Starcrossed 46: Communication Fallout
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Prowl moaned under Optimus as each thrust rocked his frame. Of all the positions they had interfaced in, all the methods, this was his favorite for the base physical release. The large mech against his back, holding him, rocking him as their pleasure built. The understanding that Optimus had learned that Prowl didn't want him to hold back or ask if he could overload inside him. It had taken a bit, but eventually the Prime had understood that giving pleasure was just as sweet to Prowl as it was to him.

This wasn't a spark merge, as cathartic as those were, but there was something good about such a simple overload that pure, base physical contact could bring. After almost six metacycles without an overload, Prowl had finally relented and had Ratchet adjust his systems to trigger at a lower level. It wasn't nearly as intense as before, but it still felt good and it did give him the release he needed.

With a shudder Prowl cycled the calipers in his valve, caressing the spike and mech he knew well enough to work a customized pattern on. It made Optimus groan out his designation, sweet and heady, and his arms tightened around Prowl's frame, one under his chest and holding him flush, the other wrapped beneath his hips, fingers working and stimulating. Prowl braced on his elbows, gripping the berth padding tightly, while Optimus's hot, heavy x-vents panted above him. "Prowl," he moaned. "Prowl."

"Optimus," Prowl's reply was thick with static. "Feels so good. I want to feel your overload inside me. So close..."

Optimus let go with a room-shaking roar, spilling deep into his lover, shaking as he overloaded, almost buckling forward as he drove in again and again. Prowl's voice soon joined his, higher but no less harmonic in the lower-charged bliss. They remained there, their frames locked together and crackling for long, blissful moments. Prowl's overload, triggered by a much lower charge level, continued to crackle through his systems for several kliks, though it never reached the point of being visible.

Eventually Prowl's frame unlocked and he collapsed forward, all the strength gone from his frame and his processors wonderfully blank and happy in their fuzziness.

Optimus slowly, carefully lowered himself down over him, shifting his hands so he was still holding Prowl with one, using the other elbow to stay propped up as he nuzzled the limp mech beneath him. Shielding, protecting, one that had become so dear to his spark. "You are beautiful in pleasure," he murmured.

Prowl hummed happily at the compliment, his tac-net largely shut down to protect itself. It left Prowl dazed and teeking oddly content. "Your best is when you let go and let yourself be a mech wanting release," he eventually answered.

Optimus chuckled, enjoying Prowl's fuzzy post-overload state while the tac-net reset and rebooted. It never failed to leave him even more snuggly than usual, and unfailingly honest without his normal thought-speech systems engaged, those having been linked into the tac-net. "Is it now?" he rumbled deeply. "That's how you most enjoy me?"

"Mmm, no, but it's the best look on you," Prowl trilled lightly. "Like you best when we talk, even if it's a lot harder now. And play games. Just get to be mechs. Not the Prime and the freaky walking tactical system that can't take a joke. What I loved about Praxus. I was just a mech there. Not the Seneschal, or a sadist's toy, or a criminal or ... whatever else I called myself. Had a few centuries where I knew what was possible, even as messed up as we were. We could still have an existence worth living beyond revenge."

Grief curled around Prowl, smothering him, but the thick blanket was nothing compared to the truly suffocating, spark-extinguishing grief he used to teek of.

Optimus wrapped around him, rolling just enough so he could hold Prowl more fully and stroke his helm. "I cherish those times with you," he said softly. "When I'm just Optimus, not the leader of the Autobots holding the fate of Cybertron in my hands. I know I'm no replacement for what you had." He pressed lips to armor. "Thank you for staying."

Thank you for choosing to live.

"You give me what I need," Prowl mumbled, still thick with grief but feeling it lift, albeit slowly. "Need to be useful. Like being useful. Prime needs to remember how to be Orion sometimes."

"Yes," Optimus murmured, and held Prowl as tightly as he dared without risking damage, laying with him for nearly two breems until the tac-net had fully booted and Prowl was once more being filtered through it. Optimus's spike slowly drew back and the embrace loosened enough for Prowl to move freely if he chose to. "What is the tactical outlook if we manage to seize that prison camp?" Optimus asked. So soon after an overload and the intense emotions that had followed, shoptalk was the surest way to help the tac-net settle. He felt a caress of gratitude for it across their fields as Prowl processed the question.

"While it is not worth the resources to hold the weapons facility it is a front for, the loss of that facility will reduce Decepticon overall strength by 5.3%, with an 8.34% reduction in strength on the Tyger Pax front."

Suddenly Prowl was standing, circling around the room in one of the few expressions of his build-in need to move that he permitted himself now.

"Of the prisoners and guards taken, we can expect between six and eight new recruits, of which one has any combat training or experience," Prowl rattled on.

