Things are about to get very interesting for our favourite protagonists. Very, very interesting. Two bots, one ship. You do the math. The future is very interesting indeed.

Major thanks to the reviewers of the last chapter: VyxenSkye, White Aster, NightBlooming Orchid, Daklog73, CNightJoy, Peacewish, cmdrtekk, Faecat, femme4jack, Wind of the Dawn, A Lurker, Poiseninja, Optimus Bob, Got Buttermilk, Camfield, Pruhana, Fianna9, DemonSurfer, sarasblackcolt, quasarsmom, renegadewriter8, StarscreamII, smoking caramels, Psyche102, Sideslip, sparklespepper, Lady Katana4544, Phoebe Turner, Midnight Marquis, ChaosGarden, Uniasus, Luinrina, and RococoSpade~! As always, you guys never cease to be a source of inspiration for this story! So long as there are people willing to leave a review, there will always be a will to write this story~ =P

Read, Review, and Enjoy~

Chapter 29

Prowl was reluctant to cease his work when there came a distracting knock at his office door. The sound was soft but insistent, indicative of a smaller fist belonging to a lighter-built frame. Femme, most likely. There was a pause after the knocking as whoever was on the other side waited to be invited in. Prowl did not offer an invitation. Indeed, he refused to say anything at all. He was not in the mood to accommodate anyone.

A moment passed where the bot on the other side accepted the refusal. Shortly after that, the knocking resumed. It was too insistent to be someone who was likely to go away if he ignored them. The only logical course of action was to answer the door in order to cease the annoyance. The sooner he saw to his unwanted company, the sooner he could send them away. He would blessedly be left in peace again.

To better prepare himself for the encounter, the tactician scanned for a spark resonance. Immediately afterwards, he shot to his feet.

"Elita One, please, come in," he said quickly.

The door opened and the Prime's mate stood silhouetted in the door frame until she stepped in and let it close behind her. She was a stunningly beautiful creature, though that physical observation meant little to Prowl. Aesthetics held very little meaning to him. Her marked abilities as a commander were the qualities he admired most about her. When he had first began to rise through the ranks, he had been dismissive of the idea of Elita One as the commander of the Femme Division. It was his erroneous assumption that she had come by her position simply through her connection to the Prime. Upon coming into personal contact with the femme, Prowl had been forced to reevaluate his early suppositions about her. She was exceedingly smart, with a quicksilver mind and an utterly shrewd commanding style, perfect for controlling the radical nature of the femmes she commanded. There was no better candidate in Prowl's mind than Elita One for femme commander.

"Prowl," she said lightly.

"Elita One," Prowl murmured, bowing to her as social conduct would dictate.

She offered a bow in return, though not as deep as his.

An intense wave of shame washed over Prowl as he rose from his bow. He did his best to clamp down on the rampant emotion before the femme commander had the chance to see his expression. He should have scanned for the spark resonance first! Of all the bots to come to his office, it had to be the sparkmate of the Prime. He could dismiss all others, even those of similar rank to him, but Elita... Elita One was second to only the Prime. It was shameful to have been so disrespectful to her, even in such an indirect manner.

"How may I be of assistance, Elita One?" the tactician murmured quietly, his fingers clenching the edge of his desk lightly. He kept his gaze downcast from her; they might have held the same commanding rank in the Autobots, but she was still leagues above him in the social hierarchy. The dictates of his old Security Response programming were so hard to dismiss.

Elita One quirked an optic ridge, her head tilting gently to the side as she considered his question.

For a moment, Prowl dreaded what the femme might want.

"I am looking for your evaluation of the tactical information on the Axiom Nexus Decepticon outposts that my division submitted to you," said the femme. "I am interested in your opinions on the matter. The Head Tactical Adviser in the Axiom Nexus Autobot outpost is reputable, and his evaluation offered insightful information, but I do value your input."

"Oh," said Prowl, physically able to feel relief flood through his frame. So she wasn't here to discuss his most recent behaviour and his abject avoidance of a certain silver saboteur. He cleared his vents and immediately switched to his computer screen and keyboard. "Yes, of course. Please, give me a moment and I will have it for you."

"Of course," said the femme.

Being such an organized bot, he had her evaluation brought up in under a breem. It was downloaded to a data pad in less time than that. He politely came to his feet in order to hand it over to her.

"My apologies that it is late," he said, dipping his head respectfully.

