(no subject)
This was for the prowlxjazz community.
Enjoy!
Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!
LJ December Challenge
Author: Thalanee
Verse: Pre-Earth
Rating: pg-13
Word Count: 3954 words
Prompt: Day 29- “Hark the Herald Angels Sing”
Other Characters (in order of appearance): Ratchet, Optimus Prime
Warnings: mechXmech kissing, some violence, Ratchet cussing, me mangling Jazz’s speech patterns
Summary: “He’d come to think of the voice as that of an angel heralding better times yet to come”
I’m still not entirely satisfied with this, but then again it came out alright, I guess.
I stopped counting how many times the bunny changed its plot on me during the writing after I reached a dozen. And yes, Jazz is taller than Prowl, because I say so ;P I reserve the right to twist the facts to fit the story and not the other way around XD
Constructive criticism very welcome.
ooooo
Where was he?
There was darkness all around him. Not a scary kind of dark though. There was no sensation of any kind instead of the pain he should have been in. Wait a moment. Why was he supposed to be in pain? And where was he? The fleeting thoughts vanished as quickly as they arose, floating off before he could grab a hold of them. He couldn’t remember.
Slowly he grew aware of something calling for him. Not in words, just a beckoning, an unseen gesture, that was felt nevertheless. It was strangely compelling. It spoke of peace eternal, of being embraced by light, playing about with others without a care in the world.
And yet, he had the nagging feeling that he was supposed to be somewhere, to do something important, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember what it was.
Maybe it wasn’t so important after all. Maybe he should just heed that calling and let go of everything. It was a nice thought. A part of him instinctively knew that there would be no pain, that he would be safe and protected. The part of him that protested, that wanted to hang on and get back to wherever back actually was, was getting weaker.
Just when he was on the verge of giving in, he heard it.
It was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard, a song so pure and full of emotion it touched his very spark. The haunting notes wove around him in gentle patterns, tenderly caressed all of him to the point where he forgot about everything else, concentrating only on the angelic voice.
He could have stayed like this forever.
That was when he felt it.
A piercing sorrow. There was pain. The waves of anguish and the sheer loneliness underlying the otherwise sweet, gentle notes made his spark ache. A fierce protectiveness arose in him. The singer shouldn’t hurt, that simply wasn’t right. He had to do something, there was no way he would leave now.
He would stay after all. And he would find a way back. To protect his singer. His angel.
ooooo
The battle had been horrible. The Decepticons had attacked with a savagery previously unknown, even older mechs like Ironhide or Kup would never have thought that this was possible. It had started in the middle of the offcycle after the long awaited Solstice with nearly the whole of the Decepticon army led by Megatron himself suddenly appearing almost out of nowhere and lasted almost into the next. The Autobots had managed to defend their base through the long hours of battle, led by their Prime and his officers, but they had to pay a heavy price for their success.
Even looking around now, cycles after the battle, there were still mechs in Ratchet’s med bay. In the joors just after the battle the white medic had been busy patching up life-threatening wounds almost nonstop and had had to leave the care of those “only” seriously or moderately wounded to his apprentices and Wheeljack. Even so, giving his all, not taking a single break to recharge or refuel to the point where his whole frame ached and his optics burned, where only his stubborn-mindedness had kept him going, he had not been able to save all of the bots and that thought hurt. In the end Wheeljack had forced him into taking a break (how anyone could manage such a woeful expression wearing a fragging face mask Ratchet didn’t even want to contemplate- he just comforted himself with the fact, that if his patients wouldn’t obey him, he could just sic the engineer on them).
The softest of sounds brought his attention back into the present.
Someone was singing.
The tune was a quiet, almost gentle one, drifting through the medbay.
Curious the medic tried to pinpoint the origin of the music. It took him a few moments until he realized that the music seemed to come from the intensive care units. The only mech still there was Jazz. The thought made the medic scowl sourly. The black and white saboteur had taken a bad hit during the battle that had almost shattered his spark chamber. If the medic hadn’t been so near the Head of Special Ops wouldn’t have survived the shot. A grim smile appeared on his face. Megatron had paid for that lucky shot dearly… who would have thought that Prowl could be that pissed? In the end Megatron had fled nearly in scraps and if not for the help of his TIC Soundwave the former Lord Protector might not have made it at all. As it was the Autobots had tread carefully around their Second In Command not wishing to fragg him off any further. After being assured that the saboteur would survive the tactician had secluded himself in his office.
Survive Jazz would… the only problem was there was no way to know if he would ever wake up. Resolutely clamping down on the unwanted thought Ratchet crept closer- and the haunting song stopped. Hurriedly the CMO tried to catch a glimpse of the singer, but there was no one.
Everything was as he had left it. Jazz was still online but unconscious. His shoulders dropped in disappointment. Then the readouts on the monitors registered. The black and white was getting better: the stasis he was in wasn’t as deep as it had been before. Sure, the difference was minimal, but it was there nonetheless.
