Other Worlds [Part 10]
Apr. 11th, 2009 01:10 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ante_luceTitle: Other Worlds [Part 10]
'Verse: G1 Transformers with a little TF:A
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: TF cussing.
The first inkling Prowl had that something was wrong occurred when Jazz didn’t make an appearance in his office at all in the morning.
The next was when he checked the list of mechs in the med bay and found that no, Jazz wasn’t there either, and was still on the duty rosters. A quick inquiry with Ratchet confirmed that the Ops head was perfectly fine, and that his repairs wouldn’t hinder him to the extent of having to be removed from active duty.
A comm. to the visored mech went unanswered.
Puzzled, he continued clearing his morning workload, sending off files and reports and memos as needed, then made his way to the rec. room to refuel (he wasn’t solely dependant on the Porsche to keep him from falling offline due to low energy levels, besides, it wasn’t as if Jazz never got injured, he couldn’t always be there in the morning).
While Jazz normally used refuelling runs to catch up with the crew and keep an optic on their well being, the Datsun preferred not being away from his office that long if he could help it. In addition to his work, there were a number of prank inclined mechs who would jump at the opportunity left by an unoccupied SIC’s office, some of whom were alarmingly practiced at hacking locks.
Energon obtained and consumed, he walked back, musing that perhaps he should refuel in the rec. room a little more often (and that perhaps a certain Ops mech was influencing him a little too much). Blaster had looked completely thrown by his presence when the tactician had entered the room, and the mech’s expression had been rather entertaining.
Almost entertaining enough to distract him from his other thoughts.
= = =
“Hey, Blaster! What’s eating your circuits?” The orange tapedeck left his seeming trance and waved at the cyberninja from his seat by the communications console.
“Nah, just trying to decide if I’m online yet or not. Had a bit of a strange morning.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. I saw Prowl in the rec. room. He hardly ever refuels there, mech practically lives in his office when he’s on duty. Looked distracted too, and that’s not like him.” Blaster replied, hands moving over the console as something chimed and a screen lit up with a vid feed of some human event.
“And that’s not the only weird thing. Jazz’s the one who normally gets our SIC refuelled in the mornings instead of immediately diving chevron first into work, and I know he isn’t laid up or anything. So if Prowl’s in the rec. room to refuel, then Jazz…”
He shook his head. “Like I said, today just started strange. But how ‘bout… you…?” The cassette carrier trailed off when he saw that the other Jazz was no longer there.
“… Huh. Definitely not completely online yet.”
= = =
“Prowl?”
The tactician looked up to see a visored helm looking into his office, and firmly ignored the slight twinge of disappointment when he realised that it wasn’t the one belonging to the Ark’s TIC. “Jazz, how can I help you?”
The cyberninja entered, shutting the door behind him and making sure that it was properly closed before dropping into the seat in front of the Datsun’s desk. Quietly and without preamble, the guardsmech asked. “Have you seen Jazz?”
“Not since last morning.” Came the reply, and Prowl tilted his helm in query. Jazz sighed, sinking into his seat with a soft groan.
“Frag. Was afraid of that.”
“… Why?”
The visored mech scrubbed at his faceplates at the SIC’s concerned tone. “… Jazz knows. He saw us that night.”
Doorwings went completely still, and the chevroned mech glanced away, expression blanking. Quietly and without any inflection, the mech responded. “I see.”
“Prowl. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
“I would have lived, mech. Now your Jazz has Primus knows what doing a number on his processors, and he’s avoiding you. I fragged things up for you two.”
Prowl disagreed. “I do not regret offering you what small measure of comfort I could. And I… I needed that as well. To give me the courage to change a relationship that’s been dear to me for so long.”
The Elite mech recalled the moment their sparks had joined, when every regret he had about holding back with the Prowl he’d known spilled out before this one. Prowl’s own fears had flashed across, briefly, and Jazz had mutely pleaded the Datsun to not make the same mistake then. “… Jazz don’t deserve better, he deserves you.”
“So you keep saying.” The Datsun sighed, toying with a datastyler distractedly. Putting it down, he kept his gaze on his desk top, faceplates still impassive. “In any case, the issue is moot now.”
“Prowl, you’re not giving up like this!”
“If Jazz is bent on avoiding me, there will be little I can do to change that.” The doorwinged mech met Jazz’s visor now, still sounding subdued. “It’s alright. It won’t be forever, I’ll speak to him when he’s ready. For now, though, I should give Jazz what time he needs.”
“But-”
“Thank you for letting me know, Jazz. But I have work to be doing, so if there’s nothing else?” The SIC’s tone was businesslike once more as the guardsmech reluctantly rose from his seat to leave.
“No… There isn’t. Guess I’ll see you around.”
Prowl’s only reply was a quick nod before he returned his gaze to the datapads before him, immersing himself in them once more.
= = =
“Sentinel? I think I need your help.”
The mech whipped ‘round so fast his gyros overbalanced and sent him staggering. Regaining what poise he could (dignity was a long lost cause), Sentinel straightened and just stared at the black and white Elite Guard, troubled look back on the visored mech’s faceplates.
“What?!”
“I said, I think I need your help.” Jazz repeated, solemn expression lifting just a little as the blue guardsmech had to reboot his optics, and then his audios.
“I heard you; I’m just not sure if you’ve dislodged a processor recently or not. Why would you need my help?”
“… I fragged something up and need to fix it. Help me?”
“Alright… But I think you’d better start from the beginning. Can’t fix things without knowing why they’re fragged.”
“Yeah. Thanks Sentinel. Long story. It involves some of what I told you about yesterday.”
“… Right. I better sit down then.”
The visored mech smiled briefly at that, and Sentinel smirked at him in response.
