[personal profile] ante_luce
Title: Other Worlds [Part 8]
'Verse: G1 Transformers with a little TF:A
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: TF cussing.

Both visored mechs transformed into root mode once at their destination, a clearing midway up the mountain. The cyberninja of the pair strode forward, gazing at the scenery stretched out below them, drinking it in. “Had to come back here. The morning light just makes it even more beautiful.”

“You like natural scenery then?” With a faint smile on his faceplates, he turned to the Ops mech slowly approaching him. “Actually, I’m more a cityscape mech. But I know someone who’ll appreciate the memory files.”

“Oh? Who?” The Elite Guard returned his gaze to the view, voice going quiet and thoughtful. “… My Prowl. Real nature bot. Even got a tree in his quarters.”

Jazz just stared at his counterpart for a moment. “Your Prowl’s important to you, huh.”

“It’s that obvious? Well, I guess you’d know.”

“What about the Prowl here?”

“He’s a good mech. I’m glad we met.” The cyberninja flicked a confused expression at Jazz’s frown. “What’s wrong?”

“Prowl, the one in the Ark, means nothing else to you?” The Ops mech’s tone was deceptively light, and the guardsmech instantly tensed, wary. “Jazz?”

“I saw you two, in his office.” The Porsche’s visor was glowing furiously now, and the other mech rebooted his, startled, as Jazz stalked forward. “Was he nothing but a convenient ‘face to you? A replacement for your Prowl, maybe?”

“What?! No! It wasn’t like that at all! Frag, Jazz, you were never meant to see that.” The other Jazz took a step back as the Autobot Third continued to press forward, growling.

“Yeah, well, I did. Now explain, before I dissemble you for toying with Prowl.”

“I said it wasn’t like that. You know him, Jazz. It wasn’t a cheap thrill for either of us.”

“You’re gonna be leaving this world, and him, permanently. Or did you forget? If it wasn’t a fling, then what the frag were you thinking?! Do you have any idea how much it’d hurt him to lose someone like that?!”

“I…” The Elite mech broke free of the Porsche’s accusing gaze to look at the ground. “Please, let me explain, alright?”

= = =

The Autobots had returned from the fight with the ‘Cons, and as the ranks of wounded slowly left the med bay, whole once more, a cyberninja leant against the wall watching as the Ark’s CMO worked, assisted by his trainees and comrades, as well the medics who’d been on the Elite Guard ship.

Jazz had been part of a small crew for a long time, combat usually involved a squad, two or three at most, chasing down a largely outnumbered, unorganised (though no less dangerous) enemy. But the Ark mechs had a different battlefield, and a different type of Decepticon foe. Ultra Magnus was recalling the data of similar clashes, long archived away after the end of the fighting, and their Megatron’s defeat. With the warleader alive and in the midst of making a comeback, their little side trip was becoming invaluable in refreshing those memory files.

Jazz had been tasked with going over the battle and the way the Autobots here fought as an army, not scattered squads, with Prowl, in case like tactics would have to be employed once they returned. So he’d tailed the mech after the Datsun had left the command centre where he’d been directing the fight, only to end up hesitant to impinge on the doorwinged mech’s visit with the mechs in Ratchet’s care, particularly when the chevroned mech stopped by certain berths.

Making his escape from medical, he’d wandered the Ark for a while, finally ending up in Prowl’s office, late in the day after the mech had completed the post battle reports. He supposed he must have been too caught up in his thoughts, to not notice Prowl glancing at him strangely until the mech spoke.

“Jazz, is something the matter?”

“Hm? Nah. I’m just peachy.”

“You lie like our Jazz.”


“Normally, I’d consider it none of my business and leave you to your thoughts, but this has been bothering you since your ship landed on Earth, and it worsens whenever you are in my company. Am I bothering you?”

“No!” At the raised optic ridge, the cyberninja sighed, staring at the datapad in his hands.

“…I’m just so jealous of your Jazz, it hurts. He’s got you.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Jazz talked on, not responding to the tactician’s startled comment, gesturing vaguely at his surroundings, expression distant. “Me? I’m on my own. My fault. Can’t do anything about it here and there’s no guarantee we’ll survive the trip back. So when I see you and him together, it hurts all the more because you fit.”

Prowl interrupted, looking uncomfortable. “I’m not with him. We aren’t anything more than friends.”

“Y’not together?” The guardsmech sounded like he couldn’t believe it. The Datsun flicked doorwings irritably and repeated the assertion. “No. We’re not.”

“But… Mech, it’s pretty obvious you care for him.”

“We’ve known each other for a very long time. And our duties tend to demand we work with each other a great deal. It was natural that we’d become close.”

“Don’t give me that slag. I got optics under this visor. Don’t make my mistake. I met my Prowl when the Elite Guard first went to Earth, and I didn’t know when, or if, I’d be coming back, so I thought it’d be better if I never said anything.”

“You can’t expect us to be exactly the same as you and your Prowl. We’re friends, that’s all-”

“Fraggit Prowl! I left my Prowl on Earth. Him and four other Autobots against the leader of the ‘Cons, though we didn’t know it at the time, and a slag load of goons. And even if I do make it back, for all I know I could be too late and he’s already dead!”

Prowl stared at the Elite Guard mech, hunched over and trembling, gripping his datapad so tightly the thing had creaked, masks finally shed. Gently, he took hold of white hands, unfurling them, setting aside the file and intertwining his pale digits with the guardsmech’s own. Jazz spoke again, sombre manner a complete departure from the easy going cyberninja the world knew.

“But you two… You’re here, and so is your Jazz. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. And you look at him the same way. So what the frag’s stopping you?! Prowl, I might’ve lost my chance ‘cos I was a glitching coward, but you haven’t.”

The mech bent over their joined hands, intakes hitching slightly. Prowl worked one hand free to gently run it over the Elite Guard’s helm, tugging the other mech to settle against his frame, holding him close. A tell tale hiss had the cyberninja jerking back, refusals spilling from his vocaliser as chest plates slid apart and Prowl’s spark lit the space between them. The Autobot SIC kept his grip on the guardsmech, murmuring reassurances to him.

Jazz pressed his forehead against the black and white Datsun’s chevron, visor darkened, silent for so long that Prowl was about to release him and back away. Then he lifted his head, caught the other mech’s gaze, and closed the gap with a quiet, wounded sound, falling into the comfort offered by the tactician and his spark.

= = =

The drive back to the Ark seemed to take longer than usual. Both mechs were silent, the Porsche keeping his sensors trained on the path ahead of him, trying to break the other Jazz’s words from their continuous loop in his processors.

“So, yeah, I do know what it’s like to leave part of yourself on another world. Jazz, don’t push Prowl away ‘cos of what he did for me. If he means enough to you that you’d deactivate me for messing around with him, you have to tell him.”

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