Chapter Text
"Next stop. Praxus section four; Districts – New Province University, Crystal Gardens, and Praxus Ninja Corps Dojo."
As the train comes to a slow Prowl can see his carriage pull into a mostly empty station. It was just after midnight and most people were asleep or at the parties they wanted to spend the night at.
If not, they weren't riding an hour over to another city-state at this time.
Getting up as the train comes to a complete stop Prowl slips out as fast and inconspicuous as he can with his small fragile cargo. Taking the less traveled, but still winding roads of Praxus, Prowl keeps an optic out for any of the unsavory characters down these back paths.
With one last turn, he makes it to his destination and a small fond smile adorns his usually morose faceplates.
…Home.
Just like the oppressively-sized and Cybertron famous Crystal Gardens, Praxus had set aside a large plot of land for the Ninja Corps’ compound and temple. The city-state did not allow for buildings above three stories in a 483 m radius of the compound and that the last set of buildings gave them a distance of 250 m between the city and its wall. This regulation gave visitors time to glimpse and marvel from afar and entice them closer, just like the gardens, except no one was allowed inside this sight.
And it was a sight to behold.
It’s walls, tall and sturdy basalt brick, were soothed with delicate and intricate designs at the base and top of the walls, matching the lighting fixtures along the top of the structure. Though worn, it was up kept with care, new paint, and sanding. Beyond that was the towering compound of basic stone buildings boasting artistic hip-and-gable roofs. Their navy and sky blue a beacon against the white exterior and brown trimming of the closely packed buildings. All of this wonder was bathed in the dual moonlight making it seem ethereal and unreal, more so because it seems whomever the new Master was had kept to the traditions of lights out after a certain hour.
But lights out didn’t necessarily mean a lack of security.
Looking down at his watch he waits until the second's hand hits the 30 and dashes across the field of short shrubbery, stepping where he knew there were spaces in between the vegetation. Coming to the wall Prowl presses himself up against the cool rock and checks his watch.
Hmm. 25 seconds. A new record.
Taking a deep breath Prowl swings his small satchel around to his back and removes his shoes to reveal simple thin cloth shoes in place of socks. Hiding them in a nearby shrub Prowl turns to the wall and gently runs his fingers across the bricks. As he walks away he counts his steps until he finds a niche he can use to climb. The first niche is only 15 steps away and Prowl smirks as he sees a light fixture just above him. Pulling rope out of his satchel he steps back and tosses the pre-made lasso over the fixture and pulls it taught. Checking the strength with a few pulls Prowl deems it acceptable and places his foot in the niche and begins his climb. It takes him ten minutes to scale the 6 m high wall, but at the top Prowl can see he was once again in luck and could make up for lost time with the set of trees on the other side.
Wrapping the rope around the fixture to hide its presence Prowl turns and holds his satchel close as he deftly jumps into the closest tree, landing on a sturdy branch. Quickly clambering down to the last patch of dense foliage he waits and watches for any movement. No sooner he had settled did two guards walk pass with sedated gaits, taking in everything that they could in the moonlight. Once they passed around the bend Prowl makes his way down and sprints towards his second destination.
It’s filled with many stops, either waiting out guards or hiding from the occasion restless student mediating in the higher rooms. Staying closer to the walls he slips in and out of view as he makes it to the furthermost part of the compound.
Coming to a stop in front of the temple Prowl bows slowly, out of reverence, before running to the side and using his momentum to jump from wall to wall to scale the side. Landing on the roof he crouches and turns back to check if anyone saw him in the moonlight, but he sees or hears no one. Turning back Prowl steps cautiously across the shingled roof, again out of some regard to Primus, but mostly to not alert anyone to his presence.
Making it across without a shingle out of place he steps lightly onto a hexagonal spirally closed wooden roof. It gives a low quiet groan, but that does not deter him as he knows the noise just sounds louder in the silence of this place. Making it to the center Prowl kneels at the small opening always left open and grips the underside and pushes. It takes some work to widen the center, but eventually, he can comfortably drop into the most hidden part of his once home.
The cemetery of the Masters.
As the name implies it was only for those who had held the rank of Master and for their husbands or wives. No one but family and the current Master had the key to get in, but Prowl found another way. He always had and he always would.
