Starcrossed 47: Rebuilding Relationships
(Twincest warning begins here)
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Sideswipe led his outwardly reluctant twin along behind him towards the race track, knowing full well that Sunstreaker had actually started to look forward to their races with Prowl, and not only for the practice they both got from it, but for spending time with their sire. Even better was that it was time when they didn't have to talk. Neither side had pleasant things to talk about with the other often.
They were through the gates and on their way in, when the wall they had just walked by suddenly whistled at them and they stopped, seeing Jazz stepping away from it.
"What do you want?" Sunstreaker growled. While relations with their sire were improving, those between the yellow twin and their carrier were decidedly not.
"What would you say if I told you I can get you top quality high grade?" Jazz asked cheerfully, unfazed.
Not even Sunstreaker could stop himself from looking interested, and Sideswipe didn't even try.
"What do you want for it?" Sideswipe asked, cautious but willing to do business with the mech.
Jazz gave a casual shrug. "Want you to win the race," he said. "Don't even really care if both of you come in before Prowl, just so long as no matter what, he doesn't finish first."
The twins looked at each other, then Jazz, bewilderment flaring in their fields. "We always race to win. What's so important about this one?" Sideswipe asked.
Jazz grinned. "Just want him to lose this time, is all, and there happens to be high grade in it for you if you make sure he does. And if you hadn't noticed yet, he always races to win, too."
"He's blasted good at it too," Sunstreaker huffed.
"Okay, you're on," Sideswipe offered his hand to shake on the deal. "We'll make sure he doesn't come in first."
Sunstreaker gave his twin a glare but didn't say anything.
Jazz accepted the handshake, visor flashing mischievously, before nodding to Sunstreaker and slipping back to head up towards the observation decks.
"I think we should get Prime out to watch the end of the race with him," Sunstreaker said with kind of an odd harmonic.
Sideswipe stared at him as they walked. "What the Pit for?"
"Don't tell me you don't notice how revved up Prowl gets racing. Maybe they should know who he really wants to jump," Sunstreaker muttered, suddenly no longer sure of the idea or why he was loyal enough to Prowl to want to know. Or was it that he hated his carrier enough to want it to be Prime?
Sideswipe was still frowning. "Yeah, but then why would he care about Prowl win-oh. Oh." His face split into a grin. "'Cause if he doesn't win he's still unsatisfied." He poked at his twin over their bond, questioning his indecision.
Sunstreaker hunched a bit. "It'll hurt somebody. Just maybe not the right somebody."
"Sure this isn't just your way of showing you care?" Sideswipe teased.
Sunstreaker sneered. "Not about Jazz."
Sideswipe swung his arm around his twin's neck, yanking his head down and rapping his knuckles across the top of his helm, still dragging him along, ignoring the shouted protest. "Come on, Sunny, you're always punching me and I know that's your way of saying 'I love you bro!'" he cackled. "Sure, let's call up the Prime, but you can have that job."
"Fine," Sunstreaker growled as he squirmed and shoved his way out of the grip. He pinged the Prime, absently wondering when he'd become so familiar with the powerful mech that he was willing to. Not that many vorns ago he would have been half-panicked inside talking to him, and now he was completely at ease when Optimus's voice replied after a klik, and the Prime readily agreed to come watch the race when he was free.
Halfway through the laps, Optimus made his way up the observation decks, finding Jazz already there. As soon as he came into view, the SpecOps mech's head turned sharply towards him with a flash of his visor, and then his wings lifted with a tense quiver.
Before his Prime upgrades, Optimus might not have even noticed the lift, and if he had, it would have been written off as a startle response or possibly stress, but with the immense social upgrades, reading the nonverbal language in winged builds had become as easy as if he'd been created one of them.
What Jazz was currently showing was a warning.
Back off, he's ours.
Lacking wings to respond with, Prime did the next best thing and inclined his helm in acceptance. "I was never a replacement for either of you," he said gently.
"I know you weren't," Jazz said, turning back to the race, though his wings didn't settle. "Prowl would never do that. What he was to you, though," Jazz tilted his head slightly and quirked a grin as he followed the racers with his visor. "That's less certain."
Optimus sat down nearby and watched the race. "By the end, he was a comfort I had grown hopeful might stay through the war. I knew better than to hope for more than that."
"Because he's ours," Jazz murmured, resting his chin on his linked fingers. He was quiet for a few moments, wings relaxing marginally. "I don't care what you had with him, or what you did together, or even how either of you felt ... but know that if you try for him behind my back I will come for you." He gave the Prime a flashing grin. "Even if I wouldn't blame you. Mech's awfully hot."
"Going behind someone's back has never been my style," Optimus pointed out. "There is even less point of doing so with your mate. He'd tear me apart for it before you got a chance to." He fell silent for half a lap as Sideswipe overtook Prowl and edged ahead again, with Sunstreaker half a length behind them. "I was safe for him, because I could never be a threat in the Well to his triad."
"So I heard," Jazz said, reclining and propping his pedes up on the guard rail in front of him. They watched in silence for a while, and Optimus noticed Jazz's wings lifting a little bit every time one of the twins was in the lead. He found it strange, but didn't comment. "Can you answer something for me?"
Optimus's optics brightened in a warm smile. "Anything."
Jazz gave him a suspicious look-the endless love and patience thing still seemed to make him feel more apprehensive than reassured-but nodded and huffed. "Say the Well is real, and sparks go there ... if I deactivate before I bond with Prowl, if he deactivates with me, would my spark go to his?"
"All bonds break upon deactivation as they are a mortal creation," Prime answered seriously. "Sparks are not bound by them with Primus in the Well."
Jazz nodded once, slowly. "All right then." As the final few laps came up, his visor brightened and he stretched, exaggerating the movements and fluttering his wings out before looking at Optimus with a quirk of a smile and a head tilt. "Join me at the finish line?"
"Of course," Optimus smiled behind his battle mask, well aware of the test this was intended to be even though he hadn't been told. He couldn't mind it either if it put processors at rest, although he personally had no doubts about who a chase-revved, catch-deprived Prowl would go for.
They made their way to the finish line right as the racers passed for the last lap and Jazz was practically levitating with anticipation when they came around the curve towards the final stretch, and Optimus saw that the twins together had forced Prowl back and were blocking him from getting ahead.
Sideswipe hurtled past, then Sunstreaker, followed by less than half a length by Prowl, all three braking sharply as soon as they were over the line. Jazz was grinning, and although he looked relaxed, Optimus could teek otherwise. The mech was excited beyond measure, and the raw, focused hunger Prowl was visibly radiating only enhanced that as the slightly larger Praxian stalked towards him.
Optimus couldn't help but smile that Prowl didn't even acknowledge him on the way to grab his mate and kiss him, hard and demanding.
"You lost!" Jazz said as soon as Prowl released him, sounding shocked, but the subharmonics were playful, eager. "Babe, I come all the way down here ta watch and you lost! How'm I supposed to think you can keep up with me, hmm, old mech?"
"Because I prove it every night and most mornings," Prowl rumbled, pushing Jazz back against the nearest solid surface, which happened to be Prime's side. The convey class mech held flawlessly still, his field in tight, as to not disturb them. "Going to prove it right now," he rubbed against his mate shamelessly.
"Whoa," Sunstreaker said, simultaneous to Sideswipe's, "Hey now!" making Jazz grin at them, hooking a leg up around Prowl's hip.
"Right here?" he purred, equally shameless, and when he pulled Prowl in for another kiss, it was angled right for Sunstreaker to have the best view.
Prowl moaned into the kiss and there was the distinctive sound of an interface cover unlocking and sliding back. One hand held Jazz tightly around the waist while the other stroked a doorwing.
"Hey! Get a room!" Sunstreaker snarled between gagging. "We get it, you're together!"
"Prime!" Sideswipe looked at their leader with wide, bright optics, not believing that the big mech hadn't said anything about decorum yet.
