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ante_luceApparently, the bunnies aren't done with me, and my previous offering only pacified the ones I already had. Cue entrance of new bunny.
Title: (none as of yet)
'Verse: 2007 Transformers.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Cuss words that probably make no sense out of the fandom. Mention of slash. Lack of polish. Lack of narration of a lot of development in between scene changes. Writer with no beta, sleep deprivation and little knowledge of said fandom outside of fanfiction read and one viewing of the 2007 movie quite a while ago, when it was in theatres.
“Hey, hey there! Wait up!” There was someone shouting in the distance. Odd, but since there was no one else in his vicinity it was likely that he was the one being addressed. So to be polite (he was new to this base after all) he turned around to see who was trying to get his attention. A mech with a silver paint job was hurrying towards him, waving an arm in greeting.
“Hi, glad I caught you. You’re Prowl, the new tactician right?” This new bot was friendly, likely built before the war.
“Yes.” There was no need to elaborate, his file had been sent ahead and anyone wishing to know more could just download and read it. Not that there was much in it.
“I’m Jazz, Special Ops. Been assigned to show you ‘round.” That made sense. Ops bots tended to need to be sent out at any time, on short notice, so most of them didn’t get officially placed on the duty rosters, leaving them with (technically) more free time for this sort of thing.
“I would appreciate that. I have not had the chance to review all the floor plans of this base.” He’d downloaded them the moment he’d set foot in the building, but the place was rather large, being one of the more important bases, and he’d been busy settling in.
“Right. So, where’ve you gotten up to? Might as well not overlap.” Jazz was efficient as well. Part of what made him such an effective operative. According to the personnel records, the mech before him had risen smoothly after leaving the War Academy, and was now in charge of the Ops team on this base.
“I’ve covered the living quarters and the briefing rooms. I was just on my way to the medical bay for the mandatory examination.”
“Great, I’ll tag along, then we’ve just got the command deck, the training rooms and the rec room to go after that.”
“As you wish.” And with that he continued on his way, the silver mech easily keeping up with his longer stride.
========================================
As they walked Jazz tried to make conversation.
“So, I read your file.” The only response he got was a nod and a brief meeting of optics.
“Says you’re a pre-program, newly sparked just a few vorns ago, and this is your first posting.” Another nod. Slag, this bot was going to be difficult. It was the unspoken role of the Ops mechs to keep an eye on their comrades’ mental state, and that was not going to be easy if he couldn’t establish some kind of rapport with Prowl.
“Don’t mind me saying this, but you’re not like some pre-programs I know.” And Prowl wasn’t. The pre-programs, or pre-progs as they were sometimes known, were immediately pressed into service after creation. They were single minded in their focus and had limited functionality. They did what they were programmed for well, but did not interact with others or integrate into society easily, though with enough effort most could achieve a respectable level of socialisation. This was why most tended to be in surveillance, or security, or, in more peaceful times long past, transport and manufacturing.
To have one as a tactician, who had to understand the bots under their direction, who needed their trust, was very unusual. A sign of desperation. The war was not going well, and High Command had commissioned the creation of a series of mechs built for the sole purpose of battle. The influx of frontline fighters had eased pressures in some of the more troublesome areas, but the mechs had troubles coping when not in battle situations. After a couple of violent incidents, the program was scrapped and attention directed to other types of pre-progs.
“I am a partial pre-program of sorts. Though created to be a tactician, with all the prerequisite programming and data, such knowledge often needs to be applied in a subjective manner. As such I was assigned a mentor who taught me how to use the tools handed to me.” And to how to interact with others, unspoken but Jazz heard it anyway, finally picking up on the subtle expressions of this bot (was… he smiling?). Apparently their new tactician had detected his hidden curiosity, and was answering it in a similarly understated manner. Well now, this could get interesting.
“Ah, I see. Like how just reading about spacecraft doesn’t mean you can build and fly one?”
“That would be an appropriate analogy.”
========================================
“I’ll be with you in a moment.” They’d reached the Med Bay, and upon entering Prowl had been directed to the assistant medic by the CMO, as the mech was occupied with another patient. His assistant hurried away, and came back with a few datapads and some equipment, which both mechs helped take off his hands and set on a nearby counter.
