A/N: Thanks for waiting...
Jazz was happy to be back in Iacon. The damned mission took longer than he would have liked. His first urge was to go straight to the Iacon Central to see Blue and Prowler but he knew Imposter would have his plating if he did. Unfortunately, the Praxian cuties had to wait until Jazz debriefed his boss. Maybe they'd already released Bluestreak; Prowl would know. Oh, how Jazz couldn't wait to see his love again and nuzzle those gorgeous doorwings! He forcibly ended that line of thought and focused on the upcoming debriefing. Thankfully this time Imposter wasn't keen on grilling him for long, and Jazzmeister could tick another 'mission accomplished' in his records. Humming a cheerful note he strode down the corridors leading to the Tactical Department, returning greetings and nods with a smile.
The door to Prowl's office was open. Curious, Jazz peered in and found the tactician working at his console. To a stranger Prowl might have looked his usual impassive self but Jazz immediately knew something was wrong. Very wrong.
"Prowler?"
"Ah, Jazz. Welcome back. I trust your mission was successful?"
He nodded and stepped in, closing the door after him. In five quick strides he was at Prowl's side, pulling him to an embrace. He could feel the pair of doorwings tremble.
"What's wrong, love? Did something happen to Blue?" he asked, alarmed.
Much to his relief, Prowl shook his helm. "I believe Bluestreak is fine. A social worker took him to a home for abandoned sparklings to offer him for adoption."
"Ya miss him, don't ya?" Jazz has never heard so much pain in Prowl's voice. "Sweetspark, you know Ah adore him. An' Ah always wanted sparklings. We could raise him together."
But once again Prowl shook his helm, optics white with static. "Not eligible," he whispered. "Mechs with advanced tactical and/or logical centres are not eligible as foster creators."
"What? Why the frag not?" Jazz exclaimed, shocked.
"Incompatible emotional programming."
"That's a load of slag!" the saboteur protested. "Surely they-"
He was interrupted by the sound of door chime. Prowl stepped back, reset his optics and sat down at the table, his face the epitome of neutrality as he pinged the door open.
A dark blue enforcer entered, a pile of datapads in his servos. "I have those reports you requested, sir."
"Excellent. Thank you, Rollout. Please put them over there."
Prowl turned back to Jazz when Rollout left. "As you can see, I have a lot of work to do. I would prefer if we could continue our talk later."
"Of course, love." Jazz reluctantly conceded, knowing better than to argue. Prowl was created to be efficient and he was always able to separate 'personal' from 'important' when it came to work. Few had that gift. Besides, work calmed him and right now it was just what he needed the most.
Five breems later Jazz was on his way to the hospital to find out who took Blue and where. He learned that Bluestreak was taken by a mech designated Quickdrive. Jazz immediately called in a few favours, worrying that by the time he found the mech, it would be too late and somebot would have already adopted their little Bluestreak. Who wouldn't want an adorable sparkling like that?
Unfortunately, the mech's designation was actually Quickdive, and because both orphanages in Iacon were full, 'Blues-streak' was taken to Simfur, leaving Jazz relentlessly chasing the wind.
"Hello, Bluestreak. Do you remember me?" Ratchet smiled at the little Praxian sitting on the examination berth.
The sparkling nodded, forcing an unconvincing smile on his lip plates. Ratchet felt his spark clench at the sad sight. "What's wrong?" he asked softly, caressing the small helm.
Bluestreak wordlessly leaned into his touch, doorwings drooped. The poor sparkling was obviously starved for affection.
"Let's scan you and see how we can fix it, okay?"
The Praxian allowed it without objections, sitting quietly through the process. Normally Ratchet liked well-behaved patients but there was a difference between obedient and dronish. The scanner beeped and Ratchet looked at the data. He didn't like what he saw. He didn't like it one bit.
"Quickdrive." The mech in question flinched when the medic turned to him with a glare.
"My designation is-"
"I don't care what your designation is! Three groons ago I signed off the release of one admittedly shy but perfectly healthy and lively sparkling with a brand-new shiny paintjob. What in the name of Unicron happened to him?"
"We don't know, okay? That's why I brought him here," Quickdive crossed his servos defensively. "There is no reason for his paintjob to look this tarnished. He refuels and recharges normally but he doesn't speak and never plays with other sparklings."
"Someone with his energy readings does not recharge normally," Ratchet challenged.
"Well, he's never complained about being unable to recharge and nobot reported it," the social worker objected.
Ratchet forced himself not to respond, turning back to his little patient instead. "Would you like an energon goodie, Bluestreak?" he asked softly, unsubspacing a sweet crystal.
"I would prefer if you didn't give him unhealthy fuel."
If looks could kill... It took all of Ratchet's willpower not to give the brown mech a piece of his processor. "Energon goodies are only unhealthy when consumed in large quantities. Besides, this isn't a store-brought goodie. I made it myself especially for young patients. It contains cybertronium, duryllium, zinc and several other ingredients a developing frame needs." He offered the crystal to Bluestreak again. The little Praxian looked at his caretaker uncertainly but seeing that Quickdive didn't protest, he took it. He ate it slowly, savouring the taste.
"Remember your roommates?" Nod. "They were released shortly after you left. They kept asking about you when Sunny came for his check-ups. He's finished his drawing, by the way." Ratchet rummaged through the pile of datapads on his table until he found what he was looking for. "Ah, here it is. Sunstreaker asked me to give it to you." The medic had to admit it was beautiful. Sure, Paintbrush had mentioned the mechlet was very talented, but Ratchet never expected him to be this good.
It was a stunningly accurate drawing of Prowl cradling Bluestreak. Somehow, Sunstreaker managed to perfectly capture their expressions. Prowl, his doorwings stiff, frame tense, servos gentle. He held Bluestreak like one would hold a treasure, afraid that the mechlet would fall if his servos were too light, or that he might hurt the little one if his hold was too tight, but desperately wanting to never let go of his precious burden. It was not simply a picture of an adult holding a sparkling – it was a picture of an adult Praxian holding the last sparkling of his nearly-extinct model type and knowing it. Bluestreak's face was partially hidden from the view as he pressed his cheek against Prowl's chest but you could still see his raw emotions – sadness, loneliness, desperate need for affection and protection against the cruel world, mixed with hope and unconditional trust only a sparkling could give. Simply beautiful. Sunny also added a rough sketch of a grinning Jazz in the background. It was in sharp contrast with the elaborate details of the two Praxians but it somehow belonged there. Maybe it was his expression – Ratchet had often seen that affectionate smile on his own creator's face.
"Here you are," he handed the datapad to Bluestreak.
The sparkling took it and simply looked at it for a long while. Then he clutched it to his chest and offlined his optics. Apart from trembling doorwings he sat utterly still; he didn't even make a sound. It was only thanks to his advanced medical sensors that Ratchet realized Bluestreak was actually crying his spark out.