Hey! I'm so sorry about the wait, life has been hectic. Thank you all so much for your reviews, and for all the patience with this story :) It really means a lot to me that so many people like it! So anyway, here is the next chapter! I would love it if you could review...?

And just a warning, this chapter does contain violence and torture (unstable Jazz)

"Who is that?" Jazz asked abruptly.

There was a mech in his office. In HIS office. Not just any mech, but a mech with the most ridiculous paintjob he had ever seen. Who the frag would want to walk around looking like THAT?

Vortex, who had been ignoring Jazz in favour of talking to Swindle, glanced around to see who he was talking about. "Oh, that's the new Head of Special Ops."

"No!" Jazz hissed, his armour fluffing out aggressively. "HIM?! Look at his paint! Who the frag-? How the frag would he even-? What the frag-?!"

The fact that Jazz, the infamously lethal spy, was speechlessly furious was enough to make the two Combaticons laugh in pure amusement. "He's a bit weird, and not a particularly good spy. I've started a betting pool on how long he'll last before he's caught and killed horribly. Great odds, really. Wanna get in on it?" Swindle asked eagerly.

The only response was another hiss as Jazz marched into the office. The door and walls were made of a synthetic glass that was harder to break than iron, but also clear; it had been designed by Jazz so that he wouldn't get claustrophobic within the confines of the tight space.

The mech behind the desk glanced up in surprise when the saboteur stormed in. "Ah.. Hello?"

"Who the frag're ya?"

Blinking at the demand, the other mech smiled nervously. "I'm Erratic."

"Yeah Ah know, Ah can see yo' paintjob. Ah meant what's yo' designation!"

"My designation is Erratic- what's wrong with my paintjob?" The Head of Special Ops looked confusedly at himself. He was painted in the brightest shades of yellow, red, pink, blue and orange Jazz had ever seen. "It's bright."

"And displeasing t' the optics." Jazz wrinkled his nasal ridge. "Are ya blind?"

"No, my sight is- wait, who are you?"

"Who do ya think?" He crossed his arms angrily over his chassis. "Ya look ridiculous, by the way."

"I do not!" Erratic said defensively. "I thought the colours were rather refreshing. It's so dull in here, after all."

A snarl quirked up the corners of Jazz's lips. "Who in their right fragging mind would choose those colours?!" He exclaimed, throwing his arms out angrily to the side.

The new Special Ops mech seemed to grow even more defensive as Jazz grew angrier. "My bondmate chose them."

"Oh, now ya have a bondmate. Th' frag're ya thinkin', ya moron? Is he blind too? Ya can't just have a fraggin' sparkmate runnin' 'round the place!" The saboteur's arm movements grew wilder as he grew more frustrated than ever.

"I am not blind, and neither is my sparkmate! And my relationship status is none of your business! If you loved someone, you'd understand-"

That had been absolutely the wrong thing to say.

Within a blink of an eye, Jazz had grabbed Erratic by the throat and dragged him over the desk, before slamming the brightly coloured mech down on the floor and throttling him. "WHAT TH' FRAG IS THA' SUPPOSED T' MEAN?" He roared, beside himself with fury. The poor mech below him could only choke, staring desperately up into the red visor above him. "ANSWER MEH!"

"Jazz: Desist."

There was a prolonged moment where it looked as though Jazz was going to continue strangling the mech below him until his throat cabling collapsed. But then, his sharp claws loosened their grip and slowly slid away from the delicate cables. "What do ya want, Soundwave?" He was angry, but this time at himself; he hadn't even noticed the other mech enter the room.

The Communications Officer waited patiently for the saboteur to stand and face him before speaking. "Soundwave: wishes to speak about Jazz's experience whilst-"

"When Ah was MIA, yeah?"

"Affirmative."

Jazz snorted, giving Erratic a light kick to the stomach plates. "Whatever. Lead the way."

"Order: Erratic will report to the medbay."

