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Chapter Text

It's Drift and Ratchet's wedding, and I'm Drift's best man, of course. So why don't I feel like the best man? Here I am, at the wedding reception, surrounded by all my old friends, but I just keep tipping back the drinks to try and make this night bearable.

Everyone looks so happy: dancing, catching up, reminiscing, moving forward. Everyone is in their pairs and groups. Everyone except me and one guy who I spy from across the room sat alone at the bar. One single guy who looks miserable even from over here. I just hope when I get up close, he looks worse.

Clutching my drink, I stumble across the dance floor, through the jostling, cheery sea, past the people I should be talking to, with my attention fully focused on that selfish, lonely dickhead over there.

I drunkenly plonk myself down on the bar stool right next to Prowl. A bit too close actually as our hips clunk together.

He's nursing a half empty drink which he loosely twists in his hand. His arms are laid before the right number of drained glasses if you want to have a good time, but Prowl never wants to have a good time so what's happening here?

"Alright, gorgeous? What's a girl like you doing sat alone?" My hand playfully strokes his shoulder as I jokingly lick my lips.

His hands tense around his glass and his face around my words.

"Fuck off, Rod. I'm not in the mood."

"What if I could get you in the mood?" I say, smiling like a fool as I push my hand further down to his chest and over his headlights.

He grabs my hand and slams it on the table, and then goes back to holding his drink. I expected more reprimands, but no, he doesn't say anything. I wanted a more fun reaction.

"Well, fine! Suit yourself, mardy arse! You're at a party and you're just sat around sulking in your drink, face tripping you!"

He takes a long drink from his glass. He finishes it, in fact, then gently places the empty glass with the rest, before saying, "What's your excuse? You think everyone isn't looking at you, embarrassed for you, feeling sorry for you? Why did you come along if you were just going to get so drunk that you were going to chat me up? Me of all people. It's pathetic."

His words don't even upset me. They just sounded like he had a good time saying them and I could really do with that same feeling. I down the rest of my drink too, like we're in competition.

"Oh, don't flatter yourself! You couldn't have me. I was just messing with you, you spiteful bitch-"

Wait. Something about what he said got through and triggered what's still present of my higher brain functions. And his face too. He's not just irritated or angry. He's... sad. Sad about, uh, something. C'mon, brain, think. The drunken fog is clouding my thoughts and judgement, but I tentatively consider doing The Right Thing in this situation.

"Well, I mean, what's got you so down?"

"What?"

"I'm asking you how you're feeling, Prowl! Don't make this more painful than it already is!" I spit out with a hand pasted to my face.

His voice contains a petulant but hesitant laugh. "...why do you even care?"

"Because you'd be depressing to go home with tonight otherwise!" I can see he's frustrated at that comment, but not fully, like he sees the funny in what I said, or maybe he's just glad someone is showing him some interest, giving him the time of day. I doubt many others have today.

"Fine. What else have I got to lose, and besides, you look so drunk you probably won't even remember this." His body sinks a little as he sighs. "I came because Ratchet invited me. He's an old war friend after all. But when I look across this room, it's just a sea of people who I've lied to, betrayed, attacked, and more. I personally fucked over the entire guest list of this wedding, and even if my actions were justified... apparently, I'm having difficulties dealing with the consequences."

He's fiddling with his glass as speaks, drawing a sad, slow ring around the rim.

"And something is dawning on me, something Magnus said to me years ago. I... I really am all alone now."

His face is empty of all emotion. Like he reached the heaviest peak of sadness and then it all drained out of him.

I turn back and look across the sea of familiar faces too and realise how disgustingly similar I felt to Prowl. I'm also guilty of lying to, betraying, attacking and fucking over pretty much everyone in this room. Prowl's words stoke an ember of empathy in me. Am I also... all alone now? His back is still turned to the room, and honestly, I feel like doing the same thing now. But I don't.

"Ha! Hahahaha! Sounds to me like you got exactly what you deserved for being such a bastard all your life. Look at all these happy people who don't need you one bit. You're crying over here at the bar and they don't give a shit. Fucking pathetic, Prowl."

He's evidently getting fired up at me dismissing his emotional honesty so faces me for the first time this whole conversation.

"Are you negging me, Rod? Is this negging?"

"Pfft." I wonder how far he'll take this.

He stands up and leans over me, looking down at me, nearly pushing me off the bar stool. (Like I needed him to push me off the stool. I'm so hammered I'm practically falling off already.)

"Are you that desperate for some attention that you come and bother me?" He's drumming and digging his finger into my chest as he shouts.

"If this room is so full of people who care about you, why don't fuck off and talk to one of them instead? Or is it not working out like that?" He keeps confrontationally jabbing at me, until he's forcing his whole hand against my chest, until I'm knocked off the stool and collapse to the floor. The music is loud but heads start turning. Even Drift's.

"Who's more pathetic? The bastard who everyone despises, or the bastard who's also so lonely that he comes over and flirts with him?!" Everyone can see how pissed Prowl is as he turns and aggressively stumbles through the room to leave, walking through chairs and even knocking over a table.

And I'm left alone. On the floor. Red-faced. Shit-faced. Shit.

It takes people far too long to realise they should help me up. And by that I mean barely anyone at all motions to help because apparently all those selfish fucks really are just more interested in their own lives than me. Without me, most of them wouldn't have even met! Why aren't they more grateful?!

Drift rushes over to me and God I feel absolutely sick for making a scene at his wedding. Why do I always have to make a scene wherever I go? It's not my fault I was born with flames on my chest!

Drift tries to lift me to my feet, slowly. "Rod, are you okay? Are... are you... crying?" I shakily stand as all the drunken confidence has left me, replaced with regret, despair and all the other heavy feelings I'm not going to deal with right now.

Smiling with as much strength as I can, I reassure, "Yeah, don't worry, man, I'm fine. Just Prowl being an arse. You know how he is. He just comes in and makes everything about him, haha! And no, no, these aren't tears. It's just a bit of drink got on my face. I'm fine, man, I'm fine. Please, just, just enjoy the rest of your wedding."

I notice that even though I'm completely on my feet now, Drift is still holding my hand. I don't think he wants to let it go.

"P-please just go and enjoy yourself. It's been an amazing day and I'm so happy for you both and to see everyone again after so long, so I guess I just got a bit too excited and drank a bit too much but I'll be fine. I am fine. Yeah?"

Drift looks hesitant, tightens his grip on my hand, and then finally let's go, and I feel so cold without his touch.

"I'm just going to stand outside and get some fresh air. That'll help. But please, seriously, don't worry about me. I'm having a great time. And you're having a great time, yeah?"

He looks a little unsure but ultimately his joy is radiant and insuppressible. Ratchet is approaching to see what the fuss is and puts an arm around him. Drift moves closer still, their hands intimately intertwine, and they gaze at each other in pure adoration. Drift's face turns back to me with a smile brighter than even I used to remember, and simply says, “Happiest day of my life."

Ow. My chest. Yeah, I need to get outside. I almost trip over the table and chairs Prowl knocked over.

I flee through all the corridors of the venue until I'm outside. The air is bitterly cold, but exactly what I need. Refreshing. I try to take the air in slow and deeply. Suddenly, a torrent of vomit scales up my throat, erupting from my mouth and splashing on the pavement. And also, on my feet. I retch repeatedly until my body is satisfied it's over. I really can't handle my drink like I used to.

Groaning pitifully, I find a corner on the shadowy side of the building where no one will see me. I need to stop existing for a moment. Slumping against the wall, I scrape my back downwards and erode into the ground. My head tips back against the hard surface and my eyes are hooked upwards. The sky is black and beautiful. Starlit. Placid. The two moons will eclipse tonight, which only happens around every 120 days. I think I remember Drift saying he chose a twin moon night for his wedding day because in Spectralism, it symbolises the union of two souls bonded in blah blah blah…

The moons are on separate sides of the sky, but their opposing orbits mean they'll overlap in an hour or so.

When I was very young, I used to look up at the sky on nights like this and wonder how the two moons didn't crash into each other and break when they overlapped, but I suppose they're just far enough away that it can't happen.

I'm reminded of the taste of vomit in my mouth and fatigue creeps inside my entire body. Part of me wants to escape up to the stars and get away from it all, but I feel so heavy and grounded, like I barely even have the energy to entertain the thought, to even take hope from the idea of it. I pull my legs tight against my body. I can't bear to look at those pinpricks in the sky anymore, so my head sinks, and my eyes close, and I break.

"Alright, gorgeous? What's a girl like you doing sat alone?"

I exhale thickly at having my own words thrown back at me, worse that it's from Prowl, and worse still that some part of me is glad to have company from someone as wretched as me.

"Fuck off, Prowl. I'm not in the mood."

My head stays sunken, but his fuckboy smile is audible.

"What if I could get you in the mood?"

Chapter Text

I wake up in not my bed, with my pretty standard hangover. My head is pounding as the electrical current in my brain struggles to flow. I sit up and look around the room. It's prison-like, with completely plain silver on all surfaces, the surfaces that are here, that is. There's just a recharge bed in this room. That's it. Just a bed. The complete lack of decoration makes it hard to say where I ended up, or who with. I'm trying to take my memory back, but it feels so far off and blurry. 

However, there is absolutely distinct memories on my body of the night before. A pressure on my hands, neck, waist and legs. A scent of someone else's metal on mine. My lips feel sore and bitten. Small scrapes cut through my red paint, mixed with transfers of white. But who was it again?

I leave the bedroom and again, there's no clue. This flat is just two rectangles attached to each other! A truly industrial studio flat on the… I walk across the room to check outside the window… twenty-somethingth floor. The view below tells me I'm still in Iacon. Good to know, since I could have easily ended up on the other side of the planet from my own flat.

The living room/kitchen is as barren as the rest. More silver walls and floor and ceiling and furniture. Why would someone live like this? It's as though this place has only just been moved in to. There is a sofa and a TV though, so this person has that bit of normality at least. I sit on the sofa and turn the TV on and I'm immediately greeted by Channel 3. This channel has all the terrible movies and day time trash. This person might be a watcher of shite like me.

I'm about to settle in when a pain enters my body. Hunger. I need to eat. I go to the “kitchen”, and again: very little personality. The cupboards and fridge literally have nothing but a few days worth of plain, unflavoured energon. It's disgusting. Who the fuck would buy this? But I'm hungry so I take it all and disregard whoever owns it and my own sense of taste.

As I close the cupboard door and start eating, I notice one of the only pieces of evidence that a real person lives here. There's a digital display on the wall by a table. It's set to a calendar. Whoever lives here has a busy job. Most days are full of meetings and work, government business, security managm- oh no.

All at once my memory is accessible. The alcohol fog fades away. My eyes widen with realisation. Last night was Drift and Ratchet's wedding. I got stupid drunk and depressed. I started chatting up...

No.

No no no no no. Prowl! I went home with Prowl?! Ugh, these are Prowl's dents on my body?! These are Prowl's scratches on my paint job?! 

Ugh, what the fuck was I thinking?! Obviously, I wasn't thinking. 

Well… I suppose… what do I do now? I'm in Prowl's flat. What can I do here? I want to be devious but there's nothing here to actually do. The man has no personal objects for me to break. The only food he has I could eat all of in less than five minutes. I did just eat it all in less than five minutes! I guess he's got his TV but if I break that then what am I going to do while I wait here to annoy him? No, that's not worth it. Prowl has no external weak points. That must be the way he likes it. 

Fine. If I can't hurt him externally. I'll just hurt him internally. If it's midday now, he'll probably get back in the evening. I can watch TV until he gets back. That's what I usually do with my day anyway. And then, when he gets here, I'll just wind him up. That piece of shit let me into his flat, and he doesn't know I've got nothing better to do but stay and make life worse for him.

*

The hours pass as I watch any old crap on TV; terrible movies, good movies, daytime TV, reality shows, even a few from Earth.

I'm attuned to every pair of footsteps that walk down the hallway in the hope that they are Prowl’s. So many have passed and it's getting dark. I'm not surprised that uptight freak is a late worker. 

My boredom is getting unbearable, until finally, I hear steps stop outside of this front door, and the door unlocks. 

Prowl emerges through the doorway, staring at the TV first, surely surprised to see that it's on. Slowly, he rotates his head to behold me, sat luxuriously on the sofa, arms folded behind my head. I drop my left arm downwards and encouragingly pat the seat beside me. I then move my arm up to the back of the sofa, simulating a hug I'm beckoning him to join.

Innocently, I exclaim, “Hi, honey! I'm so glad you're home!”

His face microscopically spasms through so many emotions. Surprise, disgust, anger, regret. Lots of regret. But eventually settles on… exhaustion? 

“I am too tired to do anything about this right now.” He shuffles over to the sofa, sinks down onto it as far away from me as possible (it's a three seater so he can't exactly get that far away), leans forward and cups his face sleepily in his hands, rubbing his face.

I'm deflated. "What, that's it?! I stay here and eat all your food and you just, what, sit next to me anyway?"

“I'm not hungry and I can order more food tomorrow.”

“What? Why aren't you hungry?”

“I prefer recharge over energon consumption. If you ate something then you ate the last pieces of energon in my flat. I didn't even know I had any. They must have been there for years.”

That explains why I felt so sick all day. It couldn't have just been the alcohol. “This is disappointing.”

“Yeah. That's how I feel, too. Ugh." He raises his hand back to his head.

"What's up with you?"

"I wasn't - ugh - able to get much recharge. My bed only has charge for one person but it was split between the two of us. Plus, I'm hungover, awful day at work, now coming home to…" he looks over and waves his free hand at me, "...this."

“You got hungover after just that? God, you're a lightweight. Last night was nothing. Last night was a Wednesday for me.”

“Hmm, I'm not much of a drinker usually.”

“Another dull thing about you.”

“I suppose.”

The announcer on TV chirps up. “And next up, we have a modern classic from Cybertron’s most prestigious film director, Thundercracker.”

I laugh. “Damn, I remember fighting that guy during the war.” 

Prowl laughs quietly too. “Yeah, so do I.”

“And now he's making movies. Crazy.”

“They aren't even that good.”

“Yeah, but they are fun to- wait, you've seen TC's movies?!" I feel like he's let out a great secret.

Apprehensively, he answers. "Yes, occasionally. I see them, when they're on TV, sometimes.”

“…Which is your favourite?”

“I don't have a favourite.” He's too tired to hide his feelings. He absolutely does. 

I consider my next move. “I bet you like Hiding in Plane Sight.”

He hesitates. “...I might.”

“I knew it! I knew you'd like his political thriller.” I continue, “Oh, and I bet you didn't care for Plane Sailing?”

“Did you care for Plane Sailing?”

“I mean, I've seen worse romcoms, you know? It was alright.”

“Yeah, it was alright.”

We pause, unsure how to feel about learning that we both have the same terrible taste in films and might actually both be as sad as each other.

“...Which is your favourite?” Prowl asks.

“I mean if you're gonna put me on the sp-”

“No, wait.” He interrupts, shaking a hand a little, then gesturing upwards. “I bet you like Wings of Vengeance.”

“Damn, you got me. Of course I love the dumb action one. Did you see the stunts?! You can't even get explosions like that in space.”

“Yeah. It's pretty good.” He quickly corrects himself, “for a dumb action film, of course.”

The ad break is over and the movie is starting. It’s Wings of Vengeance after all. Prowl and I sit and watch the movie, occasionally shouting at the nonsense we were seeing, but also in a strangely comfortable silence. This is a side of Prowl I never knew existed. Something we share.

After the first half of the film, Prowl quietens. I look over to him and the brightness of his eyes is fading in and out. He must really be exhausted from the lack of charge, and not sleeping on the recharge bed won't help that. I kick him hard in the leg and his body jolts awake. After a moment to come back to himself, Prowl stands and stumbles over to the bedroom, too tired to say a word or maybe even recognise I was still there.

And now, I'm alone. Now, I'm thinking. What am I going to do now? It's tragic that I'm still here, honestly. But I suppose, sadly, I have nothing better to do.

***

And that's how it went for a few more days. Prowl would go to work, and I would stay in his flat, watch TV and guiltlessly freeload off the food and alcohol he buys for me, until he comes home. Then we sit and watch movies until he goes to bed, both of us unwilling to address what the fuck is actually going on here. 

Today, I was ready for things to play out the same as usual, until I woke up to Prowl sat at the kitchen table. “What are you doing here? Why aren't you at work?” I ask with surprise.

"Even I have days off", he says while looking through data pads which appear to display work-related documents.

I make a cup of coffee. I make two actually, and put one on the table in front of Prowl. Maybe I'm not as guiltless about freeloading as I thought I was.

"What's this?"

"Coffee."

"No, it's not. It's electrolysed energon. Coffee is the Earth drink. While they apparently have similar effects, I know the difference because I'm the one who places the orders for all the stupid substances you like to consume." He says that like I can't look after myself. I can't exactly contradict him. "Why did you make me one?"

"You don't drink it?"

"No."

"You don't drink coffee?" That's astonishing. "You've tried it though? You've had a coffee, haven't you?"

Blankly, he says, "No. I've never drank it." 

"You should try some. I just drink the cheap shit but I think it's alright."

He eyes the mug, wraps his fingers through the handle, lifts it, sniffs the steam rising from the surface, then finally, puts his lips to rim, and sips. I watch his expression, which is motionless the whole time. He blows some heat away from the surface and returns for another sip, still unsure. I squint at Prowl incredulously for the next minute as he seems to be repeatedly taste testing, collecting data and analysing his opinion of the commonplace drink. Eventually, after only consuming maybe a mouthful, he rests the mug back on the table, purses his lips, hmms, looks at me, and flatly states: "it's good." 

I don't have time to insult whatever the fuck that approach to the world is because I'm interrupted by a persistent, annoying tapping. It sounds like metal against glass. It doesn't stop, until Prowl groans and yells with exasperation, "It's open!"

From behind, I hear the sliding sound of a window opening and a person I have not seen in years crawls in through the frame. How did she even get to the window of a 27th floor flat?

"Hey Prowl, we got a new job from-" Arcee notices me and halts. Her face contorts as she looks me up and down with disgust. "What the fuck is Hot Rod doing here?"

"Rodimus", I correct.

"Excuse you?" She hisses back.

"Don't call me Hot Rod. It's Rodimus now."

"Is it, right, I must have forgot about that after you abandoned everyone to fly off into space the first time. Or maybe it was the fourth time."

"Well, whichever time it was, my name is still Rodimus."

"No, it's not, bitch. And anyway, Do you actually think 'Rodimus' is better?"

"Oh, fuck off, Arcee. You two can talk about your work bollocks. I'm leaving." And by “leaving”, I meant going to stand in the bedroom to eavesdrop. I close the door behind me and press my ear to it.

"What are you doing here, Arcee?"

"I just wanted to see what was up with my old mate Prowl. Haven't seen you in a few weeks. I've been missing you."

"No, you haven't. We aren't 'mates'. You would never call me 'mate'."

"God, I know that. Don't take it so seriously. I'm obviously here because His Royal Twatness wants us to do some murders. You in?"

"Who is it this time?"

"Uh, I dunno. Something to do with the big guy and the hot one who talks to him."

"Metroplex and Windblade. Are you determined to learn no one's name?"

"I'll remember Windblade, that's for sure." I swear I can hear the wink in her tone. "Anyway, you in?"

There's a pause.

"What's wrong? You usually love bringing evil to justice or whatever you tell yourself."

"Not today."

"What, not feeling like doing your job? That's all you do. Do your job, go home, cry alone, recharge, repeat. Yeah?"

There's another awkward pause, but I then hear Arcee change her footing.

"Oh. Oh, I see. I fucking see. You don't have to go home and cry alone anymore, is that it? Now you've got that waste of metal leeching off you? Is Hot Rod's company really that good? This is embarrassing. What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"You think this is about Rod? It's not. I'm just contemplating my next steps. I don't want to be working under Starscream for-"

"Shut it! I can see right through you. Fine! Cuddle up on the sofa with your new boyfriend and watch your shite on TV. I've got to vote in the next election. And here's my ballot.” I hear the shameless tchuck tchuck of a gun. Dripping with smugness, she finally says, "See ya."

I hear footsteps getting quieter until she is gone, followed by footsteps moving in the same direction and the scrape of the window closing. I then hear a quiet sigh as the remaining steps move across the room, to the front door, and exit the flat. After a dark moment, I leave the bedroom, glue myself to the sofa, turn the TV on, and try to not think too hard about anything.

***

Another week passed uneventfully. Truly without events. The routine Prowl and I had fallen into continued with absolutely no change. Everyday, he works. Everyday, I don't leave. Everyday, he returns and everyday, he does not ask me to leave. We've danced around the subject for two weeks now; watching films, drinking, talking, neither of daring to look it in the eye. This routine sounds stable in its consistency, but I think on an unspoken level, we both understand that to draw attention to it might cause the whole thing to dissolve.

Today is another of Prowl's days off. The morning was… nice. I made us a pot of coffee, put on the TV and sat at the kitchen table next to him. Prowl was looking at reports or some other dry work documents so I just let the images on TV gloss over me while I swallowed my coffee and anxiously considered how I was going to piss away another day of my finite existence.

"Would you like to do something today?" I can't tell if Prowl's tone is offering kindly or asking irritatedly.

"What?" 

"I have to go to the Screwfix today. I need to buy some..." I stopped paying attention because God I fucking love going with someone to faff around in Screwfix. It's my favourite DIY shop. It has long, wide aisles with low traction flooring that I can skid up and down on, a paint section that stocks all my shades (including my old Hot Pink which I might pick up again), and it's basically the only place on Cybertron that has that rare import: wood. I haven't been there in years! I haven't been... anywhere... in years.

With dismay, I return my attention to Prowl, who is still describing the itemised list in his head of all the things he has to buy for whatever reasons. He's still gazing at his work report in his left hand while preparing to drink from his mug in the right, not looking at me as he speaks. "Do you want to come along?"

Do I want to come along? The answer to that is more complicated than I want it to be, and more conflicted than it used to be. Several hard taps at the window crack my thoughts.

Arcee lets herself in again, easily sliding open the window and weaving her way through the frame. Her body language is frustrated. She points her gun at Prowl, not in a threatening way, merely as an extension of her hand, as though she forgot a long time ago that she can put it down. "We're gonna talk about this right now."

Prowl sighs. "What about? It’s my day off, and I've already told you-"

"I'm here to talk about that idiot living with you."

I'm not taking that. "Oi! I-"

Prowl rudely cuts me off. "He's not living with me."

"What else do you call this?" She gestures between the two of us, sat together at the kitchen table, drinking my favourite coffee brand from our freshly purchased matching flame design mugs and coffee pot, discussing our plans for the day, looking like quite a couple actually. Hmm.

"I'm talking about this!" She points wildly to the living room, with the newly installed massive TV, newly built shelves for newly bought film disks, bowls of snacks on the coffee table, and well-used red and yellow sofa cushions. Maybe... maybe she has a point.

Prowl is unexpressive and silent. Arcee continues. "Fine. Don't talk. But this is fucking weird. Even for you. What do you get out of keeping Hot Rod around? Are you really that lonely? We can go out for a drink like once a year if that helps."

She's acting like I'm not here. They both are. So I decide to not be here. I walk between them both to leave the room, picking up the Engex bottle on my way out, and sit on the bedroom floor. I can still hear them through the door.

"Arcee, just leave."

"I'll never understand you, Prowl. For hundreds of years you've had your smart-arse schemes and now suddenly you're just dropping them all and hiding away. This can't just be about Hot Rod."

Arcee is right. What are we doing? I unscrew the cap from the bottle and I drink.

"Of course it isn't just about him."

"At least you're finally admitting it's a bit about him."

I drink.

"I... He's just... Nice to have around."

"Hot Rod? Nice to have around? Never heard it described like that."

I drink. 

"Look, Arcee, I'm not damaged like you. Whatever you've got going on is your business and what I'm doing is mine. So get out and stop coming to me with Starscream's inane jobs."

I drink.

"Oh yeah, and what about your inane jobs? Still want my help with those?"

"...I'm done with them. ...I've got nothing left to gain."

I drink until the bottle is empty. I drink till I gag on how much it jostles and burns and threatens to overflow from my throat. And soon, I'm annihilated. Soon, I'm swimming.

I've noticed Prowl likes it when I drink. It's like he gets second-hand relaxation from the way I'm able to slide closer on the sofa and playfully place a hand or leg or two on him in the evening. Or maybe he likes the power of knowing I have less control of myself than he does. I like it too. Right now, I have no control at all. I'm crumpled on the floor, head lolled backwards, internally trembling but externally still without the motor control to expel anything.

My ears ring as the past two weeks of simple, homely madness are shattering in a drunken haze. I feel eaten by dizziness and this painfully stretched-out slow pace. The reality of the strange situation we put ourselves in and denied acknowledgement is gutting me. I've been so desperate for any company and escape that I stayed with Prowl for two weeks. Fucking Prowl! What happened? What the fuck is wrong with me? 

Prowl lifts me up from the ground and props me on my knees. When... when did he get here? I'm so pissed now I can't move or speak, so I groan and let my head thunk down onto his chest. He doesn't remove it. No, it's not that I've been desperate for any company. It's that I've been desperate for the company I deserve. And I deserve someone as shitty as Prowl and he deserves someone as shitty as me. Our pasts have crossed before through shitty schemes, and now we've confined ourselves in our shittiest scheme yet: partnership. He can just keep me in his flat forever, that way our contamination can be kept in one place, safe from everyone. 

I want to cry but I can't coordinate the tears to be released, so I just stay wilted in Prowl's arms, which are tightly wrapped around me. He would only give me this kind of attention while I'm drunk, as though he thinks his desire to be close with another person can be kept private that way. It can't. I always remember. I remember that night we spent together after Drift's wedding. No, don't make me think about Drift's wedding! I'm desperate for distraction, for someone to make me feel worthwhile again, so I jump up and connect my lips with Prowl's. I've lost the ability to keep myself steady. Prowl knows this so holds his hands around my head and waist. 

I'm falling backwards. No, he's pushing me backwards, pursuing my tongue while he guides our descent to the floor. My entire body is consumed with pressure as Prowl presses down on top of me. I want to move my hands over his body but he snatches them by the wrists. He selfishly denies me that much. Honestly, I don't even care anymore. Right now, I need someone to touch me.

Urgently and roughly, he twists my body till I'm laid on my front, with him on top of my arse, restraining me like a criminal. I don't think he can stand to look me in the eye while he touches me. It's isolating, cruel and oddly soothing. He still has hold of my wrists, so he pins my hands under his knees. Now, I'm completely immobile while he's completely free.

After the rough turn over, I'm grateful for the unexpected and incredibly delicate treatment that comes next. Prowl leans over me, carefully slips both his hands over my burning cheeks, and tilts my head up to kiss me. Not just my lips. My forehead, cheek, jaw, neck and more still. It's precise and comforting. He lifts his head away to observe as he begins to move his hands. 

Prowl's thumbs outline my jaw while his fingers tenderly stroke my cheeks, which are hot with intoxication, in dire need of cold, refreshing touch. His hands move lower to caress my neck and pluck its cables. He seems to get particular joy out of touching here. It's ticklish, so I can't help my shoulders and head from clenching together to catch his hands. Through my drunk and joyous delirium, I can hear Prowl exhale with satisfaction when a warm shiver compels me to shudder entirely. The earlier isolation is gone.

Prowl's touch continues downwards, walking his fingers along panels, seams and wires, thoroughly drawing out the shape of my shoulders, my back, my waist, every part of me that matters. I twitch and grit my teeth when he slowly strokes the edge of my spoiler, but I don't ask him to stop. I can tell he enjoys that reaction. He enjoys this. Prowl caresses and rubs and presses everything he wants, taking his relief in the closeness of another person's body. I enjoy this. It feels so good to be touched again. So vital and concrete. Just being this close to another person is enough. Right now, I don't think either of us care who, just that someone is touching us without too much disgust and knowing peace that they'll still be there tomorrow.  

Finally, once Prowl is pleased, he gently works his arms under my chest and winds them around me. His head is nestling in my neck and his chest rests on my back. Our sparks crackle in harmony and sympathy, pushed so close together. Distant memories of the tightness of field and factory awaken in us, visceral and emotive. We sigh pleasurably, comfortably confused in this strange situation we've created. Reprehensible and pathetic, but no longer alone.

Chapter Text

Here I am once again, alone at an event with my “friends”, tipping back the drinks and wondering how my life turned out so wrong.

This time it's something to do with Rewind of all people. Apparently, he's an artist these days. He uses all his archive footage to make short films and art stuff about the war. I don't really get it, but I do get the open bar.

I've not gone as overboard like I did at Drift and Ratchet's wedding. I don't want to vomit on the walls and have to pay 5 million in damages for one of Rewind's poncy prints.

The event is reasonably relaxed. I don't know some of the guests. They look like the wanky sort from the art world. But there's also of course many familiar faces from the Lost Light invited by Chromedome and Rewind. Myself included, but that's not why I'm here.

I originally had no intention of attending, except… I could tell it was bothering Prowl. Anything Chromedome or Rewind related makes him agitated and moody. I don't know how he has the mental stamina to still care so much about something from so long ago. His spite is impressive. I asked him why he has to go and he said it's his job as a “government official and a defender of the law. I can't just decline events like this because my ex and his skinny little bitch of a husband will be there.”

Which means he can't even drink while he's here to make the evening go quicker. Poor guy. Probably for the best though. He'd probably end up trying to kick Rewind out of the fifteenth floor window, and then Chromedome would send him flying after.

So, ultimately I offered to come along with him for some reason. It's the least I can do given I've been staying at his place for weeks now. It's still a wonder he hasn't asked me to leave yet, or that I haven't tried to leave either.

But I'd forgotten how much I despise events like these. I've spent most of this evening mooching around the gallery, exploiting the free drinks and talking to Prowl, except when he's busy with work. Then I retreat to the balcony or sneak somewhere where no one I know will try and talk to me.

This time I got unlucky.

I was knocking back the last drops in my glass so I didn't see who was approaching from in front of me. I tried to scurry out of there but I heard my name shouted followed by an absurdly large hand on my shoulder urging me to turn around.

“Rodimus. Good to finally speak with you again.” Megatron states with very little feeling.

Suddenly, my throat is painfully dry and I need to swallow. I force out, “Oh, hi guys. Nice to see you again.”

Minimus announces, “Great, now the pleasantries are out of the way, we can talk about the important matter.” Fantastic. Here we go. “We're all a bit concerned about your relationship with Prowl. We all think..."

I cut in, "Wait, who's ‘we all’?"

“A group of members of the Lost Light crew. Remember? We meet up for a monthly brunch to catch up and stay in touch.”

“Monthly fucking brunch?!” They're both looking at me in confused and stunned silence.

“How long has this been going on?”

“A few years at this point.”

“Why wasn't I invited to your stupid monthly brunch?”

Minimus explains, “We did invite you. You said it was stupid. You said ‘why would I go out and have brunch when I can stay in and have breakfast AND lunch? That way I get to have twice as much food, I don't have to go outside, and I don't have to wake up before 2pm."

“Ugh, why is your memory so good, Minimus? Why can't you just let anything go?” My irritation is plain to see.

They're waiting for me to speak. “Well, fine, so I turned it down the first time. But if you were good friends, you would have tried to find a work around.”

Now it's Megatron's turn. “We did try. We then said we could do an evening meal instead. But you said, ‘I hate restaurants because I don't like sitting still for too long and the staff always try to kick me out when I go alt mode and start doing doughnuts on the floor.’ ”

"That doesn't sound like something I'd say." That sounds exactly like something I'd say but I can't let them know I know that.

“Well, alright, so what have you all been gossiping about me at your lovely monthly brunches?"

Minimus apprehensively answers, “It has become apparent that you and Prowl are now something of an item and we were worried that-”

“We’re not something of an item”, I correct.

“Well regardless, you are something." Unfortunately, I can't deny that.

Megatron concludes, “Prowl has always been a bad actor, Rodimus. He regularly has plots and conspiracies which make life worse for just about everyone, including himself. And we didn't want him to make you worse too.”

“Worse?”

Minimus interjects, “Ah, that's not what he meant.”

Megatron continues, more passionately this time. “That is what I meant. Worse. Because you have been going downhill ever since the quest ended and we all separated. We've all tried to help you so many times over the years, but you've become a recluse. An alcoholic recluse. You are in a bad place and Prowl is not going to help you out of it and I know you know that.”

That's. It. My turn. “Oh, so suddenly me and Prowl are the worst people alive! This coming from the guy who started The fucking War killing millions of people, and the little freak who walked around in a dead guy's body for years. And that's just you two. Downstairs, I saw Drift the ex-con with his massive killstreak and Ratchet who's wearing his evil ex's hands. And just look at the two prestigious hosts of this event. One of them spent most of his career turning people's brains into soup and the other is a psycho who knows his way around a gun, both literally and literally, in that he shot you, Megatron, because he was happy to destroy all of our lives for the chance to make a better universe. Not to mention the rest of you all. And I know I'm as bad, actually worse, yeah, “worse” than the rest of you, because I've fucked over and almost killed and even actually killed loads of people in this room. So forgive me if I'm able to look past some of Prowl's rougher details but it's the only way I'm able to live anymore!”

I'm done. I pause to catch my breath and stare them down. I stare the whole room down. I'm done.

It's Megatron who speaks first: slow, calm and clear. “Rodimus, you need to stop focusing on the past.”

This is unreal. “What?” This is ridiculous.

Megatron sighs and looks me dead in the eyes without turning away. “We all know we've done regrettable things. We also see those regrettable things in each other. But we recognise our friends for what they are: people who make mistakes. And we forgive them for those mistakes. And giving forgiveness to others allows us to forgive ourselves. I spent a long time feeling like you do now, but you're no use to the world like this. You need to be able to move on, Rodimus. You need to learn to let go of the past to create a future where you'll be content.”

Minimus continues for him, “We all know you took the end of the journey much harder than the rest of us, so we've been trying to reach out. The Lost Light is no more, but the crew is still here. We always have been. It's not the same, but it has the potential to be something new and different if you would let it.”

I try to consider what they're saying, but I'm incapable. “I've had enough of this.” I withdraw to the balcony, push myself against the edge and look at the movement and life happening so far below. They think you can just erase a lifetime of fuck ups because you want it to be okay? I can't be happy like this. I've got nothing to focus on. No direction in life. I'm nothing without something to do.

I'm lost in my mind without anything to gravitate towards, just spinning my wheels. I hear footsteps approaching and I hope they are whose I think they are. “That was quite the speech you made in my defense. I'm flattered”, he says smuggly.

I feel worn out now but strangely relieved. “I wasn't defending you. I was defending us. I mean, both of us.”

Bluntly, Prowl asks, “what do you think of what they were saying? All that forgiveness stuff?”

“Ugh, I think it's easier said than done.”

"I think it's better said than done. It's important to know who your enemies are and who your friends are. You need to know where you stand with people if you're going to be with people at all."

I'm silent as my thoughts are racing in my head. There's just too much pushed down pain and I can't pull it out and untangle it. It's hopeless for me to possibly change anymore.

Prowl briefly pats his hand on my back. Not too brief though. “I'm returning to my post now.”

“Yeah, thanks for coming over.”

Prowl doubles back and sounds puzzled. “What?”

Yeah, that's what I was just thinking. "I mean, uh, thanks for nothing, bitch.”

He gives a short chuckle then walks away.

I'm not clueless. Everyone thinks I am but I'm not. I know I have two choices. I lean on the balcony and turn to look at my old friends. I can either forgive and forget, learn to move on like them. Or…

My eyes wander over to Prowl stood upright, stern, controlling, unwavering. Except I can see his eyes compulsively glancing over to Chromedome and Rewind occasionally. Or… I can be like him and never move on.

Prowl's eyes scan the room like a man among beasts, like he views them all as less than. He knows all of their crimes and he knows his own. He surveys the landscape with his eyes eventually settling on mine. He knows my crimes too. He won't forgive me and he won't forget. I enjoy the way he looks at me and sees exactly what I am, rather than what I should be.

We're just staring at each other from opposite ends of the room now, locked in a stalemate. Who will look away first? It's Prowl who gives in. He doesn't look away though. He smiles. Tiny. Almost imperceptible. But I see it. As quickly as it happens, it's over. The mask is back on. But this changes everything.

An idea slams into my head and clears away the noise. Yeah, this'll show them who can “move on” and "create the future".

Clutching my glass, I rush through the room, through the sterile, pretentious sea, past the people I won't be talking to, with my attention fully focused on that lonely dickhead over there.

Prowl's eyes widen a little when he sees me marching over. I wrap my arm around his waist. In absence of a spoon to clink my glass with, I opt to fiercely smash the glass to the floor. Heads start turning, but I need everyone to see. With neither a spoon nor a glass now, instead I start banging my fist off of Prowl's chest to get people's attention. Good. Everyone is looking now.

"Everyone! I'd like to make a big announcement!” I shout out. “Me and Prowl are getting married!"

Bewildered gasps and exclamations pour out and circulate the room. Prowl manages to push out through gritted teeth, "What are you doing, you idiot? You can't do this."

"Oh wait, yeah, you're right. I'm doing it wrong." I get down on one knee and smile upwards. "Prowl, we're getting married."

He's as angry as he is embarrassed. “You're supposed to ask! You can't just say it like this!”

“Oh, yeah. Yeah, yeah, yeah! You're right.” I think on my feet. Uhh uhhh what's a non-essential part that would be the right size... yes! I open a panel in my lower back and fumble around and unscrew a nut which I won't need (at least until the warning messages start appearing in a few hours.)

"You need a ring!" I return to one knee. "Prowl... Will you marry me?" I hold aloft the ring.

Prowl's face is uncharacteristically overwhelmed. "This is unbelievable. Are you genuinely proposing to me with a ring you just pulled out of your arse?"

"Not my arse anymore, Prowl. Your Arse! If you'll only say yes." I cutely blink my eyes and hold the ring closer to him.

Prowl looks around the room in disbelief at what is happening, and everyone else is doing the same.

He sees Chromedome and Rewind staring from behind me. He'd better, because I purposefully positioned myself like this for that exact reason. I know his analytical mind is quickly calculating the best option, with a little bit of relationship remorse to tip the scale.

Prowl's lips curl into a deliberate smile. "Yes. Yes, of course I'll marry you." He declares in feign happiness.

I jump to my feet and shout, "I love you, wifey!" Prowl groans and grimaces before quickly composing himself for the crowd. "I love you, too!" he states energetically.

I push the ring onto his finger and push myself into him for a huge hug. He venomously whispers in my ear, "I hate you. I hate you so much."

I whisper back innocently, "mmm, I hate you, too, wifey", before kissing him blatantly on the lips. I swear I hear at least three people exclaim in disgust at that, as if a vile taboo was committed.

I turn us both to face the room and proudly declare, "He said 'yes'!" Sparse, uncomfortable claps start and there is an overwhelming feeling of shock and nausea emanating from every direction. Perfect!

"Woooooh, we're going to Space Vegas and you're all invited!" I yell.

Prowl protests, "There is no such thing as Space Vegas, and even if there was, we would not have our wedding in-"

"WOOH! SPACE VEGAS!"

Chapter Text

Prowl was wrong! There is such a thing as Space Vegas. But he's insisting we can't have our wedding there. Drift agrees, he said it would be tacky.

"But think about it, Drift! Space Vegas!" I plead. "The lights and the parties and the gambling and the fountains of high grade that you can just dunk your head under.”

