Alone
Title: Alone
Verse: G1 AU
Rating: PG
Warnings: angst, mention of cannon character death
Characters/pairing: Prowl, First Aid, mentions of Jazz, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Ratchet, Optimus
It cut deep, even though there was no actual physical pain involved. There was nothing wrong with his spark. At least nothing wrong that First Aid would be able to detect with a scanner. He and Jazz had never bonded, had never allowed themselves that indulgence, no matter how much they had both craved the idea of that closeness.
Most of the crew had no idea how close the two of them had been. Had no idea of the small twinges that had run through Prowl every time he had seen members of the crew moving forward with their lives, at least as well as anyone could in the middle of a war, and being denied that same chance himself.
It was no external source that had stayed their actions and leashed their emotions and desires. It was internal, an agreement and understanding between the two of them. A precaution against a circumstance such as this.
Even though neither of them ever imagined this sort of scenario. One of them passing on during the course of the war they expected. Both of them dying before the end of the war was certainly not beyond the realm of probability. But neither of them had expected to survive their Prime.
And now Prowl found himself virtually alone. There was a new Prime. There was a new command staff. And he was alone. There were others left from his generation, this was true, but all of them had somehow blended seamlessly into the new command structure.
There was nothing for him to do, and what was even worse was the fact that no one was interested in trying to find something for him to do. All of his requests for some sort of work, for some sort of direction and purpose, had been denied. For medical reasons, they kept insisting. For his own good, the responses always read.
When Prowl had confronted First Aid about this the young medic had looked thoroughly appalled and, much to Prowl's sorrow and pity, apologetic. In fact, the young mech had been unable to meet his optics, looking at the floor, the wall, the empty berth, anywhere but a direction where he would meet the optics of the mech he was speaking to.
"I've tried Prowl. But I'm still young, and my word doesn't carry a lot of weight around here yet. And I'm, I'm no-" First Aid had choked there, and Prowl had been able to finish the sentence that the young medic could not. I'm no Ratchet. I'm no force of nature to bend all to my will, from the lowest recruit to the Prime himself.
"I keep telling them that you don't need the time. Don't want the time. To give you something to do. And they keep refusing me. I don't know why…"
Prowl had thanked him quietly and went on his way. He knew why, even if First Aid did not. He was not worth the effort. He was old, out of date and obviously damaged. There was no place for him in the new command staff, and there was no place for him among the common soldiers, for he had been an officer far to long for them to accept him among their ranks again. And there was no one with the time to spare to find something for him to do.
His fears confirmed, Prowl made his way back to his old office and set down at his terminal. Even when his position as Second in Command had been revoked no one had taken over his space. No one had needed or wanted the place where he had done so much work.
Prowl almost wished they had. Even if it was a place where he had spent countless joors stressed, overworked, under-fueled and on the verge of offlining from lack of recharge, the room had some good memories too.
There, on the far wall, was the dent he had never bothered to have fixed from one of the twins pranks backfiring. He never had been quite able to figure out what Sideswipe thought he was doing with those magnets, but it had been rather entertaining to come in that morning and find the mech suspended from the wall by his aft.
Feeling thoroughly vindictive and not at all responsible for getting the red mech out of the position he managed to find his way into, Prowl had left him there for the entire day. Sideswipe had not gotten down until his twin had shown up to rescue him later that evening. And even then the yellow Lamborghini had threatened to leave Sideswipe there to suffer from his own stupidity.
Jazz had laughed when Prowl had told him the story. The saboteur had been away on a mission when the red twin had made the attempt, and the light-sparked tale, related in Prowl dry brand of humor, had been what the mech had needed to relieve some stress.
It had not hurt that Jazz had fallen from his chair when Prowl had added in a little detail. Prowl had left Sideswipe hanging on the office wall all day on the mechs' only day off that week.
"Cold mech! Cold! Guess' that's jus' incentive fer me ta make sure mah pranks gonna roll when I pull it."
A prank that would never happen now.
Venting softly, Prowl began to write what was probably the last official document he would ever submit as an Autobot.
