shake that botty
So it's swindleslog's birthday, or it was, and I offered her first pick of anything she wanted, anything at all. Her choice? More story for the wonderfully humiliating sketch shown below, which in turn had been a birthday present for justbolts and evvj. It's like a big, rolling, pay-it-forward birthday cake. Swindle wrote a little drabble to go with the sketch already, found here, but hoped I could carry on with the 'plot', maybe with a bit of fiendish Jazz to make things that much worse for the beleaguered Praxians. For all the time I've spent in this fandom, I've never actually written Jazz/Prowl, so this was fun for me. It's like a rite of passage, right?
Someone needed to check the welds again. Somewhere above this level, a seam had split just enough to allow water to seep through the hairline crack. The ocean trickled down past the bulkhead, filtered through the vents, and completed its journey by dripping out of the ceiling in the debriefing room. Starscream listened to the repetitive drip, drip, drip with growing irritation. If it would at least have the decency to drip at a regular pace, timed and measured evenly, he wouldn’t mind nearly so much. But the Pacific Ocean, like everything else on this planet, was organic and irregular and unpredictable. Even its dripping had to be off-beat.
Drip. Drip-drip.
“So,” he started, again. Dirge shuffled nervously and readjusted his grip on the weld patched over his wing, a shoddy field treatment waiting to be replaced by more permanent repairs in the medbay. Looking at his warped, charred wings was enough to make Starscream ache, but he had no time to waste on sympathy for Dirge. Starscream had his own problems. Starting with that damn drip, and ending with the ominously quiet comms officer who didn’t seem to be bothered by that stupid drip, not even a little bit.
“So,” Dirge repeated, unhappily.
“You were flying escort for Laserbeak, as ordered, when she broke ranks and skewed from the designated flight path.”
“Yes sir.”
“She gave no warning.”
“No sir.”
“But you followed.”
“Yes sir.” Nervously his gaze flicked to the silent Soundwave. “I had to give her cover fire, like I was ordered.”
“So you followed her deeper past enemy lines, into substantial crossfire.”
“Yes sir.”
“And that’s why you crashed?”
“No sir. I engaged the enemy, performed evasive maneuvers, and kept from getting severely hit.”
“Did Laserbeak get hit?”
“No- well… not yet, anyway.”
Soundwave’s visor glowed and Starscream twitched at an unpleasant tickle in his mind. “Cut that out,” he hissed. “I’m getting there, alright? Just give me a few more kliks." Soundwave did not answer. Starscream scowled at him and returned his attention to his pathetic subordinate. “So she didn’t get hit. What did she do?”
“I think she veered off course to investigate something, um, funny.”
“Funny?” Starscream repeated blankly. “Like, hilarious? Or funny as in strange and unexpected, such as you pulling off a task competently for once?”
Dirge hunched his shoulders resentfully. “Funny as in strange. As in, reflected light flashing at regular intervals up from the ground. Looked like it was trying to aim right for her, but it wasn’t laser fire. When I got closer, I saw the Autobot third using a mirror to reflect sunlight into her optics. Laserbeak flew closer, so I did too.”
“And that’s why you crashed.”
“No. I figured it was a trap and pulled up, tried to spray him with plasma fire, but the slagger was already out and moving before I could hit him. Laserbeak went after him, even though I called her back.”
This time he was the one that twitched, and he looked desperately at Soundwave. “I did, I swear! I tried to get her attention back on the mission!”
“Soundwave, I will deal with my fliers,” Starscream reminded him crisply. “Even if they are stupid enough to get lost in their own afterburner smoke. Give me more time.” Fraggit but Soundwave was scary when he'd lost one of his precious pests. Megatron was large, yes. Moody, violent, and capable of inflicting great physical pain, all yes. But not even Megatron could could match Soundwave on the playing field of ominous looming, which their comms officer had honed to frightening perfection over the centuries. Starscream would not be intimidated, at least not visibly and in front of one of his own subordinates. His wings bristled defensively, gave Soundwave another hard glare for good measure, then swiveled that glare back over to Dirge.
“So Laserbeak got it in her head to pursue Jazz, in spite of all common sense to the contrary, and you followed. Deeper into enemy territory.”
“Yes.”
“And that’s why you crashed?”
“No. That fragging Autobot kept flashing light at Laserbeak, like he was teasing her or somethin’, but none of the other bots were aiming. It’s like they were surprised to see us there, they kept firing too late. She chased him six degrees west and deeper to the back of the enemy lines, then suddenly altered her course again. I think she saw something else that demanded a closer look. I had to pull a tight turn to keep her in my sights, and slow down. A sniper caught me on my left wing.”
“And that’s why you crashed?”
