First Half of The Jester Chapter 4 Part I
Chapter 4: Meine Tochter willst Du…
Part I
Author: Thalanee
Verse: AU Bayverse
Rating: pg-13
Word Count: 6100 words
Disclaimer: Still not mine, sorry, I only write about them for the fun of it.
Other Characters: Optimus, Ratchet, OC Heatspot
Warnings: Kissing (do I need a warning for that?)
Summary: Jester and prince spend more and more time with each other, and the bond between them deepens.
Author’s Notes: Took long enough, but there you are ^^ The chapters for this story tend to be a lot longer than those of my other stories, so I divided this into two parts. The next part will probably take some time though.
I hid a reference to another of my fics here… can you find it? ;)
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So kam es, dass- obwohl vom Stande lange nicht berechtigt war-
Um ihre Hand anhielt, beim König vorsprach „Bin der Narr.“
„Meine Tochter willst du, Narr? Wenn Herrscher würden alles geben!
Sei König mit Gold Land und Volk, dann sollst Du mit ihr leben.“
So it came, that I- though by class not entitled in the least-
Asked for her hand in marriage, called on the king “I am the jester.”
“You want my daughter, jester? Lords would give everything!
Be a king with gold, realm and people and you shall live with her.”
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It was perfectly quiet in Prowl’s crystal garden, a welcome respite from yesterday’s lively feast and the hectic day to day work that filled his cycles. Maybe Prowl was onto something with his garden, Optimus thought not for the first time, inhaling the fragrance of the crystals while he relaxed in his chair.
Optimus could feel this day’s stress bleed away the longer he sat in these peaceful surroundings, his spirit feeling renewed. Idly he thought about getting a garden of his own, Elita would certainly relish the opportunity to just spend time with each other outside of the court, only the two of them. Of course the palace had numerous gardens, but there was always someone around, even if it was just guards or servants. Sometimes the two wanted to be alone. He wouldn’t be able to tend it himself, but maybe…
Yet, that was not why he was here.
A glance in the direction of the black and white prince proved to the future Prime that he had been right. On the surface Prowl looked as calm and collected as ever, if it were not for the slightest twitch in the white doorwings and the way he kept rubbing at the ruby plates that hid his spark- casing. This uncharacteristic behavior worried Optimus more than he wanted to admit. Because if there was something wrong with Prowl’s spark, there was virtually nothing to be done but pray to Primus that it was the kind of damage a bot could live with. If it was not, not even the best medic on the face of Cybertron would be able to save his younger brother. For all the Cybertronians’ advanced technologies, for all their knowledge and skill, their sparks, their source of life, were still a great mystery to them.
Minor damage the medics had learned how to deal with of course, if it was confined to the spark casing, but if there was something wrong at spark level, not even Ratchet, the best medic on the face of Cybertron would be able to help.
Watching Prowl stare off into space, his golden optics fixed to a spot underneath one of the crystal trees, Optimus came to the conclusion that he would have to start the conversation. Wherever Prowl was with his thoughts, he wasn’t in the here and now with Optimus.
Contrary to what Optimus thought, Prowl wasn’t that far away… in fact, his thoughts kept circling around the last evening and the time he had spent with Jazz sitting underneath the tree, just talking about anything and everything. Prowl had been delighted to discover that there lurked an intelligent processor and a sharp wit underneath the sometimes overly excited exterior of the jester. Yet even that exuberance was appealing in its own way.
Despite, or because of (as Prowl himself thought), being one of the princes, he rarely had the chance to really talk to anyone outside the family or the few friends he had. Most bots talked to the prince, not Prowl himself. And when they did, mecha were always exceedingly polite, careful not to show what one of the nobles had once referred to as “undue emotionality”.
Of course there were exceptions to the rule, like the twins who, apart from Starscream and his trine, were the only real friends he had. Then there was Ratchet, who dented even the Prime’s head with one of his wrenches if he felt Sentinel deserved it for doing something the medic considered stupid. But they were all exceptions, which made the way Jazz spoke with Prowl so openly even more precious.
Because he behaved exactly the same as he did, when they first met, when Jazz hadn’t known who Prowl was yet. Jazz didn’t talk to the prince. He talked with Prowl.
He had never laughed as much as last night when Jazz had joked with him, teased him and told him stories about the facets of the court Prowl never saw. Prowl’s sides had hurt when Jazz told him about the fearsome head cook, who apparently could give Ratchet a run for his credits, and the time she had caught the jester red-handed trying to steal some of her freshly baked goodies and chased Jazz through the kitchen. Smiling to himself, Prowl repeated the silver mech’s name. Jazz…
The sound of someone clearing their vocalizer brought the Praxian back to the present, where he found his brother’s blue optics watching him closely. Aware now that he had been rubbing his chestplates again, he lowered his hands to his lap and clasped them there, turning his attention to Optimus.
“Will you tell me now what ails you?” There was a hint of worry to the red and blue mech’s tone that even Prowl could catch.
“I believe I already told you that there is nothing that ails me, brother. I am not harmed in any way.”
