Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A winter's day
In a deep and dark December
I am alone
Gazing from my window
To the streets below
On a freshly fallen, silent shroud of snow
I am a rock
I am an island

-

Prowl shivered, pulling his plating tight to his frame. It would be cold, of course. Fortress Maximus had yet to find the reason why the heating for Luna 1's base wasn't working, and until then the whole place would be victim to the atmosphere-less cold of Cybertron's first moon. Everyone but the Duly Appointed Enforcer was suffering, as all but he had frames too small to effectively insulate against the cold by generating warmth.

Cerebros had taken to cuddling up to Fortress whenever he was around –honestly, Prowl thought, had the smaller mech no shame?– or otherwise walking around in a thick blanket. Red Alert had too much pride to share in Fortress Maximus's warmth, so he simply kept himself to either his quarters or the security room, as the former held the mech's berth and blankets while the latter held one of the base's two portable heaters.

Prowl, much like Red Alert, had far too much pride to stick around someone else for warmth. He also refused to linger in the security room, and the other heater resided within the make-shift sort-of medbay; Cerebros's domain. Both places Prowl would only hang around in if he were offline. This left Prowl with nothing but a blanket to keep him warm within the vastness of the Luna 1 base, and while it did the job fairly, it certainly wasn't enough.

Another barb of chill worked through the blanket, and the black and white mech shuddered. He'd worked himself into a small nook, with his legs to his chest and his arms pulling the blanket about him. The metal that made up his hideaway was freezing, and Prowl's face stung, being the only part truly exposed.

Primus, he thought, I hate the cold. Cybertron was not a planet that usually had weather, but both its poles were turbulent storms of ice– or they had been. Had the storms returned when Cybertron was revived? Prowl didn't know.

Prowl's wings twitched beneath the blanket covering them, and he shifted, trying to find a comfortable position that would accommodate his doorwings in such a cramped space. Not that Prowl wanted to get out of his little niche; it was keeping him relatively warm, and the press of walls on all but one side gave him the vague feeling of security that Prowl had found himself severely lacking for a very long time.

Briefly Prowl wished for the shameless lack of control Cerebros possessed, just so he could go and share in Fortress Maximus's warmth. The big mech was a furnace, honestly; all those systems working away to keep him going generated a lot of heat. While mostly unnoticeable while the base heating systems were working, it had become an enviable trait now that they weren't.

He was kind, Fortress Maximus. He offered to help Red Alert keep warm, and while the white and red mech had refused, he seemed gratified by the offer. Of course, Fortress hasn't offered Prowl anything. The hostility from the big mech had faded, but Prowl had the cynical suspicion that he was just hiding it, and biding his time.

The doorwinger shook his helm roughly. Now wasn't the time to dwell on whatever plots Fortress was thinking up. He had bigger problems, like being very very cold both inside and out. Not that Prowl could do much about that problem but wait for Fortress Maximus to fix it. Dwelling it was, then.

Left to his own devices, and with little else to do besides freeze and wonder what revenge Fortress was planning, Prowl let his mind wander towards his daydream fantasies. They'd become far more common since Mesothulas gave him that beautiful taste of what could have –should have– been. Prowl was especially fond of the scene that Mesothulas had provided; the scene where Optimus, standing amidst a new and glorious Cybertron, apologized for the way he'd brushed off Prowl's advice and suggestions. It was perfect, really. The perfect dream. An unfortunate sign that Mesothulas's Positive Reinforcement Machine had been very effective. Thank Primus he and all his devices were gone now.

Pushing away the memory of Mesothulas and the Wreckers, Prowl offlined his optics, pulling up the fantasy Mesothulas had given him to his mind like a holo-vid.

"Look at what your mind has brought us to, Prowl," Optimus said. He had his mask on –not even peace could remove that shield– but Prowl could see the benevolence glowing in his optics. "You've done so much for us, and for the cause. I can't even begin to thank you."

Too cheesy, perhaps? Too cliche? Well, it was Prowl's fantasy, he could live it how he willed.

"You don't have to, Prime," Prowl replied, bearing a stoic expression but inwardly leaping with joy. "I didn't do it for gratification, only for the glory of Cybertron."

