[personal profile] ante_luce
Title: Autobots and Jaegers and Kaiju (Oh, my!)
'Verse: 2007/09/11 Transformers. Pacific Rim crossover.
Characters: Prowl. Jazz. Bay'verse TFs and humans. No Pacific Rim humans appear in this fic.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Parenthesis overuse.
Notes: For the Sept '13 Anniversary Challenge at the PxJ comm

He waited at the Shatterdome’s open training ground, a slight grin on his faceplates. On the far side of the barren space, the only halfway safe place for what they were about to do, stood a certain black and white tactician, doors sleeked back, drawn high and imposing. Around the edges of their makeshift sparring floor (and behind hastily constructed walls of sandbags, a task accomplished with sudden enthusiasm by assorted Ranger cadets), the humans hunkered down, waiting expectantly.

Prowl approached, coming towards him slowly, almost predatory in his movements , and Jazz responded by circling him, stance loose, optics never leaving Prowl’s face, and the hush that fell over the grounds seemed to crackle with anticipation.

Then Jazz leapt, a quicksilver flash in the sun, lashing out in a strike that was immediately blocked by an unyielding arm, dancing back just as quickly as the other mech lunged forward.

= = =

Earth had been full of surprises for Prowl (more that the sudden rush of relief that he’d found the Prime’s team again), not the least of which had been the giant, seemingly organic beasts and the mechs that formed the primary defence against them. After that, finding out that both were almost a whole magnitude larger than even Optimus Prime had been practically anticlimactic.

More curious than astonishing was that the beasts bled blue.

= = =

They traded blows, familiar enough with each other to know when to pull an attack, how to move so a strike would turn into the briefest touch, both relishing the challenge that sparring with each other always posed, until finally the edge of Prowl’s hand stopped at Jazz’s throat, a bare laser’s breadth from the sensitive cables, nearly a quarter of an hour into the session.

As someone from the crowd called out, “One-zero!” the tactician glanced their way, shook his head and tilted his frame so they could see the clawed hand on his midsection, poised to cause severe damage to his internals if there had been any deadly intent to their combat at all. Their referee nodded, correcting the score.


= = =

Making contact with the humans had been a cautious affair. Even though the events of the Ghost 1 had proven that Cybertronians were not completely unknown to Earth, there was a difference between a specimen being studied, and the sudden public appearance of an unrestrained, clearly sapient individual obviously of the same make of said specimen (Besides, any species that had to go toe to toe with beings such as the Kaiju on a regular basis were not to be approached lightly).

Jazz found himself thanking the Allspark that the Prime had waited for reinforcements before approaching Earth. And that Prowl had been amongst the bots who’d managed to answer Optimus’s call. The mech’s support and advice had always been invaluable, especially to the Autobots, and that was proving true now more than ever.

It had been Prowl who’d identified an individual within the Pan Pacific Defense Corps who would have the clearance to know about the ‘Iceman’ project (and by association, Cybertronians), as well as the inclination to be fascinated by them and therefore unlikely to land the bot making contact into a similar situation as that of the once Lord Protector Megatron.

And so it was a gobsmacked Maggie Madsen who watched a red Ferrari unfold itself into a robot over thrice her height (it should have been Jazz in Mirage’s place, but Prowl had firmly insisted that Mirage’s cloaking ability gave him a better advantage should he have to make a quick escape, and Jazz had subsided with only minor grumbling, and in record time, according to Ratchet).

Only the fact that she’d seen larger on a regular basis kept the analyst from passing out (and didn’t that sound dirty, Maggie spared a moment to giggle helplessly to herself). That and the fact that she was trying not to squeal with fangirly joy.

= = =

“We can’t make the Jaegers move like that.”

Ratchet vented air at the hushed comment, and the young technician barely managed to stop from glaring at him, hair slightly dishevelled from the gust as she turned away from the screen showing a live feed of the improvised sparring ground.

“Well, you humans did a very fine job reverse engineering those bots from Megatron’s icy aft, even if they’re still a little primitive in design.” She frowned, then clutched at her notepad, eyes widening slowly in realisation when the Autobot medic added slyly, jerking a thumb at himself and Wheeljack, chuckling softly by his shoulder. “Imagine what you’d accomplish with cooperative specimens, and the mechs who built most of them!”

