Hi all, I am rushing to post this so it can be the August post, so I will reply to reviews next time.

Thanks and enjoy!

Warnings: Ricochet is going to express a judgmental opinion in this chapter that I personally do not hold to, please note that fact and realized that it is being expressed to exhibit his selective naivety, thank you.

Update: I discovered I had accidentally been writing Ricochet in the wrong colors in this chapter (he is primarily black and gold with white highlights), that has been fixed and the chapter reposted.


Chapter 3:

They had been at Polyhex Border Base for going on three metacycles and in that time Prowl had been magnificent. At least according to Jazz. The saboteur had never been happier to be stuck on chassisguard duty; it afforded him the perfect opportunity to ogle… ahem, observe the finer qualities of his courtmate. Of course that duty would have been far easier to accomplish if his blasted brother would just leave him be for just. Five. Kliks! He understood, he really did. Ricochet and he had been estranged for vorns, very nearly an entire century, but was it really necessary for Ric to cling like a magnetolizard with its food. The mechanimal parallel was particularly accurate too. Ricochet would attach himself to Jazz in the aforementioned manner, then hiss whenever certain mechs interrupted 'brotherly bonding time'. It had taken Jazz a whole metacycle to figure that out that the only mech who always got hissed at was Prowl, otherwise it took repeated interruptions for Ricochet to begin reacting. The problem was that Jazz did not know what his brother's problem was with Prowl. Every time he asked, the younger mech blew it off and then escaped quickly after. Fortunately, he would stay gone long enough for Jazz to have the occasional quiet, sometimes romantic, meal with his Prowler, but, unfortunately, not long enough for Jazz to get any proper snuggling done.

It had to end.

Jazz had not had a proper date with his love since that first rendezvous at the hot spring.

It was time to lay a trap.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Jazz had been gushing all orn long… and it was disgustingly cute.

No! Ricochet corrected himself. Not disgustingly cute, just disgusting.

It did not matter that Prowl was smoking hot and it certainly did not matter that they were an adorable couple, they had matching colors, for Primus sake!

Ricochet stopped his thought thread again, it was so hard sometimes to remember that he was supposed to be vetting Prowl's suitability as Jazz's potential mate. As it was, the Praxian was beginning to show some colors he did not like. Prowl had promised Jazz that they would have another romantic interlude in the oil spring, but Ricochet had overheard the Praxian arranging an offsite meeting with the Resistance at the proposed date time. Therefore, it was up to Ricochet to first comfort his soon to be distraught brother, then go beat the lubricant out of the errant Praxian.

Ricochet watched from a hidden alcove as Prowl and his not-Jazz escort left. When the dust cloud disappeared into the night he turned and made his way to the deep levels lift. He had never had cause to use this particular lift before and it made him laugh to hear the popular horror music emitted from the speakers in lieu of the traditionally boring lift jingles. He knew in his spark of sparks that Jazz was somehow responsible. The lift opened at the lowest level and the black and gold Poly strode out. As he walked into the natural metal of the planet's substructure he could not help admiring the fine craftsmechship displayed by the mechs who had raised the ceilings of the natural corridors to a proper height. If it were not second nature to him as a below-ground dwelling Polyhexian, he would never have been able to tell where the natural rock ended and the sculpting started.

Ricochet entered the steaming grotto and began stealthing around to find his brother. Jazz was in the farthest of the intimate pools with a decanter of highgrade and a box of rust sticks. The younger Poly cleared his vocalizer to get his brother's attention.

Jazz turned around in the oil. "Hey Ric! Come on in, the oil's fantastic."

Ricochet raised an optic ridge, why wasn't Jazz surprised to see him.

Aaaand, that was the sound of the door closing behind him.

Ricochet stared at the closed door suspiciously. He suddenly wondered if Prowl's callousness had truly been real, or a ruse of Jazz's design. His brother had attempted to casually confront him several times concerning his attitude toward Prowl, but Ricochet had been successful in evading the topic… until now. The younger Poly idly drummed his claws on the door wondering if he could break it down before his brother pinned him.