"Y-yes sir." Whimpered the rainbow-mech as he stood and limped out of the room.

It was only then that Jazz realised that there was quite the crowd standing outside the clear walls, staring in. His feeling of claustrophobia increased tenfold.

Soundwave, ever observant, said "Query: Jazz wishes to move location?"

"Nah. Here's fine." Jazz said quickly, refusing to show that sort of weakness. He couldn't afford to; not here. He slid behind HIS desk, propping his legs up comfortably. "Ya wanted t' know.. what exactly?"

The crowd outside the office was slowly beginning to disperse, although a few remained curious enough to remain and see what would happen. "Jazz: was with Autobots?"

The saboteur's entire frame tensed, and he appraised the mech in front of him slowly. "Where'd ya hear tha'?"

"Educated guess." Soundwave intoned, sounding as sarcastic as his monotone voice got. "Statement: true?"

"Wha' if it is?"

"Jazz: will have committed treason. Punishment: public execution."

After a brief pause, Jazz shot him a dazzling smile. "Good thing Ah wasn't with the Autobots, eh?"

"Probability of Jazz having stayed with Autobots: 76.8%."

Another layer of tension seemed to be added to the saboteur's frame. "And? What're ya gonna do, execute meh?" His tone was joking, but clearly forced. If they decided to execute him, he was relatively certain he could get out of there practically unharmed, but he would rather not go through the bother.

"Negative. Proof: unsubstantial."

Surprised, Jazz raised his head. "So.. What?"

"Statement: telling Lord Megatron would be redundant. Repeat: no substantial evidence."

There was a moment of silence, before Jazz murmured "Thanks."

"Soundwave: has none nothing. Query: did Jazz find any information regarding Autobot intelligence?"

"Ah... No." The saboteur lied, hoping Soundwave wouldn't use his creepy telepathic powers on him.

The communications officer made a small sound. "Jazz: stayed with Head Tactician Prowl?"

Jazz didn't just tense this time; he froze completely. "Excuse meh?"

"Soundwave: was under the impression that Jazz stayed with Head Tactician Prowl of the Autobot force-"

"No."

"No?"

"No." Jazz confirmed, fists clenching angrily.

"Soundwave: mistaken." The tone made it clear that Soundwave didn't believe he was wrong at all. "Query: Jazz has no information on Head Tactician Prowl?"

"No. Ah wasn't wit' the Autobots."

"Of course." Soundwave stated. "Query: no tactical plans acquired?"

"No. Ah'm leavin' now." Jazz said sharply, standing and marching to the door.

Soundwave remained silent, watching through his visor as the saboteur shouldered the see-through door and disappeared down the halls.

...

"Prowl?"

The Praxian didn't glance up from his reports, even as the youngling climbed up on his desk and sat on his datapads. "What is it, Bumblebee? I must finish these reports."

The datapads underneath Bumblebee's yellow aft cracked as the youngling shifted. "I.. I'm tired."

"I will be finished shortly."

"You said that an hour ago, though. I'm hungry too..." Bumblebee said pitifully, looking down at his hands.

"I gave you the option to stay with Bluestreak and you declined." The tactician reminded him without taking his gaze off his datapad.

"I didn't want to be left alone. I didn't want you to leave aswell..."

That, at least, caused Prowl to set down his stylus and meet the youngling's gaze. A pang of grief shot through his spark at the sight of the sadness on Bumblebee's face. He hated that it was his fault, too; since Jazz had left, he had thrown himself wholeheartedly into his work in an effort to distract himself from thinking about the betrayal. The mech he had shared a berth with for close to a year, whom he had interfaced with, who was the closest thing to a friend he had ever experienced, had left with no warning. Without even saying goodbye. Prowl had wracked his processor thoroughly for an answer, desperate to know what he had done wrong. He had even applied his battle computer to the problem, with no results.

"We shall get you to berth, then." He said, finally standing up and subspacing a few of his more important datapads and reports. "I believe I have energon for you in my quarters."

