Part 16

Most bots never saw all of the medbay. The four operating berths in front were as far as most Autobots got. A few grew curious while they spent an orn or two recovering and looked in on Ratchet's office, studying the flashing monitors in a bored, drugged haze, but very few ever went through the door in the back. They sometimes saw Ratchet or Red Alert carrying cortex chips and circuits, energon containment cores or even spark case welding patches, but it wasn't the threat of heavy repair that gave the back rooms their dark reputation. The back rooms, they said, were for bots who didn't process quite right anymore.

All of the Spec Ops bots were well acquainted with the back rooms. If Smokescreen needed to be debriefed despite a burned out limb or severed fuel lines, Ironhide would sit up with them during the surgery in a private berth. If Bumblebee kept coming out of recharges screaming, Ratchet kept him away from other patients. And when Jazz came back to base, survival safeguards running so hard that he saw Decepticons around every corner, an empty room devoid of any furniture and a double dose of dielectric fluid would eventually bring him back around.

For Spec Ops, the back berths were safe, where nothing bad happened and soldiers back from battle could sit in quiet, staring at a blank white wall until the roaring died down. The back rooms were set apart from the rest of the Ark, a little sanctuary of comforting maintenance where the war did not intrude.

All of the doors were closed except one. Jazz took a long, deep vent, reset his optics, and went in.

Sitting on the edge of the berth, Prowl looked up, holding still as Jazz came and sat beside him.

Neither moved. Neither spoke. And Jazz started to wonder if Prowl wanted him to make the first move. He settled his hands in his lap, started to raise one, then relaxed again. His fans whirred on and he shut them down again.

Beside him, Prowl took a long vent, deciding that he would have to be the one to start. A battle computer was not built for relationship statistics, but it estimated the same chances for success as it always had. Jazz, daring and bold behind enemy lines, would not make the first move in the berth. And yet Jazz was the one mech Prowl had to be doubly careful of not triggering.

"Is it all right," Prowl started to ask, turning toward him and reaching toward his faceplate. "If I touch—?"

Jazz's hand shot out and seized Prowl's wrist, tight enough to hurt. Prowl blinked at how fast he'd been stopped, then saw that Jazz was just as surprised. The smaller mech stared at his hand as if it wasn't his own.

"Whoops..." Jazz forced his fingers to loosen. "Sorry, I didn't—"

He froze as Prowl, rather than retreating, took his hand and turned it over, bringing his knuckles up—

Jazz's fans whirred hard as Prowl kissed the back of his hand.

He watched in stunned silence. Prowl held his hand steady, pressing first one kiss to his fingers, then turned his hand over, placing a kiss in his palm. Jazz ran his glossa over his lips, suddenly hyper aware of every joint and hinge.

Afraid that Jazz might spook, Prowl met his look while bending to kiss the space between hand and forearm armor, dipping his glossa into that space, licking the soft cables of Jazz's wrist.

Prowl's optics never left his, gathering data on Jazz's reaction. Short, shallow vents. Rigid posture. Sensors trembling at their highest setting. Impossible to see behind the visor, but Prowl suspected that Jazz's optics were taking in too much light, nearly blinding himself.

"I don't want to go too fast," Prowl said softly, his vent brushing across Jazz's cables. "What would you like me to do?"

Jazz stared at him in absolute loss, his gaze flicking from Prowl to his hand, as if he expected his wrist to suddenly spurt energon or short out, surprised that he hadn't already spontaneously broken. He shook his head faintly, his vents shallow and over-quick.

"I don't know," Jazz whispered. "I don't know."

As if he expected that, Prowl nodded and ran his thumb over the cables. The more he touched, the more those cables became all Jazz could feel, and the rest of his body grew numb and distant.

"Then I will keep asking permission," Prowl said. "And only continue with your go ahead."

"O-okay..."

Prowl let Jazz's hand slide away. "I'm going to kiss you, if you let me."

Jazz's fans were not cooling. He couldn't even feel them. He was aware of nodding, of Prowl's warmth as he leaned closer, seeing Prowl's optics so close, crystal clear — he could see the tiny numbers of Prowl's eternal data feed. His whole body faded into cold nothingness and a thin white noise filled his audios, almost deafening him with static.

