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1. Defending
Something was amiss.
Prowl felt decidedly off-kilter – unusual, in that he had finally achieved his old mission objective and found his Prime on a backwater planet in an almost forgotten corner of the universe. He’d been greeted amiably by him, as expected. Even the ensuing debrief was brisk and tactical as usual – even though the presence of the smaller mechs and the Earthlings in his ship unnerved him. They were looking at him even now, all through the debrief - standing unafraid next to the Prime, even if he could have crushed them with a half-forgotten gesture.
Then again, Optimus had always been taken with organics, so Prowl should get used to their presence here on Earth and at his side. He had half a mind to remind Optimus of the organic lifeforms on Clarion, a few vorns prior, who’d had a similar audacity.
Walking up to the Prime with such familiarity? They were intriguing. And the smaller mechs looked... strangely Cybertronian.
Then suddenly, the ship’s alarm blared loudly.
Prowl looked up, and saw a familiar faceplate on the ship’s HUD. For once, he didn’t wait for an order. The order for this mech had always been a capture or kill.
As Prowl ran out of the ship’s rear hatch into the already decimated clearing, his tac net was already evaluating his surroundings, trusting that Optimus had his back. A few more steps, and he was flying at the old, familiar foe with a snarl.
Of course, Megatron would have ended up on this accursed planet with Prime . Be it fate or chance – both of them had always found each other on the battlefield, and Prowl’s tac net had had millions of years to adjust his tactics accordingly.
He crashed into him, heedless of Ravage’s tail in his servo and the organic in front of him, weapons already primed. It looked like Megatron had had a reformatting – but no matter, he’d be defeated soon enough.
With both Prowl and Prime against him, he didn’t stand a chance.
Megatron stumbled back, seemingly unprepared as Prowl launched himself against him. He dodged multiple attacks, and Prowl’s tac net scrambled to include the new input – he’d never seen Megatron fight so defensively before. He dodged again.
Prowl’s optics widened in alarm, but it was already too late as he saw a servo advance where he’d stupidly left an opening. Megatron grabbed his leg and smashed him into the ground. Prowl exvented hard, HUD pinging damage reports, but he could see an opening, he was scrambling to his feet –
And Optimus stepped between them, yelling something about Megatron being on their side now, his hands on their chestplates separating them by force. Prowl wanted to snap at him in insult. This was ridiculous. He wasn’t a protoform to be minded – and Megatron would never be on their side.
He scoffed loudly. Megatron, his optics curiously fixed on Optimus before, looked back at him with a glare.
The… charade or whatever it was had to end soon enough. Whatever he’d done to convince Optimus of his cooperation had to be a trick.
Megatron would only stop spewing his lies and his deceptions when he finally bled out.
Primus, he was still wearing the godforsaken brand .
Prime had always been the most optimistic of all of them, even after millions of years of war. If he’d stop believing in the best version of a mech, the universe would probably implode. He’d trusted Decepticons before, even those that claimed to be reformed - but they had always betrayed them again.
The disaster when a “reformed” Starscream had betrayed them and returned to Megatron with intel on all of the coordinates of the Autobot bases in the relevant star system a few vorns into the war, should have been enough to make even Prime suspicious of them.
So many had died at their hands.
Prowl would only ever trust a dead Decepticon to do no more damage. Prime - was too much of an idealist for such a pragmatic notion.
Unfortunately, this also made him too gullible, both as a leader and as a mech. But this was what he had Prowl for – Prowl and Jazz and the rest of his high command.
He’d have to check in with the rest of the Autobots on this planet before coming up with a plan to uncover the Decepticon’s deceit, Prowl thought clinically, while Megatron and the organic were lecturing him on letting Ravage escape.
“He’ll have to earn my forgiveness for everything else in the past,” Megatron said to Prime accusingly, and Prowl wanted to laugh in his face. He settled for a caustic reply, aware that Prime’s servos were still on Megatron’s chestplates.
They weren’t digging in or pushing him away. Just holding him in place by touch alone.
“Easy! Prowl is my friend!” Optimus replied to Megatron’s snarl, now actively holding him back, and something in Prowl wanted to preen. A few hundred light years and a couple vorns to find the Prime– and he’d apparently still held Prowl in high regard, no matter the time and space between them. This was what Prowl's superior officer should be like. A mech he could follow.
The thought warmed him. Optimus’ high command would always be there for him, especially once Megatron would betray him again.
Maybe Prowl could earn himself another commission when he uncovered Megatron’s plot. Why was he here, at the Prime’s side? What was he planning?
“I thought I was your friend!” Megatron seethed, faceplates dangerously close to Optimus’ and Prowl’s optics narrowed. His tac net beeped at him, filing the useful tidbit away.
Friendship? Megatron was claiming friendship with Optimus now? He’d always been unbearably focused on Optimus before - but whereas Prime had always been resigned to their enmity, he now just looked at Megatron.
Prowl waited for him to deny it. Hoped, viciously, that their leader’s trust had not neen taken advantage of yet again.
But Optimus just looked at Megatron, a little betrayed, and that was not a good sign.
Megatron had almost sounded jealous. And that meant whatever he was planning had to be personal.
2. Rescuing
The ensuing battle, after the Decepticons attacked them yet again, was vicious.
