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ante_luceTitle: Changes and the Results Thereof
'Verse: G1 Transformers
Characters: Prowl. Jazz.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: TF cussing.
Notes: For the April '10 Challenge at the PxJ comm. Writing the first entry I submitted for this challenge was a major pain in the aft. I tore out sections with a vengeance and rewrote some parts until I gave up and just left them out altogether. Later I looked at those parts and realised why they weren't working. The Pit-spawned bunny gave me two fics and I was writing them both simultaneously, which was why the fragging thing made no slagging sense until I went at it with the carving knife.
So here, have the second fic.
Jazz frowned, watching the mech staring off into the distance, a preoccupied look on his faceplates. Prowl had been disappearing from the Ark recently. The tactician didn’t realise it, but although his presence was quiet and normally unremarked upon, it was noticed, and when it diminished the crew grew unsettled, much like they would if the moon vanished from the sky or if the wildlife around the base stopped their constant symphony (no matter how much some mechs groused about the noise).
But that was just like their SIC, to not notice his own importance to others outside of work.
Jazz stepped forward, pedes making a light scuffing noise, enough to alert the other mech of his presence. Prowl turned, surprise immediately hiding behind a solemn mask.
“Good evening Jazz. Is something wrong? Am I needed?”
Well, you’re missing and yeah, always, Jazz thought. But the Porsche didn’t speak, only moving a little closer.
“I think I should be asking you that. Why’re you out here?”
The doorwinged mech sighed, turning back to the view before him.
“I needed to think.”
“You think just fine inside the Ark.” Jazz pointed out, then a thought occurred to him and he asked. “Or is something about the Ark bothering you?”
The other mech was silent, and Jazz took another step towards the other black and white.
“C’mon, talk to me. You know I’m here for you.”
“You always have been, for which I am very grateful.” A smile, like the moon waxing, and the Ops mech was glad that the Datsun wasn’t looking at him.
“Prowl?”
Then the mech was looking at him and Jazz found his systems running a little faster. Prowl gazed at him, expression slightly hesitant, doors flicking nervously.
“I… am uncertain as to how you would react. I would not lose your friendship over this matter.”
“You’re never going to be rid of me, mech. So you’ll just have to deal.” The saboteur smirked briefly and the tactician laughed, shaking his head.
“How comforting to know.”
Jazz snorted. “Well. Now that I’ve assured you that you’re stuck with me no matter what, will you tell me what’s on your processor?”
“Even if I snap and offline our Prime after he attempts another bout of glitch-processored heroics on the battlefield?”
“Yeah, because I’ll be right there beside you helping. Quit stalling and spill.”
“… You are important to me, Jazz.”
The Porsche’s intakes quickened under the regard of those optics, feeling like they could see right into his spark and read the strange emotion that had started filling it whenever the tactician was involved. Prowl seemed desperate to keep from upsetting him, and possible reasons why flooded Jazz’s CPU, none of them particularly good.
“And recently, it has come to my notice that that importance has changed.” The mech continued, almost rushing his words, as if needing to get them out before his nerve failed. “I find myself wanting something… more, and I hope you would be willing to-”
Prowl stopped, unable to continue. Jazz knew his mouth was hanging open. He didn’t care. A gentle smile spread over his face and he took the last step that lay between him and the tactician. Visor glowing brightly, Jazz reached out to take the other mech’s hand.
“I’m glad you said something. ‘Cos I was going to if you hadn’t, and I’d have been nowhere near as composed or as intelligible.”
Prowl vented air slowly in relief, and Jazz leant his helm against the chevroned mech’s, content to just be with the Datsun.
= = =
Their return to the Ark was unremarkable. There was no orchestral music playing in the background, and the setting sun didn’t glow any brighter than it normally did. They didn’t drive up side by side, nor did they hold hands while walking through the entrance.
That didn’t stop the rest of the Autobots from noticing that something had changed between them. Or from sticking their noses in to render ‘assistance’.
