[FIC] New Beginnings
Title: New Beginnings
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Author Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Friendship
Characters: Jazz, Prowl
Author's Notes:
- Written for the prowlxjazz Anniversary Challenge.
- Prompts: Breaking the Rules, Secrets, If you want to live-run, Savior, Under Cover, Outcast, Seclusion
Summary:
While undercover, Prowl makes a discovery that will change his future. A one shot based of seven prompts from the prowlxjazz anniversary challenge.
0000
UNDERCOVER
Prowl remembered the day they’d met. It wasn’t that easy to forget. At the time, he wasn’t the Autobot’s SIC yet, and he’d gone undercover. Shockwave had been devising a new weapon that, according to past information, could do some serious damage, and even turn the tide of the war. Autobot high command wanted it gone. Or at least, to get their hands on the blueprints so they’d be able to disassemble it during another mission.
Prowl wasn’t named for nothing. He’d done his job spectacularly. No one suspected him, and he’d come and gone like he owned the place. Having gotten the information, Prowl was pulled back during a skirmish between the two factions.
::Go out through the back. You come out through the front you’re gonna get shot.:: His commander had radioed in through a secure channel.
However, much to his surprise, the back door was right next to the holding cells. Prowl had seen a lot in his life, but the tortured mech hanging from his wrists inside made his tanks churn. Still, through the energon, the filth and general damage, Prowl could make out the Autobot symbol on his chest. He tried to remember if he knew the mech from Special Operations, but so many had gone missing that it was impossible.
::Prowl, get out now!::
But he couldn’t. He couldn’t leave this mech behind.
So he didn’t.
SAVIOR
Jazz wasn’t one to beg for his life. He was extremely proud that after several orns he hadn’t cracked. The thought of begging made him sicker than whatever drugs they were giving him. But he’d endured, and he’d continue to fight. Hope kept him going, alert for any possibility to escape.
When the base trembled with shockwaves of explosions and the alarms started to blare, he grinned. The cavalry had come. Oh he didn’t delude himself that it was for him. Special Operations had a very strict protocol in case an OPs mech went missing and they had no idea where he was. Basically, forget about him, change all the codes, get any missions going at the time over with and come up with another time table and strategy for future missions that mech might have been aware of.
See? Even if Jazz had cracked, and he’d blurted out all the missions ongoing, they’d still be too late to stop them, and not one of his codes would have worked anyway.
But the battle raging outside was the perfect opportunity for him to get the frag out of there. The guards of his cell had left running, gleefully into battle. The morons.
Jazz didn’t have too much energy, but he was sure he could hold himself up long enough to release his wrists from the shackles.
But...
A mech came into his field of vision, and he played dead. Had they sent someone to kill him off? His visor was cracked, and half of it was simply gone. So he couldn't spy on the other like he used to.
“I know you’re awake Autobot. And that is fortunate. I would hate to have to carry you all the way back. Frankly, it does not appeal.”
What?
Hands were on his wrists. Gentle, patient, but firm and with determination. Jazz onlined his optics, one wasn’t working well, and eyed the other mech. He was a Decepticon, his armor was the blackest he’d ever seen. A couple of red optics met his for a second, and he saw in them something few Decepticons had.
Intelligence. Wisdom, and above all, sanity.
“Who-”
“Not important at the moment. My commander is yelling at me over the comms.” The mech said. With a final pull he cut through the shackles and used his body to support Jazz’s. “It is getting annoying.”
Jazz could only blink. He’d considered killing the mech, but his instincts were telling him not to. To go along with this mech. The last time he hadn’t listened to his instincts, well...he’d gotten caught hadn’t he?
“We must leave now. They are planning on bombing the base.” The mech said in a flat tone. He pulled one of Jazz’s arms over his shoulder, and guided them out of the cell. Jazz hissed with every step, but he didn’t allow it to slow them down. “It would surely kill us.” The mech continued.
“Stop-” Jazz coughed, trying to get his voice under control. “Saying creepy things.” Had he imagined it, or did the mech’s lips curl just a fraction?
“So, my anonymous savior. What’s the plan?”
The mech looked at him with a raised optic ridge.
“I am already late to the rendezvous point.” He simply said.
Now it was Jazz’s turn raise an optic ridge. They had arrived at the back door. The black mech opened it quietly, when nothing attacked them, they stepped outside. It was chaos on this side as well. Screams and explosions were going off everywhere, but no one paid attention to them.
