Greetings everybody! I know it has been a very long time since I have updated this story and I am sure at least a few of you were convinced I had given up on it. I haven't! I was slowly working on this update and then randomly decided that it could be my Christmas present to all of you, my wonderful readers. There is a more complete update after the chapter, for those of you who are interested in reading it.
As before, I cannot promise when the next update will come, so please, enjoy this one.
The glowing band of Jazz's visor filled Prowl's vision as he snapped back to awareness. His vents cycled sharply as his processors instantly recalled the moments immediately preceding the fail-safe's activation.
Bluestreak…
Pain spiked in his processor again and Prowl blinked his optic shutters in an attempt to clear the unwanted emotional input from his awareness. It did not work and only succeeded in making Jazz shake his shoulder platting a little.
"Prowler?" Jazz looked from him to the door at his back and back at him. "What the pit are ya doin' out here?"
Prowl stared at him mutely for a sparkbeat before his processors recalled the fact that he was sitting in the hallway outside his quarters, adding that data point to his recollection of why he had almost crashed. Bluestreak…
"Fail-safe." He croaked the words out of a vocalizer that wanted to spit static instead.
Jazz gave him an unreadable look. "Yeah. I figured that out." Then the silver minibot punched him in the chassis just hard enough to scratch his paint. "I told ya not to crash before we got to spar."
Prowl released a system full of hot air and let himself fall back against the door again. "My apologies…"
Jazz punched him again, slightly harder this time and Prowl looked at him, thoroughly confused now. "Shut up." The saboteur gave an exvent and then stood, offering Prowl a hand back to his peds. "Common, lets get ya to your berth."
"No!" Prowl pulled away with a shake of his helm and could all but see Jazz's optic ridges pull together in consternation, though nothing was visible behind his visor. Nevertheless he explained quickly. "Bluestreak is in my quarters."
Jazz frowned and looked behind Prowl again. The tactician saw the sensors on the smaller mech's sensor horns rotate almost imperceptibly to focus all their strength on what lay beyond the door. Then Jazz's lip plates pursed and he nodded once, the motion sharp and decisive.
"Good. Ya need ta talk to him."
Prowl shook his head again, feeling the pain building behind his optics. "He is in recharge. I… I can't. Not like I am now, not like this…"
"Nonsense. This is the perfect opportunity. He's here, you're here… I'm here to make sure you don't kill each other. It's private. And med bay is on this level if needed. Perfect." Jazz reached down to haul Prowl to his peds whether or not Prowl was ready to stand.
"No!" Pain spiked and blackness enveloped Prowl again.
… … …
Shame at his cowardice flooded Prowl's systems even as his processors struggled to boot up from the second activation of the fail-safe. Then his doorwings belatedly told him he was no longer in the hallway and panic superseded shame. He tried to stand only to find a small silver and black hand restraining him, pushing him onto a berth.
"Ya took a long time ta boot up this time. Ya alright?"
Prowl narrowed his optics and stared up into the concerned faceplate of his friend, belatedly recognizing where he was. He relaxed against the berth's surface as he ran a system scan of his processor. Jazz waited patiently for his answer.
"I think so." Prowl wanted to curse at how doubtful his voice sounded in his own audios.
"Ya think so?" Jazz hesitated then reached for Prowl's data port, though his clawed fingertips only brushed the surface of the armor covering the port. "May I check? Unless you'd rather go to med bay?"
Remembering Ratchet's fury at him over the fragmentation of Bluestreak's processor and feeling his whole frame shudder at the thought of facing the CMO's righteous fury again, Prowl merely nodded, transmitting an assenting signal as well.
Jazz was plugged into his port with swift movements and Prowl braced for the swirling milieu that was the Saboteur's processor as the automatic synchronization took over. Once that was done, Prowl allowed access to the appropriate systems. He only realized after he had done so that he was giving Jazz direct access to his command and emotional centers. To a mech who had interrogated him when he was still a Decepticon POW, on more than one occasion, Prowl felt perfectly safe exposing himself – his very essence – in so complete a manner. When had he come to trust Jazz so fully?
Even more astonishing was that Prowl could not identify that moment. Yet he could not deny that trust was there.
Prowl felt Jazz's hand tighten where black fingers were pressed against his armor, but the silver mech was too focused on what he was doing to spare processing power to reply to Prowl's thought process verbally. Such medical work was not, after all, Jazz's usual function. Only his modifications and skills as a special operations mech and skilled interrogator gave him the ability to do what he was doing now.
Odd that that fact did not cause Prowl any real concern. Perhaps it was because he had personally experienced Jazz's skill in that area. Perhaps it was because he was exhausted and his processors were muddled after two near crashes. Perhaps it was just because Jazz was his friend.
For some reason, that thought made Prowl want to keen as he remembered the pain he had not allowed himself to feel when he had first realized friendships were safe among the Autobots but that, because of who he was, he would never experience such a friendship again. Who in their right processor would befriend Megatron's senior tactician?
As Prowl processed that memory and its associated emotional files, juxtaposed with the realization that he did in fact have such a friendship now, a burning pain licked through his processors. It was not a tearing pain, but more of a sizzling lick of fire, much like what an external welding torch might cause.
Then it was gone, leaving Prowl's vents heaving.
"Holy Primus." Jazz whispered with a reverential awe that was most unlike him.
Prowl onlined his optics to see Jazz was staring down at him. "That bad?" It took every ounce of the self-control he had not to let his vocals shake.
"I've never seen anything like that before." Jazz gently removed his cord, letting Prowl slide the protective casing back into place. "Ratch put an artificial framework between your logic and emotional cortexes right? That was easy to spot."
"The hope was that my processors would eventually use that framework to build new connections of its own." Prowl confirmed, sitting up as Jazz stepped back to give him room. He was pleased his voice sounded much more centered.
