Chapter 16

The door opened. Jazz came out on wobbly pedes, one hand out for balance, and Prowl caught him with an arm around his shoulders. Instead of stumbling, Jazz toppled against Prowl, held chest to chest and chuckling at himself.

"Again, please?" Jazz grinned, rising up on his pedes to get another kiss.

"I look forward to it," Prowl said, giving in. "But we both have responsibilities to attend."

"Spoilsport," Jazz muttered, still smiling softly. He came down heavily and swayed, finding his balance.

As they came back to the medbay, they heard nothing but the faint hum of diagnostics equipment and tapping of fingers across a console. Aside from Ratchet working on his datapad, they were alone, but even so, Jazz touched his visor to make sure it was back in place. So was his familiar grin, if a little wider and easier than before.

"Good, you're both alive," Ratchet said, turning in his seat to face them. He laughed once when he saw Jazz. "Wow. Now that is the face of a mech who's been well fragged."

Jazz stuck out his glossa, but he took a moment to steady his gyros into their proper equilibrium. Once his cortex felt clear, he stretched his arms up to the ceiling, trembling as his cords unkinked and straightened.

"So," Ratchet said, looking over Prowl for anything amiss. "No sliced cables? Bruised plating? Any scratches on your back armor...?"

Prowl swatted away Ratchet's hand. "I'm fine. Jazz reacted a few times, but nothing overly dangerous."

"Huh." Ratchet grinned at their saboteur. "So, he didn't need to use the stasis cuffs after all?"

Jazz put a hand on his hip, giving Ratchet a look, but he snuck a quick look at Prowl despite himself. Had stasis cuffs even been an option? To his relief, Prowl gave Ratchet an exasperated tilt of his head.

"Clearly there were no emergencies while we were indisposed," Prowl said, changing the subject. "Downloads?"

With a huff, Ratchet nodded once, sliding a datapad to him across the desk.

"Got the cassettes while they were napping. That's the raw data. I combed through it to make sure there's no malicious code, and I saw some pretty interesting things on the side." Ratchet glanced at Jazz, who stood straight. "Seems he's been sweet on you for awhile now."

"Judging by those stories," Jazz grumbled, "you could say that about both sides of this damn war."

Prowl scanned the initial report of the force downloads of the cassettes. He frowned, scrolling through each one, then peered over the datapad at Ratchet again.

"Not Soundwave?"

"Not yet," Ratchet said, shaking his head. "He isn't stable enough. If he crashed while downloading, his whole cortex could fry."

"Mm."

Not upset about that possibility, Prowl tapped into the datapad, beginning the synchronization cycle so he could begin a thorough analysis. He took his usual seat by Ratchet's desk and ignored the medibot plugging into his neural net, accustomed to this precaution during an initial tactical debriefing.

"Updates on Soundwave's condition?" Ratchet asked as he settled in. "Or his cassettes?"

"The little monsters are still in recharge and repair," Ratchet said, all business once again. "Except Frenzy, and he's gonna be loopy for a few megacycles. They strained their systems to the breaking point, running on fumes like that."

"And Soundwave?"

Ratchet shrugged. "I've never seen a mech crash that many times without completely off-lining. It might be his carrier-model cortex is better equipped to deal with the chaos, since he'd have to handle listening to his cassettes all the time. He's shaky, but he's running stable for now."

"Stable enough for a chat?" Jazz asked.

"I hope so," Ratchet nodded once, leaning back in his chair. "Optimus is down there right now, giving him the talk."

Prowl stiffened, looking first at the door and then back at his datapad. Visibly torn, he froze, not sure of reading the download first or going to his Prime's side.

"Relax," Jazz said, touching Prowl's hand. "I got this. You find out what you can, and I'll see if Soundwave's up to proving how bad he wants to be an Autobot."

"Be careful," Prowl said, holding his hand tight for several seconds. "Even if his story is true, Soundwave could be more dangerous for having no current allegiance."

"No prob," Jazz assured him. "Besides, I won't be alone. Wherever Optimus goes, Ironhide is sure to follow."

"Yes." Prowl nodded once, releasing his hand, and relaxed back to begin data analysis. "Be sure to send a report afterward."

