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Chapter Text

[Prologue]

Two mega-orns after Prowl’s promotion…

It started with an irate snap from a soldier when Prowl confiscated his high-grade. A battle ended with heavy casualties on their side, despite the Autobots winning, and Prowl was absolutely miserable. As the Head of Tactical he had to make some tough calls.

They eventually won the battle when Prowl pushed things in their favor by sending several Autobots ultimately to their doom, and he had known the high probability of it happening as he gave the orders. Then afterwards his superior ordered him to partake in rounds to make sure the troops were doing post-battle procedures correctly, and that was how he found the soldier hiding in the supplier closet, breaking rules with high-grade.

“You’re such a fragging aft, and a sparkless drone! I bet you’ve never had high-grade in your life, because you sure as slag don’t have any sense of joy. Only how to kill it – like how you kill us,” the soldier spat.

Prowl fought hard to keep his sensory panels from quivering at those words. At least his arms were full holding three full large high-grade bottles, so they weren’t able to shake, due to the weight. “Soldier, you are required to report the brig.” His tone was even, almost monotone. It was another thing that was his new default since being promoted, that his exterior demeanor was even less inviting. Perhaps it was a trait of self-preservation in his new role; it was hard to tell these orns.

There was a snarl and then the soldier was gone, leaving Prowl alone with the high-grade. He allowed the door to shut behind him so Prowl could stay and collect himself for a breem. For that breem he trembled as he tried processing his emotions about the battle and the soldier’s outburst.

However, by the end he was still shaking and nothing felt processed. He heard the clank of bottles in his arms. For a klik he wondered whether or not it was true that high-grade numbed mechs from their emotions. He certainly was tired and hurt from repeatedly feeling this way, after endless battles and making calls that damned a few to save many more – only to be met with visceral hatred back at base.

He vehemently shook his helm. He couldn’t; he was to lead by example. Yet who is he setting the example for right now, alone in this closet? Surely if he was to ever know the answer to his question, now was the time.

The taste was better than he anticipated. So fine and smooth, without any of the burning he expected. It was absolutely delightful, and the best thing he’d tasted in a very long time. Before he knew it, the bottle was a third empty and he felt immensely better. It was as if the heaviness of the battle and verbal attack had floated right off his shoulders.

Prowl looked at the bottles and a whimper escaped as he thought about turning in the high-grade to the appropriate authorities for disposal. He couldn’t do that, he reasoned; they would know what he’d done by just looking at him. No, better for him to hide the contraband in his private quarters.

That’s how the pattern formed; after he slowly finished the first two bottles over multiple orns, he started volunteering for inspecting quarters and other areas for unauthorized goods. He found plenty of high-grade bottles after every inspection and put half of them in his quarters. He had to turn over some to the disposal authorities since Command knew he was doing inspections. They just didn’t know how much he was really finding. No one did.

After a half vorn, his findings lessened as the soldiers realized there was no point in sneaking high-grade on base because Prowl usually found it. At that point Prowl had been secretly drinking a quarter to half a regular-sized bottle at least three times a deca-orn, and always after battle or sending others out on fatal missions. To the outside world he never drank.

During that half-vorn he felt completely alone while Jazz was on his extended mission. Even Mirage, who he barely knew, was out on a long mission as well. There were no other friends for him. He was just as much disliked the first time he started drinking high-grade as the orn when he finished inspections with no findings for once. The realization he didn’t have anything to take back to his quarters, leaving him with only a few precious bottles remaining, nearly prompted him to go into a tailspin. He had to find a backup source.

Meanwhile, also during that half-vorn, he was receiving extra praise from his superiors. Since he started drinking, he was even more meticulous in his work ethics so no one would suspect him due to sloppiness. Not only that, but he also genuinely wanted to reduce their number of losses. He still cared, even if he was regularly accused of the opposite.

As he got down to his last bottle with no more high-grade contraband replenishing his stash, he developed a solution to his plight. Since he was now the best at confiscating high-grade, he reasoned to his superiors he could go to other regional bases and show them how he was finding it. Obviously, he left out that with the right distractions, he might sneak a few bottles home each time.

That worked well enough for the next three mega-orns, as no one wanted to spend time with him beyond the bare minimum lessons on finding high-grade. Then the Decepticons started hitting them harder and his superiors suspended his training efforts, and he was back to where he started when he first formulated the plan.

How could he find more high-grade? For an irrational moment he had the urge to break into the main warehouse where they stored high-grade from the regional bases for destruction. His painful, wishful thinking gave him continuous anxiety.

On one orn the General was in his private office. He didn’t remember why he said it, only that it tumbled out before he knew it. “It seems that the high-grade disposal team has slowed their destruction of high-grade by nearly 23%, over the course of six mega-orns. If they continue at this rate, we’ll run out of storage space in less than a vorn.”

“Hmm,” his superior looked thoughtful and Prowl almost outwardly panicked. Before Prowl could figure out how to explain his comment, the General replied, “Such inefficiency could cause us problems. Do you think you could visit them at least once a quartex for review and make sure that doesn’t happen?”

“Yes, of course, sir.” His relief practically reverberated through his entire being. It certainly had his spark jumping. “I will arrange for that before the mega-orn is over.”

That’s how it grew. He visited the warehouse about every mega-orn, making sure that efficiency was increasing so it looked favorably to his superiors, but also growing slowly to justify his repeated visits. With each visit, he’d take home the equivalent of a crate of high-grade bottles. Sometimes it was five big bottles, and other times it was eight or ten regular bottles. Once in a while there were many small bottles. No one ever checked his subspace, and he learned tricks to make sure no one doing the disposal noticed the missing batches.

That’s how it was, with him drinking high-grade almost every orn, without anyone the wiser, when Jazz finally returned from his mission.

Chapter Text

He was so exhausted, but unlike the last time he returned to base from a mission, Jazz had actually taken care of himself during his time in Kaon. It wouldn’t pass the bar for what most well-balanced mechs would call “self-care,” but for him, it was enough to stop any hallucinations. From where he started, Jazz was proud of himself for accomplishing that much.

While previously Jazz had met Hookwise in his office when he was done reverting his appearance back to normal, this time he received a message to meet Hookwise in a different room. Although curious and a little concerned, Jazz told himself not to read into it.

“Welcome back, Jazz,” Hookwise greeted him as he entered the closed room.

“Thanks, good to be back. How have things been? It’s been a hot breem since I was last here.” By a “hot breem” he meant almost 1.5 vorns.

Hookwise rubbed his jaw. “Let’s start with the urgent business debrief. Is there anything to discuss before we prepare for the official debrief with the key mechs of the base? My aides are making arrangements as we speak to have the official debrief be midorn tomorrow.”

Jazz nodded and settled into his chair. “A few minor details, but it went exactly as we hoped, and pretty much nothing deviated from my last check-in. But to put your mind at ease, let me recap…”

He did his best to summarize without delving into too much detail that would be covered later anyway, but he couldn’t help but notice the growing restlessness in Hookwise’s body language. “… and that’s probably good for now. Anything else you dying to know?”

His CO shook his helm. “No, no, but funny enough that expression, ‘dying to know.’” Hookwise stopped and looked incredibly uncomfortable.

Jazz would have given him a pointed look if it wasn’t for his visor blocking his optics from communicating through facial expressions. “Okay, what gives? You’ve been acting pretty funny this whole time, and that lead in just begs to be finished.”

“Right, right.” Hookwise took a big in-vent. “Well, that lead in about dying is regarding Backflash. You recall the Tactical Command Officer from when you were here last?”

“Yeah – he’s dead?” Even though he’d been gone for a long time, and anyone could die any orn, hearing that a Command Officer perished was still appalling.

“He is. I’m assuming you want an update on what happened to Tactical, including your friend, Prowl.”

“Absolutely. Did something happen to him – he’s still alive, right?” Jazz felt shaken to his spark at the idea his closest friend might have died along with Backflash while he was away.

“He’s still alive, of that you don’t have to worry. However, he’s – how shall we say – a bit differently than you may remember him since his promotion to Backflash’s position.”

Jazz jerked up straight. “Prowl’s in charge of Tact?!”

“He is,” Hookwise confirmed, and Jazz noted Hookwise’s clenched jaw.

