Chapter Text
Jazz’s chassis practically vibrated on his tires with excitement as he and Prowl drove to the rendezvous point in the outskirts of Iacon City. All of the wheedling and convincing and planning and coordination was finally coming to fruition today.
Today they started their first vacation together!
::How are you holding up? I know this is far earlier than you usually come out of recharge.:: Prowl’s concern was evident even over the comm line as they wended their way through the maze of highways and streets.
::Don’t ya worry about me, Prowler. Not havin’ to work last night means I’m fresh and ready to go today.::
Jazz was, admittedly, a little out of sorts as he waited for his systems to adapt to the early hour. Normally at this time of day, Jazz would have only just gone into recharge a few groons ago. Playing at the club or at other engagements meant he was often out very late into the night. Prowl, on the other hand, didn’t have any problem waking at this hour. He would normally just be coming out of recharge now to prepare to go to work at the Ministry of Reconstruction.
And that was part of the problem, part of the reason why this vacation had become so important to Jazz: their schedules did not leave a lot of together time. After playing late into the night, Jazz would return to the flat he shared with his conjunx endura, refuel, unwind a bit, and then collapse into recharge. At daybreak, Prowl would wake from recharge and go into work, but Jazz wouldn’t wake until very late in the morning. Most cycles, Prowl would try to come home mid-afternoon so that he could have some time with Jazz before the musician had to leave for the club that he played at or for the party he was working that night. Then, after Jazz left for work, Prowl would do some more work at home until it was time for him to go into recharge.
A full vorn after their union as conjunxes, Jazz decided that something had to be done, at least on a temporary basis. One way or another, he wanted to get Prowl away from all of his work, he wanted to do something with Prowl, and he wanted to do something they hadn’t done before.
It took some convincing, but Jazz finally talked Prowl into taking a vacation with him.
After asking around for advice and offering a few different choices to Prowl, the two of them settled on an interesting vacation that appealed to both of them: a trip to the Howling Plains. Jazz planned everything, and it was all going smoothly until he tried to pay for the trip.
“We’re not taking your money,” Bluestreak had said.
“But I’m hirin’ ya, and that means I need to pay ya!” Jazz said.
“No,” Bluestreak repeated. “We may do this for a living, but this time’s on us. As far as we’re concerned, we’re just going camping with our friends.”
Bluestreak and Hound ran a guiding business that catered mostly to mechs originally from the colonies. Many of them had never seen Cybertron’s wildlife, but now wanted to see the majestic creatures they’d only seen on vids. Bluestreak and Hound also had a small number of high-end clients who enjoyed trophy hunting. Those customers weren’t their favourite, since they tended to be rich and very demanding, but the amount that they were willing to pay meant that Bluestreak and Hound could take more of the sight-seeing excursions that they preferred... Sight-seeing excursions like the one that Jazz had requested for himself and Prowl.
::There they are!:: The pair had rounded a turn and saw Bluestreak and Hound standing near a trailer in a pulloff on the side of the highway. Hound waved when he saw them pull into the turnoff. Prowl and Jazz transformed, and the mechs exchanged greetings.
Bluestreak smiled at Jazz and Prowl. “So, it looks like we’re going to have perfect weather for our trip. Did you two remember everything that was on the list I sent you? We brought enough equipment and rations for everyone, but if you wanted something special I figured I should remind you to bring it yourselves.”
“The list was not very long. We have everything we require that was on it,” Prowl replied. He tilted one door wing upwards, and Bluestreak understood the motion immediately.
“Yeah, we really should get going. We want to be over the pass and up onto the plateau before it starts getting dark. I’ll lead, and Hound will bring up the rear to make sure we don’t lose anyone. Let’s move out!”
The four mechs transformed, and after Hound hooked himself up to the trailer, they were off. Jazz bounced on his tires again as Iacon City faded into the distance in his rear view mirror. Their vacation had officially started!
