Nirvana Blue

Transformers (G1) Verse

Rating: PG for implied violence upon a certain bot

Warnings: Implied mechxmech affections, but other than that…surprisingly sedate.

Disclaimer: I do not own these bots I say, so legal people go away.

A/N: Alrighty, so this came out of the blue for me and is based mostly on a ten second dream that I had and the song below by the super awesome Hooverphonic. Please enjoy!

I just jumped out in the open

Without knowing if my parachute would save me

It's quiet and peaceful in this emotional nirvana blue

'cause taking off was so easy

But landing very rough

No tears

No smile

Not even the urge to cry

Hooverphonic – Nirvana Blue

It had been unseasonably cold for this time of year. Not that Cybertronians are quite as effected by temperature as humans, but then, as quickly as things seem to have a habit of changing on this planet, the lingering coolness that had defined the current year's Spring broke and a heat wave took its place.

The warmth is what had drove me from our hastily assembled camp in the late hours of the night and to the edge of the deep blue water that stretched out broadly before me. At such an odd hour, I was blissfully alone on the sandy beach, my pedes stretched out before me digging furrows into the soft ground just out of reach of the gently lapping tide. It left me with nothing more than the full expanse of a starlit sky and a waning moon for company, and of course…my thoughts.

If I wanted to be brutally honest with myself, it was truly the repeated streams of thought looping endlessly through my processor that had driven me from the makeshift berth in which I lay. They kept cycling around the same scene—the same realization.

(Flashback)

The harsh crash of my back plates against the solid barrier of water that meets my fall reverberates throughout my chassis knocking loose more than just a few secondary wires. Shocking cold overwhelms my sensors next, eclipsing the initial pain of my landing as the dark water swallows my body whole. Numerous warnings begin popping up in my HUD ranging from fuel leaks to full systems failure. It feels as though the water has grown tentacles and turned into some lively beast as I struggle to fight the gravity that pulls against my heavy frame attempting to drag me into its depths.

Attempts to and is succeeding. Panic is something that I am unfamiliar with, but when faced with the distinct possibility of permanently offlining (particularly in such an undesirable way) all of my normal mannerisms and protocols seem to go out of the proverbial window. The damage that my body has sustained warps my movements and hinders my ability to swim properly and at least slow my descent. An estranged part of my higher functions that is somehow not completely focused upon my impending doom morbidly fixates on how I must look to an outsider (not that there are any to be had). I probably resemble something of a dying fish or aquatic mammal with the pathetic scene that I am making during my last moments.

Devastator did too much of a number on me and being thrown into the second deepest lake in this country at a fairly good clip merely adds to it all. Systems begin to seize completely as seals rupture under the pressure that is consuming my form from all sides. Water floods my throat and innards and the experience is not at all pleasant. I would take one of Ratchet's oil flushes over this any orn. Not that he will ever get to make good on that idea.

I suppose that it could be worse—I could have been thrown into the deepest lake in the country. And they say that I do not have a microfiber of humor in me. All it takes is a dramatic situation (or act of utter stupidity by a subordinate) to trigger such an event.

As crystal clear as the water is, the sky still begins to fade from my view. Whether it is because of the lack of energy suffusing my body at the moment, causing both optics and CPU alike to dim, I really do not know. I am finding it difficult to care. Slender black and purple ribbons dance elegantly in the water while wrapping around various portions of my limbs before making their slow, ethereal escape up to the surface. A part of me realizes that the twisting and curling colors are my lifeblood escaping from the various ruptures in my frame, but again it is almost as if I am watching all of this happen from afar. The errant thought floats through my mind that it is such a shame that I am causing this kind of pollution to one of the few pristine water sources of our protectorate.

It is so dark and quiet here. I am truly alone. The thought hurts a bit. Semi-distracted, I use the little bit of processing power that I have left to turn that line of code around in my processor and examine it more closely. For a brief instant—no more than a nanosecond in time—there is a moment of utmost clarity as I realize why I have such a regret at the end of my long life. An epiphany of sorts. That must be what I am experiencing.

But in the next exhaled breath my moment is lost to me as everything begins to fall through. As consciousness flees I turn on my optics one last time to see the world around me. Their blue light provides barely any illumination and that only serves to sadden me as well. Just as they start to fade entirely I almost swear that I see a dark silhouette suspended above me. Something or someone seems to be reaching out. And then…nothing.

(End Flashback)

They call it an epiphany.

I do not know if it was the near-death experience that onlined a particular line of code that had been lurking within the deep recesses of my mind, or just chance. It is a thought that I had put a lot of conscious effort to block out and forget the feelings that it brought out in me—hope, joy, sorrow, confusion…desire. It was so much easier to just ignore it and continue on through my daily routine than to stop and allow the idea to grow into something more.

Hugging my shin plating a little tighter, my gaze drifts out along the still surface of the deep sapphire waters. Slivers of white and silver reflect the slender moon hanging serenely overhead. I was not afraid of dying alone out there. No, the truth is that I would rather it be me than one of my fellow Autobots, particularly those that I am close to…or at least as close as I can allow.

My real fear? Under those black and silent waters I wished for nothing more than the comfort of one other—of knowing that I was in someone else's thoughts and fears the same as they were in my own. The realization that had I gone there would have been no one that I was leaving behind was a bittersweet one to make at the time. I would have never thought that it would have bothered me so, but it does. And now it is just a lingering ache in my chassis that I can only hope to move beyond some day.

