Disclaimer: I do not own the Transformers, or any of the TF characters you recognize from other movies or television series. Blah.

Okay! Now that that depressing disclaimer is done you can read my ranting for a while. Fun! First off I just want everyone to know that my summery may change at any time... if it doesn't seem to be attracting readers it will be changed into something that I think may capture more interests. Also, none of the Cybertronian swear words does in any way resemble the same definition as our human cursing. (Scrap=useless metal, slag=waste metal, glitch=a processor dysfunction or something, pit= smelting pit, frag= not sure but I know it's not the F-bomb)

There are a lot of OCs in this story, (Sonic-blaster, Quick-plot, Firefly, etc.) if it happens to be the name of an actual transformer then oops. My bad. Anywee. The Cybertronian time and stuff I have painstakingly written the description beside in italics so that you don't get lost or something. Okay, I'll stop now. Read and review! :D

Chapter One.

Optimus Prime vents in frustration as he glances over the bright city of Iacon shining through the darkness. It is a city that never truly sleeps. Its gates are protected by ever vigilant mechs that would safeguard their homes to the point of their sparks being extinguished. But even with that comforting fact comes the realization that the guards could only warn them of an impending attack moments before it happened.

The Prime bites back another vent. The enemy's movements were becoming increasingly erratic. Megatron's last five attacks had been upon cities that the tacticians at Iacon hadn't even factored in. Megatron himself was becoming more and more unpredictable, if not a little insane. That alone was cause enough for the young Prime to be sleepless on this lunar cycle.

What had happened to his elder brother? Megatron used to be such a thoughtful mech that seemed destined to become a prime himself. He had been a gracious sibling to his younger brothers Ultra Magnus, Optimus (then Orion Pax), and the sparkling of the family, Hot Rod. What had changed the large silver mech so drastically? What drove him to turn power hungry and raise a terrible army to win him the whole of Cybertron? What possessed him to offline the hundreds upon hundreds of mechs, femmes and innocent sparklings alike? Was it his time in the gladiator pits of Kaon? Was it something that Optimus himself had done?

How the Prime wishes that he could have his oldest brother back. But is there any coming back from the places Megatron has gone? Is there any hope that he will return? Optimus clears his processer of the conflicting emotions that harassed him so suddenly. Now is not the time for confusion and brotherly sentiments toward the enemy. Not when all of Cybertron is counting on him, Optimus Prime, to protect the freedom they still had.

For this reason Optimus is uneasy. His mech creator, Sentinel Prime is away, off defending some innocent city from the clutches of his corrupted brother, no doubt. His absence leaves the younger Prime in charge while he is gone. Megatron probably knows this. He will try something yet, and Optimus can only hope he can stop his brother from whatever that may be.

"Prime?" The urgent voice breaks through his processing, the young Prime turns from the city's vibrant lights to Sentinel's Second in Command Sonic-blaster, "Prime, are you here?"

"On the balcony," Optimus calls, curious as to what is so important that the older mech sought him out in his private chambers. The mech saunters out to him with purposeful strides, his green highlights on his servos and pedes flashing against his ebony frame. Sonic-blaster nods politely to his superior before he dives into the impending problem.

"Prime, sir, the scout you commanded me to dispatch has returned with rather disturbing finds, ones that I believe should warrant our attentions immediately," the mech says his helm dipped respectfully toward the floor showing his green armor there.

"Is the scout present?" Optimus questions suddenly worried and struggling to not let it show through his faceplates. The Second in Command nods and turns to motion to someone still standing at the entrance of the young Prime's private sleeping quarters to come forward. As the scout approaches the two rather awkwardly Optimus has to think that this situation must be very grave. Sonic-blaster wouldn't just come bursting into his quarters unannounced and with a tagalong if it wasn't.

"Tell Optimus Prime of your findings," Sonic-blaster instructs the camouflage colored scout. The young mech nods, clearly uncomfortable with being in another bot's private chambers, especially a Prime's, before turning to Optimus and relaying his discoveries.

"I came across the Decepticon forces between here and the city of Metropolis. I did not see Megatron himself, but a vast number of troops are there and seem to be preparing for an attack. They are being led by the Decepticon S.I.C., Starscream," the scout stops and allows this bit of information to register into the Prime's processer.

