Haven't poked this in a few months.
I'm leaving Bluestreak offline for a little bit while I poke at this. I might get the next section done before I poke at another fic. (Star Crossed, Three Small Words hmm decisions decisions).
I never really know what to say.
On to the fic! Enjoy!
Title Nowhere to Turn
Pairing (eventual) Jazz/Sideswipe
Summary They say never to mess with a wounded, corner animal, but when Jazz finds one in the form of Sideswipe (one of only two survivors of a unit known for its unlawful practices), he can't help but to poke. He finds more than he bargained for. (will make this better)
Edit: Author's note: Shall we say this is before Sideswipe receives his pile drivers? ^^;
Part 1
Part 2
nbsp; Somewhere in the distance he could make out the whistle of missiles being loosed. Even half a mile away, the explosions rocked the building he was slowly climbing. Occasionally the roar of engines gave him enough warning to freeze and hope Wheeljack’s field dampener worked. He could have taken the access ladders, but that way was probably watched. Too many mechs entered and left the building to trust getting in that way. That left plan C.
Jazz had done this too many times to count. Decepticons create a new super weapon. The Autobots find out about it. Jazz was sent to disable it.
It was almost like clockwork.
This time however something was making Jazz feel ill at ease. He'd felt that way since he'd last seen Prowl. The tactician hadn't wanted to listen to 'base programming;' if it couldn't be quantified, he paid it no heed.
The saboteur pulled himself onto the roof of the building. He crouched, not daring to belly crawl along the abrasive stone. The shadows were his allies, and he thanked the will of Primus that the Decepticons hadn't learned about open spaces.
He maneuvered around the guard; stalking their shadows as he moved from vent to massive antennae to the power relays.
He could make out the massive cylinder that was supposed to be the 'Con's new toy.
He approached it, doing his level best to ignore the uncertainty twitching at his limbs. 'It's just mission jitters,' he told himself.
Except that he hadn't suffered from mission jitters since his first hundred vorns on the job.
He slipped around the final obstacle, and came face to muzzle with the wrong end of an arm canon.
“Looks like Soundwave was right. We do have a visitor.”
Jazz clicked his mouth close, his gaze sliding up the barrel of the gun to the black and purple Seeker wielding it.
“Looking for something, Autobot?” Red optics burned bright.
Jazz's fingers scraped the stone roof, drawing the gaze of Skywarp.
Stupid, arrogant Decepticon.
The saboteur flung his arm up, knocking the arm cannon away. He pulled a handful of flash grenades out of subspace and tossed them at the seeker.
The grenades went off; an explosion of white light. Skywarp covered his optics, wailing as the flash blinded him.
Jazz's visor protected his optics, having already darkened to filter out the light. He lunged forward, knocking the Decepticon to the ground. He still had a job to do. All attempts at concealment abandoned, he made a dash for the cylindrical roof canon.
A turbohawk swept down, raucous cry splitting the silence. Laser fire pelted Jazz's back, burning his light armor. The field dampener overloaded, and exploded, sending sparks shooting out from under Jazz's bumper. He staggered, catching himself on the cold barrel of the canon.
His hand jerked away, as though burned. No canon that's about to rain death and destruction on a battlefield would be that cold.
Aw, fraggit!
“It's a trap!”
He could only hope that his transmission reached its destination. The dead static he received was not reassuring. Neither were the engines droning above him.
He had only an astrosecond's warning to leap away from the decoy before missiles struck where he'd been standing.
The black and purple Seeker jumped up and transformed, calling to the black and blue jet that had shot the rockets.
The rooftop shook with a distant explosion, and even from here Jazz could see the light of the blast. His fuel tank swirled as he watched the area that his comrades had been in light up like a Supreme's headlamp.
The sound of engines roared from a few streets down and drew Jazz's attention. The black and red turbohawk swooped down again, extending claws that raked at his face. He threw his arm up, batting at the crazy machine as it came at him again and again.
“Get away from me ya crazy bird!”
“Autobot: desist.”
Jazz froze, his circuits fusing in cold dear as that voice rolled over him.
He didn't know the owner of the voice. He'd never met Megatron's new intelligence officer.
However the cold fuel in his tank, and the sensation of glitch mice crawling over his canopy told him that this was a Decepticon telepath, a powerful one. It had been a long, long time since Jazz had last encountered a Decepticon telepath.
It had cost him his team, and given him the promotion to the head of the Special Ops unit. He slagging hated telepaths with a passion he normally only found for music.
He made sure to process that a second time. 'The last time I met one of you, I turned him into a shredded piece of art.'
“Resistance: futile. Surrender: expected.”
Thoughts of the gray sky before dawn running through his processor, he slapped a few shrapenel grenades from subspace. He turned, his concentration on the turbohawk floating down to the waiting blue arm.
“Block: remove. Mind: open.”
“I'll never open up t' ya fragging Deceptislag!” His arm swung in an arc.
“Surrender: demanded.”
Jazz released the grenades, launching himself the other way. “Surrender this!”
The grenades exploded thirty astroseconds after he released and activated them. Shrapnel rained down in tiny needles that found their way into his armor. They cut through circuitry and interrupted data flow. Sensors ceased functioning throughout his legs and he hastily redirected the command lines through other circuits. The last thing he wanted was to be paralyzed in easy reach of that Decepticon.
A roar rumbled through the building and for a moment he thought it was the aftershock, which meant the blast was larger than it had appeared. Which meant that his friends, his comrades...
He had thought it was jet engines, that never-ceasing whine.
“Get your aft over here, Jazz! I don't have much juice!” Laserfire pelted down from the sky, striking around the Decepticon telepath.
Jazz looked up and saw a blur of red in the midst of the smoke and dust. “Sideswipe?”
“One and only! Prowl's calling a retreat, the Cons moved that nice cannon you were supposed to be after.” The red and black mech dropped to the rooftop, staggering as the building shifted under his weight. Dents pockmarked his armor, so deep that the metal tore.
