This chapter did not come as smoothly as the last, but alas that's life, right? I wanted to give a little update on Bluestreak's recovery as well as peek into the behind-the-scenes scheming of the commanders of the Autobots. It's not just Prowl who has an invested interest in Jazz, you know?

Major thanks to the reviewers of the last chapter: Got Buttermilk, Optimus Bob, renegadewriter8, Kathy3meme, phoebe turner, femme4jack, FoghornLeghorn83, Christina, smoking caramels, sparklespepper, Darkeyes17, Jinx, shadowblade-tara, DitzyMusicLover, CNightJoy, Shizuka Taiyou, ChaosGarden, Daklog73, Patcher, chaitea16, abarai-san, Peacewish, Kai-Chan94, BoredTech, MoonWallker, Lecidre, UsagiLovesDouchan, Faecat, and A Lurker! You guys are amazing~! Thanks so much for taking the time to read this story and leave behind such inspiring reviews. You're the magic that keeps this story going. =P

Chapter 26

The courtyard hosted more bots than usual for one of Prowl's circuit-su lessons. It was fair to say that the majority of the newcomers were not interested in what was being taught in the least. What was more disconcerting was the fact that bots who had attended the circuit-su sessions since they first began were now more interested in other matters beyond the lessons. The 'other matters' which were drawing new bots and distracting the old ones largely concerned Iacon's resident Head Tactical Adviser.

Prowl was... different.

Not drastically different, but subtly so. He still had the same basic personality, which consisted of a distinct lack of personality where most Autobots were concerned. Same frame, same paint, same everything else... but he wasn't exactly the same. He was different in a way that was not entirely noticeable at first, yet if a bot were to be around him for an extended period of time, they would begin to notice that Prowl was not the same Prowl he had always been. It was particularly difficult to articulate the distinctly new nuances the tactician was exhibiting, but nonetheless they were there for those who took the time to notice.

These new quirks became especially pronounced during circuit-su lessons, which was the basis behind so many new Autobots creeping into the lessons. Iacon base was not always exciting, so any little bit of gossip was worthy of checking out. If there was a bot making a spectacle of themselves, far be it from any Autobot to miss such a show, even the suntle kind.

Instead of the usual indifference that Autobots were accustomed to, Prowl showed investment in what he was teaching. It wasn't just a duty to better prepare soldiers, he wanted to teach them. He was interested in their improvements and failures. Pit, there was one orn when he almost looked happy when a few new Autobots showed interest in the circuit-su lessons. That in itself was amazing, since most bots assumed that Prowl didn't do happy. Ever.

Most shocking of all had been the afternoon just as practice got off that Prowl had overheard a simple joke passed between friends and he had laughed at it. Laughed at it. Albeit the laugh had been nothing more than a brief, quiet chuckle, but it was still evidence that Prowl actually had a sense of humour. It was the first time that anyone beyond Smokescreen or Jazz had ever heard a true laugh from Prowl. The incident was nearly urban legend status by now.

No one had any doubt who was the source of such subtle changes.

Jazz was, after all, still a wild card in Iacon. At present though, he was acting relatively tame. It had become habit for him to be present during Prowl's circuit-su sessions with the Autobots. Usually he did not deign to join unless he had the opportunity to demonstrate proper execution of a particular series of movements or if Prowl invited him to spar. Most orns, the saboteur was mildly content to lounge on top of one of the benches that lined the courtyard. As per the usual, he had a cube of energon for himself set near his knee, already a quarter gone. Behind him was a second, untouched cube which no one had any doubts was for Prowl after the lesson.

Like Prowl, there were new, subtle nuances about Jazz that caught many bots' interests. Again, like Prowl, these particularly new changes, which could even be considered improvements, became especially notable during the circuit-su lessons. At one time, the saboteur might have delighted in heckling the group. Harassment worked well, too. Anything that would cause a disturbance and bother everyone within the general vicinity. Now he was quiet in his observations... except when he saw someone doing something wrong. In those cases, he did not hesitate in calling them out on their failures.

Like now.

"You're doing it wrong!"

So used to Jazz's random outbursts, very few bots bothered to react. The only ones who looked up were Prowl and the Autobot being addressed. For the failing bot, who happened to be Warpath, he buzzed in embarrassment and hung his head. Prowl, on the other hand, turned to face Jazz immediately with a flat stare.

