Two updates in one weekend! Yay! So, here we kinda see a bit of Jazz's past :)

I would love it if you guys could review to tell me what you think? I love reviews so much, and thank you to everyone who has reviewed already! :D

There was a datapad on Prowl's desk.

Not that a datapad was unusual on the Autobot's Head Tactician's desk, of course, but the purple insignia branded on the back clearly marked it as Decepticon.

Prowl regarded the offending datapad warily, before finally reaching the conclusion that the chances of it blowing up were minimal. An automated message popped up when he turned it on, and Prowl couldn't help but raise an optic ridge as he read through it.

'Prowler,

Surprise! I'm missing you. No one in Kaon is half as fun as you, and the berth is cold without my cutie pie. Ol' Megsy is planning a nice, old-fashioned invasion in Polyhex in two days. This datapad includes all the boring details you love so much; like the time, place and battle plan. Try not to beat us too badly though - it would be more than a little unfortunate if I was found out and tried for treason.

Hoping to see you there, cutie pie.

Love, Jazz'

Prowl couldn't help it; he let out a short, mildly disbelieving laugh. Jazz had managed to sneak into the Iacon base yet again, despite the fact that he was meant to be miles away in Kaon, just to leave Prowl a datapad. And the plans were in-depth and greatly detailed; exactly how Prowl liked it.

He hated to admit it, but he had noticed the absence of Jazz's unusual quirks more than he thought he would have. He missed the Decepticon.

All he needed to do now was present the new information to Optimus, and make sure he would be in on the mission.

...

Jazz stalked through the city of Polyhex with an insane grin on his face, mauling and tearing into anyone who crossed his path. At times his mind became fuzzy, and he became unable to discern between enemies, allies and civilians.

He knew Prowl had gotten the datapad - it was obvious, considering the fact that the Autobots troops had arrived.

Naturally, Megatron was furious. There was no doubt that when they returned to their base in Kaon, the tyrant would be beside himself trying to figure out who had leaked the information. But it would never lead back to Jazz. The saboteur had made sure of that.

Jazz halted in his tracks suddenly, his fist halfway through an Autobot's chassis, as he picked up a familiar spark signature on his scanners. "He came." He laughed quietly in delight, whirling around.

Paying absolutely no mind to the Autobot falling to the ground behind him, Jazz took off in the direction of Prowl's spark signature, leaping and bounding over corpses and body parts as he raced towards the Autobot side of the fight.

Several Autobots fighting on the front lines yelped when they saw him coming, but he ran straight passed them without a second glance.

"JAZZ!" Megatron's roar was blatantly ignored by the silver saboteur. "GET BACK HERE!"

Prowl, who had heard Jazz's name being roared out, turned from where he had been scanning the battle in time to see said Decepticon racing towards him. "Ja-?"

Prowl never got to finish his sentence as Jazz collided with him. They rolled, and Prowl found himself unconsciously clutching at Jazz as they reached a slope and tumbled down it.

Vaguely, Prowl could hear Bluestreak shout out his name. They reached the bottom of the hill, and the impact was enough to force them apart.

Prowl landed rather painfully on his back, and let out a pained groan as his doorwings were jarred. Jazz, naturally, landed on his feet and immediately bounded onto Prowl's torso.

"Jazz! What are you doing?" The tactician hissed. He seemed irritated, but he didn't attempt to dislodge the Decepticon on top of him.

"Missed ya, Prowler." Jazz nuzzled the tacticians neck with his face.

"Jazz, we are in the middle of a battle!"

The only response was a giggle and a light kiss pressed into the black and white mech's neck cables. "Ah'm glad ya got mah datapad."

"I would be able to think better if you were not on top of me in the middle of a battlefield!" Prowl hissed, looking around in case someone could see them.

"Hehe, relax cutie pie. We fell down a hill. No one's gonna see us down here." Jazz assured him, grabbing Prowl's face and pulling it around so he had his undivided attention. "Ya know, Ah think Ah'm gonna come back an' stay at yo' base again for a while. Ah'll have to go back t' Kaon with the 'Cons first, but Ah'll come back and stay at your base again.." He had barely been in Prowl's presence for a minute, but the unstable Decepticon was already beginning to feel more.. Stable.

