It's Juuuuune!!
On my last fic post to ff.net I promised to post the next chapter of Star-crossed by/during June, even if I hadn't finished the editing the rest of the fic, yet. Well, it's June, and I wound up taking a bit of a break from editing. (Including this chapter, I have three chapters edited after finishing the last one.) The next one will definitely take a while, cause it's a Hell Chapter. (Chapter that came from hell, yupyupyup.)
On to the fic!
Title Star-crossed: Off Limits (29/36)
Characters/Pairings Prowl/Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, more as needed
Warning Forced upload, implications of torture
Summary We can never control who we fall in love with. Those determined to be together will let nothing stand in their way. This is one such pair.
Author s Note A Lamborghini's fuel capacity is listed at 100L (26 Gal). (Further research reveals that a Datsun only has a 65L (17 Gal) tank. Solidifying my theory that Prowl's shorter than the twins. ;) However an energon cube must fuel the larger models and have enough for the reserves of the smaller, plus these mechs quite likely have slightly more fuel capacity than a normal car. And now, I no longer remember what the exact amounts are. Hopefully the percentages after that make sense. O_o
Sooooo many thanks again to vermilionbird for betaing this chapter, and to Tia for the listening ear (and for her immense amount of patience).
Previously on Star-crossed
Prowl moved as soon as the Con had vanished; turning to Sunstreaker, and reaching up to guide the mech down.
Sunstreaker jerked away from his touch, his glare turning on Prowl. “You are. Fragging. Repaired.”
“Yes, Sunstreaker. Forty three point seven percent of my damage was repaired. ” Prowl said with more patience than he felt. He stood with one hand braced against the wall, while the other rubbed at his abused neck cables. “How extensively did they damage you this time? Sit.”
Sunstreaker only stood there, fists balled at his side. “What the slag is all this about, Prowl? What's going on?” Anger and distrust etched itself on his ragged, and yet still beautiful face.
Prowl sighed, letting his doorwings flick down again. “I don’t want to talk about this. Let me see to your damage. Answer my question.” Sunstreaker’s glare intensified. “Please.”
“Who the slag repaired you?” His engine growled. “Why did they repair you? You wanna answer that? Or is that something else we're not gonna talk about? He's taken you away twice now, and you haven't come back damaged.” Sunstreaker took one single menacing step toward the officer. “Did you betray us?” He took another step, forcing Prowl to back along the wall to stay out of his reach. “DID YOU SELL OUT MY BROTHER?”
Prowl staggered as though slapped. “Never.”
Sideswipe moaned, optics flaring briefly before fading out again. His fingers curled, scraping against the cell floor.
The two mechs glanced down, and Prowl moved closer to his lover.
Someone suddenly seized him from behind, gripping his jaw and twisting his head to one side. Strained cables pulled tight again, and Prowl's cheekguard clanked against a golden chestplate. “What?” Static hissed from his vocalizer, grunts at the aches and pains that pounded his damaged frame, but he didn’t fight. Prowl knew how easily the hands holding him could twist his head off.
“Don't you touch him. Traitor”
Prowl glanced toward Sideswipe. “That is a ridiculous accusation. Not only am I an Autobot, like you, but I'm an officer.” He couldn't even glare at the mech from this angle. “I love Sides, you know this. Why would I betray him?”
The hand yanked Prowl's head back, forcing the cables tighter. “No.”
Prowl's vocalizer buzzed from the strain. “No?”
“No, I don't know. I know he loves you. Primus I wish I didn't, but that fragger loves you so much it makes me wanna purge. But you? I don't know one slagging thing.”
Prowl slapped his hands over the warrior's and pinched and twisted the sensitive cables in his joints, pulling the yellow hands off his face. “I have never done anything without the best interests of the Autobot army and my soldiers in mind.” He pushed away from the golden chestplate, glaring at the warrior. “How can you accuse me of betraying you? And Sides? Primus Sunstreaker, do you think so little of me?” He paused, allowing Sunstreaker absorb his words.
“What have you been doing?” Sunstreaker grudgingly conceded, but his arms remained tight around the tactician.
Prowl glared at the wall, the only thing in his line of sight. He could predict Sunstreaker’s reaction already. “I bargained for your lives, for this cell together, and for the means to repair you.”
Sunstreaker shoved Prowl away, systems heaving with contained fury. “Fragging slagger!”
Prowl caught himself on the wall. His head sagging painfully. “Do you think I'm just going sit by while they torture you?” He turned, resting his canopy against the wall to relieve at least some of the weight off his freshly damaged leg. Still his legs wobbled and his energy readings flickered their warning lights in his HUD. “These are Decepticons. They would have left you in worse condition, or killed you.” He slid down the wall, hydraulics hissing with relief. Even his doorwings felt too heavy to hold up.
The warrior leaned forward, optics pale and narrowed. “You sold us out cheap, Prowl.”
