Watched
I've had a busy, tiring and incredibly bad day so I've been editing a little P/J thing I wrote at the weekend to cheer myself up. I don't honestly think it's good enough to post anywhere else (edit: although I guess it's worth a try), but for what it's worth, this is what happened next after 'People Watching'...
Title: Watched
Verse: G1
Rating: M
Characters: Jazz/Prowl, Ratchet
Warnings: Non-explicit but heavily implied mech/mech spark-merging.
Words: 3562, complete
Summary: Being watched can be uncomfortable, but some things deserve a witness.
Author’s Note: Jazz and Prowl insisted on a sequel to my earlier fic ‘ People Watching’ and then took it in a direction I really wasn’t expecting… twice. First time I’ve ever written something I’d rate as an R or M.
A spotlight pinned him, splitting the darkness of Medbay's side room. It snapped out, leaving ripples of interference in his optics that merged with an ongoing flicker, rays of light scanning the newly-arrived mech from pedes to chest height, past doorwings and to the top of his helm, before returning to ground level. On the other side of the dimly-lit room, close to the patient's med-berth, a monitor screen flared into life, its glare almost painful to night-attuned optics.
Prowl froze, his doorwings snapping high and taut as he struggled to comprehend what had happened.
A deep chuckle from the berth broke through his shock, and he realised another glow had joined that of the screen, the brilliance of Jazz's blue visor driving back the darkness.
Emotion, too intense to put a name to, ran through him driving a shudder of pure relief ahead of it. His battle processor had insisted Jazz's injuries weren't critical. He'd even seen Ratchet's report on today's casualties, its "they'll be fine; anyone who disturbs them won't be!" carrying the medic's unique brand of combined threat and reassurance. Nevertheless, Jazz was sufficiently damaged after today's hard-fought battle for Ratchet to keep him in for observation overnight, and that fact cast a sober pall over the entire Ark. It was more than enough to terrify one mech aboard her.
Until he saw Jazz awake with his own optics, and heard the mech's rich tones, Prowl’s spark had still been curled into the tight ball of fear it became on seeing his lover impact a cliff face, head-first and with horrifying force.
The air vented from his systems in a loud sigh. The monitor was ignored, relevant only for the illumination it cast over Jazz's prone form. Armour plates that Prowl had last seen dented and scoured down to base metal were now smooth and clean, waxed to a shine. Jazz's cracked visor had been replaced, and the glowing warmth of his personality shone through it, thawing the chill in Prowl's spark.
"Jazz…" Prowl vented again, forcing his turbulent emotions back under control. "I didn't mean to wake you from recharge."
"Not entirely yer fault, Prowler." Jazz raised a brow ridge, still looking amused. He beckoned and Prowl needed no more encouragement to move closer, reaching out to take Jazz's hand. "Ya been avoidin' Ratchet again, lover?"
Prowl's doorwings flicked out and down. He ignored the shiver of stiffness and pain that accompanied the movement. Jazz didn't, visor flicking up to reveal concerned optics. Prowl's defensive response faltered in the face of their intensity.
"I'm fine! Just… just a little dermal abrasion." Rocks falling, and Jazz falling with them. Prowl hadn't even hesitated, racing across the battlefield, transforming as he went and skidding the last few metres on his knees. Falling scree peppered his wings like shrapnel; all Prowl cared about was getting there to cushion the other's landing. He hadn't even noticed his own scrapes until well after Ratchet had spirited Jazz out of his arms. He hadn't seen either mech since. "How did you know?"
The worry lingered in Jazz’s optics, but his expression softened a little. He let his visor slide back down and tilted his head, throwing a wry glance at the illuminated monitor.
SIC Prowl - post-battle health scan complete. Status: provisional pass
Jazz smirked, reading the small print below that declaration. "Ya got yerself a minor repairs 'pointment first thing t’morrow, Prowl. Looks like Ratch is not impressed."
The smile was infectious. Prowl couldn't help echoing it, his optics on the single word at the bottom of the screen. "I inferred as much from the 'Gotcha!'"
Jazz chuckled again, low and rich. He tugged on Prowl's hand, drawing him down to sit on the edge of the berth. His visitor didn't resist.
"Ya could just’ve stopped by Medbay earlier, ya know? The reports weren't goin' to change any for the sake of a few breems t’ get yerself looked at."
Prowl shuddered. Jazz's hand tightened around his. He held it tight in return, his free hand reaching out to brush gently over his lover's repaired helm.
"Breems so close to you and so far away? Forced to watch while Ratchet worked on you, and not able to hold you, or even show more than a mild concern? I got away with what happened on the battlefield. No one blinked when I stepped in to aid a fellow Autobot. But that? I… I couldn't have stood it, Jazz. I'd have given everything away. I wanted to give it away. To stand there in Medbay and shout out to everyone that you were mine and I didn't care if they knew it."
