A short and sweet little shout out this chapter- why deprive of the story any longer than need be? My sincerest thanks to: Uniasus, Renegadewriter8, Boredtech, MarineLife37, Gatekat, TylaraRemember, Fiera Sabre, JenEvan, PrancingTiger86, KamiOkagi666, flamingmarsh, phoebe turner, FunkyFish1991, KaiChan1994, Mirage Shinkiro, RedStarBloom, PeaceWish, Eerie Iri, Bluebird Soaring, FoghornLeghorn83, Sergeant Duck, Chloo, chaitea16, and Lecidre! You are all stunning people! There are no words for me to express how grateful I am for your thoughts, enthusiasm, and love for this story! You all truly do inspire me to keep this story going~

So, without further ado, enjoy the chapter!

Chapter 12

He ached all over. From the very tips of his chevrons to the points of his feet, he ached. The kind of ache that went deeper than what his neural circuits could feel. Deeper than just his pressure sensor grid. His spark ached. It throbbed. It burned. It was a hurt he no longer had the option of turning off, nor was there any drug to cure a spark wounded deeper than just the physical.

He was being a wretch.

He should be grateful that he was not the worst off. He should be thanking his lucky stars he wasn't dead or once again made the Decepticons' prisoner. Instead, Prowl stood before the glowing cylinder of an occupied cryogenic regeneration chamber and all he could do was hurt, regret, and suffer under guilt. He stared up into a dark faceplate that was not peaceful even in unconsciousness; the longer he stared, the more guilt ate at him like a virulent rust.

Every gouge, every ripped-off slate of armour, every missing limb; it was all Prowl's fault. He did this. He'd mutilated his team. In his arrogance. In his faith in his own abilities. In his foolish belief that having Jazz would give them an edge. His stupidity had blinded him and the mistake had cost them all dearly.

He'd killed two of his own Autobots. Everyone else injured, teetering on the edge.

So much emotion was bubbling up now. Twisted, dark, churning emotion that burned like a bitter acid. He felt like purging again, as if he hadn't been doing so all orn. Even that shamed him; it was evidence of his weakness. His shortcomings. All the reasons he should not have been made the head tactical adviser. Smokescreen should have gotten the position- he had been elected at the same time as Prowl, had all the qualifications, and lacked Prowl's obvious failure with emotional comprehensiveness. Smokescreen's only major flaw was his gambling addiction, which did nothing but impair his ability to hold on to his rations for longer than it took to lose them in a bad gamble.

Prowl laid his hand to the cool crystalline containment unit housing his fellow team mate. He watched as the bot simply floated there, immersed in softly glowing energon. Like he was free, but not quite. The energy levels of the liquid were low, probably only medical-grade energon- C-class or D-class, so the glow was very dim. Barely enough to cast a shadow. Deceptively calming. All together haunting.

"I am sorry," he sighed quietly, the same thing he had been saying all orn when no one else could hear. He was more sorry than he had ever been in his life. It was beginning to become a worrisome pattern with him; whenever he was to make a mistake, it generally ended up being a huge one. He and others ended up getting hurt. Some died.

The only proper resolution was to strive to make no more mistakes, which was a statistically impossible goal to have.

So, in the end, he was caught between a terrible rock and a horribly hard place.

At the end of the quiet ICU, a crystalline door hissed open. Prowl did not have the scanners necessary to identify the spark resonance of his company, so he turned to face them instead. Who he found standing in the doorway did not surprise him. Silhouetted by the stark lights of the main med bay, the new bot struck quite an imposing figure.

"Jazz," murmured the tactician. His spark rolled in his sparkcase again, but this time not from guilt. It was certainly far from pleasure, either. A cold, numb feeling of unease.

As if summoned by the mentioning of his designation, the saboteur eased forward. He came like a predator, silently prowling down the aisle. It was not even an intentional stalking, but one born of natural predatory inclination and grace. Even his footfalls were silent.

Seeing the saboteur so soon... Prowl could not name the emotion he felt concerning the encounter. Trepidation? Frustration? Anxiousness? What was one supposed to feel when faced with the bot who held in his possession the means to destroying everything Prowl had worked so hard to achieve? It certainly should not have been some measure of misplaced relief to find that Jazz had not been executed. His unease to be alone and vulnerable in Jazz's company warred against such meaningless relief.

Not even a breem in the bot's company and already Prowl was already at odds with himself. Jazz seemed to have a habit of bringing that out in the tactician.