Slipping through the opening Prowl gently lands on the water collecting structure that distributed rainwater to around the garden surrounding the cemetery. Climbing down he pulls out his small flashlight to find the headstones he’s looking for.
He doesn't need the flashlight, but he wanted – needed – to see their names.
Coming to a stop at the most well maintain stones of granite that were perfect vertical rectangles Prowl reads each name, chiseled into the stone in a fancy font.
DAI ATLAS
Beloved Husband & Teacher of Metallikato
YOKETRON
47th Master of the Praxus Ninja Corps
Kneeling between them all the exhilaration of making it here drains out into the cold soft ground and Prowl is overcome by the raw sadness, guilt, and anger that always finds him when he sits in this spot.
Hopeless and helpless against the torrent currents of his emotions.
He doesn’t even realize he’s crying until wetness lands on his pants. Taking his visor off Prowl wiping away his tears and takes a cleansing breath.
Breathe in.......... Breathe out.
Letting the deep breath out Prowl feels the sadness shrink enough to set to work. Taking out a small brush he dusts off any dirt or cobwebs he can see and replaces the incense sticks that have been removed by the Master’s cleaning or has been eaten by insects. Striking a match he sets both alight and says the brief prayer to be heard before also pulling a small bouquet of lilies and daffodils from his satchel.
With great care, he takes the best preserved lily and lays it across his Carrier’s grave and does the same for the daffodil across his Sire’s. His Carrier always made time to tend to the one in the main foyer garden and Sire said daffodils were his favorite because they were the same warm yellow as his Carrier’s horns.
Rocking back into a proper kneeling position Prowl gazes at the graves, and like every time, finds it hard to speak. So hard when he can still remember their smiling faces, encouraging voices, and warm hugs so clearly.
"Carrier… Sire…," His voice catches, but he pushes on, "I … I have … I miss you."
Sighing disparagingly he almost laughs at how weak he sounds.
"I always will, but that was likely when the world took you away from me too soon. But I’m not here to complain again… I have news."
Looking back to the gravestones, Prowl can swear he can see them looking back with small expectant grins, waiting for him to speak. It was as if he was young once more and telling them about his adventures around the compound with Ruse and Springer.
And thinking about the past six and a half months Prowl’s lips twitch up. Not into a complete smile, but it is a true smile.
"A lot of news actually. First, I’ve gone back to visit Aunt Enigma. She’s doing well, still one of the top designers and just as wild as ever," Stopping as his Carrier ghostly shakes his helm at hearing of his sister's antics, "She was kind enough to let me impose in her living space until I found my own and a job."
Prowl rolls his optics as he thinks about how ironic the job is too.
It employs my training, yes, but not as you would think. Instead of finding peace of mind and becoming closer to the energies of Cybertron, I use it to delicately dance aerial silks or aerial rings for onlookers.
"But working is not so bad. It’s allowed me to be more flexible in life and incorporate some of my training. But living in Iacon is very different from Praxus and has been an adjustment. It's extremely fast-paced and outrageous. Not completely my style."
Thinking about the loudness as compare to Praxus' general calm and quiet was jarring at best. The only time it might be louder here was because of a parade or the seasonal festivals which were joyous and loud as opposed to Iacon's constant variety of noises. This made the silence more disconcerting when it did occur.
"But as you said Carrier, you will always find the best of people when you aren’t looking. And in a way I have… found good people, that is, to stay with. I met them through work, though my first impression was less than stellar —"
Another slow and unfruitful night.
Prowl sighs quietly to himself as he scans the crowd from the edge of the nightclub in the shadows of the lowered lights. With everyone's attention on Orion and his astounding voice crooning a love song Prowl was able to look for anyone dubious. Which is an undertaking in of itself as this was a happening place for the mob and other white-collar crooks. But no one looks particularly shady when the round of applause starts. Knowing he has limited time before he's introduced Prowl slips into the Alleyway and backstage just as Orion begins walking down.
"Good Luck Prowl." He smiles, slightly out of breath and Prowl gives him a simple nod as he climbs the steps.
