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Characters: @jazz Location: Omega Outpost, Rec Room Content Warnings: n/a Plot Summary: After a hostile encounter with a fellow Autobot Prowl goes in search of the only mech he knows can help him sort everything out; Jazz.
He followed the sense he always had of Jazz, unerringly weaving his way across the base towards the smaller mech. They'd known each other so long now, longer than he could remember it seemed some days, and they knew each other well at that. When he needed a sounding board it was always Jazz he went to. When he had a problem he couldn't fix, the other mech was the one he asked to help him fix it. This, his inability to be still, to function properly, was a problem he couldn't fix by himself. So Jazz was his next option.
He found the other in the rec room, not surprising given his nature, and strode straight over to him without announcing himself. He paid no mind to the looks the soldiers in the room gave him, nor that several of them moved away from him as he moved towards his long time friend.
He didn't speak, didn't issue a greeting or explanation, just grabbed the other by the back of the helm and hauled him back with him. "Come here. Now." He told the other, tones a little more forceful than he typically used on the other mech. He drug the other across the room and to the first private place he found, which turned out to be someone's office. He wasn't paying that much attention to his surroundings to know for sure, but a simple check of the ship's blueprints would take care of that. Not that he cared to check just now, but still.
He let the other go once they were safely in the office, making absent gestures with both hands as if to dust the other off for his handling of him. Jazz was someone he trusted, after all, he didn't want him harmed. And those that knew him and his relationship with the other black and white mech knew that if you hurt Jazz, you'd get a very irate tactician set after you. Jazz was not to be harmed, he would kill someone over the mech. He had killed on behalf of the other in the past. He was vicious, and he knew this. Though he tried very hard to hide that fact. Jazz made him irrational, but at the same time it was Jazz that he trusted the most. Absolute. No questions, no wavering. Just perfect, complete trust.
"Jazz." He offered finally, doorwings fanning just slightly from their downward kept position.
Jazz had been chatting with one of the other soldiers in the room, trying to get a feel for the base as he figured this from that to settle his confusion. He was observant and took mental notes on everything that he stored away for later recollection if needed. For now? It was about trying to relax and find out who was who and where things were. At least that was the plan and it was going well until he spotted a couple of the mechs scooting elsewhere out of the corner of his visor. He didn't get a chance to turn around before he felt a familiar servo on the back of his helm and heard the even more familiar voice speak to him.
Then a yank.
"Yike!" Jazz let out a small squeaked sound as he stumbled and had to correct his footing, taken by surprise as he was manhandled from where he was, half-dragged across the room and right on out the door. "Okay, okay! I'm comin' man, come'on! Slow down! And whatever it is, I didn't do it! I swear it wasn't me this time!"
Jazz only saw this fussy side of Prowl when there had been a practical joke discovered- or unleashed- and Prowl had to deal with the consequences. He figured that by telling Prowl that he had nothing to do with it would deter the mech from dragging him further but it didn't. All he could do was pick up the pace with his own clunky pedes to save himself from being knocked over. Prowl would take him to where whatever the issue was happening was located, that much he knew, so he would wait. He was curious to see what the big rush was about.
... Jazz didn't expect to be taken to a private room, though, and had it been anyone else? He would have figured he was in BIG trouble ( he still sort of did ). This was different.
Once he was let go and had whatever imaginary cooties were on him brushed off, Jazz looked up a the dual colored mech. When he stated his designation? Jazz knew for sure something was amiss. Not because of this string of odd behavior and the way he just spoke, but how he held his doorwings. They were his telling sign of what he was thinking. They betrayed him every time. Not that Jazz would give up that secret little reading of his, though. Jazz would have cracked a joke had this situation not seemed so serious. But he could read his close friend like a book and knew when it was not the best of times to respond with a quip.
"Woah, Prowler..." His pet name for his friend. He rarely said it in the open, choosing to rather keep it as something private between them. One of the few things that kept his spark happy to say, to hear, as much as he wished there were other things that could follow. "What's wrong, man? I ain't seen ya flustered like this since that time the twins broke into your office and bolted everythin' in your office to the ceilin'!"
"Hush Jazz." He told him, feeling the strange squeezing in his spark that told him Jazz was close by and that he should take note. He dropped his helm onto the other mech's shoulder, forehead to shoulder, and vented loudly. His hands actually lifted halfway then dropped, the motion aborted several times as he tried to decide what he wanted to do. He was tactile, though he didn't actually like to be touched. Most of the time. Jazz was his exception. Sometimes. And sometimes he wasn't given a choice by his far more boisterous companion. "Just hush."
