Happy New Year's. This was going to be much different, but my hard drive to my desk top crashed Monday, the day when I was going to save it on a flash drive, and I wasn't too happy. Still am not happy, because I had a couple other stories I lost because they were on my desk top. Nonetheless, I wrote this last night and am now posting it.


The Fourth Year

Jazz drummed his digits against the berth as he laid staring up at the ceiling. He wished he could be doing anything but what he was doing-laying down uselessly and not even tired enough to go into recharge. He'd tried, too, to go into recharge, but he'd spent the past few hours attempting to doze off with no success whatsoever. His exposed optics narrowed in irritation.

Why had the Decepticons chosen to attack when they had? They certainly had lousy timing, attacking a few days before New Year's Day. The consequences of their attack were in the medbay, a few injured mecha resting unhappily. At least nobody had been killed, though that was hardly a plus for Jazz. He just wanted to be out of the berth and doing something, preferably something like cheering up his fellow Autobots instead of listening to them mope about several hallways away.

Ceasing their drumming, his digits clenched on the berth and tightened into fists. His optics narrowed as he turned his helm to stare at the wall, blank and bright orange like the rest of the room. Honestly, how could Ratchet stand to look at it? How could he, Jazz, stand to look at the rest of the ship, actually, considering it was the very same nauseating color? With a huff he made up his processor to redecorate some after he got released from the medbay.

"You look terribly unhappy," said a voice from the door.

Jazz couldn't help himself when he shrieked, convulsing once on the berth and nearly rolling off before he managed to calm. Panting, he snapped his helm in the direction of the door, optics wide.

"My apologies," Prowl quirked an optic ridge as he strode further into the private room Jazz had gained from being the most damaged mech from the Decepticon-Autobot skirmish a few days prior. Sitting down in the chair beside the other's berth, he took in what injuries he could on Jazz's frame, which wasn't many as the saboteur had a thermal blanket covering from his shoulders down. Only his helm and left arm were uncovered, but as Ratchet had given him the injury list datapad, the tactician knew what Jazz had suffered through.

The other's left helm finial had been damaged and wasn't working properly. His visor had been shattered. Multiple armor plates on his chest had to be removed, and his abdomen was bare straight down to his protoform. His right servo was missing two of its clawed digits. On his legs, Jazz was missing his right leg from his knee down while his left was nearly unresponsive. Multiple scrapes and scratches were tenderly welded over, though some cuts on his faceplates remained blue with the circulating energon so close to the surface.

Carefully, Prowl pulled back the blanket to take in the visual wounds for himself. Though Jazz didn't protest the action verbally, he did frown and shiver a bit while clamping down what armor he had close to his body. The tactician counted it as a sign of trust that Jazz had let him do so without complaint, especially as the mech's heating system wasn't working.

Suddenly Jazz snorted and turned his helm away, left servo twitching towards the blanket. Recognizing the huffy behavior, Prowl carefully covered the smaller mech back up, again leaving his better servo uncovered. Jazz's engine growled softly, prompting the Praxian to take the other's servo in his own and gently caress over it. The offered comfort did its job and relaxed Jazz just enough so he would stare at the ceiling again instead of directly away from Prowl.

"Why ya here, Prowl?" questioned Jazz, who almost winced at the sound of his own rough voice.

"Am I not allowed to see a hurt friend?" Prowl quirked an optic ridge, desiring to stroke the other's helm and cheeks but resisting the urge. Instead, he gently tightened his servo around Jazz's.

"Figured you'd prefer your datapads and their stress over me," snarked the smaller, somehow seeming even more upset than the moment before.

Inaudibly, Prowl sighed. He hated when Jazz reverted back to his anti-social, irritated behavior, which he'd had when Prowl had met him before the war. Gradually after meeting Prowl, the Polyhexian had loosened up and started socializing more often, which his friends had been glad to see even if they'd been confused as to why he'd suddenly become much more sociable.

"Datapads do not talk back with any intelligence," calmly stated Prowl with a flutter of his sensory panels.

"Doubtful I provide better company," remarked Jazz as he glanced with irritated optics to Prowl.

"Better company? Perhaps not," Prowl ignored the affronted grunt from the smaller, "Better friendship? Most definitely."

After a few minutes of silence, Jazz smiled in response, and Prowl found the way the action brightened the other's face to be amazing. His lips quirked upwards in response.

Jazz lifted his servo, stretching his arm out towards Prowl's face. The desire to touch was too strong for him to ignore, and his gentle claws pressed against the other's cheek. The SiC's optics closed as he tilted his helm into the touch. They stayed like that until Jazz's arm tired and he lowered it back to the berth.

Prowl blinked his optics open, looking down at Jazz, who even with the damages he sustained, seemed beautiful at that moment. The Praxian's smile widened, remaining gentle, as he leaned down to hover over the other's face.

"Jazz?" he questioned softly, gaze meeting Jazz's.

"Yeah?" hopefully breathed out the saboteur, servo twitching into Prowl's tender grip.

"I trust you wouldn't be adverse to a kiss?"

"'Course not," smiled the smaller mech. Their lips met gently, both mechs' optics closing as they enjoyed the sensations. Jazz moaned softly, his tense frame relaxing before Prowl pulled away to nuzzle him.

"Get better soon," Prowl murmured with adoration as Jazz nuzzled back.