From the moment he'd met him, Jazz had always been drawn to Prowl.
It might've been because they seemed to be such polar opposites. Oh, the others might complain from time to time that he was boring; a logic-driven stiff with no sense of fun. But Jazz could see. Prowl was always so calm, so sure, nothing ever seemed to get under that pretty plating. And that, more than any physical beauty (and, say what you want, but even Prowl's harshest critics had to admit that he really was gorgeous; all clean lines and smooth curves and a paintjob that complemented his frame just so) had captured Jazz's interest from the start. And so he had watched.
He had assumed that, like his previous brief flares of infatuation, it would pass. Prowl would eventually grow tired and stale to him, and he could move on to newer and better bots. Except, and here was the real kicker, it didn't just pass by after a vorn or two. Somehow, some way, that infatuation seemed to grow in to an obsession. There were so many hidden facets to Prowl it was staggering. And Jazz, like a starving mech suddenly presented with unlimited energon for the first time in his life, couldn't get enough. He wanted to know. Prowl's expression changed just so when he was concentrating, and his optics lightened thus when he was content, and Jazz suddenly needed to see each and every emotion that Prowl could portray, every little detail that everyone else seemed to miss.
It really was kind of annoying. And Prowl, damn him, always seemed to be so unflappable, almost unemotional. And that wouldn't do at all. So Jazz started coming up with ways to make him emotional. Every prank, every innocent-seeming word, all designed to drag the least smile, the most miniscule flash of optics, whether amused or annoyed. But always, always careful not to seem too interested. Always careful to hide the fact that Jazz was completely, utterly head-over-heels for his partner and friend. Because while it might be true that he was, there was no point in Prowl knowing. That might ruin the game.
And, a small part of him whispered, despite all his confidence and bravado, deep down he might, possibly, be just slightly worried that a wrong word or a too-strong emotion might shatter the friendship that had formed between them. And Jazz was in too deep. The idea of losing Prowl – his beautiful, aggravating, amazing Prowl – was not to be contemplated.
Jazz was content to watch and admire from afar, and needle and tease while up close. After so long, it hardly seemed like he could do anything else. He wasn't really certain he knew how anymore.
After they had dropped Annabelle off with a few of the soldiers in the dormitories, Prowl and Jazz wandered out in to the bright afternoon sunshine. Downtime was something to be savored, and it was a minor miracle that Prowl wasn't actually working during his. So Jazz simply enjoyed his company and the way the heat of the small yellow star that was the center of this solar system felt against his silver plating. They spoke of random things; bots they had known and bots they knew now, antics of their comrades around the base, human and Autobot alike. After a time, Prowl shot Jazz a sidelong glance.
"Mikaela told me a curious thing." Prowl said, in the kind of offhand tone that immediately had Jazz wondering if he ought to be running for the hills. He briefly flitted through a few dozen events that might have set off this tone, but couldn't think of anything recent, much less anything Mikaela would know about.
"Really." Jazz replied, careful to keep his voice casual and light. "What kinda curious thing?"
"Well," Prowl said, "it seems that human courtship rituals can be rather…odd."
Jazz felt himself relaxing marginally. "Hey now, Prowler," he teased, "just 'cause the humans tend to scramble your logic circuits don't mean you got any cause to call them odd."
Prowl smiled, so faintly one might not see it if they didn't know how to look. Jazz knew. He'd been looking for a long time. "They might, at that," Prowl admitted, "but Mikaela herself found it odd. Apparently many human females do."
"So what is this 'odd human courtship ritual'?" Jazz asked.
"It seems that young human males often have difficulty expressing their interest in prospective mates." Prowl said. "A defect in their thinking processes, perhaps."
Jazz laughed. "Well now, that's pretty harsh."
"Perhaps." Prowl agreed, tilting his helm to the side. "But those were Mikaela's words. In any case, young males will often aggravate those they are interested in to the point of distraction, simply because they cannot think of any other way to gain their attraction." He gave Jazz a quick, piercing look before it faded in to casual affability just as quickly.