Prowl worked his intakes for a few minutes, letting his frame idle down as the first real peace he'd felt all day settled into his frame and his spark. He still had the sense at the edge of his perception of restless energy and violence barely leashed, but it was kept at bay. Jazz, though he'd never tell the other so, was his sanity in what was otherwise a truly chaotic world.
He eventually backed up from the other, doorwings going still as he put some distance between he and the mech that was his truest friend. "Something is wrong with me." He started pacing, something that wasn't his habit to do, and immediately felt the restless energy return full force. He was also disliking being in this small room, but he ignored that. "Its not physical or programming, I already had it checked. This is not the first time this has happened to me, but it has always been on this planet. Furthermore..." He turned abruptly and forced himself to stop, though he could feel his frame vibrating with the need to be on the move again. "I almost attacked a femme today. I know my interpersonal skills are lacking, but I have never before wanted to do harm to one of my fellows before." No, he was more one to plan out his revenge by way of protocol and adding on more shifts and less than pleasant duties than hauling off and hitting something or someone. Hands clenched and unclenched as he tried to stay still, moving in swift up and down movements once he started pacing and talking again.
"I feel restless, unable to contain myself or remain still. I can't work like this Jazz, believe me I've tried. I am not myself and I don't know why that is. I have no explanation for my own behavior, my control is precarious at best and I just..." He swung around again, not realizing that he spoke with his hands as he got steadily wound tighter in his frustration. A snarl finally worked its way out of him as he made a sharp movement towards the far wall and put his fist through it. "I don't know what to do!"
Blue optics lit brighter for a few moments as he realized what he'd done, not quite sure how he'd done it or why he'd done it. It was simply there and he looked from Jazz to the wall and back again several times, doorwings drooping. "Help me. Please." Sharp tones again, and to Jazz. It was unacceptable.
It took some time to register what was happening. Jazz was usually faster than this, able to pick up on everything that was going on around him and adjust himself accordingly. The move of Prowl to his shoulder had been unexpected and he shifted his weight on his pedes for a distribution to the leaned side. He allowed him to stay that way and stayed- as he had been asked to do- quiet during it. This was a sure sign of something being wrong and he attempted to comfort his friend through a touch, even as simple as it was. Jazz brought a servo up to rest lightly on the back of Prowl's helm then stroked it with the side of his thumb. That peaceful time would pass between them and Jazz could feel his spark raise in his chassis as though threatening to burst right out from the 4 printed on his hood. The tactician moving away from him broke it and Jazz lowered his servo quickly, almost bumping into one of Prowl's on the way down.
The the words came, flooding out of his friend's lips like one of Earth's many rolling rivers. He just stood there in the same place he had been left, leaning from here to there to avoid the swinging of Prowl's animated servos as he spoke. No point in making this worse by letting himself be struck, right? At least if it wasn't intentional. He knew that sometimes Prowl needed that avenue to vent and Jazz was usually the one who allowed him his freedom to do so without consequence. Only because Jazz knew him, and knew what he needed.
Too bad Jazz wasn't any good at telling Prowl what he needed. But he was okay with that, because he knew what it entailed and what problems could come of it.
Jazz hadn't even flinched when the wall had been met with a fist, even though the sound was loud enough to probably disturb the neighbor. He was already making his way over to him by the time he pulled free of it and looked at him with such a plea of desperation. He was reaching out to his friend with a fluid-like movement that almost seemed unnatural for a mech of his frame type. But there were so many things about Jazz that shouldn't have been logical, yet he made them so.
"Prowl. Shh." Jazz took the servo of the other in both of his own and delicately kissed the joints of his knuckles that had struck the wall, as though trying to kiss away the ache that may be in them. Cybertronian's felt things differently than humans did, but the culture of what Jazz had stored told him this was a move given to comfort. And right now? Prowl really seemed to need that. Jazz hummed softly as he looked over those knuckles for any sign of needing to go to Ratchet. Sure, there was a dent or two but it wasn't something his own self-repair couldn't fix.
"I'm pretty sure this ain't your office, so don't mess it up." Jazz let the touch disconnect then as he released Prowl's servo and looked back up at him again. "You're erratic, ain't thinkin'. You're tryin', but there's so much goin' on in that confused noggin' of yours that you're just makin' it worse. So calm down." Jazz vented softly, not out of frustration but rather just to open his vents to allow some of the warm air to circulate out. They closed up before he continued. "Have ya tried to work some of it out? Sparrin', anythin' like that? I mean... besides beatin' up the poor wall and draggin' me around like a rag doll. It would probably help to release some of that tension ya got goin' on in them tightly wound circuits of yours."
There was a pause before Jazz lowered his voice some. "I mean, not that I don't enjoy bein' locked in a private room with ya or nothin, but not the point." And then he cleared his throat.
