{addition}
part five
“We’re goin’ to get killed if we don’t pick a side!” Jazz snapped. “You can’t possibly think the neutrals are goin’ to be left alone.”
“The Decepticons are still fairly weak and they haven’t moved out of the southern region. Whether they are a real threat is still-”
“You didn’t see Kaon. Look, Megatron’s got a point, alright? He’s right about some sutff and he’ll have no trouble gettin’ support no matter wherever he goes. He’s a threat, plain and simple, and we’ll get killed if we don’t do somethin’.”
“The threat of widespread violence might force the Council to concede. We don’t know. If you’re really worried, we can easily move to a neutral zone.”
“I don’t think the cons are goin’ to take kindly to neutrals.”
“But you don’t know, Jazz. There’s no sense in being hasty.”
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Was the orange there just to torment the prisoners, or did the Autobots really like the color? Jazz was staring the walls for the millionth time, feeling bored. Prowl hadn’t come to see him at all, which was expected but still depressing. The medic, Ratchet had come to see him as well. Jazz doubted Prowl would want to bond with him again, but he was glad to hear that the tactician wasn’t injured but just busy.
Someone came down the halls, and the mech guarding him looked up and straightened.
It was Prowl. Jazz stared at him, and then jumped up to his feet, his balance unhampered by the fact that his wrists were cuffed together.
“Ratchet talked to you?”
“Yeah.”
Prowl let himself into the cell, and then pulled out an access chip and used it to lock the cuffs. Jazz flexed his wrists.
There was that awkward silence again. Prowl found himself at a loss again, and it frustrated him; he’d never been the most emotionally aware of mechs, but he’d always been able to meet Jazz’s needs before, and now he couldn’t even figure out how to start a conversation. He wracked his memory, watching as Jazz fidgeted under his stare.
“The excess energy could reach fatal levels if we’re not careful.” Prowl said finally. “For that, reason, at least, I thought we should at least…consider…”
“Bondin’.” Jazz finished. He wondered if he were actually still in recharge and suffering from some kind of glitch. It seemed impossible that Prowl would still want any kind of intimacy with him. Not that he was going to argue with Prowl about it if he did. “I don’t mind.”
“Oh.” Prowl looked stymied. Somehow he’d expected this conversation to be more difficult. “Come. Not in the brig.”
“Right.” Jazz was surprised when Prowl didn’t cuff him- just put a hand on his back and guided him down the hallway, into an elevator, and then into a brighter lit, more open section of the Ark. It was still that nauseating orange color, sadly, and there were mechs and the occasional femme in the hallways, all looking with disbelief and curiosity at Prowl as he led Jazz around a corner and into a deserted hallway. “These are your quarters?”
“Yes.” Prowl opened one of the doors. The two went into the small room, the door closing behind them.
Prowl’s quarters were sparse- no personal items, only a berth and a desk shelves set into the wall, and datapads stacked in perfect rows. They were clean, free of even a speck of dust.
:Red Alert:
:What?:
:Turn off the cameras in my quarters.:
:Why? What are you doing in there?:
:Bonding. I would prefer you didn’t watch.:
:Right. I won’t watch.:
:Turn off the cameras, Red Alert. I hardly think my sparkmate is going to attack me.:
:Fine, they’re off.:
“What was that?”
“Nothing.” Prowl muttered. “Just switching off the cameras.”
Jazz didn’t comment on that, although he couldn’t help but imagine what kinds of things Prowl must have been doing in his quarters to warrant surveillance. Of course, the Decepticons had cameras everywhere, but that was because anyone with even a drop of ambition in their lines maintained their own network of surveillance on top of the official one reporting to Megatron. Jazz had always assumed someone was watching while stationed under Soundwave.
The idea that Prowl might have taken another partner during his absence ate at Jazz. It didn’t seem likely, considering the narrow berth and the unlived-in quarters, but he worried about it anyways, as if there weren’t much bigger problems at hand.
There was only one way to know what Prowl was thinking. Jazz retracted the armor over his chamber with a click, and Prowl turned around at the sound. His doorwings were twitching with nervousness.
“Come on.” Jazz said, trying to sound more confident than he really was. “Let’s do it.”
“Right,” Prowl said, and he reached out to the saboteur. “Let’s.”
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Jazz was easily distracted. It was a weakness of his, he knew- he was naturally interested in everything and he was good at improvising, but sometimes he went too far off track and got into unnecessary trouble. And in this notorious club, distractions were a half-credit for twenty.
The club had a name, but it was known for the tendency of the patrons to interface and even sparkmerge on the floor, in full view. It was understood that what happened there stayed there, and the owner’s willingness to look in the other direction made it a perfect place for meeting when you didn’t want to be overheard and an easy way to obtain things that couldn’t legally be sold.
