Hey everyone! Here's the next chapter for you all to enjoy! It's a special chapter, because it marks the one year anniversary of Where You and I Collide! I didn't even realize the one year mark had come until I glanced at the publish date on the fic. It seems like only yesterday that I was posting the first chapter to this thing. Wow… well, I just want to say that I am deeply grateful to and honoured by everyone who has read and reviewed this story. You guys have played such a big part in helping to make Where You and I Collide the success that it is~ Here's hoping that success can be carried on into the New Year! ^_^

My deepest and most sincere thanks to: Gatekat, BoredTech, Luck-of-the-Irishman, renegadewriter8, CNightJoy, DitzyMusicLover, Anasazi Darkmoon, kathy3meme, Yami Dragoness of Dark, Phoebe Turner, PrancingTiger86, lilyoftheval5, Jinx, Christina, Peacewish, Optimus Bob, Silvering, Kai-chan94, Chloo, Marinelife87, JenEvan, Fiera Sabre, SwedishDragon, Sergeant Duck, Faecat, Jade Fallon, Wolfhuntsmoon, femme4prime, animelover1993, FoghornLeghorn83, chaitea16, Daklog73, TanithLipsky, Dramastar-Mel, and Bluebird Soaring~ All of you have been my inspirations and my reasons for continuing this story. If you haven't caught on by now, I'll just come out and say it: You guys are the best! ^_^

Happy One Year Anniversary of Where You and I Collide, everyone!

Chapter 14

Prowl adjusted his seat for the sixth time that joor and returned to the reports he had steadily working on since he'd walked into his office. There was quite a bit of work to be done, seeing as Smokescreen had inconveniently decided to interface with some visiting bots from Epsilon and caught a virus from one of them. The virus was not particularly serious, thankfully. However, the virus had messed with Smokescreen language files, so he was now stuck speaking in rhyme until Ratchet or First Aid fixed him.

Since Prowl was not interested in reading reports that would rhyme Prime with anything fine, or any other kind of silliness like that, he was now stuck doing his second-in-command's work on top of his own.

True, he could have delegated the work to someone else in his division. Yet, he found that he came up with all kinds of excuses whenever he began to consider the option. He didn't like Risk's writing style, and Chess-piece had horrible spelling. Eagle Eye was adequate in both writing style and spelling, but he was from Polyhex territory. Strictly speaking, it was unprofessional of Prowl to hold anyone's territory or colony of origin against them, but Polyhex's grammatical structure varied enough from standard Cybertronian that it drove Prowl a little crazy to read that minibot's reports. He had similar excuses for every bot in his division.

Prowl also recognized that he was being petty and the only real reason he took on all the extra work by himself was because he needed a distraction. If he did not keep his mind busy on mundane tasks, he found that his thoughts would stray to a specific saboteur lurking around somewhere on base. These thoughts were not of affectionate distraction where the silver mech was concerned. Prowl was quite certain that the orn he was affectionately distracted by Jazz was the orn the pit would rust over.

No, he was suffering from trepidation and a lingering sense of unease wherever Jazz was concerned.

Nearly two dozen orns had passed since their first and last meeting in the holodeck. Jazz had not spoken to him since their short exchange at the end before he had abruptly left. Prowl did not want to go so far as to claim that Jazz was outright avoiding him, but the evidence certainly seemed to add up to that one conclusion. It was not only that they had not spoken, but also that Prowl had very rarely seen the mech around base other than in passing. Prowl would nod to him out of courtesy when they passed in the halls, only rarely witnessing any return acknowledgement. Jazz's visor was down permanently in public, his mouth set in a firm line every time Prowl had caught sight of him. They studiously avoided gazes. Jazz almost always looked like he was hunting something.

If Prowl wished to be naïve about the situation, he could attribute the saboteur's behaviour to his new responsibility as the Autobot's consultant. That was laughable. He very much doubted Jazz's full time would be so totally consumed by such a seemingly mundane task. This conclusion only led him to believe that Jazz's thoughts were of a more… esoteric nature. He was reluctant to say insidious when he was endeavouring to place his trust in Jazz, but did not rule out the possibility of a nefarious plot brewing.

The manner in which Jazz had left the holodeck that first time left Prowl entirely unsettled. Never had he seen Jazz so unsettled over something. It made him feel suspicious of the nature of his own emotions, and made him wary of whatever retaliation Jazz might be plotting.

