Ya'll sure do know how to make a gal feel good about herself~

Units of time as I use them:

Klick – a second

Breem – a minute

Joor – an hour

Cycle – a day

Decacycle – 10 days

Groon – a month

Orn – a decade

Vorn – a century

{bond chatter}

::Comm. chatter::


Despite Jazz being safely tucked away into the medical bay, Prowl was not happy.

That had been easy. Way too easy.

Shockwave would have never fallen for a trick like that the way he did. It was unsettling to say the least. What was he planning?

The simple fact that the casualty list was so small was something Ratchet counted as a blessing and something Prowl counted as a trap.

And he had walked straight into it.

Shockwave simply didn't allow his prey to escape. He had to have had ulterior motives for this. Something was not right, and Prowl did not like this one little bit.

A terrible thought crossed his mind. What if he had done something to Jazz and they'd brought a huge security risk straight into the base?

A comm line to Ratchet was quickly established.

::Ratchet, Jazz needs to be secluded::

::Hello to you too, Prowl. Jazz is. I'm not risking anything::

Prowl sighed in relief. Trust their medic to have thought ahead. Was he really that stressed out? ::Thank you, Ratchet:: Prowl replied before ending the call. Wincing, Prowl realised that Jazz was right - he really did need to work on his etiquette.

He realised he was pacing again and promptly stopped himself. Talking a calming breath, Prowl tried to reason with himself.

Jazz would be okay. Whatever they did, he had been through worse and had always pulled through. Ratchet could bitch all he liked but he still got the job done.

But Jazz had never clung to Prowl like that and he could still feel the way he had trembled and quaked in his hold-

Groaning, Prowl massaged his forehelm. It had reminded him of Bluestreak after a bad memory flux, and the urge to protect Jazz had bubbled up out of nowhere. Prowl didn't care that he had an audience, all that had mattered was getting Jazz away and back home.

Damn, but he hated those instincts sometimes. Not only was it embarrassing to deal with the teasing after, but it was what got rumours started. He was somewhat glad that his brother Smokescreen nor Bumblebee nor, Primus forbid, Sideswipe saw that. By the time they'd been reunited Jazz appeared to have come to his senses and was instead simply being supported by Prowl and Hound as he walked, movements and balance still shaky. He wouldn't admit it aloud, not even to himself, but Prowl silently lamented the loss.

And he didn't quite know why.

Yes, Jazz was important to him, but Prowl was under the impression that it was simply as a friend and he was keen to leave it at that lest he ruined what they had. Recent events, however, lead him to believe that it may not be the case.

It was a fact that honestly scared him.

He was top of the hit list: a dangerous mech to be with beyond a professional capacity. If anyone were to become a target simply because of his status, he would never forgive himself. He couldn't become attached to anyone, it would only end in disaster.

And yet, he had allowed it to happen.

Prowl was getting soft and he knew it. Pushing the others away was an option, but was he really willing to take it?


Ratchet was not too happy with the injuries that had wracked up.

Sideswipe had ended up having to stay in his medical bay, which meant Sunstreaker was also glued to his side. This annoyed Ratchet, which meant a wrench to the helm and an appointment to get the dent popped out when Ratchet had calmed down enough to not give him another one.

Which he did, not even five minutes later.

Smokescreen had dislocated a door wing, and Bumblebee his knee. A potshot had hit Mirage whilst he was cloaked.

Hound and Prowl were the only to escape relatively unscathed.

Jazz, on the other hand, was another matter.

Melted and burned circuits. Blown resistors and motherboards. Energon leakages. And the cherry on top, a smashed visor.

Excellent.

The weird marking on his optic was bothering him, however. Jazz usually refused to show his optics and Ratchet had long since stopped asking. To see it now felt like he was violating that trust, but he had a strange compulsion to find out what was wrong and fix Jazz.

He had mostly repaired the internal damage thanks to his ever-helpful staff, and Jazz's face had remained covered. Now it was just himself and Jazz in a private room, it was uncovered and he wondered what he should do.

A mock up visor had been made, and the smashed one removed. Ratchet would need a bit of time to remake the visor - it wasn't a simple piece of machinery to say the least - and he had seen a different design on the other optic. This did not settle him in the slightest as the realisation dawned on him.

Jazz was slave caste.

It made Ratchet angry. Not that Jazz had lied - he did not blame him for that, for Ratchet knew that anyone would - but that someone would willingly brand another across their optics, to humiliate them.

It made him feel sick.

There was only one caste that held slaves, and that was the Noble caste. Ratchet could think of one mech who would recognize the symbols branded upon his TIC's face.

Mirage.


