I was kinda sorta hoping to have had this out last week. I find I hate editing, and hope I never get so far behind in posting ever again.
Chapter 1
It had become almost customary for him to take up a position by the bar. It gave him a wide view of the whole of the rec room, and a central point for anyone to seek him out. He always sat there, looking out over the crowd with a fond sort of protectiveness, and even slight possessiveness, he normally reserved for his team. Each of the mechs in this room had come to depend on him as a confidante, and friend; one who was practiced at discretion and knew how to approach the much more reserved unit commander. He knew everyone's name, and they knew his, knew his face, knew his trust. He made it a point that none of the members of this unit were unfamiliar with him outside of the command offices.
Jazz did not know such a thing as an unfamiliar face and finding one in the midst of a crowd unsettled him.
Jazz first remembered seeing the red mech in the rec, during one of Frequency's loud victory bashes. His boisterous, yet easy, laughter rolled through the room, but from Jazz's position by the bar, he could see the pale optics that spoke of stress, pain. Fresh weld marks glinted in the strong lights of the rec room, revealing bared metal primed and waiting for a first layer of paint. He wondered that Ratchet allowed someone who was such distress out of the med bay. Though he couldn't see anything that would warrant such a drastic reaction. Did he sneak out of the med bay?
No, Ratchet would be hollering by now, or even during the breem that Jazz had contemplated this strange face.
He could see the latches for a rocket pack and a shoulder launcher. Didn't Bumblebee grumble about some arrogant red front liner disrupting his attempt to draw a bead on Megatron's new intelligence officer. Said he'd dropped out of the sky. Not many Autobots had rocket packs, even though there were quite a few who took the red of Primus as their paint jobs. 'What did 'Bee say his name was, Sideways, or somethin'?'
"Ya gotta problem, one eye?"
Jazz held himself still, despite having been thoroughly startled. 'Yer losin yer touch there, Jazz.' He turned to the new arrival taking a sip from the high grade in his hand. The red rocketeer scowled at him, poised as though he were heading somewhere. But Jazz recognized all the signs of someone trying to pick a fight: the challenging stare, the tense joints, the hum of fingers as they clenched into a hard fist.
He waved his cube. "Nah, man. Ain't no problem." All appearances to the side, Jazz watched this mech like a turbohawk. He had all the pinnings of a fighter, sparked and built. His laughter hid a slowly simmering frustration that slipped to the fore in the absence of his friends. "Don't recognize yah, though." A black hand poked toward the red mech. "Name's Jazz. Didja come from Top Gear's unit?"
The pale optics stared from Jazz's visor to the extended hand. He crossed his arms over his chest, narrowing his optics at the grin Jazz offered. "No," he said simply, and strode off.
Jazz tucked his rejected limb back under his bumper. "Nice to meet ya, too," he muttered at himself, nodding at one of his team members making his way over to the bar.
Normally good-natured Bumblebee gave a hard glare at the red mech's back, confirming Jazz's suspicion that he was the one who had disrupted the minibot's shot. He dismissed Sides from his mind then. While it wasn't all that common for someone to brush Jazz off like that, it did happen often enough that he didn't mark it as anything spectacular.
It was his second meeting with the warrior that stood out the most in Jazz's mind.
He'd grown accustomed to a lot in his time with this mis-matched band. The odd pranks (a few of which he participated in, willingly or not), the occasional fights (though there were less now, with him stepping in as a mediator), Ratchet's temper (really, who hadn't gotten used to that by now?).
He wasn't used to stumbling over legs lying across the floor. Especially alarming as they were right across from med bay.
"Hey there, uh," Jazz broke off as he took in the pale optics and the unhappy frown. "Sides?" Narrowed optics confirmed that Jazz had at least that much of the name right. "D'ya need any help, man?"
The red mech pulled knees to his chest, drawing his feet closer to his body. "No."
Jazz glanced at the closed doors, hearing the muted sounds of repairs being made. "Well, you have t' forgive me fer not believin' ya."