He smiles sympathetically. "I just think love should be demonstrated in a more sacred place.”

“The old you would have said yes! Before you got that ball and chain!”

“This ball and chain is the only thing saving you two prats from yourselves.” Ratchet is acting more irritated than we know he is. “Besides, Space Vegas isn't as good as it used to be. Too corporate now.” I swear if I find out those two went there without me then I am going to kick off.

Some pieces of unexpected happiness have come out of the engagement. I asked Drift to plan the wedding since I knew it would mean a lot and make him happy, but it's also been nice to see him and Ratchet so much again. Maybe if Prowl and I actually get married we could go along to the stupid monthly brunches. But for now, the three of us having lunch in Prowl's flat is good.

“Show me the ring again, Rod.” Drift lifts my hand from the table and admires the polished, silver band.

“Why do you want to see it again? It's hideous.” Ratchet remarks.

Drift shakes his head. “It's not hideous. It's simple. Rustic.”

“More like rusty.”

“Ratty!” Drift elbows Ratchet unconvincingly in the chest.

Prowl gave me a ring too to make the engagement look authentic. He wasn't happy with it, but I demanded we have matching rings.

"Hey! This came out of Prowl so if there's any rust on it, it's his- oh wait." My internal communicator is ringing. "Hold on, I'm getting a call. Hello?"

"You're marrying Prowl?!" comes a demanding, demeaning voice. I was wondering when this would happen.

"I'm sorry, who is this?"

"You know exactly who it is, Rodimus!"

"Oh yeah, of course, Optimus. I think your mouthplate was muffling what you were saying. You know, you should really take it off when you're talking to people on the-."

"It is off."

"Well, then, maybe you should put it back on. Maybe I couldn't tell it was you without that distinct horrible metal-"

"Are you listening to me? Why are you engaged to Prowl?" 

I glance over to Ratchet and Drift who are looking over at me curiously. Well, Drift is. 

I adopt a mature personality. "Because we're in love and we want to show that love to the world through a wedding ceremony. You know, Drift is saying we should have the wedding on the next twin moon night because in Spectralism it symbolises the union of two souls in-"

"You don't love Prowl. I know you can't love Prowl.” he rudely insists.

"Optimus! He's a person just like any of us.” I suggest with fake shock and a hint of sincerity. “And he has the freedom to marry whoever he wants. And so do I. I thought you loved freedom. That's your thing, isn't it?"

Silence. Long, thoughtless silence. 

"...Optimus?"

"Do you want to go fishing?"

"Huh?"

"Fishing. Let's go fishing. You like that, don't you?" That might be the most dismissive he's ever sounded.

"Well, yes, but-"

"Where's a good place to fish?"

I'm contemplating the best option but there can only be one answer. "...I know a good place."

"Meet me in one hour." 

***

The sun sits high in the pale blue sky. A stray few clouds lazily swim above our heads as we perch on the damp bank of the lake a mere 30 minutes drive from Nyon. The iridescent water holds our bobs and the reflection of my first home in the distance. The city is still in ruins, but the rebuild is steadily progressing after... after I... after I...

"...after you blew it up?"

"What?" I murmur, captive in a memory.

Exasperated already, Optimus repeats, "I said 'why would you want to come fishing so close to Nyon after you blew it up'?"

"Oh, because it's only one of the best fishing spots on Cybertron!" It begins. We've got a long day ahead of us.

The hooks haven't been in the water for more than a minute before Optimus already asks, "Have you thought anymore about what you're going to do now the quest is over?"

"Ugh, I thought we came out here to fish."

"We can talk while we fish." 

My voice takes on the slow, elaborate intonation you use when you over-explain something to someone stupider than you. "We can talk while we hold pieces of wood with a line with a hook on the end, but that's not Fishing."

"That doesn't make sense. If that's true then what is fishing?"

"How many times have you fished?!" I'm so unreasonably smarmy right now and I have no shame about that.

He lets out an involuntary sigh. Progress. "...Never, Rodimus."

"Then how about you listen to the expert here." Optimus thought he could come here and play the game by his rules? I flash a degrading smile at him, but he's unwilling to be petty... yet. 

***

The sun plods further along the deep blue sky. A few more clouds have strayed in as we fidget on the damn bank of the lake a mere 30 minutes drive from Nyon. The rippling water is caught in the light afternoon breeze which threatens to topple the remnants of my first home in the distance. The city is still in ruins, but I can see construction workers rebuilding after... after I... I...

...I wonder what Prowl is up to! I'll message him.

  wot u up to

I'm in Nyon today. I'm attending a few meetings regarding the current structural developments.

  wait ur in nyon?

Yes.

  woa im just outside nyon. at the lake with op

op?

 optimus

Of course. Why are you there?

 op wanted to go fishing

Why?

  he wanted to discuss our wedding

Why?

  cuz he thinks it's a bad idea

Why?

  wtf is wrong with u. stop just sending whys

The meeting is beginning now.

"Are you even listening to me?" He's attempting to assert himself.

"Yes. I am. You said ‘how long does it usually take to catch a fish?’"

"If you were listening then why didn't you answer the first time, Rodimus?”

I impulsively yell out, "It takes as long as it takes!" I'm getting a little (just a little) frustrated at having to be around Optimus for an extended period of time. But I won't snap first.

"Can we talk about something in the meantime?"

I glare and painstakingly say, "What did I tell you about The Meaning of Fishing?"

Optimus ponders his next move. "What if you get to pick the topic?"

Hmmm. This is acceptable. "Fine. I can pick a good topic.” Pause for effect, and… “Why weren't you at Megatron and Minimus's wedding?"

His whole body jutters. Large hands wind around my wooden fishing rod. I'm going to make him regret this.

"I had an important off world matter to-"

"Is it because you weren't invited to their wedding?"

"Of course I was invited! I was unavailable..." He trails off.

A sweet grin possesses my lips. "Shame. It was a really nice wedding. I of course officiated the ceremony. I was closest to them when I said "you may now kiss your endura" and then they slowly, romantically, sexily-"

He swiftly recovers and counters, "I distinctly remember you attending another wedding too. Ratchet and Drift’s. I also remember hearing you and Prowl started fighting there. And now you're engaged somehow. I think it's time we talk about that! Why have you-"

"Movies?" I interrupt.

"What?!"

"You're disobeying The Laws of Fishing! You said I could choose the topics! Let's talk about movies. Seen any good movies lately? A new cinema opened in Iacon. They play a lot of Earth movies, but the Cybertron film industry has picked up and produced some movies of its own now. There's basically only one director on the whole planet but it helps to get funding when your brother is the King of Cybertron. His movies are kind of terrible but man if that last one didn't have some good shit in it. I've never been into into plane alt modes but fuck, some of those planes were-"

"I've never seen a movie." Optimus was itching to interrupt my idiotic ramble.

"What do you mean you've never seen a movie?! Even Prowl has seen a movie!”

"It's an Earth art form that I never had a chance to enjoy because I was fighting a war for half of my time there and dead for the other half."

An opening. "Oh, so we’re bringing up that time I got you killed?! That's low, Optimus!”

"I wasn't bringing it up, I was just stating-" He's trying to roll it back but I can only push forward.

"You know, I can do that to you too! You've got tons of people killed. Tons!”

He's getting visibly agitated, hunched over, attempting to maintain composure, and clenching harder on the brittle fishing rod. I'm going to regret this…

"And at least you came back to life. How many of the people who you got killed came back to life?! How many? Huh? Like Bee. Where's Bee, Optimus? Where the fuck is Bee?"

He snaps. He's risen to his feet, gesturing with his hands. I think he's talking because parts of his face are moving, but all I can hear is white noise as one of my only two fishing rods is laid out on the bank, snapped and splintered, like ancient flotsam washed ashore. 

***

The sun hangs low in the maroon sky. The clouds are gone. The water is flat. The city of Nyon is still in ruins, but eventually, unfortunately, it will be rebuilt, after I... after I...

After Optimus left, I... I couldn't bear to leave too. I have no reason to go. I have nowhere to be. So I stayed here, entranced by the simplicity of water.

The rumble of an engine trembles the lake's surface and breaks its silence. Plumes of dust kick up on the horizon as a car grows closer, until it is recognisable. "Prowl?" I whisper to myself.

He drives right up to me and transforms. His smile is controlled. "It looks like your meeting with Optimus didn't go well." 

I’m sat with my legs outstretched, wires taught and stripped by emotion, feet dipped in the water, cradling the two halves of my fishing rod as if I could nurse it back to life.

Prowl crouches down next to me. "What happened to your rod? Did you catch something big with it?"

My lips are pinched, unable to speak. 

"I've never seen a fishing rod before. Can I hold it?" I instinctively clutch the rod tighter and pull away from him.

He hushes, "Hey, relax. I'll just look at the one that isn't broken."

"Don't touch it!" escapes my throat.

He's behaving with strange kindness unknown to us. "I'll be gentle. Trust me. I'm not going to damage it. It's obviously important to you."

“It is!” I screech, eyes large and incandescent.

Prowl sits down next to me and carefully picks up the precious, intact fishing rod. I appreciate the way he holds it very delicately, so as not to hurt it. His unexpectedly gentle presence is effective right now.

He's aiming to cast off, but evidently has no idea how to, and my joints are too seized with sadness to demonstrate for him. Even if it was inelegant, the shimmering hook is in the water.

Prowl concentrates on the bob settled on the surface. "My meeting finished early and I had a couple of hours before the next one. I messaged you but you haven't replied for an hour, so I assumed something had gone wrong." He sounds pathetically pleased.

I just sound pathetic. "Oh. Yeah, but uh, I don't really want to talk about it."

He respects my request in the same way he respects my fishing rod.

"Why did you want to go fishing by Nyon?" He’s blunt, as always.

I reflect, then hesitantly answer, "It's still my old home, even if it's in ruins. Well, more in ruins. I suppose it's nice to visit the area. I did used to come fishing in this lake and I'd drive around these open outskirts to clear my head and I guess I wanted to see how progress on the rebuild was going."

"How do you feel seeing the rebuild?" Another cutting question. 

"I feel... uh... let's talk about something else."

"Does it hurt to talk about it?" Prowl seems in a good mood. This must be him glad to find things turned to shit with Optimus.

"Does it hurt? No. No. I just, no. It’s uh-"

"It does hurt. You aren't subtle about your feelings. How you are feeling makes sense. You've lost something. Pain is the natural response to loss." I wonder if Prowl understands how right he is and in how many ways.

He eyes and rotates the fishing rod in his hands, paying attention to the simplicity of the mechanisms and the many scuffs on the metal and cuts in the wood. Decades of wear, tear, and love have aggregated in its earthly materials. "I don't particularly understand fishing", he puzzles.

That makes me smile and my mood brightens a shade. "Yeah, me neither. I think that's why I've always liked it so much. You don't need to understand it. You just put your line in the water, you sit, and you wait."

The answer to the puzzle still escapes him. "But what about if you want to catch a fish?"

"Why? Do you want to catch a fish?"

He scrunches his face as he scoffs out, "Have you caught a fish before?"

"Oh yeah, yeah of course. Plenty of times. On Earth. Or you know, planets where they actually have fish."

"There are no fish here?" His reaction is instant and perfect. 

"Nope, not on Cybertron." 

"Then why, what- what are we even doing here?!"

I laugh out, "Hahaha, yeah that's what I thought when Optimus suggested we go fishing. He said ‘do you know any good places to catch fish?’ And I said ‘oh yeah, there's a great spot just outside Nyon.’ I knew he wouldn't have any idea about fishing."

"Why did you suggest going fishing in a place without fish?"

I can feel my body untensing as the conversation goes on. I'm still holding the broken rod, but with less constriction, so I'm able to sit back a little and rest my back. Prowl continues to sit perfectly upright, interestingly still holding the rod despite knowing now he will never catch a fish.

"Because I wanted to see it piss Optimus off more than he already was. He's so used to being great at everything and not fucking up and getting what he wants that I bet it would frustrate him to sit around talking to me all day with nothing to show for it. Not even a bite."

He smirks, looking genuinely engaged. "And what do you get out of it?"

"I just said. Pissing off Optimus. That and... I suppose I'm... used to it. Failure." I say with summoned apathy, testing the emotional waters, but Prowl is just listening quietly, so I continue. "I've gone fishing loads of times in places with fish and still haven't caught anything, even with the best will in the world. But it's, I dunno, soothing or something. I'm usually awful at sitting still and I hate water but something about fishing just feels... like it's mine.” I swish and tap my feet in the cool, clear liquid. “It's peaceful and atmospheric. It reminds me of simpler times. Lots of simpler… happier times. And it's just kind of nice to fail at something and know you didn't actually do anything wrong, because no matter what you still had the experience of Fishing."

"You fail a lot", he coldly informs me.

"Alright, no need to rub it in, arsehole!"

He's being playful. "Heh. No, I'm trying to say that I don’t fail. I do terrible things on purpose, because I know they need to be done. You aspire to do good things which unintentionally turn terrible.”

"Not always."

Prowl pauses for a second but seems to have naturally known what I was thinking. "You are referring to Nyon?"

I answer with silence. 

"Do you think you made a mistake in destroying Nyon?" His tone is inquisitive.

I swallow. A strong pressure or poison sits in my torso and sprawls when I answer. “Optimus, and even Megatron, told me at the time that I did nothing wrong. I saw a hard decision which had to be made and I made it. Hundreds died and a whole city was lost, but the alternative was worse. I knew that when I made that choice. That's good leadership, they said.”

“Hmm. But what do you think?”

Prowl is looking for something deeper in me that most don't consider. “...I think I'm haunted by all the “right” decisions I've made, just as much as the wrong ones.” Many people see just my brash actions and their abhorrent results. Some also see my bravado-covered guilt and repentance.

But not many have wanted to lift the rock and see what's crawling deeper than that. “Do you regret destroying Nyon?”

Black smoke burns my senses as if all the years haven't yet passed. I look down at my trembling fingers, caked in potassium and ash once again. The flash and crack of explosion after rapturous explosion plays in front of my seared eyes. Recollections of searches I made through the wreckage and debris to find even one responsive, unmangled friend, neighbour, shop assistant, partner, rival, anyone… all efforts give way to failure. “No. I don't regret destroying Nyon. In fact…” Am I going to savour the peace and freedom that might finally come from saying this aloud? “...In fact, my only regret is not blowing that shithole up sooner. I knew that my people were being exploited, slowly drained of their energon to power some disgusting invention. And I let the government consume our lives because I held on to the hope that an incompetent nobody like me could do something to stop it and save them. If my blowing up Nyon was a mercy kill, if it had to be done, then I should have had the real mercy to kill them sooner, rather than let everyone I ever knew stretch out their agonies.”

Prowl is silent. Thoughtful. Quietly delighted. “I'm impressed. That is a wise way to look at it. Surprisingly rational for you.” He turns his head, silhouette illuminated in the final embers of this day. “And admirable.”

My face is feverish, pink, caught between the blazing past, and this kindling future.

I've got to steer the conversation elsewhere. “Today, I told Optimus it was his fault Bumblebee is dead, and then he left. Well, a lot more was said after that. Shouted, after that. It was absolutely a shitty thing for me to say. I don't even believe it. I just wanted to piss him off. To be fair, it worked.”

Prowl calculates his next answer. “Ha, I knew Bumblebee for longer than you. He never had the constitution required for war. The only person whose fault it is that he's dead is his own.” Prowl believes what he is saying absolutely, but there is no real malice. “In one way, I'm glad Bumblebee is dead…” His voice is controlled but passionate, his eyes locked on mine. “...I'd rather it be him than you.”

Prowl knows what he's doing. I can tell this cocky fuckboy is giving me what I want to hear. But tragically, I can't help but smile, because I'm letting his manipulations work.

Putting up one last bit of fight, I try to divert the conversation away from that territory. “Anyway, even if Optimus was right, he doesn't have to be so arrogant about it.”

Prowl doesn't need to be asked twice to start bashing Optimus. “God, so arrogant. And smug. Unbearable.”

“Remember when he went around calling himself ‘Orion’ again?! And he did that while lecturing me about being immature. I'm surprised he didn't scan my alt mode. It's like he was having a midlife crisis.”

“Smug, arrogant prick,” Prowl laughs.

The first actual laugh in the month we've been together. Something about the shimmer in the air, this amber hue, a scent of optimistic youth; it's all fascinating me as it melds together. It's kind of pleasant, attractive actually, to see Prowl so relaxed. He's always so uptight. Right now, he's peaceful… maybe even beautiful. Is this The Power of Fishing?

***

The two moons are above us now, sliding through the indigo depths, speckled in white. I can't say how long we sat by the glimmering lake, but I do know that I haven't felt this undisturbed in a long time. 

Until Prowl stands up. "I have to go now for my next meeting. What will you do?"

“I'll pack up and go. Obviously."

Prowl rolls his eyes. “But where?

“What?” Oh. Oh, I see what he means. I don't go out much these days, but the few times I have this month, I didn't need to worry about unlocking Prowl's door because he was with me. This is the first time I've actually left his place without him being there when I get back. I'd have to go back to my flat. Unless… 

As if he could perceive my thoughts, Prowl opens a panel in his chest, reaches in to detach the small, round object, then presents it to me. "Do you want the key? To get into my flat? Here's my spare.” Pinched between the thumb and index finger of his left hand is a key pass emitter. Prowl tends to use his right hand, so I know he's using his left so the glint of the engagement ring can offer maximum impact.

This key is Prowl admitting that he wants me to go back to his place. And me admitting that I want to go back too. 

“Uhh. Yeah, alright.” I lift a hand to take the key, but Prowl decides he wants to make a show of it. He brings his left hand down to my palm while also cupping my hand steady from underneath with his right. He places the key softly in my hand. He strokes my fingers and thumb to fold them over the key before squeezing my fist with warm sensitivity. His hands float away from mine, but the fingertips linger a touch. It's a mercilessly grand display, and it has the desired effect of making me feel hollowed out and nauseously unsatisfied. Prowl knows how vulnerable I am to physical attention and he knows how to use a strategic advantage. The whole event was very tender. Bastards like us know how to be so tender in the face of what we want most.

“I have to go now.” He smiles concisely, before he transforms and drives off back to Nyon. 

I stare at the key and roll it around in the palm of my hand. It's small enough that I can comfortably attach it on the slot in my chest next to my other key, but so weighty that it reminds me of stones heaving in pockets. In an instant, a desperate thirst invades my mouth, so I debate whether to drown myself in the lake or the pub.

Chapter Text

I make my way to the nearest city from Nyon. I don't remember what it's called, but it has a nightlife and that's good enough for me.

Stumbling around in an emotional daze, trying to dislocate my confused feelings, I'm stuck between wondering what I'm doing here and wondering what I'm doing full stop.

I search for a pub, bar or gutter with an off-license nearby. I just painfully, regrettably need a drink. I need to ruin my life again, rinse it away.

The nearest pub is bustling. I enter and settle down on a vacant bar stool. "I'll have three of the strongest stuff you've got." I get a few strange looks, mostly drunks enjoying a colourful, hot man walk in, while some vaguely wonder what the objects in my hand are. I balance the rods safely by me. I ignore the glares and down the three drinks within 10 seconds of receiving them.

"Another three please." The people either side of me at the bar obviously just want to enjoy their night out and my horrible aura of depression and self-destruction are distracting them. Too bad.

I down the next few drinks and immediately ask for "three more". Just something to dull the thoughts. That's all I need. Some dullness.

"Same again please." The alcohol is taking effect. My body is pleasantly warming up, the noises and voices in this loud bar are all washing together, and my thoughts are slowing down. Right now is blissful. Tomorrow can wait...

I rest my head on the bar and let out a quiet groan. The people to the left of me have got up to sit somewhere else, unable to handle the man stagnating beside them. The people to the right of me look over. "Who's that you carried in with you?" they joke.

I twist my head round to glare at them, then clumsily lift my head and rest it in my hand. "What, you've never heard of an inanimate object before?? Is that glass your boyfriend?? No, it's not! They're fishing rods, obviously!"

"What's a fish?" one of them says. "What's a rod?" says the other.

"They're... It's a... it's... it's none of your fucking business is what it is! Idiots!"

"What is wrong with your wiring, pal." They get up to leave too.

I yell out after them, "What is wrong with everyone? You're all acting like they've never seen wood!"

"That's because they likely haven't", chimes in from a voice behind me. I know that voice. I missed that voice.

"Springer?!"

"Heh hey, small world, huh? How have you been, mate?!" He slaps my arm hard and heartily.

"Springer?!" I'm still just so amazed. "I'm so happy to see you. It's been so long. So, so long."

"It has been. Too long.” He smiles with so much charisma. “I've been with the Wreckers and you've been on your quest, right? How'd that turn out again, by the way?"

"Uhhhhhhh it's not important, man."

"Oh, that bad?"

"Uggghhh." I groan and lay my head on the bar again. The 12 drinks in quick succession are impactful. "I'm both not glad and glad it's over."

"Well, there must have been some good times along the way."

"Yeah. There were. So, so, so many good times, Springer!" I lament. "Uh, anyway, what are you up to?"

"Ah, I'm off now. Was just getting a couple of drinks in with some friends who I won't see for a while. I'm heading off-world for Wreckers business tonight."

I roll my forehead around on the table, still groaning. "Urrgghh that sounds nice. Can I come to space with you and your Wrecker boys?"

"I don't think your Wreckers type, mate."

"Why not? What have I done wrong this time?"

"For one thing, you're slurring your speech 30 minutes before take off."

"Uuugghhhh." I think I spilled my drink because the bar is wet beneath my face. Wait, no, those are tears. Now that I've noticed my eyes are leaking, I can't stop them.

"Hey, what's up? What's going on? You look the roughest I've ever seen you." Unfortunately, Springer is both right and wrong. This might be the roughest he's seen me, but I've not even begun to look my worst. We'll see if I can reach a new low tonight though.

I break into loud sobs. "Ohhh godddd, no one wants me around." I'm crying louder now, arms folded on the bar, head submerged in them.

"You know what, I've got five minutes to spare. Let's talk."

I whine out, "I just, I just wanted to be something, Springer. I grew up in Nyon, Springer. Nyon! Have you seen that shithole?!"

"Yeah, I saw it. That's where we met."

I continue, ignoring him. "It's like, it's like, it's like what if the Dead End was a whole city. It's just junkies and criminals and fucking awful people. The worst of the worst."

"So what? Nyon is gone. You left. And they're rebuilding it and it'll be alright this time."

"No, but you don't get it. Nyon gets in you! It's inside me. It's like my innermost energon is contaminated with filth. With Nyon filth. I'm scum, Springer! I Am Nyon Scum! Right down to the spark! I just wanted to be someone but what I became was a fuck up!"

"But you are something. You're not just a fuck up. You're Rodimus Prime!"

"No, I'm not!" I shout. "It doesn't mean anything. I beat Unicron and Galvatron kinda and went on that stupid quest and all I found was a suicide clinic and then The Matrix wasn't even special. Turns out any old fuckwit can open it. You don't even need to have the special chest slot! Why do I even have the special chest slot?!"

"Pockets? That's what I use my random slots for. I think that's what most people-"

"You're missing the point, Springer! MY special chest slot was for THE Matrix. But The Matrix didn't even matter. So I don't even matter." I resolutely thunk my head on the table.

"Come on, you're being too hard on yourself. You do matter. I- oh damn, times up, I really gotta go now. Can't miss the launch. How about we catch up next time I'm back on Cybertron?" He pats my back.

Sniffling, I ask, "Wh-when's that?"

Springer slowly intakes air and exhales a sharp whistle. "Ohhhh at least a few months."

I want to whine out "But I'm sad nowww!" but to try and save myself a shred of dignity, I just say "Yeah, sounds... good."

Springer notices that it is not good. "Look, mate, you've gotta have someone else you can get with right now, who'll look after you? I've really gotta go but, hey, look after yourself."

And he's gone. And I'm alone again. And I can't help but think about how it didn't have to be this way.

I open my chest, unscrew Prowl's key and mull it all over again. I consider everyone I know. Do I really have someone who'll look after me? Can I actually trust Prowl? I spin the key on the table. It loses momentum so I spin it again. It veers off course and almost falls behind the bar, but I catch it just in time.

I consider it all. The ongoing drunken depression I've been stuck in these recent years, the strange circumstances that led to a relationship with Prowl, and now this. This key. This shining next step. This... commitment. I could go home now. I mean, go to Prowl's now! I didn't mean to think "home". I didn't.

I ultimately decide to sink more into my sunk cost, and order another drink, or ten.

***

Springer is here. Springer, back when we were good friends. Arcee too, from when we would hang out and joke. And Ultra Magnus, the stoic, reliable original. So is Optimus, when he still had hope for me. Drift is here too, eyes glinting with unwavering faith and adoration. Minimus, with his dedication, loyalty and trust. Ratchet with his sage advice. Megatron, with his strange willingness to see goodness in me. And everyone from the Lost Light, who followed me into familial oblivion. Everyone else too. Everyone I've ever cared about; they're all here with me. Is this a party? It feels like a party. It feels like a party that's been thrown just for me. There's so much joy here. I feel truly happy for the first time in a long time. I feel a presence to my right. A hand slips in mine. It's Prowl. Prowl is here too. And somehow, we are all together, and finally all so happy. It's what we deserve.

It's perfect.

It's too perfect to be real. This is a dream. But I'll live here a bit longer. I dream of my friends, perfectly preserved at the times they loved me most. I dream of my place in the universe, meaningful and achieved. I dream of Prowl.

***

I think of Prowl. Consciousness abducts me from my moment of peace.

I loosen and clench my hands, grateful to find the fishing rods are still safe and with me. Even while shut down, I couldn't let them go.

Looking ahead, all I see is blackness, blotted with white. The night sky above me, framed by wreckage. I lean forward and rub my head. Where did I end up?

Shattered statues, once bathed in religious illumination, are now naked beneath the cold universe. It appears I drove to Nyon, specifically the ancient Temple of the Knights of Cybertron which I once called home. This place was already not pristine when I lived here, but after the explosions, my once perfect memory for this area has been disturbed. I must have crashed into some debris, lost control and knocked myself out.

This fact is even more clear when I try to stand but collapse in excruciating pain, clutching my right leg. A coupling in my knee has snapped. As well as this, the damage to the rest of my plating is extensive, and scraps of red and yellow are sprinkled around the area. No transforming for me. No driving. No running. Not even walking. Just limping.

Slowly, I once again rise to my feet. Even with the numbing alcohol, trying to walk with so much severe damage is nauseating and hellish. I wince and gasp with every step. The warning signs are intrusive. I should not stand up, but I came here for a reason.

The Knights of Cybertron, once stood tall in glory, illustrious and magnificent, are now crushed beneath my handiwork. The room is eerily quiet and my scraping footsteps echo and ghost around in observation. I gaze at the lumps of stone and metal, identifying the important faces, hands, icons I used to stare at in wonder of their courage in seeing the unknown and the necessary, and striving to do what's right. I wanted to become one of them.

I slip on something, tripping, twisting my leg further on impact with the ground. I look at what tripped me up and it was my spoiler, bent and dull. Huh, that explains the strange lightness and throbbing sensation in my back.

I wanted to become a Knight of Cybertron. I got what I wanted. I also lie crumbled in this bombsite. They failed their quest, and I followed their footsteps diligently. We found Cyberutopia. It was never out there in the magnitude of space. It was right here, on the dirty floor of some decaying ruins. I've returned to where I belong.

Hands pushed in front of me, I try to get on my feet again, gritting my teeth and bearing the pain. I just want to get to the final room of the temple. I want to see the Matrix altar and its radiant murals one more time. Just once more! My drunken stubbornness is my downfall. My mangled leg buckles. I fall to the floor, and the floor falls with me.

***

The gentle rustle of summer air tickling leaves. The harmonic hum and sing-song of dragonflies and birds. The bucolic smell of grass and water and mud, damp and foreign to Cybertronian senses. The plop of a bop landing in the lake. The movement of my pillow beneath me?

My pillow… is a leg. I switch my eyes back on. I look up, and it's Prowl. He notices me looking and smiles down at me.

"I don't particularly understand fishing", he puzzles.

That makes me smile and my mood brightens a shade. "Yeah, me neither. I think that's why I've always liked it so much. You don't need to understand it. You just put your line in the water, you sit, and you wait."

The answer to the puzzle still escapes him. "But what about if you want to catch a fish?"

"Why? Do you want to catch a fish?"

He scrunches his face as he scoffs out, "Have you caught a fish before?"

"Oh yeah, yeah of course. Plenty of times. On Earth. Or you know, planets where they actually have fish."

"We are on Earth."

We are on Earth? "Oh. I... forgot. For a second, I thought we were still on Cybertron."

He brings his right hand to my cheek and caresses it. His eyes glow and overflow with love, and my spark sizzles. He moves his hand to my shoulder and rests it there comfortingly. It dawns on me:

This idyllic moment is something I want to be real.

"Idiot."

"What?"

"Forgetting we're on Earth." He laughs out. "Idiot."

I sigh with contentment before shutting off my eyes and succumbing to tranquility again. "Yeeeaah, I am an idiot."

***

"Idiot! Wake up!" Prowl shouts as he shakes my shoulders. "What the hell are you doing out here? Are you drunk?"

"Ohhh, wifey! I was just talking to you! I miss Earth..."

"Did you fall down that hole? Were you actually speeding around drunk in these unstable ruins?!"

"I just wanted to see my old place again. Awwww why? Were you worried about me? Mwah! Mwah!" I wrap my arms around him and kiss his face teasingly.

"Get off of me, you mess. How much did you drink?"

"How did you find me, wifey?"

"The key I gave you also has a tracker on it, in case I ever lose my keys."

I drawl out, "You would never lose your keys!"

"Well, I obviously did lose them because I gave them to you." He retorts. "When I gave you my key, it was because I thought you would go home, but you weren't there. And then you wouldn't reply to any comms because you were passed out!"

"Are you suuuuure you're not stalking me?"

"Better that than you seizing up out here in these decrepit ruins. This way I can take you home and get you warm and asleep in an actual bed.”

"...Hmm home. I'd like a home."

He picks me up. "WAIT NO, DON'T FORGET THE FISHING RODS!!!"

"They're still in your hands! And so is your spoiler, for God's sake."

Prowl carries me out of the temple wreckage and into the street. He turns into his alt mode and rests me on his roof. "You have a home. I know you’re black-out drunk but please try to hold on or I will have to drag you."

"Nah, I don't have a home. Not anymore. I keep getting them all blown up or taken away from me. That second one's your fault, by the way!"

"Well, don't blow up my flat."

"Your flat is my home?"

"If you want it to be."

"Hmmm, I would like a home."

We drive in silence for a few minutes, the rumble of Prowl's engine below me is soothing. The stars swirl and rush past overhead, making my vision blur.

"You know, it's really sweet of you to put a tracker on your keys so you could find me when I'm in trouble. Not many guys would do that."

He's got nothing to say to that, so we drive a little longer in silence. I suppose he's contemplating and not in the mood for talk.

As we exit Nyon, I take a moment to sit up and look back over my devastated homeland. Shifting my weight was a mistake. I fall off of Prowl's hood, getting flung around in the wasteland, tossed over and covered in even more dents and scrapes now.

I am engulfed completely by anger and misery. "Uugghh, ohhh Goddd, why am I like this?!" I whine out in frustration.

Prowl transforms back and walks over to me. As I'm sobbing, he reaches his arms down behind my knees and back to lift me. He puts the rods and spoiler in my lap and folds my arms over them. I clutch them and rest my head against his left shoulder. He sighs out, "It's because you can't handle good things happening to you."

"...what?"

"You know what I mean, even in your state. Don't act stupid."

I do know what he means. At Drift and Ratchet's wedding, at Rewind's art exhibition, and even today at the lake. These days, I push against good things happening. As weird as it is to say, I think Prowl and I getting together is a good thing and I couldn't handle that, so I had to destroy it for a bit. I could have just taken my key and gone home! But that's not who I am right now.

"Yes, you could have."

"What?"

"You could have just taken your key and gone home."

"I said that out loud?"

"What? Yes, you fool! Of course! Do you not feel your own lips moving?!"

"Not right now I don't..."

He continues walking. We've gone quite a way now, about half way between Nyon and the lake. My spoiler slips from my grip and clanks on impact with the ground. Prowl reaches down to pick it back up.

"No, leave it. It’s fine."

"You want to leave your spoiler out here?"

"Yeah. It's returned to where it belongs. Let's bury it in the wastes of Nyon."

I clamber out of his arms and fall face first to the ground. "Be careful. You alright?"

"Yeeeaaaah." I give a thumbs up, wiping debris from my face. Drunkenly, I scrape my fingers through the top layers of dust to reach the metallic ground below. I change my left appendage from hand to rotary blade and hack up pieces of ground. I can sense the concern from Prowl that I might drunkenly cut off more than just my spoiler in the process. Once I'm satisfied the hole is big enough, I take my spoiler, still sat on my knees in prayer, and hold it aloft in front of me. Through the dusty film, patches of yellow glint in the moonlight like a second sun. "I'm gonna miss you, old friend. Been through a lot together, haven't we? But it's time we parted! Time to grow up and leave you behind." I lay the spoiler on its deathbed, and start to smother it with metal. I superheat the chunks with the flames from my arm exhausts pipes. The metal turns white-hot as it melts and congeals and pools. The surface flattens out and transitions from white to orange to dull silver, reflecting the blue sky above.

"You're going to regret that in the morning", says Prowl.

"No." I smile sadly. "No, I don't think I will." My tears sizzle as they saturate the ground. Here on the outskirts of Nyon's murmuring heart, I leave a nostalgic piece of myself behind in the hope that it seeds into something better. My shoulders feel lighter, liberated, and ready to welcome the sunrise.

I grin up at Prowl. "So, uh, my legs still dont work properly."

Prowl sighs and offers his arms to me.

"Thanks... Prowl." I hug the fishing rods and pass out as Prowl carries me safely home.

***

The next morning, I sit up in bed with a banging headache. My back feels lighter, suddenly remembering what I left behind as a gift for Nyon, and feeling no remorse.

I leave the bedroom and limp to the kitchen to make coffee. Sat on the kitchen table are two fishing rods, side by side. One, worn but unbroken, as it always was. The other, mended. Sleek metal plates have been wrapped around and bolted to the area of breakage. It's a sturdy fix. The work is precise and perfectly symmetrical. I lift the rod and test its give. Yeah, just as I thought. Unbreakable.

Chapter Text

“Well? What do you think?”

“What do I think?”

“My new look, obviously. God, what is it you say? You can analyse the trajectory of a thousand different objects and detect any lie but apparently you don't notice a change in my paint job? Are you colour blind? Is that why you're black and white? Do you even know what colour your head spikes are?!”

*

After Nyon, my body was a wreck. I didn't want him to, but Prowl asked Ratchet to come round the next day to fix my broken leg. Drift came with him. Turns out I'd also twisted a wrist and snapped the hinges on some fingers, but I hadn't even noticed that on the night. Also dislocated a shoulder, shattered some plating, twisted some cables… look, basically, it was a bad crash and a bad fall.

I got a lot of rest that day. The three of us spent some time together while Prowl was at work. In all honesty though, I asked them to leave early so I could sleep. My body and mind was so exhausted. I slept on the sofa because I didn't want to take Prowl’s bed, but the next day I woke up in the bed anyway.

I really wanted to do nothing after that. Just stay in that depressive pit I'd made for myself. And I did for a couple of days, but it wasn't as comfortable as it used to be. In the ebb and flow that my life takes, it felt like I was due a flow, so I took action. I booked a metal specialist to come and look at the rest of the damage to my body. Ratchet dealt with medical breakages, but cosmetic problems are "not my problem, you braindead-" and then Drift covered his mouth before he could finish.

The metal specialist pulled out dents, smoothed out scrapes, and remade and welded missing plates. He noticed the severed surface on my back and asked, "What do you want me to do about that?"

"Just buff it out. I'm not getting a new spoiler.'

And finally, the next day, Drift came over with the paints.

“Are you really not getting a new spoiler?” Drift questions, eyes focused on his craft, hands maneuvering smoothly with the air paint gun.

“No. I'm trying something out.”

“But it balanced out your body's shape so well. So harmonious and-”

“It's a symbolic burial, Drift! I left it in the wastes of Nyon so it might seed into something better!”

“Wouldn't be the first time you've tried out a new look for the sake of symbolism”, he says, voice thorny.

“Is this about the blue and purple again?! I thought we were past that.”

“I spent four hours straight making your paint job perfect!” Drift shrieks in frustration. “Those paints were specially imported too, Rod! If it was your usual red then that's fine because I have tons of that for me and Ratty, but that blue and purple had to be-”

“-Had to be specially imported, cost an arm and a leg, yeah, yeah, blah blah blah, I got it!”

“And it was long-wearing. I gave you the good stuff. I thought you meant what you were saying about converting to Spectralism. But then you burned through that paint in a week. That paint could have lasted you years if you'd just stayed away from harsh conditions, like a literal engine.”

He's gotten a lot more courageous in talking back to me since he married Ratchet. I can't work out if I like or resent this new Drift.

“Drift.” I exhale, rubbing exasperation out of my forehead. “How many times do I have to apologise? But also, you only have yourself to blame! You call paint that isn't fire resistant "long-wearing"?! You got me, me - OW!" I yelp in pain when I point a prod at my chest with my thumb. My entire body rings and thuds.

“Are you okay? Do you need me to call Ratchet?" His expression and voice are so concerned again. It's nice, but agonising, because once again, I caused this.

"No, it's alright. It'll just be all the new parts settling in. The pain'll go away in a day or so."

"Yeah, new metal aches are the worst. Applying heat can help."

"Yeah... but then I'd ruin the new paint job, wouldn't I?" We pause, and then break into laughter. I'm always so grateful that I've put our friendship through so much, but we're still inseparable.

Still giggling, Drift says, “Shut up, you idiot. And stop moving, I still have more of your pink paint to apply.” Yeah, I do like the new Drift. Settling down was good for him. Good for us both.

*

“No point asking you about this stuff, is there? You've looked the same your entire life!”

“How I look is unimportant.” Prowl states with disinterest.

“Is how I look unimportant?” He glances over and looks me up and down. I'm back in immaculate condition, rocking the red, yellow and classic hot pink, not a drop of paint out of place, spoilerless. I honestly feel so re-energised. Good things are gonna come out of this. Prowl has no comment.

“Are you ready for this evening?”

“Yeeeaaah…” I drag out. “What's it for again?”

“I've told you three times now. I'm not telling you again.”

Tonight is an event. Uh, I think it's… political? Something to do with Windblade, the elected uh, King? Minister? President? Let's go with “captain”. Captain of Cybertron. And, ugh, Starscream, Windblade's partner. How he ever found someone who would voluntarily spend time with him is insane. They're hosting a thing. It's a thing. It's at their place. The big castle. I don't know! Whatever it is, it's big and posh and ugh, I don't want to be there. But once again, neither does Prowl. Once again, at least we'll have each other.

*

We arrive at the castle and damn this place is fancy. Where's my castle? I want a fancy castle. Or at the very least, I know I don't want Starscream to have one. Speaking of which, here he is now. He and Windblade are stood at the door, welcoming guests as they arrive.

“Prowl and Rodimus! It's nice of you to join us.” Windblade says with a beaming smile, taking it in turn to tightly clamp each of our hands between both hers. This is the first time I've actually had the pleasure of meeting her. She has this vibrance and intensity which is too much for me to be around. “We hope you enjoy the evening.”

