~blah~ is comm-speak ; blah is Cybertronian
Disclaimer: All recognisable characters, places, etc. belong to HasTak and other copyright holders. I make no profit from this.
Chapter 14: The third target
The sound of the door opening broke Wheeljack from his cycling thoughts and he tried to twist around to see who it was, then cried out involuntarily as the half-healed tear in his side protested.
"Easy there, Jack, don't blow a gasket!" his guest protested.
"Jazz?" he frowned, still struggling to sit up and finally managing it with the other mech's help. "What are you doing here?"
"So a mech can't stop by an' visit a friend?" Jazz asked, making sure he was stable before stepping back. "Anyone know you're sittin' in here leakin' like that?"
"What? Oh, it's nothing much. I just pulled a bit of the plating loose, it was on too tight. Can I go back to Ratchet now? Did Prime send you?"
"Prime doesn't know I'm here." Jazz shook his head, grabbing a nearby stool and settling gracefully onto it.
For a moment, Wheeljack flashed back to a time many vorns ago when he had welcomed Jazz into his berth now and again, before he'd fallen for Ratchet. It was never a long term thing with Jazz, but it had been a lot of fun and occasionally he found himself noticing all over again how elegant the other mech was, in both movement and design.
It was no wonder that so many mechs were happy to have him for as long as the relationship lasted, even knowing that he would move on to someone else all too soon.
"Why've you never shared with Ratchet?" he blurted suddenly, asking the question he had occasionally pondered.
Jazz did not seem put out by the abrupt change of topic, only tilting his head a little to indicate his surprise.
"I don't go where there's no interest." the response came simply, but then was followed up. "Why'd you ask?"
"I've... I guess I've wondered."
"Well now you know."
The response was a little sharp and Wheeljack frowned, wondering what had caused the uncharacteristic irritation.
"Sorry, it's none of my business." he began, but Jazz waved a hand to dismiss the apology.
"Nah mech, no worries. It's been a long coupla days, and I haven't had a chance to charge properly yet. An' that ain't why I'm here. Why'd you do it, Jack?"
"Do what?" Wheeljack asked, trying to sound innocent.
Jazz did not seem amused, just staring at him, and Wheeljack sighed and stared at the floor. A lecture from Ironhide, a scolding from Optimus, and now a 'friendly' interrogation from Jazz. What would be next, a spark-to-spark with Prowl? He shook off that thought. In truth, it was never easy to hide the truth from Jazz. The mech was usually two steps ahead anyway, but he was a good listener and right now Wheeljack needed someone to confide in. Jazz, at least, could be discreet.
"He's going to leave me." he admitted miserably. "I know he is. If I could just talk to him, apologise, I might... I just wanted to talk..."
Jazz waited a moment, making sure he was finished before speaking up.
"Talk about what, Jack? Ain't like he's in any state for a good old chat right now. I know you want him online, I get that, but Aid's the medic. Better to let him do things his way, right?"
Wheeljack flinched, then winced as the movement made the pain in his side worse.
"It's my fault." he confessed, pressing one hand to his side to ease the pain. "I told him I'd fix that shelf, and I was going to do it yesterday but I got distracted. If it'd fallen any other time it wouldn't've been a problem, but he was lying there. He never just lies there, but he was up all night picking bits of tree out of Fireflight and he was tired... Jazz?"
His guest had risen and sat on the side of the berth next to him, and was now peeling his fingers away from his side and examining the damage.
"You didn't know it was gonna fall right then." Jazz pointed out. "He didn't, either. It was an accident. An' yeah, he could die, but First Aid is pretty positive about it all so I don't think we're gonna lose'im, so you'll get your chance t'talk if you're just a bit patient. Hold still a click."
Wheeljack winced but complied as Jazz prised the plating up a little more and squeezed the dripping energon line for a moment. The increase in damage made his self-repair system rush into action, and by the time Jazz had curled the thin plating back into place Wheeljack was already feeling the difference.
"What did you do?"
Jazz shrugged.
