A/N: Alright, so this one took me a little longer to crank out, on account of certain saboteurs refusing to let me into their headspaces. O.O;

And yes, that's right, saboteurs—this chap is definitely Prowl/Jazz. The next will be Wheeljack/Bluestreak, so if P/J is not your cuppa, feel free to skip this one, though you might miss something important (or not -.-;).

Thanks to everyone who reviewed, and also to the fabulous VAWitch for beta-reading. XD

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Jazz was not sure whether he would rather jump up and laugh for joy, or break down and wail in despair. His optics hungrily took in the details of Prowl's resting face, but he couldn't quite bring himself to believe that this was real.

It was all so unfair.

His beautiful, logical Prowl, come back to him through impossible odds, barely even remembered his own name.

He supposed it was Primus having a laugh at him, payback for all the mischief he'd caused in his life—though he couldn't for the spark of him think of what he'd done that was so terrible as to deserve this. (So, sure, he'd occasionally helped the Lamborghini twins in some of their nefarious plots, but, honestly…!)

Prowl shifted restlessly, and his optics unshuttered to look into Jazz's, hidden behind the visor. The saboteur had the feeling that his bondmate had seen right through his impassive expression to the roiling emotions underneath, and it unsettled him a little.

"Good morning," Jazz said quietly.

Prowl cocked his head quizzically. "Good morning," he echoed, and then frowned. "Why do you say good morning, even if you do not think that it is particularly good?" he asked, puzzled.

"It's just a greetin', Prowler," the saboteur replied, feeling his lips quirk in a smile despite his dismal mood. It was just such a Prowl thing to ask that it comforted him somewhat.

"It doesn't make much sense," the tactician commented, but made no further remark on the subject. He regarded Jazz in bemusement. "Are you terribly upset?" he finally asked in a soft voice.

Jazz arched an optic ridge. "About what, Prowler?"

Prowl ducked his head shyly. "About me not remembering anything," he murmured, sounding embarrassed.

"Oh, Prowl," Jazz said sadly. "That's not your fault, love."

The Datsun just blinked at him, and then sat up to stretch the stiffness out of joints that, until yesterday, had been long unused. He gave the saboteur a wry look after he settled. "That doesn't make you any less upset about it," he pointed out mildly.

"I'm glad you're alive," Jazz said, a non sequitur that he could tell had not sidetracked Prowl at all.

"I know," the Datsun replied simply. He gave Jazz a considering look. "So," he said hesitantly, "are you going to tell me the specifics of my past? Seeing as how Sideswipe didn't get into much more detail than that we all crashed here and have been fighting Decepticons…" He paused, and then added softly, "Maybe if you tell me what I was like, what I did, who my friends were, then perhaps I'll find something that I remember."

"Yeah," Jazz whispered. "Yeah, I can do that, Prowler." He cycled air through his vents, the equivalent of a human taking a deep breath to steady himself, and continued, "You're a tactician—and you were Optimus Prime's Second in Command. I think that maybe Prime would have passed the Matrix of Leadership to you, if you hadn't been… lost." (Though privately he admitted that that probably would have been a mistake; he loved Prowl dearly, but he wasn't quite sure that his bondmate had it in him to be Prime. Besides, what the frag would they call him?) The saboteur gave a short, bitter laugh. "Primus knows that Ultra Magnus really wasn't prepared to receive it," he muttered. "And to be honest, I'm not certain that Hot Rod—Rodimus Prime—was ready for it either. Kid's always second-guessing himself, even though he ain't done too bad so far."

"I was Prime's Second?" Prowl asked, optics wide.

The Porsche smiled slightly. "Well, sure," he replied gently. "Didn't you hear Sides earlier?"

"I was a bit preoccupied," the Datsun muttered, shrugging defensively. "I was too busy being amazed that I'm still alive." He shuddered and looked away. "The only thing that I really remember is being shot and then reaching out for you—before that, and after that, there's nothing until we all woke up." He looked back up, optics burning fiercely. "I remember loving you, but not why."

