Disclaimer: Don't own Transformers…

Summary: They hated him. They hated him because he was who he was and that he was where he was because of it. Yes, they hated Prowl. That was, until he was gone. Mentions of slash, violence and death. Slight AU. Prowl glorifying.

Rating: T

AN: Hello. This is just a short oneshot that pretty much glorifies Prowl because I love him even if he is often portrayed as a hardaft. A gift to all the fans who think Prowl is under-appreciated.

When You're Gone

They hated him.

They hated what he stood for, what he did and how he did it. Hated him for who he was and how he worked. Hated that he was where he was and that he got there because of who he was. They hated him as only mechs of war could.

They scorned him when battle brought it's casualties, cursed his name when order demanded discipline. They called him sparkless, little more than a sentient drone, nothing more than a processor and battle computer that'd crawled into the nearest frame and ate out every circuit of mech there was.

It hurt. By Primus did it hurt when they spit his name like a vile thing, turned up their noses at his practiced patience, and stared upon him like the lowest of creatures. Oh, how it hurt.

But he was their Second in command, the pillar by which the Prime's army was built and maintained, and most of all, he was Prowl, and he'd chosen this path knowing the hatred he'd be subjected to.

They hated him, hated him for all he was and stood for, until…

He was gone.

It'd been a freak accident, something not even Prowl, the Autobot's head tactician and second in command, could have predicted: a loose bolt on the light fixture, and ten tons of metal and glass pinning the tactician to the floor, cracking his helm wide open. Even so, it had happened, and now, unconscious and lulled by the symphony of flat-lining machines and frantic voices, his sight began to fade.

Yet, even with this awareness of fading, only one thought crossed Prowl's thoughts.

Tired. I'm tired… I'll finish that report later.

And then all was quiet, peaceful, and for once Prowl did not feel bothered by the stillness.

He welcomed it.

There were mixed reactions about the second in command's state of stasis. Some were shocked, others concerned, and then there were those who threw back their helms and laughed in mocking.

Prowl, the Autobot's most infamous hardaft, had finally gotten some sense knocked into him. Or so the joke went.

The word of his potentially life threatening state spread like a virus throughout the Autobot ranks, passed by word of mouth and comm. and note. It did not take long for the news to reach even the most isolated of bots.

"Did ya hear? Prowl is in stasis. Not even the medic knows if he'll pull through."

"Hope he doesn't. Then maybe we'll actually get a tactician with a spark. That drone sent my friend and his entire unit on a suicide mission. Not a damn spark made it out."

"You're right. He was abnormally cold. Maybe he really is a drone."

"But who's gonna be second now?"

"Who do you think is going to be second in command?"

"Who's going to be second in command?"

Ah, yes. That was the question that plagued the Autobot ranks so thoroughly. Who was going to be the Autobot's new second in command?

Jazz was considered, but he all but threatened desertion when questioned.

Ultra Magus: Refused and then remained silent on the matter.

Ratchet: Glared and threatened reformatting should he be approach again.

Ironhide: Started up his cannons and asked if he looked like a fool.

Wheeljack: Just stared at the questioner as though they were crazy.

None of the other officers looked so thrilled with the idea of such a position either.

Needless to say, the majority of the Autobot ranks were stumped. Not only were the higher ups refusing the position out right, but they also seemed to hold contempt for it despite their seemingly close attachment to the unconscious praxian, if their occasional visits to medbay to monitor Prowl's progress was anything to go by.

So it was decided. The Autobot troops themselves would chose amongst themselves who would be appointed to the position.

The troops were thrilled, Optimus merely sighed in exasperation.

Nothing good would come of this. That was the Prime's only thought on the matter.

After little debate and much campaigning, Sparkjump was appointed to the position by a 5% majority vote in a 53-contestant lineup. Smart, humble, but a real bots kind of mech, he was an obvious choice for the job. Surely he could do it better than Prowl ever had.

He quit two cycles later when the first round of reports was set in front of him.

No problem, there were many options to chose from.