"Not at all. I was early coming to retrieve it," Elita One replied in an amiable tone, though her optics were occupied with perusing through the data she now had in her hands. When she was done, she looked up at him and smiled. "I knew you would have it done ahead of time."

"Of course," said the tactician. He glanced to the door, willing the femme to leave. "If that is all, Elita One...?"

The smile on her faceplate turned sharp around the edges, the cleverness in her calculating optics gleaming too brightly. "No, I am afraid that's not all," she said. "It was only my excuse for getting in the door."

"Ah," said Prowl, and then pressed his mouthplates together to prevent himself from saying anything more. The words that did come to mind in that moment were certainly not appropriate to be said in front of the Prime's sparkmate. His frame tensed, as if readying for battle. His mind raced with a thousand different lies and excuses that he could weave in order to explain his recent rash of antisocial behaviour as he staunchly attempted to exempt all contact with living personnel.

"I'm sure you can guess why I am here," said the femme.

Prowl frowned, giving one bare twitch of his head that could have been a nod. "I can extrapolate a fairly succinct idea for your presence."

"You have such a way with words," Elita clucked lightly. "Especially when you try to make it seem like nothing is wrong and only end up making it more obvious."

Prowl frowned even more deeply.

Elita tapped her data pad against the tip of her chin. "In this case, your fairly succinct idea would be wrong. I'm not here about your recent behaviour, as curious as it might be."

Prowl was taken aback by the statement. He continued to stand behind his desk, watching the femme warily.

The femme commander tilted her chin up. "I'm not your sparkling-sitter, nor is any other commander in this base. We shouldn't have to look after you in any capacity." She gave a dismissive wave of her hand. "The ways in which you choose to express your personal frustrations are your own choice. So long as it does not distract you from your duties, I have little care how much abuse you decide to inflict-"

"I have done no such thing," Prowl countered quickly. "I have kept up with all my prescribed duties as a commander, and I do not believe I have stepped out of line with anyone in regards to my behaviour-"

Elita raised her hand to silence him, and Prowl had no choice but to be silenced.

"I almost think you refuse to read between the lines purposely," she admonished. "You have not stepped out of bounds by any guidelines set for the Autobots, but you certainly have not bothered to go above and beyond them either. You have been toeing the line to the absolute limit."

Prowl said nothing to refute the statement.

She crossed her arms over her chest. "I believe the phrase use most often in reference to yourself as of late would be 'cold-sparked fragger'- a title that is usually reserved only for Mirage."

"Ah," he breathed quietly. Although he might not be as deeply entangled into the social life of Iacon, but even he knew that popular opinion of Mirage's frosty attitude was not very high.

"I can't say that any of the commanders are very impressed with this development," Elita said. "Normally you manage keep public opinion of yourself above Mirage's, if only by a fraction. Of course, I say this as an observation, because I am still not your sparkling-sitter."

Prowl revved lowly. He took a moment to review his most recent behaviour to see if he had grounds to give a proper defence of himself. Unfortunately, in seeing himself in hindsight, he was forced to agree with her assessment; granted he was not the most generous or friendly of bots, his most recent behaviour could be considered abominable compared to the progress he had been making in social graces. He cast his gaze to the floor to show his shame in being called out on his poor conduct. It was unbecoming of a high-ranking individual to allow his personal grievances to affect his orn-to-orn performance. Even Mirage's general behaviour, as glacial as it might be, was never inflected by his personal circumstances- he was just naturally an aft.

"I will endeavour to correct this misunderstanding," Prowl murmured lowly.

"See that you do," Elita said, watching him closely. "As for failing to see to your duties, I was not referring to the ones you have so wholly invested yourself in as of late. In fact, I am of the opinion that you should hold back a little bit on those, since you tend to make the rest of us look bad when you are several orns ahead of us in the workload. There are other duties that have been neglected as of late."

Prowl stared at her blankly, choosing to purposely not read between the lines. It was a feeble and illogical hope that if he seemed ignorant of the matter, Elita One would dismiss it. Nevertheless, he continued to stare blankly.

Elita sighed and shook her head. Needlessly, she said, "I am referring to your partnership with Jazz."

Although Prowl had anticipated the words, he suffered an immediate emotional reaction to hearing the words spoken out loud. Confirmation that he had reason to dread with encounter with the Prime's sparkmate. The wave that struck him came on too quickly for him to properly suppress right away. Elita One was briefly privy to the play of horror, panic, rage, and shame that came into his. She was not as skilled as Jazz at reading bots with a single glance, but she had some talents that allowed her to see what many would have missed. She saw those uncontrolled emotions wreaking havoc inside a bot who was ill-equipped to handle them.

