Cold Comfort
Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers. They belong to Hasbro and Takara. I am merely taking them for a short spin.
Almost dawn. Too damn early to be up and about, but Jazz wanted to be back in his own quarters before anyone else was awake. He was past caring if anyone knew where he was and what he was doing. Not that anyone would care anyway. They were all gone--Prowl was gone. The saboteur went to pull himself from the embrace of the mech whose berth he currently occupied, but the look in the other's optics made him reconsider.
"Stay."
"I should go," Jazz said. "Do you really wanna have to explain to Ultra Magnus what I'm doin' here?"
He sat up, staring down into the blue optics boring into his own. Beautiful blue optics in a handsome face now hardened in anger at his words. Rodimus Prime could be impressive when he wanted to be.
"Ultra Magnus can get fragged," Rodimus said. "Besides, you and I both know whose been warming his berth when he's on Cybertron."
No one was supposed to know that, but how could they not notice? Everyone was dealing with the loss of Optimus Prime and the others in their own way. Elita-1's coping mechanism was to throw herself into the arms of Ultra Magnus.
"Not like what we're doin' is much better," Jazz said. Rodimus didn't answer. He just looked away. Jazz didn't say anything, didn't touch him. He could sympathize with what the other Autobot was going through, up to a point. They were both mourning what might have been, what would never be. Jazz's own grief was over Prowl's death, and he regretted never telling him how he truly felt. He knew Rodimus had feelings for Optimus Prime, but because he was with Elita-1, they'd never had a chance. And now he was Prime, and alone.
"Go then," Rodimus said. "I don't need that damn hard-aft on my case more than he already is, without having to explain. . ."
Jazz clasped the other mech's shoulder. "None of his business," he said. "'Sides, if he did find out, which he won't, I'll just have to make his guilty conscience feel even worse.
"You wouldn't," Rodimus said, a ghost of a smile playing across his lips.
Jazz shrugged. "'Night Rodimus."
He left the Autobot leader's quarters without a glance. What was done was done, and there was no going back.