BWAH! I finished the story. Finally. Yay for me!
Anyway. Prowl. Jazz. Fluffyslashy. You know the drill, I trust?
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Prowl intently scanned the darkening horizon as twilight fell. The tide was coming in. Each incoming wave crashed against the shoreline and then lapped up and around his feet and his backside, which were firmly planted in the sand. The retreating waves tried their best to pull him along with them into the Pacific Ocean, but Prowl held fast, hardly noticing the waves' efforts. Just as he had hardly noticed the curious sideways glances and the outright and sometimes overtly wary stares he had received from the humans who had been occupying the beach when he had arrived hours earlier. Even though the Autobots had resided on Earth for three years now, the humans still couldn't seem to help but to gawk at them. Sometimes, the tendency annoyed Prowl. Sometimes, it inwardly amused him. Mostly, though, he simply ignored the gawking and continued about his business.
Today, Prowl's business was waiting. Lots of waiting. A less patient soul might have found the waiting tedious. Not Prowl. Much as he generally tended to keep himself busy, mostly out of necessity, Prowl was not above enjoying a bit of down time here and there. "Here and there," of course, being the key phrase; too much down time could be every bit as aggravating as too little of it. As far as Prowl was concerned the Autobots had had far too much down time of late.
Ten weeks had passed since the Decepticons had made so much as a peep. The only sightings during the lull to date had been a few very intermittent reconnaissance patrols that had appeared on scanners, had drifted around seemingly at random for a few hours, and had then vanished into the Decepticons' underwater headquarters again. Lulls of this nature weren't, on the whole, unusual. The conflict between the Autobots and the Decepticons had always been to some extent sporadic in nature, with long lulls followed by the revelation of Megatron's next big plot. Everyone was waiting for a Big One now, the sort of major and very dramatic offensive that Megatron tended to launch after being deceptively quiet for a while. Usually, the longer the lull, the bigger the Big One, so after ten weeks of inactivity, all of the Autobots were waiting, in some cases anxiously, for the sky to fall.
All of the Autobots, that is, except for Prowl and Jazz, who had more than an inkling as to what the Decepticons' general problem likely was. Jazz had spent nearly a year, off and on, running supplies for Skyfire who, in turn, had spent that time working on Starscream in more ways than one, trying to restore in the Decepticon second-in-command the individual that Skyfire had known – and loved – before the outbreak of the Great War. It was, Prowl was certain, a daunting goal. All along, he had highly doubted that Skyfire could accomplish his self-assigned task, and he had especially looked upon Jazz's involvement in the whole affair with, at best, a very jaundiced eye.
Prowl hadn't been happy with the situation at all, in fact. Prowl's unhappiness and Jazz's stubborn refusal to back down had been the cause of some extremely volatile fights between the two of them. One of those arguments had been loud enough to prompt Wheeljack, their next-door neighbor, to pull Prowl aside the next day and inform him that he was welcome to crash in his quarters if he needed some space. The offer had brought Prowl up short, from embarrassment if nothing else, and from that point on he had resolved not to discuss the subject with Jazz anymore, to try to ignore it as best he could while at the same time trying his best not to hold Jazz's determination against him. True to form, that was about the time that Jazz had realized that the usefulness of his courier service had run its course, thus resolving the tension between the two of them anyway. That, however, didn't prevent Prowl from being cynically convinced that Jazz's efforts had amounted to exactly nothing.
Yet, something had clearly happened, since not very long after that Skyfire had suddenly gone completely dark. No one had seen even a passing glimpse of Megatron or Starscream since then, either. Prowl knew that this was very unlikely to be a coincidence, and so every instinct that he possessed was screaming at him to tell Optimus Prime all that he and Jazz knew about the situation. Jazz, however, was not quite ready to admit to all that he had done over the past year, certainly not to Optimus Prime, and Prowl had promised to let Jazz decide when to talk about all of it. He had further promised not to pressure Jazz about the issue in the interim.
It was a very difficult promise for Prowl to keep, given his honest, forthright, and straight-arrow basic nature, but he had resolved to keep his mouth shut about Jazz's clandestine freelance activities for as long as he possibly could. He had his limits, though.
Still, both he and Jazz were curious as to what had happened to Skyfire, so Jazz had decided to make one last trip to the Indonesian island that had been Skyfire's home during his self-imposed exile. He wanted to see if he could glean any information as to Skyfire's whereabouts from whatever he might find there, if he didn't actually find Skyfire himself there.
Prowl had wanted to go with Jazz this time, but he knew that requesting a refit to allow surface ocean travel would probably raise more proverbial eyebrows than he wanted to deal with at the moment. Jazz had half-jokingly suggested that they could gloss over a refit request by claiming to have assimilated for themselves the human tradition of a honeymoon, delayed though it would be. As strangely amusing as the idea was, Prowl wasn't interested in adding another secret – another lie – to the pile that he was already harboring. He already had far too many lies to keep track of as it was; he was bound to allow something to slip and soon.