The battle computer deeply ingrained in Prowl's processor began spitting reasons why that would be a bad idea, but for once his emotions spoke louder than logic. He had missed the saboteur's company too - after all, it wasn't as though anyone else actually wanted to spend time with Prowl. "But.. You only left four days ago." was the only intelligent answer to leave his mouth.

Jazz hummed and nuzzled Prowl's neck again. "Worst four days since-" Jazz cut himself off sharply, before forcing a laugh and shaking his head. "It was weird not seein' your li'l scowl in the mornin' when Ah woke up."

"Since what?"

"Hm?"

"Worst four days since what?"

"Nothin', Prowler." Jazz said firmly. "How 'bout we don't ruin the happy mood, yeah?"

Prowl knew better than to argue, and so dropped the arguement. "Are you going to let me up?"

"Sure." the sighed reply tickled Prowl's audio and caused the black and white mech to shiver. Easily noticing the larger mech's reaction, Jazz grinned widely as he swung himself up and off Prowl's torso.

As Prowl stood up, he brushed dust off his frame. "I cannot imagine that Megatron will be pleased with you. Everyone both heard and saw you completely disobeying orders."

"Ah didn't disobey orders, Ah just didn't listen when he called me." Defensively, Jazz crossed his arms over his chassis.

"Even so. Would I be correct in saying he will punish you for impudence?"

Nothing was said for a long moment, before Jazz finally spoke again. "He ain't ever punished meh before."

That statement earned a small frown from Prowl. "I have heard of Decepticons who have committed suicide after failing Megatron, simply because they were too afraid to face their punishment. But you - what makes you different?"

Jazz shot him a grin and stepped forward, crowding Prowl. The larger mech barely blinked; he was far too used to Jazz's antics by now. "Ah told ya already; Ah'm insane. EVERYONE is scared o' meh. Except you, of course." Reaching out, Jazz smoothed out the frown in the middle of Prowl's forehead with his thumb.

No resistance came from Prowl; if anything, he relaxed at Jazz's touch. "We should go." He said suddenly. "Bluestreak saw you attack me. I'm sure he will come looking for me the moment he can."

"Ah didn't ATTACK ya." Jazz muttered irritably. "You're bein' over dramatic." Ignoring the baleful glare Prowl shot him, the Decepticon leaned his head in and rested his forehead on Prowl's.

With a sigh, the black and white mech once again relaxed into the touch. On the inside, Prowl contemplated what his comrades would say if they saw him looking so cozy with an enemy. Not that he considered Jazz an enemy anymore. "I still think we should go."

"Fine." Jazz whined, stepping back from Prowl. "But Ah'm still comin' with ya."

They began walking back up the hill they had tumbled down, and Prowl let out a wry chuckle. "I never protested."

A smile spread across Jazz's face - a real smile, not his usual maniacal grin. He reached out and cheerfully took Prowl's hand. "Good! Ah knew ya missed meh."

Frowning slightly at their joined hands, Prowl said "Should you not be hiding? We will soon be coming into the view of our comrades." But he didn't pull away.

"Mmm. If ya insist, cutie pie." With a mildly irritated sigh, Jazz released Prowl's hand. "Be seein' ya later, Prowler."

A very small smile appeared on Prowl's face as he watched the saboteur creep away.

...

"So you're definitely sure you're okay? I mean, I know Ratchet said you were okay, but I saw you get attacked by that Decepticon. It was sort of scary, I thought he was going to kill you-"

Prowl had to hold back a sigh as Bluestreak followed him down the corridor, chattering nonstop. "Bluestreak, relax. I am fine."

The chattering faltered for a moment as Bluestreak paused. "I was just worried..."

"There is no need to be. I am fine." Prowl reached his quarters and typed in his code.

The first thing the tactician saw when the door slid open was the familiar form of Jazz curled up and recharging on his berth.