Jazz gave him a look Prowl could not read through the visor. "Well, I just witnessed the first connection forged by your own processor."
Prowl just stared. Was that what that burning sensation had been? "Only one?"
Jazz cocked his helm, though his expression became very solemn. "Yeah. And it looks like there might be a few places where the artificial connection is fraying. I think ya should have Ratch take another look at it…patch it up before that gets worse, ya know?"
Prowl shuttered his optics and cycled his vents heavily. What were the chances that his processors would ever recover completely if forging just one connection was so traumatic? Especially if the artificial framework was already in need of being mended before it too shattered? Somewhere in the back of his processor Prowl had just assumed his glitch would eventually right itself.
"Get some recharge Prowler." Jazz stepped forward to put a hand on his shoulder, gently encouraging him to recline back on the berth again. "Ya have been through a lot in only a few orns. Things might not seem as overwhelming after a good recharge." That signature smirk reappeared. "And I want ya rested for our sparing match tomorrow."
Feeling as week as a decaorn old sparkling, Prowl let himself be pushed back onto the berth. "What about you?"
"I'm used ta rechargin' in tha field." Jazz gave an eloquent shrug of his shoulders. "I'll manage."
"But…" Prowl tried to sit up again, but Jazz held him down.
Jazz's smirk widened into a genuine smile as he jerked his helm toward the side wall. "I had an emergency berth brought in. I told ya it took a while for ya to reboot. I was gonna call Ratchet if it had taken even a breem longer."
Prowl looked the direction Jazz had indicated and saw that an emergency berth had indeed been pushed against the far wall. Satisfied, and feeling his drained systems begin to shut down on their own, Prowl nodded. Then, before he could be faced with the added indignity of passing out, he triggered his own recharge cycle.
… … …
Smokescreen released a heavy vent of air as he triple checked that everything was properly secured for what was left of the night shift. There were only a handful of joors left before the day shift would be taking his place – Primus he was glad Prowl was back, Smokescreen had no idea how Prowl got everything done in one shift – but he knew better than to take a chance with security. Especially after that near disaster with the AllSpark.
He was just finishing the final check when his doorwings picked the approach of another Praxian. Not even an astrosecond later Fusion cleared his vents.
Smokescreen looked up. "Long orn eh?"
"For all of us, sir." Fusion's doorwings drooped in an outward expression of the weariness they all felt. Then he smiled. "But at least Commander Prowl managed to pull a victory out f it."
Smokescreen blinked. Commander Prowl? Then his optics narrowed. While Fusion was carefully formal with Prowl, such formality with him was a new development for Fusion. "Yes. Fusion, what's on your processor?"
Fusion looked down. "I didn't mean to take your place as the Commander's apprentice. I didn't even trust him all that much when he offered to train me personally."
With an internal sigh of air he did not let escape his vents, Smokescreen turned all his attention to the younger tactician. There was something about Fusion's field that indicated this was not what was truly on Fusion's mind. Nevertheless, Smokescreen merely answered part of the concern that had been vocalized. "But you trust him now?"
Fusion grimaced and looked away. "I think… He wants me to sync with him. I am not opposed in theory. I mean, I know he is loyal and all and would not intentionally hurt me." He nodded but it was more to himself than to Smokescreen. "But… you do not think negatively about my reticence in this matter?"
Smokescreen stared at him and then laughed so hard his vents seized. Optics widening in alarm Fusion pounded his back plating, physically resetting his vents. "Glad you find this amusing."
Smokescreen shook his head, raising a hand in a placating gesture as he reset his vocalizer as well. "No…" His vents hitched again. "It's just…You have been spending a lot of time with Prowl: you've picked up his habit of using formal verbiage when stressed."
"Excuse me?" Fusion's doorwings shot upward, then his optics slowly widened, then his frame flushed with heat as he buried his helm in one hand, his doorwings drooping. "Primus help me." Then he went still and looked at Smokescreen again. "You haven't answered my question, sir."
Smokescreen, still suppressing a laugh shook his helm. "I think you are denying yourself a rare and priceless opportunity. If he had not already proven his loyalty and his character numerous times I wouldn't be so fast to say you're being stupid not to embrace what he can teach you."
Fusion jerked backward, doorwings flicking. Then he offered a tiny smile. "I guess. But I was so hard on him…"
Smokescreen shook his helm, cutting the younger mech off. "He never blamed you and still doesn't hold that against you, you know. He knows very well what he was and believe me when I tell you he will hold the trust you give him, if you do, as a precious gift."
Then Smokescreen frowned. "I thought you had already synced with him… you have been working together…"
"It's always been one way…through a hub." Fusion confessed softly, looking down at where his hands grasped a data pad.
Smokescreen just stared. He had seen the two offensive tacticians deeply engrossed in synced processes at least a dozen times within the last two decaorns alone. And all of those had been a one-way connection? Prowl had never said anything… Forcibly Smokescreen shook off the feeling of hurt he wanted to feel that Prowl had never told him about that because he knew that, in all probability, Prowl had simply not considered it worth mentioning.
Fusion glanced up at him and winced visibly. "I know. I know that wasn't fair. But… He never said anything about it once we started so I just…"
"Primus above, mech!" Smokescreen finally found his vocal processor again, repressing the urge to grab the younger Praxian by his shoulder guards and give him a good shake. "You've been inside his processor enough to know he wouldn't say anything. Or you should know that. So long as he thinks that's as far as you will trust him, he will never say anything, since what you are doing doesn't require a two way synch. He's never going to push you like that, especially not after your initial hostility."
Smokescreen huffed, his armor platting flaring a little in his irritation and he did not give Fusion a chance to answer. "Pit. He respects you too much for that."
"He… respects…me?"