He hadn't hurt himself, thankfully, but somehow having Jazz fuss over him made him feel better. For just a moment at least. He wasn't sure what to make of the kissing though, especially as his spark contracted painfully as knowledge of exactly what this mech could be to him battled with the instinct to back away from anything that personal.
The look he gave the other mech while he was otherwise distracted was pained, and quickly reigned in before the other could see it. Logically, what was going on between them was never going to happen. Too much could go wrong, too much had already gone wrong. He couldn't bare it, didn't want to be responsible for....his spark lurched and he flinched at the new sensation. Best to back away from that train of thought before he hurt himself.
Once Jazz looked back at him his head canted just slightly, regarding the other with his somewhat flat gaze as he spoke to him. "I went outside and walked around a bit, took a drive before. Just made things worse." And since when did he clip off his sentences like this? He was perfectly capable of adequate articulation, so there was no reason to clip out his words.
He vented again, trying to make things work for him. "Right now, I don't think sparring is the best idea for me. I might unintentionally hurt someone." Though if someone hit him it would be a fight, there'd be no stopping him from it at this point.
He heard Jazz's comment and would have been embarrassed by it, but something stopped the emotion before it got to him.
Just then, out of nowhere, pain struck through his spark and forced his entire frame to convulse before he dug against the wall he was close to, intakes hitching violently as he tried to stabilize his suddenly overheated internal systems. He shook his head several times, trying to regain himself before it hit him a second time and driving him off his pedes to the ground. He briefly lost consciousness, though only for a moment or two. When he came back online it had passed with the same swiftness it had come on, leaving the black and white mech confused as to what had just occurred.
All he had was the sense of something being wrong, but not what or where. He managed his pedes again, restarting several systems that had gone off when he'd briefly offlined. "There's nothing wrong with me, so why is this happening?" He didn't even realize he had a hand splayed out protectively over his chassis, protecting the place under which his spark sat as he was still sore from whatever had just hit him.
The tone that had been used to cry out the tactician's designation contained more than just a fear of what had happened. It wasn't anything that he would want to admit out loud and, thankfully, they were the only two here. Just as long as there was no video equipment in the room then there would be no further mentioning of it.
Within the moment that Prowl had gone down, Jazz was right there with him. He had darted forward when he had seen what was happening, his arms outstretched to catch him. When contact had been made, Jazz had gone down with him since the fall couldn't be helped. So he had sat there, staring down at his friend with concern all over his faceplate. One servo tenderly caressed his cheek while the other was shaking him slightly by the shoulder.
"Prowl...! Please Prowl. Primus, come ON!"
Almost as if the anger had been the answer, there was movement. More movement. Now he was getting to his feet! Jazz did what he could to assist but Prowl seemed to have it on his own. He still assisted some, holding one servo against the small of his back, rubbing the strut there gently while the other did the same to the nearest forearm. There was a small tug, a pull, as Jazz moved to lead Prowl to the desk on the other side of the room so he could sit him down in the chair there. Once they would arrive adn Prowl would be sitting down, Jazz would sit on the desk infront of him and pretty much stare him down.
"Prowl? You gonna be okay? Okay, that was dumb'ta ask. Ya know what I mean." He didn't really care to ask that nor did he even know why he had bothered with that question. Of course Prowl wasn't okay! That's why they were having this issue currently. "What happened there? Ya made my spark skip a few beats!" That had slipped some and the light on his visor brightened after realizing the words already got away from him as he then looked down at his lap, almost embarrassed to look at his partner further even as his visor dulled out and returned to normal light. He was too busy staring down and now swung his pedes back and forth. Jazz's own nerves were shot and he'd been trying to figure out why, and being around Prowl was only making things worse as he danced between words and phrases.
"I dunno what's goin' on with ya, but I'm gonna get down to the bottom of it, yeah? Promise."
He did not feel well at all. He hurt internally, though a quick scan of his systems showed no physical damage. He was getting several warnings about his spark and the stability or lack thereof he was experiencing from it. It was a good thing Jazz had a hand on him, as the black and white mech was almost out of it with the pain he was pushing through with a stubborn determination. He would not fall on his backside again! Normally he'd have discouraged the physical contact the other mech was giving him, but seeing as he doubted his own ability to remain upright unassisted he didn't raise a fuss about being touched.
He could trust Jazz, he told himself once again.
Prowl realized something was wrong, especially as the energy of his spark was starting to buzz frantically inside his chassis. He had his hand digging against his chassis again, trying to stop the pain as it started going from dull ache to full pain once again. "Something's wrong..." He hissed the words out and scrambled, fighting against the pain with all the strength he had. He was stubborn, he could push through it, but there was nothing anyone could do about spark related problems while they were happening. He should be asking Jazz to call for Ratchet, but something kept him from it, and he'd probably panic if Jazz did it anyway. He didn't want to see the medic, Ratchet wouldn't help matters.
