PLEASE NOTE that this story has been heavily revised and reworked since the first version was posted. New material has been added, and a lot of the old stuff has been changed drastically.
Author's note: This is a story that I've had on my mind for quite a while but never got around to write until now. Slightly AU in that Jazz is a Decepticon, otherwise it's G1. Prowl/Jazz later on.
Warnings: Story contains slash.
Disclaimer: Transformers doesn't belong to me in any shape or way.
Prowl was standing in his office, seemingly contemplating the wall in front of him. Truth was that he was far too immersed in his own thoughts to even notice anything about the room surrounding him.
He couldn't say that he enjoyed the situation he found himself in. And it was certainly not how he had imagined that his day would turn out when he had gotten up this morning. Originally, he and Ironhide had been supposed to go with the other Autobots on a routine patrol, but shortly before departure Teletraan-1 had started malfunctioning. Nothing serious; it had soon turned out that all that was needed was some simple, albeit long-winded, repair, but since the computer was so integral to their safety even minor errors were always taken care of immediately. So Prowl and Ironhide had offered to stay behind to fix the problem while the others went on their way.
Prowl was certain that it was no coincidence that Jazz had been outside of their base today. The Decepticons must somehow have gotten word about their upcoming patrol – how, he had no idea – and had decided to take advantage of the situation.
It was pure luck that he had caught Jazz, though. The tactician had just happened to be outside when he had spotted someone from afar, someone whom he had first thought to be Ironhide. But the figure had moved strangely, not with the confident stride he was used to seeing in his comrade, but with a creeping gait combined with a paranoid glancing over his shoulder that was almost worthy of Red Alert. So he had moved closer to investigate.
And the rest was history. Now he was left with the decision of what to do about the situation.
Prowl rubbed his forehead – for what time in a row he didn't know – in an effort both to sort out his thoughts and to get rid of that mildly thumping headache that had settled into his processor. He wished Optimus Prime had been there. But as fate would have it, Prime was away on Cybertron settling some unfinished business and was not expected back anytime soon. And as Second in Command, it was now Prowl who was in charge of the Earth-based Autobots.
The others had returned from their patrol mission not long ago, and he had of course not had any choice but to brief them on the capture of the Decepticon saboteur and his subsequent internment into the holding cell area.
The reaction of the present Autobots had, as expected, been quite tumultuous and emotional.
"So you're telling us we actually had a freaking 'Con trying to sneak into our headquarters?" somebody yelled, not quite able to believe his audio receptors.
"And imagine what might have happened had he succeeded! All the data in Teletraan-1 – our battle plans, strategic information, everything! – could have been downloaded and fallen into the hands of the 'Cons," another one grumbled.
"Well, the information in Teletraan-1 is heavily coded and surrounded by security walls; I doubt they would have been able to crack them," a calmer, more reasonable voice stated. "I think the possibility of sabotage would be more worrisome."
"Or that they could have implanted a bugging device of some sort. Didn't you just say that the 'Con was indeed carrying such a thing, Prowl?"
"Yeah, what if he had actually succeeded? Each and every word spoken within the walls of the Ark would have made it straight to Megatron's audio receptors!"
A few of the present mechs shifted uncomfortably at the idea; what chance would they stand if the enemy could listen in on their planning and strategy meetings?
"More importantly," another mech interjected, "how the slag did the 'Cons know that we were out on patrol today? I bet they wouldn't have sent someone to infiltrate our headquarters if they hadn't known about it."
Several nods of approval.
"Yeah, they're not guessing, these 'Cons. They knew. Only question is how?"
"Perhaps we have a security leak somewhere," Cliffjumper grumbled, pointedly turning to look straight at Mirage, who glowered back.
"If you have something to say, why don't you just say it out loud, if you dare?" he sneered menacingly at the smaller mech, clenching his fists.
The red 'Bot took a step forward, not intimidated by the implied threat. "If I dare, huh? I'll tell you what I dare, and then..."
"Oh, don't start again, Cliffjumper," Ratchet chided as he stepped between the two in an attempt to stave off the unpleasant situation. "I thought we had put all this behind us long ago. Fighting among ourselves will do nothing but make the Decepticons' job easier for them."
The words halted the red 'Bot in his tracks. Getting on the medic's bad side tended not to be a very good idea, after all. He settled for a hmmpf and another vicious stare at Mirage.
"Indeed, how did those 'Cons know?" The discussion soon went back on track once it was clear that there were no fistfights forthcoming.
"And if they knew that, then what else do they know?"
"Have they found some new, creative way to spy on what we're doing?"
"We're doomed if they have!"
"Is our security that bad? Could they really have managed to circumvent it so easily?"
"I bet that 'Con knows..."
There was silence for a few astroseconds and Prowl could feel his chassis prickle as more and more optics started to throw surreptitious glances his way. As highest in the command chain now that Prime was away, making sure that security was kept tight around base was ultimately his responsibility. Hence, they all expected him to do something to correct the grave problem now that it had been brought into light. And of course, the easiest, most direct way to do that had already been hinted at.