He chose to file that observation away for now. “Can I see him? If he’s Head of Tact, then surely he knows I’m here.”

“He probably found out the same time I did. I chose to meet you here in case he wanted to meet with you during this ‘pre-debrief’ debrief. After all, he’s at the top of his field because he doesn’t waste time waiting, among other things.”

“And the reason you want to keep us apart when you’ve never cared before…?” Jazz didn’t understand. Did Hookwise think Jazz would go for his rank/role by using Prowl to upstage Hookwise? That was ridiculous, but Jazz couldn’t figure out what was happening.

“Honestly, I just don’t want to deal with Prowl any more than I have to. I think you’ll soon feel the same way. He’s not like how you remember him,” his CO warned him.

“You don’t understand him. No one ever did,” Jazz defended.

“Perhaps, but I think you’ll understand in time that I’m more right than you’ll want me to be. For now, you’re excused. I recommend going straight to your quarters and not comm’ing or meeting Prowl before the real debrief.”

Jazz nodded and silently left but wasn’t sure what to do after he was alone. Did he get his friend’s side of the story, or did he wait until the debrief that Prowl would surely attend and see what fate had planned for them?

As he moved to the main aisleway, he realized that he was still exhausted. He also concluded that crashing at Prowl’s quarters wasn’t an option, as Prowl surely had been upgraded to the Officers corridor. Comm’ing him might result in wasted time. Perhaps finding out what Prowl had to say would be best understood when he had a fresh start.

He wondered if he’d see Prowl before the debrief, but his friend never came before the meeting’s set start time. Instead, Jazz sat there in the room where his superiors and various department reps were slowly surrounding him, waiting for Prowl to arrive. The tactician didn’t arrive until the General did, the two of them together with a couple of aides each.

Jazz instantly homed in on how different Prowl carried himself. Whereas before Prowl was just stiff when conducting official business, now his posture and sensory panels were so straight as to look painful. It had to be a strain on his joints to be that rigid.

The General and Prowl took their respective seats, and the General began by asking Jazz to introduce himself. Jazz launched into his introduction and then immediately dived into his mission’s goals and outcomes, followed by critical details. As he did so, he watched Prowl, much like the last time he had a debrief. This time, instead of Prowl occasionally leaning in and whispering in Blackflash’s audial, he remained unmoving. His professionalism showed no warmth to seeing Jazz. Was it an act while all these officials were in the room, or was Hookwise’s warning more accurate than Jazz thought possible? Jazz’s instincts told him this was just the beginning of a long and hard ride.

Eventually the debrief was called to an end by the General, with Prowl never directly questioning Jazz. Now that he was Head of Tactical, he should have had questions. Instead, he piggybacked off other mech’s questions to ask his own to the general audience. This was not how Jazz envisioned any of it.

As soon as everyone began leaving, Jazz jumped up and tried to make a beeline for his friend, only to be cut off by Hookwise and Prowl’s aides. The aides held their hands up to deter Jazz while Prowl’s back was turned, but Hookwise snatching his arm and pulling him in a different direction was more effective.

“Don’t,” Hookwise hissed.

“Why? What’s going on? What haven’t you told me?” Jazz demanded as he was dragged away to a different hall than Prowl. Hookwise waited until the narrow hall was otherwise empty.

“Look, I know I haven’t given you much to go on, but you need to know that the Prowl you knew is gone, that he’s less friendly or open than he was before.”

“Define ‘open.’ Are we talking schedule or being around others?” Jazz chalked the rest of Hookwise’s statement as coming from a place that never understood Prowl like Jazz did.

“Both, and anything else you might interpret from that. Prowl runs this base for things like tactical and regulations, and he works with other bases for the same purposes. He enforces regulations here, and in some cases, everywhere in this region. While officially he’s only the Head Tactician for this base, he’s the main tactician for verifying other base tactics. He’s basically a literal working drone.”

Jazz hissed back at Hookwise. “Don’t call him a drone.”

Hookwise backed off. “Look, maybe you can schedule a meetup with him later this orn, or after Tactical has processed your mission files. Although Mirage is scheduled to come back soon, so after your mission files they’ll likely be processing his debrief and information next. You can try to figure something out, but don’t get your hopes up. He’s an ice-cold drone these orns.”

Even though Hookwise couldn’t see Jazz’s glare, Jazz hoped he could feel it before the saboteur turned away. Almost out of spite Jazz tried hailing Prowl. There was no reply, and Jazz reluctantly gave up for the moment to get some fuel.

For the next few orns, Jazz tried pinging Prowl twice an orn, figuring being an insistent bug in Prowl’s communication systems would eventually get a response. Finally, it worked.

::What do you need, Jazz?:: The response that finally came through was monotone, not with the annoyance Jazz had expected.

::I need to see you. Just the two of us, catching up.::

::I apologize, but my schedule doesn’t allow for socializing breaks.::

::You are literally the Head of Tactics. Unless the General says do a thing at a specific time, or a battle breaks out, your schedule is set by you and you alone,:: Jazz rebutted.

The pause on Prowl’s side was long enough that Jazz assumed he disconnected. Just as Jazz was about to give up for the orn, Prowl finally replied. ::If I meet you in the library in two joors for a short break, will that suffice your need to see me?::

::Maybe. Depends on what happens, and how short is ‘short.’ I’ll let you know afterwards.::

::I will see you in two joors.::

::Make sure you leave the aides behind.::

::I will leave them at the entrance of the library,:: Prowl informed him. ::As you may understand, my position here requires additional support and protection whenever I’m outside my quarters.::

::Fine, but not where they can hear us talk.::

::Acceptable. See you soon, Jazz.:: That should have had more warmth to it than it did. The warning bells in Jazz’s helm were starting to go off, beyond just a bad feeling.

He got to the library at their table well before the appointed time, hoping to settle his nerves down by just waiting and sipping his energon. He faced the entry way and went through some grounding exercises to keep himself from getting too nervous.

When Prowl appeared, Jazz gave him a warm smile. Prowl only gave him a courteous nod and didn’t immediately sit down. “Hello, Jazz. I’m glad to see you have fared well from your mission. Has the base received you well these past orns?”

Jazz shrugged. “As best as it can without you giving me a welcome back greeting. Hurts to know my kind and caring best friend doesn’t deem checking in on me worth anything.” He left out the part of a “welcome back” party being put on hold until Mirage returned from an unexpected deviation in his mission. It wasn’t relevant to the current discussion.

That blow to Prowl worked for a fraction of a klik when Prowl’s sensory panels and shoulders jerked as if stunned. “That’s not… you must understand that with my promotion comes expectations that I leave soldiers and agents to themselves. This meeting here is unusual and almost against regulations.”

“Don’t tell me there seriously is a reg that says a rank like yours can’t be around a rank like me.”

“No, of course not; that would be akin to classism. It’s simply not looked favorably upon.”

“So what, we’re going to stop being friends because of someone’s opinion about your promotion means you gotta let a lowly mech like me go?” Jazz knew he was being confrontational, but after orns of being blown off, he figured the direct approach was best to shake Prowl out of his coldness.

For all of Prowl’s tac-net’s foresight abilities of anticipating outcomes, Prowl’s attempt to wordlessly reply showed that the Praxian did not have an immediate response to that. Jazz decided to keep going. “I’m sure as the Pit not letting my best friend go because someone’s stupid whim says I’m not good enough for the friendship to survive a promotion. So, unless you’ve got something to say about that, you should sit down here with the energon ration I brought you and talk to me like we used to.” He pushed the energon ration forward, the liquid almost sloshing over the edges.

Prowl’s previously neutral expression finally let something through, and the tactician seemed at loss for words. Jazz pointed to the seat across from him and Prowl finally sat down. At first, he wordlessly sipped his energon, but when he set it back down, he said, “I’m sorry that I’ve given you the impression that you aren’t on good enough standing to be my friend. I suppose in the 1.5 vorns you’ve been gone, I’ve become used to not having a friend around. I was promoted less than a mega-orn after you left, so it has been some time since I’ve had a casual conversation.”

“Well, now is as good of a time to restart as any. You know a bit about how the past 1.5 vorns went for me, but I know almost nothing about how it went for you. How about you start from the beginning?”

“From the time you left?”

“Sure, or when you got promoted.”

