Note: Contains slash towards the end.

.o

Hindsight

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Blackness was a disconcerting color to see in broad daylight.

Optimus tugged once on the tarp blindfold he'd tied over his optics to ensure it wouldn't fall off. Then he stepped forward with both arms outstretched. In less than five steps, he smacked his knee against the cement couch.

"Ow!" He grabbed his knee and hopped in place. Without a visual reference to keep his balance, he toppled backwards into crates piled against the south wall. Splintered wood rained down all over his face and chest. Dust clogged his intakes and made him cough. He didn't want to think of the field day Ratchet would have vacuuming sawdust out of his joints.

Growling, ashamed of himself, Optimus forgot about his knee and fumbled with the blindfold. How the heck does Prowl get around when he--

"Optimus!" Prowl's voice called from the left, sounding a little alarmed "Are you all right?"

Kill me now, Optimus groaned mentally. He pulled the blindfold off and let it fall. Prowl's head turned towards the whisper of the tarp hitting the floor. Optimus did a double take--where was Prowl's visor?

"Nothing...just a little experiment that didn't work out." Optimus said, glad Prowl couldn't 'see' him sitting in such an undignified position. "Prowl, where's your visor?"

"I'm repairing it. Our latest tangle with Blitzwing caused a short in the circuitry."

"Is it safe to be walking around without it like that? I mean...hey, where's Jazz?"

Prowl chuckled. "Jazz is on duty. Sari, Bulkhead and Bumblebee went to that concert on the other side of town. Ratchet went along to make sure they behave."

"Oh. That concert was today?"

"Mmhmm. Bumblebee has only been talking about it for the last month."

"Right." Optimus pulled himself out of the shattered wood. He kept his tone casual, as if nothing strange had even happened. "Well...why don't I take a look at your visor? Maybe a set of working eyes might find the problem."

"That would be helpful, thank you." Prowl nodded gratefully--right before asking the question Optimus wished he wouldn't, "If you don't mind my asking, what kind of experiment were you conducting?"

Optimus' head sank towards his shoulders. No sense lying about it. "I was trying to see what it's like to be--um--unable to see."

Prowl slapped a hand over his own forehead, and Optimus got the impression that he'd just inadvertently insulted him.

"Blind. You can say it."

"Yeah. Blind...right...like I said, it didn't work. I crashed."

"Hmm. You get an A for effort, but your method won't teach you anything. You'll work under the assumption that I have no idea how to find my way around a room." Prowl's annoyance became a faint, though amused smile, "Throwing on a blindfold will skew your ability to travel simply because you're accustomed to using sight to navigate. I learned that when Jazz fell and shattered his optics."

"Heh, heh, I never thought of that. I guess the blindfold was a stupid thing to do." Optimus said, rubbing the back of his neck and wishing for a way out of this awkward situation. He looked up at Prowl's stoic visage, frowning.

But you seem to miss so much, Prowl. You fight like a champion, but you can't even see the stars. You can't see Jazz's face.

"More...misguided." Prowl turned his head when Optimus moved away from the crates. It was eerie the way he could follow sounds. "I'll admit to running into things on occasion, but doesn't that happen to everyone?"

"True. But I wish there was an easy way to better understand the world as you s--uh...experience it."

"I think there is. Pick up the blindfold and follow me."

Optimus picked up the tarp. Prowl laid his hand on the back of the cement couch and started walking. He always did that when he passed it, and for the longest time Optimus never paid the gesture any mind. Now he knew it was his orientation tool, like a compass, because it pointed directly to his quarters. He also noticed that Prowl didn't walk around with outstretched arms--he only extended one to check the doorway as they entered his room.

Once inside, Prowl gestured to the tree growing up through a hole in the ceiling. Sunlight poured through the leaves in golden streams. Dust motes glistened like tiny stars, complimenting the earthy colors of the surrounding area. So much beauty, and Prowl couldn't see any of it.

Prowl said, "Have a seat under the tree."

"Okay." Optimus didn't question. He glanced around first, taking in the neatness of Prowl's personal space. The room looked like it came from that other country Sari told him about...its name eluded him at the moment...something-pan. "Hey, Prowl, mind if I ask you something?"

"Of course not." Prowl replied. He swiped a tall coolant canister off its shelf in the corner and reached for two oil drums sawed down to half their height. There was little touch-feeling involved because everything was so organized. "Do you take bleach in your coolant?"

"No, thanks."