A series of crashes sounded from the display unit’s speakers, followed by a shouted “Two-one! Two-two!” Not that Mikaela noticed, mind preoccupied with designs and plans that were suddenly, achingly, within feasible reach. Ratchet smirked to himself, then sent a rebuking comm. burst at the pair of bots on the other side of the Shatterdome, scowling at the image of Jazz perched atop Prowl, pinning the other mech to the ground. Official demonstration spar or not, he’d told them he was too busy to be repairing anyone today.

= = =

Maggie introduced the Autobots to her superior, one Reginald Simmons. After that initial meeting, Jazz voiced the thought that Prowl himself had had, wishing they’d found Red Alert before landing on Earth, if only to see what would happen when the security mech met the ex-agent. Ironhide bet on explosions. Ratchet said it was typical of Ironhide to think of blowing things up first and second. And Optimus had been of the opinion that the two would get along, eventually. Maybe.

Prowl personally thought that Red Alert would like the abrasive man. Who else, when faced with the plans for what would have been the original Jaeger (already taller than Megatron and essentially an anti-Cybertronian measure), years before the Breach existed, would say, “Make it bigger.”?

Simmons’s colleague, the immensely more personable Tom Banachek (sandpaper was more personable than Simmons), had described him best.

“I don’t know if he’s prescient or just so damn paranoid he might as well be.”

Perhaps associating with Jazz had given him a few bad habits, a slight tendency towards embellishment amongst them, but Prowl couldn’t help but think that Red Alert would have loved Simmons.

= = =


Will Lennox nodded approvingly as the mechs fought. That was how an assessment spar should go, working with a partner instead of trying to beat an opponent down. He hoped his cadets were taking notes, though he had little hope for some of them.

Granted, according to the brief he read, all the Autobots were already connected on some baseline level. They were people, but they were also machines, with common code and wireless uplinks and all that technical stuff. It made sense that it was simpler to connect if you shared a universal operating system. Ratchet had mentioned that trust was necessary for achieving the deeper connections, but basically, what would pass for Drift compatibility in Cybertronians was less about discipline and trust, but more along the lines of say... having a circulatory system.

Observing the way the silver mech carefully avoided the big honking targets on the black and white one’s back, and the fact that no strike ever came near that gleaming visor, the Ranger, or ex-Ranger, as he and his wife had pulled back from the front lines when Sarah had gotten pregnant (though not before she’d done what many pregnant ladies had undoubtedly wished for and deliberately Drifted morning sickness at him, yay) leant to one side slightly with a query for the black Autobot beside him.

“So... those two?”

Because he’d seen Jazz training with Bumblebee, but the fight happening on that floor was on a completely different level altogether.

Ironhide grunted, but his optics gleamed with amusement. Lennox liked Ironhide. He liked the cannons and the offer to shoot at lollygagging Ranger cadets on the obstacle course even more. And when he’d regretfully declined (OHSA would kill him and the Autobot medic had yelled at Ironhide, who’d protested that of course he’d make sure to miss and that it was a training method that worked perfectly well on Cybertron), the suggestion to rope in that yellow mech to chase after them had been inspired.

“It might take them an actual... what do you humans call it... ‘Drift’ before they realise it, but yes.”

“They might be the smallest of you lot, but I don’t think they’ll fit in a Conn-pod.”

“I believe the traditional Earth method involves ‘broom closets’.”

Will laughed.

“As fine a tradition as that is, I don’t think they’ll fit in there either.”


“Well. They fit just fine on that sparring floor.”

= = =

All things considered, Jazz thought Simmons was preferable to the swarm of bureaucrats kicked up into a frenzy by their arrival.

Glancing at Optimus and Prowl, currently dealing with every official willing to brave the risk of another Event happening while they were out on the coast (fewer than there would have been otherwise, Jazz supposed that Simmons hadn’t gotten to where he was without a whole slew of dirty tricks for dealing with the powers that be), the silver mech sent Prowl a commiserating ping, smiling when black and white doors flickered briefly in a subtle shrug.

