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sakon76I have inlaws visiting from England this week, so updates may be a bit less frequent for a while.
Warning level... some cursing, m/m pairings. So don't read if that offends you. Elsewise, enjoy!
Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger
part 7: Digging in the Dirt
by K. Stonham
prereleased 26th August 2007
"You want what, Prime?" Jack asked, looking up in startlement from the photograph he'd been handed.
Optimus smiled indulgently, knowing that Jack had heard his request full well the first time, just hadn't bothered to process it. "The woman and the girl in that picture--I need their images run through an aging program to show what they'd look like today. Ten years older," he amended, as the picture didn't have a date stamp on it.
Jack looked at the picture again, at the man who stood with the other two in the photograph. "Only ten?" he muttered to himself, then looked back up, hoping their team leader hadn't caught his question. It didn't look like he had. "Sure, no problem, Prime," he said. "I'll get right on it. When do you need this by?"
"The morning meeting, if that's possible."
"Definitely no problem," Jack said, setting the photo down on his work table and swinging his laser scanner into position above it. He pressed a button and the machine hummed to life. "Is this related to the current investigation?"
"Possibly." Optimus folded his arms across his chest and watched.
Jack looked up from calibrating the scanner. "Who were they, Prime?" he asked quietly, not really expecting to be told.
"My wife," Optimus replied equally quietly, surprising him, "and her niece."
"You think Cybercon has them?"
"I don't know." He watched for a minute as light waves swept across the photograph. "I'll pick that up in the morning, with the aged images?" he asked.
"Sure, Prime," Jack answered. "I'll have it all ready for you."
"Thank you, Jack." Optimus headed for the lab's door but paused just inside it to turn and look back. "Jack?"
He looked up from his work. "Yes, Prime?"
"Only ten years," Optimus assured him with a small, bright smile, and disappeared out into the hallway.
Jack stared after the vanished Project CO for a minute, then shook his head and laughed a little. But as he looked back at the photograph, his laughter dimmed. "Only ten years, huh?" he asked himself softly. The man in the photograph looked at least twenty years younger than Jack's friend and commanding officer... not ten. "Wouldn't believe it if you hadn't said it, Prime...."
*
Jaysen woke to an empty bed and the sound of the shower running. He blinked a little, surprised, then sat up, reaching for his visor where he'd left it on Prowl's bedside table. His internal clock and Prowl's bedside clock matched up, he saw, and the alarm for the latter hadn't gone off yet. He shut the alarm off for the day; no point having it go off in fifteen minutes when they were both awake already. He stretched a little. He wasn't precisely sore; very little Prowl could do would actually result in physical damage to him, but their play the night before had definitely been out of the usual milieu, leaving Jaysen with a psychological if not physical need to work the kinks out. He half-laughed at the thought of what Ratchet's reaction would be to that statement.
The shower stopped running and he waited a few minutes until Prowl came out of the bathroom, one towel wrapped around his waist, another being used to dry his hair. "Mornin'. Didn't sleep well?" Jaysen asked.
"I couldn't stay in bed any more," Prowl said, surprising Jaysen even more. Jaysen was always awake and out of bed before Prowl the nights he stayed over; the detective's eight hours were practically sacred and Prowl always got really, really cranky or hungover when he was shorted. "The shower's free."
"M' thanks," Jaysen replied after a second. Maybe he was the one who was feeling foggy this morning, he thought as he headed for the promised water. Because Prowl seemed to be feeling fine.
Things continued just a little odd, though, through breakfast, where Prowl, normally good on the idea of breakfast being the most important meal of the day, only wanted toast and juice. Then things seemed odder still as he asked if Jaysen wanted to drive the both of them to the base. They'd usually take separate cars, having different places to go during the day, and when they did go somewhere together, Prowl always drove. For some reason he didn't trust Jaysen's driving. Taken aback by the offer, Jaysen agreed, trying to figure out what was wrong. Had he done something wrong and this was some kind of passive-aggressive payback? That didn't seem very Prowl-ish, though. Disquieted, he kept his senses attuned to his partner as they walked into the conference room for the briefing regarding yesterday's visit to Cybercon.
*
"So," Peter asked mildly once everyone was seated, "how did it go?"
"We got a rather nice tour of their labs and production facility," Chip answered him. "Their product seems to be genuine enough."
"They're manufacturing a completely viable commodity," Prowl added in. "If there's anything odd about Cybercon, it's not their product."
"We did, however, meet Mrs. Witwicky," Chip said, looking at Sparkplug. "I asked if she had any relatives in Tranquility. She said no, and that she was a widow. I'm sorry, Sparkplug."
Sparkplug's mouth was a grim line, but he nodded anyway. "What she's doing there?"
Chip's mouth quirked up but Peter couldn't call his expression a smile. "We had a very informative discussion about the synaptic nerve relay connections in the prosthetics."
"Heh." Sparkplug breathed something like miserable laughter. "She always was best at the interfaces...."
"Did you see Buster?" Spike asked.
"Sorry, we didn't," Chip replied, shaking his head. "We didn't meet everyone there, though."
"Another question, then," Peter spoke up. He passed copies of Jack's age-enhanced photographs to the two men. "Did you see either of these women?"
Chip and Prowl accepted the pictures and studied them for a moment. "The younger one, yes," Prowl said, nodding. "She was a receptionist there. The older, no."
Peter steepled his hands before his face, closing his eyes, and took a deep breath.
"Prime?" Chip asked.
He opened his eyes again and forced clarity. "This investigation may have just gotten more complicated," he told his team. "If she's the same one, that woman--Robin Chambers--was declared dead ten years ago, along with her aunt and several other individuals. They were presumed to be victims of a... psychopath named Marshall Travers. He was never caught. Body parts of both women, along with those of several other victims, were discovered in a hunting lodge he owned. No complete bodies were ever recovered. Robin's left arm, from the elbow down, was all that was found of her."
"Camo-skin prosthetics," Chip said quietly, looking slightly sick. "Fully articulated, indistinguishable from normal limbs...."
"So are we lookin' at th' possibility that this Travers dude might be part a' Cybercon, then?" Jazz asked.