Prowl had no idea what had happened on Earth in the meantime, but the few tidbits he had gleaned horrified the tactician in him. Trusting a bunch of protoforms and small organics with their mission objectives? Trusting them with the sanctity of his ship?
Trusting Megatron to play backup to the protoforms?
Had Optimus not been his commanding officer for the last few million years, Prowl would have laughed in his face outright.
Currently, he was too out of breath to even contemplate doing so.
Even though he trusted Prime with his life, he and Prowl against an entire squadron that included three quarters of Megatron’s (former?) high command were interesting odds indeed. Especially since Prowl’s battle computer and tac net had had no time to acclimatize themselves to Optimus’ new earth altmode and specs.
They fought almost seamlessly like they always had done – ducking and weaving around each other as much as possible, millennia-old instincts kicking in, and Prowl even resorted to a few old tactics he hadn’t had a chance to use in vorns. But Optimus fought differently now, too: A little more recklessly, the gaps between his guard a little bigger.
As if he was used to fighting with someone his size. Someone with long-range weaponry, perhaps.
It was a lot – and they found themselves boxed in not soon after.
Prowl was still half-convinced Megatron had been planning something like this all along.
When the Decepticons whizzed by a fallen Optimus as the red lightning crackled towards the ship, Prowl glanced up for just a second to acknowledge that the protoforms had indeed done something right – but too late. The ship’s engines glowed with power.
The Decepticons had boarded the ship. They had the spark regeneration key.
He closed his optics in defeat for just a moment – but Prime, always the optimist, was already running past him, up to the ship that was readying the engines for the start. He was yelling something that was unintelligible over the roar of the engine, but Prowl knew him well enough by now to know what he was saying.
They hadn’t lost yet.
When he caught up to Prime as fast as he could, Prowl was just fast enough to jump onto his pedes. The ship blasted towards the atmosphere, and Prowl’s audial was deafened by the roar of the wind and the screams of the engine.
Not just the engine, he noticed a few moments later, with gritted dentae.
They had just left the strange protective bubble, when Prowl could hear the distinctive sound of seeker engines screaming in his audial, as well as a strange whopping sound. Both were catching up to them, fast – and were causing turbulences in the displaced air.
Prowl could see Optimus holding on to the ship with his axe, but his body was swaying dangerously in the air. He wasn’t built with aerodynamics in mind – and he didn’t have a flight-capable altmode.
This had been reckless.
Prowl grit his dentae harder, an ache in his jaw and his arms forming already and tried to hold on – to no avail. Another burst of wind, and he was falling.
The air was roaring around him, drowning out everything else as he plummeted towards earth. He did have a flight-capable altmode – but it hadn’t been built for flight at these heights, and his HUD was blaring a flow of warnings at him, refusing to engage his thrusters, as he tumbled helm over pedes downwards.
He fell through the distinctive screeching reverb of a seeker formation, purple and yellow fighters flying past him. And then, someone else, a distinctive, grey, gleaming altmode was gaining height, drawing level with the ship.
Prowl plummeted on, swiping away warning after warning from his HUD – and finally, finally activating his t-cog. He transformed with gritted dentae, and finally activated his thrusters. The rush of air around him quietened, finally, and his processor slowed to normal speeds as he leveled out in the air.
There was faint yelling in his audial – and then Prowl engaged his nitro, flying forward as he saw a distinctive red dot falling in his periphery, down from the rear hatch of the ship.
Optimus must have done something to anger the Cons – Shockwave must have succeeded in shaking him loose.
Unfortunately, that meant that he was currently falling to his death.
Prowl strained his thrusters, spurring himself to fly as fast as his altmode would allow, racing to catch up with the much faster, much bigger engine of the ship.
Prime wouldn’t die today.
Not until Megatron’s plan was uncovered.
Not if Prowl could help it.
Then – “I already made my choice!” screamed a hateful, just as distinctive voice over the roaring of the ship’s engine, and a gleaming silver mech was jumping out of the rear hatch after Optimus.
Apparently capturing the ship and killing Optimus this way hadn’t been part of his plan after all, Prowl’s tac net noted distantly.
Megatron transformed in the air, a beautiful, deadly maneuver, using his greater weight to draw level with Optimus first, and allowing Optimus to use the rear of his altmode to slow his descent and jump into a crouched landing on the hard-packed forest floor below.
It was an incredible maneuver. It looked practiced, familiar, two mechs that trusted each other with their frames, that knew the exact dimensions and capabilities of their modes, their processors calculating the necessary forces by rote.
It made Prowl’s spark boil with rage.
How long exactly had this association between them been going on for? Why was Megatron saving him?
He was playing a long con. But separating from his faction? What was the point?
He jumped into a transformation sequence, landing several meters away – just to see his ship fly beyond the horizon out of reach.
Prowl opened his mouth, ready to spew accusations at Megatron, because surely, surely, he was responsible still, somehow - just to be interrupted by the arrival of the small Earth mechs and the organics, who were promptly demanding an explanation.
“Megatron chose saving me over the ship,” Prime hissed accusingly, his brows furrowed in anguish.
As angry as Prowl was, he felt a pang of misplaced humor. Optimus had apparently not lost his self-sacrificing nature in the vorns since they had last seen each other.