"Instead of pointing out their failures, why don't you help correct them?"

The saboteur laughed as if it were a bad joke. "Ain't the way Ah learned."

Prowl frowned softly, tilting his head ever so slightly. "Things have changed since then, Jazz."

Jazz drew back a little, pursing his mouthplates.

The courtyard drew in a collective breath, not sure what to expect. Was a fight about to break out? One never knew when it came to a bot like Jazz. He might act semi-tame from time to time, but he was still liable to attack with little provocation. It was a toss up between being a possible verbal fight complete with acidic verbal barbs vile enough to melt audio circuits, or there was the possibility that the Autobots had a physical brawl to look forward to in the near future. Either one was likely to cause damage ranging from the psychological to the physical.

Of course, there was always the third option to choose from. This involved the sexual tension between the saboteur and the tactician finally snapping and they would take each other to the ground in a whirl of armour and lust.

Most shocking of all, the answer to the conundrum was none of the above.

"Fine," Jazz huffed, hopping down from his seat in order to make his way over. "Ya owe meh."

"You may put it on my tab," Prowl replied evenly, turning away to resume the lesson proper.

Warpath tensed, leaning away from Jazz's approach. To Prowl, he pleaded, "You can't leave me with him!"

Prowl glanced over his shoulder and offered a bland look. "You are in good hands."

Jazz waggled his clawed fingers, a taunting smile on his mouthplates. "Yep, good hands."

Prowl briefly wondered if that was supposed to be an innuendo or not. In the end, he shrugged and turned his attention to more important things.

Warpath's bleated protests soon quieted when Jazz proved he was not interested in hurting anyone. This time. He was quick and knowledgeable as he moved the larger mech into the correct position. In a quiet tone, he explained what the movements and positions were meant for, how they could be used in a proper fight. His instructions were laced with a few veiled insulted and more than enough taunting to last anyone a lifetime, but if that was the worst he was going to mete out, any Autobot was willing to deal with it.

"He has come a long way, hasn't he?" Optimus intoned smoothly as he watched the courtyard from his skyward vantage point. There was not a lot of cover on the roof, but he was willing to throw caution to the wind for the rare opportunity to see Jazz so unguarded in the presence of Autobots.

"More than I expected," Ironhide grumbled, leaning back against the railing instead of watching the circuit-su lesson. He was not on the roof to watch Jazz. As usual, he was on the roof to watch Prime's back.

Optimus cast his closest confidante a careful look. "Do you still think this is all an act to gain our trust?"

"You never know what someone like him is thinking. He's... tricky," the weapons specialist grunted.

"True. He's one of the most shrewd bots I've ever come across. The more I learn of him, the more fascinating he becomes," Prime agreed.

"He's a warrior, not a sideshow," Ironhide grumbled.

"He's an Old One who gets bored very easily," Optimus replied. "I may not agree with everything my brother stands for now, but Megatron did well to somehow retain Jazz on his side for so long. An agent like him is an asset to whoever he aligns himself to."

"Or he's a ticking time bomb, a threat to anyone who gets near him," Ironhide intoned darkly.

Optimus arched an optic ridge at his companion, to which Ironhide sighed and shook his head.

"Don't get me wrong, Prime. He's... growing on me- like rust. He'd be an asset to the Autobots, but we already know he's hard to pin down. If it turns out he's still double-crossing us, or if he decides he's bored and goes back to the 'Cons..." He ran a hand over his rough faceplate. "I don't want anyone getting hurt, Prime."

"No one has to get hurt," Optimus replied softly. "Prowl has the situation under control. I trust his decisions."

"Maybe Prowl is the one most at risk," Ironhide rumbled quietly, glancing over his shoulder to peer down into the courtyard. "I've got to hand it to Jazz, though. If he is still plotting something, I'm impressed he's lasted this long without cracking."

Optimus shook his head. "Is that really a flattering comment to make about us, Ironhide? A bot is considered strong willed if he does not go crazy after being around us for a vorn?"

Deep set optics regarded Prime with an almost humoured look. "That's exactly what I'm saying, Optimus."

"Sadly, I think there's merit to that," Optimus chuckled.