He leaned over as he spoke, bringing his face down to hover over Jazz's, looking straight into his visor. The saboteur arched upwards, his mouth capturing Prowl's. Prowl leaned into the kiss, pouring all his fear and suppressed passion into deepening it. Jazz's hand came up to cup the back of his helm, neither wanting to break the clinch, desperate for the reassurance and affirmation.
Jazz yielded first, his helm falling back to the berth, his vents working hard. His hand caressed Prowl's cheek, a breathy laugh escaping him.
"Steady on there, Prowler." He glanced up at the medical monitors arrayed around his berth. Several readings were elevated. "We're gonna be settin' off alarms! Might be tricky t’ explain…"
His amusement faded as he caught Prowl's heated optics and saw the anger and desperation still simmering there. He pushed up on one elbow, expression serious.
"We can't, Prowl. Ya know that. We agreed."
They had. Many times. It wasn't the first time they'd had this conversation by any means. Sometimes it was Prowl who had to be the voice of reason. Other times, like now, it was Jazz forced to give the unpalatable truths voice.
"If th' Decepticons find out, an' ya know they will if anyone does… Prowl, ah won't have ya be a target because o' me. Pit! We'll both o' us be targets. An' how many of our friends’ll pay the price f'r it? Defendin' us, or aft'rwards if somethin' happ'ns to either one o' us an' we're not there for them?"
Prowl vented hard. His anger drowned under the torrent of words, a deeply reluctant nod torn from him. "Not admitting I love you is one thing. Not admitting I even like you - that's harder."
The strange thing was that most of their arguments weren't even faked. But while both saboteur and tactician had always understood that their often-vehement differences sprang from a shared passion for the Autobot cause and the mechs under their care, the rest of the crew had quickly become convinced they loathed one another. By the time Prowl noticed their reputation amongst the crew, a deep respect for his colleague’s skills and conviction was already morphing into something more. Feeding the illusion had been a convenient defence against gossip and speculation.
And that hadn't changed. If anything it was more important than ever. Prowl nodded again, tilting his helm to nuzzle Jazz's hand.
"It's just hard, knowing no one knows. If I'd lost you today…"
Jazz cut him off with another kiss, this one softer, a chaste brush of lip-plates.
"Ya didn't."
"Don't you dare do this to me again, Jazz."
"Ah'd swear it if ah could, Prowler. But ah can't, any more than ya could in ma place." Jazz vented a sigh, sinking back down on his berth. His hand stroked Prowl's helm, his expression sorrowful. "Another day, another battle, and you'll send me into the field, and I'll go in a spark-beat."
"One of these days I'll order you to your death." Prowl's optics slid aside, his body slumping slightly so their helms touched, brow-ridge to brow-ridge. "If that's the best call. The decision that could save lives."
Jazz vented a sigh, cycling down his optics for several seconds, before rebooting them. He met Prowl's gaze, optics and visor intimately close. "Promise me that, Prowl. Promise me."
Prowl's smile was bittersweet, the love and sorrow in it spark-breaking as he reaffirmed the oath they'd made to one another long before. "Even if it kills me too. Even if no one will ever know why I fade away."
Jazz sighed, breaking the tension.
"If it makes ya feel any better, ah think there's already someone in the know."
Prowl's blank incomprehension was reflected on his faceplates and in the low, tired slump of his doorwings. Jazz shook his head, amusement and concern warring in his expression.
"Ratchet set a trap for ya, Prowler."
"I'm aware of that…"
"He set a trap for ya… beside ma med-berth."
Doorwings jerked upright. The movement cast dancing shadows in the light of the medical displays, and brought a hiss of pain on the heels of Prowl’s shocked gasp.
Jazz pulled him down lower, scooting to one side to make room on the berth, while snaking one hand up to massage his door joint. "Ah told ya he'd been givin' us funny looks."
Even in the depths of night, Medbay’s side room was potentially far from private. He knew he should back off - insist on waiting - but Prowl resisted Jazz’s silent demand for no more than the briefest of moments. He sank down to lie beside Jazz, his arm slipping around white-plated shoulders, the warmth of his lover pressed against his side on the narrow berth. As they snuggled together though, Prowl’s processor was still working overtime, surprise and alarm filling him. "But… but how could he possibly know?"
"Don't let it get yer circuits in a twist, Prowler." Jazz shook his head. "Ratchet's always been good at spotting what's going on in the crew. How many times have ya counted on him to let ya know who needs an eye kept on them out in the field?"
Just a few moments before Prowl had been lamenting the secrecy of their lives. Now he found a frown of discontent forming on his face.
"I must confess it's… unsettling to be the subject of scrutiny."
"Rather than th' scrutiniser?" Jazz hummed, the thoughtful sound not exactly in disagreement. There was silence for a few moments, neither officer entirely happy with the discovery that their private lives were less private than they thought.
