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“Well hello there, stranger.”
Tacet jumped at the voice and whirled around, his plating ruffling defensively.
Leaning casually against the back wall of the office, Jazz grinned. The very mech Tacet had been hoping to avoid. His visor gleamed; the Autobot blue glow felt cold and dangerous, nothing like the warmth of Soundwave’s crimson visor.
“You must be new—the others know better than to try my office.”
He was, unfortunately, right. On one of his very first missions infiltrating the Autobot base, Ravage had pointed out Jazz’s office as they slunk past it, but made no move to approach the vent cover leading inside. It’s not worth it, she’d whispered. Too much risk for too little intel. Better to find a meeting to listen in on, if you can.
Tacet had nodded along obediently, but the explanation hadn’t sat well with him. Jazz was a high-ranking member of Autobot Command and the head of the Special Operations division. Surely if anyone had valuable intel, it would be him, right?
He’d kept his concerns to himself, however, and focused on memorizing the layout of the base. It wasn’t until he’d set out on his first solo mission today that he’d had the chance to act on his curiosity.
And look how far it had gotten him. Hunched under the desk, tail thrashing anxiously and optics darting around the enclosed space, with an Autobot commander between him and his exit route.
How Jazz had even gotten behind him without Tacet sensing his presence was beyond him. For all he knew, the mech could teleport like Skywarp, or walk through walls or something. He’d have to ask Punk when he got home.
If he got home.
Tacet internally shook himself from the train of thought. There was no use thinking like that. He’d been in stickier situations, and he’d get himself out of this one too. And if worst came to worst, Soundwave would come for him. Of that, he was certain.
“Huh,” Jazz hummed, breaking Tacet from his calculations. “You don’t talk much, do ya? Not much like Sounders’ little mechs, they’ll talk your audials right off.”
Tacet narrowed his optics. Privately, he might agree, but an Autobot had no place complaining about Tacet’s fellow cassettes. And besides, he could just hear Punk’s rant at being referred to as “Soundwave’s little mech.”
Visor trained steadily on Tacet’s cowering form, Jazz took a slow step forward and wrapped a pede around one leg of his desk chair, pulling it towards him and flopping down in one smooth move.
“Well, that’s alright,” he said. “I don’t mind a little quiet company, every now and then. As long as you don’t mind me filling the silence.”
Humming idly, Jazz pulled a datapad from his subspace and flicked it on. He tapped at it casually for a few moments before lowering it to meet Tacet’s gaze.
Tacet’s optics glowed just a bit brighter, and as ruthlessly as he suppressed it, he was sure that a bit of interest leaked into his field.
Brows raised, Jazz sat up from his relaxed slouch.
“Oh, this?” He waved the datapad casually; Tacet’s optics locked onto it. “Didja want a peek? Go on, I don’t bite. Take a look, little treat for the new kid on the block.”
A low growl rumbled through Tacet’s vocalizer. He was no pet to be given treats nor a kid to be coddled, and he hadn’t joined the Decepticons just to continue to suffer the indignity of being treated like a sparkling.
Still holding the datapad out, Jazz chuckled at Tacet’s icy glare. “Ah, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean nothing by it. Take it as a welcome gift, if you like. From one spy to another.” Half of his visor dimmed briefly, in what Tacet assumed was meant as a wink.
It had to be a trick, he was sure. False intel, or possibly a distraction to catch him off guard.
And yet, it wasn’t as though this situation could get much worse. He was trapped regardless, Jazz’s deceptively casual perch still between him and the vent.
Slowly, gingerly, Tacet padded towards the outstretched servo. His optics never wavered from Jazz’s visor, senses dialed to the max waiting for the slightest flinch or flare of aggression from his field, but Jazz was as steady and placid as a statue. Tacet watched for a moment more before curiosity finally got the better of him and he flickered his gaze down to the datapad.
Whatever he’d expected to see, it wasn’t this. The datapad was awash with swirls of rainbow light, dizzying and almost blindingly bright. Even with his optics dimmed and filtered, Tacet fought the urge to look away.
