Protective Instincts
Author: Thalanee
Verse: A World Gone Crazy (Movie- AU)
Word Count: 3000 words
Rating: nc-17
Warnings: some violence
Disclaimer: I certainly wish they were mine, but sadly they are not…
Summary: Prequel to "On the Proper Use Of Datapads". There is a very specific reason Prowl learned how to use his pads as shurikens when Jazz insisted… Just after the start of the war, beginning JazzxProwl.
Author's Notes: For renegadewriter8 who once prompted me to write this in a comment on "On The Proper Use of Datapads" for the September Challenge. Better late than never ;D
XXXXX
Prowl still wasn't used to the spacious new office that was his, now that he had been promoted to the position of Chief Tactical Officer. It was almost three times as big as his old office had been and even had an adjacent room with a plush chair and a large couch to relax when he was working late. There even was an energon dispenser and a large tactical planning table.
But the feature that grabbed most of his attention was something, or rather someone, else. Ever since they had first met, the Chief of Special Operations, a handsome silver mech named Jazz, and he had quickly become friends despite or maybe because of their different personalities and now the saboteur seemed to spend a disproportional amount of time in Prowl's office instead of his own, working of Prowl's desk, or simply sitting in the chair opposite Prowl's humming or reading. It was strange really, because it should have annoyed Prowl to no end, but once when Jazz had been away on a mission Prowl had found himself missing the taller mech's presence.
That he had no idea why was annoying.
Currently the silver form was lounging in his usual chair, just watching Prowl work. He seemed to enjoy that. When Prowl had asked him what was so fascinating about watching him type and read datapads, the cryptic reply he got about enjoying the view confused Prowl even more. There wasn't even a window behind him and no picture on the wall. It was a puzzle.
But one he enjoyed as much as he did his new work. Here he could finally accomplish something useful. He could help the new Prime end the war before it got worse than it already was and help fight the corruption that had grown in Cybertron's government. So he threw himself into his work determined to give everything he had. It was something Jazz and he wholeheartedly agreed on.
"Hey Prowler, ya want a cube?" Which was the saboteur's way of asking, if he had eaten anything already. That was another reason the silver mech had taken it upon himself to stay glued to the black and white. Sometimes, alright almost always, Prowl got so caught up in his work he forgot everything around him, even his own physical needs. That he didn't even feel hungry when he should be eating something didn't help him keep track. So once Jazz had realized that he always prodded Prowl to have a cube when he thought Prowl needed one. And he wouldn't stop until the doorwinger had finished at least one.
Looking up, Prowl sheepishly tried to remember when he last had something to eat. "I think some energon would be beneficial. Shall I get you a cube too?"
When he made a motion to get up however, Jazz tsked and stood up. "That's not what Ah meant. Ya stay where ya are, Ah'm gonna go get us some cubes of the batch Sides made just yesterday."
"You know very well, that I do not drink highgrade, Jazz. Besides, there is a perfectly functional dispenser in the side room of my office. There is no need to go to the rec room for energon." Prowl had only made the mistake of taking in highgrade once and found out just how much it messed up his systems. He was not keen on repeating the experience.
Jazz waved a servo in a placating manner. "Ain't highgrade, Ah know ya don't like that, but it sure tastes good, better than the stuff ya got in ya dispenser. Tell ya what, we'll compromise!" The ever present grin on Jazz's face grew wider.
"Compromise?" the tactician asked wearily. Prowl had learned that Jazz's definition of the word compromise was vastly different from everyone else's. If Jazz proposed a compromise it meant you usually ended up doing what he wanted you to do, even if you didn't realize it. Prowl would not be outmaneuvered.
"Ya finish that pad while Ah'm gone to get those cubes and then we'll play a few rounds o' Commando."
"Do I even want to know about the other option?" Prowl answered, his golden optics twinkling with mirth.
"Ah, that involves a trip to the rec room on ma shoulder." Jazz reply was completely deadpan. Prowl wasn't quite sure, whether it was supposed to be a joke, or if he meant it. Better not to take chances. Besides he loved their gaming sessions.
"In that case I will choose option number one."
Jazz grin turned even broader (for a split second Prowl was worried the silver mech's face plates might break). "Great, Ah'll be back in few." With that, he almost literally bounced out of the office to get the promised cubes.
Once he was alone in his office he allowed the small smile to break through full force. Taking one look at the datapad in his hands, he finished it in record time and was soon busy setting up the game board and waiting for Jazz's return, when a small sound captured his attention.
However, when he turned around to look, there was nothing there. Attributing the noise of metal on metal to his overactive imagination, he dismissed it and was about to settle down in his chair again.
Suddenly he was grabbed from behind. Rough hands yanked on one of his doorwings, causing a flash of hideous pain, and clamped down on his vocalizer so he couldn't even cry out.