A pang of sympathy manifested in Elita One for Prowl as she realized the extent of the internal battle he was privately waging. However, she was not going to offer him a comforting hand to ease the torment. That would have been an insult to such a bot's pride. Instead, she held steady and retained faith in Prowl's own strength.

It took longer than normal for Prowl to compose himself properly. No matter how loathe his was to think of Jazz at the moment, he was even more abhorrent of the idea of falling back into his old practice of relying on shutting down his emotional centre. Even in the past couple of orns, he had resisted his old habit, no matter how poorly he was holding up under the strain.

"I do not wish to speak of him," he said when he was sure that he had control of himself.

"That is unfortunate, because it was my impression that he was your responsibility for the time being until he has taken on the mantle of an Autobot or chosen to go his own way," Elita pointed out.

"He is fine without my supervision for now," Prowl said through gritted mouthplates.

"Is he?" she wondered with a severely arched optic ridge.

"You and I can both agree he is a highly capable bot," Prowl replied. "He does not need me sparkling-sitting him, nor do I wish to be in his company as of this moment."

"I wonder why that is, hmm?" Elita said rhetorically, though with a sharp look.

Prowl opened his mouthplates a fraction, but said nothing. He knew of nearly a dozen reasons he did not want to see Jazz, though the prominent reason was his own pride could not handle it. For joors, he had analyzed and agonized over the incident. He had run every possible scenario to see how it might have turned out differently. In the end, he came to the conclusion that it was his own fault for what had happened. Jazz had done nothing but instigated the training session. Prowl had failed to compartmentalize the emotions that had hit him. He had failed to prevent himself from becoming a fool in front of Jazz. He had revealed one of his most closely kept secrets and shames- perhaps not as dire as his EMO condition, though a precursor to it. To add to the humiliation, he had reacted poorly in the aftermath of it. His anger and embarrassment had thrown blame for his own failings squarely at Jazz's feet. Things were said that he regretted.

Now his pride prevented him from seeing the saboteur.

"I see you have nothing to say," she observed.

"There is nothing I want to say," Prowl replied curtly.

The look that Elita One drilled into him was far more severe than anything he had ever seen on her faceplate before. It was not cruel, but the set of her optics, the turn of her mouthplates, and the tilt of her chin all culminated into an expression that caused Prowl's optics to immediately go to the floor while his head bowed away. There was no question who was the more powerful bot in the room. She could see straight through all of Prowl's petty acts and juvenile retention of pride and did not take lightly to him acting so far below his expected maturity level. Although she could be kind and fair, much like her sparkmate, Elita One differed from Optimus Prime in the fact that she was far less inclined to be lenient when someone was acting unreasonably foolish.

What became particularly disquieting in that moment was that Elita turned her gaze away from him at the last second.

"Perhaps your current sentiments are for the best," she said.

There was a moment of supreme confusion as Prowl's processor failed to calculate an appropriate reasoning behind such a statement. While he could suspect that she was aware of the rift between the two of them, and that she was smart enough to come to her own conclusions about the 'disagreement' that set that rift in motion, he could not fathom how she could so quickly dismiss it. Had she not been criticizing him on the neglect of his duties only moments before?

"I beg your pardon?" he managed to say around his incomprehension.

"I said that perhaps your desire not to see Jazz is for the best," Elita repeated. "Since you have been locked away in your office for such a long time, I doubt it has come to your notice that Jazz is leaving."

Of course, no matter Prowl's tumultuous regard of Jazz, information such as this brought every process inside the tactician's mind to a screeching halt.

"He's leaving?" Prowl questioned on a quick gasp. He immediately berated himself for such a slip. It betrayed more intonation than he had meant. Damn himself for not being able to dissemble better! He caught himself now leaning subtly across the top of his desk, his gaze searching the femme commander's for any hint. He searched her whole frame for any sign of scheme or lie.

There was only cool elegance about her, though a kind that was far above the quality of Mirage's cold lordly manners. Far above the quality of any other bot Prowl knew of.

"Yes, he's leaving. I was informed of this last night," Elita said, inclining her head. "Jazz has apparently received word from one of the Neutrals he had rescued in the borderlands several fortnight ago. Shockwave is now possibly active in another borderland."

