As expected Ratchet had been pissed when he'd learnt that Jazz had been running around on a broken leg. After an hour's lecture, he finally put the struts back together and ordered him to rest the weight off his leg for the next few hours. Not wanting to cause the Hatchet anymore ire, Jazz followed his orders, making his way back to his habsuite.
It was late by this point so most of the troupes were already in their quarters.
Jazz hadn't encountered anyone until he once again heard the sound of shuffling footsteps following him. He glanced up at the ceiling but there were no vents along this corridor. He turned to his side but despite the noise, he couldn't see anyone behind him.
Once he reached his room, Jazz took his time pressing in his key code, and paused once the door opened, checking the time on his arm schematics before following the sound of footsteps inside.
Jazz shut the door, reaching into the draw next to his berth. He pushed aside the blaster and instead grabbed a bottle of his strongest high-grade and two cubes. By the time he turned around, Mirage had made himself visible, the polished white and blue of his armour gleaming under the harsh glow of the habsuite lights.
Jazz held out one of the now full cubes.
Mirage took it as the pair sat down on the berth.
Jazz downed his, relishing the burn that scorched through his throat.
He watched as Mirage, who despite everything they'd been through was still a Tower's mech at heart, swirled his cube around before taking a more delicate sip.
"Does Optimus' story check out?" Jazz asked once Mirage had finished taking his sip.
Mirage shrugged.
"So far. But I only got back a day before you. I haven't had time to dig any deeper yet."
Jazz poured himself another drink.
It had been a long time since they had lost one of their own. You didn't last long in spec opps if you weren't good at what you do.
They all knew the risks and infiltrating the Decepticons head warship was as dangerous as their jobs come.
Still Blackout had been the best of the best. And the fact that she had been found out either meant that they'd had some really bad luck. Or something else that Jazz didn't want to think about.
To be honest Jazz didn't want to think at all.
He had been way past the age to need a mentor by the time he had joined spec opps. But Blackout had been the closest thing he had ever had to one. Showing him all the tricks she'd ever learnt and comforting him whenever things had inevitably gone to slag.
He glanced back at Mirage who has now made it halfway through his cube. 'Raj hadn't been as close to Blackout as Jazz had been. However he had still looked up to her and trusted her with his life. And by the desperate look in his wide eyes, he didn't want to think for the rest of the night either.
But somebody had to, for as much as Jazz wanted to give in to losing himself in another mech, he had to remind himself that he was Mirage's superior now. And any previous arrangements they had once had would now be inappropriate.
Mirage must've come to the same conclusion as he suddenly stood up and shoved his cube back at Jazz.
"I think I should go... sir." Mirage stated, the tagged on honorific sounding wrong coming from his best friend's mouth.
Jazz nodded, swaying slightly as he got up to open the door.
He poked his head out, looking up and down the corridor as though checking for an imaginary knock, as Mirage disappeared.
He waited a few more seconds before closing it again and crashing onto his berth.
Although not at the top of his worries right now, it did suck that all his regular hook-ups were now off-limits.
There were loopholes of course. If you were in a committed pre-existing relationship before a promotion then you were allowed to keep seeing each other. But his and Mirage's relationship had never been romantic. It would be more hassle than it was worth go through all those official documents for a fake relationship just as an excuse to keep fucking each other.
Even if there wasn't exactly a big pool of people to choose from his new range of commanders.
Any ship to have happened between him and Optimus had sailed long ago. Elita and Magnus were both off base. Trying to entice Ratchet into his berth was about as dangerous as trying to entice Megatron. He didn't know Ironhide that well but Jazz did know that Chromia would shoot his bearing off for taking a pass at her conjunx. He didn't know Red Alert too well either but from what he'd heard the mech was probably too paranoid to let anyone into their berth. There was also that new head tactician that they'd got whilst he'd been away but Jazz didn't even know the guy's name.
Ah well, maybe it was for the best.
Jazz already lied for a living so he made a point of not lying to himself. He knew that he didn't have the best relationship with sex.
Perhaps going cold cyber-turkey for a while would do him some good.
He downed the remainder of Mirage's drink.
For now the high-grade would have to do.
—-
Jazz woke early the next morning, his processor still on mission time.
He did his assigned leg stretches (he swore Ratchet had an outlier ability to know when mechs hadn't) before heading to the central meeting room.
Jazz waved at the few people he saw milling around that early, trying to shake some of the nervous energy from his body.
For some reason he felt the same kid of jittery that he did with pre-mission shivers which was ridiculous since all he was doing was meeting his new co-workers. Who had all previously been his seniors. Not that that was anything to get worked up over.
Outside the meeting room stood a waiting Optimus Prime, his eyes crinkled in an empathetic smile.
"Are you ready?" He asked.
Jazz put on his most charming grin.
"You know me mech, I'm always ready!"
And without further fanfare, Optimus opened the door.
Instincts kicked in as Jazz surveyed the room inside.
Elita-One, Ultra Magnus and Chromia were busy running their hidden base under the remains of MacCadams so they were absent, leaving the rest of the command team here, standing around an oval table.
On the right sat the family face of Ratchet who was giving his leg a suspicious glare. To his right was Ironhide, a burly red mech who crossed his arms with a grunt of a hello. On the left stood Red Alert who ignored Jazz's presence and continued talking to themselves as they poured through a pile of datapads in front of them.
That should have been all the mechs that Jazz would recognise having interacted or at least heard of then before.
He wasn't expecting to recognise the wide blue optics of a face that he hadn't seen since before the war.
He trailed his optics over the stark white mech who's similar shock was now morphing into contempt,
"You." Their voice was as cold as ice.
Jazz learnt his hip against the table and switched his grin from charming to cheeky.
"Hey officer!"
A/N Hmmm I wonder who this "officer" could be? Xxxxxx
