Dec '08 PxJ challenge - Where there is injury, pardon
For the December '08 Christmas Challenge on the PxJ comm.
Title: Of Bindings - An Argument and an Apology
'Verse: 2007 Transformers. Bindings‘verse
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: TF Cussing.
Prompt: Where there is injury, pardon
Sam and Mikaela rarely argued. Sam was easy going, and possessed a sort of insight that more often than not saved his hide from a verbal tanning, once he developed a brain-mouth filter, that is, and Mikaela often found any bad mood she happened to be in evaporating upon exposure to Sam (once jokingly complaining that the boy ruined her attempts at wallowing in a good long sulk).
But when they did fight, one would take off for places unknown, sometimes with Bumblebee, to clear her head, and the other would lurk about wherever they’d been before the fight. Mikaela would return once calmed (‘Bee was good at that, the teen had found), and he’d often realise what they fought over wasn’t so big a deal in the grand scheme of things, and they’d make up in the next day or so.
This fight, however, had been horrific. They’d started screaming at each other, and Mikeala had actually teared a little, then hauled back and smacked him. Bumblebee had panicked, actually physically intervening, and after getting verbal reassurance that Sam was alright, had reluctantly gone with Mikeala, who’d looked shocked that she’d actually hit him, but unable to apologise just yet.
So, Sam lurked, wandering the Autobot’s base aimlessly, and came upon the silver form of Jazz, curled up on the Autobot sized couch in the rec. area, idly bobbing his head to some music playing over his speakers. Jazz was lucky, thought the boy, and he said so wistfully. The Solstice turned to look at him, raising an optic ridge.
“Hm? Why’d you say that?”
“Just thinking out loud. Had a fight with ‘Kaela.”
“Yeah, heard that. Frag, both of you have some lungs on you.”
Sam blushed. “Yeah, sorry for the disturbance. But ‘Bee was telling me a bit about spark-bonds. You and Prowl have a connection we won’t ever have. Mind to mind, innermost being and everything. Must be nice, bet you two never fight.”
Unexpectedly, Jazz laughed. “Oh, we fought alright. I must’ve called him every name in the book, and then made up several new ones to put in the book, then called him those as well. For all the fragging good it did. Bot never reacted to a single one. Took the wind right out of my sails, and the slagger knew it.”
“Huh?” Sam stared in confusion, and Jazz patted the spot next to him. As the teen scrabbled up, the saboteur chirred in reminiscence. “Just ‘cos we have a bond, don’t mean we didn’t get on each other’s last circuits. Most bots bond after knowing each other, and realising they don’t want anyone else but their partner. Me and Prowl didn’t have that luxury.”
Here the mech looked at the human again. “S’like any relationship. Misunderstandings occur, communications frag up. Knowing how the other thinks is a plus, but you still have to work on it. Much of the time we kept the connection partially blocked anyway, at first to spare our processors, then, later, ‘cos we both were handling some pretty sensitive stuff.”
“Spare your processors?”
“Mmhm, you notice me and him kinda differ in personality, right?”
“Yes.” The Ops mech was outgoing, freewheeling and abstract, while the tactician was more by the book, logical and reserved. ‘Bee had said it was something to do with their respective specialisations.
“Our thought processes affect each other through the bond, and that difference was really jarring at first. Bondmates also tend to get to adjust to their partner’s personality before they bond.”
“Ah.”
“So yeah, we had our fights. Worse than the one I just heard you have.”
“Really? But you don’t fight now.”
“We had more important things to worry over. Fighting each other wasn’t helping. Course, we eventually agreed to try and hash out our issues before they blew up, head off the arguments at the pass, so to speak, or at the least, have our disagreements calmly.”
At the incredulous look, the mech laughed again.
“They’ll tell you Prowl’s always professional and that I’m not prone to fits of temper. And neither of us is big on yelling when mad. Prowler’s better at being calm than me, but he don’t always see the stuff that can be an issue. And when we get in the thick of things, I can get pretty nasty myself.”
