AN: It was created in a discussion between the two of us. I mentioned that I kinda 'ignore' my problems out of existence, silber kindly mentioned that was not a solution... and things kinda escalated from there.

Beta: skylar matthews

Transformers doesn't belong to us.

Argumentative problems

There was a small corner café right in the middle of Polyhex. It was famous both for its tarts and that when the evening came it turned into a small music bar. More often than not, Prowl and Jazz used this café (Prowl's chosen word) / bar (Jazz's word) to meet in the late afternoon; after Prowl had finished his office work and before Jazz began his performance.

They loved those joor, sitting together, drinking warm energon and watching the people outside while simply talking. Jazz's band slowly came in during the joor, while the café customers left and were replaced by a crowd ready to take on the night.

This orn, though, the peaceful atmosphere was destroyed when Prowl came in and placed a small ticket in front of Jazz, who stared at it and then cycled his optics twice before believing it.

"Is that..."

"Yes." Prowl took the place across from him and called the waiter. "The usual, please."

"Of course, sir," said the waiter with a small and vanished.

"But...they told me it's not possible!" Jazz shook his head, not understanding how the mech he was dating for three vorns now had gotten this. "The money had disappeared!"

His lover, a Praxian and as such quite a bit taller even when sitting, shook his head. The doorwings on his back twitched in clear amusement. "No, it had simply vanished into the pockets of a corrupted employee of the public transport system."

"Right." Jazz sighed. "Corruption, which is normal here in Polyhex and nothing a small customer can do anything against."

"Usually," admitted Prowl."But I walked into the president's office and expressed my disappointment. The problem was solved within minutes."

"... you... you just..." Jazz sputtered, lost for words.

"I just said the truth."

"To the president of one of the biggest companies of Polyhex!" The mech exclaimed, "That's hardly fixing a problem, that's attacking it with a sledgehammer!"

"No, I just went there..."

"Prowl!" Jazz felt like his CPU would crack.

The mech in question sighed. "Jazz, it's really simple. If you have a problem, go there, find out whose problem it really is and let them solve it."

"It's not THAT simple," protested the native Polyhexian. "Plus, it's a small insignificant problem. It's not like it's worth any of their time."

"Would your life be easier if the problem didn't exist?"Prowl asked rhetorically, not even waiting for the answer. "If yes,then it's worth enough of your time to 'make' it worth their time."

"Of course it's easier without it!" Jazz gave his lover a quick, sharp grin. "Why do you think I ignore my problems?"

The waiter chose this moment to comeback and deduced the heated atmosphere within a klick. Quietly, without a word, he placed the warmed energon and the tart before hurrying away. But not so far away he couldn't still listen to every word being said.

"Ignoring doesn't means that you're living without them." Prowl frowned. "It's illogical to ignore one's problems."

"But it works!" Jazz argued with conviction. "You should try it sometime as well. It's so much easier. The easiest example I can give you was this one time when I was sick, I ignored it and it went away. That's how I treat my problems - like a virus that simply goes away with time. It just works itself out. Or, you just learn to live with it."

That example only made Prowl scoff. "Sickness is not a problem; it's a less than optimal state of being which either changes for the better or ends with death."

Jazz blinked. "...Well, aren't you all sweet positive? Mech, I just don't see the reason why I should burden other mechs with my problems."

"I'm just stating facts. And you're not burdening them unfairly. After all, they burden others with similar problems and more often than not it is part of their job. They are paid for it." And that cleared up everything in Prowl's processor. If you're paid for it, you did it. The end.

Jazz, who could hear Prowl blocking any further argument, groaned: "Again, not that simple!"

"Most often, yes it is."

It was Jazz's turn to frown. "I don't see why I should change my system when it obviously works. Ignorance IS bliss."

"A short bliss, if one at all. Ignored problems often tend to get far worse. In the long run it's risky and damaging to yourself."

Jazz gave him a sly smile. "Now, you say that as if you don't know me."

"I know you very well. Which is why I'm worried..." Prowl looked away, doorwings drooping a bit.

"Worried?" Jazz chuckled. "'bout what? It's worked so far! Why would it stop now?"

Prowl eyed him darkly, then pulled out several letters out of his subspace and dropped them in front of his lover. The Polyhexian stared at the letters, before realization came over him: "Those are mine!"

"From this orn, yes," agreed Prowl. "I took the liberty to get them from your apartment and solved the problem in each letter. And this is from this orn only!"

"You... you..."

"And rest assured, you don't have to pay the 200 credits to that fortune lottery either. I called them and dissuaded them from the idea." Prowl leaned back in his chair, waiting for the reaction.

Jazz proved that his claims of adaptability weren't exaggerated, when he closed his mouth and forced a casual shrug. "I have the credits. I can pay it, no big deal."

"Right," drawled Prowl. "But over the last vorn you have lost so much money that way that you couldn't go on vacation with me."

This time it was Jazz who looked away sadly. "...time wasn't right anyway."

"...maybe." Prowl sighed and reached towards Jazz's hand to comfort him. "Just allow me to take care of your problems, yes?"

"I can't!" Even the suggestion made him feel bad. "These are MY problems, not yours. You have your own set of slag to look after, I'm not adding more to the pile! I'm a big mech, I should be... I CAN look after myself." He brushed away Prowl's hand.

The Praxian just accepted this and switched his tactics. "You in turn can help me with my problems. Namely, my aching back, or that I can never reach my doorwings in the washracks."

Jazz smiled, but it didn'treally reach his optics. "Really? You wanna fix my problems in exchange for massages and doorwing cleaning? I offer you a better one - how about I wash your wings, and you let me handle my slag on my own, yeah? I can live with it." And he could, really. He'd only done so for 120 vorns!

Prowl obviously disagreed with that notion. "You don't have doorwings, you cannot comprehend how big of a problem icky, sticky, itching, and dirty doorwings are in my life." His doorwings twitched violently at the very thought of it. "Believe me, I would get the far better deal out of it. At the very least I could stop paying up to 1000 credits a month for it."

Jazz gaped. "... you... WHAT?!" He threw his hands high. "Are you insane?! You could've asked me sooner!"

Prowl shrugged. "It was a small problem with a solution I could pay for. I didn't want to burden you with it." He looked at Jazz and slowly a smile spread over his face.

Jazz had the bad feeling of having walked into a trap. "...but... but that's totally NOT the same!" he whined.

"It totally is." Smiling, he took the letters back and stored them in his subspace again. "I think tonight after your performance is a good time to repay me for solving these problems for you." He stood up and leaned over the table, wings fluttering on his back. "I love arguing with you, Jazz." He kissed him gently. "I'm looking forward to tonight in my apartment."

Jazz automatically kissed back. Then, Prowl straightened and walked out with a wave.

"...but I...but you..."

He looked after him; after his sexy, infuriating aft of a lover. "This is why I don't argue with him..." he muttered to himself.

Around him, mechs start chuckling and some outright laughing. Few had seen Jazz losing any kind of argument before. Blaster, who was on keyboard of the band, came over, and took Prowl's abandoned chair with a grin: "Well, Jazz, that lover of yours has you quite well in hand."

Jazz just shook his helm, chuckling, "I don't know if I should be turned on or disturbed..."

"Turned on, my mech! My engine was revving from over there!"

Jazz blushed.

Which made the rest only laugh harder.