Once again inspired...in the wrong way...
Yet another fic inspired by real life events...
This is a sequel to my Prowl/Jazz fic, "Notches"...
I present to you,
-------------Written By: Reality Obscured-------------
------------- ------------- -------------
Title: Lies
Rating: T
Pairings: Prowl/Jazz
Characters: Prowl, Jazz
Author’s Note: Another fic inspired by real life events…
Warnings: I think I can safely give this a T rating…
------------- ------------- -------------
The heavy clang of Prowl hitting the Ark’s metallic floor resounded no farther than Jazz’s soundproofed quarters. The berth was what stopped his momentum, his door-wings receiving the brunt of the abuse. He looked up, meeting optic to visor with his assailant, the dull ache of the dent in his jaw slowly reaching his sensory network. The ache was only matched by the errant electrical signals popping sharply in his data port when Jazz had brutally disconnected them.
After he’d found the files…
For one of the first times while he was in optimally working order, Prowl did not know what to do next.
“Why didn’t ya just tell me?” The saboteur’s stare and faceplate was set firm, neutral. The visage he wore on many of his missions. “We had to interface for me to find out?”
The truth came out smoother than he’d expected it to. “I hadn’t intended on you finding out.”
“I could feel that.” The minute shift of a right hand, clenching tighter on itself. The visor illuminated barely a hue brighter. “Guess ya got careless, Prowl. Is that what ya really think about us?”
He started to get up, but Jazz was on him in hardly an astrosecond, his knee and weight pressed down on the Datsun-former’s bumper. The berth dug even harder into the sensitive sensory panels, and Prowl grimaced, not wanting to fight this even if he'd been able. He knew he deserved this.
Jazz grabbed Prowl’s left forearm, holding it up so that Prowl could see. The tactician wanted to look away. “Ya weren’t hidin’ nothin, Prowl. I knew what ya were doin’ with these, and no, I don’t wanna be a notch. I wanted to be something’ more.”
The strained panels of his back groaned as Jazz let go, moving off of him. While Jazz recoiled his interface cabling, Prowl took this chance to stand as well, resealing his own hardware.
“It’s not what it appears, Jazz.” He said. “Just let me explain.”
“What’s there to explain?” Jazz frowned. “It was all right there, right in ya own data. Apparently ya get aggravated at the way I talk, walk… Slag, what about me DO ya like?”
“Please-"
Prowl had seen many faces of the saboteur. Sadness, happiness...even those facades that were faked. He’d never seen Jazz scowl… “So you’re sayin’ your own data is wrong?” Prowl went silent to formulate a proper reply, but Jazz took it as the answer. “Thought so. Accordin’ to those files, I haven’t done a single thing ya like. You don’t even want me interfacin’ with ya. Why else would ya be thinkin’ about work while we were connected?”
Jazz hit the door panel, not looking back as he turned and exited. Prowl vented some of the heated air that had built up in his body, shifting his optics from the door to the berth. Fresh scratches lined the metal from their recent activities. Even fresher ones were on the corner, lined with black and white paint transfer. The dent in his jaw could easily be blamed on anything, from Decepticon to fellow Autobot. Both factions had decked him in the face on more than one occurrence. Jazz didn’t have to be indicted in this. He’d have to go to Ratchet for the other injuries. The CMO would demand and explanation but wouldn’t be getting one from him. Not this time.
But the files…
He hadn’t set his firewalls properly. A mistake he shouldn’t have made and was now regretting. Those files were loaded with what negative attributes and traits he found in other Autobots. Including Jazz. By focusing on that when he felt his emotional programming take over, Prowl found that he could remain detached. To enough of a degree he could keep himself disconnected. No more notches could come about if he could just manage to set himself apart. And Jazz, as Head of Special Operations, tended to take some of the most dangerous missions. Threat of deactivation was a daily occurrence. As a tactician, he couldn’t have that wearing on his CPU and hindering battle plans.
No, he didn’t hate Jazz’s music. He didn’t hate the way he walked, spoke, or acted. No, he wasn’t focusing on work during interfacing. He was focusing on those files. Jazz was addictive. Without being able to focus on their differences, Prowl knew he’d want to attach himself to the other without questioning himself once.
It was all too late now. There were too many lies. He looked at his left forearm. Could it all be salvaged?
