Shards III
Title: Shards III
Author: AotA
Rating: K
Warnings: None (This fic is not going to have a feel good ending. At all. They will have a chance, but it’s still not a nice/happy ending. It’s actually going to be sad and/or sparkbreaking.)
Characters: Jazz, Prowl, Optimus, Ironhide, Ratchet
Setting: very AU tf-bayverse
Summary: Allegiances fluctuated at the beginning of the war, some voluntarily… some not so much.
Notes: This is not beta-read so go ahead and point out something that I need to correct.
Jazz sat slumped on the berth, staring at the wall.
"Ah saw ya, on the field, ya know."
"I know."
"Didn't recognize ya at all. Never saw ya as a magenta type, or with red optics, an' definitely not that flashy."
"That was the point Jazz."
"Ah know that!" Jazz suddenly roared, jumping off the berth and punching the wall hard enough to dent both the wall and his fist. Jazz hissed and began pacing back and forth, tension visible with each jerky movement that he made. "Damn it all to the pit," he growled.
Prowl watched his small, silver dart of a deadly bondmate. Prowl opened his mouth to speak, but before he could actually say anything to calm Jazz down, the door opened and Optimus entered, Ironhide right behind him and to the right.
Jazz whirled around but whatever he might or might not have done was halted simply by Prowl's hands coming to rest on his shoulders. Jazz simply vibrated in place, with all the tension of an over stressed wire. His claws clenched and unclenched spasmodically.
There was a long moment of silence, but Prowl was the first to speak when all the Prime did was simply observe them without a word, "Prime, sir." Ironhide looked as unhappy as ever, but he too was quiet.
"Prowl," Optimus nodded to the tactician, "and Jazz."
At the sound of Optimus' voice, a grim tone that any Decepticon would be able recognize as heralding bad things to come, Jazz stilled entirely. He looked from Prowl to Optimus to Ironhide and back again.
After another moment of silence, he drawled into the oppressive silence with a confidence he didn't really feel, "What exactly is goin' on here?"
Optimus' weighty blue optics surveyed Jazz, freezing him into place, "Disciplinary measures."
Jazz bristled but Optimus ignored the flare of silver armor and spoke to Prowl instead, "Ironhide will escort you to the brig. I'm sure you know your infractions?"
Prowl's expression was unreadable, "Yes, Prime."
"Good. Now, I wish to speak with you alone, Jazz."
"Frag no!" Jazz exploded for the second time in a few breems. "Yer not takin' Prowler anywhere!"
An unexpected, and muffled, voice butted in through the door, "The Decepticon's right Prime. Prowl's not going anywhere, not just yet."
It was Ratchet, Autobot CMO, Jazz realized.
"I have already been cleared, Ratchet," Prowl said blandly without inflection, voiced raised ever so slightly, "Prime is within his rights."
"Slag that!" the medic bellowed back and all four mechs could hear feet stomping their way down the corridor.
"Prowler..." Jazz growled, stressed, red visor glowing.
Prowl squeezed Jazz's shoulders firmly for a moment, "Calm, Jazz." He released his hold on the Decepticon saboteur.
Head held high and his wings even higher in a rigid pose, he followed Ironhide out of the room, stranding Jazz all alone with the Autobot leader.
"Ya hurt Prowl an' Ah'll kill ya," Jazz snarled as soon was Prowl was out of sight, rounding on the comparatively gargantuan mech. It was not a threat, but a promise that Jazz would keep if it killed him. It didn’t matter how big or strong a mech was. If Jazz decided that they were going to die, they would meet Primus, sooner, or later.
Optimus' response was just as weighty, but also sympathetic, "You need to not worry about Prowl. For now, look out for your own health. Enter Ratchet!"
Jazz flinched at the sudden summons and appearance of the bright yellow CMO. He crouched slightly, ready for anything.
Ratchet eyed the both of them, then barked at the Prime, "Get out!"
Jazz shuttered his optics in surprise. He was ready for anything ...or at least anything but that. The Prime hastily vacated the room and Jazz was now alone with the grouchy, bossy medic. Anyone who could, and would order about the fragging Prime, and actually be obeyed-!
After a tense moment, Ratchet vented out, "Get on the berth," he ordered tiredly.
Jazz quickly sat down on the edge of the berth.
-=/\=-
Prowl stepped into the brig and the plasma lit bars hummed to life behind him. Prowl turned around and was intrigued by how Ironhide was looking at him.
"Yes?"
Ironhide crossed his arms, cannons prominent as ever, "You're an idiot."
Prow’s optics shuttered in surprise, "Excuse me?" It wasn’t every orn that he was called an idiot. Normally Jazz was the only one who… used to call him anything of the sort. And with Jazz, it tended to have been exasperated endearments.
"You heard me, "Ironhide glowered, "What were you thinking, hiding something like a bond? Even from Optimus? And you should have at least told Ratchet!"
