He wandered the halls, contemplating what was said to him, not sure what he would do as he let his feet carry him where they pleased. He sighed, feeling confused and even more embarrassed than he had been before he talked to his superior. He wished slightly that he could go back and erase what he had done, for he was sure that the cop had managed to see past his words.
Jazz's mind kept flitting to different circumstances and with every new thought it made him more and more uneasy about what he had wanted to do. Only a tiny portion of his conscious told him that Prowl would accept what he wanted to tell him, while the rest of him was filled with doubt and regret. The Porsche wanted badly to tell Prowl how he felt, but was afraid of the consequences, afraid that his feelings would tear apart their friendship.
'That won't happen,' argued a voice in his head; did robots have consciences? 'You've been friends with him forever, why would he reject you?'
'This is strange,' he argued back to the voice. 'Prowl's my best friend; if I tell him it could destroy what we already have. Besides, he doesn't like me that way.'
There was silence for a moment before the voice answered. 'Only one way to find out, is there?'
Jazz shook his head, knowing that the voice in his head was just his own doubt. "I could never tell him," he mumbled.
"Tell who what?" a voice from behind him spoke quietly. Turning, Jazz saw that it was Tracks, the blue Firebird smug as always, a strut in his gait as he walked toward the young mech.
"Oh, good morning to you too, Tracks," Jazz smiled lightly. "Nothing really, just something that's on my mind."
Tracks looked at Jazz with an air of pleasant curiosity, a small smirk across his red lips. "Oh?" he asked in that same quiet voice. "Care to share?" he cocked his head as he said it, his hands placed behind his back.
Jazz shook his head. "No, not really. It's kind of private…" he trailed off as Tracks began to walk toward him, that same smug look painting his features. Jazz looked uneasy again as he began to walk backward; something about the Firebird's nature had always made Jazz uncomfortable.
The Porsche's back bumped into a wall, startling him and halting his backward movements. Raising a hand, Tracks placed it on the wall above Jazz's head, the Firebird's head no more than a foot away from Jazz's. "Ah, come on, you can tell me…" The Firebird exuded an air of something sly as he inched closer to Jazz, the Porsche pressed up against the wall looking slightly frightened. Jazz's optics had to work to keep Track's face in focus.
"No, I'd rather not…" Jazz mumbled, his optics shifting around him as he tried to scoot along the wall to get away from Tracks' gaze. The Firebird had always made him weary and this sure was no exception to the matter as Tracks' optics relentlessly watched him, unmoving with that smirk upon his face.
Tracks leaned in even closer to Jazz than he was before, the smug look getting worse as their faces were now mere inches apart. "Tell me…" he mumbled through that creepy smile of his. "What do you see in your best friend that drags you to him?" Jazz's optics widened at Tracks' sentence, and in turn the Firebird's smirk got wider. "What makes your friendship with him… tick?"
Jazz dodged under Tracks' arm and backed up, wanting feverishly to put as much distance between him and the blue mech as possible. Tracks watched him go off, the smirk still upon his features as he turned and went in the opposite direction humming a cheerful tune.

A slight tapping motion had come to Prowl's fingers as he worked, tapping the rhythm to a song that his subconscious remembered from a time long ago. Throughout his work that day, he kept getting interrupted by other thoughts, despite his efforts to block him out. He had a data file for the ark's updated security system in front of him and he was supposed to hand it in to Optimus Prime for approval when the leader came back from his assignment that night, but the report wasn't anywhere near completion. Prowl grumbled, taking another sip from the cup next to him and grimaced slightly as the bitter Energon filled his mouth.
His optics wandered around his desk, laying, once again, on the sheet of browned paper. Picking it up he turned it over, hoping to find a name on the back, but no such luck had availed him. Sighing, he leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling, knowing full well the amount of work he had to get through, but the more he thought about it the less he liked it.
An idea struck his fancy and he lifted his head to look at the paper again. The notion of asking Ratchet about the slanted handwriting had presented itself again, this time, though, it was like the idea was more of a demand as Prowl was determined to find out who was leaving the nameless notes for him to find. He would find the medic and ask him straight out, not letting anything get in his way, positively determined to get his answer, be it the one he wants to hear or not.

The medical officer was in his office pouring over those insanely boring health notes that he hated so much, staring moodily at Sunstreaker's record. He hated going over this mech's record because of the amount of data he always had to go over. "I swear," the medic said to an empty office. "I will melt you down for spare parts one of these days..." putting the pad down, he entered the data in his main server as he heard a noise in the Medbay. Looking up, he saw Prowl slowly walking toward his office.
"Morning, Ratchet," the cop said lightly as he reached the medic's office door. "Mind if I bother you for a few minutes?"
Wondering what could be going through the mech's head when he knew that Prowl had plenty of work to do, Ratchet nodded. "Sure, Prowl." Motioning to a chair opposite his desk, the white mech smiled. "What can I help you with?" Taking the chair offered him, Prowl smiled at Ratchet, silent for a while. The medic laced his hands together and waited for his long-time friend to speak.
"Someone has been inadvertently leaving noted for me to find," the cop began, looking slightly confused. "The handwriting was slanted and very scrunched together. I figured you get to see everyone's handwriting so I thought you might be able to help me."
Ratchet cocked his head at this odd request, confused slightly himself. "A bot's writing style…?" he muttered slowly. "Strange request… But I don't know right off-hand…" he looked at Prowl with curious optics. "What did the note say? Anything in particular?" He watched Prowl's face flush red and noted that the cop was fidgeting slightly at the question.
"It's… kind of private…" Prowl stated quietly. "I've come across the note twice, first on my room's wall then in a drawer of my office desk," he looked up at Ratchet. "Can't you find out for me?" His face looked desperate, and Ratchet was suddenly interested at why Prowl wanted this particular information.
He went into a screen in his desk, quickly importing data. "Well," he said. "I don't really have any 'slanted writing' in here…" Prowl looked thoroughly disappointed at the news. Ratchet didn't want the mech to leave empty-handed, so he continued quickly. "But I do have one bot whose letters are very squeezed together." that got the cop's attention, his optics wide. Spinning the screen around on his desk to face Prowl, he let the mech examine the words on his own. He watched as the cop's face lit up, a smile spreading slowly across his lips and a tinge of red appearing on his cheeks as he read some of the words on the screen. He looked ready to speak when a furious hammering came to the Medbay doors.
Both bots jumped in alarm as the doors flew open to admit Ironhide, a moody old gunslinger. Ratchet's medical programming was racing as he saw the heady wounds and even a missing arm as the soldier spoke out feverishly.
"Decepticon… Seekers-!" the red bot gasped, his voice extremely strained. "Autobots captured-!" he fell over and collapsed, fainting on the hard floor with a dull thud.