"Do you know whom they intend to attack?" the Prime inquires calmly.

"Negative," the scout hesitates as if he wants to say more but is reluctant to do so in front of Optimus. This hesitancy won't do, Optimus tells himself as he watches the young scout fidget.

"How many Decepticons do you estimate?" Prime asks then deciding to let the inkling slide.

"Scores of them, sir, at least four hundred."

Prime feels himself sink on his struts at the offhanded guess. Scouts where trained that it is better to overestimate than to under-mind the enemy, this young mech is no exception. He probably guessed maybe a few tens higher than what there actually is, but that is still a big figure. Where does Megatron find all of these sadistic mechs to serve him? Sentinel and Optimus are constantly scrounging for more recruits for the Autobot faction.

"Sonic-blaster, escort the scout to the Head Tactician Quick-plot. Relay all that you have told me and have him analyze the data, I will be by in three breems(1 breem=8.3 earth min.) to see the results," Optimus tells the S.I.C with a commanding tone that prompts Sonic-blaster to listen promptly. He and the scout leave for the Tactical Office, leaving the Prime with his whirling processer.

Megatron. Optimus' spark wrenches just thinking of the name. The red and blue mech turns once more to look over the city of Iacon. Soon his brother's vast army may be plaguing the streets, killing everyone in sight. Images of previously fought battles find their way to the front of his processer, to think that it could happen in Iacon… Optimus shuts off the horrible files before he is sucked into their bloody abyss. He will not allow Megatron to do that. Optimus will be off-lined and joined with the All-Spark before he lets Megatron bring his hordes of killing mechs into Iacon.

Optimus whirls and strides toward the door that leads out of his quarters. He is heading to the Tactical Division; he doesn't care if he is going to be a whole two breems (1 breem=8.3 earth min.) earlier than what he had originally planned. He walks regally through the halls and makes his way into the tacticians' office and catches the last part of the young scout's relayed message as he enters. It is spoken exactly as it had been to him. The Prime smiles briefly from his place by the door at the camouflage scout's brief, but detailed report for the second time, this scout is good. He has to admit he is impressed with the young mech's ability to display what he meant using only the necessary words.

Quick-plot, the head tactician at the Iacon base, hums thoughtfully and the young Prime can see the wheels start to turn in his processer. The black and grey tactician touches a digit to his mouthplates and furrows his optic ridge. It was always fascinating to see the tactical bots work.

"Metropolis," the word is spoken with an unemotional tone and Optimus looks to its owner. It is a young, black and white, Praxian doorwinger, the Prime notes, and a student at that.

Quick-plot gives the mech a frown before reprimanding him sharply, "One does not give an opinion before his teacher. One waits for the teacher's conclusion and then asks permission to input." The young Praxian dips his helm in acknowledgement of his wrong.

Optimus finds the doorwinger's fast answer intriguing and steps from his place by the door, making his presence known. The Praxian sees him immediately and lowers his gaze in embarrassment that the Prime saw his wrongdoing. Quick-plot cranes his helm to see what has his apprentice so ashamed and finds their tall leader standing at his shoulder. The tactician makes a surprise grunt before greeting the Prime formally.

"I was under the impression that you wouldn't be here for another two breems (1 breem=8.3 earth min.)," the older tactician says in a polite manner.

Prime nods, "I came early, I hope I am not disrupting the proceedings."

"No," the mech says quickly before turning his attention back to the data he had been given by the scout. Optimus glances curiously at the Praxian that is standing, once again, as impassive as a statue.

"Might I ask what your conclusion was, tactician?" the Prime asks the stoic mech. The doorwings jerk slightly in surprise that is quickly masked. The Praxian glances at his teacher before speaking in a clipped professional tone that went far deeper than training. Optimus has a feeling this is the doorwinger's normal way of speaking.

"I was merely going by the information given to us by the scout and cross referencing it with the previous battles that we were defeated in, then the battles that we won. It seemed to me at first that the enemy's actions were beginning to make no sense at all, so I widened my references to all the battles in the past three deca cycles (1 deca cycle = 1 earth month). It would appear that Megatron is attempting to confuse us strategically by doing things that we would consider illogical.

