Grasping a Chance 9: Taking Punishment for Others
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Jazz booted up to a gentle but insistent caress to the dataport Prowl favored along with the slide of a hand down his flank. It was Prowl's field that was twined with his, and no others were nearby. The arousal there, desire for him, was definitely in Prowl's field. At this point Jazz knew every subtle flavor there, from 'I want to talk' to 'spike me senseless right now' and everything in between. This one held a bit of both. Prowl definitely wanted pleasure, but he wanted to talk to.
With only a small purr of protest Jazz's systems continued to boot, the cover to the dataport sliding back with the next pass of Prowl's fingers. Faint light shone as shaded optics lit his visor and Jazz tipped his helm for a soft kiss. He'd missed this, waking to the other mech and the pleasure that they had started to share more often, often not sure if it was his desire, Prowl's or a combination of both and not really caring.
Prowl plugged in smoothly, their outer firewalls dropping with little question and no effort to go deeper than was offered. While his hands caressed Jazz's frame, light and gentle for a slow build up, his processors were focused elsewhere.
~What do you know of the trial to come? It seems more formality than actual justice to me,~ Prowl asked as the gentle morning kiss was returned.
Jazz took a klik, letting his processors go back over everything that he had learned from Thorn and Wing. ~It is a formality, and justice to them. Though it makes no sense to me. Thorn said they would have the opportunity to plead their case and let it be judged by the Knights somehow, but neither of them are planning to do that. Basically it is going to be a listing of the crimes committed, and a delivering of the verdict and punishments by Dai Atlas.~
~Every mech has the right to plead guilty under Autobot law as well and it would only be a formality,~ Prowl pointed out. ~It does not sound drastically different from a military tribunal or court martial on Cybertron. The real differences come if one pleads innocent, or argue mitigating circumstances. Are we going to be there?~
~Yes. By their rules we have to be, which is the main reason it was put off until you were functional again. We are required to be there for the punishments as well.~ A small shiver of sympathy whispered over the connection with that bit of information. Jazz had witnessed a Knight's penance once before, a memory that was never going to fade in his processor.
~Breaking struts, if that is all it will be, is quick compared to that,~ Prowl said gently, caressing his lover with gentle hands and a soft mental touch. ~You must admit, if you have any care for your keeper it is an effective deterrent to be forced to witness them be hurt so much for your deeds.~ He sighed softly and kissed Jazz again. ~We will soon see exactly what kind of leader and justice the Knights believe in. From where I stand in my knowledge of this place, an escape attempt should be considered treason. That execution isn't likely is ... interesting.~
It ticked the back of Jazz's processors, that Prowl wasn't quite as organized or concise as he had been. He had no way of knowing if it was a temporary thing, part of his processors realigning without the controls they'd once had, or if it was permanent damage.
He touched over that, even as he accepted the comfort that Prowl offered, the odd grounding the mech still provided and that Jazz had never realized he needed until he had experienced it. ~They have always expressed an interest in rehabilitating instead.~ Jazz mused. ~And most of the main population is mecha that were screened thoroughly before they were ever brought along. It's something that may have to change in the future, whether they like it or not.~
Slowly one of Jazz's hands rose and smoothed over Prowl's side, asking if the touch would be allowed before Jazz pressed too much farther.
~Yes,~ Prowl murmured, answering both statement and query. His own hands slid along Jazz's sides, along his hip to caress his spike cover, then further down towards the valve. ~Is it just because I prefer my valve that I've never touched yours?~
~Yes. You always expressed a preference for being spiked, so...~ There was a sort of mental shrug that covered a nanosecond of hesitation, of a deeper sort of not sure that was quickly buried. ~But it's something I enjoy just as much.~
Prowl hummed, a little quirk along the line telling Jazz that Prowl knew it wasn't quite the full answer but wasn't inclined to push. The path of his fingers slipping up to stroke Jazz's spike cover was answer enough for what he wanted this morning.
The cover remained closed, the same hesitation in Jazz's field before he finally got the question out. ~What do you want from me? Of me?~ The undertones and edges of the glyphs went far deeper than the current request for an interface, hinting at the future and things beyond the physical. It was enough to make Prowl still completely, physically and mentally.
The mental shiver was one that Jazz recognized, a core-level debate about just how vulnerable Prowl was willing to make himself with his answer. It settled quickly, but Jazz could pick up on new shields in the background and recognized the feel of those too. They made a place to hide, or to shove unwanted knowledge until it could be dealt with in a safer time and place.
The datastream narrowed, reducing Prowl's vulnerability to a direct reaction.
From Jazz's perspective, it created a clear picture of a mech who expected to be assaulted for what he was going to say.
~For you to stay close.~
Simple glyphs, almost unnaturally so, but within them were the eddies of trying to reach out, to accept what was inherently unnatural because it felt right. There too, in the underlying energy, was the second foundation of Prowl's existence; if it felt right, it would be taken away.
There was no assault except for the sudden release of tension on Jazz's side, acceptance of the statement and a desire to do so thick on its heels. ~I will stay. I thought that you no longer wanted or needed me.~ With that was revelation of just how closely the two were related in Jazz's processor, and a flashback of explanation, their work on the ship were Prowl had tried to send him away. Not just once, but twice.
~To protect you,~ Prowl murmured, somewhere between confused at the statement and relieved at the acceptance. ~I was willfully committing treason. You didn't need to be caught at it.~
~Why protect me?~ The question came back, full of curiosity.
Prowl's processors balked at answering. He didn't have an answer, not a real one, and he knew it.
