[ti]Ep 3[/ti]Again. [Closed]

[Patch]

Week 1, Day 6.

Patch had watched a lot of people get hurt in her life.

She’d watched a lot of people brutally murdered- by her friends no less. She’d leaned up against those same people for warmth and comfort only hours after, and the kicker is that they’d still given it to her. And yet? The actions Patch beheld yesterday…

Something about them was still stuck in her.

There was a safety meeting today, about what was supposed to go down if there was a ‘hostile entity’ in base. And though she did prefer to give the benefit of the doubt, Patch had a funny sort of feeling it was because of what had gone down at Omega-2 between Carbine and Windshield.

And though she genuinely didn’t mind Red Alert. Though she liked the poor stressed out officer on some strange, abstract, partially paternal, potentially Stockholm syndrome-y level. As much as she preferred to sit and listen to a voice, instead of reading by herself in a room? Patch was very much not in the mood right now.

She’d have to do a quiz- she didn’t wanna do a quiz, that didn’t matter. She lived here, she worked here, she obeyed the rules. That’s how it worked, and there was no way in the Pits the young soldier was gonna try to whine her way out of it.

And so she stomped calmly made her way from sickbay, pedde-steps only just ever so slightly, borderline unnoticeably harder on the floor. She’d been good all day, done her duty all day, been quiet all day as she worked alongside Ratchet. A festering ire beneath her softened posture. Quiet eyes, as she obediently shuffled from task to task.

He’d given her permission to leave for the meeting if she wanted to, but… When the time came to go… Something simply compelled her to stay. An abhorrent lack of willpower the young femme was not accustomed to, settling over her joints as she sat there and worked at her reports, and continued to work at her reports as unreasonably late came and went at ten minutes early, then five.

The last-sparked hadn’t really noticed how much it was bothering her- how much hurt there really was settled heavy in her spark until she’d been released. She still wasn’t processing the information she’d gathered at their secondary base- she’d done plenty of that falling into recharge last night.

Carbine probably went to prison… Windshield wore a stolen face.

Two of her friends were suddenly different people. And Patch wasn’t letting that in.

So instead it corroded her. Wearing away at her desperate attempt at complacency hour by hour as she shoved it ever farther to the back of her brain. Insisting to herself that it wasn’t really that big a deal. That she'd dealt with so much more, that everyone was alive, and she couldn’t usually say that, and that such a pretty, shiny gift should have been more than enough for her.

Carbine was in the brig right now…
Windshield was still in sickbay...

As Patch walked, a bit harder than normal, suddenly, an innocuous little thought crept up from behind, from the back of her brain, and pricked her already fragile balloon of patience.

What had they both done to land them in Garrus?

Criminals, murderers, liars, thieves, friends, fragile friends that she’d taken RISKS to place trust in! She’d been warned by so many of the people she respected- she’d ignored them to prove that everyone deserved a chance and they’d STOMPED on that! They’d squished it! Ruined it! Shattered it to pieces and ground them to dust with their heels! Taken something Patch valued above all else, and simply said ‘oh yeah, about that.’

What else were they Hiding!?

Patch was just about to disappear into the safety her room. HER room. The room she’d hated at first, in it's loneliness, though… Somewhat grown to like. She’d begun to take ownership of it. Make it her’s- only her's. Add decoration. As she input her code, at the keypad at its side. As the door slipped open she thought idly for a moment about how Good it would feel if she ripped all those decorations down, and threw them around for a few minutes… Oh it would be glorious… But she wouldn’t. She’d go sit on her recharge slab instead. Maybe listen to her music. Take a few deep breaths and-

“-FUCK!!!”

A sudden surge of pain lanced through the young femme’s pedde as it’s blunt tip clipped the edge of her doorway with a tank-curdling clang. Immediately the small white and red form bucked over, her right servo rising to clasp at the edge, and hold herself up from collapsing. Her helm dropped low as her faceplate contorted. Then threw back on her shoulders as her free fist clenched.

The child looked fit to scream, standing there in the doorway, though she clamped her intake shut. Holding her cycle of air very tightly as the heat of her spark rose harshly in her chest from the pain.