"Lovely voice as always hasn't he ladies and gentlemen," Glowlight compliments Orion and as another round of applause goes up she glances back to look for him. Smiling wider when she sees him she motions for the lights to drop low on stage as she slowly steps back, "But now we moved on to a different feast for your senses. Be amazing by our mysterious acrobat... our sensual shade... Prowl!"
And holding the vowel low and long Prowl walks onto the stage as white ribbons unravel to the floor and soft music begins to play.
He lets himself breathe in deeply before emptying his mind of all distractions and begins to climb. In no time he's elegantly twisting, back-bending, and spinning between the two ribbons.
Preparing for his most daring trick yet something catches his sights. Bending back as he twirls his ankle around the right ribbon Prowl looks for what caught his interest. With his visor dimming the spotlights he can see in the corner around the raised booths where Megatron was sitting lasciviously in his booth with Orion perched comfortably in his lap. Orion was transfixed by Prowl's performance and Megatron was transfixed by his prized singer.
Now that could be a lead.
If he was that close to Megatron then maybe Orion might be close enough to hear something about assassins or other employees' side jobs. Deciding to follow him after closing Prowl leans up and with a flick of his wrist grabs the other ribbon and lets himself go weightless to the sounds of dismay only for it to turn it loud applause as he stops centimeters from the floorboards with his free hand held out to the audience.
"Marvelous! Just marvelous!" Glowlight praises as she walks over and holds out a helping hand for Prowl to use to stand and untangle himself.
With a bow, he leaves the stage and the shiny suit-wearing host as she introduces the next act. Slipping back into his shared changing room he begins making plans on how to follow the young singer home tonight.
He has to wait an extra 30 minutes in the alley out back before Orion leaves and begins walking home and only a few minutes in Prowl can see he is clearly agitated. At first, Prowl assumes he's been made, but as Orion stops by a light post near a bus-stop Prowl sees the real reason he was so flighty. A man about Orion's age with a very noticeable chin comes up and looking the other way takes a folded up piece of paper from Orion. Getting as close as he dares he hears the man, fuzz[1] no doubt, complain that he wanted more than this before trudging back the way he came and leaving a woebegone Orion waiting for the bus.
Having seen enough to suit his purposes, Prowl slips away and makes his way Uptown.
Its' another two days before he follows Orion to his apartment, almost centrally located between essential places and Club Nemesis.
A week later he lays his trap.
Stepping out of the alley next to Orion's apartment as he comes back with his groceries he clears his throat to get his attention. The younger man starts before giving him a soft smile.
"Hello, Prowl. You startled me. I didn’t know you lived —"
"First impressions did not peg you for a honeypot for the EPF."
In an instant Orion is shaking as his optics widen in panic, searching for any sign of others. Panicked like this Prowl wasn't going to get anything useful, though calming someone down one was not one of his strengths.
"I'm not with the Decepticons if that's what you're worried about." He says in his best non-threatening tone.
Orion's face scrunches up like he just had a sour treat as he tries to get a hold on the groceries he almost dropped. He opens his mouth to say something, but it takes a couple of tries for anything coherent to come out.
"I wasn't —"
"You're an awful liar," Prowl fills in and Orion says nothing to the truth, only turns away in shame. Leaning against the building Prowl can see this might take longer than he thought, "If you're going to, keep strong eye contact or play up a trait that will dissuade people from thinking that."
Turning back, Orion tilts his helm in confusion, blinking at him, "I... thank you?"
Shrugging, Prowl begins to wonder if Orion will be a good source if he crumbles at the first moment someone throws him off.
"And I-I'm not," Looking back to the younger man Prowl raises an optic ridge at the flushed and clearly embarrassed man, "Not a honeypot. I'm undercover." He clarifies.
"Alone?" Prowl guesses.
And as Orion turns his head to the left again he rolls his optics at how poorly prepared this man was for this job. They'd eat him alive if they knew.
"Why?" He asks.
Prowl's not sure what he's asking, but it must be incredibly important or incredibly stupid for him to tackle it by himself. Orion freezes as if struck, and his optics fall to the ground, staring at it with no intentions, only with a lost and wistful expression that tells Prowl all he needs to know.
