Sometimes Goodbye is a Second Chance – Chapter 1
Transformers (G1) Verse
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Jazz, all alone
Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers…that would be Hasbro, I believe. I also do not make any moola doing this, hence why I work.
Warnings: Still more angst. Things are not going the best for our dear saboteur.
A/N: So sorry this took so long. The art bunnies were biting, but not the writing ones. Thank you to everyone who took the time to read the first chapter of this story originally and left a review, fav'd/alert'd it. I really do appreciate you taking the time to. And now…on with zee story!
Thoughts = Blah
Has our conscience shown?
Has the sweet breeze blown?
Has all kindness gone?
Hope still lingers on.
The World I Know – Collective Soul
(Jazz's POV)
Winds buffeted the former saboteur's monochromatic armor the moment that he took his first steps down (or was it technically up?) the out-of-sorts exit ramp. The thick, blue glass of his visor afforded some protection to the mech's optics by shielding them from the constant flow of air, but little else was guarded from the biting cold.
A chill swept through his large form as Jazz took in the barren, white landscape surrounding his crashed ship for the first time. The entire area seemed to be thoroughly buried in snow and ice—even his vessel was beginning to match the local landscape and (according to his chrono) the black and white had not been offline that long. Shivering once again, the Porsche was hard pressed to not huddle in on himself as the ice storm raging around him continued to pummel his frame. Though built to withstand everything from the singe of a laser to the concussive blast wave of a bomb, Cybertronian armor was surprisingly poor at defending against extreme temperatures. It did well to protect the more vulnerable protoform underneath from other bots sure enough, but failed miserably when put to the test against the elements of other worlds.
Definitely need some kind of cover if I'm going to go out in this.
Jazz let his optics linger again on the terrain and found himself sadly reminded of Earth and its polar regions the few times he had visited them on one mission or another. Even their original home in Oregon had received some bits of snow over the years and he, as well as many of the other Autobots had become notorious for regressing into younglings at the first sight of the precipitation. Ratchet was known to mutter a mighty oath or two whenever the local weather channel would broadcast a chance of the white stuff. After all, it fell to the CMO to fix whatever the "afthead" troops happened to misalign or in some cases break entirely during their "friendly" snowball fights and other rough housing that seemed to coincide with that time of the year.
Venting a sigh, the visored mech watched the warm exhalation turn into a puff of mist before being simultaneously dispersed and carried away by the wind. Sort of like he felt at times—as if the next moment would either take him in its unyielding grasp or blow the broken remains of his spark towards the many ends of the universe. Jazz found himself caring little in the end. There was not much left for him to give in this life and the once Autobot found himself unconcerned with that fact.
Regardless of how he now was, the Porsche strangely still felt the drive to repair his ship. A lifetime of always being prepared for whatever was thrown his way could not be shaken off overnight or even over a few orns of loneliness. No, vorns of being a survivor were ingrained into the visored mech's very being and for the same reason that he had not simply laid down and allowed his spark to fade after the battle with Unicron he would not give in to extenuating circumstances now.
Turning away from the stark, beautiful white, with heavy pedes Jazz trudged back into the cargo bay of his beleaguered, upside down craft in the hopes of finding something useful to do.
For the first time in recent years, Jazz found curiosity bubbling up in his processors like a warm vat of sweet motor oil. The stall-lined streets of Apulu were filled with vendors peddling wares the likes of which he had never encountered on Cybertron and had rarely had the opportunity to come across during his travels off-planet. The mech did his best to not gape at every new shiny object that caught his attention. After all, he was attempting to be inconspicuous amongst the masses. Something made all the easier for the mech by the thriving crowd of market goers ranging greatly in both width and height.
The native Delphians were an old race like the Cybertronians and were equally knowledgeable about space travel and interplanetary relations. But that was where they diverged in being alike to his kin. Whereas the former saboteur was completely mechanical in form—from his quintessential spark chamber to the panels of armor covering his entire frame—the fair-skinned Delphians were completely organic and therefore functioned in an entirely different way from him. They required organic fuel just like the inhabitants of Earth, although they seemed slightly more limited in their selection of fauna and flora in Apulu. At a glance, the average Delphian was around the same height and girth as the average Cybertronian, which definitely helped him to blend in better. Telling the different genders of the locals was another story entirely.
Jazz had scrounged up a few insulated blankets from the hull storage and between them and some convenient rope had managed to fashion himself adequate clothing to protect from the planet's elements for the time being. He was glad for having covered himself so thoroughly as well for it seemed that as well-traveled as the Delphians were, they apparently had their own ideology concerning mechanical beings. The market place was equally filled with both organics and mechanoids, but the visored mech could easily see that all non-organics were non-sentient in nature.
The robots (and here, the former saboteur really had no better name for them at the moment) seemed to be responsible for the more physically taxing tasks, as well as the mundane and tedious. Most vendors seemed to own at least two to four of the Cybertronian-sized dolls and their appearances ranged from a barely discernible, scrapped-together frame to lanky beings with well-made, proportionate bodies, but a faceless helm. For someone who had grown up around both spark-possessing Cybertronians and sparkless drones, Jazz still felt discomforted looking at the blank, expressionless robots. At least Cybertronian drones still had some energy put towards their craftsmanship and were possessed of features to ease their appearance and identify their maker.
