Decent Recharge
Title: Decent Recharge
Rating: K
Continuity: G1
Notes: A bunny from the farm: 2. Prowl is like a cat, he can sleep anywhere in any position, the stranger the better. But he works so much, that nobody ever sees him sleeping. I only really used the first part of the prompt, because the bunny for the second part didn't show, but who cares? It's Prowl fluff! :D
Jazz was one of the select few who were privy to Prowl's little secret. Optimus Prime and Ratchet knew, and he was pretty sure the Twins suspected.
The rest of the Autobot army, and some of the Decepticon army as well, pretty much assumed that, somehow, Prowl just didn't recharge, ever, except for when sedated in the Med Bay.
Jazz snickered as he finally came upon his mate, who was curled atop one of the few remaining engines of the Arc, which was humming away as it powered an energon converter.
“Prowler,” he called, and a white helm rose. Golden optics flickered to life, and Prowl blinked as he looked down on his bondmate.
“Yes, Jazz?” he asked, voice slightly staticky.
“Prime's lookin' fer ya. Says he has th' report from th' last battle.”
“I see,” the Praxian hummed as he fluttered his wings in a stretch and uncurled. A moment later, he had leapt from his warm perch and was standing next to his bondmate. “Lead the way, then, Jazz.”
.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.
The next day found Jazz once again searching the Arc for his napping bondmate. He could feel the lazy contentment radiating from the Praxian's side of the bond. Wherever Prowl had found to curl up today, he liked it.
But after an hour of searching all the usual, and a few unusual, places - the engine room, the old, wrecked Commissary, and the cleanser-recycling room, to name a few - he had been forced to admit defeat and wander back to Prowl's office to wait. Sooner or later, Prowl's little nap would be over and he would return to duty.
The door whooshed open as he entered his code, and he swaggered in, slouching into the (actually rather comfortable) chair in front of Prowl's desk. He let out a long vent and settled in for a wait.
There was a soft pulse along the bond a moment later. ~Jazz?~ Prowl questioned sleepily, and said saboteur jumped when something rustled behind the desk.
~Prowler?~ he said slowly as he got up and walked silently around the looming piece of furniture.
~Mm...~
Jazz vented and giggled as he pushed back the chair and peeked under the desk. In the space Prowl's legs would usually occupy, the black and white Praxian had curled up and was now slowly coming out of a very happy recharge.
“Under yer desk?” he asked, visor glimmering with a playful light.
Prowl smiled gently up at him as he stretched then lifted himself from the little nook. “It is surprisingly comfortable.”
“But... under yer desk?”
The Praxian just shook his helm as he pulled his chair back into place, sat down, and continued working.
.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.
“I don't get it,” Sideswipe was saying as he watched Prowl leave the Rec Room with his cube of energon.
“What don'cha get, Sides?” Jazz asked as he sat down.
Sunstreaker snorted and shook his helm. “Don't get him started.”
“Prowl. He never sleeps. I mean, we've all fallen asleep every now and then, and I know you two are bonded, but... I have never, ever, ever seen him go into your quarters at the end of shift.”
Jazz snickered. “Ah, well, Prowler's got his secrets, Sides,” he said, smirk widening.
“Well, yeah, but... It's just... weird.”
Jazz just snickered again, stood, and followed his bondmate out of the room.
.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.
Optimus sighed as he gazed at his occupied desk. This... Well, it was actually very amusing, but... he did sort of have an army to run, and Prowl was currently lying on all his work.
“Prowl.”
“Mmphmmm...”
“You need to get up.”
“Mmph.”
“Prowl, I have work to do.”
Slowly, the Praxian rolled over, doorwings arching off the edge of the desk, limbs stretching out in all directions. Had he not heard the menacing crunch of datapads under the weight of his tactician, Optimus might have thought it rather cute.
“Prowl.”
“Fine,” the Second in Command rumbled as he rolled off the desk and landed quietly on his pedes. Without another word, he stalked past his commander and quit the room, leaving the Prime behind with a desk covered in disorganized and cracked datapads.
