Chapter Text
"What do you think?"
Bluestreak slid to the side, shaking his servos in the direction of the shelf above the berth to reveal a line of holos.
"They are perfect." Prowl praised, stroking a servo over his creation's chevron. His spark warmed when when Bluestreak leant into the touch. Most vornagers would have cringed away from their creator at Bluestreak's age. But both had learnt the hard way the need treasure every moment together, lest it be their last.
"I appreciate their chronological display," Prowl continued, his optics tracing from the first holo of a grey blob curled against their Carrier's chassis, to the most recent, where a young mechling with a trophy made of melted scrap metal held high above his helm and a beam across their face stood in front of a shooting scoreboard, Bluestreak's name at the top.
Prowl stroked a servo over the holo with the same tenderness he had for his creation.
Prowl had ensured to take an image capture of each of his Creation's milestones. It was an efficient way to display Bluestreak's development, and Prowl was proud to show off these feats should the situation require. Or even if it didn't.
Although, a part of Prowl hoped that he could show it to Bluestreak's Sire one day, so he could still share in the moments he had unintentionally missed, despite the fact that Prowl knew it was a pointless hope.
Prowl had run the calculations many times, mostly at night when Bluestreak was asleep and Prowl couldn't stop his tact net from churning.
He knew that Ricochet had been a stage name, had done when they met that first night in an energon bar that Prowl hadn't wanted to step a pede in, but would forever be greatful to his co-workers for dragging him inside.
But in those months after Prowl learnt he had left that night sparked, he hadn't expected Ricochet's real designation to be so impossible to find. It was though the mech was a ghost. Whether the mech really was a spector or more likely involved in some measure of underground crime, it didn't change the fact that Prowl couldn't find him. And if Prowl couldn't track him down, the former enforcer was forced to concede that the task would be impossible.
Then the war started. And Prowl had been forced to admit that the mech had most likely been one of the many millions lost in the Decepticons first few years of genocide.
Prowl could only hope that their death had been painless. Unlike Praxus' had.
It was not a fate that anyone, not even the imperfect city-state deserved.
As a single creator Prowl had seen first hand those imperfections. He had been lucky that Bluestreak could pass for entirely Praxian otherwise the stigma would have been even worse.
It was why Prowl had been attended a job interview for an enforcer role in Iacon, leaving his Creation with his cousin in Praxus with the plan he could then take Bluestreak with him on his next trip to what should have been their new home.
Of course, that was when Decepticons decided to make Praxus their next target for decimation. After that, Prowl had vowed never to leave Bluestreak alone again.
KNOCK KNOCK
Thankful for the distraction to stop his processor from further spiralling, Prowl turned to open the hab-suite door.
On the other side stood the towering form of Optimus Prime.
"I hope you are settling into your hab-suite alright?" The Prime asked, his faceplate sliding back to reveal a smile.
"We are, thank you sir." Prowl nodded. In truth, the two room hab would be a slightly cramped given that Bluestreak was no longer a sparkling. But Prowl knew that with the Autobot forces now receding to the Ark, that the once great spaceship didn't have much space to spare. So it would have to surface.
"I am glad." The Prime replied, "If you are ready, then please, allow me to introduce you to the rest of High Command?"
Prowl glanced back over his shoulder only for Bluestreak to try to push him out the door.
"I'll finish putting everything out!" Bluestreak cried. "You go make friends!"
"My purpose is not to make friends." He was here to kill Megatron for what he had done to his sparkling.
"Well, hopefully we might be able to make some friends along the way." Optimus added, stepping aside so his frame no longer blocked the doorway.
Before Prowl made to follow, he opened his arms, glad that his creation didn't hesitate to give him one last hug. Prowl gave a lingering squeeze before letting go. Prowl's spark still stung at the thought of letting his sparkling out of his sight. But Bluestreak was nearly in his final frame now. And Prowl had taught him to be able to take care of himself.
Prowl followed the Prime to High Command, the mech clearly making an effort to make do on Bluestreak's desire for Prowl to find friendship as along the way, Optimus attempted to ask Prowl's about his interests.
Since the only previous people to have taken an interest in Prowl's life, having been his cousin, his creation and his creation's sire, Prowl's processor did not possess the social knowledge on how to best to respond. But his answers must have been suitable enough as the Prime's smile remained till they arrived at the meeting room.
Optimus graciously holding open the door. Prowl gave a nod of thanks before stepping inside.
It looked like the rest of High Command were already there.
Although, it wasn't what exactly Prowl had expected an Autobot High Command meeting to look like.
A pink femme Prowl recognised to be the Autobot's Second in Command was downing what looked like a cube of engex whilst ignoring the sparking audial horns of the mech rambling away to himself besides her. The Autobot CMO, who had been sending Prowl pings every hour since his arrival to schedule a full frame evaluation, was shouting at a grey mech with red and green racing stripes whilst simultaneously soldering on what appeared to be the mech's missing finger. And a blue femme was winning an arm wrestling match against a much burlier red mech who despite being moments away from losing had a big grin on his face.
Prowl's processor had barely begun to process the sight in front of him, when his attention was snatched by the sound of laughter.
Crouched near the front of the room was a red and yellow cassette carrier hooking up wires to a hologram projector. But Prowl's processor paid them no mind.
No, Prowl's entire focus was on the mech lounging on the table next to them, helm tilted, back arched and bumper jutted out, just as it had been when Prowl had first laid sight on him. Laughter as melodic as song poured out of the mech's smile, straight into Prowl's audials, taking the Praxian back to that night, that same sound sending a shiver down his spinal strut as it was breathed against his audials, servos that had earlier been making music out an electro-base, later dragging music out of Prowl's vocaliser.
And again, just as it had that night, that visor snapped towards Prowl, singling him out amongst a crowd.
The mech jumped up from the table, obviously as surprised to see Prowl as Prowl was to see him.
Though, part of Prowl was surprised to have elicited a reaction at all.
For this mech, their union had only resulted in one night of passion. For Prowl, it had given him his creation. There was no reason for them to remember Prowl.
Yet clearly, they did.
That impossible fact being the final factor to tip Prowl's processor over into a crash.
The last sight his optics saw, was Bluestreak's Sire, racing to catch him, before everything went black.