"Stupid...question...Jazz." He offered the other at first, finally giving in to the urge he had and snagging the other by the hand to give himself some form of grounding. The pain subsided immediately, though it was still there in the painful pulsing of his spark. He wondered, though he wasn't about to put Jazz any closer to his chassis, if having the other mech lay his hand on the armor over his spark casing would make the pain go away altogether. Jazz who he trusted so much, who he knew would never do him harm, and yet he couldn't take that step for himself. One, it was illogical to do so to someone that he wasn't involved with that way. Two, he didn't want to give Jazz any ideas. They would have to remain friends, at least until the war was over.
The tactician offlined his optics for a moment, focusing on the pain and trying to work his way through it. He was being pulled towards the southwest, he noted, though given that he couldn't stand at the moment he wasn't going to be following that trail.
Finally the pain released him, leaving him sore and more than a little confused. And the restless energy that had been commanding him before was also gone, as if drained from him by the pain and the fight. "Feels like I am under attack." He muttered, not at all realizing he'd spoken aloud his personal thoughts. He looked to his partner, realizing Jazz was still with him. "Jazz?"
He still had the other by the hand, and regarded how their hands were entwined for the longest time, trying to decide how best to deal with this entire matter. "I'm sorry for upsetting you Jazz." He was painfully tired, though not in the physical sense.
Optics refreshed and he started, seeing Jazz again as though he hadn't just been speaking to him. "You stayed with me?" He didn't understand, and knew that there was no reason to doubt Jazz's loyalty towards him. They'd watched each other's backs for more years than he cared to count. Why the doubt? It felt, foreign, as if from a source not internal to him.
"Upsettin' me? HA! Takes a lot more than that'ta rattle this cage."
The smaller mech smiled at his friend, not wanting to look away from him in the off-chance that somehow he would disappear. Jazz didn't even really know why he was feeling that way as Prowl had never left his side before. Was it a result of the strange fritz on his nerves that had him a little more on edge than he felt comfortable with? Whatever it was, he hoped that it went away soon. Instead of focusing on that, though, he kept himself in the here and now so that he could best handle the situation with Prowl first.
Jazz felt weight on his servo. Now that it seemed the danger had passed for the time being he started to notice other things that had happened without his knowledge. Prowl must of grabbed his servo at some point and now that the other mech was looking at the contact they were having? He had diverted his own gaze to it as well. While the two would never have a physical connection like this out in public no matter their relationship to one another ( Jazz just found the public stuff to be a little silly unless it was in good sport or a matter of a game ), in private? This wasn't the first time. Every so often he would find Prowl just barely touching a digit when he thought he wouldn't notice while he was being briefed on a mission he was being sent out on. He knew that Prowl never doubted his ability, but somewhere in his processor Jazz liked to pretend that maybe he was just slightly more concerned for his safety than what a long-time friend would be. That was just all stuff that he mused on since no matter his feelings they would never come to fruition. Prowl just wasn't that kind of mech. Though Jazz would still hold onto hope for when after this stupid war was over.
He wasn't about to lose this contact, though. Jazz needed it just as much as apparently Prowl did. So as the mech was inspecting the way their digits almost perfectly fit to one another? He curled them in and sealed it to a slightly tighter grasp. If Prowl paid mind, or was able to at least, he would no doubtly be able to sense the subconscious desperation linked in the way he held onto his partner. The slight rub of his thumb to Prowl's own thumb joint where it met with his wrist, just where the sensitive nerves to that digit were, would hint to this.
Chirolinguistics. Something Jazz was fluent in and had tried to teach Prowl in the past. The silent language that no one but those who knew it themselves would ever understand.
"Yoooou... outta lemme comm Ratch." As much as Jazz wanted to before, he couldn't bring himself to do so without at least giving the other mech the heads up. "I wanna keep ya'round a bit longer so I'd like'ta know ya didn't hurt nothin'. And yeah, I know your scans would tell ya if somethin's wrong, but it's just for ma'own peace o'mind. Not right now, though. Lets stay like this a little longer... just to make sure you'll stay steady on them pedes of yours. He added that last bit just to sway a hint of it meaning something else. This was common for him to do from time to time around others- and always when he was in the company of Prowl. "If ya fell out there the others would talk, then it would get back ta Ratch. If he found out ya had all this goin' on and didn't see him he'd probably disable both of us and make us stay in the medbay against our will."