“Thanks. Could you get on this berth please?” As Prowl complied, one of the datapads was handed to Jazz. “Report on Blurr’s latest stay with us.”
“Heh, he drive you crazy?” The Ops mech chuckled as he went through the report. The medic huffed in a longsuffering manner as he wandered around Prowl, scanning, prodding and prying, and occasionally instructing the mech to shift so that he could get better access. The tactician put up with the examination, obediently following his directions.
“Not this time, but he was offline for most of it, to let the self repair work without him fidgeting and opening something again. Perhaps we’ll keep him sedated each time he comes in, it seems to be best all round for our sanity and his recovery rate.”
“He’d a good bot, really.”
“I know that, it’s just the rest of us who can’t keep up.” Blurr, also Special Ops, another pre-program, built for rapid surveillance, information running and above all, speed. Surprisingly well included with the rest of the mechs on this base. Prowl suspected the mech before him had a hand in that accomplishment, something he would need to speak to Jazz about later.
While his mentor had done his best with Prowl, the need for the tactician to be in service was greater than the need for him to be personable when doing so, or to have properly developed emotional protocols and know more than just strategy and tactics. As such, his mentor had brought him to as high a level as he could within the time he had, and when they’d parted, admonished him to try his best to learn more about interpersonal relations. If he was willing, Jazz would be helpful in this regard.
========================================
Jazz?
Yeah Prowl?
What’s interfacing like?
*Splutter* What?
I said, what’s interfa-
Never mind, I heard the first time, jus’ was a shock. Y’don’t know?
My entire existence has pretty much revolved around the war, tactics and training. When would I have had time to experience this?
Then why the sudden interest?
According to Smokescreen and Sideswipe, apparently it’s something every bot should know.
Frag. Figures.
So? Are you willing to tell me about it?
If I don’t, who would you go to next?
Ironhide, or Optimus probably. Just so I can see their processors fry like yours did.
Primus help me, I’ve created a monster.
You did say I needed to exercise my sense of humour more often.
Now I have no idea whether you’re kidding or not.
And you call yourself Head of Special Operations. Jazz, I really would like to know, but if you’re not comfortable with the subject I can ask someone else.
As entertaining as watching Ironhide and Optimus suffer CPU failure would be, I’d rather skip the lecture from Ratchet. C’mon, some privacy would be best.
========================================
-One very, very awkward talk later…-
So. Now you know. Never thought I’d have to give this talk to you. Ever.
I see. What about Blurr or Bluestreak?
Them? Dunno, they’re still like younglings to me. You, on the other hand don’t come across as particularly young, even if you did come online so much later than them.
Oh. Good.
Good?
Yes, I was hoping you’d be able to show me what you were talking about.
*Sputter*
Jazz?
What?!
Just reading about spacecraft doesn’t mean you can build and fly one.
You… remember that? Wait, why me?! I’m deca-vorns older than you!
You just said that you don’t think of me as a youngling.
That’s a different matter!
Please think about it Jazz, I have to go on duty now. See you.
Yeah… See you.
========================================
So, what’s bothering you?
What makes you think anything’s bothering me?
Live long enough and you pick up a few things. Also, that polish rag in your hands is pretty much dead already.
Oh.
Well?
It’s Prowl.
What about him?
He… asked if I would interface with him.
Wooo. Never thought he’d be that forward. He’s normally so reserved.
He’s never done it before. Wants me to be his first.
And, what’s the issue here? You don’t like his chassis?
NO! I mean, it’s not that and he’s really actually very pleasing to the optic and his personality once you get him to open up is quite pleasant and, and…
Jazz. Calm down.
Calm down? He’s practically a sparkling! If this slagging war weren’t on he’d at most be in his youngling vorns!
And if this war weren’t on he’d not be a pre-prog with no knowledge of the world outside of his tactics and strategy and what you’ve shown him. You two might not have even met. Is it any wonder he’d go to you with this sort of thing?
Like you said, he’s got no knowledge of the world outside what I’ve shown him.
