Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jazz was going to throttle Ricochet when he got back to civilization. Hoarfrost crunched under his peds, the weak light filtering through the crystal trees warped strangely off his visor, fogged up by his own frame’s attempts to keep warm.

It was fortunate, he supposed, that it the temperature had dropped enough so that it was too cold for the acid storms to form now. The one that had taken down his transport had dissipated almost as soon as he’d crashed as if mocking him. The cold also meant that the hoarfrost he was tramping through barely melted due to his presence and only mildly irritated his pede plating. (Lucky him.)

He needed to keep positive. Though snarling increasingly creative insults on Ric’s voicemail helped too in a different way. This was, after all, his brother’s fault.

“...An’ how somebot could forget tha’ they promised t’ spend the winter hibernating with their future bonded and said bonded’s family is beyond me!”

Cybertron was on its journey to the outer edge of its rotation, far from its host star. This distance precluded any stable use of the solar harvesters. Only the deep energon mines fed the planet with the consistent sources of energy it needed now.

Most mechs went into stasis hibernation during this time of year. To save energy and resources, it was traditional for families to spend hibernation together, cutting power to all but one room of their residence and spending the cold months in giant cuddle piles of recharging mechs.

That’s where Jazz would have been right now, in a nice warm nest at his creators’ house in Polyhex, if his brother hadn’t been a complete fragging idiot. And if Jazz could’ve ignored Ricochet’s pleading visored optics for once.

“But noooo! Why do I have t’ be the older, responsible one anyway? Huh, Ricochet?”

Instead he was tramping through mildly acidic hoarfrost in the middle of a crystal forest because Ricochet had forgotten his promise to Concord (Primus bless him for putting up with Ricochet’s slag) and had volunteered to run supplies to the mechs still awake in Altihex. A panicked comm call from Ricochet and the promise that Jazz could have whatever he wanted (within reason) coupled with those pleading optics had Jazz revising his plans for the winter. He would deliver the supplies and Ricochet could go to Iacon and not ruin the best thing that had ever happened to him.

Their creators had been very understanding, even praising Jazz for being such a good big brother. The supply run had gone off without a hitch, everything was going well… And then it went to the Pit quite suddenly when the acid storm had blown up out of nowhere and crashed him in the middle of this crystal wilderness.

He was somewhere near Praxus, but that was the extent of his knowledge. The storm and crash had scrambled his GPS. The crystals themselves were causing havoc with his comm system. He didn’t know if his messages were even getting to his brother through the interference. The same said about his distress signal.

Staying at the wreck was not a good option as the storm had made the ship fairly unusable as shelter, though Jazz had miraculously come out of it with only a few scrapes and dents. Shaken, but mostly unharmed. He’d packed up a back-mounted subspace generator with the emergency supplies he’d found on the ship (distressingly few, and he’d have to have a long talk with the mech he’d rented this transport from about that), and set out to find better shelter for the long dark cycles.

The small cave he discovered was just big enough for him and the tiny emergency heater. The Polyhexian wrapped himself in the too thin emergency mylar blanket and slowly drank a bit of the ration he had. If he was careful, he could draw out the small amount of energon for a while, but he was afraid he might freeze to deactivation first.

He thought longingly of putting himself into stasis hibernation to recharge out the season, but it wasn’t an option. He didn’t have access to the energy rich medical high grade that was drunk before hibernation was initiated. Without it, there was a chance you would deactivate during your deep recharge. Most mechs made a celebration of it; families gathered with the special high grade and specially made energon goodies. Toasts were made to the turning of the season and stories were told to the younglings about brave mechs who stayed awake to watch over the slumbering Cybertron.

“...Yet another thing I missed this year, sweet brother.” he told Ricochet viciously in another message. He’d been busy arranging for his transport to Altihex at the time. “Hope ya remembered to tell Concord’s family about me.”
A sort of desolate loneliness rose up in his processor as he listened to the wind singing mournfully through the crystal branches outside his his cave. Jazz tried to shake it off. He had to stay positive!

A couple cycles later, it was becoming more difficult to stay positive. He’d forced himself to stay online. Recharge was dangerous; in this cold he might not wake back up again. He was low on energy. The ration had not lasted as long as he’d hoped. The heater, not meant for constant use, was beginning to stutter and die. His messages were becoming less accusatory and more contemplative.

“...I’m glad ya found Concord, he’s good for ya. Hopefully any sparklin’s ya have will take after him.”

One by one, secondary systems shut down to reroute energy to Jazz’s primary core. First he lost feeling in his plating. Next, sound became muffled as his audials lost power. His optics powered off without his approval. Energon cycling in his core slowed. Jazz wanted to recharge, but he knew he shouldn’t. Shouldn’t he? There was a reason he shouldn’t recharge.

“... Hey bro, I’m so tired. Cold. Wish I wasn’t cold. Wish I was home with Sire and Carrier. You’ll tell them I love them, right?”

The heater gave one last effort and then guttered out. There was something important he needed to tell Ricochet… What was it…?

“...Ric… don’t blame yourself… okay…? Love you, bro…”

He was so cold. His joints were locking up...
…
...

Somebot was there. An EM field washed over him curiously. He might have whimpered. A barely felt digit tilted his helm back. He struggled sluggishly to push back with his own EM field pleadingly.
Then he felt the weightlessness of being picked up. He was sure a whimper escaped this time as he was nestled securely against a warm (scalding against his plating, oh thank Primus!) chassis. Something else was wrapped around him, tucked around his audial horns. Warm, warm, so warm.

Jazz could do nothing but snuggle closer to his rescuer who… growled?... gently. He was too comfortable to give it much consideration. Safe. He was safe. Now that his systems were reaching a more equalized temperature, the stress of the last several cycles started catching up with him. He felt himself edging towards natural recharge. The purring engine under his audial lulled him down deeper until the world was no more.

...

Insistent hands lifted his torso and cradled his helm rousing him enough to coax some type of fuel down his intake before tipping him back to lay down again. Lay down? When had he done that? The recharge pad was comfortable. He tried to force his optics on. They still wouldn’t respond. He wanted to see his rescuer. To thank them. Something…

His rescuer laid down half beside, half on top of him, rumbling chassis suffusing Jazz with warmth. He tried to return the favor by weakly revving his own engine, but got a warning grumble and a nip (with dentals! What the frag?) on his audial horn in response. What was going on?

“Who…?” He croaked out, vocalizer filled with static.

Gentle purring answered him.

He was unwillingly pulled back down into recharge.

Chapter Text

Jazz finally cycled up out of recharge into true wakefulness. He was alone on a recharge pad that had been made into a plush nest with many thick mylar blankets layered under, around, and on top of him (so much comfier than the one in his tiny apartment). He pushed himself up gingerly into a sitting position.