A cover of sorts, but a logical one. Jazz knew that most of what was going on with the other mech had to be settled within himself. That was a common thing that the two of them shared. While Prowl was not the socialite that Jazz was, they handled issues that took them out of character to others the same. Prowl would go quieter than normal, hash things out, rationalize them and register each thing one at a time, much in the same way that Jazz did. Jazz just had the ability to still interact with those around him while he did it so that none would be the wiser of what was really happening internally. Good thing he never went for neuroscans. Things like this? From what Jazz had seen just now? Considering his own hesitations with medics and how he could be missing all his limbs and still refuse to visit Ratchet? That said something about his level of concern over what had just happened.
He was worried about his partner's spark! He had reason! And it was a damn good one.
He was unsteady, he realized, and missing small beats of time as he tried to concentrate on the world around him. That was a bad sign, he knew, but still he stayed as he was. The specific way Jazz was touching him told him things weren't good. Jazz never did things just to do them, he always had a reason. They were alike in that, even if Jazz's reasons were often 'because I wanted to' rather than anything logical. That was fine. He might not have spoken the silent language Jazz did, but he did know the other mech exceedingly well.
Prowl didn't normally touch the ones around him, in fact he disdained casual touch. However, for the sake of Jazz's more tactile nature, he tolerated it. So he forced his other hand away from his chassis and laid it on top of the other black and white's to stop the movement of his thumb and a sharp tug to get Jazz's optics up to his own. The contact itself didn't bother him, it was the sense of Jazz's mood that made him stop the other.
"I'm alright Jazz." Though the urge to put one hand back to his chassis to protect himself was strong. He regarded the other with his full attention, feeling the lingering pain fading as he retained contact with Jazz. The look he gave the other mech said clearly Jazz was not to tell him that he wasn't worried, because he knew that would be a lie.
It was the next thing the other said that made him let him go, made him pull away and actually push his frame more into the seat he was sitting in. "No. No medics. No Ratchet. Just no." And though he knew he didn't care for having to go to medical, he also knew he was clipping out his words again. He realized then, with a bit of a start, that he didn't trust Ratchet to attend to his medical condition whatever that may be. He didn't trust their lead medic, and that had never been true before. Prowl trusted very few mechs, but Ratchet had always been on that list. Not as much as he trusted Jazz, but Ratchet and Optimus were the other two mechs he trusted most.
So, this sudden lack of trust towards their CMO was something that made no logical sense. He shook his head, one hand going to the side of his helm while the other returned to its protective posture over his spark. "It is as if I've just had a massive processor crash. I don't seem able to think or act rationally, and everything is out of place. Something attacks me from the inside and I don't know how to deal with it. I trust you Jazz, but as of this moment I do not trust anyone else."
What Jazz said was reasonable, logical even, but he didn't want to go to the medics. He didn't want to have everyone see that something was wrong with him. He didn't want to be removed from duty, to have to say something to Optimus about missing time and pain in his spark that couldn't be explained. He just wanted Jazz to make things better, like he always did. This, whatever it was, was so far into the realm of personal that he was lost in dealing with it himself.
Jazz's visor lit up when he was made to stare up at Prowl. He didn't know what to say at that moment. For once, when Prowl really needed him, he was drawing a blank on what he could do and say to make this better. The contact was making some parts of him feel better, but as far as his spark was concerned this was painful. It longed to sing to the spark of the other mech and being denied that made everything in the chamber hurt and he swore he felt his spark thump against the confinement in an act of retaliation. The jump in his chassis made his visor flicker but he didn't move nor show signs of discomfort. When Prowl pulled away? His visor repeated the odd flicker of light.
If this was what humans experienced when they went through a broken heart, Jazz could understand why some never recovered. Cause frag it all, was it painful...
He stared at Prowl as he moved away, staying right where he was for the time being. He listened, watched, waited for any signs that he would need to dive in and save the damsel from falling again. Jazz took note of everything in the room that could be a possible hazard as far as striking his helm on something if he did go down. He seemed to be in the clear where he was, but that desk seemed way too close. At least for Jazz's level of comfort. Prowl probably didn't even notice, too busy going on about the medic and how he couldn't trust the others. This was unusual. Sure, Prowl was never one to want to deal with the others in the way the socialite special ops mech was, but the fact that he was saying he didn't trust anyone else? That was concerning.
Jazz moved towards the mech, his spark leading the charge to get closer to Prowl's own. He didn't care to fight it, as he wanted to be near to the other himself, so he'd just roll with it. Or rather, roll the chair. While Prowl was busying himself with the world he was taking himself to, Jazz moved around to the side and pivoted the spinning chair around so that the back of it- and the back of Prowl- was to him. He leaned over quickly, figuring that the other mech would have realized what was going on right now, and just rested his chin against the windshield of his alt mode. He had to be mindful of the doorwings, but he always did find it fascinating how he just fit between them just perfectly.
