Other Worlds [Part 3]
Title: Other Worlds [Part 3]
'Verse: G1 Transformers with a little TF:A
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: TF cussing.
Jazz finished a cube, collecting another before leaving the rec. room, bidding a pensive looking Sentinel good morning as he did so. As was his wont, the Porsche made his way to the offices of the command element, and, making sure that his demeanour was perfect, entered Prowl’s office to drop off the tactician’s cube. The Datsun was at work already, going through the documents and files needed for the day to day running of the Ark. Jazz glanced about the room surreptitiously, the other Jazz was nowhere to be seen.
Thank Primus.
“Morning, Prowler.” His greeting came out smooth, and the SIC looked up from his work with a faint, if weary smile, greeting him in return. “Good morning, Jazz.”
They went through their usual morning ritual, one that Jazz had started after putting up with too many rants from Ratchet about glitchy SICs who thought they could run on fresh air and sunshine (the power generated by their internal solar energy converters wasn’t quite enough to keep them running without actual refuelling with energon).
The Datsun holed up in his office the moment he came out of recharge, and the Ops head would wander by at the start of the day shift with a cube of energon. The tactician would accept it without fuss (the Porsche had been insistent on that), and both would go over the tasks waiting to be carried out as Prowl consumed it, work related discussion interspersed with small talk. It was, Jazz reflected, a rather pleasant way to begin the day.
Usually.
Today, he wanted to be anywhere but in here, the images from last night coming back with a vengeance. The SIC didn’t seem to be exhibiting any changes, sipping his energon and shuffling through datapads like he did every morning.
“Jazz, are you alright?”
Startled, the Porsche refocused on Prowl, who’d put down his energon and risen to close the gap between them, meeting his visor with concerned optics. Jazz cycled air pensively, stalling as he scrambled for a believable reason. “M’fine. Just a little anxious, I guess.”
The moment he said that, he wanted to kick himself. Prowl looked down at his desk before leaning back on it with a distracted sigh of his own. More images from last night bombarded Jazz’s processors, and he fought to keep his expression from changing and giving anything else away to the chevroned mech.
“All the research bots involved have assured me that the calculations are sound, and that theoretically, the attempt to return our visitors home will succeed.”
“It don’t stop us from worrying, though.” And Jazz was worried. He’d come to like the other Jazz, and no matter what, he didn’t want the Elite Guardsman and all the other bots with him to die. Not even Sentinel. Prowl nodded, quietly agreeing.
“It doesn’t.”
= = =
“Sentinel.”
The word was cool and curt. The Ark mechs were well versed with ‘that tone’, and automatically fell silent, watchful and wary. Sideswipe’s expression was straight, though anyone who cared to look would have noticed the gleam in his optics, speaking eloquently of his pleasure at seeing this particular mech on the receiving end of Prowl’s rarely seen temper.
Sentinel had recovered from his first run in with Prowl, and (according to the other Jazz) was being his usual self where Optimus Prime (the one he’d known, at least) was concerned. He’d been running down the Ark’s Optimus (out of sight and sound of most of the Ark crew, or so he thought), declaring that the Decepticons had managed to drive most of the Autobot force off planet and underground because this dimension’s Prime (the title was said with derision) was a useless, soft sparked weakling.
Trying to stop him had been the Elite Guard twins, Jetstorm and Jetfire. Bow out and looking as if he was contemplating how much trouble he’d catch for shooting a fellow Prime was Rodimus. Most of the other new bots had left for (or been ordered to) quieter (and safer) climes the moment one of the Ark crew showed up, expression at first shocked, before morphing to thunderous as a silent comm. was sent out to the Ark crew.
High Command had been in a meeting with Supreme Commander Ultra Magnus, the science team and the other Jazz when Red Alert, keeping an optic on everything as usual using a remote connection to his monitors, noticed and patched the officers into the feed.
They’d gotten there just in time to catch hold of Sunstreaker, Sideswipe and Cliffjumper (for once united in a common goal) before they entered the room to deal with Sentinel. The mechs had shot their captors furious looks, but stilled the moment Prowl stalked past them and through the entryway, doorwings brought high and held stiffly.
A practiced optic (which both Sideswipe and Jazz had, one due to numerous run ins with the SIC and the other because, well, he was Ops, it was his job to notice these things… that he kinda liked looking at Prowl didn’t come into it) would have noted that those doors were trembling very slightly, a further sign that the tactician was royally ticked off.