Kickstart was chosen as Sparkjump's successor. A bot of great work ethic, of a good general's background and even better standing. He seemed the better choice for the job.

Apparently, he was not so good with numbers and was promptly dismissed when he miscounted how many energon cubes should be distributed to which bases, leaving three bases running of exhaust fumes.

A minor setback for the search for a better second in command, but nothing that couldn't be fixed.

Calculate, Sharppoint, and Tuneup all went in rapid secession. They were all good with numbers, but Calculate failed at analysis of those numbers, Sharppoint couldn't concentrate on the work at hand due to an unusual quirk, and Tuneup- well, the Autobots don't like to be reminded of the incident with the data pad.

For the first time, a wave of doubt settled with the Autobot troops. But they were not to be swayed from their search. Surely there had to be someone appropriate for the job.

Another vote was held.

Blazer won by a 9% majority in a 42-contestant election. He was an outgoing bot who'd been not only an assistant tactician at one point, but also an accountant before the war. The Autobot's had a good feeling about him.

Jazz took one look at the bot and shook his helm. Ironhide snorted and walked away.

The bot was good at the work handed to him, prompt and neatly filed, but he broke under the isolation being in such a position brought. He quit a mere thirteen cycles into the job.

Optimus prayed his troops found a suitable second before the Decepticons initiated an attack.

The twins got into the paint supply for the sixteenth time that deca-cycle, setting up yet another prank that none of the other officers were able to effectively stop.

The Autobots had a good laugh at the misfortune of the unlucky few.

The unlucky few were not amused.

Blazer had obviously been too social a bot to have been in such a position as second in command.

But all was well; there were more to choose from.

A shy but efficient bot named Steelframe was chosen for the task. He was not unpopular, but he wasn't very sociable either. He was mostly known for his intelligence and timid temperament.

Apparently he'd been too timid. He promptly fainted when addressed by bots bigger than himself- namely the Prime- and though many had hoped such an occurrence would pass in time, it never did.

Ratchet declared him too fragile of processor to continue.

The duty roster had been lacking of late, bots roaming the halls with nothing to do and no one to direct them with all the other officers bound to their obligations and no second in command to appoint tasks of maintenance.

The lower levels of the ship were beginning to show signs of rust, but the only ones who knew were the ones who don't know the significance of such an occurrence.

Sickness is spreading.

Ratchet's temper was at an all time high and the twins' pranks had not helped that.

The Autobots are not laughing anymore.

Hardshell was appointed to the task of second in command. He was strong, fierce in battle, a brilliant tactician, and an even better commander. He was what every one had been looking for, someone who could hold the position of second in command with his helm held high.

Unfortunately, he held grudges, and was dismissed when he began to show signs of favoritism and abuse of authority in regards to punishment detail.

He is not so highly thought of anymore. His new nickname was Hardaft, or as the twins had dubbed him, Nutshell.

The next election had only 30 contestants.

The Decepticons attacked the cycle Bolter was appointed to the position of second in command. He was doing well, for an upstart. Though admittedly not as well as Prowl.

However, when the final blow was to be delivered, an enemy unit managed to break through the barrier and began moving forward into the Autobot stronghold.

Pull the switch and block off the Decepticon's path, winning the battle but trapping several units to their fate, or retreat, losing the base but yielding less possible casualties. That was the decision faced by young Bolter.

He chose to win, because losing wasn't an option at this point, and it was his duty to ensure they did not lose the war.

He self-terminated later that cycle under the backlash of angry troops mourning lost comrades and the guilt of what he'd done.

The announcement of his unsightly death had sent shockwaves through the ranks.

Prowl had never done that before.

The twins had long since stopped their pranks, for the paint was long gone and the supplies were dwindling under the assault of those who were taking advantage of the lack of security detail.

Red Alert was starting to have more frequent meltdowns with the base in such disorder and not even Inferno could help him.

For the first time, Ratchet hit First Aid in sheer anger, for something so mundane as a misplaced tool.

Ratchet was more traumatized by it than First Aid.