“What now?” Croaked Jazz.
The black mech tilted his head to the side, no doubt receiving further orders from his commander.
The mech’s lips fell into a flat line, his optics alert and... annoyed?
“We run.”
IF YOU WANT TO LIVE-RUN
Run. Phantom had actually told him to run. Run across an endless battlefield, hoping that the first Autobot he saw was from Special Operations and could take him in. Prowl was going to have a serious conversation with Phantom if he got out of this alive.
“Run, are you serious?” Jazz gaped at him. If this mech was from Special Ops, like he suspected, then he knew his commander was Phantom. The last thing that mech would ever tell his agents was to run. Like some decapitated robo-chick. It was unprofessional and had a high percentage of it ending bad. Either the mech really found no other way, the situation was just that desperate, or the black mech had truly pissed him off. Or all of the above. You never knew with Phantom.
“Yes.” Jazz rolled his optics. His mech was impossible.
“Come.” He said, pulling him. “You must run, even if you feel your legs are going to rip apart. You can wither in pain later.”
Wow. Just wow.
Although Jazz had to admit that as far as inspirational speeches went, this one wasn’t so bad. At least, there was a later.
Prowl started off in a slow trot, allowing the tortured mech some time to adapt to his mangled legs. As soon as they reached the edge of the battle, he ducked behind debris and the ruins of houses, and started jogging. Beside him, the mech hissed, but never once did his step falter. Prowl would admit to being impressed.
Jazz felt like his legs were indeed ‘going to rip apart’. It was not a nice sensation. But the hell if he was going to give up now. He was so close to freedom, screw the pain!
“They’re about to bomb the base.” The black mech said suddenly. Jazz looked around, and while he saw several bots fighting each other, he could clearly make out Autobots trying to get the hell out of there.
“Just how big is the radius of this thing?” He asked through gritted teeth. They were already pretty far from the building.
“Big.”
Any other time, and Jazz would have smacked the mech. He was about to demand an exact estimate, but the unthinkable happened.
The black mech let out a pained grunt and fell. At the last moment, he let go of Jazz, no doubt not wanting to drag him down as well.
Prowl cursed, his leg burning. Falling to the ground, he turned and got out his blaster. He was surprised to see the mech who shot him was a Decepticon. It wasn’t like Jazz had been all that visible. Without hesitation, he fired, hitting the mech dead on in the chest.
“Slag, are you okay!?” Jazz tried to keep straight, but now realized what great and much needed support the black mech had been.
“I am functional.”
The air hissed with incoming missiles. Both mechs looked up into the sky to see it lit with firepower, all heading toward the base.
“You must run!” Jazz looked down at the mech.
“What? Hey Ah ain’t leaving ya mech, ya got me out.”
“Which is why I will be most displeased if you die now. Run, go. If you want to live, run!”
Jazz hesitated. While he wasn’t a saint, he wasn’t one to turn his back on a comrade. Decepticon symbol on his chest be damned. This mech was an Autobot through and through.
“I will fair fine. I can survive this, you need medical assistance now. Go to the edge of the field, there is an extraction team waiting, but they will leave shortly. Take this to them.” He added, handing him the chip with all the information he managed to procure. “I can make it back on my own, you will die on the way.” Damn but the mech’s logic was too much to go up against. He was right of course. The black mech only had a shot to his leg. In alt mode he’d be fine. Jazz on the other hand, couldn’t even transform. He’d kill them both if he stayed.
“You stupid slagger!” He growled. “Ah expect ta see ya back at the base ya hear me!?” With that, he susbspaced the chip and limped his way toward the extraction team.
Prowl watched him go with a relieved sigh.
Behind him, the base was hit by the first missile. The shockwave was immense. When the others hit...
Standing up, Prowl made his way to a hidden sewer tunnel under the remains of a house. It was facing away from the base. So hopefully, it would protect him from any stray projectiles, and the unavoidable dust and metal storm.
Survival percentage was at about... 28%.
Acceptable odds.
BREAKING THE RULES
Jazz was pissed. First of all, Phantom had read him the riot’s act (like he’d purposely gone and got himself caught), then he’d been berated for the most likely death of an apparently super Agent. Which had just made Jazz angrier. A shouting match had started, prompting everyone to get the hell out. Jazz wasn’t well known, but he had the habit of not giving a damn about protocol and that was already making him infamous.