With a heavy vent, Optimus got to work.
.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.
Ratchet sagged as he flicked on the lights in his office. It had been a long day; first, Wheeljack had blown himself up - again. Then the Twins had come in with strains, scratches, dents, and leaks, courtesy of a “friendly” sparring match. Then First Aid had come in with a question about sparks and spark-bonding, which had resulted in a lengthy, in-depth, slightly embarrassing explanation. Then Wheeljack had blown himself up again.
It had been a very long day, and he was looking forward to sitting down in his comfy office chair and taking a nap.
So he did just that, venting as he sat down and sent the signal to turn the lights back off.
An hour later, he started cycling back up, feeling very much refreshed. A long groan issued from his vocalizer as he arched his back and stretched. He opened his optics, cycled a deep draft of air, and-
“Prowl, what the frag are you doing on my filing cabinets?” he snarled, jumping to his feet as he stared into drowsy golden optics.
Prowl blinked. “Prime kicked me off his desk,” the Praxian answered, as though it were obvious. And with him, it probably was.
Ratchet vented again and reached up to massage his chevron. “Whatever. When you're done with your nap, please leave however you came in. Primus, I can't deal with this today...”
And with that, the medic left his office, muttering, and Prowl settled down to continue his recharge cycle.
.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.
Jazz blinked when he saw the crowd of mechs standing just inside the Rec Room door.
“A'right, what happ'n'd?” he asked, elbowing his way to the front of the crowd. When he managed to get a clear view, he vented and chuckled.
Prowl was curled up on the center-most table of the Rec Room, engine purring happily, doorwings fluttering.
“Prowler,” he called, and the Praxian shifted. “Ya should get up now.”
“Why?” came the muttered response.
“Because ev'ryone's starin'.”
Prowl shifted again, turning to glare at the crowd with one bright, gold optic.
“C'mon, Prowler. We've got a perfectly good berth in our quarters.”
“Don' like the berth,” he muttered as he ducked his helm again.
Jazz vented and stepped to the edge of the table. “Prowler. Up. Or Ah'm makin' a scene.”
“Already made a scene.”
“Fine.”
His black fingers curled under the edge of the table, and with a heave, he flipped it over. Prowl yelped and flailed as his perch was up-ended, and, somehow, miraculously, ended up on his pedes.
“What was that for?”
“You were rechargin' on a table in th' Rec Room. What's that about?”
Prowl shrugged, twitching his doorwings, and started for the door. “It was comfortable.”
The crowd parted around him as he strode from the room with the bearing of a Prime. Jazz trailed after him, shaking his helm and rolling his optics.
His bondmate was so hard to understand sometimes! And they all said he was the one with logic problems!
~You would not love me any other way,~ Prowl hummed over their bond, sneaking a glance over his shoulder at the saboteur.
~I know,~ he replied, smiling back.
.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.
“So, Jazz,” Sideswipe said as he sat down across from the saboteur. Sunstreaker sat down next to his Twin. “S'up with Prowl?”
“What d'ya mean, Sides?”
“Jazz,” the frontliner said slowly, “Prowl was recharging... curled up... on a table... in the middle of the day... in the middle of the Rec Room.”
“Yeah. Yer point is?”
For a very long moment, the Twins stared at Jazz, dumbfounded.
“Jazz... He... What?”
The saboteur smiled and shook his helm. “Th' reason y'all never see him rechargin' is 'cause that ain't weird. Like he said, he don't like berths.”
Sunstreaker glared at Jazz, as though that would clarify things. Sideswipe blinked. “You... Huh?”
“He don't recharge on berths. He likes 'chargin' in strange places.”
Again, the red Twin blinked. “So... he just recharges around the Arc?”
“Yup. But don' do anythin' ta him if ya happ'n t' see him. 'S hard enough t' find him now anyways.” Jazz shook his helm. “He likes th' little places no one goes 'n' no one looks.”
“That's...”
“A bit strange, Ah know. But 't's kinda cute.”
