(no subject)
So, went out today and had a nice 3-4 hour writing session. Finished the next chapter of Star Crossed, and poked at this little thing that's been bugging me since work on Friday.
Still don't have a title for it. I'll probably continue poking at it between the picking at the next chapter of Rhythm & Hues (which needs a few lines to finish it off).
Title Nowhere to Turn
Pairing (eventual) Jazz/Sideswipe
Summary A wounded, cornered mechanimal would aptly describe the red rocketeer that stumbles his way into Jazz’s life. Withdrawn, moody, distrusting; all the earmarks of someone who has suffered some serious trauma, and hasn’t recovered. Now, if only Jazz could find out what the slag was going on with him.
Jazz first remembered seeing the red mech in the rec, during one of Blaster’s loud victory bashes. His easy laughter rolled through the room but from Jazz’s position by the bar, he could see the pale optics that spoke of stress, of pain. He wondered why Ratchet allowed someone who was so obviously in a great amount of pain out of the med bay. He made out the glint of fresh weld marks. He could see the latches for a rocket pack and a shoulder launcher. Didn’t Bumblebee grumbled about some arrogant red front liner disrupting his attempt to draw a bead on Megatron’s new intelligence officer. Said he’d dropped out of the sky. Not many Autobots had rocket packs, even though there were quite a few who took the red of Primus as their paint jobs. What did ‘Bee say his name was, Sideways, or somethin’?
“Ya gotta problem, one eye?”
Jazz held himself still, despite having been thoroughly startled. ‘Yer losin yer touch there, Jazz.’ He turned to the new arrival taking a sip from the high grade on his hand. The red racketeer scowled at him, posed as though he were heading somewhere. But Jazz recognized all the signs of someone trying to pick a fight. He waved his cube. “Nah, man. Ain’t no problem.” All appearances to the side, Jazz watched this mech like a turbohawk. He had all the pinnings of a fighter, sparked and built. His laughter hid a slowly simmering frustration that slipped to the fore in the absence of his friends. “Don’t recognize yah, though.” A black hand poked toward the red mech. “Name’s Jazz. Didja come from Top Gear’s unit?”
The pale optics stared from Jazz’s visor to the extended hand. He crossed his arms over his chest, narrowing his optics at the grin Jazz offered. “No,” he said simply, and strode off.
Jazz tucked his rejected limb back under his bumper. “Nice to meet ya, too,” he muttered at himself, nodding at his friends.
It was his second meeting with the warrior that stood out themst in Jazz’s mind. While it wasn’t all that common for someone to brush Jazz off like that, it did happen often enough that he didn’t mark it as anything spectacular.
He wasn’t used to stumbling over legs lying across the floor. Especially alarming as they were right by the med bay.
“Hey there, uh,” Jazz broke off as he took in the pale optics and the unhappy frown. “Sides?” Narrowed optics confirmed that Jazz had at least that much of the name right. “D’ya need any help, man?”
The red mech pulled his legs closer t his body. “No.”
Jazz glanced at the closed doors. “Well, you have t’ forgive me fer not believin’ ya.”
“Would you just leave me the frag alone?” Sides was suddenly standing, and looming over the shorter black and white mech.
“Hey, can’t I show concern for a fellow Autobot in pain?”
The red mech rocked back on his heels, surprised by Jazz’s vehemence. “I… well..” He wiped a hand down his face. “I’m sorry.” He paused, pale optics sweeping over the saboteur. “What did you say your name was again?”
Jazz grinned, sticking his hand out. “M’name’s Jazz.”
“Sideswipe.” A smile tilted his handsome mouth as he clasped arms with the saboteur.
“Did y’ come in with Top Gear’s unit?”
His face darkened considerably. “No. We- my roommate and I, that is- were a part of Doldrum’s command.”
Jazz ran the name through his personal database. “I thought that unit was lost.” He pulled up the correlating file, just as his new friend spoke up.
“All but two.”
“So what’re ya doin’ here? Y’ should be rechargin’.” Jazz was steering the conversation back to where he wanted it.
“I… uh, well. I was worried about one of the mechs in there.” Jazz tilted his head in disbelief. “Really! Little guy. Great shot, bad luck.”
“Y’ must be talking about Bluestreak.” Jazz couldn’t help the smile that crossed his face at the thought of the talkative youth.