The saboteur snickered quietly at the patient air surrounding the Prime, much like that of a cybercat with rambunctious kittens practicing their pouncing techniques on its tail, then leant back against the wall, content to watch Prowl in his element, backing up their Commander, running rings around blustering individuals with his particular style of implacable and relentless logic, waving cheekily at him when the black and white mech stole a wary glance at the saboteur, experience having taught him that a patient Jazz was usually a plotting Jazz.

Ironhide’s request on Lennox’s behalf for that combat demonstration couldn’t have come at a better time. Prowl would certainly want to work all that government bureaucracy out of his systems. Jazz considered how long it’d been since he’d last faced off against the tactician, then hid his grin when Prowl glanced his way again. Well, Ironhide probably wouldn’t mind if Jazz changed the proposed lineup just a little.

= = =

The cadet approached the two Autobots after their spar had been interrupted by the Kaiju sirens, the Shatterdome having gone quiet and tense as the Jaegers deployed and the rest of the people on base went about what business they could while waiting for their return. Jazz noticed him first, turning to face the young human, and behind the silver mech Prowl shifted, glancing over the saboteur’s shoulder to look at him too.

“You’re that cadet Bumblebee was talking about. The fast one.”

Sam laughed awkwardly at Jazz’s words, one hand rubbing the back of his head distractedly. “Ah, yeah, I guess? I’m kinda scrawny, awkward and have a tendency to mouth off at the wrong time. If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s running from anyone bigger than me, which is pretty much every person ever.”

And run he had, avoiding every attempt Bumblebee had made at tagging him. Eventually the other cadets had figured out that Sam was really good at keeping away from the yellow mech and he ended up practically leading the pack as Bumblebee herded them around the training grounds, Kaiju roars pouring from his speakers for effect.

No word yet on whether Instructor Lennox had actually patted the mech on the foot and said, ‘That’ll do, ‘Bee, that’ll do,’ when he called their tormentor off and the cadets collapsed where they stopped, panting madly, and no one dared ask.

“So... about Bumblebee... I was wondering if you knew where he was. I haven’t seen him or Optimus around today and you’d think mechs with paintjobs that bright would be easy to spot. And I know you’ve all been fighting your war since what seems like forever to us humans but we’re used to being tiny compared to the Kaiju and Cybertronians probably aren’t except I’m just a kid on the verge of washing out worrying about war veterans and I’m babbling so I’ll shut up now.”

Jazz smiled at the fidgeting cadet. “’Bee’s safe. He, Prime and some of the others took off inland on an errand before we got up to spar.”

Sam exhaled slowly, leaning against the wall and sliding down to sit beside the pair of mechs. “Oh... good. That’s good. Uh... don’t tell anyone how stupid I was being, please?”

“I’m sure that both Bumblebee and Optimus would appreciate your concern for them.” Prowl offered quietly, optics slightly dim, attention divided between their surroundings, the reports coming in from Bumblebee and the LOCCENT tactical feed he’d been observing. The young man shrugged, eyes still fixed on his regulation issue boots.

“That’s about all I’m good for. You’re as different from each other as a Jaeger and a Kaiju and you still made syncing up look easy. And I know there’s no trick to your compatibility, just...” his hands flailed, as if trying to pull the right words out of thin air, “biology, even though Cybertronians are about as non-biological as anything can get. But I’m just Sam Witwicky, champion at running away, sitting on my butt, and being concerned. Oh, and being about as useful as half a Ranger team, which, incidentally, I am, ‘cos no one can Bridge with the weird kid.”

The two Autobots looked at each other, and Jazz had just opened his mouth to reassure Sam once more when the all clear sirens sounded and the cadet was scrambling to his feet, ready to away to wherever he had to be next.

“Gotta go. I’ll be seeing you around, I guess.”

He smiled and was gone, and Prowl got to his feet, venting air softly. Jazz rose as well, then smirked at the tactician, bumping against his shoulder lightly.

“So, which one of us is the Kaiju?”

“You are, most certainly, and you knew what my answer would be so your protests otherwise will be unnecessary.”

Jazz laughed, and they made their way outside once more.