So, Prowl had stayed behind again. Waiting. Just as he'd done while Jazz had been making supply runs at Skyfire's behest. Prowl's only consolations were that this particular wait had at least been somehow less nerve-wracking than all those others had been and that, this time, Prowl was in full agreement that Jazz had needed to go. Some resolution, some closure would be good. For both of them.
It was fully dark when Prowl finally spotted Jazz approaching the shoreline, dark enough that he would have had to have used infrared to see him at all were it not for a gloriously bright full moon riding high overhead in a cloudless, star-shot sky. Jazz had some trouble working his way through the breakers, but eventually he managed it, and just a few moments later he was sitting next to Prowl in the sand, dripping wet and wearing an unusually troubled expression. He didn't seem at all inclined to say anything, either, which was even more unusual – and therefore disturbing – than Jazz's troubled expression.
"Well?" Prowl finally had to prompt Jazz when it seemed that Jazz was content to just sit and watch the waves rhythmically advance and retreat along the shoreline.
"Hmmm?" Jazz responded mildly, distractedly, which elicited a small frustrated noise from Prowl. Which, in turn, made Jazz smile a devilish little half-smile.
"What did you find?" Prowl prodded again.
Jazz frowned at the question. He was still trying to figure out just what he should make of what he had found – or, rather, not found – on Skyfire's island base. Was it all a good sign? A bad sign? He'd thought about the implications of his discovery on the return journey, but he'd found that he'd just kept going in circles, coming up with all sorts of theories and explanations and then turning around and second-guessing every last one of them until he'd ended up not knowing what in the world he was supposed to think. He'd come to the conclusion that he just wasn't very good at explaining things. He could gather information and intelligence like nobody's business, but putting it all together and figuring out what it all meant without getting mired down in niggling details or wild speculation? That was what Prowl was for. It was amazing how quickly Jazz had come to rely on that.
So, Jazz decided, it was just time to dump everything in Prowl's lap and then let him mull it over for a while.
"I found," Jazz announced dispiritedly, "a whole lotta nothin', I'm afraid."
"Nothing?" Prowl responded, nonplussed. He supposed that he shouldn't be surprised, but that really wasn't the answer that he'd been expecting.
"Nothing," Jazz confirmed with a decisive nod. "Zero. Zilch. Zip. Nada."
"I get the idea, Jazz," Prowl responded dryly.
"Place was wiped clean," Jazz continued, as if he'd not heard Prowl at all. "Oh so carefully wiped clean, even. It looked like nobody'd ever been there in the whole history of ever. It was spooky. Totally creeped me out. I mean, you'd think there'd be something left. Skyfire was living there for more than a year and all. But there was nothing. Not even a footprint or a disturbed bit of scrub anywhere."
"Mmmm," Prowl murmured. He considered the implications of Jazz's information for a moment, turning possibilities over in his mind, and then he added, "You would especially think there would be something left behind if Skyfire had either left in hurry or had been killed. The fact that there is no trace of anyone having lived there for a year tells me that Skyfire – or someone, at any rate – had the opportunity to pick up after himself. And assuming that it was Skyfire who cleaned up the place, it's obvious that he deliberately left no clues as to where he had gone."
"So that no one could follow him," Jazz surmised, nodding. "Yeah, that's kind of what I was thinking."
"I would tend to agree," Prowl responded with an approving nod. "I do believe you're getting better at the whole logic thing, Jazz," he teased with a little mischievous grin, elbowing Jazz in his side for good measure.
"No way!" Jazz answered fervently. "'Cuz really? I thought that, sure. But then I second-, third-, and fourth-guessed that theory to the point that I figured that it couldn't possibly be right. So there."
Prowl snickered at that.
"Well," he remarked, "at least you're thinking. That's something of an improvement, anyway."
"Shut up!" Jazz responded, laughing and giving Prowl a playful shove. Then he sobered and added, "But – logically speaking, Primus help me – how do you justify assuming that it was Skyfire who cleaned up the place? Could've been that the Decepticons picked up after themselves, if they found him there and…well, you know, destroyed him. Or just captured him, even."
"But why would they do that?" Prowl countered. "Why would they care whether or not anyone would know that they had been there?"
"They wouldn't," Jazz said flatly, after only a split-second of consideration of Prowl's questions.
"Exactly," Prowl said. "It's never been their habit to clean up their messes. Even if they'd destroyed Skyfire, they would have just left his body there. So the only logical conclusion I can see is that Skyfire left, and that he was careful to leave no trace of himself and no indications as to where he went."
"So, wherever he – or they, if he's got Starscream with him –"
"Which is also likely," Prowl interjected, "since we've not seen Starscream. Or Megatron, for that matter. It is possible that both of them are dead, but were that the case, I would think that Skyfire would have returned to Autobot Headquarters, as he would then have had no reason not to do so."
Prowl paused, considering his conclusions for half a second, making sure he had his logical ducks in a row. Satisfied that he did, he announced his conclusion.
"So the most logical conclusion in this case," he asserted, "seems to be that Skyfire and Starscream are somewhere, together. My guess would be that they went to Cybertron, on the theory that they could easily conceal themselves in the chaos there much more easily than they'd be able to hide anywhere here on Earth."
