Hee~
Having finished another chapter of this, I really should move back to Star-crossed...
But I'm about to hit a good part...
<.<
Decisions, decisions...
Also, summary has been revamped to reflect the subplot that's taking over the fic. ^^;
Title Nowhere to Turn
Characters/Pairings Jazz, Mirage, Ironhide, Red Alert, Sideswipe OCs as needed, eventual Jazz/Sideswipe, other pairings to be implied
Warnings None here.
Summary Jazz-centric. G1 AU(ish). Nothing is as it appears. Sometimes all it takes is one individual to hold a unit together… and one to tear it apart. Eventual Jazz/Sideswipe
Part One
Part Eight
Chapter 9
He floundered in the fragmented depths of his processor. Aware that he should be booting up, but unable to access anything. Programs ran in the background, subroutines normal to the process of recharge. He'd set his systems up for a routine defrag, but it sat frozen and unfinished, in the midst of mapping out files to be defragmented, an alarming number in comparison to the normal amount. It might explain why he was running so slow.
He next became aware of his chronometer, for it had been a scheduled alarm that had initially brought him online. His systems logged all of a joor in recharge, not even the half a recharge cycle he’d been hoping for. Sluggish systems rebooted, interrupted defragmentation halting and closing down as he forced himself awake. His limbs twitched as his diagnostics pinged for a response, and he suddenly realized that he had his arms wrapped around a lithe frame.
Still too soon to boot up his visual array, Jazz tentatively twitched his fingers over the thigh that rested across his own. Subroutines slowed further as he scanned his memory, trying to recall exactly what had happened before he shut down.
It wasn’t Sideswipe? No, far too lean and curvaceous for a warrior build. A femme? Too thin.
“You have only been offline for a little over a joor,” a cultured voice murmured near his jaw.
“Raj?”
Mirage ‘hmphed’, shifting in Jazz’s arms, likely to get a better look at the saboteur’s face. “I’m not surprised you don’t remember. You were half in recharge when you finally left the rec room. Sideswipe could have lasted another megacycle without you checking up on him.” Mirage was silent a moment as Jazz hummed softly to himself.
“Were ya followin’ me?”
Soothing hands caressed down Jazz’s side, lighting up sensors still in the process of booting up. “I wanted to make sure you actually did go to your quarters. Since I knew you would not.” Mirage’s hydraulics hissed in irritation, and lips brushed Jazz’s chin. “And you didn’t. If you had stayed much longer I would have dragged you from there, too.”
Jazz responded, optics still off, but he didn’t need to see to run his hand up the Slimwheel’s back, over the curve of a plated shoulder. He pulled Mirage a little closer. “An’ ya thought it’d be fine and dandy t' just waltz in an' join me huh?” Jazz didn't bother to muster a jesting smile; his team should know well enough that they were always welcome in his quarters, and either of the two berths were theirs to use if needed.
Mirage smiled against Jazz's jaw hinge, scooting a little closer to his commander. His thigh scraped its way up Jazz's waist. “I had to make sure you didn't fall on your face on your way to your quarters. Primus knows it looked possible.”
Jazz brought his optics online, He angled his chin down so he could meet Mirage's gaze. The spy easily met the questioning look, before averting his optics to pay attention to Jazz's audio horns. Jazz recognized it for the misdirection it was.
The spy's fingers played over his audio horns, drawing an excited gasp from the saboteur's vocalizer. Jazz moved closer, fingers running over delicate joinings and hydraulics hidden under the seams. The black hand slid up the noble mech's neck, cupping the white cheek.
Mirage's optics dimmed, and he didn't quite lift his chin.
Jazz recognized it for what it was. The damned fool was still too proud to outright ask, but Jazz knew better. His teammate's status unknown, their trusted commander down and unresponsive, his team leader uncharacteristically confined to his office for the better part of a megacycle. Mirage wanted comfort: the touch of a friend, a confidante, he wanted to hear that his teammate and his commander would be all right.
Jazz kissed Mirage's lips, nipping the white metal. He turned the spy's head, caressing the noble crest, a mark of his heritage. No noblemech would have ever simply submitted as Mirage did, but it was just another too proud request for comfort. Jazz knew this wasn't the spy's usual style, but it was the only one Jazz ever saw.
He moved in, mouthing the cables bundled tightly around the support structures. Mirage shuddered in his arms, slim hands tightening around the saboteur.
Jazz didn't make it a habit to kiss and tell, but others didn't share that habit and spoke of their lovers. Occassionally one of those lovers would be Mirage.
