Have you ever had to sit in a small enclosed space for long periods of time with someone you refused to talk to, and neither of you wanted to be the person who spoke first? Yeah... multiply that by ten and then read this chapter. But hey, no one can stay awkward forever, right? Yeah... Also, if anyone does not recall the designations of Prowl's fellow officers who came online with him, you may want to brush up, or else be surprised. ^_^
Secondly, please don't make me regret posting this chapter. I was thinking of waiting a couple of months until I had this whole story arc written out, because I thought that would be really awesome to have it all done. You know, like super mega uber awesome- and totally not nerdy at all! But then I figured it would be many months to get it all written out, since it will be a fair few chapters at least... So then I ended up debating with myself for a couple of days over what the best course of action might be. And then I lost the debate to myself. It doesn't happen often. I usually win. Anyways, I just hope that by posting this chapter now instead of some time in December or January, that you kindly readers might show your love (like most of you usually do =P ) by dropping a line and maybe mentioning what you might have liked about the chapter? I certainly take your comments into consideration for future endeavours. ^_^
So, yeah... /end pathetic announcement.
As always, I wish to thank the reviewers of the last chapter for their wonderful words of praise and encouragement: Katea-Nui, DemonSurfer, Fianna9, renegadewriter8, Peacewish, Elita One, White Aster, quasarsmom, Faecat, VyxenSkye, Daklog73, kathy3meme, femme4jack, Darkeyes17, Got Buttermilk, Wind of the Dawn, phoebe turner, CNightJoy, Uniasus, Nightblooming Orchid, smoking caramels, Psyche102, JenEvan, RococoSpade, Poiseninja, StarscreamII, Anonymous Reviewer, ChaosGarden, RamenNoodlesXD, Sideslip, Jessie07, theshadowcat, I See You Sleeping, Optimus Bob, and Midnight Marquis! As many of you know, this story absolutely could not be written without your reviews. You are my inspiration and encourage to keep pressing on. So, thank you so much for being so generous~
Read, Review, and Enjoy~
Chapter 30
Take off from Iacon was rather uneventful, as far as take offs went.
Jazz and Prowl both took point in the small ship, sitting up front in the two (and only) seats. So close were they, one could easily reach out and smack the other with the back of their hand, not that either of them were tempted with the idea. The engines started up without issue, just as Wheeljack had predicted. Anti-gravity thrusters warmed up and rattled as the ship lifted from the floor, its landing struts tucking up underneath it.
Seeing as their mission was a rather stealthy one, there was very little formality or outward ceremony about the departure of the Head Tactical Adviser of Iacon base and his partner, Jazz, who didn't need a fancy title to be intimidating. The only thing that happened was they hovered in the air for several moments, staring out the open hangar doors which gave them a view of the large courtyards, the reinforced compound walls, and the grey-and-rust expanse of wild lands beyond. That moment was then succeeded by the moment that Jazz engaged the thrusters. The engine revved, sudden momentum pressing the two passengers back into their seats as the sky opened up to greet them.
Only a few Autobots waved after them. Others stared in confusion, still under the impression that Jazz and Prowl were supposed to be feuding. Only a small group of bots prayed both came back alive.
Within the first joor of their flight, a silent vote had been held between the two bots aboard. It was decided that neither of them would speak unless absolutely necessary. Which suited both of them just fine. Neither of them had much to say, anyways. Really. It was still too soon for either of them to feel completely comfortable with the other. They were not reduced to the original animosity of their original meeting in Straxis, but rather an awkwardness borne of the unfamiliarity of being so familiar, compounded by the revelation of how intimately they knew each other. Both bots were a breed of emotionally stunted creatures alienated from intimate relationships for various reasons, so they were unaccustomed and reluctant to recognize how truly close they had managed to become. It was only in the new vacuum created between them in the absence of comfortable companionship that they acknowledged that something had been between them in the first place.
Of course, since they happened to have that convenient agreement of silence, no one was going to start talking about their feelings.
Even if there wasn't a silent agreement, they weren't likely to start talking about their feelings.
If they didn't talk about it long enough, maybe the problem would go away.
In the meantime, Jazz did the majority of the flying. He was an adequate pilot and had flown many different models of ships in his lifetime, from the smallest kind of merchant ship to the largest form of deep space vessel. Usually this had been done illegally, seeing as Jazz had never once applied for a proper pilot's license. Or had an actual flying lesson. Or actually owned the ships he was flying. On the bright side, Jazz had plenty of practice flying. He knew all the shortcuts and all the best jet streams to fly into for quicker travel.
Jazz's job was made even easier by the simple nature of the planet's geography. Even though the landscape was so vastly scarred as to be unrecognizable, he had a basic idea of where he was going. Go south until he crossed the borderland gorge between Iacon and Simfur, and then head east over Simfur to cross over into Centaurie Tetrax, and then Tyger Pax, and finally he would come to the borderlands between Tyger Pax and Kaon.
This might seem like an oversimplification of Cybertron's geography, but it really wasn't. The entire planet was divided in such a way that one would have to be completely stupid to get lost. Cybertron was divided between the northern and southern hemispheres, and then each half of the planet was divided again into six equal sections on each hemisphere to form the twelve territories. All territories held the exact same triangular shape, and no territory held more land mass than any other. So long as a bot knew north from south and east from west, as well as having the endurance to cross such vast tracts of land, it was nearly impossible not to know how to get from one territory to another.
Prowl kept himself busy during this time. Just because they weren't speaking did not mean that he would allow himself to be idle. He had several data pads to keep him busy, all of them balanced precariously around him. Many of them were there simply to house the many possible scenarios that Prowl's battle computer was coming up with. Another couple of data pads contained all of the information that Jazz had shared with the Autobots in regards to Shockwave, which was woefully inadequate compared to what Jazz preferred to keep to himself. Whenever there was a lull in the furious pace of tactical analysis inside Prowl's head, he consulted the Shockwave data pads, compared it to what he already had, and then went off again calculating and recalculating their statistics.
