Perihelion - Past Cycles - Chapter 3
Title: Perihelion
Chapter: 4/??
Author: Unseen_Daydream
Warnings: Plot thickener, Dissapointed Wheeljack, flashbacks
Characters: Prowl, Jazz, Wheeljack the Energon Goodie Maker
Rateing: PG
Summary: To stave off the cold of the war, one must cling tightly to their ideals. But do not cling too closely or you shall find that you are holding onto the sun: so bright and warm and hot that your wings shall melt and your neck will break as you crash into the sea.
Note: It's a day early~ I'm on a role~
List of Previous Chapters
Slowly, Prowl drove through Praxus, other Cybertonians giving him a wide breadth as they recognized the Enforcer Decal on his sides, where in bipedal they would be his sensory panels. Prowl, for one, paid no heed to their discomfit or to the sudden slow in traffic. Prowl was a mech on a mission, albeit an off duty one.
Prowl, spotting his destination, activated the transformation subroutines to bipedal form. Briefly, he winced. Although grateful for the transformation cogs provided by the Enforcers, Prowl couldn’t deny that the act of transformation itself is disconcerting. For the short distance remaining Prowl walked slowly but with purpose. He stopped in front of a particular building with the standard three different sized doors to accommodate the three most common frame sizes in Praxus. He stepped onto a thin sensor pad in front of the middle door of medium size. Automatically, the door opened and Prowl stepped in, optic shutters dilating to adjust to the change in lighting. He was swift in moving out of the doorway, but Prowl cringed as his olfactory sensors were assaulted with a multitude of overwhelmingly charged ozone.
A cheerful voice called out in greeting, “Howdy! Name’s Wheeljack, how can I help ya officer?” A mech, taller than Prowl (and most of the shelving in the store) and wearing a facemask walked out from behind a metal counter, his vocal indicator fins flashing with every word.
Feeling somewhat awkward in the new environment Prowl responded, “I placed an order two Orns ago under designation number 35004.38”
The vocal indicator fins glowed with recognition-not vocal, Prowl concluded, sensory net? Or are they for flair alone?- Prowl pondered over it minutely, distracting himself from his own feelings of awkwardness.
“Ah, the special order, got a special someone back home?” Wheeljack chuckled merrily.
Prowl smiled in return, “Yes, she is definitely someone special.”
Wheeljack chuckled again, going behind the too-short metal counter and opening a containment unit behind it, also too short for the tall mech, and pulled out a smaller dispensary unit. Perhaps noticing Prowl’s perplexed state on why everything seemed too small for the mech, Wheeljack merrily chatted on as he prepared a portable containment unit, “’M not normally in the Energon Goodie business, but mah Creators wanted to visit an old friend of theirs in Straphmer, n’ that’s an Orn’s wortha travel itself, so Ah offered to watch the shop for ‘em a while.”
Bemused, Prowl asked, “What do you normally do?”
More than happy to talk Wheeljack continued, “Normally? Ah teach Engineerin’ n’ Chemistry at Praxus University, though sometimes I give lectures in Iacon on some of the more theoretical stuff, Dark Matter, Organic Energon, that sorta stuff. Be doin’ that in half an Orn too, Creators are getting’ back in a few cycles,” he fiddled with the dispensary unit, tapping it a few times when it refused to release its contents. He made several contemplative noises, opening a panel on the side and exposing circuitry. Belatedly, Wheeljack explained what was happening, “The Company that make these dispensaries makes great containment units, good for thousands of Vorns even! Their dispensary units are worth slag though, constantly shortenin’ out, really though, it’s just a matter of-“
There was a cackle of sparks and suddenly the Wheeljack was crouching behind a group of shelves behind Prowl, a difficult feet since the mech was taller than Prowl and the shelves themselves came only up to Prow’s upper chassis. Prowl shuttered his surprised at how fast the taller mech had moved, “Wheeljack…?” Prowl’s voice was slightly incredulous
“’Splosion?” Wheeljack called out cautiously, sounding almost like a youngling calling out to a friend one expects to jump out and scare you.
“No Wheeljack,” Prowl said slowly, like he was speaking to a youngling, as he began to doubt the Engineer’s sanity, “There has been no ‘’Splosion.’”