Jazz nodded at Prowl's conclusions.
"Sounds sensible to me," he agreed, "and Skyfire's a sensible kinda guy." Almost as an afterthought, he added, "And wherever they went, they took all of Skyfire's stuff with them. And believe me; he had a lot of stuff."
"Mmmm," Prowl murmured. "Most of which you brought to him," he added after just the slightest bit of hesitation.
Jazz was suddenly still and silent for a significant and very noticeable moment before he sighed wearily and then quietly asked, "Are we really going to have that argument again, Prowl?"
"No," Prowl responded decisively after a moment of consideration. "No, we are not. What would be the point? What's done is done. But…"
"But what?" Jazz prompted warily when Prowl's voice trailed off.
Prowl made a quiet, unhappy noise, loath to bring up the subject that was weighing heaviest on his mind but knowing that he very much needed to do so. As was his wont, he addressed the subject forthrightly, avoiding any beating around any bushes.
"I know that I promised you that I wouldn't nag you about this," Prowl said, "but… Don't you think it's time that we tell Optimus Prime what we know about this entire situation? It's been almost three months, you know."
Jazz made a noncommittal noise at that and said, "Yeah, and he's going nuts trying to figure out what's going on."
Prowl nodded at that.
"Yes," he confirmed. "And I'm fairly certain that he knows that I know much more than I'm telling him." When Jazz gave him a questioning look, Prowl added, "I'm really not very good at pretense, Jazz."
At that, Jazz barked out a short, disbelieving laugh.
"Coulda fooled me!" he exclaimed. "All that time I spent chasing you, and you pretending not to notice. Seriously, I would judge you a master of pretense, lover of mine."
Prowl merely harrumphed at that assertion.
"Not," he argued pointedly, "when it comes to this subject." When Jazz just regarded him skeptically, Prowl elaborated, "Sublimating your obvious…er, interest in me was one thing, Jazz; lying to Optimus Prime's face on a daily basis is very much another. I don't know how much longer I can do it, quite frankly, without letting something slip," he said mournfully. "I'm sorry to do this to you, love, but… Well, in all honesty, I think the only reason I've been able to keep it up this long is because I've been lying for you."
Jazz sighed at that. He'd known that keeping quiet was a strain on Prowl, and he felt guilty for continuing to ask it of him. Yet, he just hadn't been able to get to the point where he was comfortable confessing what he'd done. Optimus might understand, a little bit, given that he at least knew about the nature of the relationship between Skyfire and Starscream, but when it leaked to everyone else, as it inevitably would, somehow…? That was difficult to accept with equanimity.
Seeing Jazz's indecision and the look of dread on his face, Prowl felt compelled to apologize again, but this time Jazz raised his hand to stave off his unnecessary apology.
"Naw, baby," he said. "You're right." Then he turned his head to look at Prowl squarely and said, "And I should be the one who's sorry, not you. I shouldn't have asked that of you in the first place. It was totally unfair of me. Selfish. I made the decision to do what I did all by myself, so now I need to accept the consequences all by myself."
Wordlessly, Prowl wormed his way closer to Jazz and wrapped an arm around him. It was a comforting gesture, affectionate and protective, and Jazz leaned into him gratefully. Once Jazz settled against him, Prowl felt compelled to plant a kiss on the top of his head and Jazz smiled.
"You won't face the consequences all by yourself," Prowl informed Jazz after several long moments of silence. "I'll be right there with you."
Warmth suffused Jazz. He wasn't surprised at the offer, really, but he appreciated it nonetheless. Angling his gaze up so that he could meet Prowl's, he said simply, "Thanks, love."
They settled into silence then, snuggled together, each enveloped in his own thoughts and watching the hypnotizing waves. After a few minutes, Jazz felt compelled to break the silence, the waves having given him a devious idea.
"Remember that movie…?" Jazz ventured. In truth, he was trying to distract himself from the thought of spilling his proverbial guts to Optimus Prime in the near future, and Jazz knew one surefire and very effective method of distracting himself…
Disappointingly, though, Prowl was way ahead of him. As usual.
"No, Jazz," he said decisively. "I am not going to roll around on this beach with you."
Jazz pulled out the stops, wormed his way out of Prowl's embrace, and then pouted the pout that he knew Prowl had extreme difficulty resisting. Jazz pouted at Prowl for quite a while, even, but Prowl's resolve didn't seem to be faltering this time. Not in the least. Jazz sighed then, giving up the effort.
"Spoilsport," he grumbled, defeated.
There was silence again for a few moments, but for the sound of the ocean breeze and the crashing waves. Then Prowl mused, as if he wasn't talking to anyone in particular, "However…I wouldn't necessarily be averse to a little rolling around at home, where there's no sand…"
Prowl gave Jazz a sly sidelong glance at that, and Jazz's face instantly lit up like a Christmas tree.
"Now you're talkin', baby!" he crowed enthusiastically. "Now you're talkin'."