Sorry this chapter took so long! It's been a hectic time to say the least, but hopefully things will slow down now that Christmas is almost done with. Just as a side note, this story and my other one, Dead Past, takes place in the same universe so if you squint reeaaal hard, you can get clues into what's going to happen in each of them :D Anyway, enjoy! Read and tell me what you think!

I am...

A soldier on my own, I don't know the way

I'm riding up the heights of shame

I'm waiting for the call, the hand on the chest

I'm ready for the fight, and fate

-Woodkid

Prowl hadn't slept in days. He, Smokescreen and Optimus had been pouring over battle plans and formations, altering them past the point of recognition and adding yet another processor ache on top of the numerous ones Prowl was already experiencing. It was their only option—Jazz knew all of their strategies, had even had a part in creating many of them, and there was no telling how much of that information he had passed onto the Decepticons. As much as Prowl hated sacrificing efficiency for secrecy, it was a necessary evil at this point.

Autobot command had named Bumblebee the new head of Spec. Ops, which the little yellow bot didn't like one bit. He complained of his lack of experience, his age, his bad maintenance, anything to try avoid taking the spot that was, in his mind, rightfully Jazz's. Optimus had made a deal with him that if he could find and convince Mirage to take the position, he would allow it. Mirage had, not surprisingly, disappeared. The Spec. Ops team was a close knit bunch, and it came as no surprise to Prowl or Optimus that they held to the idea of Jazz's innocence like a lifeline.

"Wait until we get him back—something isn't right!" Bumblebee had said. "There has to be some explanation. I know Jazz, he wouldn't do this!"

Prowl had thought he knew Jazz too. He had been his closest friend since the beginning of the war. He'd worked alongside him at the Peacekeeper Headquarters in Tarn until it had been overrun and then again in Iacon. They'd survived the destruction of Cybertron together, that one cataclysmic event that had broken the lives of so many. When he'd been assigned to the Ark during the great evacuation, he'd been the one to bring Jazz over from the Xantium. They had left their home together and found a new one on Earth. 6 million years of friendship, and nothing Jazz had ever done indicated Decepticon sympathies. Not one slagging thing.

No, something most certainly wasn't right.

Perhaps Prowl was clinging to the hope of his innocence as well. Perhaps he was letting his emotions blind his logic. But no, even his logical mind that was playing the events of the battle and the moments leading up to it over and over and over again said that something was off. As Ratchet had said, it was like a light switching on. There was no indication that Jazz had any idea of what was going to happen before it did, like he was blindsided by his own betrayal.

The idea of mind control had crossed Prowl's processor, but he knew that couldn't be the case. He never thought he'd be disappointed to rule out something as taboo and wrong as a full processor invasion, but he was. It at least would have taken the blame off of Jazz and placed it onto Soundwave, reconstructing the solid wall of moralities and alliances between Autobots and Decepticons, good and evil.

Unfortunately, Soundwave had met his match in Jazz over the years. With the numerous times Jazz had infiltrated the Nemesis and even come face to face with the telepath in battle, Soundwave had tried, and failed to break through the mech's mental barriers. Jazz had even gone down to the brig the one rare occasion when they managed to capture Soundwave and, under Prowl's supervision, he'd watched the telepath attempt and fail, multiple times, to break into Jazz's mind. Both mechs had nearly been in stasis by the end of it, but Jazz had withheld and emerged the victor. Exhausted and allowing himself to be half dragged, half carried by Prowl, Jazz had titled his head up, grinned his trademark grin and said, "Told ya I'd win."

It was a twisted game of will power, one that Jazz had always won. Besides, from what Prowl had witnessed, it was an exhausting activity for both parties and Prowl seriously doubted that Soundwave had managed to break into Jazz's mind and keep control of him during the heat of battle. It just wasn't logical. No, there had to be something else at play, something Prowl just hadn't found yet.

He pinioned his hope on that, holding out for the moment when all would be made clear. He even went as far as explaining his reasoning to Optimus in hopes of reversing the Prime's sentence. The big mech had just held up a patient hand and said, "We retrieve Jazz first. Then we can speak of guilt and innocence."

As heavily as it weighed on his processor, Prowl knew he wasn't the only one feeling the burden of Jazz's betrayal. The weight of it could be seen in the slumped shoulders as they walked through the hall or the sheer silence that occupied the rec. room. Demoralization on the Ark had reached a new low and the one person who was always trusted to bring everyone out of their funk was the exact person who had caused it.