"It's a possibility," Peter admitted. "He was always highly intelligent, charismatic, and disciplined."
"You sound like you knew him personally," Prowl observed levelly.
"He was... a fellow Naval officer," Peter said, "though that was hushed up as best it could be. And...." He took a breath. His team needed full disclosure and a complete set of information to work from. Anything less might be endangering them all. "My stepbrother," he admitted quietly. Shocked silence rippled through the room. "Ariel," he said, nodding at the photographs, "was my wife. We were raising Robin after her parents died."
Jazz was the first to recover his voice. "So that's how they got ya int' this?"
Peter nodded.
"I'd like to see their case files, Prime," Prowl requested. "If he was as charismatic as you're implying, it's possible that we might be dealing with a case of cult fanaticism."
"Judy would never have--" Sparkplug started, but was cut off by the steely look Prowl leveled at him.
"Can you be sure?" Prowl demanded.
"Prowl, ease off, man," Jazz said, placing a hand on his friend's arm. "Ain't no reason t' be makin' those kinda accusations without facts."
"Not all of us live in a dream world, Jazz," Prowl replied acidly, glaring at Jazz.
*
Jaysen stopped breathing and just stared at Prowl. "Prowl...?" he asked incredulously. The cruel smirk he got in response wasn't something he could ever have imagined on his friend's face.
"What's wrong?" Prowl asked in response, blue eyes practically glowing. "Don't like truth?"
Something crystallized in that moment, the nagging sense Jaysen had been having all morning, hell, even since last night, coming to the fore and suddenly making sense. "Ya ain't Prowl," he breathed. Something had gone wrong at Cybercon and either this wasn't Prowl or it was and he'd had something done to him--
Jaysen lunged for Prowl as quickly as his altered body would allow him to do, faster than any human would be able to move, and slammed him up against the wall. "Ratchet!" he shouted down a comm line, "I need ya, now!" He shifted his grip, right arm with body weight behind it pinning Prowl to the wall while his left hand held both of Prowl's wrists over his head.
"Jazz, what are you doing?" Prime demanded.
Prowl tried to fight, eyes mad and glittering, teeth bared in a gleeful snarl. "Want the truth, Jazz?" he asked, body writhing against Jaysen's in some kind of sick parody of the real way they touched. The way they'd touched just the night before. "That 'us' is for pity and perversion only, that--"
"Shut up," Jaysen snarled. "Ratchet!"
"I'm coming," Ratchet sniped irritably back.
"Not human," Prowl breathed, taunted. "You lost the man to the machine the first time you killed, and you know it. You're an illusion, trying to keep yourself alive against the truth--"
Ratchet entered the conference room and blinked at the tableau before him. "Scan 'im, Ratchet," Jaysen demanded, ignoring the smoke-like curl of self-doubt Prowl was working so hard to put into his mind. Ignoring how his teammates had gathered around in a half-circle, not sure whether he was in the right, or if the poisonous words coming from Prowl were genuine. Jazz had no doubts. "This ain't Prowl talkin'... least not th' Prowl I know. Somethin's wrong."
Eyes flicking back and forth between the two of them, Ratchet stepped closer, holding both hands out toward Prowl, hovering just inches away from him. His hands glowed soft red as Ratchet's eyes half-shuttered; the right hand moved down, the left up. He paused and blinked his eyes back open, though, and circled quickly around behind Jaysen, scanning the right side of Prowl's head more closely. "There's something there," he said, and looked beyond Jaysen. "Bumblebee, hold his head still."
Jaysen's "little brother" stepped forward, teeth gritted against one another, then took hold, keeping Prowl's mouth shut, as Ratchet pulled a scalpel out of one of his arm caches. "Turn his head to the left," Ratchet instructed. After Bumblebee obeyed, he made a cut to something hidden behind Prowl's ear. Prowl gave a low moan in his throat, his body stiffening. A thin line of blood crept down the line of his jaw as Ratchet exchanged his scalpel for tweezers. "Steady now," he instructed, pulling something small and dark out of Prowl. His movement was smooth and slow and as he moved back Jaysen could see why: the small black square captured in the tweezers trailed several long wires behind it as it was pulled out of Prowl. His stomach churned sick at the thought. That had been in Prowl....
Finally it was all out, wires falling slack.
"It looks like a dead spider," Bumblebee sent, staring, relaxing his grip. It did, kind of... not near enough legs and those it had were about a foot long, but....
"Who put that in him," Prime demanded, stepping forward, "and when?" His voice was calm but his face looked like a gathering storm.
"What is it?" Spike added in fascination.
"I think we have a little research project on our hands here," Ratchet said grimly.
That was when Prowl made a keening noise and started to hyperventilate.
*
Sam looked up from the spider-chip as Prowl started gasping for air. Their tactician's gaze flitted rapidly from one face to another, terror compounding on his expression with each glance. Bumblebee had already let him go but Jazz hadn't. He did so now as Prowl pressed himself back against the wall like he was trying to get as far from any of them as he could. "Prowl...?" Jazz asked confusedly. Then his eyes widened as if in sudden realization. He stepped back closer in to his don't-call-him-my-boyfriend. "Don't look at them," he demanded. "Prowl!"
"I can't--not," Prowl gasped. "Jazz--" And looking at Jazz seemed to make him more scared than anything, blood draining from his face.
Jazz took a breath, let it out. "Close your eyes," he said, sounding way too calm. He held Prowl's head in his hands, faces so close together they were practically touching, sharing breath, forcing Prowl to look only at him. "Close your eyes, Prowl," he reiterated more softly. "Trust me." Held still, Prowl obeyed, his breathing stuttering into half-sobs as his eyes slid closed, shutting them all out.
Sam took a half-step back, giving them room as Jazz guided Prowl down the wall until the detective was sitting down, knees drawn up to his chest, hands still in white-knuckled fists. A line of blood trickled down the side of his neck, disappeared under his collar. A growing red stain showed where the cotton was absorbing it. Prowl's entire body shook slightly, practically humming with tension, as Jazz knelt down next to him, hands gentle on Prowl's shoulders. Jazz glanced around at the rest of them. "Gimme a minute," he asked. "Keep quiet." Not understanding what was going on, Sam slowly nodded.
