Rae: Sorry again about the update wait, guys! Dealing with my aunt's funeral hasn't been all that easy, and now my university project work's taken over. I wouldn't expect another update for at least a couple of weeks yet, probably longer. I really apologize in advance for that!

And this is why I don't like doing multi-chaptered things... xDD Enjoy anyway, guys! Much luff, glomps and nommings to my Beta for dashing through this on a busy day~

Jazz came home from a fairly uneventful night at the Blue Ice. Apart from Naomi, he hadn't managed to come up with anyone else who might know Russell or one of his underlings. He hadn't talked to Naomi at all, just quietly and discreetly observed her from the bar. He still had to find out if the Broken Palm could reveal anything new to him. He'd had some excitement in the form of a bar brawl and then a few solid pieces of evidence that one of the guys there that night was a drug dealer, so Detroit PD could deal with him tomorrow morning when he presented it. Other than that he hadn't done or seen anything interesting.

Making sure his Porsche was locked properly and its security in place, he walked the two flights of stairs needed to get up to his door, humming quietly and stepping in time to a silent beat. His key twisted easily in its lock, but then he noticed his alarm was off. He tensed immediately; he never ever left without setting it. His gun came out from the back of his jeans, safety off and in front of him. It led its holder into the living room first, the visor he wore in night vision mode since he hadn't put the lights on. That revealed nothing, as did the kitchen. Nothing seemed to be missing or out of place, so apparently it wasn't a burglar.

Jazz slowly moved into the bathroom, which also yielded nothing. That just left the bedroom, and he cocked his gun as he moved silently to the bedroom door. He pushed it gingerly open, keeping cover behind the door frame, and then tentatively peered in when nothing was thrown or shot at him. His night vision immediately picked up a solitary figure, but instead of lying in wait for him it was sprawled out on the bed. He stood up slowly and glided over to the bed, gun trained on the figure.

But when he got a good look at whoever was lying on his bed he had to stop himself from laughing out loud in relief, and the tension immediately left him. He turned his visor back normal vision and switched on his bedside lamp to reveal the sleeping face of his partner, curled up comfortably on top of his covers and untied hair spread out like a fan behind him. Adam groaned and turned away slightly from the light, but didn't stir. Jazz ran his fingers through Adam's hair gently, pushing the red strands out his face and pressing a loving kiss to his forehead. That made the detective scrunch up his nose slightly before opening his eyes blearily. The first thing he saw was a pair of amused gold eyes swim into view, and then a smirk tugging at full lips.

Adam suddenly remembered where he was, and shot upright. "Jazz! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep. I was-"

He cut off by Jasper kissing him, effectively silencing any more excuses. "Yeh gave meh a right scare, Prowler," he said when he pulled away. "I thought someone'd broken in. I coulda shot yeh." He pulled Adam to his feet and cocked his head to one side. "How on earth did yeh know m'alarm code?"

"Watched you enter it last time I was here," muttered his partner in embarrassment. "I wanted to make sure you were okay."

"'M fine. See?" Jazz spread his arms and whirled around the room several times, making Adam snort in amusement. "A bar fight was 'bout th'highlight o' m'night."

"Well, now I know you're alright I'll stop scaring ten years off your life." Adam grinned and dug around in his pockets for his keys. A hand stopped him searching, and he turned to his partner in surprise. The lieutenant had an odd expression on his face which stayed for several seconds, and then he drew up against the tactician, hugging him.

"Stay," he said quietly. "Foxtrot always has trouble sleepin'."

Adam paused at those words, then buried his head in Jazz's shoulder and returned the embrace fiercely. "Of course, Jazz. You know I will."

