"Your estimated casualties were five percent," Ironhide snarled. Fresh welds threatening to come loose on his shoulder when he slammed a fist against the meeting table. Still exhausted, not even Red Alert flinched at the violent sound. Jazz lifted a lip at the loud noise. He, Prowl, and Ratchet were the three in the meeting that hadn't had a chance to get a few joors of recharge. Jazz's processor was hurting more than his body at the moment.
"I know," Prowl said softly.
"Fraggin' twenty percent, we've lost twenty-Primus Cursed-percent of our ground forces in this sector and for what?" Ironhide shouted. Ratchet, head in his arms after almost a straight septorn in the med bay turned his head a little to look at Prowl with an expression that spoke of more than just physical exhaustion. Jazz had been his last patient before they'd dragged themselves to the meeting. The medic had hardly spoken the entire time.
"I know," Prowl said again.
Optimus kept an arm around his middle and kept his voice soft so he wouldn't aggravate the broken pieces of his endoform. "You only estimated two percent for error, Prowl. What went wrong?" Jazz shot him a look from the corner of his optic, a snarl twitching his lip. The plasfire burns on his back weren't doing his mood any favors, neither was the fact he hadn't had a chance to grab his extra set of armor before this glitched meeting. He was cold and his shivering made his back hurt more.
"I know." Prowl kept his lacerated wings draped over his shoulders so the feathers wouldn't rub against the open wounds. "I don't know," he said, his voice even, "where the error was, I am looking over field reports to see." His optics were on Optimus, but stayed a little distant.
"I'll be sure to put that in the letters home I write," Ironhide snapped. "I'm sure their creators will be comforted knowing you're looking for the error now." Prowl's gaze remained far away but his optics moved to Ironhide. "You should've been lookin' for it a kel ago!" He smacked the table and energon seeped from between his shoulder welds.
"I tried—" Prowl started, blinking slowly once his optics starting to sharpen and come back from whatever distant place they'd been. Jazz shot Ironhide a surly look. He was certain this meeting was the old mech's idea. Optimus looked like he was one wrong intake away from seizing up in pain.
"I'll put that in the letter, too," Ironhide snapped back. "Put in the eulogy, too. Prowl tried, sorry." Jazz growled, the sound more vicious than usual when another cold chill made his back spasm. The burns felt both too cold and too hot and after three orns without recharge his patience was shot.
"Ironhide," Optimus said, unable to raise his voice to compete with Ironhide's bombastic levels. "Mistakes happen." He gave Jazz a warning look for the hostile sound and Jazz lifted a lip showing his short shell-cracking fang. If Ironhide really wanted to get into a fight with him right now he wouldn't hesitate to rip the old mech's mainlines out.
Furious optics landed on Optimus. "Mistakes," Ironhide spat. "It'll take two barges to get all those bodies back, you think that's a fraggin' mistake?" His fiery attention turned back to Prowl. "Was Praxus a mistake, too. Everything was right fraggin' in front of you and you missed that, too. If that's the size of your mistakes, Prowl, maybe we were lucky—"
"I know!" Prowl yelled suddenly, his hands slamming down on the table, sharp claws gouging the metal. His voice cracked through the room like a whip, startling Ratchet upright and Red Alert yelped. Jazz sat up, his back screaming at the change in position but he ignored it. Prowl's wings trembled and he kept his optics on the table in front of him.
Silence, heavy and brittle, settled over the room. A faint tremor shook Prowl's voice, "I know." The words were quiet, but loud in the stillness of the room. He curled his hands into fists and pulled them back into his lap. His optics stayed on the table. Jazz dragged himself up, ignoring the pain enough he could walk, but he limped on one side. Prowl didn't look up when he got close.
"Prowl?" he said softly. From two chairs over Prowl had looked like he was holding together well, but right next to him Jazz could hear his intakes were controlled but shaky, nothing but an illusion of calm. "Come on, Prowl," he said sliding an arm under Prowl's arm hoping he would come without too much coaxing. "Come on, when's the last time you recharged?" he asked. Tremors raked over Prowl's frame, small shivers like twitches buzzing against his fingers. Jazz tightened his fingers a little. "Come with me, Prowler."