“But, you don’t fight now.”
“You are not letting that go, aren’t you?”
“I don’t like fighting with Mikaela, and this last one was really bad.”
“You two will be fine. You’ll make up, and someday you’ll maybe laugh about it.”
“You think so?”
“I know so. Prowl and I, our worst fight? Not a lot of yelling involved, but frag. But we fixed it. Eventually.” The silver mech stared at a point on the ground, saying his next words softly.
“We were both under a lot of stress, not that that was any excuse, but a frag load of missions had gone sour, taking our most of our goodwill with it, and we’d worked our afts off trying to figure out why. Turned out it was just a case of bad luck, slag happens, y’know? Then the next mission came in…”
= = =
“Look, I don’t see why you’re pulling me off the next mission.”
“This mission requires that Quickstep takes it.” Prowl’s reply was calm and unwavering, bringing a scowl to Jazz’s faceplates.
“Why? I can do whatever he can.”
“New data on the situation has come in, necessitating a recalculation of the mission parameters. He has the modifications to accomplish this with a greater margin of safety. Quickstep’s chances of returning are at a definite 80 percent, while yours are lower.”
“You don’t understand. Quickstep’s still almost a fragging youngling. You can’t pull me off like this and have him run solo.” The Spec Ops mech jabbed a finger at the infuriating mech in front of him. Said mech’s only response was a dry, “We have more important things to worry about than your pride, Jazz.”
Jazz snarled, temper seriously fraying. “Frag. You. He’s too slagging young to die!”
“You’ll die if you go. Be reasonable about this.”
“I’m being perfectly reasonable!” Their dispute continued for a while, until Jazz sneered.
“Oh, I get it, you’re afraid.” A tiny voice muttered that this line of argument was a bad idea. Jazz ignored it, too worked up to rein himself in.
“What?”
“You don’t really give a frag about me. You’re afraid that if I go on this mission, I’ll buy it and take you with me. That’s why you’re pulling me. Been having second thoughts, huh?”
The tactician stared at him, and Jazz felt a thrill at finally getting the ever composed mech to crack. His momentary sense of victory died when his CPU caught up with his vocaliser, and at the hurt that lanced through his spark. Stumbling, he checked the blocks and found that yes, all of them were in place. The feeling faded as he sensed Prowl closing off the bond as far as he dared, and glancing up at the other mech, the Ops mech gaped at the brief flash of pain in the tactician’s optics, before the mech’s expression blanked and he reiterated his stand with icy calm.
“You are not going on this mission, Jazz. And that is final.”
The tactician stalked out of the room, leaving him standing there, confused and just beginning to realise that he’d actually hurt Prowl, and hurt him enough for it to be felt through all the barriers each of them had put up.
= = =
Over the next couple of orns, Jazz tried to apologise to the tactician. But Prowl seemed to have developed an aversion to being in the same room as the saboteur, and Jazz couldn’t knock him for that. They still worked together just fine, both put their duty to the Autobots before their personal life anyway, but the underlying tension was still there, just very well hidden.
But it was getting to him every time the tactician left the room he entered (subtly, so no one noticed he left in response to Jazz of course, Prowl was good at his job), avoided conversation outside of work related matters, and flat out ignored every attempt at communicating with him through their bond. And the mech’s expression never wavered from calm and expressionless when dealing with Jazz.
Jazz had never thought he’d say it, since the tactician was so logical and everything, but Prowl could definitely hold a grudge. And what was more, he found he was missing what interaction he’d had with the mech before their fight. The saboteur found himself wondering if he could annoy Prowl into talking to him, but decided that he’d done enough damage without causing the mech actual public embarrassment.
Nothing for it, he decided, but to buckle down and try his best to get past the tactician’s walls once more.
= = =
His chance came when he spotted the chevroned mech in the training area, going through a set of drills and exercises. Jazz slunk into the room, and waited for Prowl to acknowledge his presence, either by leaving, which was the most likely, or by saying something. When breems passed without the mech so much as flicking a doorwing in his direction, the Ops mech decided to take things into his own hands.
