Quite the adventures Jazz and Prowl seem to be getting into with each other- I can't tell you all how much I love writing this story, or how much I absolutely adore how much you all are enjoying the read. I was so inspired by the strong response to last chapter to work extra hard to get this one up.
Thank you so much to everyone who took the time to review the last chapter: shadowblade-tara, Gatekat, Shinigami-Sama1, Bluebird Soaring, Anon, Peacewish, BoredTech, ShadowedBlossom, Phoebe Turner, PrancingTiger86, flamingmarsh, JenEvan, Optimus Bob, Eerie Iri, renegadewriter8, 1pandamanypanda, Dramastar-Mel, optimus prime 007, Kai-Chan94, DitzyMusicLover, Uniasus, Lady Tecuma, Hiding In My Writing, chaitea16, TylaraRemember, and Kyme. I am truly humbled by your insight, enthusiasm, and love for this story. You all truly make me want to set aside reality and write this story nonstop. If only that were possible! XD
Dedications to my dearest FunkFish1991, who is my ever-wonderful editor full of awesomeness and the ability to edit, because I don't have the patience. Fish, you are the Buffy the Vampire Slayer to all my typo-demons. You kick ass. XD
Chapter 11
"Prowl? Prowl, I know you are in there! I demand that you unlock this door immediately or Ironhide is going to blast it down!"
Jazz snapped online just as a fist connected with the solid surface of a metal door nearby. He felt the impact vibrate the wall at his back, vaguely impressing him with the sheer violent power displayed by the punch. However, the vitriol of the demands washed over him without evincing any immediate demand for action. He sat up a little straighter, stretched, and looked to the side. There was no light in the room aside from what was given off by his optics, but Prowl's inert shape could easily be made out as he continued to lay stationary on the floor.
Jazz canted his head, taking a moment to get his memory files caught up with the present. He was slumped, rather uncomfortably, on the floor of Prowl's room. The owner of said room was laying next him, clearly out cold and looking worse for wear. Jazz's optics flashed, finally settling on the context behind the unusual scene. He grinned, despite the continuing attack coming at the door across from him.
He was now in possession of one of Prowl's most guarded secrets. A knowledge that could easily destroy the mech, or at least destroy his pride, if it were ever to become common knowledge to the Autobots. It was the answer to one of the most frustrating mysteries about the mech.
For all intents and purposes, Jazz now owned the secret, and by extension, he owned Prowl. Even if ownership had been forged through blackmail. Whatever works, right?
However, if memory served, he had also promised to help the tactician with his little emotional issues. That did not bode well for the saboteur. He couldn't even directly describe the urge that had made him offer his services to Prowl like that. It had just happened. And that was disturbing. What was it worth to him if one little Autobot couldn't handle the dark side of life? It shouldn't have mattered. Yet in this case it did.
Did he actually plan to stick around and help Prowl, or was this all part of some amazingly complex plan building subconsciously in his mind for his eventual escape and betrayal of the Autobots?
He didn't know. Damn it.
A second, third, and fourth fist landed on the door in quick succession. The mech on the other side, who turned out to be Ratchet, was becoming increasingly loud. He clearly did not appreciate being ignored.
Prowl suddenly startled awake, arms flailing beneath him to sit up. He fumbled once, fell, and then tried again and managed to hoist himself up. His optics flashed bright and wide.
Jazz studied him for a moment, noting the obvious flash of emotions that played across the other mech's faceplate. It was for only a brief moment, muted as they were, but surprise was there accompanied by a veil of momentary fright, before Prowl dialled down into his normal state of aloofness. Not emotionless as last night had demonstrated, but suffering under a state of suppressed and repressed emotional being.
Interesting. Jazz wondered how he'd missed that little detail all this time. It was so obvious now.
A thousand thoughts and calculations ran past Prowl's optics as he took in his current circumstances. If he suffered any discomfort from his injuries, he didn't show it. With a groan, he sat back against the wall and leaned his head back. Most likely a self-diagnostic was being run before facing Ratchet's wrath, making sure he had enough strength to deal with the medic. Through it all, he staunchly ignored Jazz's presence. He did not make optic contact. He did not even dare look Jazz's way. In fact, it was kind of like Jazz wasn't even in the room.
Which, all things considered, was a little insulting. Wasn't Jazz the All Mighty Keeper of Prowl's Ultimate Secret? A little acknowledge would have been nice.
The next assault on the door resulted in a resounding explosion of noise that would only have meant a plasma discharge at close range. Or, alternately, trigger-happy Ironhide had finally lost his patience.
"Prowl!" boomed the weapons specialist. "I am NOT standing out here all orn long. I don't know what the pit you did to the door, but you unlock it now or you're not going to have a door when I'm done with it!"