'Verse: G1 Transformers with a little TF:A
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: TF cussing.
The first inkling Prowl had that something was wrong occurred when Jazz didn’t make an appearance in his office at all in the morning.
The next was when he checked the list of mechs in the med bay and found that no, Jazz wasn’t there either, and was still on the duty rosters. A quick inquiry with Ratchet confirmed that the Ops head was perfectly fine, and that his repairs wouldn’t hinder him to the extent of having to be removed from active duty.
A comm. to the visored mech went unanswered.
Puzzled, he continued clearing his morning workload, sending off files and reports and memos as needed, then made his way to the rec. room to refuel (he wasn’t solely dependant on the Porsche to keep him from falling offline due to low energy levels, besides, it wasn’t as if Jazz never got injured, he couldn’t always be there in the morning).
While Jazz normally used refuelling runs to catch up with the crew and keep an optic on their well being, the Datsun preferred not being away from his office that long if he could help it. In addition to his work, there were a number of prank inclined mechs who would jump at the opportunity left by an unoccupied SIC’s office, some of whom were alarmingly practiced at hacking locks.
Energon obtained and consumed, he walked back, musing that perhaps he should refuel in the rec. room a little more often (and that perhaps a certain Ops mech was influencing him a little too much). Blaster had looked completely thrown by his presence when the tactician had entered the room, and the mech’s expression had been rather entertaining.
Almost entertaining enough to distract him from his other thoughts.
= = =
“Hey, Blaster! What’s eating your circuits?” The orange tapedeck left his seeming trance and waved at the cyberninja from his seat by the communications console.
“Nah, just trying to decide if I’m online yet or not. Had a bit of a strange morning.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. I saw Prowl in the rec. room. He hardly ever refuels there, mech practically lives in his office when he’s on duty. Looked distracted too, and that’s not like him.” Blaster replied, hands moving over the console as something chimed and a screen lit up with a vid feed of some human event.
“And that’s not the only weird thing. Jazz’s the one who normally gets our SIC refuelled in the mornings instead of immediately diving chevron first into work, and I know he isn’t laid up or anything. So if Prowl’s in the rec. room to refuel, then Jazz…”
He shook his head. “Like I said, today just started strange. But how ‘bout… you…?” The cassette carrier trailed off when he saw that the other Jazz was no longer there.
“… Huh. Definitely not completely online yet.”
= = =
“Prowl?”
The tactician looked up to see a visored helm looking into his office, and firmly ignored the slight twinge of disappointment when he realised that it wasn’t the one belonging to the Ark’s TIC. “Jazz, how can I help you?”
The cyberninja entered, shutting the door behind him and making sure that it was properly closed before dropping into the seat in front of the Datsun’s desk. Quietly and without preamble, the guardsmech asked. “Have you seen Jazz?”
“Not since last morning.” Came the reply, and Prowl tilted his helm in query. Jazz sighed, sinking into his seat with a soft groan.
“Frag. Was afraid of that.”
“… Why?”
The visored mech scrubbed at his faceplates at the SIC’s concerned tone. “… Jazz knows. He saw us that night.”
Doorwings went completely still, and the chevroned mech glanced away, expression blanking. Quietly and without any inflection, the mech responded. “I see.”
“Prowl. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
“I would have lived, mech. Now your Jazz has Primus knows what doing a number on his processors, and he’s avoiding you. I fragged things up for you two.”
Prowl disagreed. “I do not regret offering you what small measure of comfort I could. And I… I needed that as well. To give me the courage to change a relationship that’s been dear to me for so long.”
The Elite mech recalled the moment their sparks had joined, when every regret he had about holding back with the Prowl he’d known spilled out before this one. Prowl’s own fears had flashed across, briefly, and Jazz had mutely pleaded the Datsun to not make the same mistake then. “… Jazz don’t deserve better, he deserves you.”
“So you keep saying.” The Datsun sighed, toying with a datastyler distractedly. Putting it down, he kept his gaze on his desk top, faceplates still impassive. “In any case, the issue is moot now.”
“Prowl, you’re not giving up like this!”
“If Jazz is bent on avoiding me, there will be little I can do to change that.” The doorwinged mech met Jazz’s visor now, still sounding subdued. “It’s alright. It won’t be forever, I’ll speak to him when he’s ready. For now, though, I should give Jazz what time he needs.”
“But-”
“Thank you for letting me know, Jazz. But I have work to be doing, so if there’s nothing else?” The SIC’s tone was businesslike once more as the guardsmech reluctantly rose from his seat to leave.
“No… There isn’t. Guess I’ll see you around.”
Prowl’s only reply was a quick nod before he returned his gaze to the datapads before him, immersing himself in them once more.
= = =
“Sentinel? I think I need your help.”
The mech whipped ‘round so fast his gyros overbalanced and sent him staggering. Regaining what poise he could (dignity was a long lost cause), Sentinel straightened and just stared at the black and white Elite Guard, troubled look back on the visored mech’s faceplates.
“What?!”
“I said, I think I need your help.” Jazz repeated, solemn expression lifting just a little as the blue guardsmech had to reboot his optics, and then his audios.
“I heard you; I’m just not sure if you’ve dislodged a processor recently or not. Why would you need my help?”
“… I fragged something up and need to fix it. Help me?”
“Alright… But I think you’d better start from the beginning. Can’t fix things without knowing why they’re fragged.”
“Yeah. Thanks Sentinel. Long story. It involves some of what I told you about yesterday.”
“… Right. I better sit down then.”
The visored mech smiled briefly at that, and Sentinel smirked at him in response.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2009-04-10 06:29 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-04-11 11:29 am (UTC)