The genuine astonishment on Fusion's faceplate was enough to cool Smokescreen's exasperation. "You are a fellow Autobot, and a living spark. He wouldn't force that type of trust on anyone out of basic respect. But he would not have offered to teach you if he did not respect what you already know and the potential he sees in you."
Fusion gave himself a little shake, loosening armor platting to settle more firmly against his frame. Then he shook his helm. "I've been a fool, haven't I"
"Overly cautious, more like." Smokescreen snorted air through his vents and shook his helm. "But then, I doubt Prowl wouldn't have been so interested in teaching you if your personality was more quick to trust someone like him."
"Oh." Fusion's optics unfocused for a long moment and Smokescreen let him think, using the break in the discussion on lock down his terminal and stand, stretching his dorsal plating.
"I almost forgot." Fusion said, snapping back to himself and handing the datapad toward Smokescreen. "I had an idea… for the protection of the AllSpark. I know I am not on the team specifically assigned to that topic, but the more I learn from Prowl, the more I got to thinking and… would you take a look at it?"
Smokescreen frowned. "Why not take it directly to Prowl?"
"I…" Fusion shifted his weight from pede to pede. "It is so unorthodox, and extreme, I am not sure he… that is, I would like… I mean…" His voice dropped to a barely audible whisper. "I don't want to disappoint the Commander. I was hoping you would give me your analysis, help me fill in the weak spots, so that when I did take it to him…"
"It would be almost complete." Smokescreen finished for him and crossed his arms over his chassis as his processor began to race. Fusion had never been more than a senior technician and analyst. As far as he could remember, the younger Praxian had never produced anything but – admittedly brilliant – analysis. He had never had a role on the planning side of any assignment. Thus, Fusion's anxiety about disappointing Prowl was understandable in a way. Especially the way Prowl had become short tempered lately and less caring than normal about insulting mech's feelings. More than normal, anyway.
Yes, Prowl had been an aft these last few orns, no mistake about that. Perhaps he should have a word with Prowl about that: an official word as his second in command. Smokescreen frowned; that was not something he looked forward too.
He was about to hold out his hand for the data pad, which doubtlessly contained said plan, but stopped before more than a couple of servos had twitched.
Fusion needed to learn to trust Prowl. How could Prowl effectively teach the mech, if Fusion would not take things to him for critique? What would Prowl do in his place?
Finally he shook his head. "Prowl is your mentor, now. While he may one day have me tutor you in defensive tactics, he cannot judge how your training is progressing unless you let him help you fine tune a plan." Then he smiled. "bad mood or not, you know he won't be cruel. Just… try not to take things personally. You know he doesn't mean to insult people."
Fusion's doorwings trembled faintly then stilled. Then an abashed smile tipped his faceplates and he chuckled self depreciatingly. "I guess if I'm going to trust him to do a true sync, it would be silly not to trust him enough to present this to him as it is."
Smokescreen smiled. "Exactly. Anything else, mech?"
Fusion thought for an astrosecond and then shook his helm. "No sir, I don't think so. Thank you for your time."
Smokescreen watched Fusion return to his consol and shut it down. When the copper colored mech turned to head toward the door, Smokescreen realized he had failed to address Fusion's initial concern. He called out to Fusion.
"Sir?" Fusion asked, looking back at him respectfully.
Smokescreen gave him a tiny smile. "You did not replace me as Prowl's apprentice, Fusion, though I'll admit it felt like that initially. As Prowl reminded me, he will always be my mentor, even if I've officially graduated from his tutelage." Smokescreen shook his helm. "Embrace the opportunity, Fusion, and don't worry about what anyone else may think about it, including me; it is not one that is offered to many."
Fusion's entire posture relaxed as soon as he processed those words and he smiled gratefully. "I will. Thank you, sir."
Smokescreen shook his helm as the door closed behind Fusion, even as he made his way to the exit himself, pausing to exchange a brief status report with the oncoming shift leader. Only when he was finally on his way back to his quarters did he admit to himself just how much he wanted to know just what 'unorthodox plan Fusion had concocted.
Pit take his overdeveloped sense of propriety and responsibility. Now he did not even know enough about the plan to be able to set up a betting pool as to the likelihood that Prowl would approve it for implementation.
Slaggit.
… … …
When Prowl booted up he came to with an awareness of dull desperation and a mortification at how much of a fool he had made of himself. In the hallway, no less. He released a sigh of heated air, allowing himself to wallow in his humiliation for several sparkbeats. How pathetic he had allowed himself to become and, having taken place in the hallway, no doubt a recording of his breakdown would eventually find its way into circulation.
And then the Twins would no doubt find out about it.
He released another sigh of air. There was nothing he could do about it now, of course and he should just resign himself to facing the humiliation he rightly deserved for allowing himself to become so…so…
"I hacked the security system." Jazz said out of nowhere. "Did it while ya were out the second time."
Prowl blinked and turned his helm to look at where Jazz was still reclined on the temporary berth he had brought to his quarters. The silver minibot was lying on his side, helm propped up by his lower hand as an azure visor regarded him keenly.
"Indeed?" It was a senseless reply and Prowl would have slapped his faceplate into his palm except he was already humiliated enough.
"Oh no ya don't." Jazz sat up, sliding his pedes to the ground and standing in one smooth, predatory motion that instantly made Prowl uneasy. "No slippin' back behind that mask of yours. Ya know you are glad I did that and you know I know you are. So just thank meh for coverin' for your aft and move on to more important things."
Prowl blinked, and, deciding it would be foolish to stay on his back with Jazz towering over him like an avenging cyberangel, sat up on the berth. Then, gathering as many threads of his dignity as he could manage, bowed his helm formally. "Thank you, Jazz."
Jazz put his hands on his hip joints with an irritated harrumph. "Right." He paused for a moment then his posture softened fractionally. "You're welcome."
