Hey everybody, here's the next chapter. Big shout out to 1bloodtempest for reading this chapter and chatting with me about it. I do so love talking with a reader and hearing their opinions on matters. ^_^
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Chapter 17
Not for the first time in the last couple of joors, Jazz glanced up from his work to stare at the gatecrasher in his makeshift office. She hadn't done a single useful thing since she'd walked in. Actually, she was the opposite of useful. She was lazy and taking up space. It was starting to get annoying. Doing slag like that was okay for him because he could do it with style; anyone else who tried getting away with slag like that tended to be an irritation.
"Shouldn't ya be doing something?" Jazz asked, arching an optic ridge.
Firestar looked up from her previous distraction of doing nothing, her frame artistically draped across her chair for best viewing quality. Her optic ridges arched pointedly at him as she asked, "You want me to interface with you? That's something fun I could be doing." Her gaze wandered to Jazz's interface panel, the invitation in her gaze undisguised and unmistakable.
Knowing her talents, Jazz considered the offer for a moment. He liked interfacing for pleasure with Firestar because she was a Kaon pleasure bot; they were notoriously vicious creatures. Not quite a challenge to him, but she provided adequate entertainment. However, now was not the time for distractions. "Maybe later," he said.
"Too bad," Firestar shrugged, hardly perturbed by the matter. She went back to counting dust particles in the air.
Jazz briefly rubbed the bridge between his optics, sorely tempted to throw the femme out. Did she even realize how much danger she was in the longer she sat in his company doing nothing? She probably did have an idea of the danger and, being the femme that she was, she probably got off on it. Disgusted, Jazz asked, "Aren't your little pets worried that you're spending so much time with meh?"
"My pets? You must mean Inferno and Red Alert, right?" The femme tossed her head back and laughed. "What they don't know won't hurt them. I love them and all, but they won't stop me from doing my job."
"You're not a pleasure bot anymore- in case ya forgot. Ya don't gotta pleasure meh," Jazz pointed out. "Plus, you're annoying meh right now."
"Some programs die hard. My annoying programs die the hardest," Firestar replied cheerfully. She then slanted him a sly look. "Besides, who says that my pleasure function was the job I was talking about?"
Jazz's gaze turned shrewd as he watched the femme over the top of his desk. "Elita One sent you?"
"What do you think?" Firestar laughed. "As much as I want to say it's your stunning personality that keeps me around, my commander's orders take precedence over your charm." She started to examine the tips of her short, needle-like claws. "She and Chromia have a special interest in you. Not really a surprise, I guess- if you want to believe the rumours going around. Everyone wants a piece of that action, if you know what I mean." She cast him a sidelong glance, bobbing her optic ridges.
She was referring to the rumours between Jazz and Prowl. The colourful, slightly disturbing, and completely untrue rumours the Autobots twittered about whenever they got the chance, because they were just that bored. There were some orns that Jazz was partially entertained by them, but mostly they just pissed him off because they were something he couldn't control. He levelled a narrowed look in Firestar's direction.
"Ah'm training him, ya vile little femme."
"Right, training. Like I haven't used that as code for something before," she snorted. She was obviously one to believe the fetish rumours. And even if she didn't believe them, she probably daydreamed about them. Firestar was a slightly messed up kind of bot.
"If ya think Ah'm only getting mah kink on with Prowl, why the pit are ya stickin' around here spying on meh?" Jazz asked tightly. "Ya ain't gonna learn nothing from meh."
"Oh, I'm sure you could teach me a thing or two if I stick around long enough," Firestar replied playfully. "But honestly? I don't think Elita One gives a slag about the rumours. She just wants to get to know you- what you're doing, what you're you're planning. Whatever revs her engine." She shrugged unconcernedly. "I'm just following orders."
"If Elita One wants ta get ta know meh, she knows where mah office is," Jazz pointed out dryly.
"Not that you're ever in here very much," Firestar countered.
"True," Jazz shrugged, not really considering it his problem if others had trouble finding him. His office- well, it was a cage without the bars. He'd been given basic supplies; a desk, two chairs, a computer, and filing cabinets. It was so plain. So normal, average, and boring… How could a room like that contain someone like Jazz? He'd never been given an office with the Decepticons. In fact, he'd never even had to write reports for the damned slaggers. If he had something important to say, he generally went straight to Megatron and said it. The thought of being in an office, writing reports, being so domestic… it bothered him. And it wasn't just the domestic part he disliked. It was the isolation.
