Look, a chapter! And here at least half of you probably thought this was a dead story :p I tried to get this posted by Labor Day (Sept 6th). Clearly I failed, so my new goal as of last week was to post this before Americans eat their Thanksgiving meals. Yay, now I'm on time!
There may or not be a few errors in here since I heavily edited the document after my beta-reader, Evil Ratchet. Since she's got a life I'm not gonna ask her to beta-read it twice :p And if I keep reviewing it then this chapter will never be posted.
Last thing, mech-factor is the Cybertronian equivalent for human-factor.
Prowl's optics flickered briefly before stabilizing as the rest of his systems came online. Usually his sensory systems would nearly explode his CPU from the rapid input whenever he first onlined after an attack. Like so many Cybertronians, several of his systems were automatically programmed to resume or engage battle whenever he offlined unexpectedly. As inconvenient as their human allies found it, the security measure was vital for Cybertronians during an energon-thirsty war. However it was an unnecessary for once, he thought as he listened to the faint buzzing from the medical machines. Times like this reminded his cherished solitude was not always the ideal situation.
Few realized the silence the tactician sought as a blessing was also his curse. What most mechs didn't realize was that a tactician's duties required constant analysis of the situation that could be fully utilized at any given instant regardless of circumstance. In order to compensate for that, tacticians had a backup system to rapidly feed them information of the event leading up and surrounding any status changes, such as stasis lock. As soon as Prowl onlined this accursed system immediately kicked in and initialized his battle simulator to recreate and analyze the battle before he lost consciousness.
Offlining his optics, Prowl tried to forcefully stop the program, but his own basic programming couldn't resist the analysis. The program didn't even resist revisiting and analyzing those painful memories of a life so long ago forgotten brought up in battle. Sometimes being equipped to be the best in the field had a steep personal price.
An alert soon appeared in the corner of his optic, rapidly blinking at him. The alert was meant to inform him immediately when a detailed report on the battle was completed and ready to be utilized at his discretion. However, this hadn't just been a battle. He knew it also included details of his life unexpectedly dragged in from the way the battle had turned. He knew it because he knew his battle simulator better than most, thanks to Blacksmoke's wishes he'd be equipped with one early on. He and his battle simulator were more one than most mechs in the field were with their own. Probably because it was technically a piece of equipment and therefore most mechs had it installed towards the end of their upgrades. The impact of him not having his battle simulator since sparkling hood would probably be similar to Sideswipe having jetpack since sparkling hood. Things like "jet judo" wouldn't exist because he would never have relied on his acrobatic skills to get airborne.
For a brief moment Prowl wondered what his life would've been like if he never had the equipment installed so early. Would he have been more like Smokescreen? His brother had no problem wasting time off duty, but Prowl's CPU couldn't fully comprehend the purpose behind such idle thoughts and actions. Instead, his thoughts kept redirecting themselves to the unopened report. He knew the general contents of the report in part due to his close connection to the battle simulator. It contained results on him, Conex/ConAir… Jazz.
Right now those other results seemed irrelevant as a detailed analysis of Jazz with new facts waiting for him. He might finally understand his feelings and whatever feelings Jazz may have in a way he actually understood. Every time he tried using his battle simulator in the past the report only came back riddled with errors. He could never accurately feed the simulator what it needed since he couldn't even fully understand the moment. Now he didn't need to add any input because it had captured breems of relevant and untouched information on Jazz. Finally it could give him the answers he needed without his own questions or ignorant input interrupting the process.
At the same token, however, the information had been recorded and analyzed under his default battle settings, so they could very possibly be devoid of elements Jazz had taught him to value. It would not be able to use certain parameters such as love or affection because those emotions were often too illogical for a battle simulator to comprehend. They would be logical results without a single emotional allowance. Yet manually re-running the analysis and adding the additional parameters would bring him right back to his original problem every time he tried this route. Without adding those elements into the equations the results would be familiar and logical, something he could finally understand, yet it would lack a certain degree of "forgiveness," or mech-factor. That also meant it yielding a higher possibility of being cold and harsh, possibly crushing him by showing him more than he wanted to see.