Cautiously, the Engineer peaked above the shelf, staring at the dispensary unit as though it were a virus infested robo-rat. Slowly, Wheeljack moved from behind the shelves, crouched low to the ground and looking ready to bolt. Prowl merely stared, half amused and half utterly bewildered. The closer Wheeljack got to the dispenser the tenser his frame became. When finally the Engineer was behind the counter he ducked behind it, peering above it at the dispenser cautiously. He ducked down again only to for his optics to appear once again along with an arm as he nudged the dispenser several times with a wrench he’d acquired. When nothing happened the Engineer stood up, starring at the machinery curiously.
“Is everything all right?” Prowl asked.
“I…think so,” Wheeljack responded, sounding surprised and strangely put-out. He pushed several buttons on the dispenser, activating it as it whirled to life smoothly and released the energon goodies into a containment unit. Wheeljack stared at it as though he’d never seen such a feat before. The containment unit filled, Wheeljack turned to Prowl, seemingly recovered from his earlier episode and said, “That’d be 20,500 Credits, please!”
Wincing at the price, Prowl nodded, lifting his left arm. He sent the appropriate commands and the armor plates on his arm began shifting, revealing old, damaged and repaired copper wires. Ignoring Wheeljack’s sound of surprise, Prowl used the servos of his opposite hand to push aside the copper wires gently, expertly, and pulled out his identification disk. He slid the disk into a terminal on the counter, transferrin the credits wordlessly, before replacing the disk between and underneath the aged copper wires and rearranging the new armor plating to cover them once more.
“The Enforcers supply their officers with transformation cogs and armor, subspace upgrades, however, are not provided,” Prowl commented lightly, which didn’t really answer anything but Wheeljack said nothing of it.
The Credits paid, Wheeljack sealed the containment unit and with a bright flash of his sensory fins-a smile?- handed it to Prowl, saying, “Have a good day officer, hope yur partner likes ‘em!”
“Partner?”
Starting slightly, Prowl focuses his gaze, taking in Jazz’s form, his visor dim and obviously half in recharge still, “Prowler?” he calls, voice low and staticy.
“I am fine Jazz,” Prowl sooths, “Recharge.”
Mumbling, Jazz’s visor turns off completely. Prowl smiled at Jazz, amused that Jazz had found his way to his berth once more despite them not having come here together. They haven’t shared any intimate connections, the physical of their relationship having gone no further than the brushing of servos or, Prowl brushes his hand over his own helm, past the occasional “kiss”. But during particularly bad cycles either Jazz or Prowl would inevitably awaken with the other in his berth, seeking quiet comfort. Processor drifting, Prowl calls up the memory file of the first time he awoke with Jazz inn his berth, after the slaughter of a neutral colony comprised mostly of sparkling and younglings with several caretakers, they’d been the refugees of an evacuated youngling center from Manaflux. Jazz had apologized the next cycle, saying he didn’t remember leaving his own berth in the night and was as surprised as Prowl was to wake up in Prowl’s quarters. A fact that Prowl had predicted and planned for, ensuring he wasn’t near Jazz when he awoke confused as to where he was. After that it became a habit of sorts, to somehow wind up in the other’s berth when things went wrong. Prowl wonders what happened on Jazz’s operative’s mission to bring Jazz here and cynically wonders who had died.
Prowl, knowing he wouldn’t fall back into recharge now, allows his Processor to drift. He almost chuckls when he thinks of his first meeting with Wheeljack and, bemusedly, remembers his utter confusion over Wheeljack’s panic. Though to this Orn Prowl has yet to see one of these infamous explosions as none ever seem to occur while he is in close vicinity. Though he’d never admit it, Prowl finds himself disjointed about that fact. He’s heard that they’re quite the interesting sight. And eventually, as with most things, Prowl’s thoughts lead him to her, Perihelion. He wonders where she is, he ponders her condition, he worries and his battle computer comes to life and supplies possible scenarios, each more morbid than the last. The more distressed he becomes, the more he curls in and around Jazz, clinging to his frame. The thoughts assault him, bringing up images of her mangled frame, tortured, violated, exposed and broken. A soft keen half escapes his vocalizer before he forcefully shuts it down. Prowl feels overwhelmed, as suddenly the weight of everything comes crashing down on him.
