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Chapter 10
Prowl leaned heavily against the unforgivably cold wall, the doorway to his quarters looming darkly ahead of him.
Currently, it was three-quarters into the graveyard shift. The majority of the base was asleep. Prowl had not encountered a single spark since he had exited the docking hangar. Only a skeleton crew of the bare essentials were active, hence there being no one around at this time. Those on duty were always too lax during this shift. Anyone could attack the base.
A pained groan whined from the tactician, one hand gripping the side of his head. He was not suffering a physical wound but one that rested deeper. One thought was all it took to throw his battle computer into a frenzy; a thousand calculations at once. A thousand different ways the base could be attacked. A thousand different statistics. A thousand counteracts to defend the base with. So much information flooding him at once. His already stressed faculties did not brace well under the added pressure.
He shuddered. His vision blurred.
"This is an unmanageable state," he cursed lowly.
It took a moment to suppress his battle computer. He succeeded in only ending the initial onslaught of calculations. The computer itself still thrived in the background. His logic circuits went into overdrive, informing him in no uncertain terms that so long as his emotional centre was turned off his battle computer would be there to make up the difference. Indeed, it did make up the difference and then overcompensated in several instances.
After a breem of blindness, Prowl's vision reinstated. With it came a glare of warnings across his line of sight. He needn't pay attention to them to know what was wrong. He had already memorized the warnings, knew them intimately. He could recite them during recharge if need be. A quick summary of it all: everything was wrong. Wide spread physical damages compounded by the incessant need to have his emotional centre turned back on.
Logically, he knew should have been in the med bay. Protocol dictated that he be treated by a medic for his damages. Tradition called for his verbal abuse and physical torture at the hands of Chief Medical Officer Ratchet. Despite all of that, Prowl was nowhere near the med bay. He desperately needed repairs, but he wanted to isolate himself as far from other company as possible. He was operating on pure logic, and yet he was defying it.
The conundrum he was presenting himself was near enough to turn him inside out.
It was too much right now. He couldn't handle it.
He needed to get inside his room. Lock the door. Turn his emotional centre back on. He needed to deal with the backlash first before he dealt with anything else. Once he was through with one crisis, he would be fit to deal with everything else.
It was almost too much of an effort to raise his head and focus on the nondescript door laying a few paces ahead. Cliché as the statement was, his room was so close yet so very far.
Until recently, his quarters had been located in the same barrack section that everyone else's quarters. Now he found himself lurking in the bowels of Iacon base, dangerously close to Wheeljack's labs. Not the most luxurious spot for a commander- for anyone, really- but he had no room to complain. He had volunteered to be moved here to keep an optic on Jazz.
One advantage of the moment was that his new quarters were so out of the way of the normal activity of base, Prowl was unlikely to be disturbed.
For what he was about to do, he really did not want to be disturbed.
The Polyhex infiltration mission had been a failure. After all that planning, after all of Jazz's assistance, Mirage's hard earned intel… It had all been for nothing. No tactical advantage had been won. No new information gathered. No weakening blow dealt to the Decepticons. If anything, the Autobots had been dealt the blow. The information Jazz had supplied had been too outdated. The saboteur had warned of such a danger when he initially deigned to share. The obsoleteness had only increased the longer Prowl had spent working and reworking his plan of attack. He had been so confident in Jazz's abilities and his own intelligence, he'd blinded himself to all else.
His team had paid the price.
Two dead.
The rest injured.
Prowl's conscience was currently turned off, sparring him from the emotional pain. He knew the moment his emotions returned, guilt would swamp him. He would be brought to his knees by it. It would turn him inside out and make him relive the events over and over. He'd question his every move. He'd question Jazz's every possible motive. He would die inside for the two dead Autobots and feel every wound afresh suffered by the injured. A small part of him felt he deserved the torture for such a heinous failure.
He sucked in a fortifying drag of air, took a step, and stumbled hard.
A familiar spark resonance appeared on scanners shortly before a silver wraith materialized at the end of the hall.
Prowl turned rigid, logic circuits screaming that he could not show weakness to this mech. By his nature alone, Jazz was to be treated with extreme caution. He was threat incarnate. The embodiment of danger.