Should he risk it?
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Considering they had been friends for most of the war, Jazz had become accustom to the usual Medbay wait for Prowl. Back during their early friendship and careers Jazz would sit outside those doors waiting for news on his friend. However, as the vorns passed and he was promoted through the ranks, he could no longer afford certain things. Waiting outside the doors for news on his friend was slowly replaced by post-battle paperwork or emergency assistance. Anxiety used to eat at him, but after a while he learned how to adjust and the anxiety usually subsided.
Unfortunately none of those methods or any of his usual his private vices worked now. Even though he carried on his required post-battle duties in his office, he found himself taking longer than usual. His processor would not shut up for the few orns Prowl had been out! How the Pit did Prowl put up with the constant stream of information and ideas? Even now his processor was still in overdrive mode, trying to do its own analysis of Prowl's body language on those last moments before Prowl passed out. Did Prowl even remember? Typically a mech's systems became unstable when their energon ran dangerously low and they would lose the ability to store memories, which very likely happened to Prowl.
Did he even want Prowl to remember? Up until a few vorns ago Jazz had thought he only considered Prowl a friend. Despite what the general opinion of him was, Jazz did suppress and hold back a lot of emotions. Thanks to his frequently dirty jobs he'd become damn good at it too. However, when he stood in Prowl's room those several precious orns ago before the battle, his suppressed feelings began pushing their way into his thoughts as the object of his secret love was pinned between him and a wall.
Jazz offlined his optics for a moment as the image of Prowl trying not to shift uncomfortably in front of him formed. His engine revved a little at the image. The sight of those beautiful doorwings quivering slightly as he had pushed himself closer… Jazz quickly onlined his optics when his cooling fans softly turned on.
Primus, he hadn't been that revved up for those kinds of reasons in a while. These orns it seemed like only anger could heat his systems like that. Being stationed on a fragile planet with only a ship-full of comrades and plenty of greedy Decepticons tended to do that.
His mood immediately soured as the image of a 'pleasantly' troubled Prowl was replaced by Prowl deeply in trouble. Seeing Prowl tied up with energon leaking out and some jackaft ripping pieces of Prowl's armor off had been almost unbearable. When he first saw that Jazz just about lost his mind. Or maybe he did. The rest of his memories were pretty jumbled. They didn't really clear up until he had Prowl in his arms in dire need of help. He'd frantically hailed the Autobots with his coordinates until he received a response to stay there and wait for help. Partly relieved after hearing the short ETA, he turned his full attention to Prowl trying to figure what he could do with his field emergency medical care kit. Realizing how little of energon was flowing from Prowl's wounds, however, he couldn't come up with much since patching the wounds wouldn't provide any real benefit. The only feasible plan would take too long and Ratchet with his vastly superior equipment would be there by then. So Jazz had done the only thing other he could think of by holding Prowl as tightly as he could until Ratchet arrived.
Orns later, it now seemed like a stupid move on his part. Ever since then Jazz couldn't really stop thinking of Prowl in the way he'd been trying not to. He could still smell the scent of Prowl's standard military polish mixed with something he couldn't readily identify. He remembered it from somewhere long ago and now with his CPU obsessing over those moments for orns it was stuck in his head. With so much of his thoughts focused on Prowl, his CPU finally managed to reach a single conclusion: run to Prowl, hug him, and demand to know where that scent was from.
A sudden hail from Ratchet broke his train of thought as the CMO notified him Prowl was awake. Normally Ratchet didn't bother since the masses would come in droves if he did, but it was one of the few benefits from breaking Ratchet down during his early career. When he finally offered to stay away from Medbay if Ratchet immediately alerted him when his patient could be seen, Ratchet had been all too determined to never fail, least he'd have to suffer and see Jazz's face every other astrosecond.
