Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Explosions rattled the battlefield as debris and shrapnel flew in all directions. Cybertronians were shouting, screaming, running in confusion while missiles tore into the already broken landscape, wrecking and scarring it without mercy.

Overhead the shrill engines of deadly seekers whistled through the air as they flew in formation, zeroing in on targets and releasing an armada of bullets, missiles and bombs, destroying everything in their path in a bright orange fireball.

Commander Prowl of Alpha Team Zero dove inside an abandoned, smoking building to avoid a new barrage of firepower from the seekers. He glanced around the empty building, his spark pulsing wildly as his sensor net struggled to recalibrate.

He inhaled air deeply to cool his racing systems, coughing when the smoke clogged some of his vents. He grimaced. Ratchet was going to have a field orn with him.

He checked his position and cursed. He was still no closer to his team. Somehow in the confusion of the battle, he had separated from them, or they from him. Pinned down by the seekers, he had had no choice but to track further south, in hopes of avoiding them, yet somehow the seekers always seemed to know where he was. What bothered him more, though, was his battle computer spitting out the possibility that they were deliberately hoarding him.

Taking a deep vent to calm his racing spark, he checked his ammo and cursed. He was running out. He had to find his team. As scattered as their forces were and as desperately as the Neutrals needed them, it was too dangerous for them to find him. He couldn’t even comm for assistance, as secure communications were down and Blaster still hadn’t figured out how to unscramble the systems. Briefly he wondered how far Jazz’s team would be from his current position. Jazz and two others were supposed to be in the southern quadrant. If he could reach them, he would be safe, but he had no idea where they were, and sneaking up on a special operations team was never a good idea. He steeled himself. He had to either find a way to reach his team or notify Jazz's team.

A seeker’s engine whistled overhead and Prowl automatically ducked lower, flattening his delicate wings against his frame. The heat within the smoldering building was suffocating, and he wiped the condensation off his forehelm. He spared a glance at the carnage outside, grimacing as his optics fell on lifeless frames scattered over the once peaceful haven. The old bitter taste of copper filled his mouth as he seethed at the Decepticons. They held no esteem for life.

Clang

Prowl spun around, aiming his acid-pellet gun at the source of the sound. He scanned the wrecked building, watching as metal sparks fell to the ground. There was a distinct possibility that It was the weight of the building shifting. Prowl kept his optics focused and flexed his doorwings, expanding his sensory field to catch even the slightest movement or faintest spark signature. He remained frozen for a few clicks before relaxing slightly, then turned his attention once more to the battle raging outside. Probability of structural damage - 78%.

Prowl checked the communication lines again. He cursed as it still spit static. He tuned into the open channels where a cacophony of sound assaulted him. He grit his denta in irritation. The Autobots were barely holding their own, but this was not a normal battle situation; this was a rescue mission. Their main priority was to save the Neutrals still alive and only then to battle the Decepticons and defeat them or at least force them into a retreat, however temporary.

At this stage in the battle, the Autobots were doing neither.

He activated his battle computer and furiously computed the chances of gaining the upper hand. He sighed in frustration at the results. The percentages for obtaining the upper hand were nearly non-existing, barely reaching into the double digits. That left only one viable option that would save most of their lives and that of the Neutrals': they had to retreat. He balled his hand into a fist and hit the floor, dragging acrid air slowly into his vents to compose himself. He should have been at the command deck, not on the field. He was more use to the cause directing from afar.

A ripple of movement ghosted over his doorwings and he spun around, scanning the area again. His battle computer insisted it was structural integrity, but, as Jazz would put it, his tank told him he wasn't alone. He grit his denta and glared at the darkness, flaring his doorwings. He needed to get out of this location.

::Communications are back up!:: Blaster’s booming voice sounded over the secure comm line and Prowl ex-vented in relief. It was time to call it in. They were outnumbered and their forces were too scattered. Prowl connected to the command frequency.

::Optimus Prime, sir, we have to call a retreat. The Decepticons outnumber us and the only way to ensure the lives of the Neutrals at present is by retreating. I recommend a retreat through Delta sector on the eastern boundary as the most viable option at present.:: He trusted Optimus to see the wisdom in his advice, and the mech would hopefully implement it without wasting time.

Prowl quickly scanned his surroundings and tried to determine the best route to proceed to a more accessible and preferably stable location. In the background he faintly made out the sound of seeker engines returning. His engine growled. They never give up.

He ducked, covering his helm with his arm as another missile suddenly slammed into his hiding place, rattling the already flimsy structure to its foundations. Prowl glanced at the support beams as his wings flared up then settled. The building wasn't going to last much longer, and the seekers seemed to have locked in onto his location. He needed to get out of here, but more than that he needed backup to get these seekers off his tailpipe. 

:: Acknowledged Prowl, what is your current location?:: his comm. crackled to life with the baritone voice of their leader. Impeccable timing, sir. Prowl thought wryly.

::My current location is 4 clicks south-east of rendezvous point A, co-ordinates 4.3"3.3'. I'm currently pinned to my position and taking fire from seekers::

::Ah'm close to ya position, Prowler, I'll meet you there:: Jazz's concerned voice cut in over the comm. lines. ::Switch to frequency Beta::

Another two missiles hit precariously close to Prowl's position. He briefly caught a glimpse of three seekers and noted with relief that it wasn't the lead trine.

Behind him, another ripple of energy flowed over his field. He shrugged it off. He had to time this right. If Jazz could supply cover fire then he would be able to get out of this boxed in position. 

Prowl watched the seekers circle to come in for another round and connected to the frequency Jazz had requested.

Behind him, the shadows morphed into a form.

::Prowler? You there? I’m sending my team on, ETA one breem!:: Jazz motioned his two agents to move and turned towards the north. Prowl was somewhere over there, pinned down by seekers. keep it cool, mech. Don't go bustin' yer helm because you acted recklessly. His spark spun a little faster as he saw another barrage of explosions light of the north. He shifted his engine into high gear.

:: Negative Jazz, I'm under severe fire. It’s too risky. You would only en –…:: the comm screeched and white static filled the frequency.

:: Prowl?:: Jazz pushed his engine as fear lanced through him. Please, Primus, let it be the frequency! ::Blaster, you read me?::

::Loud and clear.::

 Frag. :: Prowl do ya read me?:: His tanks churned as static continued. ::Prowl? Report slag it!:: the saboteur shouted into his comm., but the line remained stubbornly silent.

::Blaster, run a repair on Prowl's comm. Try to reach him.:: He didn't wait for Blaster's answer as he transformed, the road to pock-marked and scattered with burning degree to continue in hover mode. He withdrew his blaster, keeping an optic on the sky and an optic on the ground as he headed to Prowl's position. Where are those fragging seekers? His scanners were extended to their maximum, but he couldn't find them. His tank turned to lead as reasons why they were gone flirted with his processor.

::Prime, can you get a hold of Prowl through yer comms?::

:: Negative. Jazz, head to Prowl's position, and Ratchet, stand by for medical assistance. The rest of you, follow your orders to withdraw:: 

:: Copy that Prime.:: Optimus's steady voice soothed some of tension bubbling and festering in Jazz as he darted between the debris, shrapnel and flames as he headed towards Prowl's position, all the time trying to comm. him. Damn it Prowler just answer yer fraggin comm. line! 

Jazz ducked behind a crumbled wall as he scanned the area for spark resonances. The fight was moving towards the east, drawn after the retreating form of the Autobots. Jazz's scanner beeped as it picked up a familiar spark resonance and the heavy feeling in his spark lifted, until he noted the read-out strength. Slag. That ain't good.

He bolted towards a blazing building, ducking into the smoke as it enveloped him in smoldering darkness.

"Prowl! Where are ya?" he shouted into the inferno. He coughed as smoke was dragged into his ventilators, clogging his filters and irritating his sensitive system. He quickly closed his ventilators, hoping that he didn't overheat in the time it took him to find Prowl.

He glanced around the blazing structure, according to Prowl's spark signature, he ought to be in this spot. He took a few cautious steps forward and ran his scanners again. Jazz cursed as the heat messed with his infrared scanners. He had to find Prowl, and fast. He stepped forward and abruptly stumbled over something, cursing he turned around to shove the offensive piece of debris. He froze, icy tentacles rapping themselves around his spark as he gazed at what had caused him to fall. It was a frame he would recognise anywhere.

"Prowl!" He gasped as he grabbed Prowl’s shoulder. The building chose that moment to give its death throes. It creaked and groaned as it started shaking around Jazz. Slag couldn't ya wait 5 clicks? Jazz hoisted Prowl's limp frame over his shoulder and darted out of the building into the broken street, just as the building shrieked and collapsed in a heap of sparks, twisted metal and bellowing black smoke.

Jazz opened his ventilators to suck in clean air into his overheating engine. Kneeling on the ground, he gently laid the unconscious tactician down. Jazz scanned the perimeter to ensure no seeker or ground-bound Decepticon was in the vicinity before turning his attention to his unconscious friend. He nearly closed his vents again as he saw his friend's mutilated frame.

Deep claw marks decorated his chest, abdomen and back. He was missing a doorwing, while the other one was so mutilated it was hard to determine its true form even as energon slowly dripped from the fresh wounds. His scarred arms also showed signs of close-quarters combat. At least ya put up a fight. Jazz thought as he scanned the surroundings once again. These scars indicated either a predacon, or a cybercat. He had time for neither.

:: Ratchet, Prowl's wounded, bad. Ah'm gonna need help evacuating him.::

::Copy that. Arielbots are inbound and will be here in ten breems. Once we have the fraggin seekers off our tailpipes, I'll be able to come in on the medical shuttle. Keep him stable till then. Ratchet out.::

:: Copy, Jazz out.:: Jazz gave an exasperated sigh. Fragging Cons. Why the Pit did ya separate from yer team, Prowler? He started field repairs, painfully aware that it was sadly inadequate for Prowl's level of injuries. He quickly clamped the energon lines in Prowl's neck and chest to ensure the tactician didn't bleed out, though Jazz's scans indicated that the tactician was already dangerously low on energon.

"Prowl, can ya hear me?" Jazz gently shook the black and white. A soft groan escaped Prowl, but his optics remained off-line. "Hang in there Prowler, Ratch's coming." Jazz said as he gently laid a hand on Prowl's head, looking at the slack faceplate before him.

Dancing flames from the buildings around them cast an eerie glow over the tactician, accentuating the slash marks over his frame and highlighted the leaking energon. Somewhere behind Jazz another building groaned and collapsed, mixing small metallic particles with dark smoke clouds as it rapidly expanded towards Jazz and Prowl. Jazz threw himself over Prowl to protect him from the debris. He had to get to a more accessible area if the shuttle was going to land close to them.

Jazz gently lifted Prowl into his arms, mindful of his injured doorwing. Prowl moaned weakly as Jazz's movements jostled him. "Sorry Prowler, but Ah gotta move you. Just hang in there." In the background he could still make out the sound of gunfire and muffled cries as the battle raged, but it was fading in intensity. A more welcoming sound of an approaching shuttle greeted Jazz's audios as the large shuttle maneuvered its way towards their position.

:: Jazz, can you get to a clearer area, the shuttle can't land with all the smoke and debris.::

:: Already on my way Ratch, co-ordinates 4.6"4.0'.::

Jazz reached the area just as the shuttle's hatch opened, allowing Ratchet to bolt from the cargo area towards the saboteur. Ratchet didn't wait as he plunged his cable into Prowl's neck port, cataloguing the damages as they appeared. Ratchet let loose a string of Cybertonian curses that would have put the most hardened Decepticon to shame.