Optimus looked back innocently, looking for all the world like he hadn't heard Jazz's cover unlatching beneath the smaller mech's moan. "No one else is using the track," he said calmly. "I am sure if they are going to become an impediment to others wishing to use the facility they will move. Otherwise..." He looked down at the mated pair, his smile lighting up his optics. "I am not inclined to interrupt them."
"Prime's smart," Prowl grinned as the kiss broke briefly and his lip plates moved along Jazz's jaw to his throat. "Haven't made a public claim in too long."
"So true," Jazz moaned, one hand on Prowl's chevron and the other gripping his doorwing tightly as he ground his hips against his mate, valve bared and ready for him.
Sideswipe twitched, torn between staring at what was an undeniably hot scene with two attractive mechs and the also undeniable knowledge that these were his creators.
"Come on," Sunstreaker make the choice for him by grabbing an arm and pulling him away. Across bond and field though there was no question that he intended to find a secluded spot to mimic their creators.
Jazz chuckled deep in his chassis once they were gone. "Should thank them for inviting you, Prime, that story'll get around fast enough."
"He makes a good wall too," Prowl purred before driving deep into his mate and grinding their arrays together. "You are mine," he groaned against Jazz's throat.
"I am pleased it will reduce the speculation," Prime said calmly, soaking in the intense love and devotion the pair radiated like the balm it was to his spark.
Jazz's engine gave a sharp, heavy rev. "Yours, ours, always," he swore, rocking back against him, caught between his mate and the Prime, focused entirely on Prowl. "Love how revved you get, babe."
"Don't need to race to get revved for you," Prowl swore, trembling with pleasure and desire. "So good, so perfect," he moaned and found Jazz's mouth again for a kiss as heated as their frames. "Love you. Never wanted to continue without you."
"Glad you did," Jazz gasped against him, and after that, they didn't seem capable of words past the chaotic tumble of love-want-joy in their fields.
Optimus watched and listened, completely still and feeling his spark calm and smooth from the overwhelming rush of devotion and trust, something felt so rarely these vorns, as mistrust and hurt took over the survivors of their planet. Too few mated sparks, too little love, too much senseless hate, and for the mech who was called to love every spark, no matter the faction, there was little relief from the hurt that had consumed their world.
That these two, who had as much right to be bitter and hateful and mistrustful as any, were so devoted and loving, their pain falling away when in the other's arms, made Optimus Prime feel a deep need to keep them safe and close to him. He needed them, needed the peace they could bring him with their love. He would willingly be this still and quiet for them anytime they were willing to let him be near.
Prowl's roaring cry broke the quiet grunting first. Energy crackled over his frame as he spilled deep inside his mate, silently pleading for Jazz to fall over the edge of bliss with him.
One more thrust, then two, and then Jazz head slammed back into Prime's side and he screamed, bucking against his lover's spike, caught up completely in that moment.
Optimus was right there to help support when they slumped, shaking, but he did no more than that until Jazz looked up at him, visor dim and field sated, and flickered gratitude into his field.
"He's a good mech," Prowl mumbled to his mate as he nuzzled Jazz lazily. "No threat. He understands I belong to my triad."
"Good," Jazz murmured, nuzzling back, arms drooped around Prowl's neck. His hips rocked slowly along the spike still lodged him, sending tingles through their frames. "Don' even care if he has you, jus' has to know 'm first."
"I do know," Optimus said warmly. "Even when we believed you gone I knew you were first."
Prowl gave Jazz a nuzzle and reluctantly withdrew, retracting his equipment as he did so. "Right now, I want to spread out on my berth so I can finish filling you, then ride you and touch your spark until you admit that my endurance is a match for yours," he purred deeply.
"Hafta pin me first if you wanna ride," Jazz purred back, and with a light push, was back on his pedes and dancing away.
"As if you've ever escaped," Prowl actually laughed and ran after his mate, the worries of the world forgotten for the moment.
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Of all the things that separated Prowl from who he had been before Vortex, his need to move on a regular basis was perhaps the most notable from the outside. He could barely make three orns working without having to leave in order to walk or drive-any more than that and he got anxious and twitchy, less if Jazz wasn't nearby. Of course, that was still significantly more than most mecha, so they still thought him a workaholic, particularly when his mate was gone and he had little to distract him from the fact other than work.
Seven vorns after his disastrous stay in a prison camp Jazz was in another deep cover assignment, intended to last the vorn, so Prowl took a break once per orn to spend a joor on the track, and once every three orns to recharge with Prime if he was available. Not that the Prime was ever not available short of a battle raging, which was more than enough to distract Chief Tactical Officer Prowl as well.
The rumors persisted that Prowl had exchanged use of his frame for promotions, but the Praxian's diligent work and the number of lives he saved compared to his predecessor had silenced much of it. The Prime had silenced much of the rest, and those who didn't respect him, didn't tend to live long. For where Prowl's loyalty went, so went the loyalty of his mate and twins. Mecha who had few compunctions about arranging accidents of various degrees of lethality.
This orn was like any other and he was speeding around the track, pushing to his limits on the curves, his spark calming with the speed and motion, with the knowledge that he could move if he wanted to and it was a choice to remain still for his work, something that he had once deeply enjoyed and still did, in moderation.
When a second driver joined him on the track, about a quarter-length in front of him, Prowl only adjusted his course to allow for the slightly slower mech to continue unimpeded.
::...Can I come race with you?:: came Sunstreaker's sullen voice over his comm. He was very obviously sulking. ::Sides kicked me out.::
::Of course. How many laps?:: Prowl agreed, only barely remembering to indicate he would enjoy his creation joining him. In the past six vorns the yellow warrior had made an obvious effort to moderate his attitude problems towards Prowl, and Prowl was thrilled for it. Of the pair, Sunstreaker had always reminded him of himself more than Sideswipe had, and the damage growing up and the war had done to him had only emphasized how similar they were in many ways. It was enough that Sunstreaker seemed to almost like him now. He was treated with only slightly more distain and aggression than Sideswipe most orns. To Prowl, that meant a great deal.
::Just until that afthead finds his processor,:: Sunstreaker muttered. ::Maybe a couple dozen. You just happened to get on the track first, got it?::
::It is the truth,:: Prowl responded easily as he shifted his intentions to giving Sunstreaker a good race to distract himself with. The both needed it, with their respective mates out of reach. Truth be told, Prowl was grateful for the company and competition. Racing to move was good. Racing against an opponent was much, much better.
As he passed the driver ahead, he heard an upshift in the mech's engine and for a moment, he was considering asking if he would like to join in their race on the next lap-with a proper start for all three-when something slammed into his rear bumper and sent him skidding. Well-trained reflexes had him transforming to root mode to get pedes under him. It was almost always easier to come to a controlled stop on your pedes than on your wheels. At the same time his sensor suite went fully active to pinpoint who and why he'd been hit, though the sight of the second driver in the last nanokliks of a transformation before diving straight at him, energon blade in hand, answered that question well enough.
The mech hit him full-on and Prowl had his own blaster out in the same instant and they grappled together, the other getting the knife up against his throat and slicing through a non-essential fuel line. Prowl tried to twist around enough for a shot to hit, but the attacker was stronger than he was and built to fight. Struggling, twisting, snarling, it was less than a klik before Prowl was on his back, pinned by the war build with the frame advantage who was straddling his chest, knees grinding into his doorwings, both of his hands caught.
His neck felt hot, hotter than it should have from just the spilling energon. It burned. If his hands had been free, he would have been clawing into his own lines at the intense, focused pain.
"Before I kill you, I'm supposed to tell you that your Master says hello," the mech said, grinning viciously at him and prying his knife beneath chest plating, right above his spark. "And to let you know that he's reclaimed what is rightfully his."