A few times, Jazz reached over and snagged one of the data pads to flick through it. He did not offer any opinions of the scenarios he read. However, his expressions did change subtly depending on what he was reading and whether or not he agreed with it. Once he even snorted in apparent humour, although the scenario he happened to be reviewing turned out to be a rather dark one involving their imprisonment and subsequent torture.
Accordingly, Prowl interpreted the saboteur's various expressions with his usual shrewd calculations. When he received the data pads back after Jazz was done with them, he adjusted the scenarios to include Jazz's own unspoken opinions of them.
Together, they carried on in such a manner for three whole orns. Jazz flew. Prowl plotted.
At night, they found an open hole in the ground which originally would have been meant for large merchant ships to sink into in order to reach the lower levels of Cybertron for distribution of products. Infrastructure on Cybertron was largely compromised at this point, so Jazz and Prowl did not go too far down. Having an entire level collapse on their heads would not bode for their mission. However, there was always the chance attack, be it from Decepticons, mercenaries, or desperate Neutral bandits. Generally, this meant that they landed their ship in a moderately concealed area one or two levels below the surface.
It was only at night that they took out cubes of energon to refuel. They refrained from doing so throughout the orn as to conserve what limited supplies they had. They sipped silently and did not quite looking at each other. When they recharged, they did so in shifts, one always in recharge while the other stayed alert. This was for twofold reasons- one being that having at least one of them online would be safer for them both. The second reason was that the single room in the back of the ship was not very big. Should the two of them decide to lay back there for recharge, it would involve them laying intimately close, and neither were inclined to do so. Prowl still suffered under his own perceived inadequacies and preferred not to be subjected to laying next to the bot who continually managed to point them out. Jazz merely kept seeing Prowl's frame and mind lost in passion and he was becoming increasingly disconcerted with the frequency of the images coming to him.
It seemed that they were doomed to continue on this way all the way to their destination, which could take several more orns to reach.
Crossing the territories was no small task when the only ship available to them was designed for stealth rather than speed. The spies and scouts of Iacon's Intelligence & Espionage division used it without incident to travel around within Iacon on their various missions, but usually no father than that. A better ship would be supplied for inter-territorial travel, generally one whose engines had a little more oomph. Since Jazz's mission had come on such short notice and he had been extremely keen to leave as soon as possible, their only option left them in their current predicament. It would be several orns before they got to the borderlands, and probably several more before they found Shockwave's lair- if he was even there at all.
In the meantime, no one wanted to be the bot who cracked first, so both sets of mouthplates stayed firmly glued together.
Luckily, fate intervened in the same way it usually intervened in the lives of all bots, doing so in such an insidiously innocuous fashion as to be not noticed at all unless one were truly looking for it.
It was nearing dusk on their third orn of travel and their ship, which was technically designated I-COM 7 but affectionately called Putter-Poof in honour of the curious 'putter-poof' noise the ship made when setting down, had finally had enough flying for the orn. It was not used to such intensive flying for such long periods at speeds Jazz was currently insisting upon. The engines were getting overheated, while a persistent rattle began in the back near the aft thruster region. In protest to such abuse, Putter-Poof started to lose altitude in a way that insisted upon landing soon or else the ship would take them all down, and there would be no getting back up again.
"Damn," Jazz cursed lightly as he finally gave into the ship's demands for a rest.
Prowl levered out of his seat and peered out across the barren landscape below them. They were no longer in Iacon, which was obvious by the remains of the architecture around them. Instead of taking a direct route south into Simfur's territory and then heading east into Centaurie Tetrax, they had flown diagonally, which had allowed them to pass over the four-point borderland where the territories of Iacon, Crystal City, Simfur, and Centaurie Tetrax meet. It had been a rather impressive sight at mid-orn to fly over the massive gorge that separated them. Looking down into it, it seemed as if the chasm could go on forever. Now they were flying over the outer provinces of Centaurie Tetrax, where the bright murals had faded and the colourful domes that topped the buildings were smashed.
"Over there," said Prowl, pointing to the large opening in the ground which appeared as a black hole.
Jazz nodded, immediately turning the ship in the direction of the tunnel. It was several times larger than their tiny ship, its awning grandeur never ceasing to make the two bots feel small in comparison. The darkening sky drew distant as they sank downward, and then disappeared all together as Jazz took a left and drove into the vast expanse of an abandoned docking lot for merchant ships. Even only four levels down, it was darker than dark in the lot. Not a flicker of ambient light anywhere. They scanned the area for any spark signatures, relieved to find that there were none. At the far end, there were warehouses where material goods would have once been stored before going out for distribution; now they were dilapidated, with sagging walls and smashed windows. Jazz set down amongst them, trusting that the buildings would be enough cover if someone came poking around.
To further protect themselves, they engaged the dampening fields which hid their spark signatures. The ship had its own cloaking technology which hid it from sensors. Sadly, that did not stop it from making the usual sorts of noises a ship did when bemoaning its heated engines and stressed bulkheads. It putter-poofed a few times as remaining exhaust puffed out, then groaned as it settled on its landing struts. The sound of cooling metal moaning created a haunting echo across the empty docking lot.
Jazz took his hands away from the controls and sat back with a tight look. "Ah should have insisted on a better ship."
It was the first full sentence he had bothered with in three orns, so Prowl was a little surprised to hear the saboteur's voice after such extended silence. He was surprised to hear that it was a little rough with disuse, and the gravelly tone now lacing the saboteur's normally deep, smooth voice nearly caused him to shiver. Any reaction at all was violently suppressed. He would not subject himself to such humiliation again. He would control himself accordingly.