“Protecting one another is more important than the mission objective,” said Megatron in response. “This is the Autobot way,” he snarled, stomping past Optimus and catching him by the shoulder, before he was throwing himself upwards into a transformation sequence.
Prowl almost recoiled. What had the world come to?
Megatron was apparently extremely invested in this charade. Prowl frowned and filed this way with the other tidbits at the back of his processor.
A glance at Prime revealed that he had taken the bait hook, line and sinker: his expression was chagrined and disgustingly soft.
Prowl shook his helm, and his processor pointed out that they had far more immediate problems – the theft of the ship and the key could spell disaster for them all. The rest of his tac net insisted that his superior officer was acting shity - and that could pose a problem for the entire faction.
When the smallest organic unveiled the key she had stolen, he almost smiled. Maybe they were good for something after all.
And now, he had time to think on what hto do abozut Prime abd Megatron.
3. Staying
The new Autobot base was smaller and emptier than he’d thought. Apparently, it had been a former GHOST base, a human organization dedicated to dealing with aliens. And wasn’t that as surprise, Prime mentioning it off-handedly and then acting shifty when Prowl had asked why they had disbanded.
He was hiding something.
Optimus gave him the tour when they arrived together, a few tidbits shared on the quiet drive over.
Prowl still wasn’t used to driving on streets again. Often, the architecture on the other planets was not built with Cybertronians in mind, and Cybertron had been at war for so long that most streets lay strewn with rubble.
The base was built into a mountain, secrecy apparently paramount even though the human settlement nearby had to have noticed at least something about the increased frequency of Cybertronian activity in their midst. The hallways were big and airy, large enough for Optimus and even Megatron, and there were habsuites enough strewn all over the compound. They had a mess with an Energon dispenser, Cybertronian-appropriate training facilities, and a lot of human gear strewn around, layered with dust.
Prowl asked where the holding facilities for prisoners were, already running calculations, and Optimus fidgeted again. “They are no longer in use,” he said quietly, and changed the topic.
Prowl narrowed his optics. Prime had shared mostly nothing at all important, and Prowl needed to know more details about his involvement with Megatron.
“Where does Megatron stay, then?” he asked bluntly, and Prime almost flinched, looking away.
“He’s not a prisoner. I am keeping an optic on him. The rest is not your concern,” he replied blandly, and oh, there was something about his gaze that made Prowl incredibly suspicious. His HUD was already calculating possibilities. Optimus had always been a scrap liar, and he was exhibiting all of his usual tells now – shifting shoulders, fidgeting, glancing optics.
Prowl’s old enforcer coding wanted nothing more than to sink his dentae in and dig.
Unfortunately for him, Optimus chose that moment to walk up to the sliding doors to the next room, looking back at him expectantly.
“How would you like to reconvene with the rest of our team here on Earth?” he said, changing the topic deftly, and Primus, as much as Prowl wanted to take apart his processor, he needed to get the rest of their team alone, and fast.
He needed to find out why Megatron was here. Why he hadn’t let Optimus crash onto the forest floor.
“That would be wonderful,” he said instead, injecting as much enthusiasm in his voice as he could muster. He needed to be careful. Optimus seemed to be hiding something, and if Megatron had him under his thumb Prowl needed to avoid tipping him off.
They strode into the room, Optimus announcing him with overly exhuberant cheer, and Prowl’s HUD immediately lit up with facts and details. Hiis enforcer coding was coming in handy.
First of all, Megatron was here again. He’d apparently returned to the Autobot base upon his return from the fight and was currently bowed over a console as if he was sulking. He hadn’t reacted to Prime’s announcement at all.
Second of all – even the heart of the base was dim and empty. Elita-1 and Arcee appeared to be the only other Autobot members currently in residence, and this was incredibly suspicious as well – was Optimus aware of the danger that Megatron posed? Was he deliberately keeping the other Autobots away from him?
Or was Megatron trying to infiltrate and assimilate himself to the entire Autobot command?
Prowl’s tac net whirred with possible conclusions while he made a show of greeting the other Autobots like the old friends they were. He doubted that Megatron would actually care, but maybe if Prowl subtly indicated the wrongness of his presence, he could glean some information on the rest of the Autobot’s sentiment concerning his presence.
When Elita-1 mentioned that he could take “Flight lessons from Megatron,” he fought the urge to snarl, and only scoffed lightly. As if.
But her comment was highly problematic: it seemed like they had gotten used to his presence, and this, this Prowl would not stand for.
“I thought you had decided to stay away from Autobot base?” he asked Megatron snidely, fully aware that he was provoking him.“Not that you belong here.”
“It has been my home longer than it has been yours,” Megatron replied, and Prowl could hear a snarl in his voice. Just a bit more – Prowl opened his mouth again, and –
Arcee decided to interrupt.
While he made a show of tussling with her and ignoring the warlord at his back, he was fully aware of Megatron’s presence the entire time.
That, and the way Optimus stepped close to him as soon as possible.
Megatron even turned around, finally, a silver shadow in Prowl’s periphery – his helm tilted towards Optimus as he was listening intently to something, but the words were too quiet for Prowl to make out over Arcee’s exuberant taunting.
Prowl gritted his dentae. He had to break Megatron’s hold over Optimus as soon as possible.
