Disclaimer: Transformers © Hasbro, IDW Publishing, et. al. "Rather Be" and all original characters and places © Christine J. Burke.

Rather Be

One Shot:

The mission was a failure, one of the few in Jazz's long term as head of Special Operations. He and his entire crack team were now far into enemy territory, keeping themselves alive by avoiding Decepticon patrols and search parties. The enemy searches had decreased, however, probably due to the Decepticons' belief that they had already managed to escape. It was pointless to waste resources on them now.

They were huddled around a small heating unit designed to supplement their own thermal regulators. Nights on Cybertron could be brutally cold. Without protection a Cybertronian's frame could be immobilized due to frozen lubricant in joints or vital circuitry. While this in and of itself is rarely fatal to most mechs of good repair, it does leave a mech exposed and vulnerable, two things any living being wouldn't want to experience while trapped far inside enemy lines, surrounded by hostiles.

Small conversation was whispered around the heating unit as each mech refueled and waited for their turn at watch. Those who could manage caught a few breems of recharge though they were easily roused at even the slightest hint of danger.

Jazz hated botching a mission, even though he knew the failure was no fault of his own or of his team. Each of them had performed flawlessly. He'd stand behind that in his report. Mirage's information was as impeccable as it could be. Bumblebee had scouted the area to perfection. Driver and Whisper had both performed their functions with precision. Even the equipment had worked correctly.

It was really just a case of incredibly bad timing. One overcharged seeker had left the enemy base to expend some of his excess energy and his wing mates had decided to look for him. The overcharged seeker hadn't been difficult to avoid. In fact, it was a simple matter of taking the Decepticon down. However, the mech had been missed and the alarm went up in the base when the other two seekers arrived on the scene.

None of the team had been especially injured. Driver had wrenched a knee joint when he dove away from some seeker fire but his internal repairs were already correcting the damage. Unfortunately, his jamming equipment had been turned into so much wasted slag that it was impossible to even salvage a broken circuit board.

The Decepticons had been tipped off to their presence and their equipment was beyond repair. All Jazz could do was scuttle the mission. Really, it was just a case of incredibly bad luck. It was really rather ironic that their entire operation was ruined by a couple of Decepticons worried about an overcharged teammate. It was far from typical Decepticon behavior. An overcharged Decepticon was usually left to deal with the situation on his own and was expected to be ready for his shift the next cycle. No one ever came looking for him.

As ironic as it was, each of them were aware of just how close of a call it had been. They were the best of the best but watching an entire Decepticon base come rushing out, over five hundred strong against a mere five mechs, had been quite the humbling experience. They were lucky to have made it out alive, let alone with as little damage as they had.

While each mech talked and joked with each other, Jazz remained silent. He let them joke around and take what enjoyment they could of the situation. He knew each of them were well aware of just how close a call it had been and just how easily the situation could turn against them again. They even had to maintain radio silence for fear of their signals giving away their position. There was nothing Base could do for them anyway. They were on their own until they got closer to Autobot lines.

His attention was drawn to Whisper, a sleek smoke-gray mech with a hover cycle alt mode. The lightweight, slim mech was barely more than a youngling but it was like he was built for infiltration and sniping. Perhaps he had been. It really didn't matter. All the pre-programming in the world would never prepare a spark for taking a life or the terror that comes with constantly putting your own life on the line.

Named for his weak vocal processor, Whisper's voice only reached normal conversation volume at its highest setting. That same vocal processor could reach pitches so low that the only way an ordinary mech would know he was speaking was to feel it along their plating… or to have special equipment and sensors. To hear this mech constantly chatting was a clear indication that he was shaken, and quite badly at that.

To keep himself from over processing on the current situation, Whisper had decided to distract himself with conversation. The young mech was quite sociable in spite of his vocal limitations. He sort of reminded Jazz of himself when he was younger and far less experienced.

"…rather be in Spotlight's, overcharging on the best 'grade in Biplex. I'm from Biplex, you know. We had the best central refueling station in the second quadrant. So that's where I'd rather be."

That amazingly shallow voice, barely above standard audio reception, wavered as the young mech strained against his default volume controls. Once Jazz had given the order for strict radio silence he couldn't comm. Bumblebee and the scout didn't know the hand signal language he used to communicate when he was trying not to strain his vocal processor.

Driver spoke next, clearly comfortable with indulging the young mech. He was an older mech and an expert in communications and ballistics. His abilities were invaluable to the team as their technical specialist and he had a soft spot for younglings, having been an instructor in one of the technical institutions in Decacon.

"I'm on board with that. I'd rather be anywhere where the 'grade is good and the femmes are eager." Driver's voice could carry in any environment but the mech had perfect pitch. The voice was soft and almost soothing with just enough edge to it to demand a listener's attention. It was rather an odd sound coming from the much larger and taller mech.

Driver's alt mode as a mobile communications center offered him better reception than even Jazz received in his audio sensors. Perhaps that was why the long, sturdy, black and tan mech got along so well with Whisper. The unit commander was certain that was why the younger mech clung to him like an iron filing to a magnet.

