Some would probably have called it a waste of time. Said there were so many better ways to spend an evening. Complained about the noise.
Jazz thought they couldn't have been more wrong.
Sure, the noise was – well. He'd dampen his audial receptors, but then he'd miss the soft crooning as well.
Plus, the bitlet wasn't screaming to be a bother.
Privately, Jazz thought most healthy grown mechs would be screaming too, had they experienced the same. The kid had a right to scream his terrors out.
So instead of going back to his own quarters, or to the rec room, or wherever else where he wouldn't have to listen to the tortured howling, Jazz sat on Prowl's couch, memorizing the soft melody the Praxian was humming to soothe his small, terrified charge. Bluestreak was clinging to Prowl's plating, face pressed against his surrogate carrier's throat cables, as if that could muffle the screams. Tiny doorwings were trembling on his little grey back.
It was spark-shattering and spark-warming all at once.
Spark-shattering, because no bitlet should ever have to witness his creators dying or his city being destroyed around him. Because every scream out of Bluestreak's ragged vocalizer meant trauma it would take him years to work through, if he ever could. Because Jazz was most likely looking at the last Praxian sparkling in existence.
Spark-warming because of the way he was seeking comfort from the mech who was striving to be both carrier and creator to a bitlet not of his own spark. Because of Prowl's quiet, patient humming, the measured rocking walk across the floor, every movement and sound meant to soothe.
Jazz loved both of them in that moment. He was restraining himself so he wouldn't scare Blue even further, but he desperately wanted to join in that comfort and croon his own soothing counterpoint to Prowl's pleasant tenor.
It took a few hours, like it always did, before Bluestreak's desperate screaming settled down to quiet sobbing. Only then did Jazz stand up and walk over to his lover and his charge.
Their charge, if Prowl agreed to that.
"Shh, baby Blue," Jazz purred. "You're safe, bit." Carefully, making sure both Prowl and Blue were aware of what he was doing, he reached out and let one hand run gently down Bluestreak's back.
"Will you get his blanket?" Prowl's voice was still soft, and he was almost singing the words, following the melody he'd been humming.
Mech was a natural.
Jazz moved over to the small berth affixed to Prowl's and collected the fluffy blanket lining it. He draped it around Blue, taking care to keep his doorwings free – the first time they've been covered by a blanket, Bluestreak had thrown a fit unlike anything Jazz had ever seen. The same thing had happened when Ratchet had tried to dampen the sensors to ease his recharge. Bluestreak desperately needed to know there was open space and living frames around him. He needed the sensory input that the doorwings gave him.
Warm and finally calming down, Bluestreak's optics dimmed. Prowl kept rocking him until the bitlet was in deep recharge. Only then did he put the sparkling back in the berth.
"You should recharge, love," Jazz murmured. Prowl was probably more tired than he looked, though he looked tired enough – optics dim, doorwings low with exhaustion, plating matted…
… and a silly little smile on his face as he gazed down into the small berth.
He looked adorable.
"What if he wakes?" Prowl frowned, tearing his optics away from the recharging sparkling to meet Jazz's.
"I'll be watchin' him," Jazz promised. "I'll wake ya at the first hint o' trouble, I promise."
Prowl looked at him for a moment longer. Then he nodded and moved back on the berth, leaving room for Jazz between himself and the sparkling.
It was a huge show of trust. Jazz felt both honored and relieved – he'd been trying to convince his lover that he didn't have to do this alone, and it looked like he was finally succeeding. So he sat down carefully at the head of the berth, stretching his legs on the soft surface.
Chuckling silently when Prowl grabbed one leg, cuddling close and resting against it as if Jazz's leg was a pillow.
It didn't take long before the tactician was in recharge as well.
When he was in recharge, Prowl's stern countenance softened. The firm curve of his mouth relaxed, letting Jazz see the slight tilt upwards at the corners that was usually kept under such tight control.
Prowl's recharge-face was a happy one.
Bluestreak, on the other hand, never seemed to relax fully. His little fists were clenching on his blanket, a frown on his tiny face, tension in every line of his body. Jazz had no idea if the mechling was usually showing this much stress in his recharge, but he didn't like it.
Poor bitlet.
Cautiously, Jazz reached out and let one finger trace over the back of one of Bluestreak's small hands. At first the bitlet twitched, but then he settled as Jazz repeated the tiny motion over and over.
"There ya go," Jazz breathed. He turned slightly, supporting his weight on his elbow, his left hand still in the sparkling's berth. "There ya go, baby Blue. I ain't goin' anywhere. I'll be right here, takin' care of ya and Prowl." He took care to keep his voice quiet, silent enough to almost be completely inaudible – he didn't want to wake the Praxian who was still attached to his left leg.
"Easy, baby," he crooned. "Just recharge. I'm not gonna let anything get ya."
Bluestreak huffed in his recharge. Then his little hand opened, and he grabbed Jazz's finger, pulling it up to his face. He wasn't awake, thankfully, but Jazz froze all the same. He stayed still for several minutes, watching the mechling intently, until he was satisfied that he wasn't waking up.