"Redemption… It's for redemption," Orion says clearly, voice strident with emotions. Emotions Prowl knew all too well. Then lifting his helm he looks to him pleading and determined, "Please don’t tell."
Prowl wasn't going to. This wasn't any of his beeswax and he wasn't out to get anyone killed except for his Sire's murderer. With a clipped nod most of the tenseness in Orion's shoulders drops - He really is a bad liar - But even if he wasn't good for intel he might be perfect for the second part of his plan.
"Have an apartment?" Prowl asks, already knowing the answer.
"Yes."
"Does it have space for a roommate?"
Optics narrowing in suspicion Orion answers slowly, "... Only space for about one more. We —"
"Perfect," And pushing off the building turns to leave, "I'll be here to move-in in two days."
"Now wait a minute!" Stopping at the harsh tone Prowl turns around. He is slightly surprised by the tone and even more so at Orion's hard expression, "I don't know you and haven't talked it over with my roommates. Furthermore, you can't just show up and blackmail me into giving you room and board."
So he does have some fire in him.
"What’s rent for a month."
"... $1,400."
"I can pay half of the rent."
"Ha-half?!" Orion's jaw drops.
"Would three-fourths be a better offer?"
"What? Yes! - No! - I —," He stutters some more before getting a full sentence out, "I mean how can you afford that on a dancer's salary?"
"I'm connected." He says and leaves it at that.
In his planned flight from the Dojo Prowl secretly moved money he deserved into a different account. It was used to keep him aloft for his journey into the outside world, which did come in handy with the changing prices from city-state to city-state. He still had a substantial amount of that left and his aunt had more money than what she knew what to do with and gave him an allowance he couldn't spend all by himself. He might as well help out others while helping himself.
Optics narrowing again, Orion’s gaze becomes more analytical as he looks him up and down, "Then why are you a dancer?"
"That's my business, like your 'not honeypot' mission," He tells the younger man frostily, "So do we have a deal? My silence about your ‘affair’ and you have more spending money in the long run." Prowl asks as he holds out a hand to shake on it.
Orion gives him and his hand a sidelong glance before sighs disappointingly. Placing a bag down he reaches out, still eyeing his hand like a razorsnake and give their shake one good pump.
"... I'll need to talk it over with my other roommates, but it's likely a deal."
"And yet they are still upstanding people… even Bumblebee.”
Just thinking of the other has a small huff of laughter spilling from his lips and Prowl pauses in his regaling.
“For context, Bumblebee, Optimus, and Bulkhead are my roommates and I met Bumblebee and Optimus through work. Bumblebee is quite the menace and a motormouth, but not a bad person overall. Though I believe he would test even your patience Sire."
"You look like such a stay-at-home creator and it's disgusting."
He hears Bumblebee complain, but he pays no mind as he reads the first-hand account of a mansion robbery.
"I mean you have nice clothes, why do you look like this?"
"Was there something of import that you wanted to say?" Prowl asks as he takes a magnifying glass to the corresponding pictures of the crime, looking for any clues the cops missed.
"Uuughrgh...," Bumblebee gurgles before saying, "You're on dishes."
His lips turn down more at hearing that, both at having to do the chore and realizing another week had passed by with only one useful clue.
"In a moment."
"Prowl now."
Waving the younger man away he hunches over his desk and the photos more.
"I'll tell Optimus."
... Prowl didn't care if the little troublemaker did tell Optimus... He didn't.
With a defeated sigh Prowl slides back from his desk and folds his papers with a bit more vigor as he puts them away in the correct envelope binders before stomping out into the living room kitchen area. Leaning against the kitchen sink is Bumblebee shining his fingers on his suspenders with a victorious smirk.
"Works every time," He says as he pushes off the counter with a bounce, "You know if you just did the dishes each night you wouldn't have a problem."
"I don't see you pitching in." Prowl answers as he walks around his shortest roommate.
"I clean all the time at work. I'm tired of it," Bumblebee complains, "Everyone should be happy enough that I clean here."
Raising an optic ridge at that Prowl turns to face Bumblebee, "I've seen your room and no one would classify it as clean."
"There's nothing on the floor." Bumblebee grins from horn to horn, looking inordinately proud of himself of that fact.
