I have no excuse for why this took so long. It was just a damndably hard chapter to write, despite how pathetically short it turned out. Thank you guys for the lovely comments! I can't wait to ready what you think. Also, out of sheer curiosity, is anyone checking out the songs in the titles? I'm grabbing from all different genres cause ya just got to when it's a Jazz-centric story :D
I consider myself blessed when I think,
floating up above the majority makes others look like they sink.
Hating, you give up nothing, love, you give it up all,
so I smirk at all of y'all while you await my downfall.
-Alias, Deep Puddle Dynamics
It was an annoyingly long recovery for Prowl. Door wing injuries were a nuisance like that. Compromised balance was something he could deal with, but the concentration issues that accompanied the numbing of such delicate sensors was not. He had been staring at the report that glared at him from his computer terminal for the past twenty minutes and he couldn't seem to finish it.
Prime had asked him to give a write up of what had happened with Jazz on the battlefield. It should have been easy—a two minute objective recap of what he had experienced, but he couldn't seem to find the words. Even now, after hours of replaying and analyzing the fight, he couldn't describe what he'd witnessed from his friend.
He recalled the panic on Jazz's face as he'd pressed the gun against Prowl's head, the way his hands and voice shook, and that pained grimace that had make Prowl ache just looking at it. Every movement showed testament to a deep unwillingness, but it was what Jazz had said that sealed the deal in Prowl's mind. Jazz never, ever asked for help. He could be dangling by a finger from a cliff face and would still insist on doggedly pulling himself up no matter if someone else was there to give him a hand or not.
Special Ops had given him a fierce independent streak when it came to handling himself. Always willing to help others, he never accepted it in return. Whether it was a professional need for autonomy and privacy or a personal comfort issue, Prowl was never sure, and until now, he had accepted that uncertainty.
Jazz was, by necessity, full of secrets. But now it seemed that one of Jazz's many mysteries had come back to bite him, and Prowl was left trying to puzzle it all out while missing too many pieces.
With a tired sigh, he leaned back further in his desk chair and rubbed his optics. It was late, far too late for anyone but the night watch to be awake, so when his comm. alerted him to an incoming call, he was instantly alert. The frequency registered as an unknown, so Prowl heightened his firewalls and answered.
"Who is this?"
Static garbled the connection for a moment before an all too familiar voice broke through. "Prowler—man oh man, it is good to hear your voice. Wasn't sure if this would work."
Prowl's vents stuttered in shock. "Jazz?"
"I don't have long—please Prowl, just listen," Jazz said, his voice strained and hurried. "First—I'm sorry I shot you. I didn't want to do it but then again I'm doing a lot of slag lately that I really, really don't want to do," he said. "Second, you get me out of here, I'll explain everything." A hiss of air from vents fuzzed the connection for a moment. "Please, just get me back to the Ark. I don't want to – I can't do this anymore."
Prowl swallowed. It was definitely Jazz, though his voice held that panicked edge he recognized from the battle. "Jazz, we're trying our hardest, but you aren't making it easy for us," he said.
"I know—I know, and Primus knows I'm trying but I can't stop this," he said. "Soundwave's got a hold on me like you can't imagine."
Prowl frowned at that. "You're capable of blocking out his influence—I've seen you do it. Besides, he doesn't possess that level of power or concentration to control some—"
"It's not his telepathy that's doin' it," Jazz interrupted. There was a long silence on the other line and Prowl couldn't stop a small shiver of unease. When he spoke again a few long moments later, his voice was, barely above a whisper. "Get me out of here and I'll explain everything." The line went dead with a click and Prowl stared at his computer screen for a moment longer before he frantically started typing.
Jazz watched Ravage slink around the corner and carefully made sure that his improved comm. was tucked safely away in his subspace. No doubt it would be found when Soundwave did his daily weapons check, but it had been a godsend to hear Prowl's voice, even if he hadn't gotten his entire message across to him. He'd have to suffer without the use of his left audio and the absence of his internal comm. until they could be replaced, but it had been worth it to talk to his friend, even if only for a few minutes.
Glowing red optics looked in at him as the cassette paced silently in front of the cell. Jazz met his gaze levelly even as he slowly lowered himself to sit again, trying to appear as non-threatening as possible. "Ya here to attack me or ya here to talk?" he wondered. Both would be understandable coming from the cassette.
Ravage paced for a moment longer before something in his feline shoulders seemed to relax. He easily slipped through the bars, the current not even touching him. Jazz tensed, ready to fight back if need be, but his fears were unfounded. Ravage padded silently towards him and slowly, almost cautiously laid down, resting his head on his lap. Jazz heard the quiet whirr of gears and Ravage transformed, showing his bipedal form that no one but family knew existed. He kept his face buried tightly against Jazz's hip, curled up like a sparkling.
Jazz swallowed, a small smile on his face that didn't quite cover the grief that lay just below the surface. Tentatively, he rested a hand on the little bot's shoulder before he laid his head against the wall behind him and closed his optics, a sense of peace washing over him that was wholly and entirely unwelcome.