Nevermore

Transformers 2007/09 Movie Verse
Rating: PG
Characters: Jazz & Co.

Disclaimer: I do not own Jazz or any other Transformer, except in toy form.

Warnings: Implied mechxmech and a wee bit of angsty mechs…

A/N – So, I was getting ready for work in the wee hours of the morning when I was thoroughly assaulted by this bunny out of the blue. Thus, I spent the next how ever many hours tip-tapping this out instead of working. ^_^ Please enjoy!

FYI…Takes place about five years after the Mission City incident and I have COMPLETELY ignored the second Transformers film…me no likey.

Jazz felt more than saw the other mech's hurried departure. It didn't take a Perceptor to know when he was unwelcome.

Wearily, the silver saboteur scrubbed a four-fingered servo over his faceplates. Helm tilted back in his current position on the slightly worse-for-wear couch he contemplated the interconnecting iron slats that criss-crossed high above him supporting a dull grey ceiling. He had felt that the makeshift recreation room would be a good place to unwind for the night, especially with only the quiet audio of the flat screen television to keep him occupied.

What he hadn't counted on was the room already being occupied at such a late, off time. The humans called it the "witching hour" and he was beginning to see why. The smaller mech was still adjusting to the whole 'being alive' thing so recharge was a fleeting entity, and who could blame him? It had been only three months since Ratchet had finished the painstaking (and processor-melting from what he had heard) reconstruction on his eviscerated shell and Optimus had then willed the life back into it using the remaining fragment of the All Spark.

There wasn't much to remember from his relatively brief stint in the Matrix, other than vague impressions that were becoming harder and harder to recollect. The others had inundated him with questions regarding his experience in the afterlife once the grouchy medic had released him. He had to sadly disappoint them since, just like with dreams, reality had stepped in and asserted itself leaving little of that other world behind. It had been a great joy to discover how many of their bots had made it to this tiny, organic planet during the five years that he had been out of commission, and sadder still to learn of those who hadn't. Ironhide surprisingly had realized something was amiss sooner than the others after Jazz acted surprised that Bumblebee's vocals were functioning—something that had been accomplished while the saboteur had been originally online. That was the first sign of real trouble for the reanimated Solstice.

His memory was complete in the sense that he remembered things from the point in which he had first onlined so many vorns ago all the way up until those last horrid moments when the Lord Protector had torn him cleanly in two. But there were more gaps now. More than natural degradation of information could account for. Ratchet had told him in a rare, somber tone that there was still about a 50% chance that his CPU would defrag itself and recover the missing data, but that still left just as much to chance that it would be lost forever.

Regardless of the stir it had caused for the Autobots in the Diego Garcia base initially, the saboteur did as he had always done—rolled with what had been handed to him and took the opportunity to rebuild himself. After realizing that he was still the "same 'ol Jazz", the others followed suit and stopped sending pitying looks his way when they assumed he would not notice. Of course, his self-appointed mission was not without its obstacles. Of the new bots on base, one in particular whom he had no recollection of ever meeting was a habitual bar in his spokes.

Outside of mission planning (which the Solstice was slowly, but surely being reintroduced into doing) the dark-plated mech and he could not be in the same room together for any period of time. The bot was just. Cold. Plain and simple. The silver minibot had nothing against the other at first, giving him the same open acceptance and easy going attitude as the others, but apparently the other just could not stand him. That or the bot was just a glitch when it came right down to it. Watching him interact with the others left little variation of that opinion for him. Orders were always terse and to the point, especially whenever the Solstice was involved.

It rankled him too, just like the incident a few minutes ago had rubbed his plating the wrong way. This needed to stop or he was going to likely snap at the other officer, and not just a verbal snap. His behavior was completely unbecoming for an officer who should be setting a good example for the troops to follow.

Processor made up, the smaller mech slid off of the argyle-print cushions and made his way after the recently departed. It wasn't like it was difficult to track him. The mech practically lived in his office. In a few, short minutes (more than likely from his quick and agitated pace) the saboteur stood in front of an innocuous door, the same dull shade of grey as the rest of their base. Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself for what was to come and overrode the security for the door's locking mechanism. No sense knocking when he wouldn't have been invited in anyhow.

