The end of my allotted shift happened in the labs while reviewing Wheeljack's shuffled mistaken orders. However, it wasn't Wheeljack that marked my shift's end, or even Jazz, but rather Sideswipe.

The giddy frontliner pounced into the room. "Guess what? No, I can't wait for you to guess. Prime is suspending the rest of your non-checkup-up time with Ratchet until Megatron is beaten back into his watery hole of a home."

Placing my stylus down, I looked him squarely in the optics. "And this makes you excited why?"

"For one it means you're doing more active duties and you're now fair play again. But what's far, far more important is that I've got no reason to hold back on telling you what I have plan for you owing me. I'd argue Prime's orders make it even better."

Wheeljack stopped his tinkering with some of his under-reported supplies and looked at Sideswipe. "Can't this wait until after he's helped me with my supplies issue?"

"I'm just here to give him the awesome news. Hide is amending the schedules now for 'Prowlly and me' time. You know how he was checking training weapons, including a certain newly discovered one?" he smugly asked with that same cheeky grin he flashes when he thinks he has me in an awkward position.

I refused to answer him. When he realized I wasn't going to give him what he wanted his grin became a pout but he resumed his taunting speech. "Well, starting next primary shift, you and I are going to prepare for our training exercise demonstrations! Then one shift per rotation we'll be actually training those selected by Hide. One thing that impressed upon me during our fight is how a smaller, non-combatant like yourself managed to put yourself in control. Yeah, I wasn't about to beat down my SIC and try to claim 'self-defense' without proof, but I didn't expect being almost stuck while you perched on top of me. If I were into autoerotic blackout it would've been kinky. You and I are going to train all the smaller 'bots, non-combatants, and anyone else we miss who could benefit from learning those tricks."

I stared at him, briefly distracted by rapidly dismissing images attempting to form against my will. "What are you getting out of this?"

"Well, for one I'll be covering less Autobot afts if more can handle battle better, and I prefer to really enjoy a good Decepticon beat down without having to divide my attention. But really, I'm looking forward to sparring with you."

"We're actually going to spar? That's completely illogical and I'm genuinely relieved my logic center isn't back online. How much and what kind of sparing?"

"Let's just say Ratchet will be there for our planning session to determine how much I can get away, since training is only as good as its realistic-ness. How much and what kind is up to him and me, but mostly me because he said 'go for it' as long as I don't put you back in Medbay. Oh, the training toys I've selected for you, 'though some just didn't seem right enough for our precious - nay, magical - moments together, so those I tenderly modified for you. Have fun with Jack and don't be late!" He hopped up, did a few boxing moves, and then bounced back out.

I don't know how long my optics stayed on the door until Jazz came into the lab. "What's with the looks?"

"Jazz," I acknowledge with a helm shake. "I thought you were going to comm. me."

"I did. You didn't answer my pings."

"Oh, apologies. I was distracted. Sideswipe just informed me that Prime is allowing him to fight me for training demonstrations, so long as Ratchet says it won't require repairs."

Jazz whistled. "That's a new one. Why does Sides need practice fighting you?"

"It's not about him practicing against me, but rather me demonstrating to mechs like me how to gain control over mechs like him."

"Sounds sweet. I can't wait to see it." I stared at him incredulously. "Ready to go?"

Wheeljack dramatically ex-vented, but his fins flashed what Jazz called "humorous blue". "I'll finish this by myself. It sounds like Prowl's time will be very busy for a while."

"I'll try to make it back," I promised. "They aren't giving me enough work to keep me busy around my restitution beatings, although I can't say anything more definitive since evidently Prime is allowing that to take on a more literal definition."

His fins flashed more brightly. "Looking forward to it. The help, not the beatings thing."

When we were in the hallway I pointed out to Jazz, "You know that Sideswipe isn't doing this training exercise to be 'sweet', or whatever you think makes it sound sweet."

"No, but you know he's playing it up as much as he can since both Prime and Ratchet have to approve. One tiny discoloration on you that might be a light energon bruise and Ratchet will cut Sides off. Not that Sides would intentionally hurt you anyways; he's more of a talker if you aren't one of the mechs on his 'forever hate' list. Granted that's not a small list, but I'm pretty sure you're just on his 'forever annoy' list, not the hate one."

"If only I had your optimism."

"If only you had my trust in our comrades, that they ultimately have good intentions. Even if it's disguised in taunts and pranks."

"I tried a little trust earlier," I informed him. "Are we going to your quarters or mine? I haven't spoken to my brothers since Prime removed my escort-at-all-times requirement. Now it's only when I recharge."

"Mine. I told the duo that you owe me what's left of our conversation that Smokey's please-oh-please-come-to-Medbay begging comm. interrupted. I may have implied it was going to be a length conversation." He added, dropping a few octaves before chucking.

"What did you say to them?"

"That we were going to have a long-awaited conversation over some benign activities, chess or movies or whatever. Relax, I told you before I wanted nothing that might cause misunderstandings."

His grin, similar to the one Sideswipe gave me earlier but with a different sense to it, was met with a very pointed look.

Jazz ex-vented and straightened his posture. "Fine, fine. I'll behave for the rest of this walk. So, you trusted someone?"