Prowl found Bumblebee in his office, looking uncharacteristically serious as the yellow minibot warned the tactician not to hurt his Ops leader.
Jazz got pulled into the weapons store for a similar warning by Bluestreak.
Optimus fairly glowed with approval when he saw either of them.
Smokescreen made them promise to talk to each other, and reminded them that it was in his job description if they found they needed a neutral party to hear out their concerns.
Ratchet handed them both lists of scans they should think of running before doing anything. Ironhide laughed at their faces when the medic did so, and again when Ratchet raised an optic ridge and cautiously asked if either of them needed an ‘explanation’. He stopped when the CMO pointed to him and said to ask the weapons master.
Sideswipe grinned disconcertingly before dropping off a datapad with instructions to view it together. They took one look at the file before staring at each other with identical expressions of panic. Prowl immediately locked its contents and Jazz hid it away, both of them silently agreeing that it was far too soon for such developments.
They did read part of Mirage’s gift before the poems started to get too explicit and the bookfile was sent to keep Sideswipe’s datapad company.
And they were both very touched by Sunstreaker’s offer to keep his twin out of trouble for a day so both officers could spend it ‘not working’ with each other, and they used that time to sit in the rec room, ignoring a vid and talking quietly about everything important while everyone else politely gave them a wide berth.
Their lives did not become very different. The war was still ongoing. The Decepticons still made trouble. The planet kept turning on its axis and travelling in its orbit. Ratchet yelled, Optimus was noble, Wheeljack exploded things, the sun rose, Huffer and Gears complained. The crew drove Prowl up the wall with their antics and Jazz kept the SIC from offlining from stress and neglect.
But they were happier, and it was obvious to all who saw them. Jazz smiled more often. Prowl smiled period. They stood a little closer to each other than they would have before. Sometimes their hands would meet (to their surprise and to everyone else’s amusement). Their optics lingered on each other, and while neither had yet to say it, the words were present in every pause in conversation and in every discreet gesture.
All in all, it was almost anticlimactic when one of them finally leant over to whisper what didn’t have to be said.
“I love you.”
“I know.”
'Verse: G1 Transformers
Characters: Prowl. Jazz.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: TF cussing.
Notes: For the April '10 Challenge at the PxJ comm. Writing the first entry I submitted for this challenge was a major pain in the aft. I tore out sections with a vengeance and rewrote some parts until I gave up and just left them out altogether. Later I looked at those parts and realised why they weren't working. The Pit-spawned bunny gave me two fics and I was writing them both simultaneously, which was why the fragging thing made no slagging sense until I went at it with the carving knife.
So here, have the second fic.
Jazz frowned, watching the mech staring off into the distance, a preoccupied look on his faceplates. Prowl had been disappearing from the Ark recently. The tactician didn’t realise it, but although his presence was quiet and normally unremarked upon, it was noticed, and when it diminished the crew grew unsettled, much like they would if the moon vanished from the sky or if the wildlife around the base stopped their constant symphony (no matter how much some mechs groused about the noise).
But that was just like their SIC, to not notice his own importance to others outside of work.
Jazz stepped forward, pedes making a light scuffing noise, enough to alert the other mech of his presence. Prowl turned, surprise immediately hiding behind a solemn mask.
“Good evening Jazz. Is something wrong? Am I needed?”
Well, you’re missing and yeah, always, Jazz thought. But the Porsche didn’t speak, only moving a little closer.
“I think I should be asking you that. Why’re you out here?”
The doorwinged mech sighed, turning back to the view before him.
“I needed to think.”
“You think just fine inside the Ark.” Jazz pointed out, then a thought occurred to him and he asked. “Or is something about the Ark bothering you?”
The other mech was silent, and Jazz took another step towards the other black and white.
“C’mon, talk to me. You know I’m here for you.”
“You always have been, for which I am very grateful.” A smile, like the moon waxing, and the Ops mech was glad that the Datsun wasn’t looking at him.
“Prowl?”
Then the mech was looking at him and Jazz found his systems running a little faster. Prowl gazed at him, expression slightly hesitant, doors flicking nervously.