He found himself surveying a small room. There was a large heater in the corner near him warming the space. An energon dispenser occupied the far wall. Underneath it sat the subspace generator that he’d been carrying. The rest of the space was very… bare.

He had a moment to wonder where he was and how he’d gotten there when the door opened.

A figure wrapped in a thermal-cloak glided through the doorway, an elegant set of doorwings the only things visible for a moment. Then the figure closed the door and divested himself of the cloak.

Mostly white plating, icy blue optics, red chevron, doorwings, claws, Enforcer decals.

A Praxian Enforcer.

He hadn’t realized he was that close to Praxus. Something niggled at his processor. Something about Praxian Enforcers during the cold months.

The Praxian shook himself, rattling plating loose that had been pulled tight to his protoform to keep in the heat. His optics trained in on Jazz like a laser.

“Um, h-hi? Did… did ya save me?” Jazz fumbled.

The Praxian stalked silently over to the recharge pad and knelt down next to him. Bigger than Jazz had realized, in their current position, he loomed about a head taller than the visored mech. Then the doorwinged mech leaned in and nuzzled Jazz’s audial horn with a familiar sounding purr. Jazz froze, clutching the blankets, at the touch to one of the more sensitive parts of his frame. “Uh, personal space, mech?”

The Praxian paid no mind to his words and after the “greeting” stood back up and went to the energon dispenser. As the mech filled up a cube, Jazz suddenly remembered.

The Long Patrol.

It was an old Praxian tradition. A number of Enforcers were dispatched to safeguard the borders around the slumbering city nestled in the crystal forest during the winter months. The Enforcers chosen for the duty would save energy while on these vigils by shutting down most of their higher processes, defaulting to a sort of base programming. They kept two directives active: Protect the City, and Survive.

Which meant in layman’s terms that during winter there were a bunch of half-feral Praxian Enforcers roaming the crystal forest around Praxus operating at little above “instinct” level.

And one of them had managed to find Jazz before he became a Polyhexian mech-cicle.

Jazz wasn’t sure what directive the Praxian had been following that constituted saving him as Jazz was neither from the city nor needed for survival. Maybe the Enforcer still had enough processes running to recognize his distress… or maybe he’d just looked pathetic enough to warrant rescue? Either way, Jazz was grateful to be still functioning, if very confused at his current situation.

The Praxian brought him the cube of fuel. Doorwings angled forward (to gather sensory data on him?) as the Praxian knelt next to him again, EM field washing over him. He recognized it, though it was assessing rather than curious this time. Jazz shifted, a little uncomfortable at the intimate press. Touching EM fields like that was just a step removed from the other bot running his fingers all over Jazz’s plating.

Jazz raised his hands to take the cube, but a discordant tone from the Praxian’s vocalizer had him dropping them back down to his lap instantly. With a self satisfied air the mech placed two clawed fingers under Jazz’s chin and gently lifted his helm to an angle so the Praxian could place the cube on his dermas.

It was slightly mortifying to be fed like a sparkling. Though, if the purring was anything to go by, the Praxian wasn’t actually attempting to humiliate him. Maybe he’d decided this was the only way to make sure his charge got sufficient fuel? After all, Jazz had been pretty out of it when he’d been brought here. The visored mech decided not to complain as the warmed high quality mid-grade slid down his intake and hit his tank pleasantly.

When he’d drained the cube, his “host” rumbled as if pleased and returned to the dispenser filling the cube again for himself. He drank it down keeping an optic on Jazz. After he finished, the cube was put away and he paced back to the recharge pad. He knelt down into what looked like a meditative pose and just sat there and stared. At Jazz. In silence.

The visored mech shifted uncomfortably at the focused attention.

“Thank ya. For saving me and, um, for the fuel.” Jazz said, feeling awkward in the quiet of the room.

The Praxian’s doorwings fluttered and twitched at his words.

“...M’ name’s Jazz. Thought I should introduce m’self since I’m currently in yar recharge pad… That came out wrong... Uh, what do I call ya? I don’ want t’ just give ya a name ‘cause that’s kinda rude.”

Jazz paused for thought and the Praxian clicked at him.

“I… really hope tha’s not ya telling me to shut up. Okay, how about for now I just call ya Mr. Enforcer, ‘cause tha’s what ya are. Ya good with tha’?”

The so named Mr. Enforcer clicked at him again.

“Im’ma take tha’ as a yes.”

Jazz talked a little about the crash to see if it would elicit any sort of enforcer-y response from Mr. Enforcer. All he got was the other mech tilting his head at the rise and cadence of Jazz’s voice, and an occasional doorwing movement.

It was strange and unsettling to interact with a mech that seemed more interested cataloging him rather than responding. The only time Jazz got more of a reaction from the kneeling mech was when he attempted to get up.

Mr. Enforcer immediately placed a hand on Jazz’s chestplates and unerringly pushed him back down. The Praxian’s engine rumbled warningly and he flexed the hand on Jazz’s plating to ever so slightly scrape his claws on the paint.

“O-okay, mech. Message received. No gettin’ up. Look, see, all cosy right here! Not goin’ anywhere.” Jazz babbled.

Mr. Enforcer huffed out through his vents and continued to press down until Jazz was prone. Then he shifted and crawled into the recharge pad nest, snuggling next to the visored mech. Some shifting to arrange their bodies and tucking the blankets around them to his liking found Jazz with his helm resting on Mr. Enforcer’s chestplates.

Well then, this was a predicament.

The Praxian clicked contentedly and powered off his optics.

Oookay. Apparently, it was naptime.

Escape proved impossible. The Praxian kept a tight grip on him even in recharge like some sort of favored sparkling toy and his engine grumbled ominously when Jazz moved too much.

Jazz decided to just go with the flow. After all, if he did manage to get up without waking the mech what would he do then? He couldn't go anywhere. Not if he wanted to survive.

He turned in more toward the warm chassis, a nap didn’t sound half-bad, actually. And, well, ‘when in Praxus…’

Chapter Text

The Praxian shifting out from under the covers woke him.

“Wha-? Where’er ya goin’?” Jazz slurred sleepily.

Mr. Enforcer purred, tucking blankets back around the Polyhexian’s frame. He retrieved a cube from the dispenser and made growly noises until Jazz gave up and let himself be fed. (They were really going to have to have an understanding about this sooner or later.) After fueling his charge the Praxian leaned forward clicking, doorwings raised to frame his chevroned helm. He pressed his hand down on Jazz’s chestplates putting a bit of his body weight behind it. The message was obvious.

Stay.

“Okay, mech. Ain’t gonna go anywhere.” Jazz murmured relaxing his cables.

The motion probably convinced more that the words did. Jazz watched as Mr. Enforcer refilled and subspaced the cube and then donned his cloak.