Did you manipulate him so that he’d want to ‘face with you? I don’t think you’re that kind of a mech, otherwise you wouldn’t be raising such a fuss. Prowl’s mentally about as mature as you or me, well, maybe more than you even, regardless of his physical age and lack of worldliness. You’re not taking advantage of him.
…
Go talk to the mech, ask if it’s really what he wants. It could likely a one time thing.
…
*Sigh* Better you than some random bot.
Anyone ever tell you that you fight dirty?
Like I said, live long enough…
Yeah, yeah… Okay.
========================================
Hey, Prowler? C’n I talk to you?
Of course Jazz. Come in.
Um, about your request…
You don’t have to agree. I know it was an awkward thing for me to ask.
A little. Just, I gotta know. Why did you ask me?
Sideswipe offered to show me, when he talked about interfacing. Sunstreaker cuffed him and told me the first one ought to be with someone special before dragging his brother away.
Oh. I’m… special to you?
Jazz, you’re my friend, pretty much my best friend. You’ve taught me a lot, and helped me with my emotional programming beyond what I initially expected. If this first interface is supposed to be with someone special I couldn’t think of anyone more important to me than you.
Just, interfacing can frag up a good friendship. ‘Specially if it’s a one off thing. And I don’t wanna do that to you.
That’s why I asked you. Even if this is the only time we do this, I know you would never hurt me.
Y’got a lotta faith in me.
If one can’t have faith in good friends, then what can they have?
… Got me there.
Have I?
… Yeah. We take this slow though.
I have the next cycle off.
Perfect.
========================================
Oh, hey Prowler. What’s up?
Jazz, could we speak in private?
… Sure, my quarters?
That would be fine.
So, what did you need to discuss in private?
I thought you’d rather hear this away from public optic. It’s Blurr. He’s in the Med Bay.
What?
They found him a few cycles ago, bleeding out from a shot to the main fuel pump. Someone managed to get him back to us before he deactivated.
There’s something else, isn’t there.
… Yes. His memory core is corrupted, likely by his own hand to prevent the Decepticons from getting sensitive info.
Primus.
Would you like to see him?
… Alright.
========================================
Why are you here? And how the frag did you get past my lock?
Is this not what friends do for each other? And I am the SIC now, if you haven’t forgotten.
… Go away please. I’d rather be alone.
You’ve been alone for the past four cycles, and haven’t taken any energon for the last two. You ignore or snap at anyone who tries to comm. you, contact you or talk to you. Bluestreak is frantic, Ratchet is threatening to haul you into Med Bay for a processor scan, and the twins are this close to breaking down your door to, as they say, beat some sense into you.
They can try. I didn’t become Head of Ops by virtue of my shiny paint job.
And a right wonderful job you’re doing as Head right now!
…
Jazz, please.
Leave. Me. Alone.
No.
Don’t touch me!
It’s not your fault.
Mute it and leave.
Jazz. Listen to me. Blurr’s situation is not your fault.
I sent him on that mission.
Because he was the best one to do it. If you’d sent anyone else they’d likely not have made it back alive.
Yeah, he made it back, and with the data we sent him to get. At what cost? The mech doesn’t remember a thing! All that progress, and he’s gone back to being just a hyper little pre-program.
He can start again. And there is the possibility his self repair will fix the damage eventually.
Do you honestly think they’ll spare the resources to keep him online while that happens? A little pre-prog like him? He’s not useful to them the way he is right now. They’ll chuck him into stasis, and leave him somewhere and forget about him.
They won’t forget.
And how’re you so sure about that?
Because I’ll remember, and you will as well.
… You’d better.
I promise. Now will you please drink this?
========================================
So… Guess I’ll be seeing you.
Take care of yourself.
You do the same.
You will have to leave soon if we’re to draw the Decepticons away from your group without them realising it.
The others?
Prime, Ironhide, Ratchet and Bumblebee are on their way to the shuttle bay.
Frag, not much time left huh.
You should hurry.
Yeah…
… Jazz?
Hey, don’t forget, ‘kay?
I keep my word Jazz.
Not about that. I know you won’t forget him. I’m talking about yourself.
What?
