[Fic] First love
Title: First love
Rating: K+
'Verse: G1 (pre-history)
Characters: Prowl/Jazz
Prompt: "A Jazz/Prowl romance story with some angst and drama but happy ending"
A/N: happy birthday atemue! (usagi_atemu_tom)
Prowl stood quietly against the wall, perfectly content to wait until he was instructed otherwise. The masters had summoned him here and they would have a reason for that, whether or not he found out what it was. It was not his place to question, merely to serve. That was the role of all his kind.
The masters - the name of whose race must never be articulated by an unworthy servant - had created the Cybertronians. They had built a vast factory, so large many mistook it for a planet. The product was the Cybertronians and it was a profitable business.
The earliest models were military, sold to wealthy alien races who needed troops to keep out invaders, or to invade the territory of others. The demand swiftly grew beyond what the masters could produce, and so a new line was started: workers to maintain Cybertron and to build their brethren. This model, too, proved saleable, and the masters were pleased.
Prowl was of a more specialised line. Only a few were created to be taken to the Homeworld and serve the masters directly. They were programmed carefully and also had additional training. Some proved to be flawed and were discarded, but most understood and accepted their role. Prowl's settings compelled him to be loyal to his own personal masters above all else, even at the expense of his own functioning, and he had never felt any desire to change that. Serving them was his purpose, and without them he would not wish to function.
He was aware that there were dysfunctional mechs back on Cybertron who tried to avoid their functional purpose, and he felt no affinity to them. Clearly they were misguided. How could anyone reject the gift of having the security of a master to serve? It made no sense at all.
"Prowl, come forward."
Stepping up to his master's side, he noted that their visitors were comprised of several eminent scientists; unusual guests for his master who was of the third tier.
The masters divided themselves into five tiers, or castes. First were the rulers, the judges, the most powerful. The second tier were the scientists and engineers, the academics in the physical sciences. In the third tier were the administrators and statisticians and bureaucrats. Fourth were the artists and creative types, and fifth were the workers.
Cybertronian servants were most common at the second and third tiers, though a few Fourths also made use of them. The Firsts could afford fifth tier servants rather than mechanical substitutes; the Fifths could not afford the high creation and maintenance costs of a Cybertronian.
"This is your exemplar?"
"We have seen his performance data, impressive."
"He is suitable."
"We will use him."
His master dipped demurely.
"Forgive this one, great ones, but you cannot take him. The loyalty programming you value is already in place and he is set to serve only me and my kin. He cannot be altered."
"Foolish." one of them declared mockingly, echoed by the others. "Of course we cannot take him from you. That is his value: his strong commitment, his quality programming."
"High quality programming, but also high level of acceptance." another qualified.
"Tomorrow you will bring him to us. If the experiment works you will have gained an additional servant, a great prize!" the group's leader promised.
"You are fortunate." another nodded.
"I will be compensated for any damage?" Prowl's master checked.
"Of course."
"Excellent. Prowl, wait outside."
Bowing, he left the room. In the corridor he found another mech, an entertainer model from the look of him. They did not speak, they had not been given permission for that.
After awhile the guests departed, taking the entertainer with them, and routine resumed.
As instructed, Prowl stood facing the entertainer he had seen the previous orn. The scientists were all excited, tentacles waving madly, and their plan was finally revealed to him. He was not sure what to make of it, but it was not his place to question, merely to do as ordered.
Loyalty programming such as he had was expensive and could not be undone once installed. It was permanent and unchanging. But the scientists had a theory that a different sort of loyalty could be established between the mechs which did not involve programming, which could help where changes were necessary.
"Expose your spark chambers!" they were ordered.
The entertainer did so obediently enough; Prowl waited for the wave of approval from his master.
"Open them." the scientists demanded excitedly.
"Isn't that dangerous?" Prowl's master asked. "I don't want to lose Prowl."
"Hurry, hurry, there is no time for discussion now!"
The approval came and Prowl complied. Then stumbled backwards as the closest scientist shoved the entertainer forward, slamming the two of them together.
He fell, the entertainer - Jazz? - on top of him, but he was barely aware of his physical situation as he was overwhelmed by sensation.
It was not quite a data transfer, there were no cables or protocols involved, yet suddenly he knew things about Jazz that he could not have known any other way, and he sensed that Jazz was receiving the same from him. Their sparks were intertwining, merging in a way he had never known could be possible, and it felt incredibly good. Right. As though he had always needed this, while never knowing he had been missing it. He had never felt anything like this in his lifetime, and with access to Jazz's memories he knew it was entirely unfamiliar to the other mech, too.
Knowledge slammed into him at even the consideration of Jazz's past. The entertainer was a new arrival to the Homeworld, but not a new activation. He had been purchased by a wealthy client to be part of a performing troupe, and had lived on a ship for many vorns. A short time ago, however, his masters and the other members of his troupe had perished when their ship was attacked by pirates. Jazz had survived through the questionable fortune of being in recharge at the time. Presumably the pirates had thought him damaged or inactive.
The masters - Quintessons, Jazz corrected - had taken him back and attempted to re-sell him, but could not change his existing loyalty programming. The attempts had been painful and entirely unsuccessful. He had been relieved when the order had been given to simply deactivate him, but then they had had this one last idea.
Prowl keened, clinging tightly to Jazz as he vicariously experienced the grief of losing one's master, losing one's purpose. Work colleagues, too, had gone and that was painful but it was like the dull glow of energon against the flaming nova of agony where programming conflicted with reality. Death would be a relief. An escape from the terrible, constant, inescapable pain...
...and yet...
Yet Prowl did not want to die. His masters were still alive, his purpose for functioning still present.
And they do not want us to die he pointed out, expressing the words somehow without actually using a communications protocol. They are doing this to save you.
Jazz's response was derisive.
They are doing this for their own benefit. If it works, they can sell others like me rather than smelting them.
If it works? Prowl asked. Has it worked?
He onlined his optics, not recalling when he had turned them off, and looked up into a wide blue visor.
I do not want to die. Jazz admitted. I want to live. But I couldn't do it before.
Before?
Before this. Before you. I only want to live if I can stay with you.
I also want to stay with you. I can imagine nothing worse than losing you. What is this feeling?
I know no word for it in our language, but I think it's what my former masters called love. And it is forbidden to those who serve to even speak of it.
Then we will create a word for it, one that is not forbidden. Prowl promised.
It was a defiant thought, one that should have caused him to immediately confess his failing to his masters and expect punishment, but strangely that compulsion was no longer as strong as normal. It had been overwhelmed by this new thing, this connection to another mech that was now more important to him than anything else in existence.
Jazz sensed his thoughts and smiled, and it was the most beautiful thing Prowl had ever seen.
Whatever this was, they must nurture it. Whatever came next, he knew his entire life had changed now that he loved Jazz.
A/N: now will someone please tell the Quintesson bunnies to leave me alone?