AN: Wow. *Looks at the story stats.* Nine reviews for chapter three, and two hundred and twelve hits. You guys rock on levels I can't even name.

Thanks to: PrancingTiger86, Hot Rod's Girl, Randomstrike, blood shifter, Yami-Yugi3, pl2363, TammyCat, Jessie07, cmdrtekk. You have all really motivated me to write, so this chapter is dedicated to you guys (and gals). Thank you.

To everyone else: I appreciate that you're taking the time to read the story, I sincerely hope you've enjoyed it so far.

And now: I hope this chapter doesn't seem too abrupt, but I found a stopping place and decided to post what I'd written. The next chapter (the second half of this) should be up before Friday, so you won't have to wait too long to find out what happens. I'm just crossing my fingers that this doesn't seem too morbid.

In any case, see you all around the end of the week.

And now that that is all out of the way (was it too sappy and weird?)…

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers. Simple enough no?

Please enjoy.

Making Sense of the Illogical
Chapter Four

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 ensuing battle with the Decepticons was one that Prowl was sure would exist in his memory banks to the end of his days.

Despite the Autobot's best efforts Megatron had finally managed to breach Iacon's military border.

The Decepticon war leader had ruthlessly punched a two-mile wide hole in Iacon's walled defenses and had overrun most of the outer area patrol teams before the alarms had even sounded.

Prowl grimaced and looked down at his hands, thinking back to how many con's he had shot down with his acid pellets and to how many of the Autobot's forces had been crushed underneath the ensuing Decepticon wave.

The odds of an Autobot victory for the war had been slim even before Megatron had managed to attack the city-state, but now…

That the Autobot's had managed to successfully counter the attack and drive the Decepticon forces back out of the city was nothing short of a Primus granted miracle in Prowl's opinion.

And now, cycles later, here Prowl stood, waiting in the hall outside the repair bay, silently observing the controlled chaos that was going on around him. Mechs were running this way and that, triaging and doing hasty field repairs on those bots that were still on-line and maneuvering those that were in stasis onto make-shift berths.

Prowl could hear Ratchet in the background issuing tense orders to his medics, and dull bangs were echoing down to Prowl from the upper levels of the base as everyone moved about, trying to find some ways to make themselves useful.

Prowl turned his head and frowned at the closed doors to the medical bay. By all rights, as second-in-command, he shouldn't be here. He should be up in the command center with Optimus and Ironhide trying to keep control of the chaos and keeping everyone productive and in-line.

Prowl wasn't usually one to complain about his injuries (and in fact he often skipped going to the medical center altogether, much to Ratchet's continuing displeasure) no matter how critical the injuries he received were, and the ones that he had incurred in this battle were relatively minor anyway.

And yet he couldn't seem to drag himself away from this place.

By all rights he knew he shouldn't be here, and yet he was. Because Jazz was one of the bot's that had gone down in the battle.

Prowl knew, logically, that he should be up in the command center, helping Optimus keep control of the post battle commotion, and starting on the tactical reports, and making sure that the bots under his command and those in his unit were resting properly and being looked after but his thoughts just kept looping over and over, back to Jazz.

Jazz and the huge hole in his chest.

Jazz and his (beautiful, gorgeous) chassis splattered with energon and leaking fluids.

And so here Prowl was, waiting just inside the doors to the corridor leading into the medical bay, looking down at his hands, and trying to ignore the conflicting thoughts inside of his processor. He was glad for once of being able to use his injuries as an excuse to hang around in the hallway without the fear that Ratchet would suddenly appear and unceremoniously push him out the doors while berating him for 'loitering.'

Push him out before he could find out if Jazz was going to be alright.

So wrapped up in his thoughts was he that it took Prowl a breem to realize that one of the medics was speaking beside him.

He turned his head around just in time to see Hoist set his repair kit down on the ground.

"Were your audio's damaged Prowl?" Hoist inquired of the commander in his thick accent as he stood up and leaned around curiously to inspect said area. "I must have called your name four times."

Prowl shook his head. "No Hoist, my audios aren't damaged."

"Something on your processor then?" The friendly bot asked while pulling out a scanner and turning it on.

"Jazz…" Prowl trailed off quietly.

Hoist winced softly at the saboteur's name.

"Yeah, he didn't look too good. Ratchet's in there working on him right now."

"How is he?" Prowl asked before he could stop himself.

Hoist looked at his scanner and frowned at the readings before diving into his kit and pulling out a tube of sealant.

"You have a number of open cuts and your energon levels are down to forty-nine percent, but other than that your fine." Hoist told the tactician. "I'm going to put some sealant on the leaks to patch them up than I want you to go to the mess hall, get a cube of energon and hit your berth. Got it Prowl?"

Prowl nodded down at the green and orange mech but couldn't help but voice his question again.

"Yes Hoist, but about Jazz…"

Hoist finished his patchwork and looked up at the SIC sympathetically.

"Don't you worry Prowl." Hoist stood up and patted Prowl's arm comfortingly. "Jazz will be okay."

Jazz will be okay. Jazz will be okay. Jazz will be okay.

-TRANSFORMERS_TRANSFORMERS_TRANSFORMERS_TRANSFORME RS-

Prowl repeated Hoist's words over and over in his CPU.

He repeated it to himself when he got up the first joor after the battle and finally reported in to Optimus Prime.

He repeated it to himself as he searched down bots and bothered them until they handed in their reports.

He repeated it to himself as he organized the search and rescue and clean-up teams.

And he repeated it to himself when, after everything he had to do in the joor was done, he would inadvertently find himself making his way to the repair bay and just standing in the doorway of the medical center, unwilling to leave until he had a visual conformation that Jazz's condition hadn't deteriorated.

Hoist's words became a mantra of continuation for Prowl; sometimes they were the only thing that got him through his cycles, the only thing that kept him working from breem to breem.

Jazz will be okay. He had to be.

And in the meantime life had to continue.

*Edited for content, grammar and spelling on June 3, 2013* -Reposted on August 23, 2013*