Soft footsteps sounded on the roof, announcing the presence of a third party. Elita One appeared around the corner of an energy distributor. The half-smile on her faceplate revealed that she had been eavesdropping.

"We're not an easy bunch to live with, Optimus," she said, coming to stand by his side. "But Jazz is incredibly strong willed. I'm sure he can resist our particular brand of insanity."

"Am I to take that as an admittance that you still think Jazz is a Decepticon?" Optimus chuckled lightly.

"Not at all. I think it is a positive thing that Jazz is so strong willed." She came to the railing, peering downward. "It might take a strong bot to stay the same under difficult circumstances, but I think it takes an even stronger one to change. We already know Jazz is not the same from when we first met him, so who is to say that Prowl cannot influence him more?"

Ironhide snorted quietly. "Sounds like poetry to me."

"It is a little bit," the femme admitted.

"Does poetry have any place in war?"

Elita's sharp blue optics glinted knowingly. "You know my answer, Ironhide."

A deep snort came from the weapons specialist.

Optimus cast his mate a half-smile. "So you think Prowl's plan to make Jazz one of us is working?"

"It's already worked. The only thing yet to happen is for Jazz to wear our decal." She patted her sparkmate on the arm. "It's only a matter of time until that happens."

"Now the question is how long will that take?" Optimus asked quietly.

"He has to make that decision for himself," Elita murmured.

Prime nodded, watching as Jazz finished with Warpath and moved on to Windcharger without anyone prompting him to do so. Even more encouraging was the fact that he wasn't bothering to heckle the poor bot. While he worked with the Autobot, Prowl came up behind him and murmured that Windcharger's problem was not that he was not improving, but that he was distracted by Bluestreak still being in the med bay. Following the exchange, Jazz subtly began to drop hints about Bluestreak's improved condition, which brought about an amazing change in Windcharger's performance.

"He'll make an interesting Autobot," Ironhide conceded reluctantly.

"He will, won't he?" the femme chuckled quietly.

"I look forward to officially welcoming him into the fold," Optimus intoned.

As if sensing their regard, Jazz stopped what he was doing to shoot them all a potent glare. Immediately, the three commanders were away from the railing to pretend that they had not been doing exactly what they had been caught doing.

Prowl once again paused the lesson, catching Jazz's unease. "Is something the matter?"

Jazz waited an extra moment until all three bots were gone from sight before answering. "Ah think Ah'm gonna take a walk."

Prowl accepted the sudden change of mood easily. "Just don't hurt anyone."

"No promises."

Jazz made quick work of seeking out the bot he wished to see. Neither Optimus Prime nor Ironhide were of much interest to him. Optimus might have been among one of the more impressive Primes Jazz knew, but he was still too noble and clean to be scheming anything. As for Ironhide... simply put, he was about as subtle as a flying mallet. Elita One, on the other hand, would most likely yield some interesting answers if Jazz managed to corner her. Although the femme commander was among one of the most elusive bots in Iacon, she could not hide herself for long when he was determined to find her.

Since the moment he had come to Iacon, Elita One and her femmes had shown far too much interest in him. More interest than just the normal wariness. Even the Decepticon femmes he was accustomed to had not been so hellbent on passively tormenting him. His patience was finally spent.

He found her in the same building she had been lurking on the roof of. Ironhide and Optimus Prime were nowhere to be seen, but Chromia stood solidly at her side. They were walking together at a mild pace with their heads tilted toward each other as they discussed some subject. Jazz had a sneaking suspicion that subject might be him. He made a beeline for them, cutting through the hall with ruthless efficiency.

Closing in on the pair, he was surprised when they suddenly stopped in the middle of the hall and turned to watch him. Their expressions were enough to offset Jazz a little, recalculating his sudden bid for answers. Elita One offered a half-smile that said more than she was willing to let on. Chromia was simply watching him with a look of challenge, daring him to come closer. Both of them were waiting for him to catch them. So intent was he on reaching his prize that Jazz did not immediately recognize the obstacle that was quickly moving to intercept him. Before he knew it, a thick body exited an adjoining hall and stepped in front of him. Jazz nearly ploughed faceplate-first into a chest of light yellow armour.