Locking his frame in a tight, the tactician forced himself to assume a straight, unaffected pose. His faceplate, already blank, became even more so. He became the embodiment of a cold shell.
Too late, though. Jazz's optics were too sharp, his mind too quick. All the saboteur had needed was that single moment of weakness to see all he needed to see. He knew Prowl was compromised. Knew there was weakness to be exploited. It was made too obvious by the wounds he wore. Prowl's head throbbed angrily as his battle computer revved into a frenzy of calculations, giving him a thousand different ways Jazz could attack and a thousand ways he could counterattack.
Jazz, in contrast, stood absolutely still at the end of the corridor. His visor was down, his optics hidden, but the intensity of his stare was undeniable.
Prowl returned the stare as coldly as possible.
"You're back," said the saboteur.
It was such an inane statement that Prowl was momentarily stunned by it. He floundered for a response before properly answering with an equally inane answer: "Yes, I am." He paused for a moment, cycling air through his vents. He noted that Jazz was no longer wearing the tracking collar. "You are still here, I see."
Jazz touched his neck conscientiously. "There was nowhere better ta be at the moment."
"I find that highly unlikely."
"Deal with it."
Prowl's fists clenched. He couldn't feel annoyed in his present state, but he was at war with himself to figure out the best was to dismiss the mech. Most of his options required more energy than he had to spare. Least pleasing of all, Jazz liked to be a contrary mech who complicated everything.
Jazz's visor flipped up without warning, revealing his white optics. He had not flipped his visor up in Prowl's company since the orn he'd defected to the Neutrals. The gesture itself was enough to throw Prowl for another loop. He could not discern the intention in those white optics watching him. Jazz's gaze travelled the battered length of Prowl's frame with diamond-sharpness. Without his visor shielding his stare, his gaze felt doubly intense.
The saboteur lingered on a particularly twisted gouge in Prowl's side, then his gaze slid up to the mech's optics. "Ah didn't give ya false information."
Prowl said nothing; he couldn't be sure of Jazz's intentions. Being the creature that he was, Jazz easily could have lied about everything. It wouldn't have fazed him at all. Prowl tensed a little more. He would not give into weakness. He would not allow himself to fall victim to his adversary.
"Ah didn't lie ta ya, Prowler." Jazz took a step forward. His stance wasn't threatening. It was hard to identify what it was. The saboteur did not stop in his appraisal of Prowl's frame. Finally, he said, "It went bad, didn't it?"
"Obviously."
"Bots died?"
"Yes." Prowl paused, considering whether informing the Neutral of the number of fatalities was inappropriate. Determining no, he announced, "Two are dead."
Jazz didn't flinch or show any emotional reaction to the news. He nodded, continuing to look pensive.
Having no patience for the saboteur's moods, Prowl looked away. "If you will excuse me, I wish to return to my quarters to recharge." In mid-motion of said action, Jazz's voice cut through-
"Why aren't ya in the med bay?"
Prowl forced himself to relax as a secondary wave of rigidity hit him. Jazz was NOT to know his true reasons for not being where he was supposed to be. "I am in need of something more important than what is offered in the med bay, and I require it in complete isolation. So if you please-?"
Jazz ignored the dismissal. "More important than repairs?"
"Yes, now leave me." That was a sufficient enough dismissal that not even Jazz could ignore. However, the silver minibot was not one to take even the most blatant hints when it didn't suit him. Instead, he continued to stand where he was. Prowl growled, his impatience mounting. "As you can see, I am injured, Jazz. I can not provide any sport for you at this moment; either attack me so as to get the urge out of your system or find something else to amuse yourself while I recuperate."
"You're beginning ta piss meh off," Jazz stated, frowning.
"Then leave me," Prowl ordered.
"Ah think Ah'm gonna choose mah own option, actually," Jazz announced haughtily.
Prowl's battle computer was on alert again, causing his head to throb with the agony of the deluge of info. "What option is that?" he dared to ask.
