Captured Sparks (pt 2/2)

Nov 16, 2012 20:26



Title: Captured Sparks (pt 2/2)
Author:  Zea Taylor
Continuity: Robots in Disguise (2000 cartoon)
Rating: K+/PG
Characters: Prowl, Jazz, Sideburn, X-Brawn, Hot Shot
Warnings: pre-Jazz/Prowl romance, off-screen violence, unbetaed



---

Jazz was not a tall mech. His root mode was sleek and streamlined, or at least, Prowl thought it might be.

Right now, he was a mess. His plating was torn, its edges ragged, and fluid seeped slowly between his transformation seams. His white chest-plate lay discarded in the cell behind them, the broad blue stripe Prowl had so admired almost lost beneath chipped paint, spilled fluid and striations of bare, twisted metal. His engine, exposed to the cool air, wheezed, an unhealthy note buried in its vibrations. His vents were laboured, but the mech’s grin could light a room.

“Toldya I’d get ya out of there.”

Prowl cycled optics and hustled the staggering mech through the door, resisting the urge to vent a sigh.

It had taken Jazz longer to come online after Prowl’s makeshift ‘repairs’ than it had for him to hack the door lock on their cell afterwards. Everything Prowl knew was telling him the mech should be flat on his back, immobilised until a qualified medic could see to his damage. Jazz himself insisted otherwise, and, right now, Prowl had no choice but to listen.

Finding the door to their prison cell left unguarded was something of a surprise. The break in protocol was enough to set Prowl on edge, as if their current situation wasn’t enough to do that already. Creeping through the back corridors of the warehouse complex, expecting to be recaptured at any moment, was a nerve-wracking exercise… for Prowl, at least. His spy-changer companion seemed more at home than he had any right to be, guiding Prowl with a calm good humour that left him both baffled and impressed.

All Jazz’s skill and competence couldn’t hide the fact that he was struggling though. The spy-changer’s engine gave a hoarse rattle as he paused, leaning against the metal plating that lined the adapted corridor. He frowned at a locked door, the laid-back demeanour that both fascinated Prowl and infuriated him at the same time faltering for a few moments.

“Hey, Prowler. Mind if we check this out?”

The mech didn’t really wait for an answer. It took him mere seconds to hack their way into the side-room, and stumble through. Prowl allowed it more because the diversion presented somewhere out of the way for the other mech to rest than because he shared Jazz’s curiosity regarding the locked door.

The computer mainframe that lay beyond, throbbing and pulsing with power, took both of them by surprise. Prowl gasped, stepping forward. His optics scanned the screens and terminals in helpless frustration. His finger-servos hovered over the keyboard, and drew back, afraid to touch it for fear of betraying their presence.

“This doesn’t look good.”

Jazz’s musical chuckle faded in a stutter of his vents.

“Nope. Can’t leave a pretty toy like this in Pred servos.” He glanced at Prowl, briefly at first and then for a second, longer look.

There was a thoughtful, pensive expression on the spy-changer’s face.  His visor didn't leave Prowl's faceplates as he reached down to his ankle assembly and opened a concealed compartment there.  The device he pulled from it was small, round and had a sense of weight - of danger - about it that set all Prowl's enforcer instincts screaming.

The compact sphere rolled between black fingers, its dark surface drinking in the scarce light around them. Jazz’s blue visor dimmed. His deep, smooth voice was tinged with doubt.

"This isn't good. You're makin’ me second guess myself. Makin’ me unsure."

"I'm sorry."  The apology came automatically, but it was tinged with disbelief. It was hard to imagine Jazz being less than certain about anything. The mech's startling confidence was one of the things that had first caught Prowl's attention. It was curiously painful to see it falter now. "Jazz, tell me... is that what I think it is?"

"Yup." Jazz glanced away from Prowl's face, down at the device resting in his servos. "Hard to believe somethin’ so small can do so much damage, right?"

"But... why do you have...? How...?"