= = =

It had not taken long before Simmons asked the Autobots, as an alien race that had scattered to the far reaches of space, had the Cybertronians ever come across something like the Kaiju before? (Prowl had been wondering when the subject would come up, and was gratified that it happened rather quickly.)

When searching their memory banks for anything relevant turned up nothing useful, Optimus had brought up the fact that the Allspark (formally returned to the Autobots but allowed to remain in PPDC storage as a goodwill gesture between the two groups) also functioned as repository of information, and though the current bots on Earth didn’t know anything, there might be relevant data stored in the ancient Cybertronian artefact that could now be accessed and interpreted.

Some of the Autobots had grumbled privately at Simmons for being ‘unreasonably paranoid’ and storing the Allspark as far from the coast as it could be. Prowl found himself taking Simmons’s side. With all focus on the Kaiju and researching new Jaeger technology from Megatron (still deep frozen and officially determined to be in stasis by Ratchet, and no one had any idea how to proceed with that delicate can of worms yet), the Allspark, being unusable for that purpose and indecipherable to the humans, was understandably considered lower priority, and in any case they should be glad that the Allspark was so well protected.

Jazz had only chuckled softly, saying that they already had to deal with the possibility of there being two Red Alerts on Earth in the future, and Earth couldn’t handle it if Prowl started being the third.

And Ironhide had obviously absorbed Earth’s culture with surprising speed, given the mech’s inexplicable comment to him about Jazz sleeping on a couch for the night.

= = =

As the Jaegers returned, slotting into their holding bays for repairs and maintenance, Prowl sent a tactical analysis of the battle to the relevant officials and continued monitoring the Prime’s trip out to access the Allspark, Jazz tapping into Bumblebee’s feed just as the following conversation occurred in the yellow mech’s interior.

“Ever think you might be pushing the ‘covering all our bases’ thing well into crackpot territory?”

Banachek, sounding like someone more long resigned to the nature of his colleague than annoyed.

“All visionaries start out as crackpots.”

Simmons replying dryly, as Jazz pinged the tactician with a brief //Red Alert//, which Prowl duly ignored.

“I won’t deny that it does wonderful things for the Corps, but I swear it also gives us ulcers the size of a Jaeger.”

Banachek again, with the other man responding in a manner that spoke of this being an old, fondly repeated routine.

“I’d trade ulcers for living to see tomorrow. You’re welcome for the Jaegers, by the way.”

“What sane person would expect Kaiju to pop into existence one day?!”

“Not a sane person, perhaps. But a crackpot who spends a great deal of time around a giant frozen robot of death and destruction and has an ounce of common sense might eventually get around to thinking that they need to build something that could Stomp. That. Robot’s. Ass.” Simmons paused. “No offence to our current method of conveyance and escort intended.”

Bumblebee, clearly amused by their repartee, replied with a scratchy sounding, “None taken,” prompting Simmons to conclude with his finishing blow.

“That same crackpot would also never keep a cube that makes homicidal sentient robots in a Shatterdome with very, very big, not-as-of-yet-homicidal-or-sentient robots. Just saying.”

Jazz had a hand pressed to his lip plates, struggling to keep his grin from turning into full blown laughter when Prowl murmured mildly, “At least he’s on our side,” setting the saboteur off into uncontrollable peals of mirth.

= = =

A fresh tissue sample had been brought back from the recent battle, and J-Tech reluctantly said their goodbyes to Ratchet and Wheeljack as the mechs headed over to K-Science, wishing that they had Perceptor with them. While both were no slouches outside of their respective specialities (medical care, engineering and scientific research on Cybertron tending to overlap to a very great degree, a necessity when your people were also your technology), the researcher had delved into far more esoteric fields than they.

As one scientist ran through a laundry list of issues they’d had due to general Kaiju toxicity and corrosiveness, Ratchet studied the chemical analysis K-Science had finally managed to complete by piecing together partial analyses of previous samples. His thoughtful expression became more and more pronounced as he spoke quietly to Wheeljack, who had an identical look on his face as he responded to the medic’s mutterings.

“I knew that material looked familiar... the base composition is different but not drastically so...”

“Ratch’? ‘Jack?”

