Even Jazzmen Sing the Blues
by Themis56
Themis56@aol.com
AUTHOR'S NOTES
Sorry about the bad title. Unlike Jazz himself, I cannot make bad puns seem cool. I am duly shamed. :P
I wrote this Transformers fic because I am a HUGE Jazz fan, and, from what I've seen, there aren't that many fics that have him as the main character. Which is a shame, because you know that if Jazz is the star, it can never be truly bad. :) I also wanted to delve a little deeper into Jazz; he's the goof we all know and love, but I think he's more than that. What is underneath that cool exterior? It ain't a choclately center, I'll tell you that.
I also wrote this sorta as a consolation for the deaths in the movie. I like the movie, but so many of my favorite characters died, it pissed me off. So if you've been watching TF:TM and feel like swallowing gasoline, you're so depressed, this may help you feel better.
One last thing. This fic deals slightly with religion (you'll see what I mean.), and that subject always is slightly thorny. Please note that I intend no offense whatsoever.
Oh, yeah: Jazz and other Transformers are property of Hasbro. I'm stealing them, but I promise to bring them back.
Themis56
It was a trip that Jazz knew all too well: the path to Prime's office. He had been summoned before the big Autobot Kahuna so many times before, it was almost like an instinct.
But now it was different. The once-familiar walk down the corridors of Autobot Headquarters on Iacon seemed inscrutable and strange, like forging a path through the murky depths of a jungle's heart.
It was not that Jazz had anything against Rodimus Prime--the guy was actually pretty nice, personable, and easy-going, far different than old Optimus, who had been kindly but aloof. It was just that when you had been swallowed whole by a planet-eating monster and then barely escaped being reduced to slag in an acid-pit, emerging only to find the entire Autobot infrastructure in a complete overhaul, you tended to be a bit confused and disoriented.
Jazz usually managed to brush away these strange sensations and retain his cheerful, gregarious self, but on these trips, when he had no-one to talk to, they rose up from their hiding place and tangled themselves into a knot in his chassis. The Autobot hurried along--the sooner he met with Roddy, the sooner he'd be feeling like his old self.
Finally, Jazz reached Rodimus's office door and rang the chime. The smooth metal barrier almost immediately disappeared with a swoosh, revealing the Big Cheese hisself, working at his desk with a mighty frown plastered on his manifold.
"Heya, Rodster," Jazz greeted, smiling crookedly. "You got something up your exhaust pipe?"
Rodimus looked up from his papers, his face immediately brightening as he retorted: "No, except for these stupid things which Magnus has been stuffing into it all day. Come in."
"Whatcha want to talk about with me?" Jazz pulled up a chair and turned it around the other way before sitting in it, dangling his arms over the back.
"Jazz, I'll tell it to you straight: being Prime is hell," Rodimus grinned sardonically. "We may have retaken Cybertron, but damned if our troubles are far from over. I'm getting complaints from all over, from the Autobots here, from the Autobots on Earth, from the humans...It's a pain the proverbial ass, let me tell you."
"Looks to me like you're doin' the best ya can," Jazz soothed his disgruntled leader. "When you ain't Prime, you've always got the Prime to blame. It's part a' the job description. Don't let it get to you."
"I usually don't. It's just been a bad day, that's all. But we can't get anything done with all these people whining. That's why I called you up here, Jazz. Your talents are in particular demand."
"Lay it on, my good man."
Rodimus took a deep breath and leaned back wearily in his chair before going on to elucidate.
"Jazz," said he, "we're in definite need of a morale booster, here--right up your alley. The humans and Autobots, and, I'll bet, most of the neutrals, are getting discouraged with the slow progress of reconstruction we're making."
"Well, ol' Unicreep did stomp all over the northern half of Cybertron." Jazz couldn't help but grin; Rodimus pretended to ignore the remark and kept on shoving forward.
"So I've arranged for a broadcast tomorrow, and I think you'd be the perfect choice as the reader of the announcement."
"What's the script say?"
Rodimus tapped his fingers together. "In essence, it basically states that we're doing the best we can--we are--but we can't utilize all our resources just yet because of the Decepticon threat. Before we can turn our full attention to the home front, we've got to deal with the Deceptions first. And you're going to tell everyone that, although it will take awhile, we are going to either pacify or defeat the Deceps, and then we'll start rebuilding so fast that it'll make people's heads spin. "
"Um... 'threat'? Prime, I'm gotta admit, the Decpticons're a big concern, but I don't think of 'em as a true threat. They're all scattered like th' particles of a sandblasted soup cracker. And Galvatron ain't the most stable, reliable leader, if you know what I mean. Heck, he's probably blasted more of his own men than us Autobots. They're a problem, a big one. But surely we could start focusing a little more of our energies on rebuilding? I don't see how we can justify it just using the Decepticons."