As he quickly stepped through the portal, the other darker mech quickly stood behind his immaculate desk, optics flashing. Jazz hated that desk. It was too orderly. Too sterile. It reminded him of someone else he had once had the displeasure of meeting in person—Shockwave.

Deeply frowning, the officer drew himself to his full height – at least a head and shoulders above the saboteur's own diminutive one.

"Jazz. You did not have clearance to enter my office." The voice was perfectly level and low, but he could see the heat behind the other mech's optics.

Looking around disinterestedly, Jazz scratched at the side of his chin. "Oh, really? I had no idea. Maybe I should go back outside and knock. See if I get any reaction out of your cold aft." The saboteur leaned forward placing his palms on the other mech's desk, knocking over a few items intentionally in the course. He watched the officer's optics quickly track the rolling forms before refocusing back on him. Large sensory panels rose over the mech's shoulder plating and twitched in what he took to be frustration or possibly anger.

"Please, leave. You are on duty in less than five hours and are required to receive no less than eight hours of recharge, per our CMO's orders."

"I dun' need to sleep. Done 'nough of that already to last me a few life times."

"If you disagree with Ratchet's request, which need I remind you that both Optimus Prime and myself have signed off on, you may take it up with him during normal business hours."

Optics narrowing behind his visor, the smaller mech was hard pressed to not clench his servos into tight fists. But that wouldn't do. Losing control in front of this mech was not an option. "My problem is not with Ratchet. My problem is with you. What is your fraggin' problem with me, mech?"

Imperceptibly straightening the taller bot looked even more aloof, going so far as to look down his nasal bridge at the silver nuisance in his office. "You are mistaken. I have no issue in regards to you."

"Really? Could've fooled me. You keep avoidin' me like a bad case of cosmic rust."

"If that is your perception, than perhaps you should take the time to think about it and not bother me with your unfounded concerns." Moving from behind the desk in near silent steps, his chevron briefly catching the low lighting with a red flash, the other officer moved to well within his personal space simply exuding authority.

"Now, if you are quite finished, I have further work that I must attend to before the start of the day shift. Good bye, Jazz."

The door swiftly shut in the saboteur's faceplates and he blinked, belatedly realizing that he had somehow been herded back into the hall. The sound of swift typing resuming could be heard through the closed door and he glared at it. Turning to storm off, he paused and threw another glance at the door stating darkly, "This isn't over, Prowl. Not by a long shot."

Now further fueled by his own suspicions, Jazz figured that he might be able to get a real answer as to what was going on out of one of his closer brethren—the ones that he had spent the last umpteen vorns with on their quest for the All Spark. Prime had been disappointing—he had told him that he should speak with Prowl and wouldn't get the hint that his second-in-command was the one causing the communication problem and not him. But NO, that could not possibly be something that the perfect tactician would do. Ironhide flat out refused to talk, choosing to childishly ignore him in favor of the shooting range. After that, the weapons specialist could not be found anywhere on base—the rumor being that he was staying with the Lennoxes for the weekend. Don't even get him started on exactly how UNhelpful that the thrice-cursed medic was.

Finally settling on two less-than reliable, but very agreeable sources, he asked the twin frontliners. Sunstreaker had quite a few nasty things to say about their second, and Sideswipe was of the opinion that Jazz had never been on the mech's good side. Apparently spontaneity in missions and general joking around were not things that rated highly in the tactician's ice blue optics. Both Lamborghinis felt that the black and white mech was probably disappointed to have to be dealing with both them and him again within the same general space.

That conversation definitely gave Jazz a lot to think about. So much so that he did not pay the source of his ire much attention for the next week or so, even as the mech continued to actively avoid him.

It was funny how quickly things could change at the Autobot's base. One moment they were idling around with nothing to do, but routine maintenance and the next they were hip-plate deep in an all-out battle for their lives with the Decepticons.

Starscream had apparently not been idle during the time that he had been MIA from Red Alert's terrestrial scans. The jet had appeared from out of nowhere (more than likely courtesy of Skywarp) and had proceeded with hammering their base's defenses within a matter of moments. With drones appearing on the rise, not far behind the air commander's trine all available bots were mobilized to take down the threat, including Jazz.

