Author's note: Originally, I had never intended to write a sequel to "Captured", but since several readers left me such kind reviews and asked for a sequel, I decided to do at least something of the sort.

And I say "something of the sort", because this isn't really what I would call a "full" story as such. More of a compromise between my original intention not to touch the storyline again and the request of some readers.

Basically, this fic will consist of a number of chapters, each detailing a scene between two mechs in the aftermath of Jazz's defection. While the scenes are in chronological order, they are not really connected to each other with any in-between scenes, and they're not supposed to be; so please bear that in mind when you read.

In any case, while it's not a complete story as such, I hope those of you who requested a sequel will think this is better than nothing, at least!

Backstory: If anyone wants to give this story a try without first having read "Captured", the gist of the prequel is as follows: AU. Jazz is a Decepticon who gets himself captured by the Autobots. While a prisoner, he and Prowl eventually develop feelings for each other, resulting in Jazz's decision to defect.

Acknowledgements: Thanks to HitokiriKurisuta for offering helpful suggestions and doing an awesome job beta reading this.

Disclaimer: Transformers doesn't belong to me in any shape or way.

Optimus' optics were fixed on the mech sitting across from him. The frosty silence hanging over the room was highly unusual; in fact, he'd even go as far as to say that it was unprecedented. Not even when the two of them had had their differences in the past had the atmosphere held anything like the current chill that now seemed to permeate the Autobot leader's chassis, as though it were a living entity grasping for his spark, seeking to extinguish it with its icy fingers.

Of course, Prowl had never been a cordial mech. Not by any stretch of the imagination. Optimus had, during the years, heard many words used among the Autobots to describe the Second in Command, often spoken in careful whispers or conspiratorial voices: cold, stiff, anti-social – even emotionless. But while Optimus acknowledged that Prowl's critics were not pulling their accusations out of thin air, he had seen more redeeming traits in the officer as well. And during all the time that they had worked together, he had slowly realized that Prowl was not as unfeeling as was often assumed.

He hid it well though, and Optimus had never fully managed to break through that ever-present barrier which safely and surely shut other 'Bots out, even if he had occasionally gotten a glimpse of the emotions that hid behind it.

Instead, the two had always kept their relationship on a strictly professional level, never letting it delve into something more personal; never into anything that could be classified as a real, cordial friendship. Optimus was well aware that he wasn't the most social of mechs himself; and while he did come across as friendly and jovial to the 'Bots he commanded, it was a rare thing for him to get close enough to develop deep, emotional bonds to anyone. Like Prowl, he had kept other mechs at a distance.

But regardless of their respective social inadequacies, he and Prowl had always maintained a good, solid relationship. They had understood each other, perhaps better than any of their fellow Autobots ever had. Even when they hadn't seen optic to optic on an issue, there had always been a feeling of mutual respect and acceptance between them.

This time, everything was different. Optimus had thought that he had known his Second in Command and what to expect from him.

And what not to expect.

Perhaps he had been naive, but in a world full of uncertainties and doubt, he had hoped there would be firm ground to stand on at least somewhere. Some sort of stable point in a precarious existence, plagued by a war that could at any time tear apart everything their kind treasured and spread the pieces to the wind. But when it all came down to it, not even Prowl had been able to offer him the anchor he had craved.

Of course, news of recent events had found their way back to Optimus while he was still attending to things on Cybertron, but the specifics he had not found out about until his recent arrival on Earth, and he had been taken totally aback. The complications had given rise to swirling thoughts that had kept him occupied well into the night when he had struggled to slip into merciful recharge. And while things had not been any clearer to him the next day, he had still summoned Prowl to his office.

The more general questions relating to Jazz's defection had already been asked and addressed, and now, Optimus found himself treading on a minefield. Everywhere there were explosives hidden, waiting to go off, and it seemed impossible for him to reach his intended goal without setting his foot on them.