Jazz's familiar, lop-sided grin was tinged with regret. He looked away from Prowl as if afraid to see his reaction.

"You know spy-changers each have their role, don't'cha Prowl? Mine's to do what has t' be done - to take out threats 'fore they turn into disasters or pitch battles. This Pred base, so close to Metro City…? It's a threat. Five'll get you one Hot Shot has me back here within an orn t' chase 'em out. Might as well deal with it while I'm here… save myself the trip."

Prowl dimmed his optics and drew in a deep, cooling vent. "You're a saboteur."

An agent of chaos. The antithesis of everything Prowl was. And the single most fascinating being he'd ever encountered.

"Yup."

"So you mean to set the implosion detonator? Destroy the base?"

Jazz chuckled, the musical sound low and un-amused. "If I were alone, sure. Two breem delay and I'd take my chances." He shrugged. "A shot at taking out Megs and his top Preds? Got to be worth the risk."

"Without a withdrawal strategy or plan in place?" Prowl cycled his optics in surprise. He looked into the mech's visor and saw only honest determination. "You truly set so little store in your own existence?"

The spy-changer's visor dimmed, his unsteady vents hitching and then settling once again as he turned away.

"'Till I met you, each day was kinda like th' next. One base a lot like another. All for a good cause, sure, but… Only so much killin' you can do 'fore you start to wonder if it's your turn t' go."

Not even Prowl's rigid faceplate could conceal his surprise and dismay. He reached out, touching the other mech's cheek-plate, forcing Jazz to look at him.

"Until you met me?"

Jazz managed another half-grin, shaking his helm. His engine wheezed, faltering under the strain. "Like I said, second guessin' myself ain't a good thing in this job."

Prowl bowed his head, letting his helm drop forward until it almost touched that of the spy-changer in front of him.

"Set the detonator," he said quietly.

"Prowl?"

"Set the detonator with a five breem delay. Give us opportunity to identify an escape route." He shrugged, trying to keep the distaste from his voice. "We will improvise."

Jazz looked down at the device in his hands, and then up at the mech in front of him.

"And if I can't getcha out in time?"

Prowl shuddered, thinking of his brothers and of Optimus, remembering his own ordeal on the day Sideburn was taken captive... and Optimus Prime's. He held Jazz's visor, his own optics steady and sure.

"If we don't get out," he said, stressing the pronoun gently. "Then Megatron will have two fewer hostages to hold against our Prime."

Jazz looked at him for a long, long moment.  The mech's fingers moved across the device he held, flipping up a small panel on the sphere's surface and flicking the switch beneath.

"Agreed."
---

Two breems would have been too few.  That much was patently apparent.  It had taken them that long simply to make it to the main warehouse floor, slipping from shadow to shadow, moving painfully slowly as Jazz's engine wheezed and spluttered in protest at the exertion.

Studying the furore in front of him, the sunlight streaming through the folded-back doors and the laser fire that splashed across the concrete floor, Prowl wondered if five were going to be sufficient.

"Sounds like Prime's brought th' cavalry. Makes me wonder why we bothered t' escape."

How Jazz managed to keep his laboured vents from affecting his vocaliser, Prowl couldn't begin to imagine. He shook his helm, his lips quirking behind his faceplates, one hand still holding the spy-changer's elbow assembly to keep the mech balanced. They crouched behind a pile of human-made boxes, their voices scarcely louder than their vents. Prowl shifted, moving a little to his right in search of a better view.

"I suspect Prime and my brothers would rather welcome the continuation of our efforts."

He studied the two Predacons that stood between them and the door.  Slapper and Gas Skunk huddled in the shelter of the open doorway, peering around the folded metal sheeting of the door and firing out from cover into the melee outside.

Neither Predacon was paying attention to the warehouse space behind them. Even so, Prowl suspected they'd be far from sanguine about letting the captives simply walk past them to join their compatriots outside. Even if Prowl were prepared to risk it, Jazz's compromised armour would scarcely protect him against even glancing fire. As long as the pair covered the exit, Jazz and Prowl were effectively trapped.  And as long as Jazz and Prowl remained trapped, there was little chance of the skirmish outside coming to an end.