"Quick, get him into the hold. I need to start an energon transfusion ASAP. The injuries aren’t life-threatening, but the energon loss is!"

The hold’s hatch had barely closed behind them when the shuttle took off, heading straight to Iacon base. Ratchet was hastily connecting energon transfusion lines to Prowls arms while Jazz strapped him to the gurney. They worked in silence, the only noise the hum of the shuttles engines as the pilot pushed the engines to the maximum to reach Iacon.

The hull was eerily silent as Jazz looked around at the other patients. Most were unconscious and hooked up to machines. Jazz briefly glanced at Ratchet. He would have preferred Ratchet cursing. The mech was currently leaning over Prowl, examining the wounds to his chest, abdomen and back.

"So…he's gonna be alright ain't he?" Jazz ventured quietly, his own wounds started registering on his systems, but he paid them no heed. He couldn't take his optics off of Prowl. Jazz clutched at the gurney to steady himself. He should have been there with his partner. He promised Prowl he would always be there to watch his back. Logically he knew he was where he had been ordered to be, but he couldn’t shake the idea that he should have been there.

A hand on his shoulder made him look up into concerned optics. "The wounds are deep, energon loss severe, but he’ll be ok. Whatever did this was not aiming to kill." He narrowed his fiery optics at the silver mech. "Are you feeling ok? You look like slag." Ratchet stated as Jazz felt the tell-tale tingle of a deep scanner spreading over his frame.

Jazz shuttered his optics and dragged in a ragged breath, releasing it out slowly as he nodded his head. "Yeah I'm ok Ratch. You just take care of Prowler."

With a curt nod and a knowing look, Ratchet turned back to Prowl, and to Jazz's ultimate relief, began cursing as he cleaned the wounds.

Jazz swallowed hard and slid to the floor, grimacing as his wounds protested the movements. A field medic came to him and handed him an energon cube, which he gratefully accepted, before the field medic started patching up his wounds. He leaned his helm back and warily watched Ratchet work on Prowl.

As the shuttle lifted towards Iacon, four sets of red optics glinted in the aftermath of the battle, staring after the shuttle.

"I still think we should just have killed the slagging Autodolt. Would have been better." Frenzy grumbled next to Soundwave.

"Objective: completed. Second phase: initiated. Ravage, Laserbeak, Frenzy: Return to base."

Chapter Text

Prowl onlined his hazy optics slowly. Everything was white, the light far too bright for his optics as he shuttered them again momentarily with a small moan. He frowned. Where exactly was he? He slowly on-lined his optics again, this time to be greeted by an old, scowling face looming dangerously close to him, way too close for his comfort. Prowl winced as he tried to move away.

"Good, I see you are finally online and coherent. Took you long enough you fragger." The old, grouchy voice scolded. Prowl tried to focus on the voice. It was vaguely familiar, but his processor was reacting unusually slow. Instead of hurting his processor any more than it already was, he glanced around at the chaos and noise in the room.

The room was a hive of activity. Mechs were down on the floor or lying in berths, some thrashing, while others lay deathly still. Screams of pain were intermingled with loud sobbing while medibots ran from patient to patient, administering medicine or simply cleaning and covering wounds. Medical equipment and machines pinged, beeped and screamed their own strange melody in the background as it intermingled with the curses and screams of various mechs. Slowly Prowl's processor started piecing together the facts laid before him. He was in Iacon medical facility. But how, or rather why was he here.

It suddenly came rushing back to Prowl like an unstoppable tide slamming full-force into him –the battle, the blazing building, the chocking smoke, screeching seekers, the sudden pain and then nothing. Prowl groaned again as his processor felt like bursting through his helm. He rebooted his systems, hoping it would soothe his battle computer and logic centre.

"How long have I been offline?" Prowl rasped weakly. Hopefully he hadn't been offline for too long, he needed to finish a report of the battle for the Prime as soon as he was released from medbay. He tried to sit up only to gasp in pain as his neural sensor grid shot fire through his frame, warning signs popping up in his vision, informing him of his foolish actions. He sank back onto the berth, gritting his denta as the pain subsided.

"Lie still slag it. I don't want to redo everything I did," Ratchet hissed at him, pushing him flat onto his back, and not being too gentle about it either. "Had to replace one of your doorwings, and you had some plating and rewiring done. Your systems are still sensitive, but I'm worried about your processor." Ratchet leaned over Prowl again as he shone a bright, white light into his optic. "Reflexes appear to be normal though," he grumbled more to himself. Prowl blinked rapidly when the bright light was removed.

At that moment the doors to the medbay hissed open as a lithe, silver mech came ambling into the chaos heading straight for Prowl. Relief flooded the saboteur as ice blue optics turned wearily towards him.

"Prowl, good to see you're up mech." He smiled warmly. Ratchet frowned and threw him a look that clearly threatened 'upset him, and I will dismantle you.' Jazz ignored him, being far more used to Ratchet’s berthside manner than most would think. Seeing as Prowl was up, or rather awake, at least, suddenly made his orn a damn size better, and not even the notorious Hatchet was going to intimidate him today.

Prowl's faceplate remained blank even as his optics momentarily lit up at the sight of Jazz. Jazz caught the slight change in Prowl's optics, his grin threatening to split his face in two. He sauntered over with the nonchalance of somebody who owned the place, but kept well clear of Ratchet. He came to a halt at Prowl's helm.

"So, how ya feeling?" he asked, his melodic voice tainted with exuberant joy as he looked at his best friend. Most of the damage had been repaired, but the tactician still looked exhausted.

"I am functional. Thank you. Will you please inform me of the duration of my stay in the med bay as Ratchet has not yet answered my question," Prowl replied, raising his raspy voice as he spoke to be heard above the noise coming from the room. He hissed in pain as Ratchet twisted something inside his frame.

Jazz grimaced as he watched Ratchet. It almost looked like the medic enjoyed doing that. Jazz shook his helm. Better not toy with the devil today. Ratchet was in a foul mood thanks to the Decepticon attack on another neutral settlement earlier and, due to the carnage they had left, his consequent lack of recharge.

"You've only been here for littl' over an orn. Ain't that long. Turns out yer wounds weren't so bad once Ratch and Aide patched ya up and ya had enough energon cycling through ya." Jazz replied nonchalantly with a shrug from his handsome shoulders. He didn't inform Prowl that it had been a close call – worse than Ratch had initially thought - seeing that the slash marks on his chest were only millimetres above his sparkchamber and had caused some internal fluids to leak throughout his frame and corroded important wires. Yup, Prowler didn't need to know that.

"Indeed," Ratchet added, "and as I need the medbay for other, more injured bots, I'm going release you from medbay and assign you to your quarters, but I want you to come back here if you feel anything's off. You are also on medical leave until I clear you for duty. I don't want you anywhere near your office. Am. I. Clear?" Ratchet glared at Prowl. Prowl glared back defiantly. He wouldn't go to his office, but he could still work from his quarters. He needed to send in that report and get back on track to what had occurred in his short absence.

Jazz eyed the medic and the tactician, sensing the battle of wills. And he wasn't supposed to upset the tactician? Jazz sighed rubbing his hand over his faceplate. "I'll escort Prowl to his quarters, and make sure he stays there." He knew Prowl would probably try to get some work done anyway. The bot was, to Jazz's dismay, an absolute workaholic.

Ratchet nodded. "He will need to have the new plating covering his wounds cleaned. The risk of rust infection is always a possibility, though if cleaned properly, I don’t think it would be a problem. I've written some pain-blocking programs that I will upload into his system before I release him from medbay." He cast an unreadable look at Jazz and then moved towards his office to retrieve the programs, leaving Prowl and Jazz alone for the moment.

Jazz critically looked over Prowl's frame. Ratchet had done a good job with mending the Praxian. He looked considerably better than the previous time Jazz saw him. His plating was clean, new plating had been welded over the open wounds, and he had a new doorwing attached, courtesy of Wheeljack. Jazz's optics travelled up Prowl's frame until they rested on his optics. Those same optics were staring hard at him. Prowl cocked an optic ridge at Jazz, who simply smiled in return. “Just admirin' the view, Prowler"

"Help me up." Prowl ordered tersely.

Jazz cast one glance at Ratchet's office, debating the risks of facing Prowl’s wrath versus facing the Hatchet’s wrath. After a moment, he shrugged and helped Prowl into a sitting position. Prowl grimaced as the pain shot through his frame, before subsiding somewhat. He glanced around the medbay. Sunstreaker was on the berth closest to him, Sideswipe on the one behind Sunstreaker, and as was customary for the two frontliners, they both looked like they had been through the Pit and back. Prowl couldn't put designations with the remaining bots. They did not boast Autobot colours, which meant that they had to be neutrals.

Jazz watched as Prowl perused the medbay, his cold, calculating optics missing nothing. "Another neutral settlement was attacked this mornin', we're treatin' the survivors." Jazz intoned quietly, his mouth grim.

Prowl gave a curt nod. His systems felt as if they were caught in a bog, the more he tried to think logically, the more his thoughts became scrambled. Prowl shuttered his optics in hope that it would clear his thought patterns. Thankfully his battle computer took the reins.

"Prowler, ya sure you’re ok? I mean, I could talk to Ratch to let you stay a bit longer." Jazz frowned as Prowl shut his optics and leaned into him. Once again he was answered with a stif wag of the tactician’s helm.

Ratchet came out of his office carrying a small bottle and clean cloths. He looked inquiringly at Jazz as he saw Prowl sitting on the berth leaning against him. Jazz merely shrugged and moved out of the irate medic's way.

::He says he’s fine.:: Jazz sent a tight comm to Ratchet.

::He might feel better once the programs are uploaded.::

Ratchet pulled out his interface cable and plugged into Prowl's panel, uploading the medical programs he had written for the tactician. He unceremoniously disconnected once the upload was complete and handed Jazz the bottle and cloths. "Use those to clean the plating round his wounds once a day. If you notice any flecks or rust, bring him back immediately. Now get out of my medbay." Ratchet dismissed them with a jerk of his head in the doors direction, before heading towards Sunstreaker.

Jazz slid an arm around the tactician's waist, helping him to rise. Thankfully the medical programs had already kicked in so Prowl was able to move without too much discomfort. They silently exited the med bay and into the large, steel-gray corridors.

The dimly lit corridors of Iacon base were strangely quiet as Jazz and Prowl slowly made their way to Prowl's quarters. By the time they reached it Prowl was leaning heavily on Jazz's smaller frame, exhaustion clearly showing on his grimacing faceplate as his vents dragged air into and out of his heated frame.

Jazz manoeuvred Prowl into a position that would enable him to deactivate the lock on Prowl's door. Luckily he knew the codes to the tactician's quarters, he didn't think Prowl was capable of giving him the codes at that moment, and wondered once again if Prowl should have left the medbay so soon.

The door finally slid open as Jazz helped Prowl to his berth.

Prowl gently lay down, mindful of his aching doorwings and frame. Prowl thought back to the battle. The sight of neutrals dying, the smell of houses burning, the screaming, everything came to the front as his memories surfaced, bringing with it all the turmoil of emotions like a strong torrent of water trying to drag him under. Prowl didn't want to think of it right now, yet his battle computer was mercilessly hammering him with memories mixed with facts. His processor was aching and he felt like purging. Primus! What was wrong with it? Why did it insist on getting all the data? Warily he tried to dial back his battle computer, but the secondary processor seemed to be locked in full battle mode. Fine. He would give it the statistics and hopefully it would lower its operating speeds.

"How many did we lose?" he asked Jazz, who had flopped down unceremoniously on the only sofa in Prowl's room. If it hadn't been for Jazz, this sofa wouldn't even be in the room.

