Lover 100 - Lost, and He
Re-posting some old fics here because the site that used to host them isn't online anymore. Fics feature my OC Pursuit. She is Prowl's creator, hails from Praxus and has a similar physical structure to him in that she's monochromatic (black and light grey), has doorwings and a red chevron.
For more info about her and related characters, and the rest of the completed stories, please see: this entry
Title: Bad News
Fandom: Transformers G1
Characters/Pairings: Prowl, Jazz, Optimus Prime. Mention of Pursuit.
Table: A
Prompt: #049 Lost
Rating: PG
Genre: relationships - family, friendship
Word Count: 1,371
Summary: Prowl learns of the attack on Praxus.
Author Notes: Takes place just after the Praxus attack when Flattop rescues Pursuit and takes her to the Nova Cronum Med Center.
Disclaimer: Prowl, Jazz and Optimus Prime are canon.
“Prowl.”
The mech in question looked up from his notes at the other black-and-white who stood at the doorway to their common room. The playful grin he normally wore was now replaced by a look of concern and Prowl immediately stood up.
“Is everything alright, Jazz?” he asked.
He’d never had a friend like Jazz before. Back in his young days he’d only known this talkative little fellow his creator had semi-adopted into their family on account that he spent so much time around them and had taken a liking to the femme, which in itself wasn’t all that surprising. So Prowl in turn had ended up being something of an older brother to the mech.
The visored bot had been one of the first friends he’d made since leaving home and coming to Iacon. The two had gotten along splendidly and rose fast in the ranks till the High Council had finally taken notice of their skills and appointed them as officers to serve directly under the new Prime. So if his best friend needed help now, he was more than ready to offer his.
“Optimus wants t’see us immediately,” Jazz replied.
Prowl reached him and the two of them headed down the hall at a steady clip. He couldn’t help but feel an unusual sense of tension about Jazz that normally wasn’t present, and began to try and narrow down what could be bothering his friend.
“Did he say what it was about?” he asked. “I would not like to go in uninformed.”
“Not much, just that the ‘Cons hit another city,” Jazz replied.
“Do we know which city?”
Jazz didn’t answer, but before Prowl could ask his question again, the other black-and-white steered them both through a doorway and into Optimus Prime’s office.
“We’re here, Optimus,” Jazz said.
The big Autobot leader stood before large windows that overlooked the street and turned to them as the entered, gesturing for them to be seated. Once they were sitting he looked at each in turn, resting his gaze on Prowl for slightly longer and sighing deeply.
“Does he know yet?” he asked Jazz.
The mech shook his head. “I thought it’d be best if he heard it from you.”
“I beg your pardon, both of you, but I’d rather you not talk as if I was not here. What is going on? Why am I here?”
“The Decepticons attacked Praxus about 4 megacycles ago,” Prime said at last.
Prowl’s optics flared at that, earning him worried glances from both Jazz and Prime. “Praxus?! How badly?!”
“They leveled it.” Prime sighed. “No reports of any survivors so far. Everything’s down - power, communications. I’m sorry Prowl, I understand you had family there.”
Prowl nodded slowly. “I do, my creator and another young mech who liked to hang around her, but they must have escaped, surely. My creator is not one to just wait for someone to come along and try to kill her.”
“If she did escape, we’ve not received any word of her, or of any other. Until, by some miracle, we do get word, we have to assume the worst.”
Jazz reached over and gave his forearm a gentle squeeze, feeling him tense, but noting how the mech was still trying to maintain his composure eventhough his hands were curled into tight fists. “I’m sorry pal. Is there anything we can do for ya?” At least he didn’t pull away.
“Take all the time you need Prowl.”
“Thank you, both of you, but I’d like to remain on duty if that’s okay with you, sir,” Prowl replied curtly. “If you’re sending assistance from Iacon, I would like to go with them.”
The other black-and-white watched him. Prowl had never been one for big displays of emotion, prefering to show his feelings with a small smile here or a twitch of a door there, but after spending so much time with him, Jazz was now able to decipher most of the mech’s subtle body language. The clenched fists told him that Prowl was way more upset than he was letting on, but was trying to hold a calm front in front of his commanding officer.
“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea,” Prime said.
“Please, Optimus. I need to see for myself.”
“If it’s alright with you, Prime, I could go with him,” Jazz offered, and was met with a grateful look from his friend.
Prime looked at the two, then sighed in resignation. “Alright. You have my leave to go. The next group leaves in half a megacycle, you can join them. Dismissed.”
The two stood up, saluted, then quickly left the room. Outside in the hall Jazz raced to catch up with Prowl, and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.
“You sure you wanna do this? I mean, it ain’t gonna be pretty out there,” he said.
“I am quite aware of what it might be like,” Prowl replied, a little tersely. “But I have to go and make sure. I owe my family that much at least. Now, you can come with me, you can help me, but you cannot talk me out of going Jazz, I wont hear it.”
Jazz sighed and nodded. “Alright. I’m sorry this had to happen, Prowl, shallow as it may sound.”
“I understand. Now let’s hurry. That transport’s waiting.”
Nothing however, could have prepared Prowl for what they finally did see when their transport arrived at what remained of Praxus. The once homely city was now nothing more than a ruined blackened shell of its former self, and despite his attempts to remain calm, the second the door opened, Prowl shot out and sped down a street.
“Hey! Wait up!” Jazz swore, transformed and raced after his friend.
