To Love A Stranger (12/17)
The mech now joined them for the morning meal on occasion, but he rarely spoke and only offered the occasional small smile. Jazz had reverted to his normal self, open and happy. He constantly tried to engage Prowl in various activities, involve him in things, hoping that the mech would open up to him.
But since that first night when he had discovered Prowl's talent for strategy games he had learned little else of the mech. Prowl never spoke of his family or friends. Jazz knew nothing of his childhood, his likes or dislikes, his hobbies, his dreams-.
Growling Jazz got to his feet, ignoring the bookfile that fell to the floor and marching in the direction of Prowls room. He was going to get something out of the mech if it killed him.
The first knock on the door went unanswered and Jazz thought nothing of it, simply knocking a little harder. He frowned when the second knock was ignored as well. Prowl had never been so rude as to not even call out if he could not make it to the door right away. After the third knock got him nothing Jazz punched into the door code.
Prowl had never bothered to change it, even though Jazz had told him he didn't mind if he did. He had even asked Prowl if the mech wanted other rooms, his old rooms. A brief flick of the other mechs doorwings had clued Jazz in that Prowl had no desire to go back those even before the mech had politely refused.
The door opened and Jazz stepped in, looking around for Prowl. He stopped when the mech was not in the sitting room, frowning. It was not like Prowl to recharge late. The mech had always been up, and Jazz hesitated only a second before poking his head in the berth room, just to check.
At the sight of Prowl stretched out on the berth Jazz almost turned and left him to recharge, but something didn't feel right. Moving closer Jazz called his name.
"Prowl."
The mech didn't respond, and Jazz tried again, reaching out to shake the other mech gently. "Prowl."
Blue optics came online, but they were faint, and Prowl looked up at him like he didn't know who he was. Now concerned to the point of almost panic, Jazz didn't hesitate. He called for a medic.
***
Ratchet exited the room, looking at the mechs and femme waiting just outside the door. "He will be fine. When was the last time he refueled?"
"He joined us for our morning meal two days ago." Lady Moonracer commented as she looked from her creation to her mate. "Is that what it was? Low energy levels? How? Why?"
"I certainly don't know." Ratchet commented as he finished packing away his things. "But I would say that it would a far stretch to assume that was the last time he was properly fueled. Just make sure that he starts refueling on a regular basis, two or three times a day like a normal mech of his build would be best."
"Is this a…habit?" Lord Perceptor inquired, almost dancing around the subject.
Ratchet paused, looking at him. "You mean starving himself? Not from what I can tell. There is no signs of the kind of damage long term depravation like this would cause. I would say it is a very recent development. Caught this early constant supervision should reverse the problem."
"Thank you, Ratchet."
The medic nodded and allowed himself to be shown out after they promised to call him if they needed anything else.
The Lord and the Lady looked at each other, hesitating. They wanted to do something, something to help their creation. "Maybe we can-."
"No."
Lady Moonracer looked at her son. "Jazz-."
"No." He repeated as looked at them. "I'll take care of it. He's my bondmate. I'll take care of it."
"You two already-?" Lady Moonracers surprised question tapered off at the look her creation gave her, and when her mate wrapped an arm around her to lead her away she didn't resist."
"Let him see to it love." Lord Perceptor murmured as he guided her away. "He will come to us if he needs help. He always has before."
Jazz stood at the door, making a plan. He flagged down the next servant that came by and had two cubes of energon brought to him. When they were delivered Jazz opened the door and made his way inside, heading straight for the berth room.
Prowl lay still on the large berth, curled up with his back to the door. Jazz stood, waiting to be acknowledged. When no greeting was forthcoming Jazz, sighed, allowing his frustration to make an appearance. The Praxians doorwings had twitched when Jazz had entered.
"I know ya know I'm here, and I ain' leavin' 'till I get an explanation."
But since that first night when he had discovered Prowl's talent for strategy games he had learned little else of the mech. Prowl never spoke of his family or friends. Jazz knew nothing of his childhood, his likes or dislikes, his hobbies, his dreams-.
Growling Jazz got to his feet, ignoring the bookfile that fell to the floor and marching in the direction of Prowls room. He was going to get something out of the mech if it killed him.
The first knock on the door went unanswered and Jazz thought nothing of it, simply knocking a little harder. He frowned when the second knock was ignored as well. Prowl had never been so rude as to not even call out if he could not make it to the door right away. After the third knock got him nothing Jazz punched into the door code.
Prowl had never bothered to change it, even though Jazz had told him he didn't mind if he did. He had even asked Prowl if the mech wanted other rooms, his old rooms. A brief flick of the other mechs doorwings had clued Jazz in that Prowl had no desire to go back those even before the mech had politely refused.
The door opened and Jazz stepped in, looking around for Prowl. He stopped when the mech was not in the sitting room, frowning. It was not like Prowl to recharge late. The mech had always been up, and Jazz hesitated only a second before poking his head in the berth room, just to check.
At the sight of Prowl stretched out on the berth Jazz almost turned and left him to recharge, but something didn't feel right. Moving closer Jazz called his name.
"Prowl."
The mech didn't respond, and Jazz tried again, reaching out to shake the other mech gently. "Prowl."
Blue optics came online, but they were faint, and Prowl looked up at him like he didn't know who he was. Now concerned to the point of almost panic, Jazz didn't hesitate. He called for a medic.
***
Ratchet exited the room, looking at the mechs and femme waiting just outside the door. "He will be fine. When was the last time he refueled?"
"He joined us for our morning meal two days ago." Lady Moonracer commented as she looked from her creation to her mate. "Is that what it was? Low energy levels? How? Why?"
"I certainly don't know." Ratchet commented as he finished packing away his things. "But I would say that it would a far stretch to assume that was the last time he was properly fueled. Just make sure that he starts refueling on a regular basis, two or three times a day like a normal mech of his build would be best."
"Is this a…habit?" Lord Perceptor inquired, almost dancing around the subject.
Ratchet paused, looking at him. "You mean starving himself? Not from what I can tell. There is no signs of the kind of damage long term depravation like this would cause. I would say it is a very recent development. Caught this early constant supervision should reverse the problem."
"Thank you, Ratchet."
The medic nodded and allowed himself to be shown out after they promised to call him if they needed anything else.
The Lord and the Lady looked at each other, hesitating. They wanted to do something, something to help their creation. "Maybe we can-."
"No."
Lady Moonracer looked at her son. "Jazz-."
"No." He repeated as looked at them. "I'll take care of it. He's my bondmate. I'll take care of it."
"You two already-?" Lady Moonracers surprised question tapered off at the look her creation gave her, and when her mate wrapped an arm around her to lead her away she didn't resist."
"Let him see to it love." Lord Perceptor murmured as he guided her away. "He will come to us if he needs help. He always has before."
Jazz stood at the door, making a plan. He flagged down the next servant that came by and had two cubes of energon brought to him. When they were delivered Jazz opened the door and made his way inside, heading straight for the berth room.
Prowl lay still on the large berth, curled up with his back to the door. Jazz stood, waiting to be acknowledged. When no greeting was forthcoming Jazz, sighed, allowing his frustration to make an appearance. The Praxians doorwings had twitched when Jazz had entered.
"I know ya know I'm here, and I ain' leavin' 'till I get an explanation."