Jazz hesitated, Prowl shouldn't be worrying about that right now, his emotional centre would only make things worse in his present condition. "Prowl, don't think about it now. We can talk about it later, when ya feel better and all."

"Jazz, I need to know. Please answer my question." Prowl tried again. His processors were racing, and he knew he would not be able to initiate recharge protocols until his battle computer had been satisfied.

An uncomfortable silence filled the room as Jazz debated within himself. Prowl was too stubborn to let something just go, if Jazz wasn't going to tell him he'll find some other way to sniff it out, and he wouldn't rest until he did. He cycled air slowly through his vents.

"In the battle you were at, we lost four Autobots and eight were injured critically, among them Sunny. A couple of dozen more were treated for other injuries. I’m unsure how many Neutrals were lost or injured. In this morning’s attack, we lost one, three are in critical condition, and about eight are being treated for light injuries. Unfortunately, there are a lot if Neutrals who got injured." Jazz said, dejectedly. They had gone out to help the Neutrals the moment they had learned that the Decepticons were targeting the Neutral settlement. By the time they had arrived, the camp was already under fire. They tried to get as many of the Neutrals out of the area as they could, but it was impossible to get all of them out alive. Jazz loathed Megatron a bit more each time he thought of the carnage and the lives that had been lost for no reason other than having decided to stay neutral.

Prowl grimaced and let out a small groan.

Jazz shot up and was next to him in an instant. "Prowl don't think about the battle now, yer emotions are too raw and yer still recovering." Jazz looked at the pained expression on Prowl's normally expressionless faceplate. He once more debated the wisdom of discharging Prowl from the medbay so soon. He didn't look 'functional' at all. "We did everything we could Prowler. Yer strategies saved a lot of lives. Now, drink some energon and get some recharge. I'll be here when ya wake up and then we can talk about it. 'k?" Jazz said gently as he took an energon cube out of his subspace. He handed it to Prowl and watched the tactician down it.

Prowl handed the empty cube back to Jazz, lying down slowly on the berth. He still felt like purging. Hopefully the energon would stay inside his tanks. Apart from that his processor was not only aching now, it was spinning faster than a newly formed pulsar star. He shuttered his optics. The walk from the medbay had drained him and he felt unusually weak. In all probability, it was the side effects of the medical programs uploaded into his system. He would need to talk to Ratchet about that. Yet it seemed that at present recharge was the most logical path to follow. With a sigh he initiated his recharge programs, hoping that the little information Jazz had given it would be enough to temper the hungry beast.

Jazz watched Prowl as his optics shuttered. He raised his hand and traced a clawed finger down the handsome yet frowning faceplate softly. His optics were raw with emotion, hidden behind his diamond visor. He had nearly lost his partner and best friend, and the thought left a vile, bitter taste in his mouth. He leaned over Prowl, pressing his forehead intimately against the recharging tactician's chevron, holding it there for a moment.

He frowned slightly. Prowl felt abnormally warm to him. Jazz stood back, scanning the tactician's core temperature. Although a bit higher than the average temperature it still fell within acceptable parameters. Jazz was of a mind to call Ratchet, but the medic would probably offline him if it wasn't anything life-threatening. He scanned for temperature again. It had gone slightly down. Probably just heated up a bit from the walk. Dismissing it, Jazz threw a final glance at the recharging tactician as he dimmed the lights and left the room.

He needed to fetch some reports he had to finish. Thankfully, he could do those in Prowl’s quarters, so he would be there when the Praxian woke.

At most he would only be gone a few breems.

Prowl woke up shivering.

He hurt everywhere –his processor, his frame, his doorwings. He tried to get up, but his frame seized, then started convulsing. He groaned through clenched denta as his battle computer tried to take control, but it only caused his systems to go from bad to worse. Warnings shot up in his blurred vision, but Prowl couldn't decipher anything. The room was spinning too fast. The pain was excruciating as it spread through Prowl's frame in icy rivers of scorching heat, Prowl's optics dimmed as consciousness began to flee. He could feel energon running down his chin, feel his hands clench, his body arch, yet he was powerless to control any of it.

 Prowl! 

He heard his designation being called from far off, but darkness enveloped him in its cold, merciful embrace as all sensation fled from his processor.

Chapter Text

The dimly-lit corridors were eerily quiet except for the continues sound of heavy footsteps pacing slowly up and down the waiting area in front of Iacon Medical Bay. A small scuffle was heard behind the golden double doors that hid the medbay from sight, growing louder as it approached the door.

The tense silver frame stopped abruptly and stared at the medbay doors in dreadful anticipation, sensor net flaring wide to catch the smallest detail. The doors slid open to reveal a limping neutral as he was assisted out of the medbay by another. The silver saboteur growled softly and continued his slow, anxious pacing around the waiting area.

"Jazz, cool down. You're making the other mechs nervous," a soft, young voice gently insisted.

Jazz stopped his pacing and stared at the young yellow and black mech. Bumblebee sank deeper into his chair but held the gaze. Even though the saboteur's optics were hid, Bumblebee could feel the fierce glare coming from behind the diamond visor. Jazz was beside himself with worry, Bumblebee knew, but he also knew that pacing like an enraged, caged animal around a waiting room full of weary neutrals who had recently been through the living Pit thanks to the Decepticons was not the ideal way to vent his worry or frustration. He continued staring at Jazz, his big blue optics emanating sympathy and pleading for understanding.

Jazz sighed. He should not let this be affecting him so badly. He was supposed to be a bastion of strength for others, and yet…here he was fretting his helm off over Prowl. He trudged over to Bumblebee and sank heavily into the chair, resting his head in his hands.

"He’s been in there awhile. I was hopin' Ratch will have something by now." He admitted wearily. He sat up and rubbed one of the healing welds along his frame. “Sorry youngling.”

Bumblebee gently laid a hand on Jazz's shoulder, giving it a soft squeeze. "Ratchet's the best medic in Iacon. I'm sure Prowl's fine, he's probably just going through a whole lot of tests and stuff." He suggested hopefully.

Jazz looked at the youngster for a moment, a wry smile pasted on his faceplates as he weighing the youngster’s words. Ever the optimist. He knew Bumblebee was probably right about Ratch being the best, but he couldn't shake the gnawing feeling at the back of his processor that something was very wrong with Prowl. He shook his head to try and get rid of the images of Prowl convulsing that came unbidden into his processor. Primus! What would have happened if someone stopped him in the hall to chat, or if a report needed urgent attention, or any other emergency for that matter! A tremor visibly slithered through his frame as he briefly shuttered his hidden optcs.

The medbay doors slid open and Jazz’s optics shot open. As an plasma bolt released from a weapon he shot towards an exhausted Ratchet.

"How is he? Did ya figure out what's wrong?" Jazz questioned even before he reached the medic. Ratchet nodded his head in the direction of the medbay and turned to go back in with Jazz at his side. Bumblebee hesitated for a moment before relaxing back into his chair.

"I'll wait out here." Bumblebee said as he saw the medic and saboteur disappear into the medbay. He anxiously intertwined his fingers as he stared around the medbay waiting area. Neutrals and Autobots alike were waiting for any scraps of information about their friends, families and loved ones. They had all sat a bit straighter when Ratchet came out, but now they were all back to their resigned, slumping postures. Bumblebee sighed and lifted his optics to the ceiling as he leaned back into his chair, praying to Primus that the look on Ratchet's face meant only exhaustion and nothing more.

Inside the medbay Jazz nervously followed the CMO to Prowl's berth in the intensive care unit. In the dimness of the ICU Jazz could barely make out Prowl's prone form. Monitoring machines hooked up to him beeped steadily as he lay deathly still on the berth.

"He's in medically induced stasis. I've been running diagnostics on him since you brought him in. His systems are still spiking from time to time, but he appears to be stable for now." Ratchet walked around the berth and read the data the monitoring machines were displaying. "I'm going to keep him in here until I'm sure the spikes won't harm any system components."

"So what happened? Relapse?" Jazz asked as he stared first at the beeping monitors then at the sleeping tactician. Prowl's face was as impassive as usual. Jazz wished for a moment that those sharp, calculating blue eyes would open and look at him, reassuring him that he would be alright.

Ratchet hesitated a moment before answering. "No, it wasn't a relapse according to the diagnostics' readouts, but I'm running various scans over his systems and haven't yet received the readouts from all of them. I've also got an anti-virus program scanning him, though as of yet no virus threat has been detected. I've checked to see whether or not his systems are compatible with the pain programs I've written and they are compatible. So all that's ruled out." He sighed as he scrubbed a palm over his face. He had been doing everything he could think of, but he still had no solid answers.

Crossing his arms Jazz leaned against the berth, casually casting a glance at the other residents of the ICU. No virus, no compatibility problems, no infection. Pit. Then what? He turned back to Ratchet, frustration clearly written over his frame. "So in plain and simple words ya don't know what's wrong with him?" Jazz shook his helm in disbelief and looked away. He really didn't want to be hearing this.

Ratchets optics narrowed fractionally as he regarded the Head of Special Ops. "Yes. The system checks turned out clean, so Prowl's systems should not have reacted this way unless there is something foreign in his systems that's not listed in any of my databanks."

Jazz whipped his helm back to Ratchet as he straightened. "So ya saying there's like what – a virus or somethin' in Prowler's systems that ain't in yer databanks?" he snapped.

"I'm saying that at the moment that is the most feasible explanation." Ratchet snapped back.

"Can't you just analyse the damn thing and write some kind of antivirus for it? Ain't like you've never done it before!" Jazz waved his hand around the ICU as if to demonstrate his point. “You’ve been up against unknown viruses before! I’m livin’ proof of that!”

Ratchet gave another exasperated sigh. "Jazz, I don't know if it's a slagging virus. Like I said my diagnostics aren't picking anything up as yet. As soon as they do I'll know what I'm fragging dealing with. But I need some information from you and that's the only reason you're in my medbay." Ratchet threatened, his patience nearing breaking point.

Jazz’s visor shimmered as he glared at the medic, but Ratchet met him with a solid glare of his own, long since used to Jazz’s persona. The battle of wills raged until Jazz relented, his concern for Prowl overriding his momentary anger at Ratchet’s pertinent threat.

"Ok, fine. What do you need?" Jazz asked in a somewhat subdued, but still peeved voice.

"Did you notice anything unusual at the battle?"

Jazz stared at Ratchet incredulously, his lip curled in a sneer. "What the Pit do ya mean with anything unusual? It's a battlefield for cryin' out loud everything's unusual! And ya ain't really got time to enjoy the scenery with fire lickin' at yer limbs and Decepticons snapping at yer aft."

"Don't get cocky with me, Jazz. I'm not in the mood." Ratchet snarled as he pointed his wrench at Jazz, "I meant when you found Prowl."

Jazz covered his visor with his hand, cycling air slowly through his vents to regain some control over his emotions. Venting his frustration with himself and his concern for Prowl on Ratchet was just going to earn him some really painful maintenance and eviction from the medbay. Maintenance wasn’t the problem…it was the eviction. He needed to be close to Prowl. He tried to remember back to the battle, but damn he couldn't think of anything that stood out to him. That just irked him more since he was head of special ops. He was better than everybody else. Faster. The n why the frag didn’t he spot something odd? Was it because his sole focus had been on finding Prowl, and then getting Prowl out of there before the structure collapsed. He grit his denta and balled his fist. He hadn't noticed a damn fragging thing.

Ratchet continued staring at Jazz as the saboteur's faceplate showcased the warring emotions within him. Jazz finally shook his helm as a defeated expression slid over his features. "Sorry Ratch, I can't think of anythin'. The place where I found him collapsed so it won't help me going back to check things out either." He murmured as he turned his attention back the slumbering tactician.

