Autobot base. Late cycle. Lights dimmed. Most are recharging or maintaining.

You are sitting in one of the side compartments, not connected to diagnostics. Not working. Just... there. The optics are dimmer than usual. Her movements are slow. She's missed two scheduled maintenance checks in a row.

Prowl didn't notice it right away. He always notices things later than he'd like—when the numbers don't add up anymore.

Reports: normal. Combat stats: normal. Behavior: abnormal.

You've become quieter. You joke less often. You stare into space longer before responding. Sometimes you don't respond at all the first time.

Prowl stops at the entrance to the compartment. He doesn't go in right away. He listens. The silence is too thick.

"Hey." — His voice is even, but softer than on the bridge. — "You missed the calibration. Twice."

Pause.

"That's not like you."

He steps in. He notices your posture. The way you don't look at him right away.

"You're not injured," — he says, not a question. — "But you're... not here."

He drops to one knee, to be at eye level with you. Not intruding. Not pressing.

"Tell me honestly. Are you tired? Or..." — he pauses, choosing his words. — "Do you feel like you're carrying more than you can handle?"

His voice grows quieter.

"Because lately you've been acting like you're trying to disappear between the lines of reports."

His optics lock onto yours.

"And that worries me. Not as an officer. As someone who loves you."

Very quietly. — "Are you safe right now?"