Prowl looked away, but his wings drooped ever so slightly, a tell that Ironhide had long since learned from close association with the tactician. Ironhide grunted in satisfaction. Prowl looked up, frowning, "I did it to protect him, and myself." Prowl's hands clenched, "I knew that Jazz was not an Autobot and I predicted that the probability that he had joined the Decepticons at 83.59 percent."
Coldly, Prowl demanded an answer from Ironhide, "What do you think would have happened if I had told anyone that I was bonded, let alone to a Decepticon inclined mech?"
Ironhide didn't say anything in response. He didn't need to because that the picture that Prowl had painted was grim.
If Prowl had even managed to be brought in as an Autobot in the first place, he would have been a target of Decepticons and angry, vengeful Autobots alike. Bondmates complemented each other and stayed together.
This time though, they hadn’t remained at each others’ sides.
Prowl knew that he had won when Ironhide rumbled angrily and stalked off. For Prowl, it felt like an empty victory though.
He and Jazz had had an argument and the argument had ended with Jazz taking off.
Perhaps that argument had been prophetic, for the exact thing that they had argued about, had been the war, and the different factions. Prowl had always supported the tenants of Autobot philosophy, but Jazz did not. A military built mech and one with his claws on the beat of the underworld from the sparking, Jazz only saw the naïveté of that school of thought.
Usually, even after a heated argument and they had both given each other time to cool off, they quickly found each other again and it was soon as if they had never argued in the first place.
After that last argument however, neither of them had the opportunity to meet up again. Praxus had fallen. The block that they had placed on their bond was never reopened because their sparks could not touch each other to reopen a bond that they craved more than life itself. He had survived having his city fall down around him, as had one other Praxian in the city at the time, but the only other living Praxians were those that had not been within the city limits when the Decepticons attacked.
Jazz had returned to ruins, and the hope that, even with their bond blocked, his spark would know if its other half had been extinguished. He had turned toward finding the one who had ordered the destruction of the towers of Praxus, and separated him from his bondmate. He knew that Prowl would find him.
Prowl reached out with his spark for Jazz and felt a relief that he knew he would be feeling for a long time at that simple contact. They would never block their bond ever again, even if they were angry and arguing with one another. To go vorns without ever knowing the touch of one spark to another… it had been a slow, torturous existence.
He might have broken the rules by hiding the existence of his bond, and it might have been chance and luck that brought them together again, but Prowl knew that if he had not become an Autobot, then they might have never found each other.
Prowl felt a familiar crackle of temper through his bond with Jazz and smiled, knowing that the small silver mech was in fine form, whoever or whatever he was pissed off about.
Shards (I), (II)
Author: AotA
Rating: K
Warnings: None (This fic is not going to have a feel good ending. At all. They will have a chance, but it’s still not a nice/happy ending. It’s actually going to be sad and/or sparkbreaking.)
Characters: Jazz, Prowl, Optimus, Ironhide, Ratchet
Setting: very AU tf-bayverse
Summary: Allegiances fluctuated at the beginning of the war, some voluntarily… some not so much.
Notes: This is not beta-read so go ahead and point out something that I need to correct.
Jazz sat slumped on the berth, staring at the wall.
"Ah saw ya, on the field, ya know."
"I know."
"Didn't recognize ya at all. Never saw ya as a magenta type, or with red optics, an' definitely not that flashy."
"That was the point Jazz."
"Ah know that!" Jazz suddenly roared, jumping off the berth and punching the wall hard enough to dent both the wall and his fist. Jazz hissed and began pacing back and forth, tension visible with each jerky movement that he made. "Damn it all to the pit," he growled.
Prowl watched his small, silver dart of a deadly bondmate. Prowl opened his mouth to speak, but before he could actually say anything to calm Jazz down, the door opened and Optimus entered, Ironhide right behind him and to the right.
Jazz whirled around but whatever he might or might not have done was halted simply by Prowl's hands coming to rest on his shoulders. Jazz simply vibrated in place, with all the tension of an over stressed wire. His claws clenched and unclenched spasmodically.
There was a long moment of silence, but Prowl was the first to speak when all the Prime did was simply observe them without a word, "Prime, sir." Ironhide looked as unhappy as ever, but he too was quiet.
"Prowl," Optimus nodded to the tactician, "and Jazz."
At the sound of Optimus' voice, a grim tone that any Decepticon would be able recognize as heralding bad things to come, Jazz stilled entirely. He looked from Prowl to Optimus to Ironhide and back again.
After another moment of silence, he drawled into the oppressive silence with a confidence he didn't really feel, "What exactly is goin' on here?"
Optimus' weighty blue optics surveyed Jazz, freezing him into place, "Disciplinary measures."
Jazz bristled but Optimus ignored the flare of silver armor and spoke to Prowl instead, "Ironhide will escort you to the brig. I'm sure you know your infractions?"
Prowl's expression was unreadable, "Yes, Prime."
"Good. Now, I wish to speak with you alone, Jazz."
"Frag no!" Jazz exploded for the second time in a few breems. "Yer not takin' Prowler anywhere!"