“Oh Prowl, good to have you, as always. Might need another heinous war crime committed.” Starscream taunts. “And Rod, I almost didn't recognise you. You know Prowl, everyone has a plus one but I could have given you a plus two if you needed to bring rods massive spoiler and ego with him. He seems to have left both at home.” He grins callously while staring directly into my eyes. I absolutely expected nothing less than this dickish welcome from Starscream. Fucking Starscream.

Of course he's not done. “And you're trying a new paint job, or should I say ‘old’ paint job, Hot Rod? I suppose it looks nice, but that pink doesn't half clash with Prowl. Are you sure you two should be standing next to each other?”

Windblade jumps in, apologetically. “Don't take it personally. He has been doing this to everyone.”

“Everyone?” we ask.

“Every. One.” she answers, embarrassed, through gritted teeth.

“You've really been giving this treatment to everyone at the door?” Prowl asked, baffled.

“And the people still go in?” I add.

Prowl and I smirk at each other before walking in, without regard for Starscream's reaction. We came here united, and we'll stay here united. In this strange and brief period that Prowl and I have been together, we've already faced worse than Starscream. We are worse than Starscream.

When we get into the venue, it's not quite what I expected. The room is quite tightly packed, not just because of the large turn out but also because of the smaller than expected space. I suppose this castle is deceptively small, or maybe the space isn't used how I expected. And the guest list is interesting. People from all alliances, classes and backgrounds are here. The whole of Cybertron might as well have been invited. It's not what I expected, but I suppose that's Windblade's touch. I know so little about her, but this event pleasantly voices a lot about her.

“Regrettably, I need to network. Will you be alright?” Prowl asks plainly.

“Yeah. Of course.” Prowl turns to leave and I watch him go as he finds someone to liaise with. He's like a different person in work mode. He’s of course highly professional and stern, but he wears an air of approachability. He's mimicking how he knows other people behave, and it's a good imitation, but I can see the glassy sheen in his eyes. He doesn't give a shit about any of these people. Unlike me.

A sudden pressure. A sickness in the back of my throat and pit of my gut. I put the back of my hand on my forehead and cheeks. I'm overheating. I slowly step backwards and feel the comforting touch of the solid bar behind. Something hard in my hands. I sit on a bar stool and inhale, fast and deep. I need to cool down. How long will the discomfort last? What's happening to me?

“Hi, nice to finally meet you properly, Rodimus.”

“Oh, heya Windblade”, I squeak out. “How's it going?”

“Great, thank you. Want to get a drink together?”

“Oh sorry, I uh, I don't drink. Anymore.” I unsquint my eyes and stare down at my legs, almost disorientated by the hot pink.

“Is non-alcoholic good for you?” She's still so upbeat, but I can hear concern.

“Oh yeah, yeah, alright then.” It feels as if my new coat of paint could peel off. A cold drink in my flushed body might help.

She sits down on the bar stool to my right.

“Sorry for Starscream's behaviour at the door. He can be a real arsehole, but his heart’s in the right place... most of the time. More often than it used to be.” She considers her words then lifts a hand and rocks it. “He's working on it.”

I say nothing to that. I don't give a shit about Starscream right now. All I care about is bearing this infinite pain which still hasn't lessened.

“I heard you and Prowl are engaged. Congratulations. That's why you're his plus one, right?”

“Yes.” I'm not good at talking to her type. She's so upbeat and exceptional and perfectly lovely.

“How did that happen?”

“Sorry?”

“It's an interesting combination, you and Prowl. I don't know much about it but I hear you two used to always be at each other's throats.” Is this bait?

I'll take the bait. “Funny. I heard the same about you and Starscream.”

“Haha, yeah, we're all terrible aren't we.” she laughs out, then sighs sweetly. “Relationships are such foolish things to get into, but we can't help it. Some of us can't, at least. Is it fear? Is it loneliness? Is it joy, lust, compassion? All of the above? Something else?” She pauses and I look over to her. She quickly drinks half her drink in one go, then rests it on the table, swirling the glass and its contents playfully. She rests her chin on one hand. “There's a magnetic field every spark lives on, but some are more pulled together than others. What is it that keeps drawing us together? Making us love? ”

Her intensity is disarming. She's so open with her feelings that I can't help but feel a bit more relaxed. My shoulders descend and my head rises. She's already most of the way through her drink while I'm only just tasting mine. “I really admire how you proposed to Prowl in front of everyone. It encouraged me to be more open about my own feelings.”

She is intense, but also insightful. “What drew you and Starscream together?”

“Hmmm. In a word?” She smiles as she considers her answer. “…Understanding. How about you and Prowl?"

Me and Prowl? Drawn together? That's not how anyone would ever phrase it, but I can't deny something happened that night at Drift and Ratchet's wedding. Perhaps it was a magnetic pull that drew us to each other. The right time and place. But it felt so motivated by loneliness. A need to hurt someone and to be hurt. Windblade smiles kindly as she can see I'm troubled and unsure.

As if summoned by the conversation, Prowl joins us. “Hey Prowl. Don't worry, non-alcoholic.” I say, pointing to my glass.

“I wasn't worried.” He smiles. I believe him. “Windblade.”

“Prowl. Nice to see you again.” They regard each other amicably, as colleagues. “I'll leave you two to it. I have lots of people to talk to. Let me know if you need anything.” She stumbles a bit as she gets off the chair. I know that stumble too well. Either she's just really clumsy, or…?

Hold that thought! Something important is in front of me. "Oh my god, Prowl, do you see who that is over there?! Look! There! Thundercracker! I think... I think he's wearing a suit! Kind of looks amazing. We should go and talk to him."

"Why do you want to talk to that idiot?"

"Cuz he'll tell us about his next movie. Obviously."

Prowl sighs, but it's too late. We're already on our way.

“Thundercracker?”

“Oh, hello. Hey aren't you that guy who used to be a Prime? Oh, and you're that cop I used to fight. Woah, nice to meet you both.”

“Yeeeaah, but you can call me Rod. Hey, nice suit man. Where did you even get that tailored?" I elbow Prowl.

With little emotion, as if AI constructed from a textbook, he states, “Yes, very nice. The large amount of taupe offers an air of sophistication while the blue really suits your personality, and the burgundy detailing used for the needlework brings out the colour in your eyes."

Thundercracker is stunned. "You are... the first people... to compliment my suit! You're the first people to even know the word 'suit'!" He grabs us both by the arms, with desperation in his eyes, and breathlessly says "thank you!". This guy is also intense. Is it a plane thing? Or I suppose it could be a director thing. Speaking of...

"Hey so, how goes the film mak-"

But I'm cut off by Prowl, who is confident what he has to say is more pressing. "Why did you move to Earth? How can you stand to be around all those humans?”

Unphased, Thundercracker says, "I'm sorry?"

"You know they drive around in us. And in machines they make that look like us?

I cut in, "To be fair, we copied them-"

"How do you not just feel constantly reduced to function when you're there?" He sounds sickened, but also curious about how a Cybertronian could find contentment living on Earth.

Thundercracker is silent, considering for a moment, before he grins. "I'm so glad you asked me that. I'm actually exploring concepts like that in my next film. It's going to be a philosophical body horror that makes you think about society. It's basically about how we're all part of one organism when we live inside out big city titan men, you know like Metroplex and stuff." Prowl and I side-eye each other. Neither of us were prepared for this.

"Cuz obviously, during the war on Earth, we turned ourselves into vehicles with compartments designed for human-sized creatures to sit in. But when you think about it, we always did that. Because we had Metroplex and Trypticon and Terratronus who are these huge guys with hundreds or thousands of us little guys living and working in them. And on a smaller scale-”

“Sorry to interrupt,” I interrupt, “this all sounds fascinating, but is there still gonna be cool fight scenes and stunts and explosions?”

“Oh god yeah, of course! I won't spoil the details, and you didn't hear this from me-" he leans in to whisper, shielding his mouth with one hand, “-but my VFX team is working on a revolutionary animation technique to make fire and metal look even better. It's so good you'll be able to feel your own skin bending and melting!"

“Oh, thank god, yes! Okay, you were saying…”

“Oh yeah, so uhhh, yeah and on a smaller scale, you've got people like uh, was his name Jetfire or Skyfire, uh, that guy, Starscream's ex, and he turned into a big plane that could carry other guys. And then you've got people like Megatron, who turned tiny to be a gun. That's just the tip of the iceberg. Point is, cybertronian society, even more than human society, is just about people 'using' other people. What matters is consent, but what if-"

"Yes, what matters is 'consent'!" Prowl interjects, quietly raging. "Have you actually spoken to any of the survivors of this or do you just make it up as you go along, as usual?"

Thundercracker is offended. "Hey, I'm a thoughtful writer. I think about stuff all day. Did you just hear all the stuff I said? And yeah, of course I spoke to people. I've interviewed other cybertronians who've stayed on Earth so they could live with their human friends and partners and I've been speaking to Metroplex through Windblade about his opinions of this. Starscream's ex too. He wasn't too happy about it but he wasn't going to turn his bro down. I put out a call for anyone with personal experience to get in touch with me for an interview." With deliberate dignity, he puts his hand on his chest. “I am a sensitive and thoughtful auteur.”

"Did you speak to any victims of FLMT?”

Oh no.

“Sorry, could you remind me what that is?”

“Forced Lobotomy of Movement and Transformation.”

“Oh yeah. Well, I tried but, the pool of victims is small and it's hard to get in touch, especially when I don't know much about that situation, only what I research. So I have no first hand knowledge of anyone who was a victim. I’m relying on people to get in touch for that. Most people don't understand movies so why would they want to talk about that for no good reason. That's how people feel.”

“So you're missing that perspective?” Prowl says.

“Yes. Why? Do you know anyone who would be willing to be interviewed about this?" Thundercracker is excited at the chance to enhance his art.

"No”, Prowl says flatly. “I know no one”, before finally adding, "sorry."

"...Hey, don't worry about it! Sorry the conversation got heated back there." Thundercracker is briefly dour before being reinspired. "I just love thinking about talking about this stuff and creating my art but no one ever asks about it. Windblade does to be nice. But my brother calls them ‘shitty wastes of bits and metal’. He then says ‘if I could, I would delete all the files and then take all the hard copies, melt them down, and kick the resulting football out into space’. Sometimes I wonder if anyone actually watches my films and why I even bother if it's just for myself..."

I blurt out, "We've seen all your movies! We love them! That's why we came over to talk to you!” Prowl elbows me to shut up, but Thundercracker's eyes are already increasing in brightness and hue and his jaw has dropped. But before more can be said, a bell clangs and everyone is asked to be seated.

*

“Is Windblade not joining us?” we ask.

“She's busy. Why? Am I not enough for you both?” Starscream smuggly replies.

Despite there being eight chairs at this table, only our three are occupied. The other guests planned for these seats must have realised talking to Starscream always ends badly. It's a well known fact, of course.

Starscream pours energon wine for himself before moving the bottle above my glass. I cover it with my hand. “None for me.”

“Oh? Are you not having a drink, Rod?”

“No.”

“Ha, that's cute! I heard you were quite the heavyweight when it came to drinking. You really say you've quit? Well, Best. Of. Luck.” Condescending dickhead.

He moves the bottle to Prowl's glass. “None for me either.”

“Really?! My god, what's with the sullen attitude? This is supposed to be a party. How'd I get stuck with you two dull bitches?”

Starscream raises his glass in the air and sarcastically cries, “Cheers.” Prowl and I leave our glasses on the table, suppressing the urge to smash them in his face.

“Soooo, how are things with you, Rod? Last we met, it was at Megatron's trial. What a fiasco that was! None of us three came out of that happy, but it must have been hardest for you, having Megatron on your special quest with you? Must have been hell. And you being demoted by Optimus for being so shit. How embarrassing.” He punctuates his insults with sips of wine.

“Actually, it was nothing like hell. I feel more sorry for you, Starscream. All the things that happened to you while I was-”

“I was in that room,” Starscream interrupts, wrestling control. “I saw how Optimus spoke to you because you broke the Matrix.”

“I broke the Matrix saving half of Cybertron's life,” I shout, full of conviction. “Including the people sitting at this table!”

“And we're all really proud of you, darling!” Starscream smiles like an insipid bitch. “If I was on that side of the table I'd give you a nice pat on the head. Prowl? Would you give him a pat on the head for me for saving my life please?”

I grit and grind my teeth.

He chuckles, sips, and continues. “And the fact that Optimus then gave the ship, your ship, and your captain title to Megatron of all people. Megatron! The guy who started The War we spent millions of years fighting. And, hahaha-” Starscream pauses to catch his breath from laughing. “And Optimus thought you were less trustworthy than that.”

I hate him.

“I heard that your little Matrix destroying stunt also destroyed the map. I'm amazed you even found Cyberutopia in the end, if you can call it that. Maybe you and your crew would have been better off using the facilities of that so-called ‘Cyberutopia’, if you catch my drift.”

I hate him so much.

“How do you cope with so much failure, Rod?”

“How do you do it, Starscream?”

“Ha! I channel it into success. I know I've failed. But here I am now: finally King.”

“Co-king”, I correct.

“Ex-King”, Prowl adds.

Starscream squints over the rim of his glass, reconsidering his approach while he places it back on the table.

“Do you keep in touch with your crew much?”

“Yes. Some of them more than others.” He's going to try and target that lonely part of me now.

“Well? Go on then. Who from that manifest of no-names do you still keep in touch with? I'm trying to even remember anyone who was there.” He puts a finger to his lips to aid the performance. “Oh, there was the doctor?”

“Which one?” I ask. “First Aid? Velocity? Oh, Megatron's a doc-”

“I don't know who any of these people are”, he interrupts.

“You know who Megatron is-”

“I mean Ratchet! Obviously! Didn't he get married recently, to Deadlock?” He's still targeting me with great accuracy.

“His name is Drift. And yeah, the wedding was-”

‘Must be hard, seeing everyone move on and leave you behind, as they all drift away. What does that leave you with? No Matrix. No ship. No quest. No friends. No future. No self control.” With feigned, bitchy concern, Starscream asks, “how are you feeling, Rod?”

I don't want to be here. It's not that I can't cope with what he's saying. It's nothing new to me. I just don't want to hear it. I can't be arsed with it. I'm so tired of it. And that pain from earlier has returned. Why have I bothered to pretend for the past few days that I don't know what these pains are? I've tried before and I'm trying again, but it always ends the same: failure.

“I'll be back in a minute.” Maintaining composure, I calmly leave the table, even pushing in my chair. Once I'm a good twenty steps away, I let my mind give in to the tunnel vision and I stagger back over to the bar.

“Engex now! Please! Fast!” I plead to the bartender who promptly fulfills my request. He deserves a tip. I hold the glass in my hand. For a moment, just a moment, I reconsider what I'm about to do. But the moments always end this way. Giving up all control.

It's in my hand, on my lips, through my mouth, sliding down my throat. The liquid licks my insides and tells me, “I'm going to hurt you. I dare you to feel something.” The liquid hisses and burns, as though it's absorbed all the heat from my body. I'm cooling down.

“Another! Now! Uh, please.” I get part way through downing it when a hand touches my arm.

“Don't”, says Prowl. I ignore the hand and keep downing.

“Don't!” More insistent this time.

I swallow a few more large gulps before returning to my senses. I groan out, “Why not? Give me one reason. One good one.”

He doesn't need to give me a reason. His eyes say it all. I am my own reason. Prowl didn't even ask me to stop after Nyon. I told him. I told myself. “I'm going to stop drinking. I can't do this anymore.” And Prowl let me stop. He let me try to change.

I slam the glass down like a petulant twat. Liquid bounces out and splatters in many directions. “Why the fuck are we sat at his table?”

Prowl's hand is still reassuringly on my arm, until he slides it down into my hand, linking our fingers together. Why is he showing me this kind of affection? “Starscream is unimportant. You don't need to let him make you feel like this.” He's right.

We head back to the table, where Starscream and Windblade are whispering. She's obviously irritated, and he is acting innocent, clutching his chest in a “What did I do?!” motion. She shakes her head and calmly leaves, attending to her other guests.

We sit in our chairs, surprised to find Starscream's attitude is slightly muted. “So, when's the big day?” he says.

“What?” I ask.

He submerges his head in one of his hands and leaves it there a few seconds. “Your wedding! Of course!” He spits out wearily.

Prowl takes my hand again and we hold them on the table. "We're thinking 75 days from now. The wedding will be on a twin moon night. In Spectralism, it symbolises the union of two souls bonded in-”

“Wait. Spectralism?” Starscream mutters to himself, appearing suddenly more active. “Don't tell me Deadlock is planning your wedding?”

“His name’s Drift”, I correct. Again.

“Yes, whatever!” He rolls his eyes and shakes his hand like there was dirt stuck on it. “Huh. that's just so surprising.”

“What is?” I ask.

“Deadlock- I mean Drift- planning your wedding, Rod.”

“Why would that be surprising? We're best friends. I was best man at his wedding. We've known each other forever.”

“And he's known you for even longer than that.” He says with a coy smile, running his tongue along his teeth.

“What’s that mean?” I feel Prowl’s hand unravel and withdraw from mine.

“I just mean that I thought for sure it would be the two of you who ended up together honestly. Back during the war, Deadlock was always ‘Hot Rod this’ and ‘Hot Rod that’. And then when you got the Matrix, that only made things worse. I thought he had it bad for you when you were little and innocent but you should have seen him when you got all tall and strong and leadery. “

“Drift… said those things about me that far back?” I don't know if what Starscream is saying is true, but I would believe it.

“You didn't know?”

“No… I didn't.” I clench my fists, suppressing the pain and desire to give up control.

“Mmm, well, there you go.” He sips from his glass in some kind of triumph. I almost want to grab his glass and drink it myself. I notice in the corner of my eye that Prowl is glancing over at me with chilling focus.

“I suppose it didn't turn out in your favour though, did it, Rod? Deadlock got away to be with that doctor, and now you’re with…” Starscream raises his brow and nods dismissively at Prowl. His smile is insulting.

Prowl appears reasonably calm, but I sense something is off.

“Do you two still see each other much?”

“What?” I murmur, distracted.

“You and Drift? I mean, you must, since you were his best man, and he's planning your wedding. It takes a lot of time to plan a wedding. You must get to spend a lot of time together. A lot of quality time. Alone. Right?”

Is he implying what I think he's implying? That would mean for this round, I'm not Starscream's target.

“Infidelity isn't exactly the best foundation for a relationship. You know all about that, don't you, Prowl?”

Ha, so that's his game? Well, Prowl isn't stupid or impulsive enough to fall for that. I look over at him and. Oh no. He's not looking at me or Starscream, but into space, face still and expressionless, but eyes jittering with the false revelations playing behind them. There's enough truth in those lies that it all must make so much sense to him. After all, who would believe Rod and Prowl would actually want to be in a relationship? It must be a hoax. It could only be some elaborate joke. Worse still, Rod is actually cheating on me, as if there was any relationship to cheat on. That's what Prowl is thinking right now.

The tension is escaping Prowl's mind through his hands, as he clenches them so tightly on the edge of the table, we can hear the metal scrape and creak.

“Be careful with the table, Prowl. We all know about your habit.” Starscream teases.

I put my hand on Prowl's arm but his neck twists slowly, as if he doesn't want to look, and his eyes glare at me with suspicion and rage. With… disgust. For once, I'm not in the wrong, but it always hurts to be looked at like that. Prowl grabs my hand and slams it on the table. He gets to his feet and looks down at me, his face overflowing with a stormy mix of anger, regret, and acceptance. “Prowl, I-” but I don't get to say any more before he rushes from the table. I turn to watch him leave.

I hear a chuckle from behind me, which quickly builds into all out guffawing. Tonight wasn't supposed to be like this. “God, you're such a bastard! What the fuck is wrong with you?! Windblade was right to call you an arsehole. Fuck’s sake.”

I follow Prowl to the bar. He looks like he's ordering.

I finally reach him. “Here's a drink.” He holds it out to me while looking forward. Refusing eye contact. Withholding all contact.

“What? No.”

“Non-alcoholic.”

“I can smell it from here!”

“Earlier you were complaining about not drinking.”

“I changed my mind. You helped me change my mind.”

“And I can help you change it back.” He says it so matter of fact. His face is stern and his eyes are forceful, exerting control. He holds the drink up to me. I need that drink. Something about Prowl's fingers strangling that glass is so inviting. I want that drink. I feel so small. Prowl wants me to have that drink. My face is inflamed. I'm obsessed with that drink. I'm insignificant. This evening has been horrible. I deserve that drink.

With an unsteady hand, I reach out to take the glass from him. We're both shamefully pleased by our choices. I take the glass, shakily sit next to Prowl, and stare into the hypnotic pink fluid. “Drink it, and then we can get out of here.” Cold moisture beads on the glass and my fingertips. Drink it. My mouth is dry. And we can get out of here. Bubbles rise and crackle and burst at the surface. Things would be easier if I drank it. I'm shivering. I close my eyes and swallow. I take the glass, convulsing in my hands, still full, untouched… and I push it away.

We stare at it, in a trance. In disbelief.

We pause. We exhale. We think.

I think about what I can do to make this right. What can I do? How can I make Prowl understand Starscream is wrong? I know how he thinks. What is the right thing to say? I'm running through all the options, fully aware that Prowl will analyse every word for signs of truth and infidelity. I need to tread carefully.

Or maybe, for once in my life, the best thing to do is to take the advice people have given me for decades. Maybe it's finally time to shut up… and listen.

Our silence nestles undisturbed in this loud, bustling room. I catch snippets of the party-goers surrounding us: laughter, disappointments, loves, successes, hopes. All the while, listening to Prowl's body hum with processing all that unfamiliar and familiar emotion.

My patience is unusual. I can't help but think about why I'm even doing this. For Prowl of all people. How can we have actually been through so much in such a short amount of time. I stay by him. He needs to know I'm not going to leave.

The minutes pass. The bubbles flatten from the drink. The sky out the windows darkens. The guests thin down.

Eventually, Prowl speaks. "Are you and Drift…?"

"No. God, no."

"Were you?"

"...No.” I answer with lukewarm nostalgia. “I think we wanted to but, uh, things didn't... things went wrong. Me mostly." He's diligently listening, so I continue. "Maybe we just wanted it at different times. I kind of thought he would be around forever. I just really didn't think enough about what I had until it was gone." I smile quietly to myself, remembering the good old days, getting to live in them again for a second or two.

Prowl is silent, probably doing the same. I need to pull us both out of that trap. "You know Starscream was just provoking us. We saw Drift and Ratchet at their wedding. It was beautiful. I'd never do anything to break that. Even if I wanted to. They found what everyone wants. Someone who makes you feel..." I pause to work out how I want to phrase it. What was it Windblade said? This is what she was talking about. Someone who makes you feel… happy? Loved? Whole? Understood?

"Safe." Prowl utters from the edge of sorrow.

Yeah. Safe.

"Did, uh, did, is that how you felt with um, with Chromedome?" I stutter out.

He's pensive. I know he hates talking about this, but maybe it would be good for him to air it out after all these years. "That's how I felt before the war." But he evades the Chromedome topic completely. "Actually, no, I still didn't feel safe then. You see so many terrible things in law enforcement that it's impossible to see the universe as a safe place. It's how I must have felt much further back than that."

"Further than that? What even were you before law enforcement?" I ask curiously.

"...Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"I was constructed as law enforcement. I was built with outstanding perception and logical capabilities. I am made to see the world as a dangerous place in need of rehabilitation." He waves his hand around nonchalantly, trying to shake the presupposition from his body. "That's what I'm good at."

Ah, of course. "That's your problem, Prowl. You see the world as too black and white."

"Is that a comment about my colour? What, should I just borrow your hot pink and go mad?"

"I'm serious. The Functionists are gone. The war's over. Now's your chance to reconstruct yourself."

"Reconstruct myself?! As- as what?!"

I quirk my lips. "Anything you like. Anything at all. Whatever your spark tells you." Prowl still doesn't understand.

“Look, okay, turn around. Face the room." I place an encouraging hand on his shoulder and squeeze. Prowl hesitates, but we rotate on our chairs and look across the bustling room. "Okay. Look at Thundercracker over there schmoozing. He and Starscream and all the other seekers are all cold constructed, but they're completely different. He lives on Earth and makes films. Whereas Starscream is... just the fucking worst! Same body, completely different people. And even yourself and your cold constructed brothers-"

"We are not brothers! We're nothing alike!" He spits.

"I know. I just meant... I just, that's what I mean. That's what I'm trying to say. Like Bluestreak. He joined the Lost Light. He looks like you, constructed in the same factory as you, but you guys aren't alike. None of this stuff matters because you're all so different anyway."

"People still perceive you differently for looking like this." He gestures to his copy-paste body.

"No, people judge you for having a stick up your arse."

"Stop throwing your stupid Earth phrases at me!”

"Anyway, you can change how you look. I'm not saying borrow my hot pink, but of course you can and maybe it would look good on you, but like, I've changed my body and paint job loads. I used to be metres shorter before I got the Matrix. And then I went through that phase where I was blue and purple. And I was born with a spoiler but here I am today, spoilerless. You can change how you look too. Differentiate yourself from them."

"But what you're saying, none of it actually matters. It's all just meaningless, surface-level nonsense.” He says with frustration. His face then becomes puzzled. “I will always be what I was made to be."

For someone born with apparently amazing perception and logical capabilities, he can't see the simple exit from his thoughts. "You didn't get the choice of how to be born. Who does? But you are unique. As unique as anyone else." I lift his hand and weave it with mine. "Do what your spark tells you."

He stares at my hand around his, and I can't help but notice his face relax into a peaceful smile. "What's it saying now?"

"It's saying..." He starts shyly, voice breaking, as if he didn't realise he was smiling. "It's saying I've felt true happiness very few times in my life. Once... the first time was... was with... Chromedome. Another... surprisingly, is with you."

I'm amazed. I'm blushing too. I never thought I would feel with this much intensity for Prowl. "Well I think it's pretty obvious what makes you happy. Is it... It's... I think it's loving another person. Right? Maybe that's what you need to focus on."

He turns his head away, embarrassed. Like this weakness conflicts fundamentally with his programming.

"For now, at least, anyway. But we can always find something else for you. I'll be there to help you." I grip his hand tightly. He looks down at it. We both look at our hands, fused together, entrusted to each other.

I suddenly recall that dream. Earth. Fishing. Laying my head on Prowl's lap...

"We could leave." I whisper out absentmindedly.

Prowl answers slowly, as if also pulled from thought. "Hmm? Leave the party? No, we should really-"

"Leave Cybertron."

He snaps his head in my direction, lips pursed, eyes dashing around my face and body, verifying if my words are truthful. His lips part a little. He's shocked, as if something is reawakened in him. With bitter skepticism, he says, "You'd want me to come with you?"

My lips run, chasing the dream. "Maybe we could both do with a fresh start. Here, we're basically known as fuckface and fuckup. If we left, then we would really be free to reconstruct ourselves. Like Thundercracker. He seemed to have an alright time of it. That could be us."

Prowl looks out into the room, eyes forward, not focussed on anything, other than perhaps a memory or a dream buried under layers of optics. Wistful, happy, and smiling, Prowl repeats, "That could be us."

We sit at the bar for the rest of the evening, content to not rejoin the table, confident that Starscream has never talked more shit in his life. Starscream was wrong.

*

It’s reached the darkest, latest hours of the night. The party has fully concluded, and I'd say we came out on top. As we are leaving, Starscream pulls us aside. “May I speak to you both?”

“What is it now?!” Prowl says, aggravation audible.

“I would like to apologise for my behaviour tonight. It was unnecessary and unacceptable.”

“Wow, never thought I'd hear an apology from you”, I say in disbelief.

“Yes, well, I forgot my better self tonight.”

“You have a better self? Never would have guessed.”

“Heh. Neither would I.” Starscream laughs out. “Until she introduced me to him.” He looks over to Windblade, who is groaning and giggling, unable to stand by herself anymore, using Chromia and Ironhide for support.

“Is she alright?”

“What? Oh yeah, she's fine, just absolutely pissed.”

“Are you that difficult to deal with?”

“No, no, that's nothing to do with me. Um, I hope not at least.” He says, rubbing the back of his head. “No, she always does this. If she's hosting an event, she has to have a drink with everyone. Absolutely everyone. She must have asked you two?”

“Yeah.” We say in unison.

He smiles. “She's a magnificent speaker and an amazing listener. She really cares about people. She sees something to love in everyone, and she just wants to bring the good out of people. Even me.” Starscream's eyes are shimmering with something like love. No, wait, that is actually love in there. “But yeah, anyway, sorry once again. It can be too easy to fall into old habits.”

“Yeah, we know", Prowl and I say together. The three of us have all made mistakes tonight. We share a knowing laugh at how crap we all are, but then look each other in the eye, understanding that being better is possible.

“So uh, how many people have you had to apologise to tonight?” I ask.

“I lost track but I think I'm somewhere in the thirties.”

“Damn. And how many more?”

“How long was the guest list?”

“Ha, well", I start, “see you at the wedding.”

He looks confused and perks up. “I'm invited?”

“Well, Windblade is invited, and she'll have a plus one. Do you want us to give her a plus two for your ego as well?”

He smiles and looks at the floor, then lifts his head and purses his lips, satisfied. “Thanks for coming. Goodnight.”

Suddenly, Starscream's shoulders drop.

“What's wrong?” Prowl asks.

“I just saw my brother behind you. I really need to catch up to him and apologise for what I said about his films this time.” He runs off behind us, yelling, “TC! Wait, TC!”

We both look at each other, bemused, then transform and drive home.

We've been driving for several minutes, when we hear the piercing howl of jet engines. A blue jet swoops down and transforms in front of us, forcing us to skid to avoid killing us all.

"Do you have any idea how reckless that was?" Prowl shouts. "You could have caused a pile up! Why do aerial alt modes know nothing about the stopping times of ground alt modes?!"

"Oh, sorry, I just didn't want to lose you. I need to give you both something." In each of Thundercracker's outstretched hands is a blue card. And yes, I do mean 'card'. Pulped paper. Impractical and easily destroyed, but that's Earth for you. "If you're ever in the neighbourhood, get in touch with me! There's my phone number, and that's the address of my film studio, aaaand if you flip the card over..." He holds both our hands and rotates them so we can see the back of the card "... there's a picture of me with Buster. Isn't she adorable?!" Neither of us are impressed by the animal. Thundercracker is too happy to notice.

"Anyway, nice talking to you. See you around."

He's about to fly off until curiosity forces me to yell, "Wait. Hold on."

"Oh, what is it?"

"You're not wearing your suit anymore. Where did you put it? You wouldn't have just transformed and torn it up."

He opens the cockpit door in his torso, and the suit is neatly folded inside. "Aahhh yes, pockets." I've really got to think of something good to keep in my empty Matrix slot.

"See you both some time. Byeeeee." And then he flies off, not into the horizon, but veering vertically, into space. He's off back to Earth.

“Is he planning to fly all the way to Earth? That'll take hours. Why doesn't he just take the space bridge?” queries Prowl.

"Maybe he likes the manual touch.” I answer.

“Hmm.” Uncharacteristically, Prowl says, “Or maybe he just wants to do things his way. An admirable trait.”

We look at each other. Something has changed between us tonight. I apprehensively hold my hand out to Prowl, who looks at it. He decides to trust its intentions. and slips his hand into mine. His hand has never felt more touching. We decide to not drive just now. We have plenty of time. We can walk a little bit of the way home.

Chapter Text

The gentle rustle of summer air tickling leaves. The harmonic hum and sing-song of dragonflies and birds. The bucolic smell of grass and water and mud, damp and foreign to Cybertronian senses. The plop of a bop landing in the lake. The movement of my pillow beneath me.

My pillow is a leg. I switch my eyes back on. I look up, and it's Prowl. He notices me looking and smiles down at me.

Have you ever imagined a dream coming so perfectly true?

Well, not 100% perfect. It's Autumn, not Summer, so the ground is blanketed with crispy, orange leaves. It also means the birds have flown abroad and the insects have died of cold, so it doesn't sound the same as my dream. But the rest is still idyllic. It's still Prowl and I, escaping Cybertron for a while.

‘How have I still not caught anything?” Prowl asks, aggravated. “I can see the fish, so why aren't they biting?”

“It's not that simple.” I laugh from below him. “Also there aren't as many fish as there was when I was here 30 years ago. Did you know humans have been doing this thing called ‘climate change’ where they're basically destroying their planet. It's been going on for decades at this point. It causes fish to die and everything.”

“We were until recently engaged in a multi-millennia long war which unequivocally ravaged our planet and race and you are criticising humans for ‘climate change killing some fish’?”

“Oi, it's not a pissing match! Both can be bad!”

“We don't piss!” Prowl retorts. “Why do you say these things?”

Yeah, this has been a perfect day. I could stay laid here like this, on Prowl's lap, on this lake bank, forever…

“Woah, Dad! Look, I caught something! I really caught something!” shouts a little voice from somewhere nearby.

“Yeah, it's a whopper alright”, comes a second voice. An older, familiar voice.

My eyes flash on. “No?! Don't tell me…” I say to myself and sit up.

“What? What is it?” asks Prowl.

“Don't tell me!” I'm getting up and moving in the direction of the voices. It can only be a hundred metres away. Was he really right here, so close, at the same time as me?

I sidle through the trees to one of the other lakes in the district. Sat on the bank is two humans, a smaller one and a larger, older one.

“Danny?” I ask.

The older figure turns around and his face beams when he recognises me. “Hot Rod?!”

I quickly run over and immediately crouch down to be closer to his level. “Danny! I'm so glad to see you. It's been so long. I almost didn't recognise you! You're old! You're so old, man!”

“Hey, don't rub it in just because you get to look exactly the same. Well, mostly the same. Aren't you missing something back there?”

“Oh, the spoiler? Nah, that's nothing, just a new look. Why are you even asking about that anyway? When we've got so many other things to talk about instead, like uh, who's this little human stood next to you?”

“This is my son, Rodimus.”

“You-” What?! “You named your son after me?!”

Danny pauses then bursts into laughter. So does the child. “No, of course I didn't, you big dummy! I like you, but not that much! Who'd ever call a kid ‘Rodimus’?”

“That's so horrible, and right to my face and everything.”

Danny turns to his child and rubs his head. “Haha, well done on keeping up the act, son. Go on, tell Rod here what your actual name is.”

“My name is Samuel. Samuel Rodimus Witwicky.”

“Is… is this time a joke too, Danny? My spark can't handle another joke.”

“No, this one's for real. My partner, Vanessa, she got to pick our boy’s first name but I wanted to choose the middle name and well, you're… you're sorta like a brother to me.”

“No?!”

“Yeeaaah, I insisted. Vanessa was not happy. But she got to have a family name so I do too.”

“This is amazing. I'm basically a… what's the word you have? An uncle! I'm your uncle Rodimus.”

“And who’s that, Rod?” Danny’s eyes are directed behind me. Prowl is stood by the tree lining, at what he deems is a safe distance from humans.

“Oh, this is Prowl. He's my..." I look at his face, stern as always. "...partner. He's my partner."

"Prowl? I think I remember you, but only from when I was very, very young, and you were always off world. And then of course after you died-" Danny quickly realises his error and attempts to course correct. "-Haha anyway, yeah, I think my Dad spoke about you sometimes too though." His correction accidentally leads to a worse topic.

Prowl pushes through gritted teeth, "Yes, and how is Spike Witwicky?"

We can all sense his anger. "He's… doing okay. He and Mom stepped away from their work as Earth ambassadors some years ago. Now my Mom works at a university and Dad has mostly retired."

Danny looks at us both with consideration. "Wow, you know, I never imagined you'd settle down with someone, Rod. Especially someone so..." Prowl’s expression becomes judgemental, almost apprehensive. "So... different from you. But no, no, I can see it. Let's face it, Rod, you were always immature."

"Immature?! You met me when you were a child and you're calling me immature?!"

He holds his hand in the air defensively and laughs. "Hey, look, I'm just saying it how I see it."

"I've only been back two minutes and already I'm being insulted. Bloody story of my life." I pout. But then I hear Prowl chuckle from behind me.

Danny chuckles with him. "Yeah, Rod, I really can see it. I'm happy for you both."

I smile blissfully and Danny smiles back. "Thanks. And consider yourself invited to the wedding."

"Wouldn't have it any other way." Danny looks up at the sky then down to his son. “It's getting late and we were about to go soon actually. It's a school night for Sammy. But, before we go, do you think we could have a little drive, for old times sake? Me and my kid?”

“Of course, Danny! Of course. Prowl, do you mind…?”

"No." He answers, confused, but intrigued to view the outcome.

I transform and open my doors. Danny looks reminiscent while Sammy is having trouble comprehending what he's just seen. First he gets to meet his first giant robot, and now the giant robot turns into an awesome flame coloured car. That child's mind is blown, for sure. “Hop in, guys. We don't have all day, apparently.”

Danny and Sammy clamber into my seats and I close my doors. “Seatbelt on, Sam.”

“You didn't used to care about wearing your seatbelt, Danno.”

“I didn't used to be a dad with my kid sat next to me.”

“Jokes on you, Danny. If I crash, those seatbelts won't save you one bit.” I say before speeding off down the country road.

I accelerate to 200km per hour before even reaching the far edge of the lake. Danny and Sammy are forced back into my chairs, the boy shrieking in pure excitement and the older boy struggling with the consequences of the human aging process. Danny attempts to press my breaks with his foot but “Haha, no way, Danno! This is what you wanted, right?”

I rush over to the site where Metroplex used to be based, now a dilapidated wasteland. A perfect site to do some drifting. The low traction dirt ground slips under my tyres, letting me rattle the fragile, little humans inside me close to concussion. They both scream, probably for opposite reasons.

“Hot Rod! Wooaaah! Do you think we could- argh- could head back now?”

“Why, Danno? You not having fun?” I tease.

“No, I am! I- ARGH- just think we should be getting back. It'll get dark soon.”

“Fiiiiine. Let's head back.” I drive back to the lake, a bit slower than earlier to give Danny a bit of a break.

I see Prowl emerge into view as I drive up the hill. His arms are still folded and he looks like he hasn't moved a step in the past ten minutes.

"That was so much fun, Dad!" Sammy shouts as I open my doors. They get out and I transform back, proud that I could give Danny and his son a great time.

"Yeah, it sure was. You know, I used to do that all the time as a kid. Rod here was one of my best friends growing up. Practically brothers. We used to fish in this lake just like the two of us did today."

Samuel stares up in awe at the other mysterious, silent robot. "Excuse me, uh, sorry, uh…”

"...Prowl”, he answers.

"Yes, uh, Prowl, sir, uh, what do you turn into?"

Prowl is uncomfortable around humans, understandably after what they have done to him, especially Danny's dad. I don't want to make him uncomfortable, but maybe I can encourage him to move past some of his trauma. I grab him by the shoulders and he jolts from shock. "He turns into an awesome police car, kid!"

"Wow! Do you have the sirens and everything?"

Prowl answers in monotone. "Yes. I have the sirens. And everything."

"Go on, Prowl, show the kid!" I lean in closer and whisper, "Don't worry. You're safe. Nothing bad will happen."

Irritated, he whispers back, “I don't like it when the humans think we're nothing but vehicles!”

I kiss him on the cheek. "Trust me."

He unfolds his arms and hesitantly transforms.

"Wow! That's so cool!" cries Sammy.

"Cooler than Hot Rod?" Danny taunts.

