ante_luce | What's in a Frame? (Part 3)

Title: What's in a Frame? (Part 3)
'Verse: G1 Transformers
Characters: Jazz. Smokescreen. Prowl.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: TF cussing.

“So, how long have you known?”

Smokescreen just shrugged at Jazz’s question. “Always. I helped Prowl acquire his mods.” Blue doors suddenly flicked back in apprehension. “Please don’t tell Ratchet.”

“No worries. Your secret’s safe with me.” The saboteur patted the diversionary mech on the shoulder, smirking cheekily before looking at Prowl. “You’re pretty close to each other. I’d always thought it was because of… well, Praxus, but clearly this has its roots in something earlier.”

“We were on the same team in the Praxian enforcers before enlisting in the Autobots.” The chevroned black and white replied while picking up an energon cube.

“You’re really from Praxus?” Jazz stared at the tactician in surprise, taking in the sensor panels that still sat on Prowl’s shoulders, albeit smaller ones compared to the ex-Datsun’s previous frame’s. “That wasn’t just tossed in on account of you looking like Smokey?”

Prowl sipped the glowing fuel. “Although uncommon elsewhere, Praxus had a sizable population of my model line. It was common practice for enforcers to be paired up like we were whenever possible to facilitate our response to any situation.”

“His alt is faster than a bot on foot and more manoeuvrable than mine. If I’m a battle axe, our SIC’s a dagger. I’d chase our targets on the roads and Prowl would take over if they tried to lose us in a crowd or a building.” Smokescreen elaborated, smiling faintly at the recollection.

“And once we had them cornered… The perps were cuffed and unconscious before they could realise it. Prowl’s lighter on his pedes than dandelion fluff. If you thought he was quiet as a carformer…” A predatory grin and Jazz’s visor flashed in anticipation.

“Well then. A demo is definitely in order.”

The tactician shivered slightly, and the other two mechs exchanged a troubled look. “I’m afraid I must disappoint. I need time to regain familiarity with my present frame. Injuring myself after all Ratchet went through to put me to rights would not be prudent.”

“Heh, good point. The doc was working on you for a long time. I was this close to giving in and sneaking into the med bay to get an update on your release. And maybe break you out if need be.” More concern was concealed with a disarming grin and a casual pinching of forefinger and thumb, but Prowl didn’t notice the gesture, seemingly preoccupied with the fuel ration.

“I apologise for the inconvenience, Jazz. In any case, Ratchet should allow me to return to work by tomorrow.”

Smokescreen threw up his hands in exasperation at his fellow tactician’s neutral tone, venting air with a sharp huff, and there was no hiding Jazz’s frown this time.

“Prowler. This here is personal concern, not just professional. Ratch’ could’ve banned you from ever picking up another datapad for the rest of your life and I’d still want to know you were okay.”

“The whole Ark was worried about you.” The Datsun had gathered himself enough to speak again, and there was another minute shiver from Prowl before the SIC glanced at them, expression apologetic. Jazz sighed, reaching out to the edgy tactician.

“In any case, you can’t avoid everyone forever.”

Smokescreen shook his head frantically and the Ops mech paused. “He can? Slag. Okay, new plan. Show your face in the rec room so that everyone can see for themselves that you’re alright before Ratchet snaps and manually reformats everyone into waffle irons. Then you can hide for as long as you want after.”

Prowl contemplated the Porsche’s words, then sighed and nodded. Jazz and Smokescreen blinked, then hurried to flank the SIC as the tactician left the room and stalked through the corridors.

= = =

Smokescreen and Jazz shared a look over the head of the bot between them. Prowl walked at a steady pace, optics trained on the path ahead. The blue Datsun cycled air quietly, then cautiously ventured. “You sure you want to do this right now, Prowl? I mean, it can wait until tomorrow, after you've adjusted somewhat.”

"I see no reason to delay the inevitable."

"How do you feel, really?” Smokecreen pressed further, and Prowl sighed.

“… Naked.”

There was a full out shudder from the black and white tactician and Smokescreen tried to reassure the other Praxian.

“The crew aren’t going to be like the fraggers in command all those vorns ago. They will still respect you, even without the extra armour.”

Jazz frowned. “Was it really so bad? Working for Sentinel while looking like this?”

“Sentinel himself was always professional, even if he was prone to accidentally running into me whenever I was in close proximity.” Prowl’s reply was distant, but the saboteur took comfort in the fact that the tactician was at least talking.

“I can see why. It’s actually pretty hard for me to track you like this unless I’m deliberately trying to do so.”

“I had to devote a number of subroutines to anticipating his movements after having to field several concerned inquiries as to whether the Prime was ‘abusing’ me.”

The visored mech cringed. “Ouch.”

Prowl continued, relentless, venting frustrations long kept under tight control and pried out into the open by recent events.

“Then there were those who saw me as his personal assistant, not an officer in my own right. I was often shut out of key tactical meetings on the grounds that it was ‘command staff’ only, and I had to resort to accompanying the Prime wherever he went in order to do my job.” The SIC exhaled sharply.

“That of course led to the rumours about the nature of my relationship with Sentinel, and the gossip tabloids had a field day spreading the word that the Prime had a taste for ‘petite’ frames. Having to deal with the resultant flood of bots hoping to catch the Prime’s optic did my reputation no favours.”

Jazz’s incredulous look was met by Smokescreen’s weary sigh and nod. White fists clenched as the entry to the rec room came into sight.

“The final straw came when the Prime was attacked in his office and I came to his aid, only for the Decepticon to tell me to step aside because they didn’t want to hurt me. I took on my modifications after that.”

The Porsche crossed his arms, head tilted in solemn inquiry. “The modifications that were going to deactivate you before your time?”

“Sheer aggravation was going to deactivate me before my time if I hadn’t. I felt my odds were better with systemic stress and possible spark failure.”

Jazz fell silent at the flat reply and Smokescreen’s doors dipped low. Prowl’s sensor panels fluttered once, stilling as the tactician braced himself, then walked through the rec room doors.