"Don't be afraid," Prowl whispered, then closed the distance with a kiss.

Jazz's sensors exploded—Prowl's engine barely perceptible even this close, the heat of Prowl's vents on his plating, the pressure on steel that had never felt pressure like this before. The world rushed back in all at once, drowning him and lifting him up at once. Prowl's hands on his arms, lips on his, the faint engines rumbling against Jazz's bumper. Jazz grabbed him, holding him flush against his frame.

Something was pushing away the fear, and Jazz wasn't sure what it was.

Prowl broke the kiss, rubbing his cheek against Jazz's, murmuring softly. "I'm going to explore your cabling."

Not yet, not yet—Jazz couldn't make himself speak, and in his need, he reached out through their internal channel.

Words couldn't form. Raw need poured out of him, confused and tremulous, and he pressed his faceplate against Prowl's neck cables. Warmth, the whoosh of energon through his systems, the curl of his hands and the soft hum of fans feeding through his armor. And Prowl's understanding laugh.

"All right," Prowl whispered. "A little more."

The whimper out of Jazz's throat surprised both of them. He closed his optics, trying to ease his overloaded sensors. That only made Prowl's lips on his own more overwhelming, teasing Jazz's mouth open enough to just lightly snake his tongue over Jazz's denta.

A jolt of pleasure slipped through Jazz, and he hissed as Prowl nipped his lip. A tiny touch of pain accentuating everything else.

"Are you all right?" Prowl asked, leaning back. "Have you been kissed before?"

Jazz leaned after him, managing longer, easier vents. He mistook Prowl's question for teasing, wanting to defend himself. Of course he'd been kissed before—a hard, denting crush when a mech had cornered him in a lonely corridor, not taking no for an answer from the shiny little mech. His first kiss, and Jazz remembered it clearly even through the haze of Prowl's touch—

"Don't—" Prowl suddenly gasped.

Prowl held still, not even venting. Jazz frowned at him, then noticed he was holding something soft. When he looked down, he found himself grasping the largest cable in Prowl's pelvic joint. The slightest pressure, and it would rip out.

A memory file played against his will—a Decepticon he'd surprised millenia ago, tearing out much more than simply one cable, and the energon flooding over his hand and arm, across the mech's pede and splashing on the floor...

Coolant flushed through his system. Jazz let go, scooting back on the berth.

"Primus..." He clutched his helm, shaking his head. "I didn't know—I'm sorry, I didn't realize—"

"It's all right," Prowl said, turning on his hands and knees and coming towards him. "You didn't—"

"I could have," Jazz said. He saw Prowl's upraised hand and backed into the wall. "No. We have to stop. I could kill you."

Prowl stopped and rested on his pedes. His doorwings drooped slightly. "That's why we're doing this here. Just in case."

"I don't like 'just in case'," Jazz said. "This...this is too much."

"Did you find it unpleasant?" Prowl asked, his optics widening as his computer flashed through everything they had done so far, examining every move for some telegraphed hint of violence. "Was it threatening?"

"No." Jazz shook his head, a faint smile on his face despite himself. "It was...it was nice."

"Did I trigger a threat response?" Prowl asked.

Jazz shook his head again. "I don't wanna talk about it. Just...look, I like it, and I like you. But if we keep doing this, I'm gonna hurt you."

"It is your choice," Prowl said, his shoulders dropping a tick. He made no move forward. "But I have to say, if we stop now, I'm afraid you'll be even more averse to interfacing."

"I had your main fuel line in my hand," Jazz said, deliberately emphasizing each word as if Prowl didn't understand.

"Yes," Prowl nodded, smiling and rubbing the cord to ease the lingering ache. "Pretty strong grip."

Jazz stared at him. Prowl seemed to enjoy the memory of Jazz's hold there. He certainly didn't look scared of what Jazz could do, had nearly done. And hadn't Ratchet mentioned something about Prowl's armor joints?

"I don't get it," Jazz said, shaking his head. "Why ain't you scared?"

"I am, a little. I'm no match if you try to hurt me." Prowl frowned and glanced aside, knowing that wasn't enough . "I...care about you. I have some hope you feel the same about me."