“Yeah, him! You know him?” Confusion turned Sideswipe’s mouth down.
“Oh yeah! Everyone here knows Bluestreak. Can’t miss him. Course it doesn’t help that he’s Prowlie’s protégé.” Jazz glanced up at the red mech. “He was on loan to Top Gear until they put Scattershot back together. Nasty fall that guy had.” Jazz glanced at the doors again. “Y’ wanna get in and see him? Sounds like yer fond of the boy.” Jazz smirked knowingly. “Lotta mechs’d be mad if ya hurt him.”
Surprise widened Sideswipe’s optics and he shook his head. “What? No! It’s nothing like that! We’re just friends.” A chuckle rumbled from his tall frame. “Besides my -ah- roommate,” Jazz frowned, not missing the warrior’s hitch, “would disassemble me if I brought him to my berth. He, uh, talks too much.” Nervous fingers rubbed at the jointed audio horns.
“Are y’ sure y’ don’t need any help?” He knew Ratchet would be fragged if Jazz left someone out here who needed medical attention.
“Why do you keep asking that?”
“Yer optics, man.”
Sideswipe brought his hands up to his face. “Oh. No, no, it’s fine. It’ll go away on it’s own.”
Jazz frowned again, crossing his arms under his bumper.
“Honest!”
“Well, y’ can’t sit here. Ratchet’ll be mad if you send someone to his med bay cause they trip over ya.” He took Sideswipe’s elbow and led him down the hall.
Sideswipe glanced over his shoulder and he let out a despondent sigh. “Yeah, okay.”
The saboteur paused at one of many intersections inside Iacon. “Where’s your quarters?”
“To the right and down a way. Look, I appreciate what you’re doing, but I’m good from here.”
Jazz pulled his mouth into a tight line as he regarded the red mech dubiously. “I dunno. I don’w wanna leave ya, in case yer hurt.”
“I won’t be alone.” Cool, pale optics returned Jazz’s regard. “My roommate’s there right now.”
Jazz examined the black-crowned face for any hint subterfuge. “If y’ say so.”
He smiled. “I do, but thanks anyway.”
Jazz watched the warrior walk away, admiring his backside as he went. He wondered how he would look with his rocket pack in place.
Part 2
Still don't have a title for it. I'll probably continue poking at it between the picking at the next chapter of Rhythm & Hues (which needs a few lines to finish it off).
Title Nowhere to Turn
Pairing (eventual) Jazz/Sideswipe
Summary A wounded, cornered mechanimal would aptly describe the red rocketeer that stumbles his way into Jazz’s life. Withdrawn, moody, distrusting; all the earmarks of someone who has suffered some serious trauma, and hasn’t recovered. Now, if only Jazz could find out what the slag was going on with him.
Jazz first remembered seeing the red mech in the rec, during one of Blaster’s loud victory bashes. His easy laughter rolled through the room but from Jazz’s position by the bar, he could see the pale optics that spoke of stress, of pain. He wondered why Ratchet allowed someone who was so obviously in a great amount of pain out of the med bay. He made out the glint of fresh weld marks. He could see the latches for a rocket pack and a shoulder launcher. Didn’t Bumblebee grumbled about some arrogant red front liner disrupting his attempt to draw a bead on Megatron’s new intelligence officer. Said he’d dropped out of the sky. Not many Autobots had rocket packs, even though there were quite a few who took the red of Primus as their paint jobs. What did ‘Bee say his name was, Sideways, or somethin’?
“Ya gotta problem, one eye?”
Jazz held himself still, despite having been thoroughly startled. ‘Yer losin yer touch there, Jazz.’ He turned to the new arrival taking a sip from the high grade on his hand. The red racketeer scowled at him, posed as though he were heading somewhere. But Jazz recognized all the signs of someone trying to pick a fight. He waved his cube. “Nah, man. Ain’t no problem.” All appearances to the side, Jazz watched this mech like a turbohawk. He had all the pinnings of a fighter, sparked and built. His laughter hid a slowly simmering frustration that slipped to the fore in the absence of his friends. “Don’t recognize yah, though.” A black hand poked toward the red mech. “Name’s Jazz. Didja come from Top Gear’s unit?”
The pale optics stared from Jazz’s visor to the extended hand. He crossed his arms over his chest, narrowing his optics at the grin Jazz offered. “No,” he said simply, and strode off.
