Duty Bound - Part 8 (3 of 3) Reconciliation

Transformers (G1) Verse
Characters: Prowl, Optimus, Jazz, Ratchet, Sideswipe, Bluestreak

Rating: M

Warnings: Sorrowful, depressed, confused bots just trying to make sense of their world and an ending.

Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers. I think they would rebel under the reign of my plot bunnies.

A/N: Holy slag! I can't believe this is the last chapter of this story. It seriously was a very long time coming. Hopefully this ending is satisfying to any and all who read this.

(Jazz POV)

Morosely, I bore a hole through the eternally orange ceiling plates doing my best to not succumb to the utter horror that is boredom. The Hatchet left me here on my comfy little berth no more than a couple of joors ago with the firm order to not move a servo (Oh hardy, har, har, doc!) until he says so to give my newly mended hand and wrist joint time to adjust. Being in the mood that I am in I might have given him the finger from said busted servo, but I have better things to do right now than poke a badger with a spoon.

I don't know where he headed in such a froth, but I can simulate a couple of scenarios. Hey, just because I'm not assigned the role of head tactician doesn't mean that I don't know how to speculate possibilities and probabilities. Right now my credits are on Ratchet visiting Prime—something that I was really hoping to avoid happening just yet.

Between the three of us, it's no secret that Prowl's in a bad way (mentally and emotionally speaking). I was just holding out the hope that he would let one of us in before something bad came of it. Now I'm no masochist, but all the same I'm glad that it happened to me. I can at least understand and accept what's going on. I've been in the driver's seat more than once dealing with this exact thing and sometimes it just ain't pretty. It's the sad, gritty truth about war.

Of course, this means that I need to be in full damage control mode to stop this from getting any worse than it already is. Lucky me I am under house arrest in the med bay. Unlucky for Prowl I have other means of getting my way. Speaking of which…

From my prostrate position I turn my helm and give my most award-winning smile to the two mechs warily peaking around the open med bay doors. Waving them over with my undamaged servo both Sides and Blue do a quick two step to where I'm at. From the corner of my optic I see Jack momentarily stop fiddling with whatever he's fiddling with to regard my two visitors. They both tense, but Wheeljack is no where near as strict about visitation rules in the med bay as some individuals, so he just flashes his audials light blue in greeting before once again becoming engrossed in his work.

Sideswipe gives an exaggerated swipe of his forehelm before flashing a charming grin my way. I flash one back, although it is obviously lost on him the moment his sharp optics focus in on the shiny new metal of my servo. Frowning darkly, for a moment he seems to be his brother and I wonder if maybe I should have waited until after I was out of the med bay to call him in. I should have guessed that this would not have slipped by his notice. Bright blue optics lock on mine as if my visor isn't even there and look expectantly at me.

"What the frag happened to your hand?"

Well, that was subtle.

Bluestreak's confused expression quickly clouds over with worry as he too finally notices the newly reconstructed appendage.

"It's nothin' Sides. I need you to two to take care of something for me, okay?"

Always eager to help, Blue's already nodding, but the red devil is not placated.

"Yeah, sure we will—once we find out why the frell you're in the med bay."

Frowning slightly, my tone changes to the one that I rarely use with this particular mech—that of an officer. "You need to drop it Sides. There are more important things going on here."

Still upset, I'm surprised when he easily relents with a quick, sharp nod—both an agreement and a promise that the subject may have been dropped, but it's not forgotten. Ah well, I can work with that.

"Thanks. Look, I need you two to find Prowl. I'm under house arrest courtesy of Ratchet, so I can't be out there playing Hide and Go Seek. He's pretty upset, although I don't need to tell you guys that he'll probably deny it outright. You don't need to corner him, just convince him to hang around the Ark and chill for a bit. That means no intentionally riling him up, k?"

Bluestreak smiles brilliantly, obviously eager to do whatever he can to help his mentor. Sideswipe…yeah. He's still not convinced about leaving me as is to go on a wild goose chase for his nemesis, I imagine.

Sighing, I gesture Sides closer and wait until his lanky form has leaned over and is no more than a hand's breath away. He raises an optic ridge expectantly and I have no choice, but to give him the short short version of the truth. What can I say? For whatever reason the mech has protective tendencies towards me (sweet) that are borderline possessive (not sweet).