::Red Alert has my office wired,:: I privately comm.'d him, aware that we were walking right under Red's cameras. ::I thought he might have spied yours and my conversation but he swears he didn't. Part of me wants to rush bringing back online my battle computer and coming up with plans to investigate the truthfulness of his claim. However, I am trying my best to trust him. It's a little hard. Probably will be quite difficult once my battle computer is actually on.::

::Ahh. I'll keep an optic on him. Makes sneaking around extra hot if we can get around Red. You just focus on not treating Red like a potential weakness or threat. Personally, though, I wish you'd said something before I more-or-less laid my spark bare.::

Sheepishly I could only reply, ::I forgot.::

::You forgot? You forget nothing!::

::Because of my battle computer! I never had to store those details in my processor because the AI always took care of that type of data. I'm not in the habit of remembering who's watching who because that's more apt for data processing.::

Out loud Jazz laughed. ::What do you remember?::

::The things my battle computer doesn't, or rather what it purges from its databanks and would be lost if not for me. Example, what it's like to have family. My battle computer sees Blue a liability, and Smokescreen a risk to non-tactical operations. I see them as brothers. Even when either one is trying to sneak around breaking regulations. Smokescreen has no idea how much of his illegal activities I actually overlook, even when I threaten to throw him in the brig for the more serious ones. In a way, I can afford to overlook many of his minor indiscretions because there's plenty of serious ones I won't let slide.::

I glimpsed a fleeting smile. ::You two have a weird sibling relationship.::

We were almost in to the hallway junction where Bluestreak and I met Sideswipe when I received a message from Ratchet. ::Hey, you. Come down to my Medbay.::

::When?::

::If I don't say 'when', then what do you think that means?::

I frowned and held my hand up to signal stop to Jazz. ::Now?::

::If I could pick I'd say ten breems ago, but as Perceptor still hasn't filled my request for a device I can hit rewind on the world, now will do.::

"Care to take a detour with me to Medbay?" ::I might need your help. Ratchet wants to know what I was doing that increased spark activity right before my second recharge. Everything I come up with I can see him arguing that it wouldn't elicit the same spark reaction. I'm not used to my obstacle being medical data. Usually it's dense mechs giving me attitude, or those who hopelessly romanticize missions instead of hearing out the analytics.::

He chuckled. "Sure." ::Ask him to see the results and timeline because you're curious what it looks like. Then just go with the flow.::

I faintly scowled as we started walking. ::And just how does one 'go with the flow' without a simulator to project the flow, and a battle computer to calculate the best path to navigate around currents?::

::Wow, I suppose… I can't even figure how to translate Jazz-speak into Prowl-speak for that one. This lack of tactical hardware is kind of like debugging Prowl, or reevaluating the mech versus the upgrades.::

::Are you implying I'm flawed?:: Even I detected a hint of accusation in my voice.

::Nope, I'm saying you're falsely secured by your tac hardware. Better to find out now instead of behind enemy lines, should something happen.::

Well that's a sobering thought.

Jazz nudged me playfully. ::I'm happy to help you 'debug' and figuring out what makes you unique.::

::What a tactful way of saying 'I'll help you be less weak' while also giving yourself leverage over how that might play out.::

He chuckled. ::You aren't weak, just under exposed to your real self. And hey, I like exploring new things. Finding out the real Prowl? Totally worth exploring.::

We arrived momentarily later with Ratchet standing almost right inside the door, arms crossed, looking a little more annoyed than he sounded on the comm. "How was your shift?" he asked, less agitation to his usual accustomed tone. Suspicious.

"Without stress, excluding Sideswipe's announcement."

"Ah yes, that. We'll discuss it later, during the practice match warm up. Don't worry, he knows he's not allowed to mar the hard work put into you. You're here now because Prime and I finally finished a conversation involving you. I was going to comm. you here earlier since I managed to work ahead of my schedule, but then Prime wanted to talk about his concerns."

Oh no?

He huffed. "It's been pressed upon me, and unfortunately after a heated argument I unhappily agreed, the importance of bringing all of your systems fully online within the deca-orn. We're going to do this very carefully, especially since your tac-set is what caused all of this. Well, it and your personality but I've got no control over the latter. I want to get a new baseline on your systems, so I need you to sit quietly hooked up to a bunch of machines while I download system data and sensor readings."

Jazz raised his hand halfway. "Can I hang out? Prowl and I had plans, regarding what he owes me."

"Sure, as long as you don't do anything that screws up my readings." The medic nodded and moved back to the private room I'd come to know far too well. I followed him back to a berth surrounded by machines chirping away. He hooked the lines across my medical ports and frame, including the main connection port for all the new spark chamber sensors just underneath my armored plating. I have a hunch this will act like a lie detector. Jazz pulled up a chair to my side opposite of Ratchet.

While Ratchet fiddled around I asked, "Do you think you could turn back on my chronometer before I leave?"

Ratchet's mouth twitched into a pursed frown. "I don't know if I want to yet. This is for baselining."

"If you do so, then there's no excuse for me being late to Sideswipe's training." Not that Sideswipe would allow that anyways. I can envision him doing to me what I do to him when I doubt his on-time attendance to punishment detail.

Ratchet's frown disappeared. "Good point."

Jazz and I calmly discussed work for the most part, while Ratchet poked, prodded, and took readings. Whenever Ratchet eyed Jazz like he was considering throwing him out, Jazz would say something about making me "suffer" and Ratchet would go back to ignoring him. After the third time I started growing suspicious that Jazz was speaking in a covertly ironic way.

I sent him a private warning. ::Your use of "suffering" is coming off as filled with double meaning and I don't like you playing so dangerously while I'm strapped to detection machines. What if - ::

"Mph!" I grinded my denta when Ratchet flicked my chevron.

"Don't use your commlink. It's altering some of these readings," he scolded.

On my other side a frame I could see the saboteur's obvious internal laughter, despite his silent vocalizer. I glared at him until he settled down. Jazz asked, "Ratchet, you almost done yet? I'm so looking forward to Prowl's closed-off-ness suffering at my hands."

"Almost. I have questions for him and then I can start disconnecting him. When I'm doing that I want you to tell me what you have plan, just to make sure it doesn't do anything to undermine me."

Jazz's face fell and I smirked at him.

Ratchet ignored Jazz in favor of turning his attention fully on me. "Time to talk about what happened earlier so I know if it'll impact my baseline. No trying to wiggle out of it by saying Jazz is here like you did earlier by pointing fingers at your brothers. I'll kick him out if you try."

"What if it's private?" I tried first.