“You mean when Backflash was killed by the Decepticons,” Prowl commented. “I was promoted on the battlefield temporarily, and then officially soon afterwards. Since then, it’s been business only.”

“No getting to know your fellow officers?” Jazz wondered if mentioning Blackflash’s death was painful for Prowl. There was no sign of it, but he was figuring out that a reaction (or lack of a reaction) from Prowl couldn’t be taken at face value.

Prowl slightly shook his helm. “Nothing beyond professionally speaking.”

“What about the other bases you work with?”

“It’s the same wherever I go, where my relationships are strictly professional.”

Jazz felt sad for Prowl. “Must’ve been lonely then, without me or even Mirage around.”

Prowl sipped his energon but didn’t respond. Jazz could read the unspoken words and tried to comfort his silent companion. “I don’t want you to be alone while I’m here. I figure it’ll be at least a mega-orn before I’m considered ready for another mission for one reason or another, so I’d like to keep you company until then.”

“You mean you aren’t going to drive yourself towards other problems by looking into other missions?” Was that curiosity or concern from Prowl, or both?

Jazz grinned. “You’d be proud of me, Prowl. I’ve made big strides since we’ve last been together. Thanks to you and Rung, I learned how to set workplace boundaries and use grounding techniques for a lot of things. I haven’t seen or heard things I shouldn’t be seeing/hearing since that party way back when.”

Prowl stared before murmuring, “I’m happy to hear that. I’m curious, when have you had a chance to set workplace boundaries?”

“In the various places I worked, like the Kaon refineries and whatnot. I had a few jobs while in Kaon and it’s not always hard work that gets you noticed. Sometimes it’s being a bartender who knows how to push back on drunks who want you to stay open longer or telling a drunk coworker at the refinery to stop being so dangerous. Speaking of which, I know you don’t drink high-grade, but I’ve got some mad bartending skills now. Give me the ingredients and I can make an insanely good mocktail,” he said with a bigger grin.

Was it just his imagination, or did that last part cause a subtle flash of panic to cross Prowl’s face? That didn’t make sense.

“I see. Perhaps another time we can try something, but I must get back to work now.”

“Really? You’re going to short-change me what was already considered a short break?” Jazz didn’t bother hiding his disappointment.

“That’s something more typical of me these orns.” Prowl stood up but hovered, as if uncertain how to proceed. Jazz waited and Prowl slowly continued, “While I am not much for company anymore, if you are willing to have these short chats every three or five orns, I would be willing to rework my schedule to allow them. I… I have wondered about your time on your mission. Hearing how things went for your personally instead of only from an agent’s perspective or report would be something I’d like.”

“Totally, I’m down for that. So long as you’re willing to trade stories and tell me how you’ve been.”

“I’m afraid I have nothing exciting to trade for your stories.”

‘Doubtful,’ Jazz privately argued. There was something more there, but the socialite/agent could be patient as he worked his way back in to find out what happened. “I’m sure your company is enough then, but don’t be afraid to share whenever something comes up.”

“Understood,” Prowl said as he left.

Jazz watched him go. Times were definitely going to be a long and difficult road ahead, but for the friend that helped Jazz grow to become someone more than barely functional, it would be a road he’d willingly traverse.

Chapter Text

At first it seemed like Prowl went back on his word to rework his schedule to allow a chat between them every few orns. It was almost a deca-orn later when Jazz received a message from Prowl stating he could meet him in the library for a half joor in ten breems if he was interested.

Jazz sent back a confirmation and stopped rummaging through reports in the Spec Ops department to head straight to the library. Since it was a bit of a walk, Prowl got there first but not soon enough to settle into his seat.

“Good afternoon, Jazz,” Prowl greeted, his voice the same monotone as when they last met. “I hope I didn’t pull you away from anything serious. I apologize for the short request.”

“It’s all good. How are you doing?” Jazz asked as he joined Prowl at the table. He didn’t have any rations since Prowl didn’t give him enough of a heads up, but Prowl had one himself.

“I am functioning as expected. Did you bring energon?”

“I had some not too long ago,” Jazz lied. He didn’t want Prowl to feel guilty. He’d have some later. “What defines ‘functioning’ these orns?”

“I’m continuing to work on tactical plans for our base while reviewing other bases.”

“Yeah? Something special going on?” Jazz wondered what made this orn different enough that Prowl finally sought out his company.

“One of the bases was hit by the Decepticons and took significant damage and losses.” While his tone indicated no feelings, Jazz knew his friend was still inside this new and cold exterior. He knew Prowl was secretly distraught by the losses. A promotion and vorn passing didn’t undo one’s core ethics. Whether Prowl knew it or not, Jazz suspected Prowl subconsciously decided to contact him to seek comfort.

Jazz reached out to hold Prowl’s hand that rested by his cube, but Prowl pulled back. It wasn’t by much, but enough to get the point across. Reluctantly Jazz withdrew his hand. “I’m sure it sucked to learn that.”

Prowl looked to his cube before returning his gaze to Jazz to answer. “I’ve heard that type of news numerous times in my current position. It’s unfortunate but not unexpected to hear other bases are not faring well when they refuse to follow my advice.”

Jazz nodded but didn’t say anything. When Prowl also became quiet, Jazz slowly reached out again. About halfway across the table Prowl’s hand pulled back again but this time Prowl abruptly started talking instead of fully withdrawing. “I don’t see why the Head of Tactical on that base chose to ignore all advice I provided. This battle was not unforeseen; it could have been prevented or at least mitigated.”

“It hurts when others don’t listen to our good intentions and soldiers are left to suffer,” Jazz murmured as he paused his hand, leaving it out and open.

“He knows me from my time visiting the base for building regulations and their enforcement,” Prowl explained. “While we did not socialize, he is aware of my logic and high success. It isn’t logical or tactically sound to ignore advice from someone with my record. I don’t mean to brag,” Prowl quickly elaborated. “But I have the highest record of success in the region since I’ve been promoted. My point is that by not following advice of someone with a better success rate, others have suffered or died.”

“It’s not your fault, Prowl, that he ignored all help and signs.” Jazz tried consoling his friend. He really wanted to squeeze Prowl’s hand to convey comfort, but Prowl kept his body frozen in place.

“I’m aware,” Prowl replied, still monotone. “However, despite being aware that it was his ego that caused deaths and further harm rather than a failure on my part, there is still… never mind. I need to return to work. I hope you have a good orn, Jazz.” He quickly stood up as he excused himself.

“No, wait!” Jazz moved his outstretched hand in an upward motion as if to call Prowl back. “Prowl, please talk to me,” he pleaded. “I know it’s hard to be your old self after all these changes since I left, but I’m here for you. Like I was before and like I’ll continue to be.”

Prowl stared for a couple of kliks, as if weighing a decision. “Thank you for the offer of support, but I must decline.”

“Why?”

“It isn’t wise for someone of high rank to need emotional support. I’ve learned to support myself just fine as Head of Tactical.”

“That’s slag,” Jazz rejected Prowl’s statement. “Anyone of any rank needs emotional support from others. Being your own sole supporter 100% of the time isn’t feasible. Don’t forget that I used to think like that – just substitute ‘high rank’ with ‘agent’ and you’re where I was almost two vorns ago.”

“Noted. I will talk to you later. Goodbye, Jazz.”

Jazz immediately got a bad feeling about Prowl’s mindset by letting things hang like that. “Prowl,” he called after the retreating form. “I’ve got your back; I’ll always be your support.”

There was no reply as Prowl disappeared from his sight. Jazz sighed, wondering how much work it would require seeing any bits of the old Prowl again.

After five orns Jazz had enough waiting, so he started hailing Prowl once an orn again. He left supportive messages, hoping to bring Prowl back to him and not push Prowl so far as to change his comm number. When the orns turned into the next deca-orn, Jazz arranged for an “accidental” path crossing by charming one of Prowl’s aides, a blue mech nicknamed “Shark.” While Shark couldn’t give Jazz information explaining how Prowl became so distant, given that he never knew Prowl like Jazz did, he was willing to look over Prowl’s schedule and find a window of opportunity for Jazz.

The window happened in a hallway near the Officers’ quarters corridor, when Prowl was returning to his quarters after a normal orn (long, but normal). Jazz had managed to convince a Spec Ops runner to let Jazz take a report to Hookwise, who was in his quarters.