On that particular night Jazz had been in the corner, simply watching and listening. Eventually something would catch his attention, and until then he could amuse himself.
A flash of white caught his optics. It wasn’t the paint but the movement that drew his attention- the mech moved stiffly, in direct contrast to dancers and drinkers and lovers around him. He made his way straight to the back of the room, to a table where a morose yellow-green mech- Jazz recalled that he was a young medic, just graduated- was getting steadily overcharged.
The two argued. Curious, Jazz dialed up his audios, listening to their conversation.
“Razor, this is hardly-”
“I’m going to die, Prowl. I’ll be deactivated before the orn’s out. Want some high grade?”
“Razor. You are behaving in an irrational manner. The only thing you’re in danger of is overcharging yourself into a stupor. Come with me.”
“I can’t pay the protection fee. Primus only knows what they’ll do to me.”
“Razor, if this is about your ill-advised choice in lodgings, I’ve offered-”
“And get you into trouble? I can’t! You’re my only friend, Prowl!”
“…Razor, you’re being absurd.” The white and black mech tugged the cube away from Razor and hauled the medic to his feet by the shoulder. “Come.”
“I…I’m going to miss you a lot…once I’m deactivated…”
“No one is deactivating you, Razor.” The white and black glanced up to see if anyone was watching. He missed Jazz’s stare through his visor, and slid his fingers into a gap in the plating on Razor’s neck. The medic’s optics flickered and went dark, and Prowl hauled him out of the club, looking stern and out of place all the way.
Jazz pushed off the wall and left, weaving in between couples, and ducking out the door just in time to see the white and black mech turn a corner.
The grey mech grinned and followed.
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An internal alarm went off, and Prowl onlined in his berth- which in itself was unusual, as he preferred to take his off shifts in his office. But he wasn’t alone, and for a second, Prowl imagined he was back in his old apartment.
Then memories returned, and he turned onto his side to look at Jazz.
He could feel his sparkmate again. Even across the universe, it was said that sparkmates were always aware of the other’s spark; here, with Jazz beside, him, Prowl could almost read his thoughts. Jazz was dreaming- seeing bits of memory and thought while he recharged. Of what, Prowl didn’t know, but he could feel guilt and pain and grief, and could guess.
He was ashamed to admit he’d forgotten how intense sparkbonding could be. Their sparks as one, every feeling and thought and memory had been bared, and it was as painful as it was pleasurable, as exhausting as it was energizing. There was no hiding anything from your partner during such an intimate moment; the true self was revealed without any of the masks a mech might don to function in the real world.
It didn’t matter how many firewalls you lowered during interface or how long you had known a mech or even how many times you’d sparkmerged. There could always be surprises. A bond was more difficult than an ordinary merge; it lasted longer, took more energy, and took more effort- it was a trade of self, not just experiences.
What had come through clearest was Jazz’s suffering. The silver mech had blamed himself for Prowl’s death, for the argument that had left them separated during the riots, for what he believed was his own insanity. He’d thrown himself into the Decepticon cause in an attempt to escape his sorrow and in some way punish himself. He had believed that Prowl would hate him.
Now that their bond seemed to have healed, Prowl was already planning their next conversation. It would have to wait until after his share of the work was done, but-
:Prowl? Where are you? Your shift is about to start and you’re going to be late if you don’t-:
:On my way, Red Alert. And turn those cameras off.:
:I was just checking in on you. I didn’t see anything.: Red Alert sounded sulky. :Hurry on down here, will you? Wheeljack’s had a mishap with the warp engines and we can’t find bits of him.:
:Again? I thought they’d resolved the problem.: Prowl slid reluctantly from the berth, grabbed a datapad, wrote a note and left it on the desk for Jazz, and keyed in his code. He started down the hallway towards the conference room.
:They had a breakthrough. We’re supposed to have a working prototype within the week.:
:Excellent.: Prowl rapped on the conference room door, and stared directly up at the camera, which scanned him and transmitted an image to the bots inside. His identity confirmed, the door slid open, and the tactician stepped inside. Prime, Ironhide, Ratchet, and Red Alert were waiting for him.
They were all staring at him, and he understood immediately what the first item of business was. He sat down, directly across from Prime, and waited.
“How’s the spark?” Ratchet asked. Prowl could feel the tingle of medical scans.
“Fine.”
And it was. The empty feeling that had persisted in his weakened bond was gone.
“It is time,” Prime said, “for Jazz to take a side. Frankly, I hope he will choose to join us, both for his skills and for your sake, but if he decides otherwise-”
“-he will be sent to a prison camp or put into stasis indefinitely.” Prowl finished. He was well aware of what the Autobots did with prisoners; while Jazz was thankfully not in danger of execution, if he refused to join the Autobots it was likely the others would push for him to go into stasis rather than prison camp. Their sparkbonding had assured him that Jazz wasn’t particularly loyal to the Decepticons. “I cannot speak for Jazz.”
