Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Emotions were dangerous.
Well. Not always. The good ones? You know, joy, glee, those were almost always fine.
But to Jazz? The negative ones were pitfalls, waiting to swallow him.
So bottle them up, yep!
No way would anyone in Primus' grace would ever see him have an anxious breakdown!
After all, everybody loved Jazz. Or. Tolerated him, in the case of one stick up his aft chief of tactical.
Or at least, they loved the Jazz that he put forward. Cheery, a goofball, and overall good guy - and if it weren't for his job, most bots wouldn't be able to guess there was more to it!
He did a good job shoving all the negative scrap into a neat little cube that didn't need to be opened.
That isn't to say, he shoved all of them entirely- oh, no. When he lost an agent, he grieved and got angry.
But he didn't dwell. He couldn't dwell.
The anxiety from failing his agents - the bots who relied on his orders….
That got bottled up.
That cycle, he realized he was starting to dwell. Perhaps because he and Prowl had gotten into a shouting match about an upcoming spec ops mission.
He hated those shouting matches, but Prowl was so… so infuriatingly stubborn! And hot! And math-oriented!
Jazz paused his not-quite-stalking to his office. Aaaand that's another thing being bottled! No one needed to know he thought the high tactician was Hot.
…but it was a distraction from the mounting anxiety.
When had he started being attracted to the Praxian?
A few Vorn, at least. But it wasn't an ‘I need to frag you' attraction. Anything but.
Jazz felt a pit in his spark. He was romantically attracted to probably the one mech who'd never want anything to do with him.
Jazz decided to walk past his office and head to a bar instead.
He put on some tunes to push the thoughts up-up and away. ACDC? Sure!
…he couldn't focus on the music, tuned so it was a buzz in his audials, over being broadcasted, but that didn't matter. Mm mm.
He couldn't focus on anything, as he walked, basically on autopilot. Laughing and chatting with bots he passed - inviting a couple to join him at the bar, mostly shot down given the upcoming mission. Ect conversations outside of what he could register.
He brushed it off, bottling up the rejection, and arrived at the bar.
-
There was a 87.5% chance that the Chief of Special Operations would ignore the plan without further enforcement of it's importance, his Tac-Net helpfully supplied.
Which, really, was more of a guarantee from how Prowl knew Jazz. The mech seemed to take joy in ignoring orders, acting as a wildcard on missions - something that could not be afforded here. Surely he had to understand that?
73.2% Chief of Special Operations will refuse to assign an agent other than himself to the mission.
His processor was fully occupied with the Tac-Net, and Jazz. He has to get some assurance that Jazz would not jeopardize the operation to free a number of neutrals and autobot agents from a decepticon controlled prison. He had calculated that Mirage would be the best fit for the mission, given his outlier ability. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe would provide a distraction, paired with Ironhide. Optimus had insisted on some other mechs going, but Prowl had to calculate who would be best to add - if only so that the Prime did not do something as ridiculous as insist on going himself.
The following shouting match at the strategy table was heavily affecting the Tac-Net's calculations. And it was for this reason, Prowl was headed to Jazz's office.
Only to find it empty and locked. That was odd. His Tac-Net had supplied there was a 97.8% chance Jazz would be there, insisting on preparing to go on the mission himself for at least the next few joor, if not the rest of the cycle. His processor spun into overdrive trying to calculate where Jazz may have gone.
Which turned it to be unnecessary, as a passing bot supplied “If you're looking for Jazz, he headed down to the bars. Though, that's probably not a place you'd go, heh Mister Tactical?”
Prowl did not know their name, glancing towards the mech - a femme, from Polyhex like Jazz. Hm.
“...Thank you for the information.” He replied simply. “Did he mention which one?”
“Damn, cold as always… nah, mech. He usually floats by whichever's got the best tunes, y'dig?”
“...I see. Thank you. Have a good cycle.” He stated before going to walk away, ignoring as he heard the femme mutter
“That stick is shoved really far up his aft, huh?”
-
Jazz couldn't name the bar he was at if he tried. Lost in the din of the music buzzing in his audio from his own system, the conversation around him, and the music system inside the dive. He knew he'd been there before, from how the bartender greeted him and slid him a flavored cube of energex. Good, he could get lost in the drink sooner, and stuff the negative down faster into the metaphorical bottle that kept him chipper to practically everyone.
But even the pleasant buzz he was starting to feel, would be shot, when he noticed the conversation stop.
He glanced towards the door briefly, before pausing - seeing Prowl in the doorframe, walking over in the ramrod straight, stiff as a board manner he always did.
“Jazz.”
Scrap. Scrap, scrap scrap.
“Ah… heya Prowl, here for a drink?” He cracked a grin, offering him his cup.
“...I would like to have a discussion with you. But here may not be the location.”
“Ah… yeah, sure, sure babe.” Jazz chuckled, “jus' lemme pay first.”
“Of course. I shall await outside.”
…At least the mech seemed to have an idea when his presence disturbed everyone else. It wasn't everyday you saw that Praxian in a bar, and needless to say, everyone was staring. Those optics shifted to Jazz, as he handed over his card for the creds to be deducted, downing the rest of his drink. Wait. Where the frag were they going to head anyways? Had he cleaned his habsuit? There was no way he was heading back to his office buzzed. There'd be questions from the mechs still there who he'd invited. Frag.
Not to mention there was that hopeful - stupid, hopeful uplift in his spark that Prowl had come looking for him. I mean, it obviously wasn't out of concern, right? There’s no way. He said they needed to talk. Probably about the mission.
-
Prowl stood outside the bar, waiting for Jazz. Perhaps this had been a mistake. Even in Iacon, it was… rare, to see a Praxian like himself visiting a bar. Made all the more noticeable by the fact that many likely knew he was a member of autobot high command.
5.346% a Praxian Enforcer had recently visited this establishment, his tac-net supplied.
Yes, a very important number that he needed to devote processers to.
He sighed, then turned, seeing Jazz walking out.
“So uh. Where we headed Prowler?” He questioned, in that annoyingly nonchalant way.
“To my habsuit. There is a 67.27% chance yours is currently unsuitable for visitors, and a 93.57% you would not wish to return to the offices, given you had ventured to this establishment alone.”
The flinch Jazz gave at the numbers only confirmed that for Prowl.
“Man, Babe you don't gotta do me dirty like that!” Jazz replied. “But sure, you're habsuit sound fine to me, wherever you feel comfortable!”
There is a 62.14% chance something is wrong.
There is a 98.76% it would be denied while in the open if true.
Jazz was not normally this agreeable to Prowl's suggestions. So he was inclined to - while irked at how much his processor, and this the Tac-Net was focusing on this, rather than who else should be assigned to the mission.
His habsuit was a short distance from autobot command - so they were only walking for a few breem in silence.
There is a 72.16% chance something is wrong.
Which … the Tac-Net was right to up the number on that, from Prowl's impression on Jazz. Jazz was a bot who could not be quiet in his experience.
Admittedly, Prowl was begrudgingly impressed by Jazz's apparent ability to be quiet… even if it was because something was wrong, he noted.
He unlocked the door to his habsuit, holding it open for the polyhexian.
-
Prowl's habsuit was almost sterile, make Jazz feel about as uncomfortable as the silent walk had. But hey? It wasn't an office at least. Which. Maybe it wasn't a talk about the mission?
“So Prowl, babe, what's up? You said you wanted to talk, so talk.” Jazz chuckled, his usual self sliding in as a mask as he went to lean against a counter in the kitchenette. It was at least a place that very much suited Prowl, as he glanced around. Clean. Organized. Almost… empty of life. It was so different from Jazz's, from his posters and instruments, even the number of cushions on the couch! Of course, a lot of that was to make sure when he brought a friend over, or was helping one of his agents recover from a mission.
He missed what Prowl said, at first, until he heard a question.
“...Are you alright, Jazz? It is obvious you are distracted.”
“Huh, oh yeah Babe, The Jazz is all good to go!” Jazz replied, almost automatically, promoting Prowl to sigh.
“Do I need to call in Rachet?”
“What? No no no babe, it's all good!” He chirped, feel his spark flutter almost uncontrollably. Prowl was concerned about him? Seriously?
Primus must be playing a joke on him.
“You have been acting strange since I met you at the bar. Distracted.”
“I. Well. Maybe I am?”
“Should I call in Smokescreen for a psychoanalysis?”
“Nope! No we're all good babe, I promise!” Jazz assured.
Frag. Had he been so out of it that Prowl. Prowl of all mechs was the one to notice?
“...Jazz. I may not be…. The most social of mechs. But even i can tell when someone is acting strange.”
“... Perhaps you only noticed because something else tipped you off.” Jazz relented, sighing, rubbing the back of his helm.
“You were oddly quiet on the walk here.” Prowl reported.
“Hey, hey heeeey. I'm head of spec ops! I'm a spy! Being quiet and on the down low is how we work, mech!”
“That does not mean it is how you conduct yourself outside of a mission.”
Jazz paused, his shoulders slumping. “...So what. You wanna sit here about the shouting match earlier? I told you, I'm going on that mission, I -”
“Jazz. If you must go on the mission it must be with a clear head.” Prowl cut him off. “It is clear something is bothering you, and I will refrain from pushing further. I will not argue with you here and risk disturbing my neighbors. I am going to call in Smokescreen - he is far more qualified than I for-”
“No!” Jazz exclaimed, as Prowl raised a hand to his comms. “It's fine. I'll be fine. I just need a good recharge cycle. I'll be right as rain.”
“After a night of drinking? You had at least two empty cups next to you when I arrived.”
Frag. Had he really drank that much? No wonder he was so readable.
“I have a spare berth, should you want to take it.”
That had Jazz pause. “...You're okay with me crashin' here for the night Prowler?”
“So long as you do not disturb the neighbors, yes.”
“Well, that's… uh…. Thanks, Prowl.” Jazz stated.
At this point, he was starting to truly feel exhausted. And the way his spark felt was NOT helping him think clearly.
-
The simplicity prompted Prowl to pause. Was this really Jazz?
This somewhat bothered him. But… what else could he do? Jazz did not want him to call either medic. Understandable really for Rachet.
Prowl did not think the old bot’s gruff demeanor would help Jazz's state, whatever it was regardless.
“So uh… which room then?” Jazz questioned.
“Yes. This way.” Prowl stated, going to lead the way down the small hallway, opening a door to a spare berthroom.
He wasn't expecting Jazz to pause at the doorway.
And he absolutely wasn't expecting the bot to take his hand. “...Stay with me Prowl.”
The question sent his processor into overdrive, his wings canting slightly in silence and the proposition, a slight flush of energon altering the color of his faceplate.
Why had Jazz asked..? Was he unstable? Or..
There is a 65.43% chance Jazz does not despise you.
Well. That's helpful.
-
Scrap. Why did he say that? What possessed him at that moment to ask?! His faceplate burned in embarrassment as Prowl stood in silence, damn two bit abacus!
He didn't want to be alone, sure, but! Frag, was he truly that drunk?
“D-don't, worry about it if you don't wanna Babe, it's no big deal..”
“...No, I will…. Stay, as you request.” Prowl answered. “But I do not believe the berth in this room is large enough for two.”
…Jazz hadn't thought of that, deflating slightly as he went to release Prowl's hand.
Only to be surprised by him holding it still.
“My berth, however…. Should be, if you truly do not wish to spend your recharge alone, and do not intend to stab a knife in my spark.”
Wha-
“I… I would never, babe!!” Nevermind all the times he had tried before they were solidly working together under Prime.
“I will have to take your word for it.”
Jazz couldn't believe it as Prowl led him to another room, one with a larger berth - definitely big enough for two.
-
The conversation he had originally wanted to have with Jazz could wait until after recharge, along with figuring out what was actually wrong with the spymaster, thought Prowl.
97.54% the spymaster is suffering from anxiety.
65.74% he is suffering acute depression
That didn't answer why Jazz seemed relieved to Prowl agreeing to stay near him, as he settled into the berth, followed soon by the unfamiliar weight of another body.
It was now that Prowl actually paid attention to Jazz's EMF. It was… quiet, yet so loud. Was it because of the contact?
He ignored the Tac- Net's numbers.
Jazz was… sad, yet elated. Contradictions.
Prowl sighed to himself - before pausing as an arm wrapped around his middle, clearly hesitant.
Before he felt a small vent, and heard a hum… and very quickly, Jazz was in recharge.
…it wasn't uncomfortable. Which in itself was strange. Typically, Prowl hated people touching him.
Perhaps… it would be something to question in the next cycle, as Prowl let himself fall into recharge.

