Title: Recharge
Rating: K+
Continuity: G1/Movie'verse
Characters: Prowl, Jazz
Disclaimer: Do not own.
Prompt: 5. trying to sleep
Prowl rolled over, doorwings flopping ungainly, as he tried to get comfortable. It wasn't working.
The berth was empty and cold. The room was silent. The darkness seemed oppressive and heavy. The blinking lights of the chrono on the wall next to the door seemed malicious in a way he couldn't quite specify.
Jazz wasn't there.
There was no warm weight of his frame snuggled into his side, no arm or leg curled over his. No sound of the saboteur's systems, as quiet as they were, as they cycled down into recharge, and no faint sound of music the silver mech always played at night. There was no pleasant glow of a dimmed visor, which was always half-lit in his recharge. There was no bright spark pressed close to his, lightening the darkness of his mind. Nothing to distract him from the blinking numbers of the chrono.
No, Jazz wasn't there. He was on the Nemesis, where he was doing his job; gathering information and sabotaging Megatron's next big Superweapon of Doom TM.
And the room felt so empty without him.
Prowl rolled over again, doorwings to the room and face to the wall. He let out a heavy vent and pulled Jazz's pillow over, tucking it to his chassis.
He cycled his vents, dragging air across his olfactory receptors, and let his optics dim. The pillow smelled of Jazz – of that special brand of polish he used, that faint smell of ash and explosives that always clung to his armor, and another scent he could never place, but always brought to mind silver armor, flashing visor, and cocky grin.
Prowl slowly drifted into recharge, thoughts centered on his absent bondmate. His rest, as it always was when Jazz was gone, was restless and interrupted.
Then there was a soft touch on his shoulder. His doorwing jerked, brushing against an arm.
Then he recognized the field, and realized the blocks keeping their emotions separate was gone, and that Jazz was close.
He rolled as much as his doorwings allowed, turning smiling golden optics on a flashing blue visor.
"Hey, Prowler. Miss me?"
"Of course, Jazz. How did the mission go?"
"Mm, perfectly, as always," the saboteur murmured as he pulled the pillow out of his bondmate's arms and slid down in its place. His place. The normally faint odor of explosives was a lot heavier now, as was that other, unidentifiable smell. Prowl pulled Jazz close and inhaled, saving the scent, backing up the memory of it and double-encrypting the file.
The room wasn't cold anymore, and the soft sound of human music floated on the air. That warm, alive spark pressed close to his, only their armor separating them, filled the room with a light airiness that held the darkness at bay. The numbers of the chrono were now simply numbers that meant nothing.
Jazz was back, now, safe in his arms.
"Recharge, lover," the silver saboteur whispered in the tactician's audio. "You need it."
And Prowl did.