"I'm not going to stop him!" Ratchet intoned, as if the threat of imminent door-destruction wasn't enough. "You did not come down the med bay when you got back. I gave you time to do what you needed to do as a courtesy, but time's up! You should have shuffled your damn aft into my bay joors ago!" Someone's fist once again rebounded off the solid surface of the now thoroughly dented door. "You unlock and open this door now, or it's coming down!"
"Ya gonna get that?" Jazz asked as he inclined his head to the owner of the room, enjoying the look of outrage and incredulity simmering in the other mech's optics. The rest of his faceplate was absolutely stationary, but Prowl's optics were alive with the undisguised storm of what he felt.
"They have lost their minds," he growled. In a blur of movement, Prowl was on his feet. His error in judging his wellbeing became obvious when his knees weakened, giving out from underneath him. He stumbled to the side, into his berth. The bang that followed was loud enough to cut through the medic's tirade. A short silence followed, filled in by Prowl's hissed curses for his own weakness.
Jazz leaned back comfortably and watched his companion struggle. He did suffer the urge to rise and help the tactician, felt a distinct pity for his current weakness, but he ignored it. He didn't want to get involved just yet. He wanted to watch the scene play out. Whatever was going to happen would be undoubtedly interesting.
Ratchet and Ironhide resumed their two-mech siege, though the medic was by far the loudest of the pair.
"What was that bang in there? Are you injured, Prowl? Of course you're injured, you just came back from a botched mission! I should be asking are you dying?"
Prowl scowled darkly- "I am within operational parameters, Ratchet."
There came a snort. "What what is that supposed to mean- 'operational parameters'? Ha! All your limbs could be blasted from your body and you'd still probably say you were fine if you could still think clearly enough!"
A growl of pure annoyance vibrated from Prowl's chassis. "All of my limbs are fully attached."
Jazz arched an optic ridge, taking note of the doorwing he had twisted the night before. It wasn't fully attached. Again, he felt the urge to rise, to help, to set the metal wing right, but stubbornly resisted.
Ratchet was still having his tantrum in the hall, not at all soothed by Prowl's words. "Don't avoid the subject at hand, Prowl. Get your aft out here so I can take you by your damn chevrons and drag you to the med bay! Damn it, I knew you should have come straight to me for treatment! Damn you for being so stubborn! Damn me for taking pity on your sorry carcass!"
"If you would simply calm down and allow me to open the door, we can have a reasonable conversation about my current circumstances," Prowl replied, though the words were a little tight. He gritted himself for a step forward, and then another. He stopped abruptly and swung around, finally acknowledging Jazz's presence with a caustic stare.
"Finally remembered meh, did ya?" Jazz drawled.
"I don't want you to be seen by them," Prowl said lowly through gritted mouthplates.
Jazz inclined his tauntingly. "Ah'm your dirty little secret, am Ah?"
"Considering the circumstances, yes. They should not know you are here; undoubtedly, your presence will only make things worse." His shame and embarrassment over having Jazz in his room was evident. Unsurprising, really. That didn't dull the slight sting of it, though.
"Any suggestions, genius?" Jazz snorted back.
"Hide!" came the snapped order.
Both optic ridges arched in incredulity. Prowl's room was among the most barren holes to have ever been lived in; not exactly the kind of place bursting with hiding places. Jazz let his annoyance be known in his expression and tone. "What do ya expect meh ta do- transform into a piece of furniture?"
"I don't care what you do-."
"Prowl? Are you talking to yourself in there?" Ratchet suddenly demanded.
Prowl went rigid. If they dared scan the room for spark resonances, they'd know for certain he wasn't talking to himself. "I- no, of course not! I was-."
"Does it matter? You're wasting time. Ironhide is more than willing to open the door his way."
"There's no need to resort to those methods," Prowl snapped, though still glaring at Jazz, who refused to move from his comfortable spot on the floor.
Jazz grinned, no shortage of mocking as he made a shooing gesture for Prowl. "Go on, Prowler, open the door. Wouldn't want ta keep them waitin'."
"Damn you," he cursed, glaring.
"Ah'd be a little nicer ta meh, if Ah were you. Ah do hold your precious little secret hostage, don't Ah?" Jazz made the shooing gesture again, this time decidedly more imperiously. "Now, go on. Open the door and face your humiliation."
With no other choice, Prowl limped to the control panel next to the door frame. He paused over the ripped open panel, wires cut and twisted in completely new patterns. While his memories of the night before may have been vague and patchy at best, he knew Jazz's work when he saw it. He was in no mental or physical condition to break any code Jazz would have placed on the door while in the vindictive mood he had been in the night before.
Jazz saw the moment of realization for what it was, smirking in minor triumph. "That's right, Ah locked it."
Prowl spun around, hand braced against the way so he didn't fall. His fingers curled into the metal, small grooves appearing in their wake. "Unlock it. Now."
"Ask meh nicely," Jazz goaded.
"How about we wait for Ironhide to blast the door down and let him take you. I'm sure you can appreciate what a gentle handler he would be." The steel in the tactician's tone was not to be trifled with.
