I love this chapter and I make no apologies for that love. Most times, Prowl and Jazz are jerks who never want to cooperate with me, but this time... I don't know, it was like magic. Maybe it's just me, but every time I read back through, I love the intimacy they share. Hopefully you all will enjoy the chapter, too. ^_^
Major thanks to the reviewers of the last chapter: Optimus Bob, phoebe turner, sparklespepper, femme4jack, Got Buttermilk, Psyche102, Nanodiode, Peacewish, CNightJoy, Patcher, Darkeyes17, renegadewriter8, Daklog73, Nightblooming Orchid, Anon, Kai-Chan94, Pruhana, Christina, Sideslip, kathy3meme, sesamestreetFTW, SwedishDragon, MoonWallker, Faecat, Midnight Marquis, RococoSpade, A Lurker, ChaosGarden, Marsh Queen, UsagiLovesDuochan, xdragonslayerx, sara, Lecidre, and chaitea16. There are no words to convey how deeply grateful I am that you all took the time to write a review for this story. Thank you so much~!
Also, this is dedicated to Chloo, who did that awesome thing she does by leaving really awesome reviews and being interested in the whole War Eternal series and all that cool stuff that makes me feel like I'm doing something worth while. So... yeah... Hi Chloo, this chapter is for you! 8D
Chapter 25
It was the middle of the night when Jazz heard someone at his door.
The moment the noise began, the saboteur was online and ready to defend himself. He had long ago installed a rapid reboot program of his own design for these kinds of occasions; whether he was knocked unconscious in battle or being attacked in recharge, the program could shoot him into consciousness much faster than the regular option if there was possible danger lurking. Despite the drain that it caused on his systems, it came in handy for the times when someone was trying to kill him.
He waited a moment in silence, glaring at his darkened door. With his audios trained, he could hear the distinct sounds of someone trying to break the lock. A light clicking of the keys and the low buzz as each attempt was denied. It was a secure lock, but Jazz did not put all his faith in his skills to lock a door. He knew he was good, but if there was someone brave enough to try something so stupid, then they must have a very good reason. Either an assassination attempt was coming, or Mirage's patience had finally broken and he was coming to reclaim is stolen property.
In either case, Jazz had every intention of putting up a fight.
Shifting position, he brought himself into a ready crouch, blade coming to bear.
Through the door, a low buzz announced yet another denied access. This was followed by a soft curse, so quiet that Jazz nearly missed it. Much to his amusement, he recognized the voice.
"So that's how it's going ta be," chuckled the saboteur, tension draining from his frame. He hopped down from his berth and quickly disassembled the traps he had set up in the event that someone did happened to crack the lock. By the time he set aside the acid pellets, the bot on the other side finally championed over the locking sequence. The door slid open, revealing the silhouette of a familiar mech, his red chevrons glinting in the light.
Jazz leaned against the near wall, crossing his arms over his chest and arching an optic ridge. "This is unexpected."
"Did I wake you?" Prowl asked evenly. As usual, he managed to look indifferent, even in such an unusual circumstance.
"Yes." Jazz looked the interloper up and down, revealing his amusement through a humoured smile. "Come ta ravish meh while Ah recharge?"
"Not tonight," Prowl replied, either failing to pick up on the humour or ignoring it.
"Tomorrow night, then? Ah'll come ta ya instead- Ah can get into your room faster," Jazz chuckled.
"Another time, perhaps," the tactician said softly, obviously distracted. He leaned out of the doorway to glance up and down the hall. The only thing online at the moment was Tungsten the drone, who scurried down the hall with its tiny arms full of cleaning supplies as it made a beeline for Wheeljack's labs.
Jazz canted his head, frowning. "Has something happened?"
A pause, then: "No."
To the untrained optic, Prowl would have looked his usual self. Detached and disinterested. Jazz didn't miss a detail, though. He saw the certain flick of the bot's doorwings, the shift of weight from one foot to the other. Prowl continued to glance out the door, making sure the hallway remained empty. It was an excess gesture, since the graveyard shift called for the bare minimum of personnel on duty; none would be down so deep in Iacon. Not to mention the dead giveaway that he was down here in the first place. Usually, a bot had a good reason for travelling across half the base in the middle of the night to break the lock on another bot's door to wake him up.
Since Jazz had yet to perfect the art of mind reading, he was forced to ask, "Ah give up. Why are ya here?"
"Come with me," Prowl said, nodding toward the hall.
Jazz pursed his mouthplates, glancing back to his berth. "Can't it wait? Ah was kind of busy recharging."
"Consider this repayment for all the times you broke into my room while I recharged," said the tactician.
"How very mature of ya," Jazz scoffed.
"Come with me, Jazz." He extended a hand in invitation. "At the very least, I promise there will be high grade involved."