But, he made his decision. Darting around the issue would only serve to set more of those treacherous mines off than going straight for it would.

"As I understand things, you and Jazz are... involved? Am I correct?"

He had tried to say the words without putting any sort of judgment into them, without letting his own personal feelings on the issue, on what was right and what was not, colour them. He had even avoided using the more loaded word "bonded". But he knew he had failed when he registered the voice that was coming out of his vocalizer.

Disapproval. Judgment. Failure to accept. All the things that he had tried to hold back were now wrapping themselves around his words, distorting them, robbing them of true meaning. Turning them into a mockery of a question.

He wished he could have withdrawn the words and made another attempt, but it was already too late. But in the end it didn't matter; he had already passed "too late" long ago, at the very moment he had called Prowl into his office. The two of them knew each other only too well, and when coming face to face after Optimus' long absence on Cybertron, Optimus had realized that Prowl had already registered what his commander had unwittingly given voice to just a few seconds ago. Words had not been necessary. Neither had the unintended scathing undertones that had accompanied them.

And so, they had endured the frostiest meeting he could ever have imagined. Optimus had felt Prowl's annoyance and frustration rising by the minute as his commander had avoided the issue, letting his questions instead focus on the more comfortable issues of Jazz's defection and the scope of his dedication. For all intents and purposes, trying to judge to what extent Jazz could be trusted as an Autobot.

But the unspoken question had hung in the air, hovered over them like an ethereal ghost. Unseen, but its presence still felt.

Optimus had already known about the state of things; the other inhabitants in the Ark had been quick to inform him. And the issue had been debated, quite hotly so. Some had found it shocking, others merely questionable. Many were disapproving, and a few accepting. Opinions were many and varied, but every 'Bot had one.

And so did Optimus.

Cold blue optics met his across the desk; like two icicles trying to drive themselves into his skull. And in a way, it was just as painful. His trusted Second in Command, looking at him like that, disappointment and resentment etched into every line of his face.

The reply couldn't have been more simple and uncomplicated.

"Yes."

If only everything else could have been as simple and uncomplicated, Optimus thought.

Silence followed. Well, at least Prowl had been honest. He had not darted around the issue as the Autobot leader had himself, nor had he tried to deny the state of things or flat out lie. At least Optimus could grant him that.

The Autobot commander realized that it was his turn to speak. After all, he had gotten the answer he had asked for, plain and obvious, as though he had asked about nothing more than whether it was still raining outside. It annoyed him that Prowl had made it sound so simple, and yet he, Optimus, was sitting here wracking his processor over it. But words seemed to elude him as he desperately scrabbled for them, like a human child trying to catch a sun reflection within her hands, with just as little success.

And Prowl only sat there in silence; Optimus could see how he was withdrawing further and further into himself, as he would often do when he had difficulties handling an emotional issue. Perhaps there was nothing Optimus could say that would get through to him in this state, but as Autobot leader, he had to deal with this one way or the other. Regardless of the consequences.

"And you don't see a problem with it?"

Oh, if only looks had been able to inflict pain, Optimus would have been writhing on the floor in agony right now.

"No."

Again, a short, to the point reply that told of the speaker's unwillingness to debate the issue more clearly than any endless harangue of words could ever have done.

Optimus felt frustration overwhelm him once again. No, perhaps there was indeed nothing he could say that would get through to the Second in Command, but he had to try. If only things hadn't been so difficult. He made another effort to gather his thoughts and transform them into proper sentences, to try to make Prowl understand the way he saw things, as gently as it was possible, if at all.

But the words that came out of his vocalizer were not those he had intended. Instead, they were vicious and harsh, totally devoid of the calm reasoning he had aimed for. Deep inside, a part of him listened in horror as the insensitive, hurtful words poured out without him being able to stop them.

