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Blaster glanced at the bot next to him.
"Not that I don't appreciate the help, but are you sure this is okay? Don't you need to take care of things at the base?"
"Little late to worry about that, Blaster," Jazz answered, his attention still focused on flying the shuttle. "But it'll be fine. Everyone knows what to do. We'll even come back before Optimus wakes up."
"He's still-? Did you authorize this mission yourself?"
"Yep. Now hold on, turbulence ahead."
The Decepticon base wasn't as well guarded as it could have been. A small section of Blaster's processor, one of the very few that weren't constantly thinking about the mission, chose to take at least partial credit for that. Con forces were in disarray, in no small part because of how precisely the Autobots had been able to hold them at bay during the battle.
"Alright, internal comms only from now on," Jazz sent.
They stealthily approached the less guarded hangar door at the bottom of the Decepticon base. Blaster quickly decided not to think too much about how Jazz knew of this point of entry.
The shuttle, an unmarked popular model that both sides were using often, had barely touched the floor of the hangar that the lone guard showed up. Blaster's electro-scrambler made quick work of that sentinel, and into the corridor they went.
"Soundwave will notice that something is up," Jazz said. "He's the only Con Commander here right now, but we need to do this quickly."
Blaster nodded. Their way through the base was taking them far from the hangar. Leaving would be far more complicated than getting in had been.
Jazz stopped abruptly in front of a door. To Blaster it didn't look any different from all the others they had walked past. But when Jazz kneeled in front of the keypad and began fiddling with the wires below it, he couldn't hold back his interrogations anymore.
"How do you know where to go?"
Jazz pinched two wires together and fused them to a third. "It's not the first time Soundwave tries to get information from a Bot. Usually it's just one of my mechs, so you don't hear about it."
"But then why would he not change his habits? How can you be sure it's here?"
"I'm just betting on his extremely short available time frame. He shouldn't have had the time to move his operations before the Cons evacuate the area," Jazz said.
Blaster thought about the numerous unmarked ships and shuttles they had flown past on the way here, all going in the other direction. Even with their losses and missing bots, the Autobots truly had won the battle today.
The smallest Click.
"Get ready. There will likely be at least one guard inside."
Jazz pushed the door, and Blaster shot the guard. Same build as the one in the hangar, same weapons, same frame details. He didn't stop to consider whether Soundwave required his mechs to be uniformed or if there was some drone nonsense going on.
Blaster barely took the time to rush towards the Con guard-possibly-drone and soften their fall. In this base, any sound would be suspect. Then he turned around and let Jazz do his magic with the computer.
There he was. Strapped on the table, wires connecting the back of his helm to the computer, Prowl didn't even twitch.
He heard Jazz send back to the Autobots the standard encrypted packet for Objective found, then another one for Prep the medbay.
Blaster anxiously approached the table. "They restrained him."
"And not just physically," Jazz added with barely repressed fury, going quickly through the computer and unplugging the wires. "Apparently Soundwave injected him with something to disable his motor functions."
Blaster couldn't let anger take hold of him. He couldn't.
"Does he know we're here?"
"Maybe? I can't take the time to look for sensor data."
Jazz had the most sensitive task of the two of them: whatever Soundwave had managed to get from Prowl's processor, it needed to disappear from the Cons' systems. There likely wouldn't even be time to destroy anything else.
Blaster entered fully what he knew to be Prowl's field of vision. Prowl didn't do anything to suggest he was seen.
A ping, then. Small enough that it wouldn't leave the room.
Nothing.
"They also disabled his communication suite," he said.
"Classic procedure for captured enemy combatants. It can't be solved here," Jazz nodded. Then he added: "I don't think Soundwave got anything too important. Prowl protects his processor too much."
Good. That was good, it meant the Autobots' efforts and sacrifices of the last months hadn't been for nothing. But Blaster couldn't convince himself that it was enough, not when Prowl was still lying on a table, unmoving, unseeing, unable to even hear him.
"Can I at least remove the restraints?" he asked.
Jazz quickly checked another file on the computer, then agreed. Not even booby-trapped shackles? Soundwave really had been in a hurry.
Blaster went to work. Whenever his hands touched the bindings, untying knots and removing fetters, Prowl didn't give any indication that he felt anything. But he couldn't be fully cut off from the world, right? Soundwave had to have kept something to control his prisoner.
So Blaster held his hand.
There. Under the plating, half-shrouded by the forced unresponsiveness, the small electrical currents Blaster knew so well. He slipped into the familiarity of chirolinguistics with ease.
Greetings.
Prowl didn't send anything back.
Help - offered. Friend - genuine. Affection - strong.
The language didn't allow for the accuracy that Blaster knew Prowl needed, but it should be enough to let him know a rescue was underway. Prowl still didn't answer.
Current situation - state of being over - soon. Affection - strong.