“Stupid, fucking, Doorway!!” She snarled, as the top of her knee was repeatedly smashed into its edge in a retaliatory attack. Clearly aimed all the way through to it’s other side- her form not bad, to be frank. On the second and third crash of metal on concrete, a wide, shallow dent began to form in the shape of her protective knee joint on the wall.

Once it seemed she realized this, however, the young medic ceased. A moment to ventilate, then one more sharp strike of her right fist into the wall. Again, well practiced, decent form. Wrist straight, knuckles hardened. It didn’t appear to hurt her- though the internal ache, the sting was rather satisfying as another, smaller, shallower dent struck into the wall just below her shoulder height.

The fist unfurled into a flat palm, which she placed upon the wall to steady herself. She shook her ‘wounded’ pedde a little, still holding it gingerly in the air until the throbbing lessened. The femme huffed.

[Prowl]

The earlier assessment of Outpost Omega-1’s garrison was due for a...reevaluation in Prowl’s opinion.

The strategist was currently walking through the hallways towards his personal quarters, datapad open and reviewing current intelligence reports while he walked. But while he was walking, his mind was on other things. More recent events that had him concerned for the state of the Autobots here.

He had just received a preliminary report regarding the incident at Omega-2 involving Carbine and the Decepticon defector, Windshield. Something about a case of assault, though an argument could be made for aggravated assault if one wanted to get technical. Evidently Windshield egged him on, but as a former Enforcer Caste member Carbine should have known better than to let his emotions get the better of him.

“FUCK!!!”

Speaking of emotions...

“Stupid, fucking, Doorway!!”

Down the hall the young medic known as Patch was committing an assault of her own against the doorway of her personal quarters using her knee joint as a blunt weapon. Once she seemed to control herself she punched the wall again before settling down a final time. Prowl took a glance at the doorway and saw a small dent in it about the shape of her knee. Forensics would have had a field day with that one.

Apparently Patch had witnessed the assault taking place. Prowl mentally pulled up his internal file on her while he continued walking forward. Late born, right before Prime had ordered the Allspark launched into space. Field medic and soldier, arrived here during the so-called “truce” via the Decepticon Space Bridge. No stranger to violence. This exhibition of violent behavior seemed to be the result of mental stress. Likelihood of it being associated with the Omega-2 incident? Extremely given Prowl’s experiences in the past.

As he came closer, he paused in his walk to look at her, then at the doorway then back to her. If she was suffering from extreme mental fatigue, then all likelihood Patch would suffer an extreme mental breakdown at some point unless this was settled. Then she would be useless.

“While we do not have a therapist on hand, Ratchet might be able to provide mental health counseling should you require it. And Avalanche would be able to assist with the repairs on the door.”

He then began to resume his walk towards his quarters. Someone like Prime or Jazz would have probably stopped to comfort her, ask what was wrong, or something along those lines. That wasn’t Prowl though. Never again.

[Patch]

“While we do not-

The young femme gasped.

Wide, brightened optics flicked quickly over her shoulder, as both her small spaulders rose slightly in a quiet start. Patch had thought she was alone. She wouldn’t have done this if she’d known she wasn’t alone.

The officer from the control room… Patch recognised him well…

Guilt and fear quickly consumed the young femme, very much evident upon her speckle sprayed faceplate. Azure optics widened at those of the mech, her intake small, and loosely open like a child who’d just been caught in a cookie jar. She shrunk back into her shoulders slightly. Aware of his authority, aware of his rank. Suddenly very much aware of how she’d just completely lost control.

As he mentioned Ratchet, Patch’s spark sank a little. They’d been working all day in the same damn room, she hadn’t ventured to mention it to him. Even if he’d brought it up, Patch doubted she would have engaged. Not unless he really prodded, and… Well he didn’t usually. Not unless the hurt was physical.

As for Avalanche- as for the wall, it got a nervous glance behind, before her attention turned back up. It wasn’t that bad, Patch figured. It wouldn’t hinder the door’s function... Though maybe if someone else were bothered...

She reeled around, slamming her ‘injured’ pedde down, and popped into a salute.

“I- I’m sorry sir.” She stammered. Voice suddenly so very different than it had been moments prior. Smaller, younger, lacking the growl she’d carried before. The child closed her intake and swallowed. Not daring to follow with her optics as he began to move away. “I didn’t hear you.”

[Prowl]

“I- I’m sorry sir.”

“I didn’t hear you.”