"So Prowl, has he been interrogated yet? I'm sure that..."
"Yeah, just give me a few kliks alone with that slag heap, and I'll get the answers out of him in less than..."
"Oh, so you're saying we should resort to the same methods that the 'Cons are using? I thought we were supposed to be Autobots!"
"He's right, we're better than they are. Let's not sink to their level!"
"Eh, nothing wrong with some pragmatism. It's not as if – "
"That's not – "
"You – "
"SILENCE". Prowl, although by nature a patient mech, had had enough. The squabbling Autobots quieted, glancing warily at their Second in Command. Cool and controlled, Prowl was usually the last to vent his anger or annoyance openly, and the sudden outburst invariably brought everyone to attention.
Prowl steadied himself. He didn't like having to raise his voice like that, but he had to admit that it had been effective. I guess they didn't expect their emotionless officer with the huge stick up his aft to lose some of that famously even temper of his, he thought self-depreciatingly. He knew very well what the general view of him among his fellow Autobots was. Most of the time he didn't let it bother him, though. Duty and doing the right thing were more important than being well liked.
The Second in Command took a deep breath, hoping he would sound like his normal self again when he spoke.
"Everyone, please quiet down. As commander, I will deal with the situation in what I deem to be the best way." What that actually was, he didn't know yet. "Trust me on that."
Some of the Autobots mumbled quietly, but none spoke up. Even though some wouldn't have minded saying a few additional words on the whole issue, Prowl was someone that they all had confidence in and respect for, no matter what they might think of him on a more personal level. They would trust him enough to let him handle the situation.
"So, if no one has anything else they wish to add, this briefing is over."
The group of Autobots surrounding Prowl slowly dissolved, everyone deep into their own thoughts.
That briefing hadn't been long ago, but somehow it felt as if an eternity had already passed, with all the thoughts that had been bouncing around in Prowl's head since.
He wished again that Prime had been there. He would have known how to handle the situation. Or even if he hadn't, at least the whole thing wouldn't have been Prowl's responsibility.
He made another attempt to sort out his thoughts. One thing was clear, the captured Decepticon had information that would be useful to the Autobots. What his mission in the Ark had been was no great mystery though; the bugging device that he had carried with him had spoken for itself without any further words being necessary. The more disturbing issue here was, as had been pointed out at the briefing, that Megatron had known that they had been planning on going out on patrol that very day, leaving the Ark almost unguarded. This leaking of information might mean that there was a blatant security breach somewhere, one that could have severe implications if left unattended to.
Invariably, this led to the next logical conclusion: Perhaps Jazz knew how Megatron had obtained this information. And perhaps he didn't. One thing was certain though: if he knew, he would not give the information up willingly. And therein lay what had been giving Prowl a mild headache for a sizeable part of the day – how to go ahead in order to obtain the required information from someone unwilling to share it.
Sure, there were plenty of methods that may or may not work in practice, depending on the mech – coercion, threats, bribes, lies, manipulation, what have you. But he was a tactical officer and had never been trained in the art of interrogation, and neither had any of the other mechs in the Ark. On Cybertron, there had been mechs specifically in charge of questioning captured Decepticons, mechs who knew the best ways to convince somebody to spill the information they had.
But regardless, he had no choice but to make his best try. He had to. The information Jazz might have was important. The knowledge weighed heavy on him like it had been a huge slab of iron balancing on his shoulders, pressing him down into the ground. If Megatron had found a way to tap into Teletraan-1 or their security system, it could very well mean that the Autobots on Earth were all doomed. A lot might be at stake, and he was an officer with a duty to act in the best interest of those he commanded. If he did not succeed with this, the safety of everyone in the Ark could be jeopardized.
Prowl paced the length of the room, back and forth, in silent contemplation. He would have to get Jazz to talk, somehow.
Well, perhaps their captive might turn out to be reasonable and decide to willingly offer the information when asked, and the problem would be solved. At least that was what he hoped, regardless of how unlikely the prospect was.
In any case, pacing around in his office wasn't going to help him achieve anything. Glumly, he opened the office door and stepped out.
Jazz was sitting on the hard floor of the barren holding cell, legs drawn up to his chest and arms wrapped around them. He probably looked quite pathetic and nothing like the proud Decepticon warrior he was supposed to be, but he didn't care.
He knew that nobody would be coming for him. No rescue mission would be launched, no breakout attempt on his behalf would be made. It had always been one of Megatron's core sentiments. If you're stupid or incompetent enough to get yourself captured, you're on our own.
True, he would be welcomed back into the fold with open arms if he managed an escape on his own, but he did not see how that was possible. While he was indeed an expert at breaking in and out of places, there was not much he could do without his trusty tools, and they had all been taken from him by the Autobot Second in Command.
Well, perhaps a chance to escape would present itself later, he tried to comfort himself, albeit with little success. Until then, he just had to put up with the situation and whatever was coming best he could.
Jazz shifted slightly. It was next to impossible to settle into a comfortable position on the floor. And the nervousness that was permeating his very spark wasn't making things better either.