It felt like his helm was underwater.

Everything seemed to happen in slow motion, audio reaching him faster than his optics could process what he was seeing. He still felt unbearably hot, but it was nowhere near as agonizing as before. His outermost extremities stung and itched, but it was easy to ignore. Besides, as it was he couldn't move. Everything felt heavy, as though it were made of lead.

He could vaguely hear Mirage and Ratchet talking about something from across the room. Or were they next to him? It did sound muffled – maybe outside?

Jazz wanted to sit up, but his body simply wasn't cooperating.

Ratchets voice became much more prominent, and his shoulder bloomed in pain when a hand made contact with it. He couldn't stop the sudden jerk and hiss that tore from his throat. It felt as though he'd been shot.

All audio suddenly came rushing towards him, clear as ever, and his visor finally focused.

Mirage, standing by the door and looking worried, a look that was usually reserved for his paint job or Hound. Ratchet standing next to him, hand hovering over him.

"Jazz, are you alright?" He asked, deciding to place his hand on the edge of the berth instead.

"Did ya shoot me?" Jazz groaned, finding that he was not as heavy as he was before and could lift his hand, placing it on his shoulder. It stung a little, but it didn't feel like a gunshot.

"Nearly did." Ratchet dryly corrected. He made a few notes on a datapad. "How are you feeling?"

"Like Ah'm coolin' off after a dip in a smeltin' pit."

"Understandable. You were half melted."

"Oh, joy."

"For now, you're staying on berth rest and I'm keeping you in here until I can find out what Shockwave put in that helm of yours." Ratchet continued as if Jazz had never spoken. "You can have visitors, but don't stress yourself too much. I want you sleeping."

At the mention of Shockwave, Jazz suddenly sat up. "Ya mean ya don't know?"

Jazz wouldn't have put it past him to have put a bomb in his helm, the mech was batshit crazy. Like he cared about his test subjects – so long as you survived and gave results you were allowed to live. The moment you stopped was the moment you were slaughtered. Nothing like firsthand experience.

Jazz stopped that train of thought there and then. It wasn't like that anymore… was it?

The fact he had something foreign in his head once more told him that maybe it was.

"No, I don't." Ratchet confirmed. "I'm going to be needing a specialist in processors before I can start poking around."

"An' where are we gunna be getting' one a those?" Jazz asked, frowning. Whatever was in his head, he wanted it gone and he wanted it gone now.

"A groon from now. We received a message from an inbound ship."

"Autobot?" Mirage asked, reminding the pair that he was still in the room. Ratchet was the first to compose himself and nodded.

"We're hoping the Decepticons didn't catch wind of it too. It's got a lot of friends of ours on board."

"Don't say anythin' else like that around me." Jazz suddenly ordered. Two pairs of optics focused on him. "Ya don't know what's in ma head. Could be anythin', an' it could be communicating with the Decepticons base like a wire tap."

"That… that is true." Mirage confirmed, "It's something they've attempted before."

Ratchet just grunted. "Fine, no gossip for Jazz."

Jazz balked at that. No gossip! He'd be out of the loop! It wasn't just Special Ops coding protesting at this – it was his own natural (and rather annoying) curiosity too! "Not even a little?" He asked, putting his hands together in a pleading gesture.

"Well if you want a list of who's sleeping with who-" Ratchet began, pulling another datapad from his subspace. Mirage's jaw dropped and he gave Ratchet a disbelieving look, while Jazz just whimpered.

"Don't tease me, doc!"

"Why do you even have such a list!?" Mirage squeaked, a sound very unbecoming of a noble. "That's unprofessional!"

"It helps with repairs." Ratchet shrugged, subspacing it again. "So I know who to expect." He quickly clarified at the pairs of horrified looks he received. "Also helps with organizing the beds, finding help and such."

Mirage still looked uneasy, but appeared to accept it all the same.

"Now, if you haven't got any other reason to be here, get the frag out." Ratchet pointed towards the door with his thumb. Mirage was quick to make himself scarce, knowing the medics temper. "Jazz, be honest. What happened there?"

"Ah was unconscious for most of it. The most Ah remember is being knocked out in the lab and waking up to feelin' as if Ah was being burned alive."

"Prowls report states that you were conscious enough to walk with the help of support for some time."

"That's true." Jazz acknowledged. "Ah did walk outta there, didn' Ah?"

"Very surprising, given your injuries. Many vital circuits were either scorched or warped, the more delicate ones melted. Overheated coolant, boiling energon, a damaged vocaliser, a broken visor-"

Ratchet continued on with the list, but Jazz's intakes hitched at broken visor.