Managing to prevent a strangled yelp from escaping his vocaliser, Prowl punched his fist down on the control panel, successfully slamming the door closed before Bluestreak could see in.

The younger Praxian looked slightly taken aback by Prowl's behaviour. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

"Of course." The reply sounded distinctly strained, and wouldn't have fooled anyone. "I- perhaps you should see Ratchet yourself, in case you are injured. Protocol demands that you see a medic after a battle."

"But- but I thought we were going to go to your quarters? You said you wanted to discuss Sides and Sunny?"

Ah. Yes. Prowl suddenly felt no urge to discuss the Twins with Bluestreak. He just wanted to go into his quarters and ask Jazz how the frag he had gotten here so quickly. "Ah.. Yes. Something has come up. Please accept my apologies, Bluestreak."

Uncertain, Bluestreak gave a little shrug and smile. "That's okay. Another time, then? I'd like you to talk to them properly; I don't mean giving out to them, y'know? I mean properly talking. I think you might actually get on with them."

"I doubt it." Prowl said wryly. "Nevertheless, I will do so if you wish it."

With a beaming smile, Bluestreak gave his larger Praxian companion a bear hug. "Thank you!"

As Bluestreak stepped back and gave a wave, Prowl turned back to his door. He typed in his code yet again, but didn't open the door until Bluestreak had rounded the corner.

This time, Jazz stirred as the door opened and closed. "Prowler?" He asked, red visor flickering drowsily.

"What are you doing?"

With a shake of his head in an attempt to clear his processor, Jazz focused his visored gaze on Prowl. "Whatta ya mean? Ah told ya Ah was comin' back here with ya."

"But how did you reach my quarters before I got here? I thought you were returning to the Decepticons before coming here."

"Oh." With a luxurious stretch that showed off his slender frame, Jazz climbed off the berth and loped over to Prowl. "Well, Ah'm Head o' Special Ops f'r a reason. Although Ah don't think Ah'm technically Head o' anythin' any more."

Prowl frowned as the saboteur stopped right in front of him and leaned in. "What do you mean?"

A gust of warm air blew over Prowl's face as Jazz sighed. "Megatron.. wasn't too happy with meh. Said Ah'd been actin' out recently. Didn't think Ah was payin' enough attention to mah job."

Prowl gazed into the red depths of the visor impassively for a long moment. "So you lost your position?" He said at last, tilting his helm.

"Humph. Guess ya could say that. Ah don't think he wants ta see mah faceplate for a while, so... Here Ah am." It was Jazz's way of saying that this way a place he felt safe.

"I am sorry."

A shrug. "Don't matter."

"Of course it does." Prowl frowned. "Do not pretend to be unaffected."

"Ah just wanna forget abou' it." Jazz murmured, leaning in close again until their olfactory sensors were pressed together. Prowl went to move back, but Jazz's hands shot up and clutched at his face before he had taken so much as a step. "No! Don't."

"Jazz..."

The saboteur hummed as he leaned in even closer. Prowl stood stiffly as the silver Decepticon pressed their lips together in a kiss.

Desperate for Prowl to reciprocate even a tiny bit, Jazz kissed him harder and wrapped his arms around well-built black shoulders. It took a moment, but Prowl eventually placed his hands tentatively on the smaller mechs waist. Barely suppressing a triumphant grin, Jazz managed to commandeer the kiss towards the berth. With a light push, the back of Prowl's knees hit the berth and he toppled backwards.

Jazz was on top of him immediately, the kiss never faltering. Prowl let out a short gasp as he received a sharp nip to his neck. "Jazz- wait."

"Don't wanna." Another nip punctuated his words.

"Jazz! I have no wish to rush into anything."

Completely heedless of the protests, Jazz ground his pelvis onto Prowl's interface panel. His silver paint left satisfying scratches on the Autobot's dark hips.

"I said enough." Prowl pushed Jazz away firmly. Before the Decepticon could get offended, he set his hands on silver shoulders. "Jazz, I consider you to be my friend. And trust me when I say that it has been a long time since I have said that about someone. But I am not, nor have I ever been, the type of mech to interface casually and forget about it the next day."