4.Touching
After the Hate Plague had been dealt with, and the Autobots were once again assembled in the hangar, battered and dented but recovered, Prowl was standing to the side, watching intently. Something had to have happened between Optimus and Megatron. They had returned to the base together with the Terrans in tow, already recovered, and they were both faintly damp and gleaming.
Optimus was also standing too close to him, as if to assure himself of his presence, a scant few feet between them.
“Thank you for rescuing me,” Megatron said, turning to Prime, his voice deep. Prowl wanted to purge his tanks at the false sincerity in his voice and bare his dentae at Optimus.
It’s a trick, Prime, he’s manipulating you and you rescued him –
“Now we’re even,” Prime replied, and there was a faint teasing note in his voice. “You rescued me on Prowl’s ship – despite my orders.”
“I need you to understand, if I’m to be an effective member of your team, you also must listen .”
“And I need you to cease challenging my every decision!”
“Someone must question your leadership, Optimus –“ and oh, Prowl wanted to tear his lying throat out, he was criticizing the Prime and using his name to do it –
“If you leave authority unchecked, it can lead to tyranny. Who knows better than I. If we’re gonna make this partnership work, we must trust each other.” Megatron still sounded so sincere.
Prowl had to know when he had gotten so good at undercover work. The Megatron of the past would have never had the patience for this, but whatever he was after, it had to be worth the annoyance to him, and that reward must be great indeed.
“I trust you with my life,” Optimus replied, and they were so close to each other now.
Prowl’s servos itched with the need to tear the Prime away from Megatron and all the way back to Cybertron. He was his superior officer; he had been his friend for millenia – and he would not lose him to some long con.
“And I trust you with mine,” Megatron said, and Prowl’s spark was boiling with rage as the two of them clasped servos, long and lingering. The audacity of touching Prime so casually and professing his trust as if he wasn’t some lying piece of scrap.
Prowl vowed to find out what Megatron was after, today.
Whatever it took.
That night, Prowl combed the hallways of the base for the server room – and the room where the humans would have stored the video camera tapes. Jazz was the one who was adept at hacking a foreign wireless security system, not him, so Prowl had to resort to old fashioned methods.
He needed to know more. He needed to know what had happened between Megatron and Optimus today .
He needed to know why Megatron had changed sides so suddenly, because even after more than twenty hours of processing time his tac net still couldn’t make sense of the decision.
It made no tactical sense, at least not any that he could see, and that worried Prowl to no end.
The new base had a labyrinthine structure, and Prowl spent too long wandering the hallways, steps as silent as he could manage.
The quiet was eerie. Even after Bumblebee and Grimlock had returned to the base, the Autobots still couldn’t fill the large space, and their habsuites were some hallways apart. Arcee would remain awake tonight, assigned the late watch, but the base’s heart with their primary monitors was far away, still.
Prowl was looking for the secondary monitors and servers. He’d downloaded a map of the base from Prime today, which indicated a small room next to the hallway that housed Optimus’ habsuite. He turned around the corner, intent – and stopped in his tracks, doorwings pressed against the wall, out of sight.
Voices. Two.
He peered around the corner. There, in front of Optimus’ habsuite, stood Prime with Megatron. Their frames were bent low, and their servos were touching.
Prowl’s optics widened, and he listened, intently.
“I hurt you, today –“ Optimus said, and he laid his hand on Megatron’s chestplate. “I never wanted to do it again, and still –“
“It’s nothing,” Megatron replied, and his voice was hoarse. He laid his servo over Optimus’. “I raised the cannon to you again. I could have –“
The cannon? Megatron had raised his fusion cannon to him and Optimus still wasn’t catching on?
“You wouldn’t have,” Optimus said, “I know you.”
You don’t! Prowl wanted to yell. You clearly don’t, you fragging idiot!
“I wasn’t myself,” Megatron hissed, leaning forward, further into Optimus’ space. “I could have killed you –“
“We both weren’t ourselves,” Optimus said, but his voice was shaking. He leaned forward, his helm touching Megatron’s. “I’m so glad to have you back. To think I could have lost you, after we’re on the same side again, finally. ” He looked up at Megatron, clasping his servo. “Come to berth,” he asked, quietly.
Prowl’s optics cycled open even wider. They were touching again. They were so comfortable with each other’s frames, and Optimus was displaying emotional vulnerability –
It had to be. Megatron was using interface to coerce Optimus to do his bidding.
The rumors that Megatron wanted to get behind Prime’s panels had been flying since the first day of the war. But Prowl had never paid them any mind. Jazz had been the one who cautioned him jokingly against dismissing gossip, as it always contained a shard of truth, but this?
This was nightmarish. This was the worst possible outcome.
Prowl had to find a way to give the Prime relationship advice.
He turned around, distracted and not a bit disgusted. Screw the tapes. He’d seen enough.
5. Saving
Prowl got up early, the next morning. He had primed his tac net with all of the available input overnight and by now, it was pinging him relentlessly with the only sensible conclusion to his findings.
He grimaced. It was distasteful, but necessary. He had to talk to Prime about this – association of his and hope he’d see reason. Megatron could not be permitted continuous access to their leader, especially not if his motives were still unclear.
That was the only thing he hadn’t been able to isolate: Motive.
