Chapter Text
Calm and order. Peace and quiet. Things Prowl took for granted before ending up in his current… arrangement. Or perhaps 'predicament' is a better way to describe his entanglement with his current (unfortunate) set of teammates. Such concepts in the way Prowl prefers to experience them are unheard of when sharing quarters with a group of foul mannered and even fouler mouthed former Decepticon construction workers.
Some of it, he can overlook. A few things can even be outright ignored. They all have their eccentricities, but most of them don't directly affect his workflow. His office is his refuge, and the Constructicons... more or less respect that. They'll refrain from coming inside to bother him unless it's truly important enough, usually comming him to come join them outside his little sanctuary instead.
For the most part.
While most of Prowl's would-be teammates (after much scolding) at least attempt to respect his personal space, Scavenger has… boundary problems. One might say that Scavenger enjoys Prowl's personal space as much as the policemech himself, like a social creature imprinted upon a solitary one.
And yet, despite himself, Prowl can't fully commit to bringing the stick down on Scavenger like he probably should. Worst case scenario, it's the gestalt bond making him weak to the attention. Though that doesn't sit quite right in the tactician's processor. It isn't like that with all of the Constructicons, after all. Just Scavenger, his seemingly ever present shadow.
In fact, it's when Scavenger isn't hot on Prowl's wheels that the worry creeps in. Just because Scavenger is the (relatively) quiet one doesn't mean he's wholly innocent. Quite the contrary, in fact. The tread-legged con is the most criminal when it comes to violation of Prowl's private office.
Point in case, the palm sized chunk of half-melted, half-scorched metal sitting front and center on his desk. Prowl pinches at the oIfactory ridge of his faceplate, letting out a long suffering exvent.
Prowl does not use personal comms for anything outside of business. Especially not with the Constructicons. Anything perceived as a personal interest in them was to be strictly avoided, and that includes letting them think they can comm him at any time. Instead, he presses a button to send a comm directly to a speaker in Scavenger's room, betting on a hunch that the big mech is there organizing his hoard of junk.
"Scavenger, come to my office immediately."
The effect is instant. Excited pedesteps echo in the hallway, coming to a halt outside the office door. He can hear the excited shifting of the large frame. The creaking of the hinge on Scavenger's bucket. Signs that the con is beside himself with excitement or anxiety. Prowl shakes his head before allowing him inside.
"Do you like it?"
No apology for invading the office or for the refuse on his desk. Not even a greeting, overeager as it usually is.
"And what, pray tell, am I supposed to like? Your lack of boundaries? Let me guess, you've finally run out of space in your hoarder's paradise and thought to press into my quarters?"
Scavenger's bucket droops and his helm lowers. Typical reactions when the large mech gets caught being devious. Prowl can't help but associate it with Earth canines and their displays of guilt, whether genuine or performative. And, as much as he's loath to admit it, he had become quite fond of said animals during his time undercover.
"What is it?"
A soft mumble. Prowl taps his ped, waiting for something intelligible. After a moment, Scavenger speaks up.
"It's a gift... Your office doesn't have any memories so I brought you one of mine."
Prowl lets out a frustrated exvent. "Scavenger, this is a piece of rubble. What memory could you have possibly attached to such a thing?"
At that, Scavenger perks up. His bucket practically wags as he excitedly explains, having mistaken Prowl's question as interest.
"It's my favorite memory. I managed to grab this after our first combination. I'm not sure which building it came from, but just knowing it's ours is—"
"Scavenger, what possessed you to keep a chunk of debris from what, by all logic and definition, qualifies as a terrorist attack? Not to mention that the incident involved the violation of not just my frame but also my processor."
Scavenger stammers, clearly caught off guard. Prowl keeps him fixed with a piercing look until the mech can articulate his answer.
"I like collecting important memories… So that I won't forget. I just wanted to share my favorite with you..."
So he won't forget. Prowl is aware, as any leader should be, that Scavenger has issues with his memory banks. An old injury, Hook had once explained, that had a higher chance of causing more damage if they tried to fix it. As a result, Scavenger's memories were slowly becoming corrupted. The earliest ones were, at this point, unrecoverable. It was only a matter of time before the war would be all that he could recall.
That said, Prowl hadn't made the connection between the object collecting and the memory loss until hearing it stated aloud. The war left its mark in so many ways, and he often found himself having to be reminded that not all of those marks were physical. Even he carried psychological scars, his paranoia and need for order more prominent than ever now that peace was the norm.
After a long klik of silence, Prowl steps around the desk and motions to the hunk of metal still resting on it. "Why this memory?"
Scavenger lifts his helm just enough for Prowl to catch his gaze. "It's important to me because it's our first memory together, even if it isn't the happiest memory for either of us. We weren't exactly one hundred percent on board with having an Autobot taking Scrapper's place, you know."
Right. Another thing that was easy to forget with the way the Constructicons attempted to embrace him into their ranks now. How many more memories could have been made for Scavenger if Prowl had realized the significance of them? His TacNet spits out the uncomfortable answer before he thinks to stop the calculation.
Several moments pass before Prowl sits, picking up a datapad. "It can stay, but not on my desk. Pick a spot for it on one of my shelves."
Scavenger quickly jumps to the task. Prowl watches him fuss over finding the perfect spot, placing it in one and checking it from all angles before deciding to try a different place of honor. Eventually, the big mech is satisfied, his bucket arm wagging when Prowl gives him a nod of approval.
Instead of sending Scavenger away as soon as the task is done, Prowl finds himself letting him stay. He blames his fondness for canines. The way Scavenger stays close to his side, eagerly watching as Prowl does something so simple as data work, does remind him so much of the loyal creatures. He'll make an exception to his personal space being invaded just this once.
And if there happens to be a new gift on the shelf the next cycle, well. He'll just have to find a way to reciprocate.