A/N: Sorry that it took a while to upload the chapter. I'm kinda dragging Jazz through the Pit. I do hope that you enjoy the chapter though
Title: Stereo Hearts
Rating: T (ratings will go up for purposes)
Summary: Jazz loves Prowl and Prowl loves Jazz, but what troubles will arise as they keep their feelings in the dark?
**Warning: There are suggestive themes of bondage, suggestive themes of interface (M/M), Cybertronian curse and our cursings today. I think that's all the notices in this chapter. Anyway read, enjoy, and comment! :)
Cybertronian Time Measures as I Use Them
-Joor: Week
-Breem: Month
**These are the only time measures that are in this chapter**
Easy come, easy go
That's just how you live
Take, take, take it all but you never give
"...H-How could he...?" Jazz pondered the question. Jazz was sitting in one of the vacant chairs in the room. He had walked back into the party not long after seeing-no, he wasn't going to remember that look in Prowl's optic. The gentle smile that adorned his intoxicated lips and the twinkle that his optics gave Smokescreen. The same look on the gamblers faceplate.
Maybe Jazz wasn't the one. After all, it was unknown if Prowl really did love him back. Maybe Prowl had a small crush on Jazz and on Smokescreen but went after the gambler instead. There was always that possibility, but Jazz didn't even want to think of that.
To try and get his mind off of what he saw, Jazz turned to the crowd dancing beneath the lights. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were dancing with theirs truly, Bluestreak. Mirage to Hound and Inferno with Ironhide.
Jazz sighed and dropped his head; he still held the Low-Grade that he was going to give to Prowl. Jazz looked into the cube and saw a face stare back. The Energon reflected a fading blue visor that dimmed. The brightness of laughter was gone and so was the spirit that peered back. The lip components were pulled down into a disappointed frown. The one in the pink liquid stared back confused; normally those lips were sewn into his cheek plates with a wide grin. Everything was in disarray; where was the life in the mech?
"...Gone..." Jazz whispered, answering that of the question coursing through his processor.
Jazz got up and threw away the cube. A waste of Energon it may be, but why bother putting it back on the table when it was meant for someone else s lips'
Should've known you was trouble from the first kiss
Had your eyes wide open
Why were they open?
Why didn't Jazz see it sooner? Smokescreen's planning smile was plastered out in the open. He made that face during battle before he chose to take action that often ended with one of the Decepticons scattered around the war area. If Smokescreen had that same smile on his faceplates before he took advantage of Prowl, Jazz could have noticed that something was up. But, no; he decided to brush off the look as if it were one of Ratchet's "Wheeljack's-blow-up-half-the-base-fits".
Jazz didn't even notice the matter-of-fact tone in his voice when he said he'd keep an optic on Prowl. What was coursing through Jazz's mind to not catch that? For Primus sake, he was an infiltrator and was trained to know when something was up; that's why he was top spy and head of Special Operations. He was made for that kind of thing!
Just the thought of how music and the charm of Prowl got to his processor sickened Jazz. What kind of TIC failed to notice something amiss in the gambler and diversionist? He had a reputation to mislead the enemy and sometimes his comrades.
"Its not even worth it anymore. Ah'm sure Prowl enjoyed his evenin' with Smokescreen." Jazz said to himself. "Ah still love 'im though and nothin' will ever change that."
After the faint disappointment in his voice, Jazz got up to leave on the note of a positive in his processor. Knowing that his feelings for Prowl were still in tact, forced Jazz not to falter his goal in winning the tactician over in the future.
Gave you all I had and you tossed it in the trash
You tossed it in the trash, you did
To give me all your love is all I ever asked
'Cause what you don't understand
Quietly making his way through the crowd, Jazz said good night to his fellow teammates and congratulated those of his fellow officers. Normally Jazz would stay for the whole party, dancing like there was no tomorrow; tonight turned out to be a disaster.
Many of his friends had asked him if the saboteur was alright. They knew when something was amiss about the happy-go-lucky 'Bot. Jazz simply glued on a smile that had no meaning, nodded, and assured them that everything was fine. Jazz thought they had fallen for it, but he knew better than to trust his better judgment.
