Hey, sorry this chapter is a little late, my granny was taken into hospital so everything has sort of been hectic.

Also, fanfiction isnt letting me reply to reviews...? I don't know why, but it's really frustrating. But I've read each and every one, so thank you so much for spending the extra time to review!

The knock on the door was extremely irritating, but it was nothing Jazz couldn't ignore. But the fact that the knocking had been continuous for about ten minutes was causing the saboteur's optics to twitch.

"What?!" He roared, marching towards the door. It was late, and he had been trying to recharge! A hard task without Prowl (who was working late AGAIN), but he was trying. He slammed his fist on the control panel, and the door slid open.

Whatever he had expected to see, it wasn't an upset and teary Bluestreak twisting his hands together anxiously.

"Uh.." He stared blankly at the young Praxian, and his mind went blank. "Prowler ain't here."

"I-I know. Can I c-come in?"

"Um.. Sure..."

The little gunner's wings were drooped so low that they were almost flat against his back. He shuffled in passed Jazz, keeping his optics cast down to the ground. "I'm really sorry, I just.. I couldn't r-recharge. I don't like sleeping alone. I get nightmare refluxes."

"Hey, don't worry 'bout it." The former 'con shrugged uncomfortably. "..Where's the twins?"

Bluestreak abruptly burst into tears, and Jazz stared at him in horror. He wasn't good with tears. "Th-they aren't interested in m-me."

"What? That's crazy, they're totally into ya."

"N-no.."

At a loss for what else to do, Jazz took the young Praxian's hand and led him over to the couch. "Sit down, Blue. Do ya wanna talk 'bout it?"

He had to fight a curse as Bluestreak nodded. "I guess they're just not interested in m-me." The sniper's sobbing increased, and he covered his face with his hands.

"Ah'm sure that's not-" Jazz almost choked as Bluestreak suddenly lunged forward and buried his helm in the saboteur's chassis.

"I d-dunno what I did wrong... They're f-fighting, and I think S-Sideswipe is seeing s-someone else.." He keened, and clutched at Jazz tightly.

Primus. Jazz was completely out of his depth. He wished desperately for Prowl to come back early so he didn't have to deal with this. "Spark-break ain't easy, kiddo. The twins are idiots, they have no idea what they've lost."

The young Praxian keened, and sobbed again. "B-but.."

"Hush." Jazz gingerly brushed the coolant tears from the younger mech's grey face. "Come on now. It's okay."

"Th-they're fighting over m-me. They used to be so c-close. It was like they could hear each others thoughts, sometimes they even finished each others sentences. Or they'd try to. They rarely got it right; they'd usually get half way through their sentences before they realised they were both talking about completely different things."

The saboteur barely held back a sigh as Bluestreak let out another wail and clutched at him again. "Yeah... Bluestreak.. Um.. The twins are bein' idiots. But everyone acts like idiots at some point. Trust meh. Look, don't worry, Prowler'll be back from work soon-"

"N-no! Don't tell P-Prowl, please! He'll just tell me he t-told me so, he warned me that-"

"Hey, none o' that. Prowler'd understand. He knows what loss feels like, baby. Just calm down."

Slowly, Bluestreak's sobs ebbed away. Jazz gently wiped the rest of the Praxian's tears away. ::Prowler-::

::I am nearly at our quarters, Jazz. Please do not jump on me the moment I walk in the door again::

::No, it's just-::

::I will interface with you, don't worry. It's been quite a stressful day, I think I could do with the release::

::Sorry Prowler, stress ain't over yet:: Jazz sent back apologetically, cradling the small puddle of sad Praxian in his arms. ::Blue's here, and he's upset::

Barely a minute later, Prowl burst into the room with his doorwings hiked up high on his back. He had obviously run the rest of the way back to their quarters. "Bluestreak?" He looked panicked as he crossed the room swiftly and knelt down on the ground in front of the couch. He gingerly rested his hands on his lover's knees as he gazed up at his fellow Praxian. "Blue..?"

"Relationship problems, Prowler." Jazz murmured, stroking the joints connecting Bluestreak's doorwings to his back soothingly.

"I am going to end them." The words were snarled through gritted denta, and Prowl looked beyond furious. His doorwings flared up and out over his shoulders, making him seem bigger than he actually was. "How dare they!"

A tiny, almost invisible smile quirked up the corner of Jazz's lips as he gazed at the look of incomprehensible fury on his lover's face. "Easy, Prowler." He soothed delicately, stroking the back of Bluestreak's helm. "Maybe ya should ask Blue's permission 'fore ya hurt the idiots. Plus, it wouldn't look very professional of the Second in Command to be beatin' his subordinates."

The young gunner sniffled, but managed to smile a little. "I love you guys."

Jazz smiled placidly as Bluestreak gave the SIC a tight hug, but the smile slid off his face like water when Bluestreak hugged him next. His optics widened massively from behind his visor as he awkwardly tried to pat the sniper's back. "Um.."

It was a struggle not to snicker at the look on his lover's face, but Prowl managed to retain his composure. "Do you wish to stay over tonight?"

There was silence as the Bluestreak considered, and Prowl ignored the panicked look his mate was sending him. "Would you.. mind?"

"Of course not."

::Dammit! Prowler, ya promised we'd frag::

::I realise that::

::Ah'm visitin' your office tomorrow::

A barely visible smile crossed Prowl's face as he led Bluestreak to the berth. "You should recharge now, Bluestreak."

"Where's Jazz going to sleep?"

"He will be fine on the couch."