The saboteur experienced mixed emotions as he stylish whirled into battle, shield out a gun blazing. It had been a while since he had the opportunity to use his formidable fighting skills on the battlefield and enjoyed the challenge. It also brought up bad memory files of the last battle that he had participated in which…hadn't ended well to say the very least.

Spinning around to his left, the sleek saboteur dodged several blasts from a drone at his flank before turning and taking out a few who were trying to overwhelm Wheeljack. Once the engineer was back on his feet and waving cheerily back at the Solstice for his help, the mech turned to engage his next enemy.

All along the steady drone of orders filtered through his audios as THAT mech directed their field of battle. "Ironhide, cover Ratchet—Smokescreen is down in the fourth quadrant. Bumblebee, watch your flank. Jazz, stay in formation! Keep the left line."

More than a little aggravated at the hit to his pride of being corrected during a battle, Jazz happily ignored the tactician's command in favor of shooting a cluster bomb into the midst of a wing of drone. The resulting concussive blast both took down the small grouping of mindless attackers and drowned out the black and white mech's cutting response for him disobeying orders. Turning casually towards the mech hailing him he merely pointed to his audio and shrugged as though he had not heard anything.

Then the mech was outright shouting at him, pointing at something outside of his field of vision. The saboteur barely had enough time to curse before a laser blast peppered his right side and lower back. The sharp pain stung fiercely and his sensors went wild at the damage, reports flying by his optics quickly cataloguing holes, leaks and shorted out sections of his frame.

Now on one knee, the silver mech tried to regain his bearings, dimly noting the frantic calls of Bluestreak and Bumblebee, but had little time to contemplate what they were saying. A large and heavy form barreled into his side knocking him flat onto his back plates and effectively caging him in just as the whistle of dropped charges reached his audio horns. The resulting explosion and wave of hot energy further pinned the saboteur to the ground under the metallic form above him before pain overrode his senses and Jazz could not help, but cry out.

Absently, Jazz picked at one of the corners of the putty-colored flexi-seal bandage wrapped around his side. Thankfully, he had not had to suffer Ratchet's 'care' for more than a few hours (not that his audios would ever be the same) and was on mandatory rest until his wounds were no longer so raw. The saboteur had gratefully left the medical bay in favor of his room and had been curled up on his berth ever since. That had been more than a day cycle ago.

Apparently Skywarp had noticed the downed saboteur during one of his strafing runs and had been subsequently noticed by Bluestreak and Bumblebee. They had gotten there right after the warping Decepticon had dropped his payload onto his position. It was strange, but save for the holes from the lucky shot the drone had gotten in and a little bit of plate warping that had occurred due to the heat of the blast, the silver mech was in decent shape. Much more decent shape than he would have expected.

That still didn't explain why his back plates, starting with the shoulder blades and all the way down to his shiny aft, hurt like Devastator and stomped on him. Flexing again in an attempt to relieve the annoying phantom pains along his body, the silver mech sighed in exasperation before finally uncurling from his position. Stretching lines and cables that had bunched as he rested the saboteur decided that enough was enough. Either he needed Ratchet to finish fixing whatever was wrong with him, or he needed some good drugs to knock him out so that he could finally recharge.

Quietly, the special ops mech snuck out of his room and made his slow way down the deserted halls and to The Hatchet's Domain. No sense putting off what could be taken care of then and now. Plus, the medic was slightly more amiable (or at least non-threatening) if one took it upon themselves to visit him without prior command to do so.

Finally to his destination, Jazz palmed open the double doors of the bay and cautiously looked around for the ill-tempered CMO. The sound of metal objects being shifted and pushed around, directed him to a back corner that held bins of spare parts. The Search and Rescue Hummer was busy rummaging through different containers of bolts apparently looking for something in particular as he muttered and grumbled.

Clearing his intakes, the medic jumped, flinging small bits and pieces in the process. After they stopped raining down on both mechs, the larger of the two glared down at his interrupter.

Now thinking that this had not been a good idea, the saboteur made as if to back up. "Sorry, Ratch. I didn't mean to startle ya."

