Better late than never, am I right? Yeah? Anyone? *hides*
Title Star-crossed: Blown off (32/38?)
Pairings/Character Prowl/Sideswipe, Ratchet, Optimus, Jazz, Punch, others as needed
Rating M
Summary We can never control who we fall in love with. Those determined to be together will let nothing stand in their way.
Author's Note I finished this chapter. Finally. Finally. It’s been a headache to get through this, to slog through the edits on this. It’s a year later than I meant to release this. And hey, four days after my due date that I had promised (here, else where? I don’t think I remember). Honestly? I’ve thrown up my hands and said… well I’ve said some bad words at the computer screen and am now posting it. It’s not perfect. So here, I apologize for any gaffs that I have missed, and any glaring errors that have been left.
I have to mention Tiamat1972 who has put up with me during the writing, and rewriting and subsequent and frequent bitching over this chapter. So much love and huggles!
BTW, for those who may remember: Why no, there was never a sneak peek. :)
Thank you for your patience.
See you next month, hopefully?
Off the Record
Sensors powered on one at a time. His engine started with a rev that sent vibrations skittering across his plating like so many little hydraulipedes, but it felt distant. Muffled. The virus? It couldn't be, for while he ached his diagnostics registered it as the assimilation of new repairs and new parts. His systems ran smoothly and sensory input didn't jam his processor.
Access to memory banks inundated his processor with memory files; sights, sounds, smells, tactile sensations. Helplessness. Vertigo. Capture. Escape. Starscream. Sunstreaker. Sideswipe.
Thought of Sideswipe made Prowl activate his optics. Where were they? Where was he? Most importantly, was it safe.
Medical instruments littered the shelf only a few meters from either side of his berth. A parts bin stood in one corner, a few of the neatly labeled drawers open. Prowl found no comfort in his location; he'd been inside a similar room in the Decepticon base, but it was the distinctive orange coloring of the walls and ceiling that soothed Prowl's concern.
They'd made it back to Iacon.
Or at least he had. What about Sideswipe? Sunstreaker? Were they here, too? How did they get back? How long had they been here? How long had he been offline?
Why didn't his battle computer respond? This was Iacon, wasn't it?
Prowl didn't detect a processor block, and his battle computer pinged back when he queried it. But he couldn't get any more out of it than that.
A weight shifted across his legs, and for the first time, Prowl realized that he was not alone in the room. Someone was touching him and he couldn't see them.
All of this took a matter of astroseconds to flash through his processor.
"Congratulations!"
The bright and disturbingly cheerful voice jolted Prowl from the beginning of his panic. It originated from somewhere past his protruding chestplate and reassured him that he was at the moment safe. From the Decepticons at least.
A bolt tightened into his knee. Ratchet's reassuringly familiar, but still bright and disturbingly cheerful voice carried over Prowl's chestplate. "You have managed to slag your frame, your processor, not to mention your entire sensory net worse than the twins combined. I finished on them nearly two decacycles ago. I just finished rewiring your sensors to your rebuilt frame and shiny, new processors. I haven't even booted your battle computer, yet. Why don't you lay there and get started on calibrating everything?" The last wasn't exactly a recommendation when coming from Ratchet.
Prowl held himself still to allow the calibrations to run. The extensive process would need to restart with the slightest disturbance.
Ratchet hated full calibrations. Normally because full calibrations followed the extensive repairs necessary after spark-threatening damage. No doubt, just as Prowl had just suffered.
Knowing this, Prowl did not debate with Ratchet, but started the calibrations on his systems. He watched the calibrations run through his HUD at tens of thousands of kilobytes processed per astrotick. He waited a full .2576 of a breem before he decided that enough time had passed to count for reasonable concern. "Sideswipe, Sunstreaker. What's their status?"
The sounds of tools and supplies clinking around the cupboards and drawers petered into silence.
"They're functional. Both of them are on light duty until the repairs assimilate. Neither of them recall the details of your capture or escape." Ratchet paused, Prowl might dare to say that he hesitated and when he spoke, it was far gentler than any of his previous words. "Do you remember?"
Prowl perused his memory logs, checking the files for any missing time. "I remember, but I do not recall our rescue."
Light. Bright, white light and an endless roar of sound. The sensation of tactile sensors overloading and shutting down one by one. Screams that sent spasms of desperation into his unresponsive limbs. Then voices, broken and wordless. Flickers of shadows leaning over to peer at him. Blue. lights. Blue lights that meant safety. Friends.
"Who rescued us?"
"Ultra Magnus and Overdrive's units." Ratchet's voice returned to its normal surly growl. "Although 'rescue' is apparently an overstatement. You were found nearly .40 kilometers from Halifax. It might be better to say that they picked you up, rather than rescued you. The reports said it looked like you either smashed headlong into a convoy while both were going full throttle in opposite directions, or you three had fallen a ridiculously stupid height. Guess which one my bet is on."