"Sir, yes, sir," Jazz grinned. "Don't wait up for me, sir."

Once he was out of medbay, he stretched again, every gap in his plating and every supple cord moving with more fluidity and flexibility than he'd ever felt before. Venting deep, his whole frame still tingled with the echoes of Prowl's fingers on his armor. His grin, despite Soundwave and the cassettes and the damn Polyhex Manuals, came freely.

So did the whispers around him as he passed. He frowned. The hall outside of medbay was one of the most heavily trafficked in the whole Ark. Mechs passed back and forth, quieting their conversations as they passed as if there were a bubble of silence around Jazz, then talking again as they moved out of range.

Could they tell? He felt suddenly self-conscious. Did they somehow know what he'd just done? Was it obvious? He resisted the urge to scan himself. Prowl wouldn't have left any marks lingering on his steel. There was no tell-tale whirl of his fans, no heady thrum of his engine.

He detoured down the stairs instead of the elevators, coming out by the brig. To his relief, Ironcast and Locknees standing guard didn't seem to notice anything different about him. With a single nod, they waved him through, already pinging his arrival to those inside.

Leaning against the main console, Ironhide turned his head just enough to verify and ackhowledge. He never took his optics off Prime or Soundwave. Only a row of bars separated the two, and no matter how heavy duty the steel was, nor that Soundwave sat on the floor with his back against the wall, Ironhide visibly kept one hand near his rifle.

What're they doing? Jazz murmured along their comm line.

Talking philosophy, Ironhide grumbled. I've never been this nervous and bored at the same time.

He paused. Jazz stood in his usual stance, one hip slightly up to better rest his hand on, which gave him a quick draw with his left. But something in his ease, how loose his joints moved, made Ironhide study him a moment.

You feeling okay, kid? Ironhide asked, turning back to watch Optimus. You look different.

Wh—fine, fine, Jazz stumbled, crossing his arms and standing stiffly. Ironhide's voice didn't come back over the comm, but the older mech's communication port remained active, curiously keeping an optic on him.

On the other side of the room, Optimus didn't stop to acknowledge Jazz, focused entirely on their prisoner.

"—overtures of honesty do speak well for you," Prime continued. "And it is my greatest hope that your intentions are sincere. I don't want to have to kill a helpless mech, not even a Decepticon."

Inside the prison cell, Soundwave narrowed his optics in a show of doubt and suspicion that would have been unthinkable to any other mech in his position. Jazz felt Ironhide tense more than he thought was already possible, his vents shallow and primed. No prisoner should have so openly displayed his mistrust to Optimus, not when trying to win asylum.

"Optimus," Soundwave started, struggling a little with his heavier than usual venting, "no desire to destroy a high ranking Decepticon while helpless. Why?"

Leave it to a Decepticon to question mercy, Ironhide hissed, squirming his shoulders.

"It would be dishonorable," Optimus answered readily. "Even moreso when this is not the battlefield but rather an attempt to leave Megatron."

At that, Soundwave flinched as if someone had pinched his cables. He didn't deny it, but to Jazz, the mech revealed too much in his blinking optics and the way he still tried to find the purple mark on his still-cracked open chest.

"For a deserter," Ironhide said, tilting his head, "you sure don't seem happy about leaving."

Prime's helm shifted only slightly, catching Ironhide in his peripheral vision enough to make sure his bodyguard hadn't moved. His optics stayed firmly trained on Soundwave.

"He has a point," Optimus continued when Soundwave didn't speak. "Do you hope to become a recognized Autobot?"

Jazz's chronometer ticked by like reverberations in his cortex. Soundwave had fallen apart trying to explain that just to himself. Asking him point blak could trigger him into another meltdown, and Jazz didn't want to have to bring him back from the brink again.

"Megatron, known quantity," Soundwave said. His legs, splayed out before him, now curled up to protect his open inner mechanics. He rested his arm on his knee, holding his head in mounting frustration. "Optimus Prime, unknown quantity. Unknown now preferable to known."

"I don't understand," Optimus said.

"Megatron, promised freedom to all Cybertron," Soundwave started, his gaze flicking towards Jazz before moving back to Optimus. "Destroy the Senate, destroy Autobot and Enforcer remnants of Senatorial power. All traces of the Senate must be eliminated before reconstruction can begin."