“Prowl? Cute?”
“Well, you did see him yesterday, Sides,” Sunstreaker said, smirking, and Sideswipe shrugged.
“True, I guess.”
Jazz just smiled and stood up. “Well, nice talkin' ta ya, but Ah'm 'bout t' go on duty. See y'all later!”
After he left, the Twins exchanged a glance that was positively evil.
.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.
“Whoa, Sunny, you win with that one,” were the words Prowl woke to.
Slowly, he arched his back, cracked open one golden optic, and glared down at the mechs watching him.
“How did you even get up there, Prowl?” Sideswipe asked after dodging a swipe from his brother for the unwanted nickname.
The tactician just rumbled his engine in a low growl and went back to his nap, sprawled comfortably over one of the high support-beams of the Rec Room.
“I totally won this round, Sides.”
“I already said you did!”
.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.
“Hey! Sunny! You'll never- Okay, okay, fine, I won't call you 'Sunny' - you'll never guess where I found Prowl this time!”
“No, but I have a feeling you'll tell me.”
Sideswipe snickered as he plopped himself down on the couch next to his brother. “Found him in the Med Bay. He was sleeping on top of the cabinet where Ratchet keeps the spare wires.”
“Really?”
“Would I lie to you, Bro?”
“Yes.”
“Ouch.”
Slowly, a bright yellow minibot wandered over. “What are you guys talking about?”
The Twins exchanged a glance. “Well, you see, Bumblebee, we sorta came up with a game...”
.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.
“Ha! Woo! Ten points for strange position, five for odd place, and four for sheer luck in finding him!”
Prowl vented as he once again cracked a golden optic to see one of the Autobots of the Arc grinning at him. Primus! He hadn't gotten much sleep at all in the past few weeks. The Twins had apparently come up with a game, complete with a scoring guide, on how, when, and where he took his recharge, forcing him to get even more creative with hiding.
Growling lowly, he tucked his helm back down behind his leg and resettled his pede above him, where it was pressed tight to the roof of the air vent.
“But, um, seriously, Prowl? I need to get through.”
“Fine, Bumblebee,” he said without moving.
“Which means you, um, need to move?”
Another heavy vent, and Prowl unfolded himself in a series of complex moves that looked uncomfortable, but were accomplished with an ease and dexterity that spoke of vorns of practice in contorting. A moment later, he was slithering down the air vent with an ease that even Bumblebee admired (and, he admitted quietly in his own processor, envied).
.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.
“Whoa, Bluestreak, this one takes the cake!” Sideswipe crowed, forcing Prowl once again out of recharge. And it had been a nice one, too. Peaceful, warm...
“I just looked up, and he was there, and I remembered you talking about your game, and I thought I'd give it a go, because it looked so strange, like a bat or something, and-”
“Yeah, well, way to go, Blue. I think this one beats all. Ten, ten, and ten.”
Prowl vented as he unhooked his legs from where they had been bent over one of the crumpled edges of the Arc, near where it disappeared into the mountain. One hand gripped the metal, and he swung down, his pedes making nary a sound on the dirty rocks beneath him. With a weary look in Sideswipe and Bluestreak's direction, he wandered back into the Arc, intent on maybe finding another hiding place and actually getting some decent recharge time in.
.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.
“Wow, Prowl, I didn't know you were that flexible,” Wheeljack said as he blinked at the tactician, who was folded into a cupboard in his lab.
Prowl just vented again and slowly pushed himself out. He said nothing to the slightly stunned engineer, simply walked out.
.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.
Jazz was frantic.
He couldn't find Prowl anywhere. After hours of searching, even some prodding at the bond, he could. Not. Find. His. Mate.
And he was mad. Those stupid Twins. They had done this; they had tormented the tactician until he had gone and hidden somewhere where no one would find him.
And so, he decided to take out his frustrations on the two frontliners. He had them backed into a corner, a gleaming, evil look in his visor, when Optimus Prime pinged his comm. For a moment, he was tempted to leave it and beat his anger out on the Twins, but his loyalty reasserted itself and he answered.