"Well," Rodimus sighed, looking a tad sheepish, "to tell the truth, Jazz, we did push the statistics up a little for this report. And we did underestimate our own numbers and military might somewhat. But, Primus, we need the breathing space."
"You're wantin' me to say those numbers to all those millions out there?" Jazz's voice was quiet as he shook his head slightly. "Roddy, I can understand why you're doin' this--every good leader's gotta lie. I ain't blaming you. But Sir, I can't do it. I just can't."
"I see. But I don't get it, Jazz," Rodimus leaned forward, peering very intensely at the black and white Autobot before him. "You're a good motivator--Optimus used you a lot to cheer up the other Autobots. Surely you've had to fudge the truth a few times before?"
"Yeah, a few times. But never like this, and not to so many. And everybody then was almost gonna run arc-welders through their heads, they were so depressed. I can't and won't do it." Jazz folded his arms across his chest and gave an apologetic shrug.
"You're not going to change your mind anytime soon, aren't you?" Rodimus's voice sounded sad and weary.
" 'Fraid so .'Sides, I've lost my voice. Can't rouse the rabble like I used to."
The neophyte Prime slowly rose out of his chair and stared out the window for a few long moments. Then, still focusing his optics on some unknown point in the distance, he broke the silence.
"Well, Jazz, if that's the case, then I suppose I've no choice. I'm reassigning you back to Autobot City to help with the repairs there. I don't think we're going to be able to require your particular presence here for some time. Springer's going to do the broadcast." Now the red and orange Autobot turned and stared regretfully at his underling. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be, boss-man," Jazz grinned crookedly and managed to rise up easily despite the strange sick feeling in his gut. "Springer's a good guy. He'll do a good job for ya. Mind if I hang around a few hours before I catch a shuttle back to Earth? I've got a few things I want to get."
"Sure, sure. Take all the time you need. Have a safe trip, Jazz. I hate to lose you." Rodimus reached forward and the two Autobots shook hands.
"I hate to go. But I 'spect everything'll turn out all right. You're a good Prime--even if you are a Wennebago. Have fun playin' nurse to Cybertron and all its outlyin' suburbs," Jazz chuckled quietly as he left the office, Rodimus's groans following behind him.
***********
Normally, Jazz barreled over anyone and anything that was in his path when he was granted leave to return to Earth, but now as he walked along the outer perimeters of the headquarters, his steps were slow and deliberate.
He looked around, his gaze slowly turning over the piles of rubble that littered the streets, eventually rising up to look at the smoking cracked skyscrapers in the distance--all signs of Unicron's presence. The black and white Autobot usually did not let anything mar his sunny nature, but this was simply too depressing.
Jazz loved Cybertron; it was his home planet, after all. But even before the Ark crashed, he had always thought the place to be a bit dull, and his experiences on Earth only served to reinforce the sentiment. He knew what lay underneath Cybertron's metallic crust: wires, metal, electric currents, all of them unchanging. Even the great supercomputer Vector Sigma was set and immovable in the center of the planet. But on Earth, everything was alive and changing, teeming with mystery; you never knew what organisms, what treasures lay underneath your feet, what natural powers were at work. Not only that, but the humans were wonderful despite obvious flaws, their different cultures fascinating. They had dances, languages, poetry, things the war on Cybertron had killed for its mechanized inhabitants. Jazz loved that inscrutable energy and life, loved the kaleidoscope of diversity. Cybertron was boring by comparison.
But now as he tardily made his way to his quarters, the surge of elation didn't come. The situation on Earth had changed, too, much to his disappointment. The days when the Autobots worked out of the Ark had disappeared when Autobot City was constructed, and the thousands of new recruits had been sent from Cybertron before it was conquered to help the humans kick the Decepticons off. This wouldn't have been so bad, for Jazz was affable and made new friends easily, except that when the new people came in, the old went out.
The worst year for Jazz was 2005. In that terrible time, some of Jazz's oldest and dearest friends had been killed in what felt like one fell swoop. Prime was killed in battle, the youngster Hot Rod suddenly became Rodimus Prime, Cybertron was re-taken, and everything was turned upside-down in general.
Jazz, as was his wont, adapted the best he could to these new conditions, and superficially, he seemed the same as he ever was. He joked and pulled a few pranks, hung around with Rodimus and Springer, often going with them to tip back a few drinks. Sometimes he felt comfortable and firmly situated, but then those times of doubt and confusion always came when he was alone, putting him off balance. And among the many faces, he hadn't seen one that was really familiar to him. All of his remaining old friends were down on Autobot City working on repairs, a place he hadn't been to in years.