You forgot yourself. After you got posted to that base in Iacon, you turned into an emotionless shell.
My records still state that I am a pre-program. They treated me as such. After a while it was just easier to suppress the protocols.
Don’t do it again? Wasn’t fun, thought you’d ended up like him when I saw you again.
I won’t.
Good. ‘Kay. See you.
… See you.
========================================
Sam clung onto whatever he could grab while sitting in the driver’s seat of the yellow Camaro. Said Camaro was currently breaking the speed limit (and Sam was quite sure several laws of physics and maybe the speed of light. He also thought he saw the shattered remains of the speed of sound.) Oddly enough, this didn’t terrify him as much as he thought it would. Saving the world did that to a guy, he guessed. “‘Bee? Where’re we going?”
His friend and guardian was jubilant, scanning through several clips of triumphant music before answering. “We got a transmission, one of the ships managed to make it here!”
“That’s great! Do you know who’s on it?”
“Not really, we started to split up a lot when searching for the All Spark, though if this is the ship I think it is, Jazz is gonna be thrilled.”
“Oh? Is that why he shattered the sound barrier overtaking us?”
“I think you’re exaggerating, but yeah. Hey, there it is!” The Camaro screeched to a halt and Sam leapt out, eyes wide, the sound of transformation barely registering in the background as he stared.
The ship was huge, but then again, the Cybertronians were much bigger than humans, and compared to them Sam could tell it really was more of a medium sized craft. A silver mech was already standing in the clearing where the ship was slowly descending, ignoring a loud stream of cussing and threats coming over the comm. from a certain medic both Special Ops agents had left in their dust.
“Geeze, Ratchet’s not happy.” Chirped the silver mech.
“If one of your patients just hurtled pell-mell across the landscape at idiotic speeds, after recently recovering from major surgery, you’d be fragging unhappy too!”
“I’m fine Ratch’. Y’did a great job.” Jazz muffled his laughter as the medic cussed him out even more.
“Hey Ratchet, hurry up, the ship’s landing!” Bumblebee interjected during a lull in the profanity.
“I’ll give you ‘hurry up’ you brats.” Came the growl as the mech tramped up to them. “Crazy speed freaks.”
“You love us anyway.” Was the cheeky response. Ratchet’s reply to this was cut off by a loud hiss as the ship settled onto the ground and a hatch opened in its side. Jazz and Bumblebee were through the hatch the moment it stopped moving. The medic sighed, looking down at the human boy, who returned the look with one of bemusement.
“Shall we follow?” Sam gestured at the hatch.
“I suppose we should.” Ratchet muttered as he placed the teenager on his shoulder, then carefully made his way onboard.
They came upon a scene of chaos, Bumblebee was darting around the newly arrived crew, happily greeting and chirping at all of them, and they were all trying to respond at the same time, laughing as they did so. Jazz, however, was missing. Ratchet caught the gaze of Bluestreak, and the mech grinned widely and jerked his head in the direction the saboteur had gone. The chartreuse mech nodded and, after dropping Sam off with Bumblebee, went to find the other bot.
This scene, by contrast, was much quieter.
Two mechs stood before a large piece of equipment, the taller with a hand placed comfortingly on the smaller one’s shoulder as Jazz leaned into the tactician, seeming to relish the contact. The saboteur had his hands splayed across the clear surface of the stasis chamber, in which was laid a small blue mech, one Ratchet identified as one of Jazz’s team, from so long ago. Even straining his audios, the medic couldn’t pick up the words the taller mech was saying, but as he drew closer, the chamber opened and the bot within started to come online. His medic instincts took over and he shoved the pair aside to check on the relatively tiny mech. Blue optics flickered to life and the mech slowly drew himself into a sitting position, gently assisted by Ratchet.
He scanned the mechs in front of him fuzzily. They looked familiar. Fragments of memory, a word, followed by others, came to his hazy processor, and he vocalised them, turning from one mech to another, growing more confident as he did so. “Rat-chet? Prowl?” His gaze fell on the silver one, and this one he knew he remembered for sure.
“Hey little mech. Remember me?” And with the sound of that voice, some things clicked back into place for Blurr, the haziness flipping into slightly sharper focus.