When the little arms were held out expectantly, Prowl rolled his optics and picked up the youngling in his arms. A little yawn rounded Bumblebee's mouth into an 'o', and he lay his head down on Prowl's shoulderplates. "Tired.."

"I know." The tactician assured, opening his office door with one arm and holding the youngling with the other. "You will be tucked into berth very soon."

The corridors were completely empty; the final shift had ended long ago, and bots had long since headed to recharge. Prowl knew it wasn't fair on Bumblebee, but he was under so much pressure and it had been so long since he had raised a youngling.

By the time Prowl finally carried the youngling into their quarters, Bumblebee had fallen into a light recharge, his small helm lolling against his guardians shoulder. After gently setting the little mechling down on the couch, Prowl grabbed two cubes of energon and shook Bumblebee awake. "You may recharge after your energon."

Yawning, Bumblebee took the energon with both hands and began gulping it down. He slowed after Prowl shot him a disapproving look, however, and set down his empty cube on the table. "Thank you, Prowl."

"You are welcome." Prowl answered, draining his own cube. After he had set his own empty cube down, he picked the youngling up yet again.

On the day Jazz had left, Bluestreak had helped Prowl set up a berth for Bumblebee across the room; Prowl hadn't wanted the youngling to be crushed by himself and the saboteur in the night. It seemed he needn't have bothered. However, he set Bumblebee down on the berth and patted his helm awkwardly.

The youngling gave him a sad smile. "Tuck me in?"

"Of course." Grabbing an electrical heating blanket, Prowl gently wrapped it around Bumblebee's small body. "Is that adequate?"

Another yawn. "Mhmm."

"Go to recharge. You are exhausted." Prowl felt guilt wash over him - it was his fault he had stayed up so late working and had neglected to notice the youngling's exhaustion and hunger. After the small yellow bot's optics had offlined sleepily, Prowl turned and climbed into his own berth.

The first few nights after Jazz had left, the tactician had rolled over to seek warmth in the form of a small silver frame, only to find the other side of the berth cold and empty. Despite the fact that the berth had seemed too small with the two of them in it, now that there was only one it seemed disproportionately large.

With a sigh, Prowl lay back and tried to force those thoughts out of his processor. He hadn't thought he would ever feel like this should Jazz leave. He hadn't thought Jazz would ever leave. It was something that simply continued to niggle away at his processor; why would the saboteur leave? He had been doing so well, he hadn't threatened the life of anyone for almost two full days. All Prowl wanted to know was what he had done wrong to cause the Decepticon to leave.

Almost two and a half hours later, the Praxian was still staring at the empty space in the berth beside him. He had given up on trying to recharge a long time ago. The guilt inside him was consuming his processor. Suddenly, he realised he was being poked in the doorwings. With a grunt, he glanced behind him to see Bumblebee standing beside the berth.

The youngling's wide blue optics were full of tears, and he seemed to be barely choking back sobs. "Prowl? A-are you aw-wake?"

"Yes." The tactician sat up quickly, optics fixed on the child in front of him. "What is the matter?"

"I h-had a bad memory reflux."

There wasn't even the slightest hesitation before Prowl had lifted him into his berth. "Do you wish to tell me about it?"

Bumblebee sniffled and shuffled closer to the grown-up mech's frame. "Okay.. I was back in m-my house and my f-family was there - I mean m-my other family - and then they j-just got up and left me! My b-brother said n-no one wanted me, b-but then I saw Jazzie and I ran after h-him but he laughed and p-pushed me away and t-then he ran away t-too-"

"Calm down, Bumblebee." Prowl said stiffly, wiping away the youngling's tears.

"B-but what if he never comes back?" The mechling's voice had dropped to a whisper.

Pain seemed to lace itself around Prowl's spark. "He will." He found himself saying against his will. "Jazz will come back."

The words didn't have a huge effect, but at least the sobs lessened slightly. "C-can I sleep with you tonight?"

"Of course you may."

