Urgh, I'm so sick right now it feels like my head is going to explode. Lord only knows if my ability to write has been impaired. Gods, I hope not. *shudders* Anyways, I've agonized over trying to write this chapter for weeks. After the intensity of the last chapter, there was no way I could possibly top that. And now that inspiration for this story is back, I get sick? Hells bells, someone must hate me. -_- I hope to Paradise and back that this chapter lives up to the quality and intensity established by the story thus far. Enjoy it, my friends!
I offer my most sincere and humblest thanks to the reviewers of the last chapter. Each of you serve as little lights that keep my inspiration glowing- even as I fret and fumble with the words to write. I can never express the full depth of my gratitude to you all, but I hope you understand that the effort and enthusiasm that you place in your reviews means more to me than words can express. Thank you to sockets, FoghornLeghorn83, renegadewriter8, phoebe turner, PrancingTiger86, DeAD oN SIghT, CNightJoy, smoking caramels, Fiera Sabre, Anon, animelover1993, Optimus Bob, Kai-Chan94, Darkeyes17, ChaosGarden, Christina, Jinx, Faecat, shadowblade-tara, Guardian Moon Dragon, Peacewish, xdragonslayerx, Nightblooming Orchid, Midnight Marquis, Got Buttermilk, Sideslip, Deathcomes4u, abarai-san, brisingr1109, Pruhana, UsagiLovesDuochan, Swedish Dragon, Daklog73, 1bloodtempest, BoredTech, chaitea16, A Lurker, Bluebird Soaring, Xenophobic Doll, Lecidre, aughoti, fauxfaia, JenEvan, Uniasus, Patcher, Katea-Nui, and bRamble Girl~
Read, Review, and Enjoy~ ^_^
Chapter 22
The flight back to Iacon base was thankfully quiet. With Bluestreak sedated, there were no screams to echo through the hull of the small ship. He was silent, strapped down to an anchored berth attached to the wall of the small carry hold in the back of the ship. Restrained as he was, the sniper was not completely motionless; in the silence, the sound of shivering metal vibrating against metal could be heard over the dull droning of the engines. He would not stop shaking no matter what First Aid did for him.
The ship itself was a relatively small one, containing only two essential compartments- the cockpit up front and the carry hold in the back. Sideswipe had taken the cockpit, given that he was the best pilot out of them all. He would get them back to base the quickest... if he didn't decide to goof off. Given the circumstances, and the warning growl he received from Sunstreaker the moment he jumped in the pilot's chair, the red twin would be doing nothing but proper flying. This was aided by the fact that after Sunstreaker made sure Bluestreak was safely strapped down and comfortable, he took up the seat next to his brother and proceeded to brood darkly in the cockpit. One wrong move on Sideswipe's part, and no one had any doubt that Sunstreaker would violently correct the behaviour.
With Bluestreak's berth taking up much of the room in the back of the ship, there wasn't a lot of space for the three other bots travelling to Iacon.
First Aid invested much of his attention in his patient. Although he could do little for Bluestreak's mental condition in comparison to Ratchet's skills, there was still some minor work he could do. Instead of being directly hooked up to the sniper's mind, First Aid delegated the work to a portable computer, which he rapidly clicked away at in order to start re-sequencing the least damaged data he could find. His back was turned to Prowl and Jazz; usually this was considered the most dangerous position anyone could be in when knowing Jazz was behind them, but First Aid placed his full trust in Prowl to keep the saboteur in line.
Prowl, for his part, sat tensely on the bench seat built into the wall. Next to him was Jazz, who displayed an even more intense case of rigidity, driven up a notch by the fact that he hadn't recharged in several orns. The saboteur's savaged appearance did not lend him any aesthetic relief either; he was scratched and scuffed, embodying the appearance of a bot who had been travelling hard for several orns. Their brief confrontation in the alley had not helped the saboteur's condition, perhaps only driving him farther to the edge. Prowl knew that Jazz would never admit to the fact, but the saboteur was tired and in desperate need of recharge and repairs. Jazz's tension only wound tighter the closer they drew to base.
