ante_luce | Changing Perspectives (Part 5)

Title: Changing Perspectives (Part 5)
'Verse: G1 Transformers
Characters: Jazz. Prowl. Optimus. Wheeljack. Ratchet.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: TF cussing

Jazz ran, cursing his muchly shortened stride and the Ark’s metal floors as he turned a corner, claws scrabbling for purchase, for anything that would help him go a little faster. Bolting towards the Prime’s office, his spark sank when he saw his commander standing in the passageway, looking down the corridor from the Ops mech.

Optimus looked down at the cat that had skidded to a halt at his pedes and was currently pawing his lower leg, mewing frantically. He sighed, then indicated the direction Prowl had gone with a jerk of his head.

“He’s headed for his office, Jazz.” The saboteur took off, and the large mech murmured. “Good luck.”

= = =

Prowl’s door had just slid shut when Jazz reached it. Just as he had earlier, the Ops mech scratched at it, meowing at the top of his voice. When that didn’t work, he moved to the opposite side of the corridor, then launched himself at the door, hitting it with a loud ‘thud’.

The third time he did this, the door opened and Prowl scooped him up, carrying him away from the tactician’s office at a brisk pace. Jazz mewed, pushing his head against the mech’s front repeatedly, but got no response. He worked a paw free to pat at the Datsun, and was ignored once more.

“Prowl? Where’re you going with Jazz?”

Jazz broke off from his attempts to get the doorwinged mech to just look at him when Wheeljack spoke, helm tilted in curiosity. The truth about his condition must not have reached the Lancia just yet. Prowl’s answer was calm, his tone eminently reasonable.

“I have some important work to take care of, and I was going to find someone to leave Jazz with.”

“He’s wrecking havoc in your office, huh. Well, I guess you could stick him with me. I’m good to change him back into a mech, just need to wait for Ratchet to get a free moment.” Wheeljack’s earfins flickered cheerily, the inventor no wiser to the tactician’s little fib.

“Very well.”

Prowl handed the Ops mech over to the engineer, Wheeljack fumbling a little as Jazz wriggled about like a live fish, trying to escape until the SIC spoke sternly to him.

“Jazz. Stop it, you’ve done enough.”

The cat stilled immediately, ears and tail drooping as he fixed his visor on the Datsun. Prowl turned away without another word.

“I’ll let you know when we’re ready, okay Prowl?”

The black and white mech inclined his head briefly in acknowledgement before continuing on his way, and Wheeljack petted the miserable cat in his arms comfortingly.

“Aw, it’s okay, Jazz. Prowl can’t hold anything you’ve done against you. You’ll see him later.”

‘Yes he can, and no I won’t.’ The Ops mech mewed disconsolately, and Wheeljack, being unable to speak cat, tried to cheer him up with more petting and light banter as they headed towards his lab.

= = =

“Prowl?”

The tactician put the datapad down to look at the mech who’d just come into his office. “Bluestreak. Is there something you need?”

“Smokescreen was talking about Jazz earlier.” The gunner took a seat, and Prowl nodded.

“… Yes. It seems that Jazz is self-aware in his current form.”

“Prowl… I knew. I knew that before Smokescreen said anything.” Bluestreak didn’t flinch back from the sharp look the tactician dealt him, but continued resolutely instead. “I told him that if he hurt you, I’d send him flying. Though I didn’t use those exact words.”

The black and white mech didn’t reply, turning to his console to type something. The gunner frowned.

“But Jazz’s not the sort to do that.”

Still no response, and Bluestreak stood, doorwings quivering with emotion.

“Damn it Prowl! I know you feel betrayed and all, but it was working! The crew were starting to see that you’re a mech too, instead of just the SIC! You were happy!”

“If there’s nothing else, Bluestreak, I do have work to be getting through.”

The grey mech’s fists clenched at Prowl’s dispassionate tone, and he shook his head and moved towards the door. Before he palmed it open, he spoke, not looking back at the tactician.

“There are Autobots who are now going to dare to reach out to you, thanks to Jazz. I’m sorry that I’ve made you hate me, but at least meet them part way.”

Hearing nothing from the other Datsun, Bluestreak left. Prowl watched him leave, then leant back in his chair and shuttered his optics, cycling air slowly.

= = =

“Jazz.”

He lifted his head off his paws to see the engineer approach. Wheeljack sat down at the workbench where the Ops mech was curled up on in a dejected ball, gaze sympathetic.

“Ratchet told me. I’m sorry.”

The mech stroked his head once, then placed his hand beside the cat with a sigh.

“This is my fault. Me and my tinkering.”

Wheeljack looked down at his lap, then back at Jazz when the Ops mech laid a paw over his hand. Jazz mewed reassuringly, he didn’t blame the mech for anything. In fact, he had the Lancia to thank for the opportunity, however unintended, to see a side of Prowl he never would have thought existed. The engineer chuckled.

“Thanks. Ratchet’s done with Ravage. I’ve let our SIC know, just in case.”

Another mew and Wheeljack stood, reaching out to the cat to gather him up.

“Well then. Let’s get to the med bay. The sooner you’re a mech again, the sooner you can go talk to Prowl.”

= = =

Jazz sat on a berth, scanning the deserted med bay futilely. The area had been cleared of all gawkers by a scowling Ratchet, and the only ones left in it were the CMO and Wheeljack, setting up his device and casting concerned glances the visored cat’s way.

“Ready?”

Jazz sighed, tail lashing about apprehensively, then looked at the engineer and nodded. The mech started up the complicated looking gadget and was about to hit the trigger when Ratchet stopped him.

“Wait. Let me get behind something big enough to use as a shield first.”

The inventor pouted at the medic and Jazz snickered, then sat up when he saw a black and white mech standing just inside the doors of the med bay, arms folded across his front, watching the proceedings with a solemn expression. Wheeljack glanced over his shoulder, spotting Prowl as well, then turned back to look at Jazz. He nodded at the cat encouragingly, then called out.

“Alright, Jazz. Here goes nothing!”

The Ops mech forced himself to stay put when the device fired, his world going white even with his optics shuttered.

= = =

Someone was shaking his shoulder.

“Jazz! Can you hear me?”

“No need to shout, Ratch’, my hearing’s fine.” Jazz onlined his optics to see Ratchet and Wheeljack looking at him. The medic vented air in relief, running a quick diagnostic scan on him as Wheeljack looked on worriedly. The saboteur smiled at the Lancia.

“Hey ‘Jack, what’s with the face?”

Ratchet stopped in his examination and the inventor’s earfins flashed in alarm.

“… You don’t remember?”

“Well, I was in your lab. And then there was a loud noise and a bright light and now I’m here. And from the looks on your faces, something more than just a flashy light show happened.”

Medic and engineer exchanged looks before the sound of doors sliding open had them turning to see a flash of black and white departing the med bay. When they turned back, the Porsche grinned at them.

“So, what’d I miss?”