Well, I don't know where it come from, but I started thinking about Bluestreak and the fall of Praxus, and this came to me. Well, a picture came to me first, then the story, but being at work I couldn't draw, so I wrote the story.

It had been the first time I saw Prowl crack. I remember it as if it had happened the day before.

We hadn't been getting along at that time, what with our opinions and temperaments being so different, there were often clashes happening. I didn't hate him per see … I just found Prowl too cold, too frigid, too logical that it was rubbing me the wrong way. And it was like that since our first meeting. No, I should say it started when I first read the SIC's profile, a little before I became the new TIC.

But that day, I learned quite painfully that everything I though I knew about the stoic mech was wrong.

We had been at a meeting at the time. The Decepticon's attacks had been becoming more frequent, and steadily more violent. There even had been a rumor saying Megatron had gotten Vos' support, but nothing was predicting what would happen.

I remember Smokescreen suddenly barging in and yelling that Praxius was under attack. And not just part of it; the whole city. And by Seekers no less; Vos' elite.

Everyone reactions had been different, but all had be shocked, including myself. I remember turning to Prowl, whose seat was facing me, but the mech had already bolted to the door and out, quickly followed but the other Praxian present and ignoring Prime's order to wait.

My first reaction had been to follow, and follow I did after a quick nod from his Prime. The larger mech would go, too, but my alt-form was faster.

By the time I had caught up to them, both Praxians were in bot-form and facing their hometown from a little cliff overlooking it, watching as it burned before their optics. I only had the time to change myself before they had jumped right inside, Prowl barking orders both via his comlink and orally to the rescue team dispatched.

I hadn't seen his face at the time, but his tone had been compose - if a little strained - but still the same as the one I was accustomed to since I took my function as TIC. I had scoffed, thinking only a drone could be so cold when his entire city was being destroyed.

The next hours were spent searching through the town for any survivor.

Till to this day I remember the sight of the ruined town, of the burning – ruined – frames scattered across the streets and what was left of the buildings. And the smell; the smell of melting metal and energon.

I hadn't been with Prowl for most of the search, having lost view of him almost as soon as he had jumped in, but the urgency had been to find any survivors, if there was any. When I had seen him next, I almost missed him. Hunched over, not moving an inch, I had first though he was another corpse. Then I saw his doorwings – all Praxian's pride – move down.

It was only when I went around him that he saw why. And it was where it all started.

He was holding a youngling. A dead youngling. Barely upgraded.

His face had been partially hidden, but what I had been able to see had been twisted in agony. Then the next moment it had disappeared behind a frigid mask. He had laid the little one on the ground delicately, his touch lingering perhaps an astrosecond longer than necessary, and he had been back on his legs, searching again.

I had watched his from afar, following him as he went through the debris, checking all the frames, sometimes staying longer, and soon the sky was darkening. By this time I had never seen those wings going lower than this day.

A mech told me once that a Praxian's and a Vosian's wings were mirrors of their emotions.

It didn't take a genius to know what lowered doorwings meant …

I remember suddenly seeing said doorwing twitching and then raising high before seeing Prowl darting toward another street almost blocked by the remains of a building. When he had started making his way through it, pulling large pieces of metal away and digging without caring if he would ended up being buried himself under tons and tons of metal, hope had shinned into my spark and I had gone to help him. Nothing had been said. We both had the same goal, so words weren't need.

After heaving a large piece away and letting it roll down, Prowl had reached into a small opening, large enough for him to thrust an arm inside.

It was then that I heard what the Praxian had heard before and I didn't.

A cry, then sobs, and Prowl was pushing his way into the hole without a care about the sharp metal edges cutting his armor. He had pulled away a moment later with a small form into his arms, shielding it as it started to cry.

They had found a youngling.

I had watched as he cried against Prowl's chestplates, his smaller arms as tight around his neck as the SIC's own were around him.

I had smiled in relief, shoulders sagging, and then worried as the SIC's shoulder started shaking.

I remember thinking that maybe he had hurt himself with that little stunt, only to nearly crash when I saw something I thought to be impossible.

I saw Prowl, Prime's Second In Command and tactician extraordinaire, a mech rumored having been built without a spark (which of course is impossible), crying as he hold the youngling for dear life.

Dumbstruck, I had stood here without uttering a word for what had seemed to be an eternity. I had only moved when Smokescreen and two bots from the rescue team had arrived, and it was only because they had nearly knocked me down in their rush to reach the two. Still I hadn't say a word, my optics strangely fixated on the scene happening before me, as the two medics tried without success to take the youngling from Prowl's arms, only succeeding with the aid from Smokescreen. Still, the SIC had not leave the youngling alone till we were back out of the town, and the only reason was that we still had parts of the town to search.

Alas, there hadn't been other survivors. And with further research, we learned that from hundreds if not thousands of them, they were now the only Praxians remaining.

The fall of Praxus had been the catalyst of many things. It had been the true beginning of the war for many of them, and an open minder for me. Since this day I learned to see behind the mask Prowl wear constantly, and learned that if he acted the way he did, it was only in order to be able to better protect those under his command. Sadly I had needed the near complete destruction of a population to show me that.

Now it's not to say there isn't any more clashing between us (on the contrary, much to our Prime dismay and the amusement of the crew), but there is not the same venom as before, and they are mostly mild – I will never, even under torture, confess that it was me who spiked his energon just before this famous political meeting … beside it had gone alright in the end … well, somewhat.

I had made it my mission to keep him outside of his office and to pester him away from his reports as much as possible. Not an easy task, but I am as much stubborn as he is.

Which, it remind me, I need to do now.

End of entry n°127

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