A/N: There will be slash in this fic later, and the rating will go up. If that is not your cup of tea, do not read. Coming up with a title for this was hell, I finally stole a Springsteen song. Not that happy with it, but whatever. Can't seem to think of a summary either, I'll probably keep changing it.
Disclaimer: Don't own, please don't sue. (I don't have any money anyway.)
The battle had been fierce, violent and long, which was not an unusual thing, when it came to battling Decepticons. What was unusual, however, was the fact that no one had been hurt. As Megatron finally called a retreat, Ratchet for a glorious moment believed that he would not have to repair his friends this time. That this would be the one battle where no one needed to be sedated or tranquilised to help the pain, no one needed to have limbs reattached, and no one needed to see their friend in agony; and he himself wouldn't have the weight of responsibility on his shoulders.
Sadly, that was not to be. A certain Decepticon Seeker named Thundercracker, and a certain Autobot tactician named Prowl would see to that.
At the moment the jet was hiding behind a rock, nursing a damaged arm. He cursed the fact that his weapons were out of energy, but of course, so were Prowl's, which was the reason that they were fighting hand-to-hand. Whoever knew that the Autobot's second in command was such a good fighter though? The tactician had almost ripped his entire arm off, which was why Thundercracker was hiding from him. He could probably take to the sky and fly away, but that would be seen as cowardly by Megatron, and he was sure to be punished for it when he returned. Never mind that running away from battle seemed to be what Megatron did best himself. He weighed his chances. If he stayed here the Autobot would come after him, which also seemed a pretty bad idea. All right, so it was getting beaten up by Megatron or by the Autobot. Primus, this sucked. Then, all of a sudden, a thought came to him. Why hadn't he thought of it earlier? Thundercracker simply chalked it up to being distracted, and stepped out from the rock.
Prowl slowly crept towards the outcropping behind which Thundercracker was hiding. He knew he was a better hand-to-hand fighter, despite the jet's size, for he was both more agile and a lot faster, and knew how to use the large Decepticon's weight against him. If he could only lure the 'Con out in the open he knew he could take him down. He took another step as suddenly the Seeker appeared from behind the rock. For a moment Prowl halted, wondering what had possessed Thundercracker to step out like that, and then everything turned dark as the sonic boom from the Seeker hit him full on, the shockwave of it shorting out his sensors completely.
xxx
"I'm going to personally dismantle that 'Con the next time I see him," Ratchet grumbled for, literally, deaf ears, since Prowl could not hear him. One hand transformed into a multitool, Ratchet had opened up the side of Prowl's helmet and was fiddling around in the delicate wiring inside. Prowl himself sat absolutely still, looking slightly nervous, which probably wasn't all that strange considering the proximity of sharp tools to his head. He tensed slightly as Ratchet pulled out his tool, transformed his hand and picked up a device, the use of which was unknown to Prowl. His door wings twitched as he felt a small buzz in his head when Ratchet attached the thing to a circuit in his head, and then he nearly jumped of the berth as Jazz suddenly appeared in his field of vision.
"Sit still!" Ratchet admonished him automatically, and then glared at Jazz who just grinned unrepentantly, jumping up on the berth next to the Datsun.
"How's he doin', doc?" the saboteur asked.
"He'd be doing a lot better if he wasn't surprised like that by stupid mechs who act before they think," the medic grumbled.
"Oh, so he still can't hear, then?"
"No he can't, and he can't use most of his other sensors either, so he's rather… jittery. Which isn't making my job any easier." He pulled out the strange device and took a close look at the circuit it had been attached to.
Jazz giggled, to the consternation of Prowl who glared at him.
"Sorry Prowler," Jazz said even though he knew his friend couldn't hear him, "It's just that 'jittery' isn't a word anyone'd connect to ya."
Prowl just continued to glare at him in silence, probably thinking he was being made fun of. Seeing as he didn't get any answer from the tactician, Jazz turned to Ratchet after a few moments of silence.
"Hey Ratch, how come he doesn't say anything? His vocal processor ain't damaged, is it?"
Ratchet didn't look up from his work, peering intently at the circuit as he connected some kind of diagnosis scanner to a port connected to it.