“No, the shot wasn’t that hard. I pulled up without much trouble.”
“Then why did you crash?” Starscream asked, exasperated.
“I saw what Laserbeak had found.”
The thing that Prowl found most damnably irritating was how Jazz could keep his gaze on Prowl’s face. Sitting across the desk from him, refusing to squirm under a carefully constructed dark glare, Jazz simply lounged in the chair and smiled. He didn’t glance down at the ridiculous costume, not once. It made Prowl want to snap small things in half.
“So.”
“So,” Jazz repeated, agreeably.
“You were running strafe from your designated position, doing- what was that phrase you used?”
“Minding my own business.”
“Right. Taking long shots at the Decepticons, ‘minding your own business’, when Dirge unexpectedly singled you out for attack.”
“Came out of nowhere.”
“And you were forced to abandon your designated post to evade him. He pursued you deeper into Autobot lines, in spite of the considerable crossfire, and left you no time to take cover behind one of our entrenchments.”
“No time at all.”
“Forcing you closer to my position.”
“As it turned out.”
“Very dedicated, that Seeker.”
“Well, you know what they say about Seekers.”
“I do. They’re highly unlikely to fly low and surround themselves by the enemy unless explicitly ordered otherwise.”
“Ohhh.” Jazz snapped his fingers. “So that’s what they say!”
“Perhaps he’d been given such orders.”
“Maybe.”
“What do you suppose those orders might have been?”
Jazz shrugged. “Who can fathom the inner workings of Starscream’s mind?”
“I do,” Prowl reminded him rather testily. “On a regular basis. It’s my job. And based on the observed flight pattern and firing angles, I’d say Dirge was providing cover for someone.”
“Really?”
“Really. You didn’t see any other Decepticons in the area?”
“No… don’t recollect that.”
“Not one.”
“There was a lot of laser fire being bandied about, Prowl. Lot of smoke, haze, etc. Easy to miss things.”
“Even one of the enemy.”
“It’s happened before.”
True, which made it all the more annoying. Prowl darkened his glare a fraction. Jazz’s smile was beatific. If he would just drop his gaze for a second, give in to the temptation that must be eating him up inside, then Prowl could unleash the full fury of one very humiliated second-in-command and let the smoke clear as it may. Jazz kept his gaze on Prowl’s face.
“I have a write-up finished,” Jazz pointed out, when the silence had stretched on for a minute or two. “My full report is on this datapad. I’ll just put it here on your desk.”
He did, right at the very far edge. Prowl shot it a look that failed to coat it in ice, though it was not for lack of effort.
“I will review it later.”
“Not right now? You sure you don’t want to lean way, way over and pick it up now?”
“Quite sure,” Prowl nearly snarled, hating the way that smile only widened. “I know you’re enjoying this, Jazz. I know that on the inside, you are absolutely reveling in this ridiculous farce. But it’s not going to last. And I remind you, Jazz, that you have been ordered not to take any photos of me while in this… condition. Do what you like to Smokescreen, as he did bring this on himself, but I will not have the Autobot second-in-command chronicled while looking like this.”
“Yes sir, understood sir. I will not take any photos of you while in this ‘condition’.”
“Nor any other Autobot.”
“No other Autobot,” Jazz echoed dutifully. “You look stressed, Prowl. Sure you’re not tired? You could take a nap. Lie across your desk, maybe.”
“Dismissed, Jazz.”
“Yes sir!”
Ratchet was still in his prisoner/patient when the surgery doors slid open, and Jazz sauntered inside.
“You,” he said by way of greeting, without bothering to look up, “are one devious scheming son of a hellglitch.”
Jazz pretended to be grievously wounded, for about two seconds. “Aw. Not sure I should be hearing that from the one that cornered the Praxians into this lil’ wager in the first place.”
“Least I earned my spoils through a contest,” Ratchet grunted. “And savor those spoils I will, but I’m not stupid enough to try and take photos of second-in-command Prowl in the meantime. I know when not to poke the plasma. You are trying to surf over its blistering surface, and using a Decepticon to do it, no less.” Hack successfully completed, Ratchet extracted his line out of Laserbeak’s record/input hub and graced Jazz with a stare flatter than beaten tin sheets. “Bored of life, are you?”
Jazz looked angelic. “I promised Prowl that I would not take any photos, and I haven’t. Cassetticons are much better at that, anyway. I am ever so grateful to little Laserbeak here for pitching in to assist.”
Affectionately he tickled a fingertip underneath the unconscious Decepticon’s beak, a move that surely would have cost him the finger had Laserbeak been online.
“You do realize you’ll have to avoid Soundwave for, oh, three hundred vorns after this little stunt.”
