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“Okay,” Jazz mumbled under his breath. “You’ve got this, Jazz. You can do it, no pressure. You have everything Sentinel mentioned he liked in there,” he patted the oversized basket with one hand. Truthfully, Sentinel hadn’t so much told Jazz about what his old pal Optimus Prime liked than made disparaging comments about them, while managing to sound wistful about it.
Honestly, SP’s attitude toward the other Prime kept making Jazz puzzled. It was always hard to say whether Sentinel truly hated Optimus or if he was just being, well, Sentinel – a mech who had an inferiority complex several miles wide despite his own accomplishments and who often felt threatened by the accomplishments of others.
Jazz had known mechs like SP before, during the war and, well… Some pulled their slag together, and others crashed and burned, and it was still unclear on which side of the fence the Elite Guard’s member was going to fall. For Sentinel’s sake, Jazz hoped it would be the right one.
Personally, he didn’t think Sentinel truly hated Optimus, not given the way he clearly missed him at times, but… Good luck making Sentinel’s self-centered, ego-filled processor realize it before Optimus got fed up and gave up on rebuilding bridges on his end.
Mind, it wasn’t Jazz’s problem.
Not really.
Jazz’s problem was more, how do I tell a Prime who has had it rough since far too long and isn’t exactly the most trusting in new mechs that Jazz found him cute and wanted to spend time with him and, oh, you know, maybe date him if he was interested?
The answer, much to Jazz’s frustration, was tricky.
He couldn’t fault Optimus Prime for being wary, not with Sentinel being overbearing, UM being all quietly disapproving (and boy, that stung; Jazz had been on the Magnus’ disapprobation roll twice since entering service, and those hadn’t been happy-fun-times for his nerves), and the stress of Decepticons swooping in and threatening him and his little team of close-knit friends/found family.
Good to know the mech had good people in his corner, but Optimus Prime deserved so much better, Jazz thought mournfully.
He deserved to be pampered and taken out and just loved and, good thing for him, Jazz was determined to do just that.
Albeit slowly, because knee-jerk reactions thanks to panic and thinking one was walking in a trap were common in mechs with low self-esteem, and Jazz was too experienced to do that kind of mistake.
Which was why Jazz had noted down anything and everything Sentinel said about his old Academy pal, found out his favs, and then used his free time to make little, tasty confections that OP would melt for; tiny oil pops, rust sticks sprinkled with lead and cobalt, energon puffs dipped in melted iron, wire noodles in a coolant broth,... Jazz had added a few things OP was neutral about and a few things he strongly disliked in order not to freak him out, because he’d likely do it if Jazz stuffed him with good food the black and white mech wasn’t supposed to know he liked.
And because befriending a mech also meant befriending his friends, Jazz had even put together a small basket for the rest of Optimus’ team. The repair team had likely not had a meal that wasn’t just standard fuel rations since they had left Cybertron for the last time, which Jazz found just sad. They deserved to get spoiled a bit too. He was a nice mech like that, see?
Then, Jazz had done the most difficult part; using a moment where neither Sentinel nor UM were looming, he had walked up to the red and blue Prime and asked him if, perhaps, he could show him around the city, and show him good places to hang out and, perhaps, have a nice little picnic? Nothing really big, Jazz just wanted to spread his new tires some more and since the good places all seemed away from Optimus and his team’s base, best to go out with their own fuel, right?
Optimus had been surprised, sure, but not alarmed – it certainly helped that Jazz had taken the time to go drive alone with him twice or thrice before asking. The whole baby steps thing, you know?
Now, though… Now he was taking a bigger step and Jazz could admit it: he was terrified.
Would OP truly enjoy the attention? Was he going to bolt because Jazz would put his foot in his mouth at the wrong time? Would a Decepticon interrupt their picnic and be a pain in their aft?
So many questions, and no answer there.
Still, Jazz squared his shoulders, grabbed the basket and stepped out of his habsuit with his customary smile. Optimus was waiting, leaning against the wall, smiling shyly at him.
“Ah, hello, Jazz. Ready to go?”
“Sure am,” the black and white mech replied smoothly, raising the basket in one hand. “I hope you’re hungry, ‘cause I may have gone a bit overboard on the menu.”
Optimus’ smile widened (cute, cute, cute, Jazz’s processor supplied). “I’m sure it won’t be a problem,” he teased, and Jazz’s Spark melted.
He was, he vowed, going to make this day the bestest day ever for Optimus, and if anyone interfered… Well, Jazz hadn’t made Elite Guard for nothing, and he was more than ready to kick afts, with prejudice.
‘Cause even nice mechs could have bad days and snap, you know?
End