Well it is pretty hard to hear anything when you’re smashing a hole in the doorframe, Prowl noted as he continued forward then paused as he processed her voice. He turned back towards Patch and glanced at her for a long second. He recognized what it was in her voice. Pain, guilt, and shame.

Emotions he was familiar with, a long time ago. Before Patch was even a thought.

Damn it. Dammit Dammit Dammit.

He could almost feel her nudging on him, whispering in his ear with that smirk on her faceplate. She was always the more “bot person” of the two of them. She would have been all over this in a spark-beat heading to help...

With a sigh, he began walking forward towards her slowly. He was never good at this type of thing...

"'Were you...close to either of them?”

[Patch]

As the mech stopped, and turned around, Patch’s servo smoothly dropped from her optic ridge, and settled beside her leg. Still at attention, chest tall, shoulders pinned, -as she had not yet been dismissed- young blue optics flicked to the mech slightly, as he spoke, then forward again.

So he did know what it was about...

She was surprised he’d bother to ask. Wasn’t entirely sure what to think of it. She still seemed nervous. Stiff from standing straight, yes, but also from minor apprehension it seemed, as he got closer. He spoke of them as though they were dead… Some deep, inky part of young medic’s spark almost wished they were… Even if she knew that feeling would be temporary, it was satisfying for the moment to imagine.

Did he actually care? Was he doing this out of obligation?

… Did Patch care, even if that was the case?
Nope. Not really.

“I-...” She began. Uncomfortable, though desperate, it seemed, to talk to someone- anyone. Eager to get the words out, even if she didn’t like the sensation of saying them. “-I was there.” Patch didn’t know how much Prowl knew. Better to reiterate than leave him in the dark.

“And, yeah.” Her chest sunk from open, and proud to… More neutral. Still technically at attention, though… It seemed as her spirits dropped, her chassis did too.

“I’m-... Friends with them.” The word was spat with a low, mild ire. Almost sarcasm, at this particular moment. At the word, her optics broke from their position in front of her, just above the horizon. Angling up into a not quite fully committed roll, perfectly befitting of someone her age, in a different world, a different circumstance. A little glimmer of normalcy, in the otherwise very young femme of a soldier.

[Prowl]

“I-...”

“-I was there.”

“And, yeah.”

“I’m-... Friends with them.”

So that was the heart of the issue right there. Prowl had expected her to be Carbine’s friend, but not Windshield’s. The “former” Decepticon seemed to be getting around and making new friends, integrating himself into the army. Impressive really given the reputation that Decepticon’s have amongst the Autobot rank and file. Though Prowl knew that Decepticon’s themselves had a spectrum of savagery, perhaps Windshield had portrayed himself on the lesser side. But it appears that not just Windshield had lied about something. Carbine must not have told the whole story either.

“At ease, soldier.”

His servos came up and folded in front of his chest, looking down upon her. There was a major age difference here. She knew nothing but war, though in a way that was almost a blessing from Primus himself if Prowl believed that. She knew nothing of the Caste System, the corruption that had taken over the Senate, the Lineage of the Primes, everywhere in society, including the Enforcers. She knew nothing of the Dead End...

Prowl always tried to suppress emotion where it occurred within himself. Emotion was a weakness to him, it clouded the judgement of a strategist who needed to focus his energies on making the logical choices in battle. If he allowed emotion to steer his course, he could not make the sacrifices that were needed to be made in war. Some called him heartless for this. He didn’t care though. He was just being...logical.

But this thing...he’d felt the way she was feeling before he guessed. Anger at ones you considered friends betraying your trust. It had happened to him too, but he had someone who pulled him from that. She had helped him to move on, to get back on track and focus on the job at hand.

“Your designation is Patch, correct?”

[Patch]

The young femme relaxed, as she was released. Not a large difference in her posture, though a big one in her field. Suddenly the child eased back down- she was a person again, before she was a soldier. One pedde shuffled a little farther from the other. A mild ex-vent slipped through her vents, as she looked up to the taller mech’s face.

She nodded smoothly at the question. Round, blue optics lowering yet again to graze along the floor. Not accented with painted shadows, or lines that flicked up on the edges, as some mecha favored. The lips of her intake un-tinted. Her whole face rather plain, in fact, aside from the small spots of darkened impurity, and intermittent scars through the warm, flexible metal. Her right servo rose to lightly grasp her left arm, just above the elbow.

