Chapter Text
I wish I could quit.
Ironhide could not have counted the number of times he’d thought this. He wasn’t exactly sure when he’d started thinking such a thing. He’d been working as a member of the Elite guard for countless stellar-cycles and working around the Celestial Spires for even longer. He could barely even remember what life had been before entering employment in the great towers of Iacon. The final days of the last Great War were but a fleeting memory in the buried depths of his processor. It was all a long time ago and now he wanted out. He wanted to leave.
He couldn’t stand what the Spires had become.
A place of lies, greed and cheats.
And a place of danger if one did not know where it lay waiting.
This wasn’t what they had fought for. But there were not many that remained that could recall the sorrows of the Great War. Not enough to remember. Not enough to caution the path Cybertron had made for itself.
Maybe it had always been like that. Maybe he was too naïve to see it at first, but he could see it now. A sickness that tainted almost the entire High Council and, dare Ironhide say it, the Prime too. But Ironhide knew the Prime hadn’t always been the way his is now. He recalled a more thoughtful mech in his younger days. Thoughtful, determined and hungry for a united Cybertron. There was a time Ironhide would have said he admired the Prime but not anymore. Now he just looked upon him and everyone else that resided in the towers in disgust. At least almost everyone, there were a few good’uns as he would say. Although the few good’uns were not enough to sway the deep feeling of disgust that always took root in his fuel tank every time his optics set sights almost any of the number of council members.
He had a feeling he would be very disgusted today.
Today they were holding an emergency council meeting.
They hadn’t had many of those meetings in a while. He last time they had, it had been about 27 stellar-cycles ago regarding some rust worms had escaped the Great Rust Sea and had been found terrorising the city of Praxus. Ironhide couldn’t help but wonder what kind of emergency had struck to warrant such a gathering. It was not often everyone was gathered.
Arriving at The Prime’s office, Ironhide pressed the bell button on the door panel before scanning his ID to enter.
“Council meeting is less than 1 cycle Zeta Prime sir.” Greeted Ironhide entering the room. He’d been working here for so long that he’d dropped most formalities. Something the Prime didn’t mind much in private as he knew Ironhide wasn’t doing it out of disrespect. In front of members of the council however… Ironhide would have to watch himself. Long-term service only granted so many liberties.
“Thank you Ironhide I was simply reminding my new assistant here on the meeting protocols.”
The Prime shot a glance towards the other mech in the room. A look that troubled Ironhide. He didn’t want to read into it. For the past 13 sellar-cycles it had, for whatever reason become the norm for the Prime to have a roulette wheel of various assistants. None of them lasted very long. Some citing the Prime’s temper, or the immense workload as reasons for leaving but lately many of these new hires would simply vanish over the night in the dark-cycles without a word. Ironhide couldn’t help wondering how long this one would last, probably not long seeing how the Prime already seemed to be unimpressed by their new aide. Or maybe the Prime was just in a bad mood as he always was.
The new assistant themselves had a very quiet presence. A white and black paintjob and a set of doors held at a neutral position behind their back. Ironhide would have almost thought they were some sort of aerial with those appendages if not for spying a set of wheels. A ground-alt then. They had unnervingly sharp blue optics of which Ironhide couldn’t tell if the mech was spaced out or running billions of thoughts through his processor as the mech stared at him. Standing next to the Prime, they looked like a minibot in comparison despite only being about a head shorter than Ironhide. Then again anyone that stood next to the Prime looked like a minibot. The colossal platinum and gold hued mech really was simply a giant among them.
“Ironhide this is Prowl. Keep an optic on him.” Was all the Prime said dismissively before exiting the room with the expectation that the pair behind will follow. He didn’t even give Ironhide to introduce himself to the new aide. The Prime really must be in a bad mood this morning.
Ironhide also turned to leave but caught glimpse just as he turned, a darkened looked flashed over the new assistant’s eyes. Seems like the Prime isn’t the only one that was a bit annoyed this morning. Maybe this one will last a bit longer than Ironhide initially thought.
Entering the Council Chambers Ironhide noted that some members of the council from other city-states had already arrived in addition to most members of Iacon’s immediate inner circle. Ironhide watched as the Prime immediately began to network and discuss smaller matters while waiting for the remaining council members to arrive. They were a whole 20 kliks early after all. Just behind him Ironhide could practically feel the awkward uncomfortableness exuding from the new assistant’s frame. Ironhide took a small step backwards so that he was standing next to him. It never hurt to help the new mechs out.
“You know what you’re doing?” asked Ironhide in a low voice. He kept his optics trained on the Prime.
“Yes.” Was the single worded monotoned response. Prowl didn’t appear to be a very chatty mech. In fact, he seemed quite guarded by the way his doors hiked up ever so slightly.
“When did you get roped in for this?” continued Ironhide in his attempted small talk.
“This morning.” Replied Prowl flatly, his doors resuming their prior neutral position.
Ironhide spluttered finally turning to look at the mech beside him, “This morning!? Did you even know about this meeting before joining up?”
“I know now.” Was Prowl’s dry response as he flicked away at a datapad in his hands.
Ironhide said nothing.
He’s really throwing them into the deep end now.
He thought to himself before plucking the datapad from Prowl’s hands without a word of warning. Prowl frowned in annoyance, “Please return that.” He requested. Ironhide didn’t fail to notice the almost unnoticeable quaver in the new mech’s voice. And if Ironhide noticed it, then it would definitely be noticed by the others that presently dwelled in the chamber. This was not a safe place to show fear no matter how small.
“Hold a sec mech.” said Ironhide calmly as he finished typing something into the datapad. Prowl practically snatched back the datapad with a strong edge of possessiveness. Ironhide could almost chuckle at the greenness of this new mech.
“What is this?” asked Prowl looking over the string Ironhide typed in.
“Me personal comms that. They got you installed with a full set of comms before you got started?”
This morning
“Yes.” Prowl’s response was slow. Obviously trying to calculate any possible hidden agenda.
“Comm me if you got any questions.” Said Ironhide who had no hidden agenda other than to be helpful.
Because we won’t be able to speak once they start.
Deciding to leave the rest up to Prowl, Ironhide returned to scanning the room until an internal notification pinged in his HUD accompanied with a glaring stare from the Prime directed at Prowl telling him the move to his appropriate position. To his credit Prowl was observant enough to catch the look and immediately moved to take his place on the left side behind the Prime’s chair without direction. Ironhide took up his usual residence by the door noting that despite his very schooled expression, the Prime’s new assistant had a very slight tremor in their doorwings. He was nervous. And Ironhide thought this new mech was smart to be afraid.
“If you would take your seats we can begin.” Announced one of the various members of the council, a small, almost minibot sized yellow mech with a silver helm. The head of civilian affairs, Emirate Xaaron. Ironhide was glad to see him. One of the few members of the council he didn’t mind and one of the few members that tried to keep things on topic when all descended into chaos.
“We will start as soon as attendance has been completed.” Dictated the Prime.
Oh no.
Ironhide glanced at Prowl. That was his job. He could see Prowl flicking through his datapad and glancing up at the various frames in the chamber with impressive speed.
Ironhide was surprised when a new comm popped up on his HUD.
<<Apologies but is the senator of Uraya here?>>
It was from Prowl.
<<Yes, it’s the one next to Sigil, Senator of Altihex. They’ve just ascended to the position a couple solar-cycles ago so their info might not be entirely updated.>>
<<I see. And Senator Trannis of Polyhex?>>
Ironhide glanced around the room.
<<Ain’t here.>>
<<And the Senator Straxus of Tarn?>>
<<Also not here.>>
<<Decimus?>>
<<Blue and bronze fellow left of Xaaron.>>
<<Decimus is listed as senator for a sector of Iacon; Translucentica Heights as well as head of one of the Science subdivisions. Is this an error? Aren’t members only allowed one position?>>
<<The more minor positions can double up, especially if they’re in Iacon. Translucentica Heights is barely large enough to have a dedicated senator but them rich folks will complain about anything if you let them. If you look, you’ll notice that Decimus actually shares his title of senator of Translucentica Heights with 3 other mechs because them pompous types couldn’t decide who to appoint.>>
<<I… see.>>
Prowl finished marking off the datapad. The sound of the list being updated to each of the datapads set on the table before each council member pinged against the quiet murmur of the room hushing the voices and the Prime began his address.
Normally Ironhide would half-sleep through these meetings. He had gotten very good at pretending to look awake and alert while on the more boring details, but this time, for the sake of this new mech, he’d pay attention.
“Good members of the Council I have gathered you regarding a concerning matter in regard to two of our sister cities, of which whose members are glaringly absent and have been non-responsive to any communications,” The Prime gestured to the empty seats of Polyhex and Tarn, “It has been brought to my attention that for the past 7 stellar-cycles Senator Straxus has extended his duties beyond Tarn and into Polyhex.” The Prime paused, watching the mechs in the room. He was not happy.
“SEVEN STELLAR-CYCLES?” he shouted slamming his fists against the table. Behind him Prowl was unable to control an obvious flinch.
We’ll have to work on that. Thought Ironhide to himself.
“How was it that this managed to escape for seven Stellar-cycles?” asked the Prime in a quieter voice.
“Polyhex has always preferred to keep to itself…” suggested Xeon, Senator of Kaon and in Ironhide’s opinion, an idiot.
“Polyhex does not have the right to self-govern! It is the right of the Prime to oversee all of Cybertron.” argued Heretech, a certified boot-licker for all things that concerned the Prime. He was one of the few mechs that made Ironhide genuinely uneasy with his fanatical obsession with the Primacy and all. He wasn’t always so obsessed it was only about 10 stellar-cycles ago that his devotion to the Prime exploded into what it was now. Matrix carved headdress and all.
As the Council Chambers descended into their usual spiel of chaos a new comm pinged on Ironhide’s HUD.
<<Is it usually like this?>> It was from Prowl.
<<They’re a bit more agitated than usual this cycle but more or less so.>> was Ironhide’s tried response.
<<Does Polyhex usually attend these council meetings?>> further enquired the white and black.
<<Senator Trannis usually tries to get out of meetings if he can. If he can’t he attends either remotely or has one in his circle attend in his stead because transmission from Polyhex almost always drop out midway. Usually, it’s Skyquake that attends in his stead but I’ve not seen him either in ages.>>
<<What about Tarn?>>
<<Senator Straxus? He usually attends all mandatory meetings. Funny enough he used to be in charge of Polyhex way back, and I mean way back, during the last Great War it was his domain. From what I recall he was asked to step down from Polyhex out of concerns of ‘conflicts of interest’ or something or other. He’s been in Tarn ever since.>>
<<He is well liked then? By the people of Polyhex, or at least enough so that it was seen as enough concern to remove him?>>
Ironhide considered how he’d best reply without completely airing his grievances about a member of the council to someone that now worked for the council. Prowl might be new, thrown into the deep end and possibly already be out of favour with the Prime but that told nothing of Prowl’s own allegiances. And Ironhide knew better.
<<I want you to take a look at Heretech over there. See there were a lot of mechs after the war that strongly believed in their leaders that led them to victory and survival. And Straxus was a powerful leader.>>
Prowl didn’t respond but Ironhide could see the thoughts buzzing behind the white and black’s eyes unpacking and dissecting the information.
“Regardless, Straxus has made it clear through his actions that he no longer has any desire to be a part of the Cybertronian High Council by positioning himself as the head of two city-states. It is a blatant grab for power!” – Viraz
“Isn’t Tarn where those silly uprisings first started? Polyhex and Tarn have a long-shared history together. It would not be surprising if they have started working together. Maybe we should be questioning their other long-shared historied sister city?”- Traachon
“I dislike what you insinuate. Vos would never align itself against the will of the Prime. And those uprising started in Kaon first.”-The senator of Vos. Ironhide could never quite remember their name. Sky-something? Fly-something?
Ironhide really hated these meetings. What was the point of them when you had one half constantly squabbling with each other to get the one up, and the other half sucking up to whatever the more powerful members of the council said with the remaining few that didn’t fit in any category trying to do their best damage control to form some sort of solution.
How did they get to this point? Why had the Prime allowed for it to become this way?
It was then Ironhide noticed Prowl shift his weight between his feet before deciding to do the stupidest thing he could do in a High Council meeting. He leaned forwards and spoke directly to the Prime without being asked.
A flurry of panic overcame Ironhide, he waited for the Prime’s temper to backhand the stupid much smaller mech into the wall, but it never came. Other members of the council appeared to have noticed and were also now quietly watching too, waiting for what came next.
Without a word the Prime simply nodded his approval and Prowl tapped something onto his datapad.
The holo-comms systems in the centre of the table whirred to life. An image formed from the beams of light to show a dark bulky mech with an unusual faceplate. The room was instantly silent.
“Good of you to join us, Senator Straxus.” Said the Prime to the projected figure sounding anything but pleased to see him.
“Zeta Prime. I apologise for the tardiness. Polyhex is frequented by many storms, some strong enough to entirely block out communication systems.”
The Prime leaned forwards in his chair, resting his clasped hands atop the table, “I take it these storms are the reason you have been declining my messages?”
“Regrettably lord Prime. That and there have been a number of concerning matters to attend to in Polyhex. Of which I wish I could discuss with more personally, but I find myself unable to leave this dear city.”
What Ironhide wouldn’t give to know what was going through the processors of everyone in the room at that moment. It was obvious from the start that the Prime had called this meeting to lynch on Straxus with the support and validation from the Council and was gambling on Straxus not attending to defend his name. Now there was little chance the Prime would be able to spin this scenario in their favour.
“Speak.” Commanded the Prime.
“A number of Stellar-cycles ago I sent one of my aides, Megadeath, to negotiate some minor business between Polyhex and Tarn regarding mining and resources as at that time there had been an extensive chain of cave-ins in Tarn’s mines,”
Ironhide could see Prowl flipping once again furiously through his funny little datapad. Likely checking to validate the information Straxus was providing and forwarding it to the Prime and everyone else in the room to confirm.
“However, my aide uncovered an unfortunate scheme that had been approved by the late Senator Trannis involving the melting down of select citizens of Polyhex for the creation and stockpiling of pure cybermatter materials.”
A collective gasp rippled throughout the room. Even Ironhide couldn’t contain his shock. Just when he thought he’d heard the worst there was something else.
“My aide immediately informed me of his findings and attempted to place Trannis under arrest. He resisted and refused to be taken into custody. As you know Polyhex has a special place in my spark. It was my home for countless cycles and defended it proudly in the time of turbulence and fear. I could not leave the city without charge, not when there was so many of Trannis’s schemes integrated into the city and so many with ill-intent that sought to fill the gap of leadership- and still do. I have been successful in quelling the number underground networks but there are still some that Trannis has allowed to run for far too long that are waiting for me to take leave of the city so that they may usurp control. And for that I must apologise for my lack of presence.”
Ironhide watched the Prime closely. It was a clever speech but expected of Straxus. Hence why the Prime had been hoping he would not be there.
“And what of the governing of Tarn? I understand your fondness for your old city, but you already have responsibilities that demand much of you. Additionally, I hope you are aware how it looks to be the overseer for two major city-states.” It was always interesting to see the Prime converse with someone he couldn’t simply bully over.
“I understand lord Prime hence why I wanted to make it clear to all that I have for the time being, stepped down from my position in Tarn relinquishing it to another that has the Tran’s best interests at heart and taken the responsibility of Polyhex to myself if the citizens and the Prime will continue to allow it.”
Oh that was clever
He wasn’t sure of the details. He was sure there were many and possibly a lot more to his little story about Senator Trannis than he was letting on, but Straxus was clever. Of course the citizens of Polyhex will want Straxus, especially if they were fed the same story Straxus had just gave them about the misdeeds of Trannis. And how convenient it was that he could share this story with the entirety of the council listening.
Surprisingly it was Heretech that spoke up next, “Such independence done without the blessing of the Prime shall not be stood for!” He rose to his feet slamming a fist against the table. Prowl did a bit better this time around at controlling his flinch. The Prime held out a hand for his zealous follower to cease.
“Senator Heretech does have a point lord Straxus. This is a highly unorthodox method that does not follow the guidelines of the council. An investigation shall be needed, and you cannot simply assign yourself a position independently? Nor can you assign for someone to merely replace your position without input or approval from the rest of the council” It was Decimus that spoke up this time. Of course he would have something to complain about.
“I am willing to comply and provide all the necessary information regarding this terrible event that has transpired that has left a great wound on the citizens of Polyhex. However, I reiterate that it is currently difficult to leave the city due my previously stated reasons.”
The Prime spoke up, “Who pray tell is currently overseeing matters in Tarn if you are in Polyhex?”
“One by the name of Megatron.”
Ironhide was not familiar with that name. It wasn’t one he’d known affiliated with Straxus, maybe he was a new addition like how Prowl was. Speaking of, Prowl had wisely moved back behind the Prime and out of the way and almost out of sight. He’d already risked the Prime’s temper once and he’d be smart to not try it again so soon.
The meeting eventually concluding with the following major points
- Straxus will provide a detailed report on the incident in Polyhex and will physically travel to Iacon within the current lunar-cycle. Date to be determined.
- Ratbat, one of the Prime’s more dedicated followers, will go to Tarn to assess this Megatron fellow.
- Kaon will renegotiate tax laws on goods from Vos
- Xaaron’s request to remove restrictions on manual classified cybertronians (Section 76a to 76h) was rejected.
- Repairs to the main road through Stanix was approved.
And concluded just in time. Ironhide was starting to worry that his knee joints were about to lock up.
While some of the members of the council remained in the chamber to mingle the Prime did not. And where he went so did his bodyguard and assistant. Upon returning to the Prime’s office the giant mech grabbed one of the chairs in the space and threw it violently against the wall almost hitting Prowl square in the face if Ironhide hadn’t yoinked him out of the way.
If Prowl was alarmed by the display of temper from the Prime he did a good job at hiding it. He did however sneak a quick glance of concern at the Prime’s bodyguard who was begging to feel that it was more his job to protect others from the Prime than to protect the Prime from otehrs.
Once the Prime had appeared to calm, the towering mech turned to his new assistant. “I want you to send a summons for Straxus to arrive in 7 solar-cycles non-negotiable and to dig up whatever there is find about this Megatron fellow and I want it ready by tomorrow.” he seethed.
Tomorrow? That was not a lot of time.
“What is it you want me to look for exactly?” asked Prowl. Stupid mech, opening his mouth again to ask questions.