Not loosing his peeved expression, the medic's optics narrowed malevolently. "Do you have some reason for being here, Jazz?"

Servos held up in defense, the silver mech took a few more steps back, "Yeah, but if ya're busy I can come back 'nother time."

Huffing, the yellow and chartreuse mech seemed to deflate before motioning the saboteur back towards the med bay proper and onto a berth. "Seals not holding?"

"Naw, they're good."

"Weld lines pulling?"

"Naw, all the repairs seem to be holdin' fine."

"Then why the frag are you bothering me!"

The silver-helmed mech leaned back in response to the loud vocals of the medic, hunching over for a blow. "It's just my back, Ratch."

Optics now regarding him thoroughly suspicious, the saboteur thought it prudent to add, "Honest! I've been resting in my room, just like ya asked. They just keep burning every now and again and I can't figure out why."

With a sigh, the bulky mech relented before pulling out a handheld medscanner to run over the Solstice's frame. After a few minutes the results beeped back at Ratchet and he efficiently ran through the data with little effort.

"Hmm. Looks like everything is checking out. You're a little low on energy, but some good, solid recharge should clear that up." Now glaring pointedly at his patient, the other mech fidgeted under his stare.

"I've tried. I swear! I can't cycle down because of this slag with my back."

"Fine." The medic relented. Reaching into his subspace, he handed the saboteur of bright magenta, glowing capsule. "Take this and it should help to knock you out for the night."

Accepting the small pill, the silver mech looked back up to the medic, mouth plates open to ask something when Ratchet cut him off. "Now, if you don't mind, I still have work to do. Get your glitching aft out of my med bay and I don't want to see a single nanobyte of your chassis until our next scheduled check-up."

Taking that as his clue to split, Jazz slid from the berth as the medic sharply turned and made his way back to one of the closed off surgery rooms. Confused, the saboteur stopped in his tracks and watched the bulky medic disappear through the sliding door. The silver mech had been sure that all of the injured had been taken care of and released in some form or another. Cautiously, he crept towards the windowless room situated against the back wall of the bay, stopping at its entrance. Unlike the normal doors of their base, this one actually had hinges. This was probably an aspect of the earlier human architecture that had been left alone and deemed non-essential when they first moved into the space.

Nudging the door out slightly, his visored optics took in the broad back of the medic as he grumbled and hunched over a form lying still on the operating berth. The Hummer cursed and subsequently the form twitched and groaned, but otherwise remained immobile. From his position, Jazz could just make out mostly black plating as whoever was the Hatchet's unfortunate patient was lying completely on their side, facing away from the door, and thus away from him.

At first, he suspected the weapon-happy Ironhide, but he could just make out bits of white on some of the plating, as well as the sharp outline of a chevroned helm. No thoroughly confused (he didn't remember that blasted tactician taking flak during their battle) the saboteur watched as a tweezer-like tool in place of Ratchet's right servo started pulling out shards of shrapnel. The tray that was placed right underneath where the medic was working already had a considerable pile of sharp metal pieces of varying sizes. Starting, the silver mech realized what was really off about this picture—the normally prominent sensory panels were completely missing from the mech's back, all the way down to the hinge.

Shaking his helm, the saboteur quietly backed out, leaving the two mechs alone once more. His disquieting trek back to the room was filled with thoughts about what he had just seen.

The incident in the med bay followed Jazz's thoughts during the days following. He could not explain it, but he knew that there was something amiss going on right underneath his olfactory sensors. The sit rep from the battle had made things worse for the silver mech. Apparently the Autobot's second had used his own body to shield the saboteur during Skywarp's attack, resulting in him being out of commission for the following week as both Ratchet and Wheeljack worked to reconstruct his 'door wings' and set everything else to rights.

Looking up, the Solstice spotted the Hummer making his way to one of the energon dispensers in their break room and made his excuses to the other mechs (and humans) that he had been gaming with to pursue the medic.

Catching him just outside the door, the silver mech called out, "Ratchet!"

Turning, the other mech regarded him and gave a cranky, "What?"

