Author's Note: As always, thank you for reading! Please excuse any glaring errors. I intended to have this piece up between Christmas and New Year's, but I went through a rough spell emotionally about some things coming up fast in RL. Yay, emotion-induced lack of motivation. Anyways, I wanted to have this posted for you all before school starts back for me.
Sounds of the Season
Chapter 7: I'll Be Home for Christmas
December 3
"Did you hear?"
"Which? C'mon, mech, you got to be specific around here."
"Jazz is awake!"
"Finally!"
Pause as work was accomplished for a quarter of a breem, if that.
"Wait, how did you find out? You've been stuck on monitor duty, and I was just there yesterday morning for Aid to do another adjustment. It sounded like things were getting worse, not better."
"Well, I ran into Sideswipe on the way-"
"Oh, come on. You seriously can't be that gullible."
"Of course not! But, he was passing by when he heard the commotion in medbay, and Huffer came out about the same time. He told him that there was something going on with Jazz, and you can't deny that Ratchet's mood has been, well, his brand of normal. Put it together, and it must mean Jazz is awake!"
"You know what that means, don't you? If it's true?"
"Yep. Been looking forward to it. I think I heard the beginnings of a plan in the commissary before I got here."
Later that morning, Ratchet was seen entering the Prime's office looking tired yet pleased, the latter a shocking yet promising image to those on duty. Half of a breem later, the Prime, closely followed by the Chief Medical Officer, exited briskly yet lightly. He appeared as though the weight of the universe was removed from his broad shoulders. The two travelled to the medical bay, a journey that was closely followed using the available, small security monitors and the copious amount of security cameras throughout the Ark.
Word travelled fast. They had a lot to prepare.
December 5 - 14:38
"Thanks, my mech," Jazz said with a tired smile, carefully clutching the gifted items. "These'll be great."
"No problem! Figured you'd be needing something while you're stuck here two astrokliks after rejoining us this side of the Matrix." Jazz's red and gold visitor was perched comfortably against the side of the medical berth, visibly pleased and excited to be reunited with him, which was no surprise. "Let me know when you get through those. I'll find you some more if the Hatchet still has you stuck in here."
Jazz smiled appreciatively and nodded. "Thanks. I so owe you."
Blaster just laughed before suddenly straightening from his perch with a stretch, field flickering apologetically. "Well, I got to go. Duty calls," he said in a mockingly heroic tone, to which Jazz snorted.
"What do you got today?" Jazz inquired. He could always look it up himself, but he was game for any excuse to prolong his interaction with his crewmates and friends during his visiting hours.
"Double of comm.s followed by monitor." The grimace, physical and verbal, accompanying that statement was tangible. The saboteur trilled in sympathy, his own feeble field suffused with equal sentiment. "Yeah, my processor is already dead with boredom just thinking about that second one." The host cheekily grinned at Jazz. "Hey, you have sway with the taskmaster now. You sure you can't use that influence of yours to persuade our illustrious SIC to make one of his oh-so-rare, last minute changes?"
Jazz laughed before looking at Blaster's over-exaggerated forlornness unapologetically. "Sorry, mech. I have to save that winsome charm and sway. No offense, but it's every mech for himself when it comes to monitor duty."
"Slagger. You owe me."
"Not that much!" Jazz laughed. He waved his servo mock-imperiously and dismissively. "Now shoo. You don't want to be late, that'll just make things worse."
Flicking a black, uninjured sensor horn, Blaster shook his helm before trudging away with exorbitant amounts of faux-despair. "Yeah, yeah, I'm going."
"Thanks!"
"Glitch," the host murmured, the abysmally smothered grin belying his affronted act. With a fond look and final wave, Blaster disappeared.
Jazz sighed from his reclined position at the now empty room, filled only with the soft hum of medical equipment and quietly playing music. To his right, a side table and the space on the floor surrounding it were flooded with a variety of "get well soon" gifts and boredom distractors, courtesy of everyone on the Ark.
Ratchet was restricting the number of visitors he could have in a day as well as who could visit, namely members of the command staff, medical personnel, his Special Ops subordinates, and explicitly Prowl. However, word of his consciousness and recovery spread quickly, and those who were permitted to visit were bombarded with questions, requests to pass along messages, and these items. He smiled fondly at them, these amicable expressions of friendship, thought, and care.
