( this story takes place on earth)

Blaster described himself as a people person. Probably because of his outgoing personality, he considered the rec room as one of his favourite places. He loved the riff of the constant chatter, the friendly laughters, the occasional clatter of the crystal energon cubes. He also took great pride in the fact, that he was an integral component of the warm, teeming atmosphere. He always had a good word for everyone, constantly joking, smiling ( just as his carrier did).

Even though he loved the crowd, his favourite part of the day was the dawn. At that time of the day, the rec-room was deserted, and a strange feeling of calmness always came upon him, sitting alone nurturing his morning energon ration. He caught himself at brooding again, listening the faint electric buzzing of the Ark's circuity. This part of the day was his, and his alone.

After an earth hour, the other bots started to arrive, but by than Blaster switched back of being the laid-back, friendly, cool guy they all loved.

Late in the forenoon, Blaster noted, as Jazz waltzed into the rec-room, as always, cheerfully greeting the ones sitting around the tables, waving toward the video-game playing twins. As Jazz approached Blaster's table, Smokescreen addressed the passing saboteur. The yellow and red autobot caught the funny conversation between Jazz, and Smokescreen.

-How comes, that after every time we interface, the next day I'm getting the monitor duty- whined the praxian.- Three shifts in a row. That is harsh….

- Ya'r way too paranoid, mech.- Blaster saw that it took a good amount of self control for Jazz, to hold back a snicker.

-I'm telling you this is Prowl's doing!- acted Smokescreen.

-How should Ah know? He's ya brother. An quit with tha conspiracy theories already! - said Jazz seemingly fretting, punching Smokey's shoulder wheel.

-Ouch.. Okay, okay… But maybe you two would be good for each other.

-Ya try ta set me up with ya bro in tha morning, after tha night we 'faced. Ahm tellin' ya, ya'r way too tactful.- teased Jazz, a dazzling smile on his lip-plates.

-You know I only trying to take your best interests into consideration.- winked the psychologist, quivering his doorwings.

- Are ya tryin' ta insult me? Was Ah that bad last night?- pouted Jazz. Smokescreen actually laughed.

-You know that I love to play matchmaker. And what do you think about Blaster? - asked Smokescreen curiously- You two get on well, have the same hobbies, and interests… Even have a very similar personality.

-Ya'r the psychologist- laughed Jazz- Ahm quite surprised ya didn't figured it out already…

-What?- asked the other confused.

Still smiling Jazz touched Smokey's servo.

-Later mech! Ah have business to attend to.- said Jazz impishly, steering himself toward Blaster's table.

XXX

-Yo! Wanna hang with the cool crowd?- asked Blaster as Jazz threw himself into a chair.

-Ya know meh… By tha way, Ah have some cool ideas about our next project. Tha theme of the party should be: Jazz!

-Wow! Ah knew that everyone like ya, but that's just...wow. Ain't ya a little smug?- chuckled Blaster quitely.

-Nah mech. Ah mean, check this out- cockily Jazz pulled a saxophone, ( custom made, for transformers sized hands), out of his subspace pocket.

-Ya weren't jokin' last night.- said Blaster a huge grin plastered on his facial-plates.

-Nope!- said Jazz beaming with happiness. Then he played a few notes. - Ahm talkin' about Jazz, tha music style.

- Sweet already know how to play that?

-Yep! We totally have ta have a jam session soon.

- Ah…- faltered Blaster, as he felt a sudden searing pain in his spark. He tried to say something,as he clutched his chest-plates. Jazz was already on his pedes, trying to catch him, to ease his fall. The white-hot pain came in waves, its intensity increased by the minute. Blaster was only able to writhe in pain, on the floor of the rec-room, surrounded by startled bots. He could hazily saw Jazz's worried facial-plates, and he felt through the pain, that Jazz was holding his servo.

- Carrier...t's hurts…- he managed to force the words out of his vocalizer.

- Everything will be all-right, sweetspark.- Jazz soothed gently.

- Jazz and Blaster…..What?- He heard Smokescreen's shocked question, as he fell into stasis lock.

XXX

Jazz was fidgeting, sitting on a medical berth, watching the prone form of his grown up sparkling, from a respectful distance. He didn't want to bring the mighty Ratchet's wrath upon himself, by angering the medic. He practically felt his chassis vibrating in worry, as he watched the Hatchet probing, and examining Blaster. Blaster being his creation, was the best kept, open secret ever. Only the most socially dense inhabitants of the Ark, and Smokescreen haven't figured it out yet. Despite of the no secret status of his secret, no one have ever figured out who the sire was, that knowledge was officially known only by Ratchet, Optimus, and Prowl. Not officially the twins knew too.

