"Did you hear? He's taken a name."

The silver mechling glanced up at the young femme who had whispered to him, before turning his gaze to the Cybertronian she had been talking about. "Yeah. Ah heard."

"Cleaver, he calls himself."

"Pretentious bastard." The mechling snorted.

"Shhh!" The femme glanced around anxiously. "You know better than to speak ill of him."

Ignoring her words, the silver 'bot said "Have you been speaking with Theorem?"

The femme paused. "Yes. I presume you have too?"

"Yeah. Did he tell you-"

"To stop speaking like a civilised person? Yes, he did." She sighed, scratching at flaking, faded pink paint on her arms. "It's hard, but.."

"Yeah, I know." The young mech let out a bitter laugh. "My grandsire was from Polyhex. So I've been trying to copy his accent."

"Would that not make you stand out more?"

"No. Not really." He shrugged. "What about you?"

"I.. I don't know. My creators used to make my decisions for me."

The mechling almost snorted at that. The faded pink femme had barely been in the Crypt for a month. Her name had been Softspeed, but names were useless down here unless you chose them yourself. Softspeed had died, and this ghost of a femme was in her place. "Well, now you can do whatever you want."

"I used to always want to. Now.." The femling trailed off. "Now I just want my family."

After a moment of silence, the silver youngling sighed through his vents. "Yeah. Look, how about we both practice Polyhex accents?"

"Okay... But I don't know what a Polyhex accent sounds like."

"Just copy th' way Ah talk."

Upon hearing the mechling's entire speech pattern change, the femme giggled. "Okay."

"Highborn!"

The mechling stiffened as a large youngling - almost in his adult frame - approached them. "Great."

Smirking, the new arrival stopped right in front of the silver mech and pink femme. "How're you doing, buddy?"

His only response was a glare. "Wha' do ya want, Cleaver?"

Cleaver grinned. "Oh, you're practicing a new accent. You don't sound highborn anymore, do ya?"

The little femme had unconsciously begun to edge closer to her companion, who had started to growl. "Does it bother ya that ya'll have t' find a new name f'r meh?"

"Why would we pick a new name when the one we have bothers you so much?" Cleaver snickered. Though the big mech spoke fairly well, he was one of the densest mechs in the Crypt. But he was also one of the best torturers - physically and mentally. "Even when you pick your own name, no one's gonna use it. You'll always be Highborn."

Anger bubbled up inside of him, but the youngling didn't attack. He wouldn't let Cleaver rile him up so easily. "At least Ah won't be 'Cleaver'."

"What's that supposed to mean?" The large youngling roared, suddenly furious. "You got a problem with my name?"

The smaller youngling smiled sweetly. "Ya shouldn't let your temper get the better of you." His accent tapered off near the end of his sentence; he would definitely have to work on that.

A huge, black fist was raised, ready to hit the smiling youngling who was still sitting cross-legged on the floor. Before Cleaver could strike him, however, another figure appeared at his shoulder. "I hope you are not entertaining the idea of infighting."

Cleaver froze, before slowly turning his head to meet Theorem's lethal glare. "No. Of course not."

"Good. You should return to your mentor. I believe he is looking for you." The black and green mech watched carefully as Cleaver disappeared into he crowd of younglings, all of whom were sitting or standing around the room waiting to be called by their mentors. Theorem turned his attention back to his own two students. "You must not antagonise him, Highborn. He will offline you with little to no effort."

"Why's he allowed t' antagonise meh of Ah can't antagonise him?" The mechling demanded, ignoring the femme as she listened carefully to every word he spoke, committing the accent to memory.

Theorem nodded once in acknowledgment of the accent. "Because he is bigger and stronger."

"Why does that give him a right t' make others feel bad?"

"It gives him no right, it only allows him to get away with it." Theorem pulled his two students to their feet. "It's training time."

The femling made a barely audible whimper, but the silver one just nodded, resigned. "It ain't so bad once ya get used t' it." He told her quietly as they followed their mentor out of the large hall and down the dank halls towards the training wing. She said nothing, but the mechling hadn't expected her to. They were fairly weak words of comfort, after all.

