~~Letting Go of Red~~

Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers, or make any money from this story.

*Content Warnings*: Angst, sexual content, infidelity, emotional instability

Continuity: G1; pre-war

Characters: Prowl, Jazz, Red Alert, Mirage

Summary: It's pre-war on Cybertron and Prowl is Chief of Police in Praxus. He lives in a somewhat up and down relationship with Red Alert. When Jazz comes along, their newfound attraction invariably causes problems.

Chapter summary:

Panic over Red Alert's whereabouts consumes Prowl with guilt and the need to go to Iacon and find his lover. Meanwhile Jazz's previous love-life stalks their relationship -and he soon has reasons of his own to go to Iacon also.

*Warnings* this chapter for sticky sex and extreme angst.

"This time I'm going to do you Prowl."

Prowl did not object. In spite of his systems still tingling with the strength of the recent spike overload, his valve was widening in readiness, the ceiling node on fire. Retracting his still throbbing spike to a mere tip above his valve he lay back, venting hard as Jazz slid on top of him.

And Jazz was not deterred either by the recent pounding of his own valve, an overload so strong it has caused stars to shoot and lights to jangle before his optics, an explosion pleasure and desire which just seemed to get better every time.

He thrust hungrily into Prowl, forcing his spike in deep, feeling charge from Prowl's ceiling node crack against his spike tip as the other mech cried out…

They moved, writhing together as the Praxian morning light streamed through the shutters, the energy field scintillating around them. Jazz paused, venting, holding back lest he overload straight away all over again. "This effect you have on me…" he gasped as his spike throbbed hard, barely held back release only the slightest hairbreadth away.

Prowl agreed. Offlining his optics, he tried to savour the spike, to not retract his valve, to not do anything that would bring about what surely must be the final overload so soon into the proceedings. But Jazz could not wait. "Oh Primus…" he muttered. " I have to Prowl, I have to…" and he began to thrust again.

Prowl let go also, arching up into the spike, clamping hard with his valve while the node exploded in a rush of frenzied currents that raced to his core. "Oh yes, oh yes…"

On the point of overload, the very peak of the crest, Prowl onlined his optics, wanting the desire in his lover's optics, wanting to feel the pounding in his chest, the racing spark energy that promised such greater pleasures and unions to come. "Jazz, I…"

But it was not Jazz's midnight blue, Simpurrian optics that started into his. Instead, pale glassy blue orbs stared from a white face crested by a red helm; a face that crumpled even as Prowl crashed inevitably over the peak. "How could you!" Red Alert wailed above the overload. "You promised, Prowl! How could you?"

"Red…" Prowl gasped in horror. "What - no - I can explain everything! You're still my 'one.' This - it's a work related thing…"

Frantically he reached for his beloved – but his hands clawed empty air. Red's form shimmered briefly, the blue optics piercing pools of deep despair. How could you… his plaintive voice echoed one last time as it broke up, dissipating, a lonely phantasm borne away by the winds of deception and betrayal.

Venting, Prowl clutched at the side of the berth as a ghastly mix of pleasurable memories and guilty despair assaulted his processor. He went to sit up - but his synapses were sluggish; as though his processor and his motor relays were not quite connected. He collapsed back down. Red Alert…

Red had tried to call him. That came rushing back in another torrent of vivid recall. Prowl had paused his thrusting into Jazz, leaving his lover trembling in frustration. "What is it..?"

"My comm. I have to answer…"

'You don't. Turn it off…" And Prowl, unable to resist, had complied, the thrusting recommencing with renewed ardour.

Now, a status indicator was flashing: you have just experienced an offline vision category 3.2: Psychological disturbance indicated. Attention required. Venting hard, Prowl activated his comm-bank; then recoiled anew as several messages from Red pinged immediately.

It was even worse than he could have imagined. Red had needed him – and he had not been there! And now, with the troubles between them recently, Red had gone off somewhere in Iacon. And when he did that…

Prowl called the frequency. The comm pinged out. It did not even go to messagebank!