One question still haunted him:

"How can you feel all of that without going insane?"

Was he really that unusual?

It might have occurred to him once or twice that there might have been something different about his programming. He was not completely blind to the differences between himself and others. He was especially cognizant of his shortcomings when compared to Smokescreen, who had been brought online at the same time as him with essentially the same function and programming. He was very much aware of his shortcomings. But he had only wondered a few times if there was something truly wrong with him.

After Jazz had so tactfully spat that question at him- "How can you feel all of that without going insane?" -Prowl had decided to examine his experiences more closely to see if he could understand the difference.

When he had been newly brought online, he had been as average as anyone else. Emotions had been a curious indulgence he could not resist, even when other pre-programs in the precinct had warned against it. Prowl had actually enjoyed feeling happy. He liked understanding and laughing at jokes. Passion had been addictive, in both goal-orientated and romantic forms. There had been nothing different about him.

He noted that his memories of violent, disturbing, and traumatizing events as a Security Response officer coincided with his experiences of uncontrolled and unstable emotions. For the first time, he consciously noted and logged the increasing severity of his experiences. He compared it with the memories of bots he had interfaced with at the time and saw the disparity.

The increasing severity of his experiences had been what prompted him to seek ways of shutting his emotions off altogether. Little did he know, or more accurately little did he want to acknowledge, pursuing that path would ultimately lead to the exacerbation of the anomaly.

Prowl sighed, staring down at the report he was working on without really seeing it.

He had created his own weaknesses in his search for strength.

He had failed himself when he had aspired to be great in himself and for others.

He had only ever made problems worse when he sought only to solve them.

In conclusion, he was the product of his own foolishness.

"How can you feel…without going insane?"

It was his own fault that he was so flawed. He was weak inside. With every episode of turning his emotional centre off and on, he was ravaged a little deeper. He was turned a little more pathetic. From the very first moment he had turned off his emotional centre so many vorns ago, he had known it was wrong. Medically and morally, turning off his emotional centre was wrong. But he justified his actions as the best course of action for himself and the bots he was responsible for.

He dealt with his issues on his own so no one else would know how weak he was inside. It was a failure to let anyone else know how hollowed out and decrepit he'd become. His spark was exhausted from the constant battle.

To feel or not to feel.

"…feel…insane?"

As much as he despised himself for admitting it, Jazz was his only hope for gaining control of himself. Jazz had taken it upon himself to seek out all of Prowl's weaknesses. He had found them, had been properly disgusted by them, and then had decided to fix the problem. The offer still stunned the tactician when he tried to figure it out. But beyond Prowl's inability to completely comprehend the inner workings of the saboteur, Jazz had spared him the humiliation of asking for help. Prowl had not been given a choice, and he was somewhat glad for that.

Jazz certainly possessed the skills to help him. There was a strange kind of hope offered by the thought.

However, if Jazz's prolonged avoidance was any indication, there was a chance his disgust had overridden his desire to help.

If Jazz reneged on their arrangement, there were not many options left for Prowl to consider…

A bright white visor suddenly shoved itself in his faceplate.

"What'cha thinkin' about, Prowler?"

With a shout of alarm, Prowl jumped away from his desk. In a bid to defend himself, he attempted to assume a battle-ready pose, only to have his chair catch him around his legs. With a second shout, this time of surprise, he gracelessly flipped backwards to the floor. An embarrassingly loud crash followed him to the floor.

Jazz, predictably, thought it was hilarious. He tossed himself back into the spare seat in the office and had himself a good laugh. He watched from underneath his glittering visor as Prowl scrambled to his feet. His smirk was Cheshire as the storm-grey mech forced himself to stop fumbling. He said nothing as the head tactical advisor righted his chair and sat down in it with a series of severely clipped movements. As composed a storm cloud contained a glass jar.

Finally, Jazz said something: "Ya should have seen the look on your faceplate. It was priceless!" His smirk was predictably full of the glee inspired by causing someone else's humiliation.

Prowl felt his frame give an involuntary twitch of aggravation. It was amazing how quickly he found himself missing the moments when Jazz had been ignoring him. He cycled a deep drag of air, trying to figure out how anyone could have snuck up on him in his own office. Then he noticed something very odd about his company, an oddness that would account for Prowl not noticing his approach in the first place.

