A/N: This one was actually goin' to be a seperate story from the series, but I changed my mind at the last minute. That, and I couldn't think of an appropriate title. This is one of those few stories that has an attachment of sorts to another story. It was supposed to be a prelude of sorts to B.M.R., but I'm not comfortable with writin' my own OCs, so.
I'm glad to hear that you're safe. I have to admit, receiving word from you after so long... you wouldn't be surprised to find it was quite a shock. At first I was afraid that it was someone's poor idea of a joke. I was almost ready to start severing neck cables from heads until I was forcefully informed that it wasn't a trick. You were... truly alive.
With that out of the way...
You fragging alley-stinker.
Do you have any idea how hard it was to find out that, to all extents and purposes, you were dead? To have some sparkling glitch you've never met come up to you and tell you that, oh by the way, the Ark has crashed and the lives of every mech on board are considered null and void, that the Autobots left on Cybertron wouldn't even consider that maybe you were still alive somewhere?
Oh no, of course not. What's the first thing I read after almost having my spark extinguish on me from receiving your note? You going on about how fascinating those organic creatures are, how much ingenuity they possess. Were you built with rusted bolts in place of your microprocessor or something? I don't care if the rest of that... that epistle was semi-explanatory as to why you were going on about something so trivial. You couldn't possibly have put something a little more important? Something more along the lines of 'Sorry if I worried you', 'Everything's in working order', 'Talk to you soon', 'Take care'?
No, no. Just... Bah. I don't know whether I'm more incensed at you for being such a, a flaming, Pit-slimed rust-sucker, or more terrified that you'll disappear again, for good. You better be glad you're on a different planet, or I swear you wouldn't be able to tell your axle shaft from your camshaft.
Don't you ever… ever do that to me again. I never want to be that scared. You're all I have left.
--
The forest glistened in the early twilight, water droplets left behind by the fast-paced summer storm that had breezed through earlier still clinging forlornly to dark leaves, catching what little rays of light were left in a kaleidoscope of colours. Soft sounds echoed through the underbrush as local nocturnal wildlife began to filter out of their daytime boltholes to forage.
Curled up silently in a mossy hollow, Jazz kept his visor offline, allowing the night-time sounds to wash over him soothingly. Smiling slightly as a family of birds settled down somewhere west-ward, he powered up his visor and turned to gaze at the stars starting to appear, one hand absently tracing the edges of the small circuit board he had found mixed in with his datapads that morning.
"Y'know, I only wrote that note on a whim. Never thought ya'd actually get it, or reply."
He shook his head, a soft laugh sneaking its way from his vocaliser. Primus, he was picking up Red Alert's habit of talking to himself. That just wouldn't do; he'd never hear the end of it from Prowl. Settling himself more comfortably in his hollow, he let his mind drift back to the note.
"Guess that means I'm forgiven, yeah?"
Looking to the stars, he watched them twinkle merrily, almost as though they were holding conversations with each other, keeping secrets from the world at large until they were ready to share them. Jazz continued to search them for a few moments before relaxing again, content with whatever answer they were willing to give him at that moment.
"Miss you to, sparklette."
Silver
