Disclaimer: Don't own Transformers…
Warnings: Unbetaed. (I will likely edit this more in the future, but right now I'm tired and just want to watch a movie with my family.)
Pairing: Jazz/Prowl
AN: Thank you TfJazz and Starfire201 for reviewing. Please enjoy!
(Edited…)
Prompt- Warmth
The darkness was heavy, as to how such a concept could be so Prowl had no answer, but somehow he could feel the weight that seemed to linger in it, like a hand placed firmly upon is chassis, holding him still. It made him uneasy, but he was a rational bot, and so shrugged it off as the aftereffects of the medical grade he'd been suggested- demanded- to take from their CMO before he'd lost communication with Lacon headquarters.
Persistent whispers of doubt lingered over him though, haunting him with possibilities and not so pleasant scenarios of the potential dangers that thrived in the shadowed corners of this war. He quickly smothered them with logic and an iron will.
But the fact still remained that he was on a small ship, trapped in the ruins of a rusting city, completely isolated from outside help, without communication or a power source to get the vessel moving, and deep in Decepticon territory. His entire frame was wound up with tension, and even the slightest change in his environment had him on edge.
He'd heard of the shadow dwellers, cruel, cold creatures that had merely been stories for campsite entertainment when the energon was flowing and a good scaring was needed to keep the troops on their peds, distant fantasies that plagued young cadet's nightmares. They had once been nothing more than a passing fancy of thought for Prowl, but in the black confines of his ship, with the silence his only company and the images of hollow-opticed frames haunting his every thought, he could not help but dwell on the possibly.
A gust of air ghosted over Prowl's plating, like a gentle caress, and he shivered at the icy feeling that crept along his circuits. He convinced himself he was merely tired, that he was imagining the sudden swell of knowing that rose within him, because there was no ventilation in this ship- there had been no need for it. So logically, there could not have been a draft. It was an improbability.
All was silent for a time, not even the telltale clank of shifting armor giving indication as to the potential nightmare stalking the shadows beside him. He was laying facing the ships only entrance, staring into the darkness, waiting for even the slightest shift in air current, for the softest vibration of sound across his door wings.
It was a small ship, meant for stealth and quick maneuvers, barely able to comfortably accommodate three bots. There was nowhere for anyone to hide, and by extension, nowhere for him to run. He was trapped with whatever might be aboard the aircraft with him.
He was not comforted by his newfound vulnerability.
His finger was on the trigger to his weapon, steady, but very stiff, and no matter what logic dictated he could not find it in him to take that finger off of it.
A flicker of movement ghosted a warning across his sensory net, and in an instant his gun was raised, optics skimming the shadows, door wings tense and taking in all changes in the ship's interior. Something was there, of that he now had no doubt, but he could not track it.
It was too dark, too quiet, too tense. A chill run down his back strut, a pinch of fear swelled in his spark, and he felt the slightest tremor in the hand whose finger was still on the weapon's trigger.
A sense of foreboding creped through his frame, but before he could comprehend its origin he felt a presence make itself known…behind him.
"Why don't ya put da gun down, lil' praxian?"
Prowl whipped around and fired a shot, the plasma blast soaring through the empty space between him and the wall, leaving a dark, smoking stain upon it that Prowl couldn't rightfully make out in the dark of the room, but could smell very clearly. His spark near stopped when he realized there was nothing there, that he had missed his target, or worse, was starting to hear things. That would not bode well for the Autobots.
A rush of air beside him; Prowl lashed out with his elbow joint in that direction.
He met with nothing but the faint smell of charred metal.
A soft chill ran through his arm, and he nearly jumped when a voice whispered into his audio receptor. "Ah got all night ta play dis game, lil' praxian. Ah jus' wanna talk ta ya."
The Autobot stiffened, but did not try to further engage the unseen bot, having realized very quickly that he was simply outclassed in terms of stealth with such an opponent as this. If there was any sort of compromise that could be made in place of actual hand-to-hand combat, he knew he'd have to take it, and he was just grateful that seemed to be an option now.
