Chapter Text
Units of time:
Klik- ~1second
Breem- 8.3 Minutes
Groon- 10 breems, ~1.5 hr
Joor- 6 hrs = 4 groons
Orn- 1 Cybertronian day = 52 joor =13 days
Decacycle- 10 days (used for both Cybertronian and human time units)
Vorn- 83 years
Oft times used by Cybertronians to refer to human planetary time-
-Solar cycle- 1 day
-Orbital cycle- 1 month
-stellar cycle- 1 year
::text:: comm speak
~text~ bond speak
Prowl sat at his desk in his office, datapad in hand, trying to read a report about the latest skirmish. Rubbing a hand over his over-warm faceplate, he sighed, glad that he only had a few breem left in this shift. Unfortunately he had far too much to do to make things ready before...
A chime at the door and Prowl's quiet “Enter” preceded a cheerful Jazz. Jazz plopped himself in one of the guest chairs in front of Prowl's desk, and propped his peds up on the other, EM field teeking as bright as his smile. “S'up Prowler?” he chirped.
Sitting up straighter, his own field tucked in a little tighter than usual, Prowl let another sigh of air out of his vents and looked at the cheerfully relaxed mech. “I am attempting to get these battle analysis done. An attempt that would be expedited if more mechs would turn their reports in on time.” Giving Jazz a mildly disapproving look, he added “I am waiting on your reports still.”
Jazz flashed him an unrepentant grin, visor glowing bright blue. “Sure thing ma mech, s'why I dropped in. 'Course I had to stop by the medbay and the rec room to check up on 'bots,” he said, as he flipped a datapad out of subspace and tossed it onto the desk. This of course, earned him another mild glare, a disapproving click, and an irritated doorwing twitch from Prowl. “All the injured are already out of medbay, and the weekend party is already being planned.” Jazz grinned as this made Prowl growl quietly. His grin faded a little when Prowl shuttered his optics and rubbed at his temple with one hand. “Hey, Prowler, you okay mech?” He asked, his field reaching out with concern.
Prowl blinked and focused on Jazz, “I am fine.” A small, wry smile briefly curled his lips, and brushed his own field back lightly in reassurance, before pulling it in tight again. “Despite common belief, I do get tired and I do sometimes wish to do something other than work.”
“Well, how 'bout we get out of here and grab some energon then?”
“As agreeable as that sounds, I have a couple things to finish up here, and then I have a meeting I must attend. Thank you, though,” Prowl replied dismissively, making a show of sorting through his datapads. As lovely as having a cube with Jazz sounded, he didn't have time to dodge all of his perpetually nosy friend's questions.
As such, he missed the flash of disappointment on Jazz's face. Covering it up with his usual grin, Jazz stood up, stretched, and was sauntering towards the door when he stopped. Turning back to Prowl, he tilted head and asked, “Wait, what meeting? We haven't any meetin's planned until you are done pilin' all that data together.”
Prowl glanced at him, pale blue optics flashing, doorwings making an aborted aggravated upwards twitch, and said, “It is a personal matter, and as such doesn't involve everyone.”
Jazz crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame. One brow ridge raised under his visor, and a teasing grin formed. “Pers'nal, huh? Anythin' I can help ya with, Prowler?”
Frowning at the saboteur's teasing tone, and definitely not wanting to have Jazz poking into his business right now, seriously or not, Prowl replied in a carefully neutral tone, “It is nothing major, and nothing that requires your help. I merely need to speak to Ratchet about a minor issue.”
“Ah. Sure, ok.” Jazz shrugged and turned to leave, casting a casual wave and a “See ya, Prowler” over his shoulder as he exited the office.
Prowl slumped a little in his chair, relieved to be alone again. Releasing his cooling fans and EM field from the careful hold he'd had on them, he pulled in several ventfulls of cool air. Fanning his door panels gently to help circulate air over them, Prowl growled in irritation. Heat and mild arousal had been plaguing him for the last three days, and despite his hopes to the contrary, Prowl was now sure that he was entering a heat cycle. He spent a few more moments glaring at nothing, before heaving a resigned sigh. Gathering up what datapads he wanted to work on later in his quarters, Prowl placed them in his subspace before shuting down his workstation. Standing in front of his door, Prowl let his fans run for a few more moments, venting deep, before he stepped out and locked his office, headed to see Ratchet.