Horror washed through Prowl's field at the comment rather than his impending demise. Before he'd processed more than that, there was a flash of bright across his vision and the mech over him was falling backwards. A fraction of a klik later the outraged, protective roar that was Sunstreaker in slaughter mode echoed in his audials as the yellow warrior lunged over him to tear into his attacker.
"Capture!" Prowl keened, desperate to have this mech for questioning.
But it was far too late for that order to even have a chance of piercing the battle-fog in Sunstreaker's processor. When he rose, plating rippling in agitation and stress, the attacker was already starting to gray.
Sunstreaker snarled at the empty frame before turning to look at Prowl in a rapid damage assessment, and the way his optics brightened in shock and focused on his neck told Prowl that whatever the burning was, it was much worse than a cut into that line.
The twin knelt next to him, carefully gathering him into his arms, cringing as his did. "Gotta get you to medbay," he said. "Don't touch your neck."
"What is it?" Prowl didn't question the statement, order or the movement. He commed ahead a burst summary of what had happened. He wanted SpecOps to secure the body and Ratchet and Wheeljack to be ready in the medbay. A separate comm went to Whiplash, ordering him to pull Jazz immediately because his cover had been compromised and he'd likely already been captured.
"'S corroding," Sunstreaker muttered as all three pinged back acknowledgement, Ratchet's coming with an ETA to his position and an order to the yellow mech to keep Prowl as still as possible. "Probably in your lines."
"Oh," Prowl processed that even as his tac-net took the information and ran with it. Energon flow was restricted, nanites flooded the lines to test for it before the tac-net shut itself down to protect itself from the effects. It left Prowl feeling quite fuzzy and very sluggish. "Explains the burning pain."
Sunstreaker huffed a very forced-sounding laugh. "Yeah, I imagine so. Dirty cheating, using poison in a fight."
"Wasn't a fight. Assassination attempt," Prowl mumbled, his systems warning him that shutdown and stasis were his best survival option to delay the spread of the corrosive. "Going into stasis."
Sunstreaker scowled as Prowl powered down into stasis in his arms, sitting there perfectly still until Ratchet arrived.
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"Wake him up," Vortex growled at the two mechs holding the bound and unconscious mech's shoulders and arms to hold him upright in the kneel.
"Yes, Lord Vortex," one of them responded to the mech they were both grateful was only on the vidscreen and not in person. Running on Con protocols and SpecOps survival protocols, Jazz booted fast, but didn't give any outward sign to his state until he assessed the immediate situation.
Head hanging forward, he couldn't see much but his arms were being held behind him, hands on his shoulders gripping tightly, and the hold on the right was the weaker of the two, less steady and the one to break from if he had to. His wrists were in tight cuffs, but far enough apart that he was going to be able twist his hands around to get at the locks.
The hum of a transport, and when he onlined his visor, a sheet metal floor. The last thing he could remember before the blow that had knocked him offline was business as usual in the outpost he had been undercover in.
"Did you think I would give up on getting what is mine back, Jazz?" Vortex's sneering, rage-filled voice crackled over the vid-comm.
Jazz froze for just a nanoklik as his field first pulled in tight and flat to his frame and he took that moment to settle the reactive flare that voice caused in him. Then he x-vented, let his plating loosen, and relaxed his field back out, calm and even. He lifted his head with a flashing grin, facing the screen. "'Tex, darling, no one who has ever had the pleasure of 'facing me has ever stopped trying for more."
The rotor's blades rattled as the pointed barb hit home even harder than Jazz had expected. "Well by now there is one less who will want you again. Corrosive gel is a nasty way to go, but I've learned my lesson. Deactivation will be good enough for him. You're the one I want back alive."
Jazz settled himself with a bit of a hum. "Gonna hafta be more specific, got a lot that want me. I can do this ripple thing, drives 'em wild, and then I-"
"The one who stole you from me," Vortex snarled in interruption. "Prowl."
"Ohh, him," Jazz said, then pouted. "Aw, you got rid of Prowl? He had the best spike, and I mean the best, that mech could make me scream like you wouldn't believe. Didja know in our rebuilds we got pieces designed to go together? Frag that's gonna be hard to replace."
"Don't worry. I'll make sure you scream," Vortex purred. "Show me his chamber."
Uneasy as the pair were, the Decepticons holding him down tightened their grip as a third came around front and jammed a hard metal blade into the seam of Jazz's chest plates.
He winced, grunted, but didn't resist the pull that pried him open, revealing his chamber and the black crystal blocker surrounding it. Visor glowing dangerously, he met Vortex's narrowed optics. "Like it?" he asked, all levity gone from his voice. "Got it just for you."
"I know," Vortex growled back. "I'm going to enjoy cutting it off. You still owe me an heir and I will have it."
"Ooh, threats," Jazz purred. "Remember how much Prowl liked your spark? He taught me how to do the same."
"If you really could challenge me spark to spark, you wouldn't still have that blocker," Vortex sneered. "Enjoy your last joors of freedom. My berth is all you'll know from now on." He glared at those in the room and closed the channel.
"Hey!" Jazz protested, and scowled with an annoyed huff. "Wasn't done with you." He looked at the three others in the room, keeping their attention on his face where he wanted it. "So, my mechs. How's hangin'?"
The one that had pried his chest plates open kept out of grabbing distance. "I hate Ops mechs. Completely glitched, the lot of them."
"Ya' boss made me this way," Jazz chuckled. "He's worse'n me, should look what whatcher workin' for. Hey, next time ya see 'im..." Jazz rolled his head, stretching out his neck. "Tell 'im Prowl fragged me in his berth once, and we didn't clean up my lubricant. Sorry 'bout that."
"He's not our boss," the one standing a distance away said warily. "We answer to Megatron, not the interrogator."
"Ooh, he got the audial of someone big," Jazz said, and settled comfortably. "Tell 'im anyway."
Before they could respond, Jazz had his right hand out of the cuffs, was grabbing his captor's arm and pulling, using the leverage to swing himself up and about, riding the momentum to bring his pedes around and slamming into the chest of the other.
The other two shouted and were on him immediately but Jazz already had a blaster from the first mech's subspace out, charged, and it whined sharply as it powered up. They froze.
"Yeah, I thought so," Jazz said coldly, accent perfect again. "Hold still." The heel of his palm slammed into one helm, his pede swung around to connect with the other, and when the transport's pilot came rushing back a breem later when none of them answered his comm to double check the destination, he never saw the single flight frame taking off from the rear before the tripwire explosives went off, sending the entire craft down in flames.
Jazz watched the transport go down with his rearward sensors as he made a beeline for Iacon and the few mecha he knew he could trust in this. Less than a joor into the flight Whiplash's encrypted ping to abort the mission came through.
Jazz just pushed himself harder. He didn't dare send a reply, not as exposed as he was, burning fuel like this, even as badly as he needed to know what had happened.
He'd be in Iacon in a little over an orn, if his energon held out until then, which readings were estimating it would. His tanks, primary, both spares and his reserve, were full from siphoning off the transport, and as foul as that fuel had tasted, it was going to get him home in good time.
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Prowl began the slow, medically induced process of booting from emergency stasis even more wary and carefully than normal. His final orders from both tac-net and primary processor indicated that he'd gone down to save his existence by slowing the spread of a toxin. Every single system and line was carefully checked for damage and foreign substances before his frame was allowed to advance to the stage of pumping energon around his systems freely, particularly to his most-valuable processors. That shut-down message overrode the tactical importance of regaining awareness quickly.
A ping on his sensor net alerted him of a significant auditory stimulus and he played it, identifying as Ratchet.
"Not that you'll believe me without checking, but your systems are clear."
The medic was correct, of course, but the message did give Prowl's gradually growing awareness significant comfort and that much showed in his field.
System after system came back clean and every location that had been corroded showed up as either repaired or in the self-repair queue and rightfully there.
Gradually ice blue optics powered up and took in the main medbay. Orange was everywhere, and the large boxy form of Ratchet nearby. Twitching and agitated but not pacing much, the small, lithe form of Whiplash was a flowing shadow.