Red Alert was in a panic. Changing every password in Teletraan's database was no easy task, and reprogramming the security protocols to identify and target one of their own was a heartbreaking chore. Ironhide's usual roughness had turned to sandpaper with his promotion from weapons specialist to third in command, and he'd gained the habit of snapping at anyone who crossed him the wrong way. Even the twins, who usually had no tact in consideration to people's moods, were staying clear of him. Optimus had donned the face of the Prime, walking tall and strong through the halls, trying to inspire hope no matter how hard it was to find.

Prowl kept his normal cool façade, but his mind felt like a beehive, buzzing and stinging, swarming en masse until he couldn't think of much else as it demanded answers that he couldn't possibly begin to provide. And then the alarms sounded, adding one more noise to the cacophony in his head.

"Are you sure you can do this?"

"Yeah, I'm fine—I got this," he said, succinctly for once.

"Because if you're not okay with this, we can come up with another plan- "

"Prowl, I got this."

The black and white mech sighed and patted his shoulder. "If you're sure…"

Bluestreak gave a small smile as he looked up at his mentor. "I'm sure," he said quietly. "Got an inhibitor pulse loaded—as long as I don't hit him in the head, it won't kill him. It may not even hurt too much."

Prowl knew the young gunner was scared slagless of the task, but he had to commend the mech's stamina. Not everyone was faring as well seeing their friend fighting on the other side of the field. Even Prowl had to admit he was affected by the sight of him. Jazz looked just as he always did except instead of the usual easy going smile, his face was grim and humorless and the Autobot insignia on his chassis had been desecrated with scratches. Prowl watched him level his blaster coldly at the Autobot lines and pull the trigger before he had to look away. He patted Blue's shoulder and said, "Good luck. Comm. me when it happens."

Blue nodded, keeping his optic hooked into the scope of his rifle as he watched the fight. Prowl hurried down from the cliff to join the rest of the Autobots, trying to gather his scattered thoughts and focus them on the fight at hand. He found Optimus shouting orders to some of the minibots to aid in evacuating the power plant. The Decepticons were hitting hard and fast, apparently emboldened by their previous victory and trying to add to their energon reserves.

Prowl joined his leader and said, "Bluestreak's in position."

"Do you think he can manage it?" Optimus asked, not taking his optics off of the developing fight.

Prowl gave a helpless shrug. "If it was any Decepticon, I'd say yes without a doubt, but this is Jazz."

Optimus nodded. "We'll try to spare him the necessity if we can," the big mech rumbled as he glared at the developing fight. "They're taunting us with him. They brought him to the fight to demoralize us but they're protecting him like guard dogs."

Prowl nodded as he watched Jazz fire from behind a cover of very angry triplechangers. "We need to break them up—get him away from them," Prowl said. "The inhibitor pulse won't do us any good if they get to him first."

Optimus gave a curt nod of agreement before Prowl got on his Comm. "Arialbots, focus your attack on the triple changers—drive them away," he ordered.

Silverbots static laden voice cracked to life over the frequency. "The seekers have just engaged, Prowl. We can't break away," he said.

Prowl swore and looked towards the sky. Through the grey cloud cover, he could see flashes like lightning. The rest of their forces were already taking heavy hits and he quickly assessed anyone that wasn't directly engaged but Optimus beat him to it.

"Bumblebee, Sideswipe, Warpath, you're with me and Prowl," he said. "Drive the triplechangers back—we need to get Jazz in the open."

He heard Sideswipe's whoop of joy over the Comm. "Let's get our boy back!" he crowed. The red twin apparently held no grudges against Jazz, even though the mech had nearly killed him during their last fight. Prowl couldn't help but grin, the giddy recklessness of battle infecting even his processor. They could do this. They could get Jazz back.

It was organized chaos, as always, as the group rushed into the fray. Optimus led the way, his ax and gun brought forward. He slammed like a hurricane into anyone that was unfortunate to step or trip into his path, sparks flying as armor crashed together with ringing clangs. Pulling out his pistol, Prowl reloaded a clip of acid pellets and followed close behind, shooting anything and everything that wore a purple sigil. Behind him, an accurate onomatopoeia to the battle, Warpath's voice rang out as he gleefully shot at the Decepticons that fled in their wake. The two triplechangers were waiting for them and they moved in front of Jazz, acting as a shield for the smaller mech. Jazz, on the other hand, backed away though he continued to loose shot after shot at them, coming dangerously close to striking home.

The collision of Optimus and Astrotrain was thunderous as the two big mechs slammed against one another, hands locked in a bizarre dance. Sideswipe intervened and skidded under his leader's legs in movement better suited for a gymnast than a frontliner, before aiming up and shooting Astrotrain directly in the codpiece. Astrotrain howled but it took one last backfist to the head by Optimus to send him to the ground where he stayed. On some other part of the field, Prowl could swear he heard Sunstreaker laughing.