He worked better in high-traffic areas where there was always noise and activity- like in the courtyards or recreation rooms. If he was looking for quiet company, then he'd join Prowl in the Head Tactical Advisor's office. It was a quirk he refused to admit to, but Prowl had been right all those orns ago when he said Jazz did not deal with isolation well. His mind constantly needed stimulation, constantly needed movement and white noise surrounding him, or he'd drive himself crazy with his own thoughts. Even now, in his current office, it was too quiet for his liking and Firestar was failing to provide adequate distraction for his increasingly frazzled nerves.
"Can't ya do anything?" Jazz complained to his company.
"I said I'd interface with you," Firestar shrugged.
"And Ah said maybe later. If you're gonna ta take up space, do something useful."
Firestar continued to inspect her claws. "Define 'useful'."
"Decode this for meh." He didn't give her much of a choice, since he threw the data pad at her. She caught it before it hit her in the side of the head. A little decoding would be no trouble for her.
The femme perused the data pad, then made a face. "Yuck, decoding. Do I have to? I hate doing this for my own division."
"You're going to do it whether ya like it or not," Jazz said, letting his claws fall back to writing up his work. He didn't even have to look at the keyboard to do it. He arched an optic ridge at the femme. "Ya wanna know why you'll do it?"
"Why?" Firestar asked, pouting.
"Because if ya piss meh off, Ah can hide your dead frame in a place where no one will ever find ya."
"That is a very convincing reason," she said, suddenly laughing. Unlike a normal Autobot, she wasn't afraid. Strange thing that she was, she was a little aroused. "You'd do it, too- wouldn't you? Kill me and hide my frame, I mean. You'd do it for giggles."
"In a sparkbeat," Jazz informed.
Strangely, more laughter came from the femme, her optics sparkling. "Let it never be said that you're a boring mech," she said, grinning.
"Ah try not ta be."
Firestar sighed happily. "Primus, I hope you never go away. Things have been so much better around here ever since you came."
A comment like that was enough to get Jazz to make a typo on his report. He glared at the screen, backspaced, and corrected the mistake. He then stared at Firestar. "Better?"
Firestar didn't even blink. She sprawled out on her chair again and got as comfortable as she dared, getting to work on decoding the data that had been assigned to her. Without looking up, she said- "Yeah, better. You know… like things haven't been so boring around here. I hate boring things."
Jazz arched an optic ridge. "So Ah'm an aesthetic improvement?"
"You could say that," the femme shrugged.
"Ah'm not sure if Ah'm flattered or not."
"Be flattered," Firestar said. She didn't look up from her work, but she did smile broadly "If you're flattered, it means you won't kill me."
Jazz snorted, considering killing her just to have some silence. Then he reconsidered, because he wouldn't like the silence at all. He let himself return to his own work and allowed Firestar to work uninterrupted. To her credit, she actually was working. They managed to get through several silent breems before a particular curiosity of Jazz's drove him to glance up once more to examine his company. As a femme, Firestar was built sleek and quick. Her design had distinct Decepticon elements to it, but the overall frame was Autobot. Jazz knew her opinion of the Autobots as a whole- which was not a very flattering opinion- and yet she stayed. The idea of it seemed strange.
Firestar sensed the attention directed her way, looking up.
Jazz leaned forward, bracing his arms on the ledge of his desk. "Tell meh, if ya hate it so much around here, why'd ya become an Autobot?"
The femme honestly considered the question before answering, "I wouldn't leave Red Alert or Inferno. I love them too much for that."
"You love them?" It was hard not to let a bit of incredulity slip into his voice.
Firestar laughed. "Crazy, I know, but it's true. Even someone like me can fall in love."
"Ah didn't think ya were programmed for it," Jazz drawled.
"I wasn't, but I learned. It was hard not to learn to love Inferno and Red Alert," the femme replied easily. "They helped get me out of Kaon and helped me get into Security Response in Axiom Nexus. I owe them everything, so here I am. I'm an Autobot because they're Autobots." She fiddled with her data pad, her smile softening. "Love makes you do stupid things."