Jazz was not in the room.
Prowl fixed his gaze on Ratchet, expecting news so he wouldn't get up and find out himself. Even as he did so he automatically logged into the base network and began downloading all that had happened in his absence.
Ratchet sighed, knowing exactly what Prowl wanted. "We don't know," he said.
"I sent the abort signal to him," Whiplash said. "Haven't heard back. But that doesn't mean anything. What did the assassin say to you, exactly?"
"Before I kill you, I'm supposed to tell you that your Master says hello. And to let you know that he's reclaimed what is rightfully his." Prowl repeated, inflections, accent and all. "He was sent by Vortex, and by plan Jazz would have been captured before I was attacked," he explained a reference he and Jazz needed no help in understanding.
"Damn," Whiplash hissed. "I'll have reports if he was captured within a few orns, but odds are if he wasn't or got away he'll be back first."
"Jazz is good," Prowl said more calmly than he felt. "It isn't the first time his cover has been compromised. Has there been any progress on how the assassin knew when and how to strike? If Sunstreaker had not been on the outs with his brother I would not have survived."
"No," Whiplash said. "Not officially. My techs are going to let me know as soon as they figure out how he even got into Iacon. Unofficially, either you start bringing those twins with you every time you're on the track, or you change your schedule up so it isn't the same joor every orn. I'm such an idiot for letting you get away with it for this long," he growled, almost to himself.
"Yes, sir," Prowl accepted without hesitation. "I should have recognized the tactical mistake myself. I will ensure I am a much more difficult target in the future."
"You know, for a smart mech, you do some really dumb things," Ratchet huffed. "Is your scan giving you anything I should look at?"
"No," Prowl sat up carefully, checking that movement did not change anything. "I am sore and need ten joors of recharge to finish the self-repair and repair integration."
"I want you to get more than that. A full orn, no getting up, and definitely no racing. You can take those pit spawn of yours with you then and race yourself out," Ratchet instructed. "I've already corralled Prime to stay with you." He gave a sly smirk. "Which means he'll also get some recharge."
"Or not," Whiplash snickered, though he knew perfectly well what went on behind closed doors when it came to that pair, and that more often than not, it was boring as slag. As Prowl began to stand, still with those same careful motions, the matte black mech went serious again. "I'll comm you the moment I know anything, recharge or not. Up to you if you want to set it to deliver only when you boot."
"You'd better damn well," Ratchet growled, glaring at them both. "And I outrank both of you."
"Only by technicality," Whiplash snorted.
"I will set it to deliver when I boot, unless it comes with a priority one signal," Prowl counter-offered. "Use that if he's coming to visit before being debriefed."
"Agreed," Whiplash nodded. "I'll see what shape he's in on arrival."
"Nothing within the ten joor mark," Ratchet counter-ordered with subharmonics of finality in his voice. "I don't care if Cybertron itself transforms into root mode, you stay in recharge!"
"I will recharge better if I know I will be woken up before Jazz walks in," Prowl insisted. "Otherwise I will check every half joor." He shifted slightly and looked down. "Besides, you don't need me to tell you the odds that he'll be here within ten joors."
"Given where he was supposed to be, even Starscream would take most of the orn to reach Iacon after I signaled him," Whiplash added. "Nothing I know Jazz can do moves quite that fast."
Ratchet scowled at both of them. "You remember the rank thing, right? How I do outrank you?"
They just looked at him.
Ratchet huffed. "Fine. Priority one signal, but I swear to Primus if you boot too soon and mess with your self repair, I'm not fixing it!"
"I understand, Ratchet," Prowl canted his wings in agreement.
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When Jazz came in for a landing in the main base hanger it was under heavily armed air escort for the last half joor and his spark skipped a beat in joyful relief to see Prowl standing there, waiting for him. Almost absently he noted that Whiplash, Mindguard, Prime and a couple agents capable of putting him down fast were also there.
When he banked lightly, making a clear course shift to touch down in front of his mate, and no one moved or ordered him to stop, he took it as implicit permission to continue on his course and he shifted back into the Seekerkin root mode that was his current appearance, practically landing on top of Prowl and grabbing him in a hug.
This close to his mate, he finally let the trembles into his field, the panic that just seeing that face still caused, no matter how well he knew how to hide it or ignore it. Worse had been the promise of Prowl's death and how coldly and smugly it had been delivered.
Prowl's field reached out to his, first confirming that it was Jazz, then drawing the taller mech close and crooning wordless reassurance that he was all right and he was far away.
::He said you had deactivated,:: Jazz whispered, cupping his hands around Prowl's face and resting their helms together, with no illusions that this was a private conversation or that he would be given more than a klik.
::It was a near thing,:: Prowl admitted as he brought his hands to cover his mate's, his relief at seeing him just as intense as Jazz's. ::Sunstreaker saved me.::
Jazz's field rippled in a silent laugh. ::How about that. Creations are useful for something after all. I'll have to get armed up and go thank him.:: He took a short, sweet kiss, then reluctantly pulled away and faced the gathered crowd, beaming at them. "All this for me? Y'all must be pretty desperate for a pretty face around here."
::He still likes the really good polish,:: Prowl smiled, reluctant to part but willingly sinking into the Prime's embrace.
"Most of it's for them," Whiplash jerked his chin at Prime and Prowl. "The assassination attempt put everyone on edge. Time for your debriefing."
Jazz stuck his glossa out at his commander. "It's for me and I know it and you can't tell me otherwise," he said even as he followed obediently.
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Sunstreaker scowled at his brother. "You have got to be kidding me."
"I'm not," Sideswipe glared at his defiant, anti-social sibling. "Prowl needs to recharge and he hasn't in four and a half orns thanks to both of them being busy elsewhere. That leaves it up to us to take care of him."
"Why us and not Ratchet and for that matter, why are you even keeping track of how often he recharges?" Sunstreaker asked, almost growling.
Sideswipe gave him a look of pity. "Because Ratchet doesn't do snuggling, and he's not kin or lover. I keep track because someone has to. That's the mech that keeps us alive, remember? A CTO that can't think is a bad thing. Now come on. I'd like to get some actual recharge tonight too."
Sunstreaker snorted. "I could make sure you'd recharge more effectively than snuggling with Prowl will," he muttered, but obediently rose and followed his brother.
"Which wouldn't help with the CTO not getting recharge," Sideswipe smirked as he lead his grumbling twin into tactical. By now the guards didn't even blink at them as they made their way to Prowl's office.
Prowl commanded the door open for them without noticeable hesitation and looked up. "What do you need?"
"For you to come with us so you will recharge and Sides will stop nagging me about it," Sunstreaker said.
Sideswipe rolled his optics. "It's been four and a half orns and you need regular recharge to do proper defrags. You handle way more data than anyone else here."
"I do not rechar..." Prowl paused and looked at the pair. "It is your recharge cycle."
"Yep, and you're spending it between us," Sideswipe said firmly with an unrepentant grin. "Somebody has to take care of our CTO, and with Jazz and Prime elsewhere, that means us."
When Prowl didn't move, Sunstreaker marched forward, wrapped a hand around under one arm while Sideswipe took the other, and together they lifted him up from his chair and set him on his pedes.
"You're going to follow or we're going to drag you," Sideswipe informed him.
"We like your processor running smoothly," Sunstreaker said. "Keeps us alive."
"I will walk," Prowl informed them as he immediately assessed that he was going to be going with them one way or another, and really, he did badly need the recharge they were offering.
"Good," Sideswipe brightened and let him go. Prowl didn't resist, walking behind his creation with a somewhat bemused expression that was rapidly shifting to the exhaustion he should have felt a couple orns before. "Your quarters have the biggest berth," he added as he turned towards the officers' wing, trusting his brother to keep Prowl with them.
"We don't have quarters, Sides," Sunstreaker said, rolling his optics.