Jazz shuttered his optics, the textured wires pinching at the soft metal of his lips. His glossa snaked out, tracing one of the minuscule grooves on the cabling. Mirage whined, tilting his head to encourage further explorations. The torso plating under Jazz's probing fingers vibrated with the quiet workings of the spy's engine.
It pained him. A reminder that it had been far too long since he had taken a lover to his berth for the simple sake of appeal: the color and shine of their paint, the pleasing timbre of their voice, the invigorating mind, and sheer life they possessed.
The touch on his interface plate nearly blew Jazz's already lagging processor. Too many processes snagged the delicate balance of his systems: gears grinding and coolant sluggish, engine hot and burning energon that was already low.
Jazz rubbed his cheek against Mirage's jaw when another deliberately inadvertent caress brushed over his interface plate. Mirage would never be so crude as to directly request a full interface, that would be beneath the station he'd held most of his civilian life.
Jazz moved up to kiss Mirage's lips, but then he pulled away.
The blue hands that had reached for him dropped as though they had never moved from the saboteur's shoulders.
The padding of the berth gave under him as he rolled, arm flung over his visor. “'M sorry, Raj. I'm still bootin' up, an' got carried away.”
Mirage studied him quietly before sliding completely over to the second berth: message received. “You were running pretty rough through the cycle. Is everything all right?”
Jazz considered the question, allowing for the normal time of a diagnostic scan. “Nothin' a li'l energon won't fix. I don't think I took as much as I meant 'fore recharge.”
A chuckle from the spy had Jazz lifting the arm off his face to look at his subordinate. “I imagine not, considering that you gave Sideswipe half your ration.”
Jazz puzzled that over for a breem before he smirked. “Did, didn't I?”
Mirage hummed an affirmative, then seemed to realize what he'd done. “Yes, you did."
He turned toward the lean mech, rolling onto his elbow to stare down at the handsome face. He stroked his hand down the noble chin. Leaning down he kissed Mirage. “Ironhide wants t' leave as soon as he could. If I could stay, I'd finish what I started.”
Mirage dimmed his optics once, turning his head into the kiss. “I wil be gone again as soon as I have recharged. Seeing how I have to cover two currently inactive positions on the team.” The ghost of a smile curled his lips.
Jazz pressed another kiss to the white mouth. “I know.” Then he grinned. “Who d'ya think had t’ sign off on that order?”
The ghost softened into a real smile. “Remind me to thank you.”
“Get some rest, Raj. Berth's there fer when ya come back too. I'll see if I can fit joinin’ ya into my busy schedule.”
The blue optics brightened at Jazz. “I am so thrilled you’d take the time,” he monotoned.
Jazz stood, and walked out of the room. His grin fading after he exited through the door.
~*~*~*~
“Jazz t’ Prime.”
The connection crackled and buzzed with encryption coding running through the signal before Prime’s smooth voice came over the line. “Prime here. Report, Jazz.”
“I’m about t’ see ‘Hide off. Y’ guys back at Iacon, yet?” Jazz grinned and flicked a hand at Backtrack and Astroscope as he passed them in the hallway. The two minibots waved back, visors brightening in a smile.
“Yes, we have just arrived as a matter of fact. Are you certain you don’t need Ironhide any longer? I’m in no rush to get him back while you still have an officer down.”
Jazz snickered as he imagined the other reasons that Prime wouldn’t want his Security Officer back too soon. Jazz had seen just how overbearingly protective the red mech could be of his Commander. He’d heard similar things of Chromia with Elita One, unsurprising really. Likewise, Smokescreen had a tendency to take missiles meant for Prowl, earning him the position of the Commander’s decoy. Wheeljack… well, Wheeljack was simply Wheeljack and not one to be in the midst of a battlefield unless it was to retrieve wounded with Ratchet. On the other hand, there had been that time Wheeljack had lost an arm intercepting a shot for the medic…
He shook himself out of his reverie, realizing that Prime still waited for a response. “Nah, we got it covered from here. ‘Preciate ya lendin’ him to us. ‘Sides, we’re sendin’ some sensitive information wit’ him that we need Blaster an’ Longview t’ look at.”
Silence crackled across the comm. line and then Prime’s voice came over again, carefully enunciating each word. “Could you clarify what you mean by sensitive information?”
“I’m talkin’ about the bug that was in our system. Catch my drift?”
“Yes, I know precisely what you mean. In that case, I’m looking forward to having Ironhide returned. Prime out.” Prime signed off the line.
Jazz wavered, disoriented by the abrupt disconnection. He collected himself and headed into the communication room, checking the terminal for any messages left for him and receiving a download of reports compiled during his recharge. He could have managed it in his own office, but preferred to this way because it allowed him to check up on the mechs on duty.