“Anything that this Megatron has done that goes against my will. Any misdeed or misconduct that places him on the wrong side of the High Council rulings. Straxus thinks he can publicly undermine my authority by we shall see.” Vowed the Prime.
“…sir.” Was all that Prowl responded with before backing out of the door to take his leave/escape leaving Ironhide alone with his ill-tempered boss until he too was dismissed.
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
Once free of his Prime monitoring duties Ironhide began his search for Prowl. Usually, the Prime’s new aides would park themselves in the open work nook outside the Prime’s main office when they were not needed. It was not a spot that was hard to miss and yet Prowl was very much not there. Ironhide wandered through a couple of other close by office spaces and terminal rooms where Ironhide would have expected the white and black to be if he was searching up information for the Prime, he switched to comms.
<<Prowl. Where you hiding mech?>>
<<I’m working.>> Prowls response was blunt and offered little room for friendly conversation.
<<Well I’ve asked around and no one’s seen you since the meeting.>>
<<I have work to do.>>
Seeing how Prowl obviously did not want to be disturbed but, was also not anywhere he was expected to be, was enough to rise Ironhide’s curiosity. And if Prowl had only just had comms installed, then there were probably a few tricks he could play with.
Ironhide sent a location ping to Prowl. It was ignored, as expected, but what Prowl didn’t realise and what Ironhide had hope for, was that location ping responses were automatically active upon initial installation of a complete internal comms system unless you manually turned them off. Something most mechs were unaware of.
Ironhide tread over to a nearby supply closet and opened it much to the surprise of the white and black mech sitting inside who nearly jumped from their spot on the floor.
“Glitch-mice and gears! What are you doing in here?” exclaimed Ironhide. No seriously, why was Prowl hiding in a cupboard.
Prowl opened his mouth to speak before closing it to frown indignantly at the red bodyguard. His grip tightened around his funny little datapad like it was some sort of shield looking a lot like a glitch-mouse with a gear.
“I-I don’t see why it is of your concern.” Was the, in Ironhide’s opinion, rather pathetic reply.
“Prowl. You’re sitting in a cupboard full of cleaning supplies.”
The white and black shifted uncomfortably on the floor, shoulders stiff and looking just about wishing they would disappear from Ironhide’s judgmental gaze. Or at least Ironhide would disappear and leave them in peace.
“I don’t know where to go.” Admitted Prowl after a painfully uncomfortable silence. Ironhide shook his head holding out a hand to help Prowl up from his cramp little cupboard.
Weird little mech.
“Come on. I’ll show you where you can park yourself.” Said Ironhide plucking off a stray cleaning cloth that had fallen onto one of Prowls door and chucking it back into the cupboard.
After showing Prowl his dedicated workstation when not with the Prime the white and black immediately got to the task the Prime had set him. Namely using the terminal to search for any relevant information regarding the soon to be very unfortunate mech named Megatron. It took a lot less time than Ironhide thought it would as within 40 kliks Prowl was done and had sent of his complied and annotated findings to the Prime.
Ironhide wouldn’t have even known Prowl had finished if he hadn’t noticed the mech was essentially fiddling with his digits from the lack of instruction.
“You done?” asked the old guard. Prowl nodded in silent response, “There was not much to find. Should I see if the Prime has anything further they—”
Ironhide cut him off “Don’t go in there. Not until tomorrow, or you’re called to.” He warned. There was a questioning flicker in Prowls optics but he didn’t voice his thoughts.
“You know where the mess hall is?” asked Ironhide changing the topic. Prowl shook his head.
“Well that’d be an issue seeing how that’s where you’ll be getting your energon from now on unless you have a personal dispenser in your room.”
“I have not seen where my assigned quarter are.” Replied Prowl.
“Well I have and there isn’t. Bots our rank don’t get personal dispensers, so you best be following me. The Celestial Spires are a place that’s all about ranking and you don’t wanna be wandering off to the wrong floor.”
“I see.” Was all Prowl said which Ironhide decided was probably Prowls default response to things he didn’t know how to respond to.
It was somewhat amusing in a way that it was obvious Prowl was still trying to keep his guard up around all these new and potential dangerous mechs, which at present also included Ironhide. Yet he followed Ironhide through the halls of the Spires stuck to the long-serving guard like a Roboto-possum kit to their progenitor. It gave Ironhide the impression that Prowl had not quite been prepared for this position.
The mess was thankfully quiet that cycle. Mechs usually scuttled away on meetings days to stay out of foot. Ironhide showed Prowl the set of dispensers and tipped him in on which one he felt dispensed the best tasting energon before the pair took a seat at one of the tables tucked in the corner.
“Still, I’m mighty impressed by how quickly you sorted all that info for the Prime. Now ya sure you didn’t miss anything cuz the Prime… well you saw.”
Prowl gently sloshed this energon cube in a circular motion creating a little whirlpool out of the pink liquid. “I appreciate your concern but I didn’t miss anything.”
“Still I don’t think I’ve met a mech that was able to sort through that much info in a while. Or at least wasn’t in a specialist division.”
The whirlpool in his energon cube having quelled Prowl sipped from his cube, “Thanks?” he responded sounding painfully unsure at what Ironhide was trying to say.
“Mech, I’m complimenting you. You know that thing folk do when they wanna make someone feel good about their abilities?”
“Ah…well. It’s nothing to talk about it’s just what I’m good at and the reason I was assigned this position.”
The old mech’s audials caught that last part, “Assigned? You didn’t apply?” he asked.
“No?” replied Prowl with slight hesitation, “I was told to come here after I received my certs from the academy.”
Ironhides optics flickered as he processed Prowls words, “Hold on a klick. By academy certification you mean one of them fancy specialised institutions, not the Academy for Primary Programming?”
Prowl raised an optic ridge, “No I mean the latter.”
Ironhide nearly dropped his energon cube in shock, “Surely you mean the Academy of Advanced Training and Programming?”
“No, basic Primary Programming.” Replied Prowl in a tone that clearly conveyed his inability understand why it was Ironhide was finding this so hard to comprehend.
“What, so you mean to say that you only just finished the standard education course. The one that all newly forged Cybertronians gotta complete. Then they sent you here?”
“I skipped 7 ranks, but yes?”
Ironhide sighed deeply. What was the council thinking assigning a mech with next to no experience outside the basic course to be personally assisting the Prime. What were they thinking? What were they plotting?
“Prowl, you keep that information to yourself you hear? You don’t say this to anyone else.”
“I-I see?” was all that Prowl responded with.
Ironhide said nothing else and simply sat in quiet contemplation. There would be plenty in the Spires that would use Prowl’s lack of experience, lack of simply being alive, against him. And there would be plenty that would see this as a slight, no matter how clever this newly employed mech was. What’s more, being so new ment Prowl defiantly did not have any established connections. He was entirely alone in the Spires.
The gnawing question regarding all of this was Why?
Ironhide rose to his pedes. No doubt he’d find answers soon enough. “Right then, if you’re done I’ll show you to your hab.”
The hab assigned to the Prime’s assistant was on the same floor as Ironhide’s. Punching in the code to his new home Prowl cautiously blinked around the dark room. Ironhide standing just behind reached over and flipped the lights on.
The room was mostly bare save a berth, a set of shelves and a desk set with a chair tucked neatly behind.
“This place has seen many occupants in the past couple stellar-cycles so you might find the odd bits-and-bobs that were missed when mechs were moving in and out. If you do find anything ya don’t gotta feel obliged to turn it in or anything but other than that this space is yours.”
Prowl stepped into the room scanning his new space. Ironhide wondered if Prowl had any personal possessions. If he’d just finished Primary Programming, then it was unlikely. Maybe he should get the new spark a book or something. He turned to leave when Prowl called back to him.
“Ironhide,” the white and black shifted on his feet awkwardly, “Thank you.”
The old mech returned a wistful smile, “No problem mech, anytime. And I think congratulations are in order.”
Confused, Prowl frowned.
“You survived your first solar-cycle. Welcome to the Celestial Spires.”
Notes:
Spot some familiar names in the council meeting?
Initially this was drafted and titled 'The Prime's Secretary' that mainly followed Prowl but after some plottings I switched to mostly follow Ironhide cuz it made more sense and Prowl has enough fics that focus on him. Let the old man have a turn! When was writing I became suddenly aware this has big 'senior member at work meets the highschool graduate that was just employed' vibes LOL.
Chapter 2
Notes:
We follow Prowl mostly in this chapter.
Also keep in mind it's still early years for Prowl.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Prowl was surprised to see Ironhide waiting outside his hab room despite his attempts to hide it. But the momentary brightening of his optics and upward twitch of his doors was enough for Ironhide to read him. He scolded himself internally for being so decipherable, thankfully Ironhide said nothing of it. He hadn’t figured Ironhide was the early riser sort of mech. It was odd to be wrong, he wasn’t usually wrong. Prowl had a feeling he would be wrong many times in the Spires- a disconcerting thought. He didn’t like being wrong.
“Shake a leg Prowl, we ain’t privileged to a late start. Or you aren’t at least.” Greeted Ironhide as he motioned for Prowl to follow. He was probably right. So far Prowl’s impression of the Prime was that their glorious leader was a highly irritable mech that was prone to fits of violence when things did not go his way if yesterday was anything to judge him by. A far picture from what was painted at the academy.
It had been an eventful solar-cycle to say the least and Prowl still wasn’t quite sure what to make of all of it. The agitated Prime, the arguing Council. His hab room where he had currently found a grand total of 6 miscellaneous knick-knacks presumably belonging to those that previously held his title, one of which included a datapad that belonged to someone named Flywheels. And then there was Ironhide who was completely unaware he was the cause of some minor inner conflict for Prowl.
The last piece of advice one of the more kindly instructors gave him before leaving the academy was to not trust those that dwelled in the Spires. And Prowl ment to take that advise to spark, only for Ironhide to ruin it with his unfortunately greatly appreciated assistance. Did he dare to trust this long-time bodyguard of the Prime? He would be a fool to so willingly rely on Ironhide for help but for now he would allow it so long as Ironhide was freely giving it.
“How did you know I hadn’t left yet?” asked Prowl quickening his pace to catch up to the other.
“I sent you a location ping didn’t I?”
“Yes, but I ignored it?”
Ironhide’s smirk was enough for Prowl to squint at him with suspicion. He didn’t like not knowing things and Ironhide was definitely being purposely annoying mysterious.
“How did you find me yesterday?” Prowl had found, it was always the matter of asking the right questions.
Ironhide couldn’t help allowing a chuckle to escape. “Location ping,” began Ironhide, “When you get full comms installed, they’re automatically set to reply to location pings if you ignore them. You gotta turn them off manually if you don’t want me winning every game of hide-and-seek. Or any other mech that has your personal comms finding you whenever.”
This information alarmed Prowl. Why hadn’t this been informed when they installed his comms? Why was this a feature? Was this common knowledge among mechs? But he didn’t voice any of these questions except, “How do I turn them off?”
“In your internals follow the personal comms branch into its settings. Pretty self-explanatory from there.”
Prowl quietly followed his instructions before adding after a pause, “Anything else I should know about personal comms?”
“Yeah. Don’t give your personal frequency to strangers.”
You don’t slagging say?
Zeta Prime said nothing to the pair when he entered the office. Simply handing Prowl a datapad with an extensive to-do list and seating himself at his desk. Prowl scanned down the list. Much of it was ‘reviewing type’ of work. Work he was pretty sure could have been done by anyone with half a brain in the Spires. Proofing and checking that there was nothing amiss in the extensive number of reports given to and written by the Prime. Prowl could do this; this was easy for him, he could do it with his optics closed, but he probably shouldn’t. Wordlessly he set to work on the first document titled ‘Southern Iacon roadworks repair plans’ written by some mech named Hauler and was done with it in 18 kliks, all 400 pages of it. Now onto the next one. Another document by Hauler, this one titled ‘Weathering maintenance finances Q1’, Prowl wondered if it was the same Hauler or simply two mechs with coincidentally the same designation that happened to work in similar fields.
Prowl had managed to complete another 3 more documents seated at his station inside the Prime’s office before a chime at the door sounded followed by Ratbat, the Prime’s head of intelligence. A purple and black mech Prowl recalled from yesterday’s meeting. The upper portion of his face was covered by a purple mask with twin pointy ears and a thin yellow vizor over his optics. He looked directly at Prowl before turning to address the Prime.
“I’ve gone over all the available information regarding this Megatron. It appears prior to Straxus handing over his title he was a miner that would occasionally participate in gladiator fights. Never anything illegal, always fair fights.” Began the purple and black.
“I’ve read the overview,” Interrupted the Prime casting a side glance at Prowl and locking eyes with Ironhide, “Leave us.” He commanded. Ironhide moved instantly but Prowl hesitated. Should he really leave? Wasn’t it his job to document and record outcomes of meetings? But the Prime and head of intelligence’s silence was clear enough. Prowl left the room.
After the pair left the Prime turned to Ratbat, “I do not care about the mundane events of this nobody’s life. When do you plan on leaving and how do you plan on managing the situation?”
Ratbat offered a slight bow of submission to placate the ill-tempered Prime, “I have an agent I am planning on bringing. The one that can detect other’s emotions. I can use him to expose Megatron’s true intentions and the current view of the citizens of Tarn.”
The Prime hummed softly, “That empathic outlier you picked up? Interesting… and you’re sure you can trust this outlier?”
Ratbat smirked, “Sir, you and I both know it’s not about trust. It’s about control.”
The Prime’s laugh was a deep rumble that resonated from within his wide chest and sounded less of a laugh and more like the grumble of thunder in the distance. Ratbat, cartoonishly pleased with the Prime’s response risked probing another question. “If I may lord Prime. Why do you bother having a personal assistant? We both know whatever duties you require of them can be delegated elsewhere?”
It was always hard to tell the Prime’s expression. His helmet and faceplate obscured most of him save his very small cold blue optics. However, this time those glowing eyes indicated that the Prime was smiling, or at least something akin to it.
“I like to see how long they last. I like to see them struggle. And this time. I think I can have a bit more amusement from more than just my new little assistant.”
“I don’t understand how I am supposed to document meetings with the Prime if I am not present to document them?” stressed Prowl as he paced back and forth beside his designated station outside the Prime’s office.
“Get used to it. There are some meetings the Prime doesn’t want documented and this is one of them. And this is far from the last time we’re going to get banished from the room.” Sighed Ironhide as he made himself comfortable in a side lean against the wall. Prowl didn’t understand how he could be so casual.
“But the Prime is supposed to be attended, if not by me but by you at least? How is it allowed for the Prime to be wandering without a full security detail? And who even takes over from you when your shift is over?” The questions simply vomited out of Prowls mouth as he tried to, and failed to, find logical reasoning to them.
This place must be mad. There is no logic here?!
“Shush your processor ya shiny lil glitch-mouse. The Prime is quite literally the strongest mech in the Spires and I can’t think of a single mech that can take him outside of it. My position only exists because the council demanded the Prime have a bodyguard for at least one of the 2 shifts in a solar-cycle for appearances sake and he hates it. Tries to get rid of me as soon as he’s able to every shift which is no issue to me, I just fill out the rest of the time instructing the newer elite guard recruits or filling in other security details. Oh and by the way, no one takes over from me.”
Prowl’s felt his optics shutter as his processor tried to process the points Ironhide had presented. Maybe the Spires really weren’t a place of order as he’d once been led to believe. And if the Prime really was that difficult to work with, then that would explain some things he’d learned about his position in regard to previous staff employment. By comparison, it made Ironhide’s long-term service in his position all the more impressive.
“That…that sounds like it must have been… challenging to work around.” Was all Prowl was able to say.
Ironhide shrugged, “He got over it soon enough. I don’t bother him. He only bothers me when he needs something. I do my job and he’s still alive. That’s fine enough for both of us. And I guess after all this time we’ve gotten used to it.”
“And you’re sure I don’t need to document this meeting or ask the Prime about it later.” Asked Prowl one more time, just to be sure. You could never be too sure.
The red bodyguard shook his head, “Don’t ask about it and don’t even log it down in your little datapad records unless the Prime specifically tells you, and that’s him telling you not you asking him. Especially anything to do with Ratbat, do not ask anything about that one.”
“Why?”
“He’s the one that disappears folk for the Prime.”
A chill shivered through Prowl’s frame. That was talked about a lot at the academy by fellow trainees and instructors alike. It was a threat and fear instilled in them all.
“If you displease the Council and the Prime you will become Disappeared.”
Prowl had, for the most part, ignored such cautions but hearing it directly within the Celestial Spires carried a little bit more weight to it than within the dorms of the academy.
“Now are you done pacing or you gonna get back to your list?” asked the old bodyguard.
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
Ironhide was correct in stating that it would be far from the last time the pair was banished from the Prime’s office. It happened again just a few short solar-cycles later when Straxus of Polyhex arrived in Iacon. Zeta Prime refused to meet the old veteran by the entrance, a grand staircase that led up to the Celestial Spires and instead send Prowl to escort the senator alone.
Straxus was another large mech, like it seemed almost everyone in the Spires was. A bulky red and black with a foreboding presence. He observed Zeta’s new little assistant with scrutinising yellow optics and a small pondering hum. Prowl shifted his feet under this new giant’s gaze before introducing himself to which Straxus simply replied with, “Small.” Prowl could barely keep his doors from twitching. He needed to get better at controlling that. Ironhide had mentioned it a couple times already.
As Prowl led Straxus into the grand building Prowl became increasingly aware that the old ruler of Polyhex did not really need an escort. He had after all been around far longer than Prowl. As they walked Prowl received a worried location ping from Ironhide, one he returned. There was something oddly comforting about the old mech’s location ping that Prowl wasn’t quite ready to accept yet. They we colleagues, they worked together, they had a shared interest and understanding. That was that. They were not friends, not really. Prowl had come into this position knowing there were no friends in the Golden Spires and expected to fine none… at least they were not enemies.
Upon reaching the Prime’s office the two towering mechs exchanged forced pleasantries before the Prime dismissed both Ironhide and Prowl from the room. This time, Prowl immediately left without pause. Once outside, Prowl kept walking until he was at least 20 paces from the Prime’s office. His vents were strangely heavier than usual, why was that? He felt a hand gently rest itself on his back just between his doors. He didn’t expect that and flinched involuntarily.
“Calm your cogs mech.” Said Ironhide in a soft voice. Prowl felt the twitch in his frame lessen before noticing how stiffly he’d been carrying his doors and how tight every cable in his joints were to the point it hurt. Had he been walking like that the entire time? And had his spark always been spinning that fast? This wasn’t a feeling he was used to. He’d never had reason to feel this before. There never had been a reason to fear.
