Oh my goodness, the response to the last chapter was absolutely amazing! I think we might actually reach 200 reviews by chapter 8! I'm serious when I say there shall be rewards for your efforts, my dears~
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Chapter 6
"What are we up to today, Prowler?" Jazz enquired, even before his keeper had time to set foot in the brig.
Accustomed by now to the semi-amiable greeting, Prowl replied in kind: "The same thing we do every orn."
"Try ta take over the world?"
"It would be too easy for us." He moved to the control panel, tapping in the code to release the force field.
"At least Ah wouldn't be bored." Stretching, letting cramped armour crack comfortably into place, Jazz sauntered out and made his way to the door at the end of the aisle. "Interrogation room one, two, three, or four? Or do Ah get ta choose today?" He swung a dashing smirk over his shoulder.
"None of the above, actually. We're going somewhere else today." Coming alongside the saboteur in the doorway, Prowl swept an arm down the hall in the opposite direction of the interrogation rooms. "This way, if you please."
Jazz canted his head. His smirk faded into something curious, and then suspicious. He did not dare even budge in the offered direction. "Ya gonna tell meh where, or ya gonna keep meh guessin'?"
"I'll let you know when we get there."
Jazz remained planted in the doorway, now frowning. "For all Ah know, ya could be takin' meh ta be executed."
Prowl slanted him a look that spoke of how poorly he thought of that suspicion. "You will never have to worry about that so long as you are under my protection."
Jazz made a noncommittal noise, shrugging.
A storm-grey hand shaped to Jazz's elbow, urging him in the direction they needed to go. There was still resistance, yet Jazz still chose to walk with Prowl.
"Let the destination be a surprise?" the tactician offered.
Jazz shook loose of Prowl's hand, smoothly putting distance between them with an artful sashay. "Ah don't like surprises so much."
"Oh?" Prowl's optic ridges arched disbelievingly.
"Ah don't like surprises when Ah'm not the one givin' them," the saboteur amended with a wry smile.
"That sounds more like you."
Jazz shrugged, loping alongside Prowl's familiar form. Whenever he thought it safe to do so, he turned a studious glance sideward. So long amongst the Autobots had made Prowl's faceplate very familiar. His presence was the same, familiar. Worst of all, Jazz found himself uncommonly at ease to be with the tactician, not simply because of Prowl's uncanny ability to focus all of Jazz's attention the moment he walked into a room, but because of some other element he could not name…
Prowl sensed the change in his companion's gait. He slowed to match, glancing to his right. "Something the matter?"
"No, not at all." Jazz picked up his pace to make up for time lost. Prowl matched without saying a word.
The Decepticon didn't need to look back to know there were two Autobots following them, both armed. Their spark resonances told him that one was Bluestreak and the other was Hound. Both were very good snipers. They were also relatively friendly, happy mechs, if past uneasy conversations with them were any indication. By the sound of their footfalls, the ease of air out their vents, they were uncommonly at ease for being the unlucky guards to tail him. They were almost… jaunty? No doubt they were having their own merry private conversation, only a fraction of their attention on the Decepticon they were supposed to be watching.
The inattention was a little insulting. Could it be familiarity that put them at ease? Or was Prowl's presence acting as a protective shield? Worst of all, could he have become tame to them somehow?
Jazz snorted lightly, disgusted by the mere thought.
His long orns spent in isolation had worn him thin, as much as he hated to admit it. Orns spent with only his guards and Prowl as company stretched long and empty. Entertainment came only in spurts when he got a guard he knew he could still rile. One his few true joys in life now was pushing Sunstreaker too far. Sadly, someone had gotten wise and stopped assigning the berserker guard duty. Now Jazz suffered from chronic boredom. It was exhausting to be amongst such boring bots for so long with nothing to sharpen his wit on, bar Prowl.
It wasn't like his situation was physically trying in any way. None had laid a hand to him during his stay, with the exception of Sunstreaker a few times after some particularly nasty needling. Dangerous, yes, but not especially engaging; Jazz's mental acuity wasn't even sorely tested. The Autobots' Tactical and Intelligence divisions seemed to be failing. No one ever asked probing questions of Decepticon intelligence that would give the Autobots the tactical advantage. No access codes. No enemy secrets. Prowl only ever seemed to share space with him for company.
While the blunt reality was not very taxing, it turned out waiting for orns on end for something to happen was enough to drag him to the brink of snapping out of frustration. If the Decepticons ever found out, he'd be made a laughing stock. Primus forbid Megatron ever found out one of his star warriors was incapacitated by niceness.