Red caught the light, propped up on the console; long legs stretched out from the black aft in the seat. Arms curled around the head: arrogantly assured, and proudly displaying the glossy red chest.
Jazz straightened as the reports downloaded, blinking at the mech lazing on comm duty.
“Must be nice to be that quiet.”
The mech flailed, feet crashing to the floor and throwing the lanky torso vertical. Wide optics turned to Jazz, mouth opened and vocalizer stuttering. “Well, you see- It was- I wasn't-”
'Chill, man. I know you've got it covered. ”
Sideswipe grinned sheepishly and leaned back in the chair. “Well we actually just received a message from Prime...”
“He's back at the base.” Jazz nodded, bending back to the download and finding the message already in his inbox.
Sideswipe blinked. “Well, yeah- Hey, how'd you know that? I just sent that to you...” Sideswipe trailed off, brow ridge drawn down in puzzlement. “Then you know he's antsy for Ironhide to come back, right? Wondering when you were gonna send him on his way.”
He wondered, for a moment, why Optimus would say such a thing after their conversation. Jazz laughed, earning another puzzled frown from the warrior. Guess he wouldn't want any of the lower ranks to think he thought his Security officer was losing his touch. “Tell 'im, I'm about to see him out now. Why are ya here? Ain't ya better suited for patrols?”
“Ratchet's orders: light duty. He wants the welding to assimilate.”
“Lucky mech.” Jazz frowned, keying a few commands into the console.
“Lucky, right. This is fragging boring.”
He strode over to the other console, nudging Sideswipe to the side as he bent over the mech. “Why don't I have any messages?”
Sideswipe tilted his head, propping his feet up just under Jazz's bumper. “You know, Smokescreen popped by and I think he cleared your messages. He was a little grumpy, too...”
“Prob'ly cause 'Jack was keepin' 'Hide company for the past few joors.” Jazz tossed a knowing grin down at the red mech.
The white feet pinged against Jazz's bumper, the sound ringing through his frame. Harmonies washed through systems aligned to detect the smallest sound. Jazz straightened, stepping away from the long legs.
“Oh? All you officers paired up or something?” Sideswipe said it in such a nonchalant way that Jazz wondered why he asked.
“Nope. Me 'n Frequency are free mechs.” Jazz flashed a grin, dimming an optic behind his visor down at the mech.
“You're slagging kidding me. Everyone else is, what, bonded?” The console chirruped for Sideswipe's attention, but the blue optics never strayed from Jazz.
“Ya might wanna get that.” Jazz gestured toward the console, grin never wavering despite the unease in his tanks.
Sideswipe finally turned, keying the channel open.
Jazz turned to leave, but he didn't miss the sidelong glance the warrior sent his way.
While considered sensitive information, it wasn’t necessarily classified. Sideswipe seemed to have reached the same conclusion that kept Jazz in his current position. How easy would it be for the Decepticons to devastate the Autobots if they started targeting bonded pairs and hubs?
Far too easy: wipe out Ratchet and Prowl offlines permanently. Leaving you completely in charge.
Jazz shook his head. That was an unexpected thought. Unbidden and unwanted. The last thing he needed was to have to take permanent command of this crew. The last thing he wanted was to lose two good friends in one shot.
It was a problem the Autobots hadn't recognized until six units were wiped out in a single devastating blow. The five commanders were bonded to a shared femme, and she commanded the bonded of their executive officers. The Decepticons had targeted the femme's group and then proceeded to launch offensives against the other five units, already battered from the sudden loss of their commander and his XO.
Now they restricted how many officers in a single unit were bonded, and if either the commanding officer or the executive officer were bonded then the other couldn't be.
He remained executive officer as long as he remained unbonded. If he ever did decide to settle on a single mech (or femme) and bond, then he would be reassigned and a new mech would have to be brought in for the position. Currently he considered any such devoted attachments a detriment to his duty as unofficial Morale Officer. Prowl needed him free of the obligations that come in a relationship to see to the needs of the unit. Be it a shoulder to lean and shed a few tears on, a warm embrace for a night and more, if Jazz felt the situation merited it. No single one mech was his lover, but he did love them all, because Prowl couldn’t, no matter how much he might care.
Ironhide waited at the entrance to the base, working with Red Alert to clear the convoy that would accompany him back to Iacon. Jazz walked past the mechs already sitting in their alt modes, just waiting for the signal to move on. Bulkhead's green cylinder stood out amidst the crowd by sheer virtue of his size. Even the helos didn't match the tanker's size. The convoy centered around the Tanker, turrets and launchers already scanning the skies for Decepticon presence. They revved their engines at him in greeting and he replied in kind.