Taking a deep breath, Jazz set aside his work and began mentally preparing himself. He'd finally have an answer to his question as to whether or not Prowl remembered.
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No t much later from when he first woke up a certain mech with a visor emerged from the Medbay doors and sat down next to him. For the first time in many vorns Prowl adverted his optics. His friend didn't seem to notice, probably due to Prowl adverting his optics just enough he couldn't see Jazz's optics but not enough for it to be easily noticeable to others. Charger taught him the trick back when Blacksmoke still punished him for everything. It gave others the impression he was looking at them while allowing him to mentally distance himself.
While Jazz's lack of awareness of the subtle shift in Prowl's gaze could be explained by vorns of practice from the tactician, the saboteur's own awareness was primarily focused on trying to still sort though his processor. Seeing Prowl's solemn expression and restraint he fumbled a bit for an icebreaker. "Sometimes I swear whatever forced us to keep finding each other never really left. When I used to think back on those times I would think we 'beat it,' so to speak, since we stopped accidentally meeting each other but now I think whatever it was – fate or Primus – actually won because those moments stopped being accidents and now they're part of our every orn."
Prowl's continued silence prompted him to take a more direct approach. Reaching over, Jazz lightly grasped Prowl hand. "You ever think about those times used to be accidents when we would run into each other all the time?" He'd purposely chosen those words. It used to be their old joke about Jazz literally running into Prowl. Especially since he did it again after Prowl first teased him about it.
Despite Jazz's soft touches and friendly words Prowl did not feel the usual need to respond about how Jazz was an absent-minded mech. Instead, he felt nothing. The only coherent thoughts in his head were the results of the analysis report. It had gone further than even he'd thought. Somewhere inside Prowl knew they were partially false results based on what he knew to be missing, but he'd relied on his battle simulator for so long without question that he couldn't really fathom disregarding it now. It felt like doing so would be going against his core personality. Still, even choosing the path most familiar to him seemed so bleak.
"Prowl…" Jazz's hand began to move up his arm.
"Thank you for your assistance earlier. I greatly appreciate your efforts but I should follow Ratchet's order and focus all of my concentration on recovering at this moment." Actually, Prowl didn't care about Ratchet's orders. In reality Prowl just wanted to be alone.
"I highly doubt he meant you can't even talk until you've had whatever amount of rest he deems appropriate," Jazz pointed out.
"With the amount of damage done to my internal systems, anything even lightly taxing can result in more damage than the usual post-battle recovery risks. I must insist that you leave me alone for the duration of my recovery to reduce those chances."
Jazz could feel the words spring up before catching them in his vocalizer. Not only did those words burn from the implication in the injured mech's words, but it was like the old Prowl from long ago had come back. This was the colder version of Prowl; one so many never knew could exist. Mechs always commented how Prowl's voice was flat but they were wrong. Slight as they were, there'd always been some intonation in the tactician's voice. Now there was absolutely nothing in Prowl's voice. Jazz nodded, unable to press on. "Whatever, Prowl." Without another exchange from either of them, Jazz disappeared.
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Even after essentially banishing one of the only mechs he had ever really relied on Prowl hardly felt anything. Some part of him violently rejected the notion of possibly never seeing Jazz outside of work again, but unfortunately for that piece it was in the minority. Prowl knew others would notice the separation and probably wonder what Jazz had done but only he would truly know that Jazz had done nothing wrong. In fact, the report had helped him understand Jazz's body language better so he could apply what he learned from Jazz to finally see what the small touches and lingering really meant. He even briefly scanned his memory banks and started catching what he'd missed. Before he started reading the second half of the report he'd felt more confident than ever over Jazz's feelings and even realized the full extent of his feelings.