Fighting off panic, Prowl struggled to focus. How could he have neglected his responsibilities so badly? For was this not also the date scheduled for the Iacon inter-district conference? Was not trouble expected from Kaon, Voss and all manner of other problematic sources?

Was that not the precise reason that he had told Red to come straight back to Praxus; to under no circumstances hang around? That, and the fact that the weather in Iacon was so erratic this time of rotary cycle, the sudden acid storms that blew up being well able to tear a mech apart.

What was I thinking? Hell - what even was the time? The degree of light in the room suggested…

Prowl checked his chrono. Oh no surely not - almost midcycle?

With firm commands to override his over-pleasured circuits, Prowl, heaved himself up. This was a disgrace! Had he, Prowl, chief of the Praxian Enforcement Division, winner of the Orion Award for Excellence, really come to this? This time, Jazz had gone just too far - but it was not his entire responsibility. He, Prowl, had allowed him to go too far.

Jazz. Come to that, where was Jazz? For - now Prowl also vaguely recalled - Jazz had said something somewhere in the proceedings about going to Iacon for the conference also? A late request from the CIO boss. Or something. Oh by Primus – who's in charge of the station?

A datapad propped on the berthside cabinet at least provided the answer to that: Heya gorgeous - say - that was something earlier, the message flashed in fluorescent blue. You were out for the count! But don't worry about a thing. Iacon's covered and I'm at the station. You just stay there and relax…

Relax? Was the mech out of his mind? There was most certainly not time for that! It was at least some small relief that criminals did not run wild though the streets of Praxus with nobody at the helm of enforcement – but Prowl had priorities now. He must locate Red Alert, and bring him safely home. Then he would decide what to do about the other situation. Yes – he could and would not be dictated to on that score either.

And even though his circuits gave one last pleasurable twang - an uncomfortable reminder that perhaps things were perhaps not quite that simple - Prowl resolved firmly to leave Jazz in no doubt from now on this time as to exactly who was in control.

With this in mind, he strode towards the washrack.

….

"If you recall, three cycles ago at precisely fourteen point two-three of the cycle, I apprehended one Insecticon by name of "Kickback." Subject was attempting to remove goods from the Praxian Main Retail Store without providing payment for the same!"

"Right…" Jazz did not look up from the computer. Despite the enthusiasm of Prowl's youngest graduating officer, he could find only mild interest. The activities of the kleptomaniac bug were hardly new – not even something Prowl would get het up about. Though that was kind of a shame, because Prowl was so cute when he was het up – and it was such fun calming him down…

How Jazz loved the way the stress and worry from Prowl's overworked processor slowly drained from his lover's face as Jazz's fingers roved over just the right parts. How delightful to see it replaced by fierce desire, a wanton lust that wiped away the strains and rigours of Praxian policing, slowly consuming all with the passion of their joining…

Humming softly, Jazz continued his examination of the files. They depicted pleasant looking resorts on islands in the Rust Sea. To think that, unknown to his uptight lover, Jazz was organising a nice relaxing holiday, with proceeds from the CIO Public Benevolent Fund! Soon there'd be much more of what happened last night. Jazz couldn't wait to break the news.

Which he should do soon, as Prowl had probably slept on long enough; something at which - Jazz thought affectionately - he would probably not be wholly pleased…

But that would soon be overcome. Prowl would be amply cheered by how well things had gone this cycle; for Jazz had cleaned up, finished the filing and tied up several loose ends on old investigations. He had answered calls, impressed Praxian citizens with the CIO presence in the office and even persuaded Soundwave to let him stay here and not be at that tiresome conference in Iacon - the last place Jazz wanted to be right now, especially during a storm.

He had also started Prowl's newest recruit, Streetwise, off on a new investigation - that of the offworld arms racket that Jazz suspected was operating right here in Praxus - something about which, despite his skepticism on the subject, Prowl would be pleased. Yes – by the time Jazz had sensitively explained the activities so far this cycle, Prowl would be very happy to take on just where they had left off before.

"Sir?" Hunter was still standing there. Jazz supposed he should pay the guy some attention – Streetwise had gotten enough earlier. Switching the computer screen back to the Praxian Police logo, he swung his chair around.