Straightening himself to something of a dignified manner, he addressed the unseen bot with great caution. "Why have you boarded my ship without authorization? You are not an Autobot." And that was true. Prowl couldn't detect an identifier on the bot, in fact, he couldn't detect him at all.
The thought unnerved Prowl.
"An' there in lies da question. What is a Autobot doin' here in da lower levels?" Though he couldn't see the intruder, Prowl got the distinct feeling that the other was watching him intently, studying him with no small amount of curiosity.
It was unsettling.
" I am on patrol. I was sent here to scout the area for survivors and lie low for the time being." That was not a complete lie, but only about half the truth of the matter as well. The last thing he needed was for a bot of unknown fraction or origin knowing he, the Autobot's second in command, was stranded here with no means of calling for help.
There was silence, and for reasons unknown the praxian felt compelled to maintain that silence. There was something about this unknown bot that made Prowl uneasy, but at the same time not entirely threatened by his presence. This contradiction began to wreak havoc on his logic circuits.
The sensation of a single digit tracing along a recently acquired battle scar caused him to jerk away, his processor swirling to life as the implications such insight had. His battle computer was now completely booted up and running calculations.
He knew. This bot knew he was alone. If there was one thing Prowl recognized right then, it was a bot that was not going to fall for petty games of bluffs and deception. When it came down it, Prowl knew this thing between them, this tension, would be a battle of wills and wit.
"That bad huh?" Prowl could all but sense the smirk that'd doubtlessly wormed its way onto the other's mouth. "A CMO that tells da Autobot second in command ta drink his medi-grade every recharge cycle yet neglects ta weld da rip in his armor." This time Prowl did not pull away from the finger tracing the shagged tear. "Highly unlikely if da rumors 'bout da Autobot's infamous Ratchet da Hatchet have truth ta them."
Prowl tensed, his frame bodily leaning away from where the other's presence seemed strongest, being sure that no parts of their frames were in contact. Every sensor he had was on full alert.
As if to amend for having unnerved the Autobot, the unknown continued. "Ya still have da smell of medi-grade on ya glossa." Just as Prowl was beginning to calculate what the bot had been trying to achieve by smelling his mouth, the voice continued. "But Autobot communications lines aren't very secure in these lower levels anyway."
Silently, Prowl sent a suspicious, knowing look into the darkness, understanding the implications immediately. This bot had been following him for some time, hacking into his communication lines and restricted files. He felt an indignant flush of heat sweep through his frame.
"What do you want? You are obviously not here for information, since you seem perfectly capably of obtaining that without assistance, and you don't seem to be here to assassinate me, since you seem to have the upper hand and have not offlined me yet. So, what is your purpose in coming here?"
"Simple." The bot began, and Prowl, though he didn't have a clean-cut picture in his processors of what this other bot looked like, could imagine the other shrugging his shoulders. "Ah want ta share ya berth, and in return, ah'll serve da Autobot cause"
Prowl's logic circuits stuttered at that, before his frame tensed in rage at the possible implications of those words. "What? Are you suggesting that I-"
A hand on his shoulder stopped the tactician mid-sentence. "Ya do not have ta interface with me. I just wanna hold ya. That's all ah want."
Prowl remained silent, not sure what to believe of this bot- and having an even harder time deciphering the bot's true intentions. He sounded sincere, desperate almost, but he still couldn't see the other bot, and above all else, that's what was unnerving the praxian most.
"Let me see your face." Prowl commanded tonelessly, though there was a slight quiver in it.
He could not defeat this bot in hand to hand, that much was obvious just in the presence he gave off, and even if he did manage to put some distance between them and draw his weapon to the ready, this bot was obviously too well adapted to the dark confines of the lower levels to be hit in any place other than an open battlefield.
A gleam of misty white locked on him for the first time, its ghostly color lighting the dark room in a way that Prowl's own blue optics could not compete. The light was steady, but weighted with an intensity that almost, almost, frightened the Autobot. It was as though that white gleam had seen the world and taken the burden of its sins upon itself.
Prowl knew it was the other's optics- visor, searching and calculating as they were, but Prowl also felt something else in those hidden depths; longing.
"Sure thing."
