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Every once in a while, Omega Supreme was able to make contact with the Elite Guard ship.
Not that there was much to report since there was sparingly little information on the movements of the Decepticons as of late.
Still, every two or three lunar cycles, the connection was made and they exchanged the same few awkward sentences with Sentinel until Jazz took over the call and demanded a direct line to either Longarm or Ultra Magnus.
With Jazz summoned back to Cybertron after the attack on Ultra Magnus, Ratchet dreaded these calls. It meant arguing with Sentinel, or, if he was successfully transferred to Longarm, stonewalled at every turn in the conversation.
Sometimes the call would end, and he’d just sit there at the console, letting his helm lean against the control panels in quiet defeat. “I don’t know what we’re gonna do now, old friend,” he’d mumble, though Omega remained silent, unanswering.
But this time was different. Instead of arguing with Sentinel, their transmission to the ship was overridden and patched in with other comm frequencies. Ratchet hoped it meant Omega’s range was improving, but it probably meant that a stronger signal latched onto their frequency.
The signal was from Jazz, who patched in the frequencies from two other mechs. Ratchet recognized one of them, but only vaguely.
“Yo, am I coming in clear? Sorry to interrupt, but I also thought you wouldn’t mind. Hangin’ in there, Ratch?” Jazz was smiling as the static cleared from the call, and his tone was light.
Ratchet let out an exvent of relief. So at least this wasn’t an SOS call. Not like they were in any position to save anyone here. Not until they had a spacebridge working, and Bulkhead was still working on a groundbridge.
“We hear you over here, Jazz. What’s going on?”
“Ohmygosh, it really is Ratchet!” The mech on one of the other lines gasped. He was a white speedster, one with a frametype he recognized as similar to Blurr, but the grey face and red markings were… oddly familiar. Ratchet seemed to tense up when he saw the feed, but Prowl couldn’t place him. He did, however, recognize the other ninja-bot, white and grey with golden optics.
It was master Wing, disciple of master Dai Atlas at the Cybertronian temple. “Now, now, Drift. We are honored with the presence of master Prowl.”
Prowl shook his helm. “Master? I’m hardly worthy of such a title.”
“Oh, you don’t know, do you?” Jazz leaned back in his chair. “Prowl, you’ve become pretty famous on Cybertron. Besides bein’ groovy, your efforts against the Decepticons haven’t gone unnoticed! That’s why I was fixin’ to get a connection between us and the temple.”
“Does anybody mind filling me in on why any of this is relevant?” Ratchet interjected, crossing his arms. “We don’t exactly get transmission time for chit chat.”
“Right. This groovy mech here is Wing, guardian of one of Cybertron’s sacred temples, one of the pathways to vector sigma itself. His exuberant apprentice here is Drift. The temple has been chattin’ with the Elite Guard for some time, and wanted to connect us.”
“What for?” Prowl asked simply.
Wing cleared his intake. “Master Prowl, I am temple guardian Wing. I know it would be… unfair to take you away from your duties on Earth, but I think we can help one another. I could send my apprentice Drift to take your place for a time. He is a skilled swordsmech, and though he still struggles with discipline, I assure you he is competent. I honestly believe there is much he could learn from spending some time on Earth, and I would be honored to have you here for a time. The elite guard would escort you on your return to Cybertron, and you would be an honored guest of master Dai Atlas.”
Prowl stared at the screen for a few nanokliks, optics dimming with uncertainty.
Cybertron hadn’t been his home for some time now. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to return.
Not to mention that, day by day, with every bird call, every leaf that blew past him, every rainy morning, and every dusk spent watching the large, brilliant young sun of this planet dipping beneath the horizon, he grew fonder of Earth.
This planet’s sun was so close, and it was practically bursting with life.
Life that reignited Prowl’s spark.
“How long until you return from this mission, Jazz? I’ll have to think about it. But I’m certain Optimus wouldn’t be opposed to more help, if young Drift were to journey here to continue his studies.”
