(no subject)
This was inspired by Vejiraziel's pic of Prowl spoon feed a sick Jazz. It was meant to be a one shot, but it kinda turned into a chapter affair. Here is chapter one, hope you all enjoy it.
Title: When a Datsun is a Nurse
Rating: G
Warnings: Uber fluff, a splash of angst in the middle, followed by another huge heaping of fluff. Basically, it's a slash sandwich
Pairings: Prowl x Jazz
Prompt: Pic of Prowl tending to a sick Jazz by vejiraziel
Plot: Jazz manages to infect himself with a virus and it is up to Prowl to save the day and take care of his ailing mate, but will he be able to stand up to all the demands?
Notes: This be my first time fanficcing so I hope it turns out well. I'm sorry if my writing turns out to be crappy.
Title: When a Datsun is a Nurse
Rating: G
Warnings: Uber fluff, a splash of angst in the middle, followed by another huge heaping of fluff. Basically, it's a slash sandwich
Pairings: Prowl x Jazz
Prompt: Pic of Prowl tending to a sick Jazz by vejiraziel
Plot: Jazz manages to infect himself with a virus and it is up to Prowl to save the day and take care of his ailing mate, but will he be able to stand up to all the demands?
Notes: This be my first time fanficcing so I hope it turns out well. I'm sorry if my writing turns out to be crappy.
"He did what?"
The question hung heavily in the med bay's stagnant air like a guillotine waiting for the rope to loosen and the blade to fall as Prowl stood gaping at the medic like a beached fish. His hands raised until level with his chest as he spoke, palms facing up as though he wished to reach higher and grasp for the answer through physical means. Never before had the tactician looked so completely and cartoonishly dumbfounded.
When he had initially responded to Ratchet's call, being told that Jazz had just been taken to medbay, had, quite understandably, worried him. Horrific visions of his happy go lucky lover being dragged in from battle and lain out mangled and broken on a cold medical berth had flashed through his CPU and sent crushing waves of panic through his circuits.
At once his logic sensors had sprung into action, mentally slapping him for his paranoia and informing him that this couldn't possibly be the case. He would have felt it through their bond if his love had truly been gravely injured, but, where Jazz was concerned, logic often seemed to take the option of flying out the window with a faulty jet pack. Thus, he had torn out of his office and made a fire blazing beeline for the medical bay.
As expected, there was Jazz resting on a berth with Ratchet at his side, but, contrary to normal circumstances of a mech being in med bay, nothing seemed to be amiss and his bond-mate looked none the worse for wear, just rather drained.
His visor brightened a fraction when he noticed his bond-mate entering the room with a obvious concern shining in his optics, and a feeble little smile crossed his faceplates.
"Hi ya Prowler" he had said in a voice that was far too meek for everything to be okey dokey smokey. Prowl had known then, that whatever Ratchet was going to tell him, he was not going to like it.
Now, as the stones were cast before him, he was quite certain that his logic sensors were going to explode. The sheer ridiculousness of the grouchy medic's answer to the unasked question of why Jazz was there feeling like a vicious, yet oddly off kilter, deceptacon fist to the face.
"He did what?" Prowl asked once more, feeling the unexplainable need to repeat himself.
Ratchet gave him a withering glare and sighed as he began once again.
"It seems," he started in a terse voice, indicating his own displeasure at the Saboteur's predicament, "that Jazz was attempting to use a human music downloading program, a very poorly monitored one I might add." He shot Jazz a pointed look, stressing the last three words.
The saboteur's already meek expression took on a level of extreme sheepishness, his hands rising defensively in front of his chest.
"Go on" Prowl said slowly.
"After mass downloading over, how many did you say Jazz? 300 songs?" Ratchet growled irritably and the porsche shrank back even more. "He, through his own sheer brilliance, did not check the files to see if any were contaminated!!!! Now, he's managed to infect himself with a virus!!"
Prowl's incredulity was violently shoved out the way to make room for alarm. "What kind of a virus? How much damage could it do?"
The medic snorted. "Oh it won't fry anything major. He'll just have a fever and feel like slag for about a week or so." The ambulance's derisive manner told the Tactician that Ratchet firmly believed Jazz deserved it for being so careless.
Relief flashed through the Datsun's processor, only to be nudged away once more for a different, niggling kind of alarm.
"If that's the case," the tactician started carefully, "what was so urgent that required my immediate presence?"