The medic grunted. "I'll continue running my scans on him. Maybe the scans will detect an anomaly in his systems. But if you should happen to remember anything…"

"You'll be the first to know." Jazz finished for him without looking up.

Ratchet laid a hand on Jazz’s shoulder, having a far better understanding of the younger mech’s moods. He nodded curtly and stalked off to check on his other patients, allowing Jazz some privacy. The medic was well aware of the intimate friendship the two opposing mechs had. Being second and third in command forced the two into close working conditions. It was a brotherhood born out of obligation and forged together through war. Ratchet stopped at the entrance to the ICU and turned once more to look at the two mechs. Jazz remained immobile next to Prowl, staring down at him through his visor. Not for the first time Ratchet wondered if their friendship hadn't evolved into something deeper. He sighed and left the ICU.

Jazz deserved someone solid.

The dimly lit ICU was silent except for the soft beeps of sensitive monitoring machines as they vigilantly tracked the vital statistics of their oblivious charges. The silence was slightly disturbed as medical doors softly slid open.

A dark figure crept through the silence until it came to its desired destination at the back of the ICU. Casting a quick glance around the ICU to ensure it was empty save for the stasis-locked, berth-ridden forms, it quickly connected a cable to the scanning machines and downloaded the sensitive data, then wiped the records before uploading a similar, tweaked file. It quickly ejected its datacable. 

Phase I completed successfully. Now for Phase II. 

It smiled deviously as it turned towards the unconscious patient on the berth, tracing his bright red chevron with a single finger before sliding the finger down to his interface panel. He clicked it open and inserted his port, quickly uploading the necessary programs before disconnecting.

The doors to the ICU whooshed open as the dark figure quickly yet noiselessly retreated into the shadows, cursing softly to itself. The dusky yellow CMO wondered into the ICU heading straight for his position. What's he still doing here at this hour? The shadow thought irritably as it slid undetected towards the entrance, keeping to the safe, cloaking embrace darkness provided. It would return when phase II was ready to be completed. It smiled into the darkness as it neared the doors, all the while keeping its cold, dimmed optics on the untimely medic.

Ratchet checked the progress of the scans, satisfied to see that they had been completed a few breems ago. He opened the files and frowned at the results. Once again they came out clean. He growled softly as he checked Prowl's vitals. Normal.

He cursed.

The scans showed a clean bill of health for the indisposed tactician and Second-in-Command. No spikes, viruses or anomalies in his systems. On the best of days Prowl could give him a processor ache, but this? He vaguely registered the ICU doors opening and closing. He turned intending to drive the newcomer out of his medbay, but stopped short. The medbay was empty. His frown deepened into a scowl.

"Better tell Wheeljack to fix these fragging glitching doors. I don't need this right now."

Chapter Text

"You're releasin' him from medbay?"

Ratchet nodded briskly as he marched through the almost empty ICU towards Prowl's berth, Jazz trailing at his heals. A young, unknown medic was disconnecting the monitoring machines from Prowl and was preparing to bring him out of stasis. "Yes, the scans came out clean and his systems hasn't spiked once for the past six joors. Everything else is within normal functioning capacity. There is no reason to keep him here."

"I remember ya saying something similar last time," Jazz intoned, "and if I remember correctly Prowl ended up back here nearly worse off than before."

Ratchet stopped and glared at Jazz. "I am fragging well aware of what happened last time, thank-you, and I've made provision for that. I'm equipping him with a bracelet that will continue monitoring his systems. The moment anything abnormal happens I will be notified immediately."

Jazz shut his mouth and shook his helm. There was something still off about the entire situation. "Thought you said there was something funny going on in his systems? Now yer releasing him without having discovered anything." He said as he perused Prowl’s prone frame, then looked up at the young medic working swiftly.

The young medic glanced at Jazz as he felt his gaze, quickly ducking his helm and turning towards the monitors. Jazz turned his attention back to Ratchet, not really caring that his famous grin was not plastered on his faceplate.

Ratchet was eyeing him with raised optic ridges, perfectly aware of Jazz’s sour mood. "Jazz, let me make this perfectly clear. Prowl's welfare is my first concern. I would not release him from medbay if the scans showed even the slightest deviation, but they're all normal. Even the scans running for anomalies within his systems came out clear. However I am not dismissing the notion. I will be monitoring Prowl, and so will you." He said slowly as one might to a stubborn youngling not quite grasping the essence of the message.

"You want me to what Prowl?" Jazz asked incredulously.

Ratchet sighed. The little patience he had was quickly evaporating. "Frag it Jazz. Watch him! I'm not in Prowl's company during the orn, thank Primus for that, but you are. If you notice him acting strange or anything outside of the usual, emotionless pain in the aft he is, you will alert me. Got it?"

Jazz nodded as he turned to Prowl. He was disconnected from the machines now. The young white and orange medic was fidgeting around the berth looking ready to bolt in a moment's notice as he wearily eyed Ratchet. The CMO wasn't renowned for his gentle manner with patients or medics under him. It would be a wonder if he ever found a medic that survived under him.

"Jumpstart, is everything ready?" Ratchet asked the medic. Jumpstart nodded as he moved towards Prowl's helm, ready to bring him out of his medically induced stasis. He waited for Ratchet's signal. "Come on then we don't have all fragging orn." Ratchet spat as the medic jumped. He initiated the programs that would bring Prowl back to the world of the functioning.

Prowl's hands began twitching slightly as his systems rebooted. Slowly Jazz watched as vibrant energy returned to the still frame…the twitching digits, the flicking doorwings, and lastly the deep, blue optics.

Prowl’s optics were the last to come on-line. He stared at the roof of dimly lit room. In the medbay. Again. Prowl frowned and tried to recall his last memory. Did he have another crash? Was he injured in the battle? Suddenly the light was cut off and Prowl squinted at the blurred figure hovering above him.

Ratchet loomed over the smaller tactician. "You up yet ya fraggin' Pit spawn?"

Prowl cocked an optic ridge at him. "In a moment, yes." Remnants of post-stasis static littered his voice and Prowl reset his vocalizer. He shuttered his optics briefly before forcing himself up. Internally he set a scan to run a system diagnostic while he gained his coherency of the room. Glancing around, his confusion deepened as he watched the three mechs with him. Ratchet’s presence was normal, as was Jazz’s, but the other mech…? Oh, the recent transfer from Tyger Pax. Jumpstart if he recalled correctly. He drew a deep vent and set his doorwings. Time for some answers. "Why am I in the medbay, or rather the ICU?"

Three pairs of optics turned on him, and Prowl had the deep impression that they were, each to an extent, surprised by his query. He turned to the saboteur.

Jazz shook his head frowning and folded his arms, casually leaning against the berth. "Ya don't remember?"

Prowl arched his ridges at Jazz. "I am aware of the battle and that we were ordered to retreat. Beyond that I have no recollection."

"Uh-huh," a deep scowl settled over Ratchet's features. "Nothing even about your injuries? Try rebooting and accessing your most recent memory files." Ratchet suggested. They waited a moment while Prowl accessed his memory banks, the old medic casting Jazz a weary glance as he folded his arms across his broad chest.

"My most recent memories are of the battle at the Neutral settlement and the order to retreat through Delta sector. After that my memory banks are blank." Prowl informed them.

Jazz opened his mouth to say something, but Ratchet stopped him with a small shake of his head. "Prowl, you have been in the ICU for three orns. You were wounded during the battle and evacuated. I have repaired most of the damage to your frame, but I need you to run diagnostics daily and send me the results. I'm also giving you a bracelet which you will wear. The bracelet will enable me to monitor your vitals. If you feel anything different or foreign in your systems you are to report to me immediately. You are also on medical leave until I deem you fit to return to active duty. Understood?"

Prowl glared at Ratchet, his expression remaining impassive except for his seething optics. Ratchet stoically held that glare with one of his own. He was used to such nonsense from younglings.

At last Prowl relinquished with a small flick of his wings. He nodded curtly before swinging his peds to the floor, flaring his doorwings to help him balance. Jazz walked towards him to assist, but Prowl shook his helm and stood, his pride damning him not to show weakness before witnesses. "Very well Ratchet, but I hope you will not detain me from my duties for an unreasonable time span as I need to file a report on the battle and no doubt have other important matters to attend to."

"At least he sounds fine." Jazz murmured under his breath as he turned away from Prowl.

Ratchet smirked at Prowl without breaking optic contact. "Jazz, escort Prowl to his quarters. Now." He turned on his heels and marched out of the ICU.

Prowl sat comfortably in his quiet quarters reading a datapad. Even though Ratchet had cleared him for light duty after only one orn, he was to remain at his quarters unless refueling or going to the medbay for a check-up until he was cleared for active duty. His confinement to his quarters was a direct result of being caught finishing the post- battle report in his office by a certain vehement chartreuse medic. Said medic had then through a very colourful repertoire of vulgar language assured Prowl that he was less than impressed, and hence the confinement.

He glanced from the datapad to the bracelet. The offensive object had been upgraded to not only keep track of his vitals, but also his location. A doorwing flicked in annoyance. He was being treated like a criminal instead of Second-in-Command!

With a sigh he returned to the contents of the CMO’s report, but his reverie was soon interrupted when his door whooshed open.

Prowl exhaled softly and placed the datapad on his desk as Jazz come swinging into his quarters holding two cubes of energon, a Cheshire grin plastered on his faceplate looking for all the world as if he owned the place. Since his release from medbay, Jazz made a habit of bringing him energon and 'checking-up' on him at least once an orn. It had become a routine, yet Prowl had to admit to himself that he liked the routine. Jazz was one of the few, if not the only bot, he allowed himself to relax with.

"Heya Prowler. How ya feelin' today?" Jazz purred as he flippantly shoved the datapads to the side and perched himself on Prowl's desk. He handed Prowl his cube, sipping his own as he regarded the tactician critically, ensuring himself that Prowl looked pretty good, he seemed healthy too.

"You ask that question every time you enter my quarters and every time my answer remains the same. I am fully functional. Why Ratchet still will not allow me to return to full active duty is illogical and a waste of resources." He leaned back in his chair, rolling his shoulders and was satisfied to hear gears clicking into place.

"Aw Prowler, he just cares." Jazz drawled mockingly tapping his plating right above his sparkchamber. He looked at the datapads and frowned. "Yer working anyway aren't ya. Well, at least yer in yer room. Reports?" Jazz asked nodding towards the discarded datapad. Unlike Ratchet, Jazz understood, or rather partially understood Prowl’s need to work, to keep his processor busy. He had a hard time keeping still too.

Prowl looked towards the datapad and inclined his head, gracing Jazz with a rare, barely-there smile, accenting the handsome faceplate, a mischievous glint in his optics.

Jazz chuckled at that and shook his helm good-naturedly. "Thought Smokescreen was watching yer back while you recovered? Or rather yer work. Think he'd gamble yer back away." He grinned. Smokescreen had been assigned most of Prowl's work during his absence, constantly complaining about the amount of work he had to complete as well as the high standard of work Prowl requested. What really upset the gambling tactician was that he didn't have nearly as much time to complete his favourite past time – gambling.

"He is, but I would rather see to them myself. I have already encountered a number of grammatical errors. I would have to talk to him about that. If he is to take full responsibility for my work in my absence, then I would at least expect him to do it properly and to the correct standard."

Jazz smirked at the thought of Smokescreen taking on Prowl's full responsibility and upping the standard even more than he already was. Companionable silence settled over them as they continued drinking their energon, each settling into their own thoughts.

Jazz cocked his helm slightly and contemplated the silent tactician. Prowl sat thoughtfully sipping his energon, a small, barely visible frown settled once again across his rigid brow as he stared through Jazz.

