. It would be better to wait. I am not sitting idle on this case.”

Jazz leaned forward and splayed a hand on the table. “What can you do against the Council, Optimus? They initiated this damn law, and if I remember correctly, you had a part in it as well.”

Optimus pulled his shoulders back and raised his chin, but his optics tightened with sorrow. “Yes, I did have a part in it. It is unfortunately another mistake added to the growing list I have made since becoming Prime.”

Jazz vented angrily. “You’re not solely responsible! I didn’t mean it like that...”

“I know.” Optimus smiled ruefully. “But I can assure you it is one I am going to try and rectify.”

“How?” Jazz asked and crossed his arms, visor glowing. “You know the Council votes on everything.”

“It is better that they do Jazz. Megatron is a fine example of what happens if only one mech has sole control over everything.” He paused. “But back to the current situation. I am going to ask for the law to be repealed. Elita is investigating laws and previous cases that may be used to make a strong case for the abolishment of this law. That Prowl is a high-ranking officer with scarce skills might actually be a blessing: they may be more lenient to retain his services.” He narrowed his optics at Jazz. “Are you planning on resigning alongside Prowl, or are you going to wait for the conclusion of the trial?”

“I’m not sure yet. That’s why I’m talking to you.” Jazz crossed his legs, swinging his pede back and forth. “What do you think? What will help Prowl the most?”

Optimus turned to his monitor and pulled up records of past cases. “Elita has sent me some case studies that might be relevant. I’ve only started browsing through them, for as you can imagine I have even less time than before.” He scanned through the files. “The difficulty with your case is that there has never been such high-ranking officers court-marshalled over something that does not directly pertain to duty. Having a sparkling falls under ‘auxiliary’, for some undefined reason. That stated, I don’t know if you will be court-marshalled as well. I take it you were ignorant of the fact Prowl is a carrier?”

“Naturally. Wouldn’t have come near him if I’d known.” Jazz replied frankly with a faint shrug.

“Hmm. I would suggest you tender your resignation once we reach Cybertron. It would add pressure to the case.” He turned his attention back to Jazz. “The loss of both your skills will be a terrible blow to the Autobots, and, to me on a personal level.”

“Well, I always thought I’d go out of the Bots during a mission, not something like this. For what it’s worth Op, it’s nothing personal against you, but you understand I have to choose Prowl over you and the Autobots.”

“I know, and I would have it no other way.” He shifted the datapad stack to the side, his brows creased. “I sincerely wish to repeal this law. I never realised how many mecha would suffer under it. When I suggested it, it was with the mind to keep our carriers safe – a way to preserve our race should the All-spark become lost.” He frowned as he felt the Matrix brush against his spark, but whether it was because of the thought or because of the heavy weight pressing down on his spark, he was unsure.

“A thoughtful plan, as always Optimus.” Jazz said and reached out, laying a hand on Optimus’s arm. “But sometimes, the before looks much better than the after.” He squeezed and withdrew his hand, folding it back onto his abdomen.

Optimus nodded. “That is true, Jazz.” He looked at the saboteur. “I hope I do not lose either of you. I value your friendship and support as much as I do your skills.”

Jazz pressed his lips together. “I hear ya, Boss. Believe me, the last thing I want to do is quit the Bots because of the Bots. We’ll fight the law, and hopefully, Prowl and I will both still be here when it’s done. With Drift.”

“Primus willing.” Optimus smiled in agreement, then canted his helm, his optics regaining their sparkle. “So you have decided on a designation?” Optimus asked as he rested his arms on his desk, thankful to turn to lighter topics. The darker ones would return later to haunt him in the solitude of his quarters.

Jazz grinned. “Yup. Both decided the little mech’s gonna be Drift.”

“Any particular reason?”

Jazz scrunched his faceplate and shook his helm. “Not really. Prowl had a list…when doesn’t he?” He pointed a digit and rolled his helm knowingly. “Drift came up and I liked it. Has a nice sound to it. So we chose it.”

“I am glad to finally have a designation to refer him by.” Optimus smiled warmly. “I am sure the others will be too.”

“Yeah, uhm, talking about the others…” Jazz frowned. “Who exactly are ‘the others’? Gotta know who I need to dodge.”

Optimus chuckled and listed the designations off. “Those who were present at the command meeting, Wheeljack, First Aid, Inferno, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe.”

“Why in the Pit did you decide to inform the Twins?” Jazz asked, still secretly peeved that Sideswipe was familiar enough with Prowl to enjoy a cube of highgrade with the mech.

“That was Prowl’s own doing.” Optimus said, wisely skipping the details of the incident. Thinking back on incident, he was horrified to know the dangers Prowl and…Drift…had been in. “They have been surprisingly mature about the incident.”

“Mature?” Jazz echoed, staring at Optimus from beneath raised ridges.

“Indeed, as odd as it is to hear that word connected to the twins.” He blew a vent out. “Red Alert and Inferno found out by accident, First Aid from Prowl, Ratchet by examination, and Ironhide and Wheeljack were informed. It was quite the shock to most everyone involved.”

“I believe that. So who’s First Aid?” Jazz asked, his voice edgy.

Optimus pinned Jazz with a knowing look. “He can be trusted, Jazz. He is a Cybertronian medic that was interning at Paradron Military Hospital in Paradron City. He had started his own practice outside of the Autobots, and that is where Prowl consulted with him.”

Jazz nodded. “Why didn’t he go see, Ratch?”

Optimus drew a deep vent. Jazz was fiercely protective of what he considered ‘his’. He knew something was different about Prowl’s carrying, and he was trying to net it out. Optimus leaned back in his chair. “He wanted to see a medic outside of the Autobots. Ratchet found out through examination, by accident.”

Jazz narrowed his optics and glared at Optimus, everything about him seemed to drop a few degrees. “What accident?” He asked slowly.

“Perhaps you had best ask Ratchet when you go there next.”

Author's note: thanks to those who caught the typos. Also, no update next week...sorry about that, but at least now you are forewarned. :/

Chapter Text

Choice we Make 37

Jazz ambled down the hallway, lights sporadically dimming, then brightening, then dimming again in a shadowy dance. He stopped in front of the doors that led to the Ark’s medical wing. The lights didn’t dance here.

No light shone at all.

Jazz glanced up at the light fixture and arched an optic ridge. He wasn’t superstitious by nature, but this sure didn’t look like a very welcoming sign.

He drew a deep breath and exhaled loudly.

He had commed Ratchet shortly after he left the safety of Optimus’s office, partly to warn the medic he was on his way, and more importantly to ensure that the medic was in a rare, amiable mood.

Ratchet had sounded oddly calm.

And that had raised his hackles.

He stepped forward and the automatic sensors detected him, light spilling out the opening hatch and beckoning him in.

Boldly he stepped forward, sensor net stretched to the limit in search of potential flying medical equipment.

None was forth coming.

He relaxed and tried for his normal swagger, casting a cursory glance over the medical ward. He stopped as his optics fell on a new, unknown medic, then flicked over to the mech being inspected.

“Hey Blazer, mech!” Jazz called and sauntered over, normal grin in place. Ratchet could wait a few clicks. He needed to see who this new medic was.

“Oh hey Jazz!” Blazer laughed and raised his hand in welcome. “When’d you get back?”

Jazz wrinkle his olfactory and shrugged. “Not too long ago.” He came to a stop next to the medic, who stood and inclined his helm. “Hey, I’m Jazz.” He held out his fist.

“Medic First Aid.” The medic bumped fists politely with him.

“Oh! First Aid. Right. Ratchet mentioned you.” And Prowl. Jazz looked the medic up and down. He was quite young, but this was the one Optimus had told him about. He’d have to get Mirage’s background check on him.

The medic smiled and nodded pleasantly. “That is correct. Commander Prowl suggested I take temporary position on the flagship while my brothers and I transfer to Cybertron.”

“And we’re very thankful for that!” Blazer burst. “This mech is really good when it gets to check-ups. Good berthside manner as well.” Blazer nodded, his optics large and he cast a glance at the far side of the medbay.

“Mhmm.” Jazz frowned at the closed doors of the private examination rooms. He should probably head over there, but he wasn’t looking forward to the conversation. A few more breems of putting off the inevitable lecture he was going to get wouldn’t hurt. Hopefully.

“Yeah. Ratch’s been pretty bad since the start of our return voyage.” Blazer shrugged.

“He is not that bad.” First Aid admonished as he bent over a datapad, inserting a few notes on Blazer’s file.

“Pftt. Yeah right. He’s worse than usual.” Blazer shot, ridges furrowed. “Even Beachcomber is sidestepping him!”

Great. Jazz rolled his shoulders. “Well, guess I better go see what’s bugging the Hatchet”.

“Good luck! But be careful, and whatever you do, don’t set him off!” Blazer called as Jazz moved away. Jazz threw him a thumbs up, his visor dimming in a wink.

Jazz had barely reached the room when the doors slid open.

“You sure took your slagging sweet time!” Ratchet growled as he motioned Jazz to take a seat on the berth.

“Met your new medic.” Jazz hopped onto the berth. “Who is he, exactly?” He watched as Ratchet walked to the desk, opened a drawer and took out a portable device. Deftly he hooked himself up to the buffer device.

“Medic by the designation of First Aid. Quite bright. Now open your port.” Ratchet motioned to Jazz’s wrist.  The saboteur complied, grimacing at the feel of another mech syncing with him, even if it was buffered.

“Drop your firewalls.”

Jazz barely managed to catch himself from commenting about dropping firewalls without foreplay. He shuttered his optics. Primus he’d have to watch his glossa.

“Uncomfortable?”

Ratchet’s voice had him snapping open his optics, visor flaring as he quickly blanked his field. “Ah, no.” He shook his helm. “Just don’t like syncing my processor.”

Well, it was true. He mentally counted to ten, trying to get used to the feel of another mech in his processor. “Nothing’s reading as unusual. For once I didn’t hack or ‘face any mech on my mission, so virus is unlikely.” He commented as Ratchet sifted through his systems, inspecting coding.

 “Well, that’s what you say, but then again you aren’t a medic now are you?” Ratchet retorted as he re-examined a dataline.

“Just saying.” Jazz flipped his hand in dismissal, glancing away as he waited for the uncomfortable scan to finish.

Three breems later he felt Ratchet withdraw and sighed with relief. He shook himself out and settled his plating, watching shrewdly as the medic leaned back against the desk.

“You’re clean. Now back to your original question.” Ratchet exhaled loudly, shoulders slumping as he crossed his arms. “First Aid is the medic who treated Prowl on Paradron. By Prowl’s request he is on board.”

Jazz’s visor darkened as he narrowed his optics. “But you are his primary medic?”

“Yes, technically I am and definitively by Autobot regulations I am. However, as you know, Prowl resigned and therefore free to choose his own fragging medic!” Ratchet raised his chin slightly.

Jazz leaned back, studying Ratchet. Huh. So this was why Ratchet was rumoured to be in such a foul mood. “You know, Ratch, I don’t think Prowl chose someone else over you because you’re inadequate or some such slag. Frag, don’t actually think he considers that other medic to be his primary medic.” He stated carefully. He made a mental note to check up with Prowl, just in case he actually had decided to make the unknown medic his primary medic. Jazz frowned. He didn’t like that idea. He knew Ratchet, for all his ill-tempered tantrums and scathing bedside manner, he was still the only medic Jazz would willingly trust. And since he had fifty-percent shares in Drift, Ratchet was going to be Drift’s medic too.

“Probably not.” Ratchet conceded, his cerulean blue optics bright.

Jazz cocked his helm at the medic and raised an optic ridge. Ok, so maybe that wasn’t it? “So what’s really snapping at your exhaust?”

Ratchet narrowed his optics at Jazz, sizing him up. Finally he drew a deep vent and dropped his arms. “It’s not that I mind First Aid being an additional, or primary medic, it’s his lack of experience.”

Jazz rested his chin on his fist, helm cocked slightly. “His lack of experience?”

“Yes.” Ratchet sighed and folded his arms over his chest. “My main concern is Prowl’s condition. It’s deteriorating faster than I would like. First Aid doesn’t have enough practical knowledge or experience when it comes to something like this.” He rubbed his optics tiredly. “And as to Prowl, I’m out of options for extra fragging supplements.”

“I don’t understand.” Jazz shook his helm. “Not about First Aid, that I understand, but not the deal with the sups. I know of a few cases where the sire didn’t contribute and the carrier got through it…ok. Drained, yeah, but not as bad as you’re making it out to be.”

“Prowl’s case, as always, is different. Frag, why can’t the slagger just for once be a normal patient!?” Ratchet mumbled as he pinched his olfactory.

Jazz sat straight, his optics piercing. Optimus’s mention of an ‘accident’ came back to him. “What do you mean?” Maybe it was the fragging battle-computer – the thing was brilliant, but caused a Pit of a lot of problems for the mech himself.  “His battle computer messing with him?”

“Ah tit-tit-tit-tit!” Ratchet shook a digit angrily at him, his optics shut tightly. “Don’t even mention such possibilities around me!”

Jazz tilted his helm, his visor darkening as his tank knotted. “Then what?” He asked softly.

“Remember the battle you met?” Ratchet dropped his hands and leaned back against his desk.

“Yeah?” Jazz asked, not liking where this was going.

“You remember the medical report? Specifically the list of his injuries?”

Jazz rocked back as if he had been punched in the gut. He shuttered his optics and dropped his helm, covering his visor with his helm. “Frag.”

“Exactly.” Ratchet exhaled and rolled his helm back, staring at the flickering light. “Cracked sparkchamber. Huh. In medical opinion he should have been barred from creating for at least another slagging centivorn. Then maybe he would have been able to survive without a fragging contributor. But like I said,” he lifted and dropped his hand in defeat, “I’m out of options for supplements.”

Jazz pursed his lips and leaned back, feeling numb. He’d need to talk to Prowl on a number of issues. If his sparkchamber was damaged... His digits drummed the side of the berth.

Tap-tap-tap-tap – tap-tap-tap-tap.

It was an oddly comforting noise in the silence of the stuffy rrom. Jazz blew out a heavy vent. If Ratchet was concerned then he needed to be too. But it’s not as if Prowl was only going to receive supplements. He was there and he was fully planning on contributing. “Won’t the sire’s contributions be enough to carry him through even with the spark damaged?” He asked, optic ridges raised as he worried his bottom lip.

Ratchet blew out air angrily, scoffing. “Course it fragging-well would! If Prowl would let us know who the fragger is!”

Jazz’s tanks dropped into his pedes. Oh. So only Prime put two-and-two together? Well that’s just great.

He drew a deep vent and licked his dry lips, ignoring the knot of apprehension twisting at his internals. Hopefully Ratchet would be too relieved to know that the sire was back than to dwell on who the sire was.

“Hahum…” he cleared his vocaliser and gripped the side of the berth, shoulder hunched forward to protect vital parts without making it too obvious. Both Optimus’s and Blazer’s warnings echoed at the back of his processor.

Piercing blue optics snapped to him like an electrowhip.

“About the sire…”

The optics narrowed as thick ridges sank dangerously low.

Jazz swallowed, opened his mouth, and hesitated only a moment. “In my defence, I really didn’t know…”

Blazer jumped and whipped his helm around at the first sound of metal striking metal, then cringed as Ratchet’s thundering voice filled the following void. He glanced around the empty medbay, hoping to see another poor spark hanging around or better, First Aid hurrying back through the main doors. The medic had left to go to the storeroom to find some non-vital filaments not stocked in the medbay. The sooner he returned the sooner he could leave.

The shouting and clanging continued as Blazer shrunk in on himself. He settled his wide-opticed gaze on Ratchet’s office. Hopefully First Aid found the filaments before Jazz decided to make a run for it. The last thing he wanted was to be caught in the cross-fire.

But the longer the door remained closed, the more he relaxed. Jazz would have bolted by now, so a) the door was either locked, b) Jazz deserved what he got, c) Jazz was an innocent victim upon whom the fury of Ratchet was unwittingly unleashed, or d) a combination of one of the above.

He puffed out an irritated vent as he looked around the medbay.

Slag it he had warned Jazz Ratchet was in a foul mood. He had warned him.

He sat on the berth, shoulders hunched forward as he swung his legs back and forth.

He raised an optic ridge as it grew quiet, but a few clicks later Ratchet’s voice exploded.

“idea…fragging…rous…carrying…”

He frowned, interest peaked.  Hmm. Seems like Jazz caught a virus. He shuttered his optics and listened, tuning his audials to catch what little he could of the conversation.

“…guttered? Prowl…”

His optics flew open. Prowl? Did he just say Prowl? Nobody knew what was going on with Prowl. Maybe here was his chance to find out.

Blazer snuck a look at the main doors.

Curiosity warred within him. He really shouldn’t eavesdrop on the two senior officer’s conversation. He turned his helm away and bit his lower lip, but his attention kept wandering back to the forbidden fruit.

Argh! Slag it!

He drew a deep vent and quickly slid off the berth. He licked his lips as he took quiet steps towards the officer’s private examination room, his audials at their highest intensity and his spark signature damped. If he was caught he was in a boatload of slag, but then again if it was really classified then they’d have raised the sound shields. He held his vents as he came close enough to eavesdrop.

“Now Ratch, come on. That ain’t fair and you know it.”

Jazz’s smooth voice was calm. That’s good.

“Fair!? You want to know about fragging fair?! Prowl is going to lose everything!”

Blazer frowned as he cast another look at the main doors. Lose everything? How could he lose everything if he was ill?

“We’ll think of something, Ratch. He’s a valuable member of the Autobots. This isn’t treason.”

Blazer’s optics widened and his frame froze. Treason!? Prowl did something worth of treason? He shook his helm. That didn’t make sense. He was ill? He took another tentative step forward, the loud beating of his pump nearly drowning out the voices on the other side of the wall.

“…not! But carrying is fragging illegal whether it makes sense or not!”

Blazer blinked and leaned back, his mouth agape. Did he just hear…right? Carrying, as in carrying a sparkling? He ran a hand over his helm. Frag me! He pressed his audial against the wall, enraptured.

“… is looking into it. He’ll think of something.”

“Huh. Whether it is in time to save Prowl’s fragging career is another question.”

“Prowl and the bitlet will be safe, either way.”

Bitlet. Blazer turned his helm away, that one word racing through his processor a million miles a click.

Silence descended beyond the wall and Blazer slowly inched back towards the berth. Prowl was carrying. He wasn’t ill. He was carrying. Frag.

He reached the berth, his processor stalling on that one thought.

Prowl was carrying.

He hoisted himself up and onto the berth quietly.

And just in time.

The doors slid open and the new visored medic entered, carrying two sets of insignificant filaments. He held up the two sets, one in each hand, as he came closer.  “I haven’t found the exact match, but these ought to work until Mercer has found…Are you alright?”

“Hmm?” Blazer turned his attention away from the rooms sequestered into the far wall. “Uh, sorry what was that?”

A small crease appeared between First Aid’s optics and he canted his helm. “You’re pale. Are you alright? Do you feel ill?” The medic rested a hand against his forehelm even as a scan tingled across his frame.

“What?” Blazer leaned away from First Aid and watched as the medic plucked a scanner from his subspace. “No, no, no! I’m fine! Really, I uh, just…” His processor struggled to thread coherent thoughts together. Primus he couldn’t let them realise he knew! Think idiot! Think!  “I, uh, I forgot about a private appointment, and uhm, well.” He shrugged, looking sheepish as he scratched the side of his helm. “Kinda just got told where to shove my helm.” He chuckled, letting embarrassment bleed into his field. Hopefully it would be enough for the naïve medic. If he should even begin to suspect he knew about Prowl…He shook his helm. “Ah frag.” He wiped a hand over his mouth. Frag. Prowl’s carrying. He couldn’t believe it!

“Oh.” First Aid subspaced the scanner. “I’m sorry to hear that.” He looked from side to side and grabbed the filaments, not looking at the orange mech. “Would you like me to insert these now, or would you prefer to wait until Mercer finds the correct ones?”

“Wha.? Oh, right, uh, let’s wait. I would like to go apologise to my…uh, friend.” Blazer plastered a fake grin and hoped First Aid wouldn’t probe. He needed to get out of the medbay. There was someone who needed to know. Pronto.

“Well, alright. I will notify you when Mercer has found the right ones.” First Aid smiled and stepped away from him.

Blazer hopped off the berth, nodding curtly at First Aid as he set off at a brisk pace.

“Blazer!”

Blazer jumped. Cool it, mech! He turned around, hoping First Aid wasn’t going to want to run another test. “Yes?” He balled his fists and forced his impatience down.

“Would it help if I gave you a letter stating your medical appointment?” First Aid moved towards him, a gentle smile curving his pretty faceplate. “It might help with your friend?”

Blazer grinned. The little mech was so sweet. Not to mention it would help his case if he actually had proof that he had been in the medbay at the time of…discovery.  “That would be great.”

First Aid pulled out a datapad, scribbled a few glyphs, then handed it back to Blazer. “Let me know if the lack of those filaments cause you any discomfort!”

Blazer raised the datapad in thanks as he backed towards the door. “Will do!”

Jazz sat quietly brooding as Ratchet deftly worked to get the last dent out of his helm.

The fight had finally wound down enough for Ratchet to be fairly civil, and he was undoing the damage he had willingly and, if Jazz had to be perfectly honest, joyfully inflicted.

Not that he hadn’t deserved a dent or two. Primarily – as Ratchet had stated so eloquently and had then reinforced it with a wrench – he should never have gotten involved with Prowl in the first place.

Check on that one. The logical, trained part of himself actually fully agreed with Ratchet, but the problem was that he had become involved, and the other part of him couldn’t bring himself to regret it.

Secondly, they should have thought twice before baring sparks. Once more Jazz agreed with Ratchet, unfortunately his frame had other ideas, and to justify himself, he wasn’t the one at risk when baring sparks. So technically that one should have gone to Prowl. Jazz let it slide though, knowing that Ratchet will eventually give Prowl a piece of his processor, if he hadn’t done so already.

Lastly, Jazz shouldn’t have left in such a hurry after that episode.

He grunted as the last dent popped.

Jip, he had definitively deserved that one. To an extent. It wasn’t like he had known he’d sparked up the mech, plus he had a mission to complete... And he was back now.

He watched from behind a dark, suspicious visor as Ratchet subspaced his wrench. Ratchet stared at him a moment longer before marching to a back cabinet and drawing out two cubes.

Jazz kept watching him shrewdly.

Ratchet lumbered back and held out one of the cubes, nudging it towards Jazz when the saboteur hesitated.

“What’s this?” Jazz asked as he reluctantly took the cube, praying to Primus Ratchet wasn’t intent on providing him with slag-sucking supplements as well.

“Highgrade.” Ratchet shrugged and took a seat next to Jazz on the berth, ignoring the momentary surprise on the saboteur’s faceplates. Without a word he opened his cube and took a long draw. “Aagh. Much better.” He smacked his lips together and exhaled warily.

“A-huh.” Jazz nodded and opened his own cube, sniffing it to make sure it really was highgrade, and more importantly, what kind of highgrade. Ratchet preferred the stronger type of brew, and judging by the colour this looked like a Sideswipe-special. He carefully sipped the brew. His optic ridges shot up and he hummed in approval, surprised at the smoothness of the brew.

“Triple-distilled. I keep it in here for special occasions.” Ratchet said and quickly glanced at Jazz. Awkward silence filled the gap. “So…” Ratchet drawled and Jazz braced himself. “Congratulations on the new spark.”

Jazz turned his helm slowly to look at the chartreuse medic, before returning to his original position. “Thanks.” He took another sip, waiting for Ratchet to carry the conversation.

“You have a designation?”

“Drift.” Jazz nodded.

“That’s good.” Ratchet took another sip, falling silent.

Jazz swished his cube around, watching the liquid slosh against the sides. A few drops went over the edge, rolled down his hand and splattered onto his knee. He stopped swirling the cube and stared into the dark liquid. He should get back to Prowl. He needed to see for himself that Prowl was awake, was alright. But instead he’s frame seemed welded to the berth as he continued staring at the cube’s ominous contents.

“What are Prowl’s chances?” He croaked as he continued to stare into the sparkling liquid.

Ratchet stared into his own cube and twisted his helm to the side, loud ‘pops’ emanating from the old medic’s frame as he sank down on his struts. “Better.”

“Not really an answer, Ratch.” Jazz growled as his grip tightened on the cube. He needed to know Prowl would be ok.

“It’s hard to say, Jazz. There are a lot of things that could go wrong. Especially in deep space as we move through enemy territory to get back to Cybertron. If we get into a fight, then well, I don’t need to tell you how dangerous that could be. Furthermore, if the sparkling is developed enough and Prowl gets too weak, he might be a prem.” Ratchet took another swig of his brew and leaned his elbows on his legs.

“If he is prem?”

Ratchet swished the liquid around in his mouth before swallowing loudly. “Let’s put it like this, he won’t be leaving the ICU until we reach Cybertron. The protoform is too delicate, and we are still busy developing the exoframe. He needs to be at least two quartexes old, starting from the expected date, before we can attach the individual plates. If he’s prem, well, that could push it to three or four quartexes. It is a long time for a sparkling to be without any form of external protection, especially in a Primus-damned war.”

“I see.” Jazz nodded, taking two gulps of the cube. “And Prowl’s survival if he should become too weak to support Drift?”

Ratchet pursed his lips together. “That depends on the circumstances.” He pushed up into a straight sitting position. “There are a lot of things that can go wrong, Jazz, but you’re here now and by the sound and looks of things you plan on supporting Prowl.”

“Of course I do!” Jazz snapped, armour bristling. Seriously? Were all of them going to question his loyalty to Prowl and Drift?

“Hey watch it!” Ratchet growled and flared his field in warning. “I didn’t mean it as a slagging insult; I’m stating it as I see it! Now, since you plan on supporting Prowl, the extra spark energy and additional minerals will go a long way in improving his health and survival chances, even if it’s a prem. Other than that Prowl really should try resting so that he can conserve energy.”

“I’ll see that he gets enough rest.” Jazz rolled his shoulders and felt the last of the plates settle, but the war within was far from settling.

“Mmm. Try fragging him as often as you – and especially he – have the energy for. And since it’s no secret you’re merging, merge with him as often as possible.”

“Won’t that create a bond?” Jazz tilted his helm away from Ratchet. He loved Prowl, but bonding was something entirely different. On so many levels. Maybe if there wasn’t a war, and they’d known each other a Pit of a long time more….

“It will eventually create a bond.” Ratchet stated. “It depends how often you’ve merged and on the level you open up to each other. The opener you are, the faster a bond will create. But I doubt you’d form a bond in the few quartexes until the sparkling’s extraction.”

“Ok. That’s good to know.” Jazz relaxed until he felt Ratchet tense. He barely kept himself from bristling in return, but the anger welled up nonetheless.

“Oh? That’s fragging good to know?” Ratchet grit out, his plates slowly rising as he squared his shoulders.

Jazz rolled his helm back and shuttered his optics. Primus. He didn’t have energy for this kind of slag. He took a calming breath. They didn’t understand. None of them did. “Yeah, Ratch. That’s good to know as the chances that I’d get slagged in a mission is pretty good and I don’t want to leave Drift without a carrier.” He tightened his grip on the cube, face contorted and field pulled in tight.

Ratchet vented heavily and the anger dissipated from him like vapour before a star.

“Sorry about that. I sometimes forget the field you’re in.” Ratchet mumbled and drank the last of his cube.

They don’t get it. Jazz shrugged and pushed off the berth, his trained smile back in place. “Yeah don’t worry about it. Wish I could forget about it, too.” His smile waned and he downed the last of his drink. “I’ll keep you updated on Prowl. If there’s anything I’m worried about, I’ll let you know.” He pointed at Ratchet, clearly indicating his want for Ratchet as primary medic. “ I gotta go see Prowl.”

He needed to give Ratchet some time to get used to the idea of him being the sire, preferably not with him in the vicinity. The meeting hadn’t gone as well as he had hoped, but it also hadn’t been the worst-case scenario either. Hopefully the others will take it better. He moved towards the door then paused, his processor drifting to the red and white mech that now held the position of Security Director. He looked at Ratchet over his shoulder. “Just a quick question.”

Ratchet stood from the berth, leaning his hip against it. “Yeah?”

“What’s your take on Lt. Col. Red Alert?” Jazz tilted his helm and drew his shoulders back.

Ratchet scratched his chin as he narrowed his optics. “He’s a good mech, good spark. Real good in his job. I trust him.” Ratchet shrugged.

“And regarding Prowl?”

Ratchet cocked an optic ridge and folded his arms over his chassis. “You jealous?”” He smirked at the frown Jazz levelled him before he waved it away. “Don’t worry. I think those two are going to be what you and Mirage are. Good friends, brothers-in-arms, but not more than that.”

Jazz nodded and relaxed his stance. “Thanks.” He’d run his own background checks later. He didn’t like the idea of a stranger having full control of the Ark’s systems.

Something must have shown on his faceplates as Ratchet suddenly straightened, locking optics with Jazz.

“Jazz, Red is the reason Prowl is still alive.” Ratchet stated slowly, letting it sink in.

Jazz turned around fully, his jaw a hard line as his visor darkened, thoughts of the new SD pushed aside as possessiveness flared. “Optimus mentioned an ‘accident’. What the frag happened?”

Ratchet threw his arms out to the side and shook his helm. “Your guess is as good as mine. My running theory is that the fragger overexerted himself on Paradron, putting even more stress on already overstressed systems. Not to mention the extra stress to his spark. He overheated, badly. Red Alert by some Primus-willed fate had learned of Prowl’s situation previously and was keeping an optic on him. He was there within breems of Prowl collapsing. He was also able to get a hold of First Aid.”

Jazz growled as he looked to the side, jaw working and armour tightly clamped. He was absolutely going to talk to Prowl. And to trust strangers above his own team?! He clenched his fist and drew a calming breath. What if they had been spies? What if they still were?

“Jazz,” Ratchet repeated, softer, “Red is the reason Prowl is still alive.”

Jazz kept his optics locked with Ratchets for a few clicks. “I’ll remember that.” He nodded briskly, his tone cold.

They walked out of Ratchet’s office and into the empty medbay. Off to the side First Aid was sorting through wires, stacking them according to their colours. Jazz ran his optics over him.

“He competent?” Jazz nodded at the young medic.

“He wouldn’t be in my medbay if he weren’t.” Ratchet groused.

“He trustworthy?” Jazz gave one last look at the medic, Mirage’s warning of an infiltrator still hot in his processor.

“He wouldn’t be on this ship if he wasn’t. Jazz, both have so far proved themselves loyal despite great personal cost. Try to take that into account when you run your fragging checks.” Ratchet stopped in front of the doors and pointed the way out. “Now off with you. You are officially on medical leave for the next two orns.”

“Thanks Ratch.” Jazz nodded at the old medic before returning his gaze to First Aid just in time to see the medic quickly glance away.

Huh. Trustworthy. He was definitively going to run his own background check on the medic too.

Sent:               SIC carrying. Orders?

Received:      Confirmed?

Sent:               No. Medical files tightly locked and monitored. Tampering would be detected.

Received:      Suspicion noted and forwarded. On course for interception.

Sent:               Warning: General Jazz on board.

Received:      Noted. All hail lord Megatron.

Sent:               All hail lord Megatron.

Transmission ended.

  'Confirm deletion of logs? Enter authorisation codes.'

'Authorisation codes accepted. Deletion confirmed'.

Author’s note: Apologies for the erratic update schedule, but alas, things are going to be rough in September, so I am going to try and update whenever I can, but it may be less than I’d like.

A special thanks to all those reviews! Each one is appreciated!

Chapter Text

Jazz’s plush chair squeaked as he leaned back, his mouth firmly shut and visor dimmed. Impatient talons drummed in quick succession over the smooth, cold surface of his desk as he watched the two obstinate mechs argue like an old bonded pair.

He smiled at that thought. No doubt the two would be horrified at the mere thought of being compared to a bonded pair. No, rivals or archenemies would describe them better at the current situation.

He heaved an exasperated vent and flicked his optics to the fourth occupant in his office, standing stoically to the side.

Sunstreaker’s armour clamped tightly around his frame and the cords in his neck bulged out as he worked his jaw. Yep – the golden-clad warrior was past the point of annoyance; if not with his Twin then for having been dragged into the affair.

For a brief moment Sunstreaker’s glaring optics caught Jazz’s. It wasn’t quite a plea to bring the argument to an end, no, Sunstreaker did not beg, but it was as close to it as he would ever get.

Jazz rolled his helm back to the two bickering mechs. Red Alert paced up and down his office, his expression pinched as he went on and on about the same, fragging point. Not that he didn’t have the right. Sideswipe had overstepped big time, and Jazz would lay credits on it that if it wasn’t for the Twins being read into Prowl’s present security situation, they would both be in the brig blissfully awaiting a trial in stasis pods. But still, the clock was ticking and the reports multiplying.  

“Get to the point, Lt. Gen Red Alert.” Jazz broke into the airy mech’s  tirade. He understood Red’s concerns, had in fact, snapped it within the first breem of being told what the Twins, or rather Sideswipe, had attempted. That had been half a joor ago.

Red Alert stopped his pacing and bristled as he turned to Jazz, an accusing digit pointed at Sideswipe. “My point?! My point is this hooligan was caught tampering with security systems in one of the most vital parts of the Ark!”

Sideswipe groaned as he tipped his helm back. “I wasn’t tampe…”

“I caught you!” Red Alert swirled back to face Sideswipe, a blue spark jumping between his horns. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were spying!”

Jazz lifted his optic ridges and sat straight. Ok, that’s my que. “Lt Sideswipe, you will speak when spoken to.” Jazz levelled a glare at the antsy frontliner, then turned his attention back to the high-strung mech. Primus. How on Cybertron does Prowl deal with all this slag?

“Lt. Gen. Red Alert, you’ve stated your case, given me the evidence,” Jazz tapped the small chip lying on his desk, “and I’ll give the verdict. You are excused.”

Red Alert whipped his helm towards Jazz. “I have a right to be present, General. This is a very serious offence and involves me directly!” He folded his arms tightly across his chassis, vents heaving as he lifted his chin.

“Yes, you do.” Jazz acknowledged, his helm dipping. ::Lt. Gen., I’d appreciate if I could talk with the twins privately.::

Red Alert dimmed his blazing optics at Jazz, his lips thinning into a hard, white line. ::Sir?::

::I know the twins. They wouldn’t pull a stunt like this just because.:: Jazz watched as Red Alert squared his shoulders and he hurriedly continued, ::I promise I’ll give them punishment duty. Brig time would be useless unless you want to give them time to plot their next stunt, so I’ll make sure they help Ratchet sort out the inventory, then I’ll make them Wheeljack’s appies for the next decaorn.::

::This was not a trivial prank, General.:: Red Alerts optics brightened, his chassis heaving in indignation.

::I know, and believe me the only reason, and I’m guessing it’s yours as well, that they’re not in stasis in the brig is because of Prowl.:: Jazz paused and held Red Alert’s gaze until he saw grudging capitulation. ::I’ll deal with them and send you the full report. I know they’re pests, but they’re loyal pests.::

Red Alert huffed, and then his stance lost some of its rigidness. He cocked his helmtowards the twins. ::Punishment duty? With Ratchet?::

::And Wheeljack.:: Jazz nodded, aware Sideswipe was nearly out of his armour with curiosity at the obvious silent verdict. That was fine with Jazz. Sides could suffer a while longer. Fragger. He narrowed his optics. ::And if you think of some grunt work that needs doing, be sure to notify me.::

That prospect seemed to perk Red Alert up significantly and he turned gleefully towards Sideswipe. “I need to go see Ratchet, and believe me I will check to see that your punishment is satisfactory. And if you ever attempt something as stupid as that again I will shoot you myself!” With a flick of his helm he brushed past Sideswipe and marched out the door.

The door closed automatically and Jazz leaned forward, pressing a command into the console. The heavy locks engaged and the lights dimmed as a soft, electromagnetic hum filled the air, notifying its occupants that the sound shields were up and guarding against possible eavesdroppers.

The Twins straightened, keeping their optics at some point beyond Jazz’s shoulder.

At least they know they’re in serious slag. Jazz leaned forward slowly and steepled his fingers, his visor dimmed dangerously and lips pressed into a hard line. “Two joors. I’ve been back on duty for two, fragging joors. And now, thanks to you, my shift is going to extend by at least another four fragging joors.” He drew a deep vent and released it slowly. “Would you mind telling me what the frag that was all about? Tampering with the security systems in the command hub?”

Sideswipe fidgeted, shuffling his pedes. He cast a sidelong glance at his stoic twin, but the mech stood as still as a judged statue. Sideswipe bit his lower lip and cleared his vocaliser. “Well…” He shrugged helplessly. “We needed some way to talk to you privately without raising suspicion…”

“Without raising suspicion?” Jazz repeated incredulously. “You fragging have the entire command hub up in arms. If it wasn’t for Optimus and Red Alert, you would be in full fragging stasis!” Jazz rubbed a hand over his faceplate and regulated his venting, but the anger boiled in his tubes. “This wasn’t some mindless prank, Sideswipe!”

“Of course it wasn’t! I knew what I was doing!” Sideswipe threw his arms in the air. “I simply pinged the system! I didn’t breach or try to infiltrate it I’m not that stupid! We needed something viable to have a private conversation with you about you know what!”

“A viable reason to have a private conversation with me about Prowl?” Jazz threw his hands up into the air. “Are you sure you’re not an idiot? Why didn’t you just ask or schedule a meeting?”

“That would have raised suspicion!” Sideswipe repeated, his hand movements jerky.

Jazz bit back the anger that threatened to rip the red frontliner apart. “Explain!” He barked and leaned back in his chair, plates bristling as he pinched his olfactory.

“Oh for frag’s sake.” Sideswipe shook his helm. “I’ve been spending time with Prowl for the past few quartexes. As in alone time when he gave me tactical classes. Then according to the crew, he nearly gets assassinated in Paradron, and we get assigned as his guards. On the Ark, I usually take him his energon. We’ve become associated with him. Now, you pitch, nearly three orns out of action, ‘conferring’ with Prowl in his quarters and then all of a sudden I schedule a private ‘meeting’ with you. Do you have any idea what the gossip mill is going to say to that? They’ve already been hinting at a relationship between me and Prowl simply because I became a ‘lieutenant’. So scheduling a private meeting with you when I’ve never done so after you’ve spent ‘alone time’ with Prowl is really going to get the fires burning.” He paused and licked his lips, “But no one will question a disciplinary meeting over a prank.”

Jazz drew a deep vent and shook his helm, the anger abating. “Only your special brand of logic.” He rested his chin on his steepled fists, willing his frame to cool. “And for the record I still think you’re an idiot. There are other ways to get in touch with me.”

“But not in as a secure an office as this.” Sideswipe grinned and wagged his optic ridges.

A bark of laughter escaped Jazz as the anger instantly evaporated. “You are unbelievable. You could have approached Red Alert.” Jazz glanced at Sunstreaker. “Why didn’t you try to talk some sense into your twin? Then maybe you would have been spared punishment duty.”

“Don’t care.” Sunstreaker sneered, shoulders blocked and optics stubbornly averted.

Jazz’s smile faded and uneasiness coiled in his tanks as he watched Sunstreaker. The high pitch of his engines was enough to get Jazz’s trained instincts yelling at him that something was up. “Why don’t you two take a seat.” He turned his optics back to Sideswipe.

Sideswipe stared hard at his twin, then after a few clicks he nodded, speaking softly. “Come on, Sunny.”

“Don’t call me that.” Sunstreaker bared his fangs, but he moved to take a seat.

Jazz waited until they were both seated, taking note of the pleading sidelong glances Sideswipe kept throwing his twin. The corner of Jazz’s lips twisted in irony. Seems like it’s time for my disciplinary meeting. He rolled his shoulders and relaxed in his chair. “Ok, Sides, you got your meeting.”

“So…” Sideswipe rubbed his forearm nervously, his mouth opened and closed. He cast a last look at his twins, then cleared his vocaliser, “I guess we really don’t have to guess who the sire is?”

Jazz lifted his chin and cocked an optic ridge, the coldness coiled in his tanks spreading her infectious hold through his entire frame. He knew what the conversation was going to be about, but it didn’t make it any easier. Jazz drew a deep vent and gave a brisk shake of his helm. “No. You don’t have to guess.”

Sideswipe nodded slowly, turning his helm to Sunstreaker, before going back to Jazz. “Well. At least he’s not alone.” Sidewipe dropped his hand and crossed his legs, a deep frown etched between his optic ridges as he propped his chin on his fist. “Can’t believe I never thought of you.” His mouth pulled down. “But I guess, it kind of makes sense, you know, you two working together on nearly everything.”

Jazz shrugged. “It wasn’t something we wanted everybody to know about. We’re both private mechs.”

“Well, you got that down pretty good, since Ratchet didn’t even know,” Sideswipe leaned forward, expression serious, “and he knows everything. Him and Prime.” He returned back to a semi-upright position.

“So Prowl’s going to be alright now? You know, with you contributing?” Sideswipe bit the inside of his cheek, optics hopeful, but guarded.

Jazz examined the two twins. He didn’t really feel comfortable discussing his personal life with the Twins, but he couldn’t deny that they had been a pillar for Prowl during this time. So I guess I owe them. He folded his hands over his abdomen.

“We saw Ratchet this morning. It’s a bit early to say exactly how well he’s doing, but Ratch looked pleased. So I guess he’s going to be alright.”

“And the sparkling?” Sideswipe asked as he grinned at Sunstreaker. His twin, however, ignored him.

“Drift? He’s doing well, too.” Jazz smiled as he thought back to that morning. The feeling when he first saw that second spark-rate rhythmically pulsing was simply – indescribable.

“Drift?” Sideswipe frowned and tilted his helm to the side. “Drift…” he rolled the word around in his mouth. “I admit I was expecting something with a bit more…pizazz.”

Jazz grinned and shook his helm. “Nah, it’s Drift.” He looked over at Sunstreaker, his grin fading. The golden warrior was still stubbornly keeping his optics pinned on something above his left shoulder. He vented and laid a hand on his desk.

“You have a problem, Sunstreaker?”

Sunstreaker’s navy optics darkened and he bared his fangs in an ugly sneer. His armour clamped tightly around his frame as dark, unreadable optics landed on Jazz.

Jazz stomped the desire to flare his armour in challenge. Sunstreaker only acted like this when he was uncertain or wanted to prove dominance. It had been a long time since he had attempted to challenge Jazz, so it was more likely the former.

“Sunstreaker?” Jazz repeated gently, but firmly.

Sideswipe gently nudged Sunstreaker in the side. “Come on, bro.” Sideswipe smiled softly and leaned in even closer, until his shoulder rubbed against his twin’s.

Sunstreaker growled, but relaxed his clamped armour.

“Prowl is a good commander.” Sunstreaker finally stated.

Jazz nodded, fully agreeing. “I know that.”

“We are going to lose him.”

Jazz dipped his helm and shuttered his optics. So that’s it. Another loss.

The Twin’s lives were littered with Loss, Jazz knew that from their file and from his late-night conversations with the two. He drew a deep vent. Sunstreaker wasn’t aggressive because he was angry, but rather because he felt powerless. Jazz was intimately acquainted with that concept. “I know.” He smiled sadly at Sunstreaker, wishing he could offer some kind of reassurance, but the proud Twin would never accept it.

“We trusted him.” Sunstreaker growled, his claws digging into his knees. “With our lives.”

Jazz pursed his lips. Sunstreaker was not only referring to themselves, but the common rank-and-file soldier. Prowl was a good commander. Mechs might not like him, but they respected him. Yet for the Twins, Prowl was more than simply a commander. He was the only one that had actually given them a chance, looking past their Kaonite heritage, past their records, past everything and seeing only the potential in them. To them this had to be personal.

He nodded. “I know that, too.”

“So what are you going to do?” Sunstreaker sat back, folding his arms over his chassis. Sideswipe played with his thumbs, not looking at either, but even across the small space Jazz could feel his field teeking worry-curiosity.

“I can’t tell you what’s going to happen.” Jazz motioned between them. He waited until Sideswipe glanced up at him before he continued. “But, I do owe you, for looking out for Prowl while I wasn’t here, not that you did it for me, but, yeah. I know Prowl will be reported to the Council once we arrive on Cybertron and from there probably to a special tribunal. He’s high ranking, so this trial will be unpredictable. Unfortunately, there’s still a lot of bias in the council members, so if you pray to Primus, pray for a special tribunal. Optimus will represent Prowl’s case. I don’t know what Prowl’s chances are, and Prime can’t tell me. But, if needs be, I will take him and Drift and disappear. I will protect them.”

Sunstreaker nodded briskly, his tense shoulders not quite relaxing, but enough to show he accepted Jazz’s anwer. It wasn’t really what they wanted to hear, and Jazz knew that, but they would accept it as they have always accepted Loss.

Silence settled between them for a few breems, only broken by the sounds of Sideswipe’s chair squeaking as he bounced his leg.

“So that’s it? That’s all he gets for everything he’s done?” Sideswipe pressed his lips together, optic ridges drawn low over his blue optics. “A fragging court-martial.”

Jazz lowered his gaze. It was unfair. Prowl’s worst crime was lying about his status as a carrier. If it had been some kind of incurable disease or whatever, it would have been a different story. Prowl’s glitch was more of a problem than his ability to carry. He swallowed. And if it hadn’t been for him, no one would ever have known. “Optimus will see what he can do to get the law repealed. If that happens, there’s a possibility that Prowl could stay.”

“You think he will be able to convince them?” Sunstreaker asked, his face a passive wall hiding the emotions his twin portrayed so readily..

“If Optimus can’t do it, then no one can.” Jazz stated. He had faith in his Prime.

“Optimus was the one who initiated the law.” Sunstreaker pointed out.

“Hey, bro, I think Prowl’s case pretty much opened his optics to the wrongness of the whole thing.” Sideswipe chipped, not quite ready to condemn their prime.

“Sides’s right.” Jazz agreed. “Optimus never did it to discriminate. He honestly thought he was doing what’s best for them.” A reminder popped up in his HUD ~Prime meeting: 10 breems~. He huffed and tapped a digit. He hadn’t finished with the slagging reports yet. Time to cut this short.

“I’ve got a meeting coming up, we can talk about this some more later.” He straightened. “Back to your original, stupid stunt. You are both on punishment duty-”

“Oh come on!”

“-with Ratchet for inventory check and Wheeljack as lab assistants. Red Alert will also be assigning you tasks.”

“Technically I did not assist him.” Sunstreaker growled.

“No, but you did nothing to stop him, hence your helping him.” Jazz smiled. “Now go finish your shifts, and then run along to Ratchet.” Jazz deactivated the locks and shields as the twins stood, saluted him and slunk out.

“Fragging juveniles.” Jazz smiled as he shook his helm. He quickly gathered the reports, those completed and not yet completed, and checked his internal map for Prime’s location.

Jazz subspaced the reports and headed to the lifts. Upper deck, command room. He quickly entered the destination into Teletraan one.

He watched silently as the lift ascended, then before it reached its destined level, Jazz reached out and inserted his override. The lift slowed and halted.

“You have thirty clicks before security notices.” Jazz turned around.

Mirage shimmered into existence. “Fifteen, actually. I checked Red Alert and First Aid, they are clean, but I got the records as you requested. And as a side note, Red Alert has been running checks on you.” He held out a short chip which Jazz accepted.

“Huh. Can’t say I’m thrilled with that. Mech seems to have his blade in for me.” Jazz held out another, smaller chip to his second. “This is for you. I went over the data again. We definitively have a leak. I can’t begin to tell you how much it’s bothering me, especially in the light of recent revelations.”

“I know. I have been keeping an optic on him.” Mirage said quickly and cleared his vocaliser.

Jazz narrowed his optics and tilted his helm back, catching the quick flare of guilt in the other’s EM field. It was the first time any of the mechs who knew about Prowl’s condition had reacted like that.

Mirage quickly continued, ignoring the dimmed visor and probing field. “I think it prudent to inform you that Red Alert has come to the same conclusion. At Prime’s request, he has approached me with the same theory that we have extrapolated.”

“So he knows?” Jazz’s hand twitched and his tanks clenched. What if this mech was leading them on? He was in charge of the entire Ark’s fragging security system, for Primus’s sake! He could easily manipulate the data. “You sure your background check was thorough on the mech?”

Mirage reached out and pressed the button to continue their accent. “Yes.” He shimmered out of existence. “I will keep looking into it and contact you once I have more information.”

The lift pinged to a stop and the doors swooshed open. Jazz stepped out and nearly collided with Blazer.

“Oh, my apologies, sir.” Blazer saluted, “I did not think anyone was in the lift.”

Jazz waved him off, hoping Mirage was out of the lift and slinking down the corridor. “That’s ok, mech. Just check next time before you storm a lift.”

“Yes, sir.” Blazer grinned, but remained standing in front of Jazz, smiling broadly.

“Something you need, Blazer?” Jazz asked as he indicated the mech to step aside.

“Oh, uh, no. Or actually, yeah.” Blazer scratched his helm. “I’d like to know how Commander Prowl’s doing? All of the crew, actually. Saw you in medical this morning, and uh, well, Commander Prowl looked better. I was wondering if he was coming on duty again soon?” The mech clutched his hands behind his back as he looked expectantly at Jazz.

Jazz’s optic twitched. So the crew already knew Prowl was in medical this morning. Frag. They’d need to figure something out about that. If rumours were flying that Prowl was looking better, then that meant mechs were going to start wondering why he kept to his quarters.