“Yer alright mech.” Continued Ironhide. Prowl was grateful for the lack of judgment in his tone. How embarrassing to almost completely lock-up one’s frame especially in front of the Prime, and this frightening Lord of Polyhex and Ironhide and-
He didn’t get to finish his train of embarrassment. Ironhide moved his hand to grab the top of Prowls head and gave him a gentle shake.
“Naa. Nope. None of that.” Said the gruff red guard like a mystic mind reader, “What’s done is done, you did your job, it’s fine.” Not appreciating his head being grabbed, or shook, Prowl swatted Ironhide’s hand away as the tension from his frame gradually eased out of his body.
“Now that’s done, what’s say we finally grab out energon for the day?” decided Ironhide not dwelling on the matter any furthur. Prowl once again found part of himself grateful that he could say Ironhide was not an enemy.
Since Prowl had started there had yet to be a day where he had not grabbed his quota for energon without the accompaniment of Ironhide. By now they’d gone enough times that Prowl had the route memorised, and even if he didn’t, he could simply pull up a map if need be. He didn’t need Ironhide minding him all the time like some freshly forged youngling. But at the same time, he did not want to enter a social space on his own where he might have to…dread the thought, mingle. So Prowl accepted the offer each time it was given. Besides it was nice to sit with someone. A luxury Prowl didn’t have in frequent in the academy.
Today in the mess hall there were a couple of other elite guard members who were keen to chat with the old red mech who was, from what Prowl had gathered over the past couple solar-cycles, rather well liked by the more ‘common folk’. Ironhide made a questioning motion wordlessly asking Prowl if he wanted to join the conversation. Prowl declined, preferring to sit at their usual table in the corner and quietly sip his energon while he read over whatever it was the Prime had tasked him with assessing. He didn’t have the energy to navigate social situations, he never had, it was too hard. Ironhide at least was easy to talk to. Fairly direct and to the point with a bit of a rough edge but Prowl would take that over an overly chatty mech too nosey for their own good.
Watching Ironhide socialise with the other guards out of the corner of his optics gave rise to a puzzling niggling thought that had persisted since they met. How was Ironhide here? Or maybe that phrasing wasn’t quite right. Why was he here? It was obvious enough that Ironhide didn’t particularly like the Prime or the Council. So why did he stay? With all his experience surely Ironhide wouldn’t have issue applying for another position that was more to his preference? That being said, Prowl was glad Ironhide was here, it would have been difficult to navigate the past few solar-cycles without him.
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
For Prowl and Ironhide the next following solar-cycles were much the same as another, Ironhide would be up first before Prowl. The Prime would have a ridiculously long list of things for Prowl to finish. Sometimes they would be cooped up inside the Primes office for the entire shift. Sometimes the Prime would banish them outside. But every time Prowl delivered the completed the tasks in person the white and black couldn’t help feeling the Prime always looked… disappointed? It was hard to fathom why he would be if he desired the tasks to be finished before the end of the light-cycle?
Just when Prowl had begun to find a sense of regularity to the shifts, he and Ironhide entered the prime’s office only for Ratbat to arrive back from his trip to Tarn and were promptly banished from the room. At which Prowl took up his usual station outside the Prime’s office while Ironhide left to assist with Elite Guard duties elsewhere in the Spires with the promise to return at a later cycle to check if Prowl was ‘still alive’. Prowl couldn’t tell if that was a joke or sarcasm or something or other, so he ignored the comment.
Within the Prime’s office the giant platinum and gold paced with great agitation as he listened to Ratbat’s account.
“What he lacks in experience is made up by, in short, his ability to give a good speech.” Reported Ratbat flatly, “And for the more technical matters Straxus has made sure to leave enough of his mechs that know how to manage things to assist him. As a result, Megatron is rather uninvolved of the typical duties of a senator and so far there has been nothing of obvious to find fault in the management of the city but know my agents are still searching as we speak.”
“And what of your outlier agent?” asked the Prime. He didn’t like outliers on the best of days. It was another reminder of things he could not control. If he had things his way every outlier identified would be purged from the planet. But even he had to admit there were times their abilities were very useful.
“Still in Tarn. So far he reports all of what Megatron has spoken is genuine. Megatron really does seem to have Tarns best interest at spark however naïve those feelings might be.”
“I fear you place too much trust in this outlier’s assessment on Megatron and his intentions Ratbat. You would do well to keep him on a leash in the future and not left to roam around unsupervised.”
“Soundwave knows better than to defy orders. You know how I train them Lord Prime.” Reassured the black and purple mech. The Prime stopped his pacing by the open balcony to the side of his office and stared out of the Spires over the city of Iacon.
“To conclude. From your observations the only real fault of exploit is his lack of experience and involvement in Council matters?”
“Yes, Lord Prime.”
The Prime paused, hands resting on the balcony as he continued to look out, “Senators…should be well versed in politics.”
Finishing his tasks for the day, Prowl shut down his station to return to his hab. Ironhide had dropped by to make good on his promise to ‘check Prowl was still alive’ but left shortly after citing some social meeting or other. Prowl didn’t mind, it wasn’t as if Ironhide as duty bound to hang around Prowl all cycle. Although, a small part of Prowl wished the old guard hung around a little longer before leaving.
As he left his station, he grabbed a datapad from the desk, one that was connected to the network. It was silly to admit but his hands felt empty without one. The Prime never used personal internal comms to communicate. Only using the formal messaging systems done via computer terminals and datapads linked to the network. As such without a device there was no way of known what the Prime wanted and Prowl did not like not-knowing.
Upon reaching his hab, Prowl set the datapad on his on desk. The Celestial Spires seemed to run on their own time. He was used to working the average number of shifts without break, being 4 (two light-cycles and 2 dark-cycles consecutively, also known as 2 solar-cycles) and found himself often board and idle wondering what next to do. He didn’t dare ask the Prime for anything else to do, not when he was so eager to rid Prowl from his sights. Besides, the Prime was a secretive mech and Prowl felt it was wise to stay clear of any of the Prime’s more ‘sensitive’ projects.
He sat at the edge of his berth kicking his legs restlessly scrolling through the endless archives of documents. This was how he spent his off-shift cycles. Sifting through documents and trying to get a better idea of how everything worked around here from the Energon storage records to the distribution of funds in the various subdivisions of the Academy of Science and Technology.
Prowl lay down on the berth, legs still hanging over the side and continued his endless doomscroll. It was whiles skimming over a particularly dull (even by Prowl’s standards) financial audit from one of the Science divisions that was run by some mech called Flame, that Prowl nodded off into recharge.
He was well into recharge when the dropped datapad beside him pinged with a new task.
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
He squinted at the string of glyphs on the datapad. The instructions were clear with little room for questions, just how Prowl liked them. The task was big, daunting even for a mech that was unable to take apart the big picture, but Prowl had always been very good at that, or so he was told.
Overall planning a social council function should be simple. Book the main entertaining hall in the Spires, have it cleaned. Decorate it in the manner appropriate to the function, (Who knew reading Wristocrat and Excessory’s paper on ‘high etiquette and entertainment’ would be useful?). Invite the appropriate guests, one of which being the newly assigned Megatron of Tarn, a mech the Prime had strongly indicated must be in attendance. Organise the grades and stock of energon required and pray to Vector Prime that the members of the council will be satisfied with simply that. They’ll probably need attendants; they’ll definitely need some attendants. They will also need a proper security sweep and detail for this. Admittedly the growing list was getting rather large. And he only had 4 Solar-cycles to do it.
He could do it. It was fine.
There was just one tiny, small, little ‘ol mandatory item on the Prime’s list of instructions that had Prowl stumped in how to organise.
How do you obtain a troupe to perform a specific play, technically an operetta, on such short notice?
It was not fine.
“You’re thinking real loudly there. What’s eat’in your processor?”
Prowl barely heard Ironhide as he continued to search through a very limited list of options.
“Cybertron to Prowl… hey!” Ironhide lightly rapped his knuckles against the top of Prowl’s helm causing the causing the white and black to immediately break out of his search and swat his hands away at Ironhide.
“Stop it! I’m trying to think.” Snapped Prowl as Ironhide withdrew his hand.
“Yeah well you look like you’re about to short circuit. Ya got the same expression them lil glitch-mice do when their brains are about to pop. What’s on your mind?”
Prowl weighed his options and whether it would be of any merit telling the old bodyguard. At the very least he was someone who could listen to him, but he didn’t want to worry the old mech with his problems. But maybe he could help?
He decided to tell him.
“And when does Zeta wants this to happen?” asked Ironhide after listening quietly to Prowl’s dilemma.
“Four solar-cycles.”
“FOUR SOLAR-CYCLES?”
“Actually, by now it’s 3 full solar-cycles and 1 dark-cycle, but yes.”
Ironhide, who had been standing, actually moved to take a seat on the extra chair next to Prowl practically facepalming as he did. “Seriously? This is ridiculous?!”
Prowl fiddle with his digits, a bad habit he’d developed when he was uncomfortable, he hadn’t expected such a reaction.
“It’s fine I’ve already sent instructions and delegation of tasks to those thwould be involved in addition to sending all invitations.”
“That’s not the point Prowl,” Sighed Ironhide, “You shouldn’t be being asked to do this?”
“I shouldn’t be doing my job?” frowned Prowl who was not at all following.
“No you can do ya job however ya please, but you shouldn’t be given such an immense task with practically no time to prepare it! It’s not fair to you?!” the red mech shook his head as Prowl continued to fiddle with his fingers.
“I… understand where you’re coming from, but the Prime has given me a responsibility and I must see it through.”
Ironhide let out an exasperated sigh and the pair were for a moment, silent until Ironhide spoke up, “tell me what you need.”
“I need an acting troupe.” It sounded ridiculous when said out loud.
Ironhide scrolled through the list of instructions Zeta had given Prowl. It wasn’t altogether uncommon for the Prime to demand some form of live entertainment for these get-togethers, which were a rare event in of itself. Usually, it was music accompanied by singing, sometimes dance, and when these social functions were held on the racetracks, the races themselves. This time the Prime wanted a stage play of some sort which Prowl kept correcting him was actually an operetta. Ironhide didn’t see the difference, it was all the same to him, mechs acting on a stage.
The play (operetta), that Zeta Prime demanded was about the Last Great War. The 4th notable war in their planet’s history and the one Ironhide surmised as ‘The one where all the cities hated each other because the Matrix of Leadership had disappeared until some random Mech found it’. Ironhide remembered little of the actual events that happened. He might have been forged during the Last Great War, but it was at the tail end. The reality was the war was mostly an event of the past for him that his now-departed Mentor would speak about in caution.
It was a purposely chosen play (operetta) on Zeta’s part. Likely to remind the Council who exactly was in charge. With all the various upset and unrest that was rippling through the planet Ironhide wasn’t surprised.
“Have ya tried the North Iacon Theatre? They’re Iacon based and supposedly one of the better ones.”
“No response.”
“The Aluminium Spiders, weird name, but they’re also based in Iacon?”
“Declined due to the short notice.”
“How about the Star Singers? I hear them folk in the council talk of them quite a bit.”
“Also declined.”
“The AstroStageERZ?”
“Declined.”
Ironhide shook his head as Prowl tapped lightly on the datapad screen to display a ridiculous number of rejections from the various troupes he’d attempted to hire.
“None of them want to do it.” Grumbled Prowl, “They keep citing the lack of time to prepare. Some of them even declining because they are already booked for the cycle?! This is a demand from the Prime?! I don’t understand why they’re so brazen in their rejection!?!”
Suddenly the main monitor screen beeped to alert another new message had just been received. Ironhide heard Prowl mutter bitterly under a vent something about rejection from a turbofox circus. The white and black pulled up the new message and he was right; it was a rejection. Just not from an acting troupe this time.
The message was from Senator Viraz of Helex and in not so many glyphs stated he was declining the invitation to the Prime’s event.
Ironhide raised his optic ridges and cast a side glance at Prowl whose optics were blinking and shuttering with dumbfounded confusion. The monitor beeped again.
Xeon, senator of Kaon- also rejecting the invitation.
Another beep. A decline from Traachon. Prowls doors started that nervous twitching again.
Beep
Decline
Beep
Decline
The beeping continued as the inbox was rapidly filled with a plethora of rejections from various members of the council. Seeing Prowl becoming increasingly flustered by the beeps and incoming messages Ironhide leaned over the monitor consol and turned off the notifications alert to quieten the pinging.
“I don’t understand?!” said Prowl who seemed more agitated by not understanding than the rejection mail, “This is an official council event by the Prime how can they all be rejecting the summons?”
Personally, Ironhide had never gotten himself involved with these sorts of matters, but in all these countless stellar-cycles he’d never seen such unprecedented outright refusal.
“There’s a response from Xaaron, have a look at that one. He’s usually got his helm on the right way.” Suggested Ironhide pointing at the screen. Upon clicking it Ironhide read out the ancient golden mech’s message.
“I am incredibly grateful for the offer of invitation however I must humbly decline. Not for any reason other than the official sending was missing a key element of its type of message that officiated its status. With its inclusion I would be glad to confirm my attendance.
I eagerly anticipate your response.”
“Yar missing something,” concluded Ironhide almost immediately as he finished reading Xaaron’s message, “Show me the invite ya sent.”
Prowl obliged and Ironhide scanned through the contents. It all seemed in order, so just what exactly did Xaaron mean by…
Ironhide facepalmed, “The Prime’s seal,” he said in disbelief, “You’re missing the Prime’s seal on the invites. That’s why they’re all declining and probably why you can’t get a hold of any of them snobby acting groups either!”
Prowl frowned, “There was never any mention of the need for a seal.”
Ironhide shook his helm, “Don’t matter what you were and weren’t told. The Prime expects you to figure it out!” Ironhide also added a small string of curse words directed towards the Prime that Prowl pretended he didn’t hear.
“Where do I get the seal?” asked Prowl once Ironhide was done.
“Where do you think? From the Prime himself.”
Obtaining the Prime’s seal was less painful than Prowl had assumed. Together with Ironhide, they’d entered the Prime’s office whereupon Prowl handed the Prime a datapad and simply stated he required his official mark to finalise the invites. Zeta Prime had silently taken the datapad with an impossible expression behind his shadowing helm and after a brief pause returned the datapad with his seal attached to the messages. Prowl politely thanked the Cybertronian leader and exited the room with Ironhide closely behind.
It was not long after that the stupid inbox was once again making noise with replies of confirmed attendance from the various members of the council and the unfortunate theatre troupe that was selected and was likely now scrambling to organise their members. Prowl couldn’t help feeling a bit sorry for them but he had a task that needed completing.
With 2 Solar-cycles left before the event, all that were required in attendance, save for Megatron who had yet to reply to any messages, had confirmed attendance. The hall had been cleaned and appropriately furnished and decorated, and the stage was undergoing the final alterations. The supply of the various energon concoctions had been sampled and tested for poisons and locked in the storeroom. Prowl ran through his list. It was just a matter of time now. He sent a location ping to Ironhide which was promptly returned telling the Prime’s assistant the red mech was still in the training arena. Prowl had found the location pings an odd source of comfort in the madness of the past cycles. At the very least the pings assured him there was at least one friendly face in the Spires.
Rising from his station Prowl walked to the door of the Prime’s office before chiming in at the door and scanning in his ID once the door returned that the Prime was agreeable to being seen. He entered the room by himself.
“Sir. A final update on the last of the checks coming through.” Said Prowl holding out the datapad towards the Prime. He waited while the Prime took his time finished whatever it was he was reading before taking the datapad from Prowl without a word of thanks.
Zeta Prime silently scrolled through the list Prowl had given. Cool icy blue optics trained on the device in his clawed hand. He didn’t say a thing leaving Prowl to stand there wondering and waiting for an agonising 30 kliks as the Prime read the report.
Without word of warning the Prime suddenly asked a question.
“Do you know why you’re here Prowl?”
Prowl felt a stray twitch to his doors he wasn’t able to catch, “I am… here to carry out your orders.”
“And do you find the work hard?”
Prowl willed his doors to remain still, “Some tasks are more challenging than others.” He replied. It was a half-truth. Save his current endeavour everything else the Prime had thrown at him was an oilcake walk.
“So far what are your thoughts of the Spires?”
A trick.
“They are very clean.” Was Prowls literal reply. He knew that wasn’t what the Prime was asking for but he wasn’t wrong, the Celestial Spires were spotless.
“Clean you say? Even once you peel back the plating?”
Prowl wasn’t going to take the bait and opted to remain literal in his response, “If there were parts of the Spires that were exposed it would be quickly covered and if need be, repaired to assure integrity to the building.”
“The Celestial Spires is more than simply the building Prowl,” The Prime said in a low voice, “You would do well to understand that.”
“Sir.” Replied Prowl with a nod of his head.
“You appear to be quite close to Ironhide. What are your thoughts of him so far?”
Alarm rang in Prowls head as he tried to decipher how to define the Primes intension and dictate his response. He hadn’t expected the Prime to ask him any questions, let alone his opinion. He’d never asked anything of the sort before. The Prime barely even showed interest in his existence.
“He has proven to be competent at his job and a supportive member of staff.” Was the reply Prowl decided. The last thing he wanted was to put Ironhide in a difficult position.
“And your relationship with him is?”
“We are colleagues. Sir.”
“Indeed,” was all the Prime said in response. Prowl forced himself to not fiddle with his fingers and remained under the Prime’s scrutinizing stare until the Matrix bearer released him.
“By the will of the Matrix I pray the event will be without incident. See that it does.” Said the Prime as Prowl had just reached the office door.
“Yes Lord Prime.” Prowl exited the office room and send another location ping to Ironhide.
Notes:
My microwave sorta exploded last week. Or at least something inside it did. Wild.
Chapter 3
Notes:
long chapter. There's a lot of info crammed into it soz.
Some uncomfy stuff happens happens at the end. Also fear not I will not Usagi Drop you guys. And if you don't know what that means good for you.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Rise and shine Prowl. Long cycles ahead of us.”
Prowl’s optics flickered online as Ironhide’s voice called through the door. Once again the old guard was up before him. But why? Today was the day of the Prime’s council function-operetta-soirée-thing. Surely he wouldn’t be needed for this? He’d already seen to it that everything was prepared and besides, this was a social event!... His job was to sift through data and plan things. Please let him not be needed for this.
A knock at the door again. “Prowl? Come on up and at ‘em.”
