More Whisked away was requested, and who am I to deny my lovelies~

Whisked away

A very close eye was kept on Jazz.

Ratchet had grimly presented his Prime with a datapad cataloging every single injury Jazz had. Missing organs, bad patch-jobs, infected welds, bite marks, scratches, dented plating and the amount of drug found in his energon. That didn't even begin to cover what his interface array looked like.

Jazz wasn't talking, either. Still under the effects of the drug, he refused to let anyone touch him and ran away from anyone who got too close. Even Blaster couldn't get close enough.

Any words they said were ignored, rolling off him like water on a ducks back. He stayed in the corner, clutching his knees to his chest and shaking, tears streaking down his face.

Five joors later, Jazz was finally letting people inside his personal space and was even allowing contact, but most importantly he was talking again.

"Why were ya runnin' away from us, Jazz?" Blaster asked, cautiously putting his hand on Jazz's shoulder. Jazz pressed his lips together and looked away meekly before returning his gaze to his friends face.

"Ah think it was the drug – ya didn' look like ya'selves. Ya looked dead 'n' infected." Jazz shuddered. "Ah don' know what that drug was, but Ah never wanna have it again."

"And you wont." Ratchet said, handing Jazz a cube. The purple liquid was thick and minerals were visibly suspended in it. "Drink this. I have a few questions I'd like to ask."

Jazz nodded and began to drink the cube. Despite its vile taste, his tanks were pinging him that they were empty and in dire need of fuel.

"First things first: The frag happened to you? And your visor – you never let anyone take it."

Freezing mid-sip, Jazz's optics widened. He knew his visor was gone and he knew where it was, but it wasn't easy to get to. Prowl had it. But was he going to tell Ratchet this? No. Absolutely not.

"It's… kinda hazy." Jazz began, formulating the lies in his head. Here and there he'd sprinkle in the truth – he'd only lie when he needed to. "Ah remember being captured when the Decepticons ambushed the base. They locked meh up in some kinda chamber. That's when it starts ta get hazy an' Ah don't remember much." Jazz replied, sipping at his energon. "All Ah remember is that the guy who interrogated me had red optics, which doesn't help any."

"Considering it was you who they had, it was probably one of their better interrogators. This leaves us with Vortex and Soundwave." Ratchet mused, mulling over the information Jazz just gave him.

"Jazz, if there is anything else you know, you must tell us." Optimus said from where he was sat on a medical berth. Jazz would have jumped at his deep rumbling tone if it weren't for the hand Blaster still had on his shoulder. He'd almost forgotten he was there, so used to presences that swallowed you up and drowned out your surroundings.

He'd almost thought it was Prowl.

"Ah don't remember leavin' the room ya found meh in. Ah might have been in th' medbay a few times, though."

"Considering the state I found your internals in, that's likely." Ratchet chipped in. "Multiple traces of past surgery, mass scarring and almost none of your internal organs are your original ones. Your t-cog is also shattered, and that shows no sign of repair."

Jazz winced as he vividly remembered getting that one.

At the looks Ratchet and Optimus gave him, Jazz realized with a sinking feeling that it didn't go unnoticed, and he didn't have a visor to hide behind anymore.

Frag.

Optimus said his name in a slightly lower tone than usual. His warning tone. 'Spill. Now.'

"Ah remember that part of the interrogation. Ah don't think Ah shared any Autobot secrets." Jazz winked, trying to gloss over it and act cool. Nope, nothing wrong here! Most certainly not hiding anything!

The looks he got told him they weren't buying it, but in the end Optimus nodded resignedly. "If there's anything you wish to talk about, my door is always open."

Ratchet, on the other hand, was not so easy to break.

He was always watching Jazz when he thought the other wasn't looking, a worried look on his face. Jazz felt a flicker of amusement at that. Ratchet the Hatchet was worried! He did care about the crew!

When Jazz was allowed to wander around by himself again, sessions in the rec room allowed him to catch up with the latest gossip and find out just what was happening to their current prisoners.

Or, most importantly, Prowl.

Jazz couldn't help but feel that he had to get the mech out. He knew that it was wrong and somewhat sick, but he couldn't help it. They were interrogating him! Hurting his Prowl! Heck, they'd even brought Ironhide in. Ironhide despised Prowl. Everyone did, actually. But not everyone was a walking gun turret with anger management issues.

Jazz knew something had to be done, but before he could get started he had to see Prowl.

The Autobots were not as cruel as the Decepticons. Even the most hated among the crew were given grace periods where they were left well and truly alone, the only company being a security camera trained onto where they sat, chained to the table and the chair.

Or, in Prowls case, just the chair. Ironhide had evidently ripped it from the floor and thrown it around if the crumpled mess slightly embedded into the wall was anything to go by.

Being nighttime, it was graveyard shift for those on monitor duty, and so it was highly unlikely anyone would be paying attention to the cameras. Jazz wasn't the Head of Special Operations for his good looks, and re-wiring the camera to show the last five minutes of footage on loop was child's play to him.

Prowl didn't even start when Jazz suddenly dropped in, and simply watched him as Jazz stalked towards him. The black and white stopped just mere paces away, and quietly took in the doorwinger.

Even with a doorwing hanging limply on his back, feebly twitching now and then, a cracked optic that every now and then would flicker to complete darkness, a split lip and dented cheek, Prowl looked dangerous. There was anger bubbling beneath the surface, barely restrained from overflowing and releasing the caged animal that was Prowl.

Oh yes, he was furious.

The roles have reversed, Jazz mused as he slowly made the last few paces to Prowl. "They're mad, yanno. Ya might wanna placate them a lil' bit."

"And why on Cybertron would I do that?" Prowl growled out, revealing the sharp teeth that hid behind his lip.

"Ah was Third in Command, unofficial moral officer, entertainer, host extraordinaire, friend to all. They're angry an' they want blood. They've gone easy on ya."

Prowl choked out a laugh. "If this is them going easy, I'm very eager to see what they've planned next."

"Ah'll strike a deal with ya. Ya give meh ma visor back, an' Ah'll see what Ah can do about ya… situation."

"No need. It's quite homey here. All it needs is to be a little more stifling."

"Ah ain't kiddin'."

"Neither am I."

Jazz sighed and shifted his weight onto one leg, his hips shifting slightly to accommodate the weight. The way Prowls optics followed the movement and lingered far too long to be a curious glance prompted Jazz to clear his vents to gain his attention again. Prowl slowly drew his optics away and gave Jazz an annoyed glare, to which Jazz raised an eyebrow at.

"Seriously, mech?"

"Very." Prowl purred, glossa flicking out over his lips. Jazz tried his hardest to stop his engine from reacting.

"Just remember that the Autobots aren't as forgivin' as ya think." Jazz closed the distance between them and planted a noisy kiss on Prowls forehead, prompting a deep, threatening growl from the mech. Giggling, Jazz skipped away. "Ah'll be back same time tomorrow darlin'."

And with that, Jazz was gone, leaving Prowl to simmer in his anger until he had someone to take it out on.

~Llama