A frigid coldness seeped into Prowl's frame at the mentioning of Shockwave's designation.

Elita continued, oblivious to the sudden fear the tactician was experiencing. "Jazz has seen it fit to act on this rumour and is leaving within the joor. The borderlands between Tyger Pax and Kaon are far from here, not to mention how vast the gorges between the territories can be. He will undoubtedly be gone for a long time."

Prowl felt his world shift as his mind, which had screeched to that sudden halt when he had first heard the news, started moving again. Now his thoughts flew into a thousand new scenarios. Each possible future was worse than the last, each inviting one disaster after another to meet Jazz if he left on his own.

A plain grey hand grasped the edge of his desk tightly for support.

"How is he leaving?" Prowl asked, nearly croaking the words. "He can't be driving, can he?"

Driving the whole way had the lowest probability of surviving.

"A ship has been granted to him," Elita replied smoothly. "Supplies have also been spared."

His optics flashed. "So quickly?"

Elita's optics glinted with a light that Prowl did not dare analyze too deeply. "You know better than anyone that Jazz has unique ways of getting what he wants."

Prowl shuttered his optics tightly. "I suppose I do," he conceded lowly. "Has he... has he said if he will be returning after his mission?"

After the words he had thrown in Jazz's faceplate, it wasn't likely for a bot like him to stick around.

"He has not."

"Damn." One hand released his desk, only to bang his fist to the top of it.

In a sudden move, Elita cast Prowl a smile that was more calculating than affectionate. "I think it's time for me to go. Thank you for the report, Prowl. I am sure it will help with many important future decisions." With that said, she abruptly quit his office and was gone from the tactician's company entirely.

Prowl stood for several moments after Elita had left, processing everything that she had just said. He was indeed reading between the lines now and did not like the conclusions he was coming to.

Although Prowl did not know where she was going, Elita One was in fact heading to the med bay where one light-green Neutral was currently sitting under Ratchet's scrutinizing stare. Through the usual manner of rumours and hearsay, the femme commander happened to hear that the Neutral femme had a good disposition and some interesting talents.

Elita One was sure that Jazz had done her a favour by luring a peculiar femme into her midst who she was confident she might be able to convince to join her division.

She thought it only fair that she give him something in return to keep him company during his mission.


Jazz felt an itching beneath his armour as he oversaw the loading of precious supplies into the small aircraft he had been granted. It was not the itch of rust. Rust was not permitted to exist on his person. This was an itch that he was most familiar with, one that was associated with the way his life had always been before everything had changed. It was the restlessness that had lived within him always. The urge to move. To be elsewhere. There was eagerness inside him laced with impatience. He wanted to be away from the place he was in now. He wished for the freedom of the open sky and endless roads.

The ship that had been lent to him would give him that freedom, just as soon as it was loaded. It would take him anywhere he wished to go. The sky was the limit.

He did not even have to go to the borderlands if he didn't want to. He could go anywhere.

Jazz had pondered that very thought all night- the thought of anywhere. There had been many parts of himself that had hissed and jeered and laughed and coaxed that Jazz could find much more interesting things to do than entertain the possibly groundless fears of a worthless Neutral. There were places on Cybertron he could go. Things he could do. Free from everything and everyone. Be his own bot, bowing to no one; every intention he had possessed but failed to fulfil like he had once planned that first time he had Iacon not so long ago...

Or had it really been a long time ago when he had left?

So much had happened between then and now that it almost seemed like an eternity had passed.

Jazz shrugged at the vagueness of time. He was accustomed to such a thing. Not only had he lived such a long time, but he remembered so little of it; when one lived in such a whirlwind of a fashion, temporal details became meaningless. Indeed, time had always been a very fickle companion to him; both constant and yet wavering. He could be patient when he needed to be and impatient when he wanted to be. A moment was capable of lasting a lifetime, while a lifetime could be wasted in a moment. He had seen and lived both scenarios.

Although, with that mindset, he could either live his freedom for a lifetime or else squander it.

In the end, he also knew it didn't really matter.

It didn't matter if his mind whispered all sorts of pretty things things to him; all the possibilities he could have on the planet and beyond. All the places he could go. All the things he could do. Not matter how much he wanted to be away, away, far away from this place... he'd still come back. He would go out to check out Moonracer's rumour. He knew he would. He might try to fool himself into thinking otherwise, but he would still go. He might even end up being an idiot and saving the Neutrals there. And then he knew he would come back to Iacon.

