Chapter Text
“- and so the Inferno became Mortilus’ domain and the Afterspark became Primus’.” Ratchet finished his story, the steady movements of the polishing rag slowing.
The slow, repetitive motions of the polishing combined with the sweet smell of the waxy polish and the deep cadence of Ratchet’s voice was sending me steadily into a hazy sort of snooze, stomach-down on Ratchet’s thigh.
“Can’t believe you’re telling these stories, docbot.” Jazz laughed from the corner, where he was lounging on a medical berth partially hidden behind a privacy corner. “Ain’t you an atheist?”
Ratchet sniffed, setting the polishing rag aside. “There’s nothing wrong with telling a sparkling bedtime stories. I don’t have to believe them myself.”
I onlined my optics and peered around groggily as Ratchet gently set me aside so he could stand. Jazz snickered at the expression on my face, causing it to quickly morph into a scowl. “Have a nice nap, princess?”
I sat up, irritable and groggy even as Ratchet patted my head and moved away to attend to Jazz, who sat back still grinning happily at me. “Now then,” Ratchet grumbled, pawing through his medical kit, “Let’s get this over with.” He threw a quick glance over his shoulder as I slid down off the berth and to the floor. “Are you going to bed now, sweetspark?”
“Yeah.” I mumbled, trying to shake off the lingering sleepiness. I pottered off towards the door to the medbay, waving behind me as Ratchet and Jazz both called out their respective goodnights. Once I got into the hallway and turned towards the quarters I shared with Ratchet, however, I paused. The near fluorescent lighting in the hallway was pretty effective at waking me up fully, and now that I was standing there I found that I really wasn’t that tired at all.
I knew that I only had a moment or two to deliberate before Red Alert decided to hunt me down for loitering in the corridors or something, so I made a spontaneous decision and spun on my heel to head down the corridor in the opposite direction to mine and Ratchet’s quarters. Jazz’s checkups always last a little longer than most thanks to all of his non-standard Special Ops upgrades and spliced software, so I figured I had at least two hours to kill before Ratchet realised I wasn’t in bed and came looking for me.
It was late enough in the evening, and the halls were practically deserted. Most of the human soldiers were probably either on active duty or retired to the human rec room, and the ones that I did end up passing didn’t pay much attention to me. Even if one of the humans did take an interest in me, they never asked me where I was going -- they rarely spoke to me at all, and I mostly stuck to the ‘Cybertronian Only’ designated areas of the military base. The bots were similarly missing, though I had a feeling most of them were in their own rec room.
As such, I managed to shuffle into the large hangar and dart towards the exit without encountering anyone to stop me. Outside, the sun was beginning to set, bathing the island in a beautiful golden orange light. The air was balmy, still warm from the heat of the setting sun, and I whirred happily as I trotted out into the golden evening. Ratchet still didn’t particularly like me going anywhere unattended, but being kept inside on such a beautiful evening was practically criminal. Grinning to myself, I set off through the trees and plantlife towards my favourite spot on the beach, avoiding the cracked asphalt road circuiting the island in case I was spotted.
My fears were probably in vain though, since I managed to reach the beach without seeing hide nor hair of a single other person. I settled comfortably on the fine golden sand, gazing out at the ocean; the way the setting sun reflected off the water made it look as though the waves were on fire, and I sighed softly as I let the warmth of the summer evening and the gentle crashing of the waves lull me into a half doze. In all honesty, I probably would have been content to lay there for hours as the sun sank lazily over the horizon, if not for the abrupt and startling roar of powerful engines breaking the silence, followed by loud whooping.
Curiosity officially piqued, I scrambled back to my feet and padded back towards the asphalt road, craning my neck to see where all the noise was coming from. For a long moment I couldn’t see anything at all, but another whoop drew my attention back in the direction of the base. Intrigued, I made my way back towards the base. As I got closer, I spotted what looked like a cloud of dust beginning to settle along the road leading to the base.
I didn’t have to wonder where the noise was coming from for long; mere moments later, the sound of those roaring engines sounded again, and I just managed to leap off of the road as two brightly coloured sports cars ripped through space I had been standing only moments before, leaving a cloud of dust in their wake. It looked like Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were tearing up the circuit around the island in a boredom-fuelled race.
I huffed, amused and fascinated despite myself. Even after all this time with the bots, I’d never seen anyone press their physical limits in their alt modes before. Eager to get a better look, I began to hurry back towards the main hangar. The entire base was suspiciously quiet (with the exception of the vehicular snarling and rubber squealing on asphalt), and even the human barracks were oddly still. I wondered if the twins had given the soldiers advance warning or something.
Right as I reached the main hangar, I heard the tell-tale snarling of the approaching engines, and I whirled back around eagerly to catch a glimpse of them. I could feel my optics cycling wider, eager to take in every detail; they were much faster than Earth vehicles, that was for sure. The way their tires effortlessly spun and squalled on the heat-cracked asphalt and their breathtaking hair-pin turns showed off their extraordinary control and precision.
Sideswipe pulled ahead of Sunstreaker and then sharply swerved in front of him to cut him off. Sunstreaker’s tires squealed against the asphalt as he braked hurriedly to avoid rear-ending his twin, though the answering snarl of his engine made it obvious that he was not impressed by Sideswipe’s stunt. Either ignorant or uncaring of his brother’s ire, Sideswipe whooped loudly and sped up even further, taking the next turn at a speed that made me flinch.