"Thinking pretty hard there Prowler." Jazz stated softly after a few more moments of thoughtful silence, waiting for Prowl to rejoin him in the present time.

Prowl turned his helm towards him and raised his optic ridges. "Hmm? My apologies Jazz, I was simply pondering the events of the battle at the Neutral settlement." He raised his energon cube indicating the datapad. "It's Ratchet's report."

"Uh" Jazz responded leaning back. They hadn't spoken about the incident on the field or what had happened after that. Jazz wasn't sure he wanted to. The whole incident didn't make sense. Prowl still didn't remember a thing, nothing had shown on the medical scans, and Jazz couldn't squish the feeling at the back of his processor that they were missing something in plain sight. It frustrated him beyond reasoning that he couldn't lay his digit on it. What frustrated him more was that he didn't know if Prowl was still in danger or not. The very thought that Prowl might still be in danger had been stealing his recharge from him night after night.

"I have read your report," Prowl said after it became clear Jazz wasn't planning on elaborating, "but since you are here, please refresh my memory."

"Refresh your memory?" Jazz asked, his tone dripping with sarcasm. They both knew the orn Prowl forgot a report would be the orn Cybertron exploded. Jazz folded his arm over his chest, grabbing his chin in the other and pretended to think over the matter as if it took him an immense effort to remember. "Well, let me see," he said tapping a finger against his chin, "we were there, fighting bad-aft Decepticons, rescuing Neutrals from bad-aft Decepticons, salvaging what was left after bad-aft Decepticons left. Oh and did I forget to mention hauling our SIC's aft back to base in a less than reputable state?" he ended with a large grin splitting his faceplate, pointing a finger at Prowl.

Ah, there it was again, that gorgeous little smile Prowl charmed him with. "That much I know," that same handsome little smile vanished as the tactician drew air into his vents before letting it go "however, would you mind telling me your unofficial thoughts on exactly why that specific Neutral camp was attacked, and perhaps, more specifically why I was also left alive and uncaptured when the Decepticons had me at their mercy?" Prowl had been worried about his apparent loss of data. The information was just missing, even though there was not viable reason for it. Ratchet's report had stated the loss of data as 'possible corrupted data due to trauma', but he was concerned that he might have been compromised on the battle field. The possibility hung over him like a long, sharp blade. He had to know every little detail.

Jazz rubbed a hand over his face, looking anywhere else rather than the tactician who sat determinedly staring at him. He knew that tone, that look. Prowl wasn't going to give until he gave a satisfactory answer. After a moment, Jazz gave up and flashed a brilliant smile at the tactician that somehow evolved into a pathetic grimace.

"Nothing special about the camp 'cept for the fact that it was closer to Iacon than usual. Truth is Prowler, Ah don't know. Ah've been askin' myself the same question and just don't get an answer I like. Don't get me wrong, ya nearly kicked the bucket twice, an' Ah'm..Ah'm real glad you didn't. But it was an opportunity the Decepticon's missed. And it's been…bothering with me." Jazz ended with a shrug. Prowl nodded. It had been bothering him too.

"Your report, as well as Ratchet's report stated that the Decepticons disengaged in battle shortly after the order for us to retreat. I find this behaviour strange."

"Ah know. Ah'll be honest with ya Prowl there's a couple of things been bothering me too."

Prowl stared at him, the same unblinking, emotionless stare that made it nearly impossible to read him, and that had been the dread of many a prisoner or prankster. "Elaborate, please."

Jazz hopped off the desk and started pacing like a caged animal. The more he thought about the matter, the more the answers eluded him. They seemed to tease and taunt him, flipping away as soon as he thought he could catch them, ducking into shadows and doing a Pit of a job at evasion. It frustrated him to no end that he couldn't grasp it, get to the bottom of the whole slaggin affair. Slag, he wasn't head of Special Ops for nothing. He drew a deep vent.  "Well, for one, after you got evacuated, the battle kinda fizzled down and the Decepticons retreated. Of course they took the energon reserves with them, couldn't stop them on that count. They just took it and made a beeline back to whatever Pit they crawled from, not bothering with us at all. And that's what's botherin' me. Ah mean it was the command team fightin' for frag's sake. They had us pinned down. Ah don't get why they didn't push the attack when they obviously had the upper servo."

He fell silent as he held his back towards Prowl, staring at the blank walls of his quarters. The tactician waited patiently for Jazz to continue. He knew him well enough by this time to know he wasn't finished. Tension radiated like heat waves from Jazz's frame, and he was rarely tense about anything. So Prowl watched and waited.

Jazz swirled around and marched back to the desk, grabbing a chair and sitting down with a resigned sigh. He looked at Prowl, thankful for the visor hiding his emotions playing across his optics. He softened his voice. "Even after they got you, they didn't kill you or capture you. Either they didn't recognize ya or they thought you were dead. But Prowl, it's more than that. You were fine two orns after the attack. Ratch' patched ya up good and you were awake. Ah even escorted you to ya quarters. And then you, you relapsed or something'." Jazz looked away for a moment, recalling the memory of finding Prowl convulsing on his berth, unresponsive. A shiver ran through his frame. "Ratchet did tests and all that, but ya came out clean, nothin' appeared compromised. Ratch made sure of that. It's been four orns since ya were released from medbay, and ya systems are workin' fine, but there still ain't no explanation." Jazz ended. He looked at Prowl, trying to gauge the other's expression. But Prowl allowed no emotion to ghost his faceplate.

"I see. Ratchet omitted the test details from the report. I will have to enquire about it. If the only reason he has been keeping me off duty is because he hasn't found any satisfactory reason for my 'relapse', then I will need to speak to him." He stated sternly.

Jazz vented an irritated sigh, Prowl was closing down emotionally again. He leaned across the table and grabbed the tactician's servo. Prowl froze at the contact and looked enquiringly at Jazz, before hiding his emotions behind a stern façade.

"Ya nearly died Prowler, twice. And we don't have an answer for the second time. Ah'm worried about my best friend's well-being." Jazz whispered fiercely, he hesitated a moment, "Ah can lose a lot of things in this life Prowl, but I don't know if I can stand losing ya." He abruptly let go of Prowl's hand, got up, grabbed the empty cubes and left.

Prowl kept staring at the door after Jazz left. He absent-mindedly clenched his hand and brought it to his faceplate, holding it there for a moment. He gave his head a small shake and reached for the datapad.

A single console stood at the end of the dark room, throwing an eerie green glow across the room, silhouetting a hunched figure. The figure was talking softly over a secured line.

"Query: mission status?"

"In-progress. Delayed due to unforeseen complications. Subject is restricted to quarters. Need more time."

"Answer: unsatisfactory. Do not delay. You have been warned."

The figure hesitated for a split astrosecond.

"Understood."

The line went dead.

Chapter Text

Doorwings held erect, Prowl strode into his tactical division at Iacon base. First shift had barely started, and the smell of warm energon greeted him as mechs rushed to their stations. A few mechs politely dipped their helms, some uttered hurried but respectful greetings as they onlined their screens.

Prowl lifted his chin, doorwings flared in satisfaction. Movement to his side had him turning his helm, only to be greeted enthusiastically with a hand to his shoulder. Prowl cocked an optic ridge and glanced down at the offending appendage.

"Welcome back, sir. Glad to see you fully functional again" Smokescreen ignored him with professionally ease.

"Thank-you, Smokescreen.” Prowl lifted his chin and narrowed his gaze, but Smokescreen was as usual immune to his sibling’s ire.

He squeezed Prowl’s shoulder as merry blue optics sparkled. "All's in order, but the head tacticians and data analysts give you their own report on the matters presently occupying the tactical room."

Prowl nodded and finally Smokescreen lifted his restricting hand as the moved towards his office.

“I take it that no significant events have occurred during my absence?"

"No sir, the Decepticons have been relatively quiet after their last attack on a Neutral settlement shortly after your injury. However, small flare-ups have occurred in the border lands between Kaon and Tyger Pax. We currently have an analyst going over the info to see if there are any correlation and co-ordination between the different flare-ups" Smokescreen paused as he waited for Prowl to enter his office code before following him in. The office was sparsely furnished; the only signs of it being occupied were the stacked bookshelf, the sturdy old desk and three highly uncomfortable chairs.

"What kind of flare-ups?" Prowl asked as he sat behind his office. He vented slowly. It was good to be back in his domain again, although he would need to check on the request for a Praxian chair. He beckoned Smokescreen to take a seat across from him.

"Small pocket skirmishes mostly for energon. They appear totally random. Codebreaker has been analyzing the information and he will be able to give you a better overview of the matter." Smokescreen said as he leaned back in his chair, shifting to try and find a more comfortable position on the sorry excuse of a chair.

There was a brief moment of silence as Prowl commed the young analyst. "I've requested Codebreaker to join us. I want to discuss this matter as soon as possible. If there are connections between the different events, we need to find it and employ counter-measures against it. I've read the reports on the attacks on the Neutral settlement, and such attacks need to be avoided in the future."

Prowl's office door pinged and a moment later a young, handsome Praxian entered his office. His grey frame was largely unadorned except for the teal blue chevron rimmed with gold adorning his helm. He walked proudly into Prowl's office carrying his datapad. He gave a small bow in respect.

"Sir, welcome back."

"Thank-you, Codebreaker. Please be seated.” Prowl inclined his helm as he onlined his screens. “Smokescreen informs me that you have been working on the small energon skirmishes that have been taking place over the last nine orns. What information have you gleaned from these events?"

Codebreaker took his seat across from Prowl and placed his datapad on Prowl's desk. If he showed any discomfort because of the chair, he did well to hide it. Smokescreen looked at him a bit more enviously. That chair was probably more comfortable.

Codebreaker activated the hologram map to show the locations of the Decepticon activities. "As can be seen from the maps, the assaults are mainly in neutral areas between the borders of Tyger Pax and Kaon. The Decepticons have been particularly violent in their attacks on Neutral settlements. The Autobot forces have been called in more often and Neutrals are starting to take refuge in Autobot camps. However, these camps do not possess the necessary facilities or staff to deal with refugees. The energon shortages they are experiencing are being aggravated by the influx of mostly wounded refugees. This makes the Autobot forces in those areas weaker."

"Have provisions been made to move the refugees to safer settlements?" Prowl asked. He studied the maps in front of him, noting the various positions of Autobot camps and Decepticon activities.

"It's been too dangerous to move them. Also, to move the refugees safely would require soldiers we can't afford to take out of the areas due to the increase in hostilities. Simply put, we lack the resources to move them." Smokescreen replied as he highlighted the routes the refugees would need to take to be evacuated to a safer area.

Prowl leaned towards the map, his logic-centre trying to find any form of pattern between the attacks, but to no avail. The attacks appeared sporadic and seemed to bear no resemblance on each other. Smokescreen and Codebreaker waited patiently for Prowl to finish his inspection of the skirmish sights.

Prowl frowned slightly as he looked at the various locations. "What is the time duration of these attacks? Is it possible that they could have been planned ahead of time instead of random attacks on Neutrals?"

Codebreaker shifted uneasily in his seat. "I'm still working on it, sir. The attacks are of short duration according to reports, but very violent. It appears the Decipticons are following the code 'maximum damage, minimum time'. However, they don't seem to be planning their attacks. Some of the Neutral settlements have very little energon reserves, while others have accumulated large reserves. Yet no matter the amount of energon taken, the destruction level remains the same, and no distinction between camps are made." He frowned as he finished. Smokescreen cocked an optic ridge at him.

"And the Decepticon soldiers attacking the settlements? What do we know of them?"