"Now then - what 's goin' on?"

The young officer swallowed. Then he jutted his chin out. Jazz suppressed a smile. It was not hard to tell who had trained him.

"I just thought you should know, Sir, that the matter was in court this morning and the bug got away with it. His lawmech argued that the said Insecticon was the victim of species discrimination. He allegedly panicked, exiting the store in fear of his life and forgetting to leave the merchandise behind. The judge bought it, even though evidence of this 'incident' seemed to be rather – lacking."

"Is that so?" Jazz could not suppress a chuckle."Well - y'know what I've said about civilian judges here. Mech probably thought the bug was cute…"

"That's just it Sir - we had a visiting judge - one who's attached to the Iacon Judiciary. He's far from a soft touch. And you'll never guess who Kickback's lawmech was. It was that cocky yellow one that Prowl was after on Ganthis!"

The smile vanished from Jazz's face as something froze, inwardly. "Swindle?"

"I believe that's his designation, Sir."

"He's here? In Praxus?"

"Er - obviously, Sir. Well - was, earlier this cycle anyway. But…" the mech drew himself up importantly again. "I observed that the Insecticon and this Swindle departed together, and that the lawmech did not appear to have any other clients."

Uncomfortable feelings stirred in Jazz. His mind went back to the Iacon High Court, to Starscream's trial, to the strutting yellow lawmech and the smug expression on his face when the Quintesson judge had proclaimed the Vossian innocent of murdering his partner Skyfire on the off world expedition.

A deep anger stirred. Swindle had made much of the result, acquired a reputation as the best defense lawmech on Cybertron. Relegated back to Ganthis, All Jazz's commitments to the science academy, his efforts to see justice done had come to nothing. He had looked like a fool.

Worse, he would never, ever believe that the verdict was right, that someone, somewhere had not handsomely paid off both judge and lawmech.

What the rookie said was interesting, however. Swindle had gained more than enough kudos to keep himself well employed by Iacon's more elite criminal class for the rest of his life. Why was he bothering with a bug? And what was he doing here?

"Although it was not entirely within protocol, I followed them," Hunter went on. "They proceeded to the Transit Port, where I observed a rendezvous with one Scavenger and one Vortex– also mechs of interest, as I understand. Swindle and Vortex boarded a shuttle. They departed."

Jazz's processor whirred. Scavenger was a construction mech who'd been hanging around Praxus, having fallen out with this cohort at the Halco Mine on the Iron Plains. He was, like the Insecticon, more of a nuisance than a threat. Vortex, however, was a different matter - a Tarnian rotary, known for his somewhat creative methods of dealing thoroughly with any mech foolish enough to jack off certain connections in the Cybertronian underworld.

Including arms dealing type connections. He's behind the operations here? And Swindle's involved?

Jazz felt a warm glow of excitement growing inside. The new assignment suddenly got a great deal more interesting. Imagine if I could bust the Kaonese ring from here? That would put me back in favor in Iacon. Better still - I might even nail that yellow glitch…

He remembered the humiliation of the defeat, his 'posting' to Ganthis. What sweet revenge if Swindle could be brought down now; besides which - better and better - what a splendid reason to tell Soundwave that there must be a permanent CIO presence in Praxus!

Hunter shifted. Jazz smiled at the eager looking youngster."Thanks - good work, kid. Make sure y'do a full report – and forget the protocol bit. I'll be given the chief a glowing rap just as soon as he gets here and hey - we might just find a reason to bring that bug back in for a few questions, huh?"

Hunter beamed. "Why, thank you Sir. I'll get right on to it!"

He turned to leave - but as he did so the door opened and Streetwise appeared. "Excuse me Sir…" the young mech seemed flustered. "There's a mech from Iacon on the command post comm. He says he must speak with you."

