"The waiting room is on the right," the receptionist barely lifted her helm to look at them.
"This is an emergency!"
She raised an optical ridge sceptically. "Are you a medic? No? In that case you are not qualified to judge that. Please sit down and wait for a medic to attend to you."
The saboteur forced his ventilation online to prevent system overheating from a massive wave of anger. "Look," he said, trying to sound calm, "this abandoned sparkling barely drank half a cube of low grade, purged his tank and fell offline for no apparent reason."
"Overreacting creators... He's not the first sparkling to purge his tank after drinking a stale cube, you know. Now if could please sit down and–"
"Haven't ya heard me!?" Jazz couldn't help it, his patience was snapping. "He's not recharging, he's offline! He needs immediate medical attention! What the frag is wrong with ya?" Her creator protocols had to be glitching! Jazz didn't even realize he was yelling until the femme flinched. Good, he though vengefully.
"What's going on here?" a new voice growled. Jazz turned to see a white and red chevronned bot with medic's decals on his upper servos. He looked pretty irritated. "You're in a hospital! I won't tolerate shouting in here!"
Jazz flinched but held up the mechlet in his servos in answer. "He suddenly fell offline after purging his tank an' she is telling meh t' wait." The bevisored enforcer was starting to calm down now that a medic was there to look at the Praxian. Medics had it in their core programming to help. They couldn't refuse, especially not when a sparkling was concerned.
The medic swiftly plugged a scanner into the mechlet's wrist port. "I don't suppose you're his creator?" he asked for the record, looking at Jazz's enforcer decals. It was fairly evident the sparkling hadn't been cared for, Primus knows for how long, and enforcers weren't exactly prone to mistreat younglings.
"No. He seems ta be homeless. Ah found him crying in an alleyway an' bought him a cube of low grade. He barely had a few sips before purging an' offlining," Jazz explained as the scanner beeped.
The chevronned bot studied the screen with expressionless face but Jazz could feel him tense. Out of nowhere, he unsubspaced a wrench and whacked the femme's helm, leaving a small dent. "His condition is critical, you glitch!" he snapped, took the little Praxian from the stunned saboteur's servos and ran. They stopped by the lifts but the medic evidently wasn't patient enough to wait and took stairs to the second floor.
After several turns they entered what looked like an operating room. The mechlet was put on the table and the medic began to prepare several scary looking instruments. He didn't say a word. Just as Jazz was about to ask what was wrong with the sparkling, the door opened. An angry blue medic glared at the white and red bot.
"Ratchet, which part of 'go get some rest or you're fired' did you not understand? And what did I hear about you denting Quickcall? You are aware–"
"Not now, Patch! This sparkling's fuel tank is ruptured. Help me save his life or frag off!" Ratchet snapped as he put a stasis band on the little patient's helm above the red chevron.
The second medic, Patch, walked in and stood on the other side of the table. "What do I do?" he asked as crimson fingers began cutting the grey abdominal plating with a laser scalpel.
Jazz must have made a sound because both medics suddenly turned their helms to look at him.
"Out!" Ratchet barked with so much authority Jazz didn't even think of disobeying the order.
Thrown out of the operating room Jazz pulled himself together and remembered that he should probably call the headquarters to let them know he wasn't going to finish his patrol. He found a private communication booth and entered his officer's code to secure the line.
"Hey there, Jazzbot!" Blaster's smiling face filled the screen. "What can I do for you?"
"Blaster, m' mech, Ah need t' talk ta somebot in charge of patrols."
"Your wish is my command," Blaster winked and connected him to Prowl.
"Jazz, why are you calling from a hospital? Are you alright?" White and black doorwings rose in alarm.
"Ah'm fine, Prowler," Jazz reassured his partner with a dazzling smile.
"Jazz," the Praxian sighed, "how many times do I have to tell you that I do not appreciate you calling me that, especially on duty?"
"Oops, sorry!" he said with a sheepish smile, at the same time sending a message via their private comm. line. ::Sorry, sparklet::
It only earned him another exasperated sigh. "Why are you calling?"