The more Jazz thought of this as he snuck studying-suspicious glances at Prowl, the more he hated his situation.
Familiarity and passivity had bred into an atmosphere of laxness. His guards no longer shook uncontrollably when they saw him. They didn't lean away when he cast them a sly glance. In fact, some came right up to the force field as free as you please. Yes, they were still armed, still wary, but not as much as they once had been. They struck up conversations, traded news. Some Autobots actually came of their own free will to visit him. Among the most prominent were Sideswipe and a few shady characters around base that he may or may not have had previous dealings with in another time, another place.
To the Autobots, Jazz was no longer an object of abject fear. He was just that mech living in the brig who was pretty cool to talk to, even if he could kill you any time he wanted and no one would ever find the frame.
To himself…he didn't know what to think anymore.
He didn't feel like he was ahead anymore. Actually, he was starting to feel like he was a step or two behind. Where had his unshakable grace gone? His quicksilver mind? His cleverness? Where had all his plans, backup plans, and plans of tomfoolery, skulduggery, and Cybertron-shattering chaos gone? Poof! Into thin air, that's where! Utterly drained away into an ether of dull greyness.
He was Jazz, for Primus' sake! It was more like a title than a designation, that was how infamous he was. Did that mean nothing anymore? One of the most feared Decepticons Megatron had under his wing! A mech not to be tangled with! A saboteur who had no match! A bot with no spark but a mind sharp enough to cut through even the toughest armour! What did that mean to anyone around here anymore?
"You're unusually distracted this orn," Prowl commented, waiting for a lift to appear that would take them to the floors above.
"Is that so?" Jazz internally bristled, hiding any external irritation behind his usual air. A lot of good that did, since Prowl appeared to see through any charade he put on.
"Yes, it is." The lift came down, the doors opened. They entered together, just the two of them. Bluestreak and Hound would have to wait for the next lift to come. Pressing the appropriate button for the floor he wanted- one of the higher floors, Jazz noted- the tactician eased back against the far wall. Their shoulders nearly touched. "You have not tried to strike up your usual conversations with me. It's been a while since you have, in fact."
Jazz's mouthplates curled into something self-deprecating. "How nice of ya ta notice."
Prowl inclined his head, ignoring the tone. "You have not been yourself for a while. Are you alright?"
"Is that any of your business?" the silver mech shot back.
"You're my responsibility, remember?" Prowl intoned, though he refrained from sounding condescending with the statement. "Anything and everything pertaining to you is my business."
Physical and mental health included. Even if Jazz had not caught on to their arrangement by now, perhaps blinded by his constant expectancy of Decepticon tactics- his own tactics he used on Prowl in attempts to break him- Prowl had long since eased beyond the responsibilities of interrogator alone. He concerned himself with other matters of his would-be prisoner's experience. A part of their meeting today, the reason why Prowl was taking them both to an as-of-yet undisclosed location, was all a part of that great sphere of responsibilities he chose to take on for Jazz's sake.
"Doesn't that sound borderline obsessive?" Jazz mocked.
"I'm sure you would know," Prowl replied in kind.
Jazz frowned, saying nothing.
A muted chime and a minor jostling of the lift announced their arrival on the destined floor. Stepping out together, Prowl laid a hand to Jazz's elbow once more and urged him in the right direction. Just behind them, the second lift chimed and admitted Bluestreak and Hound to the floor. At the far end of the corridor, the familiar shapes of one red Autobot and one gold lounged against opposite walls, obviously waiting for them. Upon seeing the approaching bots, Sideswipe saluted and his brother sneered. Jazz prepared himself for a fun little encounter, but the twins slipped around the corner to their next appointed outposts in wake of a single gesture from Prowl. When Prowl and Jazz came near again, they slipped away again like a game.
Once or twice, Jazz met Sideswipe's optic, finding a curious glint in the Autobot's stare.
Aside from their four accompanying guards, there was no one else in the hallways. Scuff marks in the floor would indicate high-traffic areas, yet everywhere was devoid of any and all activity. It was disturbing. There was no one to catch Jazz's attention. Nothing to let his mind wander. Absolutely no stimulation or distraction whatsoever. It was terribly isolating. Just like being in the brig. Four walls, a floor, and a ceiling; it all started to feel like it was shrinking in on you after a while.
If there was one thing Jazz did not handle well, even if he was loath to admit it, it was isolation.
"Did you evacuate the entire floor?" Jazz enquired, glancing to his companion.
