Work Text:
Jazz hummed to himself as he skipped down the corridor. To anyone who’d see him, they’d just assume he’s on a casual stroll, although perhaps a little too cheerful after the morale-boosting party they had the night prior due to the amount of highgrade that was passed around. But onlookers were far and few between, considering both the aforementioned highgrade and the early hour. And while Jazz seemed bright-opticed and bushy tailed as the humans would say, Jazz’s contentful hum was nothing but a facade for a mech on a mission as he beelined straight to a familiar doorway.
“Oh Prowler!” Jazz sang as the door slid open to reveal the multitudes of monitors and consoles with all the knobs, bells, and whistles that Jazz always had to resist poking at whenever he was in the Communication Hub. With the ARK having been… permanently relocated into the side of an extinct volcano, much of the surviving rooms had to become a touch more multipurpose than previously. With Blaster’s need to access communications of all types, and Prowl’s desire to “remain informed” as he put it, they had surprised everyone by pairing up to develop the most claustrophobic, sensory-overloading room in the entire army. All assisted with the dozens if not a hundred of screens playing newsfeeds from across the globe and frequencies being fed through TELETRAN’s subsidiary hub with Blaster’s oversight to pick out hidden Decepticon communication or garbled cries for help from the resident sentient population, all going at once.
Jazz loved it.
Jazz hated it.
Prowl, bless his spark, didn’t even look up from his datapad as he pushed away from the nearest station with his pede. The chair, not unlike the humans’ favored computer chairs, rolled him away from Jazz and further into the cacophony of blinking and flashing screens.
As if he could get away from the Jazz.
Jazz hit the lock with his servo after the door slid shut behind him, already knowing that Blaster wasn’t in the room (sleeping off the helmache and hoarse voicebox for yelling over the music all night, poor mech). Still, this was a conversation that required no interruptions, and while Jazz liked to gamble his luck with high-stakes, this wasn’t high-stakes nor anything he’d wished to share around with just anybody, after all. Not for free at any rate.
“Proooowler,” he crooned again, all too pleased with following after the rolling-away Petrexi. If there was anything he knew about Prowl (and Jazz knew a lot about Prowl), it was that Prowl hated lying. He found it “inefficient”, and always preferred giving his own responses as crisp and clear as possible. That leads to a wee little problem: if faced with a topic that he would benefit from by lying, he would 1: run away, or 2: say nothing. Terrible poker-face, that one, but then again, Jazz knew all his tells anyway.
So, him running away from Jazz like this? It promised something absolutely juicy. He wanted to rub his greedy little servos together in anticipation as he flounced after his escaping friend.
“You know, Prowler,” Jazz chimed casually after rounding several monitoring stations, keeping those pretty white doorwings just within sight. “A little birdie told me something interesting just now.”
“While multiple species of avians of this planet can mimic speech, I doubt one of them told you anything of significance,” came Prowl’s typical, serious voice from behind a screen depicting a human in a bright pink dress talking into a microphone and gesturing towards a 15-car pileup in the background. Yeesh. Ratchet would’ve had helms rolling if that had been any of them. No, Jazz, don’t get distracted. Focus on the target. The target being Prowl, who was being snippy- or, well, snippy in the way that was specifically Prowl. It meant he was trying to deflect, and Jazz was no quitter, oh no.
Jazz’s pede finally slammed against the topmost drawers of one of the stations, effectively trapping Prowl in a small corner. He didn’t think for a moment that this was done on accident, not with how Prowl navigated themselves into the farthest corner of the room just in case someone managed to get inside. Which meant Prowl had a dirty little secret and he wasn’t telling JAZZ.
Jazz tutted at Prowl as he hopped up onto the adjacent station, keeping his pede on the first to keep Prowl corralled. Not that it would stop Prowl if he had half a mind to, but Jazz knew that Prowl wouldn’t ever seriously hurt Jazz. He wasn’t a rough-houser like many of the others. Good, serious, quiet Prowl didn’t like hurting another Autobot unless necessary. It wasn’t that he couldn’t cause some serious injury- Jazz knew, he had recordings- but he simply chose not to.
Well, for a mech who could probably calculate 50 different ways out of a shoebox in under a second, Jazz could see why he would think was rarely the answer. Well, not the first answer, at any least. Maybe his second as a backup.
“Now now, Prowler, you know you shouldn’t be interrupting me. It’s considered impolite.”
Prowl gazed at him with a blank look.
“My apologies. Please, continue.”