“Blazer!”

Blazer jumped and jerked around. Straightening, he briskly saluted Second Lt. Intel. “Sir.”

The large Iaconian came to a stand in front of Blazer. “You are dismissed.”

Jazz, relieved not to have answered, smiled at the stoic pose and manner Intel held himself. Slap on some doorwings and he would be a Prowl-clone. No doubt what the younger apprentice was aiming for.

The security mech saluted with a mumbled apology and darted into the lift. Once the doors were shut, Jazz turned to Intel.

“Thanks for the rescue.” He drawled. “You brought the tactical reports?” Jazz asked as the mech joined him as they headed to the conference room.

“Yes, sir, and you are welcome.” Intel’s tenor voice sounded confident. “I also have the latest mobility reports. I would like to schedule a meeting with you to review them.”

Jazz grimaced. Great. Just what he wanted – more time at the office and less with Prowl. He drew in a deep vent and nodded. “Of course. I’m not as good as Prowl, but I’ve heard I’m decent enough.” He smiled as they walked into the conference room.

“I am sure you are, sir.” Intel smiled. “If I may ask, how is Commander Prowl doing? I’ve heard you’ve seen him lately?” He drew out a chair – Prowl’s chair – and took a seat, blue optics expectant as he watched Jazz.

Sideswipe wasn’t kidding when he said everyone was talking. Jazz thought wryly as he took a seat across from Intel. It felt wrong that the mech sat in Prowl’s chair, but being his second and apprentice, it was probably his right. “He’s doing a lot better, actually.” Jazz said as he drew out a datapad. “But I’m not the medic.”

He glanced up as Optimus, Ironhide, Ratchet and Wheeljack entered, thankfully rescuing him from further questions.

He could only pray that they didn’t have any questions about Prowl.

Jazz blew out a long vent as he leaned against the cool metal of the closed door. What a fragging, long orn.

“Jazz?” Prowl’s disembodied voice floated through the open door that lead to his small, square office. Jazz frowned. Prowl better not be working. Pushing off the door, he meandered towards the small room, humming with the tunes softly spilling from his speakers.

He came to a stop in front of the desk, watching Prowl reclined behind the small desk in his special-made Praxian chair. His mate lifted a finger, indicating he was nearly done.

“Aren’t you supposed to be recharging or something?” He folded his arms over his chassis and gave Prowl a mock-glare. Truthfully he was glad Prowl was up and moving about instead of simply recharging all orn.

“I decided to wait for you.” Prowl placed the datapad he was reading on the desk and stood. He stretched his doorwings and massaged his palm over his sparkchamber.

“How’re my two mechs doing?” Jazz moved to Prowl and laid a hand over his lover’s sparkchamber.

“We are doing well, thank-you.” Prowl stepped back and raised his arm protectively over his chassis.

Jazz decided to ignore Prowl’s reaction. Ratchet’s pep talk had included a warning that some carriers don’t like being touched near their chassis, some kind of in-built, protective feature. But Jazz hoped Prowl would get used to him sooner or later. He rolled his shoulders and pointed to the innocent pad lying on the desk. “Please tell me that ain’t work.”

Prowl flicked a wing at the datapad, looking down his olfactory at it. “No. It is information on the development of the protoform and the procedures with extraction. Ratchet thought that since my knowledge of carrying is limited, I might enjoy the read.”

At the slight inflection, Jazz discretely covered his mouth, hiding the grin that threatened to show. Obviously the Praxian didn’t know that it had been Jazz’s insistence Ratchet prepare Prowl for the procedures. If he had to be honest, his Prowler was pretty clueless concerning anything to do with carrying..

Prowl arched an optic ridge. “I do not see the humour hidden in my statement.”

“Nah mech,” Jazz chuckled as he shook his helm, “It ain’t what you say, it’s how you say it.” He extended his arm and beckoned Prowl to him. “Come on lover, time to tango.”

Prowl levelled a glare at Jazz. “Your terminology is crude and your powers of seduction lacking.” He brushed past the extended hand and headed to the small dispenser Wheeljack had installed earlier the orn. “Energon?”

“Lacking?” Jazz frowned, but shrugged it off and swaggered over to the dispenser, his hips swaying to the sultry tune flowing softly from him. He smirked as he caught Prowl’s attention drawn to his hips, his lover’s doorwings perked high. Progress. Taking the cube of enriched energon Prowl held out for him, he gave the Praxian a peck on the cheek. “You know, I can understand you needing this slag, but seriously? I need to drink it too?”

“Ratchet’s orders, and….” Prowl drawled and glanced down at Jazz’s hips “It might help with the hip movements.” He turned back to the dispenser to prepare his own cube.

Jazz smiled at the interest he felt peeking through Prowl’s field. ‘Lacking’ my aft. “Ok, I’ll drink it, then afterwards we check to see if my ‘hip-movements’ have bettered.” Jazz wiggled his optic ridges and took a sip of his energon. “I’m sure you’ll be a good judge.”

The corner of Prowl’s lips twitched up. “Still lacking.” He lifted his cube in mock salute and took a sip, heading over to the couch.

“I could make it an order.” Jazz followed Prowl to the couch. Flopping down onto the comforting plumpness, he groaned and briefly shuttered his optics, letting the music flow through him.

A tentative hand on his leg had him onlining his visor and he smiled at the concern reflected in Prowl’s optics. It felt good being the recipient.

“Long orn?” Prowl asked gently, his wings canted back in sympathy.

“You could say that.” Jazz grimaced as he captured Prowl’s hand in his own, keeping it on his leg. “Sideswipe added four joors, Intel about two. So yeah, guess I need to apologise for being late.”

Prowl’s smile broadened as he took a sip, his doorwings flaring in what Jazz knew to be amusements. “Yes, Sideswipe outdid himself this time.”

“You know?” Jazz canted his helm, his thumb gently massaging Prowl’s palm. He glanced down at the enriched cube in his left hand and sneered at it. The stuff tasted like slag. How Prowl could drink it was beyond him. Maybe the carrying messed with his senses?

“Mm.” Prowl took the last sip of his cube and placed the empty holder on the ground. “Yes, he assisted Wheeljack with the installation of the dispenser.”

Jazz halted mid sip, withdrawing the cube, he rolled the thick, gooey liquid around in his mouth, then quickly swallowed. “Wheeljack and Sideswipe installed the dispenser?” He placed the cube on the ground, pushing it further away from him with his pede. He’d go get some proper fuel once Prowl was recharging.

“Under the watchful optics of First Aid.” Prowl tacked on and leaned against Jazz, staring at their entwined hands.

“First Aid doesn’t know a frag about those two and what they’re capable of.” Jazz twisted his neck around to look at the dispenser. “I should probably take a look at it.” He turned back to Prowl, their optics catching. He stared at Prowl, hoping the Praxian didn’t hear how hiss spark was hammering in its casing. 

Jazz swallowed and raised a hand, reverently tracing a digit down Prowl’s cheek. “You’re so beautiful, you know that?”

Prowl cleared his vocaliser and pulled away from Jazz, but Jazz gripped his hand. He stared hard at the Praxian, his mouth dry. That simple motion had felt as if it tore through him, the heat that had bloomed where Prowl’s frame had touched his vanished and was replaced by an empty cold. “Why don’t you believe me?” He whispered. If this was going to work, Prowl needed to open up.

Prowl turned towards him, his face a blank expression and his optics guarded. Jazz felt his spark constrict. They had been making so much progress.

“I am tired, Jazz. Maybe we could skip interfacing until later?” Prowl tried to pull his hand away, but Jazz tightened his grip as if his very life depended on it.

“Prowl…”

“Jazz, please.” Prowl turned his face away, his vents heaving and doorwings stiff.

“Ok. We’ll leave it for now, but sit with me? We’ll talk about…” Jazz frowned and raked his processor. What did they talk about? What would make Prowl comfortable? “Work.” Jazz bit his lips, hoping Prowl would relax with the familiar topic

 “Work?” Prowl echoed as he turned back to Jazz, the passive faceplate momentarily replaced by surprise before Prowl schooled himself again.

“Yeah, work.” Jazz shrugged. Roll with it. What would Prowl want to know about work? The thoughts of Sideswipe, Blazer and Intel came hurling back towards him. Ah frag. “Actually, there’s a rather important matter we need to discuss, and sooner or later we’ll need to talk to the others about it too.”

Prowl shifted forward and turned fully towards Jazz, a small crease between his optics ridges. Jazz could almost imagine those cogs in that battle computer spinning at full capacity.

“What is it?”

“Rumours. Some of the mechs saw us go to medical today, noted you looked better. Also, they’re asking questions and making assumptions. One of them Sideswipe hinted at, and I don’t even think he realised the repercussions.” Jazz drew a deep vent and expelled it loudly. “Mech’s have been noticing I’ve been here most of the time; hinted some mechs might think him jealous if he made an appointment with me.”

Prowl’s doorwings shot up and he clenched Jazz’s hand. “They think we are involved?” He shuttered his optics and ducked his helm, his field spiking erratically.

“Shoo, babe, I didn’t say that. At this stage we can blame it on the fact that I need to catch up, but yeah, it’s got potential to get ugly.” And if that fragging spy even suspects something…Jazz cut his line of thought and focused on calming his field so that he could calm Prowl.

“You cannot stay here.” Prowl pressed a hand against his temple. “We cannot risk it…”

“I know, Prowler, don’t worry the Jazzman’s got a plan.” Jazz grinned and circled his arms around the Praxian, drawing him closer. “I know the schedules, I’m good at sneaking and Red Alert’s in control of security, it’s going to be a Pit of a lot easier sneaking to your quarters than it used to be.”

Prowl drew a deep vent and released it softly, the warmth and calm in Jazz’s field calming his own.

They stayed like that for several breems, each enjoying the warmth of the other’s field.

Finally Prowl turned his helm and looked up at Jazz. “I apologise for my inconsistent reactions. I have been rather – emotional – since…”.

“Yeah I know, babe. It’s normal, Prowl, don’t worry about it.” Jazz planted a kiss on the red chevron and stroked a doorwing, running his fingers up and down the edge until he felt Prowl’s frame relax against his own. “I’ll speak to Ratchet about getting you back on desk duty when he says it’s safe. I don’t want to take risks, not with your health, Drift’s health, or the rumour mill.”

And especially not with the Decepticons.

Author’s note: finally managed to churn out a chapter. Sorry folks, RL is being more than busy at the moment.

Chapter Text

Prowl smiled as he leaned back in his plush Praxian-modelled chair and stared at the portrait of Praxus. He ran a hand over the borders of the intricately carved steel, the well-worn metal smooth to his touch. Yes, being at this desk felt infinitely better than being holed up in his small, two-roomed quarters.

He drew a deep, satisfied vent and released it slowly, leaning forward to grab a datapad. Finally, after quartexes of inactivity, having to endure the humiliation of lowering himself to the point of begging for something to do – here he sat. In his office, behind his desk, with a datapad in hand.

It was Zen.

It was a small miracle that he was allowed back into the sacred sanctuary of his office, seeing as both Ratchet and Jazz had spat fire at the proposition. But in the end, they had had no choice but to let him return.

Rumours had started spreading of an affair.

An affair between two unnamed officers…

But as both Sideswipe and Red Alert had insisted – it really was no secret who they were referring to. And for the sake of the sparkling – when the news finally became public – it was better that Prowl and Jazz not be associated too closely.

They would meet at his office, so that to all the world it appeared they were back at a normal schedule. Jazz would then sneak, as was also normal, to his quarters during the night shift. They would still continue their nightly rendezvous.

Prowl bit his lower lip as he sank back in his chair. His and Jazz’s relationship had deepened significantly, and Prowl would not attribute it only to interfacing, although that certainly was a boon. Jazz’s weight on him, his hot lips…

Prowl shook his helm to dislodge the thoughts as his frame heated. He should not be thinking of that right now. Focus. He drew deep vent to still his quivering internals and stretched his doorwings. Supplies? his optics scanned the stack of datapads and he recognised the colouring.

He was permitted to work on supplies, reports and signing off on datapads Optimus did not have the time to do. As long as he was on desk duty, not actively using his battle computer that relied in part on spark-energy, Ratchet said there would be no harm to Drift.

He raised a hand and gently stroked the metal above his sparkchamber. Sometimes, if he really focused, he could feel the small protoform brush against his corona. He dropped his hand and reached for the first datapad.

Prowl would not do anything to harm his sparkling.

He onlined the first datapad and quickly read through the data. Intel had been in charge of logistics and supplies, and so far the young mech had proven himself fairly capable. Prowl signed off and reached for a second.

A joor passed quietly in this manner, his opinion of the Iaconian growing until he reached the supply lists for the battalion stationed on Quintus Mire.

He frowned. The medical supplies were too few. It was an obvious rookie mistake, but it was one that could have devastating effects. He quickly made an adjustment, tacking on a note and explanation and moved to place the datapad separate from the pile on his right. But he hesitated. If Lt Intel was in anyway going to be promoted to a higher position on the Ark, he would need to be tutored in logistics and his faults examined and rectified.

He leaned back in his chair, optics ridges slightly furrowed as he considered the datapad. He wiped his comments. He wanted to know if Intel picked up on discrepancies.

::Lt. Intel, please report to my office.::

::Yes, sir.::

It was less than a breem later that the well-built Iaconian entered his office and saluted. “Reporting as ordered, sir.”

Prowl dipped his helm. “Thank-you, Lt. Intel. Please have a seat.” He motioned him to take the seat opposite, the swivelling one Jazz loved to occupy.

A small smile nearly graced his lips at the thought of the saboteur, but he quickly quashed those unwelcome, fluttery feelings. It would not be proper to display such behaviour before a subordinate.  He cleared his vocaliser and handed the datapad to Intel.

“Please read through that and give me your honest opinions and calculations.” Prowl folded his hands on the desk, his doorwings set high and shoulders squared.

“Yes, sir.” Intel acknowledged and started scanning the datapad.

Prowl’s hawk optics observed every small emotion that flinted across the Iaconian’s expressive faceplate, before moving over his frame. The mech was tense, his armour drawn tight as he clutched the datapad.

Nervous. Prowl’s tactical net supplied him with and he shuttered his optics. Do not use your battle computer. He reminded himself, but it was tempting, oh so tempting to take every, little detail of the mech in front of him and analyse it critically, from the tiniest twitch of his lips to the straight backstrut.

But he would not. For Drift’s sake, and he had promised Jazz.

“I…I am…unsure…of the medical supplies, sir. If they would be sufficient?”

Intel’s hesitating voice pulled him out of his reverie and he nodded, pleased that Intel was able to detect the problem. “That is correct, Lieutenant.”

The young mech leaned back into the chair, his smile wide.

“How did you determine the supplies were too few?”  Prowl asked, his helm slightly tilted and doorwings flicking back.

“Well, sir, I calculated the supplies based on the number of active personal in the battalion stationed at Quintus Mire, and under normal circumstances it should prove enough…” He licked his lips as his brows folded.

“But…?” Prowl encouraged.

“In the event of a large battle, the medical plasma required for energon transfers and temp plating could possibly be too little.” Intel sat back, his optics focused far. “That would leave troops exposed to infection, and in worst case cause extinguishing.”

“That is correct. When planning logistics, you always plan for the worst case scenario, while hoping for the best. That said, as our allocation of resources are limited, one cannot be excessive, and thus the importance of accurate calculations cannot be underemphasized.” Prowl dipped his doorwings, his field teeking pleased. “Do you have any questions?”

“Yes, sir. There are many battalions stationed throughout Autobot territory. Which is the best way to determine who gets allocated what?” Intel leaned forward, his optics lit with the prospect of learning more.

So eager. Prowl’s lips tipped upward as he pushed away from his desk, motioning Intel to follow him to the small simulation table located in his office. “Firstly, one needs to determine the active fronts. Predicting Decepticon movement in this case is essential, as allocations are usually prepared a vorn or more in advance…”

Prowl enjoyed explaining the intricacies of logistics and enemy movements to Intel. It wasn’t that he was inexperienced at logistics, simply that he did not possess the in-depth knowledge and experience required to make the best decisions. The mech was sharp and snapped a concept quickly, which was a positive development considering he would be staying on with the Ark. He would have to make a note in his successor’s file that the mech take Intel as an apprentice.

::Prowl, it is fuelling time. Would you care to join me in the officer’s lounge?::

Red Alert’s voice crackled through his comm line. Prowl checked his chronometer and belatedly realised he had been tutoring Intel for over a joor. ::I will be there in ten breems.:: He straightened and stretched his doorwings, barely stopping himself  from raising a hand to his spark. He would need to be conscious of his movements.

Intel took a step back, his helm canted as he awaited an order.

“My presence have been requested.” Prowl slanted his doorwings forward. “You are an apt student, and I believe we should make time for further lessons if you are willing.” Delicate optic ridges were arched. It was a suggestion, not an order, and Intel was free to choose.

For a moment Intel looked completely lost, before he caught himself and nodded fervently. “Yes, indeed, sir, I would like that very much.”

“Very well. I shall consult my schedule and notify you of an appropriate time. Dismissed.”

When Intel had left, Prowl locked the terminal and headed towards the door. He and Red Alert had shared numerous cubes since the three quartexes Jazz had been back, mostly talking about the Ark’s defences, or in Red Alert’s opinion lack of defences, and the rumour mill.

“Good orn, sir.”

Prowl glanced casually at the green-orange Yussian that  greeted him. He was accustomed to mechs acknowledging him as he passed, but not the specific greeting. He nodded in acceptance, intent on continuing, but instead the mech blundered forward.

“It’s good to see you back on your pedes again, sir. The whole crew’s been worried.”

The oily voice slithered over him and he paused, his doorwings flared and battle computer unwillingly springing to life to analyse the mech. He lowered his helm and studied the Yussian. Was he a threat? If so did he need to be dealt with? Prowl’s armour clamped instinctively as powerful surges rattled his frame, onlining his weapons system. He quickly dismissed the HUD request and purposefully relaxed his stance.

“Thank-you,” a quick glance at the ensign’s embossed glyphs revealed his rank, “Lieutenant.” He clenched his fist and squared his shoulders. “Was there something you required?”

The Yussian shook his helm, smiling broadly. “The rosters have been a mess since you’ve been gone, sir. Are you back for sure now?” He took a step towards him, his optics briefly dropping to – his spark chamber?

Prowl’s weapon system entered standby-mode. Did this mech suspect something? He lifted his doorwings in clear warning, his optics sharpening on the mech.

“Lt. Blazer!”

Intel’s sharp voice from behind him jolted him. Primus when did he start getting paranoid of mechs under his command? He flicked his doorwings and briefly turned his helm towards Intel, “Excuse me, gentlemechs.” He said and turned away, forcing himself to walk slowly towards the safety of the officer’s lounge. By the time he arrived, his spark was pounding. He swallowed as nausea threatened to send him back to his quarters. Calm down. You are overreacting.

“Prowl?”

He raised his helm and stared straight into Red Alert’s contorted faceplate. He stood barely a metre away. When did he get so close?

“Are you alright? You’re pale.”

Prowl gathered his senses and nodded. “I am fine.” He glanced around the room, scanning the hallway behind him with his doorwings. Clear. He was safe. He was simply overreacting.

Red Alert’s optics narrowed, but the mech said nothing as he linked arms with Prowl and dragged him to a couch.

“Sit down, I’ll get you some energon.”

Prowl sank into the plush couch and drew a few calming vents. His spark was calming, and his weapon system was thankfully in sleep mode again.

“Here.”

Red Alert held a cube towards him which Prowl gratefully accepted. He took a sip, revelling in the hot liquid as it warmed his frame. He settled back into the couch, his doorwings losing their rigidness as his systems settled.

“So are you going to tell me what just happened, or am I going to have to scour my tapes?” Red Alert folded his arms and crossed his legs, his optics still narrowed as he scrutinised Prowl.

Prowl shook his helm and rested it back against the couch. “I am overreacting.” He admitted softly, not looking at Red Alert. Primus it stung his pride to admit he wasn’t in control, but he knew if he did not tell Red Alert, then the vigilante would alert the entire crew, and he would be back in his quarters staring at the blank wall. He pressed his lips into a thin line.

But would that be such a bad thing?

If he reacted like he had just done with every mech he encountered, he posed a threat. Not only to the crew, but to Drift.

“In what ways?” Red Alert’s voice had turned gentle, his frame open and relaxed even as his optics patrolled over the lounge. Thankfully they were alone for the moment.

“One of the crew inquired after my health. My weapons systems activated to standby-mode.” Prowl kept his optics focused on the far corner of the lounge, but his hand clenched around the cube.

“That is quite normal for a mech in your position. Was he inconnu?”  Red Alert asked as he turned his attention back to Prowl, his field soothing.

Prowl frowned. No, he was not unknown. The mech had seemed familiar, but at the moment Prowl could not place him, and he didn’t have the energy to recall the files in his processor to match the Yussian. Not without the help of his battle computer. “I recall having met him on occasion, but not where.” He pressed his lips together and shrugged. “I am simply overreacting.” Prowl lifted his cube and took a long sip.

“Like I mentioned, normal, but I would suggest you see Ratchet. You appeared quite… agitated…when you entered.”

“Thank-you, I have a meeting scheduled with him after my shift.”

Movement at the door caught his optics and his doorwings flared, automatically scanning for a spark-signature.

That same fluttery feeling from earlier unsettled his tank as his processor identified the trespasser as his silver lover. His helm tilted as he watched Jazz bounce over towards the dispenser, no doubt listening to some new ‘tunes’, as Jazz called the odd distortion of musical instruments, Blaster had given him. A small smile played at his lips. Jazz would probably join them at the couch, intent on some form of physical contact. Heat coursed through Prowl and he shifted. The prospect was …very agreeable.

Hawk-optics followed the saboteur as he grabbed a cube, helm nodding to the beat, and went to sit at another table.

Another table.

A spark of irritation shot through Prowl and he pressed his lips together. Was Jazz …ignoring him? He narrowed his optics. He found it hard to believe that the saboteur was oblivious to his presence.

Another mech walked into the lounge and Prowl identified him immediately.

Blaster. Jazz’s occasional lover.

The mech looked at them and waved a toothy salute.

Prowl bristled and did not bother to return the greeting. Not that it bothered the convivial mech.

“Jazzman, my mech!” Blaster greeted in his loud, grating voice and to Prowl’s utmost vexation, the saboteur lost no time in jumping up and giving the boisterous mech a physical hug. Prowl bristled. So it was fine for Jazz to ignore him, but his old lover gets a hug? In public?

 “You are going to peel off his paint nanites if you continue to glare like that.”

Prowl’s helm snapped back to Red Alert and he opened his mouth, before snapping it shut. He wanted to strip far more than mere paint nanites from the mech. He turned his attention back to Jazz and Blaster, now seated at the blasted table once more. His spark twisted as he watched the two talk with accustomed ease, Blaster reaching out and touching Jazz’s hand every few clicks.

Jazz had not even cared to acknowledged him.

“Prowl, we are in public.” Red Alert whispered as he laid a hand on Prowl’s knee, his optics darting to the cameras strategically placed throughout the room.

“I am well aware of that fact, Red Alert.” Prowl stated coldly as he shifted his knee from under the light touch.

Red Alert cast an alarmed look at Jazz, before turning his attention back to Prowl. Blaster was a communication expert, and his field was sensitive enough to pick up when a comm transmission was sent, even from across the room. “Prowl, Blaster will pick up if Jazz sends you a communique. The two are known to be occasional lovers on the ship; Jazz is only playing the part to dispel rumours. Believe me he has been faithful to you. I’ve kept my optics on him.”

Prowl was unable to tear his optics from the blatant flirting. “Jazz is an expert infiltrator, Red Alert.” He is impossible to keep track of all the time.

“I’m aware of that, but it was agreed that the rumours needed to be dispelled. Look, Prowl, I’m not fond of Jazz, but I promise upon my spark, he has not visited any mechs in their quarters other than you. But Prowl, think, you admitted yourself you are overreacting at the moment.” Red Alert paused as he assed Prowl. “Maybe you should take the rest of the shift off?” He suggested carefully, his voice low as he kept his optics pinned on Prowl’s pale faceplate.

Prowl gave a brisk nod and stood, doorwings flaring as he pulled himself to his full height. “I will notify Ratchet.”

Red Alert gracefully jumped to his pedes as well. “Alright.” He laid two fingers on Prowl’s forearm, his optics intent and field teeking sincerity. “Prowl I promise, if he so much as touches another mech you will be the first to know.”

“I think it would be better if I did not know.” Prowl tore his optics away from Jazz and settled on Red Alert. A small, sad smile graced his lips. “Thank-you, Red Alert.”

He turned and left the room, unaware of a pair of concerned optics hidden behind a crystalline visor tracking his every move.

Prowl locked the door behind him, his frame heavy and chest constricted. It shouldn’t bother him – Jazz flirting with Blaster – but Primus it did. Not only did it bother him, it hurt.

He released a long, slow vent as he walked over to the couch. He had been to Ratchet, had told him of both encounters and how it had affected him, his frame hot with humiliation. Ratchet for once hadn’t growled or scoffed at him, just pressed his lips together and nodded, an odd look in his optics.

“It’s normal, these volatile emotions. Though if you’re going to send your sparkrate through the roof, I’m going to pull you from duty.” The old medic laid a hand on his shoulders, his field teeking of understanding. “Your physiology has changed to an extent, Prowl. You are going to act protective and you are going to be jealous of your mate.”

Prowl shuttered his optics as he laid down on the couch. His mate. Was that what they thought Jazz was to him? His mate?

A bark of laughter escaped him, at once thankful for the solitude his quarters gifted him with. Obviously Jazz did not share the sentiment. Jazz might enjoy flings, but Prowl most certainly was not a swinger.

You are being unreasonable. A small voice whispered.

Unreasonable. He shifted on the couch, his doorwings thrown over the side to allow them movement. He was not being unreasonable. Jazz…

The entrance chime sounded and Prowl growled in frustration. He did not want company. Not when he felt as out of control as he did.

He sighed as he heard the locks disengaged. Apparently what he wanted this orn was not on the menu.

“Prowl?”

His frame went rigid at the familiar voice. Apparently his mate deemed it good to check up on him in private.

“You recharging?”

Yes, maybe he should fake recharge. He shuttered his optics, intent on ignoring Jazz.

You are acting like a sparkling. That little voice in his helm popped up and Prowl nearly snarled.

A gentle hand on his shoulder, and an open, concerned field mingling with his finally prompted him to open his optics.

“What do you want, Jazz?” He asked blandly, staring at the soft, woven mesh covering his couch. Odd how closely the threads were interwoven.

“I’m worried about you. You looked shaken in the lounge.”

The hand moved down and came to a rest above his spark chamber.

Prowl froze, wanting to throw him off, but…his vents caught. Oh primus! Was he going to sob now? He grit his denta and  shrugged. He would not break in front of Jazz. He would not break at all.

“Prowl? Should I call Ratchet?” Jazz’s warm frame settled against his back, his arms circling him. Prowl’s armour clamped tightly.

“Jazz, please leave. I need some time alone.” He murmured.

“I’ll leave as soon as I’m satisfied that you’re ok.” Jazz pressed a kiss into the nape of his neck, shifting his doorwings so that he didn’t accidentally hurt the sensitive appendages.

Prowl shuttered his optics and swallowed. “I’m fine.” He whispered.

“Yeah, and Megatron is cute and cuddly.”

Prowl snapped his helm around, ridges drawn together. “What?”

“Ah, it has a face.” Jazz smiled and lifted his hand to Prowl’s cheek. “I can see you’re ain’t fine, Prowl. Be honest with me. What’s wrong?”

Prowl released a vent and turned back to face the couch. The silence of the room was deafening. What did he say? You flirting with Blaster right in front of me upsets me? He groaned. That sounded lame.

“Prowl? Are you in pain?” Jazz’s voice held an edge of panic. The arms around him instinctively tightened. “Please, babe, just tell me what bothering you!”

Prowl lay motionless, running through the best way of answering Jazz in a manner that would satisfy him and make him leave.

“Ratchet assigns my behaviour to ‘physiological changes’.” He stated, hoping Jazz would accept the answer and drop the subject.

“You went to see Ratchet?” Jazz asked, his field teeking more than ever of concern. “Why didn’t you call me?”

A doorwing twitched in irritation. “You were busy ‘dispelling rumours’.” The words slipped out harsher than intended. He bit the inside of his cheek, stilling completely as he waited for Jazz to…react? Explode? Oh well done, Master Prowl!

Shock slipped through Jazz’s field, replaced by a coldness that grated on his sensitive field. Prowl shuttered his optics and waited.

“Is this about Blaster?” The words were said soft and low.

 Well, since they were on the topic now, might as well face the music. “Jazz, I know how you are, but I would appreciate not being present when…” He shut his mouth. He couldn’t say it. Humiliating heat flooded his systems as Jazz pushed away from him.

“For frag’s sake, Prowl!”

Prowl felt Jazz’s weight lift from the couch, but didn’t turn to face him.

He traced Jazz’s EM field as the mech paced. “Is that what you think I am? Do you honestly think I’m so base I’ll frag my best friend in front of you?”

Prowl flinched at the accusation, at the crudeness of it. He hadn’t thought that at all. At least not in those words.

The EM field stilled as Jazz turned towards him. “Look at me!”

Prowl swallowed and pushed up. Primus he only wanted to recharge. He should have left the issue. “Jazz, I don’t have the energy…”

“Then I’ll get you a fragging cube, but we’re sorting this out now!” Jazz balled his fists and drew a deep vent.

“Blaster and I are friends. Yeah, we’ve fragged before, but not since I became involved with you!” Jazz shook his helm and paced, looking for all like a caged cybercat. “These past three quartexes I have spent nearly all my free time with you! I’ve not gone to any of the crew parties, I’ve not visited with my friends, I’ve not done anything to compromise my loyalty towards you and Drift, yet you always seem to find something!”

He swirled towards Prowl, his armour flared. “Why can’t you trust me, Prowl? What more do I need to do to convince you that I’ve chosen you and I’m not going to abandon you!?”

Prowl’s doorwings folded back and he dropped his optics. Why didn’t he trust Jazz? “I know.” He raised a hand and pressed it to his chevron, the light-headedness and nausea returning.

Thick silence surrounded them.

Prowl dropped his hand and looked at Jazz. The Polyhexian’s armour still bristled, his vents shallow and hard as heat rolled off his frame in hot waves. His visor was dark.

“Jazz, I…” Prowl cleared his vocaliser. What could he say to repair the damage he had unknowingly inflicted? He vents caught again and he cursed himself. Taking a deliberate vent to still his racing spark, he continued. “I do not know why I am struggling to trust you.” He looked at the far wall. “But I do trust you. You have been…more…than I expected to have, than I deserve. I do not know…” His vocaliser hitched. Curse his weakness! “I am trying, Jazz. It is not as easy for me to trust mechs.”

The saboteur released a long vent as he took a seat next to Prowl, encircling his shoulders and drawing the Praxian close. “I don’t trust easily either, Prowl. In my line of duty it can get my killed. But I choose to trust mechs like you, Ratchet, Optimus,” He bit the inside of his cheek. “Still working on trusting Red.”

Prowl relaxed into the warm, welcome embrace, even though Jazz’s field still rippled with emotions. “The last is mutual.” His own field levelled out, relaxing the longer Jazz held him.

“We’re quite a pair, aren’t we?” Jazz rubbed his back soothingly.

“Indeed.” Prowl agreed as he listened to the steady thrum of Jazz’s spark. His wings perked as a small clicking noise reached his audials and he looked up, into Jazz’s cobalt optics.

Jazz placed a finger under his chin and stared back, his optics bright with all the emotions simmering beneath the surface. “Prowl, I chose you. No other mech will have my loyalty as you do, not even Optimus. I promise on my spark.” He leaned forward and caught Prowl’s lips in a chaste kiss.

“I know.” Prowl kissed him back. He tentatively slid his hand up and around Jazz’s neck, drawing his lover closer as he deepened the kiss. A throaty groan escaped Jazz as the mech shifted, sliding his hands down Prowl’s back, and up again, pinching well-known hotspots on the delicate doorwings.

Warmth suffused his frame as he pressed into Jazz, wanting, needing more of the mech. He broke the kiss and traced his glossa along Jazz’s jaw, latching onto the chords in his neck. Jazz rolled his helm back and pulled Prowl onto his lap, letting the mech straddle him.

“Primus I love it when you let go.” Jazz breathed, deft fingers slipping into armour seams and wingjoints. 

Prowl hummed and turned his attention back to the warm, sweet mouth and cupped Jazz’s face. Soft lips melted against soft lips, glossas entwined in an erotic dance as frames vibrated in need.

Prowl pulled back briefly, lips parted, as he positioned himself. He stared into the beautiful lust-darkened optics of his lovers, marvelling that the mech would open to him on this level and grieving he could not do the same.

He traced a slender digit along the optics, down the olfactory, and rested on the lips. Time slowed as they stared at each other.

“I love you.” Jazz whispered, his hands pulling Prowl flush against him.

Prowl’s vents hitched as a powerful surge of electricity bolted through his frame, leaving him breathless, excited and fearful all in one. Eager mouths worked together as his frame rocked to Jazz’s rhythm.

His helm dropped back as a static keen ripped from his vocaliser. Electricity arched gracefully along their frames as Jazz joined him in ecstasy. He slumped forward, spent, but satiated, as Jazz cradled his hot frame.

Prowl lifted his helm, vents heaving, olfactories touching, and gazed into Jazz’s very soul. He traced a digit over Jazz’s spark, the essence of who his mech was.

He shuttered his optics.

“As do I.” He whispered.

Fatal Consequence sailed through the inky blackness of space, purposefully making her way towards the interception point. Her powerful engines propelled her forward, her eagerness to reach her destination only exceeded by the battle-lust of her Captain.

Violator turned from the broad viewing pane to face the six mechs seated before of him, his four, crimson optics scanning each of them. He bared his fangs in a warped grin.. These were his elite fighters – smart, driven and ruthless. He puffed his chest out. Yes. The cream of his crop.

“I have received a communique from Lord High Protector Megatron.” He stated in his dark, gravelly tone as he leaned on the tactical table. “You have been hand-picked to carry out an important mission. If you fail, you die. If you succeed, you will each be given a ship and crew of your own.”

A small ripple went through the mechs assembled, their fields flaring in anticipation as they leered at each other. Violator smirked as he pushed off the table, folding his powerful arms over his broad chassis.

“What is our lord’s desire?” Octus leaned forward, his eight optics blinking in succession as he folded two arms and pointed with another at the tactical table.

Violator raised his optic ridges as he studied each of the six-member team. Octus spoke for all of them, as being the most accomplished and decorated soldier. He sent a silent command and the tactical table lit up with an image of the detested Ark.

“The Ark?” Crasher’s husky voice resonated through the dark room, drawing everyone’s attention to the sole femme member of the team. Beautiful, smart and deadly, Crasher was his ace.

Violator turned one of his roving optics on her. “We will intercept the Ark in thirty-eight decaorns. He turned back to Octus. “You will be team leader. Your mission is simple –infiltrate the Ark and kill the command team.” He smiled smugly as another ripple went through them, this one not nearly as enthusiastic as the last. Violator waited patiently.

It was Undermine who broke the silence. “The command team of the Autobots are not easy targets, Captain.” Unspoken was the desire to know more, to gather information. Being the analyst of the team, Violator had not expected anything less. Undermine would be the brains of the operation, the plotter.

Violator pressed his lips together and narrowed his optics. It was up to his discretion if he wanted to inform them of the details or not. Although, considering that it was either succeed or die…. Violator straightened. If his team succeeded, he would be promoted to admiral of the fleet. More than that, if they succeeded it could tip the balance of power in their favour. The goddess of war would finally turn her optics favourably on them. And that blasted prime would be replaced by Megatron’s puppet until all the resistance is quashed!

He would do what he could to see them succeed. He nodded at Undermine, but turned to look at each of the members. “We are moving into a new phase of the war. As you know the Ark is on her way to Cybertron. The Prime has been gathering favour with the Council, which has seriously disrupted the efforts of our infiltrators. They have warned Lord Megatron to act before Optimus Prime reaches the Council gatherings, as their own influence within the Council wanes as Optimus gathers support and confidence. This cannot be allowed to happen. We are Lord Megatron’s elite fighters, and he has bestowed upon us the honour of carrying out his orders.”

“What would it benefit to kill the Prime?” Rollout, a skilled fighter, asked as he looked first at Octus, then at Violator. “They would only elect another one.”

“Fool!” Glitch growled. The team’s technician turned his large helm slowly to look at his partner. “If we kill Optimus, it would shatter morale and put the Council into a frenzy of finding another suitable mech.” He turned back to Violator. “And it is safe to presume the Council members sympathetic to our cause will ensure a weak Prime is chosen.”

Violator dipped his helm. “And with the loss of his command team, we will have the opportunity to replace them with mechs loyal to our cause, thus aiding in the complete annihilation of the Autobot forces.”

“We will tear them apart from within.” Crasher smiled coyly and propped her hip against the table. “Yet this is no easy feat to accomplish. As much as I hate to admit it, they are not weaklings as the rest of their ilk.” She lifted her chin in challenge.

Violator shrugged and dropped his hand towards the hologram of the Ark, zooming in on the command deck. “That is why I am sending you. The command team would be situated in this area, save for Commander Prowl, who is currently restricted to his quarters.” He tilted his helm. “It is safe to say they are distracted, at present.”

“Distracted?” Crasher prompted, her lips turned down as she glared at the image in open disdain.

“Yes. A little matter of great implication.” Violator purred as he rolled his shoulders, the horns rising along his spinal strut. “It has recently come to the attention of Lord Megatron that one of command team is carrying.”

“Carrying?” Wreckloose blurted. It was the first words the giant mech had spoken, and his shock was portrayed on every member’s faceplate.

Violator licked his lips, his crimson optics bright as excitement coursed through him. “Indeed.” He waited for them to connect the dots, and chuckled when Crasher suddenly pushed off the table and released a string of curses crude enough to strip his paint off. He cackled.

“That’s…illegal.” Undermine narrowed his optics and stroked his chin with his long, dingy digits.

“Exactly.” Violator’s chuckle turned into a sneer. “Legally, Prowl should be court marshalled and cashiered, if not arrested, but we strongly suspect Optimus intends to take it up with the Council to have the law revoked.”

Deadly silence filled the room.

“That would boost Autobot numbers significantly. And morale.” Glitch uttered under his breath. “With the Council already viewing Optimus favourably, they are likely to revoke the law.”

“Not to mention that they undoubtedly count Prowl as a very valuable member of high-command.” Octus added darkly, his four arms folded over his giant frame as he contemplated silently.

“I never figured him for the fragging type.” Rollout canted his helm to the side, his face scrunched up. “I thought he was a prick.”

“Apparently even pricks frag.” Wreckloose grumbled and balled his fists. “Our council members pushed hard for the law to be accepted.”

“Who is the sire?” Crasher asked, her armour bristling.

“Unknown, at present.” Violator took the conversation back, pleased with their reactions. “Our informant was unable to secure that information. According to early rumours, it was a mech by the designation of Sideswipe…”

“Isn’t that one of the fragging Twins?” Rollout cut in, his optic ridges raised high over his wide optics.

“Do not interrupt me!” Violator snarled and slammed his fist into the table, the cords in his neck pulling tight as energon pulsed through his helm. His cold optics bored into the mechs, waiting as each dropped their optics and tucking their armour in show of respect. He narrowed his optics. “Don’t ever interrupt me.” He growled and straightened to his full, imposing height, armour flared in authority and horns raised in aggression. “Those were the early rumours. They have since been discarded, so the identity of the sire is still unknown, but inconsequential.”

He turned to Crasher, fangs bared. The femme’s fiery optics belied her desire at rebellion, but she tucked her armour. Good. “You will ensure Commander Prowl does not see the lights of Cybertron ever again.” He pointed a clawed digit at her. “I want his helm, or it will be your helm!”

She dipped her helm, armour flaring.

Violator turned to Octus. “You will seek Optimus, and Wreckloose, you will take out Ironhide.” The two makes nodded. “Rollout, you will go after their medical team. Be warned their head medic is rumoured to be volatile and apt fighter. Do not underestimate him.”

“Undermine, their TIC is abroad, General Jazz. I do not need to inform you of the danger the mech poses.” Violator narrowed his optics at Undermine.

The spindly green mech leered, lovingly tracing a scar extending from his abdominal plating to his chassis. “I look forward to finishing our little tryst.”

Violator nodded, well aware of the two’s rivalry. It was why he had chosen Undermine for this task. He turned to the final member of the team.

“Glitch. You will be responsible for the downing of their security director – a mech by the designation of Red Alert. Be warned, he has a paranoia glitch and is apparently brilliant. Our infiltrator has the clearance to grant you two breems of complete system shutdown. In this time, you will be required to breach and board the ship, and to reach your respective targets.” He glanced at each in turn. “Glitch, you need to take out the security director before the systems come back online. Also note, he has upgraded the security systems. You will be given temporary override codes that will enable you to get through the firedoors.”

“I have read the report of the previous stealth ship that attempted to breach the Ark. I assume we are to complete their failed mission?” Undermine folded his hands behind his back, optics distant.

“That is correct.” Violator stated, tilting his helm as he waited for Undermine to continue.

“If they were able to detect the stealth ship, and I assume that is before they upgraded the systems at Paradron, how will we be able to get close enough to the Ark to board within that two breem window?” Undermine glanced at Glitch.

“Fatal Consequence will attack the Ark openly. The attacks need to be coordinated precisely. While they are focused on us, you will complete your mission.” Violator motioned Glitch and Undermine to the table, pointing at the hologram of the Ark. “You have full access to all resources to devise a feasible mission plan. I expect to have it on my desk in forty-eight joors.”

He turned back to the inky void. “We will reach our target in exactly one quartex. Dismissed.”

He grinned at his reflexion in the clear, reinforced perspex. He shuttered his optics and licked his lips as if he could already taste the sweet energon of victory.

And the Autobots will be left to pick up the shattered pieces.

Author’s note 2: My apologies for the late update. Before I knew more than a month had gone by since the last update! Alas, I only forsee things settling down after the 16^th of December. I’ve accepted a new job offer across country, so apart from the fact that the movers are fetching my stuff next week to transfer it to storage at my new town, obligating me to stay with friends, I have to finish all my current projects I am involved in at my present employer before the end of the month. Needless to say, most of my free time becomes ‘over-time’. I hope however once I am settled at my new residence that I will be able to complete the fic with regular updates.

Thanks to all the support, and a special shout out to… Insecuriosity, Lindariddle , techbilt, WingedViolet, SunnySidesofBlue, SoDoLaFaMiDoRe, ReturnTime, ThePeacefulKnight, Crystal Long, Borath, confuzzled-neko, Skyelover101, Harutemu, Goldsparkles. And of course, my beta and soundboard…SiriuslyFeisty.

You guys and gals are amazing!J

Chapter Text

Sideswipe twitched in annoyance as the smooth Iaconian voice gave another correct answer at some stupid tactical simulation scenario. The darkness hid his fellow student’s faceplate from him, but Sideswipe could detect the lofty look and arrogant tone without the help of lights anyway.

He shuttered his optics, after all, death-by-stare would be un-lieutenant like. He had to behave. Prowl had asked him to behave. He drew a calming vent. Focus on pleasant things.

“You are an apt teacher, Commander.”

What the frag!? Sideswipe’s optics shot open and he glared at the all-too-eager-all-too-knowing expression illuminated by the soft, blue glow of the holographic display.

He pursed his lips.

Intel had no right to tell Prowl what a good commander he was. Not that he was perfect, but still.

This was his and Prowl’s time.

He drew his field in tight as his lip twitched in an ugly sneer.

It was their training joor.

Why did he have to share it with a fragging bot who seemed to know all the answers and got it twice as fast as Sideswipe? It’s not like Mr. Know-it-all was learning anything at the moment. And worse…he was complimenting Prowl. The glitch-headed aft-kisser.

He huffed and curled his digits, his optics falling away from that smooth, punchable faceplate to the holograph. A brief, but poignant poke from Sunny through their bond distracted him briefly. He sent an irritated pulse back. They’d spar later. Right now, he needed to focus. He narrowed his optics at the board. Focus.

“Sideswipe, do you understand?”

Prowl’s baritone voice had him glancing up into Prowl’s stern faceplate. He shot a look at Intel and to his growing annoyance the mech was watching him too, and was that a fragging smirk?! He cleared his vocaliser and bit back a nasty retort. “Yeah.” He shrugged and turned his charming, if somewhat forced, grin back to Prowl. He waived to the holograph. “Following every bit.” He rolled his shoulders as he glanced back at the board. He bit the inside of his cheek. Now what the frag was this…deployment here supposed to do? Or be?

“If you are sure.” Prowl stated and turned back to the board, his slender digits tracing some weird route that, according to Sideswipe knowledge, wasn’t really supposed to be a route at all.

“The natural curve of the landscape can be either used to full advantage or it has the potential to be a major deterrent. When planning a battle, if possible, choose the landscape that has the most potential for your own troops. Higher elevation is optimal.” Prowl gave a command and the holodisplay flickered once, them morphed into a vivid rendition of rolling hills and small streams of liquid mercury that cut into the metallic surface of the planet. Prowl continued to explain the natural features, their benefits, but also possible problems.

Sideswipe found himself once more staring through the holodisplay, his straying into murky waters where uninvited phantom foes lurked in the darkness.

In exactly two quartexes they would arrive at Cybertron. Then this will be over. Then Intel would probably stand there with his new mentor, babbling away and talking all sort of technical nonsense while he’d go back to being cannon fodder. Maybe even shipped off somewhere else. Prowl had promised they’d remain aboard the Ark, but what guarantee would they have? Prowl would have no more authority to say anything. Prowl would be gone. Like so many others before him. Their word only counted while they lived.

He glanced at Prowl from underneath his optic ridges. Prowl was talking to Intel, explaining some detail about the layout. Anger surged through him like a rampid swarm of buzzflies. He gritted his denta. Once more, the demon from their past was here to haunt their future. If Loss had favourites, it was the Twins.

“When working with different troop formations, or even different divisions, it is of paramount importance to know what type of terrain best suites each unit.” Those blue optics turned briefly towards Sideswipe, hesitated a fraction of a click, then turned back towards the board, “Trust commanders to know the parameters of their troops abilities.”

He let his optics rove over Prowl, taking in every little detail. He had promised he’d look after him didn’t he? Well, guess looking after and at was pretty much the same thing.

The faint light from the display made the lines on Prowl’s faceplate look more like clefts. H his doorwings were off from their normal, rigid position by at least two degrees. Damn this light. Was the mech simply tired from the carrying, or was the commander as aware of the ticking clock as he was?

He drew a deep vent and released it slowly. His attention flitted over to Intel. The mech looked to be in absolute rapture. How annoying. He showed way too much enthusiasm. It made him look young, weak. “Weak” never survived long.

He huffed.

The other two mechs glanced at him.

“You disagree, Sideswipe?” Prowl barely lifted his optic ridges.

Oh why can’t the Cons choose this moment to attack? Sideswipe pursed his lips and looked at the board. “No, sir.” Nope. Can’t disagree when I don’t have a fragging clue what’s going on.

“Actually, sir, I disagree.”

Sideswipe groaned and rolled his optics as Prowl’s attention was snagged away from him. Of course mister slagging-I-Know-It-All would disagree. A sharp doorwing-flick his direction was warning enough that Prowl had heard him. It was all he could do to keep himself from throwing a rude gesture.

“Heavy artillery should advance on the flats, as that would not slow them down. By setting them on the slight incline to the left, they would lose speed and projectile length.”

“Generally, with the right support, that would be a good attack strategy, however, you are forgetting that your terrain is marsh-like. This area, and you can detect it by foliage, has less water, and thus the terrain is steadier. The flats are water-logged, and due to their weight, the possibility exists that the added suction of wet terrain will lessen, or altogether halt their advance. That is why you always choose familiar territory to fight on whenever possible, and never forget, choose your battles wisely.”

He turned to Sideswipe. “Do you understand?”

 “Yes, sir.” Sideswipe shrugged then muttered, “I’m not that stupid”, under his breath. Primus help him he was going to destroy something when he got out of here.

Prowl eyed him, and then slowly straightened from his position over the simulation table. A small whining sound reached his audios and a click later the holographic display disappeared, plunging them into momentary darkness before the lighting returned to normal levels.

“That would be all for today.” Prowl dipped his wings and turned towards his desk on the opposite side.

Sideswipe grumbled internally as he thought for words to say, knowing that somehow, but not quite sure why, Prowl was annoyed with him. Was he in trouble? He looked at the table, then back at Prowl. Mmm…Maybe he’s tired? Venting, he turned to follow the stiff Intel out of the office.

“Sideswipe.”

He groaned and shuttered his optics tight. Not tired. Slag. “Yes, sir?”

“Remain.”

Ah frag what now? “Yes, sir.” He raked his processor for clues. Maybe it was that last comment? He turned around to face Prowl, frame stiff and straight.

Prowl took a seat behind his large, datapad-filled desk and stared with those unfathomable optics at Sideswipe.

Sideswipe remained stubbornly still.

After two breems he fidgeted, unable to remain still under the intense scrutiny. What was Prowl looking for anyway? He’d polished up before he started his shift, and he’d paid attention during the lecture. He dropped his gaze briefly to meet Prowl’s.