Actually, the part about Jazz had his spark pulsing faster than it had in a very long time. Ever since the academy he'd focused more on the logical approach to matters like romance and interfacing. He'd notice a trend of vulnerability for either right off from the beginning. After Conex it didn't seem like a worthwhile risk to him anymore so he didn't allow the opportunity to permit itself again. As he began his second quarter at the academy his view on the subject had begun to change. He started to realize romance and interfacing were two different types of vulnerability. The later wasn't quite a weakness so long as one figured how to guard themselves right. With that idea in mind he learned how to rely on getting what he needed in relationships without much more on his part. Some eventually called him a callous lover but he had been past the point of caring by then. Their words never hurt him because he could only see how illogical they were. Knowing how his "berth-warmers" ended up he never bought them anything.
Jazz however could be smothered in the amount of gifts Prowl had given him over the vorns, or at least if the majority of them hadn't been destroyed during the war or crash. The meaning behind that had been lost on Prowl until now. They had always been thoughtful gifts; from small statues of cultural art around Cybertron to the rare recording of one the greatest musical plays from Iacon before the war had nearly destroyed what made it a city instead of a military base.
As he continued through the report, however, he finally arrived to the second portion dedicated to analyzing his own status and actions. Since tacticians were trained to put the cause first and themselves second the report gave them the results of their own faults and issues in conjuncture to those from his internal repair systems. Typically it only focused on the physical damage and tangible threats. However, with so little physical damage remaining to consider it had done a more in-depth analysis on himself as well. It analyzed his faults when he was with Conex and the trends he either continued to follow or developed since then. He'd started out self-destructive by seeking out relationships where the other mech rarely considered him good enough. Never having been a social mech those destructive relationships were all he ever had.
As he completed his upgrades he'd become distant, not wanting a single relationship more than the physically necessary. Even with those partners he'd purposely let them go after awhile with the little bit of the fake kindness he could bring forth. He'd been alone for so long all he had to fill his time with was studying. In some sense it was his only companion as the few friends he'd developed prior to the academy were separated from him. He became almost obsessed with learning where only his datapads brought him any comfort. About halfway into his academic training when the obsession had grown strong, his berth-partners started demanding more from him. At first he was irritated and as they continually tried to pull his attention away from the datapads the irritation grew until one orn he nearly hit one of them. After that he started noticing the dark thoughts and anger as time wore on. He managed to push himself further away from others. The irony hadn't escaped him; he never wanted to be alone during his early upgrade cycles yet during his training he'd wanted almost nothing more.
Of course that didn't bode well with being an Enforcer since they tended to work in small units more often than not. But the transition from Enforcer to tactician was an entirely different matter and he didn't feel like pursuing the tangent thought. He knew what was down that trail and right now he couldn't contemplate such things.
At any rate, by the time he was preparing to graduate the academy he'd learned how to hold back his anger until he didn't notice it anymore. For a while it seemed completely gone as he lightly socialized with his classmates during their final assignments. When the quarter passed without so much as a hint of a problem, he figured he matured out of whatever it was. In hind sight he supposed that his lack of involvement in anything of real social value was the reason. Regardless, he'd given it no more thought until one orn when his berthmate sprang and attempted to force an event on him that he didn't care much for. After he managed to calm down and saw the aftermath of what he had done he stopped even having casual lovers before he'd found someone just like him. Well, until the mech died at any rate.
Having a steady lover with no real commitments helped him keep his problems at bay until they seemed to disappear again. This time he knew they were still there because every now and then he could feel the anger and hurt. Sideswipe and those Aerialbots mocking him had no idea how lucky they were. He felt the flames for the briefest moment, and like always it left him feeling cold and empty when he pushed it away. In part it was due to his tendency to temporarily shut off the feed from his emotional circuits. Doing so was rather harmful over long-term use and Ratchet would have him committed under even longer medical care if he found out. Prowl learned long ago how the effects of shutting off parts of your core CPU circuitry could cascade on a mech until failure, he just didn't care. He wasn't going to risk a repeat of history so long as he had the option.
His faction depended on him being stable and level-headed so he was. As long as he never confronted his problems he didn't stray. If he kept away from the few triggers he had identified then he and those around him were okay. He never wanted to hurt anyone again so badly even the medic would question their survival chances.