Chapter Text

Frag. That was Jazz's first thought in the morning. His helm pounded from the engex hangover, as he realized his internal audials were still playing… heavy rock? ACDC, right, the human 's music was just good for those nights where you just didn't wanna think about the real shit - which - Frag, where even was he? 

He was alone, at least so far as he could tell. And in a very unfamiliar berth. It was… almost sterile in its emptiness, which honestly creeped Jazz out a bit. How in the name of Prima did he get there? Was he in an uninhabited habsuit? No, no, there were blankets and pillows. An uninhabited berth wouldn't have those.

He frowned, turning off the tunes. Was he in trouble? He checked pings. Nothing. Weird. 

Also there was the fact nothing was restraining him. Not a containment operation then? Yeah, no that didn't make sense. Unless the cons have him trapped in a dream or some slag.

He held a hand to his audial horns, a claw slotting in to tune them to subtle sounds - he heard nothing loud immediately, and while the hangover was killing him… he needed the information. So! What could he hear outside the room? …A…  coffee machine? And the sound of a cup on a counter, and taps on a data pad. steady venting. Servos? Servos. Someone was not bothered, clearly. Someone with door wings. Bluestreak? Skids? He hoped it was Skids. Jazz had helped the mech alot, teaching him how to use the music they enjoyed to focus on missions rather than just getting lost in your own helm. Nothing against Blues though! Kid just didn't have as much in common with Jazz as Skids. Or Smokescreen! Smokey was nice usually, until he started trying to be a therapist on ya when you weren't expecting it. Either way, he knew it was a Praxian he was gonna be facing. 

He got a bit of feedback as he lowered his hand as his sensors readjusted, venting from the pounding and noise. Welp. 

Time to see who's pad he had crashed at. 

-

Prowl had woken substantially before Jazz. Not that he was surprised. There was a 98.3% chance that he would oversleep by at least a joor due to the engex he had drank last night. So he went about his normal routine - wash, coffee, check news. At the very least while things were not in active crisis, he could take a breem or two to ensure the spymaster at least knew where he was when he awoke. 

Although Prowl questioned if it would be wise to leave Jazz in his house alone. 

99.5% that it was logical. Prowl kept nothing of tactical or monetary value in this habsuit, and delaying his arrival at high command and his office would only raise questions that he did not care to answer. 

Most related to Jazz. 

89.4% all questions would be related to Jazz, given the argument and then being seen heading to his office. 

His sensors alerted him, picking up as Jazz left the berthroom. 

“...You are awake a quarter joor earlier than predicted.” not… that it was something to complain about. No, Prowl found this an agreeable surprise - although was it really a surprise to see Jazz - even unknowingly - defy all logical calculations?

“Uh…. Coffee.”

Ah. That makes sense. The scent and sounds must have awoken him. That should have been anticipated, so with a simple nod, Prowl went to offer a mug to his guest. After all, Jazz had a hangover.

At least a 99% chance of one, according to Tac-Net. 

-

He was in PROWL'S habsuit?! Jazz was panicking internally, watching as Prowl smoothly grabbed a mug and filled it - offering it to Jazz. 

He took it, almost on autopilot, to start sipping. 

It would help the hangover, and was a distraction, an excuse to not talk as he processed this. He was. In Prowl's habsuit. Mech, didn't Prowl hate him? What happened? Had he really drank so much he blacked out? What state had Prowl found him in? 

Of all the Praxians Jazz knew, why did It have to be PROWL. He sent a prayer to Prima that he wasn't in for a lecture about responsibility and all the stuff his position came with. 

“I. Uh. Prowler babe, I'm… sorry about uh…” 

“You do not need to apologize for the events of last night. Although it seems as though you do not remember.”

Jazz's shoulders sagged, as he sighed. “Please, for the love of Prima do not lecture me about moderation babe, It ain't every time.” That was the conversation he expected. Especially from the ‘by-the-books’ Prowl.

“I calculated a high probability that you are suffering from acute depression and anxiety.”

What. What. Frag. What the slag did he say or do last night?! 

“What? Prowler babe, nooo, no I'm fine-” Jazz interjected, as Prowl continued.

“I recommended that you speak to Smokescreen, and you said much the same last night. So I will not push the issue for now.”

Frag mech, he's definitely gonna tell Smokescreen regardless and that's gonna lead to psyche evals and… mech, he just ain't got the time! 

“I'm fiiiiine, Babe!~” Jazz put on a grin straightening, as he sipped on the coffee, watching Prowl's expression. Neutral, measured, a slight frown, and as always so… so cold! Mech, would it kill him to express something?! Jazz was flying blind here, and apparently he's done… something to tip off Prowl, Prowl of all mechs that things weren't as good as he always played.

“....If you say so.” 

Thank Prima that Prowler didn't seem to want to pursue this right now, as he sipped the coffee, relishing the pounding feeling abating, as he considered his options. Yeah. Prowl said he wasn't gonna push it for now. But that left it open to the future. 

Jazz did not want two Praxians psychoanalyzing him. Nevermind the rest of everything going on in his helm. 

-

Tac-Net stated it was a 100% that Jazz was lying, and it was illogical for the mech to do so in this situation. 

Prowl dismissed it - Jazz was illogical. Contradictions stack upon contradictions with his role as spymaster and head of spec ops… along with how he always put himself at the top of the list for any and every high stakes mission.

“But your drinking habits are not what I was waiting to speak to you about.”

“Uh… it's about some weird slag I did last night isn't it?” Jazz appeared… to have a sulky look as he guessed. 

“No. I would save that discussion for a time where we are not under a time constraint for work.” 

Tac-Net was trying to buzz helpfully in the background with calculations about Jazz's behavior this morning and last night, and Prowl found himself having to actively shut parts of it down as it started eating up more of his processor. He did not need to crash this early in the morning, especially not in front of Jazz whom he was still trying to determine what he felt about the mech. 

“So lay it on me Prowler, what's on your mind?” Jazz questioned, as Prowler drew in a vent. “I wish to…. Apologize for last cycle. After you left the tactical meeting, Optimus Prime recommended strongly for a larger task force to be assigned after all, and to maximize the chances of success while minimizing the odds he will act on his own, I need you on the ground for the prison break.” 

-

Jazz blinked. Once, twice. He adjusted his audials. “Sorry mech, I musta dozed off and daydreamed a sec there Prowler. Did .. you just ’pologize? To me?” He had to be dreaming, right? There - there was just no fragging way. OP threatening something utterly stupid like the naive loveable lug he was? Sure, sure. But Prowl apologizing to Jazz?

“You heard correctly. I also wished to collaborate in picking the rest of the special operation bots who would join you on this mission. I do not know the abilities of everybot in your employ, after all.”

“Prima I must be hallucinating.” Jazz thought aloud, watching as Prowl appeared to grow a bit more frustrated. He had to admit, that was entertaining. Slightly.  “Wait, Shill, your serious Prowler? Slag, OP musta threatened something real dumb. Wait, lemme guess, boo said he was gonna head out there was the distraction himself, didn't he?” Jazz couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up. Yeah, that checked with OP. Mech didn’t seem to get that he was the most important one of them all. Without Optimus Prime, there would be no autobots fighting against the Decepticons' terror. “Okay, okay.” Jazz vented, getting the laugh under control.

Mission planning! He could do this! “Five bots? Yeah, yeah yeah. That's a good number to add. We already got ‘Raj on infiltration… Twins and ’Hide on distraction. Me plus four….” Jazz hummed, as he tapped on the counter watching Prowler - still wearing that not quite as neutral-frown, and looking ever so attractive tapping at the data pad, though he'd look better with a smile - Jazz shook his head. “I'm obviously joining ’Raj on the inside.”

“Obviously.” 

“Let's add Bluestreak with the twins, they get along swell. I wanna see if we can't grab Yellow for the infiltration.”

“Bumblebee?” Prowl tilted his head, with a quirk of his door wings that cause Jazz a moment of pause in admiration.

“That’s the one!” Jazz grinned. “Kid's picking up a lotta stealth tricks y'know!”

“Hm. Accepted.” Prowl nodded. “That makes three.”

“Skids and Getaway make five.” Jazz replied. “They'll be able to help get more people out, while Raj and I focus on getting cells open, and Bee covering our backs.” He started to que up his preparation playlist. He needed to get into the right headspace, after all, there was a prison break to do! Mech, who coulda expected the shouting match and a forgotten night would lead to this?

-

Skids and Getaway had been two of Prowl's go-tos when Spec Ops had been his department. 

Before Optimus Prime rearranged several departments after taking over the Basilica and government. 

Their inclusion rapidly ramps up the chances of the mission being completed to the letter, provided Skids didn't get lost in his daydreams.

Tac-Net latched onto the bots Jazz listed, running simulations to make the new plan with the additional bots. At the very least, this was correcting the simulations ran based on Jazz acting as a total wildcard.