"What of the other survivors, what are the chances at successful rehabilitation into society?" Optimus asked as he stood, heading for the door. "Follow," he added, gesturing with his head. While Prowl answered, flinging off percentages and statistics, along with partitions for region of origin and length of time spent in the camp, Optimus looked up a few comm frequencies by designation. ::Sunstreaker, Sideswipe,:: he sent.

There was a long pause before the lines were accepted and established, with a startled feeling coming across them. ::Uh, yes, Prime, sir?:: Sideswipe answered.

::Are you currently off duty?:: Optimus asked amiably.

::Yes, sir,:: Sideswipe responded, torn between wary and excited. It wasn't every orn that the Prime commed a lowly soldier out of the blue.

::If you'd like to join us, we are heading out to the track. Prowl needs someone to race against and I do not make much of a racer, myself,:: Optimus explained. ::If you are otherwise occupied, however, I am sure we can find some others to drag out there.::

::Not a chance!:: Sideswipe was definitely excited. ::We'll be there, sir!:: A pause. ::Whether grumpy likes the idea or not.::

Optimus chuckled, leading Prowl through the halls, gaining a pair of personal guards as he left the Prime's Residence. ::I am sure Prowl will appreciate it. And if anything, Sunstreaker, it will be a chance to prove that you are faster than both of them.::

::When has there been doubt?:: the sullen warrior growled, though there was a noticeable effort to indicate his ire was not directed at the mech he was speaking to.

::Always,:: Sideswipe said cheerfully. ::I was first, I'll always be fastest.::

::You were only first because I was held down,:: Sunstreaker snapped back.

::Only because I was further out, and thus faster than you,:: Sideswipe chided his brother before the connection to the Prime closed, leaving the twins to continue their argument in relative privacy.

They arrived at the racetrack to find the twins there waiting for them, Sideswipe smiling brightly and Sunstreaker scowling, but it was looking like more of an expression of habit than any actual lingering ire.

"Hello," Optimus greeted.

"Hi, sir," Sideswipe grinned at him even as he noted that Prowl perked up. He focused on his sire. "Ready to get your aft handed to you?"

"We shall see who gets his aft handed to him," Prowl's near-monotone still betrayed his excitement and a bit of smug pride that lingered from his apprehension record as an Enforcer.

"Yeah, yeah, let's get rolling," Sunstreaker grumbled as he tugged his brother to the start line. Prowl followed more smoothly, transforming to settle on his tires as his engine revved, ready to show the pair what he was capable of.

::I thought you could use an opponent with a bit more agility than I have,:: Optimus said, transforming and settling behind the trio, with no illusions that he could keep up with any of them when it came to outright speed.

::Your thoughtfulness never fails to surprise me,:: Prowl replied, approval and gratitude curling around every glyph.

The automatic starting countdown had begun, catching the three racers' immediate and rapt attention, and when it reached the end and the lights changed, engines roared to life as accelerations were gunned and they shot off the line, leaving Optimus's slower acceleration far, far behind.

Sunstreaker did take the immediate lead, hurtling past his brother and sire on the first turn, but by barely less than half a length, and they were gaining quickly. From his vantage point well behind them, Optimus could pick out their respective strengths. Sunstreaker had the speed and initial start. Sideswipe made the most ground on the turns, and Prowl, much as Optimus knew and expected from the Enforcer background, did his best when there was someone to chase.

Prowl did love to chase. He enjoyed it more than winning, at least to a point. It felt good to watch the three of them in a fairly tight pack, trading off positions as their respective strengths came out.

On the first lap, Sunstreaker definitely took it by several lengths.

By the sixth he and Sideswipe were trading off.

On the ninth Prowl took the lead and never gave it up again.

Optimus was waiting at the finish line when all three came roaring past within moments of each other, smiling behind his mask to feel the brush of exhilaration in their fields as they shot past, turning into the slow-down lane and braking hard before circling back, transforming back into root mode at the same time.

"I'd have won if we were doing sprints," Sunstreaker said, shoving his twin playfully.

"Which is why we don't," Sideswipe shoved back. "You've got no staying power."

Prowl was actually smiling where he walked behind them, his doorwings just a little higher and more open than usual.

"Feel better?" Optimus murmured to him once they were side by side as the twins bickered back and forth in what sounded like a centuries-old argument.

"Yes," Prowl turned that smile towards him. "Thank you. I forget how much I enjoy racing, chasing."

Optimus leaned in a little closer, optics shining. "I'll have to get you out here more, then, you look incredible on the track."

"Hey!" Sideswipe called, and they looked up to see both twins cocking their heads at him. "You two and your not-relationship want to take it to a room or something?"

