Burattinaio (part 3)
Jan. 2nd, 2009 05:09 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ante_luce*wanders to bed*
Title: Burattinaio (part 3)
'Verse: Transformers. Multi'verse.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Cussing.
He’s done for, and he knows it. Taken one chance too many, pushed his now legendary luck too far. And just when he’d decided to stop with the coolant junkie antics too. He’d laugh, if it didn’t hurt to do so, so he settles for a defeated grin.
His friends would be crushed. But, it isn’t like they weren’t expecting it. He can admit he’s been not quite right since his stint in Unicron’s belly, and his ability to survive anything surprised even himself.
Primus watches over fools and madmechs, they whisper in corners when they think he can’t hear. Hah. He didn’t get to where he was by being oblivious. Or careless. He has the entire base wired; more than Red Alert would ever realise.
Perhaps Primus really was watching over him. But he prefers to think it’s someone a little closer to home. Then the sound of pedes running towards him, and the feel of arms holding him carefully and a pair of optics, an achingly familiar blue, even if everything else is different, staring in despair into his own. He smiles again.
“Prowler.”
The surprise in the mech’s expression prompts mental giggles. It’s good to know he can still confound his friend. His slagging oblivious friend. Or should that be stubborn? Because he can’t shake the feeling that Prowl knew how he felt, and possibly felt the same way (why else would the mech keep rescuing him?), but kept him at arm's length for his own, unfathomable reasons.
Just like he can’t shake the feeling that he’s missing out on a whole other level, somehow.
They converse, and Prowl finally says the words, and he manages to say them back. More words are exchanged, and then Prowl does something he doesn’t expect. As his memory twists in on itself and is finally restored, he cries out, unwilling to believe that Prowl, Prowl of all mechs did this to him.
Vaguely he registers the mech above him apologising again, hears the genuine sorrow and regret in the words, and instantly knows he forgives the mech. But Jazz can’t respond, too numb and overwhelmed by the data his failing CPU is trying to process, can’t tell Prowl that it’s okay, he forgives him, and somehow that hurts even more than dying.
The final confrontation, the one where Prowl admits how important Jazz is to him, is the only thing he can focus on just as his spark flickers into nothingness.
= = =
He stands before Primus. He basks in the comfort offered, for a while not remembering anything at all, before the niggling wrongness of it all catches up with him.
Why can’t he remember?
Why does he mind so much that he can’t remember?
Prowl.
The word reverberates through his being, and his memory returns. Again. He shrieks in resentment and betrayal as he recalls each event, his fury morphing into quieter keening as he grows to understand Prowl’s actions. He’s found out Prowl’s secret so many times, and each time he’s confronted Prowl about it, and each time he’s been made to forget. And each time, the pain in Prowl’s optics grows.
No wonder the tactician never followed up on his interest, even when Jazz made it blatantly obvious he welcomed it. He’s still angry, but it’s tempered by the image of pained optics and the realisation that Prowl hates himself more that Jazz ever could.
He questions his god, and is once more wrapped in the comfort his deity provides.
Prowl has always been dutiful, even at his own expense.
There is weary resignation in that answer, and he falls silent, thinking. His next query is met with a swelling sense of approval.
= = =
He emerges from the experience somewhat dazed, and tickled to the Pit and back. In every existence he has, it seems that Prowl is usually in close proximity. Their sparks seem to beckon to each other, drawing the tactician (he would always refer to Prowl as such, always see him with that red chevron, doorwings and black and white paint) to him no matter how much the mech fought to keep away.
Silly mech.
Jazz suspects Primus has a hand in that, and his suspicion is met with amusement, and a confirmation.
Is it not natural for a creator to want his creations to be happy?
= = =
He can’t wait. It’s been a long, torturous slog, getting to this point, and he sympathises with Prowl, realising that this is what the mech’s whole life has been, making plans within plans and letting even the bots he cares for come to harm, or meander off the best course for them when more important agendas must be followed. His spark aches as they send a small mech called Wasp to the stockades, innocent of any crime except for being overwhelmingly obnoxious, and it hurt to see Optimus so unsure and beaten down before this version of the commander he remembers so fondly is sent off on a drudge-work mission.
And he has to keep out of sight of Prowl.
It’s not easy, he knows the mech is slagging good, but Prowl doesn’t know he’s changed, and that helps him stay off the tactician’s radar, even if the mech is still keeping tabs on him (it’s kinda sweet, though Primus help him if Prowl ever finds out he thought that).
But the wait is nearly over. They’re on their way to Earth, and no matter how ticked off he still is at the mech, his spark thrills at being able to see Prowl again.
Not to mention, he’s rather eagerly anticipating the mech’s confusion.
= = =
Their reunion is bittersweet. He’s finally able to tell Prowl he forgives him, and ease some of the mech’s burden. But Jazz can’t stay on Earth, and Prowl can’t come with him. But he’ll be back, they both know it, whether it happens in this ‘verse or another one.
After all, they still need to fix his chassis.
Title: Burattinaio (part 3)
'Verse: Transformers. Multi'verse.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Cussing.