"Sides…it's like this. You know better than most the heavy slag that Prowler is working through. Yeah, he's not dealing well and I pushed him more than I should have. It was an accident and nothing more, and you guys need to bring him back. I can't. You can."

A strong frown is pulling down the corners of my mech's lipplates, but his optics tell another story. Empathy. A chink in his proverbial protective armor. The bot cares about Prowl more than he'll ever admit and unfortunately I am prepared to use that to my full advantage in this situation.

"Please. I need you to do this for me…and for Prowl. He's in no shape to be out by himself right now. He needs us."

The frown withdraws and a slight pout replaces it, but I can tell I've won the argument.

"Alright. We'll find him, but you'd better still be here when I get back."

Smiling slightly, I close the short distance between our faceplates and kiss that cute pout away along with any lingering worries he might have. After a few minutes, I hear exhaust being cleared from someone's intakes and reluctantly break with him.

A dazzling smile is my reward as Sides straightens up. Glancing over at a blushing Bluestreak, the Lamborghini throws a wicked smirk my way before guiding the younger mech out of the med bay.

Tension releasing from my frame, I ease back down onto the berth and resume my in-depth analysis of the ceiling.

From the corner of my optic, Wheeljack shakes his helm in amusement, but declines to comment.

(Prowl POV)

Rain pelts relentlessly against my hood as I continue to put distance between myself and the Ark. The staccato has a soothing quality to it and I find myself slowing my reckless pace in spite of my swirling emotions.

I had no destination in mind when I left the Ark. Just a driving need to, well…drive. It is difficult for me to rationalize how regardless of our inorganic nature we still have ingrained behaviors that function on an instinctual level. It plainly makes no sense, but I have no desire to lock up my processors over the absurdity of it. Instead, I have given into the urge and am likewise immediately gratified by the behavior. The behavior is subsequently positively reinforced, thus securing its continued existence.

And here I am thinking of instinct as some sentient individual. I truly am a mess.

Guilt assaults me once again and my insides churn at the replayed memory file of what occurred in my office. Loss of control is the worst thing that can happen to me, both physically and mentally. I would that I could take back what has happened, however illogical that may be. Rationally, I know that my reaction is driven by the fear of losing that easy trust and acceptance that has developed between Jazz and I over our many vorns together. Fear of that, as well as the possible waterfall of issues that might cascade from it as a result. I might lose my position, but worse yet is the respect that might be lost from those whose opinions matter the most to me.

I miss my Prime. That is what hurts the most.

The isolation and avoidance is of my choosing, but whereas I held firm convictions as to why I was avoiding him before, I now cannot seem to recall why exactly I thought it was a good idea. I am not the type to openly emote as some can do so freely. How I have dealt with emotion, both the bad and the good, is by rationally discussing my thought processes with an open audio. Unsurprisingly, more often than not that set of audios has come to be Optimus. We are so similar in how we process that in him I have found a level of understanding that I have not found in another. However, whereas I am not overly direct with my feelings he has always been a well of empathy and compassion. The depth of his emotions I have come to both depend upon and cherish deeply. The void that they typically fill is all too apparent to me now.

Why would I intentionally cause this? What is there to gain for either of us?

Part of the trouble with repressing my emotions is that when they occur strongly I do not have the knowledge or capacity to handle them. I avoid. And I run. It is neither noble nor brave. Perhaps that is another reason I have continued to sidestep his attempts to see me. I am afraid of what I will see in his optics when he realizes what a coward I have become.

Finally, I have to pull off and stop for a moment. My engine is running hot from the fast sprint it has been hard-pressed to endure and the constant redlining has reached the point where it is impossible to ignore it. I cannot seem to catch my breath or steady the pulse of my spark. Transforming into root mode, for a moment I stare at the dark sky above. Clouds the color of cool steel fill the wide open space, blocking even the faint glow of the Earth's singular moon. Strangely, such a simple meteorological phenomenon leaves me with an overwhelming sense of loss.

What is wrong with me?

I have been forced to endure torture before. Granted, it has never gone so far, but still... I feel dismantled down to the core. Open and empty for all to see. I know this is not truly the case, but it is difficult to rectify in my processors. I survived. I lived. My friends and comrades came for me at great risk to themselves and succeeded where they could have just as easily failed.