Ratchet inhaled a small, sharp invent at that statement, but he didn’t protest. “Yeah, we need all the help we can get.”
“We’ll be back in one lunar cycle. Is that good for ya?” Jazz asked.
Prowl hesitated. “I think I’ll need to talk with Optimus before agreeing. Give me some time to think, and I’ll answer after you arrive on Earth.”
“Awesome! I can’t wait to meet you, Master Prowl!” Drift answered, bouncing a bit on his tires.
Wing shook his head. “Drift will have a mission of his own from the temple as well. Whether you stay and he learns as your disciple, or you come to the temple, and he learns from Earth, we would be most honored.”
“Groovy. So if we’re all in agreement, I’ll send a timestamp and our landing coordinates to your ship as soon as I’ve got ‘em,” Jazz answered. “Hopin’ everybody can hold out ‘til then!”
“We’ll do our best,” Ratchet grumbled. At least they weren’t in trouble this time.
~☆~
Uncertainty swirled in Prowl’s spark as the days marched on.
As expected, Optimus told Prowl he wasn’t going to stop him from taking such an opportunity. He admitted how much they valued him here, but that ultimately, it was his decision.
Besides, it wasn’t like their team would be down a mech if the temple was sending an apprentice to help.
On the other servo… if he decided to stay, they’d have an extra mech on their side. Then perhaps things might get easier. Their team dynamic would change, sure, but so much had already changed since they arrived on Earth. Change was now a central part of their lives.
Earth was beautiful, rich in color and full of life. It was vibrant, filled with creatures he’d never seen before, and despite their somewhat tenuous relationship with humans at times, the sounds of the surrounding animals in the city alone—pigeons, mice, songbirds, insects—they created a delicate ecosystem that left Prowl in awe.
However, being asked to train at the sacred temple was an honor bestowed to few. The autobot government would often try to gain the favor of, or side with the temple, with varying levels of success. This brought Prowl to the conclusion that perhaps Jazz was personal friends with someone at the temple. Master Dai Atlas was far too high ranking, as was master Axe, which left Prowl with Wing. That somehow, Jazz had told master Wing of their efforts on Earth, and was extending this invitation.
Not that he minded, it was a big deal for anyone to be invited to the temple. If he turned it down, was it rude? Would it sour the elite guard’s relationship with the temple? In theory if this was a formal request, it would be bad form, yes, but Wing was not a temple elder, and perhaps he was the one asking, as not to apply any political pressure, and place the decision in Prowl’s hands. The offering of Drift to take his place, so that Optimus wouldn’t be short one on the team, also felt genuine.
The entire situation felt like a carefully balanced knife edge, and even as he meditated on it for several mornings and evenings, he didn’t feel any closer to an answer.
Even as he processed the request through his tactical systems, the pros and cons balanced out to a neat zero, with no answer that brought peace to his spark.
Returning to Cybertron, visiting the temple at all, would pull him away from the elegant, delicate nature of this world. The main temple was at the edge of a city, with long, straight streets surrounding it, and towering buildings. It wasn’t in some forest of crystal or atop a distant mountain.
Neither option seemed like the right answer, and even once Jazz arrived on Earth with Drift, Prowl still didn’t know what to tell him.
Jazz was one of the most understanding mecha Prowl had ever met.
His purposeful capacity for empathy was part of what made him such a brilliant, skilled ninja-bot, and despite Prowl’s air of cool composure and formality when he arrived, Jazz instantly took note of the turbulence in his spark, regardless of how close Prowl kept his field.
The air was chilly as the beginning of fall was settling in, and the abandoned lot they chose at the city’s outskirts provided the perfect cover with holograms of construction and “keep out” fences. Above, the sky was a silvery gray and darkening, even as afternoon faded to early evening, looming over them with the promise of rain.
Drift was as excitable as he was during their call, and Bumblebee took to him instantly, pelting the swordsmech with a seemingly endless barrage of questions while Bulkhead cautiously looked on.