Jazz knew that should have made him feel warm inside. Instead, he felt like his inner cords were twisting.

"I could really hurt you," Jazz said softly. "It's practically hardwired in me now. You put your hand somewhere I'm not expecting and I react like you're a Decepticon."

Prowl shook his head. "While that is a possibility, we have taken steps to mitigate it. And while it is true you might hurt me, I still trust you."

"Prowl—"

"You held yourself back," Prowl pointed out.

Jazz wanted to say he hadn't even known he was hurting Prowl to hold himself back. That torn cables could kill quickly. And that Prowl was nothing like his previous experiences, which was why he wanted to stop and why he wanted to keep going.

He stared at the blank white wall for a full vent cycle, letting the defense routines completely shut down, telling his proximity alarms to deactivate. In their millenia working together, Prowl was usually right. And it was the memories he had, Decepticon force-downloads and the Autobots who only took a fist for an answer, pressing him to turn back. Not Prowl.

With a sigh, he looked back at Prowl. Not him. Prowl never hurt him, and he was too smart to let Jazz hurt him, either.

"...okay," Jazz said, then raised his hand when Prowl crept forward again, forcing him to halt. "But if I get rough, and I mean at all...you'll say so, right?"

"Yes," Prowl promised. "I just did, after all."

Jazz nodded, more to himself than to Prowl, and let the Enforcer crawl close.

"May I kiss you again?"

That should have sounded awkward and clunky, like two drones trying to interface. Instead reassurance settled on Jazz like a blanket. As Prowl reached to cup his cheek, Jazz turned toward his palm, finding satisfaction in how well Prowl's hand fit his face, one fingertip sliding delicately under his visor.

Kissing, Jazz decided, was something he'd like to do more of.

Prowl didn't risk letting his hands wander somewhere that Jazz would consider dangerous, instead kissing the corner of Jazz's mouth, nuzzling his jaw. Left a trail of kisses along his throat.

A mech's denta were not all that dangerous, too weak to bite through the thick cording of neck cables, and Jazz's survival routine warred with itself. All cabling was vulnerable, but Prowl couldn't hurt him. Prowl was certainly in no position to hurt him at all, with his own vital systems in easy reach. And Prowl's ministrations kept Jazz distracted from his programming.

"It's a shame you wear that visor," Prowl murmured, kissing along the line of Jazz's hood, dipping his glossa into the rounded steel indent. He stopped at Jazz's headlight, lavishing attention on it.

Jazz never knew one headlight could deliver that much sensation and clenched his jaw for a moment, putting his arms around Prowl and pulling him closer. One hand slid up behind his helm.

"What's—" he groaned suddenly. Prowl had found the dip behind his headlight, licking the sensitive connector with a faint shiver at the pulsing electrical lines there. "It's just a heads up display. What's so fascinating 'bout it?"

"It's shiny," Prowl chuckled.

"I'm tired of hearing that," Jazz grumbled. "Maybe I'll just go outside, roll around in the rain and the mud. See if everyone likes me when I ain't so damn shiny."

The pause from Prowl lengthened, and Jazz frowned at him. His frown deepened when he saw Prowl's satisfied smile.

"Is that an offer?" Prowl asked. "I would enjoy a friendly match with you. I believe the forecast calls for rain tomorrow night."

Jazz, about to shake his head at him, instead jerked as Prowl moved to his other headlight.

"Everyone...here..." Jazz ground out through his clenched jaw, holding Prowl tight, "is damn pervy."

Not answering, Prowl continued his ministrations, allowing Jazz to clutch at him and pull so strongly that their hoods grated together. Kiss after kiss, Prowl drank deeply as the smaller bot found a new addiction, his lips swollen slightly from the excess heat.

With the visor on his mind now, Prowl turned his attention to the thin shield of polycarbonate in front of Jazz's optics. Visors were not all that unusual for mechs. Each of them had a heads up display on their optics, and a visor simply allowed for deeper analysis or a more customizable layout. But most visors were only for specialized work. Few were meant to be worn all the time, and even semi-permanent visors were meant to come off during recharge.