"So by basing my analysis on that alone I was able to come up with the conclusion that the Decepticons will indeed follow what we would conclude is the most illogical course of action," the young Praxian pauses briefly to glance once again at his teacher, who does not look pleased, before hammering ahead to get everything out before he is stopped. "Since Metropolis is closer I would usually deduce that it would be more of an appealing target. But it is also heavily fortified. It is led by a femme Commander and is safeguarded by her army. It has plenty of supplies to make it tempting if this is strictly a raid. Iacon is further away than Metropolis is and is even more guarded; it has a slightly larger army number therefore more supplies.

"I factored in the probability that Megatron would be drawn here to kill you, as the mech has displayed a fanatic drive to offline you in the past. And then I concluded that since the most illogical choice would be for them to attack Iacon that they would probably go for Metropolis."

Optimus Prime's processer feels like it is glitching. What?!

The Praxian doorwinger sees the Prime's confusion and explains carefully, "If Megatron where leading the troops they would most likely attack Iacon, but he is not. Starscream is in command of them, so with that added variable we can rule out the possibility that the Decepticons will do anything… abnormal."

"So you have concluded that Megatron has been acting peculiar with the sole purpose of confusing us?" Optimus takes a guess at what the young black and white mech means, and much to the Prime's relief the Praxian just nods.

"With all due respect," Quick-plot interjects Optimus' pondering with a raised finger, "Prowl is only a student yet! He has much to learn, and as such his flawed observations shouldn't be taken into account over that of a more seasoned tactician… such as myself."

Optimus fights the urge to raise an unbelieving optic ridge at the mech speaking. Quick-plot is suddenly rather discourteous toward his apprentice, and the young Prime isn't sure he likes the transformation in his older friend. This rudeness appears to have been going on for a while given that the undergraduate known as Prowl seems to be immune to its offensive nature. None the less, Optimus feels that it should be addressed before the older tactician completely ruins Prowl's confidence. Not to mention disregards any good tactical advice from the sharp witted student.

"Quick-plot, all advice that seems logical will be considered, regardless if it is from a veteran tactician or an apprentice," the Prime tells the older mech before turning back to Prowl. "Are you absolutely certain that the Decepticons will attack Metropolis?"

Prowl nods, "As strange as it may seem, Starscream is, at the moment, the more rational of the two of them. He will go for the city that he deems will be the easiest to conquer; also he has a personal vendetta against the femme Commander of Metropolis."

"A vendetta?"

"It is my understanding that she called him a 'fragging fembot with heelstruts'. Apparently he didn't take too kindly to it," Prowl supplies somewhat stiffly with slight emphasis on the relayed words of the femme Commander. Optimus nods his helm slowly as he realizes that this young tactician is more than likely correct on his theory.

"Are you sure that this will be their course of action?" Optimus asks ignoring Quick-plot's huff of disbelief that his apprentice is being heeded over him.

"94.525% sure, Prime," comes the formal reply.

Sonic-blaster raises his optic ridge at the answer and glances at Optimus Prime to see his reaction to the mech's precise statistics. The Prime merely looks thoughtful. He gazes at Sonic-blaster after a moment with somewhat troubled optics. What should he do? If Prowl is right then Metropolis would be attacked by a savage army composed of grounders and seekers alike. It will be a massacre; the ground based army of Metropolis won't stand a chance. They will need auxiliary. But if he listens to the counsel of the young mech, Prowl, and went to aid Metropolis and the tactician turns out to be wrong. Optimus barely contains a shudder as his processer turns toward what will happen to Iacon if he dispatches an army and the seeker Commander attacks the city Prowl ruled out.

"Sonic-blaster," Optimus begins his voice commanding as he makes his decision, "ready the troops. We will go aid the city of Metropolis." Iacon stands a far better chance without his main force protecting it than Metropolis does.

Sonic-blaster nods with a grim expression on his faceplates and hurries out of the Tactical Office, his green highlights flashing brightly in his urgency. Optimus watches him go before turning back to his audience. Prowl looks somewhat alarmed, the Prime notes before turning to the camouflage scout, who is standing there with a bum-puzzled look on his faceplates, and addressing him.

"What is you designation, scout?"

"Designation: Hound, sir," the scout replies with a slight nod of his helm.