::Jazz here.::
::Jazz... Come up to the bridge. You'll want to see this.::
::But Prime! I jus' got th-::
:::Please, Jazz?::
And now the saboteur was curious, because it sounded like the Prime was holding back giggles. ::Fine, fine. Ah'll be there in a minute.::
::Good. Prime out.::
With a vent and a twitch of razor-sharp claws, Jazz retreated from the dark hallway and headed to the bridge. It was a short walk, and he was there in less than a minute.
“What?” he growled as he walked into the room.
The Prime, optics glimmering, motioned to the large monitor. A familiar face was glaring out from it, and Jazz scowled.
“What? Y' called meh up here t' deal wit' Ol' Bucket-Helm's latest nonsense?”
Before Optimus could answer, Megatron spoke.
“No. He called you here to deal with your bondmate's nonsense.”
There was a high pitched snickering as the camera wobbled and whirled. Starscream.
Then the picture registered, and Jazz blinked.
Then he blinked again.
He cycled a long draft of air through his vents, a sound echoed from behind him. He whirled to see the Twins standing in the doorway.
“Holy frag. Who found him?”
“I did,” Megatron rumbled.
“Wow. Okay. You win. Totally. All the points in the world,” Sideswipe said, optics wide.
“What?”
“They came up with a game,” Optimus answered, “where a mech gets points based on the position they find him in, the location, and the luck needed to spot him.”
“... What?”
“Prowler don' like berths,” Jazz said, holding back snickers, the situation finally starting to sink in. “He 'charges wherever he feels like it, an' that can lead t' some pretty int'restin' places an' positions.” Once again, he blinked at the screen, and had to turn away when the giggles got to be too much.
Because there Prowl was, in the command center of the bridge of the Nemesis, under the ocean, sprawled across the back of Megatron's throne, doorwings fluttering, optics dark, limbs splayed at rather odd angles, engine purring happily.
“Ah've gotta 'gree, Megsy. You win.”
Rating: K
Continuity: G1
Notes: A bunny from the farm: 2. Prowl is like a cat, he can sleep anywhere in any position, the stranger the better. But he works so much, that nobody ever sees him sleeping. I only really used the first part of the prompt, because the bunny for the second part didn't show, but who cares? It's Prowl fluff! :D
Jazz was one of the select few who were privy to Prowl's little secret. Optimus Prime and Ratchet knew, and he was pretty sure the Twins suspected.
The rest of the Autobot army, and some of the Decepticon army as well, pretty much assumed that, somehow, Prowl just didn't recharge, ever, except for when sedated in the Med Bay.
Jazz snickered as he finally came upon his mate, who was curled atop one of the few remaining engines of the Arc, which was humming away as it powered an energon converter.
“Prowler,” he called, and a white helm rose. Golden optics flickered to life, and Prowl blinked as he looked down on his bondmate.
“Yes, Jazz?” he asked, voice slightly staticky.
“Prime's lookin' fer ya. Says he has th' report from th' last battle.”
“I see,” the Praxian hummed as he fluttered his wings in a stretch and uncurled. A moment later, he had leapt from his warm perch and was standing next to his bondmate. “Lead the way, then, Jazz.”
.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.
The next day found Jazz once again searching the Arc for his napping bondmate. He could feel the lazy contentment radiating from the Praxian's side of the bond. Wherever Prowl had found to curl up today, he liked it.
But after an hour of searching all the usual, and a few unusual, places - the engine room, the old, wrecked Commissary, and the cleanser-recycling room, to name a few - he had been forced to admit defeat and wander back to Prowl's office to wait. Sooner or later, Prowl's little nap would be over and he would return to duty.
The door whooshed open as he entered his code, and he swaggered in, slouching into the (actually rather comfortable) chair in front of Prowl's desk. He let out a long vent and settled in for a wait.
There was a soft pulse along the bond a moment later. ~Jazz?~ Prowl questioned sleepily, and said saboteur jumped when something rustled behind the desk.
