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It was the Second Golden Age. A thousand vorns after the great war. Cybertron was rebuilt. Her people flourishing in a time of peace and happiness. What had once been a battlefield now held vast, glorious cities. Mechs, femmes, younglings, and sparklings of all sizes and types moved about these cities. Some hurried to work while others played in the park. Some glided over the cities, their wings glinting in the sun while others zoomed along highways on their hover jets.
Iacon was no exception. The hustle and bustle of everyday life went on, oblivious to the one mech standing motionlessly observing it all. Unlike the slender, light armored frames that were used these days, the mech seemed out of place in his bulky, heavy black and white armor. At one time, huge cannons had set upon his shoulders, an acid rifle often within reach. Now, even after so much time, it felt strange for the weapons to be gone.
He was an old one. One of the few that had seen the great war to its conclusion left. His battle armor was a salute to those who had not been as fortunate. His frame still bore the scars of war. What had once been glossy and vibrant armor was now faded and dark. Grey tinged the edges of his doorwings and had begun to tint the tips of his red chevron. Obvious signs of a spark that had grown tired of living and had begun to fade away.
Prowl jerked as his alarm sounded once again. Sighing he silenced it and turned from the view of the beautiful city to make his way towards his appointment. He was late. A thousand vorns ago it would never have happened. Now though, it didn’t seem to matter as much. As he walked, too tired to actually transform, bots waved and smiled. They saw him as a hero. He just felt lost and alone.
Apologizing to the teacher for his tardiness, he turned to the students he would be addressing today. They were younglings, staring at him with bright and curious optics. Too young to learn of war and everything it could mean. But time and again he had been asked to speak at schools just like this one. The Prime hoped that if knowledge was spread, that such a thing would never happen again. He had his doubts, but he did as requested because it gave him a reason to go on. Gathering his thoughts, he set his cpu to organizing what he would be discussing with them.
“I am Prowl. During the Great War I was a tactician and Second in Command of the Autobots. I am here to teach you about that war. Why it started. The sacrifices bots made so that Cybertron could return to what it once was.”
Prowl continued on, describing the war and the bots that had fought in it. As he spoke, he was surprised to find that every youngling in the room was riveted on his story. During meetings, he had put bots to sleep with his lectures, yet the young mechs and femmes were watching with interest as he projected pictures and memories onto a large monitor. At some of of the more gruesome aspects of war (which he had gotten permission to show) little femmes raised hands to cover their mouths, while mechs had disgust written across their faceplates. He paused for a moment to catch his barrings, and a small pastel yellow femme with big golden optics raised her hand.
“My carrier says that it wasn't allowed for bots to bond during the war. Is that true? And if so, Why?”
Prowl shifted uneasily. His doorwings twitching slightly. He should have foreseen this line of questioning. But he hadn't and he sent a quick questioning pulse to the teacher, who nodded back at him. They wanted the students to know everything about the war. Too much had been forgotten.
“Bonding was frowned upon. It wasn't completely outlawed, but it wasn't encouraged either. Sparkbonding between two individuals is permanent. It binds the two sparks as one. If one dies, the other invariably follows. If bots grew close, they had to make a decision. Sparkbond and risk the pain and suffering of feeling the one you love die and then the pain of your own spark fading, or stay together without bonding. This choice was the one most often chosen. It was still a painful choice as we Cybertronians thrive on connecting with those we love.” He paused and the same femme spoke up again.
“Were there more options? ”
He sighed and his doorwings drooped. “For some there was only one other option. To attempt to forget the other existed, to put the war first.”
A small grey and black polyhexian raised his hand this time.”Did you ever have to make such a choice? And if so, what happened? Do you regret your choice?”
Prowl froze, his spark thundering in his chest as old memories threatened to barge free of the fragile firewalls he had hidden them behind. So loud was the noise reverberating in his frame that he nearly missed the teacher gently scolding the students on asking such personal questions. Regaining control, he waved a dismissive hand and stated that he was here to discuss everything about the war and that it included personal experiences.