With a sigh, Jazz popped to his feet. "Fine, be that way. The damn door'll be open in a breem." He shouldered Prowl out of the way and got to work on the codes he'd input joors before. Just to spite his company, Jazz let his presence be known to the bots in the hall. "Don't be getting your circuits in a knot, Ratch'. Prowl will be out in a breem- just as soon as Ah'm done with him."
A disgustingly satisfying silence of pure horror followed Jazz's announcement. He could practically feel the shock turn palpable in the air. Prowl still standing at his shoulder tensed to an impossible degree, fists clenched, probably on the verge of attacking. A hissing noise rattled his vents. Above the furious hissing came the whining-hum of Ironhide's charging cannons. Unlike most sane creatures, Jazz was rather more humoured than wisely being nervous of them.
"Jazz?" Ratchet hissed.
"That would be meh." Codes easily broken, Jazz deftly weaved frayed wires back into their proper places. He was in no hurry so he merrily took his time. The door would open when he felt like it.
A wave of barely restrained violence washed through the room as Jazz and Prowl became privy to Ironhide's glowering approach. They could feel him on the other side of the door, his anger quickly charging the air. The whine of his cannons grew louder, more ominous.
"You slimy piece of Decepticon trash- if you dare lay a hand on Prowl-."
Decidedly less than impressed with the burgeoning threat, Jazz cut it off with a swift bang on the door. "Ah've been in here all night and Ah ain't done nothin' ta the mech, so unless ya wanted meh ta change mah mind in the next 5 astroseconds, Ah'd shut the frag up if Ah were you."
"You've been in there, with Prowl, all night?" Ratchet exclaimed, borderline horrified.
Finally the door hissed open, allowing Jazz to lean into the open door frame nonchalantly in the face of two mechs larger than he was and possibly a little bit more unstable. Staring danger in the faceplates had never been so much fun. Giving them his particular brand of superiority only made the situation better, goading them.
Ratchet's gaze locked on him, so hot it would have burned a lesser being. "All night?" he snarled.
"Yeah, all night," the saboteur confirmed with a smirk.
"Slaggin' Primus," someone cursed in the background.
It was then that Jazz realized it was not just a cozy little foursome involved in this confrontation. As with the Decepticons, and any other self-respecting half-bit looking for entertainment, when a commotion could be heard, bots came running in hopes of seeing something interesting. The Autobots were no different. Wheeljack stood at the end of the hall, shock evident on his faceplate. Sideswipe was not far behind, accompanied by Warpath. In their arms were cubes of energon labelled 'volatile material', which undoubtedly was code for potent high-grade. Sideswipe's cubes slid to the floor as he stared in shock, one arm raised to point unintelligibly at Jazz. There were others still gathering, but their faceplates blended into the background, meaningless optics ogling something new and slightly disturbing.
'This just keeps gettin' better and better,' Jazz thought wryly. Prowl attempted to shove around him into the hall, but a twisted tension wire in his foot didn't like the pressure. He stumbled. It was only Jazz's quick reflexes that caught him by an arm and hauled him to his feet. Without his second doorwing for proper centre of gravity, Prowl overbalanced and went careening backwards into Jazz, who had no choice but to catch the larger mech and brace him lest they both crash to the floor. The resulting position was both intimate and publicly humiliating.
Murmuring suddenly broke out from the gathered crowd, most of it excited whispering. It was the nightmarish beginnings of uncontrollable gossip that would sweep the Autobot ranks like wildfire. Sideswipe's voice rose above the general noise, familiar and full of mischief:
"I am so saving this to my hard drive and sending it to everyone on base..."
Prowl went rigid again. Jazz snarled, clearly not in the mood to be laughing over the situation when it had spiralled out of his control. Everything had been fine until Prowl stumbled, and now... Now there was no controlling whatever happened. It would make the game more difficult, and not in a fun way. Concentrated scrutiny from others was not something that Jazz enjoyed too much when he was much more accustomed to bots avoiding optic contact at all costs.
The incendiary glare he shot Sideswipe was enough to melt armour. As quick as the red Autobot was, he instantly picked up on the promise of pain should he let this little incident pass beyond the confines of the corridor. His mouthplates sealed shut, backing down a step. It was no guarantee of anything, but his temporary submission was better than nothing.
A flood of irritation tightened his hold on Prowl, which bothered a wound in the tactician's side. Prowl grunted, struggling to get away.
"Enough of that!" Ironhide snapped. Taking each bot in hand, he forcibly separated them as if they were clinging lovers. The connotation was not lost on the pair, and both were hit with a sense of irritated annoyance and further humiliation.
With the situation having spun so quickly and irreversibly out of his control, Jazz spiralled into an increasing foul mood that translated into a threatening tension lacing his serpentine frame. Ironhide felt it and reacted accordingly; Prowl was shoved into Ratchet's care and Jazz was swung around until his smaller frame was ground into the wall with the black mech's considerable full weight bearing down on him.