An uncomfortable silence settled between them. Or at least it was uncomfortable for Prowl. Jazz did not seem bothered in the least.
"Right." Jazz said again, giving Prowl a sudden smile that was as giddy as he had been predatory a sparkbeat earlier, and slapped Prowl on the shoulder plating. "Let's go! Training room is awaiting us, but I changed it to a different room!"
Prowl heaved another sigh of air, but knew there would be no getting out of this sparing match. Thus he levered himself to his pedes then, allowing Jazz's mischievousness to rub off on him a little gestured gallantly to the door, his expression perfectly serious. "Then far be it for us to keep the training room waiting."
Jazz froze, lip plates falling partially open.
Seeing Jazz was momentarily speechless, Prowl turned and left the saboteur standing there so that the minibot would not see the tiny smirk that escaped his control.
Of course mere seconds later his doorwings picked the silver mech's approach as Jazz hurried to catch up with him.
"Was that a joke?" Jazz hissed.
"Everyone knows that I have no sense of humor, Jazz." Prowl replied mildly.
There was a moment of silence. "You're an aft."
… … …
The training room Jazz led Prowl to was a dull, plain gray affair. It was a utilitarian structure designed for sparring without any attempt to honor a traditional martial arts dojo. Likewise, there was no holographic matrix in the room, so the stark metal of the room's interior would stay that way. That surprised Prowl a little, but he decided not to comment on it. Then his finely tuned doorwings picked up the faint but tale tell signature of dried energon. It was on the floor and the walls. There was not so much energon that it was likely a mech was offlined here, but it was still an odd thing to find. Unless… his processor recalled similar scenes from his time serving in Praxus.
Prowl eyed Jazz speculatively. "It is against Autobot regulations for…"
Jazz waved a hand, cutting him off even as the smaller mech secured the room doors. "Nah. This is just where mechs go to work off a grudge. It's not like mechs are forcing anyone to fight. And the sensors are offline so no one can bet on the matches either."
Prowl's optics narrowed and he said nothing as he quickly reviewed every regulation at his disposal. It was questionable, riding the edge of legality, but not quite crossing that line. The fact that the room was not an official training room explained why the spilled energon had not been cleaned by the maintenance bots.
Instead of commenting further on that matter, he focused on another aspect of Jazz's explanation. "I was not aware we had a grudge to settle."
Jazz turned back to him with a cocky grin plastered across his faceplate. "Nope. This is for your self esteem." The grin turned cheeky. "Without sensors, ain't no other mech ever gonna see you get your aft whupped."
Prowl's doorwings flared upward before he could catch them and he reminded himself that this was just Jazz being Jazz. Instead of denying that he would be defeated he merely cocked an optic ridge. "And who is to say it will not be you who is defeated?"
"Even more reason not ta have a recording of it!" Jazz laughed outright and Prowl felt himself relax a little more. "I take it you would prefer Interdojo Rules apply?"
"If the purpose of this is to burn off emotional energy, then yes." Prowl nodded.
"Modified then." Jazz shook his helm. "Because my purpose is to see if I can kick your aft."
Without any further warning, Jazz launched himself at Prowl.
Except that, knowing Jazz, Prowl had expected a move like that. Prowl countered the flying kick with a sidestep and a redirect of the minibot's momentum that would have thrown another mech to the ground. But somehow Jazz managed to rotate and flip so that he landed on his pedes in a predatory crouch. Azure optics met sapphire visor and both mech's shared a small, predatory grin or, in Prowl's case, the barest tip of lip plate.
Then they were moving again. Jazz, zipping in to try and land a blow to Prowl's helm, but the Praxian avoided the blow, using his larger mass to try and bowl Jazz to the ground. But Jazz sidestepped the charge and returned with a sweep of his pedes designed to send the Praxian to the ground. Except, Prowl's legs were no longer there.
Jazz ducked the kick and then surged upward, hands clamping magnetically to the larger mech's leg. He pushed and Prowl lost his balance, but somehow Prowl managed to hook his free leg around Jazz's torso and both mech crashed to the ground. Prowl managed to flick a doorwing out of Jazz's reach at the last moment and swung at the silver helm in retaliation only to find that the lithe minibot had somehow gotten free of his hold and was able to catch his wrist and redirect the momentum of his blow.
Prowl's frame was not intended to bend in the direction Jazz attempted to bend it and Prowl retaliated by violently bucking his frame and twisting, using his greater mass to throw Jazz away from himself.
Once again, Jazz turned the uncontrolled flight into a graceful flip, landing against the far wall pede first. Prowl had only an instant to be impressed with such a maneuver before Jazz was attacking again. This time, the silver mech managed to strike true, his black fist impacting Prowl's chassis with a resounding clang. But the victory of first-energon was short lived as, mere astroseconds later, Prowl managed to land a blow that dented plating along Jazz's shoulder.
As protocol demanded, they backed away from each other to circle warily.
"Ya aren't even dented." Jazz complained as he popped out the dents on his shoulder plating with experienced contortions of the affected arm, all without ever leaving his guarded stance.
"An enforcer's frame is designed to absorb a lot of damage." Prowl replied mildly.
Jazz's visor glinted ambiguously at that statement. Then he attacked again. This time, however the fight was not an all out, barely controlled attempt to land a blow first. This time it was the carefully applied series of attacks and parries of a highly trained warrior. Prowl blocked and feinted, returning each strike with blows of his own that were likewise blocked. It was a dance of precisely wielded brutality and the longer it continued the faster the two participants moved until all an outside observer would have been able to see was a swirling mass of metal.
They moved in perfect timing with each other, as if the whole fight was choreographed. Until Jazz broke the pattern, aiming a vicious kick at Prowl's knee joint. Even though he had halfway expected a dirty trick like that, Prowl was still not quite able to either avoid or block the blow and the joint buckled from the force of the kick.
