More Hunter Green
Oct. 2nd, 2008 10:56 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ante_luceBunny was only temporarily appeased, it seems. And it's not happy with me, because this was an utter pain to write.
(working) Title: Hunter Green (Part 2)
'Verse: G1 Transformers.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Same as before. Now with mention of slash.
They made it back to the Ark without further incident, and, coupled with the lack of injuries from battle, the ‘security measures’ in place (though it must be noted that these measures were still quite genuine in their intent and function) kept the majority of the crew away from the med bay, though it did take a direct order from their Prime to effect a proper clear out. The last few mechs reluctantly trickled away from the now sealed shut doors, Ironhide grumbling at them as they did so.
“Slagging busybodies.”
“Can’t be helped, I guess. The crew missed their Prowler, even if a lot of them won’t say it out loud. And they think he’s back now.” Jazz leant against the wall, suddenly feeling very tired.
“So. Any ideas as to how we go about handling this?” A black hand was waved in the direction of the offline mech, laid out on a nearby berth.
“You can start by telling me what the frag is going on.” A calm sounding Ratchet was normally a good thing. It meant that no one still needed repairs, and that no stupidity had occurred within the last half hour or so. A calm sounding Ratchet coupled with death-glare and wrench in hand, however, often had the effect of making the subject of his query spilling their innards at breakneck speed in an attempt to avoid much pain and misery.
“Could you scan his CPU first? Our,” Optimus’s hesitation was barely noticeable. “mech here would be the best placed to explain the situation, and I’m hesitant to have him online without reassurance that he carries no threat to the Autobots within his programming.”
“… This is Prowl we’re talking about. Our tactician. He could take down any number of us even with that battle computer of his offline. Be more specific.” Even Optimus Prime wasn’t immune to the power of Ratchet in pissy mode, and he quickly gestured in a placating manner.
“Please, just scan him first Ratchet. Make sure the Decepticons haven’t left anything we should be concerned about. I promise we’ll tell you why after he’s online.” The medic grumbled, but went ahead with the process, jacking into the supine bot. For a good fifteen minutes nothing happened, just the hazy flickering of the CMO’s optics as he sorted through programming and code, the familiar lines of which he’d thought he would never see again after the mech had gone MIA. Ratchet was just musing that he would never complain about having to reset Prowl’s logic processors again, when something caught his attention, prompting him to stiffen and glance over the mech on the berth curiously.
“What the slag is this?” Surprise turned to shock as his processors determined the nature of his find. “Optimus, you’d better have a fragging good explanation for me, right now.”
“Peace, friend. What is his condition? Is he clean?”
“As a whistle. No sleepers, viruses or suchlike. Some data corruption, memory files mostly, some non-essential programs that his self repair systems will have fixed by the next cycle. His firewalls have been through Pit knows what, some of them are still intact, a few just barely. And something tells me you know all about the major issue currently concerning Prowl’s CPU. Now talk.”
“Like I said, he would be the best to explain this. Can you bring him online?”
“Can I bring him online, he asks. Pah!” The medic fussed over the prone form, inputting a final line of code before disengaging the jack. He drew away, optics never leaving the bot, as the gathered mechs waited for him to come online. Optics blinked on, and the mech cautiously attempted to sit upright. Immediately, Ratchet noticed a difference in posture and stance. Whereas Prowl would have been perfectly poised, doors still and high, this mech held himself in a slightly more relaxed manner. Meeting his optics, the medic was again struck by more disparities, and he couldn’t decide how he felt when the mech finally looked away.
He, like the rest of his companions, couldn’t remember the last time Prowl’s faceplates had held such an open expression. The mech before them took in his surroundings like he’d never really seen them before (It made no sense. Prowl had been in the Med Bay hundreds of times), doorwings fluttering in curiosity all the while before his gaze alighted upon the medic once more.
