This is War Update ^^
Author:
pjlover666
Name of series: This is war
Word count: ~ 3,200
Chapter three: Behind Blue Eyes
Rating: PG13
Characters: Prowl, Jazz, Optimus Prime and others
Summary: Prowl and Jazz are the best Special Operations team Cybertron has ever seen. Only one problem - they can't stand each other.
Warnings: Swearing, violence
AN: For
gracesolo. Song request: "Behind Blue Eyes" by The Who.
A lot of thanks to
gracesolo for the beta!
Behind Blue Eyes
"We did a horrible thing, Jazz. That doesn't make us horrible mechs."
"How can ya say that? Actually, how can ya believe it?"
"I believe what I see. If we truly were horrible mechs, then we wouldn't be standing here, having this conversation."
"Then what are we?"
"Alive."
No one knows what it's like
To be hated
To be fated
To telling only lies
After the monstrous mission involving the youngling center, the two black and whites had, for the first time, sat down and held a serious conversation. Prowl and Jazz talked for joors, civilly discussing that particular mission.
For the first time, they both questioned the Autobot cause. When Prowl mentioned this, Jazz had laughed, although it sounded more like a choke. And why wouldn't he laugh? What they did was against the Autobot's core code of morals. They were supposed to be the 'protectors', the 'good ones', fighting for the right of all Cybertronians.
"Look at us, Jazz." Prowl had said. "That code has stopped having meaning to us long ago, when we agreed to become who we are now."
What was the difference between the two factions, then? What were they even fighting for? So many questions... It was then and there that the two Ops agents formed an allegiance. It was at that moment they truly became a two mech team, fighting alone against the world. They still carried the Autobot brand and fought Decepticons, but it was different. They always obeyed orders. They never questioned them. After all, they were there to serve. And yet, once you stop following orders without questioning, start to think for yourself, to actually contemplate the consequences of your actions... Well, that's when things start getting messy. For a black and white world, it sure does have a lot of gray in it.
Never again would they obey like a couple of sparkless drones.
Never. Again.
But my dreams
They aren't as empty
As my conscience seems to be
I have hours, only lonely
My love is vengeance
That's never free
No one knows what it's like
To feel these feelings
Like I do
And I blame you
"Hey, did you hear? About that youngling center?"
From the other side of the room Jazz calmly drank from his energon.
"No, what about it?"
Prowl didn't even move, except for the minuscule movement of his wings.
"It's gone. One click it was there and the next - poof! - only rubble in its place."
"Primus…"
The conversation attracted more mechs around the table that was subtly being watched.
"Yeah, I mean, what kind of sick bastards would do that? Those were younglings!"
Jazz clenched his claws around the cube he was holding, as Prowl lifted his helm, gazing at the smaller black and white. His wings gave a small tremor.
"Those slaggin' 'cons…" A different mech sneered, "I hope whoever is responsible for this rots in the Pit!"
"I'm with you, mech. What kind of a monster do you have to be in order to… to… Primus." The mechs looked around each other, expressions grim.
"Hey, Prowl." A mech from the table called, gaining not only Prowl's attention, "How come you tacticians didn't see that coming?" Accusations clear in the tone.
"I am a tactician, not a clairvoyant." Was the cool reply.
Prowl earned himself some nasty looks from the discussion table as Jazz's optics narrowed behind his visor.
"Fragger. You know what your kind is worth? - Nothing. You spend all your time here, your aft safe, while other 'bots risk their lives. You're nothing but a coward!"
Such behavior wasn't unusual. Each department - tactical, wreckers, front liners, medics, etc - each had their own little world and are very close-knit, mostly. Unfortunately, the tactical division was one of the 'not so popular ones'. In the optics of the others, they were stuck up pricks who simply gave orders anyone can come up with and stay on the side lines where it's safe. Most of the simpleminded mechs believed that and Prowl, as well as many other tacticians, found himself the subject of such harsh remarks. When Prowl was younger, still a newbie, still not enlisted in Spec. Ops, hearing those words hurt deep. But time has shaped and matured Prowl to the mech he is now - a mech that is anything but weak.
The cube Jazz was holding shattered in his grip and only the subtle movement of Prowl's wings held him in place.
"I would suggest you think before you speak," Nothing in Prowl's demeanor changed, yet only one mech in the room could hear the threat in his voice. "You shouldn't be so disrespectful to the mech who plans your missions."
Dead silence filled the rec room as all optics focused on the two tables.
"You're no worse then those monsters that killed all of those innocent younglings, Prowl!"
Jazz clenched his fists, his visor brightening, barely restraining himself to not lash out.
Prowl was unfazed, "You speak as if you know what you're talking about, having only rumors at your disposal." Prowl finally looked directly at Jazz's rigid form, "You have no idea what you are talking about and I highly recommend you end this discussion, now."
The mechs from the table bristled at that, ready to snark at the tactician, until a voice stopped them.