Jogging to stand next to the taller mech as he continued to walk down the hallway, the saboteur decided to just ask. "So what's going on, Ratch?"

"Huh?"

"Ya know what I mean. What's the deal with Prowl and what do I have to do with it? And don't tell me nothing 'cause that's just a load of slag."

Frowning, the medic growled (scary!) before stopping abruptly. Casting a wary look at the saboteur, Ratchet dropped his voice so that the halls would not carry it too far. "Look, Jazz. If there is anything going on, and I am not saying that there is, I would not tell you anyways. There's this little thing about doctor/patient confidentiality that I am not about to break. You either need to speak with Prime or speak with Prowl, but don't ask me and don't bring me into this either!"

Shocked at the sharp tone of the other mech, Jazz backed up and let the medic stalk off down the hall.

Shifting on his pistons, the Solstice made an abrupt-face and took off in a new direction. At least he had something to go by now. Ratchet had pretty much told him that there was something he wasn't being clued in on and where to find out why. Optimus was in Washington D.C. with Ironhide at the moment, greeting the newly elected human president, so that left only one bot for him to see.

It took a little planning and roping in a few hapless bots to use as bait and cover, but Jazz finally managed to corner the second in the Security Center later that week. Pit, were tacticians difficult to plot against!

Wearily the door-winged mech regarded him from his seated position at the security bank. Strangely enough, Jazz found himself kind of relieved to see the mech back in one piece. For whatever reason, the tactician made no move to expel him, nor did his posture suggest any defensiveness. The saboteur prided himself on being able to read mechs as it was essential for what he did in the Autobots and even before then. From what he could see (and perhaps he might have missed it during previous encounters) was that the black and white mech was thoroughly exhausted. Optics were at a low setting, giving them an almost ghost-white look. His entire body language was off as the tactician seemed to wait for whatever tirade the silver mech planned to throw at him.

Calming down slightly, the silver bot rethought his approach.

"Hey. I never told you thanks for saving my chassis."

The mech merely stared at him, no hint of reaction on his faceplates. It was a bit…disconcerting. Frustrated and at a loss, the saboteur blurts out, "Why do you keep avoiding me? Is it because of something I did? Is it because of what I do? What?"

Calm enters the other's optics at this more common subject matter. Dispassionately, he responds, "I am not avoiding you, Jazz."

"Then what is it, if it's not avoidance?"

The tactician turns his attention to the console, jaw working silently before his optics turn off completely. When he faces Jazz again, the open expression on his faceplates is so pained that the saboteur can not help, but be taken aback and a little bit more than concerned.

"Do you really want to know?"

"Yes, please?"

"We…used to be close."

"Close? Like what kind of close? Partners? Friends?" Stumbling over the last word, he still asks, "Lovers?"

A deep sigh and then those light blue optics are pinning him in place. "All of the above."

Stunned, all Jazz can do is stare at the mech for a moment. "I…I'm sorry."

Smiling softly (the saboteur's spark flutters at the pleasing sight) Prowl says, "It is not your fault for not remembering. I… I am just glad that you are alive and well."

Expression softening, the Solstice feels touched to his very core at the sincerity of the other mech—this other bot whose reactions to him had caused so much confusion before. It suddenly made a whole world of sense. Interactions were kept short and distant because the other was in such pain from being around him. Being around someone who must have been (and seemed to still be) important to him, while the saboteur hadn't the faintest inkling as to who we was.

With a determined look, the silver mech straightened fully before offering a servo, palm up. Prowl hesitated for a moment, before placing his own white one in the outstretched silver. Their digits carefully enclosing around each other's.

"I know it's a lot to ask, but I want to start fresh with ya. There seems to be some history that I don't have and I'd really like to hear it from ya."

Staring down at their clasped hands, the tactician thinks on it for a moment before nodding once, soft smile returning to his faceplates. "Yes. I would like that very much."

It was another all out battle with the Decepticons. Thankfully this one was not against quite as many in number as the previous, but their enemy was much more dangerous than any drone. Jazz mused that there really was never a dull moment in this group of bots, whether it be the drama between him and the tactician, or Soundwave doing his best to hack into, as well as destroy Teletran-1.