He cleared his own vents before saying, "It was the best ship available at the time." His own voice was likewise gravelled from disuse, however the effect was less noticeable against the original timbre of his voice, which was less handsome than Jazz's.
Nevertheless, Jazz shivered subtly.
Prowl noticed.
Jazz glanced over briefly and made a noncommittal noise in return.
Deciding that it was rather illogical to continue on with his facade, while simultaneously concluding that he had been foolish for doing so for three orns straight in the first place, Prowl turned to Jazz and looked him head on. Jazz sighed, his shoulders sagging as he came to the same conclusion. His chair swivelled so that they both could look at each other. Should it have been a surprise that they both looked so normal? After so many joors of sitting next to each other and yet refusing to give into each others pride, they had somehow created a strange vision of the other in their heads which amounted to some kind of impossible obstacle. Now they saw each other and realized that their earlier follies seemed extremely stupid.
Recognition of their shared intimacy, on the other hand... Let's not ask for miracles.
Jazz looked Prowl up and down, from the tips of his vividly red chevron to the dark metal of his feet. Yes, he still got the impression of Prowl writhing on his back like a wanton pleasure bot. He was quite sure he would never forget such a sight. However, with the presence of time filling up the space between then and now to dull the novelty, as well as the looming threat of their mission growing more prominent in his mind, Jazz could finally see Prowl clearly again. The plainness of his frame contrasted by the intriguing beauty of a mind so endlessly complicated even as it sought order. His open earnestness to be Jazz's partner and help him matched by the personal strain self-inflicted on him by his damning pride and exhausting self-deprecation.
Prowl did not need to look Jazz up and down, since he had long since memorized the saboteur's frame. It was a finely tuned machine of handsome contours and deadly power. He exuded the same hauntingly dangerous physical attraction that a known poison dissolved in expensive high-grade radiated. In that moment, Prowl consciously purged himself of his prior reservations and invested himself in seeing Jazz as his equal rather than the bot who had seen the side of himself which shamed him the most. Jazz was an intensely different bot from the one he had once been; even if Jazz was reluctant to admit anything, Prowl could see behind that stretch of crystalline visor into the concerns in the saboteur's gaze. A steady calmness had seeped into the eye of the storm in which Jazz's whole world was based upon. It was a place that Prowl acknowledged he had a place within.
Once again, they accepted that they were equals. As well as equally stupid. They could not be allowed to be better or less than the other if their mission was to be a success. At the very least, they had to accept their differences if they meant to stay alive through the ordeal.
"Ah guess we still have a lot ta learn, huh?" Jazz intoned quietly.
"We do," Prowl agreed. A ghost of a smile appeared on his mouthplates, relieved that the tension was now mostly gone between them. Mostly.
Jazz nodded, adding his own small smirk into the mix.
Around them, Putter-Poof gave an incredibly long groan as its cooling armour slowly shrunk as its temperature dropped. It was mostly dark outside the front view screen, but what light was cast outside illuminated the radiating heat waves coming from the engine.
Jazz suddenly rose from his seat. The cockpit was so exceedingly small that with him standing, his knees brushed Prowl's, and his frame loomed over the tactician's.
"Ah'm gonna open the front hatch ta give the engine some air," he announced. "It wouldn't do us any good ta have the stupid thing blow up just because Ah gave it a little work out."
Prowl leaned back so that Jazz was not invading his personal space as much. "Wheeljack said it should be fine."
The saboteur cast him a flat stare. "If ya haven't noticed, Wheeljack is more nuts than bolts. He deserves his Head Engineer position, he's brilliant an' all, but the bot laughs every time he gets electrocuted." He leaned down to Prowl, once again invading personal space. "Plus he talks ta drones. Even Ah was never that crazy."
"I suppose a certain amount of insanity must accompany brilliance," Prowl conceded with dry humour.
"It explains why you're just a little bit crazy," Jazz teased, the words slipping out so comfortably as if they had never been feuding in the first place.
"And why you are a lot of crazy," Prowl countered in a surprisingly easy manner.
This time, unexpected laughter fell freely from their mouthplates. Light, easy noise that surprised them both by the comfortable quality of it. It caused them to be acutely aware of how physically close they had suddenly become. All it would have taken was for Prowl to lean in for his forehead to brush against Jazz's. But something like that was far too soon for either of them. Indeed, the acknowledgement of such a thought was too much. The tactician cleared his vents while the saboteur pushed away from the chair so that he stood straight again.
"Alright, well, Ah'm gonna go air out the engine," the silver mech announced.
"I think I will take first shift patrolling the area," Prowl replied.
"It's not night yet," Jazz pointed out, waiting for the hatch to open.
"No, but it would still be wise to patrol. We cannot risk being caught off guard now," Prowl replied, rising from his seat and following Jazz out. "As soon as you are done with airing out the engine, go back inside and recharge. I will wake you at midnight to switch."
"Ah'll wait until ya get back," Jazz said, disappearing out the hatch. He didn't even bother using the steps. Instead, he jumped to the ground without absolutely knowing what he would land on. From outside, he said, "We can crack open some energon together."
"I'd like that." Prowl made his way out, momentarily disoriented by the change from the lighted interior of the cockpit to the murky darkness of the docking lot. He missed a step on the way down. Jazz quickly extended a hand to steady Prowl before he could fall. The reason he could jump into the darkness, the reason he was so comfortable with it, was because it was inextricably a part of him. Prowl had darkness inside him, but it certainly was not the same kind as Jazz, and it grated against his conscience, rather than the acceptance Jazz offered it.
"Thank you," said the tactician, extracting his hand from the saboteur's.