He would come back because there was nowhere else for him to be.

He staunchly avoided thoughts of Prowl in a similar manner to which he had been physically avoiding Prowl's presence. Generally, when a thought did creep in, all he heard in his head was "Ah, yes! Touch me more, Prowl!" and other explicit exclamations with more than a few accompanying visuals from the memory... as well as a few images of Prowl which had been amalgamated by his own mind. Rather attractive images, if he did say so himself. Normally, a little bit of sick fantasizing was nothing to fret about, but the manner in which he had scored his current fantasies left a sore spot within him- roughly around the spot where his spark was uncomfortably sitting.

"Meep! Meep!" cried a useless little drone that skittered around Jazz's feet in dizzying circles. He had never met a stranger drone than Wheeljack's favoured creation. He lifted his feet to let the little streak of silver continue on its path toward its proper master. Wheeljack laughed too loudly and cooed for his drone, inviting Tungsten to crawl up his frame and skitter into the large open cavity of the ship's engine for one final check before Jazz flew away on his mission.

As usual, Wheeljack was merrily oblivious to the scrutinizing regard of his fellow Autobots. He also notably ignored Jazz's incredulous glances. He was content to be himself no matter how unusual that tended to be. There was a sort of freedom about his naive disregard of everyone's opinion that was enviable.

Larger drones, plainly built but capable of useful tasks, moved back and forth in a mindless fashion as they loaded supplies into the small cargo hold in the side of the ship. The supplies that had been spared for Jazz were not as plentiful as he might have liked, and not as much as he would have taken for himself if he had not bothered with permission to leave, but he knew Iacon was stretched thin as it was and he didn't feel like putting more pressure on them. It was... strange regarding others in this manner. Considering their needs above his own.

Concern for others was the reason good bots got killed. They were better off only caring for themselves.

Jazz focused his optics and thoughts on the progress of the drones, noting with irritation that they were not stacking the supplies efficiently in the hold. The top was too heavy and at an angle to the rest of the crates. He watched the top layer begin to slide outward as gravity inevitably took hold. He shot forward to catch the crates, but a storm-grey shape slid between Jazz and the ship, smoothly catching the supplies before they managed to fall completely. In one smooth motion, Prowl knelt to free his arms of the supplies he had caught. With a brusque gesture to the drones, he dismissed them in order to start taking the crates out of the hold and reorganize them in a more efficient manner.

Jazz watched Prowl's movement for several moments, stunned to find the tactician standing there in front of him when both of them had been doing so well to avoid each other. When the saboteur finally summoned up proper words to speak, they were not as smooth as he would have liked.

"What are ya doing here?"

Prowl went stiff for a moment, as if he had been hoping Jazz would ignore his presence and not comment on it at all. His hands paused in their movement of shifting crates around. He cycled air through his vents. Without looking back, he returned to reorganizing.

"I was informed by Elita One that you were leaving for the Tyger Pax-Kaon borderlands," said the tactician in a decidedly careful manner. Obviously it was taking effort for him to remain civil in Jazz's presence. He did not want to be there, and yet he forced himself to persevere for some reason that Jazz could not fathom.

Prowl nodded to the ship. "Needless to say, this scene here would indicate her information was correct."

"Elita One needs to start minding her own business," replied Jazz, making a mental note to himself that when he returned from the mission he would finally, finally, hunt the femme down and find out what her Primus-damned malfunction was. He stepped up beside Prowl, refraining from casting his partner a sidelong glance. He wasn't sure how deeply he wanted to look into the bot's thoughts after what he had already seen.

"Knowing Ah'm leaving has nothing ta do with ya needing ta be here," the silver bot pointed out.

"I am coming with you," Prowl replied curtly. He, too, refused to look directly at Jazz.

This reluctance on both their parts to look in each other's direction made for an extremely awkward atmosphere between them. Not that awkward was new between them, but it certainly had a cumulative effect. They were standing together and yet acting as if galaxies apart. For two individuals who were so accustomed to subterfuge and manipulations, the sheer reluctance between them and the amount of words going unsaid was unusually uncomfortable.

"Go back ta your office, Prowler," Jazz said lowly, though not cruelly. There was more resignation in his tone than anything. "This isn't your mission. It's mine."

"We are partners," said the storm-grey bot, like a drone parroting orders. There was very little investment behind his assertion of partnership, which made the worse as worthless as exhaust fumes.

Jazz snorted a low noise. "Ah don't need ya."