"Regardless, Prowl, I feel I must apologize." The ghost of a servo brushed over Prowl's arm (he couldn't really imagine touch as vividly as he would like) as Optimus's gaze grew dark with regret. "I've abused you in so many ways--"

Wait, no, Optimus wouldn't say that. He was too obstinate for that. Because, of course, Optimus admitting Prowl was right didn't oppose everything he currently claimed to believe in.

"I've cast you aside so many times in favor of others, and discarded your advice because I refused to see that the path you suggested was the better one." Another ghostly touch gripped his shoulder. "I am proud of you, that you managed to push through the opposition and make the right choices– that you convinced me to make the right choice. Your ability to put the betterment of the cause over morality is what saved us, and what has brought us peace."

Prowl sighed. "Thank you, Prime. You honestly have no idea how difficult it was."

"I am so sorry for how both I and others have treated you, Prowl. You never deserved that, any of it." The larger mech shook his helm slowly. "We've hurt you in so many ways, and I am so very sorry."

"It's all behind us, Prime, and now we can move forward."

Prowl had been overusing this fantasy. It felt worn out and faded; an image that had been looked at and touched one too many times. The doorwinger let the flickering image fade to the back of his mind, optics flickering online to stare at the wall his legs were wedged against. Maybe he would leave that one there a while, let it recharge, so to speak.

"You're beautiful."

Ah yes, that daydream. Little more than words and the impression of someone, but Prowl enjoyed it all the same. Blue optics faded as he let himself drift into the fantasy, lingering in the darkness where no mech could be seen but servos brushed against him all the same, touching his wings and stroking his cheek.

"Aren't you just lovely." Prowl sighed, feeling the almost-touch of arms wrapping about his waist, of warm plating pressed against his back. Always a favored form of embrace for the doorwinger, and one he hadn't felt for centuries. "It's okay, Prowl, I'll always be right here for you." The black and white mech sat perfectly still, letting the face-less words wash over him, spoken in a voice he neither knew nor recognized.

"We're okay, Prowl," the voice would whisper to him when, in recent times, Prowl found his anxieties to be too much. "We're alright. You're good, you're fine." In his mind's optic Prowl felt a smile turned his way, not bitter or sardonic as so many had been recently, but soft, affectionate. The doorwinger basked in its warmth, his spark aching. "We're okay, we're good."

"We're fine." Prowl muttered to himself, before frowning. "I'm fine. I'm fine." Because he was only him, and all alone, and no one was around. He wasn't someone else– wasn't his old self, with a lover and a home and a settled spark. He was Prowl, master strategist, despised and hated by many, riddled with self-hatred and a multitude of other emotional problems. And lonely, very lonely.

Honestly, though, when he thought about it, building fantasy worlds in his processor was definitely not the best coping mechanism. Prowl let his helm fall back to knock against the panel behind him. The pale shadow of his daydream faded when he moved, leaving the doorwinger with nothing but the cold for company.

Chapter Text

I've built walls
A fortress, steep and mighty
That none may penetrate
I have no need of friendship
Friendship causes pain.
It's laughter and it's loving I disdain.
I am a rock
I am an island

-

"Leave me alone, Jazz."

The saboteur grinned, something a little more teeth and a little less geniality than the grin he offered others. "Never."

Prowl's scowl deepened in reply, his doorwings flicking upwards. "What do you want?" Prowl bit out.

"I wanna see you dead drunk on the floor of a bar so I can take pictures and blackmail you."

Was that last bit a joke? Prowl honestly didn't know. White lips curled upwards in a faint sneer. "Not going to happen."

Jazz's digits twitched as though he wanted to reach out and touch, but thankfully he didn't. "Come on, Prowl. You gotta take that stick out of your aft one day."

"I really don't, actually." Prowl stood from his desk and picked up a stack of datapads that he had to deliver to various command staff. Usually they had a courier for that, but the mech was out for the count after the recent attack, and besides, Prowl enjoyed getting a little exercise. It would also stop Jazz from looming over his desk.

"You really do."