"Surprisingly."
Prowl does get a large amount of the dishes done without Bumblebee causing any havoc though he could turn the TV set down. But Prowl has learned from experience that telling Bumblebee to do something opposite of what he was currently doing was a sure-fire way for Bumblebee to make everything worst. And yet it was like the other knew when he was being thought about because no later did he think about that was Bumblebee leaning against the counter and dropping a cup into the suds filled water.
"See easy." He smirks.
Prowl doesn't know why it made him act out, but one moment he’s staring passively at Bumblebee, and the next he's flicking the suds on his hand at the younger man, grinning at his sputtering. After that, it dissolves into a soap suds fight and they proceed to get soap everywhere but each other.
"What's going on here?"
Pausing in a windup position to hurl a ball of suds, that hid a bar of soap in it, Prowl turns and sees Bulkhead standing in the doorway. But he wasn't looking at the room as a whole, just the one person hiding behind the sofa with a water bottle and the soap bottle.
"Bumblebee." He starts in a tired tone.
"What! I didn't - It was Prowl - He —"
"Bumblebee that's not nice to blame Prowl. He was probably just defending himself," Then looking at the wet floor he sighs, soundly properly sad, "And I just cleaned the floor yesterday."
Muffled screams turn Prowl's attention to where Bumblebee was screaming into a pillow before throwing it to the couch.
"Where's the mop Bulk?"
"No. It's fine I'll —"
Holding a hand out to stop Bulkhead he turns it around like he was waiting for Bulkhead to place something in his hand.
"Where?" And begins tapping his foot like he was the one being inconvenienced.
"In the hall closet, the second one," Bulkhead says and Bumblebee spins on the slippery floor and carefully walks to the hall for the mop. While Bumblebee guiltily cleans the floor Prowl finishes up the dishes in peace after Bulkhead apologizes on Bumblebee's behalf, the other making faces behind his tall friend the whole time.
"I'll get you back," Bumblebee whispers as Bulkhead goes to put away his newest paints.
"You can try," Prowl says back and can't help smiling at the other's bristling.
He should be furious. He had lost time with this vapid water fight, but the small smile stays fixated to his lips and he feels light... He had had fun again... And it hadn't felt awful.
He smiles lightly, knowing if any two people could have cooled Bumblebee's engine it would have been his creators. Though it might've taken the next century or two.
"On the opposite side of the spectrum, there is Bulkhead and Optimus. Bulkhead is in Iacon to become an engineer and with all the electronics he fixes in our apartment and for others. I think he will be a fine one once he has enough money saved up for his degree. Currently, he works as a cook for a small diner with Optimus and often paints in the evening, usually on the roof. He also knits the softest sweaters as well."
KNOCK! KNOCK!
Putting away his final notes on Dustsling, a supposed renegade and gun-for-hire that had been seen in town recently, Prowl looks to his clock and can see he still had some time before he and Optimus needed to leave for their shift. Knowing it wasn't Optimus, Prowl calls out for Bulkhead to come in.
"Hi Prowl," The younger says looking very impressed, "How did you know it was me?"
"I still have fifteen minutes before I need to leave with Optimus and he only comes to knock on my door if we have five minutes left to get to the bus. Bumblebee is allergic to knocking, so that leaves you." He explains.
"Oh! That's really cool. You kinda sound like Detective Ditch Tracks[2] off the radio."
Though the moment he says so Bulkhead's enthusiasm leaves him as he begins to fidget, trying not to look at the other side of Prowl's room.
"Is there something you needed?" Prowl asks, saving him from further embarrassment.
"Oh!" And Bulkhead raises a hand to wave 'no' before pulling out a folded piece of fabric from behind his back, "I just wanted to give you this."
Stepping forward Prowl takes the offered fabric and lets it fall open, revealing a black shall covered sweater with a grey and yellow argyll pattern at the bottom trim and circling the sleeve cuffs. Looking the soft material over Prowl is at a loss for words, not sure what warranted Bulkhead to buy something like this for him.
"Very nicely designed. Simple, but not trying too hard." Prowl finds himself saying, falling into the terminology he remembers from his aunt. There really wasn't anything else he could think of to say about it.