Jazz stalled briefly, but forced his stance in to one of forced casualness. One might not have even seen that quick horror-filled pause, if one didn't know how to look. (Prowl knew. He'd been looking for a long time.) "Really." He said, and he was proud that his voice still remained as cool and casual as always. "Seems kinda counter-productive t' me."
Prowl nodded, the barely-there smile on his lip plates once more. "Yes, to me as well. One would think," –and his tone almost seemed to become pointed, Jazz thought somewhat hysterically, but that couldn't be right because this was Prowl who was intelligent and smooth and unruffled and he could make astounding leaps of logic on the field but when it came to the spark he was, well, pretty dumb, and Jazz didn't mind that, really, and oh Primus was he channeling Bluestreak? He never babbled. And Prowl was still speaking— "that perhaps if one felt such stirrings one would think to make them understood by speaking clearly of those feelings, rather than, as the humans say, 'beating around the bush'."
"You'd think." Jazz agreed quickly. Prowl's smile sharpened in to something almost wicked. But that couldn't be right because this was Prowl and he would not start prattling again, Jazz decided, he wouldn't. Because he was Jazz and the Jazz-man did not prattle, or babble, or dither, or any of those other ridiculous words. Even in his processor, when Prowl's smile was doing strange things to his logic circuits.
"Well," Prowl said, (and his voice suddenly dropped a full octave, and oh Primus Jazz just wanted to jump him right then and there, slam him against the wall and feel that voice against his plating, smooth and low like Tower vintage high grade) "Mikaela did say that boys are rather," he tilted his head at Jazz, his optics guileless, "immature." The emphasis on that word was unmistakable. Jazz bit back a whimper. "On this planet, at least." Prowl finished, the smile abruptly almost gentle and certainly innocent.
"Ain't that somethin'." Jazz said, smiling widely and trying not to think too hard about what that voice and that smile were doing to his processors. "Well," he said, "as fun as it is chattin' with you Prowler, I gotta run."
"So soon?" Prowl asked, his optics wide. "I hope there isn't anything wrong."
"Oh no, nothing," his voice hitched slightly, and Jazz forced it back to normalcy, "nothin' wrong. Just remembered I promised 'Siders somethin'.
"Sideswipe will likely be quite busy with Red Alert for the next while."
"Yeah," Jazz said, edging away, "so I gotta. Go do the thing now. While he's busy!"
"I see."
"See ya Prowler!"
As Jazz made a hasty escape in to the base, Prowl watched him go thoughtfully. Perhaps this would take a bit of doing.
Of course, that wasn't too much of a problem. Jazz had been aggravating Prowl for vorns. If Prowl was a vindictive mech, he might feel it to be somewhat satisfying to get some of his own back. But of course, such thoughts would never cross his processor.
It was, perhaps, a good thing that no one was around just then. Anyone who had seen the brief look of almost devious glee that crossed his face plates would likely have turned around and found some place deep and dark to hide in until the universe started making sense again. Particularly when Prowl started to quietly hum.
Jazz slowed down from his brisk walk as soon as he was sure he'd put enough space between himself and the surreal situation he still wasn't entirely certain he knew what to make of, and the mech who caused it.
Prowl. The was Prowl, right? Straight-laced, Mr. Calm and Collected nothin' and no one ruffles me Prowl? 'Cause. I coulda sworn another bot took over his frame right there.
Well, okay. He was still calm and collected. And he wasn't really ruffled. Really, about the only thing that seemed different was that weird knowing look that he seemed to have gained.
Jazz felt his engine stall. He couldn't have found out, could he?
