Chapter Text
Prowl takes an instinctive step back when the spider drops down, doorwings flaring in alarm. It’s not that he’s scared , certainly, merely slightly startled, as anyone would be, especially with it dropping from above and ahead of him, instead of behind, where his doorwings would have picked up on it first. There’s also the fact that, while Prowl is well aware of the existence of organic spiders, this one is quite a bit larger.
Scaled up to a large Cybertronian size, and Prowl examines it more closely. Ah. Rubber. That makes sense, and now Prowl can see the fine wire it’s dangling from by the ceiling, by a vent, and Prowl fixes his face into stern disapproval, and says as mildly as he can manage, “ah, yes. Very funny.”
The spider jerks back up, followed by the faint sound of annoyed muttering, and Prowl can’t help his lips twitching, just a bit.
He continues down the hallway, wary for any more surprises, but nothing seems to be out of the ordinary, until Prowl turns the corner, and then does step back in alarm, because it seems like every bot in the Ark is packed into this hallway, putting up streamers and paint and oh, Prowl knows what’s happening now. Halloween .
“It’s not even October yet,” Prowl grumbles, well aware he’s no longer just playing into the view of himself as the fun hating Scrooge- see, Jazz, you’re not the only one who can quote human culture, who can make references - but also unable to fully care, because holidays are loud, and full of trouble and mischief, and Halloween is one of the worst ones, because he can’t even tell who half of the bots are by the end.
“Jazz is starting early,” Bee offers beside him, busily stenciling a pumpkin onto the wall, and Prowl sighs.
“I suppose if it’s for good publicity and for the sake of morale.”
“Has he said that to you, then?”
“No. But he’s going to.”
And Prowl is going to nod, and agree with him, and really, it’s not so bad, the noise, the chaos, the needless feeling of being on the battlefield for a bad few days at the end of October, because Jazz is right, it’s good for morale, good for publicity, and also because Prowl will tell Jazz yes, and pretend it’s reluctantly, and Jazz will…
Jazz will beam at him, in that ridiculous way he does, like his whole face is lighting up, like Prowl giving the okay is the best thing that ever happened to Jazz, and say that he “knew I could count on you, Prowler,” and Prowl will stare at his retreating back, and try very hard not to want.
“Is that paint washable?” Prowl asks instead, and Bee winces, sprays way off center.
“Uh, yeah. Totally.”
Prowl sighs.
He can see Jazz in the eye of the crowd now, enthusiastically directing it, and Prowl takes a few more steps back as the group continues throughout the Ark. They’re splitting up now, so it must have just started, and Prowl quickly adjusts his schedule for the day, putting himself on at least the next surveillance shift with Red Alert, so his friend doesn’t give himself a panic attack trying to monitor everything.
Jazz has some sort of light orange gloss on the white parts of his plating, Prowl notices, and it looks good, looks festive. He wonders what costume Jazz will wear this year, resigning himself with very little actual unhappiness to Jazz perching on his desk and debating possible ideas with Prowl, already making a list of potential ones, because while Jazz doesn’t seem to know entirely what he wants or have any criteria he’s willing to share, Prowl has picked up over the years that Jazz wants a costume that has a counterpart, someone else to match with, a couple’s costume, even, if Prowl is being less than generous. He’s never figured out who, exactly, that Jazz is matching with. He doesn’t go to Jazz’s Halloween parties.
Prowl intends to leave before Jazz catches sight of him, go reassure Red Alert and complain with him, but Jazz catches sight of him, Prowl can tell, because his whole face lights up like Prowl’s headlights are on, like he’s looking at a sun rise instead of Prowl. His headlights aren’t on, Prowl quickly checks, and by then Jazz is beside him, arranged in a casual lean against the wall.
“Halloween, I see,” Prowl says, and Jazz nods happily, spinning a smaller version of the dangling rubber spider that had startled Prowl earlier.
“I like the paintjob,” he adds, because Prowl’s spark starts beating far too fast when there’s too long of a silence between him and Jazz, when Jazz starts looking at him with that odd expression halfway between intense scrutiny and something Prowl can’t quite name that sets his tactical computer into overdrive.
Jazz grins, does a little spin, presumably so Prowl can admire it fully, which he does. “Thanks! Tis the season, right? I like yours, too.”
Prowl looks down at his frame, suddenly paranoid he’s been glitter bombed or some other prank, but he looks exactly the same as he always does, black and white plating not quite matching Jazz’s ordinary paintjob, complementary, he might think, if he was feeling particularly indulgent in his own desires, although not matching Jazz today, rather shabby in comparison to Jazz’s high polish.
So Jazz is mocking him, probably, or at least having a laugh partially at his expense. Fantastic.
“I look exactly the same as I always do.”
“Which is incredibly handsome, have I mentioned that lately? I really don’t think I say that enough.” Prowl would forgive Jazz anything if he said it with that sparkle in his visor, the dimple in his smile that Prowl has almost only categorized when Jazz is with him.
“Alright, Jazz, what do you want?”
Jazz pouts. “Who says I want anything? Maybe I’m just complimenting you just cuz.”
Prowl waits, and it only takes a moment for Jazz to bat at the spider impatiently, and look to Prowl.
“Although, while you’re here, I was just wondering if you wanted to go-“
“No.”
