Run Off
The two mechs jerked apart, startled by the intruding voice.
Jazz lowered his hand from where he'd rested it on the corner of a crate. His gaze locked onto Prowl, barely giving Sunstreaker a glance. Shock dissolved into anger, and Jazz clenched his fists, dental plates gritted and bared.
"So I guess when Siders ain't around, ya use his brother."
Prowl stared blankly at Jazz, processor too sluggish to interpret the implication.
"What the slag makes you think I want anything this glitch has to offer." Sunstreaker put action to words and shoved away from Prowl, setting distance between him and Jazz's accusation. "He belongs to Sideswipe and I sure as slag don't want him."
Prowl blinked at Sunstreaker, battle computer sluggishly putting the pieces together for some sort of solution. "I belong to Sideswipe?" He didn't need his battle computer to realize that anger seethed just under the warrior's indifferent veneer. (
Right then he wasn't sure he would want to stop him if the golden mech assaulted the saboteur. Superior officer or not.
Metal squealed as Jazz balled his fists tighter. "Ya got paint," he growled, "streaked on yer chest."
Prowl looked, wondering if he should be surprised that yes, indeed, yellow ran in vertical streaks down the white finish. He frowned and looked sharply toward Jazz. "I don't see why it's your concern? Had we been interfacing and had we been caught the likelihood of your getting in trouble with Prime would be minimal. If we attempted to bring up accusations against you, I'm not sure that Prime would be willing to believe them."
Sunstreaker seized Prowl's arm, jerking the officer around to face him. "What the slag are you doing? Don't help him! Fraggit, you idiot!"
Jazz smirked at Sunstreaker, crossing his arms over his bumper. Prowl felt confident in his evaluation of Jazz to say the smile didn't reach the mech's optics. "He's just pointin' out th' obvious Sunny." The golden mech twitched at that name. "Look, Prowl, shouldn't you be rechargin'?"
Prowl stiffened, joints squeaking as he balled his hand into a fist. "I should be reporting to duty shortly."
"You don't have duty scheduled for another five cycles."
The three mechs whipped about, Sunstreaker's grip disappearing in less than a tic. Prowl peered over Jazz's shoulder and toward the storage room's entrance, cursing his inattentiveness. Optimus stood there, blue optics casting a halo about his eyes, and shadows around his mask. "Is there a problem?" Prime's gaze rested on the tactician, his optics directed at the rather obvious yellow scrapes covering Prowl's hood.
"Inventory," Prowl blurted out, naming the first thing that came to his processor. It was going to be his original excuse should anyone walk in while he tried to recharge.
"Yellow paint scraped on you doing inventory?" The light chuckle that accompanied that question belied the harsh light in Prime's eyes.
Unexpectedly it was Jazz who spoke up, stepping up beside Prowl, and twining their fingers together, patting the white knuckles fondly. "Well, y' know Prowlie. Always doin' work, even against doctor's orders. Sunny told me I should come get him straight away, didn't even have th' time to hit the racks." He wrapped an arm around Prowl's shoulder, stroking a tire wheel fondly. "Apparently he almost collapsed and struck ole Sunshine here." Jazz gave the Datsun a gentle shake. "He's going to be th' death o' me."
Prowl stared ahead, not certain he could contain himself if he looked at anyone in the room.
"This is true?"
Prowl nodded, numbly aware that Sunstreaker did the same.
The arm around Prowl's shoulder tightened, and fingers dug into tire tread. "Say g'night t' Sunny. Yer gonna recharge."
Prowl stiffened. "I'll be fine. Let me finish my inventory, and I'll join you later."
"Sunstreaker can finish the job." Prime hadn't moved, at least not that Prowl remembered, but suddenly he stood to the side, giving the two mechs room to pass.
Jazz guided him out of the storage room. Prowl dimly heard Optimus Prime reiterate his question to Sunstreaker, this time accompanied by a small admonition that no officer had any right to abuse their position over him. The door closed before Sunstreaker answered.
They plodded along in silence, Prowl dragged down by his exhausted confusion. Jazz continued to befuddle him, assisting where he wasn't needed. Soft words slipped out before he could censor them. "Why did you intervene?"
Jazz turned his head; his lips pressed together, his expression inscrutable. "I don' wanna see ya punished by Prime. Ain't that what we're doin' this for?" A frown twitched on his lips, and his vocalizer volume lowered. "Ain't that what I'm supposed to be 'rapin' ya for? So he don' find out?"
Prowl dipped his head down, unwilling to respond to that, too tired to argue with Jazz.
The door to their shared quarters slid close behind them.
Jazz suddenly pressed up against him. Black hands caressed Prowl's torso, his chestplate, headlights, his thighs. Desperate kisses alighted upon his lips, full of want, full of need. The saboteur panted against his mouth, but when he didn't respond, Jazz moved his attentions along the other's jaw and down his neck.
Jazz raised his head to press another kiss to his mouth. His hands dug under Prowl's bumper. "Welcome me home?"
He stared, the command firing unheeded through his processor. He could only turn his head, pulling away from the unwanted kiss.
Jazz vented with a hiss, his hands pulling at seams and panels almost painfully. He pushed against Prowl, shoving him back, toward the berth, never relenting in his touches.
The back of his knees hit the berth, and he finally balked, shoving Jazz away. He landed on the berth, but stared with wide optics at the saboteur, uncertain what to expect from him
Jazz stood there silently, his face slack with shock. His outreached hands curled into fists, and he frowned down at the tactician.
Slowly, oh so slowly he closed the distance between them and leaned toward Prowl.
Prowl tensed with each step and his optics burned as Jazz's lips pressed against his own, incessant hands pressing him to sit on the berth. Jazz dug his fingers into the white thighs, but the questing kiss ended abruptly.