The excuse to retort with his previous statement was strong but not overwhelming. "I'm not going to trap myself in a childish back and forth argument with you, Jazz."

The saboteur laughed, sharp and short. "Damn, I was hoping you'd fall for it."

Prowl stepped out of his office, datapads held carefully to his bumper. Jazz followed, his steps soundless as ever. "Really, Jazz, what do you want?"

"I want for you to go with me to the bar and have a good drink, you know, between friends." The white mech's visor flickered in a wink. He reached out. "Want me to take some of those pads?"

"You're buttering me up for something," Prowl deadpanned, quickening his pace. The first pad needed to be on Ironhide's desk before the old mech decided he'd rather leave than finish his shift.

Jazz laughed again. "And that, Prowl, is why you're TacHead. Yeah, I need a favor. But I also wanna get you a drink, because you look like you could stand to take that stick from your aft for a while."

"I won't let you get me drunk."

"You scared I'll take advantage?"

Prowl snorted. "As if you would ever lower yourself to interfacing with me."

The saboteur's visor flashed, and that predatory, sharp grin returned to his face. "Lower myself, huh? Funny thing for you to say. I was under the impressed you were a mech who thinks highly of himself."

Rather than reply immediately, Prowl stalled by pausing at Ironhide's office, ducking in and placing his pad on the occupant-less desk. The doorwinger turned back, brushing past Jazz and carrying on his way. "Neither of us sit very high on the moral scale."

"True." Jazz pursed his lips, a smirk still quirk still turning the corner of his mouth. "But that doesn't exactly keep you from fragging someone. Or, come to think of it, having friends. Do you even have friends?"

"Who needs friends when you can have colleagues and acquaintances?"

The weight of Jazz's gaze suddenly increased. "It says a lot about us both that I don't know whether you're joking or not." The saboteur's voice was serious, his wide smirk dropped within a nanoklik.

Prowl paused. "It was a joke." Sort of.

"That mean you do have friends, then?"

Stiff doorwings shrugged upwards briefly. "There are some I trust more than others. I'm not sure if they view me as a friend, but I'd like to think I could put my life in their hands."

Jazz shook his helm. "That ain't a yes or no to my question."

Prowl's pace, already brisk, quickened slightly. "It's an answer nonetheless." Annoyance flickered over the monochrome mech's features. "Not everyone falls victim to your charms and overtures of friendship, Jazz." For the sake of looking somewhere other than forwards, Prowl glanced down at the datapads in his arms, judging which ones needed to get to Red Alert's office, as that was his current destination.

"Who says I'm trying to be your friend, Prowl?"

That gave Prowl pause. "No one, apparently." Prowl turned sharply on the next left turn, leaving Jazz behind for a couple short nanokliks. "This is the part where I ask you about that favor you're going to request."

"Mm, right, that. I need you to talk to Prime about a mission my department's been sanctioned to do."

"And what is it about this mission that requires me to talk to Prime?" Ah, there, the security room. Prowl typed his entry code into the keypad, relieved when it turned out that Red Alert hadn't flagged his code as invalid again. The TacHead slipped inside, placing the pads at Red Alert's elbow. The Security Chief hardly acknowledged Prowl, but that didn't bother the black and white as he stepped back out and let the door close and lock.

"There are... better ways to go about achieving the objective than the one ordered of us."

Prowl frowned. "You can't just slip the orders? And here I thought you were fully capable of going against the mission outlines."

Jazz grimaced. "Not this one, it's too tight. I can modify reports, Prowl, but I can't make up a whole fiction. I know there's a better way to do it."

"Does this better way involve more bloodshed and deception than Optimus Prime is morally capable of agreeing to?"

"You could say that."

The doorwinger sighed heavily. "What makes you think Optimus would listen to my advice? I'm sure we're both aware of the fact that Optimus Prime would rather hear a case argued by someone known for charisma and rebelliously quick action than a careful strategist such as myself." All the self control in the world couldn't conceal Prowl's annoyance at this fact. "You fit the bill quite well."