"Hmm."
"Sure," he drawled, punctuated by a painfully loud punch to his work counter. "You can just brush it off. You didn't see the heaps of slag they brought in and told me to repair. Fragging enough to give a mech surges." Ratchet came into Prowl's range of sight, and narrowed his optics. "Don't ever do that again."
Prowl couldn't bring himself to smile in response. "Consider it duly noted."
Ratchet harrumphed and moved away to resume his quiet sorting. "Optimus wants to know if you would be up to a debriefing. Don't move, or you'll have to restart the calibrations and then I'd have to immobilize you."
Prowl made no attempt to defy the medic. Immobilization usually did not trouble him, but at that time he didn't think he could endure it. He also had hoped to corroborate his story with Sideswipe and Sunstreaker before speaking with Optimus. "Now?"
"Now," Ratchet said and then added, "and here for that matter. You're not leaving the medby for at least another megacycle. And that's only if I'm feeling particularly charitable." Ratchet paused and shifted his weight. "If you need a little more time, then say so. Prime can wait. He'd understand."
The sensors in his leg suddenly twinged fully online and Prowl grunted at the new aches it brought with it. "No need to wait." He pinged his comm. and contacted Optimus with a request that he bring a holo unit and a cartography drive stick.
"Nice to know your personality survived the fall."
Prowl's right hand sensors finished their calibrations and he curled his hand into a loose fist. "I never validated that it was either a collision or a fall.
"Smart aft. See if I let you out of here in the next decacyle."
Prowl received Optimus's response and he settled in to wait for the commander. "And give the more mischevious elements free reign. Surely you jest?"
Ratchet didn't need to see Ratchet's glare to understand the silence that followed.
"How are your calibrations coming along?" Ratchet's deceptively sweet voice did not fool Prowl for an astrosecond.
"It progresses as should be expected."
"Good." Ratchet promptly smacked Prowl's left leg.
Prowl winced as the newly calibrated sensors stung at the vibrations. "That was unnecessary."
Ratchet snorted and went back to cleaning and storing his tools. "My medbay, my rules. And I say that was necessary, and if you keep running your vocalizer, I'll find it necessary to turn that decacycle into an entire megacycle."
Prowl flicked his fingers out, dismissing the threat knowingly. "As long as I have datapads, you can keep me in here as long as you need."
"After fighting with that damned virus infecting your systems, what the slag makes you think that I want you in here for even another cycle."
Prowl tilted his head. "…you had to fight with it?"
Air exploded from Ratchet's vents. "When I get my hands on the half-clocked, missparked, glitch-ridden, Pit-forsaken scrap heap that created that insult-to-programming virus, there won't be enough pieces left of him to string a molecule together!"
Still immobilized by the continued recalibrations, Prowl sought the small weight of the device he recalled storing in his bumper. He couldn't detect it. "Did you find the data stick?"
All sounds and movements ceased beyond Prowl's chestplate. Not even the rev of their engines could be heard in the silence that could have been broken by the drop of a single nut.
"Yes. Lucky slagger. You might have spared all of us a lot of worry and work if you had just activated the stupid thing. I'd already disconnected all of your non-essential sensor nodes and dug through most of your systems when Wheeljack found your little gift tucked away in your bumper. Where the slag did you get that, anyways? Not even a slagging Decepticon would be stupid enough to leave an antivirus in easy reach, and don't tell me that you snuck it from some Con stronghold."
Calibrations finished on his other hand, Prowl rapped his fingers on the table. He couldn't simply divulge that information suspicious as it might sound, not to Ratchet at least. "I couldn't activate a program when I wasn't certain if it would knock me offline when I most needed to be able to act."
Ratchet grunted. "What about my other question?"
"That information is classified."
Ratchet growled his opinion of that and he buzzed with words that never had the chance to come out.
"Ratchet, I must ask that you cease this line of questioning."
Prowl had never been so grateful for Prime's arrival.
Ratchet was silent for a long moment, before his gears ground with his frustration. "Fine. Talk to him. Then I'm going to knock him offline until I'm done. Otherwise I'm going to end up getting rid of his vocalizer and replacing it with a signal lamp."
Optimus tilted his head. "Thank you."
Ratchet finally came into view, ever-present frown on his face. A red finger swept from th side of Prowl's vision to hover in front of his nose. "You stay right there and don't move so much as a servomotor."
Prowl huffed a sigh. "I cannot move. The calibrations have not finished."
Ratchet stood with his arms akimbo and glared down at Prowl for seven point five astroseconds, before he turned and stalked out of the room.
Optimus drew closer, and one large blue hand came to rest near Prowl's magplate. "I'm glad you returned safely," his head tilted and his optics brightened in a smile, "if not quite fully functional."