"Where the pit is your spark?" he asked incredulously.

Jazz shrugged. "In a jar beside mah berth."

Prowl arched an optic ridge, using his most severe expression. "Where is your spark signature?"

"On vacation?"

Prowl continued to stare until it was no longer fun for Jazz.

"Fine, give meh an astrosecond." A panel of armour clicked away on his arm and he tampered with something underneath. Jazz's spark resonance appeared on scanners as if it had always been there. "There, happy now?"

"Ecstatic." And because he couldn't just let such a useful ability be ignored, despite the fact that it had just been used to humiliate him, he asked, "How did you do it without a dampener?"

The saboteur didn't answer right away. He leaned back in his chair and appeared to be seriously contemplating the pros and cons of giving up that personal secret. He canted his head in Prowl's direction. Even though Prowl could not see the bot's optics, he knew he was being sized up. The tactician didn't bother to look away. Instead, he met the stare unblinkingly.

Jazz smirked, coming to a decision. "It's a trick Ah picked up with magnetic fields," he said. "It's a bit complicated and ya gotta have the right magnetic generator components, but if ya tweak 'em the right way, it bends your signature until scanners can't register it anymore. Like ya saw, it can make a bot's spark virtually invisible. It's a useful little trick."

"This is how you've been making your way around base tormenting others undetected?"

"Not always," the saboteur replied, full of mischief. "Ah have other ways of getting around, ya know? This one just makes things more convenient for meh."

"It would be an excellent technique for Special Ops and Intelligence & Espionage to have," Prowl pointed out.

Jazz gave a nonchalant shrug, turning his olfactory sensor up like a spoiled bratling. "Maybe some orn."

"Maybe some orn soon?" Prowl prompted, fishing for an advantage for his faction. He was always searching for an advantage.

"Sure," the saboteur drawled. "Ah'll hand over mah secrets the orn Mirage has a personality change or the pit rusts over. Whichever comes first."

"Not any time soon, then?" Prowl sighed, not exactly disappointed. He had expected Jazz to give up his secrets as much as he expected Mirage to go through that sudden personality change. Both would be useful and progressive for everyone, but neither was likely to happen.

"Pretty much," Jazz shrugged with a half-smile, uninterested in anything else but himself… and Prowl. The Autobots could go suck exhaust fumes.

Prowl shook his head, almost giving way to a wry smile. How strange it was that within the span of a few breems, he could go from worrying over what Jazz had planned for him, to wishing Jazz would continue to ignore him, to this… They were almost having an amiable conversation. The emotional whiplash nearly gave him a headache, not to mention the bother it gave him trying to get it to compute with his logic circuits. He was actually almost enjoying the company.

Jazz, too, appeared to be in an unusually good mood. "Ya up for another lesson?"

Prowl arched an optic ridge, surprised by the sudden offer. "Now?"

"Now," Jazz confirmed, swinging to his feet. "Either now or never. You choose."

Prowl glanced to his work, then back to Jazz. He quickly weighed his options. The risk of refusing this time and having Jazz permanently refuse to help him in the future was too much of a risk to take. Pushing away from his desk, Prowl rose to his feet.

"I choose now," he said.

Jazz smiled. "Good. And lucky for ya, Ah brought a present." He turned for the door, let it hiss open, then stuck his head out into the hall. Curious of the matter, Prowl scanned the area and found a secondary spark signature waiting in the hall. It was a familiar signature, from a bot in his own division. Jazz stepped away from the doorway and Eagle Eye came in with a brief bow.

Prowl stared, both optic ridges arched.

Jazz patted Eagle Eye on the shoulder, smirking for Prowl. "Don't worry about him screwing up your reports," he said. "Ah made him download a standard written Cybertronian file as soon as he agreed so he won't be writing like a Polyhex reject anymore."

Eagle Eye shifted from one foot to the other. If he was insulted, he wisely didn't show it. "Commander, you should have said something about having a perimeter run today. You shouldn't have to look after everything by yourself, especially when Smokescreen is in the med bay. I can look after the reports until you get back."

"A perimeter run?" Prowl repeated unsurely.

"Yeah, that perimeter run ya said ya were gonna run for Ultra Magnus since he has ta oversee that base maintenance issue he mentioned," Jazz said pointedly.