“You… are Ratchet, correct?” Even his voice was subtly different. Younger, less reserved and distant. It had been harder to tell while on the battlefield, and while they were in the open, but in the enclosed space of the Med Bay the change was more obvious, causing the mechs who heard it to shift uneasily. Ratchet stared at the bot for a while, causing him to shrink backwards a little under his regard. It made Ratchet’s processor hurt, according to his CPU, this mech was their comrade, and yet he obviously wasn’t.
“Yes. Yes I am. Do you know where you are?” His training at least ensured a steady manner as he spoke to the mech.
“This is the Medical Bay of the Ark. Second floor, sector delta.”
“Have you a designation?” From what he’d seen of the mech’s processor, it was obvious that the personality before him wasn’t Prowl.
“Jazz was kind enough to give me one. I am designated Hunter for the time being.”
Prowl’s speech patterns, overlaid with Hunter’s voice just made the situation even more surreal.
“Optimus says you have an explanation for me.”
“Yes sir.” Prowl didn’t call him sir, being ranked above Ratchet, he had no reason to. And Prowl was not the sort to address him as such in jest, like Jazz or even Ironhide would. The medic’s headache threatened to grow.
“Well, let’s hear it then.” He sighed just before Ironhide cut in. “Wait. Call the other science-bots in first. We’ll probably need their input, and it’ll make for fewer times we have to sit through this story.”
Jazz commed them, and as they waited for their research team to arrive, Ratchet gave the mech, no, Hunter, he would have to remember that, another once over.
“Are you injured?”
“Not beyond the capabilities of self repair.” A bit of humourless mirth flickered in Ratchet’s optics at that. Prowl’s notorious aversion to medical treatment for what he deemed minor inconveniences had apparently carried over.
“Are you sure? No left over signs of Decepticon hospitality?”
“No sir. They restored this chassis fully before the battle.”
“Let me make sure.”
“Yes sir.” Unlike Prowl, this mech meekly submitted to his examinations after saying that he was alright. Frag. Where in the Pit was their science team? The sooner they got this over with, the sooner he could lock himself in his quarters with his high grade. The shifts between familiar and unfamiliar behaviour were starting to wear on his neural circuits, and by the looks of the other three mechs in the room, they weren’t faring much better. Every nuance that marked a characteristic of Prowl had them subconsciously focusing on the black and white mech on the berth, only to be jarred when Hunter deviated from Prowl’s typical manner.
“Well. The ‘Cons at least left you intact. More than intact. You have these nasty little surprises,” Here Ratchet lifted a white hand, triggering something and from Prowl’s fingertips sprouted sharpened almost claws, causing their audience to start in surprise. “Hydraulics are stronger than what Prowl had, no doubt to make sure these aren’t just for decoration. And these.” Wicked looking blades popped out along his forearms. Modifications for a melee fighter, a Decepticon melee fighter at that, not a ranged mech like the black and white tactician had been.
“You know how to use these?” Ironhide prodded one of the blades, sounding almost appreciative of their design.
“I was given training in their use.” There was a hint of pride in Hunter’s erstwhile mild tone.
“Wait a sec, the ‘Cons taught you to fight?”
“Once they realised I possessed more awareness than the drone they expected, they wanted me physically in battle. To disconcert the Autobots further once they went up against a mech who was previously on their side on the field, I was given these modifications and taught how to use them.”
“Huh.” There was an awkward silence as Ratchet glanced once more at the annoyingly still shut doors, which all of a sudden were not shut any longer. Three more mechs joined them, Wheeljack in the lead, and he spoke for them, practically vibrating in curiosity and excitement.
“Prime? Ratchet? What’s going on? Why did you call for us? Is there something wrong with Prowl?”
“You slaggers took long enough. As for the reason you were called, now that you’re here, we’re finally able to go into that.”
“Indeed. Hunter, if you please.” The newly arrived bots looked nonplussed as they scanned the room for this ‘Hunter’.
“Who?”
“Prime was referring to me.” There was a quiet interjection, and they looked at the mech they thought was Prowl in surprise.
“Oh. Corrupted memory stores? Ratchet, this is an ailment without an external form of treatment, even with our assistance. Such damage is more a task for a mech’s self repair capabilities.”