Prowl's servos clenched into a fist at his side, flexing as if they held the mega-blaster he craved. The Predacons' backs were turned to them, wide open and exposed. If Jazz and Prowl had so much as a single weapon between them, Gas Skunk and Slapper wouldn't have a chance. Glancing down at the spy-changer swaying gently by his side, Prowl saw his frustration mirrored in the mech's expression.

"You don't have a mega-blaster tucked away in another compartment, by any chance?"

"Sorry, Prowler. I'll 'member to pack one next time."

Not smiling took an effort. Prowl shrugged, amused despite himself.

"We really do need to work on your long-term planning skills."

Jazz shot him a dazzling grin that almost outshone the laser fire. It faded a few seconds later, Jazz cocking his helm as he listened to an internal alert.

"Two breems." The spy-changer forced himself to straighten away from Prowl's support, a thin groan escaping him as he reached out to the pile of boxes sheltering them to steady himself. "Look around, Prowl. There's got to be something we can throw - distract them long enough for someone outside to pin them maybe..."

His murmur cut off, the sudden silence that fell across the battlefield outside bringing them both to alert attention as they tried to figure out what was happening.

Megatron's shout was unmistakeable, but the words themselves were lost in echoes and distortions.  Whatever he said, Gas Skunk and Slapper reacted at once, turning and running deeper into the warehouse complex.

Prowl was still cycling his optics, startled by the Predacons' sudden change in strategy, when first Sideburn and then X-Brawn sailed through the open doorway. For a moment both seemed to hang in mid-air, launched into the room. Then sound and movement caught up and the moment ended. Prowl’s brothers landed, their tires skidding on the concrete floor, and both as tense as Prowl had ever seen them.

The sight broke through his shock. He was shoving at the boxes in front of him within nanoclicks, using the only tool at his disposal in his urgency. The human constructs tumbled outwards, cardboard bursting and spilling tins across the concrete floor, forcing Sideburn to slew to a screaming halt, and revealing Prowl and Jazz to full view.

"Wait! Get out of here! The place is going to blow!"

Sideburn transformed. His blaster hung loose in his hand as he stared, his optics wide, his faceplates betraying pure relief.

"Prowl?"

"Prowl!  You okay, little brother?" X-Brawn was moments behind Sideburn, striding forward and grabbing Prowl's arms, scanning him up and down.

"There you are!" A new voice seconded the Autobot Brothers' emotion, blending the relief with amused exasperation. Prowl jumped, still tense and wary and ready to defend his companion. He didn’t need to. Mirage seemed to appear from nowhere, catching Jazz's arm when his fellow spy-changer swayed.

"Raj." Whatever strength had driven Jazz this far seemed to fail at the point of rescue. He looked up at Mirage with a dimmed visor, and his vocaliser spit static. "Implosion Detonator. Breem an' a half."

Mirage nodded, his visor brightening in shock. The spy-changer turned to the others. "We have to get clear - "

Prowl was only half-listening. Whether it was police-trained instincts or just the jumpy caution of a mech who'd spent a day in captivity, he seemed to be the only one who noticed Gas Skunk and Slapper reappear from the building's depths.  His optics flared, his vocaliser whirring in a strangled gasp as Gas Skunk took aim, mega-blaster directed squarely at Jazz's exposed engine. There was no time to shout a warning. No time to follow procedure or for doubt or uncertainty. Prowl acted on pure instinct.

He took a step to his left.

The Predacon fired.

And Prowl's world faded to black.
---

The lights were set low, long shadows cast around the room, and stretching out in front of Sideburn. He sat, motionless, shoulders hunched, optics dim as they rested on the still frame laid out on the berth in front of him.

On the other side of the berth, X-Brawn dozed fitfully in a chair of his own. That was good. Sideburn’s elder brother had put off his recharge for too long already, his temper fraying as the day wore on.

