Blood Ties - Courtship (Part 3 of 3)
<<< Part II
“Hey, Stormy, ya wanna go with me to see Ratchet?”
She perked up, but glanced quickly at Prowl for confirmation before running to get her shoes and coat.
“On the weekend?” Prowl said, looking at Jazz curiously over the top of his book. He was sprawled on the couch with a paperback, basking in the sun and thoroughly enjoying his day off.
Jazz shrugged with his hands in his pockets. “I got the feelin’ his friend was doin’ this as a favor to Ratch. Not sure how much of it is on the record.”
“I see.” Prowl returned to his book.
“Care to join?” Jazz asked carefully. They may have forgiven each other, but they still trod lightly around one another.
“Do you particularly need me to be there?”
“Not particularly.”
“Want me?”
Jazz coughed as Stormy ran back in the room with her shoelaces slapping her ankles. She flopped on the floor and thrust her feet up at Jazz.
“You know what I mean,” Prowl said quickly.
“Yeah,” Jazz said, squatting down and propping one little shoe on his knee. “And no, only if you want to come.” To Stormy, he added, “Watch me, then you do th’ other one.”
Prowl flapped a hand at them vaguely. “You two go.”
Stormy watched as Jazz tied a knot and then a bow with elaborate care. It took her a few tries to make her own, but when she held her tongue just right she got it.
“I think he’s tryin’ to get rid of us,” Jazz stage whispered to her as he helped her get her coat on.
She giggled when he pulled the hood down to her nose. Shoving it back, she cupped her hands around her mouth and whispered, “That’s ’cause he’s got a new book.”
“Oh, yeah?” Jazz cast a sly glance in Prowl’s direction. “Ya think he likes it?”
“Uh-huh,” Stormy said brightly.
Jazz nodded solemnly. “Shall we leave him to it, then?”
“Yeah! Bye, Papa!” She had to pounce on him to deliver a hug and a sloppy kiss.
“Be good,” Prowl said, wrapping one arm around her and lifting his book out of harm’s way with practiced ease.
“Yessir,” she said, squirming away.
“Bye, Prowl,” said Jazz.
“Good luck,” said Prowl, pressing his hand.
“Yeah, thanks.”
“Uncle Jazz, come on!” Stormy whined, dancing impatiently at the door.
“Ya know, most kids aren’t quite that eager to go see the doc - ow!” Jazz said, yelping as Prowl whapped the back of his leg.
Stormy gave him a curious look. “It’s just Doc Ratchet.”
“Alright, alright, we’re goin’.”
Stormy had not been impressed with her pediatrician but she had, for some reason, taken a liking to the enforcers’ medic. Equally baffling, Ratchet seemed almost fond of her as well. If Prowl and Ratchet chose to bend the rules and give Stormy her checkups and vaccinations in the medical bay at the station, Jazz wasn’t going to be the one to complain. He’d been present for a few of Stormy’s screaming tantrums and he was fairly certain that his hearing had suffered permanently for it.
With a final wave to Prowl, they were gone. Stormy tugged him eagerly down the steps and along the sidewalk. She danced in the seat on the train, earning herself indulgent smiles from some of their fellow passengers.
“Out for the day with your dad?” said one little old lady with orange raptor’s eyes.
“Papa’s at home,” said Stormy matter-of-factly in a crisp Praxian accent. “He’s got a new book.”
“I see,” said the lady, flicking a confused glance at Jazz.
“Me an’ Uncle Jazz are goin’ to see Doc,” Stormy continued.
“Ah,” said the lady, looking so relieved that Jazz fought down a smirk. “I hope you’re not sick, are you?”
“No,” said Stormy.
She didn’t get a chance to elaborate, as the train rattled to a stop and the lady stepped out with a wave to both of them. Jazz watched her go thoughtfully.
“Did I do good?” a little voice said at his side. Stormy looked up at him earnestly.
“What? Of, course,” said Jazz, putting a hand on her shoulder to steady her as the train lurched. “You were very nice.”