“Thank you!” Jazz’s free pede started to thump a rhythm into the station he was sitting on, causing the morning talk show hosts on the screen behind him to vibrate. One of Prowl’s doorwings started to twitch along with the thumping until it stilled. Boo. No fun. “Now, where was I? Ah, yes, a little birdie told me that someone was being naughty and had to go to the medbay this morning because of, what was it?” Jazz tapped a digit to his chin, tipping his head as if looking to the heavens for answers. In truth he was watching Prowl in the corner of his optic, who had become the epitome of patience as he folded his servos in his lap.
“Aha!” Jazz snapped his fingers suddenly, but didn’t even get a twitch of a doorwing for his effort. A real shame. Oh well. “A “possible dislocated hipblock”, I believe it was. “Slipped and fell off a ledge”, the birdie said. I wonder who they could be talking about?”
Jazz turned to run his optics over Prowl’s frame. Other than a few worn scarring on his plating that had long since been painted over, there weren’t any visible signs of scrapes and dents. There were, however, some recently applied patches of paint, brighter and more stark against the older, more lived-in and just a touch off-white from being under the Earth’s sun.
“Considering you-”
Jazz wagged a digit in silent warning, cutting Prowl’s answer short without uttering a single word. It wasn’t considered interrupting if he didn’t open his mouth, after all.
Prowl did that little doorwing bob that Jazz knew was the equivalent of a sigh but reworded anyway. Good mech. He loved it when Prowl played along.
“Based on your previous explanation, your… avian friend would have extensively read through Ratchet’s private medical reports. As you are here and interrupting my work, rather than interrupting someone else, then you have already been informed on whom it was referring to.”
Oho, still deflecting. Poor mech didn’t want to talk about it. Too bad.
“Oh, I know, but you see, I wanted to hear the truth for my own little audials, because I am concerned for the health of my dear, sweet, work wife, who would never try to hide something as big as a dislocated hip block from his work wife!” Jazz put his servo to his chassis, following the human tradition of “clutching at pearls”, his visor bright and lower lip wobbling. “I thought we promised to not hide injuries from each other after the last time, Prowler.”
Was Jazz being dramatic? Why, yes! A little more exciting that way.
“Yes, we did promise. Yet as I recall, that was due to you hiding behind one of Ironhide’s armory cases holding your own dismembered arm and hissing at anyone who got too close because you decided to hide a rust infection in your joint and became delirious after it fell off."
“Huh? I don’t remember that.”
Prowl gave him such a deadpanned look. Impressive from a mech who’s default setting was that exact same expression.
Jazz just grinned back innocently at him. Innocent until proven guilty, as the humans liked to say.
“I do remember you telling the humans when they asked what our relationship was that it was “closer to that of what you call ‘work wife’ while I was in the medbay for an unrelated reason I refuse to disclose.”
“They asked, and it was the closest definition in their language I could find at the time. They still think we are conjunxed,” Prowl let out a small little huff, and Jazz laughed right back at him.
“Prowler, half the time the army thinks we’re conjunxed some days. It doesn’t help when you go and tell them all our secrets in that serious tone of yours. You know they don’t get your humor like I do.”
“They inquired what you were like in berth. I saw no harm in telling them the truth. You do, in fact, snore, and ignore my personal space as much as you do while awake.” Prowl said as seriously and honestly as he had when Smokescreen had asked the question in the mess.
It didn’t solve that particular bet, much to everyone’s dismay. They still argued about it sometimes, because they were all nosy busybodies, and to them Prowl was some stoic, mysterious, yet boring mech. They didn’t know him like Jazz did- and some of the old guard like OP and Ratchet and the like, but they didn’t count because they loved to stir the pot as much as Jazz did.
Jazz opened his mouth to retort, because he definitely did not snore, excuse you- only to remember that he was here on a mission. Gah! Tricky, clever Prowler!
“Ah ah ah! I see what you’re trying to do here.” Jazz wagged his digit again at him, clicking his glossa. “But I’m bringing this ride back on the racetrack. You fell off an unspecified ledge of undetermined height and dislocated your hipblock. The little birdie also mentioned that you reported that it “realigned itself”. That was some good luck there, Prowler. You wouldn’t have been able to make it back to the ARK like that, and with the party last night? You would’ve been left outside in the dark all alone. You feeling good?”
The question at the end was honest, the actual words layered within his tone. Prowl didn’t always get tonal inflections too well, but he did understand that Jazz was seeing if he was okay, because Jazz knew Prowl wouldn’t lie to Ratchet, and especially not about something that serious. He was always so prompt going to medical, and he often could be found just in medical, hanging out with Ratchet. Usually just in a corner reading and not interacting with Ratchet so much as just being in the same space as him, but it wasn’t like Ratchet was going to dissuade him, since he was being quiet.
“The dislocation and subsequent realignment didn’t pinch any cabling and there’s no damage,” Prowl informed him, his voice still so serious, but pitched a touch softer in the way Jazz knew was him trying to be comforting. “I am tender, and I cannot perform any extraneous activities, but there will be no lasting effect.”