~I like you.~ He eventually got the jumble of what else would I do down to something manageable.
~Not because you had to. Not because of some coding driven need. Because you liked me. And still do?~ There was amusement and hope in the words, Jazz's frame shifting closer, visor to Prowl's optics.
~Yes,~ Prowl mentally caught his ventilations, holding completely still. Part of him was still terrified that admitting meant losing. Part of him was so desperate for it to work this time he was still taking the risk.
Jazz's helm tipped forward, catching Prowl's lips once more in a gentle kiss. ~You don't have to. It was my job to take care of you.~ He murmured, hand stroking along Prowl's frame to brush over Prowl's valve cover. It slid open immediately, the equipment beyond it already warm.
~I destroy enough lives. I had a chance to give you a good future,~ Prowl trembled into the kiss, his processors tumbling further from their logical core. ~I wanted... I didn't want you to return to the war.~
~And now we are not.~ Jazz smiled, spike extending as he nuzzled at Prowl, warm and welcoming and offering now that he was settled and looking to settle Prowl. He'd learned that tick too, in their time here. Pleasure, physical action was the most effective way to bring Prowl back to level. Even without an overload for Prowl, it could often cause a kind of reset for him when Jazz did.
As always, Prowl welcomed the touch, the offer that was coming. He knew it meant his processors would still, accepting the physical contact for comfort and acceptance that still felt like a novelty. His hands moved down Jazz's back, stroking and teasing, encouraging the lighter mech to continue.
Jazz chuckled aloud, the sound gentle amusement as he guided Prowl to his back and moved over the other mech, hand slipped to tease over the offered valve. ~Much has changed.~ Jazz observed, motions never stopping.
~Yes,~ Prowl moaned, not entirely following Jazz's thought but not really carrying. Of course things had changed. Change was the one constant in the universe. His entire frame moved into the touch and the promise it held as he tried to stop thinking, just for a moment.
Jazz smiled, spike sliding into the slick, hot valve. A moan escaped as he leaned down to kiss Prowl, enjoying the tight squeeze around his spike. His field rippled with pleasure, both physical and his enjoyment of doing this for Prowl, of how in its own way being with him was better than any lover he'd ever had. He felt Prowl move in reply, the pleasure quickly swelling in the Praxian's field. Only a few thrusts in and Prowl was at his limit, but Jazz could hold him there for as long as he wanted to.
Holding him there, prolonging the pleasure that both of them felt, was a skill that Jazz had developed and was still working on. Smooth, easy thrusts that that created waves of pleasure that washed through them both, Prowl's consistent and Jazz's rising with each motion.
Jazz kissed him again, moaning as his charge grew and his coherency started to fall. "Soon. Sorry." He murmured, hoping that it would be enough for Prowl.
"Never be sorry," Prowl moaned into another kiss. "Not your fault what I am."
"You are Prowl." Jazz managed when the kiss broke, a simple answer as he buried his face in Prowl's shoulder, rhythm faltering as energy crackled over his plating and then flared through his frame in a roaring overload.
It was bliss that blasted over the hardline between them, Jazz moving until his frame locked from the strength of the charge, then collapsed on the other mech when it released him into a pleasurable haze. Jazz remained distantly aware that Prowl's hands continued to stroke his back, Prowl's charge long gone, absorbed by the specialized systems that seemed to rule his reality, though perhaps not him. Not completely, at any rate. If felt strange, to know he'd barely aroused his lover and yet feel content with it. Yet this was Prowl and Prowl did not build up much of a charge. Jazz had to be content with it to be with him.
"We should visit the washracks if we are going to make a formal appearance," Prowl said calmly, still stroking Jazz's back.
"We should." Jazz agreed from where he was sprawled on Prowl, content to stay where he was for the moment. "Should get you fueled too, keep Redline happy."
"Medics are a universal truth," Prowl quirked his mouth and nudged Jazz. "Up now. I'm sure our keepers are getting impatient."
With clear reluctance Jazz unplugged, claiming another kiss before he climbed from Prowl's frame and offered the other mech a hand up. Even after all this time, Prowl seemed surprised by the small kindness, though he wasn't always surprised by it. They walked into the living room and were immediately herded out the door and towards the public washracks. An energon cube was pressed into Prowl's hand and three more were handed to Jazz 'for later' according to Wing.
Jazz obediently subspaced the cubes in a place were they would be easily accessible, quiet as he picked up on the fields of their keepers.
The Knights were somber. They knew what was coming and were not looking forward to even the mildest of penances they were due. That didn't mean they weren't going to face it with the dignity and acceptance that had been trained into them.
"Scrub your back?" He offered Prowl as they entered the washracks, following the other mech over to one of the open solvent sprays and reaching around to turn it on so it could warm a little.
Prowl could only nod, drawing officer protocols around himself in a shield of sorts. It was all he had to get him through the trial and punishment he was the sole cause of.
Clean up was quick and efficient, removing the transfers and fluid evidence of their activities. Jazz stole a klik and simply leaned against Prowl's back before he finished, sharing the warmth and comfort of frame and field. He knew Prowl needed it right now.
"Polish?" He inquired, willing if Prowl was. He looked to Wing and Thorn to see if they had the time as well and saw Wing working to make the gold of Thorn's wings shine.
"Yes," Prowl said softly. "A good daily finish will have to do. We don't have time for more."
It bothered Prowl too, but there was no point in voicing that.
