Title: Gotta Go Back
Rating: T
Continuity: Movieverse
Characters: Jazz, Optimus, Epps, Lennox, Prowl, Ratchet
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Prompt: 6. Setting: Inside the Matrix of Leadership
Jazz vented as he glanced upward, but, as always, nothing but the smokey, gray mists of the Matrix greeted him.
Another vent echoed from his left, and someone in front of him chuckled.
"Ya know," he said after a moment, glaring benignly at the fog in front of him, "somehow Ah always thought th' Matrix might be a bit more 'citing than this."
"You said it, mech," someone to his right said, and Jazz shifted again.
A few long moments passed in silence – not that any of them could tell the time, but it seemed like a long while anyways.
Jazz vented again. "Anyone know what we're s'posed t' be doin'?"
"Nope."
"Not a clue."
"I've just been sitting here."
The saboteur scowled. "Alrighty, then. Ah'm tired a' sittin'."
He stood, then started walking, determinedly not looking at the insubstantial ground.
"Hey, where are you going?" someone called, but he did not look behind him, or to his sides. The only way to go was forward.
He had to get out. There was something... something he had to find.
More walking, through smoke and mist and fog and nothing.
No, not something. It was... someone. There was someone he had to find.
More steps, faster now.
No, he didn't have to find him... he had... he had to find his way back to him.
Even faster, now, almost running. Had he been on solid ground, his pedes would have been thumping loudly.
"Prowler," he whispered as he ran. That was who he was looking for. Prowl. His... His bondmate!
Suddenly, there was someone in front of him. He skidded to a stop. This mech... He looked familiar.
Broad shoulders, thick armor, wise, blue optics.
Prime... Something Prime. O... Op... Optimus!
"Optimus?" the saboteur asked, cocking his helm to the side. The massive frame shifted.
"Yes, Jazz. What are you doing? You are dead." The voice was bitter, angry.
"No, ya see, Ah've gotta get back t' Prowler. He needs me, an' Ah need him."
"Oh, Jazz. You can't go back." The wise optics darkened, the face falling as one large hand came to rest on Jazz's shoulder.
"No, no, OP, Ah've gotta go back. Prowler's lookin' fer me."
"Jazz..."
"NO!" the saboteur shouted, snarling. With a rumble of his engine, he leapt up, clawed hands reaching for the exposed cables in the Prime's neck. "You let me out now! Ah've gotta get t' Prowler!"
The Prime did not move, simply standing there as the lithe silver form clung to his back and sharp claws dug into sensitive circuitry. "Oh, Jazz," he said, voice soft. "You died. You're dead. Your spark went out. I'd bring you back if I could, but-"
Jazz snarled as he parted his chest plates. "No it didn'. 'S right here!"
"And we are in the Matrix."
His vents were shaky. "No. No. Ah've gotta go back. Ah ain't stayin' here."
"Jazz-"
"NO! Prime, ya gotta listen! Ah'm comin' back! This ain't where Ah belong! Ah'm goin' back wit'cha!"
"I-"
"Don'cha tell me it can't be done! Ah'm doin' it! Now take me back!"
Slowly, the Prime turned, the saboteur still clinging to his back, and started walking. The fog started lightening, but it reached out and clung to Jazz with tearing fingers. The saboteur, untouchable in life, screamed as they ripped through him. The Prime shuddered as he walked, but when he made to stop, Jazz screamed at him; "Keep goin'! Don' stop!"
Energon dripped down Jazz's frame. He had little plating left intact. Wires tangled together, sparking dangerously. Tubes were torn and emptied. Gears were stripped as they ground together. His vocalizer sputtered out, and the screaming stopped in a rasp of static.
Still, the Prime walked. The fog lightened more, and the fingers grew sharper. Jazz writhed against Optimus's back, screaming silently, but did not let go. He refused. He wouldn't give in. He wouldn't go back; he didn't belong there. Not without his Prowler.
Ever so slowly, the fingers of fog slipped away, leaving the saboteur clinging stubbornly to the Prime's back. He was a mess, more scrap than mech. Yet his spark beat strongly in his chassis, and his visor, though spider-webbed with cracks, glowed brightly.