Megatron wouldn’t be purely motivated by sexual intercourse, there had to be more to it – especially if he had to go to the trouble to appear as if he’d abandoned his entire faction for it. Sexual satisfaction could be one component, yes (even Prowl had admitted it once, drunk, that he could notice the odd tension between Megatron and Prime on the battlefield, something crackling like static electricity), but abandoning his cause? Even only in appearance?
It was impossible.
So – Prowl had found the method by which Megatron had integrated himself so seamlessly into their faction. And now he had to excavate the motive behind it. Which meant that he had to isolate him from his surroundings – and observe.
Which also meant that he had to talk to Prime, and get him to understand that his current association with Megatron was a) harmful to him and b) possibly aiding Megatron in his endeavors.
However, since Prime would probably wave away his concerns and refer to that inimitable optimism of his, that every mech could change, if given the chance –
Prowl had to resort to talking in emotional terms. About his feelings .
Primus preserve his sanity.
Waving away the tree of inputs and conclusions from his HUD, he stepped out of his habsuite and walked the short distance to the mess hall, grimly marching onwards.
It was early still, but he wasn’t the only one present. Prowl had counted on Optimus being there – the mech had always been an early riser, but both Elita-1 and Arcee were idling at his side, sipping at a cube of Energon straight from the dispenser.
At least Megatron was nowhere in sight.
Prowl marched towards Prime, aware that his faceplate was molded into a scowl, but he was both unable and unwilling to change it.
Both Elita -1 and Arcee quietened at his approach, Elita raising an eyebrow ridge at him. Optimus turned around, and greeted him with a smile. “Hello, Prowl! Have you come to join us for a cube?”
Something about the cheerfulness of his voice and the relaxed state of his shoulders grated on Prowl immensely.
His optics widened. There were gray flecks of paint on Prime’s throat.
“May I have a word,” Prowl said flatly, actively ignoring the conclusions his tac bet was throwing at him.
Optimus’ grin faded a little. “Of course! I’m sure Elita and Arcee would be –“
“In private,” Prowl said and turned around, stepping out into the corridor. He heard Prime follow him, his heavy footsteps a little hesitant.
“Now, Prowl, I hope I have not offended you in some way –“ Optimus said, both his tone and faceplate carefully blank when Prowl turned towards him as soon as the sliding doors to the mess had closed. The corridor around them was dark and empty.
Prowl exvented, annoyed. He was unsure how to begin, and he hated uncertainty. “You have not. However, your continuous association with Megatron –“
Optimus’s eyebrow ridges furrowed. “Megatron is on our side now. I have told you so, repeatedly.”
“I have yet to see evidence of this!” Prowl said, momentarily forgetting that it was imperative to stay calm. Primus, he had forgotten how Prime’s optimism could be grating, sometimes. “Hasn’t he trained his cannon on you yesterday?”
“That was the plague’s fault, not his,” Optimus replied firmly. “Have you not turned on the other Autobots?”
“I – yes, but I am not still wearing a cannon and a brand that has slayed thousands of our mechs!” Prowl seethed, and his HUD pinged him helpfully, projecting CALM. CALM.
“He has changed. He’s saved my life so many times already – you have seen one of those times yourself. Now, if you have no other concerns, I am done discussing this,” Optimus’ tone was forbidding, and his faceplate was still infuriatingly blank.
Prowl exvented again, trying to discharge some of the heat in his boiling spark through his vents. He had to seem calm, and to explain his emotions to Prime. If he didn’t want to see reason, maybe Prowl could still glean something from him –
He gritted his dentae, and began speaking softly instead. “I am worried, Optimus. What is the motive behind all of this? Why did he change sides so suddenly, and abandon his own faction after a few million years? It makes no tactical sense.”
Optimus hesitated. “He – I, we have. Come to an arrangement.“ He stumbled over something, and Prowl could smell his chance.
“What sort of an arrangement?” Prowl pressed. Now, just a little further – “Optimus. If this arrangement is of a certain nature and you’re exchanging -”
“That's a rather personal question, Prowl,” Optimus interrupted him suddenly. “I have said, I am done discussing this.” His gaze was fixed to the side, his optics avoiding Prowl entirely, and oh no. Oh no.
There was a heat-shimmer over his faceplates.
The Prime was blushing.
Prowl’s optics widened in horror as Optimus continued, gaze still fixed somewhere over Prowl’s helm.
“The association between Megatron and I is between us both, and not official Autobot business. Have a good day, Prowl,” he said, already turning around. The last few droplets in his cube were shaking slightly as he walked, and Prowl could still see his blush.
Suddenly standing in the empty corridor by himself, he felt a wave of embarrassment so strong that half of his processor suggested he find himself an escape pod and launch himself into space immediately – away from this cursed planet.
Prowl hadn’t succeeded in gently pointing out to Optimus that his association with the enemy was a security risk that could put the entire faction into harm’s way.
He had succeeded in convincing the Prime that he was commenting negatively on his sexual relationship. Thereby convincing him that this relationship must be protected – because Optimus was nothing if not a contrary bastard on the best of days.
Prowl wanted to scream.
Instead, he walked back to his habsuite and opened the suggestion trees on his HUD back up. He needed a new plan.
After the disaster of this morning, the distraction of an active investigation into the Hate Plague was very welcome. Especially once he had to witness Megatron and Optimus finish each other’s sentences while devising a strategy.
Once again, they were standing too close to be casual.