Not only that, but something strange had happened to him after he escaped from Unicron. Gradually, over the weeks, his voice had begun to change, and there wasn't a single reason why. His voice, a mixture of talking and singing, vibrant and vivacious, had lost its musical qualities, rendering it common and flat. He had seen First Aid about the problem, but the medic had found nothing wrong. Jazz had given up all hope of it ever returning to normal.
Jazz couldn't help but brood about these things as he walked, and soon he realized why it never paid to sulk. He was so engrossed in his thoughts, he lost all caution of his surroundings--a bad thing to do. The Autobots may have retaken Cybertron, but small roving bands of Decepticons still hid in the darkness, just waiting to pick off unsuspecting victims.
A flurry of laser fire burst from one of the many shadowy patches. Jazz, startled out of his wits, gave a yelp and dove for the nearest entrance, slamming his hand on the keypad.
A sharp jolt flared up in his right leg, making him wince, but Jazz kept a cool head as he quickly punched in the entrance code and zoomed into safety.
Panting a little, Jazz gingerly set himself down onto the floor and looked at his injury. One side of his knee was burned and the joint was smoking. He ran an internal scan on the hurt, and his fear was realized: his knee was blown out.
The Autobot groaned. He would have to make the trip all the way to the other side of the H.Q. to get to First Aid's repair room.
"Man, I'm gettin' soft. I can't believe it," he muttered, slapping himself on the cheek. "Bad Jazz. Well, no use in staying here. Time to haul my sorry can to First Aid's. Medical Bay, ho!"
He painfully got to his feet and transformed into his Porsche mode with just as much discomfort. It would take less time to get to First Aid if he drove, and it would be less painful, since he wouldn't be limping on his bad knee.
The black and white Porsche roared down the hallways of Autobot H.Q., nearly smashing into several hapless personnel, much to their disgust.
***********
Jazz rolled into First Aid's 'waiting room'--in reality just a modified garage--and slowly transformed back into robot mode. As he limped forward, he cocked his head to one side in surprise. Sitting quietly on a metal crate, nursing a crack arm that was leaking biofluid in a small but constant stream, was a olive-green Autobot, the front end of a jeep as his chest cavity, sporting a rocket launcher on his shoulder.
"Hound! Long time no see, man! What're you doin' here?" Jazz limped and gingerly set himself down on the ground, leaning his back against the wall.
"Just a routine delivery mission to Cybertron," Hound said, his voice as friendly as it ever was despite his injury. "When we were unloading I...met with an unfortunate accident. I lost my balance and cracked my arm against the shuttle steps. Man, those things are sharp. And so here I am. And what's your story, Jazz-o?"
"A sniper got me. Looks like First Aid's kinda busy right now, though, since you're having to hang out here."
"Yeah, he's got some pretty bad cases in there at the moment. It's going to be a while before he gets to us, I hate to say."
"Aw, well. I don't have anything to do anyway." Jazz put his hands behind his head and proceeded to count the cracks in the ceiling. He had gotten to number 30 when Hound interrupted the reckoning.
"Jazz? You all right? My scout's intuition tells me that something's not quite right with you."
The Autobot flinched in surprise, but he immediately recovered and gave a small smile. "How can you tell?"
Hound lifted up one finger and wagged it with a dignified air. "Well, for one, you're never this quiet. Second, your voice is lacking something. Third--do I really have to go on? There's lots of little signals. If I was Red Alert, my circuits would have blown out by now. You want to talk about it?"
Jazz regarded his companion for a few moments. He and Hound had known and worked with each other for a long time, and Jazz was quite fond of the green guy. Though Hound wasn't the most talkative person in the world, he was a good listener, and often provided Jazz with a willing audience. In addition to that, they both shared a mutual love for Earth and its wonders. Hound, unlike some Autobots, was truly fascinated with humans and did not think of them as mere 'flesh creatures,' and this thinking suited Jazz very well. On Cybertron they had been well-meaning acquaintances; when they crashed on Earth, they soon became good friends.
Now Jazz became filled with the urge to confide everything, everything; he needed someone to talk to.
"I just got demoted today."
Hound gave truly sympathetic look. "I'm sorry to hear that."
"It's all right. Life goes on, m'man. I guess it's for the better." Jazz shrugged.
"Why's that?"
Jazz glanced down at the ground, thinking on how to put his jumbled feelings into words. After a space, he spoke slowly.
