Starcrossed 51: Earth
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Prowl booted with painful slowness and immediately logged the last thing in his memory queue.

AI: pre-emptive control assumed.

He dug further, intend on finding what happened before the AI came online again.

Planetary impact imminent

Oh frag that was not good. He was alive, however. The impact could not have been as severe as anticipated. The battle, attempting to escape Cybertron ... Prime, Jazz, Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Mirage ... his entire family was on board.

A surge of panic fueled his need to finish booting now to find out what had happened to them.

In an almost immediate reply, a field pressed deeply into him and he abruptly realized that there was an extra presence with him in his processors. Only three potentially functioning mecha could get into him offline. Prime, Ratchet using medical overrides, and Jazz.

The field confirmed who and he relaxed to allow the boot to complete normally. Jazz was alive, with him, and calm. Reality could wait a few more breems.

Jazz waited until he was certain that Prowl had settled and wouldn't force his boot sequence and possibly damage himself in the process, then relaxed back, one arm curled around his mate's head and stroking his helm. The other was held out so he could examine the new paint job.

Looking around the decimated Ark and the stasis-locked Autobots who had all miraculously survived the crash, Jazz could tell that everyone had been scanned and built for a new alt mode, but the changes weren't as drastic as he would have expected for a new planet. It was likely inhabited by cybercreatures, or possibly biomechanoids.

Optimus has been brought online first by Teletraan I, then Hound, and then Ratchet who'd stopped the automatic program in favor of booting everyone himself. Jazz had been onlined for security after Wheeljack, Prowl's sequence had been started, and now the medics were busy looking over the new frame scans before moving onto anyone else, Optimus was working with Teletraan I to determine what they could about the planet they'd crash landed on, and everyone else was sitting quietly, trying to cope with what their chronometers were telling them.

"Can we contact Cybertron?" Jazz asked.

"Negative," Optimus Prime responded. "The communications system has been badly damaged."

He refused to mention the very distinct possibility that there was nothing to receive a signal even if they could transmit it, even though it was almost louder in the silence than if he had spoken it.

"How is Prowl?"

"Booting," Jazz said, looking back down at his love. "Takin' a while, but not the longest I've ever seen."

"Good," Optimus's relief was very real. "We will need him. The Decepticons on board were revived first and this world is brimming with sentient life."

"What kind?" Hound asked, roused from where he'd been sitting in silence with the others.

"From all appearances, small organics," Optimus said. "Primarily bipedal and quadrupedal."

Jazz frowned down at his frame while Hound bounded over to the screen to look at the images on there. "Organics with a decent grasp of mechanics."

"Indeed," Optimus said. "And there appear to be large quantities of energy as well, which is likely what the Decepticons are going to focus on."

"We need to focus on it as well," Ratchet pointed out as he began bringing Sideswipe out of stasis. "The only way we'll survive is by staying better fueled than they are."

Jazz returned his focus back to Prowl and stroking his thumb over his helm, absently listening as Ratchet and Wheeljack worked their way through the crew, bringing them all up to speed with their situation as quickly as possible. He stayed curled around his mate, as shocked as the rest of them and unable to bring himself to move.

When most of the others were online, Optimus decided to send Hound out. Jazz agreed with the choice, the scout was brimming with curious energy and he was one of the best they had. Cliffjumper went with him, and it left the rest of the crew-for all they knew, the last of their kind-to sit in silence. His gaze drifted across the various mecha as he felt Prowl enter the final boot stage.

Sideswipe and Mirage were sort of leaning against each other while Sunstreaker scowled and stood guard, mostly because he was only slightly more uncomfortable with public displays of affection than the other two. This was the most Jazz had seen any of them really acknowledge it in public by physical contact beyond Mirage being on one of their arms. Smokescreen was quietly soothing the very distressed Bluestreak, whose doorwings were hiked high and so tense they were outright shaking, Ironhide was frowning by himself in a corner, and everyone else had grouped together.

Prowl's field suddenly teeked with the warmth of being fully online and Jazz looked down. "Hello," he murmured. "How's the tac-net?"