"Oh, you do not get to argue that," he tersely replied before slipping back to prodding. "You can't really argue 'too private' because the readings aren't that sky high. They don't imply you getting 'faced into oblivion. Even if you were, I wouldn't be asking who was touching what per heightened reading."

Jazz bursted out laughing and my face just about burned off. "Can I, ah," I tried starting back up with Jazz's idea but I had to stop and wait for the heated plating to become normal again. Ever since upgrading into my adult frame no one has ever discussed such activities around me without thinking it was said behind my back, and suddenly I get two sly comments to my face within joors of each other? In addition to Jazz's boldness in his quarters? I hope it's a coincidence and not related to what Ironhide saying that I seem different without my tac-set running. Because if that's making the difference… I may have to rethink some things.

Jazz's frame heaved and he nearly fell off the chair. He managed to catch himself on the berth and forced his hysterics (in my opinion) down to a giggle. "Oh, the images of that conversation." He started laughing again but managed to hold himself together a little better. "I can explain, at least whatever registered after I ran into him with Blue."

Ratchet, completely impassive at the two responses, shook his helm. "I'm aware he was in your quarters but it's better to hear it from the patient."

"Then I think you're going to be waiting a little bit," he countered between a renewed short fit.

The CMO glanced my way, sighing but also grinning. "Looks like. Never knew how easy it was to make Prowl blush without his tac-set. Don't know how to recover, do you?" He snickered at me. To Jazz he said, "Fine. What?"

I wanted to look at Jazz pleadingly but with Ratchet right there I couldn't.

"I accidently smacked one of Prowl's doorwings pretty good when we were watching a movie since I was being my usual unstill self after staying prone during a mission far too long. I offered to massage the smacked sensors. Turns out I'm better than I thought because he fell into recharge on my couch, engine purring."

How is my face not melted?

Despite that thought my shoulders dropped back, relieved by the mildly less compromising lie. Ratchet mistook the motion. "Cheer up, Prowl, I'm not going to tell anyone Jazz does such a good job undoing minor damage it gets your spark going before passing out. Though maybe the next wing-based frame to walk in here complaining about sensor pain, I ought to send them to Jazz. Head of Special Ops, Third-In-Command, now part-time massage therapist."

"Mmhmm, now that sounds like all kinds of possible fun," my companion light-heartedly teased the idea.

Ratchet shook his helm. "Possible new calling for Jazz aside, I'm glad I got that question answered. Still don't have the answer about what happened to disrupt your recharge before running into Jazz?"

Right, my nightmare. The thought of it drained the heat out of my face. "An unpleasant dream coupled with being nearly compressed between two frames."

Ratchet narrowed his optics at me in careful examination and I focused on anticipating his next question. "Did whatever was in this 'unpleasant dream' come back and stress you out during your shift?"

"What? I told you I wasn't stressed during my shift." My mind ran down the possibilities on why he's asking. "The news from Sideswipe was a bit unexpected and perplexing, but not truly stressful. I didn't have much in the way of other visitors and I hadn't much in the way of administrative work. No battle or mission related work, either."

No other visitors other than Jazz… and one invisible inside my office. Make that two: Red Alert and Ratchet, and Jazz's visit would read as stressing.

Jazz realized the same thing. "Dunno about the first one, but the shift one is my fault. I told him what he owes me from everything and I... may have... totally turned confrontational."

Ratchet's beady optics moved to Jazz while also morphing into a glare. "You did what?"

"I broke Prime's order to some extent and told Prowl what happened. Wasn't intending to push it so far." Jazz shrugged. "Sorry?"

Ratchet's hardened optics didn't let up until Jazz fidgeted. "You, my office, now. Prowl, don't move."

Jazz's white face turned a paler white as he left with Ratchet. Once I heard the faint click of Ratchet's office door, followed by the ominous whooshing sound of all sound proofing barriers engaging, I started counting the kliks. At klik 588 I finally detected the door sliding open, followed by one mech shuffling and another pacing normally. Both came back but Jazz's shoulders were slouched, whereas Ratchet's posture was very rigid. "I wasn't entirely certain what shape Jazz would be in upon the next time I saw him, whether it be now or in a medical berth on my way out."

Ratchet humphed. "Why would I add to my workload? Especially now that I've finally gotten one task off my chassis. Jazz here has opted to take the burden of talking to you about everything." The visor of the shuffling mech sharply brightened.

"By 'opted' you mean…"

"I mean I won't tell Prime Jazz ignored the order if Jazz deals with it. I don't feel like handling something with so much emotional baggage anymore," he growled but I knew from vorns of experience it was fake. If anything, it was his way of saying that he wouldn't/couldn't talk about it anymore so others shouldn't press the issue.

After Jazz settled back down in his earlier chair Ratchet looked us each in the optic before drawing in a lengthy vent. His shoulders dropped backwards. "I think I have enough to work the baseline. Before I start disconnecting you, do you need something? Do you need more recharge medication?"

"I am not entirely sure." Admitting that I'm hyper-aware about a possible repeat nightmare may not be smart to the overly cautious doctor. "I'd like to decide later when I have more information."

"Only you need more data to decide whether to take a recharge aid or not. I'll have something set aside in Medbay. If you need it, just call the Medbay commlink and someone will bring them to you. Unless you want to discuss something else, I'm pretty much done. I have some good news, for once."

"Really?"

"According to these readings, the way your spark reacted to that massage accelerated and improved its absorption of the minerals and energy additive deposit. You're spark is stronger and much more stable. That's why I let you get away earlier with holding back since I knew you were ultimately better, despite the curious readings. Now that I know, my doctor recommendation is for you to keep it up and you'll have a fully healthy spark before too long. There might even be a chance you'll be better off than you've been in countless vorns. Keep indulging in more massages, or whatever it takes. If need be, I'll even make it Jazz's mandatory part-time job duty."

From the corner of my optic I could see Jazz's visor losing that sharp brightness to it, the intensity and color darkening a shade below his normal hues. He squirmed a little and leaned forward. "I'll try helping him keep it up. No need to order me to get him to relax."