Jazz is starting to get lonely. His thoughts were turning darker.

When Optimus went to go check the progress of his still downed former second in command, he found a young soldier he did not know sitting beside the praxian, staring with something like awe into the tactician's, for once, peaceful expression.

He could not bring himself to disturb the sight of this unusual, but welcome, occurrence.

The Prime left, but the young bot stayed long into the cycle wondering what kind of bot the former second in command had to have been to have had the position for so long and to have done it so well.

When he found the courage, he touched the tactician's hand and prayed he would come back to them.

Prowl, the young solder remembered. Prowl was his name.

The next election was not an election, not really. The position went to any bot that had the bolts to take it.

Ratchet merely frowned. "Took them long enough to figure it out."

It was DullBlade who stepped forward to take the roll as second in command, and immediately, the Autobot troops loathed him. He was what they called, a poor excuse of a cybertronian.

He was thankfully stripped of his rank and thrown in the brig when he was caught using his position to coerce lower ranking bots into his berth.

He was later transferred to an outpost prison when bots on base began making threats on his life.

Ironhide was one of them.

It was not much better when TrackRoll took the position.

It took only two deca-cycles for the power to get to his processor and he tried having a bot executed for spilling energon on him during a confrontation.

Needless to say, he was immediately dismissed.

Bluestreak was getting worse, and no one seemed to be able to help.

Ratchet was always too busy fixing bots sickened by the still unknown rust source and Ironhide was at an all time snapping point with all the damn troublemakers he'd been forced to deal with.

Wheeljack was kind and listened well, but was not so good with comforting others the way Bluestreak needed, and Smokesceen's and Optimus's workload was something to be feared.

He started screaming at night, the way he'd done when he first joined the Autobots.

Many of the crew did not sleep well most nights.

Bluestreak kept calling for Prowl.

No one was stepping forward for the position of second in command, and those who did were accused of having an agenda.

"It's a curse, that position is."

"I'm not doing it."

"Are ya crazy, mech? I wouldn't become second if ya paid me!"

"Who's gonna become second in command, then?"

"Who would do it? Not me."

"Not I."

"Who'd want to be second in command?"

Indeed, who'd want to be second in command?

The Decepticons attacked.

A 45% mortality estimate and the loss of an energon mine, all because of a minor error of detail.

It was the highest death toll since Prowl became second in command.

Many, many bots were still grieving.

Even with the assured victory for many of the skirmishes, there would be much grieving to come as the battle over the territory raged on.

Jazz came to Prowl's side once more, as he always did, but stopped short.

Beside Prowl's berth was a note on which a blocked, choppy message was written, characteristic of a large, undereducated individual trying to write something out on a piece of paper too small for their hands.

Please get better soon, comander. We need you back.

Jazz read the letter over and over, lips still turned down in a grimace.

They finally get it.

Hesitantly, and a little reluctantly, Powerpack stepped up at take position of second in command. He was young, but intelligent and eager to do good for the Autobots. He was a good bot, and luckily, most of the Autobot's knew that, so he was not scorned out right.

However, he quickly crumbled under the pressure the newly organized gang of troublemakers- which had formed now that Prowl was not there to run interference- that had started to bully others into submission by use of intimidation and bribery.

Even the twins were starting to get into fights with these newly established gangs due to their lack of morals and incriminating activities, of all things the twins could get ruffled over.

Apparently, Powerpack just didn't have the right mind set to battle these dangerous hooligans and stepped down from his position when death threats began appearing in his reports.

Ironhide declared war on the gangs with the twins by his side.

It nearly became the Autobot civil war within the cybertronian civil war.

The riots had finally faded away into uneasy tensions and Ironhide was no longer stalking the halls looking for suspicious bots to beat the slag out of. But still, Optimus was tired, so, so tired.

Throughout the two vorns he'd been without his second, he'd been pushed to the breaking point more times than he dare count, loaded down with data work that knew no end, given complaint after complaint of disturbances on the Ark, and had to watch his own officers beginning to crack under the pressure.