There were no glyphs visible through the scattered mess of patterns and shapes, or at least none that Tacet could make out. Disappointment flooded through him. Was it all just a trick, then? A test to see if he was gullible enough to believe Autobot lies?
As if to confirm Tacet’s frustrated thoughts, Jazz let out a low chuckle.
“That’s the exact same expression that Ravage made the first time I showed her,” he said. “You two aren’t related, are you?”
Tacet gave him a deadpan look, and Jazz laughed again.
“Well, even so, I can see she’s been showing you the ropes. Surprised she didn’t explain this part to ya, though,” he said, waving the datapad once more before storing it back in his subspace. “It’s a special encryption; designed it myself, with a little help here and there from Ratchet and Wheeljack. It’s keyed to this, y’see.” He tapped the side of his visor. “Got a bespoke program in here that filters out all the noise, and then the neural uplink decrypts it. Any datapad unlucky enough to land in here is gonna be coded the same way.”
Sitting back delicately on his haunches, Tacet tried not to pout. He was annoyed that Ravage hadn’t given him the full explanation for why recon in Jazz’s office was pointless, but even more annoyed at himself for not just asking when he had the chance and avoiding this whole mess.
His optics snapped back to Jazz as the mech leaned forward in his chair.
Jazz paused his movement and held his servos up in surrender.
“It’s alright, I ain’t gonna hurt ya. Just wanna get to know the new blood a bit, yeah? Been a while since I’ve seen Sounders with a new cassette, and I can tell you’re no newspark. Too sly for that, even if you couldn’t get past ol’ Jazzy.”
Despite himself, Tacet could feel his chest plating puff up a bit as he preened at the praise. The Autobot’s calculated informality was getting to him, but Tacet wouldn’t let it lull him into a false sense of security. He’d need to remain on high alert until he could make his escape and get back to Soundwave, where he belonged.
A thought occurred to him.
He knew better than to fall victim to Autobot manipulation, but Jazz clearly didn’t know that, if he was trying it anyway. If he could convince Jazz that it was working and turn the tables on him, then maybe he’d leave enough of an opening for Tacet to escape.
Just barely, he eased his hold on his EM field, allowing some of his genuine satisfaction to leak through as if by accident. Jazz’s grin stretched wider.
“You’re a pretty chill mech, aren’t ya? You are a mech, yeah?”
Tacet gave a short nod. His tail swished contentedly behind him, much slower than the agitated thrashing it had been doing since he was first discovered.
“I think we’ll get along just fine, me and you. Wish I knew what to call ya, though. I’m guessing you don’t talk, huh? Unless you’ve been holding out on me, but you wouldn’t do that, would ya?”
He shook his head, letting some more of his ruffled plating settle.
“Ah well, I’ll have to ask Sounders next time I see him, or one of your other little buddies. Hey, speaking of Sounders, you been with him for very long?” Jazz asked.
Tacet tilted his head, unsure how to respond. It was strange, holding a full conversation with a stranger one-on-one. He’d gotten used to talking freely with Soundwave and his fellow cassettes through their bond, and he always had at least one of them by his side to translate for him around the Decepticon base.
“Hmm, tough one, huh? Guess we’ll stick to the simple yes-or-nos. How about this, then: is he good to you?”
For the first time since Tacet had spotted him, Jazz’s face was dead serious, no trace of the easy grin he’d sported just moments ago. Tacet balked a bit at the sudden change of tone, but once the surprise faded, he nodded fiercely.
Even for the sake of the con, Tacet wouldn’t slander Soundwave. He couldn’t. His carrier had saved him from the brink of death and a life that was even worse; there was no world in which Tacet would ever disparage his care.
The signature grin reappeared on Jazz’s face plate. “That’s good, I’m real glad to hear that. Though I gotta say, if you ever get tired of bumming it with the ‘Cons, we’ve got a carrier of our own over here, you know. Real bleeding heart type, he’d take ya under his wing in a heartbeat if you needed it, no questions asked, alright?”
Tacet stifled the immediate surge of indignation that burned through his spark. If he needed any further evidence of the Autobots’ insufferable superiority complex, there it was. Of course Jazz wouldn’t take him at his word; he was just a cassette, after all.