He walked out of the room and went straight to his quarters, not even bothering to re-energize before he went into recharge for the night.
Jazz went into his private wash-racks, washed the condensation on his armor off, and climbed himself into his berth. Jazz looked to the berth-side table on his right and stared into a familiar face.
Is I'd catch a grenade for you
Throw my hand on a blade for you
I'd jump in front of a train for you
You know I'd do anything for you
The small smile that no one else could match, the loving and compassionate optics that stared back. The shade of blue had showed that he wasn't amused with taking the picture. The sun reflected nicely off of the armor that adorned his frame and the backdrop was beautiful. Jazz blinked his optics to alleviate the building up of cleanser. He turned the picture around and turned his back to the table. Jazz curled himself into a ball and that was when all the cleanser that leaked behind the barriers poured out and down his cheeks. Maybe tomorrow will be less painful.
I would go through all this pain
Take a bullet straight through my brain
Yes, I would die for you, baby
But you won't do the same
No, no, no, no
The hallway was crowded with mechs walking sluggishly, Prowl among them. Hangovers, aching joints, and aching interface panels. Others who were smart with their time limit such as Perceptor, Red Alert, and Jazz himself were saying hello to each 'Bot they had passed; well...Red and Percy did, Jazz kept his helm to the ground and the others watched with curiosity and concern.
However, just because hangovers and damaged interface panels that prevented some mechs to walk didn't falter the duties from going unfinished. Patrols, monitor duty, volunteer work, and even inventory check carried on as usual. There was an officer meeting this after noon and all officers were required to attend: no matter what state you were in. To be quite honest, Jazz wasn't looking forward to seeing a grumpy CMO, a griping weapon's specialist, or an interfacing best friend. But Jazz chose not to let it bother his mood-not that it would help either-and suck it up and deal with it. After all, it wasn't that big of a deal...was it?
"Hey, Jazz!" Jazz turned around to see a beaming Smokescreen standing behind him.
"Hi, Smokescreen." Jazz said solemnly. Right now, Jazz didn't want to talk to anyone, and he definitely didn't want to talk to Smokescreen; not after what he had done last night.
"Jeez Jazz; you look like the Pit. You okay? I was hearing around that you've been quiet."
"Nah, mech; jus'...tired. So, doya know where Prowl went las' night? Ya kinda disappeared on meh when Ah returned." Jazz asked, already knowing the answer.
Smokescreen tensed up and scratched the back of his neck. "Um, yeah. I took Prowl back to his quarters so he could rest. I returned to mine soon after." Smokescreen said, placing a cheesy smile on his guilty faceplate. "Sorry for not telling ya sooner,"
"Oh, well did Prowler have a good rest then?" Jazz bit through his denta. He fought every circuit in his body to keep his servos relaxed and to keep them down by his side so he couldn't strangle the lying mech.
"Yep, he should be walking around here somewhere. Well, I gotta get to my duties; I'll see ya around." Smokescreen said, waving a goodbye to the TIC.
"Yeah, see ya." Jazz bit back again. Once the diversionist was out of sight, Jazz let a growl rip loose and continue on his way to the officer meeting.
Black, black, black and blue
Beat me 'til I'm numb
Tell the devil I said "Hey" when you get back to where you're from
The meeting wasn't that much great either. It seemed that only Jazz, Perceptor, and Red Alert were the only ones not complaining about a hangover. Optimus was struggling to try and hide the fact that he had a processor ache; Ratchet was trying to keep his servo from whipping out his wrench and beat his mate. Ironhide was griping about how it was too early for this and he'd rather spend the rest of his time in the berth with you-know-who. Wheeljack was resting his helm on his arms that crossed on the table, Perceptor shoving him lightly to keep him awake. Blaster was fighting to stay awake while Red Alert beside him was wide awake. And Prowl...well Jazz knew about Prowl
Jazz sat on the left side of a grumpy Prime while Prowl sat on the other side. Each one of the officer's optics studied each other: irritation, disgust, or worry playing along their features. Jazz's was neither irritation, disgust, nor worry, it was more of depression, betrayal, and shock. The phrase 'how could he?' played repeatedly through his processor; much like a catchy tune that was simple and sweet.