He attacked.
They fought, physically, for the first time. Strikes coming lightning fast, blocks and parries brought up even quicker. Finally, Jazz threw his entire weight at Prowl, knocking the both of them to the ground. They lay there, intakes whirring madly, before the tactician made to shove the saboteur off.
“Frag it, Prowl. Please. Let me apologise.”
“Fine. You’ve apologised. Now leave.”
“No. Let me do it properly. I’m sorry, okay? I lost my head, and said stuff especially to hurt you. And I’m sorry for hurting you.”
“Are you done?”
“No.”
“What do you want from me?”
“Lemme in.” He reached out through the bond, dropping every block he had up, flooding it with his remorse and guilt. He felt Prowl’s side waver, before firming again. The mech underneath him sighed, and Jazz felt secure enough to let them both sit up, although he kept a firm hold on Prowl anyway.
“I accept your apology Jazz, now are you satisfied?”
Jazz shook his head. “No, let me in. I hurt you pretty bad, and I don’t fully know why.”
“You don’t need to know.”
“I do. Please.” Prowl gave in, and the Ops mech gasped as the tactician’s thoughts rolled through his. Anger that Jazz called his professionalism into question, had thought that he’d put himself above the good of the mechs under his command. Guilt and confusion, what if he had been doing so, unconsciously giving Jazz easier missions, keeping him from the ones that really needed the visored mech’s skills. And above all, the pain that came from hearing that Jazz thought he only wanted to keep the silver mech alive so that he himself would live.
For his part, Jazz repeated his apology, over and over. Whispered reassurances that Prowl had made the right calls on which bots to send on which missions, until the torrent of emotions from both mechs eased.
::I am sorry, y’know.::
::I apologise as well. I know you well enough to realise you’d said it in a fit of pique, not out of actual spite, but let my own emotions get in the way.::
:: Mech, I don’t blame you. It was a horrible thing for me to say.::
::But-::
::Look, you were right about the mission. Quick’ did well. I was just being a protective glitch.::
::You care greatly for your bots, and Quickstep is relatively young. I should have reassured you further and not implied what I did.::
::Hey, I’m sorry, and you’re sorry. I forgive you, can you forgive me?::
::I… yes Jazz.:: Their bond, strained by the events of the past few orns, was soothed by the physical and mental contact. Prowl rose, Jazz slipping off automatically. Reluctant to drop the connection so soon, he continued to speak across the bond.
::Y’know, I can’t promise we won’t fight in the future, but can we try to make sure it never gets this bad again?::
The pulse of agreement was all the response he needed. Jazz grinned.
= = =
“Whoa.”
“Yeah. We kept the bond fully open for every disagreement after, to make sure we never took it too far. Course, we also figured that it was easier to hide our connection if the other bots thought we wouldn’t touch each other with the proverbial ten foot pole. So we’d have the occasional public clash.”
“You staged arguments?”
“They were real, for most part. We did have a lot of differences to work through. But hey, we got through them all okay. So relax, you and Mikeala will be alright.”
Just then, Jazz tilted his head aside in a listening manner. “Speaking of Mikeala, she’s back with ‘Bee. You should go meet her.” Before the mech could finish speaking, Sam had leapt off the couch with a quick thanks and scrambled for the exit.
“Ah, young love.”
A tendril of amusement flickered at him, and he grinned, looking behind him to see Prowl entering the room.
“Relationship advice, Jazz? Ironic, if you consider our situation.”
“Hey, getting along with each other as long as we have, y’learn some things. ‘Specially about fights.” His smile faded as a brief flash of regret accompanied his words, countered by the other’s reciprocation of the feeling, a reminder of their mutual pardon, and a whisper through their bond.
::I’ll repeat what you just said to Samuel. We got through them all okay.::
Prowl was tugged down to sit next to the Solstice, and the smaller mech leant into him with a contented hum, echoed through their bond by the tactician.