"Yeah, but see, I already asked him," Jazz voice pitched upwards towards the end as though in question, "and he said he'd think about it. Which is code for 'consider it a little while longer before saying no'. So what I need you to do is put that clever processor of yours to work, argue my case while he's vulnerable, and make the Autobot world a better place at the cheap price of our morality."

Prowl snorted, doorwings fluttering. "I'm afraid we've little morality left to spend."

"I was thinking we have an infinite supply of anti-morality, but sure, let the metaphor go that way."

"We're misusing the term 'morality', I think."

"Heh, morals, then. Whatever word we use, I still need you to talk to Prime about this."

The doorwinger nodded wearily. "Right. Do you have the pad with your directive and mission outline on it? I'll need to go over that first."

Jazz's grin grew wide and toothy. The sharpness of his teeth was even more apparent with so large a grin. "I knew you'd say yes, Prowl." One black servo held out a datapad. "Who needs friends when you've got amenable colleagues, eh?"

Prowl snatched the datapad from Jazz and placed it with the rest in his arms. His next stop would be Prime's office, after a few short kliks reading the pad. "Amenable?– or of the same mindset."

"Doesn't matter so long as me and my mechs get what we need." Jazz's grin faded to something less smugly manic to something more genuine. "That offer for a drink's still open, by the way. Ain't gonna drop it just 'cause I got what I want."

Prowl looked at Jazz carefully, turning the offer over in his mind. It was... tempting. Very tempting. Jazz made good company when he wasn't being an irritating aft (in Prowl's optics) and spending more time with him might lead to Prowl actually gaining a friend, beyond the few he'd since grown distant to. They were of the same kind, after all, unlike Prowl's old friends. They both made hard decisions, had more energon on their servos than would ever wash off. To top it off, Jazz was kind. After a fashion. Could be nice, could be good. Tried his best, after everything.

But he couldn't. It was better that he continue on his path alone. Fewer distractions, fewer vulnerabilities. It was better.

"No, Jazz. I would have thought my previous rejection would be enough for you."

"Fine. But you won't be getting me drunk."

"I guess second time's the charm, then. See ya later, Prowl. I'll be back with a wrench for that stick in your aft later, and I hope to hear what Prime said." With that, Jazz promptly walked away.

"Ha! No, I won't do that. Little drink between colleagues is all, not two rogues getting plastered."

Prowl nodded. "Let me deliver these to Prime and argue your case. You know when my shift ends, of course."

"Of course." Jazz's visor flickered in a wink. "See you in a couple joors."

Prowl let the memory, and his added modifications, fade away. It would have been nice, he thought, to be Jazz's friend. Maybe if they were friends none of the slag he'd gone through would have happened. He'd be by Prime's side, helping him overcome the Decepticon regime with Jazz's aid, rather than curled in a nook and hyperbolically freezing to death.

But he was here now. No way to fix it. Nothing to do but wish things had gone differently.

Chapter Text

Don't talk of love
Well, I've heard the words before
It's sleeping in my memory
And I won't disturb the slumber
Of feelings that have died
If I never loved, I never would have cried
I am a rock
I am an island

-

They'd been drifting further and further apart since the whole thing with Senator Momus and Orion Pax and the supposed Institute. Prowl knew for sure that this step would be the wedge that would drive them apart forever. He knew because he knew Tumbler. And Tumbler would sooner leave than stay with a mech in Sentinel Prime's Security Services.

There would be no use in explaining his reasons –that he'd be working to take the corrupt Prime down, and all the things Sentinel had wrought– because Tumbler was far too obstinate a mech to listen to such reason. No, Tumbler accepted as good only that which came off as such at face value. Alright, that was most definitely an exaggeration, but nonetheless, Prowl was absolutely certain that his lover would not stand for what he had done.

The front door to their small residential unit clicked open and shut. Prowl resisted the urge to rise, remaining instead on the couch, staring out the large window that gave him a fair view of the city. A city he needed to protect from its corrupt government, even at the cost of his relationships.

"Hey, Prowl," Tumbler said, surprise tinting his tone. "You're back early."

Now Prowl turned, offering his lover a small smile. "I decided I'd surprise you. We haven't really had much time to ourselves lately."