“I… am uncertain as to how you would react. I would not lose your friendship over this matter.”
“You’re never going to be rid of me, mech. So you’ll just have to deal.” The saboteur smirked briefly and the tactician laughed, shaking his head.
“How comforting to know.”
Jazz snorted. “Well. Now that I’ve assured you that you’re stuck with me no matter what, will you tell me what’s on your processor?”
“Even if I snap and offline our Prime after he attempts another bout of glitch-processored heroics on the battlefield?”
“Yeah, because I’ll be right there beside you helping. Quit stalling and spill.”
“… You are important to me, Jazz.”
The Porsche’s intakes quickened under the regard of those optics, feeling like they could see right into his spark and read the strange emotion that had started filling it whenever the tactician was involved. Prowl seemed desperate to keep from upsetting him, and possible reasons why flooded Jazz’s CPU, none of them particularly good.
“And recently, it has come to my notice that that importance has changed.” The mech continued, almost rushing his words, as if needing to get them out before his nerve failed. “I find myself wanting something… more, and I hope you would be willing to-”
Prowl stopped, unable to continue. Jazz knew his mouth was hanging open. He didn’t care. A gentle smile spread over his face and he took the last step that lay between him and the tactician. Visor glowing brightly, Jazz reached out to take the other mech’s hand.
“I’m glad you said something. ‘Cos I was going to if you hadn’t, and I’d have been nowhere near as composed or as intelligible.”
Prowl vented air slowly in relief, and Jazz leant his helm against the chevroned mech’s, content to just be with the Datsun.
= = =
Their return to the Ark was unremarkable. There was no orchestral music playing in the background, and the setting sun didn’t glow any brighter than it normally did. They didn’t drive up side by side, nor did they hold hands while walking through the entrance.
That didn’t stop the rest of the Autobots from noticing that something had changed between them. Or from sticking their noses in to render ‘assistance’.
Prowl found Bumblebee in his office, looking uncharacteristically serious as the yellow minibot warned the tactician not to hurt his Ops leader.
Jazz got pulled into the weapons store for a similar warning by Bluestreak.
Optimus fairly glowed with approval when he saw either of them.
Smokescreen made them promise to talk to each other, and reminded them that it was in his job description if they found they needed a neutral party to hear out their concerns.
Ratchet handed them both lists of scans they should think of running before doing anything. Ironhide laughed at their faces when the medic did so, and again when Ratchet raised an optic ridge and cautiously asked if either of them needed an ‘explanation’. He stopped when the CMO pointed to him and said to ask the weapons master.
Sideswipe grinned disconcertingly before dropping off a datapad with instructions to view it together. They took one look at the file before staring at each other with identical expressions of panic. Prowl immediately locked its contents and Jazz hid it away, both of them silently agreeing that it was far too soon for such developments.
They did read part of Mirage’s gift before the poems started to get too explicit and the bookfile was sent to keep Sideswipe’s datapad company.
And they were both very touched by Sunstreaker’s offer to keep his twin out of trouble for a day so both officers could spend it ‘not working’ with each other, and they used that time to sit in the rec room, ignoring a vid and talking quietly about everything important while everyone else politely gave them a wide berth.
Their lives did not become very different. The war was still ongoing. The Decepticons still made trouble. The planet kept turning on its axis and travelling in its orbit. Ratchet yelled, Optimus was noble, Wheeljack exploded things, the sun rose, Huffer and Gears complained. The crew drove Prowl up the wall with their antics and Jazz kept the SIC from offlining from stress and neglect.
But they were happier, and it was obvious to all who saw them. Jazz smiled more often. Prowl smiled period. They stood a little closer to each other than they would have before. Sometimes their hands would meet (to their surprise and to everyone else’s amusement). Their optics lingered on each other, and while neither had yet to say it, the words were present in every pause in conversation and in every discreet gesture.
All in all, it was almost anticlimactic when one of them finally leant over to whisper what didn’t have to be said.
“I love you.”
“I know.”