::Yeah. We did.::
Title: Of Bindings - An Argument and an Apology
'Verse: 2007 Transformers. Bindings‘verse
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: TF Cussing.
Prompt: Where there is injury, pardon
Sam and Mikaela rarely argued. Sam was easy going, and possessed a sort of insight that more often than not saved his hide from a verbal tanning, once he developed a brain-mouth filter, that is, and Mikaela often found any bad mood she happened to be in evaporating upon exposure to Sam (once jokingly complaining that the boy ruined her attempts at wallowing in a good long sulk).
But when they did fight, one would take off for places unknown, sometimes with Bumblebee, to clear her head, and the other would lurk about wherever they’d been before the fight. Mikaela would return once calmed (‘Bee was good at that, the teen had found), and he’d often realise what they fought over wasn’t so big a deal in the grand scheme of things, and they’d make up in the next day or so.
This fight, however, had been horrific. They’d started screaming at each other, and Mikeala had actually teared a little, then hauled back and smacked him. Bumblebee had panicked, actually physically intervening, and after getting verbal reassurance that Sam was alright, had reluctantly gone with Mikeala, who’d looked shocked that she’d actually hit him, but unable to apologise just yet.
So, Sam lurked, wandering the Autobot’s base aimlessly, and came upon the silver form of Jazz, curled up on the Autobot sized couch in the rec. area, idly bobbing his head to some music playing over his speakers. Jazz was lucky, thought the boy, and he said so wistfully. The Solstice turned to look at him, raising an optic ridge.
“Hm? Why’d you say that?”
“Just thinking out loud. Had a fight with ‘Kaela.”
“Yeah, heard that. Frag, both of you have some lungs on you.”
Sam blushed. “Yeah, sorry for the disturbance. But ‘Bee was telling me a bit about spark-bonds. You and Prowl have a connection we won’t ever have. Mind to mind, innermost being and everything. Must be nice, bet you two never fight.”
Unexpectedly, Jazz laughed. “Oh, we fought alright. I must’ve called him every name in the book, and then made up several new ones to put in the book, then called him those as well. For all the fragging good it did. Bot never reacted to a single one. Took the wind right out of my sails, and the slagger knew it.”
“Huh?” Sam stared in confusion, and Jazz patted the spot next to him. As the teen scrabbled up, the saboteur chirred in reminiscence. “Just ‘cos we have a bond, don’t mean we didn’t get on each other’s last circuits. Most bots bond after knowing each other, and realising they don’t want anyone else but their partner. Me and Prowl didn’t have that luxury.”
Here the mech looked at the human again. “S’like any relationship. Misunderstandings occur, communications frag up. Knowing how the other thinks is a plus, but you still have to work on it. Much of the time we kept the connection partially blocked anyway, at first to spare our processors, then, later, ‘cos we both were handling some pretty sensitive stuff.”
“Spare your processors?”
“Mmhm, you notice me and him kinda differ in personality, right?”
“Yes.” The Ops mech was outgoing, freewheeling and abstract, while the tactician was more by the book, logical and reserved. ‘Bee had said it was something to do with their respective specialisations.
“Our thought processes affect each other through the bond, and that difference was really jarring at first. Bondmates also tend to get to adjust to their partner’s personality before they bond.”
“Ah.”
“So yeah, we had our fights. Worse than the one I just heard you have.”
“Really? But you don’t fight now.”
“We had more important things to worry over. Fighting each other wasn’t helping. Course, we eventually agreed to try and hash out our issues before they blew up, head off the arguments at the pass, so to speak, or at the least, have our disagreements calmly.”
At the incredulous look, the mech laughed again.
“They’ll tell you Prowl’s always professional and that I’m not prone to fits of temper. And neither of us is big on yelling when mad. Prowler’s better at being calm than me, but he don’t always see the stuff that can be an issue. And when we get in the thick of things, I can get pretty nasty myself.”
“But, you don’t fight now.”