"That's a stupid reason," Jazz said flatly.
"Don't be a hypocrite," the femme admonished playfully.
"Hypocrite?" He arched an incredulous optic ridge.
"Oh, come on!" Firestar exclaimed. She sat up in her chair the proper way and leaned forward, her Cheshire grin stretched wide. "You're kidding me, right? You came here because of Prowl! You're just as bad as I am! And if you think otherwise, you're either a major hypocrite or you're lying to yourself."
"And who says it's not for some other reason?" Jazz growled. "Perhaps Ah really am plotting ta kill this base an' Prowl was mah ticket in here." Honestly, the longer he staged this conversation with Firestar, the more that the option of killing the base was becoming appealing.
"Yeah, right. I'll believe that when rainbow smoke comes out my exhaust pipe," replied the femme. "Everyone knows you came here because of Prowl, even if no one would dare say it out loud with you in the room since they're scared to death of you."
"And yet ya keep runnin' your mouthplates," Jazz pointed out through his own gritted mouthplates.
"I'm special," Firestar laughed. "I wasn't programmed to love and wasn't programmed to fear. Learned to love, but still working on the fear."
"Ah'd love ta help with that," Jazz growled.
Firestar chose to ignore the threat, much to her own peril. She pointed one sharp finger at him. "You. Are. Here. Because. Of. Prowl."
Jazz took a deep drag of air in through his vents, calmly cycled it, then let it out again. He met Firestar's impish optics and calmly stated, "Firestar, Ah suggest ya put your affairs in order, because Ah'm gonna string ya up by your ankles and torture ya ta death."
"Oh, well, um… can you wait until I finish decoding this data pad for you?" Firestar asked politely.
"Sounds reasonable." Jazz agreed. No need to make more work for himself by having to hide her frame and then finish the work he'd originally tasked her with. They lapsed into a comfortable silence, both of them working diligently. Jazz doubled tasked, working on his reports and his scheme to get rid of Firestar. He actually had a very nice plan all laid out for her when there came panicked knocking at the door. A quick scan revealed Red Alert and Inferno on the other side. When an immediate invite was not extended for them to enter, Red Alert began to panic out loud.
"Firestar? Firestar! Answer us! I know you're in there! I saw the femme division's roster!" The knocking ceased as the Security Director took a step back. "Oh Primus, he's probably killed and dissected her by now! Inferno, knock down the door! Knock it down now!"
"If I knock it down, he'll probably kill us, too," Inferno drawled. "Besides, I feel her spark resonance in there. She's fine."
"He could have her unconscious and is taking her apart piece by piece even as we speak!" Red Alert hissed.
"Ah can hear ya just fine in here," Jazz announced loudly with no small amount of irritation.
"And I'm just fine, guys! He hasn't dissected me yet!" Firestar sang cheerfully. She cast an impish gaze in Jazz's direction. "You might as well let them in or they're only going to cause a bigger scene."
Jazz's mouthplates curled in distaste. "Come in," he ordered, releasing the lock on the door. Immediately, two bright red mechs tumbled into the room.
Inferno was the first to see Firestar; his smile was warm and genuine when he saw she was unharmed. He gave Red Alert a hearty slap to the back for the mech's unnecessary panicking. "See? She's just fine. Isn't that right, Firestar?"
"I've been having the nicest time hanging out with my best buddy Jazz," Firestar said as she slid to her feet and went to her mechs. She slid her arms around Inferno and nuzzled his faceplate, then did the same for Red Alert, who eagerly rubbed his faceplate to hers while he scanned her to make sure she was alright.
"We were worried," Red Alert sighed, hugging the femme tight. "The moment I saw that you had been scheduled to, well…" he shot a furtive glance in Jazz's direction. "You know, scheduled to be here, I got Inferno and came right here. If anything had happened…"
"You are so sweet," Firestar drawled, snuggling her little spazy bot. "But I can handle myself just fine, thank you. Jazz wouldn't have done anything to me anyways, would you Jazz?"
"Ah was gonna kill her before ya showed up," said the saboteur.