"Get off meh!" Jazz howled, instantly whipped into a frenzy.
Ironhide growled, grinding the smaller mech deeper into the wall.
Steadying Prowl impatiently, Ratchet bristled and huffed. His expression told of his confusion and suspicion, unsure what to make of the situation. Should he be worried that a creature as dangerous as Jazz had been in close proximity to someone as valuable to the Autobot cause as Prowl? The mere thought elicited all sorts of fears about sensitive information being compromised, possible reprogramming of Prowl, and whatever else Jazz could do to a mech in a few short joors alone. Or should he be worried that they might have spent the night together voluntarily? The very thought of what that could mean was perhaps more horrifying than any other possibility.
Both Ratchet and Ironhide jerked straight when an incoming transmission buffered through their consciousnesses. Wheeljack from down the hall had a similar reaction, while no other Autobot showed any outward signs of being contacted.
His movements stiff, Ratchet turned to regard the small gathering of curious bots at the end of the hall. "Sideswipe, Warpath, if you would please escort Prowl to the med bay? First Aid is awaiting his arrival and will be able to treat him there." His hard gaze switched to Wheeljack. "You're with us, 'Jack."
"Right you are," the engineer intoned, his normally jovial mood subdued.
"That's all nice and dandy for ya all, but Ah'd really like it if ya got the tank off of meh before Ah have ta kill all of ya," Jazz snarled, his mood devolved to that of a black storm cloud as he continued to be crushed.
Ratchet eyed him stonily. "You're with us as well."
"Don't Ah get any say in this?" Jazz spat, having decided exactly how he was going to kill every living Autobot currently gawking at him. He'd do it slowly and painfully, fully able to enjoy their tortured screams as he took them apart piece by piece. He'd save Ratchet and Ironhide for last, and would take particular enjoyment in their dismemberment.
"No. No say. No choice," Ironhide growled. "You're coming with us whether you like it or not, Decepticon." Jazz's vision jerked as he was hauled backwards by heavy hands, his arms arrested behind his back. Fury burned bright behind his lowered visor as he directed his gaze to Prowl, now supported by the three Autobots summoned forward. Their gazes met.
"Tell them ta lay off, Prowler, or they're all gonna hear somethin' real interestin' before Ah kill 'em," Jazz threatened lowly. "You don't want meh ta start talking, now do ya?"
Prowl's faceplate hardened, realizing the full weight of the weakness he now suffered. Although Jazz had promised to "help" him, that would not stop the saboteur from using what he knew to his advantage. The thought of what could come of it made Prowl sick. However, as things stood, he was forced to meet Ironhide's stormy gaze. "Jazz has done nothing wrong-," nothing he would admit to in a thousand vorns, "-so ease up on your treatment of him. He will go wherever it is you wish to take him with minimal argument if you show him a modicum of respect. Your current treatment of either of us is intolerable."
Jazz's mouthplates curled. With or without respect, the moment Ironhide loosened his grip, they were all going down.
Prowl's gaze swung back to Jazz, a small glimmer of something beyond irritation and mortification lurking there. A side of imploring. "Please, do as they say." That glimmer crystallized into something colder and harder. "Do not kill any of them."
"No promises," Jazz spat.
"Fine, do as you will." He didn't dare press the subject when his secret was at risk of being used out of spite. Prowl regarded Ratchet and Ironhide coldly. "Whatever you are thinking, dismiss it now. Nothing intimate or unbecoming occurred between us last night. I would hope that you both think me more capable of a higher level of professionalism than that."
Jazz barked a hard, bitter laugh. Yeah, they'd been so professional last night.
Prowl glared, but nonetheless allowed himself to be guided away by Warpath, though staunchly avoiding Sideswipe at all costs.
Wheeljack got a little antsy, his fins flashing. He came up on Ratchet's shoulder, shooing him along. "Come on, we shouldn't keep them waiting."
Spurred into action, Jazz was once again jerked ahead and made to move ahead of the small pack of commanding Autobots. No longer in sight of Prowl, his impatience and temper spilt over, manifesting in a violent twist that extracted him from Ironhide's hold.
"Ya fraggin' touch meh again and Ah'll rip your arms off," he spat, brushing his armour off as if to get rid of all traces of Autobot filth.
Ironhide glared darkly, raising his cannons. "Give me a reason and I will gladly put you through a wall."
"Hey now, hey- Prowl asked for a little bit of respect," Wheeljack intoned, daring to come close to Jazz's side with an uneasy smile. The expression was a tad forced, a bit uncomfortable. "If Prowl says nothing happened, then nothing happened. And, besides, it ain't none of our business if something did come about, yeah?"
Despite the fact that the engineer was only trying to smooth the situation over, Jazz was in no mood for it. He shot the mech a glare that cindered the Autobot's false cheer and had him meekly backing up to take refuge beside Ratchet.