Jazz made a small indignant noise, meant to inform Prowl that anything involving him should require the Datsun's immediate attention, but it was choked off when Ratchet shot another fierce glare in his direction.
"I called you," the medic replied curtly, "because Jazz needs someone to look after him while he is ill. I'd do it myself, but with battles being the way they are, I can't afford to have a berth being taken up by someone who isn't on the verge of deactivation. Not to mention that I have no sympathy for someone who got sick because of his own stupidity!!"
Prowl resisted the urge to groan. Oh was his growing alarm ever well placed. He loved his mate dearly, more than life itself, but he was well aware how much of a brat his lover could potentially become while healing from small injuries. He could only imagine how much whining he was going to have to put up with from a sick Jazz.
His intakes heaving a great sigh, he put his stone mask in place to stop the grouchy ambulance from seeing how much he dreaded this.
"What do I need to do?" he asked, wishing his voice didn't sound so grave.
Ratchet raised an eyebrow ridge at the tone, but chose not comment on it. "Just take him back to your quarters and make sure he gets plenty of energon and rest for the next week. I don't wanna hear anything about him sneaking off on missions, so help me Primus I don't wanna hear of him even leaving the berth. Do all that and he should be fine. I'll come to check on him periodically and I'll see what I can do to make something to speed up the process. Can you handle all that?"
Prowl nodded silently and walked over to the berth where Jazz lay, holding out his hand to help the Porsche up.
Jazz gave him a timid look. "Uh.....Prowler......do ya think ya can carry me.....I dunno if I can walk right now."
The Datsun raised an eyebrow ridge at his lover and, with a defeated sigh, gathered the smaller mech into his arms, resisting the urge to drop him when that saboteur made a small squeak of triumph and snuggled against his chestplates.
As they left Ratchet couldn't help but chuckle to himself. He did not envy all that the poor tactician would have to deal with for the next five days.
xXx
It was close to five o'clock in the morning when Prowl was roughly jerked out of a pleasant recharge by a loud, audio grating rattle. He jumped, much to his chagrin, and a small cry of surprise wormed it's way out of his vocalizer. As his optics lit up with a dim drowsy light, he scanned the room with careful precision, his processor floundering for purchase on the source of the noise.
A quick glance over their quarters helped him to rule out the possibility of an intruder and he couldn't detect any sort of equipment malfunction from himself or anything within the room. So where on earth had that noise come from?
Suddenly it happened again, this time ending in a hacking cough. Now he was able to pinpoint it's location. The horrible sound had come from behind him.
Slowly, he turned over, fairly certain now of who had made the noise and why. What greeted his optics was possibly the most pitiful sight he had ever seen.
Jazz was curled up in a tight ball on his side, his entire body trembling and his intakes issuing the loud rattling sounds that had jerked him so rudely awake. Every so often the Porsche would tense and his frame would jolt with harsh, rough sounding coughs that made the Datsun wince in sympathy.
The sight of his lover so miserable and so completely vulnerable tugged at his spark and made his optic ridges furrow in a concerned frown. Reaching out with a gentle hand he caressed the shivering mech's cheek lovingly, brushing his thumb over the cheekbones and trailing his fingertips along the soft curve of his mate's jaw.
The blue visor brightened at the sensation and Jazz awoke with another weak cough, leaning into tender touch of his bond-mate.
"Uhh........Prowl....?" he groaned, his vocalizer sounding as though is had been submerged in syrupy oil, "Ah......Ah'm so......cold....and.......mah head....."
At once Prowl felt a wave of guilt surge through his spark. Earlier he had been aggravated and exasperated at is mate's carelessness, not to mention, dreading the notion being at Jazz's command for the duration of his illness, but now, seeing his black and white lover so weak and frail made him feel like the worst bond-mate in the history of cybertron.
"Oh Jazz" he whispered, sliding an arm beneath the trembling Saboteur and drawing him close. He brought his free hand up to cradle the black helm, stroking Jazz's stubby little horns tenderly in an attempt to soothe away the headache.
The groggy mech gave a faint, muffled whimper, nuzzling the broad chest and coughing feebly.
"Try to go back to sleep beloved," the Datsun crooned, cradling his ailing lover tenderly, "I'll be here when you wake."
"Mkay......" Jazz muttered sniffling pitifully and snuggling closer to his protective mate.
Prowl listened as the saboteurs intakes slowed and deepened, all the while still rattling like an old, worn out engine.