Prowl winced at the proximity, at his continued helplessness. Even if he moved, his weapons were out of reach or inaccessible. He shouldn't be threatened by his commander. But if he struck quickly he could disable one optic maybe both, perhaps he could rip out a handful of neck cables.
The hand disappeared, as though Optimus had read his second-in-command's distress.
Prowl cycled his vents for a moment, seeking that place of calm from which he'd always drawn his tactics. He should respond, right? "It's good to see you, as well. Have Smokescreen and Trailbreaker been managing efficiently in my absence?"
Optimus hummed for a moment. "They've been managing, though they are eager for you to return to duty. However," and Prime's voice dropped a few octaves, full of soothing patience that bordered on command. "there is no rush."
And Prowl knew that Prime had seen his panic, and it had concerned him.
Prowl's fingers twitched as he harbored the idea that Optimus might very well put him on an extended leave. He didn't want that. Primus, the last thing he wanted was to have nothing to do. "I much prefer to do my work, as you are well aware."
Prime withdrew his hand with a reassuring pat. "We shall see. " A datapad appeared in his hand. "Now tell me what happened."
Prowl took a hundred astroseconds to compose a story that didn't reveal things Optimus did not need to know about, as well as brush over the more painful memories and still be truthful.
His fingers shook as he drew his report to a conclusion. They chattered and clicked against the berth, until Prowl curled his hand into a fist to silence them. "I lost control of the situation sir. I couldn't let them kill them, Sideswipe or Sunstreaker. It wasn't my intention to-"
A blue hand reached out and rested next to Prowl's shoulder. "That's enough. You did as any Autobot would do. As I would have expected you to do. You don't have to explain."
Prowl's optics dimmed and he couldn't bear to look at Prime. "Thank you."
Optimus remained silent for a long breem. "I believe that the next time we have such an assignment, you will either have a full escort, or we will send someone else in your stead."
"Understood." Prowl hesitated a moment, then asked in a low voice. "What of Counterpunch, is he an Autobot?"
Optimus stared down at him, his optics bright. Prowl knew right then that he would receive no answer to his question. "I cannot reveal the nature of Counterpunch's relationship to our cause. Not even to you. I would also appreciate you not mentioning his name outside this room."
"Yes, sir."
Optimus stared down at the datapad in his hands. "I don't want you to blame yourself for what happened the information that you gave them is minor compared with your safety."
"Do we know who survived the explosion? Perhaps if none of his officers made it out alive, then the information is not as lost as it would first appear…"
Optimus Prime subspaced the datapad. "We have confirmed that Starscream's trine and Mindwarp made it safely to Straxus."
"Slag. Then we should-"
Optimus interrupted Prowl with a hand on his chestplate. "Why don't you let Smokescreen and Trailbreaker worry about this, for now? Your only concern for the next few decacycles is to repair and recuperate."
Recuperate? With nothing at all to occupy his processor? No. That wasn't what Prowl wanted at all. He didn't need free time, he didn't need time in which he had nothing to occupy him but his memories, and he didn't need the opportunity to review everything that could have gone wrong, or did go wrong. "There is no need for that Optimus. I am fully capable of assuming my normal workload as soon as Ratchet clears me for duty."
"Is that so? Don't fragging move." Prowl locked his joints at the snarled command. "You don't have to see me to know who's talking to you." Ratchet's tone contained a hint of smugness that chilled Prowl's systems as he calculated what was about to happen.
Prowl's optics widened. Slag no.
"I suppose that I'm just going to have to hold off on clearing you for duty for that decacycle after all."
Prowl's fist clenched at his side. "You have no reason not to clear me, so protocol demands…"
Ratchet's optics brightened and he turned to speak to Optimus. "By the way Prime it would appear that we are missing some parts to complete the repairs on Prowl."
Prowl clenched his hand.
"Is that so? How fortuna-I mean sad," Optimus said in a tone that conveyed his smug smirk.
"I can't conscientiously put him back on duty if his repairs are incomplete. I will need to send away to Verax for some of those parts. Could take two decacycles… But I can extend that to four."
Prowl's optics narrowed at the ceiling, and he desired nothing more than to glare at the CMO. "You aren't keeping me in here that long."
"Oh, no. Slag no. You can move without these…. Parts, but you really shouldn't be doing any strenuous work."
"Can I ask what these 'parts' are?"
"Of course you can. But I don't have to answer. Prime f you're done, I'm going to finish what I can on Prowl before releasing him."
"Very well, Ratchet. Enjoy your vacation, Prowl."
Prowl's engine growled.
Prowl stood outside his office door, positively fuming. He had been locked out of his office. His access codes didn't work.
Furthermore, he could hear voices on the other side of the locked door. Perturbed by this, he chimed for their attention.
Rather than open the door, a voice called out through the office's comm. system. "Who is it?"