Prowl could barely recognize his own neighborhood when he reached it, but there was no way he could ever forget the house he had grown up in with his creator. He screeched to a halt and transformed before rushing into the burnt ruins of the little dwelling, regardless of whether it would collapse on top of him. Once inside, he started heaving piles of debris away from any potential area he thought may be concealing a hiding place, as if he expected to find someone underneath.
“Pursuit!” he called. “Are you in here?! Make some noise if you can hear me, please! Anything! I can't lose you!”
But except for the sound of his own laboring, the house remained silent. When Jazz finally ran in a while later, he found Prowl kneeling on the floor in the middle of the room staring at the ground, his doors drooped slightly. Carefully, he made his way over and knelt beside the distraught black-and-white.
“I’m sorry buddy,” he said softly. “I’d like to say that maybe she managed to make it out of the city, but Iacon still hasn’t received any reports of anyone from here reaching there. I talked to one of the team leaders on the way, and he said they’ve only found one survivor and they’ve taken him back to Iacon.”
“Did they have a name for him?”
“Young mech by the name of Bluestreak. He said he’d been with a black-and-grey femme who helped him escape, but he doesn’t know what happened to her. The last he saw was her shooting at Seekers.”
“That would be Pursuit, my creator. At least Bluestreak made it though,” Prowl said softly. “That’s good news at least.”
“Was he the one you talked about?”
“Yes.” Prowl slapped the ground with his hand, making Jazz jump. “She was my creator!! She saved my life! Kept me from becoming a Decepticon myself. Now I’ve lost her, I’ve lost everything! I wanted to bring her back to Iacon with me as soon as Prime gave me my final posting, give her a better life, but I’m too late, she’s lost.”
Jazz could only put a hand on his shoulder and give it a gentle squeeze, in the hope that the gesture could offer more comfort than words. Prowl looked up at him, a dull look in his usually bright optics.
“I have nothing here anymore, Jazz,” he said. “Tell Prime I’ll be joining the energon mission after all.”
~END.
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Title: She’s Mine, Too
Fandom: Transformers G1
Characters/Pairings: Patrol, Flattop and Pursuit.
Table: A
Prompt: #084 He
Rating: G
Genre: relationships, family
Word Count: 733
Summary: Patrol and Flattop have a few words.
Author Notes: Takes place after Patrol comes to Earth.
Of all the mechs she could have fallen for, she just had to go and fall in love with a flier - an Iaconian, no less. Patrol sighed to himself and shook his head. He knew the bot was a good mech, but it didn't necessarily mean that the blue Intel Officer was good enough for his only creation. Yes, he had saved her life on two occasions, but she needed someone could make her laugh, and all that was for nothing if he couldn't make her happy.
He crossed his arms and watched as the mech transformed and landed gently on the grass, then took the femme into his arms, spinning them around a couple of times as they embraced. Patrol recalled when he used to pick her up and twirl her around till she started to giggle, back when she was younger and slightly smaller. He wondered if she remembered it.
The mech set her down, then leaned and kissed her cheek, receiving a smile in return. It was not new, Patrol mused. He used to do the same for her everyday, just to let her know she was loved. Did that mech do likewise? Did he tell her how much he loved her? Did he prove it to her? Primus help the mech if he was just exploiting her affection for his own selfish desires. One could never tell when it came to fliers.
As the couple walked back, they spotted him, and she broke away from the mech and ran to him. He caught her as she lunged to hug him and held her close, kissing her cheek as he rocked her gently, a part of him wanting to hold her like this and never give her back to that Iaconian.
"How've you been, Dad?" she asked.
He smiled a bit at the use of the Earthen terminology. "Just fine, m'girl, and how are you? Feeling better?"
She nodded. "I heard you helped."
"You're my creation aren't you? Of course I helped. I thought I'd lost you once, it was not going to happen again. Nothing's going to hurt my little."
She smiled at him and nuzzled, as the mech reached them and kept at a respectful distance.
"I'm glad you made it, Patrol," he said.
"So am I," he replied. "I missed her."
"I know the feeling. She's hard to be away from."
She pulled away. "Alright then, the two of you carry on talking about me, I'm going to see if everything's okay with Dad's quarters." Blowing them both a kiss, she hurried into the base.
Patrol turned to the mech. "A word, Flattop."
The mech looked visibly nervous and twitched. Good.
"Of course."
"I don't know if Pursuit has already told you, but I can be a protective old fragger when it comes to her," Patrol said. "She was all I had when my own mate died, and I love her deeply. I was the first mech in her life, and it's hard to let go of that."
"I'm not here to take her away from you, sir, but I love her as well - very much. She means everything to me."
"Forgive my bluntness, but my mate was killed by a flier, and I'll be slagged if I let another flier harm my only daughter. You may not understand now, but when your creations are grown up and some other bot comes into the picture, you'd be hard-pressed to know that you're not the only one they love anymore."
Flattop nodded. "No, I understand. And I want you to know that I am nothing but careful with Pursuit."
"I appreciate you saving her life, Flattop, but if you hurt her, if you make her cry in any way and I hear about it, I'll have your wings."
The mech looked at him. "Patrol, if I ever do anything to wound her spark, I'll hand you the shotgun myself."
Patrol nodded. "Just so we're clear."
"Crystal," Flattop replied.
Well, maybe he wasn't so bad after all, Patrol thought as they headed inside together. Besides, he did trust his creation's judgment, and if she thought this flier was the right one for her, then he was not going to question her choice or stand in her way.
All the same though, maybe he'd give his old shotgun a bit of practice. Never knew when he'd need it.
END.