Prowl vented hard. "Ratchet can keep a secret."
"Prob'ly keeps more than anyone on th' Ark - the two o' us excepted." Jazz shifted, his head resting on Prowl's shoulder. The gentle massage on his back armour intensified, becoming a caress under Jazz's skilled finger-servos. "Ya know, ah've been thinkin'. Ah think ah've pinned when Ratchet figured us out."
"When?" Prowl's vents hitched. He heard the breathiness in his own voice. Jazz's hands were growing more insistent. Usually Prowl would have stopped them by now, insisting on probity in so insecure a place. After the stresses of the day, there was no part of him prepared to accept any more separation from Jazz than necessary.
"Oh." A note of mischief entered Jazz's voice, and his hands wandered a little further. "Remember that afternoon Optimus gave us off? 'bout three orns ago?"
Prowl's vents stuttered, his fans kicking into life. Their first time. Or at least the first time that really mattered. He reacted without thinking, twisting a little to put himself and Jazz chest-to-chest as Jazz's skilled servos played with his transformation seams.
The movement put a bank of medical monitors in his eye-line. At least half of Jazz's vitals were spiking, and, despite himself, Prowl made just one effort.
"Jazz, you're still under observation."
Jazz purred, snuggling closer. His engine vibrated through Prowl's frame, his visor burning brightly as it met Prowl's optics.
"Then let's give ol' Ratch a show worth watchin'."
Neither of them noticed when the medical monitors were switched off by remote control.
Exhausted and curled into one another's arms, both were deep in recharge when Ratchet stomped into the room the following morning, only to stop on the threshold shaking his head at the pair of them. Venting a sigh, the medic set to work.
It was several minutes before Ratchet dropped his wrench on the workbench with a deliberate clatter. Prowl blinked awake, jerking upright and close to overbalancing as he found himself perched precariously on the edge of the narrow berth. Two pairs of hands reached out to steady him. Jazz, sprawled out beside him, looked guilty and more than a little amused. Ratchet, looming over them both, appeared far less impressed.
He waited until Prowl was stable before stepping back. The tactician flexed his doorwings, pleased to discover the joints eased and his dermal plating regenerated while he recharged. He looked up to thank Ratchet, and the words died on his lips. Reason dictated that the medic would hardly undo his good work so soon. The expression on Ratchet's face would make anyone doubt that logic.
"Ah…"
Jazz sat up beside him, squirming like a youngling caught red-handed. Last night's 'good idea' seemed a long time past. Even so, he made a valiant attempt at a cocky grin. "Mornin', Ratch. How was it for ya?"
For a long moment, time itself seemed to still its vents. Then Ratchet's lips quirked, just the once, but neither saboteur nor tactician missed it. The tension in the air fizzled away. Ratchet's scowl fell on two sets of unrepentant optics, both Jazz and Prowl schooling their faceplates into a contrite look betrayed by their slight smiles and the post-merge relaxation in their postures.
The medic rolled his optics towards the ceiling, venting a sigh.
"Why do I even bother?"
"Now, Ratch. We know ya love us really."
Ratchet vented again, shaking his head in rueful resignation.
"I've been putting this conversation off because I thought you were both responsible adults. Now I'm having my doubts." He picked up the wrench he'd dropped, toying with it in a manner that drew both pairs of optics to it and had Prowl's doorwings high and wary. "So, listen up. I'm going to say this once - just once! Right: do you two slaggers know how sparklings are made?"
Prowl felt Jazz stirring beside him. He didn't need to feel the amusement trickling across their residual resonance to know that letting Jazz answer first was a very, very bad idea.
"We are both aware of the procedure."
Jazz pouted. "Spoilsport."
Ratchet’s grip on his wrench shifted to something just a little more assertive, and Jazz held his hands up in front of him. "Whoa! Yes, Ratch, we know where baby bots come from!"
It was hard to tell who was more relieved to avoid the detailed explanation - Prowl or Ratchet himself.
"Need any help avoiding it?"
Prowl's doorwings gave an embarrassed quiver, his optics focussed anywhere but on the medic. Jazz just snickered. "S'okay Ratch. We're on top of it."
This time Ratchet was the one to shudder.
"Believe me, the last thing I want is a mental image of either of you 'on top' of anything!" The older mech vented a tired sigh. He dropped onto the chair beside the berth, rubbing the base of his broad chevron. "You know you're making this harder on yourselves. This isn't just interfacing. Every time you get… ah… together, you're increasing the spark resonance between you - making your relationship deeper. Keep it up long enough and bonding won't be a choice. It'll become an inevitability."
Prowl felt Jazz's hand slip into his. He held it tightly, feeling no shame when he saw Ratchet's optics on their entwined servos. His doorwings spread a little wider, emphasising his conviction.
