Disclaimer: I own nothing and gain nothing
Warning: same as the other chapters
Crying
"Jazz, what is wrong?"
"It's nothin', Prowl."
"You are crying over nothing then, Jazz?"
"How did y' get inside?"
"You have been inside your quarters for a week, Jazz. Red Alert gave me the master password."
"Worried I might be plottin' t' overthrow the Autobots?"
"Do not joke your way out of my question, Jazz. What is wrong?"
"Forget 'bout it, Prowl. Nobody can help me."
"I can not forget about it, Jazz. You have been holed up, depressed for a week. That is not like you, Jazz. Everyone is worried. . . I am worried."
"Ya wouldn't understan'."
"Then explain it to me."
"It's killin' me, buddy . . . thought it would be best t' stop it, but it hurts so much, Prowl."
"What were you doing, Jazz?"
"All I wanted was t' be happy . . . be complete . . . why is t'at' so wron'?"
"There is nothing wrong with that, Jazz. All of us wish for the end of this war so we can all go back to the way it was before."
"Yeah. . . the war. . . "
"Jazz?"
"Yes, Prowl?"
"My shift starts in five, drink this energon and recharge. Sideswipe volunteered to take your shift. I'll be back to check on you when I'm done, alright?"
"Whatever, Prowl."
The doors closed behind the Datsun, leaving the black and white Porsche lying down on his side on the berth. As soon as his friend left the room, the mixture of oil and coolant began spilling from his optics again. He didn't bother to clean them, the visor his most of the stuff anyways and it would probably be gone by the time Prowl returned to check on him.
"Please forgive me. I thought it was the best thing t'd', but I was wron'. Oh, Primus, why does it hurt s' much? I love ya, slaggit! I lov' ya. . . "– And the incoherent sobs began anew.
"Why did y' let me leave ya?"