Since Phantom had gotten the information he wanted though, the matter was dropped fairly quickly. Although, everything had been worth it to see Ratchet storm Special Ops territory to scream at Phantom for not taking Jazz to medical the moment they touched down.
Being swept away by the famous and terrifying CMO had been a new experience. One Jazz did not want a repeat of.
That had been six orns ago.
And still no sign of the black mech. Jazz had asked Phantom about him, only to be told that his identity could not be revealed. That was what made the mech one of his top agents.
The fact that Phantom had used present tense and didn’t seem overly concerned about his ‘most likely death’, clued Jazz into the mech being alive. For awhile, that was enough.
Until it wasn’t.
He wanted to thank the mech, see with his own optics that he’d made it out okay. And if Phantom wasn’t going to tell him... well. They always told him his hacking skills were superb.
0000
“You are in violation of at least 24 regulations.”
Jazz did not jump. His fingers froze on the keyboard, but he made no sound. He’d thought that he was secure, locked away in some storage room in a hallway no one used.
Apparently not.
He turned slowly to meet the intruder. The mech standing in the doorway was just a bit taller than him. His paint job was black and white, almost a reverse of his own. What caught his attention the most were the doorwings on his back. A Praxian. Weird, he’d thought they were all pacifists, tucked away safely in their city.
“It is unwise to keep your back to the door. I believe that is why your were first caught.”
Ouch. Yes, it was. It was a habit Jazz was in the middle of breaking. Although...
“Must be Ops ta know that.” He simply said, trying to subtly disconnect from the terminal he’d hacked into.
“I was Ops, I’m getting transferred.”
Jazz raised an optic ridge. Transfers were rare, at least for Ops. Once in, you couldn’t get out. Still, this whole conversation was weird.
“Sorry, but who are ya?”
The mech let out a drawn-out sigh. Like he was irritated by Jazz’s slowness. That... pissed him off.
“Your, how did you put it? ‘Anonymous savior.’”
Oh.
As the knowledge of who he was started to make sense, Jazz did something he had not planned to do when he met the mech that saved him. He yelled at him. “You bastard! Not telling me ya were alive! Ah don’t need that kind of thing over my head you moron! How long have ya been back? Cause it’s been orns!”
It the mech was surprised, he didn’t let on. Only shrugged one shoulder.
“Phantom said not to tell you.”
This mech’s lack of apparent energy or empathy was tiring.
“So why ya telling me now?” He simply said. Arguing, he was learning, was going to lead absolutely nowhere with this mech.
“Like I said. I’m being transferred. Phantom has no hold over me anymore.” He paused, thinking. “Also, you are breaking the rules, delving into my files.” Another pause. “Please cease.”
Jazz... felt exhausted.
“Fine, fine Ah’m stopping Primus you’re...weird, mech.” He quickly stopped all his hacking programs and detached from the terminal. “How’d you know?” He asked casually.
“You’re not that good Jazz. Yet.” Jazz turned to glare at him, only to stop short at the barely there grin on the mech’s faceplates. Oh he remembered that grin. So, the mech secretly had a sense of humor? Good.
“Shut up mech. Also, what’s yer name? In my mind Ah keep referring ta you as the ‘creepy black armored mech that saved me that one time’.”
The mech tilted his head at him. “That... is very long. Is that why your response time is slower than most?”
Jazz couldn't help it. He laughed. He laughed hard.
So, a wicked sense of humor. He liked that.
“So? Yer name?” Jazz asked after regaining his breath. His sides hurt.
The mech gave him a small smile. “I am Prowl.”
OUTCAST-SECRETS-SECLUSION
It didn’t take long for Jazz to realize that he was probably the only mech on base that talked to Prowl. But then again, the mech himself didn’t talk to anyone. Jazz put it down to Prowl being socially awkward and the rest of the mechs being idiots. It was so obvious to Jazz he didn’t understand how the others didn’t see that Prowl was content to sit and listen to them, giving advice or his opinion every now and then. But because he didn’t talk much, they stopped talking to him, or inviting him to sit with them.
Prowl on the other hand, did not look bothered by it. In fact, the mech, who had been transferred to tactical, had his hands full with reports and analysis and trying to fix the apparent mess that was tactical. He was even mentoring his supposedly CO! Jazz bet Prowl would take charge, at least officially, in the next vorn.