“Jazz!” As the silver mech laughed and hugged the bot, Ratchet shared a smile with Prowl.
Title: (none as of yet)
'Verse: 2007 Transformers.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Cuss words that probably make no sense out of the fandom. Mention of slash. Lack of polish. Lack of narration of a lot of development in between scene changes. Writer with no beta, sleep deprivation and little knowledge of said fandom outside of fanfiction read and one viewing of the 2007 movie quite a while ago, when it was in theatres.
“Hey, hey there! Wait up!” There was someone shouting in the distance. Odd, but since there was no one else in his vicinity it was likely that he was the one being addressed. So to be polite (he was new to this base after all) he turned around to see who was trying to get his attention. A mech with a silver paint job was hurrying towards him, waving an arm in greeting.
“Hi, glad I caught you. You’re Prowl, the new tactician right?” This new bot was friendly, likely built before the war.
“Yes.” There was no need to elaborate, his file had been sent ahead and anyone wishing to know more could just download and read it. Not that there was much in it.
“I’m Jazz, Special Ops. Been assigned to show you ‘round.” That made sense. Ops bots tended to need to be sent out at any time, on short notice, so most of them didn’t get officially placed on the duty rosters, leaving them with (technically) more free time for this sort of thing.
“I would appreciate that. I have not had the chance to review all the floor plans of this base.” He’d downloaded them the moment he’d set foot in the building, but the place was rather large, being one of the more important bases, and he’d been busy settling in.
“Right. So, where’ve you gotten up to? Might as well not overlap.” Jazz was efficient as well. Part of what made him such an effective operative. According to the personnel records, the mech before him had risen smoothly after leaving the War Academy, and was now in charge of the Ops team on this base.
“I’ve covered the living quarters and the briefing rooms. I was just on my way to the medical bay for the mandatory examination.”
“Great, I’ll tag along, then we’ve just got the command deck, the training rooms and the rec room to go after that.”
“As you wish.” And with that he continued on his way, the silver mech easily keeping up with his longer stride.
As they walked Jazz tried to make conversation.
“So, I read your file.” The only response he got was a nod and a brief meeting of optics.
“Says you’re a pre-program, newly sparked just a few vorns ago, and this is your first posting.” Another nod. Slag, this bot was going to be difficult. It was the unspoken role of the Ops mechs to keep an eye on their comrades’ mental state, and that was not going to be easy if he couldn’t establish some kind of rapport with Prowl.
“Don’t mind me saying this, but you’re not like some pre-programs I know.” And Prowl wasn’t. The pre-programs, or pre-progs as they were sometimes known, were immediately pressed into service after creation. They were single minded in their focus and had limited functionality. They did what they were programmed for well, but did not interact with others or integrate into society easily, though with enough effort most could achieve a respectable level of socialisation. This was why most tended to be in surveillance, or security, or, in more peaceful times long past, transport and manufacturing.
To have one as a tactician, who had to understand the bots under their direction, who needed their trust, was very unusual. A sign of desperation. The war was not going well, and High Command had commissioned the creation of a series of mechs built for the sole purpose of battle. The influx of frontline fighters had eased pressures in some of the more troublesome areas, but the mechs had troubles coping when not in battle situations. After a couple of violent incidents, the program was scrapped and attention directed to other types of pre-progs.
“I am a partial pre-program of sorts. Though created to be a tactician, with all the prerequisite programming and data, such knowledge often needs to be applied in a subjective manner. As such I was assigned a mentor who taught me how to use the tools handed to me.” And to how to interact with others, unspoken but Jazz heard it anyway, finally picking up on the subtle expressions of this bot (was… he smiling?). Apparently their new tactician had detected his hidden curiosity, and was answering it in a similarly understated manner. Well now, this could get interesting.
“Ah, I see. Like how just reading about spacecraft doesn’t mean you can build and fly one?”
“That would be an appropriate analogy.”
“I’ll be with you in a moment.” They’d reached the Med Bay, and upon entering Prowl had been directed to the assistant medic by the CMO, as the mech was occupied with another patient. His assistant hurried away, and came back with a few datapads and some equipment, which both mechs helped take off his hands and set on a nearby counter.