The views in the mountain pass were incredible. As they drove, Jazz thought back to the first time he remembered Prowl bringing him into the mountains, while he was still recovering from his accident. He decided that he needed to talk Prowl into coming up here more often.
They had stopped once for fuel during the drive through the mountains. The cliff’s edge dropped away precipitously here, but the view of the valley beneath them made Jazz’s ventilations stall. “That’s amazing,” Jazz said, sipping at his energon.
Hound had settled on a rock near him, drinking his own fuel. He pointed down the way they had come. “See that shimmering, down near the foot of the mountain? That’s the haze from the heat generated by Iacon City.” Gesturing further towards the horizon, he said, “And if you enhance your vision just a bit, you can see the sunlight glittering off the Acid Wastes.”
“I am impressed,” said Prowl. “I would not think that you could see that far.”
“And if you turn the other way,” said Hound, pointing in the opposite direction, “you can just see the Howling Plains. See the dip between those two peaks? Look carefully; you might need to readjust your vision again... You can just see the silvery colour of the edges of the plains.”
Jazz made an awed noise. He’d pored over the maps of this area when he was planning the trip, so he knew exactly how far the distance was, from the Acid Wastes in one direction to the Howling Plains in the other. “This is amazing!” he said.
“Blue stopped here for a reason,” said Hound, smiling. “This is the highest elevation in the trip, and it’s the best viewpoint in the mountains. From here we’ll start going back downhill.”
“No wonder I’m running so low on energy,” Jazz said, checking his altimeter. “We’ve practically been driving straight up.” Jazz took an image capture of both views to save for later, then got the other three mechs to pose in front of the views. “Thanks!” he chirped after getting his pictures. “When we get back into town I’m gonna make sure I bore everyone with these.”
“Come on,” said Bluestreak, helping Hound with the trailer. “We’ve got a fair distance to cover before we get to our first campsite.”
As the sun dipped towards the horizon, they finally arrived at their campsite. After coming out of the steep terrain of the mountains, the flatter terrain of the plateau was welcome, if not nearly as scenic.
Jazz was exhausted. He did not remember ever driving that far in a single day, although he was sure he must have done lots of long trips before his accident. Still, he helped Hound set up the tents, while Prowl and Bluestreak got the rest of the gear set up.
Jazz was glad that Hound knew how the tents went together, since they appeared to just be a jumble of rods and tarp to him. Jazz tucked the end of one rod into a pocket in the tarp, struggling to bend it just so. “You’d think that they would made these things easier to put together,” he grumbled.
“These are the same design as the tents we used during the war,” Hound replied, confusion evident in his field.
Shrugging, Jazz said, “Yeah, well, I don’t remember none of that.” He swore as the next rod jumped out of the pocket and thwacked him across the face plates. “I’m surprised we won if we had to use these slaggin’ things!”
With a laugh, Hound came to Jazz’s rescue. “You’re bending it too hard. Here, let me show you.”
Just after the sun had set, Hound and Jazz finally had the two tents set up, and Prowl and Bluestreak had finished preparing the fuel for the evening. The four mechs settled around the power generator, their faces lit by its cheery glow. They passed around a plate of treats that Hound had made as they drank their fuel.
Jazz still felt tired, and he leaned against Prowl’s frame. The ex-Enforcer had encircled him with an arm, and now gently stroked the plating on his shoulder.
“You look beat, Jazz,” Hound said. “Are you going to be all right? We’ve still got a ways to go to get to the plains.”
Jazz waved a hand dismissively. “I’m just not used to drivin’ this far, and all uphill, in one day, that’s all,” he said. “A little fuel and I’ll be fine. I think I’m gonna recharge well tonight, though.”
“If you think you can stay awake for a while longer, we can tell stories,” said Bluestreak. “It’s traditional to tell scary stories around the generator at night when camping. If you’re interested, I can tell you a story about the place where we’re heading.”
Jazz struggled to sit up straight again. “What kind of scary stories?” he asked. “Ghost stories?”