"This." He put his hand to the wall Prowl was leaning against and released a drastic electromagnetic pulse. Several lights in the hall shorted out. Enough power shot through Prowl's frame to throw him to the ground. Before he knew what was happening, Jazz was standing over him. Claws slipped beneath storm-grey chest plating, hauling him to his feet. "You're mah prisoner now. Ah'm gonna do whatever Ah like with ya."
"You will not! I will not allow it!" With the remains of his strength, Prowl fought as valiantly as he could. Sadly, his injuries put him at a disadvantage. The silver mech lashed out without any restraint. Much to Prowl's displeasure, he was overpowered pathetically soon, his arms twisted behind his back and his chest shoved hard against the wall. His vision wavered. He managed to slap Jazz hard with one of his metal wings, but the saboteur only laughed. Opposed to his previous statements, now the Neutral sounded amused.
"Calm down, Prowler- you're gonna hurt yourself struggling like this-."
Prowl fought harder, dictated by his logic circuits and battle computer. He did not register the emotional intonation of Jazz's voice, which was more playful than threatening. Emotion, as it was, was currently negligible.
"Ah mean it, if ya don't calm down on yer own, Ah'm gonna calm ya down for ya." Jazz tightened his lock. "Ya ain't gonna like mah methods."
That, of course, served as nothing but a catalyst for Prowl to struggle harder.
"Okay, fine, be that way." There came a sigh. One of Jazz's hands released him, only to jam up into the crease of his back and wings. "Ah warned ya, Prowler- ya won't like this." Fire suddenly surged through the tactician's frame. The electric shock was too high to be enjoyable. Instead, it made Prowl's whole frame seize. He then went limp, his legs giving out beneath him. The arm Jazz held around him locked tight, supporting him. His other arm dislodged from his back to wind around the front. If an assault had not just occurred, it would have appeared as if Jazz were giving him a hug.
"Release me, Decepticon!" Prowl ordered vehemently.
"Ya didn't ask nicely," Jazz laughed, dragging Prowl down the hall.
"There are cameras recording this assault! Security will be down here any moment!"
"Ah'm not stupid; the cameras are disabled. No one's comin' for ya."
Prowl cursed, his frame spasming from residual electric shocks. He was so occupied with escaping that he failed to realize where he was being taken. Before he knew it, his own door was looming in front of him. Behind him, Jazz was leaning over the control panel and hacking the code. It was barely any consolation to note that it took Jazz a little extra effort to crack the lock and open the door.
"What is the meaning of this?" the tactician demanded, stretching out his metal wings as far as they could go so they caught on the doorframe.
"Can't ya guess?" Jazz grunted, using his shoulder to shove against Prowl's resistance. The doorwings collapsed backwards under the pressure.
"You are kidnapping me and taking me to my own quarters, damn you!" Prowl cursed. "I demand to know your machinations, Jazz!" He dug his heels in. His whole frame was whining in protest against the abuse. Warning signs flashed more vehemently. "You are still working for the Decepticons, aren't you? Have you been a sleeper agent all this time? I should not be surprised!"
Prowl sensed his mistake the moment he made it. Jazz went rigid in the wake of the accusation, and then a snarl accompanied his next attack. The shove was so violent, it threw them both well over the threshold. Prowl hit the floor hard enough that sparks flew upon impact. His vision fizzled out. Jazz landed on top of him, grappling until he twisted Prowl onto his back so the saboteur could straddle him, claws locked like vices around his wrists.
"Look at meh!" Jazz demanded, looming furiously above Prowl.
It took a moment to reinitialize his optics. As soon as the static resolved itself, Prowl was privy to a blazing sight of silver metal and glaring white optics, all wreathed by the darkness of the room.
"Ah am not a Decepticon," Jazz spat, each syllable enunciated sharply.
"All evidence indicates otherwise," Prowl pointed out, jerking his arms against his captor's hold.
Jazz snarled, his claws digging deeper. "Ah belong ta mahself, Prowl. Only mahself. No one else." He sounded as if he were trying to tell himself that as much as he was telling Prowl.
The tactician was not falling for any of the act. He staunchly pointed out: "You are also a proven liar."