Sideburn’s wasn’t doing much better.

Neither of them were in any mood to rest, and even Optimus Prime had given up trying to force them. Their commander let them be, looking in on the quiet room from time to time, but giving them the space they needed.

The stillness was deep and oppressive. Sideburn felt as if he was drowning in it, his vents choking on the thick air.  Everything in his nature called for activity, for noise and movement and action, but this wasn’t the time or the place.

A quiet whirr broke the stillness.

Long white finger-servos curled around his, and Sideburn’s optics blazed bright, a gasp escaping his vents. He leaned forward, hope and anxiety strangling his vocaliser as he looked down into dimly-glowing yellow optics and waited for a sign.

“Sideburn?” Prowl’s voice was soft, a little slurred with recharge. He frowned up at the younger mech from behind his face-mask. “You look worried, little brother.”

Air escaped Sideburn’s vents in a gasp. He stood, the chair clattering backwards behind him, and the noise jolted X-Brawn awake.

“Prowl!”

The yell had Prowl wincing, one hand coming up to rest finger-servos against his helm. His scowl of pain couldn’t dampen the broad grin that spread across his brothers’ faces, and Prowl’s optics cycled in surprise when he was tugged first into one rough embrace and then a second.

“What…?  What happened?”

“You don’t remember?”  Sideburn’s spark fell, his grin wilting a little around the edges. X-Brawn reached across to give their younger brother a swipe, even as his other hand steadied Prowl between them.

“T-AI said it might take a couple of minutes for his databanks to register, remember?” He frowned down at his middle brother. “You got clipped in the helm, Prowl. Just a glancing laser blow, but T-AI said we should let you do a full reboot cycle and then recharge it off.”

Prowl was sitting on the berth now, his optics brighter as the last recharge algorithms faded. He blinked again, his voice soft as he looked up at them. “And you’ve been waiting for me to wake? How long?”

Sideburn exchanged a long look with his eldest brother.

“Thirty-eight Earth-hours.” He tried to shrug it off as nothing. He failed miserably.

Prowl stared at his brothers, confused and worried by the reaction of the two most important mechs in his life.

Something about that thought jarred, and Prowl tilted his helm, as if trying to fit the stray memory fragment in place.

“What…?”  His vocaliser stuttered into silence. His engine whined, his vents suddenly rapid. His optics flickered, memory algorithms running past them as his databanks completed their re-registration process. “Megatron?” he gasped. “Jazz!”

“Whoa!” X-Brawn caught his brother’s arm, stopping him as he tried to swing his legs over the side of the berth. “It’s okay. You’re safe, bro. You’re back on Base.”

Prowl resisted, forcing himself upright, his optics bright with concern. “Jazz?”

The huff of air through X-Brawn’s vents was less than impressed. He shook his helm, more in disbelief than anything else. “He’s fine.”

“If ‘fine’ covers a cracked engine block, and the Pit of a body-work job.” Sideburn held up his hands defensively, backing up a step in face of the sharp look Prowl gave him. “Ease up, big brother. Jazz’ll be okay.” He reached out to help his eldest brother, keeping Prowl on the berth between them. “No point racing off though. The other spy-changers spirited him away for repairs.” He rubbed the back of his helm, giving an awkward shrug. “You know how they can be.”

For a moment, Sideburn thought Prowl would insist on getting up regardless. It took another intervention to get him to settle back, a sigh gusting from his vents.

“Prowl.” Prime spoke from the doorway, his deep voice warm and glad. “It is good to see you awake.  Jazz has been asking after you on a regular basis.”

The comment seemed to reassure Prowl more than any number of assurances from his brothers. He subsided, his optics cycling wearily.

“Thank you, sir. It’s good to be back.” He paused, tilting his head in inquiry. “The Predacons?”

“Fled, while we were evacuating.” Prime raised a hand to still Prowl’s sigh. “However, Jazz’s device robbed them of a valuable resource, and for that I am grateful. For that, and, more truly, for the safe return of you both.”