"There's an army out there wantin' to know why they just went through a slaughterhouse," Ironhide hissed. Prowl's wings twitched and his arm shook hard enough he was certain Ratchet at least caught the movement. Pained optics watched Prowl; the medic blinked a couple times forcing himself to focus a little more. "He can recharge when the dead are buried."
"Open your mouth again Ironhide and I'll put a round through it," Jazz hissed, flashing his short fangs and the fins along the top of his head rising.
"Jazz," Optimus said, voice with a little more volume but not his usual commanding tone. Ironhide's optics narrowed and he snorted a blast of superheated air.
Ratchet's acerbic voice cut in before Ironhide could test Jazz's threat. "If all we're going to do here is bicker, I'm going back to the med bay." He rubbed his face with both hands, the only sign he ever showed of how exhausted he was, and stood up.
Prowl stood too, but his optics stayed on the table, the raw wounds on his wings shiny from new energon seeping to the surface. Jazz let out a softer hiss when Prowl turned to leave, the full extent of the damage visible before he gingerly folded his wings back so he could move through the halls.
Jazz stayed next to Ratchet in the hall while Prowl walked stiffly ahead, he was favoring his right hip but trying not to show. "Damage?" Jazz asked softly. This was the first good look he'd gotten at the Praxian and he didn't like what he saw.
Ratchet closed his optics and took a deep breath. "I had to completely disable the sensor relays on his wings, he'd be on the floor screaming in pain if they were still active. He's half blind and deaf without them, balance is compromised, too. He's got a deep cut on the underside of the left one so he won't be in the air any time soon. Hairline fractures all over his lower legs, right one goes all the way up to his hip. From what the Twins told me, the Trine cornered him in the sky and forced him into a hard landing. My guess, they were trying to get him behind enemy lines where ground forces could tear him apart." He rubbed his face again. "He shouldn't be up at all, Jazz. See what you can do to keep him down for the rest of the orn."
"I will," Jazz said softly. He left Ratchet's side to catch up to Prowl, his limp more pronounced. His wings stretched and folded almost spastically as he walked, optics on his feet. Coming up on his right side, Jazz slid an arm around his waist and pressed close. "Come on Prowl, I'll get you back." Prowl resisted for only a second before some of his weight settled on Jazz. His back protested every bit of it but Prowl's breaths came easier. He could feel now how off Prowl's normally smooth gait was. It was like trying to drag Hound back from the pub.
Two steps into his quarters, Prowl gave up pretending he wasn't slagged halfway to the Unmaker and sank to his knees breathing hard, chin almost on his chest. After a breath, Prowl reached up and started collapsing the dented and scarred panels of his armor. Jazz pressed a gentle kiss to the side of his head and went to Prowl's neatly made berth. Pulling the covers back he tried to figure out how Prowl could be comfortable. Contrary to popular belief, winged mechs didn't like resting or sleeping on their chests. The weight of their wings made it hard to breathe. Prowl normally recharged on his side with his wings either folded over him or, if it was hot, cast out behind him.
Prowl had most of his armor off by the time Jazz turned around. Claw marks raked down his chest and around his neck. He had a plasfire burn on his hip Ratchet hadn't mentioned. "C'mon, Prowler, four steps, six at most, and you can recharge," Jazz said kneeling in front of him. Prowl lifted his head like it weighed a hundred kilos, his optics almost black full of pain. Jazz stood and held out his hands for Prowl to grab. Prowl took one after a moment and used the other to help leverage himself off the floor. His right leg buckled and he dropped back with a ragged sound of pain. Jazz winced, but given his condition on top of how badly Prowl was injured, if the Praxian couldn't get up on his own they'd have to make themselves comfortable on the floor.
Taking a couple deep breaths Prowl marshaled his strength again and forced himself to his feet. Jazz caught him when he staggered and they limped the six steps to the berth. Prowl sat heavily and his optics started to roll back before he caught himself. "If you face the wall, can you hang your wings off the side?" Jazz asked sitting next to him. His back felt like it was on fire again. Though it looked like it took all the strength he had left, Prowl nodded. Jazz let out a sigh of relief and scooted back so he could lie down on his chest close to the wall.