Jazz slammed his fist down right next to Prowl's leg, before he turned and walked out.
Leaving Prowl in stunned silence once more.
Jazz was insatiable.
Prowl ached with the number of time Jazz had brought him to overload in a single recharge cycle. It embarrassed him how his body betrayed itself to Jazz's touch. His doorwings tingled as soft eddies of air washed over them, and his tactile sensors hissed at the slightest brush of anything against them. And black hands flashed through his memory; digging into seams and plating, drawing out cries that still hummed through his vocalizer.
It was almost like Jazz had decided that since he did not recharge anyways, there was no reason the tactician couldn't see to his needs. Though when the saboteur managed a full recharge, Prowl wasn't sure, because the mech certainly didn't act as drained as he should.
Every time Jazz paused, with his grip tight, fine-tuned engine humming, ventilations harsh against his neck, Prowl couldn't help but read the anger in the uncharacteristic actions.
It shouldn't hurt so much. Overload after overload had corrupted the sensory input, damaged the sensors, and he could no longer turn the gain down on them.
A hand clamped down on his wrist, eliciting a hiss before Prowl could stop it. He whirled about, straightening; having never realized that he'd huddled in on himself. Sunstreaker released his arm, taking a step back with his hands raised harmlessly.
The horned head tilted, and the blue optics narrowed in speculation.
Prowl's processor churned slowly, as though grease had clogged its delicate workings. "Aren't you scheduled for recharge?"
The golden hands dropped and Sunstreaker's engine grumbled. "I was going to say the same thing about you." Prowl shifted uncomfortably under the intense gaze. "Sides is right, you do look horrible." He suddenly ushered Prowl into his quarters, the light sting of his hands on the white plating enough of an incentive to initiate his leg actuators. Unlike on Earth where they were constrained by space, the Moon Base had enough room for most to get their own quarters. It had been only logical that Sunstreaker should be one of those mechs. For everyone's safety, if not their sanity.
Prowl turned as soon as Sunstreaker had locked his quarters. "Are you talking with Sideswipe now?"
That earned him a sour look. "No. Get on the berth."
Prowl hesitated, a hand braced on the wall in the tight space, trying to piece together the wrongness of this. "The cameras…"
"Suffered a short. No one saw you come in, as far as they know you continued on down to your quarters."
Narrowing his optics didn't seem to help his processor work any faster.
"Look, you don't live with someone like Sideswipe for as long as I have without picking up a few of their tricks. Now get your aft on the berth or I'll pick you up and throw you there." Golden hands gripped Prowl's shoulder struts ready to follow through.
Prowl obliged, the flat, clean, and open surface a welcome change from leaning against crates or curling up in tight, dinghy spaces. He sat down, but didn't immediately lie down, though he swayed with the desire to rest. "How did you and Sideswipe…" he paused, unsure how to word something so completely improbable, "do… that? Never seen it, before."
"Yeah, well it takes a lot out of us, so we try not to do it too often." His engine grumbled in thought, and the lips—so like his brother's—tilted down in a thoughtful frown. "It's like accessing installed hardware. We don't really know how it's possible, except it must have something to do with our split spark. I don't think even bondmates can do it."
Prowl shook his head. "Bonds're only pieces of a spark." He finally gave in and lay down, aware of Sunstreaker squeezing up next to him, squashing his doorwings against the wall.
Sunstreaker kept moving his hands as Prowl hissed in pain at their contact, finally settling them around Prowl's waist. They pressed together, almost errogeneously, from the lack of space on the berth only meant for one. Yet Prowl found his systems slowing down and chugging into recharge despite the proximity of the other whose engine purred soothingly next to him, the fine tuned harmonics a distant echo of the other purr that had kept him online the past six metacycles.
"Where's your solution to this mess?" Sunstreaker whispered so softly, humming against Prowl's audio receiver.
"Not now," he thought he replied, the words in coherent to his audio processors. It was almost like being back with Sideswipe, and that made him shift a little closer to the other mech.
Recharge took him, the illusion of Sideswipe being with him strong in his processor.
Flat panels shifted against his bumper. Fingers brushed against his canopy. A leg, idly thrown over his thigh, slid up to his waist plate. Prowl's HUD revealed that it was only the middle of his recharge cycle. He realized that he had missed Sideswipe; it had been too long since they'd been together. Without activating his optics he kissed the mech's cheek, relieved, for no apparent reason, at the feeling of pliable metal under his lips.
He could say good-bye, he distantly thought. But why good-bye when Sideswipe was right here in his arms? He drew the other frame closer, listening to the sounds of an idling system. He ghosted his fingers up the shoulder strut to play over the shoulder tire. If he activated his optics, his illusion would be destroyed.
Then, it was.
"Keep your slagging hands to yourself."
His processor, still strained from stress, distorted the words, distorted the voice; his audio receptors glitching it into an accented jumble. "Kee' yer slaggin' hands t' yerself."
Prowl yelped in surprise, pressing back against the wall. Jazz! His mind whirled in confusion, how could he ever confuse his blackmailer for his lover. He shook, staring at the mech, wondering if Jazz was prepping for a mission. What happened to his chestplate? And his visor? Why did he have vents?
The mech-thought-to-be-Jazz leaned forward a little. "Don't slagging call me that."
The voice pattern registered as familiar and Prowl reset his optics, in an effort to shunt the false data. "Sunstreaker?" Had he said Jazz's name aloud in his surprise?
"Yeah." The golden mech propped himself up on his elbow, resting one of his head vents on his hand. "Is it worth all this, Prowl?"
Prowl stared at Sunstreaker, mimicking his position in the cramped space. "What do you mean?" He could already feel his systems winding back down, ready to slip into recharge again.
