Work Text:
Old Time Blues
Scattered datapads and files lay haphazard around the hubsuite. Nothing seemed to matter much anymore, not even a proper filing system.
Prowl sighed, leaning forward on his desk, optics jumping between what datapads managed to stay on the shambling surface. Each one depicted a different report, each report seemed to drawl with nonsense to the old tactician. Disturbances, misdemeanours, nuisances, hooning, and petty theft. Even the major crime reports were left ignored. All of them just seemed to be…insignificant compared to the strategies and plans he concocted during the war.
Growling, Prowl slapped the pads aside. His violent outburst fell over, sending all the pads flying and crashing into the walls and furniture, his servo crunched into the tables surface and flipping the table over. Despite the harshness of his of his outburst, it spilled over across the room. Furniture overturned or even broken in his tantrum. He needed to release the aggression, the frustration built over the last few cycles. Working so close to the new council left little room to vent and work through the frustration.
Cycling slow, calming his anger and systems from the over-worked tantrum. The room teetered; ruined furniture, fixtures and placings scattered with the now damaged datapads. His anger slowed to annoyance, it was always the same with his outbursts. Power kegs going off every time he allowed his frustrations and grievances to reach critical levels. But it was how he managed during the war; bottle everything until a fight or battle then vent on the enemy. Here, in the calm and quiet of peace times, there was no way of doing so. In addition, enemies are now allies and old grudges having to be forgiven. For what? An eon waged war just to be forgotten? No. He refused to have his work forgotten and wasted. He worked too long in the war to have all that effort cast aside!
“Prowl.”
Stiffening, he growled again. Turning to the hubsuite door, it closed shut behind the new mech. Optimus, his Prime, walked in while regarding the damage.
“I see your…stress relief technique is still effective,” Optimus nodded to the overturned table.
“What do you want, Prime?” Prowl hissed, turning away from the prime. Brushing a servo off, indicating the Prime could take a seat, he watched as Optimus overturned a couch.
“Bumblebee voiced his concern for you…Starscream also, surprisingly enough,” he admitted, watching as Prowl turned uninterested, idly picking up a datapad that somehow survived the carnage. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t see why you care, especially when there is nothing wrong,” Optimus sighed, annoyed now but the tactician’s old tricks. Divert and change the subject. It was a regular occurrence between them during the war. No matter how many times the Prime would question and inquire about his mental and physical health, Prowl would always brush it off or twist the conversation away from him. Though now seemed a poor time to revisit old habits, given it didn’t leave as believable a state as it did in the past. The trashed room was a clear indicator he was lying.
“And yet, you overturn this entire room. I doubt this is some poor attempt at redecoration,” Optimus could see Prowl trying to devise an explanation. He had memorised his tells, his calls and bluffs. He had become seasoned in reading the otherwise stoic tactician.
“A critic from the mech who entered my suite without so much as a knock?” Prowl questioned, turning to the Prime. “I never pegged you as a mech to be so rude.”
“I did knock, twice in fact,” Optimus admitted. “About the time I heard the ruckus and called in Red Alert to override your door code…I was concerned for your safety.”
“Of course, because everyone is your concern,” Prowl growled as Optimus stood. All this self-righteousness was making him feel sick. “The Prime thrown out on his aft, after being one half of the war, and yet still has the pitiful need to protect those who don’t. need. Help,” his hissing didn’t seem to faze the Prime. Turning to Optimus again, he did jump at how close the Prime had become.
“Prowl. Talk to me,” Prowl glowered, trying to hide the fact his servos clenched, gripping his arms tight enough to dent in order to keep his masked appearance.
“It isn’t your concern,” getting some distance from the Prime, he turned his attention to the suite window. Large and spanning most of the wall, he found the view of the peaceful Iacon streets more worth his time than the Prime behind him.
Optimus, however, remained in his place. Refusing to budge. This was his usual tactic. Prowl cursed his own weaknesses. The Prime’s optics burned into the back of his helm, causing an itch that grew increasingly annoying. He gripped his arms tighter, hoping to distract the annoying nag in the back of his helm. But persistent like a scraplet swarm, Optimus remained fixed.
“It isn’t…right,” he hissed, his steel resolve crumbling from the most insignificant of quirks. He couldn’t fight the growing itch of Optimus’ stare. “All of…this. This world. It isn’t…right.” Optimus shifted behind him, coming to look out the window beside him. “We fought for millennia, eons. Waged a war that spanned across the cosmos. So many tactics, so many strategic manoeuvres. Wasted. For this.”