And that seemed to be the cue.

“You are displeased that Lt. Intel is participating in your tactical lesson?” He finally asked after what seemed like an eternity, folding his hands on his desk and leaning forward. Every part of his frame vibrated with authority, from the set jaw to the raised doorwings as he waited for Sideswipe’s answer.

Sideswipe pushed the uncomfortable feelings flirting with his tanks to the side. So Prowl was annoyed. And tired. This could be fun. He forced his frame to relax as he spread his pedes out. He could admit he was somewhat irritated that Intel had joined their session, but what would honesty buy him? A lecture? He dropped his shoulders and shrugged. It was none of Prowl’s business. “Sunstreaker is being a pain.” Sorry bro.

Prowl’s posture remained unmoved, but his blue optics hardened.

The silence grew.

Sideswipe glanced away, then back.

Prowl was still watching him like a hawk.

Nope. Not going to admit it. Uh-ah. He bit his lip and tucked his chin. He was used to the silent treatment. He could handle it.

He flicked his gaze towards the stony tactician. Still watching.

He balled his fists. Prowl could not force him to say anything. It wasn’t like he had said or done anything to the fragging junior tac officer? So why did it matter? And frag, when did Prowl’s office become so hot and stuffy? He raised his chin and stared back into those burning blue lightpoints…

“Argh!” Sideswipe threw his helm back and flapped his hands in the air like a flailing insecticon. “Fine! So I’m pissed that he joined! I’ll get over it!” He folded his arms over his chest and thrust his chin out.

“Why?” Prowl asked, doorwings raised high.

“I don’t know!” Sideswipe shrugged, his tone petulant. “Maybe because I don’t know him? Maybe because he’s a tactician and knows fragging everything! And this used to be our training session!” He huffed and turned his helm away from Prowl, a sullen frown contorting his normally handsome visage. “I barely get to see you as it is!”

The comment fell into startled silence.

Prowl’s raised his optic ridges. “Am I to understand you are jealous?”

“No!” Sideswipe whipped his helm back, optics wide as he shook his helm fiercely. “No, I am not jealous! I am never jealous!” He bit his lip and tilted his helm. “Just pissed.”

“Because I am sharing your training session with Lt. Intel?” Prowl leaned back in his chair and folded his hands over his abdominal plating. His doorwings flicked forward and flared.

Now what does that mean? Sideswipe wondered as he watched the doorwings. He dropped his hands and clasped them behind his back, rocking on his pedes. “Yeah.”

“Alright, then.” Prowl cocked his helm and studied him.

Sideswipe tried not to squirm as he wondered what would follow next. A lecture? A reprimand? Or maybe a lecture and a reprimand? Prowl opened his mouth and he braced himself.

“I cannot afford to devote two joors to training two individuals in the same field, when one joor would suffice – ”

Ok so lecture takes the energon goodie….

“It is my hope that you and Intel would develop a working relationship before I leave the Autobots.” Prowl waited until Sideswipe looked at him before he continued. “It would ensure you receive further training when I am no longer able to provide it.”

Sideswipe’s armour clamped and his tanks clenched, all thoughts of lectures, Intels and reprimands fleeing as that one phrase ricocheted in his processor. When I leave the Autobots. He shook his helm. “Don’t talk like that.” He growled, icy coldness snaking around his spark. 

Pristine white doorwings flared, but Sideswipe ignored the warning. “How can you just give up?” He clenched his jaw as he tried to control the anger. The demon that was Loss laughed at him, his screeching voice taunting. And what made it worse that the mech seated across him, a mech he could trust, a mech who cared, was accepting Loss’s victory so easily. “It’s not right!”

Sunstreaker’s steady presence pushed through the bond, grabbing hold of the roiling emotions like a soothing balm. He focused on the calming, solid presence of his brother.

Prowl’s optic ridges knit in confusion. “I am not sure I follow. I am not giving up on you, I am simply providing you with an alternative means of…”

“I don’t mean my fragging training sessions!” Sideswipe blurted, vents heaving, as he turned his helm away from Prowl. His armour flared defensively.

Prowl’s optics hardened as he sat straight, doorwings raised dangerously in warning at Sideswipe’s insubordinate tone. Sideswipe tucked his armour, but didn’t back down.

Prowl opened his mouth, then closed it and briefly shuttered his optics, realisation dawning on him. “Sideswipe,” he drew a deep vent before relaxing his pose. “It is not that I am ‘giving up’, but the law is the law. It is inevitable that I leave.”

“How do you know? Optimus is going to fight for you! He’s going to make sure you stay!” In the back of his processor Sideswipe knew he was treading a fine line between subordinate and friend, but he didn’t care. Prowl was a good commander, a good mentor. Optimus would find a way to thwart the law. He had to. They couldn’t surrender him to Loss without a fight. And by Primus Loss wouldn’t win this time.

“Sideswipe,” Prowl’s voice was gentle, “even if Optimus finds a way to revoke the law, I am still going to have a sparkling. Deep space would be too dangerous for Drift. I will not risk endangering him.”

“So you’re leaving out of free choice then? What if they let you stay and then you could still, I don’t know? Distance control everything? You’re doing that now aren’t you?” Sideswipe pleaded.

“Not exactly. Distance control of the Ark would be impractical, Sideswipe.” Prowl raised a hand to forestall Sideswipe from saying anything, before he continued, “But if, if, they allow me to remain with the Autobots, then I would in all likelihood be based in Iacon. Yet the possibility that the law would be revoked for one mech, even for one occupying the station I currently hold, is slim.”

“I still think it’s unfair.” Sideswipe grumbled. “You should…”

The entry request interrupted him and he glared at the buzzer on Prowl’s desk, envisioning his fist slamming down on it and the poor buzzer splintering into a million pieces.

Prowl glanced at the buzzer too, sending a quick command before turning back to Sideswipe, his posture painfully professional once more. “As you have stated, Optimus Prime is doing everything he can. I am not ‘giving up’, Sideswipe, I am merrily preparing for the worst-case scenario. Please bear that in mind with our next tactical training session, and try to be civil.”

“Yes, sir.” Sideswipe mumbled. Not that I have much of a fragging choice.

Prowl inclined his helm and flicked his doorwings. “You are dismissed.”

Sideswipe saluted stiffly and turned, nearly colliding with Jazz. He blurted an apology as he sidestepped Jazz and slid out the door without another word.

Jazz turned and cocked an optic ridge at the retreating frontliner until the door slid closed. He turned to Prowl, and whistled, shaking his helm. “What was that about? He spray-paint another smiley on one of Red’s cameras?” Jazz grinned as he cocked his helm and meandered towards Prowl with predatory grace.

Prowl drew a deep vent and wiped a hand over his faceplate.

“You ok, babe?” Jazz frowned as he watched his lover sag in his chair. Discreetly he ran a topical scan over Prowl, marking the lower energy levels. He tagged a note in his processor. Prowl’s levels were dropping at a faster rate, and he was going to take it up with Ratchet just to be sure it wasn’t anything to be worried about. He cleared his vocaliser as he unsubspaced a cube and placed it before Prowl. “You need to go rest? You’ haven’t really been as energetic as late.”

“No, I am fine.” Prowl straightened and indicated a chair which Jazz readily accepted, easily ignoring the cube. “As far as I can deduce, Sideswipe is upset for two reasons. Firstly, because I have combined his and Lt. Intel’s training sessions and secondly because he believes I have ‘given up’ on my position within the Autobots.”

“Huh.” Jazz licked his lips to hide the flicker of unease at the second part. He shifted back and rested his pedes on the corner of Prowl’s desk. “So…He’s jealous?”

Prowl’s lip tipped into a small smile as his optics flickered to Jazz’s pedes and Jazz imagined him fighting the urge to swat his pedes off, but a precariously tall stack of datapads laying not too far from his pedes had Prowl consider his actions. Wouldn’t want to accidentally knock over the pile. A grin split his faceplate as he imagined the stats running through Prowl’s helm at the safer course. His lover opted for safety more these orns.

 Prowl settled back, optics still flickering to his pedes, but seemingly content. “Of course not. He has assured me rather fervently that he is never jealous.”

“Right.” Soft laughter bubbled out of Jazz as he shook his helm. “And Sunny adores rust.” His smile faltered as his optics roved over Prowl. The mech looked drawn; maybe he could convince him to go take a nap. But there was one more issue to discuss… “And the second?”

Prowl’s optics darkened as he reached for another datapad, evading Jazz’s probing look, which only deepened the uneasiness gnawing at his tanks. “The council is unlikely to revoke the law. I have reviewed the legalities.”

“So in essence you have given up?” Jazz asked softly as he dropped his pedes, reaching over to grab Prowl’s hand and wishing for all the universe he could tell him it would be alright. But he couldn’t promise that. He would need to review their escape plan. He would make good on his promise to Optimus if Optimus could not make good on his promise.

The red chevron lifted, but the optics remained closed off. “It is better to be prepared.” He echoed the words he told Sideswipe and dropped his optics to the datapad in his hands. “We cannot fight this war on another front, Jazz. It is already going poorly. We must remain united. Igniting a war within the Autobot faction would only expedite the Decepticon’s dominance. I will not be the cause of that.” Prowl turned his hand and entwined his digits with Jazz’s, squeezing lightly. “And I will need to take care of Drift. I will not be able to dedicate as much time to the Autobots as I am doing now even if I were to remain. It would be better if a replacement is found.”

“You’re a hard mech to replace, Prowler.” Jazz stroked Prowl’s hand with his thumb. “Besides, you might be required to stay at Iacon. That’s what Optimus’s aiming for. If you stay at the base, you’ll be able to take care of Drift and continue with lighter duties. I’ll also be there to help.”

Prowl locked optics with Jazz. “You are…planning on staying with me at Iacon?” He asked carefully. “What about your division?”

“My mech, I’ve got fifty percent shares in that little bundle nestled next to your spark.” He pointed a digit playfully at Prowl’s spark, “Ain’t no way I’m missing out on him. And as to my division, Mirage is used to handling things in my absence. Mine would not be felt as hard as yours.”

Prowl drew a deep vent and released it slowly, letting go of Jazz’s hand. “We cannot lose this war, Jazz.” He shuttered his optics, pinching the bridge of his olfactory, a faint tremor running along the length of his doorwings.

Jazz released his hand and got up. He walked around the desk until he stood next to Prowl. “Hey.” He lightly withdrew Prowl’s hand and tilted his chin. “What’s really on your processor? You’re acting out.” He bent until they were optic-to-optic.

Prowl pulled his field in tightly, “I don’t know.” He leaned forward and rested his chevron against Jazz’s helm, doorwigs tucked defensively. “I cannot …something is wrong, Jazz, and I cannot figure it out. I have no variables, no evidence, no constants, just…a feeling. It is driving me insane.”

Jazz slid his hand behind Prowl’s neck, holding him close. “Feelings can sometimes be as important as stats, babe.” Worry roiled through him. Primus he’d rather navigate an uncharted Con base any orn than this. “Maybe Drift’s syphoning too much energy? Do you need to see Ratchet?” Jazz opened a line, but hesitated to call the medic.

Prowl shook his helm. “No, it is not Drift.”

“Explain it to me.” He closed the line but tacked a note in his processor. He’d see Ratchet when he was done with Prowl, or he’d drag Prowl to Ratchet. He needed to be sure himself, but other than that –

“It is only a feeling, Jazz. It…” Prowl pulled away and drew a calming vent, his field levelling out as he reined in his doubts, doorwings returning to their normal resting position. “I apologise. I should not made you worry. I must be more affected by our return to Cybertron than I thought. If it persists, I will notify Ratchet.”

“Hey, babe, don’t apologise.” Jazz ran his hand over Prowl’s shoulder, squashing the feeling of loss as Prowl’s warm frame no longer rested against him. “Just tell me what you feel.” He knew Prowl didn’t believe in gut feelings, but they had saved his aft more times than he’d care to recount. If Prowl felt something was off, then he wanted to know about it. Rumours had it carriers had some uncanny sixth-sense or some such slag.

Prowl focused on Jazz, his mouth set in a thin, straight line. Jazz could almost see that processor grinding.

“If I have to analyse it, I would say it is…something…out of place. As if it is here, in front of me, pressing against me, yet completely beyond my reach. It is making me feel…apprehensive.” He paused as a small frown drew his ridges together, his focus beyond Jazz. He nodded sharply. “Yes. Apprehension is the correct description. I am apprehensive that something bad, something which I have not taken into account, is going to happen.”

Jazz tilted his helm as he wet his dry lips. What should he say to that? He couldn’t dismiss Prowl’s concerns and tell him that everything would be fine, because quite frankly with a spy running loose and the Council going to throw a fit, chances were something bad might happen.

Jazz planted a kiss on Prowl’s helm, expanding his field to encompass his mate in a reassuring aura. “You’re under a lot of stress, babe. Since you first learned of our little mech things have been rough for you. It could be a fallout. We’ll talk to Ratchet about it.” Prowl’s features hardened as he tilted away from Jazz. Ok. Wrong words. He continued his gentle ministrations, moving to the doorwings in the hope to pacify the irked mech. “Other than that, you have me, and my department, looking out for you… and Ratchet, Ironhide, the Terrors, OP, and not to mention your little security fiend, uh, friend, Red Alert.” He smiled as Prowl dipped his wings, some of the tenseness decapitating as his lips softened into an almost smile.

Jazz hugged Prowl before letting go and moving back to give the tactician some room.

“I am simply being irrational.” Prowl cleared his vents and reached for his cube, taking a sip. “You are correct. It is probably an effect of carrying.”

Jazz leaned casually against the enviable desk and silently watched Prowl online a datapad, browsing its contents before signing off. Another one soon joined its companion. “It could be.” He said at last, but either way, I’d like us to talk to Ratchet about it.”

The doorwings flicked forward. “Ratchet looks at the physical Jazz, not at premonitions.”

Premonitions. Jazz hated that word. A bad feeling went a lot in the realm of Special Operations. One learned never to disregard them. He rolled his shoulders and tucked his field. He needed to get more information on that slagging spy. He drew a vent and held it. “Maybe, but your energy levels warrant another visit.” He watched as Prowl hesitated in his movements, then fluidly continued.

“I have already questioned Ratchet about them.” He raised the cube he was slowly sipping in evidence.

Jazz worked his jaw. Prowl could at least have told him that. Maybe even invited him to go with. He would actually have appreciated that.

“It is normal that my energy levels are falling at a rapid pace.” Prowl continued. “Ratchet also mentioned that my frame might become sore. This will continue and might get worse, until separation.”

“When did you see him?” Jazz asked as he studied his claws, keeping for as casual a mood as possible. He had plans for this evening, so he wasn’t going to jeopardise them by commenting on Prowl’s medical visit.

“I commed him before I saw Intel and Sideswipe.” Prowl replied evenly as he placed the completed datapad on a growing stack and reached for another one.

“Hm.” Jazz shrugged and stood. Ok, so at least he hadn’t gone and seen the old medic. “Send me a copy of your conversation?” He waited for acknowledgement then looked at his chronometer. “I’d best be going.” He leaned down and caught Prowl’s lips in a kiss which lasted far longer than he intended. Smirking as he withdrew, he whispered in Prowl’s audio, “Don’t work too late. I ordered a special batch from Wheeljack. Thought we could have ourselves a bit of a date later. Like we used to.”

An answering smirk had his spark skipping a beat.

“I can make no promises.” Prowl turned his attention back to his work, but the playful teek resonated within his field.

“Then I’ll drag you out of here. Maybe kidnap ya.” Jazz shot over his shoulder as he made his way to the door, grinning like a fool. Prowl’s answering “I will hold you to that,” warmed his spark and kept his processor occupied the short walk to his office.

Keying in his code, he placed his index digit on the receiver. The keypad recognised his CNA and the door slid open.

“What ya got for me, Raj?” he asked as he stalked into his secured office. Though not as big as Prowl’s – or maybe it was, but simply impossible to tell under all the clutter – his office made more than up for it with the lavish decorations. His soft, internally heated chair greeted Jazz’s tired frame as he sagged into it. He rested his hands behind his helm and tuned his sharp senses onto the form of his second.

“Still no closer than we were.” The slim, blue mech lifted his chin as he seated himself on the edge of the chair he usually commandeered. “Whoever we’re dealing with is no simpleton. I have been working closely with Lt. Col. Red Alert, but so far we have come up empty-handed. Our security director, to state it lightly, has been working double-shifts sifting through the history of every mech on this ship.”

“And still no leads?” Jazz asked as he stared at the ceiling. “The information I managed to extract, and what our other agents managed to extract, clearly points to a leak on the Ark. Close to command.” They sat in silence as each pondered the possibilities.

Jazz knew they didn’t have time for this. They needed to find that leak before they reached Cybertron. Too many soldiers were dying because of leaked positions, leaked plans, leaked logistics of conveys and worst, leaked designated safe areas for civilians. And if they reached Cybertron, the Ark was due for maintenance repairs. Who knew where the fragger might slither off to? They needed to find that leak, and plug it. Permanently.

“What about the possibility of a sleeper agent?” Mirage asked as he crossed his heels, but Jazz shook his helm.

“Nah. Once sleeper coding is activated, you know you’re a fragging spy. Besides, sleepers are only used once they become disposable. If he is as good as you think, then he’s deep cover.”

He drew a vent and dropped his arms. “Get Red Alert in here.” Jazz wiped his faceplate in frustration. They have been living on the Ark for the past how many vorns and they never realised it. He balled his fist against his forehelm.

“Are you alright?”

He dropped his hand and drew a deep, ragged vent, his optics tracing Mirage’s pinched expression. This was his second in command. He trusted this mech with his life. More than his life. “I’m worried about Prowl.”

Mirage stiffened slightly and shifted his position. “The sparkling is well?” He asked softly, with the barest of intonations.

Jazz narrowed his optics at the master spy. Whenever he spoke of either Prowl or Drift, Mirage would become uncomfortable. Primus, was he responsible for sorting out everybody’s problems? He stapled his digits. “Mirage.”

“Yes?” Delicate optic ridges raised over high cheek bones. The sonorous tone was respectful, yet guarded.

“Do you have a problem with Prowl?” Jazz had thought he’d sorted that before he’d left for his mission. Before he’d even known Prowl was carrying, he’d asked his second, his trusted friend, to look after him. So what in the Pit was going on?

“No, Jazz. I hold Prowl in the highest regards…”

“Don’t be coy with me, Raj. I’m fragging tired of sorting out problems.”

Mirage squared his shoulders as he lifted his chin, vents heaving slightly as delicate nasal ridges flared. “I am not being coy. I hold Prowl in the highest respect.”

“But?” Jazz prompted when the noble remained silent.

“But nothing.” Mirage said with finality. “We are here to discuss findings on our most pressing concern, not about familial relations or even personal relations, or anything with regards to that.”

Jazz cocked his helm, slowing observing Mirage. He was nervous, he was defensive. A sick feeling formed at the bottom of his tanks. Mirage was hiding something from him and it had to do with his family. “What have you done?”

“Nothing more than you have requested of me.” Mirage sniffed as he kept his helm high and back painfully straight. “I hope you trust my word on it, Jazz.”

Jazz flared his armour at the insult, visor flashing more in hurt at the hidden accusation than anger.

The haughty look dropped instantly and Mirage shuttered his optics. “My apologies, Jazz, that was untoward.”

Jazz swallowed and nodded, drawing a deep breath. “Yeah, that was. You know I trust you Mirage, but I’m so sick and tired of being careful around mechs and having to try and drag the answers out of them. I know you. We’ve worked together since the beginning of this slagging war. Whenever I bring up Prowl or Drift, you get all frazzled. Has Prowl done anything to you?” He couldn’t imagine Prowl being vindictive. It was out of character, but then again, carrying did odd things to mechs. And Prowl had certainly had his share of odd moments.

Mirage let out his breath slowly and shook his helm. “No.” He raised his helm again, his optics cloaked, “Rather it is I that was at fault.” The admittance came low and clipped, almost as if it left a vile taste in the noble’s mouth.

“Meaning?”

Mirage glanced to the side, as if contemplating his words before he faced Jazz. From the looks of it, the mech expected Jazz to rip his helm off. Without wanting to, Jazz tensed, armour flaring.

“I think the discovery of Prowl’s condition was as a result of a confrontation between us.” Mirage folded his hands in his lap as he continued to eye Jazz squarely. “Prowl and I, even though of roughly the same social station, had not really had dealing with each other, before or during the war. During the war, I came to regard you as my friend, and my loyalty to you is spark-meant. Thus when I found out of his condition, and the implications it had not only for the Autobots, but also for you personally, I was angry. I know you never wanted a mate, and especially not a family. I knew you would not abandon them. To my shame and ultimate regret, I confronted him, and from what I understood, it was directly after this confrontation he collapsed. Lt. Col. Red Alert discovered him, and had Ratchet treat him. That is how the command team found out. So, indirectly I have failed you. And I regret that.”

Jazz sat in silence, seething, spark pounding louder and louder as the implications of Mirage’s words sank in. Ratchet had told him about the event, had told him how close both had come to dying. He had more than once stated that had Red Alert not found them when he had, if Red Alert had not been watching him, Prowl would be dead. Drift would be dead.

His tank churned at the thought.

Ratchet, nor any other of the command team, had not known how Prowl had landed in the condition he had. Jazz had asked Prowl, but his mate had only said it doesn’t matter, it is in the past. He sucked air through his clenched jaw as he shuttered his optics. But it did matter. It had kept Jazz awake at nights wondering if it hadn’t been the spy. Frag it, Prowl could have died. At the hands of his own friend! He opened his mouth, but his vocaliser clicked as the words strangled in his throat. He released the held air. Calm down, mech.

“I apologise, once more. I broke my word to you.” Mirage stated, and even though the tone was low and tense, Jazz detected the sincerity in them.

It doused some of the burning anger. Barely. “I’m not the one you should apologise to! You knew he was carrying, and yet you still confronted him?” He hissed, waving his arm in Prowl’s direction. “Do you even know how much that has bothered me! Knowing they nearly died but no one knew why! Do you have any idea how I’ve lain awake staring at them and wondering if the same thing that had caused it might be lurking in the shadows!? He’s ill, Raj! I might not have wanted a family, but you had no right trying to meddle! I don’t meddle with you and Hound no matter how much I care about you!”

“I know.” Mirage drew his armour tight, but stubbornly stared at Jazz. “I am sorry, Jazz.”

“Frag it, Raj!” Jazz barked and slapped the top of the desk. Primus, he hasn’t been as mad at Mirage since…slag he didn’t even know when. Take deep vents. Calm down, calm down. He drew a deep vent, held it and resleased it slowly. ‘It is in the past.’ Prowl’s words echoed in his helm and he suddenly glance up. “Prowl knows?”

“I have apologised to Prowl, the moment the opportunity presented itself.” Mirage whispered. “I am ashamed of my actions. To the both of you.”

“As you should be!” Jazz pushed away from the desk and back against his chair. “Primus Mirage! You could have killed both of them! My family!” He covered his face with both hands and slowly dragged them down as if trying to scrub the picture of that away.

Mirage ducked his chin, refusing to look at Jazz. “Once more, Jazz, I can only apologise for my actions.”

Jazz glared at Mirage. He wanted to rip into the mech, wanted to make him feel the raw emotions clawing his internals into shreds. The doubts, frustrations, fears. Fears that he would fail as a mate. Fail as a sire. Fail at protecting his family against the Decepticons, against the Council. Fail like his creators had failed him.

He fluffed his armour as the anger drained as suddenly as it had flared. If he couldn’t trust Mirage, the mech who probably knew him best, how could he trust anyone? His throat constricted. “Raj, I need to be able to trust you with my family. If something happens to me…”

“I know, Jazz, and I will keep my word.” Mirage hesitated, “But also remember that Prowl is more than capable of defending himself.”

“Not in his current state.” Jazz drew a shaky vent and shook his helm. Concern tightened the lines around his mouth as he felt every one of his matured vorns. “He’s getting weaker again. I can see it. He knows it. Ratchet knows it.”

“Prowl is resourceful, Jazz. Even before the war his House was noted as one to be wary and respectful of. We are also keeping an optic on him.”

“I know, it’s just…” the buzzer sounded and Jazz held his hand up. “We’ll talk later, after I’ve spoken to Prowl. Just, Raj, don’t hide things like this from me.”

Mirage nodded curtly and Jazz granted Red Alert entrance.

“General. Captian.” Red Alert clipped as he marched into the office and nodded to each. He stood stiffly in front of the desk. “How can I be of assistance?” He asked, but Jazz didn’t miss the way the little mech’s optics darted around the less-than-tidy room, his optics twitching each time he saw a pile of datapads lying on the floor, or the empty energon cubes overflowing the small trashcan beside his desk.

“At ease, Red. This is an informal discussion.” Jazz motioned to the remaining empty seat, a half-smile playing on his lips. Seems Red had the same neatness problem as Prowl.

Red Alert stared down his olfactory at the innocent chair, before leaning down, giving a good wipe over the surface, and then seated himself primly on the edge of it.

Jazz glanced over at Mirage, only to find the noble favouring Red Alert with a demeaning look, as if insulted on the chair’s behalf.

Jazz bit back a smile, the edge in his field levelling out. “Thanks for coming at such short notice.”

The red and white armour fluffed and settled as Red Alert cocked his helm to the side as he observed Jazz. His optic ridges furrowed. “Is this a good time?” He cast a shrewd look at Mirage, his predatory optics taking in the frame language of the seated mech.

Mirage leaned away from the prying optics and raised an optic ridge, staring down his olfactory. “We did ask you to join us.” He stated, a hint of sarcasm lacing the words.

“I’m just uptight about Prowl.” Jazz intervened. No more arguments for the orn. He’d had enough for now.

Red Alert shrugged a shoulder at Mirage, dismissing him with practiced ease that clearly ruffled the noble’s plates. He turned back to Jazz, mouth set in a gentle smile. “Yes. I have noticed he seems more fatigued as of late. A normal thing for the last trimester. Ratchet is monitoring him and will pull him from duty the moment his levels drop too low.”

Jazz nodded. He should have known Red would keep an optic on him. And somehow the fact that a complete stranger cared more about his mate than his best friend did irritated the slag out of him, but he buried it deep. Raj apologised. He reminded himself. He did not have the luxury to dwell slights. Besides, the way Mirage was glaring daggers at Red Alert hinted that the noble was on par with Jazz’s thoughts on the matter. He smiled. That would have to be punishment enough for now.

“Thanks, mech, I appreciate it more than you know. But what I’m really worried about it that leak running around.” He made a circular motion with his hands. “So far we’ve got nothing. Mirage says you’ve been running background checks on the crew. Anything suspicious?” Jazz leaned his elbows on his desk, hoping Red Alert had something more. It sometimes happened that, due to familiarity, they missed things. Red Alert was suspicious to a fault. Literally.

Red Alert sucked in a vent and pursed his lips. “I have found many suspicious things, but those are mostly due to inaccurate information being filed by the previous security director. Unfortunately, none of those things can be seen as ‘Decepticonish’.”

He leaned forward, clasping his hands as he searched his processor. “I have been focusing mainly on command level. There are a few things that concern me, but I’m not sure it would be completely appropriate to mention them.”

“Such as?” Mirage peered haughtily down his olfactory, his arms folded across his slim chassis.

Jazz shot him a look, but his master spy kept his optics locked on Red Alert.

“Such as,” Red Alert peered from underneath his optic ridges at Mirage, his voice sweet, “The former second-in-command of security and the security director were having an affair.”

“Really? Blazer and Midriff were involved?” Jazz tried to think of the significance of that. It wasn’t really so uncommon for two mechs working closely together to be involved. He and Prowl were a good example, minus the whole getting-sparked situation.

“Indeed. I have my suspicions that that is how Blazer became second-in-command. He certainly didn’t earn it.” Red Alert huffed indignantly and pressed his lips together.

“Ok. Look into that. It might be something, it might be nothing.” Jazz stated, although he honestly didn’t think it would be Blazer. The mech wasn’t the sharpest blade around. “We’ll be looking for somebody that not only has access to high-level information, but is also an expert at communications and encryptions. Mirage, you’ve been working with Blaster. Tell me something.”

“Blaster is clean, and so far his department is turning up clean.” He looked at Red Alert. “Have you processed their files yet?”

Red Alert nodded, the odd relationship between the two seeming to temper. “Yes. I agree with your assessment. So far nothing out of the ordinary has come up. Their files are clean, not suspiciously so, they have the odd offenses, but nothing that remotely looks like leaked information. Inferno is reviewing them as we speak, as a second opinion as he knows the mechs personally.”

Jazz rested his chin on his fist as he thought. “And the logs?”

“Those were the first things Mirage and I scanned. No encrypted messages, no suspicious messages, no foreign IP addresses, nothing. Whoever leaked the information did not go through the Communications Department.” Red Alert rubbed his nasal ridge. “Which also indicates it’s not Blazer. He does not have the knowledge for such high-level encryptions. We can go through tactical next. I’m leaving Spec. Ops to Mirage.”

“Special Operations?” Mirage asked, his frame stiffening.

“He’s right, Mirage. Won’t be the first time one of ours have turned double.” Jazz pointed out. “Besides, Red Alert is combing his department as well. We cover all our bases and keep pride out of it.”

“I agree. The stakes are too high.” Red Alert nodded. “Which brings me to something that I have found.” He pulled a datapad from his subspace and seemed to hesitate.

“What is it?” Jazz prompted.

“This might simply be paranoia on my side, sir.” Red Alert clutched at the datapad and for the first time his confidence wavered.

“I prefer paranoia to overconfidence.” Jazz stated gently and held his hand out for the datapad. He ignored the snort sounding from Mirage’s side.

Red Alert offered a small smile and handed it to Jazz.

Jazz onlined it, and stared into gibberish. He glanced at Red Alert, then back at the datapad, grimacing as he did. “I’m not sure I understand…” He trailed off.

“It’s an HIDAR.” Red Alert stated matter-of-factly.

Jazz glanced at Mirage, but the noble simply shrugged and gave a light shake of his helm. Ok then. “Uh, what exactly is that?”

Red Alert seemed taken aback and glanced between Mirage and Jazz. “You’ve never used an HIDAR?”

“Wouldn’t be asking if we have.” Jazz pointed out politely.

Red Alert shrugged. “It’s a type of ultrasonic deep-space binary signal sent out as a locator ping, almost like sonar, but very primitive. It was replaced towards the end of the Golden Era when more reliable forms of sonar were invented. About 200 vorns before the war started.”

“A locator ping?” Jazz echoed, mouth dry and feeling oddly light-headed. This was bad.

“Yes. The Ark was the first ship to be built with the newer technology, but as a back-up the engineers installed an HIDAR system. It has never been used, or at least that is the general perception. But,” A small spark lighted the tip of one horn and Red Alert cleared his vocaliser, “And this is a theory, nothing proven, yet, but it’s always bothered me how the stealth ship was able to detect us so accurately. I ran all the scans I could think of, and I found that the HIDAR is active. I don’t know for how long it’s been active, as I could never find any records of it. But it’s possible the stealth could have detected it and zoned in on it. Thus perfectly pinpointing our position.”

“So the Cons could have been using this to locate the Ark the whole time.” It was a staggering though. Jazz covered his optics, shaking his helm in disbelief.

“Sir, simply because I found the HIDAR system online doesn’t mean the Decepticons have been using it or even know of its existence. It’s my theory. It could be that engineers switched it on with the maiden voyage as a secondary precaution and it’s simply remained a part of start-up.” Red Alert rubbed his arm nervously.

“Do you honestly believe that?” Mirage asked, his helm cocked and expression guarded.

“I don’t know.” Red Alert straightened. “This might be something, this might be nothing. We will lose nothing if we switch it off. I highly recommend it, actually.”

“What can the HIDAR do?” Jazz asked as he checked his schedule, cursing inwardly. The command team needed to know of this new development.

“The HIDAR’s purpose is two-fold. Location and communications. The HIDAR requires another HIDAR to receive signals communicating location. It can also be used to send glyphic communications. No visuals. The system is too basic.”

“So, if I understand the HIDAR system right,” Jazz leaned forward counted off his digits, “One, you need two HIDARs, a sender and receiver unit. Two, it acts like a location beacon, which I assume goes both ways,” Red Alert nodded in confirmation and Jazz continued. “And third, you can send short glyphic messages.”

“That is correct.” Red Alert shifted in his seat, seeming to once more relax and get his swagger back. “It is easily deactivated. Give me twenty breems.”

Jazz made a mental note of the systems, his respect for the little red and white mech in front of him rising rapidly. Thank Primus he transferred to the Ark. Jazz had a nasty suspicion that previous commanding officers might have disregarded valuable information due to the mech’s paranoia history. Jazz enjoyed the thoroughness, and was beginning to see why Prowl enjoyed Red Alert’s company. He shelved those thoughts, though, as he turned back to the potential game changer and listened to Mirage.

“If one can utilise the system to send messages, would there be a communication log?”

Red Alert nodded and folded his arms over his chest. “Yes. However, you need certain codes to access the logs, the same codes you need to activate the locator and send messages.”

“Where would you get these codes?” Jazz asked as he scheduled an urgent command-staff meeting.

Red Alert immediately acknowledged the meeting even as he continued. “The codes would have been given to the engineers or communications specialists. We could check with Blaster, but he’s made no mention of these systems, neither have I found any evidence that he is aware of the systems. One needs knowledge of the ship’s schematics to know about the HIDAR.” He pursed his lips and drummed his fingers on the armchair. “It’s possible that someone else knows about this, but seeing as the Ark is an old vessel, I’d almost start checking with the older engineers first.”

“Ok, Mirage, get on that. I want you to draw up a list of all the data available on mechs who have served on the ship since her launch. Secondly, anybody who might have potential connections with any of the engineers.” He paused briefly as an idea came to him, “I’ll check with Jack. He might know something.”

“In the meantime, shall I manually switch the HIDAR off?” Red Alert quesetioned.

“Do it now. If there is even the faintest possibility that that thing is transmitting, I want it off.”

Aboad the Fatal Consequence, First Lt. Triton frowned at the large, blank radar screen. A screen that had, a mere few clicks ago, been faithfully tracking and plotting the Ark’s path.

“Mortalis, check our tracking systems.” He ordered harshly as he bared his fangs. How could the fragging Ark simply disappear? He ran his own diagnostics on the old HIDAR system. It’s possible that the Ark could have run into trouble unknown to them, space was, after all, a turbulent and dangerous place to be in. But somehow he doubted it. His forecasts of space weather proved quite amiable.

::Captain, sir.:: he opened a comm line to his superior.

::Report.::

::We have a situation on the bridge. We have lost radar location of the Ark.::

The line went quiet, only the low white-sound of an open link could be detected.

 ::HIDAR?::

::We are running diagnostics as we speak.::

::Solar activity in the area?::

::As far as reports account, solar activity is minimal.::

The young Decepticon saluted and handed Triton a datapad, verbally giving his report. “HIDAR on our side is clear, but we are not receiving signals even though the system does not report a break. Either the system has malfunctioned, or someone switched it off, sir.”

Triton nodded to the cadet and motioned him back to his seat. ::It appears the mission might be compromised, sir.::

A low growl emitted from the open link. ::Increase ship speed and proceed as planned. We are due communication from our contact in one decaorn, enemy contact in two, maybe less. Remain on course to rendezvous point.::

::Aye, sir. Proceeding with Operation Askari as planned.::

Author's note: this took way too long, so I apologise for it. Hopefully now that the festive season is over, I've moved in, getting my head wrapped around my new job, updates would be back to regular intervals. :) Thanks for sticking with me!

HAPPY New Year to you all! May is be prosperous! Hou jou kop hoog en kyk mense in die oë! Wees die beste wat jy kan wees in 2016!

Chapter Text

He was running. Running down a narrow corridor. Running from the shadows that seemed to lunge at him from the dark places. He dodged as talons scraped at him, grabbing for him. His spark pounded, vision blurred. He came to a screeching stop in front of a large, sealed blast door. The door developed a face. 'End of the line, Jazz.' He shook his helm as the ominous laughter filled his audios and turned on his heels. He would escape. But he needed to find Prowl. He stopped. Prowl was here? Suddenly he was sinking, sinking through liquid metal. The laughter grew until his helm sank beneath the shimmery liquid. He stared around a barren room. Prowl sat in the corner, clutching something, rocking something.

 'Drift?' He asked as he inched closer.

 Prowl stared at him with hollow optics. Slowly he lowered the bundle. Beep... Beep... Beep.

The red face of the bomb counted down. Fifty-three, fifty-two...

He shook his helm and tried to grab the bomb. It beeped louder. And louder. And faster. And faster.

Beep-beep-beep-beep-beep

Prowl looked at him, optics dead. ‘Jazz.’

Jazz jolted awake, spark pounding and vents heaving as Prowl’s voice echoed in his hazy processor. He wiped the condensation from his face.

Beep-beep-beep.

He rubbed a hand over his visor and commanded his defence systems to offline.

Beep-beep-beep.

“Frag it.” He shut it off his internal alarm and flopped back on the berth, vents heaving.

A mumbled ‘careful’ had him looking at his soundly recharging mate. He bit his lip.

It was just a bad memory flux. Nothing more.

Jazz circled his arms around and pulled the warm frame against his, snuggling closer as he inhaled the unique scent that was Prowl. He squeezed his optics shut and swallowed. Prowl was fine.

He ran his hands up and down his mate’s back and kissed the nape of Prowl's neck as he hugged the tactician. Prowl was safe. Drift was safe. He let his hands roam again, tweaking a doorwing, and smiling tautly when they twitched.

Prowl drew a deep vent and stretched. He shifted and pressed closer to Jazz, the warmth of his frame seeping through.

The steady venting and calm pulse smoothed over the last frayed nerves as Jazz settled fully. Prowl was ok. Jazz grinned as he nibbled the ruby-red chevron. 

An annoyed groan preceded hazy-blue optics as Prowl finally onlined.

“Hey gorgeous.” Jazz grinned, his optics scanning Prowl's face for any signs of discomfort.

“Morning.” The optics drifted close again, but the lips softened. Primus he was gorgeous like this.

“That’s all I get?” Jazz  skimmed his digits lightly along Prowl’s jaw line before planting a kiss on the audio. The evening out of Prowl’s vents was answer enough and Jazz drew back a little, optic ridge quirked. Ok. Not in the mood.

He glanced down and ran his hand gently over Prowl’s chassis. “Hey Drift. How you doing?” He smiled as he laid his hand flat over the warm plating. Two more quartexes. Then Drift would be ready for extraction. Excitement coursed through Jazz as he thought of the small bundle of soft protoform nestled closely to Prowl’s spark. It was an uncomfortable time for Prowl, seeing as the new protoform placed huge amounts of stress on the spark thanks to the confined area of the sparkchamber. His smile faltered. Maybe that had been the reason for the bad memory flux. He exvented loudly. He didn’t remember anything of sires stressing themselves into a new frame type over their offspring.

Besides, Drift was nearly fully developed. Nearly ready to come out. They were on the fringes of Cybertronian airspace, a few decaorns out from Iacon. Everything would be fine.

Jazz planted another kiss on Prowl’s helm before he dislodging himself and stood.

“Hmmm…” He raised his arms above his helm, stretching to get all the kinks out of his neck and back caballing. He relaxed back, rolling his shoulders as he cast one last, longing look at the soft berth. “Lucky bastard…” he sauntered over to the washracks, keeping the lights on low for Prowl’s sake. He was scheduled for first shift on the bridge, and second shift as secondary officer on the command deck. Fun times. Two whole shifts away from Prowler and Drift and the soft berth.

A few breems and a hot shower later he was back in the room, seated next to Prowl. He lightly traced a digit down the Praxian’s cheek. He couldn’t remember when he’d last seen Prowl this relaxed. The memory of the flux flitted at the brim of his awareness, but he quickly brushed it aside. They were safe. They were fine. They’d just seen Ratchet, and he had assured them that he was satisfied with Drift’s development. Optimus said the Council was waiting, but they did not seem overly antagonistic. Red Alert and Mirage still had no info on the leak.

Maybe…::Hey, Raj?:: Just maybe Mirage had some news on developments on the Ark. Anything at this point would be welcome.

::Yes, Jazz?::

::Anything?:: He asked, not really expecting a positive answer.

A moment’s hesitation, then ::Negative.::

He bit the inside of his cheek. What he expected to hear, but not what he wanted to hear.::Got a bad vibe going.:: He puffed his cheeks out in exasperation. How the frag did this mech manage to elude them?

Expectant silence filtered through the comms. ::Understood. I will review the information::

::Thanks. Out.:: Jazz leaned over his mate.

“Hey, Prowler, you gonna say goodbye before I leave?” He pinched the tip of a doorwing, a move that always got a reaction from the tactician.

Prowl didn’t disappoint. The doorwing flicked back, before settling again in its neutral position.

“Prowl?” Jazz sang, running his hands over the tactician’s back, between doorwings, then up to lightly pinch those elongated appendages again. He shuttered his optics briefly as he imagined the frame splayed beneath him.

Prowl unshuttered his optics and drew in a deep vent, his field teeking his annoyance. “I am on medical leave, Jazz, and I believe ordered to recharge as much as possible.” The corner of his lip tilted up as he looked at Jazz, patient indulgence clear to see in the blue optics.

“Yeah, that took a while to get into your helm.” Jazz leaned forward and pressed their lips together in a needy kiss. “You can go back to charging after you said goodbye.”

Prowl sat up and stretched his doorwings, trailing his digit up a closed seam. He glanced at the tightly pulled armour before sharp optics shot up to Jazz, all levity in his field disappeared as if by some magic switch. "What is the matter?"

Jazz pursed his lips and shook his helm, feeling Prowl's field push inquisitively against his own, tightly pulled field. "Nah, babe.” No need upsetting Prowl with bad fluxes. “Just want to say goodbye before I'm forced to spend so much time away from the two of you."

Prowl kept his gaze, but after a click nodded. The hard glint in Prowl’s optics telling Jazz he didn’t really believe him, but would let it lie. “Are you working double shift?” He asked instead as he threw his legs over the berth and ordered the lights on full power.

Jazz tiled his helm and shrugged, his visor quickly adapting to the new light setting. “You know the roster.” He softened his voice and rested his chin on Prowl’s shoulder, “You trying to get me to come back earlier?” Desire-warmth seeped into his field, doubling as assurance to Prowl that everything was alright.

An optic ridge lifted as Prowl turned his helm towards him, lips in a soft, barely-there smile. “Maybe.”

Jazz slid his hand behind Prowl’s neck and drew his helm towards him.

A hand shot up and stopped him inches away from those tantalising lips. “You are aware that being late for shift will have consequences?”

“Hey! I’m pretty much one of the highest ranking mechs! A couple of breems ain’t gonna kill any of them.”

“You are supposed to set the example, Jazz.” Prowl smiled.

“I do – most of the time.” He took the hand in his own and lowered it as he surged forward to plant a quick kiss on Prowl’s lips. “Gotta go, babe. Don’t want to get into too much trouble.” He rose, winked and marched towards the door.

“Jazz?”

He whirled around expectantly, lopsided grin planted on his face.

“Stay out of trouble.”

The laughter bubbled out of him. “Can’t promise, my mech, but I’m gonna try.”

The silent bow of the Fatal Consequence cut through the dark void as she sailed swiftly towards her prey. In the distance the golden shell of her enemy glinted as it headed straight for the roiling solar clouds.

“We have two joors to contact.” First-Lieutenant Triton stood straight, crimson optics gleaming in the darkness of the bridge.

“Prepare her for battle.” Captain Violator raised his chin as he stared into the promising darkness. The satisfying thrum of Fatal Consequence’s engines filled the bridge and caressed his audials. She was ready. The team was ready.

He bared his fangs as excitement stirred in him. He could barely see the outline of the golden Ark, but she was there, ripe for the picking. They would strike in the middle of the storm, when communications and radar were at their most vulnerable.

He glanced at his chronometer.

On board the Ark, Lt. Col. Red Alert should be starting his last shift.

Red Alert stared at the read-outs he received, ridges knit together. They were heading into a rather powerful solar storm, and it was not only promising to be a distortion to his radar’s readings, but might pose a threat to communications. Hmm. He’d need to alert Blaster and Wheeljack. Things were going to be rough for the next few joors.

::Chief Engineer Wheeljack:: He hailed as he studied the readings.

::Yip?:: The chief engineer’s reply was quick and cheery, just like the mech himself. Unfortunately the mech also refrained from using formal titles. Red Alert threw his optics skyward, but buried his irritation at the lack of courtesy. The mech had after all been a civilian, so he couldn’t really blame him, and his cheerfulness did take away some of the irritation.

::Take notice we are entering turbulent solar conditions.:: He databurst the storm’s forecast. ::Advice on shield strength.:: He waited, acutely aware of another mech seating himself right behind him. He shifted uneasily in his seat, but spared little attention to the new mech, recognising the spark signature. Apart from a few professional issues, the mech was alright, but he would have preferred Inferno at his back. Or rather his side.

::Well, I’d say the shields’ current energy level is high enough to weather it, literally, but I’ll put something on back-up in the unlikely event the main shields fail.::

::Roger that. Please send codes through to Lt. Inferno. He is manning the secondary security console on the bridge. Out.:: Red Alert cut the connection and focused on the read outs. He needed to update the current security levels. But first, ::Inferno?::

::Yes, sir?::

Ah, the quick, respectful response was bliss. Red Alert ducked his chin as he smiled. ::Are you on the bridge yet?::

::Yes, sir, I’ve just logged onto mah console.::

::Good:: His smile grew. Inferno was dependable. That was good. Few mechs were dependable. ::We are entering an area of space with intense solar storms. Be advised that the shields will remain at present level, but should they fail back-up shields are on standby. Please attain secondary activation codes from Chief Engineer Wheeljack.::

::Affirmative.:: Inferno was quiet for a few clicks, but kept the line open. ::Secondary codes, got ‘em, sir. Wheeljack just sent ‘em through::

Red Alert bit his lip and shuttered his optics briefly. He would never admit to it, but he was fascinated by the slight drawl in his lieutenant’s voice. He cleared his vocaliser. ::Alright. Also be advised that radar is compromised due to solar activity. Advise Chief Communications Expert Blaster that comm. signals might be disrupted in fifty-three, make that fifty-two breems. Out::

::Roger that, sir. Out.::

 Red Alert waited until the tell-tale buzz of the comm was cut before he resumed his work. “Ensure that the secondary radars are running in all spectral deviations.” He paused as he tipped his helm back, then nodded to himself. “Activate the tertiary sonars. The storm would be good testing grounds.”

“Yes, sir.”

Jazz folded his arms behind his back and rocked on his heels, sharp gaze perusing the crew seated in the Ark’s bridge. It could be any of them. He narrowed his optics behind his visor. It probably was one of them. One they trusted…

“You seem on edge, Jazz.”

Jazz turned his helm and touched his visor in salute to Optimus. “Nah, Prime. All’s good at home and abroad.” At home and abroad. He smiled as he thought of Prowl, but the bitter taste of the flux tempered the memory.

Optimus came to a stand next to him and mimicked Jazz’s stance. The expectant silence grew. Jazz felt Optimus optics rove over his frame from time to time. Still the expectancy grew.

He bit back a sigh.

::Optimus?::

::Yes, Jazz?::

::What you looking for?:: Jazz asked as he deliberately relaxed his stance and opened himself up. See? Nothin’s wrong.

::The source of your acute vigilance.:: The Prime cocked an optic ridge at him. He rolled his shoulders as he narrowed his optics at each of the crew ::You have been staring at each crew member as if he is about to spout a fusion cannon.::

Jazz smiled despite himself. It was hard not to with the Prime’s warm, caring field next to him. Trust Optimus to notice when something’s snapping up your tailpipe.

::What if they are?:: He teased, though Jazz knew Optimus would catch his very serious meaning. They would not dare mention the traitor over the comms. Not in public like this. If the spy was in the command centre or the bridge, then it would be far too dangerous to attempt.

::We have been enjoying a very quiet return voyage.:: Optimus decked his chin and studied the mechs alongside Jazz, his expression turning sombre.

The saboteur drew a deep vent. ::It bothers me that the voyage has been so quiet. I don’t like it.::

::We should appreciate it, not let it get us on edge.:: Optimus glanced at him before looking out the viewport, helm raised high as his knowing optics stared at the roiling turmoil in the distance. ::We are also heading into a high-level radiation storm. It might yet prove to be eventful.::

Jazz pulled his armour tight as the flux resurfaced, the ticking time bomb cradled in Prowl’s arm screaming it’s lethal warning. Maybe it wasn’t the spy he was afraid of? He stared at the brewing storm. Maybe it was the Council? Maybe it had nothing to do with their mole…he rolled his helm, loud ‘pops’ sounding. ::I’ll get an update from Jack. Heard anything from Cybertron the past shift?:: Optimus would understand the real question he was asking.

And by the way Prime’s field extended to gently assure him, Jazz knew he did. ::Our fellow Autobots, and the Council, are looking forward to our return.::

Jazz threw one more concerned look at the crew, his lips thinning into a straight line. ::Yeah, I hope you’re right.::

He stared into the storm, the gnawing premonition becoming more persistent.

“Guess we just have to weather this storm.”

“Launch the ship.” Violator turned towards First-Lieutenant Triton, his four optics blinking in succession as he tap-tapped the console in impatience. “We will attack the Ark as soon as we receive signal that Red Alert is out. Primus has blessed us with this solar storm. Let us not waste the opportunity given to us.”