Right now both his CPU and the report was telling him that he was dangerously close to losing that precious stability, especially if he ever risked an old trigger like a long-term berth arrangement. If being in a meaningless relationship could be dangerous, then what about a serious one? A serious relationship like he wanted with Jazz. What would happen if one orn he felt that Jazz was going too far or pushing him too hard? Could he trust himself?
No, not anymore. As his time on Earth grew so had the team's comradely. At first that wasn't a problem, but then their new ideas for fun began increasing insubordination. The change in team dynamics had slowly eaten away part of the stability and familiarity Prowl relied on. Now, instead of a solemn and dutiful team they were a rowdy bunch stuck together through thick or thin. He hadn't noticed the internal toll it was taking for a while, but then his temper seemed just a little shorter with Sideswipe. Before he knew it he could feel his arm rising to hit the youngster. He covered it by faking a grab for the datapad instead of Sideswipe's face.
Knowing all that now he couldn't allow it. He couldn't allow what was starting again to continue growing, especially with Jazz. He couldn't even risk indulging himself in their friendship anymore for fear it would undo his attempts to shut off any emotional feed. As soon as Ratchet left his berthside he'd initiated his secret program.
Now Prowl finally felt as cold and empty as everyone believed him to be but he no longer cared. For all their jests and mockery a handful of orns ago from those he swore to protect, they were finally right.
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Most orns Smokescreen was feeling pretty good by the time he turned in. Certainly not every orn but most. On the ones where his fellow comrades were injured he'd play a few betting games with them, usually without any real stakes involved. Contrary to belief, he was not all about good times and credits. So long as there was no real stakes, the games in Medbay were all about lightening the mood in a rather dismal place. It also gave him time to know a mech – something handy to have at his disposal for diversionary tactics. Need to know what they can handle and how to keep them focused during stressful times. Plus it helped him read them later during a real game. Okay, so what everyone thought of him was pretty accurate. The "mystery" thing just wasn't his style – at least not without some cards in his hand.
There were of course certain individuals no amount of games helped him understand them any better. Those individuals rarely expressed anything more than ease, so he never really paid special attention to them. Perhaps the assumption their ease was from being virtually unflappable is what threw him off the most he saw one of those individuals in the dead joors of the night in the Rec Room. Perhaps it was the solitude coupled with an unexpected stray thought, but Jazz looked miserable. The look barely lasted long enough for Smokescreen to identify it before Jazz turn towards him with only his usual charm and grace showing.
"Hey Smokey, what brings you here at these joors of the night?"
Dropping down next to him, Smokescreen's hands caught his head so it didn't hitting the table. "Calming Bluestreak."
"You actually did it?"
"If by 'it' you mean spike his energon with some sedatives, then yes; I did it."
"You spiked your own upset brother's energon?" Jazz shook his head. "Harsh. I'm not even gonna bother asking how you got a hand on those sedatives. More like whose hand did you win it from?"
Not even bothered by the slightest, Smokescreen just grinned. "Hey, even brotherly love goes only so far. Mine just happens to extend as far as the drawer to help my brother rest during the painful wait over Prowl by using a community item."
"Sedatives aren't a community item."
"They're used on the community."
Chuckling, Jazz leaned back. "Well, I guess Blue's just lucky to have a loving brother who's willing to so graciously help him out." Jazz gave him a sideways glance. "I bet the wait was pretty painful for you with him as your main source for company. Kudos for getting this far."
Smokescreen merely grunted back before glancing at the energon dispenser. "I think the worst of it was not being able to retrieve my own energon. A mech gets used to his little brother but not hunger."
The saboteur chucked before getting up with his own nearly forgotten energon. "I hear ya. Take care."
"Thanks." Smokescreen watched Jazz move to leave. By his nature, Jazz was quite capable of being more difficult to read than an invisible Mirage but he knew enough about the mech. "Actually, Jazz," he quickly spoke up before the black and white mech could completely disappear, "I was wondering if I could talk to you."
