sorry for the late updates!
I had a tournament across the country and I've had issues with my computer. Recovery 13 is underway!
0o0o0o0
"Quickly! Bring them into the medbay!" First Aid didn't waste any time. As soon as Skyfire's landing gears touched the ground a steady stream of wounded flowed into the Autobot City medbay.
Jazz and Bluestreak were bught immediately into separate operating theaters for emergency surgery and anyone else who was wounded crowded onto the medical berths to be seen to by any other available medics.
And then the waiting.
I shouldn't have allowed this. Eighty-nine percent chance of success was not enough.
Prowl paced furiously by the medbay doors. As soon as Skyfire landed the ex-SIC had been kicked out, unable to see Jazz or Bluestreak. He sensed that Jazz was injured badly because of the bond they shared. He didn't know how bad off Bluestreak was. IHow badly was he injured?/I
He had heard several accounts of Bluestreak losing control.
He had heard that it was because of Bluestreak that Jazz was near the edge of death.
If only he could find Wheeljack. The engineer could set those rumors straight. But Prowl hadn't seen him since before the rescue mission had been launched.
His doorwings quaked. Wheeljack hadn't been in the medbay, so logic dictated that he was in the lab.
He should be here. Prowl paced faster, suddenly furious.
Wheeljack should be here for him. But he was in the lab, and soon the medics would have another injured mech to worry about. The patrol car's fists clenched and unclenched vehemently.
Prowl's logic center protested against the sudden onslaught of violent emotion, threatening to crash his processor.
It's Wheeljack's fault we're in this situation in the first place.
Warnings flashed across his vision: warnings of an imminent crash, and overheating signals pinged from his freshly repaired legs.
He took deep, shuddering vents and leaned against the wall in order to pull his rampant emotions back under control.
It was difficult: the feedback he was getting through the bond he shared with Jazz made him feel like he was floating in the midst of a dreamy haze, with dull flickers of pain stirred throughout.
"Prowl?"
The ex-SIC onlined his optics- he couldn't remember offlining them- at the mention of his name. Rodimus Prime stood there awkwardly, his servo hovering near the side of his helm, as if he were brushing away an annoying Earth bug.
"Yes, Prime?" Prowl straightened up, managing to keep his tone calm and formal. He didn't let any of his stress leak through.
"Come with me." The Prime ordered.
"But what about Jazz? And Bluestreak?" Prowl protested quietly. He allowed just enough anxiety and fear show through his tone and facial expression (he was unsure that Rodimus Prime could read doorwings positions- despite having the appendages himself) to broadcast that he wouldn't do much good in whatever task his Prime had in store. He prayed silently that it would work, that Rodimus Prime would leave so he could be there for the two mechs he cared most about.
Of course it didn't work.
"They will still be here when you get back." Prime rested a servo on Prowl's shoulder, firmly guiding him away from the medbay, "Don't make me give you an order, Prowl."
Prowl allowed himself to be guided, reluctantly, towards Rodimus Prime's office.
0o0o0o0
Prime settled down in his spinny chair while Prowl settled himself insert onto the chair placed across from the overly large desk.
"Now." The flame-colored mech folded his arms and leaned back in the chair, "Tell me about your plan."
For a moment Prowl was dumbstruck. He leaned forward, twitching his doorwings, "My.. Plan?"
Is this a debriefing?
"Yes. You, Jazz, Wheeljack, and Mirage had a plan to rescue Bluestreak- it backfired, obviously, if it hadn't then you wouldn't have come to me insisting that I send some Autobots to rescue them. So, explain your plan."
Prowl sighed, "It was Jazz's plan. The best that anyone could come up with. I ran over seven thousand simulations and that was the one that had the highest chances of success."
"Stats?" Prime prompted.
The tactician tented his fingers and tapped them against his chin guard, "Eighty-nine percent chance of success, nineteen percent probability of wounded or casualty."
"That's not high." Rodimus Prime observed, "And I thought you only allowed fifteen percent probability or less when you were Optimus Prime's second in command?"
Prowl tensed, his voice rising, "What choice did we have? Bluestreak had to be rescu-"
"Whoa, whoa." Prime cut him off, holding up his servos, "Calm down, Prowl. Just explain your plan."
Seething on the inside, the perfect picture of calm and dignity on the outside, Prowl arched his doorwings and spoke faintly, "Jazz's plan was fairly simple. Plant a bomb and free Bluestreak."
"Details?"
"I'm getting to them."
"Continue, then."
"Jazz enlisted Mirage and bribed Silverbolt to airlift Wheeljack to a point where he'd be picked up by the Decepticon radar.
Wheeljack was in possession of some energon that would lure the Decepticons in. Once the soldiers designated to kill Wheeljack arrived, he would hold them off until Jazz gave the signal- any signal really. Then he'd intentionally get himself captured."
Prowl paused, staring at Prime, "Are you following?"
Rodimus Prime's fingers were hovering near the side of his helm once again. He was nodding, wearing faint frown.
"Prime?"
"Huh?" Prime lurched forward, "Yes, Prowl. Plan. Continue."
Prowl cleared his vocalizers, "We deduced that Wheeljack would be- wait a minute. Where Iis/I Wheeljack? I haven't seen him."