Oh, fuck. The human curse was the only thing he could think of that would fit the situation, Cybertronian swears just didn't seem to fit in this situation. His optics. They'd been seen.

"Who knows?" Jazz quietly asked.

"About you being in medbay? Most likely the whole base."

"Not about that."

Ratchet paused, fixing him with a hard look. "Myself and Mirage, to the extent of my knowledge. No other reports indicated the knowledge of it."

Jazz simply nodded. He felt exhausted, and this was just the icing on the cake.

"We don't think any different of you." Ratchet quietly said, gently placing a hand on Jazz's shoulder. This time, he didn't flinch. "Get some recharge, you need it."

And with that, Ratchet left, locked the door and dimmed the lights.

Jazz was then left to his own thoughts, and he didn't like it. He needed a distraction, badly.

"Yo, Ratch?" Jazz shouted. Ratchets annoyed face appeared very quickly.

"What?" He asked in a disapproving tone.

"About that list..."


The medbay was dark when the visor onlined again.

Ratchet had long since retired to his berth, leaving the sole occupant to their own devices.

Only instead of the friendly blue visor everyone knew and loved, it was orange.

They slowly stood up, ripping out the various drips that they had been hooked up to and ignoring the way it stung. Monitors grew silent and fluids spilled onto the floor.

Using the meager light that the dim lights gave out, the mech surveyed themselves and promptly scowled at the sight of the Autobot insignia on their chest.

Disgusting.

Clawed hands scratched away at it, leaving deep grooves in their wake.

Right. Their claws clicked together. He had a task. Toy with the second in command.

Simple enough, the glitch never left its office.

Plastering on a grin, they swaggered out of medbay and towards the offices. Kudos to Jazz, they had to admit. He'd gotten everything for them, right down to what stock was kept in which supply bay despite the fact of it having no relation to his interests nor his division.

Whooie, head of special ops yet he couldn't wriggle away. The Autobots were pathetic.

But he knew his target, and he knew his routine. Glued to his office, with only Jazz being able to drag him out (unless it was Ratchet and Prowl was unconscious and sporting a dent in his helm) and he only left on the rare occasion he recharged. Jazz was the one who kept him refuelled.

The mech had become dependant on another, how weak.

And how easy to break.

The code to the office was one that was easily remembered, given to trusted hands and easily exploited.

Prowl was not in his office. The mech frowned, but shrugged it off. He could easily sit and wait for him. Prowl would be back.

It wasn't long until their patience was rewarded.

Back against the wall, they were hidden in the shadows and so not seen when the mech walked in. The moment their doorwings came into the picture, however, they immediately perked up and Prowl turned around to greet Jazz only to freeze at the colour of his visor.

"Jazz?" He said carefully, slowly turning his body so that he was facing the mech dead on.

"I'm not Jazz." The mech replied, voice dripping with venom at the name. Pathetic, both of them pathetic...

Without wasting a single second, Prowl had twisted an arm behind his back and was pushing him against the wall, one hand keeping the arm in place and the other on the back of the mech's neck to keep him there.

"Who are you?" Prowl demanded, voice tight.

"Nobody important. But I do know someone who's important to you. Very important." The mech said, grinning as he reached down and grasped one of Prowls thighs as he grinded his hips backwards against Prowl. The mech twitched and his hold faltered as he jerked back. "I think you know just as well as I do who I'm talking about."

"I don't believe I do." Prowl stiffly replied, silently berating himself for falling for that.

"Oh, no?" They replied, slowly rubbing their hand up and down that thigh as they spoke. "What a shame for them. He is awfully jealous, you know."

"With no reason to be. Answer me, who are you?"

The mech pulled a face before grinning. He tugged himself out of Prowls grip, turning around so that they were chest-to-chest.

"I'm nobody!"

"You have to be somebody." Prowl replied, annoyed. Why couldn't he be his usual, solid self around this mech? He would have called them Jazz if it weren't for the orange visor and accent.

The mech appeared to ponder on this for a moment before smiling, evidently deciding on something.

"Ricochet."

Well that was... Far fetched? Prowl didn't allow this to be shown on his face, however, and instead simply nodded. Before he could reply, Ricochet continued.

"Ah have ta go now, but next time Ah promise we can play some more!"

And with that, the visor went offline and they promptly collapsed onto the floor. Prowl had immediately knelt down beside them, hands ghosting over them as if unsure.

They were warm, but not hot enough to raise alarm. And Prowl couldn't help but notice that it was indeed Jazz.

What was going on?

Was this Shockwave's doing? Or was this simply an older alias Jazz had worked under resurfacing due to trauma?

Ratchet wouldn't be sure, but Rung would.