“Thanks. Could you get on this berth please?” As Prowl complied, one of the datapads was handed to Jazz. “Report on Blurr’s latest stay with us.”
“Heh, he drive you crazy?” The Ops mech chuckled as he went through the report. The medic huffed in a longsuffering manner as he wandered around Prowl, scanning, prodding and prying, and occasionally instructing the mech to shift so that he could get better access. The tactician put up with the examination, obediently following his directions.
“Not this time, but he was offline for most of it, to let the self repair work without him fidgeting and opening something again. Perhaps we’ll keep him sedated each time he comes in, it seems to be best all round for our sanity and his recovery rate.”
“He’d a good bot, really.”
“I know that, it’s just the rest of us who can’t keep up.” Blurr, also Special Ops, another pre-program, built for rapid surveillance, information running and above all, speed. Surprisingly well included with the rest of the mechs on this base. Prowl suspected the mech before him had a hand in that accomplishment, something he would need to speak to Jazz about later.
While his mentor had done his best with Prowl, the need for the tactician to be in service was greater than the need for him to be personable when doing so, or to have properly developed emotional protocols and know more than just strategy and tactics. As such, his mentor had brought him to as high a level as he could within the time he had, and when they’d parted, admonished him to try his best to learn more about interpersonal relations. If he was willing, Jazz would be helpful in this regard.
Jazz?
Yeah Prowl?
What’s interfacing like?
*Splutter* What?
I said, what’s interfa-
Never mind, I heard the first time, jus’ was a shock. Y’don’t know?
My entire existence has pretty much revolved around the war, tactics and training. When would I have had time to experience this?
Then why the sudden interest?
According to Smokescreen and Sideswipe, apparently it’s something every bot should know.
Frag. Figures.
So? Are you willing to tell me about it?
If I don’t, who would you go to next?
Ironhide, or Optimus probably. Just so I can see their processors fry like yours did.
Primus help me, I’ve created a monster.
You did say I needed to exercise my sense of humour more often.
Now I have no idea whether you’re kidding or not.
And you call yourself Head of Special Operations. Jazz, I really would like to know, but if you’re not comfortable with the subject I can ask someone else.
As entertaining as watching Ironhide and Optimus suffer CPU failure would be, I’d rather skip the lecture from Ratchet. C’mon, some privacy would be best.
-One very, very awkward talk later…-
So. Now you know. Never thought I’d have to give this talk to you. Ever.
I see. What about Blurr or Bluestreak?
Them? Dunno, they’re still like younglings to me. You, on the other hand don’t come across as particularly young, even if you did come online so much later than them.
Oh. Good.
Good?
Yes, I was hoping you’d be able to show me what you were talking about.
*Sputter*
Jazz?
What?!
Just reading about spacecraft doesn’t mean you can build and fly one.
You… remember that? Wait, why me?! I’m deca-vorns older than you!
You just said that you don’t think of me as a youngling.
That’s a different matter!
Please think about it Jazz, I have to go on duty now. See you.
Yeah… See you.
So, what’s bothering you?
What makes you think anything’s bothering me?
Live long enough and you pick up a few things. Also, that polish rag in your hands is pretty much dead already.
Oh.
Well?
It’s Prowl.
What about him?
He… asked if I would interface with him.
Wooo. Never thought he’d be that forward. He’s normally so reserved.
He’s never done it before. Wants me to be his first.
And, what’s the issue here? You don’t like his chassis?
NO! I mean, it’s not that and he’s really actually very pleasing to the optic and his personality once you get him to open up is quite pleasant and, and…
Jazz. Calm down.
Calm down? He’s practically a sparkling! If this slagging war weren’t on he’d at most be in his youngling vorns!
And if this war weren’t on he’d not be a pre-prog with no knowledge of the world outside of his tactics and strategy and what you’ve shown him. You two might not have even met. Is it any wonder he’d go to you with this sort of thing?
Like you said, he’s got no knowledge of the world outside what I’ve shown him.