"It was for everyone's safety." Prowl replied, looking straight ahead. "You understand, of course."
"Of course." He understood, yes, but that did nothing to ease the frustration.
Prowl slowed his pace, which Jazz matched. They paused before a nondescript door boasting of stencilled lettering titling the room Observatory Deck. A flutter of true surprise struck Jazz as he stared at the door. Bluestreak came to stand at one side of the entrance, Hound at the other. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker took up guarded positions at opposite ends of the short corridor. While their faceplates were neutral, except Bluestreak's, who wore his battle mask instead to obscure his features, the Autobots' optics glittered strangely as they cast discreet glances around.
"This is your surprise?"
"Indeed." The tactician nodded, letting the door hiss open. He swept a gesture to invite the saboteur to enter ahead of him. "After you?"
Jazz slipped in and immediately made his way to the shining crystalline windows that served as an entire wall for the long, narrow room. The lights were all off, allowing for the brilliance of Iacon at night to shine in all hues of silver, white, and blazing red Autobot sigils. Whether it was because of that particular night or because of Jazz's too-long incarceration below ground, the stars appeared to shine extra brightly as he stared up at them. The night sky stretched out forever in every direction. So very, very wide and deep compared to the confines of the Autobots' brig. Everywhere he looked, there was activity. Bots down on the ground bustling here and there, or else training in small groups; the air teemed with fliers, likewise some were alone flying every which way, and others were in small flocks performing aerial manoeuvres. Although the observatory deck was soundproof, he could easily imagine the ebb and flow of noise drifting through his audios.
A very heavy, constricting weight was suddenly lifted from his shoulders.
Prowl paused as he heard the unmistakable sound of a sigh. One glance in Jazz's direction let him know all he needed. The cagey tension he had been watching build eased away. One clawed hand rested against the window, his visor drawn back to allow an unimpeded view. Satisfied with what he saw, Prowl moved to the only seating arrangement in the room- a single couch left facing the window. Everything else had been cleared out the orn before.
"Why bring meh here?" Jazz suddenly asked, his optics still fixed to the outside world. If he refocused his gaze, he could make out Prowl's transparent reflection in the bright crystal.
"I've noticed throughout our encounters that you are not the type of mech who takes isolation well," Prowl replied. "To put it bluntly, you were lonely." His gaze was as neutral as his voice, optics focused on some distant point on the horizon.
Jazz made a disdainful noise.
The tactician inclined his head, ignoring his company's sour stance. "I couldn't very well bring you into a populated sector of the base to relieve you of that burden- there was no telling what kinds of chaos could come of that- so I decided that bringing you here was the next best thing."
"Why?"
Prowl's optic ridges arched. "The observatory deck seemed logical enough. From here, you can see the population at work, as well as much of the base and beyond if you were feeling claustrophobic, all without the risk of you-."
"Being mahself?"
"Yes." Dark shoulders shrugged minutely. "I'll admit that this not a perfect solution, but it was the best option available."
Jazz laughed. "It's more than whatever Ah was expectin'. But why bring meh here at all? Why not just leave me in the brig?" He traced a pattern on the window. "Why go to all this trouble for a prisoner?"
"You are not a typical prisoner."
The saboteur cast a sly glance over his shoulder. "Is that your way of sayin' Ah'm special?"
Prowl snorted quietly. "Your word, not mine."
Jazz chuckled quietly, turning back to the outside world. With every new detail, his mind raced anew, became refreshed, cleared out the cobwebs and started plotting double-time. He thought of a way to escape to each and every exit he saw; ways to booby-trap the entire yard so that any Autobot stupid enough to come racing after him would only have the memory of Jazz's shiny silver aft in their heads before they died. He could even imagine smashing the window right now and scaling his way down using a clever mix of magnetism, acrobatics, and luck. How good it felt to be crazy again.
"Ah guess Ah should be grateful," the saboteur intoned airily.
"How about we consider ourselves even?" Prowl offered. "I still had a few debts to you to pay."
"Alright," the silver mech said. "We're even."
"Good." Prowl smiled mutedly, a gesture so minute that Jazz almost missed it watching the reflections in the window.
With his mind now back, energized, and working to capacity once more, Jazz was instantly off on a thousand flying trails as to what that single ghost of a smile could mean. What did any of this mean? Prowl was too logical, too ordered, to straightforward, to do anything that didn't have a specific meaning or reasoning behind it. There was more to this excursion than relieving Jazz of his discomfort.
"Why today?" the saboteur suddenly wondered.