Jazz's fuel pump stuttered at that, and for a moment all he could do was stare. Then, carefully, he gathered his bondmate up in his arms and held him tenderly, half surprised that Prowl didn't resist. "I love you," he whispered, "so very much… I wanted to die when I thought I lost ya, and couldn't because of everythin' that was happenin' with Unicron. And then, when everything was over, I thought that I was goin' crazy because I could still sense ya."

Prowl shuddered. "I just wish I could remember," he said, almost plaintively. He hid his face against his bondmate's neck, and Jazz tightened his embrace, holding him closer.

"Hey," Jazz said, gently nudging at Prowl until the other mech sat up enough to look at him. "I've got an idea," he announced, and the Datsun's optics brightened hopefully. "Maybe I can take ya around, see some stuff that should be familiar—it might jog your memory a bit. Feel up to it?"

"I think I can manage," Prowl replied hesitantly, and then, in a move that startled Jazz to his core, pressed a quick, nervous peck of a kiss to the Porsche's lips. Jazz could only stare at him, frozen for a short moment at the sensation, however brief, of something he never thought to feel again. "It seemed like the right thing to do," Prowl said, embarrassed again and refusing to lift his gaze from the sight of his own hand, which had somehow become entwined with Jazz's while neither of them were looking.

"It's alright," Jazz murmured. "Ya just… surprised me, is all." He shook himself a little, and then got to his feet, pulling Prowl with him. "Well, c'mon. The day ain't gettin' no younger, and I wanna take ya to see th' Ark, gutted though she is. We spent a lot more time there than we ever did here with Metroplex."

"Metroplex?" Prowl asked, letting the saboteur lead him wherever he would.

Jazz grinned. "Yeah," he chuckled. "Metroplex. Autobot City."

Prowl's optics widened. "You mean to tell me that the city—"

"—is actually a gargantuan mech? A good part of it is," Jazz laughed outright at the Datsun's expression. "Just don't piss him off, and you'll be fine. Ain't that right Met?" He directed the last to the room at large, and the lights blinked at them in return. "This area ain't actually part of him, but he's got sensors and controls throughout the City, so he knows what's goin' on and can defend it if he needs to."

"Can't he transform?" Prowl asked softly.

Jazz shook his head sadly. "His transformation cog was busted durin' the big fight," he replied. "Last I heard Percy was designin' him a new one."

"Oh." Prowl looked a little unsettled, but Jazz wasn't too worried; the saboteur knew that, given some time to wrap his mind around it, he'd be fine.

Introductions to Metroplex out of the way, Jazz led the resurrected tactician out into the corridor and they began to make their way to the nearest exit. The Porsche hoped that they might escape without seeing anyone—he really didn't feel up to dealing with anyone else's reaction to Prowl's return from death—but luck was not with him: Cliffjumper stood just outside the exterior door, looking uncharacteristically melancholy.

Jazz realized abruptly that he hadn't really seen much of the red minibot since their mutual escape from death at the hands of Unicron. He supposed that he'd been too wrapped up in his own grief to notice that of the people around him, and it hit him hard that he was not the only one who'd experienced loss. He glanced at Prowl, who was looking at him oddly, and felt a sudden stab of guilt; after all, Cliffjumper's closest friends were still dead.

"Jazz?" Prowl murmured questioningly and, at the unexpected sound, Cliffjumper whirled around to face them. When he realized who had spoken, the red Porsche's optics grew so round that Jazz thought they might fall out of his head, and he drew back a step in shock.

"P-prowl?" he asked, in a quavering voice, staring as though at an apparition.

"Yes?" Prowl inquired politely, a slight frown of confusion marring his smooth features.

A few wordless, choked noises escaped Cliffjumper's vocalizer before he managed to stammer, "H-how?"

The Datsun hesitated. "I—don't know," he confessed, a bit helplessly.

"I thought that Rodimus and company let everyone know yesterday," Jazz interjected softly.

The minibot twitched, his gaze jerking to the saboteur as though he had forgotten his presence. "Yeah," he said at length, apparently gathering his wits about him. "But I didn't believe them." He turned his optics back to Prowl. "I do now," he added in a whisper. He shuddered before scrubbing a hand over his face and looking to Jazz once again. "How did you find out?" he asked, sounding almost desperate for some reason.