The SIC had, once Sentinel’s attention was drawn, methodically ripped the blue mech a new exhaust (verbally, though Sunstreaker was heard to mutter that he wished Prowl had gone ‘hands on’ in this situation), then gave him several spare ones just in case.
Sentinel could only stare at the smaller black and white mech, at the cold gaze levelled at him. With a dismissive flick of doorwings, the chevroned mech turned away from the blue mech, like he couldn’t stand the sight of him any longer.
“Sentinel. Our Prime is not perfect, nor was he sparked for warfare or to be the leader of an army, but he has led us against Megatron to the best of his ability. Optimus has done all he can for Cybertron, made sacrifices and suffered for his troops more than any of us have the right to ask of him. But you would refuse to acknowledge that, all because he shares a designation with a mech you knew.”
Now Prowl deigned to look back at him, gaze piercing and judgmental. “I do not know your Optimus. I will not judge a bot I have not met. But I knew Sentinel Prime. And believe me when I say that he would be ashamed of the construct who shares his name. Your behaviour right now is a disgrace to your rank, and to the memory of a good mech.”
And with that, Prowl exited the room, making a quiet remark to the Prime about postponing the rest of the meeting before he left, leaving stunned bots in his wake. Jazz was out the door and after him in a sparkbeat, followed by the other Jazz.
= = =
“Frag, Jazz, I’m sorry about Sentinel. Mech’s got a decent spark, his processors just aren’t up to scratch in the interpersonal department, and his grudge holding circuits tend to work overtime.”
“I take that to be a fancy way of calling an afthead an afthead.”
“Well, yeah, but Magnus’s got good audios, and even if he agrees, Sentinel’s still a Prime, and he’s due some respect from us, at least. Mech had it coming, though I never thought I’d see your Prowl tear into him like that.”
Jazz was briefly silent as both visored mechs pursued the Datsun. Finally, he spoke.
“Prowl was the Prime’s Second before I ever enlisted. Worked with Sentinel a good long time. When the ‘Cons offlined the mech, he took it hard. Took Prowler a while to warm up to Optimus, but now I think he’s even closer to the mech than he ever was to Sentinel Prime.”
“And our Sentinel’s… Sentinel.”
“… Yeah.”
'Verse: G1 Transformers with a little TF:A
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: TF cussing.
Jazz finished a cube, collecting another before leaving the rec. room, bidding a pensive looking Sentinel good morning as he did so. As was his wont, the Porsche made his way to the offices of the command element, and, making sure that his demeanour was perfect, entered Prowl’s office to drop off the tactician’s cube. The Datsun was at work already, going through the documents and files needed for the day to day running of the Ark. Jazz glanced about the room surreptitiously, the other Jazz was nowhere to be seen.
Thank Primus.
“Morning, Prowler.” His greeting came out smooth, and the SIC looked up from his work with a faint, if weary smile, greeting him in return. “Good morning, Jazz.”
They went through their usual morning ritual, one that Jazz had started after putting up with too many rants from Ratchet about glitchy SICs who thought they could run on fresh air and sunshine (the power generated by their internal solar energy converters wasn’t quite enough to keep them running without actual refuelling with energon).
The Datsun holed up in his office the moment he came out of recharge, and the Ops head would wander by at the start of the day shift with a cube of energon. The tactician would accept it without fuss (the Porsche had been insistent on that), and both would go over the tasks waiting to be carried out as Prowl consumed it, work related discussion interspersed with small talk. It was, Jazz reflected, a rather pleasant way to begin the day.
Usually.
Today, he wanted to be anywhere but in here, the images from last night coming back with a vengeance. The SIC didn’t seem to be exhibiting any changes, sipping his energon and shuffling through datapads like he did every morning.
“Jazz, are you alright?”
Startled, the Porsche refocused on Prowl, who’d put down his energon and risen to close the gap between them, meeting his visor with concerned optics. Jazz cycled air pensively, stalling as he scrambled for a believable reason. “M’fine. Just a little anxious, I guess.”
The moment he said that, he wanted to kick himself. Prowl looked down at his desk before leaning back on it with a distracted sigh of his own. More images from last night bombarded Jazz’s processors, and he fought to keep his expression from changing and giving anything else away to the chevroned mech.
“All the research bots involved have assured me that the calculations are sound, and that theoretically, the attempt to return our visitors home will succeed.”