“All part of the eternal tap dance, Ratch. Nothin’ I can’t handle.”
Ratchet snorted. “That’s nothing. You’ll have to avoid Prowl for five hundred.”
The data chip, with all its precious downloaded photos, he dropped into Jazz’s waiting palm. “Happy dancing, Jazz. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a party to get to.”
Someone needed to check the welds again. Somewhere above this level, a seam had split just enough to allow water to seep through the hairline crack. The ocean trickled down past the bulkhead, filtered through the vents, and completed its journey by dripping out of the ceiling in the debriefing room. Starscream listened to the repetitive drip, drip, drip with growing irritation. If it would at least have the decency to drip at a regular pace, timed and measured evenly, he wouldn’t mind nearly so much. But the Pacific Ocean, like everything else on this planet, was organic and irregular and unpredictable. Even its dripping had to be off-beat.
Drip. Drip-drip.
“So,” he started, again. Dirge shuffled nervously and readjusted his grip on the weld patched over his wing, a shoddy field treatment waiting to be replaced by more permanent repairs in the medbay. Looking at his warped, charred wings was enough to make Starscream ache, but he had no time to waste on sympathy for Dirge. Starscream had his own problems. Starting with that damn drip, and ending with the ominously quiet comms officer who didn’t seem to be bothered by that stupid drip, not even a little bit.
“So,” Dirge repeated, unhappily.
“You were flying escort for Laserbeak, as ordered, when she broke ranks and skewed from the designated flight path.”
“Yes sir.”
“She gave no warning.”
“No sir.”
“But you followed.”
“Yes sir.” Nervously his gaze flicked to the silent Soundwave. “I had to give her cover fire, like I was ordered.”
“So you followed her deeper past enemy lines, into substantial crossfire.”
“Yes sir.”
“And that’s why you crashed?”
“No sir. I engaged the enemy, performed evasive maneuvers, and kept from getting severely hit.”
“Did Laserbeak get hit?”
“No- well… not yet, anyway.”
Soundwave’s visor glowed and Starscream twitched at an unpleasant tickle in his mind. “Cut that out,” he hissed. “I’m getting there, alright? Just give me a few more kliks." Soundwave did not answer. Starscream scowled at him and returned his attention to his pathetic subordinate. “So she didn’t get hit. What did she do?”
“I think she veered off course to investigate something, um, funny.”
“Funny?” Starscream repeated blankly. “Like, hilarious? Or funny as in strange and unexpected, such as you pulling off a task competently for once?”
Dirge hunched his shoulders resentfully. “Funny as in strange. As in, reflected light flashing at regular intervals up from the ground. Looked like it was trying to aim right for her, but it wasn’t laser fire. When I got closer, I saw the Autobot third using a mirror to reflect sunlight into her optics. Laserbeak flew closer, so I did too.”
“And that’s why you crashed.”
“No. I figured it was a trap and pulled up, tried to spray him with plasma fire, but the slagger was already out and moving before I could hit him. Laserbeak went after him, even though I called her back.”
This time he was the one that twitched, and he looked desperately at Soundwave. “I did, I swear! I tried to get her attention back on the mission!”
“Soundwave, I will deal with my fliers,” Starscream reminded him crisply. “Even if they are stupid enough to get lost in their own afterburner smoke. Give me more time.” Fraggit but Soundwave was scary when he'd lost one of his precious pests. Megatron was large, yes. Moody, violent, and capable of inflicting great physical pain, all yes. But not even Megatron could could match Soundwave on the playing field of ominous looming, which their comms officer had honed to frightening perfection over the centuries. Starscream would not be intimidated, at least not visibly and in front of one of his own subordinates. His wings bristled defensively, gave Soundwave another hard glare for good measure, then swiveled that glare back over to Dirge.
“So Laserbeak got it in her head to pursue Jazz, in spite of all common sense to the contrary, and you followed. Deeper into enemy territory.”
“Yes.”
“And that’s why you crashed?”
“No. That fragging Autobot kept flashing light at Laserbeak, like he was teasing her or somethin’, but none of the other bots were aiming. It’s like they were surprised to see us there, they kept firing too late. She chased him six degrees west and deeper to the back of the enemy lines, then suddenly altered her course again. I think she saw something else that demanded a closer look. I had to pull a tight turn to keep her in my sights, and slow down. A sniper caught me on my left wing.”
“And that’s why you crashed?”
“No, the shot wasn’t that hard. I pulled up without much trouble.”
“Then why did you crash?” Starscream asked, exasperated.
“I saw what Laserbeak had found.”