"Still booting, but all readings come back good," Prowl leaned towards his mate with more overt affection than he was normally capable of. "Should I keep it off for a while?"

Jazz glanced up at Optimus, whose optics glowed warmly as he nodded once. "Until Hound and Cliffjumper return, we will remain here and take no action," he affirmed.

"Keep it off," Jazz whispered to his mate, leaning in to brush their lips together. "World's gone freaky, Prowler. Maybe we should find some intact quarters and talk about it."

"You've lost your doorwings," Prowl agreed into the soft contact, and wanting much more. With the reluctance of a frame that had been still for many times longer than he had been functioning, Prowl got to his pedes and pinged for a location from Teletraan I.

The front half of the Ark was half crushed, half filled in with local rock, but there were plenty of untouched quarters, including theirs. They hadn't had time to recharge in them before they'd been attacked in the first few moments of what should have been a much longer voyage, but the door still closed and locked.

In the end, that was more than enough. Jazz helped Prowl up to his pedes and they got knowing looks from the others as they retreated away from the bridge.

"Check your chronometer yet?" Jazz asked quietly as the door clicked shut behind them.

"No ... do I want to?" Prowl sounded wary with good reason.

"Probably not," Jazz said, pushing Prowl down into a sit on the berth and climbing onto his lap, drawing him up for another deep kiss. "Don't look until the tac-net's on, okay?"

"Mmm, which won't be until after we've become familiar with our new forms," Prowl purred, willingly distracted by the kiss and the warmth in his lap. His hands came up to rove along Jazz's back, taking in the new design. It wasn't all that different from his Praxian one, except his doors were folded in differently. It was his face that had seen the largest change, one that Prowl didn't understand and suspected he shouldn't think about. Stubby sensor horns replaced the graceful chevron, though his visor had been left intact.

When he brushed his fingers over one of the horns, Jazz shivered and gasped as it sent data cascading through his sensor net, the field of a lover making it register as pleasure. "Do that a-aah," he sighed, and dipped his head to press his lips against Prowl's neck, grazing his denta along the cables as Prowl continued to rub.

"You always have been so very response to me," Prowl's purr deepened at his mate's pleasure. He tipped his helm back to offer his throat more freely and brought his other hand up to stimulate both sensor horns at once. "My beautiful Jazz."

Jazz moaned deeply and pressed his glossa forward, sliding along wires and rocking in Prowl's lap, hands roaming the more familiar form. His frame had to have been more damaged, to lose the chevron and doorwings in what had apparently been a more extensive rebuild, but right now, all that meant was a lingering ache and more new surfaces for Prowl to explore later.

"Do you realize," Jazz said softly, "How many odds we've beaten to still be alive?"

"No, and I don't want to," Prowl gasped as Jazz's glossa found a sensitive spot in his neck cabling. "Tac-net will tell me too soon. We're alive, we're together. That's all I care about right now." He leaned back, settling carefully on his back and drawing Jazz down on top of him while his hands moved down to explore more of the new frame.

Jazz covered him, felt a pang of loss for the doorwings and how they had once helped him shield his mate from the world, and his thighs clenched around Prowl's hips, rolling in small circles as the kisses grew deeper and more frantic, moving from tender to clashing.

Interfacing hardlines were exchanged and silent cries moved over them with the first charged pulses and they ground their hips together, every cover open, spikes sliding against each other when Jazz lifted himself up and angled his frame back to sheath his lover. "Ah-Prowler," he groaned, welcoming the sensation of feeling full with the single spike in all the universe he had been designed to take.

"Jazz!" Prowl arched and thrust into that tight, slick and oh so welcoming heat as he was encased perfectly. "Love. Bonded. Mine!"

"Good, so good," Jazz gasped, mouth on Prowl's neck, rocking and shuddering and working his valve, forcing flexibility back into the lining after being frozen in place for so many millennia, lubricant warming and helping them slide together. The heat from the friction helped and Jazz squeezed around the sensitive metal of his lover's length, pleasuring, rippling, soothing the ache with every push.