"High grade?" Jazz considered the hand offered, now intrigued by the sweetened deal.
Prowl pursed his mouthplates a little. "Not Sideswipe's stuff, but it's still good."
"Ya know just how ta tempt meh," Jazz chuckled, but still wary of what this summons might be about. However, his curiosity overrode his sense of suspicion in this case. Prowl never meant outright harm on purpose unless in battle. Whatever had prompted the tactician to come to him in the middle of the night, Jazz wished to find out. "Alright, fine, lead the way."
A brief smile quirked the edges of Prowl's mouthplates before he slipped back into the hall. Jazz followed, sparing a moment to reinstate the lock on his door. No sense in taking any chances that Mirage might come along for his property while Jazz was away. Where would the fun be if he made it easy on the spy? Prowl watched him for several moments while he took the time to relock the door, then looked away when Jazz tried to meet his gaze. Things like that were happening more often than not over the last couple of orns. Ever since Prowl had graduated from the initiation phase of the training. The avoidance was starting to get annoying.
Jogging in order to catch up and match pace with the tactician, Jazz nudged him with his elbow. "Something's bothering ya."
"Yes."
"Rumours again?"
With Sideswipe freed from the brig, the benign nature of the rumours circulating Iacon had taken a turn for the scandalous yet again. How the red melee warrior managed to come up with such creative, albeit preposterous, stories, it was a mystery. And to do so on top of maintaining his normal work ethic and extra activities (mainly being the illicit production of potent high grade), it was a testament to Sideswipe's impeccable time management skills. If only he would use his powers for good instead of mischief.
"No, not those. They're easy enough to ignore," Prowl assured, though his tone was a bit curt.
Jazz shrugged and went back to pondering the mystery, following diligently at Prowl's side while the tactician selected a path through Iacon's quiet halls. They did not head toward the busier center of the base. Instead, they kept to the outskirts. Their path continued to be unfettered by other Autobots. Only the occasional drone passed them. Jazz slid a sidelong glance toward his company, then furrowed his brow in sudden concern.
"Did you lose one of your bots?" he asked quietly. He still vividly remembered the botched mission Prowl had been on in Polyhex. Two of his team dead, the rest injured. The memory remained vivid with Jazz because it had been the first time he had witnessed what emotional backlashes did to Prowl. In the back of his mind, he was still haunted by the knowledge of what it was like to be inside the tactician's mind and feel the kinds of things he felt. Any time Prowl lost someone, he killed himself on the inside with a self-hatred that rivalled Jazz's sense of self-worth.
"Not this time."
"Aren't you a mech of mystery tonight," Jazz said lightly.
Prowl glanced down at him for a moment, then shrugged. "Come on, we're almost there."
The corridor they came into was lined with nothing but store rooms. Some were built like locker spaces, each Autobot possessing a single designated locker where they could store any extra personal items that did not fit in their quarters or on their person. There were labelled store rooms for sheets of metal bound to be shaped into armour, and store rooms for medical supplies. There was also the occasional junk room with warning signs posted on the doors, Wheeljack's many experiments stored on the other side.
Jazz paused, knowing exactly where he was being taken. "Ah didn't know ya knew about this place."
"I've known for a while," Prowl replied, heading for the correct door which was labelled Out of Order. The sign never deterred the bots who were determined to enter.
"And ya never thought ta shut it down? Ah'd imagine something like this would go against all kinds of regulations," Jazz said, rapping his knuckles against the door lightly.
"I considered it, but was advised against it by Elita One," Prowl said. "She expressed that having a quiet place to find solace in was good for morale. She was corroborated by Optimus Prime. I can do nothing when this place has the approval of the Prime." The tactician canted his head, considering something. "The illicitness of the location aside, it is a quiet place to speak in private." He entered a code into the panel in the wall, admitting both of them into the room.
What had once been an empty store room was slowly turning into something more. Since the last time Jazz had come to this place, someone had brought in a couple of chairs and tables. There were no windows in the room, and the lights that hung overhead were dim. Cubes of energon of different hues and shades of brightness cast a soft glow on whatever sat near enough to them. The quiet atmosphere of the place made it perfect for someone to come to in order to escape the harsh realities of war. Somewhere in the room, the hissing sound of a gas leak could be heard, casting a nebulous haze over everything, hence the tentative name bots were starting to give the place: Nebula One.
Prowl entered first, leading the way to a chosen table with a pair of chairs that did not rock back and forth as badly as the others. Jazz came after him and chose his seat when he was invited to do so, choosing the one that faced the exit so he could keep an optic on who might come or go. Prowl nodded to the saboteur's choice, taking his own seat before withdrawing from subspace two cubes of high grade. He set the cubes on the table between them.
"Ever been here before?" Jazz wondered, taking his cube and leaning back in his seat.
