Hound steadied the shaky Porsche on their way to the medbay, furious.
The green mech was pretty even-tempered, but he'd had more than enough of Prowl's antics.
How could he do this to his supposed closest friend, the one who keeps defending him?
The Jeep thought savagely.
Jazz was vaguely aware that Hound was speaking, and saying something against the Datsun, judging by his tone.
But he was too busy replaying the instant Prowl had lunged at him.
"-should be hog-tied and handed over to Megatron,"
Jazz tuned in just in time to hear that.
"What did you say?" he demanded.
"I think you heard me Jazz," Hound said quietly.
"Man, how could you say that? I don't know what's going on, but Prowl's still my friend!"
"Yep, he's still your friend all right," Hound said, his tone heavy with loathing as he looked pointedly at Jazz's injured middle.
"Slag off then," Jazz snapped, jerking his shoulder away from the scout's hand.
"And I can go myself," he added as Hound opened his mouth to object.
X
X
X
X
Ratchet did a double take as the Porsche wobbled in, both hands pressed to his bleeding midsection.
"Jazz! What in the Universe happened?" Ratchet exclaimed.
He helped the saboteur onto a medbunk.
"Prowl...he had a complete meltdown. Ratchet man, he decked Ironhide!"
"And what on Cybertron did he do to you?" the medic questioned.
He examined the Porsche's midsection, sliced open like a hunk of metallic meat, underlying circuitry exposed and steadily trickling Energon.
Jazz, with many uncharacteristic stops and starts, managed to recount what had just happened in the control room, and Ratchet saw how much it had shaken the saboteur.
He treated the Porsche and confined him to the medbay for the rest of the night, more to calm him down than anything else.
Jazz lay on the bunk, positively queasy with bewilderment and despair.
And the hollow, empty feeling that came from not having his closest friend around when he needed him.
X
X
X
X
Prime had forbidden contact with the Datsun, but Jazz didn't care.
He slipped down, dodging several on-duty Autobots.
He'd recovered, at least emotionally, and was desperate to speak to Prowl, desperate for him to just open up.
Man, he can't go any lower than this, Jazz shuddered in despair, when he reached the narrow, rarely used underground wing.
The two facing rows of three, solid Energon-barred, holding cells were small but well-lit, and each contained a bench recessed into the volcano walls.
They weren't cruel, exactly, but Jazz certainly didn't want to see any of the Autobots, especially this Autobot, in them.
Prowl had been placed in the last cell on the left, and Jazz saw he was on his back on the bare bench, right forearm over his optics.
"Prowl."
Jazz crept to the cell as the tactician stood up.
He half-stepped into the shadowed corner the lighting missed in both end cells, arms folded and back to the saboteur.
"Man, you better start talking, while you still have a friend on your side," Jazz addressed his door-panels through the bars.
"Leave me alone," Prowl said quietly, "I'm sick of telling you,"
"And I'm sick of you doing whatever the Pit this is you're doing," Jazz said flatly.
He sighed.
"Look man, no one can work out what your problem is," Jazz said softly, "Including me. I wish you'd just tell me. You must know I'd do anything I could to help you Prowl,"
The Datsun gave no acknowledgement.
"Buddy, I've been real lonely lately without you...it looks like I'm going to have to get used to that, aren't I?"
He watched the silent Prowl for a couple of astrominutes, but he didn't turn around or speak.
"Ironhide and the other guys would think I was crazy," Jazz said finally, "But I've got something here for you. My friend hated being idle even in his off hours."
Jazz slipped his hand between the solid bars and tossed it deftly on the cell's bench.
"I'm not sure when I'll be seeing you again man," Jazz said softly and left before he upset himself further.
Prowl listened to him go, then sat on the bench and picked up the saboteur's offering.
A bookfile, chock-full of several of the tactician's favourite books.
X
X
X
X
Jazz trudged back to the Ark's main level.
A general "Good riddance" feeling was unspoken but tangible.
Jazz ignored a few glances, not caring if anyone realized where he'd been, and headed to his quarters.
He paused in Prowl's doorway for an astrotick, gazing at the chaos, recalling the night they'd sat up watching a black and white science fiction film festival.
By the third film, Prowl had been deep in Dry Sarcasm mode, and had Jazz literally rolling on the floor in hysterics with his comments, while he remained perfectly straight-faced.
Being yelled at by Ratchet for waking him in the wee hours had just added to the mirth.
That had only been a night or two before Prowl had become a complete stranger.
The saboteur quietly, sadly, closed the door.
Jazz went to his own quarters, settled painfully on his bunk and buried his head in his arms, hating the unnatural silence from next door.
"Life sucks," Jazz mumbled to his elbow joints and eventually fell into recharge.
X
X
X
X
Jazz wandered to his quarters disconsolately.
It seemed everyone had deliberately forgotten about Prowl.
That made a part of Jazz angry, but another part fully understood.
You can't help someone who doesn't want to be helped.
Prime had been to speak to Prowl a few times, but never returned in a positive mood.
Jazz glanced around his quarters and sighed.
Coming off duty in the late afternoon was something he'd always disliked.
Maybe it was just that particular part of the day, but Jazz found it more boring than any other.
He looked around again, realizing dully there was nothing in the room that would make him feel any better.
Jazz just wanted to talk to Prowl.
He didn't know why, because the Datsun wouldn't even acknowledge him.
But he had to do it.
Jazz got down to the holding cells without being seen.
Prowl was still off-limits, and Prime couldn't even say when or if he'd be released.
Jazz quietly made his way to the end cell.
"Prowl?"
There was no answer, but Jazz hadn't expected one.
But what he'd never expected was this.
The cell was empty, its door ajar.
X
X
X
X
Jazz refused to think the worst of Prowl as he dashed back to the Ark's main level.
Maybe Optimus Prime had moved him back to his quarters, or Ratchet might have found something in his scans...
Jazz burst into the control room and straight to Teletran-1, scattering the on duty Autobots like startled geese.
"Teletran, track down Prowl,"
"Autobot Prowl is not in the Ark, and can no longer be traced from this location."
Jazz did a double take.
"Explain," he snapped.
"All identifying factors have been deleted,"
"Who by, for Primus' sake?"
"Autobot Prowl."
"How? When?" Jazz exclaimed.
He spun around without waiting for an answer and addressed the room.
"Prowl's gone! Where's Prime?"
"Optimus doesn't want to be disturbed," Ironhide informed him, "Under any circumstances."
"Then you do something man!"
Ironhide looked at him.
"Jazz...what can I do? Or anyone do?" he said softly.
The truth of his words hit home, but Jazz shook them off.
"I'm going to find him," the saboteur declared.
He transformed, setting all his sensors to scan for any trace of the Datsun, and took off into the dusk with a strong sense of deja vu.
Jazz cursed everything under the sun as he sped through the desert sand.
Particularly Prowl, and himself for not being able to get through the barriers the tactician had thrown up.
Jazz detected a faint line of dust streaming up from a canyon, and changed heading so quickly he nearly sent himself into a roll.
He hurtled off, scans confirming an Autobot emission signature.
Jazz braked violently at the lip of the narrow canyon.
He transformed and scrambled down, ignoring the pain in his midsection, and the scratches and scrapes he was collecting.
Once in the crevasse, he transformed back to alt mode.
It was too cramped for two vehicles to pass.
He desperately hoped the odds were that Prowl would stop, not plough into him.
Jazz switched his headlights on, maximum illumination, and braced himself as the Datsun tore up.