Frustration and disgust flashed across the silver mech's faceplate. Without warning, he dropped his faceplate close to Prowl's, glaring. Too close; Prowl jerked up in an attempt to headbutt the mech. Jazz snarled, darting away just in time. In a flash, the saboteur was on his feet, pacing across the cramped room. With distance a factor between them, Prowl wheezed until the world stopped spinning. It was with a great amount of difficulty that he was able to prop himself up on his elbows. He didn't dare lose sight of Jazz.
"I demand to know the purpose of this attack," Prowl ordered the moment he knew he had a steady voice.
Finally, Jazz ended his pacing with a violent twist of movement. "Before ya left, ya trusted meh. Ah wore that fraggin' collar for ya. Ah didn't walk away from this place even though Ah wanted ta. Why are ya acting like this now?"
"There is always a secondary machination with you," Prowl pointed out. "It would be unwise to trust anything from you; indeed, it was most likely a mistake to trust your initial information. The failed mission in Polyhex could have been orchestrated by you in an attempt to finish me off as you failed to do in Straxis and all the time since." As he spoke, internal strain was building to an all-time high. Warning signs pertaining to his emotional center were becoming unmanageable.
For a moment, it looked as if Jazz had been slapped. He stood stone-still for an astrosecond, optics wide, vents heaving, and then he flew into a flurry of sound and movement. "What is wrong with ya?" he crowed, once again on top of Prowl. He was none too gentle in grabbing the front of Prowl's chassis and shaking him hard. "Ya never would have used mah info if ya hadn't trusted it one hundred percent! Ah was tryin' ta help ya, ya fragger! This is how ya repay meh?" More shaking, still not gentle. It was the very essence of violence. Prowl's head lashed back and forth weakly. "What the frag is wrong with ya?"
Yet again, Prowl was stunned by the question. His damages were obvious enough, getting worse by the breem. It should not have been a mystery to the saboteur why he wasn't putting up his usual fight. "Qualify what you are asking, Jazz."
"You!" Jazz exclaimed, accompanied by a sharp gesture that encompassed all of Prowl. "You're not the same! Ah can't read ya no more!"
Prowl blinked. "Read me?"
Jazz shook him again unnecessarily. "Ya know what Ah mean."
With an unsteady dialogue between them, the threat level of the moment decreased. Prowl dared to sit up- even with Jazz's claws still inside his armour. Jazz eased back marginally to allow him the room. Meeting the saboteur's gaze, he stated clearly, "I am sorry, but I do not know what you mean. Explain it to me."
Jazz glowered sourly. "You're back ta how ya were before. Back in Straxis. Ah couldn't read ya then- ya know that. Ah couldn't look at ya and know what ya were thinking. Can't do that now, either. It's drivin' meh insane!" The claws curled into the front of Prowl's armour tightened dangerously. "Tell meh how you're doing it!"
It finally dawned on Prowl what was being demanded of him. He had had his emotional centre turned off while he was a prisoner in Straxis. Being unemotional had helped him remain completely objective. He'd been logical and methodical in dealing with the trauma of his capture. Jazz had been unable to crack his mind that way. Straxis had been the last time Prowl had dared to completely turn off his emotional centre… until now.
There was no way in the pit he would give Jazz the tactical advantage of knowing his dirty little secret; it was a weakness he could not afford when he had so many already. He had failed so many times as Tactical commander already, could he possibly risk any more? The answer was unequivocally no.
"Don't wanna say, huh? Ah'm down with that. Ah'll find out fer mahself one way or the other." He started clawing at Prowl's interface panel, prepared to rip the information from Prowl's head if need be.
Knowing that he did not have the mental or physical capacities to withstand a mental assault against the mech, Prowl latched onto to Jazz's wrists and fought. Jazz had other ideas, becoming further incensed by the resistance. Several magnetic pulses were unleashed, stunning Prowl. The protective panel hiding his port and cable tore off. Jazz's claws dug in, none too gentle in appropriating their prize.
"Finally gonna find out what makes ya tick," the saboteur said, triumph evident. "Been waitin' a long time fer this." And perhaps if he sated that hunger, he would finally be released from this place. If he knew what he wanted to know, there'd be nothing to hold him here.
