Chapter Text
After the conversation with Prowl, Jazz had a lot to think about. When he'd given Prowl permission to turn him into a robot if he were ever dying, he'd been…half joking. The idea was interesting on a personal level, and had some merit as far as practical application for the Autobots went.
In a silly romantic sort of way that ignored everything else, it was nice to think that he'd never have to die and leave Prowl all alone again. That they could be together for as long as they both functioned. As it applied to the Autobots, they needed Jazz. Not because he was irreplaceable in terms of a successor, that's exactly what he'd trained Mirage for, but any edge the Autobots could gain was desperately needed. Jazz becoming– being the…seed for a robot Jazz, especially one with these capabilities? That would be one hell of an edge.
So Jazz spent time with his friends, his family. He spent time with Prowl. He thought about it very hard and then made some lists and thought harder.
Pros: if parts of him were damaged they could be replaced more easily, he would need maintenance but not food like a human did, he would be stronger and more durable.
Cons: as a robot he would be way more literally susceptible to hacking with limited defenses, if he had the same reaction to a damaged morality core as Prowl that could be very bad. Especially if you considered the Ricochet incident.
The body Prowl had designed for him was literally a work of art, independently mobile, able to leave the building and return at will (unlike Prowl). Jazz wasn't sure how it was possible, but it looked like he'd somehow made it to be powered by a small…star? Maybe Prowl had been letting Brainstorm use a lab, because he was pretty sure that there were notes about the black hole that powered the portal gun in the margins and something about this…Stellar Peak Auto-Regenerating Knot being more stable and more powerful.
In the end Jazz made his choice.
Prowl had trusted Jazz enough to leave instructions for the event that the unthinkable happened. Prowl trusted Jazz. Jazz would trust Prowl to follow his own worst case scenario instructions. So Jazz used the hidden corridors and crawl spaces when Prowl was busy with Optimus. Prowl knew where he was, but it wasn't unusual for Jazz to go exploring. Then, when he was somewhere Prowl couldn't properly see him, he stopped, and wrote a very important message with a very important request attached. Jazz trusted Prowl. To the moon and back.
With that taken care of, Jazz left the small letter where Prowl would find it if there were no other options.
That done, he put it out of his mind and continued on living.
***
Jazz was dying.
He really hadn't meant it to end up this way, but then no one ever does.
Plans never survive first contact with the enemy had never been more true. Jazz had been planning this infiltration for months. Shockwave was cooking up something big and they really needed to know what it was. His labs were so heavily monitored that sending in a team would have just gotten them caught quicker, so Jazz went alone.
It was fine until it wasn't. Soundwave - who was supposed to be elsewhere - had stepped out of nowhere and cut off his exit. Heavy booted feet stormed up the hallway from behind. The only way out was through. That included the shot from Soundwave's laser rifle through Jazz's abdomen.
He'd barely made is back to the complex and that was about all he remembered clearly. There were snatches of voices, Ratchet (not yelling), painpainpainpa–, something about his organs – oh. They were mostly mush and char apparently. The sound of Prowl whispering to him brokenly when everyone else finally left is what he blacked out to.
Jazz woke up hooked to all sorts of life support.
It wasn't helping.
Ratchet had come by earlier with a solemn face and explained that there was nothing to be done, all he could do was give Jazz time to say his goodbyes. Jazz admitted that it might be delirium from the drugs and the pain, but he felt a sense of peace fall over him. If Jazz was actively dying, and that had been properly logged in Prowl's systems, that meant a small, well hidden script had hopefully recently delivered Prowl a message. A desperate last request.
When the lights dimmed for the night and Jazz saw a particularly solemn blink from one of the cameras, he knew.
"Hey, Prowler," Jazz said, quiet and only a little sad, "I know it's a lot to ask of you after everything, but do you think you could do me this one last favour?"
Prowl didn't say anything, but when Jazz and all the machines keeping him alive were slowly, carefully swallowed up by the floor, he knew the answer. Anything for you.
***
Prowl was waiting when Jazz came up into a cold sterile room. Prowl looked ready to break, and Jazz was sorry to be the one doing it to him. (Just not sorry enough to take his request back.) Jazz lifted an arm with great effort and Prowl glided over to take it. His eyes were flickering suspiciously.
"Are you ready?" Prowl asked softly, because he already knew Jazz was sure.
"As I can be. I love you, Prowl. I love you so much." said Jazz, squeezing Prowl's hand as much as he was able.
Prowl's hand returned the pressure, and looking solemnly into Jazz's eyes he replied, "I love you too, Jazz. You brought so much warmth back into my life."
In a final gesture of affection, Prowl brought their foreheads together and trapped their linked hands between their chests. When Prowl finally pulled away he said, "I'll get you hooked up now."
They were both colder than they'd ever remembered being before.
***
Jazz screamed. He didn't think he'd ever hurt this bad before, it was even worse than the melting organs he'd stumbled back with. He'd do anything, anything to just make it stop! He sobbed and felt something give and break, in his body, in his mind. Something he knew there was no coming back from. Jazz bundled up all his courage and–
Jazz opened his eyes.
There was a brief moment, just two short seconds, where Jazz started existing, and Jazz wasn't dead yet.
He was new- He was hurtiNG–
Their eyes met.
The Jazz who was dying smiled at him.
Every regret for every moment he wouldn't get to experience again, Jazz felt it.
But over all of that, there was one wish.
Jazz just wanted all his family survive and live well.
Take care of Prowl for me.
And Jazz watched Jazz take his last breath.
There was silence, and the Jazz that remained looked up at the room's only other occupant. Prowl was braced over the slab where his Jazz lay, still and unmoving forevermore. Prowl, his lover- No, not his. He was Jazz, but not Prowl's Jazz. Not Optimus or Mirage or Elita or Bumblebee's Jazz. They wouldn't know that though, and Jazz wasn't going to be the one to tell them. His job was to carry on as if nothing had changed.
Well. Almost.
Prowl couldn't cry, not like a human, his makers didn't think it was necessary, but he trembled, his lights flickered and surged. The power in his crane seemed to fail and he collapsed on the body of his beloved, gathering him up in cold steel arms and holding him close.
Jazz stayed frozen where he'd awoken and let the man have his grief. There were diagnostics to run in the meantime and he wasn't going to turn down a chance to do some processing himself. Most of it he'd save for later, when he had a moment alone, but right now he let his own anguish run it's course. He remembered loving Prowl, he wanted so badly to go over there and comfort him, reassure him that Jazz was okay, that Jazz was still right here.
They both knew that wasn't true in the way that mattered.
So Jazz nursed a broken heart he shouldn't have and promised himself that even if Prowl never loved him, he would always look after Prowl. Be there for him in every other way Jazz could. How could he do anything else, when Prowl felt like the sun in his memories? Warm and comforting and safe.
When the sounds of Prowl rising back up on his crane caught Jazz's attention, he blinked away his musings and finally rose from his body's cradle. He lifted a hand and looked at it, turning it around and flexing the fingers. He didn't remember the movement ever being so smooth. Jazz was new, and old, and what a wild feeling that was to have.
Well! No time like the present.
Looking up he met Prowl's tired eyes.
"I know I'm not him, not really, and I won't ask you to pretend I am."
Prowl looked at Jazz, face full of sorrow and rage. But no resentment, not for Jazz. Prowl knew exactly what it was like to be in Jazz's place.
"You aren't." he said, trying hard to school his expression.
"My purpose is doing everything in my power to stop the Decepticons from winning this war."
"Of course."
"He wanted me to look after you, too."
"Of course." Prowl said, voice cracking with his composure.