He held the Saboteur close, still stroking the sensitive horns and as he began to drift back into recharge, Prowl's resolve to care for his beloved Porsche grew stronger. He swore that he would not rest until Jazz's virus was completely gone.
Title: When a Datsun is a Nurse
Rating: G
Warnings: Uber fluff, a splash of angst in the middle, followed by another huge heaping of fluff. Basically, it's a slash sandwich
Pairings: Prowl x Jazz
Prompt: Pic of Prowl tending to a sick Jazz by vejiraziel
Plot: Jazz manages to infect himself with a virus and it is up to Prowl to save the day and take care of his ailing mate, but will he be able to stand up to all the demands?
Notes: This be my first time fanficcing so I hope it turns out well. I'm sorry if my writing turns out to be crappy.
Title: When a Datsun is a Nurse
Rating: G
Warnings: Uber fluff, a splash of angst in the middle, followed by another huge heaping of fluff. Basically, it's a slash sandwich
Pairings: Prowl x Jazz
Prompt: Pic of Prowl tending to a sick Jazz by vejiraziel
Plot: Jazz manages to infect himself with a virus and it is up to Prowl to save the day and take care of his ailing mate, but will he be able to stand up to all the demands?
Notes: This be my first time fanficcing so I hope it turns out well. I'm sorry if my writing turns out to be crappy.
"He did what?"
The question hung heavily in the med bay's stagnant air like a guillotine waiting for the rope to loosen and the blade to fall as Prowl stood gaping at the medic like a beached fish. His hands raised until level with his chest as he spoke, palms facing up as though he wished to reach higher and grasp for the answer through physical means. Never before had the tactician looked so completely and cartoonishly dumbfounded.
When he had initially responded to Ratchet's call, being told that Jazz had just been taken to medbay, had, quite understandably, worried him. Horrific visions of his happy go lucky lover being dragged in from battle and lain out mangled and broken on a cold medical berth had flashed through his CPU and sent crushing waves of panic through his circuits.
At once his logic sensors had sprung into action, mentally slapping him for his paranoia and informing him that this couldn't possibly be the case. He would have felt it through their bond if his love had truly been gravely injured, but, where Jazz was concerned, logic often seemed to take the option of flying out the window with a faulty jet pack. Thus, he had torn out of his office and made a fire blazing beeline for the medical bay.
As expected, there was Jazz resting on a berth with Ratchet at his side, but, contrary to normal circumstances of a mech being in med bay, nothing seemed to be amiss and his bond-mate looked none the worse for wear, just rather drained.
His visor brightened a fraction when he noticed his bond-mate entering the room with a obvious concern shining in his optics, and a feeble little smile crossed his faceplates.
"Hi ya Prowler" he had said in a voice that was far too meek for everything to be okey dokey smokey. Prowl had known then, that whatever Ratchet was going to tell him, he was not going to like it.
Now, as the stones were cast before him, he was quite certain that his logic sensors were going to explode. The sheer ridiculousness of the grouchy medic's answer to the unasked question of why Jazz was there feeling like a vicious, yet oddly off kilter, deceptacon fist to the face.
"He did what?" Prowl asked once more, feeling the unexplainable need to repeat himself.
Ratchet gave him a withering glare and sighed as he began once again.
"It seems," he started in a terse voice, indicating his own displeasure at the Saboteur's predicament, "that Jazz was attempting to use a human music downloading program, a very poorly monitored one I might add." He shot Jazz a pointed look, stressing the last three words.
The saboteur's already meek expression took on a level of extreme sheepishness, his hands rising defensively in front of his chest.
"Go on" Prowl said slowly.
"After mass downloading over, how many did you say Jazz? 300 songs?" Ratchet growled irritably and the porsche shrank back even more. "He, through his own sheer brilliance, did not check the files to see if any were contaminated!!!! Now, he's managed to infect himself with a virus!!"
Prowl's incredulity was violently shoved out the way to make room for alarm. "What kind of a virus? How much damage could it do?"
The medic snorted. "Oh it won't fry anything major. He'll just have a fever and feel like slag for about a week or so." The ambulance's derisive manner told the Tactician that Ratchet firmly believed Jazz deserved it for being so careless.
Relief flashed through the Datsun's processor, only to be nudged away once more for a different, niggling kind of alarm.
"If that's the case," the tactician started carefully, "what was so urgent that required my immediate presence?"
Jazz made a small indignant noise, meant to inform Prowl that anything involving him should require the Datsun's immediate attention, but it was choked off when Ratchet shot another fierce glare in his direction.