"Just the mech I was looking to find," Ratchet intoned plainly, crossing his arms over his chest.

Jazz snarled, craning around the medic. Elita One and Chromia were already gone. With a curse, he came back down on his heels and shot the medic a poisonous glare. "What the pit do ya want?"

Ratchet arched both optic ridges, not at all impressed with the saboteur's tone. "You are needed in the med bay."

"Ah'm busy."

Ratchet looked over his shoulder, then looked back at Jazz. "Doing what? There are more important things to do than chase ghosts."

"One of those things could be dismembering your head from your body," Jazz spat.

"I would love to see you try," Ratchet replied dryly, turning on his heel to go back the way he came. "Now as I've said, your presence is required in the med bay. Don't make me drag you there."

Jazz bristled, about to spit another acidic retort, but then deflated. There was no point in starting a fight. Elita One and Chromia were gone and he had a feeling it wouldn't be so easy to find them a second time. Decidedly under the shadow of a foul mood, he marched after Ratchet. In the time it took to get to the med bay, he plotted exactly what he was going to do to the femmes when he got his hands on them. Elita One and her femmes had had too much interest in him since the beginning and he was damn tired of feeling like they always knew more than he did. If it came down to it, he'd take Firestar as a hostage. Knowing her, she'd probably enjoy the vacation.

Ratchet walked along with little notice to Jazz's seething. If he had interrupted something, then so be it. Whatever Jazz had been doing was not as important as Ratchet's reasons for going to find him.

"Hey Ratch'," Jazz intoned, annoyance lacing his tone.

"Yes?"

"It better be good."

"It is."

The door swished open to admit them. Ratchet breezed in without mind for the scene within, but Jazz was given pause the moment he stepped foot within the threshold.

Sideswipe glanced up, a smile lighting up his faceplate. "That was quick, Ratch'."

"It was oddly easy to find him," Ratchet replied blandly. "Cause any trouble in here while I'm in my office and I will dismantle you and hide your parts across the base."

The red mech made a face. "I see you've been taking lessons from Jazz on how to give a proper threat."

With a smirk, the medic disappeared into his office.

Jazz shifted in the doorway, his gaze tracking between the recently liberated twins to the one other bot in the room. Bluestreak... online. His processor had finally been returned to the confines of his cranium, his memories and basic data files rerouted as best as Ratchet could manage. It would be a few orns more before Bluestreak's mind caught up with the rerouting and accepted any necessary reprogramming. The back of his head was left open for easy access to his processor, a light force field flashing in the opening to keep dust from getting in. He was semi-sitting up, heavily propped against a wall since he was unable to support himself otherwise. He was almost smiling, though the effort seemed to take a lot of energy out of him.

Sideswipe sat on the berth across from the sniper, swinging his legs back and forth over the ledge. He cast Jazz a simple look devoid of his usual shrewdness or mischief. There was a plain openness about him that Jazz suspected was similar to who Sideswipe had once been long ago when he and Bluestreak had been friends. It was not who Sideswipe was now, though the act did wonders to keep Bluestreak calm.

"He wanted to see you," the red mech murmured, tilting his head to the sniper.

Bluestreak made a broken trilling noise, trying to nod his head. His motor and lingual skills were still on shaky grounds, leaving him limp and mostly mute. Despite the extreme disorganization of his data files, he was aware of one great truth in the world- Jazz had rescued him.

Sideswipe smiled crookedly. "This is the first time he's been lucid, you know? Well, mostly lucid."

"How do ya know he wants ta see meh?" Jazz wondered cautiously.

"Just do," Sideswipe shrugged. "We thought you'd want to see him, too. You rescued him, after all."

Bluestreak made a low, happy noise.

Jazz took a cautious step deeper into the room.

Sunstreaker peeled away from the wall next to the door, shadowing Jazz at his shoulder. Unlike his brother, the golden mech was unable to return to whatever creature he had once been in his youth. He was not an actor or a great liar like Sideswipe. Whatever kindness or softness had once existed in his spark was stripped from him, leaving him unable to give Bluestreak the kind of comfort he needed. Now there was only a brooding threat as he leaned over Jazz's shoulder and whispered, "Be nice."

"Make meh," Jazz murmured back, shrugging away from Sunstreaker.