"Lords Megatron and Shockwave send their regard," a malevolent voice whispered into one of his audios, while sharp claws ripped into his doorwing. The message sent cold dread through his chassis, he knew if he didn't do something he would be dead soon.
He struggled, he fought, kicked the mech holding him, tried to writhe out of the other's grasp, but he was no fighter.
Prowl couldn't stop the blade moving towards his body.
XXXXX
Jazz virtually danced along the hallways on his way back to Prowl.
At first he hadn't even noticed, but from the moment they were introduced to each other, he'd had eyes for no one and nothing but Prowl. He could lose himself in watching the minute flutters of those delectable doorwings, he reveled in finding new ways to make those exotic golden optics shine with suppressed laughter, or outright make the mech laugh (the sound was delightful to the saboteur's audios). Their battles of wit were the best he'd ever had, and the funniest, once he got Prowl to show his dry sense of humor.
Sometime along the way he had realized that he was falling for the tactician and found he didn't mind at all. Quite to the contrary if the flutters in his spark were any indication.
Reaching the door, he quickly entered the code and bounced into the room, expecting to find Prowl sitting behind his desk, giving him that small precious smile and fluttering his wings (it was incredibly cute considering that Prowl obviously didn't notice he was doing it).
So when he saw a black and grey mech with Decepticon insignia stand over Prowl, who was lying on the floor, saw him aim a dagger at Prowl's spark, he ignored the sound of the door automatically closing, ignored the Decepticon's threats.
Jazz only saw the damage to Prowl's chassis, heard the pained sounds, felt the distress radiating from Prowl.
And something inside him snapped.
XXXXX
The big black mech stomped down the officer's hall on his way to the Prime's office. Optimus had been in there too long already, and Ironhide wouldn't stand for it. The young Prime was too much of a workaholic when no one watched him (the only mech here who was worse was their new tactician, the kid made the Prime look lazy in comparison) and made sure he'd take a break. Ironhide was the sworn protector of the Prime and he'd be damned if he let the mech work himself into the ground.
He didn't reach his destination however.
Passing the door to Prowl's office, he heard deep growls, an unknown voice cursing. He heard the sounds of a fight. The moment he came to that conclusion he acted.
Kicking down the door the sight that greeted his optics nearly made Ironhide's spark stop.
Prowl was lying motionless on the floor, his chassis deadly still. The golden optics were dimmed and energon was flowing from a wound on his middle. For an agonizing moment Ironhide almost thought the doorwinger was dead, but soon he noticed the small signs that told him Prowl was still alive: the faint whirring of intakes, the occasional twitching of a damaged wing and an almost inaudible moan of pain.
Relieved he allowed himself to take in the rest of the scene. An unknown black and grey mech wielding a dagger still dripping energon was slowly backing away, and for good reason. Because the silver form crouched protectively over Prowl with his claws raised, snarling menacingly was barely recognizable anymore as the usually chipper and good-natured saboteur. This wasn't just a mech anymore. He was a predator.
And that predator was out for energon, energon that belonged to the bot who had caused the wounds on the black and white chassis of HIS Prowl. Before Ironhide could even take one more step into the room, Jazz had already charged at the assassin, visor darkened into a blue that was almost black, his claws slashing through cabling and ripping of armour plates, the Decepticon's cries soon silenced.
Frozen Ironhide could only watch, keeping anyone else from entering the room and throwing Jazz even deeper into this protective frenzy. Only a few clicks had passed before Jazz stepped back from the unmoving mass on the floor. The Weapon Master stared.
The Con was still alive and aware of his surroundings, but trapped in his own chassis, unable to move a single limb or even speak.
Meanwhile Jazz was back at Prowl's side his silver fingers ghosting ever so carefully over Prowl's chassis, searching for injuries, growling whenever his questing fingers encountered the slightest scratch, seething when he pressed the bandage over the wound on the tactician's abdomen to slow down the bleeding. Ironhide had already called Ratchet and could hear the medic's engines and sirens coming closer. He would be arriving in a few clicks.
When the black mech stepped closer to check on Prowl the saboteur growled at him, his fields warning the other to stay away, displaying a fierce protectiveness Ironhide had seldom seen before. Ratchet was right, Jazz had fallen for Prowl hard.
Knowing the Praxian to be safe with Jazz, Ironhide backed off, acknowledging the silver mech's claim, and instead elected to stand guard over the downed Decepticon. The assassin wouldn't be able to move again without medical treatment, but it was better to be on the safe side anyway. Jazz might reconsider his decision to let Prowl's attacker live.