He feels alone.
And, suddenly, there is a hand brushing against his face and an arm holding him close to warm metal, smooth and lustrous and alive, grounding him. Prowl onlines his optics, having not realized they’d been off, and stares into the face of Jazz, his visor bright and aware and sad, “’s’okay Prowler. Promise, ‘s’okay.”
The effect is immediate, the fear, the worry, is soothed. Prowl is calm, rational and though the worry has not been completely banished the feeling of being overwhelmed and helpless and alone is gone.
Slowly, cautiously, Prowl moves one of his hands from Jazz’s side, drifting up and laying across jazz’s own face, servos brushing and tracing the curve of his cheek, ‘’s’okay,” Jazz says once more.
This, Prowl thinks to himself, this is what I want. This is who I want for the rest of my life. And realizing the truth of these thoughts Prowl begins, voice shaking, “Jazz, there is something I must tell you, it is very important. There are some things about me you must know-“his voice turns desperate, cut off by himself with no idea how to continue. He holds Jazz tighter as he curls around him further.
“When yur ready, Ahm here,” Jazz whispers, stroking Prowl’s face, “Whatever it is, Ah promise Ah’ll be here.”
“You cannot know that,” Prowl replied, voice barely a whisper, “You cannot say you will accept something you have not learned of yet.”
“Ah can,” Jazz replies, voice confident and warm.
“How can you decide that when you do not know?”
“Ah jus’ can,” Jazz replied once more, “Da Jazz Man Jus’ knows sum thangs,” he pauses, voice softening, “Now get ta recharge Prowler, we got dat meetin’ nex’ cycle.”
Relaxed once more, Prowl shifts, moving his hand to Jazz’s side once more, holding him close, with Jazz mirroring the action silently. Shyly, Prowl shifts forward, resting his helm against Jazz’s own. Jazz smiles, pushing his helm against Prowl’s in return and Prowl offers a shy smile of his own.
They slip into recharge like that: softly, warmly, bodies entwined and helms brushing with smiles on their faces. Unaware of the darkness lurking in the corners.
Chapter: 4/??
Author: Unseen_Daydream
Warnings: Plot thickener, Dissapointed Wheeljack, flashbacks
Characters: Prowl, Jazz, Wheeljack the Energon Goodie Maker
Rateing: PG
Summary: To stave off the cold of the war, one must cling tightly to their ideals. But do not cling too closely or you shall find that you are holding onto the sun: so bright and warm and hot that your wings shall melt and your neck will break as you crash into the sea.
Note: It's a day early~ I'm on a role~
List of Previous Chapters
Slowly, Prowl drove through Praxus, other Cybertonians giving him a wide breadth as they recognized the Enforcer Decal on his sides, where in bipedal they would be his sensory panels. Prowl, for one, paid no heed to their discomfit or to the sudden slow in traffic. Prowl was a mech on a mission, albeit an off duty one.
Prowl, spotting his destination, activated the transformation subroutines to bipedal form. Briefly, he winced. Although grateful for the transformation cogs provided by the Enforcers, Prowl couldn’t deny that the act of transformation itself is disconcerting. For the short distance remaining Prowl walked slowly but with purpose. He stopped in front of a particular building with the standard three different sized doors to accommodate the three most common frame sizes in Praxus. He stepped onto a thin sensor pad in front of the middle door of medium size. Automatically, the door opened and Prowl stepped in, optic shutters dilating to adjust to the change in lighting. He was swift in moving out of the doorway, but Prowl cringed as his olfactory sensors were assaulted with a multitude of overwhelmingly charged ozone.
A cheerful voice called out in greeting, “Howdy! Name’s Wheeljack, how can I help ya officer?” A mech, taller than Prowl (and most of the shelving in the store) and wearing a facemask walked out from behind a metal counter, his vocal indicator fins flashing with every word.
Feeling somewhat awkward in the new environment Prowl responded, “I placed an order two Orns ago under designation number 35004.38”
The vocal indicator fins glowed with recognition-not vocal, Prowl concluded, sensory net? Or are they for flair alone?- Prowl pondered over it minutely, distracting himself from his own feelings of awkwardness.