"The slag this is putting you through. Is being with my brother worth what you're doing to yourself? To him?" Sunstreaker leaned forward, brow ridges furrowed. "Do you realize how much it hurts him that he can't be here with you? That you couldn't even trust him with your problem?"
Prowl stared icily at the mech. "Any normal relationship comes with their own varieties of slag and malfunctions. Sideswipe and I are trying to work through this." He moved to climb over the Lamborghini's leg, but a foot crashed into the wall that supported the foot of the berth, blocking Prowl. "If you'll excuse me, I'm certain that Jazz is wondering where I am. I do not need him to come looking for me." Particularly not when he'd find the tactician here. Not when he still assumed that Prowl had any form of intimate contact with the golden twin as well.
"Frag that retrorat. You can't even recharge with him around!" Sunstreaker reached up and dragged Prowl back down. "And I may not like you, but what Jazz is doing to you is… is… it's fragged up! And when he hurts you, he's hurting Sideswipe, too," he growled. "Let. Go. Of. My. Arms."
Prowl hadn't even realized he'd braced his hands against Sunstreaker to keep the warrior away. "I apologize. I just…" he trailed off, staring at an indistinct spot over the golden shoulder, unable to put words to what had caused him to react in such a way…
The twin glared at him before lying down, carefully keeping his hands to himself. "Go back to recharge, I'll bring you online when you should go." He stared intently at Prowl before his optics shut off. "Let him try anything with me. I'll slag him faster than I did you."
"I really should go. I don't want you to get in trouble. You're not the only one worried about hurting Sideswipe. I'd be letting him down if you get in trouble on my account." He didn't want to say that he no longer felt comfortable there. He'd had enough of a recharge to make it back to his quarters. And his sensors still burned, his doorwings scraping against the wall driving sharp slivers of pain through his sensory net.
Golden fingers rested on the tactician's upper arm. "What is your plan to deal with Jazz?"
A sigh escaped from Prowl's vents, and he laid his head back. "Giving him unpleasant missions has kept him off base, thus far."
Sunstreaker huffed, shifting in the small space. "That doesn't solve your problem though."
Doorwings scraped against the wall, and he tucked his hands under his bumper. "It doesn't."
Silence then, as Sunstreaker shifted impatiently.
Prowl sat up, carefully trying to nudge the warrior's legs away. He didn't want to have to explain just what Jazz's randomness did to him. He didn't want to have to explain to Sunstreaker that he couldn't figure a way out of this situation without possibly tipping Prime to the secret, or worse completely giving them away. Jazz had them in a bind, just as he did back on Earth, and Prowl couldn't think his way through it. Primus, he was too depleted to really even try.
Sunstreaker clenched his hands into golden fists, his optics glowing brightly in anger. "Sideswipe wants me to help you, slaggit. You aren't even trying to let me help you. You're a fragging tactician, it's not like you're not used unbeatable odds and uncertain chances, and using your resources to their fullest. It's been five metacycles since we got here, and you've done slag about your situation."
Prowl's optics flashed in anger. "
"Whatever. Fine. Get." The mech rolled gracefully to his feet.
Prowl stood, flicking his doorwings to catch his balance. He paused as he passed Sunstreaker. "Thank you." He glanced at him from under his chevron. "I appreciate it."
Arms crossed over his canopy. "Thank me by telling me your plan."
Prowl flicked his doorwing uneasily. "I will when I have one." He continued on his way out, aware of the twin's gaze on his back.
When he entered the quarters he shared with Jazz, the black and white mech turned his head at the sound of the door closing. The saboteur didn't say anything, only scooted to the side to give Prowl the room he needed to lay down.
Lazy hands traced over Prowl's bumper before Jazz tugged him closer, clinging to the tactician as though he hadn't expected him to come back. As Prowl lay there, he could hear the hitches and glitches within Jazz's systems that were Cybertronian sobs. As he lay there with the other black and white mech hanging onto him, trembling, whining softly; Prowl found he didn't have it in him to care.
There had to be a way to get Jazz away from him. The mech was going to drive him out of his processor. Not to mention that if Prowl didn't figure out something soon, Sunstreaker was going to tear the saboteur apart.
"A year?"
Trust Jazz to use the Earth vernacular for the amount of time.
"Ratchet requires material that can only be acquired from Cybertron. You'll need time to establish contacts to purchase the items. Unless you already know of such places?"
The visor tilted toward the datapad held between black fingers. A grimace pinched Jazz's mouth. "Not in that amount."
"Then a metacycle would be best to ensure optimum success, wouldn't you agree?"
Jazz slumped in his seat, his expression inscrutable. "Guess so." A numb smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Guess ya won't miss me much, either."
Prowl held himself from reacting, keeping his gaze serene.
Optimus Prime watched them with narrow optics.
"You are scheduled to leave in a megacycle, and you still have duty in twenty breems. I suggest you begin whatever preparations you will require."
"Yeah." The saboteur pushed himself up with all the tiredness Prowl felt but was not allowed to exhibit. "See ya before I go?" A hopeful note sang at the end of the request.
"If time permits me," he replied icily.
Jazz walked out of the office, his shoulders sagging.
"I'm surprised Ratchet did not realize he required such hard to come by metals when Jazz last left," Prime tilted his head, brow ridge lifting, "half a metacycle ago." Prime clasped his hands before him. "Jazz seems to be going out on a lot more extended missions as a matter of fact." Prime didn't pry, he never did, but the intonation of his question was such that Prowl knew it to be a question.
"Isn't that why Jazz is here? The Decepticons are preparing for something, and Bumblebee is too busy prepping Moon Base 2 to assist Jazz in finding out what it is."
"Things are not going well, are they?"
Prowl remained silent, his doorwings twitching slightly.
Prime sighed. "I wonder if you are not being completely fair to him."