Verse: G1 AU
Rating: PG
Warnings: angst, mention of cannon character death
Characters/pairing: Prowl, First Aid, mentions of Jazz, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Ratchet, Optimus
It cut deep, even though there was no actual physical pain involved. There was nothing wrong with his spark. At least nothing wrong that First Aid would be able to detect with a scanner. He and Jazz had never bonded, had never allowed themselves that indulgence, no matter how much they had both craved the idea of that closeness.
Most of the crew had no idea how close the two of them had been. Had no idea of the small twinges that had run through Prowl every time he had seen members of the crew moving forward with their lives, at least as well as anyone could in the middle of a war, and being denied that same chance himself.
It was no external source that had stayed their actions and leashed their emotions and desires. It was internal, an agreement and understanding between the two of them. A precaution against a circumstance such as this.
Even though neither of them ever imagined this sort of scenario. One of them passing on during the course of the war they expected. Both of them dying before the end of the war was certainly not beyond the realm of probability. But neither of them had expected to survive their Prime.
And now Prowl found himself virtually alone. There was a new Prime. There was a new command staff. And he was alone. There were others left from his generation, this was true, but all of them had somehow blended seamlessly into the new command structure.
There was nothing for him to do, and what was even worse was the fact that no one was interested in trying to find something for him to do. All of his requests for some sort of work, for some sort of direction and purpose, had been denied. For medical reasons, they kept insisting. For his own good, the responses always read.
When Prowl had confronted First Aid about this the young medic had looked thoroughly appalled and, much to Prowl's sorrow and pity, apologetic. In fact, the young mech had been unable to meet his optics, looking at the floor, the wall, the empty berth, anywhere but a direction where he would meet the optics of the mech he was speaking to.
"I've tried Prowl. But I'm still young, and my word doesn't carry a lot of weight around here yet. And I'm, I'm no-" First Aid had choked there, and Prowl had been able to finish the sentence that the young medic could not. I'm no Ratchet. I'm no force of nature to bend all to my will, from the lowest recruit to the Prime himself.
"I keep telling them that you don't need the time. Don't want the time. To give you something to do. And they keep refusing me. I don't know why…"
Prowl had thanked him quietly and went on his way. He knew why, even if First Aid did not. He was not worth the effort. He was old, out of date and obviously damaged. There was no place for him in the new command staff, and there was no place for him among the common soldiers, for he had been an officer far to long for them to accept him among their ranks again. And there was no one with the time to spare to find something for him to do.
His fears confirmed, Prowl made his way back to his old office and set down at his terminal. Even when his position as Second in Command had been revoked no one had taken over his space. No one had needed or wanted the place where he had done so much work.
Prowl almost wished they had. Even if it was a place where he had spent countless joors stressed, overworked, under-fueled and on the verge of offlining from lack of recharge, the room had some good memories too.
There, on the far wall, was the dent he had never bothered to have fixed from one of the twins pranks backfiring. He never had been quite able to figure out what Sideswipe thought he was doing with those magnets, but it had been rather entertaining to come in that morning and find the mech suspended from the wall by his aft.
Feeling thoroughly vindictive and not at all responsible for getting the red mech out of the position he managed to find his way into, Prowl had left him there for the entire day. Sideswipe had not gotten down until his twin had shown up to rescue him later that evening. And even then the yellow Lamborghini had threatened to leave Sideswipe there to suffer from his own stupidity.
Jazz had laughed when Prowl had told him the story. The saboteur had been away on a mission when the red twin had made the attempt, and the light-sparked tale, related in Prowl dry brand of humor, had been what the mech had needed to relieve some stress.
It had not hurt that Jazz had fallen from his chair when Prowl had added in a little detail. Prowl had left Sideswipe hanging on the office wall all day on the mechs' only day off that week.
"Cold mech! Cold! Guess' that's jus' incentive fer me ta make sure mah pranks gonna roll when I pull it."
A prank that would never happen now.
Venting softly, Prowl began to write what was probably the last official document he would ever submit as an Autobot.