“You are not letting that go, aren’t you?”
“I don’t like fighting with Mikaela, and this last one was really bad.”
“You two will be fine. You’ll make up, and someday you’ll maybe laugh about it.”
“You think so?”
“I know so. Prowl and I, our worst fight? Not a lot of yelling involved, but frag. But we fixed it. Eventually.” The silver mech stared at a point on the ground, saying his next words softly.
“We were both under a lot of stress, not that that was any excuse, but a frag load of missions had gone sour, taking our most of our goodwill with it, and we’d worked our afts off trying to figure out why. Turned out it was just a case of bad luck, slag happens, y’know? Then the next mission came in…”
= = =
“Look, I don’t see why you’re pulling me off the next mission.”
“This mission requires that Quickstep takes it.” Prowl’s reply was calm and unwavering, bringing a scowl to Jazz’s faceplates.
“Why? I can do whatever he can.”
“New data on the situation has come in, necessitating a recalculation of the mission parameters. He has the modifications to accomplish this with a greater margin of safety. Quickstep’s chances of returning are at a definite 80 percent, while yours are lower.”
“You don’t understand. Quickstep’s still almost a fragging youngling. You can’t pull me off like this and have him run solo.” The Spec Ops mech jabbed a finger at the infuriating mech in front of him. Said mech’s only response was a dry, “We have more important things to worry about than your pride, Jazz.”
Jazz snarled, temper seriously fraying. “Frag. You. He’s too slagging young to die!”
“You’ll die if you go. Be reasonable about this.”
“I’m being perfectly reasonable!” Their dispute continued for a while, until Jazz sneered.
“Oh, I get it, you’re afraid.” A tiny voice muttered that this line of argument was a bad idea. Jazz ignored it, too worked up to rein himself in.
“What?”
“You don’t really give a frag about me. You’re afraid that if I go on this mission, I’ll buy it and take you with me. That’s why you’re pulling me. Been having second thoughts, huh?”
The tactician stared at him, and Jazz felt a thrill at finally getting the ever composed mech to crack. His momentary sense of victory died when his CPU caught up with his vocaliser, and at the hurt that lanced through his spark. Stumbling, he checked the blocks and found that yes, all of them were in place. The feeling faded as he sensed Prowl closing off the bond as far as he dared, and glancing up at the other mech, the Ops mech gaped at the brief flash of pain in the tactician’s optics, before the mech’s expression blanked and he reiterated his stand with icy calm.
“You are not going on this mission, Jazz. And that is final.”
The tactician stalked out of the room, leaving him standing there, confused and just beginning to realise that he’d actually hurt Prowl, and hurt him enough for it to be felt through all the barriers each of them had put up.
= = =
Over the next couple of orns, Jazz tried to apologise to the tactician. But Prowl seemed to have developed an aversion to being in the same room as the saboteur, and Jazz couldn’t knock him for that. They still worked together just fine, both put their duty to the Autobots before their personal life anyway, but the underlying tension was still there, just very well hidden.
But it was getting to him every time the tactician left the room he entered (subtly, so no one noticed he left in response to Jazz of course, Prowl was good at his job), avoided conversation outside of work related matters, and flat out ignored every attempt at communicating with him through their bond. And the mech’s expression never wavered from calm and expressionless when dealing with Jazz.
Jazz had never thought he’d say it, since the tactician was so logical and everything, but Prowl could definitely hold a grudge. And what was more, he found he was missing what interaction he’d had with the mech before their fight. The saboteur found himself wondering if he could annoy Prowl into talking to him, but decided that he’d done enough damage without causing the mech actual public embarrassment.
Nothing for it, he decided, but to buckle down and try his best to get past the tactician’s walls once more.
= = =
His chance came when he spotted the chevroned mech in the training area, going through a set of drills and exercises. Jazz slunk into the room, and waited for Prowl to acknowledge his presence, either by leaving, which was the most likely, or by saying something. When breems passed without the mech so much as flicking a doorwing in his direction, the Ops mech decided to take things into his own hands.