Prowl huffed. “There are no such things as ghosts.”
“Just because somethin’ ain’t real don’t mean you can’t tell stories about them,” countered Jazz. He grabbed another treat from the plate and turned back to Bluestreak. “So... Are they true stories?”
Ignoring the scoffing noise that came from Prowl, Bluestreak replied, “Well, the mechs that live around here say that this one’s true. Some of them even say they’ve seen evidence of it themselves.”
Stretching out a leg, Bluestreak gave the power generator a nudge so that its light flickered. The uneven light rippled across his faceplates as he looked around at the other mechs. In a quiet voice, he began to speak. “It started just after the war ended. Cybertron was in ruins: its cities were destroyed, and energon was hard to come by. But the reformatting had restored many of the areas of the planet that had previously been lifeless.
“Two friends, designated Grouser and Blacklight, arrived on Cybertron from one of the colonies. They wanted to explore the newly restored planet, so they set off on an expedition... Much like the one that we’re on right now.”
“What colony were they from?” asked Prowl suddenly.
Bluestreak frowned at Prowl. “I’m not sure. It doesn’t really matter to the story,” he replied.
Prowl made a noncommittal noise. “I am just trying to get a grasp on the facts that are being presented.”
“Prowl, it’s a story! Just let him tell it!” said Jazz, giving Prowl a playful shove. Prowl flicked his door wings and closed his mouth.
“Anyway these two mechs drove and drove until they reached a beautiful place of silver grass and rolling hills. Wildlife was plentiful, and there were energon springs within easy driving distance. But there was danger too: canyons that would open and close, creating chasms kilometers deep, chasms that opened right into the heart of Cybertron itself.”
“The Howling Plains,” Jazz whispered, entranced.
Bluestreak nodded. “Except it wasn’t called that yet. Anyway, Grouser immediately fell in love with the place, and decided that it would be a good place to set up his home. However, Blacklight missed the city, and decided to return there.
“Blacklight came back to visit Grouser every vorn, bringing him news from the city and supplies. In return, Grouser gave Blacklight processed sweet energon, straight from the nearby springs. This was a good trade for the two mechs, and it went on for many vorn.
“However, one time that Blacklight came to visit Grouser, the mech was nowhere to be found. Worried, Blacklight hunted around the area, searching for any sign of his friend. The only trace he found was a set of tracks that drove right off the edge of a cliff, into the depths of Cybertron below.”
Jazz gasped audibly, and grabbed for Prowl’s hand.
Bluestreak smiled at Jazz and continued, nudging the power generator so that it would flicker again. “Blacklight continued to search for his friend, but the canyons are treacherous places for any mech who is not familiar with them. Eventually, Blacklight gave up, consigning his friend’s frame to the depths of the planet.
“Ever since then, mechs living in the area started to hear ghostly cries at night when they traveled the plains; howls of sorrow and terror. Some mechs even reported seeing a glowing white figure, drifting over the hills. They say that it’s Grouser. They say...” His voice dropped in volume. “They say that it’s the mech who fell into the planet: bemoaning his loss, and warning other travelers to watch their path.
“And that is how the place got its name: the Howling Plains.”
Prowl huffed again. “You are trying to tell us that the area got its name because of a clumsy mech, and not because of the way the wind howls,” he emphasized the word, “through the canyons?”
Jazz shoved at Prowl again, laughing. “C’mon, mech. Don’t ruin a good ghost story with facts.”
Prowl lifted his door wings. “I understand the appeal of telling scary stories in the dark. But would the stories not be more frightening if they were true?”
Jazz grabbed another treat and then leaned back on his hands. “Ok, then, why don’t you tell us a scary story that meets your criteria?”
The black and white mech thought for a moment. “Any number of stories from my days in mechaforensics could be considered ‘scary’.”
“A police procedural!” Jazz exclaimed dramatically. “Yer right, Prowl, the thought of all that paperwork does fill my spark with fear!”