Jazz liked Prowl. (If, by like, one meant 'would quite possibly follow him to the end of the Universe and back again, and maybe through a few hundred light years of highly corrosive material just to see a smile'. But really, it wasn't like he obsessed over him. Much.) He was perfectly okay with this. He had been perfectly okay with this for hundreds of vorns. He didn't really see that changing. It was one of the few constants in his life, and Jazz liked that. Optimus would do something heroically (and stupidly) self-sacrificing given half a chance, Ratchet would indulge in a fit of histrionics over the stupidity of his patients in his med bay given even a sliver of a chance, and Jazz would do something possibly stupid and sure as pit amusing because he liked Prowl (and the bit of attention Prowl gave him) with just the slightest encouragement (and often without any encouragement at all). It was something you could rely on.
Prowl possibly liked Jazz? That was a statistical impossibility. Prowl just didn't like Jazz. Not like that. Prowl tolerated Jazz. Jazz occasionally (hopefully) intrigued Prowl. Prowl considered him a friend and that was the end of the story.
Prowl didn't like Jazz in the way a lover would. They were just too different. Nothing could change that. (Jazz never really seemed to consider the fact that he was the other side of the equation, and he liked Prowl just fine, differences and all. But then bots, just like humans, can be remarkably stupid when it comes to things like that. It is, perhaps, a universal constant. People, no matter what their biological make-up, really are the same deep down.) So really, Jazz had been overreacting. Even if, by some tiny chance, Prowl had possibly gained sudden insight to the idea that Jazz might feel slightly attracted to him, Prowl wouldn't actually do anything about it. Probably. There'd be no logical reason to, after all.
I mean really, it's not like anything has changed. He's still Prowl; still the same tight-aft he's always been and always will be. As he put some more distance between them, he nodded to himself. And besides, he decided firmly, I was probably just imagining things. No way Prowler would just up and clue in over all this time. No way he'd suddenly turn all sexy-like alluva sudden. 'S not his style.
He paused. Even if it was ten kinds of sexy. Never saw him like that before…
Imaginin' things, Jazz-man. Now let's find some suitably cool way to explain off th' nervous run out on Prowl. He paused in his thoughts. Maybe he'll forget about it if I don't say anythin' about it.
Well. One could hope, he supposed.
Better come up with somethin' good. He decided gloomily.
"And what do you do if a boy is harassing you?"
"Punch him in the stomach and scream real loud." Annabelle replied without missing a beat.
Mikaela paused in the threshold to the dormitories. "…does Sarah know you're teaching her daughter questionable habits, Graham?"
The British agent looked up with a guilty start, which quickly shifted to injured innocence. "Questionable habits? Me?" He said, and shook his head. "Why would you even think that?"
Annabelle smiled up at Mikaela. "He's teaching me self-defense!"
"Right." Mikaela said with a raised eyebrow. "I seem to remember your mom having a conversation with Ironhide about self-defense. It wasn't a very a nice conversation."
"Mom never lets me do anything fun."
"So," Mikaela said to Graham, her lips quirked in a smirk, "you got a plan for dealing with dragon-mama?"
Graham grinned at her. "Annie," he said, "how did you learn to do that?"
"T.V." Annabelle replied cheerfully.
"And who was letting you watch dangerous shows on the telly?" He asked.
"Sideswipe." The little blonde was smiling angelically, and Mikaela laughed outright, shaking her head.
"You are terrible." She said wryly, ruffling Annabelle's hair. "Both of you."
Annabelle beamed at her, and Graham executed a little bow, doffing an invisible hat. "Thank you, my lady." He replied cheekily. She swatted at him in response, and he dodged to the side, laughing.
A/N: So apparently I lied. Or rather, the bunnies lied to me. This is shaping up to be three, possibly four parts long. (Damn it Prowl, stop being so bloody sexy! Or at least be sexy enough that Jazz just tosses out restraint and jumps you.)
I liked Graham in the movie. He always seemed so calm and collected even when Galloway was being an ass. (Plus he has a sexy accent. You can't go wrong with a sexy accent.)