Not about to give up easily, however, Prowl managed to twist just enough as he fell to slam the leading edge of one doorwing into Jazz's helm. It was not a hard enough blow to seriously damage the smaller mech, and the impact probably hurt Prowl just as much as it did Jazz. But the look of indignant surprise on Jazz's faceplate was intensely satisfying to Prowl following Jazz's dirty trick, even though he knew the doorwing would be excruciating as soon as he rerouted the sensitivity back to the sensors.
Then Jazz laughed, slumping to the floor beside Prowl, his vents cycling rapidly.
Prowl looked at him curiously, his vents also heaving to cool his frame. Jazz looked back at him and they held gazes for a long moment.
"I know I kicked your aft at least once." Jazz stated definitively.
Prowl blinked, then snorted air through his vents even as he turned to assess his injured knee. "An enforcer's frame is especially thick in potentially vulnerable areas. I felt nothing."
Jazz's engine made a choking noise and then he laughed to the point he lost his balance and fell to his back, staring up at the ceiling. "So, you admit, you are a hard-aft!" He laughed so hard his vents seized.
With an annoyed growl of his engine, Prowl reached over and gave the smaller mech a hard blow to the chassis. Jazz coughed, the blow clearing and resetting his vents, before they started humming normally – if still rapidly – again. Jazz rubbed the area Prowl had hit.
"Ow." Jazz reached up to finger his dislocated sensor horn. "Primus, Prowl. Lighten up; it was a joke."
Prowl froze, his fingers in the process of untwisting a wire that had gotten caught behind a gear. Jazz was right. And, as much as Prowl was loath to admit it, even to himself; it was funny. A little. Then what Jazz had said about kicking his aft, or rather what Jazz really meant by saying that, finally registered.
Air gushing through his own vents Prowl abandoned his knee joint and let himself slump to the ground next to Jazz. Jazz, who was his friend and who he had just recently trusted enough to give unfettered access to his core programming. Jazz's statement about kicking his aft had been a joke as much at himself as at Prowl; a tacit acknowledgement that he had been unable to actually defeat Prowl, even when fighting dirty.
Why had Prowl taken it as an insult?
"Eh, I guess I had that coming." Jazz spoke lightly, as if somehow reading Prowl's processor. Again. The minibot sat up and looked down at Prowl. "So, honestly, how long have ya wanted to beat me up?"
"I never…" Prowl stopped when Jazz flipped his visor up in order to more effectively lift an optic ridge in silent challenge. Prowl huffed. "I don't recall ever consciously wishing such a thing, Jazz."
"Hm."
It was Prowl's turn to lift an optic ridge. "Why? Is there a reason I should want to beat you up?"
The visor snapped back into place and the cheeky grin was back on the minibot's lip plates. "I can't think of a single thing!" Jazz rolled to his feet in a movement that would have been the envy of any acrobot. "C'mon, let's go get patched up before tha duty shift."
Prowl accepted the hand Jazz offered to help him back to his feet, though his optics narrowed at Jazz's quick denial. "I am not sure I believe you, Jazz."
Jazz started to say something then closed his lip plates. They walked for several minutes in a silence Prowl was loath to break, aware that Jazz was suddenly pensive. Well, he knew the special operations mech well enough by now to know Jazz would speak when he was ready. At least Jazz was going to trust him enough to drop the carefree façade, he calculated a 88.582% probability Jazz would eventually share what was on his processor. While he waited, Prowl turned his own processor toward the various reports filed by his staff during his absence.
"So… ya had access to my personal files." Jazz murmured, breaking the silence between them.
Prowl's attention snapped immediately and completely back to his friend. Prowl considered Jazz, his processor mulling over the question implied by that statement. "You gave me the codes in order to retrieve the information necessary to extract you from Tyger Pax." Prowl reminded Jazz softly.
"Yeah." Air gusted through Jazz's engine, the word infused with so much innuendo it was heavier than lead.
Prowl just managed to keep his engine from growling, stifling his irritation; Jazz should know he was not the best at understanding the subtleties of interpersonal communication.
Then comprehension hit Prowl like a constructicon's pile driver. "I told you I would only access the files specific to the problem in Tyger Pax."
Jazz nodded, his frame relaxing imperceptibly. "Thanks Prowler. I guess I just needed to hear ya say as much."
Prowl opened his lip plates, then shut them, saying nothing. While his words were intended to reassure, Prowl had not actually stated that he had not accessed other personal files on Jazz's computer. It was a testimony of how much Jazz trusted him that the minibot so readily accepted the reassurance. As Prowl considered the interplay of trust and loyalty between them, reflecting on the realities of their friendship, he felt another burning lick of pain in his processor.
Hissing, Prowl lifted a hand to his helm, staggering against the wall.
"Slaggit all! What now?" Jazz was at his side in an instant, running a scan over him.
"Processor." Prowl managed to grate out, then slumped against the wall, his vents heaving as the pain faded. "I sincerely hope that was another forged connection."
"So long as it wasn't the one ya got getting severed. C'mon, we're almost there." Jazz slipped his shoulder under Prowl's arm and all but towed him to the medbay. "Ya aren't gonna crash in the hallway again, not on my watch."
"That is not an encouraging thought." Prowl murmured, though he obediently picked up his pace. As much as he dreaded facing Ratchet again, he could not deny that an examination by a trained medic was necessary. Besides, the tirade from Ratchet would be even worse if he delayed needed medical work on his processor.
… … …
Ratchet did not disappoint in his harangue of Prowl's various and – at least according to Ratchet - numerous short comings, though he also gleefully included Jazz as an enabler of disproportionate shortsighted stupidity. Jazz noted Prowl had slipped back into his careful guise of dispassionate implacability. Jazz was impressed, as always, with Prowl's poise in the face of the furious CMO.