He’d better find out what Ironhide was talking about. Seriously, how was the old mech always up before him?
As he opened the door to his hab he was greeted with a gentle flick to his forehead along with a weary smile from the red bodyguard who peered into Prowl’s hab curiously.
“Where’s your stuff?” questioned the red mech glancing around at Prowls bare room which looked just about the same as when he presented it to Prowl when he first started, only cleaner and less dusty.
“This is my stuff?” replied Prowl rubbing his assaulted forehead and unsure how his personal items and décor (or lack of) concerned Ironhide.
“Don’t ya have a poster or an ugly desk ornament?”
“No?”
Ironhide muttered something under a vent that Prowl couldn’t hear before addressing the white and black once again, “Ready for today’s nonsense?”
“What do you mean?” asked Prowl.
Ironhide raised an optic ridge, “I mean are you ready to stand around following Zeta for Primus knows how long?”
Prowl gaped at him, “I seriously have to attend?!” Please no. Please let this be a joke. But Ironhide didn’t make these kinds of jokes.
“We both do,” replied Ironhide dryly, “Me to do my job properly for once. These get-togethers are the only time some bot actually bothers to try to do some funny business. You to stand around the Prime until he asks you to do something, or more likely, get something and to make sure the whole thing runs smoothly.”
“But I sent all the event plans to High Wire. Can’t he do it? He’s the one with that usually MC’s these events when they happen.” Prowl half-pleaded which was a bit embarrassing.
Ironhide gave a sympathetic shake of his head, “He can MC it but he’s not the one who’s in charge of organising, that’s you. Sorry Prowl but you’re expected to be there.”
Ironhide did his best to not laugh at the expression the white and black made which was somewhere between a frown and a pout. It was a little undignified and uncharacteristically juvenile for a mech that took their job so seriously.
“It won’t be so bad,” consoled Ironhide, “You’ll get to see a fancy lil play and all that.”
“For the last time it’s an operetta.” Said Prowl exasperatedly.
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
It wasn’t long after one final security sweep did the invited parties start trailing in. Some quietly grumbling about travelling back to Iacon so soon again. Some grovelling at the feet of the Prime, and some making some small pleasant remarks about how nice the event hall looked. The Prime himself eventually got tired of the greetings eventually retreated to his private booth in the upper walkways of the hall, Ironhide by his side leaving Prowl to mark of attendance of those who entered down below.
<<Prime’s starting to get a bit restless. How many more are there left?>> commed Ironhide to Prowl.
<<Just a few more. I’ve signalled to High Wire to start heading everyone to their seats. We should be good to begin in about 15 kliks.>>
<<15 kliks? That should be fine. Just be sure to thank Xaaron when you see him for his clue about the missing seal.>>
<<Why?>>
<<It’s called being polite dummy! He was trying to help you, and he really didn’t have to. Besides he’s as old as the slagging rust worms in the sea and actually tries to do his job properly unlike some folk in here so I think a little courtesy is warranted.>>
<<I see.>> Prowl was not familiar with the comparison of one’s age to rust worms but figured it must be very old indeed.
<<Any sign of this Megatron fellow?>>
<<No but Straxus has already arrived. Megatron has yet to reply to any message that was sent and at this point I doubt he will or even turn up.>>
There was a pause on Ironhide’s end before the red mech responded, <<You inform the Prime immediately if he turns up you here?>>
<<Will do Ironhide.>> It went without saying but there was a layer of seriousness and concern to Ironhide’s comm. Before Prowl had chance to mull over what worried Ironhide and of all the number of things that needed to be done next, a distinct golden frame approached him.
“Sir,” Prowl said with a slight bob of his head, he was never sure what to do with his body when greeting people. Shaking hands didn’t seem appropriate, waving at them was out of the question and staring straight at them unmoving was apparently unnerving. Why couldn’t High Wire do this instead?
Xaaron returned a small kindly smile and Prowl had to admit, this mech did look ancient as slag and it wasn’t their frame that looked aged. No that was well maintained with little extravagance which gave the impression that he was a down to planet kind of mech. It was Xaaron’s eyes. They looked like they were peering right into his spark and read every thought in his processor. It reminded Prowl of Zeta’s optics with the key difference being Zeta looked like he wanted to eviscerate folk with his stare, Xaaron did not. Xaaron’s title was also a giveaway to his age, Emirate, a long archaic title from a bygone era. He was also the only one on the council to have such a title and its meaning was so out of the public conscious that it might as well have been a part of his name. Emirate Xaaron.
Prowl had been so distracted by the tiny ancient mech that he somehow missed the glooming giant just behind Xaaron. A mech whose identity and any discernible features were completely covered by a dull exosuit of armour and was at least a head taller than Ironhide. Another giant. Yay.
“Just the one for your security detail?” Most of these council types had at least 4.
Xaaron hummed slightly before turning around to look at his personal security detail before walking around to look behind them on either side. “Yes it appears to be just the one.” He responded in good humour. Prowl, unsure of how to reply to this obviously unorthodox mech replied with a polite bob of his door wings along with his stock response of “I see” before remembering Ironhide’s request and awkwardly added a ‘Thank you.” After a pause.
There was a blink and miss twitch of the old mech’s smile, “My pleasure young Prowl.” He said placing one hand over his chest before entering the hall with his personal security trailing close behind. Prowl could have sworn he heard the mech in the exosuit mumble the word ‘Buzzard”. He ticked off Xaaron’s name on the list and suddenly realised that the old mech had addressed him by name, something none of the other members of the council had done thus far.
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
<<You’ve never seen a play before have you?>>
<<I have not and for the last time it’s an operetta!>>
There was a pause but Prowl could tell Ironhide was sniggering away in amusement from wherever he was stationed in the room. Probably patrolling the upper walkway that circled around the room.
<<Well, park yourself somewhere and enjoy a of a very cartoony and bias retelling of Cybertron’s history.>> was Ironhide’s eventual response.
<<I have a financial record to audit.>>
<<Pretty sure you of all mechs can do both.>> Ironhide wasn’t wrong. Prowl could definitely do both. He just wasn’t particularly interested in a dramatic retelling of embellished events.
<<I suggest you do Prowl. Zeta never orders events such as these without reason. Why do you think he asked for this *operetta* specifically?>>
Prowl noted Ironhide had opted to use the proper term for the performance and considered the question. There were many reasons why Zeta chose this specific script. Ego for one certain thing. A reminder of who they should be thankful to for putting an end to the war for another. A show to the council of who held supreme power. A display of his matrix approved right to rule supreme over Cybertron. But the council didn’t need reminding about the authority their matrix wielding leader had. The way some, particularly Heretech, practically worshipped the ground Zeta walked on was so obvious enough that they did not need reminding. But then again. What about Megatron? What about this newcomer who had never before had a single thing to do with council matters? And all the whispers of unrest he’d been hearing. Was all of this seriously for them? Surely not. Besides, Megatron was not even here. Prowl hopped he’d turn up. Zeta Prime had been rather adamant Megatron attend. In fact it was the only mandatory item on the list.
Prowl flipped his attention from the financial records of the Translucentica Heights science division to the performance on the stage. After the opening number, which was a song about an unspecified crime that led to all the main characters making accusations against each other, the play-operetta-thing began with a scene from a battle weary Iacon where two characters wondered about the location of the matrix before being chased by a crowd of lawless Prime-hating mechs. Prowl didn’t have enough reference to exactify how accurate these events were historically and made a private note to look up details later. The history of the how’s and why’s of the Great War were not a topic covered in detail at the academy. Only its conclusion with Zeta’s ascension to Prime-hood. In fact, it occurred to him that he didn’t even know the name of the previous Prime if there even was one.
As Prowl continued to watch he noticed that each city-state that had a major part in the war was represented by a character who shared the same name as the city. This had the intentional effect of purposely characterising some cities as more sinister or heroic. The character of Vos was a sentimental melancholic mech with a dramatic flair who often frequently wept over inconveniences. The characters for Tarn and Polyhex were depicted as fiercely loyal sisters in addition to being an unstoppable force until Tarn was lured into a trap that had them tragically killed by the violent and villainous Kaon. This spurred Polyhex to barricade herself within her city walls attacking anyone who dared tread close while also singing a highly dramatic solo about waiting for ‘a chosen one’.
Nyon was shown to be a cowardly mech who ran from conflict selling out his own citizens to escape harm. And Uraya was the double-crossing backstabber that supplied a gullible Praxus with tainted energon supplied. It was all a bit convoluted in Prowl’s opinion, and partly because he hadn’t been paying complete attention, he was also a little confused as to how all of this led up to Zeta single handedly taking on the army of Helex and somehow overpowering them entirely. And that was only act 1.
During the brief intermission Prowl returned to his auditing. The science division in Translucentica Heights was overseen by Decimus and had a number of inconsistencies in the report that most mechs would have missed. He’d almost missed it being half distracted by the performance. All in all, it was very well hidden and it was obvious someone was trying to cover something up. He’d probably need to read the financial reports from previous stellar-cycles to get a better picture. As High Wire announced the beginning of act 2 Prowl flagged the suspicious points in the financial report for later viewing and turned his attention back to the performance.
Watching the performance, something that stood out to Prowl was that despite being a character, and the only character not named after a city-state, ‘Zeta’ never appeared as a member in the cast. His depictions were always a shadowy silhouette or referred to and/or quoted by other characters. This trend continued until the end of the play in act 4 where it switched to an old recording of the defining moment signalling the conclusion of the war. The famous scene where Zeta stood atop from the gates of the Golden Spires of Iacon overlooking a crowd of Cybertronians before holding the Matrix of Leadership aloft as it shone with a blazing light. It was the only part of the play that held any real historic merit and overall left Prowl rather confused. He didn’t like being confused. So privately he decided he didn’t really like the performance.
The concluding finale was followed by a polite round of applause from the audience. It was a civil ovation which made Prowl wonder how much the audience really enjoyed the 18-cycle performance. But now that the performance was out of the way it was time for the socialising aspect of the event. Also known as mingling. Prowl did his best to disguise the look of disgust on his face and sent a location ping to Ironhide. The old guard responded with an accompanying comm:
<<Did you enjoy the play?>>
<<It was convoluted, overly dramatic and I didn’t understand a thing. No.”
There was a pause and Prowl presumed Ironhide was laughing at him.
<<Well it’s over now. And for your information, the Prime’s with me.>>
It was fine. It wasn’t like he’d have to speak to anyone. It was fine.
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
It didn’t take long for Prowl to find Ironhide and Zeta. It was a little hard to miss one of the tallest mechs in the room. Ironhide subtly waved Prowl over and noted the white and black sill clutched his datapad like a frightened glitch-mouse with a prized gear it feared losing. Zeta was largely ignoring them, the pair’s role for the rest of the evening was going to be largely ornamental. Just stand around until something needs doing. Something which Ironhide found terribly mind-bogglingly boring and irritating considering how he despised most of the mechs in the room he couldn’t even entertain himself by eavesdropping their awful conversations.
As Prowl approached, he gave a silent nod of greetings which Prowl returned before sending him a comm.
<<What do we do now?>> asked Prowl.
<<Honestly, we just stand around and look pretty. Which is easy enough for me. I actually polished this morning unlike you.>>
<<That sounds like a massive waste of both our times.>> replied Prowl dryly Ignoring Ironhide’s comment about the polish.
<<So was that little play, but I slept through most of it.>>
Prowl didn’t even bother correcting Ironhide on the incorrect term. <<You were asleep?!>>
<<Around the third part. Last thing I recall was Vos singing their spark out to Kaon to not kill her.>>
<<That was in the second act. And the Prime was fine with this?>>
<<What the Prime don’t know about he can’t get upset about.>> was Ironhide’s smug reply. Prowl was flabbergasted by the boldness of the red mech. It was one thing to sleep on the job but another to sleep on the job while standing guard right next to the Prime. He didn’t know whether to be impressed of appalled.
It was then the Prime interrupted their comms conversation and ordered the pair to fetch some cubes of high-grade engex for himself and the small entourage (which included Heretech) that was crowded around the Prime. Ironhide and Prowl were only too happy to comply.
As they approached the table to obtain the desired bubbling blue high-grade, Ironhide heard Traachon talking loudly to Decimus.
“The décor is rather quaint. Not as extravagant as last time. For one there are no crys-blossoms.”
An obvious snide criticism of Prowl’s endeavours. Didn’t they have anything better to do?
<<Crys-blossoms?>> commed Prowl to Ironhide.
<<A fancy crystal that grows in the shape of an organic flower. Very pretty. Hard to grow but Praxus for some reason has a whole bunch of them in their fancy gardens. Ever seen the gardens of Praxus? They even got organic plants.>>
<<I’ve never been outside Iacon.>> admitted Prowl.
Ironhide was surprised to hear this, all that time in the academy and they keep them cooped up in the city? How were any of these new mechs going to learn anything about the other cities if they never saw them save the one they were forged by? It was a designed ignorance!
“We’ll have to fix that sometime.” Mumbled Ironhide under a vent in a voice low enough that Prowl did not hear.
<<Have you been?>> asked Prowl.
<<Once a long time ago with Chr-… with a friend. It was… nice. All… very pretty.>> replied Ironhide switching back to comms.
As they got a trayful of high-grade glasses, Decimus and Traachon continued their conversation which Ironhide did his best to ignore. He hated the way Decimus and Traachon’s version of small talk was to look down on other mechs.
“By the way. I’ve not seen your racer in quite a while. What ever happened to that one?” asked Traachon.
“You know how it is. These racing types just stop working after a while and you’ve no choice but to retire them. After everything I did for him too… The number of repairs to their fuel tank and lines. The number of times he had to get fixed up after a crash. You’d think he’d have lasted longer.” Decimus huffed in annoyance.
“Ahh so I take it I will no longer see him on the track?”
“I’m afraid so, but I have found a use for him assisting in another project for the time being so it’s not a complete waste.”
“That’s resourceful of you. You’ve had him for what 40? 50 stellar-cycles?”
“66,” corrected Decimus, “which is a good run I suppose. They usually only last 30.”
“That’s because you’re a right brute with them!” laughed Traachon, “Honestly Decimus if you took a little more care in your things they might last a fair bit longer. I mean look at that pretty racer that belongs to Levitacus. He’s had her for hundreds of stellar-cycles and she’s still winning tournaments. He even had her in a couple gladiatorial fights too!”
At the mention of Levitacus Ironhide paused. He shouldn’t, he really shouldn’t and just ignore it. He’d gain nothing from listening to the snake whispers from the likes of Decimus and Traachon. But it had been so long since-
“-Ironhide?”
Ironhide looked beside him to see Prowl giving him a light bump on the leg with his foot. The white and black had a questioning look on his face that Ironhide didn’t feel like answering in their current environment. Besides some things were in the past and private.
As they reapproached Zeta and his entourage Ironhide heard the quiet clearing of a vocaliser. Looking around he saw no one save a slightly taller mech in some sort of exo-armour standing close by. Ahh… If he was here then… Ironhide looked down and nearly dropped the tray of high-grade cubes he was carrying at the sight of the tiny golden mech that stood directly beside him.
“Leaking lubricants!” he said with an undignified yelp. When the scrap had Xaaron gotten so close? The mini-bot sized council member chuckled softly and Ironhide saw Prowl turn his face away in a half-controlled expression.
Well at least someone was finding some amusement out of all this.
“Emirate Xaaron. Sir! I’ve told you before you don’t have to wait until you’re standing right next to me to say something!” sighed Ironhide. The good-natured council member had a quiet mischievous streak that Ironhide could only presume one gets after being alive for so long.
Xaarron simply beamed innocently at the red mech. “Perhaps. But my dear Ironhide I was wondering if you had a moment spare to listen to an old mech.”
“Sure I’ve got a moment, but I’ve just gotta get this back to the Prime-“
Xaaron put up his hand to stop him, “Worry not about that,” he motioned for the armoured mech behind him to take the cubes from Ironhide. The mech in question made a head rolling motion which Xaaron responded with a raised optic ridge and a playful grin before the armoured mech conceded with a shrug and begrudgingly took the tray of blue high-grade energon from Ironhide motioning for Prowl to follow.
“He doesn’t seem too happy.” Remarked Ironhide as he followed Xaaron away from the crowds.
“Oh he’ll get over himself. He’s just cranky because he hates stage performances.”
“If he hates it that much why’d you bring him? Surely you got someone else you can take?”
“Of course I do. I just knew he’d hate it.”
Ironhide blinked and Xaaron snickered, “Besides he wouldn’t hear of anyone else attending me. You recall what happened last time.”
It was hard not to recall what happened last time they had a social event for the council. Someone tried to snipe the tiny Emirate and only missed because Xaaron had bend down to pick up a datapad stylus he’d dropped. In fact, now that Ironhide thought about it, Xaaron was the council member that had the most assassination attempts on their life.
“You sure it’s fine wandering around without him?” asked Ironhide.
“Well that’s why you’re here now instead! Think of it as a little swapsies with the Prime.” Xaaron made a little criss-cross motion with his hands, “Now with me, there are things I wish to discuss.”
Ironhide followed Xaaron out the event hall and down the hallway outside to a balcony. It was nice to escape the stifling room and Ironhide could only feel just a little guilty about leaving Prowl by himself. He’ll be fine, he had Xaaron’s grumpy guard with him and Xaaron’s personal security was uncommonly good. They had to be considering how many attempts there had been on Xaaron’s life.
“Ironhide my young friend, have you seen any of the races in Ibex lately? They have recently renovated the tracks, it is quite impressive.” It was odd for Ironhide to be called young but if there was anyone that could call him that it would be Xaaron.
“Afraid not. The Prime rarely leaves Iacon these cycles and the local racers… well they’re not the ones I’d like to see.”
Xaaron hummed quietly placing his arms over the edge of the balcony he could barely peer over. “Well then. It would be to your interest to know Levitacus has kept to his promise.” He offered a consoling smile towards the red bodyguard.
Ironhide felt a pin of stress he didn’t even know was there being pulled. The relief rippled over his spark as he dared to express a smile of gratitude. He’d not dared to think about the deal made with Levitacus. He never did for to wonder was to nurture the ache in his spark which he did not believe he was strong enough to cope with. It was better to not think about it at all.
“Thank you, Emirate, sir” Ironhide bowed his helm to the tiny ancient mech. Xaaron offered a solemn smile in return, “To know a sorrow might have been lifted gives me great pleasure,” he said softly, “but I digress. How did you enjoy the show?”