"Ever since the whole Unicron mess, I haven't been feelin'...right. I was glad to get out of the creep's stomach alive, o'course, but when I got back to Cybertron, everything was screwed up. Prime was dead, Rodimus was the new leader, and all that crazy stuff.. At first I thought I'd get used to it, and I have a little, I suppose, but something's missin', Hound. All of these new people...I just can't connect with 'em, and they can't connect with me. I tried to talk with Ultra Magnus a few days ago, and all he could do was just nod and say 'Yes, Jazz,' and 'No, Jazz.' I joked with him, and he didn't even laugh."
"Well, Ultra Magnus isn't the most humorous guy, Jazz. It's just not his nature." Hound smiled, his diamond-shaped eyes reflecting sly merriment.
"I don't see how he can stand it. The guy never smiles or laughs at all. And that's another thing, Hound. None of these new guys have any zest in 'em. Well, except for Roddy and Springer. They're cool cats. I mean, look at good ol' First Aid, back there," Jazz waved an arm towards the doors of the operating room. "He's a nice guy and all, but he doesn't have any spark in him. No wit, no life. Not like Ratchet was."
The Autobot couldn't help but grin slightly as memories of the dead medic washed over him.
"Yeah," Jazz drawled, his voice a bit distant, "ol' Ratch was a piece a' work. I remember whenever Ironhide would do something stupid and get blown up, or when anybody did something stupid, Ratchet would just go bonkers. Primus, I miss that old grump. Ironhide, too."
Hound peered closely at his companion, his scouting instincts blaring warning sirens; he was getting very close to the root of the problem now.
"Jazz. I don't think it's not connecting with the new Autobots that's bugging you so much. You just miss the old guys, don't you?"
The visored Transformer didn't answer.
Hound decided to press on. "Jazz, come on. Talk to me."
Jazz looked up, his mouth screwed up in annoyance. "You're not going to let up until I squeal, ain't you?"
"Yep. It's what you used to do when we didn't want to talk. Time for a taste of your own medicine." Hound lowered his voice. "I don't mean to pry, Jazz-o, but I think it's better if you came clean."
Jazz wrapped his arms around his legs and linked his fingers together, huffing out a breath.
"I don't get it myself, if you want to know the truth. I've been with the Autobots a long time. I've seen lots of my pals get killed. It made me sad, but I always got over it. Can't dwell on those things when you're in a war."
"No, you can't," Hound nodded.
"But this time was different. I first heard the news about the shuttle massacre and the attack on Autobot City when I was on the Moon Base with Cliffjumper. I felt like someone had spiked a pipe through my guts, but I didn't have time to think about it. I was too busy, and then I got eaten."
He said the last word so comically, both robots chuckled a little before Jazz settled down enough to talk again.
"It's really not that funny, now that I think about it. But, hell, gotta laugh to keep from cryin'."
"That's the maxim you've lived on for years, Jazz," Hound said. "You always laughed at the most inappropriate times."
"Thanks. But when I was about to get dumped into that acid vat, I sure wasn't laughing. And then I came to Cybertron and started back to work like nothing had happened. I tried to forget everything. But whenever I was alone, I felt funky. I didn't know what the hell to do with myself. And then I'd think about Ratchet, Ironhide, Wheeljack, Prowl, and the others. I felt like I was goin' crazy. Every time I heard an explosion, I'd think 'Wheeljack's killed again!' even though I knew he's dead. It was awful. I didn't have anyone to talk to. You, Inferno, and Cliffjumper were down on Earth. Blaster....Well, he's always off on some mission or another. I hardly ever see him. And these new guys are cool, but I worked so long and went through so much with the ol' gang. It's just not the same without Prime. Man, everything was so much simpler then. With Prime, you knew you were safe; he'd pull through. Rodimus, bona fide neat guy he is, don't make me feel secure."
"And you've never told anyone else, Jazz?" Hound asked after patiently waiting out his friend's rambling.
"Nuh-uh. I didn't think it was necessary. I thought I could deal with it on my own. You know I don't like bitchin'. I'm Jazz--nothin' makes me sad."
"Seems like a tough act to keep up," the green scout remarked.
Jazz let the words sink in, and he struggled for a lighthearted response, but found none. Instead, he leaned back against the wall and blew out his breath again.
"Damn. I miss them."
Hound leaned forward a bit, looking a bit reluctant but also bubbling with an unseen energy.
"Jazz, would you mind if I told you something? I'll try not to make it too preachy."
"Nobody could ever be as preachy as Prime was," drawled Jazz, smiling a little. "I've talked. Now it's your turn."
"Jazz--you have feelings, don't you? You've got a distinct personality of all your own, given to you by Vector Sigma itself. Of all the millions of Transformers here on Cybertron, there's not one other Jazz. Isn't that correct?"