Prowl's warm body pressed close to his, his head tucked against Jazz's shoulder. His wings slowly lowered and spilled over the side of the berth. Jazz saw the slice Ratchet had mentioned and lifted his head to look at it better. Someone had tried to take his wing off. Lifting his arm he put it over Prowl's neck and the Praxian hid his face against Jazz letting out a soft sound of either pain or relief, Jazz couldn't tell.
oOo
Jazz woke up when a comm. ping hit him. Cracking an optic open he found Prowl still dead to the world, his body utterly relaxed and his breaths warm and even against Jazz's shoulder. Closing the optic he sent the ping back and waited. Jazz, do you know Prowl's location. He isn't responding. Optimus asked, voice worried.
He's right next to me. If I couldn't feel him breathin' I might'a thought he was dead.
The Prime answered a few breems later. Can you wake him?
I'm certain I can, but why'd I do somethin' like that? Jazz watched Prowl recharge, his battered body needed orns of recharge and recovery, not a few joors. His back twinged, reminding him of how much recovery he needed as well.
He hasn't finished his debriefing, Jazz. I have a lot of mechs who want answers. Jazz's optics narrowed.
Tell Ratchet to give Ironhide a sedative before I put him down for good. Jazz growled.
The Prime didn't respond for several breems and Jazz didn't move. Slowly slipping back into peaceful recharge. Ironhide has been the most vocal, but he speaks for many, Jazz. We need answers, sooner than later. Optimus' voice jarred him from his peaceful slide into dreams.
Using every scrap of skill he had, he got off the berth without disturbing Prowl. Pulling the sheets up a little more to make up for his absent warm body he started for the door, ready to tell the Prime face to face exactly where said mechs could store their questions for the time being.
He paused on the way to the door. Prowl's normally neat desk was a mess of datpads, charts, graphs, aerial stills, unit rosters, and field reports. All that data. And Prowl would go through every word and punctuation until he figured out why the plan hadn't worked. Even if there was nothing to find, even if it just hadn't been in the Autobots' favor to win, he would look through all the data and then he'd look at himself. If he wasn't already. He'd tear himself apart looking for the flaw that had caused their loss.
Glancing at Prowl, still unmoving, his torn wings hanging limp, Jazz carefully stacked the mess into his arms and slipped out of the room.
He didn't go to the Prime's office. Instead he made a direct path to the rec room. As he had assumed, he heard loud voices when he was still twenty meters from the door. Ironhide's was the loudest, as always. Jazz walked in, blinking against the bright lights. Until either he or Wheeljack had a spare moment to fix his visor he was stuck wandering around the ship hoping he didn't walk into any overly bright rooms. He didn't need his optics to find the table full of haggard looking COs and Ironhide. Some of them held their heads in their hands, others had their optics on the table, staring at nothing.
"Where is he?" Ironhide growled when he spotted Jazz. "Prime's waitin' for a report."
Jazz didn't answer. He dropped the pile from Prowl's desk on the table and watched as datpads bounced and skittered toward the edges, stills went askew, the holochips of maps and weapons scattered. The table looked at the mess and then at Jazz, life percolating back into them a little at a time. "Find it," Jazz said optics fixed on Ironhide. The big mech gave Jazz a look of confusion. Gesturing to the pile Jazz said, "That's everything. Terrain maps, four scout reports from four different time periods of the planet, real time aerial stills of the planet taken once an orn every orn until we had troops on the ground, reports from my team on the surrounding star systems, known Decepticon sympathizers in the area, known Decepticon troops in the area as well as their available weaponry, a full roster of all Autobot personnel in this sector—Prowl already did the hard part and sorted their strengths and weaknesses, not only by company but also by individuals—complete list of available weaponry, and even the fraggin' weather report for the next three solar cycles." Knocking aside some of the maps and stills he pulled out a datpad. "This should have all rough drafts of the final offensive plan, the black one is the final and complete plan for everything that went down, and the red ones are all submitted field reports, my team included."
The table stared wide opticked at the overwhelming mass of raw data. Planting his hands on the table Jazz got in Ironhide's face. "So find it," he said, not changing the volume of his voice. He stared straight through Ironhide's faded blue optics. "Find the mistake. Everything's here. So you find the mistake, you rusted-out sanctimonious scrap heap that you're so Pit-cursed certain Prowl made."
Ironhide looked away first and Jazz stood up, his back screaming at the change in position. He hid a flinch when Red Alert came up next to him holding a cube of energon. With his back so badly damaged most of his sensors needed to be replaced and he felt about as deaf and blind without them as Prowl did his wings. Red Alert set two additional datpads on the table. "Prowl always takes into account my defensive measures when planning an offense." He left without any other words.
