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.
It was early in the afternoon and Prowl was sitting at his desk fully emerged in paperwork. This was perhaps the least exciting part of his job as Second in Command, but he performed this duty as faithfully as he would any other. Since most of the Autobots under his command were nowhere nearly as conscious about these things as he was, it usually left a lot of additional work for him. As much as it annoyed him at times, he had learned to live with it. It was better that he did things properly than that they would only get done half-heartedly, at best. While he did wish that everyone would take this administrative part of their duties as seriously as he did, he knew that that was hoping for too much.
He put the last piece of paper down on the pile that had steadily been growing for the last couple of hours. There, finally.
Prowl stood up. Time to go see the 'Con again and see what information could be had from him today.
On the way to the holding cells, he almost ran into Beachcomber who came rushing around a corner without really looking first.
"Ops, sorry Prowl, didn't see you!" he apologized before he made to go on his way again, but then he hesitated and turned back to the Second in Command.
"You know, not that I wanna snoop or anything, but I'm just kinda curious... what did you do with that escaped 'Con yesterday?" he said a bit hesitantly, half expecting Prowl to tell him to mind his own business. It wasn't his place to question what a commanding officer decided on doing, but for some reason he had found himself a bit bothered by yesterday's happenings, by the desperate look in the captive's optics... Not that there was anything Beachcomber could do about it, but he still wanted to make sure that the 'Con hadn't been harshly treated.
"I didn't do a thing, Beachcomber. Tempting as it might have been."
His reply seemed to satisfy the other mech, who just nodded and then continued on his way. It surprised Prowl though that Beachcomber had asked; he would never have thought that the 'Bots under his command would show much concern for a Decepticon. But Beachcomber was a very pacifist mech who loathed violence in all forms, so maybe it wasn't that strange that he had asked, especially as he had probably sensed his commanding officer's chagrin at the whole situation.
Still, as angry as Prowl had been, he had never seriously considered actually doing anything to Jazz. True, he had implied it, should the 'Con ever make another escape attempt, but the consequences he had so pointedly referred to had in fact been utterly empty and just something he had said to make Jazz's imagination going enough to prevent him from daring to pull something similar off again.
Autobot as he might be, he was still not above using a little bit of intimidation tactics when necessary.
He reached the holding cell area, and entered Jazz's cell. The other mech didn't even look up when he entered, and as far as the Second in Command could tell, he might very well have remained sitting exactly where Prowl had left him yesterday.
"Just for your information, this section has now been connected to the power emergency supply, and we have added a number of additional sensors and detectors in this area. You might want to remember that before you decide to plan another escape." Prowl bluntly informed him.
Jazz didn't acknowledge this. It hardly came as a surprise and he was too deep into his own misery right now to bother. The failure of yesterday still hung heavy over him, and the hopelessness of his situation had really started to get to him. All he could think about right now was that he would most likely never get out of this cell ever again.
Prowl looked at the unmoving 'Con on the floor and suddenly he felt a small, tiny sting of... pity, was it? He resolutely showed the feeling aside; he had an interrogation to see to and as much as Jazz's situation might be pitiable in itself, it was the result of his having willfully joined up with and fought for the Decepticons. He should be thankful that he was even alive in the first place; if he had been an Autobot who had fallen into Decepticon hands he would have been destroyed a long time ago.
"Your faction isn't much of a rescue attempt organizer, I take it?" His comment wasn't meant to rub it in the 'Con's face that his allies obviously weren't coming for him; it was more an expression of his stunned disbelief that the Decepticons had no problem leaving one of their own in enemy hands without making even the most half-hearted attempt to rescue him. But he supposed he shouldn't be surprised – it was, after all, the Decepticons they were dealing with and those mechs hardly had any concern whatsoever for each other.
Things were certainly different in their own ranks. If an Autobot had been in Jazz's situation, getting him back would have been at the very top of their list of priorities, no doubt about it. Prowl shook his head. Being left at the mercy of your enemy knowing that your comrades weren't going to come for you was unthinkable. Again the sting of pity resurfaced in his processors.
And again, he showed it aside. Pity wasn't going to help him gain any information from the 'Con in front of him.
Jazz didn't say anything; perhaps he thought that Prowl was merely mocking him. Well then, perhaps a different approach was better.
"One thing I've been wondering about: as a member of the Decepticon faction, how come you..."
He was interrupted by a beep from his transmitter. It was Ratchet.
"Hey Prowl, where did you go off to? I thought we were gonna run the analyses for that transmodification program now?"
