PJ Chronicles 3- Rescue
Prowl slumped against the rocks, too dazed to react as his energon slowly accumulated in a glowing pool below him. But that meant little to him. His attention was solely on Jazz. He saw it then, the side of Jazz that the saboteur tried so hard to hide from him. It was also the side that kept him alive in the exceptionally dangerous Special Operations division in the war.
The side of a killer.
He watched Jazz tear into the Decepticons, colouring the azure of the sky with the fluorescent pink of mecehblood that shot up in spurts as he ripped their tubing out. He lashed out repeatedly, striking so fast that his limbs were a blur. His hands, the very same ones that could give gentle, feather-light touches, were brutally twisting limbs out of their sockets and stripping armor from frames with unnecessary force. He moved with a deadly grace, almost like a dancer, but leaving carnage in his wake. His visor flashed a pale white. Heads rolled. One touched Prowl's foot and he reflexively shrunk back from it.
The pile of bodies and parts steadily grew. Finally, the last Decepticon's strangled plea for mercy was abruptly cut off, and the silence was deafening in its wake. Footsteps. Jazz scaled the pile, his visor glowing as he stared intently at Prowl. He stood there, silhouetted by the white sun against the cloudless desert sky for a moment, then gracefully jumped off and landed lightly before Prowl.
By then, it was kind of hard to tell what paint job Jazz had. He was mostly fuchsia at the moment. Deep welts peppered his body, and his visor was cracked. Energon leaked steadily from the shredded parts of his armor.
"Prowler." Jazz said, his voice rough.
The hot desert breeze ghosted over their armor. Prowl just continued to stare at Jazz with wide, pale optics.
At Prowl's lack of response, there was a gentle tap on their bond, and Prowl felt Jazz flinch as he met the numbness within him.
The saboteur rushed forward, disregarding his injuries to sink to his knees and to envelope Prowl in a crushing embrace.
"Prowl, Prowl, Prowl…" his fingers latched onto nooks and crannies in Prowl's armor, desperately trying to feel that Prowl was really and truly back in his arms.
Prowl melted into Jazz, hands coming up to clutch at his rescuer with equal fervor. He felt so safe, despite being miles away from base. Right there, in Jazz's arms, he didn't care that he was getting painted in Decepticons' mechblood. All he cared was the feel of being wrapped up in Jazz's encompassing embrace.
"I told you I'd come." Jazz finally spoke.
Prowl pulled back to give his lover a watery smile. "Yes," he whispered. "You did."
After a short moment of companionable silence, Jazz stood slowly. He turned around and extended his hand to Prowl, who took it and stood.
"C'mon," Jazz said softly, his black-neon pink fingers wrapped around Prowl's white ones. "Let's go home."
Author's notes: this may or may not be related to 'capture'. You decide. ;)