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Chapter 3

The first hint that Prowl's wish for peace was far from reality came when he got his Energon in the evening. As he entered the rec room and walked through the crowd, he had the strange feeling of being observed. But the moment he turned around, every single Autobot seemed occupied with other things. And this kept happening. In the rec room. In the hallways. In the storage room. Everywhere.

Really, he wasn't that dirty compared to a few other residents, especially considering that most of Jazz's paint streaks had been repaired by the nano self-repairs over the course of the orn.

The next orn he managed to avoid the saboteur. But the feeling that he was observed didn't lessen at all. On the contrary, every bot he met seemed to stare at him, or his aft. Or both. Maybe he was just going paranoid?

In the evening, he was stopped in the rec room as he was getting his Energon.

"Hey Prowl," said one of the bots. "You've got free time now?"

He nodded. "Yes. How can I help you?" The bot, Skywinder, was responsible for the weapon management. Did they need new parts?

"Oh, eh," For a moment the flier was unsure, then he smiled. "I was just wondering if you want to sit down with us, enjoy the evening together so to speak..."

Sit down? Prowl looked to Skywinder's table at which two other bots were sitting. "Well, maybe another orn? I'm pretty tired today already."

Skywinder stared, then nodded fast. "Of course. When you're in need for company... just consider it, yes? We – I – would be there."

Prowl felt his spark warming. He had never before seen Skywinder as a possible friend, but maybe he had judged the flier unfairly. "Thank you. I appreciated it."

It could've ended here. It didn't. This was just the first of a whole series of strange and stranger conversations:

"Please, Kippler, just put the data pads on the desk. The most recent ones on the top," he said distracted, reading one of the new statistics fresh from Iacon.

"Of course, sir!", came the unusual enthusiastic answer. "You're always on top of your game, right?"

Prowl looked up and stared. Kippler grinned back and waggled with his optic ridges. Prowl stared some more. The grin of the other mech didn't lessen. Prowl looked down on his datapad again. Maybe he should slot Kippler for an extended vacation. "Right..."

Not that the medics were any better:

"And all of your equipment is in working order, sir?" asked Patch, the lead medic, politely after checking the battle computer as every deca-orn.

"Yes."

"Good, good... " The medic nodded. "Please be careful, when you use rarely utilized systems in a heavily, and I'm sure very enjoyable, manner, though you seem to be more than experienced..." He stopped as he saw Prowl's frown. "I mean no disregard or something."

"I've used my whole equipment for several hundred vorns regularly," said Prowl as a matter of fact. "I think I know how to take care of them." Really, it was nice of the medic to understand that what was commonly dubbed battle computer, was in reality several small computers and databanks together. But just because he didn't use them all regularly, didn't mean that he would hurt himself.

The medic took a step back from Prowl. "Sorry, I just wanted to..."

Prowl sighed. Medic programming – always overly zealous. "Don't worry, Patch. Be assured, I'll be careful."

Patch seemed satisfied and stepped near again, to complete the check-up. "Good. Or I could let my students work on you. They're excited about this anyway."

"Really?" A battle computer was not exactly common, but then it wasn't really a piece of tech that stood out like say the legendary spy Mirage's illusion.

"Of course." The medic smiled in fondness as he thought about his students. "They're young after all."

They weren't the only ones. After a meeting with the other officers of the base, the combat trainer called him to stay:

"I just wanted to tell you, that I'm using you as an example in teaching the new recruits."

Prowl was taken aback. "As an example? I?"

"Oh yes." The trainer smiled. "We're always looking for ways to drill into their heads that not all is as it seems... and you're wonderful for this. Most bots would think you boring, but beneath..." The spy coughed. "Well, you know."

Prowl didn't, but he nodded anyway. "So... That means what exactly?"

The Autobot shrugged. "Nothing, really." He gave Prowl a considering glance. "But I've got to admit, I was nearly fooled as well. Silent mercury really runs deep."

"I've always liked that proverb," admitted the tactician and allowed a small smile. "I'm afraid you've to excuse me now, I'm awaited in Room 23-E."

0000

Jazz wasn't a mech that got easily annoyed. But Prowl was testing his patience. The mech was acting ridiculously! But what actually annoyed Jazz was the fact that Prowl was able to slip pass him like this. He was fragging Ops! How was that mech capable of avoiding him like this? It baffled the spy. He was tempted to simply go and blast his way into that office, frag the consequences.

But that wasn't the only reason why he was feeling like this, Jazz thought rather depressed. Even if they didn't do it, was the thought of interfacing with Jazz such a horrible thing that Prowl won't even look at him anymore? Did Prowl truly dislike him this much now?

Frustrated, Jazz took another sip of energon in his corner of the rec room. Well, sooner or later they would have to talk. After all, Prowl planned most of Jazz missions. He couldn't avoid him forever.

"Yo, Jazz." He looked up to see Skywinder and Kippler approaching.

"Yo." Jazz placed a smile on his face.

"We were wondering if you knew what things Prowl liked."

"What?" Jazz asked amused.