"Last nights events were...well we all know the effects of it." Optimus started. "But, we're not discussing how well one was in the berth last night; we're here to discuss what Red Alert had picked up last night."
Red Alert nodded and began to speak, gaining the unwanted attention of the others.
"Last night while you all were partying; I came across movement in one of the outside sectors: Sector I8 to be precise. It seemed to be Laserbeak watching us, making sure we weren't aware, but he was wrong. I was. I think we should be on the lookout for the Decepticons. If Laserbeak was watching us, they're planning something.
"Mind you, I had my suspicions from the start. I told you that they were planning something if they were quiet and in the dark for so long." A flash of blue electricity decorated the auditory horns of Red's helm lightly before they went back to being neutral.
"We must find out what they're planning so we don't get a repeat of a surprise attack two breem ago." Red Alert continued.
Optimus looked up wearily but nodded. "You're opinion has been noted. If Red states the truth, then we must find out what they are planning. A scouting and infiltrating mission will be taken place in the next few orns, possible next joor. 'Till then, be on the lookout and stay alert on Decepticon spies."
The officers all nodded in agreement and awaited further commands of the Prime.
"Dismissed," Optimus said and just like everybot else, high-tailed it out of there.
Mad woman, bad woman
That's just what you are
Yeah, you smile in my face then rip the brakes out my car
Jazz got up and pushed in his chair silently. He kept his helm up and luckily no one could see his optics; because the arches that lined the bottom of his forehelm, were quirked up into a saddened look. Even though Prowl was slightly hung over, and admittedly in pain, he saw a change in his friend.
Prowl, like any other 'Bot did to Jazz when they saw a flaw, approached the mech. By now the other black and white was near the exit and by the speed of Prowl, he wouldn't be able to catch up.
"Jazz," He called.
Jazz heard Prowl call him, he turned around and found Prowl walking towards him slowly. His pedes shook with the weight and he limped ever so slightly. His pace was slow, not like his normal swift and graceful movement.
"Yeah?" Jazz called back, worried by what the SIC might have to say.
"Jazz, you seem off. Is there something wrong?"
Jazz blinked behind his visor and his vents hitched. He hesitated before answering his best friend, a trusted friend that stood in front of him.
"N-no, Prowler. Everythin's goin' fine. Wha' 'bout you? Ah missed ya las' nigh'; ya doin' okay?" Jazz asked. He knew the answer, much like he knew Smokescreen, but he wanted to hear the truth for himself; hoping that his optics deceived him last night.
This time it was Prowl's turn to hitch his vents. It was obvious that either Prowl knew that Jazz knew, or that he was scared to speak the truth. There was always the lie that stood on the right side; coaxing you to use the strategy that would later on result in a personal war. Or there was the truth that stood on the left side, waiting to be found in the dark room where no one ever looked first. Prowl contemplated hard. He didn't want to lie to his friend, but he couldn't hurt him either.
"Smokescreen walked me to my quarters last night. I'm terribly sorry for not accepting the Energon that you went to recover for me last night." That answer seemed worthy, right?
Jazz heard the excuse before. Smokescreen had used it. The two were trying to hide their own afts; they were in on it and that meant they were in a relationship that blossomed over night during an interfacing session. How could he?
Jazz nodded, not showing any sign of hurt or pain on his faceplates or even lit in his visor. "A'ight. Well, at least ya got a decent recharge las' nigh'. I gotta get goin' to meh next duty on the command deck. Maybe Ah'll catch ya around."
Prowl nodded and watched as his friend bowed his head. But, when Jazz lowered his helm, he kept it there and stayed there as he watched him walk away.
Gave you all I had and you tossed it in the trash
You tossed it in the trash, yes you did
To give me all your love is all I ever asked
'Cause what you don't understand
For the past few weeks, Jazz kept his distance from Prowl. Not for the benefit of hurting himself, but for the fact that he wasn't the one. Jazz's bright attitude was dull and depressed. He every now and then only joked with his best friends Blaster and the Twins. He didn't go to the party's that were thrown for fun or even exceeded in his Patrol duties; Jazz remained quiet and worried the Ark's crew.