"Ah never said that was-"

"Yes, you did." Prowl interrupted sharply. "Perhaps, some day, once we got to know each other. But not now."

"Ah don't wanna wait." whined Jazz as he buried his face in black and white chestplates. His sharp fingers began stroking sensitive doorwings; not in a way that was supposed to be sensual, but in a way that begged comfort and reassurance.

Ignoring the pulses of pleasure running through his sensor net from the massage to his doorwings, Prowl laid his hands across Jazz's back. "I want to know about you."

As Jazz stiffened in apprehension, his fingers stopped stroking. "No one ever wants ta know about meh."

"Well, I do." Prowl stated, just barely resisting the urge to whimper and press his doorwings back into those dangerous hands.

The silence stretched on for a long time, until Prowl thought that he wasn't going to receive an answer. But eventually, Jazz lifted his helm and looked Prowl straight in the optic. "What do ya wanna know?"

"Everything."

A short, bitter laugh escaped Jazz's mouth. "That could take a while. Hope ya have time."

"Lots of it."

A pause. "Fine. It'll be easier if we hook up first. Where's your cable?" His only answer was a hesitant look, and Jazz rolled his optics behind his visor. "C'mon, mech. Ah ain't explainin' mah whole life story when Ah can just show ya."

Logical. Prowl nodded and reached for a small compartment in his left shoulder, cautiously unspooling his hardline cable and handing it to Jazz.

Normally, the tactician would have been put on edge at the fact that a Decepticon was handling such delicate equipment. One wrong move with a claw and Prowl would be sent into a world of pain unlike which he had ever known. But he trusted this Decepticon. He was being illogical, irrational, and reckless. And he didn't even care anymore.

"Just sayin', mah life story is long an' depressin', so Ah ain't gonna show ya the whole thing at once. We can watch it in instalments." Jazz flicked open a compartment on his right arm and unceremoniously plugged Prowl in. Abruptly, Prowl was sucked into the whirlwind that was Decepticon Jazz's mind. It was chaotic, colourful and hypnotic ; everything Prowl's mind wasn't. Yet there was an order to the chaos - a type of sharpness that could almost be overlooked, if it weren't so prominent.

"You're beautiful." The words were out before Prowl had any time to think about them of their implications; all he knew was that he was being sincere.

Jazz didn't even respond; he simply directed Prowl to a particular memory file. "Here we go."

~ Memory file ~

"Youngling!"

A young dirty silver mechling stood at the edge of a balcony, peering cautiously over the railing onto the street below. 'Bots shuffled around the streets, going about their daily business without a care in the world. The young mechling appeared fascinated by all the activity below him, but at the sound of his name all the excitement visible on his face vanished, only to be replaced with a neutral expression that had clearly been practiced. "Yes, Brother?" He asked politely as he turned.

A large green and black mech was frowning in the doorway. His body was large enough to inspire caution to anyone who happened to look at him; everything about him looked as though he were built for war, which was far from the truth. No one at this place believed in war. "Get away from the railing. You know perfectly well you are forbidden from being out here."

The young Cybertronian bowed his helm. "Sorry. I just-" he broke off and glanced back at the 'bots below. "How come I can't go and play with those mechlings, Brother Theorem?"

The larger mech gave the smaller a sympathetic look as he steered him away from the balcony and back into the dark depths of the Crypt. "You do not belong with them, young mechling."

The youngling hated the Crypt. Having been left there by his creator when he had barely gotten his final sparkling upgrade, he pretty much belonged to the foreboding temple and the dangerous mechs that ran it. "Where do I belong?"

"Ah, we have yet to find that out. Perhaps you will discover your place on your own, or perhaps you will need some guidance. The day will come. And on that day, you will be permitted to choose a name you believe defines you. And when you choose such a name, you will be free to leave the Temple." Theorem glanced at the youngling. He was different to the others; where the others followed orders out of blind fear of being beaten, this mechling questioned everything and often resisted, resulting in frequent beatings. And yet he continued pushing the boundaries of the Temple's patience.