"No. I knew of it, but never came- there was never any reason." Prowl cracked the seal on his cube and took a small taste. "I assume you've been here, yes?"
Jazz offered a smirk. "A couple of times." Drinking until dawn with the twins made for some interesting times. He took a swig from his own cube, surprised to find the liquid was neither a diluted brand or Sideswipe volatile brew. Having had his fair share of energon from around the planet, he had a mind to call the high grade a Simfurite brand, which tended to have a straightforward, crisp taste. He tilted his cube up in a vague toast. "Good stuff."
"Thank you," Prowl said quietly. "Smokescreen has been keeping a stash of different things from Simfur. I traded him for the cubes."
"So ya brought meh here ta drink?" He knew that wasn't the reason, but it was a good way to get Prowl talking.
Hesitation, and then: "No, it was simply a good incentive to get you here."
Jazz offered a nod. "Ya got meh here. Now what are ya going ta do about it?"
Prowl contemplated the cube in his hands, turning it around slowly. His gaze was more distant instead of detached, his mind working faster than any other Jazz had ever encountered, bar himself. "I have been thinking extensively over what you said to me several orns ago..."
Jazz sighed. "If this is about Shockwave again-."
"Not this time," Prowl assured firmly. "I am not about to let that subject drop, but tonight was not for Shockwave. What you said about your training the other orn, what happened to you in order to pass your initiation..."
"Oh, that."
"It haunts me."
"Still haunts meh too," Jazz admitted, taking a long draught from his cube. "It's one of those things Ah don't think Ah can ever forget." The familiar sick feeling that came whenever he thought of those orns churned in his tanks, tightening a vice around his spark. He took refuge behind his visor, hiding whatever ghosts might be lingering in his gaze. "Ya brought meh all the way out here just ta tell meh that?"
"No, I wanted to talk about it, if you were acquiescent to the idea," Prowl murmured. "I realize that this is quite sudden, and to be dragged out of recharge will certainly win no merit for my own tact in the matter, but I had to speak with you about it-."
"You're rambling."
Prowl immediately ceased speaking. He dragged in cool air, then let his gaze fall. "My apologies."
"Whatever." Jazz scowled, immediately wanting to get up and walk away. His past was not something he liked to think about often, let alone talk about it with someone. No one had ever given a damn before, so there had never been any need to even consider the thought of sharing. But Prowl... cared. Concern shone undisguised in the tactician's optics. There was nothing malicious about him. He was not plotting to use the information for his own gain. It was not an overblown sense of duty stemming from his EMO syndrome, either. It was simply Prowl being Prowl, and Jazz was okay with that. The scowl that marred his faceplate lessened fraction by fraction until it was just a resigned expression.
The tactician's doorwings dropped a fraction. "I understand if you're uncomfortable. I shouldn't have acted so impulsively." He started to rise from his seat.
"Sit, Prowl," Jazz sighed.
Prowl resumed his seat cautiously.
"Ya went ta all this trouble ta get the high grade and drag meh out here, so we'll talk," he sighed, but then pointed a sharp finger across the table. "But Ah ain't gonna be the only one sharing. You'll be doing some talking as well."
"I am fine with that," Prowl said, sitting up a little straighter.
Jazz took another draught from his cube. It was quiet in the room. The only sounds were the chink of their metal as they moved and the monotone hiss of the gas leak hidden somewhere in the room. It was a subdued feeling to be sitting alone with Prowl. The world wasn't spinning so fast anymore. The room wasn't a blur as it might have been at one time. Jazz tilted his cube away from his mouthplates to peer over the rim, watching the mech he was with. Prowl matched his gaze for a moment before looking away again.
"You died, Jazz."
"Who Ah used ta be died," Jazz replied quietly. "There's a difference."
"But still..."
He looked away, touching his visor like an afterthought. "Who Ah was wasn't what mah master wanted, Prowl. Ah was just the raw material. She needed ta break meh down so that she could rebuild." The words left a bitter taste in his mouthplates, which he washed down with high grade.
"I can't imagine what it must have been like," Prowl said, shaking his head.
"It was hard." He watched his company, noting how openly regretful Prowl's expression was. It was as if he blamed himself for Jazz's own miseries. As if there might have been something for him to do to spare Jazz the reality of his past. A clawed hand reached out, entwining his fingers with Prowl's. "It was a long time ago, though. It's over. This is who Ah am now- Ah've made mah peace with that."
Prowl nodded, blinking away the negative emotions that darkened his gaze. He squeezed Jazz's hand before unravelling their fingers. "Why didn't she just reprogram you? It would have been so much simpler."
"Reprogramming would have been cheating," Jazz snorted. "What lesson would Ah have learned if she had done everything for meh?"