For his own part, as soon as Ratchet slammed his cord into place to begin the diagnostic synch with Prowl, Jazz strategically slipped out of the medbay, leaving the tactician to face his fate alone. He was not running. No, not at all. He just had something that needed to be done and this was as good a time as any to see it done.
That he happened to avoid any further biting retorts from Ratchet was just an added bonus.
Jazz sauntered through the halls, nodding and waving to the mechs and femmes he passed with his customary jauntiness, keeping a grin plastered on his faceplate. The silver minibot only allowed the smile to fade when he was again standing in front of Prowl's quarters.
Once there he hesitated an astrosecond and then quickly hacked the lock. But when the door opened, it was empty inside. Bluestreak was no longer there.
"Bolts and nuts!" Jazz harrumphed softly. Then he plugged his cord into the wall access for the base mainframe and hacked the various sensor feeds. Within astroseconds he had located Bluestreak: mess hall. Then Jazz frowned, identifying the two mechs sitting with the youngling. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe.
Slaggit.
Jazz flicked his cable back into storage and hurried to the mess hall, though he was careful not to make it obvious he was hurrying.
Once there, Jazz plastered his most harmless smile into place and swaggered into the busy dining area. Waving jauntily, Jazz wove his way through the otherwise oblivious crowd, aiming toward where one young Praxian and two frontliners were sitting hunched together over a corner table.
He came to a halt, as if surprised to see them there. "Bluestreak! I wasn't expectin' ta see ya here. Isn't your lesson with Moonracer first shift?"
Bluestreak blinked wide optics at him "Um…" He looked down. "Not til half a joor from now."
"Bug off Jazz." Sunstreaker snarled. "Bluestreak doesn't need another guardian mucking in his life."
Jazz gave the golden mech a pointed glare. "Nah, he doesn't. He already has a guardian, and a damn good one."
Three engines growled in unison and Bluestreak's doorwings flicked, first downward in pain then upward in anger. "Prowl isn't my guardian!"
The shrill yell was enough to cause a momentary lull in the conversation of those around them as mechs glanced their way. But, Bluestreak did not notice as his optics blazed, his whole frame trembling.
"Prowl lied to me. He is the reason my creators are dead. He should never have been my caretaker. I hate him!"
Jazz sighed as the murmuring started around them, realizing at least that Bluestreak was not even angry about the fragmentation. "He feels guilty about what happened ta your creators, that doesn't mean he actually is."
"You can't know that!" Bluestreak spit at him.
"Neither can you." Jazz pointed out, a part of his processor noting that Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were exchanging looks. He would need to watch them.
"I felt his guilt. Right before he fragmented me." Bluestreak leaned forward, hands braced on the table, doorwings trembling violently.
"You fragmented yourself by disconnecting from an active sync without withdrawin' your processor. Prowl took a worse fragmentation savin' ya from your own foolishness." Jazz leaned toward the younger mech, realizing in a flash of intuitive understanding that gentleness would not get through to him. "Ya might have felt his guilt, but I've actually seen his memories. I know he aint the reason your creators died."
Bluestreak just stared at him, his field as turbulent as his doorwings. Jazz continued to meet the Praxian's defiant stare with a silent challenge.
"If he wasn't at fault, why didn't he say anything?"
For all that Bluestreak was in an adult frame, the plaintive whine in that question belied him as a youngling he still was in spark and processor. Instead of backing off, Jazz stayed just as intense. "He tried. I know he offered to show ya what really happened and ya threw his offer and all tha kindness he has given ya back in his face."
Jazz reached out, albeit gently, and grabbed Bluestreak's collar strut and pulled him forward even as he leaned down toward the youngling. Jazz dropped his voice so that no one but Bluestreak could hear him. "Your guardian is so torn up about what happened, what is happenin', between ya he crashed last night just outside the door to his quarters because he knew you were in there and was terrified of hurting ya again."
Bluestreak's optics widened and Jazz released him, straightening. "As mad as ya may be with him, ya owe Prowl a chance to explain fully. You might still hate him afterward, but he deserves that opportunity. Ya both do."
Before Bluestreak could reply, Jazz spun on his heel strut and stormed out of the mess hall. It was only once he was back in the corridor that Jazz realized his frame was trembling just as violently as Bluestreak's had been.
"You do not look well." A highly cultured, somewhat arrogant voice came from directly behind him.
Jazz's engine growled as he turned to face the former Decepticon spy. "Someday ya are gonna get your aft handed to ya, sneakin' up on mechs like that."
"It is hardly my fault that my systems are unusually silent." Mirage lifted his chin, looking down at him. "I'm sure you have never accidentally 'snuck' up on other mechs, after all."
Jazz just scowled up at him. "Accidentally, right. I don't have tha patience to deal with another youngling's temper tantrum right now. Go somewhere else, Mirage."
Jazz spun away, but Mirage followed him.
"I am sorry Jazz." They arrogance was gone from the white mech's voice, though is remained cultured and Jazz glanced up at him. "It's just… I have gotten so used to keeping others on the defensive. The Decepticons…"
"Yeah, I know." Jazz cut him off. "But I'm serious, Mirage. I only just got back from a mission, my best friend's youngling is intent on wrecking his own life and…"
"Of course. I heard what happened." Mirage glanced over his shoulder back toward the mess hall. "Bluestreak is a fool."
Jazz's engine growled again. "So are ya, for not leaving me alone when I asked ya to."
Mirage ducked his chin, though he still continued to pace alongside Jazz. "I am sorry Jazz. But… no one else will let me train with them. I've been twiddling my servos since you left on… whatever that mission was. You mentioned getting me an assignment? A patrol or something?"
Jazz groaned, but Mirage was right. "Right."
