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Prowl finds Getaway sitting in his office chair, and isn't surprised. Breaking out of things and breaking into them are only different in terms of the direction you're travelling.
He doesn't bother feigning a reaction. He hasn't bothered with that sort of thing for a long time, not around Getaway, or around…
“Skids was compromised.”
“Yes.” There isn't much more he can say - he's already read the report. Several times over, though of course, nothing changed with each iteration.
If things were different, he might start discussing the possibility of extraction. Only the possibility, mind; but it would at least be an option laid out on the table, and a measure of comfort for the mech sat before him. Not to mention a distraction. Ideally, Skids would've been captured - nice and simply, captured - by some insignificant cell running an insignificant operation, on some backwater planet that was nevertheless close enough by to justify the time it would take to return there. He'd be decently guarded, to keep Getaway too occupied constructing a rescue plan to worry, but not so secure as to pose too much risk.
The big flaw in this daydream scenario is that Skids is far to good to ever end up in such a predicament.
Absolutely ideally, of course, the job would have been a success and both agents would have slipped away undetected. Skids would be perched on the edge of Prowl’s desk right now, servo resting on top of one of Getaway’s as they greet Prowl with back-and-forth quips about his lax security measures. Getaway might needle Prowl into guessing who was responsible for the break-in this time - did they take the direct route, with lock picks and security bypasses, or did Skids smuggle them both through the vents?
(Naturally, Prowl never leaves a potential security breach unaddressed. This has become a game between the three of them: Skids and Getaway test his defences, he patches up any holes that they find, and then they go hunting for more. Sometimes, they bring lunch with them, or persuade Prowl to be ambushed and most agreeably distracted once they've achieved mission success).
But miracles just aren't something that happen to people in Prowl’s line of work. Getaway is setting the precedent for a new sort of surprise visit, sans games and food deliveries and the kind of closeness Prowl still isn't sure is completely wise. (A part of him, one that knows that he's sure it isn't, remains graciously silent most of the time).
Prowl supposes he'd better set some precedents, too. Before he utters another word to his… to Getaway, he turns and retrieves two cubes from a small cupboard near the door. Silently, he crosses the room and presses both servings of energon into Getaway’s grasp; then sits with his back against the wall.
Later, he will rage - at himself, at Chief Justice Tyrest, at himself again for taking the judge’s theft so personally. But when in company, Prowl excels at being whichever person is needed to achieve whichever end. Right now, Getaway needs a listener. Right now, there is no other end than taking as much weight as possible from the shoulders of the one bright spark remaining to him.
He waits, as one waits for a loved one to jump from a height and into one’s arms.
“... I don't know what happened to him. I didn't see. I know he used the gun on himself, but after that…”
Prowl catches his eye and motions with his helm towards the cubes hanging limp from Getaway’s servos. Getaway nods, and takes a halfhearted sip from one.
He hasn't refuelled since his return, Prowl knows for a fact. The report isn't yet official - beamed directly to Prowl via commlink and read thrice over in the time it took to journey from habsuite to office. The journey from the base’s entrance to Prowl’s office is shorter. Getaway needs his energy levels back up, whether he's conscious of it or not.
“I ran, Boss. I know I always run - it's my thing, I get away - but I left him. I didn't even stick around long enough to see if he got caught or what.”
“You did what you were supposed to.”
“It wasn't right.”
“You know as well as I do, Getaway, that it's not always our job to do what's right. We just always have to make sure that we are right.”
“I don't feel right,” Getaway replies, and he sounds almost pettish. “We really messed this up, didn't we? ‘Cause I know, if it'd been anyone else out there with me… I'd have kicked myself, sure, but I wouldn't be like this.”
Prowl chews his lip for a moment, considering, then stretches out a servo and tugs at Getaway’s forearm. The other mech complies slightly listlessly, slumping in a pile of useless limbs against Prowl’s side. Some energon splashes out of the opened cube and onto Prowl’s leg; he ignores it.
“Up until today, when things went wrong,” says Prowl, as Getaway tucks his helm into the crook of his boss’ neck, “did you regret… any of this?”
Getaway manages something close to a laugh.
“What's the punishment in the Autobot Code if I say I didn't?”
“I don't think it matters either way,” Prowl replies. “It still happened.” He trails off, nudges Getaway slightly until the other mech finishes the first energon cube.
This is definitely more closeness than is wise - Skids being torn from them has unraveled the lighthearted fling of a coverup that they were all using. Everything stretching away from this point is raw and messy and inadvisable, but in reality they drove off that particular cliff ages ago.
“A follow-up question,” he continues. “Are you planning to launch a harebrained - or otherwise brained - rescue mission to go and get Skids back, in any way, shape or form?”
“If I was, would I tell you?”
“You would if I've trained you as well as I think I have. You were following orders when you ran, Getaway. There's nothing to make up for.” Prowl pauses, considers. “... Leave that to me.”
“Are you saying you're going to go after him?”
“I'm saying I'll look into it. But you know I can't promise anything, and you know that's already stretching things more than I'm supposed to.” He sighs. “And I can tell you right now, by my calculations, there's about three percent chance that it won't all come to nothing.”
“Eight hundred moving objects, huh?”
“Eight hundred and one, including keeping an eye on you. I won't have you internalising this, Getaway - and not just because of how it'll affect your performance.”
That's as close as he may ever get to saying… well. Certain unwise, terrifying things.
Getaway gives an empty sort of chuckle, and Prowl feels the hum of it against his neck.
“Don't have to worry about me, Boss. I'm staying right where I am.”