Chapter Three

With reader pad in hand, Prowl strolled purposefully through the Ark’s wide orange halls. Voices flowed from the open bridge door as he came closer. Curious, he ran through the on-duty roster; only Solarflare was supposed to be up here at this hour, having been successfully pried from her post in the adjacent facility. Prowl paused and stood full in the doorway – Solarflare was indeed where she was supposed to be, sitting in the chair facing Teletraan-1’s main screen. On the floor, chest-deep into the supercomputer’s guts was Blaster; small blue and yellow sparks flew from a laser pen the communications expert held in one hand. Neither noticed Prowl’s presence, so he did not feel obligated to move on.

Carefully, he analyzed the situation. Solarflare seemed her normal self – which was joyful and easy-going. They had not spoken to each other since the day at Cannon Beach, nearly two weeks ago. In the interim, Prowl’s mail had steadily increased – and not in a good way. As he had hypothesized, the ratio of jealous letters versus “love” letters had tipped in favor of the bad. Rather than calling it quits, he decided that they would give it another go. Prowl was not one to lie down when things got muddy; this was a combat zone, of sorts, and that was how he treated it. And while in a combat zone, warriors had to work with other soldiers with whom they weren’t all that friendly with.

Prowl was quite aware of the fact that Solarflare had mixed feelings about this whole ordeal; it was present in the way she talked with him, in the manner in which she carried herself whenever she saw the second-in-command. And try as she might, she couldn’t quite control the way her emotions flowed through to that absurd crest on her helm. As with every other Autobot, Prowl could read her like a book if he took the time. And yet, she did not come to him, or send a request, to terminate the project. For that matter alone, he gave her a little more of his respect. He admired those who stuck to their convictions and their promises, even when things got dirty.

“Try it now, Flare,” Blaster was saying. Solarflare nodded and pulled a thin wire with a nodule at the end of it from a recessed plate in her neck, drawing the line out and sticking it into a corresponding port in Teletraan. She stood up, fingertips resting lightly on the control board before her and toggled the images that formed on the screen with a keypad that lay at her right hand.

“Not bad,” she murmured softly, shutting the screen down and unhooking herself from Teletraan. “How’d you do it?”

Blaster pushed himself out from under the belly of the supercomputer and sat up, rubbing the kinks out of his neck servos. Folding his legs, he shut the panel and began packing his tools away into a compartment on the left side of his box-chest. “There was a short in the main connection wire,” he explained. “That’s why you were getting those jolts.”

Flare nodded, resting her left arm on the back of the chair. “Figured as much, but I know next to nothing about how to fix these things.”

Blaster grinned. “Always happy to oblige a fellow comm officer.”

She grinned back at him and swiveled lightly in her chair – and saw Prowl. Instantly, her tri-fold crest flicked backwards to lay flat against her grey helm. Caught, Prowl nodded curtly. “Carry on,” he said, stepping back and away from the door, his feet carrying him towards his original destination – that of Optimus Prime’s office.

Blaster paused in rolling up the laser pen’s chord and slid his optics in Solarflare’s direction. “Something wrong, Flare?”

Pursing her lip components, the avian femmebot shook her head. “No, not really.” And frowned when she discovered that she sounded as unconvinced as she felt. “Okay, fine,” she began, leaning back in her chair, laying her hands in her lap. “It’s just – awkward to be around him. We haven’t talked since he took me out to Cannon Beach. I don’t know how to approach him on the matter.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll figure something out. That grav bed’s got to be getting heavy.”

“And horribly smelly,” she agreed, facial plates screwing up. “I was up half the night last week. Took three runs through the ionizer.”

Blaster smirked. “Ever consider asking for an assistant?”

She stretched, crest slowly working its way back to a vertical position. “The thought has crossed my mind – more than once. Carly’s company is nice, but it’d be better if there were more femmes around – especially unattached femmes.” Blaster chuckled at this one and Solarflare found her good humor returning. “I’ve approached Optimus a few times over the years; he hasn’t exactly come out and denied my request, but as you can see,” and she spread her arms out, “there aren’t any bouncing beauties here.”

“He’s probably thinking about it from a tactical point of view,” Blaster noted. “We’re not pressed for troops at the moment.”