However, his warm feelings diminished somewhat at the empty chair next to the table to his right. Although he promised he would only be gone for a shift duration, and although he had not broken that promise yet, Jazz missed the, until now, perpetually present doorwinger. Prowl. The mech had a ton of responsibilities to tend to now that Jazz was awake with a fantastic prognosis, increased by Jazz's continued inability to even sit up without assistance as he recovered. Jazz knew and appreciated this. Nevertheless, he wanted nothing more than for the gorgeous, diligent Praxian to stay by his side throughout his entire recovery, and beyond. It was selfish, but he wanted that uniquely quiet and focused care and affection.
Primus, not even a breem and he was lonely and feeling the first inkling of stir craziness.
Focusing on the objects, a few slim, black cases filled with organized data wafers, Jazz sifted through the miniature collection and began ordering them for when Prowl was back. Movies. Blaster had brought him an array of Christmas movies from the classics to more recent television movies.
This was going to be fun.
16:15
Prowl smiled softly in an unguarded moment at the dozing Polyhexian as he entered the room with the muted hiss and woosh of the sliding door. Jazz apparently fell into recharge while perusing something within the black, book-like case resting on his lap, something new that had arrived since he left for first shift earlier that morning. As quietly as was possible, Prowl maneuvered around the remaining medical monitors and equipment to the other side of the berth, sitting in the lone chair and resuming his vigil.
Subspacing the simple yet elegant, small container he brought with him, Prowl threaded his servo into the nearest black one, absently rubbing his thumb along in a soothing motion as he cast his gaze along the still healing frame. As repairs integrated, Jazz appeared increasingly healthy and whole, and he regained some of his strength and confidence each day. Each day, Jazz returned more to the mech with whom Prowl fell in love.
While he was focused on capturing every detail of each healing weld or integrating replacement part, Prowl missed the slow brightening of an azure visor until he felt a gentle squeeze on his entangled servo. Jerked from his trance-like observation, Prowl slowly gave the dopily smiling saboteur a tiny smile in return. "Hi," he whispered. "I'm sorry if I woke you."
"Hey, yourself," Jazz replied. Pressing his free servo onto the berth beside his hip, Jazz hissed as the slight movement aggravated his extensive repairs, stretching the surface welds and causing an ache from shifting internal parts. Prowl immediately moved to help him resettle.
"How was shift?" Jazz gasped as he stilled completely, allowing the pain to take its course and ebb away.
"It was fine. Typical." Prowl opened his field in offered support, melding with and soothing what he could of the pain from Jazz's. Clear in the Polyhexian's field was his gratitude and love for the support and the mech offering it.
"I would have been back sooner, but Red Alert caught me just as I was exiting my office," Prowl apologized. "I also required an additional stop on my way," he added once he sensed the saboteur was settled once more. Removing the small container from his subspace, he presented it to the curious, not at all miffed saboteur.
Taking the metallic box from Prowl, marveling at the elegant, silver and copper designs, Jazz opened it and smiled with awe and glee.
"Are these what I think they are?" Jazz questioned excitedly, receiving a nod from Prowl. Inside was an assortment of Cybertronian delicacies, a rarity these days, molded and decorated in a seasonally inspired, artistically tasteful manner. They looked professional and mouthwateringly good. "They're beautiful. But, I thought Ratchet banned this brand of fun."
"I am of the opinion that his threat is exclusively for Thanksgiving, as well as you and Wheeljack," Prowl deadpanned, betrayed by the mischievous glimmer in his light blue optics. Never get on the wrong side of a determined, master tactician. "Besides, it is amusing to watch him flounder as he attempts to tell Bluestreak 'no.'"
Jazz snickered at the image that conjured. A pleading, pouting Bluestreak with all the stops pulled out - pathetically drooping doorwings, puppy dog optics, hopeful smile, and perhaps even a hint of oncoming waterworks – standing in front of a Ratchet with servos on hips, trying but failing to dissuade the young gunner in a non-spark-crushing manner. Never did Jazz, or Prowl, ever imagine how deadly persuasive that combination was when Jazz inspired it while sparkling sitting Bluestreak eons ago. To date, Jazz's excuse was that he was looking for some new entertainment. The ultimate product worked practically every time.
And, of course, neither officer was above recruiting the younger Praxian's preternatural ability for their own agendas.
"You, my love, are incredibly devious," Jazz teased with a smirk. Delicately lifting one of the Christmas themed, homemade treats from the container, Jazz held it up and marveled. "And, you come bearing delicious treats. Count me impressed." Holding it out to Prowl, Jazz asked, "Share them with me?"
"It would be my pleasure," Prowl replied. He delicately kissed the servo before taking the treat. The two settled in, one on the berth and the other in the chair flush to the side of said berth.