Jazz saw Ratchet under order from Optimus who saw his armor starting to dull. Though the effect was usually cast upon those who were bonded but no longer were, it could be placed upon others too. Not out of the fact for sickness or even a relationship gone wrong, but out of depression. What Ratchet had suspected was from a thought of the Decepticons attacking or even being watched. It wasn't paranoia or even fright, but merely...depression.
Every night in his quarters was the same routine: wash-racks, stare at the picture of Prowl, and cry to sleep. It wasn't healthy for Jazz, and if he kept it up, he'd have one major issue with Ratchet.
Is I'd catch a grenade for you
Throw my hand on the blade for you
I'd jump in front of a train for you
You know I'd do anything for you
I would go through all this pain
Take a bullet straight through my brain
Yes, I would die for you, baby
But you won't do the same
A few days had passed and Jazz was still opposite of his usual cheery self. He walked into the rec. room and went to the Energon dispenser for his usual. He sat in the corner, the daily routine re-playing itself.
Jazz's visor watched over the various mechs in the room. The Twins were playing a racing game on the transformer sized television and a crowd joined around them to see who won. Tearing his gaze off, he located Trailbreaker reading over a datapad with Brawn beside him doing the same. Red Alert was with Inferno, denying Inferno of his questions.
Jazz shook his head, a small smile beginning to form on his lip components. Of all the crazy couples on the base, Red Alert and Inferno had to be it.
The master of paranoia and the front liner of fire were made for each other. Though their differences were mostly seen as flaws by the others, Red's constant bickering towards Inferno was often seen out of spite for his lover's safety. Inferno was a front liner, constant fire blasts and punches, and constantly walking through fires for others. The scene that Jazz saw before him was no surprise. In the end, the two were made for each other.
There were other bondmates on the Ark that seemed "not it" for each other, but that was another story for another time. Many stories, many comparisons, and many dear comrades fit in with the night time stories, and this time was not it; not when Prowl and Smokescreen entered together, side-by-side, talking, laughing, something that cracked Jazz's spark more than necessary.
If my body was on fire
You would watch me burn down in flames
You said you loved me, you're a liar
'Cause you never, ever, ever did baby
Jazz watched the couple enter. Though if the two Praxians were a couple, that had yet to be discovered by the Terrible Two (the only gossipers that couldn't keep a secret on the Ark). Jazz dipped his head to look at the empty Energon cube on the table. His scanners told him that Smokescreen headed off to the Energon dispenser while Prowl spied his dipped helm. ...Slag...
There was no escape. Jazz couldn't get up and move without causing suspicion to enter the tactician's processor; no doubt it was already there. Jazz couldn't egg it on any more and he couldn't make it out of this alive without talking to his crushed crush.
Jazz kept his thoughts and emotions in place, making sure they didn't escape him while he kept his appearance calm and collected. The allusion would prove to Prowl that he was merely thinking-which was true-and not avoiding him purposefully. With each thought that passed through Jazz's processor, the steady steps of Prowl eased towards him and finally came to a stop at his position.
"Jazz," His voice asked. It was soft, serious, and determined; searching for something.
"Oh, hey Prowler. Whatcha been up ta?" Jazz internally winced at the way his question came out. It couldn't be anymore vulnerable?
"You've been avoiding me; why?" It was more of a statement than a question.
"Ah haven't been avoidin' ya. Why do ya think tha'?" Jazz began to stand up to see Prowl optic to optic.
"Yes, you have. You are always the first to leave at officer meetings, you no longer stop by my office for a friendly conversation like you would normally do, when we pass in the halls you say a quick "Hi" or a nod and then you're gone. All I want to know is why?" Prowl's optics grew soft and pleaded for an answer that Jazz could not and would not give away. Not when Prowl was in a relationship with Smokescreen.
Jazz sighed. "It's complicated. It's also kinda personal."
"Jazz, you know that you can tell me anything. What's going on?"
"Nothin'."
"It's something. You've been...depressed around base. If Sunstreaker of all 'Bots, is worried about you then it's something. I asked Blaster and he didn't even know what was bothering you. I can't help you if you won't tell me."