It dawned on him then. Of course. Mr. Enforcer still had to make his patrol rounds to obey that first directive.

But he was making sure Jazz was taken care of first? Why?

The questions remained unanswered as Mr. Enforcer paced out the door, shutting it firmly behind him.

Jazz waited until the sound of pedes crunching through the hoarfrost faded away, then got up. After examination, the room turned out to be as bare as his first impression suggested. Of course, Mr. Enforcer probably didn’t need anything to entertain himself seeing as how his higher processors were basically turned off right now. Jazz was liable to go bonkers if there was literally nothing to do for however long he was stuck here.

He crouched to shift through the subspace generator. It was pretty much as he had packed it minus the ration he’d drunk and the broken heater. Mr. Enforcer must have left that in the cave. All that was left was a coil of titanium rope and a small pack of meshes wrapped around a bottle of sealant for emergency repairs. He glanced over to the recharge pad and, yep, there was the thin-aft mylar blanket tangled up with the other covers. And to think, this “survival equipment” had been listed on their advertising as a bonus! That company he’d rented the transport from was going to get an audio full and the worst review in the history of Cybertron.

He sat back on his struts and looked up at the energon dispenser above the subspace generator. That’s when he saw the button next to it on the wall. Curious, he got up and praying that it wasn’t going to set off some sort of alarm, he pressed it. A panel in the wall to flipped up revealing (score!) a computer console. It seemed overly simplified. The buttons too big. In fact there was a large red button with the glyphs for CALL printed on it. Shrugging, Jazz pushed the button.

The screen lit up immediately. A blue and red Praxian with a gold chevron and Enforcer decals appeared on screen and shuttered his optics at Jazz in surprise, doorwings flaring back.

“Who the frag are you?”

“Uh, hi.” the visored mech said sheepishly with a wave. “I’m Jazz. My transport wen’ down in the last acid storm.” He pulled out a data cable and plugged it into the terminal to download his itinerary and credentials, sending the packet to the other mech. “I almost froze out in the forest, bu’ the Enforcer here found me and is, um, takin’ care of me, I guess? Look, I don’ know his name, bu’ I could describe him for ya?”

The Praxian apparently got over his shock when he received the data packet. “Hold on, I can use the computer code to locate which territory you’re in. Were you injured?”

“Thankfully, no.” Jazz coiled the data cable back into his wrist. “Transport’s slagged, though. And my GPS and radio are all kinds of fragged up by the crystals.”

The mech finished triangulating the location, “Huh, well I’ll be slagged. You’re in Prowl’s territory. White and black plating, red chevron?”

“Yeah, tha’s him. Prowl’s his name?”

“Yes, and I’m Smokescreen, by the way. There’s a small group of us at the main precinct left awake and aware to coordinate in case of emergencies. I can dispatch a few mechs to come get you and you can stay in Praxus until the end of winter.” there was a glyph undertone on ‘stay’ that implied no charge.

“That’s… really generous.” Jazz said in bewilderment.

Smokescreen sighed. “Civilians interacting with the Long Patrol doesn’t happen often, but there are reparations in place. Unofficially, of course. Officially, we’re offering room and board for winter because you suffered a traumatic crash in our territory.”

Jazz was still confused. “Ain’t like he’s hurt me or nothin’. All he’s done is fed me an’ been a lil’ pushy.”

Smokescreen’s wings canted in interest. “Really? He’s not been hostile? Snarly?”

Jazz shook his head in the negative.

“Huh. That’s strange. Well, perhaps that’s just because it’s Prowl. He’s always been the most even-keeled mech in the department, even on the Patrol.”

“Maybe it’s ‘cause he found me half-frozen t’ deactivation in a cave.” Jazz offered.

The Praxian nodded, “That might be the case. Out of curiosity, how has he been acting?”

Jazz shrugged, “I dunno, nice? Cuddly.”

The Praxian looked shocked for a klik. “‘Cuddly’? Prowl?”

“Er, yes? Maybe he was trying to make sure I was warm?”

The blue and red mech tilted his head in an assessing way. “What did you say your name was?”

“Jazz. Why?”

Smokescreen smiled, “Just making sure I get my records right.” He turned away from the screen for a moment and muttered something that sounded like, “Figures he would wait until a time like this to show an interest in sombot.”

“Wh-wha’ did you say?”

He turned back to the screen and said smoothly. “I said it was very lucky that you were found by somebot. In any event, we’ll be there tomorrow to pick you up.”

“Thank you.” Jazz said. He was reluctant to end the conversation with the first speaking mech he’d interacted with in a deca-cycle. “Wha’ can ya tell me about Prowl when he’s, ya know, not stalkin’ around the wilds of Praxus.”

Smokescreen’s smile turned slightly sly. “He was my mentor when I joined the force. Rumor is, he’ll be our next Chief Enforcer of Praxus. He’s unbonded. He’s quiet and focused. Very logical and by-the-book, but he cares in his own way. Officer with a spark of gold.”

Jazz gave him a look. “Ya sound like ya’re tryin’ to set us up on a date.”

“Why?” Smokescreen said with faux innocence. “Are you interested?”

“I’ve only met the mech when he’s been outta his processors!” Jazz protested.

“Hmm, that’s not a ‘no’.” Smokescreen teased.

Jazz frowned at him.

Smokescreen held up his servos in a placating manner. “Look, if the Long Patrol’s taught me anything, it’s that they’re still the mechs they are at core, just with the addition of aggressive territorial imperatives and the subtraction of the social restrictions our processors put on us. I'm just saying if he likes you now, he'll probably like you later, too.”

“Ooookay?” Jazz said intelligently. He huffed. “Listen, would it be possible…? I mean, I would like t’ meet him after the Patrol is over. Just so I can actually thank him for savin’ my aft.”

Smokescreen chuckled. “I think that can be arranged.”

They chatted for a little while longer before Smokescreen was pulled away to his duties. With the screen dark and the room silent again, Jazz plodding over to the recharge pad.

There really wasn’t much else to do until Mr Enforcer, er Prowl, got back.

He sat down amongst the covers and called Ricochet’s comm again. As the voicemail picked up, Jazz sighed, “Hey Ric, I’m ok. An Enforcer foun’ me b’fore I froze. I’m gonna spend the rest of th’ winter in Praxus. I’ll see you in spring, alright? Love ya, bro.”

It was perhaps, a slight understating of his situation, but Ricochet was going to be spastic enough when he woke up and was inundated with all of the previous messages Jazz had left.

Jazz amused himself for a while by making up lyrics about the Praxian forest. He was tapping out a rhythm when the crunching of pedes on frost announced Prowl’s returned.

The Praxian repeated his nuzzle greeting from the previous cycle (had it been a full cycle yet? Jazz’s sense of time was off) and went to the dispenser. His only acknowledgment of the computer panel being open was a bemused snort and a cant of a doorwing as he pushed the button to hide the console again.