"I concur," Optimus Prime's voice boomed in the quiet rec room, Ironhide standing next to him on guard, "End this now, before I do. Autobots, we are better than this, unity is the key to winning this war. Not fighting among ourselves about 'what ifs'."
The Prime earned himself the undivided attention of two Spec. Ops agents, scrutinizing him from afar.
"We can only pray that those young sparks are in a better place."
The two black and whites locked gazes with each other. It should have made Prowl and Jazz feel better, and yet it didn't. It was as if someone had a firm grasp around their sparks and was crushing them with each passing click.
Unseen, Prowl motioned for Jazz to follow him out of the room, desiring to spend his evening in more pleasant company. Eyeing their Prime warily as they left, the two black and whites didn't notice that the scrutiny was mutual.
No one bites back as hard
On their anger
None of my pain and woe
Can show through
But my dreams
They aren't as empty
As my conscience seems to be
Jazz stood still, gazing at the forever lasting starry Cybertronian night. It was quiet in the rec room, since almost everyone was on patrol or had shifts. For once, he enjoyed the quietness of the room, his thoughts scattered all over the place.
What were they doing? What was their purpose? After the little stir in the rec room, those questions seemed to rise to the forefront in his mind. Jazz knew he easily lost himself during battle. He was sparked, after all, during the beginning of the war, and has witnessed many things a youngling should never hear of even in their worst nightmares. And the fact that he participated in many atrocities himself, didn't help at all. But he did that to survive, he needed to survive. To live. And at some point that was enough. But, right now it was not. He needed a reason to live on, to fight. Otherwise, this would be just a mere existence. Jazz refused to let himself fade into obscurity, to be forgotten as one who did not matter. He still had so much life in him. Even if that life was slowly being sucked out of him, out of them all.
There is a thin line between right and wrong. But what happens when the line is crossed and they are no longer able to make a difference? What if the wrong deed is the right answer? Or the other way around. Perhaps the whole concept of 'wrong' and 'right' is comparative. There can't be right without wrong otherwise we will not be able to understand the difference. And then we return to the question, what is the difference, really? Well, that depends on the situation.
Jazz tuned to look at Prowl. The door winged mech was sitting, like usual, back against the wall, helm buried in a data pad, perfectly acting out his role of boring tactician. But Jazz knew better. Prowl truly enjoyed most of the book files he read. He liked being a boring tactician. Life would be so much simpler for him, if that was all he needed to be. And in that moment, Jazz just wished he could give it to him. Give Prowl what he deserved, a life free of the horrible actions they were called upon to complete.
"Can I help you?" Prowl didn't even look up from his data pad, but his wings raised just the tiniest bit, showing that his attention had been given to the other mech.
"Nah, Prowler. Jus' thinkin' is all." Jazz gave a crocked smile, perfectly hiding his train of thoughts.
"Oh?" Prowl looked up and smirked, "I didn't know you were capable of such activities. Don't strain yourself."
"Ha ha." Jazz fake laughed and went to sit in front if him, his arms behind his head, "We'll see who's laughing after some sparring."
"We shall see." Prowl's confident smirk stretched just the tiniest bit.
"Prowler…"
"Hmm?"
"What was it like before the war?"
A lot of questions Prowl expected, this was Jazz after all, but not that one. He regarded his companion closely. Jazz had been a lot quieter and civil after what happened at that center. And Prowl, himself, had changed, became more responsible. Had they perhaps grown up, matured?
"…It depends where you are from, actually." Prowl placed the data pad down and crossed his arms, relaxing in the chair.
"I was sparked and created in Praxus. It was… a beautiful city, Jazz. I'm sure you've seen it in the archives. But it can never compare to the true thing. To hear the crystals hum, to watch them glow, to feel their warmth, their life… Praxus was the most beautiful city on Cybertron. Even more so than Iacon could ever hope to be." Prowl off lined his optics and rested his head back, continuing with his explanation, wistful longing for days long past in his voice. "Praxus still functions, but it's not the same. True, the crystals are still there, standing tall, and it is the place where neutrals seek peace. But, it's just not the same. You have to experience it in order to understand it, Jazz."
"All I know is war." Jazz looked at his claws absently, "Pain, destruction, and then some. Ya would be surprised what kind of fuel those dark emotions can give a mech in order to survive."
"Where is this coming from, Jazz?" Prowl on-lined his optics and leaned forward.
"Prowl, what we did… it's true that we've done some slagged up things before, but this… the fact that we obeyed it like that..." Jazz locked gazes with him, his features hardening, "That should never happen again. I will not let it happen."
"What is your solution, then?" Prowl leaned in even closer, curious as to Jazz's thought process.
"We form a team. The only reason we are still with the Autobots is that they give us provisions. But other than that, we are on our own."
"You do realize, that if someone hears you speak like this, you not only will get court martialed, but deactivated for treason, as well."