“Cheap?” He spat the word out, but could force no other emotion through his vocalizer, so drained was he. “You think that your lives, and your well-being-your safety-is cheap?” Prowl searched listlessly within the mass of junk that littered the floor; scrapped wires and jagged pieces of metal ripped off of their bodies.
“Slag the Autobots, slag our cause, now that you and your lover are in danger. Is that the logic behind your decision? Whatever happened to being able to separate your personal life from your duty?”
“I am not slagging the Autobots simply because Sideswipe's in danger. I would have done this were I captured and had Tracks or Cliffjumper, or Hound, or Mirage with me. Anyone else, I would have made the same bargain.” Prowl glared at the golden mech, aware of how every rip and tear in his plating deformed the normally perfect specimen of Cybertronian beauty. “If, like Shockwave, all of my actions were solely dictated by logic, do you really think I would be on the Autobot side?” He closed his fingers around a thin handle, and drew a jerry-rigged tool out of the scrap. “Logic is not the only thing to determine my actions, or else I would never have cultivated a relationship with your brother. Have you forgotten that the Autobot cause is to save lives?”
Sunstreaker's lip curled, and he glared at the scraping tool in Prowl s hand. “Are you saying you think we have a pit's worth of a chance to get out of here?”
Prowl stared at Sunstreaker, smoothing his face into neutrality. “As long as we're functioning, there's always that one percent chance that we can escape.”
Sunstreaker scowled. “That's slagging acceptable to you? That's slagging reason enough to give up Autobot intel?”
Prowl stood, forcing power from less essential systems into his leg hydraulics, and took a step toward the inert twin. “I cannot sit by and watch him suffer, and not act to ease his pain, even if I can’t stop it altogether.”
Sunstreaker's foot slid out from the imposing column of his body, ostensibly blocking Prowl's path, as if the cramped quarters of the cell would offer any refuge. His arms crossed over his battered chest and he leaned forward. “If you're trying to convince me that you have a spark anywhere in that flimsy, mismatched frame of yours, you're going to have to try harder.”
Prowl huffed a laugh. “Same thing might be said about you.” Prowl shifted his weight, preparing to move around the golden mech.
Hydraulics hissed when Sunstreaker matched Prowl's movement.
Black and white doorwings flared out and he glared at the other mech. “Let me by, Sunstreaker.”
“Where are those slagging medical supplies you betrayed Sides for?”
Every system within Prowl's frame jolted. He ground his dental plates, his lips pulling back in a sneering grimace of his own. “They are called Decepticons for a reason, Sunstreaker.”
Sunstreaker didn't relent his glare, but he moved aside and let Prowl by. “Primus slaggit.”
“I agree.” Prowl knelt down, busying himself with tying off leaking energon lines and seeking out the electrical shorts he smelled. The mech's ventilators wheezed, strained and hissing with each wire that Prowl scraped clear. He felt around the gaping hole in Sideswipe's torso, measuring it with his eyes and pulling up prior measurements.
The Decepticons had ripped it open even more.
Without a repair kit he couldn't attempt to close the hole, all he'd managed to do was to pull out the broken wires and a few other minor fixes. Fortunately, the Decepticons had patched the worst of the damage, thinking Sideswipe's death meant Prowl's certain deactivation. Air hissed from somewhere within the wound. His fingers delved within the hole, seeking out remembered patches, and trying to find the new damage and how bad it was. Air rushed over his fingers and he paused staring at where his hand rested.
Sideswipe moaned, shifting away from Prowl, pushing at his hand.
Prowl muted his vocalizer to a whisper, stroking the red chestplate in what he hoped to be a reassuring manner. “Shh, it's okay.”
Sideswipe batted weakly at the hand probing into his wound.
Sunstreaker crouched down next to Prowl, reaching out to cup Sideswipe's cheek. “Stupid slagger,” he grumbled, vocalizer glitching with emotion.
Sideswipe's optics flickered again, powering on completely to look at his brother. He smiled without saying a word and rubbed his face into the comforting hand.
Prowl looked away, turning back to the problem he'd found. Air hissed out of one of Sideswipe's ventilators, escaping through a hole just out of Prowl's reach. He moved his hands over the red chest, knowing the location of each latch without even needing to pull up a schematic. Fully unlatched, he lifted the chest plate on its hinges.
Sunstreaker growled beside him.
Air whispered out of punctures in the ventilators, and coolant foamed lightly out of the edge. Prowl set to work, pinching the holes close to the best of his ability. He sat back after he finished, examining his work.
“You're no Ratchet,” Sunstreaker commented leaning forward to look over Prowl's welding.
“That is for certain. He needs a trained medic.” Prowl glanced at the arm hanging uselessly by Sunstreaker's side. “You, as well.” He closed the chestplate. “He also needs fuel.” A quick check of his own levels made him wince. Instead he looked to Sunstreaker. “What are your readings?”
“Enough.” Sunstreaker didn't elaborate, intent on the hand he stroked over Sideswipe’s face. Sideswipe stirred at the touch, black fingers clinging to gold.
“Think they'll bring any?” Sunstreaker turned a most pitiful face on Prowl, as open as the tactician had ever seen on him.