Prowl stiffened, one hand clenching at his side. "If this has nothing to do with my duties, I need to go take Brawn's place at the monitor station."
"Prowl," Prime admonished.
Obediently Prowl sat down, his lips pressing together in discomfort. "I am giving him chances to improve, but he is not taking them." he sighed. "He has had plenty of opportunities to make amends, but he stubbornly continues in his way."
"And what is he supposed to think if he comes across you and Sunstreaker in compromising positions?"
Prowl stiffened, his gaze never wavering from Prime's optics. "Sunstreaker and I haven't been in any such position, sir."
"Answer my question, how would you feel if you walked in on your lover like that?"
Prowl blinked at Prime, holding his doorwings against tilting in reaction to Prime's words. "This is Jazz you speak of Prime. Walking in on him entwined with someone else was no unusual thing."
Prime lifted his brow, tilting his head in a silent reprimand.
"It…" he paused to vent a sigh, "doesn't bother me. It never has, Prime." He met his commander's optics. For it was the truth, it never bothered him to see either his lover, or Jazz, in the arms of another. Instead, in at least Sideswipe's case, he felt an immeasurable amount of pity for the poor mech. He wondered if things had been different, if they hadn't needed to hide, might Sideswipe have insisted on a monogamous relationship, and been satisfied with only the tactician.
"Then what is the problem."
Prowl twitched his lips, his hands spasming against his thighs. "We have differences, Optimus." Searching for a cue to do otherwise, Prowl stood. "They are irreconcilable. We are trying time apart as a solution." He turned from Primes' desk. "If you have no further questions, sir, I will be replacing Brawn."
"Remember, that I am here if you ever wish to talk." The large mech shifted back into his seat, and Prowl felt the pressure of his gaze until the door shut between them.
Ratchet scowled at him from across the desk. He twirled a datapad on the surface of his desk, stopping it to look at the reading.
Prowl waited patiently for him to speak, it never did any good to push for Ratchet to speak. Most had yet to learn that to do so would only prompt the medic's ire, and result in one of his fits. Prowl couldn't understand why they hadn't considering how long Ratchet had been in their company.
"How's recharge?" Ratchet asked, his tone bland, but Prowl knew better.
He tilted his doorwings. "Don't your readings tell you that?"
"Humor me. I'm the doctor." But the glare Ratchet directed at the tactician had nothing to do with humor.
He shrugged his doorwings. "I am recharging."
"Uninterrupted?" Ratchet continued to ask, as though following a thread only he could see.
"For the most part."
"For this whole past metacycle?" Ratchet's joints squeaked, tightening in controlled anger, his voice grinding out more and more like a snarl.
"Most of it," Prowl affirmed again.
"Especially this last quarter?"
"Yes."
The medic's hand slammed onto his desk. "What is Jazz doing to you?"
Prowl didn't answer, choosing instead to widen his optics feigning surprise at the accusation.
"He'll be returning in a few megacycles." Ratchet slid the datapad toward his patient, tapping the screen to draw the tactician's attention to it. "Your readings have been normal, finally; for a while now, as a matter of fact." He leaned forward to make sure he had the tactician's undivided attention. "If it starts happening again, I'm bringing it up to Optimus. Because whatever slag Jazz is putting you through needs to stop. You should have stopped it long before now."
Prowl nodded. "Are you done?"
"I'm really not going to get a straight answer out of you about this, am I?" Impenetrable silence that lasted for only as long as Ratchet's visibly strained patience could stand. "Dammit, Prowl! How can you expect me to help you if you keep your slagging vocalizer on mute." The medic leaned his considerable weight on his desk. "I am not going to fragging stand by and watch you destroy yourself again. I have proof that you and Jazz have not been together for nearly as long as you claim. Maybe I'm making a bit of a stretch here, but you really never seemed too interested in Jazz, even though Jazz has had an infatuation with you for some time." The red fingers rapped across the desk, and Ratchet stared at nothing, frowning to himself and seemingly ignoring Prowl still standing there. "This isn't a tiff between the two of you." The blue optics finally met the tactician's own. "He's got something on you," he whispered.
Prowl dropped his chin, unable to meet the medic's gaze after so long of hiding this very thing from him. "I would much prefer that you remain out of this."
The medic narrowed his optics. "Slagging had better not tell me that it's none of my concern, either. I'll make it my concern." He leaned back, a sigh escaping his vents. "What's he got on you?"
Prowl frowned, and echoed Ratchet's sigh, tilting head back to stare at one of the overhead lights. "I can't say."
"Slaggit, Prowl!"
Prowl lowered his gaze, frown pinching his lips down. "It wouldn't be a problem, if I could reveal it so easily, now would it?"
Ratchet glowered, and rapped the desktop again. His thoughtful glare lowered to the datapad in front of him, and his finger moved over to tap on the screen. "Who else are you interfacing with?"
Prowl's head lurched up, his doorwings jumping in his surprise.
"Oh, don't act so surprised, I took the liberty of comparing yours and Jazz's overload logs. What proof did you think I had? So who is it?"
Prowl tilted his chin down, powering down his optics. "I can't say."
A sound came out of the medic's engine that made Prowl wince in sympathy. A horrible grinding of gears that refused to turn as they should. "Is it someone here?"
Prowl didn't waste the processing power to weigh his decision. "No."
The medic's optics flicked down to the datapad again. "It's not a Decepticon, is it?"
Prowl stiffened, his optics flaring even as he snarled, "I don't appreciate your sense of humor."
Ratchet returned Prowl's glare evenly. "Do I look like I'm laughing?" Rather than wait for Prowl to respond, Ratchet continued on. "If I sent to First Aid for the crew's medical records, would I like what I found?"
Prowl vented a sigh, but didn't break away from Ratchet's gaze. "No."