Jazz grabbed the mech's white upper arm, trying to find a place that wasn't burnt or missing a panel. “We can't go.”
Blue optics stared down at him in surprise. “What the frag are you talking about? We can't stay. This place's coming down.”
“Don't you hear it?” Jazz had only just became aware of it himself. But he knew they couldn't leave. “There's screamin' down there. We can't go.”
The red mech fired another round at the Decepticon, jerking his arm out of Jazz's grasp in a single smooth motion. “Frag that. I ain't stayin'.”
“They're civilians, we gotta help them.” Jazz grabbed the red mech's wrist, wrenching the warrior back around.
“You can help them. I didn't sign up to help civvies.”
Jazz's grip tightened, preventing the larger mech from freeing his arm. “Yer an Autobot!”
Optics blazing, Sideswipe yanked his hand away again. “Yeah, I'm an Autobot. One who plans on making it back to base in one piece.”
Jazz shook his head once, watching the Decepticon fly away with a damaged turbohawk. He could feel the telepath's withdrawal like the disengaging of a program. He grabbed the red mech again, yanking him around to shove a finger against the insignia stickered to his chest plate. “Do ya see that red face? That means we go help those civilians. Now, come on before this building topples.”
Sideswipe glowered but followed Jazz rappelling down the side of the building with his own rocket pack. The saboteur swung through a window, moving aside to let the warrior slide in behind him.
“Alright, so where's it coming from?” Sideswipe glared around the empty room that had only recently been teeming with Decepticons.
Jazz paused to listen, tilting his head to catch every sound. He pulled on the hatch attached to the warrior's shoulder, guiding the red mech down a series of stairwells, since he didn't trust the lifts to be in working order. He followed the sounds to a small doubleset doorway.
The saboteur pressed his shoulder to the door, listening to the sudden quiet. He made out the soft scrape of shifting bodies. He rapped the door with his knuckles, wincing as the building groaned and shifted again. “Hey, anybody in there?”
He made out the sudden buzz of communication passing through the door. It trembled through his fingers, lighting sensors designed to pick up transmissions on nearly any frequency. Even without understanding the words that were being spoken, he recognized the patterns of an argument.
“Hey! This buildin's comin' down. Are ya in there or not?”
Fists suddenly began pounding on the closed door. Screams and cries for help rattled his audio sensors. Jazz jerked away from the door and his gaze swept over to the control pad.
The panel hung free, cold wires sticking out every which way. Sideswipe stepped aside as the officer brushed past him to pull out more wires as he tried to hack the door controls. He worked swiftly, and still the building shuddered, intensifying the rate of poundings and screams.
He felt Sideswipe's calculating regard on his canopy until a third groan came from the building.
The warrior's feet suddenly pounded on the floor and he flung himself at the doors.
“What are ya doin', man? Are ya crazy?” Jazz didn't tear his gaze away from the wires in his hand as he yelled at Sideswipe. The larger mech bounced off the door and ran a few steps back. He charged again. “This buildings about to collapse, and yer bouncin' around like it's a carnival or somethin'!”
“We don't have time for you to -unh,” he grunted as he slammed into the door a third time, “hack dead lines.”
“That's trilythium steel, ya can't just bust it down like that.” Jazz winced as he heard something give, hoping it was from the door and not the red mech.
Sideswipe staggered back, shaking the impact off for another charge. “Then a little help, if you don't mind, sir.” He went back a little further this time, and charged the door, amazingly spry for someone who looked like he'd run headfirst into Prime. At full speed.
Jazz threw himself forward, pushing off the wall to give weight to his lunge. They impacted on the steel door together, and Jazz knew he’d damaged something. The groan from the red mech told him that the warrior had also done damage to himself. Still, Sideswipe slammed his hands onto the door, prying at a small crevice, and Jazz dug his own fingers in. Together they pulled on a door, until they had mechs and femmes pouring out of the other room.
The original residents huddled together, optics flaring in distress. The last one, and obvious leader of the hostages, pulled a damaged mech along, arm slung over his shoulder. The half-conscious black and red mech staggered along, his optics dim. Laser burns riddled his torso, and it was apparent to Jazz that this one was used as an example, and as he glanced into the room for any other survivors, he saw cold corpses inside, their bodies burnt, broken. Examples who hadn’t lived. In comparison Sideswipe looked worse, but he was built for the punishment and he had the armor for it.
Sideswipe braced himself on an arm against the door. “I'll take that one, you're damaged yourself.” He pushed himself off of his support and took the damaged mech from the other.
Jazz paused, frown on his face as he noticed the warrior's pale optics. “'Swipe?” He looked the warrior's shoulder over, noting the awkward angle of the arm, and the new dent in mag plate.
It shouldn't have been enough to cause such a reaction though.
Sideswipe glared at Jazz, apparently deducing the reason for the officer's concern. “It's nothing. Let's get out of here.” As if on cue the building trembled again, listing to one side.
Everyone froze, waiting for the building to settle. Then they rushed down the stairs. Jazz tried to recall how high up they were. He hadn't exactly been of a mind to count the floors he passed when he ascended the building. Every time the building moaned and shifted they froze until it stopped and then they ran again. Jazz looked out the windows at nearby buildings, trying to calculate how long it would take for everyone to cross on his grapple line. Much sooner than the last time, the building groaned again.
He looked at all the survivors. If they were to cross on his grapple line, he'd rather they be closer to the ground that a fall would not be fatal.
The groaning continued.
It decided Jazz.
The complex shifted under his feet as he ran for a nearby window, smashing it open with the butt of his gun. He hoped that it wasn't also the direction the building they were in would fall He exchanged his hand for the grappling hook, firing it at the ledge of a window on the next building over. He reeled the line in, until it jolted taut.
Jazz turned to the de facto leader of the survivors, telling the mech his plan, one that wasn't disagreed with as the building shifted again, continuing it's unending groan.
One after another, with just enough space to keep from breaking the line, or pulling Jazz (and Sideswipe, who braced him) down, the survivors made their way to the other building. The damaged mech went across with one of the others, and the bots who waited added their weight to Jazz and Sideswipe's anchor. The building continued it's slow, moaning lean, forcing Jazz to adjust the line.