"We have what pretends to be quarters," Sideswipe shrugged. "What am I supposed to say, your quarters have a bigger berth than our assigned slabs?"
"If it's the truth," Sunstreaker rumbled.
They made their way to Prowl's quarters and let him palm the door open, standing there until he entered first. It was more than just being polite. Two SpecOps agents lived in this space. A smart mech always let the owner enter first if he valued his continued functioning.
But Prowl just stumbled into the berthroom, his systems beginning the shut down before he'd even reached it.
"Yeah, he needs this," Sideswipe shook his helm and helped Prowl settle before snuggling up on the door-side of the berth.
Sunstreaker nodded in reluctant agreement as he lay down on the other side, curling up behind Prowl. Try as he might, he couldn't bring himself to be bothered. He had Sideswipe close, they were helping their CTO, and if he was being completely honest with himself, it was ... nice, in a way, to relax with his sire.
At the very least, he would get to recharge on a padded berth, which was several different kinds of bliss all on its own.
~Fine,~ he grumbled to his twin, noting that Prowl was already most of the way shut down. ~It was a good idea.~
A brilliant sense of pleasure-smug satisfaction radiated back. ~Now let's get some recharge on a really nice berth while we can.~
Sunstreaker huffed in agreement and settled down with his sire and his twin.
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Jazz made his way up to Prowl's quarters after checking for him in tactical and finding only an empty chair. His interrogation had gone badly-after just barely getting into the spy, learning nothing, the 'Con had initiated a self-destruct sequence in his own spark chamber. Debriefing and investigating how they had missed the small explosive planted within the crystal had taken up the rest of the time, and now he was off duty earlier than expected.
He palmed open the door to their quarters and went into the berthroom, stretching, then stopped.
Prowl was cuddled between the twins, deep in recharge. Jazz cocked his head, smiled, and was about to sneak away back to his official quarters in Ops when the red twin shifted, raised his head, and looked over to see Jazz. They stared at each other for a moment.
"Sorry, didn't mean to disturb, I'll just..." Jazz whispered, pointing to indicate his intention to leave.
"He needed to recharge," Sideswipe said simply, then shifted a bit further towards the edge of the berth. "There's room. You know he wants you there."
Jazz took a step forward. "Are you sure?" He jerked his head at Sunstreaker.
"Don't worry about Sunshine," Sideswipe smirked. "Don't touch him and he's harmless."
Jazz smirked back, nodded once, and carefully climbed onto the berth to settle between Prowl and Sideswipe, snuggling up to his recharging mate with engines that purred softly as soon as their fields meshed together. "Thanks," he murmured.
"Welcome," social training took over. Sideswipe still didn't like Jazz, but the wrongs committed had been a long, long time ago and if he put that out of his assessment, Sideswipe had to admit that Jazz wasn't a bad mech and sire did love him dearly.
That was enough for now.
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Jazz tried not to lean his chair back and kick his pedes up on the table, but Primus he was bored. When Whiplash had told him he was to attend the next officers' meeting he hadn't been expecting the long, droning reports, and by now he was beginning to wonder why he was even here in the first place.
From the looks he was getting from the dozen or so other officers around the table, they were apparently wondering the same thing. Sure, as SpecOp's SIC he was a command-grade officer and authorized to be here, but in reality it was only the division commanders that actually attended.
Ironhide finished with his report on weapons production and stockpiles and sat down, and Optimus Prime looked at the SpecOps commander. "Whiplash, your report is next. I believe you have some recent intelligence that is of interest?"
"Yes," the lithe minibot almost purred as he stood, something that immediately alerted everyone, including Jazz, that this was not going to be boring or bad news. "It seems that Lord Megatron is having some internal difficulties. There is a coup in progress, lead by Onslaught. Two other mecha of note are Swindle and Vortex. If Megatron wins, I'm sure Jazz will be the first to know. If he loses, well, the Decepticons have lost their only unifying force."
"Onslaught is a brilliant tactician," Prowl spoke up on something he knew well. "He has great difficulty coping with battlefield chaos, however I will be grateful not to face him again."
Jazz snorted in agreement. "How large is the coup?"
"Large enough to be of interest to us," Whiplash said. "Five key players with some lessers supporting them have been reported."
"Any amount of division in their ranks is a plus for us," Optimus said, frowning thoughtfully. "How quickly are we receiving updates?"
"For the moment, as major events occur," Whiplash responded. "They're fighting now. The next update will likely be who the victor is."
"I'm going to have Jazz confined to base, then," Ratchet said matter-of-factly.
Jazz jerked upright in his seat. "What? Why?"
"Because if Vortex is killed, I want you where I can reach you quickly," Ratchet said calmly. "And because I know you would object to being confined to medbay for so long. I'm being generous."
Jazz's mouth dropped open. "He could've died any time over the last several centuries and you didn't chain me to base then," he argued.
"Vortex was not participating in a coup that might suggest his imminent demise then," the medic said, not even looking up from the datapad he was entering updates into.
"He does have a point," Prowl added, eager for any excuse that kept Jazz close.
"Relax, will you," Whiplash huffed at his SIC. "It's not like you had anything off base to do anytime soon. You're past deep cover and spy missions. You're a senior officer now."
"Yeah but it's the principle of the thing," Jazz said, then scowled and slumped back down in his chair. "Race track?" he asked hopefully.
"Nope," Ratchet said. "Not unless you see my aft out there puttering around, which I assure you, you won't."
Jazz scowled at him, but relaxed very quickly as Prowl's leg brushed against his, and the meeting moved on to the next dull order of business. The rest of the orn went much the same for them, each looking forward to a recharge cycle together and the promise of pleasure beforehand.
Jazz was in their quarters first, though he'd timed it knowing that Prowl would be there to the klik of when he was due, and he spent that time hacking into the lighting systems for the rooms and locking the controls to his command, setting them dim enough that Prowl would be able to see easily while letting the light from his frame stand out.
After that, he settled himself on the berth, half propped up and chest open, legs splayed apart. He teased his spike out and slid his valve cover away, slipping his fingers in to coat them before stroking himself a few times. Interfacing ports opened, everything about him bared and ready for his lover. When he heard the door open, he let his spark chamber iris spiral open and the flickering light from his spark filled the berthroom, glistening off his spike.
The sharp intake when Prowl stepped into the berthroom was the loudest sound for a moment, then the roar of Prowl's engine overtook it.
"Out to test this old mech's endurance again?" Prowl purred eagerly as he walked to the berth and knelt on it to claim a kiss from his mate.
"I was thinking you could test mine, since you're always bragging," Jazz purred in reply, pulling Prowl down over him. "How about it, lover?" He lifted his hips, rubbing against Prowl. "Take me out for a ride?"
"I'll take you for a ride, drive you hard and know every part that drives you," Prowl rumbled as he rubbed back. "Starting with the spark that has always owned me."
The light flared brightly outwards and Jazz's cry when fingers slipped beneath black crystal to stroke the chamber made everything else vanish until they were both spent and panting on their soaked berth with several overloads behind them. The last shudders faded and Jazz slowly lowered himself down on shaking arms to collapse on Prowl's chest, face against his neck as their frames tried to cool down and still reveling in the intimacy that was the hardline.
"'S good," Jazz whispered with an exhausted grin.
"You always are, my love," Prowl nuzzled him, his field relaxed, content and utterly sated. "Despite what it will cost Cybertron, I cannot help but hope that Megatron wins."
"I'm ... trying not to hope," Jazz murmured, fingers tracing over the seams in Prowl's chest. "But it's hard. I've already accepted that chances are I will deactivate before knowing your spark, world like it is and with the kind of luck we have ... but maybe just this once..."
"We can have what we want so much," Prowl kissed him softly. "I know. We have so much more than most, but we've been denied so much as well. I want him deactivated too much."
