The Intelligence Officer steepled his fingers before his face and stared at the mech currently sitting on the other side of his desk. Mentally, he was writing a How-to-Kill-Prowl list. It was highly detailed and had a little over a hundred items on it.

Prime was sitting before him with his usual calm, unmoving confidence. The mech was a rock, an ever-present bulwark of stability, and Jazz damned silently to the Pit and back the faceplate his CO wore, hiding everything but the calm blue optics. He waited, watching as Prime looked about himself before returning his gaze to the Porsche. "So you remembered you have an office." There was quiet amusement in Prime's voice.

Jazz considered the many, many ways in which 'best behavior' could be interpreted. Finally, without having moved so much as an inch, he drawled. "You don't sleep much, Optimus, do ya?"

"Occupational hazard", the other mech replied, leaning back on his chair. "Though I like your way of dealing with paperwork." He tucked his chin towards the back of Jazz's desk.

The Intelligence Officer winced mentally: that pile of wildly flung about data slates was coming back to bite him in the aft in the most unexpected, and worse, of manners. "Don't have a trash bin in here just yet." He shrugged lightly.

"Ah." Prime nodded.

They stared at one another for another long moment. By the door, Jazz saw Grimlock hanging onto their every word with undisguised glee, and remembered the strange little smile that had ghosted over Prowl's features when he'd asked for the Dinobot as 'police support'. Of the entire Ark's population the Dinobot leader was the only one who came close to matching both Prime's mass and strength; of course Prowl would have thought it highly amusing that Jazz had picked him out by sheer luck. "Awake last night?"

"Catching up. The quiet's good for that."

"So you were in your office all night?"

"No." Prime seemed to consider. "I went by the Security Room, but Prowl and Red Alert seemed busy so I left them to their jobs. I passed by the Rec Room… I think Mirage was there. I went out for a bit, just to get some air. Probably fifteen minutes."

"What time was this?" Jazz kept his tone casual.

Prime's eyes were unfathomably calm. "I'm not certain. Somewhere between 0400 and 0500."

I. Am. Gonna. Kill. Prowl. "Don't suppose anyone can vouch for those times?"

Prime tapped his fingers on the armrest of the chair. "Prowl, perhaps. He greeted me, though he did seem a bit distracted. I believe he and Red Alert were running maintenance protocols. I am not sure about Mirage, I didn't stay long in the Rec Room. Maybe the sentries, though I didn't actually leave the Ark, I only walked up to the entrance."

"Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps." When Prime leveled an inquiring glance on him, Jazz shrugged delicately. "Lots of maybes there, Optimus."

"I'm sure you have ways to verify my whereabouts."

Jazz nodded, leaning back. "Did you see Blue?"

"No. Though I may have simply not looked hard enough."

"When did you see him last?"

Prime considered that question carefully. "Yesterday, when he returned from patrol. We met on the hallway."

"Had he been in trouble lately?"

"That would be for Prowl to know, wouldn't it?"

"I'm askin' you, though." Their optics met.

And for the first time since his CO had walked through the door, Jazz saw the merest hint of amusement in the deep blue of Prime's gaze. "Not for the past four days or so."

Slag him and Prowl and Blue and everyone, Jazz thought in wry good humor. He's enjoyin' this, the big hulk. "Put your hands on the desk, please."

Again for the first time, there was a distinct air of perplexity about him as Prime repeated, "My hands?"

"Palms up." Jazz kept his tone mild. "Please."

Prime did as he was bid. Jazz leaned forward and spent a very long time mapping the nicks and cuts, the scars and pathways of the deep blue hands. "May I see your gun, please?"

"My gun."

"Your gun. Y'know, that big honkin' thing you shoot 'cons with." He spread his arms. "About this big, black, mean-lookin', small cannon, really."

Prime cocked an amused brow at him as he drew his rifle from subspace and set it on the desk between them. Again, Jazz spent a long time examining it without making a sound. "I don't suppose you'd let me have it for a coupla hours?"

"I would rather not."

Jazz looked up at Prime. The big mech's fingers had stopped dancing on the armrest. "Alright", he said mildly, leaning back again and watching his CO subspace his rifle. "Question."

"Yes?"

"Can I see your data slate?"

Prime sighed, mildly exasperated as he drew the required item from his subspace. "If you'd like me to empty my subspace on your desk, Jazz, you're going to need a bigger desk. Not to mention a bigger office." He tossed the slate over the desk.

Jazz peered at it without touching it for a brief moment. Finally he called up not the documents themselves, but the record of the time when they'd been worked on. He leaned back again after a moment. "Thanks."

Prime subspaced the slate. "Can I go?"

"Sure." Jazz shrugged. "For now."

Prime froze halfway out of his chair, then straightened up and turned, ever so slowly, to fully face the Intelligence Officer. "For now?"

Jazz steepled his fingers again. "Somethin' the matter with that?", he drawled.

"If you have further questions, Jazz, ask them." Prime's optics flickered. "Now."

Jazz noticed that his CO was not using The Voice, that unmistakable tone that could send any Autobot running about without ever once bothering to ask why, even though the huge Mack truck was more or less acting as if he were. He leaned back on his chair so he could peer up at Prime without craning his neck all the way back. "What were you doin' in the Rec Room?"

"Getting something to drink."

"And you think Mirage was there."

"Yes."

"But not Blue."

"No."