"You're telling me that you don't see a problem? That there is now a former Decepticon among us who has defected simply because he happened to develop some sort of twisted attachment to his Autobot captor while incarcerated? Not because he actually cared about our Autobot values or realized the inherent wrongness of the Decepticon way, no, but because of some bizarre infatuation with his former enemy! And what of the day should he perhaps no longer feel that way, is he then going to switch factions once again?"

Optimus drew his breath. The worst of what he was about to say was yet to come. And still, he was unable to stop himself.

"But regardless of all that, there is another, much weightier issue at stake here – the fact that you should have known better! Known better than to take advantage of your position and use someone like that. And if you don't think that you have, I want you to consider this, Prowl: can you honestly tell me that you truly believe that, were the circumstances any different, Jazz would still have chosen you to be his bondmate?"

There was no outrage following his words. No show of suddenly burning, righteous anger. Or even resentment. No, to his surprise there was nothing at all, as if Optimus had just ceased to exist to Prowl then and there. In that moment, the commander realized that all that the two of them had built up between them during the years was now gone as certainly as had it never existed, and he doubted that even an eternity would be enough to bring it back.

Optimus resisted the impulse to bury his face in his hands in desperation. The realization that Prowl might never forgive him for the awful conclusions he had just uttered was a dreadful burden to bear. And perhaps, he thought, as vicious self-loathing and disgust stung his spark, Prowl wasn't the only one who would never be able to forgive him. Never had he thought that he had it in him to say something that he knew would so grievously hurt any of the 'Bots he commanded.

No, not him. Not the great Prime, who always had a kind word for everyone, who always managed to see the good in every mech, who would always offer support and comfort to his comrades whenever it was needed.

Who would always loathe himself for not being able to say this, of all things, more diplomatically.

But the dice had been cast, and perhaps things couldn't have turned out any other way. Fact still remained, his appointed Second in Command had done something he would never have thought of him, and Optimus was unable to understand it regardless of how long and hard truth stared him in the face.

And having heard how the story went around the Ark, no one else really understood things either. As far as anyone knew, Prowl, together with Ironhide, had brought the captured 'Con in one day, promptly placing him in a holding cell. And with the exception of a quickly overplayed scene during which the prisoner had been recaptured after a failed escape attempt, no one had even seen the skid marks of him. Not until after his supposed defection had been made public and Prowl had released him, whereupon it had also become clear that the two of them were now bonded.

What had transpired in between was anyone's guess.

And guessed they had, the Autobots.

Waves of vicious rumours had been making their way around the headquarters lately, each telling its own unpalatable story of the events that had led up to the 'Con's defection and his bonding to Prowl. On a few occasions, Optimus had felt himself more embarrassed by some of the 'Bots' overly-imaginative speculations than he had by the Second in Command's actions. He did not for a second believe that Prowl had willfully manipulated the prisoner or processor-washed him into accepting Prowl as his bondmate. Or that Prowl had been so desperate for a bondmate that he had offered the 'Con his freedom in return for a mock defection and a subsequent bonding to the tactician.

But regardless, Optimus found himself forced to admit that from where he was standing, things did not look good. What would one make of a situation like this? Autobots and Decepticons did not bond with each other; even the mere thought was preposterous and something that he had only heard being entertained in a few off colour jokes. So whatever it was that had led up to such an unimaginable outcome, it had to be nothing short of spectacular. And not in a good way.

He supposed that Prowl was more than aware of these circulating rumours himself. There was no way he could have avoided overhearing the racy speculations that were now spreading like raging wildfire. Certainly, the time that had followed Jazz's release from captivity couldn't have been easy for the tactician.

And, Optimus realized with a sting of guilt, Prowl had been, if not expecting, then at least hoping that his commanding officer would see things differently. That he, who knew the tactician better than anyone else, would give him the benefit of the doubt and accept the unlikely state of things. It might have been the only thing that had kept his spirits up during all this time when he had been met with suspicion and doubt wherever he had turned.

But Optimus had let Prowl down; had shown him that he really was no different from all those other gossiping 'Bots. No wonder the tactician had been so cold and distant when they had met optic to optic and he had realized that the desperately needed help and support weren't forthcoming.