The walk from the basement of one complex to the main outpost, through all the open courtyards and active corridors, was one of the longest ordeals Jazz had ever had to suffer through. The sheer humiliation of being escorted through Iacon by Ironhide and the others was beyond comprehension. Being paraded under the optics of every possible Autobot on base was yet another slap to his faceplate. Their expressions ranged from morbidly curious of the scene to downright hostile. To his enhanced audios, he could hear some of the spiteful barbs they tossed his way. Every once in a while, Ironhide would growl and prod his back with the burning heat of his plasma cannons, grunting which direction they were supposed to take.
What had he done to deserve half the reactions he'd received so far? No matter which way Jazz looked at it, some bots were overreacting, and it sure as pit wasn't him! He was perfectly justified in his own violence since it was in reaction to everyone else's. And he could almost understand some bots being damned surprised at finding him in a locked room with precious, mentally-fragile Prowl, but after all the damned time they've spent together on base, it shouldn't have been all that world-shattering to find them in the same room. Even if they were all assuming the wrong thing. What was with all the extra glaring? The barely-veiled hostility? Frag, it was like he was back to orn one, minus the fear and multiply the hate.
By the end of his march of shame, he was on the very verge of a berserker breakdown. To his left, someone sniffed haughtily.
"Shouldn't he be in stasis cuffs?"
Jazz's head swung to the side so sharply, it made the other mech take an involuntary step back. Ice-cold optics to match ice-cold paint met his appraisal, announcing the lithe mech as none other than the commander of Intelligence & Espionage, Mirage. There was not a bot in all the Autobot forces who was as condescending as this particular heap of slag. How his own division could stand him continued to be a mystery.
"Ah dare ya ta try cuffs on meh," Jazz hissed.
Not much taller than Jazz himself, Mirage stared down his olfactory sensor as if he were looking down at a smear on the floor. His expression made it clear that he thought it beneath him to even bother farthing the conversation. Without further exchange, he pressed forward into the war room/conference room. A brief tide of low murmuring assaulted Jazz's audios- he heard the voices of several instantly recognizable bots; Optimus Prime, his second in command Ultra Magnus, as well as the soft intonations of the femme commander Elita One.
Jazz craned his head around to peer at the three stony mechs behind him. "Ah'm in a murderous mood an' you're takin' meh into a room full of the most valuable figures to the Autobot cause? Have ya lost your Primus-damned minds?"
"Fer all yer blustering, you haven't exactly done anything yet," Wheeljack intoned semi-helpfully, only to be slapped with a furious glare. The engineer was quick to raise his hands in defence. "Don't kill me."
Ratchet jerked his chin toward the door. "Just get in there, will you?"
With a snort, Jazz shoved into the room. The moment he made his appearance, silence fell over the small crowd. Around the long table sat every commander operating in Iacon, minus the head tactical adviser, who happened to be in the med bay.
Noting the empty chair directly across from Optimus, Jazz grabbed it and made himself comfortable. Leaning back, he swung his feet up on the table, nearly kicking tiny microbot Blaster to the floor. The near-assault paid a small bit of satisfaction to the saboteur.
"Watch it," snapped the microbot, standing up, brushing himself off, and marching to the other side of tabletop where he could take refuge under Optimus Prime's protection with his fellow microbot Perceptor.
Ratchet, Ironhide, and Wheeljack took their respective seats as commanders of their own divisions. Mirage was already settled into his own seat, next to the Special Operations commander, Blackhawk. No one, not even Prime, looked marginally happy to see him. To be perfectly honest, the small collection of Autobots either looked as if Jazz had stolen a loved one and sold them on the black market, or they just really, really wanted to kill him. No, if Jazz was going to be truly honest with himself, he'd have to admit that most of his audience looked like a good mixture of both.
Fully aware that holding on to his anger in a dangerous situation like this was only a way to get himself killed, Jazz fell back into a mask of cold calculation. Unlike Prowl, he had perfect control of his emotions. The silence stretched on, growing heavier with each passing astrosecond. The stolen time gave him the opportunity to assess each commander present, taking their measure and what investment they might have in being present in whatever kind of farce was being hosted.
"Ya know, it's been mah experience that if you're gonna do a debriefing, ya might want the bots who'd been on the fragged up mission ta be present," Jazz intoned, shattering the tense disquiet.
Optimus leaned forward. "They've been through enough trauma as it is; I'm giving them time to recover before they are subjected to a proper debriefing." He met Jazz's gaze steadily. "I called this meeting about you, actually."
"Ah'm flattered," Jazz sneered. "Could bad news travel any faster around here? Just a handful of ya find out Ah corner your precious Prowl for a night an' not even a joor later there's an emergency meeting? When you half-bits overreact, ya'll overreact."