Did you manipulate him so that he’d want to ‘face with you? I don’t think you’re that kind of a mech, otherwise you wouldn’t be raising such a fuss. Prowl’s mentally about as mature as you or me, well, maybe more than you even, regardless of his physical age and lack of worldliness. You’re not taking advantage of him.
…
Go talk to the mech, ask if it’s really what he wants. It could likely a one time thing.
…
*Sigh* Better you than some random bot.
Anyone ever tell you that you fight dirty?
Like I said, live long enough…
Yeah, yeah… Okay.
Hey, Prowler? C’n I talk to you?
Of course Jazz. Come in.
Um, about your request…
You don’t have to agree. I know it was an awkward thing for me to ask.
A little. Just, I gotta know. Why did you ask me?
Sideswipe offered to show me, when he talked about interfacing. Sunstreaker cuffed him and told me the first one ought to be with someone special before dragging his brother away.
Oh. I’m… special to you?
Jazz, you’re my friend, pretty much my best friend. You’ve taught me a lot, and helped me with my emotional programming beyond what I initially expected. If this first interface is supposed to be with someone special I couldn’t think of anyone more important to me than you.
Just, interfacing can frag up a good friendship. ‘Specially if it’s a one off thing. And I don’t wanna do that to you.
That’s why I asked you. Even if this is the only time we do this, I know you would never hurt me.
Y’got a lotta faith in me.
If one can’t have faith in good friends, then what can they have?
… Got me there.
Have I?
… Yeah. We take this slow though.
I have the next cycle off.
Perfect.
Oh, hey Prowler. What’s up?
Jazz, could we speak in private?
… Sure, my quarters?
That would be fine.
So, what did you need to discuss in private?
I thought you’d rather hear this away from public optic. It’s Blurr. He’s in the Med Bay.
What?
They found him a few cycles ago, bleeding out from a shot to the main fuel pump. Someone managed to get him back to us before he deactivated.
There’s something else, isn’t there.
… Yes. His memory core is corrupted, likely by his own hand to prevent the Decepticons from getting sensitive info.
Primus.
Would you like to see him?
… Alright.
Why are you here? And how the frag did you get past my lock?
Is this not what friends do for each other? And I am the SIC now, if you haven’t forgotten.
… Go away please. I’d rather be alone.
You’ve been alone for the past four cycles, and haven’t taken any energon for the last two. You ignore or snap at anyone who tries to comm. you, contact you or talk to you. Bluestreak is frantic, Ratchet is threatening to haul you into Med Bay for a processor scan, and the twins are this close to breaking down your door to, as they say, beat some sense into you.
They can try. I didn’t become Head of Ops by virtue of my shiny paint job.
And a right wonderful job you’re doing as Head right now!
…
Jazz, please.
Leave. Me. Alone.
No.
Don’t touch me!
It’s not your fault.
Mute it and leave.
Jazz. Listen to me. Blurr’s situation is not your fault.
I sent him on that mission.
Because he was the best one to do it. If you’d sent anyone else they’d likely not have made it back alive.
Yeah, he made it back, and with the data we sent him to get. At what cost? The mech doesn’t remember a thing! All that progress, and he’s gone back to being just a hyper little pre-program.
He can start again. And there is the possibility his self repair will fix the damage eventually.
Do you honestly think they’ll spare the resources to keep him online while that happens? A little pre-prog like him? He’s not useful to them the way he is right now. They’ll chuck him into stasis, and leave him somewhere and forget about him.
They won’t forget.
And how’re you so sure about that?
Because I’ll remember, and you will as well.
… You’d better.
I promise. Now will you please drink this?
So… Guess I’ll be seeing you.
Take care of yourself.
You do the same.
You will have to leave soon if we’re to draw the Decepticons away from your group without them realising it.
The others?
Prime, Ironhide, Ratchet and Bumblebee are on their way to the shuttle bay.
Frag, not much time left huh.
You should hurry.
Yeah…
… Jazz?
Hey, don’t forget, ‘kay?
I keep my word Jazz.
Not about that. I know you won’t forget him. I’m talking about yourself.
What?
You forgot yourself. After you got posted to that base in Iacon, you turned into an emotionless shell.
My records still state that I am a pre-program. They treated me as such. After a while it was just easier to suppress the protocols.