"Good," Ratchet naïvely agreed. "I'll reactivate your internal chronometer now and then check it against the baseline."

A mutter slipped out while my mind was more stuck on just how this trip was turning out. "Pretty sure a time measuring device won't kill me."

"Mute it," he said with a small flick to my chevron. "I want to make sure I'm satisfied with its impact to the baseline readings."

He pushed a few buttons on a machine connected to my medical port and suddenly I knew exactly the time. My doorwings relaxed and Ratchet snickered. "Knowing the exact time is that important to you?"

"Do you realize how hard it is for a tactician and the schedule planner to function without knowing that? Even on leave. You try finding the appropriate times for refueling without crossing too many any ignorant soldiers gawking at why you're walked around with attendees like a half-functioning mech. Blue tried but he's not used to planning how to discreetly refuel."

"With his need to talk, he'd probably plan on the exact opposite. Your need, however, for control is too much for your own good. No, don't even argue with me." He cut me off before I could finish opening my mouth.

Jazz bumped my hand and tapped his wrist to communicate the human signal of hurrying up. "Fine, I'll yield the point for the moment."

"I love it when patients say such lovely words." He finally started disconnecting me from the wires. "Jazz, what are you planning to do with him?"

He shrugged. "Just trust exercises that I pulled from humans. I figure with someone as wound tight as Prowl I'll have to push his limits."

Ratchet's optics brightened. "Oh please tell me you'll do trust falls. That'll push his limit, especially if you do it in the Officers-Only training room. You could run all kinds of simulations. Then later I can tell you which simulators got his spark pulsing quicker." His expression turned devious as he removed the last wire.

Jazz shifted and leaned back. "I wasn't planning on using the training room, but…" he stopped and his optic ridge knitted together in thought for three kliks. The ridge smoothed out and he halfcocked Ratchet a grin. "That is actually a great idea, Ratchet. Thanks! Come on, Prowl, let's go train."

When we were clear I insisted he cease the needless risks. ::Stop walking the fine line of teasing secrecy and being discovered once someone starts piecing it together.::

A devilish smile crossed his face but he didn't halt. ::Been holding that one in?::

::Yes, ever since I grew suspicious of veiled meanings when you used the word 'suffering.' Are we actually going to the training area?::

::Relax; to them we're training, but we're not training.::

::Ah, a solution to avoiding detection by Red Alert and Ratchet?::

::And any hallway dwellers, but really it's Ratchet. I've got a few Special Ops paths that Red doesn't monitor and no one hangs out in or around them, but there's no sneaking around Ratchet while he can read you practically like a bookfile. If we disguise it as training he won't suspect anything and we won't be caught or cause suspicion so long as we don't do it too frequently. If Ratchet does question it, there's always the excuse of happy doorwing messages afterwards to undo any bumps along the way. Pity we won't get to recharge together, aside from an occasional 'oh no, he needs a massage and a relaxing movie after a trust fall gone wrong' story. I liked the recharge company. Never been fond of recharging without backup, no matter where I'm at.::

::Things will eventually change,:: I suggested as we approached the main entryway for training rooms. In a way many might find strange, I appreciated his comment for recharging with backup. After all, the reason for the Ark's layout putting Officer Quarters in back with the hallway filled with a plethora of security cameras is due to its logical point for assassination attempts. Balancing protection and privacy has always been a regular topic of discussion or contemplation, but a berth partner could accomplish both. I never really considered that option, opting for less intimate security measures.

"Do you have an actual plan?" I waited until he was done greeting a few soldiers and we locked ourselves inside the Officers-Only training room.

"It's forming." He shrugged and then grinned. "Too bad we don't have a berth simulation, or something more fun and comfy than the ground. What do you think about making a simulation to practice defending against attempted assassinations during recharge?"

"I suppose that's acceptable, although one might question why you or I have such a simulation stored under our profile."

"No one digs around others' profiles unless they're doing something they're not supposed to normally do," he retorted. "We'll keep it under my profile and call it 'Special Ops Off-Duty Surprise,' or whatever."

"Alright…" I agreed before hesitating. "Now what?" I said while glancing about the bare room.

"I'm planning on loading up my 'Too Angry to Stay Cool' profile," Jazz answered as he accessed the controls.

"That's a real profile?"

"Yup. I keep it in my 'Non-Mission' folder. It's what I use when I can't leave base but I'm too angry to calm down in my quarters. I've only used it twice since coming to Earth, but I keep it updated just in case."

The room's appearance and feel began changing, morphing into a hybrid of a dance floor, lounge, and training area. Colored lights slowly danced from the ceiling, highlighting the floor circles and pair of… somethings… in the corner. "What are those?"

Jazz looked to where I pointed. "They're called beanbag chairs, 'though they're not real beanbag chairs."

"That's a redundant thing to say."

"I mean they do more than just be furniture. I can hang them up to those hooks in the empty corner. The program reads that and turns the bag, or bags, from comfy sitting bags to punching bags. Then if I punch/kick it enough to get tired, I pull it off and presto – it's a comfy spot to rest. Plus they're way more comfortable than what I'm told a human would normally expect from something otherwise flimsily constructed."

I took a few steps towards these so-called chairs, stopping suddenly when my ped touched a floor circle and music abruptly played. I flinched before stepping back and it died down.

When the music was completely gone I heard snickering behind me. A hand touched my arm. "The floor is sensitized to pressure and movement. If I move quickly with heavy steps, it plays hard rock; quickly with light steps becomes club music, while slow is a relaxation mix. Lights will change, too."

"My thoughts on you being a mech too complicated to be happily contained to one room is clearly wrong," I noted before stepping forward, slowly and lightly. The air filled with slow jazz music. "Quite wrong."

"Took me vorns to make it myself, though!" His hand, having not left my arm when I moved to test his explanation, began softly rubbing my plating. "Got a question for you."