Jazz's excitement evaporated. Only one mech who'd call form Iacon and that's Soundwave. Don't tell me he can't cover it after all…

"I'll call him back," Jazz said pleasantly, thinking he needed time to concoct another excuse. And make his 'recommendation'. Hell – all this excitement! Above all, his thoughts were already returning to the expression on Prowl's face when they saw each other again soon, the flare of the powerful energy field that Prowl would try so hard to suppress – and fail at so abysmally.

He smiled at the pair. "Now, if the two of you could carry on with the duties you were previously assigned…"

"Uh…" Hunter glanced anxiously at Streetwise, and back to Jazz. "I tried to fob this mech off, Sir, but he's got a really posh accent and he - uh – he's kinda important. He insisted. He said the matter was urgent".

It took Jazz only microclicks to work out who this was, and to conclude that what had been going to be an easy shift and pleasant reunion with Prowl was rapidly turning into something a great deal more complicated. By the time this cycle was over, he suspected that they'd both need that holiday.

"I'll take it…" Pushing past the now surprised looking recruits, Jazz proceeded briskly to the command post.

….

I really must be more in control…

As Prowl doused himself in the wash rack, he reflected on this fact, recalling only too well that things had gotten far to way out of control – ever since time he'd found himself back on Ganthis that time, a long time after his first meeting with Jazz.

Much had happened during the vorns. They'd talked late, and Prowl had found himself delighted to see the interesting mech again - even if Jazz did seem a little downcast. Enthusiastically, he'd told him all about the Orion award, the station and his every day life - in a way he realized sadly that he had not done with Red for some time. And he'd confided in the other…

"Alas I must confess that I'm here on family business. A relation of mine - Smokescreen – has become attached to some disreputable types who frequent this place. Some very dodgy deals have been going down here, and he has lost a lot of money. I would very much like to find out who is responsible."

Jazz had stared at him for a moment. Then he'd laughed. "Pal - I'm sorry about yer relation, but this is Ganthis. Jewel of Cybertron's moons, a haven for the lawless. Dodgy things happen here all the time, but things've changed. There ain't no such things as justice no more on this miserable wreck of a planet."

Prowl had been taken aback. He had not gotten to know Jazz all that well before, but he was sure he'd never talked like this. "Well I'm sure if we combine our efforts …"

"Look…" Jazz had banged down his glass and regarded Prowl fiercely. You wanna know about justice - I'll tell you about justice…"

And he'd told Prowl all about the Starscream trial whilst Prowl realised - with more than a slight pang of guilt - that he'd never known it was Jazz who'd been behind the prosecution. Or any details of it really. He'd been stuck then by how easy it was in Praxus to be embroiled in Praxian affairs, to take only mild interest in the antics on the planet elsewhere.

He'd vowed to change that - and felt compelled to reassure Jazz. "You know - sometimes things don't run out the way we think they will - because in fact, justice does get done. A Quintesson found Starscream innocent. Is it possible he didn't..?"

"Oh he did it!" Jazz said bitterly. "I ain't never been more certain o'nothin' in my life. Look at the facts! An experienced shuttle-explorer disappears without a trace? Makes no sense. Look at public opinion. Everyone thinks he did it. And Quintessons?" Jazz threw up his hands. "Who knows?"

"I must say, the procedures did seem rather - odd," Prowl agreed, thinking that he really knew little about Quintessons except that at some point far back in history they had created his ancestors, and that the judges never interfered on Cybertron unless a mater of public interest was at stake. "I have to agree with you wholesparkedly on one score, Jazz - the trial looked as though it wasn't quite right."

Jazz had scowled and swirled the dregs in his glass. "Yeah - which is why I can't accept the decision. Or that Starscream walked outta there. Or that that yellow glitch of a lawmech Swindle got one over me – or that I'm stuck in this miserable dump."

The sounds of the bar had buzzed lightly in the background. Prowl had leaned closer and patted his wrist. "I'm sorry. I guess I'm just trying to say that sometimes we just have to do all we can and be content with that. You did a great job - everyone thinks so. This will blow over. An agent of your talents? You'll be back in Iacon before you know it."

Slowly, Jazz had looked up until he was gazing intensely into Prowl's optics. "Thanks" he'd said. "I guess not everyone has that view."