Jazz pulled Prowl aside, visor dimming in thought as they rounded the corner. “So, what’s the word?”
“I am… uncertain,” Prowl admitted, letting his plating sag in dismay. “I have meditated on it, run hundreds of calculations, spoken with my crew, and sought answers from myself, but…”
“But you still don’t know what ya want, huh?” Jazz leaned back against the wall.
Prowl could feel his optics on him as a few stray leaves blew by on the wind, sweeping slowly across the alleyway, skipping across the pavement until they dragged to a stop, then were picked up by the breeze once more, floating away from the two mechs and out into the street.
“Wing wanted to be sure you knew that it was your choice, too. You’re already doin’ him a favor by letting Drift come to this planet to study. Ultra Magnus knows about it, sure, but the Elite Guard’s not involved. This is just between you and the temple, cool?”
Prowl frowned. “Yes, I considered that.”
“Then what’s eatin’ ya?” Jazz asked.
“It is this planet. I’ve grown… attached to it. I fear I will miss its bright colors and ever-shifting nature. Cybertron is old, and does not change as easily. So many Cybertronians are set in their ways, and perhaps I yearn for the peace of a strange nature.”
Jazz said nothing at first, shifting his balance slightly to center his weight over his pedes, a subtle movement Prowl had become accustomed to in his presence. Jazz wasn’t a fidgety mech, but there was something fluid about him. Not unlike liquid rock or metal, he was always ready to flow, to chameleon himself into any situation, and find the ideal shape for it.
It was these tiny observations that they made about each other that led to a deeper understanding, even if they always went unspoken.
Above them, the clouded sky acted on its threat of rain with a slow drizzle.
“Come with me? I wanna drive ya somewhere,” Jazz said finally, transforming and pulling up to the edge of the alley.
Prowl lingered for a moment as the drizzle continued, and finally transformed, sliding in beside him.
This was one of the times that Prowl was grateful for his small alt mode, as it was easy enough for a motorcycle to dip and weave through traffic. Jazz wasn’t a reckless driver, though when there weren’t too many cars around, he loved drifting a bit on a wide curve or accelerating quickly along a straightaway. As they approached the denser, more gridded parts of the city, Prowl lingered back behind him, rather than risking the more dangerous driving between lanes, content to take the city a bit slower.
It was early evening, and the lights of the city were coming on around them, billboards and brightly colored awnings, shop signs with channel letters lighting up to announce that yes, they were open despite the rain that was quickly swelling from a drizzle to a steady downpour.
Prowl could tell Jazz was listening to some sort of music, probably Earth tunes, or dialing back and forth through the radio. Regardless, he wasn’t talking out loud, and was quiet on the comm channel as well.
Not that Prowl minded; there was something about their ability to drive together in peace, just letting their fields brush against one another and take in the world around them. It created a calm bubble where they could gravitate together; a quiet contemplation in their shared presences.
Around them, puddles were forming on the streets, reflecting the gray sky above, and the towering outlines of the buildings around them that grew higher as they reached downtown. Humans donned raincoats as they walked by, small children jumped in puddles, sending splashes of water around them, wearing brightly-colored rain boots and carrying umbrellas.
As the rain grew heavier, more and more umbrellas opened up around them. Here the density of the pedestrians was far deeper, and the umbrellas almost resembled round blossoms, opening and blooming around them in response to the growing rain. They were a burst of color against the gray sky and dull buildings, bouncing along as their humans walked, and water cascaded around their edges.
Billboards lit up along the road, streetlights coming to life as the sky grew darker, and the puddles grew deeper, reflecting the neon lights and colored signs that lit up as dusk settled in. Prowl noted how the traffic lights reflected color across the road, and the street lights around them passed in a steady rhythm, creating lines of light along the tunnels and edges of roads as the reflectors of road dividers flashed yellow and white.
There was something about the din of the city here…
As he dwelled upon it, Jazz interrupted his thoughts through his comm.