“Ah, the special order, got a special someone back home?” Wheeljack chuckled merrily.
Prowl smiled in return, “Yes, she is definitely someone special.”
Wheeljack chuckled again, going behind the too-short metal counter and opening a containment unit behind it, also too short for the tall mech, and pulled out a smaller dispensary unit. Perhaps noticing Prowl’s perplexed state on why everything seemed too small for the mech, Wheeljack merrily chatted on as he prepared a portable containment unit, “’M not normally in the Energon Goodie business, but mah Creators wanted to visit an old friend of theirs in Straphmer, n’ that’s an Orn’s wortha travel itself, so Ah offered to watch the shop for ‘em a while.”
Bemused, Prowl asked, “What do you normally do?”
More than happy to talk Wheeljack continued, “Normally? Ah teach Engineerin’ n’ Chemistry at Praxus University, though sometimes I give lectures in Iacon on some of the more theoretical stuff, Dark Matter, Organic Energon, that sorta stuff. Be doin’ that in half an Orn too, Creators are getting’ back in a few cycles,” he fiddled with the dispensary unit, tapping it a few times when it refused to release its contents. He made several contemplative noises, opening a panel on the side and exposing circuitry. Belatedly, Wheeljack explained what was happening, “The Company that make these dispensaries makes great containment units, good for thousands of Vorns even! Their dispensary units are worth slag though, constantly shortenin’ out, really though, it’s just a matter of-“
There was a cackle of sparks and suddenly the Wheeljack was crouching behind a group of shelves behind Prowl, a difficult feet since the mech was taller than Prowl and the shelves themselves came only up to Prow’s upper chassis. Prowl shuttered his surprised at how fast the taller mech had moved, “Wheeljack…?” Prowl’s voice was slightly incredulous
“’Splosion?” Wheeljack called out cautiously, sounding almost like a youngling calling out to a friend one expects to jump out and scare you.
“No Wheeljack,” Prowl said slowly, like he was speaking to a youngling, as he began to doubt the Engineer’s sanity, “There has been no ‘’Splosion.’”
Cautiously, the Engineer peaked above the shelf, staring at the dispensary unit as though it were a virus infested robo-rat. Slowly, Wheeljack moved from behind the shelves, crouched low to the ground and looking ready to bolt. Prowl merely stared, half amused and half utterly bewildered. The closer Wheeljack got to the dispenser the tenser his frame became. When finally the Engineer was behind the counter he ducked behind it, peering above it at the dispenser cautiously. He ducked down again only to for his optics to appear once again along with an arm as he nudged the dispenser several times with a wrench he’d acquired. When nothing happened the Engineer stood up, starring at the machinery curiously.
“Is everything all right?” Prowl asked.
“I…think so,” Wheeljack responded, sounding surprised and strangely put-out. He pushed several buttons on the dispenser, activating it as it whirled to life smoothly and released the energon goodies into a containment unit. Wheeljack stared at it as though he’d never seen such a feat before. The containment unit filled, Wheeljack turned to Prowl, seemingly recovered from his earlier episode and said, “That’d be 20,500 Credits, please!”
Wincing at the price, Prowl nodded, lifting his left arm. He sent the appropriate commands and the armor plates on his arm began shifting, revealing old, damaged and repaired copper wires. Ignoring Wheeljack’s sound of surprise, Prowl used the servos of his opposite hand to push aside the copper wires gently, expertly, and pulled out his identification disk. He slid the disk into a terminal on the counter, transferrin the credits wordlessly, before replacing the disk between and underneath the aged copper wires and rearranging the new armor plating to cover them once more.
“The Enforcers supply their officers with transformation cogs and armor, subspace upgrades, however, are not provided,” Prowl commented lightly, which didn’t really answer anything but Wheeljack said nothing of it.
The Credits paid, Wheeljack sealed the containment unit and with a bright flash of his sensory fins-a smile?- handed it to Prowl, saying, “Have a good day officer, hope yur partner likes ‘em!”
“Partner?”
Starting slightly, Prowl focuses his gaze, taking in Jazz’s form, his visor dim and obviously half in recharge still, “Prowler?” he calls, voice low and staticy.