Prowl gritted his dentae and was relieved to be free from the Autobot base and Optimus’ weighty glances in his direction.
The fresh air was a welcome reprieve. Even if he had to trail after a human and a pProtoform – Terran, he reminded himself sternly, they were called Terrans, the reports he had received from Optimus included their designations, and even if his superior officer had decided to take temporary leave of his senses, that didn’t mean that Prowl had leave to ignore all of his briefings.
Then again, the Terran and the human in question seemed to be familiar with… relationship troubles, he mused.
Maybe he could use their combined observations and devise a way of breaking up the – relations between Megatron and Optimus. If he did not succeed in uncovering Megatron’s motive before he threatened the Autobot cause, Prowl might have to intervene in another way.
The human and the Terran were surprisingly helpful investigation partners. They reminded him of the younger recruits he hadn’t seen for a couple of millenia. Fresh-faced, naïve, but curious and willing to learn.
Prowl didn’t hold back dispensing some advice he had received in the first days of his function as an enforcer – and some he had cause to relearn, courtesy of this morning.
“Romantic entanglements have hobbled many a soldier. Ask Optimus,” he said darkly, and the human with the designation Robbie Malto nodded decisively, absorbing the information. His eyes were far away, but Prowl felt pleased anyways.
Finally. Someone who listened to him.
And he couldn’t help but feel a small stab of vindictive pleasure when Robbie’s girlfriend turned out to be a Quintesson spy. Romantic entanglements indeed.
There was a Quintession vessel over Witwicky.
While the rest of the Autobots, Terrans, humans and Megatron were busy staring in horror at the Chaos storm unfolding above their helms, Prowl’s processor pinged him urgently with tactical inquiries.
How had they not noticed the ship earlier? Had Prime forgotten to reset the orbital monitoring systems as the Decepticons had left orbit on Prowl’s ship?
Was this part of Megatron’s plan? Did the Decepticon ship linger in Earth orbit, waiting for the Quintessons to finish their job with the Autobots?
Prowl glanced at Megatron’s silhouette, increasingly obfuscated in the growing dust storm, but he could still see his grim faceplates. He was still standing too close to Optimus.
No, Prowl decided. Megatron would never leave a fight with Optimus Prime to someone else – after millions of years, the only reason why the two factions still stood was because their leaders insisted on finishing each other with their bare servos if necessary.
The order for Megatron was a capture or kill. The order for Optimus Prime in Decepticon space had always been a capture and turn over to Megatron immediately .
No, this would not be part of Megatron’s plan. And that meant, that when Megatron called for Cosmos and Prowl to follow him, to provide backup to the Terrans and Maltos in defense of the planet, Prowl followed him.
For this moment, their goals were aligned – and Prowl was nothing if not an opportunist.
Even if that meant racing after a Megatron that had been shot out of the sky by a the Quintessons only a few moments later.
Prowl glanced ahead in the storm, to reassure himself that the Terrans had reached the ship safely – and then he shortened out his thrusters, dropping from the sky after Megatron.
It was undignified, rain and wind pelting him, and had he been in root mode he’d have snarled – but he knew exactly what Prime’s orders would be if he could see Megatron falling from the sky.
Prowl caught up the last few meters with a transformation – and yanked on Megatron’s arm, saving him from tumbling to the ground in root mode.
The inertia of his catch would still be painful on Mehatron’s gyros. He made sure of it. But Megatron was not in a heap on the ground.
“I would have been fine,” Megatron growled, and Prowl made sure to bare his dentae at him in threat as he responded.
“But then I would have nothing to hold over you.”
Megatron’s answering glare was enough – but still, a life debt was a powerful thing. He owed Prowl a favor, now – and Prowl would make sure to cash in soon enough.
This battle was a tactical nightmare.
The Autobots seemed to be relying entirely on a couple of adolescent humans and the Terrans – and when Prowl pointed this out to Optimus, he received a lecture about how he was not “up to speed” as he had arrived too late into their stay on Earth.
He gritted his dentae again. “You and Optimus have my full respect,” he said, quietly seething, as he took Starscream out. He led him out of Terratronus and locked him into an empty habsuite in the base, as the rest of the Autobots returned to Witwicky.
At least he didn’t have to cooperate with Megatron any more than he had to.
“Our thrusters are more equipped for heavy wind,” Prowl said, and he felt a stab of satisfaction when he rose from the ground and could see Megatron shake off the comforting hand Optimus had put on his shoulder plating.
Finally. Maybe he could use this, drive them apart when he pointed out to Optimus how useless Megatron had been so far, a tactical disadvantage, could use his favor to get Megatron to leave Optimus alone –
He and Cosmos rose on through the storm, until a heavy gust of wind destabilized Prowl’s thrusters – and he lost the chain, the heavy trailer ripped out of his servos, flapping in the hurricane-grade winds.
“Cosmos-“ he yelled over the roar of the wind, trying frantically to dismiss the warnings on his HUD, when a heavy weight slammed into his chest plating, smashing him off-course.
His other thruster disengaged, damage warnings blaring in his processor, and he could feel himself tumbling through the air, towards the ground, inertia and wind turning him helm over pedes, and he had to reengage his thrusters, he had to get up, up –
He didn’t know where up was, anymore –
A strike of something – and everything went black.