The difficulty is in getting my spark and my processors to match in their conclusion upon what the next course of action should be. That is far easier said than done. All I wish is to be content in my choice, whatever that is.

I loathe uncertainty. Its mere presence implicates that there is a certain level of randomness and volatility at play. In a tactician's line of work, such dangerous distractions are not appreciated.

Water sluices down my faceplates in tiny streams imitating tears that I am unable to shed. I cannot continue on like this. I feel as though something inside of my very spark is about to burst. Whether or not it will become a black hole or a supernova still remains to be seen. This was never what I intended when I first became a counselor and consort (of sorts) to Optimus. How could I have anticipated this happening when for so long I had been unable to find a match for my spark? How could I have?

My battle computer is happy to chime in at that moment with an 89% chance of compatibility based upon our known work styles, ethical views, and the history of our interactions. How ironic, I strive to reach such a percentile of success when planning for a mission, yet more often than not cannot. Perhaps my processors are of the same mind as my spark? It would be much simpler if that was the case, and yet I still hesitate.

Glancing in the direction of the Ark, I can almost imagine that I am seeing the warm glow of its entrance through the gloom even from this far away. Can I make this choice and more importantly, should I?

Frowning, my spark quells in anxiety at what I must do. What I have no choice, but to do. Forgive me, Optimus.

(Jazz POV)

Somehow, I'm not surprised to see Prime enter the med bay a few hours after Sides and Blue left it.

The mech still looks as though he is carrying the weight of the universe on top of his shoulder plates. I'm sure this little incident does not ease that burden in the slightest bit as I imagine that Ratchet was sure to tell him in wonderful, lurid detail what happened. I can't fault Ratch' for being upset and doing his job, but I still wish I had told him. Kind, gentle words aren't exactly the old doc's strong suit. Nothing I can do about it now—again, just damage control from me.

From my still prone position I watch our CO and CMO speaking in quiet tones. Ratchet's are terse while the Prime's are subdued. I wish Prowler was here to see this. See the kind of effect he has on everyone. It warms my spark knowing how much the crew cares about him and doubly so now that I can clearly see the depth at which Optimus does. If only the stubborn fragger would actually believe me and open his optics wide and accept what's going on right in front of his nasal bridge.

Nothing for it now. Hopefully my two 'scouts' are close to finding Prowl, if they haven't already.

Ratchet's office door slides open allowing the exit of Optimus and the ol' doc. Neither of them looks particularly pleased. If I didn't know the reason behind their expressions, I'd swear they'd tasted some rancid motor oil. Prime keys into me observing them and changes his course to my laid up form. I don't even get the chance to catch where the Hatchet disappears to.

"Jazz."

"Hey boss bot."

"How are you feeling?"

"You mean this?" I raise my newly mended servo. "Honestly, this is nothing compared to some of the slag I've been in here for. If you mean about Prowl, I'm just peachy. It's him that I'm worried about."

Even with his battle mask up, it's apparent the Prime's expression is grim.

"I see. Do you have any idea as to where he has gone?"

Frowning, I shake my helm. Arms crossed and processor going a mega mile a microsecond, I can't put together a place that he'd go to that would make sense at the moment. I've been trying to pull a list of possible hiding spots for Prowl, but honestly I don't think he'll be in any of them. Those are the spots he vacates to when he consciously just doesn't want to be bothered. I don't think that is the case this time.

"I sent out a couple of trusted bots to look for him and be discreet about it, so here's hoping."

No sooner do I say that, than the doors to the med bay open and the aforementioned bots enter.

"Speaking of which…how'd you guys do?" My smile fades quickly as I note that both mechs are looking as morose as can be.

"Ah, slag. No luck?"

Sideswipe revs his engine grumpily. "No. Not a nanobit of him. That glitch is harder to find than you."

A deeper, stronger engine rumbles to my side and both Sides and Blue jump. I think they somehow missed the ever impressive (and massive) form of our CO. I'm sure he isn't pleased about their report, but I bet that grumble had more to do with Sides' teensy bit of name calling.

Optics blazing, Prime turns to me. "That is it. We need to put together a search for him. He's gone off of Teletran-1's grid. For all we know he could be back in Decepticon hands."