The two Autobots dug their feet in, gouging the floor with the edges of their toe joints. Sideswipe's pale optics flickered with pain, his ventilator hissing with the effort of cooling his overworked systems, but his grip remained tight around Jazz's chassis.
“Making sure the Autobots keep their good name?” Sideswipe suddenly grunted, scowl on his face as he carefully shifted his fingers.
“What?”
“Playing the hero? Keeping up the face? Whatever you want to call it, that why you're doing this?” The warrior didn't even look at Jazz as he spoke, concentrating on keeping them from sliding forward as the next mech, a heavy tank mode by all appearances, took his place on the line.
“The slag is your problem, Sides?” Jazz ground his dental plates, vocalizer fritzing with power surges. “This is what Autobots do.”
The structure gave a sudden lurch, and Sideswipe widened his stance, taking more of the weight from Jazz. “Sure,” the word spat out of his vocalizer with all of the distaste he couldn't put in his expression.
“Ain't the time or place, Sides.” The last of the survivors went out the window, and Jazz watched his inexorably slow crawl to the other building.
“Of course.” the warrior buzzed.
Jazz spared Sideswipe a glance as the mech reached the midway point.
One final groan grated out of the building, and the floor didn't stop moving.
Sideswipe grabbed at Jazz as they were both jerked off their feet. The line lurched, jumping erratically as the structure began it's fall. Jazz played his line, trying to keep it steady for the mech to finish crossing.
“Reel us in,” Sideswipe shouted, gathering Jazz into his arms. The rocket on his back roared to life, launching them both out of the moving window. Jazz pulled in the line as fast as he could, arm wrapped around Sideswipe's neck.
The other window disappeared from sight, and Jazz watched their window pull the line. He hoped the mech made it safely. Sideswipe tucked his chin down, hurtling forward. He misjudged, striking the side of the window. Metal scraped and banged against concrete, as the warrior plowed through, sending down a shower of powder and chunks.
Sideswipe spun out of control for a brief astrosecond. It was all that was needed for him to slam into the neighboring building and knock his pack offline for another brief astrosecond.
Jazz's vision fritzed from the force of the impact, and the world shook from the collapse of the other building. When it cleared, the mech on his line was no longer there, and they were falling. He braced his arm, watching the line snake down until it suddenly snapped tight, wrenching his shoulder and elbow. Jazz cried out, clutching Sideswipe's reeling form as they swung, the ground still an unsafe distance away. He had no control over their descent, unable to see past the billowing dust and smoke. They slammed into the wall, bouncing off it and spinning wildly. Back, elbows, knees, they kept hitting the wall, sharing the impacts. Jazz could no longer tell whether they were going left or right, swinging up, or down.
Sideswipe's optics onlined briefly, only to darken again as he wrapped his arms and legs tightly around the saboteur's body. Jazz couldn't move with the warrior twined about him, but he couldn't get his vocalizer to work either. It was too busy buzzing with groans and static. It felt like every part of him that didn't have a Toughline attached to it ached with dents, and scratches, or tears. With Sideswipe dragging at his shoulders and waist, he had an arm free. Every time they hit the building Jazz grabbed for a hold, trying to stop their erratic swinging.
When Sideswipe joined him in grabbing at the wall, they finally managed to stop themselves. The world still spun about him as his equilibrium sensors attempted to adjust to their stillness. No longer moving, and without the power surges from the excitement, the warrior's weight was painful on his arm. His shoulders and back burned from exposed circuitry. Yet all he could do was hang there, cooling his systems with gulps of the clogged air.
“Can you pull us up?” Sideswipe groaned, forehead pressed against the building.
Jazz needed a few more moments to calibrate his systems before he tried to reel the line in. He couldn't get a response from that system. He slammed his head back onto the building, glaring up at the hazy sky. “No.”
The warrior lifted his head, dust covering his face and blinking to wipe his optics clear. “I think our friends left.” Sideswipe tightened his arms, and let go with his legs. He braced his feet on the building and slowly walked them toward a window. Jazz felt every movement as it pulled and jarred his arm. Even though the warrior still gripped the black and white mech, Jazz felt like Sideswipe was the only reason he wasn't falling.
The warrior peered cautiously into the window, and then stood on top of it and together they smashed through. Sideswipe climbed in first, never letting go of Jazz. He held the saboteur’s knee to keep him from swinging away while they both puzzled over the taut line still attached some distance up.
“I'm gonna have to cut it. I still ain't gettin' a response.
Sideswipe leaned out of the window even further, working his grip up Jazz's leg and working his fingers into the black waist. “I've got you.”
An energon blade appeared in his hand, and he reached up to saw at the line. The blade glowed a dull pink through the clouded sky, and Jazz felt like he couldn't clear his ventilators of the permeating dust. The line slowly gave, and Sideswipe tightened his grip, metal bending under his fingers. Sideswipe gave a mighty tug just as Jazz sliced through the last of the metal cabling, yanking them into the building. They spilled across the floor in a messy sprawl, with Jazz on top of the warrior.
They lay there for a long breem, both huffing dusty puffs from their ventilators. The saboteur finally shoved himself off Sideswipe with his good arm, rolling to his back. Trembles racked his servos, drained from the sudden lack of power surges.
“Whooo-ee, that was almost as fun as Jet Judo!” A groan rumbled from the mech’s engine, despite his soft chuckle. “Can we do that again sometime, Jazz?”
Jazz slogged his way through Sideswipe’s too exuberant words. “Jet- wha?”
“Jet- oh never mind.” Another groan sounded from Sideswipe. “I don’t think I wanna move anytime soon.”
“I’m there wit’ ya.” Jazz frowned contemplatively. “I sure wish I knew whether they grabbed that last one or not, though. I’d hate t’ think of what could’a happened if they hadn’t.”
Metal scraped as Sideswipe shifted to angle a stare at the saboteur, his helmet as scratched as the rest of him.“You don’t have to keep the face up with me, Jazz.”