"Thanks! I'm glad you like it," Bulkhead beams before coming closer to point some of the traits of the sweater, "The diamond pattern was the hardest to knit, had to get a book out to see how, but I think it turned out really well. I also tried to get the yellow color just right, but decided it would be better to give you a way to wear the sash you have ar—"
"What?" Prowl cuts the other off before looking at the sweater more closely.
He then notices there was no tag in the collar. On top of that, there were two belt loops perfect for him to thread his Sire's sash through.
"This is for me? You ... You knitted something for me?" Prowl asks, confused and stumped by this revelation.
He had been mostly closeted in his room and didn't give much in the way of friendly conversation so Prowl couldn't fathom why Bulkhead would take time and energy to do something so arduous for him.
"Yeah," Bulkhead says, starting to look concern, but he still tries to smile as he explains, "It's like a 'welcome to the apartment' gift, but also serves another purpose. I mean I do a mean job of fixing up the boiler and the radiator, but if it does kick out - radiator that is - or you just want to wear around I thought it would be a good preventative measure against the winters here. And you can tie that fancy fabric around it if you want since you like wearing it with everything."
"... You noticed?"
Nodding, Bulkhead's grin turns down and his expression becomes hollow, "I'm like that with the flat cap from my grandfather. That sash means something important, doesn't it?"
If Prowl was stunned before he was speechless now. The level of thought and work put into this gift was too much, but he couldn't find it in himself to return such a heartfelt gift.
"Yes... Thank you Bulkhead. I would be honored to wear this."
"I'm glad," Smile returning even brighter than before, "I just wanted you to feel comfortable and welcomed around here."
"And while he is very observant and incredibly smart he's a very gentle soul. Much too sweet to be living in Iacon. But Bumblebee and Optimus look out for him. Optimus..."
Pausing to think about the young man Prowl realizes that while he shares his caring nature unconditionally with others at the same time he does not focus it on himself, keeping himself from sharing too much. They really were more alike than Prowl had noticed before.
"He has a golden heart and wants the best for everyone, even if it doesn't include himself. He is very controlled in everything he does as well. I believe he would have made a great follower... He also understands what I’m going through more than someone should..."
"Optimus?" And the undercover cop looks up from where he was writing his report out to the other Prime he worked with, "I was wondering if you had any other contacts in the police that I could run something pass. I'm not specialized in chemicals and could use some help with some forensics."
It would be cleaner than looking into a shady apothecary that would want some underhanded deal for their cooperation. With Optimus it could be filed under his work.
"I'm sorry Prowl. I can't," Says looking put out about it, "My contact with Sentinel is one way to keep everything on the down-low and safe."
His optic ridges go up in surprise at that. Having only one undercover and one contact for something this big was stupid at best and extremely dangerous in every other sense.
"That seems counter to what you are trying to achieve. Especially if you're doing this for redemption."
That seemed to strike a chord as Optimus' shoulders slouch further as he looks down at the papers on the kitchen table. Whatever death that happen had hit Optimus particularly hard, so hard in fact he didn't seem to realize how precarious a situation he had put himself in. He had been there, putting himself in stupid situations to try and gleam even the sliver of truth about the mystery assailant that struck down his Sire. Prowl had told himself months ago he wouldn't get involved with Opitmus' investigation, but it seemed like he needed more of an audial to hear him.
"What was their name?"
Dropping his pencil Optimus hugs himself, faceplates crumbling into unbearable grief as he closes his optics.
"Elita," He breathes. It was so quiet Prowl almost misses it, "Her... Her name was Elita and she was ... was my best friend."
Sitting down with him Prowl lets Optimus tell him parts of his story in broken off sections and never making any movement or judgment. He hadn't lost a friend, but for an orphan like Optimus it must have been devastating on top of feeling guilty for the loss of that friend. A lost that sounded suspect, but he knew not to pry for extra details. As Optimus tries to collect himself Prowl finds himself speaking, letting him know he wasn't alone.
"He was my Sire. Yoketron. Master of the Praxus Ninja Corps. He was murdered and the police ruled it unsolved, but I will find justice for him."
Optimus looks crushed for him, the empathy of this man was unreal, and he writes something done on a small scrap of paper and hands it over.