Red Alert stared in horror, and then twitched.
"And that would be our cue to leave," Inferno intoned brightly, ushering Firestar and Red Alert from the office.
"No, wait, I'm assigned here for the shift!" Firestar squawked, wriggling away. "Chromia will whoop my aft if I skip out."
"You are officially excused from duty by permission of the Director of Security," Red Alert immediately piped in.
"Now if only you would do that for shifts I don't want," Firestar huffed.
The trio were gone shortly after, but Jazz's office was far from devoid of company. Staring at the empty doorway, the saboteur called out to the mech lurking just out of sight.
"Blackhawk."
The Special Operations commander stepped into the doorway. He raised his hands in mock-surrender. "You caught me."
"Ah take it that ya orchestrated this little fiasco?" Jazz drawled.
"How else would I have been able to talk to you alone?"
"You're diabolical," said the saboteur, which he meant as a compliment... mostly.
Blackhawk inclined his head, clearly flattered. "All it took was a little suggestion for Red Alert to review the rosters, and he did the rest." The Special Ops commander did not come into the room even as the door stayed open as an invite. The closest he came to entering was to lean into the doorway, peering in with a look of curiosity and calculation. He took inventory, taking into account every object that could be used as a weapon. He was too smart to walk into a room that small with a mech as dangerous as Jazz already in it.
Jazz leaned back in his chair, observing his new company. Not that tall, built compact, the armour smooth against his frame without any excess horns or spikes. His paint was dull black, non-reflective, and entirely unimpressive. His optics were the only interesting detail about him; one dark blue, the other nearly white. His accent was audibly interesting, but not extraordinary. Blackhawk's personnel file was equally bland. He had the appropriate credentials for his function; infiltration, data hacking and manipulation, and some impressive short-range weapon skills. He ran his division like a well-oiled machine. He had a handful of positive write-ups. No negative ones. There was nothing written about his past before the Autobots.
Jazz gestured vaguely in the air. "Ya said ya wanted ta talk ta meh alone?"
"Yes, I did." Blackhawk stepped aside, motioning to the hall. "Would you mind walking and talking with me?"
"Not at all," Jazz replied, glad for the excuse to leave his office.
He came into the hall and let Blackhawk indicate the direction they would go in. They walked side by side at a moderate pace, their frames keeping an exact distance from each other. They did not touch, not even accidentally, and they did not look at each other while they walked. While Blackhawk had invited Jazz to talk in the hall, the Autobot said nothing for a while and neither did Jazz. Keeping company with each other wasn't exactly awkward, but it wasn't comfortable either. They were both on guard. Jazz found himself wishing that his replacement visor would come in so that he would have something to cover his optics with; without it, he felt unnaturally exposed.
Blackhawk revved quietly, clasping his hands behind his back. "Are you managing your consultant duties well?" he wondered, his tone politely curious.
"Well enough," Jazz replied. Being a consultant for the Autobots was among one of the easiest functions he had ever had to handle. He reviewed important material concerning the war effort and made suggestions where he saw fit. If there was a bot or a team of bots good for a mission, he voiced his opinion on it. He knew the Decepticons well enough, so if suspicions were raised about a certain 'Con's movements, Jazz was consulted on the matter to see what he thought of it.
"Have you encountered any troubles?"
Jazz slanted the taller mech an arched look. "What do ya think?"
"No troubles, then," Blackhawk concluded. "And how are you finding your office suiting you?"
"It's no better than a cage."
The Autobot saboteur inclined his head. "There's not much that can be done about that."
"No, there ain't."
"Good thing you don't spend much time in there, yes?"
"It's a very good thing," Jazz assured.
Blackhawk paused, peering to Jazz with a curious look. "Excuse me for saying this, but I find it hard to envision you working in an office with the Decepticons. You're not the office-type at all."
"Ah didn't have an office with them," Jazz replied nonchalantly. "Don't like confinement much."
"No, I don't suppose you would."
They turned the corner into another hall, continuing to stroll at an easy pace. They passed a number of Autobots who spared them several curious glances. There was always a new rumour about Jazz to garner him both attention when he walked down a hall. Blackhawk gained some attention as well; he was not the subject of rumours often, but his enigmatic nature and the fact that he commanded Special Ops never ceased to generate morbid curiosity whenever he walked into a room.