Optimus arched both optic ridges. "I was not aware that you had... spent the night with Prowl." By his tone alone, he had come to the wrong conclusion of the matter. The brief looks shared between the other commanders revealed their own wrong conclusions. That only served to irk Jazz more; seriously, did they really have that little faith in their tactical commander? On that note, didn't they think Jazz had better taste in a bot than Prowl?
Clenching his fists, Jazz intoned tightly, "It's not what ya all think."
"I certainly hope not," Mirage murmured haughtily, instantly placing himself at the top of Jazz's Must Kill list.
"Whatever the case may be, I think something such as that should be discussed during the course of this meeting," Prime intoned seriously.
"Ah wasn't aware that private matters between two bots was everyone else's business around here. If Ah'd known, Ah wouldn't have bothered," Jazz snorted. "Ah gotta admit, being knocked around and paraded about ain't mah favourite way ta start an orn. What is it that ya wanted ta discuss so badly ya had ta ruin mah whole orn for it?"
Optimus hesitated for a moment, frowning. He glanced briefly to Elita One at his side, who inclined her head in encouragement. Prime met Jazz's gaze once more. "Are you still working for the Decepticons, Jazz?"
A sudden flash of ice washed through the saboteur. Everything froze, from his frame to his spark. When his mind caught up with the accusation, he swung his legs down from the table and leaned over it. He still has an iron-fisted grasp on his emotions, but it took a little more effort than usual to disguise the scowl wanting to mar his faceplate.
"Ah should have guessed," he spat. "Ya fraggin' think Ah set ya up." There was no shortage of... hurt in his voice. He was hurt that they would all think he'd do something like that to them. Prowl had assumed the exact same thing. It wasn't that he wanted the Autobots to think him trustworthy, but at the same time... why didn't they think any better of him?
"What else are we to think when we stage a mission into enemy territory based on information you, a known dangerous Decepticon, have given us, and the mission turns into a slaughter?" Mirage said smoothly.
"Ah wasn't the only one supplying information, now was Ah?" Jazz hissed. "Maybe Ah'm not the only one this meetin' should be interrogating."
Mirage came to his feet. "Are you accusing me of setting up my own people?"
"No different than you callin' meh out," Jazz spat.
An ice cold laugh drifted from the other mech as he trailed his gaze up and down the saboteur, making no secret that he found Jazz lacking. "Not to point out the blindingly obvious, but I find that there is a distinct difference between you and I."
Optimus rumbled quietly, directing a hard stare toward the Master Spy. "Mirage, sit down." To Jazz, he inclined his head. "Jazz, if you please? We just want to cover all of our bases and make sure that..."
"That Ah'm not plannin' ta kill ya all in while ya recharge? Sell ya all out ta the Decepticons whenever Ah feel like it? Sabotage ya all while you're not looking?" Jazz snapped, sitting back down stiffly. "If Ah wasn't thinkin' it before, Ah damn well am thinkin' it now. With interest."
Ironhide growled darkly. Elita reached over and surprisingly swatted him on the shoulder. The femme fixed her steady gaze on him, inclining her head toward him.
"We just want to understand you better, Jazz," she said, her voice smooth yet commanding. Jazz was reminded of how deceptively powerful she was in her own right. "You have been with us for a while now and yet we still know so little about you. The only bot you have shown any interest in is Prowl, and he is not one to share extraneous details. If we could understand your motives better-."
"Motives? Ya wanna know about motives?" He snorted, shaking his head self-deprecatingly. "Ah ain't got no idea what Ah'm doing here no more. How's that for motives?"
Elita arched her optic ridges, looking entirely unperturbed by the admittance. "Chromia informs me differently."
Jazz bristled. "That femme don't know a damn thing. She ain't got the sense ta keep outta mah business."
Blackhawk leaned forward, and it was then that Jazz noted the dissonance between the mech's optics- one was very dark blue while the other was almost white. Odd. "As we've said, we only want to understand you better. If that means that we pry into your business, then so be it. Your personal sanctity does not outweigh the safety of the bots in Iacon."
"Even if that means going into mah head yourself and rootin' around for the truth?" Jazz challenged. "Ya think you're up for somethin' like that? Ah could turn ya inside out in an astrosecond."
"That is a risk I am willing to take," Blackhawk replied solemnly. His accent was strange as well, like his optics. Probably a colony accent. They all tended to be a little strange.
"I could rig up a buffer that would prevent Jazz from getting into anyone's heads if they interfaced with him..." Wheeljack offered uneasily.
"An' blow our heads off in the process? No thanks. Ah'd rather take mah chances with the lot of ya gangin' up on meh," Jazz spat. Wheeljack's fins flickered, his embarrassment there for everyone to see.
Optimus sighed. "Jazz, this is not about us ganging up on you or getting into your head without your expressed permission. We want to know... I want to know, did you leak information to the Decepticons about Prowl's team? Were they informed of the impending infiltration?"