Again that horrible grinding sound came from Ratchet's engine. Both fists crashed down on the desk, and Ratchet suddenly loomed over the tactician. "You slagging retrorat. Get it through your two byte processor that all I want to do is help you. What's wrong with telling me your other interface partners, it's not like it's someone in a lower…" The medic suddenly sat down, optics wide. "Primus, Prowl… You're yanking my circuits!"
Prowl stiffened. He had forgotten that Ratchet had been there when Prime first accused him of dallying with Sideswipe, but as long as they didn't outright name the mech, the probability remained high that he might actually not say anything. "Jazz also said that he only wants to help."
The wide optics centered on Prowl, flaring brightly in anger. "He wouldn't…" They dimmed, as though searching within his memory. "He did. Slag." Ratchet caught his head in a single red hand. "He knows, doesn't he? He's been… for every one of those times…"
Prowl dimmed his optics, clenching his hands on his knees. He couldn't bring himself to look at Ratchet, ashamed. "He brought me here, to continue to do so."
Ratchet's hand dropped back down to the desk, his brow ridge furrowed, and his dental plates bared, a sharp counterpoint to his flaring optics. "Why the frag haven't you stopped this?"
That brought Prowl's head back up, and his doorwings rose, and he clenched his jaw for a brief moment. "You don't think I've been trying?"
Ratchet huffed, staring down at his desk. "This has been happening for at least six metacycles. Have you tried everything?"
"What would you have me do, resign from the Autobots?"
Ratchet met Prowl's optics again. "Well, why not?"
Prowl pressed his lips together, straining against a frown. The gears of his doorwings whined as they lifted higher. "Exactly what do you mean by that? I've sworn an oath! Do you think I can give up everything we—that I—have fought for so lightly? "
Ratchet shrugged, his head tilting to one side. "Then resign your command. He's getting you because of your rank."
Prowl shook his head, but his processor whirred at tetrabytes an astrosecond. Primus, it made sense, completely logical sense. He was surprised that he hadn't reached that conclusion himself, except… "Who would take my place?"
"Oh, I'm sure there are plenty of mechs qualified for the position."
He continued to run calculations through his battle computer, personnel qualifications, probabilities. He had long been proud of the position he held in the Autobot faction, he prided himself on his abilities, and his methods, and in his pride, he considered himself a vital part of the Autobot forces. It would never have occurred to him to resign. The thought staggered him, so simple a solution, and yet so much that he had to do before it could be put into effect. Emotion surged through him, they wouldn't have to hide anymore. "I can't do this right now. Not here." He didn't think he could explain his reasoning to Optimus, face to face. It'd be difficult enough even via a video transmission.
"No, I imagine not." Silence then as the two considered the problem. Then Ratchet stood, and stepped around his desk.
Prowl didn't turn his head, unalarmed by the medic's movements, until a hand landed on his shoulder. He jumped, doorwing knocking away the arm as he turned.
Ratchet frowned down at the tactician contemplatively, watching silently until Prowl forced himself to relax. "Still a little jumpy?" The hand descended again, this time with more care and caution than used previously. "I need to know if you're going to tell Prime."
Prowl's optics dimmed, but he nodded once. "Yes, but not yet. It will have to wait until we have finished the repairs here. I…" He lifted his head again, meeting the medic's intense stare. "I want to return to Earth first."
The light of Ratchet's optics softened. "I can trust you to keep your word?"
"Yes." And he could. Prowl refused to allow this to ever happen again.
"Good." Ratchet gently shook Prowl's shoulder, his grip tight on the tactician's wheel. "I think I have an idea on how to keep you and Jazz separated." The fingers tightened on the sensitive rubber. "I'm not going to sit by and watch it happen again, do you understand?"
Prowl dropped his head, but his optics flared with anger reserved for another mech. His ventilations picked up, and he nodded sharply. Finally he looked up, reaching up to cover the hand on his shoulder with his own. "Thank you, Ratchet."
Ratchet smiled, resting his other hand on Prowl's helmet. "That's what friends for."
The tactician's vision sparked with static, and his ventilators hitched as he leaned into the medic's hands.
"Ratchet still hasn't figured out what was wrong with you?" Prime asked after Prowl had handed him the reports he'd managed to finish. "He came to me with a suggestion to alleviate your symptoms. But he didn't tell me what the problem might be."
Prowl locked his doorwings and facial motors. "Yes, we're working the glitch out. Provided I maintain the medical regime he's prescribed, I'll be fine."
Jazz's shuttle had docked not even half a joor ago, and Prowl knew the mech's way of greeting him by now. Normally, Jazz would have him aching from overloads. Not this time. This time, it wouldn't happen. Jazz would not get his way. Already he prepared himself, running scenarios through his battle computer to remove himself from that room.
"I want you to prepare for a new assignment."
The tactician twitched, drawn suddenly out of his contemplation. "A new assignment?"
"Perhaps, reassignment would be the better word." Prime set the datapad on the desk. "Yes, I'll give it to you after you recharge. If you'll excuse me, I need to look over a few things." He pointedly picked up another datapad off the desk.
"Yes, sir." Prowl left, the word 'reassignment' bouncing around his processor. Ratchet's idea? He wouldn't have suggested a reassignment to Earth, Optimus would never have accepted it, not unless he was calling Sideswipe up, considering the current accusations. That just didn't make any sense; Prime wouldn't sacrifice his foremost tactician for the presence of a simple warrior. Without consulting his tactician first? It wasn't logical. Where was he being assigned? What had Ratchet done?
These questions carried him to the docking bay. He paused, surprised to see it empty; Jazz's short-range shuttle open and empty.
"Looking for Jazz?" Brawn suddenly asked, drawing Prowl's attention over to a pile of crates. "He was ahead of schedule," he continued. "Said he didn't want to disturb you."