“Truth be I fell asleep for most of it,” said Ironhide wondering why Xaaron had led them outside if they were just going to have small talk.
The silver helmed golden mech stifled a laugh half covering their face with a hand. “I admit the events of the performance are a little inaccurate and gloss over many vital details, but I didn’t realise it was also snooze worthy!” Ironhide shrugged a little sheepishly as Xaaron regained composure from his chuckles.
“I know Prowl thinks similar. Convoluted and confusing.”
“And I’m not surprised. The history curriculum of the academy is sparse in the events prior to the Great War and the chain of events that led to it. Many of these younger mechs nowadays have a great lack of knowledge of our past by no fault of their own and there are too few who remain from the ages past to remember it. And what is being remembered now is the wrong thing to be remembered.”
“Maybe you could remind them? I mean you are… uhhhhh… slagging old.” suggested Ironhide with the graceful tack of an astro-turkey trying to fly, Xaaron’s mouth twitched a smile at Ironhide’s bluntness and shook his head.
“It is not so simple my young friend. History is knowledge and knowledge is the key for control. And sadly, also a means of currency. And having a wealth of currency can be a dangerous thing to advertise. As much as I would like to share it, I’m afraid I still have much to do before I start painting a bigger target on myself. Besides, my poor security staff stress enough as it is.”
“And for that I feel sorry for them. Speaking of, shouldn’t we go somewhere a little less… out in the open?”
“And give up this wonderful illusion of privacy? Absolutely not! And sadly my young friend, to discuss the entertainment and lament the education of our newsparks is not the reason I wished to speak to you.”
Ironhide had figured as much and nodded his helm to gesture for the other to continue.
“As you might have heard, there has been a great stirring of unrest throughout the planet. Currently the greatest points of unrest currently lie within Kaon, Tarn and Helex and rapidly spreading to other cities. With all these signs I must ask: what has the Prime planned in response?”
Ironhide was surprised with the directness of Xaaron’s question. Their infrequent conversations often involved a lot of reading between the lines, which Ironhide wasn’t very good at, thus Xaaron’s bluntness felt very out of character.
“Come now Ironhide, we’ve known each other long enough and time is not on our side for this conversation. I wouldn’t ask you for this risk if I had other options.” Prompted Xaaron at Ironhide’s hesitation.
“Aww ricketing radiators. I couldn’t tell ya nothing even if I wanted to Emirate. All I know is since the last council meeting, he’s been fixated on Tarn and this mysterious Megatron mech.” Relented Ironhide. As much as he liked the old mech he really didn’t want to get involved in council shenaniganry. Not getting involved is how you stayed alive in this place.
“A Megatron that is also decidedly absent,” Acknowledged Xaaron, “It has been a long time since Zeta has not been able to simply intimidate and bully something into submission. I have little doubt that Zeta displeased by Megatron’s lack of following the rules.”
“Displeased? Sir I thought he was gonna blow a gasket or something when I relayed from Prowl that Megatron wasn’t here.”
Xaaron sighed resting his forehead on the balcony and suddenly to Ironhide appeared much more physically weary and ancient than he usually did. There was a weight suddenly visible over Xaaron and all Ironhide could do was wonder what thoughts plagued the other mech.
“I wonder Ironhide. How many times we must do this? How many times must we enslave and nearly destroy ourselves trying to break free once we’ve realised, we’ve allowed ourselves to become trapped like glitch-mice in a cage?”
“Sir?” Ironhide wasn’t sure what else to say. There was a pause before Xaaron suddenly straightened his posture taking in a slow vent and turned to Ironhide, “My apologies my friend for that lamentation.”
“You shouldn’t stress it Sir. We all got feelings and stuff.”
“You are quite right my friend, but I worry we are already set on a damning path and I find myself… fearful.”
“Surely it can’t be all that bad?” consoled Ironhide feeling a little unsettled by the ominous words of the typically level-headed, no-drama Emirate, “Maybe all this upset is the wakeup call everyone’s been needing. Maybe it’s the push our illustrious leader needs to finally reign in all the nonsense?”
Xaaron chuckled ruefully, “You are surprisingly optimistic my young friend.”
Ironhide huffed, “With all due respect Sir with the way things are the only way to keep on going is to hold onto something to hope for. And the way I see it, over the countless cycles the mechs around here have just grown more and more concerned about keeping control than anything else. And it’s that fear that’s leading to the planet to be so stifled.”
The golden mech returned a wiry smile, “Fear,” he echoed, “one has to ask why they fear losing control so much?”
If Xaaron had anything else to ask he didn’t voice it. He paused, a small flicker in his optics as he seemed to listen to something, likely a comm from his grumpy security mech, and turned to face Ironhide directly, “It appears our absence can no longer be maintained. We must return else my security detail might cause a scene…”
“You really couldn’t have brought someone with a bit more patience for all of this?”
“Of course not! And if I may offer one final parting word of advice to you my young friend,” said Xaaron taking Ironhide’s hands in his, “Keep your loved ones close and your enemies far away.”
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
Prowl had no idea what to think of Xaaron’s armoured guard. The mech simply stood beside him, menacingly. Staring directly at the Prime, his masked face unmoving and unflinching. Prowl did note the mysterious guard did unnerve some of the other more cowardly council members who kept shooting concerned glances towards the armoured guard. Well at least the attention was off him.
That’s what he would have liked to have said.
Questions were suddenly being directed towards him.
“When did he come into the service of the Prime?”
“When was he forged?”
“How did he manage to get this specific shade of drapery.”
The questions were simple enough but for Prowl highly uncomfortable and couldn’t help fiddling with his fingers. Zeta made no move to assist his aide.
Eventually was after a very lengthy discussion monologue by Viraz did the senator of Helex desire for another round of high grade and in suggesting so also made an offhand comment about the time someone tried to poison Emirate Xaaron’s drink. This prompted Xeon to demand the drinks be tested before they consumed them. As a result, they all looked expectantly at the only ‘expendable’ mech in proximity being Prowl himself.
Prowl schooled his disgust and distain and reached for the first cube as he tried to control the rising panic in his tank. What if it was poisoned? What if his sensors became inebriated from the high-grade. He was already feeling a little off being surrounded by the intoxicating beverage. He’d never had high-grade before, what if he hated the taste? The worries only continued to grow until his hand was blocked by another. armoured and rough.
“Potential threats should be handled by security not civilians.” Was the distorted voice that came out from Xaaron’s armoured security. The flood of panic in his tank died down as Prowl watched the armoured mech grab hold of one of the cubes roughly only for the glass to shatter in his hold.
“Oopps.” Was all the mech said mildly in the face of the flabbergasted mechs that surrounded them in addition to the mildly amused Prime.
The armoured mech grabbed another only for it so shatter under his hold once again.
“My sincerest apologies.”
Another glass grabbed; another glass shattered.
“It won’t happened again.”
Before the armoured mech had even lifted the next glass from the tray it cracked under the pressure of his hold and broke.
“Maybe this one’s more sturdy…” mused the armoured mech reaching for another glass before the onlooking mech regained their senses and yanked the tray of high-grade away from him with flustered cries.
“You can’t be poisoned if you can’t drink it.” Mumbled the armoured guard. Prowl. Utterly bewildered by what he’d just seen could only muster a single thought:
I don’t understand.
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
Re-entering the room, Ironhide could immediately sense there was a disturbance of some sort. Instinctively he began to make a bee-line straight towards the Prime and Prowl but was stopped by Xaaron who tugged at his arm and pulled him over to a table laid out with various energon goodies.
“Just going to grab some blue ones, they’re my security’s favourite.” Hummed the Emirate nonchalantly having bounced back to the calm chaotic mask of mischief he wore in front of the other members of the council.
“Sir I think we should—" The sound of breaking glass alerted the red guard as he scanned the room for the source of the sound… of course it would be by the Prime.
“Does Prowl like energon goodies? You should take some of these for him.” Xaaron handed Ironhide a small box of energon goodies in various colours. Ignoring the sound of another glass breaking as he did.
“I appreciate- I’m sure Prowl will appreciate it but SIR I really think we should be, or at least I should be seeing to whatever’s happening over there.”
Xaaron and Ironhide watched as Xaaron’s armoured security mech grabbed a cube of blue high-grade only for it to be crushed under his hold.
“I suppose we should.” Mused Xaaron.
“XAARON?! Keep your mech under control! He’s just wasted. 3… NO! 4 cubes of some of the best high-grade this side of Iacon!” Viraz was pointing accusatory at the armoured mech who was dusting the cube glass off his hands onto a nearby tray while Xeon held Viraz back.
“Ahh. Indeed. I deeply apologise for the… injustice towards the high-grade that has been committed. Truly regretful,” Xaaron nodded to the splattered spilt contents on the floor, “But I must take my leave as it is quite late and a mech of my age should not be out so late.” Xaaron gave a polite bow to the Prime and took the arm of his security before turning to leave. As he did Prowl heard the Emirate quietly whisper to his guard,
“—pactor what did I say about causing a scene?!”
“Don’t cause one?”
“Precisely!”
Ironhide and Prowl exchanged glances and Viraz and Xeon spluttered something unintelligible. Zeta, deciding he’d had enough of the pair of senators now that the entertainment in the form of Xaaron’s disgruntled guard had left turned and left with the parting words of, “Prowl see to is that this gets cleaned up.”
The remainder of the evening went largely without incident, save for Divetrain tripping and falling over a table sending the contents flying and raining down on a small party of unsuspecting mechs. The Prime having had enough of the event after getting confirmation from Straxus that Megatron was not going to turn up, left promptly in controlled furry without a word signalling to the rest in the room that it was time to leave. The once bustling hall of two-faced mechs was now replaced with the quiet cleanup crew sorting through the mess of spilt energon, toppled tables and of course broken glass.
Prowl, having retreated to the upper booths for some peace and maintain a visual on the cleanup scrolled through the financial report from the Translucentica science division once again. The oddities bugged him, but he feared he was going to uncover nothing with his processor so foggy from the smell of high-grade that had surrounded him the whole evening. He’d have to look at the report later.
“You holding up ok?” asked a familiar and safe voice.
“Just waiting for them to finish clearing the last of the stage set pieces.” Replied Prowl and Ironhide took up a usual spot beside him.
“I don’t think you need to be watching hem for this. Pretty sure they’ve got a hang of things. Also, you sure you’re alright? Xaaron told me Xeon and Viraz were trying to give you a hard time.”
“Ultimately unsuccessful thanks to Xaaron’s mech.”
Ironhide nodded before asking in a more cautious tone, “And the Prime didn’t give you any grief about Megatron to turning up?”
“He said nothing on the matter.”
Sigh of relief from Ironhide, “Good, good, we’ll take the little victory.” He mumbled placing a hand on Prowls shoulder and giving the white and black an affectionate shake. Prowl’s doorwings flicked but he didn’t shake of Ironhide’s hand.
“Oh and speaking of,” added Ironhide fishing something out of his subspace and offering it to Prowl, “You ever tried energon goodies?”
“Once,” said Prowl looking at the brightly coloured treats dubiously, “They were… a first attempt of a fellow student at the academy…”
Ironhide raised his optic ridge, “Well these aren’t a first attempt of some newspark mech. Try one.”
At Prowl’s hesitance Ironhide shook the box at him until Prowl gave in taking a pink one, the most ‘harmless’ looking one of the lot, as soon as he tried it, he said in obvious surprise and maybe a bit too quickly, “It’s not terrible!?”
“I should think so if we served this to the council! Was the goodie your friend made really that bad?”
“Yes. And he was not a friend.”
“Aww sorry I just figured…” shrugged Ironhide as Prowl twiddled with his fingers.
“No it’s fine. It’s just. As you might have noticed. I’m not the most social mech. Friendships are… difficult.” Prowl almost cringed at how pathetic it must have sounded.
“Well ya ain’t wrong on any of those fronts. Sure you’re a bit prickly sometimes. And snappy. Oh! And cranky especially when you’re reading anything sent in by Toomandi because he never formats his reports correctly. But there is more to ya than just your difficult parts.”
“Thanks.” Deadpanned Prowl sarcastically who was quite sure that Ironhide had unintentionally managed to both insult and complement him simultaneously. A truly moronic feat.
“My please, and you’re right about friendships. Friendships and relationships in general are often tricky and a bit messy. It’s nice when they’re not but here’s always going to be some bumps along the way. You just gotta figure out if that mech is someone you wanna keep in your life and use your very smart processor to problem solve ya problems.” Ironhide poked Prowl on the forehead. Prowl swatted Ironhide’s hand away.
“How do you make friends?” asked Prowl taking another energon goodie from the box, a purple one this time. Ironhide raised an optic ridge seeing right through Prowl’s question, “There ain’t a cheat code to making friends mech. But usually you just gotta talk to folk, ask ‘em questions about themselves and stuff. Just be nice.”
Ironhide regarded Prowl as the white and black contemplated Ironhide’s words of wisdom which Ironhide thought was more along the lines of common sense. It occurred to Ironhide how tragically unsocialised Prowl was and unequipped he was to deal with casual interactions. Just what were they teaching them in Basic programming? Were all the newsparks this socially inept? Or was this uniquely a Prowl thing?
“So Ironhide… What’s your favourite colour?”
The older red mech blinked. Did Prowl just? Ironhide would have laughed if he wasn’t aware of the obvious struggle the younger mech was braving through.
An odd warm feeling rolled over Ironhide’s spark reminding him of an age long past and a time when his now departed mentor was still alive.
“It’s blue mech. Like an aquamarine sorta blue.”
“I see… why?”
“Now that’s a secret.”
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
By the time the cleanup had finished, the whole event from its start to end was an exhausting 31-cycles and Ironhide was ready to turn into his hab. He’d headed back earlier leaving Prowl to fuss through the last details. Ironhide rolled onto his berth grabbing a photo frame from the shelf beside him. It was a signed photo taken at the gardens in Praxus featuring a light blue bot that was obviously trying to smile her way through some sort of shyness that was likely untypical for her. Ironhide smiled forlornly at the picture. It had been a long time since the photo had been taken.
“Maybe someday.” He whispered to himself putting the photo back on the shelf. He counted the days blessings. If Levitacus was keeping to his side of the deal, then it ment she was safe. The Prime’s little social event went without drama- no one got shot at, or poisoned, or fatally wounded. The Prime seemed to be keeping his temper under a lid meaning Ironhide didn’t have to worry too much about Prowl. Yes, he’d take these victories for tomorrow would be a new cycle altogether with new problems. Feeling the tug of recharge Ironhide allowed his optics to shutter close. Tomorrow new problems but for now he could pretend everything was ok.
Prowl had only just reached the door to his hab when his datapad pinged an urgent message from Zeta. Prowl frowned reading the message which only read: My office. Now.
He sighed wondering if he should bother Ironhide. He decided against it, the older mech had looked a bit tired and was probably in recharge already. Prowl turned and made his way to the Prime’s office. His own rest would have to wait.
In the short while Prowl had been at the Spires, he’d quickly concluded Zeta was a difficult mech and seeing the Prime up close and personal in all his negative traits made it hard for Prowl to view the planet’s leader with the awe and revere they were encouraged to in the academy. The glorious ruler that was painted was a far cry from reality it was in a way rather disappointing.
Upon entering the Prime’s office Prowl immediately regretted every decision that had led him into the Spires. The Prime’s office was completely trashed. Tables, chairs, shelves thrown to the walls and floor. Broken desk lamps and datapads littered the floor. The only thing not toppled over was the Prime’s desk which was welded into the floor but even that didn’t save it from numerous fist sized indents that decorated its surface. Besides the desk trembling with a barely controlled rage was Zeta Prime and Prowl felt a deep dread fill the very pits of his tank.
“What was the one thing I asked you to do?”
“Sir?” asked Prowl not daring to approach the Cybertronian leader. His fingers automatically started to fiddle with each other.
“Do you remember the one thing I asked you to do?” The Prime turned his helm, his piercing optics almost white with rage. His clawed fists shaking.
Despite every instinct telling him not to move, Prowl took a step backwards and that was all it took to tip the Prime over the edge. In less than 6 strides the giant mech had reached Prowl and hoisted his assistant into the air by his neck. Prowl frantically made a futile grab at the arm that strangled him before Zeta suddenly squeezed down hard with an enraged growl and threw him to the floor. The Impact was hard as Prowl was sent tumbling across the floor. His roll only being stopped by the Prime’s welded down desk which probably did more harm than good as a sudden sharp pain pierced through his back and the back of his held hit the side of the desk.
“I asked you to ensure Megatron was present.”
Prowl gasped a vent on the floor feeling the dented cables on his neck, “I sent him the summons!” he explained with almost a hint of rebelliousness. It was completely illogical for the Prime to be angry with the actions of someone Prowl had no control over.
“I don’t care that you sent a summons. I asked you to make sure he attended.” The Prime had approached Prowl once again and this time grabbed him by the obviously dislocated doorwing. “And. He. Wasn’t. There.” Zeta slammed Prowl down into the table face first. The lense on his right optic cracked. His vision blurred.
Zeta rolled Prowl over roughly onto his back and bent over the smaller white and black. He was close, too close. The only thing in Prowl’s vision was the penetrating gaze of Zeta’s blindingly white optics. He turned his head slightly to look away from the intense glare and saw his own hand shaking. He then became painfully aware his whole frame was shaking.
“These are delicate times,” hissed the Prime taking one of Prowls hands, the one Prowl that looked at, enveloping it in his, “and one small act of defiance.” Zeta squeezed down. It appeared effortlessly for Zeta to crush Prowl digits almost as easy as squishing an organic fruit. Prowl could feel his metal contorting and wires snapping in his fingers, wrist and palm as the feeling in his hand became numb as Zeta crushed it, “leads to another.” Finished Zeta releasing the mangled hand.
I don’t understand.
“Will you defy me?”
A simple question but all Prowl was able to do was wheeze quietly in shock and fear of this monstrous mech. Zeta sighed and grabbed a datapad stylus.
“Will you defy me?” He repeated stabbing the pen into the side of the softer seems and plating around Prowl’s waist. Prowl couldn’t control a pained yell.
I don’t understand.
“I will not ask again.” Said Zeta as he stabbed at Prowl’s midsection again with the pen.
Unable to form words Prowl shakily shook his head which appeared to be enough to satisfy the Prime in terms of response. Zeta stepped away from the white and black still trembling on his back on his desk.
“Don’t disappoint me again Prowl. And see that this is cleared up.”