"Don' bother Ric." Jazz said drolly. "Once Ah realized dis place wasn' secured from tunnel'rs, Ah had Wheeljack ship meh some microdrones. Dey tunneled in between tha walls n' laced 'em wit' a carbonized plazsteel fiber weave. 'S stronger n' titanium carbonide n' pretty much anehthin' else, 'cept mebbe unutrium. So unless ya got some new upgrades while ya w's wit' tha 'Cons it's a futile gesture, cuz tha doors'r made o' tha same."

Yep, a trap. Jazz was going to have this conversation with him whether Ricochet liked it or not. The younger Poly huffed at his foiled mission and plopped down into the oil. And if it soaked Jazz through and threatened to wash away his treats, it was a just revenge. Jazz surfaced from the wave of hot oil smirking. The annoying slagger had managed to acquire a shield generator small enough to cover the tiny niche the food was stored in.

Ricochet glared. "Ya're such a slagger."

Jazz grinned. "Mah deares', mos' fav'rite brotha', tha' title mos' certainleh belongs to you."

Ricochet sniffed primly. "Ah'm not tha one tha' locked us in here."

"No," Jazz snorted. "Bu' ya tha one bein' an aft ta mah Prowler."

Ricochet struggled no to look guilty. He was doing his job, slaggit, and he was not going to feel bad about it! He mumbled as much to the oil boiling around his chassis.

"Seriously mech?!" Jazz exclaimed, because of course he would hear that. "Ric, while Ah love ya fo' wantin' ta make sure onleh tha best mech makes a try fo' meh, ya need ta understand tha Prowler is tha' best mech."

Ricochet folded his arms over his glistening black chassis and raised an optic ridge. "Ah reserve tha right ta judge fo' mahself."

"Then how 'bout Ah tell ya 'bout him?"

Ricochet shrugged grumpily. "Sure."

""Okay then, where ta start." Jazz replied. "So, when Prowl n' Ah met, Ah w's kinda undercova'. He w' inspectin' this shipment o' recruits from the Sonic Canyon bootcap, which Ah'd been inserted in as a cova'. He w's this rigid, prim, smokin' hot piece o' aft, emphasis on da aft n' not in'a good way, n' so, so cold. Like, nitrogen spikes in tender places cold. Truth be tol', Ah thought he needed ta lighten up. Wit'out goin' in ta detail ya not cleared ta know, Ah ended up workin' in Tactical as liaison from Ops n' Ah decided Ah w's gonna remove tha rod up his aft if it killed meh. Onleh,… it didn' quite go down like tha. Ah realized tha' he needed a friend. Ah mean, he has Prime and his brotha', bu' his sense o' propriety has been drilled inta him so strongleh tha' he don' feel like he c'n go ta Prime in a casual setting while tha war's on n' his brotha's his direct subordinate n' he can' show fav'ritisim, even though all his underlin's would be ok wit' seein' him relax wit' his family. Ah w'sn' in his direct chain o' command, 'cept fo' tha whole SIC thing, bu' in order ta accomplish tha' kinda feat Ah knew Ah hadda break his shell. Bein' nice didn' work, workin' hard didn' work, cuz Ah observed both a those traits bein displayed towards him by otha', similarly ranked officers n' he neva' took it as anehthin' more than profession'l courtesy. So, Ah did tha one thin' no one evah dared."

Jazz paused his narrative to slowly rearrange his treats and pour two cubes of highgrade, one of which he handed to his fidgeting brother. He knew that Ricochet hated cliffhangers, but it was just too much fun to watch him squirm. Ricochet was trying to be stubborn too and make Jazz start back up unprompted.

Sip.

Sip, sip.

Slurp.

Sip. Sip. Sip.

Back and forth they went, each pointedly drinking from their cubes in nonverbal cue to the other. As most siblings would when in competition with the other, neither wanted to be the one to yield first. Ricochet just could not take the burning curiousity.