He watched as Triton retreated to the communicator, his field rippling with supressed excitement.

Violator bared his fangs in a leery grin as he stared at the unexpecting Ark. So soon. The attack team was ready, tucked in their little stealth ship. They would enter under the belly of the Ark, and from there make their ways to their individual assignments.

While they got to play with the Ark.

He sucked air though his vents and released it loudly. “Fatal Consequence!” He shouted, “To your battle stations!”

Red Alert jerked back as his screen suddenly blanked. “What on Cybertron?” his digits flew over his keypad, optics wide as he tried to online his screens. It’s just the storm. Why would it interfere…? His faceplate contorted in concentration, his vents coming in rapid bursts as panic surged through his lines. The storm wasn’t supposed to do this!

He felt movement behind him and swung around. “Get th– ”

The words died on his glossa as pain exploded through him.

He fell motionless to the ground.

The Ark shuddered as her shields one after the other dropped like rocks, obeying the commands of the single console.

“I don’t like this storm, OP.” Jazz cocked his helm as he glanced out the large viewscreen on the bridge. Huge plasma waves roiled through the dark vacuum, disrupting the lights as they flickered. He pulled his field in tight. The bad feeling returned full force. He looked longingly at the door. He should be with Prowl.

He turned back to his duty.

“Neither do I, Jazz. But the Ark has weathered worse storms, and you did mention something about the monotony of our journey thus far.”

Optimus’s baritone voice was confident, but he too was watching the monitors with a cyberhawk’s optic.

“Yeah, well…” He shrugged and leaned his hip against a console. He folded his arms over his chassis. ::Prowl?:: Jazz knew he should be contacting Prowl when he was on bridge duty.

::Yes, Jazz?::

::You ok?:: Jazz glanced at Optimus, then at the crew managing the bridge. Everything appeared normal. Inferno was monitoring the storm and security systems, Blaster was heading the communications as always, Tightwheel was monitoring the coordinates, and Intel was supervising on the floor. Yeah, everything looked normal. He drew a vent. He was overreacting.

The Ark shuddered and Jazz cast another worried glance at the viewscreen.

::We are well. Are y–::

Prowl’s line went dead, followed immediately by Inferno’s loud bellow of ‘Shields down!’ before the sickening sound of metal tearing ripped through the Ark as she suddenly lurched to the side.

Jazz threw his arms out to soften the fall as he was thrown, but strong hands caught him, yanking him back.

“To your battle stations!” The prime barked into the sudden cacophony of screeching alarms. “Inferno, status!”

“Shields are down! I’ve got nothin’ on the screen! Systems aren’t responding! Ship’s in lockdown! Communication down.”

Jazz growled, his desperate attempts to reconnect his comm link with Prowl going unanswered. His spark constricted and stark terror like he had never known gripped his frame. Come on, come on! Answer frag it! “Blaster! Comms!” He shouted as he launched towards the weapons’ systems.

“Working on it!” Was the rapid, strained reply. All around them the Ark screeched and lurched, her cries of pain urging the mechs to save her.

“We have enemy contact at 19h00 joors!”

“Class: Mech-of-War.”

“Engage secondary defence systems!” Intel’s command sounded over the shouts of the crew. “Prime, sir, comms are down but we still have access to our weapon systems!”

Optimus glanced at Intel. “Then use it.” He briefly locked optics with Jazz, “Man your station.”

The words landed like a death knell on him as he felt words stuck in his vocaliser. He cast a longing glance at the door.

“Jazz!” Optimus’s voice was hard. Cold.

The Autobots needed him.

Prowl needed him.

He stared at the command centre, a thousand computations racing through his processor, but one thought took precedence: Prowl needed him.

He turned to the door, but he stopped as another thought superseded Prowl’s. This was why the Council didn’t want carriers in the Autobots. He shook his helm. Prowl needs me. 

A hand grabbed his arm and he swung round, staring into the large, yet eerily calm optics of Intel.

“Sir, I do not have the access codes to the weapon systems and we can’t raise Red Alert!”

Jazz grit his denta. The shrieking alarms taunted him. The barred door mocked him. Casting one, last longing look at the door, he bolted deeper into the command centre.

The Ark shuddered as the small stealth ship attached to her belly like a parasite attached to an innocent host. The hatch opened automatically, beckoning them in, and they greedily accepted the invitation.

“You all have your assignments.” Octus growled, “Do not fail.” He watched as three of his members darted ahead, the fire doors sliding open as if to welcome them home.

He grinned. They were making history.

Author's note: After all this time...I'm still alive...promise...

Chapter Text

Prowl groaned as he rebooted his optics, rubbing his helm where he had hit it against the wall. The irritating buzz of the proximity alarms sounded dully as he picked himself up and tried his comms. Nothing. Shaking his helm, he stumbled to his console and tapped the ‘activation’ key.

Dead.

He drew a deep vent and released it slowly.

The storm must have knocked out the communications transmitter and damaged shielding. He stepped towards the door, but it remained closed.

His doorwings flicked forward as he opened the keypad and entered his override code.

DENIED

The first dredges of wrongness seeped into his spark. He tried his commes again. Still dead. The storm was marked as a category three, serious, but not supposed to have this level of influence over the Ark’s advanced systems.

He flared his doorwings and jabbed his code in, willing the system to accept it. If there was a situation on the bridge he needed to be there, carrying or not.

DENIED.

The word mocked him. His battle computer cycled up to full power as it calculated the reasons why the Ark’s systems would be off-line. A sharp pain shot through his spark and he forced his systems to relax, dialling back his battle computer’s power – it siphoned too much of his energy. He tapped his digit against the console. It was a simple category three, Wheeljack would – a dull thud reverberated through the Ark and she keened loudly.

Prowl braced himself against the wall as the Ark lurched to her side and briefly shuttered his optics.

He knew that sound. He would recognise it anywhere.

A click later his battle computer confirmed it to him with a 98.25% calculation. His spark clenched as anger tore through him as surely as the Decepticon missiles tore through the thick metal hull of the Ark.

Trapped in the confines of his quarters, with no means of communication or getting out – he was utterly useless to the Autobots. He brushed over the metal protecting his sparkling. He was useless to Drift and the Autobots.

A low growl emanated from his engine. They would not get the Ark. He opened the lock panel and briskly hacked the console, his battle computer making small work of the codes so diligently written by Red Alert.

He wasn’t second in command of the Autobots simply because of his administrative skills.

“Frag! I hate the fragging Cons!” Sideswipe roared as he slammed his fist into a sealed blast door. “And why the frag isn’t Red Alert opening the fragging blast doors!?”

“Can’t you hack the systems or something? How did you get out last time?” Sunstreaker glared at the solid door blocking their way to their unit, the rantings his twin spouted ignored.

“Red Alert opened them!” Sideswipe kicked the door and spun round, his optics searching for the cameras.

“What if he’s out?” Sunstreaker’s armour bristled, his navy optics nearly black as they searched for means of escape in the orange-hued corridor. Around them they felt the shudders of the Ark, her need of them. And they were stuck between two doors.

“Frag it all to the pit and back!” Sideswipe growled as he stalked back to the fire door, banging his fists. No doubt the other Bots were stuck in their little Pit-holes as well. “There’s got to be some fragging way out of this!”

“Maybe I can fit through the vent…?”

Two pairs of menacing optics turned to the rather small mech huddled against the back blast door, his visor a pale blue and hands nervously wringing.

Mmmm. Sideswipe cocked his helm at First Aid. The little mech flattened himself even more at suddenly being the centre of their predatory attention, but Sideswipe didn’t care. They needed to join the fray. He glanced at Sunstreaker, but the golden warrior kept his optics locked on the smaller mech.

“Could you do it?” The golden mech growled.

The medic licked his lips before letting his battle mask slide into place. “Yes. I have the schematics of the ship. There’s a manual override two corridors over. With my medic codes…”

“You can manually override it!” Sideswipe slapped his helm. “Argh! Why the slag didn’t I think of that! Sunny, come here and help me give him a boost!” Without waiting for an answer Sideswipe grabbed the medic, ignoring the undignified squeak as he vaulted him onto his shoulders.

Another shudder rippled through the Ark as First Aid used his laser scalpel to cut a section through the vents. Sideswipe ignored the tremors going through the smaller frame as he impatiently counted the clicks. Why don’t they have a fragging grate in here?!

“Can you fragging hurry!? By the time you’re done there’d be nothing left of the fragging Ark!” Sideswipe braced his legs as the Ark tilted, emphasizing his words and nearly throwing First Aid from his perch.

“If you could hold still, it might be faster! And stop swearing!” The young medic snapped, his voice tight. “There!” He subspaced his scalpel and pried the remaining metal loose. The hole would barely fit him, and he only prayed the shaft didn’t get any narrower. “Alright, give me that boost!”

“Just fragging move it!” Together the Twins lifted him into the overhead ventilation shaft, watching as he disappeared into the darkness.

“And for Prim–, agh, just be careful!” Sideswipe shouted as he kept staring at the small hole cut into the dark shaft.

“You think he’ll be in time?” Sunstreaker asked as he armed his weapons, the red-orange emergency lights casting eerie, dancing silhouettes against the walls.

Sideswipe rolled his helm towards his twin, optics worried and lips parted.

“If he doesn’t, we’re screwed.”

Inferno typed furiously, his gaze snapping at the blank screens. He needed to get the secondary shields up and running, and since neither Wheeljack nor Red Alert were available, the fate of the Ark rested on him. His spark pounded.

He pressed his lips together, deep frown etched into his brow as he activated code after code. He tried not to think why Red Alert hadn’t activated the shields yet. As secondary security console, he only needed to do it in case the main security systems were offline. If Red – he cut those lines of thought. Not now. Focus.

“Inferno, status!”

He didn’t turn to Jazz as the mech nearly ran into his console. “’bout two breems out sir!”

“Make that one breem!” He said before he was gone, shouting for Blaster.

Inferno clenched his fists as he waited agonized clicks for the shields to load. Thirty clicks passed, the shouts and orders of his fellow crew members but a background hum as he willed the shields to load faster. He wiped condensation from his helm…97%...98%...99%...“Got one shield up!”

Another missile exploded against the hull, but this time there was no accompanying pain-filled metal screeching. That was very good.

“Well done, Inferno. Get the rest up.”

Optimus’s calm voice anchored him and settled the flutters in his spark as he started inserting the codes for the second shield. He bared his denta. This was not supposed to take so long. It was almost as if the systems weren’t responding, as if something in the systems were fight– 

His faceplate blanched.

He swirled around in his seat, opitcs wide and mouth dry.

“Jazz!”

Crasher crept through the dark corridors of the hallway. She was nearly at her intended target, and she was looking forward to finishing him off. For vorns she had been waiting for a chance to avenge herself. He should have thought twice before he rebuffed her suite.

She licked her lips as her glowing optics illuminated her way. And now here she was…and this was even easier than they had anticipated. The Autobots were sitting ducks as the Fatal Consequence shot them to the Pit, and none had been the wiser to their presence on the ship.

Her sharp fangs bared as she approached her target’s quarters. No doubt the stylus-pusher would not be expecting her. She should make this fun, draw it out, see how long a carrier can survive until she rips that…that spark out of him.

She crouched in front of the door, glancing up and down the long, empty hallway, but the flickering lights were the only signs of movement in the deserted corridors. Perfect.

She rose and unsheathed her rapier, savouring the singing sound that the motion drew from the sharp blade. Soon that sound would be joined by agonised screaming. But she would have her fun first.

She drew a deep vent and inserted her override codes into the door. Such bliss to have a handy little security mech doing their bidding.

The door slid open and she flung herself in, pose held to strike.

Only to find the room glaringly empty.

Gnarling she stood out of her strike pose and slithered towards the empty washracks. Where the frag was he!?

First Aid swallowed hard. Just focus ahead of you. You need to get to the manual override. He pulled his armour tight and dragged himself further along the narrow, hot vent. Inside the vent the explosions sounded even louder, channelled by the small corridors created by the extensive ventilation system. He drew a shaky vent. He was a medic – not a...whatever usually did this kind of stuff.

First Aid reached a bend and quickly consulted his blueprint. Close. He turned to the right and crept forward, then froze, his extensive scanner picking up spark signatures – and more importantly dampened faction signatures.

Decepticon signatures.

He bit his lips as he activated his signature shielding. Don’t look up. Don’t look up. He held his vents as they passed underneath.

“…wrench.”

“You have the codes. Once I’m in the hub, I’ll have…”  

The gruff voices passed beneath him, the rest of their conversation drowned out by alarms and muffled booms.

First Aid released a hot vent as he quickly brushed away the heat warnings in his HUD. Decepticons? On the ship? His fear leaked through the bond. His brothers instantly responded. He felt Hot Spot anxiously pressing in, his determination and steadiness easing some of the dizzying fear. He looked down the narrow vent. His brothers needed him. The Twins depended on him. Fragile determination wove through him, strengthening his shaking limbs. He needed to get to that override. If Cons managed to board the Ark, then Primus alone knew how bad things really were.

“What the fragging Pit is taking him so long!?” Sideswipe threw himself against the wall and rubbed a hand over his faceplate. Frag! Every click counted in battle. Every. Fragging. Click. And they’ve been stuck in here longer than a slagging eternity! He glanced at Sunstreaker. His Twin seemed aloof as he examined his weapon, but Sideswipe felt his restlessness trickle through the bond.

He ex-vented, groaning loudly. “How difficult can it be to override a fragging – Oh.” Sideswipe pushed away from the wall as the door slid open.

First Aid stumbled in, faceplate ashen and frame trembling. “Decepticons are on the ship!”

“Where!” Sunstreaker bellowed as his armour bristled, battle protocols instantly at their peak.

“I don’t know, heading to the security hub, and maybe the engine room or, or medbay? I, I couldn’t hear with the noise-"

“Sunstreaker get Ratchet!” Sideswipe shouted as he grabbed First Aid and hauled him along. “Stay behind me.” Heat raced through his frame as he thought of the implication. Fragging Cons on the ship!

Sideswipe didn’t wait for First Aid’s answer as he let him go, simply acknowledging the small mech on his sensor-net. He would need the medic’s overrides. He swallowed hard as he glanced at the camera. Primus help him, but he had a feeling that Red Alert would need the little medic too.

If he wasn’t already deactivated.

Sideswipe pushed the thought to the back of his processor, activating full-battle protocols and tagging the medic as a priority. Ratchet would kill him if the little mech got hurt.

He skidded around a corner, spark pounding in rhythm with his pedes hitting the cold metal floor.

Prowl slipped through the empty hallways, his doorwings flared wide and sensor net extended to his furthest. His chest ached at the stress he was placing himself, and by default, Drift, under.

Ratchet would not be impressed, and quite frankly, he wasn’t either.

Jazz would be furious.

But he couldn’t turn back now. Something was wrong. Very wrong. Red Alert should have been able to remotely control the blast doors. That Prowl had had to hack each one simply meant that either Red Alert had lost control of the system – highly unlikely – or the operative had control of the system.

He raised a hand and massaged his chest. The main problem was going to be the lifts, unless he was able to get into one of the escape routes.

He froze, doorwings twitching. His sensor net alerted him to a moving presence. He flared his doorwings and focused his sensors. The faction code was hidden – and that screamed as loudly as anything else what this mech was.

He drew his pistol, inching back towards the wall.

A dark, slim silhouette appeared at intervals of orange. The silhouette grew larger as it crept closer.

Prowl studied the frame’s shadow, the narrow waist, the slim, pointy helm – femme – his battle computer supplied him with. He onlined his battle protocols, edged up the power level of his battle computer. He glanced at the door behind him.

It would take too much time to hack. His best option was to face the enemy, eliminate her as quickly as possible, then resume his passage to the bridge.

The figure rounded a corner and came into full view, the crimson optics bright and spikey armour flared.

Prowl grit his denta and flared his own armour at the familiar figure. He aligned his crosshairs over her sparkchamber.

“Hello, Lord Prowl.” Crasher crooned, “Long time, no see. And I admit you look much better than I anticipated.”

His weapon discharged as she lunged forward, but her supple frame twisted away from the barrage like quicksilver. She recovered quickly, her blade slid over the pistol, nicking his wrist and knocking the pistol out of his hand.

Prowl jumped back, engine growling and doorwings flared dangerously.

Crasher clucked, shaking her helm at his lack of ethics. “Now, now Lord Prowl, you know the rules. We play fair – with honour.” She withdrew a second blade and slid it towards Prowl. “Besides,” her crimson optics glowed and sparkled with the light of battle and supressed scorn, “I’ve been wanting to do this for so long!”

“Blaster! Communication?” Optimus leaned his hands on the railing overlooking the bridge, jaw set in determination. His mechs were frantic at their battle stations, but they were each focused on their job.

Blaster kept his optics glued to his screens, “Getting there, sir. Almost got it.” He nodded at Intel as the mech leaned down next to him, pointing at a code line, before pushing off.

Lt. Intel moved between them, studying readings, barking orders, running to another console, encouraging. He was doing well, but his inexperience was showing.

Optimus raised his optics to the image of the Fatal Consequence. His deep engine rumbled powerfully. The Ark was barely holding her own against the surprise attack. Perhaps if he had his more experienced tactical officer…but he cut those thoughts off. This was exactly why he had made the rule. They should have left Prowl on Paradron. He would have been safe there. The sparkling would have been safe. Now, he had no idea if he was even alive.

He pursed his lips and glanced at Jazz. The mech was seated at a console, plugged in, fierce determination etched into every crease of his face. His optics tightened. He was keeping Jazz from his family. He had seen the desperation on Jazz’s face, and if it hadn’t been for Intel, he was sure Jazz would have bolted.

Another blast rocked the ship, but the sounds of her shields absorbing most of the impact was little comfort when they had already acquired serious damage. “Lt. Inferno, shield status?”

“Got three back-up shields up and running. Fourth loading at 84%.”

Optimus nodded. “Protect the Ark, mechs.”

Octus jogged through the empty hallways, Wreckloose at his heel – any Autobot that dared entered their way had swiftly been dispatched. They had a bigger goal ahead. He grinned as he thought of fighting the young prime, the mech that was supposedly able to hold his own in a battle against the mighty Lord Megatron.

He would show those few windbags that Optimus was nothing.

He stopped behind a blast door and entered his override code. A few more doors and –

His vision exploded into a thousand bright spots as he flew back. Wreckloose bellowed something, then suddenly there was an added weight on top of him.

What the frag?! He shook his helm as the stars cleared, but his vision fritzed, the cracked optic trying to recalibrate. He hissed as he tried to drag himself out from under his companion.

“Welcome to the Ark, Deceptiscum.” A big black mass hoisted the dead weight of Wreckloose off of him. The moment he was free he grabbed at the black pede and yanked.

A string of curses erupted.

Octus pulled his dagger, aimed at the spark and sprang.

“Ya fragger!”

Mammoth arms blocked his passage, the dagger plunging deep into thick, black armour. He let go and kicked, his vision finally clearing enough to see the enormous form of Optimus Prime's personal guard.

The mech blocked his kick, grabbed his heel and pulled.

Octus used two arms to grip the behemoth and squeezed. His loose hands searched for an open seam. “Frag you!” He hissed. He had an objective to complete – and he was not going to fail!

Armour cracked beneath his arms as he found a vulnerable seam. He slid his hand in, but strong hands grabbed his wrist and twisted.

He hollered in pain as the wrist was severed from its connectors, more warnings popping up in his HUD. The corridor spun, and suddenly he was rolling on the rumbling floor. But he kept his arms locked. The black mech wouldn’t be able to sustain his attack.

They struggled on the floor, cursing as they rolled.

Mirage snuck through the vents of the Ark, his slim frame making it easy to navigate through the twisting maze. He passed an intersecting vent, casually glancing down it. Not the right one. One or two more turns, and he would be at his…

He stilled and cocked his helm. There had been an odd sound channelled through the vent – one that did not belong to a damaged ship, but one he would recognise anywhere. Optics narrowing he changed direction toward the origin of the sound.

Prowl ducked and jumped back, barely parrying a blow from Crasher’s blade. A sharp pain shot through his chassis, nearly buckling him over, but he wiped the warnings on his HUD as Crasher drew back for another blow.

She drew back too far, leaving herself partially open. Prowl noted the gap and lunged forward, nicking Crasher as she spun out of the way.

“Not bad, Prowl.” She huffed, the bright optics not completely sane as she glanced at the energon dripping from her thigh. “Wonder where you get the extra energy?”

Prowl ignored the jibe, instead cautiously circling her. The point of his blade glowed a sickly pink, the smell taunting his heightened senses.

Crasher lunged, her point aimed too high, flashed above the other’s guard and ripped into Prowl’s arm. He clenched his jaw as he retired nimbly, wrist held high.

She cursed as she redoubled, but Prowl, with a quick twist parried in fourth and their blades crossed.

They stood optic to optic, hot, panting frames pressed together, rapiers held forte-to-forte against each other.

“So how does it feel to be betrayed by your own faction?” The femme breathed as her optics slid quickly to Prowl’s lips, before fixating on him again. “As painful as my betrayal?”

Prowl blinked at her, spark pounding and faceplate ashen. Was she talking of her rejected suite, or… A thread of fear wove its way through his spark…Surely not…He moistened his lips. “You delude yourself, my lady.”

“I do?” Her voice dripped with insolent sweetness as she pressed her faceplate closer to his, their olfactories almost meeting. Her beady optics shone triumphantly. “How does the Council feel about the new spark?”

The fear that had woven itself around his spark became a strangling menace of fury. His lips pressed into a thin, white line as he stared coldly at her. So they know. “Quite optimistic.” He said with deadly quiet.

Prowl twisted away, breaking their stalemate. He knew he would not be able to last long. His chest ached from the exertion, his arm was throbbing and he was losing energon.

But he would defend Drift at all costs.

Sunstreaker snarled, fangs bared as he swung his short blade at the hulking Con. Through the bond, he felt Sideswipe’s restless presence. They should not be separated like this. He should be with his twin. Not stuck with this joking fragger.

His blade missed the Con by mere centimetres, but instead he used his momentum to slam his shoulder into the Con.

A loud crack notified him that he had found his mark. The Con’s arms snaked around him as Sunstreaker reached up, hooking his claws behind the helm at the base of the neck.

Rollout realised what was happening and tried to prevent it, but Sunstreaker yanked, pulling the mech off balance and onto his back.

In the same movement the golden mech straddled his opponent, plunging his broad sword into the mech’s chassis.

The mech howled, frame spasming beneath the sturdy frame of the ex-gladiator. Sunstreaker leaned down – his dark optics inches away from the fading Con. “Die.”

The Con snarled, spitting energon as he continued to convulse. “You think…you’ve won…we’ll see…how far you get…without your com…command.”

Sunstreaker loosely gripped the Con’s neck. “Not this time.” He yanked, shredding the delicate neck tubing.

The Con gave one final gurgle before greying. Sunstreaker sprang to his pedes, throwing the wet piping to the side.

Now to get Ratchet.

Sideswipe bounced on his pedes in front of the security hub, his weapon drawn as he glanced at the camera mounted in the corner. First Aid was taking longer than they had the luxury of giving, and no doubt the Cons were waiting right inside the Hub.

A rush of adrenaline cursed through him as his plating tingled with the prospect of battle. “Come on, Aid!” He growled as he crouched next to the open door.

“Almost.”

Sideswipe barely heard the whispered, shaky reply. He flared his armour and inched closer to the smaller bot. “Just stay behind me, okay?”

First Aid nodded, armour clamped and field pulled in close. “I’m…I’m entering the last digit – now!”

Sideswipe pushed First Aid to the side as laser shots zinged past his helm.

Octus braced himself and got his knees under the hulking frame of Ironhide, throwing the other mech off of him and into a wall. A satisfying thud rang in his audials. Bellowing, he jumped to his pedes, claws curled into a fist, ready to strike.

Only to snarl in frustration as Ironhide slipped to one side and his fist smashed into the wall. He howled in pain as he snatched his fist back, tucking it safely behind the others. The big black mech slammed into him. Octus threw him off.

Briefly separated by the width of the hallway they met again in the centre, frames crashing into each other as they grappled.

"Gonna make you pay for that," he snarled into Ironhide’s audios as they struggled for dominance.

Octus grabbed hold of Ironhide's arm and twisted just as the big black mech stumbled, drawing him even closer.

 Ironhide smashed his heavy helm into the Decepticon’s, the force cracking his olfactory. Spots danced in front of Octus’s vision as his processor cursed warnings. Powerful fists locked around his throat and squeezed. Octus clawed at the other mech’s hand, spitting energon through as his vision spewed static.

Scalding pain burned through his jaw and he glanced down, optics burgeoning at the sight of the business end of a canon under his chin.

“Die, fragger." The older mech growled as he pulled the trigger.

 Ironhide staggered back, canon cycling down. Leaning against the hallway wall, he glared at the greying form. ” Useless price of scrap." He grumbled, raising a hand to his bleeding shoulder.

Sideswipe lunged into the security room, ignoring the laser cutting into his armour in favour of lunging at the Decepticon.

First Aid peeked around the door, optics wide as he saw Red Alert's prone form and the other Decepticon at the security console across the room. He swallowed, his spark lodged in his throat and helm dizzy with dread.

The pool of energon under Red Alert was growing. Good sign, now he simply needed his pedes to get him moving! He shot another glance at Sideswipe engaged with the mech, then at the green Con silently sitting at the console. He glanced at his patient, medical protocols screaming at him to take action. He shuttered his optics, drew two deep vents, felt Hot Spot’s warmth presence, and slipped past the fighting mechs. He fell to the floor as another shot rumbled through the deck. A moment later he was scrambling to his patient, scanning once he was close enough.

He bit his lip as he visually confirmed what his scanner told him. Red Alert was in deep trouble – and thankfully in deep stasis. He glanced over at the brawling mechs. Pit, he really wished his brothers were here!

Hands trembling slightly, he clamped the leaking energon lines. Primus, his levels were so low! Unsubspacing a cube, he deftly set up a drip, ensuring the flow was minimal until all the major lines were clamped.

A crash had him whipping his helm around. A chocked cry escaped as a blade lodged itself into Sideswipe’s chest. First Aid straightened, half-lunging with an outstretched arm as if to catch the red mech.

But the frontliner barely seemed to notice as he continued with his attack, snarling.

First Aid’s HUD pinged him with an update on Red Alert’s energon level and he quickly turned his attention back to the unconscious mech splayed before him, plating shivering. Don’t get yourself killed, please don’t get yourself killed. His thoughts spun anxiously as he tried to refocused on his patient. But it would be so much easier knowing there was no battle going on behind him, with a back-up Con sitting like Death in front of a console! His vents flared, trying to draw cooling vents into his overheating frame. Focus or you’ll lose your patient! He gritted his denta as he dialled down his audials, a sneak of a thought telling him it was a bad idea. He ignored the thought. Focus!

His scanner’s beeped a warning and he quickly glanced at it. His vents hitched. Hypovolemic shock. Not good. He needed to get the energon pressure up, or else Red Alert’s pump wouldn’t be able to keep the circulation up, and –

First Aid screamed as bright sparks ignited from the console next to him. He threw his frame over his patient, armour tucked tightly as tiny, red-hot coals ate into his armour.

“Sideswipe!” He squawked as he unshuttered his optics.

“Sorry…argh…Aid!” Sideswipe gasped, grasping the Decepticon and hurling him into the hallway.

His optics rounded in horror as the red blur dashed into the hallway – instantly plunging the security hub into silence, the eerie glow of the monitors the only lights in the suddenly too-small room. He glanced down at Red Alert, then across the room.

Oh great. Now they were alone with Green Death.  

Jazz stared blankly at the screen in front of him, his senses oblivious to the wailing sirens, the dying shudders, and the fetid stench of fear.

He was literally in his own cyber world, up against a foe he knew very well.

Undermine.

His fist clenched spastically as he mentally snuck through the Ark’s cyberspace, a silent predator hunting for the prey he knew was hiding in the jungles of coding. He knew the jungle like the back of his hand, had navigated through it countless times. He was closing in on his prey, he could sense it.

Cautiously he approached; the prey was dangerous.

As if summoned, Undermine lashed out, viral coding slithering towards him.

Jazz snarled as he rapidly netted the diversion, his antivirus shredding the pathogen. He wove through the coding, sending subtle commands, tweaking coding, writing coding. Time would give the Con to him, but first he needed to give the Ark her mechs…

There! He floated to the coding he was looking for, tweaking it in a special way the security director had instructed –

Suddenly the firewalls fell, new ones erected in less than a nano-click as they focused on the intruder, blocking his path from a safe retreat. The intruder screeched, his processor being ripped apart by the coding of their Security Director. The trap was sprung; the Con would be caught.

Jazz beat a hasty retreat, his access codes the only thing keeping him safe from Red Alert’s obedient viruses – for the moment.

Sideswipe swung his blade, barely missing the fragging Con. He sent a ping to his brother as the Con recovered and aimed for another attack.

The Con froze, his faceplate contorting as a gaping hole suddenly opened his chest. Sideswipe cocked his helm, optics narrowed as the Decepticon fell forward, his frame already grey.

Sidesweipe straightened and threw his uninjured arm up into the air, "Where the frag have you been, bro?"

An anguished cry, followed by a loud crash erupted from the security hub and Sideswipe spun round, bolting towards it. “Aid!?”

“First Aid’s in there!?!”

Sideswipe ignored Ratchet’s bellow as he sprinted into the room, his twin moments behind him. The green Decepticon lay writhing on the floor, lashing as he gripped his helm in agony.

"Get out of my way," Ratchet growled, shoving the Twins aside. He cast a cursory glance around the room, spying the green mech thrashing on the floor. Fragmented processor; viral attack. He shook his helm once and bolted towards Red Alert and First Aid. A quick scan showed only topical damage to First Aid. Red Alert immediately tagged as primary priority.

Another scream emanated from the downed Con. First Aid lifted a pale visor to the writhing mech. “Should I…?” He whispered, his entire field screaming that he wanted to be anywhere else than with the Con.

Ratchet shook his helm and growled; the patient was in agony, and his medical codes begged him to attend, but then again there was a patient in critical condition. And there was no way in the Pit he was letting a young, inexperienced battle medic near a thrashing Con. The Con was not critical – not yet. "Sunstreaker, secure that but don't terminate it!" He barked as he nodded towards the Decepticon. “Sideswipe! Take First Aid and get to Prowl!”

“I’ve got full control of the Ark!” Inferno shouted as he twisted round in his chair. “Main shields are back up! We have full control of primary, secondary and tertiary weapon systems! Blast doors opening and security footage visible!”

Jazz gasped as his synch was broken with the console. He shook his helm, pressing a hand over his visor. “Blaster, get the comms back up!” He shoved his seat back and bolted towards the door. If Optimus called out to him, he didn’t hear it.

Jazz shot through the open doors, jumping to the side as Ironhide’s big, leaking bulk suddenly loomed before him.

“Get in there!” Jazz shouted over his shoulder, sprinting towards the closest lift, energon pounding through his frame.

Ironhide huffed as he leaned on the wall and watched the black and white mech disappear down the corridor. "Ah'm fine, thanks for asking fragger." He muttered before turning to the flabbergasted crew spilling into the hallway. Wide optics stared at him. “Don’t just stand there ya idiots! Get to yer battle stations and let’s show these fragging Con’s why we’re the flagship!” He waved his good arm dismissively as he entered the bridge.

Mirage softly disengaged the grate covering the service vent, scanners on high and stealth mode fully operative. Grabbing hold of the edges, he gracefully lowered his frame, dropping soundlessly to his pedes. He tucked his armour and stretched his scanners to their furthest. His optics narrowed dangerously as he homed in on the distinct clashes of blades.

There was only one other mech he knew on the Ark that was trained in the delicate art of fencing – a noble’s past time. Mirage slithered as quickly as he dared to the sound, calming his thoughts.

He would not fail Jazz a second time.

Crasher growled as her intakes heaved, swerving to the side as Prowl’s point nearly nicked her again. She disengaged over the Praxian’s supple wrist, but he parried with the utmost ease and dexterity. She bared her clenched fangs. He was turning out to be more of a challenge than she anticipated.

Prowl knew he was running out of time. His chassis, already sore from the carrying, was aching intolerably, and his wrist seemed to have lost some of its cunning. He was conscious of a singing in his helm, and try as he might, he could not ignore it any more. But his optics remained cold and hard with the primitive demand to protect.

Crasher was fencing with almost supernatural skill, moving heavily and deliberately. The wounds Prowl had managed to score seemed to have no effect on her at all. Yet the optics were hooded, chin thrust forward and fangs gripping the thin lower lip. She was not immune to fatigue.

Prowl suddenly half-lunged. Crasher tried to counter it, but Prowl’s blade caught hers in a hold as he redoubled his lunge. Crasher gasped as the blade ripped open the shoulder guard, causing a steady trickle of energon to drip down onto the floor.

Crasher snarled, ignoring the stinging pain as she countering deftly, catching his blade. With a brutal twist, she knocked Prowl’s blade from his tired wrist.

He staggered back, ignoring the clatter of his rapier as his cold optics calculated her every move.

“Our little dance ends now, my lord.” She lunged.

Prowl twisted away, doorwings flared. His arm was suddenly grasped in a firm hold, but before he could counter it he was yanked back. He watched, dazed, as a lithe blue and white frame struck up Crasher’s blade.

“Meddling once more in affairs you have no right to, my lady?” Mirage asked, his lofty voice betraying the deadly cool that permeated his frame.

A furious hiss was the only reply as Crasher through herself into the fray, pressing hard against the intruding noble.

Prowl leaned against the wall, the singing in his helm intensifying as darkness adorned the fringes of his vision. The warnings were streaming into his HUD. He cleared them as he refocused on the bout. A sharp pain through his spark had his frame spasming. He curled in, but then his optics fell on his discarded pistol. He grit his denta. Honour be damned. Rising, he staggered to his pedes, one hand braced against the wall and another pressed against his spark that stabbed him with every pulse.

Scooping up his gun, he aimed it at Crasher.

Mirage retreated. Crasher lunged. Prowl fired.

Crasher stumbled, crying out as the acid ate at her shoulder. Mirage lunged forward, slamming the hilt of his sword against her helm. With a thud she fell to the floor.

He swung round to Prowl, optic ridges furrowed in worry and lips parted.

Without a sound, Prowl crumpled up and fell to the floor.

Violator drew a deep vent, hands folded behind his back. He narrowed his six optics at the golden form of the Ark, his jaw working as cold rage boiled within him. Oh how he despised her! He turned one set of optics to the monitor blinking below him.

The Ark’s shields were up to their normal, unbreachable strength. Her primary canons were ripping into his beloved Consequence.

His lips twitched in a barely suppressed snarl. So the team has failed. He hoped they were all deactivated. Or else he would gladly finish them off. Slowly.

His shoulders drew back, armour puffed. The monitor beeped a warning at him – Fatal Consequence’s hull had been breached in several place. Her shields were failing. She would not be able to hold her own against a fully-functioning Ark much longer. They either break away now, or risk greater damage and maybe even capture.

He huffed, fist clenching.

Megatron would not be pleased. The Council would not be pleased.

He rolled his shoulders. “So be it.”

“Fatal Consequence!” He turned one last, hateful glare on the symbol of Autobot power.

“Retreat!”

Author’s note: Special thanks in this chapter goes to my beta, SiriuslyFeisty, because without her, I would not have been done yet and her advice to the fight scenes was invaluable.

Author's 2nd note: updates will unfortunately be slow, but I will try to get at least one out per month if not more. I  have been promoted at my job, and unfortunately that means less free time for me to practice my hobby. Thank-you to all the reviews and kudo’s, and once more I apologise for the long waits. :)

Chapter Text

Part III

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Prowl shuttered his optics and vented calmly, doorwings tucked as he steady rhythm of ventilation machines and spark-monitors washed over him, but it held no soothing whisper.

“You ok?”

He felt Jazz’s warm hand on his back and kept himself from bristling. No, I am not ‘ok’. He opened his optics and looked at Jazz, his face a blank canvas, mirroring the emptiness he felt inside. The stench of sanitizers stung his olfactory and the dim light only added to the cold gloom permeating the room, permeating his spark.

Jazz vented heavily and moved to stand closer to Prowl. “His spark was weak from the beginning Prowl, but he’s always pulled through. Just got ta have a little faith.” He encircled his arms around Prowl and drew him flush. The warmth of his plating offered little comfort.

Prowl turned his helm back to the CR Chamber.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Feeling oddly detached, he stared at the little form battling to keep from fading. ‘I’m sorry, Prowl. Prognosis for life is less than 10%. I don’t have the facilities…’ Ratchet’s words haunted him.

Jazz’s hand gently massaged his cold plating. Vacant optics stared at the glowing blue screen.

He should have stayed at Paradon.

He should have stayed away from Jazz.

He should have stayed away from the Autobots.

He drew a deep vent and disengaged Jazz’s hand. He stepped back to his berth. This was his fault. His pride was going to cost Drift his life.

“Prowler…”

“Jazz.” Prowl breathed, enough warning in the one word that the black and white fell silent.

Prowl sat on the berth, his frame sore and chassis aching, but the physical pain was nothing compared with the black whirlpool inside his spark.

Jazz delicately touched the top of the CR Chamber before walking over to Prowl, his field swamped with regret.

“I’m sorry, Prowl.”

Prowl’s doorwings flared up. Sorry? He should be. He wasn’t there when Prowl needed him. Wasn’t there when Drift needed him. He had abandoned them, exactly as Prowl had feared.

“You should leave.” The words dripped from his lips like burning drops of acid. He ignored the sudden shock that tore through Jazz’s field. He ignored the painful stab in his spark. He ignored the pale visor focused on him.

He focused instead on the life support readings, the steady beep-beep-beep that signalled his sparkling was still this side of the Well. ‘Less than 10%...’

“Prowl, please don’t push me away.”

The whispered plea tugged at him, but he kept his gaze steady. Beep-beep-beep. The sound anchored him to the ground, anchored his decision.

“Prowler…” A slim, hesitant hand slid along the berth covers to touch his.

Prowl lifted his hand and placed it on his lap, well-away from that touch. He swallowed and pulled his roiling field in tightly. “Go, Jazz. You do not belong here.”

The silence that hung between them was deafening in the cold room. Clicks dragged into breems as Jazz’s presence shifted into the background.

Jazz pushed himself up, his gaze still locked on Prowl. Finally, he looked away, looked at Drift.

“I’ll check on Red. Get an update from Ratchet.” He whispered softly, whether to himself or Prowl the tactician didn’t know.

And with that he was gone.

As he should be.

Prowl dropped his helm into his hands, his doorwings drooping low. An intense need to call Jazz back engulfed him, but he braced himself. It was better this way. Jazz would go his own road, and he would face what the Council decided. Alone. Without his sparkling. Without Jazz.

He squeezed his optics shut, shivering as each vent sawed through him.

Drift would soon pass on to the Well.

And it was his fault.

“How’s he doing?”

Jazz looked at Ratchet, his mouth dry. He shrugged and shook his helm. “Asked me ta leave.”

Ratchet heaved a heavy vent as he looked at the open bay. Here and there a mech lay recharging, but no one was critical anymore. “Let’s go to my office.”

“Want to check on Red first.” Jazz motioned towards a private room to the side of the medbay.

“He’s doing better.” Ratchet said softly as he fell in step with Jazz. “The shot was a pretty damn near thing, but he had reinforced armour and an additional shield plating surrounding his spark. If it wasn’t for that, we’d be looking for a new SD.”

Jazz nodded, his pedes as silent as his field as they walked across the medbay. He stopped at the room and leaned against the doorway, not wanting to go in.

Red Alert was hooked to machines, but at least it wasn’t a CR Chamber. He ducked his chin as images of Drift floated across his HUD. It had been a close call for both Prowl and Drift. Prowl’s systems had gone into shut-down, his already strained spark unable to support his frame. The shut-down had nearly drained Drift’s spark, and if not for an emergency extraction, Drift would be grey. Not that it wasn’t still a possibility…Once more the image of Drift haunted him. He moistened his lips as he pushed away from the doorway. “What’s his chances?”

Ratchet huffed and scratched his chin. “He ought to make an acceptable recovery within a quartex if he stays still…”

“I meant Drift.” The saboteur’s voice was soft, his expression pinched.

“Jazz,” Ratchet sucked his vent in, but didn’t say anything else as he glanced around the sparsely populated medbay.

“Just give me a bit of hope, Ratch. I really need it right about now.” The armour tucked as Jazz turned to face Ratchet.

“My office. Too many audials that already know too much.” Ratchet took Jazz by his elbow and led him to the small office that doubled as Ratchet’s informal quarters. His office wasn’t overly big, but at least it offered protection from prying optics.

“I’ll get you something to drink. And yes, I’m going to add supplements to it.” Ratchet said firmly as he headed towards the dispenser tucked into the small kitchenette. Discreetly he scanned Jazz, taking note of the low frame temperature, the lack of charge and low energon levels.

“As long as you add hope.” Jazz rubbed a hand over his pale faceplate as he seated himself.

The soft trickle of liquid filled the quiet that settled over the room. Ratchet gritted his denta as he watched the liquid pour into the cube.  Slag everything to the pits. Slag Megatron, slag the Con’s rusting away in the brig, slag everything! A sparkling was supposed to be a happy occasion. Not…this. He switched the dispenser off and levelled his field. Jazz was a sensitive mech, he didn’t need Ratchet’s emotions playing havoc with his already bruised field.

Ratchet handed the cube to Jazz before seating himself next to the saboteur instead of behind his desk. The tactile mech didn’t need any more obstacles between him and another.

He leaned forward, interlocking his digits. He pursed his lips, frown etched into his old face. “Jazz, the prognosis isn’t good.” Ratchet stated gruffly, knowing it was the honest truth. “But he is still alive and as long as his spark’s still pulsing I’m not giving up on him. And you shouldn’t either.”

Jazz’s helm dropped back, the cube untouched in his hand. The corners of his lips twitched down, he opened his mouth a couple of times, but the words seemed stuck. “Prowl…” He shook his helm, words hitching in his vocaliser. “Prowl wants me to go.”

Ratchet nodded absently, placing a hand on his friend’s knee. He’d known Prowl for a while and sad as it was for him to admit, he wasn’t surprised the mech had chosen to withdraw into himself. Didn’t excuse his actions, but with trauma this severe and an already introverted personality… “Prowl is complex, Jazz. He’s never been good with inter-mech relations.”

Jazz sat forward, nursing the cube as he swirled the liquid inside it. “Not much I can do if he doesn’t want me to.”

Ratchet opened his mouth, but Jazz cut him off.

“Truth is I should have left him alone from the beginning. I don’t know what I was thinking, going after him. But I was fascinated. He was solid, ya dig? He never judged me, never asked me what or why. Just accepted it and never mentioned it.” He took a sip of the cube. “And you’re right. He is complex. Maybe that’s why I did what I did. Wanted to see who the mech really was.” He barked a laugh, the sound hollow and deriding. “Still waters means deep ground, and underneath Unicron runs round.” He muttered more to himself as he took another sip of the cube.

Ratchet cocked an optic ridge, his armour plates settling. “Jazz, I’ve seen quite a lotta things in my lifetime, but I’ve never seen nor heard of a mech baring his spark simply because he’s curious about the mecha to whom it belongs.” He raised his hand and awkwardly placed it on Jazz’s shoulder.

“Mech, when you aren’t in a good place you do stupid things.” Jazz bit out, not looking at Ratchet.

“And yet when we aren’t in a good place, we usually run to those we trust the most. Especially those we love.”

Jazz pressed his lips into a thin line, rocking back and forth as he stared at the remaining liquid. After what seemed like an eternity, Jazz finally whispered “He doesn’t deserve a mate that he can’t trust, that’s never there when he needs him.” He threw back the last of the liquid. “I should let them go.”

Ratchet frowned and grabbed Jazz’s arm. To the Pit with these younger mechs! “You don’t give up this easily on the ones you love, Jazz! And don’t say it slagging isn’t love! I don’t know how it came to be so intimate between the two of you, but even though it wasn’t…the best choice… what’s done is done. You take responsibilities for your actions.” His optic ridges knit together as he watched flitting emotions cross the saboteur’s face, spiking in his field where it crackled out of control.

“I chose the Autobots over my mate!” Jazz hissed, visor flashing and plating rising. “I deserted them!”

“It wasn’t your choice!” Ratchet tightened his hold on Jazz’s shoulder. “You obeyed an order. You were where you were most useful despite what it looks like!”

“And know Drift is in a CR Chamber, and Prowl’s…” Jazz clamped his jaw and tightened his fists, waves of regret, anger, frustration and guilt tumbling through his field.

Ratchet took a deep vent and drew Jazz close to him. “Jazz…” He hesitated. This was what he had been warning them about all along, what he had tried to tell all of them. “Jazz, the Decepticon attack made no difference. I…We knew from the beginning Drift was weak.” He felt Jazz’s armour clamp tightly.

“Was it my fault?” Jazz loosened his fist and turned his palms upward, examining the claw impressions left in them. It hurt, but physical pain was better than the heavy weight pressing down on his spark. “Was it because I wasn’t there at the beginning?”

“You can’t hold yourself guilty to what you didn’t know.”

“But it would have made a difference.” Jazz slumped forward.

“Yes, it would have made a difference,” Ratchet’s gravelly voice held no judgement, “But so too would have been proper nourishment, no space radiation, an undamaged spark, proper rest, and a stress-free carrier. Drift’s chances were never good from the beginning Jazz. Simply the fact that he is still alive gives me hope, and as long as I have hope you slagging keep your hope.”

“And Prowl?” Jazz rubbed a hand over his face and pressed his temples, his throat constricting at the vacant look in Prowl’s optics. It was only a symbol of the internal wall Prowl had so thoroughly erected between them.

Ratchet tilted his helm back in thought. “What do you think?”

Jazz swallowed the lump lodged in his throat. Prowl was strategically withdrawing. He knew that. But it was a selfish move, and honestly he wasn’t sure if he could ignore his own pain to focus on Prowl’s. “I don’t really feel like going back to Prowl right now.”

He expected anger, shock and even disgust from Ratchet, but what flowed through the medic’s field was resigned acceptance and understanding.

“What?” He glanced at Ratchet, thankful the medic hadn’t retracted his supportive touch. He needed the contact. “You not going to try and convince me to go back? Take up my responsibility?” The word came out harsher than he intended and he dropped his gaze.

“It is your choice, Jazz.” Ratchet tightened the hug, albeit awkwardly.

A crooked smile made its way to Jazz lips. It was ironic that the grouchiest, most irritable mech he knew was here holding him, a trained assassin, third in command of the Autobot army, a street-rat that never needed anybody or anything, like a little lost, frightened youngling.

And lost and frightened he was. The smile turned to bitterness. This wasn’t something he could fix. He was insane to think he could have a family.

And yet his promise to Prowl remained. He shuttered his optics and drew a deep vent. He knew what he had to do, but it didn’t mean he wanted to do it. He lifted his helm and unshuttered his optics, staring at the far wall decorated with elaborate portraits depicting every day scenes.

Sunstreaker ’s works.

“Why do you love the Twins?”

“What?”

“The Twins? I mean, like, they irritate the slag out of you and yet…”

Ratchet glanced at the portraits given him by Sunstreaker, a fond smile on softening his lips. “I blame Jack.”

“Jack?” Jazz raised his ridges, but his optics stayed locked on a single portrait – a painting depicting a city park with families enjoying a sunny afternoon.

“Well…the Twins were a nuisance from the start, and honestly I didn’t want to see the little slaggers anywhere near my medbay. Hmph. Only trouble. Jacky though, he has this habit of seeing the best in mechs. Probably why Primus gave him to me.” He muttered as he rubbed his chin. “But he reminded me – constantly, I might add – that the Twins don’t know love, they don’t know trust, they don’t know family, and they never will unless someone’s willing to show it to them. Figured since they spent half their time in the medbay, might as well be me.” He cocked an optic ridge. “Still doesn’t mean I don’t want to peal their plating off from time to time, little miscreants.”

“So if I want to peal Prowl’s plating off from time to time?” Jazz asked, leaning into Ratchet.

“I’ll send Jack your way. He’s a miracle-worker when it comes to intervention.” He slapped Jazz’s shoulder playfully, but then his face sobered up. “Jack and I have been mates for vorns Jazz, and it’s never perfect. He still does stuff that irritates the slag out of me, and I know I do the same, and the fights we have will put slagging Megatron and Starscream to shame. But I love and respect him, as he does me. Relationships are founded on respect, Jazz, and out of respect comes a kind of love that is not fliting or based on how we feel.”

Jazz worked his jaw as he mulled those words over. “So, even if I don’t feel like it, the right thing to do would be to go to Prowl?”

“Yes. He loves you Jazz; in his own way he loves you, as you do him.” Ratchet once more hugged him close before releasing him and standing up. “So go, and take a cube with you. I’ll put a light sedative in it, one that will make him relax but won’t put him to recharge.”

Jazz drew a deep vent and stood, taking the cube that Ratchet held out to him. He still didn’t feel like going to Prowl, honestly he felt too brittle to be rejected again, but Ratchet was right. He had a responsibility, and his feelings really shouldn’t dictate his actions. How did the saying in ops go? ‘Follow your spark but take your processor with you.’ He puffed his cheeks, releasing the air slowly as he got his field under control. “Thanks, Ratch. For everything.”