Solarflare’s crest flicked in agreement. “But we will if Megatron keeps building more combiners.” She rubbed the back of her helm idly. “Ah, well, that’s neither here nor there. I need to get back to work. Thanks a lot, Blaster. I owe you.”

“Any time, sweetheart.” The boombox finished packing up his gear, gave a wave to Solarflare and left the bridge. Flare watched him go and turned back to the great blue screen that was Teletraan-1. Normally, she had no trouble letting go of her surroundings and immersing herself in the here-and-now that was her work. Prowl’s presence had unsettled her more than she had told Blaster – more than she herself knew. Why should it? she thought, toying with the wire that dangled from her neck. Because she was uncomfortable, that’s what it was; the idea of parading around, acting like she and Prowl were an item turned her processor. Part of her felt like she was betraying all that she and Mirage had done for each other, for the sacrifices, both big and small. Deep in her spark, she knew that was silly, but it didn’t ease the guilt, or the longing she felt on Cannon Beach.

Still.

She had vouched her participation in this mission; her avian pride wouldn’t allow her to back down. They were in this together, whether or not Prowl realized it. She still had mail duty – and that wasn’t getting any easier these days. What Prowl did not know was that she was getting her share of hate mail –that didn’t sit well with her, but it was understandable.

Teletraan-1 chimed – something the supercomputer never did. Solarflare’s head snapped up and she slammed the connection wire into the port, jolting her cortex with an influx of information.

“Hello? Hello there?”

Flare leaned forward, toggling switches and knobs, trying to get a fix on the transmission; the other half of her cortex was analyzing the person’s tone and infliction. So far, she detected no discernable distress. Loaded with static as it was, she couldn’t quite get a handle on who was speaking.

A mic slid from a recessed panel in her jaw, curving around to her mouth. Connected as she was to Teletraan, she had a greater chance of being heard on the receiving end than the person making the call. “This is Autobot Solarflare; I receive you. State your name and emergency.”

Above, Teletraan’s blue screen blurred with black and white bars. “Szzzzzhhhhhfllrrrrr?”

“Repeat. This is Autobot Solarflare. State your name and emergency.”

Black and white bars slowly turned in on themselves, gaining color and consistency. Solarflare’s fingers flew over the control board with practiced ease, doing everything she could on her end to get a better connection. A burst of static rattled her audios; she lifted a hand and rapped herself smartly, clearing it.

“Szzolarfzzzare?” the human repeated. On-screen, Teletraan struggled to produce a better image. Slowly, the colors shifted, forming a blurry, but recognizable picture. What she saw made Solarflare groan.

“Astoria, how many times have you been told that this is an emergency line?”

Due to the image-quality, Astoria might have been wearing a hat – but she could also have had a badger sitting on her head. Solarflare made a mental note, right next to changing the codes, to have Wheeljack cobble the silly girl a proper comm station. The girl shrugged. “I try the one you gave me, but Powerglide never returns my calls!” What could have been a pout appeared to split Astoria’s face completely in half. Not pretty. “Is he around?”

Now, Flare could be cruel, or she could be kind – in Powerglide’s favor, of course. But the look on Astoria’s distorted face made her reach over and say, “One minute, I’ll see if I can find him.” Plugged into Teletraan-1, she knew who was where and thus she knew that the red jet was in the Ark. Regulating Astoria’s grainy image to the lower right-hand corner of the main screen, she hailed Powerglide on all-comm. A moment later, the jet replied: “What?”

“Are you near a comm unit?”

“Yes. Why?”

“You’ve got a call.”

Powerglide’s face burst to life on the main screen, his optics narrowed. “Oh, no, not her! Why didn’t you say I wasn’t around, Flare? Geez!”

“She’s your problem, Glide. I need to clear the line; I’m forwarding her to you – now!” Okay, so part of her felt guilty, but everyone agreed that Astoria was Powerglide’s responsibility. Simultaneously, she shut the connection to Astoria and forwarded her to the hall-comm Powerglide was standing near. From there, he could shut her off or shuttle her to his personal station; his choice.

Sufficiently distracted from her thoughts on Prowl, Solarflare concentrated on scanning the various human frequencies, at the same time keeping an audio on the comm-chatter produced by those on patrol. Some hours later, she was pulled from her trance by a shake on the shoulder – the only way she could be brought back to the present … well, other than being smacked or shocked. She preferred the former to the latter.