“Good.” Jazz leaned back, the quiet bubble of honesty popping when he opened his mouth. “Because I have a… curious little theory… that I would love to go over with you.”
Prowl’s doorwings locked themselves into place again. Aha, gotcha.
“So, Prowl, Prowler, buddy ol’ pal. Let me lay out my theory- no interruptions!- and at the end I will let you present your defense. Yeah?” Jazz took the barely noticeable dip of his chin as a sign of acknowledgement and propped both pedes up on the opposite station, getting into a cozy pose.
“Now then, where to start? Ah! You’ve been hanging out with Wheeljack lately. Making treats. It’s good for you to pick up a hobby, and everyone’s been benefiting from the leftovers, but I’ve noticed that your section of made treats are often smaller than the selections Wheeljack makes and the extras are always stashed away in your room. “Huh,” I told myself, “how odd, he’s not much of a snacker”, but then I noticed you’ve been scheduling yourself some solo patrols. Again, odd, but nothing out of the ordinary. You deserve to get out and stretch your wheels without everyone and their creators breathing down your neck. What was weird was that the timeline of your newfound hobby lined up almost perfectly with your latest change in patrols.”
Jazz observed Prowl as he spoke, gesturing with his hands during his narration. Prowl, ever the stoic, remained passive and patient, observing him back. But his doorwings remained still, which was a tell all on its own.
“So, with these little tidbits in mind, I decided to take a peek at your tracking map, and what did I find? That you had gone and placed your tracker on Cliffjumper.” Jazz put a hand over his spark, distinguishingly dismayed. “You know I put those trackers on everyone for a reason, and what do you do? Go and try to sneak around it. But lucky for me, I put a secret, secondary one on you before that little joint effort I did with Red Alert to convince OP that tracking everyone was safer than without, especially after that little cave-in situation a few months back.”
Prowl’s optics narrowed just a sliver. Jazz mentally patted himself on the back. He must’ve calculated the possibility of having a second tracker, given Jazz’s proclivities, but had been unable to find it. And when he couldn’t find it, it made the likelihood of there not being a second tracker higher than the possibility of there being one at all. Poor Prowler, having his Jazz coefficient used against him.
“Anyway, I started taking a wee little peek at your comings and goings, and I’ve made a few little realizations. You keep going to the same spot of woods some distance from here, far out of the way of our usual patrols. Not that I’m saying you’re not patrolling a new area, but you tend to linger there for awhile before departing. I’ve been keeping track of your stash of treats you’ve hidden in your room, and, what did you know? Every time you take one of your walks through the woods, your stash comes up with a significant shortage.”
Jazz propped his chin in both his servos, a lopsided smirk on the corners of his mouth as he watched Prowl’s, well, lack of anything really.
“I looked at everyone’s trackers, and found that no one’s deviated in that particular direction like you have. Of course, they could’ve removed theirs if you had informed them that they had one, but they do risk having to meet OP’s sad disappointed face if they get caught, so I doubt it. I also doubt you go into the woods on your own to eat that many snacks. Soooo… who’re you meeting behind my back, Prowler?”
Prowl’s mouth remained shut, despite the opening to speak.
Jazz let them sit in the awkward silence for a minute before sighing, dropping his servos as he shifted to lean over, helm tilted sideways to peer closer at the Petrexi.
“Oh Prowl, no need to go all statue on me. I’m glad you’re making friends- really! But you’re meeting someone alone, in the woods, bringing snacks. That’s almost suspiciously like courting behavior, Prowl!”
“Is it?” Prowl’s deflection made Jazz laugh, because he said it so seriously. His Prowler was such a riot sometimes.
“Alright, keep your secrets. Then what is it- mostly- for, then?”
“A bribe.”
Jazz gasped loudly.
“A bribe?! That’s my kind of negotiation, Prowler! I wouldn’t expect that coming from you.”
Jazz dropped his pedes from the station, hopping down from his perch to crouch into Prowl’s space. He’d be crawling into his lap by this point, but he hadn’t forgotten the dislocated hipblock quite yet, so he was behaving. Mostly.
“I doubt you would need to bribe an Autobot. Plus you see them everyday here in the ARK. Perhaps a neutral? But they usually don’t stick around for this long. Yet that could only mean-”
Jazz blinked. Thought about it. Made the mistake of looking Prowl in the optic.
“No,” he breathed, truly horrified for once.
Prowl didn’t so much as blinked.
“No. Prowl! You didn’t!”
“You will need to be more specific.”
“You’re meeting a Decepticon?!” Jazz didn’t know whether to be proud or dismayed. Both? “You’re bribing a Decepticon to silence with snacks?!”