“Don’t you teach me how to do my job, Perceptor.” The medic snapped back, arms crossed over his front. Skyfire, who up to now had been silent, was observing the black and white mech on the berth.
“You’re not Prowl.”
“I am not.”
“Skyfire, are you blind? That is unmistakably Prowl, the mechs who came back from battle reported his return, and his behaviour on the battlefield left them in no doubt as to his identity. Obviously his processor was damaged during his stay with the Decepticons if he doesn’t think he’s Prowl right now.”
“Who are you?” Skyfire held up a hand to stall Perceptor, continuing his questioning of the black and white mech.
“A guest in your friend’s chassis.”
“I think you need to tell us what you know first.” The familiar body in front of them repeated what he’d told Prime, Jazz and Ironhide on the field, and as he spoke, the newcomers realised that the mech they were dealing with really wasn’t their tactician. The letdown was obvious to the others, and Optimus winced at the thought of having to tell the entire crew. By now the mechs of the Ark would have gotten all worked up over Prowl’s supposed return.
“I have what relevant data I could find on this situation ready for examination, though I haven’t gone through it all yet.” Hunter wound down his explanation, and tilted his head aside to expose a data port. Gently, the jet connected to the mech, and found the data packet already waiting to be downloaded.
“You’re about as efficient as he was.” Came the wistful observation, as Hunter glanced away, unsure as to how to respond. Optimus cut in just then.
“What does the data say?”
“There is a lot here. Starscream, if nothing else was thorough when recording his findings. I need time to go through it all and analyse it with Perceptor and Wheeljack.”
“Is there a timeframe?” The large mech cycled air thoughtfully.
“A cycle, at the very least.”
“Contact me when you’re done then. Ratchet. You were in Hunter’s CPU. What can you tell us?” The medic responded with a heavy cycle of air, gesturing to Skyfire, Perceptor and Wheeljack briefly.
“I need to examine the blocks first, but I think I can lift them with their assistance. It is as Hunter says, Prowl’s mind is in stasis, and as for how to remedy that, I have no idea. There might be something in the data he’s given us. I’ll get back you when I know more. Probably also after a cycle.”
“Very well. In the meantime, Jazz.” The saboteur perked up at the sound of his name.
“Yeah Prime?”
“Can you escort Hunter to Prowl’s quarters? Perhaps familiar surroundings would help. Make sure no one sees him.”
“Yessir.”
As the two black and white mechs left, Optimus passed a hand over his faceplates and turned to Ironhide. “And now, we go explain to Red Alert.”
“Oh. Goody.”
========================================
The trip to Prowl’s quarters was an odd one, even odder than the trip back to the Ark. Hunter seemed to know which corridors to take and which directions to turn, except when he didn’t. They stopped at the correct door without Jazz’s prompting, the mech half reaching for the keypad before he realised it and stopped, glancing over at the Special Ops mech. With a half-smile Jazz leant over to input a code.
“S’been changed, even if you do remember Prowl’s passcode, along with every security measure and code Prowl came up with, and frag if there weren’t a lot of them.”
“I can imagine.”
They entered the room, and Hunter paused in the centre of the room, giving it the once over like he did the med bay.
“Something wrong?”
“It’s just… Disconcerting. I know this place, and all of the places we passed on our way here, but logically my… person has never been here before.”
“… Yeah. I guess it would be.” Jazz eyed the mech, then broke off his stare on the pretext of examining the room, quietly musing to himself. “You’re not the only one who finds it odd.”
“I’m sorry. This situation must be difficult for you as well.”
“… You heard me?! Right, stupid question.”
“It’s to be expected. He was important to you.”
“And to everyone in the Ark, yeah.”
“But to you especially.”
