Okay... don't shoot me. I'm just merely clearing the alphabet soup that's slowly congealing into the form of plot bunnies in my head, and this fanfic was born from my previous oneshot, The Breaking of Us. While I like the pairing of Sounders & Jazz/Meister, My first OTP was and probably is Jazz & Prowl... I guess you could say this is a farther in the future continuation of my other story, and I will only be working on this one when I'm trying to declutter my thinking for Ooops? and any of my six stories I'm working on in the LIT-TILverse.

Also, this story/set of drabbles will be a slow build romance.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Transformers

1: CRUNCH

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"Soooo, just how good a frag is he?"

Prowl frowned and glanced over his datapad, glaring at the green mech that had spoken, Springer. His companions, Blaster, Cliffjumper and Tracks were currently eyeing a certain black and white saboteur who was currently getting his ration of energon. HIs doorwings twitched in irritation as Blaster replied,

"One o da best Ah eva had." Blaster smirked as the others gave whistles and catcalls, cheering him on.

CRUNCH. The stylus in his servo met an unfortunate end as Prowl's glare deepened and he opened his mouth to chastise them when a cube of energon was placed in front of him. He blinked up at Jazz.

"'ey dere Prowler. Did ya get a good look at dem reports Ah sent ya?" Jazz grinned at him.

Prowl vented a sigh as noted that the other table had switched to a different topic. He noted the occasional glances they shot his way they were aware of his reprising glare he had shot their way.

"Prowler..."

"My designation is Prowl, not Prowler. And yes I did receive your reports, if that is what you'd call those glorified gallivanted tales."

Jazz placed a servo over his spark. "Ya wound meh Prowler."

"Is there any way that you can redo your reports for me and have them on my desk by tomorrow."

"Is tha' a question or ah orda?"

Prowl raised an optic ridge. "Must you really ask?"

Jazz shot him a knowing grin before standing up and making his way out of the rec room. Prowl watched his fellow officer exit with a minute shake of his helm. Several snickers from the other table had Prowl glaring again.

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Prowl was staring at the equivalent of Jazz's sensified reports, resisting the urge to beat his helm against the desk. Sometimes he just wanted to throttle that mech...

"Soooo, just how good a frag is he?"

"One o da best..."

CRUNCH. Prowl sighed as he stared at the broken stylus in his servo. It was the third time that cycle he had remembered that particular overheard conversation, the second broken stylus... At least I didn't break the datapad this time. Prowl thought as he tossed the stylus into the recycle bin.

He tried not to think on the slowly bubbling confusion that frothed in the back of his processor. His battle computer and tac net had no problem calculating the fact that it annoyed him for them to be talking about Jazz in such a matter. Not only were they publicly defacing a superior officer (despite the TIC's prevalent promiscuity), But somewhere deep down in his processor Prowl considered Jazz to be a dear acquaintance of sorts...

Yeah, that and an overly lax joke of an officer who just happens to be one of the most deadly mechs in this army with a certain flare for just toeing the line of responsibility. Prowl vented yet another of many spent sighs before returning to his paper work.

"'Ey Prowler."

CRUNCH. Prowl glared up at the polyhexian as bits of his stylus fell from his servo. "How many times must I tell you that my name is Prowl?" he snapped.

Jazz threw his servos up defensively. "Easy dere bot Ah come in peace."

Prowl's doorwings twitched, broadcasting his irritation clearly. "Can't you see that I'm busy reviewing your reports?"

"Ah was only meaning ta drop these off to ya." Jazz pulled several datapads from his subspace. "It's da latest Intel from Mirage an' Punch. Hopefully ya'll be able ta betta read dem." Jazz's tone turned slightly edged as Prowl accepted the datapads.

"Thank you Jazz."

"Yeah whateva." Jazz mumbled as he made his way out the door. It closed with a resounding snap behind the mech, Prowl's frame sagged as it echoed in his audios

Prowl stared at the door for the longest time before he sighed and picked up yet another stylus.

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"I haven't seen this much of you outside of your office Prowl." Smokescreen said as he plopped down at the table across from him. "I suppose this is what you consider relaxation? You do realize that if the Hatchet finds out you are working after your shift he'll wrench ya."

"I don't spend all of my time reviewing reports, just most of it Smokescreen. For your information I was reading some interesting poetry I found."

Smokescreen raised an optic ridge. "Never mind I think I'd prefer you working on reports."

Prowl a rare smile slip across his faceplates. "I thought that you would say that."

"'ey dere Prowler." CRUNCH.

"Jazz." Prowl glanced up at his fellow officer.

"Ya know ya shoul' smile more often. It suit ya." Jazz was smirking. "'Ey Smokey, Me and a few of the mechs have a bet going and we need ya ta handle da credits."

Smokescreen grinned. "I think I'm just the mech for the job. See ya later Prowl."

"Just note Jazz I won't hesitate to brig any bot that breaks any rules. Including you." Prowl said with an annoyed twitch of his doorwings.

Jazz's smile brightened as he turned away. "Ah know Prowler."

Prowl watched his brother and Jazz walk back over to the somewhat rowdy table in the back of the rec room. Another smile graced his lip plates before he returned to his datapad to find the screen cracked.

Not again... he groaned inwardly.