"I'm glad ya trust me," he whispered. "If ya can't trust anyone else and ya trust me, then trust the words I'm sayin' to ya, Prowler. I need you to do that for me." Jazz didn't touch him more than that, knowing that this was a delicate situation they were in. He had to be cautious and slow. His servos just reached down and pressed against the arms of the chair so they were out of the way and could support him in the top-heavy lean over so he didn't just go falling right over his partner. "Ya gotta try to stay focused. Only think of one thing at a time and sort it out. You're tryin' to process everythin' at once and you're gonna burn yourself out. Then you WILL have a crash and I'm gonna need to haul ya to Ratch. Now, as far as that goes? Ya have to see him. I'm tellin' ya that ya gotta go. I don't care when in the next cycle or two, but ya will. Either on your own or me haulin' ya there myself. Got it? Cause I can't have my tactician not on top of his game and there be some risk that you miscalculate somethin' and send me on a mission that you ain't got ironed out entirely..."
Jazz didn't need to finish that, since he figured Prowl knew where he was going with it. Send him out on an impossible mission and give him the wrong information, and then this base would be short one Special Operations Agent. The fact that he emphasized 'my' in there hadn't gone unnoticed to him, but he hoped that while it was in the midst of a Jazz-typical threat that Prowl at least wouldn't.
Doorwings stuck straight out from his body to allow Jazz to fit just so between them, but also because he was startled. He actually tipped his head to tell the other to stop invading his personal space when a sharp flare of pain rolled through him. It was different than the pain from before, deeper somehow. Or like Jazz being close did exactly what he'd thought it would do, chased away whatever was poking at his spark. Because Jazz had every right to do that, their energies were compatible in a way that spoke to sparkmates.
The chair was made for someone with doorwings such as he had, so the back was low on his frame and left Jazz's chassis to touch his back. His spark vibrated and was pushing towards the smaller mech in a desperate bid to be with the one it belonged with. Despite the fact that they were both fighting against the effect, their sparks did speak to one another. Frequently. It made being this close to Jazz, even in combat, problematic. Or, in this case, painful.
"Jazz...move." Though there was no force behind his command, seeing as the pain was fading away under the sense of well-being and calm that came from being this close to his long time friend. It was an awkward position for him to be in, which was part of the problem. If Jazz had come around in front of him he'd have probably dumped the other straight to the floor, but he was behind him, between doorwings. That was a place he considered reserved for the smaller mech seeing as he fit just so there. Not something he was telling the other. Not at all. Never.
Prowl let himself bask in the feeling of their sparks being this close together, of the world making sense and his processors working the way they were supposed to. Jazz, as he had always known, made the world right again. Despite being what he called chaos personified. Jazz defied most natural forms of logic with the things he could do and the situations he could survive. Yet that had never done more than irritate his more rational and logic driven personality. And they worked well together.
His systems idled then, making a low humming sound that vibrated through his frame. He'd deny it later, but this was the best he'd felt in a long time. There were still things missing from his memory, but at least he wasn't experiencing pain and restless energy and lack of control. "I knew seeking you out was for the best." He offered, leaned slightly forward in the chair since Jazz was braced against his back.
But then Jazz was talking to him, and he knew he should listen, except that he was talking about the medics again. He gave the other a sour look, blue optics brightening a little as his energy balanced out and his systems stabilized. "Must I?" He wasn't whining or anything, it was a simply put question.
It was questioning his ability to keep Jazz safe that finally snapped him out of his stupor of comfort, much the same as the conversation with Arcee had done before. "I would never send you or anyone else out on a mission that I wasn't absolutely certain I had planned for ever single possible contingency. Have some faith in me Jazz." He shifted and gave a firm tug against the other mech's visor. "I trust you, why can't you trust in me that much at least?" He vented, starting to rile even though proximity was making that feat nearly impossible.
"I would take myself off duty if I thought there was even the slightest chance I'd send you out ill prepared." His digits were clamped down over the other mech's visor, making him pay attention as his tone went down an octave and turned fierce. "Don't push me Jazz. That is the one topic I will not have used on me. You already know how much I hate sending you out. I've made no secret of it bothering me. I have to send you out all the time on missions I know could kill you. Don't remind me that all it takes is one slip up on my part to be responsible for your death!" His final words were snarled and he pushed the other by the head back a little bit.