>>Doesn’t feel all that much different from the streets of Uraya, does it?<<
>>I suppose not… though the creatures here are different, I suppose there is a similar sort of zen to the bustle of a Cybertronian city…<< Prowl answered.
>>All the neon lights remind me of Nyon before the war. There was lots of wide highways, and if I feel lonely, I just pretend some of the cars around me are my fellow Cybertronians.<< There was a tiny laugh to Jazz’s voice.
>>And how does that work for you?<<
>>Hm. Well. Keeps me balancin’ on my stabilizers, I guess. If anyone around me is a Cybertronian in disguise, anybody could be a con. Helped me keep in mind how easy it would be for any of these humans ta’ get hurt if the cons decided to try an all-out attack.<< Jazz admitted.
Channel letters on shops lit up around them, and the electronic billboards and holograms of the city buzzed around them. Prowl knew that with senses like Jazz’s, he could sense the electricity humming around them. It didn’t reach down to this planet’s core, grounding and connecting them all, but it was still present here, crackling through power lines and joining every building around them.
The splashes of color of the lights around them reflected in the puddles that rippled and distorted with each passing car, or splashed high by a larger truck.
>>Is that what you wanted to remind me? That one can find beauty anywhere if they look for it?<< Prowl asked, amusement tinting his voice.
Jazz pulled into an alleyway and transformed, scaling the expanse between the two buildings by jumping back and forth between the walls quickly. “I dunno, mech. You said it, not me!” He called down.
Prowl sighed and followed him, quickly ascending the buildings until he found himself on a roof several stories up, and the city sprawled out before him. Some buildings were taller, creating walls across the streets, but below cars flowed about to the whims of the traffic lights, a slow river of lights beneath them.
Jazz was lounging at the front of a billboard, one knee pulled up to his chassis, while the other hung out over the ledge.
Prowl moved to sit beside him, watching the way the rain continued around them, making everything feel darker, yet distorting the lights of the city. “I suppose… this does remind me of Cybertron. Human culture is very different from our own, but…”
“But you’re still seeing it as yourself. There’s nothin’ wrong with that,” Jazz commented.
“I… see. Or perhaps I don’t see. Perhaps I haven’t gone back to Cybertron in many, many orbital cycles, so I don’t know what to expect,” Prowl vented a small sigh, letting his plating relax slightly.
Jazz’s hand covered his own, wrapping around his digits gently. “I’m sure nobody will stop ya from comin’ back to Earth if you wanted. It’s not like it’s a permanent transfer unless ya want it to be.”
Prowl let himself lean back slightly, letting the rain slide across his frame. Cybertron didn’t have rain, at least not like this.
“What did you tell Master Wing? Why did he want to contact me in the first place?” Prowl asked.
“Aw, are you accusing me of bragging about ya?”
Prowl only answered with a pointed look.
“Guilty as charged,” Jazz countered with a laugh. “But it was Master Wing’s idea. I didn’t bring it up. Besides, I think you have a lot to teach them, rather than the other way around.”
“I suppose I have been… excessively apprehensive and not as open to new ideas as I could be,” Prowl admitted.
“You’ve always been balancin’ enigma and goin’ rogue,” Jazz chuckled.
“Is that so? An interesting perception you have of me.”
Jazz only leaned over slightly, touching his helm to the top of Prowl’s in a gentle gesture of affection, before Prowl finally spoke again.
“In which case, perhaps I will go. I would like to see the temple for myself. But first…” Prowl’s voice trailed off, droned out by the sound of the rain around them.
“But first?” Jazz asked, prodding his electromagnetic field with his own.
“First, I’d like to stay here for a few kliks. Enjoy the rain, and the presence of an infuriatingly insightful bot who brought me out here.”
This earned another laugh from Jazz.
Of all the sounds of music, the din of the city around them, the electricity flowing through the power lines around them, and the rain against their frames, that was the sound Prowl liked best.
He’d miss it while he was on Cybertron, but he hoped that he’d never leave Jazz’s orbit. That he could find beauty anywhere, but it was always easiest to see while he was at Jazz’s side.