"Love you," Prowl cried out as sensations rushed through systems that had felt nothing in an impossibly long time, even as his mind remembered this from what felt like only a few joors ago, with only the full-frame soreness to remind him otherwise. Yet they both had found pleasure when their frames were more than just aching from repairs and reformatting and it was soon lost in the haze of bliss that was being together. A few joors or tens of thousands of vorns apart, they needed this connection and the relief it brought had little to do with the pleasure and overload that soon claimed them. Crying and trembling as they clutched each other, Prowl's small reserve of transfluid shot into his lover to complete the connection with the deepest recesses of his valve.

When it was over they stayed joined and didn't stop pushing at each other, small shocks moving up and through them. "Wanna stay here for a while or head back out and start to assess?" Jazz whispered into a kiss. "Lotta work to do."

"I want your spike first," Prowl moaned into a deeper kiss. "Need to feel you, all of you. Then work."

"Mmm, good," Jazz moaned, and pulled off his lover, getting between his legs, pushing Prowl's thighs open with his knees. One hand came down to encircle his spike and stroked as he teased at the eager valve with his tip. "There'll be plenty-oh yes!" he cried with a shudder as he pushed forward and felt Prowl envelope him with an eagerness that never failed to warm him. "Yes, babe, yes!"

Prowl's voice was lost to a keen of bliss and joy, his field flush with the pleasure he took in the long-beloved act. He rolled and thrust into Jazz's movements, working that exquisite spike with rapt attention.

"Love you, love you," Jazz repeated, almost in a chant, lost and wanting, clutching to his lover as they moved together. Endless moments, hazy and blissful, crying out when ecstasy finally took them.

They were panting together on the berth when Optimus commed to let them know that Hound had been injured and Ratchet was retrieving. ::I would like you out here by the time they're back,:: he said.

::Acknowledged, Prime,:: Jazz said, nuzzling against Prowl's neck, engines purring contentedly.

"Booting tac-net," Prowl said quietly, as much a warning as anything. While he and the AI got along well, and they were created for much the same function, activating the massive hardware did make significant changes in him.

It didn't make Jazz any less snuggly even when his mate's field became colder. "So, chronometer time," he said when he teeked the tac-net's full awareness come online.

There was a pause, a ripple of shock that came from both processors. The AI adapted first, filing that into a huge number of plans to run recalculations on. That kept Prowl's processors working while Prowl absorbed the information and began to come to terms with it.

What it really came down to, for Prowl, was that all he cared about, those he claimed as family, were here and alive. It was impossible odds, but all seven of them were functional.

"I ... believe I am functional enough to return to duty," Prowl said quietly. He was still a touch dazed, but he was stable enough.

"Don't worry about being completely together," Jazz murmured. "Everyone's in shock." He took a deep kiss and pulled out of his lover, reaching into his subspace for a cloth and tossing another to Prowl. "No communications from Cybertron, but our equipment is pretty slagged so that doesn't necessarily mean anything."

"How badly damaged is Hound?" Prowl asked as he made quick work of making himself presentable. "His report is invaluable."

"Stuck in alt mode," Jazz said, stretching out the kinks in his cables that the interfacing hadn't loosened. "He'll be fine." They headed back out to where everyone else was still gathered, Optimus was talking with Bumblebee at the monitors, but hardly anyone else had moved.

Mirage rose and sidled his way over to them, leaning in with a knowing smile. "You're impossible," he told his boss in a low murmur.

"You're not much better," Jazz said with a smirk. "Come on, hadn't been 'faced in 45 millennia, can you blame me?"

"You were in stasis for most of that," Mirage said with a roll of his optics, though he was suddenly looking at the twins in a new light.

"Any excuse I can find," Jazz said as Ratchet drove in, followed by Cliffjumper and Hauler, and then everyone watched as the damaged Hound was unloaded and Ratchet got to work as Prowl took the report.

