Disclaimer: Elton John & Tim Rice own 'Friends never say goodbye'; HasTak, etc., own Transformers and keep all the profits; I just write about them.

//blah// is bond-speak, *blah* is Cybertronian


Chapter 2 - On the edge of despair

Sunstreaker stood at the back of the room, leaning against a wall with his arms folded. He did not want to be here, but Sideswipe was injured and had been confined to quarters until a medic could get to him and had wanted to know what was happening with Prowl. Deep down Sunstreaker wanted to know too, he just did not want to be hanging around here with everyone else to find out. He hated the endless speculation, and he could have done without having to watch Jazz looking so broken.

Quite what was going on there, he was not sure, but he was not convinced it was just shock which was the accepted explanation. Just before Skyfire had landed he had started saying something about his connection to Prowl but Ratchet had brushed it off. When they had whisked Prowl away, Jazz had been left in a dazed heap on the hold floor staring at the space where the injured mech had been moments before, and he had needed assistance to get to the repair bay.

Pinpoint and Bluestreak were with him now, and the longer the surgery ran the more positive they became - after all, it would have been over much quicker if it was as serious as it had first appeared. But Jazz barely responded to them, his visor dimmed and his bearing uncommonly awkward.

The room hushed abruptly as the door opened and Ratchet stepped out, wiping his hands. He grunted when he saw them all, but just subspaced the cloth and squared his shoulders.

"He's stable." he said shortly.

His words set off a round of cheering, and Sunstreaker smirked as he slipped out to give Sideswipe the good news. It seemed that their days of being called to task by the annoyingly by-the-book tactician were not yet up.


Ratchet closed the door to his office and looked at the mechs inside. Optimus still needed some body work after his injuries in the battle, but he was functional for now; Jazz was distracted, fidgeting and constantly glancing out towards where Prowl was resting.

"Get on with it, doc." Jazz said abruptly. "I can't take much more of this waitin'. You got somethin' bad t'tell me - lets just do it. It can't be much worse'n what I'm imaginin'."

"I wouldn't be so sure." Ratchet warned him. "His core processor was deactivated for a total of six point seven breems. Not just offline, but completely terminated."

"Which means what, exactly?" Optimus asked.

"There is a possibility that the data integrity has been compromised. His memory files, higher functions, core subroutines and even base programming may be corrupted to some degree."

"How likely a possibility?"

"Almost certainly." Ratchet admitted. "The longest I've ever known it to happen and have the mech recover was point two one breems, and there was significant damage then. This is considerably longer."

"The bond's still intact." Jazz said tightly, his visor so dim he appeared to be offline.

"And it will remain so." Ratchet agreed. "The bond is a connection between sparks, not processors."

"Which means what, in terms of their relationship?" Optimus asked, shocked.

Ratchet grimaced.

"Difficult to say. Potentially, the damage may be negligible. However, it is also possible that his spark is now attached to a processor with no more self-awareness than a drone. Either way they remain bonded, but the relationship may well be different than before. Until he is back online there is no way to establish what level of damage has been done, and there is a risk that if we force him back online we could do further damage. We simply don't know."


It did not take long for the story to circulate. Prowl was in voluntary stasis, but when he next came online he may have forgotten everything, everyone. Forgotten the war, forgotten his role in it. Forgotten Jazz.

Days passed, and everyone waited.

The medics insisted that it was still better for him to rouse in his own time - that that was the only way for there to be any hope at all. But the Protectobots knew from their brother how hopeless it likely was, and an overcharged Blades said more than he should have, so now everyone knew the full extent of this horror.

Even if he retained some memories, he may have lost the ability to function - to walk, to speak, to process sounds or images. If his core programming was corrupted he may not even be able to refuel or recharge without assistance. He could be trapped in a frame that he could not control, unable to tell anyone that he was aware.

Mechs fell silent as Jazz paced the halls, watching him for any sign that something had changed. Nothing did. The days turned to weeks; the weeks into months. There were more battles, duties to be carried out, missions to complete.

