Perihelion - The Calm - Chapter 6
Title: Perihelion
Chapter: 6/??
Author: Unseen_Daydream
Warnings: Angry Ratchet
Characters: Prowl, Jazz, Ratchet
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: Sorry it took so long! Again! I'm in the middle of Finals now but by Tuesday I'll have those finished up! I've already written the last chapter for this story, the trick now is just getting from here to there. From this point on the paceing is going to be picking up and the chapter timeline will start becomming more fluid.
(Previous Chapters)
“We are agreed then, that the cities of Diston, Moraglux, and Hexagran will be the major targets in Decepticon territory, but what of Neutral Colonies Delta and Trinity? Are those locations feasible for the femmes to gain entry to?”
“Not if ya want’em ta make it past the fifth orn, paranoid the lot of ‘em. They’re better off with Neutral Colonies Picca n’ Alpha, community’s less hostile, mostly made of ‘ole educators n’ clerks.”
“The Decepticons know this though, they do not believe that we’d send anyone into Delta and Trinity. If we do they would be less suspecting then if we sent femmes to Picca and Alpha. Those communities are smaller, word will spread faster of femmes in small communites.”
“Point, but Ah ain’t agreein’ ta send any femme ta Trinity, not until she’s got at least fifty Vorns worth of experience n’ infiltratin’, the lot of ‘ems scavengers.”
“When did scavengers overrun the colony? It used to be a colony of scientists, was it not?”
“Oh it wuz, but ya know scavengers, pit-spawned things. Got sum news that a group of ‘em gathered up the ‘ole scientists n’ ‘escorted’ ‘em to the Decepticons. Been a gatherin’ place for ‘em since.”
“That is unsettling; this is the fifth colony the scavengers have overtaken in the past twelve Orns.”
“Rumor is ‘ole Megs is gettin’ desperate for sum new tech n’ new grunts ta test that tech on. Prob’ly payin’ the scavengers ta gather up the neutrals for ‘im.”
A long weary cycle of air. The pair have been online for three Orns straight and the toll is weighing heavily in their bodies and minds. They are exhausted having only taken two breaks an Orn since the meeting, one for a cycle’s worth of recharge and one for an Energon break. They have already established a long list of which femmes to send in as well as a majority of the locations that they would be sent into, as these factors were the only ones they could truly work together on. As soon as these were settled, Jazz would be taking over most factors of the operations as Prowl worked on timelines for the agents to keep in mind while he also worked on meeting points, escape routes, and contingency plans unique for each community the femmes would be infiltrating. Jazz would take over the plans for actually infiltrating the communities as it is his specialty. They work easily in tandem, bouncing ideas off of one another, discussing and debating the pros and cons of one target colony over another. The plan wouldn’t be implemented for another half-vorn yet, but already Prowl and Jazz have agreed upon half of the needed target areas and the femmes are already going through a crash course of special ops training. More femmes still are on their waym, being transported in small groups as to not rouse suspicion.
They have been working long and hard and they are exhausted.
Not that either of them is willing to stop under their own power.
“What are you two doing, still working on this? Have either of you taken a break since the assignment?” Ratchet groused from just within the doorway to the tactical rooms, optics turned respectively off so he would not see the holographic plans laid out but face plates still turned into an unhappy scowl. Quickly, Jazz and Prowl shutdown the holographic tables and lock the datapads strewn about. With that finished Jazz straightens and replies, “We still got work ta’ do here Ratch’t, Ain’t got da’ time ta’ take breaks. We’re still rechargin’ n’ takin’n Energon.”
Ratchet onlines his optics in response, scowl more prevalent than before, “It doesn’t matter if you take your Energon and Recharge, only once an Orn mind you, if you don’t actually take some time to rest. You lot aren’t drones, quit pretending you can work like them.”
“We will rest when the plans have been finalized Chief Medical Officer Ratchet,” Prowl responds, voice becoming the calm monotone the Army has come to associate with their second in command.