“Papa and Aunt Phantom says I hafta be careful ’round strangers,” she said, crawling in his lap. Her voice had shifted into a slower drawl that mimicked his own. He wondered if she did it consciously.
“Yes, but you should be polite as well,” said Jazz. “Besides -” He wrapped his arms around her and growled playfully in her ear. “- you’re safe with me.”
Reassured, she slipped away from him to look out the window again. Jazz kept one eye on her, thinking about the way the old lady had acted.
He’d never considered how easy it would be for someone to mistake her for his own daughter. With her medium-brown skin, dark eyes, and curly hair, it would be easy for an avian to assume that they were related. Beyond the superficial, she smelled nothing like him, of course. She was Prowl’s, body and soul. Jazz still loved her like his own pack and would die to protect her. He knew that if he wanted to court Prowl she was part of the deal, but he’d never really thought beyond that. His daughter? Their daughter. What a strange little family they would make.
Jazz almost didn’t notice when they reached their stop. Stormy, however, was off her seat and to the door before the train had fully stopped. He caught her and held her hand until they were inside the sprawling complex that was the enforcer’s headquarters. Once there, she slipped away to gleefully orbit him - falling back or darting ahead to look at interesting things, but never straying too far.
Praxus’ 42nd precinct was a bustling place that didn’t know the meaning of a day off. Prowl was one of the lucky few to have weekends to himself, and Jazz had his breaks wherever they happened to fall, but the enforcers as a whole never rested. Jazz, of course, knew almost everyone. Getting to the med bay took twice as long as it should have because he had to stop and talk to a half dozen people on the way. Stormy trotted over to say hello or investigated something more interesting as it pleased her, but she retreated to his side when they stepped out of the lift. He stroked the top of her head. She might have preferred Ratchet over other doctors, but a med bay was still a med bay.
He picked her up and set her on the berth beside him and they both swung their feet while waiting for Ratchet. He appeared moments later with someone else in tow. The stranger - a raccoon transformer if Jazz’s nose served properly - was shorter and stouter than Ratchet, his dark eyes gleaming with excitement and perhaps a hint of mischievousness. He held a flat wooden box in one hand and gestured animatedly with the other as he talked. When he spied Jazz and Stormy, he cut himself off and greeted them cheerfully.
“Ah, there you are,” he said. “Good morning!”
Jazz slipped to his feet. “Mornin’.”
“Jazz, Wheeljack. Wheeljack, Jazz,” said Ratchet, waving a hand between them. Introductions taken care of, he set his kit on the berth beside Stormy and rummaged around in it while she peered over his elbow curiously.
“Good to meet you, Jazz,” said Wheeljack, shaking his hand. “And who’s this?” he added.
“I’m Stormy,” she said, shaking his hand seriously before turning back to all the fascinating things in Ratchet’s kit. She was toying with a rather large pair of pliers. Jazz wasn’t sure whether to be concerned or not.
Wheeljack looked back at Jazz, still smiling brightly. “I hope you don’t mind my saying that I rather enjoyed working on your dilemma. I’d done some preliminary research years ago, but sad to say nothing much came of it. Ratchet mentioned it to me and I just couldn’t help dusting off that old project.”
“I just hope you’ve found something that’ll help me,” said Jazz.
“Oh, yes, I do think so,” Wheeljack said quickly. “I must warn you, however, that the reason I had given up on the project was because I was trying to find a cure. Haven’t managed that, yet; it’s a rather complex problem. Ah, but don’t worry! Over the course of my initial study I devised a way to monitor the phenomenon and with a little modification - well, it might be best to just show you.”
He handed Jazz the flat wooden box. Stormy laid the pliers down along side several other ones that Ratchet had produced from his kit - now Jazz was concerned - and scooted over to examine the box. Jazz skimmed his fingers over the lid and shot Ratchet a questioning glance before opening it. He was prepared for tablets or perhaps a bizarre piece of machinery. What he wasn’t expecting was . . . this.