"Prowl," Jazz said aloud, voice soft. "There ain't no one else here. Jus' th' two a' us."
"But--"
"Jus' th' two a' us," Jazz repeated firmly, running soothing strokes down Prowl's arms. "No one else. Th' chip took away your walls, didn't it?"
The only answer was Prowl's harsh, more than slightly panicked breathing. Tears ribboned down his cheeks from his fiercely shut eyes.
"'S okay," Jazz soothed. "'S okay, man. Ya jus' need t' rebuild 'em." He paused. "Picture y'self inside a wall a' light," he started, and Sam bet the saboteur was making it up as he went along. "Ya can see other people through it, but they can't get inside 'less ya let 'em. Can't hurt ya 'less ya let 'em. Th' wall's good an' thick an' strong. Ya see that wall 'round ya, Prowl?" asked Jazz.
Prowl nodded just a little bit, his eyes still shut.
"You're safe inside a' that wall, right?"
Prowl nodded again.
"No one can hurt ya, right?"
One more nod. Prowl was almost breathing normally again.
"Th' only people inside a' that wall're th' ones you've let in... anyone in there with ya?" Jazz's voice was quiet and carefully modulated. It was kind of like watching a snake charmer entrance a cobra, Sam thought. Hypnotic.
"Carla...."
Jazz waited a long minute before asking very, very quietly, "'M I in there, Prowl?" It sounded like he didn't know the answer.
"...Yes." Prowl's answer was even quieter than Jazz's question. But nonetheless it took some of the tension away from Jazz's shoulders as he took a deep breath.
"'Kay. Now... I need ya t' tell me what happened t' ya at Cybercon."
*
Detach, Michael thought to himself. Describe it like it happened to someone else. Let it all happen outside the wall that kept him apart from the world. Watch it happen like a movie, and describe....
"Certainly," Doctor Arkeville said. "I have those figures in my computer in my office. Come right this way...."
He followed the doctor back to his office, leaving Chip with Judy Witwicky. The doctor seemed earnest enough. Was it possible, Michael wondered, that he didn't know that something was amiss with his department?
"Right in here," the doctor said, opening a door. "This will just take a minute."
Following the doctor inside, Michael looked around the small room and had just enough time to wonder where the computer was before he was grabbed from behind, his arms pinned at his sides. "What--" he gasped before a large hand with a painful grasp wrenched his head to one side, the fingers painfully forcing his mouth shut.
It was like fighting with Jazz. It was like the alleyway that one night, except Jazz had been trying not to hurt him--
"Why, thank you, Barry," Doctor Arkeville said, going to a small tray on one counter. He picked up something that gleamed silver. A scalpel, Michael's mind automatically cataloged even as he struggled against the immovable grasp caging him. "Don't worry, young man, this won't hurt a bit," the doctor said, and Michael suddenly recognized the light in his eyes that he'd thought was kindliness for what it actually was. Sociopathy. "Just a little more to the left," Arkeville instructed the figure that held Michael prisoner. Michael's head was obediently turned.
A slash of fire burned behind his ear as the scalpel sliced.
"Just another second," the doctor crooned comfortingly as he picked up something from the tray with a pair of tweezers. A small black square. He pushed it in to the cut he'd made. For a minute, there was nothing but more ache.
Then the world exploded into fire and Michael was consumed by thick black wrongness that coiled around him, choking him, devouring him, until nothing made sense anymore and the things that had been right became wrong--
*
"Arkeville," Jazz vowed, "is mine."
"Not yet," Peter replied the same way. "We need more information first. Ratchet, I need you to scan Chip and make sure he's uninfected."
"Yes, Prime." Ratchet gestured Sparkplug forward and carefully handed him the tweezers grasping the small chip, then went back around the conference table to examine their other team member. Sparkplug held the chip carefully, glowering at it like the vile thing it was.
Prowl was still huddling sheltered by the wall, shaking just slightly with every breath he drew. Tears glistened on his cheeks, his eyes closed again. It was frightening, Peter thought, how someone normally so in possession of himself would be reduced to a wreck by having that tiny bit of technology in his head for less than twenty-four hours. His heart hurt for the damage done to one of his team's members, no matter how new Prowl was, and his conscience twinged. Maybe Jazz had been right, he thought. But there was no one else they could have sent. "'S alright, Prowl," Jazz said soothingly. He pushed up his left sleeve and opened one of his bicep caches, drawing out a capped tube and a sterile syringe. "'M gonna give ya something t' help ya sleep, an' thing's'll be better when ya wake. I promise. Ya trust me?"
Prowl nodded, just a hint of a whisper escaping him: "Yes."
"Ratch', how much should I give 'im?"
"Of the Versed? Two and a half milligrams, no more," Ratchet replied. "Prime, Chip's clear."
"Good," Peter replied, watching Jazz carefully measure out the clear liquid and inject it into Prowl. The drug was fast-acting; Prowl was already slumping into unconsciousness by the time Jazz had put his supplies away. It was no surprise to him how gentle Jazz was in catching Prowl.
*
"Jazz?" Spike's voice was hesitant. "What's... wrong with Prowl?"
Jaysen sighed. It was Prowl's secret and he'd never even been entrusted with it, but now it was pretty damn well out in the open. All he could hope to manage was damage control. "Prowl doesn't deal well with emotion," he said, brushing brown hair out of Prowl's eyes. "It's part a' what makes him such a good thinker... he keeps it all out an' focuses on what he needs ta."
"You read his psych file," Ratchet accused as Jaysen gathered Prowl up, one arm beneath his knees, the other behind his back, and lifted. Prowl's head lolled against Jaysen's shoulder.
Jaysen would have rolled his eyes if it had done any good. "Ya don't need t' read a file t' understand who someone is, Ratchet," he retorted. He looked back at Spike, at Bumblebee standing next to him. "Close as I can guess without more info, that chip tore down all a' Prowl's walls, an' everythin' he uses 'em t' handle hit him over th' head all at once. Nasty piece a' work," he said, glaring at the offending bit of tech.