Prowl glanced at the shuttle, relief slowing down his processor for a moment. "Thank you, Brawn." He hesitated a moment. "Where did he go?"
"Don't know. Said he had some things to take care of, he'd catch you when he could." The minibot moved to the shuttle, tapping a datapad he'd pulled out of subspace.
"Did he get everything?"
"So far so good." Brawn glanced at Prowl lifting a brow ridge. "You know, I can handle this. I'm sure you have other things that you have to do."
Prowl nodded once. "Thank you, Brawn. I do have things to attend to." He turned and swept out of the docking bay, immeasurably relieved not to have to face the saboteur, yet. He needed the extra time to continue to calculate the possibilities.
Prowl hadn't seen Jazz the entire megacycle after the saboteur's return. Even brief trips to his quarters hadn't revealed the mech's whereabouts.
Sunstreaker halted him in the hallway. "Whose fragging idea was it to stick me with a slagging minibot for slotting monitor duty?"
Prowl looked at him in surprise. "Are you complaining about your duty assignments?"
"Slag yeah! I get stuck with a slagging minibot while you and Jazz are shorting each other's processors out. What are you going to do about that?"
Prowl tilted his head, picking through the twin's words. Jazz must already be in the room. "Certainly you can handle Cliffjumper's sniping without sending him to Ratchet?" His optics flashed and he leveled a speaking look on the warrior. "I'd appreciate not being disturbed to discipline you yet again." He and Jazz had a few things to straighten out between them.
Sunstreaker narrowed his optics, but Prowl could almost see him processing the words. The mech tensed, and he shot a glance toward the Officer's corridors. He understood. "You know I can't stand his boasting." The optics brightened, and sent a glare in the direction of the next hallway. "If he starts up again..." The words hissed out with such menace, that Prowl immediately realized he wasn't referring to Cliffjumper. The mech turned and continued on his way to the monitor room.
Prowl had no doubt that he would follow through on his unspoken threat.
When Prowl entered his quarters, he wasn't at all surprised to see Jazz sitting on the berth, his prominent chest propped up by the elbows resting on his thighs. The black head lifted up to glance toward the door, only to drop with a frame-wide sigh. He stood, approaching Prowl with a reserve the tactician wasn't used to seeing from the saboteur.
Prowl hadn't moved since the door shut behind him, now he stared with bright optics at the other mech's approach. His optics widened with each step, joints tightening until white arms draped over his shoulder, tugging their chestplates together in an awkward manner. Prowl tensed, and then shoved the other mech away, backing up a step as his systems glitched with the remembered feel of those skilled black hands turning his shoulder tires, and dipping into open seams to stroke wires and struts.
A frown pinched Jazz's face as he pulled back. "I've really done it, haven't I?"
The red chevron tilted in echo of Prowl's confusion. That wasn't in the normal script. "Done what?"
Black fingers caressed up the ridges of Prowl's wrist, until they rested on Prowl's shoulder tires. "Ruined it for us."
Anger powered his actuators, and Prowl snatched Jazz's hands away from his shoulders. "There is no 'us'." Using his grip on the white arms, he leveraged his weight against the saboteur, forcing him back a step. "There has never been any 'us'!"
Jazz braced himself against Prowl, and pushed back. "There could'a been." The optics behind the visor flashed, and he suddenly pulled, yanking Prowl off balance. They collided, falling to the ground in an undignified heap. Then Jazz was on top of him, straddling Prowl's canopy and holding his doorwings down, effectively pinning the bulkier mech in place. "Ya didn't even give it a thought, didja?"
"No," he said sharply, vocalizer surging with the effort of holding the nearly three tons of Jazz on his back. His torso creaked, threatening to buckle and he braced himself on his hands. "I don't operate in possibilities, particular when they have such low probabilities."
Air hissed from between Prowl's dental plates as Jazz's denting grip suddenly turned crushing. Metal gave under a hand powerful enough support the three tons that made up the saboteur's frame.
"I suppose," Jazz murmured, his growling engine belying his soft tone, "ya never considered the possibilities of the future with Sideswipe, have ya?"
"I refuse to discuss Sideswipe with you," Prowl wheezed.
A sharp bark of laughter preceded a rough shove that sent Prowl sprawling on the floor. "Nah, I think we need to talk about this. Y'know, friend to friend, officer t' officer." Seizing Prowl's shoulder, he hauled the tactician to his feet. Emotions flickered across his face, none of them definable, hidden by the visor.
Prowl glared, the light of his optics hot upon his cheeks. He watched Jazz, trying to predict the saboteur's next action. "What exactly do we need to talk about?"
"Who'd ya tell?"
That caught Prowl's attention and he narrowed his optics. "Tell? No one." He frowned at Jazz. "Why would I tell anyone, when you would turn around and inform Prime about my relationship with Sideswipe?"
Jazz shrugged a shoulder almost negligently.. "Don't know. Guess it's the same reason ya've been sendin' me on these long missions." Then he abruptly changed subjects. "Have you ever considered that you're takin' advantage of Sideswipe's trust in ya?"
Prowl tilted his head, browridge dropping into a growing scowl. "You believe that this never occurred to me?"
A sneer played at Jazz's mouth, alien on the normally jovial mech's face. "I don' know. Yer the officer sleepin' with one'a yer unit. If I were that mech I sure as slag wouldn't trust ya."
"I have never given Sideswipe any reason to distrust me. We know the difference between duty and pleasure, and we set boundaries for those times." Prowl flicked his doorwings. "Why did you ask whether I had told anyone?"
"What? Don't you know?" Jazz smirked. "Prime's reassignin' ya, didn't he tell ya?" His words and tone mocked Prowl's current standing with Prime. "Yer goin' to Moonbase 2, per the good Doctor's orders."