"Would you just leave me the frag alone?" Sides was suddenly standing, and looming over the shorter black and white mech. His pale optics flashed, and his engine revved with lethal intent.
Jazz lifted a placating hand; not allowing his alarm at such an extreme reaction to show through. "Hey, can't I show concern for a fellow Autobot who looks t' be in pain?"
The red mech rocked back on his heels, surprised by Jazz's vehemence. "I… well..." He wiped a hand down his face. "I'm sorry." He paused, pale optics sweeping over the saboteur. "What did you say your name was again?"
Jazz grinned, sticking his hand out. "M'name's Jazz."
"Sideswipe." A smile tilted his handsome mouth as he clasped arms with the saboteur.
"Did y' come in with Top Gear's unit?"
His face darkened considerably, and Jazz worried that he was consistently hitting the wrong buttons with this mech. "No. We- my roommate and I, that is- were a part of Doldrum's command."
Jazz ran the name through his personal database. "I thought that unit was lost." He pulled up the correlating file, just as his new friend spoke up.
"All but two."
"So what're ya doin' here? Y' should be rechargin'." Jazz was steering the conversation back to where he wanted it.
"I… uh, well. I was worried about one of the mechs in there." Jazz tilted his head in disbelief. "Really! Little guy. Great shot, bad luck."
"Y' must be talking about Bluestreak." Jazz couldn't help the smile that crossed his face at the thought of the talkative youth.
"Yeah, him! You know him?" Confusion turned Sideswipe's mouth down.
"Oh yeah! Everyone here knows Bluestreak. Can't miss him. Course it doesn't help that he's Prowlie's protégé." Jazz glanced up at the red mech. "He was on loan to Top Gear until they put Scattershot back together. Nasty fall that guy had." Jazz glanced at the doors again. "Y' wanna get in and see him? Sounds like yer fond of the boy." Jazz smirked knowingly. "Lotta mechs'd be mad if ya hurt him."
Surprise widened Sideswipe's optics and he shook his head. "What? No! It's nothing like that! We're just friends." A chuckle rumbled from his tall frame. "Besides my –ah- roommate," Jazz frowned, not missing the warrior's hitch, "would disassemble me if I brought him to my berth. He, uh, talks too much." Nervous fingers rubbed at the jointed audio horns.
"Are y' sure y' don't need any help?" Jazz knew Ratchet would be fragged if he left someone out here who needed medical attention.
"Why do you keep asking that?"
"Yer optics, man."
Sideswipe brought his hands up to his face. "Oh," he murmured thoughtfully, like he'd forgotten a date or something minor rather than a sign of trauma. Then he shook his head in vehement refusal. "No! No, it's fine. It'll go away on its own."
His mouth dropped to a skeptical frown, and he looked up at the taller mech from beneath his helm, arms crossed under his bumper.
"Honest!"
Jazz contemplated the red mech a few more astroseconds before he sighed in defeat. "Well, y' can't sit here. Ratchet'll be mad if you send someone to his med bay cause they trip over ya." He took Sideswipe's elbow and led him down the hall.
Sideswipe glanced over his shoulder and he let out a despondent sigh, almost echoing Jazz's own sigh. "Yeah, okay."
The saboteur paused at one of many intersections inside Iacon. "Where's your quarters?"
"To the right and down a way. Look, I appreciate what you're doing, but I'm good from here."
Jazz pulled his mouth into a tight line as he regarded the red mech dubiously. "I dunno. I don't wanna leave ya, in case yer hurt."
"I won't be alone." Cool, pale optics returned Jazz's regard. "My roommate's there right now."
Jazz examined the black-crowned face for any hint subterfuge. "If y' say so."
He smiled, his optics not losing any of that cool regard. "I do, but thanks anyway."
Jazz watched the warrior walk away, admiring his backside as he went. He wondered how he would look with his rocket pack in place. Then he made a mental note to catch up with Sideswipe's roommate and make sure they were both settling in okay(and check up on Sideswipe's well-being while he was at it). What was his roommate's name?
Ah, there it was.
Sunstreaker.