As if in answer to the question, an arm reached through the bars, and deposited a full cube.
“One?” Sunstreaker's face twisted into a scowl, and his voice rose indignantly. “How the frag do you expect us to fuel three mechs on one slotting cube?”
Prowl grabbed Sunstreaker's arm, forcing his face toward him. “Quiet.” His optics flashed, reflecting off the warrior's face, his voice a quiet hiss. “They don't need to be given a reason to take it back.”
Sunstreaker scowled but relented. He settled again, stroking his hands over as much of Sideswipe as he could reach.
Prowl watched the gold hands move over his lover's body with a twinge of envy. The entire time Prowl had worked on the red mech, Sideswipe had flinched away or startled at his touch.
Sunstreaker's touch, by contrast, seemed to relax any tension in his brother's joints.
Prowl stood, and retrieved the full cube, careful not to spill any of its precious contents. Sunstreaker wasn't about to leave his brother after Sideswipe sustained so much damage. Prowl knelt next to the twins, doorwings swaying with his continued efforts to remain steady.
“Sunstreaker, what's your fuel level?”
Sunstreaker glanced at Prowl. He pressed his lips together for a brief moment. “I said 'enough'. Give my portion to Sides.”
“Sunstreaker!” Prowl spat with all the force and authority his own waning levels could muster. “You will take your fuel, you will take the amount I tell you to, and you will process it like a good soldier.”
“Sides needs it more than I do. Let him have it.”
Prowl straightened, doorwings flaring at his side. “He needs you, more than you need to be stupid. Take the damned energon before I pour your portion down your intakes.” Prowl shoved the cube at Sunstreaker, holding it up to the golden mech's face until the warrior took the cube from him.
“Cut your fuse short, slaggit. There's not enough in there for all three of us!”
Prowl tilted his head, running the calculations through his processor with barely any pause. “There isn't, if we're looking to top off. Since we’re not, we're only seeking enough to survive, than there will be plenty. What is your fuel reading?” Prowl's tone left no room for more hassling.
“I'm hitting just at 15 percent. Think I got a leak though, so it's been dropping sorta fast.”
Prowl dimmed his optics as he pulled his mouth to the side. “37.5 liters should be enough then?” At Sunstreaker's nod, Prowl sighed in relief. “Locate that feed and cut it off. There's no need to waste fuel if it's not a vital system.”
Without answering, Sunstreaker lifted the cube to his lips and downed his allotted amount. He spat a little of the energon back into the cube before handing it over to Prowl.
Prowl ran another calculation to ensure there would be his intended amount for Sideswipe. He downed exactly 17.23 liters, spitting the excess back into the cube.
Prowl turned to the half-conscious mech in Sunstreaker's lap. The twin helped his brother sit up a little more.
Tapping his fingers against Sideswipe's jaw, Prowl spoke soothing words and tried to coax his mouth open.
Sunstreaker watched Prowl, amusement lighting optics. Golden hands pushed away white, and the warrior leaned down and whispered into his brother's audio receiver. Sideswipe focused on Sunstreaker for only an astrosecond, but opened his mouth for Prowl when coaxed again.
Prowl carefully poured the other 60 percent from the cube into the open mouth. He did his best not to indulge in the useless jealousy that he felt at Sunstreaker's ability to reach his brother. Still his systems twinged and grumbled as he recalled the memory file.
Emptied the cube faded from lack of power, and Sideswipe's optics faded on.
Something broke inside Prowl to see the mech focus on him first and a smile of recognition flash across his face.
“Prowl,” he said, his voice breaking and crackling, faint from pain.
Prowl matched Sideswipe's smile with one of his own, cupping his hands over the mech's shoulders. He glanced at Sunstreaker, before tugging his lover out of the yellow twin's arms.
Sunstreaker scowled, but relented his hold on his brother.
Sideswipe rested against Prowl's chestplate, his ventilations rushing over the tactician's neck. Prowl sat back a little more, drawing Sideswipe even closer to him. He held Sideswipe; silent, not knowing what he could say to comfort his lover. He knew that it hurt Sideswipe to be held like this; knew in the slow whine of his body, and the wince of his hands. But he had to hold him and touch him, and know that he would be all right.
He had to know that Sideswipe wouldn't always flinch away from his touch, and that he could comfort him just as well as his brother could.
Sideswipe could have pulled away, could have objected, and could have done any number of things to let either mech know that he didn't want to be touched or held.
But he seemed as content to lean against Prowl, as Prowl was to have him there.
Sunstreaker stayed by Prowl's side, having released Sideswipe, but never removing his hands.
Prowl easily detected the hand that had slid over to rest against the golden leg, and he didn't object, didn't try to hog Sideswipe all to himself. Much as he would have wanted to. He would never have done that to his lover.
Sideswipe's systems hummed into loud recharge. Prowl didn't move, not wanting to jostle the injured mech.
Sunstreaker grunted and slid closer to his brother. “Why don’t you recharge as well? I’ll keep watch, then we can work on my arm.”
