It's Juuuuuuune!! part 2
Title Star-crossed: Off Limits Part 2
Pairings/Characters Prowl/Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Counterpunch
Warnings None that I can think of in this chapter
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.
Part 1
Prowl stiffened in the guards' hands, but didn't resist as they forced him closer to the camera. Vertigo expected something, and Prowl focused his tactical computer in order to deduce what that might be. Megatron turned his burning gaze away from the tactician to look toward the base commander. “He's been repaired.” An observation, calmly delivered but belied by the suspicion in the red optics.
Prowl didn't relent his cold stare from the mech on the screen. He angled his shoulders back, and straightened as much as he could. Repaired he might have been, but only partially. His doorwings still responded only sluggishly to his commands, and there was the recent damage to his legs.
“Ah, you know how bounty hunters are. They couldn't keep their shocksticks to themselves. They had nearly offlined him from carelessness. I knew this wouldn’t have served your purpose, Lord Megatron”
Prowl twitched at the blatant lie. Did Vertigo not expect him to take such a golden opportunity to discredit him before his leader? If Vertigo expected such a move, did it truly serve Prowl's purpose of keeping himself and his two soldiers safe and out of Megatron's hands? Prowl had no doubt that Megatron would leave the twins in Halifax as Vertigo's 'reward', but Prowl himself would be taken to Darkmount, and if this happened, then there would be no escape for him. Nor for his soldiers. Keeping silent would do him no good. That was not an option.
“You are a fool, keeping me in one place for so long, Megatron. The Autobots have surely noticed my absence and discovered my location by now. They will not allow you to hold me forever.”
Megatron's lip curled up in a disgusted sneer. “Just how long are you saying you've been held?”
Megatron would suggest that Prowl, an Autobot, was lying? He, more than any Decepticon, should know better. He’d often used this simple fact against the Autobots as a whole and Optimus Prime in particular. Indignant, Prowl lifted his chin. “I, and the two under my command, have been held here for three megacycles. If you do not believe me, perhaps I could account for each cycle of my time here.”
Vertigo rumbled in amusement.
The Decepticon's laughter finally drew Prowl's gaze away from the screen. Vertigo's optics shone bright with mirth, and Prowl realized with a sinking feeling that he had played exactly as Vertigo had expected him to. “As I told you, Lord Megatron, he has no grasp of time. His chronometer has been corrupted, and no longer runs linear. It affects his entire perception of time.”
Prowl stared at the Decepticon, trying to assimilate Vertigo’s approach to the situation.
Megatron hummed, leaning away from the screen. “He does not seem to agree with you. Why was that not fixed, as well?”
Vertigo shrugged, insolent almost in his answer, his glare on Prowl, challenging. “It didn’t affect what we needed him for, nor did it endanger his life. Why waste the resources?”
Megatron’s optics flashed and glanced toward Vertigo; his skepticism clear in the tilt of his mouth and the furrow of his brow.
Prowl wondered why Megatron would allow such arguing in front of their prisoner. Vertigo was instigating this, what was the Decepticon's plan? Did he wish to discredit Prowl before his commander? Yet to remain silent, still could not be considered as an option. Prowl lifted his doorwings. “I'm certain that a basic scan of my processors would ascertain their functioning state.”
Megatron pressed his lips together, his optics narrowed as he regarded the two of them. “I have no doubt that he would send me a wholly accurate and unaltered scan.”
Several of Prowl's systems jolted in alarm. Did Megatron already know that Vertigo was lying? A high probability considering Vertigo's known loyalties. Prowl had used such knowledge to bargain for his and the twins' safety. If the Autobots knew then it would only be accurate to assume Megatron knew as well. How much did Vertigo tell, or rather not tell, Megatron? Could he discredit Vertigo? Even if Vertigo had told Megatron it wouldn't hurt their chances any to make the attempt.
Prowl could not hide the truth from Megatron, and neither could Vertigo. He could delete it, and purge it from his memory database, and if it came down to a less than 10 percent chance of escape, he would do precisely that. Memory files were not something to be handled capriciously, and echoes of information would remain in the lasercore. But when the envoy came, Megatron, or one of his lackeys, they would hack straight into his laser core and rip the data files they wanted. No, he could not hide anything without losing the information himself.
“I am offended that you would ever think otherwise, My Lord.” The lack of depth in his bow, and the dripping sarcasm in his tone belied any sincerity that might be found in his words.
Vertigo had to assume that Megatron would find out about the interrogations, he would have to count on it. Not unless he planned a system wide purge, but any medic could detect that, unless he engineered it to look like Prowl had done it to himself. Prowl could, though logically it would not be feasible, and would wind up with him being damaged even more. Did Vertigo count on Prowl considering this, and therefore count on Prowl saying nothing? If Megatron already knew, than what harm would be revealed by informing him? What could Megatron do that was worse than what he already planned? Prowl refused to follow that line of reasoning. He did not want to consider what Megatron might consider as it was, much less what might be worse than that.