The crackle of a flare being activated was the only warning Prowl had before the room was cast into a haze of luminosity, temporarily blinding the Autobot officer. It burned to be in the light after having been trapped in the dark confines of his ship for so long, and he had to cover his optics at the intensity even this miniscule amount of light seemed to hold for him.
After a few moments to adjust to the change in brightness, Prowl was finally able to unshutter his optics and truly look the other for the first time.
He was quite shocked by what he found.
The bot was a bit taller than him, but slimmer and more compact, with a white visor that seemed to highlight the semi-smug smirk forming across his smooth lips. Black and white coloring, eerily similar but inversely different from the praxian's own, seemed to shine in the light, proud and gleaming in a way the Autobot had not even considered a possibility in conditions such as those of the lower levels. The sensory horns upon his helm were elegant, in a sturdy kind of way, and the narrow but healthy fill out of his face gave him a youthful quality. He really was beautiful, alarmingly so.
"See somethin' ya like, Autobot Prowl?" That smirk seemed to widen in such a way that could be seen as teasing, but by the way that visor visibly dimmed, Prowl knew there was more to it than that; an invitation for something more than a casual partnership.
For a moment Prowl hesitated, because with his usual stern and stoic personality, it was not often that he was propositioned for anything other than work related activities, and he was not use to having a bot of any kind of beauty taking interest in him. But this only lasted but a brief moment before his logic circuits caught up with him.
Prowl asked the questions that now dominated his processors, with no small amount of suspicion. "Why such a request? Surely you must have some place to go if you've been living down here for as long as your behavior patterns suggests." Then, his face scrunched up just the slightest bit, Prowl continued. "And seeing as you've read my files and intercepted my comm. transmissions, you know I possess no talent for social interaction other than the commander/subordinate role. Why chose a bot who cannot give the intimacy you seem to be seeking?"
The smirk that had been so strong but a few moments ago died down at those words. The other tilted his helm a bit, as though contemplating the praxian's inquires, before tightening his lips into a frown.
"You are stability, something ah do not possess." At the slightly stunned look that flittered across Prowl's face, the other continued. "Look at me. Most neva see pass this gleam of paint an' visor ah wear." Something dangerous glinted in that said visor, and Prowl understood what he was trying to say with startling clarity. "Ah'm not completely here an' my spark knows it." A dark chuckle, something Prowl had to fight not to shy away from. "Ah can feel it callin' out for balance, always has been, an' dat balance is you."
Prowl turned away, knowing now that this bot's plight was genuine, for he too knew what it was like to feel incomplete, but more than that, he could only imagine what it must be like to fight such feelings without a battle computer to dull the turmoil of such pain. Sometimes, he could barely handle the flood of longing even with it in place.
Every spark searches for balance, some more strongly than others, and though most connections never move on to a true spark bond, the closeness of having another synchronize with their spark waves is enough. This is especially true in times of great distress, such as war, when ones will power is stressed to the breaking point.
"I see." Prowl clenched his dentals, debating on how to approach this delicate situation, but decided that if this bot truly did want to connect with him, he'd have to pose the question eventually. "This maybe an absurd question, but are you-" Now Prowl felt truly ridiculous, he turned his helm away in shame, a far off look in his optics.
What was he thinking? Shadow dwellers? Those are tales made to frighten new recruits.
But before he could berate himself any further for even considering such a possibility, a hand grabbed hold of his own and placed it to the others spark chamber.
Prowl gasped at the shock of cold that spiked through his sensory net and jolted away from the frigid metal, staring with unnaturally bright optics to the bot sitting patiently beside him. His processors were racing, spark surging with shock, battle computer not quite able to comprehend such a notion as the one he was faced with.
A spark that was still pulsing with life, but was as frozen as the bitter expanse of space. It simply was not possible.
"Ah guess ya could say shadow dwellers are real, just not quite what ya expected." The bot began, pulling his hand away from where it'd been left suspended in midair. "An' yes, ah'm one of dem. Don't worry though, we're not all quite as bad as da rumors tell." Suddenly he grinned, wide and as bright as the sun itself, thrusting out his hand again in greeting. "Ah'm Jazz by da way, Jazz da saboteur. Ah already know ya name though- so, do we have a deal?" Prowl stared at the hand for a moment, before his senses caught up with him.
