Birthday Fic for Jgirl911. Bayverse. Sorry it's a little late, Jill! Happy (late) Birthday. Summary- Jazz died in Mission City, right? Wrong! There was the chance that he could live, and he did. But who took that chance? Rated-T just to be safe. Warnings- Mentions of SLASH! Don't like, don't read!
Our Darkest Hours
He had felt it, one million light years away. It had been there. It had been painful, and he knew exactly who it had been from. He had felt the black abyss open in his spark where the other had once been, he had felt the intense pain of being torn apart that was not even his own.
Now, standing in the hanger where they were keeping the greyed, yet fixed, frame of his mate, he couldn't help but wish it wasn't his mate laying there, but instead anyone else. He felt bad about thinking that, especially when he had thought to himself, out of spite, "You didn't try hard enough, Ratchet! That should be you lying there! It's your fault he's gone! You could have saved him!" But of course it wasn't the medic's fault, that was just the grief talking, and he quickly banished any other thoughts like that one.
"Is there a chance?" he finally asked quietly. Ratchet jumped; startled that he had even spoken. The medic had told him of a procedure that could bring his mate back, but had also warned him that it very likely wouldn't work. Yet, if there was even a chance…
"There is a chance," the medic began slowly, pausing as though wanting to say more, but unsure how exactly to say it. The other vented a sigh through his intakes and rubbed a hand over his face. He was so tired. "Spit it out, Ratchet."
The medic seemed taken aback by his tone, but hesitantly continued, "There are just too many negative possibilities. You might not survive, or it might not take, and the sacrifice would all be for nothing if you did die, or he could wake up with all kinds of glitches, or he could have no memories, or if, by any slim chance you both did survive, your bond could be broken, and you would spend the rest of your lives in misery being unable to establish any kind of bond. There are just too many risks, and I really don't recommend going through with this."
It seemed as though the medic was going to say more, and he interrupted with, "Would you do it in my place?" That seemed to halt Ratchet in his tirade.
"W-What?"
He made a frustrated sound in response to the medic's dense question of shock. "If it was Sideswipe or Sunstreaker there, dead, but with a chance to live again, would you do it?"
The medic stammered, trying to come up with a reasonable and honest answer that would convince him to not go through with this, but he had already made up his processor. He just had to make Ratchet see that.
"You would. You care too much for them to let them remain dead. It is the same for me. So stop being a hypocrite. I have made my decision. We will proceed with the surgery. I would die eventually without him anyway. It is only logical to try to revive him."
Ratchet tried to talk him out of it, pointing out flaws in his plans and basically, as the humans would say, "Throwing a shit-fit" over his choice. However, he would not be swayed on this decision. He would not live without his mate, one way or the other. He was either going to join him in death, or be reunited with him here among the functioning. There was no other choice in his optics. When Ratchet finally understood this, he caved in and went about prepping the tools for the surgery.
He settled down on one of the medical berths and watched the medic work. Ratchet approached him and slipped a needle into the main energon line in his neck. He fell under the spell of the medical drugs without complaint and was lost in the sweet and wonderful darkness, slipping away from the functioning world for now. He was relieved to be away from what had truly been his darkest hours.
The surgery had been successful. It had all gone off without any major hitches, except for one. Ratchet gave a sad glance towards the once black and white, now fully grey frame, even as the blue visor of a small silver mech flickered back online after so long believed dead. He turned professional once more as he walked over to his patient. "Jazz, what do you remember?"
The silver mech rubbed his helm. "Not much, Doc. I remember some faces, some names, my name, and the search for the All-Spark, but that's about it." Jazz then spotted the grey frame behind the medic. "Who is that, Ratchet?" Ratchet followed his gaze, staring at the dead frame of the once-great tactician of the Autobot Army, and shook his helm sadly. So Jazz didn't remember him. He glanced back at the Spec. Ops 'bot.
"He was a hero, Jazz. The head tactician of the Autobots, and a kind spark beneath his stoic attitude. He literally traded his life for yours." Jazz was silent as he let the new information sink in. It all sounded familiar, but he didn't know why, so he set those thoughts aside for now.
"Ratchet?"
"Hm?"
"What was his name?" Ratchet froze at the innocent question, and had to fight back the coolant tears that sprang to his optics at the thought that Jazz did not remember his own bondmate's name.
"Prowl. His name was Prowl."