[personal profile] ante_luce
*sighs and looks at bunny line*

Title: Baby Boom (or, Why you should always read the manual first) Chapter 9
'Verse: G1 Transformers
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: TF cussing






He clicked softly to himself as he traversed the Ark, exploring paths he’d never have been able to in his normal condition. It was educational, the number of vents and ducts and general hidden away places a being of his size could get into.

And he with all the strength and motor control of a sparkling.

The idea was kind of scary, and the number of times one of Soundwave’s cassettes had been found in the Ark (scarier was thought of the number of times one of them had not been found), even with all the security measures they had, made sense. Red Alert would be getting a comprehensive list once Jazz could hold a fragging stylus again.

Or manage to get the Lamborghini to agree to a jack in with him.

... Time to find Prowl.


= = =


“Jazz? Where are you?”

The baby Porsche giggled silently as he heard Bumblebee calling for him. His imprintees did have a rough time of it, keeping track of him, even with Spike and Carly to help (the transmitter was a good idea though, if he were a normal sparkling), but contrary to what others might think, he wasn’t doing it for the sheer joy of evading them (though that was rather fun as well).

As an Ops mech, he knew exactly how dangerous their situation was. Weaker, slower and tiring more easily, the sparklings would be easy pickings for anyone with malicious intent, and particularly tempting once their little secret was found out. So he took it upon himself to scout the Ark, seeking out hiding places, escape routes, the like. It was tiring work, and he found himself lapsing into recharge frequently, often barely making it out to a populated spot.

Prowl had insisted he recharge in plain sight, not in the ducts or wherever he found himself when his energy levels crashed, and to keep in constant comm. contact with the tactician. Jazz agreed. He’d be even more vulnerable if no one knew where he was, especially if he was offline.

As soon as Bumblebee’s footsteps thudded away, the little Ops mech popped out of his hidey hole, and clambered into another vent, one that would take him to Prime’s office, where hopefully, Prowl would be today.

Jazz sighed. Optimus had been pushing the baby tactician away of late (no mech could be that busy), and the rest of them had been getting worried (no matter how much certain individuals protested that they were not, thank you very much) at the effect if was having on the doorwinged sparkling.

Prime’s office, at last (one thing he disliked about being a sparkling, it took forever to get anywhere without being carried). Jazz peeked through the vent, noting that the hallway was clear, idly wondering just how he was going to get in. Red Alert walked by, carrying Prowl, and the baby Porsche’s spark sank for his friend. It looked like Optimus was still keeping the sparkling SIC at arms length.

Then the security director walked into the office, a determined look on his faceplates. Jazz scrambled out of the vent and to the door just in time to hear the Lamborghini tear into Prime. He grinned; it looked like Red had things well in hand. The door opened again, and the mech stalked out, not noticing (or, not commenting on) the visored sparkling that slipped into the room.

The first thing that caught his interest was that Prowl was curled against Optimus’s chassis, deep in recharge and looking absolutely exhausted. The Prime was cradling the other black and white sparkling close, gently petting a chevroned helm, guilt clear in his optics. A chirp from the Autobot commander’s console drew both his and Optimus’s attention, and as the vid conference started, Jazz couldn’t help but wonder what the femmes would think of the current situation.

“Optimus Prime. Is that a sparkling?”

Ooh, Optimus was in trouble. Jazz stifled his snicker in favour of remaining undiscovered. He wanted to watch this. Optimus stalled, lost for words, and Elita-1 continued staring, radiating disbelief.

“ ‘Lita, I can explain…”

Jazz winced. Judging from all the tv shows Earth had, that was definitely the wrong thing to say.

“Explain? Optimus, I don’t know how you’d even begin. You. Have. A. Sparkling. In. Your. Lap. One that looks like exactly like your Second. Barring the already difficult to comprehend notion that Prowl, of all mechs, has managed to have a sparkling, I highly doubt he would ask you to help sparkling sit right when we had this vid conference planned-”

“Elita!”

Perhaps Optimus couldn’t see it, but the little Ops mech could. Elita-1’s faceplates were threatening to break out into a grin, but so far she was managing to hide her amusement at her love’s predicament.

“There is an explanation.”

“Go on, Prime.”

Jazz chose then to pop into the picture (so sue him, Prime had been an aft to Prowl), chirping merrily at Optimus and making a determined effort to clamber onto his lap, forcing the Prime to gather him up so he wouldn’t fall and hurt himself. The visored sparkling then turned to the vid screen (and by extension, the camera), and trilled, as if fascinated by the image of Elita-1.

Who was clearly finding it very hard to keep up her straight face. Not that Optimus noticed, deep in the throes of a minor panic attack.

“Jazz as well, Prime?”

Quietly, as the large mech attempted to formulate a reply, Jazz clicked at Prowl. The sparkling tactician was much better at hiding his smirk, and a half shuttered optic peeked at him from Prowl’s tucked in position.

Time to look cute and take point, Prowl.

Frag no. This is far too entertaining. Let her have a little more fun.

//Primus, now I see why Red called you a hellion. If this is you as a sparkling, I pity your peers during your youngling years.// The tiny Porsche snickered, switching over to internal comms, and the doorwinged sparkling grumped back.

//They deserved everything we did to them.//

//Yeah, yeah, but we ought to do something before Optimus starts to wonder if it’s possible to kill a mech through a vid screen.//

Prowl sighed, giving in. //Very well. Let’s go ‘save’ his aft.//

The little tactician yawned, chirring in a sleepy manner as his doorwings fluttered, and as Prowl turned a drowsy, curious look up at Elita’s image, the sparklings (and Prime, who heaved a sigh of relief) could see her visibly softening, smiling almost tenderly at the picture they made in Optimus’s arms.

“Optimus, calm down. I was only teasing. Now, what explanation do you have for… this?” She gestured at the sparklings, and gratefully, the Autobot commander launched into the full story.


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