"You will lead us to the point at which you last sighted the Decepticons," Hound's optics widen at Optimus' words as the Prime continues speaking, "I will require you to accompany us, Prowl, for we may need a tactician on the battlefield. Quick-plot, you will remain here at the Iacon base in case—"

"In case the apprentice is wrong?" the older tactician inquires with a slight jab at Prowl, and Optimus detects a hint of bitterness in Quick-plot's tone. Quick-plot gives him a grim smile before nodding, "No Con will step a pede in the city without being blasted to the Pit and back."

Optimus returns the small smile before sauntering out, Hound and Prowl behind him. He needs to gather the troops as quickly as possible. For all they know the Decepticons are already besieging the city of Metropolis, killing everyone. Prime grits his denta as he pictures the seekers flying over the city. They would make short work of the ground based army.

Optimus stops in the hallway and addresses the two young Cybertronians behind him, "Go prepare yourselves, we will be leaving in a half joor (1 joor=6.5 earth hours)." The two obey immediately and hurry in their different directions. Optimus watches them go before whirling on his pedes and making his way to the training hanger. He is going to need the best if he is planning to go charging into a battle full of seekers. As Optimus enters the base's training hanger he can hear the sound of struggling bots. The gruff voice of the mech he is looking for reaches his audios.

"That's it Springer, stay low! He's trying to draw you out, stay reserved! Remember this is servo-to-servo combat, not servo-to-helm!" A loud clang sounds from the tussling younglings in the middle of the hanger. A startled yelp rings out and the youngling Springer falls on his skidplates. "What did I tell you?" the large black mech coaching the two young Autobots asks Springer.

"Stay low. Alright, got it!" Springer leaps up and gets into fighting stance again only to be promptly shoved down by a less than lenient servo. The youngling growls and surges back up and the same servo grabs his faceplate and pushes him back down. "Ironhide!" He yells loudly, "Hot Rod isn't letting me get up!"

"I wouldn't let a Con get up!" the other mechling in question defends himself ardently.

"I'm not a Con, you scrap licker!"

"Take it back, lubricant drinker!"

Ironhide rolls his optics in annoyance and leaves the two to hash it out as he spots Optimus. He looks positively relieved as he leaves the younglings. As the bulky mech nears he nods a greeting to Prime.

"Optimus?" His word greeting comes out as more of a question and the young Prime can tell that the older mech is a little worried. He has every right to be. Optimus never comes into the training hanger to interrupt his schooling of the younglings in combat. To tell the truth it never felt right to Optimus to barge in on his old teacher and expect him to drop everything and listen.

"You like regurgitated energon!"

"Yeah? Well you mix yours with used oil!"

Prime wonders inwardly if he should stop his youngest brother, Hot Rod, from acting so immaturely. In the end he decides against it, if Ironhide didn't stop it yet he probably has a reason.

"Ironhide," Prime greets in return trying to ignore the yelling mechlings behind the black mech. He clears his vocal processer in discomfort before continuing, "There has been a development regarding the Decepticon army and one of the tacticians deduced that they are planning to attack Metropolis. I will require you at the ground bridge in a half joor (1 joor=6.5 earth hrs)." He bits back the word 'please' before it can form on his lip plates. This still feels so unnatural ordering his old mentor around like he is just another warrior in the ranks. But Ironhide had made it clear the day Optimus was made Prime that he was to stop treating the older mech like he is still in charge.

Ironhide just grunts slightly at the command to indicate that he is pleased before nodding his helm that he has heard, "I will be there," he mutters gruffly. Optimus merely tips his helm in appreciation before turning to exit the training hanger. As he does he has to suppress a smile at the insults still flying from the younglings.

"Your helm looks like a pede!"

"Yours looks like a skidplate!"

Ironhide's voice cuts loudly into their arguing, "Alright you two!" Optimus is slightly surprised that he refrained from cursing. "Harness that aggression and use it when you're fighting! A lot of good throwing sparkling's insults at the Cons will do! Come on; get on your pedes, you slaggers!" Optimus barely restrains a chuckle at the curse word thrown in at the last moment. Some bots don't ever change. The Prime is walking for the exit when the excited young voice of his brother stops him.

"Optimus!"