“I did find the one mech that I would have been happy to spend the rest of my life with. As we were both highly ranked officers, Sparkbonding was never an option. We argued for ages and it was my final decision to go our separate ways. I believed at the time that it was for the best. That we would only distract each other from our duties. And yes I regret that choice. Everyday that I live.”
“Why? What happened?”
“Jazz, the mech I cared for, was Third in Command and head of the Special Ops division. A couple of vorns before the war ended, he and his team were sent to infiltrate an enemy base and rescue human hostages being held there. They were discovered and in order for his team and the humans to escape, Jazz sacrificed his own spark.”
Prowls voice caught, and the younglings watched as the mech attempted to regain control of his emotions. Hands raised around the room as more mechs and femmes began asking questions. Some pertained to the life of a warrior, some asking what exactly it was like to be out in the battlefield, others wanting to know what earth had been like back then. They had changed the topic on purpose, none of them wishing to bring further grief to a still mourning warrior.
He was in the middle of describing in detail the mechanics of infiltrating and deactivating an enemy base, when a hush fell over the younglings. He was absorbed in the speech, concentrating on getting the information correct so he didn't notice that he had finally lost the attention of not only the students but the teacher as well. Their optics turned to the door that had slid silently open behind the praxian.
A lithe silver framed mech entered quietly, motioning with a finger across his lips as he locked his gaze on the black and white bots back. Hushed giggles sounded from the femmes as he moved to stand directly behind Prowl. A thousand vorns ago he would never have been able to get that close without the sensitive doorwings picking up on his location. Now he frowned as he noticed the tinge of grey on their edges. They shifted, and he curbed the urge to touch.
Prowl paused in his lecture, optics moving to gaze at the younglings as he attempted to figure out what he might have said that would have been amusing. A soft whisper of sound from behind him had his doorwings twitching, but before he could turn to see who was there, strong arms circled his waist. A thin lightly armored frame pushed up against his back in between the wings. He went completely still as his battle computer flared to life, sending a hundred ways to counter the attack. It went silent though as his spark recognized the one beating against his back. He whirled, forgetting where he was, forgetting everything but the mech in front of him. The frame was different, but there was no hiding the familiar visor. Prowl gaped at a mech that he had been certain had died.
Jazz smiled, raising a hand to gently caress Prowls cheek before pulling the bot into a passionate kiss. They lost themselves in each other, ignoring the sighs from the femmes, the sounds of disgust from the mechlings, and the soft smile on the teachers face. She had been the one to get in contact with Jazz to let him know that Prowl would be here today.
Vorns and vorns of searching. Of always being a day or even a few short hours late. It had begun to seem as if fate had wanted to keep him from Prowl. Desperation had set in and he had sent out a notice across the info-highway requesting any news on where the bot might be. When he had finally received a response stating that Prowl would be here, today, He had been ecstatic.
The noise the younglings were making grew and the two bots reluctantly pulled away from each other. Prowl raised his hands to gently touch the beautiful face that he had tried, but never forgotten. It was different, but still enough of the same details to be recognized. He pressed his forehead against Jazz's, feeling his spark begin to beat and pulse with life once again.
“How?” He whispered, almost as if he was afraid Jazz would vanish. “We thought you were dead. Mirage..”
“My frame was dead.” Jazz paused and pressed a kiss into Prowls palm at the whimper of pain from the former tactician. “My spark was barely there, but a neutral medic managed to save it. By the time I was strong enough to return on my own, the war was over. I've spent every moment since searching for you.”
A round of aww's went up from the younglings as Prowl melted against the former saboteur. A vocalizer clearing was the only thing that kept him from kissing Jazz senseless. He glanced at the smiling teacher and at the younglings watching them avidly and blushed deeply. Jazz laughed and curled into his side as he attempted to finish the lecture. Soon though the younglings were getting up to leave, and Jazz was gently leading him from the room.
“Come love, Lets go home.”
And as Prowl stepped out into the sunlight, it seemed a lot brighter then when he had entered.