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“You just gonna let me rot in here?” Ricochet finally asked, after four days of Jazz visiting his cell, staring at his twin in mutual silence, and then leaving again after almost an hour. It was the first time he’d spoken to anyone since his capture, even when Ratchet came down to give him a checkup.
“Thinking about it,” Jazz replied. Because he was, and had been since they rescued Mikaela.
“That softsparked Prime of yours willing to let you?”
“Don’t really matter what Optimus wants. This is between you an’ me. Always has been.”
“Don’t think your squishy sees it that way.”
“Don’t call her that!” Jazz didn’t lunge at his twin, but it was only because he was too well trained to rise to the bait now. He wanted to punch the other mech for insulting Mikaela. “She’s got a name and you better use it!”
Ricochet had the audacity to laugh. “What are you gonna do if I don’t? Slag me? You know how that ends.”
He did know how it usually ended, but he had the support of a cohort to keep him from fading away in grief and the best medic cybertron ever produced to keep his spark from guttering. The fact that Optimus and Bee were still alive was proof enough of that. But if anyone took revenge for Ricochet’s disrespect, it would be Mikaela herself.
“You better use her name, or Mikaela will show you what she can do with a welding torch after she’s crawled into your internals with it.”
That, at least, made his twin go pale in the visor. It was gratifying, after all the posturing.
“Now, to get back to what we were talking about before,” Jazz twirled one claw through the air as he brought his processes back to the subject that actually ketp brining him back down to Ricoche’s cell, “I been thinking about letting you rot. But i been thinking about asking you to join us more."
”WHAT?!”