Jazz rarely left the Ark unless ordered, but he did not neglect his duties and even took on some of Prowl's. In his off-duty time, he took up vigil next to Prowl's now permanent berth in the isolation ward and remained there until he either collapsed in exhaustion or was ushered out by one of the medics. He never returned to their quarters, preferring to charge huddled on the floor near to Prowl.


Carly shifted uncomfortably, wishing she could leave. She understood Bumblebee liked to come and sit with Jazz for a period each day in moral support, and it had been her idea to accompany him today, but the whole thing was creepy. It was like visiting someone in a coma, but without the noisy life-support systems. Prowl simply lay there on the berth like a corpse, without so much as a fuel line attached to bring him back to them. How could they even be sure that he was still alive?

This was the fourth time she had been in here, though only the first that it had been for an extended period. Initially she had been concerned that she was trespassing - disturbing Jazz's time with Prowl. Yet Jazz did not seem to care one way or another. He never seemed to talk to Prowl, nor to touch him; he just sat on the floor and watched him silently. So weird.

Even as she thought that, he stirred and rose. She began to ask what was going on but Bumblebee hushed her and helped her up onto his shoulder as he stood, too. Jazz paced over to the berth, fingers trailing lightly over one of Prowl's stiff hands, but his focus was on Prowl's face.

Carly blinked in startlement - there was light in Prowl's eyes now. Only dim, but it was there when before it had been completely dark.

He twitched a little, and Jazz put out a hand to cup his cheek. The light strengthened and Jazz whistled something in pure Cybertronian. Bumblebee chirruped something too but did not seem to get a response. Prowl stared at Jazz for a long moment, then gave a short staticky answer before his optics dimmed again.

"Blue?" Bumblebee murmured. "Jazz? What did he mean?"

Jazz seemed frozen in place, and gave no answer.

"Blue?" Carly echoed. "As in Bluestreak?"

"I don't think so." Bumblebee said slowly. "He used the word for the colour, not Bluestreak's nickname - the words are different in our language. But he inflected it weirdly, like it was referring to a person, so maybe..."

He broke off as Jazz said something else in their native tongue and Bumblebee nodded and turned towards the door.

"He wants some time alone. I hope you don't mind, Carly."

"No, that's fine. But is he okay? I mean, shouldn't we call Ratchet?"

"We'll tell him." Bumblebee agreed as the door closed behind them. "Maybe he can figure it out."


*Prowler? Talk to me.*

*Blue.*

Bumblebee was right, Prowl was producing a peculiar semantic combination with that word, personifying the colour. Only with the assistance of the bond did it make some sense: He was addressing the mech he loved as owner of the colour that symbolised their passion for him, the final piece of semantic content that had passed between them before his processor had crashed. Some shred of memory that he had retained.

*Yeah, sparkles, that's me. But can't you use my designation?*

Confusion filtered through the bond.

*Designation? Processing... error, error, cannot access file... Re-routing... error, error, cannot access file...*

He ducked his head away, hurt. Only the youngest of sparklings actually vocalised their subroutines. Prowl's use of them now suggested bad things.

*...error, error, error...*

*Halt process. Record and process: subject Blue equals designation Jazz.* he interrupted the increasingly agitated recitation.

*Processing... processing... data acknowledged... confirmed. Rewriting index. Index updated. Designation equals Jazz.*

*Confirmed.*

*Jazz. Query: designation-subject-of-origin?*

Jazz flinched. He could not help it. A mech's own designation was coded so deeply even hacking rarely reached it.

*Subject designation equals Prowl.* he responded, fighting off the overwhelming urge to wail.

And then he lost the battle as the confused patient gave him an innocent smile and spoke with confidence.

*Prowl loves Jazz.*


First Aid heard Jazz's keening and simply dropped what he was working on to rush towards the sound. Mostly Jazz had been a silent visitor in the bay, only occasionally singing or humming softly and then only for short periods at a time. This, though, was completely different.