"Jazz," Optimus said, frowning as Hound relayed the Decepticons' plan. "Organize a battle unit. We're going after them."

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With the humans' radio frequencies restored, Megatron quietly back in his base for the moment, and an exhausting handful of joors behind them, the Autobots were all too glad to take advantage of the relative peace of a night joor and the Ark had mecha sprawled all over it.

Back in what had once been storage and was now dedicated as a gathering space, six different cubes of high grade had been pulled from six different stashes and were being passed around. Split ten ways, it did very little in the way of overcharging, but at this point, it was really the thought that counted.

Jazz leaned back against Prowl, his lover's arms around his frame, and took his sip before passing a cube to the right to Wheeljack, whose helm fins glowed gratefully.

"Humans," Jazz said, tipping his head back to Prowl's shoulder. "Live fast and die young."

"And yet their life expectancy exceeds what is biologically dictated," Prowl hummed before kissing a sensor horn, a feature he was growing quite find of. "They are not a healthy species overall, and they do not seem to realize that being the last of their genus and heavily inbred is not a good thing for long-term survival of a biological form."

"They're close to being technologically able to separate Homo sapiens from natural genetic regulation," Ratchet spoke up. "Within a vorn, two at the most, they will no longer be a natural species."

"Or they will obliterate themselves in the effort," Prowl countered. "Based on their historical behavior, I calculate a 48.93% probability of extinction within three vorns by their own actions."

"I just wish they would slow down," Mirage groaned from where he was curled in Sideswipe's lap, and even Sunstreaker was relaxed enough to be leaning against them. "Three joors is an awfully short time for their version of an orn cycle. It's exhausting. You can't even get a proper recharge cycle in before you're being accused of being withdrawn or absent."

"Or a proper 'face, for that matter," Sideswipe rumbled, helm pressed against the spy's.

"I find them rather fascinating," Optimus said warmly, field practically aglow with contentment, surrounded by as many dedicated pairs as he was.

"Optimus, dear, you go right ahead and find them fascinating," Mirage said. "At least you don't find their mudball of a planet as interesting as Hound does." He shuddered.

"He's a scout," Jazz laughed in good humor. "He was created to drive around worlds like this."

"Much like Seaspray and Skyfire. They were never intended to live on Cybertron for long," Prowl hummed, his spark content at being surrounded by kin by spark, adoption and mating. He looked around and found himself almost feeling normal. His tac-net helpfully pointed out that he had been created to be the leader of just such a gathering. The servants of a House were often relatives, but it did not matter their spark line, or if they had one. Once they were his, they were family. His responsibility. He reveled in his family getting along. It fed a part of him that he had long denied, part that needed to know, to witness, that he was successfully managing his family and they got along. It was how a House ran best.

"Thank Primus for Bumblebee," Smokescreen said, drawing Prowl from his musing. Smokescreen's hands were moving over Bluestreak's doorwings, his massage the only thing that was keeping the younger Praxian quiet for this long. "He's an excellent pseudo-diplomat."

"Yeah," Jazz grinned, proud of the minibot that had long been one of his best scouts. "Who'd've guessed?"

Ratchet snorted. "He's less likely to squish one of them that most of us. It makes perfect sense they would be drawn to him."

"By that logic, you'd think that Cliffjumper would be more popular," Bluestreak snickered, and then cringed a little as the twins' engines growled at the mention of the red minibot. "Right, yeah, sorry."

"Bumblebee also has a relatively calm and youthful, outgoing demeanor," Prowl added, steering conversation back to something more neutral. "Even if he is older than I am, he does not project his age. His seeming youth makes him less threatening as well."

"Blaster's lot, at least the biped ones, do well too," Jazz said as he gave a relaxed moan from Prowl's light stroking of his frame.

"You have ... an entire half joor until sunrise," Mirage said, grinning. "If you'd like to find a room."

"Mm, nah," Jazz said, utterly content where he was. "Not worth it to move."

"And we have that public relations meeting in two joors," Prowl added. "I highly doubt he'd want to stop before then."