"If it's mind control technology we're facing," Prime said, "we may have to adapt our strategy in dealing with Cybercon. Particularly if Marshall is involved too." His expression made Jaysen almost feel for him. But mostly he was wanting Arkeville's head on a platter and an angel to descend from the heavens and promise him that Prowl was going to be okay. Prime's problems... he would deal with those later.
Sparkplug smiled, and it was not a nice smile. "I think Jack and Percy and I just might appreciate the chance to figure out how to neutralize something like this," he said, making Jaysen pretty sure that Sparkplug was interested in his own vengeance as well.
Adding up himself and Prowl, Sparkplug and Spike, Prime now too... ouch. Nearly half of their team had personal stakes in this mission. That probably wasn't good, but at the moment Jaysen was finding it hard to care.
Jaysen let his smile match Sparkplug's. "Have fun," he said. "Meantime, Sleepin' Beauty here needs a bed in Ratchet's recovery ward. I'll be there keepin' an eye on 'im if anyone needs me."
*
Percival looked up as Sparkplug stepped into the lab he shared with Jack, holding something very carefully with his right hand. "Got a clean tray anywhere?" the mechanic asked.
"I do believe I have one right here, Sparkplug," Percival said, pulling out a clean examining tray from underneath his work station.
"Thanks, Percy," Sparkplug replied, carefully laying his specimen down on the tray.
"What's that?" Jack asked, crossing the room and taking a look at the silicone and metal item that sprawled limply on display. Parts of it were covered in what appeared to be traces of blood.
"Something that just got pulled out of Prowl's head after he tried to undermine his and Jazz's... relationship," Sparkplug said, coughing the last word into his hand. "From what Jazz managed to get out of him after it was removed, Doctor Arkeville over at Cybercon implanted it into Prowl during their tour there yesterday."
"And Chip?" Percival asked, concerned.
"Ratchet says he's clear," Sparkplug answered. "What we get to do is figure out how this thing works and how to neutralize it."
Percival didn't need to look at Jack to know the look of mingled scientific interest and promised divine retribution that loomed on his research partner's face.
All he would have to do to see that expression, he thought as he pulled his favorite microscope over, was examine his own countenance in a convenient reflective surface.
*
Jaysen listened as Prowl's heartbeat sped up just a touch and wasn't surprised to see the other man blink his way awake. He stared at the ceiling for a moment, then turned his head to look at Jaysen. Jaysen smiled wanly. "We've gotta stop meetin' like this," he remarked.
Prowl just looked at him, then sighed, relaxing back into his pillow. "You knew," he said eventually, quietly. Admitting his weakness.
Jaysen leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his chin on his clasped hands. "I always knew," he admitted. "Wasn't too hard... guessed not long after I met ya."
"You never said anything."
Jaysen shrugged. "Y' never brought it up either," he replied. "I figured it meant ya had it under control." He waited a second before asking, "Do ya?"
Prowl waited a moment too, probably thinking it over, before replying, "Yeah. I do. I'm... 'functional'." If there was bitterness in his tone Jaysen couldn't hear it. He supposed that living with that label in his psych profile for so long had inured Prowl to its stigma... if Prowl even cared about such things.
"'S good," Jaysen responded
There was a moment of silence. Then, "Do you have any idea how much you terrify me?" Prowl whispered, the edge of his voice holding all the things he'd never said to Jaysen, just kept to himself. Anger. Fear. Longing. A wealth of emotion held in ten words. Anyone who'd ever thought Prowl was cold should have heard the passion he held checked inside.
Saying it, and being scared by what he was saying, Jaysen asked, voice even quieter than Prowl's, "So why don't ya give me up?" He couldn't imagine life without Prowl. He didn't want to. But if that was what Prowl needed....
"There are worse things than being scared," Prowl answered, his voice regaining some measure of his usual calm control.
"Like?"
Prowl hesitated, then answered, "Being alone." And the emptiness in his voice indicated that he was too well acquainted with that option too.
Like hell was he going to let Prowl drown in himself like that. Jaysen straightened up, reached out, grasped Prowl's hand and unfolded it like Prowl had done for him not too many days before. Carefully he drew a heart. "Ya ain't alone," Jaysen husked. Blue eyes met blue visor. He forced a smile. "An'... y'know, ya could talk t' me sometimes 'bout things like this," he offered.
Prowl hesitated again, his lips parted like he wanted to say something, then nodded. "I... could," he agreed, and the way he said it made Jaysen think it was probably some kind of huge step forward for him.
Sighing in relief, Jaysen smiled at his lover, best friend, partner, whatever the hell they were to each other, and found that, all issues of missions and vengeance aside, at this single moment in time he remained actually happy.
----------
Thanks go to my sister the nurse for information on sedatives. If you want to know what Prowl's psych report says about him, go research Schizoid Personality Disorder. Wikipedia's article on it is quite fascinating.
Warning level... some cursing, m/m pairings. So don't read if that offends you. Elsewise, enjoy!
Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger
part 7: Digging in the Dirt
by K. Stonham
prereleased 26th August 2007
"You want what, Prime?" Jack asked, looking up in startlement from the photograph he'd been handed.
Optimus smiled indulgently, knowing that Jack had heard his request full well the first time, just hadn't bothered to process it. "The woman and the girl in that picture--I need their images run through an aging program to show what they'd look like today. Ten years older," he amended, as the picture didn't have a date stamp on it.
Jack looked at the picture again, at the man who stood with the other two in the photograph. "Only ten?" he muttered to himself, then looked back up, hoping their team leader hadn't caught his question. It didn't look like he had. "Sure, no problem, Prime," he said. "I'll get right on it. When do you need this by?"
"The morning meeting, if that's possible."
"Definitely no problem," Jack said, setting the photo down on his work table and swinging his laser scanner into position above it. He pressed a button and the machine hummed to life. "Is this related to the current investigation?"
"Possibly." Optimus folded his arms across his chest and watched.
Jack looked up from calibrating the scanner. "Who were they, Prime?" he asked quietly, not really expecting to be told.
"My wife," Optimus replied equally quietly, surprising him, "and her niece."