He was … surprised, to hear Jazz recommend them, and so merely nodded. 

“Very well. I… will go alert the chosen members so they may prepare. Including you. We have one cycle and thirteen joor, five breem to act before the opening Punch located is closed.”

“Yeah Babe, I hear ya.”

Prowl watched Jazz's head bobbing, to whatever music he was playing, and sighed. Did the Spymaster actually hear him?

50/50 according to Tac-Net. Again, Prowl actively shut down the calculations involving the social situation he was in.

“Then I am headed to high command. Lock the door when you leave, Jazz. I will get a data slug of the plan to your desk within two joor.” Prowl stated, as he finished his coffee, setting the cup in the sink and turning to leave. 

It felt strange, but not in the bad way to leave another bot in his personal space. After the previous night, he felt some measure of trust for the spymaster. He almost missed the clatter of a haphazard mug in the sink as Jazz hurried after. 

“Woah, woah mech, you're chill with leaving me in your hab? Babe, Prowler did Bombshell get a? C'mon where's the shell?” 

Personally, it was a bit offensive to Prowl that Jazz's first assumption was that he'd been hacked at some point overnight. 

If anyone had done it, it would have been Jazz after all. 

-

This was NOT Prowl. There was no way, right? Jazz was so confused, as Prowl was going to leave him in his habsuit -  For Prima's sake, he was a spymaster, and Prowl was their fragging high tactiction! There had to be a cerebroshell, or… something! There was no way Prowler was just. Comfortable leaving him there right?

“Bombshell has not access to me.” 

Mech, he wasn't stuttering, his steps were even… 

“You are acting irrationally, Jazz. I am fine, and you have a mission to prepare for.” 

“But! You're- you're acting nice Prowl, and it's kinda wigging me out mech!” especially after the shouting match at the meeting last cycle, that was a bad one too. What the frag had happened last night for… for this?

“If you still demand an explanation after the mission, you will know where to find me.” 

“Prowler…” Jazz trailed off, unsure - what the frag could he say? He wanted answers now and he -

“Get your processors aligned on the mission, Jazz. You are the head of Spec Ops, and going on this mission. You will not fail your teammates. I am going now to create the mission plans and contingencies for what may go wrong, or require on the fly adjustment. I intend to have the mission behind within the next six joor.”

Jazz watched as Prowl just… left like that. Mech was cold! Frigid! Out the door without even a goodbye! 

….mech, why did he have to be Hot.

It took a breem, but Jazz would vent, looking around. Frag, the place was…. Empty. Lonely. Personal effects was clearly something Prowl didn't collect. No photos? No decor? …There weren't even any good places to hide bugs.

Though, that was probably a good thing. Anyways. He should get some fuel, to kick the last dregs of the hangover before going to see what mission deets Prowl decided on. Two joor? Yeah, that was plenty of time! It wasn't unusual for him to saunter in later than rest anyways. 

And so… off Jazz went, taking care to lock Prowl's hab as he left, heading down to a diner. He'd prefer to cook himself, but he doubted Prowl kept ingredients stocked. There were no cooking appliances other than the coffeepot, after all. 

He finally processed what Prowl had said as he left.

Frag, mech really had his anxiety pinned, didn't he?

Chapter Text

78.4% chance that Jazz would be fine left in his habsuit. 

89.3% He'll leave soon after establishing Prowl kept a mostly empty kitchen.

Prowl shook his head as he refocused the Tac-Net during his drive to the Basilica. It was illogical to continue thinking about Jazz currently, outside the parameters of the mission. He had just over a joor to finish as many simulations as possible, leaving him a bit less than a joor to load data slugs, and to distribute the plans to the bots who needed them, given the travel time. As he arrived, he sent pings to the bots involved, informing them of their selection, and to be getting ready in less than two joor. He headed straight to his office, ignoring the other bots who scurried to and from. 

He only paused, when Optimus Prime himself stepped into the hallway.

“Hello Prowl. I hear you went looking for Jazz last cycle, after the meeting?”

“Yes, Optimus.” Prowl replied. “And everything has been sorted. There are five more bots joining the mission. There is no need for you to join yourself.” 

“Are you certain? I-”

“There is a 78.5% chance your presence on the scene would call in major deception forces in an attempt to capture you. This is non-negotiable, Optimus. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to make the tactical map for the involved bots.” 

“Of course Prowl. Let me know if I am needed.” 

Prowl nodded, and left, soon arriving at his office without further interruption - unaware of the conversation now occuring whispered from those who'd overheard.

-

Jazz stretched, having gotten a cube of energon, and a breakfast from a small diner a few streets away from the Basilica, having turned his internal audio all the way up to try to drown out his thoughts. He had to focus on the mission. Not on Prowl. Stupid sexy Prowl. He was also trying to recall what the frag had happened last night when he was lost in the haze of engex. Slag, how much had he drank? …He really was in for a lecture after the mission wasn't he? There's no way that Prowl was gonna just let him off. Especially from how he'd ended up in his habsuit - which, what in Primus' name happened there?! Prowl hated him, didn't he? 

Jazz let out a groan, slumping back. He was not clearing his head. Maybe he should just go to his office, maybe get ahead of Prowl in gathering his team for this? Yeah. Yeah that seemed good. Shove the feelings into a bottle and off he went!

After paying, of course.

He arrived at the Basilica, only fifteen breem before the two joor mark Prowl stated,  sending out pings for Mirage, Bumblebee, Skids and Getaway to meet in his office, getting affirmatives fairly quick.

Of course, as he walked through the halls… he couldn't help but overhear the rumors.

They had started to spiral to the point of laughable - Bots were saying he and Prowl fragged . Jazz froze when he heard that, before retorting to the unseen bot. “Mech, what sorta Prowler d'ya know? Ain't no shot bot would have any sorta relationship with me!” Jazz laughed easily, grinning, glancing to look at the other bot - Ah, it was Trailbreaker. 

“Ah c'mon Jazz, jus' having a bit of fun!” Trailbreaker laughed in turn. “Primus only knows how much the mech doesn't like ya!”

“Say, where'd the rumor come from anyways TB?” Jazz questioned curiously.

“Some mechs overheard Optimus an' Prowl chatting. Mech didn't say much but said everything with you had been sorted, an' the rumors been spiraling since there.”

Well. Frag. 

“Well, let me realign the records, mech just met me at the dive last night and we just had a lil chat, babe” Jazz shot a couple finger guns with a grin. “No slag happened and you'd best be glad it was me who overheard an' not ol' Prowler!”

“As if he pays attention to the ’sip!” Trailbreaker grinned, returning the gesture. “But yeah, yeah ‘heard. So what's word on the mission?”

“Hush-hush, you know this is a spec ops mission TB! Speaking of, I gotta get to my office, I got my bots waiting' on me!”

“Right, right, go have your fun, you just gotta tell me how the mission goes after!”

“You got it babe!” Jazz chuckled as he slid around the corner, humming. Masking. 

Only to arrive at his office and be met with Prowl exiting it.

“...The plans are on your desk. I will be in tactical command to oversee in case of complications.” 

So cold. 

“Awe, thanks boo~” Jazz purred. Probably not helping the rumors, but Prowl.. simply walked away. Yeah. Mech clearly didn't care for him. Stupid rumors.

Jazz could see Raj already there, along with Skids and Getaway.

And…. He heard a subtle clatter in the vents. That must be Bee.

“Righto Babes! Who's ready to save some bitties?” He grinned, placing his hands on his hips. 

-

Prowl walked quickly down the halls. It had been a four cycles since Springer, Hot Rod, Arcee and the entire Wreckers crew had been caught out by decepticons.

Well. A four cycles for Springer, Hot Rod and Arcee (23.5% they were relatively unharmed. Rachet had been angry to hear that number). Three cycles for the Wreckers who had attempted to charge in under Kup's orders, with Wheeljack deciding it was a fantastic time to test new explosives, to rescue the three young mechs (38.97% they were relatively unharmed. Less time, but more dangerous bots, plus being caught in the explosion of their own making). And he had found a report on his desk that Cliffjumper had gone off on his own last night to break them out and nobody had heard from him since then, so it was safe to assume he's been captured as well (48.9% he was relatively unharmed. He had a tendency to go headfirst, after all). But all that meant is it was likely the security of the prison was under review, and there was a 67.34% the guard patterns had changed since Punch got them the details on the prison. A 45.3% they were understaffed enough it won't matter. A 86.5% reinforcement and interrogators were enroute. They had to act this cycle. If they did not… 

Prowl actively shut down the simulations that started to form. He did not need to start calculating their chances of winning the war without the Wreckers. 

The only good thing was that the Wreckers had apparently caused significant damage to the fortifications, so while they had utterly failed at freeing anyone… it would still make it easier (by 56.8%) for the infiltration team to get in. 

Nobody else was in tactical when Prowl arrived. He got setup, letting his thoughts fall to background processes, as he established a connection with the holo map and computer, opening comms for all nine of the bots on this mission. He would do his job as always. This mission was critical. There was no space for error, and he would see all the bots freed. 

-

It only took a breem for Jazz to read the data slug. Map of the prison, guard patterns, damaged sections flagged. Though, the guard patterns were flagged as possibly inaccurate. Great! He could work with that!

Prowl had laid out a number of plans for getting bots out, and as always, the plans were insanely good, but of course now they were flying somewhat blind from the probably outdated guard patrols, but again, Jazz could work with this!

“Right babes, pass this around so we have a synced map, an listen' close, we gotta be in an' out quick as we can cause we dunno when those reinforcements Prowler predicted'll be in. 'Raj, Bee I want you two watching guards. Skids, Getaway, we three are gonna focus on getting our bots out.” 

“Sure Jazz!” Bee replied, holding a hand down from the vent to be passed the slug. “And when fights break out?” 

“Well, we hope by then we at least got a few of the Wreckers out!” Jazz laughed easily. 

“...Besides, according to the plans Prowl laid out, most of the Decepticons stationed there should be occupied by the twins, Ironhide and Bluestreak outside, while we're on the inside.” Mirage hummed, passing the slug to Bee after he'd read it. 

“Aw, no action for us?” 

Bless his spark, Bee really was surrounded by horrible influences. Jazz couldn't blame him, mech'd only known war after all! 

“Spec Ops aren't s'posed to see combat.” Getaway stated. “Unless it's a crisis.”

“To be fair ‘Way, we're almost always in crisis.” Skids pointed out, tapping his ped to some unheard music. 

“True that!” Jazz laughed, grinning. Mech, he couldn't let anything happen to these guys, watching as they passed the slug around. “We ready to go?”

“Yep!” Bumblebee grinned, dropping down, landing - if a bit clumsily - on his peds. “I'll ping Ironhide that we're heading out!” 