Ironhide need not have worried about that, however. All of Jazz's senses were focused on Prowl. Megatron could have strolled through the door right now announcing his attention to bond with Optimus Prime, if he wasn't a threat to Prowl, Jazz would never notice. The saboteur had had lovers before, but he had never felt such a possessive rage, such a fierce need to protect towards any of them like he now felt for Prowl. Just thinking about the Praxian made his spark sing and being as close as he was now, he knew that he would never want someone else. He wanted Prowl.
The screech of tires heralded Ratchet's arrival and the chartreuse mech promptly stormed into the office, only to find himself snarled at for getting too close too fast. If the situation weren't so serious the medic would have laughed at the saboteur. For now though he simply concentrated on stepping carefully around the silver mech.
"Stay close, while I have a look at that wound." Ratchet ordered. Better to channel Jazz's energy into protecting, than letting him run around while he was still in this state. And by the looks of it, the tactician wouldn't mind either, if the white hand resting so close to a silver one was any indication. Same for the look in those semi-aware golden optics.
While Jazz took hold of said white servo and gently stroked Prowl's cheek, Ratchet checked Prowl's injuries. The wound on his abdomen wasn't deep enough to be life-threatening, but it was painful, as were the injuries to the mech's sensitive doorwings. They just had too many sensors for them not to hurt. The bleeding had almost stopped already, but the sudden damage and the sheer amount of pain had thrown the tactician into a kind of shock he was slowly coming out of.
Pulling a syringe with painkillers from his subspace, he tried to grab Prowl's other servo- and Jazz tried to bite him! The medic just managed to snatch his hand away in time, or else he would have had a silver head firmly attached to it by his denta. And the medic would have bet his stash of premium highgrade that Jazz wouldn't just have gnawed at it like he did when he was a sparkling…
For his part, Jazz didn't really see what the medic intended to do, since his processors had taken a vacation ever since he had entered the office, he just saw someone trying to stab his Prowl with something sharp and pointy.
His efforts earned him a hefty wrench to the helm, aloud clank reverberating through the room. Ironhide would have paid good credits for the show. Right now he had to fight not to give in to the irrational giggle fit that was trying to claw its way out of his vocalizer, watching the medic and the saboteur snarling at each other.
Judging by the look on his face, Jazz was almost offended that he'd been hit. Couldn't Ratchet see that he was only protecting Prowl like he was supposed to? And now he even snarled back!
"You want to protect him, that's fine by me," Ratchet growled, wielding another wrench and waving it in the saboteur's face, "but I will not have you interrupt while I'm treating one of my charges. I'm going to administer those painkillers now, and if you dare to do more than think about biting my hand again, I will reformat you into an office chair!" Pausing he added, "If you behave I will let you carry him to medbay."
At that Jazz perked up, slowly coming down from his protective rage. If it meant being allowed to stay close he would behave. Let them try to keep him away from what was his! All through the rest of the preliminary treatment he watched the medic like a turbo hawk, never ceasing his caresses.
"Alright, you can hold him now, but be careful with his wings, they are a bit oversensitive right now, if you touch them it will hurt, since those painkillers need a little time to take full effect." The chartreuse mech instructed his one-bot audience. "Once in med bay you can place him on one of the more separate berths. I know Prowl prefers privacy."
Cradling the tactician to his chestplates, Prowl's head tucked underneath his chin, Jazz followed the medic's orders and carried him to medbay, while Ironhide waited with the downed 'Con for the security teams. Along the way they didn't meet many mechs, but those who they came across took one look at the storm brewing behind that still black visor and decided to take themselves and their curiosity elsewhere. When he had arrived and the time came to lay the doorwinger down on one of the berths, he found himself very reluctant to let go.
Only the knowing grin on the medic's face prompted him to do so… but he didn't go very far. In fact he was almost perching over the berth, his optics on its occupant. The tactician looked so vulnerable lying there, connected to a drip and a monitor (just in case), bandages on his chassis. The need to touch became overwhelming, so at the first opportunity he came closer again and held Prowl's servo in one of his own. His visor never leaving Prowl's face, waiting for those golden optics to light up again from drug induced recharge.
He never noticed Optimus Prime entering medbay, never saw the smile on the big mechs face as he left the two alone again, knowing his presence wasn't necessary.
XXXXX
Prowl awoke feeling safe.
His processors still were foggy, which he attributed to the painkillers he distantly remembered Ratchet administering, but he could remember the attack, the feeling of helplessness. But he also remembered the hope when he saw Jazz enter the room.
He remembered the feeling of safety washing over him, when Jazz was close, how right it felt to be held close to that silver chassis, right where he could hear and feel the pulse of that spark.
And he wouldn't miss the touch of that silver servo surrounding his own white one for anything in the world.
So when he opened his optics and found himself surrounded by Jazz's arms, carefully embraced close to the taller mech's chassis, when he looked into that azure visor closely watching him, he knew he would never be alone again.
To Be Continued