"Sir? They are Decepticon soldiers." Codebreaker replied, not wanting to disappoint Prowl, but at the same time not knowing what else to say.

Prowl looked at him, then turned to Smokescreen. "So you can not inform me whether or not it is the same group of Decepticons attacking these locations?"

Awkward silence filled his office. Smokescreen raised his optic ridges and stared at the captivating ceiling, once again shifting to try and find a more comfortable position while Codebreaker found a very interesting fixture on the holomaps.

"You have not been analyzing the attack groups?" Prowl asked, his voice firm, optics piercing. Primus was he dealing with sparklings?

Codebreaker squirmed under Prowl's direct, intimidating stare, but refrained from looking at him. "Not many have survived to give accurate statements of the attacking forces, but I haven't gathered significant intel regarding that matter, no." Codebreaker ventured. He was embarrassed by his obvious mistake and snuck Smokescreen a pleading look.

Smokescreen revved his engine to get Prowl's attention, saving the young analyst from the scrutinizing stare of his younger brother. "Prowl, if I may suggest something?" He asked after a moment.

Prowl turned his gaze to his older brother, giving him a curt nod.

"Codebreaker has been analysing these occurrences from the beginning, and if the possibility exists that there is more to these skirmishes than we first thought, perhaps you would like to review the data with Codebreaker?"

Codebreaker's doorwings perked up slightly at that and he sat up straighter, but still stared at the holomaps, his expression unreadable. Prowl turned his gaze once again on the young analyst, but this time his gaze was contemplative. "I believe that if there are no other pressing matters at the moment I will donate some of my time to the analysis of these cases. However, I will expect you to conduct your duties in an acceptable way, without negligence to important factors.” Prowl steepled his fingers. “You will consult me the moment you suspect anything of value. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir." the Praxian pressed his lips together, optics shining. An opportunity to work with Prowl directly was something he had aimed for, but not believed possible. Prowl was renowned as one of the best tacticians on Cybertron, second in command of the Autobots, and personal confidant of the Prime. Few tacticians, save Smokescreen, was granted the privilege to work with directly Prowl. He owed Smokescreen big time.

"Dismissed," Prowl said and watched the graceful Praxian swiftly gather his datapad and leave his office.

The door closed and Smokescreen jumped up, plonking himself down on the recently vacated chair. He shifted, but no, this one wasn't any more comfortable than the other torture mechanization he had left. He sighed and tried to relax into the chair.

"You really need to follow up on that order for the Praxian chairs. These are simply shameful.”

“I will ask Stockpile to check on the status of the order,” Prowl glanced at his mailbox and stifled a groan at the sheer amount of reports and messages awaiting his attention. This was exactly why he despised going off-duty.

“That mech worships the ground you walk on."

Prowl tore his optics away from the screen, ridges drawn close in confusions. “Excuse me?”

“Codebreaker.” Smokescreen stated smugly, a soft, devious smile cursing his lips. Prowl shot him a reproachful look. Smokescreens smile exploded into a grin. "Stop glaring at me like that. It's becoming a habit."

"I am still his superior and second in command of the Autobots." Prowl stated, leaving no room for his brother to push the matter. "Why do you not review the information he gathers?" Prowl asked as he turned back to his screen and opened the first report labeled only as Dept. of Science – urgent.

Smokescreen leaned forward, hands holding up two fingers. "Firstly, I'm not as good at data analysis as you and I've taught him pretty much everything I know, secondly, he's bright. He's been working in this division for three vorns and has excelled beyond his normal duties in both data analysis and tactical planning. I think he will do well as your apprentice."

"I hardly have time to train an apprentice." Prowl frowned at the amount of uranium Perceptor was requesting. At least Perceptor was requesting it, and not Wheeljack, but still...

"You can train him while you work on these flare-ups. Show him what to look for. Come on Prowl. I know you've been watching him, I've seen you. Besides, it will do you good as well."

"Do me good?" Prowl tilted his helm towards Smokescreen, but his focus was mainly on deciphering Perceptor’s explanation of why he needed the uranium.

"Yes." Smokescreen stood up and readied to leave. He had had enough of these Primus cursed chairs, and with Prowl you had to plant a little seed, then give it time to grow while watering it. The seed was now officially planted, now for some fertilizer. "You need this Prowl. You're too secluded from other bots. You hardly ever socialize; I'm referring to bots other than Jazz and Optimus."

Prowl turned to face him, optics cold as he watched Smokescreen. “I have work to do.”

Smokescreen stilled him with a motion of his hands. "Hear me out, Prowl, as your brother. You work too hard and one orn when this damn war's over, who will be there for you? There will be no Autobots or Decepticons, no more battle planning, no more fighting. Everyone will go back to their homes and try to rebuild. Who will be with you? To whom will you go?" He paused briefly, his smile playing once again on his lips. "Codebreaker's really your type. Give it a try. Oh, and he’d be more than willing!" Smokescreen winked before beating a hasty retreat, leaving his usually stoic, expressionless younger brother gaping after him.

Prowl watched the door close behind Smokescreen and vented heavily. The audacity Smokescreen had to suggest he be anything more than Codebreaker's superior irritated him. He swallowed and stared at the datapad Codebreaker had left on his desk.

Yet, the nagging thought-line wouldn’t leave. Smokescreen’s words held some truth to them. It would be nice to have another mech to enjoy energon with, or confide in. True, Jazz was there, but Jazz was not his lover. Jazz was a friend.

He turned back to his screen and signed off on the uranium Perceptor wanted for some ill-understood reason. Codebreaker was not the first mech Smokescreen had introduced him to. Chromedome had been the first, and that had worked relatively well until their duties demanded too much of them. His fist clenched briefly as he thought of Chromedome…but that was in the past.

Prowl thought back to the other Praxian. Smokescreen was right, Prowl had been keeping an optic on Codebreaker, but for entirely different reasons. He was professional, factual, and logical. He worked in Tyger Pax's tactical division as head of tactics until he was replaced by a more senior tactician and transferred to Iacon, where he had remained in Prowl's department for three vorns. He had never shown any bitterness towards the move and it was a trait Prowl respected. Few mechs could handle being ‘demoted’, even though there technically was no demotion. His work was always of a high caliber, always on time and he could be relied on. Aside from that, he was also a rather handsome bot.

Prowl reached for the datapad, switching it on and idly browsing through the files. Codebreaker's report was waiting on the datapad. Prowl smiled softly. He wondered what Jazz would think of Codebreaker. He should introduce them at a later stage, get Jazz’s opinion on him. Jazz had a knack for sizing mechs up. If he passed Jazz’s scrutiny, then maybe Prowl would consider a mentorship, but not an apprenticeship. That would complicated relations.

Prowl frowned slightly. Codebreaker was a subordinate. If he should decide at a later date to pursue a friendship with Codebreaker, he would need to be wary of office gossip. Mechs did not follow orders from bots who slept their way to the top.

Prowl sighed as he accessed the files on the datapad, his helm aching slightly. Smokescreen was right, he did need to socialize with others more often, but the nature of his personality didn't make it easier, neither did the thought of socializing with others hold much appeal. Much less a subordinate. Prowl pinched his olfactory bridge. These matters were too illogical. He needed concrete facts. Shaking his helm, he moved the matter to the back of his processor and focused on the datapad.

Only to have his comm. line alert him to an incoming call. He smiled as he saw the caller’s ID.

::Yes, Jazz?::

::You up for some energon?::

::I started my shift ten breems ago, Jazz, and I have already had my morning rations.::

Prowl continued to browse through the report as he waited for Jazz to respond.

::Ok, well, no energon then, but I do have a report I need to go over with you.::

::You are not coming to spy on me for Ratchet?:: Prowl’s processor tagged a few areas in Codebreaker’s report he needed clarity on.

::What? Little ol’ me spying on ya? Nope, that’d be Red’s job. But I’ll just check on ya to satisfy myself.::

Prowl stilled in his report and bit back a smile. ::Very well, I await you in my office.::

He placed the report on his desk. Smokescreen meant well, but really, Jazz was a very adequate friend.

Chapter Text

Monitor duty: the most spark-killing, dull, I-am-unofficially-punishing-you job in the universe. Bots died from sheer boredom staring at the myriad of monitors splaying the wall on the inner sanctuary of Red Alert's sacred control room. Green lights radiating from the monitors danced wickedly along the interior walls, mesmerizing in their repetitive dance as the light sirens lured their victims to the forbidden valley of recharge.

Jazz onlined his optics with a start as recharge protocols slipped back into the recesses of his subconscious mind. Damn monitors. Inferno, ya owe me big time. He thought ruefully as he shifted in his chair, stretching his sleek frame and clicking the joints back into place, satisfied with the popping sounds. Primus, I need some energon.

A light, familiar chuckle drifted from the door. Jazz cocked his optic ridge and slowly swiveled his chair towards the Primus-sent newcomer. A toothy grin split his faceplate as his optics fell to the brimming, steaming cube of delicious, crackling, hot and spicy energon.

“You, mech, are a spark-saver!”

Blaster’s warm laughter filled the air as he shook his helm and walked over to Jazz. "They told me you were doing monitor duty. What did Inferno promise you this time?" He handed the saboteur his energon and took a seat across him, unceremoniously lifting his pedes and resting it on the consoles. Red Alert would blow a fuse if he was it.

"Who told you it has anything to do with Inferno?" Jazz asked slyly, his visor betraying his mirth.

"For one, you're not on punishment duty as far as the roster goes, and two, the previous time you were in here for reasons other than punishment was to help Inferno out. So, I ask again, what did he promise you this time?" Blaster asked, raising his optic ridges as he leaned towards Jazz, casting his optics from side to side as if looking for somebot eavesdropping.

"Come on, my mech, just helping out a friend in need." Jazz replied laughing. He took a big gulp of the pink energon, hoping that it would rescue his processor from the monitor's devious little sirens.

"Riiight." Blastered drawled out, frowning as Jazz took another big gulp of his energon. Poor mech must have been nearly energy deprived. "Jazz, you love monitor duty about as much as the twins do. Not your style to be staring at mechs through monitors. How long you've been staring anyway?"

"Ah don't know, probably since the new shift rotation." Jazz shrugged off. "Besides, if Red Alert holds true t' his record he ought to be back any breem."

Blaster smiled broadly. "I've got a bet running with old Smokes about those two. Wonder if Red will ever see poor Inferno the same way Ferno sees him."

Jazz chuckled, throwing his arms out in an open gesture to himself. "Why do you think Ah'm sitting here? Ah've got credits to Inferno winning."

Blaster laughed at Jazz, shaking his helm as he rolled his optics. "Should have known it wasn't all about 'helping your friend in need.'"

Jazz leaned forward in his chair, his chuckle fading to a sad smile. "Nah, it ain't all about the credits. It's 'bout helping those two out. Poor mech needs someone to take his processor off these vicious littl' things." He said indicating the monitors with a dismissive flick of his wrist, "otherwise we will continually be accused of being spies or assassins."

"True enough. But still, this is torture to social bots like us." Blaster pursed his lips at the blinking monitors, absently watching the mechs milling around the base.

They watched in companionable silence. Jazz's optics automatically travelled towards the screen monitoring the Head Tactician and SIC's office, staring longingly at it and absently wondering what Prowl was doing. He snorted. He knew what Prowl was doing, could even imagine him sitting behind his desk, doorwings held high while reading all those life-sucking, dreary datapads. He frowned as he refocused his attention at the image displayed on the screen. A mech, of Praxian model, stood before the door with two cubes of energon. His optics narrowed as the door slid open and the unknown mech stepped into the office and out of the camera's view. A click later the door slid shut. Jazz continued staring at the screen, subconsciously counting the clicks. Two breems passed and the door still remained stubbornly closed. Jazz leaned towards the screen, optic ridges drawn low over his olfactory.