“You do that Bee.” Jazz stated, as he got - as they all got, pings from Prowl in the static manner that suggested he was in archival hookup mode. Like some kind of omnipotent being, directing the upcoming battle. 

Not that Jazz was gonna complain! Oh no. It was probably a good thing to have Prowl directing them like puppets. Usually minimal casualties that way. 

“Right! Tune up an' roll out babes!” Jazz grinned, and headed out. 

It was showtime. 

-

The nine dots on the map appearing as Prowl received ground bridge confirmations provided no comfort. 

There was only a 78.5% chance this plan would succeed, only  42.6% it would be without some form of injury or loss. 

But it was the best plan he could make. 

Prowl directed them. Angling the five infiltrators to the southeast of the base. It still being early meant the cons would have to look into the sun to see them, making it easier for them to get inside. Bluestreak, he had been leery on adding to the team. The young mech had been entrusted to him to take care of, after all. But… he couldn't deny Jazz's logic, as Tac-Net also said worked well with the twins, a 91.3% increased chance of things going to plan with his inclusion. And with Ironhide… she'd almost guarantee that the three younger mechs would get out fine. 98.6% that they would return with minimal damage. 

They would arrive at the destination in ten breem. The distraction team would arrive five breem before the infiltration team.

This had a 96.5% chance  of ensuring that infiltration would not be spotted until they started freeing prisoners and more than likely setting off alarms.

He would track infiltration from the plan he had laid out. It would be to risky for them to use long range comms in this situation. The distraction team would be keeping the airwaves occupied. 67.5% increase to infiltration teams ability to operate.

Ironhide pinged him when combat began. The decepticons fired on them first. 78.4% recognizing Ironhide. 

Infiltration's position gets updated automatically according to the plan. 

-

Jazz vented evenly, as he, Skids and Getaway slipped through a damaged section of wall, past the guardhouses. He held back a low whistle, at the destruction Wheelhouse's bombs had done. Too bad he hadn't hit the cells. He could hear the fighting a few walls over, watching the guards go to peel from posts to see what was going on. His music of choice right now? It was very rhythmic, good for matching vents, and had a beat drop every breem on the dot. Oh, and it was a Jazz original. It was a jam and fraggin' functional! 

He signaled for his team to move after another group of guards ran by. He didn't hear anyone else in the direction they came from, at least not then. Mirage had broken off to take a position to overview a greater deal of the cells - his invisibility meaning that he didn't need to mind the guards as much as the rest of them. Was enough to make Jazz just a biiit jealous. As good as hi sown profiles were, they didn't make him straight up invisible! Wouldn't be anywhere near the… trouble, if he could!

Perhaps he'd loose fewer agents if he could.

Bad thought. Into the bottle! Focus on the mission! 

According to the map - yep. There's the cells. Quick glance and - neutral, neutral, neutral, ah there's his bots! At least the three who'd started all this. 

“Hot Rod! What did a bitties like you do to get thrown behind bars, especially with your siblings?~” Jazz teased. 

“Jazz!” Hot Rod flew to the bars. “Wait. I'm not a ‘bittie!’ C'mon, get us out! Cliffjumper got dragged elsewhere a bit ago!” 

“That so..? Hm… I'll go look for him then. Skids, you start getting the bitties out. Don't forget the neutrals. Bee, keep an eye for guards coming’ back thisaway. Lessgo Getaway.” And Jazz started to run off, sniggering at Hot Rod's objections. Referencing the map - Cliff almost certainly was dragged off to interrogation. Underground? Seemed so. There were multiple layers, and it was possible that there would be guards that hadn't been called in. 

Scratch that, guaranteed, as Jazz rounded the corner of some stairs, seeing a vehicon standing there at attention. 

Unfortunately, he was spotted, and the vehicon clearly subscribed to ‘shoot first, ask questions later.’ as… he shot as soon as he saw an unfamiliar mech, the blast glancing off Jazz's shoulder. He hissed, and then he had a helm being crushed in his claws as he dashed forward at the mech, he then tossed the mech aside, shaking energon from his claws. It was… probably dead, but Jazz didn't think they had time to check.

He heard Getaway pause briefly, but onward he continued down, and deeper. Another cell block. But the hallway didn't go through it… “Getaway. Check for the Wreckers in there.” 

“You gonna be fine on your own?”

“Jus' fine.” Jazz grinned. “C'ya on the other side, babe.” 

Getaway nodded and headed in, as Jazz continued down the hallway. 

The music seemed to muffle with him now on his own. Down another set of stairs, he's met by a group of guards heading up. There shouldn't have been many underground, but, hey! Improv was what Jazz did best! Unfortunately, he didn't have time to improvise. The mechs spotted his autobot insignia, and two of the guards pulled out swords, and the other two aimed blasters, while sending out an alert of an infiltrator. 

Welp. 

Jazz slid some knives out of hidden compartments in his armor, sinking two into the necks of the two with blasters - One managed to get a hit on his arm. Ow. 

The two with swords charged. Focus. Overhead swing from the left, side at the right. Duck, and deflect with armor on the arm. 

Knife into the throat on the left, claws crushing the helm of the right as he tried to recover from the missed swing. 

His mods activated to numb the pain, as he continued on, picking up one of the blasters and grabbing his knives.

Interrogations was at the bottom of the stairs. He could hear the guards, the questions. No responses, so Cliff hadn't broken yet. 

He heard the order given to bring in the mnemo. 

And then he fired on the guards, prompting shouts of alarms and calls that the infiltrator was here. 

He took three out before they had aimed their blasters. One shot off his pauldron again. Second hitting his other shoulder. 

A blast hit his foot, and then he shot two more, charging into the third with a feral grin, eliciting a shriek of terror as he jammed a knife into his throat, severing the cables. 

More were coming, but… he had to get Cliff free first. Another mech at his back would only be good, after all. Of course, that depended on how far the interrogators had gone already. He kicked the door down, firing a shot at the mech standing over Cliff, sending him crumpling. 

Wordlessly, he hurried over to cut the shackles holding Cliff to the chair with a vibraknife, appraising his condition.

“Jazz, my mech! What took so long?” 

Jazz held up a hand, indicating quiet, jerking his head to the door in the room. Mech was hurt, pretty bad. And unarmed, with playing stripped from arms. 

“Mech, my comms disabled. You want me… to leave? What, and leave you alone?” 

Jazz tsked, reaching up to fiddle with Cliff's connection, quick, not gentle, causing the red bot to flinch back. 

::oh. Thanks.::

Jazz gave a curtsy nod, and again pointed at the door, pushing him. 

::fine. I'm going.::

Jazz nodded, as he went to the door, signalling Cliff to run up the stairs. More guard were coming from down the hall. It seemed like they had turned storage down here into barracks while the guardhouse was a wreck. Cliffjumper glanced back, but ran up the stairs. Good. 

Jazz stood in the doorway, listening. And when the pedfalls drew near… he jumped out, knives flying as he attacked them. Another five guards. He didn't notice as they clawed, but, and blasted him. He had to make sure the others got out. 

He would find himself blacking out in the rush of combat.

When it finally fell quiet after several breem, barely kept track of by the beats of the music, he'd straighten and head upstairs. He had a limp? Nah, his mods dosed him, and the pain faded. He hurried upstairs, only to be met… by Mirage, appearing in front of him. 

Jazz almost sank a knife into the mechs throat on reflex, but stopped just in time. 

“Everyone else is out Jazz. Let's return to base.”

Jazz nodded, pushing past him, picking up his pace. The diversion was supposed to disengage once they get an all clear from him. 

It would be sent after they were clear of the walls.

Chapter Text

The infiltration team had fallen behind schedule, but that ended up being of little consequence, as Smokescreen pulled Prowl out of his archival connection, as the ground bridge activated for the team and rescued bots to return. 

“There is a 62.7% they still need -” Prowl stumbled over his peds as his senses returned.

62.7% they still need assistance due to the delay. They were 30 breem behind when the bridge was supposed to be opened. 

72.38% it was due to errors in guard placement due to the explosions when the Wreckers attempted to infiltrate. 

4_.59% it was due to there being injuries.

32.&% it was due to their being so many bots to rescue.

“No. You know Rachet's rules. Once they signal for the ground bridge to return, you're off. No. I'm not getting my audial chewed off for you staying hooked up longer than absolutely necessary.” Smokescreen chided, putting away cables. “And, that you have to go to him and make sure everything recalibrates correctly.”

“87.4% he will be inundated with the rescued mechs. 99.75% everything recalibrated correctly. I d0 not need to take up a medical berth at this time.” Nevermind the voice crack. That was fine. He can handle a glitch or two on his own

“You can ping him that then, I've told him I've uncabled you, and you to head his way.” Smokescreen didn't notice the crack in his voice.

“You…. 74.6% that was unnecessary.”

“I think it was perfectly necessary given you haven't stopped spitting out calculations.”

4&._)% cause for concern.

Gl1tching was &$.98% cause for conc3rn.

“I w1ll head to my office. In the 0.01% something did not calibrate, I will head to medical.” 

“Yeah, yeah…. It's your audial, not mine.”

Prowl nodded, and walked off. 89.4% The gl1tches would self correct, so long as nothing caus3d them to cascade. This was simply a byproduct of the connection between Tac-N3t and the computers in tactical, his onboard still trying to run the elevated state. He shut down several what-if calculations, wrangling his processor back into line, and felt he was thinking clearly by the time he reached his office. Tac-Net still threw errors, but he could dismiss them. Low coolant, dropped fuel levels. All normal after a deep link.

He kept a few cubes in his office for this reason. Aside from it being one less thing for Rachet to harp on him about. He should get reports about how the mission went soon enough. 

-

Jazz felt like slag by the time he and Mirage made it back to the others, hurrying through the ground bridge. A few of the Wreckers had gotten guns from Primus-knows-where, and Wheeljack was arguing Getaway about going back to backup Ironhide, the twins and Bluestreak. “Get through the bridge ya guys, ‘Hide’s under orders ta not come back till ya are home. 'Sides Kup, don't ya want ta get the bitties ta Rachet an' make sure the con's ain't done nothin' ta ‘em?” 

Man, every fragging word hurt. He really didn't wanna be talking but… he was in charge here. Fortunately, he didn't need to say more as the old soldier nodded, and simply… pushed his fellow wreckers through the ground bridge. Good. Great, even! Jazz gestured for the others to head through first.

Bee had Cliff over his shoulder - mech needed the help, apparently. Not surprised. But Cliff seemed to be on good spirits as he attempted to rub Bee's head - the yellow bot unable to dodge as he laughed cheerily. Good. 

He glanced to Mirage, tilting his head. Mirage sighed, rolling his optics. “I've commend Ironhide. She is ordering the twins and Bluestreak to disengage first.” 