Samuel considers, then adds, "hmmm, yeah, cooler than Hot Rod."

This is outrageous. "Hey! I'm standing right here!"

The child runs over to Prowl to get a closer look. His engines immediately rev into reverse. I put out one hand in front of the child and one hand in front of Prowl.

"Woah woah woah, kid! Do you run up to people you've just met and try to touch them? No you don't. We're no different. Ask Prowl nicely if he's okay with you coming over for a closer look. Alright?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. Sorry, Prowl, sir." Prowl is silent. He has his skills and I have mine. This kind of communication is what I'm better at. I can help him through this. "Would it be okay if I came closer please?"

Prowl is assessing the threat level of the current situation. "...Yes." He decides the child is of little danger.

I lift my hands from between the two and the child walks closer, in that way you would if a creature you thought was benign has just tried to attack you.

“Prowl?” I ask. “Would you feel comfortable opening your doors?” He hesitates, but I hear the locks unclick. Sammy looks up to me but I give him a reassuring smile, so he slips a hand in the passenger door handle and it opens.

“Can I, uh, get in, Prowl, please?”

Amazingly, after a few moments of internal debate, Prowl says, “Yes.”

"Seatbelt on!" Danny shouts after him, as Prowl slowly and cautiously drives. "Is uh, is my kid gonna be okay with Prowl?"

“Oh yeah, it's just a little drive, and don't worry about it. It's like humans and spiders. He's more scared of your kid than your kid is of him."

"Yeah he does seem very jumpy around us. What's up with that?"

"He's had a lot of bad experiences with humans. For once in his life, those were bad things he didn't bring on himself. And unfortunately, your dad was involved in… the worst of them."

"...He was?"

"You didn't know? Yeah, this was before you were born though. I didn't know Spike when he was a teenager, but I hear from the autobots that he was actually a really good ally, helped out with a lot of problems. Sparkplug and Carly too. Even Prowl was there for that. He definitely knew Spike before everything happened. I think... I think he even learned to trust humans."

Danny is silent, quietly disturbed in anticipation of what I'm about to say. "But then when he became an adult, he got involved with some bad people. A government group that I suppose stopped seeing the difference between autobots and decepticons and just saw us all as foreign invaders. They started taking cybertronians and disabling their transformation cogs and movement functions, so they would be trapped as vehicles.”

Danny is horrified. "My dad... did that... to you?"

"No, not to me." I say, pointing to Prowl, still driving unconfidently with the human child in him. "To him. Prowl saw what was happening and saw that it was wrong. He even went to save a decepticon, that's how wrong he knew it was. But then... then they did the same to him. He was forced to be just a car for your dad of all people. I... I actually went and saved him."

Danny's face is haunted. "I can't believe this. Dad never told me any of this. I thought relations were good between humans and cybertronians?"

"Well, I suppose we saw it as him making a misstep. Cybertronians do that all the time and we live so long that we're able to forgive and forget. Plus, when Spike came back to his senses, he apologised so much. He understood what he did wrong and then he dedicated his life to making it right, which is why he became an Earth ambassador. You can't deny that he did a lot for cybertronian-human relations, and other species and planets. He uh, he did better than I did as the ambassador for my people. I bet it was hell him working with me. I used to skip meetings and start fights and just, ugh, I was terrible. A terrible leader. I was immature, like he was.

"And I think the rest of the autobots were able to forgive him because they remembered how he was for years before that. But Prowl didn't forgive him. He's still really bitter about it. The injustice of being turned into just a car. The word you would use is dehumanised. We would say 'reduced to function'."

Prowl is almost back. He lets the child out and transforms back. He exhales and his eyes flash quickly.

Danny, still stricken, steps forward and says, "Prowl, may I talk to you about something?"

Prowl is still uncomfortable and taken aback.

"I'm unsure if this will mean anything coming from me, but I would like to apologise to you on my behalf of my father for what was done to you. Rod was just telling me about your history with my Dad. I had no idea he could have done something so heartless. And I'm sorry for any pain I might have caused you today."

Prowl is surprised, processing the apology, unsure of what to do next.

"It's okay. I'm not expecting you to say anything. I just want you to sincerely know that my father shouldn't have ever done anything like that to anyone, and if there's anything I can do to help you, then please, just ask."

Prowl is hiding his emotions well, but I can see he's conflicted. He's smart and quick though. He can detect any falsehood, and he knows Danny's words are the truth. He knows Danny does not want to hurt him. And neither does Samuel. These humans are good, he thinks. He remembers humans are capable of good.

He crouches down and reaches a hand out to Danny, who also reaches his out to shake. Of course the size difference means he's only touching a fingertip, but that's not what's important. "Thank you." Prowl says.

Prowl rotates to face Samuel too and reaches out his hand, also shaking with the child. "Thank you." The child smiles simply.

“Hi son, sorry I'm late. Turns out I could make it after all, but traffic was a nightmare.” Another familiar voice shouts from beyond the tree lining. The worst one we could possibly hear.

Prowl stops crouching and raises himself to high alert. Here comes a human who meant him harm.

Weaving between trees approaches a human, bundled in a large scarf and coat, crunching autumn leaves underfoot. Grey strands rest above his face, which is now creased with age. His smile is wide at the thought of seeing his son and grandson for a cosy fishing trip. The smile slowly disappears at the realisation that they are not alone.

Prowl watches the human’s pace slow to a regrettable walk. I can hear Prowl's insides vibrate from here. I stand closer to him to offer protection. But who am I protecting?

The old man speaks. “Daniel? What's going on here? Is… is that you, Rodimus? What brings you to Earth?” He smiles pleasantly.

“Hi, Spike, yeah, it's been a while. Hope you're keeping well.” I can sense the electricity surge and hum in Prowl's body. That's abnormal. I maneuver in front of Prowl to block Spike, but Spike isn't getting the message.

“And uh, Prowl too. Are you uh… are you…”, but his words dissolve. Who could blame him?

The tension is thick, sickening and volatile.

Prowl finally speaks. "You're so frail now. After everything you did to me, I could crush you with one finger.”

Spike replies carefully, fearfully. “I'm sorry, Prowl. I'm so sorry.” It's not enough. “I feel eternally guilty for the things I did in my youth.”

"Youth?! Eternity?! What do concepts like these even mean to a species as short lived and insignificant as yours?!” Prowl steps around me, approaching Spike. “You will get to die and leave your guilt behind, while I have to live for centuries with your torment!”

Prowl reaches down to the small, weak human. Spike tries to evade his grip but it's futile. Prowl wraps a hand around the man and lifts him in the air.

“Your entire species will die and fade into history,” Prowl shouts, “while I am still thinking about what you, Spike Witwicky, did to me!”

Spike struggles and begs, "P-p-please, don't do this! Please! Ple-AAARRRGGGHHH!"

"Are you enjoying getting to feel my 'surprisingly good handling' again?" I hear the crunch and squelch of bones snapping and flesh compressing. The wet plip plip of blood on mud follows as red spills between Prowl's vice-like fingers. The human's bloody howls have drawn out into gurgling moans and rasps as he's unable to suck in breath. It's a monstrous display which the rest of us are paralysed to do anything about.

"I am not your 'sweet ride', Spike Witwicky."

I shake my head and come to my senses. I rush over to Prowl and grab his hand to try and free the man trapped inside. “Prowl. Stop. You have to stop." I claw at his fingers. His face is focused in delirious retribution. "You're killing him!" I break one of his fingers. The pain is still not enough to distract him. Even with one finger less, his grip is murderous.

Suddenly, his hand opens and the human drops to the ground. “Now you can't use your body.” Spike Witwicky lies in a broken pile of his own fluids; pitiful and whimpering. “Now we're even.” Prowl stares down at his work, his face twitching, unable to settle.

“Samuel, run over to the car! Now!” Danny yells, then runs over to save his dad. "Rod! Rod, help me get my dad to the car. I need to get him to the hospital." I know. I bend down and lift Spike Witwicky as gently as my large hands can. Luckily, the pain has caused him to lose consciousness.

"Should- should I drive him? How long will it take you to get to a hospital?" I ask.

"The nearest hospital is 20 minutes away. I think he'll be okay. The wounds aren't fatal but they are... extensive."

"If I drive him, you'll get there quicker."

"With all due respect, Rod, you have something else to do right now." He's less upset than I thought he would be. I lay his dad in the back seat of the car. "We'll be okay, Rod.”

"Danny, I'm, I'm so so sorry about this. This wasn't-" A panicky groan escapes my lips. I'm tearing up. "This was such a lovely day, Danny."

He eeks out a smile, painfully. "It was good seeing you, Hot Rod."

I smile and laugh involuntarily through the tears. I bring my clenched fist to my mouth and briefly bite it. I'm gasping. "You'd- you better get your dad to the hospital. Quickly." Danny's tearing up too. He nods and drives off.

I watch him become tiny in the horizon before apprehensively walking back.

A red river has drained into the lake, staining the bank and blotting the water. Silhouetted by the setting sun, Prowl stands, human blood still dripping from his hand.

His voice is slow and sinister. "Do you know what it's like to have something inside your body but be unable to get him out?" His voice registers barely above a whisper. "A... parasite. I can still feel him now, wriggling in my seats. His fingers touching my wheel, wrapped around my gear stick, standing on my pedals. This filthy presence inside me but I'm unable to expel it. God, I..." Prowl starts anxiously clawing at his plating and rubbing wheels.

"I'm being invaded!" He screams out and looks into me with luminous blue eyes. "I'm being invaded, Rod!"

I shake my head with more reassurance than I can get through to him. "No you aren't, Prowl. It's just you and me." I walk over and hug him.

"He won't get out! After all these years, I still can't get him out." Hysteria is pouring out of his mouth, small bubbles of lubricant foaming at the corners. He pushes me off of him and starts to dig his wet fingers deeper into seams, bending plating and tearing it away. I get back up to stop him but he just shoves me down again. I'm forced to sit and stare up in disbelief and horror as Prowl peels the rims and rubber from his wheels, followed by gouging out the axles buried in his shoulders. He reaches to his back and wrenches the doors from their hinges, shards of glass splintering in every direction as they smash to the ground. He winds his fingers through the bars on his chest bumper and pulls. He pulls. Again. Harder. Metal groans and cables rip. Pink fluid begins to the welt from the opening fractures. Prowl's face distorts with effort and agony. The sight is painful and terrifying to witness. He pauses to inhale before heaving with even more force, elbows buckling, but finally extracting the cancerous car parts straight out of his chest, exposing his spark and wiring. Energon suddenly seeps from every element in his concave chest, wrapping around his legs and pooling at his feet. He carelessly drops the car front and rummages his right hand around his spinal column. He finds his target, squeezes, twists and violently thrusts outwards. The tumour-like trophy appears to drop molten platinum in the sunset lighting.

"I am not a car." Prowl asserts. "Rod? I'm not a car, am I?"

"No, Prowl. No, you aren't a car." I come closer to wrap my arms around him again. This time he lets me, smothering my chest in his warm vital fluids. "You're a man."

Spike's red blood mixes with Prowl's pink energon, the thick earthy mud, and the stagnant lake water. His transformation cog releases from his grip and creates an island in the stew of liquids.

"Thank you." He starts to cry. He collapses to his knees and we gently rock back and forth. "I'm not a car. I'm a man."

"You are a man. You're the man... I love." This makes him weep harder, so I hug him even harder.

Chapter Text

"...Well...? What do you... think?" Prowl scrapes out in disjointed exhales.

He's awake again. “...What do I think?”

"My new... look... obvi... ously." He flashes a weak but charismatic smile.

I smile back, feeling reassured. "That's not funny." But Prowl pushes out a scratchy, static laugh anyway, before passing out again. That's good. I'm glad he can laugh. That means he'll be okay.

We're in the hospital intensive care. Prowl is plugged in to so much equipment that his bedside is cramped and the beeps and whir of life support is perpetual.

He's been operated on. He's going to pull through. Just. He lost a lot of energon. On the way back from Earth, he shut down so I had to carry him back to the space bridge site. That was a long, long drive.

But now, this waiting is even longer. The amount of repairs he required was extensive. I don't know how much longer until he can leave. He's in and out of recharge. More in than out though. But he needs it. It's better this way. At first, he would wake up and scowl in mangled agony, but two days have passed, so now when he wakes, the pain is subtle. Less physical, more emotional. So that's why I'm glad he gets to recharge. He needs it.

I wish I knew what I need.

Prowl and I haven't spent a whole day apart in the six weeks since this started. I'm honestly not sure what to do with myself. It's been a while since I've had to do something with myself. I want to talk to someone caring like Drift or wise like Megatron, but I can't bring myself to make the calls. I'm sick of being everyone's burden. Not only that, but I'm just so-

I hear a tapping on glass. I look up. It's Arcee. She lets herself in through the window.

"What are you doing here?" I ask wearily. I can't deal with her right now.

She slowly slinks in through the window frame, eyeing Prowl's caved-in body the whole time. "I'm the brawn. He's the brains. And lots of people want to see those brains either hacked into or hacked to pieces."

"Really?" I say. She nods solemnly. I don't think that's the real reason.

She looks down at me. "What are you doing here?""

"I'm just..." A palpable silence follows.

"You worried about him?" She scoffs in disbelief.

I'm hunched forward in my chair. She grabs the other chair in the room and pulls it up next to me. She flops down as though we're so relaxed about sharing a room with Prowl's mutilated body. In a regrettable way, we are all so used to this kind of thing. "You really are worried, aren't you? I've been watching you for the past four days but you-"

"Four days?" I ask with disbelief.

"Yeah?"

"I... I genuinely thought it had only been two."

Her voice sounds so far away. "God, you look rough." This is the first proper conversation I've had in four days apparently. I'm finding it hard to concentrate. I lean back and smother my head in my hands.

"Don't tell me you guys actually do like each other?" Her voice is confused and wary. No one could have imagined Prowl and I would have turned into this.

"Here I thought I was the only person who could still care about Prowl." She slumps back in her chair and starts to nonchalantly bounce her gun around on one knee. I'm starting to think the reason she does her signature window entrances is because she got sick of people telling her "you can't bring a gun in here!" when she went through doors.

We sit in silence, both considering our apparently shared affection for the very sick man in the bed. I don't want to think about him anymore - it just makes the waiting harder. I've had four days with only Prowl's half-dead body and my own guilt and I'm sick of it.

"Arcee... I know I've done a lot of stuff wrong." I begin. "I hurt and annoyed so many people. And I never did the right things to make them better.”

Arcee looks at me with one sassy eyebrow raised, interested to see where this is going. "That time when I abandoned you. Abandoned everyone. I just, I couldn't handle all that responsibility. I was trying to keep it together after Optimus died the second time. I was trying, but I was crumbling. Cybertron got destroyed! Again! I just, I know, I'm just, I-"

"Hey man, chill out, you're getting hysterical."

"I'm just sorry! I'm sorry for everything I fucked up. I always fuck up! You were the best of us, Arcee. You always were! I can't believe I ever fucked up our friendship." I can't feel my mind in my body. All focus has gone.

"I was always a fuck up... wasn't I?" I ask, to no one in particular.

Arcee smiles reassuringly. "Yeah. Yeah, you fucked up. You fucked up bad honestly. After everything our group had been through together, you just leave me and UM and Springer to fix it all? 'Some Prime he turned out to be' got thrown around quite a lot. And I stand by it."

She groans, as if it's uncomfortable for her to begin to sift through and create a genuine emotional sentence. "You were too busy trying to find something shiny and better, instead of looking after what you had."

Her expression becomes stern as she breaks eye contact. "I was so angry. Not only at you, but that was just another thing. So. Fucking. Angry." She clenches her hand around her gun. "But I channeled that anger into something good. Something I'm really good at. And I wouldn't trade those horrible years for anything. So you can be humbled that you had some part to play in me unlocking my rage and killing so many ‘cons."

Arcee giggles and says, "Hey? You want to know the real reason I was pink? Because I got sick of cleaning off the energon. Blended in better with my paint. Ohhh, is that why you're pink now?"

That's a strange thing to say but I don't bother questioning it. She looks at the gun again and leans it against her chair, easy to reach, but not in hand. "Maybe that's why I decided to change to a red paint job. Don't need to wash as much energon off anymore."

She looks off thoughtfully. "You weren't there when it counted then. But you are here when it counts now. I appreciate that. Maybe Prowl does too."

We smile at each other. The weathered lines of her hardened expression soften a bit. I had forgotten how happy Arcee could look. As we reconcile, I can't help but feel Prowl in my periphery, and my smile drops away. "It's uh, it's not good, Arcee. Prowl messed himself up bad. He uh, a lot of the broken parts can be repaired or replaced, but he damaged some really important components. The doctors are saying when he's well enough to leave, he could have some permanent disabilities. He might wake up and find his entire life has changed, all because of..." I have nothing. I don't want to say anything more.

"You know what he'll still have when he wakes up? Us." We both let out a heart-hearted laugh. "And we're pretty alright. I mean, I'm fucking tremendous. But you, you're alright." She pats me flippantly on the back.

I smile, but my head begins to pound and my eyes flicker off and on repeatedly. "You alright? You look knackered. Go home and get some rest. I'll take over here."

"Rod?" I turn my head to see who's behind me, but the disorientation makes my eyes slow to focus. Eventually, I find out Windblade is stood at the door

"Oh, hey." I say, still wobbling with dizziness. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here for a hospital budget meeting. I’m trying to push for a little more funding to be put into-" She stops short when she notices Prowl's shattered body in the bed. "Oh my god. Is he okay? Are you okay?" she asks with so much concern.

"Uh, yeah, of course, I'm fine."

"You really don't look fine, Rod. Let's go get a drink and talk."

"No, I'll stay here. Nothing to talk about. Plus you've got your meeting."

Windblade places a hand on her chest. "Rod, I mean this sincerely from the core of my spark: fuck those meetings. It's just another budget review. The budget is fine. You aren't. The board will live until next month." She comes forward and puts her hand on my shoulder. "You need someone right now, Rod."

"Oh, I was right to like her", chirps Arcee as she slowly rises to her feet, enamoured.

Windblade looks to my left, intrigued. "I'm sorry? I don't believe we've been introduced. It's nice to meet you..."

"Arcee. Enchanté." She takes her hand and kisses it. "I've been waiting to finally speak to you..." Arcee trails off and glances over at me, looking for something.

"...Wind..." I prompt. Unbelievable.

"Wind..."

"Blade." Windblade finishes.

Arcee shakes her head in fake recognition. "Windblade. Yes, of course. Refreshing and sharp. How could I forget? So do you fancy getting a drink with me some time? Not the kind of gentle drink you're getting with Rod. A proper drink, in the evening?"

Windblade composure is ruffled only a little as a blush tints her cheeks. "Thank you for the kind offer but I'm conjunxed."

"Don't worry about that. Just say the word and I can fix that little problem. Let me know when you're ready for me." Arcee winks, sits back in her chair and blows Windblade a playful kiss.

"See you later, Arcee." I say, stuttering to my feet. I take one last look at Prowl before I hesitantly leave the room.

Arcee shouts after us. "Yeah Rod, I'll look after Prowl and you'll look after Windblade. Good thinking. See ya!”

Windblade and I begin our labourious walk out of the many corridors of this large hospital.

"Is Arcee always so…?"

"Yeah. Pretty much."

"How long have you been friends?"

"Today? Only two minutes. But I've known her for millenia at this point."

"Can you give me her number?"

"What?! Are you actually going to cheat on Starscream?! I would help you with that but-"

"No, of course not. But she seems lonely, unstable and fun. I love those kinds of people. They're the best drinking buddies. I shouldn't say this but I'm actually kind of disappointed you decided to stop drinking. I bet you would be great company on a night out. I bet you're the type to set stuff on fire and then cry about it, and Arcee is the type to hit on everyone or just hit them full stop, and Starscream is the type to-"

I feel my legs give out underneath me. The world is alternating between monochrome and colour as it fades away. I land on my knees but Windblade drags me to my feet again before I fully collapse on the ground. She supports my body as I sway lazily. I can't understand what she's saying through the ringing in my ears and the hallucinated gulf between us. I want to throw up but it's just not possible. My body feels rattly, but it's okay, I'm back now.

"It's okay, I'm back now." I say.

"Are you sure about that? You're looking absolutely exhausted. We're about to leave a hospital so if you need anything before we go then you're in the right place."

*

Windblade insisted we go to the cafe nearest to the hospital. She also insisted on buying the drinks and some food to go with it, despite my declines. We sit at an outdoor table, far away from others for some privacy. All things considered, it's a bright, colourful and lovely day if you're oblivious to how bad you feel. It's annoying to know the world always goes on without you.

"So, how are you doing, Rod?"

"I'm good."

Her eyes scan around my body quickly before returning to my face.

"You seem like you need to talk to someone. And maybe an outside voice will help." I'm silent while I take a sip of the painfully sweet drink.

"Prowl is... well, he's not a well liked man, is he?" Windblade starts. I take a small bite of something, but swallowing is hard. "It's easy enough to pick up on from having a basic conversation with him. He is... abrasive." She looks apologetic. "But even abrasive people can have close friends who are there for them in times of crisis, say if you were to suffer a life threatening injury. But Prowl has been in the hospital for several days now and there's no sign in his room that anyone cares. No innermost energon, no personal effects, no get well messages. Nothing. Except… you. And Arcee. But you stayed by his side the whole time."

"You just got there. How would you know I haven't left and been back?"

She stares at me again. "I know you haven't."

I have nothing to say.

"What happened to him?"

I hesitate and sigh. "We uh, we went on a trip to Earth. Everything was going great until, uh, well..." I rub my head. "Is everything I tell you going to stay between us?"

"Absolutely, Rod."

"You've heard of FMTL?" Windblade nods with sad recognition. "Well, Prowl was one of the victims and uh, while we were on Earth, we accidentally came face to face with the person who did it to him. The person who abused him and drove around in him. He's actually… the parent of a close friend of mine." Windblade’s eyes are wide. "And, let's say it didn't end well for either of them."

"Did Prowl-" She stops to look around and then comes closer to whisper. "Did Prowl kill this human?"

"No, but he's in hospital, that's for sure. He put this man in a bad state, but honestly I think Prowl is coming out of it worse. You know cybertronians rarely ever have to spend more than a few hours getting repairs. The fact he's still unconscious four days later says it all. He's... anyway..." I'm eager to stop talking.

"So who did all the damage to Prowl?"

"Well, he... he did it to himself."

She raises a hand to her mouth in shock. "But his body was barely recognisable."

The atmosphere becomes awkward.

"How are you?" Windblade asks again.

"Why do you keep asking that? Of course I'm okay. I'm not in hospital."

"Yes, but Prowl is."

"So? Why is that important."

"...Because you care about him." She says it like it's so clear.

"Ha! What?! No I don't. What are you talking about? This thing we've been doing was just fake from the start. We aren't actually getting married, Windblade. We hate each other. Everyone knows that. And to make things worse, he almost killed a human. My brother's dad of all people too! You think I'd keep up this joke wedding and keep living with him after that? Of course not! It's so obvious. The moment he wakes up, I'm going to throw my key and my ring right in his stupid, arrogant face!"

"Yeah! Good idea! You should absolutely break up!"

"W-what?"

"Your arguments are so compelling. You really shouldn't be together anymore. Fuck Prowl. And fuck Starscream too. You, me and Arcee can go out tonight, paint the town pink, get pissed and pick up some guys, yeah?"

I'm speechless and uneasy.

"What? What's wrong with that? Why are you hesitating?"

"Because-" I can feel my eyes start to burn. My lips shake. Clicking and grinding play from my teeth. My face slowly scrunches and tightens. I bawl out, "-because I promised Prowl I wouldn't drink anymore!" I curl over to cry loudly and embarrassingly. The little amount of privacy we have can't block out strangers from seeing the mess I am. Windblade moves her chair closer and hugs me gently.

"Tell me how you actually feel, Rod."

"I just, I just, ugh, I told him I loved him but I dunno why! I don't love him! I can't actually love Prowl! C-can I? No! That doesn't make sense. That makes no sense at all." Windblade rubs my back as I continue my anxious rant. "We hate each other! Always have! He's a workaholic freak with no friends and I'm an alcoholic loser who's trying to push away all my friends."

"You sound great together."

As I'm letting it all out, I'm starting to calm down a bit. "I don't even know why this all started. I mean, I was drunk! That's how it all started! But then it kept going. It was... a distraction. It was made to make us feel bad. The proposal wasn't even real. I asked him to marry me to spite people and Prowl said yes also just to spite people."

My depleted energy gives a gap in my speech for Windblade to think. "Rod, let me ask you a question. Who's energon is that still stuck to your plating?"

I look down, horrified to find matte shocks of so, so much rancid pink, with patches of dirt brown and foreign red. It's all mixed and congealed on my chest, arms, legs - honestly, it's all over me. Much of it has dried and flaked away but much more of it still remains. "...It's Prowl's."

"Why haven't you washed it away yet?"

"Because... I didn't even notice it was there."

"And why didn't you notice?"

"I... because..." I look down at my body again. My hands, not just marked with energon but also trembling from lack of recharge and fuel intake. I'm running on nothingness. "...Because my mind has been too busy to... to think about myself."

"What's it been too busy thinking about?"

“If Prowl is going to be okay", I confess.

"There you go. That's your answer. Whatever sham this relationship might have started as, you're now at the point where you care enough about Prowl at the expense of yourself. That's love."

I'm stunned at what I'm capable of. "But... but… but I hate that!"

Windblade smiles with sweet understanding. "You'll get used to it. I promise. We all do."

I don't have the processing power to know how to feel right now. Realising how much I've run myself down only made the exhaustion weigh even heavier in me. I force myself to swallow a little more energon. Why? Because… I guess I don't want to pass out and find myself in a hospital bed too. I don't want to do that to him.

“Will Prowl be okay?” I query.

“I think you're the one best placed at this table to answer that.”

“No, I mean… politically. He put someone in hospital.”

Windblade has nothing but reassurance. “Get some rest and some recharge, and leave the worrying about politics to me. From what you've said, it doesn't sound like these humans will press charges. In the unlikely event that they do, I will cite Article 29, Section 5, Subsection 7 of the Cybertronian Legal and Justice Handbook, or as I prefer to call it, the ‘tit-for-tat’ clause. Prowl did what he did in a moment of traumatic defense in response to harm previously caused to him. Legally, he'll be fine.”

“You would do that for me?”

‘Yes. I would." She looks off thoughtfully and returns her eyes to mine, smiling. "Maybe Starscream is rubbing off on me.”

“I'm sorry to hear that.”

“Ha.” She shakes her head. "That's what everyone says when I say that." Windblade becomes suddenly quiet and contemplative. "Can I ask you about… something else?"

"Go for it."

"What do you know about cold construction?"

"What are you asking me?"

"I'm just asking a question."

"...I know enough about it."

Her face urges me to go on but I don't want to.

“Hmm, this is how people get when I try to get more information. I didn't know cold construction was a practice until learning more about Starscream. At the time, my gut reaction was that it was… an abhorrent crime against all that's holy. I've encouraged Starscream to get the body modifications necessary to look more like his forged self but-”

I cut her off. “Wait, why- why would you do that?”

Windblade stops. She contemplates her next words. “Because... Starscream has this holo-locket I gifted to him. When I went inside his mind, I saw what he was supposed to be, what he could have been if his spark had been allowed to mature into a body that was his and his alone.” Her face creases with worry. She lays her hands on her lap and looks down at them. “The locket I gave him has a projection of his forged body. Sometimes I catch him looking at it. He's smiling like he's pleased, but also pained. What does he want? He won't tell me. He always closes up when I ask.”

“You shouldn't ask him to change his body.”

“But why?”

She accepts my tight silence and continues. “I've since done some more research. I know what cold construction is and how it came about, but it's not enough. I was hoping that you as a Matrix bearer could enlighten me.”

“Ha! You want my wisdom?!”

“I hear you have your moments of clarity. I truly believe a stopped clock is right twice a day.” She gives a coy smile.

I close my eyes and relax. I recollect the remnants of the Prime’s guidance within me. “You didn't know any Primes before me or Optimus. I don't know any of them either, but I've mentally fused with the Matrix enough to get a feel for what they were like. They were not good. Sometimes a leader just wants bodies to work and fight, without thinking about if those minds are happy to exist. That's how cold construction was born.”

“Yes, that's awful, I understand all that but-”

“Wait. I have more to say. The thing is, whether cold construction is good or bad doesn't matter. At all. You start talking about that and you start putting some people above others. And then you get a Tyrest situation.

“The reason why people don't talk about cold construction on Cybertron is because... it doesn't matter. As in, it is literally irrelevant to the person. To draw attention to someone being CC is to completely reduce them. Conversations like that can only end badly.

“You need to not draw attention to it, but you don't have to forget it. My advice is that usual etiquette is you only talk about it if a CC person talks about it.

“Look. I don't like Starscream but I'm guessing he has his reasons, and you two seem to get on well. Plus, you're a good listener. I'm guessing he'll come to you if he wants to.”

She considers what I've said. I doubt I've provided any great revelations, but Windblade is so kind that she's grateful all the same. “Thank you, Rod. You're right. I should stop pestering Starscream about this. I suppose I did start to see him a little differently after finding out about cold construction, like I was trying to look for the Him inside of him. But perhaps a cold constructed body, though duplicated, holds just as much of the person as any other body. Heh, maybe that's why he focuses so much on what little alterations he can make to his body and what bloody colour to paint himself next!” She laughs to herself and smiles peacefully. Suddenly, as if conscious that she has stolen the emotional spotlight of the conversation, she asks, “What will you do now?”

“I'm going back to the hospital.”

“Are you sure? Maybe you should go home.”

“I've… I've never felt at home somewhere where I'm alone. So I can't go home right now.”

“If loneliness is your problem, then maybe you should make use of all the people who know and love you.”

“Not now. I can't. I'm not ready.”

“That's your choice, but some advice? The hospitals provide portable recharge bricks for conjunxes. You should ask for one.”

"I know that. It just... didn't feel right. Yet."

"Another piece of advice then. Hospitals have cleaning facilities too. You should make use of them. You look like you're the one who did it to Prowl!"

*

I go to the hospital reception to get a recharge brick, and the directions to a shower. I wash all the blood, mud and energon from my body.

When I get back to Prowl's room, Arcee is still there. I ask her for some privacy, and to my surprise, she says yes, without making any stupid remarks. She saw what was in my left hand. You'd expect receptions at hospitals to have plenty of them. Empty vials.

I return to my chair and plug in to the recharge brick. I look at Prowl, eyes unlit and lifeless, chest flat, body completely still and mummified in grey plates and bolts. I pick up his left hand in mine and I feel the tips of the fingers. It's nice to have a chance to touch some small part of him without him instinctively pulling away. I hold my hand in his. He doesn't hold back. I slide my hand down, rubbing my thumb over the engagement ring, stroking it fondly as memories resurrect themselves. It was only three weeks ago that I gave Prowl this ring, but it feels so much further back than that. I'm so much further from who I was. I open his hand and place the empty vial in it, securely, removing the cap. I slide out the pipe in my forearm which leads directly to my spark casing and begin to pour into the vial.

I never imagined the sensation would be this… potent. A prickling warmth running down my arm, nauseating and paralysing, but equally as beautiful. It doesn't hurt, but I reflexively intake air as though wounded. My chest feels a little cooler as I sacrifice some of my vitality into Prowl's hand. A new lightness makes its home in my spark. It's almost spiritual. Not that I believe in any of that, but I could see the argument after finally experiencing the tranquility of this ritual.

Once full, I withdraw the pipe and replace the cap on the little vial. I press all of Prowl’s fingers tightly around its warmth, and I wrap my hands safely around his too. The gentle pink glow of my innermost energon faintly seeps out through the tiny gaps between our clasped fingers. I hope that light still reaches Prowl's eyes while offline, or at least... soon.

Chapter Text

I can't stand the loneliness anymore. So I've put the TV on. One channel only. It's a hospital after all. It seems like a documentary. I think it's about Earth birds or whatever. They have colourful wings, long beaks, six legs. I'm not really paying attention. My focus is elsewhere right now. Inside. I'm writing. Because Drift called earlier…

*

"Why weren't you answering your phone? Are you okay?"

"Drift? Oh yeah. Yes, of course I am. Why?" (I need him to know I'm not okay.)

"I just heard about Prowl.”

“Oh. Right.” (Thank god.)

“Do you want me to come to the hospital?" (Yes.)

"No. No, it's fine. Unless you- Hold on. How did you hear about Prowl?"

"Windblade mentioned."

(Of course they know each other.) “What? How do you two know each other?"

"We go to a lot of similar shops for, you know, tea and make up."

"And?"

"And what?"

"And?"

"And… and we go to the same meditation and yoga group."

"Of course."

"How is Prowl?" (Ask how I am too.)

"Still out of it mentally, but physically they say he's recovering, enough that he can be switched back on completely soon. Should be leaving in a couple of days."

"That's so good to hear. How are you feeling?" (Shit, now I have to answer.)

"I'm alright. Exhausted mostly. Nothing new. I don't really want to talk about it again."

"Well... you could write about it. Remember the Lost Light Poetry Club?"

"Ugh! You mean that group of just you, Megatron and Minimus writing shitty stuff that doesn't even always rhyme? That horrible group you dragged me along to a few times? Didn't even have good snacks. What about it?"

"We're meeting this evening. At my place. You should come along. You don't have to write anything. But... I..."

"..."

"...I want you to be there. I worry about you. Windblade didn't disclose everything, of course, but you don't sound like you're okay right now."

"..."

"Please come, Rod. You know where Ratchet and I live. You know we're here for you."

"...You mean that?"

"Completely."

I look over to Prowl. "I'll think about it. Thanks, Drift." The call ends. I lean back, look at the ceiling and sigh.

"Rod?" Prowl stirs."What are you talking about?"

"Hey, you're awake. I was just on the phone to Drift. He was ask-"

"Something about insects.” His head slowly twists between the TV and me, the TV and me. His words scrape out of his throat. Grisly and dreamlike. “Butterflies. ‘As the caterpillar hangs very still in chrysalis, inside, a marvelous transformation occurs.’ ”

He doesn’t sound fully conscious. "Oh, that. That's not me. That's whatever's on TV."

"I remember butterflies. From Earth. Bulky, all-consuming things.” His eyes flicker like dying neon. “Then they shed all the weight. Become thin, dainty, beautiful."

"Yeah."

"They gain wings. ...I lost mine, didn't I?"

Ha! Okay, that takes the edge off. Yeah, no way is he fully with it. He'd be embarrassed to hear what's coming out of his mouth. "You feeling like yourself, Prowl?"

"I tore them off. What does that make me now?" His eyes blink out. His mouth hangs mid-word. His movements seize. He's gone again.

What does that make me now?

I can't stand the loneliness anymore.

*

The sun drank by lake
The moons form my eyes
I love when you wake
When did the sun rise?

Been this way for days
You flash dim, hold weak
Our month missed in daze
Time clots us this week

Look. I see you sleep
Nurse asks "how are you?"
Safe. I heard you dream
Scared, but “good, thank you."

I can numb the pain
High of pink bathed chrome
Did I give in vein
Since you took me home?

Can I grasp when we changed?
I want to find a drop in a lake
Fish out the part that's you
And the part that's me
But I can't. How would you start?
So I'll leave the lake as it is

Their expressions are... awe? I think that's awe. I've given a lot of leadership speeches, but I rarely got reactions like this to saying aloud something I've written. I feel exposed. "Don't make me regret coming here."

“Rodimus, I would like to apologise for how I spoke to you at Rewind's event.” Megatron speaks first and earnestly. "I won't speak for others here, but I certainly never expected your relationship with Prowl to bring about this change in you."

"That poem was so unexpected. And I can actually see your aura again without the alcoholic fog in the way”, adds Drift. “You're practically glowing. I like the new look too. Somehow mature and youthful all at the same time."

“Drift. You were there when I got ‘the new look’. You gave me ‘the new look’.”

Drift badly pretends to be surprised, tapping a finger to lips as if trying to remember the unforgettable. “Oh? Did I? Yeah, you're right. Lovely colours, perfect application, no drips. I did a great job, didn't I? Megatron? Minimus?” Silence. Drift waits a little longer for a compliment. More silence. “Well, Ratty appreciates my work.”

“Of course I do, dear”, Ratchet calls out from an armchair at the other side of the room, not bothering to look away from what he is reading.

“It is much better than your previous poetic offerings”, Minimus says in a semi-bitchy tone. “I never knew how many words rhymed with fuck or shit or-”

“Minimus!” Megatron warns.

“But yes, I will concede, your poem was, in fact... wonderful, Rodimus.” He reviews with conviction. “A concerted effort at expressing your inner world in response to... Prowl. Of all people. Prowl. Hm." He takes a long sip of wine.

They talked more about poetry, things I didn't know or care about, but I smiled along because being surrounded by their voices again was soothing all the same. Reading what I'd written made me feel like some of the fatigue was shed from my body. Perhaps admitting the truth had freed me from gravity. I found my mind floating off. There's plenty to be distracted by at Drift’s. That's the excuse I'll go with. I think they all noticed I wasn't paying attention so wrapped up early with the poetry for me.

Afterwards, I went to the kitchen. I need a drink. While taking a glass from a cupboard, I wonder if I can handle alcohol yet.

“I wouldn't use that one”, says Megatron, making me jump. The glass slips from my hand, but he catches it before it breaks. “Careful.” Somehow, he creeped up next to me in this tiny kitchen.

“Why shouldn't I use that one?”

His smile is so friendly and familiar. “Drift is very precious of his things. The first time Minimus and I came over, I made the mistake of using a glass which he did not want me to. I was thoroughly reminded of what made him so proficient as Deadlock years ago.”

“Heh.” I feel so muted. “So uh, what's wrong with this cup?”

“I believe this is the Hatsune Miku 15th Anniversary Edo Faceted glass. Very special.” He gently turns the glass over in his hands, then places it back exactly as it was in the cupboard. “Only to be used by Drift, and I think Ratchet if he promises to be careful.”

“Good thing you saved it then. So, uh, which one can I use?”

“Hmmm. I believe of these, your safest options would be this Luka Luka ☆ Night Fever heat change mug or this Neon Genesis Evangelion Asuka glass.”

“Oh, this one has a red robot. Shame about the human in front of it. At least, I think that's supposed to be a human. I'll take it anyway.”

“Good choice. What would you like to dri-” We hear muffled shouting come from the living room. Megatron brings his hand to his forehead and grinds out a sigh. “Usually, Minimus and Drift get into a little spat over something, occasionally poetry related. Ratchet will probably come through soon. At this point in the evening, the two of us usually end up at the kitchen table and catch up over a dram or two. Would you…?”

I could? “Uhh no, no I won't. I mean, maybe. One wouldn't hurt. Unless…” Megatron looks at me, without judgement of whichever choice I make. “No, I won't drink. Maybe I'm still not ready for it yet.”

“The choice is yours, Rodimus. I trust you to do what you think is right.” His presence is reassurance. Why couldn't I see it before?

I sit at the kitchen table while Megatron prepares three drinks. I know it isn't just recent events making me feel claustrophobic. Drift and Ratchet's home is overrun with a visually exhausting assortment of Earth tat. Everything belongs to Drift. You can tell from how much of it obviously comes from Japan. There's tacky wall scrolls with text we can't read, swords hung up (some real, most obviously decorative), and shelves of colourful cartoon characters as well as the disks to watch their exploits. The air is nauseatingly “saged” with musty incense, barely neutralised by some carefully placed and pruned bonsai trees. There's teapots, tea sets, tea canisters, tea leaves, tea strainers, etc..