Blaster eyed Jazz, his optics darting between his frozen friend and the screen. The saboteur had a way of seeing things others missed, and the mech wasn’t looking impressed at all. A flicker of uneased weaseled its way into Blaster’s tank. "What's up mech?” he whispered, “You've been staring at that screen for a couple of breems. Something wrong?" He stood and walked around Jazz, leaning over him to get a better look at the screen, and found himself staring at the empty corridor in front of the SIC's office.

A breem passed.

"Uhm, Jazz? Care to tell me what's so important about Prowl's office door?" Blaster poked Jazz’s shoulder when the mech still didn’t respond, a playful glint in his optics. If Jazz thought something was up, he wouldn’t still be here.

Jazz glanced up at Blaster before turning to one of the monitors. "Ya know this mech?" Jazz asked as he typed in a few commands to replay the scene he had witnessed a few breems prior. He glared at the screen as the vid replayed, suspicion clawing at his processor as jealousy slowly sank her insidious claws unbidden into his processor.

Blaster stared at the screen for a moment, then shrugged. "Oh, that guy. Yeah, I kind of know him. Not personally, but Smoke's and I have talked about him. Designation's Codebreaker, a junior tactician recently transferred from Tyger Pax. Quite smart. Smokey mentioned somethin’ about him working closely with Prowl." He stepped back from Jazz and gave him a contemplative look, not totally devoid of friendly worry and blatant curiosity. "Why? What'd you see?" After Prowl’s injury, the crew were wary. He was a good commander, and good commanders were a rare commodity. And after the last scare, well, they weren’t taking chances.

"He took Prowl an energon cube." Jazz grumbled darkly as he mentally went through what he knew of a mech named Codebreaker, annoyed that he didn't really know anything about him. He tagged a memo to draw the mech’s file. He was slipping. He should know every fragging mech on base. He puffed in irritation.

"He took Prowl an energon cube? What? That's it?" Blaster repeated, looking incredulously at Jazz as he folded his arms over his chassis. 

"Yup, nobody takes Prowl energon." Jazz sank lower in his chair, visor darkening slightly as his good mood evaporated like fog before the sun. Why the slag is he taking him energon?

What on Cybertron was so significant or threatening about that? Blaster licked his lips. It was common knowledge that Jazz usually took the tactician energon, hanged out with him, verbally defended him, sought him out…Gears ground to a halt and a light clicked on as his processor stumbled over the sudden revelation. Of course! How could he have been so thick? A small, devilish smile started playing at the corner of his mouth as he regarded his best friend in a brilliant new light.

Blaster leaned against the console, facing Jazz and smugness practically oozing from his frame. His knowing smile threatened to split his faceplate in two, while little devils of mischief danced in his optics. Damn, he couldn't believe he'd been missing this the whole time. Inferno and Red Alert was nothing compared to this brewing bet. "Jazz, I believe you're right. No mech ever takes Prowl energon…" that smile took on a dangerous air, "except you." He said poking Jazz in the side.

Jazz shot his friend a withering look. "What's that suppose t' mean?"

Blaster grinned even broader as he leaned towards Jazz. Optics to visor, he gleefully whispered "I believe you're jealous!"

Silence reigned supreme for a full breem as dancing optics stared into stone-cold visor. The spell lasted only a moment. Jazz threw back his helm and laughed. Shaking his helm, he petted Blaster on the shoulder.

"Now, now my mech. Why would I possibly be jealous? Ah'm simply curious. It's something out of the ordinary and it's mah job as monitor bot to note down everything Ah believe is important. Can ya have imagined Red's reaction if he had seen that littl' interlude? He might have thought someone was trying to poison Prowl." Jazz smirked as he leaned back into his chair and ran scans over the other monitors, as cool and collected as possible on the outside while hiding the nagging little voice at the back of his processer admitting that Blaster was spot on. But damn if he'd let him, or the rumour mill, know.

"What? There was an assassination attempt on Commander Prowl?" A frantic voice asked from the door.

Both inmates of the Hub visibly cringed at the sound of the Security Director's strained voice. "Where’s the alarm!? Why…? Where's Ratchet? I knew I shouldn't have left! Wait? Why haven't you raised the alarm? Unless…" his optics shot wide and blue light sizzled between his horns as he looked at Jazz and Blaster, before pointing his shaking finger at them. "Spies!" Red Alert shouted as Jazz and Blaster stared stricken at him.

Frag them if they knew how to handle this.

Big, red hands gently rested on Red Alert's shoulders and squeezed them reassuringly. "Now Red, take it easy. We trust Jazz and Blaster, they are both officers and trusted friends. You know that. You’re overacting." Inferno's deep voice reverberated through the anxious mech, his servo's gently rubbing up and down his shoulders and arms as the sizzling blue lights lessened in intensity. "Jazz and Blaster wouldn't let anything unusual go unnoticed or unreported. Wouldn't you?" He said looking pointedly at Jazz and Blaster.

Both bots nodded slowly. "Yup, Prowl's fine, I was just jokin' with Blaster here. My bad." Jazz replied sheepishly, tucking his armour. The last thing he needed right now was an already highly-stressed Red Alert fritzing and being taken to the medbay. Then he would really be stuck in this slough of despond staring at slagging monitors while some other bot enjoyed his energon with Prowl.

Inferno continued gently rubbing his shoulders, encouraging him to relax. Red Alert finally relaxed enough to stop fritzing. He turned accusing optics on Jazz. "As an officer, you should know better than that Jazz. If it wasn’t for Ratchet, Prowl would be dead! Jokes like these are unacceptable! And…” His optics narrowed at the saboteur, “Monitor duty is serious! All the lives of the mechs on this base depends on it! With the recent activity, especially involving Prowl, we can’t take chances!"

"You're absolutely right Red. We were just discovering how important monitor duty can be. Never knew you could learn so much about mechs by observing every orn habits." Blaster chirped as he slapped Jazz on the back, cheeky grin in place.

Red Alert’s engine growled dangerously as he narrowed his optics at the loud-mouthed boom-box.

Jazz ignored Blaster and Red Alert solidly, instead focusing his easy grin at Inferno, who was eyeing both mechs shrewdly. Come on, Inferno.

"Thanks guys. We'll take it from here. Jazz, I'll catch you later for a cube of energon." Inferno finally said.

"Sounds good to me mech!" Jazz jovially sprang out of the chair and headed towards the door, feeling three pairs of curious, suspicious and gloating optics resting on his back as he beat a hasty retreat.

“Finally.” Prowl exvented as he placed the last of Ratchet's numerous medical reports a neatly piled 'finished' stack. His lips pressed together as he glanced at the stack of reports ominously waiting to be finished. His servo automatically rose to his head, gently rubbing his chevron in an effort to dispel the blooming processor ache that has been plaguing him since his shift started ten joors ago. Usually his quiet, ordered office brought him blessed peace in which to focus on his duties as both head tactician and second in command, yet on this orn he found his focus drifting in and out, having to read and reread datapads before signing them off. He sighed. Maybe he should go see Ratchet after his shift. He reached for one of the datapads, but stopped short as his office door pinged.

Optic ridges drawn into a small frown, he checked his chronometer. He cocked an optic ridge. Jazz was early today, about half a cycle to be exact. He schooled his expression before unlocking the door expecting Jazz to come swinging through for their usual routine of drinking energon after shift.

But instead of the swaggering saboteur, a very prim and proper Praxian enter – holding two cubes of energon. He caught the disappointed twist in his tank before it could weasel its way to the exterior.

 "Codebreaker, please enter." He gestured for the tactician to take a seat across from him.

"I hope you do not mind that I brought energon. Smokescreen suggested I do." Codebreaker smiled as he set the two cubes down on Prowl's desk and seated himself.

Smokescreen, that explains a lot. Prowl was hardly surprised since his older brother made it his goal in life to meddle in his affairs, wanted or not. He nodded curtly and accepted the energon cube. "Not at all. I trust that you have acquired the necessary data concerning the identity of the Decepticons attacking the Neutral settlements?"

Codebreaker withdrew a datapad from subspace, quickly scanning over the information presented on it. "Yes sir, at least to a certain degree. According to the intelligence gathered, it appears to be the same group of Decepticons attacking the settlements. I have been mapping the attacks and the timeline, but so far no pattern has been forthcoming. It still appears completely random."

Codebreaker had been devoting the last two orns to tracking down all the available information on the Neutral attacks. It had been surprisingly difficult since most of the eyewitnesses were either dead or unavailable to talk to, and the information he could access were so vague as to be rendered nearly useless. It would of course have been easier if he had had access to the Iacon mainframe, but access was strictly limited to officers only.

"Have you mapped out the attacks?" Prowl asked, interrupting the other tactician's thoughts.

"I have, sir."

Codebreaker stood and moved to Prowl's side, placing a holomap in front of him and activating it. A large, colourful display lit the map. At each point, a list of casualties and dates were added. The timeline of the attacks. “When selecting a point of attack, it list additional details.” Codebreaker leaned closer to Prowl, mere millimetres separating their doorwings.

Prowl shifted uneasily in his chair as their energy fields gently brushed against each other. Not that it was an unpleasant experience, it was just, odd, to have someone so close in proximity other than his brothers or Jazz.

If Codebreaker shared any of his discomfort, he did well to hide it. The tactician was in his element as he enthusiastically explained every detail of the attacks, questioned motives, and finally hypothesized his own theories. Prowl tried to focus on the information he was being given, but the stubborn ache in his processor was growing at an alarming rate, threatening to swallow him whole. He absentmindedly raised a servo to his head as he tried to focus once again on what Codebreaker was ranting about. He would certainly give Sideburn a run for his credits when it came to talking.

"…so we need to access the mainframe to be able to identify the Decepticons."

Prowl frowned slightly at that. "Why would you need to access the mainframe?" He pinched his olfactory. The pressure was building to unbearable levels.

"Sir, the databases I have been running does not contain any information to the identities of the Decepticons. The mainframe is linked to all the bases and if any of the bases have any scraps of information on these brutes, then the mainframe would be able to divulge it to us." Codebreaker said as he watched Prowl, noting the pail expression. His hand tentatively reached out and he placed it on Prowl’s shoulder. “Are you alright, sir?”

Prowl stiffened at the physical contact and dropped his hand to the table. The pain increased ten-fold, his vision blurred for a moment. “Yes, thank-you.” He hoped his voice sounded steady.

Codebreaker narrowed his optics at him and withdrew his hand, but his field seemed to push against Prowl.

Prowl bit back the urge to pull his field in tight. Focus. The sooner we are done, the sooner I can be alone. "Why do you not send queries out to the various bases? Mainframe access is limited to officers only." He pressed two digits to his temple. If only he could focus.

The other Praxian's doorwings dipped as he turned his attention back to the holomap, his hand still hovering to Prowl. "Security reasons. If this is something more than just random attacks on settlements, then it is possible that the Decepticons will be watching and waiting for queries. Should a query be intercepted, they might change their pattern or go into hiding. Then we will lose whatever advantage we have." He hesitated for a moment, "It is the most logical course of action, is it not?" The room lapsed into silence as Codebreaker waited for Prowl to respond.

Prowl sat silently, staring at the holomap while still cradling the side of his helm. His optics flickered and a small whine escaped him. Why…Nothing made sense anymore…

Codebreaker stared at him. "Sir?" he prodded when Prowl didn't respond.