“It don’t stop us from worrying, though.” And Jazz was worried. He’d come to like the other Jazz, and no matter what, he didn’t want the Elite Guardsman and all the other bots with him to die. Not even Sentinel. Prowl nodded, quietly agreeing.
“It doesn’t.”
= = =
“Sentinel.”
The word was cool and curt. The Ark mechs were well versed with ‘that tone’, and automatically fell silent, watchful and wary. Sideswipe’s expression was straight, though anyone who cared to look would have noticed the gleam in his optics, speaking eloquently of his pleasure at seeing this particular mech on the receiving end of Prowl’s rarely seen temper.
Sentinel had recovered from his first run in with Prowl, and (according to the other Jazz) was being his usual self where Optimus Prime (the one he’d known, at least) was concerned. He’d been running down the Ark’s Optimus (out of sight and sound of most of the Ark crew, or so he thought), declaring that the Decepticons had managed to drive most of the Autobot force off planet and underground because this dimension’s Prime (the title was said with derision) was a useless, soft sparked weakling.
Trying to stop him had been the Elite Guard twins, Jetstorm and Jetfire. Bow out and looking as if he was contemplating how much trouble he’d catch for shooting a fellow Prime was Rodimus. Most of the other new bots had left for (or been ordered to) quieter (and safer) climes the moment one of the Ark crew showed up, expression at first shocked, before morphing to thunderous as a silent comm. was sent out to the Ark crew.
High Command had been in a meeting with Supreme Commander Ultra Magnus, the science team and the other Jazz when Red Alert, keeping an optic on everything as usual using a remote connection to his monitors, noticed and patched the officers into the feed.
They’d gotten there just in time to catch hold of Sunstreaker, Sideswipe and Cliffjumper (for once united in a common goal) before they entered the room to deal with Sentinel. The mechs had shot their captors furious looks, but stilled the moment Prowl stalked past them and through the entryway, doorwings brought high and held stiffly.
A practiced optic (which both Sideswipe and Jazz had, one due to numerous run ins with the SIC and the other because, well, he was Ops, it was his job to notice these things… that he kinda liked looking at Prowl didn’t come into it) would have noted that those doors were trembling very slightly, a further sign that the tactician was royally ticked off.
The SIC had, once Sentinel’s attention was drawn, methodically ripped the blue mech a new exhaust (verbally, though Sunstreaker was heard to mutter that he wished Prowl had gone ‘hands on’ in this situation), then gave him several spare ones just in case.
Sentinel could only stare at the smaller black and white mech, at the cold gaze levelled at him. With a dismissive flick of doorwings, the chevroned mech turned away from the blue mech, like he couldn’t stand the sight of him any longer.
“Sentinel. Our Prime is not perfect, nor was he sparked for warfare or to be the leader of an army, but he has led us against Megatron to the best of his ability. Optimus has done all he can for Cybertron, made sacrifices and suffered for his troops more than any of us have the right to ask of him. But you would refuse to acknowledge that, all because he shares a designation with a mech you knew.”
Now Prowl deigned to look back at him, gaze piercing and judgmental. “I do not know your Optimus. I will not judge a bot I have not met. But I knew Sentinel Prime. And believe me when I say that he would be ashamed of the construct who shares his name. Your behaviour right now is a disgrace to your rank, and to the memory of a good mech.”
And with that, Prowl exited the room, making a quiet remark to the Prime about postponing the rest of the meeting before he left, leaving stunned bots in his wake. Jazz was out the door and after him in a sparkbeat, followed by the other Jazz.
= = =
“Frag, Jazz, I’m sorry about Sentinel. Mech’s got a decent spark, his processors just aren’t up to scratch in the interpersonal department, and his grudge holding circuits tend to work overtime.”
“I take that to be a fancy way of calling an afthead an afthead.”
“Well, yeah, but Magnus’s got good audios, and even if he agrees, Sentinel’s still a Prime, and he’s due some respect from us, at least. Mech had it coming, though I never thought I’d see your Prowl tear into him like that.”
Jazz was briefly silent as both visored mechs pursued the Datsun. Finally, he spoke.
“Prowl was the Prime’s Second before I ever enlisted. Worked with Sentinel a good long time. When the ‘Cons offlined the mech, he took it hard. Took Prowler a while to warm up to Optimus, but now I think he’s even closer to the mech than he ever was to Sentinel Prime.”
“And our Sentinel’s… Sentinel.”
“… Yeah.”