It's difficult to find even one object belonging to Ratchet, apart from this one shelf in the living room… This one shelf with Ratchet's old, rigid hands holding a tiny figure of his beloved conjunx. If I was like Drift, I would describe those objects as “emitting a sinister aura”. I don't want to ask what that odd shrine symbolises.

Every wall, every corner, every surface, every scrap your eyes can taste screams to be looked at and questioned in some way. Put bluntly, it's too fucking much. Even if you were rested and not in an emotionally tender place.

“The last time I was here was not long after the quest ended”, I start. “Back when it had only just become Ratchet and Drift's place.” Megatron finds me something non-alcoholic to drink, joins me at the table, and pours me a glass. “Been a while since then.”

“Yes. It has.” He agrees.

“I had no idea Drift was such a hoarder.”

“I suppose now the war is over, people want some safety and comfort, and this is how Drift channels that need. I think Ratchet channels his by letting this happen. It's… sweet.”

“How about you?”

“I have no right to a quiet post-war existence. No right to safety and comfort. I think it's that belief which keeps me safe and comfortable.”

“I meant as in, how about yours and Minimus's place?”

“Ah. Certainly more peaceful than this. Functional and simply decorated, but of course with a few bookcases and shelves for those precious objects we both need to hold on to. You'll see it, of course, if you come to the next poetry meetup.”

“Heh, I suppose I will.”

“How about yours and Prowl's place?”

“It's… too soon to be calling it that.”

“Is it?”

Our flat is an open wound. “Well… you could say I've already made my mark on his place.”

“Perhaps one day you can host. Once Prowl is fully recovered, of course.”

“Hmm.” I'm so thirsty. I take a drink. “I still can't get used to it. Everyone splitting off into their pairs and groups, settling down.”

“It's a symptom of peace. You aren't the only one having trouble adjusting. It's part of the psychopathology of being a species that spent 99% of its time in conflict and the most recent 1% finally presented with the choice to relax. These days, the most worrying thing anyone has to think about is reading how King Starscream has put his high-heeled foot in his mouth in each day's news report. It's only natural. But everyone will come around to peace.”

“Perhaps…” I start, “war had its good points.”

Megatron looks down at his glass and idly swirls the contents before knocking them back. “Take this from the person who was most convinced of that belief: it did not.”

“...Yeah, god, you're right. What am I saying? I… I didn't realise until recently that I have this hard a time accepting when things are over. Not the war itself, but… the action, that excitement and a reason to get up and do stuff. The team that becomes like a family. Stuff like that. That's what that quest was about for me. It's still hard to accept ‘safety and comfort’ when it's right there, but in a form I don't… want.” I pause and take a sip. “Do you think I'm like a magnet for chaos and drama and stuff?”

“No. No one has a magnetic pull towards chaos. On the other hand… perhaps, yes. But I get the impression Prowl is the same. Unable to accept an end to that wartime status quo. Maybe that's why you two were drawn together. You're both on a page that everyone else around you is moving on from. And being with someone who was the same as you allowed you both to see it and grow past it.”

“Nah. It's because we were both drunk and depressed.” I laugh wearily. “But I can see what you're getting at. Yeah. Yeah…”

During the short pause in our conversation, we can hear more arguing in the living room. That's the peace we all fought for. Those two never used to fight like that when I was in between them.

“You don't seem like yourself”, Megatron interrupts.

“Yeah? I mean, give me a break, man. I've hardly slept this week.”

“I was referring to more than just recharge deprivation. You don't seem like your old self. It's a good thing. Someone else is emerging. If I may say, someone better.” I consider the possibility. What does that make me now? “I really am sorry for my behaviour at Rewind’s event. I should have trusted you more with your own life.”

“No, you were right. I was being selfish. But, I suppose, being selfish turned out alright."

“It often does for you."

“Heh.” I'm too vulnerable right now. I need to-

“Don't ruin it for yourself, Rodimus.” Megatron sits forward and puts his hand firmly on my shoulder. It's daunting, but I'm glad it's happening. “Please. Just once. Protect it. Good things are precious. Treat them that way.”

He removes his hand and I smirk away the seriousness in the room. “Are you calling Prowl ‘precious'?”

“I'm calling you and Prowl together precious. Unexpected. But true.”

I quickly ask before fear changes my mind, “Would you like to officiate our wedding?"

Megatron's eyes flash and his face quickly arrives at surprise. “I'm sorry?”

“You heard.”

"You wouldn't want Optimus to do it?” The words rush out of him.

“Come on, do you even need to ask?”

Megatron relaxes his body and smiles again, more of a grin actually, looking unusually proud and endeared. He raises a hand to his chest. "In that case, I'd be honoured. But shouldn't you ask Prowl first? Won't he object to this?”

“Yeah, probably, but no more than if Optimus officiated. I'll bring him round. He's actually really easy to-” My communicator rings. It's from Arcee.

"What's up?" I ask. Megatron watches me, concerned.

"The only thing that's up is Prowl. He's been cleared for release."

A relieved sigh escapes me. "Okay. Right. I'll head over to the hospital."

"No you won't. Prowl said he doesn't want to see you."

"W-what?" I look at Megatron. He can see a certain brief terror cross my face.

"He wants to get work done first and then head home."

"Work?! What work does he want to do after spending a week in a hospital bed?!” I shout. “You bloody tell him i'll-"

"You misunderstand. Cosmetic work. His body isn't fit for consumption right now. He'll be done when he's done. I'll give you another call. He'll see you at your place. As in, his place. As in, both of your place. You know what I mean, idiot." She hangs up.

My mouth hangs open, trying to reply at nothing. Megatron looks at me expectantly. “I'll uh… good news. He's out. Of hospital. Said he needs to do something first. So I'll go home later. Seems like everything's fine though.”

Megatron rests his hand on my back. He keeps it there for a long time. “It's okay to be worried about what comes next, Rodimus.” He knew what I needed. I couldn't stand the loneliness anymore.

Chapter Text

“Come home.”

That was all his message said.

Come home.

I stayed the night on Ratchet and Drift's sofa. I wanted to give Prowl the space he asked for. His message came in the afternoon.

Come home.

I'm stood outside our front door. I heard his message. He heard my footsteps. I hold the door handle. He knows I'm out here. I know he's in there.

Come home.

His message is clear. This truly is my home now. And he wants me there. Prowl gave me the power here, to open the door and agree to those terms. And yet, there's conflict. I'm struggling to bring myself to go inside.

I've lost track of how long I've been stood here. Seconds? Minutes? How many minutes?! Frustrated, I yell out, "Why can't I open the bloody door to my own flat?! Ugh! Right, Prowl, I'm just gonna come in!"

The door slides open. There he is. Sat calmly at the kitchen table, leant forwards, head resting on his right hand. He looks… different. The first thing that hits me is what's missing. Still missing. Torn off and discarded by the lake side. Never reclaimed. No new parts. His chest is flat, shoulders slim and back doorless. A basic and streamlined body now.

I could put the changes down to just repairing functionality without bothering to replace the parts, until I notice that more has been lost. The wheels in his legs have also been removed. Windows on his shins too. The grids and fans at his hips. Anything. Anything that made him a car... gone.

Stranger still is that it looks like he's had his job extracted from his body as well. He no longer has “police” written on him. That detail lived on his doors. Shoulder weapons removed. He painted over some other significant symbols too: stars, arrows, letters. The rest of his paint is mostly the same, but touched up. The same white and black with that flash of red above blue eyes. But... he's been declawed and decared. No longer a tool or a weapon. Prowl is what's left. Just himself.

Part of me thinks it's a shame to ruin such a hot body as his. He is slimmer, smaller, less my type now, but then I see his face... and I reconsider. His face. Entirely the same. No changes. Prowl's face. Every morning it greeted me with hot coffee. Every evening it shone in the glow of the TV while dozing off. The sunset lakes and the moonlit skies: all visited in that face. Exactly as I remember it, staring at it for a week straight, waiting for him to look back. Now it's finally happening. And stranger, better still... his face is smiling. Just a little. But a little more than it used to.

"Rod", Prowl says, a hint of relief and longing, urging me to come over and sit next to him at the table. I do. The whole journey, I'm unable to remove my eyes from him. I sit. He starts. "I am sorry for my behaviour at the lake. I won't apologise for what I did to myself. But… I should not have hurt anyone close to you."

"Pfft, I'm not close to Spike."

"Not him”, Prowl corrects. “Daniel. And Samuel. I have very little remorse for what I did to Spike. I know it was foolish of me, but I'll allow myself to be foolish on occasion." He means me. Us. Not negatively though. At all. "But the consequences for... your family. They were completely unacceptable. So my apology is for hurting those two, and... for hurting you." Prowl raises his right hand to my cheek, cups it and lightly strokes it with his thumb.

I lean into his hand. "No. No. It's- it's alright." I feel drawn to him right now. I catch myself, so I lean away. Prowl notices and, with a hint of alarm, takes my hand resting on the table. Holds it. Holds it tight.

Seven days of him not holding my hand back. My defenses soften. And break.

He smiles. Without asking, my lips smile back. Is it honest?

"So, uh, is this the work you wouldn't let me see?" I say, gesturing to his body.

"It had to be done.” He's forcing himself to sound casual. “I can't walk around looking like a wreck."

"And you didn't want to replace any of the car parts?"

Quietly, as though he shouldn't care but does, Prowl is evaluating my opinion of his new look. This is awkward for him. I want to reassure him. "Not that you need to. I mean, you look good. Great even. So how does the new body feel?”

His body relaxes, choosing lightness. “Unburdened. I now understand how you felt after burying your spoiler in Nyon.” Prowl readies himself to say more. Is he going to find some complex and detailed way to justify why he tore out all of his car parts? "I have no interest in ever transforming again. I have made my decision, as irrational and based in emotion as it is, and I stand by it."

"Fair enough. I will say though… after it happened, I couldn't take anything back with me other than you. Couldn't carry it. I had to leave all your parts, except... this one." I open my chest panel and reveal what I have been keeping in the empty space. I take out Prowl's transformation cog. "I just didn't want you to be without it, in case you ever changed your mind."

I hold the dull orb out to him but he doesn't take it, so I just place it on the table. We watch it roll and meander a little before settling. Prowl picks the cog up. Without showing emotion, he examines the detail of the object, crevisses filled and marred with blood and mud. Satisfied, he holds it back out to me. "You can have it. Please. Keep it safe for me." Trust overflows from his eyes and lips. Does he mean it?

I take Prowl's cog from his open hand. Looking down at it, scraping away some of the filth from the mechanisms with my fingers, I look back up and meet his stare. "Yeah. Of course I will." I'll always keep you safe. "But anyway, yeah, It feels like you changed everything about yourself. You look so different now. Except your face.” What the fuck am I saying?! Stop thinking about his face! “Ha, I'm surprised you didn't change your paint job too."

“Hm, we could.” Prowl says with a playful tone.

“W-what?”

"I've never been one for fussing over paint. My current colour pallete always suited me and my profession well enough, but I think I'm outgrowing it. And I'm beginning to find your new paint easy on the eyes. Maybe I should put some above mine."

"As in... my pink? My hot pink?" He nods.

"Ha, sure, I guess. But where? You don't mean on your spikes?” I gesture above his eyes. “Keep you mostly black and white and just change one colour for the other?"

"I'd like that."

“Right. Alright. Yeah. I can… do that.” Slowly, I get up and go to the cupboard where I store my paint and brushes. I take the can of pink and a small brush, open the tin and place it on the table for Prowl. He makes no movement towards the brush.

"I have no experience with paint. I'd like you to do it."
Huh. This is strange. Prowl is always suspicious of touch and closeness, always taking it, only accepting in moments when he feels in control. If he can do something himself, then he'll do it. He would never ask for this. But here he is, asking. I'm not about to say no, especially when he's showing a vulnerable side. Is it just for show?

I stand in front of Prowl, brush in hand, while he stays seated. The paints sit to my left on the table. I dip the brush into the tin and bring it to his head, stopping just millimetres from the surface.

"Are you sure you want this?"

"Yes. Of course I am." He smiles up at me. That smile is so new and, I think, genuine.

The brush makes its first touch with his metal skin. I begin. I'm concentrating on painting, but I can sense Prowl looking at me, glaring into me with affection. His focus on the task matches mine. I glance down occasionally to meet his eyes, before instantly snapping my attention back to painting… until I stop looking away.

The masks are down. No more manipulation. Just silence, apart from the brush of bristles and hum of our internals. Just presence. Presence with each other. There are times when I need to hold Prowl's chin to tilt his head one way or the other. Neither of us gripe about this.

As the moments pile, I end up reflecting on how we got to this point. This place where I can touch Prowl's face affectionately like this. It's strange. This man has been a force in my life, in everyone's lives. He changes you. I used to do anything to get out of having to stand in the same room as him. His face represented something I despised. He's an unavoidable black mark on your life, encouraging you to be worse. But then…

Then we stayed with each other for weeks, remembering what safety and happiness felt like at times. Then I stayed by his side for days, because I had to know he was safe. Waiting for his eyes to follow me and his lips to form emotions. Prowl. Someone who I hated for so long. I never imagined being this close to him. I can see the textured sheen of his face and through the glass lenses of his eyes, straight to the sensors and filaments. Now… I tenderly touch his chin, gently manipulate his head to find the best angle to paint him. And he doesn't resist. He rotates his head how I prompt, illuminated by this evening's soothing glow. His expression is tense, just from habit though. I can tell. Why is the unexpected so frightening and unwelcome, but beautiful?

"Thank you, Rod", Prowl whispers, suddenly.

My answer comes delayed, also quiet. I was lingering in the moment. “Hmm? For what?”

“Your gift. While I was in hospital.” He looks up at me.

I try to keep painting. "Oh. That. It was nothing."

"No. It wasn't". He takes my free hand in both of his. His eyes have a rabid glint in them. Something like joy. Might actually be joy. "I've never been given innermost energon before. Have you?"

The question makes me a little sad. "...No. I haven't, actually."

Prowl continues his line of questioning. "You understand its significance though?"

"Yeah. I get it." This is intense.

"And you meant it?” He enquires, still gripping my hands, rubbing the wedding ring, choking my fingers.

"I meant it, yeah." What's going on?

"Rod" He squeezes my hand. "I'm happy right now. Are you?" I despise his face.

"Of... of course I am." I say hesitantly.

"You don't sound sure."

Conflict. "No, no, of course I am. I'm happy too." I shouldn't have come home.

Prowl lets go of my hand and looks at me with skepticism. Unspeakably, my spark chills and cracks.

He purses his lips then speaks, calm and clear. "Rod, why is it that you can give me your innermost energon, but you can't say you want to be with me to my face?"

Frustrated, I sling the paintbrush at the table, splattering paint spots everywhere, including us. "Is this an interrogation, officer?! I don't hear you saying you want to be with me! You're just edging around it, saying you're happy and shit. We're all happy, Prowl!"

"What's wrong?"

“Nothing’s wrong.”

He stares me down.

“Nothing's wrong. I'm just gonna take a walk and I'll uh come back later to finish this. Finish painting later, yeah?”

“Tell me now what's wrong.”

What's wrong? I can't be in love with you. You're the manipulative piece of shit that ruined so many lives. You took the Lost Light from me - You ruined my life! I can't love that. But-

But you're also making me better. When you're someone who's used to failing all the time, you'll take any opportunity to not get better. I can't let myself be in love with you.

"You! You're what's wrong! You're selfish! I mean, you, I'm happy you're out of the hospital, of course I am. And you're acting all different and stuff. That's fine. But... you, you tore your whole body up. You did that!” I'm a shouting, stuttering, incoherent mess. Yeah, this feels right. “I had to drag you back so you didn't die! Selfish! I was... for a whole week! I didn't... for a whole week! You know?!"

Prowl is just listening. Waiting for me to get it all up and tire myself out. Like the first night we were together. Make me vomit out all that spiteful discharge and catch me while at my weakest. "At least you got to be unconscious for it! I had to be awake the whole time. Fuck knows why I stayed." The intense atmosphere has buckled under the emotional weight. I collapse to the chair, fold over and sigh.

Prowl stands up, comes close, leans down, hugs me. He hugs me. I can't believe he's actually hugging me. His body really is a lot smaller. Not quite as strong. But that doesn't matter. His arms are still wrapped tight.

This time, I let myself lean into it. "I… I was worried,” I start, compelled to honesty. “I shouldn't have cared. You would have been fine. But I was still so worried."

Prowl cheek is resting on my head. It twitches. I can feel his proud smile. "I know. Arcee told me. She said you barely left my side. I'm glad to hear that. Thank you for staying with me.” I feel so patronised.

I sense Prowl searching for something reassuring. “I asked Arcee to be my best man."

I'm shocked. Literally, I can feel the shock leaping from my spark and into my circuits. That means the wedding is real. Actually, real. Still submerged in his arms, I ask, "Ha, so... you really want to get married?"

Prowl hesitates. He's usually good at hiding his thinking, but I can see it all working on his face today. I can't even see his face right now, but… I can still tell. "I'm not honest with people very often, but I feel a need to be honest with you right now, Rod." He disrupts the hug and sits back down across from me. He prepares himself further.

"There was a point in hospital. A point where I woke up, and you were not in the room. I thought you'd… left me. For good. I knew it. After all, I'd done something violent and terrible. My immediate thought was that I had gotten what I deserved. I was in pain. I was alone. Everything was as it should be. Then…” He opens a panel in his body and retrieves something. A fluorescent vial of pink. "Then I saw your innermost energon. Felt it in my hand. And I realised-" He holds the vial tightly, warmly, rubbing up and down with his thumb. "-I realised this game we have been playing... it's not a game anymore, is it, Rod? It hasn't been for a while."

Prowl waits for me to answer, but I can't.

His face is expressionless, but when I look closer, I can see an unthinkable, little bit of desperation. "Would you give me your innermost energon if this was all a game you didn't care about?” He holds the vial out to me. “Would you do this just for show?"

With ambivalence and I sigh, answer, “I mean, yeah, maybe. Probably.” How am I still able to find new ways to be disappointed in myself?

“...Yes, so would I if there was something to gain.” Prowl agrees. "Hmm. Would I feel compelled to change my body?"

“Yeah, of course. You've got no remorse. Paint is nothing to you.”

“Partially true. And you've also changed your body many times for your own gain so we can't trust each other there.”

We look at each other, waiting for some sign that things will be okay. It looks like our constant games of manipulation have got us to a place where we can’t trust each other's intentions, even now that we sincerely want to.

I ponder a little longer. "Oh! I asked Megatron to officiate the wedding. That's me showing I'm dedicated, just like you asking Arcee to be best man."

"You what?!" He shouts.

"Oh, yeah, look, I mean, I officiated his wedding so it only fair that he-"

"Stop. It's fine. He can do it if he must. It's not as though I have anyone better to suggest."

We sit quietly and contemplate for a minute longer. There's a tension which calmly dissolves into comfort. Comfort in just being next to each other. I can see the same thought dawning in him.

“Maybe for us,” Prowl starts, “it's going to be games and manipulations all the way down. That's how we operate in this world. But... I think that is… as it should be.”

I smile at how right that feels. I laugh, short and sweet. “Yeah. Honestly, that's fine with me. You still invited me home. I still came home. You're still up for getting married. I'm still up for getting married. Let's just keep hurtling forward. We'll either cross the finish line, or crash and explode. Whatever. Sounds good with me either way. Yeah, wifey?" Prowl leans forward and kisses me. Breathlessly, I kiss back. A week's worth of barely lucid passion finds release on our lips.

Flustered, but hiding it well, Prowl pulls away. “Yes. ‘Sounds good’. And now that's out of the way, finish painting.” I'll blame the pink tinge to his cheeks on stray paint. He'd like that.

Also flustered, I do as he asks. I caught myself dragging the paintbrush, dragging out the experience. Not only being this close to Prowl, but us both being so pulled to peace by each other. I didn't want it to end. It makes me sick to think of, but I really didn't. It was a truly lovely reunion.

*

It's funny. I joked about Drift and Ratchet with their psycho shelf of disembodied hands and voodoo-like figure. Yet here Prowl and I are; putting up a shelf in our flat, just above the kitchen table. A shelf that just has two objects: my innermost energon vial and Prowl's transformation cog. Something precious from inside of each of us, gifted to the other. Like Megatron said, good things are precious. They need to be protected. Loved, even.

Chapter Text

"Next on the planning list: the cake." Drift declares.

"Yes, thank you. God. It’s about time. I did not give a shit about what colour the table cloths or the bowkets were."

"It's “bouquet’, Rod. Its pronounced ‘buˈkeɪ’."

"I swear I will get rid of you as wedding planner if you-"

"No no! No. Please not that.” Drift hurriedly clears the boring documents from the table and puts them back in his wedding folder. He brings out the cake plans and lays them out in front of us. There's hand drawn sketches, photographs and menus from Cybertronian bakeries which I had no idea existed. “Here are my initial ideas for the cake. First of all, what type of cake do you want?"

"All."

"...All?"

"Yes. All."

"Right. Um... okay. How about you, Prowl? What's your favourite kind of cake?"

"None." Prowl answers, sat opposite to us, staring down at his data pad.

"No cake?"

"No."

"W-why?"

"I don't consume fuel."

"What? What are you talking about?” Drift laughs awkwardly. “What's he talking about, Rod?"

"Prowl doesn't eat." I confirm while quietly topping up my coffee mug. Prowl's too. I offer some to Drift but he shakes his head.

"But... what? So you're recharge only?"

"Yes." Prowl answers, sipping his coffee. “I never even drank this until that idiot brought it into my residence.”

"But why? And how do you have so much food in your cupboards? Don't tell me that's all for you Rod." I shrug and flippantly nod. “So that's why half your cupboards are full of food and the other half are barren. Of course. Right. Yes. Of course. So. What is wrong with you two?!" Drift catches himself and corrects his composure. "I mean, it's just, food is delicious. Cake is delicious."

"I don't see the appeal of fuel consumption." Prowl asserts again.

"Maybe you just... haven't found the right fuel yet."

Prowl still doesnt look away from the data pad. "Why is this such a problem for you?" he casually asks.

I agree. "Yeah, Drift, what's bothering you so much?"

"You can't have a wedding without cake!" He yells hysterically. "What about the tiered cake and choosing the flavour and the topper that looks like you both and then you cut it while both holding the knife and then everyone has a piece?! What about that?!"

"We can still do that. Prowl just wouldn't eat any."

Drift jumps to his feet. "I will be back in 15 minutes! Wait for me!" He rushes out of our front door. We then hear loud, fast footsteps, gradually getting quieter, followed out of the window by a faint transformation and an engine speeding off."

*

12 minutes later, Drift is back with a small, pastel pink box containing something sweet smelling.

He opens the box to reveal... “Yes! It's about time something good came out of this wedding planning." …A selection of three slices of cake: one pink, one dark brown, one light brown.

"These are from a world class bakery several miles from here." I move to take a piece, but Drift slaps my hand away. "No! Let Prowl taste it first. We need to fix this."

Drift offers Prowl the cake box and fork. "Try them."

"I'm not interested."

"Go on."

Prowl groans but looks over to me to see my reaction: amused anticipation. Sighing, he lifts the fork, carves off a small fragment of pink cake, and eats it. After a dozen seconds of chewing and swallowing like he'd forgotten how the underused parts function, he confirms what we knew. "I don't see the appeal." Unimpressed, he puts his fork down.

Drift's outrage is audible from the way his body begins to hum. "Are your taste receptors broken?" he manages to push out through an uncomfortable smile.

"No. I can taste. It's fruity, with a hint of something floral. The cake texture is light and fluffy, and this cream has an intense sweetness. I can identify the information entering my brain, and I have no fondness for it."

I slide the cake box towards myself. "Let me try that." I taste it. My face softens. It's so sweet and delicious. "I… I didn't know it was possible to make something this good out of energon.”

Drift is at least pleased by my response, enough for his smile to be honest again. "Oh, it isn't. Not with just energon. Energon of course has some part in the production of the raw ingredients to make it consumable for us, but a lot of the components are Earth based. Or at least, synthesised using organic molecular structures. No species bakes quite like humans apparently.

"In my opinion, two of the best (and only) bakeries on Cybertron are this one, owned by one of the last remaining Circle of Light members. He went and studied Japanese baking on Earth, so he escaped the… uh… anyway." I take a bite from the dark brown cake, savouring the incredible taste. I nod and cover my mouth to hide my joy from Drift. I can't let him know I'm eating the second piece without his permission. "The other is Camien. Since their culture has a great focus on the arts, she's a galaxy renowned pâtis-"

"What is happening to you?" Prowl interrupts. "How is this substance making you react like that?" I turn my head to face Prowl who is staring at me with keen absorption. Most likely he's been watching me this whole time. His data pad hangs in his hand. He's lost interest in it.

"Cuz it just tastes good. I dunno. It's the things you said. It's sweet and fluffy and stuff. But it just is good. You know, it just is."

He squints, still not understanding. He points to the light brown cake. "Try that one."

"Oh, that one is cheesecake-inspired." Drift informs us.

"Try it." Prowl repeats.

I do. And it's incredible. The flavours pull at my cheeks and I can't suppress a smile and a whine from my lips.

"Ha! You like it that much?" Prowl scrapes a small amount up with his fork, deliberating the taste a little closer this time, but ultimately disappointed, seemingly… threatened by its effects on me. "Hmpf. What are you getting out of this that it produces such an emotional response? It almost looks physical. How can fuel actually be that pleasurable?"

"Maybe with practice, you'll get it." Drift reassures, quite condescendingly. "Hopefully before the wedding.”

*

The next morning, I am awoken by a new and delicious aroma in our flat. When I leave the bedroom, I'm immediately greeted by Prowl at the kitchen table, sat forward, resting on his elbows, fingertips spread and pressed together, index fingers supporting his chin. In front of him, perfectly arranged on the table are three plates, each containing a slice of cake: one pink, one dark brown, one light brown, like yesterday, except... they are so much more beautiful. Yesterday's cakes were functional in their appearance, whereas these are ornately decorated with powders, piped creams, chocol-

"Are you going to gawk or are you going to sit?"

I know how he got them. "Where did you get these?" I ask while walking to the table, sitting across from Prowl. "These are like the cakes from yesterday, but way better."

He smirks arrogantly. "Yes, they should be better. I reverse engineered the cakes to analyse the ingredients and calculate the recipes, but I made alterations to enhance the flavours I felt you would enjoy more. So yes, they will absolutely be better. More to your tastes." He pushes the pink cake forward. "This one first."

I do as instructed. As my fork descends through the cake, I already notice the consistency is thicker, the texture wetter. I raise the fork into my mouth. Undeniably, this cake tastes much better than yesterday, the flavours more vivid, and a small whimper passes from my lips. Prowl liked that.

"It's called bitterness. It's created using sour fruits.” Prowl answers before I could ask. “It cuts through the insipid sweetness of that Circle of Light cake, creating a more complex flavour. The sweet enhances the tart. The tart enhances the sweet. These are the facts."

I move my fork down for another taste but Prowl tugs the plate away so I just clatter against the table. "No, don't spoil yourself yet. Try this one now." He pushes forward the dark brown cake.

I'm frowning after the way he denied me more of what I want, but that frown sinks away, reforming as adoration with my first bite of the second cake. "Oh my god. What the fuck did I just put in my mouth? Is this what chocolate is supposed to taste like?! How?!"

Prowl looks excited and talks at a slightly faster pace than usual. "It needed a higher fat content to be creamier, to force out the deepest layers of the chocolate's flavour profile. My analysis revealed the ingredients were too low in these specifications. It wasn't good enough. Unacceptable.”

Still reeling from the second cake, anxious for more, I pull the third plate forward. Steam seeps from the surface and edges. "This one looks really different to the one from yesterday."

"Yes. The one from yesterday made the entire cheesecake mix using caramel flavouring, whereas I have decided to run the caramel in rivulets through a basic vanilla mix to make it concentrated and potent where it needs to be.” Prowl reaches forward and twists the plate this way and that to display his fine work. “That caramel was also much, much too light. It had to be cooked longer to make it darker and richer. I also added ground almond to the base to give it a nutty flavour and rougher texture which goes well with the creaminess of the cheesecake. Finally, I baked it, ‘American style’, since I know you like hot things and the warmth once again brings out these flavours and enhances the textures."

Perhaps it's the bitterness of the pink or the sweetness of the dark brown, or the heat from the cake before me, but I feel the warmth rising, collecting on my cheeks. "This is uh kinda overwhelming, Prowl. How did you do all of this? In one night?"

He laughs proudly. "Why are you surprised? I've done the research. Now taste it."

I do. It's exactly as he described. And it's an exquisite combination. Breathtaking. Beyond comprehension. Overcome by a fragile transcendence, I lay my fork down, lay my eyes down, almost afraid to face Prowl because I know the intensity of his vision could smelt. I whisper, "This is the… best thing… I've… ever eaten.” Slowly, hesitantly, I look up.

Prowl stares completely into my eyes, oppressing my senses further. "Yes. Yes it is. And I made it." He leans further forward, triumphant. "Don't forget that I made these for you. The next time you're out at bakeries with Drift, remember:

"You Have Better At Home."

I recover enough from this pleasant morning assault and pull all three plates towards myself. "Hmm. You know, Drift and I are going to that Camien pâtisserie next week. Who knows what they could have...."

Jealousy corrupts his smile into a scowl and his eyes flash with heated focus. "Listen to me: I need samples. Bring me pieces of everything you eat or else I will scrape the samples from the lining of your fuel tank."

I laugh and scoop up another fork-full of cake. "Or... we could just go together."

Prowl expression blanks. He stands up, turns away to face the countertop and pours our morning coffee. "We could. Yes."

*

"Hey, Drift, about time you answered the phone. Cancel that order with the pâtisserie."

"What? Why? No! Prowl talked you out of getting a cake. No. You can't let him do that. We need that cake!"

"No, much better actually. Prowl's gonna be baking my wedding cake."

Chapter Text

“Things with me and Prowl, they've been great. They were great, really. Until...

“Look, I mean, It was simple enough. Monthly brunch. We're at monthly brunch right now. It's, you know, one of those new, over-priced cafes in like a gentrified area of Iacon. Which is so much of Iacon. Weirdly, we were kind of looking forward to brunch in a way. Honestly, we're unrecognisable from who we we're at Drift and Ratchet's wedding, and-

“Wait, no, before that, so, we made up after he was in hospital. We've been planning... the wedding. Prowl got a new hobby. I've been doing…

“Well, it doesn't matter what I've been doing because everything's great. We've been seeing Drift even more now, since he's our wedding planner. Ratchet came over a few times too. You know Ratchet. Prowl used to leave when that happened but he's started staying with us. Maybe it's to be nice, maybe it's because he's invested in the wedding, or maybe... it's because he wants to be around people.

“I dunno. Who can say. But point is, it's nice. It was all nice. He's been doing so many nice things like that. Making this big effort. He came along to the poetry club. It was kind of funny, he made Drift feel like the fifth wheel! Not that you know... or care about him... or that. Hmm. But anyway, Prowl's first ever poem was terrible. ‘It has no imagination or heart’, that's what that bitch, Minim- I mean, uh, that's what Minimus said. I don't think it was hostile really though. He's coming round to Prowl. His cakes are too ‘tasty', after all. And for what it's worth, I loved his poem. I pestered him about reading it once he said it was done. And then he brought it to me when he finished each rewrite. I think it had plenty of imagination and heart. Minimus just didn't get it. It was written for me after all, not him.

“...

“You're not saying anything. Fine, yeah, I'll stop talking about stupid poetry. Don't worry, I hate poetry.

“Prowl... comes home from work on time these days. He takes his days off. He took up baking. And it's delicious. He even eats some of the food. Only small bites, but... he smiles… and enjoys them.

“...

“Prowl baked for the brunch today. Can you believe that?

“...

“But yeah, we go to a monthly brunch. We're at one of those monthly fucking brunches that I've dodged out of so many times before. Not everyone from the Lost Light is here. Apparently not everyone can make it every time. But there's a good few of them. And I'm trying my best to be my old lovable self, the old captain, but uh, it doesn't fit anymore. …Never did, did it? Maybe it did for a bit. Yeah, I'm gonna go with that.

“So I try to make the best of it anyway. For me. For Prowl. He's still in there, sat at this big, massive, round table. Megatron and Minimus, have to hire a place because there's so many of us. There they go again, being better at captaining than-

“But I’m trying to make the best of it! Okay? There Prowl is, sat at the table. He's talking, rubbing elbows with people. He's smiling. He looks so fucking amazing. And there's an empty chair next to him. Because I'm out here, and- SHIT, he just looked at me! Fuck, hold on. I should have stood further away or just turned away or something. Guess I didn't want to...

“...

“...

*sigh* “We get to brunch. We arrive on time. I never do that. Prowl baked. He puts the cakes down. Unveils them. Everyone oohs and ahhs. They ask "where did you get them?" And we say proudly, in unison:

      "Prowl made them!"       "I made them!"

“No one believed it at first but, I suppose, no one who hadn't seen me in ages could believe any of it. I was there, no spoiler, old colours. Prowl was there, no car, new colour. The two of us: holding hands! It's... unbelievable. "Unbelievable!" That's the word people used, and I will give them that. We hated each other, didn't we? Always shouting and fighting. Never seeing eye to eye.

“...

“But yeah, things were good to start. People loved his cakes. Drift regrettably did. He'll come round. It's been nice to catch up. And Prowl surprisingly got on well with people. Everyone's starting to see he can be an approachable, funny guy when he's not constantly trying to use you. Uhh, who else is here? Cyclonus and Tailgate and Whirl. They live together or something. They're like a married couple with a psycho dog. I don't know how they make it work but they do? Must be love or something. Who else turned up? Oh yeah, there's also-"

“Please get on with it, Rodimus. I do not have all day.”

“...

“...And then Chromedome and Rewind showed up. Late. Apparently, they didn't think they could turn up but last minute, they did. This was... not planned. I felt the light in Prowl's eyes flicker when he saw them outside. Right about where I'm stood now. I grabbed his hand. Tightly. Went close to his head. Told him quietly, "we don't have to be here if you don't want to." He made no reaction. Just kept looking.

“They reacted first.

“You know how that bitch Rewind can be. Do you? People think he's all innocent cuz he's small and his partner's got depression. Uh, we've all got depression! I still haven't forgiven him for when he punched me in the face. At least when I punch people in the face when I'm not supposed to, I regret it immediately after. Rewind showed no regret. Never apologised. I don't forgive him. And I was pretty sure Prowl still hadn't forgiven him for-

“That was when Prowl stood up. Everything stilled. For me, that is, it all went still. Chromedome was looking all mopey or pissed off or something by the doorway after making eye contact with Prowl and me. I could see Rewind trying to reassure him while also throwing us dirty looks. I think people in the room were still just talking, just waiting and seeing how it would play out. After all, so much time has passed and Prowl and I, we’re reformed! We're no longer shit. Right?

“Prowl stands up. His chair scrapes as he does and he just stands there, thinking, for a dozen seconds. A resolve gets in his eyes. His face soothes into someone placid. He's planning...

“While I kept my eye on Prowl, I wasn't paying attention to everything being said, but I caught the last bit of what Rewind had said. Something like ‘those two bastards deserve each other’.

“Prowl starts walking over to Chromedome and Rewind, still stood at the doorway. They go silent while he approaches.

“Everyone was watching now.

“Prowl stops in front of them. He opens his mouth. And he says, ‘I am sorry for my behaviour towards both of you for... for…’ It looked so painful. I wanted to run over and save him. ‘...for the entirety of us knowing each other.’

“His eyes looked to Chromedome, then to Rewind, back to CD, and then at the floor.

“After a moment of silence, of course Rewind was the first to open his fucking mouth. And what he said makes me want to-

“It makes me-

“What he said, to Prowl, my Prowl, after he debased himself, by apologising to that bitch, was one word:

" ‘Beg.’ "

" ‘I'm sorry?’ Prowl asked. He heard. We all heard. But he needed to confirm. We needed confirmation that that was what Rewind had said.

“ ‘No, you aren't.’ came Rewind, all smarmy. ‘I want you to get on the floor and show you're sorry by begging for me and Chromedome to forgive you. If you really mean it, then it is the least you can do after all this time. After everything.’

“...

“And... he did.

“He lowered his left knee. Slowly. Then the right. His face looked… kinda determined, I think. He pushed his body forward, flattened and spread both hands. He leaned himself all the way down, pressing his forehead to the ground. I start to feel this like… quake in my chest. It's all sickly, like I'm gonna vomit. He... he let the spikes on his head... which we… we spent so long painting... touch the ground in front of their feet. And for the longest few seconds, I couldn't recognise him. All the changes to his body, his life, his character. He didn't look like Prowl to me anymore.

" ‘Please,’ he said. ‘Please, Chromedome and Rewind. Forgive me for how I have acted for so much of my life. I apologise.’ Then louder, ‘I apologise to everyone in this room. I truly want to... be better.’

“Everyone is still silent. Everyone is staring at the disgusting scene in front of them. Everyone. But then I feel a pair of eyes on me, a few seats away. Ratchet's of all people. He looks at me like he has no interest in this voyeurism. I was just happy to have someone's eyes viewing me, rather than falling on Prowl.

“ ‘I didn't actually expect him to do it.’ Rewind says! I think there might have been a bit of regret in there. Prowl looks up and sees CD's hand is stretched out to him. In disbelief, Prowl takes the hand. I don't think they forgave him, but enough time had passed and Prowl was just so different, that it must have disarmed them in some way. Enough for Rewind to feel a little bad and for CD to hold out a hand. Or maybe they were just uncomfortable and wanted to move on.

“Without a word, they all went to their seats, and everything went back to normal, I suppose. Prowl dusted off his knees, sat next to me and... I said nothing to him. I couldn't.

“I just kept thinking;
What did he do that for?
What the fuck did he do that for?
Did he deserve to be humiliated like that?
Had I caused that?
On his knees, begging for forgiveness - what had I done to him?
Was he making me better while I was making him worse?

" ‘You made up with Chromedome and Rewind?’ I finally asked him, in a daze. My lips were tired.

" ‘I attempted to, yes.’ he said, quite upbeat, while still wiping his hands after where they had been.

" ‘You missed a spot.’ I willed my hand upwards to point to the beautiful spikes on his forehead.

" ‘Oh, of course.’ He begins wiping them lightly. (I wanted to do that for him.) "Thank you, Rod." He smiles at me like nothing has happened. I smiled back, because I didn't want him to know something was wrong. Of course, he knows. He's not stupid. But as in, I didn't want him to think something was wrong that had to be dealt with now. It's a later problem. He can deal with that later. But I didn't pay much attention to what happened after that. It’s a now problem for me.

“...

“...

“...”

"And that's when you called me?"

"...Yeah. Thereabouts. I sat for a bit longer at the table but I started to feel... uncomfortable. Like I had to get out of there. So yeah, I'm just stood outside, getting some fresh air. And I guess the urge to call you came up. Ha! Not a problem, is it?"

"What do you want me to do?"

I try to stare through the window at my friends, the people I know most, at Prowl. But it's hard. Cuz there's this horrible bright figure in the way, reflecting off the glass, distorting all their colours. Making everyone all yellow and pink. "...Listen?"

"I have listened, Rod. And I'm glad you're finally speaking to me properly. But my answer is still the same as it was by the lakeside."