Another hall passed them by. They came into a windowed corridor that gave them an excellent view of the activity in the courtyards beyond.
"Did ya just bring meh out here ta chat or is there an actual reason you're wasting mah time?" Jazz asked. He could admit that his patience was slightly eroded after having dealt with Firestar. If he took it out on Blackhawk, then so be it.
"I have a reason," Blackhawk assured.
"And that reason would be…?"
"When I first suggested that you become a consult for this faction, I had my own interests in mind," said Blackhawk. "Your talents are wasted in that office, as we both well know. There's not a bot on the planet who could be fooled into thinking you're content with office work. You'd rather be out in the field doing what you do best, yes? Infiltration and sabotage, data mining, viruses-."
"Torture is also a talent of mine," Jazz intoned flatly, not sure where this conversation was going.
"Yes, it is." Blackhawk's mismatched gaze glinted enigmatically. "My point is, you are not someone who sits around in an office all orn doing reports. You're not even the kind of bot who sticks around long in one place. You're used to freedom, doing what you want and heeding to no one."
It almost sounded like an offer to give him those things, which was a needless offer. Jazz curled his mouthplates in distaste. "Ah could have all of that if Ah wanted, without your help."
"True. I find it strange that you haven't taken it yet," Blackhawk intoned with a shake of his head. "What I am proposing is that you take those freedoms, but do so with my division. Simply put… I wish you to work with my division. I'm very interested in learning for you. With your talents, you would be invaluable to my division. In return, you get to do what you do best while increasing your value to the Autobots."
"And Ah care about what the Autobots think about meh because…?"
The sides of Blackhawk's mouthplates curved. "If you didn't care, then you, Prowl, and Ratchet would not have spent so much time covering your tracks. As it stands, you can understand my relief that Prowl is no longer falling down stairs or involved in horrible driving accidents."
Jazz scowled. Those were definitely not his best lies.
They continued walking aimlessly. They passed out of the windowed corridors into another compound on base.
Blackhawk revved quietly. "Well? Are you interested in working with the Special Ops division?"
"Out of the goodness of mah own spark?"
"Pretty much."
Jazz sighed. "Why not? Ah'm bored anyways."
Blackhawk said nothing, but smiled and nodded.
They continued to walk through Iacon's halls in each other's company. Jazz had no inclination to return to his office. Blackhawk didn't seem like he had anywhere to be, content to wander around until something better came along. With their conversation now ended, there did not seem any reason for them to continue with each other, yet they did not separate.
Jazz cast his fellow saboteur a sidelong glance. "You're from the colonies, aren't ya?"
"Yes, I am. There's no particular colony I call home, but I do come from them," replied Blackhawk. His accent, which he never bothered to mask, marked him as a colony bot. He made no secret of the fact. "I don't recognize your accent, though. Are you from the colonies as well?"
Jazz let his gaze linger suspiciously on his company for a moment, but discovered that Blackhawk seemed genuinely interested rather than digging for information to hold against him. That encouraged him to say, "No, Ah don't come from any particular place. Mah accent isn't a colony one, it's planetary, but it's old. Extinct now, except for meh."
Blackhawk considered the information he had just been given, then said, "I never expected you to tell me so much."
Jazz hesitated, then frowned. "Ah never expected ta say so much."
An almost-smile crept across the Autobot's faceplate, similar to Prowl's invisible smiles but not as handsome. "How about I give you something in return? I will tell you a secret of my own."
Intrigued, Jazz nodded his interest.
"We met once before, did you know that?"
"Ah've met a lot of bots," Jazz replied evenly. "Let meh guess… Ya were Security Response? Tried ta arrest meh once and it didn't work out for ya?"
"Not quite," Blackhawk chuckled ruefully.
Someone suddenly called the commander's designation. Both Jazz and Blackhawk turned to see who it was, discovering Nightbeat intersecting them from a connecting hall. Nightbeat was part of Special Ops; like most operatives of the division, Jazz could not find much information on him beyond basic credentials. After pleasantries were exchanged between Special Ops commander and subordinate, they dealt with some encoded information that had come into Nightbeat's possession. Instead of being left out, Jazz was brought into the conversation. They discussed the matter quickly, then Nightbeat left to deal with the data on his own.