As they reveled in the contentment of each other's presence, consuming the sweet morsels in an equally sweet and playful way, Prowl gestured to the discarded cases. "What are these?"
Jazz quickly finished swallowing his treat, decorated like an angel. "Seasonal entertainment!" Grabbing and opening the uppermost case, Jazz pointed to the numerous wafers in the sleeves. "We've got the classics here: Miracle on 34th Street, It's a Wonderful Life, Holiday Inn, White Christmas. We've got some animated classics, think Rudolph, the Grinch, and variations on Santa. And, we've got some modern favorites: Elf, Christmas with the Kranks, A Christmas Story...the works!"
Prowl hummed contemplatively. "I assume you've organized a marathon by now." Jazz nodded enthusiastically, causing Prowl's lips to quirk into a grin. "Shall we get started then?"
"Yes, please!"
Later...
"I cannot make sense of it..."
Jazz tilted his helm to peer up at Prowl, who had migrated to joining the saboteur on the berth about halfway through the earlier, first movie at Jazz's insistence. "Make sense o' what?"
Prowl stared intently at the brief, rolling credits. "A number of facets of the film, but specifically, why is the doll considered a misfit?"
It just did not make sense to the Praxian. Apparently, it was also extensively debated by other viewers over the years based on a quick Internet search. Rightfully so, Prowl thought to himself.
"Huh," Jazz contemplated. "Perhaps that she's sad or has self-esteem issues? That seems like the most popular theory."
"Perhaps," Prowl echoed. "However, it is inconsistent with the identifiers that classify the other toys as 'misfits.' Setting aside the fact that the arc was expanded after the film's initial release, consider this. There is a train with square wheels, a boat that cannot stay afloat, an airplane that cannot fly, a bird that swims, a water pistol that shoots jelly of all things, a spotted elephant, a wind-up mouse in a set of nesting dolls, and a cowboy that rides an ostrich." He paused, letting Jazz draw the same conclusion himself.
"It's all physical, defects, ironies," Jazz stated, shifting to a more comfortable angle to watch Prowl process.
Prowl nodded. "Exactly," he agreed. "Yet, despite that she is disheartened and despairing over her circumstance, which is entirely understandable, the doll appears completely normal and even appealing as a toy for a child. Sadness hardly seems sufficient for keeping her on the island as, eventually, it would be difficult, almost impossible, to distinguish between an ingrained predisposition or a response to circumstance..."
At this point, Jazz was vibrating with suppressed laughter at the conversation, projecting as composed and engaged as he could muster. This was why he thoroughly enjoyed watching movies with Prowl. The mech inevitably fixated on the flaws of everything and made rationalizing them such a serious, important affair. It was hilarious. Sometimes it was annoying, but mostly it was hilarious.
"...Nevertheless, the characterization is inconsistent," Prowl continued to elaborate, unaware that the saboteur unfocusedly gazing up at him had not been paying attention to his verbal analysis for the past half-breem. "In short, while there is an 'explanation' from the producers, the motive remains insufficient, inconsistent, and unsatisfying. It makes no sense."
"You know," Jazz interjected with a teasing grin, wriggling a digit into the Praxian's side, causing Prowl to squirm at the sensation. "It is just an animated film. A cartoon."
"It doesn't matter." Prowl replied petulantly. "It's the principle."
Prowl reached for the remote and cued up the scene selection menu, determined to identify the explanation. Jazz laughed before gingerly leaning up and pressing a kiss to Prowl's cheek.
"Never change, Prowler."
Jazz relaxed against the slightly taller mech's chestplates again, content to let his love with his fixated processors and battle computer work through mystery of the doll on the Island of Misfit Toys. It would take a while before Prowl would admit defeat. Excuse him, defer to a later time so that he could accumulate more 'data' and 'evidence.' After all, the tactician had a reputation to uphold with respect to quality.
All Jazz knew was that he could not resist adding, "Oh yeah, don't forget. Once you figure out the doll, you got to find an explanation for the scooter next!"
Both would remain unsolved this year, much to Prowl's frustration and Jazz's gleeful entertainment.
December 6 - 05:00
It started out quiet, the sound of gently rolling waves accompanying simple notes. Then, it started to grow.
Let's get away from sleigh bells
Let's get away from snow
Let's make a break some Christmas, dear
I know the place to go
A visor and a pair of optics dimly glowed in the early morning darkness. Groggily, Jazz muttered incoherently in confusion. Once he registered that it was the music, he listened closer as he did not initially recognize the song. Prowl shifted as he tried to return to the realm of recharge.
Suddenly, the music burst forth in volume and annoyingness.