He was left there on the desk battered and dented as small drips of energon escaped from the wounds to his side. The pink drops of energon plopped onto the desk collecting into a small puddle.
He didn’t understand.
Slowly he sat up cradling his crumbled servo. There wasn’t much feeling in it. He tested if he could move the squashed digits. Nothing. His vents hitched as an involuntary twitch spasmed through his frame. His back hurt.
Why would the Prime do this?
He gingerly slid off the desk, his knees almost giving way under his own weight. He stumbled around looking for a still usable datapad. Upong finding one he sent an urgent cleaning request to maintenance. He didn’t bother listing any details other than the note *IMMIDIATLY*.
He didn’t understand.
With shaky steps he crossed the room to exit the Prime’s office. He didn’t want to be there when maintenance arrived. He didn’t want to speak to them. He wasn’t sure if he could. His vocaliser felt off. He wheezed and choked some static. He didn’t want to speak to anyone.
Why did the Prime gain from this?
He didn’t dare go to a medic. He wasn’t familiar with which was safe enough to go to. Besides it would also mean explaining things to them. How could he explain this? He did not want to be seen. He winced as the sharp pain from his dislocated doorwing and stab wounds screamed at him.
Just get to the hab.
He trudged through the Spires, glad it was a quiet cycle, no one was around. Arriving at his hab he punched in the code for his door and half-tumbled in and locked the door behind. He practically crawled onto the berth and lay down on his side. He didn’t have any equipment he could used to aid in repairs. He didn’t think he needed any. In the dark and quiet of his room he stared at the wall with open optics. A stream of coolant trickled down from his bad optic. Something must have burst. Quietly, he wheezed into the dark, he felt physically cold as his fear frozen spark and shivered. He wrapped his good arm around himself as he stared at the wall.
He didn’t understand.
Notes:
So yeah, that happened.
If only Megatron was a party mech.
Chapter 4
Notes:
Some of our other cast members finally make an appearance! They'll have more to do later, trust the process.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
His joints creaked as he slowly roused himself from a restful recharge reminding him to once again stop putting off his medical check-ups. He’d been scolded many times before to come in before his joints started making so much noise to little use. Ironhide was always late for medical appointments. He flexed his arms and rotated his shoulders. He’d probably have to make an appointment soon. He checked his internal chronometer and frowned. The time displayed one whole cycle more than his usual wake up time. That was another thing he’s have to ask about. As of late, and he wasn’t sure exactly when, he’d been recharging for longer and longer and more frequently too. He used to have little problem running for 5 full solar-cycles before conking out but now he found himself tired after 2 solar-cycles.
His aches groaned as he rose to his feet. He’d have to wait for answers another time. For now, he had to prepare for whatever nonsense there was that always was after a function. He was feeling a little optimistic, the Prime had controlled their temper quite well yesterday despite his obvious displeasure that Megatron never turned up. Usually, the Prime would make a public display of his irritation. Ironhide always cringed at these embarrassing tantrums maybe all those prayers to Primus finally came through?
He exited his hab and headed down the hall to Prowl’s room. Even though he was a little late to rise he was still early enough that Prowl would probably be still in his room doing Primus knows what. Probably more work. He didn’t seem to have many, if any, personal items which struck Ironhide as rather wrong. There was more to life than just work and one’s function despite the various mantras from the council. He really needed to get Prowl a book or a board game or something. Even an ugly desk ornament that he could laugh at would do.
As per what had become his usual routine, Ironhide knocked on the door and waited. Prowl wasn’t a morning mech so Ironhide would usually give him a little time before nagging him to get up. It also made Ironhide’s determined decision to ensure Prowl wouldn’t be walking into the Primes office by himself a lot easier. After all, he had seen what happens when low ranking replaceables find themselves alone with an irate Prime or any other mech with an ounce of power.
He knocked on the door again.
“Prowl? Up you get.” He called through the door.
He waited. No answer.
“Rise and shine. Fun filled day ahead of us.” He knocked on the door again.
No answer. Not even a comms ping to tell him he was up.
“Prowl?”
Not a sound.
It was the lack of any sound that started a ripple of concern in the red mech’s spark. He knocked again a little harder and looked down at the door lock panel. He had the clearance to unlock it but…
He knocked on the door again and waited.
Nothing.
He punched in his security clearance code and unlocked the door.
The room was dark and quiet and bare. It became very apparent quite quickly that there was no one save Ironhide himself in the room. Ironhide backed out of the room, guilty about his intrusion but not so guilty he felt he was in the wrong. No, something was wrong, but it wasn’t him intruding on Prowl’s space. The ripple in his spark started to churn a small current. He could feel the swirls of worry swelling in size. He turned and hurriedly made his way to the Prime’s office. There was a reason he made sure he was always up before Prowl.
He could immediately tell something was off when he entered the room. It was the way the Prime looked at him after a very controlled exchange of greetings. Zeta’s typical unreadable expression accompanied by something else Ironhide couldn’t quite identify but it sent shivers down his spinal strut. He did his best to guard his emotions It would do Ironhide no favours to outwardly display his flood of concern. He’d managed so far by keeping his head down and keeping his personal feelings shoved deep down where no one could use them against him. He’d made that mistake before and the cost had left a pitiless hole in his spark. He would not make that mistake again.
Reling on the countless stellar-cycles of experience to control his frame was still not enough once he’d caught sight of the younger black and white. He was only just able to hold back a gasp from his intake as the once ripple in his spark having cascaded itself into a tidal wave of panic
Prowl was standing to the far side of the room in the corner. His back facing towards Ironhide as he replaced a stack datapads and other various items into the shelf. One of his doors hang limply at an unnatural angle. He didn’t turn around, but Irohide could see the tell-tale dents and bumps in his armour and the way Prowl was specifically not using his right hand to pick up the stacks of datapads. He caught himself just as he was about to step to move towards the white and black. Ironhide inhaled a silent seething vent. He moved to his usual post, his body as rigid and stiff as the rule of the council. He would not give Zeta the reaction he was looking for.
Zeta himself didn’t say anything and Ironhide refused to look at him. He didn’t trust himself to look the Prime in the optics and not say or do something he’d regret. His spark pulsed uncomfortably as the waves of fear and anger crashed against each other. He’d not felt such a thing in a long time.
<<Prowl are you ok?>>
Ironhide saw Prowls good doorwing twitch ever so slightly but gave no response to his comm.
Ironhide focused on his vents. Keeping them quiet and even. When Prowl had finished whatever he was sorting by the shelf, he approached Zeta, purposely keeping his face turned away from Ironhide. Prowl handed Zeta a datapad which the Prime read. Taking his time as he did. Ironhide watched but still refused to look directly at Zeta’s face. Eventually the Prime returned the datapad and Prowl returned to the desk tucked into the side of the room. It was a new desk. In fact all of the furnishings in the room were new. The crashing waves in his spark started to spin into a whirlpool as Ironhide’s mind spiralled into all the possibilities that could have happened to result to what was happening right now. Hadn’t everything been fine the day before? Hadn’t everything been fine?
Zeta didn’t dismiss them as he usually did. Occasionally he would direct a question to Prowl who would respond in a static choked ‘Yes’ or ‘No’ response. Ironhide felt his jaw clench as he held in hands in tight fists at the sound as he noted yet another injury done to the white and black. He needed to get out. He couldn’t trust himself to last much longer standing in the same room as the Prime. He needed out.
He never thought he would live to say he was a happy to see Ratbat. The Prime’s head of intelligence strolled into the office ignoring both the red and white and black. If he was surprised by the change of décor he didn’t show it. But after scanning the room did raise a slight and optic ridge slightly and gave the Prime a wordless glance. The Prime remained unreadable and dismissed Prowl from the room who fled in a hobbled walk from the office. Ironhide could only watch after the white and black. He felt his teeth grinding together as he forced himself quiet. After an agonising and purposeful wait the Prime dismissed him too. The red guard preformed a polite bow and salute and left the room. Behind him Zeta watched and smiled.
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
For a limping mech Prowl had covered a fair amount of hallway by the time Ironhide caught up to him. He called out to him but the white and black ignored him. Ironhide had to jog up, around and in front of Prowl to block him from escaping.
Finally able to see the other mech’s face Ironhide was able to see the damage up close. An obviously dislocated doorwing, a crumpled right hand that looked like it had been crushed by a hammer. Coolant leaking from an obviously damaged optic and was that… dull dried energon by his side? Prowl said nothing, keeping his optics trained to the ground.
“Prowl what happened?”
The white and black turned his head to look away from him and Ironhide felt an odd pang of pain shoot though his spark.
“Was it Zeta?”
No response other than an increased whirring of fans.
“Did he do this?”
An uncomfortable vent of static was Prowl’s only response as he tried to sidestep around Ironhide. The red guard reached out grabbing the other’s shoulders. “Prowl,” He began as Prowl vented sharply, “Did he hurt you?” Prowl made a strained choke sound and Ironhide’s hands unconsciously tightened around Prowls arms, “Don’t ya ever go in there alone. Do ya hear me?! Don’t be alone with him!” his words were harsh and forceful. He didn’t mean the to be.
A fearful sound of discomfort stilled Ironhide’s hands as he realised he was shaking the younger mech. Instantly he relaxed his grip feeling the tremors that shivered through Prowls frame.
“I’m sorry.” Blurted out the guard realising what he’d done. Prowls vents hitched as coolant started streaming from his other working optic. Ironhide felt that uncomfortable pain in his spark again, “I’m so sorry spark.” He repeated wrapping his arms gently around the shaking mech, mindful to avoid his damaged doorwing. Prowl coughed some static keeping his face hidden against Ironhide’s frame forcefully muffling strained sobs.
How dare Zeta.
Silently Ironhide switched to his comms, scrolling though his contacts before finding the mech he needed.
<<Hey you free? I need a lift. Bit of an emergency.>>
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
“Where?”
It was the only thing Prowl had said to Ironhide so far. His voice strained and staticky, signs of vocaliser damage.
“Going to see a medic.” Replied Ironhide as the back of a trailer opened. Prowl gave the red guard a questioning weary look as Ironhide easily lifted Prowl up and onto the trailer. The older mech didn’t trust Prowl to climb in safely himself, not when he’ been hobbling around like how he had.
“We ain’t seeing anyone in the Spires. I ain’t owing them nothing and neither are you.” Was his further explanation as he climbed in after Prowl had shuffled a little farther into to trailer. Ironhide pulled the trailer door shut and patted the inner walls of the trailer.
“Ready when you are Pax.”
The response was a friendly deep honk of a truck horn followed by the beeping sound of reversing.
Ironhide scooched over beside Prowl putting an arm around him to keep him a bit more stable in case of any bumps on the road. “I’ve cleared our shifts for the next two solar-cycles. Prime can’t do nothing about medical leave. Not when you’re… well… like this and I’m long due for a check-up so don’t stress about the Spires.”
Prowl hadn’t asked but Ironhide could tell he appreciated the information. Knowing things helped calm Prowl. He did however still have that widened-optic frightened glitch-mouse look although his optics were less bright than earlier. Ironhide presumed the mech was tired. He hoped Prowl was just tired.
The medical clinic they arrived at was close to the Spires and dual functioned as both a standard clinic as well as an emergency rescue and response centre. The smaller entrance leading into the clinic. The larger leading to the emergency response centre. Ironhide helped Prowl out of the back of the trailer and waved off the helpful truck with a shout of thanks. The red and blue truck replied with a good-natured toot of their horn before driving off.
Ironhide walked towards the clinic, only to notice Prowl staying where he stood, unfollowing. Ironhide stepped back towards his companion taking their good hand in his and pulling him up the ramp to the smaller clinic door. Inside was a quiet little waiting room on the wall there was a ‘Meet our team’ poster showing 3 medics listed as under the clinic side of the centre and an assortment of various emergency response members for the other side. No one was in, save the grey receptionist with a hard-to-place alt-mode. Maybe a scientific type like a microscope? Ironhide wasn’t too sure, he’d not seen her before, she must be relatively new.
“I’m sorry we’re not doing walk-ins at the clinic today.” The grey femme had a nasally voice that was a little heavy on her T-sounds. Her ruby red optics were accentuated by a pair of thick sharp pointed cats eye glasses. An interesting accessory indeed.
“That’s fine I’ve got an appointment.” Said Ironhide pulling a hesitant Prowl into the clinic and closing the door shut.
“Naw I know who’s scheduled for today and-“
“Oh no I commed the medic directly to let him know I was coming. So, if you’ll excuse me…” Continued Ironhide puling Prowl along towards the corridor leading to one of the medical examination rooms. The grey receptionist didn’t like that and rose from her seat. Ironhide then noticed a couple of scorch marks around a smokestack like appendage on her back. Definitely not a microscope.
“Ain’t no one seez the doc without an appointment!” yelled the receptionist aiming her smokestack at the pair. Ironhide pulled Prowl down to the ground as the gung-ho receptionist ignited a stream of fire into the waiting room.
The fire alarm sounded almost instantly beeping with intense purpose as the sprinklers also came to life with the force of a downpour that would put Polyhex to shame. Ironhide rolled his optics as the sprinklers rained down on him and Prowl, nothing was ever easy was it? Prowl meanwhile had decided he’d had enough of whatever was going on and curled up onto the ground his head hiding in the nook of Ironhide’s arm.
“FLICKERRRRRR?!!?!”
Ironhide sent a thankful prayer to Primus at the sound of the familiar angry voice.
The flamethrower stopped as the fire-happy femme spluttered to explain herself.
“What have I said about setting the waiting room on fire?!” The voice belonged to a frowning white mech with some red detailing including a medical emblem. Ironhide couldn’t help snort in amusement at the absurdity of the words that just came out of the white mech’s mouth.
“Doctor these two were going to break into the exam rooms!” protested Flicker
“If they are intruders then you call security! You don’t set the building on fire! And don’t you get huffy with me missy you know I’m right!”
Ironhide gently pulled himself and Prowl up so they were sitting rather than lying on the floor. At their movement the white medic noticed them. Upon seeing Ironhide their frowned deepened.
“You!” They hissed accusatorily.
“Greet’ngs Ratchet. Pardon the intrusion,” Ironhide pulled himself and Prowl to their feet, “Sorry about the late notice but… some things ya don’t plan.” Ironhide gestured vaguely to the beaten wide-eyed white and black and the medic’s expression softened.
“…You’d best come in then,” said Ratched motioning to the examination rooms down the small passage behind him, “3rd room as usual. And as for you Flicker,” he turned to the grey receptionist, “You can have the pleasure of explaining to Inferno why the waiting room’s been scorched and soaked because I sure as scrap ain’t doing it.”
Flicker’s expression almost instantly morphed from that of scowling defiance to a bright blush of embarrassment, “NO PLEASE!” begged the grey.
“Serves you right for scarring injured mechs.” Was the grouchy medic’s parting words.
Peering into the 3rd room as per Ratchet’s instructions Ironhide couldn’t help wondering if Ratchet was a little confused.
“Ughhhh. Docbot? You sure it’s this room?” He asked as Ratched squeezed past them.
“Yes. It is,” replied Ratchet before addressing the source of confusion in the room, “Jazz sorry but you gotta get out.”
The black and white, blue visored mech that had been perched on the medical berth pouted, “But it’s myyyy turn!”
“Get out Jazz, I’ll see you after.”
“Fine!” relented the visored mech hopping of the medical berth, “But who are these mechs anywho?”
“OUT!” Ratchet pointed to the scorched soggy waiting room where Jazz retreated to wait with an equally soggy Flicker. The medic sighed in exasperation and ushered Ironhdie and Prowl inside.
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
Inside the notably dryer examination room Ratchet regarded his old friend and the little one that was half hiding behind him. There was a story behind that for sure, but first order of business was fixing the absolute mess that had become of the white and black. He held out a hand to the mech and ran the medical scanner build into his frame to get a better read on the injuries.
“Now this bolts for brains I know,” he began gently indicating towards Ironhide who ‘harumphed’, “But I don’t believe we’ve ever met before. I’m Ratchet one of the medics of this clinic who are you?”
<<Name Ironhide. Who am I working with?>> Commed Ratchet silently.
“…prowl of Iacon.”
<<Name’s Prowl. Zeta’s new assistant.>>
Ratchet blinked his optics, “Prowl. I see. It sounds like you’ve got some vocaliser damage aside from what else I can see. Would you like me to fix them for you?”
<<Slag it Ironhide I told you not to get me involved with any of Zeta’s mechs!>>
<<I’M one of Zeta’s mechs! And Prowl don’t count either, he’s not involved with any of them folk up there.>>
<<You know you barely count as one of Zeta’s mechs.>>
Prowl nodded and hesitantly took Ratchet’s hand with his uncrumpled one. Consent obtained Ratched guided the white and black to the medical berth.
“Before I start. Prowl, can you tell me how these injuries occurred? Or if there’s anything you’re concerned about I’ll do my best to answer.”
<<Story. Now. Mechs don’t just find themselves with crushed servos ‘Hide.>>
Prowl’s vents stuttered as Ratched took a hold of his crushed hand. He didn’t respond to Ratchet’s question.
<<Things didn’t go the Prime’s way yesterday. I thought it was all fine, but Zeta must have called Prowl in after shift.>>
<<So Zeta did this?>>
<<Right on Docbot.>>
Ratchet’s frowned deepened further but noticing Prowl observing him closely attempted to soften his expression. From his initial scans he’d roughly place Prowl as a bit younger than Jazz, even so, what was a mech this new doing in the Spires?
“I will have to replace this.” Said Ratchet gingerly holding the crumpled hand, “It’s a bit too far gone for simple repairs. But luckly we’ve got a couple sets of spare servos. One of the should fit, you’re a fairly common size which is great because that means you wont have to wait too long for a new hand.”
Prowl nodded. Coolant and something else, dark- oil? Streamed from his broken optic. Ratchet took Prowls face in his hands and peered into the damaged optic, “I will have to replace this as well. It’s not just the lenses that’s broken but some of the connecting wires inside as well.”
Ratchet grabbed a cloth from a rollable table beside the medical berth and dabbed up the coolant and oil from the white and black’s face.
“You’ve got some dried energon stains on your side and it seems like there’s some puncture wounds under the crust of energon. Prowl can you tell me what caused this?”
“Datapad sylus.” Said Prowl quietly.
Ratchet controlled a swear, he could tell Ironhide was as well.