"Field trick to stop bleedin'. Just the right amount of pressure triggers the self repair; too much, though, and the line'll tear right through. It'll hold until I get ya back to the repair bay, which I will do so long as I know you ain't gonna try any more stunts wit' Ratchet. Aid'll pull'im through."
Wheeljack looked away.
"He won't want me there."
"Who, Aid?" Jazz frowned. "He ain't one t'hold a grudge. No, wait, you're thinkin' o' Ratchet? An' after jus' tellin' me how much ya wanna talk to the mech? You're not glitchin' that badly. He'll yell at you for being so stupid, sure, but he'll want you there. He loves you, Jack."
Wheeljack shook his head.
"No. I love him. There's a difference. He'll want to break it off after this. I know it."
There was no immediate response and he looked up sharply to see Jazz rubbing tiredly at the top of his visor. The sight startled him: no-one was more careful about projecting the image they wanted other mechs to see, but Jazz seemed to be having trouble keeping up the role of concerned friend. He truly was exhausted, Wheeljack realised, and wondered what had been going on since he had been injured.
"You love'im." Jazz echoed, his hand dropping away to move over Wheeljack's shoulder in a casually friendly gesture once he realised he was being observed. "I know that. Everyone knows it. You've made it pretty clear over the vorns. You really think if he didn't feel the same he wouldn'ta told ya t'frag off by now? It ain't like the mech has trouble expressin' himself, Jack. If he has somethin' to say, everyone hears it."
"Then why won't he just say it!" Wheeljack exploded. "Just once. Why doesn't he trust me? Why does he share with me and then go recharge on his own? Why?"
Jazz shrugged.
"You'll have to ask him. Here's what I do know: he's happier now than he was when I first met'im, and that's because of you. You two were friends for a long time, an' that was good, but this is more. An' if you think one li'l accident's gonna make'im forget that, then you're glitchin'. Yeah, he'll yell at you. Sure, he'll be angry. But then he'll get over it an' he'll want you right there where you are - I guarantee it. Now. I got stuff t'do, an' we need to get you some proper treatment. If I take you back to First Aid, you promise you won't cause any more trouble?"
"I won't. I just need to talk to him. I need to apologise."
"You'll get your chance. Right. So, can you walk? Because there ain't no way I can carry you, but I could call in the twins for a hand?"
"I can manage."
"Off we go, then."
Pinpoint kept his head down, pretending to be utterly absorbed in his work in the hope that he would continue to be ignored. By choice he would have left the room but there was no way to do that without interrupting the other two present and he had no desire to do that at all.
His thoughts drifted back to life on Cybertron. The Neutral enclave he had been activated into had been small and close-knit, concealed deep in the catacombs under Iacon. Life had been safe there. He had been bored and determined to seek adventure, but now that he had found it he spent more and more time wishing he had never left.
Getting accepted as a recruit had been exciting, though there had been clear disappointment from the trainers once they realised that his core programming meant he could never shoot a rifle or fight as a soldier. Still, they had found him work, and when the chance came to join the crew of the Ark he had wasted no time in accepting. The chance to work near the heart of the Autobot army - near the Prime himself - had seemed a dream at the time.
Now it felt more like a nightmare.
Waking up after the crash to discover that they had lost so very many of the crew had been shocking. All of his workmates were gone, along with most of the noncombatant mecha. Those left online were almost exclusively frontline soldiers and command-level officers. Mecha he knew by name and reputation but had only seen at a distance now passed him in the hallway or stood next to him in the rec room for a turn at the energon dispenser. And the chief tactical officer, the second in command himself, had summoned him to discuss what role he could play amongst all these celebrities.
Unfortunately, his choices were limited. He couldn't use, build or repair weaponry, he wasn't a medic, and he didn't really like the organics at all. They just seemed so unnatural to him. So alien. Whenever they turned up at the Ark he preferred to stay right out of their way.
