~~Letting Go of Red~~

Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers, or make any money from this story.

*Content Warnings*: Angst, sexual content, infidelity, emotional instability

Continuity: G1; pre-war

Characters: Prowl, Jazz, Red Alert

Summary: It's pre-war on Cybertron and Prowl is Chief of Police in Praxus. He lives in a somewhat up and down relationship with Red Alert. When Jazz comes along, their newfound attraction invariably causes problems.

This is a prequel to any Red Alert stories set during G1 on Earth. Please note tags for warnings - I expect these to get more R-rated.

The faint light of the Praxian dawn filtered through the blinds of the small apartment berthroom window. Creeping stealthily around in a manner not entirely in character, Prowl gathered his belongings. To his relief, his intention of making barely a sound was being achieved.

The Praxian Police Chief's circuits still sang, alive with passions of the night before. He would have given almost anything to get back beside the black and white mech who still lay half covered on the berth, to relive the remarkable moments of their entwining. But no – duty called.

Prowl checked his chrono. With any luck he could leave before his lover even commenced the onlining process or – more to the point – before Prowl had to say anything about where he was going now.

He stole a last look at the handsome form of his lover, suppressing even now a surge in his energy field. It won't be long before the next time – no it can't be…

A small sigh from his vocaliser broke the silence. Reluctantly, he crept to the door.

But as he put his hand towards the opening mechanism, there was a stirring on the berth. "You outta here already?" a soft voice murmured.

Prowl cursed. Had he really forgotten how sharply tuned the other's senses were? And especially to him, particularly in the wake of the things they had done only a few cycles previously.

Turning back to the berth, Prowl cleared his throat awkwardly. "I have – business to attend to. This I made you aware of during dinner last night I believe, Jazz?"

The other mech yawned, sleepily. "You mean – y'got things domestic to attend to."

He rolled over, pushing the sheets aside. Prowl caught tantalizing glimpses of circuitry that glinted in the seams of his still loosened pelvic armour. Jazz certainly knew how not to make things easy.

But much as it was tempting to indulge again - if only to avoid what Jazz had referred to - it seemed that things needed to be put straight.

"You are correct," Prowl said, turning away. "The conference finishes in Iacon today, and Red Alert will be back. If I am not there when he arrives then he will become anxious. I have explained how it is."

Oh yes – Prowl had done that all right. Jazz knew many intricate and intimate details of this several deca-cycle long and tempestuous association that he would rather not. Despite the arduousness of their love making, he had also known it was never completely out of Prowl's thoughts.

"I take it you still ain't said nothin' to him then?" he said.

Silence. The extreme discomfort in the Praxian Chief of Police was almost tangible. Jazz sighed. "I knew it."

Prowl let out a sigh. There was no leaving on this note. He put down his bag and guns. "Perhaps I still have some spare kliks," he said.

He crossed to the cabinet and removed a can of mid-grade, which he opened with a soft hiss before seating himself on the couch. "It isn't as easy as you seem to think, Jazz. I thought I had made that quite clear from our discussion the other day."

Oh yes, Prowl had. And the discussion before that. And the one before that…

Pushing the tousled sheets aside, Jazz got up. He too fetched a drink – a little stronger than Prowl's. Cracking it open, he perched on the table, very aware of Prowl's gaze, of the lust that warred with this highly honest and honourable mech's extreme discomfort and guilt.

"It ain't gonna get any easier y'know…" he said.

"I know," Prowl said.

"The longer you leave it…"

"Look - I've been a part of Red's life for some time. I have told you about his – issues. I can't just cast him adrift. It takes – strategy." Prowl was aware of the sharpness in his voice, of his fingers drumming agitatedly against the can.

"You ain't helpin' him by not telling him the truth…"

"It's not like that!" Prowl struggled unpleasantly with 'the truth.' Cheating on Red Alert - because oh by Primus you could dress it up how you liked, but that was what he'd been doing - was, after all, a highly dishonest situation, one that would normally have been unthinkable. It was complicated, however. Not revealing all right now was entirely justified by the circumstances.

"This has to be done gradually," he said. "At the moment I've simply told Red Alert that we need to give each other space – which we are doing. At an appropriate juncture I will tell him the whole story and we will part. That goes without saying."

"Really? And how many vorns away d'you reckon that's gonna be?"

"As long as it takes!" Prowl snapped. His doorwings twitched irritably.

Shaking his head, Jazz took a long draught from his cube.