Prowl.

“Your report, Solarflare,” he pronounced, setting his hands behind his back.

Slowly, she unplugged herself, letting the cable slide back into its niche in her neck; let the mic slip into her jaw. Automatically, her black hands reached for the slim data pad she kept next to her at all times while on duty. This she handed to the second-in-command, who spared no time in delving into its contents, Cybertronian script scrolling visibly past his blue optics.

“Another call from Miss Carlton-Ritz?”

Thorough to a point of obsession when at comm, Solarflare had indeed noted her call from Astoria. “Aye,” she replied, inclining her head in that unique raptor way. “I thought of asking Wheeljack to make her a comm unit of her own, one tied to Powerglide’s – and his only.”

“Good idea,” Prowl murmured. “I’ll change the codes immediately. Stay on a moment, will you, Solarflare? I want you to send the new changes to the world leaders as soon as possible.”

Solarflare stood up in deference to Prowl’s higher rank, crossing the room to sit at one of the smaller stations, ready for the black-and-white’s instructions. It took mere minutes to set the new codes and for Solarflare to relay them around the globe. Once she was certain they were in the proper hands, she cut the connections and passed a hand over her crest. She always came away from duty a little weary, putting much of her energy into it.

“Here.”

A cup of Energon was pressed into her hands. Solarflare looked up, golden optics wide. “Thank you,” she managed to murmur, bending her head to take a sip. The energy flowed through her body, revitalizing her waning systems.

As she was drinking, Prowl pulled up a chair and sat some distance from the grey-white-black avian femmebot. He waiting until she was finished before speaking. “You’re off-duty now, Solarflare, but might we talk?”

Somewhat revived, she set the cup aside and swiveled to face the second-in-command. “Yes,” she replied, a touch of hesitation in her vocalizer.

“Might you be interested in a walk tonight? Just downtown, nothing fancy.”

Here it was, her chance to refuse, to wipe her cortex clean. Yet, as she looked across the room, she saw in Prowl’s optics an openness that she hadn’t seen before, and she knew that she wouldn’t have refused in the first place. “Sure, just let me get myself energized. Say, ten minutes? I’ll meet you in the bay.” At Prowl’s curt nod, she rose and struggled to keep her legs from bolting her out of the bridge. Once out of sight, she leaned up against the wall, tooled helm pressed against the cool orange surface.

“Don’t go if it hurts that bad,” a quiet voice spoke from behind. Solarflare turned and saw First Aid casually leaning up against the opposite wall. The Protectobot medic stood up, his arms crossed over his chest. “Well?”

Abashed, Solarflare rubbed the back of her helm, wings sinking so that the black metallic tips grazed the floor. “Usually, I consult my patients about avoiding that which causes them undue distress,” First Aid continued, coming up beside her and slipping an arm around her shoulders, inexorably leading her down the hall to his office.

Solarflare sighed. “I’m just … uncomfortable, Aid. But I still want to help.”

“Duly noted,” the junior medic replied, tapping his fingers on her shoulder strut. “Here. I’ll hail Prowl and let him know that you’ll be about a half an hour late, on my orders.” Flare gave him a wan smile and let herself be led through the double doors and into First Aid’s own little corner of Ratchet’s larger med-bay. She sat on a low-slung bench and watched as First Aid called up Prowl and explained that he was holding Solarflare for a bit while he evaluated her propensity to come away partially drained from comm-work. The second-in-command seemed no wiser and agreed to meet Flare within the hour. First Aid cut the connection and turned, going over to an Energon dispenser and drawing two mugs of the pink liquid.

“More than I bargained for,” he idly remarked, passing Flare her own mug, drawing his chair up from the other side of his tiny desk and placing it before her. “So, what’s wrong?”

She shrugged, struts rising and falling. “Just uncomfortable,” she repeated lamely. “There’s no other way to put it.”

First Aid leaned back. “You think that he might be attracted to you, and because Mirage is constantly out on patrols, you have no one to turn to.” He grinned at Flare’s open-mouthed response. “That spy of yours makes slaggin’ sure that you’re taken care of when he’s not around. He spoke to me a few days ago when I was mending a busted axel, told me what you were going through.”