"I don't need one." Jazz offered quietly, selecting a nice polish and starting in carefully on one of Prowl's wings, the motions firm enough to not tickle and create the clean shine that looked so good on the elegant sensor panels without crossing the line into irritating or painful.
Truth was, Jazz felt little need for one as well. He had reached the point where he made sure that he was more than merely presentable for dance competitions, but other than that he rarely bothered with the effort of more than the most basic of shines after a good cleaning.
"We have time to get your finish up to par, Prowl," Thorn said quietly, accepting the pleasure of Wing's hands on his wings. They both knew the appendages weren't going to be feeling good for some time.
"Thank you," Prowl murmured, leaning gently into Jazz's touch, enjoying the physical contact and giving himself over to the moment and feeling cared for. The rest of the polishing went in silence, Jazz having plenty of time to bring Prowl up to a VIP shine, one step below an inspection's mirror finish, while the two Knights polished each other. When Prowl washed Jazz, his touch was smooth and perfectly calibrated to clean in a pleasant way, and despite the turmoil the Praxian was feeling, there was definite affection for Jazz in it too.
The mech under his hands enjoyed the attention, a soft sigh escaping his systems as they relaxed some of the tension that he had been carrying. No matter how bad the situation, there was something about being cared for and cleaned, the warm solvent and gentle touches, that could not be denied.
Even if it all came to an end far too soon, as Jazz forced himself to turn off the solvent and stepped over to dry after a final rinse. Prowl caught him with a gentle hand that slid behind Jazz's neck, drawing him into a soft, intimate kiss that left them both nearly shaking.
When the kiss broke Jazz's hand reached up, fingers brushing Prowl's chest lightly enough to not endanger the polish work done, but so reflective of the longing and the need for comfort they understood, and the need for Prowl that he still didn't.
Another nanosecond and his attention turned to the Knights, checking on the progress and looking to their lead. Thorn was just replacing the polish he had used on Wing and was depositing the used polish rag in the laundry as Wing checked his reflection, the white Knight's action more habit than any suspicion that a spot had been missed.
Prowl simply nodded at Jazz's glance and followed him the few steps to the drying room, where they allowed the blowers to do their work. No one spoke as the Knights joined them, fresh rags used to get stubborn bits of liquid off their frames until all four were presentable. All but Jazz had a better-than-usual finish.
Thorn looked them all over, nodded and motioned the group to follow him through the Citadel.
It was that walk that marked the orn as a truly different one. Not a single Knight was out. Not even the Initiates. The empty silence was eerie. It made Jazz shiver and he unconsciously drifted closer to Prowl. He knew the path they were taking, the council chamber. A place that wasn't necessarily connected with good memories to Jazz. The tension in their Knights' frames, the way Thorn led and Wing trailed, putting them in the middle, didn't help the mood.
When the huge double doors to the council chamber swung open for them, it was to a packed room. Every Knight, and likely every Initiate, were there. Those who had a seat, the full Knights, were all in theirs. A quick scan showed Jazz where Thorn and Wing typically sat. One towards the middle ranks, one towards the back. Along the back wall were the Initiates, standing and watching in uneasy silence.
Not a single mecha wanted to be there.
Dai Atlas looked at the four as Thorn led them to the right of the center, to the right of where the Sovereign of Light was standing while Wing tried to be unobtrusive in getting the two civilians to stand where he wanted them. Both Prowl and Jazz were curious if it was significant considering how ritualized much of the Knights' existence was but moved smoothly to Wing's field and barely-there touch until the young Knight was satisfied and stepped in front of them to stand by Thorn.
"Senior Knight Thorn, Junior Knight Wing," Dai Atlas spoke with all the grave formality of a Prime overseeing a capitol trial. "Your noxa have been charged with attempting to flee the city, theft of goods in excess of ten thousand credits, trespassing in a secured zone and lying to authorities by omission. Thorn, your noxa has also been charged with abuse of authority. How do you plead?"
"Responsible for guilt on all counts," Thorn inclined his helm, his wings folded and tucked tightly against his back.
"Responsible for guilt on all counts," Wing spoke calmly, as if this was accepting that he'd been caught sneaking out to fly rather than something that by rights could have a mecha executed.
Hearing the crimes they had committed listed out was another sobering blow, Jazz's frame going still as he contemplated all of that. All of them but the last were correct, accurate. The energon they had stockpiled alone, never mind the parts and materials they had stolen, were well over that amount. But..."You didn't." He whispered to Prowl.
"I used access granted by my job for the theft," Prowl explained, his voice just as low.
That made more sense to Jazz, and he quieted as understanding set in. His field reached out, brushing against Prowl's and trying to get a feel for how the other mech was doing. Prowl's field was tight, controlled, devoid of emotion and almost as devoid of movement as his frame. He teeked the way he looked; a perfect officer in a formal setting.
Dai Atlas accepted the guilty pleas and the whispered comments in the gathered Knights. Jazz and Prowl got a glare but no reprimand.
"Are there any mitigating factors to be considered?" The Sovereign asked, his gaze sweeping to the assembly as well as the accused.
"My charge was acting under the influence of coding and virus that was forced upon him without his consent. His actions are my fault, for not recognizing that he was being influenced by factors beyond his control." Thorn spoke, voice calm and even. There was nothing for him to gain by admitting this fact, but pointing it out where everyone could hear would help Prowl. At least this way the other Knights and Initiates would know that Prowl had not acted out of spite or malice or even a genuine desire to leave, and perhaps be kinder to him for it.
"What is the state of this virus now?" Dai Atlas asked for the record, his gaze moving to Redline, who stood to respond.