Prowl lifted his doorwings. "I never told Ratchet anything." Which was the truth, Ratchet drew the conclusions on his own.
"Have ya been that bad off?"
"I can't believe you would ask that after the slag you've been putting me through these past metacycles! Are you blind? Your audacity astounds me, Jazz." He snapped his vocalizer off, but couldn't shut off the anger that boiled through his fluid lines. He turned for the door. "I will not have this conversation with you."
A black hand seized Prowl's shoulder and used his movement as leverage to throw the tactician back toward the center of the room. "Oh yes, you will! I just wanted ya to see what y' were doin'!
Prowl's pelvic region smacked into the desk, staggering him as he glared up at the saboteur. Systems shuddered with rage accumulated throughout the past several metacycles. "What I'm doing?" he snarled, his vocalizer snapping and tumbling over the words. His hand slid over the surface of the desk, shoving items out of the way until he came across a heavy trophy. White fingers curled around the oblong piece of sturdy metal.
Jazz stalked toward Prowl, menace in his every move. "Yes, what you're doin! I was tryin' t' get ya away from Sideswipe so that you could see what he was doing to you! But then Sunny-" Jazz's vocalizer snapped on the warrior's name, crackling briefly with emotion, "Sunny just had to go and blow out his motherboard and that ruined my plan. You're destroyin' everythin' ya've worked hard to achieve. Look at the way that Prime don't trust ya anymore!" The visor shoved toward the tactician, the light behind it flaring brightly, dental plates bared and vocalizer buzzing. "Tell me that your thing with the twins is worth losin' that! "
Prowl slammed the trophy down, interrupting Jazz. "Stop implying that I'm having an affair with both of them." He leaned forward, doorwings angling back with his ire. "Sunstreaker wants nothing to do with me if he can help it." His optics flashed. "And don't you think I'm aware of Prime's opinion of me at the moment?"
Jazz grabbed Prowl's upper strut suddenly, pulling the tactician closer. "Then walk away from Sideswipe!"
White fingers tightened on the trophy, making sure it came along; the metal digging into his thigh as he hid it from the saboteur. "And what? Turn to you? You think that even if I were to leave Sideswipe, I would want anything to do with you? After what you've done? You're a fool if you believe that!"
Jazz's fingers squeezed tighter and his vocalizer hitched. "I'm jes' tryin' to protect ya."
The trophy crashed against Jazz's helmet. The glass of his visor shattered to reveal a cracked optic underneath, the eye socket collapsed from the force of the blow.
Sparks practically leapt from Prowl's mouth; he didn't even realize what he'd done. "Protect me? Protect me? You call this protecting me? From whom? From what? Certainly not yourself!" Prowl slammed his fist into Jazz's shoulder joint, uncurling his fingers to dig deep into the wires. Jazz wailed, but he made no move to remove the hand from his shoulder, joints locked in sudden pain. "You're the only thing I need 'protection' from. Not Prime. Not Sunstreaker. Certainly not Sideswipe. I can handle any trouble they throw at me. But you…" Prowl grunted, wrenching his arm back, wires and fluid lines pulling free. Jazz's arm dropped uselessly to his side. "You held all three of them over me for a year on Earth, and then this entire time on the Moon Base. And you tell me it's to 'protect'' me?"
Jazz snatched Prowl's wrist, broken optic flickering with uncertain power surges, but he snarled, twisting the tactician's arm. He barely glanced at his dangling limb, bending Prowl's elbow joint in ways it wasn't meant to go. "Yer logic circuits musta been really scrambled if y' think a few years are a long time."
He stifled the pain under his suppression program. White fingers snagged one of Jazz's audio horns; he knew how sensitive they were from playing with Sideswipe's jointed receivers "It's a long time," Prowl stated firmly, fingers tightening around the horn and pulling the saboteur's head down. "When someone you're supposed to be able to trust is forcing you against your will, it can fool even my systems into registering it as a long time."
Jazz snarled, dropping Prowls arm to pry the white fingers off his audio horn. "It ain't been nearly as long as you've been shacking it up with Sideswipe!" Unable to remove the grip on his horn, Jazz abruptly dropped and twirled away from Prowl's fingers. In that same smooth motion, he swept the tactician's feet out from under him. He grabbed Prowl by the neck and slammed him down. "How do ya think that makes me feel?" the saboteur hissed into his audio receiver. "Knowin' that a commandin' officer is doin' somethin' he'd throw anyone else into th' brig for! There's settin' a perfect example for ya!" Jazz guffawed once, derisively.
The accusation stalled Prowl for a moment, though he didn't back away from the saboteur. "If any of the other officers caught me I would expect them to do the same."
The smile on Jazz's face could not be construed as nice, distorted by the shattered visor and the crushed metal of his face. "Oh, really? And where does that leave me? What do ya expect me t' do?"
Prowl stiffened, his doorwings scraping against the floor. "At first, I would have expected you to also do the same."
Jazz's lips pulled back in an inscrutable expression, his remaining optic blazing behind the broken visor.'"And now?"
"I no longer know what to expect of you. I never expected you to blackmail me."
Pain crossed Jazz's face, and he slumped against Prowl, his helm coming to rest on the center of the chevron. "I don' want you to get in trouble with Prime. That's why I helped ya in the first place. I was… I just…" His engine rattled softly, unhappily. "I thought it'd be fair as, y' know, a trade. An- An' I love ya, Prowl. "
Prowl's doorwings twitched once, a quick bob of surprise. "Love?" The word came out with only the slightest inflection, and he stared at the saboteur from over him. "Love?" This time the word boiled out in an angry hiss. He gathered himself, tensing already taut cables. "Is this," and he squirmed in Jazz's iron grip, "what you call love?" He shoved his dented arm at the unsymmetrical face. "Is this what you call love?" he spat with all the venom built up from the metacycles of blackmail and rape.