Deciding to be kind, Prowl dug into subspace and removed a cube of energon. He cast First Aid a suspicious look first, but the medic showed no signs of being aware of anyone but Bluestreak. Once assured that there would be no witnesses, he offered the cube to his silver companion. Jazz discreetly tensed at the movement, perhaps expecting an attack or else so wound up by now that he was unable to make a move without involuntarily spasming. Prowl met Jazz's gaze through the saboteur's visor, keeping his own expression as neutral as possible. He held the cube out a little farther, offering it more insistently. As expected, Jazz turned his head a fraction to regard First Aid, confirming that the medic's attention was not divided in any way. Then the saboteur watched Prowl calculatingly even as he accepted the cube.
Prowl opened a channel between them, allowing them to speak without being overheard.
"It's concentrated energon," he said. "Ratchet gave it to me before I left with First Aid."
"For Bluestreak?"
"For you. I have one for Bluestreak as well, but he's in no condition to accept it."
The saboteur slanted him a sly look. "And the twins?"
"Let's not ask for miracles," Prowl replied. Ratchet had more than a few choice words for the twins; like most of the Autobots in Iacon, the CMO was under the impression that the twins had disregarded their duties for their own selfish reasons. If the twins thought themselves above Autobots rules, they didn't deserve to be rewarded for it with energon. Prowl felt guilty for the misconception, but had not corrected it.
Jazz met Prowl's gaze for several moments, suspicion lurking behind that glowing diamond visor.
"It's not poisoned," said the tactician. "Ratchet assured me of its purity. He mentioned that it's a concentrated batch since he suspected you wouldn't have recharged since you left base."
"Haven't had a chance ta even close mah optics," Jazz sighed. "Ah swear, this is the last time Ah even deal with Neutrals. They're damn useless."
Prowl smirked, resisting the urge to point out that Jazz technically was a Neutral. Instead, he pressed his hand to the saboteur's, over the cube. "This will give you enough fuel to stay online until you can find a berth to recharge in."
"Remind meh ta thank Ratchet next time Ah see him," Jazz replied, cracking the seal on the cube and tilting it to his mouthplates. He didn't gulp it down like he desperately wanted to. He took a slow taste of it, testing the liquid. It didn't taste peculiar, aside from the extra kick that the concentrated energy afforded it; it skirted the line between regular energon and high-grade. After waiting a moment, he didn't feel any untoward affects if there had been drugs hidden in the drink. Deciding it was safe enough, he swallowed the rest down in earnest.
Prowl watched with interest, though tried to disguise his interest under his usual façade. Internally, his mind raced. With an uninhibited view of the saboteur, he was able to gain a complete assessment of the mech. Surprisingly, for a bot who had recently infiltrated a Decepticon base and rescued several bots, Jazz was not terribly rode off. Evidence of battle could be seen in the burn marks across Jazz's shoulders and down his sides where he had been skimmed by plasma blasts while in a retreat. He was still spattered in dried energon that was not his own. But evidence of battle came in second to obvious wear and tear of travelling hard for several orns. Dust and grime was caked in to all imaginable places, his once-shining armour now dull. His diamond visor was thankfully intact, but the light shining from it was dim.
"If ya keep staring at meh, you'll give me a complex," Jazz transmitted as he finished with the cube. He re-sealed the container and handed it back to Prowl, who slipped it away into his subspace pocket. A moment later, the light behind Jazz's visor brightened a fraction as the extra boost of energy began to take affect.
"You already have enough complexes," Prowl replied, inclining his head.
"Then stop staring, half-bit," Jazz said, snorting softly.
Prowl could not help but allow the edge of his mouthplates to tug upward as he recognized the gist of the last conversation he and Jazz had had before the saboteur left. After a moment, he deigned to looked away politely.
Directly in front of them, First Aid made a noise of frustration. He had finally reached the limit of what he could do for Bluestreak, and that limit did not reach far enough. He could not do as much as he wanted for the sniper. He shot a look back at Jazz for a moment, and then pointedly looked away.
Jazz caught the glance, growling lowly. "Ah did what Ah could."
First Aid tensed, hunching his shoulders. "I know you did."
"But ya wanted meh ta do more."
First Aid shook his head guiltily. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have expected anything more from you. You did enough by rescuing him."
"Yeah, well..." Jazz trailed off, making a rumbling noise like a frustrated growl. "Maybe if the bot who did that to him was a lesser mech, Ah'd have been able ta do more. As it stands...Ah did what Ah could."
The medic looked surprised to hear such an admittance, before smartly turning back to Bluestreak and fussing with him. "Yes, of course. You did what you could. Ratchet... Ratchet will be able to help him now."