Ratchet was puzzled. Something had to have triggered the change but the medic had no idea what it had been. Sighing he settled himself down on a chair not even noticing that he was slowly falling into recharge.
ooooo
The darkness was still there.
As was the strange pull.
He acknowledged the calling, accepted its presence, but he did not have the slightest intention of ever following it. Also it was growing weaker every time he heard his angel sing. He thrived for the moments when he would slowly grow aware of that beautiful sound. How had he ever lived without it?
This time a new song washed over him gently. Only it wasn’t new… he remembered!
ooooo
Jazz sighed as he aimlessly wandered through the lonely corridors of the base at night.
This had been his first deca-cycle as Prime’s new Third In Command and he already was starting to wonder if accepting Optimus’ proposal to become not only the new Head of Special Operations, but also TIC, after the old one had succumbed to the grievous injuries he had sustained in the last battle, had been such a great idea.
The saboteur had known that things were going to be different, but he hadn’t expected his new job to be so processor- numbingly tedious. The black and white bot was a hands on mech who preferred to act, to actually do something, over sitting around poring over countless reports: reading reports, writing reports, filing reports, comparing reports… after a while he had seriously felt like using the blasted things for target practice. Paperwork really wasn’t Jazz’s forte.
He wouldn’t quit, there was no way he would do that to his Prime, who he knew needed Jazz. But he would still need some time to resign himself to his new desk job. Sure he would still do missions, but fewer than what he was used to. If he was new to the base, he would at least have a fun time exploring it, but he had been stationed here for orns already. There was nothing to do for him besides reports.
So focused was the saboteur on his gloomy thoughts that the sound didn’t register at first, but when it did, it hit him with a force he hadn’t known existed.
Somewhere on the base, someone was singing.
And the voice was gorgeous!
The feelings bubbling up inside of the saboteur run rampant throughout his frame. His sensitive sensor horns latched onto the song greedily, drinking in every note, every wave of sound as a starving bot would energon. The voice sent shivers through his whole frame, rooting Jazz to the spot in awe. His spark seemed to thrill and pulse happily in answer to it. Almost instantly he knew what it was he was feeling.
The saboteur was wildly, deeply, madly in love with the owner of that voice.
A radiant grin threatened to take over his whole faceplate, not that he minded. Without being consciously aware of having decided to move the black and white mech moved forward, already trying to pinpoint where this heavenly voice originated.
And then it stopped.
To say that Jazz was disappointed would have been a considerable understatement. And yet, he was still oddly happy and content. He didn’t know who the singer was, couldn’t say where exactly the voice had come from, not even if he would hear it again in the near future, but in spite of this he was hopeful. He had a reason now.
The one he felt was the other half to his spark was here, on this very base. Had he meet the bot already? Had they talked? Jazz didn’t think so, he was utterly convinced he would have recognized the bot. Surely he would be able to find out who his singer was. After all, he wasn’t Head of Special Ops for nothing.
Ooooo
He remembered! It had been a deca- cycle before that fateful battle. On top of organizing the Solstice festivities he’d been drowned in datapads concerning tactical data relevant to Special Ops, foisted of on him by Optimus’ Second In Command. He had yet to meet the mech, but he was already feeling a little resentful toward him: all the time he’d been bogged down doing reports he hadn’t been able to search for his Angel, as he had named the singer in the privacy of his own thoughts. He’d come to think of the voice as that of an angel heralding better times yet to come, of times to be spent with the love of his life, the other half to his spark.
He couldn’t recall much of the party, he’d been too preoccupied trying to imagine what his Angel would look like, what kind of personality he had to pay any attention to his surroundings at all. So deep in thought was he the base’s alarms hadn’t penetrated his thoughts at first. Only his Prime’s urgent comm. had roused him.
But all of that didn’t matter right now.
He had to get back. He wanted to hold his Angel, to kiss and comfort him, celebrate the Solstice with him, live with him. Slowly, steadily he pushed the call he now resented from his conscious thoughts and started to claw his way toward consciousness, always repeating a single thought, like a mantra.
He had to get back!
ooooo
Choking down the tears threatening to escape despite the tight hold he retained on his emotions he ended the song and looked down on the mech lying on the berth in front of him. There was no physical evidence left of the grievous wound, it had healed completely. The black and white frame of the mech before him was as pristine as if he was newly sparked. Physically the mech was perfectly alright. All the wounds he had sustained in battle had healed. And yet the piercing blue visor remained dark.
A shuddering sigh akin to a sob escaped the bot. Usually he was completely in control of his emotions, otherwise he wouldn’t be able to do his job, to knowingly send mechs and femmes to their possible and sometimes even certain deaths. He wouldn’t be able to stomach the insults and cold, stinging comments behind his back or to his face. But he couldn’t. Not anymore. Not with this mech.