An unexpected, and muffled, voice butted in through the door, "The Decepticon's right Prime. Prowl's not going anywhere, not just yet."
It was Ratchet, Autobot CMO, Jazz realized.
"I have already been cleared, Ratchet," Prowl said blandly without inflection, voiced raised ever so slightly, "Prime is within his rights."
"Slag that!" the medic bellowed back and all four mechs could hear feet stomping their way down the corridor.
"Prowler..." Jazz growled, stressed, red visor glowing.
Prowl squeezed Jazz's shoulders firmly for a moment, "Calm, Jazz." He released his hold on the Decepticon saboteur.
Head held high and his wings even higher in a rigid pose, he followed Ironhide out of the room, stranding Jazz all alone with the Autobot leader.
"Ya hurt Prowl an' Ah'll kill ya," Jazz snarled as soon was Prowl was out of sight, rounding on the comparatively gargantuan mech. It was not a threat, but a promise that Jazz would keep if it killed him. It didn’t matter how big or strong a mech was. If Jazz decided that they were going to die, they would meet Primus, sooner, or later.
Optimus' response was just as weighty, but also sympathetic, "You need to not worry about Prowl. For now, look out for your own health. Enter Ratchet!"
Jazz flinched at the sudden summons and appearance of the bright yellow CMO. He crouched slightly, ready for anything.
Ratchet eyed the both of them, then barked at the Prime, "Get out!"
Jazz shuttered his optics in surprise. He was ready for anything ...or at least anything but that. The Prime hastily vacated the room and Jazz was now alone with the grouchy, bossy medic. Anyone who could, and would order about the fragging Prime, and actually be obeyed-!
After a tense moment, Ratchet vented out, "Get on the berth," he ordered tiredly.
Jazz quickly sat down on the edge of the berth.
-=/\=-
Prowl stepped into the brig and the plasma lit bars hummed to life behind him. Prowl turned around and was intrigued by how Ironhide was looking at him.
"Yes?"
Ironhide crossed his arms, cannons prominent as ever, "You're an idiot."
Prow’s optics shuttered in surprise, "Excuse me?" It wasn’t every orn that he was called an idiot. Normally Jazz was the only one who… used to call him anything of the sort. And with Jazz, it tended to have been exasperated endearments.
"You heard me, "Ironhide glowered, "What were you thinking, hiding something like a bond? Even from Optimus? And you should have at least told Ratchet!"
Prowl looked away, but his wings drooped ever so slightly, a tell that Ironhide had long since learned from close association with the tactician. Ironhide grunted in satisfaction. Prowl looked up, frowning, "I did it to protect him, and myself." Prowl's hands clenched, "I knew that Jazz was not an Autobot and I predicted that the probability that he had joined the Decepticons at 83.59 percent."
Coldly, Prowl demanded an answer from Ironhide, "What do you think would have happened if I had told anyone that I was bonded, let alone to a Decepticon inclined mech?"
Ironhide didn't say anything in response. He didn't need to because that the picture that Prowl had painted was grim.
If Prowl had even managed to be brought in as an Autobot in the first place, he would have been a target of Decepticons and angry, vengeful Autobots alike. Bondmates complemented each other and stayed together.
This time though, they hadn’t remained at each others’ sides.
Prowl knew that he had won when Ironhide rumbled angrily and stalked off. For Prowl, it felt like an empty victory though.
He and Jazz had had an argument and the argument had ended with Jazz taking off.
Perhaps that argument had been prophetic, for the exact thing that they had argued about, had been the war, and the different factions. Prowl had always supported the tenants of Autobot philosophy, but Jazz did not. A military built mech and one with his claws on the beat of the underworld from the sparking, Jazz only saw the naïveté of that school of thought.
Usually, even after a heated argument and they had both given each other time to cool off, they quickly found each other again and it was soon as if they had never argued in the first place.
After that last argument however, neither of them had the opportunity to meet up again. Praxus had fallen. The block that they had placed on their bond was never reopened because their sparks could not touch each other to reopen a bond that they craved more than life itself. He had survived having his city fall down around him, as had one other Praxian in the city at the time, but the only other living Praxians were those that had not been within the city limits when the Decepticons attacked.
Jazz had returned to ruins, and the hope that, even with their bond blocked, his spark would know if its other half had been extinguished. He had turned toward finding the one who had ordered the destruction of the towers of Praxus, and separated him from his bondmate. He knew that Prowl would find him.
Prowl reached out with his spark for Jazz and felt a relief that he knew he would be feeling for a long time at that simple contact. They would never block their bond ever again, even if they were angry and arguing with one another. To go vorns without ever knowing the touch of one spark to another… it had been a slow, torturous existence.
He might have broken the rules by hiding the existence of his bond, and it might have been chance and luck that brought them together again, but Prowl knew that if he had not become an Autobot, then they might have never found each other.
Prowl felt a familiar crackle of temper through his bond with Jazz and smiled, knowing that the small silver mech was in fine form, whoever or whatever he was pissed off about.
Shards (I), (II)