Jazz met the Prime's stare for an endless moment, fixated by those fathomless depths of blue. When he finally managed to look away, he shook his head in the negative. "Ah didn't give the Decepticons anything."
"He could be lying," Mirage said.
"He is lying," Ironhide growled.
Jazz pushed to his feet. "Ah am so not in the mood for this. Ya obviously have already decided Ah did it, so Ah might as well walk mahself ta the brig," he spat, spinning for the door. He took two steps, froze in his third step, and then spun around. "Ya know what? You're all half-bits, ya know that? Prowl included." He spun away again, made it to the door, and growled in frustration as he turned on his heel back to the room. "This is ridiculous. Why am Ah even botherin' ta defend mahself ta you? You're just Autobots. Ya don't matter. None of this matters. Ah should leave right now and not look back!"
He was right at the door. So close to freedom. And he wasn't going anywhere.
"The door is right there, Jazz," Ratchet goaded lowly, though loud enough for the room to hear.
A loud rev vibrated from deep within Jazz's chassis. He found himself... wishing Prowl was present in the room. At least with Prowl, Jazz wouldn't have had to stand against them all by himself. Not that he needed that half-bit to hold his own, but some company would have been nice. Someone who was on his side.
Disgusted with himself, Jazz jerked back for his seat and sat down with a huff. "From the orn Ah've been here, Ah've been helpin' ya! Ah've given ya hideouts where the Decepticons were attacking from, maps through territories, all the tactical information Ah can think of, and it don't mean slag ta ya all. Ah might not be askin' for any of your trust, but you'd think a little bit of respect would be nice. Instead, Ah get carted around by Bruticus over there-." he jerked his chin in Ironhide's direction, who glowered ever more darkly. "He's not the most gentle creature on the planet, ya know?"
Ironhide rumbled darkly, flexing his fists.
"Everything you have mentioned could very well have all be an elaborate trap," Perceptor suddenly intoned. "It is not beyond the realm of possibility that everything you have ever done from the very beginning was in a bid to gain our trust for our ultimate downfall."
Jazz snorted. "An' don't ya think Ah would have been long gone by now if my plan for your downfall was underway? Trust meh, if Ah wanted ya all dead, ya would be dead. If Ah wanted ta leave and never be found, Ah'd be nothing but a ghost." He flicked his hand in the air. "Not to mention that, despite what ya think, the Decepticons aren't that stupid. They know Ah know everything there is ta know about them; the moment Ah walked away, they probably changed all their access codes and guard rotations. They've been expectin' an attack all this time, an' ya finally gave it ta them. They were prepared and they handed your afts ta ya."
"He has a point," Blackhawk said reasonably, if not sombrely.
"He is a Decepticon," Mirage countered ruthlessly, as if 'Decepticon' was synonymous with 'liar'.
"Former Decepticon," Jazz corrected tightly.
"He really has been helping us in his own ways, you know," Wheeljack shrugged. "He's a bit of a pain, but so are the Twins... Being a nuisance isn't the same as working against us."
"What proof is there that his is at all what he says he is?" the Master Spy insisted, turning his olfactory sensor up. "We have no proof of anything. So what if he has helped us in some minor ways? What evidence is there of his innocence in the act of staying here too long? He probably stayed to wait for an opportunity to kill Prowl when his own faction failed to do so in Polyhex."
Jazz's fists clenched for a moment as he reined back the maelstrom of violence that wanted to be unleashed on Mirage's faceplate. "Ah had plenty of time ta kill Prowl last night when Ah stayed in his room." His gaze snapped to Prime. "Ya want proof that Ah ain't no Decepticon, then ya got permission ta look inside mah head, but not any of you do it. Prowl does it an' no one else. Ya understand?"
"Seems fair enough. I'm surprised you would concede that much to us," Optimus said, almost smiling. Jazz was almost taken aback by how easily the Prime accepted the ultimatum. It was almost as if he... trusted him?
"Absolutely not!" Mirage objected, shooting to his feet. "This is ridiculous!"
"Don't be so hasty, Prime," Ratchet snorted loudly. "He could have easily reprogrammed Prowl last night; he could have been made to say anything when looking into Jazz's mind. There's no telling what's been done until I have a look at him."
Jazz sneered. "Prowl is one fragged up bot no matter what way ya look at him, and none of it is mah doing. Ah wouldn't have touched his mind last night even if ya paid meh; Ah would'a spent the whole night defraggin his head and then Ah'd spend the rest of mah orn defraggin' mine." He fixed his gaze on Ratchet. "Ya know exactly what Ah'm talkin' about, don't ya? Last night, when it all came rushin' back, his mind was the last place anyone wanted ta be."
Ratchet froze, shock blanking his features. "He showed you that side of himself."
He didn't have much of a choice, but... "Yes."
"What side?" Elita enquired curiously, speaking for the interest of all Autobots present. None were privy to Prowl's inner most secrets, a status quo the tactician in question would undoubtedly prefer to be kept.
