Gratitude
By Snare-chan
Pairings: Tracks/Jazz
Ratings: T
Category(ies): Romance
Warning(s): Spoilers for Transformers Spotlight: Jazz.
Status: One-shot, complete
Summary: Jazz was always the one saying thank you, but not this time.
Notes: While Jyuu's other birthday present is taking its time, I wanted to give her a little something that was complete. The day Spotlight: Jazz came out I was fanatic about it, and once Jyuu got her hands on it we were talking about it for hours. Considering her deep love of Tracks, this seemed like a good surprise gift to spring on her, though I'm sure every comic book reader and their uncles will be working this angle soon enough.
Disclaimer: I don't own IDW's Transformers; wish I did like everybody else. They should put TFs in stock, then I'd buy it all!
Jazz had been stargazing a lot, lately.
No one had said anything about it; maybe they didn't notice. He would slink off when nobody had the time or energy to spare, while 'bots were concentrating out on patrol or working to keep things running. Some were too wrapped up in their own problems or struggling to hold it together to care.
But Tracks saw. Too tired to participate in most of the goings-on at their base, he'd pick a corner to sit and rest in while the other soldiers would mill past him during their duties. Head tilted back and body slumped against the nearest surface, there wasn't much else to do but think, observe, or recharge. That's why he'd begun to pick up on Jazz stepping out.
It was misleading; he wouldn't disappear for extended periods. A breem there, a cycle here, between shifts, or when there was an odd and rare lull in activity. Tracks hadn't become aware of the habit right away because Jazz seemed as present as ever. When there was an alert, he was there to take charge, and if there was an incoming message, he was there to hear it. At any given time, he knew what was going on and how to handle it. There wasn't a reason to suspect anything amiss.
But just as he had unintentionally situated himself in a consistent spot, apparently so had Jazz. Casually, Tracks would note that he was stepping out, and another time, and another, until one night, he had recalled the previous instances when the other had wandered off. It was becoming too often a casual train of thought to see him leaving and then pushing it back as nonconsensual. So out of curiosity, Tracks purposely kept a look out for it.
This particular case was turning out to be an example of a longer session. His chronometer was reading two cycles, and his commander wasn't showing signs of returning yet. Straightening his shoulders, the struts gave a few audible complaints at being moved too early after driving around so many sectors. He promptly ignored them and pushed up on his knee joints to get into a standing position. This time, he decided, was going to be different for the both of them.
The exit leading to an outside balcony was big enough to support three Autobots side-to-side, provided they were of average make. Jazz was situated to the far left, hands gently resting on the ledge and his head tilted up towards the sky. Tracks approached him with respect and caution, and while his attempts were quiet, no doubt the other had picked up on his presence the minute he came near the doorway.
He stopped when they were close enough to make conversation at arm's length. Jazz looked up at him then and gave him a cursory nod of acknowledgement, to which Tracks returned the gesture.
"Evening."
"Yo. What's the word?"
He shrugged in answer to his question, leaning with his back to the ledge and his elbow joints over that, facing the way he'd come.
"A quiet night, thankfully. No reports have come in to the contrary since I returned."
Jazz likely already knew that, but Tracks didn't mind the attempt at small talk. To fill the silence that followed, he set a cube down near the other's hand. He saw the beginning of a refusal surfacing, and was already prepared to refute it.
"You missed the distribution of energon earlier, keeping watch out here. You mustn't forget to keep your strength up as well."
A familiar, small curl at the edge of the other's lip components appeared, the lopsided smile a comfort of sorts, seemingly for the both of them. The more frequently the other had come out here, the less that grin of his had been making an appearance. He knew there wasn't much left to be happy about, the war growing grimmer as it dragged on, but inside, Tracks had a feeling that so long as at least one of them could grin and bear it, then things might turn out alright.
He believed that. He had to.
"Thanks," Jazz said, picking up the cube and taking a small sip, enough to humor him. He rested on his elbows when he was done, letting the cube dangle from his fingers as he went back to staring, this time out across the wreck that was Cybertron. For a brief moment, he wished he could understand what it was the other was really seeing.
"That's the second time you've thanked me," Tracks noted. "Appreciated, but not necessary. Really, I should be the one thanking you."
"And how do you figure that?" he asked curiously.
"For saving my life back then."
Tracks didn't need to go into details; Jazz would understand. It wasn't too long ago that he'd told the others their story, not that anyone but them knew that. To the Autobots stationed here, it was just an old tale about how Tracks got lucky and learned a little something about hope.
"When did you figure it out?"
His voice didn't betray anything akin to surprise or disappointment. It didn't give anything away for that matter.
"As soon as you and I were stationed together, shortly after that incident with the Predacons. I was blind at our first meeting, not deaf," Tracks stated, chuckling softly. "I would recognize your voice anywhere. Always."
Jazz took another small sip of his drink before setting it down, making a point to place it close enough to Tracks' arm to indicate that he would be having no more. He would have preferred the other finish it – he certainly deserved the extra ration – but this was a good enough start that neither of them made a fuss about it. Tracks took back the cube and slowly drank from what was left.
"I've wanted to thank you in person ever since that day, but there never seemed to be the opportunity," he went on to say.
"Appreciated, but not necessary."
Tracks snorted at Jazz's brand of humor and having his own words thrown back at him. It was almost borderline excruciating how humble the other could be, and that's why Tracks had no qualms about what he did next.
He kissed him.
The gesture was sudden and meaningful. If Jazz had sensed its approach, he hadn't acted in defense. Tracks picked up that the other's visor had brightened as soon as they touched, activated out of surprise, and he considered himself fortunate that his head was notably still attached to his shoulders and no bullet holes littered his frame for springing this on a special operative. If the other wanted to, he could have thrown him over the edge single-handed.
But he didn't. Instead, he tilted his head and kissed back. Lightly at first, barely there, and then with a bit more force at Tracks' encouragement. When they pulled apart, there wasn't much distance between them. He kept close enough that as he spoke, their lip components brushed.
"Thank you. For everything."
He felt a familiar smirk quirk against his face, and it caused his own smile to widen in response.
"Any time."
-Fin-