"Hey!" Jazz said, tweaking his mate's plating. "'S not just me, y'know."

"Yes, but you are the vocal one about it," Prowl chuckled and tipped Jazz's face up for a kiss. "I must agree that the rotation of this planet does make everything feel very rushed. Even without needing to communicate with the humans it would be stressful."

"Has anyone else noticed that the Cons aren't fighting like they used to?" Sunstreaker suddenly spoke up.

"You mean the part where they've gone slaggin' insane?" Ratchet snorted. "Yeah. I personally suspect processor damage."

"Very likely so," Wheeljack chimed in brightly, and started to ramble on about the possible damage based on the effects shown.

"...And without a properly trained medic," Ratchet interrupted after a little while, "Unfortunately, not much will change."

"Well that's just great," Jazz said. "An evil, megalomaniacal dictator who is completely unpredictable."

"His recent plans have been ... less than sound," Optimus said heavily.

"He is far less predictable, however he is also far more easy to run off without serious casualties," Prowl nearly purred. "Meanwhile, they are not gaining enough energon to properly fuel their forces while we have enough to enjoy high grade on occasion once more." He gave a knowing nod towards Sideswipe. "The longer this arrangement persists, the greater an advantage we will gain. Even a half-vorn at the current rate of production will dramatically shift the balance of power on both worlds."

"And if we can gain control over the space bridge and oust Shockwave..." Jazz said.

"Not like Cybertron is much of a prize anymore," Smokescreen said, shaking his head, and the room was quiet for a little while.

"But rebuilding, we can start rebuilding, right?" Bluestreak said. "There are other Autobots left, if everyone can be gathered and ... well, creations," he muttered, and his field blushed brightly, making Smokescreen look startled.

"Creations," Mirage purred deeply with a longing trill.

"Overrated," Jazz said with a grin and a hand wave towards the twins, who mock-glared back at him. The flare of want against his back spoke of Prowl's desires more clearly than any words.

"It would be wonderful to have little ones running about, safe from violence." Optimus rumbled deeply, reveling in the desires flowing so smoothly around him. Even the tension, mostly between Prowl, Jazz and their three creations, was more affectionate than angry. "To rebuild, to use the lessons of war to prevent it from happening again for the same reasons. I believe it is possible. Soon."

"For once, my Prime, I agree with you," Prowl nuzzled his love. "It is probable we can end the war within five vorns."

"And if Prowl says so then I bet it's gonna happen," Bluestreak said brightly, and fields all around the room teeked hopeful. Prowl did not make such predictions. Not a single mecha there had ever heard him express an opinion that the war was likely to end, much less end soon and to their advantage.

It made living easier.

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Jazz had to admit that he was a little impressed with how fast the humans managed to create for beings of their makeup and size, although trying to keep up with the never-ending changing political landscape of their world was an exhausting exercise in monitoring their news networks. So far, the Autobots seemed to be held in favor by the majority of them, and most recently, this city had decided to erect a statue of Optimus Prime and had invited them to the event.

Jazz had been sent with Cliffjumper and was happy to stand and listen to their music-one thing he did enjoy very much about the planet, even if their compositions tended to be far too short to dance to-and hid his grin as the announcer got Cliffjumper's English designation wrong. Mostly, he was thinking about getting back to the Ark and finding a quarter joor somewhere to grab Prowl for a good necking.

Oh, and American slang. He loved American slang. For as limited as the language was, they had some fabulous words in it.

But the roar of a jet engine meant that getting home early just wasn't going to be in the cards today.

"Are they Decepticons?" Cliffjumper asked, squaring off defensively.

Jazz scanned the six approaching forms, startled by how bad the construction of the five he didn't recognize was, but nodded. "They must be," he said, and the humans began to scatter. "Their leader's Starscream."

As he was trying to work out why they were here-to destroy the statue? Was it symbolic?-Starscream ordered them to transform and the next thing they knew they were being pinned beneath a sonic attack, then cold, then energy. Things got even crazier from there, but Jazz stopped paying attention for the most part when he heard a designation he honestly had never expected to encounter again.