"It's not much, but us undercovers got to stick together," He says with a painful weak smile, "Gossip is best at the gambling den and I heard in the private rooms as well."
The list had the names of the dealers that he knew had the gift of the gab[3]. Thinking about it, this would be the perfect place to set up shop to flirt and stealthily listen in on the conversations they could wring out of their patrons. Prowl can't believe he didn't think of it before. Tucking the piece of paper away for safe keeping he manages a touch of a grin.
"... If I hear anything around there that may help you out I’ll pass it on."
"You don’t have to do that Prowl," Optimus tells him softly, sounding surprised by the offer at all.
"I know," Prowl says with a shrug, "But I'm sure I'll hear something on my way to finding the murderer and it would be wasteful to throw away good evidence. It won't be difficult.... And remember. I do understand."
A faint, but true smile, makes its way on to Optimus' lips, "Thank you. That means a lot to me."
"I think because of that ... and for a few other reasons throughout my time there I have found myself becoming fond of them despite the odd way they conduct themselves."
He tried to ignore them and thought he was doing a good job, besides them constantly asking after his health and where he was off too. Prowl had taken to coming in and out of the windows more than the door after the third time, but this didn't stop Bulkhead and Optimus from asking if they caught sight of him. They still invited him to meals, but he mostly ignored them, having eaten or not wanting to stop when on a good lead. But it was usually that he did not have the stomach to eat at the time.
Though the longer he stayed the more he interacted with them despite his best efforts. Now he voiced plausible excuses and platitudes instead of completely ignoring them. That had been the start of him getting dragged into their dumbness, like being the dealer for one game night, which he had to constantly remind himself that this would be good practice for the future. And he told himself the same thing when Bulkhead asked him to come to his exhibition, he needed to make sure he could still sneak around in broad daylight.
It was all for a greater good.
Exhaling deeply he tries to think of lighter thoughts for a moment.
"And surprisingly Aunt Enigma made time to meet them when she had a break in her schedule. Mostly an accident as she had been assuming I was living on my own. She is still very much a workaholic when she's not out on the town. She finds them acceptable… the apartment less so."
A ghost of a smile touches Prowl’s lips as he remembers her lips twisted up in despair as she looked around the apartment, describing it as rustic at best.
"When you said you were moving closer to work I didn’t realize it was closer to street level as well."
She had said that just before his roommates appeared with grocery bags. Before anyone could say anything Bumblebee was running his mouth about how amazing Enigma was, and later how there was no way she and Prowl were related as she was leagues cooler than he was. Besides basking in the praise from Bumblebee’s fashionista rant, Enigma spent most of her time trying to convince Optimus to come to her high-rise so he could model for some more burlesque outfits and a few evening gowns with his amazing physique. Steering her away from his flustered roommate Prowl had Bulkhead show her some of his art pieces if only to give Optimus a moment to breathe.
It didn't work.
It did get Bulkhead another side gig to paint some scenery pieces for Enigma's photoshoots, but keeping Optimus out of her sights made him that much more enticing. The way her visor glinted mischievously and the way she told Optimus she would 'See him soon doll' told Prowl that Optimus had another admirer to add to the legion he had been racking up at the club.
"She’s also met the doctor in the clinic below us, Ratchet," Prowl says as he shakes his helm thinking about that confrontation, and there was no better word of it, "I've not spoken about him as I have not met him but a few time in passing. He comes to the apartment often enough to worry over the others though. I’m not sure when they crossed paths, but all I can say is that they are like oil and water."
Thinking back to one such shouting match - mostly done by Ratchet - it got to a point where no one knew what they were arguing about.
"It’s quite entertaining to view from time to time."
Though knowing them it was Ratchet and Enigma clashing over basic personality and lifestyle.
"But overall it is nice. Despise all the constant motion and excitement it helps me remain centered. Focused on my goal…"
His optics flicker over to his Sire’s grave, shuttering when they do before he turns more towards him and forces himself to look only at his Sire.