"Sure, what's up?"
"While I may not freak out like Blue, that's still my brother in there, recovering from only Primus knows what."
"Uh, look mech," Jazz began, forcefully keeping his tone nonchalant, "he should still be awake so you can chat him up yourself."
"He's awake? You saw him?" He knew it. Smokescreen didn't have to ask the attending medical personnel or be the injured mech's brother to notice Jazz was one of Prowl's first visitors. Neither did it take a highly trained logistics mech nor empath to realize Jazz's earlier brief lapse in his guard after seeing Prowl were somehow related. "You know as well as I do what my brother can be like after an attack, particularly as a casualty. I'd rather hear it from you."
Jazz reluctantly nodded. He understood what Smokescreen was referring to and didn't want to hold out on the tactician's family. "He's functioning alright I suppose, all things considered – "
"Not here. Mechs having a rough night start showing up around now. Let's go back to my room." Smokescreen grabbed some energon, relishing the vapors alone.
"Sure, I don't see why not." 'Other than I don't want to talk about Prowl.' Try as he might though, Jazz couldn't think of an excuse to get him out of it without revealing that much.
"Cool, let's get going. I once got stopped by the twins and – well, let's just say you wouldn't believe what they consider a rough night."
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'Why do I have to be a nice mech, damn it? I should just blow Smokey off or at least walked him to the Medbay doors so he could see Prowl himself and then run off before he asks me to join inside. Yeah, I should do that.' Unfortunately, every time Jazz turned to suggest the idea he couldn't. Maybe it was the sight of a similar frame or maybe it was the blasted mech's name catching in his vocalizer, but whatever it was Jazz found himself in Smokescreen's room before he could say anything. 'Damn it.'
"Finally, energon and some peace." Smokescreen dropped down on his coach and sprawled out, skillfully balancing the cube.
"Coming here to talk about your damaged brother is peaceful?"
Smokescreen gave him a pointed look before moving his optic ridges in such a way akin to a human rolling his eyes. "That's not what I meant and you know it. Don't be an aft. But since you seem to want to start there, how is my 'damaged brother'?"
Jazz shrugged. "Good as physically can be this soon after having pretty severe internal damage. Yeah, the repairs took a while and even more are needed, but Ratchet's miracles won't be wasted any time soon."
"Well that sounds like a reason to celebrate."
"Indeed." Jazz calmly sipped his energon.
Smokescreen glanced at Jazz carefully. This was not "pre-celebration" Jazz. He replayed back the last few moments searching for anything he missed the first time around. "I'm sure he was his usual brush-it-off self."
"Yeah, pretty much."
Smokescreen raised an optic ridge. "'Pretty much?' As in more than usual, or less?"
Grunting, Jazz sat down on the tiny spot on the couch Smokescreen's stretched-out form didn't touch. "He wasn't better than usual, but who would be?"
"Come on Jazz, tell me the whole truth and not some half answers."
Sighing, Jazz contemplated for a moment how much he really wanted to say. "I never lied to you about your brother before and I won't start now. He was definitely worse." He paused as he scanned the room until his optics landed on an old digital photograph of Smokescreen and Prowl. "Why does your brother have to be such a Primus-damn thick-headed aft? What the Pit is he so against that no one can get more than a few lukewarm words from him?"
Jazz jumped up, anger suddenly swelling inside of him faster than he could calm down. "I mean, I know he hates being thought of as an emotionally-dead mech, yet he refuses to allow anyone in so what else can he expect others to think. Even I'm hard-press at times to not agree with them and I'm always defending him! Just before our last battle I was trying to help him with the crap mechs were saying and doing about that incident with Sideswipe and now if the moment was to repeat itself I'm not sure I would be able to disagree with them. Why does your brother have to be such a cold, distant glitch? What could've happened to him to make him think this was the ideal way to be?"