Jazz lifted his head to stare at the Toughline “Don’t have t’ what?”
The warrior glared at the ceiling. “The face. You don’t have to keep it up with me. It’s okay. I don’t really care what happened to the slaggers either.” A frown pinched the corners of his lips down. “I don’t really care about what happens to anyone.” His pale optics turned back to Jazz. “And if yo]u don’t either, then you shouldn’t have to pretend.”
Jazz rolled to his side, off of his exposed circuits. His processor whirled as he tried to puzzle out the red mech’s meaning. “Yer talkin’ crazy. It ain't a face, 'Swipe. I do care.” The look on Sideswipe’s face sent an eerie chill through his spark, as though the warrior didn’t believe him, or maybe even was incapable of comprehending that kind of compassion.
What had Doldrum’s unit done to this young mech?
“Prowl to Jazz, do you read me?” Jazz’s internal communicator chirped to life with the tactician’s calm-as-always voice.
He activated his side of the communication, putting it on speaker and talking aloud for the warrior’s benefit. “S’up?”
A small sound of annoyance rumbled through the speakers. “Jazz, we are not the only officers on this channel, would you at least attempt to sound professional?”
He caught the widening of the warrior’s optics, and the movement of his lips as Sideswipe mouthed the word ‘officers’ in surprise.
“Prime says he don't care, an' Ratch ain't any better.”
Prowl made a sound of electronic exasperation.“Is Sideswipe with you?” The expectant tone let Jazz know that Prowl already knew the answer, but was asking out of courtesy.
“Yeah, I'm here,” Sideswipe said without much enthusiasm.
“Good. Jazz can you meet us at rendesvous point 25?”
Jazz checked his diagnostic readings, his arm laying unresponsive at his side. “It'll be a long walk fer me.”
A pause as Prowl considered that, almost unnoticeable except by those who knew him. “Does Sideswipe not know basic repair?
A groan preceded the warrior's words as he pushed himself up. “I know it.”
“Do what you can for Jazz.” Prowl's tone of voice broached no argument from the red mech. “Jazz, if you are still unable to make it here in haste, radio in and I will send someone to pick you up.” He wasn't that much more lenient on the saboteur either. The line hissed as Prowl closed his side of the communication.
Sideswipe was quiet as he dragged himself to his knees. “He would have left those bots.”
Jazz watched the mech crawl over to him, favoring his arm and wincing as his legs dragged along the ground. “Who? Prowl?” He drew closer, letting Jazz see the long scratches over what remained of his paint Jazz suspected that he had a very Sleektilt shape to his paint now
A med kit appeared in the warrior's hand and he popped the lid on it, setting it down next to the saboteur. “Yeah. Perfect example of Autobot caring. Didn't even ask if we were okay.”
Jazz composed his face as the warrior began working on his damaged arm, sending tendrils of pain throughout receptors he couldn't turn off. “Well, look at it from his point of view.” His vocalizer caught and hissed, buzzing with grunts and groans as he tried to ignore what Sideswipe was doing to his arm. “We answer, ergo we're functioning. We can reach the rendezvous point, ergo we're not heavily damaged. It's illogical to ask a question he.... hnn...” Jazz had to stop as Sideswipe hit a sensor node in his elbow. “What're ya doin', man?” he hissed.
“Sorry,” Sideswipe didn't stop tugging at Jazz's arm as he spoke, “I'm trying to get your joint back together.”
“Shouldn't you leave that to a medic?”
Sideswipe waved off the suggestion. “I've got it. You were saying.”
Jazz had to search his memory for a moment before he recalled. “It's illogical to ask a question he can extrapolate an answer to. He cares, he just ain't that good at showin' it.”
Primus knows he'd had a conniption when he'd first heard of Prowl doing that to one of his team members. Then Prowl had the gall to visit Mirage in the med bay to receive the report personally. Until Ironhide and Ratchet had explained the reason behind it, and how it tied into Prowl's cold-sparked success as a tactician. Unhappily this had been after he had already given Prowl holy hell over the matter several joors before.
It had been a very apologetic Jazz that approached the tactician later in the megacycle. Prowl had listened to Jazz's apology with his normal stern expression. He then told Jazz that if the saboteur wanted to make it up, he could start by cleaning section 82 for insubordination to a ranking officer.
Jazz had been puzzling just how he could fit that into his schedule when he was hit by a realization. Iacon, for whatever insane reason, had section 81 and 83, somehow or another 82 had been misplaced or mislabeled. He'd stormed back into Prowl's office and told the tactician that if he wanted section 82 cleaned, then he could damned well clean it himself. After which he stormed back out, but not before he saw the slight tilt of Prowl's mouth.
“Turn over, let me see your canopy.”
Sideswipe's voice brought Jazz back from his recollection. Pain still radiated from his arm, but he could finally turn off the receptors in that area, and flex his hands. “Nah, 'Swipe. I'm good to go. Let's get goin' 'fore Prowl leaves us.” Jazz rolled to his feet, ignoring the ache in his body. He looked over Sideswipe's dented and scraped form, taking in the all too pale optics. “Will you be okay until we get back to base camp?”
Sideswipe huffed, rising to his feet, though he moved with the care of one who was more damaged than he let on. “I'll be fine. How many times do I have to say it?”
“Ok. Far be it from me for keeping Hatchet from yellin' at ya.” Jazz glanced out the window. “How likely would it be for your rocket pack to be in working order.”
Sideswipe didn't even hesitate. “Not at all. There's a leak in it, and I'm not turning it back on til that's fixed.”
“Guess we gotta find some stairs then.”
“Lead the way, sir.”
Jazz paused to look at the warrior, surprised at the anger that seemed to snap out with that last word. Sideswipe regarded him with his normal cool, neutrality, giving no indication to his meaning.
The saboteur finally turned, searching his databanks for the layout of all the buildings near his target. He was certain he had them in case he needed to improvise his plan on the spot. He had just never expected to have to use one as an evacuation route.