Prowl had been all too conscious of the dark flickering optics, the lithe body, the intricacy of the mechanism before him. He wanted to feel it intimately, to find out so much more about this talented being, who was apparently so sadly misunderstood. It had taken all Prowl had to not go much further in his 'consolation' of Jazz.

After he'd returned to Praxus, he'd found his mind wandering, the gulf between he and Red widening to a new chasm. Instead of trying to mend the relationship, he'd buried himself in work, leaving early and returning late, Red's insatiability and his need for own sexual relief was the only bridge that pulled them together as they drifted apart like rudderless vessels on a storm tossed sea.

And secretly he'd looked for excuses to go back to Ganthis. But Smokescreen had bought a place in Iacon; and whilst this was with funds from Primus knew only where, he seemed more settled. There was no need to visit the iniquitous den again…

And then Jazz had turned up in Praxus.

Finishing his wash cycle, Prowl turned on the dryer. It was only a short time - a very short time later that Prowl had had to say: "I'm attached."

Jazz had looked – surprised. "Yeah? Not that security mech from ages ago?"

"Yes. Red Alert. He works in Praxus now. We've – er - lived together for a while. I meant to say something before, but…"

"Oh no mech, think nothin' of it, I understand…" Nevertheless, Jazz had looked disappointed.

But then, a wicked smile had appeared on his faceplates. "I guess it just ain't my lucky strike. Shame. I thought my life was about to change - apart from finally getting a spell in Praxus, that is." He seemed cheerful, as though he'd recovered from the ravages of the trial - which was now in any case very much back screen news.

"I'd very much like us to be friends, Jazz. But that's all." Prowl had been aware of the strain in his voice as he said it, the flare that his energy field had unwittingly emitted. It hadn't escaped Jazz's notice.

"Yeah - well - I guess if that's the goods then that's the goods," he'd smiled, casting his optics over Prowl's frame and looking more appealing than ever. "After all, bonds are bonds! Can't say I've ever tied myself into that situation…"

"Oh no, Red Alert and I aren't bonded!" Prowl had blurted out. "We're just – close. And – devoted." And yet even as he'd said, he'd wondered if that was so for Red Alert, if whether the way things had been lately - his silences, Red's disappearances - meant it was something really not like that at all.

Jazz was gazing at him intensely, reflecting the uncertainty that Prowl knew was obvious, the pull in his core that he couldn't ignore. "Well - if y'ever felt like some extra-curricular activities. Sometimes that can help…"

"I don't I can assure you!"

No – blundering down that path was not an option. He had chosen Red as a partner - and he should not judge Red, or the fact that Red had taken off again, or that Red's own fidelity of late was decidedly in question. Red was troubled, in need of help. Prowl could not simply adopt the same course. It was a matter of principle.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"OK - I get it," Jazz has sighed resignedly. "I just - wish it wasn't like that I guess. Haven't ever met a mech like you before - not in the force, anyway. You're - uh - different. From what I've been used to."

His smile had almost melted Prowl right there on the chair in front of him.

"But," he shrugged, "this is a temporary arrangement. As you said before - I'll be back in Iacon in no time."

I could have left it at that - kept my distance. let him do his job whilst I did mine.… But Prowl hadn't – the two of them were too drawn to each other, like magnetic moths attracted by each other's inner pole. It was only a short time later - after a short dinner arrangement at which very little was eaten - that Prowl's aching interface mechanisms had found relief by plunging into Jazz in a small alcove just outside the restaurant; the first port of call on the passionate journey on of what was to come.

Shaking his head, Prowl turned off the dryer and stepped out of the washrack. Red could have come right by there and seen us…

Shameful! It was the first chapter in the total taking leave of my senses – and now look what's happened? If some fate has befallen Red, then I'll be responsible. Look at me - a hapless, lovesick fool who can't even turn up for work on time. Or be honest with a mech to whom I mean the world – whatever his antics may be. I'm even a poor example to my staff. It simply will not do!