He gets only two steps away from my berth before I lunge after him. Of course, I completely forget about the drip lines that are still attached to me, so about the minute I wrap my arms around his midsection the lines pull, I yelp, and we both go down in a heap. Eh. At least I stopped him.

Cherry red plating glints out of the corner of my visor and Sides is at my side in an instant, detaching me from both the Prime and the mangled remains of my fluid drips. Oh, Ratchet is going to kill me. Before imminent death can burst through the doors from wherever he corralled himself, I have to speak quickly to Optimus.

"Look Prime, ya can't do that to him. Yeah, he's been through a lot, but he's still Prowler and he's not going to do anything too risky. He probably just needs some time to work through things. There's a lot of data for him to sort. If you call attention to his disappearing act at this point it's going to cause more harm than good."

Even though I can see that protective urge flare up again and the desire to do all things irrational and extreme, I can also see Optimus' reluctant agreement. He knows Prowl, perhaps better than me now. He knows I'm right.

A cacophony of curses accompanies Ratchet's return to his domain and immediately he zeroes in on me. I feel like some six foot high sparkling caught with his hand in the energon goody dispenser. Before the doc can start his lecture, I pull Prime in close enough that what I say is for his audios only.

"Prowl will return to you. Have faith in him."

The deeper meaning to my words is not lost on Optimus, if his shocked expression is anything to go by. I regard him solemnly in that moment. I'm giving him the care of someone very precious to me. He'd best understand that.

As the Hatchet smacks me upside the helm and all, but shoves me back onto the berth (getting in a good whack to Sideswipe for good measure) I give Optimus my most winning smile. There's something far deeper that runs between those two. I need to follow my own advice and have faith that they'll be okay.

(Optimus POV)

Jazz's last words echo over and over in my helm.

He will return to me.

He will.

I try to believe those words. Try to remember all of the time that we have spent together and trust that it will be enough. Doing any work, however menial is a lost cause. All I can process is my fear and worry for him.

The day has gotten late. Most shifts have ended and the skeleton crew is online. There is no use putting it off any longer. I need to retire for the night, no matter how much I do not think I can manage it. On a chance in a thousand, I swing by my Second's office hoping beyond hope that he is sitting there as he so often does. Simply lost track of the time and working late.

My first chimes and knocks to the door garner no response. After a few minutes of silence, I finally give in to reality and return to my cold, dark quarters…alone.

As I tiredly shuffle into the room and key on the lights to one of its lowest settings, I make a startling discovery. There, lying in the center of my berth curled up in recharge is Prowl. The tactician looks incredibly vulnerable and yet comfortable and secure. I can't help, but wonder if he has been here the entire time.

A small hope sparks inside me. He willingly came to my room, so at least he seems to no longer be avoiding me. Cautiously, I sit on the edge of my berth and simply gaze upon his wonderful, living frame. I still feel incredibly relieved that Prowl was returned to us alive. It has been such a short time that we have been apart and yet the chasm it has left in my life is only too apparent now. It is strangely satisfying being able to now recognize how much my Second is a part of my spark. The fear that the only reason that my ever dutiful tactician has remained with me is because I am Prime still lingers like a dark miasma slinking through my lines.

As I continue my morose thoughts, the slight white and black form before me onlines. He does not move. Does not even flinch at my presence, as if he knew I would be here when he awakened. For a moment, we simply stare at each other. No thoughts or unspoken words are exchanged in our gazes. I can't read him.

In the end, my impatience and lack of energy wins out and I speak first.

"Why are you here, Prowl?"

The words sound as heavy as the thick lead they felt like leaving my vocalizer. I am not accusing him of anything, but I am weary of this strange distance between us. I would give anything that I have at this moment, even my very spark to be able to simply reach out and hold him. Forget all of the other things that I do not know or understand.

Time is still as my tactician regards me. His optics are a deep well of calm and there is a contentedness to his look that I have not seen for many vorns. The expression on his faceplates holds all of the decisiveness and certainty that I know him for, though what he has decided I am hesitant to even put forth a guess. I can only hope that he will give me the chance to keep him from leaving.

A soft sigh exhales from slightly parted silver lipplates and he bows his helm in thought. My spark pulses loudly in the room's stillness and I am almost completely positive that Prowl can hear it.