Part 4
Thanks to
tiamat1972 for gandering this for me. :D
I never really know what to say.
On to the fic! Enjoy!
Title Nowhere to Turn
Pairing (eventual) Jazz/Sideswipe
Summary They say never to mess with a wounded, corner animal, but when Jazz finds one in the form of Sideswipe (one of only two survivors of a unit known for its unlawful practices), he can't help but to poke. He finds more than he bargained for. (will make this better)
Edit: Author's note: Shall we say this is before Sideswipe receives his pile drivers? ^^;
Part 1
Part 2
nbsp; Somewhere in the distance he could make out the whistle of missiles being loosed. Even half a mile away, the explosions rocked the building he was slowly climbing. Occasionally the roar of engines gave him enough warning to freeze and hope Wheeljack’s field dampener worked. He could have taken the access ladders, but that way was probably watched. Too many mechs entered and left the building to trust getting in that way. That left plan C.
Jazz had done this too many times to count. Decepticons create a new super weapon. The Autobots find out about it. Jazz was sent to disable it.
It was almost like clockwork.
This time however something was making Jazz feel ill at ease. He'd felt that way since he'd last seen Prowl. The tactician hadn't wanted to listen to 'base programming;' if it couldn't be quantified, he paid it no heed.
The saboteur pulled himself onto the roof of the building. He crouched, not daring to belly crawl along the abrasive stone. The shadows were his allies, and he thanked the will of Primus that the Decepticons hadn't learned about open spaces.
He maneuvered around the guard; stalking their shadows as he moved from vent to massive antennae to the power relays.
He could make out the massive cylinder that was supposed to be the 'Con's new toy.
He approached it, doing his level best to ignore the uncertainty twitching at his limbs. 'It's just mission jitters,' he told himself.
Except that he hadn't suffered from mission jitters since his first hundred vorns on the job.
He slipped around the final obstacle, and came face to muzzle with the wrong end of an arm canon.
“Looks like Soundwave was right. We do have a visitor.”
Jazz clicked his mouth close, his gaze sliding up the barrel of the gun to the black and purple Seeker wielding it.
“Looking for something, Autobot?” Red optics burned bright.
Jazz's fingers scraped the stone roof, drawing the gaze of Skywarp.
Stupid, arrogant Decepticon.
The saboteur flung his arm up, knocking the arm cannon away. He pulled a handful of flash grenades out of subspace and tossed them at the seeker.
The grenades went off; an explosion of white light. Skywarp covered his optics, wailing as the flash blinded him.
Jazz's visor protected his optics, having already darkened to filter out the light. He lunged forward, knocking the Decepticon to the ground. He still had a job to do. All attempts at concealment abandoned, he made a dash for the cylindrical roof canon.
A turbohawk swept down, raucous cry splitting the silence. Laser fire pelted Jazz's back, burning his light armor. The field dampener overloaded, and exploded, sending sparks shooting out from under Jazz's bumper. He staggered, catching himself on the cold barrel of the canon.
His hand jerked away, as though burned. No canon that's about to rain death and destruction on a battlefield would be that cold.
Aw, fraggit!
“It's a trap!”
He could only hope that his transmission reached its destination. The dead static he received was not reassuring. Neither were the engines droning above him.
He had only an astrosecond's warning to leap away from the decoy before missiles struck where he'd been standing.
The black and purple Seeker jumped up and transformed, calling to the black and blue jet that had shot the rockets.
The rooftop shook with a distant explosion, and even from here Jazz could see the light of the blast. His fuel tank swirled as he watched the area that his comrades had been in light up like a Supreme's headlamp.
The sound of engines roared from a few streets down and drew Jazz's attention. The black and red turbohawk swooped down again, extending claws that raked at his face. He threw his arm up, batting at the crazy machine as it came at him again and again.
“Get away from me ya crazy bird!”
“Autobot: desist.”
Jazz froze, his circuits fusing in cold dear as that voice rolled over him.
He didn't know the owner of the voice. He'd never met Megatron's new intelligence officer.
However the cold fuel in his tank, and the sensation of glitch mice crawling over his canopy told him that this was a Decepticon telepath, a powerful one. It had been a long, long time since Jazz had last encountered a Decepticon telepath.
It had cost him his team, and given him the promotion to the head of the Special Ops unit. He slagging hated telepaths with a passion he normally only found for music.
He made sure to process that a second time. 'The last time I met one of you, I turned him into a shredded piece of art.'
“Resistance: futile. Surrender: expected.”
Thoughts of the gray sky before dawn running through his processor, he slapped a few shrapenel grenades from subspace. He turned, his concentration on the turbohawk floating down to the waiting blue arm.
“Block: remove. Mind: open.”
“I'll never open up t' ya fragging Deceptislag!” His arm swung in an arc.
“Surrender: demanded.”
Jazz released the grenades, launching himself the other way. “Surrender this!”
The grenades exploded thirty astroseconds after he released and activated them. Shrapnel rained down in tiny needles that found their way into his armor. They cut through circuitry and interrupted data flow. Sensors ceased functioning throughout his legs and he hastily redirected the command lines through other circuits. The last thing he wanted was to be paralyzed in easy reach of that Decepticon.
A roar rumbled through the building and for a moment he thought it was the aftershock, which meant the blast was larger than it had appeared. Which meant that his friends, his comrades...
He had thought it was jet engines, that never-ceasing whine.
“Get your aft over here, Jazz! I don't have much juice!” Laserfire pelted down from the sky, striking around the Decepticon telepath.
Jazz looked up and saw a blur of red in the midst of the smoke and dust. “Sideswipe?”
“One and only! Prowl's calling a retreat, the Cons moved that nice cannon you were supposed to be after.” The red and black mech dropped to the rooftop, staggering as the building shifted under his weight. Dents pockmarked his armor, so deep that the metal tore.
Jazz grabbed the mech's white upper arm, trying to find a place that wasn't burnt or missing a panel. “We can't go.”