“We are all some slapped together family that only Primus knows how we function.” Ratchet turned Jazz towards the door, “But somehow we fragging function. Remember that.”

“I will.”

Jazz eyed the dark metallic door that lead to Prowl’s private room as if it led into the dark abyss of one of Shockwave’s labs. He shuttered his optics. There was still hope, and even if Drift faded – he needed to be there for Prowl. At least he needed to try to be there.

He stepped through the door and into the dimly lit room. The steady beep-beep-beep of the life support was a welcoming sound.

“Hey.” Jazz ventured to Prowl. The tactician regarded him with the same vacant optics, his expression unreadable and his doorwings held neutral. “I brought you some energon.”

Prowl glanced at the cube before turning back to the CR Chamber. “I do not require fuel.”

Jazz grit his denta and pulled his field in tight. “Ratchet sent it. Told me to give it to you. Drink.” He held the cube out once more, his optics focused on Prowl.

Prowl turned his helm and dropped his gaze to the cube. “Sedatives?”

“Not enough to make you sleep, only to help your self-repair.” Jazz replied honestly. His spark pounded as Prowl reached out and took the cube, draining it quickly.

“Thank-you.” He placed the cube on the berth table next to him, not making any other sound or movement to acknowledge Jazz.

Jazz drew a vent and went to sit next to Prowl. Frag, he wished Prowl would say something, anything. Blame him, shout at him, scream. Anything. But this silence was…unbearable.

“Why are you here?”

Jazz flicked his optics at Prowl. Ok, maybe silence was better. He swallowed and turned towards Prowl. “I need to be here as much as you need to be here. Drift is my sparkling, too.”

The doorwings flicked back harshly.

“I see.”

Jazz felt the irritation flare through him. “Do you?”

The pristine white hands tightened around the berth covers, and delicate nostrils flared. “Jazz.”

“No, Prowl. Stop it, just, stop pushing me away. Please.” Jazz vented harshly as he grabbed Prowl’s arm, desperation to save whatever lay between him and Prowl burning through his lines.

Prowl turned towards him, lips parted and optics pale. He felt numb, detached. He felt alien to himself.

“Prowl….” Jazz cupped Prowl’s cheek, Ratchet’s words replaying in his mind. “We’re a family.” He pulled Prowl into a tight embrace, his field painfully open to his emotions, his fears, his pain.

Prowl recoiled, but Jazz held on to him. “Don’t, please babe, just let me in.”

‘Let me in’? Prowl shuttered his optics as he pressed his helm into Jazz, conflicting emotions ripping him apart. He wanted Jazz, but he wanted to be alone. He wanted Drift to be well, but Drift was going to die. He wanted to undo his choices, but he was helpless. Hopeless. A harsh vent escaped him and he hated himself even more. He would not break.

“I’m here. I love you.”

Prowl broke.

“How are they doing?” Optimus stood at the viewport, hands held loosely behind his back as he observed the officers and crew interacting below. Critical damages were repaired, but the shields and systems still needed repair from the harm inflicted.

Ratchet folded his arms over his chassis, sharp optics staring into the distance. “Frankly, I’m worried about all of them. Prowl is bottling everything up as usual, so I won’t be surprised if he throws himself full-force into work as soon as permitted. Jazz is frustrated, and feeling guilty for neglecting his duty as sire and mate. Drift, well, I honestly don’t expect Drift to survive the decaorn.”

Optimus straightened his shoulders as he briefly shuttered his optics. “The Council has been notified of the early extraction.”

They watched in silence as Lt. Intel leaned over and explained something to a junior tactician. From there vantage point, they could closely observe every mech active on the bridge.

“And the verdict?” Ratchet asked softly, mouth pulling down to match his frown.

Ironhide came up and stood next to him, his field betraying his outward calm. “They think it’s unfortunate.”

The small fins on Ratchet’s frame lifted. “Do they now?” He glanced at Optimus, but once more it was Ironhide that answered.

“Should Drift die, they are willing to drop the charges, act as if this whole thing never happened.” The large black mech practically growled into the dimmed room.

Optimus’s optics sharpened, his jaw set.

“Will you allow this?” Ratchet asked, his field flaring to try and catch the closely guarded field of their leader. If it went away – it would save Prowl’s career, but what of the other carriers? What of Prowl himself?

“No.” Optimus said, but Ratchet picked up conflicting undercurrents. He glanced at Ironhide, but the black mech merrily rolled a shoulder.

Ratchet grunted. Optimus would tell them when he was good and ready.

Deft fingers flew over the keyboard, nervous optics flicked from side to side.

::Sparkling extracted successfully. Orders?::

::Get sparkling.::

The message mocked him. What did they think he was Primus or something? The sparkling was closely guarded. Primus, had he not been in the medbay he might not even have known of the situation. The mech licked his lips.

::Sparkling is very weak. May die if taken.::

::Then it dies.::

The screen went blank. The mech pressed his hands over his optics. This was a disaster. All his hard work to infiltrate the Autobots…

He drew a vent and released it slowly. He had to get back to the medbay before Ratchet returned. He’d think of something soon enough.

Chapter Text

Golden light filtered softly through the delicately curved crystal dome of the Grand Imperium. Around the dome sat the Council, everyone in a section built to reflect the various cultural and geophysical properties of their represented province. Portraits of their predecessors hung on the walls behind the carved chairs, but the giant statue of Prima loomed over all of them, his optics seemingly alive and following the ‘civilised’ monotone discussion of the latest council session.

Senator Proteus clenched his jaw and tightened his fist on the armrests of his elaborately carved council seat. The beauty of the stateroom did nothing to lighten his mood as he listened to the nonsensical babblings of the senators. There were orns when he absolutely hated sitting through these tedious meetings, but alas! One did what one had to do to secure your future in the new regime.

And that position’s security was slowly and steadily eroding away like the metallic plains bordering the Mithric Sea thanks to the damn Prime and his command team.  

He drew a deep vent and tried to focus on the incessant chatter of his supposedly equals who were supposedly trying to reach an agreement. Primus was a laugh! For centivorns they couldn’t sort a thing. But in the future, the glorious future…A smile played on his lips. Yes. He has been promised many riches and a high position – for surely the new Lord Protector would require someone to run the mundane, orn-to-orn duties. And who better than himself?

“What of the situation with Commander Prowl?”

The smile vanished as every cable in his frame pulled tight. His green optics shot across the room towards the senator that had raised this vile subject.

Senator Ratbat. He ground his denta. Of course he would bring it up.

“What news of the sparkling?”

Proteus swung his helm to Alpha Trion, the eldest of the senators and the most troublesome mech. Why, oh why couldn’t someone take care of the old bag of bolts?

“It is still alive, by all accounts, but it’s not our concern at the moment. Our immediate concern should be the implications.” Senator Crosscut drawled as he sat back in his seat, pedes extended before him and hands folded primly across his broad paunch.

Proteus cocked his helm at Senator Crosscut. Potential ally. His processor tagged.

“I have to agree with senator Crosscut.” Proteus raised his voice to be heard above the low sound of disgruntled murmurings. Nobody wanted to broach this subject, so might as well push the advantage while another had opened the door. “The implications, should we yield to the new Prime’s demands, are by far more dangerous. It will show that we go back on our word. On our laws. Wasn’t it the same Prime that suggested carriers not be allowed into the Autobot army? Wasn’t it for their protection? And now, this new Prime finds out his second is a carrier, even lied to him, to us!” He paused arms waving around the room to encompass each and every one there, “And now, all of a sudden, he wants to remove the laws banning carriers from serving. What will the general populace think? It is utterly ludicrous and we should not bend simply because of Prowl’s rank in the Autobots!” He wagged a digit in warning, optic ridges held high as he looked at every mech.

Nervous energy flooded the room and Proteus sat back. Good. Let them stew on it.

“I do not agree.”

Proteus’s optic twitched as Alpha Trion’s steady voice filled the room.

“There were those of us who advised against the law. All should have the right to choose. Is this war not about being equal? Was that not the crack in our foundation? Then if we consider lifting the ban, would it not rather imply that we listen to the desires of the general populace. We are here to represent them, not…” His cobalt optics glared at Proteus, “rule over them.”

Proteus shot up. “We are not ruling over them! In times of war, mechs need a firm hand guiding them! Even the new Prime needs guidance!”

“Optimus Prime has proven himself capable of making sound choices.” Senator Proteus pointed out, his phlegmatic voice soothing. “Sit down, senator Proteus. Senator Alpha Trion is correct. This was not, and I seriously doubt that it is an isolated case. What worries me is the extent to which mechs will go to cover themselves. Once more I point to Commander Prowl. He has managed to hide this for vorns. He is a brilliant tactician, and his skills are highly valued. We would be fools to lose him for the cause simply because he is a carrier.”

“So because of one mech we will throw our laws out the door? A mech who has lied to the highest forms of command?” Senator Crosscut slammed his fists on his armrests. “Do not be preposterous!”

“Senator, behave. We are not throwing rules out the door. We are debating what is to be done.” Senator Decimus rubbed his hands together as he sat forward in his seat. “True, Commander Prowl is a valuable resource in this war. The Autobots are hard-pressed at present, and whether we like it or not, we might have to call upon the Autobot carriers to engage in this war simply because we need the fire-power. If we look at this strategically, this might be to our advantage. Rather than give the impression we are desperate for soldiers, we could say that we realise the need for equality in choices.”

More murmurs. Proteus drew a deep vent and released it slowly. More fire-power was the last thing he wanted for the Autobots. “Let’s not jump ahead. What if it dies? We’ve already informed the Prime that we are willing to overlook Prowl’s…” He rummaged through his processor for the correct word…

“It is a young mechling. You can refer to the sparkling as him.” Alpha Trion’s deep timber held enough warning in it that some of the senators raised their optic ridges and glanced away.

Proteus seethed, but dipped his helm. “My apologies. I wasn’t sure if it was a mechling or femmling, but as I was saying…Prowl’s deceit, for lack of a better word, can be overlooked if the sparkling fades. Of course there should still be ramifications. We cannot let this kind of deceit go unpunished, it would set a dangerous precedence.”

“It would set a precedence if we do punish it.” Senator Dai Atlas spoke up, casting a guarded look at Alpha Trion.

“We can’t do nothing!” Senator Ratbat’s shrill voice echoed through the dome and Proteus barely managed to supress a grimace. “I have to agree with Senator Proteus. Fact of the matter remains he did deceive us from the start. That will need to be addressed.”

“Perhaps he wouldn’t have felt the need to deceive if the policy hadn’t been enacted. We pressed too hard and too soon for it without due processes.” Senator Momus raised his placid voice. “True we followed the legal processes, but we did steamroll through it. I am of a mind to re-evaluate the law, as our Prime has suggested.”

Agreements followed this short little speech and Proteus gripped the edge of his chair. No! No! No! His green optics narrowed as his processor clocked overtime. This was an unprecedented disaster. The Ark was nearing the outer fringes of Cybertronian airspace. The situation was far from contained. In an ideal world, Optimus, and his entire fragging command team, should be dead. Now they wanted to re-evaluate the viability of the law. If carriers were allowed….

“What of the future of our race!?” He barked and the room fell silent. He stood and flared his armour. “The sole purpose of this law was and still is to protect the future! How long have we been at war? How many Cybertronians have lost their lives?” He paced the three steps in front of his ornate chair. “I tell you now, if we allow carriers back instead of protecting them, then we doom our race!”

“Senator Proteus, your concern is noted, but we must take into account the rights of carriers that we have so far ignored – for the sake of our race.” Senator Momus waved him back to his seat and drew a deep vent. “Senator Sherma, if I may suggest we leave this subject until the arrival of the Ark?”

All optics turned to esteemed Senator Sherma, the chair for the orn’s session. His golden optics briefly searched the optics of all the senators present, until it rested on the scrutinizing optics of the image of Prima.  He stood and raised his hands. “Agreed. Optimus Prime is not here to state his case, and Commander Prime is not here to defend himself. Until we have all the evidence – the damning and the waiving – we will not make a premature decision. There is a lot at stake, both for the army and individuals within and outside of the army. I suggest, we move to our next subject.”

Proteus pressed his lips together and glanced at Ratbat. A short nod told him all he needed to know.

He only hoped that blasted security mech on the Ark would for once do his fragging job.

Blazer quietly counted the clicks as he laid on his comfy berth under the watchful gaze of the medical personnel. Six orns. He had been stuck in medical for slagging six orns. He shifted, the gel-like padding absorbing his movement. Stop fidgeting! He balled his fist, rubbing the soft padding between thumb and index-digit.

The words of his handler mocked him.

Get the sparkling. Right. How the fragging Pit am I going to do that?! He rolled his helm to the side and stared at the rooms on the furthest side. Prowl’s room was one of them.

“Are you alright?”

He jerked and whipped his helm in the direction of the voice. Slag! “Uh…” He drew a deep vent and held it, relief washing through him at the welcoming smile of the new medic.

“You seem quite restless.” First Aid came to his berth. “Is your processor still corrupting data?” Big blue optics stared down innocently at him.

Or were they innocent? Did the young medic suspect something? Swallowing his spark that had decidedly lodged itself in his throat, he shook his helm. “I’m, uh, having trouble recharging. Probably that, uh, Con damaged…” His voice trailed off and he smiled sadly at the tender medic. Thank Primus it was the young one and not Ratchet.

“Oh…” First Aid stretched the word out and looked up, towards the private rooms. His optics narrowed as he pressed his lips together.

Blazer’s optics darted towards the rooms. Frag. If he tells that I know of the sparkling, I’ll never get out of here alive. Maybe he should kill the medic now and make a dash for the rooms, grab the sparkling and make a comet’s tail for the shuttle… His frame tensed in response as he prepared to launch his half-cocked plan.

“He’s critical, but stable.” First Aid’s gaze returned to him, optics soft and lips bent into a warm smile. He rested a gentle hand against Blazer’s shoulder.

What? He blinked at the medic. He turned to look back at the rooms. Oh wait, that’s right. He bit his lower lip as annoyance surged through his lines. That fragging shot had been point-blank! “How is he still alive?”

“Unfortunately I can’t go into details seeing as it’s another patient, but I know you were together when…” a small tremor ran through the medic’s frame, “Well, I thought you’d like to know that Red Alert is stable.” First Aid patted Blazer’s shoulder.

Blazer slowly released his held vent. “Thanks.” He smiled at the medic, irritation buried deep beneath his plating.

“It’s my pleasure. If there’s anything I can do for you…?” First Aid asked as he withdrew his hand, looking at the other patients.

An idea formed in Blazer’s processor…maybe, just maybe the little medic would fall for it. “Well,” He cleared his vocaliser and First Aid turned back towards him. “Maybe a sedative? To help me sleep?”

“I can’t really administer another sedative as yet. You need to wait at least another joor before your systems will be safe enough to handle another one.” First Aid replied gently.

Blazer sighed, the corner of his lips dipping ruefully. “Ok. Thanks.” He turned his helm away from the medic. Now to see if his gamble paid off. He waited until he heard First Aid take a step away. “Hey…?” He called out, tentatively glancing over his shoulder.

“Yes?” First Aid asked hopefully.

Primus this little medic was so naively nice it was actually disgraceful! “You couldn’t perhaps, well, you know, leave one here and I’ll take it after a joor? I promise I’ll wait the full joor. I’ve done it before!” He rushed on when First Aid looked like he might object. “As I’m security, Ratchet taught all of us how to use sedatives, so I won’t harm myself. I just really need to rest. Ratchet will have my plating if I’m not rested up by the time he gets back.” He smiled ruefully as he darted his optics in the direction of Ratchet’s office.

First Aid clasped his hand and furrowed his brows. “Alright. I’ll mix something for you that would help you sleep, but I’m going to mix it with your IV solution. A technician will give it to you when your IV needs to be replaced.”

Blazer watched as First Aid headed towards the backroom and grinned. Things might work out after all. He glanced at the IV still connected to his arm. The IV pouches looked identical, and within a joor his would need to be replaced. He glanced at the backroom where all the medication was dispensed from. If memory served him well, the IV’s were all stacked nicely in the backroom with patient designation and number. Usually, the technicians or nurses replaced the IV’s, and since it was already neatly laid out – they hardly ever checked the labels. So all he needed to do was switch his and Prowl’s and Walla! One sleepy tactician and one unguarded sparkling.

He settled into the warm padding of the berth, waiting for the opportune moment. He glanced at the cameras monitoring medbay. He squinted at them. He’d need to get that sorted out too. He wouldn’t want anybot suspecting something.

“Hey,” Jazz leaned closer to Prowl and ran his knuckles down his cheek. Doorwings flared out and stretched as Prowl rolled onto his side. “I need to head out; shift’s about to start.”

Prowl nodded, drowsy from the light sedatives Ratchet insisted he use. “How long will you be gone?” Prowl opened his optics, focusing on Jazz before dropping his optics to look at the small incubator Wheeljack had managed to contrap.

Jazz followed his gaze. “He’s still sleeping. Ratchet and First Aid are both satisfied with him. Ratchet even mentioned he has my luck for surviving, which I guess is a compliment.” He stepped away as Prowl sat up on the berth and cycled his optics.

“And as to your question. It’s probably going to be a normal shift, unless you comm me. Raj and I got some stuff we need to check.” Jazz moved next to Prowl and gently traced a digit over his chassis. “How you feeling?”

“Functional.” Prowl lifted a doorwing in what Jazz took for a shrug.

“Functional as in it-still-hurts-functional or functional as in it-ain’t-painful?” Jazz cupped Prowl’s cheek so that the Praxian looked him in the visor.

“The pain is dulled by the medication Ratchet has me on.” Prowl drew a vent. “But mostly I feel empty, and it has nothing to do with my so-called spark-injury.”

Jazz nodded as his hand slipped down to rest against Prowl’s neck. “Yeah, Ratchet said you might feel that way cause it’s normal after extraction, but I’m not taking any chances with your previous injury, and neither is Ratchet. So bear with us for a while?” He pressed his lips briefly against Prowl’s. His spark surged when Prowl returned it.

“You are going to be late for your shift.” Prowl said as he pulled away and slid off the berth. He headed towards Drift, his doorwings stiff.

Jazz stopped next to him and reached into the incubator, tracing a digit softly over the small protoform. “Jack says he’ll have some basic armour ready before we reach Cybertron, but he’s trying to use what he has to create a very light-weight frame.”

“Yes. Ratchet mentioned it. They want to wait until they know his sensors will properly merge with the plating.” Prowl placed his hand next to Drift’s. Drift was barely larger than the extremity.

Jazz looked at the little protoform curled into himself on the heated pad. His processor still reeled when he thought about everything. When Prowl had been carrying, he knew there would eventually be a new lifeform, but to finally see it, and know it was his – it was…indescribable. He drew a deep vent. “Ok. Comm me if you need anything.” Jazz smiled at Prowl and left. He cast a cursory look at the mechs in the bay – Not too many…only about two or three – before heading out. He didn’t want mechs talking about his frequent visits to Prowl, even though it could be argued as professional visits.

He waved at First Aid in passing, dipping his helm. He liked the young medic. Sweet bedside manner, routine, friendly. Once outside the medbay he turned towards the command deck. ::Mirage, my office; five breems.::

He had barely settled behind his desk when the noble requested entrance. The door locked automatically.

“How is Drift?” Mirage asked once settled, his demeanour relaxed, but optics sharp.

Jazz steepled his hands and pursed his lips. “Drift’s doing better than expected. Ratchet, well, he’s given Wheeljack the go-ahead to start with his plating, but Jack ain’t sure if he’s got the right stuff for light armour. We’ll see. You know Jack is at good at working miracles as his mate”

Mirage nodded as he narrowed his optics to a point on Jazz’s office wall. “Then it is good news indeed.” He returned his gaze to Jazz. “Prowl’s recovery is also satisfactory?”

“Yeah. He’s having trouble recharging. So after two orns of barely recharging Ratchet finally had enough and put some sedatives in him.”

“I cannot imagine that went over well. Usually carriers prefer to stay awake with the newling until it is at least a couple of orns old.” Mirage tilted his helm and folded his hands, his piercing blue optics studying Jazz at the statement that was really meant to be a question.

“He objected to it at the beginning, but I insisted on it as well.” Jazz leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs at the ankles, not backing down. “With his previous injury he needs the rest, and with everything that happened during the attack, it’s even more important. Prowl eventually saw the logic in that and agreed on condition that he only gets dosed when I’m present.”

“And, if I am not overstepping my boundaries, how are you and Prowl faring?” A delicate optic ridge was raised as Mirage crossed his legs in mimic of his superior’s pose.

“We’re doing ok. Things are settling between us but…” Jazz shrugged. “It’s going to take some time before our relationship gets to where it’s supposed to be. But enough with that. We need to talk about the attack. I want to get to the bottom of this fragging mess.”

“You are not the only one. Prime insists on a full-report of our investigation by the end of the decaorn. With the possible involvement of security and the status of Lt. Col. Red Alert, it falls mainly to our division to conduct the investigation.” Mirage leaned forward and took an ornamental glass ball, inspecting it. “Shall I give you what we know so far?”

“Go for it.”

“Very well. We know so far that it was a co-ordinated attack from within the Ark, which means our mole was involved. Our prisoners have been,” Mirage glanced to the side, “less than willing to divulge that useful bit of information, and Prime will not allow us to use more rudimentary forms to obtain the information.”

“Course Prime won’t condone torture. Shoulda known that, Raj.” Jazz pointed out. Not that he was beyond it. Pit, he was more than willing to drag the truth out of them no matter what it cost. If some energon flowed because of it, well then. Enough of their soldier’s energon has been shed because of these scum.

“Yes, ‘we are Autobots’,” Mirage mimicked, chin tilted up, “but he is not against processor hacking, as long as the processor is not irreversibly fragmented.” His optics gleamed as his gaze narrowed, dangerous smile on his full lips.

Jazz smirked and cocked an optic ridge. “Well then, I guess I should pay them a visit at my earliest convenience.”

“That you most certainly should. If you would be so kind as to give me a time, I will organise with Ratchet should medical intervention be necessary.” Mirage replaced the glass ball on Jazz’s desk. “The second thing we know is that the doors were sealed from within the Security Hub, hence the suspicion that falls on the security department. Whether this was before or after Lt. Col. Red Alert was incapacitated is unknown. Lt. Blazer was also found in the hub, but once more his status before the hack was unknown. We are currently back-tracking their signals, but our security director…” He drew a dramatic vent, “Has been quite industrious. It might take a while.”

“I doubt it’s Red, but we’ll check every avenue. I want Blazer also thoroughly checked. Inferno reported that he and Midriff had an affair before Midriff was transferred, which simply confirmed our intel. He’s quite high up in the system, and knows the security of the ship in and out…but he’s in medbay at the moment due to a helm injury” Jazz tapped a digit on the desk. “The hacker in the system was most definitively a Con, but he was riding on an Autobot signature. It’s possible that they may have forced either one of our Bots to give them the access codes. I think Red would rather have died than give it…”

“You think Red Alert might have been used as an example to get Blazer to comply to their request?” Mirage furrowed his brow. “It would still make him a traitor.”

“Yeah, in our optics. Don’t know what the marshals will say.” He waved it off. “Still have to confirm the theory though. I think I’ll talk to Blazer before I head to Prowl. Focus on his files for now. Red Alert isn’t a threat at the moment.”

“Even though Blazer’s position as former second-in-command of the security division supplied him with access to the majority of the Ark’s systems, I doubt he was privy to the type of information leaked.” Mirage drummed his digits on the smooth surface of the desk, a pensive scowl marring his symmetrical features.

“Not necessarily.” Jazz pinched his olfactory bridge. Things would be so much easier if the security feeds had been recording and if Red Alert wasn’t in stasis. “He either had more access than we are aware of, or he had an accomplice that does have the right level of clearance. None of those options are appealing.”

“I agree. Perhaps a visit to our guests down below would yield more answers, followed by a visit to Blazer?” Mirage suggested hopefully as he focused internally. A moment later his attention was back to Jazz. “Ratchet is available as monitor.”

Jazz’s visor flashed and the corners of his lips tilted up into a predatory grin. “Then I think I’m overdue on welcoming them to the Ark.”

Blazer waited patiently for the right time to strike. Twenty breems ago the technician had changed their IV drips. A quick sneak into the dispensary had insured that his IV held nothing but coolant, but Prowl’s held a good dose of sedative. Three more breems should be enough to enact his plan. First Aid needed to be well into his ward rounds on the other side of the bay. He drew a shaky breath as his optics darted around the medbay. Still alone. He squeezed his optics shut. Primus he didn’t know if this would work, but he only had one shot at it. Either this or be exposed.

He was surprised that Inferno or Jazz or whoever was investigating the attack hadn’t visited him yet. If they should even suspect him – there would be no way he would survive. Either the Autobots would take him out, or the Cons…but then again the Cons hadn’t exactly been gentle when they knocked him offline. He was happy to still be in the sphere of the functional.

His chronometer beeped and he jolted. He drew a deep vent to steady himself. It was time. He sent his little program to the security feed. With Red Alert out, he doubted any other security mech would be able to catch the signal. He sat up, glanced around the medbay and slowly slid off the berth. His pedes touched the ground and he paused, trying to listen above the sound of his spark pulsing in his chassis. He glanced around, but the remaining patients were soundly in recharge. Good.

He headed towards the rear rooms, trying to keep his gate confident but his pedefalls quiet. As long as you looked confident in what you were doing, mechs wouldn’t question you. As long as that mech wasn’t Ratchet, of course.

Simply the designation sent chills through him and he glanced over his shoulder. He hadn’t seen Ratchet this orn, so maybe, just maybe his luck would hold.

He came to the door of Prowl’s room and entered his override code. The door beeped red, then green. The lock disengaged with a thunderous ‘click’.

Blazer grit his denta and took one more turn about the room, praying that First Aid didn’t decide to cut his routine short. This was the first gamble…if he opened the door and Prowl was awake…yeah, he might get away with saying he thought this was Red Alert’s room, but Prowl had a knack for seeing through someone. He drew a vent and released it slowly to try and calm his fraying nerves. “Come on, you’re wasting time.” He urged himself. He opened the door and slid in, scanners on their highest setting.

His optics took a few clicks to adjust to the dimness of the green-lit room. He glanced at the berth, expecting Prowl’s sharp optics to bore through him. His leg struts nearly buckled in relief at the sight of the deeply recharging tactician, an IV secured to a line in his neck. He ran his own scanners over the slumbering carrier, just to be sure. He didn’t like Prowl on any normal orn – to be caught by him stealing his creation – well, let’s just say Unicron would be a welcoming sight. Thankfully the sire wasn’t on board.

He turned towards the small incubator within arm’s reach of the berth. His vents hitched. It was so tiny. For a moment he faltered. This was a sparkling…he shook his helm. This was no time for sympathy. It was his life or the sparkling’s. His handler had demanded he get the sparkling, so in the name of preservation, get the sparkling he was going to do.

He tip-toed over to the incubator, keeping his sensors securely on the recharging carrier. He reached down. Now for gamble number two. If he knew anything about Ratchet, it meant that he kept a tab on his critical patients at all times – and he was pretty sure a premature sparkling counted as ‘critical’. He carefully searched around the sparkling, trying to see if any of the wires connected directly to him.

The sparkling chirped and Blazer froze, optics darting to Prowl.

The Praxian’s doorwings flicked, but the optics remained shuttered and the frame still.

Frag caution. Blazer gently cupped his hands around the sparkling, the delicate protoform warm in his palms. He lifted the sparkling and settled it over his spark, hoping the warmth and EM field was enough to settle the little one. Please Primus, just let it live.

A few more distressed chirps had Blazer hurrying to the door. He had mere breems to get to the pods. His helm whipped around as he heard pedefalls running towards him. Slag! No doubt Ratchet’s tabs on the sparkling had raised alarms.

Cooing to the now quivering ball in his hands, he nearly ran out the medical bay and to the closest service duct.

Author’s note: relatively short, but had to split this chapter due to time constraints otherwise the wait would be too long until the next post…but good news is the next chapter is ¾ done.  A few more chapters left - The end of the story is in sight…

Chapter Text

What an orn. Ratchet wiped a hand over his gritty optics. He should have said 'no' to Mirage when the fragging slagger had commed him, but the sooner they got the information the better for all of them. He glanced at the Con – Undermine – seated across from them. The mech’s lips were pressed into a thin line, his vents harsh as he fought off the assault against his firewalls.

Ratchet vented, suppressing his medic coding as far as possible as he shifted. He fragging well hated this, and it was pushing against his ethics, but he was here as backup for Jazz. He was a bystander, simply guarding the mind of one of his own. His coding barely accepted that reasoning.

The Con grunted as another level was painfully peeled back.

Ratchet grit his denta. Jazz was almost through, would almost know what happened, just a little longer and…He jolted as internal alarms rang.

Jazz glanced sharply at him, the sudden panic halting him in his attack on the POW’s firewalls.

“Disconnect now.” Ratchet said as he unplugged from the hub, his field tight and armour pulled. He didn’t wait for Jazz as he sprinted out of the room. His energon boiled as readings skyrocketed into critical. This could not be slagging happening! He was doing so fragging well! Where was that little bit a so-called medic he trusted to look after his most delicate patient?!

Jazz retreated as fast as he could, disconnected and bolted after Ratchet. “Spectre!” He didn’t wait for a response from his agent, knowing he’d take care of the Con. Fear pulsed through him in time with the fall of his pedes. He tried comming Prowl, but no answer. “Move!” He shouted as mechs stood in his way, gaping stupidly after their CMO. He shoved those aside that couldn’t get out of his way fast enough. Why can’t they fragging move?!

::Prowl?:: He tried the comms again. Please babe, answer! The medbay had never seemed so far before. Why wasn’t Prowl answering? Had something happened to Drift? He swallowed as he followed Ratchet into the lift.

“What the frags going on?” He demanded as the lift doors closed. “Prowl? Drift?” He gasped, fans working hard to calm his erratically beating spark.

Ratchet glanced at Jazz. “My alarms went off.” He growled and jabbed the ‘up’ button multiple times. The slow ride up was torture. Why did it move so slow? “First Aid is…” He cut off as his optics glazed over.

Jazz felt like crawling out of his armour. “Are they alright?” He grabbed Ratchet’s shoulder, denting the shoulder guards.

Ratchet’s helm snapped back as if punched. He sucked in a vent and turned to Jazz, his optics blazing a near navy. He bared his denta. “Drift’s gone! Not in his incubator and Prowl’s out cold. Aid’s there now.”

“What do mean gone?!” Jazz shouted at Ratchet.

“Gone as in not in his fragging incubator!” Ratchet slammed the door with his fist, cursing. “I’m patching you through. All my tags have locators.”

Jazz nodded and impatiently accepted the ping. His HUD lit up with a small tracking beacon. It was heading down – in the opposite direction he was going.

“We’re going the wrong way!” Jazz shouted as he tried accessing the security grid. His attempts were denied. Slag it all to the Pit! ::Inferno!::

::Sir?::

::Get the grid unblocked, now! Track this signal!:: Jazz pinged Inferno the signal. ::Mirage, analyse this signal!:: The lift jolted slightly as it finally stopped at the next floor and Jazz slammed his hand on the ‘down’ button. “Prowl?” He asked as the lift started it’s excruciatingly slow decent. He couldn’t imagine Prowl being still when Drift was…gone. No way. After what the mech had been through he’d face Unicron down to get Drift. He balled his fists. Primus if that mech had done anything to Prowl.

“Drugged.” Ratchet paced the length of the lift like a caged lion, sharp optics never leaving the digits as they dropped.

Jaz sucked in a deep vent. Ratchet wasn’t overly worried. That was good, at least.  “Aid’s with him?”

“Yes.”

Jazz pinged Prowl again, but no answer. He shot a dimmed glance at Ratchet. The medic wouldn’t lie to him. He had to get his scattered emotions under control – Prowl would be fine, but what about his sparkling.

Code of his code.

“Drift?” He croaked before clearing his vocalizer. How long would he last without medical support? Did they even want him to last….? A shiver ran down his spine. He forced the thoughts to the back of his processor. Drift will be fine. He had to be.

Ratchet turned to face him briefly, optics dark and jaw set. “He’s alive.”

That was never a good sign. He opened his mouth, but thankfully Inferno’s deep voice over the comms interrupted the unwelcome thoughts that clawed their way back to the front of his conscious.

::Jazz?:: The voice was sharp and crisp.

::Yeah?:: Jazz watched the floor reading, then tracked Drift. They were on level one. They were getting further away. Primus he was requisitioning chutes to be built into every fragging level.

::Have reports of suspicious activity on level one, section E.::

Jazz shuttered his optics. Slag it never rains, it pours. :: Details Inferno!:: He pressed his digits to his temples. If the rumourmill caught hold of Drift – it would send shockwaves through the lines.

::Lt. Intel reported sightings of Blazer. According to him, the mech is supposed to be in medbay::

Jazz’s helm shot up and his visor flared. Blazer. His spark recoiled at it, even though he distinctly knew it was a possibility. He swallowed the acrid taste in his mouth. ::Inferno, can you lock ‘em down?::

::Negative. He’s heading to the evac bay, section J. Aft side of the ship::

And they were at the stern. Slag it all! ::Inferno, activate motion sensors but do not activate stunners.:: He hesitated to order the mech to contain the situation. What if Drift was shot? His engine growled. ::Get the fragging grid open!::  He vented out sharply as he tried to connect a line to Blazer. Not surprisingly, the line was dead. “Got a lead heading towards the evac bay,” Jazz quipped at Ratchet as he checked his blaster.

The low growl emanating from the medic’s chassis did nothing to lower the dread nestling in his spark.

Ratchet flared his armour and looked at Jazz squarely. “Then we better get there before they launch.”

“Shhh, it’s ok. Nearly there.” Blazer cooed to the shuddering sparkling as he slid into the dimly lit, air-locked hanger. Coldness stung at his faceplate and he pulled his armour in on reflex. The sparkling clicked as it curled even closer to his chassis, his spark pulse clearly felt through the thin protoform.

“I know, I know.” He should have grabbed a thermal blanket for the sparkling. But he hadn’t thought about it, and it was too late now. The sparkling chirped again and Blazer held it closer. Slag how was it going to survive the cold? Never mind the radiation and the vacuum of space.

Blazer stopped mid-stride, his face contorted. The sparkling would not survive this trip. He was sure of it, but then again, they had insisted he bring them the sparkling. Surely they’d know the risks?

He dropped his helm back and stared at the dark ceiling. It was too late to turn back now. The Autobots would know of his betrayal. His vorns of service, the persona he had built for himself, everything was gone. This little sparkling he held in his hands was the next chapter in his life. If they survived.

He drew a deep vent. “I am loyal to my faction.” He whispered into the thin air. He hurried to the escape pods barely visible in the blue-ish glow of the emergency lights. Perhaps they would be equipped with the necessary medical supplies to ensure the sparkling survived. The little ball against his chassis shuddered as if he sensed the turmoil in the spark he was nestled against.

Blazer crooned as he stopped at the closest control pad and entered his credentials. A sharp alert signalled him that someone was overriding the lock he had placed on the grid. Frag. He had to move.

With shaking digits he entered the activation code.

‘click’

He froze at the sound and swallowed, face paling.

“Turn around slowly.”

Relief briefly flitted through his systems at the familiar, placid voice and his knees nearly buckled. He sighed heavily as he turned around slowly. “Did you receive evac or…” His voice trailed off as he stared down the barrel of a fully primed laser pistol. As if in a dream, his optics followed the dips and curves of the weapon, to the steady white hands holding it and up until he met the dark optics of the bot who pulled his strings. He flared his armour and held the little ball closer against his chassis.

 “Intel.” Blazer breathed, casting a quick look at the cameras. This has to be for show. The sparkling’s clicking increased, but so did the shuddering breaths it drew. He crooned at the little one, hoping to soothe it. His frame trembled as he forced himself to relax his grip on the sparkling.

“You were very sloppy.”

Intel’s cold words dragged Blazer’s attention back to his superior. He licked his lips and cast his optics around the dim room. “I had to do it. Prowl was unguarded, Ratchet wasn’t in the bay...” His optics slid back to the barrel of the blaster, still steadily aimed at his chassis, at the sparkling. A lick of fear ran up his spinal column as his tank clenched.

Intel’s icy blue optics slid to the sparkling. “So this is what all the commotion is about.” His gaze went back to Blazer. “Give it to me, and start the pod.”

Blazer swallowed as his shoulders curled forward to shield the sparkling. “The blaster?” He indicated with his helm at the glowing nozzle of the photon blaster, his voice barely heard above the shallow droning of the engines.

“Pretence.” Intel stated as he shifted to hold the gun with one hand while reaching out with the other. “Give it to me.”

Blaster nodded, even though his processor screamed at him to keep the sparkling. It was his shield, his safety net, his bargaining chip. With hands refusing to stop their shaking, he disposed the shrivelling, clicking sparklet into the white hand.

Intel drew the sparkling closer to his chassis, crooning his engine and heating his armour. The sparkling was very cold, its sparkbeat erratic. “Good. Now start the pod.”

“Why are you here?” Blazer’s voice was low as he continued to insert instructions. One by one lights flickered to life. A low thrum started through the pod, rising like a tide to fill the quiet hanger with the sound of life.

“There is no room for errors.”

Blazer whipped his helm around, optics wide as his spark faltered.

A shot rang out and lodged between his optics. The red mech fell lifelessly to the ground, betrayel forever etched into his faceplates.

The lift doors slid open and Jazz shot out like a laser, aiming straight for the chutes that would take him to the bowels of the ship. He had precious little time to reach it. If Blazer managed to activate the escape pods – there would be a very slight chance of catching him in time to save Drift. He reached the chutes, gripped the edges and flung himself in.

The belly of the Ark held the escape pods. Should the Ark ever fail, the pods were the last escape source for her crew. The shoots were designed for quick access that did not require electronics like the lifts – with gravity nets, the bots didn’t need to worry about impact when they reached her belly. 

Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! Jazz’s frame heated as he slid through the tunnels, the gravity nets registering on his sensors. He should have left the Twins with Prowl. He had known there was a fragging mole on the ship and he had hadn’t taken precautions. You did not frag up like that!

His audials picked up a dull thud, the sound intimately familiar to him.

He reached the bottom and had barely stopped before he transformed and raced into the distance.

“Shhh, it’s ok sparklet, won’t be long now.” Intel stared at the frame of his fallen comrade and gently placed the blaster on the ground. He shuttered his optics so he wouldn’t see the sparkling, but he still felt its small, trembling frame pressing against his palm seeking warmth, heard its distraught clicks as it called in vain for its carrier. His chassis tightened. His orders still stood. He had to kill the sparkling along with Blazer. He had no doubt that someone was already heading their way – Ratchet never left a patient without a tracking tag. He glanced up at the security feed. He had timed his call to Inferno perfectly, and the cameras would be live in precisely one breem and thirteen clicks. Motion detectors were on, so they would know of his presence in the hanger.

He drew a ragged vent and stared at the energon pooling beneath Blazer, the dead mech’s glassy optics staring at him. Traitor.

He had one breem to complete his mission, to prove his loyalty to the supreme Council.

The sparkling’s clicks became softer, his weight heavier in his hand. He stared at it. It was so tiny, so perfect. The embodiment of innocence. It was Primus’s will to gift sparklings….

He squeezed his optics shut, pain flitting across his face. No, it was not Primus’s will. He should kill it. End his misery sooner. The Council was right. He would not remain an innocent, he would only mature to become another warrior, more cannon fodder that would need to learn how to kill without a conscience. It was mercy, really, for himself, for those whom he would kill, their families, and for his creators.

He glanced at the tiny sparkling. It was struggling to vent. Its frame was too cold. Hyperthermia would slow both the sparkpulse and the venting rate which would constrict the small pump. Energon would not reach the processor, and the sparkling would drift into an endless sleep.

No pain.

He drew a shaky vent. He didn’t need to do anything, really, he only needed to let nature take its course. He only needed time. He raised his helm towards the powerful engines racing towards him.

He had ten clicks left.

His hands were already coated with energon, what was one more innocent life?

His hands tightened.

Let live or die?

Jazz saw Intel kneeling, his frame bent over. He skidded to a stop and transformed, aiming his blaster at the mech, every cable tense in his frame. “Intel!” His sensors noted the greyed frame and the pooled energon. Ratchet’s engine grew louder, but he ignored it. The medic could hold his own.

Intel lifted his helm, pale optics wide as he stared at the blaster in Jazz’s hand. Finally, he lifted his optics to meet Jazz’s visor. “It needs help.” He opened his hands. Drift’s high-pitched moans were barely heard above the whine of the pod’s engines.

Jazz swore as he dove forward, gently scooped up his sparkling and drew him close to his chassis. He held the blaster with his one hand. “Report!” He cradled Drift, worried about how cold he was. he knew he was in a potentially life-threatening situation. If this was an ops mission he would be dead, but he couldn’t fight the coding that demanded he care for Drift.

Intel started to speak, but Ratchet’s arrival stalled him.

Ratchet transformed, his scanners fully activated. He was in medic-mode. “It’s too cold in here.” He pressed a thermal blanket over Drift, but didn’t take him away as Jazz had expected. “We need to get him back to medbay.”

Jazz kept his blaster aimed at Intel as the mech slowly stood, hands held open and above his helm. “I saw Lt Blazer on level two, and worried why he was down here as last reports showed he was still confined to medbay. I hailed him, he ignored me. I reported the activity and decided to follow.” His optics darted between Ratchet and Jazz, a small frown pulling at his ridges.

“Jazz, we need to go.” Ratchet’s voice held an urgency in it that was hard to ignore. Jazz nodded and jerked his blaster in the direction of the exit. Thankfully it was a lift that would take them directly to level four where the medbay was located.

“In front.” Jazz spat, visor hard. He wasn’t taking any chances until video feed was confirmed. He glanced back at the frame of Blazer and grimaced. Helm shot. There was no way they could recover data from that processor. Movement against his chassis turned all thoughts away from that and he nearly dropped his blaster.

::Oh for frag’s sake give me the blaster and focus on Drift.:: Ratchet snatched the blaster and aimed it at Intel. “Don’t frag me off more than I am.”

Jazz flared his armour so Drift was closer to his hot protoform. The shivering was increasing, which was good. Meant he was coming out of his lethargic stage. Jazz swallowed and tried to calm his racing spark. Drift was alive. He glanced at Intel to see the mech watching him shrewdly. He growled at the mech, armour bristling.

“Forgive me, sir, for staring…” Intel licked his lips, a gleam momentarily lighting his optics before they returned to their sunken shade. “But it’s…odd…to see a sparkling on a warship. Especially an Autobot warship.” He flicked his optics up to the stone-cold visor, his frame held submissively. For a moment the coldness seemed to seep out of the saboteur as his vision narrowed on the Iaconian tactician.

A warning hand on his upper arm grounded him and he cocked his helm towards Ratchet, but the medic’s fierce scowl was aimed at the mech standing across them. “This stays between us.” Ratchet barked, his engine rumbling in echo of his verbal threat.

“Understood.” Intel dipped his helm and started briskly towards the lift, casting worried glances over his shoulder.

Jazz’s digits twitched as he fought the urge to kill the mech, hot energon rushed through his audials and his vision tunnelled. Everything in his frame was screaming at him to neutralise the threat – and Intel was a threat to his sparkling and his mate. No doubt the clever mech had already connected two-and-two that Prowl was the carrier. Seeing as Ratchet hadn’t taken Drift from him, Intel had probably concluded that he must be related – and unlike Smokes and Blue, he wasn’t an uncle. His grip shifted to better shield Drift as battle protocols pinged to online and his processor supplied him with a hundred ways to terminate Intel.

::Jazz, you need to calm down. Your creator protocols are in full-swing, and I would prefer not to have to sedate you.:: Ratchet walked in front of Jazz and right behind Intel, ensuring that he was between them. Jazz trusted him to a larger degree than he trusted Intel, so was less likely to attack.

::He knows.::

::Of course he does! We’ll fragging deal with it later. Drift is my top priority at the moment.:: Jazz felt a high-powered scan run over his hands as they entered the lift.

Jazz trembled as he battled the protocols. Ratchet was right, damn him. The lift doors closed and they started their ascent.

“I’m going to lower this weapon, but you so much as shutter an optic and I’ll let Jazz at you.” Ratchet said as he subspaced Jazz’s blaster. He turned his attention to Drift.

Jazz ignored the medic as he examined Drift. He glared at Intel. The mech had his arms tightly wrapped around his midsection, frame tucked and optics averted. He was worried. But for what? He narrowed his visor. Just what was the mech doing on the lower levels anyway?

::Mirage?::

::Yes, Jazz?:: The spy was quick to answer.

::Blazer’s dead. Intel is with us. Take him in for questioning and send someone to recover Blazer’s remains. Keep a lid on it.:: Jazz shuttered his optics and drew a deep vent.

“We need to get him back to medbay. No physical harm.” Ratchet stepped back, his focus shifting to Intel as he ran a powerful scan. “Are you injured?”

Jazz ignored them and leaned down until his cheek was against the small protoform of his sparkling. He was rewarded with a faint chirp. “We got you littl’ guy.” Jazz breathed as he drew calming vents. Ratchet was watching them with a hawk’s optic, his scanners running over Drift every few clicks, but even though there was an urgency in the old medic’s field, he wasn’t frantic. That was the first good news since this whole fragging ordeal began. He only hoped Prowl was still out cold by the time they got back to medbay.

The lift jolted as it stopped at their level and Jazz hunched over the sparkling, shielding him from view as the doors slid open.

“Jazz!”

 His helm shot up as Prowl paused in front of the lift, doorwings high and rigid and field pulled in tightly. He was flanked by two pissed Twins and a very pale-looking First Aid.

“He’s ok.” Jazz managed to smile even as Prowl’s bright optics dropped to Drift and the armour flared in warning.

“You two, medbay. Now.” Ratchet placed his hand on the small of Jazz’s back and pushed him gently, but urgently forward. Prowl worriedly stepped to Jazz’s side, the tips of his doorwings showing a slight tremor as they followed Ratchet and First Aid.

Intel watched them without really seeing them. He felt dazed, his mouth dry. He had failed in his mission, failed the Council. He would have to face the consequences of the choice he had made.

“So...”

His optics snapped to the Twins and he pulled his armour tight.

Sunstreaker’s optics were two pinpricks of dangerous navy, boring into him with predatory bloodlust. Sideswipe grinned at him, but the grin held no warmth. The red twin leaned in closer, his warm vents tickling the sensitive plating on Intel’s shoulder.

“We’ll keep this short and off the record. Say a word, and you are dead.” Sideswipe glared at him, the usually friendly optics showing deadly intent and grim satisfaction. The throaty growl by the golden menace cemented his threat.

Intel swallowed. He didn’t doubt the sincerity of their threat, but he did not fear them. No, the Council would kill him long before these two would get their hands on him. His time was already running out. His gaze slid to the medbay doors. Was it really worth it? Was the choice to spare the youngling’s life really the will of Primus, or his own soft-sparkedness? He nodded. It was too late now. His choice made, the die cast. “Yes.” He whispered as he drew a deep vent and looked at Sideswipe.

“I assume Jazz and Prowl are mates.”

Sunstreaker shifted, his graceful frame sliding effortlessly to settle next to his twin. “No. There is no Jazz and Prowl. You saw nothing, you know nothing.”

Sideswipe stepped closer, his lips barely a micron from Intel’s audio. “Sunny’s right,” he purred, “and if you know what’s good for you, then–“

“Gentlemechs, I will take it from here if you please.”

All three turned to look at the newcomer as he glided down the corridor, his pedes barely making a sound as they touched the cool metal of the floor.

Sunstreaker folded his arms across his chassis and Sideswipe smirked. “We got this.”

Mirage cocked an optic ridge at the two, his lip twitching into the barest of sneers. “I have no doubt you got him, however, I the last time I checked, I was still your superior.”

Intel ignored the two parties as his thoughts raced. The Council would be upset with him. They had given clear orders, but still…killing a traitor was one thing, killing a sparkling was something completely different. He looked back at the medbay doors. Jazz had been nearly beside himself. Had he carried out his mission how would he have reacted? Maybe the Council was right.

“Alright, please follow me.” Mirage grabbed his elbow and pushed him back into the lift. “I need some answers, and you had better give them to me fast.”

“Yes, sir.” Intel cast one last look at the medbay’s doors, then turned to face straight ahead. He knew he’d go through questioning, but hopefully it wouldn’t last too long.

He needed some alone time to plan.

Chapter Text

“He most certainly is hiding something.” Mirage swirled the high-grade in his cube, glancing at Jazz through dimmed optics. The lighting in the room was dim, and it only served to highlight the gloomy mood that had settled over him since he could get no useful intelligence from Intel.

“In what way?” Jazz exvented loudly as his helm thunked against the helmrest of his chair. “I don’t have the patience to drag it out of you today, Raj. I’m exhausted, Prowl is exhausted and furious, and I’m left with the mess of one dead spy, no security footage, a buzzing rumour mill, admin that’s probably going to take two orns to catch up on, OP wanting answers, the Twins thre….”

“Huh-uhm,” Mirage lightly cleared his vocaliser as he poured Jazz another shot of highgrade. “I will not take up more of your time than necessary, although I had hoped to debate the issue with you.”

Jazz raised a ridge at the quarter-cube of bubbling blue highgrade. “You want to add ‘overcharged’ to my list of woes mech?”