Fortunately, Prowl had a solution. Pinpoint had been appointed to the role of administrative aide. He wasn't required to work directly with any of the battle plans that would have conflicted with his primary programming, but took over the more menial data entry for things like the energon consumption statistics and researching the meteorological fluctuations around the planet. It was boring, but at least he was contributing, and it was a role that usually meant very little direct interaction with others.
Most of the time being Prowl's aide meant a very structured existence working in a calm, stable environment for a very logical and patient boss. Occasionally, though, it put him right in the centre of some of the Ark's worst clashes. Like right now.
"Furthermore," Optimus Prime was growling at his SIC, "you will drop this investigation you're running into this fictional 'third target'."
"I believe the target exists." Prowl responded calmly.
"Whether it does or not, it's polarising the whole crew. Half of them want to go out searching, and the other half are demanding I shift Jazz into other quarters so he doesn't have to put up with you any longer."
"I have apologised for my behaviour, and Jazz has accepted that apology. There is no further animosity between us."
"Then why is he avoiding your quarters? Prowl I want this to stop, and it's going to stop."
"Very well." Prowl nodded. "This investigation will be closed. And I will speak to Jazz. If he wishes to find other accommodations, we can look at the roster and determine an appropriate rearrangement however I do not believe that this will be necessary. Now about this restriction you have placed on his staff..."
"That is nothing to do with your duties. Has he spoken to you about it?"
"No, but I have seen this latest roster. It would be a better use of resources to have Mirage and Hound watch for Decepticon movement outside our sensor range."
"No, they stay on base. Now, I have to get to the repair bay. Has Perceptor reported yet?"
Pinpoint grimaced. That had been another unpleasantness. Perceptor had been defensive about his choice to abandon First Aid in the repair bay, and not even repentant that he had remained in his quarters while Prowl, Jazz and Sunstreaker were desperately trying to defend the Ark from Devastator. The lecture on his duties that Prowl had given had been stinging.
"He has." Prowl responded. "First Aid has recommended that he be given other duties, and I concur: I am unconvinced he was very effective as an assistant medic. We have discussed it and he has agreed that his recent conduct has been less than could be expected."
"But how did Jazz find out...?" Optimus began, then sighed. "Never mind. Make an announcement that we are no longer looking for a third target. And sort out this mess with Jazz so he can get some recharge in, he's starting to look like a drone."
"Yes, sir."
Prime left and the door closed, and there was silence for the first time this shift.
After a constant run of complainants over the rosters which had already changed three times in the last two joors and were about to be changed again, and then Perceptor's dressing down, and then Red Alert's complaints that Jazz's team was acting oddly and refusing to leave the rec room without orders from Jazz or Prime himself, Pinpoint had had more than enough and he knew that Prowl probably had too. Perhaps now, though, things would calm down?
Pausing the program he was running, he turned to look at his boss.
"Sir? What do you want me to do with this data I compiled?"
"Have you found anything?"
"No sir."
"Then save it to a data crystal and begin an internet search for news items relating to jets during the time period specified."
"But..." Pinpoint began hesitantly. "I'm sorry, but didn't you just tell Prime you weren't going to look anymore?"
"I said that the investigation would be closed. I did not give a timeframe for when that would happen. Make sure you include..."
He broke off as the door opened and Jazz walked in.
"Got a minute, Prowler? Need to talk to ya."
Pinpoint slumped in his seat in frustration, but Prowl's response was unexpectedly up-beat.
"Excellent. I also need to speak to you. Lets do this in the rec room, I need some energon and you appear to require some yourself. Pinpoint: turn that off, bring those and join us."
Jazz accepted the cube Prowl handed him, leaning back to put his feet up on the corner of the table and smirking at his bondmate's automatic disapproving glance before sipping at his energon.
"So Prime's been visitin', huh?"
Pinpoint hesitated by the table.
"Uh, I'm actually still on duty, so..."
"Sit down." Prowl instructed. "You can process that data as easily here as in my office. More easily here, in fact, given how many interruptions we have already had today. Sit. And yes, Jazz, Prime did stop by. He's suggested that you would feel more comfortable if you found some other accommodation."