"It has been flushed from his coding to the best of my ability," the medic stated for the record.
"Is Prowl capable of answering truthfully as to the state of his processors?" Dai Atlas asked.
"Not directly," the medic shook his helm. "If any of the code remains capable of influencing him, it will continue to force him to state that nothing is wrong. It is possible to detect a conscious lie if given, but not if he is unaware of the influence."
A ripple of sadness went through Jazz at that, though he hid it well. Even with Prowl's assurances it touched on the other mech's doubts a little too deeply. Still, Redline was good. Very good, Jazz knew from the work that had been done on him, an if he had ever honestly prayed to Primus for anything, Jazz asked him now to free Prowl from anything that the medic might have missed.
"Then Prowl, even if granted citizenship, can not be without close supervision," Dai Atlas said gravely, his words carrying the weight of a Prime's edict.
Prowl twitched, but his field spoke of acceptance, even gratitude, along with sadness and something close to anger. It was all gone in under a spark pulse, but Jazz had caught it.
"Does Jazz have any mitigating circumstances?" Dai Atlas looked at Wing.
"May he speak for himself in this?" The white Knight managed to keep his voice steady.
Dai Atlas nodded, his gaze shifting to Jazz.
The other mech shrugged under the stern gaze, not intimidated or really even bothered by the look being bestowed on him. "I helped Prowl of my own free will. No one forced me to do anything. My actions are my own." His gaze flickered to Wing and back. "Not that it seems to make all that much difference to you all."
"It does when the penalties and penances are determined," Dai Atlas said gravely, his optics lingering on his youngest creation and softening for a brief moment before returning to Jazz. "Why did you join in the attempted escape?"
"Because Prowl needed my help." The entire reason, spoken in truth. Jazz harbored no personal desire to return to Cybertron and the war. At first his actions had been driven by survival instincts. But somewhere along the way, some point that not even Jazz could determine, his sphere of loyalty had shifted to include and then center around Prowl. After that, whatever Prowl had needed had become a priority because Prowl needed it, wanted it, and no other reason was necessary.
"Did you ever, for yourself, desire to leave this city?" Dai Atlas asked, his voice steady.
"Not after the first few metacycles. Never after we were out on own, of sorts." Jazz answered, completely honest. There had been a spell when he had first been learning about the city that he had contemplated leaving, but once he had realized that really what he saw when he had looked out from Wing's balcony was what was there only loyalty to Prowl had him planning to go.
"Do you have anything to add for this proceeding?" Dai Atlas gave Jazz the opening to say what he will.
"I'm not sorry for what I did, or my reason for doing it." Jazz declared, first and foremost, and felt Wing's field cringe. "I don't think that Wing should have to suffer for my actions, whatever your rules say. I don't particularly care to go anywhere else, and if Prowl is willing to be kept here under watch, mine or someone else's, I have no reason to leave."
"I am willing," Prowl said in his best officer impersonation. "I have no desire to leave. It is not logical."
It was a statement only Prowl could make and have taken seriously.
"So noted," Dai Atlas focused on Jazz. "Would you take the penances for your crimes as a Knight would to relieve Wing of it? The crimes can not go unpunished."
Wing's field quivered, vacillating wildly between a self-serving hope and what he'd been trained to believe was his duty, his responsibility. "You don't have to. He won't think less of you, I won't. I knew the risks when I argued to be your guardian."
"And you know that I've never understood being willing to take the punishment for others' actions." Jazz responded easily before facing Dai Atlas squarely, wanting the Sovereign to know that when he spoke it was the truth. "I am."
It was a step for Jazz, a huge one based in a belief and trust that had not existed before he landed here. He believed that he would survive their punishment. He trusted that they would not leave him to fend for himself.
He felt and heard shock ripple around the room, through Wing, but it resonated most strongly with Prowl. Or at least Prowl's shock was the one he cared about the most.
"You don't even know the full extent..." Wing snapped his mouth shut and forcibly muted his vocalizer at a reprimanding click from Dai Atlas.
"Very well," Dai Atlas' tone took on a slightly more resonant, approving quality. Impressed. "Wing will face the penances for his failures. Jazz will face the penalties and penances for his crimes as a Knight would." His focus shifted to Thorn and simply nodded. "You may speak if you wish, Prowl."
Jazz knew exactly what was happening in Prowl's processors. He knew the resonance of that field when the mech was in full-on tactician mode.
"I would argue for leniency, based on the lack of control I had over my own systems," Prowl spoke. "The law does recognize the circumstance of malware impairing a mecha's ability to make choices. The escape attempt and hiding it from authorities was purely the demand of the malware. How I organized and implemented the effort was my own."
Dai Atlas nodded, his deep ruby optics glittering as he focused on the Praxian and grasped what he was facing. Yet he had permitted the Praxian to speak, so until Prowl voluntarily stopped or did something out of line, the Sovereign was obligated to listen to what was beginning to sound like a skilled trial lawyer on Cybertron. It was disturbing, knowing what he did about Prowl's lack of such training.
He had a bad feeling that Prowl could talk his way out of the entire list of charges ... only he wasn't trying to. Like Jazz, he seemed to be willing to take responsibility. Though he didn't go so far as to suggest he might take the penances Thorn was facing. He was careful about that, the Sovereign noted, his processors going back to when he'd worked with high-level tacticians before. Often it was core programming to protect themselves as the critical asset they were. He had no doubt he was looking at that here, even if Prowl was not fully aware of it.
