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It wasn't as though he felt anything.
That was what Prowl told himself, day in and day out. It was the only thing that got him through the long days, got him through days where most of the Autobots would barely give him the time of day, let alone treat him like anything more than a drone. It wasn't everyone, but it was a significant portion. Frankly, he surmised, only about half the command staff--including Jazz--and his own twin, Bluestreak, were the only ones to care.
And sometimes, knowing they cared was enough.
But sometimes, it wasn't. Sometimes he yearned for someone to hold him and let him cry it out. But it wasn't as though he felt, right? Even the command staff thought he didn't even really feel anything, right? He never asked if they thought that way. He just assumed. They would have asked him after a meeting if he was okay, right?
But only Jazz did.
Only him.
And when Jazz was away on a mission, it was no one. No one asked him if he was okay. No one walked him to his quarters.
No one ever heard the wailing, the screaming, the punching of the walls. No one heard all the sorrow of the thousands of Praxians who had died...and the few who had lived...screaming through one voice. Prowl would always collapse into berth afterward. He would collapse into berth, too tired to do anything else afterward.
It was a lonely existence, really.
It was lonely going back to your quarters alone to sob. To scream. To beat the wall silently.
So when it wasn't his quarters he broke down in, Prowl didn't understand it. He'd held it in so well. He'd held it in. He buried his face into Jazz without thinking of it, sobbing hard. Jazz tenderly stroked the wings softly, wanting to provide the physical stimulation Prowl needed. He thumbed along the wings, listening to the occasional mewl that had come from Prowl with the sobbing.
Without much thought, and with very little effort, he lifted Prowl into his arms to carry him softly. Prowl hadn't noticed he was no longer on his own feet--or even sitting in any chairs anymore. He just noticed the gentle rocking sensation and Jazz holding him close. He noticed how he was running out of tears sooner, how his vocals cut out, how his frame went limp.
How when he woke up, Jazz was lying there, holding him close.
"Prowler?" You doin' alright?" Jazz asked, his voice dipped low, his optics half-lidded. He had taken off his visor and only Prowl would see the sapphire optics behind it.
Prowl trembled and started sobbing into Jazz's chest anew. He didn't know he still had tears left in his reserve. He shook, sobbing heavily and murmured, unable to say any intelligible words. He nuzzled to Jazz quietly and drew shaky breaths. His optics were full of sadness and stress.
It seemed that Jazz understood all too well the sensation, and he just stroked the back of Prowl's helm, nuzzling his cheek softly. "I'm here. I'm here, Prowler. You don't have to stop crying if you don't feel like it. You don't have to smile, you don't have to stop crying. You can rest in my arms as much as you wish." He hated that Prowl was hurting so much right about now. He hated the pain and he hated that he couldn't do more for Prowl than just this.
Or maybe he could. Maybe he could do more.
"Prowler...anything in particular bothering you?" Jazz asked softly.
Prowl sighed softly and pressed his helm into Jazz. "At least you're here..." He swallowed hard. "At least you're here and I'm not crying it out alone." He buried his face into Jazz softly, wailing softly now.
Jazz didn't judge, didn't force, didn't yell at him or jerk him for it. He held him close and let him cry it out until finally Prowl could cry no more. Until he could feel Prowl's frame go limp and quiet. Prowl had finally cried himself to sleep, and Jazz wouldn't judge that. Instead, he closed his optics to rest for a few groons, get some recharge.
Get some recharge until Prowl woke up.
To say it had not been easy to arouse Prowl was an understatement. Prowl had been wiped out by the huge cry. He felt sick, felt tired after it all, his ventilations shuddering through his frame. It felt like his vents were flooded with gunk that he was choking on. He swallowed hard and shook, almost feeling like he'd swallowed a glob of crystal with his energon.
Jazz still hadn't left his side. Jazz was sitting, listening to music, his hand on Prowl's arm in case Prowl needed him. Prowl nestled into his side and closed his optics.
"Thank you, Jazz." He whispered.