The third-in-command on the Decepticon's side stood on a rise above their desert battlefield, looming like some sort of dark entity. The con had left his safe orbit of the planet to take part in this orchestrated attack against the Autobot forces and their human allies. Starscream must have discovered that they were missing several of their heavy hitters since he had chosen the time when Optimus Prime, Ironhide, Sideswipe and Trailbreaker were halfway on the other side of the world, investigating some strange Cybertronian signals in Egypt.

That of course, left it to the Autobot's second, Prowl, to ensure that their base was well defended and the Decepticons repelled. For once, the Autobots now had the numbers against their foe as the saboteur suspected that the screechy air commander had also sent some of his mechs to investigate that same disturbance in the Middle East. Combined with the last few more successful campaigns that the Autobots had run to eradicate the Decepticon threat on Earth, it put their faction in a good position.

And the tactician was capitalizing on it. Having the necessary mech (and man) power to distribute his forces on all fronts, the tide of battle seemed to be turning in their favor.

And then the dark blue form of Soundwave entered the fray against Jazz and Smokescreen. The two mechs nimbly dodged the larger form as he swung his fists at their helms (which the saboteur absently noted were about the same size). Rumble and a couple of the Ravage drones entered the fray as well, effectively splitting the attention of the Autobots. The saboteur cursed lowly as he deflected a strong blow with his shield and did his best to push back the con with a sharp kick from his taloned heel and a magnetic wave that scrambled the psychic's circuits for a moment.

Now with some breathing room, Smokescreen was able to get a good grip on the two quadripeds and proceeded to grab both of their tails and swing them around like some bad kung-fu movie, thunking them into whatever con happened to be in range. Eventually centrifugal force won and their tails separated from their bodies (along with their main processors to boot) and the gambler had to find a more conventional weapon. Rumble received a silver pede to his backside that sent him flying into left field and Jazz felt the urge to do a similar kind of dance like the ones that he had seen on television after similar feats.

A quick glance around showed that they were definitely winning as many of the cons appeared to be taking to the air or ground to get away. There was the sound of metal grating against metal before the saboteur found himself propelled forward by something smacking soundly against his backplates. Through his visor, he glimpsed the same happening to his accomplice as well, but could not be bothered with the details beyond that. Quickly, he righted himself with a hand spring and braced for an attack that never came.

Before him, silhouetted by the setting sun were the locked forms of Prowl and Soundwave. Although the dark Decepticon had more weight on the tactician, the door-winged mech seemed to be holding his own effectively. It probably had to do with how his center of balance was, but Jazz could care less. What he did care about was the blazing red visor that seemed to be singularly fixated on the second. Prowl grunted in pain, although the saboteur could see no sign as to the origin of the injury. As the tactician winced again it became apparent that the attack was not physical. Soundwave was battering at the tactician's mental defenses, trying to gain entry past his firewalls.

Having none of that, the silver mech leapt onto the Decepticon's back when the two turned, presenting it to him. Digging his taloned hands into the plating and circuitry they found, the saboteur did what he does best and set about taking apart the other bot. Finally noticing the additional mech clingy to him, Soundwave let off his attack of the tactician to swipe at the smaller form. Prowl had a moment's respite as he was released both mentally and physically, but had little time to rest as he watched the two mechs grapple.

The Communications Specialist got a good grip on the sleek, silver form of the saboteur before forcibly throwing him down, metal plating ringing loudly at the impact. In an instant the tactician had rushed Soundwave, knocking the other mech back from his intended quarry. The unplanned nature of Prowl's attack left him in a very open position and before either Autobot could react, the Decepticon had squeezed off a round centered point-blank on the tactician's chest.

Shocked and shaking with rage, Jazz launched himself back at the mech who still remained standing, clutching tightly to the other's chest plates. While the navy blue Decepticon rained blows down upon him to get the saboteur to relinquish his grip, Jazz charged his magnetics to their limits and forced the built up energy through his servos. The resulting magnetic pulse that was unleashed sent him flying backwards, but had the satisfying result of taking out Soundwave…for good.