-=-=-=-
Ratchet was alone in the medbay, scrubbing down the last of the tools he'd used that day fixing up the various injuries from the previous day's skirmish, when Prowl arrived. Ratchet turned to Prowl, and jerked his helm in the direction of his office. “Go on in, and take a seat, I've just got to dry these and put them away,” he said, raising the tool in his hands slightly in emphasis. Prowl nodded and headed to the back of the medbay, where the office door stood open.
Prowl had only been sitting a few minutes when Ratchet came in, wiping his red hands dry with a cloth. “So,” Ratchet said, sitting down, tossing the cloth into a hamper by the wall. “What did you need to see me about, Prowl? I can only hope you're here to tell me that you've decided to do me a favor and work a decent schedule like a regular mech and fuel properly, and let me finally do that joint maintenance you need?” he asked, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, brow ridge raised.
Prowl merely raised his brow in reply, before clearing his vocalizer with a soft click. “Sorry to disappoint you, Ratchet, but I am here about a different matter.” Giving the white and red medic a glance before dropping his gaze to his own white hands, doorwings hiked up high and uncomfortable behind him, Prowl asked, “What do you know about Praxian mating cycles?”
Ratchet leaned forward, bracing his arms on his desk, sharp cerulean optics locked on Prowl, field flaring in surprise and dawning suspicion. “I know enough. I know all Praxians go through a heat, much like their flight-framed cousins. I know it lasts about 4 orns, spiking around the end of the third orn, then tapering back off the last orn. And I know that unless precautions are made, anymech who gets near that mech in heat is going to try and mate with them, under the influence of their electromagnetic field and heat scent.”
Prowl nodded, then said, “Close. It is really only in the six to twelve joors during the intense peak on the third orn that the EM and scent severely influence other mechs. For the rest of the time, it is more subtle. Merely being uncomfortable for the mech in heat, and others might be a little more solicitous- offering energon, or comfort, or preening.” Here he paused a moment, then with a little staticy cough, continued in a forced nonchalant tone, “A mech in heat will be easily aroused, and more susceptible to advances made by others, as the longer less intense time before the peak is supposedly to find a suitable mate. If the mech in heat suppresses their, er, need, then at most other mechs might flirt and show off more, as I said. Even if the mech were to blatantly blare their status, a fight or two might break out at worst, and then the mech would choose their preferred mate and retreat somewhere private and secure with them.”
“That's all good to know,” Ratchet said, optics narrowed on the black and white mech, and the anxiously twitching sensor wings. “Fascinating even. Why'd you bring it up?”
Icy blue optics briefly shot a glare at the medic, before flicking away. Tone resigned and thoroughly embarrassed, Prowl said, “Because, as I am sure you have already worked out, I am entering a heat cycle now.”
Sitting up straighter and frowning at Prowl, Ratchet asked, “Why is this the first time I've become aware of it, especially if all Praxians have them, and why haven't you had one before this?”
Shifting in his seat, Prowl rumbled his engine before answering. “Partly, it is because mating cycles naturally have a long fallow period of several hundred, to thousands of vorn. Partly it is the war, which made fuel and energy costly and the stress reduced the likelihood of the coding activating. And partly, it is because after Praxus fell, raising Bluestreak from a mechling helped to quell the drive.”
“I see,” Ratchet murmured, one hand rising to rub contemplatively at his lower lip. “But li'l Blue's all grown up now, and the war has simmered down enough, and Earth provides energy aplenty to make energon enough, that now the coding is flaring back up, is that it?”
“ I believe so, yes,” Prowl said. He shifted forward slightly, intense optics sharp, and voice a little tight as he continued, “This is why I need to schedule a medical leave. The cycle started about three days ago, and I have a little over three weeks to get things done before the third orn starts. I will need to take off about five days, just in case. My cycles are very predictable and the peak should start the very end of the third orn, and last about eight joors. Putting that into earth time table, that means I need at least 48 hours, but five days would be preferable, to allow for travel, and for any unforeseen events.”
“Medical leave? Sure, but why travel time? Wouldn't you just hole up in your quarters?” Ratchet asked, confused.
“No,” Prowl shook his head. “The scent is too strong and the EM field flares drastically. I would have mechs clogging the hall and trying to break down my door.”