Prowl stepped forward, cautiously, sensors oriented on the guards standing behind him, waiting for them to stop him. They didn't so much as twitch a servo “I'm certain that Megatron finds such a loyal and devoted follower far more trustworthy than a simple Autobot prisoner.” Prowl flicked a doorwings at the base commander, catching the flash of red optics in his peripheral vision. “The bounty hunters left me immobile, and would have had no reason to apply their shocksticks an extraordinary number of times for the length that they hauled me. I'm certain that such a loyal commander as Vertigo has already shared the information he bargained for, but I assure you it is-”
“False,” Megatron said, his chin resting on the back of his hand. His optics glinted with reserved amusement.
The guards shifted behind Prowl, and Vertigo growled at a dangerous pitch. Prowl didn't spare him the processing power for as much as a glance.
“Please, do you think I hadn't expected him to try to wile away any information he could from you? Or that you would agree out of simpering Autobot platitudes to keep your mechs 'safe' or whatever you consider safe. I've seen what he's been doing to them.” Megatron's lips lifted in a perverse grin. “You've been giving each other the short end of the stick, thinking you had the upper hand. I knew this would happen, you're both so predictable.” Megatron paused, brow ridge lifting as he observed Prowl. “Doesn't Optimus know his mechs so thoroughly?”
Any other mech would have lunged at that insult, but Prowl checked himself, aware that not only could he not reach the Decepticon tyrant, but that Vertigo had just been given reason to lash out at him.
“Any information you've given him has likely been rendered moot at this point. Security codes, locations of energon silos. No, even if any of it was the truth, you wouldn't say what's being moved and what remains or how old that information is. And I know Vertigo wouldn't dare plug into you to find any of that out. He doesn't have a hacker nearly able to keep up with you.” Again Megatron smirked. “Why do you think I sent you there, rather than, oh let's say, Vos?”
Metal creaked behind him, making Prowl all too aware that he was in a room with a Decepticon. A powerful Decepticon. One who now had cause to be angry at him.
Prowl calculated his next move, a fraction of an astrosecond so the pause would not seem too long. “Truly not a surprise from the mech who believed the bounty hunters when they said that I was bonded to my soldiers, much less having any unsavory relationship with them.”
Vertigo whirled then, as Prowl had expected him to, his pincers retracting to leave only the club of his arm. The full blunt force of the Decepticon's blow threw Prowl to the floor. Metal crashed and clattered, and he couldn't hear out of one receptor. His chevron vibrated, and his doorwings trembled from the impact. He lost any words exchanged between the two to the cacophony of static and ringing metal that occupied his systems. Still he forced himself upright, defiantly rising to his feet despite the way the world reeled about him.
Megatron narrowed his optics, clearly berating his commander. “-someone for him shortly. Try not to damage him anymore than he is. Megatron out.” The viewscreen went white and then black as it powered down.
Prowl didn't need to hear the first part of Megatron's statement to know: they were coming for him. They were coming for him, and he had yet to have a chance to work out an escape route for the three of them. He calculated their chances to have dropped to 30 perce-
A heavy object collided with Prowl’s head, sending him sprawling to the floor. He hadn't even realized that Vertigo had aimed another blow at him.
The Decepticon held Prowl down by his neck cables. He said nothing, but his optics burned with lethal intent.
Prowl wondered if he intended to take away any chance for Megatron to come and retrieve him.
“Get in here!” the Decepticon bellowed. He dropped his knee onto Prowl's thigh with a bang; grabbing hold of the tactician's other thigh with his free pincer-hand.
Prowl's vocalizer glitched in protest to the mishandling, and white hands wrapped around the club-like appendage. He didn't have time to ponder the meaning of the Decepticon's words, far more concerned with preventing him from pulling out any of his cables. He struggled to pull the pincers out of his neck without snagging them on any of the wires or support struts.
“Get your aft in here!”
Prowl's doorwings prevented him from rocking, pinning him on his back far more effectively than anything else the Decepticon did.
Another Decepticon came into the office then, his blue finish glinting with white highlights. Red optics set in a familiar blue face turned toward Prowl. The mask hid any expression on the mech's face much like his Commander. He headed straight for Prowl, kneeling next to the prone Autobot.
Counterpunch said nothing, but his engine ran with... what? Excitement? Anticipation? Nervousness? His blue hands traveled over Prowl's torso, not even pulling away as Prowl continued his struggles.
“Hold still, Autobot, or those two mechs of yours are going back into the torture chamber.”