As far as Prowl knew, Jazz did not remove the visor for any reason. The mental image that Prowl had of him was incomplete, and his curiosity drove him to drifting kisses along the visor's edge. Soft rumbles vibrated deep in Jazz's chest, a fluttering vent past his audio, nudging the visor with his lips...

"Now I know you ain't trying to be sneaky," Jazz said in warning. "'Cause you're so bad at it that it's kinda cute."

Prowl sighed, resting his head on Jazz's shoulder. "This would be a lot easier if you weren't Special Operations."

"Prowler," Jazz chuckled at the Enforcer's grumble, "I am the master ninja of our Autobot clan. Now I'll admit you got me once, showing up in your berth like that, but straight up trying to slip one by me? That's just adorable."

"Mm." Prowl didn't agree or disagree, nuzzling Jazz's throat. "So...if I ask?"

Jazz held silent, resting his head on Prowl's helm. His vent was long and low, letting him settle in place with Prowl more comfortably fixed against him. For all that they were steel and hard edges, they meshed smoothly, warm with the soft hum of fuel and engines.

"Why?" Jazz whispered. "What's so important about it?"

Prowl had a list of reasons he could give. He needed to update his specifications of Jazz's frame. The visor was a shield that Jazz never lowered. That it wasn't healthy to live with a constant bombardment of security data.

"Because I want to see your optics," Prowl said. "I want to see you."

Half a dozen responses came to Jazz's mind. He didn't want to. He felt wrong without it. Even touching the visor brought back memories of Soundwave. And just like Soundwave, Jazz had worked with his visor for so long, his optics would give his every emotion away.

But Prowl...was Prowl. Never hurt him. Never betrayed him. Was nothing like Soundwave. And probably knew Jazz's emotions, reactions and contradictions by spark in immaculately kept logs.

Jazz shut down his visor, then unclipped it from its fastenings. He trembled, hesitating to lift it away.

"Okay."

Moving slowly so not to spook him, Prowl straddled the smaller bot and rested lightly on his pedes, putting his hands on either side of Jazz's visor. In one fluid motion, he lifted it away and set it aside. Jazz didn't move, only turning away with shut optics.

With a faint smile of delight, Prowl stroked Jazz's face, running his thumbs under his optics, coaxing them to open. "It's all right. Let me see."

"Feels weird," Jazz murmured, letting Prowl's fingertips gently nudge his optics. "Feels...real weird."

"No," Prowl whispered as he finally drew Jazz's optics open, gazing into bright, clear lenses, searching his vast database for something resembling that precise shade of light, light blue. "It feels perfect."

Jazz stared at him, swallowed whatever he was about to say. Without his visor, the quirk to his mouth that would have been surprise was actually nervousness. The tilt to his head that would've once been wry confidence was Jazz shying away out of nerves.

"Thank you," Prowl whispered, saving the memory under a dozen different files for safekeeping. "May I...?"

With tremulous vents and a whirl of his fans, Jazz nodded once.

The next kiss cleared all of Jazz's doubts and worries. Prowl snaked an arm behind him, holding him close, and Jazz let himself relax as he was eased flat on the berth. Prowl wouldn't hurt him. Prowl would never hurt him. Prowl—Jazz boggled at the idea—wanted to do this *for* him.

"Are you ready?" Prowl asked.

Tensing as if he were about to be struck, Jazz winced, squirming as he fought the urge to curl up protectively. He sent the command to his link-up cover, disengaging the safeguards that locked his ports. Unable to trust his voice, he nodded, covering his mouth when Prowl's touch brought small embarassing sounds out of him.

"It won't hurt," Prowl promised, running his fingertips lightly along Jazz's inner casing.

Prowl wondered if anyone had ever touched it before, if Jazz ever opened it at all. His saboteur arched up, whimpering as his ports were traced. Taking the cables from his own link up casing, Prowl pulled the cords just long enough to reach, teasing Jazz with the ends.

"If it's too much," Prowl whispered, with one optic to Jazz's hands to make sure he wasn't holding a blade, "you can yank free. It's okay."

"Nng," Jazz moaned, writhing under Prowl while simultaneously grasping at him, pulling him down on top of himself. "Go on. I can do this...go on."