A grimace passed over the tactician. "How long did it take for you...?"
"Ta break?" Jazz shuddered, the sick feeling in his tanks churning a little worse. "Don't know... a while, Ah guess. Never really kept track, ya know? Just trying ta survive was hard enough. Ah came ta her as a youngling, and by the end of it, Ah had my first... no, Ah think it was mah second adult frame."
Prowl's optics flashed, his gaze shooting up. "You were a youngling?"
Jazz quirked an optic ridge. "We all gotta start somewhere."
The tactician revved quietly. "Yes, of course, I meant... I had always assumed that you had been a pre-program. It's difficult to imagine you as an innocent youngling."
Brief, mirthless laughter escaped him. "Ah might have been a youngling, but Ah've never been innocent."
Prowl was quiet for a while, probably at war with his old Security Response programming. Younglings were once a closely protected resource on Cybertron; the laws surrounding them had been strict and severe. The penalties for purposely bringing a youngling to harm were high. Because of the war, the Allspark was now sequestered in a private location to be guarded against the Decepticons- it was no longer used to bring younglings into the world, but that did not stop old programming from arising at the prospect of an old injustice.
"How could she have gotten away with what she did?" Prowl asked, finally able to find words to express his incredulity.
"It was a long time ago, Prowl. Laws were different back then," Jazz shrugged. "Ah was brought online just as bots were starting to pick up the fashion of younglings from organic species. Not a lot of bots knew what ta do with something that didn't come already programmed with everything it needed. The Council had yet ta put in place a lot of the laws that protected younglings in the Golden Age."
Prowl's brow furrowed, a light frown pulling at his mouthplates. He urged Jazz to continue with a subtle nod of his head.
Jazz stared down into his high grade. "Mah creator... Ah don't know if he meant ta be kind or cruel when he gave meh the mind of pre-program, but stuck meh in the frame of a youngling. Ah was trapped in the Youth Sector with no one around who was mah equal. Not even the Caretakers or Guardians measured up. Ah hated every orn of mah life there." A crack appeared up the side of his cube where he clenched it too hard. Both he and Prowl startled in surprise, then Jazz cursed softly. He finished off the last dregs of his high grade before setting the cube aside.
"What happened?" Prowl asked softly.
"Ah escaped," Jazz replied, his bitterness replaced with a wicked smile. "One night, there was a Guardian with weird optics on duty... Amber optics, ya know? Ya never forget something like that."
"That is odd," Prowl replied politely. Amber was one of the few colours exempted from the spectrum of optical colours a bot could choose from. To have the colour probably meant the bot had custom optics made for him.
"Anyways, that night Ah overheard him talking in the hall with one of the Caretakers- talked in riddles, but Ah could understand him. There'd been an accident outside the compound's perimeter, knocking out the resonance scanners and making the outer locks malfunction. It was the perfect opportunity for meh ta make a run for it. Ah'd never get another chance like that."
"So you escaped?"
"The only youngling ta ever do so successfully. Ah even got the Youth Sector shut down for negligence." He couldn't help the tone of pride that came into his voice.
"What Youth Sector was that?" Prowl puzzled over which territories did not possess Youth Sectors. Crystal City was mainly a tourist territory, so had opted not to build one. Simfur refused, believing they were inefficient. And then there was...
"Kaon."
Prowl drew back, looking sincerely startled. "You're Kaonite?"
"Surprised?" Jazz snorted, tilting his chair back on two legs.
"Somewhat," Prowl admitted unsteadily. "If you're from Kaon, what about your accent? I've know bots from Kaon, but none sound like you."
"Mah accent's genuine, just really old." He shook his head. "Ya know about the Language Unification Act with Alpha Prime, right?"
Prowl nodded. "Before Alpha Prime, all territories spoke their own unique language. With the Unification, the official language of the planet was switched to Main Cybertronian. All citizens of the planet were required to download the appropriate file and abandon their territory dialects." He paused, tilting his head. "So your accent is a throwback from then?"
"Pretty much. After bots forgot what a real Kaonite accent sounded like, Ah kept using mine," Jazz said. "Kaon's original language was called Kev."
"Can you still speak it?" Prowl enquired curiously.
"Ah guess. It's been a while since Ah've had the chance ta speak it." He rocked back and forth on his tilted chair. "Ah still remember bits and pieces of the other languages, too. Learned Pax in Tyger Pax. Ah can probably still order high grade and a pleasure bot in Sicon- Epsilon's language."
Betraying more interest than he intended to show, the tactician leaned forward. "Say something."
"In Sicon?"
"No, Kev."
"Now?" Jazz wondered, bringing the legs of his chair back down.
"Yes."
Jazz paused, thinking of what he might say. He cleared his vents, looked Prowl in the optic, and said, "I have never met anyone like you before."