“And yet you persist in rubbing your chestplates. You have never done that before. Also you are strangely absent- minded lately, to the point that even the twins have begun to worry. Are you sure that you are not hurt?” Optimus took one of Prowl’s hands in his own, belatedly realizing how much smaller his younger brother actually was. Both of Prowl’s hands could have easily fit in a single one of his own.
“I am not hiding an injury, if that is what you are implying.” Somewhat affronted, Prowl sniffed. “That only happened once and Ratchet made abundantly clear what he would do to me, should I hide injury and pain from him again.”
“Can you blame him?” The future Prime replied drily. “You had to remain in Ratchet’s care for weeks because that cut got infected. He was just worried. So was I.”
Prowl had the grace to look somewhat abashed, looking at their still joined hands while he replied. “Forgive me. I was not trying to make light of your concern.”
“I know that, Prowl. Just want to be sure. Will you consent to letting Ratchet examine you?”
“If you remember our conversation yesterday evening, you will recall that I gave you that promise already. Once I give my word it stands.” Prowl reminded him.
Optimus chuckled, standing to offer Prowl his left arm. “And if you will recall the previous times you had to report to the medbay for your regular check, you will recall the various and creative ways you employed to give Ratchet the slip.” He teased gently. “His cries of frustration were audible throughout the palace.”
A smirk that could only be called smug tugged on Prowl’s lips, when he took the offered arm and they made their way to the medic’s domain. “How else will dear Ratchet have the opportunity to further sharpen his reflexes?”
The lighthearted banter continued all the way to the med bay of the palace. The term med bay was slightly misleading however. It should more correctly be called a medical wing, since it consisted of scores of rooms: some of them light and airy, where convalescing patients could spend their time or receive visitors, private berth rooms for rest, the medics’ offices, examination rooms, and further back even a couple of operating rooms. In short the “med bay” was a full- fledged miniature hospital.
And it was firmly in the hand of Ratchet, Chief Court Healer, who insisted that anyone who was sick or injured, regardless of rank should present themselves in his domain. Some of the nobles had voiced objections against this, but the tender mercies of the court healer had persuaded them to either keep their opinions to themselves. After the first five nobles had been whacked in the head with a wrench or had very uncomfortable exams, the rest had soon learned that in this wing of the palace, Ratchet’s word was the law.
And going to one of the lesser healers didn’t help you any.
Ratchet had trained them all.
Thus it was no surprise to the two princes when the first thing they heard after entering the med bay was a voice uttering curses that would make the most hardened warriors’ armour peel (which was a good thing actually, it was when Ratchet turned quiet that you should start to worry… and run).
When Ratchet noticed their approach and turned to watch them, literally gaping in astonishment, the hapless mech that had fallen into the medic’s clutches took the opportunity and ran when the chartreuse mech wasn’t looking. Ratchet was far too busy to stare at the apparition in front of him.
“Who the frag are you and what in Primus’ name have you done to the real prince?” he blurted out, pointing at the black and white, prompting an optic roll from the younger and a poorly hidden snicker from the older prince.
“Very amusing Ratchet.”
“Thought so myself,” Ratchet drawled, “now tell me who did what to trick you into coming here, so I can go see if I can use that same trick in the future.”
“I came here out of my own free will…” A disbelieving snort escaped the medic upon hearing that statement, “on account of a promise to my brother.”
At the reminder of the cause of their visit, the smile vanished slowly from Optimus’ expression replaced by obvious worry. This change didn’t escape Ratchet, neither did the fact that Prowl had voluntarily come to med bay, something he would usually avoid at all cost, promise or not.
“Let’s go to my office then and I can tell me why you’re here.” Gesturing to the two princes to follow him, he led them to his office, which was a little medbay in and of itself. On the right-hand side stood Ratchet’s desk, the top of which had long ago vanished under the heaps of medical datapads and journals in the medic’s possession. Despite the utter chaos the chartreuse mech never had trouble finding anything in a matter of seconds. The patient records however were neatly kept in a locked terminal and the medical area to the left of the room was so clean it almost sparkled and in perfect order.
Gesturing for the prince to sit on the berth in the medical area, Ratchet resisted the urge to scan Prowl immediately, considering this was one in two instances where the doorwinger had actually sought him out instead of being bodily carried or dragged to him.
“Ok, spill. What’s got you so spooked that you voluntarily came here?”
“I am not spooked, merely uncertain. I am sure there is nothing wrong, but Optimus insisted on making sure that there was nothing to worry about.”
“Uncertain?” Blue optics narrowed as Ratchet disbelievingly repeated the word. “In face of your penchant for gross understatement I’d say your brother is right. So?” Arms crossed he waited for the younger mech to start talking.
A quizzical look and a pointedly raised optic ridge were the only answers he got (discounting the badly hidden snicker the future Prime of Cybertron couldn’t quite stifle in time).
Sighing, the medic gave in and phrased his inquiry. He knew when it came to sheer stubbornness he had met his match in the young doorwinger. “So what are your symptoms? Does anything hurt?”