Oh, right. That perimeter run.

"Yes, of course." Prowl said unsteadily, his mind racing to adjust to the newly introduced fabrication. "I completely forgot that I agreed to that for Ultra Magnus. I've been rather distracted as of late…"

Jazz shrugged easily, perfectly at ease with the lie. "No problem. Figured ya might have forgot. Since Ah'm bored, Ah thought Ah'd go with ya on the run."

"Thank you for reminding me, Jazz," Prowl said tightly, and then inclined his head to his subordinate tactician. "And thank you for agreeing to cover for me, Eagle Eye. I appreciate it."

"Of course, commander."

It was not Prowl's best acting job. Normally, he was a very good liar, albeit not always a very creative one, but Jazz had him stumbling this time. Eagle Eye obviously heard the peculiarity in his voice. The minibot said nothing, though his trained gaze did travel curiously between Prowl and Jazz.

To discourage any further curiosity, Prowl immediately switched his gaze to Jazz. "Are you ready to leave now?"

Jazz smiled real slow, obviously laughing inside. "Only if you are."

"Yes, I very much am." He quickly came around his desk and ushered Jazz into the hall before any more suspicion or humiliation could occur in front of one of his subordinates.

The door hissed shut behind them, leaving Eagle Eye to his work. The minibot was a well-trained warrior and an excellent tactician; he was trained to know when to speak and when it was best to remain silent. For this unusual instance between his commander and the dangerous Neutral he was engaged with, no one would ever hear a word from him.

They walked side-by-side down the halls in amiable silence.

Well, Jazz was comfortably silent. Prowl, on the other hand, was mentally berating himself for his lacklustre performance in his office at the same time he was trying to figure out what Jazz had in store for him. They moved through the halls at a brisk pace, quick enough that they were not wasting time, but not fast enough to draw unwanted attention. They moved so closely to each other that their shoulders would often brush. Prowl was not a popular figure in Iacon, and neither was Jazz, so very few Autobots offered greetings as they passed. On the other hand, both bots were objects of curiosity in Iacon's rumour mill, so several heads did turn, optic ridges arching.

To encourage the image that they were going out on a perimeter run, they took the long way to the training ranges. They made it outside the main complex in Iacon and took a sharp left around the building. As they went, the security cameras flickered out long enough for them to pass without being seen, but not long enough for Red Alert to be alerted to anything unusual. Coming to a discreet alcove tucked into the side of the main complex of Iacon's compound, there was a narrow service door meant for drones. Jazz swung it open and slipped inside. It was too narrow for him to walk normally, so he turned himself sideways. Prowl followed, but even turned sideways he was a little too large for the stairwell and ended up scraping his way down.

They made it to the bottom and followed the service corridor to a lift shaft meant for drones. Again, it was too small for a pair of bots their size, so they made the trip down pressed together awkwardly. It was made worse by the fact that they shared the lift with three drones. The drones didn't stare or acknowledge their presence, but they did take up precious room. Prowl revved uncomfortably. Jazz snickered at Prowl's discomfort. Finally at the right sub-level, they squeezed out of the confining cage, rolling their joints and flaring out flexible parts of their armour, rearranging everything that had been displaced. Prowl attempted to move ahead for the door that would take them into the regular hallways, but Jazz grabbed his arm and yanked him back.

"Ah checked your schematics- ya have the right magnetic components," he said before popping open a panel on Prowl's arm. Prowl didn't jerk away. He stood still and observed as Jazz skilfully manipulated field harmonics and pulse rates. With a devilish smile, Jazz flicked the manual switch and suddenly Prowl… disappeared.

This wasn't the first time he had ever had his spark resonance suppressed. Covert operations he had been a part of had required dampeners be used to disguise spark resonances for their own protection. No matter how many times he experienced it, he sensation continued to be an unusual one. Especially now, since he was generating the effect instead of an external dampener. Next to him, Jazz quickly disappeared from scanners as well.

"There, now we can go," said the saboteur.

A Cybertronian did not depend very greatly on their sense of sight compared to their dependence on reading sparks. There was little use in being able to visually recognize anyone when a Cybertronian's appearance could be altered drastically relatively easily, from paintjobs to frame modifications to full reformatting. Unless a function specifically required a bot to use their optics for visual recognition, very few Cybertronians developed good visual skills. Spark signatures were virtually unchangeable, and therefore a better identifier to recognize bots by.