"Hm." The Porsche lifted one of the few data slates that had survived the slate-maggedon. "Have you seen Mirage lately?", he asked, his tone more curious than anything.

"No."

"Neither has anyone else, didya know?"

"I will let him know of your interest if I see him." Prime's voice was clipped. "Anything else?"

"Why'd you kill Blue?"

The words hung in the air like dry lightning. Grimlock, who'd all but fallen asleep against the wall, nearly fell flat on his back as he snapped upright with a startled grunt. Prime lowered his head minutely, like a bull about to charge and his voice went very soft. "I beg your pardon?"

Jazz gestured ever so casually. He couldn't really read Prime behind the ever-present faceplate, but he knew his visor made it just as hard for his opponent to read him. "Y'know Red's offered to give me copies of this morning's security logs?" It was hard to see, but it was there: a minute flicker in the deep blue optics. "I think he's kickin' himself for not… usin' this as an opportunity to really test his security protocols." He dropped his voice to a drawl. "Y'know, between your office and the Rec Room there's –" He ticked his fingers off quickly, showily. "- sheesh, somethin' like fifteen security cameras and a dozen sensor arrays. And that don't even cover the Rec Room itself."

He paused. For an infinite three seconds, no one spoke until Prime uttered a single, impossibly calm word. "And?"

Jazz simply tapped his lips thoughtfully. "I think you did see Blue." He paused. "I think you did more than see him."

"You seem to be thinking a lot." There was no mistaking the smile in Prime's tone. "Lots of 'I think' in there, Jazz."

Behind his CO, Jazz saw Grimlock lower his head and all but heard the Dinobot's ultrasonic rumble, but Prime had put his finger on the proverbial nail: all he had were his thoughts. "I do believe that's bound t' change soon", he said calmly. "You shot him, twice. Once… who knows why, but the second time to cover your tracks." He smiled up at Prime again. "You went out just so the sentries could see you." He nodded to himself. "You shot him."

Prime waited and then leaned forward. Jazz' immediate, startled thought as his CO planted his hands on the desk and came to loom over the much, much smaller Intelligence Officer, was that here was one mech that had Looming down to an art. He fought against an instinctive flinch as Prime's shadow covered him, holding himself perfectly still, perfectly calm.

"Prowl thought it might come to this." Prime said very quietly, obviously only for Jazz's audios. "And he left me a message for you." His eyes grinned mischievously at Jazz for a moment before he Loomed somewhat closer, his voice a mere whisper. "You. Can't. Prove it." He moved back, diminishing his Looming by a fraction and speaking normally, his voice once again impossibly calm – back in character, Jazz thought. "If you had more than… thoughts to offer, Jazz, I might be… interested. As it is, I have matters to attend to in my own office."

"I'm sure you do." Jazz steepled his fingers again. "Make sure I c'n find you if I need to, please."

Prime paused at the door. "I've no reason to hide", he shot at his Intelligence Officer before nodding a greeting to Grimlock and leaving.

Jazz let out a long, rattling breath and faced Grimlock, visor to visor. "Slaggit", he swore, quietly and feelingly.

"Him Prime do it." Grimlock's voice was full of assurance.

"I'm surprised you didn't fall on him like a ton of scrap, Grim."

"Can't." Grimlock curled his hands into fists, a giant predatory grin on his face. "Need proper evidence. This not Cops show, this CSI."

"And he thinks we've got zip on that department. Which means Prowl might think we've got zip in that department as well. Which is, as far as I'm concerned, the best news since Trail came in." Jazz opened his team's radio line. 'Sides!

What'd I do?, was the Lamborghini's immediate reply to that sharp tone.

The list is endless, Jazz replied. Go find Blaster, stick to him like glue. We need to find Mirage, and we need to find him now.

Okay. There was a brief, brief silence. Why?

Jazz grinned. Because I think he saw the whole thing. His team burst into immediate, excited babble. Unfortunately, I think our prime suspect knows this, and I think that's why our invisibility-enabled Ligier has been keeping out of sight. 'Sides, don't you let him out of reach once you got him.

You got it. Who am I keeping him safe from?

Jazz sighed deeply. Prime.

The line was profoundly, utterly silent. Prime suspect! Swoop burst out laughing almost simultaneously with Sideswipe, whose merriment only built up after that. Even Trail started chortling helplessly at the Dinobot's words.

Jazz snickered, falling back on his chair. That's not a pun, Swoop, that's just mean The team cackled some more. Trail, I want you to go to the Security Office, and I want you to be on your absolute best behavior. Take the security logs Red's going to give you and hand-deliver them to me. Don't transfer them, don't message them, make sure you don't give anyone a chance to tamper with them.

Yessir!

Percy, meet me in the Rec Room. We need to have a look at it and at the Rec Room mapping file Trail made.

Certainly.

Swoop, you find 'Sides, too, and stay with him and Blaster.

Why you Jazz want look at Rec Room again? Swoop asked. What we miss?

Aid said the shots went right through Blue, Swoop. Did you see any gunfire scoring on the walls?

There was another silence. Me Swoop not see anything.

Trail?

I… don't think so. I'd remember it.

You think Mirage got shot, not the walls, Sideswipe pointed out.

I think that's how Prime knows he was there. I don't think he saw him at all, just that his shots weren't hitting the walls. We've got our suspect, people. We've got fifteen hours to pin this on him. We know who – now we need how.