Re-entering the berthroom, Prowl seized his outer chest armour. Drawing himself up and straightening his chevron, he applied it as he looked in the mirror. He jutted out his chin. Like the Prowl of old I must be.

And I won't just 'install' Red in Iacon he thought, firmly applying his badge. It can wait until I am ready. And I'll check up on Smokescreen while I'm in Iacon. I must show Jazz that I am no longer prone to his manipulations!

Besides – Prowl cast a glance around - there were other matters to consider. Apart from anything, Jazz was - untidy! Look at this place – still only a temporary arrangement, yet there was stuff everywhere. The lounge and kitchen were not much better, and through in the apartment's cramped little office, came the whirr of a computer left on. Had that been going all darkcycle? The mech was not just untidy, but wasteful!

Of course – that was it. Irrevocably attracted they may be, but their differing lifestyle values rendered them just not ready for cohabitation. Well – not yet.

Before departing, Prowl quickly visited the office, remindig himself as he approached the still lit screen that Red was meticulous about such things, and he, Prowl, liked that. This would never have happened at home.

…..

On the command comm receiver, a red light was flashing. Settling himself in Prowl's expansive command chair, Jazz watched it for a few moments, drumming his fingers on the desk. He could picture – feel the impatience of the mech at the other end, could see the cobalt blue, diamond shaped optics glittering dangerously.

What that had used to do to him! Somehow now, since Prowl, it just – didn't; though that didn't mean Jazz felt nothing. There was a certain triumph, for instance. Of course there was, when this mech could have anything, anyone he wanted. And yet you still come back to me…

For although undoubtedly a perfectly logical explanation would accompany the call, there would be other reasons. Jazz knew it.

Somethin' of a reversal of how things used to be ain't it… Jazz reached over and pressed the button.

"Mirage," he said. "What can I do y'for?"

…..

Prowl stared at the computer screen, still not really able to believe what he was looking at. The pictures of Jazz with somebody else had caught him enough by surprise. Who it was had been enough to put from his mind, momentarily, even thoughts of Red Alert, and to go through the images again; just to be sure that he was not 'seeing things.'

He wasn't. There was no mistaking the elegant blue and white form, the distinguished alpha-caste features and uniquely shaped optics of the mech who graced various parties and functions in Icon's most exclusive venues. Mirage, pure-caste of the Ligier clan, descended from the Lumina elite, owner of large chunks of Cyberton, looked even more charming and charismatic than he did at the Iacon track. He was a frequent victor there, being not only one of the richest but also one of the fastest mechs on the planet.

And there was Jazz beside him, a handsome adornment for the occasions, an expression of great happiness on the face Prowl had come to know so well as they posed for the cameras – laughing together, holding hands and on more than one frame – giving each other a media-perfect kiss…

Prowl looked away. This was – impossible. It didn't even compute - Jazz didn't even like the Alpha caste! He went on about them: the obnoxious 'borne to rule' mentality. How inability to face the decline of the caste order had brought about decadence and dysfunction. Their hypocrisy in upholding the 'old religion' – when really, money and power – yielded with singularly un-religious ruthlessness - had long replaced the piety of the temples.

There had to be an explanation. Prowl went back to the screen – hastily flicking on from the 'kissing' shot to something a little less confronting. He looked at the date on it. Less than half a vorn ago!

A sick feeling like a slowly spreading virus began to creep through Prowl's systems. Did this explain why Jazz was so much 'better' when he'd turned up in Praxus? Had the luxuries of the Towers, the Glades, the Village and their various other well to do locations– not to mention the presence of a sleek Alpha body in the berth – provided sufficient healing comforts to overcome the miseries of the trial?

No wonder Jazz is so – skilled. For yes, of course - were not Alphas famous for that? Their 'abilities' and stamina in the berth were exceeded only by their unconscionable philandering – which proceeded extensively, both inside and outside their caste. So it was said. On good authority.

"Darn it!" raising both fists, Prowl banged them down on the console. How could he have been so stupid? No wonder Jazz had had no qualms – no qualms at all about 'connecting' with Prowl when Prowl already had a partner. It was exactly what they did – and no doubt Jazz had been taught by a master. Even this latest obsession with him giving up Red Alert was a very Alpha thing – about control and conquest, and very little about anything else. Prowl would no doubt be history, just as soon as Jazz had achieved his objectives.