Vortex.

He almost crashed just from hearing it-almost-and somewhere through it all he realized they were all still speaking an old Cybertronian dialect and logged that as important while he attempted to reach the Ark, but the comm signal fritzed out, blocked. Through the howl of wind he heard Cliffjumper yelling at him to contact base, which meant the minibot was having no better luck than he was, and then the sheer speed and pressure of the vortex knocked him offline.

When he booted, he was tied securely against something and when he cautiously extended his field without onlining his visor, he felt Cliffjumper next to him. He could hear arguing, still in the old Kaon dialect, and he heard enough designations to confirm that he hadn't just glitched the rotor's. Onslaught, Brawl, Swindle, Blast Off. There was no way Megatron had authorized their release, which meant the likely culprit was Starscream.

Visor coming online he felt an answering pressure from Cliffjumper's field, and he tried his comm again. Still being scrambled. "Cliff," he hissed softly in English and hoped that Starscream wasn't listening. "Don't say my name, in any language."

"Why?" the argumentative minibot hissed back, though there was a hint in his field that it was from habit rather than any inclination to disobey.

"Because your stocking will get filled with coal if you do," Jazz snarled. "Just don't."

Jazz's tone did what orders could not. Cliffjumper was not one of those used to Jazz's more commanding, vicious nature when riled and he stilled, intimidated by whatever could make the cheerful mech like that.

They sat as motionless as possible while listening to the others and Jazz took in as much of their frames as he could-old, cheap Earth material. That Starscream had managed to use it to create five working frames was almost unbelievable, and Jazz would have scoffed if he hadn't been looking at it himself.

They were arguing about power intake, so Jazz's best guess was that they didn't have the proper converters to get energy from their fuel tanks. Vortex-Vortex-still had a rotor frame, and Jazz kept most of his attention on him, worried that if he came too close he'd teek what he had, and kept his field flat to his armor.

When they finally left, Jazz's frame slumped in relief.

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Jazz and Cliffjumper were now tied up alongside Dirge and Ramjet and all four were watching the squabble that was currently taking place between Megatron and Starscream. Jazz was finding himself almost wishing for anything else in the universe to listen to when motion overhead caught his attention and he focused in to see Powerglide. He nudged Cliffjumper with his field and gestured up with his chin.

"Finally," Cliffjumper muttered. "Took 'em-" He broke off very suddenly and Jazz looked back down to see-

Primus below.

"A gestalt?" he hissed. Starscream had constructed a gestalt out of old Earth war vehicles? It added a layer of complication to his plans on getting his hands on Vortex, but hopefully being such a new gestalt they wouldn't have the kind of aggressive protectiveness over each other that those groups of mecha tended to form.

"Optimus!" Cliffjumper said suddenly. "Hey, hey Optimus!"

Jazz looked to see Optimus, Prowl, Bumblebee, Ratchet, and Grapple standing in the distance. Prowl looked implacable as always, and willingly allowed Ratchet and Grapple to rescue the prisoners instead of rushing for his mate. There weren't that many mecha present that understood just how much self-control that involved, and Jazz absently wondered where the rest of their makeshift family was. Smokescreen was probably back at base, Bluestreak would be in a sniper spot and no one saw Mirage anyway, but he really did expect to see the twins given the fight in the offering.

Ratchet reached him first and made short work of the chains with his saw while Grapple freed Cliffjumper.

"Can you transform and roll?" Ratchet asked quietly, grateful for the cover of battle.

"Yeah, we're undamaged," Jazz said, glancing towards Prowl. "Ratchet, that gestalt, it's-"

"We know," Ratchet said in a low voice, and he looked more than ready to be out of there. "Cons thought we'd stolen the prisoners but it was Starscream. Optimus's orders are to not engage."

"But-"

"Hey," the medic said, "If we're lucky, Megatron'll do what he shoulda done the first time, all right? Right now we just want to get out of here in one piece!"