"You do need me," insisted the tactician, this time with a fraction more investment.

The saboteur cursed at him softly.

Prowl did not balk. "The borderlands are far from here. Two bots flying this ship will be more efficient than one. I will be able to liaison between Autobot outposts we stop to refuel at, because no doubt you will cause a stir. You are not yet an Autobot, after all. And of course, in the event that you do encounter Shockwave, it would be best for you to have backup."

All very good reasons spoken in a convincingly reasonable tone.

Jazz did not want to hear any of it.

"You're blowing smoke out your exhaust pipe," he said, interrupting Prowl's recitation of the rapidly accumulated reasons he had come up with while on his way down to the hangar.

Prowl was accordingly silenced, even if he did continue to sort through the supplies. He stacked the largest crates on the bottom, working his way to smaller, lighter crates on the top. Energon cubes were set to the floor, reserved to be placed inside the ship in one of the sub-space compartments where they could easily be accessed by the bots who would be using them.

"Ah've gotten along in life long enough without ya. Ah can go out wherever Ah please without ya." He dared a sidelong glance. "Ah don't need ya. End of story."

"I beg to differ."

"A couple of orns ago, ya were begging for a whole other reason," Jazz countered. It was a low blow, and he felt bad for sinking to that level, but he wanted Prowl gone.

The tactician immediately went rigid. Unfortunately, he did not leave. "Your innuendos won't scare me away," he said tightly.

"Fine, if you're going to be that way. Look at it this way," Jazz intoned, trying a different tact. "Ah'll be gone for a while, so ya won't have ta deal with meh at all. No one is gonna be in your head seeing things they ain't supposed ta see. Ya can train on your own and when Ah get back, ya can show meh how much you've improved."

Primus, did that really sound as lame to Prowl as it did to Jazz? Because to Jazz, it sounded really lame.

The tactician finally deigned to cast his company a look, his expression consisting of a distinct lack expression. It was enough to inform the saboteur that, yes, the words that had just come out of his mouthplates really had sounded that stupid.

Prowl motioned for the drones to return, issuing careful orders to them so that they did not upset the system he had already developed for their supplies. He allowed the machines to continue on with the work while he himself picked up the cubes of energon off the floor and indicated for Jazz to do the same. Jazz tried not to look too curious while he picked up several cubes and balanced them in his arms. Together, they walked up the small set of collapsible steps that led into the ship. There was no ramp, given that it was such a small low-profile aircraft.

Once partially concealed within the small single room that constituted the back of the ship, Prowl set down his cubes and sighed. Now he allowed his facade to drop. What was revealed was a shamed expression laced with anxiety. Self-criticism and honest releuctance to stand in Jazz's presence. But there was determination there, like there usually was- that stubborn kind of determination that Jazz could relate to.

"I made a mistake, Jazz," the storm-grey said, not in a loud voice but in a particularly clear one.

Jazz set down his own cubes and propped his hip against the nearest surface to listen. He wanted to say that he had made a mistake as well, but pride prevented him from opening his mouthplates. His damned pride, which had kept him locked in his office and prevented him from facing Prowl head on before now. His pride, which had him leaving Iacon before he conceding to bow to his own mistakes.

Pride oddly sounded like cowardice... a comparison that Jazz did not at all enjoy.

Nevertheless, pride was Jazz's ever-present company, so instead of saying the right words he said, "What mistake was that?"

Prowl cast his gaze to the floor. His doorwings drooped perceptibly. "We had made an agreement to use my memories as training tools. The memory you selected... I had not anticipated that specific one, but I should have fought harder against its use."

"Probably would have done ya no good," Jazz shrugged. There was still a part of him that was a terrible creature, and the stronger Prowl would have resisted him, the more Jazz would have wanted to use the memory no matter what it might have contained.

"I calculated that that might have been the case. No matter how hard I resisted, you would still win," Prowl admitted, but there wasn't bitterness in his tone... at least not directed toward Jazz. He was angry at himself for being so weak. "I thought that if I gave in, maybe... maybe I could have handled the memory. I was wrong. I had not realized how much influence such intense sensations could exert when magnified..."

Jazz was struck yet again by an unbidden image conjured freely by his mind. He recalled the decadent image of Prowl stretched out in front of him, his expression turned wild and lost. His long frame arched in abandon, so alive that it seemed like little electric sparks could fly off of him at any moment. The sound of his voice as he called out in passion-drenched tones.