He wasn't letting go of Jazz's finger, either.
Jazz chuckled silently. "Fine then, bit. Ya jus' keep holdin' on to me. Pleasant recharge, baby Blue."
Awkwardly, stiffly, Jazz settled in to recharge like that – half seated against the wall, one leg claimed by a recharging Praxian, and a terrified bitlet keeping a tight grip on his finger.
Strangely enough, he was happy like that.
The small sound startled Jazz out of recharge. He sat up fast, probably faster than he should have considering the sharp stabs of pain shooting up his back.
Not limber 'nough t' recharge sittin' up an' twisted like that anymore, mech.
The noise came again, and Jazz twisted towards the small berth on his right. Bluestreak still had a hold of his finger, but his little face was scrunched up, his doorwings vibrating.
Jazz didn't hesitate before picking the bit up and cradling him close to his spark.
"Hush, sweetspark. You're safe, love. Ain't no one here but you, me and Prowl. Ain't nothin' here gonna hurt ya." He hummed softly, rocking the whimpering sparkling as much as he could while still sitting in the berth. "Easy, Bluestreak. I got ya."
Bluestreak's small hands tightened on Jazz's plating, and he hid under Jazz's chin. The weight on his throat cables was a bit uncomfortable, but Jazz would take that any time if it helped.
And it clearly did. Bluestreak was calming down again.
"Need that spark hum, don't ya?" Jazz murmured. "Need t' feel a livin' mech close. That's alright, love. Ya can sleep on me if it helps. I don't mind." He stretched towards the small berth, reaching as much as he could without jostling the bitlet clinging to him, and managed to get hold of the fluffy blanket. With gentle, careful moves he covered the small shivering form, once again taking care to keep the doorwings clear.
"There ya go, love," he purred quietly. "There ya go. Hush now, bit. Ain't nothin' bad gonna happen to ya now. I'll take care o' ya." He nuzzled the tiny helm. "Can ya recharge some more for me? Ya can stay right here, if ya want. Ain't gonna put ya down."
Bluestreak sighed and mumbled, a tiny little noise that was almost buried in the quiet purr of Jazz's own frame, but there was no missing the way the small body relaxed against him.
Jazz grinned as he leaned back against the wall. Not the most comfortable position, but slag if he was going to move now. Not with Bluestreak back in recharge, taking comfort in Jazz's own spark.
He'd simply have to deal with the crimped cables in the morning. It would be worth it.
When Jazz woke next, it was to happy babbling. Also, someone was tugging at his visor.
A familiar voice chuckled next to him. "Careful, Bluestreak. Jazz needs that."
"Good mornin', loves." Jazz grinned as the tiny fingers were gently but firmly pulled away from his visor. "Recharge well?"
Bluestreak chirped again, patting his cheek, and Jazz onlined his optics.
Prowl was smiling at him. "Good morning, my Jazz. That doesn't look overly comfortable."
Jazz laughed, and Bluestreak chirped up at him with a happy smile on his small face. "It ain't, Prowler. But baby Blue wanted t' recharge on top o' someone."
"And like the utter sap you are, you volunteered," Prowl said fondly.
"O' course." Jazz grinned and tickled the sparkling crawling over his lap. Bluestreak fell to his back, giggling. "I wasn' about to wake ya, Prowler. Ya needed th' recharge. Besides, it looks like it worked."
"He's happy today," Prowl agreed. "Thank you, love. Come on, Bluestreak. Let's give Jazz a chance to get out of berth. Do you want to play with your toys today?"
Jazz watched as Prowl stood, picking up Bluestreak and carrying him over to the corner set aside for a play area. It was well stocked – there were few Autobots who hadn't leapt at the chance to do something for the only survivor of the carnage in Praxus.
Jazz sat up stiffly, wincing at the soreness in his neck and shoulders. "If ya don' mind, love, I'm gonna hit the wash racks. Maybe hot solvent can loosen some o' these crimps."
Prowl gave him a small smile. "I'll have energon ready for you for after."
Jazz grinned as he walked past them. "I'll hold ya t' that."
He was right, the hot solvent eased the soreness. And it fired up his processor properly, too.
He wanted what was back in that main room. He wanted to spend every night in Prowl's berth, with or without bitlet on top of him. He wanted to lie on his belly on the floor and watch Bluestreak play, and to cradle him close when he was crying. He wanted Prowl to fall asleep holding on to him again.
He wanted all of it.
Prowler, would ya… No. Maybe if I had a proper courtin' gift? Can such a thing be found anymore? Maybe if I… No, Praxus isn't safe. I can't send anyone there. And Iacon is in ruins, Blaster said so. He could barely find a place for his gig.
He turned, relaxing his plating to let the heat in underneath.
Prowl, I really want t' bond with you. Would you do me the honor of – I'll never be able t' say that with a straight face. Slag. He ran a hand across his face. I'll have t' wing it. Good think I'm good at that.
A quick drying off, and he walked back to the main room. Prowl was seated on the couch, a datapad in his hand and another on his lap, and Bluestreak was still playing happily on the floor. The mechling looked up and chirped at Jazz as he arrived, and Jazz grinned back.