These youths had grown up even quicker than Wing had been forced to. They were both younger than Wing too.
It made his spark ache.
"With my help and encouragement." Jazz interjected at one point. That too was truth. Not only had he done nothing to hinder Prowl, he had actually encouraged him.
"Why?" Dai Atlas' attention focused on the youngest mech on trial.
"Because it was what needed, what was being demanded of him." Jazz answered.
The giant regarded him for a long, hard moment, absently noting that Prowl had silenced for the exchange. "Why not bring Prowl to Redline, given you both knew this was coding he did not want? I understand why Prowl could not. You, however, had no such restrictions."
Jazz was silent for a long time, fighting to find a good answer. Because part of him knew that Prowl was frustrated with life in the city.
"Because it was what Prowl said needed to happen." Not blame, but the reason he had gone along with it. "And because I didn't know what would happen if the coding was denied."
He did now. Knew that it had almost cost the other mech his functioning. It was still a recharge terror for Jazz sometimes, that feeling of Prowl fighting the shut down. Of Jazz doing everything he could to prevent it from happening. The personal terror of being alone once again.
He felt Wing's field caress his in support.
"Loyalty is a trait we value here, when tempered by good judgment," Dai Atlas said carefully, watching the four mechs. Both Knights he was proud of. They were handling this as well as anyone could hope to. The strangers were doing better than he'd anticipated. He wouldn't have been surprised to have them dragged in and restrained just to stand through this. Instead they were paying his culture and laws reasonable respect. "Given what you know now, would you aid him again, should the coding still exist?"
"I shouldn't have to choose." Jazz answered, much more softly this time and his attention focused on Prowl, and not the mech that was standing above them to deliver judgment. His field reached out to touch Prowl, pleading for the other mech to understand. "He said himself there is no reason for him to return, and therefore nothing for the code to act upon."
"Answer what you'd do if it did happen," Wing whispered to Jazz.
"I would do what was best for Prowl." Jazz finally said, sorting through how to sum up. "I would do whatever it took to keep him functioning. Since staying here offers the highest chances of that, I would call for help."
It was not a promise, but it was an intent. He felt something akin to shocked, spark warmed awe ghost through Prowl's field as the Knights considered his words.
"Very well," Dai Atlas accepted it. "Prowl, do you have anything else to add?"
Instead of launching back into the legal arguments that he'd begun, Prowl paused, looked around the room, his optics gliding over the mecha who controlled his existence now. From perfection to the Pits to a gilded cage, he would never have what he desired most, never have that existence again, but he was used to cages and this gilded one had kind keepers.
Eventually his gaze came to rest on Dai Atlas. "I want to be part of this city."
Relief flooded back from Jazz and the Knights standing with them. Relief that was rooted in different causes, but thankfulness that Prowl knew what he wanted, and that what he wanted was something that was possible.
The giant inclined his helm again. "Then if all have spoken," he paused, his gaze briefly meeting every set of optics in the room, "the penalties and penances will be read."
The room went silent. Wing was tense, worried for Jazz. Thorn was tense, knowing what was likely to come. Prowl was tense, shamed by what others were facing because he could not accept deactivation. The room was tense, knowing that an escape attempt could be a capitol crime, even if none believed that it would be in this case.
"Senior Knight Thorn, the penalty will be repayment of sixty percent of the value of all stolen goods that can not be returned. You will have full duty shifts for a metacycle, restricted to Prowl's security clearance. For the escape attempt, your penance is to have your wings broken cleanly. You may not seek a medic's care for a full orn and you must pay for such care that you receive when you do. You will have a binding of bronze."
The slender black Knight inclined his helm in acceptance of his fate.
"Junior Knight Wing, you will have full duty shifts for three metacycles, restricted to Jazz's security clearance. You will have a binding of black."
Wing nodded his acceptance, trying to hold back the quiver of relief that his wings wouldn't be harmed.
"Prowl, since there is a medical reason for your work, it will not be taken from you. However, you will be monitored much more strictly. You will remain at Thorn's side during his penalty duty shifts."
Prowl mulled it over and nodded, though it happened fast enough that only thoughts touching his field realized he wasn't just accepting.
"Jazz, the penalty will be repayment of forty percent of the value of all stolen goods that can not be returned. You will remain at Wing's side for his penalty duty shifts. For the escape attempt, your penance is to have your leg struts broken cleanly. You may not seek a medic's care for a full orn and you must pay for such care that you receive when you do. You will have a binding of red."
Jazz nodded in agreement. It was nothing more that he had been expecting, and nothing less. Another proof to him that while their justice may seem odd, it was at least consistent.
"All of you will witness the penances of the others," Dai Atlas finished. "I will oversee. Redline." He glanced at the chief medic, who stood and came to the floor with a grim look. No one said a thing as Dai Atlas led them down to the small collection of penance rooms.
Of the six, only Prowl had not been here before, and he was already twitching, even though he had nothing to face here but to witness the price of his weakness.
Jazz, while not eager for what was to come, was oddly calm in the face of what was going to happen. Perhaps it was because he knew, or at least thought he did, that he was neither frightened nor resisting as they walked down the quite hall that he had only visited once before and truthfully had never wanted to see again.
The Knights looked much the same, not eager but accepting, this place far more familiar to both of them than either of their charges.
They paused as Dai Atlas unlocked a door, then showed them into a large, empty room. Jazz absently identified it as the same one he'd been in before.