Since Ironhide and Red Alert seemed absorbed in their task, Jazz stopped at the entrance next to Hound. Ankmor lay beneath them, visible from nearly every lookout on the base. Vehicles, both sparked and drones, moved through the streets like a nest of glitch mice. Smokestacks rose to the east, industriously pumping out smoke from the processing factories attached to them. Neon signs lit up the west side of Ankmor announcing the perfect places to get overcharged or find a companion, perhaps even lose a few hundred credits. Individual Autobots gave the western side more patronage than they gave the eastern side, but the base itself purchased large quantities from the factories to the east.
Jazz hated to think what would happen to the city if the Autobots were forced to retreat. Ankmore would become like so many other cities around Cybertron: broken, empty, and filled with remnants of the original inhabitants. A haven for Decepticons and spies.
And a step closer to Iacon.
Jazz snapped on his optics, never having realized that he shut them off.
Hound stared at the sky, his expression reflecting the watchfulness of his trade.
“What's gotcher attention?”
The green tracker didn't tear his optics from the sky. Jazz followed his gaze to where a flock of turbohawks made lazy circles above the smokestacks.
'The flock's got a couple of new additions. I didn't think any of the new molds were moving around just yet. There's too many acid storms across the wastes this time of the metacycle.”
Jazz tilted his head, watching the light reflect off the metal bodies. “Y' know how some o' the storms can get. Maybe they got blown over here.”
Hound turned a surprised face on Jazz. “Yeah that could have happened. Poor slaggers must've been eaten up out there.” The tracker straightened and turned away from the circling turbohawks.
Jazz took a few tics longer to pull his attention away from the dizzying sight.
Hound had already moved over to take his place in the convoy. The Roughrider shifted from side to side, obviously eager to get going. Hound loved nothing more than to be in motion and traversing the worse terrain to find the best paths. It made him one of the best at his job in this unit.
Jazz sauntered over to where Ironhide and Red Alert currently pored over a datapad. Red Alert looked up and shut his mouth, vocalizer buzzing to mute. Ironhide glanced up, his lips pressed together, before returning to reading the screen of the datapad.
Neither said anything, despite having been deep in conversation only moments before.
“Should my transceivers be buzzin’?” Jazz grinned at the other two officers.
“Naw. I was just givin’ Red here a few pointers for improvements to his security system.” He handed the datapad back to Red Alert, who immediately tucked it away into subspace. “’Course t’ain’t many needed for ole Red. Dunno why he even had me goin’ over them.”
“Sometimes a second set of optics versed in the field is needed. Thank you for looking at them, I’ll take your suggestions into considerations.” Red Alert stepped away. “Safe trip back, Ironhide. Jazz.” He nodded at the acting commander and walked away.
Jazz stepped closer to the big mech, clapping the red back amiably. “Thanks fer helpin' out here, 'Hide. Y've been a real team player.” He couldn't help the grin that split his mouth open. “Though I'm sure y' weren't complainin' with Wheeljack keepin' yer berth warm. Smokey must love ya for that.”
Ironhide smirked at the acting commander. “T'ain't my problem. He should learn ta share.”
A chuckle hummed out of Jazz's engine, and he gave the large red mech's shoulder a shake. “Take care out there, old timer. Make it back t' Prime in one piece or he'll come revvin' up my tail pipe. He's antsy for ya to be back.”
“Old timer?” Ironhide grumbled, smacking at Jazz's head. The quicker saboteur ducked, laughing. “He don't miss me. He's probably managed to entice Elita back to the base and is lettin' her unit run amok while they... discuss tactics.” Ironhide's fond grin belied his grouchy tone. “I'll get them files to Blaster and Longview to have them purged and returned. Bee shouldn't have ta depend on third-hand memory fer too long.”
Ironhide took his place at the fore of the convoy. “Let's roll.” He transformed and, as though to show Jazz how his age hadn't slow him down, he went full throttle and hit the ground revving. His hefty form slammed into the ground before the mag plates had a grip on the metal road. Jazz knew that the impact hadn't left so much as a dent in the old mech's tough armor.
Optimus Prime's Security Officer took off like a Fineline eager to show-off.
Jazz shook his fist at the retreating Rollback. “Ya won't be able t' keep that up all the way t' Iacon!”
The convoy laughed as they passed their acting commander.
Jazz smiled as he watched his friends rolled past the city's eastern boundary's.
He glanced again at the turbohawks circling the smokestacks.
“He's on his way, Prime.”
“Affirmative. I'll look for him to come, then.”
One of the turbohawks pulled a tight U-turn and headed southeast, his path curving more eastward as he drew away from the city.
Probably heading out to look for scraps.