Prowl nodded, pouring coolant neatly into both containers. He seemed to know exactly when to stop, and also guessed the first question before it left Optimus' lips. "The sound changes when a container is almost full." He closed the coolant canister and brought their drinks with him to the tree. "Next question?"

"Thanks." Optimus accepted and sipped as an excuse to think of another question. He tried not to let his awkwardness spoil this rare opportunity to understand one of his men. "Do you see black?"

Prowl shook his head. "I don't know what black is. Colors are just vibrations to me."

"Interesting."

Truthfully, Optimus couldn't imagine living without seeing color. Colors made the world beautiful. Colors told him whether a substance was safe or dangerous.

"I'm sure sight is a wonderful thing. Jazz said it's..." Prowl chuckled, sipping his drink, "...music for the eyes. It made perfect sense."

"Yes, but...do you ever feel like you're missing out? I mean...no offense," Optimus backpedaled, "It's just--you're so enamored with nature, which is the most colorful thing I know of besides nebulae. I guess that is what I'm trying to figure out."

"I can't miss what I've never had." Prowl replied casually. His lack of eyes made reading his expression nearly impossible--how did Jazz do it?

Optimus bit his own glossa in frustration at himself. Why did he keep asking so many stupid questions?

Prowl set his coolant down between two roots, knelt and felt around until he found the tarp. "Here. Put the blindfold back on. I'd like to show you a few things."

"We won't be walking around, will we?"

"No."

"Right...okay." Optimus shut his optics off and hurriedly tied the tarp over his eyes. Now effectively unable to see anything beyond a signal light, he lifted his head and waited. The first thing he heard was Prowl moving their coolant drinks further away. Probably a good move--Optimus knew he'd end up spilling something with his clumsy hands. "Now what?"

"Just listen to the world around you," Prowl said gently.

For the life of him, Optimus couldn't focus on any one sound. Outdoor noises had always been a background hum because he didn't rely on his audios. But when he really tunneled his attention, he picked up the distant roar of the freeway--horns blaring, tires screeching, a few sirens and the occasional radio crackles from police bots doling out tickets.

"I hear the freeway...there's heavy traffic right now. I-I think somebody has a bad muffler out there."

"Good. That's correct. Now, focus on your immediate surroundings."

Optimus relaxed his shoulders, drawing his attention more inward. He started to hear soft swishing, creaking and clattering. The twitter of birds swirled above his head. They sang in so many whistles and tones. One bird picked up where the other left off--and then several chirped at once before an abrupt rushing sound brought the clattering noises back to the forefront.

"What's that sound?"

"Which one?"

"That one," Optimus said when he heard the hollow clicking again.

"Those are wooden wind chimes. Jazz gave them to me." Prowl's voice lightened and he chuckled, "They remind me of our first kiss. I had no idea how to react to such an advance, but he mistakenly thought he'd offended me, so he brought me the chimes as an apology gift. They're perfect--I think of him every time I hear them."

"I see..." Optimus listened to wooden chimes play in the wind. Some seemed to snap and crash while others rattled hollowly, making a sound almost like rushing water. The rattling chimes generated higher pitches than ones that crashed together. This realization stunned him. He never knew wood could generate so many tonal frequencies.

"And what's that swish?" he asked.

"Leaves moving in the wind." Prowl said, scratching something on the ground. "Turn your head to the left and smell this."

Optimus took in the strange scent. It was a little like dust, but somehow cleaner, more fresh. "What is it?"

"Soil. Touch it."

Reaching out, Optimus let his fingers brush the earth piled in Prowl's hand. Prowl held his wrist and dumped the dirt on his palm. It was slightly moist, cold and velvety soft.

"Life begins and ends in soil. Plants need it to grow, and when they die, their rotting remains become nutrients for the next generation of plants. All a seed needs is to find a place to root, suitable sun and water, and if left alone its power can't be contained." Prowl guided Optimus' free hand to the rough tree trunk, which suddenly seemed like a powerful, immovable object holding fast the ground that gave it life. "And this..." his voice jolted as he hopped up, snapped something and dropped down again, "...is the beauty given by the earth in your hand." He rustled something, "Smell these."

Optimus' olfactory sensors detected a sweet smell. "Flowers?"

"Yes. The tree is blooming. Put the soil down and give me your hand."

