Title: The Thing with Feathers
Author: AotA
Rating: K+
Warnings: angst
Characters: Prowl, Jazz, Ratchet
Setting: Bayverse, Earth
Summary: And sore must be the storm/That could abash the little bird/That kept so many warm. ~Dickinson
Notes: I started off with the intention of fluffy and flirting and devious Jazz and patiently amused Prowl and it just kind of exploded in my face with angst and religious overtones and contention and Prowl hurting and lashing out at Jazz because that fragile little bird called "Hope" that perched in his spark had its delicate little bird bones crushed.
Jazz was grinning, the smile turned manic and rather evil looking by the visibly noticable interlock of serrated denta behind parted lips.
Prowl bore it stoically as the small silver mech plastered odd, synthetic, oversized, organic inspired integumentary structures all over his wings.
Jazz was being odd again and until Prowl could conspire with Ratchet to make sure that it wasn't an aftereffect of Jazz's death. Until then, he would just have to continue to bear it.
After several sighs and invountary twitches when the odd structures activated sensors on the panels, Jazz finally stepped back, still grinning.
"Finished?" Prowl asked dryly.
"Yup," Jazz chirped.
"Then if you are done, would you kindly let me go back to work?" Prowl asked, already reaching for a cable so he could hardline with the network.
Unfortunately for Prowl, Jazz swatted his hand, "Nope!"
Wings rose and flared, patience stretching, "Jazz. I have humored you this far. I need to continue working on this project for—"
Jazz's field, oddly flashed with interest. "Nah," he drawled and slinked closer, rumbling, "Optimus doesn't need that just yet. It can wait easy enough."
"That's it," Prowl growled back, "I'm taking you to Ratchet." It was difficult ignoring the lust in Jazz's field as it brushed up against his own, trying to mesh with him and infect with the same state. His wings abruptly flaring as much as they could in the cramped office, scraping both walls as he grabbed Jazz by the wrists and pinned them together with one hand. The other hand gripped the spoiler that had taken up residence behind Jazz's head and tried to use it the turn the mech around so he could frog march him to medical.
Jazz purred and Prowl nearly dropped him as the smaller mech applied a sudden force and magnetized himself to Prowl's front instead, using the fragging mags of his. "Primus, Prowl. Do you even realize how you look?" The purr deepened as the mech lolled his head back against Prowl's chest.
"Have I ever cared?" Prowl grumbled, attempting to detach the sudden silver growth, wings drawing back, mantling slightly. He had to be careful because of the still repairing injuries that Jazz sported.
"Y'look like one of Primus' Eminences," Jazz whispered.
Prowl stopped trying to remove Jazz from his person and glared down into the mech's optics, "Don't be ridiculous."
"I've seen them," Jazz said, the lust not dampened in the slightest, "In th'Well. Beautiful." A quicksilver motion had one of Jazz's hands out of Prowl's hold and reaching up to stroke Prowl's face, "Just like you."
Prowl managed to give Jazz an even flatter look than normal. Jazz knew that Prowl did not ascribe to his faith in some supposed benevolent god that looked out over them. Prowl therefore did not believe that there were any "Angels of Primus" that would just as supposedly appear. That Jazz believe he looked like one of the fictional creatures was illogical.
"And organic armor plating modified into ornithopterial flight surfaces makes you think of this... mythical creature... how, exactly?" Prowl asked.
Jazz snickered, "You're so unromantic, Prowl. Mmmm... It makes me think of them because I think that sometimes the Eminences don't appear as sparks that don't need spark containment to stick around." Jazz patted the faded red breastplates that protected Prowl's chest, "Sometimes I think they show up in frames."
Prowl snorted, "Alright. That's it." He opened a line to Ratchet, ~Ratchet? Could you come and remove Jazz from where he's attached himself to me? He is acting... oddly, and I want to be sure that it isn't some sort of lingering damage.~
The medic snarled, ~I'll be there in a klik.~
Jazz sighed, "That's not nice, Prowler..." The lust had faced slightly. Jazz had obviously listened in.
"You are acting strangely," Prowl told him.
"Because I think you're my angel?" Jazz asked, stroking the seam that would part to reveal Prowl's spark chamber, "Or because I think you're beautiful?"
"My frame disgusts you," Prowl replied.
Jazz froze.
"It disgusts you because it was mass produced," Prowl said, "It disgusts you because it was common. A cost-benefit creation of the credit pinchers of Praxus back when there was still a Praxus. My face has been worn by countless of other mechs. My voice has the same sound as just as many. You hate that."
Jazz shuddered and disengaged the magnetism, stumbling back, shaking his head, "Prowl... no."
"Yes," Prowl said, "And now?" He shook his head, "My frame? Like this? My frame disgusts me and I have never been attached to this thing my spark resides within."
"Prowl..." Jazz whispered, but he never finished because Ratchet appeared in the doorway and Prowl turned his attention to the medic.
"Ratchet. Thank you for your promptness, but it appears that you need not pry him off, though I would appreciate it if you would still scan him," Prowl said evenly.
Ratchet eyed the dazed look on Jazz's face and grimaced, "Thank you for calling me, Prowl. I'll see to it." The medic grabbed the dazed mech and carted him off with barely a token protest.
Feathered wings trembled with suppressed emotions that would never appear on his face whether he wanted them to or not as Prowl traced the seam that Jazz had touched. His spark cold and still. It didn't dance in his chest when Jazz drew near. Their bond had been severed and he couldn't feel Jazz any longer, couldn't trust, couldn't help but lash out. Couldn't help but hurt Jazz, the way Jazz had hurt him.
Jazz was delusional.
His frame was practically falling apart.
His spark was mutilated and as disgusting as any of Shockwave's experiments.
And Jazz had called him beautiful?
Prowl should be dead. His time had long since passed. He had long ago passed the point of having the record of being the oldest known preprogrammed mech ever known to exist.
He didn't know how it was that he was still alive when everything said that he should be ofline and rusting away somewhere.
He was alive, for a certain measure of "alive".
He would continue to live. Even though he had never claimed to have an immortal spark, he would force himself to stay as long as Prime needed him, monstrous and undeserving as he was. No matter how much it hurt him to live in this cold frame, with his damaged spark, and lacking his bond with the mech he loved more than life itself. Seeing the was Jazz looked at him with shuttered horror at what he had become.
Jazz had never called him beautiful before. Not in all the vorns they had known each other.
And he called him beautiful now?
Prowl just didn't know why Jazz would lie like that.
Prowl cycled the air that had been heating up as his processor choked on excessive emotional input and energy starved circuits as he broke himself out of the loop. He gingerly stepped back to his chair and sat down, long synthetic feathers that Jazz had attached to make his sensor wings look like angel wings swishing across the ground as Prowl connected the cable to a wrist port and returned to what he had been doing before Jazz had distracted him.
And if his wings quivered and the feathers got dirty as they scuffed along the rough, human-made cement floor with involuntary shakes, then the empty office walls weren't going to tell anyone.