As it was, the only company Prowl had, were either the tacticians working with him (lets be honest, working for Prowl), who for some reason were terrified of him, and Jazz. As far as he knew, Prowl didn’t have any other friends.
“So, mech... What was the big secret about your identity for?” He asked one night. Jazz was sprawled on the tactical table, head resting on his hands (Prowl had threatened him with so much pain for that but Jazz refused to move), and the new tactician was working furiously on a datapad.
“Phantom wanted a ghost. Someone they couldn’t track even by hacking into the Special Operation’s files.” He smirked up at Jazz. “Had I let you continue with your search, you would have found nothing.”
Jazz glared. “That’s it?” He asked, not bothering to acknowledge Prowl’s jab.
Prowl’s finger slowed. It was just a second, but he’d seen it, before they kept moving.
“Prowl?”
Sighing, the tactician put the datapad to the side and looked up at him with a grave look.
“No.”
Jazz waited.
“Care to elaborate?” He asked with a hint of exasperation. Getting information out of Prowl sometimes was like a torture session at the hands of the Decepticons. Slow and painful.
“There is something... special about me.” The way he said special, half in disgust and half in resignation made Jazz sit up straight, frowning down at him. He knew Prowl wasn’t bragging or making himself to be superior, in fact he seemed, dejected.
This time Jazz waited patiently while Prowl gathered his thoughts.
“When I was a sparkling, I was fitted with an illegal battle computer. Half the Special Operations’ missions were drafted out by me. Phantom quickly saw my...value. The mission to retrieve the information on Shockwave’s new weapon was already going to be my last. I would be far more useful here. Plus, Phantom doesn’t trust the other tacticians. Having a past in Ops, I am ideal.”
Jazz stared. So, Prowl saw himself as a tool. The mech obviously didn’t like it. Not with the emphasis he put on the words special, value and useful. The mech hated them, hated being a tool, and that was the only way Phantom viewed him. What was worse, the only thing Prowl could do was let himself be used.
“Does Prime know about this?”
“Yes, it was Sentinel’s idea in the first place. Apparently, I will be made Head Tactician in the near future.”
Called it. Thought Jazz, but pushed it away.
“Sorry mech, sounds tough.” He said sincerely.
“It is basically what I was raised for.” Prowl simply said.
Jazz shook his head. “Maybe, but that don’t mean ya can’t have some fun in the meanwhile. Ah’ve seen ya Prowl. You’ve distanced yourself from the rest of the crew. Even in Ops, almost no one knew about ya. Only Mirage. Ya don’t have ta be the Autobot’s outcast. That ain’t how it works. We’re a team.”
“This coming from an Ops mech?” The visored mech had to nod in agreement at the implication. Ops was trained to work independently. The only team work was before the mission, in its planning, and hopefully, after the mission, with the extraction plan. But if one fell behind, he got left behind. Not much real teamwork going on.
“True, but you’re not in Ops anymore.”
“Maybe.” Prowl murmured, going back to his datapad.
Jazz stared at him. He thought long and hard about what he’d just learned. Prowl’s situation kind of sucked, and having seen first hand the mech’s humor, his loyalty and concern for others, he felt Prowl had been dealt a bad hand. Mechs avoided him because they thought he was weird, or that he thought too high of himself to be around them. The new rank was going to seclude him even more. Prowl might not want or need company, but he certainly did not want or need to be shunned.
The visored mech hummed in thought.
Well, here was one mech that wouldn’t shun him. Jazz was popular, mechs liked him and sought him out. He could be a bridge between them and Prowl. And of course, the visored mech wouldn’t leave the mech behind to crash and burn. Prowl had risked his life for his, Jazz wouldn’t hesitate to do the same. Even if that meant he’d drag him to every party, introduced him to half the base or even, got him into trouble. A prank here and there was bound to get the mech to loosen up.
He chuckled.
“What’s so funny?” Prowl asked, never once looking away from his datapad.
“Oh Prowler, you’re in for an interesting life.” Jazz smiled wide and dissolved into giggles, already planning his first move.
The tactician narrowed his optics at him. He knew Jazz long enough to know only trouble could come from whatever had him laughing. He was not eager to find out.
One last thought assaulted him before he tuned the mech out completely and continued with his work.