"We live together, Prowl, it's not like we can really get rid of each other." Tumbler sat down beside Prowl, reaching out to loop his arm around the doorwinger's shoulders. Prowl allowed the half-embrace, twisting into it slightly.

"Yes, but we've been too busy to actually talk. So I thought maybe we could just... talk." Prowl reached out and took Tumbler's other servo in his, turning it over and studying the palm, the digits. Running his own sensitive digits over the nearly unnoticeable scratches and marks in Tumbler's dermal plating.

The yellow mech shrugged. "Okay, well, here we are, talking."

Indeed they were. Prowl found himself at a loss for words. He couldn't tell him yet. Better to drag out this moment a little longer. "What do you think of me?"

Tumbler canted his helm, clearly confused. "Why do you ask?"

Prowl shrugged nonchalantly. "Just wondering. I know we've never been very direct with one another when it comes to favorable opinions. I'd like to know what you think of me."

"Okay, well..." The masked helm tilted upwards, the yellow visor dimming in thought. "I think you're clever, and driven, and you have a very particular idea of what the right thing is. You follow the rules to the letter, even when the situation doesn't call for it, or requires otherwise, because you rely heavily on the structure that laws and rules provide." Tumbler paused, thinking carefully. "I think you're arrogant, and that gets annoying, but I still like you." Prowl allowed a small smile at his lover's joke. "And I think you're beautiful."

Prowl's doorwings fluttered against the back of the couch, his smile growing a little wider.

"And you? What do you think of me, hm?"

The black and white mech considered the question, his digits stilling over Tumbler's. "I think you're a good mech. Your spark is in the right place, even if you sometimes make mistakes, and you are the sort of mech who wants to do the right thing." Prowl sighed. "I think you're too good to me– for me."

Tumbler laughed. "And you're too good for everyone else, right?"

Prowl chuckled, letting his lover change the atmosphere from serious to jovial. "Yes, of course. Why else would I choose you?"

"For my looks, of course."

The doorwinger laughed then, and leaned forward to press a rare kiss to the front of Tumbler's mask. "Keep thinking that." Prowl's spark beat hard in his chest; he'd have to tell Tumbler soon, and definitely before morning, when it came time for him to leave.

"Have you had energon tonight, Prowl? You're spacing out."

Prowl dragged himself back to the now. "Oh, no, I don't believe I have." He relinquished his hold on Tumbler's servo, getting to his pedes. "Have you?"

"No." Tumbler made to stand, but Prowl shook his helm, waving a servo.

"Stay seated, I'll get us both some energon." Prowl stepped over to the tiny kitchenette, drawing two glasses of energon from the dispenser, placing a straw in one of them. Just out of Tumbler's line of sight, Prowl took a moment to let his doorwings sag, helm hanging as he let out a heavy sigh. He recovered quickly, bolstering himself with a deep breath before returning to his lover.

Tumbler accepted the energon with a murmur of thanks. Prowl flashed a quick smile, sinking down onto the couch. Tumbler's arm was slung over the back, and Prowl felt digits absently caress his doorwings.

"So," Tumbler said easily, "talking?"

"Right, yes." If Prowl had his way he would live in this moment forever. Just him and Tumbler in comfortable silence for the rest of their lives. But such was not to be. "I joined Sentinel Prime's Security Services." Primus, he shouldn't have said it so bluntly.

Tumbler stilled. Slowly, he retracted his arm, clasping both servos about his glass of energon. "You joined the Autobot Security Services."

"Yes." The calm before the storm, was all Prowl could think in response to Tumbler's mild attitude. "I'll be leaving for the Headquarters in Kaon tomorrow morning."

"And you didn't tell me beforehand?!" Tumbler was getting angry now, every piston tensing as he straightened, stiff as a board.

Prowl licked his lips, considering placing his glass on the floor just so he had his servos free. "I knew you wouldn't approve."

The lanky grounder gave an incredulous huff. "And you joined him anyway?"

"I don't agree with Sentinel's practices, Tumbler, not by a long shot, but by joining him I can do my best to affect what his forces do rather than let them go unchecked."

Tumbler set his cube down on the low table before the couch with such force that the energon within sloshed out, a few small drops glowing on the table's neutral surface. "I can't believe you, Prowl."