He attacked.
They fought, physically, for the first time. Strikes coming lightning fast, blocks and parries brought up even quicker. Finally, Jazz threw his entire weight at Prowl, knocking the both of them to the ground. They lay there, intakes whirring madly, before the tactician made to shove the saboteur off.
“Frag it, Prowl. Please. Let me apologise.”
“Fine. You’ve apologised. Now leave.”
“No. Let me do it properly. I’m sorry, okay? I lost my head, and said stuff especially to hurt you. And I’m sorry for hurting you.”
“Are you done?”
“No.”
“What do you want from me?”
“Lemme in.” He reached out through the bond, dropping every block he had up, flooding it with his remorse and guilt. He felt Prowl’s side waver, before firming again. The mech underneath him sighed, and Jazz felt secure enough to let them both sit up, although he kept a firm hold on Prowl anyway.
“I accept your apology Jazz, now are you satisfied?”
Jazz shook his head. “No, let me in. I hurt you pretty bad, and I don’t fully know why.”
“You don’t need to know.”
“I do. Please.” Prowl gave in, and the Ops mech gasped as the tactician’s thoughts rolled through his. Anger that Jazz called his professionalism into question, had thought that he’d put himself above the good of the mechs under his command. Guilt and confusion, what if he had been doing so, unconsciously giving Jazz easier missions, keeping him from the ones that really needed the visored mech’s skills. And above all, the pain that came from hearing that Jazz thought he only wanted to keep the silver mech alive so that he himself would live.
For his part, Jazz repeated his apology, over and over. Whispered reassurances that Prowl had made the right calls on which bots to send on which missions, until the torrent of emotions from both mechs eased.
::I am sorry, y’know.::
::I apologise as well. I know you well enough to realise you’d said it in a fit of pique, not out of actual spite, but let my own emotions get in the way.::
:: Mech, I don’t blame you. It was a horrible thing for me to say.::
::But-::
::Look, you were right about the mission. Quick’ did well. I was just being a protective glitch.::
::You care greatly for your bots, and Quickstep is relatively young. I should have reassured you further and not implied what I did.::
::Hey, I’m sorry, and you’re sorry. I forgive you, can you forgive me?::
::I… yes Jazz.:: Their bond, strained by the events of the past few orns, was soothed by the physical and mental contact. Prowl rose, Jazz slipping off automatically. Reluctant to drop the connection so soon, he continued to speak across the bond.
::Y’know, I can’t promise we won’t fight in the future, but can we try to make sure it never gets this bad again?::
The pulse of agreement was all the response he needed. Jazz grinned.
= = =
“Whoa.”
“Yeah. We kept the bond fully open for every disagreement after, to make sure we never took it too far. Course, we also figured that it was easier to hide our connection if the other bots thought we wouldn’t touch each other with the proverbial ten foot pole. So we’d have the occasional public clash.”
“You staged arguments?”
“They were real, for most part. We did have a lot of differences to work through. But hey, we got through them all okay. So relax, you and Mikeala will be alright.”
Just then, Jazz tilted his head aside in a listening manner. “Speaking of Mikeala, she’s back with ‘Bee. You should go meet her.” Before the mech could finish speaking, Sam had leapt off the couch with a quick thanks and scrambled for the exit.
“Ah, young love.”
A tendril of amusement flickered at him, and he grinned, looking behind him to see Prowl entering the room.
“Relationship advice, Jazz? Ironic, if you consider our situation.”
“Hey, getting along with each other as long as we have, y’learn some things. ‘Specially about fights.” His smile faded as a brief flash of regret accompanied his words, countered by the other’s reciprocation of the feeling, a reminder of their mutual pardon, and a whisper through their bond.
::I’ll repeat what you just said to Samuel. We got through them all okay.::
Prowl was tugged down to sit next to the Solstice, and the smaller mech leant into him with a contented hum, echoed through their bond by the tactician.
::Yeah. We did.::