AN: First off, a big thank you to anybody who read and reviewed the story, I'm really grateful for everyone taking the time to do it. And to Hot Rod's Girl, PrancingTiger86, cmdrtekk, blood shifter, pl2363, Jessie07, TammyCat, Yami-Yugi3; You guys are really awesome. Thank you all for the nice reviews. I appreciate it very much.

Disclaimer (because we have to do them): Transformers isn't owned by me, but by Hasbro, Takara and several other companies. And not Marvel, who I put down in my first disclaimer. Ahh the joy of doing things at three in the morning.

In any case, I hope this lives up to everyone's expectations. Enjoy!

Making Sense of the Illogical
Chapter Three

Klick- About One Earth Second

Breem - 8.3 Earth minutes

Cycle-One Earth Hour

Joor – One Earth Day

Orn - About Two Earth Weeks

Vorn - About 83 Earth years

The thought of seeing Jazz was the only thing that sustained Prowl over the next two joors. He found himself literally counting down the breems in his head.

And in the meantime he had to deal with the twins (he had thought that they were trouble when apart from each other in different units, but together they were even worse), sort out the reports from the other Autobot bases that were under attack or had suddenly found themselves behind enemy lines, and continue making sure Optimus wasn't taking on too much of the work for himself (the minute Prowl had been made second-in-command he had made it his personal mission to make sure that the Prime wasn't doing too much work and wearing himself out, sometimes to the point that Prowl found himself with at least half of Optimus's work as well as his own at times).

So walking to his office on that second joor, hands full of the half-dozen data-padds that he had surreptitiously swiped from Optimus's desk, Prowl found that he was unexpectedly excited by the prospect that Jazz would be waiting outside of his office for him.

Of course no matter how many times he found himself checking his chronometer and mentally repeating to himself (again and again and again and again) that it was just a routine meeting (with Jazz! the voices always chose to scream at this point in his reminder) there was never any actual way to prepare for that moment when he turned the corner and came faceplate to faceplate with the black and white third-in-command.

It seemed to Prowl as if time itself (a supremely unscientific thought) stopped for a breem and that all he could do was stand there, ten feet from where Jazz was unconsciously (and elegantly) leaning against the doorframe waiting for Prowl to return to his office.

Prowl's grip on the data-padds in his hand came dangerously close to the breaking point of the material that they were made of and his intakes literally stopped cycling air as he stood there, silently taking in the glorious sight of the special ops. mech.

Jazz meanwhile had turned around to see who it was that had approached the office and was now giving Prowl a look that was a cross between mystified and concerned.

"Ya alright there Prowl?" Jazz inquired, neatly stepping away from the wall and approaching the seemingly frozen tactician.

All at once the world seemed to snap back into focus and Prowl was suddenly aware that Jazz was only a few feet from him and had apparently asked him a question that he had completely missed thanks to being more interested in watching Jazz than listening to him.

"What Jazz?" Prowl choked out of his vocalizer, trying to find some orientation, some way to steady himself in this situation.

Jazz peered seriously into Prowl's faceplate, concern evident in the frown of his lip components and the tilt of his head.

"I asked," Jazz said, finally looking away from the SIC (and depriving the tactician of the sight of Jazz's striking blue-visored optics), "If you were alright. Do you need me to get Ratchet?"

(No!) the voices that had taken up residence in Prowl's processor screamed. Prowl merely shook his head, wishing nothing more than that Jazz would back up a few centimeters so that his CPU would actually start processing again, and not stall the way that it seemed to have at the moment.

"That won't be necessary Jazz." Prowl verbally replied to Jazz's question. And gathering what was left of his senses, Prowl willed himself to move his legs and resumed his walk to his office door, thus causing him to pass beside Jazz (close enough, Prowl was almost too acutely aware, to reach out and trail his fingers down Jazz's…).

"Ya sure you don't need ta see a medic?" Jazz asked after Prowl stopped for a second time and once again seemed to lose focus on his surroundings.

Mentally slapping himself Prowl shuttered his optics, processor already contemplating scenarios on how to get out of this meeting with any of his reputation, dignity and self-respect still intact. The conclusion (nine hundred and twelve with an overall success rate of sixteen percent) wasn't something that Prowl wanted to dwell on.

Finally making his way to the door, Prowl hastily thumbed the controls and gestured wordlessly for Jazz to follow him inside.

Jazz hesitated for a click, still looking at the tactician worriedly.

"Well if you're sure…" Jazz trailed off, before shaking his head and entering the office.

-TRANSFORMERS_TRANSFORMERS_TRANSFORMERS_TRANSFORME RS-

The meeting was turning out to be slow torture for Prowl.

Logically he had known that anything involving Jazz would be taxing these days (especially since the two mechs were locked in what amounted to a small room with only a very flimsy desk separating them, and no one else and nothing around for Prowl to concentrate on instead), but he was almost convinced that Jazz was part of some cruel conspiracy cooked up by the bots under his command to drive his thoughts out of control and lock up his processor for good.

But then again maybe he was just spending too much time listening to Red Alert.

"Hey Prowl!" Jazz snapped somewhere to his right.

Prowl turned his attention to the saboteur.

"Yes Jazz?" Prowl asked as calmly as he could manage (and frantically started shoving aside thoughts that he was certain weren't appropriate for an officer meeting with another officer of equal rank to be thinking).

Jazz just stood there and looked at Prowl, clearly frustrated with the tactician's lack of attention.

Seemingly coming to a decision, Jazz threw himself into the seat across from the SIC, threw his data-padd carelessly onto the desk and looked critically at Prowl, causing the tactician's intakes to hitch slightly at the sheer intensity of the stare.

"Alright Prowl," Jazz said while kicking the chair back and crossing his legs on the desktop, "What's goin' on man?"

Prowl turned away from Jazz, unable for some reason to bring himself to lie to him while looking at him.

"Nothing's wrong Jazz." Prowl replied, concentrating heavily on the black screen in his hand.

Jazz got out of his chair so quickly that it toppled over with a clang and he pointed one black finger at the SIC accusingly.

"Don't give me that Prowl, I'va known you too long for you to pull that kinda stuff on me. I've never known you to be so inattentive. Now tell me what's wrong frag-it or I will drag you down to medical, by both doorwings if I have to." Jazz said firmly, before crossing his arms over his chest to emphasize his point (and, unconsciously, displaying his rather well built body, though Prowl was reasonably certain that Jazz himself wasn't aware of this).

Prowl frowned up at Jazz. contemplating.

How to tell Jazz that he couldn't get him out of his thoughts?

How to explain to the sub-commander that every second that he was apart from him was pure agony? That all he wanted to do at that very moment was give into the voices that were screaming in his processing unit and pin the gorgeous saboteur to his desk and never let him go?

How to make Jazz see that he was so infatuated with him that he probably would be content and happy with just being able to look at him for the rest of his existence?

"Well Prowl?" Jazz's voice broke him from his silent meditations.

Prowl turned his blank data-padd over in his hands.

More importantly, how to get out of this conversation?

Prowl looked up into Jazz's face.

"Jazz…I ..."

Of course, that was precisely when the alarms around the base chose to go off.

*Edited for content, grammar and spelling on May 27, 2013* -Reposted August 22, 2013*