This is a sequel to my Prowl/Jazz fic, "Notches"...
I present to you,
-------------Written By: Reality Obscured-------------
------------- ------------- -------------
Title: Lies
Rating: T
Pairings: Prowl/Jazz
Characters: Prowl, Jazz
Author’s Note: Another fic inspired by real life events…
Warnings: I think I can safely give this a T rating…
------------- ------------- -------------
The heavy clang of Prowl hitting the Ark’s metallic floor resounded no farther than Jazz’s soundproofed quarters. The berth was what stopped his momentum, his door-wings receiving the brunt of the abuse. He looked up, meeting optic to visor with his assailant, the dull ache of the dent in his jaw slowly reaching his sensory network. The ache was only matched by the errant electrical signals popping sharply in his data port when Jazz had brutally disconnected them.
After he’d found the files…
For one of the first times while he was in optimally working order, Prowl did not know what to do next.
“Why didn’t ya just tell me?” The saboteur’s stare and faceplate was set firm, neutral. The visage he wore on many of his missions. “We had to interface for me to find out?”
The truth came out smoother than he’d expected it to. “I hadn’t intended on you finding out.”
“I could feel that.” The minute shift of a right hand, clenching tighter on itself. The visor illuminated barely a hue brighter. “Guess ya got careless, Prowl. Is that what ya really think about us?”
He started to get up, but Jazz was on him in hardly an astrosecond, his knee and weight pressed down on the Datsun-former’s bumper. The berth dug even harder into the sensitive sensory panels, and Prowl grimaced, not wanting to fight this even if he'd been able. He knew he deserved this.
Jazz grabbed Prowl’s left forearm, holding it up so that Prowl could see. The tactician wanted to look away. “Ya weren’t hidin’ nothin, Prowl. I knew what ya were doin’ with these, and no, I don’t wanna be a notch. I wanted to be something’ more.”
The strained panels of his back groaned as Jazz let go, moving off of him. While Jazz recoiled his interface cabling, Prowl took this chance to stand as well, resealing his own hardware.
“It’s not what it appears, Jazz.” He said. “Just let me explain.”
“What’s there to explain?” Jazz frowned. “It was all right there, right in ya own data. Apparently ya get aggravated at the way I talk, walk… Slag, what about me DO ya like?”
“Please-"
Prowl had seen many faces of the saboteur. Sadness, happiness...even those facades that were faked. He’d never seen Jazz scowl… “So you’re sayin’ your own data is wrong?” Prowl went silent to formulate a proper reply, but Jazz took it as the answer. “Thought so. Accordin’ to those files, I haven’t done a single thing ya like. You don’t even want me interfacin’ with ya. Why else would ya be thinkin’ about work while we were connected?”
Jazz hit the door panel, not looking back as he turned and exited. Prowl vented some of the heated air that had built up in his body, shifting his optics from the door to the berth. Fresh scratches lined the metal from their recent activities. Even fresher ones were on the corner, lined with black and white paint transfer. The dent in his jaw could easily be blamed on anything, from Decepticon to fellow Autobot. Both factions had decked him in the face on more than one occurrence. Jazz didn’t have to be indicted in this. He’d have to go to Ratchet for the other injuries. The CMO would demand and explanation but wouldn’t be getting one from him. Not this time.
But the files…
He hadn’t set his firewalls properly. A mistake he shouldn’t have made and was now regretting. Those files were loaded with what negative attributes and traits he found in other Autobots. Including Jazz. By focusing on that when he felt his emotional programming take over, Prowl found that he could remain detached. To enough of a degree he could keep himself disconnected. No more notches could come about if he could just manage to set himself apart. And Jazz, as Head of Special Operations, tended to take some of the most dangerous missions. Threat of deactivation was a daily occurrence. As a tactician, he couldn’t have that wearing on his CPU and hindering battle plans.
No, he didn’t hate Jazz’s music. He didn’t hate the way he walked, spoke, or acted. No, he wasn’t focusing on work during interfacing. He was focusing on those files. Jazz was addictive. Without being able to focus on their differences, Prowl knew he’d want to attach himself to the other without questioning himself once.
It was all too late now. There were too many lies. He looked at his left forearm. Could it all be salvaged?