I turned around to face him better, silently raising my optic ridge at him to continue.

"I've been thinking how to word it and then it occurred to me straight-forward probably works best. When you and I were having fun in my quarters you weren't nearly as uptight or awkward as I expected, even with me going for the direct, pushy approach. Not that you turned into a free-spirit or a mech with a lot of practice under his hood, but I wondered. You used to freeze me out over the use of the word 'date.'"

I waited for more but he didn't add further details. "You haven't asked me a straight-forward question. Are you asking why wasn't I as uptight or awkward as expected of a mech who doesn't like the word 'date'?"

"Yeah, basically."

"I never had any romantic relationships before, so the idea of dating is discouraging because I've never understood – nor was interest in understanding – romance or fulfilling a partner's emotional needs. Romance requires understanding my own and the other's emotions, which neither I could do, and mostly still can't. I've had physical relationships before, but I considered them strategic and without emotional ties. What happened with you was ultimately more physical than romantic, if you want the dry and blunt truth."

He stared, his face slowly sinking into a grimace. "So you don't want anything beyond the physical?"

"That's not exactly what I meant with my explanation.I'd forgotten how to appreciate the physical parts of intimate interest," I admitted. "Previously it was a more of a maintenance issue. Did my frame have a charge that required an overload to dispel? If so, then I found someone my battle computer labeled as a 'charge-related maintenance worker' and allowed whatever was necessary for my frame to return to a maintainable state."

"Wow, I have so many questions. When was the last time you visited a maintenance worker?"

"Before Earth, but not as long as you might suspect." A smirk formed as I detected some internal smugness at Jazz's startled expression. "Don't factor it into whatever you're thinking. He was hardly any more intelligent or intimate than an interface-drone; his only quality exceeding an interface-drone was how easily I could access him without anyone the wiser."

"Well, gee, I'm surprised you didn't bring him with you," he retorted with noticeable sarcasm.

"Who says I didn't?"

Jazz gaped before stuttering. "What?! You have to be fragging kidding me! After all – "

"I am kidding you!" I protested. "I was trying to keep the mood lighter than the last time we had a discussion pertaining to us."

The plating below his visor squinted. He swore. "How did I not know about this secret? I had you frequently checked out to make sure our SIC wasn't doing anything dangerous or stupid."

"You recall my infrequent trips to the Theoreticians' Wing, for calibrating my battle computer's quantum physics and mathematics computation driver?"

"Yeah, one of the Top Five dullest trailing assignment I or one of my agents had. We made sure you got to the tiny, windowless lab and then back. Oh, whoa, wait! You're telling me that 'calibration trip' was code for Prowl getting laid?"

"Jazz, you don't calibrate quantum theories," I admonished as if the saboteur should've known better, choosing to not satisfy his actual question. "You should revisit the definition of calibration. Plus I never met on an actual theoretician during those visits."

"Well aren't you so funny?" he sneered without insult, his hand coming to a full stop on my arm. "I should've known better. You never mentioned these calibration trips for your battle computer's quantum mechanics driver around Ratchet. I just figured it was too specialized for a doctor."

"Of course I never mentioned it around him. He'd demand to know when I got such a driver."

"Are you fragging kidding me again?!" He threw both of his hands in the air and I shook my helm. "Primus, I just feel like the worst Special Ops Head of all time the more we talk."

"Not my fault. Perhaps you would have done better to ask yourself why a battle computer installed in a strategist would bother with quantum mechanics. I have an algorithm for quantum super-position and that's it; anything else that becomes relevant I'll get from those who actually study the subject."

"I swear I officially do not know you," Jazz scoffed, shaking his helm.

The corners of my mouth twitched downward. "In many ways you know me better than any mech I can think of."

"Oh, I didn't mean it like that. Don't, don't do that. Don't sound hurt." His hand came back but rested loosely around my hand. "I meant it in humor. The new information about the way you're used to operating for matters we've never discussed has been enlightening. You can account for Schrodinger's cat during battle strategies but romance is too much?"

"Unless 'Schrodinger' is a new nickname for Soundwave, I don't care about anyone's cat."

"No, it's a quantum super-position thing. Ugh, never mind. I don't even care right now. Our secret time isn't supposed to be filled with quantum matters." His hand quickly tightened and pulled me into him, his other hand pressing into my back as he kissed me. I barely noticed what his hands were doing when my spark started fluttering madly. "Right now I'm going to 'calibrate' you until coming up with these little lies is too difficult. Then we can discuss the other details you keep dancing around when I get more direct."

|\/\/\/|

By the end of the pretend training session neither of us felt particularly talkative about other details. True to his word, Ratchet sent us both reports during his next shift with highlighted timestamps, and a note that Jazz better remember what corresponded with the when in his report or else Ratchet would sit in on the next one. Jazz sent a rather sassy response, resulting in a snark-battle via messages between the two, with me an exasperated courtesy-correspondent observer.

When I met with Ratchet and Sideswipe in a general training area the CMO wanted details but I refused. That backfired some in how Ratchet let Sideswipe get away with giving a doorwing joint a slight friction burn. Little did they know Sideswipe wasn't the first to do that since I last saw the medic.

When we finally called an end to the practice so-called match, I sat on a bench while Ratchet prodded the joint with his tools. Sideswipe was several paces away, animatedly chatting with Sunstreaker how fun it was to get away bending my doorwing in my face without being tossed in the brig. Ironhide briefly slowed his weapon check stroll, pausing only long enough to remark that I did have a memory and there was always the next time Sideswipe broke the rules. The sour look on the red terror's face more than made up for my joint's burn.

Ratchet finally stopped his poking. "Internal repairs will have that done before you come out of recharge. Speaking of recharge, my sensors showed you woke up twice. What happened?"

"Bluestreak had his own unpleasant dream and smacked my chevron with his doorwing. Neither of us are sure how he managed that. The problem with three Praxian pressed against one another in the berth." The second one was my own unpleasant dream set off because of Bluestreak's. "The next one was simply me concerned with his wellbeing to the point of disrupting recharge again."

