Part 21

Jazz buffed out the oil that had begun to slick Prowl's joints, polishing away fluid before it could become grime. Every other shift, he bent Prowl's pedes to force out any excess fluid and then shined the dull steel to gleaming. The wrist and finger joints took longer, requiring he treat each slit of space between his master's armor, but the soft vents of relief told Jazz that his efforts were appreciated.

"'Zat feel better?" Jazz asked.

"Much," Prowl murmured. He didn't shift from the berth, staring at the ceiling as his repair functions left him lethargic. His datapad lay on the stand beside him, but keeping his right arm up for so long before had left his shoulder joint painfully stiff.

"Uh huh," Jazz said. "I'll just take your word for it. When your mech Ratchet says he's gonna lay you flat, he really lays you flat."

Prowl half-smiled. "He is not feared by the entire station for nothing."

Jazz finished with Prowl's hand, then leaned over him for a kiss, nuzzling his chevron again. Then he nudged Prowl's helm to one side and began buffing the slits of his throat.

"Your attentions are sorely appreciated," Prowl said, closing his optics. "I would not want to try to clean my joints after several shifts incapacitated."

"My pleasure," Jazz said. "I've been sick, too. Wished someone would do this for me sometimes."

"Mm." Prowl frowned. "Did your creator hurt you before? Prior to your experimentation with music, I mean."

"Yeah, sometimes," Jazz said. "I didn't always do things the way he liked, played a song a little different than he wanted. Or he thought I was getting too loose with the help."

"'Too loose'?" Prowl repeated.

"Hanging out, getting overenergized with the stage crew or the caterers." Jazz smiled wistfully. "S'how I met Wheeljack. Banged my wing falling off his bar, an' he picked me up and set it back in place without missing a beat. Even that sloshed, I figured this was one mech I needed to know."

"Why did you fall off the bar in the first place?"

Jazz shrugged. "I was overenergized, got a little too much into that song, and I still contend that bar just ain't regulation wide."

"You were singing?"

"I ain't so dumb that I climbed up to dance," Jazz said. "I was just sitting on the edge, minding my own business, playing my guitar. I started going forward so I popped my wings, overcompensated and wham, woke pedes-up on the floor."

Prowl chuckled. "That is quite the visual."

"Well, I got better about balancing after that," Jazz said. "Wheeljack calibrated my gyros. Turns out I wasn't set as good as I could've been."

"How long have you known him?" Prowl asked.

"Oh, 'Jack?" Jazz whistled as he searched for the memory file. "Primus, it's been vorn now. I mean, I met him when I was just starting to solo on the local circuit. He kept me fixed up better than the chamber's medibot and didn't tell Metronome whenever I got cocky or just plain unlucky."

"Ah."

Jazz shot him a sidelong glance. "Something up?"

"Perhaps."

Prowl weighed the thought in his cortex. He knew next to nothing about Wheeljack, save for the short encounter after the bonding ceremony. Still, Wheeljack had mentioned the fraud of House Gourmant disparagingly. And Prowl knew that Jazz trusted him.

"Time can often be of the essence," Prowl said, one hand lightly resting on his subspace generator. "My work on cold case scenarios is often limited mainly by evidence loss or decay. And I will not be able to go back to active duty for so many shifts that I worry that what clues I do have will lose relevance as time goes on."

Jazz tilted his head, frowning. "Bossmech?"

Prowl's mouth twisted as he fought to convince himself of this course of action. It was highly irregular but not entirely outside protocol.

"Do you think Wheeljack would be willing to examine something for me?"

"Huh, I dunno." Jazz shrugged once as Prowl accessed his subspace. "I mean, he's a good mechanic, but..."

Jazz's spark skipped a beat when he saw his torn cables in Prowl's hand.

Prowl couldn't see Jazz's optics widening, but he could read how his peripheral bolted straight, leaning away as if the cords would leap up and bite him, his hand up as if to defend himself. Cursing his own insensitivity, Prowl slipped the cords back into his subspace.

"My apologies," Prowl said quickly. "I didn't mean to startle you."

Jazz vented, looking up at his master for any kind of glare, for any hint of accusation. Instead Prowl raised his hand, cupping Jazz's face.

Jazz turned his face toward Prowl's hand, lingering a moment, and after another vent, he managed to sit straight, and Prowl let his hand drop back into his lap.

Say something, say something, Jazz thought.

"Not often I see pieces of someone," he mumbled. "Anyone I know?"

"Meister," Prowl said. "I yanked them out during our last encounter."

Jazz paused, knowing he should say something else, anything, but this knowledge that Prowl had kept that piece of himself had sent a blast of coolant through him so fast that his cortex felt chilled.

"Musta...musta been a hell of a fight," he managed.

"Not really. He incapacitated me with his damn sonic array, and then protected me against further damage." Prowl vented hard, scowling at his own failure. "I could have caught him, but I was too impaired. I should have ignored Ratchet, called in Airazor and Bluestreak. And I never should have tried to chase him down in the first place."

"If you hadn't," Jazz said, "then he wouldn't have decided to pay your tower a visit. Um, 'least that's what I figured from what you told me."

"True enough," Prowl sighed. "I am simply not built for anything but desk work. Even with my tower creation, I couldn't keep up with him. He literally turned 180 degrees at my top speed."

"You're being too hard on yourself," Jazz said. "You were created for a different reason."

"Calculation," Prowl said, disgusted by the word. "A glorified drone."

"Pft," Jazz scoffed. "And have you heard anything from that bot lately? Any wild thefts or joyrides? I'd bet my spoiler you got that mech scared."

Prowl didn't argue, but he didn't nod, either, staring past Jazz at a far point on the wall. "No bot can be in trouble all the time."

Jazz would have disagreed. He reached for Prowl's hand and held it close.

"I'll ask Wheeljack," he said. "See if he can do anything with those wires. Step at a time, right?"

Prowl nodded, returning Jazz's hold, but his whole frame felt heavy enough to sink into the berth. He closed his optics and released Jazz's hand.

"I believe I need another recharge. Please contact Wheeljack and let me know his answer."

"Sure thing."

Jazz watched him relax and slip into a deep defrag, then quietly stood and headed back to his own room, closing the door behind himself.

What should he do? He paced from one side of the room to the other, hands clasped behind his back. So many ways this could blow up in his face, and yet... Had such a golden opportunity really just dropped in his path?

Standing straight, he pinged Wheeljack, waiting several kliks. Jazz was patient. Wheeljack might be up to his elbows in oil and grease, or else he was busy dealing with a client, or maybe he was patching himself up from an invention gone wrong—

Jazz, Wheeljack replied. Did the optics explode? Tell me the optics didn't explode.

No explosions, Jazz grinned. But you'll never guess what my master unit wants me to do?

...do I need to start fabricating some interfacing aids? Wheeljack asked.

Jazz scowled. No, thank you, and have a little more faith in me than that, will ya?

Just askin', Wheeljack chuckled. So, gonna make me guess? What's your Enforcer want?

Prowl would like to ask, Jazz said, completely off the record so he don't get in trouble with their medical officer, for you, as a technical consultant, to run the make and models of the cords he yanked outta the criminal Meister.

A long silence followed. Jazz held back his snicker and wished that Wheeljack had a faceplate for him to record his reaction.

Seriously?

Yup! Jazz nodded and sat down on the edge of his berth. Tell me you're up for this, mech, and I'll make it worth your while.

The sigh that came from his friend was all the answer he needed.

TBC...

Next Chapter: Crashing at Wheeljack's place...