The red and blue mech turns to see his younger sibling ask Ironhide for a second to talk to Optimus. Much to Prime's surprise the grumpy, black mech gives Hot Rod permission. Hot Rod snatches at the chance and runs after his brother.

"Where are you going?" Hot Rod is asking questions before he is even fully stopped in front of Optimus Prime. "What do you need Ironhide for? Are you leaving? Is it Megatron?"

Optimus restrains a chuckle at the youngling's hyper actions, "Yes, I am leaving, I am take—"

"Where are you going?" Optimus gives the youngling an unenthusiastic look at the interruption. Hot Rod realizes his error immediately, "Sorry," he mumbles. He doesn't sound sorry in the least.

"As I was saying, I am taking the troops to Metropolis, one of the tacticians concluded that is the city that the Decepticons will attack. They will need aid because the enemy army is composed of grounders and seekers," Optimus suddenly becomes wary of the growing excitement in the youngling's blue optics.

"Can I come? Please, Optimus, pleeeeeeease?! I can handle anything the Decepticons dish out! You know I can," Hot Rod's words are rising in pitch as he sees he is about to be stopped. "Ironhide said I'm the best fighter he's ever trained!" Optimus raises his optic ridge at Ironhide who shakes his head, disclaiming that statement. Springer is standing back looking positively offended at the possibility that his teacher might have said that.

"Hot Rod," Optimus begins bending slightly to be at optic level with his youngest brother.

"Oh, great," Hot Rod mutters.

"As much as you think you're ready for this, you are not. You still require training to refine your abilities, which I must admit, are many. Someday you will be a great warrior and, doubtlessly, leading your own troops into a battle like this. But until then you must stay here in Iacon where it is safe," Optimus wonders right then just how safe Iacon actually is at the moment. "As your older brother it is my duty to protect you and to look out for you, and I would not be doing that if I allowed you into battle prematurely. Understand?"

"Yes," Hot Rod huffs out, "You didn't have to make a speech out of it."

Optimus rubs his servo on the youngling's helm with a smile, "Good, now get back to your training. Ironhide has about a half joor(1 joor=6.5 earth hrs) to complete this lesson."

Hot Rod pulls his helm from his brother's servo and walks back to his teacher with a sour expression. It quickly disappears when Ironhide gives him a scowl. Optimus smiles as his brother resumes his training with a vengeance. Hopefully the young Prime can complete his duties toward his uncorrupted siblings. Hopefully he can protect Hot Rod from the horrors that younglings shouldn't see.

Meanwhile, in Prowl's private sleeping quarters, the young tactician is panicking. He stands rigidly in place, doorwings stiff, with a thousand thoughts whirling through his processer at a time. What is he going to do? If somehow his tactical advice turns out to be erred, then what? What would he do if the advice he gave Optimus Prime turns into a huge miscalculation on his part? Hundreds of warriors, medics, civilians and commanders will offline. Pit, Prime will offline! Sentinel Prime will have Prowl's helm for advising Optimus to aid Metropolis!

He will go to Optimus and ask him to get a second opinion from Quick-plot, and then a third from his mentor's Second in Command, Piston. And then he will request that Prime take counsel with Sentinel Prime. Yes, surely one of them will be able to convince the younger Prime to stay in Iacon. And if no one can, Prowl himself will just state his fears that he may have calculated wrong. Yes…. No.

He vents heavily to cool his rapidly overheating frame and tries to bring his emotional core into submission. He is letting it get the better of him and if he don't watch it he will be overwhelmed by it and will fritz out again. Then he will be late and Optimus Prime will have to come looking for him, and will find him in his embarrassing state. These thoughts bring his logic back to a stable level and he feels relief. His spark's pulsing slows into a calm rhythm as he goes over all the information again.

Prowl is not wrong on his calculations. He is right. He went over them many times before he had even uttered a word in the Tactical Office. There isn't an error. He has factored in every variable that he had been given by the scout Hound and he has arrived at the only logical solution.

A soft knock sounds at the door of his chambers and Prowl starts. He checks his internal chronometer and sees that not even two breems (1 breem= 8.3 earth min.) have passed since the young Prime instructed him to get ready to leave. Optimus Prime is early. He stashes the information away in his processor to always be early when doing dealings with the young Prime.