The last lingering wisps of fog drifted away, and the two mechs were left standing in clear light. The Prime vented heavily and reached behind him.
"It's okay, Jazz. You made it," he called, and the saboteur's fingers loosened. Gently, ever so gently, the Matrix-bearer lifted the tiny mech around him and cradled him against his spark.
"Oh, Jazz," he murmured softly, bowing his helm and closing his optics.
"So he made it," a soft, echoing voice called, a smile evident in the tone.
"Indeed he did. I always knew he was strong, but this..."
"He did it for the one he loves, the one to which he gave his spark. Of course he was strong enough."
"But now what?" the Prime asked, looking up into the light.
"Now, you return to your world, and return his spark to his frame. He will be reunited with the one called Prowl."
Venting happily, the Prime sagged in relief. "Thank you, Primus."
There was no more answer, but the light around them faded, turned gray, then shredded into wisps of fog that drifted away on a nonexistant breeze. The Prime opened his optics to see the slightly rusty, dark roof of a plane hangar, one of the few he could stand in on the NEST base.
"Hey, Prime!" someone called, and he turned his helm to see two worried humans. "You okay? You just sorta collapsed."
"I am fine," he rumbled, and moved to stand, pushing one hand down on the cement floor, keeping the other instinctively curled against his chest.
"Whoa," the second man, Epps, said as he stood, optics – eyes – wide. "What th' hell is that?"
Optimus looked down at his hand. Light filtered through the gaps between his fingers, and he could feel the flickering of a strong EM field fluttering against his own spark.
Before he could answer the human's question, the door was practically knocked inward as a Praxian flew into the room.
Prowl's optics were wide, his vents running at full capacity, his systems whirring audibly. "Prime-!" he gasped, staring.
Optimus smiled. "Yes, Prowl," he murmured, and held his hand out. "He was searching for you. He would not let go."
Slowly, the Prime's fingers uncurled, and the radiant spark was revealed, glittering, sparkling, shining in the dim light of the hangar. Prowl reached out and his fingertips barely brushed the spark before he lunged forward, cradling it securely between both hands.
"Jazz," he whispered, and the two humans on the ground exchanged glances.
"Wasn't that-"
"Yes, Lennox," Optimus answered, kneeling down, smiling. "And I must comm Ratchet. His spark must be returned to his frame."
They looked back to Prowl, who had his optics closed tightly and had moved the spark to press up against his chest plates.
"While he is getting that ready, though, I believe it would be wise for us to leave."
Prowl barely took notice of the mech and men leaving the hangar. He was reveling in the presence that was his bondmate's spark.
~Jazz,~ he whispered across their reawakened bond.
~P... Prowl... PROWLER!~
~Oh, Jazz, how I missed you!~
The disembodied spark did not reply with words. It simply pulsed happily.
With a happy sigh, Prowl opened his chest plates. His spark had dimmed since Jazz had gone; he had room enough in his spark-chamber to hold Jazz's life until his frame could be recovered. And anyways, after the break it had suffered, their bond could use with a renewing.
. . .oOo.
Jazz woke slowly.
It was unnerving. He was a saboteur. He was supposed to wake instantly, right away, without any confusion.
~You were not just recharging, love,~ a soft voice told him, and he mentally cuddled closer to the presence.
~Mmm... Still...~
~I know. But you must wake now. Ratchet is getting worried. He cannot feel your spark as I can.~
Ratchet... Ratchet... That had something to do with wrenches, didn't it? But the presence... Prowl... he said he had to wake up, now. So he did.
His visor onlined with nary a flicker, and he stared for a few long moments up at the dirty ceiling. Then a gruff voice greeted his audials.
"There you are. Finally. Welcome back, Jazz."
But Jazz had no time for Ratchet. His optics locked on the still, black and white frame across the room. Not waiting for the medic to unhook the leads from the monitoring machines from his chassis, he leapt up and ran to Prowl.
"Prowl Prowl Prowl Prowl," he chanted as he clung to the larger chassis.
The Praxian chuckled as he gathered the lithe, silver mech closer to his spark. "I love you, too, Jazz."