Smokescreen, Prowl snarled to himself. "It's Prowl. Open the door so I can retrieve some personal effects."
Smokescreen laughed. "Sorry, sir. No can do. Orders from Prime are that you are not to be permitted inside your office for anything."
However the door opened (if only a meter) and Trailbreaker's large arm thrust out with a box in his hand. "We did, however, go through the liberty of gathering together some of your more personal effects." The red visor peeked through the small crack in the door. "You really should enjoy more time off."
"Prowl stared at the box, and then glared up at the mech's visor. "I do take time off. That's what it means when you are off-duty. It means you are taking time off."
Trailbreaker reached a little more through the door, and the box in his hand clinked against Prowl's repaired bumper.
Prowl took a step away from the touch before he could stop himself. He stiffened, optics flashing angrily at himself, though he knew the other tactician wouldn't see it that way.
"That's not what I meant, and you know it." He paused, but when Prowl made no motion to take the parcel, he spoke in an only slightly irritated voice. "Are you gonna take it, or am I gonna just have to drop it at your feet?"
Prowl snatched the box out of Trailbreaker's hand. He didn't even bother to peruse the items inside, but immediately stuck it unsorted into his subspace. He didn't say another word to Trailbreaker, but turned on his heel and strode away. He barely suppressed the growl that had built in his engine.
They were inside his office. His office. Univited. How dare they. His office.
Prowl's steps carried him to the rec room. He had intended to go to his quarters, ostensibly for recharge and to ensure that nothing had been disturbed in his absence. His actuators seemed to have other ideas, however as he found himself sitting in a corner with a cube of energon in his hand, though he still had full tanks after leaving Ratchet's medbay. He didn't remember sitting down, or even walking through the crowded room.
He hoped he had at least acknowledged any greetings. If they caught him skipping processor cycles like that, then they would see fit to extending his 'vacation,' no doubt through the excuse of Ratchet having trouble 'procuring' his 'parts.' Or worse. If they decided that he would benefit from a few dozen sessions with Smokescreen.
No. He would not think like that. No one had noticed his automated locomotion. He was here for a legitimate reason. He was looking for someone. Yes, exactly right.
Prowl absently scanned the crowd, not really sure what he was looking for until he saw it.
Every gear in his body tightened at the flash of yellow that had caught his attention.
Where there was yellow, red was never too far behind…
Sure enough red metal caught the light and Prowl's optics not too far away from yellow sitting at the table.
Sideswipe.
Prowl's doorwings sagged as he watched the red mech walk from the energon dispenser with two full cubes. He could not measure the relief that flooded his logic relays at seeing his soldier (his lover) walking under his own power. Ridiculous, he told himself, as Ratchet would never have released him otherwise. But most importantly, seeing the warrior whole and not sparking or leaking (an open wound that spat and spewed as a hand pulled out another bundle of wires, a scream the arch of a body wrought with pain), loosened the tightness in Prowl's frame that had to do with so much more than his gears.
Sideswipe didn't acknowledge Prowl, but his optics briefly glanced toward the mech who had entered the room, a preprogrammed response most warrior-builds possessed. At least so it would seem to the casual observer.
Prowl could see the red frame tense, and the hunger in the mech's optics to say something. The need for contact.
Prowl abruptly stood and left. His cube discarded on the table.
Prowl paced in his quarters, unable to simply sit still and go into recharge. A megacycle had turned into two and Prowl had scuffed a path of white paint around the perimeter of his room. He couldn't remain still too long. He had attempted a session at the shooting range, but found he could not focus on the target. He couldn't even spar with a drone, not without ripping it apart; a waste of resources.
Prowl had no way to explain what had happened in his most recent session, but it had ended with the drone in pieces and him retreating to his room where he shook for a few uncounted cycles. He was glad that nobody had come to investigate the mess he'd left. He had not meant to lose control like... like... Sunstreaker when Sideswipe was hurt.
He paused by one of the few shelves in his room and straightened the neat rows of datapads. He couldn't sit still, and he hated that he had nothing to occupy his time. A game of Solitary Safety lay open, but otherwise untouched on the desk. He could not even enjoy his favorite games. Impulsively he grabbed one of the data pads off the self and returned to his desk. He shoved a few stray pieces of his abandoned game out of his way and settled his arms in their place.
He activated the datapad and started reading. At least attempted. He knew the contents of this datapad as well as that of his own hard drive. Perhaps that was why his optics kept straying away from the screen to settle on the blank spaces on his wall. Or the scattered game pieces on his desk.
He couldn't focus on even the simple task of reading.
The screen cracked under the tight grip of his fingers. Where was his control? Why couldn't he do anything right?
Prowl glared at the now useless datapad. The sight of the crack in the glass inexplicably piqued his ire, and in a fit of impotent rage he turned and chucked the device at the far wall.
