--Written By: Reality Obscured--
AN: None of the following stories are exactly in any order. All I can guarantee is that they will be in the same continuity. In fact, originally this story was going to be based on three un words that had inspired me, but since then? Yeah. All you guys know about how inspiration works.
Warning: Can be viewed as friendship, but I wrote it with slash in mind.
He was only a meter away…practically within arm's reach. All Jazz had to do was reach out and he could literally put his hand on a door-wing, a shoulder, or a headlight if he was so inclined… But for all the distance in the world, whether it be an arm length or the distance from Earth to Cybertron, Prowl was untouchable. The reaction would always be the same. He would stiffen and move, shy away, or ask for the offending appendage to be moved. That was the general track record Jazz had noted when others attempted cross the distance. The reactions had been less so when Jazz had tested his luck, but they'd still been there. Since then, he respected Prowl's personal space and kept his distance.
It left him wondering what had happened to Prowl after they'd gone their own ways when they were younger. Granted, even as a youngling, he'd never been one much for the touching thing.
The initial plan had been for them to grab a quick ration of energon as a small tank filler before heading back to the Ark's Strategy Room. They'd both been working on the mission guidelines –technically, tomorrow's mission- for his and Mirage's infiltration of a newly discovered Decepticon base in the mountains near a nuclear power plant. Prowl refused to settle for anything less than 95 or greater of a chance of success. According to all the equations and variables Prowl's battle computer brought to the table, they were currently sitting at 85. Try as he might, Jazz could not convince the tactician that it was all he and Mirage needed. Convincing his fellow commanding officer to refuel alone had almost worn him out!
He'd sent a private communications line to Bluestreak along the way, asking the young gunner to run intervention at the energon dispenser. If there was any one mech Prowl could not find it in his Spark to ignore, it was him, and it was about the only way Jazz knew of to get Prowl to relax that CPU of his…if only for a little while. So, with nearly three breems having passed since they'd arrived at said dispenser in the Rec. Room, Prowl was still listening to Bluestreak talk about what he'd done on his day off. And talk. And talk. And…(you get the picture).
Jazz watched on in amusement as Prowl settled down in a lean against the bar, listening to the other Datsun's excited chatter. It seemed to have included a drive-in movie and a paintball match with the Twins, which somehow resulted in Sideswipe making an unorthodox trip to the med bay. Sunstreaker had literally handed Sideswipe his aft for ruining his paintjob, and Sideswipe had to carry said skid plate into the 'bay with him. That did a fairly good job explaining the good mood Ratchet had been in for the past orn.
By the time he and Prowl made it back to the Strategy Room, it was late enough that Jazz was both wanting and needing his recharge. He only had until tomorrow morning. After all, he still had to get together and brief Mirage about the specifics. If 85 was the best that they had, they would go with it, and he explained this to Prowl before bidding him goodnight. He didn't have the battle computer nor the logic center the 2IC had, but he could guess that Prowl's quarters were likely going unused tonight. Getting the mech to relax was an accomplishment at any rate.
Later, at almost 0230 local time, when Jazz and Mirage were preparing to leave, an obviously weary and energy depleted tactician approached Jazz, handing him a datapad. "99.325."
Jazz watched as Prowl headed off in the direction of the Officer's Quarters. Likely to a welcoming and cool recharge berth. He hated it when Prowl overworked himself needlessly, even if he had been fully expecting it…but something in Prowl's programming almost made perfection a necessity. And, while Prowl had been exhausted, there was a glow of satisfaction about him, one only those closest to him would have seen. For Prowl, the end was indeed worth the means.
Even if he was untouchable, he never gave any less than his all.