Tactically speaking, visual recognition was a valuable skill to have. Prowl had developed his sense as best he could in order to be the best tactical advisor he could be. His efforts obviously paid off, since he had been able to recognize Jazz even without a spark resonance. He had a feeling he would be able to recognize Jazz no matter what.

As the pair passed down the lower-levels halls, they were mostly dismissed as drones by the Autobots they passed. Without spark signatures to catch their attention, there was no reason for anyone to look up. Bluestreak, as a trained sniper, was more dependent on his optics than most, so he recognized the pair right away. He raised his hand to say hello, then hesitated when he couldn't detect their sparks.

"Covert operation," Prowl murmured as he passed the mech. "Say nothing to no one."

"…yes, sir," Bluestreak said, moving on down the hall with a clearly confused look on his faceplate.

Prowl felt marginally redeemed of his lie-telling abilities.

Jazz merely chuckled to himself.

They slipped into an empty training room and locked the door for privacy. Jazz undid his own magnetic dampeners first, then undid Prowl's.

"Well, that was an adventure," said the saboteur lightly.

"Yeah," Prowl replied. He frowned, once again uncertain what his fate in the near-future was going to be.

Without ceremony, Jazz connected to the control panel and activated the desired program. Within moments, the ornate dojo of his past formed.

Having expected the dojo, Prowl was not distracted by it. He instead focused on Jazz and inclined his head. "For a while, I was unsure if you were going to continue our meetings or not."

"Never said Ah wasn't gonna keep doing this. It just took meh a little bit ta figure a few things out," Jazz said with an airy gesture of his hand. "Ah figured them out, so here we are." He nodded toward the dais, trotting over and leaping up. If there was any hesitation in the bot from their last encounter, there was no evidence of it.

Prowl leapt up next to the saboteur, waiting for the new lesson to begin and hoping it wouldn't result in him fighting for his life or Jazz nearly having a meltdown.

"Sit," Jazz ordered.

Still unsure, Prowl walked to the middle of the dais and assumed the correction pose.

"Last time we were here, ya nearly blew mah mind right out of mah head," Jazz said. He did not sit down as he had commanded Prowl to do, but rather paced the perimeter of the dais like a predator. "Ya know, Ah actually took that night ta defrag my entire hard drive, 'cause that little memory of yours jarred everything."

"I had no idea that a backlash was so volatile," Prowl admitted solemnly. "You left so abruptly that I never got to apologize for-."

"Don't bother. Not interested in your apologies," Jazz snorted. "Ah'm interested in what's in that head of yours."

"You know what's in it now… to an extent. What are you going to do about it?" Prowl craned his neck to keep Jazz in his sights as the bot continued to circle the dais. He didn't feel comfortable having his back to the bot.

"Not gonna stab ya in the back, if that's why ya keep watchin' meh like that," Jazz said, arching an optic ridge.

Prowl rolled his optics, almost smirking at being called on his paranoia. "Excuse me if I am being a little uptight, but after several orns of inexplicable silence from you, I would be a fool not to think you were plotting something."

"To be fair, Ah have been plotting something, just not something terribly diabolical."

"For once," Prowl pointed out with small smirk.

Jazz wagged a clawed finger. "It may not be diabolical, but the adjectives 'nefarious' 'insidious' and 'arduous' may still apply."

"Arduous?"

Jazz waved a dismissive hand. "Mostly for you. Ah get the easy parts."

"Why am Ah not surprised?" Prowl drawled.

"Because ya know meh too well now," Jazz replied.

Prowl inclined his head, accepting the answer. Internally, he registered the truth with a fine amount of surprise. There was still a lot about Jazz that he did not know, but he was willing to bet that he knew more about the mech than any other Cybertronian had had the privilege to know in a long time. He was strangely honoured by that fact.

Jazz appeared to realize the same thing; Prowl was one of the very few bots on Cybertron to know him. Knew him better than he had ever let anyone else learn. He had shared very little of himself with Prowl compared to what he knew of the tactician, but the things he had revealed were details he had not given to anyone else. Ever.

Jazz found that he was not offended by the idea of being understood by Prowl.

Prowl cleared his vents politely. "Apparently I do not know you well enough or I would have an idea of what you have been up to these past orns."