It resembled nothing so much as a rather elaborate piece of jewelry. Nestled in the box was a hoop of twisted wire. Each strand was a different metal and thickness - a thick base of iron twined with silver, a filament of gold so delicate Jazz was afraid it would break, a twist of copper, a loop of aluminium - all wound together in chaotic swirls that almost seemed to have a pattern. Discs etched with glyphs were worked into the jumble. At best guess, it was the strangest looking collar that Jazz had ever seen.
“Odd looking thing, isn’t it?” Wheeljack said. “You should have seen my first prototype. Horrendous device. Cables and displays everywhere. It’s a wonder I got any usable data from it. My poor subjects could hardly wear the thing, much less sleep in it. You know -”
“Yes,” Jazz cut in quickly, “but what does it do?”
“Well, it’s still a monitor. Detects all the usual things - systolic and diastolic pressure, heart rate, endocrine excretions, body temperature, neurological activity, respiration rate -”
“Jack,” Ratchet said quietly.
Wheeljack stopped and shook himself. “Yes, of course, my apologies. This is a modified version of the monitors I used in my original study. It detects . . . the usual,” he said with a pointed look to Ratchet, “and is keyed to differentiate between the bodily reactions to benign dreams as opposed to nightmares. In the case of the latter, it awakens the wearer as soon as a nightmare is detected, thereby preventing him or her from experiencing the full effects of the dream. It doesn’t truly cure the condition, but it does interrupt the process and therefore treat it, to some extent.”
“It wakes you up before you freak out,” said Ratchet.
“Yes, exactly,” said Wheeljack.
“Oh,” said Jazz. “That’s - well, that’s wonderful.” Much better than he’d dared hope, really. He’d been expecting heavy-duty tranquilizers or perhaps some sort of restraint. This sounded almost perfect.
“We’ll have to adjust the calibration,” Wheeljack said quickly. “No individual reacts exactly like anyone else, of course, but I made it to your specifications as best I could. Why don’t you hop on there and let me make sure it fits as best it can. You’ll have to call me and let me know how it works - write down your experience, if you can - and I’ll probably make some changes. It’s a process, you know . . .”
Wheeljack happily chattered on throughout the rest of the session. He used the pliers to make tiny changes to the wires and showed Jazz how to work the clasps and put it on. Jazz’s regular collar was entrusted to Stormy - “not sure how it might react to other charms; better safe than sorry, my boy” - and she sat beside him on the berth with it folded carefully in her lap as she watched the proceedings with great interest. The monitor collar fit loosely, resting on his shoulders and collarbone. Wheeljack said he’d left off any extraneous charms, including the size adjuster that most collars had. It would fit him easily in either beast or human form and could still be slipped off without unbuckling it in an emergency. Ratchet stood back and Jazz kept still as Wheeljack measured and fiddled and measured some more. At last, he declared it as good as it was going to get.
“I mean it about calling me, though,” he said. “If it isn’t working right - or especially if it is! - I want to know. I’ll come back and make adjustments as much as I have to.”
Jazz thanked him again and again as he returned the monitor collar to its box. Stormy handed him his regular collar and supervised has he buckled it around his neck. Then, with Stormy perched on his shoulders and the precious box tucked under his arm, he took his leave.
Stormy’s curiosity was not sated by spending all morning with Wheeljack and Ratchet. She insisted on helping Jazz get ready for bed that night. They sat cross-legged on the floor in her room, carefully unhooking all the clasps on the monitor collar. He took off his regular collar and gave it to her for safekeeping again, smiling as she buckled it and slipped the loop over her head. It clanked against her own charms. She then stood up to double-check the monitor collar and make sure he had it fixed properly. She clipped one of the clasps that he missed and stepped back.
“Pass inspection?” he asked.
“Yessir!”
“Good. You keep an eye on that for me?” he said, pointing to the oversized collar hanging around her neck.
“Yeah,” she said.
“Thank you, dear. You prob’ly don’t want to sleep in it, though, do ya?”
“Hmm, guess not,” she said. She set it on her bedside table and then dug through her toy chest until she found a little plush tiger. “Aubie can guard it for us,” she said.
“Thank you, too, Aubie,” said Jazz. “And you,” he said to Stormy, “to bed.”