Barely withholding a sigh, Jazz smiled and kicked back, crossing his arms behind his helm. "Ah'm just fine, Blue. Don't worry. Just get some rest, 'kay?"

...

"Rough night?"

Jazz shook his helm tiredly at Mirage; the spy was raising an optic ridge sympathetically at him. "Recharged on the couch."

"Ouch." The noble winced dramatically. "Did you get into an argument with Prowl?"

"Hm? Oh, no!" The saboteur actually laughed as they walked into the training room. "No, nothin' like that. Bluestreak stayed over."

"Oh, I see. I saw him yesterday; he seemed a little upset."

"A little, yeah." Jazz grumbled, "Someone happened t' upset him."

"Someone? Or Someones?" Mirage questioned, optics flashing astutely.

"Does it matter?"

"It matters if I end up having to scrape a corpse off the ground."

A tiny smirk curled up Jazz's lips as the door to the training room opened and they both walked in. "Might not be too far off, mech." He turned his attention to the collection of mechs in the room and put his hands on his hips. As he cleared his vocaliser, the mechs stood to attention. "Alright, losers. Partner up and start sparrin'."

As the collective of mechs hurried to get into pairs, Jazz surveyed the room and watched them closely. There were a few mechs who were showing real potential, and the relief Jazz felt was enormous. That meant that not everyone was completely hopeless.

The saboteur hummed softly to himself as he strolled around, watching the sparring partners intently. Every once in a while he had to correct someone's technique or stance, but the improvement was so great that he was barely needed. A soft smile began playing along the corners of his lips at the obvious visual improvement.

A gentle cough from the door had Jazz turning with a raised optic ridge. "Prowler?"

The Second in Command was standing in the doorway of the training room, clasping a datapad in his hands and frowning softly. "Jazz. Could you spare a moment?"

"Uh.. Sure. Keep sparrin'." He called to his trainees, ignoring the grins and whispers shared by a few of them, before trotting over to his lover at the door. "What's up, sweetspark?"

A single doorwing twitched lightly at the endearment. "I wished to enquire as to why Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were found this morning with their interface panels glued to the ceiling of the rec. room."

A look of feigned surprise crossed Jazz's face. "Were they? Ah knew nothin' of this."

"I find that difficult to believe."

"Prowler, Ah can't believe you're accusin' meh of doin' somethin' wrong."

"Thank you." A rare smile tilted the corners of Prowl's lips, and he reached out and took the smaller mech's hand, squeezing it lightly in gratitude.

A bright smile mirrored Prowl's, and Jazz shrugged. "Yo' welcome. Ah ain't in trouble, am Ah?"

"Well, I suppose I have no evidence..." The tactician sighed thoughtfully, tapping his fingers against his datapad, "And the twins seem too traumatised to reveal the identity of the perpetrator. It seems they were threatened. And though I only know one person who could have come up with such colourful and preposterous threats, I have no proof."

A silly grin crossed the saboteur's face. "Ah love ya, ya know that?"

The tactician allowed himself a small smile too as he gazed at his mate. "I love you too. And thank you for standing up for Bluestreak. And for taking him into our quarters last night when he was upset."

"What else could Ah have done, mech? Ya love him like family, so he's part o' mah family now too."

"Go and finish your training." Prowl smiled; a genuine, happy smile was so rare to see on his face, especially in public. "I will see you later on, after work."

"Ah'm still thinkin' o' visitin' ya in yo' office..."

"Control yourself." The tactician said, still smiling. "I will see you in our quarters."

"Fine." Rolling his optics dramatically, Jazz ran his hands over the most sensitive parts of his lover's doorwings before turning back to his mechs.

The sparring was in full swing, and Jazz nodded approvingly at a few of the pairs. "Good. Big improvement from last week. Skids, aim higher. Ya ain't fightin' a minibot."

And, speaking of minibots, Jazz delicately picked his way around the room, aiming straight for where Bumblebee and Hound were sparring. He watched them in silence for a few moments, before stepping forwards. "Hound, go make a group o' three with Mirage and Getaway."

As the green scout nodded and left, Bumblebee glanced at his guardian with no small amount of trepidation. "Was I not doing good?"

"Ya were doin' adequate." Jazz said shortly, stepping onto the sparring mat across from the minibot. "But adequate ain't gonna keep ya alive very long, is it?"

"I'm doing the best I can."

"No, you're not. You have no idea what your best is. Not yet."

"You don't give anyone else this attention. This is favouritism."

"Yes it is. Deal with it, sweet cake." Jazz got into an offensive position, and motioned for Bumblebee to mirror his stance. "Hit me."

"What?" The minibot recoiled in horror.

"Hit me!"

"I- I can't!"

"'Course ya can! Do ya know how many bots would love this opportunity? Just hit meh."

"Jazzie, I can't-"

"Just hit me!"

Bumblebee squealed and threw a tiny, miserable little punch. It barely grazed Jazz's jaw.

The saboteur pursed his lips and said nothing for a very long moment. "Well. That was mildly disappointing. Are ya plannin' on downing a 'con with a punch like that?"

"Punching a 'con would be different! You're not a 'con!"

Silence fell over them, and a bitter smile curled up Jazz's mouth. "Ah'm more of a Decepticon than anyone in this room, baby Bee. Ah'm sure ya've heard them talkin' 'bout me. Hittin' me and hittin' a 'con ain't as different as you might think."

"Don't say that."

"Bumblebee..." With a sigh, the saboteur pinched the bridge of his nasal ridge. "Ya wanted to be in Special Ops. To do that, ya have to do the trainin'. So please just do as Ah say."

"... Fine."

"Good. Now, hit meh again."