"Hmm? No, I guess he just figures that since he can't hear what we're saying it doesn't make much sense to say anything either. It'd be a rather one-way discussion," Ratchet said as he pressed a button on the datapad he had in his hand, watching the readings and unconnecting the port once again. He sighed as he picked up a rather nasty-looking tool and began to pry what looked like a fried relay from Prowl's head, making said mech tense up slightly again. "There we go," he said as he managed to free the relay, discarding it in a bin next to the berth. "Pass me that box over there."
"You could say 'please'," Jazz said as he walked over to the indicated box, picking it up and handing it to the medic.
"I could, but since this is my med bay and you have to do what I say or get thrown out, I didn't really see the point in wasting energy on it," Ratchet said as he accepted the box from Jazz and looked through it for a moment before choosing the right kind of relay. He worked in silence for a little while, while Jazz sat playing a tune, kicking his legs against the side of the berth; and Prowl patiently endured Ratchet's prodding in his head.
"There," he finally said as he withdrew his hand and transformed it back into a real hand, and closed the small hatch. Prowl cocked his head slightly and looked at Ratchet.
"Prowl, can you hear what I'm saying now?" Ratchet asked, keeping a close look on the tacticians face. Prowl winced slightly.
"Yes," he answered. "Volume was a bit high though. I had to adjust it."
Ratchet nodded. "It's pretty normal for the exact adjustments to be a bit off after such a sonic shock. I'll just do a quick check to see that everything is within acceptable parameters. Just sit still, I need to get the scanner."
Prowl just nodded as Ratchet walked away to a cabinet by the opposite wall, then turned to look at Jazz, who smiled back at him.
"Glad to see you're back in the land of hearing," Jazz said with a happy grin.
"Unfortunately," Prowl replied as he recognized the music coming from Jazz's speakers (thankfully at a rather low volume). "Must you play that racket?"
"There's nothing wrong with this. It's Huey Lewis and the News, man, they're very popular," J replied somewhat defensively before noting the small smile on the tactician's lips.
"Just the fact that they have no sense of rhythm, pitch, harmony or melody. Not to mention the lyrics, which are grating at best–"
"Pfft. You have no appreciation for fine music." Jazz looked at Prowl with a defiant expression, arms crossed.
"I do. However, I do prefer music done by people who are not totally tone deaf."
Jazz waved a hand dismissively. "Whatever. You coming to the party tonight?"
"You mean spend the evening listening to more of that noise you dare call music? Thanks, but no thanks."
"Aww, come on, Prowl! It'll be fun, I promise!"
"Your idea of 'fun' is not the same as mine, J. You know that."
"But everyone else will be there! Even Optimus said he might stop by. I will not let you sit on your own with only some boring reports to keep you company while everyone else is having fun." Jazz put on a stern expression and looked at Prowl disapprovingly.
"My reports aren't boring," Prowl protested weakly.
"I've read them. I'm sorry, buddy, but they are. And you are coming to the party if I so have to drag you there by your door wings." Jazz paused for a second, glancing at the CMO who was returning to the berth, scanner in hand. "Ratchet's coming, aren't you, Ratch?"
"Wouldn't miss it for the world," Ratchet said as he pressed a button on the scanner, and hummed when a small light on it blinked red a few times before turning to a steady green. "Now just hold still for a moment," he added as he slowly moved the scanner over Prowl's left audio.
"So," Jazz continued, "Either you come to the party, at least for a little while–"
"Or you'll drag me there. You already mentioned it," Prowl said, trying to ignore the buzzing of the scanner so close to his audio.
"Well, maybe. Or I'll simply follow you around and play The Power of Love on repeat."
"That's hardly a threat, Jazz. I outrank you; I could just order you to stop."
Jazz shrugged. "All right then. What about the others? I mean, I know several of them were a bit worried about you. You should at least put in an appearance, show that you're alive an' kickin'." He
paused for a moment for effect."I think Bluestreak would be terribly disappointed if you didn't show up."
Prowl glared at Jazz, and the saboteur knew he had won this little battle. It was slightly underhanded of him, but everyone knew the tactician had a hard time denying the young gunner anything, despite the obvious difference in rank between them. Then again, no one liked seeing Bluestreak disappointed, so Prowl was hardly the only one who sometimes found himself acting rather soft around the youngster.