"I would have thought that'd be obvious." By his tone, he really was surprised the saboteur had not figured it out.
Jazz finally turned, leaning his back against the window. "Is that so?"
Prowl sat calmly in his seat, watching the silver mech's silhouette as he was outlined by the ambient lights of the base. "Quite."
"Care ta enlighten meh?"
"I would be a fool to miss the opportunity." His optics slid from that neutral point on the horizon to match Jazz's uncovered optics, the light shining in them was rather more meaningful than intense. "I spent 97 orns as a prisoner of war in Straxis before you freed me."
"And?"
"As of today, you have spent 97 orns as my prisoner."
Jazz's optics flashed bright as he caught on the tactician's train of thought. "An' now ya mean ta give meh mah freedom, to an extent."
Again, there was Prowl's ghost of a smile, barely there.
A very strange feeling welled up in the saboteur's chest as he absorbed that rare smile. It wasn't just the Autobots who had become familiar and comfortable with him. Without realizing it, he had become at ease with them. With Prowl most of all. Unable to make sense of it, Jazz spun away again, his fist coming up to bang against the window.
"Why?" he demanded.
"Because." Prowl had anticipated confusion, keeping in mind Sunstreaker's strangely wise advice when this charade first began. Developing trust and constructing a friendship with a mech who abhorred both and was looking for neither was one of the most difficult tactical manoeuvres Prowl had ever attempted. It was compounded by the fact that he himself was no great expert in the field of nurturing friendships, whether it was with comrades or enemies.
With a frustrated noise bursting from his vents, Jazz swung away from the window to pace the length of the room. "What are ya doin', Prowl?"
The tactician blinked. "I am sitting."
Jazz bristled. "Don't play stupid with meh. Ya know what Ah'm asking'." One hand was thrown up into the air, gesturing sharply. "You're the head tactical advisor here. You're supposed ta be my interrogator, but fer as long as Ah've been here, ya haven't bothered ta interrogate meh. Ya don't ask any questions about the Decepticons. Ya don't try ta get inta my head. Ya don't even bat meh around a bit ta soften meh up! Instead, ya waste time and resources keepin' meh company." His pacing halted as he zeroed in on the storm-grey mech. "What are ya really about, Autobot?"
"For a mech as infamously clever as you, I find it strange that you have not come to a conclusion on your own," Prowl intoned. He leaned forward, casting the saboteur a contemplative look. "This has never been about interrogating you."
"Then what has this been about?" he spat.
"That's for you to decide."
Another frustrated noise rose from the silver mech as he swung back into his pacing.
Prowl watched for a while longer, contemplated the sleek form as it passed through shadow and light. Deciding he had looked his fill, he reached into subspace to procure the one cube of high-grade he had, for once, not confiscated from Sideswipe but instead asked for. The subtle glow caught Jazz's attention, having him turn to warily observe as the tactician brought out two smaller cubes and filled them.
Prowl held one of the cubes out, the one with more high-grade in it. "You could probably use this right about now."
Jazz nodded tightly, gliding forward to snatch the cube and down its contents in one go. The taste was familiar and rich. It settled his nerves marginally.
Partaking of his own cube, Prowl did well to hide the small victory he just witnessed. Jazz did not wait for him to drink first to prove the high-grade wasn't poisoned. Even if it was only an unconscious gesture, he had trusted that his drink held no poison.
Staring down at his now empty cube, Jazz appeared to come to the same conclusion. Unlike his counterpart, he was not the least bit pleased the realization. Crushing the cube and tossing it to a shadowed corner, he crossed to the windows and paced the length of them again. He felt just like a trapped animal, wild with pent up energy. Freedom was so damned close, yet even with the cage door cracked open he wasn't making a move for it!
Beyond the high walls of the immediate base, he caught sight of a small lightshow erupting on the ground. Everyone who had been milling around the courtyards or circling the air rushed into the burgeoning action, bringing their weapons to bear.
"The Decepticons have been tryin' ta get meh back, haven't they?"
Prowl nodded, observing what he could of the fight below. A stray plasma blast hit the wall near them, rattling the windows. "According to Intelligence, an order was issued shortly after your defection for your spark to be brought to Megatron, dead or alive."
Jazz nodded grimly. He expected as much. "They'll want meh more dead than alive."
"We have been taking every precaution so that does not happen. However, your side has been extremely persistent, and we have yet to discover where they have been hiding. Until we do, they'll continue to have the advantage of coming out of nowhere on us."
Jazz's gaze turned pensive. "Protecting meh has been costin' you."