"Ah've been doing research," Jazz informed, easing to the floor to sit. "Ah've been tryin' ta dig up as much as Ah could on whatever is going on inside your head, 'cause it sure as pit ain't normal."

"And suddenly everything makes sense," Prowl intoned dryly. "The reason you haven't spoken with me is because you've been busy stalking every medically trained bot on base in order to corner them and appropriate from their heads any files you deemed pertinent to my condition. Am I right?"

Jazz leaned back on his hands comfortably. "It's not like Ah had the luxury of asking them what Ah wanted ta know."

Prowl arched an optic ridge. "The task seems simple enough for a bot of your talents. What took you so long?"

"Ah'll have ya know it's harder than it sounds ta knock a medic unconscious. They got all those backup programs that keep bringing them back online if they pass out for some reason." Jazz huffed a little.

"If you had just gone through Ratchet's mind, I'm sure you would have found everything you needed," Prowl pointed out.

Jazz arched both optic ridges incredulously. "Do Ah look like Ah have a death wish?"

"Perhaps for other bots, but not for yourself," Prowl said honestly. He hadn't meant it as a joke, but his tone came out unusually light…

Their gazes caught. They paused. Smirked. Then looked away.

Jazz shrugged. "Ah've been stuck rootin' around every second-rate medic's mind around here. Ah wanted ta know as much as Ah could before Ah came back ta ya."

"And what did you find out?" The curiosity in his voice did not have to be faked. Prowl was honestly and anxiously curious of what Jazz had discovered. If it was anything that would help him, it was invaluable information to have.

"Well…" drawled the silver minibot. "Found out your unique condition has a name."

"And? What is it?" Prowl leaned in, his desire to know mounting.

Jazz smirked devilishly. "Ya sure ya want ta know?"

"Yes!" There was no disguising his eagerness now. It might very well be his downfall.

Jazz had the audacity to laugh. "Alright, alright, no need ta get testy. What ya have is a little something called 'Emotional Maximum Output syndrome.'"

Prowl leaned back, unfamiliar with such a condition. He ran the name through his data banks and came up with nothing.

Jazz laughed at the confusion coming across the tactican's faceplate. "It's also called EMO syndrome."

"EMO syndrome?" That sounded vaguely more familiar. But not in a good way. It left him feeling a little insulted inside.

Jazz nodded. "Yeah, EMO syndrome."

"I'm an EMO?"

"Yes, you're an EMO."

Prowl stared for a good long breem before saying, "You're making that up."

"Prowler, Ah am a liar about many things, but Ah swear there is no lie Ah could ever tell that is better than telling ya the truth right now," Jazz said honestly, with no small amount of amusement. "Mah extensive research informs meh that ya suffer from Emotional Maximum Output syndrome. It is a real, albeit rare, medical condition. You are an EMO. Get used to it."

Prowl didn't want to get used to it. This was yet another example of how he could humiliate himself without even trying. He had a medical condition that sounded more like a bad joke than a serious ailment. Great.

Prowl stared at Jazz's twitching faceplate with no small amount of chagrin. He never should have bothered to try to learn more about himself. He had been fine functioning in the manner he had been, right? There was nothing wrong with long periods of numbness followed by sporadic instances of blinding agony. He was accustomed to it by now.

If he invested himself in forgetting this meeting ever happened, perhaps he could return to that blissful place of ignorance. If he made the right kind of deal with Jazz, the saboteur could be made to forget as well…

Jazz cleared his vents discreetly, barely able to keep his faceplate straight.

Needlessly, Prowl asked, "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

Jazz suddenly grinned broadly. "Immensely."

"Nothing I ever say or do will make you forget this, will it?"

"Forget what? The fact that there is a condition called EMO syndrome, or the fact that you are an EMO? There's nothing wrong with being an EMO. Actually, Ah kinda like saying the word EMO. There's something about EMO that makes meh smile. Pairing you and the word EMO in the same sentence is very entertaining." If it was possible, Jazz's grin stretched wider.

"Please stop saying that word," Prowl groaned.

"That only makes meh wanna say it more," Jazz laughed. "EMO."

Prowl let his faceplate drop into his open palms. Perhaps he could erase all his memories, move to a Neutral camp, and live the rest of his life as an amnesiac hermit. Yes, that was his best option. An amnesiac hermit living as far away as he possibly could from anyone who could recognize him. Being an EMO was just plain humiliating.

