As uneasy as the prospect of moving made Prowl, it distressed him less than the prospect of staying, wondering if Crosscut had managed to weasel his address from someone. Though he had only agreed to few the habsuite, the school and the sparkling centre, the Praxian knew it was all a just a formality. He needed his creations to be safe, for the love of Primus, he wanted and needed to feel safe. It was logical to move his residence to within the walls and guarded gates of the base. The sacrifice of his privacy was inevitable, and regrettable. Optimus Prime had expressed confidence that he could weather any criticism relating to Prowl’s enlistment, that was likely even true, but the Praxian was not confident that he could weather it himself. There would be many voices calling for Prowl to defer his service until his youngest creation was school aged, they would admonish him for his selfishness.
“Did ya need me to take on of the littles?” Jazz asked. It was all moving so quickly. The suite in question was being renovated, but the renovations were nearly complete, and the Polihexian had suggested they come and see if it would suite their family. Optimus Prime had suggested meeting with the school, and sparkling centre. His reasoning was one Prowl could not dismiss, the sparklings needed their lives to normalize again. Truthfully, the originator could not carry all four of his creations in his alt mode at months, he had depended on transports for stellar-cycles, but the idea of giving one of his creations over to another mech was distressing, even if it was necessary.
“Smokescreen, will you ride with Jazz?” He asked, rather than order his eldest creations. “We have been offered a new habsuite.”
“What do ya say, lil’ mech?” The Polihexian asked.
“Ya, okay!” Smokescreen repled, only briefly hesitant, and he looked up at the saboteur with the beginnings of hero worship.
“Me too!” Camshaft exclaimed. Jazz chuckled and looked to the originator.
“If Jazz does not mind,” Prowl said.
“I don’t mind a bit,” Jazz replied.
This was how Prowl found himself following the Prime, his youngest creations secured in the back of his alt mode, as Jazz followed behind him with the elder two. It was not accidental, he realized. These two mechs, the very Prime, were guarding him. He felt a little foolish, and a little over dramatic, but also safer than he had in orns. They met with no resistance from the Vanguards at the gates, if any mech could come and go unmolested, it was Optimus Prime. Prowl followed his commander well into the base, passed the small shopping district, and headquarters, and into the not so terribly small residential sector. In each direction the orginator looked their were procreators and creations, going about their mega-cycle. They drove passed a large park, and the sight reassured Prowl a little more. Unless he wished to, there would be little need to take his creations beyond the base. He was not the only one to have spotted the park and he felt a little flutter of hope from Skids. His little one wanted to play.
Driving passed the park upset his young creation, but he murmured a promise, they would return after their business was complete. They did not drive much farther, before they came to the end of the road, and the complex of what looked like several habsuite towers. Optimus transformed first, Jazz followed shortly after, gently depositing the sparklings as he finished his transformation sequence. Once he saw his elder creations safe on the sidewalk, Prowl transformed, and with familiar ease, kept hold of his younger creations. Skids magnetized to his back, between his doorwings and peered over his originator’s shoulders as he took in this new place. Bluestreak magnetized to Prowl’s chassis, looking about with equal curiosity.
“I have never come this deep into the base,” Prowl said. He had not realized until now that the base was really a city, within the city-state of Iacon.
“The complex manager is waiting inside to meet with you,” Optimus Prime said. “I hope you don’t mind our company.”
“No, Sir,” the Praxian replied. The temptation to bolt back to his habsuite was very real, and very strong. Based on the base schematics he should have realized before how expansive it was but he had never paid any mind to the residential sector. There were many places to hide, to get lost.
“Well mechlings, did ya wanna hold my servos, or your origin’s?” Jazz asked Camshaft and Smokescreen. “It’s a new place, we wouldn’t want ya gettin’ lost, right?”
Both mechlings reached for Prowl, and he was happy to take their small servos into his. Jazz stood at his right, as as they walked, Camshaft reached and took hold of his servo as well. A mech like the saboteur should have had creations, not a mech like Prowl. Of course he did his best for them, but the Praxian was not naive enough to think his best was not substandard in many ways. He should have been thrilled to have them, thrilled to teach them to speak, to walk, to watch them develop, and to nurture every moment. Instead Prowl often felt overwhelmed, trapped, and he worked in part to take some control back. All the same, he loved them with more intensity than he never would have imagined from his spark before he had carried them.
“Prime Sir,” the manager, a yellow and red Builder said. “Jazz. You must be Prowl. You’ve got a beautiful family. I’m Neutro.”
“Thank you,” Prowl replied. “Good to meet you.”
“When we spoke you said the habsuite was nearly ready,” Prime said.
“I took a look before I came down,” Neutro replied. “It’s just the finishing touches. Damage to the suite wasn’t so bad once we got the floor up. Not to worry, Prowl. The previous tenant just flooded the place. Luckily the struts of the place are as good as ever. We’re redoing the paint before we put in new floors, easier for clean up. It’s safe to visit, so how about we go up?”
