Well, this actually wasn't planned on my to-write list…which is already long but I'm picky…and Shizuka Taiyou and I were talking before I was soon giving a challenge that actually help me get into a writing mood. It was…
'Prowl gets sick with the flu. And his mate finds him passed out in his office burning up and shivering. And Prowl gets stuck in bed for a couple weeks to fight it off. Because of his immune system being weak.'
Of course, my muse and plot bunny was willing to help write it…but they put in their own two-cents and changed it up a bit. But oh well…
Disclaimer: Transformers is already own…can't be mine…if they were…well, Jazzy would be more of a cheeky pain-in-the aft to Prowl than ever, but hey…the SIC would love him anyway…
The room was swaying, color blending into other colors.
And he just wanted it to stop.
Prowl reached up to rub the side of his helm, feeling the heat radiating off of the armor and metal. His dulling blue optics glanced down at the data-pad he had been reading, but the words just began to flow together and make complete nonsense. A groan escaped his vocalizer and leaned back in his office chair, optics now dragging and being giving the site of the ceiling before he finally shut them down to spare him the ache. Though, in the long run, it still didn't help at all.
Primus slaggit, he should have expected this. He had calculated the odds, knowing this would have been the most likely situation. He should have stopped it before it could start, at least hindered it.
And yet, it still got the better of the tactician.
He groaned again, the waves of pain crashed inside of his CPU. It was like a raging storm, wanting to be set from the circuits. But in the end, he should have expected that this was a Decepticon-made virus and not just a ruse of a battle-plan diversion. That had been only a day ago, but now the effects were kicking in after having been dormant for 24 Earth hours. Ratchet hadn't caught it, neither the scientist mechs that were on this planet, but he knew something had been not right.
Now he was paying for his lack in critically considering the options that had been placed before him and his logic/battle-computers.
Dull blue began to power on and lit his optics, and the chair began creaking as it moved to a straighter position. Prowl finally made an effort to stand, resisting the urge to call someone. Even if he was to, he would come to find out that the virus had taken out his comm.-link system as it attacked major programs and inner mecha-workings.
He took a step before the world tilted under his pedes, and the tactician lost his footing. The ground soon came rushing up, and the white and black put up his hands to stop the fall, managing one to catch the side of his desk and slow down the descent. A groan rushed out his vocalizer, and the doorwinged body hit the floor, half-slumped against the desk.
Now, this was a concerning problem. He soon tried to contact someone for help, Jazz being first on that list. A groan/grumble soon followed afterwards when he realized that he couldn't.
Now…what was he going to do?
He tried to access a solution and probabilities…which didn't help the ache in his helm. Everything was just causing him pain now. So, finally Prowl just slump to the floor, praying to Primus to send help and not punish him for his insolence in detecting his problem before-hand.
The tactician was about to shut his optics off completely and fall in complete stasis just before he managed to pick up the sounds of the door to his office opening and closing. His processor had gone fuzzy with searing pain, so registering –or even guessing– was too much of a pain to do. His vision was already blurry to the point even shutting them off wouldn't matter anymore.
"Prowler!" came the concerned shout of a melodious voice of his sparkmate. He sensed the other black and white rushed over and digits running over his armor. A hiss of pain came from both their vocalizers, both from the touches.
"Prowler, what…" the voice of the saboteur spoke again, before it seemed realization had got to him. He had of course been there during the attack, put in his own concerns, and now…
"Jazz…" his vocalizer managed to weakly produce, then felt a cold –well, colder than his armor and core temperature– servos cupping his faceplates.
"Hang on Prowl, Ratch' is comin'. Why didn'…" Jazz's voice began, but the doorwinged mech was already slipping into stasis to hear the rest of the concerned voice. The other had gotten Ratchet, everything would be alright.
X~X Healing is for all in need of It X~X
The world had been and was still dark since he had collapsed in his office from the Decepticon virus. Time wasn't known to him in his current stasis state.
But that didn't stop him from wondering how long it had been? Not only for himself or work…but for Jazz. He hoped the other wasn't too worried. Yes, he knew he probably-no was worried, but that didn't mean the tactician would like that to be so.
Finally, after waiting in the darkness for Primus knows how long, he could feel the stasis breaking away into consciousness. Systems beginning to come on, though there was still an ache in his systems. The virus was being treating by programs, yes…but it was still hurting a bit.
At last, his optics on-lined, and a groan escaped his vocalizer from the dull ache in not only his CPU but body in general. Prowl felt the feeling in his limbs slowly coming back on, but soon a face stopped him from even thinking about moving. The one image Megatron himself would fear.
A very slagged-off Ratchet, welding a wrench in clutching fists.