“Hey Prowl.” Jazz tried hesitantly when the Praxian knelt next to him with his energon.

Doorwings fanned out gently and maybe there was a tiny bit of recognition in his optics?

Jazz reached for the cube ignoring that discordant tone from Prowl’s vocalizer. He put his servos over clawed ones, admiring the contrast of black and white for an abstract moment. Then he urged Prowl to bring the cube to his dermas.

The Praxian’s engine grumbled unhappily.

“Come on, mech. We gotta ‘ave an accord about this… please?”

Maybe it was the tone or maybe some of the words actually got through, but Prowl relented and allowed the compromise of Jazz “holding” the cube while Prowl controlled the flow of energon.

“So… I talked to Smokescreen.” Jazz said as Prowl drank his own cube. “I jus’ wanted ya t’ know that he’s gonna be sendin’ out some mechs to come get me outta yar plating… so yeah. I kinda requested that I get to meet ya after, you know, in spring, so I could actually thank ya for saving my life.”

Prowl was back to staring at him.

“...Thank ya…” Jazz murmured, “I would have deactivated if it wasn’t for ya.” He looked down at the blankets. A feather light brush on his dermas startled him into looking back into Prowl’s optics. Once he had Jazz’s attention the Praxian repeated the move of a clawed digit across Jazz’s dermas. He continued, dragging the touch lightly down Jazz’s chin, up and then across his cheek ridges, down his forehelm and visor and to the tip of his olfactory.

Jazz shuttered. Heat curled enticingly in his frame from those few simple touches. Prowl purred and clicked softly at him.

He wasn’t sure what possessed him to do what he did next. Jazz reached out his servo and copied the touches. Prowl froze, optics brightened. Pale blue nearly burning when Jazz’s fingertip reached the end of the motions. Jazz’s spark lurched in its casing.

“I… I don’ know why I did tha’.” Jazz whispered.

Prowl leaned forward and pressed his chevron to the crest of Jazz’s helm. His spark flipped again.

This felt far more intimate than any kiss Jazz’d ever had. He turned off his optics for a moment and just let the combined sounds of their lowly purring systems wash over him.

It was then Jazz realized that he might have a problem.

Chapter Text

Despite to bizarrely intimate moment the two of them had shared, the cycle moved on. Prowl, after releasing Jazz, hadn’t protested when the visored mech had gotten up to put a little distance between them to calm down his spark. The Praxian seemed happy to sit in his meditative pose watching Jazz. After a while Jazz plunked himself back down in front of Prowl and copied him out of boredom. He’d taken Metallikato in the academy as an elective and wondered if Prowl had gone through similar training.

He hoped so. He really wanted them to have something in common.

Jazz kept catching himself looking at Prowl and chastised himself. One did not just check out a mech like that. Especially when said mech couldn’t even introduce himself properly! Still, the graceful doorwings drew his attention every time they moved. He really wanted to pet them.

No. Bad Jazz. He knew enough about Praxian frame-types to know for sure that doing so would send the wrong signals. Well, the right signals, but at the wrong time. He refused to take advantage of Prowl.

Even if the Praxian was caring, attentive, cuddly and very, very good-looking. Very good-looking… (Where had his train of thought gone? Arg! Focus!)

As far as he was concerned, he likened Prowl’s state of processor to somebot who was overcharged on high-grade. Probably willing, but in no position to make an educated decision.

Jazz gave up on meditation and started humming an old Polyhexian jig. Those doorwings shot up and immediately zeroed in on him. He shuttered his optics at the sudden movement, momentarily startled into silence. He hesitantly resumed humming. The doorwings flexed and dipped with the melody.

Curious, Jazz slowly stood. Again, Prowl made no move to stop him and actually stood as well. The visored mech shuffled a bit to the side with a couple of heel-to-tip steps, Prowl followed sedately, but interested. Jazz hop-skipped back and swayed to the jig. He circled Prowl with a step-ball-change, shifting his weight to his other pede to kick his knee high. When he brought his leg back down he crossed his pedes and used the momentum to execute a spin raising his arms over his helm.

He fanned his arms out gracefully, one to the side and the other outstretched towards the other mech. His frame type allowed him to bend quite far. He did so, nearly touching the floor, then he rose back up, one back plate shifting at a time until he was upright again. He shimmied his hips and tapped his pedes in another slide of moving heel-to-tip steps, passing by Prowl as he did so.

He saw Prowl extend a servo to snag him out of the corner of his optic and without thinking, danced teasingly out of reach. The Praxian paced forward and reached again, but again Jazz evaded.

Prowl’s optics flared bright. The pitch of his engine lowered to a soft growl and he crept forward. Lost in dancing, Jazz didn’t notice at first.

He noticed when Prowl pounced.

Jazz suddenly found himself trapped between a thrumming white chassie and the wall. Prowl’s clawed servos framed his helm, optics burning blue. His EM field pressed close. (Oh frag.)

Right. Enforcers were pursuit vehicles. Meaning races and chases got their engines revving in more than one way. And Jazz had just unintentionally invited Prowl to chase him. Sorta.

Whoops.

“H-hey there.” Jazz said embarrassedly trying to push Prowl’s overwarm frame back. “Sorry, ‘bout tha’. I’m not actually tryin’ to seduce ya, ya know. I’d prefer if we could have a nice chat ‘bout mundane stuff on our first date b’fore discussing kinks.”

Prowl leaned down purring and nuzzled his olfactory under Jazz’s chin like a mecha-animal.

Jazz shuttered. “Yep. C-case and point, ya are not in the right frame of p-processor t’ make tha’ kind of decision!” Prowl vented hotly onto Jazz’s neck cables. “Th-tha’s not fair, mech.”

Prowl’s helm lowered and he ran his glossa across the seam where Jazz’s armor locked over his spark casing. A thrill of panic went through him. “Eep! Quit it!”

The visored mech smacked lightly on Prowl’s helm until he huffed in annoyance and relented his hold. His engine grumbled grumpily.

“Hokay! Well, I think it’s time for some energon. Who's hungry? Not tha’ I really am right now, but tha’ doesn' matter.” Jazz said in an attempt to distract Prowl (or was it himself?) as he peeled himself off the wall. “Mech, as much as ya’re grouchy now, I promise ya’ll thank me later. I think.” Hopefully the humming charge that had accumulated in his frame would dissipate relatively quickly.

Jazz reached for the energon dispenser, which proved to be both a great distraction and also a bad idea as Prowl made a loud upset noise and picked him up. The visored mech had no time to really form an opinion about his reeling equilibrium because Prowl swiftly deposited him back on the recharge pad and turned back to fill the cube.