There was a tense silence. Prowl frowned, trying to collect his thoughts, wishing that this was at least a tiny bit easier than it had been a while back. But he had to face facts - the more passionate the encounters with Jazz, the closer he became to the mech, the more he became convinced that no matter what he might have had with Red there was something special about this relationship - the harder it was getting.

Undoubtedly one of the best things that had ever happened to him. He was not giving Jazz up. But if Red Alert found out too early, if he did something stupid…

Prowl would never forgive himself.

"Jazz - you must understand what has happened to Red," he said. "He has troubled beginnings. His creators were violent towards each other. One of them used to…"

"Yeah – I know…" Jazz waved a hand. "I heard the story several times, now – remember? "She used to put him in a cage as a youngling, to keep him outta their fights, an' he got himself an overdeveloped need for security. Later he graduated in security systems. He excelled! The mech found his niche. He…"

"It's no laughing matter!" Prowl's optics flashed, angrily, and Jazz knew he had pushed too far. He cursed inwardly, frustrated. This relationship could be so – perfect, except for this one problem. The specter Red Alert hung like an ever present portent. He seemed destined to haunt them forever.

"There's more," Prowl was saying. "I don't know whether I told you this part, Jazz, but there was a fire. The femme died. Red blamed himself – said if only he'd applied his new found knowledge of alarm systems to his old home it wouldn't have happened. He left the security industry after that – became a firefighter, but that didn't work out either."

Jazz sipped at his cube. He was sure there was a great deal that had never 'worked out' when it came to this troubled and unstable mech. "Prowl," he began. "It's tragic. Really it is. But you ain't responsible for…"

"He was a mess, Jazz!" Prowl's optics blazed. "I met him right after he'd decided to go back into the security game. And look where he was working? A darkcycle club - and not just any club, but Ganthis of all places!"

He shook his head. "Ganthis! The most disreputable gambling and crime-ridden club accessible to Cybertron. It was totally unsuitable. He couldn't handle it. I..."

"I know…you rescued him."

"I helped him, Jazz. Somebody had to."

And that somebody just had to be you, didn't it? Jazz thought.

Ganthis was hardly an unknown to Jazz, either. He had never had much to do with Red Alert during his time there conducting covert operations for the Cybertronian Intelligence Organisation - or CIO - but he did remember the mech. It wasn't good.

Highly stressed and somewhat inept, the mech had been totally intimidated by the club's owners. He had unhappily acquiesced to their requests to turn a 'blind optic' to various activities captured all too vividly by the security cameras.

It had suited Jazz's needs at the time. A 'cleanup' would have resulted in certain 'mechs of attention' making themselves scarce. Instead, they had wound up right where they belonged – behind energon bars.

Prowl had happened also along at that time. He was part of a Praxian enforcement squad. Even then, he had made Jazz's circuits burn with a longing so deep he could barely keep himself in check when the Praxian Chief was around. But Prowl was clearly 'preoccupied.' He hadn't hung around Ganthis – had taken the hapless security mech back to Praxus. Jazz had not seen him for a long, long time. He had barely even acknowledged the depth of his own feelings – or disappointment.

But ironically, it was this loyalty to Red Alert – the misplaced loyalty that Jazz had been forced to hear so much about - that had finally clinched how he felt now. Yes – it wasn't only that Prowl was excruciatingly sexy, and dazzlingly intelligent. The honesty, the absolute caring attracted Jazz too. To see him agonize over this was almost too much to bear.

"Look - I know the story," Jazz said. "You fell for the guy. When you got back to Praxus, he moved in. You found him a nice safe job at the museum where he's been ever since. All sweet n'fine - until the CIO assigned me to Praxus. And then – well…" he paused, rolling his glass between the palms of his hands. "I guess I screwed things up."

There was another long silence and then, an even longer sigh from Prowl. "No…" he said quietly. "As I've said, it wasn't so fine - even before you and I."

Prowl's mind was a-whirr with the past again. The rows. The complaints about the amount Prowl worked. The failure of he and Red in the last few mega-cycles to agree on even simple things.

Then there was the suspicion, the questioning, the irrational jealousy – even though Prowl suspected that Red indulged in his own infidelities. And that was without the security paranoia, the need to have the house done up like a garrison; something which - given that Praxus was the safest city on Cybertron and partly due to Prowl's own efforts - he had always found mildly insulting.