Hurriedly, Prowl opens the door and then freezes. It isn't Optimus Prime.

"Firefly?" He questions his red and black sparkmate.

"Prowl!" She sounds ecstatic to see him. They have not been able to see one another very much since the war began and Prowl enlisted his services to the Autobots. He allows a smile on his normally stoic expression for her benefit and she returns it tenfold.

"What are you doing here?" he asks in a neutral tone and her smile disappears. Pit! That was the wrong thing to say! He struggles to think of something else to say so that she will smile again.

"Well," Firefly says in a happy voice, all grins again when she sees his remorse at being so short, "I wanted to see you. How is the Tactical Office going?"

"It is going quite well, thank you," he pauses and looks at her excited faceplates, "Do you wish to come in and I can tell you of recent developments?"

"Sure," she is delighted to be invited into where he has been residing since joining the Autobot faction. She briefly wonders as she enters what kind of touches he gave to the usually expressionless sleeping quarters they gave to recruits. Prowl can see that she is disappointed as she takes in his completely bare chambers. She hides it quickly though and turns to him beaming. "So what's going on?"

"Optimus Prime requested that I go along to aid the city of Metropolis against the Decepticons," Prowl says feeling quite pleased to tell her of his accomplishment. He fails to notice though, that as he says this the smile slowly drops from her faceplates. "I supplied him with their most probable course of action and he agreed with it. We are leaving now in less than a half joor (1 joor= 6.5 earth hrs) and will be ground bridged close to the location where the scout spotted the enemy last." He stops suddenly as he sees her less than thrilled countenance. Prowl feels confused. Did he say something wrong again?

"You're leaving?" Firefly asks hesitantly with a furrow of her petite optic ridge.

"Yes." Why is this so hard for her to grasp?

The femme looks down to the floor and shuffles her pede slightly and says, "Oh."

"Is something wrong?" Prowl directs the question toward his mate, suddenly dreading her reply.

"Actually," she says, "I wanted to come and talk to you about all this." Firefly gestures a servo to the surrounding area. Prowl stills as she goes silent in an attempt to gather the courage to say what she desired to.

"Go on," he says encouragingly after a few seconds pass.

"Let's leave, Prowl," Firefly blurts suddenly looking up into her sparkmate's faceplates. "Let's just leave all of this and get away from it all. We can go to your old home, Praxus." Is she asking him to do what he thinks she is? "I'll work at the Energon Plant and you can be an Enforcer again, please Prowl. Please, let's just leave." She is asking him to abandon his faction. To desert.

"You want me to leave?" His vocals sound rather stiff as he asks for clarification.

Firefly suddenly appears desperate, "Please, Prowl, we can't stay. We can change our designations and they will never find us! Please, you have to understand that we can't stay! You'll be offlined!" Her lip plates begin quivering, "You'll be offlined," her vocal processer begins to short out with emotion, "and…zzt… we will be—sssss—left…zzzztsss…alone!" Liquid pours from her optics and Prowl just stands there dumbfound. 'We'?

"Firefly," his words sound frustrated even to his audios, "I… I do not understand." Or maybe he did, but he didn't want to. He grips her trembling shoulders in his servos and looks at her delicate faceplates. Why does she have to cry? Prowl's processor fumbles for something to do, something to say. Nothing comes, he draws a blank and he just stands there. Slowly his servos drop back to his sides and he leaves her keening like a distraught youngling.

What should he do? Should he let her cry? Maybe he should order her to stop. He could just leave and let her sit here and cry by herself. Maybe she wants to be left alone. But if he leaves what if it isn't what she wants? He vents and stops himself short of cursing. Femmes are so confusing; they are not good for his logic short out. That is exactly what he's going to do if she doesn't explain herself in detail too. He is going to glitch from too much emotional strain, too many things going through his processer at once.

"Explain yourself." Prowl finally manages. It is, once again the wrong thing to say, and she starts to sob even more vehemently…now what? Prowl seats himself on the edge of his berth and watches the distraught femme. This is not going well. Firefly has got it in her processer that he must abandon the Autobots and run away with her to Praxus. He can't do that, he is just not built that way. He is surprised Firefly even thought about asking that. She must be very desperate about something to resort to such drastic measures.