Jazz prompted, the silver mech having dropped by the K-Science division to see what the fuss was all about when Prowl had been pulled into a tactical discussion by the Defence Corps (something about the recent attacks had them worried). Wheeljack glanced at the other mech briefly, then back at the specimen sitting in its tank.

“They’re silicon based organisms. Change a few things around and that could be protoform mass from your average Cybertronian, Jazz. And that Kaiju Blue...”

The Autobot engineer unfurled a panel on his arm, exposing an energon line. The human researcher closest to them stared at the soft blue glow, then sat down on the nearest chair with a quiet squeak.

= = =

“... going over your archived records. Behaviourally, the data indicates sentience in the Kaiju, but not to the level required for the specific targeting of locations seen. Taken into account with your researchers’ theories that both the speed and degree of physical adaptation are not natural, and their suggestion that the Kaiju are being specifically modified to counter your tactics, I believe that their presence on Earth is a deliberate act by an external force commanding them.”


“Considering how every sighted Kaiju to date has been killed eventually, for each new wave to be able to exhibit such precise adaptations, that force is either somehow able to gather information on the battles, or the creatures themselves are capable of communicating with-” The mech continued the tactical meeting as he responded to Jazz’s comm., the saboteur’s solemn tone concerning him.


//They got protomatter bodies and what Ratchet says is pretty much a bastardised energon analogue.// The mech on the other end of the line laughed incredulously.

//Prowl... We have met the enemy, and he is us.//

= = =

With Optimus away, it had fallen to the remaining Autobots to reassure the PPDC (and another round of blustering officials, on vid call this time) that the Cybertronians had nothing to do with the appearance of Earth’s attackers. Ironhide had waded into that fracas, bellowed at everyone to speak one at a time and shut up otherwise, then gestured irritably at Ratchet and Wheeljack. The medic sighed, but started answering questions along with the grinning engineer.

“We didn’t have anything like the Kaiju on Cybertron. Not wild or created. Yes, I’m sure we’d have realised if we had. You’ve noticed their size difference, after all.”

“The Allspark is not configured to function as a beacon. We’ve been looking for it for a long time, and if it could call the attention of anything to Earth, we’d have found you sooner.”

Ironhide parked himself in a corner, arms folded across his front. Beside him stood both Prowl and Jazz, the saboteur grinning faintly each time another accusation was made and the mech’s cannons whirred unconsciously.

“Prefer to let your guns do the talking, huh Ironhide?”

“My cannons work faster than talking.” He rumbled, then turned to look at them. “You two got anything yet?”

Prowl vented air slowly, shaking his head. “Even if we accept that the Kaiju were manufactured and that the materials they are made of are not the result some unfortunate fluke of multiple independent discovery, given the possible number of worlds technologically capable of such actions, we currently have too many unknowns to come up with a definitive answer.”

Jazz shrugged, adding. “Could be that what happened here on Earth with Megatron also happened somewhere else. But instead of building Jaegers out of our technology, they decided to grow a bunch of monsters instead.”

“Figures. In any case, even if you do find out who they are, what’d we do with that information? Ask ‘em nicely to stop?” The black mech grumbled, and the tactician smiled faintly.

“Perhaps if it were your cannons that did the asking?”

Ironhide’s chuckle was suddenly interrupted by a loud ‘clang’ as Ratchet verbally tore a strip off a particularly obstinate politician.

“No, we’re not Kaiju either. Allspark’s sake, you’re more closely related to the Kaiju than we are due to the sheer fact that you have a brain in your head, as little use as you put it to!”

As the weapons master shook his head and strode over to the aggravated medic (and since when had he landed the role of peacemaker?), Jazz turned back to the tactician with a faint shudder.

“At least the humans only built what pretty much amounts to very large suits of armour. These things, on the other hand... If they’re made of protomatter and energon, our protomatter and energon...”

“If they are not a pre-existing species, then they would most likely be the work of a bioengineer. One with distinctly absent morals.” Prowl responded, and the saboteur tilted his helm slightly.

“And one who uses Cybertronian bodies as their raw material.” Jazz grinned up at him. “Be good or the Quints will take you away, Prowl?”