“Not at all, but maybe you do need to relax. You look horrible.”

Jazz scowled as he took a sip of the drink. “You have no idea what it felt like…” He shuttered his optics and took a deep vent. “I understand why Prowl is furious. I’m not looking forward to the confrontation.”

“If Prowl resorts to physical harm, Ratchet will put you back together. If he resorts to mental harm, Rung will make sure your processor is in one piece. I believe you are adequately covered.” Mirage smiled gently as he studied Jazz. For a moment he teetered on two options – should he let Jazz delve further into personal issues, or get to the point? He took a sip to stall for time.

“I’m not gonna break, Raj. I’m just tired.” Jazz’s visor lit as he shifted forward in his creaking chair. “Let’s get back to the point.”

Ah well, decision averted. Hiding his indominable relief, Mirage placed his cube on the desk and withdrew a datapad. “He answered readily enough and the bioscans show no deviations, however, I cannot quell the feeling that he is not being totally honest with his involvement. So he is either a brilliant spy in my opinion, or a very honest mech in the bioscans’ opinion.”

Jazz stared at the far wall of his small office for a breem, contemplating that. He trusted Mirage’s judgement implicitly. If the Master Spy thought Intel was an operative, good chances were the mech was exactly that.

Mirage watched as Jazz’s glare darkened and he kept sipping at his high-grade. He opened his mouth, then closed it as he ducked his chin. Better to let the mech come to his own conclusions.

“You know I’d take intuition above any machine’s analysis.” He placed the empty cube to the side and steepled his digits, placing his chin on them. “We can’t keep him in the brig as it goes against protocol.”

“But we can keep him under observation pending the investigation.” Mirage arched a ridge and sat back. “And since our SD is currently in medical stasis, as much as I hate preying on the infirmary of other beings, it is to our advantage in the short-term. Theoretically, we could keep him under quarter arrest until Red Alert is coherent enough to lead the investigation.”

Jazz grimaced, “Yeah, we’ll just need to convince OP to go with that. He’ll simply assign Inferno to the job since we can’t prove our assumptions.”

“We could always play the card that Inferno, although technically in command of the Ark’s security at present, is still very junior and to be investigating the acting head of tactical might be against regulations.” Mirage flicked his slender digits as he crossed his legs. “Failing that, we pull our trump card.”

“Which is?”

“An overprotective medic.” Mirage smiled. “Few beings have the courage to stand against Ratchet the Terrible when he is convinced of a particular viewpoint.”

“Ratchet the Hatchet.” Jazz huffed as he smiled.

“Yes, something along those lines.” Mirage smiled back, sniffing. “Ratchet was with you, and no doubt he could be persuaded that it is in….your family’s best interest to keep Intel under lock for now.”

Jazz heard the faint hesitation with the ‘your family’s’ part, but decided not to dwell on it. He was well aware Mirage didn’t approve, and though it stung on a level that he wasn’t willing to acknowledge, Jazz wasn’t going to force the mech to do anything he didn’t want to do. Even if it meant not approving of his family. With a nod, Jazz stood and Mirage followed suite.

“Ok. We do both. We tell OP Inferno’s too junior for the investigation, and that Red’s been improving at an acceptable pace. We’ll also drop in Ratchet’s audial that it would be best to keep Intel under optic until this whole mess is sorted out.”

Mirage stood and bowed. “I will set an appointment with our Prime, and you may talk to the medic since I assume you are heading there now?” Mirage cocked an optic ridge as he waited for Jazz to confirm.

“Yeah. You do that.” Jazz nodded and turned to the door. “Thanks, Raj.”

Intel paced from side to side in his small quarters. He had made a grave mistake by letting the little one live. But then again, what kind of mech would willingly kill a sparkling? He shook his helm. Not him. No. He was loyal to the Council, loyal to the traditions of their ancestors. He was not a Decepticon.

He stopped and drew in a haggard vent. He had no doubt that they were monitoring him, even if it was simply because he knew that Prowl and Jazz had created together. His brow creased as he bit his lip. He never would have expected that, but in an odd way it was logical. They spent most of their time together, were high enough in the ranks to share the same clearance levels, so no need to worry about spilling intelligence, and they were of equal ranks, so it couldn’t be seen as fragging for favours.

But the sparkling did complicate things, given that they must have been aware of the regulations. No scratch that. Prowl was most definitely aware of the regulations. So why?

Intel stopped in front in his berth, ogling the smooth pad. He should get some rest. He heaved a heavy vent and sank onto the berth, but his processor refused to shut down. To many thought trains that begged answers.

There was no tactical value for Prowl and Jazz to have a sparkling together. Prowl would no doubt be arrested upon arrival for violation of regulations, unless the Prime granted him clemency, in which case Prowl would still be subjected to the Council, but they were limited in what they could do if the Prime was inclined towards a pardon.

But that would set a precedence. How could the Prime pardon one mech and not others? It might call the law into question, and that would endanger their species in the long run. “Argh.” Intel rubbed a hand over his tired optics, willing the helmache to go away.

Would it really be such a bad thing if carriers were allowed to fight? What if they decided to fight instead of preserve their race? Relaxing or even revoking the law could well make the Autobot’s cause appear more favourable, and that would endanger the ruling power of the Council. It would endanger their traditions.

Neither the Decepticons nor the Autobots should win the war. The Council should. The Council were the rightful rulers. The Prime and Lord Protector had no right to ruling unchecked. 

Jazz walked into medbay, his demeanor casual even though his tank twisted at the chemical stench of the cleaning materials that hung like a cloud throughout the clinic. A soft ‘clink’ alerted him to Ratchet’s position and he sauntered over, taking stock of who was in the medbay.

Ratchet glanced up from polishing the assortment of medical tools laid out like shiny new cadets on the cold, metal tray. The old medic’s mouth was set into a grim line, and the brightness of his optics told Jazz to tread carefully. Ratchet was in a foul mood.

“Ratch.” Jazz nodded, his mouth equally grim.

“What?” Ratchet replaced the tool he was working on and let his hand hover over which one of his already gleaming tools he would polish next.

“Need some help.” Jazz answered simply and leaned against the nearest berth.

“Frag it all.” He growled as he stood straight, the tools untouched on the tray. “I can’t help you with him. I not going to give him any more fragging sedatives. After –”

“I wasn’t asking for help with Prowl.” Jazz grit out, optic band flashing. Primus he didn’t need Ratchet lecturing him. He had enough slag as it was. “I don’t want him having any more sedative either. Everything is fragged up enough at the moment!”  

“Watch your tone youngling!” Ratchet pointed a gnarly digit at him, but some of the fire in his optics died down.

Jazz clenched his fists and drew a deep vent, trying but failing to ignore the growing weight pressing in on his chassis. Pressure built in his helm and it took all of his considerable skill to clamp it down.

“Maybe you need the sedatives.”

“Ratchet!” Jazz barked. He raised a fist and briefly pressed it against his lips before dropping it. His programming suggested metallico meditation, but Jazz dismissed the suggestion. He had this if the medic would shut it. “Not now mech, not now. Please.”

“Alright, Jazz.” Ratchet subspaced the polishing rag and folded his arms over his chassis.

The tingle of a high-powered medical scan brushed over Jazz as Ratchet scrutinized him. Fragging great. Losing it with the medic hadn’t been his intention, but Primus he felt wired. He sucked air into his vents and released it slowly. He should have stayed on his mission. Everything would have been better if he had just stayed away. Maybe the meditation was what he needed. Or some drones in the sim room.

“Jazz?”

“I got to go. I’ll talk later.” Jazz pushed off and marched towards the exit. He needed to get out of here. He needed space to vent.

“Jazz, wait!”

He ignored Ratchet’s call. Mirage can deal with him.

“Prowl needs you!”

A chord snapped in Jazz and he whirled round, his plating flaring as he bared his denta at Ratchet. “Prowl needs me?” He snarled as he pointed a claw at his spark. “Mech, I am the last thing he needs!”

Ratchet slowed his pace and raised his hands placatingly. “No, he needs you.”

Jazz chuckled and shook his helm, optic ridges arched incredulously as angry heat engulfed his frame. “Since when has something good come from Prowl’s involvement with me?”

“I can think of a few good things. Besides, you care about him and he needs that as much as you need it too!”

“He’s furious with me, and I completely get it. I don’t need mechs looking at me and judging my every move because I know slag about being a sire or a mate!”

“Oh that’s slag. Stop wallowing in your own self-righteousness and pull your helm out your aft.” Ratchet snapped, his armour bristling.

“Not even gonna answer that!” Jazz flared his armour in turn as his visor flashed bright. The drones would definitively take the edge off.

“Running isn’t the answer. It never is.” Ratchet growled as he cast a glance at the door that led to the private medical rooms. “Jazz, I know you’re wired, but you need to fragging snap out of it.” He pointed a digit at Jazz as he took deliberate steps toward the saboteur. “You and Prowl shouldn’t have been involved. Prowl shouldn’t have lied about his status. I should have left him on Paradon. Optimus should never have made that fragging law! We all screw up, but we don’t run!”

“I’m not running!”

“Then what are you doing? Because last I checked Prowl’s room was that way. And he’s way too calm for my fragging liking!” Ratchet waved his hand to the opposite direction.

Jazz dragged both hands over his face as his spark flopped at that little titbit. Frag that medic! Frag him to the Pit and back!

“Look, Jazz, it’s been a trying time for all of us. We got to stick together. Falling apart now will only make things worse. Now, what did you want to discuss with me?”

Jazz glared at Ratchet through a red-speckled visor. How enticing it looked to wrap his hands around the thick neck and squeeze it till the medic’s optics popped out and rolled across the deck. He bunched his fists and folded his arms around his chassis. Pity they needed the fragger. He shuttered his optics and focused on his pedes touching the cold floor, grounding him. Odd how he never got this riled up on a mission, but less than ten breems with the fragging medic had him losing his cool. Be professional, mech. You got this. Let it go. For Prowl. He nodded when he felt the pressure ease off his chest, thankful the chartreuse pain-in-his-aft had kept his vocalizer muted. “We don’t have enough on Intel to keep him locked up.”

Ratchet stilled as his focus turned inwards. “Regulations?”

Jazz nodded curtly. Be professional. “I’d prefer Intel not run around freely on this ship, but we can’t keep him under lock with no evidence either. OP won’t have that.” He drew another vent as his frame popped with the dispelling heat. Prowl, think of Prowl. Think of Drift.

“If he is innocent?” Ratchet asked and cleared his vocalizer.

“Can we take the risk?”

Ratchet shook his helm. “I’m not taking the risk with you, Prowl or Drift. The youngling has suffered enough trauma, and Prowl...” He furrowed his brows at Jazz and waved his hand in the air, “well you know fragger better than I.”

“I’ll go see Prowler in a breem. I need to know they are safe from any other external factors creeping around on this fragging ship.” He nodded towards the private rooms. “How’s Red doing?”

“Red Alert?” Ratchet rubbed his neck and pulled a face. “He’s healing, but it’s going to take a while.”

“So he won’t be able to conduct an investigation before we dock?” The last of his armour popped into place as his core temperature hit normal and he expelled a calming vent.

The old medic shook his helm. “No. Why can’t Inferno – ”

“He’s too junior, and with the mole having been in security, there is no way someone from that department on this ship can take lead in the investigation.”

“But Red Alert is SD. Wouldn’t that create conflict?”

“Technically Red Alert can’t take lead, but he would still be working closely with one of my own who would be taking lead. Also, he hasn’t been on board for all that long, and he did bring to our attention that he suspects a leak. It’s a fragging mess.”

“Who will be taking lead?”

Jazz pursed his, then finally shrugged a shoulder. “I’ve got Nightbeat headed our way, but he’s not due for a few more orns. In the meantime, Prime may…prefer…to let Inferno handle this, and let Intel out.”

“I see.” Ratchet scratched his chin. “I’ll have a word with Optimus. See if I can persuade him to keep Intel restricted to his quarters or under escort until your mech has better answers.”

“Thanks, Ratch.”

“Don’t mention it, but if he’s innocent, you will personally apologise to him.” The thick ridges settled like dark thunderclouds over the hawk-like olfactory, nearly obscuring the old medic’s optics.

“Fine.”

“And Jazz,” the medic walked towards him and laid a heavy hand on his shoulder, his field teeking rare sympathy and support, but his optics still held the sharp, cutting look.

Jazz tilted his helm back and braced himself.

“We’re here for you. All of you.” With a last pat, Ratchet stepped behind him and headed for the door. “I’ll go see Prime; go see your mate.”

Jazz stepped up to the door and gently tapped a digit on it before slipping into the quiet room. It was better to announce his presence to his mate than surprise him – they had had enough surprises to last them for fragging vorns to come. His visor adjusted to the dimness of the warm room.

The Praxian stood next to the incubator, his frame as still as a frozen guardian statue as the green lights cast soft shadows on him. He made no motion or sign of recognition at Jazz’s presence.

Jazz waited patiently, until finally, a doorwing flicked in greeting.

“Jazz.”

“Prowl.” The saboteur didn’t move from his position at the door. The monotone sound of his name meant that he had been acknowledged, but not entirely welcomed. He would wait for Prowl to make the first move, he owed that much to the mech.

Drift clicked as he stretched and reached out with a tiny fist. He was cuddled in warming blankets, no sign of his earlier distress visible. Prowl’s lips tipped up as he leaned down to trace a digit over the sparkling’s cheek, his engine gently crooning. Drift clicked in answer and settled back into a restless nap.

“He is alright.” Prowl turned his helm towards Jazz, his expression mild and betraying none of his current thoughts.

Jazz retracted his visor, hating the vulnerability that came with it, but knowing that as privileged as he was to see Prowl’s rare smiles, he didn’t mind the vulnerability showing with the Praxian. He walked closer, his optics falling on Drift. “Really?” He moderated his tone so that he wouldn’t disturb Drift as the sparkling tossed again.

“He is restless.”

Prowl turned back to Drift as Jazz came to a stop next to him, gently snaking an arm around the lithe tactician’s frame. The mech was stiff and cold, his field pulled in tightly. Jazz pressed his lips together as he rubbed a thumb over Prowl’s hip and allowed his own engine to croon gently. The saboteur turned his helm and rested his lips against Prowl’s audials. “I’m sorry.” He gently kissed Prowl’s cheek.

Prowl turned his helm towards Jazz, lips nearly touching, but Prowl pressed his lips into a thin line and stared at Jazz. His azure optics held no venom, no anger, no love, only wariness. “For what, exactly?”

Everything. Jazz swallowed and looked at Drift. “I got you into this.” The sparkling was so small. Barely a few decaorn old and he had already been in life-threatening situations. No sparkling should have to go through that. No creators had to go through that either.

“And you regret it?” The optics dimmed as the neutral mask slipped firmly into place.

Jazz cupped Prowl’s cheek with his free hand, searching his face. It was a face so familiar to him. Solid and filled with strength. Prowl’s presence had always been a light in his darkened spark, leading him to safe harbours. Do I regret this? Do I regret my family? Jazz shook his helm. “I only regret that you have to go through all of this slag, but I don’t regret you,” a tender kiss, “or our sparkling.”

The tactician’s optics dropped to Drift before he looked back at Jazz, the wariness giving way to warmth. “I also regret the external environment of our situation, but not you or Drift.” Prowl’s doorwings flared subtly and he stepped back. “Jazz,” Prowl reached for Jazz’s hand and entwined their digits. “We both had equal share in our choices.” He walked towards the berth, towing the saboteur behind him. “And we have further choices to make.”

Jazz followed Prowl willingly to the berth, his curiosity peaked. Prowl was calm. More so than he had thought to find the tactician in. His field barely teeked of anything, and that meant he was in tactical mode. Maybe this was why Ratchet had been more cantankerous than usual.

Prowl patted the berth and Jazz took his seat next to Prowl. “What are you thinking, lover?”

“I require to know your commitment to myself and Drift.”

Jazz nearly bit his glossa at the acrid retort that swiftly formed. “Excuse me?” They had just stated how much the other means to them and then this fragging question? What the frag?!

“I want to leave the Autobots. I can’t do it alone.”

Jazz gaped at Prowl. He closed his mouth, swallowed, and extended his field, prying and searching What are you getting at Prowl? He narrowed his optics. “Prowl…”

His lover lifted his hand. “Drift will always be a target. The Council will no doubt incarcerate me for treason. Drift will then go to foster care. He will be vulnerable.”

“For one, over my dead frame will he go into foster, and two, Prowler, the Council is not going to arrest – ”

“That may be, but if I stay and am arrested, I cannot account what will happen to you, should you make known that you are the sire, and…” Prowl hesitated as he tightened his grip on Jazz’s hand. “for that reason, I am going to ask that you not reveal yourself.”

“No, I am taking up my responsibility to you and Drift!” Jazz whispered fiercely as his tank clenched. Prowl was not facing the Council alone! Even if they had remained friends Jazz would not have let Prowl go through something like that on his own. “I’m not gonna stand by and let you take the fall! You said yourself we had equal share in this!”

“Please, I cannot protect Drift, but, Jazz, you can.” Prowl cupped Jazz’s chin, his optics eerily void of emotions, almost as if he was running on logic alone. “They may let you go because I lied to you, but I would rather not that it become general knowledge for reasons we have already discussed.”

It grated at Jazz. He knew that look. It was the look of a mech distancing himself and resigning to his fate. Not his Prowler. He shook his helm, jaw set as he flared his armour.

“If you take Drift, you can keep him safe. I have an old instructor that would be willing to take Drift in and raise him. However, if we run together...” He trailed off and shuttered his optics, letting his hand fall to the berth. “Drift will be safer where no one knows who he is, which means that we must ensue new identities, something that your knowledge and skillset would be required for.”

“Prowler, are you asking my opinion on the plan or are you asking me to follow your plan? Or should I say your BC’s plan?”

Prowl opened his optics and for the first time Jazz saw a hint of emotion behind the clouded optics. “I am asking you to act in the best interest of Drift.”

“Then if we, and ‘we’ as in you and me, act in Drift’s best interest it would be to keep him. He’ll be safe in the Autobot base. This isn’t a tactical plan, babe. This is our family!”

“He is not safe on an Autobot ship, Jazz. How safe would he be at a base with an unaccounted number of mechs flowing through the base every quartex? We cannot always be there for him.”

“Prowl, I know you’re worried and your BC’s spitting out all manner of reasons why we should split, but is that really what you want? What we want?” Jazz trailed a digit up and down Prowl’s arm, feeling the tenseness in his mate’s frame. “There are variables still unaccounted for. Let’s not make decision before we have all the facts. You are the tactician here, you got to have figured that.”

Drift crooned and rolled into a ball. Prowl traced every movement like a hawk, his doorwings flaring subtly behind him. Drift’s sighed and then stilled, and Prowl relaxed as he turned back to Jazz. “I want what is best for him.”

“I want what is best for us as a family.” Jazz drew Prowl closer, running a digit over his jaw. “That includes you.” Gently he pressed his lips against Prowl’s, not wanting to arouse his mate but also wanting to comfort. Prowl was falling back on his tactical programs. It was something he tended to do when emotional decisions became too complicated.

Prowl returned the kiss and pulled away. “We could always run as a family.”

Run. That glitch of a word sticks worse than fragging rust. Jazz snorted. “You? Run? Now I know that’s not my Prowl talking.” He shook his helm. “I’m done with running, lover. I’ve found recently that running only makes the situation worse, and there’re a couple of bots that don’t make you forget it.” Jazz smiled ruefully as he continued to trace Prowl’s jaw, pushing the niggling thoughts back of how recently thoughts of running still tempted him like an ill-kept mistress. Ratchet’s admonishments stung him, but the old medic had been right, as he most often was. Running would not help. And how could they? They would have to leave everything and everyone behind. It was the same as betrayal, and no matter what gutters Jazz had crawled through before, he could with all honesty say he was a loyal mecha.

He drew a deep vent as he rested his hand on Prowl’s long neck. “What will happen to the Autobots if we run? What about our friends? What about other carriers? Mech, you’ve never been one to run. That’s one of the reasons why you’re the respected commander you are and why I find you irresistible. You have courage and loyalty as steady as the Tanzanite Mountains.”

Prowl shuttered his optics, the corner of his mouth tipping up. “That is not exactly a flattering reason why you find me ‘irresistible’.”

“Well,” Jazz chuckled and pressed their helms together. “I have a host of other reasons, but you’ve got a long time to figure them out. Right now, though, we need to focus on our current situation.”

The small smile vanished as Prowl tilted his helm to the side. “They will arrest me. It is protocol.”

“Mech, show some faith in Optimus. I don’t get why you’re doubting him so much. We’re a team, and they’ve got our backs. Besides, don’t you think you would have been arrested by now if that was the case?” Jazz pushed as much confidence into his voice and field as he could. As hard as it was for him, and as trying as the past few quartexes had been, he knew that the command team had their backs. Optimus was one of the few mechs he trusted.

“Optimus is bound by the Council, and the Council is a ruling authority on their own. They have never been inclined to listen to the Primes. In this situation, even though it was Optimus who proposed the law, they adopted and passed it because it would have suited their purposes, whatever those might have been.”

“Prowl, the Council exists to support the Prime.” Jazz stated firmly, but something at the back of his processor nagged that Prowl was onto something. The Council had always outlasted the Primes, but no one had ever dared to go straight against the Prime. They had always shown support for his actions.

“The Council might have been created to support the Prime, but over the ages they have evolved to become the true ruling body of Cybertron. You underestimate their power, Jazz.”

Jazz stilled, his processor running at full capacity. As nobility, Prowl’s knowledge of upper politics trumped Jazz’s own, but to suggest that the Council was the true ruling body, well, it wasn’t too far out, but the Prime was chosen by Primus to lead, surely the Council wouldn’t dare go against that? That would be close to treason. “Are you saying the Council ain’t committed to the Prime, and by default the Autobots? That’s a dangerous thing to say, lover.”

“I am saying that the Council will support the Prime to the extent to which it suites their purposes.”

“And what if the Prime becomes more popular than the Council, and mechs would rather follow the Prime than the Council? And what if the Prime takes a stand against the Council?”

Prowl looked at Jazz, the blue of his optics deeply troubled. “That, my Jazz, is a dangerous thing to say.”

“Impossible!”

Senator Ratbat’s shrill voice echoed through the Romanesque conservatory, cracking the gentle illusion of piece the edifice aimed to inspire. He spun around, heavy robes swishing behind him like seeker wings. His face contorted in fury. “How could he fail!? How could they fail for Primus’s sake!?”

“I am as well aware of their failure as you are,” Senator Proteus gripped his cube and drew deep vents, “You do not need to shout.” His hooded optics followed every movement of his guest from his vantage point in the middle of the circular room.

The large, colourful robe twirled in Ratbat’s wake as he paced the room with hands locked behind his back. “This is not acceptable! First the team fails, after we gave them exact coordinates. Then, your security mech fails, and now, our mech has failed too! I want his helm on a silver dish!”

Proteus sank deeper into his antique settee, the velvety high-grade doing nothing to soothe his frayed neurons. “We can still assassinate them when they arrive.”

Ratbat rolled his small optics. “Lord Megatron nearly had a melt-down when he learned of our little plot to kill his so-called brother. He gave strict orders that the honours were to be his.”

“And so he would risk the war simply because he wants a ‘fair fight’ with Optimus?” Proteus drained his high-grade and threw the empty glass across the room. “Pathetic! Optimus isn’t the unsure youth anymore. Battle has hardened him. We need to be careful of him, and if Megatron is too blind to see it, then we as his loyal followers should enlighten him!”

“I agree, but it’s not like we can tell him that.” Ratbat spat and stopped in front of the large floor-to-ceiling windows that formed the walls of the conservatorium. Outside the ornate Towers, the suns were beating down on the tiny mechs below. How weak and clueless they were. “What shall we do with Prowl?”

“Kill him.” Proteus shrugged and glared at the empty high-grade pitcher. With grace only befitting his rank, he stood and walked towards his drink cabinet. “Chardonnay?”

Ratbat frowned, then nodded. “Why not? Killing Prowl will not stop Optimus or the rest of those old fools from voting!”

“No, but it would remind them why we had the law in the first place. Can you think of the headlines if Prowl is assassinated? ‘Poor little sparkling now orphaned and alone!’” He smirked as he poured the rich, crimson liquid into two crystal flutes. “Besides, with Prowl dead, the Autobots will receive a major setback and Megatron would actually appreciate our efforts.”

“True, but it might also have the opposite effect of rallying them. No doubt Optimus would find some way to use the tragic death of his most trusted commander for his purposes.” Ratbat scratched his chin. “We could offer to make him ‘disappear’.”

“Disappear? Please elaborate.” Proteus cocked an optic ridge at Senator Ratbat as he sauntered back to the settee. “Making him disappear would still have the same effect as killing him. I’d rather go for killing him outright.”

“True once more, but we could make him an offer to resign.” Ratbat straightened and marched back to Proteus, throwing himself down on the vacant royal blue settee. He watched as Proteus placed the crystal flute on the ornate centre table, the curious sparkle in his optic satisfying. “We could offer him protection, immunity against incarceration, if he would agree to resign and leave for some Primus forsaken neutral alcove. He could then raise his youngling on the fringes of space, safe from prying optics. If the Decepticons simply ‘happen’ to find him there, well, then it was his choice to leave!”

“I think the idea holds promise, but maybe we should confer regarding the details.” A sly smile played on Proteus’ lips. They would make the offer irresistible to the tactician and afterward drop a hint into Lockdown’s audial on where to find them. He could be trusted to take care of the issue. His lips pulled down as a thought flitted through his processor. “We only have one unaccounted for detail, and it is why I would like to talk with Intel before his termination.”

Ratbat took the flute and lifted the liquid to the domed ceiling, studying the crimson colour and clear texture. “And what could that possibly be?”

“The sire.”

 ***

Author’s Note: I apologise for the long wait. RL has been cruel. Happy New Year to you all!

Chapter Text

Cybertron.

The planet lay like a bright shining gem against a pitch-black background. For thousands of vorns, it had been home to a unified race. Now, deep gashes had been torn into her, not unlike the deep divide between her mechs. Only in time would those gashes heal, if they ever do.

Optimus drew a deep vent, his optics tired as he watched their decent to the planet. The Ark was due maintenance repairs, so they would land at Iacon’s shipyard. The smaller escort ships gradually slowed as they entered the planet’s thin atmosphere, making way for the larger ship to descend first while still guarding against sudden attacks.

Thankfully, the airspace above Iacon was fairly secured, that with the war having mostly moved off-planet. Still – they were not taking any chances with the Prime abroad.

Optimus turned his helm to the side. The seat on his right remained empty. Prowl should have been there. He was an excellent navigator, made even more so by the addition of his battle computer.

“Dropping from orbital in three…two…one…glide mode entered.”

Optimus nodded as the Ark shuddered upon her drop. They would reach Iacon in thirty breems. Docking sequence would take another thirty breems, and disembarkation even longer.

Thankfully Elita One would be there to welcome him. His spark sang at the thought. He hoped she would have some good news for him regarding her meeting with Alpha Trion. Hopefully, she would have the documents needed to grant Prowl clemency.

“You’re thinking real hard, Prime.”

Optimus glanced over his shoulder at Ironhide, the old battle-hardened guard’s faceplate set in frown.

::I am thinking of Elita.::

Ironhide snorted, his armour puffing. ::Would have expected a smile.::

::I am looking forward to seeing her, but I am worried for Prowl.::

“Hmm.” Was all the answer Ironhide gave, and Optimus turned back to the viewscreen. In the distance Iacon’s lights beaconed them on, growing brighter and brighter the closer they got. His spark ached – caught in that strange kind of joy that was both painful and expectant.

::I am glad we are arriving in the dark cycle. I would prefer Prowl to be moved to his quarters as soon as possible without an audience.::

::Mechs are already commenting on it. Rumours are rife and not even the Twins can spin the tales. Just too much happened lately. You can be sure that some of the crew are going to try and catch a glimpse of Prowl.:: Ironhide moved until he stood next to Optimus. ::Some of the crew have been asking me what the frag’s going on. Obviously I can’t tell them. Just said Prowl’s confined to the medbay, and I ain’t leaving your side. With Red in the bay as well, the crew’s jittery, thinking that the Cons are trying their hand at assassinations.”

::They would not be too far off the mark.:: Optimus steepled his hands. Twenty breems more and they would be in Iacon.

::The secrecy ain’t helping either.::

Optimus dipped his chin, optic ridges furrowing at the undertones in his old guard and friend’s tone. ::You think it should not be a secret.::

It was more a statement than a question, and one that Optimus had juggled over and over in his processor. There were pro’s and con’s to both sides. The crew – they should have been trusted Autobot soldiers, and yet his Security Director was stasis-locked in the medbay and an innocent sparkling had nearly been kidnapped off the Autobot flagship by a mech who had served vorns aboard her and had indeed been a trusted mech and another one was being held on allegations.

::What I think is irrelevant. You know Prowl’s family is high nobility, and with his position in the Autobots, it ain’t going to take a genius to know this is going to be all over the news. No matter how you look at it, someone’s gonna burn. Frag, Prowl’s own family will probably fry him. And knowing nobles, they ain’t gonna like Jazz.::

::Jazz ranks third in the Autobot army and is one of my most trusted advisors.::

::He’s also an assassin, a Polyhexian, has no title, sparked Prowl without any form of prior commitment, and ran away to Primus knows where while Prowl suffered alone.::

::Yet he is showing commitment now.::

::He hasn’t made it official yet, and he’s still a gutter mech.:: Ironhide’s engine rumbled.

Optimus cocked his optic ridge at him, unsettled by the anger aimed at the saboteur. They would need to work it out between them. The sooner the better. ::They have their reasons not to make it official yet. Prowl has asked for the Council’s verdict first before he reveals the sire.::

::So now Jazz’s hiding behind Prowl?:: Ironhide snorted and folded his arms over his broad chest, jaw grinding.

The communication system blared to life before Optimus could answer, the tin voice scratchy over the comms. “This is Iacon Station. State your intent and code.”

Optimus stood and dipped his helm at the pilot. “This is Optimus Prime, abroad the Autobot flagship ‘Ark’. We request docking permission. Authentication code 8907IOP.”

“This is Iacon Station. Status confirmed and docking station 19 has been ascribed to your ship. Welcome back to Iacon, Commander Prime. ”

 “Take us to bay 19.” Optimus turned back to Ironhide and laid a heavy hand on his shoulder. ::Jazz is not a coward, neither is he shunning his responsibility. He has spoken to me on this account and it is in Drift’s best interest that Jazz’s identity remain unknown to the larger population until his safety can be assured. The Council, if they specifically request his designation, will be informed. Outside of that, the sparkling is already in danger.:: He squeezed and stepped back to his chair, sitting down as he watched the slow maneuvering of the giant ship into the busy dockyards.

::Prowl is guilty.::

::Yes.::

::So what could they gain by hiding Jazz’s identity? Do you think they are planning to run for it?::

Optimus leaned his helm back and stared out the large viewport at the bustling dockworkers and the smaller shuttles maneuvering around the larger dockyard. To be honest, he had that same idea. If Prowl and Jazz decided to run – there would be no way to trace them. They were simply too good at what they did. Yet…::I doubt they would run. The dangers to Drift would be too high, and despite your opinion of Jazz, both are honourable mechs. They would not run.::

Ironhide rubbed a hand over his old, scarred face. ::I don’t know, Prime. You ain’t there yet, but having a sparkling  of yer own kinda changes a mech. You’d do crazy things for them.::

::Yes, and it is one of the reasons why I am honouring Prowl’s request not to reveal Jazz unless specifically asked for. I could not promise that I would not give his designation if asked for, as that would be lying in a court of law, but I will state that he has asked the sire to remain unknown.::

::Will the Council accept that?::

Optimus heard the slight shift in Ironhide’s armour, a twinge of sadness twisting his spark. That question hinted at a deeper underlying mistrust of the Council, and Optimus wish he could say it wasn’t warranted. He drew a deep vent and lifted his chin. ::The Council will make their own decisions. I will stand by mine.::

::Which is?::

The Ark jolted as locking arms engaged and the engines whined softly as shut-down began.

Optimus stood and turned to Ironhide, his optics sharp. ::In time, you will see.::

Intel shuddered as he lay on his berth, physically and emotionally spent. Let it never be said Spec Ops aren’t thorough. His lips twisted bitterly. He had been subjected to all manner of questionings – the only one not utilized, and a tiny part of his processor nagged that it was because of the Prime, was a deep processor scan.

For which he would have to offer a special prayer of thanks to Primus. If they had scanned his processors – another shudder raked his frame before a deep, dark depression settled over him.

It actually didn’t matter anymore. He had failed in his primary directive. Failure was unacceptable. Failure meant death. He shuttered his optics and dragged in a deep vent, the irony of his situation leaving a foul, metallic taste in his mouth. On the one hand he was loyal to the Council, but the Council was going to execute him for failure, while on the other hand, he was also loyal to the Autobots whosecause he supported, but who were subservient to the Council. He hated it when the two sides had conflicted interests. There was something wrong with that picture. He shuttered his optics and drew a ragged vent through his aching frame.

Special operations wanted information, and they were guarding him against possible attacks. Little did they know that the very Council who they were supporting also had their own agenda, but he couldn’t well tell that to them. No, he was loyal to the Council first and foremost, as the generations previous to him had been. He would carry out the family legacy, even if it got him killed.

‘It’s an honour to die for the Council’. Those his been his carrier’s last words, before he died at insurgent’s hands.

For, not because of. His treacherous processor helpfully supplied. And that was against Decepticons, our enemies, not against the Autobots, who are…allies? Tools?

He clicked in annoyance and got up, pacing the small parameter of his room. His thoughts were too muggy.

One-two-three-four-about turn-one-two-three-four-

The constant rhythm was soothing to his heavy spark, and soon his thoughts began to clear. He had little time left, and no doubt even special operations would fail in their endeavor to keep him safe. Once the trial began…

He stopped abruptly, optics flaring wide. Primus! What if I’m called to testify? He pressed his hands over his mouth, conscious but uncaring of the fact that he was being monitored for his every move. I can’t possibly lie to the Council. If Lord Alpha Trion should ask – He groaned as the implications bloomed in his helm. Yes, yes it would be far better to be killed than to testify before the Council against the Council.

Perhaps he should do the honourable thing and extinguish his own spark? But how? He looked around the room, searching for anything he could use.

Poison.

His processor faltered on that one word.

It was an option, but how could he get a hold of some? All of his personal affects – including anything that looked even remotely suspicious, had been removed from his room. They might as well have placed him in the brig for all the comfort it afforded him.

He scrubbed at his face, his plating rattling. He needed decent recharge – but he wasn’t being granted that. They kept ‘accidentally’ waking him. And if he had to wake up one more time with Mirage staring at him with blank optics he was going to crack –

Which might not be such a bad idea…. He faltered. If I break, maybe, just maybe they would tag me as unable to testify. He nodded. Yes, he could do that, maybe mess with his coding…or…or maybe not his coding.

He drew a deep vent and slumped, burying his face in his hands. He was losing it. He couldn’t lose it. He couldn’t –

The door beeped once and Intel spun round, optics wide and armour pulled in tight. Was this Mirage again?

He extended his field, inquiring, feeling – and flicked over a cold, blank field.

He swallowed and wet his lips. This wasn’t Mirage. Bracing himself, he nodded – then everything faded.

Prowl steeled himself in his quarters, or rather, his room. A proper room after vorns on a ship in tight quarters that made no exception for rank or nobility. Other than his family, he rather preferred the minimalistic quarters to these lush and extravagant decorations.

And speaking of his family, they would probably be arriving at any moment, and understandably furious with him. Optimus had informed him that his family had been waiting when the Ark docked.

Over in his crib, Drift chirped and Prowl walked over to him, smoothing his field as he scooped the sparkling up in the soft, blue tarp. “You cannot possibly be hungry again, little one. You refueled a joor ago.”

Drift chirped, his field wobbly. Prowl checked his spark monitors, satisfied that they settled within ‘normal’ parameters. Primus he never wanted the last few orns over, or rather the last vorn over. He ran a thumb over Drift’s soft cheek, the sparkling reached out to touch his face, cooing softly.

Prowl smiled. Drift might have been unexpected, and had thrown his life – and very likely his future – to the predicons, but he would never regret the youngling in his arms. Life was so precious, and it made him more determined than ever to provide the best for Drift, no matter what it cost him personally. “You are mine, little one. And I will guard you against the universe if I have to.”

Drift chirped, his blue optics searching Prowl’s face.

The entrance chime sounded.

Prowl’s tanks knotted and his field wavered, drawing a concerned trill from Drift. Prowl quickly eased his field, engine crooning. “Easy little one, if this is your grandcreator, this will probably not be a polite visit, but a necessary one.” He pressed his chevron against Drift’s tiny one and laid him back in his crib. The chime sounded again, insistent. “I will fetch you shortly.” Prowl drew a vent, hopefully, this was not his sire.

Prowl straightened, holding his doorwings proudly. He might be disgraced and under observation, but he was still a commander, and a proud creator.

He walked into the centre of the lounge and sent the command for the door to open.

The door had barely slid open big enough to allow a mech to pass than a silvery-grey frame slid through like quicksilver.

“Prowl! Oh  sweetprimus we were so worried about you when we heard that you had been placed under observation even though you had received clemency and its part of some law that you had broken but you don’t break laws so what happened? Why are you under observation? Why has your leave been cancelled? Are you alright?”

Prowl’s doorwings dipped in relief as Bluestreak flew across the room, only to ram into him with a fierce embrace. Prowl staggered a few steps back before regaining enough balance to stop both him and Bluestreak from toppling over. With a smile, he folded his arms around his younger brother, swallowing the lump that had uncharacteristically lodged itself in his throat along with the relief that flooded his frame.

“I think, what Bluestreak means, is that we are rather concerned about you.”

Prowl glanced over Bluestreak’s shoulder and into his older brother’s shrouded optics.

“Smokescreen.” He cleared his vocalizer of the static that accompanied that word and felt Bluestreak’s arms tighten.

“We’re here.” Bluestreak pressed his field, deeply laced with love and concern, into Prowl’s. Of his entire House, Bluestreak was the one mech that refused to hide his emotions under the banner of ‘high-society politeness’. Prowl was never more thankful for that lack of reserve than at this moment.

“Let Prowl go, Bluestreak, it is my turn.”

Awkwardly Bluestreak moved to the side, but he didn’t let go. “You can get that side.”

A broken huff escaped Prowl as his frame started shaking. He drew a deep vent and tried to calm his throbbing spark. Smokescreen threw an arm around him and Bluestreak, drawing them both close. “Whatever was done, it can be fixed. Your reputation, House and record will be enough to rectify whatever this is.”

Prowl shook his helm as he shoved his emotions back into the neat pocket of restraint they had been taught since younglinghood. “I am afraid this is something that cannot be ratified or rectified.”

Shock shot through Smokescreens field before he caught it, neatly tying it down. Bluestreak’s field reeked of concern-confusion-worry. Smokescreen dipped his helm, field probing and careful. “Did you….did you commit treason?”

Treason – what a nice way to describe it. The corner of Prowl’s lip twitched up in regret. “Not exactly. At least I don’t think it is…” He shot Smokescreen an exasperated look when he felt his older brother stiffen. “I didn’t betray the Autobots or the Prime. I’m not…not a spy.” He pulled his field in tightly. They still weren’t sure if they had caught the real spy – but Jazz was taking care of that.

As much as the embrace was comforting, Prowl disengaged himself. This might be his brothers – and thank primus his sire had had the sense to send them – but he could not calculate with any surety that they would not find him at fault for his actions – and to explain Jazz…He shuttered his optics and raised his chin. Bluestreak accepted everything and everybot, but Smokescreen was not as lenient.

Every well-rehearsed speech seemed to die on his glossa as he looked at the expectant faces of his brothers. He tipped his doorwings in a sign of shame and apology.

“Prowl…?” Bluestreak reached for him again, but Prowl held his hand to stall the mech.

Staring squarely at Smokescreen, he cleared his vocalizer. “Do you recall the secret I shared with you upon my third armour upgrade?”

Smokescreen blinked and frowned, then his optics shot wide and his gaze dropped to Prowl’s chassis. “Are you…I mean…you’re not…Oh Primus.” He raised a hand to his helm and sat on the nearest couch.

“Smokes…?” Bluestreak stared wide-opticed at Smokescreen, then turned to Prowl, doorwings held high and trembling in agitation. “What’s wrong?”

Prowl averted his gaze. He should fetch Drift, but maybe – he glanced at Smokescreen. The mech sat staring at nothing in particular, a hand covering his mouth as his doorwings fluttered in shock. Bluestreak was starting to shake all over.

“What’s going on? Prowl are you ill? What happened? Are you dying? Were you poisoned? What secret? Does sire know? Smokey are you ok, you don’t look ok and Prowl you look like you’re going to be ill.”

Prowl opened his optics and shook his helm. “I’m fine, Bluestreak, I’m…”

“Not fine.” Smokescreen seemed to regain some of his colour as he stood, shaking his helm. “Primus Prowl, how could you – of all the stupid things to do….”

“What did he do…?”

“…You knew the risks, the laws...

“What laws…?”

“…How did you even get that close to another mech…”

“What mech?”

“….and now this…”

“Would somebody just tell me what on Cybertron is going on!” Bluestreak shouted, and as the room fell silent, a new sound drifted up, one that had Prowl revving his engine as he made his way to his room.

“Is that a sparkling?”

Prowl didn’t answer, aware that Smokescreen had caught Bluestreak’s arm to stop him from following. Good. He needed a few breems. The distressed whistles slowed as Prowl entered the room, his engine crooning softly as he picked Drift up and held him close to his chassis. “I am sorry, sweetspark, I warned this would not be pleasant.” He gently whispered as he swayed.

His doorwings flicked back as he registered his brothers at the door.

“Is that your sparkling?” Bluestreak’s voice was soft, barely above a whisper as he slowly walked into the room, doorwings held low in submission, but flared wide in curiosity. Prowl flicked his optics to Smokescreen. Their optics met and Smokescreen vented deeply, nodding as he walked into the room.

Prowl shifted Drift to cradle him in his arms. “Yes, this is my sparkling. Bluestreak, Smokescreen, meet Drift.” 

“He’s perfect!” Bluestreak crooned, “And look he has your chevron! And your optics…and he looks just like you! He’s so adorable! Can I hold him? How old is he?”

“I think, Bluestreak, that Prowl should hold him for now until you have calmed. Sparklings are very sensitive to moods.” Smokescreen laid a hand on Bluestreak’s shoulder, squeezing gently. Bluestreak opened his mouth to argue, but instead opted to stare at the sparkling.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been this close to a sparkling.” Bluestreak whispered, his field flooded with awe.

Guilt stabbed at Prowl, but he was quick to hide it. Sparklings and carriers were protected. His House was no different – the carriers and sparklings were off-planet at some safe-house, and Bluestreak was the last of his generation to still be at the compound.

“Who is the sire?” Bluestreak’s big optics flicked up to Prowl, his smile sincere and his field devoid of judgment.

Prowl felt more than saw Smokescreen stiffen. Ah yes – this was going to be the real issue. “It…” how to put it politely. “Is complicated.”

“Where is the sire?”  Smokescreen’s optics bore into Prowl, his doorwings arching high.

“He is currently dealing with…issues.” Prowl raised his chin. He had no doubts – and his battle computer backed him – that the chances Jazz would ever be considered an equal or an acceptable mate by his family were very slim – barely in the double-digits. But maybe his brothers, both of his brothers, would accept him. Bluestreak was a given. He would accept even Megatron himself if the mech truly repented of his evils. But Smokescreen? Fiercely protective, loyal, first-heir Smokescreen? He was going to be difficult.

“He should be here, with you, welcoming your family. It would have been the proper thing to do.”

And that left Prowl with no doubt that winning Smokescreen over would probably be one of Jazz’s hardest assignments.

“He would have been, but aside from the fact that the issue needed to be dealt with in all haste, I asked to meet alone with my family.”

“Why would you do that?” Bluestreak asked, the smile quickly replaced with a disappointed frown.

“Multiple reasons, Bluestreak, and I’m guessing none of them very positive.” Smokescreen crossed his arms over his chest, a frown pulling his mouth down.

Prowl glared at Smokescreen, hating that Smokescreen was right. Drift trilled and reached a tiny fist out to him. He trilled in answer and reassurance.

“Aw! He’s so cute!” Bluestreak inched forward, hands tucked against his chest in a deliberate attempt not to touch. Prowl was thankful for that, too much had happened the past few quartexes for him to be relaxed and open with Drift.

But these were his brothers, his trusted friends, and as such, they deserved to know the facts. Prowl settled his armour. “Shall we go sit down?” He waved his doorwings at the living room. “You are right, Smokescreen, that I have my doubts if the family will ever accept my mate, but you deserve the full story. Whatever happens though, we are mated, and we will stand by that decision.”

“Tell me the story.” Smokescreen nodded as he returned to the living room. “I will get some energon. You may start ex – telling. Telling your story.”

Prowl nodded at Smokescreen’s orders, respecting that he chose not to comment on Jazz and his relationship or implications. Hopefully, in time, they would accept Jazz. It wasn’t that he held no rank, but lineage was hardwired into Praxus, and matings were used as political tools. That Prowl had down-mated would probably disgrace his family more than his tribunal for breaking Autobot law. Pushing those thoughts aside for the moment, he seated himself on the sofa, arranging the delicate mesh around Drift so that both of them would be comfortable. Bluestreak took a seat on the far side of the sofa Prowl was seated on; optics nailed on Drift.

Prowl cocked an optic ridge at him. No doubt the younger mech was practicing considerable restrain not to touch. He shifted so that Bluestreak could better view his sparkling, warmed by the open affection – and fascination – Bluestreak demonstrated.

“Here you go, drink up. I dare say you’ve lost some bulk.” Smokescreen placed the cube on the small end-table next to Prowl. “And that alone tells me that you’ve been through the mill.”

“It has been a difficult time, yes.” Prowl agreed as he sipped the warm, tangy brew. “Hmm.” He hummed, having been so used to drinking ship rations, and then the horrible gunk Ratchet had the nerve to call energon, that this standard grade could rival the best energon on Cybertron.

Bluestreak shifted closer a bit, craning his neck as he watched Drift play with the soft, blue mesh he was wrapped in. Prowl angled a doorwing to keep track of Bluestreak’s movements.

“The sire and I have been in a…” Prowl hesitated, it had not been a relationship, it was more like… “An agreement for the past few vorns. Due to complications with regulations we never entered anything resembling a committed relationship.”

“Regulation? So he is an officer. I don’t know if you are intentionally withholding his designation or not?” Smokescreen relaxed back into the sofa, his frame open and doorwings held in a non-threatening pose, but Prowl knew him better. He was trying hard to be accepting and non-judgmental.

Typical his training, Prowl mused as he mimicked Smokescreen, crossing his leg over the other to better support Drift. The sparkling was starting to wriggle more, which was not only a very good, but also comforting sign that his development had not been too hampered by the past traumatic events. “Yes, he is an officer.”

Bluestreak inched closer as well, coming within arms-length of Prowl. Prowl knew it would only be a matter of time before Bluestreak’s self-control faltered and, ever the tactile mech, touched the centre of his concentrated attention.

Prowl half-ignored him as he focused on how to portray Jazz in a favourable light. “I am considering withholding his designation for the time being, as I would rather keep him from the Council’s notice. It would be safer. For Drift.”

Bluestreak inched closer, clicking at Drift. Prowl smiled as Drift canted his helm, clicking back.

“Ooh garsh.” Bluestreak shifted until he sat next to Prowl, clicking and whistling, his field vivid with awe mingled with excitement and respect. “I’ve got the cutest nephew!”

“Calm down, Bluestreak.” Smokescreen lightly admonished, but his words held no sting as he smiled indulgently at the pair. “Do you think there will be problems with the Council?”

“It is difficult to say,” Prowl spoke over Bluestreak’s helm. “But I would prefer not to take chances. Optimus agrees with me, though my mate does not.”

“I’m glad he doesn’t.” Smokescreen frowned as he ran his optics over Prowl’s frame. “You need the support. He should be up there in the stand with you.”

“Smokescreen…” Prowl trailed off as he shot Bluestreak a contemplating look. Even though he was family, this was not a conversation for Bluestreak’s audials. Bluestreak was too trusting, too open and frank…but he…he could be trusted to keep Drift safe. Pushing his creator protocols to accept Bluestreak as safe, he shifted, lifting Drift. “Bluestreak,” He leveled a stern glare at his younger brother, who immediately fell quiet. His field flicked with concern.

Prowl forced his frame to relax. “If you sit quietly here, you can hold Drift while I prepare his meal.”

“Really? I get to hold him?” Bluestreak’s optics widened even as his face lit. “I won’t move, at all. I’ll sit really still I promise!” He shifted back and held his arms wide open.

“Hold him gently. He needs to be able to move.” Prowl handed Drift over, checking that Bluestreak held him right. He deleted the threat-assesments as they popped into his helm, made over-active by his creator-protocols. Bluestreak – family – safe. Nodding in satisfaction, he stood and turned to Smokescreen, who had also risen.

“I’ll accompany you to the kitchen.”

Prowl nodded. Once they reached the kitchen, he turned to Smokescreen. “I don’t want to discuss my mate in front of Bluestreak. He is too…”

“Naïve? Open? Trusting?” Smokescreen leaned against the counter and folded his arms over his chassis.