“Yes sir.” A mild tone. Small voice. He remembered. Even still she looked sheepish. Patch didn’t much care to have people see her weak- and attacking something for no good reason (even if physically displaying strength) was among the lowest of weak minded things Patch permitted herself, in her opinion. Not befitting of an Autobot.

It seemed the officer wished to help. Which… Surprised Patch, honestly. She’d had him somewhat pinned for the ‘unfeeling’ type; whatever in the Pits that meant. The sort that could look one of their soldiers up and down, and decide that they would be the one to die, or nearly die that day. The sort who could stand to live with that. Recharge with that.

Maybe he still was, but… At least it seemed he was decent in between those moments.

To be frank, the young medic was still unconvinced he really wished to be standing there and talking to her. His body language was closed off. Even from just the slight glance up at his visored face, the mech looked stern. Patch was still a bit intimidated by him, though she certainly wasn’t about to turn him away.

She was… Somewhat desperate for someone to talk to right now.

[Prowl]

Patch would be right about a couple of things. One, Prowl did not want to be standing here and talking about this. But seeing as Prime wasn’t here, it fell to him. He let out a little short sigh before heading down the hallway. A short gesture indicated for Patch to follow behind him as he made his way back the way he had come.

Two, he would be perfectly fine to look a bot up and down, right in the optic and decide that they would not survive the day. And yes, he would be able to live with that, and not lose any time recharging at the end of the day.

All he was doing right now was what another bot had done for him when he felt lost and betrayed. Sent off to patrol the Dead End of Iacon, a place forsaken to Unicron himself. A death sentence for Enforcement. Reserved only for those who stepped out of line and did not get with the program.

“When was your last hand to hand combat training session?”

What had helped him was going on patrol with Speedtrap and stopping an assault in progress. And stopping it had involved getting into a fight with small time thug boss Blitzquake and his crew of rejects as they were trying to shake down an addict.

And since they did not have any small time wanna-be gangsters on the planet, maybe the next best thing would be a spar.

[Patch]

Was-... Was he just walking away?

That was kinda rude… But Oh! Patch caught that little flick of the servo just in time. Her optics opened some, her posture perked up, and she quickly began to trot along and make up the space. Behind, and to the mech’s left a short ways, the young femme fell in step with Prowl. Midsize peddes clunking out across the concrete floor with small ‘pu-dunks’.

Hand to hand training...

She wanted to give him a good, proper, precise time. A date, on which she’d last sharpened her skills, but… Patch was blanking. Which was not a good sign. She’d been so busy between sickbay, and socializing, and studying Earth she hadn’t really… Gotten to it… Not often enough, at least. And before this, she’d been living day to day through the waists. Every spare moment spent searching for energon, or trying to conserve it. Tinkering with things… Staying quiet enough… Searching for souls...

But the idea was tempting…

“Not recently enough.” May as well be honest. "Never recently enough." Was that almost a smile quirked into her voice? Why, perhaps just the slightest inkling of one. Unthinking. A crooked thing, as her young spark lightened at the notion.

Ever since she was a newspark, Patch had practically imprinted on work that made her ache. She’d liked PT in basic, as much as anyone else had. A special sort of hatred for the activity that resided in her heart, instead of her mind. She’d liked the obstacle course most of all, though her second favorite activity was probably sparing, and fighting practice.

And Primus had she been an aggressive little thing back then… No context for good or bad, no reason to hold back. Amongst the shorter in her platoon, that fact frequently brought to her attention by peers, and leaders alike.

‘Scraplet...’ An insult at first, a badge of honor by the end… And by the Pits that ferocity had kept Patch alive during her first campaign. Especially in the early weeks, boots dropping like flies…

Come to think of it, her grappling had helped her as a medic as well, grizzly as it sounded.

Looking up to the side-back of the officer’s helm, Patch wondered what he might have to teach. WAY farther out of her shell, the young soldier popped along at a confident gate. Curious optics, a still somewhat blank face. Steps just a touch wide, as not to force the mech to slow at all.

[Prowl]

“Not recently enough.” “Never recently enough.”