"The other youngling's already have a name for me." He muttered, scuffing his foot on the ground as he followed Theorem down a dark spiralling set of stairs.

"Ah, yes." The amusement in the old mech's voice was very thinly veiled. "Remind me what this name is, won't you?"

"They call me Highborn."

"And why is that?" They reached the bottom of the staircase and emerged into a dank corridor. Theorem continued leading the way down to the Youth Quarters.

"They are making fun of me."

Theorem hummed thoughtfully, abruptly switching course and heading away from the Youth Quarters. Noticing the change, the silver youngster said nothing as he sped up to keep stride with his much older companion. "Highborn. It seems strangely suited to you." Theorem almost laughed at he sharp look he received. He led the youngling into an empty training room, calmly locking the door behind him. "Choose a weapon."

The youngling hesitated, glancing at the broad array of violent tools displayed on the table. Despite the fact that the Temple Master's didn't believe in war of any kind, physical violence was something they approved fiercely of. It was strange, but after living with these beliefs shoved at you from all directions, it was something one learned to accept. As always, the youngling chose a curved knife; not quite long enough to be a sword, yet not short enough to be considered a dagger. The blade was as long as the mechling's forearm and wickedly sharp - he had claimed it from the moment himself and his fellow younglings had entered this room for the first time.

Theorem nodded at his choice and drew his own weapon of choice; a long, curved sword - the type only nobility carried. "Perhaps the others call you Highborn because of the way you act." The large mech suggested as he swung his sword towards his charge.

A practiced movement blocked the attack, and the youngling struck at an exposed wire in the back of Theorem's knee joint. "But the only thing that is different about me is the way I speak. I have a different accent to the other younglings."

"You are well spoken, and this points towards education, intelligence, and opportunity; the other younglings have never known such things. But I never said anything about the way you speak. I said the way you ACT." The black and green mech blocked the strike to his leg and swung his sword to leave a long, jagged scratch in already scuffed silver paint. "You act polite. You make optic contact. You stand straight. You hold your head high. No doubt all this was firmly ingrained in you from your sparkling years."

With an angry growl, the mechling stabbed viciously at his sparring partner. "That doesn't mean I'm highborn, it means my creators had manners!"

A mildly surprised laugh escaped Theorem's vocaliser as the mechling's stab made contact with his stomach plates. "Good." He commended briefly, before returning to the fight and their conversation. "If you wish to be a hidden knife, you must not stand out. You must learn how to blend into your surroundings, become the same as everyone else. Learn to stay unique, yet never be special. Understood?"

"Maybe I don't want to be a hidden knife!"

"It does not matter what you want! You belong to the Crypt, as does every other youngling here!" Theorem jammed his blade into the joint between the youngling's arm and shoulder. "You will be a hidden knife. You will learn to infiltrate ranks, assassinate leaders, gain trust and stab backs, all whilst keeping a smile on your face. Emotions do not matter here. You know that. Learn to be cold. No matter who you were before you were left at the Crypt, you are that mech no longer. You will never be that mech again."

The youngling screamed as his arm was torn from its joints. "Stop!"

"You must learn to embrace pain, not run from it. If you run, you will never stop. Never scream. Never make a sound. The other's have learned this. Why do you resist?" Theorem pushed the youngling to the ground and knelt on his small frame to keep him on the floor. "You must learn to slump. You must learn to mumble your words - sound uneducated. You must learn to avoid optic contact. You must learn to keep your head down. You must learn to not be so proud. You must understand that you are unimportant. Inconsequential. Do you truly believe that the whole planet will cease orbiting if you are deactivated? It won't. Life will go on, and no one will mourn you. No one will have known you. No amount of pride will change that."

The youngling held back his whimpers of agony as Theorem began fiddling with the wires that had been torn loose when his silver arm had been ripped off. "Well.. T-then I'll do s-something important. I'll b-become s-something no one will forget."

"Don't be childish. There are so few ways to be important in this society. Make your name as a mercenary as all hidden knives do. Perhaps you could be the greatest. You certainly have the potential. But it will not be handed to you on a silver platter; you must work for it, Highborn. And you may start by losing your pride. Lose your arrogance. Lose everything."