The transmodification program. He had totally forgotten about that. But Ratchet was right; this was something that had been planned for some time and he should attend to it. Perhaps it was just as well. Jazz was too deep into his own misery stemming from his failed escape attempt to be very talkative right now, so it might be a better idea to come back later when he had gotten over it a bit. If he was simply left alone in his cell for a while, maybe the isolation and lack of company would make him more eager to engage in conversation once he was finally given an opportunity to again.
With that thought, Prowl left the Decepticon and headed towards the Ark's main room where a few of the other Autobots stood gathered around Teletraan-1. Apparently they had already started the process.
"Prowl," Ratchet acknowledged. "Things are looking alright so far; we've encountered a few deviations here and there, but they seem to be pretty much the standard ones. Nothing major yet." He handed the tactician a printout.
Prowl let his optics glance over the numbers and diagrams Ratchet had handed him. No, there didn't seem to be anything serious in there. It might be wise to run an additional check on some parts of the data just make sure, but...
"So Prowl," Ironhide interrupted him in his thoughts, "I sure hope ya've bolted that slimy little 'Con to the floor of his cell to keep him from pullin' anything again."
Prowl sighed inwardly – he probably should have expected Ironhide to ask him about it. But he didn't have to explain himself to the 'Bots he commanded; this was his task to handle.
"I've dealt with the situation as I see fit. That's all I have to say about it."
Ironhide grumbled, clearly not satisfied with the answer, but he knew better than to question his commander. Instead he reluctantly turned back to watching the numbers rolling on the Teletraan-1 screen.
Prowl too turned his attention back to the numbers he had been screening. Or at least he tried to. Ironhide's words had made his thoughts drift back to the only inhabitant of their holding cell section. He wondered if Jazz would be in a comparatively better mood next time he came to talk to him, or if the saboteur would remain in his present half-catatonic state of mind. Then again, Jazz didn't strike him as the kind of mech that would brood too long over a failure. If Prowl just left him to his own for a few days, the 'Con would probably be desperate for some social interaction and hence answer his questions all the more willingly.
Still, he had to admit to himself that somehow the thought of leaving Jazz to sit there all alone for several days in his small, barren cell made him slightly uncomfortable...
Ridiculous. As if he would ever feel sorry for a 'Con over such a minor issue. The mere thought was preposterous. Perhaps he should have Ratchet check that there weren't any glitches in his circuits. In any case, he would soon go see Jazz again. Just a few more days.
Jazz was sitting leaning against the far cell wall, looking bored. Prowl studied him for a few moments before entering. At least the apathetic, half-catatonic state he had been in last time Prowl had come to see him had at least somewhat dissipated.
The saboteur looked up as the bars to the cell retracted and the black and white Autobot stepped in. There was apprehension and wariness on Jazz's face as his optics fixed on Prowl, though it was mixed with what seemed to be a small amount of relief.
Probably, Jazz had been bored out of his mind during the few days he had been left in solitude, and even a visit from his captor would provide an almost welcome interruption in the monotony. Considering the way Jazz's mouth had run during their first proper interrogation session, the mech was obviously someone who enjoyed social interaction. And taking that away from him was probably as good a way as any to soften him up a bit.
A small, ridiculous pang of guilt stirred in the tactician. It wasn't a very sympathetic thing to do, after all.
He quenched the ludicrous thought. Jazz was a Decepticon, and his own choices had put him into this situation to start with, the tactician reminded himself.
Better to get the interrogation started with instead.
"So, then, I hope you've come to your senses regarding further escape attempts?" He ventured, finding no better natural starting point. His winced at how oddly out of place his voice felt in the quiet solitude of the cell.
Jazz only gave the tactician a brief glance before turning his gaze downwards again, clearly not wanting to discuss the subject. No wonder, considering how the failed almost-escape had to still be lingering over his head. He mumbled something not-quite audible, which might have been a 'yes', might have been a 'no', or something else entirely.
Prowl decided not to press the issue.
"Still no rescue attempt, huh?" he asked instead, contemplating whether he should sit down on the floor as well to be on optics level with the other, or remain standing. He opted for the latter. It seemed more appropriate. He was the interrogator and Jazz the prisoner, after all.
"The Decepticon faction doesn't normally stage rescue attempts," Jazz answered, a note of tiredness in his voice, as if he was trying to explain the most obvious thing in the world to a simpleton.
"Why not?"
"A rescue attempt isn't worth the risks that come with it. And a Decepticon who gets himself captured should be able to make it out by himself in order to rejoin his faction. Everyone needs to be able to manage on their own; our cause will not be served by soldiers who can't take care of themselves."
It sounded like something straight out of a manual. Or wherever. In any case, it was unlikely to be Jazz's own words.