He pushed the thoughts down along with his resentment. Once he was out of here, he could rage all he liked. Punk would probably leap at the chance to help him set some fires around the Autobot base, if he asked. For now, Tacet would look the picture of the perfect little cassette.
Scrunching his nose in a way that Punk had assured him was disarmingly cute, he hunched down over his front paws, by all appearances settling in for a long chat.
Jazz’s grin softened a bit.
“You’re a real sweetspark, aren’t ya? I’ve always had a soft spot for felinoids, ya know. Don’t tell Ravage, she’ll go and get a big head about it.”
Tacet huffed a little laugh. His mentor was spoiled enough by Soundwave; she truly didn’t need to hear it from an Autobot too.
“Y’know, you’re looking a bit bedraggled from those vents. If you don’t mind a little lap time, I could help straighten your plating out, only if you want.” Jazz leaned back in his chair, his field as open and inviting as his body language.
Tacet hesitated.
This was just the opening he’d been waiting for. If he curled up on Jazz’s lap, he was sure Jazz would think he was toothless. And yet… he hadn’t let anyone besides Soundwave and his cassettes groom him since… since Chromatone. All those vorns ago.
“Hey, no pressure, sweetspark, really,” Jazz reassured him, his field colored with concern.
Primus damn his nerves, Tacet needed to get out of here. He could freak out about it all he wanted as soon as he was back home.
Hesitantly, he crept forward, not bothering to hide his nervousness. Jazz held perfectly still, silent for once, and let him approach at his own pace.
With one last wary look at Jazz, Tacet leapt up the short distance into his lap and sat down rigidly.
“There ya go,” Jazz said, soft and sweet. “Is it alright if I pet ya now?”
Tacet forced a light purr and tinted his optics. To anyone unaware of his stealth mods, it would look as though they’d dimmed in relaxation.
A gentle servo ran carefully over his back. Jazz’s touch was feather-light, and he withdrew immediately whenever Tacet tensed with the slightest bit of discomfort.
Soon, a genuine purr rumbled through his vocalizer. He half-shuttered his optics, biding his time as he thought through his predicament. He’d make a move soon. Something sudden, and painful enough to distract Jazz from trying to give chase. But for a moment more, he would allow this Autobot the privilege of settling his plating.
He would go straight for Soundwave’s dock as soon as he got home, he decided. A good long defrag would surely wipe the memory of these deceptively pleasant servos from his mind.
“Man, a mech could get used to this,” Jazz mumbled. His field was warm with affection and the slightest tinge of what Tacet thought might be awe.
He’d fallen for it—hook, line, and sinker.
Quick as a flash, Tacet snapped his head back and latched his teeth around Jazz’s outstretched servo.
He bit down, hard.
Jazz’s yelp went up an octave and he lurched back. The movement was too much for the already overencumbered office chair. Fuel tank swooping unpleasantly, Tacet braced himself as the pair went tumbling backwards.
He didn’t waste a single nanoklik once they hit the ground.
His claws scrabbled for purchase against Jazz’s frame as he bolted for the vent. It wasn’t until he was halfway through the threshold that he registered the energon-slick weight still clasped in his intake.
Oh. He’d bitten off a finger.
Well, that explained why Jazz was laying still where he’d fallen, uninjured servo clasped tightly around the other, and making no moves to pursue Tacet.
A light pang of guilt flickered through him. He really hadn’t meant to bite that hard. But it was hardly his fault if the fine plating on the Autobot’s digits was so weak.
Still, he paused in his mad dash and turned, spitting the severed digit back over his shoulder. The Autobots had a good medic; Jazz could get it reattached in a matter of kliks and likely be better off than ever for it.
The digit clanged lightly as it hit Jazz in the forehead.
As Tacet turned back to his exit, he heard Jazz begin to laugh breathlessly, still sprawled out on the floor.
“Alright, sweetspark, you got me good. See you next time.”
Tacet ignored him, already racing through the vents towards freedom. He may not have gathered much intel to report back to Soundwave, but he had a hell of a story for the other cassettes.
And if he left out a few details about the soothing feeling of careful servos and a kind field, well. That was between him and Jazz.
What a strange mech.