Jazz stared at Ironhide again as the other mechs stared at the pile of data. "Sometimes the plan doesn't work, Ironhide," he said. "Sometimes, no matter what you do the plan just doesn't fragging work and there's nothing you can do but try to get out alive." He turned and left them with the mountain of data and messaged the Prime. All questions have been answered. Prowl and I are off radar until further notice.
He shut down all comms but the one his team needed to reach him and took a detour to the med bay. All was quiet down the hall; almost eerily so when he knew every berth and more was full of mechs and femmes. He poked his head in first, content to let his question wait if he didn't see a medic immediately. Wheeljack walked along the berths, sharp optics checking monitors and gentle hands soothing restless rechargers. Walking all the way into the med bay, he waited for Wheeljack to come to him. "You're back hurtin' again, Jazz?" Wheeljack asked in a soft voice that didn't disturb the quiet.
Jazz shook his head. "No more than it was. Ratchet still recharging?"
Wheeljack gave him a wry smile. "I check his pulse every now and then to make sure he's alive." He leaned against the wall and let his head fall back and his optics half-close. "Prowl still recharging?"
"I check his pulse every now and then to make sure he's alive," Jazz whispered with a smile. Wheeljack laughed softly and rolled his head forward, true amusement sparking in his optics. "He does have a plasfire burn on his hip that Ratchet didn't mention when he gave me the rundown." Jazz didn't think for a second Ratchet had missed it, but with as tired as the medic was, Prowl could have taken advantage and slipped out before Ratchet had it properly treated.
Wheeljack's brow furrowed and he pulled out a datpad. "Nothing's been transferred to files yet, all I have are his rough notes," he murmured as he scrolled through. "He did note it," he said after a moment. "But he doesn't have what he gave him for it." He and Jazz both sighed. Wheeljack pushed off the wall and went to the back. He came back a few breems later with a small container of salve. "It won't hurt you if you want to put some more on, too."
"Thanks 'Jack. Go check Ratchet's pulse," he said as he left.
Between his back and his optics, the plain door to Prowl's quarters may well have been the open arms of Primus for how relieved he felt seeing it. Stepping in, more than ready to collapse into recharge for an orn straight, he groaned when he saw Prowl awake and sitting on the edge of the berth. "Prowler, the frag are you doin'," he asked walking over to stand in front of him.
Prowl's too dark optics lifted to his. "I have no less than two dozen missed summons from the Prime. I have to go, Jazz."
Jazz cupped his face with both hands. "I'm not up 'cause I'm feelin' spry. Prime's been taken care of and has been informed that short of the Unmaker appearing in the dispensary, we are out of communication range." He pressed a kiss to Prowl's forehead. He felt too warm. Opening the salve kneeled down in front of the berth to see the burn better. "You'd be feelin' better if you let Ratchet treat these wounds instead of slippin' out the door," he murmured. Prowl flinched and twisted his hands in the sheets as Jazz carefully applied a thin layer.
When he stood up Prowl looked like he felt a little better, but exhaustion was dragging him down again. Sitting down further up the berth Jazz carefully lay back. His back didn't appreciate it, but it would quiet once he stopped moving and relaxed. "Come on, Prowler, recharge with me."
In a testament to how tired and beaten Prowl really was he didn't argue. His head settled on Jazz's chest, his body warm and familiar against Jazz's. His wings settled gingerly on either side of them. Stroking Prowl's head and down his back to the sensitive juncture between his wings Jazz let himself relax.
"Jazz," Prowl murmured before he could fully fall into recharge. "Where did all the data on my desk go?"
Still stroking down his back, Jazz activated a soft magnetic pulse and Prowl melted against him with a quiet sound of pleasure. "Ironhide had questions so he's lookin' through it," he answered. Prowl curled closer to him, his breath warm and soft against Jazz's exoform.
oOo
A/N: SusantheRedhead asked if I could write a story as Jazz/Prowl instead of Prowl/Jazz and I must admit, I was a little stumped. This was a fun challenge for me. I've never thought about the Prowl/Jazz pairing where Prowl is the one falling to pieces. Although, looking back over the stories I've read I realize I'm a minority in that.
At the moment, this is just a oneshot. It doesn't have any correlation with other stories I've written. Thank you for R/R/F/F!