Jazz was awake again at around 4 in the morning, much earlier than Adam ever got up. His first stop was the shower; he hadn't had one last night, he'd been too tired after a busy day and curling up with Adam was too tempting. He stayed under the hot water for a good while, long enough that by the time he got out it had gone to lukewarm. He got dressed and ready swiftly and silently, leaving a note for Adam on the kitchen counter and giving his partner a gentle kiss before he escaped his flat, munching on a buttered bagel half as his breakfast. He wanted to get to that industrial estate in Toledo Donovan had told him about before any of the security guards and Detroit PD got there again. They'd quite literally seized all of it about 3 hours after Astro had handed the leaflets over, and had been guarding it ever since. Jazz thought they were insane and told them so; how on earth they expected Russell to come back with cops swarming the whole thing was beyond him, but that wasn't about to put Jazz off. He was determined to find something that could lead him to Russell's current location.

He unlocked his Porsche, sliding into the driver's seat effortlessly and gunning the engine to life once the keys were in the ignition. It was a good hour's drive to Toledo from his home, and he threw on some music to help pass the time. It was one of the few things that didn't change between Jasper and Foxtrot; they were both music lovers. What did differ was the genres they listened to. He began to bop along to the Breaking Benjamin song blaring through the speakers, pulling out the parking lot outside his block of flats and glancing once more up at his own before driving off.

Adam woke up with a groan and turned over while dragging the duvet with him in an attempt to go back to sleep. He knew full well it was a Sunday morning, his day of the week off, but something didn't feel right, and his mind got restless because he couldn't put a finger on what it was. His eyes opened under protest to find he wasn't in his own room, and then last night hit him figuratively in the side of the head. He'd gone to his partner's flat around the time he thought he'd get back, and fallen asleep waiting for Jazz to get home. He'd been woken up by the lieutenant sporting an impressive bruise around one wrist, presumably from the bar fight he'd got into.

And then Jazz wanted him to stay the night, help him sleep better. Adam glanced over at the other side of the bed, but it was empty. And cold. Jazz had obviously woken up a lot earlier than the 10:34am the alarm clock was happily flashing at him. He ran a hand down his face and slid out of the covers, padding into the kitchen to see what there was for breakfast. He snorted when he saw the butter was still out, obviously due to Jazz forgetting to put it away this morning since it hadn't been out last night. He opened the fridge and immediately spotted and snaffled up a carton of orange juice. A rummage in the cupboards found him a glass, and he shook the juice before pouring himself some. As he was tipping the liquid out he noticed a piece of paper sat haphazardly on the opposite edge of the counter. Adam picked it up when he'd put the juice away, and unfolded it and read it while he made his way to the kitchen table.

Prowler,

I won't be there when you get this, I didn't have the heart to wake you. Don't worry, I wasn't kidnapped in the middle of the night or anything. I'm off trying to get some more clues as to Morgan's whereabouts without the police breathing down my neck and risking my cover. That means early mornings. REALLY not my strong suit, but I'll deal. Help yourself to whatever you want to eat and drink, and stay as long as you want to. I don't know when I'll be back, if I'll be back at all tonight. I'll be careful, I promise.

Jazz x

Adam sniggered at Jazz's script, graceful yet scrawly at the same time, and the kiss his partner put at the bottom of the note, but sobered up again pretty quickly. He was worried about Jazz, really worried. He knew Jazz was good, but then so was Morgan. And the crime lord had been at the whole espionage and saboteurism thing a lot longer than Jasper ever had. Saboteurism... was that even a word? Adam shook his head and pocketed the note. If it wasn't before, it had just been coined. His thoughts went back to his partner, and he was surprised to find his chest tightened at the notion of putting the lieutenant in that much danger. Adam put a hand to his chest, unconsciously right over his heart for a few seconds, and then shook himself out of it. He finished his juice and went ransacking the kitchen for some breakfast, eventually settling on the idea of making himself some pancakes. He'd make sure there were some left over for Jazz for when he came back.

Jazz switched off his engine, cutting off Seether. He studied his watch. Quarter to 6 in the morning. That meant the guards wouldn't be here for another hour or so yet. He hopped out the car and locked it, then started the two minute walk to the industrial estate. He'd purposely parked a ways away so there was little chance of his car being identified and no chance of it being caught on the monitored area's CCTV cameras. He scrutinized each camera he passed, staying outside the visual range he estimated they had. He circled the perimeter once, noting the positions of every camera and what non-human security was in place.

