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Loud bangs were so common in Brainstorm’s laboratory that it took him a moment to notice that this particular one had come, not from the retort with the ominously burbling blue liquid or from the padlocked box with the DANGER! signs plastered across it, but from the door slamming open.
Prowl stood in the doorway, his doors flared and his ventilations ragged, looking for all the world like he was spoiling for a fight.
“I didn’t do it,” Brainstorm said automatically as the Autobot second-in-command stalked up to him.
“Brainstorm.” That normally cool voice was rough around the edges, deeper than Brainstorm was used to; he suppressed a shiver as he met Prowl’s optics. They were smouldering, hot as the barrel of a weapon charging, and twice as dangerous. “Come to berth with me.”
Brainstorm let out a delighted squeal, patted Prowl’s cheek, and ran across the laboratory to grab -
“Um.” Prowl looked confused. “I’m not saying I’m not willing to indulge any… unusual preferences you may have, but is there a reason why you’re bringing test tubes with you?”
“For science!”
Prowl frowned, as if mentally replaying the last few moments. “I… was clear in my invitation, wasn’t I?”
“Yes, yes.” Brainstorm waved a hand, the rest of him now buried deep in a cabinet that had DANGER - DO NOT LICK THE SCIENCE scrawled on the side. “You want to frag. I’m game. I’m making sure that we properly document and analyse the findings. The kind of data this is going to produce, I bet I can leapfrog current technology in, like, eight fields of weapons development…” The rest of his statement was lost amid the clatter of the instruments he impatiently tossed over his shoulder as he rooted through his supplies.
Prowl dodged a flying beaker. “What the actual frag -”
“Prowl.” Brainstorm was suddenly back across the room, one finger pressed to Prowl’s lips. “Shhhh. Give in to the sweet embrace of science.”
Prowl stared at him, then at the array of… instruments Brainstorm had compiled, then back at Brainstorm.
Then he slowly nodded against Brainstorm’s hand.
***
Chromedome received a lurid selfie through a secured channel the next morning. Perceptor received a file of absolutely obscene data sets.
It would be difficult to say which of them was more disturbed.
***
“Hey, Prowl!” Wheeljack called across the mess hall cheerily. “I hear you’re now officially 0.7 on the Brainstorm Scale!”
“I hate you,” Prowl muttered, curling around his coffee cup.