"Stop! Jazz, cease this now!" Prowl writhed, battle computer going berserk. His head throbbed horribly, distorting his vision. He had a choice- either tell Jazz the truth of his condition, trusting that mech would back off, or allow himself to mentally ravaged and never be same again. Of the former, it was a great risk to take when he had no trust of Jazz to speak of at the moment. Of the latter, he knew there would be no coming back from that fate. He chose the lesser of two evils. "I will tell you what you want to know!"
All movement stopped. Jazz's white optics flashed wide, his hands frozen in midair. His gaze then narrowed suspiciously. "Say that again."
Prowl looked away, steeling himself to say the words. "I will tell you the reason you can't read me."
Prowl's cable was flicked away, forgotten. Cold claws grasped his chin, forcing optic contact. Jazz searched his faceplate for a long breem, but of course he couldn't read the expression that lay there. Everything was a blank slate. A mask. After what felt like an eternity, the saboteur eased back. His expression was guarded, calculating.
"Just like that, you're gonna tell meh?" he asked warily.
"Having you privy to my most guarded secret is preferable to the other option," Prowl responded, pointedly gathering his cable and coiling it away.
Jazz sat straight, frowning. "It's your most guarded secret?"
"Yes." Prowl cycled air through his vents, ending on a pained cough. "However, in this situation, I would rather be compromised than dead."
It was quiet in the room, an aura of unease stretching thick and uncomfortable between them.
"Ah wouldn't have killed ya," Jazz murmured lowly, never looking away. "Even if Ah got inside your head, Ah wouldn't have killed ya."
"I have no guarantee of that," Prowl replied. He was a blank mask, neither happy nor sad. He felt nothing for the situation. He understood it, though. He knew that soon enough he would be forced to turn his emotional centre on and become subject to the tides once again. He had to share his secret and be rid of the mech as quickly and methodically as possible. "You know what I was before the war, yes?"
"Knew it from the moment Ah looked at ya," Jazz nodded, looking wary of what importance the knowledge was worth. "You were a Security Response officer, your frame gives you away as a mech from Simfur. Ya obviously were a pre-programmed tactical officer."
"All true. I was one of five brought online at the same time." Prowl eased backward until his back came to rest against the wall. He cornered himself, yes, but the wall also offered better support and cover should there be need for another fight.
"Out of curiosity, was Smokescreen one of the other five?"
Prowl hesitated for a moment, and then nodded. "Yes, he was. How you surmised that, though..."
"Kinda easy," Jazz shrugged. "He doesn't make no secret of his affection for ya. He relates ta ya on a deeper level than what's normal of two bots from the same precinct, but his attentions are familial rather than romantic." When Prowl blinked unaffectedly, Jazz supplied- "He thinks of ya like a brother."
A optic ridge arched. "I had not realized he paid such obvious difference toward me."
"Ya probably weren't lookin'." Jazz inclined his head. "So ya gonna tell meh how it all matters?"
Prowl nodded solemnly. "You are aware that many Security Response officers, especially for tactical, are brought online without emotions?"
"Of course, it's common knowledge, ain't it-?" Jazz froze for a moment, realization dawning. "Oh."
"Indeed."
"Ya learned them, though," the saboteur pointed out, a subtle frown edging his mouthplates. "Ya have emotions- Ah've seen them."
"They're an inconvenience," Prowl supplied. "I never should have learned them; they are unmanageable and unreliable. In times of extreme stress or need, I have learned to turn off my emotional centre."
The sides of Jazz's mouthplates curled self-deprecatingly, as if the joke was on him. "So that's why Ah couldn't read ya in Straxis- there was nothin' there ta read. Ah should have guessed."
Prowl grimaced. "I find that without emotions to cloud my judgment, I am able to operate with greater efficiency. My logic circuits and battle computer are unhindered."
"A drone with a spark," Jazz sneered.
"If that is what you wish to call it."
"You're a half-bit, ya know that?" Jazz laughed mirthlessly, so cruel and cold. "Even Ah know messin' with something like that ain't smart."
"It is necessary," Prowl supplied.