"You think Cybercon has them?"
"I don't know." He watched for a minute as light waves swept across the photograph. "I'll pick that up in the morning, with the aged images?" he asked.
"Sure, Prime," Jack answered. "I'll have it all ready for you."
"Thank you, Jack." Optimus headed for the lab's door but paused just inside it to turn and look back. "Jack?"
He looked up from his work. "Yes, Prime?"
"Only ten years," Optimus assured him with a small, bright smile, and disappeared out into the hallway.
Jack stared after the vanished Project CO for a minute, then shook his head and laughed a little. But as he looked back at the photograph, his laughter dimmed. "Only ten years, huh?" he asked himself softly. The man in the photograph looked at least twenty years younger than Jack's friend and commanding officer... not ten. "Wouldn't believe it if you hadn't said it, Prime...."
Jaysen woke to an empty bed and the sound of the shower running. He blinked a little, surprised, then sat up, reaching for his visor where he'd left it on Prowl's bedside table. His internal clock and Prowl's bedside clock matched up, he saw, and the alarm for the latter hadn't gone off yet. He shut the alarm off for the day; no point having it go off in fifteen minutes when they were both awake already. He stretched a little. He wasn't precisely sore; very little Prowl could do would actually result in physical damage to him, but their play the night before had definitely been out of the usual milieu, leaving Jaysen with a psychological if not physical need to work the kinks out. He half-laughed at the thought of what Ratchet's reaction would be to that statement.
The shower stopped running and he waited a few minutes until Prowl came out of the bathroom, one towel wrapped around his waist, another being used to dry his hair. "Mornin'. Didn't sleep well?" Jaysen asked.
"I couldn't stay in bed any more," Prowl said, surprising Jaysen even more. Jaysen was always awake and out of bed before Prowl the nights he stayed over; the detective's eight hours were practically sacred and Prowl always got really, really cranky or hungover when he was shorted. "The shower's free."
"M' thanks," Jaysen replied after a second. Maybe he was the one who was feeling foggy this morning, he thought as he headed for the promised water. Because Prowl seemed to be feeling fine.
Things continued just a little odd, though, through breakfast, where Prowl, normally good on the idea of breakfast being the most important meal of the day, only wanted toast and juice. Then things seemed odder still as he asked if Jaysen wanted to drive the both of them to the base. They'd usually take separate cars, having different places to go during the day, and when they did go somewhere together, Prowl always drove. For some reason he didn't trust Jaysen's driving. Taken aback by the offer, Jaysen agreed, trying to figure out what was wrong. Had he done something wrong and this was some kind of passive-aggressive payback? That didn't seem very Prowl-ish, though. Disquieted, he kept his senses attuned to his partner as they walked into the conference room for the briefing regarding yesterday's visit to Cybercon.
"So," Peter asked mildly once everyone was seated, "how did it go?"
"We got a rather nice tour of their labs and production facility," Chip answered him. "Their product seems to be genuine enough."
"They're manufacturing a completely viable commodity," Prowl added in. "If there's anything odd about Cybercon, it's not their product."
"We did, however, meet Mrs. Witwicky," Chip said, looking at Sparkplug. "I asked if she had any relatives in Tranquility. She said no, and that she was a widow. I'm sorry, Sparkplug."
Sparkplug's mouth was a grim line, but he nodded anyway. "What she's doing there?"
Chip's mouth quirked up but Peter couldn't call his expression a smile. "We had a very informative discussion about the synaptic nerve relay connections in the prosthetics."
"Heh." Sparkplug breathed something like miserable laughter. "She always was best at the interfaces...."
"Did you see Buster?" Spike asked.
"Sorry, we didn't," Chip replied, shaking his head. "We didn't meet everyone there, though."
"Another question, then," Peter spoke up. He passed copies of Jack's age-enhanced photographs to the two men. "Did you see either of these women?"
Chip and Prowl accepted the pictures and studied them for a moment. "The younger one, yes," Prowl said, nodding. "She was a receptionist there. The older, no."
Peter steepled his hands before his face, closing his eyes, and took a deep breath.
"Prime?" Chip asked.
He opened his eyes again and forced clarity. "This investigation may have just gotten more complicated," he told his team. "If she's the same one, that woman--Robin Chambers--was declared dead ten years ago, along with her aunt and several other individuals. They were presumed to be victims of a... psychopath named Marshall Travers. He was never caught. Body parts of both women, along with those of several other victims, were discovered in a hunting lodge he owned. No complete bodies were ever recovered. Robin's left arm, from the elbow down, was all that was found of her."
"Camo-skin prosthetics," Chip said quietly, looking slightly sick. "Fully articulated, indistinguishable from normal limbs...."
"So are we lookin' at th' possibility that this Travers dude might be part a' Cybercon, then?" Jazz asked.
"It's a possibility," Peter admitted. "He was always highly intelligent, charismatic, and disciplined."
"You sound like you knew him personally," Prowl observed levelly.
"He was... a fellow Naval officer," Peter said, "though that was hushed up as best it could be. And...." He took a breath. His team needed full disclosure and a complete set of information to work from. Anything less might be endangering them all. "My stepbrother," he admitted quietly. Shocked silence rippled through the room. "Ariel," he said, nodding at the photographs, "was my wife. We were raising Robin after her parents died."
Jazz was the first to recover his voice. "So that's how they got ya int' this?"
Peter nodded.
"I'd like to see their case files, Prime," Prowl requested. "If he was as charismatic as you're implying, it's possible that we might be dealing with a case of cult fanaticism."
"Judy would never have--" Sparkplug started, but was cut off by the steely look Prowl leveled at him.
"Can you be sure?" Prowl demanded.
"Prowl, ease off, man," Jazz said, placing a hand on his friend's arm. "Ain't no reason t' be makin' those kinda accusations without facts."
"Not all of us live in a dream world, Jazz," Prowl replied acidly, glaring at Jazz.
Jaysen stopped breathing and just stared at Prowl. "Prowl...?" he asked incredulously. The cruel smirk he got in response wasn't something he could ever have imagined on his friend's face.