Still, as much as he might have wanted to, he could not support Prowl in this. Regardless of what had transpired between the two in that holding cell, Optimus was convinced that in the end Prowl had ended up making the wrong choice. Under the desperate and dependant circumstances Jazz had found himself in as a prisoner, how could anyone think that his choice of bondmate had been based on his spark's true desire?

But Prowl had thought so. And whatever it was that Jazz had felt for him, Prowl had twisted those feelings into something that he assumed was real affection, simply because he had wanted them to be. That Jazz hadn't known any better was one thing, but Prowl certainly should have.

And now there was no return. Optimus had told him about all this in no uncertain terms. The vain hope he had entertained that his words would, despite their lack of tact, serve as a wake-up call for the tactician was long gone, and instead their only effect had been to alienate him even further, cementing his conviction that he truly stood alone.

Optimus sighed. No, Prowl would not let go of this relationship willingly. The question was, could Optimus, as Autobot leader, make him? Or a more burning question yet, should he? Never before had he entertained a similar thought, of personally intervening in a budding relationship. Not very long ago he would have found the whole concept ridiculous and laughed it away, had anyone mentioned it. Two mechs bonding with each other was nothing out of the ordinary in the Ark, and while there had been times he had found certain liaisons more questionable than appropriate, he had never dreamt of considering doing anything with the intention of breaking them up. Such things were always the private business of the mechs involved, and it was not his place to meddle with them.

And was it even within his authority, Autobot leader and Matrix holder as he might be, to order Prowl to break off what he and Jazz had started? He wasn't sure himself; the question had never entered his processors before, nor had any previous situation required him to think along those terms.

And would Prowl accept such an order if he gave it? True, he had never disobeyed an order in the past, neither from Optimus himself nor from any of his other superior officers before he had been made Second in Command. However, this time Optimus wasn't so sure of what the reaction would be. And what would he do if Prowl refused? Throw him in the brig?

The whole idea was more like a bad joke, or ludicrous farce, than a viable option. Such a development of things wouldn't reflect well on either Prowl or on himself, and it would only serve to disturb the other 'Bots under their command. A conflict like that had never transpired before, and such an obvious discord between the First and the Second in Command would be upsetting to many, disrupting the usual tranquility within their own ranks. And it was precisely that tranquility, that stability, he felt was so imperative to keep intact, seeing as how a lack of it would be detrimental to the morale of the whole Ark.

Not to mention, throwing the Second in Command in the brig was something that Megatron would do; it was not an action fit for an Autobot commander.

Turning the possibilities over in his processor, he found that as much as he might dislike it, it was not his place to order a stop to this. Not yet, at least. He would monitor the two carefully, that much was certain, and if things developed in a way that was unacceptable, then he would, stability and tranquility be slagged, intervene with whatever means were necessary.

He met with Prowl's optics. They were devoid of emotion but still as piercing as before.

"Well then, Prowl. I'm not going to stop this as of now, but I can assure you, I will be keeping a close optic on you and Jazz. And if I don't like what I see transpiring between you two, I will not hesitate to put a stop to things. Have I made myself clear?"

The tactician didn't acknowledge this. Instead his only response was a question of his own.

"Am I excused?"

This time it was Optimus' turn to give a short, monosyllabic answer. An answer that spoke only too clearly of his disappointment with a situation he could never have foreseen, but had no choice but to deal with. And of his sadness for the trust that had been irrevocably broken.

"Yes."

End note: Whoops, seems like Optimus isn't too impressed with Prowl and Jazz's relationship. Ah well, I guess not everyone can be as fond of the pairing as the rest of us.

In any case, the direction of this chapter sort of came from a review made by Artsy Resuri, so if you don't like it, you know who to blame! (Alright, just kidding, just kidding, without that review to inspire me there might not even have been a sequel in the first place. :) )