The light breeze that had been flowing around me is suddenly blocked as newly repaired and oversensitive nodes along my door panels detect the silent presence behind me. The thrum of the other mech's field is familiar and welcoming as it gently brushes against my own—a query asking if I mind company. The normally introverted side of my personality wants to deflect the interloper, logic center pointing out that this bot will think nothing of it. Will not hold it against me. But I am just so tired at this point. My frame is still sore from the emergency rebuild that Ratchet had to perform upon me and my processors are weary with all of the data—both new and old—that is running around through my systems.

Not surprisingly, my companion takes the lack of reaction as an invitation and eases himself down onto the cool sand no more than an arm's length from me. Errant doorwings flick half-consciously in reaction to his presence, but the rest of me does not move. After a few minutes of silence, the visored saboteur speaks up.

"Nice night, isn't it?"

I give a small sound of agreement, but still do not shift. Not that it matters. He continues on as though I had given a better response or perhaps none at all.

"S'funny. I didn't think that you would be up an about already."

"Hnh."

"Imagine that the good doc' isn't goin' to be happy when he finds out that you escaped."

A shrug.

"Then again, not like that has ever stopped you in the past, right? Nah. Near-death experiences are just a part of the job."

There is the slightest shift of mechanical parts and the rub of tubing as a dark helm turns to regard me. I can feel the push of hot air that escapes his vents as he releases a heavy sigh.

"That was a real close one, Prowler."

I have no response to that. It is the truth, after all. My friend's normally light tone has a heavy weight to it now. It is as somber as I ever have heard the saboteur in recent years. The movement seems to take more energy than it should, but I manage to turn my own helm so that my left audio rests upon my knee plate. I regard the solemn-looking mech beside me through dim optics.

"You know if I hadn't seen you get thrown out there…if I hadn't noticed that you never came back up…"

He doesn't need to finish the thought—probably does not want to. That last sight that I saw before darkness claimed me was of him, risking the crushing pressures of the deep crevice that I had come to be in to save me. I had thought that I had imagined it until I came to much later on Ratchet's makeshift repair berth and had listened in to some of his less-than-pleasant rantings about a certain Porsche and the idiotic thing that he had done.

I am feeling rather tired now and therefore do not really control the next thing I say.

"…sorry."

"Say what?" His visor slants in the most peculiar way at me. That accessory of his seems far more flexible than it should be.

"Sorry for worrying you."

I swear that my mouth plates are on autopilot.

That garners a sharp bark of a laugh from him. That horned helm shakes in what is either exasperation or affection at me before he lays a midnight black servo on my cheek almost delicately. My optics flash online in shock at the touch, although when they first closed I can not recall. I should recoil or at least lightly brush off the gesture, but I can not find it in my spark to do so. In fact, I swear that my spark is pulsing faster in my chest now—hot and spinning at a dizzying speed—as I gaze back at him and through the aqua crystalline of his visor.

The smile I am met with is one of the few genuine ones that I have seen—one that seems to be reserved for me if my memory is actually functioning correctly at the moment. I can not help, but smile in return and my reaction seems to please him as that soft smile grows to a wide grin.

"I always worry about you. Just…this time I thought it might be the last time."

The servo that was resting against my faceplates moves and gently strokes along the arch of my helm and I almost melt into the touch. I must have made some noise of pleasure because his chuckling breaks me out of the warm place that I had been lulled into. Only managing to online one optic this time I regard those smiling silver faceplates and the visor that seems to be twinkling in mischief above them.

"You really shouldn't be out of bed yet. Fatal injuries aside, I think Ratch' may have given you a hefty servo of the good stuff."

"Don' care." I manage to softly mutter.

"But I do and so long as my spark beats, I'm going to do my best to take care of you, k?"

His baritone resonates in my audios and the words that go along with it slowly filter through as well. I feel my lipplates stretch into a small smile again as I realize what it is that he is saying. What he is offering to me.

"Okay."

"Good. Whelp, we can talk about all of this later and when you are not under heavy sedation, Prowler. In the mean time…"

The world suddenly tilts around me and I am startled out of a light recharge as I come to pressed against plating that is slightly warmer than mine. Looking up, Jazz has the same tender smile on his lips even as he carries my tired chassis back to our temporary base. I do not have it in me to protest the treatment and a growing part of my spark revels in the feeling of being held like this by the mech that I have come to care for so much.

All too soon, I am being gently placed upon my side back onto a cool medical berth. Dark mutterings from a new voice nearly bring me out of my doze as another pair of servos helps to situate me and reattach wiring and feeder tubes that I had previously left hanging. All of my focus though is drawn to the warm pair of servos that cup my faceplates. Smiling again at the visored mech he returns the gesture before brushing a thumb along my lower lip, followed by the soft press of a kiss to the center of my chevron.

"Rest now, love. I'll be here when you wake up."

And so I do.

A/N: So…yeah. Short and kind of random, but definitely matching my mood at the moment. Kudos to anyone who can figure out what lake poor Prowl was tossed in. My dream literally consisted of this image of Prowl slowly sinking beneath dark water and the silhouette of Jazz appearing and coming towards him. Hooray for TF dreams, ne?

Anywho, please drop me a review if you can and let me know what you think. Thanks! ^_^