Prowl canted his head. He had never had the opportunity to hear one of the original languages of Cybertron, but he found that Kev somehow suited Jazz much better than Main Cybertronian did. After puzzling for a moment, he asked- "What did you say?"
"Ah said you're ugly and ya have no sense of humour."
"For some reason, I doubt that," Prowl intoned, though he laughed a little.
"You'll never know the difference, now will ya?" Jazz teased.
Prowl shook his head. "One of these orns, I'll find a Kev file and I'll download it. Then I'll know what you said."
"Go ahead and try," Jazz challenged playfully. He knew well that coming across a file for a dead language was nearly as hard as getting Mirage to not act like a glitch. The only way Prowl would find a Kev file was if Jazz gave it to him.
Prowl drank from his cube, taking the extra time to rein in his brief excitement. "I can't believe I never figured out your accent before now."
"It wasn't something Ah expected anyone ta figure out, except maybe another Old One," Jazz replied. "The Unification Act was a long time ago. Ah don't even think Ironhide remembers what it sounds like to hear a real Kaonite accent. Chromia though...she might have guessed." He stretched back, rolling his shoulders. "When younger bots hear meh speak, they just assume Ah'm from a colony or something. Ah'm cool with keeping them guessing."
"You've certainly kept me guessing- though I can't say I'm surprised to find out that you're from Kaon," Prowl replied, his pale optics shining bright in the dim setting. He looked... happy to have learned something so intimate about Jazz. Maybe 'happy' was too strong a word. Content was better. He was content to be learning something about his partner that no one else knew.
Jazz smirked. "Suits, doesn't it?"
"Indeed." He took another slow sip from his cube, then set it down. "How did you meet your master? You're from Kaon and I assume she's from Tyger Pax."
"She found meh," Jazz admitted softly. "It was kind of weird, but Ah didn't think much of it at the time. It had been a couple orns after mah escape- Ah had no credits and Ah was desperate for energon. Ah was about ta rush a merchant's cart when someone grabbed meh and hauled meh up. Ah thought Ah was gonna get mah aft handed ta me, but there she was, just staring at meh."
He shuttered his optics for a moment, remembering the moment his life changed forever. The first time he had gazed upon the faceplate of the bot who would irrevocably change him, he'd thought she was frightening and hideous. Her dark armour had been heavily scarred, making her look more like a mutilated monster than anything else. In contrast to her frightening looks, her optics had glinted like jewels and the smell that came from her was bizarrely sweet.
"Finally," she'd said, before paying for a cube of hydrogen-saturated energon and pushing it into his hands. "It's time to go."
It was innocent, that first meeting. She'd carried him around while he guzzled back the energon. They'd taken a lift together into the bowels of the city until they passed all the infrastructure and dipped into something like a natural cave beneath Kaon's sunken capitol. The walls had shone eerily with phosphorous, the shadows dancing even when the light sources did not move. Despite his growing unease, Jazz had found himself unreasonably exhausted. Being on the run for several orns, he had not recharged for an astrosecond and it was catching up with him. He had only the strength to ask his saviour her designation before he passed out.
"I am Xerxia," she whispered. "You belong to me now."
When Jazz had next come online, he had been in Tyger Pax in the dojo that would become his home and dungeon.
"You went with her just like that?" Prowl asked incredulously.
"Didn't have much of a choice," Jazz replied wryly.
Prowl swirled his high grade around in its cube, watching the mesmerizing movement. "If you knew then what you know now, would you have still gone with her?"
"Ah probably would," Jazz said bitterly, a humourless laugh following. "Ah can't go back ta the bot Ah used ta be. Ah wouldn't want ta be him even if Ah got the chance. All Ah got is the meh Ah am now. Being this-," he gestured to himself, "-is what has kept meh alive all these orns. Ah might have had the will ta live, but Xerxia gave meh the skills ta keep meh alive." He was quiet for a moment, shaking his head. "Ironic, isn't it? She had ta kill meh before Ah could live."
A small clatter on the table had him looking up. A cube was set in front of him, the last mouthfuls of its glowing contents swishing in the bottom. Prowl pushed the cube a little closer.
"You need this more than I do."
Jazz offered a grateful smile before finishing the cube off. Once done, he wiped his mouthplates with the back of his hand. "Okay, that's enough sharing on mah part. Gotta leave some mysteries intact, ya know?"
Prowl opened his mouthplates to object, perhaps hoping to ask another couple questions. He quieted when Jazz arched an optic ridge in his direction. They had a deal. If Jazz spilled a little bit about himself, Prowl had to do the same. It was time to make good on the second part of the exchange.
"Alright," the tactician sighed. "What would you like to know about me?"
"Everything," Jazz replied lightly.
Prowl shook his head. "That's not an even exchange."