"If everyone had to always rely on nobody but themselves, not even the best of mechs would get very far, would they?" Prowl countered, never ceasing to be amazed by the utter tripe that Decepticon philosophy taught.
Jazz seemed to fidget a bit where he was sitting, as if trying to find something to counter this with.
"Well," he finally said, "it's a way of weeding out those who aren't strong or capable enough. Maybe there are benefits to cooperating no matter what, but I'm sure those are more than offset by teaching mechs to rely on others who will not always be there for them."
Prowl had to admit the saboteur didn't sound entirely convinced. Which was fully understandable, seeing as how it was those ideas that had left him sitting here without his comrades coming for him.
"And besides, it helps you to grow more self-reliant and increases your ability to solve problems independently. If you know that others will always be there to assist, you won't make the same effort as if you..."
Still as talkative, if not more so, Prowl noted with some satisfaction as Jazz continued, probably trying, from the sounds of it, to convince himself as much as Prowl.
Ah well. He decided he should let the conversation move on to somewhere perhaps more fruitful. Maybe he could steer it to get Jazz to hint at what some of Megatron's cronies had been doing the other week skulking around at the ostensibly uninteresting outskirts of a small human settling, perhaps?
"Cooperating sure hasn't hurt us Autobots. Then again, I'm not surprised that Megatron would subscribe to such deluded beliefs. He doesn't seem like the most brilliant, far-planning leader, considering how he..."
Jazz was bored. There was absolutely nothing to do in his cell but think. And it felt as if he had already done more of that than would last him a lifetime.
He missed the Nemesis and his comrades. Not so much for any sentimental attachment, but because he was getting tired of the solitude and isolation. As much as he had disliked some of his fellow Decepticons, at least they provided him with the opportunity to talk. To socialize. To laugh. To have company apart from himself.
He had always thrived on the company of others. Being alone didn't suit him one bit.
For what time in a row he didn't know, he started to count the number of bars lining his cell.
There were still ten of them, no more, no less.
He hated the sight of each individual one. Each cold, hard steel rod, trapping him in his cage, shutting him away from the world outside.
Sighing to himself, he started to hum a Cybertronian tune that had gone out of fashion vorns ago, but he had grown tired of the more recent ones, having already sung them softly to himself to pass the time too many times over. The sound of his voice, though quiet and barely perceptible, amplified eerily in the confined quarters, bouncing between the imposing walls like a flock of frenzied animals.
He didn't like the effect, and stopped. But he liked the deafening silence even less, so he took up his humming again, trying to imagine that he was inside his own quarters back at base, lying on his back in his berth, carefree and at ease.
The fantasy wouldn't quite come to him. The notes sounded different, their frequencies somehow distorted by the unfriendly surroundings. But it didn't matter. He preferred their twisted harmonies over the alternative – the pervasive silence.
He wasn't used to it. In the Nemesis, peace and quiet was unusual. Mechs would talk, fight, argue, make noise. Even when he was alone in his quarters about to slip into recharge, there was rarely total silence. There was always something. The barely audible footsteps of whoever was doing guard duty and happened to pass by his room. The angry voices of the Combaticons, whose quarters were next to him, arguing with each other about something or the other. The soft clucking of the surrounding ocean, as it gently rolled against the outer walls of the misplaced spaceship.
Perhaps he had just imagined that last sound. Maybe it had never existed at all. He wasn't sure anymore.
He missed music. He missed the sky. He missed Thundercracker. He even missed Thundercracker's obnoxious wingmates. He missed anything that wasn't this dreary, confining cell.
Resting his chin on his drawn-up knees, he off-lined his optics, hoping recharge would claim him.
Prowl critically scanned the mech slouching against the far wall of the cell, his dimmed visor a tell-tale sign that he was deep into recharge. Ever since Jazz's little escape attempt, the tactician had taken to regularly check on the prisoner, to make sure that he was still where he should be, safely locked into his cell.
He continued to watch the unmoving mech for a few kliks. This was the first time he had been given a chance to study the captive more closely without him noticing, as Jazz had so far never been in recharge when he came to visit the prisoner, be it just for a quick check-up or to try to get some information out of him.
He made quite a pathetic sight, where he sat huddling himself. It was hard to imagine that this was indeed a member of the feared, merciless Deception army.
His optics took to tracing the drab walls, the lack of anything disrupting the gray monotony. True that the Autobots didn't use physical torture, but perhaps locking someone up with nothing to pass the time was tethering dangerously close on the edge of psychological torture. They had never taken any captives here on Earth, so there was little protocol describing how to deal with such situations.
Perhaps he should bring the prisoner a book file or something.
Shrugging, he walked out of the holding cell area and back to his office.