Part 12

Ratchet may have locked Prowl out of his work station, but Prowl could access the civilian news frequencies, and the lack of updates on Meister made him update his feed a thousand times per nanoklik.

Meister did not appear for several orn. At first Prowl wondered if the other mech was still nursing the cables torn out during their fight, but as time went on, Prowl could come to no other conclusion than Meister was waiting for him. Ripped cables were easily replaced, especially if the thief knew a non-licensed repair bot, and if he could unload the stolen sheet music without being caught, then no doubt Meister had a support base to draw on.

"Makes sense," Jazz said as Prowl mused out loud. "There's a black market for stolen artifacts. Lots of mechs would pay a lot of creds for an original sheet o' music. Like me, if I had that kind of coin again."

Prowl looked askance from his datapad, eyeing his peripheral skeptically. "Would you?"

"Sure," Jazz said. "Anyone in the Chamber would. Original music like that...imagine what you could do with it, without vorn of changes and alterations getting in the way."

A splash of solvent, and then Jazz ran the cleaning cloth along Prowl's pede, allowing the thin textile to slip between the plating and slide along delicate internal components. Hot liquid trickled down to Prowl's lower joint, sluicing clumped oil and leaving behind clean, gleaming metal.

Prowl pressed his lips together and looked away. "Again, while I appreciate it, you need not attend me in this manner."

"Don't be silly, bossmech," Jazz smiled, wringing out the cloth and soaking it again. "Unless you can get to the washracks without stumbling again."

A subtle stress on the word 'again' made Prowl frown. "I did not expect the strained joint to buckle. It will not happen again."

"Yup," Jazz said. "'Cause I got this."

Jazz ran the cloth along Prowl's shoulder, letting rivulets of solvent drip down into the Enforcer's hood. Prowl didn't reply, closing his optics instead. Jazz found the loose plates of armor, the gaps that led to his protoform, and solvent slicked the spaces in Prowl's hood that he normally never touched. Then Jazz's fingers ran the ring of Prowl's headlights, clearing any lingering dust, and the larger mech vented and sat straight.

"You like that?" Jazz asked, smiling up at him.

"I..." Prowl bit his glossa and looked back at his datapad. "It is sufficient."

Jazz's smile faded slightly, and he gave a soft vent as he wrung out the cloth again. "That all you can give me?"

"Sufficient is accurate," Prowl said, scrolling down on his screen. "And commendable. Even medibots do not perform nursing tasks so efficiently."

"Well," Jazz murmured, "ain't 'xactly my first time. But I guess if you want efficient..."

He reached out and took Prowl's hand, pulling it away from the datapad despite the grumble from his master unit. As he pulled it closer, Jazz turned Prowl's palm up and drew the cloth across his fingers, coating it in a layer of solvent. The multitude of sensors in Prowl's hand flared and grew warm, and Prowl shifted in his berth as Jazz wiped the excess from his hand.

And then, expecting his slave unit to release him, Prowl's vent caught as Jazz instead folded the cloth to make a tiny crease and ran that crease through the fine gaps in his finger-plating. Multiple joints required dozens of tiny flicks lightly brushing the servos and minute wires, and Prowl only remembered to vent when his HUD flashed an engine heat warning.

When Jazz finished, he bent and pressed a kiss into Prowl's palm, then finally released him.

"Still 'sufficient'?" Jazz echoed.

Prowl swallowed once, curling his fingers as he brought his hand back up to his hood. He didn't look at Jazz.

The hesitation stretched, and Jazz's face fell. He lowered his helm, thinking that he shouldn't have pushed, and he let the cloth sink back into the pail.

"I can help you get to the washracks," Jazz offered. "Won't be as hot 'cause the pipes still ain't working right, but—"

"I think you should finish," Prowl said, still refusing to meet Jazz's look. "And do the same with my other hand. Please."

Jazz reset his optics. And grinned.

TBC...

Next Chapter: Two mechs, one tub...