"But Shockwave has control of Cybertron right now," Optimus said, less to argue and more to draw out more of an explanation. "Our guerrilla forces there haven't changed that."

"Optimus assertion, correct," Soundwave nodded. "Energon shortage blamed upon the war. War blamed on Autobots. This logic, infallable and clear, and yet..."

His armor rattled. Soundwave's helm twitched so hard that his head snapped to one side. Wincing, he drew in a long, tremulous vent, shaking with effort, and hugged his knee closer.

"War, no longer logical," Soundwave hissed, straining through gritted denta. "Megatron's goals now broadened to other planets, other species. Cybertron, secondary consideration. Senate, all but forgotten."

"You're Megatron's most loyal officer," Optimus said. "You've followed his orders even when you thought he was—Soundwave?"

TheDecepticon put his arms out, grabbing at the seams in the wall, the edge of the unused prison berth, clenching the edges so hard that his fingers creaked. Sparks crackled along his helm like static electricity, rippling over his face.

"Disloyal...disloyal..."

"Don't drive yourself into system crash," Optimus cautioned him, taking an abortive step forward even as he heard Ironhide's engine rev in warning. His bodyguard wasn't above putting yanking Optimus out of what he considered harm's way, and half a dozen meters from the cell was already overclocking the old mech's cortex.

"Megatron, power hungry." Soundwave's vocal processor strained through heavy static, began to smoke as his circuitry overheated. "Corrupt. Soundwave—"

"Enough!" Optimus said, holding out his hand. "You'll melt down—"

Behind him, Ironhide had his rifle up, not convinced that this wasn't a trick and thinking to pull Prime back, even though they'd confirmed that Soundwave wasn't rigged to explode. To his left, Jazz turned a pace, speaking lowly through his comm unit.

"Ratchet," Jazz said. "You're needed in the brig...yeah, he's crashing again, not as bad this time—"

"Soundwave...nnnot crashing."

At first, the sudden silence made Jazz think that Soundwave had thoroughly melted down. He'd seen mechs go critical on the battlefield, their inner chips and circuitboards melting down and dripping liquid alloy out of their mouths and eyes. The abrupt loss of their voice was identical each time, and it never failed to make Jazz want to climb out of his own armor.

But Soundwave hadn't melted himself. Hands on either side of his helm, he dragged in tight vents, each one shuddering through his denta, first shallow, then deep. His shoulders shook with the effort.

"Soundwave...disloyal to Megatron." He forced the words out with a small trickle of molten steel past his lips. "Loyal to Cybertron."

"Tch," Ironhide vented, slinging his rifle again. "Damn carrier models. S'all psychological with 'em."

"Loyal to Cybertron. Loyal to Cybertron." Soundwave repeated it again, breathing it out with a tinge of silver on his glossa. "Loyal. Loyal."

"Jazz," Optimus asked, still watching Soundwave. "Is Ratchet on his way?"

"Yup," Jazz said. "Double time."

Optimus nodded once. "Soundwave...if you're loyal to Cybertron, then what? You're no longer a Decepticon? Do you intend to become neutral?"

His optics half-shut, staring at the ceiling now, Soundwave shook his head once.

"Negative. Neutrality meaningless. But..."

"'But'?" Optimus echoed.

"But...unsure of Autobots." Soundwave glared at him from the corner of his optics, his helm still thrown back in exhaustion. It made his suspicion look all the more entrenched. "Autobots, Senate remnants. Enforcers, Senate remnants. Senate, evil and power crazed."

"Ain't that rich," Ironhide muttered. "The Decepticon ain't sure if he can trust us."

Optimus held up one hand, shushing him, and regarded Soundwave. Broken open and half-slagged, Megatron's most loyal soldier looked more like an old war veteran strung out on pain hacks and kerosene packs. If it was an act, it was a good one.

Jazz, Optimus called over their internal comm. Your assessment of his sincerity.

Shaking his head as Optimus' voice came through on a scrambled pattern, Jazz scratched at his helm, tapping once to try to get rid of the itch that extra static left. For all the noise they made about Soundwave leaving the Decepticons, they still treated any communication around the telepath as highly suspect.