"What's wrong?" Prowl asked in response, blue eyes practically glowing. "Don't like truth?"
Something crystallized in that moment, the nagging sense Jaysen had been having all morning, hell, even since last night, coming to the fore and suddenly making sense. "Ya ain't Prowl," he breathed. Something had gone wrong at Cybercon and either this wasn't Prowl or it was and he'd had something done to him--
Jaysen lunged for Prowl as quickly as his altered body would allow him to do, faster than any human would be able to move, and slammed him up against the wall. "Ratchet!" he shouted down a comm line, "I need ya, now!" He shifted his grip, right arm with body weight behind it pinning Prowl to the wall while his left hand held both of Prowl's wrists over his head.
"Jazz, what are you doing?" Prime demanded.
Prowl tried to fight, eyes mad and glittering, teeth bared in a gleeful snarl. "Want the truth, Jazz?" he asked, body writhing against Jaysen's in some kind of sick parody of the real way they touched. The way they'd touched just the night before. "That 'us' is for pity and perversion only, that--"
"Shut up," Jaysen snarled. "Ratchet!"
"I'm coming," Ratchet sniped irritably back.
"Not human," Prowl breathed, taunted. "You lost the man to the machine the first time you killed, and you know it. You're an illusion, trying to keep yourself alive against the truth--"
Ratchet entered the conference room and blinked at the tableau before him. "Scan 'im, Ratchet," Jaysen demanded, ignoring the smoke-like curl of self-doubt Prowl was working so hard to put into his mind. Ignoring how his teammates had gathered around in a half-circle, not sure whether he was in the right, or if the poisonous words coming from Prowl were genuine. Jazz had no doubts. "This ain't Prowl talkin'... least not th' Prowl I know. Somethin's wrong."
Eyes flicking back and forth between the two of them, Ratchet stepped closer, holding both hands out toward Prowl, hovering just inches away from him. His hands glowed soft red as Ratchet's eyes half-shuttered; the right hand moved down, the left up. He paused and blinked his eyes back open, though, and circled quickly around behind Jaysen, scanning the right side of Prowl's head more closely. "There's something there," he said, and looked beyond Jaysen. "Bumblebee, hold his head still."
Jaysen's "little brother" stepped forward, teeth gritted against one another, then took hold, keeping Prowl's mouth shut, as Ratchet pulled a scalpel out of one of his arm caches. "Turn his head to the left," Ratchet instructed. After Bumblebee obeyed, he made a cut to something hidden behind Prowl's ear. Prowl gave a low moan in his throat, his body stiffening. A thin line of blood crept down the line of his jaw as Ratchet exchanged his scalpel for tweezers. "Steady now," he instructed, pulling something small and dark out of Prowl. His movement was smooth and slow and as he moved back Jaysen could see why: the small black square captured in the tweezers trailed several long wires behind it as it was pulled out of Prowl. His stomach churned sick at the thought. That had been in Prowl....
Finally it was all out, wires falling slack.
"It looks like a dead spider," Bumblebee sent, staring, relaxing his grip. It did, kind of... not near enough legs and those it had were about a foot long, but....
"Who put that in him," Prime demanded, stepping forward, "and when?" His voice was calm but his face looked like a gathering storm.
"What is it?" Spike added in fascination.
"I think we have a little research project on our hands here," Ratchet said grimly.
That was when Prowl made a keening noise and started to hyperventilate.
Sam looked up from the spider-chip as Prowl started gasping for air. Their tactician's gaze flitted rapidly from one face to another, terror compounding on his expression with each glance. Bumblebee had already let him go but Jazz hadn't. He did so now as Prowl pressed himself back against the wall like he was trying to get as far from any of them as he could. "Prowl...?" Jazz asked confusedly. Then his eyes widened as if in sudden realization. He stepped back closer in to his don't-call-him-my-boyfriend. "Don't look at them," he demanded. "Prowl!"
"I can't--not," Prowl gasped. "Jazz--" And looking at Jazz seemed to make him more scared than anything, blood draining from his face.
Jazz took a breath, let it out. "Close your eyes," he said, sounding way too calm. He held Prowl's head in his hands, faces so close together they were practically touching, sharing breath, forcing Prowl to look only at him. "Close your eyes, Prowl," he reiterated more softly. "Trust me." Held still, Prowl obeyed, his breathing stuttering into half-sobs as his eyes slid closed, shutting them all out.
Sam took a half-step back, giving them room as Jazz guided Prowl down the wall until the detective was sitting down, knees drawn up to his chest, hands still in white-knuckled fists. A line of blood trickled down the side of his neck, disappeared under his collar. A growing red stain showed where the cotton was absorbing it. Prowl's entire body shook slightly, practically humming with tension, as Jazz knelt down next to him, hands gentle on Prowl's shoulders. Jazz glanced around at the rest of them. "Gimme a minute," he asked. "Keep quiet." Not understanding what was going on, Sam slowly nodded.
"Prowl," Jazz said aloud, voice soft. "There ain't no one else here. Jus' th' two a' us."
"But--"
"Jus' th' two a' us," Jazz repeated firmly, running soothing strokes down Prowl's arms. "No one else. Th' chip took away your walls, didn't it?"
The only answer was Prowl's harsh, more than slightly panicked breathing. Tears ribboned down his cheeks from his fiercely shut eyes.
"'S okay," Jazz soothed. "'S okay, man. Ya jus' need t' rebuild 'em." He paused. "Picture y'self inside a wall a' light," he started, and Sam bet the saboteur was making it up as he went along. "Ya can see other people through it, but they can't get inside 'less ya let 'em. Can't hurt ya 'less ya let 'em. Th' wall's good an' thick an' strong. Ya see that wall 'round ya, Prowl?" asked Jazz.
Prowl nodded just a little bit, his eyes still shut.
"You're safe inside a' that wall, right?"
Prowl nodded again.
"No one can hurt ya, right?"
One more nod. Prowl was almost breathing normally again.
"Th' only people inside a' that wall're th' ones you've let in... anyone in there with ya?" Jazz's voice was quiet and carefully modulated. It was kind of like watching a snake charmer entrance a cobra, Sam thought. Hypnotic.