Prowl gave Jazz an indulgent look and waited for the others’ laughter to fade before continuing. “For example, there was the time that we thought there was a serial killer at work in the slums in Iacon. Over the course of an orbital cycle, thirteen mechs were found deactivated. Their frames were dismembered, and their spark cases were missing. It was only after three more mechs were killed in a medical facility, all in a single night, that we discovered it was the work of a sparkeater. Several Enforcers, including me, posed as bait to lure the sparkeater into a trap so that it could be killed.” Prowl stopped, and looked around the circle. The other three mechs were all staring at him, horrified expressions on their face plates. “What?” he asked.
“That’s... Wow, that’s...” stuttered Hound.
“That’s awful!” exclaimed Bluestreak. “And terrifying! Sixteen mechs killed by a sparkeater? Why would you tell us that right before we have to go into recharge?”
Prowl lowered his door wings. “I thought we were telling scary stories. Is a story not more frightening when you know that it is true?”
“Love, there’s a difference between a fun scary story and a horrifying scary story!” said Jazz, shaking his helm with a smile. “It’s fun to be scared of things you know aren’t true. But if it’s something that really happened...”
“Hey, my story was true, too,” complained Bluestreak. “At least, according to the mechs that live near the plains.”
“It cannot be true,” said Prowl insistently. “Ghosts are not real.”
“Well, you three can argue about this for the rest of the night, but I’m going to get some recharge,” said Hound, climbing to his pedes.
Jazz looked around at their camp. “So, uh, do we need to set a guard? Take turns at guard duty and all that?”
Bluestreak shook his helm. “Nah, we have motion detectors set up in a perimeter around the camp. If they detect any motion, they’ll wake me and Hound and we can check it out. But when they do go off, it’s usually just a turbofox or something.”
Jazz nodded, but he must have still looked concerned. Knowing what was on Jazz’s mind, Prowl softly said, “The war is over, Jazz.” He gave his hand a quick squeeze.
“Right.” Jazz reminded himself that the war had been over for almost a thousand vorn, even if it had only seemed like two vorn to him. “I’m still gettin’ used to that idea,” he admitted.
As Prowl and Jazz arranged themselves for recharge in their tent, Prowl put his hand on Jazz’s arm. “My apologies for ruining an otherwise pleasant evening,” he said, his field shot through with remorse. “I did not understand that my story would be unacceptable.”
“Aww, don’t worry about it, Prowler, and ya didn’t ruin anything. You just take things a little too literally sometimes.” He kissed Prowl gently and then snuggled up beside him on their sleeping pads. “Besides,” he said softly. “I actually found part of that story a little hot.”
Prowl glanced down at Jazz’s visor. “What part?” he asked, tipping his upper wing towards Jazz slightly.
“The part about you posing as bait for a sparkeater.” He nibbled on the bottom of Prowl’s jaw. “My brave Prowler, putting himself in danger to save others.”
Chuckling, Prowl nuzzled Jazz’s forehelm. “I was an Enforcer. I was just doing my duty.” He pulled his helm back to look at Jazz again. “Besides, you did the same sort of thing all the time during the war.”
“Don’t remember,” purred Jazz, then pressed his lips against Prowl’s again. He ran his hand across Prowl’s shoulders and then down the front of his upper door wing, dragging his claws down its surface.
Prowl shivered, and reached up to grasp Jazz’s wrist, stilling his motion. “I thought you were tired,” he said with a smile.
“I am. But maybe – just a quicky? Please?” Jazz begged, pulling his wrist free and sliding his thumb across Prowl’s hip port.
Prowl pressed his lips to Jazz’s again. Suddenly, Prowl pushed him over onto his back, and Jazz squealed into Prowl’s mouth. “Shh,” Prowl whispered, straddling Jazz’s hips. “We do not want to disturb our camp mates.”
But Prowl made it very difficult for Jazz to stay quiet.