Rapprochement

[niyazi-a.livejournal.com]

PG
IDW
Springer, Prowl
spoilers for LSOTW, "Zero Point" and maybe faintly RID
for tf_rare_pairing Springer/Prowl hold it against me  It was supposed to be porn, but...they did not behave.

“I think it’s time we had that talk,” Springer said, shoving into Prowl’s office.  He still wobbled, a little bit, but he’d get used to it. He hoped.  Debris wasn’t far from the Cent Com hub and he and Roadbuster had piled in the shuttle as soon as he’d gotten his legs under him. 

This place looked almost exactly like Prowl's office at Cent Hub: the same dimness, lit by the blue glow of datapads, newsfeeds.  Even here, on a Cybertron stirring back to life, Prowl was in his old element.

Didn't matter: so was Springer.

Because he owed those who had died—and those who hadn’t—that much. He owed them the bleary pain of his first moments of consciousness, and he’d taken his last memories of Garrus-9 like a guideline, pulling himself back to life. Pova and all its lies and the poignant horrible justice of their mission—he owed them the way that only a soldier can understand owing his comrades.

Not his comrades, his troops. His leadership. His mistake.  His mistake because he’d wanted to protect Impactor, protect them all. Protect himself.

No more protection.

“You…think.” Prowl’s face was impassive, his voice somehow bland and pointed simultaneously.  Deliberately goading. He knew of Springer’s temper and he was trying to set it off.

Yeah, not going to happen.

“Been doing a lot of thinking,” Springer retorted.  His body had been locked, in Debris, but his cortex hadn't, and it had cycled the war over and over again, endless loops, fed by Roadbuster's stories.. “You know. Nothing but time, there on Debris.”

A moue. “Indeed. I’ve heard even Roadbuster’s finally learned to read out there.”

Springer bristled. “Cheap shot, Prowl,” he said, tightly. “Kind of thought you’d be above that sort of thing.”

“That sort of strategic blindness can be a liability, don’t you think?”

 “That’s what we are to you, aren’t we?”  He’s trying to rile you, Springer told himself. He’s trying to get under your plating. Don’t. Don’t let him.  Don’t let him win without at least taking a few hits. He ground his dentae together, fists balling so tightly the knuckles hurt.   “Liabilities. All of us.  Because—“

“Pova. Yes.”

“Impactor did his time. And more.”  He escaped, brought them all there.  The horrors he’d seen at Garrus -9 were punishment enough for any crime.  “Justice was served.”

“Justice.” A quirk of one corner of the mouth, amused. “Some things take priority over intangibles, Springer.” 

“Intangibles. You mean ideals.”  The very heart of what held the Autobots together.  Even the Wreckers had ideals: honor, loyalty, teamwork. They might have a loose interpretation on the letter of the law, but that didn't mean they were lawless. Valve had learned that. And Whirl. Even Impactor himself, a deity taken down.

“Ideals.” The quirk grew, like a faultline.  “I find ideals…useful tools.”

“You find everything a useful tool,” Springer snapped.

An easy shrug. “If I do not, I simply eliminate them.”

“You didn’t,” Springer snarled, looming closer over the desk, planting one palm on the screen, “eliminate me.”

Prowl tipped his head back, meeting Springer’s gaze impassively. “Indeed.”

Rage flared over Springer, and his hands jerked forward, yanking Prowl out of his chair by his collar armor. Prowl’s abdomen slammed against the console and all Springer could think of was the dead: Rotorstorm, Pyro, Twin Twist, Topspin. Too many, under his command.   Too many dead, too many ‘inconvenient’ ends snipped off.  “That was the whole point, wasn’t it? Of sending us there. You have the only record of the inconvenient truth, and you got rid of half of us in the bargain.”

It was tidy, and ruthless and cold. Altogether Prowl.

Prowl resisted, palms pushing on the console, trying to straighten. But when he spoke, his voice was level. “It was supposed to be more of you. If that's any comfort.”

“More of us.” Springer’s EM field spat sparks at the other mech.  “Hnh. The mighty Prowl, underestimate someone?”

“Simply a lower range of probabilities,” Prowl said. 

“Probabilities.” Springer snorted, thrusting Prowl back, giving a satisfied grunt as the smaller mech landed hard back onto his chair. “That’s all we are to you.”

“Not all.”  Prowl swiped a hand over his upper chassis, as though wiping away Springer’s touch.  “The Wreckers’ reputation is important—though not vital,” he flicked one hand dismissively, “for morale. Something I’d imagine you’d consider, as well.”

He had considered it. Too much.  He’d considered why they’d chosen him to lead, after Impactor’s arrest.  He wondered why they followed him when he didn’t have Kup’s charisma, Impactor’s veteran’s brashness and style.  He’d done a lot of thinking.

And then decided that he hated thinking. Because this was what it did to you.

“You stay away from the Wreckers,” he hissed, glaring with the hostile look that had silenced even Whirl.  Wreckers: What few were left. He’d heard from Roadbuster that Guzzle and Impactor had taken off: likely tired of being ‘useful tools’ themselves.

“Oh, Springer,” Prowl said, smoothly.  “I understand that mechs like you are…overemotional. Out of respect for that,” and Springer could almost hear the amusement, “I will not hold this little outburst against you.”

Springer spun on his heel, heading toward the door, seeing with grim satisfaction the dent his hand had made when he’d shoved it aside to enter.  “You can hold it against me all you want,” he snapped. “Just keep in mind, I’m on to you.”

“Springer.”

He paused at the door, not deigning to turn, merely twisting his head to look at Prowl, smug, ensconced in his little command center, surrounded by datapads, reports, feeds, a malevolent, steeple-fingered intelligence in the dark cave of war. In his way, he was as megalomaniacal as Overlord. “What.”

“You might consider,” and the sly smile on his face warned Springer that this would be a poisoned dart, “who really set you up after Pova.” 

Springer snarled, hand squeezing into the metal doorframe. 

"Choose your friends more carefully," Prowl said, blandly, before turning, officiously, back to his console.

Friends. Sick advice from a mech who had none.  "You might remember," Springer said, coldly, "war's over."

"The war is never over," Prowl said, not looking up. "It's just gone underground." He paused, tilted his head, and flicked one last glance over at Springer.  "When I find it, I'll be in touch."

Right, Springer thought. You can try.

Comments

[wicked3659.livejournal.com]

Love love love your jerk!prowl :D you should post this on PJ *encourages* :DD the tension and the loathing is palpable. I'm surpried smug jerk face didn't get punched :p and I like him! XD

[ladyofdragons.livejournal.com]

*shivers* That descriptive bit at the end about Prowl... wow. And it's nice to see Springer say all the things we want to after LSotW.

[muffins-of-god.livejournal.com]

This gave me SHIVERS.