Umm... I was listening to Nickelback's Lullaby from their just recently released album. It's an awesome song, and really inspiring. Seriously, I recommend it to those that feel like they're stuck in a pit that has no bottom.

But this morning I got on my PC and found this, and thought, "Looks like I was writing half asleep again", because I honestly DO NOT remember writing it. And then I had a nightmare about snakes. (Random, I know, but it's the truth.)

Enjoy!

Prowl sipped his mid-grade from his dark corner of the Rec room, watching quietly with weary optics of the mechs that were trying to keep a light mood to the party.

They were failing.

But, really, Prowl hadn't expected any better. Lately, the Decepticons seemed to be getting the upper hand in the war. It seemed like every metacycle reports of another post lost came in, or an Energon deposit taken, or casualty numbers from neutral cities.

Praxus. Praxus had been attacked, razed to the ground by air dropped bombs and thousands killed by Decepticons.

Prowl's wings trembled ever so slightly, then stilled as he fought for control of his emotions. His home. His city. His citizens. Taken away by this Primus-forsaken war. Perhaps the only good thing – if there was even any – was the one survivor that decided to join the Autobots after the attack on Praxus.

Bluestreak.

The bot was a bright, talky mech that would chatter the audios off anyone willing to listen (and even those who weren't willing). But during his recharge memory files cycled through his processor, making him relive those terrible moments of the attack. At first, he had clung to Prowl and Smokescreen, the only other Praxians on base. But now, he was on the opposite side of the Rec room with the twins and looking slightly over energized while talking at his usual slightly-faster-than-normal speed.

The SIC continued looking around the room, always observing, always recording information. Several bots had already consumed numerous cubes of high grade, maybe Sideswipe's special brew. It looked as if Smokescreen had started another gambling game between himself and a few of the mini bots. A few bots had even already passed out at another table in the Rec room.

The enforcer in him frowned down on this, but Prowl would let it slide this time. Morale was low, as Jazz had said earlier when asking permission for a party, and the mechs deserved this. He just hoped they would all arrive in time for their shifts once the night was over.

Speaking of his mate…

The black and white searched the room for the saboteur. The familiar monochrome paint job of Jazz didn't stand out anywhere in the dim room. Prowl cast his optics to the dance floor, where Autobots either danced with a partner or by themselves. Maybe he just couldn't see the saboteur dancing in the crowd…

The upbeat music that didn't match the attitudes of the bots in the room changed, morphing from a fast beat to a slow harmonious melody.

Prowl's cool blue optics snapped to the station where Blaster had been controlling the music. Behind it, his normally cheery mate was loading a personal music chip into the machine with a grim expression and dim visor.

The tactician set his cube on the table gently, watching his mate curiously. This music sounded…almost familiar. Prowl wasn't an extensive fan of music, but since Jazz had moved into the same quarters as him after the beginning of their relationship, he'd heard more styles of music than he had originally thought there was. Jazz had been more than happy to fill him in on the history and singers behind nearly every song in a very Bluestreak-like fashion.

Now the Praxian had a new respect for what he had thought a simple art at first.

But what Prowl considered to be the most important part of Jazz telling him all the history of the music was the fact that Jazz himself had been a performer before the war. The visored mech had even let him listen to a few of the songs he had written and performed himself.

The SIC would never forget the experience.

Not only were the songs beautiful and in perfect harmony with Jazz's voice, but the sensations it had made to his doorwings had been extraordinary. The only time he had ever felt such pleasant vibrations against his doorwings was when his lover had used his mags to relax him or during interfacing.

They were an odd pair. Prowl knew that much. But he becoming more and more sure that he had found his sparkmate, despite all logic saying that they were complete opposites.

The tactician was brought out of his musing by his mate's voice echoing through the speakers. The saboteur smiled a bittersweet smile. "This is for all those Autobots out there that need to be reminded that there's always hope for tomorrow."

Jazz stepped back from the station as a voice flowed from the speakers. Blinking, Prowl recognized one of the songs that his lover had let him listen to, one of his own that he had wrote and sung. As far as he knew, no one besides himself, Prime, and Blaster knew he had been a performer before the war. He thought it was something that Jazz had wanted to keep secret because the memories of a life before the war were too far away now to remember without out grief.

Jazz slid in the seat next to Prowl, leaning against the Praxian and turning his visor off while humming softly to the song but never saying the words out loud.

As Prowl listened to the song and observed the mechs around the room, he realized they wouldn't recognize Jazz's voice. They had only ever heard the Polyhexian accent his mate had, not the smooth melodic voice that echoed through the speakers. Jazz had told Prowl that when the war first began, he had swore then not to sing until it was over.

That had been so long ago.

As the song went on, the tactician began to see why his mate had picked this song specifically. It spoke of never giving up, getting up when you got kicked to the ground, and never losing sight of the hope that tomorrow presented. How fitting for their current situation, he mused.

Yes, things certainly did look bleak. They had for awhile now.

But, Prowl thought as he listened Jazz's soft humming in perfect sync with the music, there was always hope. One day the war would end, and perhaps that might be the day he was given the opportunity to hear his mate sing for him and only him.

So... Likey? No likey? Me luvs the reviews...