They almost physically collided when they rounded the same corner. “Prowl!” Jazz said in fake shock as he jumped back from the tactician and his two aides.

Prowl’s optics widened in surprise before his mask resumed. “Jazz – what are you doing here?”

“The runner for Spec Ops reports isn’t feeling well, so I’m substitute for the orn. I’m running a report to Hookwise.”

“I see.” Prowl looked past Jazz as if planning a swift exit.

Jazz blurted out, “How have you been since our last talk?”

“I’ve been acceptable over these deca-orns since you’ve returned.”

“Deca-orns since my return?” Jazz echoed and tilted his helm in confusion. “I meant since we last spoke.”

“I know. We talked a few orns after your return. I apologize that we haven’t had an opportunity since then, but my workload is never empty.”

“But… Prowl… we hung out for like five or ten breems almost a deca-orn ago…” Jazz was so confused.

The fleeting look of panic returned on Prowl’s face and even his sensory panels gave a short, tense flick. “Yes, of course. It was short enough I didn’t think to count it. If you’ll excuse me, I’m very much ready to retire for the night.”

“Uh, right. Goodnight,” Jazz uneasily replied.

“Goodnight.” Prowl moved promptly away, almost leaving his aides behind. Jazz lingered, watching Prowl retreat from him again. Did Prowl forget their last encounter? What could have caused that? Short of a helm injury, he couldn’t quite put his finger on why there was a blackout in Prowl’s memory. He decided to keep the realization to himself, but it wouldn’t be forgotten.

Chapter Text

Jazz’s next clue that something was wrong with Prowl came two orns later when a short but deadly skirmish occurred between them and their enemies. He knew Prowl had forced the Decepticons to retreat quickly by sending an Autobot agent on a mission to the rear flank, ending the life of a powerful Decepticon officer before the agent also perished.

Did Prowl know the agent wouldn’t survive? Jazz wasn’t planning to guilt him if he saw him, given that Jazz knew he didn’t understand the pressure of Prowl’s rank and position. Hookwise evidently had a different thought.

“Prowl!” Hookwise hollered after Prowl as they were leaving the field. Jazz was right behind Hookwise, having originally intended on making sure Hookwise was okay after the loss. He knew Hookwise hated losing any agent, especially those he knew from repeated operations. The perished agent was one of those mechs. “Prowl, you answer me!”

Prowl said something to his two aides that neither Hookwise nor Jazz could hear, but the aides gave Prowl space. Prowl turned to Hookwise, nothing showing in his posture or facial expression that he was concerned about the angry officer approaching him.

“Do you require something, Hookwise?” Monotone voice as ever.

“I sure as pit do, you drone. Why did you have to send Buzzblade to his death?! You seriously can’t expect me to think that you couldn’t come up with a better solution after all the glowing praise of how amazing you are from this region’s Generals?”

“Hookwise –” Jazz tried to grab Hookwise’s shoulder, but he wrenched it away and glared with all his hatred towards Prowl.

Prowl seemed to take it in stride, as if the accusations weren’t new. “You can take my performance up with our General if you wish. However, I will caution you to remember that it was your agent or numerous soldiers’ lives. You may find the General prefers the lines to remain intact over other options.”

“Screw you,” Hookwise spat. He whipped around and nearly plowed into Jazz, the saboteur dodging him at the last klik as he stormed away.

Jazz’s optics darted between Hookwise and Prowl. He tentatively stepped towards his friend. “Prowl…? Are you okay? I know how much it hurts you to be accused of being a drone, or how much it hurts to be attacked like that. I’ve been accused of the same.”

Prowl raised an optic ridge, but his face remained otherwise neutral. “You’ve been accused of sending agents to their death because you don’t care?” Jazz knew Prowl meant it rhetorically.

“Kinda, yeah. I’ve worked with agents who didn’t make it back with me, and I’ve been accused of not trying to save them. Do you need to talk?”

“No, thank you.”

“Then who will you talk to, Prowl?” Jazz asked. “You don’t talk to me, and best guess I’ve got is you don’t talk to your fellow command officers, then who?”

For a klik Prowl seemed a little lost in trying to answer that question. “I don’t require talking to someone about these matters.”

“Like I said to you when you said you don’t need support, I think that’s slag. Yeah, I remember socializing wasn’t your norm, and I remember why ,” Jazz said as he hinted to Prowl’s tac-net, “but I don’t think it should’ve been a problem with your equal ranks.”

One of the aides stepped forward and interrupted them, the one Jazz hadn’t charmed. “Shall we return to your office?”

“I’ll return to my quarters and work on the reports from there.”

“Prowl,” Jazz tried again. He stepped forward and reached out to Prowl’s shoulder, only to have Prowl pull away. It was almost skittish, and he pretended not to notice the reaction. “Let’s both go back to your quarters and talk. You’re not a drone.”

“I have my own post-battle routine to follow,” Prowl replied in a tone a little tenser than his usual bland voice.

“Does that include shaking off teammates like Hookwise who turned on you?” Jazz pushed.

Suddenly, Prowl exploded. “What do you want, Jazz?! Can’t you see that I’m busy? I need to go to my quarters – to process those reports without disruption – and I need to do so now . That is why I do not socialize with my ‘equal ranks’ – no one has time to understand me, and no one has wanted to do so. Something about me being too drone-like and lacking even basic emotions, or techniques for flattering others. Making them feel like they are the best in their field is not my skillset, and many find me an easy scapegoat when they fail to be said best in their field. Now excuse me, I need to do my work without disruption, so I’m not impacted by the games others play!”

Taken aback from the sudden show of emotion Jazz had never seen, he stepped backwards from being caught off guard. As soon as Prowl’s sensory panels settled down, Jazz pushed through his shock and stepped forward again. He knew he had only a fraction of a klik to figure out if he called attention to the cold mech’s sudden rage.

He made his decision. “Who says you have to immediately start on those reports without disruption? And who says you have to isolate yourself to avoid being a scapegoat?” he demanded; his tone not as explosive as Prowl’s but still insistent on an answer.

“That’s not your call to make,” Prowl snapped. “Goodbye, Jazz. Leave me alone.”

Again, Prowl turned away after saying goodbye, but this time Jazz yelled, “No!”

Prowl’s sensory panels rapidly fluttered at Jazz’s declaration. His helm whipped around to stare at Jazz. “ No? As in no, you won’t leave me alone?”

“Prowl, you were there for me when I needed help, so I’m not going to shrug you off and label you a loss cause. I know who you are, I know you better than anyone on this base. I know you need to talk through the pain.” He tried to soften his voice, but he wasn’t wholly successful. Maybe it was the charged air between them, but Jazz didn’t want to let their friendship wither away because Jazz couldn’t stand his ground.

“So what, you’re going to force me to talk?” the tactician shot back. His optics were hardened, as if fighting back further rage. Jazz was pretty sure Prowl was losing that internal fight, and he didn’t know if that was good or bad, coming from a mech who hid behind some of the coldest exterior Jazz had witnessed. “All I have to do is change my comm number and request the General transfer you, and then that option won’t be available to you.”

“You wouldn’t transfer your only friend, or cut me off from your comms,” Jazz challenged, calling Prowl’s bluff. “But hey, if you really need to cool your heels in your quarters, alone with only your reports to hear you out, feel free. All I’m going to say is that I’m a call away if you find them lacking a shoulder to cry on.”

Prowl glared and his jaw clenched. He whirled around on his heels and stomped off. Shark hailed him. ::I don’t know how you did that, but you’ve made him feel something for once. I’ve never seen him explode like that.::

Jazz resisted the urge to vent. He knew doing so could undo the charm he had on Shark and could cost him his help in the future. ::Yeah, well, just let me know what happens when he locks himself up in his quarters.::

::Sure.::

Shark sent Jazz a short comm that Prowl had almost seemed desperate when he got to his quarters, which the aide only noticed because Prowl’s behavior was so abnormal after the confrontation. While Jazz had the urge to push Prowl’s buttons again and fight through the pain of this ongoing hurdle in their friendship, Jazz chose to be more strategic in his following steps.

After a couple of orns passed and no one mentioned a transfer to him, he decided his plan would be to wait for Prowl’s next decision. While he knew the chances of a transfer were low, he also knew there weren’t zero. Still, waiting for Prowl’s next decision might save him from something reactive and painful.