When Optimus put the dirt down and reached out, he felt Prowl grasp his wrist and place the branch against his palm. Tacitly, he turned it over and ran his fingers over the various twigs sprouting off either side. The bark was rough and warm while the leaves felt cool and smooth, and the flowers clustered between the leaves were soft on his fingertips. He smiled, tilting his head towards the sun's warmth as it poured in through the ceiling and marveling at this new way of seeing the world. Prowl really wasn't missing out. If anything he experienced more because visual information didn't dominate his sensory processors. Who needed colors when nature provided so many textures, smells and sounds?

"What else can you do?" Optimus asked, awed. "What can you tell about people?"

"I can guess a person's expression by listening to them talk," Prowl spoke softly, his low voice unobtrusive in the peaceful quiet. "Voices change subtly when someone smiles while talking to me--like you are right now. I know which direction someone is facing by listening to their voice. I can calculate distances by sound. It's how I keep track of my throwing disks in battle. I can also estimate the size of a mech by listening to their movements. Bulkhead's servos have a lower pitch than Bumblebee's. Ratchet's joints creak while yours are smooth. I also know the cadence of everyone's footsteps. The only thing I can't do is see."

Optimus bit his bottom lip as he digested everything in his mind. Prowl compensated so well for his blindness. In some ways, he saw better than a sighted mech. Awed, Optimus untied his blindfold and looked over, surprised to find Prowl sitting closer to him than he anticipated. His eyes drifted to the branch he'd set down. The flowers were white.

Funny, that information felt somehow...unimportant.

"And what about Jazz?"

Mentioning Jazz's name caused a subtle change in Prowl. It was like a light came on somewhere inside him.

"I know what he looks like. I know his touch and his kiss. I..." Prowl lifted his head and reached for his coolant container without groping. "...I even know his scent. He smells very nice, by the way...like--uh, err...um...I'm drifting on a tangent, aren't I?" He rubbed the side of his neck and his small mouth twitched into an almost dreamy smile. It was an unguarded moment more fleeting than lightning, but Optimus glimpsed it and realized exactly what Jazz saw in him. Prowl was an oil slick, dark and gloomy at a glance, but, when viewed from the right angle, his personality shimmered in an array of colors. He approached love with a protoform's innocence--likely because he spent most of his life completely deprived of emotional connections. Physically he seemed so independent...but socially and emotionally, he still lacked so much.

Jazz had tapped into a side of Prowl no one thought existed. Jazz literally brought him to life. Everyone was noticing that Prowl talked more and even spent time in the main room rather than closing himself off in his private quarters. Of course, Optimus knew Prowl's reasons for hiding were to conceal the behaviors that gave away his flaw, but the result of that left him incredibly lonely--even bordering on depression. He almost let his blindness stop him from falling in love. Before he discovered Prowl's secret, Optimus always felt the urge to push him forward the minute he noticed Jazz taking interest.

And he was glad he did.

"But appearances mean nothing to me, personally." Prowl went on, unaware of the epiphany Optimus was experiencing. "Jazz calls it 'X-ray vision' because I see 'the insides of people.' Which is true. Jazz is...exciting...he makes me laugh. I can tell him anything, or I can simply sit with him and listen to the wind. Everything is right in the world whenever he's close by." He straightened, suddenly, and faced Optimus. "Does that sound too corny?"

"Corny? Huh? No." Optimus grabbed his drink off the shelf where Prowl placed it and downed its contents, chuckling under his breath. "I'm glad you took the plunge, Prowl. I remember how terrified you were before you two bonded."

"Mm," Prowl covered his mouth so he wouldn't laugh and spit out his coolant. "I realize how silly it was. Jazz turned out to be exactly the one I wanted. Funny how that works out."

"Agreed." Optimus found himself trying not to stare at Prowl's eyeless face. It just looked so...weird...there were no scars, no indentations to indicate empty sockets...it was a flat space that blended into his cheekbones. Realizing his rudeness, he cleared his throat and groped for another subject. "I should work on that visor. The others will start trickling in soon."

"Oh! Of course. It's on my desk. Please try to put the tools back exactly where you found them."

"Right."

Optimus spotted the shorted circuit immediately--evidenced by a tiny burn mark the size of a pin prick. It'd require delicate soldering, but he was good at things like this. He'd just seated himself when he heard a strange bird call emanating from the roof.

Jazz poked his head over the edge of the hole. "Ooh, I spy a sexy ninja."

"Jazz!" Prowl sounded annoyed...or was he just pretending to be annoyed? "Nobody invited you. Shoo! Pest!"