Hesitantly, weakly, Prowl's mind reached out. He wasn't as fluent as Blaster, but he was skilled enough to recognize someone's specific use of the language.
Just in case Prowl could feel touch, Blaster started tapping lightly on his hand.
long tap tap tap tap pause tap long tap tap tap pause tap long tap pause tap tap tap pause long tap
Concept of music - concept of communication - interrogation.
Blaster's spark swelled with love and pride. Of course Prowl had figured out a way to communicate his name with a language fundamentally adverse to detailed information.
Relief, he sent back. Affection - strong. Current situation - state of being over - soon.
Relief - strong, Prowl sent back in turn.
"I'm almost done," Jazz sent. "How is he doing?"
"He'll be better when he'll be able to move and talk, but we're mostly fine here. He doesn't seem to be harmed too much." Blaster was automatically cataloguing every trace or scrape on Prowl's frame, every evidence of fighting, every mark or indent left by the bindings, everything that could speak of mistreatment or torture. He didn't like what he saw, but none of it seemed life-threatening.
"Alright, perfect," Jazz said, at the same time as Prowl sent:
Current situation - interrogation.
"He wants to know what we're doing now."
"We're leaving as soon as possible. Just need to figure out a way to carry him to the shuttle. We can't take the time to reconnect his motor functions now."
Blaster did his best to communicate that to Prowl. While the computer was deleting files and programs, Jazz looked through the room, searching for anything that could help, but what little equipment was present wouldn't help.
"I hate this," Jazz said suddenly, "but we're going to have to use the restraints."
Blaster froze. He wanted to protest the idea, to point out how cruel it would be, especially now that he knew Prowl could feel what was happening to his frame. But the evidence was there. They wouldn't be able to carry Prowl between themselves if his limbs were dangling without control, not with it slowing them down too much on the way out. There was nothing else in the room that could make such an escape easier.
"He's going to hate it too," Blaster warned.
"I know. But I have to pull rank here. Prowl is in no condition to walk out by himself." Jazz looked genuinely sorry.
Blaster, too, loathed the idea. But they were all seasoned enough to face the facts. Getting Prowl out of Soundwave's clutches had to take precedence, even over Prowl's distress.
"…Fine."
Blaster took the time to compose a message to Prowl, apologies mixed with as much explanation as he could give without actual words.
Self - action of trusting - Recipient of message, Prowl sent when he was done. Then: Affection - strong.
Apology. Self - being - affection - strong - for - Recipient of message, Blaster sent back. This time, he took the time to put as much detail as he could in the message.
Then he began putting the restraints on his partner again.
It was an easy but time-consuming task, and Blaster hated every step of it. He tried not to think of how much time Soundwave had spent strapping up Prowl to that table in the first place. Every time his hands brushed against Prowl's plating, every time he had to move a limb out of the way, he had to force himself to push to the back of his emotional processes the rising blend of anger and grief.
What he couldn't ignore was the quivering of Prowl's frame. The alarm almost seeping out of him now that he could let himself show emotions. The fear Blaster was feeling every time their fingers or their palms touched the other's.
Current situation - state of being over - soon. Apology.
"Alright, it's done," Jazz said. "How's Prowl?"
Blaster reluctantly tested the last bindings. "It's not perfect, but it'll hold until we're in the shuttle."
He held Prowl's hand for a second.
Apology. Now - Recipient of message - with - Self - action of leaving. Action of going - to - concept of home.
The plating was trembling, but the answer arrived near-instantly.
Trust - strong. Affection - strong.
"We need to go now," Jazz said, already looking out the door.
And just like that, they were gone, Prowl carried between the two of them, unable to see or hear anything. The way back to the hangar felt much longer than it had a few minutes earlier. But Blaster knew that as soon as they reached the hangar and the shuttle, they would be as good as safe.
He heard it from two corridors away. The gait specific to a bulky frame type, the assuredness of a bot who knew they were in control of the situation, the slightest vibration of the radio waves.
"Soundwave is coming," he warned.
Jazz immediately let Prowl's weight rest on Blaster. "I'll face him. You take Prowl and you run. We regroup at the shuttle."
"You're sure you can take him alone?"
Jazz threw him a look. "Better me than you. You've got to get Prowl back to base."
Then Jazz transformed and drove away, back into the depths of the Decepticon base, before Blaster could say anything else.
So Blaster went back to walking towards the shuttle, holding Prowl however he could, but mostly by the restraints that brought his partner so much anguish.
Soon enough, he could hear an explosion of sound somewhere in the corridors behind. Soundwave would, temporarily, be rendered almost deaf by Jazz's signature attack, and likely almost blind too. The Decepticon wouldn't be able to follow them or get his prisoner back.
This reasoning, though, took place entirely at the back of his processor. His conscious thoughts were focused on sending the same message through Prowl's limp palm, over and over.
Apology. Apology. Apology. Apology.