This came to me one day when me and one of my BFF's were talking about all the times the teacher caught her writing notes and read them out loud. :) Thanks, JoeJoe.

For Prowl, it was a fairly normal day. Sideswipe was in the brig (Again. But, really, who expected any less of him?), Sunstreaker and Tracks were complaining about the rainstorm outside, Ratchet was his usual wonderfully cheery self with a side of flying wrenches, and Red Alert was convinced that his own security system was against him because a certain Lambo twin had messed with the codes.

All in all, a fairly normal day on the Ark.

Prowl had just set the report he was currently working on in the Out pile on his so-neat-it-was-OCD (according to Jazz) desk when his comm. pinged. With a small sigh, the SIC sent a small prayer to Primus that it wasn't Ratchet calling to tell him that Red Alert had glitched again, and opened his comm.. ::Prowl here.::

::Prowl.:: Prime's deep baritone voice echoed through the comm.. ::Do you have the time to stop by my office?::

::Of course, sir. I'll be there in a few breems.:: To his credit, Prowl managed to keep the confusion out of his tone.

::Thank you.:: With a small beep, the comm. went dead.

Before the SIC was even out of his office, his battle computer started running through reasons about why his Prime had requested his presence in his office. Had he made a mistake on a report? Unlikely. Very unlikely. Were there problems on the Ark that he wanted to discuss? Most likely not, because most things usually landed on Prowl's desk before it reached Prime. Maybe…he just wanted to talk? Being the Matrix Bearer came with baggage, and over the vorns it had become something of a habit for Prime to gather his closest friends and just have a high-grade night after a particularly difficult clash with the Decepticons. But it was nearly ten AM in Earth time, and the Decepticons had be quiet lately.

By the time he had reached Prime's office, Prowl still didn't have an answer, and that left the usually stoic SIC with a frown on his faceplates. If there was one thing he didn't like, it was an unknown variable.

The doors sliding open with a soft hiss interrupted any further speculation on Prowl's part. He entered, pausing only to pull his doorwings up in their usual regal position.

Optimus Prime sat behind his desk, holding a datapad in his servos. …And looking at the back of it. On the front, the side that was facing Prowl, he could see his next signature at the bottom of the datapad.

"Sir?" He asked, just the slightest bit of confusion tinting his voice.

"Hello, Prowl," the Autobot leader greeted him, not looking up from the datapad. "I was wondering if you could tell me what this is."

The SIC blinked, growing more confused by the second. "It's a datapad, sir."

Optimus chuckled, shaking his helm. "That's not what I meant. I meant, what is this?"

He turned the datapad around so Prowl could see the back, digit pointing at a small marking in the corner. Leaning closer, the black and white bot saw just what was scribbled on the back.

A small shape, what the humans called a heart, with Cybertronian glyphs spelling out Prowl's designation and-

Oh.

Oh.

The one thought repeating in Prowl's processor at the moment was 'FRAG'.

Optimus chuckled at the look on his SIC's faceplates, torn between his amusement on the matter and hoping he hadn't glitched the Praxian. Setting the datapad down, he said, "May I ask where you learned this from?"

Prowl blinked, then blinked again, before mumbling, "Carly."

Prime nodded, optics twinkling. "That certainly explains things, then."

Before he could say more, a request to enter pinged at his door, and Prime accepted the request. The black and white frame of Jazz skipped in the room, a pop song playing softly on his speakers. The Ops mech waved to both of them, grinning. "Hey, Bossbot. How's your day goin'?"

The semi rumbled, nodding to him. "Quite well, Jazz. Yours?"

"Great! Finally got caught up on some of those reports ya wanted me ta finish, and Blaster's got some tickets for a new band that's gotta concert tomorrow night in town!" Turning his beaming smile to Prowl, Jazz gently butted his hip into Prowl's side. "What 'bout you, Prowler? You havin' a good day?"

Prowl gathered his wits, and managed an acceptable, "Yes, my day has been good, Jazz."

"Great!" The saboteur reached in his subspace and pulled out a few datapads, placing them on Optimus' desk. "There's those reports ya wanted, Prime. Anything else?"

"No, thank you, Jazz. That will be all." Prowl wasn't a betting mech, but he would've bet ten cubes of Sideswipe's highgrade brew that there was a slag-eating grin behind that face mask.

" 'Kay, then. I'll just be on my merry way." On his way to the door, Jazz nudged Prowl in the side and winked his visor. "Energon later, Prowler?"

The SIC frowned down at the slightly shorter mech. "Prowl, and yes, I would like that."

The TIC's visor brightened. "Great! Lookin' forward to it, Prowler." With a wave over his shoulder, Jazz danced out of the room.

As soon as the doors slid shut, Prowl shot Optimus an accusatory glare.

The Autobot leader leaned back in his seat, holding his servos up and trying very hard not to laugh openly. "I swear to Primus, Prowl, I didn't plan this."

"Of course you didn't." Came the clipped tone.

This time, Optimus let out a chuckle. He picked the datapad that had the heart drawn on the back and held it out to the Praxian. "I think you might want this back."

Just as Prowl reached for it, the Prime jerked it back quickly. "I'll let you have it back on one condition. You tell him soon, or I will."

The tactician stared at Optimus like he had just accused Prowl of being a Decepticon.

But after a few moments, Prowl nodded with a huff through his vents. "Fine."

Prime nodded in return, smiling behind his mask. "Good. Have a good day, Prowl."

The SIC grabbed the datapad before nodding curtly. "The same to you, Prime." Fighting hard to stop his twitching doorwings, Prowl made it to the door before Optimus gave him one last parting comment.

"And I suggest you be careful about where you draw, Prowl. You never know who will get a hold of them. Like Sideswipe."

Inwardly, the Praxian cringed at the thought of the frontliner getting a hold of a datapad like the one in his servos. With a flick of a doorwing, he let the doors shut behind him.

As he walked back to his office, Prowl tried to assess what had just happened. After a few moments of trying and failing, he instead looked down at the heart on the back of the datapad. Inside the little drawn shape, two designations were written in neat glyphs:

Prowl + Jazz

With a small sigh, the tactician stored the datapad in his subspace, already planning on how to reveal his true feelings to Jazz.

Sooo... Like? No like?

This hasn't been beta read, so all mistakes are my own.