The best thing for me to do is find what I need and get the frell out of Dodge.
Glancing around, the visored mech's shoulders slumped as he took in the contents of each station and cart and realized that he might as well be hunting for a piece of fiber optic wire in a bundle of power cables. Most vendors were either selling organic food and drink or things to wear. Apparently the Delphians were more concerned about their appearances than having the latest tech on hand. But Jazz knew what he had seen when entering the city's outskirts—a decent-sized space terminal filled with all manner of craft. Where there were spaceships there were bound to be spaceship parts and those were what he need to get off planet.
As if called out by the mere thought-process, the next aisle that Jazz turned down was occupied mostly by tech and hardware vendors. Pausing in his stride, the mech turned first one way, then the other before scratching the back of his helm absently in confusion. The thick wool rubbed against his derma-plating under his digits, but was not unpleasant. Truthfully, the former saboteur was already becoming accustomed to the feel of cloth over his body. Finally figuring it to be easier to just look than try to figure out a direction he stepped into the first open stall. The hydraulics supporting his legs cushioned his heavy step as best they could, operating in what he affectionately thought of as "whisper mode". The mode had been typically used for his more dangerous infiltration assignments, but now it was coming in handy to mask the true nature of his body.
It was not hard to miss where the shop keeper lurked. Their thick, nearly iridescent skin reflected any light that reached them even with the heavy robes that the Delphians wore as protection from their cooler climate. His (and this was a stretch of a guess for Jazz) head was unhooded and covered in equally pale hair that was braided back in thick, long ropes that hung from varying angles down his back. Jazz gave the organic a wide berth as he investigated the different bins although first glance already told the Porsche that the majority of the stuff was useless junk.
A set of four milky-green eyes followed the cloaked black and white's progression in the open store—two smaller and more forward-facing while the other two were on each side, allowing for a 360 degree view. It was not lost on the former saboteur that the vendor was following his movements like a turbohawk, though whether because of his suspicious appearance or because it was simply a safeguard of the merchant Jazz could not tell. Instead he chose to keep it as casual as he could while disinterestedly picking through a large tub of mostly ruined transistors. Giving it up as a lost cause and fully aware of the hard stare drilling a hole into the back of his helm, the black and white left without another look.
Now back in the throng of the main aisle, the visored mech was hard-pressed to dodge all of the shoving bodies as they eagerly pushed by trying to get to their destination. The last thing that he needed was to cause a big fuss because some careless Delphian bruised an elbow on his shoulder plating.
A laughing pair of younglings—about half his height—ran past, easily jinking and dodging between the throng of larger bodies. They paid the saboteur no mind as they easily weaved around him mid-flight not stopping in their game of tag. With a sad smile, Jazz watched the children until they disappeared down an alley. Youth was always a good thing, no matter what kind of trouble it had the tendency to bring. He had been no exception during his time at one of the youth centers on Cybertron. It had been such a carefree time for the black and white where his greatest concern was avoiding getting caught for the mischief that he caused by one of the caregivers.
Of course, he had a little help in that arena. After his first couple of vorns at the youth center Jazz happened to meet another bot that was just slightly younger than himself who had been newly introduced to the center. Painfully shy and quiet, the mechling had trouble making friends with any of the other younglings in his ward, almost going so far as to avoid interacting with them all together. Not that it dissuaded one blossoming saboteur from strolling right up to the door winged mechling and involving the bashful youngling in his latest bout of mayhem. The mech with plating so similar in coloring to his own was aghast at the first round of trouble that Jazz managed to get them into and lost none of his disapproval to being involved in the chaos that followed the second and third times. By somewhere around the twentieth time—and after both younglings had been caught and thoroughly chastised for their latest act—Jazz's commandeered friend finally threw in the towel and told the spunky youngling that if he insisted on involving him in his endeavors, they might as well do them right and not get caught.
Thus, a young tactician came into being as Jazz's friend proved to not only be smart, but extremely clever. The duo was an unstoppable force at the youth center, causing terror and all sorts of horrible fun for their caretakers during their stay. Much later on in life when their paths happened to cross again, the young (but not youngling) special ops mech found himself just as endeared to his long-lost friend as he had been all those vorns ago. Better yet, the two worked just as seamlessly in their joint efforts—their time together a treasure to them both. It was then that Jazz had begun to realize just what Prowl meant to him.
A loud clang reverberated off of the former saboteur, followed by a curse as someone accidentally knocked their purchases into his side while knocking Jazz out of his daydream. The impact of the wooden crate they held did little damage to the Porsche's thick plating, but it managed to do something to both the crate and crate's owner. After all, in metal vs. wood, metal always won.
As the shopper cursed again in a low hiss while they examined the extent of damage done to their goods with long, delicate digits, the saboteur backed up slowly—white-clothed hands held up before him in a hopefully placating gesture. He made a few, brisk apologies in Delphian as the slightly smaller creature gave him an obvious cool glare before harrumphing and walking away as it was sort of their fault.