Jazz nodded, transformed, and raced with Ratchet back to where the others were grouped. He was soon in Prowl's arms, and the rage-relief-kill-protect-kill-it roiling through his field explained why Prime had kept him back well enough.

"He's there-it's him," Jazz said as they turned to watch the ongoing battle between the two gestalts, clutching his mate tightly. For a moment, a brief, fleeting, awful moment it looked like Starscream and his gestalt were going to win the confrontation when the Stunticons arrived, and then there was hope that Megatron would finally kill the lot of them, but when they saw the order he gave to the arriving Astrotrain-

"No!" Jazz screamed, as Ratchet and Grapple grabbed him and it took both of them to keep him there, and Prime had his hands on Prowl immediately. "No! Let go of me I have to get him they're taking him away!"

Prowl's engine snarled much like his mate's as rocket launchers transformed into place and locked onto Astrotrain. His field was a wild cacophony of panic and rage. Like his mate, he couldn't take seeing Vortex escape again. Not like this, back to where they couldn't reach him again.

Someone shouted a curse and Optimus yanked Prowl around to take his aim off the Decepticons, trying to get Prowl to hear him when he said that they were badly outnumbered and would not win in a fight against two gestalts and the Seekers, while Ratchet managed to get Jazz wrestled to the ground. He finally got a cable plugged into the medical port on his neck as Astrotrain took off and disappeared into the sky.

Jazz screamed when the medic hacked and forced his way through systems that that he only survived due to how familiar he was with them, and in the next moment, his patient slumped into a forced stasis.

"Fraggit!" Ratchet snarled. "That damn glitch again!"

It was more than Prowl could take and he suddenly slumped as his tac-net's AI forcefully took over the frame. He stood and those present saw just what a drone in a mech's frame looked like.

"...Uh, wow," Cliffjumper said, from where he was standing a safe distance away with Bumblebee, both of them staring as the SIC and TIC seemingly lost their minds.

"What did we just see?" Bumblebee asked uneasily of any of the officers.

Optimus sighed heavily, looking between Jazz and Prowl. "You saw two mecha who were once badly hurt and permanently damaged by an oppressive caste system. Beyond that, you'll have to ask them. They don't usually mind telling."

"Suffice it to say," Ratchet said as he transformed and opened his bay doors for Jazz to be loaded, "Only one thing in the universe can make them behave like that. They'll be fit for duty as soon as they've both had a good defrag and a hard reboot."

Optimus smiled warmly at the AI. "Would you like to shut down and let Ratchet transport this frame back?"

"Yes. That is preferable," it responded smoothly. With only a grunt from Ratchet it loaded itself into his hold and shut down for the drive back.

"That ... was weird," Bumblebee murmured, but transformed and followed his leader to the Ark.

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Optimus Prime stood by the medbay doors, both as guard to ensure the pair did not successfully bolt and as friendly support if they needed it. He had no doubt that the shock of learning Vortex was once more in a frame, on Earth and within firing range after all the centuries they hadn't been able to touch him and then witnessing him banished from Earth had simply been too much shock for them to take. He was sure they'd be more reasonable, or at least rational, once they rebooted as themselves.

It had been beyond disturbing, what he had seen. Glitches were never fun, but what Jazz suffered was horrible, and Prowl ... he had never seen the Praxian out of control before. Nothing like that at least. He hadn't actually known that the AI could force Prowl to shut down. He wasn't sure Prowl knew it could do that. If he didn't, he would be in for another shock when he finished booting and reviewed the final moments of awareness.

"Bringing them up now. Jazz should finish at least a few breems before Prowl," Ratchet commented to no one. He and Prime were the only ones in this room for good reason. As easily as they made everyone else forget, a few mecha never lost track of how dangerous they both were. Prowl in particular had an exceptional function for looking harmless. Not that many knew he came out of SpecOps. Fewer knew what he did between the fall of Praxus and becoming an Autobot, or that the gap was over eleven hundred vorns spent in the core of Decepticon territory, alone and unsupported but for his mate.