Prowler?
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Author Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Friendship
Characters: Jazz, Prowl
Author's Notes:
- Written for the prowlxjazz Anniversary Challenge.
- Prompts: Breaking the Rules, Secrets, If you want to live-run, Savior, Under Cover, Outcast, Seclusion
Summary:
While undercover, Prowl makes a discovery that will change his future. A one shot based of seven prompts from the prowlxjazz anniversary challenge.
0000
UNDERCOVER
Prowl remembered the day they’d met. It wasn’t that easy to forget. At the time, he wasn’t the Autobot’s SIC yet, and he’d gone undercover. Shockwave had been devising a new weapon that, according to past information, could do some serious damage, and even turn the tide of the war. Autobot high command wanted it gone. Or at least, to get their hands on the blueprints so they’d be able to disassemble it during another mission.
Prowl wasn’t named for nothing. He’d done his job spectacularly. No one suspected him, and he’d come and gone like he owned the place. Having gotten the information, Prowl was pulled back during a skirmish between the two factions.
::Go out through the back. You come out through the front you’re gonna get shot.:: His commander had radioed in through a secure channel.
However, much to his surprise, the back door was right next to the holding cells. Prowl had seen a lot in his life, but the tortured mech hanging from his wrists inside made his tanks churn. Still, through the energon, the filth and general damage, Prowl could make out the Autobot symbol on his chest. He tried to remember if he knew the mech from Special Operations, but so many had gone missing that it was impossible.
::Prowl, get out now!::
But he couldn’t. He couldn’t leave this mech behind.
So he didn’t.
SAVIOR
Jazz wasn’t one to beg for his life. He was extremely proud that after several orns he hadn’t cracked. The thought of begging made him sicker than whatever drugs they were giving him. But he’d endured, and he’d continue to fight. Hope kept him going, alert for any possibility to escape.
When the base trembled with shockwaves of explosions and the alarms started to blare, he grinned. The cavalry had come. Oh he didn’t delude himself that it was for him. Special Operations had a very strict protocol in case an OPs mech went missing and they had no idea where he was. Basically, forget about him, change all the codes, get any missions going at the time over with and come up with another time table and strategy for future missions that mech might have been aware of.
See? Even if Jazz had cracked, and he’d blurted out all the missions ongoing, they’d still be too late to stop them, and not one of his codes would have worked anyway.
But the battle raging outside was the perfect opportunity for him to get the frag out of there. The guards of his cell had left running, gleefully into battle. The morons.
Jazz didn’t have too much energy, but he was sure he could hold himself up long enough to release his wrists from the shackles.
But...
A mech came into his field of vision, and he played dead. Had they sent someone to kill him off? His visor was cracked, and half of it was simply gone. So he couldn't spy on the other like he used to.
“I know you’re awake Autobot. And that is fortunate. I would hate to have to carry you all the way back. Frankly, it does not appeal.”
What?
Hands were on his wrists. Gentle, patient, but firm and with determination. Jazz onlined his optics, one wasn’t working well, and eyed the other mech. He was a Decepticon, his armor was the blackest he’d ever seen. A couple of red optics met his for a second, and he saw in them something few Decepticons had.
Intelligence. Wisdom, and above all, sanity.
“Who-”
“Not important at the moment. My commander is yelling at me over the comms.” The mech said. With a final pull he cut through the shackles and used his body to support Jazz’s. “It is getting annoying.”
Jazz could only blink. He’d considered killing the mech, but his instincts were telling him not to. To go along with this mech. The last time he hadn’t listened to his instincts, well...he’d gotten caught hadn’t he?
“We must leave now. They are planning on bombing the base.” The mech said in a flat tone. He pulled one of Jazz’s arms over his shoulder, and guided them out of the cell. Jazz hissed with every step, but he didn’t allow it to slow them down. “It would surely kill us.” The mech continued.
“Stop-” Jazz coughed, trying to get his voice under control. “Saying creepy things.” Had he imagined it, or did the mech’s lips curl just a fraction?
“So, my anonymous savior. What’s the plan?”
The mech looked at him with a raised optic ridge.
“I am already late to the rendezvous point.” He simply said.
Now it was Jazz’s turn raise an optic ridge. They had arrived at the back door. The black mech opened it quietly, when nothing attacked them, they stepped outside. It was chaos on this side as well. Screams and explosions were going off everywhere, but no one paid attention to them.