~Prowler?~ he said slowly as he got up and walked silently around the looming piece of furniture.
~Mm...~
Jazz vented and giggled as he pushed back the chair and peeked under the desk. In the space Prowl's legs would usually occupy, the black and white Praxian had curled up and was now slowly coming out of a very happy recharge.
“Under yer desk?” he asked, visor glimmering with a playful light.
Prowl smiled gently up at him as he stretched then lifted himself from the little nook. “It is surprisingly comfortable.”
“But... under yer desk?”
The Praxian just shook his helm as he pulled his chair back into place, sat down, and continued working.
.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.
“I don't get it,” Sideswipe was saying as he watched Prowl leave the Rec Room with his cube of energon.
“What don'cha get, Sides?” Jazz asked as he sat down.
Sunstreaker snorted and shook his helm. “Don't get him started.”
“Prowl. He never sleeps. I mean, we've all fallen asleep every now and then, and I know you two are bonded, but... I have never, ever, ever seen him go into your quarters at the end of shift.”
Jazz snickered. “Ah, well, Prowler's got his secrets, Sides,” he said, smirk widening.
“Well, yeah, but... It's just... weird.”
Jazz just snickered again, stood, and followed his bondmate out of the room.
.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.
Optimus sighed as he gazed at his occupied desk. This... Well, it was actually very amusing, but... he did sort of have an army to run, and Prowl was currently lying on all his work.
“Prowl.”
“Mmphmmm...”
“You need to get up.”
“Mmph.”
“Prowl, I have work to do.”
Slowly, the Praxian rolled over, doorwings arching off the edge of the desk, limbs stretching out in all directions. Had he not heard the menacing crunch of datapads under the weight of his tactician, Optimus might have thought it rather cute.
“Prowl.”
“Fine,” the Second in Command rumbled as he rolled off the desk and landed quietly on his pedes. Without another word, he stalked past his commander and quit the room, leaving the Prime behind with a desk covered in disorganized and cracked datapads.
With a heavy vent, Optimus got to work.
.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.
Ratchet sagged as he flicked on the lights in his office. It had been a long day; first, Wheeljack had blown himself up - again. Then the Twins had come in with strains, scratches, dents, and leaks, courtesy of a “friendly” sparring match. Then First Aid had come in with a question about sparks and spark-bonding, which had resulted in a lengthy, in-depth, slightly embarrassing explanation. Then Wheeljack had blown himself up again.
It had been a very long day, and he was looking forward to sitting down in his comfy office chair and taking a nap.
So he did just that, venting as he sat down and sent the signal to turn the lights back off.
An hour later, he started cycling back up, feeling very much refreshed. A long groan issued from his vocalizer as he arched his back and stretched. He opened his optics, cycled a deep draft of air, and-
“Prowl, what the frag are you doing on my filing cabinets?” he snarled, jumping to his feet as he stared into drowsy golden optics.
Prowl blinked. “Prime kicked me off his desk,” the Praxian answered, as though it were obvious. And with him, it probably was.
Ratchet vented again and reached up to massage his chevron. “Whatever. When you're done with your nap, please leave however you came in. Primus, I can't deal with this today...”
And with that, the medic left his office, muttering, and Prowl settled down to continue his recharge cycle.
.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.
Jazz blinked when he saw the crowd of mechs standing just inside the Rec Room door.
“A'right, what happ'n'd?” he asked, elbowing his way to the front of the crowd. When he managed to get a clear view, he vented and chuckled.
Prowl was curled up on the center-most table of the Rec Room, engine purring happily, doorwings fluttering.
“Prowler,” he called, and the Praxian shifted. “Ya should get up now.”
“Why?” came the muttered response.
“Because ev'ryone's starin'.”
Prowl shifted again, turning to glare at the crowd with one bright, gold optic.
“C'mon, Prowler. We've got a perfectly good berth in our quarters.”
“Don' like the berth,” he muttered as he ducked his helm again.