"Tumbler--" Prowl was quickly interrupted.

"Going off and joining Sentinel without telling me about it!? You didn't even tell me until the night before you leave!"

Prowl knew that Tumbler wouldn't listen to his rational explanation, but the force of his lover's anger hurt nonetheless. "This is bigger than you, Tumbler!" Prowl set his glass on the table with a little more force than necessary. "I'm doing this for Cybertron, for the citizens in our cities! If I can make a difference, if I can change the way our corrupt government operates, then I will do so!"

"Do you really think one mech can change all that?"

"Don't you? Isn't that why you were so willing to follow that Orion Pax mech?– because you wanted to change things?" Why was this so difficult for Tumbler to understand?

"I do want to change things, Prowl. But I'm not about to drop everything and run off to Sentinel Prime and his slagging mechs!"

A heavy sigh had Prowl's frame curling inwards. He straightened at once; now was not the time to look regretful, because he wasn't regretful. He did not regret his choice. At all. "I'll do what I have to do in order to fix things, Tumbler."

"You'd leave me?"

That right there was half the issue with Prowl's choice. Because if he walked this path, Tumbler would not follow him. "If I have to..." Prowl's helm bowed. "Do I have to?" An unnecessary question.

"If you leave, yeah." Tumbler's anger had died to a resentful simmer. "I won't go with you, Prowl. I won't associate myself with Sentinel and his kind."

"And I am now his kind." A statement, not a question.

"If you leave tomorrow... yes."

Prowl rose, turning his face away. He wore a stony mask, but if he looked at Tumbler there was a chance he might break; Prowl didn't regret joining Sentinel. But he knew he'd regret leaving Tumbler. "I'm going for a drive."

"I'll probably be in recharge when you come back." Tumbler sounded as though he were looking away– probably glaring at the view from the window.

Prowl could sense the underlying message in his lover's words: 'I'll be asleep when you get back, and you'd better be gone when I wake up tomorrow.' The doorwinger nodded, though Tumbler couldn't see it. "Alright," he said softly. Quietly as he could, Prowl made his way towards the door.

The black and white mech drove around for a long time after, and though the lights of the city brightened the night considerably, Prowl took comfort in the anonymity of darkness. He arrived at home hours later. The lights were off, their two glasses emptied and placed on the drying rack in the kitchenette.

Prowl glanced at the door through which his lover slept. The temptation to join him was strong, but not unbearable.

Prowl made his way over to their berthroom door.

Should he recharge on the couch? Or just wander around the city until the shuttle to Kaon began to board...

It wasn't locked, thank Primus. Prowl pushed through, slipping over to Tumbler's side of their large, wide berth. The sheets were tangled, but Tumbler slept on. He'd always been a restless recharger.

There was a very powerful temptation to write a note. Some sort of message that Tumbler could read when he woke, his state of mind a little calmer. But what would Prowl write?

Sitting down beside the lanky yellow mech, Prowl reached out to stroke Tumbler's helm. The recharging bot shifted but didn't wake, one servo creeping forward to grip the plating of Prowl's hip.

'By the time you read this, Tumbler, I'll be well on my way to Kaon.' The shuttle took off a joor before Tumbler's alarm turned on. 'I know that apologizing won't change things, but I am sorry. I hope you don't resent me. Yours, Prowl' Was there anything else to say?

"Hey..." Prowl murmured, thumb tracing a line on Tumbler's mask. The yellow visor flickered, glowing dimly. Prowl smiled sadly.

The doorwinger left the note on the table. He could only hope that Tumbler would actually read it. Prowl strode to the door, the weight of his choice heavy on his spark. No time to regret it, though. No time for goodbyes.

"Prowl? Didn't you go out?" Tumbler's voice was bleary and confused, still in a half-recharge state.

Prowl didn't pause at the door. He had to stop himself from running out to the street, had to stop himself from running back to Tumbler. Either way, he would be running from the consequences. No running. Not for Prowl.

"I'm back for now." Prowl bent his helm to kiss Tumbler's mask. "Just to say goodbye."