It was silent again in the carry hold. Up front in the cockpit, someone was cycling air deeply as if they were recharging. Prowl prayed that the recharging mech was not the same one flying the ship. Deciding that Sideswipe couldn't possibly be that irresponsible, especially when he seemed to have emotional investment in Bluestreak's welfare, Prowl relaxed back into his seat. He was given the chance to think over Jazz's words and found that something about them bothered him...
"What kind of bot could possibly have the skill to thwart you?" he asked via transmission.
Jazz's gaze instantly flashed to him, a fake smirk jerking the corners of his mouthplates. "Well, there's you."
Prowl shook his head. "Who else, besides myself?"
This time, Jazz looked away. Prowl noted that the recently restored energy in the minibot's frame seemed to drain out. "Someone ya don't want ta know, Prowler. He's bad news."
It was a mystery to imagine who could possibly illicit such a reaction in Jazz. Prowl wanted to press for more, but found that doing so at such a moment would be a tactical error. He had just managed to get Jazz to return to Iacon and did not want to risk that tenuous victory. He made a note to himself to question Jazz further on the identity of the mystery mech at a later time. If there was someone out there who left Jazz uneasy, then Prowl wanted to know as much as possible about this threat. For the time being, he was quiet, giving Jazz time to sort through his own thoughts.
The short joors it took to arrive home gave Prowl the chance to treat his own crushed neck, courtesy of Jazz's earlier assault. It was a simple matter of popping out the dents, so he didn't bother to ask First Aid for help. All he needed was a mirror to see what he was doing. Considering who gave him such an injury, Prowl was quite relieved to be alive. There had been such a desperate light in Jazz's optics while they fought that he knew the saboteur had been capable of doing nearly anything. One wrong move and Jazz would have flung himself headfirst back into the insanity he'd once revelled in. Thankfully, their fight had been brief, and Prowl was under the distinct impression that Jazz had only been fighting because he didn't know what else to do.
Once done with his repairs, Prowl cycled cool air through his vents, enjoying the feeling of taking air in and out of his frame unimpeded. His frame sighed, joints relaxing, tension wires easing, hydraulics resting. He recognized that he was calm in Jazz's presence, a shocking contrast to the past couple of orns, which had shown a dramatic increase in his stress levels to nearly beyond what he could handle without shutting down his emotional centre. He had originally attributed the excess stress to Bluestreak's tenuous fate at the hands of the Decepticons. Now he found himself reconsidering the matter. Jazz's presence seemed to elicit a stronger reaction within him compared to Bluestreak's welfare, which was a disturbing discovery to say the least.
Prowl cut a quick look to his silver companion to discreetly assess him again. As he did, he was surprised to find that someone was already watching him. When they caught each other's optics, they looked away quickly.
"We're coming into Iacon now," Sideswipe suddenly announced from the cockpit.
First Aid was the only one to react verbally. He smiled in relief and thanked the red twin warmly for his quick flying.
Jazz nudged Prowl and flicked his visor up to properly roll his optics for the tactician. "It's not like he did anything more difficult than fly in a straight line."
"First Aid is just relieved to be home where Ratchet will able to help Bluestreak."
Jazz shrugged, one hand lifting to grasp one of the bars that hung above their seat. He braced himself for docking in Iacon's hangar. Prowl reached up and did the same. Sideswipe might have been an expert pilot when he wanted to be, but docking was a talent he had yet to perfect. There came a rough jolt as the roof of the ship skimmed the top of the hangar's entrance, followed by a loud slap-crack as the side of the ship collided with one of the docking arms.
Sunstreaker startled online from the noise, instantly shoving his brother from the pilot's chair and taking over. Although he was not as proficient at flying as his brother, the golden twin could dock a ship like nobody's business. It was one of the many strange curiosities about the twins; where one lacked in an ability, the other made up for it.
First Aid went about disconnecting Bluestreak's anchored berth from the wall, the hover pads on the bottom keeping the slab of metal suspended in the air. Bluestreak was still heavily sedated, looking too much like a corpse as he laid there quietly.
The hatch in the side of the ship cracked open with a hiss as the carry hold depressurized. Prowl instantly felt Jazz's tension mount again, like a spring coiled to the point of snapping. If he was backed into a defensive position, it would do no one any good. For the sake of continued peace, Prowl to grasped Jazz's thigh and gripped it tight, anchoring the silver mech to his seat.
"Just sit," he ordered quietly.
A long, low growl was his reply.