Jazz had to strain to hear Whisper's reply but he managed to catch most of it.

"You can't be serious! Don't tell me you're hard up for company at Base. You've got a new berth mate every decacycle!"

"Been spying on me, kiddo?"

"It's good practice. No one can sneak up on you… or the boss. Right, Chief?"

Jazz smirked and just shook his head, watching Mirage draw closer as the spy's watch shift ended. Bumblebee was up next on the rotation.

Bumblebee was another rather social mech. A little older than Whisper, he had a few vorns of experience behind him that mellowed him, yet he was still young enough to retain that exuberant vibe. As a mini-bot, Bumblebee was often over-looked by standard-sized mechs. This made him a perfect scout in spite of his bright yellow paint-job.

The little scout laughed softly at the conversation. "Driver's hard up for femme action, Whisper. I think we'd all give a lot to have a sleek frame to jack into." He chuckled. "Actually, I'd prefer sitting around a table in the rec. room, topping off my tank with energon and listening to good stories. To be honest, I'd even be happy to play a few rounds of Files and Plates with those two front-liners. You know, the Twins."

Driver chuckled ruefully. "You really do have a penchant for flirting with deactivation. That yellow one is just as violent as an overcharged 'Con."

"Sunstreaker's not that bad."

Bumblebee and Driver stared at Whisper as if he had suddenly grown organic parts.

Feeling that he had to defend his position, Whisper raised his hands and struggled to make his voice heard. "He's not! I won't say he's the most sociable of mechs but he's never hurt an Autobot that hasn't started slag with him first."

Bumblebee and Driver were tight-lipped until a disembodied voice said, "Whisper is correct. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe may be imposing hooligans but neither of them has ever initiated hostilities with other Autobots. They won't tolerate being insulted, however."

No one in the group flinched as Mirage disengaged his light-bending cloaking array. The regal, royal blue and silver noble stepped closer to the heating unit and nodded to Jazz. All was quiet out there so far.

Bumblebee was surprisingly quiet as he scrambled to head out to his watch shift. He gave Jazz an embarrassed glance, acknowledging his own mistake in being so late to relieve the spy. For a moment he wondered why the black and white mech hadn't said anything and realized that their commander was covering for them, giving them a chance to recover from their brush with deactivation.

Jazz turned his attention back to their surroundings as he waited for Mirage to warm his cold frame beside the heating unit. He kept one audio receptor tuned to his team's conversation and listened while their youngest member convinced their elusive spy to join them.

"How did you get to know the Twins?" Whisper's straining voice carried nothing but curiosity.

Mirage was reluctant to speak at first but soon said, "All skills must be practiced to be proficient at them. Intelligence is no exception."

Whisper's optics widened at the admittance. "You've spied on them?"

Mirage smirked lightly, letting his mirth lighten his optics. "I've spied on a great many Autobots, including Prime, himself."

"So what did you learn when you spied on the Twins?"

Mirage glanced at Jazz, well aware of his commander's feelings. "I discovered that Prowl trusts them with his life. Our Second-in-Command routinely uses them as bodyguards. The Twins are here more for him than they are for Prime or the Autobot cause. They may seem like they don't like Prowl in even the slightest, but they respect his fairness and determination. Apparently, Prowl has more in common with the Twins than any of the command staff cares to let on."

"That's enough, Mirage." Jazz's growling voice brooked no arguments. "Prowl's secrets're his own."

For a moment there was an uncomfortable silence, but Whisper managed to surprise his commander by further engaging Mirage in light conversation. He was definitely a fast processor and for a moment Jazz considered sending the young mech for further tactical training. Primus knew Prowl could use the assistance in the tactical unit and another mech to assist in personnel management. Whisper had a knack for getting mechs to open up to him. It was something of a minor miracle to get Mirage to engage in conversation at all, let alone small talk. Jazz was even surprised when the young mech managed to pull out a few grudging admittances of what it had been like to be a Cybertronian noble.

Mirage's tone was wistful as he said, "I'd rather be turbo-fox hunting or reading in my study in the Towers." He smirked lightly and shook his head. "I'd prefer reading dry financial reports on my family's holdings at this point."

The regal spy may not have been the oldest mech in the unit but he had been there the longest aside from Jazz, himself. He knew what was at stake. He understood the risks they took every time they went out on a mission.

"What about you, Chief? What would you rather be doing?"

Jazz carefully kept his sensors on their surroundings, constantly keeping track of Bumblebee and anything else he could sense moving out there. His reply was a long time coming and when he finally spoke, his voice was barely heard over the rising wind.

"I'd rather be home, makin' love to my bond mate."

There was silence for a moment before Whisper spoke up again, his voice subdued. "But… you don't have a bond mate, Chief."

Jazz's tone was as unreadable as his visor-covered face. "I know."

Each of them remained silent as their commander kept his determined vigil over his team, doing his mortal best to get them all home again.