Prowl didn't know of he could wait a groon to find out.

So, without further ado, Prowl slid his arms under his knees and shoulders and picked him up, fully intending on taking him back to the medical bay.

With a gasp and a full bodied jerk, Jazz leapt back into consciousness and flattened out almost as straight as a board. Prowl yelped in shock, stumbling to regain his balance.

"Jazz?!"

With shuddering breaths and a trembling frame, Jazz slowly turned to look at Prowl before immediately relaxing, body slumping.

"It's just ya..." Jazz quietly said to himself, not looking away from the mech. Prowl quietly watched, unsure as to what to do. His logic centre began to tell him to put Jazz down, so Prowl knelt to do just that, but before he could pull away Jazz immediately shot out and grabbed onto his arm with a fearful expression.

"Please stay." Were the first words to fall from Jazz's mouth, breaking optic contact. Prowl made to sit down next to Jazz, allowing the contact to continue.

"Are you okay?" He asked as he arranged himself accordingly. Slowly, Jazz nodded.

"Helm hurts a lil' bit, but Ah'm okay. Missing memories too. How'd Ah get here?"

He didn't remember. Jazz usually did remember his episodes where he slipped back into past aliases, so this meant...

Prowls expression darkened.

Shockwave.

"I don't know. I found you in here." Prowl honestly replied. No use in lairing. "I was about to take you back to the medical bay, lest Ratchet have a fit."

Jazz took a moment to process this before nodding. "Ah guess we should probably get ourselves down there."

Prowl helped Jazz get back to his feet again, doorwings twitching being the only indication of just how on edge he was. As much as Jazz would have liked to soothe them, he most certainly did not feel invited to, nor did he feel as though he had permission. No, that was a right another Praxian held. Not him.

Jazz bit back the pained noise that threatened to escape him at that thought. What had happened between himself and Prowl? There were some nights when Prowl would come by his quarters unannounced, cubes of high grade and a game tucked under his arm, yet now... He was lucky to see him outside of work.

The walk back to the medical bay was silent, tension thick in the air. Prowl stayed close enough to Jazz so that he could catch him if he collapsed again, but far away enough to not crowd him. Jazz was perfectly okay with this, although he would have preferred if Prowl carried him. Of course, he'd never ever voice this aloud. It'd bring out his little-known laziness, and it wasn't entirely because he was too tired to walk.

Jazz wasn't sure why this was. Sure, he loved Prowl as a friend, but he didn't think himself to be that possessive over him. It was absurd, the notion that Prowl was his. Prowl wasn't anyone's.

At least, Jazz hoped.

"I will ask Ratchet to look into this." Prowl suddenly said, breaking the silence.

"Thanks." Jazz replied, noticing that they were at the medbay and that they'd stopped walking. "Ah'm sorry about this..."

"It is fine." Prowl replied, palming the door open and gently nudging Jazz back inside. Ratchet was standing there, tapping his foot with his arms folded over his chest, looking decidedly unimpressed.

"So, planning on telling me you were going on a walk?" Ratchet asked, although Jazz had a feeling it was rhetorical.

"Course Ah was!" Jazz chirped, skirting past Ratchet and hopping back up onto the berth. "Ah just found Prowler."

Ratchet glanced at Prowl, the mech looking just as dumbfounded as he felt.

::I want a detailed report on what happened:: Ratchet commed Prowl, beginning to plug Jazz back in again.

::Of course:: Prowl replied, staying a few moments to watch before turning to leave.


Jazz didn't want to recharge again.

He sat up, watching the wall with rapt attention. Nothing was changing, however Jazz didn't want to risk relaxing. He couldn't blank out again. Waking up in Prowls arms had been unexpected and left him feeling exposed and vulnerable. Had someone moved him there? Had he gone there himself? Answers weren't forthcoming from Prowl.

The little he remembered of his rescue just screamed trap. Shockwave had allowed them to leave; it was far too easy any other way. The defenses were deactivated or faulty, firing too late. Shutters weren't falling to lock them into the base. It was only drones that were going after them.

Considering he was Third in Command, and there was a chance to deactivate the Autobot Second in Command too, Jazz would have expected a much heavier resistance. In fact, he had been well protected up until Shockwave had implanted the chip…

The chip. It was the chip. Not long after it had been put in had Soundwave left the room, his cassette minions going with him. And then there had been pain.

Jazz was the trap. And he was sitting right in the middle of the base.


Sorry it took so long, I've burned my hand and yeah that was not fun at all. Do not recommend.

Also I'm back at college, eeey! Got nothing done that I wanted to over the summer ;A; I'm so sorry.

~Llama