Blue optics stared down at him in surprise. “What the frag are you talking about? We can't stay. This place's coming down.”
“Don't you hear it?” Jazz had only just became aware of it himself. But he knew they couldn't leave. “There's screamin' down there. We can't go.”
The red mech fired another round at the Decepticon, jerking his arm out of Jazz's grasp in a single smooth motion. “Frag that. I ain't stayin'.”
“They're civilians, we gotta help them.” Jazz grabbed the red mech's wrist, wrenching the warrior back around.
“You can help them. I didn't sign up to help civvies.”
Jazz's grip tightened, preventing the larger mech from freeing his arm. “Yer an Autobot!”
Optics blazing, Sideswipe yanked his hand away again. “Yeah, I'm an Autobot. One who plans on making it back to base in one piece.”
Jazz shook his head once, watching the Decepticon fly away with a damaged turbohawk. He could feel the telepath's withdrawal like the disengaging of a program. He grabbed the red mech again, yanking him around to shove a finger against the insignia stickered to his chest plate. “Do ya see that red face? That means we go help those civilians. Now, come on before this building topples.”
Sideswipe glowered but followed Jazz rappelling down the side of the building with his own rocket pack. The saboteur swung through a window, moving aside to let the warrior slide in behind him.
“Alright, so where's it coming from?” Sideswipe glared around the empty room that had only recently been teeming with Decepticons.
Jazz paused to listen, tilting his head to catch every sound. He pulled on the hatch attached to the warrior's shoulder, guiding the red mech down a series of stairwells, since he didn't trust the lifts to be in working order. He followed the sounds to a small doubleset doorway.
The saboteur pressed his shoulder to the door, listening to the sudden quiet. He made out the soft scrape of shifting bodies. He rapped the door with his knuckles, wincing as the building groaned and shifted again. “Hey, anybody in there?”
He made out the sudden buzz of communication passing through the door. It trembled through his fingers, lighting sensors designed to pick up transmissions on nearly any frequency. Even without understanding the words that were being spoken, he recognized the patterns of an argument.
“Hey! This buildin's comin' down. Are ya in there or not?”
Fists suddenly began pounding on the closed door. Screams and cries for help rattled his audio sensors. Jazz jerked away from the door and his gaze swept over to the control pad.
The panel hung free, cold wires sticking out every which way. Sideswipe stepped aside as the officer brushed past him to pull out more wires as he tried to hack the door controls. He worked swiftly, and still the building shuddered, intensifying the rate of poundings and screams.
He felt Sideswipe's calculating regard on his canopy until a third groan came from the building.
The warrior's feet suddenly pounded on the floor and he flung himself at the doors.
“What are ya doin', man? Are ya crazy?” Jazz didn't tear his gaze away from the wires in his hand as he yelled at Sideswipe. The larger mech bounced off the door and ran a few steps back. He charged again. “This buildings about to collapse, and yer bouncin' around like it's a carnival or somethin'!”
“We don't have time for you to -unh,” he grunted as he slammed into the door a third time, “hack dead lines.”
“That's trilythium steel, ya can't just bust it down like that.” Jazz winced as he heard something give, hoping it was from the door and not the red mech.
Sideswipe staggered back, shaking the impact off for another charge. “Then a little help, if you don't mind, sir.” He went back a little further this time, and charged the door, amazingly spry for someone who looked like he'd run headfirst into Prime. At full speed.
Jazz threw himself forward, pushing off the wall to give weight to his lunge. They impacted on the steel door together, and Jazz knew he’d damaged something. The groan from the red mech told him that the warrior had also done damage to himself. Still, Sideswipe slammed his hands onto the door, prying at a small crevice, and Jazz dug his own fingers in. Together they pulled on a door, until they had mechs and femmes pouring out of the other room.
The original residents huddled together, optics flaring in distress. The last one, and obvious leader of the hostages, pulled a damaged mech along, arm slung over his shoulder. The half-conscious black and red mech staggered along, his optics dim. Laser burns riddled his torso, and it was apparent to Jazz that this one was used as an example, and as he glanced into the room for any other survivors, he saw cold corpses inside, their bodies burnt, broken. Examples who hadn’t lived. In comparison Sideswipe looked worse, but he was built for the punishment and he had the armor for it.
Sideswipe braced himself on an arm against the door. “I'll take that one, you're damaged yourself.” He pushed himself off of his support and took the damaged mech from the other.
Jazz paused, frown on his face as he noticed the warrior's pale optics. “'Swipe?” He looked the warrior's shoulder over, noting the awkward angle of the arm, and the new dent in mag plate.
It shouldn't have been enough to cause such a reaction though.
Sideswipe glared at Jazz, apparently deducing the reason for the officer's concern. “It's nothing. Let's get out of here.” As if on cue the building trembled again, listing to one side.
Everyone froze, waiting for the building to settle. Then they rushed down the stairs. Jazz tried to recall how high up they were. He hadn't exactly been of a mind to count the floors he passed when he ascended the building. Every time the building moaned and shifted they froze until it stopped and then they ran again. Jazz looked out the windows at nearby buildings, trying to calculate how long it would take for everyone to cross on his grapple line. Much sooner than the last time, the building groaned again.
He looked at all the survivors. If they were to cross on his grapple line, he'd rather they be closer to the ground that a fall would not be fatal.
The groaning continued.
It decided Jazz.
The complex shifted under his feet as he ran for a nearby window, smashing it open with the butt of his gun. He hoped that it wasn't also the direction the building they were in would fall He exchanged his hand for the grappling hook, firing it at the ledge of a window on the next building over. He reeled the line in, until it jolted taut.
Jazz turned to the de facto leader of the survivors, telling the mech his plan, one that wasn't disagreed with as the building shifted again, continuing it's unending groan.
One after another, with just enough space to keep from breaking the line, or pulling Jazz (and Sideswipe, who braced him) down, the survivors made their way to the other building. The damaged mech went across with one of the others, and the bots who waited added their weight to Jazz and Sideswipe's anchor. The building continued it's slow, moaning lean, forcing Jazz to adjust the line.