Don’t do it again? Wasn’t fun, thought you’d ended up like him when I saw you again.
I won’t.
Good. ‘Kay. See you.
… See you.
Sam clung onto whatever he could grab while sitting in the driver’s seat of the yellow Camaro. Said Camaro was currently breaking the speed limit (and Sam was quite sure several laws of physics and maybe the speed of light. He also thought he saw the shattered remains of the speed of sound.) Oddly enough, this didn’t terrify him as much as he thought it would. Saving the world did that to a guy, he guessed. “‘Bee? Where’re we going?”
His friend and guardian was jubilant, scanning through several clips of triumphant music before answering. “We got a transmission, one of the ships managed to make it here!”
“That’s great! Do you know who’s on it?”
“Not really, we started to split up a lot when searching for the All Spark, though if this is the ship I think it is, Jazz is gonna be thrilled.”
“Oh? Is that why he shattered the sound barrier overtaking us?”
“I think you’re exaggerating, but yeah. Hey, there it is!” The Camaro screeched to a halt and Sam leapt out, eyes wide, the sound of transformation barely registering in the background as he stared.
The ship was huge, but then again, the Cybertronians were much bigger than humans, and compared to them Sam could tell it really was more of a medium sized craft. A silver mech was already standing in the clearing where the ship was slowly descending, ignoring a loud stream of cussing and threats coming over the comm. from a certain medic both Special Ops agents had left in their dust.
“Geeze, Ratchet’s not happy.” Chirped the silver mech.
“If one of your patients just hurtled pell-mell across the landscape at idiotic speeds, after recently recovering from major surgery, you’d be fragging unhappy too!”
“I’m fine Ratch’. Y’did a great job.” Jazz muffled his laughter as the medic cussed him out even more.
“Hey Ratchet, hurry up, the ship’s landing!” Bumblebee interjected during a lull in the profanity.
“I’ll give you ‘hurry up’ you brats.” Came the growl as the mech tramped up to them. “Crazy speed freaks.”
“You love us anyway.” Was the cheeky response. Ratchet’s reply to this was cut off by a loud hiss as the ship settled onto the ground and a hatch opened in its side. Jazz and Bumblebee were through the hatch the moment it stopped moving. The medic sighed, looking down at the human boy, who returned the look with one of bemusement.
“Shall we follow?” Sam gestured at the hatch.
“I suppose we should.” Ratchet muttered as he placed the teenager on his shoulder, then carefully made his way onboard.
They came upon a scene of chaos, Bumblebee was darting around the newly arrived crew, happily greeting and chirping at all of them, and they were all trying to respond at the same time, laughing as they did so. Jazz, however, was missing. Ratchet caught the gaze of Bluestreak, and the mech grinned widely and jerked his head in the direction the saboteur had gone. The chartreuse mech nodded and, after dropping Sam off with Bumblebee, went to find the other bot.
This scene, by contrast, was much quieter.
Two mechs stood before a large piece of equipment, the taller with a hand placed comfortingly on the smaller one’s shoulder as Jazz leaned into the tactician, seeming to relish the contact. The saboteur had his hands splayed across the clear surface of the stasis chamber, in which was laid a small blue mech, one Ratchet identified as one of Jazz’s team, from so long ago. Even straining his audios, the medic couldn’t pick up the words the taller mech was saying, but as he drew closer, the chamber opened and the bot within started to come online. His medic instincts took over and he shoved the pair aside to check on the relatively tiny mech. Blue optics flickered to life and the mech slowly drew himself into a sitting position, gently assisted by Ratchet.
He scanned the mechs in front of him fuzzily. They looked familiar. Fragments of memory, a word, followed by others, came to his hazy processor, and he vocalised them, turning from one mech to another, growing more confident as he did so. “Rat-chet? Prowl?” His gaze fell on the silver one, and this one he knew he remembered for sure.
“Hey little mech. Remember me?” And with the sound of that voice, some things clicked back into place for Blurr, the haziness flipping into slightly sharper focus.
“Jazz!” As the silver mech laughed and hugged the bot, Ratchet shared a smile with Prowl.