Was that not the truth regarding everything nowadays? In all honesty, Prowl could not remember the last time he had training as well. Things had been very difficult since the Ark launched all those millions of years ago. Struggling to survive, finding that intact shuttle...meeting an old enemy...

The strategist moved through the hallway with the medic behind him, heading for a specific destination in mind. This outpost had a training room should the garrison need to conduct combat drills, though the frequency of this occurrence was less than Prowl would have preferred.

Despite Optimus Prime’s statement that this wasn’t an army, they could not escape the fact that this was a unit organized with a specific combative mission in mind. While they may not have the facilities or assets they once enjoyed on Cybertron, it did not change the fact that they were still, at their core, an army.

Sometimes...sometimes he really questioned if it was Optimus Prime in charge, or was it really just Orion Pax...

As they approached the room the door slid open to reveal a large open room, with plenty of open space. Prowl moved to the middle of the room, motioning Patch to stand across from him. He dropped his right back and adopted a bladed approach stance while he waited.

“The rules are simple. No weapons, just servos.”

He paused before continuing.

"And win."

[Patch]

As the door slid open, the young femme angled herself just slightly to try and see beyond Prowl into the room. A curious quirk of her helm, paired with the continued blank pacificity upon her freckled face. She hadn’t seen this room before. Not longer than in passing.

As Prowl made his way into it however, Patch stopped at the doorway. Listening.

But… But there were other rules that were important. Rules Patch wished to clarify before they continued, not only to know whether she could do certain things, but whether to expect them done to her. What about rabbit punches? Kibble holds? Chokes? Biting? Were they fighting to submission? They had to be fighting to submission… Oh Primus, the child sure hoped they were fighting to submission…

All but a flash behind young, azure optics as she looked at the room, then the floor, then the mech. Intake open as though about to speak, in slight surprise. She didn’t. She closed it.

Don’t be weak.

“Uhho-kay.” A mild phrase. Casual tone, as one pedde, then the other ambled into the room. She allowed her servos to swing forward, clap in front of her, then behind her as she looked up the walls, and across the ceiling. WAY more casual than she had been before all of a sudden. A remarkably abrupt transition.

Was she intimidated? Inexperienced? An attempt at getting comfortable perhaps?

Her optics wandered.

“Aauuur ya sure?” She quirked out, easily. She was still walking. Moving farther into the room, though her path diverged from Prowl slightly. Easing toward his left, instead of coming head on. Her left servo rose to scratch between two segments of her white helm. Still admiring blank walls, as her servos stayed loose. She looked over to the mech, an easy smile, a light angle of her helm.

“Cause I kinda feel like-” She bolted.

Smile gone, frame stiff, and sharp and hunched Patch dove for the other mech’s legs. A skipping maneuver that pushed her very far, very fast despite her size. Attempting to get in as close as possible as quickly as she could. Small servos reached to grab the backs of his legs, behind his hips and draw them toward her, away from his center of gravity- and hug herself closer to his front all at once.

If she was very lucky, in getting close fast enough, she’d even attempt to quickly shove her pedde behind his heel as well. Adding yet another level of difficulty to maintaining balance.

If she did fail however? If the mech was quick enough to step back out of her way, Patch planned to simply scoop the air, and try to catch herself with a few large, bounding steps.

Simply doing her damndest to follow the rules...

[Prowl]

Was it arrogance or knowledge that drove what Prowl had said?

Many bots considered him arrogant, aloof, stuck up. Perhaps they were right, or perhaps it was because they were all fools who never took the opportunity to learn properly. Was he worried about Patch causing damage to him? A bit. But knowing what he knew about bots, he highly doubted she would break someone in chilling callousness.

He watched her from behind his golden visor, optics tracking Patch’s movements as she came into the room. He maintained his bladed stance, but kept her in front of him as she moved. She was trying to distract him, take his attention off the task at hand.

Amatuer...

He continued waiting until it happened. She bolted, diving straight for his pedes. Attempting to tackle him and drive him into a grappling match? Okay then, if that is how she wanted to do things, then that is how it would be.

Reflexes trained by decades of patrolling the most dangerous section of Iacon, sharpened by fighting for his life countless times in the war, kicked into action driving him into action. He sidestepped over to the left and turned before throwing out his leg in a kick, aiming it at her side.