He quickly perused the patrol schedule, though he knew the only mechs who would even consider allowing a mech like Mirage to accompany them were the Twins. And he was not about to trust them, let alone ask them for such a favor, not after what just happened.
Well, he wouldn't mind getting out of the base again. With another sigh of air through his vents he decided on a patrol route that would last three orns, assigned that route to himself and then assigned Mirage under his command and filed all of that with the appropriate servers in the appropriate departments then made the appropriate requisitions and changed his course to collect sufficient energon for the mission..
Then Jazz looked at Mirage, his optics glinting behind his visor. "Come with me."
… … …
By the time Prowl walked into the tactical command center, he had reviewed all the reports filed since he had left to retrieve Jazz. Ratchet had ranted and raved at him the entire time he had examined his processor, though since they were synched, the raving had been inside his own head as well as verbal. Not a pleasant experience. Definitely something he had no desire to repeat any time soon. Preferably never.
But, as Ratchet tinkered with the artificial framework between his emotional and logic cores – the irate medic never deigned to explain what he was doing – his emotional cortex had continued to settle. By the end, he felt much more emotionally stable than he had since Bluestreak had rejected his guardianship.
Furthermore, while it might have been his imaginative subroutines – as little used as they might be – Ratchet's vitriol had morphed to something more like concern by the time he was unceremoniously dismissed from the medical bay.
Smokescreen's welcome was one of relief, Fusion's with an unaccountable shyness and the others with varying degrees of genuine regard. Apparently no one in the senior command staff had shared the sordid details of how he had been responsible for the Decepticon's nearly claiming the AllSpark. That eased something in Prowl's spark, something that the tactician shied away from investigating enough to accurately define what it was. Instead, he used the initial briefing to review the department's performance during the recent skirmish over the AllSpark, pointing out weak areas that needed improvement as well as complimenting their strengths and successes.
If his staff were surprised at the sudden return of civility in their commander, Prowl ignored the few indicators he saw.
"Excuse me, Commander Prowl?" Fusion approached him diffidently, having not dispersed with the rest of the staff following the briefing. Instead, the younger tactician was clasping a datapad to his chassis with both hands as he stopped a polite distance away, his field flaring in a polite entreaty.
"Yes, Fusion?"
Fusion started to say something then stopped, thought for a second then tapped his fingers nervously on the back of the datapad. "I have something I'd like to discuss with you, sir."
It was not said out loud, but Prowl was easily able to deduce that Fusion wanted a private meeting or he would have just said what he wanted to say. Prowl squelched a flash of discomfort, remembering all to well Fusion's well established distrust. Instead, he merely nodded. "Of course, come with me."
Turning, he led Fusion to his office. Fusion followed and then shut the door behind himself. Then the copper mech stared at the closed portal for several long astroseconds.
"I have not seen you this anxious before, Fusion." Prowl observed mildly.
Fusion's doorwings flicked and then stilled before the younger mech turned, still grasping the datapad. "I'm sorry Prowl."
Prowl blinked. That was… unexpected. Finally he shook his helm. "Fusion…"
"No." Fusion winced but hurried on, taking a step toward Prowl. "I'm sorry I've not trusted you enough to let you teach me as you offered."
Prowl cocked an optic ridge. "Fusion, you have been…"
"Unfair. I have been unfair making you do all of that through a one-way sync all this time. I mean, at first, before I realized how much you really were trustworthy but then... And I just… What I mean is you have been really…"
Prowl stared for an astrosecond as Fusion rambled, reminded momentarily of Bluestreak. Recovering swiftly, Prowl held up a hand, cutting Fusion off. "Fusion, please. I do understand how difficult it has been for you to trust me as much as you have. While I do appreciate your apology, continuing to feel guilt over a perfectly understandable situation is not logical."
Fusion stared for a moment and then heaved a sigh of air, his entire frame drooping. "You aren't upset with me."
It was a statement, but it elicited a tiny huff of amusement of Prowl that was not exactly a chuckle. "Fusion, you have been in my processor enough times that if I was upset with the arrangement, you would know."
That got an actual chuckle from Fusion. "Yes, sir. I guess I would." Heat flushed his frame. "That is… Smokescreen said as much. I feel stupid."
Prowl shook his helm, gesturing to the chair opposite his own. "You may be anxious, but you are far from stupid, Fusion. If you were stupid you would not be in this department. Is that all?"
"Oh. No, sir." Fusion hurried forward and took the seat, belatedly holding out the datapad. As expected, Fusion would not take up their time like this strictly for personal matters. "I had an idea about protecting the AllSpark."
Intrigued, Prowl took the datapad and began to peruse the information on the screen.
"I know that isn't my assignment, but…"
"I have seen all the department reports," Prowl cut him off, "I am well aware you have not allowed your assigned duties to suffer. I always welcome fresh insights from my staff so long assigned duties are not neglected. And as my apprentice, initiative is a very valuable trait. Do not make excuses for doing what you are being trained to do."
Fusion relaxed further as Prowl continued to read. Once Prowl was finished, he said nothing for a long moment. Innovative indeed. He himself would never have considered something so… unthinkable. A part of Prowl's processor wanted to reject the very premise of Fusion's idea, just on principle, because of how the Decepticon's used the technology. But another part of his processor acknowledged the effectiveness of that same technology. And they need not implement it the same manner the Decepticons did. Quickly he ran the basic idea through his battle computer.
When Fusion began fidgeting nervously, Prowl glanced up.
"Impressive." Prowl said slowly as his battle computer fed back preliminary results of its analysis and he saw Fusion's frame relax again. "There are still some details that will need to be worked out before we can take this proposal to the Prime, but it is perhaps one of the best ideas we have generated yet."
Fusion's optics widened and his field all but radiated pleasure at the compliment, but muted with shock and relief as well. An interesting combination to be sure, but Fusion was young yet and, if Prowl was not mistaken, this was the first time he had ever proposed something so important.
