Title: What Goes Around
Author: SBX
Series: The "There Is" Series
Characters: Prowl, Jazz, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker
Pairings: None
Rating: PG
Warnings: none
Disclaimer: No character used in this story belongs to me.
Summary: Prowl is not above petty revenge.
A/N: Written for the 'scream in the night' prompt of the prowlxjazz October challenge. I almost didn't get this done in time. This was supposed to be mostly Prowl and Jazz with the Twins in the background, but somehow they became just as much the main characters as our favorite black and white pair.
When Prowl strolled into the monitor room with an air of smug accomplishment, the Twins knew that some poor soldier had just fallen pray to his own unique brand of punishment. Who and to what extent remained to be seen as the Twins would never come right out and ask him. That would ruin the fun.
Their curiosity about at least one question was answered when an enraged, indignant scream echoed throughout the entire base. It could probably be heard by the Decepticons at their base. The Twins were amazed to realize that the voice belonged to Prime's second lieutenant and Prowl's bond mate, Jazz.
Sunstreaker blinked in shock, while Sideswipe stared at the tactician, looking vaguely impressed. "This payback for the thing in the rec. room?" he asked.
There was no response for several moments and the red mech thought his CO would ignore his question. Finally a smile tugged at Prowl's mouth plates. "Never let it be said," he murmured for their audios only, "that I am above petty revenge."
They blinked at him in perfect unison. Then Sideswipe snickered and Sunstreaker smirked. "Noted," he replied wryly and went back to monitor duty. Once Sideswipe had gotten himself under control he followed suit. Prowl made himself comfortable in a chair on the other side of the room and waited for the real show to begin.
He didn't have long to wait. Jazz's entrance was as flashy as ever. He stormed in, optics flashing behind his visor and a thunderous expression on his face. It had the same reaction most of his entrances did, gaining the attention of all present. The Twins looked up as one and stared. A few moments later Sideswipe started laughing again, but Sunstreaker just continued to stare, a strange look on his face. The laughter only seemed to make the normally jovial 2IC's mood darker.
He turned to Prowl, giving his bond mate a look that would have sent a lesser mech running for his life. The tactician just smiled back serenely. "Is something the matter, Jazz?" he asked curiously, the picture of innocence.
Jazz growled at that and marched up to his tormentor, stopping just inches away. He glared down at the normally taller mech and Prowl had to wonder if his mate was about to attack him, them dismissed the idea. No matter how angry he got, Jazz was not the sort to be violent with his mate.
Sunstreaker cleared his vocalizer from across the room and said, "Yup, definitely payback for the embarrassingly sappy serenade in the rec. room. Suitable, too." There was the slightest hint of awe in his voice, earning a confused look from his brother. "Prowl, man, your calligraphy is perfect."
Jazz rounded on him, a snarl twisting his features. "How is this graffiti he painted all over me suitable?" he snapped, gesturing toward the strange markings covering him from top to bottom.
Sunstreaker gave him a disgusted look. "For all you know about alien cultures, you know slag about your own," he said derisively. "That 'graffiti' as you call it is a very old love poem written in ancient Cybertronian."
There was silence for a few astroseconds as Jazz's fury almost visibly deflated. "Oh," he replied intelligently, looking down at the markings painted all over him in with a new appreciation. Now that it was pointed out to him he did recognize them for what they were. He looked around sheepishly, his gaze settling once again on his mate.
"Oh," he said again. Prowl chuckled at that, standing to wrap his arms around his smaller mate. "What goes around comes around, love," he murmured in Jazz's audio.
The 2IC snorted at that, the humor of the situation finally catching up with him. "Never get into a prank war with you, Prowler. You fight dirty," he mused out loud, earning some snickering from the Twins. He shot them a mock irritated look.
There were a few moments of contented silence. Then Sideswipe frowned thoughtfully. This was never a good sign. "So, Sunny," he drawled, ignoring his brother's glare at the use of the hated nickname, "how did you know what that was? When did you learn ancient Cybertronian?"
Sunstreaker tensed slightly, his good mood gone in an astrosecond. Sensing this change his brother gave him a worried look. "Sunny," he murmured, a silent question in that one word.
The gold colored mech forced himself relax. "I learned it at the Academy. It's a required course for the fine arts track," he said, looking at the markings critically. "The calligraphy required to produce the characters of the language is practically an art form in its own right," he informed, trying to be casual.
Before anybody could say anything more he was on his feet and moving towards the door. "I'm going to go grab a cube of energon. Any of you want one?" he asked, waiting just long enough to get a round of negative responses before fleeing the room.
Sideswipe gave his CO and the 2IC an embarrassed look before standing as well. "I need to go get him. You two mind covering for us?" he requested, almost desperate to go make sure his brother was okay. Prowl nodded quietly and he was out the door as well.
Jazz leaned his weight against his mate's solid form with a sad sigh. "What are we going to do with them?"
Prowl just held him, not having any answers. He'd never understand Jazz's desire to help the Twins open themselves up more. He hadn't known them very well before the war and hadn't known the kind of mechs they once were.
Jazz pulled away, his expression turning pensive. "Say, Prowl, what exactly does that poem say, anyway?" he asked. Prowl smirked at him and brushed past taking the seat vacated by Sideswipe.
The 2IC dogged his steps, wrapping his arms around the tactician's shoulders from behind. "Come on, Prowler," he whined, "tell me what it says." Prowl just stared ahead as he answered, "Learn ancient Cybertronian and you'll know what it says.
Jazz slumped against the back of the chair, burying his face in Prowl's neck. "Slagger," he muttered affectionately. Prowl didn't say anything in reply. He didn't need to.