"When you're gone, the pieces of my heart are missing you…"
Jazz cringed and quickly switched off his music as the song went into its chorus, feeling like he was going to be sick. The song tickled at a spot in his memory that was painful, a memory that he didn't want to remember. He sighed and rolled over to stare at the ceiling above his berth, an action that he had been doing quite frequently since the incident a few days ago. His spark burned slightly in his chest as he felt optical fluids building under his visor. He didn't bother wiping them away, had given up trying to hide his tears. Rolling over on his berth, he stared at the wall as he tried his best to forget about what had happened, but the pressing of the now-quiet room made him dive deeper into the memory.
He heard the door to his room open, but paid it no mind, his back to the subject who opened it. He didn't want to face anyone, nor talk to anyone, so he turned off his optics and lay still, pretending to be asleep when he heard Prowl's familiar footfalls near his berth. Hands touched Jazz's shoulder as a voice spoke soft and low.
"Jazz…" Prowl's voice sounded saddened as he spoke slowly. "It's not good to stay here, to stay cooped up. You've got to face it eventually." Prowl's hand stayed on his mate's shoulder for a moment longer before soft lips descended upon Jazz's cheek. "Please don't be like this any longer, he wouldn't have wanted it." Taking his hand from Jazz's shoulder, Prowl's footfalls went back to the door and left.
Turning back on his optics, Jazz flopped over, looking into the room where Prowl was a moment before. It was empty besides for himself and he sighed, going back to laying on his back on his recharge bed, staring at the ceiling. He knew that what he was doing by ignoring Prowl was wrong, but every time he looked upon his mate's face he was painfully reminded of the gunner, painfully shoved down a path he didn't want to remember, despite his best efforts to forget about it.
Finally admitting defeat to Prowl's words, he sat up, looking around the room. He knew that Prowl was right, that Bluestreak wouldn't want anyone to be sad for his death. After all the vorns Jazz spent talking to the young gunner about not mourning his mother's or friends' deaths, here he was, doing the exact opposite, sitting in his room and wishing it hadn't happened.
Standing up, he sighed and went to the door, thinking that maybe something like fresh air might clear his processors out. The halls were empty and bright, much brighter than his dim quarters and made him squint slightly as he hung his head, watching his feet shuffle slowly over the ground of the Ark. If anyone had seen him now, they would be quite surprised; this happy-go-lucky Third In Command without a care in the world, now reduced to a sorrowful little ball. He had been incapable of completing his daily duties since that day, so Optimus Prime had taken him off-duty until he could be sure that Jazz would be stable again.
He knew the way to the Ark's entrance quite well, and would have been there in a few minutes, but he chose to take the long way around, as the short way passed right by the ship's brig, right past where he had found Bluestreak that night. He had already hated that dark room, and now had an even bigger reason to want to stay away from it. The brig was painful to be anywhere near now, even that hallway made him uncomfortable.
Jazz stopped and looked up from his feet to the entrance to an empty hallway in front of him. His optics wandered slowly to an opened doorway in the side where things had been placed next to it. Datapads that shown dimly in the hallway, bouquets of some of Bluestreak's favorite Earth flowers, and even a few stuffed animals lay beside the door in a small tribute. He didn't know what drug him to it, but his feet began to move him toward the room. He had done everything in his power to stay away from this hallway, but now something beckoned him to it.
Looking into the dimly-lit room sadly, his optics wandered around it slowly. He knew this little room very well, having spent a great deal of time in here when Bluestreak was sad and needed comfort, and he knew it even better now since he was commissioned to make it presentable for Bluestreak's sending. Carefully stepping over the bunches of things that littered the floor in the room, he went over to sit on the empty berth, his hand trailing slowly over the surface as he began to feel fluid slowly dripping from his optics under his visor. He let them flow as he looked around the little room, noting those subtle little things that made this room belong to Bluestreak. Pictures lined the walls above the berth of times past. Friendly pictures of the 'bots in the Ark smiled at him as he looked, pictures of some of the crew, and even one that Jazz himself cherished because of the events that led up to it.