Prowl cocked an optic ridge at his youngest creations, noting the glower the yellow one wore. "Our not-relationship?"

"Well, that's what you like to call it, I'm just trying to be respectful of your choice of label," Sideswipe said, grinning.

"As obviously untrue as it is," Sunstreaker added.

"A relationship requires a romantic emotional attachment," Prowl informed them evenly. "It is more than two mecha who look out for each other."

"Oh, my mechs," Sideswipe said, shaking his head. "You are far more than two mecha who look out for each other."

Optimus looked truly startled. "We're friends," he said. "Enjoying one another's company does not in and of itself indicate a relationship."

"But you're lovers," Sunstreaker pointed out.

Prowl's doorwings flicked up and out, but it wasn't in threat or objection. No, it was a startle response as strong as the Prime's. "Sharing a berth or interfacing does not make for lovers," he countered even as he turned his tac-net onto the question fully. He could understand where they were coming from, but it simply wasn't true. He had no desire or expectation for romance or love from Optimus. "You are mistaking duty and need for desire."

"'Duty and need?'" the twins repeated in unison.

"That would be the worst interfacing ever!" Sideswipe continued. "You might as well have a medic overload you if that's what it was!"

"You recharge together almost every single night," Sunstreaker said, and he looked almost amused at the flustered expressions on their faces.

"Because it's the only way I get any recharge." Prowl emphasized the fact that it was rest, not any colloquial variant. His doorwings dropped. "I need someone there."

There was no way to mistake that he was ashamed of that fact, or that he'd resigned himself to it.

Sunstreaker huffed, his scowl returning, and Sideswipe looked marginally guilty. "Look," the red twin said. "It isn't a bad thing if you're together. You obviously care about each other, you're not just friends and it isn't just duty. Even if it's casual and open, it's still a relationship."

Prowl opened his mouth to say something, then closed it as it finally registered why he had such a deep resistance to the term. "I will take that under consideration."

Optimus tilted his head curiously at him.

"Well ... good," Sideswipe said, looking a little startled himself. "I think that would be good for you. We've got duty in a groon, though, and I'm sure glitch-head here wants to polish first." He gave his brother an exasperated look.

Sunstreaker shoved him. "Just because I have priorities," he growled.

"You have an ego, Sunny," Sideswipe said. "There's a difference." He shot a grin at Optimus and Prowl. "So you two can go and get a room and we'll never know, your secret will be safe."

"We actually have to be back on duty to monitor reports from-" Optimus started, before he correctly read the dual smirks he was getting. "...Oh. You don't actually care."

"Nor would we believe you," Sideswipe said. "Thanks for the race, Prowl, that was fun."

"It was enjoyable," Prowl replied politely as they all turned to return to the base. The twins naturally moved much faster than the Prime, and Prowl hung back with his leader from habit. His processors were turned deeply inward, trying to analyze the difference between what he knew was his personal truth - this was duty and need - and what the outside perceived - that he and Prime were in a serious and likely exclusive relationship.

The process left him broody and unhappy, but such was often the price of survival.

Optimus's comm broke through his thoughts shortly before they reached the outside gates, which had already opened for them. ::You know I wouldn't want you to be with me-I mean, whatever we're doing-I mean-:: An irritated engine huff. ::I don't want you to feel like you have a duty to me, beyond the terms of your enlistment. Because I'm the Prime.::

::It is not because you are Prime,:: Prowl told him truthfully. ::I must serve. You are simply the one my coding locked onto when bereft of my last Lord. If Whiplash had understood what I am, he would have made sure to present himself first.::

Optimus hummed thoughtfully. ::Then I am glad I called you when I did. Whiplash would take entirely too much advantage of you. Um...:: His teek shifted to what Prowl had come to label as Orion. ::What they were saying, about...::

::From an outside viewpoint, we are.:: Prowl admitted, reluctant and very irritated. No one would have mistaken what was going on in a proper House, but such things hadn't existed for some time now.

Another huff from Optimus. ::I really think we should be the ones who are deciding that kind of thing,:: he said dryly.

::We know what we are. Others will invent their own reality that suits their morals and beliefs.:: Prowl replied as he came to accept that fact in regards to himself and that it actually carried some weight. ::I would suggest we simply stop denying whatever they decide to invent, so long as it is not detrimental to the war.::

::Hm,:: Optimus rumbled as they transformed back up into root mode to head down to the command center. ::Agreed, the war effort is top priority. And as a bonus, it means that any chatter that undermines your reputation and authority can come straight to me for discussion.::

Prowl could find no answer to that, other than a hum indicating compliance. He didn't like it at all. He just no longer had any grounds to object. As the twins had pointed out, no matter what the truth was, what others saw was clear and undeniable. Anything that made them see the truth would cause more harm than good.