Neither spoke or comm’d the other until 2.5 deca-orns after the battle. Jazz thought about it every orn, often more than once. When the hail came through while he was reading for relaxation, he almost jumped up in relief. The hail was simply his name and a query for a reply, with no additional details given.

::Hey, Prowl,:: Jazz sent back.

The break between his message and Prowl’s next one was very brief. ::Would you be willing to meet me outside in the Officers’ courtyard? It’s empty at this time of orn, and my aides typically stay outside the entrance.::

::Yeah, I can do that. Ping me the location and what I need to get inside.::

A location was sent to him, with Prowl explaining, ::I will have to meet you at the courtyard entrance gate since the guards won’t let you in without a proper escort. The guards on the way to the gate will let you through if I authorize it before you arrive.::

::Fair enough.::

::See you in eight breems, if you find that time suitable.::

In Jazz’s opinion, that was very short for Prowl. Usually, Prowl wanted time to wrap up his work before doing anything with Jazz. Perhaps it was an urgent matter, like the time when Prowl had a sudden meeting request to meet Jazz in the library with almost no warning. ::I’ll probably need closer to eighteen for that location. I’m in my quarters.::

::Understood. I’ll see you in nineteen breems. It may take a little extra time for the guards on the route to allow you through::

‘ Wow, must be something up for sure ,’ Jazz contemplated Prowl’s unwillingness to let him take his time to arrive. Something had to be eating at Prowl.

To that end, in almost exactly nineteen breems, he arrived at a courtyard he didn’t even know existed. He had to pass a few guard stations along the halls, but the authorization notice Prowl promised to send out for him worked. A couple of curious glances were thrown his way by guards and staff, but Jazz ignored them.

At the entrance was a tall, black fence with thin abstract statues in front of it. Jazz briefly looked at the fence slats to see that the courtyard couldn’t be observed by the guards or other onlookers. Next to the entrance guards was Prowl with his two aides, discussing a datapad with them.

Jazz didn’t hide his approach, and Prowl looked up when Jazz was close. He pushed the datapad into one aide’s hands. “Wait for me. Jazz, if you will follow me.”

“Sure,” he shrugged, and they walked past the guards, leaving the aides behind. He couldn’t stop secretly observing Prowl’s behavior. Everything about him was cold again, save for the very tiny twitches in the sensory panels that Jazz had come to expect to only show the most rigid posture.

When they were well inside, away from any observers, Jazz turned to Prowl. “Well, it really is just us. Not sure why you didn’t want to meet in the library, but here’s fine. So, what’s up?”

“The library is ultimately not as private as this location, and I… I needed the guaranteed privacy.”

Jazz nodded and waited. He could see the mask starting to slip as the kliks ticked by, but he wasn’t going to steer this conversation.

“I suppose I should apologize for our last exchange.”

“That’s up to you, but I’m thinking that’s not why you wanted me here.”

“Technically not, but all the same our last exchange has repeatedly bothered me since it happened. Perhaps since you can provoke a reaction from me, and that you did it while making claims of support, is why I needed… why I thought you might be someone… I can talk to…” Prowl’s voice quieted as he spoke, to the point of being near-silent if not for Jazz’s sensitive audials.

Jazz nodded encouragingly. “No ‘claims’ about that but factual statement. I want to support you. What’s happening?”

“I’ve been working on a mission plan that impacts all the bases in this region,” Prowl began, his voice returning to a somewhat more normal volume. “All the generals and their head tacticians finally agreed it was a plan they’d be willing to carry out. The catch was that it must be approved by the Prime himself, given that it impacts 13% of the total army in some form or another. All the generals promised Prime would approve it, thus I was so sure that there was nothing to worry about.”

Prowl’s posture started to show small signs of distress. His optics were moving back and forth, as if reading something terrible. There was a light shake in his hands. His vent fans were slowly getting off rhythm. “A joor ago it came back from the Prime as rejected, citing too much potential for loss of life. He wants all risk to individual soldiers and agents to be reduced by 50% of what we had already estimated.”

“How bad could it have been if everyone agreed to it?” Jazz couldn’t stop himself from asking.

“It wasn’t bad at all. It sounds so dramatic with an order to reduce risk by 50%, but the risks weren’t that large to begin with. I could run the numbers by you, but I think as someone who’d be impacted, anything I say would sound cold.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Jazz wanted to touch Prowl but could tell he wasn’t mentally prepared for that. “It’s not really important since I’m betting it’s the Prime’s rejection that has you upset. Right?”

Prowl numbly nodded and his vent fans fell a little more out of rhythm. “Normally when I receive unfortunate news I would go back to my quarters and work alone, but our General thought doing so would look like I was retreating from embarrassment. He forbade me from going to my quarters for the remainder of the orn. That means my usual routines to decompress aren’t available to me. I didn’t know what to do, but I thought… I thought that since you had previously helped me decompress, that you might be willing to extend that once more to me. If you’ve forgiven me,” he added.

“I’m not mad at you, I just wanted to let things progress at your own pace,” Jazz stated, not too far from the truth. “It’s not fair of our General keeping you from your usual routine all because he’s got a thing for appearances. Screw him.”

Prowl blinked and looked at Jazz with astonishment. “Pardon me?”

“You heard me; screw him. Screw the General for making you suffer – especially so needlessly.” Jazz hoped this would give Prowl a sense of validation.

“But he’s not wrong about the importance of appearances,” Prowl weakly tried to defend.

Jazz wanted to nip that behavior quickly. “Don’t defend him. You have every right to feel hurt when everyone set you up for a painful outcome, and he’s making things worse. Tell him to take a hike the next time he tries to do that to you, or something. I’m not sure how to tell a general to get lost for bad behavior without ending up in the brig or worse, but you know him better than I do. Let’s not focus on him, he isn’t worth it. Tell me what you need for support.”

Prowl stared and then for a moment Jazz saw his old friend again as Prowl’s lip quivered and he suddenly looked so uncertain, so vulnerable. “I think, if you are willing, would you do what you’ve done before when things were upsetting to me?”

It took Jazz a moment to figure out what Prowl was really asking. “You want a hug? I can give you a hug.” He stepped closer and gathered Prowl in his arms. Prowl slowly leaned into it as if it didn’t feel real to him, or that Jazz might disappear if he got too close.

Jazz let one hand move to the back of Prowl’s helm and he gently guided Prowl to lean into his shoulder. “Just rest against me. I can sense how tense you are. Let me hold your weight for a breem.”

While Jazz was prepared to catch Prowl if the stressed mech let himself sag like dead weight, Prowl only allowed himself to curl into Jazz. Jazz petted Prowl’s helm and whispered tender words. As he was doing it, Jazz hoped that going forward Prowl would seek him out more so that he wasn’t so lonely. This was so much worse than when Jazz first learned about Prowl upon his return, and it broke his spark to think his friend had fallen so far in his climb to the top.

Chapter Text

Not much happened for the remainder of the deca-orn, aside from a short conversation over comms with Jazz asking Prowl to let him know if he was okay. The response was lukewarm at best, but it improved from where they were before the meeting in the courtyard.

“Jazz!” A long-familiar voice called out to him across the workstations within the Spec Ops department.

Jazz’s helm snapped up and he turned to look at the figure approaching. “Mirage? Mirage! You’re back! Back and alive!” he said that last part as he bolted to his friend. His enthusiastic hug given to his fellow spy earned him a soft chuckle.

“It’s good to see you too,” Mirage said, his voice warm and calm.

“It’s been way too long! Last I heard your mission went really, really sideways at the last breem.”

“It did, but I’m here now and everything is back on track. From some of the others I gather my return also brings other plans back on track. Something about a party?”

“Yes!” Jazz pulled Mirage to a set of chairs. “They wanted to throw us a ‘welcome back’ party after we’ve been gone so long and were scheduled to return almost at the same time. When everything changed for you, I persuaded the new Party Powers That Be to wait until your return. How about it, shall we remind this base that agents know how to party?”

“I don’t know what kind of party the ‘new Party Powers That Be’ have in mind, but I’ll willing to be let them try.”