Jazz nodded. He'd then shoo Mirage to go ahead. He'd supervise the rest of the evac. 

It was fine, for a few breem more. 

And then there was gunfire, as Sunstreaker rushed towards them, engine snarling.

Sideswipe slide into Root mode right behind him. “Jazz! Everyone's gotta get going, the ‘Cons - “

“They caught on about ten breem ago that we were the distraction.” Bluestreak pulled up, finishing the sentence. 

Jazz looked up, noting the dust cloud, and just seeing Ironhide's silhouette. “...Then let's make sure ‘Hide’s got cover fire, bitties.” 

“We aren't kids!” Sideswipe protested, Sunstreaker and Bluestreak transforming beside him, pulling out their guns. Jazz chuckled, though each vent was hard to keep natural.

He activated his mods, refreshing the fading adrenochems and painkillers, has he rolled his shoulders, one arm clicking as it changed modes to his flamethrower. Wasn't the longest range, but hey. He said they'd give cover fire didn't he?

The Cons swooped low - a seeker trine. It wasn't Starscream and his - no, Jazz didn't recognize these three. Not much of a surprise, but still. He opened flame on them as they attempted to fire at them, shooing them away from the bridge.

Once Ironhide got there - it looked like it'd be about two breem. 

The seekers made another pass, Sunstreaker grinned, and launched a rocket from a shoulder cannon.

“Is that really necessary?!” Bluestreak exclaimed.

“Yeah.” Sunstreaker laughed.

“I'm going up!” Sideswipe added, and activated a - 

Jazz paused.

When the Frag - Who in Primus' name gave one of the twins a jetpack?! 

…

Oh, wait. That may have been him. That was hard to keep track off sometimes, especially as the rocket made contact with one of the seekers, exploding a wing. 

Sideswipe wasted no time in landing on the back of the injured mech, tearing into its armor with claws, until they crashed on the ground, Jazz wincing, as the other two retreated. Yeah. He'd retreat too if he had to face the twins, as he heard Sideswipe laughing. “Oh that was fun!”

Bluestreak cringed. “Primus help me…”

Jazz patted the bitties back, as Ironhide arrived, finally. “Twins! Get your arts through that bridge, NOW!” she barked, eyes on the sky. “Everyone else through, Jazz?”

He nodded, giving a flourished bow, gesturing for her to go first. 

In response, she laughed, good, and shoved him through, after Bluestreak and Sunstreaker helped Sideswipe through. Mech…. Had not landed well despite the laughter. Oof. 

So he ended up face planting in front of everyone, shortly followed by Ironhide, laughing as the bridge was closed.

Mission, success, at least, as he pulled himself up to his peds, grinning at the assembled bots.  Rachet's team of meds was coming over, he waved them off. “'m fine, take care o' tha othas.” 

He wasn't fine, but Primus…. Rachet yelled. And that was the last thing he wanted this klick.

Jazz separated himself from the crowd, slipping into a small and under-used hallway, taking a breem to vent, as he walked. That was a mistake, as he let out a groan. He stopped himself from releasing more painkillers into his system on reflex. He had to check over himself. Where would be safe… not his office, certainly. Mechs would expect him to be there.

….Prowl's should be empty. Bot was required to go to medical after a deep hookup, and that's what he said he'd do for this mission. And has vent access for leaving unnoticed once he checked himself over!

Excellent. Just had to be sure to not leave behind any spare kibble, just in case. 

Jazz didn't notice, as he slipped into the room, the Praxian behind the monitor, as he sat on the floor with a groan, and started rooting around his armor, and subspaces, turning on some music on his external radio.

-

When did Jazz gain his office code?

That was Prowl's first thought when he glanced up at the sound of the door opening, minus any alert telling him it was opened.

&3._% the entry was hacked.

He shoved Tac-Net to the background, quietly observing Jazz.

Unaware of another program, that normally was near-dormant, quietly taking up the processor.

A program that had cataloged Jazz as Cohort .

The bot was clearly lost on his own world, and the music he was playing as he didn't seem to notice Prowl.

Why had he come here? Are -

Prowl paused as he realized Jazz was taking care of his own injuries.

There were a lot, and Prowl watched for a few klicks, with somewhat morbid fascination at the way Jazz's armor shifted, some even detaching, hiding and revealing different marks from blasters and spilled Energon, dents and gouges too. 

Prowl coughed. “Jazz?”

Jazz froze, the music abruptly cutting off, and Prowl could only guess at how wide his optics were, due to the visor his almost always wore. But he didn't say anything, even after Prowl's pause, so he sighed.

“Do you require any assistance?”

Jazz was still frozen, for a solid breem or two, and in the sudden silence, Prowl found when the subtle click of his wings servos loud, as he appraised Jazz.

Eventually, he shook his head, going to hurriedly stand, and leave.

…Prowl's coding surged to the front, as he stood. “Wait-” 

Jazz seemed startled, as Prowl hurried over, holding his hand out.

Prowl then paused, shaking his head as he realized - 

“Jazz…I…” his wings flexed, as he put a hand to his helm, unsuccessfully trying to turn the synthetic bond protocol down. “...my apologies. That was… Base code.” He offered the weak explanation. “I did not mean to startle you, or… even hurry over. I am…. Serious of the offer of help, should you require it.”

This close, Prowl could pick up the rapid vents. Jazz was… panicking?

Why hadn't he said anything…?

“...You're non-verbal?” He guessed.

“...Nearly.” Jazz eventually said, in a strained manner.

How had nobody noticed this before? 

“...would you be amenable to a hard-line to facilitate communication?”

Jazz rapidly shook his head no at that. 

“Very well.” Prowl gave a small nod. “Shall I com for Rachet?”

Again, Jazz shook his head no - even more frantically than before, causing Prowl to sigh. “Then sit back down. It does no bot any good of our spymaster is down for the count due to untreated injuries.”

Prowl guided Jazz back down - the Polyhexian, at this point starting to seem more confused than terrified. 

Prowl questioned if he did not remember the demand of last night?

That was seeming _&.6% probable.

The SBP practically sang as Prowl started to investigate all over Jazz's armor for chinks and hidden places, looking at the medkit - oh. A lot of those were Very Illegal drugs. 

He pulled out his own medkit from his subspace, and started tending to Jazz. Every chink, every panel, he poked and proded at, watching Jazz intently.

He did help some, giving in apparently and shifting, showing injuries that would otherwise go unnoticed.

Cleaning rags were produced, and the drying Energon cleaned up. A jellie was offered to Jazz, which he took. 

Again, the SBP rewarded Prowl, making him feel…

He shoved it down. He didn't need to be rewarded for watching out for another mech, especially not a mech who didn't know and likely didn't want his affections…. If you could call them that. 

Did Prowl like Jazz? That was a question. Most times, he found him… utterly infuriating. Contradictions, and illogical actions, wrapped up in an unpredictable mech. 

But Jazz was reliable, and trustworthy. He always succeeded on missions, and was one of Optimus' closest friends. He was the spymaster of the Autobots for a reason, after all. He was terrifyingly good at what he did, and while he'd frequently ignore Prowl's directions on missions, he'd end up often with a greater result, acting on improbable odds. 

Jazz was smart, though he didn't like to act it. 

If anything… Prowl admired Jazz, for his freedom to do as he pleased. To act as he pleased. 

…in a sense, he supposed. He did like Jazz.

Chapter Text

He didn't know what the frag was going on.

Jazz was dumbfounded, He thought Prowl hated him y'know? But damn, the mech was … being tender. 

Which was not dissuading the thoughts of his apparent attractivess.

And he was pretty sure Prowl hated touching other mechs and being touched too. After all, he almost always flinched away when someone tried to put an arm around him or went stiff and he just-

Jazz could NOT understand what was going on as he watched, and shifted his armor plates so that Prowl wouldn't pry at any tender spots.

Wow. Okay. Yeah, he woulda had trouble taking care of some of this himself. He winced, as some armor plates grinded, having been dented closer than they should be. But they'd be fixed soon enough, especially as thorough as Prowl was being with the ministrations.

And as Prowl carefully applied the med patches, Jazz found himself… relaxing. He knew Prowl wouldn't hurt him - they were on the same side, and forces were thin enough. Mister tactical there wouldn't remove a piece simply for disliking them.

…Though, Jazz came to think. Prowl probably didn't hate him. 

And he was starting to relax. The mission had been a success, and… he had to admit, it was nice to have somebody fuss over him. Especially someone as sexy as Prowl.

He felt his spark flutter a bit. Vaguely, the feeling felt familiar, like deja-vu.

Primus. He was glad Prowl accepted the rejection of the hard-line. While sure, then they could communicate without the need to form glyphs , Jazz knew them Prowl would probably pick up his feelings and. He wasn't ready to unpack all of that yet.

After all, Prowl was…. Prowl. Practically perfect, driven by calculations. Always logical, and capable of the grandest strategies - even if he always erred on the side of numbers when another path gave better results, even if success wasn't as likely.

And Jazz… well, he was Jazz. Meister. Ricochet. Tyger. Dozens of names, and dozens of faces on a common frame. 

He wasn't even sure what was really him sometimes, with the profiles and partitions - 

Jazz was just the most comfortable face. 

Lost in his thoughts, he didn't notice him relaxing his frame against Prowl, or how Prowl gently adjusted to be supporting him as he continued to look for injuries and tend to them. 

-

Prowl's coding was making him feel rather good, about being able to be in contact with, and care for Jazz. 

He knew it was mostly the coding he had been constructed with. The Synthetic Bond Protocol - he was an Enforcer type, after all. And typically, they're supposed to work in teams, in cohorts. 

It's a vile piece of code, that can easily put other bots in control of the poor mech who had it. 

Prowl knew this could be a problem. 

Usually it wasn't. Tac-Net's operations ate nearly all of his processor normally, along with stunting emotional output, and surprising the SBP. 

But when Jazz relaxed into him, he felt it surge the endorphochems, and his spark flutter. 

Logically, this was bad. Indulging the SBP while Tac-Net was down, as going to make it hurt if Jazz… if Prowl had fully and completely misunderstood.

He was coming to that realization, that it could simply have been coincidence. That Jazz didn't particularly like him, actually. Just Prowl has been the closest mech in difficult breems.

And then he got the door ping. That was Rachet's code. 

“Prowl! Y'er supposed to ‘ave gotten your aft to medbay!” 

Jazz flinched, as Rachet stalked in yelling, hurrying to stand-up to skedaddle.

Prowl sensed the wrench, normally he would dodge… but then it would hurt Jazz, so he just winced as it hit his helm.

“...There were others who would have needed your attention sooner, Rachet. And we would appreciate it if you would stop yelling.”

