Look who finally got round to typing this up!

Chapter 2 where Prowl didn't die, as requested by IBrokeThe4thWall.

Wishing well alternate

I didn't just love Jazz. I worshipped him. Hidden in the darkness of the night, I left no inch of his body untouched. I clung tightly onto every sound he made, thriving in them.

He had no idea what he did to me.

But he was an idol I could no longer touch.

"Ah think we should call a break."

"I'm sorry?"

"It's gettin' a lil'... Repetitive." Jazz replied, struggling to find the right word.

"What do you mean?" I could feel my doorwings starting to droop.

"Ah'm sorry, it's not you, it's meh." He replied, standing up. "Ah'll see ya 'round, yeah?"

"... Yes. I'll see you around." How foolish of me. I'd forgotten to factor in his fear of commitment.

It didn't take long for Jazz to latch onto someone else. It was quite depressing, actually. To think that he meant so much to me and yet I was so easily forgotten and replaced.

It was strange laying alone at night. I had become so used to curling up with Jazz that it became difficult to adjust. I hadn't cried since the fall of Praxus, my beautiful home city, but it was at night when I made up for lost time.

Anguish was all I felt, hidden by a mask of calm and collected features with ice blue optics.

Nobody noticed a thing.

Everyone thought I didn't care. Nothing was said to me.

I was fine with that.

The decepticons were being particularly tricky this battle. I was hoping that it'd be over soon, as just the sight of Jazz made me feel sick to the core. I was angry with him. I didn't understand what I'd done and he wasn't interested in talking about it, brushing it off with a simple laugh and a "Ya've done nothin', Prowler!"

I saw the snipers lazer as it lined itself up between my optics.

"Prowl!" Bluestreak screamed, abandoning his position and starting to run towards me.

Hearing Bluestreak scream my name triggered something in me and I quickly ducked, rolling away from where I was standing out in the open to hide behind something. A large rock to my right provided the cover I needed. Despite me quickly finding cover, the bullet still grazed me and badly cracked an optic. I couldn't see out of it.

Bluestreak was quickly at my side, doorwings quivering. Poor kid had already seen enough Praxians die at the hands of the decepticons, he didn't need me on that list too.

Although I was still slightly shocked about nearly being shot in the dead, this was a battle field and I had to carry on fighting. I told Bluestreak to continue providing support to a certain front liner duo before I reloaded my acid rifle and took aim at the first decepticon I saw.

Only for Jazz to promptly get in the way.

My finger nearly pulled the trigger, and I felt myself freeze when I thought it had fired. Despite everything, I would never forgive myself if I had shot Jazz. It wouldn't improve my dwindling mood any further, and the grief I would receive for it would be unavoidable.

The moment Jazz was out of the way again I adjusted my aim and pulled the trigger.

Ratchet was bitching the entire time he made sure I hadn't suffered from any other damage Optic damage wasn't easy to fix here on Earth.

Ratchet told me I was lucky. The sniper had an incredibly clean shot of me – one bullet, and I'd be dead.

I was thankful that he didn't say anything in addition to his raised eyebrows at how low my coolant supplies were. I can easily pass it off as my battle computer working harder to other 'bots, however when a medic is concerned it's futile to lie. They know.

The moment I had left the medbay sporting a fetching eye-patch to cover my exposed optical sensors, as Ratchet had removed the glass, Bluestreak had rammed into my side and enveloped me in a hug. He was reluctant to let go, even when I rubbed the area in-between his wings. It was always soothing to be rubbed there.

Jazz used to do that a lot.

Spark clenching, I escaped from Bluestreak after ensuring him that I was fine and everything wrong could be fixed along with a promise of getting energon with him.

I hid away where I always did.

My office.

I had limited vision to start with, so I didn't see Jazz waiting by the door just inside until I felt his movements with my doorwings. I whirled around to face him, and I was shocked to see how... broken he looked.

Wasn't he happy?

I thought he was fine.

He had that look on his face that told me he was desperately trying not to cry and start blubbering. I hated that look; I never really was brilliant at comforting.

Probably why he left.

I stood there silently, watching him. His bottom lip started trembling, and before I knew it he had tightly wrapped his arms around me and he was blubbering, fat coolant tears pouring down his face from behind his visor and he was uttering apology after apology. He was shaking, stuttering about how terrified he was when he saw the snipers laser lined up between my eyes and about how he didn't know what he'd do if I didn't dodge in time. Gingerly, I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and he took it as an invite to huddle closer to me.

While this was making me feel incredibly uncomfortable, I couldn't help but wonder what had brought this about. I very rarely saw Jazz cry. It was usually after a hard mission that had stressed him out or when he was ecstatic when he did in front of me, otherwise it was always Blaster.

Blaster.

Oh. Oh.

He'd turned to Blaster for comfort as he usually did. Comfort. That was all he wanted.

I murmured back to him, trying to get him to calm down before he purged his tanks or offlined from the stress he was putting on himself. He eventually started to stop erratically intaking, however there was still the odd tear. I was surprised that he still had enough coolant – it was all over me and had gotten under my plating. It squelched when I moved, much to Jazz's amusement. Despite his earlier melt down, he managed to laugh at the high-pitched noises.

I frowned at him, trying to keep as still as possible. He sobered up again, hiccupping every now and then. He was still tightly clinging to me, refusing to let go when I asked him so I could settle myself into a more comfortable position. I eventually gave up and started awkwardly waddling towards the door.

My moping spot had been compromised, and the very thing I was going to mope about was currently clinging to me like lichen. Although my battle computer was insisting that it was illogical to trust Jazz, I did.

Despite what many may think, I trusted him.

Sorry this took so damn long, it's been sitting on my phone for days, I was having trouble deciding where to end it.

~Llama