"I would rather perish then be used like a drone." Jazz hissed.
"Then a team we become." Prowl stated. He had also been thinking about doing something similar to this. But Prowl never thought it would happen so fast and so soon. And with Jazz as the initiator, as well. They had worked together for many vorns. The spark-deep trust after working so close to one another all this time was undeniable, even with their violent dislike of each other in the past.
"How can ya be so fraggin' calm?" Jazz's optics slightly narrowed behind his visor.
"Now is not neither the time nor place for me to let my emotions run free. Because, trust me Jazz, if I did that, casualties will result."
Jazz stared at the older mech, saying nothing. Prowl reached forward and with his clawed finger placed a barely visible scratch over Jazz's Autobot insignia. The Autobots were corrupted. Therefore, their symbol should be as well.
"There is no turning back. You know this." Jazz stated as he, too, placed a long line over the brand on Prowl's armor. It looked like a simple scratch. But only they knew it meant something more.
"I know." Prowl stated calmly. The rest of the orn was spent, for the first time in comfortable silence, each mech pondering the unsure future. And yet, for the first time they didn't feel as lonely in this big and empty world.
When my fist clenches, crack it open
Before I use it and lose my cool
When I smile, tell me some bad news
Before I laugh and act like a fool
If I swallow anything evil
Put your finger down my throat
If I shiver, please give me a blanket
Keep me warm, let me wear your coat
A roar filled the office room as fists slammed themselves on a desk, denting it.
"You had no right to give that order behind my back!" Optimus Prime sneered as he glared at the terminal. Even his battle mask wasn't able to hide his boiling anger.
::Optimus, please. Even if we wasted the time of informing you, the outcome would have been the same.:: A member of the Council spoke, ignoring Prime's obvious anger.
"That is not the point! They are my soldiers, we are Autobots-"
::And this is War.::
The Prime shook with fury. The mechs on the terminal screen gazed head on, unfazed by the anger in their Prime, confident in their control of the situation.
::They may be your soldiers, Optimus,:: A different Council member spoke up, ::But they answer to us. They follow our orders.::
Prime glared at the Council members before him. Optimus knew their kind - he had read many archives, studied Cybertron's vast histories while he was still Orion Pax. He knew, for a fact, that history is repeating it self. With each passing orn Optimus sees how the First Great War will happen yet again, and all because of the corruption of mechs in positions of power, like them. How can any kind of system, a government at that, function properly when its main command, those at the top are not equitable to the full extent of the law?
Greedy bastards, Prime thought. It's because of mechs like them that mechs like Prowl and Jazz suffered in this war.
::Look at it as this way.:: The first Council member started, ::If the truth should ever come out, only they would take the blame for it. This mission is not reported, it's not official.::
"Like us, there's more to them than meets the optics."
The leader of the Autobots, if he could even call himself that, could not believe his audios. Optimus always knew that being Spec. Ops meant dealing with the darkest aspects of war. But this is just plain wrong.
::It is a necessary sacrifice.::
"You disregard life so easily. We are speaking of living, sentient beings. Not some mindless drones." Optimus didn't know if he was speaking about Prowl and Jazz or the destroyed youngling center. "Sometimes even the wisest of us can be in error." He had experienced this first hand.
::You do not win a war by playing nice, Optimus.::
"Then how are we any different than the Decepticons?" At that moment, Prime realized it takes two to create a war and a single spark to ignite it. And right now, Optimus was watching the flames of war, filled with greed and devilry, spread all around him.
Prowl and Jazz, along with every other Spec. Ops agent, took their orders directly from the Council. This is what disturbed Prime the most. They were his soldiers, not some greedy bureaucrat's pawns.
Perhaps this was their error. This is a military division. The Council should not have any kind of authority regarding it. And yet, it did.
::The result is what matters.::
Prime narrowed his optics.
::The war will be won by us.::
His fists clenched tight, denting the metal.
::Righteousness will prevail.::
Jaw was clicked tight, trying hard not to speak out loud.
::The monstrous Decepticons shall fall, one way or another.::
::We will speak again, Optimus.::
::Till all are one.::
Prime watched as the screen flickered off but that did not calm him down. He was practically seething as his energon boiled in his lines, knowing in his very spark there was nothing he could do. Nothing.
"Monsters…" Optimus muttered. Even monsters once were innocent, before that innocence was taken away from them.
Because only monsters can create other monsters.
He pulled out a data pad. No, Optimus thought, he will not let this continue. The Decepticons had lost their way, and so have the Council. But there is still a chance for the Autobots to change the seemingly inevitable outcome. The bright future they all were striving for didn't have to be achieved this way. Not if Optimus could help it.
He started typing on the data pad. If the Council wished to wage war, then Optimus Prime shall give them such a war that they would never forget.
No one knows what it's like
To be the bad man
To be the sad man
Behind blue eyes