The two Autobots dug their feet in, gouging the floor with the edges of their toe joints. Sideswipe's pale optics flickered with pain, his ventilator hissing with the effort of cooling his overworked systems, but his grip remained tight around Jazz's chassis.
“Making sure the Autobots keep their good name?” Sideswipe suddenly grunted, scowl on his face as he carefully shifted his fingers.
“What?”
“Playing the hero? Keeping up the face? Whatever you want to call it, that why you're doing this?” The warrior didn't even look at Jazz as he spoke, concentrating on keeping them from sliding forward as the next mech, a heavy tank mode by all appearances, took his place on the line.
“The slag is your problem, Sides?” Jazz ground his dental plates, vocalizer fritzing with power surges. “This is what Autobots do.”
The structure gave a sudden lurch, and Sideswipe widened his stance, taking more of the weight from Jazz. “Sure,” the word spat out of his vocalizer with all of the distaste he couldn't put in his expression.
“Ain't the time or place, Sides.” The last of the survivors went out the window, and Jazz watched his inexorably slow crawl to the other building.
“Of course.” the warrior buzzed.
Jazz spared Sideswipe a glance as the mech reached the midway point.
One final groan grated out of the building, and the floor didn't stop moving.
Sideswipe grabbed at Jazz as they were both jerked off their feet. The line lurched, jumping erratically as the structure began it's fall. Jazz played his line, trying to keep it steady for the mech to finish crossing.
“Reel us in,” Sideswipe shouted, gathering Jazz into his arms. The rocket on his back roared to life, launching them both out of the moving window. Jazz pulled in the line as fast as he could, arm wrapped around Sideswipe's neck.
The other window disappeared from sight, and Jazz watched their window pull the line. He hoped the mech made it safely. Sideswipe tucked his chin down, hurtling forward. He misjudged, striking the side of the window. Metal scraped and banged against concrete, as the warrior plowed through, sending down a shower of powder and chunks.
Sideswipe spun out of control for a brief astrosecond. It was all that was needed for him to slam into the neighboring building and knock his pack offline for another brief astrosecond.
Jazz's vision fritzed from the force of the impact, and the world shook from the collapse of the other building. When it cleared, the mech on his line was no longer there, and they were falling. He braced his arm, watching the line snake down until it suddenly snapped tight, wrenching his shoulder and elbow. Jazz cried out, clutching Sideswipe's reeling form as they swung, the ground still an unsafe distance away. He had no control over their descent, unable to see past the billowing dust and smoke. They slammed into the wall, bouncing off it and spinning wildly. Back, elbows, knees, they kept hitting the wall, sharing the impacts. Jazz could no longer tell whether they were going left or right, swinging up, or down.
Sideswipe's optics onlined briefly, only to darken again as he wrapped his arms and legs tightly around the saboteur's body. Jazz couldn't move with the warrior twined about him, but he couldn't get his vocalizer to work either. It was too busy buzzing with groans and static. It felt like every part of him that didn't have a Toughline attached to it ached with dents, and scratches, or tears. With Sideswipe dragging at his shoulders and waist, he had an arm free. Every time they hit the building Jazz grabbed for a hold, trying to stop their erratic swinging.
When Sideswipe joined him in grabbing at the wall, they finally managed to stop themselves. The world still spun about him as his equilibrium sensors attempted to adjust to their stillness. No longer moving, and without the power surges from the excitement, the warrior's weight was painful on his arm. His shoulders and back burned from exposed circuitry. Yet all he could do was hang there, cooling his systems with gulps of the clogged air.
“Can you pull us up?” Sideswipe groaned, forehead pressed against the building.
Jazz needed a few more moments to calibrate his systems before he tried to reel the line in. He couldn't get a response from that system. He slammed his head back onto the building, glaring up at the hazy sky. “No.”
The warrior lifted his head, dust covering his face and blinking to wipe his optics clear. “I think our friends left.” Sideswipe tightened his arms, and let go with his legs. He braced his feet on the building and slowly walked them toward a window. Jazz felt every movement as it pulled and jarred his arm. Even though the warrior still gripped the black and white mech, Jazz felt like Sideswipe was the only reason he wasn't falling.
The warrior peered cautiously into the window, and then stood on top of it and together they smashed through. Sideswipe climbed in first, never letting go of Jazz. He held the saboteur’s knee to keep him from swinging away while they both puzzled over the taut line still attached some distance up.
“I'm gonna have to cut it. I still ain't gettin' a response.
Sideswipe leaned out of the window even further, working his grip up Jazz's leg and working his fingers into the black waist. “I've got you.”
An energon blade appeared in his hand, and he reached up to saw at the line. The blade glowed a dull pink through the clouded sky, and Jazz felt like he couldn't clear his ventilators of the permeating dust. The line slowly gave, and Sideswipe tightened his grip, metal bending under his fingers. Sideswipe gave a mighty tug just as Jazz sliced through the last of the metal cabling, yanking them into the building. They spilled across the floor in a messy sprawl, with Jazz on top of the warrior.
They lay there for a long breem, both huffing dusty puffs from their ventilators. The saboteur finally shoved himself off Sideswipe with his good arm, rolling to his back. Trembles racked his servos, drained from the sudden lack of power surges.
“Whooo-ee, that was almost as fun as Jet Judo!” A groan rumbled from the mech’s engine, despite his soft chuckle. “Can we do that again sometime, Jazz?”
Jazz slogged his way through Sideswipe’s too exuberant words. “Jet- wha?”
“Jet- oh never mind.” Another groan sounded from Sideswipe. “I don’t think I wanna move anytime soon.”
“I’m there wit’ ya.” Jazz frowned contemplatively. “I sure wish I knew whether they grabbed that last one or not, though. I’d hate t’ think of what could’a happened if they hadn’t.”
Metal scraped as Sideswipe shifted to angle a stare at the saboteur, his helmet as scratched as the rest of him.“You don’t have to keep the face up with me, Jazz.”