Though he really didn't want to he tore himself away from the smaller mech then, out of the chair and across the room to pace back and forth again. He was riled and knew he'd slipped control, but this time it was all his own doing. Jazz had stumbled into the one thing that could undo him. He finally stopped and pointed at the other, optics blazing from blue to red and back again as his spark screamed in pain. "Of all the mechs I know, how could you have so little faith in me? I have never, not in the entire time we've known each other, failed to put my faith in you and your abilities. Why is it that everyone questions mine? Why do you, of everyone, not trust me?"
His tone was sharp, but his voice didn't rise after the first outburst. His control was somewhat in tact, he realized, and now the rage that burned in his spark was cold and painful. He felt betrayed, and dropped his hands in a sharp movement to stop any forward movement on Jazz's part. "Just don't. I made a mistake coming to you. I'll...I will go see Ratchet." His doorwings drooped, defeated in that at least. He didn't want to go, most certainly not alone, but if Jazz really didn't trust his judgment...What was there to do?
The ferocity in Prowl's gestures and words would have had another mech squirming in his hold, pleading to be let go and scrambling to get away. Not Jazz. Instead he just stood there, allowing for each of his words to process and take their course, while moving his helm however Prowl demanded of it. He didn't flinch, didn't even cry out. Even if Prowl would have raised a servo to him he wouldn't have shown any signs of backing down or giving in to any level of fear. Because Jazz knew him, and he knew that there was something wrong. When he was pushed away and Prowl moved to the other side of the room Jazz still stood there, watching and waiting as he defended himself against the words of the spec ops mech. This was all normal and he was at least relieved at that.
That was where the relief stopped. The change in his optic color brought out Jazz's concern and the painful cry of his spark drew him to take a step in spite of Prowl's motion to keep away. When did Jazz ever listen? Not before, rarely ever, and certainly not now. So he moved, pacing himself from where he had been to now the other side of the table where he sat on the edge and crossed his arms over his chest. At least he'd gotten Prowl to listen about going to see Ratchet, and knew that once the other said that he would go, he would do it. Honor code and all that, so that concern was no longer valid. Now it was time to settle the pain that his spark felt from the other, in spite of the two not being bonded. Being that close had definitely triggered something and it made even Jazz uncomfortable.
"Shame on ya, Prowler. That ain't what I meant..." Jazz's voice remained calm but he didn't look at the tactician. Instead he was staring down at his pedes which were softly tapping on the floor then kicking at some imaginary pebble. "It's not that I don't trust you or your ability... but rather, I don't trust my own." There was a moment of pause as Jazz collected his thoughts. His frame visibly tensed, almost as if he were closing himself off before he continued. "Ya think I like goin' out there all the time, knowin' that I may not come back to everyone? To you? Yeah, I volunteer for everythin' and can't say no, but I ain't goin' out there havin' fun. I know I can get the job done cause I'm the best at what I do... and that's where it stops. I'm in and out and know roughly what to expect 'cause I got the best damn strategist there's ever been. I already got the gridwork laid out for me an' know what my options are before I even step foot into the mission. I got the physical means and stealth, yeah, but I ain't worth scrap when it comes to military strategy. That's all you, Prowl."
Jazz rubbed his arm a bit and moved his helm to look over at the wall opposite to where Prowl was now as if there was something of interest there. Only there wasn't, he just couldn't keep his thoughts together and look at Prowler as long as his spark was crying out in pain the way it was. The denial of answer from Prowl's spark to his own hurt him to the core and he didn't want it anymore.
"Before I had you, I just got lucky. I had to do things alone because I didn't wanna risk anyone else over my own stupidity. Then you came along and turned everythin' around. It was so easy and I wasn't scared of leadin' troops into the unknown anymore. There ain't a mech in the world I wouldn't tell that I owe my life, my team's life and my successes out there to you. I can't do this without'cha."
Finally he looked at Prowl, but only after standing up. He turned so that he was fully facing him, his visor's light as intense as ever. "Sure, a victory in our corner is awesome n'all, but I never take the credit. I always hand them off to you cause you're the one who come up with these... I don't even KNOW what to call them. They're just amazin'! But ya know what, Prowler? I mainly look forward to bein' able to come home and bringin' all them captured flags to you. Seein' ya waitin' on me, wantin' to hear the details of the mission, gettin' your nod of approval when things go the right way..."
Jazz moved towards him, ignoring that Prowl probably didn't want him near. He'd said coming to him was a mistake, but before he'd said it was a good thing. There was so much conflict that Jazz could pick up and he wanted it gone. The only time that there was peace was when he was close to the other mech. He needed it, and he would take the consequences that his actions would bring. In this case? It was getting as close to Prowl as he was allowed. The tactician could move away if he wanted to, though Jazz was determined enough that he'd probably chase him around the office should it lead to that. He was fully intending on getting right up to him and invading his personal space just as he had before, only this time he approached from the front. If Prowl corrected him? So be it. The closer he got, the louder his spark became as it shuddered in its chamber. It was singing again- as per usual for the mech that always had a song he could pull up in reference to a situation- though there was a note of loneliness tied in with it as it tried to get through that wall that seemed to have gone up between them for the moment.