"We know. We want this."
"Prowl, Jazz, there's another thing." This time when Ratchet looked up his expression held no trace of humour. "We're soldiers, all of us. We're fighting a war, and as good as you are, as good as I am, sometimes it’s just not enough."
"We know," Jazz echoed his lover, an unaccustomed sombre tone in his voice. He raised a hand to his visor, tapping it more firmly into place before running the hand back over his helm. "Primus! Ya think we don't know that? There's not a pair on this ship that doesn’t know one o' them won't be comin' back t’ the Ark, sooner or later."
Prowl shuddered, and Jazz leaned towards him, helm nuzzling his lover’s doorwings in reassurance as he went on.
"Even if we were deludin' ahselves, yest'day would've been some wake up call, don’t'cha think?"
Prowl swallowed down the memory. He met Ratchet's optics without flinching. "It has not changed our resolve. We are aware of the risks - and of the temptations. We will not let this affect us in our duties."
"But we're not givin' it up, either," Jazz finished for him.
It was clear Ratchet expected no other answer, but he shook his head as if he’d hoped for one nonetheless.
"And all those times you've seen a mech get distracted by their lover on the battlefield? All the times you've planned for them, covered them, watched out for them? Who's going to be watching for you?"
"We've got ya." Jazz gave the medic a genuine smile. "And Pit if it don't feel good t' know there's someone who knows. Someone t' keep an eye on Prowler if ah have t' leave him. But as long as ah'm here… We'll watch each other, Ratch. Just like always." He shifted on the berth, turning slightly to face the mech who’d stolen his spark. His smile faded, his visor retracting. "Ah'll always be there to watch ya back, Prowler. Come rain or shine. In good times an’ bad."
Prowl met his lover's optics, mirroring their sincerity. "I'll always be there to catch you when you fall - in battle or out of it.”
“Ah’ll do what I have t’ an’ ah’ll come back to ya. Ah’ll tell ya when you’re wrong an’ listen when ya tell meh the same, an’ ah’ll know yer making meh better with each passin’ orn.”
“I’ll take your criticisms and add them to my own, learning all the time. I’ll never go easy on you or on myself. I'll never stop loving you, or respecting you."
"Ah'll argue with ya every day, love ya every night, and follow ya orders without hesitatin’."
"I'll send you into the flames, and trust you to carry my everything with you, and to return with it."
"Love ya, Prowl."
"With all my spark, Jazz."
They'd never intended this. Ratchet certainly hadn't expected it. The silence between them lingered, the medic studying the two officers who sat before him as proud lovers and would walk from this room as mere sparring partners, never revealing the passion they shared.
It was a long moment before Ratchet nodded, witnessing and sealing the vows they'd made. His optics carried a promise of his own. He'd hold their secret as close as they did, until the day they could again give it voice - before their friends… or before Primus, whichever came first.
The moment broke. Ratchet shook his head, reaching again for the wrench he'd laid down by his side.
"All right, that’s enough of that! Jazz, what little processor you had seems to have survived getting cosy with the wall, even if I’m less sure it survived getting cozy with Prowl, so what are you doing cluttering my Medbay? Get out - the pair of you! And if I ever catch you getting… vigorous in my domain again…"
He let the threat tail off. Jazz didn't wait for anything further, scooting off the berth and darting through the door from the side room into Medbay proper with a peal of laughter. Prowl took his time in following, pausing to hitch his doorwings a little higher, and paste a not-entirely-false frown of disapproval over his faint smile.
"And Prowl…" Ratchet's voice stopped him in the doorway. He hesitated, looking over one shoulder to meet the old medic's concerned, compassionate optics. "I'm still watching you…"
Prowl didn't react, not a crack in the SIC's usual impassive mask as he turned back. His wings flicked, his optics tracking Jazz to the door. The saboteur bounced on his repaired pedes, waiting for Sideswipe to pass by Medbay and then sneaking out into the corridor behind him for the Pit of it.
Prowl allowed a flicker of his smile to return as both he and Ratchet heard Sideswipe's loud yelp and colourful profanity, mingled with Jazz's cry of 'Congratulate meh! Ah’m free at last!'. He glanced back as Ratchet followed him into Medbay. "We're counting on it," he said softly, before folding his arms across his chest, raising his voice and striding out into the corridor.
"Jazz! Such behaviour is unbecoming of an officer. Now, since Ratchet has cleared you for duty, I'll have to ask you to accompany me to my office - I still need to debrief you after the battle yesterday."
Sideswipe threw Jazz a commiserating look, rolling his eyes in Prowl's direction. Jazz just gave an airy wave of one hand, acknowledging the sympathy and the order at the same time.