Flare’s crest flicked up and back, more embarrassed than anything. First Aid set his cup aside. “Look, Flare, if it’s any consolation, I highly doubt Prowl’s making a move for you. You said it yourself, you’re helping him.” The Protectobot medic gave a short, cheerful laugh. “Everyone on this base knows that you have optics only for Mirage.”

Slowly, Flare’s trifold crest rose and her head lifted. “Thanks, Aid,” she said at last. “I needed to hear that.”

“Ah, don’t sweat it, Flare. Just doing my duty. Now, drink up. Don’t want you passing out from low fuel downtown.”

“Yes, sir,” she replied with mock-meekness, tossing the Energon down like a pro. Well, she didn’t hang around with Sideswipe and Sunstreaker without picking up a few – interesting – habits!

First Aid goggled but quickly regained his professional demeanor. “All right, since I have you for a bit, let’s check out your reserves. I do want to know why you feel drained after comm-work. Over here, please, Miss Solarflare.”

Well within the prescribed time, Solarflare was released from First Aid’s care with the promise of returning first thing tomorrow to fix the conductors and conduits that were allowing her Energon processor to leak fuel while under stress. Feeling much better – in both cortex and spark – she did her customary jog through the halls. As with before, Prowl was waiting for her in the main hanger bay; he heard her coming and stood up from the beam he was leaning against.

“You seem … better,” he said. “Was First Aid able to diagnose you?”

Flare was about to ask what he was talking about when she remembered that Prowl had no idea what had occurred between her and the medic. However, she could reply with a clear conscious that, “Yes, he was. Apparently I have a glitch in my conductors that’s allowing Energon to leak under stress.”

Concern flickered across Prowl’s grey face. “Shouldn’t you be in surgery right now?”

Touched, Solarflare strolled along the bay floor to stand beside the analyst. “No, Aid said I would be fine. The leak only occurs when I’m working. Something to do with how Ratchet, Perceptor and Wheeljack designed me. Guess they didn’t account for my occupation.” She turned her head, crest quirking in good humor. “So, where to?”

“A stroll downtown,” he replied, surprising her by offering his arm. “I learn quickly,” he said, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards in humor. Solarflare considered the possibility of reminding Prowl that it was a few miles into Portland, but she took the proffered arm regardless. As they stepped out into the waning day, Red Alert’s cameras followed them – at least momentarily. A quick glance backwards told Solarflare all she needed to know – the cameras, which would have normally been pointed in her direction, were sweeping the perimeter, as if Red had dismissed her by being in Prowl’s presence. So, Marvin has a limit, Flare thought with a private, satisfied smile.

They walked in silence, each scanning the horizon and sky above for Decepticon activity. Though nothing had happened within the past few months, Megatron was known to hide for a while before attacking for no apparent reason. Such was war, Solarflare had discovered.

“I ordered that comm-unit for Miss Carlton-Ritz,” Prowl said out of nowhere, causing Flare’s crest to jerk up at the sudden noise. “It will be delivered to her place of residence tomorrow.”

Prowl – making small talk? Curious and curious, Solarflare ruminated. “Oh? That’s good. I’m sure Powerglide will be happy.”

“He’s lucky,” the analyst continued, a hint of … jealousy? … in his vocalizer.

Flare tilted her head to the side, stepping over a rock that protruded from the ground. “Lucky? I don’t think Glide would call it ‘luck’, more like ‘torture’, as I’ve heard him term it.”

“Tell me, Solarflare,” he said in that tone that reminded her of his first approach two weeks ago, “why does Powerglide tolerate her presence?”

Steel-tipped wings rose and fell along with Flare’s struts as she shrugged. “Probably because, deep inside, he’s fond of her.”

Prowl appeared to ruminate on this tidbit of knowledge and did not speak to her again until they reached the highway. “Why the twins?” he blurted out suddenly, holding her back as a car drew too close to the breakdown lane.

If this was Prowl’s way of getting to know her, he could have picked better topics, she thought. “Dunno. They just kinda grew on me. I don’t know if they respect me or not, but they’re good to me, and I know I can count on them if necessary.”

“Like the battle in Tacoma,” the second-in-command recalled, “when they held off Devastator while Hound pulled you free from the warehouse wreckage.”

“Yes,” she replied, astonished by his instant recollection of events. She hoped that he wouldn’t get too personal and start asking her things like “why Mirage”? Slag, everyone in the Ark knew that story! “Just like that. They can be incessant fools, but deep down, I think they’re good sparks.”