“For peace.” Prowl’s optics glanced over, watching the Prime as he stared out across the cityscape. “We fought for freedom, equality. For peace. This is what all wished for, strove for.”
“What many died for,” Prowl added, his glare hardening.
“Indeed, so much was lost in the conflict, so many lives lost. None will be forgotten,” Optimus bowed, showing reverence and remembrance for those long gone.
“Deaths that could’ve been avoided if you had listened to me,” Prowl turned straight, facing Optimus as he remained fixed. “The Decepticons would’ve been stopped before the war if you had heeded my precautions. Battles would’ve been over in their infancy had you only listened!!”
“And how many of our own would’ve been killed?” Optimus snapped, turning to Prowl. He remained calm, never raising his voice. “How many Autobot lives would you have sacrificed? How many innocent humans or organic races would’ve been lost in the crossfire?”
“A necessary and calculated loss! We were at war for Primus sake!” Prowl snapped, his once cool and collected demeanour snatched away as the tantrum reared true. “They were the enemy! They changed the field! They did everything to win! We needed to do the same! Fight on level ground! But No! You had to be the self-righteous fool! Why should we have cared about organics, of all this! In our war?! We were suffering more than any of them!” he seethed, he raged, steam rising from his frame in small wisps. “And yet after all that, after all the loss, the fights and bloodshed…this is the world we’re stuck in!!” Arms thrown out, pointing at the city scape. “We’re just back at the beginning!! New Council! New Cities! Yet everything is the same as before! Four millennia wasted to just come BACK TO THE START!!”
Optimus watched as Prowl’s walls were breaking down. Stressors and built up aggressions spilling out.
“The council are fools! They fled and hid while the war ravaged their home! Hiding in the pit like cowards only to come back and have the GAUL to try and cover up everything we suffered!” Prowl growled and hissed, coolant threatening to spill over his optics. “They censor everything, they redact reports and statements, they dig up the sole reasons for this war and play it off as something new!! It makes no sense! There is no logical reason for them to…”
Prowl froze, coolant running in rivets as Optimus took a step forward, large arms wrapping around him. The warmth seeping into his frame from the larger mech left him limp as he was guided to the couch. Optimus sat down, keeping Prowl between his leg struts to give a sense of equal height. Prowl’s processor glitched and struggled to comprehend what was happening. Sure, Optimus had a few times before brought him some semblance of comfort, especially when he listened to his tactics or spoke his admiration of him, but never had he comforted him like this.
“You are right,” Prowl stiffened, looking down at Optimus. His arms tightened, he seemed more intent on using Prowl to comfort himself, than to comfort Prowl. It had started as showing support to Prowl, but his admission, the tightening grip, Prowl could tell he was seeking support as well. “Peace was all I wanted, equality and fairness for all. Throw out the caste system and abolish the corruption of the council. But now…to forget everything we have suffered, it shapes all as worthless. That all lost, all fought and killed for…was a waste of time and resources.”
“Is…that the reason you agreed to leave?” Prowl asked, unmoving and staring down at Optimus. His frozen and stiff frame starting to relax under his warmth.
“I’d hoped…it would set things straight. Leave on the condition that the past wasn’t repeated. I had hoped they would learn and use those lessons to bring Cybertron into a new age. A hope, I fear, has been quashed.”
Both remained silent then. Prowl unsure how to proceed and Optimus unable to move without the feeling of some warmth against him. There was no other he could speak to like this than Prowl. One close to his position, close to how he was feeling. Even if he didn’t, it was out now. He knew Prowl wouldn’t gossip or speak about it. He understood confidentiality.
Optimus gasped, feeling Prowl’s arms raise and wrap around his shoulder plates and neck cabling. He didn’t lean in or away. He didn’t feel tense or uncomfortable. The silence between them didn’t hang heavy nor suffocate. They basked in each other’s warmth, both settling in the comfort and understanding the other felt.
Neither would understand their motivations. However, despite their differences, Optimus could understand the frustrations of Prowl’s regrets and frustrations just as Prowl could grasp Optimus’ self-righteous need to provide comfort for those close, knowing it comes from his own view of his failures. Both simply needed someone to speak with, someone to listen and someone to simply be there for them.