Jazz had been through a lot in his life.

War. Decepticons. More near-death experiences than he could count.

But none of that had prepared him for this—

For watching Harry willingly let Ratchet run a damn medical scan on him, standing there with that smug, infuriating little grin like this was all some big joke.

It wasn't.

It was his personal hell.

"Hold still," Ratchet ordered, running a scanner up and down Harry's form, optics narrowing like he was expecting to find something wrong.

Harry, being an absolute menace, stood up straighter and flexed his biceps. "Like what you see, Doc?"

Ratchet paused.

Jazz glitched. "Harry—"

Ratchet ignored both of them. "You are in exceptional physical condition for a human," he observed. "Unusual muscle density. No signs of malnutrition or lasting injury."

Harry smirked. "I do work out."

Jazz was going to lose it.

Ratchet gave him a look. "And your energy signature is unlike anything I have recorded."

Harry's smirk widened. "That's 'cause I'm special."

"Special," Ratchet repeated, clearly unimpressed. "Hmph. I will need further analysis."

Jazz immediately stepped between them. "Oh, hell no—"

Harry leaned around him. "Aww, c'mon, Jazz! What if he finds something cool? Maybe I've got, like, secret alien DNA or something."

Jazz whirled on him. "You are not lettin' the Doc experiment on you!"

Harry grinned. "Why? You jealous again?"

Jazz growled. "YES."

Ratchet sighed. "You are both insufferable."

Fifteen minutes later, Jazz was finally able to drag Harry away, physically blocking him from Ratchet's scanner before the medic could actually start running further tests.

"You're no fun," Harry teased, letting Jazz literally haul him across the shop.

"I don't care," Jazz snapped. "You are mine, and I ain't lettin' you get poked and prodded like some damn science experiment."

Harry's smirk softened just a little. "Yours, huh?"

Jazz froze.

Harry stepped closer, green eyes gleaming, voice dropping into something almost dangerous. "Say that again."

Jazz's vents stuttered. His frame heated.

He hadn't meant to say that. Hadn't meant to say it out loud.

But it was true.

And looking at Harry now—sharp eyes, cocky smirk, standing there like he already knew Jazz was his—

Jazz swallowed hard.

"…You heard me," he muttered.

Harry's smirk widened. "Yeah. I did."

Jazz was so fragged.