Prowl looked at Sunstreaker from under his chevron, the demand to know why he thought he could operate without recharge lodged his vocalizer. The suspicious set to the warrior s mouth answered Prowl's question without him even needing to ask.
Sunstreaker still didn't trust him. He didn't trust Prowl with his helpless brother while they both recharged.
As if he needed another complication for this situation.
~*~*~*~
The touch of a hand on his doorwing snapped him online.
“Prowl?”
Prowl turned in alarm, wondering if something had happened to Sideswipe while he was in recharge? Peering over his shoulder at Sunstreaker’s calm demeanor, Prowl know that not to be the case. Still his processor didn’t slow down as he tried to understand why Sunstreaker would bring him online.
Sunstreaker silently tilted his head toward the corridor.
Prowl booted up his audio receptors, filtering out the static that came through at first until he finally made out the dull clanks of feet coming down the corridor. Prowl jolted upright, his doorwings shivering with the quick boot up of sensors and servos. Sideswipe still lie offline next to Prowl, not even moaning when the hole in his torso occasionally sparked and crackled. Shivers racked his frame, surges that burst through his systems from shorts throughout his frame.
Prowl glanced over at Sunstreaker who hadn't move since Prowl had shut down. “Did you get any recharge at all?”
Sunstreaker frowned at the tactician, his dim optics answering the question before he even had a chance to activate his vocalizer.
“We will discuss the issue later,” Prowl returned Sunstreaker’s glower with one of his own.
Two guards stopped at the entrance to their cell.
Prowl stiffened in alarm. Were they here to take the twins so soon? Would they give them no respite?
“You,” and the Decepticon pointed one long finger at the tactician, “get up and bring your aft over here.”
Sunstreaker's systems whirred from forced tension. He grabbed Prowl's elbow before the tactician could stand. Prowl looked back. He felt only mild relief that they weren't taking the warriors, for he did not relish contemplating what the Decepticons had in mind for him.
Sunstreaker gently tugged Prowl back against his shoulder. He leaned forward, resting his cheek against the back of the tactician's helmet.
The Decepticon's engine snarled. “Don't make me repeat myself, Autobot.”
Sunstreaker simply tightened his hold on Prowl's joint. “Don't do anything stupid,” he whispered harshly into Prowl’s audio receptor.
Prowl lifted a brow ridge. “I do believe you are confusing me with your brother.”
Sunstreaker harrumphed, but released Prowl's elbow. He leaned away, his lips pressed together in an unhappy mien.
Prowl stood, grazing the wall with his fingers to help keep his balance... His doorwing scraped against the wall with a squeal of metal.
The Decepticon powered down the bars as soon as the tactician came within a meter of the threshold. The larger one grabbed Prowl's doorwing, and yanked the tactician out of the cell and into the corridor. The force of the pull lifted Prowl briefly off his feet and he landed with a jolt. His knees nearly buckled and he staggered a few steps. Prowl widened his stance, refusing to give them the satisfaction of seeing him stumble, again.
The guards said nothing to him, or the other mech lying online in the cell. They both took hold of one of Prowl's arms and led him down the hall. Their fingers wrapped tightly around the square shape of his lower arm. Prowl had no choice but to follow, his feet left moving of their own volition.
The emptiness of the corridors never failed to intimidate Prowl. No enlisted hurried about their errands. None of the mechs off duty were around to stop and stare at the prisoner. The path between the cellblocks and the Commander's office wound through many hallways and up three lifts. Not once during Prowl's trips between the two destinations had they ever encountered a single Decepticon in the corridor. It made the entire base seemingly devoid of life, even though he knew it wasn’t. It was as though Vertigo intended that the lower ranks not know about their high-ranking prisoner.
Although they would surely know about and have access to the twins.
The door to Vertigo's office slid open and Prowl froze at recognizing the voice that emanated from the room. The two guards shoved Prowl through and he lurched forward another few steps, irritated at his seeming lack of balance. The guards prodded him forward, hands shoving painfully into seams and joints. Prowl growled, but walked before the guards. As he ascended the ramp, he locked every miniscule system to prevent them from shaking.
The main screen held Megatron's visage, his conversation with Vertigo cut short by Prowl's arrival. The tyrant's red optics flashed eagerly at the sight of the Autobot tactician. Prowl had to suppress the fear that surged through him. Never before had he even blinked when Megatron's face would appear on the other side of a comm. link. Yet never had he faced the tyrant as a prisoner, held captive (not hostage, prisoner) in a Decepticon stronghold (one that he had to admit would be far too difficult to risk a rescue against, if the Autobots had even found them yet), and disarmed to such an extent. Prowl glared at the screen. He remained unshackled, and unhindered by a block. He could think, and he knew fear would do him no more good on this battlefield than it did out where the missiles whistled by overhead, and laser fire littered the air. He would not allow the Decepticon (a mech like any other, despite his unnatural hate for anything and anyone he deemed less than him-and it would be easier to list that which he considered greater) the opportunity to instill such fear in him without due warrant. Megatron had done nothing yet, and Prowl only stood in his presence, his freedom a mockery before such force.