"Fine," he said. "I'll come. But it will only be for a short while."
"Yes! You won't regret it, I promise." Prowl just let out a non-committal sound as Ratchet moved the scanner to his other audio. "It'll be great," Jazz continued. "I mean, we really gave those Cons a beating this time. And no casualties on our side except for your little mishap… ooh; it'll be so much fun!" Jazz was practically bouncing on the side of the berth, making Ratched look at him sternly.
"Jazz, stop shaking the berth or I'll give you a real reason to be in here," he said as he finally put down the scanner. "Well, Prowl. Everything seems fine with your audios according to the scanner, but you're the best judge of it, really.
"Well, my hearing is fine, but I still don't have any other sensors online."
"That would be because I haven't fixed them yet. It will take quite some time too; your audios were easy, just a fried relay, but those other things need more work."
"So I'll be staying here all night?" Prowl sounded both dejected and hopeful, torn between the unpleasantness of being in the med bay, and having a valid reason not to go to the party.
"Nope," Ratchet said, putting his tools away, cleaning each thoroughly before he placed them in their appointed rack.
"But you said–"
"You won't be staying all night because I'm tired, and fixing – not to mention calibrating – your sensors will take hours, and I have a party to attend. I can slot you in first thing in the morning if you wish, but being without those senses won't kill you so you can wait until then."
Prowl opened his mouth as to protest, but one look at Ratchet's face made him shut it again with a click.
"Good. Now get out of here." Ratchet made a shooing motion with his hands, and Prowl silently got off the berth and left the med bay, Jazz in tow.
Once they were in the corridor Jazz threw a sideways glace at the Datsun.
"Soo… you feelin' all right?"
"Perfectly fine, thank you," Prowl answered in a clipped-off tone, keeping his pace down the hallway.
"Uh-huh. Right. You want me to believe that not having several of your senses, you feel 'perfectly fine'? I don't think so."
"I have no idea what you're talking about. I–"
"So, there's no reason then why you're walking slower than normally, or that you took extra care while walking through the door to make sure you wouldn't hit your door wings? Or that you keep looking around more than usual?"
Prowl frowned at Jazz, but then sighed, door wings drooping a bit.
"I do admit it does feel a bit… unusual, but I like to believe that I'm adaptable enough to function without those senses, except in the case of a full-scale Decepticon attack. The possibility of that happening right now are just 2.36 per cent though, and–"
"Ooh, never tell me the odds!" Jazz exclaimed, putting his hands over his audios. Prowl halted for a brief moment, looking confused.
"What?" he said after a moment of trying-to-get-into-Jazz's-CPU-and-failing-spectacularly. "What odds? Why don't you want to hear the odds?"
"Come on, Prowl!" Jazz said, trying not to laugh at the clueless expression on the tactician's face. "It was a quote!" He punched the other lightly in the shoulder. "Don't tell me you don't recognize it."
"Can't say I do," Prowl answered with a straight face. Jazz groaned.
"It's from Star Wars! Or, well, more accurately, it's from The Empire Strikes Back. Ya know, when they try to navigate through the asteroid field–", he wove his hand up and down in imitation of a spaceship, "–like whoosh, and Threepio says like "the possibility of surviving is… umm… well… a lot to one, and Solo–"
Prowl held up a hand to stop the almost Bluestreak-worthy tirade. "Please Jazz; I have no idea what you're talking about.
"Wait, what? You don't? You've never seen Star Wars?"
"No."
"Really? But you must! It's great fun. See, they fight with these really cool lightsabers, which are swords made out of laser or energy or something, I don't think it's really explained, but who cares, it's wicked! 'Course, it painfully obvious the spaceships are models and so on, but the amazing thing is that it doesn't really matter." Jazz smiled from audio to audio as he eagerly tried to explain the awesomeness of the movie.
"That sounds really great, Jazz," Prowl answered sounding slightly distracted. "However, I think I can find more productive things to do with my free time than watching Earth movies."
"Hasn't anyone told you that you're not supposed to do anything productive on your free time? That's why they call it free time, ya know. Time to be free from boring responsibilities and such."