It was perfect domestic bliss. And he wanted it so bad it hurt.
"Thought th' Prime told ya not t' take your work home with ya," Jazz joked as he sat down on the couch next to his lover. "You're on sparklin' leave, after all."
"This isn't work, Jazz," Prowl said softly. "I'm updating my personal information." He looked up from the datapad and shot Jazz a blinding grin. "Optimus has sent the adoption files for me to fill out. All I have to do is complete it, and it'll be binding. Bluestreak will be mine."
Ours, Jazz thought desperately. Please say he'll be ours, Prowler. He rested his chin on Prowl's shoulder, glancing down at the datapads. "So what's left?"
In response, Prowl angled the datapad so Jazz could see. "His name is entered. I have to fill out adoptive creators' information and check all these boxes. And then I need to update my own personnel file."
"Well, that should be fairly simple." Jazz pointed at the little square that said 'Adoptive carrier'. "That should say 'Prowl'."
Prowl chuckled. "Thank you, Jazz. I don't know how I would ever manage filling out paperwork without you." He entered his name in the little square.
"You're welcome," Jazz replied with an easy smile, his spark spinning madly in his chest. Suppressing the tremble in his fingers, he pointed to 'Adoptive sire'. "And that should say 'Jazz'."
He had never been more nervous in his entire existence.
Prowl paused and turned towards him, an inscrutable look in his optics. "It should?"
Jazz nodded, much more affirmatively than he felt. "It should."
Prowl pulled up the other datapad and activated it. "And on this one?"
Jazz leaned down further to get a closer look at Prowl's personnel file. "That should be simple, too." He pointed at 'Creation(s)'. "That should say 'Bluestreak'."
"It should." Prowl entered the mechling's designation, then glanced back at Jazz. "Is that all?"
"No." Another calming in-vent, to try and calm his raging spark and trembling hands. He pointed at 'Sire', next to Bluestreak's name. "That should say 'Jazz'." Then he moved his finger to 'Partner/mate', up near the top under Prowl's name. "And that should say 'Jazz'."
"It should?" That inscrutable gaze again. Sometimes Jazz wished his lover didn't have such a steel-clad control of his frame. It would have been nice to get just a little hint of what he was thinking.
"Yes." Jazz nodded.
"I see." Prowl deactivated the datapads and put them back on the table.
Without filling in Jazz's name anywhere.
Oh no. Jazz's spark plummeted. For a moment, he wanted to run, to get out of there and lick his wounds in peace.
But then Prowl spun back and reached for him, kissing every inch of Jazz's face and smiling tremulously.
"Do you mean that, Jazz?" He cradled Jazz's face, and Jazz could feel how Prowl's hands were trembling. "Do you really mean it?"
"I really mean it, love." Jazz's hands slid around Prowl's waist, pressing them closer together. "I want t' be yours in any way you'll have me. I want this – you and Blue. Always."
"Then yes," Prowl breathed, pulling back a bit. Exuberant blue optics met Jazz's visored gaze. "I love you, Jazz. I want you in my life forever."
Jazz couldn't not kiss him at that point. His spark was spinning so fast it near made him dizzy.
What was shaping up to be an activity better suited for the berth was interrupted by a bright, curious chirp. Small hands patted Jazz's arm.
Prowl smiled as he pulled back. "Hello, sweetling." He lifted Bluestreak up and placed him between you. "Jazz will be your adoptive sire. Can you say 'Jazz'?"
Bluestreak smiled. "Jazz."
Jazz melted. He reached for the mechling and pulled him close. "Yeah, Blue. Primus, I love you, bit. An' I love your carrier." He grinned over Bluestreak's happy clicks and snuggles. "We're gonna be good, ain't we?"
"No," Prowl replied softly, smiling at the two of them. "No, Jazz, we're going to be amazing."
Bluestreak chirped in apparent agreement, and Jazz laughed. "Yeah, Prowler. Yeah, we are." He winked. "Now finish your paperwork."
"Yes, my love." Prowl chuckled lightly as he reached for the datapads. Jazz watched as his partner, his mate as soon as they could bond, entered Jazz's name in the fields he had pointed out. Then Prowl held the datapad with the adoption file out towards Bluestreak. "Will you do the honors, Bluestreak? Press this sign?"
Bluestreak chirped happily and put two stubby fingers on top of the little icon.
A moment later, Jazz received a message.
Congratulations, Jazz. I am very happy for you. And I've put you on leave for the next three orns. That is the best I can do, I'm afraid, to let you celebrate such a momentous occasion, but rest assured that I will throw a party worthy of even your social skills on the day we can again be allowed to do so.
Give my love to your family.
He chuckled. "Prime is excited for us."
"Of course he is," Prowl said, tickling Bluestreak fondly. "He's Prime." He lifted Bluestreak up and bounced him a bit on his lap. "Do you want to visit the commissary with us today, sweetling? I think you may be ready for a trip outside." He grinned at Jazz. "And if you get scared again, your sire will be right there to protect you."
Jazz grinned. "Bet on it."
He'd always be there.