“It won’t be a rager or anything, which I know isn’t your cup of energon anyway, but I don’t really know the new mechs. One is named Sideswipe, and he’s got a twin, but we haven’t run across each other since we were introduced last deca-orn. He wasn’t the one I had to persuade to wait for you, but I’m told he’s the newest energy behind the desire to make plans. Supposedly Sideswipe got transferred here because he’s troublemaker, and Prowl’s method of tough love made upper ranks think Prowl could chill him out. I’m waiting to see how that plays out.”

“Prowl’s method of tough love?” Mirage curiously repeated. “Since when has Prowl been anything but a junior tactician in certain army movements?”

“Oh, right.” Jazz sobered up from his excitement. He glanced about and saw they weren’t within audial shot of anyone else. “Apparently while we were away, Backflash was killed and Prowl, who was his mentee at the time, got promoted to his place. So now Prowl is Head Tact, and somehow the head of regulations enforcement.”

“Come again?” Mirage raised an optic ridge. “That doesn’t sound right. I can barely believe that someone who was a junior when I left is now the Head Tactician, and Prowl was known for being a bit stiff with regulations and avoiding fun, but regulations enforcement is another matter.”

“I know, I’m still struggling to understand it all and I’ve been here long enough that I really should get it. Prowl is different than when I left, to put it mildly. We’re having a tough time,” Jazz admitted.

“Is there any help I may offer?”

He pondered that one. “Help me convince Sideswipe and the rest to let Prowl be at the party. I’ll convince Prowl to make an appearance.”

“You want the regulations enforcer to come to a party?” Mirage carefully questioned.

“Sure, why not? It’ll be a sanctioned party with nothing illicit, I expect. Come on,” he pleaded when Mirage’s expression didn’t change. “I just want my friend back.”

“While I don’t know much on the details of how he changed, I will remind you that your friend never partied to begin with.”

“Yeah, well I’m hoping that overcompensating for how cold he is now with some fun might push back to center again.”

Mirage bit his lip before thoughtfully nodding. “I will help you, for both your sakes. That said, I am curious what you mean by calling him cold.”

Jazz gave Mirage a rundown of what had happened since Jazz’s return, focusing more on the more public matters. He made sure to point out the part of their CO verbally attacking Prowl on the battlefield. By the end of it, Mirage wrapped his hands around Jazz’s hand.

“I’m so sorry to hear all of this, but I am happy to hear that you’ve been maintaining balance within yourself. I was worried I would come back and find you driven to the brink of exhaustion trying to find your next mission.”

“I’ve made huge strides in the self-care department, thanks to Prowl – and even you with what you’ve tried sneaking past me,” he teased. He left out Rung’s name, at least for the time being. He trusted that Mirage wouldn’t share that information, but there was no need to say more.

“I suspected I was caught,” Mirage drawled. “Now that we’re on the same page for those matters, I’m happy to use my skills in secretly supporting you to get Prowl back to his old self.”

::Hey, Prowl!::

::Yes, Jazz?:: Came the usual monotone reply, a few breems after Jazz sent the initial message.

::Mirage is back.:: He didn’t bother hiding the excitement in his voice.

::I’m aware. I’m sure having your friend back will work to both your benefits.::

::Yeah, and yours too. Guess what’s been already sanctioned by your fellow officers?::

::I’m aware of the party, too. I’m one of the authorities who has to approve it.:: Prowl reminded him.

::Of course you are, but I bet you aren’t aware that I want you to attend.:: Jazz knew there were smarter ways to go about this, but he chose genuine excitement over strategic manipulation.

::I – I’m sorry? You want me to attend a party?::

::Yes.::

::Jazz, I have never attended a party since joining the Autobots, save one minor attempt. As both a high ranking officer and the primary regulations enforcer, I can’t do that.::

::Hey now, what was that way back when, you said something about higher ups avoiding us lower ranks looks like classism? Think of it as a chance to bridge that gap.::

::… And the regulations enforcer part?::

::Come on, it’s a sanctioned party. What part of that means regulations won’t be followed? Dancing, drinking good mid-grade energon, and chatting are all allowed.::

::I’ll think about it.::

::I know that means no. Don’t disconnect! Please seriously think about it,:: Jazz pleaded. ::My only goal is to see my friend be himself again.::

::We’ve established that I was never a partier.::

::I don’t mean that,:: Jazz clarified. ::I meant I want to see you smile.::

The silence was almost deafening. Anxiously Jazz waited for a reply.

::Send me what information I need to know and I’ll consider your request when I know my workload before the party.::

::I can accept that!:: Jazz sent him what information he already had, with “TBD” for what he’d get later. Now, all he had to do was convince Prowl not to come up with excuses. Well, that and convince a few others that his plan was good.

“Sides, it’ll only be like a half joor of Prowl being there, max.”

“I thought you were cool, mech,” Sideswipe complained from his half of the table in the Rec Room. Mirage and Jazz were on the other side. “But then you want me to bring down this party so the fuddy duddy can be convinced to attend?”

Jazz opened his mouth to object, but Mirage placed his hand on Jazz’s forearm to stop him. Mirage spoke, “It’s a complicated matter that’s from before your time here.”

“I’m here because he was a fuddy duddy to begin with.”

“No,” Jazz replied, “we’re talking about before he became the regulations enforcer.”

“Legend tells us he was always like that,” Sideswipe countered with a laugh. “Oh, hey, here comes Sunny.” He waved his twin over.

The yellow one sat down and grunted as Sideswipe passed him his energon ration. “What’s happening now?” he asked.

Sideswipe nodded to Jazz and Mirage. “Jazz wants to have Aft of Praxus attend our party sometime early on, and then we can let loose after he leaves. Mirage is backing him up.”

Sunstreaker gave them an incredulous look. “Why would you ever want that walking ice locker to come around anything fun? It’s going to kill all joy for everyone.”

“I know you have nothing to go on this, considering when and why you came here, but I swear he’s my friend,” Jazz replied.

Mirage added, “He was a good acquaintance of mine when I left. I’d like to see for myself who he is now, and if friendship can be fostered.”

“Nu-uh. Friendship can’t be fostered now,” Sideswipe declared as he wagged a finger. “Jazz, I don’t know your story, but you’re lucky I’m dying for juicy gossip in this stale place. Fine, tell him he can come if he only comes early and doesn’t stay late. And by ‘late’ I mean longer than a half joor. You owe me stories for this, though.”

“And stories you will have,” Jazz agreed. He had no intention of giving Sideswipe the private ones between Prowl and him, but there were some other options.

When Jazz arrived at the large room, he could feel the unsettled energy in the room. Beforehand he chose to arrive fashionably late. It wasn’t just because he was one of the two focuses of the party, but also because he practically strongarmed Prowl into agreeing to arrive ten breems after Jazz arrived, and then stay long enough for one song. Was the weird energy because of Prowl’s anticipated arrival, or something else?

He first found Mirage. “Been here long?” he asked as he came up behind Mirage.

The Towers mech turned to him. “Long enough to gather that others are feeling the weight of our plans,” he said in a low voice.

Jazz frowned. “They’re upset about Prowl?”

“Upset is a strong word, and I’d venture to say yes, they are upset. Some may be just unhappy, but others more so.”

“Then we better kick off this party hard and fast, so everyone gets over it,” Jazz replied as he rubbed his hands together. He yelled at Sideswipe, “Where’s the real music?”

“Waiting for your ‘friend’ to come and go,” he answered from halfway across the room.

“That’s not the way to run a party. Pump it up, my good mech.”

Sideswipe shrugged and changed the music from a lowkey tune to something with far more exciting energy. After a song the other Autobots in attendance were shaking off their reluctance to enjoy the party before Prowl’s anticipated arrival.

It was almost a joor after Prowl’s planned appearance when Jazz found his mood a little sour over being stood up. He’d have to deal with it later, he begrudgingly accepted, and in his sour mood he pretended not to notice the signs of mechs consuming high-grade. He hadn’t seen the actual stuff, and he didn’t care to make a fuss over it. After all, he wasn’t the regulations enforcer.

Knowing that everyone else was in full swing of enjoying a party with good music, dancing, and secret high-grade loosening their reservations and inhibitions, Jazz almost jumped out of his plating when he saw Prowl lingering at the room’s entrance.