"It just…felt safe here. My processor—it's finally quiet for me in this room."

Glancing up, in the wane light his expression seems woefully younger than his many. "Why does this place bring me peace?"

Sighing myself, I attempt to rub the tension from my neck cables. "Why are you here, Prowl?" I ask again. Confusion briefly mars his features and he is about to respond, but I interrupt.

"No, not here in my room. Why are you here with me? I have to know. I…I need to know."

Seeing his lip plates draw tightly together, I continue on before my courage leaves me. "I have always found myself wondering, and lately more often than not. Why do you stay with me, Prowl? Do you want this? Is this out of some duty you feel towards me? Perhaps I have just been fooling myself, but I know that at least for me I want this. I want you, Prowl. Need you as if you are a part of my own spark."

"But if this is not how you feel,…if this is truly just duty to you, I cannot bear for us to continue like this, Prowl. I came so close to losing you last week and the very thought of it nearly broke me. Even now I still feel as though I have lost you."

Sitting up carefully, Prowl holds his servos out to me not speaking a word in response. For a moment, I find myself hesitating. I wonder if he is simply going to distract me from my line of questioning as he has done so in the past when some thought has plagued me. Although, if he had wanted to do so, he would not have allowed me to speak, I'm sure.

Coming to that conclusion, I muster the tattered remnants of my courage and clasp the two smaller servos, held patiently aloft to me and allow them to guide me onto the berth. In the end, we lie facing each other, Prowl still carefully clasping a servo he did not relinquish. His free servo comes up to join its mate in cupping my hand in between the two. The hold is both gentle and firm, as though he is holding something precious. The look I receive nearly rends my spark in two. It is as open and warm as I have ever witnessed from him.

With that soft look, he finally speaks to me. His tone is as low as ever, but full of emotion.

"It was duty that drove me to call you my Prime. Duty that led me to follow you. And it was duty that bade me to comfort you. It has been an honor to be able to serve my Prime in all ways."

It was the answer that I was both most expecting and dreading. A part of me already mourns the loss of something I'm now uncertain that I ever had, however brief.

A pearl white servo lifts my helm from where it fell. That gentle smile is still there. It's the one he has always gifted me with and no other. I don't understand this.

"It was…difficult being captured this last time. More so than I have ever had the displeasure to experience. I… I almost broke so many times, but something stopped me from it. Helped me to hold fast and not lose hope. Do you know where my strength came from?"

I can barely vent as I pay rapt attention to his words. Such an admittance is completely unexpected. All I can do is shake my helm and plead with my optics for him to continue.

"It was the thought of you that kept my resolve firm. More than anything, you kept my spark pulsing. All I wanted to do was see my Prime once again and to be at your side. Not as your Second or you head tactician, but as your lover and love. My love for you carried me through what has been the worst time of my life."

For a moment he stops and I am left speechless in awe.

"It stopped being duty that drew me to you a long time ago. It was my own selfishness that kept me from telling you the simple truth. I was afraid. I did not want to lose what we have. I could not lose you."

Sparking flaring hot in my chassis, I can't keep from kissing him like there is no world beyond these doors. Cradling his helm between my large servos, I look into those silver-blue optics and get all of the confirmation I could need. Reverently I bring our helms together and feel the bright pulse of energy that the simple contact exchanges.

"I love you, Prowl." So few words that cannot even come close to saying how I feel.

"And I love you, Optimus." His words are softly spoken, but there is a satisfaction in how he says them.

Before he can say more, a rather large yawn erupts out of my tactician and I am pleased to see a faint blush on his plating. I am glad that in spite of everything, he has not entirely changed. I can only imagine how exhausted he must be, though. With my own gentle smile I fully wrap my arms around his slender frame and press it closely to my own. There is no protest in the soft slide of his chassis against mine.

A/N: And…all done! I know this probably not the nice steamy ending that might have been expected/hoped for, but somehow it just felt appropriate given how these two and this story started.

Thank you to everyone who has read, followed, favorited and reviewed. I don't normally do this, but in particular I want to thank Thalanee for cajoling and encouraging me to keep on this story and giving this grateful writer warm fuzzies.

Thanks again, and ciao for nao! ^_^