The Autobot leader leaned forward, something like regret flickering across his faceplates, "Wheeljack..? Wheeljack's been offlined, Prowl."
"What?" The tactician froze, "He's dead?!" He stood up, slamming his palms down on the desk, "How could you let this happen?! I'm surprised Bluestreak isn't Idead/I from a broken sparkbond!"
"About that." Rodimus Prime said lightly, though there was an edge to his tone, "The medics have informed me that Bluestreak is exhibiting very few- if any- symptoms of a broken bond. Whether that's because he was bonded to Wheeljack for a relatively short amount of time or because of some other reason- they don't know.
"Speaking of," He added, as there was a knock on the door, "I have to step outside for a quick moment."
He then left with an, "I'll be right back."
As soon as he was gone, Prowl was up against the door, his audio receptors tuned to the highest frequency. He knew he shouldn't be eavesdropping on his Prime. His coding itched at him to stand away from the door, but logic dictated that Rodimus Prime was speaking to one of the medics. And Prowl Ihad/I to know anything he could about his loved ones.
The talking on the other side of the wall was muffled but the patrol car could pick it up.
First Aid was speaking softly, giving Prime information, "Bluestreak is critical. He's still in emergency surgery. His status will remain unknown for the next couple Earth hours. But Jazz.. Jazz isn't going to make it." At that, the medic paused and vented sadly, "We're pulling the plug in a couple of minutes."
"What about Prowl?" Prime asked.
"Prowl might not survive the snap. If you crash his processor he might stand a chance.."
Prowl burst out of the office, shoving past First Aid and Rodimus Prime:
"Prowl! No! Wait!" The CMO tried to call the mech back, but with no avail.
Prowl didn't wait. He tore towards the medbay, determined to reach his bondmate in time.
0o0o0o0
"Prowl?!" Flatline gaped as the medbay doors flew open and the ex-SIC charged in, "You can't be in here-"
He was cut off when his chestplates were grabbed and he was wrenched forward: forced to stare into the outraged and desperate optics of Prowl.
"Where. Is. Jazz?!" Prowl hissed.
Flatline could do nothing but point shakily towards the far end of the medbay, "H-he's down there."
Prowl jerked the medic roughly down to the medbay floor and bolted for a lonely berth at the very end of the medbay.
He didn't hear Flatline frantically talking into the comm.
0o0o0o0
Time seemed to drag as his pace slowed and he approached the berth. A medic was standing beside it, monitoring the many life support machines that had their hooks in the unconscious mech lying there.
Prowl's processor was too fuzzed with static to make out who the medic was, and he didn't care. All he could focus on was the black and white Autobot in the berth.
"Jazz.."
His saboteur was unmoving, immobile, completely still. His handsome faceplates abnormally pale.
Prowl's spark almost stopped when his optics drifted down that beautiful frame and came to rest on the ugly wounds.
Most of the plating around Jazz's abdomen was stripped away, and whatever playing that remained was caked with rust. Ragged bits of circuitry adorned the whole mess.
The stories and rumors that Prowl had heard earlier came flooding back to him. Bluestreak did this.
He stumbled to a stop next to the berth, mumbling, "Jazz..."
The attending medic, now identified as Ambulon, glanced up, "Make your goodbyes quick, Prowl. He's going to be unplugged soon."
"No." Prowl's words were firm, with a dangerous edge to them, "You can't kill him. You have to fix him."
"Prowl." A soft voice came from behind him.
Prowl swiveled, narrowing his optics. First Aid.
"You have to fix him." He repeated.
"Prowl. Look at him. Jazz won't survive. We've done the best we could, but.. He's just too wounded." First Aid's tone was sympathetic, gentle, yet detached.
"Ratchet could've fixed him." Prowl spat coldly. More crash warnings flitted across his vision, but he brushed them away.
First Aid looked taken aback, his visored features softened into a deep sadness, "Well, I'm not Ratchet, now am I?"
He nodded towards Ambulon, "Unplug him."
"NO!" Prowl lunged forward, but a pair of arms encircled him, pinning his arms to his sides and trapping him in place. "Jazz!"
"Calm down, Prowl." Rodimus Prime's voice murmurs into his audio receptor, "We're at war, this kind of this happens.."
"It wasn't supposed to be him." Prowl struggled frantically to get free. "He was supposed to be okay."
A single drop of coolant dripped from Prowl's optics as Ambulon disconnected the life support machines. His saboteur's sparkbeat fluttered, slowed, then flatlined.
"Jazz.." Prowl slumped in Prime's grasp, pain blossoming in his chestplates.
Chik! Finally having had enough, Prowl's processor crashed and he was thrown into darkness.
0o0o0o0
"He's... Awake!"
Restoring audio function: 90% functional
"...! Can... Hear me?"
Restoring optical function: 87% functional
The mech onlined his optics, vision fuzzy, unfocused, and laced with red.
He panicked briefly, unable to discern where he was.
The pain.. It was really bad: he whimpered and thrashed feebly against the servos holding him down.
Something was missing. Something important.
He could feel it.
"Calm down," A gentle voice chimed, "It's okay."
The mech felt a prick in his neck cables and his vision cleared some. He found himself staring into the visor of First Aid, dimming his optics against the harsh medbay lights.
The medic was obviously smiling behind his mask, "Welcome back, Bluestreak."