"You and I have very different views of the definition of 'boring', as I'm sure I've told you a hundred times already," Prowl said as the pair entered the rec room, where Blaster was already setting up a huge sound system in a corner. The boom box grinned at Jazz, a bunch of cables in one hand.
"Hey Jazz, could you give me a hand with those? I need to plug them in there at the back, but I'm too big to get in there, and I don't want to move this speaker again, I just got it in a perfect position," he said in a loud voice to be heard above the susurrus of voices from the mechs that had already gathered.
"Sure thing," Jazz answered, then turned towards Prowl. "Well, I'll see you in a while, then? You did promise to come to the party, and I'm going to hold you to it."
"I remember."
"All right then. See you!" Jazz said as he turned away from the tactician who started pouring himself some energon and then promptly left the rec room, assumingly to get some peace and quiet before he would have to come down to the party.
Jazz sauntered up to Blaster.
"All right, what do you need me to do?"
xxx
"So, there I was, with my rifle absolutely useless, doing my best trying to hide from the 'Cons, when I turn around this boulder and see Rumble standing there. And to make things better, he's so focused on the battle he didn't even notice me, so I just walked up, whacked him in the head with my rifle. You should have seen it; he just fell straight forward like something from a cartoon," – Sideswipe made a falling gesture with his hand and slammed in down on the table, palm first. – "So I figured he wouldn't need his gun anymore and decided to steal it."
Jazz snorted at the thought of the cassette falling like a felled tree, and took a gulp from his cube of Energon. His head was spinning in a very pleasant way, indicating that he was starting to get intoxicated from the high grade he was imbibing. So far the party had been really great, there was music, people were happy, and so far nothing had been broken. It was still pretty early, which meant that most of the mechs were just sitting around, talking about the battle, just like the group around his table was doing right now. The heavy drinking and subsequent debauchery would come later, when people would go from tipsy to flat-out drunk.
"Anyway," Sideswipe continued, "that's when I discovered that weapons designed for pesky mini-cassettes aren't really compatible with us normal-sized 'bots."
"Couldn't reach the trigger?" Jazz asked, mirth in his voice.
"Nope. No matter how I tried, I couldn't fit my finger in the trigger guard. It was really frustrating, finally getting my hands on a weapon and not being able to fire it!"
The 'bots around the table all laughed at the red warrior's predicament.
"So," Smokescreen said, "what did you do then?"
"Ah, you see, that was when my genial mind decided to favour me with the obvious solution." Sideswipe straightened up with a proud grin.
"...which was?" Smokescreen asked after a moment of silence.
"Well, my fingers might not fit in the guard, but Rumble's fingers certainly did."
Hound, the fourth member of the small group around the table, shuddered. "Oh Primus, I don't think I like where this is heading..."
Smokescreen nodded. "Please don't tell us you lugged him around to shoot the weapon for you."
Sideswipe looked around the table, optics wide with acted innocence and surprise.
"Oh no!" he said. "I would never!" He leaned forward, lowered his voice, his surprised mien turning into something more sinister, and he smiled a lopsided smile. "Why would I want to do that, when all I needed was a finger?"
"Thanks, Sideswipe, that was just what I wanted to hear," Hound said sarcastically. "I think I feel sick."
"It's too early for that," Sideswipe said cheekily. "You've just had like two cubes or something!"
"Yeah, well, maybe we should save the gorier stories for later then, when he's passed out or something," Jazz said, then turned as he discovered a new arrival to the party. "Hey Blue!" he called out to the gray 'bot at the door. "Over here!"
Jazz pulled out a chair, and Bluestreak sat down, slumping into the chair.
"Hey Blue-boy, where've you been?" Jazz said as he handed the gunner a cube.
"Monitor duty," Bluestreak answered. "With Red Alert. Who kept on chastising me for not being vigilant enough, even though I tried to, but I mean, who can keep track of all those screens at the same time? Well, Red of course, but who else? Not me at least. Anyway, finally he had enough and ordered me out, which I guess is a good thing because he won't get annoyed with me and I won't have to watch the party on the monitors but can actually be here." He grabbed the cube and took a sip. "So, what are you guys talking about?"