"Carla...."
Jazz waited a long minute before asking very, very quietly, "'M I in there, Prowl?" It sounded like he didn't know the answer.
"...Yes." Prowl's answer was even quieter than Jazz's question. But nonetheless it took some of the tension away from Jazz's shoulders as he took a deep breath.
"'Kay. Now... I need ya t' tell me what happened t' ya at Cybercon."
Detach, Michael thought to himself. Describe it like it happened to someone else. Let it all happen outside the wall that kept him apart from the world. Watch it happen like a movie, and describe....
"Certainly," Doctor Arkeville said. "I have those figures in my computer in my office. Come right this way...."
He followed the doctor back to his office, leaving Chip with Judy Witwicky. The doctor seemed earnest enough. Was it possible, Michael wondered, that he didn't know that something was amiss with his department?
"Right in here," the doctor said, opening a door. "This will just take a minute."
Following the doctor inside, Michael looked around the small room and had just enough time to wonder where the computer was before he was grabbed from behind, his arms pinned at his sides. "What--" he gasped before a large hand with a painful grasp wrenched his head to one side, the fingers painfully forcing his mouth shut.
It was like fighting with Jazz. It was like the alleyway that one night, except Jazz had been trying not to hurt him--
"Why, thank you, Barry," Doctor Arkeville said, going to a small tray on one counter. He picked up something that gleamed silver. A scalpel, Michael's mind automatically cataloged even as he struggled against the immovable grasp caging him. "Don't worry, young man, this won't hurt a bit," the doctor said, and Michael suddenly recognized the light in his eyes that he'd thought was kindliness for what it actually was. Sociopathy. "Just a little more to the left," Arkeville instructed the figure that held Michael prisoner. Michael's head was obediently turned.
A slash of fire burned behind his ear as the scalpel sliced.
"Just another second," the doctor crooned comfortingly as he picked up something from the tray with a pair of tweezers. A small black square. He pushed it in to the cut he'd made. For a minute, there was nothing but more ache.
Then the world exploded into fire and Michael was consumed by thick black wrongness that coiled around him, choking him, devouring him, until nothing made sense anymore and the things that had been right became wrong--
"Arkeville," Jazz vowed, "is mine."
"Not yet," Peter replied the same way. "We need more information first. Ratchet, I need you to scan Chip and make sure he's uninfected."
"Yes, Prime." Ratchet gestured Sparkplug forward and carefully handed him the tweezers grasping the small chip, then went back around the conference table to examine their other team member. Sparkplug held the chip carefully, glowering at it like the vile thing it was.
Prowl was still huddling sheltered by the wall, shaking just slightly with every breath he drew. Tears glistened on his cheeks, his eyes closed again. It was frightening, Peter thought, how someone normally so in possession of himself would be reduced to a wreck by having that tiny bit of technology in his head for less than twenty-four hours. His heart hurt for the damage done to one of his team's members, no matter how new Prowl was, and his conscience twinged. Maybe Jazz had been right, he thought. But there was no one else they could have sent. "'S alright, Prowl," Jazz said soothingly. He pushed up his left sleeve and opened one of his bicep caches, drawing out a capped tube and a sterile syringe. "'M gonna give ya something t' help ya sleep, an' thing's'll be better when ya wake. I promise. Ya trust me?"
Prowl nodded, just a hint of a whisper escaping him: "Yes."
"Ratch', how much should I give 'im?"
"Of the Versed? Two and a half milligrams, no more," Ratchet replied. "Prime, Chip's clear."
"Good," Peter replied, watching Jazz carefully measure out the clear liquid and inject it into Prowl. The drug was fast-acting; Prowl was already slumping into unconsciousness by the time Jazz had put his supplies away. It was no surprise to him how gentle Jazz was in catching Prowl.
"Jazz?" Spike's voice was hesitant. "What's... wrong with Prowl?"
Jaysen sighed. It was Prowl's secret and he'd never even been entrusted with it, but now it was pretty damn well out in the open. All he could hope to manage was damage control. "Prowl doesn't deal well with emotion," he said, brushing brown hair out of Prowl's eyes. "It's part a' what makes him such a good thinker... he keeps it all out an' focuses on what he needs ta."
"You read his psych file," Ratchet accused as Jaysen gathered Prowl up, one arm beneath his knees, the other behind his back, and lifted. Prowl's head lolled against Jaysen's shoulder.
Jaysen would have rolled his eyes if it had done any good. "Ya don't need t' read a file t' understand who someone is, Ratchet," he retorted. He looked back at Spike, at Bumblebee standing next to him. "Close as I can guess without more info, that chip tore down all a' Prowl's walls, an' everythin' he uses 'em t' handle hit him over th' head all at once. Nasty piece a' work," he said, glaring at the offending bit of tech.
"If it's mind control technology we're facing," Prime said, "we may have to adapt our strategy in dealing with Cybercon. Particularly if Marshall is involved too." His expression made Jaysen almost feel for him. But mostly he was wanting Arkeville's head on a platter and an angel to descend from the heavens and promise him that Prowl was going to be okay. Prime's problems... he would deal with those later.
Sparkplug smiled, and it was not a nice smile. "I think Jack and Percy and I just might appreciate the chance to figure out how to neutralize something like this," he said, making Jaysen pretty sure that Sparkplug was interested in his own vengeance as well.
Adding up himself and Prowl, Sparkplug and Spike, Prime now too... ouch. Nearly half of their team had personal stakes in this mission. That probably wasn't good, but at the moment Jaysen was finding it hard to care.
Jaysen let his smile match Sparkplug's. "Have fun," he said. "Meantime, Sleepin' Beauty here needs a bed in Ratchet's recovery ward. I'll be there keepin' an eye on 'im if anyone needs me."
Percival looked up as Sparkplug stepped into the lab he shared with Jack, holding something very carefully with his right hand. "Got a clean tray anywhere?" the mechanic asked.
"I do believe I have one right here, Sparkplug," Percival said, pulling out a clean examining tray from underneath his work station.
"Thanks, Percy," Sparkplug replied, carefully laying his specimen down on the tray.