“So let’s talk to him.” Ironhide argued.
“He can’t just stay in the brig.” Red Alert agreed. “Or in your quarters- he shouldn’t even be there now.”
“I ordered that.” Ratchet snapped. “No medic worth his wrench is going to separate two newly bonded sparks for at least a few hours.”
“It’s been a few hours.” Red Alert said. “Since when do we allow prisoners to stay alone in unsecured areas of the Ark?”
“Enough.” Prime said. “Prowl, Red Alert, if you would escort Jazz here, we’ll end this now.”
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“Hey.”
Prowl turned around, and saw that it was the grey mech from before. They’d run into each other while he was dragging an unconscious and overcharged Razor home. What did he want?
“Is your friend okay? I heard he was havin’ trouble with the local gang.”
“He’s fine.” Prowl said curtly. He started to walk away, but the grey mech followed him.
“Wanna go get a cube?”
“What?”
“Energon, you drink it, it keeps you from being dead…I’ll buy you a cube.” When Prowl just stared at him, clearly trying to process what had just happened, Jazz grinned and grabbed his arm. “Come on.”
Prowl allowed himself to be led down the street by the arm, still confused as to what was actually happened. His logic center was stuck on the odds of being accosted in the street by some mech whose name he didn’t even know.
“Who are you?”
“Name’s Jazz.” The grey mech said cheerfully. He dragged Prowl off the road, into one of the various energon dispensaries that did business in this part of the city.
Jazz paid for two cubes of standard energon- flavored energon was sold only in higher end places- and led Prowl over to a table in the corner. He handed the white and black mech his cube and watched with amusement as Prowl stared blankly into its depths for a second before slowly taking a sip. Then he looked up, directly at Jazz.
“So.” Jazz leaned forward. “What’s your name?”
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Jazz awoke disoriented.
It took him a second to recognize the room as Prowl’s, and then he simply lay there, content as memories of their bonding washed over him.
It had been terrifying at first. It had been so long since he’d had to share himself with anyone else, and there were so many things he didn’t want Prowl to see, and he had no idea what Prowl might be hiding from him.
But once their sparks were touching and their energies were aligned, things had been…easy.
It was as if the entire world had narrowed to the confines of their joined spark chambers, as if that small space contained the universe within it. His frame had ceased to exist, and the nervous tension had faded.
They were not two but one, and how could it have ever been any other way?
Every memory and thought and feeling had been shared equally between them, with nothing held back. In those glorious moments, Jazz had been safe- held fast in emotions so intense they burned, without any fear, accepted utterly by his sparkmate.
Now that it was over, he could still feel Prowl, presumably called off on Autobot business. He knew he should have been worrying about what would happen next, but one thought ran on repeat throughout his mind.
Prowl still loved him. Despite everything. Prowl did not blame him for everything that had happened.
Somehow his sparkmate had found it in his spark to forgive him.
Knowing that, it seemed pointless to worry about what would happen next; he would do whatever Prowl wanted, and he certainly wasn’t planning on going back to the Decepticons (although he might make an exception to kill Shockwave.)
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Razor was in shock.
After the fiasco with protection fees, he’d given in and moved into Prowl’s apartment. It was white, stark, and spotless, and the medic found it’s resemblance to the medical bays where he worked comforting. Prowl himself was always clean and white.
So when he came home in the middle of the night, with grey paint scrapes and a dazed look on his face, Razor was completely surprised. He couldn’t have been more shocked if energon had started falling from the sky or one of Cybertron’s moon had suddenly transformed into a giant mech. Prowl was never in disarray.
“What happened to you?” Razor asked. “I thought you said you would be back tomorrow! And you have paint scrapes all over- oh.” It suddenly occurred to the medic that there was really only one way to get paint scrapes like that, and only a few activities involved two mechs being close enough to trade paintjobs.
“I…” Prowl flicked his doorwings in irritation. He wanted to get washed up and then recharge, before he could actually have to think too much about what had just happened. He was certain that if he dwelt on Jazz’s parting words, he would work himself up to a processor crash. It was better to wait, to think about it later and decide what he was going to do.
“I thought you were working late.” Razor said dryly. “You should have told me you’d found a partner.”
“I-what?” Prowl headed towards the wash rack in the back of the apartment. “It’s…difficult.”
“You didn’t get those scrapes from a fight, did you?”
“Hardly.”
Prowl ducked into the wash rack, switched on the solvent and began scrubbing. Once he was completely clean, he went into his berthroom and lay down, too restless to sink into recharge.
“I love you.” Jazz had said, just before Prowl had fled.
How in Primus’ name was he going to tell Jazz he loved him as well?
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