Not even the Decepticons knew just what these two had done in their lives.

Optimus forcefully pushed those thoughts away and focused on Jazz as his systems finished booting up. He never lost track of Prowl, though. Just because he should take longer than Jazz did not mean he would. Bringing mecha up after a forced shutdown was always a questionable procedure. Some booted normally, others went right into combat before their processors turned on.

Jazz's visor flickered on and he was still, and then he shot upright and looked around, every line of his frame tense and rigid until then he saw Prowl. He relaxed just nanokliks before Ratchet was ready to jump in with a sedative, then found Optimus. "He's gone?"

But it wasn't a question, not really.

"Yes," Optimus answered. "There will be another opportunity. Megatron never remains angry with Starscream for long."

Jazz x-vented and visibly settled himself. "Whether the others will find themselves in his good graces again is less certain." He stretched his arms up over his head and reclined back onto the berth, quirked grin in place. "Sorry 'bout that freak out, man. How'd Prowler get KO'd?"

Optimus hesitated, then answered. "The AI took over. He was as set on attacking as you, but still had his ranged weapons."

"Ooh, that's a party crasher for sure," Jazz said, rolling over and reaching out to his mate, pressing his palm against his plating to feel the warmth and booting field. "...He make any shots? Maybe a glancing blow?"

"No," Optimus said. "I disrupted his target lock before he could fire."

"Mm. Shoulda set 'im loose, we coulda taken Cybertron back with that kinda mood." Jazz grinned at his Prime. "Do we know where they were taken?"

"Space, somewhere," Optimus told him, then paused when Prowl's optics flickered to life.

"I was not aware that the AI could do that," Prowl said quietly.

"Good thing it can, or you would have been pretty slagged," Ratchet huffed.

"Pretty fantastically slagged," Jazz agreed, and slid off his berth, jumping easily up into a straddle above his lover. "Hey Prowler."

Prowl hummed and reached up to slide his hands up Jazz's arms. "So close, again."

"But he's out," Jazz said with a vicious grin. "Out and if we know anything about Screamer, he'll find a way back to Megs, and if we get lucky, he'll bring the walking scrap heap with 'im. Hey, speaking of that," Jazz looked up at Ratchet. "Did you see what he made out of half-vorn old human wreckage?"

"Yes, they weren't a gestalt before either," Ratchet grumbled. "He really built that from human scrap?"

"Could still see the faction markings and everything," Jazz said, fingers moving absently over his mate's frame as he nodded. "Didn't exactly get up close and personal if y'know what I mean, but yeah, their alts were old human war machines."

Ratchet could only shake his helm. "Did you find out why they had the four of you tied up?"

"And why didn't you escape?" Prowl asked with a touch of concern while his fingers got into Jazz's front undercarriage.

It made Jazz purr and arch. "Um ... 'causa energy ... stuff ... mmm, Prowl, Prowler..."

Ratchet cleared his vocalizer out sharply and Jazz grabbed Prowl's hand and looked at the medic. "Starscream didn't build them with the ability to convert fuel into energy and he told them when there were five of us he'd take our converters and install them. Just a way to keep 'em on his leash. Learned plenty from being on Megatron's, apparently." He looked back down at Prowl, grip loosening. "And I was watching. Safer with him in my sights."

"All right," Prowl's fingers squirmed into Jazz's undercarriage again, drawing him into a shameless kiss, utterly uncaring of the audience or location, other than it being reasonably safe.

"Oh for frag's sake," Ratchet said. "What are you, 200? Get a fragging room!"

"Hear that?" Jazz asked into a grinning kiss. "Doc's orders, get a room an' frag. First thing you've ever ordered that's made sense, Ratch."

"Don't forget you're scheduled to be present as a diplomatic representative in Washington in four joors, Prowl," Optimus said, doing a poor job of hiding his amusement.

"Yes, sir," Prowl managed between heated kisses as they got off the berth. "Will you be joining us until then?"

Convoy class engines rumbled deeply. "Yes, I believe I will," Optimus said, and happily followed along.