Mech's all messed up, Jazz answered in kind. Ain't no one to be loyal to, and too broken up to do anything about it. If you want him, Prime, I think you got a good chance of convincing him.

The door slid open with Ratchet coming in, his toolkit slung under one arm, and he only waited long enough for Ironhide to nod his approval before he was inside the cell, kneeling beside their prisoner. Soundwave allowed his touch without comment, twitching occasionally when Ratchet grazed frayed wires.

"His link to his symbiotes is still active," Optimus said, startling Jazz. "Said it shorted and activated again."

Ratchet muttered something under his breath, already halfway to opening Soundwave's helm armor. The heavy plating groaned as he lifted it up at an angle. A thin line of melted steel slid over his fingers and dried up again.

"Not surprised," Ratchet said, snapping on his wrist light and craning his head for a good look. "Looks like the sparking blew some of the diodes in here. ...this is gonna take awhile."

"Understood," Optimus said. "Keep me appraised of his condition. Let me know when he can converse again."

Soundwave frowned. "This unit, still operational, still cognizant."

"True," Optimus said. "But you're in pain, and I don't want to explain our historical and philosophical differences when your cortex is compromised. It would render our entire discussion suspect."

Soundwave pressed his lips together, his optics and mouth betraying so much of his own confusion that Jazz wanted to laugh. No mask and no visor left Soundwave as vulnerable as one of the newly sparked Aerialbots. All the memory left free by a lack of social programming, however, gave him a mind as devious as Jazz's and as comprehensive as Prowl's. As confused as he looked, Soundwave was not to be underestimated. Small wonder that Optimus bothered to explain

"...accepted," Soundwave said, closing his optics. "Your reasoning, valid."

Optimus nodded. "Then I'll wait for Ratchet's report on your health and reschedule our conversation for when you've improved. I must admit, I am looking forward to it."

Reseting his optics, Soundwave lifted his head and met Optimus' gaze, not noticing Ratchet's grumble as he moved. The Prime stood still, facing him squarely and with no trace of subterfuge. Even the faceplate didn't hide Optimus' sincerity, and Soundwave blamed his wounded cortex for how long he took to understand the Prime's reasoning.

"Captured, high ranking officer...rare," Soundwave acknowledged.

"True," Optimus said. "But a ranking officer who might be honest in wanting to defect? I imagine we have a lot to talk about, especially since you seem sincere."

Soundwave lowered his head again, closing his optics. He didn't move after that, save when Ratchet tilted his helm for a better angle with his soldering tools.

However, the conversation for now was clearly over. Optimus turned and passed Jazz, pausing only to briefly rest his hand on the smaller bot's shoulder.

Will you stay here and watch Ratchet? he asked. I don't want him alone, even if Soundwave's intentions are completely honest.

Was already planning on it, Jazz said. Boss, what was all that about his link with his symbiotes?

His excess energy caused the link to come back on, Optimus said. Or so he said. I want to believe it was a sign of good faith, but Ratchet will find out for us one way or the other, and meanwhile his symbiotes are due for multiple interrogations.

Probably where Prowl's headed, Jazz nodded, a little smile creeping over his face as he rubbed the back of his hand, recalling where Prowl had set his lips. Interrogating Soundwave and his little terrors? Prowl's gonna be floating like he's on high grade for an orn.*

Like someone else I could mention, Optimus said, giving his shoulder a squeeze as he chuckled. "Let me know if there's any change."

Jazz froze as Optimus went by, and the growing smirk on Ironhide's face didn't help. The older mech laughed and clapped his hand on Jazz's back.

Now I get it, Ironhide said, jostling him with a grin. Finally noticed, huh? You know, for being head of Spec Ops, you sure can be blind sometimes.

'Blind'? Jazz gaped as he understood, watching Ironhide's back follow after Optimus. Wait...wait, what?

Nope, promised never to tell. Ironhide turned only to wag one finger at Jazz. But that mech runs silent in more ways than one, huh?

Stunned, Jazz stared at the empty doorway, his mouth pressed into a little quirk. A hot flush warmed his whole frame, and he looked down at himself. Was he standing awkwardly? Was his system humming differently? He tilted his head. No, he'd been humming a little...

TBC...