“What now?” Croaked Jazz.
The black mech tilted his head to the side, no doubt receiving further orders from his commander.
The mech’s lips fell into a flat line, his optics alert and... annoyed?
“We run.”
IF YOU WANT TO LIVE-RUN
Run. Phantom had actually told him to run. Run across an endless battlefield, hoping that the first Autobot he saw was from Special Operations and could take him in. Prowl was going to have a serious conversation with Phantom if he got out of this alive.
“Run, are you serious?” Jazz gaped at him. If this mech was from Special Ops, like he suspected, then he knew his commander was Phantom. The last thing that mech would ever tell his agents was to run. Like some decapitated robo-chick. It was unprofessional and had a high percentage of it ending bad. Either the mech really found no other way, the situation was just that desperate, or the black mech had truly pissed him off. Or all of the above. You never knew with Phantom.
“Yes.” Jazz rolled his optics. His mech was impossible.
“Come.” He said, pulling him. “You must run, even if you feel your legs are going to rip apart. You can wither in pain later.”
Wow. Just wow.
Although Jazz had to admit that as far as inspirational speeches went, this one wasn’t so bad. At least, there was a later.
Prowl started off in a slow trot, allowing the tortured mech some time to adapt to his mangled legs. As soon as they reached the edge of the battle, he ducked behind debris and the ruins of houses, and started jogging. Beside him, the mech hissed, but never once did his step falter. Prowl would admit to being impressed.
Jazz felt like his legs were indeed ‘going to rip apart’. It was not a nice sensation. But the hell if he was going to give up now. He was so close to freedom, screw the pain!
“They’re about to bomb the base.” The black mech said suddenly. Jazz looked around, and while he saw several bots fighting each other, he could clearly make out Autobots trying to get the hell out of there.
“Just how big is the radius of this thing?” He asked through gritted teeth. They were already pretty far from the building.
“Big.”
Any other time, and Jazz would have smacked the mech. He was about to demand an exact estimate, but the unthinkable happened.
The black mech let out a pained grunt and fell. At the last moment, he let go of Jazz, no doubt not wanting to drag him down as well.
Prowl cursed, his leg burning. Falling to the ground, he turned and got out his blaster. He was surprised to see the mech who shot him was a Decepticon. It wasn’t like Jazz had been all that visible. Without hesitation, he fired, hitting the mech dead on in the chest.
“Slag, are you okay!?” Jazz tried to keep straight, but now realized what great and much needed support the black mech had been.
“I am functional.”
The air hissed with incoming missiles. Both mechs looked up into the sky to see it lit with firepower, all heading toward the base.
“You must run!” Jazz looked down at the mech.
“What? Hey Ah ain’t leaving ya mech, ya got me out.”
“Which is why I will be most displeased if you die now. Run, go. If you want to live, run!”
Jazz hesitated. While he wasn’t a saint, he wasn’t one to turn his back on a comrade. Decepticon symbol on his chest be damned. This mech was an Autobot through and through.
“I will fair fine. I can survive this, you need medical assistance now. Go to the edge of the field, there is an extraction team waiting, but they will leave shortly. Take this to them.” He added, handing him the chip with all the information he managed to procure. “I can make it back on my own, you will die on the way.” Damn but the mech’s logic was too much to go up against. He was right of course. The black mech only had a shot to his leg. In alt mode he’d be fine. Jazz on the other hand, couldn’t even transform. He’d kill them both if he stayed.
“You stupid slagger!” He growled. “Ah expect ta see ya back at the base ya hear me!?” With that, he susbspaced the chip and limped his way toward the extraction team.
Prowl watched him go with a relieved sigh.
Behind him, the base was hit by the first missile. The shockwave was immense. When the others hit...
Standing up, Prowl made his way to a hidden sewer tunnel under the remains of a house. It was facing away from the base. So hopefully, it would protect him from any stray projectiles, and the unavoidable dust and metal storm.
Survival percentage was at about... 28%.
Acceptable odds.
BREAKING THE RULES
Jazz was pissed. First of all, Phantom had read him the riot’s act (like he’d purposely gone and got himself caught), then he’d been berated for the most likely death of an apparently super Agent. Which had just made Jazz angrier. A shouting match had started, prompting everyone to get the hell out. Jazz wasn’t well known, but he had the habit of not giving a damn about protocol and that was already making him infamous.