"It's stupid. Ya learn ta control emotions so they don't control you, not the other way around." He focused his too-knowing gaze on his adversary. "There's a price ta pay for what ya do, isn't there?"
"A backlash of sorts." Prowl gestured to the room around them. "Since I keep my condition a secret between myself and the medics here-."
"An' now meh," Jazz intoned smartly.
A small snort fell from him. "Yes, and now you... I require a private place in which to turn my emotional centre on. The transition can be extremely disconcerting. Ratchet occasionally oversees me, but I prefer to handle myself alone."
Jazz pushed to his feet, pacing to the door.
Prowl canted his head. "You are leaving?"
"No." The front of the control panel was jigged off, allowing Jazz to rewire the internals to his own preference. A new locking code was input. "Ah wanna see it.
"See what?"
"Turn on your emotional centre."
Prowl tensed, having suspected that this would be the outcome. "There is no way to change your mind now, is there?"
A sharp gesture cut through the air, whistling with the strength behind it. "Ah wore a tracking collar for ya, Prowl. Ah sacrificed that part of mah pride just for your peace of mind. Don't that say something ta ya?" It was a rhetorical question, or else Jazz did not want to hear the answer, since he carried on before Prowl could say anything. "The least ya could do is repay meh. Ah don't do things for free."
"You want my pride in payment for yours?"
A moment was taken to consider, and then a nod was given. "Fair is fair, after all."
Prowl's hands curled into fists. "You do not play fair."
"This time Ah will. Ah won't ask ya trust meh, since ya can't right now, but ya already know ya have no chance of gettin' outta here without ya turnin' that damn centre on. Just do it, get it over with, an' no one will be the wiser. Ah won't say a word ta no one." His gaze glinted strangely. "It'll be our little secret."
As Jazz had pointed out, Prowl was well aware that he was not going to be released from the room without giving Jazz what he wanted. No matter how unfavourable the option was, it was the only one for him to accept. He allowed himself one last lingering stare before he made the switch. No sense putting it off anymore.
Accessing emotional centre manual controls: Switching emotional centre on.
He braced himself hard against the wall, waiting for the storm to hit. There was not long to wait. One moment, he was a blank slate inside, blessedly free of turmoil, guilt, anger, or hatred, and in the next moment, he was filled to the brim with all that and more. The sensation was so intense, hitting him with so much force from the inside out, that he felt as if he were coming apart. He hunched over as he suffered the nauseating whirlwind, wrapping his arms around himself in an attempt to hold himself together.
Dimly, he thought he heard Jazz call his designation from somewhere above him.
Memories began to surface. He relived the mission in quick succession, every failure brought to painful light. He saw the death of the first mech on his team- a clean death, if anyone could call it that. He suffered a single plasma strike to the head. In the next moment, he was no more.
Prowl wretched, gagging as the stale taste of energon came up on him. The sensation was fuelled by fury and regret, hatred and failure. Energon roiled more insistently. His tanks gurgled audibly, reacting to the sudden upset being suffered by the rest of the frame.
"Here," someone said, shoving a waste receptacle into his spasming hands.
A shameful dim glow came into the room as bitter energon was purged from between Prowl's mouthplates.
His mind and frame were not done torturing him yet. He saw next the brutal murder of the second mech on his team. The bot had been nothing by a young buck, kind and studious. He had been caught by the other side and tortured, his screaming carrying over the storm of gunfire. In the end, his death had been fraught with pain. The memory of his scream as a spike was driven through his spark resonated in Prowl in the present. The sound, the pitch, the pure agonized terror of it, was something that would undoubtedly haunt him for the rest of his life.
A second wave of energon bubbled up, spilling out. Most of it made it into the waste receptacle. Some of it dribbled down his faceplate, hanging off his chin. He swiped it away angrily, furious that he was in this state. Shame flooded him. He despised that he had to be weak like this. He hated that Jazz had to be the one to see him like this. Most of all, he wished he didn't have to feel anything at all. He loathed everything his emotions stood for. They were pain that ran deeper than physical. They were veils through which his logic was blurred. He was less than his true potential when he suffered from them.