He's exhausting. "Wasn't asking a question. Didn't want your answer."

"How many days until 'the wedding'?"

I close my eyes and exhale. It sounds like there's gravel in my throat. "...39."

"Still plenty of time to get back on the right track. You and Prowl are not compatible. The smart thing to do is break it off now. Your wedding is absurd."

It's amazing how you can know something is right in one part of your mind, but still be pulled towards doing what will hurt you. There's comfort there, in knowing you didn't deserve something good. You'll just fuck up good things, after all.

He interupts my thoughts. "Are you ready to apologise for your behaviour on the fishing trip?"

"My behaviour on...? Oh yeah, of course, sorry about that. Yeah, I was out of line."

"You are forgiven."

"Yeah, great, thanks for that." I reply in montone. “I…” I keep searching through the glass, back over at the table. Everyone is smiling, laughing, happy together. Even Prowl. Even with Prowl. I...

I look at Prowl. Who I love, with his cakes and his conviction and- SHIT! He's looking at me again! Why can't I just stay turned around?! Stop looking through the glass, idiot!

I can't bear it.

The dread has sunk in. The old chaotic patterns are returning. Unavoidable. I'm going to ruin this again for myself, aren't I?

"I think, I mean, yeah, god, maybe you were right about me and Prowl." I see my reflection in the glass. I look at us all together and they are all so happy. It terrifies me. I don't belong here. "Maybe it was a mistake after all."

Chapter Text

I was never going to take his advice, of course. I just called him to... to...

God, it's so stupid. I'm so stupid. Why do I do this to myself?

I decided I'd had enough of monthly fucking brunch. I walked out of there, beyond the window's view, down the street, in some direction. And when I was out of ear shot, I drove. No one could hear that I'd ran off. I'm free. Just like the good old days.

Gaining distance made me feel more like myself. I see a park up the road not too far from here. Has some benches and statues and stuff. I think the parks on Cybertron are pretty grim given what they look like on Earth. No greenery. Not much life beyond Us. How must this park look to a cybertronian whose only known Cybertron?

“We were happy? We were happy, weren't we?” That's what I'm chewing on in my head as I get to a bench, but then I decide against this one. Nearby is a statue of Optimus, looking heroic and smug. Where are my statues?! (I need to make sure I call Optimus back and tell him how much I fucking hate him.) So I walk on. There will be other benches.

“So, what's happening to me? Why can't I just keep hold of it?” I think. I've found a better place to sit. I turn off my eyes, and I relax. Cybertron is peaceful in a different way to organic planets, if you know how to listen for it. If it's part of you. But I'm not so sure right now. Engines rumbling nearby. Planes dashing overhead. Footsteps of so many people rushing or passing. It's always non-stop noise on Cybertron. If I turned off my audio receptors, would the noise stop? One set of steps stops right next to me. I don't need to turn on my eyes. It's Prowl. Of course it is. Keeping track of his asset.

He sits next to me. Too close. "I didn't ask you to sit with me," I spit.

"You didn't need to ask." He's so warm.

"I didn't want to!" I shout.

He's treading carefully. Good. He knows what I'm like by now. "What's this about, Rod?”

"Oh, what, so you don't know something?!" Maybe if he tells me what he thinks this is about, then I'll finally understand what this is about.

"It's because I... acquiesced to Rewind. It's because I humiliated myself in front of the others." It was disgusting. It was horrible. It's not something we should have let happen. It's something I'm not going to-

"I think we should break up,” I say.

Prowl's head twists round. "You what?" He laughs in disbelief and desperation.

"Yeah, I'm just not feeling it anymore."

"You're not feeling... our relationship?"

“Yeah, nah, it's just not my thing anymore.”

"You're joking." He's smiling as if he knows something I don't.

"No. I was joking before. But this is serious."

"And… by before, I'm assuming you mean...?"

I reply, casually, "Everything since Drift's wedding. Yeah."

Silence.

“Ha.” Smiling. "You're being so…" Stone-faced, "...cute." Prowl's smile fluctuates, turning on and off, till it turns down, and settles there. “If this was all just a joke-” He looks so sad. "I suppose it was... funny while it lasted."

I need to destroy this relationship. I can't be stopped.

"I know what you're thinking, Rod."

No, he doesn't.

"You're thinking that you can't help but destroy this because that's what you always do because that's who you are. I know because I'm thinking the same.” His voice gets louder. “It's taking every bit of restraint I have to not just tell you to fuck off and never come back to my flat again. Or worse, telling you to never, ever leave again. When things get bad, it's who we are. But, let's just keep pretending it isn't. Until after the wedding, or another week. Another day. Just... even five more minutes.”

So, the timer starts. Five minutes to fix two life times’ worth of fucking up.

We waste the first minute or so just sitting in silence. Why not? The sun is out, and its warmth feels so comforting to our metal skin. The air is delicate and still, with only the smallest shifting of breeze.

"This is nice," Prowl affirms.

"Yeah" I reply, putting my head on his shoulder. Prowl is smaller and shorter than me so it doesn't make much sense to sit like this, but who cares? I want my head on his shoulder.

"I don't know which is worse: Rewind asking you to beg or you actually doing it."

"I don't care if I have to humiliate myself if it's for you,” Prowl says as he lets himself rest his head on top of mine. “I wanted to make peace with your friends."

"Ha! Rewind isn't my friend. He hates my guts. He still hasn't apologised for punching me in the face. I hate that little bitch."

Eagerly, Prowl replies, "Can we get married sooner?"

"Heh, it's not like you to say something like that."

"Yeah, I think I'm changing for the better. We genuinely both are." He's so relaxed. "It's something even I can't fully comprehend."

I close my eyes again, and listen to Cybertron, returning to the never-ending hum of machinery. Busy and constant motors and electricals. It's so peaceful. Reminds me of sitting in soil.

"Can we go home after this?" I ask.

"Please,” Prowl groans out.

"I hated monthly fucking brunch. I knew there was a good reason why I never went. Besides being so drunk and down that I couldn't tell the days apart."

"I was concerned we were going to have to go to more of them."

"Maybe just once or twice a year, to keep up appearances. But we'll let them know in advance which ones we're going to so it gives time for Rewind and Chromedome to make up excuses to cancel."

"Good idea."

"Yeah… Hey, can I ask you something?"

"No."

"What? Why not?" I raise my head from his shoulder.

Prowl looks me straight in the eyes. "Because I know what it's going to be about. I don't want to talk about Chromedome. I don't need to. It took me god knows how many years but I'm finally over him."

"Nah. No you aren't. We'll never get over stuff like that. We're not like Chromedome. We can't just force ourselves to forget exes."

His eyes flash. "What?"

"You know? Whenever his exes leave him or die or whatever, he needles them out of his brain so he doesn't have to feel bad any more. Freak! He almost did it with Rewind too."

"He... he didn't do that with me though." His eyes dart about and his brow furrows.

"Uh, yeah, that's a red flag. I know we're shit at noticing those. He forgot all those other guys and didn't want to forget Rewind because he loved them. He probably wanted to remember you in case he ever made the same mistake again."

Prowl looks a little heartbroken.

"Sorry. That was too much," I reassure.

"No. It wasn't. It was blunt, but accurate. He's hardly alone in that assessment of me. Even you felt the same way about me just months ago."

We share a long silence. I can tell Prowl is thinking hard about something.

"...He was quiet,” Prowl begins, finally opening up. “And his ability intrigued me. He had this natural talent for it. From the moment I heard about mnemosurgery, I knew I had to meet one, work with one. It's a fascinating profession. It forces me to question a lot of my place in the world. How can I be so infallible if here is a man who could make me believe anything he wanted? Law enforcement and key members of government are trained against its effects, to stop information leaking, but mnemosurgery is... quite powerful.” He says, rubbing his neck, with some anxiety.

"My second impression of Chromedome was that... he had a subtle determination. He knew what he wanted in some ways, but had no idea in others. As time went on, and we learned more about each other, we hoped that we could be what the other needed. But... then came the war. After that is a story anyone can tell. No one could survive that fully intact. No one.

Prowl shifts a little in place. "I get the impression we were like you and Drift must have been. When you're in charge of them, you never expect them to disobey. Their reverence for your authority makes you complacent. And then you become expectant. And then you act too harshly too many times, and that mystical rose-tinted sheen fades from their eyes, and they start to see you for what you really are: nothing special. They... move on. They change. While you struggle to remember what "moving on" and "changing" felt like.

"I… I don't-” Prowl sighs weightily and looks at me. “I don't always know what to believe anymore. I used to be so certain about everything, but there's so many small cracks appearing."

When Prowl changed his body, I knew he would change with it. Of course he would. He achieves what he decides. But I didn't realise the small changes his body was having on mine. He's vulnerable without weapons to attack with and an alt mode to escape with. As his barriers fell away, I felt this quiet urge to protect him growing in me. I like to think I can still protect people. I want to be what he needs.

Suddenly, Prowl's posture shifts tall, extracting himself from that melancholic place. "Our five minutes are up." He swiftly slides my ring off his finger and holds it out to me. "Give mine back to me."

Startled, but… comfortable with playing along, I take his ring off my finger and put it in his hand, taking mine from him. Even pretending this exchange is irreversible makes me feel something close to terror. This ring used to be part of me. But now it's part of Prowl. I could never take that from us.

"Actually, can I have mine back?"

"Of course." He smiles and returns the ring. I put it back where it belongs.

I'm glad I have Prowl here to help me through my breakdowns. One day, I'll fix my compulsions and delusions. Not right now. One day. I'm feeling confident, so I say, "ask for yours back too."

…There's an icy pause. And then, the cracks get bigger. His smile fragments and slowly sinks. Prowl is staring at the ring. Just staring. He looks like he's lost something. But it's right here. In my hand.

Something really wrong sits in the air. "Hey, I wasn't serious. Here, take the ring back." I touch his hand, scrape my fingertips prying it open, but it's clenched tight. He tears his hand out of mine. I… I feel sick.

Prowl gets up, to his feet, and looks down at me.

I did it. Didn't I? I fucked it up. Again. I threw away something precious. Again. All nonchalant, I say, "yeah, funny, but... don’t we love each other?"

Smirking, Prowl says, "No. You love me. And that's really embarrassing, for both of us."

He walks off. He's walking off!

I feel a blackness entering the corners of my vision. My senses are dissolving. I need to do something. Something! Anything!

Plink. I throw his ring at the back of his head.

"Hey, piece of shit, turn around."

Prowl turns... but just so he can pick up the ring. "If you're going to litter like that then I'll be forced to fine you." Still smiling, he turns away and keeps walking.

'Oi! I said 'turn around'!" No reaction. My happy, little life is falling apart and I am not going to be ignored. I open my chest and unscrew my door key. The key to our flat. I launch that at him next. Plink off his back. It rolls around his feet. "There's never going to be a cure for your personality! You know that? Every atom of you is just fucking unforgivable. You're-" I'm so frustrated I cut myself off.

He stops. Turns around. Again, only so he can pick up his key.

I yell after him, "I'm glad I gave you my energon so that it can keep you warm at night, cuz my ass certainly won't! And neither will Chromedome's!" He turns away and keeps walking.

I look down at my left hand, trembling. My face squirms with reluctance, but I grit my eyes shut, pull the ring off and throw it at Prowl anyway. It tolls against his head and chimes on the pavement.

"You don't have to do this. What is wrong with you?!" I shout.

He's turning to pick the ring up.

"Things were good. We were happy. Don't fuck it up. Yeah?”

He's… walking towards me?

"Imagine if you took your own advice," Prowl says.

He's lifting my hand and pushing my ring back on my finger.

"Wh-wha?"

He's laughing. "Ha ha ha ha! Were you worried? Scared that you'd lost me?" This twat is laughing. His face is all genuine and happy again.

"I wanted to make you angry at me so that it would be easier for you to leave. Temporarily, of course. And get this out of your system." He says this while sliding his own ring back on his finger.

"What?!" I don't know whether to be relieved or fucking pissed. (Both.)

"Don't worry. I've made the necessary preparations for you. Rod, I understand absolutely that this is who you are. You will always have lapses and feel like we shouldn't be together. In our first few months, how many times have you felt like this? When Arcee came over and you got drunk because you couldn't handle what she was saying. When I gave you my key and you ran away because you couldn't face the commitment. When you relapsed at Windblade's dinner. Even last week, when I came home from the hospital, and you started crying on me about being selfish.

"As I saw you through the cafe window today, I knew nothing irreversible would happen. You will always get overwhelmed by happiness. It's not a bug to fix. It's a part of the system. Just a pattern. And like I said, I've made allowances for it. Your friends are happy to take you for a while when you need it so you can clear your head. And I'll… I will try…” He closes his eyes a moment and blinks them back on. “I'll learn to trust that you will come back to me in the meantime because..." He lifts my hands to return my key, but once again, Prowl decides he wants to make a show of it.

Prowl instead puts my hand down. He wants to do this himself. He presses both his hands to my chest, strokes down, looking for the indents at the centre, and gently pushes his fingers in. The latches on my chest panel click open, and it's strangely unnerving to feel these sensations without my hands doing the moving. My internals are fully exposed. Prowl brings his hands inside. With his right hand, he slips the key onto the bolt in there, right next to my spark casing, and screws in on with the slowest movements. With his left hand, he steadies me from within. It's unnecessary. His hands accidentally, purposefully glance and slide over my spark casing, and I gasp, it's hot, like my tiny life is being held. Satisfied the key is tightened perfectly in place, Prowl gently strokes the edges of my chest panels and closes them. They lock. Safe. It's a mercilessly grand display, and it has the desired effect of making me feel overwhelmed and nauseously cared for. The whole event was so heartfelt. Bastards like us know how to be so heartfelt in the face of who we want most.

Prowl continues. "...Because back on Earth, you told me that you love me. And… there is a strong likelihood that I love you too."

Chapter Text

My friend, and genuinely the reason any of this has been written, has essentially made fan fic of this fan fic. It's very good! Here's the link, and I believe it can also be seen on my profile as it has been gifted to me.
https://archiveofourown.org/works/64451962/chapters/165493411

My story is exclusively from Rod's POV, but my friend has written short moments based on the events of every chapter from Prowl's POV too. I wholeheartedly endorse them. Really. If you like my fic, go read them! They are very good counterparts. So many times reading them, I was like "woah, damn, is that what Prowl was thinking?!" because they are interesting, insightful and emotional.

She will be writing one for every chapter, so enjoy!

Chapter Text

I feel guilty. Of course I feel guilty. But... I would absolutely do it again.

He'll be wondering where I am already. My comms will be buzzing, if I still had notifications on.

He'll understand. Drift always understands. He's an understanding guy. He'll get it. He'll realise his mistake. He'll meditate on it. Maybe he'll even apologise to me. "I'm sorry, Rodimus. I should never have dragged you to all those boring wedding venues even though I knew how much you would hate it. You had every right to say you were going to get some fresh air and then ditch me. Every right!"

...

I'll get him some new crystals. It'll be okay. Those stupid magic rocks always cheer him up. He'll understand...

It'll be good to get home. I'm walking down the hallway, the door is sliding open and I'm thinking about how good it is to get home.

"Rod! Why are you here? You said you would be another two hours,” exclaims Prowl, with a genuine hint of worry about seeing me.

"Uh… yeah, I was uh, it was... cut short. Why are you here, Springer?" Springer usually sits so casually. Right now, he's stiff. Irritated.

They both look irritated. Sat across from each other at the kitchen table, both cupping mugs, neither of them wanting to be there by the looks of it. Is this Wrecker's stuff? Are they irritated at me for interrupting? Or… is Prowl embarrassed? Shit! Springer doesn't know I'm with Prowl! This is gonna look really weird, me just coming in here.

Springer answers my question after what looked like a few moments of contemplation. "Hey, Rod! Just catching up with my old man-"

"-manager.” Prowl cuts in to finish. “Catching up with his old manager. Yes, Springer?" Prowl flashes an aggressive expression at Springer, a threat, like he's trying to subdue an enemy.

They glare at each other for too long. The air in here is negative, and I'm starting to suspect it's not actually my fault.

Springer's eyes narrow. "You haven't told him yet," He accuses.

This sounds juicy. "Told me what?”

More silence and glaring. More and more. Until finally, Prowl breaks eye contact and looks at me. "Rod, could you please leave,” Prowl tells me. That wasn't a request. It was a plea.

"Why?" Springer and I say in unison. Prowl can't decide which of us to look at. Judging from his face, he's trying to strategise the best course of action. Likely "tell the truth" is not factoring high on that list.

I look to Springer. Good old, trustworthy, straightforward Springer. A guy you can rely on. I look at him, utterly poised to jump in and clarify this situation. "I think Rod should join us. I said when I saw him recently that we should catch up next time I'm on Cybertron. No time like the present, eh, Prowl?"

Prowl is quietly raging. He's scanning Springer's face for his intentions and I don't think he likes what he's seeing. But a hole has been dug and apparently now we all have to sit in it. "I see your point, Springer."

I suddenly don't want to be here. Maybe I can run quickly and apologise to Drift.

*

“So uh Rod, I had no idea you and Prowl were in a relationship. And living together. And engaged. No idea until today. That's just wild. I'm happy for you, man. Absolutely made up.” Springer says, smiling for me. “I honestly just wish I'd been told sooner so that Prowl could pass on my congrats." He looks at Prowl, knowing something, which Prowl dismisses. "I could have sent a card."

I clutch my mug tight and laugh. "Ha, so uh, why would it be Prowl passing it on? Are you guys close or something?"

"Oh yeah, yeah, we're close,” Springer replies, smiling. Close? Are they… exes? No! That's insane. But Prowl looks like a furious rabbit caught in headlights.

"Riiiiight." I tap a nonchalant rhythm into the table with my fingers. "Can you just tell me what's going on between you two? I could just turn my comms on again if I wanted to deal with some drama."

Springer makes movement to speak, but Prowl intercepts with a warning. "Springer, don't you dare!"

"Or what?” Springer asks, confident, cocky. “You gonna ground me?"

"Springer!" Prowl shouts involuntarily.

"Ground you?” I question, voice quiet. “Liiiike what parents do to kids? Spike did that to Danny sometimes. That's a weird thing to say, Springer. Why... why did you say that, huh?" I look between them both, but they're still just glaring. Bodies whirring with aggression.

"Can one of you just-"

"Just tell him. What's the worst that could happen? What's he actually going to do?" Springer sounds exhausted, his expression has softened, but Prowl is still as stubborn as before. "I know you're a control freak so I gave you so many chances to talk, but I'm just gonna tell him now." Springer pauses to give Prowl one last chance, but he doesn't take it. With a sigh, Springer starts. "Rod, Prowl is my-"

"Stop!" Prowl yells, sudden and frantic. "Fine. I'll tell him." He takes a moment to compose himself, exhaling and blinking his eyes. "Rod, Springer is... he's… essentially... I helped to create him."

It takes my brain a few seconds to process the sentence, but then my reaction is instant. "HAHAHAHAH WHAT? What are you two actually on about? No! This is some joke! Is this what you guys do at the Wreckers?"

"He's not joking, Rod. Neither am I. Prowl helped make me."

"...What? No, really, WHAT?! You just mean like cold construction or something, yeah?"

"No, I mean like evil spider scientist invention." Springer said that like it was so mundane and obvious.

"Ha... haha. No, I still don't get it."

Prowl slams a hand to the table. "See this is why I didn't want to tell him. You can't just drop this on someone, Springer."

All at once, Springer's face turns angry for the first time he's been here. "It was dropped on me and IT'S ABOUT ME. Plus if I'm gonna have to start calling Rod ‘stepdad’, then I think he has the right to know! I'm sick of you and your goddamn secrets!"

"What? ‘Stepdad’? I'm a dad? I... I gotta tell Danny!" That stupid comment didn't distract them. They are still glaring at each other.

“So you two are completely serious?” Neither of them say anything, but they look at me, and that says it all.

“Right. Hmm, I mean, sure, sounds about right. Sounds like some fucked up shit Prowl would do." I thought saying that would put Prowl at ease, but his body language is still tight, his face is still stern. He's hiding more. He's upset about the secret being out, but not this part of it. Springer being his son - That - that was not the part that's bothering him.

"See, thank you, I knew you'd be cool with it. It's cuz Rod here's a cool guy. Tough as nails. This idiot can handle anything." I am an idiot. Why would Prowl be worried about telling me this? I stare at Prowl and I can see he sees me staring. I know he does terrible things all the time. He's shifting under my eyes. Was he concerned about mine and the Springer's friendship? No, he said he didn't even know we were friends. He was probably lying about that, but still... Then… Unless…

"So, uh, if Prowl's your dad, Springer, then who's your mum? Who's this ‘evil spider scientist’?" A small reaction. A tiny twitch around Prowl's eyes. Yes, that's it.

"Name was Tarantulas. Not always though. Before that he was Mesothulas. He and Prowl used to do shady shit during the war. Experiments and plots or whatever. Until Prowl-"

"-dealt with the unsavoury character." Prowl finishes.

"-tried to kill him." Springer and I say together. Prowl frowns at being predictable. And then he looks away a second, uncomfortable. Whoever Tarantulas is, he's Prowl's problem. He's why Prowl didn't want to talk about this. What else is going on? Maybe if I poke him then I can get it out of him.

"He named me Ostaros originally." Springer says.

"Ostaros? Sounds stupid. What does that even mean?"

"I dunno. It's not my name anyway,” he says flippantly.

"She's the Goddess of Spring..." We turn to Prowl, in surprised silence. He's cupping a mug in both his hands on the table, staring down into the liquid. There's a sadness, an aching, a regret there. Perhaps that's the reason why- "Ostaros. I... I named you Springer... so that some part of your original name would still remain."

"Ah. So it was you who named me? I guess I… guessed, but still..." Springer is forcing a relaxed smile. It looks like as much as he likes to joke about Prowl being his dad, he is actually in no way comfortable with the reality of it.

Prowl looks upset. Should I pry more into "Tarantulas" now, save it for later, or never mention it again?

There's this thick, depressing atmosphere over them. I don't have enough context and I don't want it to continue. Should I say something to pull them out of it or would it-

"I did not want everything of him to be lost when he died," Prowl says, staring at Springer, composed but cracking.

Springer looks... thoughtful. He's usually this basic straight forward guy, without a care in the world, but now he's... different. "You can't have it both ways, Prowl. You can't kill him and not have him die."

Prowl attempts to regain some control. "I suppose that's how you do it in the Wreckers," he bites back.

Springer's anger at Prowl peaks. "Take responsibility for your actions! All of your actions." Springer stands up, chair scraping behind him. With his eyes still focussed on Prowl, he says, "Nice seeing you, Rod."

"Yeah, man, good catching up. Good talk. Feel like I know you better now. See ya."

Springer opens the window and jumps out, transforming into a helicopter and flying off. Aerial alt modes are so lucky they can just do that.

I look at Prowl, who's gazing out the window, looking after Springer. "So, Tarantulas, you and him... made a child together?"

He sighs, "...Yes."

"Why?"

“I don't want to talk about this anymore, Rod.” Still facing the window, away from me, Prowl leans forward and sinks his head into both hands. A small, sad man. I think… over the few months we've been together, I've opened up wounds in Prowl. Losses he was able to cover up and stop bleeding, but never close. I don't want him to bleed out, so I just reach out and hold his shoulder. I want him to feel that I'm here. I want to know more, of course, but I won't tear it out of him.

"He wanted to see if it was possible. I did not stop him,” Prowl begins suddenly. “And then when he died, when I thought he died, the child had nowhere to go, so I gave him a new name, a new body and a new life. ...Springer. I hid this fact from all but a few people. I even hid it from Springer himself.”

I move my hand down from his shoulder to begin rubbing his back. “But... you still kept him close? I guess some part of you must have been... attached.”

“No. Some part of me had sympathy. Not attachment.”

“You act all cold but I know it's just a front. You're actually very caring and you just don't show people it. Which is fine. Everyone has secrets.” I wait for a reply before continuing, but he says nothing.

“How did you feel about Tarantulas?” He acts disinterested, but his body quivers. He obviously cared about Tarantulas.

“Where is he now?”

“Dead. 99% probability. Springer tells me he held his hand as he passed. But he's hardy. He could still be out there.” That is not comforting. I'm still rubbing Prowl's back, but slower now.

And then I stop. I realise now why Prowl did not want to tell me any of this. These feelings steadily rising in me: jealousy, anger, inferiority - I don't do well with them. They make me stupid. And I don't wanna be stupid anymore. So I return to rubbing Prowl’s back with my previous comforting pace.

Prowl feels it, and keeps speaking. "He... didn't ask for a lot. In the grand scheme of things. All he wanted was... us".

"You and Springer?"

"...Yes."

"Why did he want a family? That's really weird. That's an odd thing for us to want. It's not even a concept on Cybertron."

Prowl turns to face me now so I stop touching his back. Instead, he takes my hand and holds it. "Cybertron is lacking many concepts. I suppose in the same way that many left and discovered gender, somehow, Meso- Tarantulas, discovered family. And... he wanted it."

He wanted Springer. And Prowl. He wanted my friend, and my- "So then you... stabbed him in the back. And stole his son."

There's that look of regret again. "I did. Yes."

I laugh to myself. "You really are a bastard, Prowl."

"I am. Yes."

"But I'm hardly one to talk. I don't try and kill people as much as you, but I've done plenty else."

“You have. Yes."

I hesitate. Because I'm about to say some things I shouldn't. I don't want to be motivated by spite, but… "You... you cared about Tarantulas, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"So much that you can't even say his real name. But you still fucked him over."

"...Yes."

"And you cared about Chromedome."

"Yes."

"And now it hurts to be in the same room as him and Rewind."

"Yes."

"And you care about me."

"Yes. I do, yes."

"What are you going to do to me when this is all over?"

"You think I would do something to you when this is all over?"

"..."

"Well?"

"I'm just asking."

"Perhaps I'll do the same thing you did to Drift and exile you from my flat."

"I'd like a genuine answer actually, if that's okay?"

"...I think we're both getting old enough now that we don't have much room for bitterness left inside of us. If we ended, we would shake hands, part ways, and remember it fondly. Or we would both be so self-interested that we would just blame the other, get over it, and move past it.”

“...”

“...”

“ ‘If we ended.’ “

“ ‘If.’ ”

"Let's hope it never comes to that."

"Hm, yes. Let's... hope."

“Actually, let's not let it come to that."

"Yes. I'd prefer that."

"I love you."

"...I love you, too."

***

[BONUS SILLY STORY]

"It was kind of you to invite me to come fishing with you, Rodimus. I know this is an activity you cherish."

"Yeah, well, I thought you'd like to have a go at it, Megason. I MEAN, MEGATRON."

He squints. "...Right. Of course. So how have things been with you?"

"Oh great good perfect. Everything's going great…”

“…”

“What?”

“...”

“...”

"This is about the Brainstorm time travel incident again, isn't it?"

"WHAT? NO. No waaaay. No."

“…”

"It's just I gave life to your spark on Luna 1 so I am kind of your dad and-"

"No, Rodimus! I will not allow you to bring me out here to spend a lovely day together just for you to announce that you want me to call you 'Daddy’.”

"Awww c'monnn, I wasn't suggesting anything like that… I just wanted a better understanding of fatherhood so I thought if we did a classic father son-"

"Rodimus. Listen to me closely. Very closely and carefully. I am… flattered, but I am not your son. Never refer to me as your son again." Megatron gets up and starts walking away from the lake.

I shout after him, “you know, I'm still annoyed that you wouldn't let me walk you down the aisle at your wedding! I WANTED TO GIVE YOU AWAY, SON”

He shouts back, “I asked you to officiate the wedding. How is that not enough?!” He then turns into a tank and runs away quicker. Coward. He'll come round. The “World's Best Son” mug has already been posted to his address. He'll come round…

Chapter Text

I raise my hand to the barman. "Two more, please.”

Dragging my eyes around the room feels gritty. I'm content to just have a moment of quiet at the bar, until I remember that this is nothing compared to my old partying days. I shiver the dust off my thoughts. I'm reinvigorated. I never wanted a wedding this big, but I can't deny it - this is a joy unmatched.

There's a smile touching every part of my face, and I don't mind letting the barman see it when I turn to collect my drinks. But I do mind him. Hunched over. Alone. There's Prowl sat a little way down the bar.

Damn. I'm surprised he actually turned up. Glad, of course. Of course… But he must have known what he was getting himself into coming here. Then again, looking at the minefield of empty glasses he's lost in, he must have underestimated.

I've heard the stories about Prowl these days, but never had the bad luck of experiencing him myself. I always remember Prowl being, well, direct, harsh, yes, but also loyal and reliable. His insight was life saving. You could count on him when you needed it, and you needed everything you could get during the war. When I said I wanted to invite him to the wedding, there was an awful lot of surprise and pessimism. But this wedding wouldn't be happening if I judged people only by their off-colour pasts.

I make my way over, a full glass in each hand, and lean against the bar next to Prowl. This drink wasn't meant for him, but I offer it all the same. I place it down with two fingers, and slowly slide it, rumbling as it goes, till it enters his blinkered view. His forehead is slumped on one hand, submerged in thoughts which I'm glad to pull him out of.

I take a quick mouthful from my own glass. "Been a good while, hasn't it?"

Prowl rotates his head with the slowness of an unoiled hinge. His voice creaks like one too. A weak murmur drowning beneath the music. "Oh. Ratchet. Yes. Yes. It has been a while." Hesitantly, he turns his body to face me a little more. "Good to see you again. Congratulations. On the marriage." His mouth stumbles over some of the words. You'd have to have a ridiculously efficient fuel metabolism to not slur your speech after the volume he's obviously drunk. He gives a few blinks and a bleary eyed squint. "You and Drift, you seem, what's a word… delighted." Another few blinks. “Yeah, I'll go with ‘delighted’.”

"Thank you. Yes." I can't help myself from looking over to Drift at the mention of his name. He's happily mingling, laughing like he finally knows peace. And my spark is swept up in a joyous current. "Yes, we… we are delighted." My smile wanes when I look back over at Prowl; brow, eyes, lips, all turned downwards, expression more desolate than before.

Prowl always appreciated bluntness. "Go on. Tell me. What's eating you?"

Cradling the glass in one hand, he rubs his free hand roughly over his face then strokes it down the back of his head. He widens and flickers his eyes before spitting out a groan of tired frustration. "Ratchet... do you ever miss the war?"

"Heh!" I snort into my glass. "Hmpf. Well..." I decide to take the stool by Prowl to consider my feelings a bit closer. "...In my line of work, there's always something to do. Always an injury to fix or an illness to cure. But I can't deny that I was certainly busier during the war. More useful."

"Yes!" He slams his fist on the table. The glasses rock and twirl, some fall, like stray dominos. Yep, open bar was a mistake. Drift's mistake. "That's what I miss! It was naive of me to say we might miss the war. All that pointless killing isn't what I'm feeling so nostalgic about. It's the usefulness."

He starts standing up the glasses, assembling them all in a straight line. "I'm a strategist with nothing to strategise about. The cogs in my mind keep turning with no inclination. I need a focus. Without it, I'm, I'm… I'm nothing!” he declares. He finishes arranging his glasses. By my estimate, not a single glass is even a millimetre out of that perfect, uncontaminated line.

It's… sad, seeing someone you thought you knew falling apart. The pieces of the old Prowl are here, but the roughness of war has weathered him. "And work isn't doing it for you anymore?"

"Pfft!” Prowl scoffs. “Security, city planning, all the rest of it. They have their merits and of course I excel at them, but I'm wasted in this profession."

"Hmm. I see what you're getting at.” I swallow a little more of my drink and mull over the best treatment for Prowl's condition. Although, his sickness has always been more of the mind than the body. “Well, there is a certain game that I'm sure would take up a lot of your time and focus if you gave it a chance. Certainly takes up a lot of mine now that I'm retired."

"Oh? And what's that?" He says, taking a swig, voice sloshing in the glass, eyeing me over the rim.

"Love."

Prowl splutters out his drink, drops of engex landing on my chest. I wish this was the first time that had happened tonight. "Ha! Ratchet, you fool! How long have you known me? No - love is not my game. I leave that to old romantics like you, with your swooning fans."

With patience, I wipe the residue from my body and reminisce, allowing a youthful smile on my lips. "Please! I've known you long enough. Remember before the war? You and Chrome-"

"Don't!" He cuts me off, reaction time perfectly intact somehow for a man this drunk.

I raise a hand defensively. "Alright. Alright. Easy. All I'm saying is you're just as much an old romantic as I am, but you've buried him under all the debris and the dead.” I place a hand heavily on his shoulder, knocking him unsteady on his seat. “Well, the debris is shifting, and the dead have finally been laid to rest.” He looks up at me, and all I see is stubborn reticence in those soggy eyes. “Time to recover the old Prowl. The one who knew how to love, and show compassion, and how to let go at a damn party."

I can read his face processing what I've said. There's a tiny hint of hope, but it's overruled by an echoing sadness. He looks back down and clutches his glass with both hands. "Heh. Even if I was to play that particular game, who would want me any more?” He feigns a smile and takes another sip. “I've successfully alienated myself from my entire species. I appreciate the wedding invite, Ratchet, but you do realise you're the first person to speak to me all day?"

"Well, I'm taken. But if you're so desperate, how about the second person who speaks to you?" He looks mildly disgusted at the thought of loving anyone in this room. "Now, I've got better things to do on my wedding night than look at your depressing face. Good luck." I knock back the rest of my drink and place the empty glass in line with the others. Askew, of course.

"Bloody useless as always, Ratchet!" Prowl yells after me, reorganising the glasses as I leave him be.

The best and worst thing about Prowl is those cogs will never stop turning. I hope he finds something or someone to grind them against... for all our sakes.

Chapter Text

What a day. Another awful day. They never seem to get better. I don't seem to get better.

Usually, I can come to the lake, and it calms me down. But today, it just isn't doing much.

It's getting dark. The sky is so beautiful, over there on its edge, like it's on fire. And the way it reflects off the lake. Dream like.

I wish today could have been a dream. Another bad dream of another mistake I made.

It's fine though, you know? Sometimes you make bad calls. It can happen to anyone. Don't be so hard on yourself.

What happened to the carefree Rod? Nothing! He's still here. I smile. Because everything's fine. Mistake made. Water under the bridge. Tomorrow's another day...

Tomorrow comes. Dawn. Best time to catch fish. No one needs me right now. Stealthily, I drive to the lake again. Take my fishing rod. I'm gonna have an awesome haul to show Danny when he gets out from school.

But Optimus is waiting for me, already sat in my spot by the lake. He knows where to find me. Where I'm happy and safe.

He knows how to ruin that.

It's too late to turn back. He'll have heard my engine. He knows my patterns. I limp up next to him, trying to keep a bit of confidence in my movements.

Ice shifts about the surface of the lake. My body feels cold. Winter melts into spring. My fingers seize a little as I bait the hook.

"Sit down, Hot Rod." I thought I was safe. I thought I could avoid this for a bit longer.

I cast the line out into the water, aiming for a patch closer to the middle of the lake with less ice. My aim wasn't quite right, clinking on the surface. I sigh, reel in, and try again. That's much better. Satisfied, I sit next to him.

"Do not get distracted by fishing while I talk to you,” he says.

"Yeah, I won't." I let one hand hold the rod while I rest my head sullenly on the other.

"We need to talk about yesterday."

I don't feel like replying.

He turns to look at me. I'm focused on the bob. "Are you listening? Can I have some acknowledgement if you are listening?"

"Yeah, I'm listening."

"Good." He looks back out to the horizon again. "Yesterday. The battle. Do you know how many were injured?"

"Uhhh, yeah, like 46."

"It was 46 exactly, Hot Rod. Including…?"

"Including me."

"And do you know why they were injured?"

“Because I didn't follow the plan exactly, yeah? I was stupid and wrong. Fine. Is that what you want? I know I was stupid. Lesson learnt, slap on the wrist.”

“No.”

“No what?

"No, it is not ‘lesson learned’, Hot Rod. You did not follow the plan. A quarter of our number who went into that operation came out injured. We do not have the medics necessary to make everyone fully operational in a brief amount of time. The Decepticons know this. That makes Autobot City vulnerable to ambush with very little defensive capabilities."

My hand tightens on the rod. "Yeah! Right! I know! I'm sorry, Optimus. I made a bad call. I made a mistake. I saw an opportunity and I took it!” I look at the bob again. “But I was wrong."

Optimus doesn't speak for a while. He's trying to work out what enlightening thing he can say to make me better.

“Why did you come to Earth, Hot Rod?

I sigh and rub my face. “I just wanted a fun time. Just a better time. Wanted to get away from Cybertron.”

“War is not a fun time.”

“I know that.”

He's silent for a few moments, before he sighs too. “For everyone's protection, I am going to stay for the next week until Autobot City and its inhabitants are back to full working order. Then, I will be taking half of the men here back to Cybertron and move the battle home. Bumblebee and Spike will be coming with me also. While we are gone, I want you to keep a close eye on Spike's son, Daniel. You two get on well."

Optimus gets up to leave. I grumble under my breath.

He pauses. “What was that?”

I smirk and say nothing.

“If you have something to say, say it aloud, Hot Rod.” He is stern and unsympathetic.

“I said, ‘I'm not stupid’.” I turn to face him. “ ‘Look after his son.’ I know you only said that because you want me to keep out of the way of Autobot City. You wanna make sure I can't fuck up anything else while you're not looking. God, do you think I'm gonna get everyone killed or something?” I face the lake again. “I'm not stupid."

He turns back and keeps walking away. He just walks away.

When Danny came by later, I had no fish to show. Too cold for them, I guess.

I like Danny. He's a good listener.

***

“Why are you awake so early?” I hang in the doorway. Barely aware of my body, I sit at the table. There's a mug of coffee for me already. I take a drink. Still warm. I don't wanna check the time. "That's mine,” Prowl says.

"I know. Thought you wouldn't mind."

“Hmm.” He doesn't mind. "Are you alright?"

“Yeah. yeah, just uh... just still stuck in recharge a bit. Thinking about something." I look out the window. Dark outside. Bits of green light on the edge. I'm knackered. "It was kind of like a dream."

I sink my head into one hand and put the other in front on me on the table. Still looking at his datapad, Prowl puts his hand over mine. “That happens to you a lot, I've noticed. You twitch while recharging.”

“Yeah, I get vivid dreams." I say, rubbing my eyes. “Always have.”

“I don't dream.”

“Ever?”

“Once or twice.”

“Per...?”

“Per what? Per my life, Rod. Dreams happen because of disturbed recharge cycles. The voltage in your brain must be alternating too erratically. Or there's a fault in a component. You could have corroded connectors. Dreams aren't normal. If I have a dream, I diagnose and fix the error the next day. My sleep is rarely disturbed.” He stands up. "At least, it didn't used to be."

He takes a clean mug and pours in some coffee. Sitting back down, he places it in front of me, taking the other mug back and drinking from it.

I put my hand around the mug. "Anyway, it wasn't really a dream. More of an old memory that got kicked up while I was powered off." The steam clings to my face as I sip at the hot coffee.

He lays down the pad he just picked back up so he can give me his full attention. "Which memory?"

"It's from the war. From when I was Hot Rod. It was uh, God, I'll never remember the date, uhh, but it was from Earth. Not long before Optimus took a bunch of people back to Cybertron. You included, now that I think about it."

"Yes, I know the date you are talking about. Earth date: 5th March 2003. A Wednesday. Give or take a few days, depending on the rest of the information you have."