"You really think it can work, Commander?" The question was breathless.
Prowl nodded. "Assuming we can convince the mechs needed to make it work, of course. Now, the first thing that needs to be clarified is this…"
Fusion bent over the desk to look at where Prowl was pointing.
"Yes, sir. I was thinking that…"
With that the two Praxians got to business. Perhaps, just perhaps, by the end of the orn, the tactical department would be able to recommend a plan that could offer a real possibility of keeping the AllSpark safe. Perhaps such a development would help him get back into Elita One's good graces. Perhaps.
That was way to many 'perhapses' for Prowl's abused processor so he shut down that thought-thread and focused all of his considerable processing power on helping Fusion fine tune his plan.
… … …
Chromia lounged against the terminal in the tertiary security center, to all outward appearances indifferent and board with the screens she was watching. The inexperienced mech assigned to monitor these screens had been only to eager to accept a higher ranking officer's offer to take his post for a couple jours so he could run to the mess hall for fresh energon. The other two mechs in the center had not thought anything of the Femme's SIC being in the security center and so continued about their assigned duties without paying her any undo attention.
Neither of them noticed when she redirected one of the auxiliary screens to to follow Prowl's movements and the other Bumblebee. Her sweetspark still had not spoken and that only served to feed the ire directed toward her quarry. Right that moment, Bumblebee was curled into a pathetic ball, keening even in recharge. Even now, orns later he grieved whatever had happened.
She watched Prowl leave the tactical command center and head toward his quarters.
Chromia let out a sigh of air through her vents, having already confirmed that Bluestreak was in Prowl's quarters. Perhaps the mech was finally going to take responsibility for what had happened and reconcile with Bluestreak.
She leaned forward imperceptivity, casting a sensor over the two other watch mechs just to make sure they were still ignoring her. But Prowl hesitated outside, doorwings twitching. Then, with unusually hesitant movements, he reached out to open the door.
From the angle of the security sensor, all Chromia could observe was Prow staring at the doorway, his hand still on the controls. He stood that way for a long handful of seconds and then… Stepped backwards.
Chromia frowned, watching with slack mandible hinge, as Prowl merely stood there, doorwings giving tiny little jerks.
Then the Praxian just turned and walked away, moving quickly.
Chromia's hand clenched into a fist, her engine revving. That cowardly, rust infested glitch!
She watched as he retrieved energon from the mess hall and then move to the observation deck before settling onto a chair and pulling out a datapad. At the late jour, he was the only one there.
"Not for long." She murmured too softly for the other watch mechs to hear. "He will pay for such willful neglect."
With another sidelong glance at the other two mechs, Chromia quickly redirected the sensors and signaled Moonracer, who had been standing by for comm. /In half a joor. Get everyone and meet me just outside the observation deck./
/Roger that./ Moonracer acknowledged, her transmission hinting at a frustration and anger that mirrored Chromia's own. Of course, as Bluestreak's sniper instructor she, of all the femmes involved, had the most intimate knowledge of how much Bluestreak was suffering.
Carefully erasing the digital tracks she had left in the system as best she could, not being an expert hacker, Chromia next commed Elita One. /The slagging coward is going out of his way to avoid Bluestreak, not even trying to help him./
There was a long pause. /Chromia, are you sure./
/Yes!/ Chromia hissed over the comm. line. /I just watched him stare at Bluestreak and then all but run the opposite way. I am going to deal with this. Now./
Chromia could all but hear Elita's sigh. /If you are sure, absolutely sure, I will support you, as I promised. Just keep in mind, even if the ancient laws protect you, we need Prowl functional./
/If he doesn't fight…/ Chromia shook her helm and abruptly stood up. She looked at the startled mechs now staring at her and gave them a sweet smile. "Sorry mechs, better call your friend back. I just got a call to my own duty."
She breezed from the security center before either could voice a protest and turned her attention back to Elita. /I know they will never be able to reconcile if Prowl is dead. I won't kill him. That won't solve anything./
Elita's response was a wordless if somewhat relieved acknowledgement. No, Chromia did not want to see Prowl dead. She only wanted him to see reason, to be made to understand what really mattered and to make sure he was motivated enough to actually follow through with what he needed to do.
Apparently Prowl was so thick helmed he needed more extreme measures than a dressing down from Elita One to get through to him. And Chromia would do whatever was necessary to make sure that happened.
I apologize for leaving this here, but I didn't really have a choice if I wanted to get it posted by Christmas. I welcome guesses as to just what Fusion's plan is and… if you are adventurous… what everyone's reaction is going to be. Or, anything else you'd care to speculate about. Hehehehe.
Ok, back to the update. Since my last post I have survived Hurricane Harvey, moved approximately 250 miles away from where I have lived since I turned 4 and am trying to start small business in my new community. The business is something mom and I were dreaming about doing together for several years before she got cancer. I realized that just because she is no longer with me, is no reason for me not pursue that dream, because it was my dream as much as it was hers.
However, as anyone who has ever embarked on such a venture would know, it usually takes at least two years or more for a start up home business to actually make a profit, let alone replace the sort of income I had as a nurse. So, as the move to central Texas has eaten almost all the way through my meager savings, I am currently looking for a part time job as well. Hopefully, hospitals will start hiring again after the holidays. That is the short and dirty version of what is going on in real life right now.
I do want to thank everyone who has kept me and my family in your thoughts and/or prayers. I know you guys don't really know me from Jane, and I appreciate your concern. Thanksgiving and Christmas are proving to be tough times emotionally and everyone tells me that may always be the case. Oh yay. Thus, my decision to post this chapter specifically for Christmas is really rooted in an effort to at least bring a little joy to the lives of my faithful readers. That may be corny, but hey, it's the truth; take it for the spirit in which it is intended: Merry Christmas.