Because Prowl, the famously stoic Second In Command had fallen in love at first sight.
He had seen Jazz for the first time on the Solstice party. At first he had resolved not to go. Being there would only make him feel out of place, a barely tolerated nuisance. His social skills were not the best, but even so he had noticed that the parties only really started once he was out of sight… but not always out of hearing. And that hurt. Optimus had insisted that he come though, and since he didn’t want to disappoint the closest thing to a father figure he had, he’d relented, resolving to spend the minimum amount of time required there in the company of the other officers and then leave.
That resolve had shattered the moment he caught sight of the new Third In Command though. It had hit Prowl like lightening. The slightly taller mech’s black and white paint, so similar to his own, only served to show off the saboteur’s strong build and sleek frame. His visor glowed a shade of azure blue that Prowl instantly decided was his favourite. But what truly captivated Prowl was his smile: it was small, but radiant and slowly but steadily drew Prowl in.
He had almost approached Jazz, but wilted before he even came near the other. Why would the Saboteur be interested in someone like him? Jazz’s reputation as a fun-loving, easy going mech who was the life of the party had preceded him. He loved the spotlight and had no problem interacting with other mechs. So renowned were his social skills he could probably befriend even a Decepticon if he set his mind to it. He was, in short, the exact opposite of the quiet, reserved doorwinger.
Too shy to approach the mech Prowl hid behind his stoic mask as he always did and was about to excuse himself early, when the alarms had sounded.
His spark clenched painfully at the memory of what had happened only hours later, even if his face betrayed nothing. Only his doorwings quivered.
Ooooo
“You are injured” The concern for the Praxian was obvious in the Prime’s voice. His optics were narrowed in a disapproving frown.
“So are you,” the tactician countered. Exhaustion clouded his voice. “But the battle isn’t over yet. We just have to hold this line for a few more breems until Wheeljack, Hoist and Grapple have repaired the shield” He pointed to the breach in their defenses. Earlier in the battle Starscream had toyed with a new invention of his that was obviously supposed to be some sort of cannon. It actually had caused part of their defensive wall of shield generators to collapse- but it had also resulted in a rather spectacular explosion in the flier’s face -and that of the accompanying trines- in a manner eerily reminiscent of the infamous Autobot engineer, thus neatly taking out the constant threat of the Seekers.
Still the wall was breached and Megatron had pounced on the opportunity almost instantly. The resulting carnage was atrocious, but so far the Autobots had managed to hold the Decepticons at bay.
“Jazz and Ironhide are at the breach right now. We’ll relieve them in a few breems”
“Jazz…” he couldn’t hold the affectionate whisper of the mech’s name in. He prayed Optimus hadn’t noticed.
“I hear you still haven’t talked to each other yet. You still haven’t met” Prowl refused to answer, but the red and blue mech continued on regardless. “You should tell him, Prowl”
Now that comment hit too close to home for the doorwinger. “We should continue this discussion once the battle is over” The redchevroned mech avoided Optimus’s optics.
“Prowl, you-“
Their comm. lines crackled. “We could do wit’ some help here!” It was Jazz. “Megatro-“ Abruptly the call broke off. From his vantage point Prowl could see why: Jazz had been shot. By Megatron.
“Jazz!” Before he knew it, Prowl was down the slope and past the other soldiers. He didn’t even bother to check if Optimus was still close, all that mattered was getting to Jazz. Time seemed to move ever so slowly: Jazz falling to the ground, Megatron laughing, raising his cannon, preparing to fire again to kill Jazz. To kill HIS Jazz.
Prowl snapped
Ooooo
According to Jazz he had fought the Decepticon lord down as if he were Unicron personified. In truth Prowl couldn’t remember much of the fight. But he could remember the anguish he had felt as he discovered that Jazz was close to death. The hours in which Jazz had been on the brink of deactivation had been the worst of his life, but he had refused to let it show, burying himself in his work instead: the injured had to be cared for, the battle damage had to be repaired, supplies had to be brought in, the rosters had to be rearranged, battle reports and strategies had to be updated, anything to keep him from thinking of the perilous state the Saboteur was in.
When on one of his numerous visits to the med-bay he had finally received the message that Jazz would survive but that there was no guaranty he would ever wake up again he had immediately sequestered himself in his office and allowed himself to cry. He couldn’t bear it anymore. Later that night he quietly crept to medbay to visit Jazz in private.
Seeing the motionless figure of the mech he loved had made his spark constrict in agony. Hesitantly he had taken Jazz’ limp servo in his own and waited. The reaction he had secretly been hoping for hadn’t been forthcoming though. It was awfully quiet. Jazz would probably hate that.
Didn’t Jazz love music?
Haltingly he began to sing, something he had only done for Primus before, something he would now do for Jazz also.
