Chappychappy
Chapter Title: Hope
Series Title: Virus
Rating: PG-13
Warning: angst by the bucket
Summary: Jazz has a revelation
Chapter 1 - Dreams
Chapter 2 - Slim Chance
A/N - I'm really not fond of this chapter, but I've been trying to re-write it since the day after posting chapter 2. So I give up, since I don't think it's going to get any better. This has got to be the hardest story to write that I've ever attempted.... hence the short chapters. Bleeeeehhhh.
x-xxx-x
The interceptor paced his cell in agitation, growling quietly and shooting the Autobots furious sideways glares.
Optimus stood in front of the cell, arms folded, optic somber. “Prowl, we want to help you-”
“I don’t need your help, or your pity!”
Jazz winced at the harsh snarl. “Prowl-” He was cut off by the crash of a tri-lithium armored fist impacting the reinforced cell walls.
“My name is Barricade,” the captive growled.
Optimus looked pained. “Barricade. It doesn’t have to be like this. What happened is not your fault…”
Barricade’s laugh was devoid of amusement. “It’s not? Then whose fault is it? Oh, wait, that’s right, it’s Bluestreak’s fault. After all, if he hadn’t been such an annoying little slagger, he wouldn’t have had to die.” Barricade laughed again at the Autobots’ stricken expressions.
“You don’t believe that,” Jazz said flatly.
“I don’t? Do you know what I felt when I ripped out his secondary fuel lines, one by one?” Barricade stepped up to the bars, grinning sadistically. “I felt free. I’ve never been so happy as when I felt the sensation of warm energon running down my hands.” He flexed his claws. “Or maybe it was when he started begging…”
Optimus turned on his heel and left.
“Guess he’s got a bit of a weak stomach,” Barricade noted with a tone of sadistic glee.
“This isn’t you.”
“On the contrary, Jazz, this is all me. It always has been.”
Jazz looked at Barricade for a long moment. “I’m not giving up on you, Prowl. I’m never giving up.”
x-x-x
Jazz sat staring at the security monitors with slumped shoulders, watching Barricade pace in his cell.
Ratchet may have purged the virus, but Barricade - Prowl, Jazz growled to himself - didn’t seem interested in cooperating.
It’s only been a week, Jazz reminded himself. Millennia of Decepticon mindset couldn’t disappear overnight.
He sighed. Prowl wasn’t even trying. On the contrary, he seemed to be enjoying horrifying his former comrades with tales of his more gruesome exploits, taking pleasure in the pain his words caused. And yet there had been a moment, when Jazz told him he was never giving up, that Jazz thought he saw something lurking behind the sadistic glee. For just a moment, Jazz could have sworn he saw guilt and fear in Prowl’s optics. A second later it was gone, leaving Jazz to wonder if it had been just wishful thinking.
Despite Jazz’s attempts to focus on that small ray of hope, to keep a positive outlook, the despair was slowly creeping in. The others had already started to give up.
A footstep outside the door startled him out of his thoughts. He spun his chair around. Mikaela stood in the doorway, Sam and Bumblebee behind her.
“Hey! Wazzup little buddies?” Jazz asked with false cheer.
Mikaela wasn’t fooled. “Are you alright, Jazz?”
“Five by five n’ ready to drive. How you been? I haven’t seen you around for the last couple weeks.”
“I’ve been busy, and you’re lying, Jazz.” Mikaela wasn’t going to allow herself to be sidetracked.
Jazz stared at her a moment. His shoulders slumped. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to.
“He’s not getting better, is he?” she asked quietly.
Jazz just shook his head.
“He doesn’t look very happy,” Sam commented, looking up at the security monitor. They watched Barricade pace in silence.