"Well?! Wha' happened?"

Jazz snickered in triumph despite knowing his brother would find a way to get back at him eventully. "Well, Ah started annoyin' him. Everythin' Ah did barely skirted tha edge o' regulations or w's done by tha book, bu' in tha mos' annoyin' way possible. Tha few times he dragged, literally on two occasions, meh inta his office ta scream at meh, Ah w's readeh wit' ev'ry reg tha' 'llowed meh ta do wha' Ah w's in trouble fo'." Jazz snickered again. "He would get so mad his lights'd go off."

Ricochet stared at his brother in horror. Jazz was laughing so hard he could not talk. "Jazz! Jazz, please tell meh ya not sayin' ya tortured tha mech inta courtin' ya." A more horrific thought jumped into the younger Polyhexian's meta. "Is he a masochist?!"

Jazz blinked at him, stunned into silence, then, when the mental image registered he collapsed back into loud, strut-shaking peals of laughter. "A mas… Prowl?... Primus preserve meh…" he gasped. "No, no mah Prowler's not'a masochist!"

Ricochet sank back into the oil, limp in his relief. That could have been a horrible development. He knew from his time in the Decepticons that masochists were some of the most messed up individuals, because who in their right meta enjoyed pain, much less full on beatings? Ricochet took a long pull of his highgrade and swished his servo at his brother to get over it and finish telling him the sordid tale of how Prowl was an acceptable mech for Jazz's affection.

The black and white Poly vented for several long moments to get his heaving, overheated chassis back to normal. He slid out of the oil to facilitate better cooling. "Ok, so yeah, um, Prowler didn' fall in lust wit' meh fo' tha way Ah irked him. It did make him notice meh though. Over tha course o' time n' events Ah can' tell ya 'bout, we kinda called a cease-fire wit' tha end o' mah mission. Ah sent him a tradish'nal friendship crystal arrangement n' tha rest is hist'ry."

Ricochet waited for Jazz to continue, but that seemed to be the end of the narrative. "Um, Jazz? While it's nice ta know how you became friends, it doesn tell meh how ya fell in love or why he's worthy o' ya. Ah'm not seein' aneh incentive ta not make him prove himself ta meh."

Here Jazz looked confused. "Ah don' realleh know how we came to love each otha, actualleh. One orn we were preppin' fo' an incursion tha' would require Prowler ta be in'a dang'rous position on tha' field o' battle, n' Ah realized Ah wouldn' be able ta handle it if somethin' happened ta him. Ah loved him n' even though we didn' even have tha' kinda r'lationship, much less bonded, Ah don' think Ah'd'a survived."

Ricochet frowned and said flatly. "Mechs don' die from broken sparks."

Jazz leveled a look at him. "Yeah mech, they do, all tha time. They may not fade like a bonded mech does, bu' dey ain' tha same. Some become hollow shells; some choose ta fo'get via r'fo'mattin'; some choose assisted suicide by way o' tha 'Cons. When ya find ya One, Ric, ya'll understan'. When ya in this deep, there ain' no goin' back. It's eitha bond n' fade wit'em or don' n become a gutted thing tha' wishes it could die,… or wishes it coulda said 'Ah love you', one las' time."

The room was maudlin as Ricochet contemplated that answer. Then he rose, allowing the oil to stream from his frame back into the pool, and walked to the door.

"Ah'm sorreh Jazz, but if ya love him tha' much Ah can't slack up on him." He leaned his forehelm against the bolted door. "Ya tha onleh fam'ly Ah got left, n' Ah can't lose ya 'gain. N' if tha' means Ah gotta hound Prowl until he not onleh does right by ya, bu' loves ya back jus' as much, tha's wha' Ah'm gonna do."

Jazz came the electronic signal to unlock the door without reply. He knew when his brother got like this there was no reasoning with him; Ricochet would have to come around on his own.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Prowl strolled back into the base, optics glowing in satisfaction, though the rest of his demeanor remained coldly impassive. The last arrangements for the fleeing Polyhexian Resistance had been completed and the first group would be leaving that very dark-cycle. After having worked with them for a time he could understand why they resisted leaving. They reluctantly revised their stance only after Megatron's master plan was revealed to them. The Polyhexian war of attrition would continue off-world now.

