Jazz let his head hang, his chin almost touching his chest while Prowl's strong fingers kneaded his shoulders. "Ah, pit, Prowler, you're better than an expensive pleasuremech," he sighed as Prowl moved to the back of his neck. The officer's lounge was quiet with just the two of them. Most of the ship didn't know that Jazz was back yet, which was how he wanted to keep it for the rest of the night. For the first time in a kel his tanks were full, he wasn't dodging hostiles, and he knew exactly where he was recharging and what time he had to be up. Sometimes routine could be a beautiful thing.
"I shall ask the Prime to add that to my service record," Prowl said in a dry voice. Jazz closed his optics and chuckled but couldn't muster the energy for a real laugh. Prowl's thumbs rubbed small circles at the base of his head and Jazz made a low sound part pain and part pleasure. He hadn't even realized that place had kinked up but now that it was relaxing he thought he might end up recharging in this chair. "Jazz," Prowl said softly not interrupting his half-drowsing state. "What's wrong?" There was a note of hesitation in his voice, a sliver of uncertainty that had Jazz blinking himself more awake. He could brush off the statement and he knew Prowl wouldn't bring it up again, because he would think he'd misread whatever signals Jazz was sending. The mech was good with patterns when it involved puzzles and strategies, not so good with reading other mechs.
Jazz didn't think anything was wrong but he gave himself a moment to think about Prowl's question. "I dunno, Prowler. I didn't think anything was wrong," he said. Prowl didn't stop what he was doing and Jazz hissed out a short breath when Prowl's fingers found another stress knot in his upper back.
Prowl was quiet for a long breem but Jazz didn't let himself slip back into his borderline recharging state. "I thought…" Prowl started and then stopped with a soft sigh. Jazz waited patiently. "You weren't yourself when you sent the call for retrieval," he said at last. "I was worried something had happened, but there was nothing out of the ordinary in your debriefing." Jazz was certain if he kicked on his upgraded audios he'd hear the whir of Prowl's processor turning over the problem of…him. He'd probably turned that preliminary report inside out and upside down, and was likely doing it again right now. "And you seem fine now, but…you weren't."
Lifting his head, Jazz reached up and caught one of Prowl's hands on his shoulder. "Sometimes Ops jus' catches up to me," he said softly. "It's nothin', I promise I'm all right." Prowl was quiet again, his free hand absently stroking across Jazz's shoulder while the other held Jazz's fingers loosely. Jazz twisted in his chair to look at Prowl. He felt an eon younger with the stress worked out of his back, no loud clicks or pops when he moved.
Prowl watched him with his usual frown pulling down one corner of his mouth. His blue-white optics picked apart every nuance of Jazz's face and body language, reducing him to parts for his processor to reform. It was by far Prowl's most potent hands free weapon. He'd seen the Praxian reduce senators and colony leaders to nothing with that same look. It was the same look he'd cast upon Megatron more than once. Not even that megalomaniac could stand up to it. Nor was the Prime immune, though instead of becoming something less—like Megatron—the Prime turned into something…quieter, gentler. Someone that war hadn't broken. And as Prowl looked at him Jazz felt the scars and memories being dragged to the surface to be seen and twisted this way and that in the light so he could solve the problem of Jazz.
He didn't know how long they stared at each other, until Prowl said, "You can stay with me." Jazz blinked and tilted his head to the side in question. He rarely spent the night in Prowl's quarters, not only would the gossip mill pounce on that and blow it all out of proportion, but the mech needed time alone to re-center after a long orn.
The colony—outpost really—that he'd been at was stretched thin going through winter. It had been a tricky assignment, not only were mechs suspicious and curious about newcomers when resources were scarce but add in Jazz's Polyhexian frame and all cover was lost. The snow had been his saving grace and personal pit. It never stopped. The whole time he was there it was either cutesy little flakes fluttering in the wind or pouring down from the sky. He'd been able to use it as a shield and cover, able to disappear and get close to his target. By the time he'd called for a pickup he'd given up on ever feeling his fingers and toes again. "Prowler, I mean it, I'm fine. I was hungry, frozen, and dehydrated when I sent that call. All those things have been fixed, I'm good." He kept his tone gentle but Prowl had a very stubborn look on his face.
"Exactly eighty-three point nine percent of the time when you use the sentence "It's nothing, I promise I'm all right," paired with the phrase, "I'm good," you are not being truthful," he said. Jazz blinked twice. Prowl's optics turned probing once more and Jazz felt like he'd have more privacy if he was standing before Primus.
Sighing, he said, "Well, Prowler, this is one of those...what, sixteen point one times that I'm not lyin'." He also filed away the statistic. He didn't think anyone else listened to him as closely or as uniquely as Prowl but it was a bad habit in Ops to fall into using the same words and phrases. Any little thing that could stick in someone's mind about him was skating the edge of deadly.
Prowl's face and focus didn't change. "I didn't say you lied. Lying is willful fabrication or omission of truth to make others see things the way you want them despite evidence to the contrary. I said you weren't being truthful. Something is bothering you, Jazz, but you haven't consciously realized it."
Jazz huffed a laugh and leaned back with an elbow on the table. "Well, if I haven't talked to myself about it, it must not be a big deal. Maybe I'll figure it out in the morning." Prowl didn't blink, nor did he comment. He was waiting. Rubbing a hand across his optics Jazz said, "A'ight, Prowler, if I have an epiphany I'll come find you, how about that?" He was fighting a kel of exhaustion and slowly losing ground.
He didn't look happy about it, but Prowl stepped back giving Jazz space to stand. Jazz stood and stretched his back before sliding his arms around Prowl's waist and pulling him close. Resting his audio against Prowl's neck he gave the Praxian a gentle squeeze. Sometimes Prowl was wrong, for better or worse though it was usually when he was trying to figure out other mechs. "I'll see you in the morning," Jazz said. Prowl returned the hug and Jazz stepped back when his arms loosened.
oOo
Jazz knocked on Prowl's door joors before first shift. He felt cut and battered standing in the dim light of the night cycle. Wrapping his arms around himself he rested his head against the doorframe. He didn't wait long, a few seconds, and then the door was sliding open. "Snow," he said softly, his voice rough from the nightmare. "It was snowing there, it reminded me of…of everything." Of the silence, of the bodies. "I'm not okay, Prowler," he said feeling the tremors start again. Prowl's warm hand tugged him out of the hall into his dark quarters.
Prowl's wings wrapped around him, warm and familiar. They kept out the ship's cool air but he continued to tremble. "Talk to me for a bit," Jazz rasped. He needed the silence gone. It was the silence and the cold that the nightmare was clinging to. Prowl's low voice fit smoothly with the quiet, but as he started a rundown of all the mischief caused during Jazz's absence the silence wasn't as dense. His wings kept the cold at bay and his voice kept the silence from suffocating him.
oOo
A/N: Look at what I found gathering dust on my hard drive! I think this was supposed to fit in same universe as Fear. I can't remember what I was thinking when I wrote it which leaves some nice ambiguity for all of us.