Noted. They’d just graduated to assisted feeding. Getting his own energon was right out.

He tucked himself back into the recharge pad which improved Prowl’s growls to a happier rumble. The Praxian brought him the cube and waited until he’d put his servos on it before bringing it to his dermas. After fuel, Prowl climbed in and prepared to recharge after the requisite amount of blanket shuffling. Jazz’s vents stuttered as he was, once again, hugged close to the warm chassie and his audial horns were nuzzled. (That wasn’t helping his charge go away!)

Okay, he could admit it to himself: barely a full conscious cycle in Prowl’s presence had him intrigued and maybe just a bit besotted with the half-feral mech.

Ricochet was going to laugh his aft off when he heard about this.

Chapter Text

The next cycle started as the last one had. Prowl fed him, with the added bonus of Jazz “helping,” and once again pressed Jazz down to the recharge pad in a mute command to “stay.”

Was it going to distress Prowl when he came back and found Jazz gone? He didn’t want to stress the Enforcer out, he thought guiltily as Prowl left to, well, prowl his territory.

A few breems after Prowl’s pede-steps had faded, Jazz’s audials picked up the sound of approaching steps in the hoarfrost. Had Prowl left something? No. There was more than one mech approaching.

There was a quick knock on the door.

“Jazz? This is Officer Smokescreen. Are you in there?”

He shuttered his optics in surprise. Were the Enforcers here to pick him up already? He opened the door revealing the blue and red Enforcer he’d spoken to the cycle previous flanked by two other Praxians, one green with black accents and the other a dark midnight blue with silver accents. They were all wrapped in thermal cloaks. “Smokescreen? I didn’t expect you to come yourself.”

Smokescreen smiled. “This is the most exciting thing that’s happened this winter. I wanted in on it. And Prowl’ll be less likely to attack me on sight because of the whole mentor-mentee relationship we have.” He handed an extra thermal cloak to Jazz. He indicated the green mech, “This Officer Duster, and this,” a nod at the dark blue mech, “is Officer Blowout.”

Jazz inclined his helm to the Enforcers. “Uh, would he attack somebot?” Jazz asked while fastening the cloak.

“He did a few vorns ago,” Duster spoke up. “Slagging near took the mech’s arm off.”

Jazz paused in surprise as he retrieved his subspace generator. “...I’m sure he had a good reason.”

Smokescreen shrugged. “The mech was trespassing in his ‘territory’. Due to the circumstances of him being on the Long Patrol at the time, Prowl wasn’t even reprimanded. It also helped that when we investigated the mech it turned out that he was some kind of stalker.” He offered a hand to take the subspace generator. “Here, let me carry that for you. Our transport is over the next ridge, we didn’t want to disturb Prowl too much. It’s just safer for everyone involved.”

“Speaking of, let’s get going before he shows up.” Blowout said. “I don’t want to have to run away from a territorial Patrol-mech… Again.”

“That was once.” Smokescreen said dismissively.

They started walking away from what Jazz realized was a small outpost. It was the first time he’d seen it from the outside. The exterior walls were encrusted with crystals in varying patterns camouflaging the building into the surrounding crystalline trees. A casual observer might have missed it.

The overhanging clouds and the distance from their star meant that right now the crystals were dull and muted. Maybe he could come back in the spring and see this place when the light was stronger. He would bet good money that it was dazzling at a different time of the vorn.

The small group had walked maybe a few meters when Jazz got a crawling, prickling sensation on the back of his neck plating. Like he was being watched. Not a klik later, the Praxians all halted in their tracks causing Jazz to stumble at the sudden stop. Three sets of doorwings flared and twitched stiffly.

“Wha’s wrong?” Jazz whispered.

“Frag,” Smokescreen said, optics pale with panic. “Run for it.”

Smokescreen grabbed Jazz’s arm. Unprepared for such a move, Jazz jerked back out of reflex, upsetting his balance and landing on his aft with a pained sound. An enraged howl split the air and Prowl dropped into their midst from the crystal branches above them. (How had he even gotten up there?!)

Jazz struggled to his pedes as Prowl swiped his claws at the small group of Enforcers. As one they skittered backwards, separated from the visored mech.

Smokescreen tried to circle around to the right.

“Easy Prowl.” He pleaded with corresponding doorwing flutters. “We’re not going to hurt him. Come on now, calm down. You know me, you know us.”

Prowl’s doorwings shot up into a threatening V and he loosed a plating-rattling roar that sounded more like a pissed off tank rather than a car. Prowl hooked an arm around Jazz’s midsection, pulling him flush to white plating.

“Wha’s happenin’?” Jazz cried, thrown off by both the mech-handling and Prowl’s sudden personality shift.

Prowl snarled, the sound vibrating through his helm from where Prowl’s cheek ridge was pressed against an audial horn. The black and white Praxian half turned, dragging Jazz back to place his body between Jazz and the group. His doorwings beat the cold air harshly three times, then arched up and settled back into that aggressive V.

The other Enforcers froze. Several kliks ticked by.

Apparently satisfied that he’d put them in their place, Prowl’s snarls quieted to a softer, if still threatening rumble.

Smokescreen surveyed the standoff for a klik, then sighed pinching the top of his olfactory.

“Primus help us. Okay, let’s figure out how to resolve this.”

“Frag that!” Blowout yelped. “I’m not going near him!”

“Um, wha’s goin’ on?” Jazz asked, shakily petting Prowl’s arm in an attempt to calm him down further.

Smokescreen sighed. “An unexpected complication.”

The three Enforcers withdrew a healthy distance from the two black and white mechs to have a whispered, heated discussion. Prowl was still keeping a vigilant, glaring optic on them, though his growls had quieted completely. That might’ve had something to do with Jazz allowing himself to be hoisted into a bridal carry by the clingy mech.

“...can’t just leave him here!”

“You want to lose an arm?!”

“Quiet down, will you!”

Jazz sighed. This was sorta ridiculous, but it felt nice to be held. (Also, warm.) Prowl clicked at him and nuzzled his cheek ridge, purring.

“I don’ really know if I’m worth all this fuss.” Jazz muttered.

Prowl purred louder and gently helm-butted him.

Jazz huffed a laugh and turned his helm to press his forehelm to the crest of Prowl’s chevron. “Well, I’m glad ya think so, I guess, but seriously, we need to have a date firs’.”

Prowl pulled away with a gruff sound and glared at Smokescreen as he stepped toward them and reset his vocalizer.

“Jazz, we decided that it would be best to relocate you to Praxus as we planned despite the, um, minor snag. We’re going to tranquilize Prowl and then remove you. Hopefully he’ll go back to his regular routine without you here, uh, distracting him.” It looked like Smokescreen was holding back laughter. Jazz stuck his glossa out at him. “So, maybe you can convince him to put you down so you don’t get dropped by accident.”