Jazz smirked and shook his head. "What would ya do without meh?"
"Fall," Prowl replied, and then he paused. "But I seem to do that with you here as well."
The silver mech made a small murmuring laugh. "We all fall down, Prowler."
"True." He wasn't sure if their exchange was meant to be humorous, literal, or a metaphor for something he wasn't yet ready to grasp.
Jazz wasn't sure either. He tipped Prowl a nod before turning to shadow as he wandered out of the range of light spilling out the open hatch. The lights along the hull remained off to keep their ship as inconspicuous as possible. If Jazz needed light to see by, he had lights on his frame he could use while overseeing Putter-Poof's engine.
Prowl watched his partner even after he could no longer be seen, and then shook his head. He stretched in order to work out the stiffness that had fallen into his joints from sitting all orn. Once comfortable again, he transformed and took off into the darkness. He was, of course, a tactician by function, but that did not mean he could not be an adequate scout when necessary. Since they had already scanned the area before setting down, it was not necessary to go very far for the perimeter check. A shallow loop would do, and then Prowl would return to the ship and sit outside with Jazz to enjoy a cube of energon. Perhaps they would attempt a decent conversation, which they had been sorely lacking in the last couple of orns.
Taking into the unknown, Prowl did his best to compartmentalize all his frivolous thoughts. Any kind of distraction could get himself killed while out in the wild lands like this. One never knew what could be lurking.
The drive itself was a jarring one, owing to the derelict state of everything. If there was a place that Prowl's headlights illuminated, it was a place better left to the dark. The whole of the docking lot and all surrounding roads were deeply cracked, and in some places upheaval had created gigantic protrusions arcing up from the ground composed of metal and rust. The fence that might have once surrounded the lot was now a tangled mess. In one place, a dead frame was entangled in the metal net, shot to death if the holes piercing through it were any indication. The corpse still had a look of fear on its faceplate. Buildings which once would have been thriving were now collapsing. There was no light. No life.
Prowl could admit that he had once run a probability scenario for the end of the world, and what he drove through bore a haunting resemblance to that terrifying possibility.
Briefly, he thought he picked up a spark signature. It was only for a split astrosecond; slow enough to register its existence, but too fast to be able to rightly identify who it might be, if it was someone Prowl knew at all. Given that he was in an outer province of Centaurie Tetrax, it was highly unlikely to find an acquaintance out here, indicating that it might be an enemy. When he stopped to scan again, the blip on his scanners was gone.
Just a sensor ghost, then? It happened from time to time, when certain frequencies in the air got caught together and reverberated between metal, mimicking spark signatures. Some frequencies even clashed together to create disjointed messages that could get caught up in a bot's communications hub. Prowl was aware of reports were bots became delusional enough to believe that these sensor ghosts were real ghosts. Messages from beyond by ones they once loved. The concept was ridiculous to Prowl. He decided to err on the side of caution, not dismissing the sensor ghost as a mere anomaly but as a possible enemy lurking around.
Starting up again on the rest of his shallow patrol, Prowl moved much more slowly and scanned the area more deeply. He did not want to miss anything. He would not tolerate any mistakes.
Driving around a bend in the road, he spotted a collapsed support pillar fallen against the side of a building. The ground of the level above was fallen inward, exposing a sliver of distant sky peeking through the crisscross of crumbling transport ways of the levels above. Night had fallen, the sky cast over in a diamond-studded blanket of black velvet. Only dim silvery light given off by the stars filtered down through the hole, illuminating the lonely starkness of the fallen pillar.
Prowl did not appreciate the lonely beauty of the sight, but rather calculated the danger that a fallen support pillar posed to Jazz and himself. If the integrity of the vicinity was compromised, then he would head back to the ship and insist they leave immediately. Upon closer inspection, which involved driving directly into the pool of starlight, Prowl determined that the pillar had only been an auxiliary pillar, which was really just part of the architectural redundancies of Cybertron to ensure that if a main support pillar collapsed, it would not allow a whole level to cave in. The loss of an auxiliary pillar was statistically less cause for concern.
Determining it not to be a danger, Prowl resumed his bipedal mode and placed his hands against the massive artifact. By comparison, he was tiny. The metal was cold like ice, but also dry and scratchy with rust and abuse. Against his palms, faded flakes of paint chipped off. The bright colours Centaurie Tetrax had once been famous for were now nothing but a faded relic slowly flaking away. Staring up the length of the impressive column, Prowl was struck by the sudden urge to go to the very top. The column laid at such an angle that he could very easily walk up it. He would have a very interesting vantage point from up there.
It would also make him an easy target to anyone who might be hidden in the debris.
Before his processor could even come to a decision over which option held the highest percentage of benefit over risk, he felt the press of a gun muzzle to the back of his neck.
"Hands. Let's see them," ordered the unknown bot, whose spark signature was disguised by an imperfect dampener. There was a disturbance on scanners, but not wholly a signature that could give away his identity. Prowl noted that he was dealing with someone with a Simfurite accent like his own...far too similar to his own, actually.
With perfect calmness that betrayed nothing, the tactician raised his hands.
His unknown assailant made a pitying noise. "You have got to be some kind of special stupid to be standing around like some target waiting to be shot. It's like you wanted me to catch you."
"Perhaps that is exactly what I had planned," Prowl replied evenly.
"Don't see why you'd want that." The gun prodded the back of Prowl's neck ominously. "I could blow your head off right now."
"If you did that, there would be some serious consequences," the tactician pointed out.
"For you maybe, being minus a head and all. I think I could get away before anyone found out." The bot pressed closer. "I like my chances. How about you?"
The tactician sighed expansively, done with the game. He had analyzed the speech patterns and was now one hundred percent certain of who he was speaking with. "Hunter, I know you know it's me."