"Ah'll have to catch ya later, Sides. Okay, Prowler. Just lead the way. " He cast a cocky grin in Prowl's direction, his visor flickering in a swift wink that Sideswipe missed entirely. "Ah'm all yers."
The End
Title: Watched
Verse: G1
Rating: M
Characters: Jazz/Prowl, Ratchet
Warnings: Non-explicit but heavily implied mech/mech spark-merging.
Words: 3562, complete
Summary: Being watched can be uncomfortable, but some things deserve a witness.
Author’s Note: Jazz and Prowl insisted on a sequel to my earlier fic ‘ People Watching’ and then took it in a direction I really wasn’t expecting… twice. First time I’ve ever written something I’d rate as an R or M.
A spotlight pinned him, splitting the darkness of Medbay's side room. It snapped out, leaving ripples of interference in his optics that merged with an ongoing flicker, rays of light scanning the newly-arrived mech from pedes to chest height, past doorwings and to the top of his helm, before returning to ground level. On the other side of the dimly-lit room, close to the patient's med-berth, a monitor screen flared into life, its glare almost painful to night-attuned optics.
Prowl froze, his doorwings snapping high and taut as he struggled to comprehend what had happened.
A deep chuckle from the berth broke through his shock, and he realised another glow had joined that of the screen, the brilliance of Jazz's blue visor driving back the darkness.
Emotion, too intense to put a name to, ran through him driving a shudder of pure relief ahead of it. His battle processor had insisted Jazz's injuries weren't critical. He'd even seen Ratchet's report on today's casualties, its "they'll be fine; anyone who disturbs them won't be!" carrying the medic's unique brand of combined threat and reassurance. Nevertheless, Jazz was sufficiently damaged after today's hard-fought battle for Ratchet to keep him in for observation overnight, and that fact cast a sober pall over the entire Ark. It was more than enough to terrify one mech aboard her.
Until he saw Jazz awake with his own optics, and heard the mech's rich tones, Prowl’s spark had still been curled into the tight ball of fear it became on seeing his lover impact a cliff face, head-first and with horrifying force.
The air vented from his systems in a loud sigh. The monitor was ignored, relevant only for the illumination it cast over Jazz's prone form. Armour plates that Prowl had last seen dented and scoured down to base metal were now smooth and clean, waxed to a shine. Jazz's cracked visor had been replaced, and the glowing warmth of his personality shone through it, thawing the chill in Prowl's spark.
"Jazz…" Prowl vented again, forcing his turbulent emotions back under control. "I didn't mean to wake you from recharge."
"Not entirely yer fault, Prowler." Jazz raised a brow ridge, still looking amused. He beckoned and Prowl needed no more encouragement to move closer, reaching out to take Jazz's hand. "Ya been avoidin' Ratchet again, lover?"
Prowl's doorwings flicked out and down. He ignored the shiver of stiffness and pain that accompanied the movement. Jazz didn't, visor flicking up to reveal concerned optics. Prowl's defensive response faltered in the face of their intensity.
"I'm fine! Just… just a little dermal abrasion." Rocks falling, and Jazz falling with them. Prowl hadn't even hesitated, racing across the battlefield, transforming as he went and skidding the last few metres on his knees. Falling scree peppered his wings like shrapnel; all Prowl cared about was getting there to cushion the other's landing. He hadn't even noticed his own scrapes until well after Ratchet had spirited Jazz out of his arms. He hadn't seen either mech since. "How did you know?"
The worry lingered in Jazz’s optics, but his expression softened a little. He let his visor slide back down and tilted his head, throwing a wry glance at the illuminated monitor.
SIC Prowl - post-battle health scan complete. Status: provisional pass
Jazz smirked, reading the small print below that declaration. "Ya got yerself a minor repairs 'pointment first thing t’morrow, Prowl. Looks like Ratch is not impressed."
The smile was infectious. Prowl couldn't help echoing it, his optics on the single word at the bottom of the screen. "I inferred as much from the 'Gotcha!'"
Jazz chuckled again, low and rich. He tugged on Prowl's hand, drawing him down to sit on the edge of the berth. His visitor didn't resist.
"Ya could just’ve stopped by Medbay earlier, ya know? The reports weren't goin' to change any for the sake of a few breems t’ get yerself looked at."
Prowl shuddered. Jazz's hand tightened around his. He held it tight in return, his free hand reaching out to brush gently over his lover's repaired helm.
"Breems so close to you and so far away? Forced to watch while Ratchet worked on you, and not able to hold you, or even show more than a mild concern? I got away with what happened on the battlefield. No one blinked when I stepped in to aid a fellow Autobot. But that? I… I couldn't have stood it, Jazz. I'd have given everything away. I wanted to give it away. To stand there in Medbay and shout out to everyone that you were mine and I didn't care if they knew it."