"Death at Megatron's hands would be too good for him," Jazz growled. "Slagger should only count himself so lucky if that's how he goes." He sighed, field settling back down, and he could feel his spark quivering in his chest, straining forward. "Just ... maybe this once, maybe," and he couldn't keep the hope from his voice no matter how hard he tried.
"I know," Prowl gripped him tightly, aching for it just as much as his mate. He slid a hand to the back of Jazz's helm and drew him down to rest against his chest. "Soon. We'll know soon. Recharge will make it pass faster."
"If I wake up screaming you'll know why," Jazz murmured with a faint smile, and settled in to rest with his mate.
"And I will be here, holding you, offering my spark to fill the tear as soon as I can," Prowl promised with all he was.
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The next orn's news came halfway through the first shift, and when Jazz saw the look on Whiplash's face as he reported to the Prime's office, his spark dropped.
The summons to join them not ten kliks later was not a surprise, neither was Prowl's presence.
"We wanted to let you know before the officer's meeting," Whiplash explained. "So it isn't a shock."
"He won?" Jazz asked.
Whiplash and Prime gave each other a brief, startled look. "No," Whiplash said. "He lost. They've been overwhelmed and captured."
"But he's still alive!" Jazz's anguish couldn't contain itself.
"Megatron is not known for tolerating such acts," Prowl prodded for information cautiously.
"He is ... deliberating on their punishment," Whiplash said slowly. "That's all we know." He hesitated, looking like he was debating giving the next piece of information, then sighed. "Reports were that he was ready to kill them all when his SIC stepped in and suggested he be more creative, and make an example of them."
"So he still might die," Jazz said, cautiously, and Whiplash nodded.
Prowl twitched, but held his thoughts. He held them through the meeting, and for the three orns it took for news of Megatron's decision to reach Iacon. In the meeting to discuss that, he merely slumped fractionally in resignation.
"Sensory deprivation, nice," Ironhide said, on the opposite end of emotional reactions. "That's five o'- the worst Cons gone without us havin' ta do a ruddy thing."
"Deactivated would have been better," Prowl actually grumbled. "They can still be retrieved this way, only they will be even more insane."
"It is not our call to make," Optimus gently waylaid the pending debate about ethics, POWs and punishment in and out of the army.
"And they're conscious?" Jazz asked.
Whiplash nodded grimly. "Conscious, frameless, deprived of all external sensation, unable to communicate." Many in the room shuddered.
Jazz turned to Ratchet, opening his mouth for his next question, but the medic just raised his hand marginally, stopping him. ::Later,:: he commed. ::We will discuss options later.::
Jazz nodded, glanced at his mate, and shuddered at the look on Prowl's face. It was not a hopeful look at all.
"How much damage has this done to Megatron and his command element?" Optimus focused on Whiplash and Prowl.
"His tactical division is now short its finest processor and they are now down their best interrogator," Prowl summed it up. "Otherwise, minimal damage by my understanding."
"So overall," Optimus sighed, rubbing at his mask, "We benefited very little from this."
Whiplash nodded unhappily.
"Then life goes on," Optimus said before focusing on Prowl. "I would like you to look into taking as much advantage as possible of their weakened tactical division before they find someone to replace Onslaught. I would like bi-ornly reports of your analysis, along with any recommendations for action. We may only have a brief window of opportunity here, let's take advantage of it."
"Yes sir," Prowl canted his doorwings, his complete focus going to his work as he initiated a full tactical uplink to the base's mainframe. It left him all but oblivious to his frame.
Optimus nodded once as Prowl settled into his analysis before looking around at everyone else. "The rest of you, business as usual. This doesn't change anything. Report directly to Prowl if you have any questions on how to proceed. Jazz, Ratchet, if you would stay a moment. The rest of you are dismissed."
A murmur of acknowledgements greeted that as the officers, including Prowl, filed out, leaving only Optimus, Ratchet, and Jazz.
"Jazz-" Optimus attempted to begin.
"I could get over there, break in and kill him," Jazz said, and his engines were growling as Optimus was already shaking his head. "Why not?"
"You are too valuable, and as much as I wish it could be otherwise, I cannot risk so many resources for what amounts to a personal mission," Optimus said, and there was no hiding the pain it caused him to give that order.
"And if I go anyway?" Jazz challenged.
"You will be immediately stripped of rank and forego the right to call yourself an Autobot," was the firm answer.
It startled Jazz into silence, long enough for Ratchet to speak up.
"Why did you want me here?" the medic asked cautiously.
"I know there is a conversation to be had here," Optimus said, looking between them. "All I ask is that it wait until Prowl is fully functioning. I can't have him distracted with this right now. These could be crucial orns."
"I understand," Ratchet said, and gave Jazz a pitying look.
"I'm very sorry it didn't work out more as we had hoped," Optimus said quietly.
"That is such a comfort right now," Jazz snapped before storming out. He walked right into the waiting arms of his commander and was promptly loaded with enough work to distract him for a decaorn.
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Prowl poked his helm into Jazz's office, rather surprised to find the mech in the space that had become the bane of his existence. "Can you take a break soon?"
"No," Jazz actually growled, not looking up, then after a moment his visor flickered and he lifted his head. "Oh. Hello. Yes, yes I can take a break, slag mission reviews. Give me half a joor? Is Ratchet free?"
"He said he'd make time when we could both get down there," Prowl nodded and stepped fully in. "Anything I'm cleared to help with?"
Jazz waved his hand at a stack of datapads set off to the side, still stacked neatly, unlike his penchant to simply toss them into a messy pile. "These all need reviewed to check for conformation to mission protocol and safety standards."
Prowl nodded and picked up the first one. "The intel has already been entered into the system?"
Jazz just nodded, already focused back on his reading. He barely noticed the rate his mate went through the reports until the half joor was up and Prowl had finished four and a half reports in the time it took Jazz to read one.
"Ready?" Prowl stood. "I can finish this on the walk."
Jazz tossed his datapad aside, unable to focus any longer anyway and nodded, standing and stretching, equally unable to hide the anxious anticipation in his field and doorwings. "Ready as I'll ever be."
Prowl nodded and walked by his mate's side to the medbay where Ratchet was waiting for them. He motioned the couple into his office and settled everyone. "According to my research, there is no precedence for one spark-bonded mate being in frameless detention and the other not. We literally have no idea what could happen."
"But there are records of frameless detention," Jazz said. He'd seen them himself, but he hadn't had access to medical analysis reports. "What happens to them?"
"It depends on the basic personality of the spark, but eventually all go completely insane from data deprivation," Ratchet said grimly. "It is by far the most cruel punishment ever created by Cybertronian kind."
"He won't have far to go," Prowl muttered.
Jazz shuddered at the idea while nodding in agreement. "But he might not have the presence of mind to attempt to break through an energy block," he said, half stating, half asking.
"More to the point, what can he do with no frame and no ability to communicate?" Prowl asked, focused on the practical.
"Well, a bond is also a thing of the spark," Ratchet said. "There is awareness, and there are memories stored there, as far as we can tell. But your guess as what he will be able to do is as good as mine." The medic shrugged. "It might very well be completely uneventful. I hope it's completely uneventful, if you choose to have the blocker removed, but-"
"I'm having it removed," Jazz said, fingers tightening around Prowl's.
Ratchet frowned at him. "But the risks could be worse than what you have right now, and I'd like you to discuss it first."
"Then the blocker can be put back on," Prowl said firmly. "Grow one if removing this one intact is impossible."
"I can remove it intact," Ratchet huffed, insulted by the very implication that he could not. "Otherwise I'd make you wait until I had a replacement grown to even try this." He looked between them. "Is that your way of saying your minds are made up?"
"It is," Jazz said.
Ratchet nodded. "I'd like to schedule the procedure for when you can both have a few orns off together. While I'm normally not one to buy into the rather ... sentimental notion that having a loved one nearby will help in any significant fashion, in this case, I believe it might be crucial."