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Almost halfway across the planet, a mech was being dragged across the yard by the overseer, being hauled in for another beating and whipping for talking back, when alarms started to howl and the first cries of combat echoed across the camp.

Jazz looked up into the sky, saw the Aerial units, and twisted away, slamming his pedes into the overseer's chest, getting an enraged roar before the Autobot troops began to swarm into the yard. Jazz stumbled up, limping as he ran, the damaged joint in his hip that had never been fixed sending shards of pain up to his 'net with every step, and dove for shelter.

This was the attack he'd been waiting for. Now he just needed to survive it. At least no one was going to be actively trying to kill him. The Decepticons would be too busy with the Autobots to care about executing prisoners, and the Autobots didn't shoot if you weren't a Decepticon. At least not normally.

It still didn't make for an enjoyable almost five orns of hiding and almost getting blown apart the one time he'd run out to grab a guttering Decepticon to get enough energon into his tanks to keep from slipping into stasis, and near the end of it, he was starting to worry very much about that possibility, when he heard the cease fire called and looked out to see the remaining Decepticon troops surrendering.

In the distance he could make out Ironhide and sank back against his hastily constructed shelter to wait until the prisoner round-up began.

Home. He could go home.

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Ironhide kept his processors on the job and off the state of the prisoners he was processing. The Decepticons had been finished with first, since they all really were prisoners. Now the much longer and more spark-rending process of sorting out the former camp inmates was well underway. Sorted by faction, condition and designation grouping, very few didn't need medical care and all needed energon, though the survival-threatening damages were few. Not many that badly damaged had survived how long it had taken to secure the camp and the weapons factory under it.

"Designation and faction," Ironhide demanded of the next mech in line, a badly dented and limping grounder with little paint left on him.

"Jazz, Autobot," Jazz said, vocalizer fritzing with static on the syllables, silently pleading that Ironhide would recognize his field, but he had only been in the same room as this particular officer twice. "Special Operations, deep undercover, I need to come back to Iacon with you."

That was enough to catch the big red mech by surprise. Optics locked on Jazz, he commed the SpecOps agent with the assault unit. "I'll be handing you over to them, then," he told Jazz.

Jazz nodded, desperately wishing he had enough fuel to sorcel his insignia back on, but even that small amount was too much. He waited there, Ironhide never looking away from him until the agent arrived.

Jazz almost cursed. Whippoorwill was not the agent he would have chosen to deal with right now, he already felt like he was going to collapse if he remained standing for too much longer. She was an exhausting creature, demanding and smooth. They normally got along well enough, but right now he didn't have the energy for her intensity. At least it wasn't Mindguard, but that was a small blessing. He'd be facing their resident processor doc soon enough.

"So you're Jazz," her sweet, noble-accent voice didn't conceal the intelligence and quick wit of the owner as she motioned him to follow. "Come then. Flamespire will be here in a few breems. We can talk until then."

"Prowl?" Jazz asked, the only thing he cared about, as he followed as quickly as his frame was capable of. Almost a decade in this camp and anything could have happened, and he'd realized long ago that any searches for him would have been abandoned when he hadn't been taken to same camp as most of the mecha from the captured Neutral camp.

"Don't know that designation," she gave him a sweet smile and sat him down with one of the more recent arrivals, a Decepticon turned condemned camp worker that had severely tweaked the wires of the wrong mecha. Though he wasn't conscious at the moment and Whippoorwill was likely to keep him that way. "What happened?" she asked politely as she handed him a small ration pack to stave off stasis.

"Cons raided the Neutral camp where I was in deep and I left a tracer with the wrong directions," Jazz recited. "Most of the prisoners were taken there, I think, but our transport must have split off, because it was a few vorns before I heard the name of the place and it wasn't the same. Couldn't get out after that," he muttered, consuming the pack immediately. "Didn't have the fuel for it."

Whippoorwill hummed, seeming to accept the story. "What can you tell me about anyone here that might be of interest? Designations I should have Ironhide watch for."

Jazz just stared at her for a moment, exhausted, reactive processors having trouble focusing in on the request for something like designations and intel, because things like energon and survival were still forefront in his focus and just sitting here without having to worry about the guard finding him and punishing him for not working by taking his rations or giving him another whipping or both, when he wasn't in a recharge cycle that was never really restful because of being alert for Decepticons prowling for a toy, was surreal enough that part of him was wondering if it was all a giant, glitch-induced hallucination. Deep undercover wasn't supposed to last this long. Deep undercover in a place like this wasn't supposed to last more than a vorn or two.

