Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The battle had been a difficult one. Nearly half their Autobot forces were injured, causing their medics Ratchet and First Aid to scramble to tend to everybody.

When Jazz stumbled to his quarters, having just been patched up by Ratchet, he nearly fell over in surprise when he saw Prowl waiting outside his door. Prowl leaned back on the wall, his optics dim and his wings low. His wings rose a little at the sight of Jazz, which did something funny to Jazz’s insides.

Prowl reset his vocalizer and straightened himself. “I know it’s not our usual day to watch the show, but—”

“Sorry, Prowler. I’m just not feeling up to watching anything today, you know?” Jazz gently cut in.

Prowl’s wings lowered. “Right. Right of course. I shall see you tomorrow night then.”

Jazz watched him go a few steps before he chuckled and called, “That doesn’t mean we can’t do something else, though.”

Prowl stopped and turned around. He crossed his arms over his chest. “What do you have in mind?”

Jazz smiled. He beckoned Prowl into his quarters. Prowl hesitantly followed, closing the door behind him.

Jazz’s berthroom was about the same size as Prowl’s, but it felt so much smaller because the walls were covered in things: Human vinyls, Cybertronian instruments, photos of friends, badges Optimus had awarded him, replacement visors, framed music sheets, and more. His recharging chamber was filled with blankets and pillows, all custom made from human stores. Leftover energon glasses were scattered on the coffee table in front of Jazz’s couch.

Jazz watched Prowl look around the room; Prowl’s optics flashed as he likely scanned everything and ran various calculations in his processor. Jazz walked over to the couch and started tossing the empty drinking glasses into his subspace (an extra dimensional space all mechs had, which they used to store things) to bring to the mess hall later. Then he plopped down on the couch and let out an exhausted sigh.

Prowl slowly joined him, though he kept a large space between the two of them. “How do you expect to get all this stuff out when someone attacks our base?” he asked.

Jazz shrugged. “I have a secret compartment in this room. Or I could just replace them. They’re only things after all.” He didn’t tell Prowl that if he didn’t have these things in his room, if he kept it as bare as Prowl did, he knew he would go insane. Prowl’s room felt uncomfortably like a prison, when Prowl wasn’t in it.

Prowl didn’t push him, despite the fact both of them knew Jazz was lying. Well, about replacing them. He really did have a secret compartment below his room.

“Okay, so for our super fun activity today, the both of us need to lay down on the couch,” Jazz said.

Prowl frowned. “We both won’t fit.”

“It’s called snuggling, Prowler.”

“It’s incredibly unprofessional is what it should be called.”

Jazz laughed. “Come on, I thought we were friends, Prowler? Friends cuddle.”

“You— We—” Prowl opened and closed his dermas. He looked away.

Jazz forced himself not to sink further into the couch. He plastered on his best fake smile. “Or I guess we can just call each other coworkers. That, uh, that works, too.”

Prowl clenched his hands. He eyed Jazz out of the corner of his optic. “I just…” He sighed and rubbed a hand across his helm. “I trusted you to keep my last secret, and you have done so. Can you keep another?”

Jazz straightened, which caused his injured hip to creak. He ignored the soreness. “Of course, Prowler.”

Prowl’s doorwings twitched, then they relaxed. Prowl nodded slowly. “Okay. Jazz, I must confess, I’ve… never had a friend before.”

Jazz tilted his head. “Never? What about Smokescreen or Bluestreak?”

“Sure, I talk to them. But I’ve never hung out one on one with them. And they’re basically family anyways, what with us being of similar frame types.” Smokescreen and Bluestreak both had doorwings, like Prowl. Bluestreak was a hell of a sniper, and Smokescreen worked directly under Prowl.

“Weren’t you an enforcer before? What about then?”

Prowl’s optics darkened. He looked at his hands, as if there was something important there. “My fellow enforcers invited me to things… but I knew they didn’t truly care whether or not I perished. I overheard them talking about me behind my back often enough, saying I was ‘an emotionless drone,’ ‘born sparkless,’ and ‘probably a psychopath.’”

Jazz barely managed to hold back his cringe. Just a few weeks ago, he had thought those things about Prowl.

“You know, if you didn’t just work yourself to death, people wouldn’t say those things about you,” Jazz said.

Prowl shook his head. “I’m not very good at interpersonal relationships. You, of all mechs, know this. Plus, I have always deviated from physical touch. So, why deny the truth?”

Jazz scooted closer to Prowl on the couch. “Well, have you tried practicing?”

“Practicing?”

“Yeah! Maybe you just gotta treat it like a skill you haven’t mastered yet. Like karate or shooting targets.”

“And if it isn’t a skill I can ever master? If I am forever doomed to being boring, pragmatic Prowl?” Jazz heard the unspoken words: What if I will forever be alone? Prowl studied Jazz. Jazz didn’t flinch away from that piercing gaze he used to dread.