Pathetic, really. He'd have to have a word with Orion and Alex about how to set up proper security measures; these attempts were laughable. He went back to one of the five blind spots he'd found, walking up to the chainlink fence surrounding the estate. From there he moved sedately sideways to a point directly underneath one of the cameras and began to climb up the fence. It took him barely a minute to reach the top, and when he did he slithered easily past the lens of the camera without it seeing him. One hand reached carefully over the coils of barbwire lining the top while the other remained clutching the side he was on. A quick, hard push off from the fence had him pretty much cartwheeling over the wire and falling feet-first to the ground at the other side. He crouched upon landing, letting his body absorb the shockwaves and ignoring his protesting wrist. He remained low for several seconds, searching for anyone watching him or any cameras he might have missed, but when he saw none he straightened up and brushed himself off.

He swept the part of the estate he'd jumped into with his visor, noting every building, structure and free area around him, where the most advantageous spots to spy or snipe from would be, his best shots at cover should he need it, any possible getaway vehicles and where the ideal areas of undetected escape would be. He likely wasn't going to get out before the police arrived. Jazz sighed and massaged his wrist, moving off to the nearest warehouse. Russell must have taken up residence in one of them, and he knew the police would have scoured the place top to bottom, but he wasn't looking for forensics, there were far better ways to tell whether someone other than the law had been around recently.

The first warehouse didn't hold anything like what he was looking for, nor did its office. It was bare, either because there hadn't been anything in there in the first place or it had all been thoroughly cleared out. The second building was a block of offices and cubicles, all abandoned and dusty and covered in settled dirt and cobwebs. No one had used it in a long while, mused Jazz as he tapped one of the plug sockets only to draw his hand sharply back when it sparked and spat at him. He looked around him once more, and then left the building. Nothing in there.

His next stop was a storage house, this one full of boxes. All different sizes and mostly empty, but those that weren't held only some rusted circuitboards of some kind, random mass-packaged cleaning supplies, rubber Halloween masks and DIY Build-A-Shelf kits. Jazz had to snort with laughter at the masks, and tried a werewolf one on just for fun. If only there were costumes to go with the masks, he thought in disappointment.

Almost as soon as he shouldered the door open into around the twelfth or so warehouse (he wasn't keeping count) Jazz knew he'd found something. The air smelt different, a metallic, chemical smell instead of dead and musty, and while it was faint it was definitely moving, like a small fan was going somewhere. There was thick dust undisturbed around the warehouse floor edge and empty racks, so it obviously hadn't seen use for some time. At least, not in here. He reached up to his right temple, switching his visor from it's normal vision to heat detection. Immediately his surroundings changed to a multitude of colors, mostly greens and blues with patches of orange and red here and there where it was warm. One spot caught his attention though, a spot that appeared a much darker blue - and therefore colder - than the areas surrounding it. He walked over until he was standing right on top of it, then knelt down and touched the floor. A waft of air floated over his hand, and he grinned. He switched his visor back to it's default visual setting and began feeling around for exactly where the air was coming from. His fingers caught a little niche in the floor that, to the normal eye, looked natural, but it didn't feel like it belonged. He pushed at it and tugged it experimentally, and his grin widened when he heard a 'clunk', feeling something give.

He stood back as niche widened and something that looked like a handle popped out as though on a spring. He touched the handle tentatively, and then pulled it towards him when nothing else happened. As heavy as he thought it would be, it came his way pretty easily, slotting neatly just underneath the existing floor. It revealed a set of stairs leading into blackness. He stood up and looked around him for anything he could prop the door open with; he didn't want it to close while he was still down there. He didn't know if he could open it from the other side, nor did he particularly want to find out. A dig around in and behind a couple of the empty boxes lying around yielded a mop, which he snapped the head off of and then wedged the handle into the gap. That done, he started down the stairs, switching to the greens and blacks of his night vision once he was far enough down.