The thing that Prowl found most damnably irritating was how Jazz could keep his gaze on Prowl’s face. Sitting across the desk from him, refusing to squirm under a carefully constructed dark glare, Jazz simply lounged in the chair and smiled. He didn’t glance down at the ridiculous costume, not once. It made Prowl want to snap small things in half.
“So.”
“So,” Jazz repeated, agreeably.
“You were running strafe from your designated position, doing- what was that phrase you used?”
“Minding my own business.”
“Right. Taking long shots at the Decepticons, ‘minding your own business’, when Dirge unexpectedly singled you out for attack.”
“Came out of nowhere.”
“And you were forced to abandon your designated post to evade him. He pursued you deeper into Autobot lines, in spite of the considerable crossfire, and left you no time to take cover behind one of our entrenchments.”
“No time at all.”
“Forcing you closer to my position.”
“As it turned out.”
“Very dedicated, that Seeker.”
“Well, you know what they say about Seekers.”
“I do. They’re highly unlikely to fly low and surround themselves by the enemy unless explicitly ordered otherwise.”
“Ohhh.” Jazz snapped his fingers. “So that’s what they say!”
“Perhaps he’d been given such orders.”
“Maybe.”
“What do you suppose those orders might have been?”
Jazz shrugged. “Who can fathom the inner workings of Starscream’s mind?”
“I do,” Prowl reminded him rather testily. “On a regular basis. It’s my job. And based on the observed flight pattern and firing angles, I’d say Dirge was providing cover for someone.”
“Really?”
“Really. You didn’t see any other Decepticons in the area?”
“No… don’t recollect that.”
“Not one.”
“There was a lot of laser fire being bandied about, Prowl. Lot of smoke, haze, etc. Easy to miss things.”
“Even one of the enemy.”
“It’s happened before.”
True, which made it all the more annoying. Prowl darkened his glare a fraction. Jazz’s smile was beatific. If he would just drop his gaze for a second, give in to the temptation that must be eating him up inside, then Prowl could unleash the full fury of one very humiliated second-in-command and let the smoke clear as it may. Jazz kept his gaze on Prowl’s face.
“I have a write-up finished,” Jazz pointed out, when the silence had stretched on for a minute or two. “My full report is on this datapad. I’ll just put it here on your desk.”
He did, right at the very far edge. Prowl shot it a look that failed to coat it in ice, though it was not for lack of effort.
“I will review it later.”
“Not right now? You sure you don’t want to lean way, way over and pick it up now?”
“Quite sure,” Prowl nearly snarled, hating the way that smile only widened. “I know you’re enjoying this, Jazz. I know that on the inside, you are absolutely reveling in this ridiculous farce. But it’s not going to last. And I remind you, Jazz, that you have been ordered not to take any photos of me while in this… condition. Do what you like to Smokescreen, as he did bring this on himself, but I will not have the Autobot second-in-command chronicled while looking like this.”
“Yes sir, understood sir. I will not take any photos of you while in this ‘condition’.”
“Nor any other Autobot.”
“No other Autobot,” Jazz echoed dutifully. “You look stressed, Prowl. Sure you’re not tired? You could take a nap. Lie across your desk, maybe.”
“Dismissed, Jazz.”
“Yes sir!”
Ratchet was still in his prisoner/patient when the surgery doors slid open, and Jazz sauntered inside.
“You,” he said by way of greeting, without bothering to look up, “are one devious scheming son of a hellglitch.”
Jazz pretended to be grievously wounded, for about two seconds. “Aw. Not sure I should be hearing that from the one that cornered the Praxians into this lil’ wager in the first place.”
“Least I earned my spoils through a contest,” Ratchet grunted. “And savor those spoils I will, but I’m not stupid enough to try and take photos of second-in-command Prowl in the meantime. I know when not to poke the plasma. You are trying to surf over its blistering surface, and using a Decepticon to do it, no less.” Hack successfully completed, Ratchet extracted his line out of Laserbeak’s record/input hub and graced Jazz with a stare flatter than beaten tin sheets. “Bored of life, are you?”
Jazz looked angelic. “I promised Prowl that I would not take any photos, and I haven’t. Cassetticons are much better at that, anyway. I am ever so grateful to little Laserbeak here for pitching in to assist.”
Affectionately he tickled a fingertip underneath the unconscious Decepticon’s beak, a move that surely would have cost him the finger had Laserbeak been online.
“You do realize you’ll have to avoid Soundwave for, oh, three hundred vorns after this little stunt.”
“All part of the eternal tap dance, Ratch. Nothin’ I can’t handle.”
Ratchet snorted. “That’s nothing. You’ll have to avoid Prowl for five hundred.”
The data chip, with all its precious downloaded photos, he dropped into Jazz’s waiting palm. “Happy dancing, Jazz. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a party to get to.”