“That bad, eh?” Ratchet grimaced. Sighing, he rubbed a hand over his red helm, before scratching a moment at his white chevron. “Well, I will put in the request. You know what days you will need? And do you have a safe place yet?”
Prowl nodded, a flicker of deep relief teekable before he reined in field again. “Yes, I will need med leave starting a month from now. At least I will have all of August to plan for this. I will have to leave by the last day of August, but should be back before September's Labor Day holiday. As for a safe place, I have one in mind, though I need to do a few last preparations to it to make it truly protected.”
“Alright.” Ratchet turned to the cabinet behind him and dug around until he found the type of datapad he needed. As he passed it over to Prowl to fill out, a thought struck him. “You told me why you haven't had a heat in a while, but what about Blue and Smokescreen?”
“Bluestreak is still young, and won't be affected for several more vorn, probably. Of Smokescreen, I am unsure. He is old enough, I know, older than I am, but I suspect he has pure sire coding.”
Ratchet frowned. “Okay, you are going to have to explain your point here.”
“The point is making a newspark- that's what all mating protocols are for,” Prowl said with a little fleeting smirk. He leaned back as Ratchet swiped at him half-sparkedly, doorwings flaring in amusement. “But simply put, pure sire coding means that a mech will only ever be a sire, never a carrier. Sometimes it is a lack of carrier coding, sometimes it includes a lack of gestation chamber as well.” Prowl gave Ratchet a curious look. “I am surprised that this is unknown to you. You are a very accomplished and knowledgeable medic.”
Ratchet humphed, crossing his arms. “I lived and worked almost exclusively in Iacon and the nearest areas. Didn't come across many Praxians then. And what ones did come to Iacon generally only went to Praxian medics. You lot always were insular. And then, well... after the war, I never had much a chance to learn all the particulars.” Unsaid, though both felt the sorrowful truth, was that after Praxus fell, there were few enough survivors it was too late and very little point. Ratchet reset his vocalizer, and shifted a little in his chair. “Anyway, non-Praxian grounders all have the same coding, and there is generally very little difference. How will this sire coding affect him if he has it?”
“If he has it, he will show some irritability, maybe some more aggression. It was sometimes called a 'sympathetic heat', because the mech displays a lot of the same symptoms of a mech in a mating cycle, but they don't go through it themselves. However, if I were to stay near enough for a sire to teek or scent me during the peak, he could, and most likely would, become extremely violent. Mostly towards anybot that stands between him and mating, but sometimes if stressed or glitched, towards the mech in heat. It is fairly rare coding though- only about ten percent. It is even rarer in fliers.” Prowl shrugged his doorwings, rubbing his temple again. The processor ache was trying to creep back.
Ratchet noticed of course, and rumbled his engine to get Prowl's attention. “I take it some of the discomfort comes in the form of processor aches? Anything else I should know about, so I can give it to you before you end up in my medbay?” His field nudged Prowl with equal parts amusement and concern.
“Ah. Yes. Well, processor aches, overheating, and slightly higher fuel consumption are the most noticeable effects. Sometimes a craving for a mineral or supplement. But if you wish to help right now, some mild pain chips and some coolant would be acceptable,” Prowl gave a quiet, slightly embarrassed rev of his engine. “The coolant especially as the, ah, heat is aptly named, and I prefer not to have to fight my cooling fans all day.”
Chuckling, Ratchet stood and waved Prowl out into the medbay proper, then headed over to one of the liquid storage cabinets. Grabbing a couple jugs of coolant, and a few medicinal grade energon cubes, he set them on the counter for Prowl. “Drink the coolant as needed, and for frag's sake, let me know if you need more. Drink the med grade if you feel any cravings. It should have all the extras your frame might want. Oh!” He walked over to a different cabinet, and opened a drawer. Pulling out a half dozen pain blockers, he handed those to Prowl as well. “Use those if you get a processor ache that quiet and/or recharge doesn't fix. If you need more-,” he poked a finger at Prowl with a half serious growl, “-you had better comm me or make another appointment.”
Stashing the supplies in his subspace, Prowl nodded. “Indeed, I shall. Thank you Ratchet.” Ratchet waved him out with a harumphed 'just doing my job', and Prowl headed to his quarters planning to get some recharge.