The first thing he came across was a monitor room. Or, what appeared to be a monitor room, anyway. It was a work bench with a load of offline screens and wires above and on it, and empty boxes littering the floor. He looked and felt around for a light switch, but the one he found wouldn't work. He moved back out and further down a wide corridor to another door, this one sturdier and made of metal instead of wood. He raised a foot and slammed it into the door a few times until it gave, and he pushed it the rest of the way open. In here he found another desk, but it looked like someone's study instead of a monitor station. There were no major electronics this time, mostly just a couple of busted lights. A bare bookcase stood forlornly at one side of the room, and a ransacked cupboard at the other. He walked over to the desk and ran his fingers along it, only to pause when he felt them hit something. He picked up the object. It was flat, round and made of what felt like cork on one side and plastic on the other.

A coffee mat. He turned the mat over so the plastic was facing him, and his eyes widened at what was written on it. 'The Broken Palm' was scrawled almost grafitti-style across it. His grip tightened; looked like he had a confirmed date at the bar tonight.

He escaped the study and explored a little more, but there were only two other rooms. One had apparently been turned into a sparring room, as new mats and ropes and things were still there that didn't fit the surroundings. The other only had a metal table and one uncomfortable-looking steel chair. Probably the interrogation room or something. He looked back down at the coaster he clutched, twisting it round in his fingers, and then made a beeline for the stairway. The mop handle had held nicely, and he took it out of place once out of the basement and pushed the cover back over the stairs. Let the police find it on their own, he had more important things to do now.

Speaking of police... Jazz pocketed the coaster, cracked open the warehouse door and immediately spotted a patrol pair about a hundred meters away, though thankfully not walking towards him. He eyed the fence beyond them, slightly annoyed but not surprised to see a couple more cop cars waiting. He slipped out of the door and round the side of his warehouse, and began hunting for some way out that preferably wouldn't get him chased by the law. It only served to increase his frustration when he found the potential escape routes he'd mapped earlier were all covered by cops or mobile surveillance.

He had to hide twice from the patrols before he spotted something that looked like his best ticket out. A small breeze-block office-like building pressed against and reached pretty much to the top of the fence, apparently in a pretty big camera blind spot, and if Jazz could climb it he'd be home free. He waited until the partners he'd just avoided had turned the next corner to sprint for the office. He knew he only had roughly five minutes, maybe, until the patrol came back and saw him.

The drainpipe dropping from the gutter was his best bet up, but it was plastic and looked unstable. He'd have to be careful. Jazz wrapped both hands about as high as he could reach up the pipe and braced his feet on the wall. From there he pulled himself as fast as he dared towards the roof. He couldn't go too fast or the pipe would break, but nor could he afford to go too slow as the patrol was probably heading round again.

Jazz had just about reached the guttering running around the edge of the roof when the drainpipe gave an ominous groan. The saboteur froze when he felt it give a little to accompany the groan, and then did the first thing his mind came up with; leap for the edge of the roof. The force of his jump cracked the plastic pipe and it broke away from the wall as Jazz's fingers hooked over the roof's edge. He used the fact his body was playing pendulum from the jump to his advantage, managing to hook a foot up and over as well. That helped him drag his frame onto the roof a lot quicker than if he'd just been dangling.

Once on his feet he ran to the fence and used the same technique he'd used getting in to vault back out again. The drop was bigger this time though, and he bit back a cry when the landing painfully jarred his entire being. He took his time getting up now he wasn't in any danger of being caught by the police and began the walk back to his Porsche.