Jazz loved his creation more than he loved his own spark. He was very aware of the fact that without Blaster, he wouldn't be alive today. When the tiny sparkling extracted, he helped Jazz through the darkest periods of his life. After Blaster received the last of his grown up upgrades, back on Cybertron, they became close friends. Both of them knew, that they could count on each other in need.

Growing up orphaned, on the streets of his hometown, brought up by thugs, thieves, and pleasure-bots, Jazz swore, that if he would ever have a sparkling he would give up everything, for the little one, to be able to be there for the sparkling. During his carrying, and the following years, he wasn't booted out from the Autobots only by the courtesy of Prowl. It was difficult to raise a sparkling amidst of war, on a military base, alone, as a carrier, hiding his, and his creation's identity. He had to change his name, his appearance, to disappear for a while. At least until Blaster received his final upgrades. Luckily Cybertronian sparklings developed very fast, and were upgraded in an equally quick manner.

For a sparkling, reaching maturity, at least legally, only took a few decades out of their million year life-span. That few decade was counted among the happiest times in Jazz's life.

XXX

As Blaster stirred, the lithe black-and white saboteur had to restrain himself, not to dash over to Blaster's berth.

-Ow...What the slag was that…..- asked Blaster slowly opening his optics.- What's wrong with meh Ratchet?

- Congratulations. You are perfectly healthy, as far as I'm concerned. - growled Ratchet, his voice raspy.

-Then what the pit just happened with me?

Whatever Blaster's condition was, The Hatchet wasn't very happy about it, thought Jazz. He also wasn't running around, barking First Aid's name, so the problem wasn't serious either.

- Okay Doc-bot, what's tha verdict? Ya wanna make meh beg?- asked Jazz, humoring Ratchet's good mood.

-I hope You know that your precious sparkling just gave me a slagload of work- grumbled the medic, pointing toward Jazz. The ambulance-bot must have been in an exceptionally good mood, as the saboteur noted, he didn't even took out his trusted wrench. Yep. The Ratchet was almost smiling.

- As I said, you are in a prime health condition. The pain you experienced, was the symptom of having your first symbiot.

There was confused silence in the room for a minute, in his bewilderment Jazz could only stare at Ratchet's smug faceplates, than back to the thunderstrucked Blaster sitting on the med-berth.

-What? How's that even...Ah didn't even... Ahm a symbiote carrier?- asked Blaster excited. He could hardly held himself seated upright, when Jazz suddenly collided with him, hugging him tightly.

- Ahm so happy for ya! This is so wonderful… Hey! Waitaminute! Ya shared sparks with someone and didn't tell me about it? Ah thought Ah raised ya better than this! - fretted Jazz.- C'mon! Spit it. Who was he? An' most importantly HOW was he in the berth?

-Jazz, symbiote carriers didn't need another progenitor. The kindling just happens randomly- Ratchet enlightened the saboteur.

- Ah have never shared sparks with no one. Ya know that- said Blaster flustered.- Ah have never even interfaced with no-one... Ya know… Waiting… waiting for the One...

- Awww. Ya'r just like me when Ah was at your age….- said Jazz dreamily.- What?- asked sharply when both Blaster, and Ratchet looked at him incredulously.

- Ah still remember mah carrying period, the mood-swings, the purging of mah thanks, the sudden feel of fatigue… Good ol' times…- sighed the visored mech.

Seeing the scared expression on Blaster's faceplates, Ratchet cut in:

- He would have none of that. For Primus sake! He isn't carrying a sparkling, just a symbiote. Blaster your period will be much shorter, than one of a 'normal' mech's. Your system don't have to supply the nanites, and minerals to produce a protoform for the newspark. When your time is due, we will extract the newspark, and place him in a special tank, where the spark would build the protoform body around himself.

- Ah still can't believe it- rejoiced the patient, then he suddenly turned serious- Uh… About the extraction…- Blaster hesitated.- Will…Will it hurt?

- Pit yes!- said Jazz.

- No.- answered the medic.

- You are way too mature, Jazz- Ratchet shot an accusing glance toward the black-and-white saboteur.

- An' believe meh, he raised meh.- grumbled Blaster- It's a damn miracle that Ahm still alive…

Ratchet smiled to himself, as he was listening the good-natured verbal sparring between carrier, and creation. Although he was happy for them, he knew that this development will cause unrequired complications in the near-future.

XXX