"Ack!"
Pairings/Character Prowl/Sideswipe, Ratchet, Optimus, Jazz, Punch, others as needed
Rating M
Summary We can never control who we fall in love with. Those determined to be together will let nothing stand in their way.
Author's Note I finished this chapter. Finally. Finally. It’s been a headache to get through this, to slog through the edits on this. It’s a year later than I meant to release this. And hey, four days after my due date that I had promised (here, else where? I don’t think I remember). Honestly? I’ve thrown up my hands and said… well I’ve said some bad words at the computer screen and am now posting it. It’s not perfect. So here, I apologize for any gaffs that I have missed, and any glaring errors that have been left.
I have to mention Tiamat1972 who has put up with me during the writing, and rewriting and subsequent and frequent bitching over this chapter. So much love and huggles!
BTW, for those who may remember: Why no, there was never a sneak peek. :)
Thank you for your patience.
See you next month, hopefully?
Off the Record
Sensors powered on one at a time. His engine started with a rev that sent vibrations skittering across his plating like so many little hydraulipedes, but it felt distant. Muffled. The virus? It couldn't be, for while he ached his diagnostics registered it as the assimilation of new repairs and new parts. His systems ran smoothly and sensory input didn't jam his processor.
Access to memory banks inundated his processor with memory files; sights, sounds, smells, tactile sensations. Helplessness. Vertigo. Capture. Escape. Starscream. Sunstreaker. Sideswipe.
Thought of Sideswipe made Prowl activate his optics. Where were they? Where was he? Most importantly, was it safe.
Medical instruments littered the shelf only a few meters from either side of his berth. A parts bin stood in one corner, a few of the neatly labeled drawers open. Prowl found no comfort in his location; he'd been inside a similar room in the Decepticon base, but it was the distinctive orange coloring of the walls and ceiling that soothed Prowl's concern.
They'd made it back to Iacon.
Or at least he had. What about Sideswipe? Sunstreaker? Were they here, too? How did they get back? How long had they been here? How long had he been offline?
Why didn't his battle computer respond? This was Iacon, wasn't it?
Prowl didn't detect a processor block, and his battle computer pinged back when he queried it. But he couldn't get any more out of it than that.
A weight shifted across his legs, and for the first time, Prowl realized that he was not alone in the room. Someone was touching him and he couldn't see them.
All of this took a matter of astroseconds to flash through his processor.
"Congratulations!"
The bright and disturbingly cheerful voice jolted Prowl from the beginning of his panic. It originated from somewhere past his protruding chestplate and reassured him that he was at the moment safe. From the Decepticons at least.
A bolt tightened into his knee. Ratchet's reassuringly familiar, but still bright and disturbingly cheerful voice carried over Prowl's chestplate. "You have managed to slag your frame, your processor, not to mention your entire sensory net worse than the twins combined. I finished on them nearly two decacycles ago. I just finished rewiring your sensors to your rebuilt frame and shiny, new processors. I haven't even booted your battle computer, yet. Why don't you lay there and get started on calibrating everything?" The last wasn't exactly a recommendation when coming from Ratchet.
Prowl held himself still to allow the calibrations to run. The extensive process would need to restart with the slightest disturbance.
Ratchet hated full calibrations. Normally because full calibrations followed the extensive repairs necessary after spark-threatening damage. No doubt, just as Prowl had just suffered.
Knowing this, Prowl did not debate with Ratchet, but started the calibrations on his systems. He watched the calibrations run through his HUD at tens of thousands of kilobytes processed per astrotick. He waited a full .2576 of a breem before he decided that enough time had passed to count for reasonable concern. "Sideswipe, Sunstreaker. What's their status?"
The sounds of tools and supplies clinking around the cupboards and drawers petered into silence.
"They're functional. Both of them are on light duty until the repairs assimilate. Neither of them recall the details of your capture or escape." Ratchet paused, Prowl might dare to say that he hesitated and when he spoke, it was far gentler than any of his previous words. "Do you remember?"
Prowl perused his memory logs, checking the files for any missing time. "I remember, but I do not recall our rescue."
Light. Bright, white light and an endless roar of sound. The sensation of tactile sensors overloading and shutting down one by one. Screams that sent spasms of desperation into his unresponsive limbs. Then voices, broken and wordless. Flickers of shadows leaning over to peer at him. Blue. lights. Blue lights that meant safety. Friends.
"Who rescued us?"
"Ultra Magnus and Overdrive's units." Ratchet's voice returned to its normal surly growl. "Although 'rescue' is apparently an overstatement. You were found nearly .40 kilometers from Halifax. It might be better to say that they picked you up, rather than rescued you. The reports said it looked like you either smashed headlong into a convoy while both were going full throttle in opposite directions, or you three had fallen a ridiculously stupid height. Guess which one my bet is on."