Ratchet's head appeared in the hatchway, sweeping the carrying hold before focusing on Bluestreak. First Aid wheeled the berth around and brought it to the CMO, rattling off the list of damages he had encountered so far. He ended with the small bit of good news he had; he had managed to put a few short memories back into place. It was a small victory, but nonetheless, it was something to offer hope. Bluestreak was not a lost cause just yet.
"If it hadn't been for Jazz severing the memory loop when he did, Bluestreak wouldn't have been so lucky," First Aid concluded, nodding toward Jazz.
Ratchet swung around to cast the saboteur a briefly shocked look.
"Ya doubt mah skills, Ratch?" Jazz drawled, tilting his chin up challengingly. He was wound so tight that if the medic said the wrong words, it would be a fight. Prowl's grip on his thigh tightened as the tactician quickly calculated how bad a fight might get in such an inclosed space.
Ratchet smirked harshly. "Doubt your skills? Never. Doubt you? Yes, nearly every time I think of you," he said. One thick optic ridge arched. "I didn't expect to see you here at all."
Jazz met Ratchet's stare with a smirk that was convincingly arrogant. "Ya know meh, Ratch'- Ah just love doing the unexpected."
"Of course you do," grumbled the medic, no short amount of sarcasm lacing his tone. With no more time to spare, he turned his attentions to Bluestreak, he and First Aid gliding the berth down the ramp and straight to med bay. It was going to be a long, hard process getting the sniper back to his old self.
From behind Jazz and Prowl, there came a drawn out groan and the sound of parts cracking back into place as someone stretched. Swinging around, both bots noted that the twins had left the cockpit. Sunstreaker's expression revealed nothing; he was still the cold blank slate he usually was, even though his optics lingered on the hatchway. Sideswipe was easier to read, his faceplate openly caught between a smile and a grimace as he bounced on his feet lightly. Glad to be home at the same time he was dreading what his brother's and his fate would be for supposedly bolting on their own.
"Sideswipe..." Prowl began, rising from his seat. Guilt sparked within him. "I can explain that this was all my idea. Now that you are no longer in the field, there is no danger to you if I divulge the details-."
Sideswipe cut him off with a wave of his hand. "Don't worry about it. Nothing's going to happen that hasn't been done to us a thousand times before."
Sunstreaker didn't even bother to look at Prowl. Instead, he let his ice-like optics settle on Jazz. They sized each other up for a moment, and then the golden one inclined his head. It was either a silent 'thank you' or a 'glad you're back', but no words were said to give voice to the small gesture. Jazz nodded in return, not needing words to understand.
The twins took the lead disembarking from the ship, Prowl and Jazz deciding to take up the rear. The hangar was the same as it ever was- cavernous and busy. What came as a surprise was the small applause that the four mechs got with their appearance on the ramp. It was enough to stun them for a moment, and then Sideswipe took the lead in absorbing the accolades with exaggerated gusto.
Jazz growled softly, turning his head toward Prowl a fraction. "Ah never should have come back."
"You're here now, though. You might as well make the best of it," replied Prowl.
Jazz looked away. Prowl remained watching his companion for a fraction longer, reaching on odd suspicion that the saboteur did not like the applause he was getting. Was it embarrassing him? That didn't seem likely, since Jazz utterly lacked shame in any form. Although, now that he thought about it, Prowl recalled a curious behavioural pattern with the silver mech; shallow praise for showing off was greeted with superiority and smug expectation, but sincere praise for a job well done was met with reluctance and mild hostility.
They were nearly to the bottom of the ramp when Prowl quietly asked, "Why don't you like it when someone thanks you?"
Jazz almost missed a step, only to catch himself in time. He shot the tactician a glare which then melted into something less acidic and more stubborn. "It's not something Ah'm used to."
"Oh." Prowl suspected it was more than that. Despite his intensely narcissistic personality, it was as if Jazz believed he didn't deserve that kind of recognition. Wisely, Prowl kept his observation to himself, because he knew that it would not go over well if he chose to voice it.
There was a small gathering at the bottom of the ramp waiting for them, none of which had been among the bots applauding. Optimus Prime was there, looking regal and stern as he watched the quartet descend. Ironhide was predictably at the Prime's side, arms crossed over his broad chest. Elita One and Blackhawk were also present for some reason, the former looking relieved that everyone had returned relatively unharmed, while the latter was casting his optics back and forth between Prowl and Jazz calculatingly.