As Jazz came to a halt, he leaned against a berth and canted his head. Prowl noted with some interest that the saboteur now sported an interesting assortment of bejewelled magnetic adornments hanging from his horns. The jewellery most certainly was not his, which meant it was most likely stolen. Under the dim lights of the ICU, all of Jazz's frame glittered with the spoils of his thievery. He must have been a very busy mech for the past few joors to have accumulated so much. He managed to make himself look a gaudy ornament and a strange fanciful creature come true- both at the same time.

"Ya don't seem too surprised ta see meh," Jazz intoned, canting his head to the other side. The movement brought about a twinkling sound as his bejewelled magnets rolled against his armour.

"I think, subconsciously, I may have been expecting you," Prowl replied evenly; he may not have known what he would feel upon meeting Jazz again, but he certainly could not deny the inevitability of encountering him.

Instead of huffing over his loss of unpredictability as Prowl would have figured he would, Jazz merely smirked. "Sorry ta have kept ya waitin', then."

"Think nothing of it," Prowl replied uneasily, still so unsure of what to make of this encounter. He watched Jazz carefully, raking his form for any little sign of the saboteur's intent, and found nothing. Shouldn't there be some sign of irritation from his earlier treatment? Was Jazz here to take his frustrations out on Prowl while he was unable to defend himself?

Much to Prowl's displeasure, Jazz picked up on his uneasiness and reacted to it. "Ah see that look on your faceplate, half-bit. It's the look ya get when you're tryin' ta figure somethin' out that don't have no logical answer. What is it this time?"

For a moment, Prowl was thrown for a loop. "How do you know what I look like when I am trying to solve something with no logical answer?"

Jazz shrugged. "Any time ya try ta reason out why Ah do what Ah do, ya get that look."

Prowl made note to try to better conceal his expressions in the future, and then considered what he had been originally asked. Warily, he said, "I do not understand why you are here, Jazz." When he realized such a vague statement could be misconstrued as asking why Jazz was on base, on Cybertron, or even on this plain of existence, and thus would probably be given an inane or insane answer, Prowl better quantified the question: "Why are you here with me, right now, in this ICU?"

Although Jazz's visor was down, Prowl could practically sense the moment when both the saboteur's optic ridges arched. "Can't ya guess?"

"I am in no mood to guess your mood," Prowl growled.

"Now, ain't that funny? Ah would'a thought that with your emotional centre turned on an' all, you'd have no problem understandin' moods now," Jazz drawled unnecessarily loudly.

Prowl cringed, his gaze instantly sweeping the ICU and med bay for any stray bot who might have been eavesdropping When no witnesses turned up, he directed a hard glare in Jazz's direction. "Yes, we both know my emotional centre is on. Thank you for announcing that as loudly as you did. I am sure in your mind it was completely necessary."

"Oh, it was," Jazz replied merrily. "Ah kinda like the little tingly feelin' Ah get when Ah know Ah own ya and there's nothin' ya can do about it- short of socially sacrificing your status and dignity before Ah have a chance ta do it for ya, of course." His grin was diamond-sharp.

Prowl's fists clenched of their own volition. "Of course."

Jazz's grin turned teasing. "You're a little moody, now aren't ya? All those emotions gettin' ya down, Prowler?"

Due to his physical state, it took a little more effort than usual to suppress his irrational need to grab Jazz by the horns and slam his head into the nearest wall. "You are annoying me, and that is the extent of the emotions I feel right now. I don't understand what you are doing here, but the longer you stay the greater I will be tempted to summon Ratchet to remove you."

"And wouldn't that make mah orn so much better? Didn't Ah get enough of him and ol' Hide this mornin'?" Jazz drawled mock-pleasantly. "Ah dare ya ta get Ratch' in here. Ah'd hate ta let somethin' slip while Ah was being removed."

Prowl went rigid, optics flashing. "You would, wouldn't you?"

"Yeah, Ah would." Jazz laughed as if it were a mere game, not playing with the very foundation of someone's life. "Ah'm not afraid ta."

"So that's your game? You wish to keep me under your thumb for as long as possible? Until I snap?" Prowl recoiled from the very thought.

"Something like that," the saboteur shrugged.

"It won't work; I will find some way to stop you." Pride be damned, Prowl would appeal to the Prime before he would allow himself to be ruled by a creature such as Jazz for the rest of his life, however long that happened to be. To be attached in any way, shape, or form to someone so... so... frustrating! So illogical! It was sure to be a fate worse than any other.

"Ah'll enjoy every moment of your efforts ta stop meh," Jazz teased, but his gaze turned shrewd. "'Course, if ya ever got control of your emotions like a good little bot, Ah'd have nothin' ta hang over your head with."