“Yes, all of those, Primus bless his innocent spark.” Prowl nodded as he started preparing Drift’s special energon. “As you’ve already guessed, my mate is an officer. As I’m second in command, or technically I was second in command of the Autobot forces, all officers save the Prime ranked below me. So the chances of advancement through mating to a military rank above were in the single digits, not that I was looking to mate.”

“Yes, although sire was hoping to finalize the arrangement between you and Ultra Magnus.”

“Ultra Magnus is a fine mech, with an exceptional military lineage, but I am rather thankful that we are not conjux. I barely know the mech on personal terms.”

“True, and he is rather…stiff. Even for you, yet that begs the question of what in the Pit happened for you to end up sparked. That only happens through a deep connection, Prowl, and I mean spark-deep. You knew the risks when you first learned of your status.”

There was no accusation or judgment in Smokescreen’s tone, but Prowl still felt his frame heat with embarrassment. He had been raised with that mechs differed, and one did not enter into relationships unless for advancement of some sort and never into a spark-relationship with anyone else than your intended. But how did one explain that the need for companionship had simply morphed beyond his conscious processes, and that maybe, through his and Jazz’s friendship and later agreement, something more had been sparked that they had been unaware of until it was too late?

“Prowl, I didn’t mean that in a negative way.”

Prowl drew himself up and continued mixing the formula. “I know, Smokescreen. I have asked myself that same question numerous times and I still have not come any closer to an answer than I did the first time I asked myself. It was supposed to be nothing more than an agreement. We were both ranked too high to simply share with any mech, and sometimes, you need that physical touch to remind yourself that you are still alive, that there are things to fight for. It was simply a form of release.”

“And from his side?”

Prowl shook his helm. “I honestly don’t know. He sought me out more than I sought him, but he was not one for commitments.”

“So he is not someone who commits?” The words were spoken softly, but the undercurrent was very clear.

Prowl set the formula aside and turned to face Smokescreen. “He had his reasons. I cannot, and will not blame him for it.”

“Who is this mech?” Smokescreen narrowed his optics and ducked his chin, plating flaring lightly.

Prowl weighted the pros and cons of informing Smokescreen. On the one hand, it would be good for another mech to know before the trial, on the other hand, Smokescreen would no doubt confront Jazz. Then again, he was going to do it regardless, and Prowl needed Smokescreen to stand with him and help him. Finally his battlecomputer pinged him with the results – Drift’s chances of survival increased if Smokescreen knew who his sire was.

“Very well, Smokescreen, his designation is Jazz.”

“Jazz?” Smokescreen repeated, his optic ridges raised high.

“Jazz.” Prowl confirmed with a nod.

“General Jazz?”

“Yes, General Jazz.”

“Oh.” Smokescreen ran a hand over his face and rested it over his mouth, his optics staring into the distance. The silence stretched between them, thickening with every click that slipped by. “Frag.”

“Not exactly the reaction I was hoping for.” Prowl murmured and turned to finish Drift’s meal.

“Slag. This complicates things immensely.”

Prowl ignored the heavy vent, his spark sinking. Smokescreen would understand the implications better than most other mechs. He would understand the dangers associated with Jazz and his union.

“So Drift is the sparkling of two of the Autobot’s highest ranking mechs. His sire an assassin. And a Polyhexian. And a commoner. And third in command of the Autobot forces as well as head of special ops. Prowl, my brother, you certainly know how to pick them.” A chuckle escaped the blue and yellow mech, but it lacked any real mirth.

“It was an agreement. We often spent joors together pouring over plans and intel and other highly classified information. It simply seemed natural to help one another on different levels as well.”

“Natural. Prowl, you of all mechs…You knew the dangers of something like this happening. That’s why you avoided relationships in the first place. And now to have the sire be a Polyhe-”

Prowl slammed the cup down and glared at Smokescreen. “Is that really what bothers you? That he’s a Polyhexian with no social rank?”

Smokescreen pushed off the counter, squaring his shoulders. “I’m not that shallow, Prowl. You know me, but you are also very aware of the hard facts. Jazz will not be welcomed in our house by our sire. If you get cashiered from the army for hiding a sparkling, the family will forgive you, care for you and give you a profitable position, but they will not forgive you for getting sparked by someone who cannot raise your rank socially and who is deemed a lower caste by Praxians.” He paced the small kitchen. “At least he isn’t Tarnian.”

“I have made my choice, Smokescreen, and I will abide by that choice.”

“Choices have consequences, Prowl.” Smokescreen stopped pacing at the far wall and stared out the solitary window into the compound gardens beneath. “Knowing you, you probably won’t, but as your older brother I am going to suggest that you consider severing your ties with Jazz. You mentioned previously that he is not a mech for commitments, and a youngling is a big commitment. As head of special ops, he cannot guarantee you he will return from a mission, and that will leave you and Drift at the elements’ mercy. Moreover, the Autobots cannot afford to lose you and Jazz. Primus, if they have any form of processor they’d know that they especially cannot afford to lose you, but we’ll talk of that later. Right now, you need to weigh if Jazz is worth your House. The choices you make now will impact both you and Drift. If you choose our House, and refuse to designate Jazz as your mate, we will look after you in every sense. If you choose Jazz, I cannot guarantee that the House would stand behind you. If he falls, you and Drift will be alone. Can you really afford to be without the protection of your House?” He turned his helm to look at Prowl, optics laden with worry.

Prowl slowly walked over to Smokescreen, joining him at staring out of the window. Everything that Smokescreen had said held true, and more. Logically, he should choose his House, as would also be expected of him. If the Council decided to imprison or cashier him, his House would defend him, provide for him, even restore him to social standing as sparklings were regarded highly. If he chose Jazz, then he would be alone. Probably left in Iacon while Jazz served aboard the Ark, taking on mission that he might or might not come back from. Logically, his House was the best option, yet… “I love Jazz.”

“I know.”

Prowl canted his helm at Smokescreen in quiet invitation to continue.

“I know you, brother. You are logical and a deliberate planner. In all our vorns, I have not known you to once let your guard slip around other mechs when it came to matters of the spark. And yet here you are, a sparkling on your knee and a mate…well….I don’t really know where he is, that you would choose even if it goes against all logic.”

“I wish I could explain it.”

“Some things can’t be explained, only accepted.” Smokescreen slid his arm around Prowl’s waist and pulled him close. “I’m still going to chew his tailpipe off for getting you sparked.”

“Don’t be too harsh on him, please. The others have blamed him for this, even if they don’t overtly state it, it hangs there, eating at the peace like a virus .” Prowl leaned into the warmth offered by Smokescreen’s embrace. “He has been my sanity the past few quartexes.”

“A lot coming from you.” Smokescreen squeezed him and stepped back, motioning to the half-finished sparkling meal. “You are not one to talk much, Prowl, and you have already revealed more than you normally would. I can only summarize that the past vorn must have been…difficult.”

Prowl added the last few ingredients to the mix and warmed it. “It has been difficult, but in that time I have discovered much more of the mechs that surround me and whom I dare call friends. You have stated that should I choose Jazz I will only have him, but you are wrong. There are others who will, and have thus far, supported me unconditionally. Except for Ratchet, that has been mostly conditional support.” Prowl added dryly.

“Then I am relieved, brother. And you know that, not matter the outcome, you will always have my support.” Smokescreen flared his doorwings in Bluestreak’s direction, but the happy chirrs, coos, and whistles were enough to tell him that both mechs were still thoroughly entertained. “How old is he?”

“He is almost three quartexes.”

“He is quite small for that age.”

The current of worry in Smokescreen’s voice couldn’t be missed and Prowl nodded. “He was sparked premature and in space. He has had a rough start to life, but he has a strong spark.”

“Like his carrier.”

“And his sire.” Prowl smiled, though the small frown remained. Drift was barely in the ‘normal’ growth parameters for a sparkling his age. Ratchet had assured him that Drift was fine, but still, it nagged continually at Prowl.

“Does he have a good medic? I could organize for a specialist.” Smokescreen leaned against the wall.

“Ratchet is the best medic on Cybertron, and I trust him. If Ratchet says Drift requires a specialist, then I will go by his recommendation, but thank you for the offer. The support is appreciated.”

“Any way I can help. Now, I believe there is a young rascal in there who is in need of his meal.”

“Indeed.” Prowl took the cube and returned to the living room.

Bluestreak glanced up briefly as Prowl and Smokescreen came into the room. “I haven’t moved, I promise!”

Prowl smiled as he took his seat next to Bluestreak, his field open. “I am relieved.” He dipped his doorwing as a wink and Bluestreak relaxed.

“You know, uhm, sound carries in this apartment.” Bluestreak bit his lower lip.

“How much did you hear?” Smokescreen ex-vented as he took a seat.

“Most of it, and I know I’m too unreserved – sire constantly reminds me of this – but I won’t tell anyone that Jazz is the sire. I promise.” His wide optics pleaded with Prowl.

Prowl glanced at Smokescreen as he set Drift’s cube on his knee, then reached for the little one. Bluestreak quietly handed him over. “I would appreciate it if you do not inform anyone of this knowledge. Not even our House.”

“Are you ashamed of him?”

The question was so out of the blue that Prowl nearly knocked Drift’s cube off his knee. What a rather unexpected question – and yet completely Bluestreak.

“That is not a polite question, Bluestreak.” Smokescreen pressed his fingers to his nasal ridge, his expression pinched.

 “It’s a valid one.” Bluestreak shrugged. “Besides, we are family. We are supposed to be able to ask each other forthright questions without wondering if it’s ‘proper’ or not. That what families are supposed to do – be open with each other.”

“You are correct, Bluestreak.” Prowl regained his composure and shook his helm. “And no, I am not ashamed of Jazz. I respect him highly, and he has been good for both Drift and I.” He positioned Drift so that the sparkling could drink from the specially-designed cube. “It is rather a matter of safety, and unfortunately, politics.”

“Politics?” Bluestreak smiled as he watched Drift play with the cube instead of drinking from it.

“Yes. Jazz is Polyhexian, and our House is not particularly fond of Polyhex due to disputes about the borders and differing social systems. Jazz, for example, holds no nobility rank, and our House would not look favourably on our alliance.”

“So you’ve been slumming it?” Bluestreak cocked his helm at Prowl.

“What..Bluestreak!” Smokescreen sputtered as he sat straight. “Where on Cybertron have you picked up such vulgar language? And stating something like that is highly, and I mean, highly inappropriate!”

Prowl frowned at Bluestreak. “I agree with Smokescreen. That is inappropriate.”

Bluestreak had the good graces to look thoroughly chastised, and Prowl settled back. What Bluestreak had said would probably hold in his House, but not with Prowl. “Jazz, even though he holds no rank of nobility, has succeeded in life far beyond most nobility. He has earned his position, and along with that the respect of most of the Autobots and even the Prime. He is a fine commander and a loyal, trustworthy mech.”

“Then why won’t our House accept him?” Bluestreak frowned as he rubbed his chevron. “He sounds like a good mech with a decent rank.”

“Because our House is built on tradition.” Smokescreen vented, relaxing back into the sofa. “You ought to know this, Bluestreak.”

“It doesn’t sound right. Why would sire hold it against him that he is Polyhexian. I mean, he is the sire of this beautiful sparkling, and sparklings are highly regarded by our House. And for Prowl to have fell in love with him, he must really be special, because Prowl doesn’t do flings or short affairs like most of the mechs in our House. Which reminds me, why would it be so difficult to accept Jazz’s legitimate relationship with Prowl when most of our House, including sire and our cousins, have regular affairs with the dancers and singers at the opera?”

“You….are not supposed to know about those.” Smokescreen shuttered his optics and shook his helm in dismay.

“But it’s double-standards!” Bluestreak whined, his field blanching.

“Yes, Bluestreak, it is.” Prowl confirmed, finding it both disturbing and amusing that his youngest brother were aware of the ‘acceptable’ affairs of the House. “So is it with Sideburn that you picked up that rather inappropriate vocabulary?”

“Hmm?” Bluestreak turned his attention back to Prowl. “Oh, yes. He said he enjoyed ‘slumming it’ with mechs outside of our House.”

“Smokescreen, please address the issue upon your return.” Prowl dipped his doorwings. “Bluestreak, my situation is different. Whereas the House mechs have affairs, they do not commit to those mechs neither do they bring them into our lineage. I have committed to Jazz, and we have an offspring. Jazz, since I outrank him both in the military and in social strata, cannot add to my status, station, or fortune. That is why he would not be easily, if ever, accepted by our House.”

“But he is a general.” Bluestreak lifted his chin and indicated with his finger’s Jazz’s good points. “He has the Prime’s audial, he is respected by the military, and since he is of such a high military rank, I’m sure he is accepted at Tower parties, which makes him kind of acceptable in our spheres, he also successfully sparked an offspring, which I know is seen in a positive light by most nobles.” He held his hand out in triumph. “That is at least five reasons he is acceptable to our House.”

Prowl smiled at Bluestreak. The mech was so innocent and caring. “Bluestreak, I sincerely hope you never lose this accepting quality, and thank-you, I am sure those points will account for something.” And they were valid points, but if they would be acceptable to his sire, especially since his sire had had his spark, or rather Prowl’s spark set on a merge with Ultra Magnus, was doubtful. “We will have to wait and see if our House accepts him. That he has the audial and respect of the Prime may account for something, though it would never completely make up for his lack of nobility.”

“I still don’t get it. His lineage has existed as long as ours, he simply has no House or riches to back his up. But he is still a living being.”

“Bluestreak, enough.” Smokescreen leveled him with a stern glare. “I will discuss Prowl’s situation with Sire when I report to him, and I thank-you for the points you have named, I will definitely be able to find something useful out of them, but for now I think it is safe if we do not discuss th–“

The door chime sounded and Prowl glanced up, doorwings flaring as his chest tightened.

“Are you expecting guests?” Smokescreen asked as he stood, doorwings flared wide in display of threat-protect.

“No, I am not.” Prowl stood with Drift, the sparkling happily drinking his cube. He took a couple of steps towards his room, making sure his field was stable so as not to disturb Drift.

“Go to the room, I’ll answer the door.” Smokescreen strode to the door as Bluestreak jogged to Prowl, gently ushering him to the room.

Prowl stopped once inside his room and flared his doorwings. If it were any member of the command team, they would have commed him ahead of time to warn him. It wouldn’t be Jazz; firstly, the mech wouldn’t knock when he came home, secondly, he said he’ll comm Prowl once he was done.

He heard Smokescreen open the door, and he tensed, battle protocols coming on standby.

“My lord.” Smokescreen’s perfectly respectful tone gave nothing away.

“Why, Lord Smokescreen, this is an unexpected pleasure.”

Prowl shuttered his optics as he tried to place the unfamiliar voice. He was not as familiar with the nobility as was Smokescreen.

“The same my lord, I was unaware you and Lord Prowl had an appointment.”

“Ah, yes, I am here unannounced, but on rather an urgent matter. Is his lordship available for private discourse? I mean you no insult, but the matter is private.”

Recognition hit and Prowl clenched his denta. He handed Drift to Bluestreak. “Stay here, and don’t reveal yourself.” He entered the living room. He bowed his helm.

“Senator Proteus. An unexpected pleasure.”

Chapter Text

Choices we make 48

Prowl turned to Smokescreen. “I beg your pardon, Lord Smokescreen, but perhaps this conversation should be made in private?” His doorwings dipped in apology and his mouth tightened. Only his training as a gentlemech halted him from asking the senator to leave.

Smokescreen glanced at Prowl, his optics a shade darker than normal even as his doorwings levelled. He dipped his helm, but his usual fluid movements gave way to briskness that indicated his displeasure. None of it showed as he spoke, “Would you have me wait in your rooms, or would you prefer I leave the premises?”

Prowl flicked his doorwings back. “If it pleases you, my rooms will suffice. I trust this conversation would not be of extended duration?” He turned back to Senator Proteus, schooling his features. Inside unease coiled deep in his tanks. Why would the senator go to such lengths to see him at his personal apartments? It was skimming the boundaries of propriety to arrive without an appointment, much less so without an invitation. And he doubted the Prime would look favourably on this visit.

“Of course, if you would excuse me?” Smokescreen bowed to Senator Proteus, who returned the gesture. He walked past Prowl, gave a curt nod in understanding, and vanished into Prowl’s rooms.

Prowl’s doorwings twitched as the door shut, every creator protocol flaring in him to protect what was his. Iron will kept them in check. He drew a vent, ignoring the unease. “May I offer you a seat? Or some refreshments?” Prowl motioned to one of the high-back chairs.

Senator Proteus for all his bulk moved as gracefully as a dancer and seated himself, venting. He held up his hand, smile soft. “No, thank-you, I enjoyed some refreshments earlier and I have a dinner scheduled. Also, I would not wish to inconvenience you.” He glanced around the apartment, his optics resting for a few clicks on the closed door that led to Prowl’s personal room. Prowl’s plating bristled.

“Do you not have a pedemech?” The senator frowned as he relaxed back into a comfortable position. “I was quite surprised when Lord Smokescreen opened the door.”

Prowl might not have mingled with nobility and the mechs of the higher echelons, but he recognized a veiled insult when he heard it. His doorwing twitched and he forced his lips into something resembling a smile. That he failed miserably didn’t bother him at all. “I apologise for the lack of decorum, Senator, however after recent events and with my arrival so fresh on Cybertron, I have not as yet requested a pedemech’s services.”

“Ah, of course. My apologies, my lord, that was rather rude of me.” Proteus dipped his helm, hands folding on his lap. “I am simply surprised that you are able to cope alone with the current…circumstances. But if it please you I can assign a very trustworthy mech to assist you. Very discreet, too.” He smiled warmly, his optics lighting up as he leaned forward.

Prowl’s tac-net kicked into high-gear. There was something not right with this mech. His offer seemed genuine. Too genuine. Politicians never offered anything for free. He raised his chin, calculating optics analyzing the mech before him.

“Senator, I appreciate that you have gone to the trouble of coming to visit me, but may I request as to the nature of this visit?” It was rude, but Prowl was not feeling benevolent towards this mech. Other than being a politician, this mech was also one of the Council members, and as such part of Prowl’s tribunal. It was not strictly ethical for him to be here before the trial was to commence, much less offer personal assistance.

“Of course, I realise you must be exhausted,” came the silky voice, “But I do deem this visit necessary. I admit that I am at fault for not following proper procedures, but I felt that this discussion could not wait.”

Prowl silently waited for the senator to continue.

Proteus raised an optic ridge at the silence, then shrugged a shoulder and drew a deep vent. “I am aware of your sparkling, my lord.”

Battle protocols flared to life and Prowl ruthlessly shut them down. Proteus-threat-reject-Proteus-neutral. He shifted in his seat, his armour flaring in warning. Of course you would know. You are part of the tribunal. But why are you here? Prowl raised his doorwings in warning for the senator to tread carefully.

Proteus watched him keenly, the oily smile only spreading as he shook his helm. “I see your carrier protocols are fully functioning. I promise I mean you no harm.” He lifted his hands and flattend his armour, opening himself up for inspection.

Prowl focused blazing optics on him, but didn’t relax his posture. His fists balled. It would be disastrous to draw his weapon. And unnecessary.

Senator Proteus let his hands drop, but kept them open and in Prowl’s sight. “Once more, my lord, I mean no harm. In fact, I have come with a proposal if you would be willing to listen?”

“If I am not?” Prowl lifted his chin, optics narrowed in challenge.

The senator narrowed his optics in return, the smile slipping. “My lord, this proposal could keep you and your youngling together. You do realise the senate has the power to separate you and the sparkling, dependent on the verdict?”

Energon drained from Prowl’s face as coldness washed through him. He recognized a threat when he heard it. The coldness was replaced by searing anger. He swallowed and nodded curtly. For now, he would play along, but this would not be forgotten. In a voice as warm as the glaciers on the Manganese Mountains, he answered, “Very well, senator, what is this proposal?”

The smile returned, but the optics held their edge. “Our Houses have not always been close, however, we bare each other no enmity and on occasion we have helped each other. I wish you to see this as an attempt to help you. Please know that it is not my intention to intimidate you, but simply to give you an option.”

“Please, senator, get to the point.” Prowl was past the point of any propriety.

The senator drew a deep vent and shook his helm. “Really, my lord. You need to work on your decorum. Lord Smokescreen is far more able in social discussion.”

Prowl’s fists tightened as he clamped down the urge to order the senator to leave, or better yet, to shoot him. He did not need enemies in the council, but Primus knew his patience was stretched far too thin already.

“But to continue with my proposal. I have land on Combatron. It is at the edges of Autobot space, and far from Decepticon activities. I offer you my protection and resources, including medical resources for both yourself and the youngling, and should you so desire, the sire.”

The sire. Prowl narrowed his optics as his battle computer chased that thread and its implications.

The same oily smile curled the senator’s lips and his voice softened. “Furthermore, I offer the best educators for the youngling in both the trivium and martial arts. He will lack nothing, and neither will you. I shall provide transport for you to the planet in my own private shuttle.”

“Why?” Prowl’s icy voice cut the senator off. Why the proposal? What would you gain? Unless you are hiding something? Another thread appeared; his processor gave chase.

Proteus canted his helm at Prowl, confusion momentarily marring his features. “Why?”

“What would you gain if I accepted this ‘proposal’?” Prowl leaned forward, his back ramrod straight and doorwings arched high. The senator had a motive; Prowl wanted to know what it was.

Another dramatic sigh escaped the senator as he raised his optics sky-wards. “My dear lord Prowl, not everything in this life has to do with politics or personal gain.” He focused again on Prowl. “Carriers are a blessing, and as such they need to be protected. I have received alarming reports of the traumatic events of the past few decaorns, and I am concerned that a young carrier such as yourself had to have faced that. You realise that everything that happened to you is exactly the reason why we do not wish carriers to be part of the Autobot army.” His hand flapped as he shook his helm. “It is so dangerous. In the few decaorns that your sparkling have been with you, how many dangers have you faced? What if you had been killed? What if your sparkling had been killed?”

Prowl clamped his armour, but didn’t acknowledge the senator’s words as truth. For a moment his tac-net faltered as his creator protocols overrode it. He shuttered his optics, the terror he felt when he realized Drift was gone flared to life.

Senator Proteus sat up, tilting his helm as he tsked. “I cannot imagine how that must have made you feel. No one should endure that. No one.” He whispered. “I am honestly only looking after the well-being of our race. Our families go back decades. We look out for each other. You can’t go back to your compound at Praxus, it’s basically a military base. At Combatron you will be safe, and your sparkling too. I will treat you like one of my own.”

Prowl straightened as his desperate processor grasped at something to divert it away from the festering emotions. “Senator Proteus,” Colour returned to his cheeks as he drew from the insult, his iron control steadily beating back his creator protocols. “are you suggesting that my own House cannot provide for me?”

“Oh no! Of course not!” Senator Proteus threw his hands up as if to ward off the treacherous words, his chubby hands wringing. “I meant no such thing neither do I mean insult to your House. If your House has offered you the same protection, I will gladly cede, but my offer will remain. As a senator and a High Council member, I have influence that extends far beyond my House, and it is this protection that I wish to offer you and yours.”

Prowl canted his helm, his doorwings slanting in warning. “In return for what?” His tone warm enough to freeze any star.

Senator Proteus sighed, his mouth dipping down as he grasped his hands together. He stared at Prowl squarely. After a few moments, he nodded. “Very well. That you resign from the Autobots, immediately, before the tribune can commence.”

So that is it. Prowl flexed his fingers. The threads started coming together, but the tapestry was far from finished. He leaned forward as cold rage bubbled in him. He drew a slow vent, nostrils flaring. “I think it is time for you to leave.” He stated slowly.

“My lord, please consider. If the tribune starts, I cannot, and will not, alter the proceedings or be partial to your case. I have to consider the safety of all carriers before the position you hold within the Autobot army.” Senator Proteus straightened, his face grim. “I can only imagine that it must be a hard decision, but…”

Senator Proteus stopped abruptly as the door to the apartment slid open.

Prowl stood, irritation flashing through him at yet another intrusion. The irritation vanished in a blink of an optic as cold rushed through him. What are you doing here?

Jazz stopped at the threshold, his visor flashing in surprise as he took in the visitor.

Prowl glared at Jazz.

Proteus leaned back in his chair, optic ridges knit together thoughtfully as he twisted a large, jeweled ring.

“Commander Prowl, I’m sorry to interfere. I was unaware you were scheduled to have visitors.” He nodded at Senator Proteus as he moved deeper into the apartment, running a lazy digit over the back of the sofa as he kept his visor trained on Proteus.

“General, I was unaware that I was receiving any guests at all save for my family.” Prowl couldn’t keep the cold fury out of his voice. What was Jazz thinking? Was he thinking? He was supposed to have commed ahead of his coming.

“I apologise for the intrusion, sir.”

With the way Jazz’s jaw was set and his arms folded over his chassis, he looked anything but apologetic. Prowl flicked his doorwings at Jazz and turned back to Senator Proteus. “I apologise for the intrusion, Senator Proteus. General, is there a specific reason for this visit?” Prowl flattened his lips. Jazz could unnecessarily complicate things if he decided to be stubborn. Prowl was very aware that Jazz did not like the idea of remaining anonymous, but he hoped Jazz would trust him enough to respect his choice.

Jazz turned his gaze back to Prowl, the glow of his visor softening. “Unfortunately, yes. I am sorry for intruding on family time.”

At least that had been sincere. Prowl dipped his doorwings and nodded. “Senator, I must ask you to leave.”

Senator Proteus got up and lumbered with all the weight of Cybertron on his shoulders over to Prowl. He stopped and leaned towards him. “Please, consider my offer. It stands up until the joor the tribunal begins.” He stepped back and bowed. “My lord, thank-you for the visit. I am relieved to see you…”

The door chime sounded again and Prowl nearly cursed. Instead he shuttered his optics and vented slowly.

Jazz, however, did curse. “I thought you said you weren’t expecting anybot.” He grumbled as he skulked towards the door. He stopped at the keypad to check the identity of the latest visitors. “Ah for frag’s sake.” He slammed the door open.

“Oh, why uh, hi, sir. What are you doing here?”

Prowl lifted a hand and rubbed at his temple. Senator Proteus vented.

“I could ask the same of you.” Jazz barred the doorway, “Now you two have a reason for being here?”

“Sure, uh sir. Prime sent us. Told us we’re on sentry duty.”

“Sentry duty?” Senator Proteus whispered as he lifted an optic ridge at Prowl.

Annoyance lanced through Prowl faster than a thought through an empty helm. His doorwings arched high as he crossed his arms over his chassis.  “A valid question, senator. Now, please. I must deal with these…issues.” He motioned to the door and the senator had the good graces not to delay. Jazz swiftly leapt out of the way, dipping his helm in what could barely pass as respectful. He had already made his processor up that he did not like the senator, and Primus forbid he should show any signs of decorum towards him.

A pulse ticked in Prowl’s temple.

The Twins appeared even less gracious as they continued to bar his path, simply folding their arms over their chassis in perfect unison. Let it never be said the Twins couldn’t appear serious and intimidating at the same time.

Senator Proteus flared his armour and snarled at the Twins. “Out of my way. You should learn to show respect.”

Twin engines revved, but Jazz raised his hands to stop them. If there had been the slightest chance of Jazz acting civil towards Proteus, it had vanished like the morning mists before the blazing stars. He stepped up, his armour plating flared to match the senator’s. “Senator Proteus, Commander Prowl is not supposed to be visited by any of the Council members prior to his tribunal. I suggest you keep that in your processor, or else I’ll have to do the right thing and report it to the Prime.”

Senator Proteus bristled. “Yes, such bold words. It is obvious you come from the lower classes. This was a proper social call, something commonly done among the higher class, but of course I would not expect a mech originating from the lower dregs of society to understand that.”

Prowl growled and stepped forward. “Senator, I would appreciate it if you would not insult my guests in my own home.”

Senator Proteus half-turned towards Prowl, but his optics remained riveted to Jazz. “Of course, my lord. I beg your pardon.”

“Pardon not accepted. You keep in mind that no senator is above the law.” Jazz snapped as he motioned the Twins to get out of the way.

“General.” Prowl shuttered his optics, his spark racing and frame heating in embarrassment. Primus, could he not behave for a few breems?

Jazz snorted and stepped back. “Commander, the matter is urgent.”

Senator Proteus sniffed and stepped out, pushing past the two growling Twins as they watched him like barely restrained, starved mechanimals.

“Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, please give us a moment.” Prowl finally released the deep vent as the ache in his processor bloomed. Odd how the combination of the Twins and Jazz always managed to do that to him.

As soon as the doors shut, Prowl whirled on Jazz, doorwings flaring and spark pounding as all the suppressed emotions came clawing to the top. “What do you think are you doing?” He whispered, casting a glance at his closed bedroom door. Primus, please don’t let his brothers see him losing it like this.

“What any sire should be doing. Coming to visit my mate and sparkling, and meet my new family members.” Jazz shrugged as he leaned his hip against the couch, arms folded over his chassis as he studied Prowl.

Prowl pressed a fist against his forehelm, dragging a ragged vent through clenched jaws. “I asked you to comm me before you came here.”

“Why?” Jazz asked. “So you could bid your family goodbye?”

Prowl glared at him, his armour plating raising. Primus of all the orns Jazz had to choose to act like a complete youngling it had to be this orn! “Jazz, it is a sensitive topic. Do you have any idea of the complications you could cause? What if the senator connects us? I can’t – ”

“Prowl, you don’t have to. I’m not only here to meet your family.”

“Yes? Then why didn’t you comm?” Prowl paced, his fingers pressed against his helm. “Primus what if my sire had been here?”

“Prowler,” Jazz’s arms dropped as he moved closer, his demeanor serious as his field pulled in tight. “I know full well that I’m ‘of the lower dregs of society’, but – ”

Prowl shook his helm. “Jazz, it’s not like that.”

“Really? Then why would it have mattered if it was your sire? You ashamed of me?”

“No!” Prowl snapped, doorwings flaring as he spun round. “I’m not ashamed of you and I never will be!” He reached out and took Jazz’s hand, the ache in his processor spiking. “I don’t ever want you to think that! But there’s too much at stake.”

“Prowler…”

Prowl pressed a hand to his temple. “Please, I am…”

“Hey, shh, you’re cracking on me.”  Jazz pulled him into a hug, his EM field pulsing comfort-love-protect. “I know you’re stressed. ‘Tis why I’m here.”

Prowl’s frame went rigid, then slumped into the warmth and protection Jazz offered. He buried his helm in Jazz’s neck, fighting to get his emotions under control. Drift was safe. The senator was out. Jazz was here, the Twins were here, his brothers were here. Safe. No danger, no threat.

“I don’t trust the senator.” He whispered as his pulse soothed and his thoughts cleared. Jazz’s field continued to be his stability.

“We’ll talk about it soon, but not right now, not here. Too many potential audials.” Jazz ran his hands up and down Prowl’s back, the inbuilt magnets soothing. “You ok, lover?”

Prowl nodded as he stepped out of the warm embrace, nodding. “Thank you, and I apologise.” He dipped his doorwings in embarrassment as the creator protocols receded into their dormant state.

 “Don’t, Prowl. We’re mates. No pretending in front of each other.” Jazz reached out and traced a digit over his cheek. “You don’t have to bury all those feelings behind a mask of iron.”

Prowl’s lips twitched up at the corners and the tightness in his chest lessened. He looked at his room. “My brothers are here and you will meet them soon, but Jazz, I need you to understand that, had it been my sire, the insults Proteus hurled at you would have been mild in comparison. I do not think I can bare to hear my family speak ill of you, or outright tell me to choose between you. Not at this time. Please understand that.”

Jazz stared at Prowl, his mouth set. Finally, his lips tilted up. “Ok,” He cupped Prowl’s cheek and pressed their forehelms together. “But I will take care of you and I will face whatever insult I have too, and besides, nobles aren’t very creative when it gets to insults. You should see me insult a mech.”

Prowl raised his optic ridges and a small huff escaped him. “I don’t think my audials will remain functioning after that.” A flicker of a memory came to him and he frowned. “Which reminds me, my youngest brother, Bluestreak, is here. He is very impressionable. Please do not swear in front of him.”

Jazz chuckled as he stepped back. “I’ll behave.” He winked. “Now where’s our sparkling? Oh and don’t forget the two fraggers outside.”

“Jazz…” Prowl lifted an optic ridge at him in warning as he moved towards his rooms.

“What? Oh, yeah, sorry. I meant the Twins.”

Prowl shook his helm at the grin plastered on Jazz’s face. He drew another vent, hoping the conflict was over for the orn. He was so tired, emotionally and physically. Hopefully, Smokescreen would behave as well. Thank Primus for mechs like Bluestreak. That made one mech he didn’t need to worry about.

He keyed his door open and entered the room. Bluestreak sat on the sofa, gently bouncing Drift on his knee while Smokescreen stood at the window.

“What did he want? And who else is out there?” Smokescreen ambled over to him, his doorwings perked and optic ridges drawn deep over his knowing optics.

“Jazz is here, and apparently I’ve got two guards now.” Prowl walked over to Drift. The youngling clicked at him, a small whine escaping him. Bluestreak froze, not daring to move.

“Hush, little one. I am here.” Prowl picked Drift up and cradled him over his spark, murmuring softly.

“Ah, that’s so sweet.” Bluestreak’s shoulders sagged as he stared into the distance. His mouth tipped up at the corner. “I wish I could have a sparkling.” He murmured.

Smokescreen cocked an optic ridge at him, his lips tightening.

“Maybe one orn you will, Bluestreak, but not yet.” Prowl adjusted Drift so that he was comfortable, before glancing at Smokescreen. “Do you wish to meet Jazz?” And at least maintain some semblance of politeness.

Smokescreen drew a deep vent, his shoulders squaring. He held it then deliberately released it, shuttering his optics. “For your sake.” He motioned for the door.

“Ah, don’t worry Smokey. I’m sure he’s wonderful!” Bluestreak sprang up, twirling once and clasping his hands in front of him. “Shall we go?”

Prowl huffed, a smile pulling at his lips. “Yes, I do not want to keep Jazz waiting.”

Prowl watched as Bluestreak straightened his posture, the doorwings quivering in barely concealed excitement. Warmth filled his spark.

“After you, brother.” Smokescreen whispered. He lifted his chin, the challenge clear to read.

A little of the warmth Prowl felt gave way to apprehension. “Please.” He tipped his doorwing to touch Smokescreen’s. He needed Jazz to feel welcome by both his brothers. He nodded and walked ahead, closely followed by Bluestreak who nearly tripped over himself. Smokescreen followed some steps behind.

“Jazz?” Prowl called. Drift swung his little helm round, his small frame twisting as he cood in greeting.

Jazz grinned as he chirruped back at the youngling. His visor brightened as he observed the other two Praxians enter the room. Prowl swallowed and bowed his helm, spark spinning a little faster. “Jazz,” He half-turned to reveal his brothers, his doorwings arching back elegantly. “I would like to introduce you to my brothers, Smokescreen and Bluestreak.

“General.” Smokescreen bowed stiffly, his optics boring into Jazz. His doorwings pulled back and canted out, testing his dominance.

“My lord.” Jazz flared his armour in answer, visor flashing as he lowered his horns.

Prowl grit his denta and smothered the desire to growl at the both of them. Drift pressed into him, so instead he crooned gently. Really, he had asked the both of them so nicely to –

“You must really be special, seeing as Prowl likes you.” Bluestreak walked forward and extended both hands, his smile radiant.

Jazz blinked. Smokescreen covered his optics. Prowl wanted the ground to open up and swallow him.

“Bluestreak…” He swallowed, “that is not….” He stopped at Jazz’s chuckle.

“Well – Master Bluestreak, right? – judging by the circumstances I’d have to agree to your, uh, statement.” Jazz grinned as he lightly took the offered hands and like a perfect gentlemech bowed over them, before releasing and stepping back. “I’m delighted to meet you.”

“Likewise.” Bluestreak dipped his helm and peered through bright blue lenses, curiosity as plain to read as a sparkling’s datapad. “And you may call me Bluestreak.”

“Very elegant, Bluestreak.” Smokescreen drawled as he sauntered forward. Unlike Bluestreak, he did not extend his hand. He stopped next to Bluestreak and kept his gaze on Jazz, faceplate unreadable.

“Lord Smokescreen, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Even though the words were said with perfect intonation, Prowl knew that Jazz had forced them out. He flicked his doorwings in thanks and walked over to stand next to Jazz.

Once more a tiny helm popped up, a happy trill followed two scrawny arms as they reached for Jazz.

Like a switch being flipped, Jazz’s attitude morphed. “Hey sweetspark.” He reached over to gently take Drift, his field probing Prowl’s. Prowl smiled briefly at him as he handed Drift over. He still felt Smokescreen’s judging optics on them, but thankfully the older Praxian wasn’t flicking all the wrong switches.

“I have get a few pictures of the three of you together.” Bluestreak lifted his shoulder and swayed from side to side. “You look like such a happy family!”

“Sure.”

“No.”

Jazz glanced at Prowl, his facial expression unreadable. “Prowl – ” He folded his arms over Drift, shifting him to his other hip.

“It is too dangerous.” Prowl shook his helm. “At least at present.” He laid a finger on Jazz’s arm. “When the trial is over, I would like an official portrait, but there are too many variables at present.”

“Like Proteus’s little visit?” Jazz’s lips tightened. He straightened his back and looked over at Smokescreen.

Prowl could feel the rebellion flaring in Jazz’s field, and he pressed in, hoping Jazz would let Smokescreen be.

“I have to agree with Prowl, the family portrait can wait.” Smokescreen nodded, his voice and face perfectly schooled.

“Alright, we’ll let it be for now, but as soon as the – trial? – is over, I want a picture. And now that that is settled, who was that odious mech that disturbed us? I admit I don’t like the look of him. He reminds me of that one oaf who always comes to dinner parties that acts like the most decent gentlemech and then – ”

“Bluestreak, that is quite enough. I’m sure Jazz would not want to hear of all the gentlemechs that dine at the manor.” Smokescreen tilted his doorwings.

Jazz flattened his armour and dipped his helm.

::Please stop this behavior or I will ask you to leave.:: Prowl commed Smokescreen even as his own doorwings flared in response to the veiled insult. Really, this was unbecoming of his brother. Jazz was his choice.

“Well, whether he wants to hear it or not, he has no choice.” Bluestreak winked at Jazz as he moved closer, cooing at Drift as the sparkling clung to Jazz and watched Smokescreen with wide optics. “Hey, hey! Do you want to come to me?” Bluestreak extended his arm, only for Drift to turn his helm away and snuggle deeper into Jazz.

Bluestreak dropped his arms, a frown quickly replacing his smile.

“Don’t worry, Bluestreak. Just too much excitement at the moment.” Jazz shifted so that he could peer at Drift as he ran a comforting hand over his back.

“Indeed.” Prowl motioned to the living room. “Shall we take a seat?”

“Actually, no.” Jazz caught Prowl’s hand. “I need to leave soon. OP’s expecting me with a report, but I came to deliver some news first. Ratchet commed and said Red’s readings are picking up, and he’ll be able to take him out of medical stasis within an orn or two.”

Prowl’s shoulders dropped as he drew in a deep breath. “I am truly grateful to hear that. I have missed his presence.”

Jazz drew him closer and planted a kiss on his chevron. Prowl ignored the way Smokescreen’s engine revved and Bluestreak ‘awed’. His brothers could think what they want; this is what he loved of Jazz. His lips tipped up as Jazz pulled back and cuddled Drift.

“You probably want our sweetspark back?” Drift cooed as he drew a digit over Jazz’s armour plating, fascinated for the moment.

“It would be better if I took him, yes.” Prowl held out his hands to take Drift, but the little mech pressed himself into Jazz, a troubled trill escaping him. “I know, dearest. He will be back later.”

“Yeah, sweetspark. We can cuddle tonight.” Jazz hoisted Drift up and nuzzled his helm, before handing the whining sparkling back to Prowl.

The wine intensified as little arms reached for Jazz. Prowl held him tighter, rocking him gently back and forth.

Jazz turned to head to the door, but stopped. “Before I go, though. What did Proteus want?” Jazz visor darkened and his armour bristled.

“To make me an offer. I will send it through to you or discuss it with you this evening.” Prowl dipped his doorwings and drew a finger down Drift’s cheek. Drift gave another trill, reaching for Jazz.

Jazz smiled and reached for Drift, gently taking his little hand in his larger one. “I’ll be home later sweetspark.” He glanced at Prowl and stole a lingering kiss while completely ignoring Smokescreen’s delicate clearing of his vocalizer. He pulled away, a soft smile on his lips and a promise glinting in his visor. “Enjoy the visit.” ::Send the report to me asap. I’m on my way to OP with the info I got from Intel. And tonight we spend some time together.::

Prowl flicked his doorwings and glanced at Smokescreen, annoyance flaring at the blank façade his brother held. “I shall. Until this evening then.”

“Bye Jazz! I don’t know till what time we’ll be here but maybe we’ll see each other later? That would be very nice, since you are technically also my brother and therefore family and family should spend sufficient time together to ensure strong familial bonds.” Bluestreak dipped his helm and doorwings and beamed at Jazz.

“Until we meet again.” Was Smokescreen’s dampened reply.

Jazz cocked a grin at Smokescreen that had Prowl’s spark flip-flop. Primus, please don’t let Jazz do something…jazzish. He shifted Drift, hoping to get Jazz’s attention.

“Of course, my lord. And Bluestreak, next time we’ll have some proper time for visiting.” Jazz reached the door and palmed it open.

“Finally. Thought we’d rust out here. Didn’t even get so much as an energon cube.” A black helm popped in and gave a sloppy salute. “Hey Drift! Commander...and family.”

Prowl frowned as Sideswipe’s optics did a thorough up and down of Bluestreak, not even attempting to hide his appraisal. This would not do at all, especially not with Smokescreen’s current mood.

“Oooh.” Bluestreak’s doorwings shot up and his optics sparkled. “Uhm, hello.”

“Do not even think about it.” Smokescreen laid a hand on Bluestreak’s shoulder, his optics narrowing at Sideswipe.

“Sideswipe.” Prowl dipped his helm. Drift’s trills turned into a full-out screech as Jazz slipped through the door. “It’s alright, Drift. He’ll be back soon.”

“And that’s my cue to return to guard duty!” Sideswipe winked at Bluestreak as the door slipped closed.

*** Break

“What have we got so far?” Optimus steepled his fingers as he rested his large arms on the elaborate desk in his palace office. His optic ridges furrowed as he watched Elita One, Jazz and Ultra Magnus. The trial was set for three orns. Three orns and he had to set his case so that not only Prowl, but carriers in general would have the option of joining with the forces.

“Well, so far according to ancient law Cybertron does not allow for discrimination against frame type or sigma abilities. We could use that to our advantage.” Elita One leaned back in her seat, her graceful frame relaxing even as her optics shone.

Optimus knew that look; she had a plan. He arched an optic ridge, inviting her to continue, but Ultra Magnus stepped in.

“It means there is a possibility that we could argue that carrying can be considered as a sigma ability. Not as rare as some abilities, but not all mechs possess the ability to carry. That makes it a gift.”

Optimus pursed his lips. True. “To declare it as a sigma ability will take time and will also be a separate investigation. I do not believe we have the time for that.”

“Of course not, dearest.” Elita smiled at him, her expression coy. “But we have already set the works in motion. When I read of the ancient law, a law which we can remind the Council still stands, I started with enquiries as to the requirements of declaring something as a sigma gift. It appears that carrying fulfils those requirements, save for the fact that it does not solely benefit or enhances the mech to whom it belongs in a positive, personal way.”

“However,” Ultra Magnus once more stepped in as Elita paused, “It does benefit society as a whole, which is a subsection of that clause. Since life is regarded as sacred, especially in our current situation, having the ability to reproduce without means of the All Spark can absolutely be argued not only to be an advantage to the mech, but to society.”

Optimus glanced at Jazz, but the mech remained oddly silent, his face and field unreadable. Optimus vented and sat back in his chair, refocusing on his mate and Ultra Magnus. “Might I remind you that it was that last statement that led to the decision to exclude carriers from fighting in the war. They are, should we completely lose the ability to create sparks, our last resource for the continuation of our species. Hence, they need to be protected. It could strengthen the case to have them barred from military service.”

“Yes, my dear, but that does not mean that we have the right to take that choice away from them, and that is what it boils down to. Yes, we do want to protect them and keep them safe, but we also want to respect them as individuals who should be allowed to carry the consequences of their choices.” Elita sat back up, reaching for Optimus’s hand.

He let her take it, letting her warmth spread through him. “You are right, of course. It is simply to have the Council see it in that light.” Optimus turned to Jazz, his optics searching. The mech had been too quiet when he had arrived at the meeting. “Jazz, since you are directly affected by this, what is your opinion on the matter?”

Jazz pressed his lips together, an uncommon seriousness permeating his frame as he took his time staring at each of them. “Prime, if I had to be honest…” He drew a deep vent and tipped his helm back, visor dimming. “The thought of Prowl going out to a battle right now, or in any way being close to danger, is enough to make me go ballistic.” He rolled his helm forward. “But as much as I want to tuck both Prowl and Drift into some little ol’ safe hidey hole, that’s not what Prowl would want. He joined knowing he was a carrier, and he endured the nicknames of being a prick and a drone in part because he wouldn’t interface. It was his choice and if it wasn’t for me, then no bot would have been the wiser. So my question is, how many carriers are currently hiding in the Autobot army? They risk their lives every orn without us even knowing it, and to make it worse, if the very army they are fighting for finds out that they are carriers, they will be court-marshalled. What kinda thanks is that? How many ‘Prowls’ have we lost because he or she was a carrier? This trial is going to set a precedence, and the outcome will either cause us to lose a lot of mechs or gain a lot of mechs. Right now, I don’t think we can afford to lose a lot of mechs.”

The room fell into silence. It was odd, really, not being able to hear or feel the thrum of the Ark’s engines. Optimus turned to stare out of his window. In the distance he could barely make out her form. Who would have thought when she carried them into space that they would return to these changed circumstances? Forced to acknowledge that his decisions as a young prime had led to so much discrimination? Pressure on his hand had him turning back to Elita, her smile soft, yet so full of understanding. He returned the squeeze. “You are right, Jazz. Yet it remains a delicate situation. Hopefully, the Council will be in favor of our proposal.”

“Yeah, but…” Jazz puffed his armour and let it settle. He turned to look at each of them, and Optimus nodded encouragingly. “Prowl got an offer from one of the Council members to ‘disappear’.”

Optimus frowned as he released Elita’s hand, a thread of unease wounding its way through his internals. “Has one of the Council members visited Prowl?”

“Yeah. I checked on Prowl and Drift, and fortunately, or unfortunately, ran into Senator Proteus. He was trying to cut a deal with Prowler. I don’t like it. The only reason I’m sitting here quietly is because I know the Twins are keeping an optic on Prowl.” Jazz leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees.

“Why would you find it disagreeable?” Ultra Magnus pursed his lips, and Optimus was thankful that he posed the question. It wasn’t that he didn’t grasp what had Jazz upset, but his head of special operations often saw deeper meaning than he did, and he trusted the mech’s judgement.

“First off, the fragger wasn’t supposed to visit Prowl. No mech of the Council is since they can be seen as trying to influence the trial, which Proteus is actually guilty of. Second, why would he want to get rid of Prowl with no fanfare? Now don’t get me wrong, I don’t want Prowler going through this, but in my experience elites don’t do favours for nothing. So what’s the deal?”

“What do you mean ‘get rid of Prowl’?” Elita asked as she rested her chin on her propped up hand.

“Proteus offered Prowl a safe place to stay where all of his and Drift’s needs will be met in return for Prowl resigning before the tribunal.” Jazz flattened his lips, visor darkening as he tapped his fingers against each other. “Said he had ‘influence’ in the Council.”

“What kind of influence?” Ultra Magnus shook his helm. “Prowl has already handed in his resignation, according to my knowledge, yet he still has to stand for the tribunal.”

“That is correct.” Optimus agreed. “Although I have to confess that even though Prowl had handed in his resignation to me, I have not accepted it as yet. Therefore, he is currently on medical leave, and as you have correctly stated, his status within the Autobot army – whether on leave or resigned – has no, or is not supposed to have any influence on the trial.” He turned sharp optics on Jazz. “So that leaves us with a dilemma. Jazz, have you received any information from Intel?”

Intel’s situation still sat ill with Optimus. Despite his personal feelings on the matter, there was no evidence that Intel had been connected with the spy. That Jazz had decided to keep Intel ‘locked up’ for his own situation was something the Prime barely approved, and only because he trusted Jazz.

“Yes. And it ain’t good.” Jazz leveled him with a knowing look. “Prime, I know you don’t like that we’ve got him under supervision, but my suspicions were correct. Intel is Autobot, but he ain’t. From what I’ve been able to glean, he’s working for the Council. In what capacity, I don’t know. I still request that we  keep him for further questioning, and for his own safety. He has been acting – resigned – of late. Only the walking dead act like that.”

“You think he might be in danger?” Elita One cocked her helm.

Jazz pursed his lips, digits still tapping against each other. “Yeah.”

“Then, my dear, I suggest you leave him in Jazz’s capable and ethical hands.” Elita smiled at Jazz, her warning clear.