"We'll always be together, right?"

A pause. "Of course, Bumblebee."

Bumblebee slept soundly. Prowl didn't.

...

"Ah wanna be sent on a mission." Jazz demanded, flexing his claws experimentally.

Megatron raised a single optic ridge from where he was seated in the middle of the command deck. "Watch your tone, Jazz. I am the one who allowed you back into the Decepticon ranks."

"Ah can leave if ya want." The saboteur challenged with a snarl, visor darkening.

One of Megatron's bodyguards tightened their grip on their blaster, but the big tyrant just laughed. "Ah, Jazz. When you first returned, I feared you had been tamed! You seemed much less... yourself. I see now I was wrong." Megatron didn't even seem to notice how he was saying all the wrong things to the unstable mech before him. "I suppose you have earned some trust, haven't you? I will not return you to Head of Special Ops, but I will allow you to go on the scouting mission to North Pax with the rest of the operatives next orn, under the command of Erratic." If the leader of the Decepticons saw the way Jazz tensed up at the mention of Erratic, he didn't let on. "I suppose I could also allow you to interrogate an Autobot we have in captivity. He is proving to be quite stubborn."

There was a brief pause where it looked like Jazz was simply going to walk out. But then, he nodded. It was a semi-respectful gesture (for him, at least). "Thanks."

"Dismissed."

Barely withholding a sneer, Jazz marched out of the command deck. Mechs practically scrambled to get out of his way, and for good reason. They all knew exactly what would happen if they got in the way of one of his bad moods. As he walked, his path was cleared; as a result, he reached the brig in virtually no time at all. The only mech guarding the cells was who looked to be a new recruit. He was too shiny and polished to be a seasoned warrior, and his red optics kept glancing around nervously. Jazz eyed him up once, determined he could kill him with a flick of his wrist, and then decided he wasn't worth the effort. "Where is he?"

The guard glanced at Jazz quickly, clearly startled. "Sir!" He stood to attention so quickly, Jazz almost laughed. "Uh.. Who, sir?"

"The mech Megs needs t' be interrogated." His already frayed patience was wearing thin, and his voice dropped down to a snarl.

"Oh! Ah.. The Autobot? Yes, he's in the third cell on the left." The recruit babbled quickly, stabbing his fingers in the direction of the cell.

Without another word, Jazz turned on his heel and stalked towards the cell. It took only brief minute to hack the bars of the cell, and then Jazz was in.

The only other occupant of the dismal little square cell was a beaten, battered and almost offline 'bot in the corner. His paint seemed to have been stripped completely, with bare patches of red in some places. Jazz barely repressed a sigh when he realised he was recharging. "Wake up, fragger."

The Autobot stirred, optics flickering on weakly. His inner systems made odd noises as they were forced to run despite clear extensive damages to his frame. "Hnngh." As his optics struggled to focus, he looked up blearily. Upon seeing Jazz, he whimpered. "Not again."

"Nice ta meet ya, too." The saboteur snapped caustically. He was NOT in a good mood. "So, yo' an Autobot." When the mech didn't answer, Jazz leaned down and crushed his leg with one hand. "Answer meh, please."

The scream that tore from the Autobot's lips echoed throughout the entire brig, and brought a humourless smile to Jazz's face. "Y-yes! Yes, stop it! Please! Have mercy!"

"Mercy ain't mah thing." Jazz said, standing straight and regarding the mech coolly. "When were ya captured?"

The mech whimpered, gazing at his mangled leg. "T-two days ago."

Jazz perked up curiously. "On'y two days? How's Prowl doin'?"

The snivelling Autobot shot Jazz a disbelieving look. "P-Prowl? The tactician?"

"Yes!" With an impatient hiss, Jazz hunkered down over the injured mech, looking dangerously unbalanced.

"I.. He's fine..? I'm not familiar with him.." He said nervously, wincing as his leg was jostled slightly. He began babbling desperately in a clear attempt to save his miserable life. "We're in different departments, I've only ever heard my boss talking about him-"

"Who's yo' boss?"