Prowl came to with a cough, the immeasurable weight on his chestplate lifting, and the damage warnings slowly bled from his HUD. Behind it, he could see the old, hated silhouette of Megatron.
He had extended a servo towards Prowl. “There, now we’re even.” His tone was grim but satisfied.
Damnit, damnit – he’d lost his favor as soon as he had gained it. Megatron had apparently saved his fragging, Primus-forsaken life.
Prowl’s spark was boiling with rage, but he was all-too aware of Optimus’ optics on him. Optimus, who would not tolerate Prowl speaking out against a mech that had just saved his fragging spark.
And so, Prowl did something he’d never have done otherwise. He grabbed Megatron’s servo, heaved himself upwards – and smashed his faceplate into Megatron’s abdominals in a facsimile of a hug.
There. That should mend his reputation in the Prime’s opinion – and so, as his tac net pointed out helpfully, Prime would have to listen to Prowl, next time he brought up a problem with Megatron.
The rest of the battle – even though Megatron was absent, having offered his services as an ambulance, and wasn’t that a surprise – was a tactical nightmare.
They were too dependent on the Terrans, on the humans, on the one, gigantic titan in the middle of a human city –
But they were defeating the Quintessons.
Slowly, steadily beating the back with laser fire on the ground and the titan fighting in the sky, and now that Megatron was absent, Prowl could finally enjoy the fighting, could enjoy standing at the side of the Prime and his Autobots again –
As they won.
And defended the planet.
And as the Quintesson forces lay in tatters and scraps around them, as the titan above them spoke to Optimus with an unbearably gentle voice, and as the injured Terran returned, Prowl watched Megatron, who had returned with her.
Watched him turn to Optimus, catch his gaze and the small nod in his direction.
And Prowl’s tac net beeped with a conclusion. ::ENEMY:DESIGNATION:MEGATRON::=> LOOKING TO ::SUPERIOR:DESIGNATION:PRIME:: FOR APPROVAL
Prowl’s optics widened . Motive. Finally. But what did it mean ?
1 Loving
Approval.
Prowl’s tac net was focused entirely on the word, on the concept, feeding him a stream of information from both his internal drive and the human resource called internet.
“Energon, Mr. Prowl, sir?” asked one of the Terrans timidly, the bright orange one, and held a cube out to him, interrupting his focus.
Prowl, startled, took it.
Jawbreaker smiled at him and turned back around – back to the party.
The Maltos had returned to their own base after the battle and taken all but Terratronus with them. The Terrans had loudly insisted on a party, since they had saved the world and therefore deserved one – and the adult humans, which appeared to be their guardians, had nodded in approval.
The other Autobots and Megatron were apparently familiar with the concept and had settled in to help “set up” with surprising efficiency. A startling half-cycle later, there was a bonfire in the middle of the yard – a human grill and Energon cubes had been set up, and the mechs and humans were milling around now, eating, playing, chatting, reveling in the exhausted joy after a successful battle.
Prowl had been standing a bit further apart, lost to his own processor. But now, his tac net beeped incessantly at him. Something was wrong.
He swept his optics over the yard – and saw that Megatron and Optimus were missing.
His optics widened in surprise, and he engaged his scanners, pinging after Optimus’ comm frequency – and there, a small signal at the back of the yard, behind the house.
Prowl downed the rest of the Energon and subspaced the cube. What did Megatron want, so shortly after a successful battle? Was he interrogating an exhausted Optimus under some form of guise?
Prowl marched onwards decisively, buoyed by the successful battle. They had defeated the Quintessons. He could take Megatron.
He’d stop him today, once and for all.
Prowl was nearing the corner of the house, to the back of it where the sounds of the party were quiet, where he could see the faint glow of biolights, and could hear the thrum of their engines.
A heavy flight-frame and a massive hauler were not quiet, and they were not taking care to mask the sounds of their engines in the slightest.
But he couldn’t hear talking. There were no voices. And so, Prowl leaned forward, out of the shadows, careful to hide the sounds of his frame and the glow of his optics, to see what they were up to, first.
And suddenly, he was glad that he had done so, even if he had to mask the startled noise that wanted to break free of his mouth.
They were kissing.
Megatron had Optimus backed into the house, and was leaning down, his servos on either side of his jaw. Optimus was kissing him back with enthusiasm – his own servos curled into Megatron’s shoulder plating, yanking him forwards into him.
They were plastered together from helm to pede.
Prowl stumbled back into the shadows as if he’d been shot.
Fragging Primus –
There were protoforms present, he thought, half-hysterical. They were in public . If Megatron could convince Prime, the most stoic, private mech Prowl knew, to this, then his thrall over Optimus had to be worse than he’d thought –
But why would Megatron look for his approval?
Prowl shook his head and stumbled back towards the party uncoordinated as if in shock, his tac net whirring with possibilities.
He needed answers. He needed them now.
Why had Megatron chosen the Autobots?
“Elita!” he called, glad to see her standing at the edge of the crowd, looking at the children playing some inane game with amusement.
She turned around when she saw him hurrying towards her – and stepped away from the crowd even further. Her brow ridge was furrowed.
“What’s gotten into you?” she asked. “Did an alarm go off or something?”
