And another one
Learning By Throwing
Author: Thalanee
Verse: A World Gone Crazy
Word Count: about 1800 words
Rating: pg-13
Warnings: crack as usual XD
Disclaimer: I only wish they were mine, but sadly Transformers don’t belong to me.
Summary: When Ratchet and Jazz join forces to teach Prowl their own brand of self defense the result can’t be anything short of spectacular.
Author’s Notes: For those of you who wondered about Prowl’s self defense lessons after “Protective Instincts” (the ones mentioned in “On The Proper Use of Datapads) ;D I hope you like it!
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“Do you not think that you are just a bit overzealous?” After his brush with permanent deactivation courtesy of a Decepticon assassin Prowl was more than willing to learn how to defend himself, but what Jazz was proposing right now seemed to be just a little excessive, even for the silver saboteur. Currently the pair was standing alone in the deserted shooting range (Jazz had made sure there would be no disturbances, he had said, and now Prowl understood why).
“Nope.” Jazz crossed his arms, remaining unrelenting. Prowl had approached Ironhide for fighting lessons already, and was also being trained in armed combat, but Jazz wanted to be absolutely sure his mate could defend himself even if he had no obvious weapons at hand. He would teach Prowl every trick in his arsenal, however unconventional, to be sure the tactician would not be injured like that again. His spark still clenched painfully at the reminder of Prowl’s near death.
“I understand the lessons in marksmanship with Ironhide. I see the need in hand to hand combat training with you and Ironhide, even for the sword-fighting lessons with Sabre, but this?” A white slightly clawed finger, a sign of mixed Autobot and Decepticon heritage, pointed at the assorted weaponry arrayed in front of him, the motion clearly conveying his doubt. They looked so little, so innocent, lying there on the table. How on Cybertron would Prowl be able to fight using these?!
“Ya ain’t always goin’ ta have a sword or a gun on servo, so I want ya ta be able to clobber your opponents with what’s at hand.” Jazz took hold of one of Prowl’s servos and held it between his own. Ever since the tactician had woken up after the assassination attempt, the two had nearly been inseparable, especially after they both finally confessed to their feelings for the other (much to the delight of Ratchet and Optimus, who apparently had won an unholy amount of credits from Smokescreen’s betting pool). “I want ta know ya’ll be save, even when I’m not there. ‘Specially when I’m not there.” He pressed a chaste kiss to the centre of Prowl’s chevron, earning a purr from the other.
A barely there smile appeared on Prowl’s face. “I love you too… Jazzy.” It still felt a little strange to say these words, but so right at the same time. And he would probably never get used to saying them or hearing them directed at himself.
Hearing the nickname from Prowl, he couldn’t help but grin broadly, uncaring if it looked silly. “Love ya even more.” Leaning down, he softly kissed Prowl on the lips, relishing that he was finally able to do so. His grin turned mischievous. “But that don’t mean ya’ll get out of this lesson.”
“I know.” Prowl sighed, his doorwings twitching slightly.
“Then why tha question?” Jazz cocked his head to the side questioningly.
“While I do not dispute the fact that your argument is valid, I cannot help but wonder at your choice of weapon.” The tactician stated drily, slanting another look at the gleaming items on the table.
“I don’t know why, those things have perfect balance, ya always have some, ya can use them across distances and in close combat, they’re sturdy, easy ta hide in case ya get captured and need ta hide your weapons, and pit, ya can even upgrade them ta suit your needs an’ nobot will ever suspect until they have one of those things stuck where it hurts.” Jazz pointed out perfectly reasonably and with a completely straight face. It took effort but he managed it.
“You have already taught me how to disable opponents with my chair or desk, how to immobilize them with a stylus, never mind the high-speed maneuver for restraining someone with a roll of duct tape during a fight in a matter of clicks, and countless other tricks I have never heard of before. After all those, this seems rather superfluous.” Shifting his weight slightly, Prowl had to admit that Jazz was actually right.
But still… fighting Decepticons with datapads?
“Oh, to the contrary, love, this is the best part!” The silver mech almost hopped up and down in giddy excitement. “Look, I even brought ya some already upgraded pads ta train with.”
He picked up the first datapad and thrust it into Prowl’s hands. It looked like any other datapad the black and white had ever seen. The why did it weigh a lot more than it should?
Jazz explained. “This one still looks normal, but it’s reinforced and nearly unbreakable. And this one,” he indicated another pad still lying on the table, “is less heavily reinforced, but sharpened, so ya can use it as a cutting tool. And ma personal favorite is this one.” The saboteur looked expectantly, almost like a youngling, as he handed it to Prowl for closer inspection.
The datapad was of normal size and weight, but it was bent and slightly curved. “It looks rather strange. I assume it has been fashioned in this shape for a specific purpose?” Prowl inquired, his curiosity awakened.
