Confusion (Working Title)

On the Freedom of Existence.

Summary: Prowl wakes up in the Autobot workshop, on a strange planet, with no recollection of how he got there. Additionally, he is faced with an odd conundrum: why are his fighting companions treating him like an enemy?

Rating: T

Disclaimer: Transformers belongs to Hasbro and Dreamworks/Paramount, not me.

A/N: One of two short giftfics for Yuuzaiden on Livejournal, for her help in making my animated icon.

Chapter One.

It was Prowl's hearing that returned first, and even that was in short bursts. He strained his audio processors to listen to what he could tell was various parts of one side of a conversation. Like a bad radio signal, the voice faced in and out.

"…..tried to rescue……download memories and…..totally slagged……damage usually results in Sparkdeath……still faintly alive but…….will attempt, but never known…….main processor gone, body more offline than online……..so much damage…….little hope……expect to pronounce him non-functional……sorry, but we tried." It said.

Prowl tried to place the voice, he knew that voice. It was…it was….so hard to think….it was…

Ratchet! The name popped into his head. It was their medic, Ratchet. Prowl last recalled being en-route to meet up with some other Autobots. He tried to remember what had happened. At first, his mind stubbornly refused to work, and then he remembered.

Decepticons!

He'd been captured, alone and without backup, by a group of Decepticons. He tried to remember what had happened beyond the fight, which had left him alive but crippled, easy for the Decepticons to take prisoner, but could recall nothing more than a suggestion that he join them, or die…an offer he had refused. He tried to remember, but no: his mind stubbornly remained a blank.

Maybe he'd remember later: the important thing was that unless Ratchet had also been captured, he must have somehow been rescued. He ached all over and seemed not able to move much, and was so weak he must be almost out of energy.

He heard the tread of footsteps, felt the gentle play of a scanner flicker over his systems. Then he heard another set of footfalls. A deeper voice asked "Any change, Ratchet?"

He knew this voice too-the leader, Optimus Prime. If he was speaking with that sort of authority, there was no way he or Ratchet were captives. His Spark wanted to dance. He had been rescued!

"The Spark's still alive. Somehow." He heard Ratchet say. "The body systems are a slagging mess, but somehow he is still hanging on."

"Yet his main processor is destroyed?" Optimus Prime asked.

"Yes. Sparkdeath can't be far now. I would have expected him to be gone by now."

There was a pause, and then Ratchet said "Okay, I'll check again." If Prowl could have, he would have chuckled, for he guessed that Prime had given Ratchet one of those looks, the ones that said 'You're the expert, but humour me, and check again.'

Prowl felt his head gently turned, felt a light finger locate his cerebrodorsal data ports, and almost panicked, for an unauthorised interface was the most demeaning thing any Cybertronian might have to endure, but he forced himself to relax. Ratchet was only doing it to check that he was still alive, and if the interface would prove that, prove to Ratchet that he had a chance, then he had no objections. He knew that Ratchet would not pry beyond his professional need.

He felt the cold end of an interface connector click into his systems, and along with the questing feeling of the medic's mind, he felt a surge of energy. Ratchet was sending power as well as his own investigative mind down the link. It gave him the energy to do things that he had been too tired to previously, and he unshuttered his optics slowly.

Only one optic seenmed to be functioning, and the images he was receiving seemed to be blurred: he could see two fuzzy shapes, the closest one green the other, mostly blue but with red on it in places. He struggled to focus the working optic, it seemed to be an uphill battle to get anything to function. Another set of footfalls sounded as his single optic snapped into focus abruptly. Although their colours were different, and their alt-forms unknown, their faces were familiar. The one in green wore Ratchet's face, the one in blue and red was their leader Optimus Prime, and the owner of the third set of footfalls came into view. The name of the owner of that craggy face came into his mind.

Ironhide.

Prowl found he now had the energy to move his hand. He moved it up towards Ratchet's shoulder in a gesture meant to convey gratitude and comradeship, as one soldier to another, but as the black, sharp-clawed appendage in question came into his optic's view, Prowl stopped moving it, and stared.

This was not his hand!

Then everything happened at once.

Ratchet said, in a disbelieving voice "There is still a functional main processor in here!"

Ratchet was suddenly pulled aside, the interface suddenly disconnected as Ironhide said "The slagger was playing dead the whole time! It's a trap!"

Prowl was dizzy and confused, and without the extra energy, he was weakening again. He started in disbelief as he found himself looking down the business end of one of Ironhide's cannons. As he began to lose sensory function again and his optic darkened, he heard Ironhide speak.

"If you so much as twitch, Barricade, I'll blast you!"

His last coherent thought before the darkness took him again was 'Who the frag is Barricade?'