"If you haven't forgotten, you were the one who originally proposed to help me with my... dilemma. I see your need for some misplaced need to control and dominate me supersedes that offer," Prowl spat.

Jazz was quiet for a moment, and then inclined his head thoughtfully. "Who said Ah didn't still intend ta help ya?"

"I beg your pardon?" Surprise barrelled through Prowl, his processor scrambling to recalculate the situation. He could not hide irritation from his voice as he asked- "Why in the pit are you here tormenting me if you still intend to help me? What sense does that make?" He threw his hands up. "At least the idea of revenge for this morning's fiasco made some form of twisted sense!"

Jazz kicked away from the berth he had been leaning against, his lithe frame suddenly tense. "Ya thought Ah was teasin' ya out of spite?" He sounded... offended?

"Well, yes, of course! What else was I to think?" Prowl exclaimed.

Jazz's arms flew up in a mirror of Prowl's own gesture of frustration. "Ah hate ta break it ta ya, Prowler, but Ah'm just messin' with ya because it's fun. It's what Ah've always done, haven't Ah?" He spoke true- for once; it was their custom to share personal barbs with each other. Prowl should have remembered. Without a single misstep, Jazz laid out the problem with a disgruntled huff: "Ya obviously still need ta adjust ta that emotional centre of yours, 'cause ya sure ain't seein' things straight right now."

Prowl blinked, caught off-guard to be called out so easily. "The first orn or two are the most difficult becoming reacquainted with my emotions. I... am not thinking as clearly as I normally would." He paused, and then added, "It will pass."

"Good," Jazz grunted mulishly. "An' for the record, me being here don't have nothin' ta do with anyone or anything else; Ah wanted ta be here because you're here. It's as simple as that."

Prowl's gaze shot wide, optic ridges arched. "Because I'm here?"

He could see Jazz's surprise over his own admittance. Apparently he had not intended to let so much slip. Annoyance darkened Jazz's features as he looked away, staunchly avoiding Prowl's gaze.

"Ah own ya, don't Ah?" Jazz said lowly. He then sighed, slowing turning back to meet Prowl's still-astonished gaze. "Just... forget about it. Ah meant what Ah said last night; Ah'll help ya get control, Prowler." His mouthplates pressed into a thin line, as if he were struggling with what to say next. Finally the words came- "It's not gonna be easy, and it's probably gonna hurt like pit, but it'll be worth it in the end." Then he snorted. "Then again, Ah could be lying; this might all be some elaborate trap."

Prowl frowned, curious of Jazz's tone. Nonetheless, he said, "I suppose I can expect nothing less of you."

Jazz laughed softly, but it came out as a self-deprecating sound. "Yep, guess ya can expect nothing less. Ya don't get much worse than meh."

Perhaps it was just energy-deprivation or he was suffering a severe malfunction, but for a curious moment, it seemed to Prowl as if Jazz wished that something more could be expected of him. Even his guarded expression appeared vaguely wistful. In just that split astrosecond, Prowl got the distinct impression that plenty before him had expected much of Jazz's abilities, but very few had ever expected much of Jazz the mech. Had anyone ever respected him without fear or held a positive opinion of him?

Was Jazz suddenly interested in having others know the mech he was instead of fearing the monster he likened to be?

It was an interesting prospect.

The epiphany also served Prowl another dash of guilt to go on top of the mountain he was already suffering. Jazz sought some sort of trust or respect, and all Prowl could summon at the moment was wariness and suspicion. He claimed to believe the saboteur when he had exclaimed his innocence the previous night, yet still Prowl treated him as guilty. The tactician was in the wrong and he knew it; Jazz may not have been completely in the right, but he was currently standing in a light enough shade of grey to deserve something more than the treatment he had been getting.

Fixing a steady gaze on the saboteur, he outright asked, "Are you looking for trust, Jazz?"

Jazz jerked straight, caught off guard by the sudden enquiry. His visor darkened and he drew away a fraction. "Ah wouldn't know what ta do with it."

Prowl canted his head. "Has anyone ever trusted you?"

"Not anyone smart," the silver mech snorted.

"I can't imagine the life you must have led."

"Not many bots can." Jazz shifted his weight, looking uncomfortable. "Sometimes Ah don't even know how Ah survived it." That life seemed to far away now. A whole other lifetime ago. He was a different bot now- he was smart enough to admit that fact now; not completely changed, but definitely not the same.

A strange feeling of sympathy suddenly overrode Prowl's sense of irritation with the mech. He didn't want to feel it, but he couldn't exactly shut it off, either. Blaming what he was about to do entirely on his current condition and any apparent delirium he might be suffering from, Prowl took a leap of faith. He held out his hand. "Help me to a berth?"