Theorem allowed the two younglings to enter the training room first before following them in. "Choose your weapons. Femme, you will wait until Highborn is finished with his lesson."

Scowling at the hated name, the youngling grabbed his favourite blade and crouched, ready for attack. "Why do ya keep callin' meh Highborn?"

"Does it make you angry?"

"Yes!"

"That is why." Theorem lunged sharply, stabbing his dagger at the youngling's sparkchamber. He stabbed at empty air, however; the youngling had disappeared in a streak of silver. "You must learn to control your anger."

"Yeah, yeah." He muttered disrespectfully, scowling. So quickly that it would have been missed of you hadn't been paying close attention, the youngling threw his blade at his mentor. The knife sliced right through Theorem's right optic, rendering it completely useless.

The big mech didn't even scream - he just calmly pulled the blade out, wincing slightly at the gush of energon that flowed down his face. "You've been practicing throwing."

"Had to."

"Good." Was all that was said before the two lunged at each other again. To anyone else who was watching, it would have looked like a fight to the death; they kept aiming directly for sparks and main fuel lines.

By the time Theorem called an end to their fight, they were both battered and bleeding and raw. "You've gotten better. Much better." The black and green mech narrowed his optics suspiciously. "Who have you been fighting with?"

"Ah ain't been fightin' wit' anyone."

Theorem frowned. "You are lying. Your optics are too expressive - they give away everything you're feeling. We'd better get you something to cover them up... Perhaps a visor."

"At least Ah managed t' keep both mah optics."

Theorem glared. "Nevertheless, you did well. Perhaps I should have started with the femme first." With a laugh, Theorem flicked a glob of congealed energon off his shoulder. "Ah well. You're free to go. Femling, your training session will be tomorrow instead."

The pink youngling nodded quickly and followed the older mechling out of the hell known as the training room. "Thank you."

The silver mechling didn't look at her. "For what?"

"For fighting like that. I know you were doing it so I wouldn't have to train."

After a moment of silence, the mechling spoke again, false accent gone. "I fought for myself. Not for you. Down here, you're on your own."

"You still fought for me though."

"Yeah. Guess I'm a slow learner. Or maybe I'm just stupid."

"I don't think you're stupid." The femme said quietly. "But I do think you should go see a medic. Those wounds look really painful."

"Yeah. Sure." It wasn't the wounds that were painful. It was the thought that they would be inflicted again and again, day in and day out, until he was finally able to escape the living hell that had become his life.

Prowl was silent as Jazz's memory file ended. The saboteur had buried his face into Prowl's chestplates, as though he was afraid of seeing his expression. "Jazz... I'm sorry."

"Stop tha'." He replied irritably. "Don' apologise f'r somethin' ya couldn' control."

Noting the fact that the Decepticon's accent had gotten stronger as he became upset, Prowl said "So, your accent is false."

With a sigh, Jazz propped his head up on black and white chestplates. "Not entirely. Ah've been usin' it for so long, Ah can barely remember how t' speak normally."

"Interesting." Prowl stored this information away in his 'Jazz' section of information to be examined later.

"Hold meh?"

"Pardon?"

"Please, Prowler? Can ya hold meh? It'd make meh feel better.."

Mildly uncertain, Prowl looped his arms around the small mech. Jazz eagerly snuggled into the tactician's warm embrace, ignoring how clearly awkward the larger mech was. "Like this?"

"Exactly like that, Prowler." Jazz murmured, burying his face in black and white armour. "Thanks."

"It is quite alright. I believe that this is what 'friends' do for each other, is it not?"

With a little smile, Jazz nodded. "Yeah, cutie pie. It is."

They both fell into a comfortable silence. After a while, Prowl spoke again. "Have you heard from the Decepticons?"

There was a silence so long that Prowl was beginning to wonder whether or not Jazz was recharging, before the silver mech spoke. "No. Ah haven't."

"Do they not think it is strange that you have been gone for so long?"

"No. Ah go missin' lots. They get used t' it. Megatron knows there ain't really anythin' tying meh t' the Decepticon cause, but he knows Ah'll keep coming back."

