Disclaimer: All recognisable characters and places belong to HasTak, anything you don't recognise is probably mine.

Warning: reference to Decepticon nastiness

Part 10: Win some, lose some
Chapter 4 of 6


Sideswipe walked into his room and was unsurprised to find Jazz there; aside from the fact that this was now his room as much as theirs, the mech seemed to spend most of his spare time here.

Officially he was on a short vacation from the duty roster due to a lingering medical issue, but Jazz had confessed that it was just a brief break to make up for the fact that he had gone well over a century without ever actually being off duty. So he took the time to pick up old friendships and make new ones, but really he was just waiting for Prowl to take a break.

This time, for once, Jazz was not staring at the photos on the wall. Instead, he was lounging comfortably in a chair, buffing a scratch out of his thigh.

Sideswipe dropped his rifle carelessly on the table and joined him.

"Didn't see you at the card game." he commented.

"I was busy." Jazz shrugged. "Who won?"

"Smokey. I coulda done with the back up."

"Wasn't Sunny there?"

Sideswipe grunted.

"He's jacking Red again."

"Sunny an' Red Alert?" Jazz asked, looking up in amusement. "That's an interestin' combo."

"If by 'interesting' you mean 'insane', then sure." Sideswipe allowed. "Red's a whole mess of neuroses, and Sunny's a homicidal maniac with protective tendencies. I keep waiting to hear that Red's scratched him and had his limbs torn off, or that Sunny's crept up on him being all romantic and gotten his head blown off. They're both just as likely to attack if they get startled, and everything startles Red."

"You're soundin' a bit bitter there, Sides." Jazz commented lightly.

Sideswipe scowled at him. Maybe having the other mech move in had not been such a bright idea after all.

"What's got you in such a good mood all of a sudden?"

Jazz smirked and unsubspaced something that he tossed into Sideswipe's lap.

His jaw dropped as he took in the image of Prowl sitting on his berth with his legs crossed primly at the ankles but not hiding the streaks of lubricant on his thighs, hands behind his head drawing attention to his chestplates that were slightly askew, watching the camera with optics darkened by lust.

"Now that," Jazz drawled, "is an erotic image."

"What...? But...? How...?" Sideswipe spluttered, staring in shock.

"He took a bit o' convincin' at the start." Jazz mused, returning his attention to the scratch on his thigh. "But when I told him about the ones you already have on the wall an' how you'd been kind enough t'let me sit an' drool over'em when I was feelin' down, he agreed you needed somethin' a bit more stimulatin'. After that it was all his idea."

"Guh..." Sideswipe said unintelligently, still stunned.

"Lotta fun gettin' him to that stage, though. He wanted it posed just right. We got distracted a few times, too."

"Uh-huh."

"He's fond of ya, Sides." Jazz continued thoughtfully. "An' it worries him a bit that you might've fallen for him. He doesn't wanna get your hopes up."

"So he gives me this?" Sideswipe screeched, trying and failing to tear his eyes from it.

"He needed t'know. An' I can go back now an' tell him t'stop worryin'."

Sideswipe looked at him flatly, deliberately turning the image over so he could not see it.

"Jazz I'm sitting here just about ready to interface with my chair from looking at that, and you say he shouldn't worry?"

"You're cyclin' up, but you're not jealous." Jazz shrugged. "Wouldn't be nat'ral if you didn't get a bit fritzy from that - you said it yourself, he's easy on the optic feed. But he's mine, Sides. An' he counts you as a friend, so I wanted t'make sure you understood that's all he sees you as."

Sideswipe threw the flexiplas sheet back at him, irritable.

"Anyone ever tell you you're a maniac, Jazz?"

"Plenty o'mechs, an' all the time." Jazz grinned, re-subspacing the picture. "Now. You could get rid o'that charge yourself if you're that way inclined. Or I could help ya out: least I could do, given how I set ya up. But y'know there is a third option. A particular comms mech, maybe?"

Sideswipe scowled. He had heard from others how sly Jazz could be, but this was the first time he had experienced it for himself.

"Oscillate's on duty."

"Yeah, funny thing about that. Turns out there was a schedulin' error. Prowler found it an' fixed it, so now he's got a free shift an' all his roommates're out an' he's already had his charge time. So he's just hangin' around wit' nothin' t'do."

Growling at Jazz's patent amusement, Sideswipe stomped out into the corridor. Sometimes it just did not pay to be too friendly to a special ops mech.


The door shut behind Sideswipe and Jazz leaned back in the chair, reviewing the conversation and finding himself satisfied with the result.

The bond itself did not preclude other intimate relationships - his undercover roles would be completely shot if it did - but that did not mean he was at all keen on the idea of Prowl sharing his berth with anyone else. Hypocritical, maybe, but true. Thankfully Prowl seemed to be content with that, but had raised concerns about Sideswipe's motives.

Sideswipe had already denied it, of course, and Jazz was very much of the opinion that anyone who could fail to take advantage in the length of time he had been away probably wasn't all that interested, but it was nice to have the confirmation.

Picking up the image, he turned it slowly in his hands.