As the Praxian started turning to leave, Jazz leaped forward and stopped right in front of him. He contemplated grabbing Prowl and pulling him inside, but instead opted for hovering his hand behind Prowl’s lower back as he gestured inside. “Come in, Prowl. You promised to stay for a song. I’d love for you to have three or four breems to relax if that’s all you get this orn.”

“Yes, I did make that promise,” Prowl murmured with his usual voice, but Jazz detected a hint of unease. He followed Jazz’s guidance inside, although they didn’t travel too far inside the room, Jazz hoping to have some control over who witnessed what.

The party was so busy being in the throws of a good time that no one seemed to notice Prowl. Jazz wasn’t sure if that could be blamed on the high-grade. He hoped no one would be obviously inebriated in front of Prowl or bring out a drink. He really didn’t want to have to deal with that debacle.

He hailed Mirage and the other spy materialized as if he was always right beside Jazz. “Good to see you, Prowl,” Mirage greeted the tactician.

“And you, Mirage,” Prowl nodded. “I’m pleased that your mission was a success, and you are able to continue on.”

“Thank you, but let’s not talk about work. I’m curious how you’ve been since we’ve last discussed other matters.”

“I am as to expected of anyone promoted to a high rank within a base after their mentor suddenly passes in battle,” Prowl blandly replied. “That last part happened long ago enough that it’s not difficult to discuss.”

Jazz saw the quick glance his way from Mirage. The Towers mech tried redirecting the conversation. “What does a high rank do for fun?”

“I’ve occasionally read a short story about different subjects, but there’s hardly any ‘fun’ in increased responsibilities. It’s not a loss,” Prowl explained.

“I see,” Mirage slowly replied, and Jazz could tell that Mirage was uncertain how to proceed. As a Towers mech, he probably knew plenty of ways to encourage conversation from a reluctant participant, but whatever topics he might have mustered were cut off.

“Whoo, party!” someone yelled and fell backwards, landing on Jazz.

“Ack!” Jazz yelped as he pushed the mech off of him, only to be sloshed upon by the bright and obvious high-grade the drunk mech had been drinking.

Jazz froze when he realized the worst had happened and felt an oncoming panic as he looked to Prowl. He expected anger, or at least a glint of displeasure in his optics while he kept that ever-present neutral expression in place. Instead, there was panic in his optics, and his glossa quickly licked his lips as if subconscious. Then Prowl’s helm snapped back as if he had a rude realization.

“I must go,” Prowl excused himself, followed by an immediate departure.

“Huh?” was Mirage’s confused response, and Jazz was sure Mirage had seen the high-grade, too.

Jazz tried to follow Prowl as he fled, but mechs grabbed at Jazz, calling for him to stick around and let go. He lost sight of Prowl, and he knew he couldn’t follow him.

Jazz let the hands around him push him back into the midst of the party, where he was rejoined by Mirage. The noble mech looked at Jazz with a helm tilt. “Since when does a regulations enforcer leave when he sees a violation? Especially like that? He practically fled.”

“I don’t know. Maybe he had thoughts about ruining a party in honor of you and me? I can only hope. There’s something going on with him,” Jazz skeptically wondered.

Mirage nodded. “Do you intend to find out what he’s hiding?”

Jazz thought about that. Prowl was definitely hiding something; it wasn’t just a personality change. “I do.”

“Let me know how I can assist.”

Chapter Text

Jazz started digging harder into Prowl’s history during Jazz’s time away, while Mirage did his own checking. After a couple of orns they came together in Jazz’s empty quarters to figure out what they’d found.

“I have no explanation on why he fled the party,” Mirage began as they stood by Jazz’s berth.

“Me neither,” Jazz agreed. “Everything I heard was that Prowl was a hardcore enforcer of everything – especially not having contraband like high-grade.”

“Yes, they say he was a pit hound at finding it here and at other bases, and promptly disposing of it. I even heard that he regularly goes to the disposal site to make sure nothing falls behind.”

“I heard that too.” Jazz hummed. “I would straight up ask him, but he’s been pretty avoidant of me since I’ve returned, with only random moments of connection or something.”

“What do you mean?”

Jazz had recapped what had happened on the base when Mirage arrived, but not everything. Not his suspicions, and now was as good as a time to confess and trust his friend. “It started with me pestering him until he finally talked to me, but that talk lasted like a breem. I don’t know about your report out to the masses, but he was off putting during mine. That’s why I pestered him. When he talked to me, it was short and a bit weird when I mentioned my time as a bartender in Kaon.

“After that it felt like he was ignoring me again, except then he called me out of the blue to meet up. Apparently, a base suffered pretty bad, and I figured Prowl was hurting over his attempt to help failing, but then he took off before I could confirm. The really bizarre part was I ran into him later – okay, I arranged running into him later when he blew me off again – and he forgot our last meet up.”

“Really?” Mirage looked both intrigued and troubled.

“Yeah. Then there was that time when Hookwise came for him, like I told you when you got back. I told you that Prowl wasn’t bothered by Hookwise being an aft towards him, but I didn’t tell you he suddenly became angry when I tried talking with him. And now the strangeness at the party? I don’t get it, but I’m really worried.”

“I would be too if I was in your position. Even I’m concerned, and I do stress that he and I were only good acquaintances when I left. It seems we are less than that now. Will you confront him on these observations?”

“And risk him running off and blocking me entirely?” Jazz shook his helm. “Not yet, I need a better way in first.”

“I have an idea about that,” Mirage suggested. “During my investigation no one could tell me the last time they saw Prowl transform.”

“You mean Prowl hasn’t gone driving? Not even a leisurely drive around the base perimeter, let alone faster?”

“Nothing,” Mirage confirmed. “If you are careful, you might convince him to prevent T-cog lockup and go on a pleasant drive with you.”

::Hey, Prowl. How you doing?:: Jazz sent to Prowl, hoping to carefully work his plan into play.

It took nearly a joor for a reply. ::I’ve just left a meeting. Is something the matter?::

::I need to go for a drive, and I bet you could too. I know meetings make me tense and need to let it roll off me. I’m sure that would help you out as well. Especially since I don’t think I’ve seen you take a real break since I’ve been here.::

::While your concern is noted, I must decline. I have work to do.::

::I bet you’d do that work faster if you let your mind reset,:: Jazz suggested. He was prepared to argue about T-cog health, if necessary.

There were a couple of kliks of dead silence. Prowl finally admitted what Jazz already knew. ::I have not driven in some time. Now that the opportunity is present, and that meeting was less than pleasant, I suppose I could join you on a short easy drive. A race would probably be more than I need.::

::No worries. Meet you at the base’s entrance so we can take a drive around the perimeter?:: Jazz was happy his plan was working.

::It will take me ten breems, but I will meet you there.::

It actually took Prowl almost twenty breems, and Jazz was mildly annoyed and bored by the delay. Rather than stay annoyed, he went through his suspicions and remembered why he was really doing this.

“Apologies, Jazz,” Prowl began when he approached. “I was more tied up than I realized.”

“It’s all cool. Let’s go?”

Prowl nodded and they transformed. Jazz led the way to drive around the base clockwise, but once they started driving Prowl pulled up to match Jazz. Or, at least, he tried. After only five breems of driving, he started falling behind. Jazz automatically slowed down, but his concern grew as Prowl’s engine became louder despite his pace slowing. After ten breems of driving, Prowl came to a dead stop. He transformed and Jazz followed suit.

Prowl was bent over, his vents working in short bursts instead of the usual smooth operations, and his hands were shaking. Jazz moved to Prowl’s side and tried to help him up, only to feel how Prowl was burning up. “Primus, Prowl, are you okay?! What’s going on?”

Prowl coughed. “Please, I need a breem. I’m so nauseous. That drive… I didn’t think it would do that…”

Jazz couldn’t stay quiet. “You’re burning up, nauseous, shaking, your engine is going into overdrive from the sounds of it, even though you couldn’t keep pace like you used to. This has to stop, whatever is happening to you has to stop,” he pleaded.

“It’s nothing,” Prowl tried.

“No, it’s not nothing! You’ve had memory blackouts, mood swings out of nowhere, been weird when I talk about my time in Kaon, and random moments of desperate need for comfort that you struggle to express. Save that one time in the officers’ courtyard, in those moments you always ended up pulling away at the last klik. Like you’re afraid of getting close. Then at the party you panicked at the sight of high-grade and took off. Not to mention the weird glossa-lip lick you did, like something was desirable when you should’ve been repulsed. Now this?” Jazz repeated the list of symptoms he was witnessing, and as he finished it clicked where he’d seen this before.