Jazz grinned. “Hey, you’re the numbers guy. You tell me what the chances are of you actually being able to play nice with your fellow Autobots?”

Prowl’s optics flickered, and Jazz’s grin widened. Prowl frowned. “56%.”

“Only 56%?!”

“80% if I continue to spend time with you.”

Jazz relaxed. He shook his head and laughed. “So what you’re saying is, you need a teacher.”

“Perhaps. Or a better term: A friend? To lead by example?”

Jazz slowly lifted up his hand, allowing Prowl plenty of time to pull away. When Prowl didn’t, he gently patted Prowl on the shoulder. “Sounds good to me!”

Then Jazz clapped his hands, and the lights to his quarters turned off. He had those lights custom installed, heh. “Now, time to partake in our activity for the night.” He laid down on the couch, propping up his legs on Prowl’s lap. “I’ll show you all the human music you’ve been missing out on while we look up at the stars.” Jazz gestured to his ceiling.

Prowl raised his optics to what Jazz was pointing to. He tilted his head. “Those aren’t accurate constellations.”

Jazz chuckled. “Yep! I just thought they looked nice.” Stuck on the ceiling were hundreds of glow-in-the-dark stars. They ranged in different sizes, but they were all the same cartoony star shape that humans loved to use.

“I have a projector. I could put the correct layout of the galaxy—”

“Nope! There’s a reason they don’t look real. I…” Jazz sighed. He said softly, ever so softly, “I didn’t want to be reminded of home.” He realized the childish nature of his ceiling was the same reason Prowl liked Avatar: The Last Airbender.

Prowl hummed. He settled his hands on Jazz’s legs and continued to look up at the ceiling. It glowed softly in the darkness of the berthroom. Prowl’s optics glowed dimly, too.

Jazz activated the small speakers on his shoulders, feeding soft pop music into the room. Prowl’s wings twitched in the direction of Jazz for a moment, before they adjusted back to their usual resting spot.

“The humans call this ‘pop’ music,” Jazz explained. “Pop music is known for having catchy lyrics and an upbeat melody, great for dancing.”

Prowl nodded, though he didn’t stop looking up at the ceiling.

“You know, you could lay next to me and not twist your neck cables so much,” Jazz offered.

Prowl shook his head. He looked down at his lap, his hands running over Jazz’s legs. Jazz tried not to twitch in Prowl’s grasp.

Prowl murmured, “There’s something else I must say… about friendships.”

“Yeah?”

“As Second in Command to the Autobots, I often have to send mechs out on missions. And, as you know, a lot of times they don’t come back.” He clenched his hands on Jazz’s legs, and Jazz couldn’t stop himself from jumping this time. “How can I act all friendly with the same mechs I’m sending out to die? What kind of friend does that? I can’t let personal connections cloud my judgments when I make tactical decisions.”

“This whole war thing… does make friendships a little messy. Mechs turn on mechs, families turn on families. But without these connections, the whole war is pointless.”

Prowl’s dermas pulled into a thin line. “Explain.”

“Think about it. Every mech you send out there? They know the risks. They’re fighting because they believe in something—whether it’s freedom, survival, or protecting each other. Being friends with them? It’s not about making it harder to send them out. It’s about reminding them why they’re fighting in the first place.”

“And if they don’t come back? If I lose someone I’ve allowed myself to care about?”

Jazz’s visor dimmed. He suppressed a sigh. “It hurts. No way around that. But those connections are the reason we’re sticking together in this war. And why we’re going to win. We remember those who have fallen, so their deaths aren’t in vain.”

Prowl was silent for a moment, the pop music filling the empty space. Jazz subtly switched the music over to some classical music. Pop music wasn’t exactly the best music for this change in mood.

“What about you, Jazz?” Prowl tapped his fingers on Jazz’s legs. “How do you deal with the pain?”

Jazz’s smile twisted with sorrow. “By holding onto the good times. By reminding myself that every bond with my fellow mechs makes me stronger. And if I have to go someday? I’ll go knowing I fought for my friends, for a worthy cause.”

Prowl’s optics flickered. “I see.” He looked back up at Jazz’s ceiling. “Thank you, for that perspective. And for spending time with me.”

Jazz grinned. “Hey, no problem, Prowler! Anything for my buddy.”

“If you’d like me to leave, I can—”

Jazz waved his comment away. “Stay as long as you like. I haven’t shown you all the cool music genres yet!”

Prowl nodded. He stayed silent as Jazz prattled away about all the different kinds of music humans had, switching his speakers to the new genre when he brought it up.

Jazz was in the middle of deciding what to show Prowl next when a heavy weight landed on his lower half. He startled and looked down to see Prowl sprawled on top of him, his vents soft and slow.

Jazz grinned. He shifted on the couch and gently dragged Prowl to be on him in a more comfortable position. He switched the music to play internally, and, as he realized just what exactly was playing, he nearly laughed aloud; Prowl had fallen into recharge while listening to a jazz song.