Bluestreak flapped a hand weakly, patting the space next to him in invitation. Jazz stared at the bot for a long moment until Bluestreak's weak smile started to waver. He whimpered and started to turn away. Sunstreaker growled low, advancing on Jazz darkly. Jazz stepped away with a sigh, heaving himself up on the berth. Upsetting the sniper really wasn't worth the trouble it would cause. Bluestreak made another happy noise as he pushed away from the wall, leaning his weight against Jazz's side. Before he could stop it happening, Jazz felt Blue's head come to rest on his shoulder. He immediately went rigid from the contact, which in turn caused the twins to tense.

As if Ratchet could sense the shift in the med bay, he banged on the wall of his office. "I meant it when I said I'll dismantle you!"

Sunstreaker's mouthplates curled back in a snarl.

Jazz stared down at the bot now leaning against him. "Ya don't remember meh too well if you're getting so close."

Bluestreak paid no mind to the saboteur's words. He was more concerned with the one memory that he did vaguely have. He remembered seeing silver around him through the haze. A white visor. A whirlwind mind that had plunged into his to calm him down when his own mind started to break down. As far as he was concerned, Jazz was good. The saboteur deserved to be thanked for his efforts. He tried to raise his arms for a hug, but they only made it halfway before flopping back down.

"What in the pit are ya trying ta do?" wondered the saboteur, baffled by Bluestreak's efforts.

Bluestreak gave him a helpless look.

Sideswipe sighed and slipped from the berth he sat on. "Are you really that clueless?" he murmured to Jazz as he took Bluestreak's arms and carefully wrapped them around the silver bot's middle.

A hug?

"Huh," Jazz breathed, a little stunned. He didn't recall ever being hugged before. Staring down at the pale grey bot cinched around his middle, he didn't have the spark to peel him away. He had meant it when he told Prowl he was really starting to hate it when bad things happened to good bots, and Bluestreak had had enough bad stuff happen to him without making it worse. With a sigh, he lifted his hand and laid it to the top of the sniper's head. Comfort was not one of his specialities, so he hoped he was doing it right by petting him gently.

For several long breems, Bluestreak seemed content to sit there hugging Jazz. Jazz was not exactly content to be hugged, but he allowed it because it wasn't worth the fight it would start if he hurt Bluestreak's feelings. The first sign of trouble was when a little sniff escaped the bot. It was quiet, barely noticeable. One sniff followed another. His shoulders began to tremble. Suddenly, he burst out into a wailing, sobbing fit loud enough to be heard clear out into the hall.

Jazz jerked back in horror. What was he supposed to do with something like this? Throw him off? Let him cry?

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were to their feet, prepared to pry Bluestreak away before anyone did anything stupid.

Ratchet himself rushed from his office to see what the matter was.

Through the wailing, it sounded as if Bluestreak were trying to force words out. Garbled noises that made no sense. With each failed attempt, he wailed louder. His arms tried to cinch tighter around Jazz, always failing from lack of strength. Ratchet began to creep forward, withdrawing a sedative from subspace. The more Bluestreak got himself worked up, the more likely he was to do damage to himself. Jazz's gaze shot up, one hand gesturing sharply to halt the medic's approach. He returned his attentions to Bluestreak, continuing to pet his head awkwardly.

"Blue? Blue, can ya hear meh?" Jazz wondered, nearly shouting over the noise of Bluestreak's wailing. When shouting did no good, he leaned down to be close to the sniper's audio. "Ah know ya can hear meh like this."

Bluestreak gasped, turning his faceplate into Jazz's armour to hide.

"Ah know he hurt ya, Blue," Jazz murmured quietly. "Ah know ya hurt a lot right now."

Bluestreak whimpered, nodding his head. He kept his faceplate buried in Jazz's side. His head hurt so badly. It was all a giant jumble. Every time he closed his optics, he could still see a single yellow optic hanging over him. One terrible, unblinking stare that pierced through him like a cold spear. He couldn't remember exactly what had happened or where he had seen the optic, but he knew the bot attached to the dead stare was the one who hurt him.

Jazz glanced up once more to the Autobots looming to close to him, then he looked back down at Bluestreak. "Ah'm gonna find him, Blue. Ah'm gonna find Shockwave and Ah'm hurt him for ya. He'll never hurt ya again."