"All right," Prowl said, sliding the cord into place.

The data transfer began, slowly at first, running a general start up program as their two cortexes introduced themselves to each other. Ensuring compatibility, verifying Autobot codes, requesting mutual access...Prowl ran them one at a time, allowing Jazz time to process each one and confirm. What usually took moments took nearly a breem as Jazz's paranoia examined every command inside and out before allowing access.

Prowl was in no hurry. Jazz's emotions played out as obviously as if he were reading them on a datapad, all nerves and raw trust. Prowl smiled, enjoying the rare feeling of advantage over the smaller mech, and cupped his face. Jazz gasped, startled at the touch, struggling to process the new uplinks in his cortex and the sensations on his frame.

"I wish you could see yourself," Prowl murmured, stroking Jazz's face, turning his starry optics up. "You're always so confident, so sure of yourself. And now you're letting me do this, and...I feel like I'm taking care of you."

Prowl bent, taking another kiss, and Jazz whimpered around him, lost in the sensation of Prowl inside and out, drowning in the enforcer's data even while he was buoyed up in his hands. Jazz stared at him for a moment, then his optics stared past him, and he vented in quick, low bursts.

"Hold me," Jazz breathed, "I can't...I'm falling. Prowl—"

"I'm right here," Prowl said, lying beside him, holding him close. "You're not falling. Jazz, I can feel your code...I can feel you."

Prowl nuzzled him cheek to cheek, indulging in the feel of Jazz's lines of code washing over him. Jazz's inner processes were a contradiction in themselves, sucking Prowl in while at the same time resisting, pushing back and dragging the connecting speed to almost nothing. The data flowed like a tide, then washed back, then flowed in again.

Prowl's face tightened. Of course Jazz would feel conflicted. He'd only ever experienced interface during force downloads, with traps laid on either side. He felt the blind fear in Jazz's spark, hand in hand with the grip Jazz kept on Prowl's own dataflow, using it like a guide in the dark.

"You're doing well," Prowl murmured, still stroking his face. "Let your code align with my own. Let your code...oh..."

Jazz didn't hear Prowl's small gasp, his cortex too busy trying to make sense of the details coming in, the endless minutiae of Prowl's vast cataloging. It lit him on fire as each sensor fought a losing battle to keep up with the Enforcer's hyperawareness of every possibility and eventual outcome. No wonder Prowl crashed if this was what he felt like with Jazz adding chaos to that structure.

Beside him, Prowl careened down an unexpectedly steep slide into Jazz, bombarded with sudden sound and thoughts. Jazz saw the world not as details but as sensation, nothing but short paths branching out in all directions, too numerous to follow. Jazz was chaos, a thousand short circuits spiraling out of control, now locked back into place by Prowl's logic routes as firmly as if he'd been stasis cuffed. Prowl grasped Jazz close, glad that they were lying down. He would have fallen otherwise.

He vented in wonder as their codes meshed. For a moment their systems aligned, their sensors input the same data. Double sensory input was too much for both mechs to process individually, overclocking their systems.

Prowl felt the tell tale sparks, the tingling on his systems—felt Jazz curl up against him, fans on maximum and failing, gulping air and pushing his face against Prowl's neck.

Jazz overloaded, electric shocks firing through his frame, and Prowl cried out, riding the sudden flood of energy. Their systems revved, engines roaring as they tried to keep up, completely lost in each other.

Within moments, it was done. Jazz shuddered, gasping for breath. Prowl held him, rubbing circles on his back, and rebooted his vent cycle, calming his systems even as the overload faded and left an electric crackle running itself out.

"Full of surprises." Prowl chuckled once. "Next time, we'll try for a little longer."

He didn't tease him for overloading so quickly. All things considered, managing to hold out for so long was an accomplishment in itself.

Jazz whimpered, cuddling closer as if he could hide inside Prowl. "'Next time'?"

"If you let me," Prowl nodded. "We'll let you rest a moment. Are you up to it?"

A klik passed. Prowl wasn't sure if Jazz was considering it or just gathering his strength.

Then Jazz smiled, putting his hand on Prowl's, and nodded in return.

"Again...please?"