Finally, he was able to focus enough thought around the question to rattle off a few lists-prisoners who were good workers, Cons who were particularly vicious-and by then they could see the shuttle coming in for a landing. He was grateful for that too, because at a minimum it meant a pause in her questions and it might even mean she'd let him recharge. Real recharge like he hadn't had since he'd left Iacon, and it would make the wait to be home feel just that much shorter.

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He was put into holding as soon as they returned to Iacon, and even though he knew the debriefing procedure, knew that he couldn't be given any information except from a designated agent until he was fully cleared, the not knowing was enough to make him want to grind his claws down on the walls.

"Come on!" he complained to the guard outside his cell. "Just look up Prowl and tell me where he is! Dead or alive, that's all!"

"Sorry mech, you know I can't." The guard did sound sorry, too, knowing what Prowl was to Jazz.

"Does he at least know I'm here?" Jazz asked, almost pleaded. "I'm dead, right? Officially?"

"Have been for vorns," the guard told him. "I don't know if he's been told." His jaw snapped shut with an audible click as soon as he realized his mistake.

Jazz's dark ruby optics narrowed dangerously. "If Whiplash was on site, he'd have been here by now. So he's not on site, which means I could be waiting who knows how long for him to get back and review this and release my hold, which means you have three choices. Tell me where. The FRAG. My bonded is or tell me how long it's going to take for Whiplash to get here."

There was a pause, and the guard shifted to look at Jazz, really look at him, and teek his field. There was fear in him, but not for himself. "I can't and I don't know," the mech said uneasily. "Backup is already coming. Stay still and it'll just be light stasis."

"Choice three it is," Jazz said, and before the guard could react, strong magnets were clamping in around either side of his helm, fritzing his processor, and the slam into the opposite wall knocked him offline.

Three levels up and Jazz was able to access a location ping from the Autobot information network he'd been able to hack, and his mate's private comm frequency had apparently been changed and was no longer working.

The Prime's Residence.

Ten kliks later and he was out of SpecOps and he could already hear the alarms going off in the facility beneath him but he was sprinting through the halls, slipping past guards, dodging through shadows.

The lock on the last door took him the longest, but even that was hackable to someone who had been trained on Autobot security codes, and it opened a moment later.

The sitting room past the antechamber was empty, so Jazz followed through into the next chamber-and froze. The moans from Prowl were arousing, but the sight ... his mate's hips were in the air, his chest down and he was taking Prime's spike in with the ease of practice as the much larger mech curled over him and grunted with each thrust. It wasn't even Prowl in pleasurebot or buymech mode. Jazz knew those too well.

Prowl was with a lover.

He grabbed for the wall and his step fumbled as he moved sideways, hitting a table and making the sculpture on it fall to the ground with a clatter. An instant too late, as two sets of optics immediately fixed on him, he realized how he still looked: dark ruby optics, stealth frame, breaking into the Prime's private chambers.

Prowl was in front of the Prime in a flash, an energon blade Jazz recognized as a gift he'd given his mate drawn and charged as he stalked forward.

"Prowl," he gasped, as it hit him fully that his mate was alive, everything else be damned, and his hands went up. "Prowl, baby, it's me."

From two paces away, Prowl's field was harsh in its examination. Tricks learned from Whiplash and half a dozen others, an invaluable skill in their business when visual recognition was limited and ID pings were changed at will. The spark's energy couldn't be altered, not against someone who knew all the tricks.

Prowl's frame suddenly began to tremble, his grip on the blade loosening. He knew better, but he couldn't help it. Only the tac-net screaming at him kept him from lunging into Jazz's arms.

"Open. Show it," Prowl demanded instead, but even gripped by tac-net directed survival protocols he couldn't hide that he wanted this to be real.

Barely aware of the Prime who was watching past his mate, Jazz held his arms out and opened his chest plates, revealing the black crystal cage, and used every last drop of extra energon he had to sorcel the triad engraving into visibility in the center of his helm. It dropped him low enough that he would be in stasis in less than a groon and alarms began sounding at him, but he dismissed them, every part of his focus on Prowl. "I'm alive," he said.

He was in Prowl's arms before the words had completely left, the cacophony of emotions in Prowl's field indecipherable as Prowl's field flooded his exposed internals. "Where? How?"

"Drink," a deep voice rumbled from a bit further away as a cube of high grade was offered.

Arms just as tight around Prowl, face buried against his shoulder as he shuddered and the first relieved sob broke, it took Jazz more than a klik to register the energon enough to take it and tip his head back in a single swallow. "I got taken to the wrong camp, prison camp as a cover for weapons manufacturing, I couldn't get out, I'm sorry, love, I'm so sorry."