Anger coursed through Prowl. Anger and shame. It was bad enough that he'd made such a fool of himself over this whole affair already. Now he knew that this was the agenda…

And to think that I've been doing this to Red Alert! And there was Red out there somewhere now; Red, his devoted partner, wandering, alone in Iacon, possibly damaged and probably with nowhere to take refuge in the storm. Prowl glanced at the screen again, noticed a caption on one of the frames – one that depicted the pair's mutually adoring presence at an evidently elaborate party in some crystal gardens. "Always" the caption said.

Prowl had seen enough. Striding out of the room, he commed the command post at the station. He wouldn't bother with talking to Jazz on his personal frequency – oh no, the time for that was past now. Instead, an officious call would inform the CIO agent that he was relieved of his 'in charge' role, that Hunter was more than capable of assuming temporary command whilst Prowl went directly to Iacon.

Attending to what really counted was never more of an imperative.

But it was Hunter himself who answered the comm. "I'm sorry Sir," he said. "Jazz is on the comm to - uh - some Alpha-mech from Iacon. It seems to be a matter of some importance."

Prowl could barely contain his rage. "Interrupt him!" he roared. "And tell him there is no matter of greater importance than what I need to speak to him about now!"

…..

"There's a problem," the upper caste voice drawled down the comm.

"Really? Yeah – I heard it was the motherboard of all storms…"

"I don't mean that sort of a problem!" Jazz smiled slightly at the evident impatience, the sure signs that the mech on the comm was not quite as in control as he liked to be. It was kind of amusing, really – not at all a source of intimidation, as once it had been.

"I'm at the Dome," Mirage said. "A certain other personage is here. I'd rather he wasn't. I want the CIO to do something about it."

Starscream, Jazz thought, his circuits rippling in renewed desire for retribution.

But he controlled his excitement. Don't give nothin' away. "Soundwave is there," he said pleasantly. "He's more than capable of handling any situation that might arise. If you like, I can make sure you receive his personal attention…"

"That's not what I meant and you know it! He doesn't listen to me any more, Jazz. I need you here."

Sitting back in the chair, Jazz crossed his pedes on the console. "Don't you think I've rather done my piece with this particular issue? I mean – I know Starscream's failed little jaunt lost you a lotta money. An y' never did get your offworld title to this far-flung hellhole he an' Skyfire were going to, wherever that is…"

"That has nothing to do with it!" Mirage snapped. "This is about what happened on that far flung hellhole – and you know it."

"Yeah well – I tried, didn't I? The Quints thought otherwise…"

"The Quintessons! Undoubtedly the most corrupt beings in this entire sector of the quadrant! And as for that mech who defended Starscream…"

"The Quintessons are your direct creators, and experts at ajuducation," Jazz said smoothly, pleased at his ability to say the exact opposite of how he felt in the interests of causing the Alpha-mech such extreme discomfort. Oh how the tables had turned!

There was a momentary silence. Jazz sensed Mirage assessing his words, working out tactics of his own. Such had been their relationship - always one that had to outwit the other. The problem was, Mirage had usually won – the 'victory' nearly always 'celebrated' with the extreme passion that only Alphas seemed able to create.

The memories were still all too vivid, Jazz realised with dismay. "Starscream's a free citizen now," he said less certainly. "Don't you think it's time we accepted the verdict an' moved on?" Prowl would be proud of me, he thought. Yes – focus on the now love of his life. That was a good idea.

"Oh come on Jazz!" The Alpha's voice was softer. "You're not fooling me. I know how much you want revenge; to see justice done, and all that. Look –" the voice trickled like soft sand, "I know the terms we parted on were not the best, Jazz. But we do need you here. You're the only one that knows the real situation."