"I wouldn't do it without Prowl within reach anyway," Jazz said, resettling his plating in an anxious shimmer. "I can be available any time, Whiplash has already given open permission for timing as far as this is concerned, barring emergencies."
"Prime has given me clearance for four orns' leave. Tactical is prepared to handle things in my absence," Prowl added. "I doubt anyone who has a clue Jazz has the blocker installed expects us to wait one joor longer than we must to finally have a chance to be together."
Ratchet looked between them then nodded once more. "I'll need to prepare for the procedure, and I have too many appointments today to fit you in. Tomorrow morning, first thing."
"We'll inform those who need to know," Prowl said as he stood, then paused to look at Ratchet. "Thank you, for doing this."
Ratchet scowled at him. "Well you're a patient, aren't you?" He waved them out with his hand. "Go on, get lost."
Jazz hid his smile until they were safely out of the office, gripping Prowl's hand just a little tighter than when they'd arrived. The excitement and anticipation echoed from one field to the other and back, building until they were both all but giddy when they commed their respective bosses about when they'd be off duty.
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Optimus cautiously made his way into medbay, peeking his head around the corner first and clearing out his vocalizer so as to avoid any flying wrenches that might be coming his way, and when nothing attacked, allowed the rest of his frame to follow. He stepped through the doorway completely, straightening up to his full height. "Ratchet?" he called.
"You better not bring broken mecha to me today," Ratchet growled at him. "I'm busy with those two you brought into my life."
Optimus blinked innocently as he rounded into Ratchet's office, almost running right into him as Ratchet rounded that corner, stalking back out into the main bay. "I don't bring you broken mecha," he said.
"Somehow, some way, I can always figure out how it is your fault," Ratchet said, fists on his hips as he looked out over the spread of tools he had set up next to the berth. "You lead them, you set Prowl's parameters. It's going to be you that brings me new work."
"I don't mean to," Optimus mumbled, and when Ratchet looked up, he saw the world's biggest sparkling kicking unhappily at the floor. "I want them in good repair as much as you do."
The medic vented a sigh. "I know. I know you'd like everyone to be happy and healthy."
Optimus nodded, then released his own gust of air. "But that isn't how the world works," he recited. "So we do the best we can. I just wanted to see how everything was coming along for today, not exactly a procedure you're performing every orn."
"Thank Primus," Ratchet muttered, staring at the setup. "I'm ready. Just waiting on the mechs now."
"Have you ever taken a blocker off before?" Optimus asked, looking over the spread of complex looking tools. "How does it work? How do you think it'll go?"
"They've been illegal longer than I've been functioning," Ratchet shook his helm. "Before Jazz, I'd only seen images in medical texts. The crystal is grown to match a specific mech and chamber. It either absorbs or deflects loose spark energy trying to cross it. Wheeljack understand it better, but not by much. It's one of those things that we know more about how to create than how it operates. As for how it will go," he fiddled with the tools. "Given their history, the removal will go just fine. It's not actually that complicated. It's the after that I'm worried about."
Optimus sighed in understanding. "Because of where Vortex is." He shook his head, gaze distant. "To force a spark bond on anyone ... much less one so young ... they were never intended to be a commodity like they turned into. I would like to stay and watch, but I don't have the time. Let me know how everything progresses?"
"I'll let you know," Ratchet promised and watched the Prime go. "Big sparkling," he muttered fondly when the mech was out of range.
Not five kliks later, Prowl and Jazz arrived perfectly on time, Jazz's steps light, dancing, anxious as he moved, while Prowl looked as emotionless as he ever did, though the tilt of his doorwings gave it away.
"Is Wheeljack going to help?" Jazz asked, when he noticed the cheery inventor wasn't there.
"Yes, but he's Wheeljack," Ratchet shrugged and pointed to the berth. "Might as well get you prepped while his distracted aft gets itself down here. Any questions before you go under?"
Jazz sat, but didn't swing his legs up or lay down. "I had to be conscious when they put it on, I'm not going to be for this?"
Ratchet shot Prowl a look.
"We had to keep the block in place until the blocker was installed," Prowl said simply. Nothing more needed to be said to Ratchet.
"No, there's no need for you to be aware of what I'm doing so close to your spark chamber," Ratchet said, putting aside images of having such a thing installed while conscious, while carrying twins no less. "Even if Vortex becomes aware that it is gone, he has no ability to tell anyone where you are or what state you are in."
Jazz nodded and stretched out on the berth, shimmying a little as he did, then shot a grin towards Prowl. "Wish me luck, yeah?"
"You are loved, my bonded," Prowl said instead as he stepped close and caressed a chevron tip. "Relax, and when you boot, we can finally merge."
"Hope so," Jazz breathed, reaching out to grip Prowl's hand, preparing to shut down into stasis for Ratchet when the door opened and Wheeljack finally bounded in. "Hey 'Jack," he grinned. "Check me out."
Wheeljack's fins flashed brightly. "Look better than the last time we were working on this!"
Jazz chuckled. "Oh, I was a mess. You can delete those memories if you'd like."
"Not a chance," Wheeljack said happily. "Gotta keep as many of those as I have left."
Ratchet rolled his optics and gave a silent prayer for patience as he dropped Jazz into stasis, and another for thanks that Prowl had come to trust him enough to voluntarily move away with such delicate work about to be preformed on his mate. It was a far cry from the mech he had first met in many ways. Prowl was much more trusting in general these orns. Less volatile. Colder, too, but Ratchet knew exactly who to blame for that, and it wasn't Prowl. He was about the only one who didn't deserve any blame for that tac-net. A tac-net that saved sparks every orn, but had made an already emotionally and coding unstable mech far worse off.
"Ready?" Ratchet looked at Wheeljack over Jazz's medical stasis locked form.
"Yep!" Wheeljack said and together they began hooking Jazz up to sensors, monitors, a spark flux stabilizer, and on Wheeljack's suggestion, remembering the last time Jazz had had the blocker off, a direct energon line that could be turned on at any moment.
"Would you like a better look?" Ratchet asked Prowl, fingers hovering over the controls to open Jazz's chest while Wheeljack fished out a small chisel from amongst the equipment.
"Yes," even Prowl's voice displayed a harmonic of gratitude as he moved closer. He was careful to stay out of the way while giving himself a good look at the proceedings. It went surprisingly fast. Wheeljack struck each support that had been melted into place once, breaking the weld. When he was done Ratchet lifted the top half of the crystal cage off.
Alarms on Jazz's vitals went crazy.
"What the-" Ratchet said, as both medics' heads snapped around to look at the screens. "Slag," he hissed. "Look at his spark readings."
Wheeljack scowled and moved a scanner over the crystal chamber, looking at the readings there. "Give it a klik, that can't be right. He has a perfectly healthy spark."
But a klik later, nothing was changing, and the spiking readings were just getting worse, and Jazz's field was starting to teek of distress, even in the stasis lock.
"What's causing it?" Wheeljack asked.
Ratchet shook his head. "Has to be what's coming over from Vortex. I'm putting this back, that amount of stress is going to damage his spark. Get the hook, I'll weld." He lowered the top half and the alarms quieted, though it took the entire welding process for the readings to finally settle out, and even then, they weren't as smooth as they had been previously.
Neither medic had noticed that Prowl had plugged in and initiated a hardline connection that should have taken a medic's codes to pull off until it was all over with, and then Ratchet simply stared. No one gave their internal connection codes away, not even mates.
"Hack, or did he tell you?" the CMO didn't quite demand.
"He gave them to me," Prowl said softly from where he was gently stroking a chevron horn, an action that usually helped settle Jazz quickly. "He has mine as well."
Ratchet simply nodded and couldn't bring himself to be surprised by that. "Bringing him out of stasis," he said in a flat voice.
The hums and clicks of systems booting and syncing up after the procedure filled the otherwise quiet room, and they could tell the moment Jazz came fully online from the startled flare of his field and the way his intakes hissed. "Cold," he gasped, hand shooting up towards the blocker before Ratchet snatched it midair and stopped the motion.