Since Phantom had gotten the information he wanted though, the matter was dropped fairly quickly. Although, everything had been worth it to see Ratchet storm Special Ops territory to scream at Phantom for not taking Jazz to medical the moment they touched down.
Being swept away by the famous and terrifying CMO had been a new experience. One Jazz did not want a repeat of.
That had been six orns ago.
And still no sign of the black mech. Jazz had asked Phantom about him, only to be told that his identity could not be revealed. That was what made the mech one of his top agents.
The fact that Phantom had used present tense and didn’t seem overly concerned about his ‘most likely death’, clued Jazz into the mech being alive. For awhile, that was enough.
Until it wasn’t.
He wanted to thank the mech, see with his own optics that he’d made it out okay. And if Phantom wasn’t going to tell him... well. They always told him his hacking skills were superb.
0000
“You are in violation of at least 24 regulations.”
Jazz did not jump. His fingers froze on the keyboard, but he made no sound. He’d thought that he was secure, locked away in some storage room in a hallway no one used.
Apparently not.
He turned slowly to meet the intruder. The mech standing in the doorway was just a bit taller than him. His paint job was black and white, almost a reverse of his own. What caught his attention the most were the doorwings on his back. A Praxian. Weird, he’d thought they were all pacifists, tucked away safely in their city.
“It is unwise to keep your back to the door. I believe that is why your were first caught.”
Ouch. Yes, it was. It was a habit Jazz was in the middle of breaking. Although...
“Must be Ops ta know that.” He simply said, trying to subtly disconnect from the terminal he’d hacked into.
“I was Ops, I’m getting transferred.”
Jazz raised an optic ridge. Transfers were rare, at least for Ops. Once in, you couldn’t get out. Still, this whole conversation was weird.
“Sorry, but who are ya?”
The mech let out a drawn-out sigh. Like he was irritated by Jazz’s slowness. That... pissed him off.
“Your, how did you put it? ‘Anonymous savior.’”
Oh.
As the knowledge of who he was started to make sense, Jazz did something he had not planned to do when he met the mech that saved him. He yelled at him. “You bastard! Not telling me ya were alive! Ah don’t need that kind of thing over my head you moron! How long have ya been back? Cause it’s been orns!”
It the mech was surprised, he didn’t let on. Only shrugged one shoulder.
“Phantom said not to tell you.”
This mech’s lack of apparent energy or empathy was tiring.
“So why ya telling me now?” He simply said. Arguing, he was learning, was going to lead absolutely nowhere with this mech.
“Like I said. I’m being transferred. Phantom has no hold over me anymore.” He paused, thinking. “Also, you are breaking the rules, delving into my files.” Another pause. “Please cease.”
Jazz... felt exhausted.
“Fine, fine Ah’m stopping Primus you’re...weird, mech.” He quickly stopped all his hacking programs and detached from the terminal. “How’d you know?” He asked casually.
“You’re not that good Jazz. Yet.” Jazz turned to glare at him, only to stop short at the barely there grin on the mech’s faceplates. Oh he remembered that grin. So, the mech secretly had a sense of humor? Good.
“Shut up mech. Also, what’s yer name? In my mind Ah keep referring ta you as the ‘creepy black armored mech that saved me that one time’.”
The mech tilted his head at him. “That... is very long. Is that why your response time is slower than most?”
Jazz couldn't help it. He laughed. He laughed hard.
So, a wicked sense of humor. He liked that.
“So? Yer name?” Jazz asked after regaining his breath. His sides hurt.
The mech gave him a small smile. “I am Prowl.”
OUTCAST-SECRETS-SECLUSION
It didn’t take long for Jazz to realize that he was probably the only mech on base that talked to Prowl. But then again, the mech himself didn’t talk to anyone. Jazz put it down to Prowl being socially awkward and the rest of the mechs being idiots. It was so obvious to Jazz he didn’t understand how the others didn’t see that Prowl was content to sit and listen to them, giving advice or his opinion every now and then. But because he didn’t talk much, they stopped talking to him, or inviting him to sit with them.
Prowl on the other hand, did not look bothered by it. In fact, the mech, who had been transferred to tactical, had his hands full with reports and analysis and trying to fix the apparent mess that was tactical. He was even mentoring his supposedly CO! Jazz bet Prowl would take charge, at least officially, in the next vorn.