“Tha’ may or may not ‘appen with ya three in sight,” Jazz said dryly.

Smokescreen considered this and nodded. “Okay, we’ll get out of sight and try to hit him with the tranq as soon as he puts you down.”

The three Enforcers crept away under the glaring optics of Prowl. A couple of breems after they were lost from sight Jazz patted Prowl’s chestplate. “Good job. The big, scary Enforcers are gone now, ya can put me down and we can go back inside where it’s warm. Come on. Down.” He gave a little wiggle.

Prowl tightened his grip, but then relented. He let Jazz down, but instead of releasing him, Prowl started stroking his plating. Digits paused over dents, the Praxian clicking whenever he found one.

What was he-? Oh. He was checking for damage.

Seemingly satisfied with the quick once over, Prowl place a servo on Jazz’s chest plate. Jazz watched, mystified, as Prowl’s doorwings gracefully swept forward, then back, then down.

The visored mech got the feeling that this was huge and important somehow, but he didn't know how to interpret it. Optics locked on Prowl’s, he slowly raised a servo and place it on Prowl’s chest plate. The Praxian purred and clicked, optics deepening in color.

Of course the moment couldn’t last. There was the sound of something hitting metal and Prowl stumbled forward with a snarl. Jazz peaked over Prowl’s shoulder and saw Duster standing by a crystal tree holding a tranq rifle still aimed at them. Rather than let Prowl jerk around to face the perceived threat Jazz cupped Prowl’s face between his own servos and forced Prowl to look at him.

“Easy. I’m here.” He reached up and gently brushed his dermas against the other mech’s.

Prowl crooned in sad-sounding confusion. His optics already showing telltale signs of static as the tranq program worked its way through his system. It made Jazz’s spark ache.

“You’ll see me in the spring, I promise. I can’t wait to meet you.” Jazz murmured.

Prowl churred and clicked, fighting the program. More of his weight fell on Jazz as he put their helms together.

Jazz stroked his cheek ridge and started to sing the lullaby his carrier had sung to him and Ricochet as younglings.

“Baby, sleep, gently sleep,
life is long is long and love is deep.
Time will be sweet for thee.
All the world to see.
Time to look about and know,
how the shadows come and go.
How the breeze stirs the trees,
how the blossoms grow.”

Prowl’s systems relaxed into full recharge. Smokescreen was suddenly there helping Jazz catch the deadweight of Prowl’s offline form.

“Is he going to be okay?” Jazz asked fretfully.

“It’ll take him about a joor to sleep off the program, once that happens he’ll be back to normal.” Smokescreen said with an understanding smile. He nodded to the other Enforcers and they came forward to pick up the recharging mech between the three of them. After depositing him on the recharge pad in the outpost they stood back and let Jazz have a moment to fuss over tucking the blankets in.

“Let’s get going.” Smokescreen urged gently.

They made it to the transport this time.

Jazz stared out the window in the direction of the outpost.

“Is it weird that I feel like I’m abandoning him?” he murmured.

Smokescreen clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry so much. I know Prowl will appreciate this later, and the base programming means that he’s more concerned with the here and now. He may look around for you for a bit, but then he’ll return to the directives.”

It was probably meant to be soothing, but Jazz felt a little zing of hurt. He pulled his legs up into his chair and rested his chin on them as he continued to look out at the passing scenery.

Smokescreen apparently realized that what he said sounded a little callous. “Hey, I can’t wait for you to meet him for real. You two are going to get along great, trust me.”

Jazz managed a smile at his earnest expression. “Thanks.”

“We’ve got a habsuite set up for you near the precinct.”

“Wantin’ to keep an optic on me, huh?”

“That, and it happens to be the only fully functional building in Praxus right now. All the online officers move in and stay there during the winter. We’ll get you settled in and get our resident medic to take a look at you. I know you said you weren’t injured, but just to be safe we’ll have him do a diagnostic scan.”

“I’d appreciate tha’.” Jazz admitted.

The transport finally cleared the crystal trees and the city sprawled out in front of them in tidy interconnecting rings. It was darkened and muted, but even from here Jazz could see the famed Helix Gardens at the center of the city.

“Well, I know it’s a little late, but welcome to Praxus, Jazz.” Smokescreen said.

Jazz smiled, but wished that it had been Prowl saying those words.

Chapter Text

The Enforcers’ wintering building was a short old-style structure set next to the modern Enforcer Tower. It had once been the original Enforcer headquarters and hosted a small inner courtyard with a well cared-for garden.

After a check-up with a cheerful medic named Torque, Smokescreen introduced Jazz to the other Enforcers including Enforcer Chief Scattershield. The Enforcers seemed intrigued to meet the mech that had preoccupied Prowl. Despite the interest and questions, Jazz said very little about what happened at the outpost, merely stating that Prowl just seemed to want to ensure his safety. Though usually a very social mech, Jazz felt drained from the events of the cycle and asked to be shown to his habsuite after only a few joors.

It was a nice room. The in-suite washrack was given his primary attention first and he nearly drowned himself in hot cleanser to get rid of cycles worth of grime off his plating. Afterwards he promptly turned on some music and then face-planted onto the berth (an actual berth, not a recharge pad!). Despite being very comfortable, it seem lonely and cold.

Primus, he had it bad.

He turned a couple of times on the berth until he’d enveloped himself up into the blankets. Maybe he could ask for the medical high-grade and put himself into stasis hibernation now? It would make the time go by quickly and keep him from thinking.

Tomorrow. He would ask Smokescreen about it tomorrow.

Jazz didn’t remember falling into recharge, but he woke to the sounds of someone pounding on the door to his habsuite.

“Wha’?!” He flailed and rolled off the berth in a tangle of blankets, landing with a thud on the floor.

“Jazz?! Are you alright?!”

Smokescreen. Why did he sound so panicked?

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. ‘Ang on a klik.”

He managed to kick the enshrouding blankets off and quickly made it to the door. When he opened it, Smokescreen pushed past him into the room. He was holding a tranq rifle. He scanned the room rapidly and then ushered Jazz out into the hallway.

“Wha’s going on?” Jazz asked, alarmed.

“We spotted Prowl entering the building, but then the cameras lost him.”

“You wha’? ‘Ow the frag did he get here?”

“That is a very good question. Come on, Chief Scattershield is waiting for us in the common room.”

They came to a T-intersection in the hall and Smokescreen swung the rifle first one way down the hall and then the other.

“Um, wha’s with all the…?” Jazz made a motion of holding a gun.

“Every time a Long Patrol-mech has left their post something bad has happened. We can only assume that Prowl is somehow unhinged and dangerous.”

‘Unhinged’ was not a word that Jazz wanted to associate with the purring, affectionate mech he’d come to know.

A growl sounded above them.