"You might have some lingering sensation, but that's all it is, lingering," the medic said soothingly.
"It's still there," Jazz said, static cracking through his voice as he looked at Prowl.
"Yes," Prowl leaned forward to kiss him softly, regret in his field. "Your vitals peaked to near-fatal levels in less than a klik. It would have damaged your spark to have left it off even long enough to tell you."
"Try again," Jazz said, looking between all three of them. "Try again, I can be conscious, I can have better control over what comes in, just try again!"
"It's too risky," Ratchet said, shaking his head.
"You didn't even give me a chance-"
"Jazz," Wheeljack said quietly, fins a pale, sallow green. "It was bad, it was really bad. Whatever you could still feel lingering from a bond while you were in stasis would be a thousand times worse. You said 'cold.' Was that it?"
Jazz shuddered. "Cold, afraid, angry."
Prowl's field gave a sudden pulse of vicious pleasure, causing his mate to look up at him. "Oh, my love, you realize what that means?"
Jazz stared at him before his field flickered in realization and that same savage joy echoed after it. "He's in torment," he said, engine growling deeply. "Good. If he isn't dead, at least he's suffering."
"A great deal," Prowl purred. "And if he's not being held in a maximum security facility, he's a much easier target."
"Er," said a voice from behind, and they turned to see Whiplash standing near the doorway, hands clasped behind his back and rocking a little on his pedes. "Came to see how it was going ... obviously not as well as we'd hoped."
"Not nearly so well," Jazz said, but he still quirked a smile at his commander. "You came to check on me?"
Whiplash glared at him, but there wasn't much strength behind it. "I put a lot of work into you, I don't want to have to start over." He shifted a little. "And ah, as it turns out, actually, the five that were put into stasis together - Onslaught, Vortex, Swindle, Brawn, and Blast Off - they're in the Decepticon Detention Center, in Darkmount."
"Darkmount," Jazz repeated flatly, smile gone.
Prowl twitched before his doorwings and helm dropped. "Not even we could get in there, execute and get back."
"Finally, someone from Ops with sense," Ratchet muttered under his ventilations. His attention focused on the utterly paled out look that Wheeljack had before putting it together with where Shockwave resided.
He looked between him, Prowl, and Jazz, and then clapped his hands together. "Right," he said loudly, making them all jump. "I cleared my entire first shift out for this blasted procedure and I've been here for a quarter joor, and the only result is that we all look like we need some good high grade. And I know exactly where to get some."
"No one has good high grade," Jazz said suspiciously.
"I do," Ratchet said with a proud smirk as he began unhooking Jazz from all the monitors and released the lock keeping his chest open. As he moved around the berth to work on the other side, his hand slipped onto the small of Wheeljack's back and moved smoothly up his back strut, then up and over one of his shoulder blades.
While Wheeljack leaned into the touch, grateful for the comfort it was, Jazz was pulled to his pedes and into Prowl's arms. The two Praxians meshed fields to a level that most bonded couples couldn't manage outside of a merge and no one doubted that the hardline was fully open.
"You survive. That's the best revenge you can have," Whiplash tried to comfort Jazz as he came close. "Survive and have what he tried to take from you."
Jazz rested his head against Prowl's shoulder and gave the inventor a wan smile. "We have each other," he said, then reached out to squeeze Wheeljack's shoulder. "You too, yeah?"
"Yeah, I'll be good," Wheeljack promised. "I made it this far, I'm not giving that one-opticked freak a delayed victory."
Ratchet snorted as he came back out of his office, holding a very full, very expensive flask and noted that Whiplash had made himself scarce. "Do I have to drink this all by myself?"
"Decidedly not," Jazz took in the flask, reflexively placing the maker, type, vintage and relative status both to a noble and currently. "Here I was expecting medical grade."
"Or one of Sideswipe's experiments," Prowl smiled fractionally. "Whiplash is bringing some much cheaper cubes so those who need to get buzzed to oblivion can do so on stuff you don't want to taste."
"Wonderful," Wheeljack said. "Wouldn't want to waste any of Ratch's good stuff."
"I don't think he'd consider it wasted," Jazz mused as all three followed the medic back into his office.
"Not for the first cube," Ratchet chuckled as they settled and he poured five small cubes. "But once you can't taste it, the crude stuff is good to get wasted on. Which is exactly what I plan on making sure happens."
SxSxSxSxSxSxSxSx S===================S SxSxSxSxSxSxSxS
Three orns later and as far everyone was officially concerned, life and duties had returned back to normal. In his spare time, which was a matter of kliks between being heaped with work from Whiplash, Jazz had reviewed, double-reviewed, and triple-reviewed every single option that was open to him on the matter of reaching Vortex and killing him.
And in the end, all he'd come up with was the realization that there were no options. Darkmount was not notorious without reason. None of their spies or saboteurs had ever gotten in there, or if they had, they'd certainly never come back out.
And with Optimus steadfastly refusing to put official Autobot support behind the mission (something that Jazz understood in a very distantly removed, rational part of his processor), there was nothing to be done.
The end of his stack of reports saw him out of Ops and up into the base, going straight to Prowl's office, and his explosion of everything he'd been holding in since booting back up in medical was audible up and down the hall despite the closed door and reasonable soundproofing of the room.
"That Pit spawned, rusted, fragging glitch!" Jazz shouted, and grabbed an empty cube from Prowl's desk and threw it against the wall, shattering it. "Slag him, slag his glitching 'nets and his rusted, scrapped frame! If I didn't know better I'd think he did it on purpose just to trap me in this thing! When he gets a frame I'm going to cut his slagging lines, I'm going to peel his rotors apart, I'm going to turn him into scrap and then rebuild him and melt him down and then turn him into more scrap, I'm-I'm-" He broke off, gesturing, searching for something else, then cursed sharply and loudly and slumped down into the seat across from Prowl, fuming.
Instead of logic, ideas or even his own feelings, Prowl stood and drew Jazz up so he could settle with his love in his lap and held him. For a few brief, cleansing kliks, Prowl let go. His field howled with emotions running the full gambit as he shared in his mate's state with less violence but no less intensity of his own kind.
Jazz clung to him, not calming in the slightest, but finding a kind of relief in the shared frustration. His face went to Prowl's neck and his fingers found the seam over his chest and pressed down. He x-vented hotly against his mate. "I want you," he whispered, and his field ached with it.
"Yours," the armor began parting before the words had even been spoken. "Everything I am, everything I have, everything I can give you."
Jazz drew Prowl into a kiss, not even needing to look to slip his fingers into his love's chest and caress the crystal encasing, feeling the warm pulsing of the spark that he'd been so close to and still couldn't touch, not the way he wanted. "I want to give myself to you," he whispered bitterly.
"It is very mutual my love," Prowl moaned at the exquisite contact. "We still have so much more than he would have allowed us. Eventually, Darkmount will fall, and when it does we will be ready. Until then we will defy him the best we can, by remaining free, alive and together."
Jazz nodded and slipped back, dropping into a crouch in front of Prowl and bringing his lips to the crystal, kissing softly. It spiraled open beneath him and he x-vented into the light, a careful caress, before dipping in. "My love," he murmured, tasting Prowl on his glossa, the energy and essence of the mech who was his bonded in every other way. In an act of absolute trust, Prowl allowed his optics to power down, his helm fell back with a shuddering moan and his hands and forearms settled on the chair's armrests.
The signal was much weaker, but here, when spark touched frame, he could also feel his mate, his bonded, his everything. It was a tiny taste of something he was desperate to drown in, but he somehow managed to convince himself that what he had was enough. That this tiny caress was as much as there was to be had. It didn't matter that he knew better, that he knew what a full merge with a mate was, that he spoke of wanting more. This was as much as there was to be had because to admit anything else to his spark was to invite an insanity he knew he could not recover from.
This was bliss.
It was enough.