Jazz's brow furrowed in concern. "Well," he began tentatively, "you know how much crazier than usual Sunstreaker's been actin'…" He trailed off, and when Cliffjumper nodded cautiously he continued. "Everyone thought he'd gone off the deep end; he kept insistin' that Ratchet was still alive. Not even Sideswipe believed him, the poor fragger—and then he decides to wrestle Siders to the ground and yank his chestplate open, all because of some dream he had. And what do you know, there's Ratchet's spark, nestled all snug-like up against Sideswipe's. So First Aid, who'd seen the whole thing, calls Swoop to drag me'n Blue down to medbay. Turns out, both of us had been havin' the same symptoms—a lingerin' awareness of our bondmates—only we just weren't as obvious about it as the Sunflower was. The rest, as they say, is history."

Cliffjumper nodded again, this time distractedly. "I've… gotta go," he said, obviously upset. He hurried past them into the corridor without another word, and they didn't try to stop him.

"I know him," Prowl said, though there was a questioning lilt to his voice that made Jazz think that the Datsun was looking for confirmation of something he suspected, rather than actually remembering anything.

"Yeah," Jazz replied. "His name's Cliffjumper. He was good friends with Windcharger and Brawn." Saying their names hurt more than he had thought it would, and Prowl, sensing his distress, touched his shoulder gently. "C'mon," the saboteur said abruptly in a rough voice, "let's get out of here."

Prowl nodded, and together they transformed and sped away from Autobot City.

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The Ark, as Jazz had promised, was a gutted ruin. Anything that someone thought might possibly be of use had been salvaged, and very little remained behind. Jazz just looked around silently; he had known, of course, that a team had been sent to practically dismantle her, but he'd never actually taken the time to come see for himself.

It was… disheartening.

There was little that was recognizable, even to the saboteur. Oh, the landscape was the same as always, and he'd felt a surprising bout of homesickness and nostalgia when they had first glimpsed the ship's rusting thrusters protruding from the mountain, but inside… inside nothing was spared.

Jazz sighed. "I'm beginnin' to think that this was a waste of time," he said uneasily as they wandered down corridors that had once been as familiar as the back of his own hand. They were dead and empty now, devoid of the life that had once echoed down them. He shivered, stopping to peer into the remains of what had once been Wheeljack's lab. For the first time, he felt himself smile; there were still tell-tale scorch marks on the walls.

"What is it?" Prowl asked, noticing his amusement and looking over his shoulder into the room. "I don't see anything but some old burn marks," he commented, sounding confused. Jazz laughed in spite of himself.

"For as many incredible things as Wheeljack made, there were just as many that blew up in his face," the Porsche replied, chuckling. "This was his workspace," he added, indicating the now-bare room.

Prowl blinked. "Oh," was all he said, and then he was off somewhere else, investigating everything in the hopes that something would spark a memory. He trailed his fingers along the walls and poked his head into every room that they passed. Jazz contented himself with watching him indulgently; the Datsun forcibly reminded him of a newly-activated sparkling, insatiably curious about everything around him.

And the more Jazz thought about it, the more that he came to realize that, in essence, that was what Prowl was now. The tactician remembered nothing save the last few frantic moments of his previous life; he was a blank slate—a sparkling.

"You're upset again," Prowl observed, leaving off his exploration in favor of finding out what was bothering Jazz.

"It's nothin'," Jazz said quietly. "Just thinkin'."

"Hmm."

"Ya don't believe me, do you?"

A shrug, accompanied by a level stare. "I won't lie to you," the Datsun said steadily.

Jazz smiled. "I know," he murmured. "C'mon—your old office is this way," he added, neatly sidestepping his bondmate's unspoken question. Prowl frowned, but let it go and followed the saboteur in silence.

There was nothing in the office to distinguish it from any other room when they reached it, and Jazz sighed in defeat when he saw the bare walls and floor. "Not even a bolt left," he muttered, dismayed.

"They were pretty thorough," Prowl remarked, looking around inquisitively.

"'Waste not, want not,'" Jazz quoted ruefully. "Though I guess it would be a shame to let it all rot just for the sake of sentiment."

"It would make no sense to leave it if it can be put to good use elsewhere," the Datsun agreed, stopping to examine a discolored patch on the wall.