“Vents!” Smokescreen squeaked in alarm. He grabbed Jazz’s arm and the two of them sped down the corridor. They skittered into the common room to the sight of a dozen tranq rifles training on them.

“He’s in the vents!” Smokescreen gasped.

The rifles swung around to cover the vents in the room. Scattershield frowned. “Smokescreen, Duster, Blowout. I want to know exactly what happened when you interacted with him this morning. I didn’t request a full report because it seemed like an easy in and out, but obviously something went awry. Now what the frag happened?”

The three officers exchanged glances, shuffling uncomfortably.

“Well?” The Chief’s vocalizer rose at the end of the word.

“Prowl thinks Jazz is his mate.” Smokescreen blurted out.

“What?” Scattershield bit out.

“Wha’?” Jazz echoed.

Duster rubbed the back of his helm sheepishly. “That threat display he made kinda gave it away.”

“Wha’ threat display?” Jazz said edgily.

“The one he made with his doorwings at us that said, ‘come near my mate and I’ll rip your faceplates off and feed them to you’.” Blowout snorted inelegantly.

“...I really hope ya’re paraphrasin’.”

“I really wish I was.”

“Why didn’ ya say anythin’?”

Scattershield slapped a servo to his forehelm interrupting them. “You slagging idiots. Didn’t you pay attention to the Long Patrol briefing?”

“It… was the same as last vorn’s?” Duster said uncertainly.

“And we cover it every vorn!” the Chief bellowed in irritation. “Protecting a mate will always override the Directives active in Long Patrol-mechs. That’s why we use unbonded officers!”

An embarrassed silence fell over the group.

Jazz sighed. “He’s not gonna go back t’ his territory without me, is he?”

Scattershield seemed pleased that Jazz caught onto the problem so quickly. “That would be correct. As it would be unfair to put the both of you under such circumstances, the solution would be to catch Officer Prowl and force his higher processors back online with an early reboot. Fortunately, Medic Torque is qualified to do such a procedure. We’ll need a volunteer to take his place for the rest of the winter, of course.” He cast a baleful optic on the three chagrined officers in front of him.

Torque stepped forward. “If we’re going to do an early reboot, then I don’t want a tranq program running through his system. It might interfere. He’ll need to be subdued another way.”

“You heard the Medic,” Scattershield said, “subspace those rifles.”

A few mechs grumbled, but all the guns were put away.

“How are ya goin’ t’ do an ‘early reboot?” Jazz frowned.

“All the mechs on the Long Patrol set their systems to do a hard reboot the last decacycle of winter. All I have to do is reset the timer to now and his systems will take care of the rest.

Jazz nodded and turned to Scattershield. “I think I can help.”

The Chief nodded at him to continue.

“Prowl’s not gonna hurt me.” Jazz said. “If ya’re gonna need to catch him in order t’ do the reboot then I’m the bes’ bait ya got.”

The Chief considered this. “Yes, that’s true. Very well, see if you can draw him out. Several officers will shadow you.”

Jazz just nodded and walked out of the common room.

Alright, how could he draw out Prowl? Showing signs of distress would only make him aggressive. It needed to be somewhere in the open...

The inner courtyard. That would work.

Fortunately, Jazz remembered the way and it only took a few breems to get to the small outdoor space. He settled himself on a bench, clamping his plating down and crossing his arms over his chestplate to keep some semblance of heat in his frame. He thought longingly of the thermal-cloak in his habsuite.

He didn’t have to wait long.

Muffled pede-steps cut through the quiet atmosphere. Jazz didn’t look up as white servos draped a heavy, chassie-warm thermal-cloak over his shoulder struts. The cloak smelled faintly of the crystal forest and a Praxian wax. Jazz snuggled into it up to his audials for a moment. He was gently urged to stand.

Jazz finally looked up into Prowl’s optics.

“Hey there, Prow-”

He was cut off as the Praxian took Jazz’s face between both servos and claimed his dermas in a processor-fritzing kiss.

Sweet holy ball bearings of Primus!

When had Prowl remembered how to kiss?! (Actually, that might have been his own fault. Whoops again.) There should have been sweeping orchestral music playing while the crystals lit up around them. He’d never felt so claimed by a kiss in his entire functioning!

After Jazz felt good and scrambled, Prowl pulled back purring.

“Yeah, I missed ya, too. Come on, there’s a nice mech named Torque who needs t’ have a chat with ya.”

He laced their digits together and tugged. Prowl followed him loyally.

Somebot, probably Scattershield, had to foresight to clear the halls of mechs.

Jazz’s comm lit with a call.

:’Ello?:

:Jazz, it’s Scattershield. What are you up to?:

:I’m gonna take Prowl back t’ my habsuite and try t’ get him t’ recharge. Ya think Torque could sneak in t’ get the procedure done?:

:Just a moment… Yes. He says he can do that. Good thinking.:

:Okay. Give me his comm number and I’ll contact him once Prowl is out.:

:Done.:

Jazz coaxed Prowl through the door of his habsuite. He didn’t bother to turn on the lights as he waited for the mech to thoroughly explore and poke around until the room passed whatever assessment Prowl was measuring it against. The visored mech sat down on the berth and opened his arms to the other mech. Prowl needed no more invitation and snuggled up next to him.

Jazz stroked the plating that he could reach and found several scuffs and dents that hadn’t been there when he last saw him.

“Ya really pushed yarself t’ get here, huh? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean t’ make ya worry. Still not sure ‘ow ya knew t’ come here t’ find me. Maybe this is jus’ a place ya knew Enforcers came t’?”

After a few breems, Prowl tipped the two of them over onto the berth and curled around him. Jazz tucked his face into Prowl’s neck cables and just let himself feel safe and cared for.

“I really hope ya like me when ya wake up.” He confessed quietly. “‘Cause I like ya a whole lot.”

He lost track of time as they lay together, but he kept an audial on the sound of Prowl’s systems. Eventually, the sounds shifted to those of recharge.

He called Torque’s comm.

The Medic stealthed his way into the room and over to the berth. For a few spark-freezing breems, Torque was leaned across the two of them accessing the back of Prowl’s helm. Jazz felt it when Prowl slipped from recharge into reboot because the arms holding him went lax. Torque helped untangle him from Prowl.

“The reboot should take about a joor.” Torque told him. “I trust I can leave you to keep an optic on him?” The mech gave him a kind, if knowing, smile.

“Yeah, I can do tha’.” Jazz affirmed. He grabbed a chair and sat himself at the berthside.

“Be sure he gets a cube of mid-grade when he wakes up.” Torque advised, then he left.

Never had a joor ticked by so slowly.

Finally, Prowl began to stir.

Jazz watched in anticipation as Prowl’s optics cycled on. As ice blue met his azure visor he felt a chill of apprehension, afraid for a moment that the early reboot hadn’t worked.