Prowl sighed, scrubbing a hand over his tired faceplate. "What I am trying to say is that I overreacted in the aftermath. I was humiliated and angry, which, as you know, only would have been blown out of proportion... The way I conducted myself was unbecoming." He paused, pressing his mouthplates together in a tight line. "The way I have been conducting myself over the past few days has been unacceptable."

The saboteur made an noncommittal noise that was supposed to indicate that he might have noticed something unusual in the tactician's behaviour.

"I apologize," Prowl said. "You have invested this much time in my training, and yet I threw it in your faceplate. For that, I am sorry."

Jazz looked to the side. A part of him didn't want to hear Prowl apologize. "Don't worry about it, Prowler. Ah think we both still have things to learn about this whole 'training' arrangement. Ah'm still making it up as Ah go, too."

"Right."

They watched each other carefully, though there still existed between them a distinct atmosphere of tension. Unless one of them went into the other's head and erased every memory of what had happened, the discomfort of it would continue to linger for some time.

"Knock! Knock!" Wheeljack announced cheerfully as he stuck his head into the small room, managing to thoroughly startle the bots within. With a laugh, he looked back and forth between them. "Am I interrupting something?"

"No, Prowl was just leaving," Jazz said smoothly.

"I was not," Prowl replied, all traces of any emotion erased from his features.

Jazz sent a glare in the tactician's direction.

Wheeljack rubbed the back of his neck, the crystal projections on the sides of his head flickering with his nervous laughter. He might have been a purposely obviously bot, but even he couldn't help but see what was right in front of his optics. There was certainly something going on between Prowl and Jazz.

"Well, okay, have it whatever ways you want," said the engineer. "I'm just poking in to say that everything checks out in the engines. There shouldn't be any trouble while you're out over the wild lands."

"So Ah can leave any time?" Jazz asked.

"You can go right now if you want," Wheeljack said.

"Good."

Sensing that he was expected to leave right that moment, Wheeljack ducked out of the hatchway and whistled for Tungsten the drone. Together, they wandered out of the hangar to return to their lair beneath Iacon. There were a couple of projects that the engineer wanted to start working on again. Plus, it had been too long since something had blown up for no reason. He had a personal quota to fill.

The moment the mech was gone, Jazz faced Prowl again.

"Ah accept your apology and all that slag, but get out. Now. Ya ain't coming with meh and that's final."

Prowl might have been able to come to terms with himself like a good little logical Autobot but Jazz still operated by his own rules. He didn't give a damn about being proper or polite or considerate. At least, not to Prowl. Not in that moment. Maybe later, when he got back from his mission with Shockwave's severed head tucked under his arm. Yeah, something like that was bound to make him feel loads better about violating Prowl in a way he didn't mean to.

Prowl's gaze instantly sharpened from self-pity to his normally piercing stare. "Perhaps you are unclear about the parameters of a partnership?"

"Nah, Ah know them, Ah'm just ignoring them right now." He pointed to the open hatch. "Get out."

"You have already admitted that you think Shockwave is more powerful than you are. At the very least, he has more resources at his disposal," Prowl said. "What logic is there in sending yourself on a possibly suicidal mission?"

Jazz pointed to himself. "Hello. Me? Logic? Play that sentence over again in your head and see how much sense it makes."

Prowl stared at him flatly, devoid of humour. "You will need backup. You will need someone who can fight by your side."

"Ah've already told ya that you're not the kind of backup Ah need," Jazz countered. "If Ah wanted bots ta fight with, Ah would have called the twins. But you? Ya can't even handle the memory of an overload. You're not strong enough yet ta come with meh. Physically, Ah know you're capable, but mentally... not yet."

Prowl's optics flashed with a glare. "Think of this as an opportunity to train me in the field."

"Too dangerous. Ah'm not risking my aft in the middle of nowhere just so ya can prove yourself." Jazz curled his mouthplates back like a sneer. "Anything ya might see from Shockwave will be worse than what Ah could make ya see inside your head."

"I will handle it," Prowl said.

"Like ya handled yourself with meh?" Jazz snorted derisively.

"As much as I hate to admit this, but I am rather accustomed to seeing the worst of what war can do to a bot," Prowl said, crossing his arms over his chest. His damned stubbornness radiated off of him. "I will be able to handle whatever horrors Shockwave might have in his labs."