Jazz shrugged and looked back at Optimus. “Thing is, if Proteus can’t really influence the trial, why does he want Prowl to get on a ship? Surely he has to know that even if Prowl’s resignation is accepted he still has to face the consequences of his choices. I’m worried that Intel ain’t the only one in danger.” His armour bristled.

“Yes, that is what bothers me as well. Although, I am loath to think that he means harm to Prowl. We cannot have a divided Council.” Optimus shuttered his optics and drew a deep breath. Why couldn’t the Matrix simply give him a clear-cut answer? He was groping in the dark and it could cost so many more lives. Finally, he straightened and opened his optics. “We will proceed with caution. Jazz, you will guard Intel and see if he is willing to divulge any more information. We still have no evidence that he was involved in espionage. Elita, Ultra Magnus, we will continue with the court as discussed. We will focus on the rights and freedom of all mechs and deliver our proposed amendments to the law. The Twins will remain with Prowl as guards on my orders. They will be relieved by Jazz.”

Three affirmatives drifted through the room.

“That is all for now.”

Ultra Magnus hastily got up, bowed and left the room. Optimus waited until the door closed before he looked at Jazz, his spark constricting to see the normally jovial mech tied down with worry. He let his engine rumble soothingly. “Jazz, perhaps you should make your way to Prowl, unnoticed. If he is in danger, then it is best that your presence is not detected near him.”

Jazz nodded and pushed up. “Prime…”

The seriousness of his voice caught Optimus, and for a moment the thought flitted through his processor that Jazz was going to take Prowl and run. Do not run, Jazz, please do not run.  

Jazz looked down at his extended claws, tapping each sharp tip. “If Proteus does harm my family, I will kill him and everyone dear to him.” Jazz flattened his armour and left.

The door slid shut behind him, leaving Optimus and Elita alone. The room was stifling, but he was glad for her soothing presence.

“I…believe him.” Elita One glanced over at Optimus, her hand once more sliding to touch his.

Optimus vented deeply, disappointment warring with understanding. Jazz was letting his emotions cloud his judgement. They were Autobots, and they abided by the law despite personal feelings. Elita’s fingers wrapped themselves around his and he shuttered his optics, trying to imagine Elita with a youngling of their own. Tried to imagine anyone trying to hurt her.

Finally he looked at Elita, “If I were in his position, I would too.”

Chapter Text

Choice we make 49

Three decaorns later…

It was a perfectly sunny, fall orn. Cybertron’s star was receding slowly as the planet crawled further on its elliptical path, making the orns shorter but cooler. It was also known as a season that started with late afternoon acid storms, but there was no storm on this orn.

At least not on the outside. Prowl drew a vent as he stared out the window towards the dome in the centre of Iacon. It was the Council’s first sitting to discuss the verdict. His doorwings flicked and he swallowed. He should have been there to defend himself, instead he was on medical leave, officially being represented by the Prime of all mechs, and was not even allowed to receive audio transmissions. His tanks clenched as he drew a deep vent. This is preposterous. He turned away from the window and instead studied the interior of his room. The royal blue draping hung delicately from the large wrought-iron bed, while paintings adorned the walls. He turned his attention to the ornate lamps, the heavy doors, the dense carpet. Beautiful, but too lavish.

Prowl vented and turned back to the window. He missed the small quarters he had on the Ark. No frills. Functional. No clutter. Vorns on a ship made one used to the hard berth – the soft berth was verging on uncomfortable. He dragged a digit down the clear pane, his optics once more focusing on the dome where the Council met.

He should be there.

He tapped the window pane twice and turned around, padding to the small cot that had been placed close to the berth. He peered in, face softening at the sight of Drift recharging. “You are indeed lucky that you could recharge so easily.” He trailed a digit down the soft cheek, optics dim.

::Maybe you should learn from his example.::

Prowl glanced up, his spark flip-flopping.

Jazz leaned against the door, arms crossed and a smirk covering his handsome faceplate. Prowl swallowed as he straightened. A pang filled with longing, admiration and love shot through his spark as he watched his mate. His handsome, patient, understanding, and absolutely frustrating mate.

Jazz pushed away and walked towards him.

Prowl watched him, the strong gait, the assurance in each step he took. Desire filled him. How long had it been since they had had some quality time together?

“Jazz.” He whispered huskily, the corners of his lips twitching up as warmth spread through him. For the first time in what felt like vorns they were alone. Well, his optics darted to the recharging Drift, nearly alone. “Have you relieved the Twins of their sentry duty?” He stepped away from the cot, splaying his doorwings in open invitation and waited for Jazz.

“Jip.” Jazz’s visor glinted as they fell on his doorwings and he squared his shoulders, clearly understanding Prowl’s intentions. “Blue and Smokescreen?” He stopped close to him, running a single digit up his arm as he stared into Prowl’s optics.

Prowl moistened his lips, his plating tingled where Jazz had touched. “Smokescreen is showing Bluestreak around Iacon.”

An impish grin spread over his lover’s faceplate and Prowl tentatively raised his hand to rest on Jazz’s chassis. Primus how he has missed this. Jazz leaned in to place his lips next to Prowl’s audials and Prowl caught a whiff of his spicy scent. He shuttered his optics, letting the scent of Jazz swirl around him.

“Let’s hope Smokescreen doesn’t take him to the opera house.” His warm breath tingled Prowl’s audials and he shuttered his optics, lips parted.

“Yes, I would hate for my younger brother to be corrupted.”  Prowl gasped as Jazz ran a hand over his back, playing with a doorwing hinge. His temperature inched up. Primus, he hoped Jazz didn’t plan to tease him.

A soft chuckle escaped Jazz. “Hmmm, corrupted? How could watching mechs act and sing possibly corrupt a young mech as bright as Bluestreak?” He stepped closer, pressing his frame flush against Prowl’s.

Prowl felt the heat radiate through Jazz and his vents hitched. He turned his helm into Jazz, “Oh, I have a few possible,” he nipped at Jazz’s neck, “scenarios.”

He was met with an answering thrum from Jazz’s engine as the mech pressed himself into Prowl. “Care to show me?” Jazz’s lips trailed down his helm as he shoved him towards the berth.

“If you insist.” Prowl caught Jazz’s lips, nipping at the lower lip before Jazz claimed him, testing him.

“Hmm, I do,” Jazz mumbled as Prowl’s legs bumped against the berth. Jazz broke the kiss and pushed him down. He climbed onto the berth and leaned over Prowl, one arm supporting Prowl and the other himself. He ran a knuckle down Prowl’s cheek, gently shaking his helm as he searched Prowl’s face. “Primus, you’re so beautiful.” He leaned down and locked their lips.

Prowl moaned as he arched into Jazz, an arm circling his lover’s neck to draw him closer, his fans kicking in. “I don’t know what you see in me.” He gasped as Jazz twitched a sensitive wire.

Jazz pressed their forehelms together. “Everything worth fighting for.” He interlocked their hands, pushing his knee between Prowl’s legs to part them. “And so much more.”

 ***

Prowl snuggled closer to Jazz, savoring the warm, satiated frame spooning him. A lazy hand caressed his hip, twitched a doorwing while an experienced mouth nibbled at his audio.

“We should really do this more often.” Jazz whispered as his caresses became more possessive, arousal clear in his field.

Prowl smiled, turning his helm so that he could look into Jazz’s visor. Jazz covered his mouth in an intimate kiss. He withdrew, stroking a thumb over Prowl’s lips. Prowl kissed it.  “We should. I have missed you. I have missed ‘us’.” He shuttered his optics as he lay back into Jazz’s embrace, smile faltering as he thought back to the last few quartexes.

“Don’t go there, lover.” Jazz pulled him closer. “It’s over and we are here, right now, and we just had amazing interface’n, so stay with me for a few more moments.”

Prowl drew a vent, optics flitting back to the window as he shifted his doorwings into a more comfortable position. “They are at this moment determining my fate, Jazz. I cannot even be there to defend myself.”

“No,” a gentle hand stroked the white expanse of his doorwing in near worship. “But we trust Optimus. If there is anybot that can sway the Council, it’s OP.” Jazz’s field settled over him, strong and calm.

Prowl rolled his helm back and stared past Jazz at the ceiling. If only he could have as much trust in Optimus as Jazz had, but he knew politics. And he had missed Proteus’ deadline. One thing was for sure, Proteus had influence within the Council. He was ‘Old Energon’ as his House would say. And a noble mech slighted was one of the most vindictive, petty creatures in the galaxy.

He blinked as a hand waved in front of his optics and he arched an optic ridge at Jazz.

“Hey, you’re thinking too hard. Again.”

“I apologise, love.” Prowl turned his helm into Jazz, settling against his chassis to listen to the steady thrumming of his spark.

“No need to apologise, I just don’t want you stressing over something that you can’t control.” Jazz’s hand slipped back to his hip, the touches more focused as he slipped his digits into seams. “The proceedings the only thing you’re worried about?” A kiss planted on his shoulder, the warmth tingling and spreading through his frame. Being alone with Jazz, like this. It was a rare novelty. Jazz’s field growing more insistent with need – that was powerful.

Prowl vented and shuttered his optics. Should he ruin the moment and confide in Jazz his fears about Proteus? A tiny thread wound its way through his processor. For as loving and tender as Jazz might be, he was still a dangerous and powerful mech, trained to kill. He snorted. Maybe that’s why Smokescreen objected. If it all boiled down to it, Jazz was a killer, a murderer. He opened his optics. But so am I. In war, there are no innocents. His hand caught Jazz’s and positioned it closer to his inner thigh. Tempting. He smiled as Jazz’s engine revved in response. “No, but I have doubts about Proteus and what he might do. I do not know who his allies are. Smokescreen has been making discreet inquiries, but so far there are no untoward associations.”

“Well, if it makes you feel better, I got my mechs working on it, too.” Jazz slipped his hand behind Prowl’s neck, pulling him closer. “And if he threatens my family…”

Prowl did not need Jazz to finish that thought. He knew exactly what Jazz would do. Instead, he rolled onto his back, doorwings splayed for better access and opening himself for the fire he knew was coming. Jazz’s lips touched his lightly, tasting. Prowl moaned. The first ‘face had been good, but, like his lover, his frame wasn’t near sated enough. His pulse sped up.

The pressure on his lips suddenly changed. Jazz’s digits gripped his helm tightly. Prowl followed his directions, tipping his helm to the side and lips parting under his mate’s more insistent ones.

A moan sounded in the room.

Prowl didn’t care who it belonged to. The only thing he cared about was having Jazz inside him. Now. He reached for Jazz, deft digits slipping into seams. Jazz’s free hand slipped over a doorwing, caressing the sensitive appendage.

This time Prowl knew the moan belonged to him. He let his hands slide over Jazz’s plating, curling around back plating.

Jazz’s frame pressed down on his, one leg sliding between his parted thighs. Prowl instinctively thrust forward, grinding against the hot plating. “Mmm, yes,” he murmured against Jazz’s lips, hands sliding down to Jazz’s panel.

“Primus, Prowler,” Jazz’s deep voice whispered against his lips, his warm vents sending shivers up Prowl’s pulsating frame. Jazz pushed up into his hand, his EM field buzzing as charge built. Jazz’s mouth trailed over his neck to his audial. Shivers ran through his frame as hot vents caressed the sensitive spot behind his audial. “You are mine….”

Prowl’s entire being focused on the need to have Jazz inside of him, to have all of him. He slid his hands up the scarred back, pulling him closer. Cool air touched hot frames as Jazz parted his thighs. He drew nearer. He shuttered his optics, lips parted. Yes…

Click. Click. Chrrrr.

They froze. Prowl’s optics shot open. They met a lust-darkened visor.

Click.

“Drift…” Prowl held his vents, “Is he awake?” he whispered. Creator protocols flared to life. He tried to push Jazz off him.

“Wait. Don’t.” Jazz gripped his arms and held him in place. “Just wait a click.”

“I need to check on him.” He glanced towards the cot. Was he alright? “He’s been recharging longer than normal. What if he is ill?” Prowl felt like cursing. On the one hand his frame demanded Jazz finish but on the other…his sparkling needed him.  Primus, what if something was wrong? What if…he blinked. “Jazz, we cannot do this now. Get off!”

“Prowler,” He peeked over towards the cot. “He’s barely moving. I think he’s still in recharge.”

“Barely moving?” Jazz’s frame teased him with its heat, but images of Drift in the Ark’s medbay, barely moving and fighting for each vent, doused the flame. It was replaced by icy coldness. Why was Drift recharging so long? Even after the ruckous they had made earlier, Drift was still asleep. What if…Primus no! He flared his doorwings. There! Two sparksignatures. Drift was alive, but was he alright? “I need to get up. I need to go to him, please, Jazz.” Desperation bled into his field. He needed to know Drift was alright.

“Okay, okay.” Jazz rested his helm against Prowl’s, visor dark as his arms trembled under the strain to keep his frame off Prowl’s. For a moment, he wondered if Jazz was going to push the issue.

“Primus, how do bonded couples do this?” Jazz dragged in a heavy vent. Slowly he released Prowl’s hands, sliding backwards. Prowl struggled back, but couldn’t make optic contact. “Thank-you.”

Awkward silence filled the space between them. It took all the control he could muster not to jump off the berth. He watched as Jazz stood, and motioned towards the far side of the room. “I’m gonna head to the washracks.” No need to embarrass any of us any further. He turned, wiping a hand over his face.

Guilt stabbed at Prowl as he slid off the berth and hurried towards Drift, running a scan as he did. His optics drifted towards the retreating form of Jazz. “Will you be…alright?”

“Yeah, don’t worry I’ll take care of it.” Jazz waved him off as he disappeared behind the washrack doors.

Prowl shuttered his optics and swallowed. The scan beeped back. Drift’s temperature was colder than it should have been, but all else was normal. He opened his optics, drawing a deep vent as he reached for Drift, cuddling him against his chassis. His sparkling cooed, but otherwise remained recharging. Creator protocols settled. “We will have you warmer soon, my little one.” He smiled at his recharging sparkling, watching the tiny hands clench and unclench. He reached in for the soft mesh Drift was particularly fond of. It had been gifted by Elita One, and he made a mental note to once more thank her for the gift.

Prowl’s doorwings flicked as he heard the solvent flow in the washracks. Primus, he had messed that up royally. His own frame was still aching with need, more insistent now that his creator protocols had settled, but Drift’s needs came before his own. He checked his chronometer as Drift let out another click. He might as well prepare Drift’s energon, and maybe something for himself and Jazz as well.

He headed for the kitchen, Drift wrapped warmly in his mesh. He set the pre-mix into a specially-formed cube and added low-grade. How was he going to make this up to Jazz? He set the low-grade to heat on the hotplate. Drift liked it heated. Like Jazz. He retrieved two more cubes. It felt like every time they managed to get closer to each other, something would happen.

He poured the thick, syrupy mid-grade into the cubes and added sweetner to Jazz’s. He pressed his hand against his nasal ridge, his frame popping as it cooled. Drift snuggled closer, clicking.

“Shh, sweatspark.” Prowl pulled the mesh higher, tucking Drift in. The hotplate beeped and he headed to place Jazz’s cube on it. The bedroom doors slid upon and Jazz walked in, somewhat stiffly.

Prowl grimaced, his doorwings flicking in apology. He had no idea if Jazz would be angry or disappointed.

“Don’t look like Starscream pulled a one-upper on ya.” Jazz wagged his digit and walked closer.

“Jazz, I apologise.” Prowl cradled Drift closer to him as if the youngling was someone to shield behind.

“Nah, it’s ok Prowler. You can make up for it next time.” Jazz stopped in front of him and planted a kiss on his chevron.

Prowl’s fans clicked on. He groaned as he shuttered his optics, field tight with embarrassment.

“Hmmm, you don’t need to go take a cold shower?” Jazz smirked at him and reached for his cube on the hotplate, smugness radiating off him. Prowl narrowed his optics.

“I need you inside of me.” Prowl purred.

It had the desired effect as Jazz’s fans roared into high-gear. “That, Prowler, is just mean.” Jazz took a sip of his cube, his helm dipping towards Drift. “Oh, hey, look who’s up.”

Prowl glanced down and smiled as two recharge heavy optics zeroed in on him. Drift clicked again and reached out, his hand tapping Prowl’s chin. All thoughts of Jazz dropped as he watched his sparkling. “I take it you want your energon.” Prowl cooed, walking over to Jazz.

“You should be glad you’re holding Drift, otherwise you’ll be up on that table with your legs splayed.” Jazz whispered as he half-turned so Prowl could reach Drift’s energon.

“Really?” Prowl arched an optic ridge, a coy smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Somehow I cannot quite form an image of that.” He leaned across Jazz, making sure his frame touched the sensitive parts. “You will have to demonstrate.”

Jazz swallowed, his visor darkening. “You keep this up, and I’m gonna lose it.” He ran a digit down Prowl’s cheek and played with his lower lip.

A wail and two small fists pushing against Jazz broke the spell and Prowl reluctantly pulled back. “Alright little one. You are as impatient as your sire.” Prowl glanced at Jazz from under his ridges. “I promise, when he is back in recharge, you can take me in any position you want.”

“I’d like that. But while you leave my frame aching for you,” the visor winked, “what would you like in your energon? We could at least refuel together like a family.” He reached for one of the neatly stocked additors, tried to make out the label, then shrugged and poured some in for Prowl.

“As a family, Jazz.” Prowl held the cube as Drift drank. He smiled at the perplexed expression his mate sported. “We are a family, Jazz. Not in the traditional way, but we are a family. When everything is settled, and my verdict given, we could maybe decide to make it formal if no serious charges are given, otherwise –“

“We are a family.” Jazz smiled as he pushed away from the counter and headed to the living room, carrying Prowl’s energon as well. “I like that. And no need to worry about the laters. Let’s just take right now as it is and leave the future to worry about itself. Now come on, I saw an entertainment system in here that I’ve been dying to try out.”

Prowl followed Jazz at a more sedate pace, keeping Drift’s cube from shaking too much. The sparkling cooed as he drank, little drops of energon slipping from his lips.

Jazz placed their cubes on the coffee table and grabbed the remote, flicking it on. The entertainment system blared to life as Prowl took a seat next to Jazz.

“What…is that?” Jazz cocked his helm as he stared at the screen and the hordes of colourful sparklings running around a Cosmos-looking mech, doing some bizarre-looking moves.

“That would be the sparkling channel.” Prowl settled against Jazz. “Drift enjoys listening to them sing.” Amusement filtered through his EM field.

“So….can we change channels?” Jazz leaned over Prowl to look at Drift, but the sparkling was happily drinking his cube while staring wide-opticed at the screen. “Hmm.” He leaned back and placed his arm around Prowl’s shoulder while he grabbed his cube with the other. “Guess not.”

They watched in silence at the jumping, chirping sparklings on the screen, an off-key tune accompanying them every now and then as they ran around in beautiful crystal garden.

“It’s odd, you now. Staring at them like that. Almost makes you forget there’s a war on.” Jazz’s hand massaged Prowl’s shoulder, temptingly close to his doorwing. Prowl pressed into him, his field picking up the anger-regret-sadness that teaked through his mate’s field.

“One orn, Jazz, our sparklings will run in crystal gardens free from the threat of Decepticons.” Prowl turned his helm to look at Jazz in his visor. “It might take time, but it is achievable.”

Jazz’s lips curved into a soft smile and Prowl’s spark flipped. It was a rare smile, unlike the one he always flaunted to his friends and comrades. “You know, Prowler, I believe that too.”

Prowl pressed a kiss into his jaw.

“And yeah, I think we’ll have to practice making sparklings.” The talented hand pinched the tip of a sensitive, white doorwing, and Prowl flicked it playfully.

“Indeed we will. And I have been fitted with an inhibiter, so until it is removed, I shall not be able to form a newspark.” Prowl drew in a deep vent. It had not really been his preferred action, but Ratchet had made a strong case especially given that his spark would not be able to support another newspark for at least six centivorn. It was not such a long time span, considering the difference between himself and Bluestreak.

“Well,” Jazz squirmed and Prowl picked up the unease in his field, “You’re ok with that, right? I mean, you didn’t have one in before…”

“No, if I had one inserted they would have known my status as a carrier, and you and I would not be here having this conversation while holding our sparkling.” Prowl glanced over at the remote. The program was getting repetitive, perhaps there was something else that Drift could enjoy. “You can go through the channels, but please, no news, no violence, no foul language, no medical programs, no int – ”

“Ok got it, Prowler. No channel, but I can put on some nice vibes?” Jazz grabbed the remote and proceeded to flip through the music channels, finally settling on one of the more relaxed channels. “Ah yes, perfect evening!” He hugged Prowl to him as he leaned his helm back to rest on the couch. “Can’t believe I’m actually sitting here with…my family. Seams surreal. And best part of it is that there are no drills, no Autobots, no reports, no alarms, no Twins, no nothing. Just the three of us.”

“Do not let the Twins hear that you are glad to be rid of them. They will make it their goal to remain close to us.” Prowl motioned towards his cube and Jazz reached over to hand it to him.

“Nah mech, you just got to know the right buzzwords.” He chuckled as he relaxed again. “I just mention ‘Bluestreak’s at’ and poof! They’re gone.”

“Are you being serious?” Prowl’s optic ridges shot up. That would be interesting to observe. A smile curved his lips as he settled back into Jazz’s side.

“What you smiling about?” Jazz poked him, then let his hand slip to tap Drift’s olfactory.

“I am trying to imagine Smokescreen’s reaction to their presence. He is hoping for a good match for Bluestreak.”

“And the Twins ain’t a good match?”

The tone of Jazz’s voice had Prowl cocking his helm, worry weaving its way through him. “I did not state that they are not.”

“No, simply that they ain’t good enough for Bluestreak. Like I ain’t good enough for you.”

No, please not now. Prowl swallowed as Jazz tried to stand. He sat straight and placed a hand on Jazz’s upper arm. “Jazz, sit.”

“Gonna take the cubes to the kitchen.” Jazz shrugged as he glanced at Prowl, his EM field pulled tight.

“No, please sit a little while longer. I apologise if what I said upset you. It was not my intention.” Prowl pleaded. He had already pushed Jazz away once tonight, he’d be damned if he allowed it a second time. He expended his field, pushing as much acceptance-love-apology as he could. “We have to learn to talk openly about things. We cannot walk on shells around each other because of our different backgrounds.”

Jazz stared at him, mouth firm and shoulders pulled back. Finally, he vented and relaxed back. “Yeah your right. Sorry, love.” He expanded his field, engulfing Prowl’s. “Just…sick of the whole ‘treating you like lesser mechs’ slag.”

“I understand.” Drift squirmed and Prowl shifted him, then paused as he tilted his helm at Jazz. “Here, hold him for a bit. My arms are getting tired.”

“Huh? What?”

Prowl struggled not to chuckle at Jazz’s reaction. “Really, Jazz. You should hold him more often. It is good for the bond.” Prowl pushed Jazz back and gently laid Drift in his lap. He pulled a cubic toy out of his subspace and handed it to Drift. The sparkling cooed at it, but still unable to really grasp it.

“Now that Drift is sufficiently entertained and you will not dare move, we can discuss my comment.” Prowl leaned back on the sofa as he turned the volume of the music down. “Unfortunately, my family prefers to choose our mates. It has been our tradition and it ensures that the family lineage, finances, reputation and influence remain not only intact, but also increase with each generation. As eldest, Smokescreen’s match carries more weight. Mine, well, it would have been used for strategic alliances probably in the political sphere, thereby increasing influence rather than finances. As I am no longer available, Bluestreak would be expected to increase the family’s reputation.”

Jazz frowned, grumbling. “Sounds barbaric. Why can’t you simply choose for love? Like we did?” He relaxed with Drift, ensuring that the sparkling was comfortable.

Prowl warmed at the words. For love. He folded his hands on his lap, shrugging his doorwings. “It is not our way. When you are raised with those expectations, it becomes easier to accept it. Sometimes, the couple is fortunate that they fall in love. Other times, as horrible as it sounds, it is not uncommon to take a lover after one has produced an heir.”

“So Bluestreak could take the Twins as lovers, but only after he has produced an heir? That’s real fragged up, mech.” Jazz’s face scrunched up. “And I mean that heir is drawn from the Well anyway, so what difference does it really make?”

“It is…” Prowl rubbed his neck, “There are priests and rituals involved. In essence, you are right. There is no difference between the sparks save for the ceremonies, the frames and the circles they are raised in. That is what makes carriers so valuable to nobility. They can carry the CNA of their creators to a next generation, thereby cementing the lineage.”

“Hmm, so I’m the real lucky one? Your family’s probably thinking of using my helm for target practice?” Jazz smirked.

“I do not know the reaction of my family as yet. If Smokescreen is anything to go by, then I fear the reaction will not be a positive one. He is in discussion with my creators, but so far not a word.” Prowl reached over and touched Jazz’s hand, his optics softening. “But I have made my decision. You are my mate, and Drift is our sparkling. You are my family now.”

“Don’t underestimate Bluestreak. Primus, it’s hard to say ‘no’ to him. His sheer enthusiasm and naivety is…disturbing. Ya kinda wanna roll him up in mesh and tuck him away, if you know what I mean. If he spoke to your creators, I’m sure they’d see reason.”

“Yes, Bluestreak has a very unique way to approach my creators. Hopefully, he can negotiate with them if Smokescreen fails. You are after all not only a general, but also the third in command of the Autobot troops, confidant of the Prime….” Prowl let his voice trail away as he shifted closer. “But even so, traditions are the hardest to change. But with Optimus, I believe we are heading for a better Cybertron.”

Jazz nodded as he closed his hand over Prowl’s. “Optimus is changing Cybertron for the better. He is fighting, we are fighting for more than the Cons. We are fighting for equality. We are fighting for the right of every sentient creation to choose its own path without judgement or restrictions, and that includes carriers. Might take some time, but it will change.”

“I should write that down for one of the Prime’s speeches.” Prowl smiled, his thumb gently caressing Jazz’s hand.

A soft chuckle escaped his lover. “As long as you don’t tell anybot it was me. Not really the Jazz-mechs’ style.”

Prowl shook his helm, “I will be sure to say that it’s his original words.”

The door chime pinged and Prowl glanced up. Jazz froze, dropping his optics down to Drift. “Do you want to take him?”

“No, keep him. I will see who it is and send you a comm if you need to take him to the room.” Prowl gracefully stood, checking his armour for scuffs. Hmmm, a few marks, but presentable. He glanced at Jazz.  Presentable. He straightened his posture and marched to the door.

He checked the keypad and vented, nervous tendril snaking their way over his frame. ::It is the Prime.:: He drew in a steeling vent, doorwings held high as he sent the order for the door to open. “Welcome, Prime.”

Optimus stepped in, bowing his helm as his piercing blue optics landed on Prowl. “Thank you, Prowl. I apologise for not visiting you during the trial, but as you can imagine it was a delicate situation.” His expression softened as he nodded to him. “You are looking well.”

“Thank you, Optimus. Having Jazz with me, knowing Drift is safe and the absence of the Twin’s antics have aided.” Prowl bowed his helm, doorwings dipping in welcome. “Jazz is in the living room, holding Drift. Shall we join him?” All Prowl really wanted to do was demand Optimus tell him how the trial has been fairing, and if a verdict has been reached. Was that why Optimus was here? To warn him or maybe give him the summons? His tanks knotted and his throat pulled tight.Jazz has drift

Optimus, as if sensing his internal stress, placed a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Let us join him. I have promising news, although the final verdict has yet to be given.”

Some of the tension bled out of his field and Prowl nodded. He motioned to the living room. “Please.” He took the lead, opening the doors he had closed when he went to answer the entrance chime. Jazz glanced back up, his position exactly the same as when Prowl had left him. He didn’t stand up to greet the Prime, instead nodded his helm with a big grin and a cocky ‘Hey, OP. Sorry I ain’t getting up, but he’s pretty occupied and I don’t want to disturb him.” He indicated Drift.

Prowl subtly cocked an optic ridge at Jazz, debating if he should take Drift so that Jazz could demonstrate proper decorum. Lazy excuse. Jazz and Drift needed to bond more, yet his creator protocols needled him to hold that tiny frame as close to him as possible. A compromise. He went and stood next to Jazz until the Prime had taken a seat, and then he took his own next to Jazz and within easy reach of Drift.

He ignored Jazz’s careful glance. ::You may continue to hold him.::

Jazz huffed, ::Don’t mind holding him, lover. As long as you take him if he cries.:: He bounced his leg, Drift clicking happily at the new movement.

“You seem more…relaxed…with Drift than the last time I saw you together.” Optimus hid his smile behind his large hand, but the twinkle in his optics gave him away and Jazz pouted, glaring at the larger mech.

“Seriously? I was that bad?” Jazz cocked his helm at Prowl, smile reappearing. “Well, let’s say I’m doing better. It’s just he’s so small, you know. Delicate.”

“Well, you are used to handling explosives as well as Wheeljack’s more riskier invention.” Optimus settled back in his chair. “I consider those ‘delicate’ as well.”

“True.” Jazz chuckled and relaxed, his EM field lapping against Prowl’s.

“I will ignore that you have likened my sparkling to either an explosive or one of Wheeljack’s inventions.” Prowl folded his leg over the other, his digits gently touching Jazz’s leg. The need for physical contact continued to hum through him.

Optimus shrugged, holding his hands up in surrender while Jazz blew him a kiss. “I’m honestly thankful he ain’t one of those too, love.” Jazz nudged his hand with his leg, his arms tightening around Drift in a quick, soft hug.

“As am I.” Prowl turned to Optimus, doorwings tucking when he saw the mech observing them keenly. Of course! How could I be so rude? “I apologise, Optimus. Can I offer you anything to drink?”

Optimus shook his helm. “Thank you, but no.” He lapsed into silence, almost as if debating if he should say what he wanted. Prowl waited, trusting Optimus’s judgment. Finally, he steepled his hands. “If I may add, but it seems like you two are more at ease with each other than previously, as well.” Optimus noted, his deep voice laced with polite concern but also expectant hope.

Jazz shrugged, “We’re doing a lot better. Still have some adjusting to do, but we are settling into our roles. The alone time helps. No senators, underlings, Twins, brothers or reports.” Jazz said, glancing at Prowl from under his visor.

“Indeed. Although I would be lying if I said my processor does not stray to the proceedings.” Prowl fanned his doorwings, chin rising in enquiry even as the nervousness returned.

“I can imagine.” Optimus tilted his helm back, staring at the ceiling. “The verdict is being decided. Dai Atlas was chosen as the judge, seeing as I am involved in the proceedings. He is a very open-processed mech, and I believe he will make his decisions based on the facts. I have given numerous accounts of carriers being discriminated against, or that have been involved secretly in the war. Red Alert’s testimony also helped. Even though Ratchet refuses that he leave medbay, one of the MPs interviewed him. Elita One and Ultra Magnus were able to go into the merits of the law, and my argument was built on the same principles of democracy. Yet even so,” he paused, bring his focus back to the pair opposite him, “the majority of the Council is in favor of amending the law, but not abolishing it.”

Jazz adjusted his seating so that Drift rested against his chassis as he grabbed Prowl’s hand, squeezing it tight. “And Prowl?”

Prowl’s doorwings dipped as he tucked his chin, spark pounding. If they were not in favour of abolishing the law…

“Prowl, the Council is aware of the good that you have done for the Autobot cause. I will not lie when I say that they are angry at the perceived betrayal, but I do believe they understand why you hid your status. Red Alert’s testimony included a rather detailed rhetoric of why carriers hide their status. I could also attest that save for being medically booked off, your conduct and work quality were not altered by your carrying or by your status.” Optimus placed his arms on the armrest and drew a deep vent. “The final decision has yet to be made, but the majority of the Councilors refused your resignation and are in favour of finding an alternative role within the Autobots.”

Prowl swallowed and shuttered his optics, nodding. He pulled his EM field tight.

“So, what, are they going to demote him?” Jazz’s engine revved and Drift clicked as the toy he was playing with rolled off and onto the ground. A few more clicks followed as he turned his helm to try and follow it.

“Jazz, calm yourself. It could have been far worse.” Prowl leaned over and grabbed the toy, then reached over to take Drift. The sparkling clicked, but his optics were riveted to the colourful toy. Prowl settled him into the crook of his arm, then gave the toy back to him. Drift cooed his appreciation.

“The verdict still needs to be given. I am hopeful, however, that they will not remove my second in command. They know how difficult it is to find a mech you can truly trust.” Optimus smiled, but Prowl felt like he had been slapped.

“I lied to you and the others about my status, Optimus. I do not find that action worthy of any trust.” Prowl dropped his optics, drawing the oblivious Drift closer to him. He felt Jazz’s hand gently rub circles on his doorwings.

“Perhaps not, but then again it was I who proposed the law to the Council. I was biased in my approach, although I had meant no harm by it.” Optimus’s vent drew Prowl’s optics back up.

It was wrong to see the Prime apologetic, especially to him. He rolled his lips, then drew a quick vent. “No, Optimus, you did what you believed as a Prime to be in the best interest for the survival of our species. I cannot find blame in that, even though I do not agree with it.”

“Yet having proposed the law, I am still bound by the decision of the Council. I sincerely hope that it does not lead to your ruin, Prowl. It seems wrong to punish you for creating life.”

“We do not know the verdict yet, Optimus.” Prowl reminded him. Jazz slid closer to him, his steady EM field soothing over the small tendrils of defeat that managed to slip into his own field.

The Prime squirmed in his seat, and both Prowl and Jazz shot him worried glances. The Prime did not squirm. Jazz slid his arm over Prowl’s shoulder and drew him closer. “What else’s bothering ya, OP?”

“Well,” Optimus steepled his digits, optic ridges drawn close over his sharp optics. “The Council asked me the identity of the sire.”

Prowl’s face fell and he chanced a look at Jazz. His mate looked unaffected, but his field was pulled in tight. He pressed his lips together. Of course. Jazz wanted mechs to know he was the sire. 

“What did you tell them?” Jazz asked as he resumed massaging Prowl’s shoulder.

“That for the sake of the sparkling, you would like to keep it secret. Unfortunately, the Council demanded I tell them, and I had to comply.”

“So they know.” Prowl vented, doorwings dipping.

“Hey, Prowler. It ain’t that bad. At least it means I don’t have to sneak into my own home.” Jazz pinched him, his words aiming for light, but falling flat.

Prowl did not think there was anything humorous about the situation. “The sire has nothing to do with this case! I am guilty of hiding my status, not for getting sparked. They should have focused on that. This endangers my sparkling.” His voice was cold enough to freeze energon. How many times should Drift be endangered because someone else was not thinking for themselves? Drift stopped fingering his toy and glanced up, an upset trill escaping him. Prowl drew him closer, venting as his frame shook with suppressed emotions. He needed to get his field under control.

“We’ll protect him, Prowl.” Jazz soothed. “Just – ”

“Do not even try to tell me to calm down, Jazz.” Prowl snapped as he swung his helm round to glare at him. “Proteus is in that Council.”

“Prowl, we have no evidence that Proteus was or is involved in any sinister dealings.” Optimus crooned his engine.

“Of course we do not. Intel killed himself and Proteus has been on his guard.” Prowl turned his attention back to Optimus. He fingered the delicate mesh Drift was wrapped in. “Do they not understand that having two of the highest ranking mechs in the Autobot army as creators will place Drift in tremendous danger? You do not need to be a brilliant tactician to understand that equation.”

“Prowl.” Jazz’s tone held iron as he pulled Prowl back into the plush couch. “I ain’t gonna ask you to relax ‘cause I feel the same, but Optimus didn’t have a choice. If he remained quiet, where would we be then?”

“Jazz is right Prowl, I could not refuse and I did warn you that the possibility existed that I would have to reveal who he was.” Optimus rubbed his jaw. “They were definitely surprised by it at first, and same as you they realise the danger. That may work in your favour.”

“I don’t get slapped on the wrist for getting Prowler sparked?” Jazz leaned into Prowl, his other hand coming to rest on the white, slender hand picking at Drift’s mesh. Stop that.

“Unknown as yet, but I made it clear you were unaware of his status.” He turned back to Prowl, armour shifting in apology. “Jazz is relevant to this case and I believe to the verdict as well.”

Prowl’s vents stalled as hundreds of threads spun through his processor. One thread in particular had a nasty colour. “Why would they need Jazz’s designation?”

“Prowl, I do not know the verdict yet and I do not want you assuming the worst.” Optimus leaned forward.

Drift gave another trill, reaching for Prowl’s face. Prowl extracted his hand from Jazz’s to grab Drift’s, but he kept his optics pinned on Optimus. “Do they plan on taking Drift away from me?” His voice was low.

Jazz growled, and Drift’s big, blue optics stared at his sire. “It’s alright, sweetspark. Jazz is not upset at you.” Prowl purred his engine, hoping the sound will distract Drift. He was secretly pleased with Jazz’s response.

Optimus pursed his lips, his expression pulled tight in thought. “I think they intended that at first, but when they learned of the sire’s identity, I think they were less enthusiastic about it. We cannot afford to lose the both of you.” Optimus steepled his digits, calculating optics examining the small family before him.

“Damn fragging right they can’t afford to lose the both of us.” Jazz bit as he stroked Drift’s helm. The sparkling returned his attention to his colourful toy. “And the Bot’s sure as Unicron’s Pit can’t afford to lose Prowl’s tactical or logistical abilities. And how would that influence our base in Praxus? Nobles can be petty, and I mean that in the nicest of ways, Prowler.”

“I agree, although I doubt my sire would cause serious ramifications for the cause should I be removed.” Prowl turned to Optimus, “You do not need to concern yourself with my House’s allegiance. At most, they will disown me, but they will not deal underhandedly with the Autobots.”

“I agree with you, Prowl.” Optimus narrowed his optics, mouth opening slightly, and then he hesitated.

Prowl’s doorwings lifted and he shot a concerned glance at Jazz.

Jazz, to his credit, leaned back casually, one hand stroking Drift’s little chevron and the other one lightly resting on Prowl’s shoulder. “Something else?”

“Yes.” Optmus nodded. “I recently received a personal call from Lord Condor.” He said carefully.

Prowl stiffened. His sire had not yet contacted him. He drew a vent and released it slowly, waiting for the Prime to continue. Optimus was not one for dramatics, so no doubt he was structuring exactly what he wanted to say.

“He was…displeased…with how the situation was handled, and he apologized profusely that your status was not known. I hope you do not think me presumptions, but I informed him that I have given both my blessing and my acknowledgement of your union as one pleasing to me.”

“That ain’t presumptions, but next time maybe tell that to us first. Poor Prowler here’s stressing over his family’s approval, and society’s in general.”

“Jazz.” Prowl briefly shuttered his optics. This was another aspect of Jazz’s character that he still needed to adjust to – being so frank with mechs. Especially regarding personal matters.

Optimus’s ridges drew together and he lifted his chin. “I apologise. I was under the impression you were aware that I approved of your union, not that you require my approval.” He smiled, a teasing glint in his optics.

“Nah, but it’s good to have it.” Jazz smiled in return. “So what did his lordship say to that?”

Prowl tilted his helm, sharp optics studying the Prime. It grated on him, but he did require his sire’s approval. It would make things easier for the future, for the three of them.

“I think the situation was, on the whole, very unexpected, but I believe Lord Condor has the wisdom needed to adjust course.” He turned his optics to Prowl. “I believe it will not be long before he contacts you.”

Prowl swallowed and lowered his doorwings to a more neutral position. So his sire had informed Optimus that they had not yet spoken, and had only left the impression that he would contact his second heir. The verdict would probably determine the nature of the call. 

Optimus stood, drawing Prowl’s thoughts back to the present. He followed, shifting Drift to his other arm as Jazz stood and moved closer. Drift clicked angrily at being moved, splaying a hand towards Jazz.

Jazz chuckled, taking hold of his hand. “So young and already very opinionated. Gonna be a handful.”

“Yes, I can imagine.” Optimus drawled, but the fond smile softened the words.

They walked to the entrance door in silence. Prowl cradled Drift to him, and Jazz’s arm loosely slung around Prowl’s midsection. Prowl was tempted to shake it off for propriety’s sake, but Jazz’s field lapping soothingly against his own was too comforting and stable. He wasn’t too proud to admit he needed it.

They stopped at the door.

“The verdict will be given tomorrow. Whatever happens, you have my full support.” Optimus bowed his helm, and Prowl and Jazz returned the gesture.

“You know, OP, if they intend to separate us, we intend to run.” Jazz squared his shoulders, his visor dark as he stared at their leader. His field turned deadly with determination and protect-mine.

Prowl raised his helm and doorwings, although he kept his voice and field neutral. “We will protect what is ours. We fight for the Autobot cause because we believe in everything it stands for. I hope we can continue to believe in it.”

“I understand.” Optimus vented and in that moment looked vorns older. “But I sincerely hope that it will not be necessary. I have faith in the mechs making the decision.”

“I have faith in you, Boss Bot.” Jazz smiled and held out his fist. Prowl’s throat tightened at the gesture. It was something Jazz always did before a particularly dangerous mission.

Optimus pressed his lips together, optics lingering on Jazz’s outstretched hand. No doubt he understood - if the Council voted to remove Prowl, this was the last time he would lay optics on them. He raised his own and bumped fists. “Till all are one. I will see you tomorrow. Both of you.”

Optimus stepped out and the door slid shut behind him. He walked down the hallway to the elevator. He wasn’t surprised when Ironhide joined him. His guard was never far away. Thankfully, the older mech remained quiet, allowing Optimus to reminiscence.

The past few quartexes had changed so much. He had changed, the mechs closest to him had changed, and hopefully Cybertron would change for the better.

Why was it that choices, even those meant for the good of others, often caused the opposite? Life, indeed, was more than met the optic. Yet, no matter how cautious or well-meaning one tried to be, mistakes were inevitable. What matters is how we respond to it.

He smiled ruefully, thinking of his conversation with Lord Condor. The Icy Lord had indeed lived up to his nickname, but he had thawed a few degrees by the end of their call. Although it might be a while before Jazz is fully accepted into the household, Optimus was confident that his lordship was willing to create a contract between them and Jazz. Whether Jazz would be insulted by a contract regarding Prowl remains to be seen. Hopefully his bull-headed saboteur won’t fight millenniums-old traditions simply because he dislikes the method.

That they would accept a mech of Jazz’s background was already an achievement.

One change at a time.

And, Optimus mused to himself, he had to remember that with the Council as well. Small treads, but treads in the right direction. The Council won’t abolish the law, he was sure of that, but they were willing to make a compromise. An amendment. It was a start, and with time, the law might be abolished.

They got into the elevator and Ironhide pressed the command for the ground floor. He drew a deep vent and released it slowly.

“Next time, I want to see Drift.”

Optimus cocked an optic ridge at Ironhide, smiling. “Then perhaps you should knock and not skulk in the hallway.”

The old mech shrugged. “Next time. Think this time it was better that ya’ see ‘em alone.”

“A wise choice.” Optimus concurred. “Tomorrow will be a big orn for them, but I am positive that it will be a good orn.”

“I am positive that for most carriers, it would be a good orn.” Ironhide grinned, his cerulean optics brightened, then dimmed. “This is the Cybertron we are fighting for, Prime. Freedom ta choose our own paths. There will be many more battles to fight, both on the battlefield with guns and artillery, and in the Council, with laws and traditions. But we will win. Given time, we will win.”

Optimus smiled, turning to Ironhide as he laid a hand on his black shoulder. “And Cybertron will be a better place for it.”

Chapter Text

Epilogue

Jazz lay sprawled out on the couch as he listened to the rain as it tapped-tapped against the window relentlessly. The mournful wind howled around the edges and dark thunder rolled in the distance. He offlined his visor and puckered his lips. As a Poly he liked rain, but really? Of all the orns it had to rain it had to be this orn. Typical. Prowl had been silent all morning. Not his usual silence – nah. This heavy silence was the one where Prowl was brooding. And a brooding Prowl made Jazz nervous.

He onlined his visor and rolled off the couch, venting and stretching his shoulders. He sent the command for the entertainment centre to play background music and walked to the berthroom. He couldn’t blame Prowl. If ‘Raj or Hound saw him now he would probably also be labelled as ‘brooding’. He smiled as he saw Prowl seated on the berth next to Drift, playing with him. He took a picture capture.

Prowl glanced up from the berth at Jazz, before dropping his optics back to Drift. The sparkling lay on his chest, trying to reach a toy that Prowl placed just out of reach. His field was deliberately calm and encouraging, extended to caress Drift and urge him onwards.

Jazz stopped and pressed a kiss to Prowl’s chevron, sliding an arm around his mate in a quick hug. “How you holding up, babe?”

Prowl flicked his doorwing in dismissal. “As well as can be expected.”

The room lit up with a bright flash of lightening, and thunder rattled the windowpane.

Drift flinched, a small whine drifting through the air as the last echoes of thunder sounded. He stared wide-opticed at the window. Prowl rested a hand on Drift, crooning his engine in assurance. Drift yawned wide, shook his helm, and then turned his attention back to the toy.

“Quite an orn, huh.” Jazz released Prowl and sat on the berth so that Drift was between them. He snorted, a smile pulling at his lips as he watched his bitlit struggle to reach the toy. His gaze drifted to Prowl.

His spark thrummed. Slag, the mech really was a looker, and had a spark to match. He didn’t deserve a mech like this – and yet Prowl was his. And to think he had nearly screwed it up by running, but guess Primus was watching out for him and gave him a little something – or mech – to open his optics.

Prowl looked up and their optics met. The Praxian raised his optic ridge and tilted his helm.

Jazz smiled and used his digit to push the toy within reach of Drift’s tiny hands. The sparkling grabbed it, gave two happy clicks and dragged it to his mouth.

Prowl huffed, but didn’t move to take it away. A gentle smile pulled at his lips as he looked back at Jazz.

“Sometimes we all need a little help to get what we want.” Jazz reached out and cupped Prowl’s chin, running his thumb down the arched cheek. “Primus sure gave me a shove.”

::Hey, uh Jazz?::

Jazz drew a vent as he signalled Prowl he was receiving a comm. Trust Siders to ruin a moment.

Another flash of light and clap of thunder rattled the window. Drift dropped the toy and stretched his tiny fists out to his carrier.

Prowl gathered him up and signalled Jazz that he was going to put Drift to recharge.

::What’s up, Sides?:: Jazz got up and trotted over to the windows, closing the blinds and, blowing a kiss to Prowl, sauntered to the living room. The smooth tunes washed over him and drowned out the thunder.

::You got company coming, as in the form of a big, mean, scary Praxian. Pretty sure I’ve never seen him before, but uh, yeah…you can make up your own opinion…He’s good, though.::

::ETA?:: Jazz frowned and looked over his shoulder at the room. Seriously. Mechs had the worst timing of the vorn. Do they know how difficult an over-tired Drift could be? And by Praxian…his tanks coiled as he thought of one particular Praxian.

::A breem?::

Jazz bit back the sarcastic reply that sprung to his lips.  The entrance chime sounded.

::Make that less than a breem.:: Jazz drawled and cut the connection. He opened a line to Prowl. ::I’ll get it. You can join when Drift’s in recharge.::

::Who is it?::

::Not sure, but I’ll let ya know. Sides said he’s good.::

Jazz strode towards the door, squashing the seeds of trepidation. He had a pretty good idea who the Praxian was – and the mech better not try to throw his weight around in Jazz’s house. He palmed the door open with more force than necessary.

Jazz stared at the newcomer, lips pressed together tightly. He barred the entry way. Screw decorum. “You come in peace or not?”

The pitch-black Praxian lifted his chin and doorwings slightly, his piercing blue optics staring through Jazz, then up and down his frame. Appraising. Judging.

Jazz flared his armour and folded his arms over his chassis, helm lowering and jaw set in determination. No way he was backing down in his own house.

Broad, black shoulders squared and the Praxian narrowed his optics. “That depends on you, General.” His deep bass voice thrummed through Jazz as clear as the thunder rumbled outside.

Depends on me? He could do nothing to Jazz, but this mech had the power to disown Prowl, so for Prowl’s sake…Jazz flattened his armour. “If it depends on me, then I want peace. For me, for Drift, and especially for Prowl.”

The Praxian stared at Jazz, his stern expression frozen in place under a glinting, crimson chevron. “Prowl is my creation.”

“Prowl is my mate.”

He lifted his chin, mimicking the Praxian. This was one battle he wasn’t going to back away from. This was his home. Prowl’s sire had no authority here.

A navy doorwing twitched, and his Icy Lordship drew a deep vent. “I choose peace for our family lineage. You are no weakling.”

“Don’t know if I should take that as a back-handed compliment, but as long as you ain’t here to upset Prowl, you are welcome in this house.” Jazz stepped to the side and beckoned the mech in.

In all likelihood, this unannounced visit would probably upset Prowl.

“Jazz?” Prowl’s voice drifted through the room.

“Prowl’s been through a lot, lately. He could use his family’s support.” Jazz grumbled just as Prowl stepped into the entrance room, and halted.

Despite the sounds of pelting rain, howling wind and music floating in the air, the room fell into brittle silence as Prowl analysed the situation. He stepped forward, dipping his doorwings and helm in respect. “Lord Condor. Welcome to our home.”

For a brief moment Jazz thought the Icy Lord’s face softened, but it was gone so fast that Jazz might just as well have imagined it. He hoped he hadn’t.

“Prowl.” Unlike his creation, Condor didn’t bow his helm or flick his doorwings. Jazz cocked an optic ridge, but walked over to Prowl, halting next to him and well within his respectful ‘personal boundary’ – deliberately making a point.