Prowl stilled, engine revving with alarm. “You want to make Megatron's angry?” He knew Counterpunch's goal, he knew even before the fingers pried his interface port open. Prowl arched away from the touch, trying to pull away from the fingers that seemed to measure out his interface equipment with a few sweeps across the connection. They were cleaning it, ensuring there would be no static short from any dust that might be in the way.
A whine whispered out from Prowl's vocalizer, squeezing past dental plates that clenched and ground together. He didn’t know what they were doing now, and that frightened him far more than even facing Megatron. A quiver of terror rattled within his engine, reaching through his battle computer and into his
The Decepticon medic plugged a piece of hardware into the open port, and then a soft click sounded as he switched it on.
The small machine powered on. A computer, like what one would upload a... No!
Prowl didn't know if he shouted the word, but noise-denial, revulsion, fear-burst out of his vocalizer. Neither of the Decepticons paid him any mind, intent on the readout on the screen.
Prowl struggled, but he couldn't fight the device. It obliterated his firewalls, defenses designed to guard against the most advanced hacks. The innocuous, little device maliciously attacked Prowl's systems, forcing an upload into the tactician's main hard drive. Prowl's vents stuttered under the strain, unable to stop the device from overclocking his core processors. It ran him into the red, searing pain coursing through his central units.
Vertigo held Prowl's arms down, but the white fingers clawed at the floor, fighting for purchase and leaving shrieking grooves into the metal. The Decepticon levered his body over Prowl's, red optics flaring brightly with excitement. Even as he pinned Prowl's arms down, his pincers caressed the edges of Prowl's chestplate. He didn't look at the mech underneath him, his gaze locked on the miniscule screen in Counterpunch's grip.
The small touches along his grill and bumper, sent surges through Prowl's circuits. He choked, unable to pull enough air into his ventilators to cool the heat that rose and swelled in his engine, Prowl gasped, air rushed through his mouth, but it didn't stop the burning that could not be quenched by any amount of coolant or air, the burning that whipped through his processor, lightning in his programming that stalled whatever it touched.
Coding that no Autobot had created wound its way through Prowl's 's primary programs, it inserted itself into protocols that regulated speech, and motion, and emotion, and still something lurked within his hard drive, uploaded from the little device. A packet that remained inert, but Prowl recognized it for what it was. It terrified him.
A virus.
A virus of unknown design and intent lay in wait for a specific set of commands, of data. Prowl kept himself far away from it, attempting to sequester it within his processor and prevent it from accidentally activating and unleashing its surprise.
“Why are you doing this? What will you gain from this?” Prowl demanded as he tried to try to shove the pincers off his frame, off his arms. He pushed with his legs, and metal grunted as he inched his way up a few micro meters.
Vertigo glared down at Prowl, his optics narrow, almost smirking. “I think the intent is rather obvious don't you? Megatron won't be 'gracing' us with his presence, but that doesn't mean we can't leave something for the one he's going to send. So, just think of it as a surprise for the one fortunate enough to be sent here.”
Prowl glared at the Decepticon. The worm latched onto the deepest of his subroutines, and Prowl struggled to remain online, but the worm shut him down system by system.
Prowl's engine heaved, only to stutter and stall and Prowl went offline with it.
~*~*~*~
Strokes across his canopy brought him abruptly online. Alarm signals wended down almost immediately with the realization that no Decepticon would be so gentle. He lay with his head in someone's lap, his optics only partially online, everything a hazy, black and white blur. Even without color he knew the shape of those legs; he knew every nook and cranny, each piece of circuitry and every hinge and seam. He had no cause for alarm, and his systems still needed recharge and defrag, cleaning up files and sorting them as needed.
His optics faded offline, and he only moved to curl his fingers over the white thigh beneath him, aware of the soft words that rumbled through his frame even if he couldn't comprehend them.
He lay like that for an innumerable amount of time, his chronometer noticeably malfunctioning. His systems ran at less than peak performance, the worm clogging his processors, the virus eating up space in his hard drive.
A single word whispered through his CPU, nothing created by the worm, but allowed by his own volition: 'Sideswipe...'
Fingers slid over his cheek, and gently turned his face upward.
“Prowl?”
Prowl sighed and activated his optics with concerted effort.
Blue optics peered down at Prowl, brow ridges drawn together in concern and a beloved voice quietly asked. “You online?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” The fingers curved, and the tips caressed down Prowl's cheekseam. Sideswipe leaned down, but his wound sparked. His optics dimmed, and he pinched his lips together, pulling his hand away from Prowl's face and straightening his shoulders.
Unwilling to leave the comfort of his lover's lap, Prowl turned his head to look at the hole in Sideswipe's torso. A small trail of energon dribbled out of the wound. Like a kick to his main processor, every system booted up and he heaved himself to his elbows.