“Yes, thank you,” the Praxian said.
The building manager led the way to what to Prowl was a massive elevator. Even with the Prime, there was space. Clearly the complex had been designed with warbuilds in mind. Even a small suite would have more space than the one his family occupied now. They could use more space, some separate space where they could play apart when their tempers flared. All four of his creations were brimming over with curiosity. He had expected them to be anxious at the prospect of relocating, but at least of the moment, they were happy. It gave him the courage to be optimistic. As long as his creations were safe and comfortable, he would find a way to manage. There would be scorn, and judgment but he was already scorned, Prowl had not been popular in Praxus either. When he had taken leave from the Enforcers when Smokescreen’s carrying had advanced, some of his fellow Enforcers had cackled with delight. How did a mech like Prowl end up a broadcarrier?
“Right through here,” Neutro said.
“Up, Camshaft,” Prowl ordered lightly as he knelt. His second eldest wrapped his arm’s around his originator’s neck, as Prowl put his arm under the mechling’s aft, supporting him against his hip.
“We can each take one, if it would help you, Prowl,” Optimus offered. The Praxian almost stepped back from the Prime. He had always been on his own with his creations, always.
“Up, I want up, up, up!” The golden-faced squealed as he clung his arms loose from his originator’s neck and stretched them out to the Autobot Commander.
“I’ll help wit that,” Jazz said, and he took Camshaft from Prowl, and handed him over to Optimus. The mechling cheered with unabashed delight. Once Camshaft was secure, Jazz crouched beside Smokescreen. Under his originator’s watchful optics, his first emerged climbed onto the Polihexian’s back without ever a nanoklik’s hesitation. Jazz hooked his arms under Smokescreen’s legs, and smiled back over his shoulder. “Ya good, lil’ mech?”
“I’m good!” Smokescreen replied.
Prowl was not, in fact he was absolutely terrified. He was terrified that one or both of the mechs would drop his creations. His peds felt as if they had been bolted to the floor. For a mech that pride reason over emotion, this level of paranoia was very unsettling. Originator protocols ran rampant in his processor, worse than they had since Tyger Pax. With his free servo, Optimus reached down, and clasped Prowl’s shoulder. The pressure steadied the tactician. These mechs were not strangers, they were allies, even friends, they would not drop Camshaft and Smokescreen, especially with the natural magnetic grip both sparklings still possessed. Finally, Prowl felt some of the tension in his frame release, and he nodded his helm. Neutro led them through the door.
Just the great room was bigger than Prowl’s entire habsuite. The construction team was absent, some of their tools were left behind, but set out of the way. Still, he was relieved to be holding, and to have his creations held during the tour. Prowl did not understand how he was expected to afford this. Unless base housing was cheaper than he had appreciated. His current habsuite took up every credit of his housing allowance, but to be fair it was in an expensive building, due to the high level of security. It was smaller than Crosscut’s habsuite, but even without flooring it felt more welcoming than that place had ever been. The tactician had always thought of the habsuite he had lived in for vorns. It had never been a home, never. Every furnishing, ever colour and design had been selected by his former Conjunx Endura, to suite the sometimes business mech’s, sometimes ambassador’s aesthetic. Despite having no part in the upbringing of the mechlings, Crosscut had designed the nursery. Rather than a warm, nurturing space it had been dull and formal. Even in the nursery, he had not been particularly comfortable letting the mechlings really play, and in their habsuite in Iacon, there was just not enough space for them to truly enjoy.
“It is massive,” Prowl murmured, as he absorbed the space.
“It’s one of the larger units,” Neutro confirmed. “Three berthrooms, two washracks. The great room, an open kitchen and dining room. Large enough to fit warframes comfortably enough. It’ll fit your mechlings family perfectly.”
“Prime. Sir, my housing allowance would cover this?” The Praxian asked.
“It would,” Optimus confirmed. “And before you ask, without any special exemptions. Base housing it based on need, and to some degree rank. You have both.”
“’M just a couple floors up,” Jazz said. “’N I wrote the buildin’s encryption, ‘cause I ain’t gonna trust someone else for it.”
They made a strong case. Prowl realized it was foolish to feel so hesitant. He said nothing, instead he walked through the great room, and wandered down the hall. The doors were locked in the open position, and the Praxian had an unobstructed view of both washracks, and finally the berthrooms. All four of his creations could fit well enough in any one of the berthrooms, not nearly so crowded as they were now. If he put the oldest two and the youngest two in separate rooms, they would have really room to spread out, a piece of personal space for each mechling. Instead of what amounted to being little more than a closet worth of space, the master berthroom was large enough not only for a full berth, when he could budget for it, but there was a perfect alcove for a desk and workstation.
“What this?” Skids asked, his back.
“Berthrooms, shyspark,” Prowl replied. “A new home. Would you like it? Space to run without tripping over your brothers?”
“You too?” The early first tier sparkling asked.
“Of course,” the originator promised. “You, Bluestreak, Camshaft, Smokescreen and myself. All together, and only a short distance from that park you saw.”