Jazz huffed a quiet laugh. "It was worth a shot. Since we've been talking beginnings, tell meh about yours."
"There's not much to tell," the tactician said with a shrug. "My life has not been as interesting as yours."
"Ah'll be the judge of that," Jazz assured, leaning back in his chair to get comfortable. Whether it was a boring story or not, he wanted to know Prowl. What made boring, logical, reasonable Prowl the way he was?
"Where should I start?" Prowl wondered.
"Anywhere," Jazz offered, relieved to have a different subject other than his past to discuss.
The mech paused for a moment, tapping his fingertips against the tabletop. "You already know that I was brought online as one of five pre-programs for my precinct. All five of us were meant as tacticians to replace the number of officers who were transferred to different precincts, as well as several who had signed up for the Autobots."
The need for five tacticians, in addition to the ones already functioning in the precinct, might have sounded a little excessive, but Jazz was aware that Simfur's capitol had once had one of the largest tactical units on Cybertron. It was one of the things the territory was best known for- its efficiency, higher-than-average intelligence, and the extraordinary programming of its Security tacticians. They did everything from threat assessments to strategic analysis, terrorist negotiations, and every other manner of hard thinking a precinct might need including balancing the credit books. Simply knowing that Prowl was from Simfur explained so much about him, but Jazz wanted to know more. He wanted to know the intimate details.
"What number were you in the line-up?" he wondered lightly.
"Fourth," Prowl replied. "Smokescreen was third."
"Who were the others brought online with you?"
"The first was Kingpin, then Hunter-."
Jazz pursed his mouthplates. "Kingpin...?"
"Yes, he went Decepticon," Prowl sighed. "Hunter turned Autobot with me and Smokescreen. I believe he's stationed in either Alta Trius or Centaurie Tetrax at the moment."
Jazz nodded. "And the fifth one?"
"Evasia," Prowl intoned lightly, a ghost smile playing at the edges of his mouthplates. The paleness of his optics turned a deeper blue. He failed to hide the distant, sad fondness that crept into his expression.
"Autobot or Decepticon?" Jazz wondered, then considered the name. Evasia. It was derived from evasion. Avoidance. Perhaps the bot had opted for Neutrality instead?
"She died before the war began," Prowl murmured quietly.
"Oh." Jazz shifted in his seat, uncomfortable with the tightness that suddenly clenched around his spark. He sought to find a different topic. "How was life in your precinct?"
"Average," Prowl replied, sitting back in his seat and shaking away the shadows from his gaze. "Entirely unextraordinary for the most part."
"Ya gotta give meh more than that," Jazz pressed.
Prowl chuckled lowly, acquiescing to the request. "The majority of the officers in my precinct were pre-programs, so most were understanding of the five of us when we arrived. We had the programming to immediately begin our functions, but social grace was not something freely given. There were more than a few incidents as we learned to interact with others. I can't count the number of times I inadvertently managed to insult someone."
Jazz chuckled lightly. "Ah can't imagine ya being any more awkward than ya already are."
A small laugh escaped Prowl. "Sadly, it's true. I was much worse back then. It's a miracle that the other officers dealt with me with as much patience as they did."
Jazz kept chuckling. "Ah almost wish Ah could have met ya back then."
"I was not as interesting back then as I am now," Prowl replied. "Besides, you probably would have killed me if we had met before this."
Jazz looked to the side, shoulders sagging. "Yeah, probably." The hiss of the gas leak filled the silence between them. He lifted a finger into the haze of whitish vapour and swirled it around, creating whirlpools in the air. The effect was hypnotic. "Ya were brought online without emotions," he murmured. "Tell meh why ya learned them."
Prowl scrubbed a hand over his faceplate. "The others became normalized relatively quickly. I, on the other hand, avoided doing such a thing for a very long time. To me, there was no point in them. They were arbitrary, uncontrollable, illogical; they made you less efficient at your function."
"Primus forbid that you be less efficient," Jazz snorted, rolling his optics.
Prowl turned his olfactory sensor up. "Not all of us can be comfortable with being disgustingly disorganized."
"It's a gift and a curse," Jazz drawled, teasing and proud of himself at the same time. He wasn't just disorganized, he was disgustingly disorganized. It sounded like he needed an award for it.
Prowl made a noise of annoyance, shaking his head.
The moment Jazz got his grin under control, he made an inviting gesture with his hand. "Come on, keep going. If ya thought emotions were so stupid, why did ya learn them?"
"Curiosity," Prowl sighed. "Every orn, I saw fellow officers laughing at jokes I didn't understand. I watched bots pair up and enjoy relationships with each other. No matter the illogicality of it, they seemed to be leading more fulfilling lives than I was."
"And ya wanted a piece of that?"