Jazz stared at the offered hand as if he was waiting for it to do a trick.

"Please?" Prowl insisted dryly. "My power reserves are running dry. I would rather not fall and be subject to the humiliation of being forced to call for help."

With wariness written in every line of his frame, Jazz prowled forward. Surprising them both, he was gentle in taking Prowl's hand and winding it around his shoulders, allowing Prowl to rest his weight against him. The walk to an empty berth was not a long one- a few short steps. Prowl dragged himself up, sat down, and then met Jazz's gaze.

"Thank you."

"Ya could'a walked here on your own," said the saboteur. "You're not that bad off."

Storm-grey shoulders rose in a mild shrug. "It was an experiment; I gave you my trust to help me, and you seemed to know what to do with it just fine," Prowl said, watching as his companion's visor flashed bright for a moment. "It's a start, isn't it?"

Jazz eased away until a good distance stretched between them. "Ah'd rather respect. Ah know what ta do with respect."

Prowl smirked shallowly. "You have always had my respect, Jazz, even when I did not trust you." He laid back on his berth, vulnerable but in desperate need of rest.

Jazz appeared stunned with such an admittance.

Deciding that it was best to let the Neutral ruminate on the subject, Prowl turned the conversation to another point of interest. "Forgive me for the sudden change, but what did happen this morning after you were carted off? I spoke with Ratchet earlier and he refused to speak of the matter."

Jazz suddenly laughed- a new sound that was neither bitter, sharp, nor self-deprecating. He sounded genuinely amused. Apparently he was not at all adverse to changing the subject. "Ah don't imagine Ratch' would be too inclined ta talkin' about it, no. The whole meetin' didn't exactly go his way, after all."

Prowl levered up carefully on his berth, gingerly turning to one side to better see his company. "Elaborate?"

"Ah might have maybe been made a consultant for your faction," Jazz drawled vaguely, silver shoulders tilting in a lopsided shrug.

There was a disbelieving pause, and then the tactician asked, "No, seriously- what happened?"

Jazz coughed uncomfortably. "Ah was being serious."

"...oh." It was Prowl's turn to be stunned. Very, very stunned. He had not expected such a gesture from the Autobots for a long time to come. "Um, not to be rude, but how exactly did something like that happen?"

"Ah'm still tryin' ta figure that one out," the silver mech said with a disbelieving shake of his head. "Ah think it had something ta do with stickin' around ta torment some bots, or some slag like that..."

Prowl arched an optic ridge. "I highly doubt that was the reasoning behind your promotion."

"Okay, so that was probably mah reasoning," Jazz smirked. "Ya might want ta ask Blackhawk what the real reasonin' was. He suggested it in the first place."

"Blackhawk? He's an unusual mech," Prowl murmured. "Normally, he's very self-contained."

"He must'a taken a likin' ta meh, then."

Whatever the reason, Prowl made a mental note to speak with the Special Ops commander. He fixed Jazz with a shrewd look. "To agree to be our consultant... you realize that that does entail a certain amount of trust, yes?"

"Ah kinda picked up on that, yeah."

"Weren't you just lamenting the fact that you have no idea what to do with trust?"

"Kinda realized that, too." Jazz scratched the back of his head. "Therein lies a bit of the problem, see?"

"I suppose if you are to be helping me with my issues, I can try to help you with yours. No guarantees, though; I'm not the most qualified, if you haven't noticed."

"No, Ah haven't noticed at all," Jazz drawled sarcastically, but then shrugged neutrally. "You're better than nothin', Ah suppose."

"I choose to take that as a compliment." An almost-smile came to Prowl's mouthplates. "You will never cease to confuse me, Jazz. Your reasoning behind things- astonishing."

"Right now, Ah'm kinda confusin' mahself," Jazz admitted haplessly. He slanted Prowl a pensive look. "What Ah do know is that agreeing ta all this slag gave meh a legitimate reason ta stick around. No more worrying about having to sneak into everyone's rooms in the dead of night and reprogramming them while they recharge, right?"

Before Prowl could point out that he hadn't realized that had been option, the door to the distant med bay hissed open. It was a soft sound, but with the ICU so quiet even a dropped pin could be heard. From the hall and through the bay came a cacophony of thundering footsteps. A familiar slim form marched into sight, flashing like lightning beneath the stark lights. The door to the ICU shot open, admitting the furious form of Master Spy Mirage. Every line of the mech's frame was taut. He looked ready to explode.

"Where is he, Prowl?" demanded the ice-painted mech, his glacial attitude replaced with a blazing fury.