Without a word Thorn moved to the center and extended his arms over his helm, wrists back to back, and held there patiently as Dai Atlas secured him in place by a heavy chain. He backed away, and Redline stepped up.
"Spread your wings." The order was calm, even, and despite the way the black-veined golden wings trembled slightly as they were spread, Thorn did his best to be still.
Out of everyone in the room Jazz probably understood the fear the least, the distress radiating from Prowl and Wing was enough to test his self control, pushing at the survivor protocols that had kept him functioning his entire existence almost to the breaking point.
Powerful white hands gripped one wing; one hand just beyond the joint, the other halfway out. In a single, sharp motion the outer hand pulled back and a sharp crack echoed in the room. A nanoklik later the sensory feed reached Thorn's processors and he keened in pain, but managed to keep himself otherwise still.
Jazz flinched, quivering as he forced himself to watch as the process was repeated on the other wing with the same result. He watched as Thorn was released from the bindings holding him, supported through the pain until he was steady enough to stagger away and stand by Prowl, who offered his wing and side to lean on without a sound.
With a settling vent Jazz looked up, suspecting that his turn was next and bracing himself for what was to come. When Dai Atlas motioned him forward, he did so, though it was a fight against survival protocols to allow himself to be damaged in such a critical way. Still he managed as his arms were bound behind him and down, then he was guided to his aft and the chain secured to a place behind him. It was an unpleasant stretch, and it forced him to look at his legs, stretched out in front of him, as Redline brought a heavy metal two-ended clamp out.
The medic set the powerful device on the ground, the clamp by Jazz's leg. He couldn't help the quivering that started to run through his frame at the sight, or the vulnerability that it signaled. He just hoped it would be quick, clean, as promised and as Thorn's had been. It was a comfort in a way, to have a seasoned medic do the damage. If anyone could make breaking a main leg strut clean, it would be someone like Redline.
The clamps secured, a piston was set in place at the midpoint of the leg between the clamps and fired.
Pain tore through his frame, radiating out from his leg faster than his processor could keep up. His helm flew back, visor white and unseeing and mouth open in a silent scream of pain. A groan of agony did find its way out as the clamp was removed and carried to the other side of his frame, each small motion of the broken limb sending stabbing shots of pain through him.
His vents whined in distress as he sort of focused on the other leg, vision sharpening as the process of pinning his other leg and setting the piston was repeated. He could do nothing to counter the tensing of his frame as it prepared to repeat the experience, and he knew nothing that would help.
The second break put him on the verge of stasis, swaying in pain and only the bonds and clamps keeping him upright.
As soon as Redline removed the clamp and stood, Wing was there, careful hands and steadying field reaching for Jazz to make sure the struts were aligned and perform a quick field triage on them so Jazz could stand, however painful it might be to do so. Jazz felt his wrists freed as Wing finished and the young Knight was at his side, offering to helm him up, but not demanding to do so.
Jazz's gaze found Prowl in reflex, a little hurt in the pain induced haze clouding his thinking that the Praxian hadn't come to him, only to realize why. Though Prowl was supporting Thorn, the Praxian's optics were wide and sharp white, locked on the damage to Jazz's legs with horror.
That was enough to focus Jazz's processor through the pain as he gripped both of Wing's hands. "Up." He demanded, voice rough with static as he braced his frame and smothered the groan of pain as he was helped to his feet, weight shifting to lean mostly on Wing in an instinctive response to the pain in his legs that was ignored in favor of his focus on Prowl, field already reaching out to the other mech in assurance and concern.
As soon as Jazz was close enough for their fields to touch, Prowl snapped out of his horrified trance and reached back to try and support his lover.
"The bindings will begin when you have recovered," Dai Atlas spoke sternly, though his optics and sub-harmonics expressed concern and regret.
"I expect to see you both forty-two joors," Redline said firmly, his optics critical on the two he'd just injured, checking for anything excessive or that could have gone badly.
"We will be there," Thorn promised, his voice wavering slightly as he allowed Prowl to support him. Though he could walk, the neural feedback from having broken wings made it more difficult than Jazz would have anticipated.
The journey back to Wing's quarters was slow and painful. Jazz could walk, but each step hurt. He understood the reason behind the punishment, behind the suffering. This was something that he would remember for the rest of his functioning.
But even beyond the helplessness and vulnerability that had his survival protocols up in arms was a simple fact that he found even more frightening.
He would do it all over again for Prowl.
That thought occupied him, distracted him from the pain until they made it in the door to Wing's quarters and Jazz found the coherence to send a pulse of thanks through his field to the white Knight.
"You and Thorn won't have to move until Redline can see to the damage," Wing said gently, trying to reassure, as he helped Jazz lay on the large berth. "Prowl and I will get your energon. Just try not to move and aggravate the damage. The bracing is not that good."
Jazz nodded, frame shuddering as the other mech helped to arrange it on the soft surface, and for the first time Jazz was truly grateful for how picky flyers were when it came to their berths. The softness and support would make the time more comfortable than it would have been otherwise.
He watched as Prowl did the same for Thorn, settling the Knight face-down on the berth and making sure that the broken wings were supported in a position that would cause the least long term pain. Lightly Prowl slipped to Jazz's side and lay next to him, careful to not jostle him. His field was quiet, thoughtful, and still stressed by what he'd witnessed. As much as he hated it, he knew that was why they had to watch it all. Though Prowl wasn't going to be punished directly, he was being punished in a way that might just make him hesitate next time he thought to do something against the law here.
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"Okay. Try that now."