He'd always known Prowl was important, always known Prowl was the only bot who could hope to be the Autobot's second in command so perfectly. Just look at Starscream, he use to be a well-known scientist and brilliant aerial commander, but once he became the Decepticon's second in command he began to fall deeper into the pit of insanity until he was where he is now.

It's a sad fate for many.

Optimus looked down into the face of his former second, weariness burdening his expression. He turned away, looking down to his worn, aching hands instead.

One thing was for certain; the Autobots were not ready to be without Prowl. They needed him. He was their second in command, their head tactician, but most importantly, he was Prowl, and he had chosen his position knowing the burden he would carry.

"Sir?"

Optimus froze, processors racing. Something flittered through his spark at that voice, hope.

Please do not let this be another recharge flex.

The Prime turned, slowly, and nearly cried for joy when he found Prowl, conscious and assessing him with no small amount of concern tainting his otherwise expressionless stare.

"Are you well, sir? Shall I comm. Ratchet?"

Optimus, overcome with relief but knowing of Prowl's awkwardness in such situations, wisely chose not to embrace Prowl. He instead put a hand on his second's shoulder and smiled.

"I am now, my friend."

Prowl merely frowned and asked how long he'd been in stasis- and why his commander looked to be close to tears.

Optimus just laughed.

Prowl leaned away and quickly contacted Ratchet.

Only to freeze in shock when Ratchet promptly burst into curses of joy.

He noticed too, the note at his berthside.

What happened while I was out?

News of Prowl's awakening spread like oil-slicked fire through the Autobot ranks, gaining mixed reactions. Some were shrilled, others relieved, and then there were those who threw back their helms and cried in joy.

Jazz commented on how vastly different the news of Prowl's recovery was received compared to the announcement of him having fallen into stasis lock.

Ironhide was rather amused by it.

For his part, Prowl nearly suffered from a lockup when a sudden cheer of welcome and happiness arose when he entered the hall for the first time since he fell into stasis. Some bots even approached him and gave him personalized welcomes, such as jokes on how he was missed and confusing gestures of affection that had him quickly fleeing the hall- as professionally as possible- to get to his office.

Needless to say, the Autobots as a whole were amused by his sudden discomfort and departure, and for the first time in a long time, they all had a good laugh.

And it felt great.

"Jazz, they are malfunctioning." Prowl said simply when he found the Autobot's third in command leaning expectantly against his doorframe. "Their personality cores may have been altered at some point during my stasis. I request that you look into this."

Jazz merely smirked. "Nice to have you back. We've missed you."

Prowl gave him an unamused look, and Jazz laughed heartily, patting him on the shoulder. Prowl looked down at his captured shoulder inquiringly, unsure of the contact, before he was suddenly enveloped in an embrace.

Prowl stiffened, but Jazz did not let go.

"I've missed you." And only with that said did he finally release the tactician.

Shaken, and more than a little disturbed, Prowl nodded and watched as the saboteur all but danced off to places unknown, singing a song Prowl did not recognize nor care to identify.

Prowl quickly bolted into his office when Jazz was out of sight, seeking to escape the madness- only to stop dead in his tracks when he saw the mountain of data pads towering on and over his desk, like a foreboding beast ready to swallow him whole.

Prowl slowly straightened, doorwing twitching just slightly at the sight, a frown across his lips.

"They could have at least appointed a temporary second in command while I was in stasis."

He spied a single data pad, half completed, still hanging off the edge of the desk where he'd left it.

His expression once more became impassive, and slightly troubled.

I should have finished that report.

AN: Oh, Prowl, much love. So what do you all think? I know some of the details maybe a bit hard to make out or may seem a bit off, but this is an Au-ish ficlet I made simply to express my appreciation for Prowl.

SN: I was really inspired to write this when I got into a heated debate as to the importance of law enforcement with someone- I won't mention who- who thought all police were jerks just out to make people miserable for their own amusement. Needless to say, I was not amused- at all- and needed to vent.

Please review…