How'd ya like to spend Christmas on Christmas Island?
How'd ya like to spend the holiday away across the sea?
How'd ya like to spend Christmas on Christmas Island?
How'd ya like to hang a stocking on a great big coconut tree?
"Noo," Jazz moaned, achingly rolling so he could ineffectively cover both his audials. Not this one. This was cruel and unusual punishment. You know, something one kept around when they needed the pièce de résistance for purely revenge purposes.
"Prowl," he whined, enduring the twinges of pain he received as he repeatedly nudged Prowl with his ped. He received a recharge-laced, grumpy groan at the disturbance. "Make it stop!"
How'd ya like to stay up late like the islanders do?
Wait for Santa to sail in with your presents in a canoe
"Prrooowwwwlllllll..."
Nudge. Nudge. Kick.
"Jazz, I swear to Primus," Prowl grumbled. Jazz whimpered pathetically in response.
Huffing, Prowl slid off the berth and unsteadily crossed the room to the small, portable speaker set assembled there. Picking up the master datapad controlling the entire Ark's sound system – which he was yet to discern how it was done – he forcefully stabbed at the screen.
If you ever spend Christmas on Christmas Island
You will never stray for everyday your Christmas dreams come true
It stopped.
Both black and whites sighed in relief to their audials as something vocal-less came on, a jazz trio coincidentally enough.
Step. Step. Stumble. Step.
Prowl laid back down, wrapping the saboteur in his arms. "Better?"
"Yeah," Jazz replied with a yawn. "I'm gonna kill Blaster."
An awkward, tense silence settled between them, at least for Prowl. He never figured it out, Prowl realized. Jazz was already settling back in to try for more rest, heedless of what he had just conveyed. Albeit, the Polyhexian had only been awake for a few days now, and most of that time had been spent resting, recuperating, and beginning to define the relationship between them.
"Why?"
Jazz hummed questioningly. "What?"
"Why Blaster?" Prowl clarified. He wanted to do this carefully so that it would hopefully not blow up in his face.
"He's obviously the one who's been keepin' the music playing. The choices aren't quite his usual taste, but I guess he's been trying to be discreet for some reason." Jazz chuckled to himself. "Maybe he's tryin' to accomplish something with it."
Prowl absently nodded. Maybe he should just keep it to himself. After all, gestures such as these were not his forte.
"You don't seem satisfied with that answer." Jazz shifted so that he could pin Prowl with a pointed look. "You know something about this?"
Now or never. "Actually, I do." Idly tracing weld marks, wishing his touch could make them disappear, Prowl avoided Jazz's gaze. Clamping down on the reawakened upheaval of his emotions at the recollection of the not-so distant past, he haltingly continued. "I...while it was still uncertain about whether you would make it, it was an especially difficult time. For many." Why was this so hard to convey? He had already revealed his affections for Jazz. "I needed something stabilizing, something normal. Something to make everything all seem worthwhile. Something reflective..."
"Reflective?" Jazz interjected. Before his confused expression could settle, it morphed into realization tinged with a mix of guilt, apology, and surprise. "Oh."
Prowl still avoided the saboteur's gaze. "I thought I would utilize a figurative page from your book, at least what I perceived as something indicative of-"
"It was. I'd hoped you might catch on" Jazz interrupted again, this time with a growing, genuine smile. "That is single-servoedly the most downright romantic thing I have ever witnessed from you, by the way." He waved a servo to stave off the oncoming retort. "Yeah, this is new, but still. It explains why I've had some songs stuck in my processor that I don't remember playing before this whole mess."
"I'm just glad to have you back," Prowl replied, pulling Jazz closer for comfort.
"Can't say I'm not, myself." Jazz snuggled into the strong, warm arms holding him. "Besides, I wanted to reply," he said, remotely switching on a lyric-less version of a specific song, before beginning his own serenade for one.
I'm dreaming tonight of a place I love
Even more than I usually do
And although I know
It's a long road back, I promise you
I'll be home for Christmas
You can count on me
Please have snow and mistletoe
And presents under the tree
Christmas eve will find me
Where the love light beams
I'll be home for Christmas
If only in my dreams
Music:
Christmas Island ~ Kristen Chenoweth
I'll Be Home for Christmas ~ Darius Rucker
Yes, that little discussion is about the "Dolly for Sue" from the Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer animated movie. I cannot count the number of times I have that discussion each year, and it still bugs me.
I still have some more to go, though it may be a little later until I have them finished and posted. Just think of it as extending the spirit of the holiday as we all return to everyday routines again.