Optimus straighten as his warriors came to the end of the ramp, gathering on the solid floor in front of him. He did not let his relief show that his bots were back. He was also careful not to reveal his surprise in discovering the one wild card he had grown accustomed to having around had been convinced to return to Iacon base. Nevertheless, something must have shown on his faceplate, because Jazz picked up on it almost immediately.
"Disappointed to see meh again?" the saboteur drawled, misreading the look he'd seen.
"Quite the opposite," Optimus replied evenly.
Jazz jerked back, mouthplates thinning.
Optimus pressed on, deciding he had little to lose by saying a few words. "I am rather relieved to see you well, and deeply grateful that you went after Bluestreak in the first place. If not for you, I'm afraid we might not have gotten to him in time."
Such a simple statement left the saboteur without a proper barb to throw back at the Prime. Instead, he huffed and grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest tightly. "Whatever. It wasn't that hard ta get the half-bit outta there."
The sides of Optimus's mouthplates twitched, as if resisting the urge to smile.
Sideswipe cleared his vents pointedly. "So, um, me and Sunny are tired and all, so if you'd all excuse us, we're going to go pass out in our quarters." He spun on his heel and tried to make a break for the exit, Sunstreaker calmly following a few steps behind him.
"Hold it, you two," Elita One called after them. Mid-step, the pair froze, and then turned around reluctantly. Unlike most authority figures, Elita One held definitive power over the twins; having once been Sunstreaker's mentor when he had been a young thing learning to be a painter, she was one of the few connections the twins had to their former lives that they had yet to burn.
"You have some explaining to do," Optimus intoned grimly, one optic ridge arched.
Prowl tensed, watching the twins avidly. This was the moment that they were free to blame him for the whole fiasco. They could easily get away scuff-free if they said he had ordered them to go out after Jazz. His relationship with them was volatile at best; they did not like him, and he could not say that he favoured them in the least. It was a perfect circumstance for them to lay the blame at his feet and let him take all the heat for it.
Sideswipe gathered himself up and grinned brightly, full of his usual mischief. His gaze flickered once to Prowl before focusing on Optimus Prime. "Oh, you know how it is, Prime. Me and Sunny- we need big open spaces and room to drive. Iacon just got so confining. The open road was practically begging us for a drive. And wouldn't you know? We ran into Jazz along the way! Coincidence, huh?"
"Yes, what a coincidence," Optimus drawled, clearly not believing a word of it. He'd have to be an idiot to fall for it.
Ironhide snorted quietly in the background.
"Weren't you two supposed to be in the brig, rather than taking irresponsible joyrides?" Optimus intoned. "If I am not mistaken, it was Prowl who assigned you to the brig in the first place."
"It's not exactly the first time we've ever disregarded orders." Sideswipe shrugged, meeting the Prime's stare. "Beside, Prowl's got a stick up his exhaust pipe. Who wants to listen to a glitch like him?" He tilted his chin up defiantly, challenging the mech to call him on the bluff.
Elita One turned her optics on Sunstreaker. "Is that so, Sunny?"
The golden mech scowled deeply. "We were acting under our own volition."
Prowl very nearly gaped. He was saved from making such a slip by having Jazz's sharp elbow ram into his side. Quickly, he fixed his expression to betray nothing.
"If that is the case, then you know your way to the brig," Optimus said. "You'll be there for as many orns as you saw fit to be away from base without leave."
"Yeah, like we didn't see that coming," Sideswipe snorted. "Come on, Sunny. We got brig cells with our designations on them."
They left the hangar without further incident.
Once gone, the Prime's attention was once again on Prowl and Jazz. A moment passed when the Prime watched Prowl carefully, as surprised as the tactician was that the twins had not given him away. Since everyone had returned as unscathed as could be expected from such a mission, and Prime had given his word not to pursue the matter if that stipulation was met, Prowl would not be following the twins to the brig. He and his rank were safe from reprimand.
Jazz shifted when he noticed the Prime's attention turned from Prowl to himself. Immediately, he was on the defensive again. "Don't think ya can get away with sending meh ta the brig like the twins. Ah ain't no Autobot."
"As I understand things, at the time you went after Bluestreak, you had disassociated from the Autobots. Being a free agent, I have no say in your activities," Optimus said with a slight inclination of his head. "Of course, since you did do this out of the kindness of your own spark, you deserve my utmost gratitude."