Pride stopped him from crying as the emotional assault continued. He felt the urge to sob and resisted it for all he was worth. That was not a humiliation he wanted to live through on top of everything else. Instead, he rocked back and forth. His arms stayed tight around himself, desperate to hold himself together.
More gagging, even though there was very little to purge now.
Dizziness struck him hard, throwing him from his rocking. The room tilted as he fell to his side in a pathetic heap. Harsh panting and the rattling of his beaten frame were the only sounds in the room. To his utter humiliation, he must have passed out from the extreme stress, because they next thing he knew, he was opening his optics to an eerily quiet room. He wasn't panting anymore, nor was his frame rattling, whining, or groaning. His vision still flashed turbulent warnings of his condition, minus one warning now.
For a moment, Prowl thought he was alone. Movement next to his head dashed that hope. Jazz had moved from the door sometime during his black out, now sitting on the floor next to him. Nausea and shame filled Prowl again, licked by suspicion and fear that something could have been done to him without his knowing. A quick scan told him nothing.
"Ah didn't do anything ta ya," Jazz intoned, reading Prowl's mind.
Restless, Prowl pushed away from the floor. He met the saboteur's gaze, and this time he did find that he trusted what he was being told. Now that he could trust, he did. Odd how he was trusting the last bot on Cybertron anyone else would place their trust in. He nodded to show his understanding, not sure if he could handle words yet. He was too raw.
Jazz hissed a long, low breath of air, staring straight ahead. "That happens every time ya turn it back on?"
Prowl nodded, shuttering his optics. He didn't want to see Jazz's expression.
As it was, Jazz's faceplate hosted no expression. "You're kinda pathetic, ya know? Being a commander an' still not able ta handle yourself."
"I know," Prowl suddenly spat, his voice hoarse. Self-hatred was evident.
"Fair's fair, though. Ya showed meh what Ah wanted ta see. So... thanks."
A long, awkward silence stifled them before Prowl managed to murmur an extremely uncomfortable, "You're welcome." He flicked a brief glance to the silver mech. "Does this mean you will leave now?" An enquiring white stare cast his way, so he elaborated. "You alluded to the mystery of my condition being the one thing that kept you here. Knowing it, you have no ties. Will you leave?"
Jazz gave good consideration to the question, and then shook his head. "No, ya gave meh another reason ta stay." Although, recently, it didn't seem to take much to get him to stay in one place.
"What reason?"
"You." Jazz chuckled mirthlessly. "Don't think Ah'm startin' ta like ya or anything, 'cause Ah feel ashamed for ya. Ah refuse ta be associated with a mech who is so easily brought to his knees like this."
Fists curled, Prowl felt the licks of anger inflame him. With his emotional centre so recently activated, the feeling was ten times the strength it should have been- enough to threaten the weak stability he has been fighting for. He tamped it down on the rampant emotion, forcing his next enquiry out. "What are you proposing?"
The saboteur shrugged. "Ah'm gonna stick around ta teach ya how ta master your emotions so you're not controlled by them like this. Ya can't go on as ya are- that would only end in disaster. Ah'm your best hope, whether ya like it or not."
Disbelief now coloured the tactician. If he was perfectly honest with himself, he could say even Jazz looked astonished by his own proposal.
"We've already established that you do nothing for free," Prowl pointed out shakily. "What will you get out of this arrangement?"
A disgruntled noise rattled from Jazz. "Ah'll... figure it out."
"Do you think I can learn?" Prowl wondered uncertainly.
Jazz appraised him critically, and then cracked a harsh smirk. "You're smart, in your own way. You'll learn. Ah'm gonna let ya know now, it's not gonna easy."
"Nothing concerning the two of us ever is," Prowl replied.
He had meant the statement as a neutral observation, but the way their gazes met as he said it brought a whole other feeling to it. An uncomfortable, awkward feeling.
"There's nothing we can do tonight, so we might as well recharge," Jazz intoned to break the heavy pause. "We'll both figure things out later, when we're thinkin' clearly."
"Later, yes, of course," Prowl agreed, sounding reasonable and out of his mind at the same time.
As a testament to how unclearly they were both thinking at the moment, both mechs shuttered their optics and fell into an uncomfortable recharge next to each other.