Jazz vented and stepped to the edge of the table. “Prowler. Up. Or Ah'm makin' a scene.”
“Already made a scene.”
“Fine.”
His black fingers curled under the edge of the table, and with a heave, he flipped it over. Prowl yelped and flailed as his perch was up-ended, and, somehow, miraculously, ended up on his pedes.
“What was that for?”
“You were rechargin' on a table in th' Rec Room. What's that about?”
Prowl shrugged, twitching his doorwings, and started for the door. “It was comfortable.”
The crowd parted around him as he strode from the room with the bearing of a Prime. Jazz trailed after him, shaking his helm and rolling his optics.
His bondmate was so hard to understand sometimes! And they all said he was the one with logic problems!
~You would not love me any other way,~ Prowl hummed over their bond, sneaking a glance over his shoulder at the saboteur.
~I know,~ he replied, smiling back.
.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.
“So, Jazz,” Sideswipe said as he sat down across from the saboteur. Sunstreaker sat down next to his Twin. “S'up with Prowl?”
“What d'ya mean, Sides?”
“Jazz,” the frontliner said slowly, “Prowl was recharging... curled up... on a table... in the middle of the day... in the middle of the Rec Room.”
“Yeah. Yer point is?”
For a very long moment, the Twins stared at Jazz, dumbfounded.
“Jazz... He... What?”
The saboteur smiled and shook his helm. “Th' reason y'all never see him rechargin' is 'cause that ain't weird. Like he said, he don't like berths.”
Sunstreaker glared at Jazz, as though that would clarify things. Sideswipe blinked. “You... Huh?”
“He don't recharge on berths. He likes 'chargin' in strange places.”
Again, the red Twin blinked. “So... he just recharges around the Arc?”
“Yup. But don' do anythin' ta him if ya happ'n t' see him. 'S hard enough t' find him now anyways.” Jazz shook his helm. “He likes th' little places no one goes 'n' no one looks.”
“That's...”
“A bit strange, Ah know. But 't's kinda cute.”
“Prowl? Cute?”
“Well, you did see him yesterday, Sides,” Sunstreaker said, smirking, and Sideswipe shrugged.
“True, I guess.”
Jazz just smiled and stood up. “Well, nice talkin' ta ya, but Ah'm 'bout t' go on duty. See y'all later!”
After he left, the Twins exchanged a glance that was positively evil.
.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.
“Whoa, Sunny, you win with that one,” were the words Prowl woke to.
Slowly, he arched his back, cracked open one golden optic, and glared down at the mechs watching him.
“How did you even get up there, Prowl?” Sideswipe asked after dodging a swipe from his brother for the unwanted nickname.
The tactician just rumbled his engine in a low growl and went back to his nap, sprawled comfortably over one of the high support-beams of the Rec Room.
“I totally won this round, Sides.”
“I already said you did!”
.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.
“Hey! Sunny! You'll never- Okay, okay, fine, I won't call you 'Sunny' - you'll never guess where I found Prowl this time!”
“No, but I have a feeling you'll tell me.”
Sideswipe snickered as he plopped himself down on the couch next to his brother. “Found him in the Med Bay. He was sleeping on top of the cabinet where Ratchet keeps the spare wires.”
“Really?”
“Would I lie to you, Bro?”
“Yes.”
“Ouch.”
Slowly, a bright yellow minibot wandered over. “What are you guys talking about?”
The Twins exchanged a glance. “Well, you see, Bumblebee, we sorta came up with a game...”
.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.
“Ha! Woo! Ten points for strange position, five for odd place, and four for sheer luck in finding him!”
Prowl vented as he once again cracked a golden optic to see one of the Autobots of the Arc grinning at him. Primus! He hadn't gotten much sleep at all in the past few weeks. The Twins had apparently come up with a game, complete with a scoring guide, on how, when, and where he took his recharge, forcing him to get even more creative with hiding.
Growling lowly, he tucked his helm back down behind his leg and resettled his pede above him, where it was pressed tight to the roof of the air vent.