Smokescreen waited a moment for Jazz's sake before answering. "In my experience, it's hardly something you can pinpoint that changes a mech and prevents him from being able to comfortably express himself or being almost incapable of forming friendships."
Jazz looked at the mech, thinking about what Smokescreen said and how he'd lost some of old his friends. "Yeah, okay, true enough. Still, in all the time I've known him, nothing serious has ever happened that could've perpetuated his behavior. And before that? I don't quite know of anything past someone was once unreasonably mean to him. A cruel lover of some sort, I think. But still – a mean lover during a mech's initial upgrade period doesn't warp his basic personality. I mean what, was his sparker also mean to him and he just never got over his sparker-issues?" he spat sarcastically.
"Actually, yeah." Smokescreen snapped at him, becoming more than annoyed at Jazz. "Guess you don't know him very well then if you can't think of anything recent or 'sparker-related issues' that might have further closed him off."
Pausing in mid-pace, Jazz stared at him skeptically. "What the Pit are you talking about? I met Flashfire – there's no way he was mean to Prowl. And what incident are you talking about? Or did you mean someone besides Flashfire? 'Cuz I'm hard press to think of a single time the troops or fellow officers were out of line with him before Earth, and I've never seen him horribly upset outside of battle except for what happened to Praxus."
"Well there's the fault in your presumptions – that if anything would push Prowl away it wouldn't have anything to do with battle. Yeah Flashfire was a good mech, but then he wasn't Prowl's sparker so you're thinking of the wrong mech for Prowl's 'sparker-issues.'"
The moment those words left his mouth, Smokescreen's optics grew wide. 'Crap!'
Jazz's animated form stilled as he gapped at him. "Hold up – Prowl had a different sparker? I don't believe it. If so then Charger would've been dead or unable to bond with Flashfire."
"Hey, I'm hard-pressed to believe it too. I mean, I do believe it, I just don't know how we have the same carrier but different sparker."
"What, Prowl didn't elaborate? Didn't want to let you in?" It seemed unlikely Prowl would refuse to elaborate about their creators to his own brother, but then early Praxian society pretty much out-casted bondless couples with children. Back when they were creating sparklings and not relying on Vector Sigma, at any rate.
"Actually…" Smokescreen hesitated, adverting his gaze before continuing on. "The conversation hasn't exactly happened. Uh, Prowl doesn't know that I know."
"Eh? Prowl doesn't know what? You can't be seriously saying Prowl doesn't know that you know he has a different sparker."
"Yeah, I am saying that Prowl doesn't know that I know he doesn't share the same sparker as Blue and me." Smokescreen clarified. "I learned about it at something you apparently don't recall being a big deal to Prowl."
He brought his gaze back to the saboteur only to be met with Jazz's uncomfortable blank stare. After a few silent moments, Smokescreen's discomfort finally pushed him to elaborate. "Back before we left Cybertron I kind of met his sparker. It wasn't exactly under pretty circumstances either."
The biggest problem I had with this chapter is I only got to write it in 0.5-1.0 hour increments over roughly 4 months. Damn you, RL. When I did that a couple of story-related items sprang up on me. It really doesn't affect the story much, but you may see some tiny discrepancies.
If you're trying to recall whether or not I previously mentioned Prowl's battle simulator/computer was installed as a sparkling, I can't find it so I think that I accidently deleted in an edit. I remember writing it in one of the past chapters. Damn it for spreading this story out so long I can't completely recall my *own* story. I'm learning so many author things due to this chapter.
I really don't mind constructive crit either. Trust me, my beta has no problem calling me on it if she sees something. Normally I respond to everyone's comments, but every now and then I slip up. Sorry to those that I have! I still love the comments; I just forget to find time to respond to them :( I have a couple of other story ideas so feedback would be appreciated.
Also, if you're like my beta reader and wondering what the hell Prowl did to his ex, don't worry. You'll get your answer, just not in this chapter. Only 3 more chapters to go! Considering the nicer change of pace in RL, there should be a new chapter in December or early January.