Engine roaring so loudly that I swore I could feel the rumbling in my own chest even from so far away, Sunstreaker recklessly threw himself forward to catch up with Sideswipe, the two of them practically soaring over the uneven gravel. I tried not wince every time they hit the ground again, their low undercarriages narrowly missing smashing straight into the rough tarmac.
Watching them, I couldn’t help but feel envy bubbling up in my chest; I wanted that. The speed, the danger, the care-free and reckless freedom. It was the first time I’d properly thought about a future alt-mode, but the sudden possibility of being able to obtain that obvious joy that the twins were displaying practically took my breath away. There was no need for me not to have that too, though I could imagine Ratchet’s fretting at the idea of me speeding around the island by myself.
Completely distracted by the spectacle of the racing Lamborghinis, I didn’t notice the other presence until it was right behind me.
“I presume Ratchet does not know you are out here.”
I stiffened, cursing myself internally for being so unobservant. Slowly, I turned around and tilted my head up with a cheeky yet innocent smile.
Prowl just gazed down at me, expression unreadable. After a moment of silence, he sank down slowly to sit next me. I remained quiet, unsure if I was in trouble or not. Prowl didn’t seem all that concerned with the fact that I was obviously not where I was supposed to be; instead, his gaze focused on the twins as they raced off into the distance, the sounds of their engines fading the further away they got. It occurred to me that perhaps the twins might be in trouble; were they allowed to be racing around the place like that? Technically Diego Garcia was a Naval base, so it was highly likely that their behaviour could be considered disruptive, or even dangerous.
Prowl didn’t look angry though. His expression looked almost thoughtful, his gaze far-away as he looked off into the distance. Suddenly unsure of myself, I slowly lowered myself down to the ground next to him. His engine rumbled softly, but otherwise he didn’t acknowledge me. I stayed quiet, unwilling to break the oddly charged silence that fell over the two of us.
A moment passed, and the twins tore passed once more in another cloud of dust, engines ripping through the still evening air. Though he remained totally still, Prowl’s optics tracked them until they disappeared out of sight again. Only once the sound of their engines faded into the distance did he speak. “They need this.”
I glanced up at him, curious. I had so rarely been in Prowl’s presence without someone else (usually Jazz) acting as a buffer; he was still stiff, but there was a strange sort of melancholy hanging around him that seemed to smooth out some of his edges. Cautiously, wary of ruining the moment, I leaned in and brushed my shoulder against his slim waist. As expected, Prowl stiffened at the touch almost instantly, but relaxed into it a moment later. A tentative hand came up to settle awkwardly on the top of my head in between my stubby little audio horns.
“This was common practice, on Cybertron.” Prowl continued, his voice deep and rumbly, the perfect counterpoint to the viciously snarling engines in the distance. “Racing as an outlet for stress or frustration. It was regulated, of course -- every neighbourhood had suitable racing facilities. Some of them were quite extravagant, too. The war has had many negative effects on our species as a whole, but I think that the lack of recreational racing has had an exorbitantly negative effect on our wellbeing.”
I hummed, thoughtful. “When will I be able to do that?”
“When your frame reaches maturity.” Prowl huffed out a short burst of air from his vents, and it took me a moment to realise that it’s as close to a laugh as I’ve ever seen Prowl come to. “I confess I feel enormous sympathy for Ratchet at the thought of you being allowed the freedom of an alt mode. Primus knows what you would get up to. I think Red Alert would be forced to take medical leave just so that he wouldn’t fry his own wires.”
I scoffed, a little insulted. “I’m not that bad!”
“You’re not bad at all.” Prowl murmured lowly, pulling his hand away from the top of my head and setting it on the ground so he can lean his weight back on it. “It’s been a very long time since any of us have been around a sparkling, especially one as… lively as yourself. It is encouraging, in a way. It reminds us what we are fighting for.” He slanted a glance at me out of the corner of his optic. “However, we also find ourselves being forced to adjust the way of life that we have become accustomed to over the past few millenia -- it’s not a bad thing, but it can be challenging, at times.”
I had to try not to twitch at the thought -- me, the first Cybertronian baby in a millenia, and all I was doing so far was raising their blood pressure (or whatever the robot equivalent was). “I don’t mean to stress anybody.” I said quietly, the words almost drowned out as the twins tear past us.
Prowl glanced down at me, startled. “I did not mean to imply that you did. I am quite certain that everyone on base enjoys your company very much. Even Red Alert, for all his grumbling, has become somewhat fond of you.”
I felt like ‘fond’ was an overstatement for how Red Alert felt towards me, but didn’t bother to point that out. Instead, I began resting more of my weight against Prowl’s torso. My head settled just underneath one of the headlights on his chest, and I allowed my optics to cycle offline. The sleepiness from earlier clung to me like a second skin, despite my refueling and regular recharge cycles.
“I had better get you back to Ratchet before he notices that you’re gone.” Prowl said, though he kept his voice low as though afraid to disturb me.
I just grumbled -- Prowl was surprisingly comfortable, and I found that I didn’t want to move at all. It was a warm night, and as darkness began to chase away the lingering bright streaks of sunset I found that I was perfectly comfortable allowing my recharge protocols to engage themselves.
By the time I began to slip offline, Prowl was picking me up in a grip so gentle that it barely registered at first. My head slipped into the crevice between his neck and shoulders, revelling in the warmth emanating from the delicate cabling of his throat. He murmured something into my audial that sounded suspiciously like “Stop growing so fast”, but my processor slipped offline into a light defrag mode before I could grasp his meaning.