“Bring him closer,” Megatron rasped.
Part Two
On to the fic!
Title Star-crossed: Off Limits (29/36)
Characters/Pairings Prowl/Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, more as needed
Warning Forced upload, implications of torture
Summary We can never control who we fall in love with. Those determined to be together will let nothing stand in their way. This is one such pair.
Author s Note A Lamborghini's fuel capacity is listed at 100L (26 Gal). (Further research reveals that a Datsun only has a 65L (17 Gal) tank. Solidifying my theory that Prowl's shorter than the twins. ;) However an energon cube must fuel the larger models and have enough for the reserves of the smaller, plus these mechs quite likely have slightly more fuel capacity than a normal car. And now, I no longer remember what the exact amounts are. Hopefully the percentages after that make sense. O_o
Sooooo many thanks again to vermilionbird for betaing this chapter, and to Tia for the listening ear (and for her immense amount of patience).
Previously on Star-crossed
Prowl moved as soon as the Con had vanished; turning to Sunstreaker, and reaching up to guide the mech down.
Sunstreaker jerked away from his touch, his glare turning on Prowl. “You are. Fragging. Repaired.”
“Yes, Sunstreaker. Forty three point seven percent of my damage was repaired. ” Prowl said with more patience than he felt. He stood with one hand braced against the wall, while the other rubbed at his abused neck cables. “How extensively did they damage you this time? Sit.”
Sunstreaker only stood there, fists balled at his side. “What the slag is all this about, Prowl? What's going on?” Anger and distrust etched itself on his ragged, and yet still beautiful face.
Prowl sighed, letting his doorwings flick down again. “I don’t want to talk about this. Let me see to your damage. Answer my question.” Sunstreaker’s glare intensified. “Please.”
“Who the slag repaired you?” His engine growled. “Why did they repair you? You wanna answer that? Or is that something else we're not gonna talk about? He's taken you away twice now, and you haven't come back damaged.” Sunstreaker took one single menacing step toward the officer. “Did you betray us?” He took another step, forcing Prowl to back along the wall to stay out of his reach. “DID YOU SELL OUT MY BROTHER?”
Prowl staggered as though slapped. “Never.”
Sideswipe moaned, optics flaring briefly before fading out again. His fingers curled, scraping against the cell floor.
The two mechs glanced down, and Prowl moved closer to his lover.
Someone suddenly seized him from behind, gripping his jaw and twisting his head to one side. Strained cables pulled tight again, and Prowl's cheekguard clanked against a golden chestplate. “What?” Static hissed from his vocalizer, grunts at the aches and pains that pounded his damaged frame, but he didn’t fight. Prowl knew how easily the hands holding him could twist his head off.
“Don't you touch him. Traitor”
Prowl glanced toward Sideswipe. “That is a ridiculous accusation. Not only am I an Autobot, like you, but I'm an officer.” He couldn't even glare at the mech from this angle. “I love Sides, you know this. Why would I betray him?”
The hand yanked Prowl's head back, forcing the cables tighter. “No.”
Prowl's vocalizer buzzed from the strain. “No?”
“No, I don't know. I know he loves you. Primus I wish I didn't, but that fragger loves you so much it makes me wanna purge. But you? I don't know one slagging thing.”
Prowl slapped his hands over the warrior's and pinched and twisted the sensitive cables in his joints, pulling the yellow hands off his face. “I have never done anything without the best interests of the Autobot army and my soldiers in mind.” He pushed away from the golden chestplate, glaring at the warrior. “How can you accuse me of betraying you? And Sides? Primus Sunstreaker, do you think so little of me?” He paused, allowing Sunstreaker absorb his words.
“What have you been doing?” Sunstreaker grudgingly conceded, but his arms remained tight around the tactician.
Prowl glared at the wall, the only thing in his line of sight. He could predict Sunstreaker’s reaction already. “I bargained for your lives, for this cell together, and for the means to repair you.”
Sunstreaker shoved Prowl away, systems heaving with contained fury. “Fragging slagger!”
Prowl caught himself on the wall. His head sagging painfully. “Do you think I'm just going sit by while they torture you?” He turned, resting his canopy against the wall to relieve at least some of the weight off his freshly damaged leg. Still his legs wobbled and his energy readings flickered their warning lights in his HUD. “These are Decepticons. They would have left you in worse condition, or killed you.” He slid down the wall, hydraulics hissing with relief. Even his doorwings felt too heavy to hold up.
The warrior leaned forward, optics pale and narrowed. “You sold us out cheap, Prowl.”
“Cheap?” He spat the word out, but could force no other emotion through his vocalizer, so drained was he. “You think that your lives, and your well-being-your safety-is cheap?” Prowl searched listlessly within the mass of junk that littered the floor; scrapped wires and jagged pieces of metal ripped off of their bodies.