“Oooh,” Skids said. They had not been to one since the near miss with Crosscut. Prowl had not felt safe enough to step out of the habsuite alone, let alone with all his creations. They had been, not lethargic, but quiet and uncertain, feeding off their originator’s anxiety.
“When we have finished here, we will got to that park,” Prowl promised.
Bluestreak babbled excitedly at that declaration, drawing a smile from his originator. Prowl kissed his helm as he returned to the waiting mech. Camshaft was now on the Prime’s shoulders, stretching his arms to the ceiling, though he was metres away from reaching it. He caught the last nanoklik of Jazz swinging Smokescreen around in his armsm and heard the glee in his eldest creation’s voice. Of all of the mechlings, Smokescreen had been most affected by Prowl’s anxious mood. But then he had seen Crosscut, and had far clearer memories of his progenitor than his brothers. While Crosscut had never laid a servo on Smokescreen, the mechling had witnessed part of the interface that had led to Bluestreak’s kindling, and he had heard the angry threats Crosscut had voiced to gain Prowl’s compliance.
The memories of that dark-cycle had largely faded in his creation’s processor, but they remained a clear in Prowl’s as if they had only just occurred. In a physical fight, Prowl had always been capable of overpowering his unwanted Conjunx Endura, and that last interface he had pushed Crosscut away. Even after three carryings, and vorns out of service, the former Enforcer still remained a formidable amount in servo to servo combat. But the last had been on that mech’s side, and when threatened the humiliation and arrest, Prowl had submitted. As he had lain under Crosscut, limp and helpless to stop another kindling, he had seen Smokescreen in the doorway, likely drawn by their argument. And he had tried to stop Crosscut, just long enough to tuck his, their eldest mechling back in his berth, but his Conjunx Endura had not seen fit to, and he had rutted into Prowl even as the originator had called for Smokescreen to return to his berthroom. As a receptive mechanism, his frame had not been his own under Praxian law, it had belonged to the state, to the contributive spark he had been paired with, and the newsparks burned off his spark. Under the laws of the Functionalists, Prowl had held no right to refuse.
Crosscut could not come for him here. He would not be welcomed through the gates, and he would not been nearly skillful enough to crack encryptions written by Autobot Jazz. They could live here, he could live here, free from the spectre of his creations’ progenitor. That settled the decision for Prowl. The lack of privacy would bother him, fear of a scandal still sat heavy in his spark, but all that was bearable when he considered the security, and space this relocation would give his family. Next cycle he would formally withdrawn Smokescreen from his school, and make arrangements to enrol him one on base. After wards, he visit the sparkling centres and select whichever one suited him best for his younger creations to attend. His creations would be exposed to new younglings, make friends. How could he possibly not make this change?
“Thank you, Neutro,” he said as he joined the other mechs. “We will be happy to take the habsuite.”
“We’ll adjust all the counters and fixtures for your frame size as we finish up the renovation,” the manager replied. “You can move in the beginning of next quartex.”
“That is acceptable,” Prowl said. Their move would fall precisely at the end of his proceo cycle, and perhaps that was ideal. If Crosscut could not be deterred, the end of that damnable cycle would likely see him return to his business off world, at least the Praxian could hope.
“’Spose makin’ appointments wit the school ‘n centres gonna be next on yer list,” Jazz said, as they left the suite.
“I will make appointments for next cycle,” the originator said. “After I formally withdraw Smokescreen from his current school. I promised Skids a visit to that park. I do not believe the walk is too far. Prime Sir, thank you for your assistance. I am sure you have business that is better owed your attention.”
“Sine you’ll be on base, after you’ve finished with your tours, come by my office, whatever time,” Optimus ordered, and he lowered Camshaft to the ground. Though he had clearly enjoyed his ride on the Prime’s shoulders the glyph park had the mechling race over to his originator. “There’s a project I’d like to go over with you.”
“Yes, Sir,” Prowl replied.
“Would ya mind company, Prowl?” Jazz asked, still holding Smokescreen. The mechlings still happy to be held. “When they’re tired out, I can help ya get’em home.”
“I would not mind,” the Praxian replied. It was foolishness, but the promise of an escort put him at ease.
“Great!” The saboteur grinned down at Camshaft. “Up or down, Cam?”
“Up!” The mechling declared.
“Y’re the boss,” Jazz said. He knelt and Smokescreen climbed onto his back, and magnetized into place. Once the eldest mechlings was secure, the Polihexian picked up the younger, and neatly climbed to his peds. Even with all his practice Prowl did not think he managed the manoeuvre with nearly as much grace. “We could drive but I thought ya been cooped up for orns, a walk might be good for ya.”
“A walk is welcome,” Prowl replied. “You have gone out of your way to help us. Thank you.”
“Ain’t like I had to do much,” the Polihexian said, as they set off. “Ya do good work Prowl, I’d hate to see ya go, so ‘m glad to do my bit to make sure Iacon’s safe for you ‘n your bitlets.”