Jazz froze in place, a distant part of his processor not occupied with dealing with the whole surreal situation or screaming profanities at having something he’d thought was pretty damn well buried so easily pointed out managing to be glad his mouth wasn’t hanging open. No need to look more like an idiot. Hunter was the one staring at him now, expression perfectly textbook ‘said something I shouldn’t have. Slag.’. Saboteur and interloper in a tactician’s body watched each other for another couple of awkward moments before Jazz managed to make a comment.
“I didn’t realise I’d been so obvious. No one’s pointed it out.”
“… You weren’t obvious.” The admission was hesitant, and Hunter shifted on his feet as if he wasn’t sure if he should proceed.
“Go on. If you’ve gone through any memory files with me in them you’d know I don’t just give up.”
“Prowl noticed. Because…” Another moment of hesitation. “You were important to him as well.” At the stunned silence that followed Hunter tugged at his chevron in frustration.
“And you didn’t know that either. Frag.”
Idly, Jazz thought he’d never heard Prowl swear before. And technically he still hadn’t, but details…
“What?! Why didn’t he say anything?!”
“You think I know? I’m trying to not dig through his memory files any more than I have already, and it’s not as easy as playing ‘I’ll just ignore the elephant in the room’! Everything pulls up memory data at random, locations, bots, names, even actions. I can’t stop or control it!” The mech’s doorwings were twitching agitatedly, another bit of behaviour Prowl had never displayed, his wings always moved in smooth, singular motions, and the Porsche found his attention drawn to them. He cycled air heavily, deflating.
“Right… Sorry.” There was another pause.
“Hey, Hunter.”
“Yeah?”
“How’d you figure this out?” Jazz was curious, even his Ops team hadn’t seemed to notice.
“… Prowl’s sensors are attuned to you. Your vocal frequency and patterns stand out at any given point in time to him. Your form and paint job draws the attention of his processors. As such, he realised you were doing the same for him, and apparently he’s hidden it better if you haven’t noticed in return. As to why he’s never acted on your mutual attraction… The memory file hasn’t come up, and it’s really something you should discuss with him.”
“I think I can figure out a reason.” Jazz muttered dryly, leaning his head back against the wall. “Primus damn your stupid, stubborn, logical aft Prowl.”
(working) Title: Hunter Green (Part 2)
'Verse: G1 Transformers.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Same as before. Now with mention of slash.
They made it back to the Ark without further incident, and, coupled with the lack of injuries from battle, the ‘security measures’ in place (though it must be noted that these measures were still quite genuine in their intent and function) kept the majority of the crew away from the med bay, though it did take a direct order from their Prime to effect a proper clear out. The last few mechs reluctantly trickled away from the now sealed shut doors, Ironhide grumbling at them as they did so.
“Slagging busybodies.”
“Can’t be helped, I guess. The crew missed their Prowler, even if a lot of them won’t say it out loud. And they think he’s back now.” Jazz leant against the wall, suddenly feeling very tired.
“So. Any ideas as to how we go about handling this?” A black hand was waved in the direction of the offline mech, laid out on a nearby berth.
“You can start by telling me what the frag is going on.” A calm sounding Ratchet was normally a good thing. It meant that no one still needed repairs, and that no stupidity had occurred within the last half hour or so. A calm sounding Ratchet coupled with death-glare and wrench in hand, however, often had the effect of making the subject of his query spilling their innards at breakneck speed in an attempt to avoid much pain and misery.
“Could you scan his CPU first? Our,” Optimus’s hesitation was barely noticeable. “mech here would be the best placed to explain the situation, and I’m hesitant to have him online without reassurance that he carries no threat to the Autobots within his programming.”
“… This is Prowl we’re talking about. Our tactician. He could take down any number of us even with that battle computer of his offline. Be more specific.” Even Optimus Prime wasn’t immune to the power of Ratchet in pissy mode, and he quickly gestured in a placating manner.
“Please, just scan him first Ratchet. Make sure the Decepticons haven’t left anything we should be concerned about. I promise we’ll tell you why after he’s online.” The medic grumbled, but went ahead with the process, jacking into the supine bot. For a good fifteen minutes nothing happened, just the hazy flickering of the CMO’s optics as he sorted through programming and code, the familiar lines of which he’d thought he would never see again after the mech had gone MIA. Ratchet was just musing that he would never complain about having to reset Prowl’s logic processors again, when something caught his attention, prompting him to stiffen and glance over the mech on the berth curiously.