It had been wonderful to have Prowl back in his arms again, if briefly worrying when the other mech had stated his demands. Bad enough that his mate had seen the truth of Jazz's life during their bonding; he did not need to be seeing the awful truth of this most recent mission for himself. There were memories there that Jazz himself did not want to access, and he had no intention of sharing them willingly.

In the end, though, he had worried unnecessarily. Their reacquaintance had been very physical, but they had agreed to keep the protective programming in place to prevent any 'unfortunate transfer of data' - Prowl's words, not his.

He sighed, shaking his head at the image.

"I musta done Primus one pit of a good turn somewhere along the line t'earn you, Sparkles. I don't know one more bot in existence who'd accept the slag you do." Shifting his gaze downward, he dipped his head in respect. "I owe ya big time an' I know it. But ya wouldn'ta let all this happen just t'take him away again, right? Just keep him safe when I can't? Please?"

Sitting in silence for a moment, he wondered if prayers this far from Cybertron even got heard. Then shook himself and subspaced the picture.

"Right. Someone must have a party goin' on somewhere. Lets see if I can find it. It's time Jazz started havin' some real fun."

No point hanging around when Prowl was going to be busy for the next little while. And when he came off duty, Jazz would be waiting for him.


Prowl cast a discerning optic over the coded reports that were flooding in and was not quite sure what about them disturbed him.

Everything was going well. One of the teams had attacked early by a groon, and two had been late by nearly half a joor, but the time differences were negligible really - they were not enough for the Decepticons to realise what was happening and prepare effective counter-measures.

So why did it feel as though something were missing?

"Phase two complete." he reported as the milestone was reached. "Phase three at 41.79 percent."

Optimus was pacing, agitated by all of this. Prowl understood that. What they were doing was more than a little risky in so many ways.

The soldiers involved in the attacks did not know they were killing Autobot and Neutral prisoners as well as Decepticons within the bases they were destroying. They were just following orders, and if they paused to question any of it or chose to be creative about the application of their roles there would be trouble. It was not the way he preferred to work, but he had run every other possible scenario and this was the best option.

The data Jazz had obtained had granted other agents access to critical systems such as defensive shields and tracking systems, allowing this attack to occur. They had had to act quickly to take advantage of that data, but he had still planned this carefully.

His optics raked across the displays again. What was wrong? Something about the data just seemed off, and he could not pinpoint why.

It was not as though they could have saved the victims, he reminded himself.

According to the figures that Jazz had smuggled out, there were only thirty-one that still had all of their limbs and that number would certainly have dropped in the intervening time because Jazz had in fact managed to spread a slow-impact rust infection amongst them before he left. The other Autobots did not know that, other than Curveball who had ordered it, but Jazz had confessed it when Prowl had told him of the plans in motion.

"You gotta see the logic in it. It'll stop the Seekers hurtin'em. It'll get'em killed, yeah, but that's the best we can do for them. You can't rescue those breeders, Sparkles. They're too damaged. Most of'em've gone insane, an' the Cons use the ones that haven't t'practice their hackin' on so they drive'em mad. At least this way they'll be killed quick an' smelted clean t'try t'stop the spread."

Optimus would never have condoned that decision, Prowl mused, updating one of his charts with some incoming figures. The Prime was remarkably compassionate; he despised the thought of anyone suffering, even their enemy sometimes. Perhaps that was the influence of the Matrix, perhaps it was just his nature, but it was an attitude that Prowl admired and he wished that Curveball were not quite so inclined to undermine it.

The Chief of Special Operations was open about his motivations and loyalties - Prowl felt comfortable that he would not betray them. But he had been a Decepticon and hated them with a deep-seated passion that most Autobots never felt. He had no mercy towards them, reluctant to the point of insubordination whenever Optimus tried to offer terms for surrender or leniency. Jazz had a great deal of respect for his boss but Prowl knew that he did not like the mech and that he did not always like his methods.

"Progress?" Optimus demanded, interrupting his thoughts before they could meander too far from the task at hand.

"49.73 percent. Phase four initiated at six sites."

"Resistance?"

"Negligible at this stage. Team 7 is under heavy fire but are well placed and reinforcements will arrive within the breem."

"Key targets?"

Prowl shook his head.

"No sign of Megatron or any of the high command. The Nemesis has not been located."

"Where is he?" Optimus muttered worriedly.

"You want me to send out some queries?" Blaster spoke up from the far side of the room where he was plugged in to the main encrypted communications grid.

"No." Prowl shook his head. "Maintain contact with the attack groups, those lines must stay open."

"Gotcha."

Even so, it was a valid worry. If Megatron was not at Darkmount then he must have an attack of his own underway, it was the only time he ever left Cybertron. So far there had been no reports of problems from any of the Autobot ships or bases, so...

Suddenly he knew what was missing in the data he was receiving and leapt across to a different panel, fingers flying as he began trying to call up the information he needed.

Too slow, too slow, oh Primus how had he missed this? The connections were all there now that he thought about it; random comments in unrelated reports coalescing into a coherent pattern that he should have seen before.

"Prowl?" Optimus demanded. "Report. What's wrong?"

He turned to stare at the Prime in horror.

"We've lost contact with Luciana."