"Except from Sides giving us disturbing mental images regarding his idea of how to fight a battle, not much," Smokescreen said, throwing a glance at Sideswipe as if daring him to continue his story.
"Huh. The battle, right. It went pretty well, wouldn't you say? I mean, we managed to drive those creeps away and no one got hurt, well, I say no one but I mean practically no one, speaking about that, how's Prowl?" Bluestreak looked at Jazz inquiringly.
"Oh, he's all right. That blast of TC's just took out all his sensors and stuff, so he was a bit disorientated, but Ratchet fixed him up, well, mostly at least. Apparently it was too much work calibrating all of his sensors, so he's pretty much stuck with just the basics, ya know, touch, hearing, sight, that stuff." Jazz giggled to himself. "He said he would turn up here, so you can see for yourself... he's actually acting a bit jittery."
"Prowl, jittery? Never have I heard two words that fit together worse," Smokescreen said with a smile.
"That I have to see to believe," Hound agreed, turning to Sideswipe. "Can you believe that, Sides?" He nudged the warrior sitting next to him, making said mech jump slightly.
"Huh? Oh, yeah, I guess." Sideswipe said, a faraway look across his faceplates.
"Hello? Earth calling Sideswipe," Jazz said, waving a hand in front of Sideswipe's face. "What are you thinking about?"
"I just thought... Jazz, you said that Prowl had lost most of his sensors..." Jazz nodded slowly. "So... does that include his taste sensors?" Jazz nodded again, wondering where this was leading. Sideswipe grinned. "Gentlebots, I think tonight will be the night when a long running bet will finally be concluded."
He looked around the table with a triumphant smile, only for it to wilter a bit as he found himself looking at four very confused faces.
"Come on!" he said. "Smokey, you at least should understand where I'm going! What I mean is, tonight will be the night when we finally get to see our stuck-up second-in-command getting completely, utterly, totally... drunk."
Silence.
"Umm," Bluestreak finally said, "how?"
Sideswipe sighed exaggeratedly. "Do I have to explain everything? Jazz, you said he would come here. You also said that he has no sense of taste whatsoever. Which means that he will not be able to tell ordinary energon from high grade."
Jazz suddenly smiled. "Sideswipe my friend, I think you're on to something here. Smokey, do you have the betting sheets somewhere close by?"
Smokescreen pulled out a datapad from his subspace pocket. "Always," he said as he started to search through the various files on it. "Ah, here it is. Bet 5XB67, 'what will our SIC, designation Prowl, do when drunk?' Most popular bet seems to be that he'll simply crash. Of course, we have a few other bets that are more fun. Windcharger bet on that he'll, I'll cite, 'dance on tables dressed in a tutu singing Beatles songs'." Smokescreen looked up at the others. "He got good odds on that one."
"Heh, I bet," Jazz said.
Bluestreak chewed his bottom lip anxiously. "Well, I don't mean to be a killjoy or anything, but are you so sure this is a good idea? I mean, maybe he's got a reason he doesn't drink or anything, I'm not so sure..."
"Blue, dear, if he had a reason he surely would have told ol' Jazz about it. I'm his best friend after all, y'know?" Jazz said, slinging an arm around Bluestreak's shoulders. "B'sides, I've never heard of a li'l high grade ever harming anyone."
"Except for giving an almighty headache," Hound supplied.
"Yeah, well, except for that, but hey, dontcha think Prowler should at least for once in his life experience a hangover like the rest of us? Maybe then he'll stop buggering us all about duty early in the morning after a party..."
Bluestreak fidgeted slightly, obviously not all that comfortable with fooling his superior, but also not comfortable with denying his friends their fun.
"I guess..." he said, "If you say it won't harm him, I guess it's all right..."
"'Course it is!" Jazz exclaimed, feeling elated now that he had a goal with the evening. "But now, my fellow conspirators, we need a toast. To our poor defenceless victim, who shortly will enjoy the wonder that is high grade, and let's all hope he won't kill us when this is over."
A/N: I don't own Star Wars either. I'll try to get the next part up soon, I have it all figured out in my head. Just need to write it down.