"Well," Kippler started with a shrug, that was supposed to be casual, but failed miserably, "He doesn't respond to our hints, but I guess it's because he's an elite."

Jazz nearly choked on his energon again. What in the world?! Yes, he heard all of the gossip going on in the rumor mill, some stories more unbelievable than the rest. But... this, really? He briefly wondered if Prowl was even aware of his new admirers. But judging from his highly developed (read non-existant) social skills, the mech probably had no idea. Another reason why Jazz needed to speak with him ASAP.

"Umm, not really," Jazz answered honestly. "But you could try with bringin' him energon. Mech's so busy with his work most times I wonder if he even refuels."

Not to mention, that he really was starting to get worried. He never saw Prowl in the rec room anymore. Either the mech was that good and chose the precise moments when Jazz wasn't there or simply didn't refuel. Jazz truly hoped it was the first case, otherwise he would really break down Prowl's door just to simply kick the slag out of him for his stupidity. For a mech smart as Prowl, he sure was clueless in some aspects.

The mechs in front of him smiled. "Yes, that sounds like a nice idea," Skywinder agreed. "We can even give him some energon goodies. I know a mech who can have them shipped here in less than two orns."

With a chuckle, Jazz answered, "Yeah, you do that."

He certainly didn't regret what he did. For the first time since he came here to this base, Prowl was actually popular. More than Jazz himself. And the tactician was oblivious to everything.

Which brought Jazz back to his problem – how to talk with Prowl? Again annoyed, he gulped down his energon. It didn't matter. Sooner or later he and Prowl would have to talk about missions.

Briefly he wondered, if he should be horrified at the attempts of the base to try and get in Prowl's berth, or laugh his aft off.

Well. He looked to Kippler and Skywinder, who were scheming with serious faces on the table next to him. Jazz smirked. For now, he would simply sit back and watch the show.

0000

On the fourth orn after the incident, the base commander called Prowl with a request: Prepare a Special Operations mission. The mission parameters were simple: In the east of the base a former bunker had been found with extensive tunnel systems. Near of it had been several Decepticon sightings. It would be bad if a group of Cons would be able to reach the tunnels and barricade themselves inside of them. So it was decided, with Prowl's statistics as a help, that the tunnels would be destroyed in a preemptive attack.

It was not an especially dangerous mission and the classic work of a saboteur, which meant that the bot on top of the list of agents was Jazz. Prowl couldn't stop the slight drooping of his doorwings, when he walked back to his office.

(On the way he was sure, that someone was walking behind him, yet he didn't catch them, not once... maybe it was all stress related? He looked several times back, but then he bumped into a corner, the datapads fell and he was distracted with picking them up again.)

This meant that he would have to meet Jazz. Alone, in his office. He feared that Jazz wanted to talk – normally something Prowl really wasn't adverse to, but about interfacing? Just no.

Still, as he started to work, he was determined that this wouldn't influence his normal efficiency. And soon it became apparent, that it didn't. Not only did he reach the required 85 per cent of success probability, but he nearly scratched the 98 per cent mark, which was his own personal record. Was this because the mission was so simple, he mused, or because he wasn't able to forget how warm Jazz had been in his berth...?

He banished the last thought. Though, not exactly successfully, because now that he remembered, he had to admit that he had been comfortable, before the realization had set in. And really, it had been a long time, since he had a decent interfacing... It was just his luck, that he didn't like casual and drunk. At all.

Far too soon the mission plan was finished and all that was left, was the debriefing.

Really, tried Prowl to convince himself, nothing would happen. Jazz was a nice, friendly bot, who would probably nod, smile and then accept the mission. Nothing else. Jazz wasn't that kind of bot who would demand more.

He looked up, when Swifttail entered his office, a young bot with a very long tail, who never before had done anything wrong... Why he had suddenly started to hack into the officer's personal files was a mystery to the tactician. Luckily, he only managed to get to Prowl's.

"I've finished my punishment detail, sir," said Swifttail with a shy smile.

Prowl nodded satisfied. "I hope this will not happen again?"

Swifttail wrought his hands, obviously embarrassed: "Of course not, I'm really sorry..."

"Good." Prowl wanted to dismiss him, but then his optics fell on Jazz's missions plan: "Please find Jazz and tell him to come into my office. Also tell the crew that we need to be undisturbed for the next two joors. After this, you're free until your shift."

Swifttail stared, optics flickering with surprise for a moment, then he nodded: "O-of course. Is that all?"

"For the moment, yes." Prowl smiled. "I'll call, if I have need of you."

The tail switched violently, and the bot nodded. Then, he hurried outside.

Prowl relaxed into his chair. Worrying what would happen when Jazz came... but surely, this was just about the mission. If Jazz would try anything, against all probabilities, he would just not listen. And continue talking about their job – the mission. And Jazz better would listen, because it was his life on the line, not Prowl's.

The tactician frowned at the thought of Jazz's death and took the datapad into his hand again. Surely, he had thought about everything? Suddenly feeling unsure, he started to calculate everything again – to keep Jazz safe, but also to calm his own circuits.