The police mech flushed slightly, glancing off to one side. “My apologies for my capture, Prime. I will endeavour to be more careful in future.”

Prime chuckled, stepping forward to pat Prowl’s shoulder in wordless reassurance.

“Because you have such a reputation for carelessness.” X-Brawn huffed air through his vents, amusement and exhaustion warring in his expression. “Unlike some mechs I could name.”

“Jazz…”

“Is recuperating, and you need to do the same. Forget about him for now, Prowl.” X-Brawn wrapped an arm around his middle brother’s shoulder, shaking his helm. “I’m just glad this whole mess is over and done with.”

Looking at Prowl, taking in his brother’s pensive mood, Sideburn was far less sure.

---

The last time Jazz slid across Prowl’s path, waggling his aft enticingly before hitting the gas, the chase lasted for hours.  They weaved through traffic, and circled around it, exploring the city’s flyovers and underpasses, wandering from the suburbs to downtown and back again.

The Sun was low on the horizon when Jazz led them onto a country road, and up a winding path. The meadow at its end stood on top of a steep bluff. The crash of waves against the rocky shore echoed from its base. Jazz transformed, the spy-changer’s sequence smooth and elegant, almost musical as it blended with the sound of the waves. His chassis was smooth and perfect, the damage gone as if it might never have been. His bodywork had been replaced, the new plating pristine white and marked with the broad blue racing stripe Prowl so admired.

The mech stood on the cliff-top, his unfocused optics staring out to sea, a picture of precision machinery. He didn’t turn as Prowl pulled to a halt beside him, or so much as glance Prowl’s way when his fellow Autobot transformed to stand by his side.

A breeze blew in from the ocean, caressing their plating, cooling their racing systems.

A long, silent breem passed before Jazz’s pale faceplates quirked in a wry smile, his visor tilting in his companion’s direction.

“Was that as good for you as it was for me?”

Prowl flushed, aware of the heat still radiating from his engine, and the subtle whirr of his overactive vents. He shook his head, torn, as he so often seemed to be with Jazz, between laughter and outrage.

“Thank you, Jazz. This really has been quite diverting.”

He spoke in a quiet voice, and the spy-changer shot him a sidelong look, hearing the undertones in his words. The smile fell away. Jazz vented a sigh, turning back to face the ocean.

“You know.”

“Optimus Prime told me this morning that you’ve requested reassignment to Cybertron.”

It was hard to keep the hurt from his voice.  The last Earth week had lasted an eternity. He’d worried over Jazz’s absence, despite Prime’s assurances, fretting that the spy-changer was more injured than he’d been told. The morning’s news that Jazz was going back on patrol lifted a shadow from his spark and brought the first real smile to his masked faceplates since Megatron dropped out of the sky.

That smile faded when Optimus pulled him aside, telling him the rest in a low, concerned voice.

He wanted Jazz to tell him it wasn’t true.  One glance at the spy-changer’s sombre faceplates banished that hope.

“Why?”

Jazz sighed again at the bewildered plea in that question. He shook his head, still not meeting Prowl’s optics.

“Because Hot Shot’s right. And so’s X-Brawn.”  He paused, his vocaliser whirring through a reset. “And so was Megatron.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Jazz’s voice was entirely serious, the humour that seemed so much a part of him fading away.  He turned to Prowl, and his visor did little to conceal the pain in his optics. “Megatron tortured me t’ get t’ you, Prowl. He didn’ do it because ‘m an Autobot, or because he knew anythin’ about me.  He did it ‘cause he figured you’d care.”

This time it was Prowl who turned away. “He was right.”

Jazz nodded, unsurprised.  “I know you’re strong, Prowl,” he shrugged. “Stronger than I am.  If he’d asked me ‘bout Optimus - with you there in front o’ me an’ his sword aimed at your spark - I gotta tell you, Prowler, I’m not sure what I’d’ve told him.”