"I called you," the medic replied curtly, "because Jazz needs someone to look after him while he is ill. I'd do it myself, but with battles being the way they are, I can't afford to have a berth being taken up by someone who isn't on the verge of deactivation. Not to mention that I have no sympathy for someone who got sick because of his own stupidity!!"
Prowl resisted the urge to groan. Oh was his growing alarm ever well placed. He loved his mate dearly, more than life itself, but he was well aware how much of a brat his lover could potentially become while healing from small injuries. He could only imagine how much whining he was going to have to put up with from a sick Jazz.
His intakes heaving a great sigh, he put his stone mask in place to stop the grouchy ambulance from seeing how much he dreaded this.
"What do I need to do?" he asked, wishing his voice didn't sound so grave.
Ratchet raised an eyebrow ridge at the tone, but chose not comment on it. "Just take him back to your quarters and make sure he gets plenty of energon and rest for the next week. I don't wanna hear anything about him sneaking off on missions, so help me Primus I don't wanna hear of him even leaving the berth. Do all that and he should be fine. I'll come to check on him periodically and I'll see what I can do to make something to speed up the process. Can you handle all that?"
Prowl nodded silently and walked over to the berth where Jazz lay, holding out his hand to help the Porsche up.
Jazz gave him a timid look. "Uh.....Prowler......do ya think ya can carry me.....I dunno if I can walk right now."
The Datsun raised an eyebrow ridge at his lover and, with a defeated sigh, gathered the smaller mech into his arms, resisting the urge to drop him when that saboteur made a small squeak of triumph and snuggled against his chestplates.
As they left Ratchet couldn't help but chuckle to himself. He did not envy all that the poor tactician would have to deal with for the next five days.
xXx
It was close to five o'clock in the morning when Prowl was roughly jerked out of a pleasant recharge by a loud, audio grating rattle. He jumped, much to his chagrin, and a small cry of surprise wormed it's way out of his vocalizer. As his optics lit up with a dim drowsy light, he scanned the room with careful precision, his processor floundering for purchase on the source of the noise.
A quick glance over their quarters helped him to rule out the possibility of an intruder and he couldn't detect any sort of equipment malfunction from himself or anything within the room. So where on earth had that noise come from?
Suddenly it happened again, this time ending in a hacking cough. Now he was able to pinpoint it's location. The horrible sound had come from behind him.
Slowly, he turned over, fairly certain now of who had made the noise and why. What greeted his optics was possibly the most pitiful sight he had ever seen.
Jazz was curled up in a tight ball on his side, his entire body trembling and his intakes issuing the loud rattling sounds that had jerked him so rudely awake. Every so often the Porsche would tense and his frame would jolt with harsh, rough sounding coughs that made the Datsun wince in sympathy.
The sight of his lover so miserable and so completely vulnerable tugged at his spark and made his optic ridges furrow in a concerned frown. Reaching out with a gentle hand he caressed the shivering mech's cheek lovingly, brushing his thumb over the cheekbones and trailing his fingertips along the soft curve of his mate's jaw.
The blue visor brightened at the sensation and Jazz awoke with another weak cough, leaning into tender touch of his bond-mate.
"Uhh........Prowl....?" he groaned, his vocalizer sounding as though is had been submerged in syrupy oil, "Ah......Ah'm so......cold....and.......mah head....."
At once Prowl felt a wave of guilt surge through his spark. Earlier he had been aggravated and exasperated at is mate's carelessness, not to mention, dreading the notion being at Jazz's command for the duration of his illness, but now, seeing his black and white lover so weak and frail made him feel like the worst bond-mate in the history of cybertron.
"Oh Jazz" he whispered, sliding an arm beneath the trembling Saboteur and drawing him close. He brought his free hand up to cradle the black helm, stroking Jazz's stubby little horns tenderly in an attempt to soothe away the headache.
The groggy mech gave a faint, muffled whimper, nuzzling the broad chest and coughing feebly.
"Try to go back to sleep beloved," the Datsun crooned, cradling his ailing lover tenderly, "I'll be here when you wake."
"Mkay......" Jazz muttered sniffling pitifully and snuggling closer to his protective mate.
Prowl listened as the saboteurs intakes slowed and deepened, all the while still rattling like an old, worn out engine.
He held the Saboteur close, still stroking the sensitive horns and as he began to drift back into recharge, Prowl's resolve to care for his beloved Porsche grew stronger. He swore that he would not rest until Jazz's virus was completely gone.