He leaned over as he spoke, bringing his face down to hover over Jazz's, looking straight into his visor. The saboteur arched upwards, his mouth capturing Prowl's. Prowl leaned into the kiss, pouring all his fear and suppressed passion into deepening it. Jazz's hand came up to cup the back of his helm, neither wanting to break the clinch, desperate for the reassurance and affirmation.
Jazz yielded first, his helm falling back to the berth, his vents working hard. His hand caressed Prowl's cheek, a breathy laugh escaping him.
"Steady on there, Prowler." He glanced up at the medical monitors arrayed around his berth. Several readings were elevated. "We're gonna be settin' off alarms! Might be tricky t’ explain…"
His amusement faded as he caught Prowl's heated optics and saw the anger and desperation still simmering there. He pushed up on one elbow, expression serious.
"We can't, Prowl. Ya know that. We agreed."
They had. Many times. It wasn't the first time they'd had this conversation by any means. Sometimes it was Prowl who had to be the voice of reason. Other times, like now, it was Jazz forced to give the unpalatable truths voice.
"If th' Decepticons find out, an' ya know they will if anyone does… Prowl, ah won't have ya be a target because o' me. Pit! We'll both o' us be targets. An' how many of our friends’ll pay the price f'r it? Defendin' us, or aft'rwards if somethin' happ'ns to either one o' us an' we're not there for them?"
Prowl vented hard. His anger drowned under the torrent of words, a deeply reluctant nod torn from him. "Not admitting I love you is one thing. Not admitting I even like you - that's harder."
The strange thing was that most of their arguments weren't even faked. But while both saboteur and tactician had always understood that their often-vehement differences sprang from a shared passion for the Autobot cause and the mechs under their care, the rest of the crew had quickly become convinced they loathed one another. By the time Prowl noticed their reputation amongst the crew, a deep respect for his colleague’s skills and conviction was already morphing into something more. Feeding the illusion had been a convenient defence against gossip and speculation.
And that hadn't changed. If anything it was more important than ever. Prowl nodded again, tilting his helm to nuzzle Jazz's hand.
"It's just hard, knowing no one knows. If I'd lost you today…"
Jazz cut him off with another kiss, this one softer, a chaste brush of lip-plates.
"Ya didn't."
"Don't you dare do this to me again, Jazz."
"Ah'd swear it if ah could, Prowler. But ah can't, any more than ya could in ma place." Jazz vented a sigh, sinking back down on his berth. His hand stroked Prowl's helm, his expression sorrowful. "Another day, another battle, and you'll send me into the field, and I'll go in a spark-beat."
"One of these days I'll order you to your death." Prowl's optics slid aside, his body slumping slightly so their helms touched, brow-ridge to brow-ridge. "If that's the best call. The decision that could save lives."
Jazz vented a sigh, cycling down his optics for several seconds, before rebooting them. He met Prowl's gaze, optics and visor intimately close. "Promise me that, Prowl. Promise me."
Prowl's smile was bittersweet, the love and sorrow in it spark-breaking as he reaffirmed the oath they'd made to one another long before. "Even if it kills me too. Even if no one will ever know why I fade away."
Jazz sighed, breaking the tension.
"If it makes ya feel any better, ah think there's already someone in the know."
Prowl's blank incomprehension was reflected on his faceplates and in the low, tired slump of his doorwings. Jazz shook his head, amusement and concern warring in his expression.
"Ratchet set a trap for ya, Prowler."
"I'm aware of that…"
"He set a trap for ya… beside ma med-berth."
Doorwings jerked upright. The movement cast dancing shadows in the light of the medical displays, and brought a hiss of pain on the heels of Prowl’s shocked gasp.
Jazz pulled him down lower, scooting to one side to make room on the berth, while snaking one hand up to massage his door joint. "Ah told ya he'd been givin' us funny looks."
Even in the depths of night, Medbay’s side room was potentially far from private. He knew he should back off - insist on waiting - but Prowl resisted Jazz’s silent demand for no more than the briefest of moments. He sank down to lie beside Jazz, his arm slipping around white-plated shoulders, the warmth of his lover pressed against his side on the narrow berth. As they snuggled together though, Prowl’s processor was still working overtime, surprise and alarm filling him. "But… but how could he possibly know?"
"Don't let it get yer circuits in a twist, Prowler." Jazz shook his head. "Ratchet's always been good at spotting what's going on in the crew. How many times have ya counted on him to let ya know who needs an eye kept on them out in the field?"
Just a few moments before Prowl had been lamenting the secrecy of their lives. Now he found a frown of discontent forming on his face.
"I must confess it's… unsettling to be the subject of scrutiny."
"Rather than th' scrutiniser?" Jazz hummed, the thoughtful sound not exactly in disagreement. There was silence for a few moments, neither officer entirely happy with the discovery that their private lives were less private than they thought.
Prowl vented hard. "Ratchet can keep a secret."