“I am fine Jazz,” Prowl sooths, “Recharge.”
Mumbling, Jazz’s visor turns off completely. Prowl smiled at Jazz, amused that Jazz had found his way to his berth once more despite them not having come here together. They haven’t shared any intimate connections, the physical of their relationship having gone no further than the brushing of servos or, Prowl brushes his hand over his own helm, past the occasional “kiss”. But during particularly bad cycles either Jazz or Prowl would inevitably awaken with the other in his berth, seeking quiet comfort. Processor drifting, Prowl calls up the memory file of the first time he awoke with Jazz inn his berth, after the slaughter of a neutral colony comprised mostly of sparkling and younglings with several caretakers, they’d been the refugees of an evacuated youngling center from Manaflux. Jazz had apologized the next cycle, saying he didn’t remember leaving his own berth in the night and was as surprised as Prowl was to wake up in Prowl’s quarters. A fact that Prowl had predicted and planned for, ensuring he wasn’t near Jazz when he awoke confused as to where he was. After that it became a habit of sorts, to somehow wind up in the other’s berth when things went wrong. Prowl wonders what happened on Jazz’s operative’s mission to bring Jazz here and cynically wonders who had died.
Prowl, knowing he wouldn’t fall back into recharge now, allows his Processor to drift. He almost chuckls when he thinks of his first meeting with Wheeljack and, bemusedly, remembers his utter confusion over Wheeljack’s panic. Though to this Orn Prowl has yet to see one of these infamous explosions as none ever seem to occur while he is in close vicinity. Though he’d never admit it, Prowl finds himself disjointed about that fact. He’s heard that they’re quite the interesting sight. And eventually, as with most things, Prowl’s thoughts lead him to her, Perihelion. He wonders where she is, he ponders her condition, he worries and his battle computer comes to life and supplies possible scenarios, each more morbid than the last. The more distressed he becomes, the more he curls in and around Jazz, clinging to his frame. The thoughts assault him, bringing up images of her mangled frame, tortured, violated, exposed and broken. A soft keen half escapes his vocalizer before he forcefully shuts it down. Prowl feels overwhelmed, as suddenly the weight of everything comes crashing down on him.
He feels alone.
And, suddenly, there is a hand brushing against his face and an arm holding him close to warm metal, smooth and lustrous and alive, grounding him. Prowl onlines his optics, having not realized they’d been off, and stares into the face of Jazz, his visor bright and aware and sad, “’s’okay Prowler. Promise, ‘s’okay.”
The effect is immediate, the fear, the worry, is soothed. Prowl is calm, rational and though the worry has not been completely banished the feeling of being overwhelmed and helpless and alone is gone.
Slowly, cautiously, Prowl moves one of his hands from Jazz’s side, drifting up and laying across jazz’s own face, servos brushing and tracing the curve of his cheek, ‘’s’okay,” Jazz says once more.
This, Prowl thinks to himself, this is what I want. This is who I want for the rest of my life. And realizing the truth of these thoughts Prowl begins, voice shaking, “Jazz, there is something I must tell you, it is very important. There are some things about me you must know-“his voice turns desperate, cut off by himself with no idea how to continue. He holds Jazz tighter as he curls around him further.
“When yur ready, Ahm here,” Jazz whispers, stroking Prowl’s face, “Whatever it is, Ah promise Ah’ll be here.”
“You cannot know that,” Prowl replied, voice barely a whisper, “You cannot say you will accept something you have not learned of yet.”
“Ah can,” Jazz replies, voice confident and warm.
“How can you decide that when you do not know?”
“Ah jus’ can,” Jazz replied once more, “Da Jazz Man Jus’ knows sum thangs,” he pauses, voice softening, “Now get ta recharge Prowler, we got dat meetin’ nex’ cycle.”
Relaxed once more, Prowl shifts, moving his hand to Jazz’s side once more, holding him close, with Jazz mirroring the action silently. Shyly, Prowl shifts forward, resting his helm against Jazz’s own. Jazz smiles, pushing his helm against Prowl’s in return and Prowl offers a shy smile of his own.
They slip into recharge like that: softly, warmly, bodies entwined and helms brushing with smiles on their faces. Unaware of the darkness lurking in the corners.