Jazz's remark announced his approach. "Sounds like a reason for a spark calibration."

I glanced back to see them both, one mech flashing a full smile to the lesser enthused one. Ratchet scowled and asked nonplussed, "What the slag is a spark calibration? Don't throw around fake medical terms. If I have a sudden influx of patients fearing they don't know the last time they calibrated their sparks, which is complete and utter nonsense, I will throw you into the brig and force you to sit through enough spark lectures by Perceptor until there's not enough high-grade to drown out your helmache."

"Relax! It's my new term for that spark healing crystal you want Prowl to absorb. I just thought spark calibration sounds more fun."

As soon as he finished the first sentence I darted my optics around the area but I didn't see anyone within audio range, save the distracted twins. They were moving down the wall of weapons, working on cleaning up any incorrectly placed weapons, having an affinity for proper weapon care much like Ironhide.

"It's stupid and grossly inadequate," Ratchet argued back.

"Then what do you want to call it? Chassis-localized sensor calibration, resulting from that prank everyone thinks is the real reason Prowl was out of commission?"

Ratchet pursed his lips while considering the idea. Jazz waited and I stood, slowly stretching every limb and strut. "If you need a name for it. Personally I don't see why, other than you just love a legit sounding reason to covertly mess with others."

"That's like half of my job's description!"

I motioned for Ratchet's attention before Jazz could add anything else. "How long do we need to 'calibrate' those sensors?" I ignored Jazz's helm snap at me. "Surely you aren't planning to forever monitor me."

"With the way things are going, I except you to be well enough within three or four deca-orns. If your progress plateaus but there's nothing technically worrying about it, including you not slagging me off between now and then to think you did something, I'll remove half or so of them, that-a-way so I have less maintenance checks. Red might be watching you like a turbohawk, but I don't have such luxuries. I don't even have the luxury of turning on your tac-set when I want to," he added with a dark mutter.

"Well then," Jazz jumped in to quickly redirect the conversation, "I guess that's my cue to take him to the Officers-Only training room and help keep up progress."

Ratchet smirked and blocked Jazz's hand reaching to pull me away. "Since I'm here you might as well let me see what you're doing."

"Come on; don't be that mech." Jazz's hand reached around Ratchet's arm and pawed at my shoulder.

"I'll be however I want to be, damn it. I'm the CMO on a base of half-suicidal crazies, one of which you're tugging at."

Jazz's mouth twitched. "Well then, as the only medically-trained mech in the nearby vicinity, you might want to stop that –" Jazz pointed behind us and we turned, "– before Sunny and Sides get into a real fight and you have to take their crippled forms back to Medbay."

Ratchet cursed, the expletives growing exponentially as he saw the twins pushing each other, each with a short-blade weapon in hand from halting in their efforts to restack other close-combat non-energy weapons, meant for training in a true combat setting. Both brothers were in reach of axes, maces, more short swords, and pointed staffs.

"Slag, Hide!" Ratchet yelped and darted over to the twins, hands splayed out front.

Jazz grabbed me and pulled me the opposite direction. "Let Hide and Ratchet take care of that. Let's go before Ratchet remembers his demands to watch us."

"But –" he pulled harder, interrupted me completely.

When the door closed he pointed out, "There's only so many times and ways I can say 'no' before Ratchet'll get suspicious. We should take the distractions when we can. My audios picked up what the twins were saying before I pointed them out. They were just role playing why they thought other Autobots couldn't put the weapons back right. Or as Sides said, what stupid and self-involved things they were thinking that they can't be bothered."

"You accused me of using my battle computer to misdirect others' perceptions, but you do it with your advance audio receptors?" I wirily pointed out.

"My advance audios receptors and intellect. Takes fast thinking to get Ratchet to forget you. Now give me a klik to pull up a real training profile and freeze it, just in case I failed and he comes knocking."

"If that's the case then we should reframe from doing anything more than talking."

Jazz absently nodded from his spot by the console. A bland section of desert appeared around us. "That's fine. We should probably establish a few things before we do things that tend to have a limited-to-no vocabulary. Establish things like how to not cross that amazingly-fine line between doorwing bliss and a doorwing friction burn."

"Indeed."

"Plus hard limits and soft limits."

"What are those, and why am I weary of your explanation?"

He snickered. "Let's keep it simple for now, then. I have a hard limit against spilling energon."

"You spill it all the time. Training, missions, battle – "

"Please tell me you're kidding with that new sense of humor you're developing and don't need me to spell out the context of what kind of hard limits I'm talking about right now."

After a moment of hesitation and seven kliks of recollection my doorwings twitched with realization. "Then I suppose I have the same, or am I supposed to say something else?"

"What would freeze the energon in your lines if I suggested something?" he tried explaining again.

"Being dipped in liquid nitrogen?"

He ex-vented and rubbed at his faceplate under his visor. "Okay, new question: is that humor, or are we having a miscommunication because we've got a starting-level comfort mismatch?"

More hesitation from me. "I am… at a lost, and evidently I'm developing some sort of deflection humor. Apparently spending significant cumulative time punishing Sideswipe has left a permanent mark that, without my battle computer, is making itself known."

He didn't react and after a half-breem I reluctantly returned to his question, fighting the strange need to wrap my arms around my torso. "I don't know. My previous experience was quick and mechanical, not all romantic or exploratory. I don't see an immediate hard limit in exploration, but in terms of romance... I truly don't know. I suppose a hard limit would be pushing me beyond my comfort with emotions, but then emotions are normally classified as soft for most. That is, for others, emotions are probably not supposed to be lumped in with cutting energon lines."

Jazz's mouth twitched upward as he tilted his helm, not responding for a half-breem. "Most can translate the hard emotions into physical actions. I know why I won't spend that kind of time with someone who overloads from inflicting war-like wounds. Even if it was someone 99 out of 100 times was sweet, I'd never trust them.