"Hmm."
"Sure," he drawled, punctuated by a painfully loud punch to his work counter. "You can just brush it off. You didn't see the heaps of slag they brought in and told me to repair. Fragging enough to give a mech surges." Ratchet came into Prowl's range of sight, and narrowed his optics. "Don't ever do that again."
Prowl couldn't bring himself to smile in response. "Consider it duly noted."
Ratchet harrumphed and moved away to resume his quiet sorting. "Optimus wants to know if you would be up to a debriefing. Don't move, or you'll have to restart the calibrations and then I'd have to immobilize you."
Prowl made no attempt to defy the medic. Immobilization usually did not trouble him, but at that time he didn't think he could endure it. He also had hoped to corroborate his story with Sideswipe and Sunstreaker before speaking with Optimus. "Now?"
"Now," Ratchet said and then added, "and here for that matter. You're not leaving the medby for at least another megacycle. And that's only if I'm feeling particularly charitable." Ratchet paused and shifted his weight. "If you need a little more time, then say so. Prime can wait. He'd understand."
The sensors in his leg suddenly twinged fully online and Prowl grunted at the new aches it brought with it. "No need to wait." He pinged his comm. and contacted Optimus with a request that he bring a holo unit and a cartography drive stick.
"Nice to know your personality survived the fall."
Prowl's right hand sensors finished their calibrations and he curled his hand into a loose fist. "I never validated that it was either a collision or a fall.
"Smart aft. See if I let you out of here in the next decacyle."
Prowl received Optimus's response and he settled in to wait for the commander. "And give the more mischevious elements free reign. Surely you jest?"
Ratchet didn't need to see Ratchet's glare to understand the silence that followed.
"How are your calibrations coming along?" Ratchet's deceptively sweet voice did not fool Prowl for an astrosecond.
"It progresses as should be expected."
"Good." Ratchet promptly smacked Prowl's left leg.
Prowl winced as the newly calibrated sensors stung at the vibrations. "That was unnecessary."
Ratchet snorted and went back to cleaning and storing his tools. "My medbay, my rules. And I say that was necessary, and if you keep running your vocalizer, I'll find it necessary to turn that decacycle into an entire megacycle."
Prowl flicked his fingers out, dismissing the threat knowingly. "As long as I have datapads, you can keep me in here as long as you need."
"After fighting with that damned virus infecting your systems, what the slag makes you think that I want you in here for even another cycle."
Prowl tilted his head. "…you had to fight with it?"
Air exploded from Ratchet's vents. "When I get my hands on the half-clocked, missparked, glitch-ridden, Pit-forsaken scrap heap that created that insult-to-programming virus, there won't be enough pieces left of him to string a molecule together!"
Still immobilized by the continued recalibrations, Prowl sought the small weight of the device he recalled storing in his bumper. He couldn't detect it. "Did you find the data stick?"
All sounds and movements ceased beyond Prowl's chestplate. Not even the rev of their engines could be heard in the silence that could have been broken by the drop of a single nut.
"Yes. Lucky slagger. You might have spared all of us a lot of worry and work if you had just activated the stupid thing. I'd already disconnected all of your non-essential sensor nodes and dug through most of your systems when Wheeljack found your little gift tucked away in your bumper. Where the slag did you get that, anyways? Not even a slagging Decepticon would be stupid enough to leave an antivirus in easy reach, and don't tell me that you snuck it from some Con stronghold."
Calibrations finished on his other hand, Prowl rapped his fingers on the table. He couldn't simply divulge that information suspicious as it might sound, not to Ratchet at least. "I couldn't activate a program when I wasn't certain if it would knock me offline when I most needed to be able to act."
Ratchet grunted. "What about my other question?"
"That information is classified."
Ratchet growled his opinion of that and he buzzed with words that never had the chance to come out.
"Ratchet, I must ask that you cease this line of questioning."
Prowl had never been so grateful for Prime's arrival.
Ratchet was silent for a long moment, before his gears ground with his frustration. "Fine. Talk to him. Then I'm going to knock him offline until I'm done. Otherwise I'm going to end up getting rid of his vocalizer and replacing it with a signal lamp."
Optimus tilted his head. "Thank you."
Ratchet finally came into view, ever-present frown on his face. A red finger swept from th side of Prowl's vision to hover in front of his nose. "You stay right there and don't move so much as a servomotor."
Prowl huffed a sigh. "I cannot move. The calibrations have not finished."
Ratchet stood with his arms akimbo and glared down at Prowl for seven point five astroseconds, before he turned and stalked out of the room.
Optimus drew closer, and one large blue hand came to rest near Prowl's magplate. "I'm glad you returned safely," his head tilted and his optics brightened in a smile, "if not quite fully functional."