“But, um, seriously, Prowl? I need to get through.”
“Fine, Bumblebee,” he said without moving.
“Which means you, um, need to move?”
Another heavy vent, and Prowl unfolded himself in a series of complex moves that looked uncomfortable, but were accomplished with an ease and dexterity that spoke of vorns of practice in contorting. A moment later, he was slithering down the air vent with an ease that even Bumblebee admired (and, he admitted quietly in his own processor, envied).
.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.
“Whoa, Bluestreak, this one takes the cake!” Sideswipe crowed, forcing Prowl once again out of recharge. And it had been a nice one, too. Peaceful, warm...
“I just looked up, and he was there, and I remembered you talking about your game, and I thought I'd give it a go, because it looked so strange, like a bat or something, and-”
“Yeah, well, way to go, Blue. I think this one beats all. Ten, ten, and ten.”
Prowl vented as he unhooked his legs from where they had been bent over one of the crumpled edges of the Arc, near where it disappeared into the mountain. One hand gripped the metal, and he swung down, his pedes making nary a sound on the dirty rocks beneath him. With a weary look in Sideswipe and Bluestreak's direction, he wandered back into the Arc, intent on maybe finding another hiding place and actually getting some decent recharge time in.
.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.
“Wow, Prowl, I didn't know you were that flexible,” Wheeljack said as he blinked at the tactician, who was folded into a cupboard in his lab.
Prowl just vented again and slowly pushed himself out. He said nothing to the slightly stunned engineer, simply walked out.
.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.
Jazz was frantic.
He couldn't find Prowl anywhere. After hours of searching, even some prodding at the bond, he could. Not. Find. His. Mate.
And he was mad. Those stupid Twins. They had done this; they had tormented the tactician until he had gone and hidden somewhere where no one would find him.
And so, he decided to take out his frustrations on the two frontliners. He had them backed into a corner, a gleaming, evil look in his visor, when Optimus Prime pinged his comm. For a moment, he was tempted to leave it and beat his anger out on the Twins, but his loyalty reasserted itself and he answered.
::Jazz here.::
::Jazz... Come up to the bridge. You'll want to see this.::
::But Prime! I jus' got th-::
:::Please, Jazz?::
And now the saboteur was curious, because it sounded like the Prime was holding back giggles. ::Fine, fine. Ah'll be there in a minute.::
::Good. Prime out.::
With a vent and a twitch of razor-sharp claws, Jazz retreated from the dark hallway and headed to the bridge. It was a short walk, and he was there in less than a minute.
“What?” he growled as he walked into the room.
The Prime, optics glimmering, motioned to the large monitor. A familiar face was glaring out from it, and Jazz scowled.
“What? Y' called meh up here t' deal wit' Ol' Bucket-Helm's latest nonsense?”
Before Optimus could answer, Megatron spoke.
“No. He called you here to deal with your bondmate's nonsense.”
There was a high pitched snickering as the camera wobbled and whirled. Starscream.
Then the picture registered, and Jazz blinked.
Then he blinked again.
He cycled a long draft of air through his vents, a sound echoed from behind him. He whirled to see the Twins standing in the doorway.
“Holy frag. Who found him?”
“I did,” Megatron rumbled.
“Wow. Okay. You win. Totally. All the points in the world,” Sideswipe said, optics wide.
“What?”
“They came up with a game,” Optimus answered, “where a mech gets points based on the position they find him in, the location, and the luck needed to spot him.”
“... What?”
“Prowler don' like berths,” Jazz said, holding back snickers, the situation finally starting to sink in. “He 'charges wherever he feels like it, an' that can lead t' some pretty int'restin' places an' positions.” Once again, he blinked at the screen, and had to turn away when the giggles got to be too much.
Because there Prowl was, in the command center of the bridge of the Nemesis, under the ocean, sprawled across the back of Megatron's throne, doorwings fluttering, optics dark, limbs splayed at rather odd angles, engine purring happily.
“Ah've gotta 'gree, Megsy. You win.”