There came a pause, and then a disappointed curse. "Damn. Just had to ruin the game, didn't you? I was really get into that bad bot vibe."
"I don't enjoy having a gun pointed at the back of my head."
"It wasn't even charged," huffed the other Autobot. The gun was taken away, safely holstered at Hunter's side.
Prowl turned around to face the bot who some might consider his brother, although Prowl preferred to think of him as just Hunter, a bot he was connected to by circumstances of his creation. Since they had last seen each other, which was several vorns ago, Hunter had reformatted. At one time, Prowl and Hunter would have looked exactly alike except for the colour of their chevrons- red and orange, respectively. Now Hunter sported a taller frame boasting of a broad chest, strong features, thick armour, and a certain ruggedness that some might find attractive. His paint was a burnt orange colour somewhere between rust and plain brown, which would serve as perfect camouflage against the rusting landscape of Cybertron. Notably, Hunter still sported his orange chevron.
"Look at you, Prowl," Hunter exclaimed warmly, grasping Prowl by the upper arms and holding him an arm's length away to get a good look at him. As hinted by the affection in his tone, Hunter was inclined to think of Prowl like family rather than as a work colleague. "You haven't changed a bit."
"You have changed," Prowl observed neutrally.
"A necessary evil," the other bot laughed, flashing a handsome smile. "I switched over to Intelligence & Espionage. Didn't Smokescreen tell you?"
Prowl blinked in surprise. "No."
"No? Well, he should have told you," Hunter huffed.
"We don't talk very often, aside from work matters," Prowl admitted, and suddenly he felt very ashamed for it. Smokescreen often invited him to share an evening in a rec room to chat, but Prowl usually turned him down for one reason or another. Perhaps one of those invites had been to inform Prowl about Hunter?
"Right, figured that was the case. You're still so focused on your work," Hunter said, almost like an admonishment but not quite. "Oh well, doesn't matter. It's just a transfer and a reformat- nothing too important. I figured I needed a little change, and to be honest they sorely needed someone who knew what they were doing. Reformatting was part of the deal."
Prowl nodded, accepting that Hunter had always been very restless as a tactician for Simfur's Security Response. He preferred to be out on the streets where the action was, not sitting at the precinct doing statistics. Scouting was arguably the best function for him, combining his need to do something with his considerable skills of discerning the smallest details around him. In that respect, he was very much like Smokescreen. They also shared their amiable dispositions that allowed them to make quick friends and lure colleagues to their berths for some fun. Two qualities that Prowl utterly lacked.
"Tactical division is poorer for your choice," Prowl said with a slight inclination of his head.
"Yeah, well, the Autobots in general are fine. It's not like I switched sides or anything," Hunter shrugged. It might have been a dig at Kingpin, the only one of their five who had gone over to the Decepticons. Hunter arched his optic ridges at Prowl. "How did you know it was me?"
"I caught a very brief spark signature when I first set out," said Prowl. "I couldn't identify anyone from it, but I knew someone was out here. The moment you spoke, though..." He inclined his head. "The voice is different, but your speech patterns are the same."
"You are still too smart for your own good," Hunter laughed.
"It is not the first time I have heard that," Prowl replied mildly. "I assume you knew it was me the moment you saw me?" Even if the average Cybertronian did not have very good visual recognition skills without their spark resonance scanners, which would have been useless in identifying Prowl seeing as he his resonance was currently disguised, Hunter was tactically trained and an ex-Security officer. Like Prowl, his visual recognition skills were acute.
"When you first landed with that ship of yours, you set off all sorts of sector alerts. That docking yard is popular with all sorts of bots looking to crash for the night. I was the closest in the area, so my outpost dispatched me to check it out." Hunter shrugged nonchalantly. "I heard you bumping around on the roads, and the moment I saw you... well, like I said, you haven't changed a bit. Right down to that damned chevron of yours."
"I see you retained your chevron despite changing," Prowl pointed out defensively.
Hunter traced the orange crest decorating the top of his forehead. "It has sentimental value. Come on, admit it, if you ever reformatted, you would keep your chevron too. You wouldn't feel like yourself without it. Even Smokey kept his."
An orange elbow nudged him repeatedly, prompting Prowl to roll his optics. "I have no intention of reformatting any time soon, therefore it is frivolous to suppose what I might or might not do under that circumstance."
It was Hunter's turn to roll his optics. "Yep, you really, really haven't changed. I don't know if I should laugh or cry."
"Neither. The unchanged nature of my lacking social graces is nothing to get emotional over," Prowl said...and then was hit with the irony of the statement. He very nearly cringed and laughed at the same time, yet he was so accustomed to the last few orns of tight lock down on everything he felt that he easily reprimanded the errant urges. He remained outwardly indifferent.
"I think you almost made a funny," Hunter observed, proudly clapping his brother on the shoulder. When the clapping was done, the hand stayed where it was on Prowl's shoulder. The ex-tactician's optics were bright in the very dim light; he had handsome blue optics. Blue that was rich and shone warmly, unlike the pale glow of Prowl's ice-coloured optics. Hunter did not bother to disguise his excitement to have come across a fellow Simfurite officer in the middle of nowhere. His further delight at coming across one of his brothers so unexpectedly. There was intention lurking in that too-open gaze of his. Prowl recalled that Hunter had a habit for extended physical contact; he liked touching hands, nudging others, sitting too close, and...
There was swift movement as strong burnt orange arms enveloped Prowl in a tight embrace.
Prowl stood there awkwardly for several astroseconds, unable to recall the last time he had been embraced like this. He raised one arm and patted his so-called brother on the back. Pat. Pat. Pat. And then he let his arm drop, waiting to be freed. He waited. And waited. ...and waited.