In a way, this waiting was worse than anything his captors could have done to him. Whatever their plans for him were, he had already imagined things that probably were a ten times worse than anything they could think of. He thought of what the Decepticons would have done to a captured Autobot, and quickly shoved the thought away. Let's not think about that now.
While it was true that the Autobots took every opportunity to flaunt their precious code and the moral superiority they claimed came with it, Jazz didn't expect it to be much more than big words. At the end of the day, an enemy was an enemy no matter what side of the fence you were standing on. And an enemy in possession of vital information would be treated much the same, Decepticon or Autobot.
He tried to figure out what questions the Autobots would be asking him, tried to make up lies that would sound believable. But regardless of how skillfully and convincingly he could lie, of course the Autobots would check up on whatever information he provided, and then come back for the truth, none too happy.
In a weak moment he even went as far as to entertain the thought of just giving the Autobots whatever it was they would be asking for. No. Unworthy and treacherous thoughts, he quickly chided himself. At least he had to make an effort to resist, no matter how futile it would prove to be in the end. How would he ever be able to face Megatron again if he just gave in?
Don't fool yourself, you will never see Megatron, or any other Decepticon, ever again, a voice inside of him whispered. Not unless the Autobots managed another lucky catch and he got himself a cellmate, which was highly unlikely. The thought pierced through his processor with a painful clarity, jolting him back to brutal reality.
He huddled himself closer. A conversation he had overheard from a couple of fellow Decepticons during guard duty a long time ago started to replay itself in his memory. The two mechs had in graphic detail been discussing what they thought would be the best way to interrogate a hypothetical captured Autobot. Even back then, Jazz had felt uneasy listening to their detailed descriptions and the subsequent snickering and grunts of approval as each of them tried to outdo the other in sheer nastiness. The images had been disturbing then, and they were extremely discomforting now.
Guess those two mechs never imagined themselves being on the receiving end, did they, he thought darkly.
He didn't know how much time had passed since his capture; there was no way to tell time in a cell that was devoid of any natural light. But it did feel like he had been waiting in here forever. Perhaps it was a conscious Autobot tactic, having him sit here doing nothing but think, making him more and more worried and afraid with nothing but his own thoughts to accompany him.
If it was indeed a conscious tactic on their part, he had to admit that it was working.
His thoughts started to drift again. What if they believed him to be in possession of information that he wasn't? While he did know a few things that the Autobots were sure to want to get their hands on, Megatron had always been rather careful in regards to who got trusted with what information. Granted, his closest ally, Soundwave, was trusted with almost anything. Sometimes Jazz wondered if Soundwave didn't actually know even more than the Decepticon leader himself did at times. But as for the rest of them, they tended to get informed on a need-to-know basis only.
Perhaps it was simply a precaution from Megatron's side – the fewer the people who knew something, the smaller the chances were that the information would end up with the enemy one way or the other. Or perhaps it was a deliberate tactic to keep his subordinates ignorant, thereby lessening the likelihood of success of any attempts to overthrow his leadership. Or perhaps it was a combination of both. In either case, it had proved quite successful – the only one who ever dared challenge Megatron's position was that overbearing fool Starscream.
He wondered if he should be relieved that he didn't know very much, or worried. On the one hand, the lesser he knew, the lesser there would be for the Autobots to torture out of him. On the other, he knew he would break eventually, telling his captors what they wanted to know, but what if he didn't actually have the information they were asking for? Who knew how far beyond his breaking point they would continue their persuasion tactics?
A shiver ran down his back. Part of him wished that Prowl had just shot him on the spot when he had encountered him outside of the Ark. What point was there in any continued existence when all that awaited him was unspeakable pain at the hands of the Autobots? His fingers were digging into his upper arms, chafing his paint job and the metal under it, but he hardly registered the physical pain in all the mental anguish that seemed to be all his entire world existed of now.
Prowl was walking through the main room of the Ark, nodding curtly to the 'Bots he passed on the way. Everything looked as normal as ever, the usual everyday activities continuing as they would on any other day. In one end of the room, Wheeljack was working on some sort of apparatus – Primus only knew what it was for – metal spare parts and circuit boards spread out in a wide-radius circle around him. Perhaps the device would turn out to be of use, and perhaps not, there was never any way of knowing with Wheeljack's inventions until they were put to the test and tried out.
A bit away, the friendly banter of Sideswipe and Sunstreaker could be heard, as they quibbled over who had been the true victor of some racing competition that they had apparently held between themselves earlier in the day. Across the room, Ratchet was fixing some circuits in another mech's arm, frequent swear words being traded back and forth – as usual – between the medic and his patient.
Taking in the scenes before him, Prowl was acutely aware that these were the very mechs that he, as a commanding officer, was sworn to protect. Their lives and well-being were his responsibility. And seeing to that was more important than anything else. Protecting his comrades and the ideals they were fighting for. Making sure they would all stay alive to see tomorrow by whatever means he had. If he could not even manage these things, then what else was left for him?
With these sentiments uppermost in his processor, he walked on towards his destination, his stride exhibiting a bit more certainty than it had before.