"I don't have anything left to lose." The venom in those seven words burned like acid.

"That's a start. But there will always be something to lose. Always." Theorem stood abruptly and pulled the youngling to his feet. "Let's get you to a medic, hmmm? You did fantastic today."

The hug he received from Theorem only served to confuse his already scrambled processor. He wasn't sure why he had deserved praise. He wasn't sure whether the hugging or the violence was the show of affection from Theorem. He wasn't sure what he had left.

He was only sure that there was no way he'd be getting out of this place with all his processors intact.

~ Memory File at End ~

Everything was silent.

Jazz disconnected Prowl's cable with shaking hands, refusing to meet the Praxian's optics. He didn't want to see pity reflected there.

"Jazz."

The silver Decepticon twitched slightly. "What?"

"Look at me. Please." The plea from Prowl managed to get Jazz to reluctantly raise his head. There was no pity in Prowl's deep blue optics; only anger, sympathy and something else Jazz couldn't identify. "You went through all that as a youngling?"

With his emotions already highly strung, Jazz practically collapsed against the strong, black and white chest in front of him. "Tha'.. Ah didn't.. Ah was young, didn't know wha'-"

Prowl shushed him and stroked over the silver backplates, unconsciously avoiding the arm that had been torn off in the memory. If anyone were to witness the scene, they would have been surprised at the way the Praxian's doorwings were flared protectively over his newly proclaimed friend. "It is alright. It is fine." A long hesitation as Prowl seemed to think deeply about something. "Jazz... What was that place? It seemed completely unfamiliar to me, and I have no matches in my databanks."

"It's called the Crypt. WAS called the Crypt." Jazz corrected himself. He couldn't bring himself to look into Prowl's optics again - he was scared of that unknown emotion shining in them. "Birthplace o' all assassins an' mercenaries. Not a nice place. Not nice." Jazz buried his face into Prowl's protective embrace. He hated thinking of his time spent there. Hated that he had been so weak. Hated that they had taken so much from him. They had made him into what he was, and he hated them for it. "Ah spent most o' my younglin' life there. Didn't leave 'till Ah was in mah first adult upgrade frame. Place was blown up. Good. Hated it."

Prowl frowned, disturbed by Jazz's decline. The Decepticon seemed more unstable than ever. "Calm down. It is alright." He patted a silver shoulder awkwardly. Comfort was never his strong suit.

"Do ya know where it was? The Crypt, Ah mean." Jazz sat up suddenly, gazing straight into Prowl's optics. "It was under a Temple. A Temple o' Primus. Can ya imagine? All the monks 'n' holy mechs weren't really all that virtuous. Most o' them would'a killed ya without blinkin'. No one ever questioned them about missin' younglings. Couple'a kids go missin, enforcers ain't gonna investigate a Temple with its priests an' monks an' whatnot. They're gonna investigate the criminals and gangs. They just had no way o' tellin' that the most lethal criminal activity was takin' place right under the smiles and prayers and bondin' ceremonies."

Prowl was silent for a long, long time. He continued stroking Jazz's plating in an effort to calm him down, and eventually the Decepticon relaxed into his touch. "I am sorry I insisted on watching that memory. I did not realise how you would react." Prowl murmured.

Jazz lifted his head and stared at him. "Ah want ta show ya the rest. If ya want." He added hastily.

"Jazz.. I do not wish you to feel obligated-"

"Ah don't." He interrupted. "But Ah need ta show someone, and you're the closest thing to a friend Ah have right now."

A pleasant feeling spread through Prowl's spark as he nodded. "Very well. But not tonight; you should recharge now."

"Yeah. Yeah, okay." With a tired nod of his head, Jazz offlined his optics and his visor went dark. "G'night."

"Goodnight." Prowl answered softly. Jazz's face had relaxed, and the tactician couldn't help but notice how much more peaceful he looked.

It was beginning to look like there was a lot more to Jazz than meets the eye.