That, then, was why they were here, Jazz realised. So that this conversation could be overheard. Such was occasionally the way with the roles they were forced to play, and they had done it before.
It was, in fact, the first time in their lives they had officially shared quarters, and it had only happened because of the crash. With accommodation space so limited, it had been almost inevitable. If anything, it would probably have been more suspicious if they had found a way out of it, though of course they had done all they could to be publicly avoiding spending time there together.
So which way would this go now? If Prowl thought it was important that they be seen to be separate, he would persist and some other arrangement would have to be made. In some ways, Jazz hoped it turned out that way - it had always proven easier for him to sneak into Prowl's quarters without anyone being aware. Though of course it would also mean coping with Prowl having a different roommate, which could make things complicated.
Settling back he looked at the tactician over the rim of his cube, coincidentally ensuring he was on just the right angle to keep an eye on most of the mechs in the room to watch their reactions.
"Where'd that come from?"
"Apparently," Prowl replied drily, "our dispute has become so antagonistic that you have been unable to recharge comfortably."
Jazz snorted, taking note that Bumblebee, Hound and Smokescreen were all within hearing range, amongst others. Those three would be paying particular attention, he knew. Smokescreen was always wanting info for his betting pools, and the ops staff were always looking for an edge over him. It was just the way of things in the work they did, which was part of the reason why he was not truly angry with Bumblebee and Mirage right now. Which wasn't to say he was going to let them get away with whatever they had been doing: getting caught was definitely worse than not trying at all.
"Shame I missed it, then." he drawled, refocusing on Prowl. "I could do wit'a good argument."
"You do look tired." Prowl pointed out matter-of-factly. "And you were not recharging when I saw you earlier, though you were scheduled for it. Also, your previous scheduled break was interrupted by the explosion."
"Too much to do." Jazz dismissed the issue. "I've just been in to see First Aid, by the way. They're gonna try again in a few breems."
Prowl inclined his head.
"Ah."
"Ah?" Jazz echoed, finishing off the energon in his cube and reaching for the carafe Prowl had set on the table.
Prowl did not enlighten him, instead picking up one of the datapads Pinpoint had put on the table and glancing over it, then he held it out. Jazz took it and was surprised to see a list of potential Decepticon targets with probabilities stacked alongside each.
"Anyone ever tell you that this kinda persistence ain't healthy, man?"
Prowl frowned at him.
"I do wish you would dispense with using inappropriate human idioms. What do you think?"
Jazz sighed and looked over the list more closely to memorise it in case it turned out to be relevant later, then shook his head and tossed the pad back on the table.
"I think I can't help you. Prime's got everyone tied down at base for the duration. Now if you could get those restrictions eased a bit...?"
Hound and Smokescreen both leaned fractionally closer in anticipation. Bumblebee appeared to be listening intently to Bluestreak but Jazz was not fooled: the wily little scout would be catching every word.
"Not possible." Prowl shook his head, spoiling his moment. "There are to be no exceptions."
"Even just for a quick energon run?"
"None."
"Then there's nothin' I can do. 'Cept get some recharge, of course. Unless you're gonna tell me you've already shifted me out?"
Prowl's frown deepened.
"Hardly. We haven't got anywhere to move you to. If you insist, I suppose we could fit an extra cot in with the twins; all the other rooms that size already have at least three."
"I could shift in with Optimus." Jazz suggested, teasing.
"There's no room in there for another cot."
"Don't necessarily need one." Jazz pointed out, openly grinning now. "I mean, how often do you see me in my own berth as it is? An' his is nice and roomy."
Prowl's optics dimmed in thought.
"Perceptor could probably do with a roommate. I'm sure he wouldn't complain."
"Or we could move him in wit' the twins an' I could have his room to m'self." Jazz considered. "Makes sense, with him an' Sides both helpin' out in the repair bay. They can swot together."