Jazz looked up at Redline and hesitated for just a nanoklik before obeying and cautiously moving his legs. His processor was expecting pain, and he sighed in relief when there was nothing but the slight hitching of newly integrated parts.
"Thank you." He sighed, relaxing back as the medic performed one more check before turning to see to Thorn. The Knight had accepted the pain blocker as soon as he'd come in, but insisted that the medic see to the civilian charge that had braved a Knight's penances before his wings were fixed.
"I'm glad he didn't demand you heal on your own," Wing murmured as he reached out to stroke Jazz's arm. "You're very brave, taking a punishment you didn't have to to spare me."
"He could have done that?" Jazz asked, glancing at Wing before turning most of his attention back to the work that was being done on Thorn.
"He could have ordered an execution, quick or as a penance, though it's never been done for an escape attempt," Wing said softly, earning a sharp intake from Prowl even though it wasn't news to the Praxian. "He usually makes me wait three orns and work through it when I get caught. But I'm stubborn, I yell back, and sometimes I think he feels obligated to be hard on me because I'm his creation."
Jazz hummed softly, field reaching out to brush against Prowl, comforting, calm and much better now that he was no longer in pain. Prowl's entwined with his, accepting the comfort and offering strength and support in return. "So there are others who have tried to escape? Or it is just a possibility?"
"A Knight never has, not any more than I do at least. I just go out to fly, not really to escape since I always intend to come back before my next duty," Wing explained. "A civilian has a couple times, mecha created here. It hasn't happened in my lifetime though."
"And the rest of the punishment? The credits are clear enough, but what is this binding thing?" Jazz asked.
"Credits I'm paying," Prowl said quietly, his tone one of brooking no argument. He couldn't override the protocols insisting he was more important to keep fully functional than a warrior, not in the moment when it counted, but the credits he could provide.
"My punishment." Jazz replied, tone light and prodding at Prowl in a teasing manner before he focused on the more serious matter Wing was addressing.
"My fault," Prowl said firmly, though his field caressed Jazz's affectionately.
"A binding is intended to help a mech understand something about themselves," Wing picked up. "Wrists are bound over your helm and secured so you can't really kneel and you can't stand. You face a wall with a Great Sword's gem at optic level. And you ... let go. You'll be facing Too Pure For This World since you don't bear one of your own," he touched the hilt over his shoulder.
"Let go of what? And is there something significant about the color? What am I supposed to be understanding?" He considered for another moment. "And what's the big deal about the sword?"
They all heard Redline chuckle, and Thorn's weaker amusement before Wing answered.
"You let go of everything. Of trying to think. Of trying to feel. Of trying to remain coherent. Most of the binding's time is usually taken up by that. Though as you'll see with Thorn, experienced Knights can slip into the state with relative ease. I don't go down nearly so easily. I don't know how hard it'll be for you. Yes, the color is significant, but you'll have to tell me what it means. I don't tell you.
"Great Swords are powerful artifacts. It contains a bit of spark energy from every mecha who's been bound to it. The older ones can argue with their bearers directly. Newer ones can only give impulses. It will guide the binding, once you allow it to happen."
Jazz just looked confused as he tried to sort his way through that, and finally mostly gave up with a shrug and focused his attention Wing. "So do I get any clues about your sword? Do I need to worry about it yelling things at me?"
"No, it won't yell at you," he chuckled. "Too Pure For This World is a mellow one."
"Great Swords only speak to their bearer, on the rare occasion they speak at all," Redline added.
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Jazz had been surprised that the bindings were done in the Knight's quarters. That room with the locked door, which seemed empty but for a meditation mat when he'd hacked the lock and peeked in, took on a very different meaning now. The nearly invisible hooks on the wall were for a Great Sword held at the height for the binding. A built-in compartment in the wall held more than a dozen spools of soft cord, each in a different color.
After watching Thorn whimper and shudder and cry out 'no' repeatedly for almost three joors then crumple in Wing's arms when the white jet cut him down, there was a break of almost six joors while Thorn shuddered between Wing and Prowl, then sank into recharge he clearly needed. Redline had come by to check that no physical damage was done and left with a satisfied nod.
Wing's locked room had been the same, the binding much the same, though as the younger jet had warned, he took much longer. Seven joors later and the second time he watched one Knight cut another down, Jazz had no clue what the signal was for being finished. Wing had plastered himself against Thorn and shakily, awkwardly sought kisses and touches until the black Knight had gotten him to his berth. It was strange to see a mech hurting the way Wing had to have been and wanting nothing more than to be spiked.
Thorn had indulged him, and remained close when Wing dropped into recharge after a gentle overload.
Now it was Jazz's turn.
They were in Wing's binding room and the white jet brought out a spool of red cord as the sentence directed.
Jazz vented, forcing himself to focus as the red cord was wrapped artfully around his arms and wrists by Wing. At first the binding had sounded like no big deal.
That was before he had watched Thorn go through his, and then Wing suffer next. The white Knight was holding his field steady, looking a bit odd without his Great Sword, as he worked. It was ritual, a meaning that was important to the Knights but Jazz didn't understand. He had no doubt that Wing would be molded to Thorn's side as soon as possible, Prowl close by, unwilling to be far from a friendly field even after time to recover.
"The first binding is usually traumatic, especially one in red," Wing said gently as he guided Jazz to kneel before the Great Sword on the wall. His arms were stretched up, Wing taking part of the weight until the binding was secured on a long hook. Then he let go, gently, and Jazz's full weight was on his shoulders. "We'll be here for you when it's over."