Whether or not Bluestreak understood the full depth of the promise was up for debate. For several more breems, he cried into Jazz's armour. Jazz, surprisingly, stayed on the berth and allowed the bot to cry himself out. It was a slow process of bringing him back down from the hysterics. Eventually, his energy gave out. His frame turned heavy and his optics went dim, signalling to Jazz that he was safe to slip away. Ratchet came to his side to help lay Bluestreak on the berth, administering the sedative as a precaution in case more wild crying was on the way. It was a sad thing to watch as Bluestreak's already vague optics turned hazy with the effect of the drug. He raised his hand to touch Jazz's faceplate, but could only make it as high as the saboteur's chest. His touch was light as a ghost's before falling away. For the first time since he came online, he made optic contact with someone, staring straight through Jazz's visor into his optics.

"Aut...o...bot," Bluestreak sighed, letting his head fall to the side.

Jazz revved quietly, backing away.

Ratchet did a once over of his patient, checking to make sure nothing else was wrong. He quietly grumbled to himself as he did so, which was oddly reassuring in a very strange way.

Sideswipe leaned against a berth, his optics downcast. "I didn't think he'd react like that."

"Nor did I," Ratchet sighed. "I had thought his data files were still too corrupted for much lucid attention, but obviously I was wrong. On the bright side, it shows that he is recovering at an incredible pace."

"Gee, why is that news so bittersweet?" Sideswipe drawled.

Ratchet raised a wrench in warning.

"Ah gotta go," Jazz intoned curtly, turning on his heel to make a quick exit. Unfortunately, he was not quick enough to escape before being intercepted by Sunstreaker. Jazz jerked back with a scowl. "Get outta mah way."

"Don't think we didn't hear what Blue just said," said the golden mech.

"Blue doesn't even know what he just said. He's out of his mind," Jazz replied curtly, stepping around Sunstreaker.

"He's sane enough to know you. He knows what you did for him," Sunstreaker hissed, keeping on Jazz's heels. "Frag your Neutral status- the moment you went after Bluestreak, you became one of us."

"One of ya? That's a laugh coming from ya," Jazz said snidely, mostly out of defensiveness. "You're still fighting for all the wrong reasons."

Sunstreaker's optics glinted red for a moment. "At least I'm on the right side while doing it."

"Just get out of mah way, Sunstreaker."

"I'll do it when you admit you're as much an Autobot as I am."

Jazz bristled. "When Ah become an Autobot, Ah'll chose the time and place. No one else decides for meh."

"When?"

"What?"

Sunstreaker smirked, crossing his arms over his chest. "You said 'when' not 'if'."

Jazz's optics flashed, disgusted by his own slip up. He would have spit some acidic retort back in the Autobot's faceplate, but from the corner of his optic he could see Ratchet and Sideswipe eavesdropping avidly. Sideswipe was open about his ogling. Ratchet was more subtle in the art. Not liking the audience at all, Jazz quit the med bay as fast as he could.

"Class dismissed," Prowl announced, allowing the Autobots to move on to whatever it was they had planned for the rest of the orn. The tactician had no interest in anyone's plans, his attention more firmly invested in the silver form that had just stalked back into the courtyard. He watched as Jazz made a beeline for the bench he had been previously lounging on. Prowl immediately made a beeline for Jazz.

While approaching, he had the opportunity to watch the saboteur snatch his quarter-empty cube and chug the rest of its contents. Coming to a halt, Prowl watched the energon's steady disappearance from the cube until it was finally righted and Jazz cycled a deep drag of air through his vents.

"Is something the matter?" Prowl asked lightly.

"No," Jazz grunted stubbornly.

"If this is you when there's nothing is wrong, I would hate to see otherwise," Prowl replied, holding out his hand for his own cube. It was smacked into his palm hard enough to slosh some of the contents out the open top. Shaking out his wet hand, he cast the silver bot an unimpressed look. "That was unnecessary."

Jazz turned away, rapping his knuckles on the top of the bench. There was something distinctly feral about his jerky movements. It was the same kind of discomfort he showed whenever someone tried to thank him. Prowl reached out to touch the mech on the shoulder, only to have the saboteur jerk away and clear his vents.