"Pfft! Right! Then explain why I heard a telepathic signal from your aft screaming 'I want you, Jazz! Take me, Jazz! I'm miserable without you! Please come and grope me!'"

"I think your imagination is more insane than you are," Prowl groused. "You might as well come down from there. You look silly."

"And you know this how?"

Prowl smirked, "My aft told me so."

Optimus' eyes widened when he heard Prowl flirting. He must have learned that from Jazz.

"Okay, I give up." Jazz's musical laugh ripped across the room. He hopped to the ground, grinning when Prowl leaned against his side. "Where's your visor?"

"Undergoing repairs."

"Hi, Jazz," Optimus waved over his shoulder. He pretended to be utterly absorbed in his work, but he found himself continuing his observation of the two mechs behind him via their reflections on Prowl's main computer screen.

Jazz kissed the spaces where Prowl's eyes should have been. Prowl's guard slipped down like magic. His stoic face broke into a brilliant smile. He reached out and caressed Jazz's cheek, feeling its shape. They started whispering to each other in tones too low to hear.

Jazz made Prowl so happy.

And if a flawed mech could find that joy so easily, Optimus wondered, why couldn't he? The one person he ever had feelings for liked someone else, and fate stole them both by turning them into his enemies.

"Hey, Optimus!" The weight of Jazz's hand clapping on his shoulder dispelled Optimus' dark thoughts. He did smell nice, like fresh wax. "How's it hanging, boss-bot?"

"Oh," Optimus looked up, smiling because Jazz's playful grin was just so darned infectious. "Not much. I should be done with this in a minute."

"Ah! No rush yet. The others are still across the city, partying' like idiots. I'm surprised you didn't join 'em."

"Me? Ah, no, I'll be listening to the full story from Ratchet later. He and I have the same opinion about that kind of music."

"So does Prowl. He's the world's biggest party pooper." Jazz whispered, treating it like a secret. Then he leaned back, still amused. He was a very attractive mech, sleek and streamlined just like Prowl. His visor was up, Optimus noticed, revealing a pair of narrow, pale blue optics. He had a facial structure so similar to Prowl's that Optimus could imagine Prowl with eyes exactly like that.

Except having eyes would make Prowl look wrong. Eyesight meant damning him to see the ugly sides of life--war, death and destruction.

Optimus chewed his lips as he finished the delicate soldering. He handed the repaired visor to Jazz and feigned annoyance, "Count me in with the party poopers. I can stand rock because it resembles singing. But rap? It's people talking over music, usually about sex, drugs or guns. I'm not a fan of Sari hearing that all the time."

"Heh! Acquired taste. The good stuff isn't like that." Jazz winked one optic and walked over to Prowl, who stood by the tree. "Hey, Prowl, I've got your eyes," he said, placing the visor so tenderly on the pins protruding from the bridge of Prowl's nose. "They workin'?"

Prowl turned his head a few times, testing.

"Yes, perfectly. Thank you, Optimus."

"You're welcome," Optimus pushed himself up. He suddenly remembered the crate mess he left in the other room. Someone had to clean that up before everybody returned to the warehouse.

But, once more, Jazz gently invaded his thoughts, "We're headin' out for a drive. Wanna join us?"

"Uh...thanks, but maybe next time. I don't like to leave this place unguarded."

"Ah, gotcha. Well, Prowl and I won't be lon--"

"Yes, we will," Prowl cut in, elbowing Jazz in the hip.

Jazz's optics popped open wide as Prowl transformed and zoomed away. He looked over at Optimus, chuckled and said, "I'm so into him."

Optimus laughed. "I think I know what you see in him now. But you better hurry if you want to catch him."

That won a smile from the sports car. The next sound Optimus heard was an engine roaring away, leaving him alone with the clattering wind chimes. He made his way back out into the main room to clean up the broken crates. Like the love he once had, a love unfinished because he never spoke up, he was left holding pieces. They were jagged splinters that scratched his Spark.

Being blind to the world was one thing...but being blind to emotions was another monster altogether.

Growling, Optimus collected the wood piles in two garbage dumpsters. He slammed the lids and pushed them outside, hoping to forget. When he looked up, he saw Jazz and Prowl sitting on the half-constructed freeway overpass just west of the warehouse. They were practically wrapped around each other, kissing deeply in the afternoon sun.

Optimus turned away from their happiness, regretful of his twenty-twenty hindsight. Why did the past sting like splinters?