He hesitated, before his said as simply and as straightforwardly as he could manage, his resolve set. "Jazz, I am afraid I cannot help you in the way you believe me capable of." His brow ridges pulled together into a slightly apologetic expression. "I know nothing of shadow dwellers or their- conditions, other than what I have heard on passing. I am sorry." Jazz shook his helm, and Prowl paused from what he was about to say next.
He took hold of Prowl's hand again and placed it back over the spark chamber once more, but this time, Prowl did not pull away.
"Feel that." Jazz said lightly, beginning to caress a thumb over the back of the tactician's hand. Prowl tried to steel himself against it, but it was a failing endeavor. His own spark was beginning to call out for closeness, something he had been sorely lacking for far too long- even if the spark it wanted was as cold as ice. "It was not doin' that a few cycles ago."
Prowl was not a cold-sparked bot, far from it in fact, and the more he heard the hope in the other's voice, felt the growing warmth upon the other's plating and deep, deep within his spark, felt those reassuring caresses against his hand, the more his resolve wavered.
"When ah'm with ya, ah feel more alive than ah have durin' my entire functioning." Jazz said seriously, not a hint of deceit in his tone, both hands now holding to Prowl's one, moving closer to the other bot with slow, sure precision. "Ah don't know how this happened, but ah know this is real. Ah know 'cause this is da first time in vorns ah've felt anythin'. But ah also know that dis is a lot ta ask of ya, 'specially since we jus' met."
Prowl was torn. They had just met, and he'd just learned this bot's name and that he was a shadow dweller, though now he was brought to question the legitimacy of those early campsite tales, and now that bot was asking to allow him into his berth as his companion.
There was no shame in having or being a companion. In fact, it was encouraged among the troops to establish such bonds as a way to maintain moral. Prowl himself had had a companion long ago when he was just a new recruit himself, but developing the trust needed for such a bond takes time, and he was hesitant about connecting to this virtually unknown bot.
However, he was also very lonely.
"Alright. I will share my berth with you and allow our sparks to synchronize." Prowl sighed, sounding defeated but not all too disappointed with this development. "However-" Prowl continued, just as a smile came to Jazz's face and he was reaching for the Autobot's hand. "You are not to tell anyone I assumed you were a night dweller." The twins would never let him live it down if they knew their commander had been unable to recharge because he was thinking about campsite stories.
Jazz laughed in understanding, something he'd not done in a long time, taking in the completely serious expression that had formed on Prowl's face as he'd mumbled those words. He'd heard enough about the twins to know what they were like, and frankly, he didn't blame the tactician.
Prowl smiled too, because it was good to have someone beside him again, someone who would become more than just a passing acquaintance. It was nice to have someone who would stay beside him once more. And as Prowl felt strong arms wrap around him and pull him close into a comforting embrace, felt how the cold spark beside him begun to warm at his presence, how the frame against him began to relax at his touch, and heard how the mech beside him sighed in contentment, Prowl couldn't stop from thinking that maybe, just maybe, this wouldn't be so bad after all.
Unfortunately, Prowl would learn three cycles later that Jazz had been the one who'd pulled out his ship's power core just so they could have that meeting in a more private setting. Prowl had given Jazz the silent treatment for the rest of that cycle.
However, neither of them have ever regretting that meeting. Not when the truth of their meeting got out, and most certainly not when they spark bonded so many vorns later.
…To this day, Jazz still has that power core in his subspace.
AN: Jazz and Prowl are always in so right together- ALWAYS. This one is a semi-fluff/angst kind of story that was just made to inspire more Jazz/Prowl stories. But I love it so!
Also, if anyone's wondering why Jazz's accent goes from "dat" to "that", etc., it's because when I've listened to people that have that speaking style, they tend to pronounce their words at the beginning and end of their sentences more than in the middle, and tend to pronounce more when they have slower sentences, than when they have long or more quickly spoken ones. I could be wrong though, since I mostly get my accent writing styles from listening to my brother and his friends talking. (However, this is fanfiction, so I'm hoping no one's going to bite my head off just because Jazz's accent isn't perfect.)
Please review…