With that great burden off his shoulders, Prowl could safely allow his meta to turn to personal matters. Like the fact that Jazz had given up the last of his too-few opportunities to see his homeland because he needed to speak with his brother. What bothered Prowl most was the wedge he seemed to be in an otherwise healthily healing brotherly relationship. For this reason he felt like he should have been present to at least discover what transgression he had committed to earn Ricochet's ire, but Jazz had insisted it was not like that. Now, however, Prowl intended to get some answers.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Jazz stood in the semi-communal washrack between his berthroom and Prowl's, and buffed in the last of the oil from the pools. He looked at his plating in the mirror and smiled. The glossy richness reminded him of home, where even the lowest ranked of the destitute looked well-polished due to the abundance of the healing oil. As he stood there a white servo snuck around his side to splay over his abdominal plates and a large doorwinged frame pressed to his backplates while a helm nuzzled into his neck.

Jazz leaned back into Prowl's embrace and tipped his helm back to press their forehelms' together in an intimate gesture that was purely Praxian.

"Hello Luv." The Polyhexian purred.

Prowl shivered and traced a path to the smaller mech's audial with his nasal ridge. "I missed you. You are so beautiful and I don't know how I possibly lived before you entered my life. I especially missed your wise counsel during the arrangements with your countrymechs this orn."

Jazz gasped at the low tones being lavished on his sensitive audials. "S-sorreh Prowler, Ah tol' ya tha' talk wit' Ric couldn' wait."

Prowl released his courtmate and led him into the master suite receiving room for dark-cycle energon. "Yes, and I do want to encourage the restoration of your relationship. However, if I may, I would still like to know what his issue is with me. It is impossible for me to mitigate a negative association I am not aware of."

Jazz slumped onto the couch. "Aw Prowler, Ah tol' ya, it's nothin' ta worreh about. There's nothin' ya c'n do 'bout it anehway."

Prowl pulled him in to snuggle with an arm around his shoulders. "You do not know that, unless you tell me and I declare it so."

Jazz closed his optics; he really did not want to fight with his pre-conjunx, he just did not. That meant making a decision to allow the two mechs he loved most in the world to be actively at odds with one another, which actually would not be that much different than the one-sided passive aggressive actions that were occurring now.

"He doesn' think ya worthy o' meh, n' he's tryin' ta get ya ta prove yaself ta him."

Prowl arched an optic ridge. "Disregarding that I agree with him, how was it better that I not know this?"

"Bcuz there's nothin' ya c'n do 'bout it. He has'ta come 'round on his own."

"On the contrary." Prowl replied gently. "I have been avoiding him based on the misinformed conclusion that he hated me for taking you away from him. It seemed least objectionable for me to stay out of his way. Knowing now that his actions are purely those of a protective brother doing his duty by his sibling, I can choose a more effective means of dealing with him."

Jazz waited for Prowl to explain but it seemed he was not to know his love's plan until the fireworks started. It made him uneasy, but he knew perfectly well that there was no way to pry information from the Praxian tactician when he did not want to share. Instead he leaned back and resolved to enjoy his rarely undisturbed snuggle time. The heat of Prowl's chassis was comforting and he sank into it willingly. Such stillness was uncharacteristic of him, outside of a mission, but when it came to Prowl, Jazz found himself craving the peaceful attention. To him the tranquility represented safety; all was well.

Then Prowl reached up and began stroking the saboteur's audial horns. It made Jazz wriggle and go limp across Prowl's lap, and the saboteur could only be glad his mech had waited til after they finished their cubes.