“Song first?” she said, looking up at him through her eyelashes.
“As soon as you’re tucked in.”
She was under the covers in record time, blankets pulled up to her chin and Beauty snug in her arms.
“Ready?”
“Uh-huh.”
Her eyes drifted closed after the first few verses and by the third stanza she was snoring. He finished the song anyway and sat for a while longer, watching her breathe. After switching off the lamp, he turned around and nearly jumped out of his skin. Prowl was leaning in the doorway, silhouetted in the hallway light.
“Creeper,” Jazz hissed.
“Hush,” Prowl whispered.
Prowl stepped back to let him out and Jazz pulled the door not-quite-closed. He paused for a moment, listening. Stormy didn’t stir and they walked a few paces down the hall towards the living room. Jazz stopped at Prowl’s touch to his shoulder and turned to face him at a few gentle prods. They were standing beneath the light fixture. Jazz automatically tipped his head back to let Prowl examine the strange new collar. Pale fingers skimmed over the twisted wire.
Once his curiosity was sated, Prowl made as if to step back but then paused. He leaned down and pressed a brief, soft kiss to his lips. Jazz stood frozen as Prowl pulled away, watching his face cautiously.
“That’s it?” Jazz sputtered, then softer when Prowl mock-glared at him, “After everything I did and planned, all it took was a collar and a lullaby?”
“Those were courtship gifts?” Prowl murmured, smirking. “I thought they were apologies.”
“Two-for-one deal,” said Jazz.
“Hmm. Was it a once-in-a-lifetime special offer?”
“Primus, I hope so.”
“Good,” Prowl said shortly.
“In that case, can I get a proper kiss?” Jazz said, looking up at him through half-lidded eyes.
“Perhaps,” said Prowl, still smirking, but he allowed himself to be crowded back against the wall and kissed more thoroughly - with friction and pressure and a somewhat embarrassing little moan on Jazz’s part.
“Are you laughing at me?” Jazz murmured.
“No.”
“Liar.” When their lips touched again Jazz could feel the vibrations rising up from Prowl’s throat. When they stopped for air - when had Prowl’s hands ended up in his back pockets? - Jazz nipped his upper lip. “You’re terrible at romance.”
Prowl nipped him right back but Jazz didn’t really find that much of a deterrent. “Humor is an important factor in any relationship,” he said, sounding remarkably serious considering how out of breath and hazy-eyed he was.
“You’re terrible at humor, too.”
Prowl looked affronted. For a moment, he somehow managed that aloof, dignified look even though he was literally nose-to-nose with Jazz. “My sense of humor is perfectly fine.”
“I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve heard you laugh at something besides me or Stormy,” said Jazz.
“Just goes to show where my priorities lie,” said Prowl, leaning in for another kiss. Then, later, “We should get some sleep at some point.”
“Yeah,” Jazz murmured unconcernedly.
It was quite a bit later before he managed to pull away. His tail was swinging lazily back and forth. Prowl’s fingers rested lightly on his hips. After two more deep breaths he managed to step back.
Prowl watched him, pink-cheeked and rumpled but still almost disturbingly intense.
“G’night, Prowl.”
He received only a nod in return.
Jazz was at the end of the hall, headed through the living room to his own room, when Prowl’s voice stopped him.
“Aren’t you coming to bed?”
Jazz reflexively touched the cool wire around his throat. “Yeah,” he said hoarsely, turning around and reaching for Prowl’s hand. “Let’s go.”
ooo
A/N: As mentioned, Wheeljack is a raccoon. I didn’t have a note in the previous chapter, but Jazz’s immediate family are all coyotes with a few fox or wolf in-laws thrown into the mix.
The songs Jazz sings are “The Hanging Tree” by Suzanne Collins (from her book Mockingjay), “Sleep Tight” by Big Bad Voodoo Daddy, and “Come, Little Children” which, as near as I can tell, was originally a poem whose authorship is debatable, partially made into a song for the movie Hocus Pocus, and covered in full by YouTube user katethegreat19.