“What the slag is this?” Surprise turned to shock as his processors determined the nature of his find. “Optimus, you’d better have a fragging good explanation for me, right now.”
“Peace, friend. What is his condition? Is he clean?”
“As a whistle. No sleepers, viruses or suchlike. Some data corruption, memory files mostly, some non-essential programs that his self repair systems will have fixed by the next cycle. His firewalls have been through Pit knows what, some of them are still intact, a few just barely. And something tells me you know all about the major issue currently concerning Prowl’s CPU. Now talk.”
“Like I said, he would be the best to explain this. Can you bring him online?”
“Can I bring him online, he asks. Pah!” The medic fussed over the prone form, inputting a final line of code before disengaging the jack. He drew away, optics never leaving the bot, as the gathered mechs waited for him to come online. Optics blinked on, and the mech cautiously attempted to sit upright. Immediately, Ratchet noticed a difference in posture and stance. Whereas Prowl would have been perfectly poised, doors still and high, this mech held himself in a slightly more relaxed manner. Meeting his optics, the medic was again struck by more disparities, and he couldn’t decide how he felt when the mech finally looked away.
He, like the rest of his companions, couldn’t remember the last time Prowl’s faceplates had held such an open expression. The mech before them took in his surroundings like he’d never really seen them before (It made no sense. Prowl had been in the Med Bay hundreds of times), doorwings fluttering in curiosity all the while before his gaze alighted upon the medic once more.
“You… are Ratchet, correct?” Even his voice was subtly different. Younger, less reserved and distant. It had been harder to tell while on the battlefield, and while they were in the open, but in the enclosed space of the Med Bay the change was more obvious, causing the mechs who heard it to shift uneasily. Ratchet stared at the bot for a while, causing him to shrink backwards a little under his regard. It made Ratchet’s processor hurt, according to his CPU, this mech was their comrade, and yet he obviously wasn’t.
“Yes. Yes I am. Do you know where you are?” His training at least ensured a steady manner as he spoke to the mech.
“This is the Medical Bay of the Ark. Second floor, sector delta.”
“Have you a designation?” From what he’d seen of the mech’s processor, it was obvious that the personality before him wasn’t Prowl.
“Jazz was kind enough to give me one. I am designated Hunter for the time being.”
Prowl’s speech patterns, overlaid with Hunter’s voice just made the situation even more surreal.
“Optimus says you have an explanation for me.”
“Yes sir.” Prowl didn’t call him sir, being ranked above Ratchet, he had no reason to. And Prowl was not the sort to address him as such in jest, like Jazz or even Ironhide would. The medic’s headache threatened to grow.
“Well, let’s hear it then.” He sighed just before Ironhide cut in. “Wait. Call the other science-bots in first. We’ll probably need their input, and it’ll make for fewer times we have to sit through this story.”
Jazz commed them, and as they waited for their research team to arrive, Ratchet gave the mech, no, Hunter, he would have to remember that, another once over.
“Are you injured?”
“Not beyond the capabilities of self repair.” A bit of humourless mirth flickered in Ratchet’s optics at that. Prowl’s notorious aversion to medical treatment for what he deemed minor inconveniences had apparently carried over.
“Are you sure? No left over signs of Decepticon hospitality?”
“No sir. They restored this chassis fully before the battle.”
“Let me make sure.”
“Yes sir.” Unlike Prowl, this mech meekly submitted to his examinations after saying that he was alright. Frag. Where in the Pit was their science team? The sooner they got this over with, the sooner he could lock himself in his quarters with his high grade. The shifts between familiar and unfamiliar behaviour were starting to wear on his neural circuits, and by the looks of the other three mechs in the room, they weren’t faring much better. Every nuance that marked a characteristic of Prowl had them subconsciously focusing on the black and white mech on the berth, only to be jarred when Hunter deviated from Prowl’s typical manner.