"Why do you keep going back?" Prowl's voice was almost a whisper.

Air tickled black and white chestplates as Jazz sighed through his vents. "Ah don't know, Prowler. Guess Ah just... don't know where else t' go."

"You have here." The tactician reminded him. "Prime himself allowed you to be here."

"Let's not talk 'bout this, 'Kay?"

Prowl held back a sigh. Whenever he tried to talk to Jazz about alliances, the Decepticon either withdrew or sank into a dark mood, which he would snap out o as suddenly as he had gotten into it. "Very well."

"Thank ya." Jazz sighed against his berthmate. He hated the idea of leaving Prowl to go back to the Decepticons, but he knew it had to be done. It had to be done. "Do ya like meh, Prowler?"

The tactician didn't even blink at the seemingly random question. He was far too used to Jazz's strange quirks by now. "Of course. I find you interesting and pleasant company."

"Hmmm.." The saboteur hummed softly as he traced circles in Prowl's plating with his claws. "That all?"

Prowl paused, but before he could speak a large 'BOOM' shook the entire building. Jazz shot into a sitting position, his previously lax body going completely tense. The Praxian barely batted an optic shutter. "It seems like Wheeljack had returned."

"Wha'? Wha' was that? You okay? We should get outside in case it happens again-"

"Calm down." The pure irony of Prowl having to tell Jazz to calm down made the tactician's lips twitch upwards. "Wheeljack is our resident scientist. He... has a penchant for explosions."

The Decepticon didn't relax. "How come there's never been any explosions b'fore?"

"Wheeljack was in Tyger Pax, helping our other scientist Perceptor invent new weapons. He only returned this morning." With a sigh, Prowl swung his legs off the berth and stood up gracefully. "I had better go and check on him."

"Aw Prowler, d'ya have t'? Can't ya just come back t' berth?" With a whine, Jazz stretched his arms towards his berthmate.

"I am afraid not. I have a certain responsibility towards Wheeljack; I vouched for him when he first joined the Autobots."

"Urgh." Jazz rolled off the berth carelessly, before picking himself up and trotting after Prowl towards the door. On the way, he changed the optical sensors in his visor to refract blue instead of red and turned his signal disrupted on so that his spark signature registered as an Autobot.

Prowl led the way down the halls, ignoring the 'bots who were sticking their heads out of their rooms and smirking. "Wheeljack's lab is down here."

"Yeah..." Jazz eyed the scorch marks on the hallway walls curiously as they reached the lab. The wall had been blown right through, and the two mech's had to climb over the rubble to get to the remains of the lab. "Primus. Is the mech screwed in the processors?"

Prowl hushed him disapprovingly as he peered into the smoking room. "Wheeljack? Are you hurt?"

A flashing audio fin poked up out of the debris, closely followed by a grey faceplate covered by a battlemask. "I'm alright! I wasn't expecting the chemicals to react that way..."

"Of course you weren't." Prowl replied wryly, moving to help Wheeljack.

Deciding to hang back, Jazz watched his friend help the scientist out from beneath the debris. He said nothing, practically biting his glossa to keep from making a sarcastic remark.

"Hey! Heard the explosion! We didn't realise you were back already!" Someone cheered from the door. Jazz glanced around to see Sideswipe grinning at the scientist. "I was wondering if you could make me a machine that blows bubbles. Not just bubbles though; ones that stick to you and don't pop! It'll be awesome!" The red frontliner twin seemed to notice Prowl glaring at him. "Oh. Didn't see you there."

How could he not see Prowl?, Jazz shrieked in his mind. Prowl is perfect! He's beautiful!

"I shall pretend I did not hear that." With another glare, the Praxian moved back over to Jazz. "If this 'prank' of yours happens, I will lock you in the brig forever."

A giggle escaped Jazz's vocaliser, drawing the other Autobots' attentions. Wheeljack's optics ridges raised in mild surprise when he noticed him. "Oh. Hello! Who are you?"

The saboteur didn't miss the panicked twitch of Prowl's doorwings, even though his facial expression remained the exact same. "Mah name's.. uh.. Softspeed."