“Primus,” he in-vented. “Prowl, are you a chargeholic?”

Prowl bolted straight up, only to waver and put his hand to his helm. He jerked away from Jazz. “How can you accuse me of that?”

“I was in Kaon for over a vorn. I worked at the refineries and as a bartender. I saw mechs have these symptoms at the bar and when they showed up at the refineries after heavy drinking. Primus, it makes so much sense.” Jazz didn’t know what to do. In Kaon it was an accepted reality that many workers were like that, and that it was a normal coping mechanism. “What happened to you?”

“Nothing has happened to me, you’re letting your imagination run wild,” Prowl deflected. “I need to return to my office. Do not talk about this to anyone. That is an order.”

“You’re seriously going to gag order me? Prowl, you don’t need to throw a gag order at me to keep me from spilling this, but please talk to me,” Jazz pleaded. “You aren’t well, and I’d wager you’re a serious chargeholic, given what’s happened. You need help – let me help you. I can get you in touch with Rung and –”

“Stop,” Prowl ordered. “Leave me be and keep these wild speculations to yourself. I don’t need help.”

Now Jazz felt anger creeping into his concern. Prowl’s denial could literally be the death of him, if Jazz was right about Prowl having prolonged, heaving drinking. “I won’t stop. You can’t make me stop worrying for you and wanting to help.”

Prowl pulled away further, and tried walking away, but his physical symptoms hadn’t completely evaporated. His legs were weak, so his movements were uneven and slow. His hands still shook. “I can’t be having this conversation,” he protested.

Jazz promptly followed him. “What conversation can you have? Because this one is extremely important, Prowl. You… you’re a charghlic. You need to admit it and you need to accept help. I swear, Rung is good at what he does, and I’ll support you the whole way.”

This time Prowl physically pushed Jazz away. “I can’t,” he repeated. “I need to go.” He fled faster than Jazz would’ve thought, as if panic outweighed his physical exhaustion. This time Jazz let him go, running his hands over his helm and he deeply in-vented, trying to understand how this could have happened. What would he do now?

Chapter Text

The next orn Shark hailed Jazz. ::You’ll never guess what.::

::Try me,:: Jazz replied, with more mirth than he felt. He slept horribly that night, but he could fake being in good humor. He leaned back in the Spec Ops’ desk chair and focused all his energy on maintaining a friendly reception of Shark’s message.

::Prowl’s in trouble with our General.::

::Wait, what?:: Jazz swallowed his panic. He needed more information.

::Prowl came back yesterday from a drive all worked up and in a pissy mood before going to his quarters, and I guess in his pissiness he forgot to do some data work. Now the General is real displeased that Prowl failed his duties for the first time, and someone leaked it was because Prowl was being too emotional to focus on work.::

Was now a good time to panic? Not on the comms with Shark, but just in a general sense. He rubbed his face, envisioning a hungover Prowl, who probably drank last night in excess to calm down, trying to maintain his decorum around others while badly wanting to drink again to drown out whatever was being said to him. ::How’s he taking the chewing?::

::He’s locked himself in his office since he got back from the aft handing. Even we’re not allowed in there. Don’t know what he’s doing, but I’d wager he’s trying to get back to center. Be the cold one he’s known for, rather than whatever the pit happened yesterday.::

::Right… thanks for the info.:: Jazz wondered if Shark’s intermittent gossiping was a sign of budding infatuation of Jazz, given the charming efforts Jazz had initially shown him. For now, he wasn’t going to worry about it.

This was potentially dangerous territory. The Head of Tactical spiraling with no safety net? He needed to contact Rung immediately instead of waiting on Prowl. Jazz composed a careful, vague, yet urgent message and sent it to the therapist. It was possible Rung might think the problem stemmed with Jazz, but he was okay with that since Prowl’s cover needed to be maintained.

Slightly over a joor later he received a message. It read, ::Hello, Jazz. I’m happy you’ve returned. You mentioned an urgent matter requiring assistance as soon as possible. Is this something that can wait until next deca-orn? I will be on your base tomorrow, but all my appointments are filled. I can schedule you in for my lunch break, if you are unable to wait.::

Jazz crafted back, ::Sorry to interfere with lunch, but it absolutely cannot wait.::

A little while later Jazz received a schedule notification for midorn tomorrow. Jazz pinged back that he had accepted it. Now he just had to hold out for one more orn, but after Shark’s comments, he knew that wouldn’t be easy.

Should he comm Prowl? Probably not, he realized. It was likely he was on very unsteady and risky ground that could give way any breem. If Prowl perceived him as a threat in any way, Prowl would probably panic and do something stupid. Really, he felt like he had no option.

“Good afternoon, Jazz,” he heard Mirage greeted him but flinched before realizing who said it. He looked over to Mirage, who was giving him the side optic. “Something I said bother you?”

“Course not. Why would it?”

“Depends on why you would flinch at ‘good afternoon.’ How did your drive with Prowl go?”

Oh right, Mirage knew about that solidified plan. “Let’s just say the flinch and the drive are one in the same.”

“I see,” Mirage said and watched Jazz. After a couple of kliks, Jazz involuntarily squirmed and then cursed himself. He could hold still with the biggest of enemies threatening him for intel, but under the skeptic optic of Mirage? Evidently not.

Mirage glanced at the conference room where Jazz and Prowl had once shared a meal. “Do you need to talk? I see the schedule shows that room is open, and no one is expecting you or I to be anywhere anytime soon.”

He promised Prowl he wouldn’t talk, but he had meant he wouldn’t gossip. Was confiding in Mirage the same as talking? Probably, but Jazz had learned to trust – ironically because of Prowl – and he needed someone to bounce off how to make it another orn with this weighing on him. “Yeah, I have something.”

Mirage lead the way into the room, and they sat down once Jazz locked the door. “You look tense,” Mirage noted.

“Yeah, I feel like crap too. That drive… I can’t even figure out where to begin. What to share, what to keep private for Prowl’s sake…” Jazz dropped his helm in his hands.

Mirage’s hands were on his shoulders. “You know I’ve kept crucial secrets for you and others before, including things that would earn me numerous favors if I shared. Even things others suspected, they couldn’t tempt me into actually sharing. I know you know this, and I know you trust me with your life with jobs we’ve done together in the past. Whatever is making you feel horrible is something you can get off your chassis and I’ll protect it and you from gossip or harm.”

“Thanks, you’re a good mech.” Jazz took a deep in-vent and leaned back up to look Mirage in the optics. “The drive was a disaster. Prowl started falling behind because he was having all these nasty physical symptoms of being too ill to drive. Remember all those things I told you about how strange he was being, plus the stuff we saw? Well, I confronted him on it, and something about saying it while seeing him in such distress made it click. I’ve seen it before, and especially during my time in Kaon. Mirage… Prowl’s blackout, his mood swings, his elusive behavior combined with distress over physical exertion as simple as a drive… he’s a chargeholic.” Jazz didn’t want to say it, but he forced it out. Saying it made him feel relieved and horrible at the same time.

Mirage shifted his posture. “I see. From the sounds of what happened on your drive, I’d wager he’s been doing it for a while. How are you doing?”

“Me? I’m not the one in trouble.”

“But you are the one I can help right now,” Mirage pointed out.

“I don’t know if you can help, other than just letting me vent. I got a hold of a therapist named Rung – the one who helped me when you were also helping me stop being so self-destructive over work – and he’s agreed to see me tomorrow. I plan to ask for his help because I have absolutely no idea how to handle this, let alone for someone like Prowl. If there’s any support you can offer me, just help me make until that appointment.”

“Of course. You’ve done all you can do for right now, but anything I can offer, you need only to ask.”

“Thanks, Mirage. Don’t let me call Prowl before talking to Rung. I want to do it, and pretty badly, but I know if I do, something bad would likely come my way.”

Jazz was jittery waiting for Rung. He managed to remain quietly in place so Rung could wrap up his notes from the patient before his lunch, or so Jazz assumed.

::Jazz, if you are here, you are welcome to come in. Just knock.::

He did as instructed and Rung let him inside. