As requested by MoonWallker and prompted by Koryandrs~!
Darkness
Praxus was a city that strove for perfection.
Prowl was almost the personification of the city, what with his wide doorwings that elegantly sloped down his back, brilliant red chevron and thick accent.
Perfection was also something the mech strove for, both in his work and in his mechs.
Jazz was desperate for him not to know.
But fate had other plans. Jazz had the joy of being the only officer present in the rec room, and his high status meant that he couldn't just sit by and let the brawl that had broken out continue. No, he couldn't let them sort it out themselves – he had to go force them apart and shove them in the brig.
If only there weren't fists flailing everywhere.
It was one of these fists that landed him in the predicament he was currently facing – he couldn't see a thing.
Left? Black. Right? Black. In front? Black. He was blind. Quite literally, in fact – the moment he heard his visor crack he knew what was coming and braced himself for the sudden loss of his sight that came hand in hand with a loud crackle and a fizz.
He had no idea what was going on then – he would read the air currents, but there were so many he had no idea where to even begin. It was when he suddenly heard a certain voice that he froze, rooted to the spot.
"What's going on in here?"
Prowl.
He had to get out of here.
… Where was the door again?
Blaster was his saving grace, swiftly grabbing onto his arm and gently pulling him away from the crowd that had gathered. There were footsteps striding towards them, quickly followed by the sound of Prowls voice.
"What's wrong with him?" He asked, concern lacing his voice. Any other mech wouldn't notice it, but Jazz was fine-tuned to these things. He noticed, and he couldn't help but feel his spark clench slightly.
"Havin' his visor cracked like that shorted out his optical sensors – he needs ta see Ratch' ta get them recalibrated." Blaster quickly replied, trying to sound as convincing as he possibly could. Prowl appeared to accept this however, as there was a short pause before he replied "Very well" and strode away to deal with the other mechs.
"Thanks" Jazz said the moment they were out of the rec room, still holding onto Blaster. It was easier to read the air currents now, so Jazz had a general idea of what was around him, but he didn't want to calibrate his sensors to the degree he had in battle or while on a mission. It was a nightmare to desensitize them.
"No problemo."
A bitching Ratchet was a good Ratchet, and bitching was what he did.
Jazz meekly sat on the medical berth, broken visor removed, while Ratchet paced around his medbay, bitching and swearing as he typed out a datapad.
"This isn't going to be a quick repair you know Jazz – the wires need to be replaced, recalibrated, the crack filled in – there's a lot that needs to be done."
"Ah know."
"So you can't stay in here all of the time. Do you still have that spare I gave you?"
"Ah thought ya kept it in 'ere so Ah wouldn't lose it?"
"I may have. Wait there- not that you'll be going anywhere…" The last part was mumbled, but Jazz still heard.
"Ah'm blind not deaf!" He indignantly stated, crossing his arms across his chest and huffing. He heard Ratchet chuckling, although it sounded muffled – he was probably in his office. A few moments later, something was pressed into his hands.
"Your spare. It hasn't got all of the fancy settings your other has – as you should know, so don't try activating them – but it'll do the job."
Jazz slotted it into place and it onlined almost instantly. It wasn't as high-definition as his other was – not by a long shot- but so long as he could tell a mech from the wall he was good.
"Great, thanks mech!" Jazz chirped, jumping down and clapping the medic on the back. He barely dodged the swipe that he got in return, waltzing away and ducking out of the medbay with a cheery whistle.
Ratchet huffed, hands on hips. What was he going to do with that saboteur?
It was nearly the start of the recharge cycle when Prowl dropped into the medbay. Ratchet could have cried with joy – Prowl had come in of his own accord! The look of mirth on his face was quickly wiped off when he saw the frown pulling at the corners of his mouth.
"Jazz is blind, isn't he?" Prowl asked almost immediately. Ratchet's jaw snapped shut with an audible click. How forward.
Then again, you shouldn't expect anything less with Prowl.
"What lead you to that conclusion?" He asked, continuing to polish his wrench. He may need it in a minute. If Prowl went one inch out of line…
"Visors aren't directly linked to optical circuits. A cracked visor shouldn't have blinded him as his optics should have still been working."
Ratchet sighed and ran a hand down his face. He'd promised Jazz he'd try to keep it a secret, he'd promised, but it looked as though it'd been broken without his permission. He pointed at Prowl with his wrench, optics narrowing.
"You will not say a single thing against him."
"What makes you think I will?"
"Praxians are terrible with things less than perfect. Jazz would be seen as a disgrace."
"I have no ill will against him, and my view on him has most certainly not changed."
Ratchet relaxed marginally, and his wrench lowered. "Promise me you wont say anything to him about this. Promise me."
"I have no reason to." Prowl shifted so he could lean against a workbench. "Do you have any idea how long his visor will take to repair?"
"About a week tops. He's got his spare at the moment, so he's not completely blind."
Ratchet thought he heard Prowl release a sigh of relief at that, but decided to not comment on it. Prowl probably felt awkward enough as it was, coming in and asking about Jazz.