“No,” Prowl panted, unsure of how to respond, “but I – saw Prime and Megatron and –“
Elita snickered . “Oh Primus, please tell me you didn’t see them making out. If Prime finds out you saw him before he could gently point it out to, you Arcee’s gonna make sure he’s never gonna live that one down.”
Prowl startled, freezing, as his tac net processed her reaction. She was unfazed. “You know?!” he hissed loudly, too shocked to quieten his reaction. “But why haven’t you done anything – Megatron is a liability, he has to be using Prime to some advantage –“
Elita chuckled some more, seemingly unconcerned. “For what, his access to the secret Autobot files we don’t have? The tactical advantages that come with abandoning your entire faction for your future conjunx?” As Prowl only stared at her, her faceplates grew serious. “Prowl?”
“Future – conjunx?” Prowl said, and his voicebox was crackling with shock. His processolr was nothing but static.
Elita-1 cycled her optics at him, uncomprehending. “Yes. They are going slow with the Rites, but –“
“Why – would Optimus Prime conjunx Megatron ,” Prowl asked, desperate. His tac net was beeping frantically, close to bluescreening. His voicebox was stuttering.
Elita took a half-step back. “Because – they love each other,” she said, and her tone was steady. “Why else would you conjunx someone?”
Prowl stepped forwards, and he felt as if his processor was coming undone, coding flooding his HUD in nonsense swirls. He grabbed Elita by the shoulders and wanted so badly to shake her until she stopped talking nonsense.
“ Why did Megatron change sides? When did he do it?” he asked, desperately needing to change the conversation to something that made sense.
Elita-1 blinked again, but she answered his question. “I – he came to the base by himself one day. Demanded to see Optimus, and they – something happened between them, and they started being close again. Megatron stayed at the base from then on, babbling something about how he wanted to change, now that it was possible. And then he started listening to Optimus and helping out in battles. We were all suspicious at first – horribly so, it’s Megatron after all, but they have been together ever since. And they’re happy like this.”
She patted his servo. “We’ve had a couple decades to adjust. I guess it’s different when you gotta do it all at once, but Megatron’s saved your life. He’s saved Optimus more than any of us can count. I guess he deserves a little leniency now, so try not to spit in his face, yeah?”
It really felt like Prowl’s processor was bluescreening – but he was horribly, horribly awake.
Elita stepped back out of his hold, with ease, and turned around, back to the party.
Prowl just sat there for a moment. His tac net was currently crackling with static, trying to readjust his rapidly changing worldview, and his HUD was shutting off almost all of his inputs.
Therefore, he didn’t notice Elitas return until she held a cube in front of his face.
“What-”
“It’s high grade. Don’t ask where I got it from, but it seems like you could use some.” She sat down next to him, as he sipped on the cube, and they both stared into the flames of the bonfire together.
Suddenly, Prowl threw his hands up. “I can’t believe it! Megatron !"
Elita chuckled. “It’s - something, isn’t it? But he’s happy. Trust him in that, will you?”
Prowl scowled down at his empty cube. His processor was adjusting, slowly. The high grade in his intake, hot and sharp, was definitely helping. “If I have to. But make no mistake, I’ll keep an optic on Megatron.”
Elita grinned, he could see it in his periphery. “You do that.”
“I think I heard something,” Optimus said, panting, and he pushed against Megatron’s chest.
Grumbling, he shifted away from Optimus reluctantly, but Megatron remained close enough for his vents to brush over Optimus’ dermas. He shivered.
“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Megatron said, brushing another kiss over Optimus’ lipplates.
Optimus leaned into it, kissing him back hungrily - always hungry for more, they had wasted so much of their time - but pushed at him again, a few kliks later.
Megatron’s heavy engine shifted gears and he leaned back with a sigh, away from Optimus. “Fine, we’ll return to the party,” he said, and oh, how Optimus loved his low, gravelly tone.
“We’ll have enough time tonight,” said Optimus with a quirk of his lips, and Megatron grinned in response, his optics burning in the low light.
They stepped out of the shadows at the back of the house. The sounds of the party were louder immediately - the excited shouting of the kids, and the low, relaxed chatter of the adults. It was a night for companionship and laughter - and Optimus hadn’t felt so light in a long, long time.
On impulse, Optimus laced his fingers together with Megatron’s. He glanced at him, astonished for just a moment and Optimus fought a grin. It was hard to surprise Megatron on a good day - but he cherished every second once it happened.
They walked onwards, towards the bonfire.
“There you are!” Elita greeted them cheerfully as they sat down, and even Prowl looked up at them. His optics widened, and Optimus suddenly became aware of his servo - still locked with Megatrons.
Frag .
He’d wanted to tell him - but before the battle today, Prowl had seemed viciously opposed to Megatron, and Optimus had had other things to worry about. He didn’t want to lose an old friendship, but giving up Megatron was not a possibility he’d wanted to entertain.
Never again.
But Prowl was intent on surprising him today, it seemed. “Primus,” hel sighed but his tone sounded resigned. “Seriously, Prime? You are aware he’s a massive security risk.”
Optimus felt Megatron shift next to him, his shoulders growing taut - but he silenced him with a squeeze of his fingers. “I know,” he replied, and he was aware that he sounded disgustingly fond as he leaned back into Megatron’s massive shoulders, “but he’s my risk to take.”
Prowl threw his cube at his head in response - but Optimus knew he’d accepted his decision.
Mostly .