“Slag the Autobots, slag our cause, now that you and your lover are in danger. Is that the logic behind your decision? Whatever happened to being able to separate your personal life from your duty?”
“I am not slagging the Autobots simply because Sideswipe's in danger. I would have done this were I captured and had Tracks or Cliffjumper, or Hound, or Mirage with me. Anyone else, I would have made the same bargain.” Prowl glared at the golden mech, aware of how every rip and tear in his plating deformed the normally perfect specimen of Cybertronian beauty. “If, like Shockwave, all of my actions were solely dictated by logic, do you really think I would be on the Autobot side?” He closed his fingers around a thin handle, and drew a jerry-rigged tool out of the scrap. “Logic is not the only thing to determine my actions, or else I would never have cultivated a relationship with your brother. Have you forgotten that the Autobot cause is to save lives?”
Sunstreaker's lip curled, and he glared at the scraping tool in Prowl s hand. “Are you saying you think we have a pit's worth of a chance to get out of here?”
Prowl stared at Sunstreaker, smoothing his face into neutrality. “As long as we're functioning, there's always that one percent chance that we can escape.”
Sunstreaker scowled. “That's slagging acceptable to you? That's slagging reason enough to give up Autobot intel?”
Prowl stood, forcing power from less essential systems into his leg hydraulics, and took a step toward the inert twin. “I cannot sit by and watch him suffer, and not act to ease his pain, even if I can’t stop it altogether.”
Sunstreaker's foot slid out from the imposing column of his body, ostensibly blocking Prowl's path, as if the cramped quarters of the cell would offer any refuge. His arms crossed over his battered chest and he leaned forward. “If you're trying to convince me that you have a spark anywhere in that flimsy, mismatched frame of yours, you're going to have to try harder.”
Prowl huffed a laugh. “Same thing might be said about you.” Prowl shifted his weight, preparing to move around the golden mech.
Hydraulics hissed when Sunstreaker matched Prowl's movement.
Black and white doorwings flared out and he glared at the other mech. “Let me by, Sunstreaker.”
“Where are those slagging medical supplies you betrayed Sides for?”
Every system within Prowl's frame jolted. He ground his dental plates, his lips pulling back in a sneering grimace of his own. “They are called Decepticons for a reason, Sunstreaker.”
Sunstreaker didn't relent his glare, but he moved aside and let Prowl by. “Primus slaggit.”
“I agree.” Prowl knelt down, busying himself with tying off leaking energon lines and seeking out the electrical shorts he smelled. The mech's ventilators wheezed, strained and hissing with each wire that Prowl scraped clear. He felt around the gaping hole in Sideswipe's torso, measuring it with his eyes and pulling up prior measurements.
The Decepticons had ripped it open even more.
Without a repair kit he couldn't attempt to close the hole, all he'd managed to do was to pull out the broken wires and a few other minor fixes. Fortunately, the Decepticons had patched the worst of the damage, thinking Sideswipe's death meant Prowl's certain deactivation. Air hissed from somewhere within the wound. His fingers delved within the hole, seeking out remembered patches, and trying to find the new damage and how bad it was. Air rushed over his fingers and he paused staring at where his hand rested.
Sideswipe moaned, shifting away from Prowl, pushing at his hand.
Prowl muted his vocalizer to a whisper, stroking the red chestplate in what he hoped to be a reassuring manner. “Shh, it's okay.”
Sideswipe batted weakly at the hand probing into his wound.
Sunstreaker crouched down next to Prowl, reaching out to cup Sideswipe's cheek. “Stupid slagger,” he grumbled, vocalizer glitching with emotion.
Sideswipe's optics flickered again, powering on completely to look at his brother. He smiled without saying a word and rubbed his face into the comforting hand.
Prowl looked away, turning back to the problem he'd found. Air hissed out of one of Sideswipe's ventilators, escaping through a hole just out of Prowl's reach. He moved his hands over the red chest, knowing the location of each latch without even needing to pull up a schematic. Fully unlatched, he lifted the chest plate on its hinges.
Sunstreaker growled beside him.
Air whispered out of punctures in the ventilators, and coolant foamed lightly out of the edge. Prowl set to work, pinching the holes close to the best of his ability. He sat back after he finished, examining his work.
“You're no Ratchet,” Sunstreaker commented leaning forward to look over Prowl's welding.
“That is for certain. He needs a trained medic.” Prowl glanced at the arm hanging uselessly by Sunstreaker's side. “You, as well.” He closed the chestplate. “He also needs fuel.” A quick check of his own levels made him wince. Instead he looked to Sunstreaker. “What are your readings?”
“Enough.” Sunstreaker didn't elaborate, intent on the hand he stroked over Sideswipe’s face. Sideswipe stirred at the touch, black fingers clinging to gold.
“Think they'll bring any?” Sunstreaker turned a most pitiful face on Prowl, as open as the tactician had ever seen on him.
As if in answer to the question, an arm reached through the bars, and deposited a full cube.
“One?” Sunstreaker's face twisted into a scowl, and his voice rose indignantly. “How the frag do you expect us to fuel three mechs on one slotting cube?”