Venting a sigh of relief, the mech passed a servo over his visor. Energy still surged in his systems in response to his fight or flight programming coming online, which left the black and white a bit shaky. The extra charge would dissipate quickly, but the Cybertronian equivalent of an adrenaline rush was still too much, causing Jazz to ease out of the crowd and onto a less traveled side street where he could simply lean against a building and gather himself.
Too close. Need to be more careful and not let m'self drift like that.
Gloved servos braced against the broad plating of his upper thighs, Jazz happened to venture a glance at his new surroundings...and stopped. Directly across from him was a storefront (not a vendor stall) clearly advertising both ship parts and services. Of all the places to catch his breath…
Feeling a little refreshed by the return of his old, legendary luck the visored mech straightened up and waited for a break in the foot traffic before hurrying over to the opposite side of the street. The two broad, steel doors to the entrance had been propped wide open and were being kept in place by the myriad of knick-knacks and rubbish parts stacked to either side. This place was not the Ritz of ship parts, but hopefully it would have what he needed or something pretty slagging close.
Casually strolling through the doors, Jazz paused just inside the entrance and took a gander around. For all intents and purposes, the store was obviously little more than a scrap yard with a side business of refurbishing discarded spaceship parts. That or it was some hoarder's dream with parts lined up on every available horizontal surface and even some hanging from the ceiling.
A few scrapes and dragging noises announced the presence of the shop keep to the Porsche's audios. Shuffling feet made their way from the back room of the store before lazily meandering to the front counter. The organic that appeared was definitely not a native Delphian. For one thing, he was closer in height to Bumblebee and for another he looked more akin to some kind of deranged mix of bedraggled teddy bear and golden retriever. The smaller beast glanced up at the bundled Cybertronian, taking him in from pede to helm with an air of disinterest laced with something else.
"So what can I do fer ya?" The owner's drawl butchered the Delphian's native tongue slightly, but was still recognizable to the former saboteur's language decoding software.
Clearing his vocals, Jazz did his best to sound friendly. "I'm lookin' for a couple of parts for a C-56 Class Exploration Cruiser."
"Exploration Cruiser, eh? Yeh. I have some o' those. Depends on which ya want, but they don't come cheap, just so ya know."
Ah-ha! Now the black and white understood the look he was getting. Apparently Jazz was currently not putting off the vibe that he had much in the way of currency. It probably had more to do with his schlepped on robes than anything else, but still…everyone had to be a critic.
Smirking behind his cloth mask, the former saboteur placed a datapad in front of the small, hairy beast along with a full sack of the local coin (courtesy of a quick pawn Jazz had done of some non-essential gear when he first entered the city). The shop keep's jet black eyes widened almost comically at the clinking of change. In a sparkbeat, his expression (as well as his overall demeanor) changed dramatically. Quickly snatching up the datapad, the owner scrolled through the screen as he skimmed the list written there, hmm'ing and u-huh'ing ever so often.
Finally, one small black-skinned hand placed the pad face down on the pitted counter top and smiled through rotten teeth up at the black and white.
"Yes, yes. I have all these thing. Some are hard to get to in ma yard, but you want meh to grab the ones I can for now?"
"Sure, man. Whatever you've got that's ready."
Nodding vigorously as he rubbed his hands together, the smaller organic did a sketchy bow before hollering in the direction that the yard apparently was.
"Hey-a! Bring meh the Exploration Cruiser capacitor and any other cruiser parts that are handy."
Turning back to the patiently waiting mech-in-disguise, the shop keep nodded again while gracing Jazz with another award-winning smile (or something vaguely resembling it).
"It be, but a moment. I have everything ya need."
Smiling wanly back even though the owner could not see it to appreciate the gesture, the former Cybertronian nodded amiably before letting his optics wander along some of the more shiny pieces of ship suspended above the shop. Sensitive audio horns picked up the sounds of large, metal pieces being moved around outside before the steady rhythm of walking feet supporting a heavy body got progressively closer.
"Ah! There is it. Ya see? I have exactly what ya wants."
Glancing away from his lazy inspection of the shop Jazz was about to reply in kind, but was stopped cold in his tracks—lip plates moving soundlessly as his vocals glitched. Just like every other vendor, the shop keep had his own ready supply of robots for the more difficult physical labor his business more than likely required. Unlike any of his neighbors, one of the owner's bots appeared to be none other than a Cybertronian in make—one whose visage was spark-achingly familiar to the former saboteur and Autobot.
Only one word managed to make it out of the static that clogged his voice box.
"…P-Prowl…?"
So I walk up on high
And I step to the edge
To see my world below.
And I laugh at myself
While the tears roll down.
'Cause it's the world I know.
It's the world I know.
The World I Know – Collective Soul
A/N: So…yeah. Hopefully you were able to make it through the details of this chapter to that last bit. There was a bit of background-building that I needed to do. Surprised by the end of this chapter…maybe? Things are about to get a lot more interesting for Jazz…
Please let me know what you think of this story so far. I always appreciate any comments or constructive feedback that I receive. Thanks for reading!