Jazz scowled. "Ah don't need your gratitude. Ah just need the wash racks and a berth ta recharge in."
Optimus turned and swept his arm to the exit. "You have both here. The wash racks are still where they've always been, and no one has touched your quarters since you've left."
"Good thing, too, since Ah had the place booby trapped."
Blackhawk discreetly turned his faceplate away, hiding the humoured smirk that crossed his features.
"When you are rested up, I hope we can have a debriefing to discuss what happened in the Decepticon camp," Optimus said carefully.
Jazz considered the matter, then tilted one shoulder up. "If Ah feel like it, Ah'll contact ya." He made a move to leave, but stopped when a large hand came down on his shoulder. Not the Prime's, and not Special Ops nor the femme commander. It was Ironhide. Jazz extended his claws, expecting an attack to come. Prowl tensed as well, unsure what Ironhide, of all mechs, could be planning.
A deep rumble sounded, then the words, "You did good."
Sufficed to say, it was more than just Jazz and Prowl to be shocked to hear the low declaration.
Jazz was the first to recover; he smirked, jerking his shoulder away from the weapons specialist's touch. "Never thought Ah'd ever hear ya say those words."
"Never thought I'd say them," Ironhide replied.
"Then let's just keep this at a once-in-a-lifetime thing, shall we? 'Cause Ah ain't planning ta be the hero again any time soon." He breezed past the larger mech, sidestepped the Prime, and didn't even bother to look at Blackhawk or Elita One as he passed them.
Prowl stood rooted to the spot, watching Jazz's retreating back with a curious mix of familiarity and incredulity.
Blackhawk cleared his vents quietly, catching Prowl's optic. "Aren't you going to go after him?"
"Oh? Yes, of course." Spurred into action, Prowl bypassed the commanders in order to trace after the silver mech. He staunchly ignored how too many sets of optics followed his progress out of the hangar. The rumour mill would have a fresh infusion of wild stories now that Jazz was back and Prowl was already following after him. In the saboteur's absence, gossip had been quiet and bored. Prowl could only imagine how wild and illicit the hearsay was going to be now.
Jazz had not managed to go far when Prowl finally caught up to him. They said nothing to each other as the tactician slowed to match pace with the saboteur. Their journey to the nearest wash racks was peppered with various salutations tossed their way; most Autobots were aware of the silver mech's most recent exploit into the borderlands to rescue Bluestreak, and none held back their ecstatic exclamations to see him back. The energetic reception only served to sour Jazz's mood until it was nothing but a dark storm cloud. He really didn't take honest praise well at all.
The moment they made it to the wash racks, Jazz stormed in and grabbed Prowl's wrist, whipping the tactician inside so violently that Prowl nearly stumbled. The door hissed closed and was locked with a code that probably not even Primus could undo.
"You're taking this rather badly," Prowl pointedly out blandly, standing in the middle of the tiled room.
"Mute it!" Jazz snarled, marching to the nearest shower and turning it on at the highest temperature.
Prowl did as he was bid simply because it was the simplest action to take.
Jazz soaked himself beneath the steaming liquid. It was water mixed with citric acid to help slough off the dirt and dried gore that still stubbornly stuck to him. The mild acid added a tangy scent to the damp air, making the rising steam teem with an exotic thrill. He grabbed a nearby wash cloth and started to violently scrub himself, chipping away his accumulated grime as if he could score off all the kindness that had been offered to him. Someone's soap had been left behind in one of the notches on the wall, so he used the stuff indiscriminately; soon his frame was frothing with white suds, but still it was not enough to get rid of the praise he did not want.
In a fit of frustration, he flung the cloth away. Both hands came up to brace himself against the wall, turning his faceplate up to the cascading water to let the boiling stream wash over him, working its way through his frame in a semi-calming manner, ridding him of the damned froth of soap coating him.
Prowl considered the sudden emotion that stuck him as he watched the silver mech struggle with himself, finding that he felt bad for Jazz's confusion. Mostly because he was the cause of such confusion. If he had not gone out with the intention of bringing Jazz back, the silver mech most certainly would not be in the mental situation he was in now. However, Prowl was determined not to feel too badly for his actions, because from the moment Jazz had chosen to seek out Bluestreak, Prowl had known that he had to bring Jazz back. This was the place where the saboteur belonged now, even if he didn't realize it yet.