<<Zeta’s creative I’ll give him that.>>
<<You got no idea Ratchet.>>
<<And I think I’ll prefer it that way.>>
“I’m going to take a look at your doorwings now. I can see where the damage is from my scans but I’m going to put my hand here and I want you to tell me if you feel any pain.” Ratchet hovered his hand over Prowls back until the white and black nodded his head. As soon as Ratchet’s hand touched one of the joints of his bad door Prowl sucked in a pained vent and the medic retracted his hand.
“Alright. Prowl my scans also show you’re running a little low on energon so I’m going to ask you drink this...” Ratchet reached for the mobile table for a cube of medical grade energon and passed it to his patient. Prowl glanced at Ironhide who nodded encouragingly and downed the contents of the cube. Ratchet noticed this and filed it away to pester Ironhide about it later.
“If you prefer, I can put you in medical stasis while I work?” offered Ratchet. Prowls injuries, while disturbing given the vague context and the identity of the mech responsible, was not so sever to require a medically induced stasis but it would make Ratchet’s work easier. Only Ratchet didn’t know how comfortable Prowl was with a strange medic working on him while he’s in stasis. Some mechs preferred to be awake and some would simply refuse to be put into medical stasis if they had any say or power in it like some of Ratchet’s other patients. The ones that came to his mind being Red Alert and on occasion, Blaster. Two of his most challenging patients.
Prowl once again looked to Ironhide who shrugged. There was a pause as Ratchet presumed Prowl had asked Ironhide something via comms. After their brief exchange Prowl nodded at the medic’s prior question. Personally, Ratchet didn’t think Prowl’s decision didn’t matter too much in this instant. The mech was halfway to recharge already and would probably be out sooner rather than later. Plugging in a cable into one of the medical ports on Prowl’s arm Ratchet initiated the statis.
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
“Right, spill. You don’t usually bother with any of these mechs from the Spires. What’s going on ‘Hide?” Now that Prowl was out Ratchet could return to being his more unfiltered self.
“As I said he’s Zeta’s new assistant.”
“Yes but you usually ignore them or complain endlessly about them. What’s changed?”
Ironhide shrugged as he pulled up a chair and wearily sat down, an audible creek in his joints sounded as he did which Ratchet immediately took note of. “I dunno Ratch’. He just looked kinda lost on the first day he arrived and I felt kinda sorry for ‘im. He’s an odd mech but not a bad sort. And I guess the fact that he’s also got so few stellar-cycles in his spark made me kinda… worried? And while he’s clever I’ll give him that, he’s… not lived enough. The Spires ain’t a safe place!”
Ratched nodded while he carefully detached Prowl’s broken hand. “No they’re not.” He agreed.
“And he’s just so clueless about what to do with folk when they talk to him. Gets a all twitchy and fiddles with his fingers when other mechs try to start a conversation with him. Usually he hides behind a datapad and I know if I didn’t keep an optic on him he’d just hide in his room all off shift cycles.” The worries spilled out from the red guard like a waterfall, “He was starting to get a bit better at it. I think. But now Zeta’s gone and half tried to scrap him and I ain’t ever seen Prowl this frightened before and I… I got this weird feeling in me spark and I… I…. I don’t know how to keep him safe?”
Ironhide paused to take in a vent and Ratchet considered his friends worries as he connected the spoken and unspoken dots.
“This would be the first time he’s been injured by Zeta then?” the medic said softly. Ironhide made an unhappy noise of confirmation.
Ratchet, finished with removing Prowl’s hand moved to his damaged optic. It was easiest to replace the whole thing than try to repair it. Besides it would also mean less time in waiting in a medbay. Ratchet gathered the necessary assortment of tools needed for the extraction and set to work fishing the eye out. Ironhide made a sound of discomfort and looked away. Optics tend to make most mechs a bit squeamish.
“How have you been?” asked Ratched switched focus from Prowl.
“Me? Same as always.” Shrugged Ironhide, “Stand guard over here. Listen to them talk slag. Supervise some training. Do some training. Drink me energon. Nothing different.”
“Really?”
“Well my joints are creaking up again and I guess I’ve been feeling like I need to recharge more…”
Pulling out the optic, Ratchet turned to face his friend who seemed to have missed the point of the question. While he physically looked fine Ratchet could see the stress that had etched itself into his friends face and blazed behind his optics. He looked older than when he last saw him. More tired, more defeated and the face of a mech that had things to lose and was terrified of that happening. Ratchet ran a brief scan over the red mech to which Ironhde noticed and frowned.
“Thought you were working on him first?” he said.
“I can do both.” Said Ratchet flatly noting Ironhide’s base spark rate was much higher than his usual rate which was already higher than what it should be the normal rate. Small wonder Ironhide was feeling the nee to recharge more frequently. Ratchet muttered a barely audible swear under a vent. This stupid job as the Prime’s bodyguard was going to slowly kill his friend as it ate away at his spark piece by piece.
“You don’t have to stay there you know. You could find another job almost anywhere else?” a suggestion Ratchet had made almost every time Ironhide came down to the clinic.
“Ya know I can’t do that doc. If I could I think I’d have left a long time ago. And besides I got him to keep an eye on now too.” Sighed Ironhide as he gestured to Prowl.
Ratchet said nothing. Despite appearances Ironhide was a soft sparked mech at his core. A terrible trait to have in the Celestial Spires. And a terrible trait to have if those Ironhide extended affection towards were ever threatened.
After a long pause Ratchet spoke up, “She’s doing fine Ironhide. In fact, she’s probably doing better than both of us. She’s a lot tougher than you’re given her credit for.”
“I know she’s tough! You don’t survive being shoved into entertainment class without being tough! But it’s hard Ratchet. I’ve not seen her in so long. I’m not even allowed to look her up on the databases to see how she’s doing. Can you believe that? The slagging Prime doesn’t even allow me to look up public articles about her! And if he finds out about the deal with Levitacus then I… I don’t know what he’ll do but if I don’t keep my deal with Levitacus then how can I make sure Levitacus doesn’t start treating her like how Decimus does his racers?” The red mech buried his face in his hands and Ratchet paused his repairs on Prowl to place a consoling hand on his friend’s shoulder.
“Levitacus wouldn’t stoop that low, even if you couldn’t keep up with paying him. Chromia’s established herself far too well he can’t afford to mistreat her now. She’s tough ‘Hide, and smart.” The medic paused, “I was at Ibex not too long ago. I was able to see her after a race. She misses you ‘Hide. She still does.”
Ironhide remained silent and Ratchet, after a comforting squeeze to his friend’s shoulder returned to fixing Prowl’s vocaliser. They said nothing for a long time as Ratchet carefully repaired and straightened the dents out of Prowl’s armour. Ironhide was trapped. If he left, he’d have no security to ensure Chromia’s safety and he’d have to give up entirely on Prowl, this young mech that appeared very much attached to Ironhide as much as Ironhide was attached to him, even if Ironhide was a bit obtuse about it. If Ironhide stayed Ratchet was almost sure the long-term stress would eventually kill him. And Ratchet knew Ironhide would never abandon those he cared for.
“Did you know there’s a number of studies that say that our race was born with an innate desire to connect with others, some stronger than others?” Said Ratchet abruptly killing the silence. Ironhide shook his head. Ratchet wasn’t surprised and continued, “The desire to connect. To give and show love to one another is said to be the reason why our society created the mentorship structure to begin with, so that no bot would ever be alone. And that’s not in forgetting about sparkmates and siblinghood and all the rest.” Ratchet, finished with Prowl’s vocaliser moved to the datapad stylus stab wounds. “It’s a remarkably powerful counter to the claim many other species on other planets make about us, that we’re a naturally violent and aggressive race.”
“Some recent studies claim that the current structure of education for newly forged mechs goes against our connective nature due to how easy it is to become lost in the crowd of newsparks and become isolated. They proposed bringing back the mentorship structure for the mechs that were ‘left behind’ so to speak. Of course, this wasn’t liked by those in the Council who saw the study as an attack on their system. You can’t find those studies in the archives anymore. You can only access them if they were downloaded onto a disconnected devise. It’s concerning they have enough power to wipe undesired studies almost completely. Regardless it is interesting to think about…”
“About what?”
“About the way the council treat our newly forged. Do you remember when they announced they were ending the mentorship structure?”
“Outlawing more like, they said mechs weren’t being taught the right stuff and it discouraged mechs loyalty to the Prime? Never agreed to it. I know my mentor did everything they could to make sure I knew right from left as they say.”
Ratchet allowed a slight chuckle, “I think every mentor does the best they can. Which is more than what I can say for the academy which focuses on turning these little ones into Council-loving fanatics,” Ratchet took a pause to look down at the stasis locked frame on the medical berth, “And that’s not even mentioning the disparity in length and quality of what kind of education is even given in each city state. Did you know Polyhex has the shortest Basic Programming out of all the city states on Cybertron?”
“Well, that would explain some things about the folk there.” Said Ironhide dryly.
Ratchet made a noise that neither agreed or disagreed with the red mech. “That being said. The ban on mentorship hasn’t stopped some mechs from reaching out to ‘the ones left behind’ as the study called them… but to do so openly is dangerous…” Privately Ratchet thought of Blaster once again and the absolute mess that was the outlier’s life. It was only out of sheer stubbornness, or perhaps love? That the radio-alt was even still alive.
The patch to Prowl’s side was quick and Ratchet set to the final major injury being the doorwing. Ironhide, who had been listening closely tapped a digit against his folded arms. “What are you meaning at doc?”
Ratchet raised an almost disappointed optic ridge. As soft sparked Ironhide was he was almost as equally dense at times. And this was one of those times.
“… don’t worry about it,” Said the medic and Ironhide shrugged. Ratchet wasn’t going to spell it out to him.
After reattaching a new optic and hand Ratchet brought Prowl out of medical stasis to check how well the new parts had integrated with his systems. Testing and flexing Prowls hands and checking his optics and vocaliser. All seemed to be in working order and satisfied with the repairs, Ratchet began to clear up the workspace and moved to the terminal on the desk give the pair some space. Besides he needed to update Prowl’s medical file.
Ironhide shuffled his chair closer to the medical berth and placed a hand on the top of Prowl’s head giving him an awkward pat, Prowl didn’t swat his hand away. “Feeling alright?” Prowl blinked his optics; stasis was not the same as a recharge cycle. If you went into stasis tired, medical or not, you woke up tired. “Get some recharge spark. Ratchet’s still gotta look at my knees.” Said Ironhide softly only realising after he’d spoken he’d used an old term his own mentor had used for him so long ago. In fact, he’d used it earlier as well but was so caught up in the upset he didn’t notice.
Prowl, not having any reason to argue with the prospect of sleep curled up on the berth on his side and promptly fell into recharge. Looking down at the curled frame Ironhide felt that odd feeling of worry swelled up inside his spark again. Worry and something else... He didn’t know what to do with it so he leaned back in his chair with his hands in his lap as thought about everything and nothing. Ratchet regarded him sympathetically. The medic pulled up a chair and handed Ironhide a cube of energon.
“They’re alright ‘Hide. They’re both alright.” Said the medic consolingly. Ironhide had chosen a difficult path. A path chosen by his spark to love someone he was forbidden to ever be with and to protect and mentor this young mech sleeping on the berth even if he hadn’t quite realised it yet. Ratchet hoped his friend had enough strength to hold onto both.
Notes:
Ratchet: "You've adopted a child by accident."
Ironhide: "I have no idea what you're talking about."
Ratchet: "Clearly."Jazz - still in the waiting room.
Chapter 5
Notes:
Been kinda busy and this chapter went through a couple re-writes cuz I couldn't get the pacing right and I'm still not quite sure how I feel about it. But here, have more Prowl and Ironhide being bad at expressing themselves.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The general repairs and maintenance were simple enough procedures that Ratchet could have, if he wanted to, have done it with his optics closed. The only real cause for concern was something out of the medics control, being Ironhide’s elevated spark rate.
“I’m meeting Orion and a couple of other friends. You be interested?” asked the medic casually as he finished with Ironhide’s knees.
Ironhide raised an optic ridge, “Do I know them?”
“Some. Bawn, Impactor, Hauler-”
“Who’s that?”
“… and some you don’t know. Thoughts?”
“I dunno how I feel like meeting a bunch of new mechs right now. Especially after Zeta’s little party.”
“Energon’s free,” said Ratchet before adding, “and it’ll be after your shifts.” He hoped it would be enough to coax the Prime’s guard into attending. For a long time now Ironhide struggled with socialising with mechs he wasn’t familiar with. Too weary and tired to figure out if there was any hidden agenda behind the friendly pleasantries. Ironically this went both ways as mechs outside the tower were weary of Ironhide by virtue of his association with the senate and the Prime. The double path of mistrust leaving Ratchet’s long-time friend rather isolated and dare he say it, lonely.
Eventually Ironhide relented after much consideration, “… When y’all meeting?”
Ratchet nodded, silently pleased but also surprised with Ironhide’s response. He didn’t think Ironhide would accept the invite with this new young mech in the picture, “In two solar-cycles. Not Maccadam’s this time. I’ll comm you the location later.” Ironhide hummed in response possibly regretting his decision but didn’t voice anything.
Ratchet cleared away his tools and gestured to his long-time friend he was done, “I’d let you stay longer but I did kick out another patient to see you. Do you mind waking him up?”
“Oh right, sure thing Doc-bot and thanks for seeing us when we turned up all outta the blue and all. And ughhh…. sorry about the fire and all that.”
“Don’t be sorry about the fire, you didn’t set the place ablaze.” Replied Ratchet dryly thinking of the highly strung receptionist. “Just make an actual appointment next time.” The medic turned to tend to his tools and notes leaving Ironhide to wake Prowl. Watching out of the corner of his optic as Ironhide, with all the grace his rough edges allowed him, gently shook the white and black awake.
Prowl it appeared, was not a morning mech, or a waking-up-kinda-of-mech at all for that matter. He sat up on the berth after Ironhide gently roused him like something from one of those zombie holo-flicks Ratchet had been convinced into watching some time ago. The white and black mumbled a groggy sentence of thanks towards to medic who reciprocated it with quiet amusement as Ironhide gently pushed Prowl out of the room.
“Two solar-cycles?” asked Ironhide as they exited the examination room.
Ratchet nodded, “I’ll comm you.”
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
Ironhide inwardly cringed as they passed through the reception on their way out of the clinic. Flicker was unfortunately still there looking extraordinarily disgruntled and displeased to see Ironhide was he entered the waiting space which had been mostly cleared of the water with only various scorch marks here and there that gave away anything had happened. Thankfully Ironhdie was saved from having to speak to Flicker by the black and white visored mech who had been sitting on one of the waiting chairs idly scrolling through a datapad.
“You all done with the Doc-bot?” he asked rather amicably for a mech that had gotten his appointment swiped from him.
“Yeah, sorry about that but the way.” Replied Ironhide sheepishly.
“No worries mech, we’re cool.” was Jazz’s response as he stood from his seat. Encouraged by Jazz’s friendliness Ironhide turned to Flicker who scowled over her weird glasses. Ironhide wondered if she was trying to set him on fire with her glare.
“I’ll ughhh…. Make an appointment next time?” he offered.
“Ensure that you do.” Snapped Flicker dismissively and Ironhide fled the clinic with Prowl in tow.
“Where are we going?” asked the white and black once outside- still half-asleep.
Ironhide paused, he hadn’t really thought about where’d they’d go. Definitely not back to the Spires. Primus knew they needed a break from that place. “Someplace for a bit of quiet I think.” Ironhide decided.
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
Ratchet had barely a moments peace to collect his thoughts when he heard the door slide open.
“Ratchet are you dooooooonneee?” asked Jazz peeping into the room.
“I’m done when I say I’m done you little pest!” grumbled Ratchet finishing typing up his notes onto the terminal.
“Well, are you done now?” inquired the black and white innocently.
Ratchet stared at the little peering face from the door with a blank expression and sighed. The little scraplet somehow always managed to make him feel 100 stellar-cycles older without barely lifting a finger and he still had yet to figure out if it was on purpose or not.
“Fine, I’m done, even if I’m not.” The medic threw up his hands as Jazz gleefully entered the room shutting the door behind him. The younger mech smoothly glided up onto one of the wheeled chairs before sitting down with enough force to make the wheeled chair spin around on the spot. A stupid grin on his visored face and apparently determined to continue being a pestering pest, “Sooo who were they?”
“Nunya.” Sniffed Ratchet.
“Oh come on! Spill the gears Ratch. Who were they?” pouted Jazz putting his hands together in a mock begging motion. Ratchet relented. Jazz had become a constant in the medic’s life for the last 7 solar-cycles and Ratchet had begun to find it hard to deny Jazz’s requests. For, like Ironhide, Jazz was another rather lonely spark.
“Since you’re far too damn nosey for your own good the red one was Ironhide. You’ll be meeting him more formally at our get together so make sure you play nice.”
“Ironhide?” echoed Jazz, “You mean the one that works for the council?” the black and white notably tensed and shifted in his twirly chair as he stopped it from spinning. His visor notably darkening.
Ratchet rolled his optics, “We’ve been over this Jazz. He’s clear and he’s not working there by choice either besides, Orion’s quite fond of him so if you have anything to say about him maybe think twice. Or at least wait until after you meet him.”
Jazz pursed his lips thoughtfully, “What about the other one? The dented one with the doors?”
Ratchet allowed a weary sigh as he felt the line between patient-doctor confidentiality being tested, “Him I’ve not met before but he won’t be attending our little meeting. Ironhide seems fond of him if that’s worth anything-”
(It wasn’t)
“-and It also seems like he isn’t working in the Spires by choice either.”
Ratchet allowed Jazz a moment to process the information and sort his opinions. The black and white for all that it appeared, seemed content to accept Ratchet’s belief in his own words and the medic decided to move forward with the conversation else they’d be stuck on ‘Jazz’s suspicious mode’ all cycle.
“So?” asked the medic, “What’s wrong?”
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
It had been a while since Ironhide had strolled about through Iacon city and now that he was there, suddenly finding a quiet spot felt like an impossible task. Eventually he remembered a quiet park that overlooked one of the various train stations that decorated Iacon. The park wasn’t so close that the sound of the train and station noise was intrusive and it was out of the direct line of thoroughfare which ment they wouldn’t have to worry about periodical waves of crowds rushing past them.
There were few others in the park. All quietly minding their own business as per the typical norm of cybertronians. A vendor selling the last few batches of energon goodies a little away. Ironhide grabbed a box before taking a seat at one of the benches. Prowl silently following along having long since fully woken up and running at his typical speed. His groggy quietness now replaces with a steely silence which Ironhide didn’t quite know what to make of.
