Work Text:
Meditation, as it always did, found its way to Prowl like an old friend. He sat serenely, basking in the comforting quiet of his room as the open skylight allowed gentle sunbeams to swath the room in warmth. He still struggled to reconnect with his spark, but the natural inherent beauty of the Earth assisted in ways Cybertronian space never could.
Not even the inconsistent scritch of an over-sized vine charcoal interrupted his peace, with his ward merely a few feet away diligently doodling on the largest sketchpad the Autobots could get their servos on. Neither Bumble nor Prowl would consider the protoform a particularly talented—or even interested—artist, but he had promised Bulkhead to try and get into it.
Given the dirtied chamois beside him, and the mess of smudge marks on the pad itself, Prowl supposed that Bumble had found no luck in the art form. He could vaguely tell that his mentee had been observing a few of the birds that nested in his tree, but the sketches were juvenile and
They didn't often spend time like this, as they once had. For an entire zetta-cycle, Bumble had known no other than Prowl and Prowl had engaged in no company other than that which Bumble provided. A small protoform without an alt and a jaded failed cyber-ninja—an off pair if ever there was one.
And then they met the repair technicians who quite literally set off an explosion to their life style. Now, Bumble had other mechs to converse with outside of Prowl. He often spent his time hanging around Bulkhead, trailing after him on uncoordinated legs. But at least Prowl knew where to find him, now that Bumble had an alt mode—his first ever, and not even one of Cybertronian design—he'd consider it lucky if the protoform stuck around the base longer than was necessary.
At least, Bumble still sought Prowl out every now and then. In the privacy of his room, they could pretend as though they were still on that asteroid by which Bumble called home.
Admittedly, Prowl tried not to hover too closely, but there was still so much for Bumble to learn—things that only Prowl should teach him. The further that Bumble strayed away, the more he felt as though he had failed him in some manner. They fought nearly constantly nowadays and when they didn't, well, it was only a matter of time.
Without realizing that Prowl had been watching him, Bumble sighed. He shifted his legs down from a position only necessary to keep the pad propped up. He let the charcoal clatter to the ground, the force snapping the delicate medium easily. A little tray of similarly broken pieces sat beside him, a clear source of frustration when it came to the limitations of their size on this planet.
Yet, he had a feeling that it wasn't the activity itself that caused the verbalization or slump of his shoulders.
"Something on your mind?" Prowl asked, voice open and steady so as to not pry.
"Today was weird. Right?" Bumble glanced at him, before ducking his helm. "That whole birfday thing from earlier?"
"Birthday," he corrected absentmindedly, "How so? What specifically did you consider weird about it?"
"I don't know?" Earnestly, Bumble slid the sketchpad off of his thighs and adjusted his posture so that he could face Prowl directly. "I guess the whole idea of celebrating the day that you onlined with fuel and presents. What's the point in it? Not even Sari looked like she was having a good time."
Oh? Prowl… honestly hadn't noticed. Of course, he had been more preoccupied with the gaggle of children who surrounded them all and gauging how Bumble was faring but perhaps… Paltry excuses, even he knew that. Prowl noted to make it up to Sari at a later date, if not as soon as possible.
He couldn't admit as much to Bumble, however, and so he endeavored to answer his questions as a proper mentor should. "The act of celebration in of itself is the purpose. I don't practically mind the idea of cherishing another year lived, as that is a great cause to commemorate in rather a joyful occasion. Although I found the festivities a bit too excessive for myself." Then again, Prowl wasn't exactly a child.
"We never celebrated birthdays." Bumble frowned.
"No, we did not. But we are Cybertronian. It's not in our culture to do so, as we are rather long lived. Our years blend together easily, but the same cannot be said for most organics."
Bumble chewed at his lower lip, denting the plate with marks that Ratchet would scold him over later—to which Bumble would not learn his lesson and continue on with the habit he, unfortunately, gained from mimicking the humans around him.