"None of your business," Jazz snapped. It was his secret to lord over Prowl with. He wasn't sharing with no one.
Optimus sat back, which caught the optics of most. They mirrored him, subsiding into the seats so as not to appear too out of control in the situation.
"What sides Prowl chooses to show or keep to himself are inconsequential," Prime mediated. "Jazz, it is my opinion that you are not the same mech you were the orn you came here-."
Jazz snorted, recalling the exact same words falling from Chromia's mouthplates. He'd wanted to smack the femme then, and yet he wanted to hear what the Prime had to say now. And then smack him.
Prime continued regardless. "You have been aiding us in your own ways; you have done so under adversity, without encouragement, and of your own freewill. We have not shown you any welcome in Iacon, and many of us still show you outright hostility, yet you persevere. Throughout this meeting, you have been asking for our trust, though I doubt you would admit it. I think to begin to build trust, we must start with a little faith. There will be no need for Prowl or anyone else to interface with you; I believe you when you say you had nothing to do with the attack on Prowl's team."
Several outraged demands of Optimus Prime's designation rang throughout the room. Jazz remained seated, strangely a little dazed. He didn't know what to make of the Prime's statement. He didn't know what to make of himself for not being completely and utterly disgusted that he had an Autobot's trust. The Prime's trust!
In the end, he leaned back and said, "Good. Finally someone with some sense around here."
"If I may?" Blackhawk interjected, inclining his head toward the Prime. When a nod came his way, he continued. "If we are extending a hand of trust to Jazz, I believe we should make a better stance of it than a mere nod in his direction. He should be made an official consultant for the Autobots."
An instant tide of noise arose in objection, only to be quelled by a gesture from Prime.
"Continue," Prime invited, his interest evident.
Blackhawk nodded, turning his mismatched optics on Jazz. He had a shrewd stare. Intelligent, yet unreadable. Perfect for Special Operations. "I'm not saying that you should become an Autobot, but if you would become a consultant for us, it would allow you greater freedom within Iacon than you have seen previously. You would not be under Prowl's constant care, nor would you be required to submit to treatment normally reserved for prisoners." He sent a quick, pointed stare toward Ironhide before returning to Jazz. "I, for one, would be interested in working closely with you to improve my own division's effectiveness. You could be an amazing asset to us, not just for your talents and knowledge, but simply as the bot you are. I am not adverse to risking a little to gain the benefits of what could come of such a cooperation."
"I second this motion. Blackhawk is right; if we want to gain anything, we must first risk a little. Jazz is a risk I am willing to take," Elita suddenly announced, her optics glittering with untold calculations. She was dangerous, like Chromia, but in a far different way.
Jazz was beginning to get a sinking feeling. Did he like where this was going? How had everything spiralled so far out of his control?
"I want to see where this goes," Ultra Magnus rumbled amusedly, speaking for the first time. "You have my vote."
A brief flash of light, and then, "Oh, why not? My vote's in- he can't do anymore damage to Iacon than I've already done," Wheeljack said.
"Mine too," Blaster sighed, resigned. "He's an aft, but he keeps things interesting."
Optimus appraised his commanders for a long moment before saying, "We can assume Prowl's favour, and you have my vote, which makes this majority favour-." As could be expected, those who were not in majority favour rose to voice their loud opinions against the matter. Optimus ignored them, his attention given to Jazz. "How about it? You wanted our trust, now you have it; are you ready to take the next step?"
The next step?
Jazz had gone from coming online this morning with the world in the palm of his hand to deciding to murder every bot in Iacon slowly and painfully, to wanting their Primus-damned trust, to getting their Primus-damned trust, and now he didn't know what to do with it. The only thing he had going for him was that Prime was leaving it up to him to accept or decline an offer he never thought he'd ever been considering in the first place.
And he was considering it. Seriously considering being their consultant instead of just a floater.
Jazz met several of the stares boring through him. Optimus Prime was predictably neutral, as was Ultra Magnus. Wheeljack was as open as a window, transparently interested, though nervous. Elita proved difficult to read, though her smile put him on edge. Blackhawk was calculating, whereas Blaster was resigned, bored, and darkly amused all at the same time. Perceptor was still taking his measure, and Ratchet was looking him over with a new degree of suspicion laced with curiosity.
...And then there was Ironhide and Mirage, two glares full of undisguised hostility that practically tickled Jazz inside. Could they make their dislike for him any more obvious? Any more entertaining?
That cinched it for him.
If he wasn't going to be their consultant because most of them wanted his talents, then he'd do it because those two thoroughly and irrevocably hated him.
There were always worse reasons for doing something.
Besides, it gave him a better reason fro sticking around to torment Prowl... and make good on his promise to help the fragger.
Jazz met the Prime's gaze evenly. "Fine, ya have yourself a deal. Ah'll be your... consultant."