Without knowing what else to do, he bent to pick up the discarded cloth and approached. In a gesture he never imagined he would ever offer to someone who could be considered one of the most dangerous bots on the planet, Prowl placed the wash cloth to the center of Jazz's back and wiped away a streak of dirt.
"Don't touch meh," Jazz snapped, shirking away from him.
"You can't reach your back," Prowl replied, as if it were the most reasonable thing in the world.
This was apparently the wrong this to say, because Jazz hissed angrily. "Ah don't need your help."
"I'm offering anyways." He reached out to touch the saboteur again, but was countered by a violent smack to his hands. The cloth made a wet splat sound as it landed on the floor. Prowl's world jerked when he found a pair of hands grabbing him by the armour, holding him captive. Jazz was in his faceplate, the glare of his visor blinding the tactician. Every wet inch of the silver mech was pressed against Prowl's storm-grey armour.
"Ah want ya ta tell meh something right now, and ya better be straight with meh or Ah swear Ah'll dismantle ya," Jazz said lowly, dangerously.
Prowl nodded his acquiescence.
"Why were ya on that ship?" the saboteur hissed. His hands relaxed, withdrawing from Prowl's armour; he didn't release him completely, though. His palms rested against the metal, the very tips of his claws scratching against the paint. Those claws could easily slit the energon lines in Prowl's neck, or he could force them under Prowl's armour and straight into his sparkcase.
One dark optic ridge arched. "Do I honestly need to answer that?"
"Ah wanna hear it from your damned mouthplates."
"Fine," Prowl sighed. "This is where you belong."
"No, it's not!" Jazz slammed his palms into Prowl's chest, forcing the taller mech back a step. "Ah told ya Ah didn't want ta come back here."
"Then why did you let me convince you?"
A strangled noise erupted from the silver mech, much like a trapped animal who had no idea where to go anymore. He raised his arms to strike out again, but Prowl circled his wrists and held him tight.
"I know you need an outlet for your frustration, but I don't want to fight right now. We're both tired. I'd rather talk."
"Damn ya ta the pit," Jazz spat, ripping away from Prowl's hold. "You're a fragger, ya know that? A certified fragger!"
"This is not the first time I've been called that," Prowl said blandly.
Jazz snorted violently. "Primus only knows, but Ah should have killed ya all those chances Ah had. Every time you're around, ya manage ta make mah life that much worse!"
"I'm sorry for the trouble I've caused, I really am," Prowl murmured sincerely. "But is it really that bad to have a home and bots who give a damn about you?"
"Ah don't need that slag."
"You don't want it, but I think this is something you need." Prowl dared a step forward, close enough to that nearly every part of him touched every part of Jazz. He stooped for the cloth again, meeting the saboteur's gaze as he placed the wet material against the silver mech's armour. He didn't move; the cloth was merely a metaphorical reference.
Jazz's hand came down on his and tugged the cloth away. A magnetic pulse jolted from his palm, forcing Prowl's hand to drop the cloth to the floor again. "Ah don't need you."
"I never said you did."
Rivulets of water traced down Jazz's frame, catching under the fluorescent lights like diamonds. He opened his mouthplates, then closed them again; he could find no words to say. As his mind worked furiously, he was reminded of how intensely exhausted his frame was. He swayed, and then backed up a step to sit down on the bench beneath the shower spray.
"Ya just had ta be the one Ah interrogated in Straxis, didn't ya?" he sighed quietly.
Prowl sat down without invitation, sitting on the very edge of the bench a polite distance away. "I have no control over how fate works."
Jazz made a quiet noise, almost like a laugh.
A hand reached out, laid to the top of the saboteur's. "Jazz, no one is making you stay here. You came because you wanted to, and you stay for the same reasons. You are becoming as much a part of this place as anyone here-." His hand tightened when he saw Jazz recoiling. "That is not a bad thing, Jazz."
"It's not a good thing, either," the saboteur replied.
"Even if you do not see the fact that you need to be here, would it change your mind if I said I needed you?" Prowl intoned carefully. It was a confession he had been reluctant to admit, but given the circumstance, he deigned it appropriate to announce.
Jazz's optics flashed behind his visor. "Ya what?"
"Not romantically," the tactician was quick to assure. "Never romantically. But your absence did underscore something that I had not realized before. You and I have developed an unexpected partnership over the past vorn. We work well together, and I suspect that this is the first time either of us have found an individual who compliments our unique abilities. I, for one, am reluctant to throw away such an advantageous arrangement."