For the third time that orn, Jazz described what happened. "Ah would like ta stay in ta hospital, if that's 'kay."
"I see. I'll have Baton and Speedstar finish your patrol."
"Thanks, mech!" ::Love ya::
::I love you too:: "Is there anything else?"
Jazz hesitated. He wanted to tell Prowl the sparkling was Praxian but Ratchet implied his life was in danger and Jazz didn't want his love to hurt if the mechlet died. His entire city had been wiped out. Even counting the little one, there were only four Praxians left. To see another one, not to mention an innocent mechlet, deactivate... It would crush Prowl's spark (and Jazz's too). No, it would be best if Prowler wasn't aware of it.
"Nope, have a nice shift!" he waved and disconnected the call, missing how Prowl's optics dimmed in suspicion.
Prowl, on the other hand, didn't miss his partner's hesitation. There was something Jazz had omitted to tell him. Prowl wondered why. Maybe Jazz preferred telling him in person? He tried to run an analysis to guess what information the saboteur had withheld but it was no use, he had too little input. Absently he assigned a part of his processor to deal with datapads and reports (those processes were so simple and routine they hardly required much capacity) and thought about the other black and white mech. The way Jazz smiled, the way moved, the way he spoke... Their first date...
"You just enjoy embarrassing me, don't you?"
"Yep, Ah do! Ya're cute when ya're embarrassed!"
"I am not cute."
"Ya bet ya are! Ya're definitely the cutest an' most gorgeous thing on two pedes Ah've ever seen – and yes, that is 'n invitation for a date, in case you're wondering."
Prowl finished his shift with a smile but stayed overtime to deal with eight additional reports which hadn't been submitted to him on time. Contented that everything had been taken care of, he drove to the hospital. Jazz's enforcer location beacon showed that he was still there, though Prowl was sure visiting hours were over. Thankfully the traffic wasn't too bad despite the shift change and soon he was standing before the information counter.
"I'm sorry but the visiting hours..." for some reason the brightly coloured mech trailed off when he finally looked up from the computer screen. "Second floor, Sector A. It's on the right hand side when you exit the lift."
Prowl's tactical centre went into overdrive as he tried to figure out the seemingly illogical statement. He hadn't even told the mech what he wanted! Maybe the purple and orange bot was a telepath? Unlikely, telepaths were extremely rare and certainly didn't work as receptionists. It would be a waste of their unique talent. My enforcer decals, he suddenly realized. Jazz also had them and it would be a logical conclusion for the mech to assume he came looking for his colleague. Satisfied now, he thanked the mech and followed his instructions.
He found Jazz recharging in a chair. The black and white saboteur looked tired and Prowl didn't want to wake him up but chairs were highly uncomfortable to recharge in and he would online all sore (Prowl would know). Besides, it was time for their evening ration.
"Are you the sparkling's creator?" a very hostile voice asked as he was about to gently shake his partner awake.
He turned to see a white and red medic. If looks could kill... "No, I'm not. What makes you assume that?"
Much to his surprise, the glare immediately lessened. Prowl got his answer as another medic appeared, pushing a small wheeled berth before him. On the berth was a grey sparkling, with red chevron and tiny doorwings. A Praxian sparkling!
"Is he alright?" Jazz asked, woken by their voices. Prowl's visual centre rebooted in shock.
"Yes, he should be," the second medic confirmed. "We will place him in postoperative care unit for the night and if everything is alright, he will be moved to the sparklings' sector tomorrow." He sent them both a small data package with the hospital's map and visiting hours over a short-wave comm. line. "Now go home and get some rest. Same for you, Ratchet, or I'll have these two enforcers escort you to berth! Don't think I won't!"
That earned him a deadly glare from the chevronned mech but in the end the exhausted looking medic complied, albeit reluctantly. Thanking them both, Prowl and Jazz headed home, promising to visit the sparkling the following orn.