Night after night he had come to sing to Jazz for more than two deca-cycles now. Nothing had changed. The tears he had held in now freely fell, and still he lifted his voice in song again, praying to Primus for one thing only.
Was there no hope at all?
ooooo
The new song sounded even more sparkbroken than any of the previous ones.
Now Jazz was more determined to return than ever. Holding on to his singer’s voice he somehow clawed his way back to consciousness, awareness. He could feel his body. Surprisingly to him there was no pain. Only the softest touch to one of his servos.
One by one he went through his systems, finding evidence of finished repairs. All the while he listened to the soft voice. His visual systems he saved for last.
He basked in the way the voice sent ripples through his actual frame, just like the first time he’d heard it. When he onlined his visor, he couldn’t help but stare.
There at the side of his berth sat an Angel.
He had turned his optics away, so he hadn’t noticed Jazz onlining, for which the latter was grateful, as it gave him the opportunity to drink in the sight before him. The mech had a slender, graceful form all a pearlescent white made all the more radiant in Jazz optics by the splashes of black that accentuated his curves. A vibrant red chevron drew his optics to the singers face with its high cheek bones, the full lip plates and large optics of a blue so deep it was almost violet. And then there was the pair of regal wings adorning the mechs back.
When the priests of Primus had told him as a youngling about the Angels of Primus, he had laughed. Beautiful bots with voices that touched your very spark, something like that couldn’t possibly be true. To Jazz, it was now. He had found his singer, his Angel.
And he was smitten all over again.
“Hey, Angel” Curse his vocalizer. The mech flinched, then stared at him with wide optics. When Jazz realized that he was going to run away, he shot up and unceremoniously wrapped his arms around the mech, so he wouldn’t be able to get away. No way in the pit would he let his Angel escape.
Said angel had tensed at being embraced and now simply stared at Jazz, tears still running down the gorgeous face.
“Please, don’t leave” Jazz whispered, and when the other black and white finally relaxed somewhat, Jazz raised one of his servos and gently wiped away the tears. A shuddering sigh escaped the winged one’s vocalizer and he sank into Jazz’s hold on him, leaning his head into the comforting servo.
The saboteur probably only had this one chance, he thought, so he was going to say his piece and hope for the best.
ooooo
When the secret object of his affections had suddenly spoken, Prowl had freaked and tried to run, but soon found himself where he had wanted to be since he first saw the mech: in Jazz’s arms. Never before had he felt that safe and protected and when Jazz had asked him not to run and proceeded to gently wipe away his tears, all of his resistance had melted away at Jazz’s touches. Prowl wasn’t convinced it would last, but he would enjoy it while it lasted and try not to think about how much it would hurt to have that wonderful feeling taken away again.
“I came back because of you, ya know?” Prowl blinked in confusion. What was he talking about? “Ever since Ah heard ya sing for the first time a deca- cycle before the Solstice Ah tried to find ya, but no one could tell me who ya were. And then ah heard yer voice when Ah was in stasis. Ya sounded so sad an’ sparkbroken, Ah had to get back.”
“I don’t understand” Prowl whispered. “What do you want from me?” Inwardly he pleaded with Primus that this wasn’t some kind of waking dream conjured up by his processor, that Jazz really ment, what he seemed to be implying. The doorwinger wasn’t sure he would be able to handle it if Jazz just toyed with him.
The saboteur seemed to hesitate for a moment, before he decided on something. A barely audible click sounded and his visor drew back to reveal Jazz sapphire coloured optics. They shone with emotion, one of them clearly recognizable even to Prowl: love.
“Ah just want to be with ya, ta hold ya” his arms encircled the Praxian lovingly, “ta comfort and protect ya, when ya’re sad,” ever so gently he kissed away the tear tracks on Prowl’s cheeks, “Ah want ta see ya laugh an’ be happy” he pressed a kiss to the golden center of the doorwinger’s crimson chevron, “ta hear that beautiful voice of yours, my Prowl,” the Praxian gasped in surprise (Jazz knew him?) “My Angel, my Love”
Looking into Jazz’s optics Prowl could see that Jazz meant everything from the bottom of his spark. Where their chest plates touched he could feel the happy thrumming of their sparks next to each other.
“Oh Primus, I love you, Jazz” The sparkfelt declaration burst out of him, but he didn’t mind. And when Jazz leaned down to chastely kiss him on the lips, he returned the kiss without a second thought. Wrapping his own arms around Jazz, fluttering his doorwings, he was happier than he had ever been.
Lost in their kiss and their love for each other none of them noticed the tall, red and blue figure silently watching over them. Neither of them saw his happy smile or heard him silently thank Primus for answering his prayers.
As quietly as he had come, he left, content that his adopted sparkling and a bot he had come to think of as a good friend, had found love and happiness.