Jazz stood and stared at the Broken Palm's outside view, hands on hips. It certainly looked respectable enough, not exactly what he pictured it to be. It was just a normal bar; a green and yellow neon sign declared its name, venetian blinds covered the windows, a windowed door with a drape on its inside led the way in and a pulsing music bass could not only be heard but felt through his entire body. He raised an eyebrow, shrugged and made his way inside while fingering the earring that still throbbed slightly. The internal decoration of the bar was just as typical as the outside; black and white photos of Detroit and New York lined wooden walls, and booths were situated comfortably underneath them. The rest of the floor was a false wood effect, covered in tables and chairs seating two, four or six people. A dancefloor was crowded with people moving and swaying to the same beat he'd heard outside, and he felt a slight longing to go join in. He ignored it though, and made his way to the bar. That was wood as well, to fit the theme, and dark red barstools stood higher than Jazz had ever seen them. He leapt smoothly into one.

When the bartender came over a couple minutes later he quietly ordered Long Island Iced Tea, extra long. It came, he paid, and the bartender moved swiftly on to serve another customer. Obviously this bartender wasn't as relaxed or friendly as the one at the Blue Ice. Jazz took a sip and hummed appreciatively. Even if he was anti-social, he sure knew how to make a damn good Long Island.

He swivelled his stool around and scanned room, massaging his still-bruised wrist and making sure his visor hid his eyes' movements as much as they could. No one popped out at him, but then he hardly expected anyone to be that obvious. They all looked like normal, average people, nothing like the shady characters Blue Ice hosted. His lips pulled to one side and he took another swig of his drink. If Morgan or one of his flunkies hung around here, then they were hiding themselves pretty well.

Or they just weren't here.

He did another visual sweep, only to settle his gaze on the TV fixed to the upper wall of the inside of the bar. His eyes widened at the sight of ambulances and police surrounding something that looked suspiciously like the state prison on the news. He motioned the bartender over and asked him to up the volume. He did, and left the remote with Jazz in case he still couldn't hear it. The lieutenant pressed the plus button a few more times, and he groaned as soon as he could hear the report.

"Police have yet to identify the attackers that have left one inmate dead and another critically wounded, but they do believe it was a hit of some kind. They were specifically targeted by someone, but by who and for what there is no explanation." The reporter looked grim on his half of the screen, and the newscaster on the other half put on an interested expression.

"Can you tell us anything about the inmates that were injured, John?"

"They are believed to be two of the three men who robbed and destroyed most of the Central bank. The third member was found dead a couple days ago in Hamtramck, apparently murdered by his comrades. No names have been released, we don't know who they are."

Jazz did. He lowered the remote in shock, still staring at the screen. "No way..." he whispered. He reached into the inside pocket of his denim jacket and pulled out a small, burn flip-phone. He punched in the number for Adam, and drummed his fingers impatiently on the table as the ringing sounded on in his ear.

'Hello?'

"Prowler! Tell meh it ain't true."

'What's not... oh. You saw the report.'

"Damn straight I saw it. What happened 'n why wasn't I told earlier?"

'We... we don't know. Donovan's dead, Jazz, and Octane's not expected to last for any more than a couple of days. If that. Alex said we couldn't risk your cover telling you.'

"How th'fuck did this happen?" hissed Jazz. "They were s'posed t'b' under heavy guard!"

'They were. Jazz, whoever did this was good. Extremely good. They took out the security gates, the guards with non-lethal force and the cameras, and then attacked Donovan and Octane before slipping out undetected. We don't know what happened or who it was.' Adam sighed over the phone, and Jazz felt bad for his snapping at the detective. His sigh sounded heavy, tired.

"Yeh sound stressed, man. Tell yeh what, I'll b' all yers when I get back." Jazz smiled when Adam couldn't stifle a giggle.

'Thanks, Jazz.'

"I'm gettin' close, Prowler. Don' worry, we'll get this sonuvabitch. I promise."

'Be careful.'

"You too. Ciao, babe." Jazz flipped the phone closed to end the conversation, glanced back at the news with a grimace and then pushed the remote away from him. He took another long draught of his drink, losing himself in his thoughts. He stared absently at his glass and the fingers clasping it without really seeing them, and didn't shake himself out of it until the Long Island was done and he tried to slurp some more up the straw to find there was no more.