Prowl winced at the proximity, at his continued helplessness. Even if he moved, his weapons were out of reach or inaccessible. He shouldn't be threatened by his commander. But if he struck quickly he could disable one optic maybe both, perhaps he could rip out a handful of neck cables.
The hand disappeared, as though Optimus had read his second-in-command's distress.
Prowl cycled his vents for a moment, seeking that place of calm from which he'd always drawn his tactics. He should respond, right? "It's good to see you, as well. Have Smokescreen and Trailbreaker been managing efficiently in my absence?"
Optimus hummed for a moment. "They've been managing, though they are eager for you to return to duty. However," and Prime's voice dropped a few octaves, full of soothing patience that bordered on command. "there is no rush."
And Prowl knew that Prime had seen his panic, and it had concerned him.
Prowl's fingers twitched as he harbored the idea that Optimus might very well put him on an extended leave. He didn't want that. Primus, the last thing he wanted was to have nothing to do. "I much prefer to do my work, as you are well aware."
Prime withdrew his hand with a reassuring pat. "We shall see. " A datapad appeared in his hand. "Now tell me what happened."
Prowl took a hundred astroseconds to compose a story that didn't reveal things Optimus did not need to know about, as well as brush over the more painful memories and still be truthful.
His fingers shook as he drew his report to a conclusion. They chattered and clicked against the berth, until Prowl curled his hand into a fist to silence them. "I lost control of the situation sir. I couldn't let them kill them, Sideswipe or Sunstreaker. It wasn't my intention to-"
A blue hand reached out and rested next to Prowl's shoulder. "That's enough. You did as any Autobot would do. As I would have expected you to do. You don't have to explain."
Prowl's optics dimmed and he couldn't bear to look at Prime. "Thank you."
Optimus remained silent for a long breem. "I believe that the next time we have such an assignment, you will either have a full escort, or we will send someone else in your stead."
"Understood." Prowl hesitated a moment, then asked in a low voice. "What of Counterpunch, is he an Autobot?"
Optimus stared down at him, his optics bright. Prowl knew right then that he would receive no answer to his question. "I cannot reveal the nature of Counterpunch's relationship to our cause. Not even to you. I would also appreciate you not mentioning his name outside this room."
"Yes, sir."
Optimus stared down at the datapad in his hands. "I don't want you to blame yourself for what happened the information that you gave them is minor compared with your safety."
"Do we know who survived the explosion? Perhaps if none of his officers made it out alive, then the information is not as lost as it would first appear…"
Optimus Prime subspaced the datapad. "We have confirmed that Starscream's trine and Mindwarp made it safely to Straxus."
"Slag. Then we should-"
Optimus interrupted Prowl with a hand on his chestplate. "Why don't you let Smokescreen and Trailbreaker worry about this, for now? Your only concern for the next few decacycles is to repair and recuperate."
Recuperate? With nothing at all to occupy his processor? No. That wasn't what Prowl wanted at all. He didn't need free time, he didn't need time in which he had nothing to occupy him but his memories, and he didn't need the opportunity to review everything that could have gone wrong, or did go wrong. "There is no need for that Optimus. I am fully capable of assuming my normal workload as soon as Ratchet clears me for duty."
"Is that so? Don't fragging move." Prowl locked his joints at the snarled command. "You don't have to see me to know who's talking to you." Ratchet's tone contained a hint of smugness that chilled Prowl's systems as he calculated what was about to happen.
Prowl's optics widened. Slag no.
"I suppose that I'm just going to have to hold off on clearing you for duty for that decacycle after all."
Prowl's fist clenched at his side. "You have no reason not to clear me, so protocol demands…"
Ratchet's optics brightened and he turned to speak to Optimus. "By the way Prime it would appear that we are missing some parts to complete the repairs on Prowl."
Prowl clenched his hand.
"Is that so? How fortuna-I mean sad," Optimus said in a tone that conveyed his smug smirk.
"I can't conscientiously put him back on duty if his repairs are incomplete. I will need to send away to Verax for some of those parts. Could take two decacycles… But I can extend that to four."
Prowl's optics narrowed at the ceiling, and he desired nothing more than to glare at the CMO. "You aren't keeping me in here that long."
"Oh, no. Slag no. You can move without these…. Parts, but you really shouldn't be doing any strenuous work."
"Can I ask what these 'parts' are?"
"Of course you can. But I don't have to answer. Prime f you're done, I'm going to finish what I can on Prowl before releasing him."
"Very well, Ratchet. Enjoy your vacation, Prowl."
Prowl's engine growled.
Prowl stood outside his office door, positively fuming. He had been locked out of his office. His access codes didn't work.
Furthermore, he could hear voices on the other side of the locked door. Perturbed by this, he chimed for their attention.
Rather than open the door, a voice called out through the office's comm. system. "Who is it?"