"Oh..." Tumbler's visor dimmed a little. He sighed contentedly. "Goodbye then. See you after work."

Prowl bit his lip. "Okay." He hesitated. "I love you, Tumbler."

"Mmyou too, Prowl." Tumbler patted Prowl's hip before rolling over, visor turning off as he fell once more into the realm of recharge.

The black and white mech got to his pedes, shutting the door to their room behind him as he walked towards the front door.

"I love you," Prowl whispered again to the dark of their unit. The click of the door echoed with finality.

Prowl felt something in his spark, but he couldn't tell whether it was regret, sorrow, or a shadow of apathy. Dwelling on Tumbler –Chromedome– was not very good for his mood or self-assurance, but Prowl didn't get as far in life as he had without being a slight masochist.

His joints were getting stiff from such a cramped position. Prowl considered moving, walking around a little to warm himself up.

No, no he would rather stay where he was. In the darkness, in a small, tight spot, alone.

Alone was good, the darkness was safe.

It was lonely, too. But Prowl had crafted this loneliness about himself. It was his berth to lie in.

Chapter Text

I have my books
And my poetry to protect me
I am shielded in my armor
Hiding in my room
Safe within my womb
I touch no one and no one touches me
I am a rock
I am an island

And a rock feels no pain
And an island never cries

-

"Prowl, there you are."

For a moment Prowl was struck by the sensation of abrupt displacement, as though he'd been thrown from recharge to wakefulness without warning. The doorwinger jolted, helm snapping to face the blue of Fortress Maximus's chest.

Fortress bent to peer into the nook Prowl had squeezed himself into. "Red Alert said he hadn't seen you around the base for a while; I got a little concerned."

Prowl frowned, not bothering to hide his doubt. "Right."

Something flickered in Fortress's optics. "You shouldn't stay stationary on your own for too long, the temperature will get to you."

A brief test of his joints showed that Prowl was indeed very, very stiff. He grimaced as he worked his way from the niche, nearly collapsing before catching himself with his servos on the edge of his former hiding spot. Large blue servos twitched forwards instinctively before Fortress forced them back to his sides.

"What do you need me for?" Prowl asked, straightening his aching back as best he could. While warm, such a curled position did little for his spine. The blanket slipped from its wrapped state about his frame, fluttering to the ground. Prowl gasped as his plating met with the chilled air.

"Nothing, just thought I aught to find you before you freeze." Fortress Maximus hovered close, his external vents opening wide. Prowl stilled as warm air gushed over him, thawing the cold in his plating for a few moments. "Why aren't you huddled beside one of the heaters? Red Alert's camped out beside his."

"I think you'll find the reason for my avoidance in your latter sentence." Prowl managing to wring a faint popping sound from his mid-back when he twisted to the side abruptly. A grunting sigh huffed from Prowl's lips, and he winced as the pain flared briefly before dulling to a loose ache. "Now, why exactly do you need me, besides 'concern'?" The emphasis on the word made the unspoken quotation marks rather apparent.

Fortress paused a moment, looking down at the doorwinger with an unreadable expression on his face. "I need you to come look at the heaters with me; see if any of those archives in your helm have a solution to whatever's put them off."

Ridged doorwings sank with relief, a motion unnoticed by their owner. "Right, of course." Want of his skills was something familiar and resting; 'concern' for his wellbeing was not. Prowl snatched his blanket up from the floor. "Lead the way. I'll have you know, though, I am by no means an engineer." Quite the opposite. He'd just witnessed engineers work for long enough that he had a few good, unapplied archives in his helm on the subject.

The sound of their pede-steps were loud in the emptiness of the Luna 1's hallways, muted by the frigidity and silence. Prowl shivered as the cold swept over his plating, cloaking himself in the blanket that had since grown cold whilst apart from his frame, seemingly draining away Prowl's heat rather than insulating it.

"Why don't you simply contact someone with engineering expertise rather than trying to fix the issue yourself?" Prowl asked as he followed in the wake of the larger mech.

Broad shoulders shrugged up and down. "I wouldn't want to inconvenience anyone."