He offered the box of the goodies to the white and black. Prowl didn’t take any. Awkwardly, Ironhide set the box between them as they watched the train in speed through the station. They hadn’t said anything, but it was clear enough to Ironhide that Prowl was upset about something. He could feel a cocktail of conflicting emotions emanating from the younger mech. Confusion, fear, anger and frustration with no direction where to aim it or what to do with it. An emotional cocktail that Ironhide was all too familiar with.
Just when the silence started to get uncomfortable the white and black spoke up.
“You knew what Zeta was like.” Prowl’s words cut the silence like a blade and it finally became clear to Ironhide what had been gnawing at the white and black.
“I’d hoped you’d never have to find out.” Admitted Ironhide. It was foolish really in hindsight to think that he could hide Zeta’s more violent tendencies. Even more so that Ironhide had even deluded himself into thinking he could stop Zeta if he tried.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” There was a stiffness in Prowl’s voice as he refused to look at Ironhide.
“I was trying to…” Ironhide couldn’t finish as guilt began to flood through his spark.
“Trying to what?” Prowl almost snapped causing Ironhide’s plating to bristle defensively as an uncomfiness settled inside his spark.
“I was trying to protect you!” snapped back the old guard.
Prowl flinched slightly at the yell and made a noise that Ironhide akinned to the sound a glitch-mouse makes when you accidently step on one. The white and black turned his head away from Ironhide. “How was keeping me in the dark going to do that?” he asked in a quieter choked voice. The old mech scolded himself for loosing his temper so quickly and collected himself with a deep vent.
“I should have told you about Zeta. I’m sorry I didn’t…” his voice trailed off as he struggled to find the words. He should be better at this- whatever this was.
“Prowl…” He tried again, “…I promise I won’t keep you in the dark.”
Prowl turned to look at Ironhide. He opened his mouth and frowned as if he was about to say something or at least try to. The white and black continued in his uncomfortable endeavour to communicate but in the end spoken words proved too difficult for Prowl. Instead, location ping alert sounded off on Ironhide’s HUD. The red mech blinked his optics in surprise.
Prowl glanced a look at the old guard and awkwardly took an Energon goodie from the box between them. He didn’t eat it. He just held it in its wrapper and pulled his legs up so that his knees were touching his chest and wrapped his arms around his knees. “I…I’m sorry too.” He mumbled.
The red mech allowed a small wry smile before tentatively placing a hand around Prowl’s shoulder. He paused for a moment before pulling the white and black close in a side-hug as he returned the location ping.
Notes:
Ironhide shouldn't make promises he can't know if he can keep.
We will probably catchup with Jazz a bit more next chapter.
Chapter 6
Notes:
This fic has about 5 steps?/arcs?/chunks? with this chapter the first part is done.
Heavy references to 'The Disappeared' in this one.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Alone, absentmindedly listening to the inner whirring of the elevator as it travelled up up up the apartment tower, Jazz was left to contemplate his current situation and his next move. They were limited and it bothered him greatly. After he and his little entourage had arrived in Iacon they had to quickly secure a place. Inferno and Red Alert’s old apartment was out of the question. As was anything else on the eastern side of Iacon. They couldn’t risk being noticed by anyone they might have known in their ‘old life’. Fake IDs only worked when you weren’t around folk that knew you. The northern side of Iacon was also out of the question being completely out of what could be afforded even with Hoist’s classification as a medic. In the end Hoist had managed to pull some favours and connections to secure an apartment on the South-western parts of the great city. It was a modest apartment. Intended for housing at most 3 mechs but the party of 5 made it work which was easy enough as Hoist and Inferno spent most of their time at the medical centre in their respected jobs and Jazz was often out doing ‘Jazz things’.
The only problem with their hide away home was the prying optics of some of their neighbours who had, on more than one occasion, questioned the frequent and infrequent comings and goings of the various occupants and the occasional shriek that came from within the apartment. There were only so many ways one could politely say ‘mind your own nuts and bolts’.
The elevator reached Jazz’s desired floor with a ding and Jazz stepped grimly out into the lobby. It was hard to think about him, Red Alert that is. In truth he had little idea what to do with Red Alert and how to help him. After securing their hideout, Hoist had wasted little time getting his contact in Iacon to assess what exactly had happened to the white and red mech in Polyhex. Hoist’s contact, a mnemosurgeon by the name of Stylor quickly reported that while on the surface there was a lot to suggest some sort of mnemosurgey-related tampering, it ultimately was something else entirely far more primitive.
A virus.
Should be simple enough. Jazz had had the odd virus before. Made his processor a bit fuzz for a bit but never for long. There was always simple enough remedy for unpleasant code.
Only not this time.
It was a malicious and phenomenally volatile virus. One that couldn’t simply be cleared with a simple firewall. A virus that mutated and threatened to destroy the working parts of Red Alert’s processor if the virus came under threat and actively held hostage all the rest. It wasn’t something a mnemosurgeon could clear with the pricking of their needles and was not something Stylor willing to risk trying for the safety of both himself and Red Alert. Whoever made it was grimly talented to create such a thing, or at the very least had a morbid curiosity to see how far a virus could be taken. In the end Stylor had politely declined to involve himself any further on the matter after the situation had revealed itself to be more complicated and Jazz didn’t fault him for that. Besides… Jazz knew where Stylor lived and had made it quite clear what would happen if Stylor made any mention of them to anyone else.
With mnemosurgey ruled out and with a better idea what he was dealing with, Hoist had tried to find a solution for the virus himself but in his own words; he was not a processor specialist. What happened next was the cautious filtering through other medics to figure out who could be trusted. The search ultimately ended with finding the equally kind as he was crotchety medic known as Ratchet. While Ratchet was also not a processor specialist, and a good couple hundred stellar-cycles younger than Hoist, he did have a wider range of experience and connections by virtue of him being stationed in Iacon and at an emergency response centre to boot.
Jazz reached the apartment door and keyed in the security code before entering.
It was still a slow progress though, if it could be called that. Ratchet and Hoist had spent countless cycles cautiously trying and testing a myriad of antivirals and other methods beyond Jazz’s understanding. The pair of medics had even gone so far as to reach out to other medics (a risky call) to propose very specific hypotheticals to no avail to find a permanent solution for Red Alert.
And Red Alert wasn’t the only secret patient they had to keep tabs on.
The door quickly slid closed behind him. The main entrance and living room area was empty, which was not uncommon. Jazz made his way to one of the berthrooms. The walls of which were a sad shade of dungy streaky grey. Originally it had been a dull musty yellow which, for reasons at the time and beyond Jazz’s comprehension, had sent Red Alert into uncontrollable hysterics. It was much, MUCH later did Inferno manage to pry out the source of Red Alert’s distress which Hoist, Jazz and Inferno quickly amended with their sloppy patchwork paintjob to cover up the offensive yellow walls.
Inside the berthroom the lights of one of the lamps were still on. A desk, which had been pulled over to the berth had one of their many, many, many acquired board games half played out on top of it. Various tiles grouped together in little stacks and a datapad with notes scribbled down beside it. On the berth besides, curled up deep in recharge was Red Alert, whose helm was tucked under the nook of the arm of a larger burnt orange painted frame. Jazz couldn’t help the tiny string of jealousy. That was his mentor not Red Alert’s! He couldn’t help silently pulling a juvenile pout which he definitely would have gotten a gentle scolding for. Red Alert wasn’t trying to steal his mentor. It was silly of him to even consider such things.
Not wanting to wake either of the sleeping frames Jazz allowed himself to sink to the floor, his back against the side of the berth. Red Alert wasn’t trying to steal Blaster. In fact, the truth was more along the lines of Red Alert needing someone to keep an optic on him and Blaster needing something to focus on.
Sitting in the quiet dimly lit room Jazz fiddled with his fingers and wiggled his pedes until he grew bored of the motions and switched to flexing his wrist mounted blades listening to the ‘Shwingk shwink shwink’, of the blade. So focused he was on the sound and his idle thoughts, he failed to hear the stirring behind him and let out a startled leap when he felt a hand gently pat the top of his helm. He spun around instinctively with his blades drawn ready for the enemy that wasn’t there. The offending hand that had spooked him belonged to a concerned faced burned orange mech who was now sitting upright on the berth. Red Alert still out like a light.
A pang of guilt stabbed through Jazz’s chest as he quickly sheathed his blades. A part of him felt it wasn’t enough, maybe he should rip his arms off? Maybe then that would quiet the shame that had echoed through from Darkmount.
“I’m sorry.” He blurted out and waited for some sort of response from Blaster. After finding him and escaping Polyhex with the rest of their merry band Blaster had been locked in a sort of comatose stasis for much of the 7 stellar-cycles they had been in Iacon. It was only as of roughly the last 11 lunar-cycles had Blaster finally woken up bringing much relief and stability back to Jazz’s life. But he still had to take it slow, there was much his mentor had yet to recover from despite his progress.
Jazz’s waiting was over when Blaster beckoned to him. The black and white shifted on his feet before shuffling over and sitting back down on the floor. His body this time leaning against Blaster’s legs that were now hanging over the edge of the berth and rested his head against the burnt orange mech’s knees. He didn’t say anything as Blaster reached down to reattempt a gentle pat to Jazz’s helm. The tired part of Jazz wanted to offline his optic band and enjoy the affectionate gesture but the weary side kept him alert and wide awake.
“Back?” Blaster’s single worded question whispered into the quiet.
“For a bit,” answered Jazz, “I asked Ratchet to stop by if he found a free moment tomorrow. Been worried about Red. I’ll be out for a bit the Solar-cycle after.” He waited patiently for Blaster to put the words together and translate it’s meaning.
“Then?” asked Blaster finally.
“You know I can’t say. Secret plans and clever tricks. That sort of stuff.” Jazz didn’t have to look up at his mentor to know Blaster was pulling some sort of face of disapproval. But information was dangerous, and Blaster still wasn’t entirely up to speed with the current events of the last 22 stellar-cycles. Jazz was also not quite ready to reveal the truth of certain events to his mentor.
The gentle patting of his helm ceased as Blaster’s hand came to a rest atop Jazz’s head, “Secrets…” he whispered into the dimly lit room.
“I know. But secrets save lives! If we didn’t have secrets we’d have been found out by now!” protested Jazz lightly, “Enough about me. How have things been going on back here?”
Once again Jazz waited for Blaster to process the words before deciding on his minimalistic response. Before Blaster had awakened Hoist, Inferno and Jazz had to be on some sort of roster to keep an optic on Red Alert. In the instances where they all had places outside the apartment to be Hoist would place Red Alert in a medically induced stasis. The high frequency of the act had ultimately done more harm than good as Red Alert had unfortunately grown subconsciously weary of the dark green medic for knocking him out all the time.
“Bad cycle.”
“Oh,” replied Jazz looking up at Blaster, “Are you hurt? Are the frequencies getting through the shielding?” His face a set line of concern. Inferno had procured some frequency-proofing materials to line the walls of the berthoom to give Blaster some reprieve of his now unstable outlier abilities. The room was now his sole refuge from the plethora of voices that were carried over the radio waves and Blaster seldom left it.
Blaster shook his head, “Not me.” he said gently. Despite his minimal words, his tone was enough to placate the frenzied concern that arose within Jazz anytime he fretted over the wellbeing of the radio-alt. But if it wasn’t Blaster that had a bad day then…
“What happened with Red?” asked Jazz straightening his posture on the floor so his chin could rest on Blasters lap.
“Mirror.” Reported back Blaster and Jazz hummed. Wasn’t unusual on a particularly bad day for Red Alert to struggle with things like his own reflection. Blaster, for his part and despite his own struggles, had enough of his own processor intact to manage this issue but simply locking the door to the wash racks but it didn’t solve things in the long run.
“Did he do anything else?” prompted Jazz as Blaster too still needed some assistance in recalling details, “Did he look around the apartment for bugs again? Or peel the paint of the walls?”
“Inferno.” Was Blaster’s solemn reply.
“Oh.” Was Jazz’s quiet reply.
Inferno was sort of the litmus test for Red Alert. The only constant for the mech that could barely remember his own name some cycles. But recently even that memory had been fading leading to a rising number of occasions of Red Alert searching around the apartment while Inferno wasn’t home despite having no idea it was Inferno he was looking for to begin with. It was also the reason why Jazz had asked Ratchet to move up his typically scheduled fortnightly visits.
Guiltily, Jazz pushed the thoughts of Inferno from his mind. The fire truck wouldn’t admit it, but he was finding the whole situation hard, and Jazz understood the feeling. It was a little different though, at the end of the cycle Blaster still knew who Jazz was even if he still thought they were in Polyhex most of the time. But for Inferno, to come back to meet Red Alert who had to remember him all over again every single time… Jazz understood why the bulkier red mech had been taking more shifts and sleeping over at the clinic in-between some.
It was unfair, it hurt but it was none of their faults, but that still didn’t mean Jazz wouldn’t be having a chat with Inferno the next time he saw him.
“What do?” asked Blaster changing to topic.
“This and that. Not much to say really but today the new receptionist at Ratchet’s clinic set the waiting room on fire because some bot didn’t book an appointment.” Explained Jazz reminiscing the chaotic scene in the medical centre waiting room.
Blaster returned an incredulous look.
“It’s true! She’s a real hot-headed missy that Flicker! And I mean that literally! She turns into a Bunsen burner!”
That got a low chuckle from the radio-alt. Who simply shook his head in disbelief. He then pointed to the table with the half played out set of tiles, “Game?” he asked. That was mostly all Blaster could do cooped up in the apartment. Read, watch some news, tidy the minimal messes created, play board games with Red Alert or whoever was at the apartment. Hency the reason for their absurd supply of various games. Jazz would have gone crazy with that level of monotony but Ratchet and Hoist had both agreed that at the moment that might be best for Blaster. Besides, it wasn’t like he could just take a stroll outside. They didn’t know the lengths as to who knew or wanted to find the once disappeared.
“Sure, if you’re feeling up to it. You’ve refuled already right?”
Blaster’s slightly delayed response was to poke Jazz square on the nose before shifting to stand up. Jazz gently helped Blaster to his feet, “I plan on wining this time.” He grinned to which his mentor raised a doubtful optic ridge.
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
It was an ugly poster. There was no pretending it wasn’t although some might try to argue otherwise, claim it was adorable and sparkwarming. Prowl was not part of that latter group.
“There! Now at least this place looks a little more lived in.” said Ironhide backing away from the garrish poster of a multicoloured cybercat hanging onto the branch of some sort of crystalline structure with sparkly rainbow striped gliphs that read out:
It truly was a sight to behold and ultimately made Prowl question Ironhide’s sense of décor. He’d never seen Ironhide’s quaters and was now suspecting he’d find more items of a similar aesthetic in the older mech’s room. Silently, Prowl made a mental note to never ask Ironhide for opinions of interior decorations.
They stood quietly together looking at the poster before Ironhide spoke up, “You’ll be alright?” he asked. Prowl dimmed his optics. It was such a direct but vaguely worded question. He’d have to be alright he supposed. His frame had been repaired and the broken parts replaced. So he must be alright. He couldn’t just run away from his work. He doubted those that had that sort of power within the Golden Spires would let him leave. They were the ones that put him here in the first place so not being alright wasn’t really an option. He’d have to be alright.
“Yes.” He replied.
Ironhide nodded folding his arms, “Good, good… What are you’re plans for tomorrow?”
Prowl had almost forgotten Ironhide had cleared the following 2 solar-cycles for him.
“Probably rest a little then catch up on some work.” The ‘work’, Prowl was referring to was really him reading up more files and documents pertaining to the Spires and anything else related. Less for him to be able to do his job better and more so to gather any scrap of info that he could use to safeguard his future self.
“Ahh, right. I’ll be meeting some old friends in 2 solar-cycles but if you need anything shoot me comm you here?” said Ironhide casting a side glance at Prowl and frowning at the white and black’s pensive expression, “What’s wrong?” he asked.
There was a lot wrong really but Prowl couldn’t just say it. Not yet. He needed to do some snooping around of his own before he could say anything.
“The poster you chose is truly awful.” Said Prowl finally to which Ironhide returned a smirk.
“I know.”
Notes:
I was hoping to make some parallels/contrasts with Prowl, Ironhide, Blaster and Jazz. Might not be so obvious but hopefully it will make more sense down the line.
Like, the difference between how Blaster and Ironhide manage when their mentee is upset. Blaster is (while really out of it for the most part) more in tune with his feelings and not uncomfortable with displays of comfort and affection. Ironhide is less comfortable with his feelings and not really sure what to do. In the end Jazz is a little calmed but Prowl is still unsure of things.
Eternalevecho on Chapter 1 Fri 25 Apr 2025 04:54AM UTC
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OkieDokieDancer on Chapter 1 Sun 04 May 2025 09:23AM UTC
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Fiesty2Sin on Chapter 1 Sun 04 May 2025 04:05AM UTC
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OkieDokieDancer on Chapter 1 Sun 04 May 2025 09:21AM UTC
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Eternalevecho on Chapter 2 Sat 03 May 2025 10:55PM UTC
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OkieDokieDancer on Chapter 2 Sun 04 May 2025 09:21AM UTC
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star_of_flame_eternal on Chapter 2 Sun 04 May 2025 09:39PM UTC
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LazyTales on Chapter 3 Fri 16 May 2025 12:11PM UTC
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user_paradoxx on Chapter 3 Mon 23 Jun 2025 10:49PM UTC
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OkieDokieDancer on Chapter 3 Mon 23 Jun 2025 11:43PM UTC
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Prowlandleo on Chapter 4 Sun 18 May 2025 02:42PM UTC
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OkieDokieDancer on Chapter 4 Mon 07 Jul 2025 04:39PM UTC
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DominionHiyokiHanatsuki on Chapter 4 Mon 30 Jun 2025 12:55PM UTC
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OkieDokieDancer on Chapter 4 Mon 07 Jul 2025 04:35PM UTC
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giangart16 on Chapter 5 Mon 07 Jul 2025 10:10AM UTC
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OkieDokieDancer on Chapter 5 Mon 07 Jul 2025 04:51PM UTC
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giangart16 on Chapter 5 Tue 08 Jul 2025 02:05AM UTC
Last Edited Tue 08 Jul 2025 04:24AM UTC
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giangart16 on Chapter 6 Sat 09 Aug 2025 04:10PM UTC
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OkieDokieDancer on Chapter 6 Tue 12 Aug 2025 08:04AM UTC
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