Blitzwing looked far more afraid as Optimus turned onto him next and Sideswipe rushed forward with a warriors enthusiasm. Prowl trusted Warpath to cover their rear and turned his attention to Jazz. The black and white mech realized his cover was gone and he turned and ran. "Retreat" wasn't usually a word Jazz used and Prowl felt a surge of anger seeing his friend run like the Decepticon coward he had become. Without a hesitation, he chased after him, carefully aiming at his feet. Jazz was fast, always had been, and Prowl couldn't seem to hit him, even with the splatter of his acid pellets.

Instead, he transformed, revving his engine and shooting after the visored mech. Over the din of the battle, Jazz didn't seem to hear him as he dove for cover behind a rock pile. Prowl was on him in moments and transformed, leaping over the rocks in one quick movement, gun drawn and ready.

Jazz was, unfortunately, waiting for him. He grabbed Prowl and swung him around, pinning him up against the rocks before he grabbed his gun arm and slammed it against the rock, hard enough to crack armor. With a shout of pain, Prowl dropped his gun even as he free hand reached into subspace, pulling out his energy blade. It crackled to life as he brought it against Jazz's side, digging the edge under an armor plate in his abdomen, just shy of stabbing it through something vital. He felt the warm barrel of Jazz's gun press against his temple and swallowed.

Stalemate.

Both of them vented hard, neither daring to move. Prowl kept the blade carefully at his side even as he glared into the traitorous face of his friend, so close to his own. Jazz's expression was unreadable but after a moment of charged calm, Prowl noticed that his gun arm was shaking where it held the pistol against his helm.

"You don't want to do this," Prowl said, sensing a weakness.

Jazz let out a small laugh with a frantic edge, like stepping out onto a glass walkway hundreds of feet in the air. It sounded so close to his old self that it made Prowl ache. "No, I don't," he said, his voice trembling. His face twisted, the sardonic grin morphing into a grimace of something akin to agony. His arm started shaking harder and Prowl's optics widened even as he tightened his grip on his knife, digging it just a little deeper. Jazz's vents sputtered and stalled as though someone was choking him. "Please, help me," he gasped, his voice so quiet Prowl could barely hear it.

Despite the gun against his head, Prowl's optics brightened, hope swelling in his chassis. His speculations were right—something wasn't right. He was about to say something, anything to reassure him, tell him that they would get him back and all would be well, but Jazz moved too quickly. He pulled the gun away from Prowl's head and pressed it against a doorwing, still pinned against the rock before shooting one blast straight through.

Before Prowl's world dissolved in a garble of pain and error messages, he saw Jazz stagger back and fall, as though he'd run into an invisible force field at high speed. Sparks danced over his body and he convulsed once before falling still. Prowl let his head hit the ground, his optics close.

Good ol' Bluestreak. The inhibitor pulse had hit home.

Prowl woke under the orange ceiling of the medbay. Everything felt muted, and he knew from experience that Ratchet had disabled the sensors to his doorwings until repairs could be made. Slowly, he sat up, ignoring how it made his head spin. He hissed when he put weight on his injured arm and quickly pulled off of it, cradling it to his chassis.

The medbay was a mess. There were injured mechs occupying more than half of the berths and Prowl couldn't begrudge Ratchet for letting him sit with his injuries. There were others who were far worse off. He scanned the tables, but he didn't see any sign of Jazz. With his good arm, he caught the CMO as he walked past. "Well?" he asked, trying not to get his hopes up and failing.

Ratchet looked at him with the tired optics of someone who had seen far too much and simply shook his head. Prowl deflated, his hope abandoning him as he sank back onto the medical berth, his aches and pains somehow becoming more pronounced with the revelation.

"Soundwave took him back," a quiet voice said. Prowl looked over at the berth next to his and Bluestreak sat with his leg's dangled over the edge, one optic smoky and black. "He must have caught sight of me after I hit him. Ravage and the twins kept guard over him… no one was close enough to get to him before Soundwave did. I tried to shoot them off but Laserbeak snuck up on me—shot something at my gun. It backfired and scorched my optic," he said. The young gunner swallowed and looked down. "'M sorry… I thought we had him."

Prowl gave a small smile and leaned over, patting his shoulder with his good hand. "You did exactly as you were supposed to, Blue," he said. "I'm proud of you." The young Praxian looked up and gave a small, wavering smile. "We'll get him next time," he said, trying to believe his own un-truth.

Blue's face brightened up just a little bit, daring to hope. Prowl forced a smile, tried to share his sentiment, but hope was getting harder and harder to find.