He did not attempt to stop Jazz, as the spy proceeded… to now stand there like a startled rabbit.

Rachet sighed. “Why… on Primus' name, were you two canoodling on the floor. Are… frag it all, Jazz! Both of you, medbay, Now.”

Ah. Rachet noticed the medkits. And that was a, ‘So help me Primus before I kill you tone.’ But at least he wasn't yelling anymore, which Prowl hoped would help Jazz.

“...Very well.” He stood, carefully packing away both medkits, sub spacing his, and… he hesitated slightly. Jazz's kit was very illegal.

He wasn't given much time to process that, as Jazz hurriedly snatched it and subspaced it. 

-

“Nah, no need Rachet, I'm all good!~ I just need a good recharge and I'll be in top form!” Jazz spoke up. His voice was back to normal, it wasn't as hard to speak. There had been something…. Incredibly soothing of the way Prowl searched for the injuries and tended to him without pushing for anything.

Rachet glared. “I saw the medkits Jazz. Get your aft to a med berth.” 

Jazz gulped. “Yep, yep you got it then!” He was not risking an actually angry Rachet. Annoyed, sure. When wasn't he annoyed? 

He scurried ahead of Prowl. He could sort out feelings later. Probably push them down, bottle ’em up like usual. This had gone. Very wrong. 

He heard Prowl walking behind him, followed by Rachet. Yeah, he wasn't gonna be able to slip away. 

They arrived at the medbay, which… fewer mechs than Jazz had anticipated. That was good, injuries had been more minor, then. He hadn't really examined the captured mechs after all. But still. 

He sat on the edge of the first empty berth, kicking his peds idly like he was a bittie there for a checkup. Prowl went to the next one, not even glancing at Jazz. 

Rachet glowered at them, before sighing. “Don't move while I've got my back turned, Jazz.” He grumbled, going to hook Prowl up to diagnostics.

Jazz, of course watched, though he couldn't see Rachet's expression, he could tell from the screen and it's sounds. Those were error sounds.

“...Not surprised you were crashing.” Rachet grumbled.

“Glitches only present a _5.6% probable crash.”

Jazz winced at the static that replaced the numbers. 

“I'm putting you into recharge while repair protocols run, Prowl. Rest.” Rachet ordered, and before Prowl could object, he was pushed down into the berth and his optics were offlined. 

Rachet sighed, and turned to Jazz. “As for you….”

Jazz gulped. 

“....At least you weren't self-treating this time.” Rachet grumbled, going over and starting to hook Jazz up to diagnostics.

“Aw, c'mon Rach, babe, it ain't that bad!” Jazz offered cheerfully. 

…Prowl being in his office and offering to help has almost certainly saved his aft from a major chew-out. 

“...Blaster burns, novocrosin, adrenochems and dented protoform ain't that bad?! ”

Jazz winced. “...Okay, maybe it's bad. But hey, don't bring my mods into this, they help get me back every time, don't they?”

“There is a reason those mods are illegal, Jazz.” Rachet grumbled, as he started to check over the mesh Prowl had applied, and got to work on the injuries that hadn't yet been tended to. 

“Yeah yeah, addiction and toxicity, mood variance… but I'm fine , Ratch, swear on Primus. You've given the lecture a dozen times or more, and we both know that removing them isn't an answer, babe.”

“... Because you will ignore my advice as your doctor and get them reinstalled and some shady black market clinic, and I'd much rather know you have them, and have the counteragents on deck.” Rachet grumbled, as Jazz laughed. “Don't worry mech, I don't overdo it, y'know I don't!” 

“...At the least, you don't let me catch you doing it. I'm going to put you into recharge now while your systems clear and self repair runs.” 

“...yeah yeah.” Jazz nodded, laying down. “See ya in a klick, Rach.” 

And he was out for the count.

-

Prowl was woken first. Unsurprisingly. 75.3% Jazz still had several injuries he had not found, or other issues he had not noticed.

Tac-Net was running at full, though he noted the SBP was more active than usual currently. His chronometer read that he had been in recharge for two joor. Insufficient for true rest, though it was enough that the glitches had resolved themselves, and Tac-Net no longer flooded his HUD with errors. He sat up, and started to disconnect himself. 

That, summoned Rachet of course, wrench in hand. 

“Tac-Net is fully operational, with no errors.” Prowl reported, causing Rachet to sigh. “Fine. But do you need suppresents? The diagnostics picked up that the Synthetic Bond Protocol was running rampant before I put you in recharge.”

“...Tac-Net is currently suppressing it with 87.4% efficiency. Further suppressants would only serve to hinder my operations by 45.2%” 

“If ya say so. But if I see you showing acute symptoms, I'm administering them.”

“That would be your decision as head physician.” Prowl nodded. “Am I clear for discharge?” 

“Reluctantly, yes.” Rachet sighed. “I don't want to see you in here for a deca-cycle, y'hear?!” 

“Of course Rachet. I will do my best.” Prowl finished disconnecting and stood, briefly glancing at Jazz, before leaving. 

He would need to get some fuel, before returning to work, judging from his readings. Not dangerously low, but low enough. 

Bluestreak was waiting outside the medbay. He jumped up, door wings waving when he saw Prowl. “Everything good Prowl? You weren't here when ‘Sides Sunny an' I were checked on, and Smokescreen said you went to your office, but when I got there, you weren't -”

“It is fine, Bluestreak.” Prowl stated. “I merely headed to the medbay after the mechs active in the mission were tended to. You must have just missed me.” 

“So, what was Jazz doin' in your office? Are the rumors from this morning true?! ” Bluestreak questioned. 

“...What rumors?” Prowl posed in turn, skipping on answering a question, that he 65.8% did not have an accurate answer for. 

“That you two fragged!”

“No. Jazz and I have never interfaced in any manner.” He stated without missing a beat. “I do not know why Jazz went to my office after the mission. You would have to ask him, once he exits recharge.”

“Aw, c'mon Prowl, there's gotta be something there! You were at each other's throats yesterday!”

“...You may be my charge Bluestreak, but that does not mean you know everything going on in my private life.” 

“So there is something!” Bluestreak exclaimed. 

“No, there is not.” Prowl denied. “Jazz is infuriating, unpredictable and a logical paradox. There is nothing between us.”

…Never mind his begrudging acknowledgement he did actually like Jazz, and Jazz's insistence on him staying nearby last night. 

He needed to speak with Jazz again, in private. 

But for now…. 

Bluestreak pouted. “Oh c'mon Prowl! There's gotta be something!”

“We are co-workers. Outside of personal disagreements, I do treat him with respect fitting of his station in Autobot High Command.”

“Blues, give it up!” A voice came from a vent. 

Sideswipe. The yellow mech dropped down soon with Sunstreaker right behind him. “C'mon, let's go checkup in Hotrod!”

“Ah, right! Uh, later Prowl!” Bluestreak waved, as Prowl sighed. “Goodbye, Bluestreak.” 

He briefly watched as the three younger mechs ran off. He was truthfully glad, that Bluestreak had friends, even with the questionable influence of the twins. 

Thus, he arrived at the mess hall, to get a few cubes of energon.

Chapter Text

Jazz groaned slightly as he woke up, sighing as he stared at the ceiling of the med bay for a moment, before sitting up. 

His helm spun, prompting him to shake it, glancing at the cables, before starting to disconnect. 

Rachet appeared shortly after. “I see you're awake, Jazz.”

“Yep! Feeling right as rain Doc!” Jazz chirped with a grin. 

Aside from being dizzy, that was. And maybe low on fuel? Definitely low. The cube Prowler had given him had helped, but it had been - he checked his chronometer - frag, sixteen joor ago. 

Rachet observed him with his usual grumpy expression. “You're on medical leave for the next deca-cycle. No missions until I confirm those injuries healed, and systems clean.”

“Ah, c'mon Ratch, babe, no need for that!” Really. Please.

“I think there is , else you'll only make things worse for yourself.” He waved a wrench, which had Jazz flinch back. 

“Fine, fine, four cycles.” 

“That's less than half!” Rachet barked. 

“I'll come in and do a check up! That way you can see that everythings chill with the coolmeister.” Jazz laughed, and Rachet gave a long suffering sigh. 

“...If I do not judge you fit, you will continue to be on leave .” He stated, and Jazz nodded. 

“You got it babe!”

“Now get out of my medbay!” Rachet threw the wrench, which Jazz fucked under, laughing as he finished unplugging the cables and skedaddled. 

Mess hall? Sure. If it was open that was. Otherwise, he was hunting for a joint open at this joor. He could go for a beryllium bologna sandwich with a cube. Probably get some high grade from his office on his way out. Or engex. Or both? Both was probably a bit much since he'd just been in medbay. Besides. He still didn't remember what happened last night. Well. Two nights ago? It was the middle of the night-cycle then, from how long he'd been in recharge.

It probably wasn't a great idea to get that drunk again so soon.

Besides…. He had to try to figure out what was going on with Prowl. 

The last cycle - minus the mission, had been confusing. Onlineing in Prowl's hab, Prowl being hospitable, and then… his office. 

Frag. Jazz felt his faceplate flush with Energon. 

Didn't Prowl hate him? Why did he tend to him with such…. Care?  

Although… something has been off, Jazz realized. And, yeah, sure, part of his belated realization was having been out of it, but. Prowl's fans had been abnormally quiet in the office. Normally a loud and constant thrum accompanied him, due to how hard his processor was working with that Tac-Net of his. Had Tac-Net been shut down? That explained the lack of numbers. He was dodging a crash from errors by turning off the process! Well. As much as he could, probably. 

So was that what Prowl was actually like?

He'd have to ask. But… the question was, when? It wasn't like… 

Well. Jazz could simply slip into Prowl's hab again. 

He'd done it before, back when the mech worked for the old Prime. 

….Yeah, now wasn't the time to think about the many times he tried to assassinate him before and immediately after OP became Prime. 

Should he? Prowl was probably in recharge. Especially once Jazz got some fuel. 

Oh! Oh. Prowl didn't keep a stocked kitchen! Jazz could get some ingredients and surprise him with breakfast! Mech knew Prowl pretty much only drank Energon and coffee. Rubbercakes and borcon? Sounds perfect. Jazz grinned, and set off on his self assigned mission, to get to the bottom of whatever the frag was up with Prowl. 

And totally not being self serving and not acknowledging that he just wanted to be near him more. Was he pushing a boundary? Who knew at this point, not Jazz!

-

After finishing some paperwork, Prowl had headed back to his habsuit, picking up some fresh cubes for his stock at home. Check the news, of which there was nothing he did not already know, and headed to recharge.

He onlined to the scent of… rubbercakes and barcon?

What?

12.5% it was from a neighbor. 57.3% it was a hallucination. 30.2% it was from his own kitchen.