Jazz pushed Prowl's arm down, and backed off, his expression vaguely nauseated.
Prowl pursued the other mech, rage driving him to his feet, determination moving every servo of his body. "How about all this time and I've been unable to recharge because of what you've done? Is that what you call love." He snatched Jazz's hand, pressing it against his worn access panel, even though the touch of the black hand made his circuits crawled. "Do you force yourself on someone you're supposed to love?"
Despair changed to defiance within a sparkpulse, and Jazz glared at Prowl, dental plates bared in a silent snarl."Like yer one t' talk." He pushed Prowl away, shaking off the tactician's grip with sharp gestures. "What do you know about love? Look at the way they treated ya when they thought y' were with someone else? They could have killed ya. Is that love? Doesn't what they could do to ya bother you?" He moved closer, voice dropping down as his optics flashed. "This ain't the first time it's happened either, y' can't tell me otherwise! I've looked in the records and there're other reports of attacks on you that looked like the twins but you refused to say it was."
Prowl wondered just how Jazz had found those particular reports, he'd thought they'd been encrypted and archived, never to be pulled out again. "Once again, you don't know what you're talking about. That was only five times, and most of them Sunstreaker. Sideswipe discouraged it, after he realized that Sunstreaker was making assumptions about my relationships with other mechs."
Jazz suddenly shifted gears without putting in the clutch. "So they have a problem with ya sleepin' around with other mechs, but Siders can go interface with anyone else he chooses? That ain't right."
Prowl paused, caught off guard by the sudden switch in topics. "That's part of our cover. It doesn't bother me that he is with others."
Jazz frowned, then shifted gears without warning again, his brow ridge lifting plaintively. One black hand reached out to brush Prowl's cheekguard. "Couldn't I be a part'a yer cover?"
Prowl took a step back, optics wide at this mech's audacity. He smacked down the other's hand, clanging it against the saboteur's torso. "No." A sharp shake of his head denied the possibility. "Even if you promised to stop using Optimus and Sideswipe against me: No. I want nothing more to do with you than duty requires."
Genuine hurt snatched Jazz's hand back. He fidgeted a moment. "If I'd never done this, could we have…" his words trailed off, his gaze focused on the desk top.
The cables of Prowl's arms tightened, and his hands curled to fists. "That's a probability I never considered, Jazz, nor will I ever consider it, now."
The other's hands dropped to his side. "Please? Just this once for me?"
Prowl sneered. "What the slag do you think I owe you? Fine. Yes, there was a possibility that I could have used you as a cover."
"But not now."
"No, not now. Not ever."
Jazz stood there quietly. His fans whirred in the ensuing silence, and he stared openly at Prowl. Finally he moved, shifting his weight from one leg to the other "I guess… I should let ya get some rest. Yer supposed ta leave tomorrow, right? An'… An' maybe you wanna say good-by t' Sunny." A black hand lifted to the ruins of the visor. "Think I need t' go see the good doctor."
Prowl stared at the saboteur, trying to piece together what the mech was doing. What he was saying.
The Porsche retreated a step. "When you guys get Moon Base 2 up and runnin' maybe I can talk Prime int' sendin' ya back t' Earth? I don' think our 'relationship'," he spat the word out with all the sourness of weak energon, "is gonna survive yer new assignment."
"Jazz…" The saboteur's name burst from Prowl's lips before he had a chance to censor it.
Jazz stopped, but didn't turn, not even his head.
"What are you going to tell Ratchet?
Jazz finally turned his head. "Don't he know what's goin' on?"
"About you, yes."
A humourless laugh burst from his vocalizer. "But not Sideswipe." He turned to face the door again. "Don' worry. I ain't gonna break your cover." The words grated out from between his dental plates. Jazz suddenly turned, face flashing with a pain that wasn't physical but seemed wholly real. "Prowlie, I really didn't mean to hurt you."
Prowl stared, unable to delete the scowl from his face.
The black hands that had grown so familiar with Prowl's body clenched and flexed. "I'm sorry, man."
Jazz waited, and Prowl realized that he wanted a response. What the slag did he expect? 'Thank you for giving my life back?' 'Thank you for not blackmailing me anymore?' "I can't."
Jazz flinched, as though Prowl's murmur had physically struck him across the face. He didn't say another word, but marched out of the room.
Relief washed through him. Every cable, every joint, every hinge felt as though they had lost a literal ton of weight. He didn't contemplate the nonsense of that feeling. He only wanted to revel in the knowledge that it was over. Finally over. Then, after the other base was fully active, he would do his best to convince Prime to send him back to Earth.
Send him back to Sideswipe.
Prowl staggered his way to the berth, needing to sit down with the surge of emotion sweeping through him. His ventilators hitched with the feeling.
It was over!
He would not allow it to happen again. Ultra Magnus could easily handle his position. Smokescreen or Trailbreaker would also be ideal replacements. Prowl lay on the berth, hands playing impatiently across his torso, but he couldn't fall into recharge. He'd rather plan his carefully worded letter of resignation, or allow himself to be carried by the memories of Sideswipe, of their time together throughout the millennia. Comparatively, his coming stay on the other Moonbase would seem a short jaunt.
They had been together for over thirty thousand vorn, he could wait another few metacycles.
The year is 2005…
Author's End Note There. It's done. Finally Finally DONE. This Ends the Jazz Arc. Are you happy with it? Not at all satisfied? Is it obvious that I've sat on this for a couple of years before posting this. *wipes the dust off the chapter* So what's left? Well, Sideswipe, actually. Though, I think after all the torment and angst in the Halifax Arc, and this Jazz Arc, Prowl and Sideswipe need a moment together. They need a breather.
You will too before the finale.
Last Bonus chapter to go up on March 1st.