"Yeah, that sounds about right.”

“...What?" he asks, distracted, mind elsewhere. Distant.

“That date sounds about right. Matches up with how cold it was and how there wasn't too many plants or leaves. I remember I saw pictures of Earth before ever getting there and it was supposed to be all green and warm. But we land and it's orange and cold! I was gutted. I was glad when Danny told me about the seasons, and I saw the green start coming back and the lake starting to thaw.”

"Ah,” Prowl exclaims.

"What?"

"Hm. Yes, I get why you'd feel negatively after dreaming about that day. I just went over the conversation I had with Optimus regarding your behaviour.”

“You remember it word for word?”

“My memory systems were built to be less vulnerable to deterioration. Yes, I remember it perfectly. I only have audio stored for output though. We'd need a mnemosurgeon if you wanted to see it.”

“You'd show me your memory?”

Prowl pauses a second before answering. “Of course. Would you like to hear the conversation I had with Optimus after he spoke to you?”

I'm unsure, but I agree.

He looks worried. “Before I play it, please remember... we've all changed since then.”

The audio begins to play. First there's footsteps, and then I hear Prowl's voice, youthful and aggressive.

> Optimus, did you speak with Hot Rod about his failure yesterday?

< Yes, of course.

> And what did he say?

“Wait, hold on... how are you playing that?” I ask.

“Speakers.”

“But it sounds like you're saying it.”

“Yes, it's coming from my vocal speakers. The ones here." He opens his mouth a little and points to his cheeks."The ones we use to speak.”

“Well, yes, of course, speakers. Obviously.”

Prowl flickers his eyes and pinches the sides of his nose in frustration. “It's basic Cybertronian biology. How did you think people without lips spoke? We all come with this information preinstalled, Rod.”

“Well, we don't come preforged with it!”

“You really don't feel your lips moving when you speak, do you?” he mocks.

“Look, fine, do you wanna get on with the playback?”

“Yes. I'll rewind a few seconds so you aren't lost.”

> -at did he say?

< The usual. Apologetic but barely understanding.

> Did you encourage him to stay away from operations as I suggested?

< Yes. Though of course I did not phrase it like that. I'm trying to spare his feelings.

> I'm not. He's incompetent. He's an idiot. These are the facts. The proven facts. I've run the calculations. Out of all of our fighters, Hot Rod is the one most highly correlated with injuries in the field. He's far too volatile. Yes, he has his- his breakthroughs, but the risks are just too high to consistently utilise him in combat. He is better off being side lined.

< I know, Prowl.

> He's a genuine liability. A security risk. You know, there's a reason Megatron tried to sweet talk him into joining the Decepticons. His reckless destruction would be perfectly at home on their side.

< I am aware, Prowl.

> Please remind me why you encouraged him to come to Earth for the third influx of fighters? There were so many more suitable options.

< You remember when we first met him? In Nyon?

> Yes, that smouldering pile formerly known as Nyon? Hot Rod's handiwork, I'd add.

< Yes, what he did was-

“Damn, you really hated me back then.”

Prowl looks as though he's tasted something bitter. “Hmm. No. I hated everyone. I had high standards which were always unmet. I was anxious to finish the war and I only trusted myself to get it over with.”

“Still. Hurts to hear.”

“It's in the past, but… I apologise all the same.”

He's right. We've changed so much since then. I smile... "You can keep playing it." …And he smiles back.

< Yes, what he did was incredibly reckless, but it was calculated. You should admire that, Prowl. Hot Rod saw two evils and picked the lesser, and no one will ever forget it.

> Other than those sparkless bodies who will never have the chance to remember.

> I encouraged him to come to Earth because he has good wits and a natural fighting sense. He has talent stemming from his hard start in life. However, he has not seen enough of the world, or the universe. I wanted him to come here to expand his horizons and give him new appreciation for the magnitude of his actions. To make him more thoughtful.

< I think the only horizon you've expanded for him is the one that lies above bodies of water. He spends so much time with Spike's offspring, "fishing" and whatever other “childish” activities. Cybertronians don't have childhoods, but he's taken to one like- like-

> A duck to water?

< I didn't want to say that particular Earth phrase. But yes, an incompetent duck to irrelevant waters. I mean, my God, Optimus, this is a war! And he wastes so much time lounging by a lakeside. What purpose does a fish serve against a Decepticon gun barrel?!

> Why do you fight, Prowl?

< Why- why do I fight? This isn't about me.

> You do not have to fight. Why bother? Why not object? Or why not just become a Decepticon for that matter?

< I fight, Optimus, because it's the right thing to do, of course.

> Yes, of course. But why do you fight?

< You're asking for something deeper, aren't you? Always like you. Well-

There's a several seconds of silence in the audio. I'd almost think the recording was broken, if Prowl wasn't concentrating, waiting for what comes next.

< Because I despise chaos. And I would do anything to not live amongst it. War is chaos. I just want to put an end to it.

> Thank you, Prowl. You do understand. You are not so cold. I hope through your own reflection it becomes a little clearer why Hot Rod is here with us on Earth. It serves the purpose of inspiration. To give him a reason to fight. By his own hand, Hot Rod has lost everything he cared about on Cybertron. He's been through much for someone so young. He has nothing left. That makes a fighter reckless and nihilistic in war. I don't want him to go to waste. Nourishing his friendship with Spike's son has allowed him to enjoy his life on Earth and given him something to care about. A reason to fight, but to fight with purpose. When the time comes, it will all make sense to him. He'll care about something so deeply again that he won't be able to bear the loss anymore. 46 injuries or 1 - it will be the same to him.

< What I'm afraid of is that they are already the same to him, but… Hmm. You make a good case. You know him much better than I do. I've spoken to him infrequently and never enjoyed the experience. But... yes, I suppose a loss of that magnitude... deserves respect. And... maybe even a break. Perhaps I should speak to him.

"Ha!"

"Don't interrupt."

“It's just funny. You talking to Hot Rod. What would you have even said?”

“The conversation is almost over anyway. There's nothing of importance to say.”

“Nah, I wanna hear how it ends.”

“Fine.”

< Perhaps I should speak to him.

> Ha!

< I don't appreciate the laughter. What's so funny, Optimus?

> Prowl, I am trying to encourage Hot Rod, not push him further away.

< Please! I'm not that bad. Just a friendly remark before I return to Cybertron with you and the others.

> I cannot remember the last time you attempted a friendly remark, and even then I rarely remember them being successful.

< How flattering. So doubtful. Where's my encouragement? Or do you only reserve that for the Hot Rods and the Bumblebees?

> Please, old friend. We've known each other long enough that I know you need no one's encouragement but your own. Anything I say to you is worthless.

< Hm. All that aside, the repairs are going well. The north face was most damaged so I've allocated the majority of repair works there. The east face has extensive damage near the roof so I've asked the Aerialbots to help with-

“And then we just talk about repair work and planning. Nothing to do with you.”

“It's… weird, to hear Optimus saying positive things about me. Imagine if he'd said any of that to my face.” Prowl looks oddly sympathetic. Perhaps he's thinking the same thing.

“What was it you wanted to tell me?” He looks puzzled. “In the past, I mean.” He stares at me in silence. “Come on. I wanna know what you would have said to Hot Rod.”

He answers too quickly, “that was centuries ago. I can't remember.”

“Yes, you can.”

“...I wanted to tell you you'd done well to not get every man hurt.”

Disappointed, I reply, "that's not encouraging. That's barely even a compliment. Optimus was right, it was a good thing you didn't speak to me.”

“I'm not finished. That would have been my opener,” he starts. His voice is measured and thoughtful. “I then wanted to tell you that you'd done well to never have a man die in your encounters. Almost every other fighter had at least one death, but it could not be directly traced to them so I didn't put much stock in it. But you had none amazingly, given the ratio of fights. Not a single death. It's remarkable actually. I had led to deaths. Optimus had."

Huh. Wow. That's… yeah, that's observant of Prowl, of course. “I guess I was sick of it after Nyon. “

There's elation on his face, like he's finally solved a puzzle. “So it was intentional?”

“...Yes.”

“I had always wondered. You put people in harm's way, but you didn't get people killed. I always thought it was too advanced for you so never trusted it to be intentional.”

“Yeah.” I smile and stare off out the window.

“Until you got Optimus killed." My smile drops, but then I look over at Prowl, and he's grinning like an idiot. Like he's just told the funniest joke. And I help but break out laughing.

“Ahahahaha, God, I got him so fucking killed, didn't I?” And we laugh about the first time Optimus died for a good minute. It's loud and undignified and so stupid.

I love when he laughs. Prowl has this deep, rowdy, carefree laugh that sounds like it doesn't belong to the person we all loved to hate. It's rare and special… and kinda sad that it's usually about Optimus. I want to help him have better things to laugh at.

“I think we should invite Optimus to the wedding,” I say, before I have a chance to think twice.

The humour dissolves from his face. “What?!" he shouts. "Oh, yes, so that we can gloat at him for how well our relationship is going. Yes. Good thinking."

“No, just… You were invited to Drift and Ratchet's wedding and... look how that turned out.”

“Yes, but the difference is that I am despised and was given another chance. People love Optimus. Are you hoping to set him up with someone?”

“No. I just, I think… I think we need to move on.”

“Ha! Move on.” He laughs and smiles again, but then his expression becomes thoughtful, and I can see the cogs turning. “Well, I suppose.” We've all changed since then. “Can I do it? Be the one to invite him?”

With suspicion, I ask, “You will actually invite him, yeah?”

“Of course. I just... I would like to be the one to do it.”

Chapter Text

There it is again. Heavy slamming. The frustrated shouts. Metal and plastic clattering. My eyes click on. I groan and get out of bed to see what Prowl is freaking out about tonight.

The table has been flipped. God damn it, the table has been flipped! And I missed it because I was asleep.

There's crap everywhere. Pots, mixing bowls, spoons, whisks, puddles and splatters of ingredients all over the floor. Some on the walls too. I'll have to help clean that, which is annoying, but I let that go and focus on Prowl.

He's turned away, hunched over a counter top, taking brief, shallow breaths.. As I tiptoe through the mess on the floor, getting closer, I can hear mumbling. I get a better look at him. His hand is pushed up into his forehead. He's completely fixated on... another recipe book. Another one. Each one he's read has been different, I can tell that much with what little I know. Every day, a new book. And the first day, it was... wedding cakes.

He’s so consumed that he hasn't even noticed I'm watching him. I tug the book out from under him and he whips round with a violent expression on his face, which is quickly repressed when he realises what's happening. It's the middle of the night, again. I'm awake. I've been woken up. Again.

It hits him. The despair hits him.

Prowl can't help looking shocked, but he composes himself into something reassuring. Weakly, he says “sorry for the mess..." He's been saying sorry a lot more recently. It's unusual for him, all this aimless worrying... "I wasn't aware of the time." We both look outside and see the stars fading in the cobalt sky, turning lime orange on the horizon.

"But I will take that book back." He holds his hand out expectantly.

I flick through the tiny book, imported from Earth. It's not as though any of it makes sense to me. I don't really know how the stuff's made, even though I watch Prowl in the process, but he's so fast it can be hard to keep up. I flick through the pages, but many of them are stuck together with stray ingredients.

I snap the book shut. "No. Get to bed."

On the previous nights when I told Prowl to recharge, he would look angry, irritated, emotional in some way. He'd argue that I didn't know what I was talking about, he'd defend himself that he wasn't tired, he'd reassure that everything was fine. But as the nights have piled higher, he has no more fight left. He looks blank. Confused.

I put a hand on his shoulder and give a gentle squeeze. "Come to bed. We'll deal with this in the morning." But he just keeps looking desolate. He'll never say it, but he's too tired to function properly. He's way too prideful to listen to reason. I know that feeling well. We don't listen to good advice. We only have faith in our own experience. We keep driving until we crash and only then, we'll pick up the pieces. Prowl will analyse his own wreckage after the fact.

I reluctantly give him the book back, which he accepts with ghostly movements. I hug him tightly, hooking my arms over his shoulders. I rest my head on his.

…I let him go.

"Do you want help cleaning up?"

"No. I will deal with this myself before you wake up again."

"Okay. Well. I guess I'll go back to bed then." I silently walk to the bedroom, but stop in the doorway to look at Prowl: exhausted, small and lost. "See you later," I say. Can't exactly say "good night", can I?

Prowl turns back away to the counter top, pins the book open, and starts looking at ingredients again, whirring with a frustration which neither of us can ease. He soothingly says "...I'll be... I'll try to be more quiet. See you in the morning."

*

True to his word, the flat was spotless when I woke up again. The sun streamed in through the window. The pots were clean and put away. No mess. The only evidence of last night's pain is Prowl sitting at the kitchen table, coffee in hand, transfixed by another bakery book.

There's a second cup of coffee in my spot. Hot, of course. Through this past week, Prowl hasn't neglected me once, but he's been neglecting himself. The kitchen is beautifully clean, but with the state he's in, he did not pay enough attention to his own body. He gave a cursory wipe to his plating, leaving behind marks and scuffs and spots and smears. He deemed it not important enough to deal with. No, it's more like he's getting careless with fatigue.

But that bothers me so much.

Because only a few weeks ago, I was the same. Sat tightly by his hospital bed, incapable of taking care of myself, running myself into the ground, oblivious to basic maintenance necessities. At least Prowl was unconscious for my crumbling. I have to watch him degrade more everyday, in denial of a problem that he can't fix himself.

It started about a week ago. Prowl had some holiday days from work to take. Mandatory. He complained about it endlessly, said he "wasn't stressed so shouldn't be forced to take time away from work." This man lives to work, lives to be useful, so maybe he was right. But all the same, he had to take a couple of weeks off. No choice about it.

He kept trying to do work for the first two days, but he was kicked off the systems and told to Just Stop. But can you tell a sharkticon to stop swimming?

I knew what to do. It was so obvious. Baking. I'll encourage him to do more of that new thing he enjoyed. That thing that brought us together. I wasn't even thinking about the benefits to myself, although they are present, of course. It would distract him from work and let him focus more on what he likes and who he is, rather than just what he does. It's like what we talked about at Windblade's party. I will help Prowl be more than just useful.

But things took a turn for the worse somewhere along the way. Prowl has not slept in a whole week. I can't make him recharge. His determination is his downfall. He started-

"I'm going to call Ratchet today to come over." Prowl interrupts my thinking.

"Oh. Yeah? W-why?" I mumble, confused.

He scowls and glares at his hands, turning them over repeatedly. "There must be some sort of fault in my systems." His speech is slow and discordant, but still displaying some of his usual control. "It's either my hands or my brain. It's the only explanation." He's staring into me with this hazy focus. Like he just can't stop staring at things. He can't just turn his focus down anymore.

"How'd you work that out?" I question, finally taking a drink of my coffee.

"The cakes keep failing because of technique, so either the mechanisms in my hands are misfiring, or it's my brain that isn't processing input correctly. It must be the only explanation." He's still looking at me, eyes wide, observing me, sipping his coffee as I do, repeating after me, trying to seem casual. His eyes are jittering around so I can see him trying to analyse the situation. Analyse me. That had become a comforting habit of his actually, but now he keeps coming to the wrong conclusions. He just can't stop though.

"And uh, you don't think it would have anything to do with uh, the fact you haven't... recharged in a week?"

Prowl looks blankly at me. He can no longer summon reasons of justifications. He's tired but he's not stupid. He knows I'm right. Somewhere in there, he knows. But he's not admitting it. He looks at me longer, eyes flickering repeatedly.

"I've sent the message to Ratchet. He should have availability today."

I deliberating saying my next thought. Do you think he'll say anything different to what I've said?

Another long staring, pause, struggling to hold eye contact. His attention looks like it's drifting.

"He said he can come by in the late afternoon."

*

"I've checked thoroughly. There is nothing wrong with them." Ratchet unceremoniously drops Prowl's hands. They thunk against his legs.

I'm trying not to question why Ratchet was so quick to reply to Prowl's message and to come over on short notice. He takes hours, days even to reply to my messages. Yeah, a load of them of just memes, but I'm starting to think he doesn't respect me like Drift does.

"You must be mistaken,” Prowl questions.

Ratchet glances over at me, leaning against a kitchen counter, and then turns his attention back to Prowl. "Have you considered that you're mistaken yet?"

"Well, what about my brain module?"

Ratchet smirks. "I'm not a therapist. I can't help with that."

These days, Prowl gets easily aggravated. He barks out, "Have you scanned it?! What did you find?!"

Ratchet looks over to me again, as if to make sure he's not alone in seeing this, seeing what's going wrong. He's isn't. "Yes, I've scanned it. I found nothing out of the ordinary, Nothing, except some impeded electrical current and delayed neural net activation, clearly due to recharge deprivation. Go to bed, Prowl."

"I want a second opinion. From a better doctor.”

“No doctor is going to tell you any different from what I've said. Go to sleep, you stubborn-"

"Actually,” I cut in. They both snap their heads in my direction. “I know a doctor who might give you a better second opinion.”

Ratchet sighs, but I can see the smile underneath. "Don't undermine me like that, Rod."

Chapter Text

"Afternoon, Rodimus. How are you? I was worried about you after you left brunch without saying goodbye. I sent some messages which you didn't reply to, but you have read notifications on so I assumed all was well."

"Ah shit yeah sorry about that, I meant to reply but then I got distracted."

"It's alright. Why are you phoning today?"

"I need your help, as a doctor. Well, that's the pretense. But it's actually because I know you're pretty smart and you give good advice. Do you think you could do that for Prowl today?"

"I'm glad that you think so highly of me. And I hope I can help, of course. Is it urgent? I can be there in an hour."

"Yeah, that sounds great. Thanks."

"My pleasure. See you then."

*

Megatron arrives and Prowl has just about calmed down enough to let him into our home. The exhaustion helps, plus he still has the sense to know he wants a second doctor to look at him. He's gone past the point of being too knackered to fight this.

Ratchet gets up from the table and greets Megatron with fondness. I think I just saw Prowl roll his eyes.

“Afternoon, Prowl.” Megatron begins his consultation. “What seems to be the problem?”

“If I knew that then there would be no reason at all for you to be here”, he spits back.

Megatron swiftly moves past that remark. “Rod tells me you've been away from work for a week. And you also have not recharged in six days. What have you been doing with all this extra time?”

Prowl sighs and answers with frustration. "Baking."

"Baking? I'm sorry, that's a bit of a blind spot for me. What… is that?”

I answer. “It's making nice, sweet energon. You tried some the last time we met at that brunch.”

“Oh, of course, I had no idea that's what it was called. Baking. Well, that doesn't sound so bad. A fun hobby, surely. Challenging but also rewarding. And I imagine Rodimus has been enjoying it. Then what's the problem with someone being so absorbed in their activities that they neglect recharge? We've all done it."

"The problem“, Prowl begins, “is I'm not able to bake to my usual high standard. Everything keeps turning out... incorrectly. I've researched and implemented ingredients, techniques, protocols - nothing makes a difference. The error must be in my body. It can only be the hands or the brain."

Megatron puts a hand to his chin and hmms. "Thank you, Prowl. Firstly, I want to check if this is absolutely true. Rodimus, have you noticed a decline in Prowl's baking quality?"

"What? Not at first, no. It was as great as it always was. But it was after the first few days of not sleeping, that's when things got less good.” I see Prowl's face wilting in my periphery. “Still delicious but like, yeah, not as good as they used to be. Still good!"

Megatron smiles. "Right. That makes plenty of sense. Not to step on your feet, Ratchet, but may I perform my own examination?"

Ratchet waves a hand. "Be my guest."

Megatron gets down on one knee by Prowls' side and reaches out his hand. "May I see your hand?" Prowl reluctantly gives his hand, which Megatron gently examines.

He takes various small tools and pokes and tweaks the mechanisms in his hand, especially the joints and finger tips. After a few minutes, his examination is complete. "There is no mechanical fault in these hands, but they are minutely trembling. Presumably, you caught that, Ratchet?"

"Yep. Classic recharge deprivation."

"Yes. Now if I may non-invasively scan your brain module." Megatron stands up once again and pulls out some sort of device which he holds close to Prowl's head.

"Hm. Nothing but impeded electrical current."

Ratchet jumps in. "Yep, that's what I told him."

“You should sleep. That's what you need, of course.” Megatron says, then pauses. “But that's not what's wrong with you."

Prowl's eyes light up with vindication. "Ha! Yes, I knew there was something at fault. I told you all. I do not get things wrong."

Megatron continues. "What's wrong with you is... emotional." Prowl's face immediately drops.

Ratchet laughs. Slow at first, tumbling out, but then he erupts, before folding his arms and telling Megatron to "go on".

"It's true. The lack of sleep is just a symptom of a deeper problem. Which is that something in your life is bothering you. These are stress symptoms. And it's manifesting as a frustrated obsession with perfecting your baking ability. Would you like to talk about it?"

“What?” Prowl shouts. " ‘Would I like to talk about it?' Would I like to... Ha! What? To you?! To any of you?!”

“If you can't talk to someone, you'll just keep spiraling downwards.” Megatron warns. “Your life has gone through a lot of changes recently, Prowl. A new relationship, a new body, practically a new life. You are bound to have had some sort of emotional response to it. And you can't spend your entire life compartmentalising. Eventually, the emotions breach containment. They need to be expressed somehow. And if you can't find a way to do it consciously, then you'll find a way to do it subconsciously. You've found something you can't control absolutely: yourself. You've met your match."

"And you became a qualified therapist when?" Prowl says dismissively.

"Never. But I have been to therapy. Insightful. I'd recommend it. All I've given you is my ear and my opinion. I'd be happy to give you more.”

"Maybe you two are more alike than you realise,” Ratchet remarks, knowing exactly what the reaction would be.

Prowls face is overcome by rage. "Never say that to me again, Ratchet. Don't disgust me while I'm already feeling sick. Get out of my home. Both of you. Get out!"

I leant on the counter while I watched them both file out. I couldn't take sides in any of this. Megatron and Ratchet just told him what we all knew.

But I know Prowl.

"Does that "get out" include me?" I ask. I'm kidding. Prowl smiles. We smile because we both know: I'm kidding…

*

"Oi, idiot! What have you done to Prowl?" Arcee shouts at me down the line.

"I've not done anything to Prowl! Why are you phoning just to shout that at me?!"

"He's all... wrong. There's something wrong with him. I don't know. What's happened to him?"

"He's idle."

"Well give him something to do."

"He has been doing something. That made him worse."

"Then take it away! Or give him something better. I don't know. Do something, Rod! He's your soon-to-be conjunx. Figure it out! I was just chatting with him and I couldn't even insult him. I made fun of him for the way he was being and he looked like a combo of genuinely upset and blank void."

"Yeaaah that's kind of just what he's like now. Has been for over a week. Barely anything gets through. Megatron seems to think he needs to talk about his feelings."

"Well that's never gonna happen. That's not Prowl. He'll die before he opens up about anything."

“Two scrapes with death in two months? No, I'm not letting it come to that.”

“You'd better not. See ya.”

*

“How many minutes?”

“What?”

“On the oven. How many minutes? I asked you to keep track.”

He did not. "Oh yeah, yeah, I'll just go check for us."

I open the oven door a crack, and smoke vomits from within. I cough as black plumes spill onto the ceiling. The cake is in full view, a burning smouldering clump. Even I could have done better than that.

Prowl can see clearly from the table to the inside of the oven, lit by the bonfire which used to be his cake. "How are things progressing?"

Is... is he stupid? He's not stupid. I know he's not. But he can see the "cake" from there. He can feel the smoke scratch his eyes and clog his throat. We can both taste that sweet fire.

He asks again, "how are things progressing?"

I don't have it in me to break his heart. "Five more minutes, Prowl." I close the door. I stand in front of the oven so he can't see me turn the dial to off, and then yank the dial off entirely.

“I need to phone someone. Back in a minute.”

*

"Afternoon, Rodimus. How are things? I was worried about you after you left the hospital. I sent some messages which you didn't reply to, but you have read notifications on so I assumed all was well."

"Ah shit yeah sorry about that, I meant to reply but then I… uh, I guess I just got distracted."

"It's perfectly alright. Why are you calling today?"

"I need your help as a... well I don't know actually. I just... need your help. I need someone's help. You have to let Prowl back to work. He's losing it."

"No."

"What?"

"No.”

“Windblade, please! You can't be serious.”

“Yes, I am. I forced Prowl to take time off because in all the years of him having this position, he has not taken a single day off by his own choice. Did you know that? Not a single day! He does overtime everyday and I'm fairly confident he continues working when he gets home and on weekends. I can't let it go on and I would be a terrible employer if I allowed it."

"I want him to be able to relax too but he just can't. He just... can't... right now. Giving him a break is just making him sick. He hasn't slept in two weeks."

"I... I..." She stutters.

"I don't want him to end up back in hospital! He just got out! And if he goes back in, I'll be right behind him. I'll put that on your conscience!"

She doesn't reply for a few seconds. Then I hear her sighing. "I had hoped that this time would be different. I thought that having you might help him."

"How do you mean?"

"As appointed ruler of Cybertron, I oversee everything. And Prowl, as lead of the safety division and key member in development, has meetings with me every week. We're in touch. I am responsible for his workplace health. And he has a hideous work life balance. Non-existent. But every time I've forced him to take time away from work, he loses it. Every. Time. He finds himself at a loose end. He has no idea what to do. So he gets obsessive. He always needs to be doing. He needs to be fixing.

“But… he's been so different recently. He leaves work on time. He talks to people. I even saw him smile. And not a manipulative one. A real one. And that's because of you, Rod. So I thought with all his improvements, he would be able to handle it, but…”

“...He can't,” I answer. We both stay silent for a few moments.

“Can you bring him to speak to me?”

“I can try.”

*

I kept trying so hard to help him. We could go to the cinema, go to the lake, go anywhere, do anything. Or even stay in and watch movies and be with each other. But Prowl doesn't care anymore. He can't pull himself away from his own mind. He won't even bake. There's no space in his head for that anymore. Plus, I think someone broke the oven.

One morning, I woke up, and... the coffee... was cold. So, so cold. Barely even room temperature. This. This had never happened before.

I'm... I'm really worried.

That morning, Prowl was staring into space. He had a book, but it was just open, drooping in his hand, like he no longer had the energy to lift it. I thought something was deeply wrong then. But I tasted it, fundamentally, when I sipped that morning's tepid coffee.

He made it, as always. But... it's like he'd lost track of time. There is a burning smell in the air. The coffee was burnt, but the temperature was low. Which meant that Time had gotten all messed up in Prowl's head. Simple tasks, loving tasks like making our morning coffee - they were dissolving.

I'm really, really worried. I don't know how to fix this.

Prowl doesn't look at me, but I catch his mouth opening and closing, mouthing words like he can't bear to voice them. He finally finds the courage, finds a piece of himself. "What I'm about to say. It stays between us."

"Yeah. Of course."

"Per…haps..." he starts, still staring into space. He won't look at my face. "Hmm. Perhaps... Megatron... had a point. I may, in fact, need, or be better off, talking. About... things inside me. Inside my mind."

"Yeah." I down my cold coffee in one go, because there's no way I'd let Prowl think his coffee wasn't worth drinking. "I think you're right there."

Chapter Text

"What do you regret most in those moments when you're unable to stop thinking?"

I regret getting that matrix in my hands. Everything changed after that.

"You don't have to talk, of course, but..."

No, that's not accurate. I regret what I did once the Matrix became mine. Yeah, I regret becoming a Prime.

"We're- look, we want to help you. We all want to help you. You're among friends."

No, that's not right either. I regret that being a Prime made me think I was something I wasn't. I stopped being humble. Stopped being approachable. I remember the first time I felt hated for something that was truly my fault. And forgetting that feeling quickly.

Windblade continues. "Prowl, please, we’re concerned and-"

What do you regret most? Dumb question. These questions have all been dumb. I cut in. "Maybe this wasn't a good idea. If he doesn't want to talk, then he doesn't want to talk."

"Don't speak for me, Rod. None of you speak for me,” says Prowl.

I decide to lean against a wall in this massive living room and keep quiet.

"Well you won't speak for yourself,” says Starscream.

"Why are you even here?!" asks Prowl.

"This is my house."

"Ugh. Well then why is he here?"

"Research. For my screenplay,” says Thundercracker. "You did say it was okay."

"Well now I'm changing my mind!" Prowl shouts. "My life is not a show for you all you gawk at."

“What about this wedding?” Starscream mocks.

Prowl eyes narrow. “What about "this wedding"?”

Starscream smirks over at me- “That'll be a big show. Great opportunity for ‘gawking’. Time is ticking on, and the closer it gets to the big day-” before looking back at Prowl- “the more insane you get. Could have something to do with that, eh?”

“Shut up, Starscream.” I say.

“I'm sorry, Rod, but perhaps he has a point.” Windblade adds. “It's at least worth discussing. How do you feel about the wedding, Prowl?”

He's exhausted, but Prowl answers with confidence. “Positive.”

“Positive?” She asks.

“Yes.”

“That's it?” Starscream says in disbelief. “ ‘Positive’? That's all you have to say?”

“That's all I need to say. The rest is between me and Rod. Our wedding does not come into question.”

Windblade smiles. “We're just trying to talk to you. It might help.”

“My inner world is going to stay right here.”

Starscream groans. “Then why did you even come here in your state? I personally think we should each just grab a limb and force him to talk. Look at him. He won't be any bother.”

“How about your recent visit to Earth?” Windblade asks. “It was understandably a lot.”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Prowl, you went through something terrible. There's nothing wrong with being traumatised.”

“You think I'm traumatised?! Ha! What do you people take me for? You all think that little of me?”

Starscream laughs. “I think very little of you, but I didn't need another reason for that.”

Thundercracker starts, "How did it feel when you were unable to transform?"

“What?”

The conversation is hectic, tripping from topic to topic without much direction. Is this helpful?

“You did what you did to that human because he was the one who hurt you, so you wanted to hurt him back. How did it feel? How did what he did to you feel?”

Prowl stops like a broken clock. His eyes seek mine for comfort. For safety. I tense. He doesn't want to go back there. He looks away, forcing down weakness. "It didn't feel like anything. I would tell myself I didn't exist. To get through it. That's what it felt like after all. You cannot move on your own. You are just a mind in space."

Thundercracker pokes more. "But how did it feel?"

Prowl is silent. He can't put it into words. “I- I-” he stammers. "I'm not a thing to be studied."

"No. You're a person to be studied. Please, go on,” Thundercracker urges, poised at a data pad. Prowl looks too worn down to stop himself.

“You learn to stop thinking eventually. You become what they want you to be. A machine. Nothing else. You know it's wrong. You know it's unfair and disgusting and shitty. And… violating. But you are trapped. So you do what you must. While they get to do what they want to you. ‘I am not alive.’ ‘I am not a person.’ Tell yourself that. That fact. Until you believe it. And then you can't lose anymore.”

Thundercracker scribbles notes. “Keep going.”

“No.”

“Aw, please. Come on. This is great.”

Prowl sighs. He closes his eyes, and thinks. “...I had moved past it, of course. An incident like that could never keep me from what must be done. But I suppose it was a burden I carried in my body for years without ever knowing. And when I saw him again, my body began to burn. Here was a chance to make him suffer only a fraction as much as I had. It felt like I was moving without my own input, like all those years before. And when it was over, I..." His voice breaks. "I didn't feel any better. I just felt hollow. And petty. And like him.

“And the way Rod and the other humans looked at me. That way Rod looked at me, as he snapped my fingers, begging me to stop. I couldn't hear his voice or feel the pain at first. But then I knew I'd done something worth my destruction. I never wanted to be a car again.” He's shaking. “I never wanted to put myself in that vulnerable position again. I told myself I had lost Rod but… I had gained freedom.”

I'm trying to not get involved, trying to give him the space he needs to open up without interrupting, but it's getting harder to not go over and wrap my arms around Prowl. I wrap my eyes around him instead.

“When Rod came back, while I was bleeding out, and he told me He Loved Me, I knew I had lost nothing. I realised there was something about him. Rod has a selflessness in him if you allow him the space to prove it. He is generous with me.”

I stop leaning, take one step forward.

“Did you feel safe then?” Windblade asks warmly. Prowl flinches. “When was the last time you felt safe? Did you feel safe before the war?”

“Yes,” he replies.

That's not what he told me at the party.

I can feel him glancing at me. He knows I know he's lying.

Prowl won't open up to them. Not anymore. He's given all he wants and he's just remembered where he is. He won't go further. Of course not.

This was a mistake.

Prowl stands and loses balance.

“You should eat something,” Windblade says.

“No, thank you.”

“Oh yeah, you don't eat. So, why don't you eat?” Starscream pokes.

“What?”

“You're a freak. You don't eat.”

“Starscream, please”, Windblade whispers.

“Just saying. Everyone else needs to intake energon. But you don't touch the stuff. Like you're better than the rest of us for denying it.”

“Not everyone intakes energon. It is not necessary. I recha-”

“Maybe he doesn't eat because of some need to reject comfort,” says Thundercracker. “Maybe you can't get too comfortable. Part of your programming. Or your history as-”

“TC, please,” Windblade whispers louder.

Prowl is getting agitated. “What do none of you understand? Not eating isn't interesting. I recharge instead.”

“I thought if a fuel tank completely emptied then your function would just cease,” Thundercracker says.

“RECHARGE CELLS! We all! Have! Recharge cells!” Prowl laughs in frustration. “It's just recharge.”

“Hear you haven't been doing much of that though. Must be running on empty,” Starscream says.

“It's none of your concern.”

Windblade adds, “Ah, well it is my concern actually.”

“What does it matter to you people what I do with my body? I can eat, I can rest and I can bloody use it however I pissing please!”

“Like to bake?” asks Starscream.

Prowl groans and tries to stand again. He focuses on me. “Why are we here with this rabble of planes, Rod? We could be home right now.”

“Yeah, then what?” I ask flatly.

“...What?” His face scrunched with disgust.

“Then I just let you get worse and worse?” I walk closer. “Have you seen you, Prowl? Right now? Remember how worried you were about me until I sorted myself out? That's you right now. You look a state. And I'm- I-"

"What? You're what?"

"Nah, forget it."

"Tell him,” Windblade says softly.

If he won't open up all the way, I guess I'll have to. “I'm… I'm terrified. I'm scared that I've found someone who wants me and I actually really want them back... AND YET WE JUST KEEP FUCKING EACH OTHER UP!” I go and grab his hands. "How do I help you, Prowl? Tell me. You knew how to help me from the start. I'm bad at that stuff. Tell me what to do! Tell me what you need.”

I'm so close to his face and I'm looking down into his eyes but he's trying to hide the truth under obliviousness. Keep it safe. "I- ha- I don't need anything, Rod." He shakes his head and smiles at me like I'm an idiot. “Nothing is wrong.” But he couldn't keep one stutter out. “N-nothing.”

And of course Starscream couldn't keep one last word out. “Denial.”

Prowl screams, “SHUT THE FUCK UP, STARSCREAM!”

“Hey, don't tell my bro to shut up! Even if he deserves it!” Thundercracker defends.

“Will everyone please just stop?” says Windblade. “Just be quiet and stop for a second. I think…” she sighs. “I think we all need a moment to calm down. We can reconvene later. Preferably with... less of us. I am sorry, Prowl. This was just supposed to be the two of us.”

“No, it's fine. I'm done. Time to go. I'm above this.”

The words that had been foaming in my throat slip out. "You weren't above having a breakdown." I said it quietly, looking away, but all heads turn to me.

Prowl looks taken aback, quietly fuming. "Care to say that louder for the whole room, Rod?"

I'm sick of him being in denial of the problem. Yeah, I know that's rich coming from me, but shit like this is easier to see from the outside.

A brief moment of consideration graces my thoughts, before I kick them to the side. "You weren't above having a breakdown!" But then, I pick that considerate thought back up. "No one in this room is. You need to let us help you.”

“There's a reasonable explanation for why I... why I..."

"Why you nearly killed someone and yourself? For why you ripped open your body? There is no “reasonable explanation". You've told us how you felt, and how you felt was irrational. But go on then! We're all waiting. What's this flawless reasoning for why you did what you did on Earth?"

"I was... I was- I was." There's a frantic pace to his voice. A blur to the ways his eyes move. Something he won't admit to himself. "I was trying to make a clean separation between my past and my current self so that I could better create the future. Satisfied?"

"You were terrified of a harmless old man because he harmed you in the past, so you lashed out like an animal. How can you not see that? You're an idiot. We're all idiots who do thoughtless things."

"Not me. I'm always thinking."

“Stop thinking. Start talking.”

Prowl looks at me. Wishfully. Hard. His expression falters. He leaves the room. I watch him.

I look down at my feet. I rub my hands roughly over my face. I handled that gracefully. I…

I'm a dickhead.

“Rodimus?” Windblade asks. “Are you alright? Do you need anything? I can-”

“Nah. Not now. Please.” I sigh. “I don't need anything. Not in the mood.”

I decide to follow Prowl. He's a few corridors down, a left, another left, and a right, leaning against a balcony. I lean next to him.

Cybertron is in full motion at this time of the day. The sound of jets and cars is abhorrent, but muffled by this height. I look over the edge and laugh. “Long way down, huh?” Prowl says nothing. He just keeps looking down.

I shuffle closer, and our hips clunk together. He moves further away.

I try another approach. “What do you think about when you're unable to stop thinking?”

“I'm thinking you should get the fuck away from me,” he says, matter of fact, through gritted teeth.

I just don't have it in me to be angry at that. It's all very familiar. Like the wedding. I don't understand how I've become so patient. I'm not the hot-headed little shit I used to be.

Calmly (I'm not used to calmly), I tell Prowl, "I'll be there when you need me." I turn back around and head inside.

I see the three of them arguing and I decide I don't fancy getting involved with that, so I keep walking.

You know, I actually feel really peaceful right now. Tranquil. In control.

I feel so calm right now, I could definitely handle a drink without falling off the deep end.

I breathe in.

I breathe out.

I head to the kitchen.

Chapter Text

I've got a plan.

Would you be surprised by how hard it was to find the kitchen? This place is a maze. These cupboards are no better. I root through all the shelves to find what I want. Ah, here it is! Hidden under the sink. Surprisingly cheap engex. Nasty and importantly, high percentage. Didn't think Windblade and Starscream would drink the cheap stuff, and yet I found the kind that burns your throat as it goes down. The kind that should be used as cleaning fluid.

This is a great plan.

I swirl the low grade wine in the biggest glass. I stare into the whirlpool. It's fine because I don't actually need it. I kicked this habit. It was just a substitute for happiness until I found something better. And now, I've got something better. Now, I've got Prowl.

See, this plan is great.

Prowl is like me deep down - he just wants what's best for people. And he wants to take care of stuff. But he's got nothing to take care of while taking time off work. That's why he lost it. He was taking care of me and that was going great for us. So I've just gotta let him do that again. This will fix him. Because I want what's best for him too. Because I can save people.

I confidently bring the glass to my lips. My eyes flick behind, checking the doorway, just in case Prowl is watching. Like usual. He enjoys watching me fuck up. But no. No, he's not stood there. Soon. He'll be there soon. He just needs some time to himself before he searches for me so we can go home. Home is where our bed is, and he needs that bed. So when he does find me, I want him to see a mess. A big, sad, pathetic pile to scoop up and drag home. That'll help him.

I down the first glass in one go. It's been a while since I drank. It doesn't hold the same pull it used to. Disappointing really. To think this used to get me through the day. Now it's just... alcohol. Same as it used to be. A tool for a good time.