"Yes." Prowl looked down at his hands. "I think learning and understanding emotions was one of the very few things I was truly horrible at." He paused, making a small noise. "I... am still horrible at it."
Jazz gave the bot a nudge with his foot beneath the table, getting Prowl to look him in the optic. He offered a half-smile. "When Ah'm done with ya, you'll be better."
Another handsome smile made its way across the tactician's mouthplates, lighting up his optics, making him look so handsome. "I'm counting on it."
Jazz smiled because he couldn't help it. "Was it Evasia who got ya ta first start trying?"
"She encouraged me, yes." He sighed lightly, still smiling a little. "She was most persistent, constantly pointing out the merits of knowing happiness, humour, joy... pleasure." He stumbled on the last word, clearing his vents. "I invested a lot of my free time into learning. It was fine at first- I actually enjoyed myself. I was able to relate to other bots; I developed personal relationships with others. I learned a joke or two, even though I don't think I ever really caught on to humour..."
"Ah've laughed at ya enough, if that counts," Jazz pointed out cheerfully.
Prowl rolled his optics. "My freedom did not last forever. Being a Security officer, I was exposed to a lot of tragic situations. I saw the worst that Cybertron had to offer."
Jazz's cheerfulness faded. "Ya started ta learn negative emotions."
"They overtook nearly everything else I knew," Prowl said. "I mourned for the bots I couldn't save. I was angry with the criminals who hurt others indiscriminately; I was tormented that I couldn't do more. It was a downward spiral until I learned to hate- hating the stupidity and ignorance around me." He frowned solemnly at the table, lost in the memories. "Soon enough, I dreaded coming online in the morning because I would never know what terrible thing the orn would bring me. There was rage inside me, and shame because I felt rage. I was disgusted that I was ashamed of myself, and I hated that I was disgusted." He huffed a bitter, sad sound. "Hatred is such an easy thing to learn, but it's so hard to let go of. I hated my weaknesses. I hated what I had become." He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on the edge of the table to hide his faceplate in his palms. "I still hate what I've become."
A chair pushed away from the table, and then a silver body moved around to stand by Prowl's side. Jazz laid a gentle hand to the tactician's shoulder, urging him to look up. Prowl glanced at the hand on him, then turned his gaze to the glittering crystal of the saboteur's visor. His hand rose and laid atop of Jazz's, taking strength from it.
"It seems strange that I brought you here to talk about your past, and here you are comforting me over mine," he said.
Jazz shrugged. "Partners, remember?" He took his hand back, bracing both of them against the table behind him. "Ah can guess the rest of what happened. Someone showed ya how ta turn your emotional centre off, and that's when things started getting out of hand."
"Essentially, yes," Prowl conceded. "I tried to be better than that, though. I joined Yokétron's dojo. I studied circuit-su in hopes of finding more than just an advantage in hand-to-hand combat. Yokétron knew of my problem and he did everything to help me."
"But you never finished your training," Jazz pointed out.
"The war was beginning to break out at that time. Tension was high, skirmishes were breaking out- no one knew it was Megatron orchestrating it in the beginning. I had less and less time for circuit-su when my attention was needed in a thousand different places." He pushed his chair away from the table, casting his gaze upward to the silver mech standing over him. "Yet another tragedy struck when another student of Yokétron's attacked him. Such needless violence... I've never even learned why he attacked."
"Do ya know who it was?" Jazz asked carefully.
"Lockdown," Prowl murmured, fists clenching. "He is a Decepticon mercenary now."
"Ah know him," Jazz murmured. "Did a couple of deals with him once or twice. Does good work, but he's a little obsessed with taking trophies from his kills."
Prowl shot him a dark look.
"What? Ah said Ah know him. Ah didn't say Ah was still dealing with him," Jazz huffed.
"My apologies," the tactician said, looking away. "Thanks to Lockdown, I never had a chance to finish my training. I was left with only the option to turn off my emotional centre, doing so more often and for longer periods of time. During those times, I was experiencing traumatic situations which compounded when the backlash hit me. Eventually, I became the mech you see now."
"An EMO."
"Yes." So much shame in that one admittance.
"It's not like you're irredeemable," Jazz said softly, the back of his fingers tracing down the side of Prowl's faceplate.
"The same could be said of you," Prowl replied, offering a kind smile as he subtly tilted into the touch.
The Emporium of the Allspark was a place that most bots only got to see once in their lives, on the orn that they were brought to life.
The Emporium was the place where all sparks came from, and it was the place where all sparks were drawn to. It was a place more beautiful than any painter's brush could ever capture. More wonderful than any imagination could conspire to create. A dome of sparkling crystal shattered light into a thousand rainbows that lit up the room. Gold and silver glittered in the floors, up the walls, veins of it swirling in the ceilings. Power breathed through the air like a living entity that whispered to you all the secrets of time. Everything felt more real in this place than in any other moment a bot could experience in their life.