Prowl glanced at Jazz warily, recognising the name. ::The femme from the Crypt?::

There was no answer from the Decepticon as he forced a smile, staring straight at Wheeljack. "Nice t' meetcha."

"Uh.. I thought your name was Rumble..?" Sideswipe spoke up, frowning curiously.

::Slag.::

The black and white mech barely refrained from wincing. "It.. Rumble is his nickname."

"You... You seriously gave him a nickname?" A huge grin split across Sideswipe's face. "No way! I've gotta tell Sunny!"

"Sideswipe-" Prowl began, but gave up as the red frontliner disappeared out the no-longer existing door. He turned back to Wheeljack, who was eyeing the two curiously; it was hard to tell, but it looked as though the invented was smiling behind his mask. "What?"

"Oh, nothing. I've never see you before, Softspeed." Wheeljack smiled at Jazz.

"Well-"

Prowl interrupted him, ignoring the glare he received for it. "He is new. We must go now, Wheeljack. I believe Ratchet will be looking for you."

"Maybe we could.. not tell him?"

"Not tell me?" Everyone but Jazz flinched at the angry growl that came from the red and white medic who had appeared in the doorway. "Not tell me?!"

"Oh.. Hey Ratch'." Wheeljack laughed nervously, looking distinctly terrified.

"We were just leaving." Prowl announced suddenly, grabbing Jazz's arm and pulling him out of the destroyed lab.

Temporarily blue optics widened in surprise behind his visor as the medic whacked Wheeljack over the head with a wrench. "Is he even allowed t' do that? Ah would'a thought it was against some Autobot rule or somethin'." Jazz said as he allowed himself to be pulled down the corridor.

"Would you like to argue with him?" Prowl replied as they reached the rec. room.

Eyeing the door in surprise, Jazz turned to look at the doorwinged mech. "What're we doin' here?"

"Well, I believed you may want to get out of my quarters for a while."

"That's nice o' ya Prowler, but Ah like yo' quarters."

"Yes, but it is not good for you to spend so much time in there." Prowl opened the door and led the way inside, professionally ignoring the curious glanced they gained. "I do not wish for you to be reminded of that place lest you-"

"Slip back into mah homicidal tendencies?"

Simultaneously rolling his optics and glaring at Jazz took an exceptional amount of skill, but Prowl managed it. "Yes."

The Decepticon giggled and followed his obsession into a booth, sitting right beside the larger mech and smiling up at him. "Ya secretly love meh."

"Jazz." The sigh was tired and exasperated, but it was still said with a small smile. "Hush."

"Prowl!"

Both mechs glanced around to see another Praxian making his way over and grinning. Prowl nodded in greeting as the new mech slid into the seat opposite them. "Smokescreen. How are you?"

"Good, good. You must be Rumble." Smokescreen gave Jazz a friendly smile.

"Softspeed, actually."

Smokescreen's smile flickered slightly. "Oh. Blue said-"

"Rumble's mah nickname." Jazz shrugged casually.

"Oh, I see. How did you get a nickname like Rumble?"

::Any ideas?:: Jazz sent to Prowl along with a sidelong look.

"He has an ego so large it has the ability to create seismic activity." Prowl supplied, ignoring the glare he received.

"Prowler is jus' awful at flirtin'." Jazz shook his head and mock-sighed. "He's gettin' better, though."

Carefully stifling a snigger, Smokescreen glanced between the two of them. "So.. It's true?"

"What is true?" Prowl frowned, deliberately ignoring Jazz as the smaller mech playfully cuddled him.

"You two." Smokescreen gestured at the pair in front of him. "Blue was telling us that you were a couple now."

Prowl didn't do anything as undignified as splutter, but he certainly felt like it, particularly as Jazz grinned widely. Instead, the Praxian's doorwings fluttered irritably. "No. We are not."

Irritated, Jazz shot him a look, but said nothing. Smokescreen noticed, and raised an optic ridge. "I see. So there's no truth to the rumours at all?"

Slightly uncomfortable, Jazz frowned again behind his visor. Even though he had technically gotten permission from the Prime himself to be here, Jazz had no wish to draw any unnecessary attention to himself through rumours. "Wha' rumours?"