He’s done for, and he knows it. Taken one chance too many, pushed his now legendary luck too far. And just when he’d decided to stop with the coolant junkie antics too. He’d laugh, if it didn’t hurt to do so, so he settles for a defeated grin.
His friends would be crushed. But, it isn’t like they weren’t expecting it. He can admit he’s been not quite right since his stint in Unicron’s belly, and his ability to survive anything surprised even himself.
Primus watches over fools and madmechs, they whisper in corners when they think he can’t hear. Hah. He didn’t get to where he was by being oblivious. Or careless. He has the entire base wired; more than Red Alert would ever realise.
Perhaps Primus really was watching over him. But he prefers to think it’s someone a little closer to home. Then the sound of pedes running towards him, and the feel of arms holding him carefully and a pair of optics, an achingly familiar blue, even if everything else is different, staring in despair into his own. He smiles again.
“Prowler.”
The surprise in the mech’s expression prompts mental giggles. It’s good to know he can still confound his friend. His slagging oblivious friend. Or should that be stubborn? Because he can’t shake the feeling that Prowl knew how he felt, and possibly felt the same way (why else would the mech keep rescuing him?), but kept him at arm's length for his own, unfathomable reasons.
Just like he can’t shake the feeling that he’s missing out on a whole other level, somehow.
They converse, and Prowl finally says the words, and he manages to say them back. More words are exchanged, and then Prowl does something he doesn’t expect. As his memory twists in on itself and is finally restored, he cries out, unwilling to believe that Prowl, Prowl of all mechs did this to him.
Vaguely he registers the mech above him apologising again, hears the genuine sorrow and regret in the words, and instantly knows he forgives the mech. But Jazz can’t respond, too numb and overwhelmed by the data his failing CPU is trying to process, can’t tell Prowl that it’s okay, he forgives him, and somehow that hurts even more than dying.
The final confrontation, the one where Prowl admits how important Jazz is to him, is the only thing he can focus on just as his spark flickers into nothingness.
= = =
He stands before Primus. He basks in the comfort offered, for a while not remembering anything at all, before the niggling wrongness of it all catches up with him.
Why can’t he remember?
Why does he mind so much that he can’t remember?
Prowl.
The word reverberates through his being, and his memory returns. Again. He shrieks in resentment and betrayal as he recalls each event, his fury morphing into quieter keening as he grows to understand Prowl’s actions. He’s found out Prowl’s secret so many times, and each time he’s confronted Prowl about it, and each time he’s been made to forget. And each time, the pain in Prowl’s optics grows.
No wonder the tactician never followed up on his interest, even when Jazz made it blatantly obvious he welcomed it. He’s still angry, but it’s tempered by the image of pained optics and the realisation that Prowl hates himself more that Jazz ever could.
He questions his god, and is once more wrapped in the comfort his deity provides.
Prowl has always been dutiful, even at his own expense.
There is weary resignation in that answer, and he falls silent, thinking. His next query is met with a swelling sense of approval.
= = =
He emerges from the experience somewhat dazed, and tickled to the Pit and back. In every existence he has, it seems that Prowl is usually in close proximity. Their sparks seem to beckon to each other, drawing the tactician (he would always refer to Prowl as such, always see him with that red chevron, doorwings and black and white paint) to him no matter how much the mech fought to keep away.
Silly mech.
Jazz suspects Primus has a hand in that, and his suspicion is met with amusement, and a confirmation.
Is it not natural for a creator to want his creations to be happy?
= = =
He can’t wait. It’s been a long, torturous slog, getting to this point, and he sympathises with Prowl, realising that this is what the mech’s whole life has been, making plans within plans and letting even the bots he cares for come to harm, or meander off the best course for them when more important agendas must be followed. His spark aches as they send a small mech called Wasp to the stockades, innocent of any crime except for being overwhelmingly obnoxious, and it hurt to see Optimus so unsure and beaten down before this version of the commander he remembers so fondly is sent off on a drudge-work mission.
And he has to keep out of sight of Prowl.
It’s not easy, he knows the mech is slagging good, but Prowl doesn’t know he’s changed, and that helps him stay off the tactician’s radar, even if the mech is still keeping tabs on him (it’s kinda sweet, though Primus help him if Prowl ever finds out he thought that).
But the wait is nearly over. They’re on their way to Earth, and no matter how ticked off he still is at the mech, his spark thrills at being able to see Prowl again.
Not to mention, he’s rather eagerly anticipating the mech’s confusion.
= = =
Their reunion is bittersweet. He’s finally able to tell Prowl he forgives him, and ease some of the mech’s burden. But Jazz can’t stay on Earth, and Prowl can’t come with him. But he’ll be back, they both know it, whether it happens in this ‘verse or another one.
After all, they still need to fix his chassis.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2009-01-01 11:24 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-01-02 04:28 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-01-02 12:47 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-01-02 04:29 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-01-02 04:36 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-01-02 05:01 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-01-02 04:48 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-01-02 05:03 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-01-02 05:55 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-01-02 10:58 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-01-02 08:11 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-01-03 06:52 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-01-02 11:49 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-01-03 06:53 am (UTC)