Prowl inclined his head. "True."
"The other commanders here- they don't like how much you're riskin', do they?"
"They question my decisions, especially when those decisions concern you. I am certainly no current favourite of anyone's." He paused, considering what he was to say next. The timbre of his voice changed ever-so-slightly as he said, "There are a few who believe we should hand you over. Ironhide is still of the mind to execute you."
"Ah bet he is." Jazz snorted humourlessly.
"Optimus Prime has offered to transport you to Epsilon base for protection."
"Transporting meh anywhere is a risk."
Prowl shook his head. "Keeping you anywhere is a risk as well, but it is one that I'm willing to take. If you go, I will accompany you."
Jazz's optics flashed for a moment. "If ya go ta Epsilon, you'll be there with meh indefinitely. Won't ya lose that shiny new position as tactical commander?"
"Perhaps."
Jazz nodded, letting the information sink in.
Several Autobot aerials were shot down, disappearing on the other side of the wall. At least one or two had to be dead, maybe more. It could be said that they were defending their base, their friends, their faction, but they were also risking their lives for him. He had done no kindness for them, given them no help, and probably would still stab them in the back the moment they looked away, yet he watched as they put their lives on the line all because the enemy wanted him back.
"The Decepticons- Ah know where they're hidin'," the saboteur suddenly announced.
"Do you?"
"Ah can show ya." He turned, crossed the distance between them, and reached for his interface panel. Prowl's optics flashed hard and cold to the panel, automatically tensing. Their gazes locked, the air heating a bare fraction as they tested the power play between them. Jazz leaned a fraction closer. "Trust meh."
A look of something akin to surprise flashed across the tactician's faceplate; he may have been scheming for Jazz's trust, but it had not occurred to him that he may have to offer his own in return. Letting out a steadying jet of air through his vents, Prowl gave a near-imperceptible nod. His interface panel clicked open.
"The moment you try anything suspicious-."
"It'll already be too late." Jazz smirked, his cable already primed between his claws.
Without ceremony, they connected. The moment their systems synchronized, Jazz moved like lightning, knowing exactly where to go and what to do when he got there. He was aided by Prowl, who lit up the appropriate pathways so as to draw the other in the right direction. The needed information was transferred in record time. Less than an astrosecond, in fact. The moment the file was offered, accepted, and then transferred, they disconnected. Jazz shifted to the far end of the couch and sat down. Prowl was rigid as he digested the new information, battle computer activating, the logistics of a thousand different options assaulting him all at once. When one came to the forefront with the highest chance of success with the lowest risk of fatalities, it was expedited to the chosen Autobots best suited to carrying out the formation.
Out in the courtyard, a small contingent of fliers broke off from the immediate battle, falling back into a tight formation. They took a wide circle over the entire courtyard, tipping their wings to the windows as they passed the observatory deck. With a burst of white-hot flame from their afterburners, they shot out over the battle on their way to roust some Decepticons from a previously-secret hidey-hole.
Jazz contemplated the streaks of fading light on the horizon, and then looked down at his own chest where his Decepticon decal shone proudly. He was no Autobot, that was for sure. He wasn't sure he could be a Decepticon anymore, either.
"Ah guess this is as good a time as any…"
"What do you-?" Prowl froze mid-sentence, watching as Jazz's faction decals faded. "Oh."
"Yeah."
"Are you sure?"
Jazz smirked hollowly. "Ah'm not sure about anythin' right now." His glanced to the side, revealing his modified optical settings; no longer red, but not blue either. Plain white. Neutral. His Decepticon signature modulator shut off definitively. "First Ah walked away from mah faction, now Ah just helped yours. Is that enough ta call meh crazy?"
Prowl shrugged, replying matter-of-factly, "You were already crazy."
Jazz nodded. "Ah guess Ah was."
Together, they settled back on the couch and watched the fight fizzle out. The Autobots sent to raid the Decepticons' encampment must have pulled off their sneak attack. With the Decepticons realizing they no longer had backup or a safe place to fall back to, they were quick to get out of firing range. Autobot fliers still airborne pulled victory laps around the courtyard. A few stopped by the observatory windows, transforming long enough to salute the two mechs within before reverting to alt mode and zooming off again.
"So…" the newly-Neutral mech intoned.
"So?" replied the Autobot.
"Ya wanna interface again? Ah can think of a thousand different things that are more fun than what we just did."
"No."
"It's still your loss."
"I'll still live."
They sat in silence for a long while after that, their hands almost touching.