"The rumours that Prowl has finally managed to find someone willing to frag him."

With a tilt of his helm, Jazz shot the other mech a cheeky grin. "You tellin' meh that there's mechs here that wouldn't be willin' ta frag Prowler?"

"Hard as that may be to believe." Smokescreen laughed.

"Huh. Weird. Ah thought everyone'd be linin' up fer a piece o' Praxian aft."

A sharp 'smack' sounded as Prowl hit the Decepticon over the head. "Jazz!"

Smokescreen's optics ridges shot up. "'Jazz'? I thought your name was Softspeed..?"

The saboteur leaned back with a grin, waiting for Prowl to come up with an excuse. With barely a pause, the tactician spoke up. "It is. I merely got confused for a moment."

The very idea of Prowl getting confused, even for a moment, was so ludicrous it caused Smokescreen to snort his energon across the table. "What? Prowl, do I even have to remind you that I'm a psychiatrist?"

The word 'psychiatrist' caused Jazz to frown uneasily and lean back in order to put distance between himself and Smokescreen. He didn't say anything, but his discomfort was clear to see by Prowl. Wordlessly, the tactician tilted his head in a silent question. Jazz answered with a nod, and Prowl turned back to Smokescreen. "We are going to leave now."

"So soon?" Smokescreen asked, before sighing resignedly. "Alright. So long as you don't go back to your office; you work too much to be healthy."

With a roll of his optics, Prowl pulled Jazz to his feet and led him to the door. Once they were outside in the corridor, Jazz glanced to his friend and smiled wryly. "Thanks, cutie pie."

"Would you like to explain your adverse reaction to Smokescreen's profession?"

That earned Prowl a mildly disbelieving stare. "Prowler, Ah'm a homicidal psychopath with sadistic tendencies. Can ya imagine what a psychiatrist would think of me?"

"I dread to think." In fact, it gave him a processor ache.

Jazz laughed, but it didn't sound very amused. "Yeah. Can we just go back t' our quarters? Ah'm tired."

"My quarters." Prowl corrected, but there wasn't conviction in his voice. "Yes, we can. You know, if you would simply defect we could get you your own quarters."

A truly amused laugh burst out of Jazz's mouth. "Oh Prowled, why would Ah want mah own quarters when Ah can share yours?"

"You are impossible."

"Ya love meh, though."

With a roll of his optics, Prowl stopped in front of his quarters and entered in the key code. "That would be illogical." he said, walking into his now-shared quarters.

Jazz grinned and strolled in after him. "O' course. Love is an illogical thing, an' Ah'm an illogical person."

"Yes, I realise that. Although I must say, I do not think you are quite as bad as you believe you are."

"Actually... Ah'm pretty bad, Prowler. But.. Ah think you're helpin'."

"Helping?"

"Yeah." Jazz threw his body back onto the berth, managing to make the move look perfectly practiced and graceful. He smiled and reached out, tugging Prowl down to lie beside him. "Helpin'. Ya make meh feel less.."

"Psychopathic? Sadistic? Unstable?"

"Unstable's a good word, let's go wit' that." With a grin, Jazz burrowed into the bigger mech's side. "When Ah was away from ya f'r those few days, Ah could feel mahself goin' even more insane. Ah killed twenty seven Vehicons, and in that battle, b'fore Ah saw ya again, Ah killed seventeen neutrals. Not t' mention others. When Ah slip into one o' mah murder hazes, details get confused... Ah killed some o' mah own faction too.."

Prowl frowned as Jazz slipped into one of his 'Decepticon' hazes. "Jazz.. Look at me." He instructed. He was startled at the look of insanity that was reflected in the red visor. "It will be okay. You simply need to make sure it does not happen again."

Jazz snorted humourlessly. "Then don' leave meh."

"I was not planning on doing so."

"Good." The saboteur whispered quietly, curling up to the larger frame of Prowl, who wrapped an arm unthinkingly around him.

Within moments they had fallen into recharge together, as they had every night for the last couple of months.

Review, please? It keeps me writing, and I adore hearing what you have to say!