Shame on him? Shame on him?! Did this little idiot really not understand how badly it hurt him to hear this mech that he trusted so much essentially say that he believe in him. "If you didn't mean it that way that don't say that again." He knew his tone was still frigid, and the pain was back worse than before. His spark was screaming at him to stop, to stop fighting, to stop being angry, to settle down.
'Calm down. Preferably before you fall down.'
He heard the words, didn't question why they were spoken almost directly to his spark, and obeyed. For a moment a rush of calm rolled through him, his pedes planted further apart to manage his balance and doorwings fanning out for the same reason. Calm down. That sounded like a perfectly logical thing to do, an easy task. For a moment he could even concentrate on that task, just one thing at a time. Then the pain slammed back into him and the calm was lost. He could swear he heard cursing, but discounted it as his own irritated psyche ranting at him. Not that he cursed often, but still.
"You make no sense." He told the other, finally able to speak again. He shook his head, hands moving to hold either side of his helm while he made the motion before he forced himself to put his hands down and be still. "I have never cared for praise. I know what I do matters. The only thing that has ever mattered to me is in knowing that those I send out, those I send orders to back and forth on the field of battle know that I will not fail them. That I will not stop until everyone that can come back, does come back. That I care what happens to them, each one, because a single soldier alone may not make much of a difference, but we are Autobots. Our strength is in our ability to work together, to fight as a cohesive unit. If those around me can't believe that I know what I'm doing, or question rather I would allow a problem of a personal nature put their safety at risk then...that bothers me."
Prowl did his best to keep himself from ever becoming this way. The fierce, passionate nature of him that kept him going forward even when victory seemed so far away. He kept himself so contained because he didn't want to others to see just how effected he was by the war. The lives he'd been responsible for and lost over the years took their toll, but he was always the calm force. The tactician of the Autobot army. Nothing ruffled him, no one could come close to matching his tactics on the field. He'd heard several variations of the praise over his years of service. But it didn't matter.
When Jazz moved towards him the tactician's processors failed him. He saw no way of getting away from the other mech, and right now he wanted away quite badly. Doorwings fanned out behind him as he backed up until he hit the wall, hands drawn up to ward the other mech away. "Jazz stop." He felt pressure on his doorwings and realized he was pressing himself against the wall as if that would keep the spy from his determined path.
"I'm sorry." That was all he said, just wanting to make it better. He knew he had hurt the other mech enough and though his steps towards him seemed to only make it worse? He still wanted to be close to him. His spark was calling out, that loneliness starting to dissipate the closer he got to him. Finally he stopped, only a few steps away from him, and watched as he squirmed and backed up like a cornered animal trying to scramble away. He knew this body language because it was his own and he would be reacting this same way should the tables have been turned. For now the distance was enough, allowing him a chance to settle his spark's sad tale. It was calling again, pulling, but Jazz stood his ground for now.
"Prowl... please. Don't run from me. You know I can't stand when you're locked up in your tower where I can't reach ya." Jazz stared at his partner, wanting- NEEDING- to be closer, but knowing that this was a risk to take. His talking seemed to only make things worse, but things had to be said. This was hardly the time but he really just couldn't anymore. He wanted his Prowl back. HIS Prowl, who was calm and collected and not as quick to anger. Was this a result of the crazy thing his own nerves were feeling? The weird position that they were in that made something about the world around them seem mixed and confused and... out of place.
"No. I'm not gonna stop... not until I got answers. So, Prowl. Tell me why, cause I gotta know, man. Why ya gotta be the only one who can really hurt me?"
Jazz stepped close to him, just staring, but not touching for the time being. He had no concept of personal space sometimes, even though he should have considering that he hated being trapped himself. "Tell me why you're the only one my spark beats in sync for? You're the one it sings for no matter how many times I tell it that it can't be a thing. How denyin' what it wants don't make it stop, but makes each pulse hurt more? All I wanna do is to be close to you, to have my spark beat with yours like a harmonous love song. Sayin' no should be enough, but it's not."
His visor dulled as he looked at him and he frowned. Prowl was good at logical answers, so as long as Prowl had one for him this time? Then he could at least be calm. Should Prowl yell at him and walk away and never speak to him again over this? At least their parting would be on the grounds of knowing just where he stood with the tactician.
It was out there. Cat was outta the bag. Now he just waited to see.
Aug 13, 2020 16:26:13 GMT
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