The murmuring around the room proved that they now had everyone's attention, and he sent a little wordless pulse through their bond. Whatever Prowl wanted everyone to hear, now was the time.
"On the other hand," Jazz continued lazily, "I could just stay right where I am. I'm kinda used to your quirks, an' I hate breakin' in new roommates. Wit' my background, I tend t'break'em a few times before they learn not to try'n sneak up on me."
"Fine. Then lets get back to the other issue. Have a look at this."
Prowl turned to his left and ordered Pinpoint to hand him the pad he was working on, scrolling up and searching for something. Jazz took the brief pause to empty his cube rather than give in to the urge to sigh. They had played this game too often over the vorns and he was tired of it. They would talk over an issue publicly just to make it seem like they didn't already know what the other was thinking. How in the name of Primus had no-one ever seen through the sham?
"There." Prowl said abruptly, thrusting the pad back at Jazz. "I knew there'd be a pattern if we looked hard enough."
Jazz looked at it, then looked up in surprise. It seemed that this time, at least, he didn't have a clue what his partner was thinking. So much for predictability.
~Where the frag are you goin' wit' this?~ he asked privately.
Prowl just looked at him expectantly, not acknowledging the comm signal and Jazz reached out his hand to give the pad back to the aide, keeping his eyes fixed on the other officer.
"Pinpoint, take those pads back to Prowl's office and delete'em, would ya? He won't be needin'em now."
Prowl looked affronted.
"You don't see it? It's blatantly obvious."
"Uh huh." Jazz nodded slowly. "Prowl, jus'why did you say Ratchet put you on med leave?"
"That's not relevant. It's obvious that the two attacks were planned so that Megatron could get to..."
"Hang on." Jazz cut him off. "Megs was at the plant."
"Soundwave, then." Prowl amended with audible irritation at the interruption. "It hardly matters whose plan it was, merely what the objective was."
"Mm. How about you finish up this little story on the way back to your recharge berth, hey? Seems like I ain't the only one who hasn't been restin' enough."
"Jazz, you appear to be humouring me." Prowl pointed out coldly. "I would like you to stop that. Surely you see how obvious this is?"
"Not really, but I'd love you to explain it to me. Then once I get it, we can take it to Prime. Best t'get the story straight first, though. Right?"
Prowl was now glaring quite furiously, and Jazz had to work hard to continue looking concerned. He wanted to burst either into hysterical laughter or rapturous applause for the show they were putting on. And mechs said Prowl was a drone? Ha. What little they knew.
"You think I've blown a circuit." the tactician said flatly.
"Truthfully? Yes, that's exactly what I think." Jazz hissed back as though trying to keep from being overheard, but right now the room was so silent he was sure that at least the five or six mechs closest heard anyway. "An' your timin's terrible. Boss-bot don't need this right now."
He sat up and cast around the room as though only just realising that their every word was being attended to, then flicked a hand vaguely.
"You lot must have somethin' else t'be doin': go and do it right now or I'll find somethin' ya won't enjoy so much. Smokey, gimme a hand to get Prowl back to our room, would you? Charger, give Pinpoint a hand gettin' this stuff back to Prowl's office, would you? Bee, go wait outside the repair bay for Prime to come out, then get a message to First Aid that I need to talk to'im when he's got a minute."
~So I don't get to share my theory with the masses?~ Prowl asked.
~We'll save it for later, if we get desperate. This is a bad idea, Prowler. First Aid's trying to find someone else with CPU problems to analyse an' this'll put ya right in the firin' line.~
~I know. He asked me if Red Alert would be a suitable subject. Which is precisely why I am attempting to display the pre-cursor symptoms of a processor freeze.~
Jazz ground his denta. Sometimes, just sometimes, his mate could come up with some totally dense reactions to situations. Generally when it applied to himself.
~That's the worst plan I've ever heard. An' you ain't doin' it right, in any case.~
Prowl's optics narrowed faintly, then suddenly surged and he stumbled, forcing Jazz to catch him.
~You had better help me make it look more realistic, then.~