"But I think what's more important from what you just told me is you don't know if you can be involved with someone more than a maintenance worker. I think you can, but with a mix of nudges and patience from others. So I guess I should be asking if right now you think a hard stop is us be no more than friends with benefits, lovers, something else, or if you're willing to allow the possibility of a romantic relationship. Or if there's a chance you'd rather go back to friends-only, once your battle computer is back up and running soon."

"What are friends with benefits?"

He shrugged, the movement a bit sharper than before. "Two platonic friends in every way, save an occasional overload that's not supposed to impact their otherwise platonic relationship. I guess it'd be a cooled down version of this. A 'I got it out of my system' end to this, but good enough to leave open the possibility of doing this again in case one of us has a frame charge but not a partner."

"Oh. May I have time to consider your question?"

"How much you talking?"

"Perhaps after my tac-set is back on?" I asked, my voice more tentative than I wanted.

His visor darkened and his lips pressed tight. "Nah. See, that means you aren't make the decisions because we both know what'll happen if you stay indecisive that long. No, Prowl, you have until we have to leave this room to decide how comfortable you are with future plans. That when your battle computer comes on, you won't let it sway you because there's strategic flaws in open-ended options, where you won't listen to it if it classifies me as a liability like it does Blue. I'm not asking you to commit to anything right now, other than making a decision to not string me along."

Words formed in my mind but died an intangible mess before I could properly vocalize them. Jazz's visor flickered darker before turning normal. He moved away, towards the back of the room. "Call me when you've made up your mind. For whatever its worth, I have faith in you that you can do it before the joor's over, but you need to have that faith in yourself, too."

When he moved completely away and began a slow warm-up regiment I noticed my peds felt heavier. I sat down, crossing my legs and resting against the masked wall. Without a battle simulator I had to think carefully about it on my own. It was nearly three-quarters of the joor before I called for Jazz's return, and I still didn't feel wholly certain.

When we were both standing face to face I regarded him carefully. I noticed his neck was just slightly rotated, likely putting the focus of his optics over my shoulder. "There's something I need to make sure you realize first."

"What?" he sounded… defensive?

"I'm never going to be a mech with normal emotions. I don't want to be one. I'll try to be more than I've been, but I'll never go so far as finding out how to bond with the average Autobot. With my duties I can't see how such efforts would be of any use, if not ultimately destructive to aforementioned duties. Can you accept that?"

His neck rotated back a little, putting his face straight in line with mine. "You want to talk about emotions in terms of responsibilities, then do you know the last time I had a serious relationship?"

I shook my helm.

"When the rules of war were thrown out by Megatron and Special Ops missions went from dangerous to potentially gruesome torturous deactivation. I'd be exclusive with the same mech for a few vorns and were real tight. Then an agent's body came back – well, what pieces Shockwave sent back – and my mate found out about it. Losing a fellow agent and friend to Shockwave was hard enough, but having a mate practically besides himself about me staying in XOps? I wouldn't leave my friends to fight back against Shockwave and the like alone, and he wouldn't stop worrying.

"I can't have an intimate relationship with a mech with 'normal' emotions. Every attempt at a serious relationship I've had since then forced me to end it because they got too emotional whenever I didn't come back on time. A couple of times when I got trapped behind enemy lines, before I met you, a few of my lovers practically rushed my superiors and beg for information or rescue mission. Not only is that disruptive, but it's pretty embarrassing to come back to.

"Regular mechs don't handle my missions well, especially since you know how my return timeframes are tentative anyhow. In all honesty, if something happened to me I'd rather have a mate who can shut down his emotions and come up with a thorough plan to get me back, without jeopardizing others over ill-advised romantic notations. I don't want a body count because a rescue team came badly prepared over some emotional fake-reasoning. Obviously I don't want to be written off as a statistically-acceptable loss, but those close to me need to be someone capable of rational thinking if one of my missions ends up at the bottom of the Pit. That's the kind of stuff that gets mechs killed on my kind of missions."

My optic ridges deeply furrowed. "There's no statistically-acceptable loss for someone in your position within the Autobots. Still, I take it to mean you... you like me not being normal?"

He allowed a half-smile. "That and more. I need someone I can feel safe around, and that means someone who isn't going to worry or bend under pressure. I need someone that if I end up spilling a horrible detail of my operations isn't going to have nightmares about it. You've gone through enough on the nightmarish details with me post-op and never once handled it with less than professionalism. I need someone with that ability to recharge with me because I don't always recharge easily, and if I come out of it in the middle of a nightmare, I tend to do harm. I think you could handle it, be that mech watching my back, help me fall into recharge feeling protected, but also help me if I come out of recharge my own worst enemy. I've watched you around others, ever since Praxus, and I've noticed how you blend professional aptitude with caring. Most might don't see the caring, but then they don't know what it's like to be mechs in our positions."

Jazz slipped his hand around mine, entwining our fingers and pulling our hands waist-high. "You asked why I liked you back in your office. It's because you're someone who can keep it together despite all the horrible things you've had to endure. And while yeah, you've got a bit of a relearning curve ahead of you for everything that's recently happened, I can't see you being ultimately anything less, if not someone much better.

"If I want to party to tunes, I got Blaster. Go exploring with humans, I got Bee or Hound. And so on. Have someone there to accept all of me, accept that I'm not a party mech who occasionally does something sneaky, as half the 'bots here describe me? Closest is Mirage and that cat has a lot of demons, too. There's only so much we can talk before something I said has him reliving some dark Ops memory and puts him in a funk. Especially if it's about a Head of Special Ops decision I had to make - the kind you and I don't precisely give full details to Prime about.