Finally.
The Beginning
Enjoy!
Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!
LJ December Challenge
Author: Thalanee
Verse: Pre-Earth
Rating: pg-13
Word Count: 3954 words
Prompt: Day 29- “Hark the Herald Angels Sing”
Other Characters (in order of appearance): Ratchet, Optimus Prime
Warnings: mechXmech kissing, some violence, Ratchet cussing, me mangling Jazz’s speech patterns
Summary: “He’d come to think of the voice as that of an angel heralding better times yet to come”
I’m still not entirely satisfied with this, but then again it came out alright, I guess.
I stopped counting how many times the bunny changed its plot on me during the writing after I reached a dozen. And yes, Jazz is taller than Prowl, because I say so ;P I reserve the right to twist the facts to fit the story and not the other way around XD
Constructive criticism very welcome.
ooooo
Where was he?
There was darkness all around him. Not a scary kind of dark though. There was no sensation of any kind instead of the pain he should have been in. Wait a moment. Why was he supposed to be in pain? And where was he? The fleeting thoughts vanished as quickly as they arose, floating off before he could grab a hold of them. He couldn’t remember.
Slowly he grew aware of something calling for him. Not in words, just a beckoning, an unseen gesture, that was felt nevertheless. It was strangely compelling. It spoke of peace eternal, of being embraced by light, playing about with others without a care in the world.
And yet, he had the nagging feeling that he was supposed to be somewhere, to do something important, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember what it was.
Maybe it wasn’t so important after all. Maybe he should just heed that calling and let go of everything. It was a nice thought. A part of him instinctively knew that there would be no pain, that he would be safe and protected. The part of him that protested, that wanted to hang on and get back to wherever back actually was, was getting weaker.
Just when he was on the verge of giving in, he heard it.
It was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard, a song so pure and full of emotion it touched his very spark. The haunting notes wove around him in gentle patterns, tenderly caressed all of him to the point where he forgot about everything else, concentrating only on the angelic voice.
He could have stayed like this forever.
That was when he felt it.
A piercing sorrow. There was pain. The waves of anguish and the sheer loneliness underlying the otherwise sweet, gentle notes made his spark ache. A fierce protectiveness arose in him. The singer shouldn’t hurt, that simply wasn’t right. He had to do something, there was no way he would leave now.
He would stay after all. And he would find a way back. To protect his singer. His angel.
ooooo
The battle had been horrible. The Decepticons had attacked with a savagery previously unknown, even older mechs like Ironhide or Kup would never have thought that this was possible. It had started in the middle of the offcycle after the long awaited Solstice with nearly the whole of the Decepticon army led by Megatron himself suddenly appearing almost out of nowhere and lasted almost into the next. The Autobots had managed to defend their base through the long hours of battle, led by their Prime and his officers, but they had to pay a heavy price for their success.
Even looking around now, cycles after the battle, there were still mechs in Ratchet’s med bay. In the joors just after the battle the white medic had been busy patching up life-threatening wounds almost nonstop and had had to leave the care of those “only” seriously or moderately wounded to his apprentices and Wheeljack. Even so, giving his all, not taking a single break to recharge or refuel to the point where his whole frame ached and his optics burned, where only his stubborn-mindedness had kept him going, he had not been able to save all of the bots and that thought hurt. In the end Wheeljack had forced him into taking a break (how anyone could manage such a woeful expression wearing a fragging face mask Ratchet didn’t even want to contemplate- he just comforted himself with the fact, that if his patients wouldn’t obey him, he could just sic the engineer on them).
The softest of sounds brought his attention back into the present.
Someone was singing.
The tune was a quiet, almost gentle one, drifting through the medbay.
Curious the medic tried to pinpoint the origin of the music. It took him a few moments until he realized that the music seemed to come from the intensive care units. The only mech still there was Jazz. The thought made the medic scowl sourly. The black and white saboteur had taken a bad hit during the battle that had almost shattered his spark chamber. If the medic hadn’t been so near the Head of Special Ops wouldn’t have survived the shot. A grim smile appeared on his face. Megatron had paid for that lucky shot dearly… who would have thought that Prowl could be that pissed? In the end Megatron had fled nearly in scraps and if not for the help of his TIC Soundwave the former Lord Protector might not have made it at all. As it was the Autobots had tread carefully around their Second In Command not wishing to fragg him off any further. After being assured that the saboteur would survive the tactician had secluded himself in his office.
Survive Jazz would… the only problem was there was no way to know if he would ever wake up. Resolutely clamping down on the unwanted thought Ratchet crept closer- and the haunting song stopped. Hurriedly the CMO tried to catch a glimpse of the singer, but there was no one.
Everything was as he had left it. Jazz was still online but unconscious. His shoulders dropped in disappointment. Then the readouts on the monitors registered. The black and white was getting better: the stasis he was in wasn’t as deep as it had been before. Sure, the difference was minimal, but it was there nonetheless.