“I have to feel sorry for him,” Mikaela said finally. “He’s all alone. Even if he were to escape, he’s got no one to go to, no one he can depend on…”
Jazz gave her a tired smile. “Bluestreak used to say the same thing about Megatron. He though that being alone and friendless, unable to trust anyone, was a worse punishment than anything we could inflict-” Jazz stopped, realization dawning. “That bastard. That sneaky, stubborn bastard!” Jazz leapt to his feet. “Bee, watch the monitors,” he called over his shoulder as he ran out.
Sam looked at Mikaela. She shrugged. “Don’t ask me.”
x-x-x
“I know what you’re doing,” Jazz said quietly.
Barricade didn’t respond, standing in the far side of his cell with his back to Jazz.
“I couldn’t figure it out, Prowl; it just never made any sense for you to defect like that. You were Prime’s second in command, his confidante. You had access to everything; every file, every security code, every plan… Primus! You made most of those plans! And yet, never once did you use any of that against us.”
Barricade turned his head slightly. “Does this have a point?”
“Then Ratchet told us you had been infected, and I thought I had the answer. I guess I was envisioning your personality somehow fighting the virus, and that was why you’d never given us up.”
“Don’t be stupid.” Barricade snorted.
Jazz stepped closer. “I figured it out, though. The virus provokes rages; it doesn’t force you to swear allegiance to the Decepticons. But in your case, it didn’t have to, did it? All it had to do was push you into killing Blue, and your stubborn, stupid sense of justice did the rest.”
The interceptor didn’t answer, pacing the length of his cell in agitation.
“You’ve spent all these years punishing yourself, forcing everyone away. Alone and friendless, Bluestreak’s idea of a fate worse than death. It’s not going to work. Because I’m not giving up on you, Prowl, not ever.”
Jazz turned and started for the door.
“Damn you.”
Jazz looked back. Prowl had his back to Jazz, fists clenched.
“You’re supposed - why won’t you just hate me?”
“I could never hate you, Prowl,” Jazz told him with absolute sincerity. He waited, but Prowl didn’t continue. Jazz left, feeling more encouraged and hopeful than he had in years.
Alone, Prowl slumped to the floor. “Damn you…” he whispered, the heat gone from his voice.
Series Title: Virus
Rating: PG-13
Warning: angst by the bucket
Summary: Jazz has a revelation
Chapter 1 - Dreams
Chapter 2 - Slim Chance
A/N - I'm really not fond of this chapter, but I've been trying to re-write it since the day after posting chapter 2. So I give up, since I don't think it's going to get any better. This has got to be the hardest story to write that I've ever attempted.... hence the short chapters. Bleeeeehhhh.
x-xxx-x
The interceptor paced his cell in agitation, growling quietly and shooting the Autobots furious sideways glares.
Optimus stood in front of the cell, arms folded, optic somber. “Prowl, we want to help you-”
“I don’t need your help, or your pity!”
Jazz winced at the harsh snarl. “Prowl-” He was cut off by the crash of a tri-lithium armored fist impacting the reinforced cell walls.
“My name is Barricade,” the captive growled.
Optimus looked pained. “Barricade. It doesn’t have to be like this. What happened is not your fault…”
Barricade’s laugh was devoid of amusement. “It’s not? Then whose fault is it? Oh, wait, that’s right, it’s Bluestreak’s fault. After all, if he hadn’t been such an annoying little slagger, he wouldn’t have had to die.” Barricade laughed again at the Autobots’ stricken expressions.
“You don’t believe that,” Jazz said flatly.
“I don’t? Do you know what I felt when I ripped out his secondary fuel lines, one by one?” Barricade stepped up to the bars, grinning sadistically. “I felt free. I’ve never been so happy as when I felt the sensation of warm energon running down my hands.” He flexed his claws. “Or maybe it was when he started begging…”
Optimus turned on his heel and left.
“Guess he’s got a bit of a weak stomach,” Barricade noted with a tone of sadistic glee.
“This isn’t you.”
“On the contrary, Jazz, this is all me. It always has been.”
Jazz looked at Barricade for a long moment. “I’m not giving up on you, Prowl. I’m never giving up.”
x-x-x
Jazz sat staring at the security monitors with slumped shoulders, watching Barricade pace in his cell.