"The Prime is pathetic, his police force incompetent," he went on. "I no longer trust Soundwave - or any of those lackeys who follow him around. He's known to have Decepticon sympathies. And did you know that our Vossian friend has been put in charge of this aerial 'protection' force that this Megatron mech is behind? Whatever Starscream's here for, Soundwave has probably organised it."

Jazz' systems gave a jolt. He hadn't known that; and he had to admit, he'd had his own doubts about Soundwave for a long time now too. He thought of the investigation again, the trial debacle; the odd reluctance of the CIO chief not to press for an appeal. Mirage, as an Alpha, knew things. There was an uncanny ring of truth to his words.

Jazz could feel the pull to the mech, feel his resolve crumbling at Mirage's superior logic, at the strength of the resources Jazz knew could be put at his disposal. He could open this whole issue wide! The Kaonese ring – is that part of this too? He thought again of that, of his own desire to be back in the limelight, professionally admired, seen as a guardian of truth and great ethics.

Yet had not the whole trial thing been another of Mirage's whims, his own desire for recompense of the financial losses falling in nicely with Jazz's own beliefs, making the 'persuading' of Jazz to prosecute an easy task?

And where did that get me? Somethin' like this falls flat it could be so much worse. Besides, didn't I say I was sick'n tired o'getting' reeled in and reeled out like a sharkticon at the end of a linemech's spool...

"An' say I turn up there an' Starscream's there, what'd you have me do?" he asked, a touch of defiance evident.

"Well – bring him in, of course. If he does something untoward."

"An' if he doesn't? Or of he does an' Soundwave's standin' there tellin' me to let him be and not be a freakin' idiot about a free Cybertronian enjoying his rights?"

"Then the opportunity for observation would be invaluable I believe."

This is scrap pit, Jazz thought, not unhappy with the conviction rising once again that Mirage simply wanted him there, and that it had little to do with Starscream, or Soundwave, or any Decepticon threat. "Can't you do that yourself? Or did your electro-disruption licence expire?" he goaded smoothly.

"It's perfectly current, but I am not doing your job for you Jazz! And I'm aware that this new infatuation of yours appears to have submerged you in things Praxian to the exclusion of all else…"

"I knew it!" Jazz cried. He had won, for once! "Well I love Prowl as it happens. An' I ain't comin' to Iacon!"

He braced for further recrimination; but instead, there was a sigh on the end of the com. "I didn't want to have to use this," Mirage said. "But since you have this attitude, you leave me no choice. The point is, you told me about your little holiday in the Rust Sea – even got me to contribute to the Benevolent Fund. Now – far be it for me to ruin your fun, but…"

Jazz took his feet of the desk. He sat up. "You're gonna withdraw your support if I don't do what you want," he said slowly. Darn it! Why had he gone and told Mirage about hat? In fact, why had he told Mirage anything about Prowl at all?

And without the funds? Well, Jazz hardly had the money to afford the holiday himself, did he? Not on the lowest level of CIO wages, as they still were.

A clean break. It was Mirage who'd suggested that. Jazz was the one who'd said "Let's stay friends – we go back too far." Then he'd gone and shot his mouth off. Now he sincerely doubted there was even such a thing as 'staying friends' with somebody like Mirage – or what Mirage had become.

There was a long silence. "I knew you'd see sense," Mirage said. His voice was softer again now – wearing the triumph Jazz had momentarily enjoyed. "Don't worry about the storm – I know just how much you hate the rain. I'm sending a private shuttle. It's acid proof."

Jazz hung up the comm. He barely had time to gather his thoughts before it rang back again. Now what? But it wasn't Mirage this time. It was Prowl.

Despite what had just happened - not to mention the fact that he wasn't getting a repeat of their earlier performance in the foreseeable future - Jazz was cheered immensely. Because – hey – they were still getting their holiday weren't they? And Hunter could take charge here. Prowl would understand.

"Heya…" he began. "Say – you'll never guess what, but…"

"Spare it!" A totally unrecognisable voice met his audios. "I will be making a trip to Iacon and whilst I am there I will be suggesting to your superior that you have outlived your welcome in Praxus. I will be further recommending that you are moved on – IMMEDIATELY!"