A derisive snort shot from Jazz's vents. "You're kidding, right? We've both worked alone for most of our lives and that's served us just fine so far. There's no reason ta change a winning formula."
"We are far more formidable when we pool our resources," Prowl pointed out. Briefly, he remembered his original motive for bringing Jazz to Iacon; to make the saboteur into an Autobot to give their side an exponential advantage. He had seen Jazz as a formidable addition to the Autobot forces, as well as a stunning challenge to himself to see if he could manipulate the ultimate manipulator. The desire for that challenge was still there, but now Prowl found that he simply wanted Jazz in Iacon- not for his abilities, but simply for himself.
Jazz's mouthplates curled back in distaste. "Why are ya pushing this so hard? So what if Ah got Bluestreak out? Ain't nothing that a team of yours would have been able ta do." Well, maybe not, considering it would have been Shockwave they were up against, but if it had been any other bot running the show, the Autobots probably would have gotten away... Yeah, probably. Jazz growled, gesturing to Prowl with a quick flick of his hand. "Ya don't need meh at all. Ya even seem ta have your EMO problem under control."
Prowl shook his head. "The reason I am insisting on this is because I want you here. And much to the contrary, I do not have my condition under control. The only reason I seem unaffected is because nothing especially traumatizing has happened yet."
Jazz arched an optic ridge.
Prowl felt the gesture even if he didn't see it. "I would not label you leaving as a particularly traumatizing event, Jazz- no matter how highly you think of yourself. It was merely another concern among the thousands I carry, granted you did take more precedence in my mind than I would have liked."
"Glad ta know ya think about meh," Jazz drawled. He leaned back on the bench, resting his back against the wall. His exhaustion was more pronounced now, his shoulders drooping lower than ever before. It looked like it took more effort that Jazz would have cared to admit to keep his frame upright and online.
Prowl reached for Jazz, only stopping when the saboteur tensed. Their gazes matched, and then Prowl inclined his head expectantly. Jazz eased back, but still watched the progress of the tactician's hand. It travelled up, grasping the control for the shower and turning it off. There was no point in wasting resources, especially when the water had turned lukewarm already and was heading into ice cold. Done with the task, Prowl drew back to his side of the bench. His expression was neutral, borderline solemn.
"If Bluestreak had died, I imagine I would have been in for a very nasty downward spiral," he admitted quietly.
"Ya would have found some way ta blame yourself," Jazz intoned. "Ya blame yourself for things that aren't even your fault."
"It is one of my many failings." Prowl let his gaze fall to the floor. "I appreciate that you held such confidence in me to believe that I could work through this on my own, but I have to confess that I don't have that confidence in myself. If I managed to fail to properly control my emotions the first time around, I fear to think what would become of me the second time around."
Jazz tilted his head back, his horns chinking against the tiled wall behind him. Steam still lingered in the air, making it warm and damp. Both their frames were slick with droplets of water, a mist of condensation clinging to them.
"Ya know, Ah was just sayin' slag ta get meh outta here. Ah didn't actually think ya could do anything without meh."
Prowl stared for several long astroseconds, and then sighed expansively. "At least we are of the same opinion."
Jazz cycled damp air through his vents slowly, exhaling just as slowly. His gaze, shielded by his visor, was nonetheless a burning presence as it turned to Prowl and travelled over his frame. He could feel the saboteur's optics on him almost as a physical touch.
"So... a partnership, huh?" murmured the silver mech.
"It would seem that way," Prowl replied.
"It would probably only make bots around here worse," Jazz grumbled.
"The rumour mill will be exploding with wild accusations," Prowl pointed out lightly, resting his back against the tiled wall in the same manner Jazz was.
"Sideswipe's in the the brig right now, so their main contributor is out of commission for the time being..." the saboteur said consideringly.
Prowl shot his companion an arched look. "And I have no doubt that you have your own ways to deal with the rest."
"Ah have mah own ways, alright," Jazz replied wryly, the corners of his mouthplates turning up. "But coming back here don't mean Ah'm one of you now, got that? It don't mean Ah'm gonna be going after every lost spark dumb enough ta get caught by 'Cons. And Ah ain't taking no oaths or wearing no faction symbols. Ah'll work with ya, Prowler, but Ah'm still gonna be mah own mech."
"I wouldn't have it any other way," Prowl replied with a brief smile, content with the arrangement.