He was only a few steps short of the room when Jazz burst out and fled, not responding to any hails. Disturbed, First Aid continued inside to find Prowl's optics were lit up. Was this, then, why Bumblebee and Carly had gone looking for Ratchet? Why had they not mentioned to him that Prowl was online?

"Prowl?" he called, beginning a diagnostic and relieved to see that much of the basic functional programming appeared to be intact. "What functionality are your diagnostics registering?"

*Query: designation-you?*

First Aid paused his scans to focus on him and responded in Cybertronian.

*Designation: First Aid.*

*Processing... processing... processing... unknown parameter, error, error, affix error 021847263#4. Function terminated. Reset. Query: designation-you?*

This was not good.


Spike put his arm around Carly as she shivered, the two of them trying not to get noticed in case they were sent out and missed out on what was happening.

"So." Optimus summed up grimly. "It is most likely that Prowl's entire memory core has been wiped and he has reverted to sparkling level processing ability, but with an unknown number of core programming errors which may or may not be resolvable. In addition, Jazz has left the Ark and is not responding to communications, and no-one even knows which direction he was headed in."

Ratchet's systems rumbled a little.

"Reprogramming an active mech is a tricky business. It's not like repurposing a drone. Besides, it may be too bad for that. We're waiting on final testing and I don't want to label it too soon, but this looks like it could be a core glitch."

The mechs looked grim at that, falling silent, and Spike leaned in to whisper to Bumblebee.

"What's a core glitch?"

The yellow minibot did not answer, but Prime did.

"A core glitch is one considered too fundamental to be repaired. Mechs with core glitches are generally deactivated."

"You mean you'd kill him? No! You can't do that."

"That's awful!" Carly agreed. "He's Jazz's... uh, whatever he is. They love each other. And he's alive - isn't that what's important?"

"It ain't right to keep a mech functioning when he ain't got a purpose, darlin'." Ironhide tried to explain.

"Right now we can't even be sure he can access his learning protocols." Ratchet warned grimly. "He could be permanently looped at this level of comprehension."

"Even so, he's alive." Carly wept. "You can't just kill him. He's your friend!"

"I didn't know you could all be so cold." Spike agreed, holding her.

"You would prefer to function with such an impairment?" Perceptor asked. "With such restrictions?"

"We don't kill people because they're disabled - look at Chip! He's fine, even though he can't walk. It doesn't mean he's useless."

The mechs looked at each other.

"But Chip can still think." Bumblebee pointed out, finally. "He doesn't have a core glitch, just a physical one."

"I won't let you." Carly sniffed. "It's not right. It's not right."

Optimus shifted, then looked to Ratchet.

"Do nothing until we hear from Jazz. The final decision is his."


Jazz settled on the berth beside his offline mate, taking note of the monitoring equipment and being careful not to disrupt any of it. He did not want anyone to know yet that he was back.

It had taken him about half a joor of reckless driving away to realise that increasing the distance between them was only making it worse. At that point he had stopped and meandered about listlessly for awhile, always getting closer to the Ark. He had heard them calling to him, but had ignored them and had avoided the few who had chanced to pass nearby.

Eventually he had decided that it was time to return. It was not as though he had not been warned to expect this outcome: he had just hoped it would not come to this. And yet, Prowl's first word had been a link back to the past that he was not supposed to remember. What did that mean? Were there other things that he remembered too?

Well, even if there were not it made little difference. There were only two options: one, he had a core glitch and would have to be deactivated; or two, he would have to re-learn almost everything.

It was difficult to say which was worse. If it were the former, Jazz would then have to decide to either go with him or to attempt to survive without him - an attempt which may well still fail. If it were the latter, everything would be different.

*Prowl loves Jazz* the words echoed in his processor and he reached out to stroke Prowl's cheek wonderingly. Surely that was enough? Surely all he needed was for Prowl to love him?

//I love you too, Prowler.// he whispered through the bond, but there was no response.