Jazz kicked half-heartedly at the door facing. "Doesn't leave us much to work with as far as gettin' your memory back, though," he said with a terrible disappointment in his voice.

"I suppose not," Prowl said apologetically.

"Would you stop actin' like any of this is your fault?" Jazz asked, irritated in spite of himself. "I mean, it's not like you just up and planned to die and then come back without your memories."

"I suppose not," the tactician repeated in an even softer voice.

Jazz made a small noise of frustration. "Well, since this obviously isn't workin', how about we head back to the City? I know you've gotta be tired by now," he said firmly, and Prowl nodded thoughtfully.

"I could use some fuel," he admitted shyly, smiling so sweetly at Jazz that the saboteur's spark jumped in its casing, and he couldn't help but smile back.

"Alright," was all he said, and they left the ruined wreck that had been their home behind.

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They were hailed by Blaster as soon as they came within sensor range of Autobot City. :Hey, hey, there you are! We were just about to send a search party for ya!: he exclaimed, a hint of worry showing in his boisterous voice.

Jazz winced. :Sorry 'bout that: he commed back. :Guess I forgot to let someone know where we were goin'.: Actually, he had forgotten that anyone cared where they were going, but Blaster was a close enough friend that he wasn't about to let him know that Jazz felt that way.

:We?: Blaster asked softly. :So it's true, then? He's alive?:

:He is: the saboteur confirmed.

For a moment, the normally glib-tongued communications officer seemed at a loss for words, before saying lamely, :Well, you take care, and congrats, okay? Blaster out: and the transmission was cut. Jazz snorted—apparently no one really knew how to deal with this business with the dead coming back to life.

Or how to talk to the ones most affected by it. He sighed to himself.

Once inside the city, Jazz decided to go ahead and brave what their human allies had dubbed the 'kitchen'—it was a communal area for mechs to get their energon and socialize—he figured that he might as well get it over with now rather than later.

Complete silence fell over the room when they stepped through the door, interrupted only by the soft sounds of the TV in one corner, and all optics—and eyes—turned to them. The bond between them vibrated with tension as they retrieved an energon cube apiece and made their way to a table in the corner, feeling their every move being watched as they did so. Jazz was not surprised when they were approached; what surprised him was who approached them. Prowl regarded the bespectacled, wheelchair-bound human curiously.

"Ah, hey, Prowl—it's… good to see you out and about," Chip said hesitantly, seeming unsure of himself, but obviously unwilling to just stand back and say nothing. "How are you doing?"

"I am as well as can be expected, I suppose," Prowl replied politely. "And you?"

Chip inclined his head. "The same, I guess," he murmured. He let out a soft breath. He suddenly gave the tactician a wry smile. "It didn't really sink in—that you were alive, I mean—until I saw you just now. I'm… uh… a little overwhelmed, to be honest." His face abruptly fell. "You really don't remember me, do you?" he asked sorrowfully, gazing upward at the mech who had once been his friend. "We used to play chess, every now and then," he added, hopefully. Prowl just gave him a regretful look.

"I am sorry," the Datsun said sincerely. "I do wish I could remember. It will probably take some time before my memories return, I'm afraid."

Chip nodded in acceptance. "Well," he said determinedly, "if there's ever anything I can do for you to help you get them back, just let me know, alright?"

"I will certainly keep that in mind, Chip—thank you," Prowl said solemnly, not really taking note of the odd look that the human shared with Jazz.

Chip glanced at his wristwatch before saying quietly, "I better get going—I've got a meeting to get in a little while, and I don't want to be late. I guess I'll see you guys later—let me know if anything happens, will you, Jazz?"

"Sure thing," the saboteur replied, inexplicably chipper all of a sudden.

Prowl arched an optic ridge at his bondmate once the human had gone. "What is so amusing? Chip seems to be a very polite person—that is what you said his name was, isn't it?" His expression became worried. "Please tell me I didn't call him the wrong name!" he fretted.

Jazz chuckled, sounding almost relieved. "No, it was the right name… but I didn't tell it to you. You did that all on your own," he said, grinning broadly. "We might have a chance at this, after all."

Prowl's optics widened, and he stared after the retreating human with a considering look before turning back to Jazz. "That we might," he whispered, hope creeping back into his voice.