Ratchet may have purged the virus, but Barricade - Prowl, Jazz growled to himself - didn’t seem interested in cooperating.
It’s only been a week, Jazz reminded himself. Millennia of Decepticon mindset couldn’t disappear overnight.
He sighed. Prowl wasn’t even trying. On the contrary, he seemed to be enjoying horrifying his former comrades with tales of his more gruesome exploits, taking pleasure in the pain his words caused. And yet there had been a moment, when Jazz told him he was never giving up, that Jazz thought he saw something lurking behind the sadistic glee. For just a moment, Jazz could have sworn he saw guilt and fear in Prowl’s optics. A second later it was gone, leaving Jazz to wonder if it had been just wishful thinking.
Despite Jazz’s attempts to focus on that small ray of hope, to keep a positive outlook, the despair was slowly creeping in. The others had already started to give up.
A footstep outside the door startled him out of his thoughts. He spun his chair around. Mikaela stood in the doorway, Sam and Bumblebee behind her.
“Hey! Wazzup little buddies?” Jazz asked with false cheer.
Mikaela wasn’t fooled. “Are you alright, Jazz?”
“Five by five n’ ready to drive. How you been? I haven’t seen you around for the last couple weeks.”
“I’ve been busy, and you’re lying, Jazz.” Mikaela wasn’t going to allow herself to be sidetracked.
Jazz stared at her a moment. His shoulders slumped. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to.
“He’s not getting better, is he?” she asked quietly.
Jazz just shook his head.
“He doesn’t look very happy,” Sam commented, looking up at the security monitor. They watched Barricade pace in silence.
“I have to feel sorry for him,” Mikaela said finally. “He’s all alone. Even if he were to escape, he’s got no one to go to, no one he can depend on…”
Jazz gave her a tired smile. “Bluestreak used to say the same thing about Megatron. He though that being alone and friendless, unable to trust anyone, was a worse punishment than anything we could inflict-” Jazz stopped, realization dawning. “That bastard. That sneaky, stubborn bastard!” Jazz leapt to his feet. “Bee, watch the monitors,” he called over his shoulder as he ran out.
Sam looked at Mikaela. She shrugged. “Don’t ask me.”
x-x-x
“I know what you’re doing,” Jazz said quietly.
Barricade didn’t respond, standing in the far side of his cell with his back to Jazz.
“I couldn’t figure it out, Prowl; it just never made any sense for you to defect like that. You were Prime’s second in command, his confidante. You had access to everything; every file, every security code, every plan… Primus! You made most of those plans! And yet, never once did you use any of that against us.”
Barricade turned his head slightly. “Does this have a point?”
“Then Ratchet told us you had been infected, and I thought I had the answer. I guess I was envisioning your personality somehow fighting the virus, and that was why you’d never given us up.”
“Don’t be stupid.” Barricade snorted.
Jazz stepped closer. “I figured it out, though. The virus provokes rages; it doesn’t force you to swear allegiance to the Decepticons. But in your case, it didn’t have to, did it? All it had to do was push you into killing Blue, and your stubborn, stupid sense of justice did the rest.”
The interceptor didn’t answer, pacing the length of his cell in agitation.
“You’ve spent all these years punishing yourself, forcing everyone away. Alone and friendless, Bluestreak’s idea of a fate worse than death. It’s not going to work. Because I’m not giving up on you, Prowl, not ever.”
Jazz turned and started for the door.
“Damn you.”
Jazz looked back. Prowl had his back to Jazz, fists clenched.
“You’re supposed - why won’t you just hate me?”
“I could never hate you, Prowl,” Jazz told him with absolute sincerity. He waited, but Prowl didn’t continue. Jazz left, feeling more encouraged and hopeful than he had in years.
Alone, Prowl slumped to the floor. “Damn you…” he whispered, the heat gone from his voice.