Ratchet headed towards the isolation ward to check on his patient, and was surprised to hear voices as he approached, particuarly since his monitors still told him that Prowl was offline and that no-one had entered the repair bay. Stopping in the doorway he stared in disbelief at the scene before him.

Jazz was seated at one end of the berth, Prowl sitting up at the other, a box of energon goodies between them. The wires that should have been monitoring him had been disconnected and coiled to one side.

Prowl spotted him in the doorway and cocked his head to one side.

*Query: designation-new-mech?*

Jazz twisted and gave a lazy wave.

"Oh hey, doc. Come an' say hello."

*Query: designation-new-mech?*

"Jazz? You know that half the crew is still out searching for you? When did you get back?"

*Query: designation-new-mech?*

"Awhile ago." Jazz said vaguely. "You gonna answer him? He's gonna keep askin'."

"We tried this yesterday - he's not taking in any new data. Jazz, I'm sorry..."

*Query: designation-new-mech?*

"Sure he is. Go on, try it."

Ratchet frowned at him, then decided to humour him.

*This-mech designation equal to Ratchet.* he responded.

Prowl froze for a moment, then dipped his head.

*Acknowleged. Greetings, Ratchet.*

Ratchet's jaw dropped.

"See?" Jazz drawled, handing over a goodie. "He jus' gets a little tangled sometimes when he gets flustered. We had a bit of a talk about it an' he's a bit more settled now. Doesn't even vocalise his processing anymore. Well, not mosta the time."

"How did you do this?" Ratchet demanded, striding over to find the right equipment to repeat his scans. "What did you do?"

"Not a lot." Jazz shrugged, reaching out to wipe a dribble of energon from Prowl's chin. "Jus' talked him through some stuff. He's real confused right now, but I explained he was hurt an' he has to be patient an' I think he's pretty much okay with that for now. Not happy, mind, but okay."

There was nothing. The scans still indicated that there was no activity at all in his memory core, none in any of the higher functional areas, in fact. He lowered the scanner and took a hard look at Prowl with his own inbuilt diagnostics, confirming his suspicions, then looked back at Jazz.

Primus but he hated being right sometimes.


Jazz shook his head, unwilling to even entertain the idea of what Ratchet was suggesting.

"No. You're wrong."

"I've scanned him four times."

"Then you're doing it wrong. He's there."

"No, he isn't. I wish he were."

Ratchet put a hand on his shoulder, but Jazz twisted away from that sympathetic gesture.

"He's there, he's learning, it's not that bad..."

"He's only recording to his temporary files." Ratchet told him. "It looks like an improvement, yes, but it's a false reading. Once the cache fills, he will start losing data again. He can't remember..."

"But he does." Jazz protested desperately, pointing back towards the ward where Prowl had been left in First Aid's care. "He remembers me. His first words when he came online were to call for me."

"Bumblebee says his first word was 'blue'."

Jazz shook his head in frustration.

"Bee didn't understand. It was part of the message Prowl was sending me when he... when I lost hold of him on the way back here."

"Then perhaps it simply stuck in his cache."

The answer was too reasonable and he railed against considering it.

"No. He knew it was me. He knew. He knows me. He loves me."

"Of course he does, you're his bondmate. But that does not mean the same as remembering you. Jazz, I'm sorry, but it's only his most basic protocols working. There isn't even a hint of power going to the rest of his processors."

"Then fix it."

"I can't." Ratchet growled, finally showing some emotion other than uncharacteristic compassion. "Don't you think I want to? If he had functional circuitry we could do something about the programming, maybe clean up some of the scrambled data. If it was just a matter of broken links I could replace them. But it's not. That's why mechanics aren't medics - it's not just a matter of physical bits."

The rant went on, but Jazz did not listen. Did not want to. What Ratchet was saying could not be the truth, because then it would mean that it really was over. It would mean that Prowl had really gone, and all that was left was the decision over when his body and spark would follow his mind. Well he did not believe it. It could not end like this.


to be continued...