“Well. The ‘Cons at least left you intact. More than intact. You have these nasty little surprises,” Here Ratchet lifted a white hand, triggering something and from Prowl’s fingertips sprouted sharpened almost claws, causing their audience to start in surprise. “Hydraulics are stronger than what Prowl had, no doubt to make sure these aren’t just for decoration. And these.” Wicked looking blades popped out along his forearms. Modifications for a melee fighter, a Decepticon melee fighter at that, not a ranged mech like the black and white tactician had been.
“You know how to use these?” Ironhide prodded one of the blades, sounding almost appreciative of their design.
“I was given training in their use.” There was a hint of pride in Hunter’s erstwhile mild tone.
“Wait a sec, the ‘Cons taught you to fight?”
“Once they realised I possessed more awareness than the drone they expected, they wanted me physically in battle. To disconcert the Autobots further once they went up against a mech who was previously on their side on the field, I was given these modifications and taught how to use them.”
“Huh.” There was an awkward silence as Ratchet glanced once more at the annoyingly still shut doors, which all of a sudden were not shut any longer. Three more mechs joined them, Wheeljack in the lead, and he spoke for them, practically vibrating in curiosity and excitement.
“Prime? Ratchet? What’s going on? Why did you call for us? Is there something wrong with Prowl?”
“You slaggers took long enough. As for the reason you were called, now that you’re here, we’re finally able to go into that.”
“Indeed. Hunter, if you please.” The newly arrived bots looked nonplussed as they scanned the room for this ‘Hunter’.
“Who?”
“Prime was referring to me.” There was a quiet interjection, and they looked at the mech they thought was Prowl in surprise.
“Oh. Corrupted memory stores? Ratchet, this is an ailment without an external form of treatment, even with our assistance. Such damage is more a task for a mech’s self repair capabilities.”
“Don’t you teach me how to do my job, Perceptor.” The medic snapped back, arms crossed over his front. Skyfire, who up to now had been silent, was observing the black and white mech on the berth.
“You’re not Prowl.”
“I am not.”
“Skyfire, are you blind? That is unmistakably Prowl, the mechs who came back from battle reported his return, and his behaviour on the battlefield left them in no doubt as to his identity. Obviously his processor was damaged during his stay with the Decepticons if he doesn’t think he’s Prowl right now.”
“Who are you?” Skyfire held up a hand to stall Perceptor, continuing his questioning of the black and white mech.
“A guest in your friend’s chassis.”
“I think you need to tell us what you know first.” The familiar body in front of them repeated what he’d told Prime, Jazz and Ironhide on the field, and as he spoke, the newcomers realised that the mech they were dealing with really wasn’t their tactician. The letdown was obvious to the others, and Optimus winced at the thought of having to tell the entire crew. By now the mechs of the Ark would have gotten all worked up over Prowl’s supposed return.
“I have what relevant data I could find on this situation ready for examination, though I haven’t gone through it all yet.” Hunter wound down his explanation, and tilted his head aside to expose a data port. Gently, the jet connected to the mech, and found the data packet already waiting to be downloaded.
“You’re about as efficient as he was.” Came the wistful observation, as Hunter glanced away, unsure as to how to respond. Optimus cut in just then.
“What does the data say?”
“There is a lot here. Starscream, if nothing else was thorough when recording his findings. I need time to go through it all and analyse it with Perceptor and Wheeljack.”
“Is there a timeframe?” The large mech cycled air thoughtfully.
“A cycle, at the very least.”
“Contact me when you’re done then. Ratchet. You were in Hunter’s CPU. What can you tell us?” The medic responded with a heavy cycle of air, gesturing to Skyfire, Perceptor and Wheeljack briefly.
“I need to examine the blocks first, but I think I can lift them with their assistance. It is as Hunter says, Prowl’s mind is in stasis, and as for how to remedy that, I have no idea. There might be something in the data he’s given us. I’ll get back you when I know more. Probably also after a cycle.”