Jazz lifted his head to stare at the Toughline “Don’t have t’ what?”
The warrior glared at the ceiling. “The face. You don’t have to keep it up with me. It’s okay. I don’t really care what happened to the slaggers either.” A frown pinched the corners of his lips down. “I don’t really care about what happens to anyone.” His pale optics turned back to Jazz. “And if yo]u don’t either, then you shouldn’t have to pretend.”
Jazz rolled to his side, off of his exposed circuits. His processor whirled as he tried to puzzle out the red mech’s meaning. “Yer talkin’ crazy. It ain't a face, 'Swipe. I do care.” The look on Sideswipe’s face sent an eerie chill through his spark, as though the warrior didn’t believe him, or maybe even was incapable of comprehending that kind of compassion.
What had Doldrum’s unit done to this young mech?
“Prowl to Jazz, do you read me?” Jazz’s internal communicator chirped to life with the tactician’s calm-as-always voice.
He activated his side of the communication, putting it on speaker and talking aloud for the warrior’s benefit. “S’up?”
A small sound of annoyance rumbled through the speakers. “Jazz, we are not the only officers on this channel, would you at least attempt to sound professional?”
He caught the widening of the warrior’s optics, and the movement of his lips as Sideswipe mouthed the word ‘officers’ in surprise.
“Prime says he don't care, an' Ratch ain't any better.”
Prowl made a sound of electronic exasperation.“Is Sideswipe with you?” The expectant tone let Jazz know that Prowl already knew the answer, but was asking out of courtesy.
“Yeah, I'm here,” Sideswipe said without much enthusiasm.
“Good. Jazz can you meet us at rendesvous point 25?”
Jazz checked his diagnostic readings, his arm laying unresponsive at his side. “It'll be a long walk fer me.”
A pause as Prowl considered that, almost unnoticeable except by those who knew him. “Does Sideswipe not know basic repair?
A groan preceded the warrior's words as he pushed himself up. “I know it.”
“Do what you can for Jazz.” Prowl's tone of voice broached no argument from the red mech. “Jazz, if you are still unable to make it here in haste, radio in and I will send someone to pick you up.” He wasn't that much more lenient on the saboteur either. The line hissed as Prowl closed his side of the communication.
Sideswipe was quiet as he dragged himself to his knees. “He would have left those bots.”
Jazz watched the mech crawl over to him, favoring his arm and wincing as his legs dragged along the ground. “Who? Prowl?” He drew closer, letting Jazz see the long scratches over what remained of his paint Jazz suspected that he had a very Sleektilt shape to his paint now
A med kit appeared in the warrior's hand and he popped the lid on it, setting it down next to the saboteur. “Yeah. Perfect example of Autobot caring. Didn't even ask if we were okay.”
Jazz composed his face as the warrior began working on his damaged arm, sending tendrils of pain throughout receptors he couldn't turn off. “Well, look at it from his point of view.” His vocalizer caught and hissed, buzzing with grunts and groans as he tried to ignore what Sideswipe was doing to his arm. “We answer, ergo we're functioning. We can reach the rendezvous point, ergo we're not heavily damaged. It's illogical to ask a question he.... hnn...” Jazz had to stop as Sideswipe hit a sensor node in his elbow. “What're ya doin', man?” he hissed.
“Sorry,” Sideswipe didn't stop tugging at Jazz's arm as he spoke, “I'm trying to get your joint back together.”
“Shouldn't you leave that to a medic?”
Sideswipe waved off the suggestion. “I've got it. You were saying.”
Jazz had to search his memory for a moment before he recalled. “It's illogical to ask a question he can extrapolate an answer to. He cares, he just ain't that good at showin' it.”
Primus knows he'd had a conniption when he'd first heard of Prowl doing that to one of his team members. Then Prowl had the gall to visit Mirage in the med bay to receive the report personally. Until Ironhide and Ratchet had explained the reason behind it, and how it tied into Prowl's cold-sparked success as a tactician. Unhappily this had been after he had already given Prowl holy hell over the matter several joors before.
It had been a very apologetic Jazz that approached the tactician later in the megacycle. Prowl had listened to Jazz's apology with his normal stern expression. He then told Jazz that if the saboteur wanted to make it up, he could start by cleaning section 82 for insubordination to a ranking officer.
Jazz had been puzzling just how he could fit that into his schedule when he was hit by a realization. Iacon, for whatever insane reason, had section 81 and 83, somehow or another 82 had been misplaced or mislabeled. He'd stormed back into Prowl's office and told the tactician that if he wanted section 82 cleaned, then he could damned well clean it himself. After which he stormed back out, but not before he saw the slight tilt of Prowl's mouth.
“Turn over, let me see your canopy.”
Sideswipe's voice brought Jazz back from his recollection. Pain still radiated from his arm, but he could finally turn off the receptors in that area, and flex his hands. “Nah, 'Swipe. I'm good to go. Let's get goin' 'fore Prowl leaves us.” Jazz rolled to his feet, ignoring the ache in his body. He looked over Sideswipe's dented and scraped form, taking in the all too pale optics. “Will you be okay until we get back to base camp?”
Sideswipe huffed, rising to his feet, though he moved with the care of one who was more damaged than he let on. “I'll be fine. How many times do I have to say it?”
“Ok. Far be it from me for keeping Hatchet from yellin' at ya.” Jazz glanced out the window. “How likely would it be for your rocket pack to be in working order.”
Sideswipe didn't even hesitate. “Not at all. There's a leak in it, and I'm not turning it back on til that's fixed.”
“Guess we gotta find some stairs then.”
“Lead the way, sir.”
Jazz paused to look at the warrior, surprised at the anger that seemed to snap out with that last word. Sideswipe regarded him with his normal cool, neutrality, giving no indication to his meaning.
The saboteur finally turned, searching his databanks for the layout of all the buildings near his target. He was certain he had them in case he needed to improvise his plan on the spot. He had just never expected to have to use one as an evacuation route.
Part 4
Thanks to
tiamat1972 for gandering this for me. :D