Red had left a few times - proclaiming how he didn't need a fickle, uncommitted mech like Prowl controlling his life. He hated Praxus, he said. It was pretentious and shallow, paling beside his home city of Iacon. Since Prowl refused to leave, he was going back to his origins. He felt safer there, could progress his career, would be more appreciated…

But he always came back. Needed to come back. And Prowl had needed it too; had missed him insufferably every time; had craved having the vulnerable mech in his arms again, of being his protector with a depth that brought pain to his spark. Their reunions were always emotional – and strangely magnificent.

"The jealousy's hardly unjustified this time." Prowl's voice was barely more than a whisper. "The arguments lately – they're not Red's fault."

He looked wretched, as though too much more of the present troubles would be just too much. Jazz stood up. With an ache in his spark, he crossed to the couch and sat down, where he wrapped his arms around the other mech. Prowl leaned into him, trembling, a combination of passion and the desperate need for comfort, the other mech a reassuring island amid his own terrible confusion and agonizing guilt.

Jazz held him, rocking gently. His whole being was awash with fierce desire – but creeping from the depths of his being came also a new protectiveness. His processor filled with savagely determined thoughts. The hell with Red Alert. Prowl deserves better than this…

Yes - this had gone on long enough. It was time for Prowl to make a choice. And whilst Jazz knew that there was still no guarantee that the choice would be him, he had more than a slight suspicion that it would be; an instinctive feeling that the logic and commonsense that he admired so much in the other mech would prevail.

It was worth the gamble. He drew back. The pain in Prowl's downcast optics was appalling. Jazz hardened his resolve. He ran a finger down Prowl's cheek. "Prowl – look at me…"

Prowl looked up. Their optics met. "Look - I understand the problem here – believe me I do." Jazz said. "You been with Red Alert a long time and you feel – responsible. You ain't - if only you could see that – he's a grown mech that's gotta get on out there an' deal with his issues. He ain't never gonna do that while you're doin' it for him…

"But that ain't the point…" Jazz went on when Prowl drew back, a look of defensive indignation springing on to his face again. Jazz took a deep intake. "I wanna be with you, Prowl. Not you an' Red Alert! I mean - mech - we can discuss him till we're blue in the face, but the point is, this ain't gonna go any further with the situation th' way it is now."

He sighed. "I want all of you, Prowl. I'm sorry – but I guess I just ain't gonna share. It's gotta be him – or me."

For a moment, Prowl just stared at him. Then slowly, he let out a long sigh. He had known all along this was coming at some stage but expected or not, it was no easier to deal with. "That's not fair," he muttered. 'I can't…"

"Oh but you can. Look at me, Prowl. D'you want me? Or d'you wanna spend the rest of your days with some mech you gotta tiptoe round an' agonize over pleasing the whole time." He lowered his voice. "Let's face it, there's a war coming. You and I both know that – an' none of us know either just how long we're even gonna be around for. I for one, wanna make the most of it."

"And if I don't make a choice?"

"I'll be makin' the most without you."

Prowl looked at the other, took in the beautiful face, the perfectly proportioned black and white frame, felt the throb of the powerful engine within. Even more than the thrill that went through him at the thought of jazz against him, even now, he marveled at the brilliant mind, the creative genius that was as poignant as his own logicality.

And when he really thought about it – pushed away the confusion surrounding Red Alert and everything about him, was he not left with one simple fact? He could not let this slip away. The intense pain in his spark at the mere thought of ending this now confirmed that once and for all. That, and that Jazz was right about the war - unpleasant subject though it was.

The silence was intense. Prowl's processor whirred. It came to him that other aspects of this situation could perhaps also be dealt with more logically than he had so far assumed?

Perhaps much could be made of the simple fact that Red belonged in Iacon, he here in Praxus?

I'll actually encourage Red to go to Iacon, he thought. I've never really tried hard enough – those other times. I've always spent half my time on the comm telling him he needs to come home. If I can help him get a job there, and somewhere to live…he could even be valuable to the war effort in the future...

It would certainly delay the pain, the possible consequences. If Red was on the way to being happily settled back in his hometown, the news would be easier to break. Yes – he and Red would probably even stay friends – and he could still see that Red stayed out of difficulties.

That wouldn't – couldn't – be so bad.

"Here's my choice…" Turning to Jazz, he wasted no time in kissing him passionately. Very soon they were back on the berth, their passions resumed, Prowl choosing to ignore for now the excuses he would have to make for his inexplicably late arrival back home.

Although delighted with both the response and the ensuing activities, Jazz nevertheless could not help the feeling that it was not quite as straightforward as Prowl had made out.