Blackhawk waited for his subordinate to be gone before he returned to their original thread of conversation. "I was just an apprentice when I met you," he said to Jazz. "My mentor dealt directly with you."
"Ah see."
"She happened to be an arms dealer and a pirate."
The smile of interest wavered on Jazz's mouthplates. He'd met a lot of arms dealers and pirates in the past. None jumped out at him as particularly important.
"There was this one meeting my mentor had with you. She was supposed to have this big shipment for you from an alien world. It would have been a lot of credits to sell off, but she wasn't able to commandeer the ship to get the weapons off it. You weren't happy when she told you that." There was no inflection in Blackhawk's voice; it remained impartial, as if the story was only a story and not a piece of his life.
Jazz stopped in the middle of the hall, turning to the other mech. He knew himself too well, especially himself back then. Violent. Volatile. Merciless. He had never liked it when others failed to do what they were supposed to. He could guess where this story was going, and he didn't like it one bit.
"My mentor, she was called Ace. She was all I had in the universe." Finally, there was a bit of emotion in the Autobot's voice. Longing. Sadness. Quickly as it came, it was bottled away. "Before the meeting, she told me to hide and gave me a dampener so my spark signature was hidden. I wasn't allowed to move or make any noise. She was so scared that if you found me, you would kill me. From where I was hidden, I could see the whole meeting. I saw you fight with her..."
Cold foreboding flooded Jazz's spark. His fists clenched at his sides.
"…and then I watched you kill her."
Jazz's optics shuttered and he wished more than anything that he had his visor to hide behind. He was stunned by the depth of... shame he felt. He still did not recall any pirate called Ace. He'd known a lot of pirates. Dealt with a lot of them and killed quite a few- some for business, some for pleasure. Even knowing her designation, knowing that he'd killed Ace with his bare hands, didn't illuminate her identity. It was all just a blur. That seemed to make the matters worse. Someone who meant so much to Blackhawk meant less than nothing to Jazz.
Blackhawk did not appear to feel any pity for Jazz as he watched the mech. There was no anger on his faceplate either. He just watched. "I waited for you to leave and I crept out of my hiding spot. You didn't leave much of Ace intact. All I could take was her optic." He raised a hand, touching just below his right optic- the light blue one. "I carry her with me always now." He let his hand fall back to his side. "That's my secret. I was a pirate once, until I met you."
"Ah'm…" the words got caught in Jazz's vocal processor. He didn't want to say the words, but something forced him to; he steeled himself, then forced the bitter-tasting words out: "Ah'm sorry."
"Don't be," Blackhawk assured. "I let go of my grudge a long time ago. It was just business back then. Ace knew what she was risking when she tried to deal with you. As sad as it seems, I owe you quite a lot. If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't have turned away from that lifestyle."
Jazz cast his gaze to floor. "Ah shouldn't have killed her."
"There's nothing we can do about it now," Blackhawk sighed. "I never thought that I would meet you again, but here we are, doing business together."
Jazz peered sidelong at his company. "If Ah was the one ta kill your mentor, why did ya suggest Ah become a consultant for your side? Ya should hate meh, not want meh ta work with ya."
"I can't hate someone who doesn't exist anymore," Blackhawk replied. "It was a long, long time ago when we met; you are not at all like you were then. We're both different bots now. I have a division to run and I am interested in having the very best contribute. Objectively speaking, you are the very best. I suggested you become a consultant here because, regardless of our past together, you are still a valuable ally to have."
"Ah see." This was all just business to the mech. Jazz could appreciate that. He was good at business, too.
Blackhawk inclined his head, almost smiling- the gesture both sad and mildly amused. "All I can really say is that I hope our dealings now will turn out better than they did back then." He extended his hand to Jazz. His gaze was mild. Staring at the offering, Jazz offered his own hand; they grasped each other tightly, then released.
Blackhawk smiled, turning away and continuing to walk down the hall.
Jazz watched the mech leave, and then turned down a different hallway. He did not go back the way he came, choosing instead to move in a different direction.