The sensations rolled through him in relentless waves and Jazz could only barely hold himself back from reaching up to catch Prowl in a kiss. Kissing, by Praxian standards was a relationship stage that had to be initiated by the Prathama. Solaris had been adamant on that point. Jazz was permitted to tease and tempt and otherwise try to be irresistible, yet nothing more. Once Prowl took the initiative however, all bets were off and Jazz fully intended to make up for the enforced wait by snogging his partner at every available opportunity. Jazz undulated sensually and slithered up to prop himself against Prowl's chestplates, scraping their chassis together in a way that made the Praxian shiver. The saboteur was hopeful that this time might be the time he got kissed, but Prowl was a teasing little slag, as he merely leaned down to stroke their nasal ridges together. Jazz tipped his helm, adding the temptation of the closeness of his lipplates to the mix. Unfortunately, it had the opposite effect of making Prowl withdraw to stroke his chevron shield against Jazz's forehelm. The saboteur refused to be disappointed; his love needed him to wait, so he would wait. Besides, it was not like Prowl was rejecting him, he was in fact lavishing Praxian affection on Jazz by the truckload. Just because it was not taking the form Jazz wanted at the moment, did not mean that he would reject what was freely offered. Besides, the softer intimacy made Jazz's spark feel tight in the best ways.

"Ah love you." He breathed.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The very next orn Prowl set his plan into motion. He summoned Ricochet to his temporary office and bade him sit.

"Ricochet of Polyhex, for the last few metacycles you have been under probation while we determined the sincerity of your defection. Your claims have been admirably upheld and the Autobot Armed Forces are now prepared to continue with your induction. Your aptitude tests have been reviewed extensively and with the further recommendation of my best advisor, I believe I have found a position that will suit your talents admirably."

The black and gold mech stared him with narrowed optics. "Permission ta speak freely sir."

Prowl glanced up from his datapad. "Granted."

"Ah can't help but notice this's comin' pretteh close on tha ped spurs o' mah little spark ta spark wit' Jazz, n' Ah can't help wonderin' if this ain' ya tryin' ta curry mah favor."

Prowl leaned forward and laced his digits together on the desk. "Quite the opposite Ricochet. Jazz did indeed allude to the nature of your tiff with me, but this change of status has been pending in my inbox for nearly a decacycle. I knew where I wanted to place you, but your seeming aversion to me has stayed my servo. I believed you to be jealous, that I might have come between the two of you. I had no desire to make your functioning more difficult, so I removed myself from your presence. Last dark cycle Jazz informed me that my conclusion was flawed, thus my actions must also change."

"Uh huh." Ricochet replied, still skeptical.

Prowl allowed himself a faint smile. "Indeed. With the new data I have determined it would be more effective for us to spend time together. According to Jazz you have considerable administrative skills, and were the one who kept the two of you organized in your business ventures. Although he did warn me that those skills do not extend beyond the workplace and that your personal habits are more along the lines of my elder brother Smokescreen and my younger brother's dearest friends, banes of my existence they both are. Thus you are hereby assigned as the personal assistant to the Chief Tactical Officer and Apprentice Mission Planner for Special Operations under the command of the Ops Liaison to Tactical."

Ricochet puffed up, indignation ripe in his field. "Ah did not join this army ta be a glorified secretary, sir."

Prowl arched An optic ridge, but kept his field and vocalizer inflectionless. "No, you joined to keep an optic on your twin and his beau. As to being a glorified secretary, I believe I offered you an apprenticeship, not a purely clerical position."

The Polyhexian's plating smoothed back down and a faint feeling of chagrin could be detected in his field. "Why wouldja do tha'?"

Prowl leaned forward. "Because you are my courtmate's brother, and I will not have my Love living in misery because my brother-by-bond cannot tolerate my presence."

"So, ya planned ta play at friendship n' offer bribery until ya get mah blessin'?"

"On the contrary," Prowl said evenly as he leaned forward, a faint whip of irritation in his placid field. "I am choosing to give us both an opportunity to know the other without pretense or guile."

Ricochet shrugged. "Ah won' be goin' easeh on ya."

Prowl smiled faintly. "I can accept that."

"Then we have a deal."