A look of wonderment crossed Prowl’s faceplates as he murmured, “Jazz.”

Jazz felt his spark surge.

Then the look of wonderment changed to confusion and then embarrassed horror as the fragmented and muddied memories caught up with his processor. Prowl put a hand over his face in mortification.

“Oh Primus. You… and then I… I am so sorr-”

Jazz scooted forward in his seat and grabbed Prowl’s hand. “Ya know, I read about this great li’l place not far from here tha’s supposed t’ serve the best additives in Praxus. It sounds like a great place for us to go on our first date. I mean, when they open in spring, o’ course.”

Prowl shuttered his optics a few times. “You mean Richter’s? Wait… You want to go on a date?”

“Yeah, I’d really, really like tha’. If ya’re, um, up for it.” Jazz looked away bashfully for a moment.

“Well, yes, but I just… Even after… How could you want…?”

Jazz watched a pinched expression cross Prowl’s face and wondered if he’d managed to crash the other’s logic center in the first few kliks of talking to him. Fortunately, his face cleared after a moment.

“...You are a very strange mech.”

“Ain’t been the first time I’ve been told that. Also, you said yes.”

“...I did.” Prowl agreed. He glanced at Jazz shyly. “However I must point out that you already accepted my proposal.” Hope and amusement bloomed and danced in Jazz’s chest.

“Did I? When?”

Prowl sat up on the berth and angled towards him. Looking more than a touch embarrassed, he hesitantly placed his servo on Jazz’s chestplate and moved his doorwings in a familiar forward, back, down motion.

“Ah,” Jazz said putting his own servo on Prowl’s chestplate, “so I did. Well, can’t go back on m’ word now, can I? It jus’ wouldn’ be proper.”

Prowl quirked an optical ridge at him, faint mirth alighting in the icy blue, eclipsing the embarrassment.

Jazz screwed up his courage and leaned forward to place his helm against Prowl’s. The Praxian’s vents stuttered.

“You are going to be trouble, I can tell.” The small smile and the press of a chevron to his forehelm took all sting out of the words.

“Only the good kinda trouble.” Jazz promised.

“I find myself looking forward to it.”

Epilogue

Praxus had started to wake slowly from its winter recharge. All the hoarfrost had melted from the buildings. The crystals brightened a little bit more every day. The mechs that had just woken from hibernation ventured outside and businesses were reopening.

Barricade strolled casually into Prowl’s office. His younger brother was at his desk working as per normal so he wasn’t going to admit to being worried yet. Usually, he found the required after-winter staff meeting boring, but this vorn’s had proved to be intriguing as Prowl was both conspicuously absent and the Chief brushed off any questions about him.

He’d been… concerned when the transport picking up the Long Patrol-mechs from their territories had admitted a dark blue mech rather than his sibling. Probing Blowout for information had earned him a churlish look and very little information besides the fact that Prowl was fine. Since Barricade had still been recovering from his own hard reboot, he’d left it alone for the moment. Then the meeting had happened and, well, it was time to get some answers.

“Hey Prowlie.” Barricade greeted watching with glee as his brother’s doorwings flared in irritation tempered with tolerance. At least that was normal.

Prowl sighed, “Must you insist on calling me that childish nickname?”

“Of course, I’m your brother.”

“What do you want?”

Barricade leaned on the desk. Hm, Prowl was in a mood, best be direct. “I want to know why they had to pull you off the Patrol.”

“That’s none of your concern.” A flare and a droop of doorwings.

Embarrassment? Oh, this just got a whole lot more interesting.

“Aw, come on, you can tell your favorite brother.” He flicked his own doorwings. Come on, you can trust me.

“You are my only brother, Barricade.”

Prowl’s resolve was wavering.

“Come on, what happened? No one will tell me anything. I was still coming down off the base prog on the transport home and I nearly socked Blowout in the faceplates when he wasn’t you. I was worried.” There, he said it. It was even true.

Prowl sighed through his vents and mumbled while staring a hole into a datapad, “I didn’t finish my patrol because my Directives got overridden.”

Barricade’s optics flashed in surprise. “How did that happen?”

Prowl didn’t look at him, choosing to continue looking at what had to be the most interesting report on Cybertron. “A mech’s transport crashed into my territory, I saved him from deactivation and brought him to the outpost.”

Well, that was interesting, if not very informative. That still didn’t explain why his Directives were overri- Wait…

Barricade felt a grin stretch his dermas. Oh. How. Precious.

“Don’t say a word.” Prowl snarled without looking up.

Barricade nudged his EM field playfully, like poking him in the side and ignored the warning. “Aww, Prowlie’s all grown up and finally got hot under the collar-fairings for somebot! What’s with the face? Did you chase him around your territory? Or was he ugly as frag when you rebooted? Maybe both?” He needled.

Prowl slammed the datapad down on the desk and half rose out of his chair, doorwings shooting up into a V, a sign that he was truly getting angry.

“Shut up!”

Barricade took a step back with his servos and doorwings raised in a placating gesture. Woah, that was unexpected. Any platitudes he might have given were interrupted by Prowl’s console beeping with an incoming call.

Prowl sat back down with a huff, choosing to ignore his brother in favor of the call.

The screen lit and revealed the smiling face of a very attractive mech. Polyhexian, unless Barricade missed his guess. White faceplates half obscured by a stylish blue visor and a black helm crowned with adorably stubby sensor horns.

“Hiya Prowler!” the mech said cheerfully.

Barricade watched in amazement as Prowl’s entire countenance relaxed into something soft and fond.

“Hello Jazz.”

“So, sorry t’ botha ya at work, bu’ I just got th’ message tha’ Richter’s is open now.”

“It’s not a problem.” Prowl said with a small smile.

Barricade recognized that smile. Prowl might as well have been beaming! What the frag?

Jazz’s smile brightened, if possible. “I’ve got th’ afternoon free. Ya wanna meet for lunch?”

No way, Prowl never left the office during the day, preferring to eat at his desk.

“I would love to.”

Guh- Buh- What?!

“Cool,” the visored mech said happily. “I’ll see ya in a joor at th’ front of the EH?”

“Yes. I will meet you there.”

“‘K. Later, Sweetspark.”

“See you later.”

The screen went dark.

Prowl suddenly seemed to remember that his brother was there and looked at him with a frown, though the anger from before was completely dissipated.

“Huh. That him?” Barricade asked contemplatively.

“...Yes.” his brother said warily.

“I get it.”

Doorwings quirked hopefully.

“I totally would have chased him around my territory, too.”

“Barricade, kindly remove yourself from my office before I use your chevron as a new wall ornament.”

“You sure you don’t want it to use as a courting gift?”

Doorwings flared.

“Out!”