“Very well. In the meantime, Jazz.” The saboteur perked up at the sound of his name.
“Yeah Prime?”
“Can you escort Hunter to Prowl’s quarters? Perhaps familiar surroundings would help. Make sure no one sees him.”
“Yessir.”
As the two black and white mechs left, Optimus passed a hand over his faceplates and turned to Ironhide. “And now, we go explain to Red Alert.”
“Oh. Goody.”
The trip to Prowl’s quarters was an odd one, even odder than the trip back to the Ark. Hunter seemed to know which corridors to take and which directions to turn, except when he didn’t. They stopped at the correct door without Jazz’s prompting, the mech half reaching for the keypad before he realised it and stopped, glancing over at the Special Ops mech. With a half-smile Jazz leant over to input a code.
“S’been changed, even if you do remember Prowl’s passcode, along with every security measure and code Prowl came up with, and frag if there weren’t a lot of them.”
“I can imagine.”
They entered the room, and Hunter paused in the centre of the room, giving it the once over like he did the med bay.
“Something wrong?”
“It’s just… Disconcerting. I know this place, and all of the places we passed on our way here, but logically my… person has never been here before.”
“… Yeah. I guess it would be.” Jazz eyed the mech, then broke off his stare on the pretext of examining the room, quietly musing to himself. “You’re not the only one who finds it odd.”
“I’m sorry. This situation must be difficult for you as well.”
“… You heard me?! Right, stupid question.”
“It’s to be expected. He was important to you.”
“And to everyone in the Ark, yeah.”
“But to you especially.”
Jazz froze in place, a distant part of his processor not occupied with dealing with the whole surreal situation or screaming profanities at having something he’d thought was pretty damn well buried so easily pointed out managing to be glad his mouth wasn’t hanging open. No need to look more like an idiot. Hunter was the one staring at him now, expression perfectly textbook ‘said something I shouldn’t have. Slag.’. Saboteur and interloper in a tactician’s body watched each other for another couple of awkward moments before Jazz managed to make a comment.
“I didn’t realise I’d been so obvious. No one’s pointed it out.”
“… You weren’t obvious.” The admission was hesitant, and Hunter shifted on his feet as if he wasn’t sure if he should proceed.
“Go on. If you’ve gone through any memory files with me in them you’d know I don’t just give up.”
“Prowl noticed. Because…” Another moment of hesitation. “You were important to him as well.” At the stunned silence that followed Hunter tugged at his chevron in frustration.
“And you didn’t know that either. Frag.”
Idly, Jazz thought he’d never heard Prowl swear before. And technically he still hadn’t, but details…
“What?! Why didn’t he say anything?!”
“You think I know? I’m trying to not dig through his memory files any more than I have already, and it’s not as easy as playing ‘I’ll just ignore the elephant in the room’! Everything pulls up memory data at random, locations, bots, names, even actions. I can’t stop or control it!” The mech’s doorwings were twitching agitatedly, another bit of behaviour Prowl had never displayed, his wings always moved in smooth, singular motions, and the Porsche found his attention drawn to them. He cycled air heavily, deflating.
“Right… Sorry.” There was another pause.
“Hey, Hunter.”
“Yeah?”
“How’d you figure this out?” Jazz was curious, even his Ops team hadn’t seemed to notice.
“… Prowl’s sensors are attuned to you. Your vocal frequency and patterns stand out at any given point in time to him. Your form and paint job draws the attention of his processors. As such, he realised you were doing the same for him, and apparently he’s hidden it better if you haven’t noticed in return. As to why he’s never acted on your mutual attraction… The memory file hasn’t come up, and it’s really something you should discuss with him.”
“I think I can figure out a reason.” Jazz muttered dryly, leaning his head back against the wall. “Primus damn your stupid, stubborn, logical aft Prowl.”
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Date: 2008-10-04 04:25 am (UTC)I hope you get this thesis done so you can write more. You're good.