"No, my mistake. My lack of faith. I accepted you were gone without proof," Prowl trembled in the grip, as relieved and overjoyed as he was in terrible pain at what he'd done. "So sorry. Won't be me in a klik."

"I-what? I-" Jazz said, alarmed, pulling back to look at his mate, and a moment later, Prowl's frame went limp in a split-moment hard reboot.

Optimus was there, helping to catch him and supporting until Prowl was standing, and the blank look he was giving Jazz was unfamiliar and alarming. "-Prowl?"

"He's all right," Optimus said in a low voice, watching carefully.

Pedefall from behind made Jazz twist around as a team of agents all stormed into the Prime's quarters, two of them grabbing his arms and yanking them back. Jazz twisted, fighting them, gaze locked on Prowl. "No, wait!"

"Leave him," Optimus commanded. "He's no threat, I will escort him back myself."

"But..." one of the agents objected, then bowed before the will of the Prime. "As you command, Prime."

The unit left, and Prowl, a blank-featured Prowl, was still regarding Jazz evenly. "A great deal has changed in the seven vorns since you were declared DIA. The most significant in this equation is a substantial upgrade to Prowl's tac-net by Wheeljack. I take over when he becomes too emotional to process the environment."

Jazz looked between Prowl and Optimus before settling back on the frame that looked like his mate but didn't sound like him. The voice was the same, but the subharmonics were all wrong. "You-I mean, he-" He looked back to the Prime. "How do I get Prowl back?"

"I was never intended to control the frame, however Prowl's emotional stability issues have necessitated the adaptation on my part. When he has recharged sufficiently to either process what has happened or sequester it he will boot in control of his frame." Prowl explained. "It would be beneficial if you are in his presence and look like yourself when he does so."

"I'm not sure..." Jazz said, with a backwards glance over his shoulder in the direction the agents had left. "I haven't been released from holding yet, I don't know how long-"

"I will see to that," Optimus said. "I assume you haven't shifted because you're too low on fuel." He waited for Jazz's nod. "I will attempt to contact Whiplash to have you released, if I cannot, I see no reason why Prowl cannot boot in holding with you."

"Thank you," Jazz said, watching the frame that was and wasn't his lover warily. "You're like ... a construct?"

"I am his tac-net's AI, not a construct. I will never be sentient, nor do I wish to be. It is not part of my function to perform without an actual mech to coexist with. My physical and override controls are limited," Prowl explained. "After the first time he crashed we determined it would be beneficial for me to be able to take over motor control long enough to settle his frame safely if need be. As you saw, it is not a perfect transition. However, it has prevented damage on occasion. I am capable of rescuing our frame from danger if the location is hazardous or if he is at risk."

"...Oh," Jazz said. "What ... makes him crash?"

"Primarily, memories of you or Radiance," Optimus said quietly. "He is incredibly devoted."

"Intense emotional feedback or logic loops," Prowl added. "Remember the hack he wrote for himself shortly after you reached the summer hunting estate of House Marchcry. It was incompatible with the tac-net upgrade, so it was removed. He has written a new version, but he is still occasionally overcome by emotions and shuts down. When I am trapped in a logic loop, much the same happens, though I understand it is perceived quite differently for Prowl."

"Oh," was all Jazz could say, strangely mesmerized by the features and teek that could be so foreign and familiar all at the same time, and he couldn't stop himself from putting his hands on either side of Prowl's face, looking for something, anything of his mate and finding none of it. "How-how long to process?"

"I do not know," the AI responded without reacting to the touch. "However, I do need to shut the frame down soon. The probability of overheating damage is increasing by 3.9% per klik now."

Jazz nodded, gaze flickering over to the Prime. "Will Prowl remember any of this? After you took over?"

"He will review it when he boots," the AI confirmed.

Jazz hesitated for just nanokliks before facing the AI. "Answer me this and then shut down: What is the Prime to him?"

"Comfort, duty and need," it replied smoothly before walking over to the berth and lying down. It, then the frame, powered down into deep recharge within half a klik.

Jazz watched, shifting uncomfortably, arms around his waist and fighting the urge to go lay down next to his mate. When Optimus's field brushed against his from behind he startled badly, spinning to face the Prime in an instant defense stance.

"Before I take you back to holding, why don't you drink enough energon to shift back, so you can look like yourself when he boots in your arms?" Optimus suggested kindly, not giving any indication he found Jazz's reaction threatening.

Jazz stared at him for a long moment, confused, then his gaze shifted to the side and his field turned sour and brittle. "I haven't, um," he said, mumbling, arms back around his chest. "Already had my ration for the orn, can't take more, isn't allowed."

"By who?" Prime asked softly.