Smokescreen, Prowl snarled to himself. "It's Prowl. Open the door so I can retrieve some personal effects."
Smokescreen laughed. "Sorry, sir. No can do. Orders from Prime are that you are not to be permitted inside your office for anything."
However the door opened (if only a meter) and Trailbreaker's large arm thrust out with a box in his hand. "We did, however, go through the liberty of gathering together some of your more personal effects." The red visor peeked through the small crack in the door. "You really should enjoy more time off."
"Prowl stared at the box, and then glared up at the mech's visor. "I do take time off. That's what it means when you are off-duty. It means you are taking time off."
Trailbreaker reached a little more through the door, and the box in his hand clinked against Prowl's repaired bumper.
Prowl took a step away from the touch before he could stop himself. He stiffened, optics flashing angrily at himself, though he knew the other tactician wouldn't see it that way.
"That's not what I meant, and you know it." He paused, but when Prowl made no motion to take the parcel, he spoke in an only slightly irritated voice. "Are you gonna take it, or am I gonna just have to drop it at your feet?"
Prowl snatched the box out of Trailbreaker's hand. He didn't even bother to peruse the items inside, but immediately stuck it unsorted into his subspace. He didn't say another word to Trailbreaker, but turned on his heel and strode away. He barely suppressed the growl that had built in his engine.
They were inside his office. His office. Univited. How dare they. His office.
Prowl's steps carried him to the rec room. He had intended to go to his quarters, ostensibly for recharge and to ensure that nothing had been disturbed in his absence. His actuators seemed to have other ideas, however as he found himself sitting in a corner with a cube of energon in his hand, though he still had full tanks after leaving Ratchet's medbay. He didn't remember sitting down, or even walking through the crowded room.
He hoped he had at least acknowledged any greetings. If they caught him skipping processor cycles like that, then they would see fit to extending his 'vacation,' no doubt through the excuse of Ratchet having trouble 'procuring' his 'parts.' Or worse. If they decided that he would benefit from a few dozen sessions with Smokescreen.
No. He would not think like that. No one had noticed his automated locomotion. He was here for a legitimate reason. He was looking for someone. Yes, exactly right.
Prowl absently scanned the crowd, not really sure what he was looking for until he saw it.
Every gear in his body tightened at the flash of yellow that had caught his attention.
Where there was yellow, red was never too far behind…
Sure enough red metal caught the light and Prowl's optics not too far away from yellow sitting at the table.
Sideswipe.
Prowl's doorwings sagged as he watched the red mech walk from the energon dispenser with two full cubes. He could not measure the relief that flooded his logic relays at seeing his soldier (his lover) walking under his own power. Ridiculous, he told himself, as Ratchet would never have released him otherwise. But most importantly, seeing the warrior whole and not sparking or leaking (an open wound that spat and spewed as a hand pulled out another bundle of wires, a scream the arch of a body wrought with pain), loosened the tightness in Prowl's frame that had to do with so much more than his gears.
Sideswipe didn't acknowledge Prowl, but his optics briefly glanced toward the mech who had entered the room, a preprogrammed response most warrior-builds possessed. At least so it would seem to the casual observer.
Prowl could see the red frame tense, and the hunger in the mech's optics to say something. The need for contact.
Prowl abruptly stood and left. His cube discarded on the table.
Prowl paced in his quarters, unable to simply sit still and go into recharge. A megacycle had turned into two and Prowl had scuffed a path of white paint around the perimeter of his room. He couldn't remain still too long. He had attempted a session at the shooting range, but found he could not focus on the target. He couldn't even spar with a drone, not without ripping it apart; a waste of resources.
Prowl had no way to explain what had happened in his most recent session, but it had ended with the drone in pieces and him retreating to his room where he shook for a few uncounted cycles. He was glad that nobody had come to investigate the mess he'd left. He had not meant to lose control like... like... Sunstreaker when Sideswipe was hurt.
He paused by one of the few shelves in his room and straightened the neat rows of datapads. He couldn't sit still, and he hated that he had nothing to occupy his time. A game of Solitary Safety lay open, but otherwise untouched on the desk. He could not even enjoy his favorite games. Impulsively he grabbed one of the data pads off the self and returned to his desk. He shoved a few stray pieces of his abandoned game out of his way and settled his arms in their place.
He activated the datapad and started reading. At least attempted. He knew the contents of this datapad as well as that of his own hard drive. Perhaps that was why his optics kept straying away from the screen to settle on the blank spaces on his wall. Or the scattered game pieces on his desk.
He couldn't focus on even the simple task of reading.
The screen cracked under the tight grip of his fingers. Where was his control? Why couldn't he do anything right?
Prowl glared at the now useless datapad. The sight of the crack in the glass inexplicably piqued his ire, and in a fit of impotent rage he turned and chucked the device at the far wall.
"Ack!"