"Ah'm not depressed. Like Ah said, it's personal and I don' want your help. It's nothin' you can help with." Jazz narrowed his optics to inflict how serious he was. Obviously his message didn't get through to the SIC
Prowl pulled back. His optics widened at what he just heard: Jazz didn't want...his help.
"Jazz-"
"Jus' leave it, Prowl!" Jazz was beginning to grow impatient. His voice was low, dangerous.
"I AM NOT JUST GOING TO LEAVE IT, JAZZ!" Prowl yelled. The room grew quiet at the SIC's voice of authority. "YOU KNOW DAMN WELL THAT SOMETHING IS WRONG WITH YOU AND I INTEND TO FIND OUT! IF YOU TRUST ME, THEN TELL ME YOU SLAGGER!"
The rooms occupancy grew quiet and Prowl was ready to yell again if need be. His servos were folded into a fist down by his waist, stiffly hovering by his black pelvic plating.
"PROWL, AH DON' WANT YOUR HELP! IF YOU'RE MEH FRIEND, YA'D DROP IT AND LEAVE FOR MEH TA DEAL WITH! IF YOU TRUST ME, YOU'LL SHUT THE HELL UP 'BOUT IT!" With that, Jazz threw out his cube and walked out. Jazz kept walking despite the fact that he felt a tear of coolant slide down his cheek seem, tracing the delicate frame work of the metal.
But, darling I'd still catch a grenade for you
Throw my hand on the blade for you
I'd jump in front of a train for you
You know I'd do anything for you
Jazz continued to walk down the hallway and entered his quarters and stood at the door that slid behind him. Irritation spiked through his circuits; he knew Prowl cared about his well-being, but that was only because he was his friend. Nothing more and nothing less. He knew that Prowl wanted to know and he could tell that the SIC pulled rank on him, but that didn't give Prowl the right to dig into his personal life. He and Prowl had been friends for eons, since they were in the academy, before they joined up on the Autobot forces. Prowl knew that Jazz would tell all eventually, and eventually wasn't going to happen at this time.
"Why would he pry inta my life now? I can handle mehself..." Jazz asked to the vacant room. His irritation soon boiled up to anger as it soon boiled up to its zenith.
Stomping his pede on the floor, Jazz walked over to the berth side table and looked at the picture beside it. "He knows nothin'! Ah don' need his help...Ah can handle mehself! Jus' me, mehself, and I!"
Picking up the small picture, Jazz removed it from its spot and threw it against the wall, shattering the glass that protected the main piece within. "At least Ah don' have ta worry 'bout workin' with tha fucker."
I would go through all this pain
Take a bullet straight through my brain
Yes I would die for you baby
But you won't do the same
Like before, for the next few joor that lead into the next breem, Jazz continued ignoring Prowl of his efforts to crack him. He continued to avoid him, but the case wasn't as before. No optic contact, no acknowledgements of each others presence and no words exchanged. It was as if the two never met each other. The crew began to grow concerned and so did their friends. No clues were handed out to be found in other words, the dense atmosphere surrounded by hatred never lifted.
::Jazz, report to my office. I've got matters of the upcoming infiltration mission including the Decepticons::
::Yes, sir:: Jazz replied to Prime and headed off to Prime's office.
No, you won't do the same
You wouldn't do the same
Ooh, you'd never do the same
Oh, no no no
Jazz knocked on the door. The door slid open to reveal Optimus sitting at his desk: his servos folded neatly with each other atop his desk and his optics staring up at his visor with an expecting glance. Datapads were neatly stacked into two piles: have read and to read. A simple picture of Elita One sat innocently next to the small plaque at the edge of the desk indicating who he was.
"Jazz,"
"Sir," Jazz acknowledged his superior.
Jazz walked in towards one the other chairs that was not occupied. Taking a glance out of his peripherals, Jazz saw just who his partner was. The doorwings propped up to their regular elegant 'V' position. His black and mostly white frame stiffened when he heard the door open. The crimson chevron staring back at the Prime along with his stiffened frame. Great, I'm working with him.
A/N: I hope you enjoyed the chapter. The song used is Grenade by 'Bruno Mars'