"Takes a toll on me to always have to be the morale mech when I'm planning sabotage that'll detrimentally harm many Decepticons, often leading to dead Decepticons. Usually the dead ones are the less viscous ones; the ones that might've been something better once this war is over, but now it's just more monsters left standing. I know you know what that's like, 'though at least you have your space to work through the pain of those moments. If you wanted, you could carefully pick who comes into your safehaven to help you in those times. Try having someone interrupt yours by handing you a party request datapad and start eagerly chatting about it, while you've got a kill list of your remaining monsters in the other hand. Gotta keep smiling and tuck that pad from view, because Primus forbid they be reminded I'll probably be picking up the streamers right after I finally wash the fresh buildup of spilled energon off my hands."

I looked at our joined hands and tentatively squeezed. "I could pick up the streamers and you can tell me about the mission while I hand off the supplies. I hear what you're saying now and it doesn't bother me, other than I'm concerned that it bothers you."

He squeezed back, and softly replied, "Exactly."

Jazz stepped forward, pressing a kiss to my lips. "So don't ever risk taking away my safety net, okay? There's no one near perfection for me like you."

A small smile freed itself and I ducked my helm, casting my optics to our joined hands. "I won't do something so selfish and detached again." Slowly I lifted my optics back to his. "I promise to share my worries and fears, and to support yours, so long as you feel the same. There'll never be a hard nor soft limit for me there."

"Good, because I feel the same," he smiled softly and lightly kissed me again. "Course, I do hope there's plenty of fun between those times."

"Indeed. I do need help relearning certain types of joy," I teased with my own kiss. "Or as I understand it that's how you describe these moments."

"Is that a challenge?" he asked, nipping my bottom lip. My spark's rate increased but by now I was growing familiar with the feeling. I had no desire to fight or minimize it anymore.

"Several, in fact. See how many you find. If you're good enough, I might offer some strategic hints to find the others."

"Well, I'm going to guess that one is watching how much pressure I apply to doorwings," he murmured as his free fingers danced across my body towards my abused doorwing joint. His lips returned to be with mine, refusing to be separated again.

My free hand slipped over his hip, playing with the pressure points I discovered that the dancer in Jazz found sensitive. He squeezed our locked hands one more time before carefully letting go and tracing his own fingers across my hip. I stifled a moan as his fingers brushed the doorwing joint, focusing on his other hand while I altered between mimicking him and caressing as I learned previously.

His fingers stops minutely as they were caught on a knotted scar, and it immediately reminded me the last time he touched that same scar. My hand stopped his, holding it loosely to show no physical discomfort, but a need to halt all the same.

He pulled back, his flushed lips hovering near mine and his darkened visor focused on my face, his other hand stalling on my doorwing. He didn't say anything, presumably waiting for me.

My optics drifted down to the scar, seeing it as an ugliness on this moment. My fingers brushed it, remembering my words to Jazz about how my scars didn't matter. "I think perhaps after our time here I might ask Ratchet if he can get rid of these scars. Do you mind avoiding them? I know there's many of them, but for some reason they're disrupting this for me."

Jazz kissed me once more before leaning past my face, nuzzling the side of my helm. "I understand, and I can avoid them."

"Thank you. You may understand but I don't, yet for some reason this matters."

His hands moved slowly towards my helm, somehow avoiding all of scars. Praxus, Decepticons, and foreign world missions. There were so many more than I bothered noticing, until I was aware of how Jazz's hands managed to carefully brush against my plating without touching one.

His hands stopped on the sides of my helm by my audios, and he nuzzled the side of my face again. "Perhaps I'll explain it after the scars are gone."

His words had my spark flutter anew, but softly and with a slow radiating warm this time. I listened to it, following the perceived pull to the center of the generated warmth, finding my body leaning into Jazz's."I'd appreciate the help. It's a strange fear and uncertainty, to not even understand my feelings about my own body. A part of me feels like I'm walking into enemy territory without any intel, but here with you..." I drifted off, uncertain how to progress. How to explain the unperceived.

He chuckled and pulled me into a tight embrace. "Anyone tell you that while you were in limbo that I did exactly that, walk into enemy territory without any intel?"

I tried pulling back to get a better view of him, but he refused to let go. Instead, I turned to look at the side of his face. "Not in those exact words. I knew you went on a mission to find what the Decepticons were doing. They left out the lack of intel. I know you get intel and by my definition you work on minimal information, but to have no starting intel? Why'd you do it?"

"For a couple of reasons. I needed to work through my emotions, too, but also find out how at risk we were to spend our time focusing our help on you. I didn't know what I walking into, only hoping that I walk out with what I wanted. I did, and more."

Jazz pulled back until I was almost at arm's width away, one arm staying on the small of my back while the other reached into his subspace pocket. He pulled out a silver-black curved object. Confused by the object, I merely acknowledged, "That looks familiar."

"It's Ravage's claw. I went into a situation I knew little about and found myself in a situation to fight for you, in a manner of speaking. What I got back was a laugh at a Decepticon and Ravage's claw. A trophy I used to remind me that if I could make it through that unknown danger for you, then I could help you live when I had to go beyond my own limits and help Ratchet's team make sure you came online."

He grabbed my hand and pressed the token into my hand. "For when you feel afraid of walking into the unknown alone, know that I'll be there fighting for you. Even if it's silently as I watch your back, know that I do it because I know you can do it, and need to do it; that you're never alone no matter how scared or void you feel. Emotions or not, I'll never stop caring for you as you."

A/N:

Finis!

I was hoping to finish this chapter end of September because I knew October would be very busy for work reasons, but I didn't anticipate health complications. Isn't anything life threatening, but it causes excessive amounts of sleep -_-

Every week for at least 6+ weeks I said "I'll finish it by Friday," but no. *Sigh.*

Anyway, I don't anticipate being well enough to consistently write before early February, so for a few reasons I'm planning on continuing everything I've been setting up as a sequel around Feb.

Feel free to leave feedback for this and the sequel. If you're planning on being a troll, know that my awake-time is too precious to finish reading your trollishness, let alone reply. All non-trolls beloved!

Apologies for the delays, both in this chapter and the sequel.

Thanks for reading!