Ratchet was puzzled. Something had to have triggered the change but the medic had no idea what it had been. Sighing he settled himself down on a chair not even noticing that he was slowly falling into recharge.
ooooo
The darkness was still there.
As was the strange pull.
He acknowledged the calling, accepted its presence, but he did not have the slightest intention of ever following it. Also it was growing weaker every time he heard his angel sing. He thrived for the moments when he would slowly grow aware of that beautiful sound. How had he ever lived without it?
This time a new song washed over him gently. Only it wasn’t new… he remembered!
ooooo
Jazz sighed as he aimlessly wandered through the lonely corridors of the base at night.
This had been his first deca-cycle as Prime’s new Third In Command and he already was starting to wonder if accepting Optimus’ proposal to become not only the new Head of Special Operations, but also TIC, after the old one had succumbed to the grievous injuries he had sustained in the last battle, had been such a great idea.
The saboteur had known that things were going to be different, but he hadn’t expected his new job to be so processor- numbingly tedious. The black and white bot was a hands on mech who preferred to act, to actually do something, over sitting around poring over countless reports: reading reports, writing reports, filing reports, comparing reports… after a while he had seriously felt like using the blasted things for target practice. Paperwork really wasn’t Jazz’s forte.
He wouldn’t quit, there was no way he would do that to his Prime, who he knew needed Jazz. But he would still need some time to resign himself to his new desk job. Sure he would still do missions, but fewer than what he was used to. If he was new to the base, he would at least have a fun time exploring it, but he had been stationed here for orns already. There was nothing to do for him besides reports.
So focused was the saboteur on his gloomy thoughts that the sound didn’t register at first, but when it did, it hit him with a force he hadn’t known existed.
Somewhere on the base, someone was singing.
And the voice was gorgeous!
The feelings bubbling up inside of the saboteur run rampant throughout his frame. His sensitive sensor horns latched onto the song greedily, drinking in every note, every wave of sound as a starving bot would energon. The voice sent shivers through his whole frame, rooting Jazz to the spot in awe. His spark seemed to thrill and pulse happily in answer to it. Almost instantly he knew what it was he was feeling.
The saboteur was wildly, deeply, madly in love with the owner of that voice.
A radiant grin threatened to take over his whole faceplate, not that he minded. Without being consciously aware of having decided to move the black and white mech moved forward, already trying to pinpoint where this heavenly voice originated.
And then it stopped.
To say that Jazz was disappointed would have been a considerable understatement. And yet, he was still oddly happy and content. He didn’t know who the singer was, couldn’t say where exactly the voice had come from, not even if he would hear it again in the near future, but in spite of this he was hopeful. He had a reason now.
The one he felt was the other half to his spark was here, on this very base. Had he meet the bot already? Had they talked? Jazz didn’t think so, he was utterly convinced he would have recognized the bot. Surely he would be able to find out who his singer was. After all, he wasn’t Head of Special Ops for nothing.
Ooooo
He remembered! It had been a deca- cycle before that fateful battle. On top of organizing the Solstice festivities he’d been drowned in datapads concerning tactical data relevant to Special Ops, foisted of on him by Optimus’ Second In Command. He had yet to meet the mech, but he was already feeling a little resentful toward him: all the time he’d been bogged down doing reports he hadn’t been able to search for his Angel, as he had named the singer in the privacy of his own thoughts. He’d come to think of the voice as that of an angel heralding better times yet to come, of times to be spent with the love of his life, the other half to his spark.
He couldn’t recall much of the party, he’d been too preoccupied trying to imagine what his Angel would look like, what kind of personality he had to pay any attention to his surroundings at all. So deep in thought was he the base’s alarms hadn’t penetrated his thoughts at first. Only his Prime’s urgent comm. had roused him.
But all of that didn’t matter right now.
He had to get back. He wanted to hold his Angel, to kiss and comfort him, celebrate the Solstice with him, live with him. Slowly, steadily he pushed the call he now resented from his conscious thoughts and started to claw his way toward consciousness, always repeating a single thought, like a mantra.
He had to get back!
ooooo
Choking down the tears threatening to escape despite the tight hold he retained on his emotions he ended the song and looked down on the mech lying on the berth in front of him. There was no physical evidence left of the grievous wound, it had healed completely. The black and white frame of the mech before him was as pristine as if he was newly sparked. Physically the mech was perfectly alright. All the wounds he had sustained in battle had healed. And yet the piercing blue visor remained dark.
A shuddering sigh akin to a sob escaped the bot. Usually he was completely in control of his emotions, otherwise he wouldn’t be able to do his job, to knowingly send mechs and femmes to their possible and sometimes even certain deaths. He wouldn’t be able to stomach the insults and cold, stinging comments behind his back or to his face. But he couldn’t. Not anymore. Not with this mech.
