Chapter Text
“His memories of your time as a couple have been taken away,” the mnemosurgeon told Jazz, his face sympathetic. “Not anything else, just the time you spent together after you stopped… fueding.”
“And there’s no way of restorin’ them?” Jazz asked, the desperation crawling up his throat close to strangling him.
“No. I’m sorry. The Decepticons were thorough in their work, the only way those memories are ever resurfacing is if the mnemosurgeon who did this kept them filed away,” the mnemosurgeon replied, his voice final.
Jazz nodded and turned to leave. Prowl, as he was, wouldn’t want Jazz around while he was recovering. Two joors later he had left the base entirely, heading deep into Decepticon territory. It would be hard enough knowing Prowl was slipping back into his old life without Jazz, he didn’t need to see it happening.
Hopefully by the time he got back, Prowl would be all settled in and Jazz wouldn’t have to face his scorn too often.
“Your performance has been suboptimal of late,” Prowl said, frowning.
“Sorry, mech. I’ve just not been having the greatest time right now,” Jazz replied, and decided to answer the unasked question. “I’m mournin’ someone that was very close to me.
“We’ve all lost people close to us, the best way to honor them is to end this war as fast as we can,” Prowl scolded him.
Jazz wanted to scream. He really hadn’t missed these days, before he’d gotten to know his Prowl, his lover, better. He’d thought distancing himself from Prowl until he’d gotten settled back into his role on the base would be better for both of them, but maybe that had been a mistake. Maybe if he had been there when Prowl had woken the mech would be more understanding.
But a war was no time for what if’s.
“Not everyday ya lose a conjunx endura,” Jazz snapped out bitterly. “Are we done here?”
Prowl’s frown deepened. “You mean me,” he said. “You mean how I no longer remember the time we were… amicable with each other.”
Jazz closed his optics, venting deeply. Any other day, he would’ve left it at that. But it was meant to be their fiftieth vorn as conjunxes today, and Jazz couldn’t stop the absolute rage and helplessness bubbling beneath his plating.
“We were more than just amicable , Prowl. I’m sure ya know that. Ratchet told me he told ya exactly what memories ya lost, so don’t go actin’ like ya aren’t perfectly aware of what we were,” Jazz said, frustration clouding his rationality.
“What right do you have to be talking to Ratchet about my medical condition?” Prowl asked, growing irritated. “We may have been conjunxes, but without my memories of the time, I would say that we can firmly close that gate.”
“Frag you, Prowl,” Jazz snarled. “Sixty seven vorns. I know you don’t remember them, but can you at least understand that I spent sixty seven vorns with ya? That’s not even counting the vorns before that we were friends. Ya know what today is?”
Prowl only glared back at him, not replying.
“Of course you don’t. I won’t bother tellin’ ya, ya won’t even care. Fragging drone,” Jazz growled. He felt regret as soon as he said the words, but he was far too angry about the situation to apologize.
“I can’t even imagine what could have happened that led me to feeling anything other than disdain towards you,” Prowl snapped. “Please get out of my office now. I don’t want to hear anything else you have to say.”
Jazz gritted his dentae, but nodded. He stormed out of the office in a rage. The mechs that were in the passages as he passed quickly lept to the side. They all gave him pitying looks. He hadn’t left Prowl’s office in such a way for over one hundred and fifty vorns, and while the rest of the base did not know the exact circumstances, they knew that Prowl and Jazz hadn’t been seen together since Prowl had returned from his last mission. They also knew that after returning from longer missions, Jazz and Prowl were practically attached at the hip. The entire base probably knew something was up
The looks only served to anger Jazz more. He didn’t need their pity, all he needed was for things to go back to the way they had been three decacycles ago.
He made it to their, no, his quarters in record time. He quickly entered the passcode to his quarters, and continued his path of rage. Nothing in the room was safe from his wrath. The datapads Prowl had liked to read, Jazz’s favourite polish, the crystals that Jazz had gotten Prowl for their last anniversary. They all ended up being flung against the wall.
He grabbed his cyberviolin, the first gift Prowl ever gave to him, ready to smash it against the floor. Jazz managed to raise it above his head, but then faltered. All of a sudden, all his rage had dissipated and replaced with misery. He carefully put the cyberviolin down in its case.
He looked around the room, observing the mess he’d made. Jazz managed to stumble over to the berth. Before he sat he caught sight of the small holoframe Prowl kept on the table next to his side of the berth. It was of the two of them, the day Jazz had asked Prowl to be his conjunx.
He let out a sob and collapsed onto the berth, unable to stop himself from crying now that he had started. Jazz curled up as much as he could, as if making himself smaller would somehow take the pain away.
Jazz lay in their- his berth. Prowl wouldn’t be returning to their rooms, he had made that much clear. How had it ended up like this? A decacycle ago their lives had been tangled together, they had been happy together. Perhaps they had been too happy, and that’s why this was happening.
He couldn’t help but reach across, placing a hand where Prowl used to sleep, used to sit and read reports. He used to sit there and love Jazz.
Jazz’s sobbing only increased in strength. His conjunx was gone, and there was a different mech who wore his face. A mech who hated him. He deserved to show some weakness, especially in his own quarters.
He’d managed to hold off on actually mourning Prowl until that moment, but now he’d faced the mech and he knew that there was a slim chance of Prowl ever giving their relationship a go again. It had taken a lot for them to break off their cold war the last time, and Jazz didn’t think he could ever replicate the circumstances.
So there he was, finally coming to grips with the fact that he’d never be able to really call Prowl his conjunx again. It was the most agonizing pain he’d ever experienced. And the wound of losing Prowl would be ripped open again and again whenever he had to face the other mech around the base.
It had been so long since Jazz had slept in this berth without Prowl at least pinging him a goodnight comm. Every fiber of his being ached at how wrong this all was.
Finally, Jazz managed to cry himself into recharge. He dreamt of Prowl, his gentle smiles and his deeply-hidden care for all the bots under his charge. He dreamt of heated kisses and a recharge-addled Prowl refusing to let go of Jazz.
But when Jazz awoke, Prowl wasn’t there. He’d never be there again.