I pour the next glass and knock it. Cuz I'm ready for a good time. I pour out another. Drink that one too. Yeah! What a fucking great idea! Because when Prowl-

"This is exciting, isn't it?!"

I jump. Thundercracker is right by my side. I thought he was supposed to be loud. How did he sneak in?

"What's exciting?"

"Talking to Prowl. I feel like I'm getting so much insight for my screenplay."

"Yeah. Right,” I reply, sullen. “Great."

"Engex at this time?" He asks innocently, glancing at the glass in my hand. Not as judgemental as Starscream, but you can tell they're brothers with that remark.

I perk up. "Well, it's uh, it's 5 o'clock somewhere, as they say."

“It's 1:30.”

“Yeah, I know.”

"Humans say that."

"Yeah," I say flatly. "I know."

He smiles. "I like humans. I like how much they care about art and media. Cybertron isn't like that. Earth is a paradise I never knew I wanted."

"Yep. Earth's preeetty great."

"But not everyone sees the humans that way. Prowl for one."

The alcohol is starting to take effect, but I don't feel troubled enough. My heart is too light. I rub weariness into my eyes. Maybe I can talk to Thundercracker about something that will remind me what a piece of shit I've been. If I don't feel like shit for Prowl then this will be for nothing.

"You're a good listener, TC. You know that?"

"Yeah,” he grins sweetly. "Yeah, I like to think I am."

“I'm gonna share something with you. Get your input."

"Sure!"

“So like, I used to drink too much," I say over the glugging noise, holding up the bottle to pour more in my glass. "A problematic amount, some would say. But so, I got with Prowl, like... months ago. A few. Something like that, yeah. But being with him stopped me drinking. I've been sober for weeks."

"That's great."

"Yeah! Yeah, it is great." When did this smile get on my face? I push it down with more wine. "But then Prowl fucked his mind up. And that's why we're here today. To try and help him. But it didn't help him. So…" I chug the rest of my drink and slam down the glass on the countertop. "...I decided to start drinking again. Because it brought us together. So it's gonna bring us together again. What do you think of that?!"

"Wooaah, oh my god, yeah," he says, in awe. "Yeah, that plan makes total sense actually! Great motivation."

"I know, right?!" I'm ecstatic that someone else gets it. I was starting to worry this might be a Bad Plan.

“Yeah! Yeah, I like it. So then when Prowl comes and sees you, he'll see you're struggling again, and that-"

"-And that'll get him to look after me, indirectly looking after himself!"

"That has to be one of the stupidest plans I've ever heard,” says Starscream, smugly leaning against the doorway. "And I listen to this idiot's screenplays on a weekly basis."

TC smiles. "It's true. Good listening skills runs in seekers."

Ignoring TC, he keeps digging at the wound. "So you're just gonna trap you both in the same loop? Trust me. I've been there. It's shit. If you guys aren't working out anymore, then you have to ditch the bitch." He struts over to me across his stupid massive kitchen, heals clacking against the tiling. "Dead weight needs to be dropped. Prowl knows that. That's why he fucked up his hot bod after all. Literally lost his tits. Gimme that!" He snatches the wine bottle from my hand and grabs his own glass.

"But I just, I mean, I think it'll... Oh piss off, Starscream! I know Prowl. And when he sees me like this?" I wave my arms across my body. "You watch. You just see. Fixed!." I steal the glass from Starscream's hand before he can take even a single sip. Fuck him! I take the bottle too. "I'll save him like I always do."

I don't think I have enough wine for my plan, so I grab another bottle. Starscream looks pissed at that. There's plenty more for you still, bitch!

I keep drinking as I stumble out of the kitchen, flipping him the middle finger as I go. He wasn't best friends with a teenage boy, he doesn't know what that means. I do.

"God, why have you got this saviour complex, Rod?” Starscream yells after me. “You're just some alcoholic embarrassment. You're not special. Drop it. Move on."

I struggle to walk in a straight line, but I keep drinking. They start muttering about something as I leave. I don't care. I'm already outta there. I've got a plan to do. Will this be enough wine for it?

Chapter Text

It takes me longer than I'd like to admit to find Prowl again.

Somehow my legs got me here. My brain definitely wasn't responsible. And there he is, sat on the floor, leaning against the balcony. Staring into space, like he's in some kind of power saving mode. Looking annoyed and miserable. I sigh contentedly. Taking careful little steps to mask my drunkness, I slump next to Prowl, knocking him off balance.

He detects the air immediately. I knew I could trust him.

“Are you drunk?" His voice trembles. He's worried. Perfect.

"Little, yeah."

He reassembles his composure. "You stopped."

“I did.”

“Obviously not.”

"No, I did, but then I did this for you."

“You mean because of me. You were upset so you relapsed. You're too drunk to be coherent.”

“No no, I mean for you. To help us.”

"My god,” he gasps. "I know what you were thinking, but what do you think you're thinking?"

"I was, I dunno, no, I do know, I was thinking about when we first started. This. Us. And I still got drunk everyday." I look up at the sky and I'm sure I can see the planet's rotation. It's so beautiful, I want to cry. “You liked that. Looking after me. And you liked talking to me when you thought I was too pissed to remember."

He shifts uncomfortably. "You were too pissed to remember, weren't you?”

"Oh yeah, I was. Your secrets are safe with me.” I whack my finger against my nose. “And that meant you talked to me. And I want you to talk to me again. No, we need you to talk to me again." I pour myself a glass. I down it breathlessly. Prowl flinches. "So I'm gonna keep drinking till I can't remember." I grin, big and stupid.

"Don’t do that." He frowns. “I don't want this."

Prowl takes the glass from my hand. That’s fine. I still have the bottle. "No, Rod. Don't. Don't do this." I drink from the bottle, finishing that one off. “I don't want you to hurt yourself again. Please. Stop!”

I unscrew the cap of the next bottle. "I know you don't. And I don't want that too. So that's why this is okay once in a while. You can talk to me. And I'll forget it all. And you'll feel better. Worth it. Plus... uhhh, it's free! I stole this from Starscream and Windblade! Fuck em. They're rich (probably.)"

I resume my drinking. He reaches over to grab the bottle from me, sending some pouring down my face and chest. We both grip the bottle tightly. It's tense. We stare each other down, as much as we can through tiredness and drunkenness. Clenching hard, we each pull, and I hear Prowl's fingertips scraping for purchase. But I'm stronger than him, so I take it back easily.

I don't feel good about that. His body is smaller and it's been under too much stress recently. He was never going to wrestle anything from me. His eyes flicker, disappointed at the taste of weakness.

"Please, Rodimus. Don't drink anymore. I can't physically stop you, but I would if I could. I don't want you dependent on-" I put a finger to his lips and shush. His face is cluttered with lines of anxiety.

“The only words I want from you are about how you're doing.” Confidently, looking Prowl dead in the eyes, I bring the bottle to my lips. I drink.

Prowl watches the bottle emptying, mouthful after mouthful. He cries out, "I will talk if you stop!"

I'm shocked. I stop. Slowly, I slant my head forward, allowing what was in my mouth to trickle back into the bottle. With familiar difficulty, I remove it from my lips. I look the bottle over. Hesitating, I pass it to Prowl. He stares at me fearfully. I think I've done something wrong. Through the haze, I can just about make out on his face that I've done something wrong. He looks upset. Guilty. Wasn't this… my plan?

Did I forget I'm bad at plans?

Sprinting past those thoughts, I take this opportunity. Prowl said he'll talk to me. I'm gonna make sure he does.

I lay my head on his shoulder. "Go on then. What fucking you up. What are you thinking about?"

He's silent for some moments. Unsmiling. “I don't know what to talk about.”

“What was that thing Windblade said? What do you think about when you're unable to stop thinking? Something like that.”

He pauses, before putting an arm around me and stroking the side of my head slowly. “I don't know how people live calm lives.” He smiles and exhales.

“Yeah.”

“I'm weak.”

“I'm weak too. And scared.”

“Why?”

“Because... I didn't have it in me to drink enough to forget. Just enough to keep talking shit. And cuz I'm worried about you.” Prowl tenses up instinctively, before quickly relaxing. He's getting used to being cared about again.

He continues tracing his hand down my head and along my neck. “My body is so weak and small now.”

“If you regret it, then you can always go back. There's nothing wrong with that.”

“And you can go back and get your spoiler.”

“Yup. Sure can. Won't though.”

“Exactly.”

“Eeeexactly.”

He sighs, slowing his movements to a peaceful pace. “I did this to myself, so I have to face the consequences. That's what justice is. That's what I stand for.”

“If you say so. All I know is you made your choice to change your body. And your life. And I'll stick by you.” I feel him smiling. It's nice when he rubs the side of my head. “Might as well stay with you. Got nothing better to do. And I already stopped paying rent for my old flat months ago. I basically need you at this point.” His body relaxes further around my words.

“I remember Drift said this thing to me whenever I'd fuck something up expecially bad. He said, uh, he said, how did it go again? Something like:

“The one truth as hard,
as swift as the changing tides:
Self transformation.

“He'd say it like that too. With the pauses.

“You know,
Like
That?”

Prowl scoffs. “I refuse to take any advice on change from that compulsive chameleon. Has he ever said a word in his life and meant it?”

“Plenty would say that about you.”

“Yeah.” He laughs. "Yeah, you got me.”

Prowl's body shakes, quietly. He's crying.

I curve my head to look at him. “What's up? That's not like you. Doing that. With your eyes.”

“I've lost everything. I clung so tight. And I still lost it. Why did I do this to myself? It was a moment of madness where I lost it and tore myself apart. I'm so tired. I always have to know everything. I must be aware of Every Single Thing and control it all and I can't let any of it out of my sight. And yet! Somehow! …I let go of half of my bloody body weight. I just tore it out like I was deranged. It was you! You have a terrible influence on me. Even the way I speak has changed. Become more like you. And- and baking? Fucking baking?! That's not me. I was fighting a war only a few years ago. Prime’s second in command. Trusted advisor. Ruthless strategist. And in only a few months, I… I hardly recognise who I am. Fucking look at me. I'm even crying as well.”

It's while listening to him diligently, lovingly, nauseously, that my tank convulses and my throat suddenly swells. I jerk my head quickly to aim through the balcony bars. Vomit spurts from my throat. We're so high up that it takes a good few seconds before it splatters, and even then that's just more roof. The pain starts to slide away like the puke on the roof tiles. I retch again and again while Prowl rubs my back heavily. The final puddles of pink run down my chin.

I wipe vomit from my lips with the back of my hand. “Uggh, fuck, I feel rough. I'm gonna need to use your lap.” I lay on my back and put my head on Prowl's legs. I look up and he's framed by the warm afternoon sky. “This is nice.”

My head is still spinning. “Sorry about that. I feel much better now though. You know that post-puke bliss where you feel all better? Anyway, keep going. I'm listening.” I reach up, almost punching him, and squeeze his shoulder. Prowl is looking forward so I can't see his face, but I feel something drop onto me. I think he's still crying. But then I hear him laughing. It's both. He wipes sad and happy tears from his eyes.
“Ha! Hahaha you- you just plastered the roof of the Iaconian Palace with your 15.0% vomit. Starscream will never have us around here again.”

“Good, honestly. Hate this place. Too posh.”

“Maybe it's not so bad being more like you.”

“First time I've ever heard that.”

Prowl's laughter starts to die down, and the contemplative atmosphere returns. “Rod? How do you feel about the war ending?”

“Overjoyed. Genuinely. I'm glad it's over. I never liked the war. Never liked fighting. It's exciting, but… it's not good, is it? I did it because I had to. And then I got the Matrix and ugh, no, that wasn't what I ever wanted for myself. I mean, maybe once in a while, everyone thinks “oh, what if I was Prime? Then I'd fix everything up.” And it's nice being all big and shiny. But the responsibility! I dunno what the Matrix was thinking picking me. And then you realise it's all just made up bullshit anyway. It wasn't all bad. Makes me think about all that time wasted though. I could have been faffing around on a ship with my friends like I wanted to so much sooner.”

“No, you couldn't have. There was still a war.”

“Yeah, well maybe I would have gone off with Drift's lot or someone like that. Some defectors or objectors who didn't take part.”

“You would have come back,” Prowl says confidently.

How could he know that? “Oh yeah? How do you know that?” I ask, compelled by what he could possibly say next.

Prowl’s head tugs towards mine. He gazes at me, deeply, like it's something so obvious. “Because you do what's right in the end. You always come back.”

Does true love begin in that moment when you realise the other person knows you better than you know yourself? Because I know that's how I felt when Prowl said those words.

*

There wasn't much else to say. Nothing that couldn't be said later. We were both exhausted and we'd done enough for now.

Prowl rubbed the side of my head. I continued holding his shoulder. His hand moved slower as our bodies became still, lulled into rest.

I don't know how long we spent like that, but I did notice a change in the sky. Its blue had dimmed when I was woken up by Starscream booting me in the side, shouting, “stop squatting on my balcony! Get out! Go home!”

So we did go home.

As we get to our building, we reach a build up of people.

“What's the matter?” I ask someone.

“There's been a fire. In that building.” They point upwards to black smoke pluming from windows and dirtying the evening air.

“Oh. That's our building,” I remark.

Prowl groans. “Very close to our floor too…” he says.

“Prowl, did you absolutely turn the oven off the last time you used it?”

“Well,” he scans his mind. “I was so recharge deprived that I couldn't tell you. It's, hmm, I've never actually said a sentance like that before.”

“Right.”

“And also, the dial on the oven was missing.”

“...Oh.” I open one of my side panels. “You mean this dial?”

Prowls eyes widen. We both look back up at the building, seeing our home go up in flames.

“Is there anything valuable in there?” I ask.

“Please! I wouldn't allow myself to have any sort of asset or vulnerability which could be that easily destroyed.” He gives a pained look. “Then again our coffee set was custom made.”

“Here's me thinking I'd be the one who'd eventually burn down the flat.”

“You did!” He shouts. “You're the one who removed the dial from the oven.”

“And you're the one who had a nervous breakdown.”

Silently, we watch as an aerial team dowses the building with water.

“It feels very fitting for us to burn our home down,” says Prowl.

“Yeah. Maybe it's a cleansing fire. Maybe it'll be better in the long run.’

“God knows something should be.” He brings a hand to his face. “Rod?”

“Yeah?”

“If I pass out now, will you take me to a recharge slab?”

“Yeah, will do.”

“Good. Because Thundercracker may have been right about something. If we completely deplete in energon and charge, we do in fact enter a forced shut down, and I am approaching that point.”

“When?”

Prowl's eyes dim to black. His pained expression straightens out. I lunge forward and catch him under the arms. I lift him behind the knees and back. Bridal carry style.

Fuck, I'm too drunk/hungover for this.

I make a call to whoever lives closest. Sweetly, I hold Prowl's light body tightly in my arms. He finally gets to sleep.

*

“Thanks for letting us crash here. We'll be out tomorrow.”

“Not a problem, Rodimus,” says Megatron. “Prowl looked like he had been through it.”

“Yeah, he hasn't slept in a few weeks, which you know. And then he went for therapy today.”

“Oh, he did? How did that go?”

“He got interrogated by a bunch of planes, started swearing, then left to stare over a balcony for half an hour. A high one too.”

“Planes? Who?”

“Windblade, Starscream and Thundercracker.”

“Ahh, how are they? I hear Starscream has mellowed out these days. I also hear Thundercracker has somehow managed to mellow out even more.”

"Oh yeah, Starscream's like a new man! He already sent me an apology message for his shitty behaviour today. Look it says:

soz 4 shitty behaviour today. u 2 r just soo easy to make fun of :) try bein less ridiculous bitches

also tell prowl thanks for the cake. its rly gud. bring more and ill let u in again “

“My god. His comms are terrible. How did they devolve like that? You know he used to be a scientist? He wrote research papers. Published ones. What even is that message? It's like reading something from you.”

“Yeah, he definitely got worse when he started talking to me. “

" ‘Talking to you’? How much do you two talk? Are you friends?

“As much as you can be friends with Starscream. We send each other memes and, you know, stuff like that.”

“ ‘Stuff like that’?” Megatron squints. “It's about me.”

“It's about lots of people." I pause. "Some of it's about you.”

“Rodimus! Really? After all we've been through? You gossip about me to Starscream? What do you get in return?”

“Thundercracker movie scripts.”

“I'm sorry?”

“Yaaaawn!” I bring a hand to my mouth to complete the act. “Wow, I sure am tired. I could do with using the bed too soon. Need to sleep off this hangover.”

“ ‘Hangover’?! I thought I could smell engex off of you but I assumed the best. You said you had quit, Rodimus. I will hit the alcoholism out of you. You know I am capable of this.”

“It was a one time thing and I regret it. I thought it was a good idea. It wasn't.”

“I'm going to tell Prowl to call me over if you ever look like you're in trouble. Your F.I.M. chip will be-”

“Yeah, yeah it's fine. You can keep your whacking hands to yourself.”

“You also haven't explained why you are here rather than in your own home.”

“Ah, well, see, if you come over here." I stand and walk to the window. "Yeah, look outside. Riiiight there." I tap on the glass. "That building over there. See that cloud of smoke with the fire service helicopters around it?”

Megatron sighs. “...Yes.”

“That's us.”

Megatron brings a hand to his face. "Perhaps having the two people most drawn to calamity in a relationship was actually terrible for the Cybertron.”

“For real though. I am going to bed now.”

“Very well.”

“Cheers, Megs.”

I go to the bedroom and lay down next to Prowl. His body is warm so he is taking on charge. That's reassuring. Not sure how much longer until he wakes up, but I'll be there when he does.

Chapter Text

Like a fish niggling at a hook, I could feel the bob of my mind twitching up and down. Something... something I'm forgetting. Something deeply important. I bit at the thought - bit at my lip through recharge.

The reel. The loops. The hook.

What am I forgetting?

Ashes.

I shot up, panting, possessed. I loosened and clenched my hands, sad to find the fishing rods... are gone. Even while shutdown, I couldn't let them go.

I remember now. That's it. Ashes. That's all that's left of my fishing rods.

Maybe they aren't gone! Maybe they survived the fire! They were in a cupboard, out of the way. The fire might not have reached.

I look down at Prowl, sleeping by my side. Good.

I check the time. Only a few hours have passed. Also good.

He should stay in recharge for a lot longer. That gives me time to sneak out, check the state of the flat, and then...

Then I'll work out that part later.

I look down at Prowl again. He looks so peaceful. I reach for his hand and squeeze it, gently enough so he won't wake up. I lean over and kiss his cheek. No movement. I look at his face up close. Exhausted, worn out, older. I try to remember the last time I gazed at my own face this deeply.

As I close the door behind me, I take one last look at him on the bed, and I know he's safe.

*

It's dawn. The smoke has dispersed from the building. The lift is out of commission so I take the stairs. The burning stayed mostly in our flat. This is a metal planet after all, with mostly metal architecture. But energon explodes, plastic melts, and cakes burn. Wood too. Our flat has- no, had more flammable substances than most.

I don't unlock the door. There is no door. It was knocked down by emergency services. But my key still makes a dejected beep at nothing.

The damage is... extensive. I frown and float around the wreckage. The entire place is covered in mottled black. Glass crunches underfoot from the smashed windows. The furniture will need replacing. And we just got that TV!

The kitchen table is overturned, half of the legs buckled and collapsed. Our coffee set must have slid off, now left in a cracked pile. I pick up the pieces, look them over hopelessly, close my eyes tightly, then arrange them on the countertop.

I decide looking around is a lost cause. I came here for one reason. The others can wait.

The cupboard with the fishing rods is in the bedroom. I open it and for a moment I think I'm alright. The door is sturdy. The epicentre of the fire was in the other room.

But I'm not alright. It's exactly as it appeared in my dream. The reel. The loops. The hook.

And ashes. That's it. That's all that's left of my fishing rods. Damn, I wish I didn't still have prophetic Matrix dreams.

I examine the remains and see if anything can be salvaged. The plastic of the line has frayed, split and melted. All that's left is brittle grey pieces sitting in dark dust. That, and the metal plate Prowl used to fix one rod. I pick that part up in particular. It's Cybertronian metal, not Earth metal, so it withstood the fire much better. The other pieces feel like they could crumble when I handle them, but this piece is unbreakable.

As the despair hits, I clench my fist tightly around it, looking for some comfort in that piece.

The fire

had killed

my rods.

The most precious things I own are gone.

I cried. Like a stupid little child. On the walk back, I wept like someone had died. Someone had died! Hot Rod was gone. Burnt up, fading, gone.

But I got over it quickly. Nothing I can do about it now, yeah?

*

"Where we're you?!" asks Minimus, accusingly.

"I was at my flat”, I answer, quietly closing the door behind me.

"And you left Prowl here alone?"

"Yeah, I just had something important to deal with. It snuck up on me."

“In the past few hours? While you were unconscious? What was so urgent that you had to go to what's left of your home?”

I clench my fist. There's a pause while I try to figure out how honest I want to be. I look down and sigh. “I lost something important.”

Another pause, while Minimus works out his response. His posture straightens up and his face softens. “...I'm sorry to hear that.”

Time seems to move slowly as we just stand in that hallway.

“Would you like to know what I have learned to do when I lose something important?”

I perk up. “What?”

“I look for something better to fill the empty space.”

I don't know what to make of that advice. It seems unlike him.

I'm glad I got back before Prowl woke up, but I want to shake him awake. I need you to look after me. Later. He can look after me later.

Oh yeah, the time. “Why are you home right now?”

“I was doing some light reading before work starts.”

“I saw your calendar on the wall before I left. Your work has already started.”

He squints at me. “I forgot you were smarter than you act.”

“Are you just checking up on me? Making sure I don't break anything? Checking I don't burn your place down too?”

He frowns and looks mildly offended. “Is that what you think I think of you?”

I say nothing. Acting uninterested, I glance around the hallway and the dumb, fancy, framed artworks.

“It's the opposite actually. Earlier, Megatron and I were saying how proud we are. We think you've made great progress recently. I'm willing to admit I was wrong about you and Prowl. Somehow.”

I return my eyes to Minimus. “Yeah? Well… thanks,” I say, unable to control the tenderness of my voice.

He nods his head once in understanding. “What will you do now?”

I laugh. “Ahh, you know me. I'll figure something out.”

“You always “figure something out” rather than having a plan.”

“You sound too much like Optimus.”

“Optimus was often right."

“Being right isn't all that matters,” I groan. “And besides, I have Prowl now. He's great and planning. He'll fill in my gaps, like you say. I'll run off and follow my instincts. He'll plan. That's how we work.”

“That's how you'll divorce. Also, that is not what I meant when I said “fill in the empty space” and you know that. Your mistake is that you never think ahead. You never just stop and plan. What are you going to do next? What do you want next?”

“If you spend too much time planning then you miss what's right in front of you. Focusing too hard on victory opens the path to defeat. You just have to do what must be done at that moment.”

“What do you think must be done right now?”

I open my hand and look at what's inside. “Right now I need energon to wake me up. And Prowl needs to recharge. Nothing starts until he wakes up.”

*

“You gotta admit it: drinking worked,” I whisper.

“I will not admit that,” Prowl answers, with an equally quiet voice.

“I can tell you loved it. Your face is admiring it. Your entire being is.”

He tries to cover a smile. “Guilting me into opening up with threats of relapsing into alcoholism was terrible.”

“He did what?!” shouts Minimus, eavesdropping from the sofa across the room. Megatron eases him with a “calm down.”

“I cannot believe him sometimes. He is just so-” I don't catch the rest as he continues muttering.

We're sat at their kitchen table, sipping something warm and peaceful, keeping to ourselves for a minute. We need to discuss something.

"What are we gonna do now?” I say. “Our flat's wrecked. It's gonna take some time to repair that."

"Four days max.'

"Nah. That damage is a week. At least."

"I know people in construction. They'll have it done in a few days."

"But what about until then. We can't just stay here."

"Yes, you can," Megatron says.

"If you must," adds Minimus.

“Okay!” I shout. “What is the point of us talking quietly if you are just going to listen in anyway?”

I'm restless. I'm awkward. I can tell. And Prowl can tell too. I sigh and put my head down in one hand. When I remove the hand and put it on the table, Prowl puts his hand on top.

“You're bothered by something. What is it?”

“Nah. Nothing.”

“Is it because of everything that's happened recently?”

“Yes.”

“And that's all?”

“Yep.”

“Tell me honestly.”

I know what I want to do, but Prowl won't be keen. I want to go back to Earth. I want to see Danny again. I want to get some new rods. It's petty. It's stupid. It's selfish. But I need to do this. There's no way Prowl will ever go for it though.

He stares at me in that way he does. Analysing me, up and down, focussed, trying to figure me out. Should I let him keep thinking and see if he gets it? Or tell him straight up?

"We should go back to Earth,” he says.

Ha. Of course he worked it out. Gradually, I smile. So does Prowl.

“It was your fingers this time. There's dark particulate. You've been back to the flat. You were looking for something. Then I realised it isn't metal. It's soot and ash. Your…” He picks up his mug to sip, then holds my hand more firmly. “Your rods broke, didn't they? You need new ones. Now is the best possible time for it. And we have to go back to Earth eventually,” he says with finality.

The rest did him good.

He gestures his eye line downwards. “You've been keeping your left hand closed too. What's inside it?” I lift my hand and he lifts his too, spreading it to catch whatever falls into his palm. The metal plate from my fishing rod. The part he repaired. Prowl pinches it between his thumb and index finger, examining gently, hints of warmth appearing on his face. The corners of the eyes and lips. Small details. He places it back in my left hand. He grips my right hand tighter. Finally, something those two can't listen in on.

Chapter Text

"You're sure you couldn't just, like, take up a temporary alt mode?"

"No."

"But I'm sick of walking everywhere."

Prowl doesn't respond. He just keeps trudging along a few paces behind me, head down.

"Maybe you could modify your spark so you could mass shift, then you could ride around in me or something."

"No, thank you."

I slow down so we're walking side by side. I put my hand around his. Was it shaking? Maybe I'm imagining it. He doesn't look up, but his eyes dart over to our hands. "We're almost there,” I mutter. He nods, then hmms in affirmation.

There's a light snow layer that dissolves underfoot. We barely feel it as we walk, leaving footprints massive enough to disturb the locals. Luckily, it's dawn, and those few centimetres will melt soon.

We weave through the bare trees, each with just a few leaves clinging for their lives. The snow thins at a footpath. We follow the path to its end.

The lake.

Prowl flinches and his feet stutter. I turn to look at him but he's already recovered. Confidently, he smiles. "I'm amazed to see my parts are still here."

Arranged in a circle are fragments of him. Tyres, doors, front bumper. Frayed at the edges. Shards of glass splinter upwards, glistening with icy dew. Of course, the energon has washed away or sunk into the soil. Along with the blood.

"But why are they here a month later?" he questions. "And this is not how I set them down. They've been moved." He kneels down to inspect what used to be his chest.

I notice the charred centre of the circle, a small mound of crumbling wood. Then I see the beer bottles poking out from the snow, as well as crushed cans and cigarette butts littered about. It clicks.

"Oh, I get it! Your body is a party spot. What an honour! The local teens will come up here, start fires, get drunk and high, all while sitting on your body parts."

Prowl straightens up and sighs. "I suppose at least someone is getting use out of them." He walks over to me, then bends down to pick up one of his doors. He frowns at something. I look at it too.

"Someone wrote "fuck da polis" on this one."

"Lovely," he sighs again.

I point to below the door handle. "And someone drew a dick there."

Prowl squints. "What is that?"

"You know, it's one of these." I use the laser attachment on my hand to sketch another dick out in some free space. "I got pretty good at drawing em, being friends with Danny. It's a school boy thing."

"Yes, but what is it?”

"A dick. You know, genitals."

"Organic procreation equipment?"

"Yep", I say, triumphantly drawing the squirts of cum from the tip.

“And you have just drawn another one on my door?"

I pause. “Well, its uhh…” I begin. “It's not your door anymore, is it? And I can't help it! It's the Matrix, it compels me to draw stuff."

"You cannot use that excuse every time I have to buff down the kitchen table because you've scrawled "rodimus woz ere" on it."

"Well, I was there!” I shout.

“You’re always there!” Prowl shouts back.

“Shame the table won't be for much longer. We'll need a new one."

"We can fix it." Prowl turns the door over in his hand. He's thinking about something. No, actually he's ruminating. I know that look because it's so familiar.

“What's up?”

He takes a moment to answer, thinking so hard I can see condensation evaporate from him. “Do you know what the back of your head looks like? Have you ever looked at it with your eyes?”

“Nah.”

“We rarely know what our own back looks like. I had this door on the back of my body for my entire life. And I just realised… my windows…” Between his finger and thumb, he holds a handle on the inside of his door and starts spinning it clockwise. “My windows wind down.” He reverses the direction. The glass shuffles up again.

I wonder about my own windows. I mentally locate the mechanism in my body. “Ah, right. I'm newer than you. No handle. Mine’s a switch, see?” I turn around so he can see the windows on my back. I hear the electronic hum as they sink and rise. “What's your point anyway?”

“I just never knew that. I've always been so smart. So regarded for my intelligence. Designed for my perceptive capabilities. But somehow I didn't even know I had handles to move my windows up and down. Not until I tore them off and examined them.” He laughs to himself. “An absurd blind spot.”

“That's… cool? I don't know what you're getting at.”

“No, me neither. I'm still formulating.”

“Let me know when you've worked it out.” Prowl’s other door catches my eye. I pick it up.

"What is it?" Prowl asks.

"This door has love hearts with people's names in them. You see trees with them carved in too. They mean two people love each other." I get the idea in my head. I start to laser in a heart. Inside I write:

Rodimus
Prowl

“How juvenile.” I catch a little smile, one he couldn't suppress. “You're being too romantic recently." He puts his door down and walks away.

“Can't I be relieved that you're feeling better?"

“I'm just not used to it. Not so long ago, me being in a good mood was an omen. People used to groan when they saw me up and about.”

“Yeah, I did. We all did. But those days are behind you. Behind us both. Now I'm glad you're feeling better again." I put the other door down too, back where it was. “I know you don't want an alt mode, but it's going to be impossible to go into human society without one.”

“I will wait here. Or I'll wander. Keep somewhere quiet. And I thought the plan was for Daniel to meet us?”

“He hasn't replied to my messages today. Or yesterday. Or for… several days. It's not like him. I'll drive to his place and pick him up.”

“Have you considered-”

“What? Have I considered what?” I interrupt.

“He's ignoring you.”

“He's not. Danny wouldn't do that to me. Even after... this. All of this.”

Prowl looks smaller, almost apologetic. I walk to the nearest road. I feel him watching my back as I go.

Chapter Text

He said the drive would be an hour round trip. "Just to Danny's and back". He said it with a laid back grin. Warmth in his cheeks. Hesitation in his eyes. I'll allow an hour and a half for the inevitable chatting and wrong turns.

What should I do with all this time? I catalogue my surroundings. Morning sky, light blue with retreating orange. The lake, alive and restless. The trees stripped of leaves.

It's cold. But that's not why I'm shaking.

I inspect my repurposed pieces again, more thoroughly with the extra time and solitude. As I reach out, I feel a jolt in my chest. That's not like me. None of this is like me.

No.

It's the opposite actually. I'm remembering something. Someone I used to be before the bitterness became natural.

I lift up my front. Snow skates off the hood and lands in clumps by my feet. The object looks foreign, like a human piece now. It feels so heavy. My weaker frame is struggling to support it, but somehow I carried these burdens with me everyday for centuries.

I look around to check no one is watching, but what do I have to be embarrassed about? I hold the car front to my chest, where it used to sit. It looks bulky and wrong. I remove it again and see my flat chest. It also looks wrong.

My body still feels...

Adjusting to the change is hard.

I wonder if I should perhaps take on an alt mode again. But all the doors and wheels and so on seem unnecessary now. That body, which was chosen for me, which I had no say in. I finally decide I want to say something and I am speechless. What do I become?

I put the car part back on the ground.

A walk seems right. I remember this area well. Just like Rod does. He has so much nostalgia for this lake, but I only came here once or twice to pull his lazy arse back to base. I walk along the edge of the lake and make pits in the mud. They slowly fill with cold water. Occasionally, I step on a sheet of ice, and it crackles like glass. Like the glass in my doors when I tore them off. I don't look behind me.

No, the area I remember well is just down here. It takes much longer to get to without an alt mode. Although, I suppose this planet has a soothing appeal, so the journey does not feel wasted. It's as if I'm seeing this area through new eyes.

Rod's eyes.

Not as terrible a thought as I'd once imagined.

I reach the brown scrubland where Metroplex used to reside. The prints of his body still engrave the landscape. I called this place home for a few years during the war, and I enjoyed it while it lasted, though I can't quite place why. I’ll process that more later. Now, there is nothing to show for all that time and effort.

A peace which I achieved but never got to experience. I wonder if this planet can be the site of a genuine peace for me. For me and Rod.

A jolt in my chest again. This time: warm and soothing.

It's a strange feeling to want to be comfortable.

I lost track of time. Two hours have elapsed, but Rod still isn't back. Maybe he doesn't know where I am since I walked away? No, he would have messaged. And his engines are so irritatingly loud, I would have heard him.

I send a message.

    Where are you?

I'm fine

    I didn't ask how you are. I asked where you are.

:)

Rod is not this cryptic. I am forced to conclude-

    Who is this?

What do you mean, my dear Prowl? It is I, your loving fiancé, Rodimus Prime, of course <3

    What do you want?

Don't worry about me, darling.

    Enough of this! What do you want?

You already know who I am so you already know what I want

Oh god no, don't tell me it's-

Sending you my coordinates xx

*

“What have you done to yourself?! So small, but absolutely still a bother.”

“Get to the point, Tarantulas. Where is Rod?”

He circles me, not resisting the urge to poke and stroke my body. “And this paint! I could never get you to change your-”

“Focus!” I stand my ground. My much less threatening ground. “Where is Rod?”

“Oh, he's over there.” He points towards a corner of the lab with a sofa and a TV. The TV is on, showing an Earth movie. As I get closer, I hear crunching.

Rod is eating pink ‘Doritos’ and watching TV.

I am speechless. I loom over him.

He notices me and gives a clueless smile. “Oh hey, Prowl! You're finally here. I met your ex. Kinda spooky at first but turns out he's really chill. Told me some fun stories about you.”

“Can I get you anything else?” Tarantulas rushes over and asks.

“No thanks!” Rod beams.

“What… what have I walked into?” I step away in horror. The movement was entirely involuntary. “Tarantulas, did you abduct Rod... and then end up... mothering him?”

“Well, my initial plan was to get your attention since my scanners picked up you were back on Earth again. And I thought what better way to capture your attention than to capture your soon-to-be husband. But then when I had him tied up and began to speak to him, he just seemed so... pathetic. I had to look after him. He needed me.”

“You cannot adopt my husband, Tarantulas.”

Rod interrupts. “Woah woah woah, let's not be rude, Prowl. He can adopt me if he wants. God knows Optimus doesn't want me," he scowls.

"See what I mean, Prowl? This poor boy needs some attention from a supportive parental figure." Tarantulas sits on the sofa with Rod. "Come and join us, Prowl."

“Yeah, join us. Come watch movies,” Rod echoes.

“Are you two out of your minds?! This is intensely weird. I am not watching movies with the ex I've tried to kill twice and the idiot I'm getting married to, while they've only just met and are acting like parent and offspring! I don't even want to be on this planet, and now i’m-”

“He's a lovely boy, but he's no replacement for our Springer,” says Tarantulas.

“I'm not trying to replace Springer with him!”

“Yeah,” says Rod. “That'd be weird. If anything, he's trying to replace Chromedome with me.”

“Who the fuck is Chromedome?” Tarantulas asks with sharp aggression.

“Pre-war ‘work friend’,” Rod answers, whether I want him to or not.

“Well I was his during the war ‘work friend’.” Tarantulas turns to me. “You had a bit on the side?”

“If anything you were probably his bit on the side,” says Rod.

“There were no bits and there were no sides!” I shout. “All I ever did was mind my own business and do my job and lonely men went rabid for me. That's what I get for being nice but aloof.”

“Nice but aloof?” asks Rod with a laugh. “Is this what he was like before the war?”

“He had his moments,” Tarantulas sighs.

“Actually yeah, now you mention it, that is what he's like.”

“It's all water under the bridge anyway.”

“Focus!" I clap my hands. The door opens behind me.

“Ah, Springer. Thank god. A voice of mundane reason. Tell them they're being absurd.”

“Hello to you too. Why, what are they doing? And who's they?”

“Tarantulas and Rodimus. They're acting like parent and offspring.”

“So?”

“Not you too, Springer?!”

“Whatever you three get up to is not my problem. I came to terms with having four dads a long time ago. If you want to add a fifth to the birth certificate, then that's fine by me. Hey, Rod!” They fist bump each other and Springer takes a handful of ‘Doritos’ from the bag in Rod's hand.

“Thank you, Springer,” says Tarantulas. “Prowl is just upset because I kidnapped Rod, but no one else is bothered about it.”

“It's really not worth bothering about,” Springer says, walking to Tarantulas to hug him. “If anything it's more of a welcome to the family, isn't it?”

“Exactly, Springer. Exactly. Now come and sit down. You too, Prowl.”

“Yeah, Prowl, you can sit next to me." Rod says.

“Rod, are you trying to make me have another breakdown? I am entirely defenseless here!”

“You don't need to defend yourself. You're safe.”

My chest is in so much pain. Maybe if I close my eyes tight enough, I will wake up and discover this was all a nightmare. A lifetime of biting my lip and biding my time. I am reaping what I have sown and I want it to stop. I- I-

A hand around mine. I open my eyes and Rod is there. He is taking my hand so he can drag me into fiery hell. My legs are too weak to stop him. I take my place on the sofa, between my idiot fiancé and my mad ex who kidnapped my fiancé, while my “son” sits in the arm chair next to us, so fully marinated in this insanity that it all appears normal to him. I am the only one in the room who can see the problem. Isn't that always the way? The Earth movie on the TV plays over my eyes. Gradually, my body untenses as Rod puts his hand around my arm. It tenses up all over again when Tarantulas puts a paw around the other arm. I am in a hell of my own creation. I thought I was coming here to save Rod from abduction, but what I've actually done is walk into my own trap. The web clings tighter. I am pinned in place. All I can do is

Wait.

It.

Out.

*

“That was a really weird afternoon." Rod says as we walk to god knows where. "So did any of that actually happen?”

“Yes, but I am currently repressing it so if you ask about it in future then I will have no idea what you're talking about.”

“You can do that without a mnemosurgeon?”

“Not yet I can't but I am working it out as we speak.”

“Tarantulas is nice.”

“Please don't talk to me about him. How was seeing Danny? We're you even able to get that far?”

“Oh. No. Never made it. Tarantulas snapped me up before I even got close. Oh well.” Is he…

“We can still go.”

“No. No, it's fine. I think this has been enough excitement for one day.” Yes. He's lying about something. “The fishing rods... aren't important anymore.”

“I didn't expect you to say that.” Every impulse in me is saying I must interrogate him. Leave no lie unpunished. Discover the reality of the situation.

“Yeah, well, you seem rattled after... that. Everything that just happened. We should get home and relax.” But… I look at Rod, and I deny that impulse. I choose to trust him.

“You're forgetting that we still don't have a home to go to. Repairs will be another day,” I say, then I consider my surroundings once more. “We have enough energon to last till then, and I know something I would like to do.”