Sideswipe pressed a quelling hand to Prowl's chest. “It's okay. The guards just roughed us up a little bit.”He rested his head against the wall, but his trembling smile contradicted his words. “You've been offline a while.”
Prowl worked his way through that statement, stopping on the pronoun 'us'. He twisted about, seeking for a smidgeon of yellow that would verify the presence of the golden warrior.
“We're okay, Prowl,” he repeated. “They didn't take us this time, just you.”
Prowl levered himself upright, seeking a better height to look over the two warriors. Sideswipe didn't stop him this time, his optics glowing dimly at Prowl, and his arms limp at his sides.
Sunstreaker lay on the other side of Sideswipe, his optics off, and systems humming quietly in recharge. His placid face such a contrast to his normal appearance that Prowl wondered (not for the first time) if they were truly one and the same mech. His yellow plating no longer gleamed in any spot, dulled by the grimy cell and abuse from their captors. Deep grooves in the paint stood out like rust on steel; grey alloy showing beneath yellow paint. The hole in his arm looked no better, but no worse at the same time The amount of damage done to him, didn’t diminish is aesthetic appeal, Sunstreaker remained quite beautiful still.
Dents and dings covered Sideswipe, his red chest plate caved in places from the amount of blows it had received. Sideswipe remained relatively still, each movement measured and calculated; a severe contrast to his normal state of constant, sloppy motion. He stared at a spot on the wall until he noticed Prowl’s gaze on him. He quickly smoothed away the pensive expression on his face, but Prowl could still see the shadows in his optics. “I heard jet engines.”
Prowl frowned as he pulled up his relevant data on the enemy base. “Halifax focuses primarily on ground operations.”
“I know. I do pay attention to more than your doorwings, you know.”
Prowl glanced at the mech, arching a brow ridge speculatively. “Are you certain about that?” Prowl flicked his doorwings, scooting closer to the other mech.
Sideswipe's optics brightened slightly, but he couldn’t quite manage a smile. He slid his hand up Prowl's canopy. “I'm not stupid.”
Prowl's engine revved, surging with fear. Prowl didn't understand why he would be afraid of Sideswipe of all mechs.
Sideswipe drew the tactician closer, fingers tight on the black and white plates. His dim optics peered at Prowl and he shifted his head, as though it would give him a new angle to view Prowl. “Are you okay?” The black fingers slid over Prowl's helmet, and Sideswipe shifted his weight onto one leg, his other arm slipped around Prowl's waist.
Prowl braced his hands against the red chest, supporting the red mech. The sharp crackle of electricity erupting from his torso revealed the effort it took to move. Prowl didn’t want the frame too close to his own, not when he couldn't stop the memories from running rampant, sensor ghosts of touch and sight and sound. “You shouldn't be doing this, not right now. They're watching.”
“Let them watch.” Sideswipe tipped his chin forward, brushing their lips together. “They know about us anyways. Why are you shaking?”
Prowl moved his face away, his optics burning with fearful surges. 'A worm,' the words glitched out of his commands even before they had a chance to reach his vocalizer. He gritted his dental plates, pulling his lips back in frustration as he couldn't force the words out of his vocalizer. He couldn't even say that he couldn't say. The innocuous little program that the Decepticons had uploaded blocked any attempts to explain what they had done. A few glitches burst out of his vocalizer, but that was all he could manage before he gave in. “I don't know.”
Sideswipe traced his hand up Prowl's chest, until he could touch a finger to the officer's jaw hinge. “What is it? What did they do to you?”
Prowl leaned as far away as he could without depriving the warrior of support. He shook his head, unable to verbalize what caused him such irrational fear. “I don't know,” he finally admitted.
Sidsewipe leaned back, his optics going dark. “Can you tell me why you came back undamaged then? What are they doing?”
Prowl patted the red chest, making sure he was stable against the wall. Thus ensured, Prowl sat back himself, his doorwing keeping in contact with the red magplate, but he didn't touch Sideswipe otherwise.
“They repaired me before they sent me back. Just as I'd told your brother.”
The drone of Sideswipes fans filled the following silence, and stated far better than any words the warrior's dissatisfaction with that answer.
Sunstreaker's arm scraped across the ground, drawing the lovers' attention. The blue optics powered on, and the yellow warrior looked up without any hint of guilt, despite having clearly eavesdropped on them.
“I have nothing to admit, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker. I bargained to the best of my ability for your safety. I did take into consideration that they would betray their word. They are after all Decepticons. But I had to try.”
Sunstreaker rested his cheek against brother's thigh, not so different from how Prowl had been positioned only a few breems before.
Anything he might have said was interrupted.
Footsteps clanked up the hall, and the murmur of rough voices echoed against the walls.
Sunstreaker sat up, joining his brother along the dirty wall. Three pairs of blue optics turned to the cell door.
They were coming.