The other mech’s doorwings shifted in the subtle flicker that Jazz knew meant suppressed amusement, only to suddenly go still. He gave Prowl a quizzical look, visor flickering apprehensively at the tactician’s expression.

“Mech, you said yourself that there were too many exospecies out there for us to figure out the one responsible for this. And the Quintessons in particular were ancient history during our ancient history. Even the archivists weren’t sure if they existed.”

Prowl nodded stiffly, but his next words were still ominous.

“None of them ever consulted the Allspark on the matter.”

= = =

Optimus spent the trip back mulling over the information he'd gleaned from the Allspark. On the matter of the Kaiju, their reason for accessing the Allspark in the first place, they still had no more answers than before, even with the new data that Ratchet had sent regarding the creatures’ makeup.

But then Prowl had asked for files on the Quintessons.

Like most Cybertronians, the Prime had considered the techno-organic race a myth, or perhaps a hostile visitor that had been played up and exaggerated into a fictitious bogeyman at the most. That the Allspark even had its brief scattering of files on that ancient foe had been a surprise. But the existence of that data proved a disquieting truth. The Quintessons had been real, and judging from the information he’d obtained, their reputation hadn’t needed much exaggeration either. The Autobot leader had sent the files onwards to the tactician as soon as he’d come across them.

“Optimus, I’m not getting any good vibes from you, just so you know.”

“My apologies, Officer Simmons. It was unfortunate that the Allspark did not hold any record of a species like that of the Kaiju.”

“Well. It was a long shot anyway. I’m over it now. But there’s something else, isn’t there? There’s always something else.” The man sighed, leaning back in his seat, closing his eyes, and the Prime reflected that Jazz’s estimation of Simmons had been accurate, as always. Optimus could almost see a pair of sensory vanes, frantically scanning, superimposed over the human’s head (Ratchet would probably make some pithy remark about hormones and aggression scent markers, but the Prime could understand Reginald Simmons’s motivations).

“Prowl requested some data, if the Allspark contained it, on a race I had thought to be fiction until now. I am uncertain of their significance, but I did retrieve some files that he and the others are currently analysing.”

“Fiction? I don’t know the mech, but that doesn’t seem like Prowl’s style. Jazz’s, maybe.”

Prowl’s request had also confused Optimus. But it was true that Jazz did tend to have that sort of effect on the black and white mech. And instead of compromising their individual efficacy, strangely enough the reverse had happened, exponentially to boot. Optimus wondered what the curious alchemy of his two most disparate officers would result in this time.

= = =

K-Science rushed out to meet them upon their arrival back at the Shatterdome, somehow managing to carry out three different conversations at once as they surrounded the group of humans and Autobots.

“-energy signature of the Breach is identical to the Quintesson transport portals recorded by the Cybertronians-”

“-we know who they are, the data might be old but we know who they are!”

“-took the bodies of the Cybertonians who’d fallen in battle-”

“-genetic scanning barriers, it explains so much-”

“-they’re ugly as sin, or else ancient Cybertronians weren’t much for art-”

“-reanimated them for shock troops. I can’t even-“

As Simmons dealt with the excited researchers, Optimus turned to the mechs who’d come to meet them.

“Excellent work, everyone. And Prowl, I believe we have you to thank in particular.”

“The credit belongs to Jazz, sir. I would not have realised there might be a connection to this particular race on my own.” Prowl replied, and Jazz immediately contested his words.

“Hey, I’m just the bot who happens to collect all the bits of random information, Prowl. You’re the one who puts them together into an answer.”

The tactician’s doorwings flickered as he murmured softly. “You are never ‘just’ anything, Jazz.”

The silver mech laughed, clapping Prowl on the shoulder. “Sweet talk me later, mech. Right now, we gotta go figure out how to stop that clock.” Smiling, Jazz turned to follow the K-Science department as Simmons led them away, the tactician close by the saboteur’s side.

Watching the pair leave, Lennox, having been drawn over by the commotion, looked up at Ironhide and drawled.

“So... Is it possible that they know what everyone else thinks about them and are just messing with us now?”

Ironhide’s only response was a brief shrug, and Lennox nodded.

“Mm. Figures.”

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