Prowl shook his helm, and got up. And then he heard it.

Music was playing. Softly, but present. And he was confused even more. 

35.6% Smokescreen decided to check in on him. 63.2% it was Bluestreak fishing for more information. 1.2% it was Jazz having broken in. 

He excited the berth, and paused, staring at his kitchen, staring at Jazz. Dancing around the kitchen to the music as he cooked. 

Tac-Net fritzed. _5.&% Jazz had something planned.

The SBP hummed quietly in the background.

It would take Jazz a moment to notice him, glancing up and grinning as he gave a salute with a spatula. 

“Mornin' Prowler! Sorry if I startled ya, jus' figured you could use something to add to the Energon you almost exclusively drink? Oh, and I got the machine heatin' up but I dunno how exactly ya like your coffee, babe.” 

“That's…. Fine.” Prowl worked through the fritzing Tac-Net, being faced with this completely unexpected situation, as he went to start the coffee. “Why are you here?”

“I wanted to see your face-plate o'course! I still ain't sure about whether or not you been hacked afta all!” 

“...The only mech who may have hacked me is yourself, Jazz. I am starting to consider the probability ramping due to your unpredictable nature.”

“Aw, c'mon don't be like that Prowler!” Jazz grinned, placing the plate on the counter. “C'mon, eat! Tell me whatcha think!”

Prowl sighed. +&.4% he would not be able to provide a reasonable rejection of the offer.

And so he took a seat, going to take a bite.

He paused. It was… surprisingly good. He gave a small hum, focusing on the fuel, oblivious to the growing grin on Jazz's faceplate.

“...It is acceptable.” He admitted once the plate was cleared, and Jazz laughed. “Aw, c'mon mech, loosen up.” He brought a mug of coffee over, and Prowl hummed. “...So why are you here and, how did you get inside, Jazz?” the visor he wore made it hard to judge his expression, other than the grin. Along with that being an area Prowl struggled with normally. 

&6.4% Jazz was waiting for something. 6_.7% Prowl was missing something. 

“Do you really want me to answer the second question babe?” Jazz laughed, pulling a knife out and twirling it. “As I said, I just wanted to make sure you're okay Prowler. Last cycle's botherin' me, ya dig?”

“Is it so strange that I was concerned after stumbling across a _&.5% anxiety  induced state for yourself?”

Jazz flinched back. “Mech, you're still glitching?”

Prowl paused, shaking his helm. “Not still. New. Do not worry, they will sort out once this situation resolves to expected parameters.”

Jazz stammered a moment, tilting his helm. “Why don'tcha do whatcha did last cycle? You seemed fine then -” 

Prowl sighed. “...There are a variety of reasons I do not reduce the amount of processor the Tac-Net is taking up currently. Namely being…. It has a secondary purpose that I do not like subduing in the presence of others.” 

“What, an' that's what made you, who almost always flinched away from contact okay with handling me all over?” Jazz questioned.

Prowl paused, glancing aside as he cleared his vocalizer. “Ah … yes.”

The SBP hummed louder, demanding more processor. “Although that is, by technicality, fault of yours as well.”

“Wha- how is that fault of mine?” Jazz protested. 

“When I found you in a state of distress, you insisted that I not leave your side.” Prowl stated matter of factly. 

-

Jazz paused. He had insisted Prowl not leave his side?! When! He didn't remem- oh. 

Frag. 

He felt his face plate flush with Energon again as he spark fluttered. “S-So??”

Prowl seemed to appraise him, humming. “...I have been meaning to ask you about why. Was I simply the wrong mech in the right place? I do not see you having willingly chosen to share a berth with me outside of duress, given the history we share.”

Well. Apparently Prowl thought there was no way Jazz liked him. That floored him for a moment. “Mech, I would not say wrong mech in he right place!” 

“Surely there are others you'd prefer the company of, over myself.”

“Prowler, boo, you may ‘ave completely blindsided me reading past what practically every other mech misses, but you were not the wrong mech in the right place!” Jazz was flustered, as he stumbled over his glyphs. “Like, yeah, sure I tried to kill ya a half dozen times-”

“37 assassination attempts that I am aware of.”

“Not the point! But mech, you're…. Frag, you're not… you're not the mech I once thought you were Prowler, and I thought, sure as anythin' that you hated me!”

Prowl blinked. Jazz easily heard his fans whir louder, trying to vent heat.

And then Prowl crashed. 

Chapter Text

Not for the first time, Jazz was panicking.

Rachet would absolutely kill him if he commd him, firstly, this early in the morning, secondly, that it was Jazz, about Prowl. Yeah. This. Who? Who could he comm? Who'd…. Smokescreen! 

::hey hey smokescreen, got a breem?:: he sent, venting nervously. Right. How do you help someone with a crash? Isn't it? Frag, it's normally a hard-line,ain't it, given their processor space to sort itself out. 

::Jazz? What's up?:: Smokescreen sounded groggy. He probably was just onlineing. 

::i. uh. prowl just crashed. what do i do???::

::what.::

:: smokescreen what do I do!!!!::

:: Hard-line. There'll be a port at the base of his neck cables with easy access in most circumstances. It's got a cover that should retract should he crash. I'll be there in fifteen breem max, but the sooner he can offload processes, the better.::

::right. right. okay, on it! coolmeister's got it smokey.::

Jazz fumbled his cable as he unspoiled it from his wrist jack. 

::His processor will probably feel like it's attacking you. Do not attack back. It'll sort itself out once it gets enough space. You'll probably be inundated with whatever calculations or simulation he was running. Just let it go through. Or try to issue a shutdown command for the simulation if you can figure out what it's tagged as.::

::i can try. plugging in.::

Jazz vented hard. He fumbled his cable as he unspooled it from his wrist, and stared at the open port at the back of Prowl's neck.

“Welp. Here goes nothin'.” 

He plugged in. 

-

He. It. Numbers. Prowl couldn't do anything. Crashes… left him slumped, total loss of control. Thinking was hard. He tried.

Jazz flooded his calculations.

He tried to sort them. It tried to take over. Numbers surged in response.

He had a deal with Tac-Net, the numbers. It was allowed. It was necessary. 

He ignored the SBP. It was unnecessary. He functioned fine without it.

But it could not be removed.

He did not notice when the hard-line began.

Cold constructs like himself were often experimental.

It was a Primus given miracle that Prowl functioned.

The SBP surged, flooding his processor with Jazz. The way he danced. His smile. The night spent together, the time spent caring. That he wasn't the wrong mech .

Tac-Net tried to supply numbers, but they were glitched, unreadable. 

Jazz.

…Jazz?

When had music begun? There was no pattern to it. Erratic. 

Cause it's jazz music, Prowler.

He realized he was starting to think easier. Longer thoughts, mostly.

Clearer paths of sorting. But it was still hard, and the more he tried, the harder it felt -

Chill boo, lemme help. 

He felt assurance, and calm and realized - Jazz had hard-lined. Jazz was helping.

The SBP surged again, flooding him with feeling. He couldn't process it, though, curling his consciousness small. Sheltering. Let this storm blow over, quickly. 

At least he wasn't alone.

-

Prowl's processor was so… strange compared to his own. Jazz could tell what it was supposed to be like - clean, sterile, organized. Like his office at the Basilica. It felt like he was being stabbed, too.

But it was…like someone had come through and dumped all the files on the floor. And dumped paint on the walls, and was trying to do the same to his own. Wow. Okay. 

F3ar. H3lpl3ss. L0st. Jazz. Jazz. Jazz. C0h0rt. Jazz. Jazz. Jazz.

Jazz paused as he processed the flood of… emotion? It felt raw. He kinda wished he had hard-lined with Prowl last cycle so he would know what things are supposed to look like, supposed to feel like. 

He tried to soothe Prowl. It was .. flattering? To see, to feel how much Prowler thought about him. But… What was that about… cohort? Jazz didn't know. Maybe he'd ask later. Or he'd ask Smokey. Because this was also, clearly, not due to a simulation run rampant. Probably. There seemed to be… a war? Going on between an impression of statistics and… feelings?

Jazz could work with feelings, at least. So that's what he focused on, trying to pull the processes into his own and - oh. 

Those were. Intense.

He felt his frame quiver slightly, as he fought back a reaction to push them back out. The faster he could offload some of those processes for Prowl, the sooner they could disconnect and the less likely it was for - 

…Y0u th1nk I'm attract1v3?

The query was hesitant and weak. And carried an intense wave of disbelief. 

Frag. Welp. Jazz sent an affirmative, and paused as the feelings surged stronger. At least that was more coherent? 

But mech, this was starting to tax his own processor. He kicked on his fans to overclock, and started shutting down some of his auxiliary processors, inviting Prowl deeper in his helm. That admission outta the way… he needed to focus on helping Prowl. 

He did not know how long it took - the chronometer was one of the things he could not actively check. But… when he felt Prowl start to withdraw, he sent a query.

Are you out of crash?

Aff1rmat1v3.

Still glitching though, huh?

Y0ur fault.

Not denying it. Use my processor as long as ya need, Prowler.

Sen0rs d3tect an0th3r.

Prolly Smokey. I commd him when ya crashed. 

End1ng Hardl1n3.

Jazz jolted with a groan, as the connection was disconnected, forcebly thrown out of Prowl's helm.  Apparently that neck port had an eject switch? Jeez that was a jolt. He rubbed him helm, opening his shuttered optics. Yep. Smokescreen was there, having busied himself with getting fresh coffee and Energon in front of them. 

Prowl sat up slowly, optics unfocused. 

“Don't… don't push it Prowler.” Jazz spoke, pausing at the slight scratch in his vocalizer. He checked his chronometer. Frag. That had taken almost three joor. “You doin' Kay?”

Prowl didn't immediately respond with glyphs, door wings twitching. 

“It takes him a few breems to online most systems after a crash.” Smokescreen spoke, going to place a cube in front of Prowl, and placing one in Jazz's servos. “You should have sat down before hardlining, Jazz. Your joints are more than likely locked.” 

“Are they..?” Jazz attempted to move his legs. 

Oh. “....yes, they are.” He grumbled, as he noted the tingle of stilled fuel lines. 

“Don't worry, it'll sort itself out soon enough.” Smokescreen chuckled. “Drink. Fresh fuel'l help.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Jazz rolled his optics, and downed the cube. “So uh. I've gotta few questions…”

“Ask away.” Smokescreen hummed.

-

Prowl did not want Jazz to ask away, but neither his vocalizer nor comms were back online yet. It was effectively all he could do to not be in crash, as he worked to - at least - shut down as much of Tac-Net as he could, even if the SBP couldn't be. But that took less processor overall. 

“So like. You mentioned something about shutting down simulations when I hard-lined. But it… wasn't.”