Jazz nodded and turned his helm to face the sword before him, focusing on the gem and, concentrating on even vents and trying to figure out what in Pit was going on. Let go, they had said. But it also sounded like he wasn't going to get any choice in the matter.
And red. What was so special about red? Wing had said it was bad, the first time. What did that mean. Jazz shifted, the angle and position of his arms already starting to grow uncomfortable. How was anyone supposed to be able to process anything like this, with this sort of distraction.
Irritation started to give way to anger. This was stupid, his processor was growling. There was nothing to be gained from going through this. Why was he here?
Why did he care?
That thought stopped everything, diverting his processors down another path. The only thing that he had ever cared about before he had come here had been himself. Every choice, every action, had been self-serving. Even pleasing others had been making sure that he stayed on the good side of whoever was going to provide his next meal and the protection he sometimes needed.
No one was to be fully trusted, because everyone had an ulterior motive. No one did something for him because they wanted was best for him, or just for him to be happy. Old bitter memories surfaced here, drawn somehow from the depths where Jazz had buried them.
Each event that had taught and reinforced the idea that the world was out to get him. Energon provided when he was a youngling, but only if he ran 'errands' and didn't get caught. Beatings every time he placed a pede tip out line.
Then different uses once he had grown into a mechling and lost the appearance of an innocent youngling. Escaping one personal Pit only to fall into another.
The Autobots had been little different, save that Jazz had a reasonable amount of consistency and some fairness there. Real energon and repairs were guaranteed there at least, so long as he did his job.
That was why he had stayed close to Prowl when this had all started. Prowl was his way back to the familiar. And Prowl had been his assignment, his charge, and returning him functional was the best way to please those over him. Selfish motivation.
Then somewhere, things had changed. Jazz's processor stalled there, demanding the where and the when and why when Jazz would have been just as happy skipping over it. Unlike all the other times, he couldn't just skip over it now. His processors kept circling back to why Prowl was no longer a duty, which bled smoothly into what the Praxian was to him now.
Terms flitted through his processors, some attached to reality, some known only from stories and fantasies long thought forgotten.
What was Prowl to him now?
What had changed that he was willing to take serious damage and more when no one demanded it of him but himself. Wing was honest when he said he didn't resent Jazz for what he was facing.
It finally settled on the fact that it wasn't one single event, just as Jazz's mistrust of the world had not happened all in one functioning altering experience.
Prowl had never demanded anything from Jazz, or threatened Jazz's continued functioning. Prowl had set limits, boundaries and expected them to be respected, but he had never threatened Jazz. He had worked with Jazz, treated him as an equal. Plans had been made with the intent of not only accomplishing what Prowl needed, but working within the bounds of what Jazz was comfortable with, even happy with.
Happy. Truly happy. It was something that Jazz could not remember having experienced for vorns before coming here. And so many of those happy memories centered around Prowl.
Fear flared in Jazz. Whenever he had trusted before he had always been turned on. Prowl just hadn't turned on him yet.
Anger. Anger at Prowl and the city in general, for making him trust again. For making him believe. For the fact that he had suffered in this place that was supposed to be so good. Anger at himself for letting it happen, and forgetting the lessons that he had learned.
Realization slammed into him. He cared. He was angry because he cared. Cared about this place that offered him what he had always wanted, deep down. A chance to do more than survive. A chance to actually live.
He was angry that he cared about Prowl. Because Prowl offered what Jazz had always looked for in others. Safety. Care for Jazz as an individual, even when it seemed like it was at odds with his own programming.
Anger that he cared. Caring was dangerous. It was something that he had given up long ago.
Something that had been missing in his functioning, and something that he was only now realizing he wanted and needed.
A keening cry of confusion, pain, and denial escaped his vocalizer, though Jazz was beyond hearing it. White visor saw nothing but the memories playing through his processor. Betrayal and trust. Pain and pleasure. Hope and depression. Cold loneliness and care.
Care. He cared. And he wanted to care. Wanted to be cared for, no matter how hard he denied it and tried to escape it.
Something broke in him, a dam giving way, and he collapsed in the bindings, vents heaving and soft sobbing sounds escaping his vocalizer. Broken and vulnerable, and completely dependent on others.
Slowly he became aware of a warm, concerned and supportive field skittering across his before enveloping him. A strong arm wrapped around him and suddenly his arms were free to flop down uselessly at his sides.
It took that long for his scattered awareness to realize it was Prowl who had a grip on him. That Prowl was the one to cut him free and support him now that he had no fight in him.
With a whimper Jazz fell into that support, unable to hide the need so thick in him as his helm fell against Prowl's shoulder. Hope and fear swirled along after the need.
Hope that Prowl would stay.
Fear that he would be abandoned now that he knew how much he needed the other mech.
He struggled a little, processor sending commands to arms and hands that did not respond. Commands to hold on tight and not let go, and a keen of distress when nothing happened. "Prowl..."
"I'm here," Prowl murmured, his field a solid presence against Jazz's as he guided the mech into his lap as he sat down. "Your limbs will respond soon." He reached for a hand and began to rub the wrist. "It's over. You can rest now."
"Don't go." Jazz pleaded, trying to burrow weakly into that warmth. "Don't leave."
"I'm not, I won't," Prowl assured him, still rubbing his wrists gently until the color started to come back to a healthy level. "I'll be right next to you when you boot up," he promised.
Tired acceptance and a trust normally kept very deeply buried shone for Prowl to feel as Jazz collapsed against him, recharge taking over as optics went dim and awareness followed.