"Please stop hugging me," he sighed. "This isn't the time. We're out in the open and I am supposed to be running a perimeter check."
"Yeah, sure. Give me a second." Hunter dragged in a deep breath of cool air, continuing to hold Prowl for several more moments before reluctantly releasing the smaller bot. "There, I feel better. It's been vorns since we've seen each other. Something like that deserves a hug."
"If you say so," Prowl murmured, stepping away and brushing himself off.
Hunter shrugged, so accustomed to Prowl's behaviour that he didn't even bother to be offended by the less than enthusiastic reactions. What was family for, if not to love even the most emotionally crippled member? "Alright, no more hugs. You got some explaining to do."
"Oh?" Dark optic ridges arched, throwing shadows around pale optics.
Hunter gestured to the vast gloom of the dead city around them. "What the pit are you doing all the way out here? If you haven't noticed, this is the middle of nowhere."
"That's classified."
Such an answer did not satisfy the scout, who merely raised both his optic ridges and stared Prowl down in the same manner he had stared down Decepticon prisoners in for interrogation. "Did you lose your command position in Tactical? Because I've been hearing some things, you know? Intelligence & Espionage tosses gossip around, and..."
"Of course not!" Prowl frowned deeply. "I am still the Head Tactical Adviser. My position in the Autobots has not changed."
Relief was evident in the scout. "Thank Primus. I know how much the position means to you. But if not that, then what...?"
Now the storm-grey mech pursed his mouthplates in a stubborn line. "I told you, it's classified. I'm not being obtuse, I swear. It's a sensitive mission and I don't want to compromise it."
Hunter smirked a little, playful mischief too similar to Smokescreen's shining in his optics. "You know, those rumours I get to hear so much about? They talk a lot about you and Jazz. All about that 'classified business' you might be doing behind closed doors..."
Prowl tensed, sensing that something was coming.
Hunter gestured vaguely in the air. "I also recall hearing from Smokescreen not too long ago, something about sadomasochistic tendencies..."
"I will kill him," Prowl stated. Smokescreen might have been his second in command, and in some sense of the word they might have been considered brothers, but that certainly would not prevent Prowl from taking his revenge out on the other tactician. Preferably painfully. Maybe he'd even ask for Jazz's help.
"Ah, but it is true, my emotionally repressed little brother? That's what I'm interested in," Hunter wondered, still with that gleam in his optics. "I'm going to hazard a guess here... You didn't come out here alone. Jazz came in on the ship you were flying. You two are... eloping, yes? Looking for a quiet place to get down and dirty without the whole world looking into your naughty little secrets."
Prowl revved, though the sound was little more than an irritated growl. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"
"Immensely. I forgot how much fun it was to tease you," Hunter replied with a warm laugh, which he followed with another warm pat to Prowl's shoulders. "So? Are you going to break that silly classified label for me, the brother you've neglected to talk to for vorns, or do I have to keep guessing? With all the slag Smokescreen's been telling me, I can keep this up all night."
"It's not a silly label," Prowl pointed out stubbornly. "There is very good reason why something is categorized as classified. You should know very well the importance of sensitive data." He frowned at the orange mech, who had yet to look completely convinced that Prowl was not eloping with Jazz in a dirty, nasty fashion involving chains, whips, and someone calling someone 'Master.'
Pretending he had heard nothing of the tactician's reasons, Hunter tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Let's see, let's see, what are some of the other things Smokescreen has been telling me...? You know, aside from the fiery nature of your violently intimate encounters. Hmmm, was it that you two are now more than partners? Intimate exclusives, yes?" He grinned. "Ah, I bet I know why you're out here! You two are sparkbonding, aren't you!"
Prowl literally found himself choking. In horror. Bent over with one hand braced against the fallen pillar while Hunter laughed at him just as much as he was trying to help with the choking. True, he was supposed to have iron-strong vice lock on his emotions, but the idea, the mere concept, of sparkbonding with Jazz... That was enough to haunt for the rest of his life in a way that torture never could. When the shock-horror response was finally brought under control, he straightened up in order to send Hunter a black glare.
"You are not funny," he stated tightly.
"True. I'm hilarious," Hunter chuckled.
Prowl snorted derisively. "Never mind, Hunter. It was... nice to see you again, but I really must be getting back to my ship. Please pretend that you never saw me. Discretion is of the utmost importance." He stepped around the other bot and began to walk away. He only stopped when he heard the echo of footsteps following behind him. Glancing over his shoulder, he arched an optic ridge. "Do you not understand the nature of a dismissal?"
"Sure I do," Hunter replied cheerfully. "Do I care? No. I'll follow you right back to your ship if I have to."
"You don't have to," Prowl stated flatly.
Hunter snorted. "You can't just walk away after only a couple breems of seeing each other. That's not how normal bots do things. You don't even have to tell me why you're out here, just give me a little time to catch up with you."
To this, Prowl sighed. Out here in the wild lands, his authority as a commander meant very little. There was nothing he could do to enforce an order for Hunter to return to his scouting duties. "Very well, you may come along. We have lingered out here too long."
The scout cast his gaze out into the many shadows. "Aside from your ship landing, there hasn't been any noticeable activity in the area. We're lucky on that front."
"That does not mean there hasn't been activity that has gone unnoticed," Prowl pointed out. "I don't like the idea of the two of us attracting attention if there are unwanted optics out there. It is best to leave now."
"Lead the way," Hunter said, content to fall into step next to Prowl. Together they transformed and left the caved in area, abandoning the soft starlight for the harsh reality of darkness the city had to offer. Hunter had a much better understanding of the safe paths to take through the collapsed city, so at some points during their drive he took the lead without question. Luckily, Prowl had not travelled far from the ship so their drive was not a long one. No errant spark signatures appeared on their scanners for the trip back.