The sharp demand made the Autobot wince. "Head of Special Ops, his name's Spectrum! He-"

"Does he talk about Prowl often?"

Another uncertain look. "Umm... Aren't you supposed to be asking me about Autobot stuff...?"

"Prowl's an Autobot." Jazz pointed out.

"Right. He.. Yeah, I suppose. He talks about him sometimes.."

"How often?"

"Uh..." He winced again when Jazz snarled, and quickly answered. "Ah, perhaps once a day?"

"Once a day?" Jazz asked, furious.

"Well, perhaps sometimes twice.. if he's seen him that day, he'll talk for longer, but-"

"Are ya one o' his mechs? In Special Ops? Are ya part o' his personal team?"

The mech jerked in surprise. "What? Um.. I'm not supposed to tell you."

Jazz snorted derisively. "Oh, please. Autobot Special Ops clearly ain't trained very well. Who was in charge o' yo' trainin'?"

"S-Spectrum."

"Oh. Tha' explains it."

The mech scowled. "He trains everyone. He's the best."

Irrational anger swelled up inside the silver saboteur, and he slammed his hand down hard into the mech's abdomen. There was a sharp 'crunch' as his claws tore into the protoform between the mech's armour. "No, AH'M the best. Don't ya dare forget tha'!"

Another scream was torn from the Autobot's lips as excruciating pain flooded his sensor net, blurring everything and turning his vision to static. The scream turned into a gurgle when Jazz's hand twisted in the wound. Another short shriek echoed throughout the cell as the hand was pulled out roughly, with a 'shlurp'.

With a sigh, Jazz sat back on his haunches and wiped his energon-stained hand on the Autobot's battered leg. "Oh, mech. Ah wish Ah didn' have ta do that." He stroked the mech's cheek mock-affectionately, watching blue optics flicked wildly. "But Ah did, so let's move on. Let meh tell ya some things 'bout Special Ops: never, ever tell yo' factions secrets. Never give any information. Ever. And most importantly; don't get caught."

The mech tried to speak, but only static spewed from his vocaliser.

"How rude o' meh!" Jazz blurted suddenly, as though just remembering something. "Ah never even got yo' name. What is it?"

More static. But then, barely discernible, the Autobot managed to croak "Hotline."

"Hotline." The saboteur said conversationally, leaning back comfortably. "Sounds like somethin' a rescue 'bot would be called."

The mech just whimpered. "Please.."

Another sigh from Jazz. "Shut up, mech. Jeez. Now, tell meh more 'bout Prowl."

Hotline looked as though he were about to cry. "Please! I don't know about him! I've only met him once!"

"Hmm... Ah don't think so. Ya were tellin' meh 'bout what Spectrum says 'bout Prowl."

"He- I don't remember! Me and the others laugh at Spectrum sometimes, 'cause he's so smitten with that tactician, but none of us have ever even met him!"

"Tell meh what he says 'bout him!" Jazz snarled, losing patience quickly.

"Okay! Okay!" Hotline cringed. "He, uh, he mentioned before that Prowl is pretty..? We all laughed at him 'cause we thought it was hilarious, but it was really serious for Spectrum. Um.. He talks about what a hard worker Prowl is, and how great he is and-"

With a roar, Jazz leapt to his feet and whirled around. In his fury, he took his anger out on the only thing available to him; Hotline. The world blurred in his anger, and cleared what seemed like mere seconds later. The Autobot was curled up and whimpering in pain; half his armour had been torn off and flung across the room, he was bleeding from his protoform, and he only had a single leg left.

Jazz took a step back, mildly surprised at the extent of Hotline's damages. "Huh. Sorry 'bout that. Mah temper gets the better o' meh sometimes." He giggled and shrugged, as if he had simply given the other mech a bruise. "Ya'll prob'ly be fine. Now tell meh more."

Hotline almost cried. It was going to be a long day.