"By-by Rules," Jazz said, staring at Prime like he was short a few circuits.

Optimus gave him a gentle smile. "I am the Prime, am I not? The rules exist because I wish them to exist. Right now, I wish you to drink enough energon to look like yourself for your mate."

Jazz's optics flickered at the formal glyph of Prime and after another few moments, blinked completely off and then back on, his field normalizing again. He looked at Optimus, then a hand went to his helm and he scowled. "Frag," he muttered. "Yeah. Energon'd be good." He watched warily as the Prime pulled another cube of high grade and offered it, holding it to be taken when Jazz was comfortable.

Jazz snatched it and downed the entire thing, accepting fuel until he was full enough to sorcel back to his Praxian form. He groaned as the shift finished, flexing unused doorwing joints and then reaching up to rub his fingers over the triad engraving that had centered in his chevron. "He knows this shape best."

"Agreed. Knows it and loves it," Optimus offered a final cube of regular midgrade. "Now, why don't we be kind to the agents twitching just outside my door and go back to holding?"

Jazz shot a grin that held no honorable intent in the direction of the door. "Wanna see how much they fry when they realize I sorcelled without being officially released?"

Prime could teek his intentions well enough and simply shook his helm with a chuckle. He moved to pick up Prowl's limp frame and lead the way out.

When the door shut behind them, they were the focus of four very unhappy agents. "Where is Jazz?"

"He had a flashback and escaped through a vent," Jazz said seriously. "Prime is lucky I was there. Schematics show he should come out somewhere near base exit, if you get started you might be able to head him off."

It would have worked if Prime hadn't made a choking sound of disbelief and stared at him.

The unit leader narrowed her optics at Jazz and growled. "I really should beat you to scrap for that one."

Jazz grinned and waggled his fingers at her. "Spoilsport."

The other three agents, who had all been imagining having to catch a rogue agent stuck in a flashback loop, glared at him.

"I won't object if you cuff him this time," Prime said slowly. "Though I have doubts that it would do much."

"Maybe not, but it might slow him down for a klik." The lead agent huffed and grabbed Jazz to cuff him. That done she glanced at Prime. "Did he really have a flashback in there?"

"Hey, personal questions!" Jazz objected, testing the give of the restraints, as Optimus nodded once.

The lead agent frowned, nodded back, and the entire procession made the long way back down into Special Operations holding. Optimus walked right into the cell with Jazz and helped settle him and Prowl on the narrow, unpadded berth, and then locked them in himself.

SxSxSxSxSxSxSxSx S===================S SxSxSxSxSxSxSxS

Jazz was relaxed, half sitting up to give his mate's doorwings a gentle support and hold him for the long joors until he felt his mate begin to boot again. In that timeframe he'd been told that Whiplash would be back near the end of shift to talk to him, and Mindguard was only holding off so Prowl could see him when he booted up. It was more consideration than he deserved, to be honest, more than most got, and he was grateful for it.

Prowl's field, long since the first part of him to be able to feed information to his basic processors, reached out to teek who was holding him and caressed Jazz in a welcoming love that was all from the spark.

Pale ice blue optics flickered to life several kliks later and immediately focused upward.

"Hey?" Jazz said softly, half asking, fingers dancing lightly over Prowl's frame. "Y'with me?"

"Mostly," Prowl murmured, staring up with a wild mixture of hope, fear and acceptance. "Jazz. Alive. I was ... wrong."

Jazz pulled him up and shifted enough to press their chevrons together. "I got lost, not your fault. Almost died anyway, net result woulda been the same."

"Should not have believed you deactivated without proof," Prowl murmured, relaxing in his mate's arms and field. "After all we survived, I shouldn't have believed you would without me there."

Jazz just shook his head and x-vented. "Too many random things can happen and they recycle the frames." He shuddered. "There's a camp near ours-anyone who can't work fast enough gets sent there, think it's for that." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Hafta work fast 'nough, bad luck if a guard wants a frag an' y'don' pull 'nough."

Prowl shuddered. "I'm glad we found your camp and I deemed it valuable enough to hit."

Jazz's hold tightened and he nodded. "Missed you," he managed. "Hope I'm still..." He trailed off, shivering. "Prime ... seems nice?"

"He is a good mech, and very lonely. As was I, without you," Prowl lifted himself up to catch an awkward, soft, upside down kiss.

Just that was enough to make Jazz shudder and moan. "Wanta have you," he said, voice low and hoarse. "Not a good idea yet."

"Why?" Prowl quivered with want at the idea.

"Needta see Mindguard first," Jazz murmured. "Keep jumping between profiles." He huffed a laugh. "Don't want to suddenly think you're a guard."

Prowl winced. "That is not good. Is it happening often?"