"And… if we did celebrate my birthday…" Bumble started, hesitantly. "What day would that be?"
"Hm?" Broken from his thoughts, Prowl turned to look at his ward fully. His servos braced themselves on his knee-joints as he leaned forward. "Why even bring it up?"
"I'm just curious! Sari got to have a one and–"
"Because she is a human child," Prowl interrupted. "Even if Cybertronians recognized that celebratory annual milestone, you are not an adolescent nor were you ever one." Put a cap on the conversation, he added, "Not to mention, it's incredibly selfish to think of yourself over Sari when she had, as you already put it, an upsetting birthday as it stands."
"Well, you coulda fooled me because you still treat me like a protoform!" Bumble's voice raised, and as he often did ever since their crash landing on Earth, gained a combative tone. Before Prowl could get a chance to retort, he went, "I bet it's because you don't actually know when it is."
Never had Prowl felt their ever growing friction so clearly as he did now. "Considering that I was there when you miraculously gained a spark, I find the notion of that laughable. Where is this attitude coming from?"
"Nowhere," mulishly Bumble picked up one of the splintered pieces of charcoal. He rolled it between his digits before smushing it between them. It crumbled easily and the powered fragments sprinkled down on his knees that he drew further into his chest. "You can't even answer the question, which means I'm right, aren't I?"
"I haven't answered it because I don't find any merit in it. Not when you you're this irritable."
Bumble huffed loudly, shuffling away from Prowl. "Fine! I was talking to Optimus–" Immediately Prowl scowled at hearing the Prime's designation, "And he told me that because I was with you the whole time, there's no record of the day my protoform mold was made."
Prowl stilled and mentally cursed Optimus Prime to the Well and back. It did not escape his notice the particular wording the Prime had used, although Bumble might not have found the difference between the two.
The day by which Prowl awoke and found a self-ignited spark in the sole, stunted protoform he had rescued from the dojo seared itself into his memory banks. How could it not?
But the day that Bumble's protoform mold was produced? That information died with Yoketron, if it hadn't been logged somewhere safe in the ransacked stronghold. Which Prowl doubted considering the state by which he returned to find it in ruin.
With a scoff that belied confidence, he said, "Only a mech of Optimus' rank would find value in inconsequential information like that. You'll find that nobody else concerns themselves with remembering a date that trivial."
"Bulkhead knows his. Ratchet too." And it went without saying that Optimus had clearly spoken to Bumble about his own. "Maybe it's just you that doesn't know it." His facial sculpt twisted, "And now I'm never going to know mine."
'Because of you,' went unsaid. Prowl heard it all the same.
"What would you have me do?" Prowl challenged. "Convert the math of the day you were sparked to the Gregorian calendar?"
Petulantly, Bumble exclaimed, "Yes!"
"Even if I did," Prowl crunched the numbers quickly, using the conversion programming that Bulkhead and Ratchet collaborated on for a swift upload into the entire team's computers, "It wouldn't be for another year so you'd have to wait for it. A lesson in stillness that you have still not mastered, mind you."
Beseechingly, Bumble ignored his jab. "But I'd have a birthday?"
"Yes," he grimaced, "You would have a birthday. I'll even get you a toy the same way that Bulkhead got one for Sari, as ridiculous as that is to promise to a grown mech. Would that satisfy you enough to abandon this ridiculous argument?"
He could tell that it hadn't. But Bumble must have weighed the benefits of continuing it and come up empty because he backed off. "Yeah. I guess. But it better be a cool toy. Like a new game system or a puzzle."
"Don't push your luck. Now if you don't mind, I would prefer it if you could leave me alone for the time being." Any attempt now to return to his meditative state with Bumble still in the room was a lost cause.
"Whatever," Bumble mumbled. He collected all of his borrowed art supplies and slunk out Prowl's room.
Prowl watched him go, an ache in his chassis that he attributed to bad posture. He adjusted his form and tried to reconnect with the world around him but found it all too loud.