"Who?" Prowl wondered, casting a cursory glance around the ICU. Jazz was gone, as if he had never been there.

The Master Spy waved a violent gesture. "You know exactly who! That wretched Decepticon scrap heap you keep as a pet!"

Surprise melted off Prowl's features, instantly hardening into a cold mask. He forced himself to sit up despite his desperately objecting frame. "There is no one here that fits that description."

Mirage stormed down the central aisle until he was able to loom over Prowl's berth. "I know you know where he is! You always know! Don't you dare lie to me! That wretch ransacked my room and stole all of my possessions! Tell me where he is this instant!"

Prowl did not budge. He did, however, suddenly understand where and from who Jazz's jewellery came from. Maybe it was a malfunction, but he had no desire to see the jewellery returned at the moment. "Even if I did know where he was, I wouldn't be inclined to tell you while you're in this kind of violent mood. It does you a discredit to be so out of control."

"I have good reason to be so out of control!" Mirage snarled."That reason happens to be your pet Decepticon!"

Prowl scowled. "I have no interest in your reasoning. Go calm yourself down before coming to me again; if you haven't noticed, I'm injured and would like to rest. Leave me until morning. Chase whomever you want, but don't involve me in your problems."

Mirage's optics narrowed dangerously, his violent temper compressing into that of a burning laser point zeroed in on Prowl. "You're on his side, aren't you? One foolish night together and you've lost your mind?" His gaze narrowed even more, a sneer marring his mouthplates. "Or has it been more than one night? Is he that good that you'd turn your back on your own faction? Primus, Prowl, what is wrong with you? That thing is a Decepticon with no conscience!"

Heat bloomed throughout Prowl's frame, embarrassment and anger. "What Jazz and I do in our own time is none of your business." He glared hotly- not to the same level of temper Mirage suffered, but certainly getting there. "But to clear you of your blatant misconception, he and I have never been intimate nor do we ever have any intention of being so. I have no intention of turning away from the Autobots, either. That being said, I have no intention of feeding your petty tantrum at the moment." He tilted his chin up a fraction higher. "Right now, I am under the distinct impression that whatever Jazz did to you, you were fully deserving of it."

Mirage looked as if he had been slapped.

Was it right for Prowl to feel a certain amount of satisfaction?

The Master Spy snapped out of his daze quickly, his foul mood returning in earnest. "When I find that mech, he'll be on a one way trip to the brig- if he even makes it that far. It was a mistake to even keep him here. The sooner we get rid of him, the better." He began to stalk away, frame bristling, vents heaving.

Prowl narrowed a glare at the retreating mech's back. "Seeing as he works for us now, starting something with him might just land you in a cell right next to him in the brig."

"We'll see about that." Mirage was gone in a flash of ice-cold paint and red-hot temper.

Prowl glared after the Master Spy, growling softly. He had no concern for Jazz's future safety, knowing full well Jazz could turn a mech like Mirage inside out if the mood struck him.

Once the coast was clear, the saboteur slithered down from his hidden perch in the shadowed alcoves above the CR chambers. He came to the floor with a light tap, brushing himself off. Prowl watched the scene with what he hoped was neutral interest, when- in truth- he was still feeling extremely riled by the encounter. Jazz did not appear at all flustered by the accusations or degrading names thrown his way. He looked as neutral as Prowl struggled to appear.

"I suppose I don't have to wonder what you've been up to all orn," the tactician commented.

Jazz took extra care to flaunt his glittering prizes. "Like ya said, he deserved it."

"I have no doubt that he did." Prowl cycled a cool drag of air, gradually calming down. Who would have thought he'd get so worked up in the defence of a 'wretched Decepticon scrap heap'? He shot Jazz a measuring look. "If he comes back, I won't hide you again."

"Ah'm not afraid of him, but thanks for hidin' meh in the first place. Appreciate it. Kinda wasn't prepared for a fight." He rolled his sleek silver shoulders, slipping to the berth next to Prowl and propping his hip against it. His grin was dangerously wide. "Ah don't think he'll be comin' back any time soon, though."

Prowl briefly reviewed the mood Mirage left in and had to concur.

Jazz inclined his head to the berth he leaned against. "Mind if Ah stay here tonight? Ah'm thinkin' this is the safest place for meh right now."

"Make yourself at home," Prowl invited wryly. "But please, don't get used it."

"What, the med bay?" Jazz laughed. "Not plannin' on it."

"No, staying with me like this," Prowl informed with a curious twist of his mouthplates. "We wouldn't want to give others the wrong impression."

Jazz laughed again, another rich, handsome sound that filled the ICU. "Don't worry- Ah think they already have the wrong impression."