Prowl grabbed Sunstreaker's arm, forcing his face toward him. “Quiet.” His optics flashed, reflecting off the warrior's face, his voice a quiet hiss. “They don't need to be given a reason to take it back.”
Sunstreaker scowled but relented. He settled again, stroking his hands over as much of Sideswipe as he could reach.
Prowl watched the gold hands move over his lover's body with a twinge of envy. The entire time Prowl had worked on the red mech, Sideswipe had flinched away or startled at his touch.
Sunstreaker's touch, by contrast, seemed to relax any tension in his brother's joints.
Prowl stood, and retrieved the full cube, careful not to spill any of its precious contents. Sunstreaker wasn't about to leave his brother after Sideswipe sustained so much damage. Prowl knelt next to the twins, doorwings swaying with his continued efforts to remain steady.
“Sunstreaker, what's your fuel level?”
Sunstreaker glanced at Prowl. He pressed his lips together for a brief moment. “I said 'enough'. Give my portion to Sides.”
“Sunstreaker!” Prowl spat with all the force and authority his own waning levels could muster. “You will take your fuel, you will take the amount I tell you to, and you will process it like a good soldier.”
“Sides needs it more than I do. Let him have it.”
Prowl straightened, doorwings flaring at his side. “He needs you, more than you need to be stupid. Take the damned energon before I pour your portion down your intakes.” Prowl shoved the cube at Sunstreaker, holding it up to the golden mech's face until the warrior took the cube from him.
“Cut your fuse short, slaggit. There's not enough in there for all three of us!”
Prowl tilted his head, running the calculations through his processor with barely any pause. “There isn't, if we're looking to top off. Since we’re not, we're only seeking enough to survive, than there will be plenty. What is your fuel reading?” Prowl's tone left no room for more hassling.
“I'm hitting just at 15 percent. Think I got a leak though, so it's been dropping sorta fast.”
Prowl dimmed his optics as he pulled his mouth to the side. “37.5 liters should be enough then?” At Sunstreaker's nod, Prowl sighed in relief. “Locate that feed and cut it off. There's no need to waste fuel if it's not a vital system.”
Without answering, Sunstreaker lifted the cube to his lips and downed his allotted amount. He spat a little of the energon back into the cube before handing it over to Prowl.
Prowl ran another calculation to ensure there would be his intended amount for Sideswipe. He downed exactly 17.23 liters, spitting the excess back into the cube.
Prowl turned to the half-conscious mech in Sunstreaker's lap. The twin helped his brother sit up a little more.
Tapping his fingers against Sideswipe's jaw, Prowl spoke soothing words and tried to coax his mouth open.
Sunstreaker watched Prowl, amusement lighting optics. Golden hands pushed away white, and the warrior leaned down and whispered into his brother's audio receiver. Sideswipe focused on Sunstreaker for only an astrosecond, but opened his mouth for Prowl when coaxed again.
Prowl carefully poured the other 60 percent from the cube into the open mouth. He did his best not to indulge in the useless jealousy that he felt at Sunstreaker's ability to reach his brother. Still his systems twinged and grumbled as he recalled the memory file.
Emptied the cube faded from lack of power, and Sideswipe's optics faded on.
Something broke inside Prowl to see the mech focus on him first and a smile of recognition flash across his face.
“Prowl,” he said, his voice breaking and crackling, faint from pain.
Prowl matched Sideswipe's smile with one of his own, cupping his hands over the mech's shoulders. He glanced at Sunstreaker, before tugging his lover out of the yellow twin's arms.
Sunstreaker scowled, but relented his hold on his brother.
Sideswipe rested against Prowl's chestplate, his ventilations rushing over the tactician's neck. Prowl sat back a little more, drawing Sideswipe even closer to him. He held Sideswipe; silent, not knowing what he could say to comfort his lover. He knew that it hurt Sideswipe to be held like this; knew in the slow whine of his body, and the wince of his hands. But he had to hold him and touch him, and know that he would be all right.
He had to know that Sideswipe wouldn't always flinch away from his touch, and that he could comfort him just as well as his brother could.
Sideswipe could have pulled away, could have objected, and could have done any number of things to let either mech know that he didn't want to be touched or held.
But he seemed as content to lean against Prowl, as Prowl was to have him there.
Sunstreaker stayed by Prowl's side, having released Sideswipe, but never removing his hands.
Prowl easily detected the hand that had slid over to rest against the golden leg, and he didn't object, didn't try to hog Sideswipe all to himself. Much as he would have wanted to. He would never have done that to his lover.
Sideswipe's systems hummed into loud recharge. Prowl didn't move, not wanting to jostle the injured mech.
Sunstreaker grunted and slid closer to his brother. “Why don’t you recharge as well? I’ll keep watch, then we can work on my arm.”
Prowl looked at Sunstreaker from under his chevron, the demand to know why he thought he could operate without recharge lodged his vocalizer. The suspicious set to the warrior s mouth answered Prowl's question without him even needing to ask.