Did he want her angry? Yes. Because then she would stop hiding her emotions and work them out before getting back to her job. That’s all it was after all, a focusing exercise to expunge that which was not needed.

Emotions always clouded judgement. Always.

[Patch]

Pain. Hurt. Anger to some extent, though only as a bandaid overtop the sudden rush of fear one felt when stricken. Patch did not see Prowl’s movement coming, and the officer’s pedde swung hard into the side of her sturdy waist. Instead of simply stumbling forward and catching herself as she'd planned, the femme was thrown off balance. A guttural “AUGH!” shoved out beneath the ringing of metal on metal.

Her frame curled over as gravity took her. Weather she’d simply thud to the ground in pain, however, or tuck and roll was unclear until she was nearly on her side.

Tuck-and-roll indeed...

With a hard, fast, sharp transformation the last-sparked soldier’s T-cog suddenly shouted into the hollowed room to echo off stone walls. A sudden shift of white and red plating, a rev of a strong young engine, and the screech of tires upon stone floor as the young femme whipped around to ‘face’ him.

The basic design, and shape of a 2013 dodge charger, outfitted with lights, siren and -perhaps most importantly- a push-bar.

Patch was short, she knew she was short, but she also knew she was heavy for her size. She was thick, and dense, with half-decent armor, and stronger than people generally expected her to be for how scrawny she looked with her plating drawn tight.

On the ground, she would no longer have a disadvantage against height. She could use her speed, her strength, her weight; If Patch could control where the fight took place, she knew the advantage would be her’s. And so, with the grinding squeal of tires on concrete in a rather small room, the young femme charged. Push-bar aimed to strike her combatant's peddes out from under him.

If Prowl didn’t wanna go down the easy way? Fine. He could have the hard way.

[Prowl]

That...was unexpected.

There was more to this medic than meets the eye it seems. Such a quick recovery and turnaround to go back on the offensive. This was definitely no behind the lines medic. It was impressive really...though Prowl was soon rudely interrupted from his stupefied musings.

A sudden blow to his pedes threw him head over heel as Patch barreled through him. The tactician fell on his face, dazed for a brief moment before he threw his foot out towards where he thought Patch might be, aiming another kick at her to try and force some distance apart while he recovered.

He started to come back up to his feet, going to assume a combat stance while he waited to see what the medic would do next.

“Impressive.”

He was not one to shower praise. He only made observations about his perceptions. This fight was going to be tougher than he had calculated. Prowl made a mental note to not underestimate this small one. She kind of reminded him of Bumblebee in some ways. Small and scrappy, with a desire to never give up.

Compartmentalizing those thoughts, he continued to move to stand up. Time to get serious.

[Patch]

The very instant Patch felt impact against her push-bar, she prepared to transform.

A whirl of plating onto four limbs, hands high upon digit-tips as she flipped her frame around and threw her pedde out behind to catch herself. Not a blink before she shoved her mass in her opponent’s direction to leap upon him, and attempt to gain side-mount control.

The last-sparked was a bit eager, however, and before she could so much as register the oncoming limb, the police mech’s pedde impacted her chest, and shoulder, and sent her careening onto her back. A hard thunk, a crash that knocked the wind from her vents (though she did manage to protect her helm from the ground, if only barely). A harsh chuff as she reset for but an instant, then instinctively rolled over her shoulder to her side.

A knee was brought beneath her, as she rose from her hunched state quickly as possible. Helm low into her shoulders, the left of which forward. Patch assumed a wide stance with her peddes, and slunk behind her arms and fists as they were brought up- one to stand guard for her face, and helm, the other her chest and belly.

She looked a little jostled from her strike against the floor, her movements a little less enthused than before, though she was not shaken, and it was clear in her optics as they focused down again on the officer. She wasn’t bouncing, not quite- though she did look rather squirrely. Prepared to dodge -the preferable choice- or block at a moment’s notice.

“Thanks.” She breathed, a determined smile slipping to her lips once more as she hid behind her arms. “You’re not so bad yourself.” An understatement to say the least- and the young femme hoped he’d pick up on it. Primus, she hadn’t worked with anyone this fast in a Long time. Prowl's movements were quick, and precise; she both feared, and was intrigued at what he’d look like in an actual fight, with lethal weapons, and genuine risk.

He seemed efficient… Likely in all things.
At times, an acceptable proxy for mercy.