"Thank you, Ratchet." Prowl replied before turning and striding back out. Ratchet tried to brush it off as Prowl just being Prowl, but he could have sworn he'd seen his cheeks being more colourful…
Did Prowl..?
No. That was impossible. This was their SIC he was thinking about – no nonsense and everyone appeared to be the bane of his existence.
Ratchet passed it off as a trick of the light.
Jazz couldn't see a thing.
He'd gone to his quarters the moment his shift was over – his spare visor looked different to his usual one and the fact he was even wearing it would raise questions as to why (To the rest of the crew, excluding a number of mechs he could count on his hands, he didn't have a defect). The lights were turned off as Jazz crawled under his thermal blanket on his berth and curled up, ready for recharge.
With his usual visor, he'd still be able to see relatively well. The light it kicked out would shed a bit of light on his surroundings, and all of its different settings (which included night vision) would allow him to see along an entire spectrum and more.
But now, he was just seeing by visible light. And this visor was particularly dim.
It was annoying him. It felt too loose and it rattled when he moved too quickly. He moodily took it off and dropped it onto his bedside table, not caring if it fell to the floor. All he wanted was to just have his visor back – his proper one.
Jazz jumped when he heard a beeping sound, cowering beneath his thermal blanket. He had no idea where it'd come from, and he couldn't see if the light by his door was flashing to tell him someone wanted in. Hands flailing around, he quickly found and shoved his visor back into place to find that there was indeed someone waiting for him outside.
Jazz automatically assumed that it was Blaster and remotely sent the code for the door to open as he removed his visor again, simultaneously turning on the lights. Blaster was well aware of what the state of his optics was, so he had no problems with being visorless around him.
Only when Blaster didn't chirp out a greeting did Jazz begin to suspect that something was wrong.
"Blaster?" He asked, moving to sit up and slot his visor back into place.
He really should have checked who was at the door.
The black and white paint job gave him away immediately, and Jazz suddenly felt his tanks fall down and his legs become very numb, optics widening behind his visor.
Frag.
Not Blaster. Prowl.
The very, very last person he'd wanted to see without his visor. Heck, he'd rather bump into Megatron without his visor! That would be a blessing – even mercy. But no, the cosmos had other plans for him, and instead decided to throw him into a small room with the very last person he wanted to know about his defect.
Perfect.
Prowl was still standing in the doorway, uncertain as to whether or not he should step into the room. He'd caught Jazz unaware and at a weak moment – as special ops, that was embarrassing, not to mention a little scary, and he didn't want to force his presence on someone who was clearly not ready for it. Jazz had thought it was Blaster, which made Prowl's spark twist in uncomfortable ways in an emotion he couldn't quite identify.
"I can leave if you'd like." Prowl finally managed after the few moments of awkward silence had stretched on for too long. Jazz was still frozen on the berth, blanket pooled on his lap. This seemed to snap Jazz out of the stupor he'd fallen into, and he shook his head with a quiet rattle before managing to reply.
"Nah, s'cool. What was it ya wanted?" He asked, pushing the blanket off and getting off the berth to stand beside it.
"I was wondering how you were, you're usually in the rec room at this time."
Jazz simply shrugged. "Didn' feel like it Ah guess."
Prowl decided to step inside and allowed the door to close behind him. "Is there anything you wish to talk about?"
"No, not really." Jazz paused for a moment before He sighed and rubbed his face. "Actually, yeah. Jus' one thing."
"What is it?" Prowl asked, doorings twitching downwards.
"Ain't ya gunna say anythin'?" Jazz asked, gesturing to his face, or more specifically, his visor. He knew that Prowl would have something to say about it – or so, he'd thought. His friend was a perfectionist, and he grew up in a city that shunned the defective. Surely he would too?
"There is nothing for me to say." Prowl simply replied, optics glancing at the floor. "I am somewhat ashamed that you felt you couldn't confide in me."
"Ah'm sorry Prowler, Ah just didn' want ya ta think of me differently."
"Why would I?" Prowl asked, tilting his head to the side. He was well aware that the crew saw him as a perfectionist – and he knew that he was, he had to be – but he didn't think that it extended as far as judging someone for something they couldn't control.
"Well…." Jazz awkwardly shuffled his feet, looking at the floor. "Ah remember how bad Praxus was an' Ah know that ya're a perfectionist an' Ah'm far from it-"
"No, you're wrong. You are the very definition of it."
Both of them immediately paused and looked at each other, Prowls face slowly growing pinker and pinker, Jazz's face not fairing much better, until they had to look away, unable to look the other in the optic.
Prowl awkwardly coughed, crossing his arms behind his back. "If you ever need to talk, my door's open." He quickly spluttered before opening the door and leaving, sprinting away the moment he was out of sight.
Jazz heard his footfalls suddenly increase in frequency and weight and couldn't help but laugh, a funny feeling bubbling up inside of him.
Why'd he ever hide it from him?
I've had the idea for this for so long but I never actually wrote it and I don't know why D:
~Llama