Upon rounding the corner of one of the crumbling warehouses surrounding Putter-Poof, Prowl slowed down and resumed his bipedal mode. Hunter did the same. Their greeting from Jazz was not what they were expecting... Or perhaps they should have been expecting exactly what came for them. Without warning, a blast of super-charged plasma lit up the gloom as it travelled over Hunter's right shoulder, searing the paint as it went. It impacted on the wall behind them, pelting both bots with a sharp spray of debris.
"Warning shot," Jazz announced. "Give meh a reason not ta aim a little ta the left."
Prowl quickly stepped in front of Hunter, calculating that the saboteur would be less inclined to shoot him rather than the seeming intruder. This was yet another mistake he had carelessly overlooked; bringing Hunter to the ship would look like Prowl had been overpowered and now forced to lead his captor wherever. He should have called ahead to alert the saboteur to company coming.
"Jazz, don't shoot," Prowl said. "I brought him here. He's not an enemy."
"I'm Autobot," Hunter announced. With no sudden movements, he removed his dampening field- which was an external device unlike the configurations Prowl and Jazz used. Both his spark resonance and faction modulator were readable for a few moments before Hunter reengaged the dampening field.
There was hesitation on Jazz's part. Only a single light, set to its dimmest setting, glowed on the hull of the ship, back-lighting Jazz's silhouette to create a rather intimidating vision. His visor shone ominously like a demon's blank stare. He took his sweet time deciding whether or not Prowl was telling the truth. Finally, the dim glow of the muzzle of the blaster disappeared.
"Took ya long enough ta get back," said the saboteur. "Ah was wondering if ya got lost or attacked." His gaze switched to Hunter, and there was no denying the brutal suspicion in his stare despite being guarded by his visor. "Didn't expect company, though."
"I am sorry I worried you," Prowl replied, stepping to the side to reveal Hunter once again. They walked deeper into the small circle of light cast by the hull light so that Jazz could see them both in better detail. "The reason I took so long was because I ran in to an old acquaintance of mine. Jazz, this is Hunter. We worked together in Simfur."
Hunter cast him a flat stare. Again, not offended by Prowl's words, but not exactly impressed by his demotion to acquaintance either.
Jazz inclined his head to the newcomer. The designation sounded familiar. "Prowl mentioned you once," he said. "You came online with him... Second of five, right?"
"Yes, I am." Hunter looked surprised by the sudden address, especially to be called out by something as intimate as his call number from his original group. Doubly surprised to hear that it had been Prowl to mention it. As quickly as he could, he replaced his open surprise with a neutrally friendly look. He could not be called a stupid mech, and he was perfectly aware of how dangerous Jazz was. He would not leave himself vulnerable if he could help it.
"Strange to meet someone like you so conveniently out here," Jazz drawled. Notably, he did not put away his blaster. Instead, he kept it hanging at his side in definite warning for no funny business.
"Not at all," Hunter assured. "I'm currently stationed at an outpost near here. I was sent to check out the disturbance you caused when you landed. Imagine my surprise when I ran into Prowl."
"Ah," Jazz said quietly, still staring with a slight frown.
Prowl cleared his vents, summoning Jazz's attention back to him. "I couldn't just send him away," he explained. "We have not seen each other in a very long time. He will not be here for long, but I thought this would be a good chance to... catch up?"
It would have been a much more convincing lie if he had not ended it with a question.
Jazz snorted and finally turned his back to them. "Whatever." He made his way over to two dark lumps set on the ground. A third lump, smaller than the first two, sat in the middle with two cubes of energon on top. Prowl realized that Jazz must have dragged out piles of wreckage from the warehouses to make two makeshift chairs and a low table for them. The saboteur settled down on one of the 'chairs' and cracked the seal on his energon, still watching the pair as he drank, waiting to see what they would do.
Hunter glanced at Prowl, picking up on the definite tension on the air. "I'll stand."
"I'll go get a cube for you," Prowl said, leaving his brother to procure said cube.
That left Hunter alone with Jazz. Sufficed to say, each mech was as curious and suspicious as the other. To better facilitate the mutual interrogation that was about to happen, Hunter moved to stand behind the seat meant for Prowl.
"I've heard a lot about you," he said.
"No doubt," Jazz replied. "Ah'm kind of famous."
"Infamous is more like it," Hunter countered. "Although, you've been getting quite the reputation among the Autobots now. Smokescreen tells me you've been an asset to both Tactical and Special Ops in Iacon."
"Ah'm an asset wherever Ah go," Jazz said with a sharp smirk. "Ah like ta spread the love and joy."
"Sure you do," the scout said evenly. "And about all that love and joy you've been spreading...?"
"Your brother an' Ah are partners. Nothing more," was the reply. The words were so sharp that the finality of the statement was unmistakeable.
"Just making sure," Hunter said, relaxing now that he knew for sure. Prowl was a big bot capable of making his own decisions, but that did not stop bots like him and Smokescreen from worrying. They remembered the bot he had been when Evasia was alive, and they had been forced to watch who he became after her death. Seeing something like that happen again would be too much.
In that moment, Prowl reappeared with the cube meant for Hunter. He pressed it into the other bot's hands, and then went about arranging his seat so that he could see both Jazz and Hunter comfortably. He sensed the mild tension between the two, but concluded that it was the natural tension any Autobot initially had when encountering someone like Jazz.
"So," intoned Hunter. "Are the two of you enjoying your little love nest out here?"
Prowl yet again choked, and this time it was on his energon.
Jazz proved to be a little more entertained by such humour. "Ah can't tell ya yet," he replied, expertly covering up whatever suspicions he still harboured. "Come back tomorrow morning after we've had a chance ta test it proper and Ah'll give ya all the dirty details."