Prowl snorted. “Sparks who like to duct tape superiors to the mess walls, set loose ten thousand mice in the med-bay; good sparks who would rather run amuck than roll with us.”

“Yes, even with stuff like that happening,” she conceded.

Prowl looked down at her, as if noticing her presence by his side for the first time. “You keep unusual company, Solarflare.”

She merely shrugged. “When one is unusual unto herself, like follows like.”

They crossed the highway and headed into the city proper. Cars pulled up on the side of the roads and drivers and passengers got out to witness this most incredible occurrence. Nobody had ever seen two Autobots strolling arm and arm into the city – especially these two.

“And what about yourself, Prowl?” she asked, anxious to get the heat off her personal life. “Why the logic?” She’d rather ask, What’s with the stiff attitude?, but she had limits.

“It’s part of my programming.”

“Yes, I understand that, but as far as I know, programming only sets the field. You can do whatever you’d like with that programming – even discard it if you wish.”

A glance to the right affirmed what she had suspected. Prowl got agitated when his programming was questioned. “I’d like to abandon this line of discussion, if you please, Solarflare.”

She frowned; it was completely unfair. “But – it’s only conjecture. And I answered your questions,” she added, hoping that fact would press him into replying.

Prowl paused, right under a large sign for light bulbs. They were deep into Portland now, and the pedestrians stopped right along with them, staring up at the black-and-white mech and grey-white-black femmebot. They muttered amongst themselves, not understanding what was going on. “They were superficial,” he finally said, tugging on her arm, leading her forward.

“Define ‘superficial’. Maybe for you, but not for me.”

With a huff of his ventilators, Prowl halted for a second time. “What do you wish of me, Solarflare? What will this round of questions prove?”

“Honesty, equality.” She let go of his arm, placing her hands on her hips, looking up at him. “What I’d expect from anyone I’m in a relationship with. Give and take, Prowl.”

The analyst lifted his head to the star-strewn sky as if communing with Primus. “Fine. You asked about my programming, why I chose to retain my status as a logic officer. I enjoy it; it fills me with such a sense of purpose … I feel … I feel I would be lost and defunct if I did not have it.” His lip components clicked shut and Solarflare was left with the feeling that he was holding back more than he chose to convey. Oh well; she was satisfied for now.

“You know nothing else.”

“Yes.”

“Understandable.”

They walked on under the neon lights of the city, drawing quite the crowd wherever they turned. But they neither acknowledged nor ignored, pointedly stepping around folk when they tried to approach. That is until someone threw a rock at Solarflare. The avian femme whirled about, her wings automatically rising above her shoulders in savage raptor display. Another rock pinged off her lower torso, lodging there.

“Hey!” she roared, optics scanning quickly for the culprit. Prowl was by her side, one hand on his hip, the other pulling a long baton from subspace, which he casually began to twirl.

When the next rock hit, she was able to discern the source. People parted like the Red Sea as the avian femme crossed the street and stood looking down her thin nose at the tear-streaked teenage girl, barely out of childhood, who was rooted to the spot, another rock in her fist. Before Solarflare could open her mouth, the girl threw the rock down at the Autobot’s foot and ran away, pushing through the gathering crowd, her howls of misery wafting back to Solarflare’s acute audios.

Crushed, Flare straightened, watching the ripple of humanity as they stepped aside for the child. Prowl’s hand touched her shoulder strut. “What happened?”

Flare’s optics never left the path. “You broke her heart,” she said quietly.

Solarflare paused at her door, optics roaming over the burnished silver plate that bore hers and Mirage’s names. Feeling weary, she punched the combination and was relieved to hear the pneumatic hiss that preceded the opening. Inside their shared bunk it was dark, save for the few flickering lights on the dual recharging bed. She stepped into the onyx blackness and closed the door behind her, making her way via memory around the various knick-knacks (mostly his) on the floor. Twin sky blue lights illuminated the ceiling as she heaved herself onto the charging bed; a boxy white arm, illuminated light blue, wrapped itself around her and held her close as she curled into Mirage’s side. The spy’s other arm pulled his charger chord from his side and inserted into his bondmate’s self-same port, knowing that whatever happened tonight, she needed the extra energy more than he.