The tactician looked Prowl over, noting the anxious twitching of his doorwings and his unfocused, flickering optics. Not good. Should he call Ratchet? "Sir, are you alright? Is something amiss?" A small groan that could have been a ‘no’ escaped Prowl as his fans clicked on, dragging cold air through his vents.

Codebreaker drew a vent and glanced at the door. Nodding, he slid his arm around Prowl's warm waist and gently aided him to stand. "I think, sir, that I should escort you to the medical bay." His soft voice was laden with concern as Prowl leaned his weight into him, his vents hitching and sucking air harshly into his overheating, quivering frame.

Codebreaker made his way to the door, gently holding his senior tactician while he alerted the medbay for their arrival. He was about to enter the codes when the door slid open, taken aback by the sight of Officer Jazz standing in the doorway looking unusually pissed.

Jazz's furious expression quickly morphed into one of concern when he saw Prowl leaning heavily against Codebreaker, vents heaving as wave after wave of heat rolled off his frame. He quickly rushed forward and slid his arm around Prowls waist, pulling his frame closer and allowing him to lean on both mechs. "What happened?" Jazz demanded as they made their way into the hall and turned towards the medbay. He sent Ratchet an emergency ping.

Jazz pulled Prowl a little closer to himself.

"I, uh, I am…unsure, sir. We were discussing information when he just, uhm, stopped talking or responding." Codebreaker stammered nervously, adjusting his arm to get a better hold on Prowl.

Livewire screeched around a corner. “Place him on this!” She barked as Jazz swung Prowl up and laid him gently on the hover-gurney.

The hallways were thankfully empty and they reached the medbay in less than a breem. Prowl's vents were heaving hard by this time as his fans struggled to cool his overheated systems.

The doors burst open and Jumpstart hailed them in, an IV drip ready, shooing the Praxian away as he took his place next to Prowl. Codebreaker silently followed them into the medbay, optics wide.

"Place him on the berth to your left." Jumpstart pointed at a berth with an alarming array of medical equipment ready and waiting.

Jazz grabbed Prowl’s pedes as Jumpstart and Livewire supported his torso.

“On three!” Jumpstart tensed, “One, two, three!” The transferred Prowl to the medical berth and Jazz moved to the top of the berth, stubbornly remaining at Prowl's side.

Jumpstart leaned over Prowl and jacked his cable into the closest medical port. Livewire busied herself connecting various machines to lower Prowl's frame temperature and monitor his vitals.

Jazz looked around the medbay, searching for the familiar grouchy medic. "Where's Ratchet?" he asked Jumpstart, who was disconnecting from Prowl. Primus-damn it he had sent Ratchet an alert!

"He is recharging. His shift ended two joors ago and no critical patients demanded his attention. He is not to be disturbed unless absolutely necessary" He turned to face Jazz, his blue optics shown with sincerity coupled with stubborn determination. "Trust me." He whispered.

Jazz eyed him wearily. As part of special ops, he knew that trusting unknown mechs could get you killed, and at this moment, it wasn't his spark on the line, it was Prowl's. Damn if he trusted this mech. They stared at each other, blue visor locked on blue optics; one challenging, the other pleading. Jazz pinged another alert to Ratchet.

Codebreaker watched them for a moment before inching his way towards Prowl's berth. He carefully laid a servo on Prowl's arm, causing the tactician to groan with pain as over-sensitive sensors reacted to the touch.

The groan from the berth was enough to snap the two mechs out of their staring contest and turn their attention once more to the ailing tactician. The medic frowned, looked at the machine readings, swore, and sprang to Prowl's side. "Livewire, get the CO447. We need to cool his frame!" Withdrawing a syringe from subspace, he injected a light blue fluid into his exposed energon lines. The effect was immediate as Prowl's faceplate relaxed and he slipped into medically-induced stasis. His frame remained dangerously hot.

Jazz pressed his mouthplates together and opened his comm. line to Ratchet as he watched the Tyger Paxian medic work on Prowl. His visor darkened and armour prickled as he spotted the other Praxian's servo still on Prowl's arm.

::What is it?: a voice like the sound of grinding gears grumbled over Jazz's comm. Angry gears, but Jazz didn’t care.

::Prowl's back in the medbay. Overheatin': he replied tersely. His comm remained silent for a few clicks as he stalked towards Codebreaker, armour flaring in clear warning.

::On my way: Ratched replied curtly and cut the link.

Jazz came to a halt next to the younger tactician.

Codebreaker cocked an optic ridge and eyed Jazz like a cyberrat might a cybercat.

Jazz’s look hardened as he deliberately dropped his gaze towards the servo resting on Prowl's arm.

Codebreaker yanked his offensive servo back as if burned. He retreated a step and ducked his wings. Submission.

Jazz kept his gaze locked on the Praxian, his optics sizing the mech up. ::Red Alert, get me the file on Ensign Codebreaker.:: He leaned against the berth and crossed his arms. "You can leave now. Prowl is an officer and this is confidential." He ordered, jerking his helm in the direction of the door.

Codebreaker's doorwings twitched nervously as he looked from Prowl to Jazz and back, before shrugging and departing for the doors, his doorwings drooping ever so slightly. As he approached the doors, they swung open. He barely managed to side-step a very irate medic.

Ratchet ignored him as he half-ran, half-marched to Prowl's berth, deep scowl etched into his sleep-deprived face.

Jumpstart started at the appearance of Ratchet and threw Jazz a menacing glare.

"Ratchet, you’re supposed to be rechar…”

“Send me the initial diagnostic!" Ratchet demanded as he plugged into Prowl’s medical port, his optics hazing over as he focused internally.

Jumpstart sighed and stood back, giving the CMO all the space he needed. He shook his helm as he sent the diagnostic, silently berating Jazz for dragging the senior medic out of much needed recharge. He had everything under control!

Ratchet unplugged his cable from Prowl and turned his menacing glare at Jazz. "Get out! I'll comm. you when you can come play fetch." And with that he turned his undivided attention back to the prone tactician.

Jazz shrugged and walked towards the exit, but instead of leaving he leaned against the wall, well out of Ratchet's reach. Technically he was off-duty, so if he pretended to be a worrying wall-flower, who’d give a frag? He watched in silence as the CMO uploaded programs and barked orders to the new medic, his CPU racing to process the latest turn of events. He shuttered his optics and rested his helm against the wall.

This wasn't exactly how he had planned to get the upstart Praxian away from his Prowl. He would have preferred avoiding the medbay at all costs. Yet here he was, staring at Ratchet, Jumpstart and Prowl in the medbay. Again. He sighed and rubbed his hands over his faceplate. Slag this has to end! He shifted uneasily, thinking back over the past orns. Prowl had shown no signs of relapses and was functioning normally, or normal according to Prowl. His check-ups with Ratchet had shown no anomalies in his systems. According to Ratchet, Prowl had a clean bill of health. So maybe this was sabotage. Jazz's mind went unbidden to the latest Praxian tactician. Maybe he had placed something in Prowl's energon, or maybe...

"Jazz!"

Jazz jolted upright as Ratchet barked his name. "Yeah, uh, how is he?" he rolled his shoulders, cracking his joints as sauntered towards Ratchet. Looking around, he was surprised that the only occupants in the room were Ratchet, Prowl and himself. "Where's Jumpstart?"

"Told him to get lost, I can take things from here." Ratchet nodded towards his office and marched towards it, leaving Jazz to scurry behind him. Once inside, Ratchet closed the doors and turned towards Jazz.

"Let me hear it." He demanded as he folded his arms over his chassis. The dangerous glint in his hawk-like optics warned Jazz to tread carefully.

Jazz pursed his lips. What exactly do ya want mech? "Uh, hear what?"

Ratchet's scowl deepened, his optics narrowing to two sharp, pin-pricks of light. "What. The frag. Happened?"

Jazz shrugged, leaning his hands on Ratchet's desk, his mind once again racing with every possible sinister scenario. He looked at Ratchet, deliberating what he could tell him and what he couldn't. Not that he didn't trust the medic, but neither did he want to start a rumor accusing a mech of something he might or might not be guilty of. He sighed. "Don't know yet. All Ah know is that one minute he was fine, the next he wasn't. Codebreaker, the bot that brought him in, was with him when it happened. Can’t say if it was sabotaged." His ridges drew down. Seems like his joke earlier with Red was more real than he had hoped. ::Blaster?::

::Wha’s up my main mech?::

::Get the cubes in Prowl’s office and send it to Percy for analysis.::

::Ok…?::

::I’ll explain later.::

Ratchet huffed and moved to the back of his desk. Groaning, he sank into the chair, interlinking his digits as he rested his arms on the desk. His optics bore into Jazz. He sat like that for a full breem, scrutinising Jazz.

Jazz stared back. Let Ratchet read what he wanted, as long as Prowl was ok.

Finally, Ratchet broke the contact as he shuttered his optics tight before stretching them wide. He drew a deep vent. "You suspect foul play. So do I."

Jazz was taken aback by the blunt statement from the CMO, even though his processor was already racing in the same direction. He rubbed a hand over his faceplate. "Yep, guess Ah do. I’ve already asked Blaster to take the cube down to Percy and requested Codebreaker’s file.” He grit his denta, not liking what he was about to say. “My gut says it ain’t him, too obvious. Frag! I don’t know.” He waved an arm helpessly. “This whole thing just ain't makin' sense. It was basically the same as what happened last time, except that this time it didn't get as bad ‘cause someone was with him."

"I want that mech’s report on this incident as soon as possible. And yours.” Ratchet grumbled. “And as to this being the same as the previous time, not entirely. The previous time there was no trace of anything in his system, virus or not. This time was slightly different."

Jazz perked up at that, his frame shifting as he adjusted his seating. "What d'ya mean?"

"I wasn't able to isolate the problem or identify it properly, but diagnostics show that his firewalls were reinforced by his battle computer automatically, which, in Prowl's case, usually means viral infection. However, the diagnostics still doesn't register any foreign program, virus or some other slag, in his systems. My diagnostics once again show him as clean. Nothing to even suggest anything is fragging wrong." Ratchet said as he threw himself back in his chair. Now he could feel a slagging processor ache developing.

Jazz took a moment to digest this news, thinking over what he knew of viral infections, malicious or not. He looked at Ratchet, gauging his appearance. "That's odd, ain't it? I mean, usually there would be some sort of evidence left, right?"

"Yes, usually. I'm going to keep him overnight, run more in-depth scans of his systems and try to download his battle computer logs, though, it being Prowl, I suspect they will be heavily encrypted." The medic sighed, suddenly looking years older as he thought of his peaceful recharge all but gone with the wind. If it wasn't the twins keeping him out of recharge, it was Prowl. Fragging Slaggers.

"Ok. Got some thinkin' to do. Let me know when Prowl's online again.” Jazz stood. “Ah'll have that report ready for you in a joor."

Ratchet gave a small, disbelieving grunt as he narrowed his eyes at the saboteur. "You? Write reports? Come in for a check-up in the morning."

Jazz smirked at Ratchet. "Ah ain't that bad with writing reports. Besides, ya asked me nicely." He stood and left the office, walking over to Prowl.

He stopped next to Prowl's berth. His spark tightened as he looked at all the machinery plugged into Prowl, monitoring his every function. Taking Prowl's servo into his hand, he gently leaned towards the tactician. "Ah'll get to the bottom of this Prowler. Ah promise."

"Mission setback, battle computer has detected virus, but I was able to upload necessary programs. Situation is contained." A soft voice said desperately.

"Advise: no more mistakes. Time is of the essence. This is the second delay. You will face consequences."

The mech hesitated for a moment, fear ripping through his frame like sharp, deadly claws. "Understood." he said softly.

"Objective: complete mission. No more mistakes or delays.