"Yeah. I'm the one and only, baby," Jazz cracked a full grin, tapping himself proudly on his chassis.
"And don't we have feelings? We're sentient beings, Jazz, no bones about it. And that sentience makes us more than fancy machines. We've got names, and we're called 'he' or 'she', not simply 'it.'"
"You're ramblin', Hound," Jazz reminded in a somewhat cheerier voice. He had never seen Hound so loquacious before, and it amused him. Besides, the overall implications of his words were intriguing.
"Sorry," Hound said almost sheepishly. "Anyway. What I'm saying is this. Over the years we've spent on Earth, and our interactions with the humans, I've been thinking. Transformers and humans really aren't that different. Sure, there are the obvious differences, but when you strip it down to the bare essences, aren't we like humans? We have the same emotions, desires, and personality types. And you know what? If we share the same sentience, wouldn't we Transformers also have souls?"
"Makes sense," Jazz answered, sitting up straight and alert. "Go on."
"I think that all of us Transformers have something that makes us special in a certain way," the green scout continued, optics bright, "The Matrix everybody talks about, the one that Prime supposedly became one with--I think we all have a little bit of that Matrix in each of us, even stiffs like Magnus. Even Decepticons have it, I think."
"I can imagine it," Jazz laughed, "ol' Galvatron and Starscream having soft spots! Who knows? Those creeps might be right decent sometimes. I knew a few Deceps before the wars started--they seemed nice enough at the time."
"And Jazz, this is what I believe. I don't think a Transformer truly dies. Just because Prowl, Ratchet, and the others have stopped living doesn't mean they've ceased to be."
Jazz's baffled expression made Hound laugh a little and elaborate: "Just think about it. Whenever a doctor out there takes care of a patient, a little essence of Ratchet is there, because that was what Ratchet put his whole soul into. Whenever a policeman walks the beat, there's Prowl. Whenever a scientist blows up his lab, or a man in the South lolls back in the sun, there's Wheeljack and Ironhide. It's like a big stream of the very essence of Primus, and sometimes we can catch a glimpse of them now and then in the ripples. Don't you see what I'm getting at, Jazz? The Decepticons can blow up our bodies and make us stop functioning, but they can't kill us."
Jazz felt a stirring in his chest. He looked steadily back at Hound and saw the absolute sincerity in the other Autobot's face. He thought about all the words that had been said, and he found that they were very comforting. He hadn't felt so good in years.
"Hound," Jazz laughed after a space , "if you were a human, I'd say you oughtta be the pope or somethin'."
Jazz reached out for a stack of thin sheets of metal, deftly constructed it into the shape of a bishop's miter, and, dipping his thumb in a small puddle of oil, painted a smiley face on the metal with a flourish. He then went over and carefully perched the thing on Hound's head.
"Thanks. I think." Hound grinned a bit sourly, reaching up gingerly and touching the miter. "Listen. If I begin to die from energy loss, please take this thing off. It's not dignified at all."
"But it looks so good on you. Hail, Your Holiness," Jazz guffawed. He then started to wave his hands up and down, reverently chanting in Latin, while the newly ordained Autobot shook his head slowly, trying his best not to dignify any of the proceedings with a smile.
"You done, Jazz?" Hound asked with affected weariness after a few minutes of the nonsense.
"Yeah," drawled the addressee, leaning back against the wall once more, his visor winking with new light. "Thanks, Hound. You really cheered me up."
"One good turn deserves another. Primus knows you've got us out of some nasty funks yourself. You know," Hound's face slowly spread with a grin, "I haven't seen that look in your visor since the time you tricked Prowl into reading Finnegans Wake."
Jazz threw back his head and burst into peals of laughter at the cherished memory. "Ho, yeah! His logic circuits nearly exploded--Ratchet chewed my ass out for that. It was worth it. Good ol' Prowl."
"You're going down to Earth soon, right? Why not go with me when I'm fixed? Inferno and Hoist are going to meet me there, and we'll all have a few drinks together. They've missed you."
"Sounds like a plan to me."
The two Autobots then talked about the old times as they waited for their repairs, laughing, telling old tales, recounting adventures, and remembering comrades. Always remembering.
And Jazz's voice began to sing once more.
I don't know about the rest, but I always thought that Hound had a spiritual side to him. He's usually so low-key and so sincere, he's gotta be thinking something grand in that cute little olive head of his. And BTW, just for the record, I think Ultra Magnus is cool, if a little stiff. Jazz would agree with the latter perfectly. He's just so much fun to beat up on, though. Poor Ulty. :)