It was Bluestreak's first week at the Ark, and for some reason, the young gunner took right to him. He had gotten into a tussle with Sideswipe, the red Lamborghini not always the best to get along with, and the poor Datsun had gotten a pretty good-sized dent in his helmet from it. Jazz had to come to Bluestreak's rescue, managing to beat off Sideswipe with a threat to disarm him. He had helped the Datsun up from the ground and wrapped an arm around the gunner's waist to keep him steady, draping Bluestreak's other arm around his shoulders for support. On their way to Medbay to see Ratchet, he had probably heard Bluestreak apologize to him a thousand times. Jazz found it all very cute and had had a good laugh when Bluestreak had told him what started the fight in the first place.
"I made a comment about a dent in his aft," Blue had said slowly and with a very childish voice. "He's not very fond of having the flaws pointed out to him, is he?" Jazz had laughed at Bluestreak's words and at that moment the picture had been taken, with Jazz's raucous laugh suspended in time, Bluestreak's apologetic smile beaming up at him.
Jazz smiled at the memory as he looked around at other pictures. Bluestreak had even managed to get Prowl in one of them, which surprised Jazz slightly as he looked at it. The young gunner had gotten Prowl and Smokescreen together for a picture, the three Datsuns smiling at him out of the picture. He missed Bluestreak's smile, and wished desperately that he could see it again, not just in a moment frozen in time.
Jazz sighed as he dropped his gaze to the berth, laying optics on Bluestreak's rabbit, the stuffed animal sitting on his berth quietly. Reaching for it, he pulled it toward him, hugging it to his chest as he buried his face in it, his tears disappearing in the rabbit's soft fuzz. It smelled like him, and Jazz liked that as he hugged the rabbit closer, the painful memory coming back to him.
Bluestreak had died in his arms that night, had died in pain because Jazz was too stupid to call Ratchet to the young 'bot's aid. Worse than just Bluestreak's death, he had blamed the Datsun's painful passing on himself, had beat himself up about it, believing that it was his fault Bluestreak was dead, even though Ratchet had told him that because of the gigantic hole in Bluestreak's chest, there wasn't anything the experienced Medic could have done for him.
He hadn't heard anyone enter the room at all, but he could sense that there was someone in the room with him. He didn't bother to raise his head from the bunny's, didn't want to see who had come into the room, and part of him prayed that the 'bot would go away soon to leave him and his sorrows in peace. He stayed sitting on the berth, his arms cradled around Bluestreak's stuffed animal, but his head shot up as soon as he heard that soft, innocent voice.
"Jazzy?" Bluestreak's voice resonated through the room in a soft tone with Bluestreak's pet name as the saboteur's optics got wide, looking around the room, wondering if someone was playing a trick on him.
"Blue?" Jazz answered back, his voice cracking as he spoke the words.
"Yes," the voice answered back softly.
Jazz had heard of these happening when a mech's spirit wouldn't let go of the world it was attached to, but he never actually believed it was possible, never believed the stories to be true."You're still here?" Jazz asked the room softly.
"Because you haven't let go." Bluestreak's voice was quiet, but didn't sound to be hurting.
"I… I don't want to let go, Blue."
"Jazzy, you are the strongest 'bot I've ever known, and look at you… you're miserable. Please don't be sad for my death."
Jazz buried his face back in the rabbit. "I can't help it… you were like… like a sparkling to me… my sparkling."
"Take your own advice, Jazz… Be happy for my death… happy that I'm not in that mess anymore."
Jazz looked up from the rabbit in his arms and lay his watering optics on Bluestreak's soft face. The form in front of him was transparent and only his head and shoulders were visible, but the gunner looked like he was there, his softly smiling lips showing his innocence. Jazz was slightly taken aback by Blue's sudden trance-like appearance in front of him, but he had began to cry as he reached a black hand to Blue's white head. "Oh, Blue…"
"Jazz…" Blue's voice sounded touched and happy by Jazz's words. "It's okay… You can let go now, Jazzy, you can let go. Oh, I think I'm ready to do this on my own. It still feels a little bit scary, but I want you to know, I'll be okay now, Jazzy, you can let go…"