Jazz tucked his rejected limb back under his bumper. “Nice to meet ya, too,” he muttered at himself, nodding at his friends.
It was his second meeting with the warrior that stood out themst in Jazz’s mind. While it wasn’t all that common for someone to brush Jazz off like that, it did happen often enough that he didn’t mark it as anything spectacular.
He wasn’t used to stumbling over legs lying across the floor. Especially alarming as they were right by the med bay.
“Hey there, uh,” Jazz broke off as he took in the pale optics and the unhappy frown. “Sides?” Narrowed optics confirmed that Jazz had at least that much of the name right. “D’ya need any help, man?”
The red mech pulled his legs closer t his body. “No.”
Jazz glanced at the closed doors. “Well, you have t’ forgive me fer not believin’ ya.”
“Would you just leave me the frag alone?” Sides was suddenly standing, and looming over the shorter black and white mech.
“Hey, can’t I show concern for a fellow Autobot in pain?”
The red mech rocked back on his heels, surprised by Jazz’s vehemence. “I… well..” He wiped a hand down his face. “I’m sorry.” He paused, pale optics sweeping over the saboteur. “What did you say your name was again?”
Jazz grinned, sticking his hand out. “M’name’s Jazz.”
“Sideswipe.” A smile tilted his handsome mouth as he clasped arms with the saboteur.
“Did y’ come in with Top Gear’s unit?”
His face darkened considerably. “No. We- my roommate and I, that is- were a part of Doldrum’s command.”
Jazz ran the name through his personal database. “I thought that unit was lost.” He pulled up the correlating file, just as his new friend spoke up.
“All but two.”
“So what’re ya doin’ here? Y’ should be rechargin’.” Jazz was steering the conversation back to where he wanted it.
“I… uh, well. I was worried about one of the mechs in there.” Jazz tilted his head in disbelief. “Really! Little guy. Great shot, bad luck.”
“Y’ must be talking about Bluestreak.” Jazz couldn’t help the smile that crossed his face at the thought of the talkative youth.
“Yeah, him! You know him?” Confusion turned Sideswipe’s mouth down.
“Oh yeah! Everyone here knows Bluestreak. Can’t miss him. Course it doesn’t help that he’s Prowlie’s protégé.” Jazz glanced up at the red mech. “He was on loan to Top Gear until they put Scattershot back together. Nasty fall that guy had.” Jazz glanced at the doors again. “Y’ wanna get in and see him? Sounds like yer fond of the boy.” Jazz smirked knowingly. “Lotta mechs’d be mad if ya hurt him.”
Surprise widened Sideswipe’s optics and he shook his head. “What? No! It’s nothing like that! We’re just friends.” A chuckle rumbled from his tall frame. “Besides my -ah- roommate,” Jazz frowned, not missing the warrior’s hitch, “would disassemble me if I brought him to my berth. He, uh, talks too much.” Nervous fingers rubbed at the jointed audio horns.
“Are y’ sure y’ don’t need any help?” He knew Ratchet would be fragged if Jazz left someone out here who needed medical attention.
“Why do you keep asking that?”
“Yer optics, man.”
Sideswipe brought his hands up to his face. “Oh. No, no, it’s fine. It’ll go away on it’s own.”
Jazz frowned again, crossing his arms under his bumper.
“Honest!”
“Well, y’ can’t sit here. Ratchet’ll be mad if you send someone to his med bay cause they trip over ya.” He took Sideswipe’s elbow and led him down the hall.
Sideswipe glanced over his shoulder and he let out a despondent sigh. “Yeah, okay.”
The saboteur paused at one of many intersections inside Iacon. “Where’s your quarters?”
“To the right and down a way. Look, I appreciate what you’re doing, but I’m good from here.”
Jazz pulled his mouth into a tight line as he regarded the red mech dubiously. “I dunno. I don’w wanna leave ya, in case yer hurt.”
“I won’t be alone.” Cool, pale optics returned Jazz’s regard. “My roommate’s there right now.”
Jazz examined the black-crowned face for any hint subterfuge. “If y’ say so.”
He smiled. “I do, but thanks anyway.”
Jazz watched the warrior walk away, admiring his backside as he went. He wondered how he would look with his rocket pack in place.
Part 2