Sunstreaker still didn't trust him. He didn't trust Prowl with his helpless brother while they both recharged.
As if he needed another complication for this situation.
~*~*~*~
The touch of a hand on his doorwing snapped him online.
“Prowl?”
Prowl turned in alarm, wondering if something had happened to Sideswipe while he was in recharge? Peering over his shoulder at Sunstreaker’s calm demeanor, Prowl know that not to be the case. Still his processor didn’t slow down as he tried to understand why Sunstreaker would bring him online.
Sunstreaker silently tilted his head toward the corridor.
Prowl booted up his audio receptors, filtering out the static that came through at first until he finally made out the dull clanks of feet coming down the corridor. Prowl jolted upright, his doorwings shivering with the quick boot up of sensors and servos. Sideswipe still lie offline next to Prowl, not even moaning when the hole in his torso occasionally sparked and crackled. Shivers racked his frame, surges that burst through his systems from shorts throughout his frame.
Prowl glanced over at Sunstreaker who hadn't move since Prowl had shut down. “Did you get any recharge at all?”
Sunstreaker frowned at the tactician, his dim optics answering the question before he even had a chance to activate his vocalizer.
“We will discuss the issue later,” Prowl returned Sunstreaker’s glower with one of his own.
Two guards stopped at the entrance to their cell.
Prowl stiffened in alarm. Were they here to take the twins so soon? Would they give them no respite?
“You,” and the Decepticon pointed one long finger at the tactician, “get up and bring your aft over here.”
Sunstreaker's systems whirred from forced tension. He grabbed Prowl's elbow before the tactician could stand. Prowl looked back. He felt only mild relief that they weren't taking the warriors, for he did not relish contemplating what the Decepticons had in mind for him.
Sunstreaker gently tugged Prowl back against his shoulder. He leaned forward, resting his cheek against the back of the tactician's helmet.
The Decepticon's engine snarled. “Don't make me repeat myself, Autobot.”
Sunstreaker simply tightened his hold on Prowl's joint. “Don't do anything stupid,” he whispered harshly into Prowl’s audio receptor.
Prowl lifted a brow ridge. “I do believe you are confusing me with your brother.”
Sunstreaker harrumphed, but released Prowl's elbow. He leaned away, his lips pressed together in an unhappy mien.
Prowl stood, grazing the wall with his fingers to help keep his balance... His doorwing scraped against the wall with a squeal of metal.
The Decepticon powered down the bars as soon as the tactician came within a meter of the threshold. The larger one grabbed Prowl's doorwing, and yanked the tactician out of the cell and into the corridor. The force of the pull lifted Prowl briefly off his feet and he landed with a jolt. His knees nearly buckled and he staggered a few steps. Prowl widened his stance, refusing to give them the satisfaction of seeing him stumble, again.
The guards said nothing to him, or the other mech lying online in the cell. They both took hold of one of Prowl's arms and led him down the hall. Their fingers wrapped tightly around the square shape of his lower arm. Prowl had no choice but to follow, his feet left moving of their own volition.
The emptiness of the corridors never failed to intimidate Prowl. No enlisted hurried about their errands. None of the mechs off duty were around to stop and stare at the prisoner. The path between the cellblocks and the Commander's office wound through many hallways and up three lifts. Not once during Prowl's trips between the two destinations had they ever encountered a single Decepticon in the corridor. It made the entire base seemingly devoid of life, even though he knew it wasn’t. It was as though Vertigo intended that the lower ranks not know about their high-ranking prisoner.
Although they would surely know about and have access to the twins.
The door to Vertigo's office slid open and Prowl froze at recognizing the voice that emanated from the room. The two guards shoved Prowl through and he lurched forward another few steps, irritated at his seeming lack of balance. The guards prodded him forward, hands shoving painfully into seams and joints. Prowl growled, but walked before the guards. As he ascended the ramp, he locked every miniscule system to prevent them from shaking.
The main screen held Megatron's visage, his conversation with Vertigo cut short by Prowl's arrival. The tyrant's red optics flashed eagerly at the sight of the Autobot tactician. Prowl had to suppress the fear that surged through him. Never before had he even blinked when Megatron's face would appear on the other side of a comm. link. Yet never had he faced the tyrant as a prisoner, held captive (not hostage, prisoner) in a Decepticon stronghold (one that he had to admit would be far too difficult to risk a rescue against, if the Autobots had even found them yet), and disarmed to such an extent. Prowl glared at the screen. He remained unshackled, and unhindered by a block. He could think, and he knew fear would do him no more good on this battlefield than it did out where the missiles whistled by overhead, and laser fire littered the air. He would not allow the Decepticon (a mech like any other, despite his unnatural hate for anything and anyone he deemed less than him-and it would be easier to list that which he considered greater) the opportunity to instill such fear in him without due warrant. Megatron had done nothing yet, and Prowl only stood in his presence, his freedom a mockery before such force.
“Bring him closer,” Megatron rasped.
Part Two