“No,” Prowl said, his wings flapping in what was the Praxians’ equivalent to shrugging one’s shoulders, “but sometimes I have a strange feeling in my spark.”
At that last part Ratchet suddenly stood perfectly still, all his senses and scanners actively trained on Prowl now, prompting the other to squirm slightly at the tingly feeling of being scanned. “Your spark? You feel something strange in your spark?! And you come only now?” Swearing the medic called up the results of his preliminary scans. When he found nothing he ordered Prowl to lay back and pulled out one of the more finely tuned scanners, specifically designed for this very purpose.
Prowl endured the examination and the muttered curses with equanimity, knowing that as long as Ratchet was still swearing you were still fine. It was when the medic turned gentle and concerned that one should start to worry. A very pithy phrase, uttered when Ratchet returned the scanner to its original location, ensured Prowl that he was still safe.
“I couldn’t find anything wrong on the scanners. Physically speaking your spark is as fine as ever.” He growled, then rubbed his chin pensively. “Describe that feeling you mentioned as exactly as you can, please.”
Uncertain how to phrase his explanation, he decided to put it as simply as possible. “I am not sure how to describe it… it is a fluttery sensation. Sometimes it feels like a pull, as if it were trying to jump out of its casing. It is not painful, just strange.” Almost out of habit his servo had risen to touch his plating over his spark. As soon as he realized Prowl aborted the motion and nervously touched his ruby chevron instead. He was sure that Optimus had caught the gesture.
“The fluttering is constant? Sometimes stronger, sometimes weaker?” Ratchet’s tone suggested that he had an idea of what might be causing those symptoms and was now trying to confirm his suspicions.
Golden optics blinking, Prowl nodded. “Yes.”
“And when you feel that pull, does it feel like your spark is spinning faster, like it is trying to reach out for something?”
Prowl could only nod again, as he felt his wings start to twitch in agitation. How in the name of Primus could Ratchet know all this?
Optimus couldn’t keep still anymore. Rising to stand beside his younger brother he questioned the medic. “You know what it is?”
Snorting Ratchet glowered at both of them, both fists resting on his hips. Was it Optimus’ imagination or was there an amused twinkle in the blue optics? “Of course I do, and I’m surprised you don’t recognize the signs he’s describing too.”
A look of dawning realization appeared on the red and blue mech’s face. “You mean…?” If Ratchet meant what he thought he meant, then Optimus vowed to himself to help his little brother in any way.
“Yes, I do.”
“Forgive me for interrupting your discussion, but would you care to share your insight with me?” Prowl piped up somewhat tartly.
“Sure,” Ratchet replied breezily, “what you’re experiencing, your Highness, is called spark synchronicity. Have you ever heard of it?” When Prowl shook his head the medic continued with his explanation.
“You know that most of what pertains our sparks, our source of life, still is a mystery to us. We know how sparks power our frames, we know how to strengthen a weakening spark. We know that our sparks in combination with our processors make us who we are. We know what happens when two sparks merge and create a newspark, but we don’t know how or even why that creation happens. That is one of the many things that still remain a mystery to us.”
For a moment Ratchet stopped his pacing around the room, something he invariable did when he lectured. “And one of the greatest of them is what medics have come to call spark synchronicity. Each spark has a unique… well, frequency for lack of better term, something that distinguishes one from every single other spark. Sometimes though, there are sparks whose frequencies are a perfect match for each other.”
“Did you not just say that such frequencies are unique to each spark?” Prowl interjected, slightly confused.
“They are. In a scan, I would be able to distinguish between the sparks, they read just slightly different when separate, but I was taught that when two ‘matched` sparks come close or merge to form a permanent bond, their frequencies synchronize in a way that makes them virtually indistinguishable. As strange as it sounds, in those moments they share this frequency, which for all intents and purposes means, they’re one and the same. In short spark synchronicity means that the two sparks are perfect matches in every way that matters.”
That was all very interesting and Prowl intended to read up on it later, but there was still one question that had not been answered. “What does this have to do with what I feel?”
“That pull you feel, that fluttery sensation, that’s your spark synchronizing with that of another as well as it can with all the distance between them.” Ratchet eyed the shocked black and white, then grinned in a way that made Prowl want to hide. “Congratulations, Your Highness, you have met your perfect sparkmate.”
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Optimus was ecstatically happy for Prowl, and had immediately offered to help him find the bot who was Prowl’s other half. Sharing spark synchronicity with Elita-1 he knew what Ratchet’s declaration meant, how fulfilling a connection like that was. He couldn’t help but wish the same for Prowl.
So he was astonished when Prowl refused his help and asked him not to tell anyone, but Optimus figured that Prowl would have to get used to the idea first. Meanwhile he would quietly check who Prowl had been working or talking with lately. Maybe he would be able to find the mech or femme, though he had a sneaking suspicion that Prowl already knew.
Never mind though, as a caring older brother it was his duty to grab the bot and threaten dire consequences should said bot ever hurt Prowl in any way. What kind of brother would he be if he neglected to do that?
Optimus smirked.
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