Jazz spins away from the wall to stare down Prowl fully, hands on hips, visor blazing.
“You didn’t even let me finish!”
“Were you going to ask me to the Halloween party you’re hosting? Because if so. The answer is no.”
Jazz stares him down, mouth twisting. His field fluctuates around him, never quite close enough for Prowl to feel, but it’s only for a moment, and then Jazz pulls back into a smile.
“ Actually, I was gonna ask if you wanted to go to the party with me. That’s different.”
“My answer, unfortunately, isn’t.”
Prowl… appreciates how doggedly Jazz wants him to go, only been increasing in the last few years, as Jazz asks him increasingly stubbornly to go. And Prowl disappoints him over and over.
Jazz’s face falls.
“Why? I mean, I get it, you don’t hafta defend your decision to me, but if it’s somethin’ I can change, pretty easy, I could do that. Seriously.”
Prowl swallows. He doesn’t get why Jazz is so concerned for him, so focused on getting him of all people to the party, especially when it’s clear to Prowl that it’s a pity invite, made more out of duty than any true desire.
“I don't like loud noises and bright lights, and I’m well aware that nobody is going to relax with me there. I do still…. I do still appreciate your… concern for morale.”
“Morale,” Jazz says. “Uh, yep. You sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure.” Jazz looks, for a few seconds, as though he isn’t sure how to arrange his face, lips pursed and optic ridges furrowed, fists at his side.
“If that’s all?”
“Yeah, uh, that’s all. You can still drop by if you change your mind, open invitation.”
“I won’t, but thank you.”
“Yeah, yeah, no problem. Oh! Hey, Cliffjumper, you got an invitation to the party yet? Everybody’s going!”
Jazz runs off, and Prowl wonders sourly, selfishly, unfairly and he knows it, if that’s the only reason Jazz wants him there. To tick off a box, to be able to say that his party is so great even Prowl came to it. And then Jazz will stop asking him about the party, because he’s got what he wanted. Time to move on.
Prowl sighs. It’s only a month. He can make it through a month.
“Are you going to Jazz’s party?”
“I thought we were discussing human publicity outreach?”
The look Optimus gives Prowl is beatific, saintlike. Prowl is instantly on guard, setting down his reports to give Optimus his full attention.
“We are. Having the Second In Command make an appearance would be incredibly beneficial to morale.”
Optimus’s optics twinkle at him. Prowl’s frown deepens.
“You’re going to be there, and so is Jazz. Isn’t that more than enough public appearances?”
“Actually,” Optimus informs him, “I’m afraid I won’t be able to come. I have a previous commitment.”
Prowl narrows his optics at Optimus, who returns him a perfectly innocent and respectable look, the face of a Prime far above such childish manipulations and games. Prowl is well aware that’s bullslag.
“May I ask what that previous commitment is, sir ?”
“Oh, you’re using the ‘Very Disappointed In You’ sir. You only call me sir in private when you’re mad at me. I can feel the disapproval radiating from you, Prowl, well done, truly.”
“ Sir.”
Optimus looks away, fighting a smile. “I’m afraid that’s classified.”
“Would that be by any chance because it doesn’t exist, sir ?”
Optimus laughs. “No, no, it does exist. I wouldn’t- Well, I might, but not with this. And I understand why you don’t want to go. I’m only asking, genuinely just asking, for half an hour. Maybe an hour, at your discretion, but it’s up to you. I would consider it a personal favor.”
It is, is the problem. Prowl has served under commanding officers who would phrase orders as requests, and if Prowl had heard this from any one of them, he would’ve understood it as an implicit command and carried it out.
Whatever his feelings on that form of leadership, it would be much easier if it was just an order. Go to the party. Pretend to have a good time. Sit in a booth in the corner, nurse a cube of midgrade and try not to catch Jazz’s optic because then Jazz will feel like he’s obligated to go over to him and make polite conversation, as the host of the party, sat, depending on how overcharged he is, atop the table, or across from Prowl or next to him or again atop the table, only in a much more… suggestive pose, or twice, when Jazz was very overcharged, snuggled into Prowl’s side, deep in recharge, and Prowl trying very hard not to wake him.
It’s not that Prowl doesn’t want that. It’s more that he can’t see Jazz wanting it. Wanting him. Not like that.
“Prowl?”
He’s zoned out. Damn. Prowl hesitates, looks to Optimus. Thinks about the look on a fair amount of bots’ faces if Prowl came to the party. Disappointment, maybe, quickly hidden behind good cheer, because even if no one really wants Prowl at the party, bringing down the mood, it wouldn’t be polite to show it.
“I.. I’m not sure if anyone would want me there.” Not true. Smokey, Red Alert, Blue and Mirage would all be happy to see him.
“Really? Because I know Jazz, for one, would be overjoyed.” Optimus leans in, whispers conspiratorially, “He hasn’t stopped complaining about you refusing yet again all week. Don’t tell him I told you that, he’d never forgive me.”
Oh. That’s. Interesting. Prowl.. Prowl thinks about the look on Jazz’s face if Prowl came after all. The way it would light up like it always seems to when Jazz sees Prowl. The way he would smile.
“Well then. I suppose I’ll go.” Prowl hesitates. “I don’t have a costume?”
Optimus smiles. “Luckily enough, I have one for you.”