Ratchet, in all his undeniable grace, snorts then shots back, “Yes, and you two half-bits won’t be satisfied with the plans until the Klick before it’s set to launch. Don’t think I don’t know how you two work,” Ratchet points an accusing servo at Prowl, “You, Prowl, everyone knows you work over plans like this like a turborat in a junk pile, you just keep working at it and working at until you run yourself into the ground and crash because someone cycles on you wrong,” Jazz snickers quietly but then Ratchet swings the accusing servo at Jazz, “And you, Jazz, are just as bad! Don’t think I can’t see it, you like to pretend you’re all laid back and ‘cool’ but the second something big comes up you get just as bad as Prowl!” He throws his arms up in exasperation, “You two half-bit, overprocessed, smelted-spare-parts-excuse-of-a-processor, Grade A slaggers are going to run yourselves ragged!”
Silence for a tense moment and then, “We will take a break when the plans are complete, Chief Medical Officer Ratchet”
“That’s it! You two! Out! Out! Out out out! Go to the rec room, take patrol shifts, frag a drone senseless, I don’t give a frag! But you two are NOT to be in discussing plans for the next Orn! Do not fight with me on this Prowl or so help me I will weld your sensory panels to Wheeljack’s table! I mean it! Out!”
“I do not understand why so many fear Chief Engineer Wheeljack’s experiements so much, these infamous explosions have never occurred in my presence.”
“OUT!!!”
They went out.
The pair of them walk along the hallways of the base. Jazz, smooth and graceful, his steps long and languid and Prowl, sensory panels swept back and held high but loosely, his peds treading lightly, graceful in a way that was subtle but effect, no missteps, no unnecessary movement, each movement is precise and fluid. Each mech, graceful in his own way, walk down these wide halls exuding command without even realizing it, their very presence demanding respect. They walk, side by side, stepping at different paces with different strides and different levels of movement but side by side all the same, brushing shoulders and servos with each step despite the lack of traffic and the wide hallways leaving large empty spaces between themselves and the walls.
They do not speak, do not even look at one another, but they walk in time while moving at different paces and that, more than anything else, is a sign of things to come. A small light shining brightly in the dark.
The recreation room is within hearing range, not quite in sight. They become two once more, their pacing changes once more, and their speed no longer matching. Out of sync. The empty space between them widens to a respectable distance, one befitting of friends rather then what they are, a thing beyond definition. When they reach the rec room they are assaulted by sound, mechs off duty laughing and chattering, drinking Energon and playing small games. Jazz grins, wide and bright, and bounded away from Prowl, flittering between mechs and femmes, juggling conversations. Prowl shakes his head fondly, making his way to the Energon Dispenser. Where the soldiers congregate to Jazz, they shift away from Prowl, drifting away from him and eyeing him wearily, conversations taking abrupt changes in topic and optics watching him warily. Prowl has grown used to this, and while at one point he may have left for everyone’s benefit, he no longer feels the need to flee under these distrustful optics. Jazz has taught him that there is no reason to flee.
He obtains two rations before heading to Jazz’s latest group of chatterbots. Wordlessly he holds out one of the cubes witch Jazz accepts with a smile, their servos do not brush or hesitate or linger, their gazes do not lock and hold, their ventilation process does not stutter. One merely hands the cube to the other and that’s the end of it. They can’t afford to let the signs of their affections loose, even in front of allies. And everyone already knows the two of them are good friends, if Prowl decides to stay beside Jazz it is no different than any other time they remain in the recreation room at the same time.
The conversation is at first stilted, weary optics cast in Prowl’s direction, but he merely stands there and dips from his Energon, taking in the scene around them and the mechs before him. Occasionally he drops small comments, usually displaying a subtle dry wit or quiet piece of advice. Gradually the group relaxes and easy conversation is just that, easy.
The shift passes like that, easy conversation and the soft glow of camaraderie.
A small light shines brightly in the dark.