"Often enough that I'm not going to fight her about it," Jazz grumbled. He sighed, stroking Prowl's helm. "Tell me about this tac-net until she gets here?"

"Of course," Prowl drew Jazz's other hand to his lips and kissed the knuckles before he began to talk, filling the time with a useful, fairly safe subject where they could simply be together.

SxSxSxSxSxSxSxSx S===================S SxSxSxSxSxSxSxS

Jazz did his best not to twitch as he followed his mate into the main base, then to the officer's quarters. Not just the junior officers either, but an area were where doors were fairly well spaced. This wasn't part of the base he ever went to normally and it felt vulnerable.

Open spaces, and the looks he got from everyone who either looked because they didn't know who he was or pretended not to because they did. Getting noticed hadn't meant good things for him for a long time, and not having anywhere to duck for cover when someone looked for a little too long was dangerous.

Mindguard was good, the profiles had been firmly separated and locked away beneath layers of passcodes, there weren't flashbacks, but not even she could erase a decade in a prison camp. He stayed very close to Prowl. The sheer number of salutes his mate had to return was a solid indication that Prowl had power here.

Prowl stopped them in front of a door that belonged to quite a high ranking officer given the space around it. "Palm it. I want to be sure you've been cleared properly."

Jazz did and the door opened immediately to him. Prowl gave a satisfied nod and they walked in, Jazz immediately scanning and canvassing the entire entry/sitting chamber. He could see the doors that lead off to two additional rooms. It wasn't nearly as large or luxurious at the Prime's, but vastly larger than what they were going to share in Ops. Neat, sparse, perfectly clean and looking barely lived in. "What exactly is your rank again?" Jazz asked, stepping around.

"Lt. Commander. I'm SIC of Autobot Tactical," Prowl said smoothly as he also swept the room by habit, though not in the detail that Jazz did. "I kept your things in the office." He moved towards the right hand door.

Jazz's vents caught for a moment. He hadn't thought of something like belongings in so long, but following Prowl through that door, watching him unlock the top drawer in the desk, and pulling it open, he was suddenly wondering how he'd gone an orn without some of them.

Prowl knew the possession that Jazz would want to see first, and it was coiled perfectly within, long, dark, and glittering, still with the golden Saxo engraved on the handle.

Jazz traced the entire length before his fingers slipped around the familiar grip and he lifted, bringing it to his lips. "Thank you for keeping it safe," he murmured, sighing against it.

Prowl leaned in to kiss his mate, the whip between their mouths. "Always, my love. My Last Wishes included a request to be buried with these things if possible, since they could not be with you."

The kiss deepened and Jazz wrapped the whip around Prowl's neck, tugging it and pulling him in close. "They belong with you as much as me," he said, nipping at Prowl's lip. "I'm glad you had them."

"As am I," Prowl moaned softly even as his engine revved. "You leave me in a terrible quandary however. I want to reclaim every pleasure we know right now, but I have not recharged more than a few joors since you left with Whiplash to be debriefed." He sighed and rested their forehelms together, chevron centers perfectly aligned. "I'm fairly sure you haven't gotten much more."

"I haven't," Jazz murmured, hands tracing over Prowl's frame, wanting every part of him. He claimed another kiss, and this time, the tap of a cable against Prowl's chest came with it. "I remembered who I was by remembering us. Memory share with me, then recharge, then everything else?"

"Gladly," Prowl moaned and exposed his dataport as he guided his mate to the berthroom through the entry/sitting room. The padding, while not as fine as the Prime's, was flier grade and suitable for a mech of Prowl's rank. It sank under them, supporting their frames gently. When the hardline was completed, Prowl had hundreds of good moments queued and ready. From the sweet playfulness of courting to the intensity of their first moment as a true triad when the coding roared to life for both Prowl and Radiance to every-orn moments of enjoying each other's company.

The energy and all the moments bounced back and forth, looping and lifting their charge, and Jazz moaned softly. ~Missed you, miss him,~ he breathed, shuddering from the joy of the first time he'd kissed Radiance as a legally bonded.

~Will never forget. We are triad. Forever. Love him. Love you. Miss him. Miss you when you aren't here,~ Prowl rambled, his joy at having his mate in his arms once more overlaying everything. Here there was no way for Jazz to doubt that he and Radiance, even long-dead Radiance, were his love, many orders of magnitude more important to Prowl's spark than the Prime.

Jazz just nodded, sobbed, and clung to him, everything he might have said spoken a thousand times over in the memories, whispered, cried, screamed in ecstasy when they had been whole and complete and together, until the ricocheting feedback of energy crested and broke over them, Radiance's cry in their minds, and when it faded, there was deep, peaceful recharge.