Settlement - Chapter 2

[heliopauseentertainments]

Continuity: IDW1

Rating: Teen

Relationship: Starscream/Prowl, past Megatron/Starscream

Characters: Prowl, Starscream

Warnings: No major warnings apply. Please see AO3 entry for full applicable tags.

AU: Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage

Summary: In which, as part of a peace treaty, Prowl and Starscream are caught in a very, very unwanted arranged marriage.

Crossposting: Tumblr (first chapter only) | AO3 (ongoing) | DW (first chapter)

Chapter under cut. Please see AO3 for further chapters and the most up-to-date versions. Crossposting to DW takes longer.

Inspired by a series of cracky drabbles on Tumblr.

 

“Tell me again how exactly this happened?” Ratchet pulled a screwdriver out of his toolkit, blatantly ignoring the unpleasant expression on Prowl’s face.

This was not how Prowl wanted to be in the medical center. Generally he didn’t really want to be in the medical center at all. Today, he didn’t really have much choice. 

After getting jumped by one of Starscream’s many turbofoxes—Butch, specifically, what a terrible name—in the middle of the night when he’d fallen out of the ceiling, Prowl had found himself with a brand new problem. A problem that had only manifested after he vacated the premises of the apartment he had been barred from. After he had transformed to vehicle mode to return to the cheap, hastily-constructed government building that housed his office, certain… features refused to turn off. 

Just what he needed while trying to conduct an investigation of the outlandishly spacious residential property he was forcibly paying for but being kept out of. Suspicious. What did that seeker need all of those turbofoxes and all that unnecessary space for anyway?

While he had finally managed to get his siren silenced during the night, much to the relief of everyone who worked the night shift, there was still one, minor but incredibly aggravating symptom plaguing him this morning that he needed professional assistance with.

“No. Just get those hazard lights off.”

 

---

 

Several nights later, Prowl lay awake on the cot he had put in his office. It wasn’t the same as an actual recharge slab, but it would do. He hardly slept anyway. Recharging would be less efficient but that was nothing new. He’d done that almost every night—the ones he had actually slept during anyway—for millions of years while the Autobots had been embroiled in a war. The quiet of night let him think, as he stared up at his ceiling with a frown, arms folded across his middle.

What was Starscream up to? What was his scheme? Just what had Megatron put him up to? 

Rodimus hadn’t provided Prowl with a copy of the conjunxual union documents. Sure, there was a chance Rodimus just hadn’t gotten around to it yet or forgot because he had a processor like a jar of sand full of holes. Then again, it had been over a month since the Prime and that overgrown, egotistical pistol had signed for their second-in-commands as proxies. As a result, Prowl wasn’t feeling particularly generous about the whole situation.

Even though the window in his office was closed, an aggravatingly chilly breeze still blew in and stirred the strings of the primitive cork-board he’d put up on his wall. The entire building the security and law enforcement departments had been stuffed into was drafty with awkward ventilation. A brief thought popped into Prowl’s mind that perhaps he should have bought some sort of thermal tarpaulin to keep at least a little warm. 

With a grumble, he rolled over onto his side, accidentally kicking his desk for the fiftieth time that night in the process. The haphazardly stacked datapads and dataslugs shook and clattered from the force. No damn space in this damn place.

For one thing, he needed those conjunxual documents. Perhaps an after-hours trip into Rodimus’ office was in order, but that wasn’t Prowl’s only lead, merely the most at-hand one.

On a little shelf attached to the wall near the desk, between which the cot was sandwiched, those… obsolete keys that he’d received from the Prime sat, waiting. What exactly were they for? Sure, probably Starscream’s old apartment in Kaon. Rodimus’ guess about them wasn’t likely to be far off, but Kaon was… rather out of the way. 

What if getting him out of the city was Starscream’s goal? What if the keys were a plant? A false lead to draw the commander further away, to distract him from what was really going on here. Megatron had been the one to hand over the keys to Rodimus after all. A trap or wild cyber-goose chase was certainly more than possible. Decepticons weren’t called that for nothing, a faction of duplicitous bastards; never mind the supposed “you are being deceived” etymology nonsense they liked to spread.

Propaganda.

The smudged, grimy keys did nothing but promise secrets and threaten misinformation as the commander shivered in a particularly strong gust from the breeze.

Prowl scowled at them, as though that would do anything, as though a glare could intimidate inanimate metal to spill the answers he wanted. They offered him a direct, unhindered view into Starscream’s life via his former residence. Surely the seeker had already removed all of his personal items, but there was a chance he hadn’t yet had the time.

Yet the possibility that he would find something to uncover the truth of this new, diplomatic game couldn’t be ignored. While his simulation program told him that the odds were low, a curious voice in the back of his processor just wouldn’t let the idea go.

With a grumble, Prowl reached out his hand and snatched up the keys from the shelf. He told himself it was just so he wouldn’t have to look at them anymore. Tossing them into his subspace, he knew he was just deluding himself for his own comfort, a weakness.

Without further ado, the patrol car rolled back onto his back, ignoring the sharp pains in his doors from where they were carelessly slapped against furniture and the cot. A datapad was swiped from the table and within five minutes, Prowl had booked himself an early morning transport to Kaon.