"Prob'ly keeps more than anyone on th' Ark - the two o' us excepted." Jazz shifted, his head resting on Prowl's shoulder. The gentle massage on his back armour intensified, becoming a caress under Jazz's skilled finger-servos. "Ya know, ah've been thinkin'. Ah think ah've pinned when Ratchet figured us out."
"When?" Prowl's vents hitched. He heard the breathiness in his own voice. Jazz's hands were growing more insistent. Usually Prowl would have stopped them by now, insisting on probity in so insecure a place. After the stresses of the day, there was no part of him prepared to accept any more separation from Jazz than necessary.
"Oh." A note of mischief entered Jazz's voice, and his hands wandered a little further. "Remember that afternoon Optimus gave us off? 'bout three orns ago?"
Prowl's vents stuttered, his fans kicking into life. Their first time. Or at least the first time that really mattered. He reacted without thinking, twisting a little to put himself and Jazz chest-to-chest as Jazz's skilled servos played with his transformation seams.
The movement put a bank of medical monitors in his eye-line. At least half of Jazz's vitals were spiking, and, despite himself, Prowl made just one effort.
"Jazz, you're still under observation."
Jazz purred, snuggling closer. His engine vibrated through Prowl's frame, his visor burning brightly as it met Prowl's optics.
"Then let's give ol' Ratch a show worth watchin'."
Neither of them noticed when the medical monitors were switched off by remote control.
Exhausted and curled into one another's arms, both were deep in recharge when Ratchet stomped into the room the following morning, only to stop on the threshold shaking his head at the pair of them. Venting a sigh, the medic set to work.
It was several minutes before Ratchet dropped his wrench on the workbench with a deliberate clatter. Prowl blinked awake, jerking upright and close to overbalancing as he found himself perched precariously on the edge of the narrow berth. Two pairs of hands reached out to steady him. Jazz, sprawled out beside him, looked guilty and more than a little amused. Ratchet, looming over them both, appeared far less impressed.
He waited until Prowl was stable before stepping back. The tactician flexed his doorwings, pleased to discover the joints eased and his dermal plating regenerated while he recharged. He looked up to thank Ratchet, and the words died on his lips. Reason dictated that the medic would hardly undo his good work so soon. The expression on Ratchet's face would make anyone doubt that logic.
"Ah…"
Jazz sat up beside him, squirming like a youngling caught red-handed. Last night's 'good idea' seemed a long time past. Even so, he made a valiant attempt at a cocky grin. "Mornin', Ratch. How was it for ya?"
For a long moment, time itself seemed to still its vents. Then Ratchet's lips quirked, just the once, but neither saboteur nor tactician missed it. The tension in the air fizzled away. Ratchet's scowl fell on two sets of unrepentant optics, both Jazz and Prowl schooling their faceplates into a contrite look betrayed by their slight smiles and the post-merge relaxation in their postures.
The medic rolled his optics towards the ceiling, venting a sigh.
"Why do I even bother?"
"Now, Ratch. We know ya love us really."
Ratchet vented again, shaking his head in rueful resignation.
"I've been putting this conversation off because I thought you were both responsible adults. Now I'm having my doubts." He picked up the wrench he'd dropped, toying with it in a manner that drew both pairs of optics to it and had Prowl's doorwings high and wary. "So, listen up. I'm going to say this once - just once! Right: do you two slaggers know how sparklings are made?"
Prowl felt Jazz stirring beside him. He didn't need to feel the amusement trickling across their residual resonance to know that letting Jazz answer first was a very, very bad idea.
"We are both aware of the procedure."
Jazz pouted. "Spoilsport."
Ratchet’s grip on his wrench shifted to something just a little more assertive, and Jazz held his hands up in front of him. "Whoa! Yes, Ratch, we know where baby bots come from!"
It was hard to tell who was more relieved to avoid the detailed explanation - Prowl or Ratchet himself.
"Need any help avoiding it?"
Prowl's doorwings gave an embarrassed quiver, his optics focussed anywhere but on the medic. Jazz just snickered. "S'okay Ratch. We're on top of it."
This time Ratchet was the one to shudder.
"Believe me, the last thing I want is a mental image of either of you 'on top' of anything!" The older mech vented a tired sigh. He dropped onto the chair beside the berth, rubbing the base of his broad chevron. "You know you're making this harder on yourselves. This isn't just interfacing. Every time you get… ah… together, you're increasing the spark resonance between you - making your relationship deeper. Keep it up long enough and bonding won't be a choice. It'll become an inevitability."
Prowl felt Jazz's hand slip into his. He held it tightly, feeling no shame when he saw Ratchet's optics on their entwined servos. His doorwings spread a little wider, emphasising his conviction.
"We know. We want this."