“...It wasn't?” Smokescreen questioned.

Jazz glanced at Prowl, before starting to stretch. “I dunno mech! I think only Prowler's got the answers, but he ain't answerin'!” 

Smokescreen sighed. “So Tac-Net wasn't going haywire?” 

“Not that I could tell, but o'course, I ain't ever been in Prowl's helm ‘fore now so I dunno what I was supposed to look for!”

That was true, especially since he had denied the hard line last cycle. But even then, that experience would have been unlikely to help.his processor had not been on its normal state either. He flicked his door wings, trying to signal Smokescreen. 

Smokescreen's flicked in response. “...I see. The SBP?”

Prowl waved his right wing, then flicked it. 

Smokescreen laughed, as Jazz grumbled. “Praxians… so what's he sayin'?”

“That he doesn't want that elaborated on, but scrap, if that's what caused the crash…” Smokescreen took a breath as his tone got serious. “You should know, Jazz.”

Prowl let out a small groan. Vocalizer was starting to boot up, but too slow. 

“The SBP, or Synthetic Bond Protocol, is something Prowl was installed with when he was made, along with the Tac-Net. He's… a cold construct, and I basically took him in as a brother when I met him. Anyways. The SBP was designed to simulate and encourage mechs to create bonds, or cohorts. It was terrifyingly common for mechs of his production era to have it installed, especially as it came to be known that the program caused far, far more issues than it claimed to help with.” 

“...oh. So, like… I triggered it?”

“It would seem so.” Smokescreen hummed. “Of course, there are ways to mitigate the connection, so it'll be fine. You two just got to stay away from each other for a while.”

Jazz was silent. 

Prowl cleared his vocalizer. “....It 1s f1n3.” He winced at the static in voice. It would… hopefully clear. 

“Prowl, I know you have mostly offline Tac-Net at this point.” Smokescreen leveled him with a stare. “Is it really fine?”

Prowl nodded. 

Smokescreen sighed. “Fine, but I'm finishing telling Jazz about that primus-forbidden piece of software.”

Prowl huffed, looking away, and going to sip - if shakily - on the cube in front of him.

Chapter Text

“So… you two are adopted brothers, Prowl's a coldie, and he doesn't have one, but two very invasive programs competing for processor space, and that's what makes him such a hard-aft?” Jazz questioned before Smokescreen continued, as he straightened, going to sit at the counter. Which. Gross oversimplification, and basically what he knew from the hard-line alone, but, it was good to vocalize it. 

Smokescreen nodded. “Yeah. The tactical computer generally gets the spotlight due to its utility, though it's very much a drain on Prowl's systems. As far as we've uncovered, he is the only still functioning mech who had one installed. Usually glitches and crashes have driven them insane.” 

Jazz paused, glancing at Prowl with wide optics - though that was hidden by his visor. Primus given miracle indeed that he was still functioning. 

“And the…. SBP?” 

“It's… a more complicated matter. Cold constructs were, at the time of Prowl's production, worried to have a harder time forming bonds with other mechs, especially with carried mechs. Doubly so for constructed mechs straight into an adult body. So, a Synthetic Bond Protocol was decided to bridge that perceived gap. 

it… works, by having the mech imprint on those that they respect and spend time with. Once a Cohort is established, it is hard to break, and effectively puts the members of it in a position of power over each other. In the ideal world it was created in, it facilitated relationships of equal status and power. In reality…”

“....C0rrupt10n.” Prowl spoke. “It… r3sult3d 1n abus3s 0f p0w3r, as m3chs w3r3 aff3ct3d t0 d1ff3r3nt 3xt3nts.”

Smokescreen nodded. “Especially if a group involved mechs who didn't have it at all. See, it can cause a mech serious mental stress of their cohort is inaccessible, or worse, actively avoids them.”

Jazz paused, mulling over. “...So like. Doin' whatcha suggested in avoidin' Prowler would hurt him?” 

“In… the short term, yes.” Smokescreen nodded. “But the reason I suggested it Jazz, is because of your positions, and your history together. You have tried to kill Prowl several times, and frequently argue against him in meetings. I worry for him, that the SBP would put him in a position where he can't tell you no .”

-

Smokescreen's objection was reasonable, it was logical. Prowl knew this. But .. he didn't want to be logical. Jazz thought he was attractive. Jazz had jumped in to help him out of crash. Jazz… he wouldn't abuse the position the SBP put him in, would he? Prowl…. Wanted to trust Jazz. As much as he trusted the spymaster with missions. 

“...I won't let that happen.” Jazz stated. “I mean, mech, that'd just be plain disastrous if I stopped Prowler from being the best brain we got, cause, we all know OP's a naive bolthead, yeah? Compromising our best shot at winnin' this war just aint on my docket.” 

Prowl hummed, having his vocalizer reboot. Perhaps that would clear the glitch… hopefully. He flicked his door wings in sign, telling Smokescreen as much. 

“...If you did, I will sic Ratchet on you.” Smokescreen crossed his arms. “He's one of the very few mechs who knows about this. Which speaking of him, you should see him since you crashed Prowl.”

Prowl rolled his optics, flicking his right doorwing in response. 

“So like… what triggered it, exactly?” Jazz asked. “Just. Askin' so I can make sure no otha mechs can take advantage of our SiC.”

Smokescreen hummed. “That's, what I have no idea about. As far as I'm aware, Tac-Net near always suppresses the SBP for Prowl, and as such with his aversion to touch, it is exceptionally improbable for it to have happened in the first place.” 

Prowl cleared is vocalizer, getting the ping it had rebooted. “...I do kn0w the answ3r. But I will refrain from explaining if Jazz d0es not wish to g0 over our conv3rsation b3fore the crash occurred.” Well. Not fully cleared, but improved. “The probability 0f similar events occuring - I d0 not ne3d Tac-Net to calculat3. They are b3low zero p3rcent. Th3 first situation was exceptionally un1que, as was th3 second…. And th1rd.” 

-

“...Third?” Jazz questioned. He had figured out the first - especially after realizing that morning, that the other cycle he had woken up in Prowl's berth . The second, something to do with touch so definitely when he snuck into Prowl's office and the mech did first aid. The third though? 

…Was Prowl counting this? The rubbercakes? The hard-line? Jazz let out a small vent, before his jaw dropped as he glanced at Prowl again. Prowl was smirking . “Primus help me, it's an expression that's not a frown.” Jazz raised his arm to swoon. 

Smokescreen's serious demeanor broke again at Jazz's reaction, barely stifling a laugh into a deep vent. 

“Aw, but does that mean you wouldn't wanna do those again, boo?” Jazz questioned. 

Smokescreen's turn to pause. Sure, Jazz called everyone babe. But boo?  

“...1t would b3 someth1ng to discuss.” Prowl hummed with a twitch of his doorwings, keeping the smirk up. Mech… he was sending Jazz's spark into backflips. 

Smokescreen, at this point sighed. “Right… well, since it seems you two are intent on keeping this up… Prowl, tell me if something happens. Okay? You're still a brother to me. And… slag, I'd hate to see something happen to you.”

Prowl gave a nod. 

“Anyways. I'm going to comm Rachet and tell him to come here. Because frag it all Prowl, you've been very reckless with this.”

“1t was n0t my int3ntion to b3.”

“...Yeah, prolly my fault.” Jazz chuckled, rubbing the back of his helm. “...should I be here when the Hachet shows up?” 

“...You are not leaving, if only so I can be sure you got in your helm how serious it is that Prowl says he doesn't want to break off the cohort bond with you. I mean, slag, he refused to create one with me!” Smokescreen vented, and Jazz… saw an opportunity. 

“Aw, is someone jealous?” He sniggered. 

“...Y0u pinged Ratch3t a whil3 ag0, didn't you?” Prowl questioned, getting Jazz's attention.

“... Yeah.” Smokescreen affirmed, as the door opened…. And immediately Jazz ducked as a wrench was thrown at his helm. “Yikes, watch it Ratch! My processor's still processin'!” 

“Yew deserve it evan' more than!” Ratchet yelled. 

Yikes. The Hachet was mad. Because the mech just didn't let out the Vaporex accent willy-nilly.

“Ai dinnae wanna see either you mechs fa' tha next deca-cycle, tha dinnae mean ta make me do a house call, first thang in tha next cycle! An' than I go an' hear about -”

“Ratch3t, s0und may carry b3tween habs h3re.” Prowl cut off the tirade, prompting Rachet to vent. “...Fine. aI'll save tha rest o' that for when aI see both o' ya at my clinic tomorrow. ” Ratchet grumbled, going to unsubspace so equipment. “Prowl. Port.” He grumbled. Prowl obediently offered his wrist. “An dun' you go sneakin' off Jazz! I know what our SiC's processor's like, an I dun wanna find out later you've been left with damage from ya steppin' in ta help him.”

“Uh. Yep. You got it doc!” Jazz gave a salute. Not that he could get far anyways, both Rachet and Smokey - not to mention Prowl were between him and the door. 

Ratchet grumbled “Jus' sit there all quiet.” Jazz gave a nod. He did not want to piss off the old slagger even more. One wrench was enough, thank you! 

-

For the second time that morning, Prowl had a second mech in his processor. Of course, this time was with protocols and firewalls in place and his processor not trying to take any available power for itself. 

Ratchet was a familiar presence, and one that knew what it was doing with making sure everything was back in place after a crash. 

Though, compared to Jazz it was a sterile, silent affair. Which… normally he preferred. But this breem…. 

“...Jazz.” he spoke. 

Jazz's head jerked up. Obeying Ratchet's grumble to be quiet, it seemed.

“...play s0me mus1c, pleas3.”

Jazz stared at him for a solid thirty klicks. Then he grinned , and put on some… classical earth music? Prowl had to admit, he wasn't very familiar with it, but… he did find it enjoyable. At least more enjoyable than… the jazz music from earlier. 

Smokescreen was now staring at him like he had grown a second helm. Prowl shuttered his optics, letting Ratchet do his thing, while he listened to the music. Extraneous programs he hadn't chased out were shot off. Comms rebooted, chronometer… firewalls checked and restarted. Almost anything that touched his processor was rebooted by the medic with his override codes. When Ratchet finally withdrew - another joor had passed, Prowl let out a vent. “...That is…. Far less distracting. Thank you, Ratchet.”

“You are on medical leave for the rest of the cycle.” Ratchet growled. “Recharge at your earliest convenience. With, or without the help of my wrench.” 

“Understood.” Prowl nodded. 

“Now's your turn Jazz.” Ratchet turned to Jazz, who, visibly, gulped as he held out his wrist.

“Be gentle?”

Ratchet merely gave a “Harumph.” before jacking in to begin checking over Jazz.