"Not likely," Jazz muttered darkly. Even he had a sense of unease about what he might find in Shockwave's labs. Not just finding someone else mentally devastated like Bluestreak, but other things. Things that he had read about in the reports he had stolen. Shockwave did the kinds of experiments that were never meant to see the light of orn.

"I cannot consciously allow you to go by yourself."

The saboteur smirked. "Ah could knock ya unconscious and then ya wouldn't have a choice."

Prowl pursed his mouthplates. "Jazz, as hard as this might be for you, please be reasonable. No matter our current disagreements, no matter our reluctance to be in each other's company, we are still partners. We still hold obligations to each other. Undeniably, our talents are better suited together than apart."

Jazz scowled. "Ya have other obligations, don't ya? Ones that are more important than meh. What about them? Ya don't know how long we'll be gone. What will happen to your division?"

"I was gone for 97 orns as a prisoner of war and my division did not implode," Prowl replied. "I am already ahead of my work. Smokescreen has agreed to substitute as commander for the length of time that I will be gone. He is an adequate replacement for me on a temporary basis."

"Thought this all out, didn't ya?" Jazz observed dryly. He already knew that for every argument he might make, Prowl had devised the perfect counterargument. They could go in circles all orn.

"In the length of time it took me to walk from my office to here, yes, I thought this all out," Prowl replied, arching an optic ridge as if insulted that Jazz could think any less of him. "May I also point out that it took a lot to swallow my pride before I was able to show my faceplate here. I deserve to be commended for the effort."

This time Jazz actually did laugh, albeit quietly so no one outside the ship heard. "Ah imagine it was a bitter experience."

"It was," Prowl replied evenly. "However, it's best I swallow my pride now rather than have someone hurt because of it later." He looked Jazz in the optic as he spoke, making it clear that he had no intention of allowing Jazz to come to any form of harm.

Jazz turned his back on the tactician, moving to the open hatchway to peer out of it. A few curious bots cast their optics in the small ship's direction, trying to discern what was going on. A sharp look from Jazz discouraged them. He used his extra astroseconds of observing the hangar to be able to think. He still itched to escape Iacon, that had not changed within the last few breems. He wanted his freedom and he wanted his revenge on Shockwave. Bluestreak still deserved to be avenged for the crimes committed against him.

However, now that Prowl was here, with an apology no less for something that was not his fault... that mostly absolved Jazz of his mistake of using Evasia against him, didn't it? They could move on from this point, continuing to exist as they had for... as long as Jazz had known Prowl. He didn't have to apologize for his own folly. Didn't have to feel bad about it. He used to be so good at not feeling bad about anything!

One glance over his shoulder revealed Prowl patiently awaiting his decision. There was a coolness in the storm-grey mech's gaze that said if Jazz refused, Prowl would simply find away to follow him regardless. He was still in possession of the tracer Jazz had given him, so he had the ability of following Jazz to the ends of Cybertron if he so chose. If he wanted to be reasonable about this whole situation, than there was very little sense to argue with the tactician. But, that did not mean that Jazz wasn't going to lay some ground rules. Shockwave was still his prey to take down.

"If Ah let ya come, you're gonna have ta let meh do things mah way," Jazz intoned.

"Within reason," Prowl mediated.

Jazz arched an optic ridge.

Prowl mirrored the gesture, offering an elaboration: "I won't let you slaughter for no reason."

"Alright, fine, Ah'll make sure Ah have reasons for killing." Though whether or not they would be good reasons would be debatable. "But if you come with meh, ya gotta accept that not all of mah methods are Autobot-friendly." He was willing to do whatever it took to get what he wanted and no matter how he felt for Prowl, he would not let the tactician get in his way.

Prowl revved lowly, weighing all of his options. Finally, he said, "I can accept that. You are not an Autobot, therefore you are currently exempt from the rules of engagement dictated by this faction." There was a pause, and then he added, "But do not expect me to violate my own codes of conduct. I will not kill indiscriminately."

"That ain't your style," Jazz intoned offhandedly.

"No, it isn't."

Jazz pushed away from the hatchway, moving toward Prowl. He raised a hand to lay it to the tactician's shoulder, only to pause when he noticed the other bot's subtle cringe. Prowl may have been able to overcome his pride to be able to be there, but he had not yet totally accepted what he had allowed Jazz to see. Jazz withdrew his hand before making contact.

"Fine, ya can come," said the saboteur, albeit in a very reluctant manner.

"You won't regret this," Prowl assured.

"Ah already do," Jazz sighed.