He poked the glass to the other end of the table, gaze drifting around the room once more until it landed on the dancefloor. He debated with himself for several seconds, then decided what the hell. Jazz slid off his barstool and wend his way to the floor. He chose a spot that wasn't too crowded, but nor was he dancing on his own. He got there just as another song came on, very upbeat, catchy and electric. He powered down his visor; it was better not to see things when you really wanted to feel the music. He let the song pulse through him, each beat getting louder and louder, more intense. He began to move, softly at first. His movements and shifts became faster and fluid, every twist, turn, dip, coil, spring, release and arch of his body guided by the only mistress he had right then. Music. A smile touched his lips; he was in his element here.

As the last bars of the music faded out he finally powered up his visor again, only to find he'd apparently managed to lure in quite an audience. It made him feel embarrassed, but why he wasn't sure. He was saved from saying anything when a young man with black hair tipped in dark blue stepped forward and grinned.

"And how he can dance," he said, looking pleased. "Finally, someone up to my standards." He walked over to Jazz and circled him slowly, once. Jasper stood still, relaxed but wary, eyes following the young man. Jazz had to admit, he was pretty attractive. "Got time for another song?" the dark-haired man asked once he was facing the lieutenant again.

"I don' dance with nameless strangers," replied Jazz, putting his hands on his hips.

A chuckle. "What about just strangers? Call me Rumble."

"Rumble?" A jolt of surprise shot through the dreadlocked man; wasn't that the name of one of Samuel's brothers? If that was the case, then this was exactly the break he'd been looking for. A dangerous break, but a break nonetheless. "Unusual, I'll give yeh that. Mine's Foxtrot."

"No more than yours, friend." Rumble moved forwards as the next song began and slipped to Jazz's right side while his arm clasped the left hip across his body. Jazz did the same, and the two of them circled each other slowly. Jazz noticed a small movement in Rumble's muscles which told him everything he needed to know, and he switched his direction at the same time Rumble did.

"Impressive."

"Thank yeh." Jazz kept his gaze locked on the burgundy ones of his dance partner, movements perfectly in synch. It didn't matter who was leading, they mirrored each other like they'd been doing it together all their lives. Jazz wasn't sure there was a leader to be perfectly honest, but that didn't matter. He found he was enjoying himself, and wondered if Adam would ever dance with him like this. The longer the song went on the more fun he was finding it, until the last bars of it had Rumble swinging the lieutenant around to his laughter so Jazz ended up on one knee with the other leg out to the side looking up at Rumble, who had one foot on Jazz's elevated knee and a satisfied expression.

They stayed there for a few seconds, before Rumble grabbed Jasper's hand to haul him to his feet. "Now that," he said, "was dancing. If I could find more people like you in places like these..." He trailed off and sighed.

"Same here. I ain't seen anyone move that good since I was back in LA." Jasper shot Rumble a grin, and he threw an arm around the lieutenant's shoulders in response.

"C'mon. Care for a drink? I'm buying."

"Eh, why not? 'Preciate it."

"Don't mention it." They made their way to the bar, where Jasper ordered a piña colada and Rumble got himself a daquirí. Drinks in hand and paid for, Rumble motioned over to the back of the room where a few booths Jazz hadn't seen were situated. One of them housed two more men, the one Rumble was heading to. One man had dark red hair with bright tips, and looked identical to Rumble in nearly every way. The other man looked older, sharper, and had a strange aura about him. Jazz guessed he must be Samuel, and instantly put his gameface on. There was no room for mistakes around him.

"Yo bro, where'd ya go?" The red-haired man gave a lazy wave, frowning at Jazz. "And who's this?"

"This here's Foxtrot. Met him on the floor. Man can he dance." Rumble gestured to the table. "Foxtrot, meet my twin brother Frenzy and our older brother Samuel."

Jazz inclined his head to both of them, and slid into the booth after Rumble. This could be interesting.

Rae: And if that's not a crack pairing, I don't know what is... (snorts) I blame my sister for it; I asked her which Decepticon she'd pick and she chose Rumble. So, Rumble it was!