“Yep. If ya throw it, it comes back.”
Was it just Prowl or had Jazz just giggled? And had he really heard right? “I beg your pardon?”
“Ma best creation, tha returning datapad!” Jazz struck a ridiculous pose, holding the pad up. “It works like those youngling toys, ya know? The ones ya throw and then they circle and fly back ta ya automatically?”
Lips twitching slightly, he gave up. “I am not going to win this argument, am I?”
“Nope, Prowler.” The saboteur looked inordinately pleased with himself. He had reason to be, after all he usually lost his arguments with Prowl. Not that he minded, he really loved their battles of will and wit.
“Still, Jazz. Datapads?” Now it was Prowl’s turn to stifle a laugh.
“I already told ya, those things are perfect!”
“Alright, you win, Jazz.” Laughing outright, Prowl raised his servos in surrender.
Jazz jumped up whooping and pumped his fist. “Sweet!”
“So what exactly am I supposed to do with this?” Prowl picked up one of the less heavily reinforced pads and turned it over in his servos, testing the weight and getting used to the feel of them.
“Don’ ask meh, mech.”
As the deceivingly innocent tone registered, Prowl raised his head from the inspection of his newest weapon and looked up at Jazz, who was still grinning. “…Aren’t you the one who is teaching me?”
“Nope, he is.” Jazz pointed at someone behind him. When he turned to look the first thing he noticed was the chartreuse colour of the mech’s chassis he could have seen from miles away on the battlefield. They couldn’t be serious?
Prowl stared, not quite sure if he should start running. “You are joking.”
Ratchet answered that question for Jazz, while he stepped closer, absently toying with one of his ever present wrenches. “We’re absolutely serious. I’m not putting your sorry chassis back together so you can go and get yourself injured because you weren’t taught by the best.” A disconcerting smirk was directed at the other two bots. “And when it comes to throwing improvised weapons, I’m the best.”
If looked at that way, Prowl couldn’t help but agree that it made sense, even his battle computer seemed to agree. “Indubitably…,” he replied hesitantly, before deciding. “Let us proceed then before I come to my senses.”
And so Ratchet began to teach his new pupil the art of throwing whatever came to servo at moving targets, an art the medic had apparently perfected over the vorns. Under Ratchet’s competent guidance an hour later Prowl was able to hit a target from a considerable distance, though it would probably take a long time until he would be able to match the medics uncanny, almost scary ability to hit anything, anywhere he wanted to.
Which added another reason on his growing list of “Reasons why you should not mess with the CMO”.
“You almost got it Prowl.” Ratchet announced, after Prowl had hit a mech sized target in a location that had made Jazz wince in sympathy. The saboteur was beginning to wonder if this had really been a good idea, because giving it another couple of orns of training Prowl would be as good as Ratchet. Shuddering he imagined what could happen if the two of them teamed up. Luckily that wouldn’t happen… would it?
“Now remember, nice and easy from the hip. If you throw it right, you don’t even have to throw it hard. Technique over strength!” The chartreuse mech pointed out.
The sequence started anew, and aiming carefully, Prowl threw the datapad exactly like the medic had shown him, hitting the mech sized target right in the face, where the datapad actually stuck, the force of the impact making the figure rattle.
Ratchet applauded. “That’s it! You’re a quick study,” the medic patted the tactician on the shoulder to compliment him. “You’re free to go for today. But I recommend training exercises once a decacycle at least, so you can improve your aim.”
At that Jazz piped up from his vantage point beside Prowl. “So how come Ah never see ya at the shooting range?”
Ratchet looked at Jazz, then answered in a tone that clearly conveyed he thought the answer was obvious. “Why bother going to the shooting range once a decacycle when I have stupid mechs, who deserve a bang to the helm, barge into my medbay every cycle?”
While Jazz gaped at the medic, Prowl spoke up, “That is a pity.”
Ratchet turned to look at the smaller mech who regarded him thoughtfully. “Why?”
“I was rather looking forward to a joint training exercise.” Prowl explained, indicating the shooting range with a movement of his servo.
The medic paused to think for a moment. “… Deal. I’ll bring my wrenches.”
“And I shall bring some paperwork. Shall we meet the same time next decacycle?”
“Pit, yeah. This is gonna be so much fun!” Ratchet exclaimed, as the tactician and the medic made their way out of the shooting range side by side.
“Indeed.” Prowl actually laughed, as the doors closed between the two officers and the saboteur still sitting where he had been and staring after them, his jaw almost hitting the floor as realization dawned upon him and he summarized all his thoughts and the consequences of what had happened in a single sentence.
“Good Primus, what have Ah done?”
The End (for now…more is yet to come)
Tell me what you think?