"Ah saw Bluestreak in the med bay. He was online."

"Oh." Prowl stared down at his cube. "How is he?"

"He cried in mah arms," Jazz said unsteadily, looking anywhere but at Prowl.

"That must have been very uncomfortable for you," Prowl said, taking a small sip of energon.

"It was."

"I hope you didn't hurt him," Prowl said quietly.

Jazz tensed for a moment, then snorted. "Promised ya, didn't Ah?"

Prowl chose not to point out that Jazz had made no such promise. He touched Jazz's arm, this time without being jerked away from. It took a moment to coax the saboteur to look him in the optic. "What did you do, if you didn't hurt him?"

For a long moment, it seemed that Jazz would not answer. He stared down at his hands and sighed. "Ah held him while he cried."

"I bet he appreciated the gesture," Prowl said, offering a small smile. Internally, he was both extremely surprised by Jazz's random act of kindness and and proud of him for being able to do it. A vorn ago, the Jazz he had known would not have spared a second before killing Bluestreak. He truly was a changed bot for the better.

"Yeah..." Jazz leaned his weight against the bench, hooking a claw under the seam of Prowl's forearm to draw him close. It was a strange gesture, especially when they were in such a public place, but Prowl allowed the contact out of interest to see what Jazz would do.

"He said something ta meh," the saboteur murmured.

Since Prowl now stood perpendicular to Jazz, he was forced to turn his head to regard the silver bot. "I wasn't aware his lingual files were operational yet."

"They weren't. It was just one word, really." His claws travelled up Prowl's arm, tracing from the armour of his forearm to the broadside of his shoulder. It was on his shoulder that a single proud decal laid, a bright red beacon that represented everything Prowl now stood for.

"He looked right at meh and said Autobot," Jazz sighed, the tips of his fingers resting against the symbol on Prowl's shoulder.

"That bothered you?" the tactician asked quietly. He suddenly realized that much of the courtyard was empty now, aside from Firestar lurking in the shadows on the far side, likely ordered there by her division. He was so accustomed to her lurking around Jazz by now that he hardly paid her any mind anymore.

"It bothered meh less than Ah thought it would." It was no longer a 'never' thing with him, nor an 'if' matter of becoming an Autobot. Bluestreak had made him realize that it was only a matter of time until 'when' became 'now'.

"It's your decision, Jazz. If you became an Autobot-."

"Like this?" Much to Prowl's surprise, Jazz's visor flicked up to reveal a set of brilliantly blue optics. It figured that a bot like Jazz could look handsome no matter what colour his optics were. However, if it was a matter of opinion, Prowl figured blue looked best on him. Jazz's faction modulator switched on; at first, it was Decepticon, but Prowl could feel it recalibrating until it matched an Autobot frequency. The whole process was rather easy compared to all the work he had invested in trying to shape Jazz into something... if not an Autobot, then at the very least a bot with a functioning moral code.

Jazz touched the corner of one of his optics. "How do Ah look?"

Prowl opened his mouthplates to reply.

"No, wait, Ah can guess," Jazz cut in. "Ah look symmetrical, right?"

"I was going to say handsome," Prowl replied quietly.

Jazz looked too stunned to think of anything to say in return.

Prowl took the opportunity to turn so that he faced Jazz properly. "If you stayed like that-."

"Nothing would change," Jazz mumbled, snapping from his surprise. His optics drained to white as his modulator switched off again. He pushed away, shaking his head in either frustration or disgust. Possibly both. "Ah would still be the same."

"Exactly." Prowl caught him by the wrist, turning him back slowly. "Jazz, who you are won't change just because you align yourself to a certain side. If anything, you would change us."

"You've already changed meh," Jazz admitted faintly.

Prowl frowned lightly, too cautious for hope. "For the better?"

Jazz looked like he was fighting with himself. "Ah think so."

Prowl nodded, offering his usual hidden smile. "Someone like you is precisely what we need, Jazz. I have told you that from the beginning."

Jazz slipped his wrist away from Prowl's touch, pursing his mouthplates. "Ah guess now Ah'm finally starting ta listen."

"Better late than never." Prowl let the corners of his mouthplates tilt up. "Whatever decision you make, I'm sure it will be the right one."