Because Prowl, the famously stoic Second In Command had fallen in love at first sight.
He had seen Jazz for the first time on the Solstice party. At first he had resolved not to go. Being there would only make him feel out of place, a barely tolerated nuisance. His social skills were not the best, but even so he had noticed that the parties only really started once he was out of sight… but not always out of hearing. And that hurt. Optimus had insisted that he come though, and since he didn’t want to disappoint the closest thing to a father figure he had, he’d relented, resolving to spend the minimum amount of time required there in the company of the other officers and then leave.
That resolve had shattered the moment he caught sight of the new Third In Command though. It had hit Prowl like lightening. The slightly taller mech’s black and white paint, so similar to his own, only served to show off the saboteur’s strong build and sleek frame. His visor glowed a shade of azure blue that Prowl instantly decided was his favourite. But what truly captivated Prowl was his smile: it was small, but radiant and slowly but steadily drew Prowl in.
He had almost approached Jazz, but wilted before he even came near the other. Why would the Saboteur be interested in someone like him? Jazz’s reputation as a fun-loving, easy going mech who was the life of the party had preceded him. He loved the spotlight and had no problem interacting with other mechs. So renowned were his social skills he could probably befriend even a Decepticon if he set his mind to it. He was, in short, the exact opposite of the quiet, reserved doorwinger.
Too shy to approach the mech Prowl hid behind his stoic mask as he always did and was about to excuse himself early, when the alarms had sounded.
His spark clenched painfully at the memory of what had happened only hours later, even if his face betrayed nothing. Only his doorwings quivered.
Ooooo
“You are injured” The concern for the Praxian was obvious in the Prime’s voice. His optics were narrowed in a disapproving frown.
“So are you,” the tactician countered. Exhaustion clouded his voice. “But the battle isn’t over yet. We just have to hold this line for a few more breems until Wheeljack, Hoist and Grapple have repaired the shield” He pointed to the breach in their defenses. Earlier in the battle Starscream had toyed with a new invention of his that was obviously supposed to be some sort of cannon. It actually had caused part of their defensive wall of shield generators to collapse- but it had also resulted in a rather spectacular explosion in the flier’s face -and that of the accompanying trines- in a manner eerily reminiscent of the infamous Autobot engineer, thus neatly taking out the constant threat of the Seekers.
Still the wall was breached and Megatron had pounced on the opportunity almost instantly. The resulting carnage was atrocious, but so far the Autobots had managed to hold the Decepticons at bay.
“Jazz and Ironhide are at the breach right now. We’ll relieve them in a few breems”
“Jazz…” he couldn’t hold the affectionate whisper of the mech’s name in. He prayed Optimus hadn’t noticed.
“I hear you still haven’t talked to each other yet. You still haven’t met” Prowl refused to answer, but the red and blue mech continued on regardless. “You should tell him, Prowl”
Now that comment hit too close to home for the doorwinger. “We should continue this discussion once the battle is over” The redchevroned mech avoided Optimus’s optics.
“Prowl, you-“
Their comm. lines crackled. “We could do wit’ some help here!” It was Jazz. “Megatro-“ Abruptly the call broke off. From his vantage point Prowl could see why: Jazz had been shot. By Megatron.
“Jazz!” Before he knew it, Prowl was down the slope and past the other soldiers. He didn’t even bother to check if Optimus was still close, all that mattered was getting to Jazz. Time seemed to move ever so slowly: Jazz falling to the ground, Megatron laughing, raising his cannon, preparing to fire again to kill Jazz. To kill HIS Jazz.
Prowl snapped
Ooooo
According to Jazz he had fought the Decepticon lord down as if he were Unicron personified. In truth Prowl couldn’t remember much of the fight. But he could remember the anguish he had felt as he discovered that Jazz was close to death. The hours in which Jazz had been on the brink of deactivation had been the worst of his life, but he had refused to let it show, burying himself in his work instead: the injured had to be cared for, the battle damage had to be repaired, supplies had to be brought in, the rosters had to be rearranged, battle reports and strategies had to be updated, anything to keep him from thinking of the perilous state the Saboteur was in.
When on one of his numerous visits to the med-bay he had finally received the message that Jazz would survive but that there was no guaranty he would ever wake up again he had immediately sequestered himself in his office and allowed himself to cry. He couldn’t bear it anymore. Later that night he quietly crept to medbay to visit Jazz in private.
Seeing the motionless figure of the mech he loved had made his spark constrict in agony. Hesitantly he had taken Jazz’ limp servo in his own and waited. The reaction he had secretly been hoping for hadn’t been forthcoming though. It was awfully quiet. Jazz would probably hate that.
Didn’t Jazz love music?
Haltingly he began to sing, something he had only done for Primus before, something he would now do for Jazz also.