To his immense surprise, he felt a hand on his shoulder. Not a mocking hand poking and prodding him, either. It was… comforting?

"Hey," Jazz said. His voice was soft now, completely contrary to the tone he had just been using.

Prowl tried to shrug him off, but the hand remained.

"Hey," Jazz said again, this time with a little more emphasis. "It's not the end of the world."

He looked up, meeting Jazz's gaze. The visor was gone. He could still see humour in the mech's optics, but he'd reined it in, ordering his expression into something neutral and inoffensive. Prowl's gaze slowly traveled to the hand grasping his shoulder. It remained there for an astrosecond more before falling away.

"Ah don't care what the damn thing is called. Ah said Ah was gonna help ya, and Ah am," the saboteur said. "Just don't expect meh not ta make fun of ya while we're doing this."

Prowl sighed, the edges of his mouthplates almost curling up. How odd it was to know he could depend on Jazz to stick with a challenge no matter the odds. It was oddly comforting in a twisted kind of way. He sat up straighter, raising his chin so that he no longer looked so defeated. Jazz was right; this was not the end of the world. Knowledge was power. He knew what affected him now. He needed to know how to fix it.

Meeting Jazz's gaze once more, Prowl inclined his head. "Tell me what you know, please."

Surprisingly complacent, Jazz nodded. "Alright… The condition affects about one in every five hundred thousand pre-programs, and mostly only those who have been brought online without emotion, like yourself. Causes aren't a hundred percent clear, but it's suspected that bots who try to repress or delete emotion end up concentrating and magnifying them instead. There could be other issues compounding this one, like corrupted data or a crosswiring. Most bots figure out something's wrong quick enough, but you've let it carry on for a while..."

Prowl nodded. "Is there any treatment?"

Jazz made a face. "The same treatment there is for everything else- reprogramming or deletion." He paused, then asked, "Ya had a dampener installed, didn't ya? The one that was developed for the war, Ah mean."

An emotional dampening program that had been ordered to be installed in all operating warriors on both sides of the war. It had been a necessary development. Before the program, bots who became overwhelmed by the war would simply lay down in the middle of a battle field and never get up again. Their sparks broken, ripped apart, and beaten down to dust; once they gave up, their sparks faded away within orns. The dampener made it so that warriors didn't feel the horrors of war so strongly. They could carry on fighting. Even though it meant they sacrificed the joys of victory, too.

Storm-grey shoulders drooped, and Prowl's optics dimmed. "Yes, for all the good it did me." Which it had done no good at all. The program had barely put a dent in Prowl's problem. That should have been a hint that there was something different about him. He should have swallowed his pride and sought Ratchet for help… But he didn't, so here he was, with one of the most dangerous bots on the planet, depending on him for help. Prowl searched Jazz's white gaze, then asked, "Did you…?"

"Get the dampener installed? Nah, didn't need it. There are worse things to live through than this war." He said it so nonchalantly, as if it didn't matter anymore. As if it never mattered in the first place. But there were also shadows in his optics, left there from whatever he had been forced to live through.

Prowl looked away.

Jazz shifted. "Ah take it reprogramming and deletion are out of the question?"

"Yes."

"Figured as much," said the saboteur. "We'll just have to do it the hard way. It'll be the way Ah learned ta do things, but since you feel things so strongly… it'll be harder learning control. Like trying ta control a hurricane. Ya up for that?"

"Do I have a choice?" Prowl sighed.

"Not really." Jazz suddenly moved to his feet, holding out a hand to help Prowl up. His visor was down again, his faceplate turned away as if he couldn't stand to look at Prowl directly. Or even look at him at all. "It won't be pretty. It's gonna hurt, a lot. If it hurt for meh, it's gonna hurt a thousand times worse for ya."

Prowl felt unease churn through his spark. He could not imagine what kinds of things Jazz had been through to make his faceplate look so haunted. But he didn't have to imagine, did he? He was going to find out. There was no backing down.

He came to his feet and stood tall. "It has to be done. I'm ready."

"I know," sighed the saboteur. "And Ah'm… sorry."

Shocked to have an apology for anything, Prowl sputtered, "For what?"

"For what Ah'm about to do."

A fist came up and punched him dead center in the faceplate.