"Prowl, Jazz, there's another thing." This time when Ratchet looked up his expression held no trace of humour. "We're soldiers, all of us. We're fighting a war, and as good as you are, as good as I am, sometimes it’s just not enough."
"We know," Jazz echoed his lover, an unaccustomed sombre tone in his voice. He raised a hand to his visor, tapping it more firmly into place before running the hand back over his helm. "Primus! Ya think we don't know that? There's not a pair on this ship that doesn’t know one o' them won't be comin' back t’ the Ark, sooner or later."
Prowl shuddered, and Jazz leaned towards him, helm nuzzling his lover’s doorwings in reassurance as he went on.
"Even if we were deludin' ahselves, yest'day would've been some wake up call, don’t'cha think?"
Prowl swallowed down the memory. He met Ratchet's optics without flinching. "It has not changed our resolve. We are aware of the risks - and of the temptations. We will not let this affect us in our duties."
"But we're not givin' it up, either," Jazz finished for him.
It was clear Ratchet expected no other answer, but he shook his head as if he’d hoped for one nonetheless.
"And all those times you've seen a mech get distracted by their lover on the battlefield? All the times you've planned for them, covered them, watched out for them? Who's going to be watching for you?"
"We've got ya." Jazz gave the medic a genuine smile. "And Pit if it don't feel good t' know there's someone who knows. Someone t' keep an eye on Prowler if ah have t' leave him. But as long as ah'm here… We'll watch each other, Ratch. Just like always." He shifted on the berth, turning slightly to face the mech who’d stolen his spark. His smile faded, his visor retracting. "Ah'll always be there to watch ya back, Prowler. Come rain or shine. In good times an’ bad."
Prowl met his lover's optics, mirroring their sincerity. "I'll always be there to catch you when you fall - in battle or out of it.”
“Ah’ll do what I have t’ an’ ah’ll come back to ya. Ah’ll tell ya when you’re wrong an’ listen when ya tell meh the same, an’ ah’ll know yer making meh better with each passin’ orn.”
“I’ll take your criticisms and add them to my own, learning all the time. I’ll never go easy on you or on myself. I'll never stop loving you, or respecting you."
"Ah'll argue with ya every day, love ya every night, and follow ya orders without hesitatin’."
"I'll send you into the flames, and trust you to carry my everything with you, and to return with it."
"Love ya, Prowl."
"With all my spark, Jazz."
They'd never intended this. Ratchet certainly hadn't expected it. The silence between them lingered, the medic studying the two officers who sat before him as proud lovers and would walk from this room as mere sparring partners, never revealing the passion they shared.
It was a long moment before Ratchet nodded, witnessing and sealing the vows they'd made. His optics carried a promise of his own. He'd hold their secret as close as they did, until the day they could again give it voice - before their friends… or before Primus, whichever came first.
The moment broke. Ratchet shook his head, reaching again for the wrench he'd laid down by his side.
"All right, that’s enough of that! Jazz, what little processor you had seems to have survived getting cosy with the wall, even if I’m less sure it survived getting cozy with Prowl, so what are you doing cluttering my Medbay? Get out - the pair of you! And if I ever catch you getting… vigorous in my domain again…"
He let the threat tail off. Jazz didn't wait for anything further, scooting off the berth and darting through the door from the side room into Medbay proper with a peal of laughter. Prowl took his time in following, pausing to hitch his doorwings a little higher, and paste a not-entirely-false frown of disapproval over his faint smile.
"And Prowl…" Ratchet's voice stopped him in the doorway. He hesitated, looking over one shoulder to meet the old medic's concerned, compassionate optics. "I'm still watching you…"
Prowl didn't react, not a crack in the SIC's usual impassive mask as he turned back. His wings flicked, his optics tracking Jazz to the door. The saboteur bounced on his repaired pedes, waiting for Sideswipe to pass by Medbay and then sneaking out into the corridor behind him for the Pit of it.
Prowl allowed a flicker of his smile to return as both he and Ratchet heard Sideswipe's loud yelp and colourful profanity, mingled with Jazz's cry of 'Congratulate meh! Ah’m free at last!'. He glanced back as Ratchet followed him into Medbay. "We're counting on it," he said softly, before folding his arms across his chest, raising his voice and striding out into the corridor.
"Jazz! Such behaviour is unbecoming of an officer. Now, since Ratchet has cleared you for duty, I'll have to ask you to accompany me to my office - I still need to debrief you after the battle yesterday."
Sideswipe threw Jazz a commiserating look, rolling his eyes in Prowl's direction. Jazz just gave an airy wave of one hand, acknowledging the sympathy and the order at the same time.
"Ah'll have to catch ya later, Sides. Okay, Prowler. Just lead the way. " He cast a cocky grin in Prowl's direction, his visor flickering in a swift wink that Sideswipe missed entirely. "Ah'm all yers."
The End