Title: Midnight Visits
Rating: G
Warnings: little hints of a mech-crush
Universe: G1
Notes: Another little extrapolation of my life. I got a call from a friend about a month ago, and it wasn't until about an hour into the conversation that I realized she didn't have a reason for calling and was talking just to talk. XD I'm as big a social retard as Prowl sometimes.
He sat alone in his office, the familiar and comforting sound of his fingers clacking against the keyboard the only thing permeating the heavy stillness about him. The hour was late, according to Earth's measurement of time, and he was the only bot still up and about. Everybot else had readily adopted the idea of a set time for recharge – there was no "day" or "night" on Cybertron, just the continuous orn – and were all tucked into their respective quarters. Prowl, however, forever on duty, loathed the idea of leaving the Ark completely vulnerable and bestowed it upon himself to be the night watch. (It was not as if he or anybot really needed to recharge every few joors. It would be Earth weeks before Prowl really needed to rest.)
He did not mind the solitude. In fact, he rather enjoyed it, especially after spending all day with bots like Sideswipe and Jazz. He was a reserved mech, not much of a socializer. He preferred to keep to himself – and wished a few of the others would do him the same courtesy.
So there he sat at two in the morning, writing a report on Sunstreaker and Sideswipe's latest prank, absolutely content to be the only bot online.
Or so he presumed.
Prowl looked up from his report, facial plates crinkling in a look of confusion. What was that sound? He listened intently, but hearing nothing, he turned his attentions back to his work.
Just as he was about to start typing again, it came again – a low buzzing noise, more than once this time.
It took him nearly half a breem to realize it was his door chime.
Perhaps he did need some rest.
"Come in." It came out as a bit of a question. He had no idea who would feel the need to bother him in the middle of the night, nor what important matter required his immediate assistance.
The door cycled open to reveal Jazz, grinning broadly and holding what looked to be -- if what he'd confiscated thus far was anything to judge it upon -- a large cube of the Twins' infamous high grade.
"'Bout time," he said merrily, sauntering into the room. "You just ignorin' bots now, or did you ferget what yer door chime sounded like?"
"Hn," Prowl grunted, looking hurriedly at his computer screen, hoping Jazz was just being facetious. He started in surprise when the cube of high grade (the fumes coming off it could now leave no doubt as to what it was) was placed sharply on the table in front of him. He looked up at Jazz, mildly perplexed.
"Extorted that from the Twins earlier this orn," he said with a smug little smirk. "Thought you could use a li'l pick-me-up."
"Jazz, I can't take this," Prowl said, pushing the cube to the side.
"Sure ya can. I got loads more."
"No, I – " Prowl blinked. "You have… how did you get them t – never mind. I'm on duty, Jazz."
The saboteur snorted, a habit he had picked up while on this planet, one Prowl thought very unbecoming.
"Prowlie, you been on duty ever since we woke up on this little mudball." Jazz pushed the cube back into the tactician's direct line of focus. "Loosen up a little."
Prowl cycled air through his vents in a sigh, a little habit of his own he'd learned from Spike and his father. This was typical Jazz behavior. At least once every deca-orn, an attempt to get Prowl to "loosen up" was made – an invitation to get some energon together here, an offer to play a strategy game there. While something as extravagant as high grade had never been offered before, it did not come as that great of a surprise to Prowl. Sooner or later, Jazz was bound to, as the humans said, pull out the big guns.
Prowl would have been lying to himself if he said he weren't tempted by the offer in the slightest bit, but his sense of duty – whether self appointed or not – prevailed in the end. As to not hurt the saboteur's feelings – or to at least make him think he'd won a round of this ever-playing game they seemed to have and thus give him leave to go – Prowl stood with the cube in his hand.
"Perhaps after my shift," he said truthfully, turning to place the cube in a cabinet behind him. "Thank you."
He turned back to his desk, fully expecting to see Jazz on his way out the door, mission accomplished. What he did not expect – nor particularly like – was to see the saboteur comfortably sitting on a corner of his desk, hands folded in his lap and smiling placidly. (He had to force his optics not to linger on the smooth thigh that was running along the edge of the desk and supporting Jazz's weight.)
Confused as to what to do – his opening had been enough to warrant an exit, hadn't it? And if he sat down now, wouldn't that just be an invitation for Jazz to stay? – he simply stood there for a breem or two, staring stupidly. Jazz stared back, still smiling politely.
Still rather befuddled, Prowl finally sat down, optics never leaving the visor of his black and white counterpart. He felt as though he should say something, but, unable to conjure anything to his CPU, he merely turned back to his report and resumed typing – slowly at first, as it was rather strange to have somebot watching, but eventually picking up to his normal pace.
"I saw yer not scheduled for a duty shift tomorrow."
Prowl paused, momentarily taken aback. "That's right."
"Me neither."
"How convenient," Prowl mused, resuming his much-interrupted report.
"Ain't it just?" Jazz snickered. "But coincidence aside, I got this human game I wanna try out wit' ya. Ever heard of chess?"
"Spike has mentioned it to me once or twice, yes."
"He says y'll like it."
"Hm."
"I had 'im order a set fer us – special made, o' course."
"Of course."
"Just came in last night."
"The conveniences continue."
"Yer funny. Everybot says yer a stick in the slag, but you really know how to make a mech laugh. You should be like this more often."
"I'll take it into consideration," Prowl said dryly, irritation and bemusement bringing him to, once again, pause his work and look up at the other black and white mech. "Jazz, is there any particular reason for your visit?"
Jazz merely smiled. "Nope."
The bluntness of the statement took Prowl aback. He shuttered his optics a few times in surprise.
"None?"
"Jus' wanted some company."
Prowl snorted, then grimaced at the fact he'd done so. "And you chose me?"
Another smile. "You make me laugh."
Prowl shook his helm, once again resuming typing as he said, "I'd say you have a few screws loose, but you'd take that as a compliment."
"You know me too well. So… chess. You wanna play?"
"Sure, Jazz." Prowl restrained himself from rolling his optics. "I'll play your game."