It took a couple of moments for that to sink in.  Prowl turned, reaching out to take Jazz’s arm, forcing the other to concentrate on him.

“You’re stronger than you think, Jazz.  And it didn’t happen.  It won’t happen. Not again.”

“It shouldn’ have happened th’ first time.” Jazz didn’t flinch from Prowl’s gaze, his own steady and almost calm. “Hot Shot told me weeks back that you’re a distraction I can’t afford. He was right.  If I hadn’t’ve been watchin’ you, I’d’ve seen Megatron coming a mile away. If you hadn’t’ve been caught up in what happened t’ me, you’d never have let Sky-Byte, of all mechs, get th’ drop on you.”

“So we’ll be more careful.”

“Prowler…” Jazz laughed, the sound soft and full of affection. “The day I can see somethin’ happen t’ you an’ not get distracted’ll be the day my spark gutters and dies.”

The very thought brought a gasp to Prowl’s vocaliser. He didn’t have to articulate his response, or confirm that the reverse was true. His optics and the irregular stutter of his vents spoke for him.

He couldn’t deny the truth of the spy-changer’s words, couldn’t deny that Jazz was as much a danger to him as he was to Jazz.

The spy-changer looked at him, visored blue optics soft but lip-plates set in a firm line.

“I think we could have somethin’ special, Prowl. I think I could care for you a great deal, maybe more’n I care for th’ Autobot cause itself. I think maybe you could be th’ only thing in this world that’d make me afraid t’ go out an’ do my job - afraid that one day I might not come back.” He shook his head. “And that’s why I’m sayin’ no. Backin’ off while I still can. Stoppin’ this before it can really begin. That’s why I have to go.”

“I’ll come to Cybertron.”

Jazz reached out, taking Prowl’s finger-servos in his own, squeezing them gently.

“Don’t do this, Prowler.  Don’t fool y’self that this is gonna work. Your brothers need you. You know that. And Prime needs th’ three of you. Here. On top of your game. A spare spy-changer or two…” He grinned, tilting his helm and shaking it. “No competition, really, is there?”

Prowl’s vents choked. His processor throbbed, his duty to his Prime and his duty to his spark warring against one another. Despite his impulsive declaration, leaving for Cybertron wasn’t an option. His very real duties and mission here on Earth… the world of possibilities that Jazz represented... He couldn’t walk away from either. He couldn’t choose between them.

Jazz knew that.  Jazz hadn’t asked him to.

It was a long, long time before he jerked out a shaky nod.

“Then this is goodbye?”

The spy-changer chuckled, low and wistful.

“War’s not gonna last forever, Prowler.” He drew his finger-servos back, and Prowl fought against the impulse to grasp Jazz’s hands - to cling to the servos slipping through his own. “When this whole mess here on Earth is over, you’d better look me up, or believe me, I’m gonna come huntin’.”

Prowl managed a wan smile behind his face-plate, and Jazz’s servo came up, just for a moment, caressing the plate as if he could feel the lips behind. Prowl shivered, turning his helm into the touch and grieving when it fell away.

“That could be a while,” he noted, striving for the humour that had been Jazz’s gift to him over the last few weeks. “What makes you think I won’t forget you in the meantime?”

It was a weak attempt, but Jazz laughed, open and honest. He grinned, and for the first time in the conversation, the glint in his visor held real humour. Prowl captured the image to his memory banks, knowing it would have to sustain him for a long time to come.

“Oh, I’ll make sure you don’t, believe me, Prowler. I’ll make sure of that!”

---

The first message Prowl received from Jazz after his departure for Cybertron contained enough teasing suggestiveness to put a frown on X-Brawn's face and laughter in Prime's optics.

The second had T-AI blushing as she handed it over, and Sideburn running from the room with cheek-plates as red as the sports cars he favoured.

The messages that came after that - all the very many of them, and the ones he transmitted in return... those, Prowl kept strictly to himself.

The End

transformers, rid, prowl/jazz, fan fiction

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