With the threat gone, the Solstice was already calling for a medic as he kneeled next to the second's downed form. Much of the tactician's curved chest plates were bowed in at the point of impact, but the worst damage was the metal edge of plating that had been bent through layers of circuitry and frame and into the spark chamber. The resulting force had cracked the precious box along its side like some fragile egg and Jazz watched with horror as the blue light of spark energy slowly dissipated from the break.

Reacting without thought, the saboteur covered the small gap with his own servos, trying to hold in the life force of the dying mech below him. The warmth he felt seeping through his digits suddenly seemed to infuse into his hands, rushing up through the lines in his chassis and straight to his core. A piece inside the very center of his being shifted and suddenly there was awareness.

The exchange could have only have taken micro-seconds, but that did not stop the silver mech from becoming increasingly frenetic as he clutched the spark of the one lying still below him as a keen left his vocals. A hard push to the side and Ratchet's form suddenly filled his vision with Wheeljack right across the prone form. Both work silently to stop the bleeding out of energy and Jazz can do nothing more than watch—too shocked at his revelation to even move.

Quiet. Where he was seemed so quiet. The roar of the battle still echoed in his audios, but he paid it little mind. All that mattered were the quiet chirps and whirrs of the med bay's equipment as it worked to keep the mech lying still in front of him alive.

Sighing, he stared at the slack faceplates and could not help, but touch them. He had no reason to resist the urge to do so, so why not? Delicately, he let the fine sensors of his digits take in as much as they could about the other mech as he ran them along the clean lines and sharp planes of the other's face.

A sad smile reached his own faceplates as he remembered doing this same gesture so many times before. Sometimes after a battle as the tactician would lie there like now, but more often when they would lie next to each other after an intense coupling, simply basking in their love.

A gentle kiss to white lip plates and a low plead. "Please wake up. Please…"

As if attuned to the command, the black and white murmured before weakly rousing. Jazz left his hand cupping the side of Prowl's face, thumb stroking idly as we watched the life return to those cool blue lenses.

Confusion marred the normally stoic white faceplates as the tactician looked up at the saboteur sitting closely by his berth side. Cloudy ice blue optics attempted to focus on him and the mech is obviously more than a little drugged, no thanks to their medic. Still he ventured a hesitant and somewhat slurred, "Jazz?"

The stroking stopped, but the saboteur still kept touching the tactician. Baby blue optics filled with fluid before the liquid overflowed, following silver cheek seams down the mech's faceplates. Surprised, the black and white realized that the other mech's visor was withdrawn and he could easily see an array of emotions on the other as he openly weeped.

Lower lip fairly trembling, the silver mech let out a broken sob before speaking. "Oh, baby. I am so sorry."

The stroking resumed along the side of the tactician's face—almost an anxious gesture now as the silver mech seemed to struggle to not collapse in on himself from some inner turmoil. Optics widening further, Prowl attempted to sit up in spite of his chest protesting something fierce, but he could not stop the need calling to him. He needed to be level with the Solstice. He needed to see what the other was truly saying.

"Jazz?" That tone was so different than anything the silver mech can remember from the short time that he has been reawakened. A dreadful mix of sorrow and hope as the tactician said his name in just that way that says so much more.

"How could I have forgotten about you? About us?" Shifting his free servo, one silver four-fingered hand came to lie above the second's battered chest plates, containing a now repaired and fully functioning spark chamber. "About this?"

Optics flickering fitfully, the black and white mech keened before tightly grasping the hand on his chest—pulling the unresisting silver mech on top of his prone form. Now no more than a hair's breadth from each other, the saboteur could feel the other's spark resonating so beautifully with his own. The nagging emptiness that had been haunting him since his second birth seemed to fade away completely. Even though they were both crying, there was nothing, but joy being shared between their sparks. Jazz carefully moved up the tactician's frame until he could tilt his helm ever so slightly to rest its center point on the brilliant crimson chevron of the other. Optics unshielded by glass or memories or pain, the silver mech could truly see the one that he had missed for so long.

"I love you so much, my Prowler. My beloved. My beautiful bonded."

A/N – Alrighty then. I have no clear idea where this came from and whether or not it makes sense...I just needed to get it jotted down. Please let me know what you think. :)