Then a hiss came from the red and white CMO, "Move, and that virus won't be the only thing making your helm hurt." For once, Prowl was truly terrified, and he nodded while still lying down on the berth. Ratchet smirked, glad he caused fear in the other's spark before he moved away and another form took his place to loom over the other from the side of the berth.
"Prowler…" he breathed out, in much relief. He slipped his hand into the other's and intertwined their digits. Even with the visor on, he knew the other had an inkling that Prowl had known of these problem, well…outcome from that Decepticon attack on the last battle. "Why didn' ya…"
"I'm sorry…" the tactician barely managed to get out of his vocals, before soon the other hushed him and gave him a small smile, running his digits lightly down the doorwinged mech's cheekplate.
"Prowl…" murmured the other before the saboteur was soon interrupted by the chief medic, telling him that Prowl should get more rest so that the programs could fit off the virus. Prowl only managed to only hear fragments before his own systems rebelled against him and made him slip into stasis. The other black and white watched the other's dull optics power down, still worried a bit but heard from Ratchet that the other was getting better though it was going to take a good bit of time.
A Few Days Later…
He was bored out of his processor, which soon made him soothe the metal of his temples since it had begun to act up again. Of course, not only because of this virus being programmed to take out him…his own immune systems weren't exactly up to par. Those two just about drove him up the wall of his shared quarters since that was where he was grounded to till he was healed.
Jazz had been gracious enough to bring him cubes of energon and new novels downloaded onto pads. It was just…
Prowl didn't like to be cooped up in his room…his empty room. He nursed that notion of loneliness and absence of his sparkmate. They weren't bonded…yet, but now the tactician wished for something to get rid of this agitating alone-time and aching, which was now in the form of another small processor ache, though less violent as the beginning had been.
Then, it was like Primus decided to answer his prayers…well, at least the first half of it. The virus would still take a few more days to be completely wiped from his systems.
The door to the shared quarters of the Autobot SIC and TIC opened with a hiss and revealed a smiling Jazz, who walked in with a smooth grace to of his very own. Behind him was the hissing of the door closing, but the saboteur continued on and over to his berth-ridden lover.
"Hey Prowlie…bored? Still achin' in tha noggin" the black and white asked, while grinning a cheeky grin which soon earned him a sour look from the doorwinged tactician. He didn't appreciate being reminded of his…situation.
Prowl let out a grumble, crossing his arms over his chest and muttering, "Thank you for your keen analyze of my predicament of my poor health state, Jazz." He hissed out the lover's name, angry that the other was taking a joking of this. The saboteur let out a sigh of air, sitting on the edge of the berth and sensing the other's grouchy mode.
"Sorry Prowler, forgive me?" he asked, giving a bright smile and hoping that the other wouldn't be so mad at him. He, of course, wanted to help and make sure that the SIC wasn't in so much of discomfort. The doorwinged huffed out and adverted his optics so that the contagious smile wouldn't complete its want in crawling onto his own faceplate. That little attack was caught by Jazz, who had a wonderful idea.
"How 'bout Ah make it up ta ya?" the visored mech said, well more like purred and leaned across the other's lap from the side and encircled his arms around the other's neck. He gave his best grin, wanting to see the other's reaction. Maybe Prowlie would like-
"Sorry Jazz, Ratchet said nothing stressful that could upset the virus or anti-viral programs…" Prowl responded and began to pry the other's arms off his neck and soon the mech himself off his lap. He then leaned closer, just inches from the other's face, and said, "And besides…you still have work and reports to finish. So…" And with a good shove, the other was tumbling off the berth and onto the floor, making the SIC wince at the harsh metal-to-metal screeching noise.
Then came Jazz's outcry of…"Awww…Prowler!" Prowl sighed and muttered something of having a youngling for a lover. The black and white then managed to grumble and haul his aft up from off the ground, glaring and pouting at the reclined mech, who had the smug look now.
"Now Jazz…oh, and could you please bring me another downloaded novel? Thank you."
There were grumbles as the TIC walked out of the shared quarters with a sour look on his faceplate. Prowl just chuckled a bit but sighed in content as well. It hadn't been too bad of a visit. And of course, once the virus had left, he would take up the other's offer as a need of healing.
He shuttered his optics off, actually glad to have the other through this. A lover who cared so much. A rare and genuine grinned formed on his lipplates at the thought of the other.
Getting sick was never good…but the aftermath made it all the better. Especially since he wasn't alone in the healing.
And this went from sick to sexy quicker than my brain thought it could. I blame Jazz. Period.
Anyway….well, I hope that Shizuka Taiyou enjoyed this thing you helped spawn from my brain. And…I was working on another chapter for 'Ordinary Day'…so that should be updated soon.
PEACE OUT GIRL SCOUT!