As it was, the only company Prowl had, were either the tacticians working with him (lets be honest, working for Prowl), who for some reason were terrified of him, and Jazz. As far as he knew, Prowl didn’t have any other friends.
“So, mech... What was the big secret about your identity for?” He asked one night. Jazz was sprawled on the tactical table, head resting on his hands (Prowl had threatened him with so much pain for that but Jazz refused to move), and the new tactician was working furiously on a datapad.
“Phantom wanted a ghost. Someone they couldn’t track even by hacking into the Special Operation’s files.” He smirked up at Jazz. “Had I let you continue with your search, you would have found nothing.”
Jazz glared. “That’s it?” He asked, not bothering to acknowledge Prowl’s jab.
Prowl’s finger slowed. It was just a second, but he’d seen it, before they kept moving.
“Prowl?”
Sighing, the tactician put the datapad to the side and looked up at him with a grave look.
“No.”
Jazz waited.
“Care to elaborate?” He asked with a hint of exasperation. Getting information out of Prowl sometimes was like a torture session at the hands of the Decepticons. Slow and painful.
“There is something... special about me.” The way he said special, half in disgust and half in resignation made Jazz sit up straight, frowning down at him. He knew Prowl wasn’t bragging or making himself to be superior, in fact he seemed, dejected.
This time Jazz waited patiently while Prowl gathered his thoughts.
“When I was a sparkling, I was fitted with an illegal battle computer. Half the Special Operations’ missions were drafted out by me. Phantom quickly saw my...value. The mission to retrieve the information on Shockwave’s new weapon was already going to be my last. I would be far more useful here. Plus, Phantom doesn’t trust the other tacticians. Having a past in Ops, I am ideal.”
Jazz stared. So, Prowl saw himself as a tool. The mech obviously didn’t like it. Not with the emphasis he put on the words special, value and useful. The mech hated them, hated being a tool, and that was the only way Phantom viewed him. What was worse, the only thing Prowl could do was let himself be used.
“Does Prime know about this?”
“Yes, it was Sentinel’s idea in the first place. Apparently, I will be made Head Tactician in the near future.”
Called it. Thought Jazz, but pushed it away.
“Sorry mech, sounds tough.” He said sincerely.
“It is basically what I was raised for.” Prowl simply said.
Jazz shook his head. “Maybe, but that don’t mean ya can’t have some fun in the meanwhile. Ah’ve seen ya Prowl. You’ve distanced yourself from the rest of the crew. Even in Ops, almost no one knew about ya. Only Mirage. Ya don’t have ta be the Autobot’s outcast. That ain’t how it works. We’re a team.”
“This coming from an Ops mech?” The visored mech had to nod in agreement at the implication. Ops was trained to work independently. The only team work was before the mission, in its planning, and hopefully, after the mission, with the extraction plan. But if one fell behind, he got left behind. Not much real teamwork going on.
“True, but you’re not in Ops anymore.”
“Maybe.” Prowl murmured, going back to his datapad.
Jazz stared at him. He thought long and hard about what he’d just learned. Prowl’s situation kind of sucked, and having seen first hand the mech’s humor, his loyalty and concern for others, he felt Prowl had been dealt a bad hand. Mechs avoided him because they thought he was weird, or that he thought too high of himself to be around them. The new rank was going to seclude him even more. Prowl might not want or need company, but he certainly did not want or need to be shunned.
The visored mech hummed in thought.
Well, here was one mech that wouldn’t shun him. Jazz was popular, mechs liked him and sought him out. He could be a bridge between them and Prowl. And of course, the visored mech wouldn’t leave the mech behind to crash and burn. Prowl had risked his life for his, Jazz wouldn’t hesitate to do the same. Even if that meant he’d drag him to every party, introduced him to half the base or even, got him into trouble. A prank here and there was bound to get the mech to loosen up.
He chuckled.
“What’s so funny?” Prowl asked, never once looking away from his datapad.
“Oh Prowler, you’re in for an interesting life.” Jazz smiled wide and dissolved into giggles, already planning his first move.
The tactician narrowed his optics at him. He knew Jazz long enough to know only trouble could come from whatever had him laughing. He was not eager to find out.
One last thought assaulted him before he tuned the mech out completely and continued with his work.
Prowler?