"Sounds naughty," Hunter said with arched optic ridges.
"It will be," Jazz assured, sending an arched look in Prowl's direction.
Prowl was still hacking up the energon that had managed to go down the wrong tube.
"Need help, Prowler?" Jazz drawled.
"I hate you," Prowl replied lowly.
"Ya only wish ya did," Jazz laughed. He looked back at Hunter, whose standing caused him to loom over the rest of them. "So, now that we have mah dirty, naughy intentions toward Prowl out of the way, tell meh what you're doing all the way out here, Hunter."
"Like I said, I'm stationed at an outpost near here," Hunter said, gesturing in the general direction his station laid in. "It's a temporary assignment while one of the post's scouts recovers from a virus. He was attacked recently while out in one of the southern sectors, a province near the capitol. Apparently the Decepticons have perfected the art of viral warfare."
"There are more the a few fraggers under Megatron's control who think viruses are the best form of warfare," Jazz intoned.
"You don't agree?" Hunter wondered carefully.
Even Prowl looked over in curiosity of the answer. He was aware of Jazz's growing reluctance to use certain methods which once would have been commonplace for him, but he did not know the extent of Jazz's experience with viral warfare. There were still many details about his volatile partner that were shrouded in mystery.
"Ah can use viruses, but Ah don't like 'em as much as other methods," Jazz said lightly, as if he were referring to something as trivial as his favourite colour. "Ah prefer psychological or physical methods. Viruses... they just seem impersonal ta meh." He cast Hunter a challenging look. "Ah'm sure you've heard of mah talents."
"I have," Hunter confirmed with a subtle glance in Prowl direction. Not that Prowl had told him anything of Jazz, seeing as they had not communicated in so long. Instead, he looked to forth of five because Smokescreen had extensively elaborated to him about Prowl's so-called 'accidents' that had landed him in the med bay multiple times. Both examples of the physical and psychological torment Jazz was capable of doling out when he saw fit.
Prowl felt the glance and returned it with a severe look of his own. "Jazz is an exceptional figure in both hacking and hand-to-hand combat. He has used his talents to the Autobots' advantage for nearly as long as he has been with us. His help has been invaluable."
"Right," said Hunter, not entirely convinced.
Jazz leaned forward, swilling the contents of his energon cube pensively. If the scout was going to stick around, he might as well get his uses out of the bot. "Hunter...as a scout, have ya heard anything about Tyger Pax or Kaon recently?"
"Jazz..." Prowl intoned warningly.
"It's just a question," Jazz replied, though he was without an ounce of innocence.
The tactican did not insist on moving to another topic. They were still on fragile grounds with each other; he would only step in if things became overwhelming compromised.
Hunter looked back and forth between the two, and then pondered the question carefully. "Is there anything in particular you were looking for?"
"Rumours about anything, especially near the borderlands," Jazz replied.
"Can't say I've heard anything," Hunter admitted, his mind racing as any bot programmed for tactical analysis would. He looped through nearly all of his recent memories to make sure he didn't miss anything. "Then again, I haven't been listening for anything in Tyger Pax or Kaon either. There might be something circulating that I haven't paid attention to."
Jazz cursed softly, sitting back in his seat.
Prowl sagged in disappointment.
"Let me guess. This has something to do with your classified mission?" Hunter said.
Prowl nodded. "We are..." he paused, considering what he might say that would not compromise their secrecy too badly. "Investigating rumours of some strange occurrences."
"Seems a little obscure for the two of you to check out, doesn't it?" Hunter wondered. "I mean, Iacon's Head Tactical Adviser and Jazz... well, you're Jazz." He flapped a hand at the saboteur, because honestly, Jazz was his own explanation. "It's a long ways away, especially if you're flying a ship like this. A scout from either Tyger Pax or Kaon could have been sent out."
"We cannot discuss the nature of this, Hunter," Prowl insisted. "Please understand it is vital that we attend to this and no one else."
Hunter did not press the subject. He did, however, take a long draught from his cube to give himself time to think. A thousand thoughts raced through his mind. Every possible scenario and what it could possibly mean. Half of his energon was gone by the time he brought it away from his mouthplates. "How long do you two plan to be here?"
"Just for the night," Jazz replied. "We plan ta move out in the morning."
"Can you wait a little longer?"
Jazz and Prowl exchanged careful glances. They had perfected the art of the silent conversation over the last few orns, so they merely needed the optic contact to confirm.
The connection was not lost on Hunter.
"How long do you expect us to wait?" Prowl enquired.
"Tomorrow evening, maybe late night at the latest," Hunter said. "Long enough for me to return to my post and poke around for some stuff. I can check out if any unusual activity has been circulating. I have a couple of contacts in Kaon from tactical- they might be able to give me something useful."
"This will all be the strictest confidence, yes?" Prowl pressed.
"Of course," Hunter assured. "No one will know the two of you are out here. I won't breath a word about your designations or about the reasons why I'm enquiring about the borderlands. It'll all be for curiosity's sake, if you know what I mean."
"Good," Jazz intoned.
The scout finished off the rest of his energon and set the empty cube on the makeshift table. "Stay put until I get back. I promise I'll dig something up."
"We will be here when you return," Prowl promised.
"I'll see you then." Hunter offered a half smile, clapping his brother one last time on the shoulder. He cast Jazz a smile that was not so affectionate, belying the suspicions that remained. Jazz was openly suspicious of Hunter, his smile tinted with poison.
With the usual melody of transformation, Hunter collapsed into his alt mode and disappeared into the darkness.
Jazz continued to sit in his chair and sip from his energon cube.
Prowl stared down at his tensely.
"Can we trust him?" the saboteur suddenly asked.
The tactician looked up to regard his partner with a carefully calculating expression. "He is my brother," he said.