"What's that?" Jack asked, crossing the room and taking a look at the silicone and metal item that sprawled limply on display. Parts of it were covered in what appeared to be traces of blood.
"Something that just got pulled out of Prowl's head after he tried to undermine his and Jazz's... relationship," Sparkplug said, coughing the last word into his hand. "From what Jazz managed to get out of him after it was removed, Doctor Arkeville over at Cybercon implanted it into Prowl during their tour there yesterday."
"And Chip?" Percival asked, concerned.
"Ratchet says he's clear," Sparkplug answered. "What we get to do is figure out how this thing works and how to neutralize it."
Percival didn't need to look at Jack to know the look of mingled scientific interest and promised divine retribution that loomed on his research partner's face.
All he would have to do to see that expression, he thought as he pulled his favorite microscope over, was examine his own countenance in a convenient reflective surface.
Jaysen listened as Prowl's heartbeat sped up just a touch and wasn't surprised to see the other man blink his way awake. He stared at the ceiling for a moment, then turned his head to look at Jaysen. Jaysen smiled wanly. "We've gotta stop meetin' like this," he remarked.
Prowl just looked at him, then sighed, relaxing back into his pillow. "You knew," he said eventually, quietly. Admitting his weakness.
Jaysen leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his chin on his clasped hands. "I always knew," he admitted. "Wasn't too hard... guessed not long after I met ya."
"You never said anything."
Jaysen shrugged. "Y' never brought it up either," he replied. "I figured it meant ya had it under control." He waited a second before asking, "Do ya?"
Prowl waited a moment too, probably thinking it over, before replying, "Yeah. I do. I'm... 'functional'." If there was bitterness in his tone Jaysen couldn't hear it. He supposed that living with that label in his psych profile for so long had inured Prowl to its stigma... if Prowl even cared about such things.
"'S good," Jaysen responded
There was a moment of silence. Then, "Do you have any idea how much you terrify me?" Prowl whispered, the edge of his voice holding all the things he'd never said to Jaysen, just kept to himself. Anger. Fear. Longing. A wealth of emotion held in ten words. Anyone who'd ever thought Prowl was cold should have heard the passion he held checked inside.
Saying it, and being scared by what he was saying, Jaysen asked, voice even quieter than Prowl's, "So why don't ya give me up?" He couldn't imagine life without Prowl. He didn't want to. But if that was what Prowl needed....
"There are worse things than being scared," Prowl answered, his voice regaining some measure of his usual calm control.
"Like?"
Prowl hesitated, then answered, "Being alone." And the emptiness in his voice indicated that he was too well acquainted with that option too.
Like hell was he going to let Prowl drown in himself like that. Jaysen straightened up, reached out, grasped Prowl's hand and unfolded it like Prowl had done for him not too many days before. Carefully he drew a heart. "Ya ain't alone," Jaysen husked. Blue eyes met blue visor. He forced a smile. "An'... y'know, ya could talk t' me sometimes 'bout things like this," he offered.
Prowl hesitated again, his lips parted like he wanted to say something, then nodded. "I... could," he agreed, and the way he said it made Jaysen think it was probably some kind of huge step forward for him.
Sighing in relief, Jaysen smiled at his lover, best friend, partner, whatever the hell they were to each other, and found that, all issues of missions and vengeance aside, at this single moment in time he remained actually happy.
----------
Thanks go to my sister the nurse for information on sedatives. If you want to know what Prowl's psych report says about him, go research Schizoid Personality Disorder. Wikipedia's article on it is quite fascinating.
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Date: 2007-08-27 03:06 am (UTC)Must say, didn't see that particular kind of breakdown from Prowl coming... The little wires being about a foot long sent atavistic chills of 'get it away oh my god icky icky icky icky' down my spine; you win an internet because not a whole lot does that to me.
And I was on complete and total tenterhooks with Prowl and that - unremarked-on fear. Oh, man, Prowl...
Those chips are gonna make things iiiiinfinitely more complicated, I am pretty darn sure.
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Date: 2007-08-28 11:30 pm (UTC)The hypnochips as used in G1 were kind of dull and uninspired... I wanted to jack them up a level, and having them grow neural control tentacles worked. I don't like spiders (though I will only kill them if they're black widows). The chip actually affected Prowl a bit differently than it would affect most people, due to his slight chemical imbalance; nonetheless, yes, their existence is going to make things a lot trickier. [This, it should be noted, is why I sometimes hate my brain; it comes up with these things, and then expects me to write them.]
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Date: 2007-08-27 03:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-27 03:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-27 03:50 am (UTC)<3
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Date: 2007-08-27 08:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-27 11:25 am (UTC)...But the Jazz/Prowl mush totally made up for it. <3
This just keeps getting more and more interesting. I really can't wait to see how all this stuff resolves itself.
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Date: 2007-08-28 02:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-28 09:14 pm (UTC)can't wait what happens next - the plot thickens with every chapter :)
can't wait for more ^^... (and please some sam/bee ? :)...)
*hugs*, bye, Blackie ^^..
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Date: 2007-08-28 11:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-29 08:55 am (UTC)*hugs*, bye, Blackie ^^..
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Date: 2007-08-28 10:25 pm (UTC)You know Jazz/Prowl are fast becoming one of my favourite couples and didn't even have the clearest idea about their characters.
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Date: 2007-08-28 11:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-29 07:56 pm (UTC)okay now I re-he-eally love them^^
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Date: 2007-09-03 04:07 am (UTC)Foot long wires in someone's brain, ick, ick, ick, ICK!
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Date: 2007-09-06 04:02 pm (UTC)I read this after I'd read 7.5 (how I'd missed a chap, dunno) - and it made much more sense, and more poignant.
For humans w/ TF-based personalities, you have done just such an awesome job, I really can't say enough about your series. Brava!!!!
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Date: 2007-10-03 09:44 pm (UTC)And Prowl and Jazz are just such a great couple here...
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Date: 2007-11-08 01:34 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-20 07:55 pm (UTC)At least we know how it is that Buster, Judy, Ariel and all the others are being controlled. Yikes!!
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Date: 2011-08-22 05:05 pm (UTC)