Firefly calms her crying into poor, pathetic sniffles that makes Prowl feels like knocking himself on the helm. He has driven her to such hysterics; he alone is to blame for her pain. What should he do? His sparkmate looks at him with the saddest optics he has ever seen in all his life. Okay, instead of trying to think what to do, he won't think. Just do, Prowl, he tells himself, just do. He slowly reaches out and pats the berth to beckon her to come. Firefly does, but very hesitantly. As she sits next to him, he feels his core temperature rise at her nearness. His fans kick on high and Firefly just sniffles, completely oblivious. Where should he go from here? His doorwings flick in confusion.

Firefly catches the movement and wipes the wetness from her optics suddenly embarrassed. Prowl doesn't know what she is crying about. She will tell him, and then maybe he will listen and leave with her. Leave this terrible war.

"I am with sparkling."

Prowl blinks. His doorwings tense in apparent shock. Well, that he was not expecting. Prowl wishes he could smack himself. Why wouldn't he expect it? They are sparkbonded so a sparkling is a definite possibility. That would explain why she suddenly wanted him to leave the war. It is in every femme's nature to want to keep their creations from experiencing such horrors. Of course she didn't want to leave alone; she wanted her… their sparkling to have both creators in its life.

Prowl gazes into his sparkmate's optics and vents heavily, slowly in an act that surprises himself he pulls her to his chassis and holds her close. She vents in contentment and Prowl realizes this is what she wanted from the start. He should have known that. Firefly is a touching femme, to her touch means more than any words. He has to tell her though, that he cannot leave with her, and he doubts she will take it happily.

"I have to stay," Prowl says as softly as he possibly can be.

"I know." Firefly's answer is a barely audible whisper.

Well, she took it a lot better than he expected. Slowly the femme draws away from his embrace and wipes the gathering moisture from her optics. Prowl is suddenly afraid she is going to start crying again as her sniffling becomes more pronounced.

"Hey," Prowl says touching a digit to her wet faceplates, causing her to stare up at him. He cannot let her start sobbing again, "I have formed a plan." A smile works on her face at his words. "You will go to Praxus, and have our sparkling. It will be a femmeling, and she will look like you."

"You have this all figured out, don't you?"

"Yes, do not interrupt," she giggles at his seriousness, "I will fight Decepticons, and I will vanquish all the foes that dare come against the Autobots." This silliness is really making his processer start to hurt, but it is also making Firefly laugh so he continues, "And after this war is over, I will find my fair femme, and my young femmeling waiting for me in the crystal gardens of my home. There we will stay and watch our creation grow and become sparkbonded to some mech that I do not approve of. Then you and I will develop into cranky, old, rusty bots together." His helm ache triples at his last few words. Prowl is really surprised he hasn't glitched yet with all of his nonsense.

"I like this plan," the red and black femme says with a smile that softens whatever tears threatened to linger, "it's not quite what I pictured in my processor, but I like it."

Prowl simply gives her the smile that she is searching his faceplates for, "Really? I've worked on it for quite some time. I wasn't sure you would approve."

"It's close enough to perfect for me."

Prowl falls silent at those words. He wishes suddenly that he could give her what she asked him for, make it perfect instead of just close to it. He wishes that he could just pack up and leave with her, set that silly plan of his in motion sooner than later. He wants to be there when their sparkling opens her optics for the first time, but as he checks his internal chronometer and sees it is time for him to go, he knows he won't.

"I must go," Prowl says finally after bringing his processor back from its wondering. He doesn't want to. He really, really doesn't want to go.

"Mmhmmm," Firefly looks almost ready to cry again, but somehow stops herself from doing so. "Be safe while you're fighting, okay?" She kisses his faceplates quickly and steps out of his chambers; Prowl follows her out and watches her head down the hall. Before she turns the corner she stops and smiles back at him, "See you in Praxus, mech?"

Yes, he will see her in Praxus.

Oh My Word! Prowl's being so fluffy I could die! Alright, I hope everyone enjoyed the Prowl fluff, because it isn't going to happen often. If you know Prowl, you'll understand. Please review if you've made it to the end without falling asleep from boredom. I will accept criticism because I want to know what I am doing wrong and how to better my writing, but please keep it clean? Peace out!