“No.” Prowl finally did cycle his optics, his mouth doing that miniscule downward turn that made him look as if he was five seconds away from cold-sparked murder. Which he wasn’t- that’s just his extra serious face. “The treats are a show of good faith. No one would believe them if they said anything to their comrades about our acquaintanceship."
Jazz stared, then giggles bubbled out of his throat. He couldn’t help it! His Prowler was too funny!
“You feral catted that mech!” He giggled, leaning against Prowl’s chair and into his space. “Set treats out to lure them in and get them used to you! See, wee Decepticon? Prowler feeds you- he’s totally trustworthy!”
“I am trustworthy.” Prowl’s mouth downturned even further. “Nor are they feline.” Jazz patted his cheek consolingly.
“Of course you are. But Decepticons are a wily bunch. Can only trust people as far as they can throw them, you know?”
Prowl didn’t seem to understand, but that was fine. Old Jazzy had his back.
“Were they the one who dislocated your hipblock?” Jazz was suddenly so serious, his digits digging into the arms of Prowl’s chair. If they were, then Jazz was going to have a little talk with them once he hunted them down for sport.
“It was an accident.”
If Prowl had been anyone else, then Jazz wouldn’t have believed him for a second. But this was Prowl, who hated lying, and lied through not admitting anything. Speaking so readily meant it truly was an accident.
Jazz relaxed his grip. But only just. Thin ice, random Decepticon.
“How did a meeting with a Decepticon cause you to fall off a ledge?”
Prowl’s face did something amazing just then.
He blushed.
BLUSHED!
“PROWLER!”
Prowl tried rotating his chair so he wouldn’t be facing Jazz.
Jazz’s servos prevented him from turning.
Prowl resorted to slipping lower in his seat instead, doorwings becoming slightly askew.
“You were chasing Decepticon tail!” Jazz wailed. “Decepticon! I know you’re particular, but couldn’t you find an Autobot?”
“What few Autobots that meet my criteria are not available,” was Prowl’s admittance, which, really.
“Why don’t you, I don’t know, loosen your standards?”
“And be with a racer who goes as fast as their track record?” Prowl had the audacity to sniff indignantly. Indignantly!
“First of all, rude, second of all, gross! I didn’t need to hear that from my work wife!”
“If you don’t wish to hear, why then did you ask?”
Jazz groaned, crouching down further in order to press his cheek against Prowl’s kneeguard.
“Please tell me it isn’t Screamer at least,” he pleaded, voice muffled a little by his current position. He felt Prowl’s servo pat his helm- it had to be illegal how he could be sweet and infuriating at the same time.
“It isn’t Starscream.”
“Oh thank Primus. I would’ve had to drag you to Ratchet for an eval. Is it someone I know?”
“Yes, although they are not often on the field.”
“Okay, so none of the top ten. I suppose that’s something.” Still a Decepticon, but that ruled out Starscream and the two other fliers, Soundwave, Shockwave, and Megatron (which Jazz knew Prowl wouldn’t do that to him, so he had to take the good fortune where he found it). “Have you fragged yet?”
“I thought you said you didn’t want to hear such things?” If Prowl had eyebrows, he’d be raising one of them at Jazz. The mental image almost made him laugh, but he resisted.
“I don’t, but now I’m curious.”
Prowl huffed a little above him.
“How do you think my hipblock realigned itself?”
“Oh EW!” Jazz’s cheek could’ve made orbit at the speed he’d launched his helm out of Prowl’s lap. “Y’all are nasty! Really?! You just went and got down and dirty with your hipblock dislocated?!”
“We were a little distracted at the time.” Prowl’s face was coloring again, and Jazz faux gagged.
“You didn’t even use a berth,” he bemoaned. “I don’t know why everyone thinks you’re the tight-laced one, when you’re off fragging in a pile of organic vegetal decay. What do you even see in them?”
“Well, they work hard, have large hands, and even larger-” Prowl began, only for Jazz to cover his audials and start going “I’m not listening! Lalalala!” until he saw Prowl’s mouth stop moving.
Jazz lifted his servos just a touch, testing the waters as it were. Prowl didn’t speak, so he dropped his servos with a sigh of relief.
“Their combined form is even larger,” Prowl dropped as casual as the nearby weather report.
Jazz leapt away from him as if he’d suddenly became lava.
“PROWL!” Jazz wailed, then the meaning of Prowl’s statement came blaring into the station on screeching wheels. “Wait- combined?!”
Prowl took his window of opportunity to roll past Jazz and disappear around the monitors again, Jazz scrambling to chase after him.
“You’re fragging the CONSTRUCTIONS?! ALL OF THEM?! PROWLER-?!”