Night after night he had come to sing to Jazz for more than two deca-cycles now. Nothing had changed. The tears he had held in now freely fell, and still he lifted his voice in song again, praying to Primus for one thing only.
Was there no hope at all?
ooooo
The new song sounded even more sparkbroken than any of the previous ones.
Now Jazz was more determined to return than ever. Holding on to his singer’s voice he somehow clawed his way back to consciousness, awareness. He could feel his body. Surprisingly to him there was no pain. Only the softest touch to one of his servos.
One by one he went through his systems, finding evidence of finished repairs. All the while he listened to the soft voice. His visual systems he saved for last.
He basked in the way the voice sent ripples through his actual frame, just like the first time he’d heard it. When he onlined his visor, he couldn’t help but stare.
There at the side of his berth sat an Angel.
He had turned his optics away, so he hadn’t noticed Jazz onlining, for which the latter was grateful, as it gave him the opportunity to drink in the sight before him. The mech had a slender, graceful form all a pearlescent white made all the more radiant in Jazz optics by the splashes of black that accentuated his curves. A vibrant red chevron drew his optics to the singers face with its high cheek bones, the full lip plates and large optics of a blue so deep it was almost violet. And then there was the pair of regal wings adorning the mechs back.
When the priests of Primus had told him as a youngling about the Angels of Primus, he had laughed. Beautiful bots with voices that touched your very spark, something like that couldn’t possibly be true. To Jazz, it was now. He had found his singer, his Angel.
And he was smitten all over again.
“Hey, Angel” Curse his vocalizer. The mech flinched, then stared at him with wide optics. When Jazz realized that he was going to run away, he shot up and unceremoniously wrapped his arms around the mech, so he wouldn’t be able to get away. No way in the pit would he let his Angel escape.
Said angel had tensed at being embraced and now simply stared at Jazz, tears still running down the gorgeous face.
“Please, don’t leave” Jazz whispered, and when the other black and white finally relaxed somewhat, Jazz raised one of his servos and gently wiped away the tears. A shuddering sigh escaped the winged one’s vocalizer and he sank into Jazz’s hold on him, leaning his head into the comforting servo.
The saboteur probably only had this one chance, he thought, so he was going to say his piece and hope for the best.
ooooo
When the secret object of his affections had suddenly spoken, Prowl had freaked and tried to run, but soon found himself where he had wanted to be since he first saw the mech: in Jazz’s arms. Never before had he felt that safe and protected and when Jazz had asked him not to run and proceeded to gently wipe away his tears, all of his resistance had melted away at Jazz’s touches. Prowl wasn’t convinced it would last, but he would enjoy it while it lasted and try not to think about how much it would hurt to have that wonderful feeling taken away again.
“I came back because of you, ya know?” Prowl blinked in confusion. What was he talking about? “Ever since Ah heard ya sing for the first time a deca- cycle before the Solstice Ah tried to find ya, but no one could tell me who ya were. And then ah heard yer voice when Ah was in stasis. Ya sounded so sad an’ sparkbroken, Ah had to get back.”
“I don’t understand” Prowl whispered. “What do you want from me?” Inwardly he pleaded with Primus that this wasn’t some kind of waking dream conjured up by his processor, that Jazz really ment, what he seemed to be implying. The doorwinger wasn’t sure he would be able to handle it if Jazz just toyed with him.
The saboteur seemed to hesitate for a moment, before he decided on something. A barely audible click sounded and his visor drew back to reveal Jazz sapphire coloured optics. They shone with emotion, one of them clearly recognizable even to Prowl: love.
“Ah just want to be with ya, ta hold ya” his arms encircled the Praxian lovingly, “ta comfort and protect ya, when ya’re sad,” ever so gently he kissed away the tear tracks on Prowl’s cheeks, “Ah want ta see ya laugh an’ be happy” he pressed a kiss to the golden center of the doorwinger’s crimson chevron, “ta hear that beautiful voice of yours, my Prowl,” the Praxian gasped in surprise (Jazz knew him?) “My Angel, my Love”
Looking into Jazz’s optics Prowl could see that Jazz meant everything from the bottom of his spark. Where their chest plates touched he could feel the happy thrumming of their sparks next to each other.
“Oh Primus, I love you, Jazz” The sparkfelt declaration burst out of him, but he didn’t mind. And when Jazz leaned down to chastely kiss him on the lips, he returned the kiss without a second thought. Wrapping his own arms around Jazz, fluttering his doorwings, he was happier than he had ever been.
Lost in their kiss and their love for each other none of them noticed the tall, red and blue figure silently watching over them. Neither of them saw his happy smile or heard him silently thank Primus for answering his prayers.
As quietly as he had come, he left, content that his adopted sparkling and a bot he had come to think of as a good friend, had found love and happiness.
Finally.
The Beginning