In the first moments of a bot's life, whether sparkling or pre-program, they felt the grandness of the threshold they stood on; they were between the world of the living and the place beyond the Allspark. Without being fully aware of who they were or what they were supposed to be, the attention of a great force in the universe would be turned to them. No other moment in their lives would be like their first, when their Creator was focused entirely on the moment they first lived. Someone without form but full of love would smile down at them, bring them into an ephemeral embrace, and whisper, "Welcome."
Prowl's entrance into the world was no different.
Optimus Prime held the Matrix aloft to the Allspark as blue lights began to dance in the air. The glyphs in the gigantic cube started to glow, coming to life. Power welled in the air like a physical caress. Lightning started to arc from the cube, at first a wild show, but then slowly concentrating in the place where the Prime held the Matrix. Slowly, he drew the ancient artifact away, and in its place the lights whirled smaller and smaller until they pulsed together in the shape of living star that dipped into his open palm.
An empty frame awaited, its chest open. The spark seemed to know exactly what it was supposed to do. With a leap, it was home. The sparkcase and chest closed on its own. A moment passed as the electric energy connected with the frame through the sparkcase, and then the frame revved to life. It lifted its head and took its first breath of air. Pale optics lit up. Awareness came into its gaze as its processor booted up, informing him of who he was and what he was supposed to be. His designation was Prowl. He was a tactical adviser for the Simfur Security Response. Fourth in a series of five.
To his right, there were three bots standing in a row. They looked as he did, the same frames with the same paint. Their only difference was the colour of their chevrons. They were first, second, and third of five. To his left, a single smaller frame stood quietly, not yet living- she was fifth of five.
Optics shooting forward, the newly living bot took stock of the grander bots who stood watching him. Visual recognition programs automatically informed him of the importance of the gathered group: Optimus Prime, the Prime of Cybertron. Lord Megatron, High Lord Protector of Cybertron. Protectorate Ironhide, Prime Directorate Adviser. Raven, Captain of the Simfur Capitol Security Response precinct.
Protocols demanded that he bow to his superiors. He moved to do so, but found himself reeling instead. His vision turned woozy, his sense of balance disappearing. Steady hands clasped his arms. Third of five had him, holding him up. Recognition programming labelled the bot as Smokescreen. His chevron was yellow. Other bots came. A medic and a tiny microbot barely as big as his little finger.
"Just a little bit of vertigo," said the medic. "His balance calibrations must be a bit off. It's an easy fix."
The side of his head was opened. Something was adjusted. The world stopped spinning.
"How's that?" asked the medic.
"I am operating within acceptable parameters," Prowl announced, staring straight ahead.
"Welcome to Cybertron, Prowl," Optimus Prime said warmly.
Prowl bowed properly on his second try.
Fifth of five was brought to life shortly after. Prowl watched the process of bringing forth a spark with interest. It was among the first memories he was going to form and he believed it pertinent to be aware of his surroundings. Next to him, his fellow newly sparked officers stood as still as he did, watching avidly. The last of their line-up was called Evasia. Her frame was small, labelled as a femme, but of similar design to the four that came before her. Her chevron was teal. Unlike Prowl, she did not have trouble bowing to the Prime her first time.
Raven came forward, greeting each one of them with a touch of their hands. He had a different frame type, flight capable. A triangular frame with wide shoulders and wings that jutted from his back. Black paint that shone like spilled oil.
"Officers Kingpin, Hunter, Smokescreen, Prowl, and Evasia: Welcome to the first orn of the rest of your lives," said the captain, smiling grandly. It was a strange gesture that none of the pre-programs comprehended. They understood what a smile was, but not the meaning behind such a gesture or what urge would prompt it.
"Thank you, sir," Kingpin announced for them all.
Raven's smile deepened, nodding. "You five were brought online to serve Cybertron and its people- there is no better function in life than that. Your home will be Simfur, your purpose to serve and protect it. To be Security Response officers is to be part of something greater than yourself. There is great power and responsibility involved in everything you do from here on out. Each of you has been given everything you need to understand what is expected of you in your function, but you will also learn a great many things from the bots around you. I can tell just by looking at you five that I can expect great things from you."
An arbitrary assessment, but nonetheless it was appreciated when the five of them were so new.
"Now," said Raven, snapping all five officers to attention. "Who's ready to be a part of something greater than themselves?"
"We are, sir," all five intoned simultaneously.
"Good. Then let's go!" Raven bowed to the Prime before making his way out of the Emporium, his officers following after him.
Evasia walked next to Prowl, peering up with bright blue optics. "Expectations of our abilities sound high."
Prowl glanced down at the femme before turning his gaze ahead again. "I am ready for the challenge."