Prowl scoffed quietly. "Because freezing isn't an inconvenience to the rest of us?"

"It wouldn't be if you weren't so stubbornly antisocial."

Had Fortress Maximus taken a darker, more frustrated tone Prowl would have been perturbed, but the Enforcer's voice was light and teasing, in an admonishing sort of way.

"That trait has kept me going this long."

The silence settled for a moment before Fortress replied, "and look where it took you."

Prowl took a breath of icy air and let it out with a long sigh. "This isn't the worst place I could be, at least." He could be in the depths of Starscream's hidden prison cells– a far less appealing alternative to this place. That or Tarantulas's Noisemaze, with all his sins gutted and spread before Springer's optics. "Not by a long shot."

"I'm not too sure that's a good thing."

The doorwinger's breath clouded before his lips as he huffed. "We've all made mistakes."

"Some have more far-reaching consequences."

Was that a reference to Prowl's leaving Garrus 9 to the mercies of Overlord? The black and white stared hard at what little of Fortress's face he could see from his angle. Red optics looked straight ahead, regal face set in a neutral expression.

"...True enough. One could always try to atone, of course, but what can that do?"

"Lighten the burden on your conscience?"

Always annoying when someone replies to your rhetorical question. Prowl scowled. "Nothing can do that."

"Talking helps. I found that my sessions with Rung helped me considerably."

The black and white mech shook his helm. "Rung is skilled at being unbiased, but he and the Lost Light have been out of contact for too long now. And no one else I know has anything but dislike for me." Prowl did his best to quash the bitter self-pity from his voice, but he had a feeling he didn't quite succeed.

Fortress glanced down for a moment, but upon meeting Prowl's optics he faced forwards again. "I imagine it would be difficult to find an ally after burning all your bridges."

Prowl let out a bark of laughter. "Ha! Try impossible! I've somehow managed to methodically destroy all of my positive relationships in a rather short amount of time." He sighed. "It doesn't matter. It's all behind me." And damnit all if he couldn't reign in his melancholy mood before Fortress Maximus noticed. "The base is too large for a brief walk to the heaters, but I did think it would be shorter than this."

"Yes, we're almost there."

There was no conversation between them while Prowl glanced over the heaters. Much like Fortress he couldn't really find anything wrong with them– not anything he could fix anyway. So much for being useful. "I suppose we'll have to call someone in after all."

"I guess so."

Prowl straightened from his position squatting on his heels. The move made his lower back creak in protest. "I apologize for not being of any help."

Fortress shrugged. "I wasn't sure you'd be able to help anyway."

Oh? "Then why ask me to help you?"

"Our race isn't meant to be isolated. We need positive interaction to stay sane."

"And?"

The glow of those red optics dimmed, and something like pain crossed the Enforcer's face. "And you need it too, Prowl."

The doorwinger's lips twisted in a sardonic smile. "That's a nice thought, Fortress. Where will I get this 'positive interaction' from? You? Red Alert? Cerebros?" Cerebros didn't like or dislike Prowl, though he probably leaned more for the latter, and Red Alert very much would rather not interact with Prowl at all. Fortress Maximus still held his grudge despite his currently cordial behavior, of that much Prowl was certain.

"I'm quite familiar with loneliness, Prowl. I know how it can affect someone. I'm just offering to be a... mitigating presence."

A sharp retort lay on the tip of Prowl's tongue, ready to provoke the larger mech. He swallowed it, crafting a different reply. "I don't need your sympathy, Fortress Maximus, nor do I need your company."

"Don't need– or don't want?"

"Both." And at this point even Prowl couldn't be sure whether he was lying or not.

Fortress sighed. "It isn't healthy, being all alone."

"I don't care." Prowl turned to leave, pulling his blanket tighter about himself. A servo on his shoulder stopped him cold.

"Prowl..." The other mech had no words, apparently.

The doorwinger shrugged off the servo, even though he ached to seek more of that touch, non-hostile as it was. Fortress made no more effort to stop Prowl as he strode away resolutely, memories of his past mistakes echoing in his helm.

He should have accepted. He still could. But he wouldn't.

Centuries of rejecting people made for a very, very hard habit to break.