"Sire, I have a solid lead and I feel like I am closer to getting justice for you than I’ve ever been," He speaks slowly, his voice hardening as memories of that night fill his mind, "The right person is there. I know it! I just have to find the right stool pigeon, even if Lockdown says it’ll be impossible, that the man is too crafty to be caught. But Lockdown doesn’t know how persistent and vicious I can be."
And tendrils simmering emotions well up in Prowl’s chest at the thought of his sometimes informant. His voice and the way he held himself captured the enticing yet dangerous underbelly of Iacon in miraculous form. Lockdown fueled such conflicting reactions in Prowl, all with purring pressure mixed together with that smokey deep tone of his. Especially when he calls him 'sweet thing'.
Blushing as he thought of the renegade, Prowl is slightly embarrassed about bringing him up and it feels like his creators were giving him a discern look at hearing the name. Not letting his thoughts run away with him Prowl clenches his fists and breathes in the incense.
"He’s an associate around work, who proves… helpful when he feels up to it," And the feeling of parental scrutiny passes at his halfhearted description Prowl continues, "Regardless of that I have been well and been taking care of myself during this hunt. I still practice all your teachings and it brings me a great deal of peace to do so. Something needed in these trying times and with the loudness that happened at home —"
Home? ...Is Iacon my home now?
Thinking about how much his life had changed it was astounding how he had been building a new world for him to exist in without truly realizing that he had made another home. Not the same, nothing ever could be the Corps, but still, there was a quality around the apartment that had him tolerant of the place and yet looking forward to it on most days.
That has him remembering a discussion he had with his Sire when Prowl had told him he was thinking about traveling to complete his quest for inner peace, but was unsure about leaving home.
"Peace is not all the same. It can be devotion to Primus. Mental or physical discipline. It can take shape as being true to oneself. But more often than not peace comes from the place where memories are created, friends always belong, and laughter prevails. Peace is home."
"Peace is home. I believe I am beginning to understand what you meant by that now. Thank you."
Looking to the stones with a saddened smile he reaches out to smooth a hand over both stones. Standing slowly, not wanting to leave, but knowing he must he gathers up the bouquet, matches, and flashlight. Shining the light on them once more he forces himself to turn it off as he places his visor on again.
"I only wish you two were here to see... I love you both… and I pray I can give you better news the next time I visit." And with a final bow he steps away.
As he climbs the watering structure again he glances back to where he knows they are one last time before slipping through the opening once again and out into the world.
Towards home.
Slipping in through one of the living room windows he finds Bumblebee and Optimus getting their food out of the oven.
"Hey, ninja man. Where did you go tonight?" Bumblebee asks as he tries to plate out more food before Optimus can split it up evenly.
"Out." He answers.
Scoffing, Bumblebee rolls his optics, "Obliviously."
Laying a hand on his shoulder, Optimus stops any of the verbal fighting that might have occurred, "We just want to know if you're doing okay Prowl? You seemed..."
"Stressed, pissed, and sad all at once." Bumblebee list bluntly, though he does look concerned as he says it.
"Yes. That. In so many words," Optimus agrees as he looks back to Prowl, "So when you left the club earlier than usual we were worried."
His core warms at the thought of them worrying about him, but Prowl pushes it away to answer them.
"... I was, but I'm fine now."
There was no easy way to tell them he had gone to his home city-state on the anniversary of his Sire's death to visit him and his carrier's grave. That would lead to more questions and pitying looks then he wanted. The two stare at him, looking him over, before deeming him okay enough to not question him and Optimus passes him his plate before going to get another for himself. Eating in silence does much to calm the emotions in Prowl's chest, but it also helps him recognize that he feels compelled to speak as well. His throat constricting as he swallows each bite.
"Thank you for allowing me to stay." He whispers not looking up from his plate. But as a warm hand comes to rest on his shoulder he looks to his right.
Optimus smiles back at him earnestly and Prowl sees no regret or grudge in his posture or optics, "Of course Prowl. You’re apart of the group now."
"Yeah! Every friend group needs a grouch."
"Bee."
"It's true."
Prowl lets out a soft exhale, the closest he’ll come to laugh in their presence, but it gets their attention, and they both smile. Bumblebee more so at assuming he had gotten him to laugh.
Yes, Prowl thinks he could rest here for a while and be content until this journey ends.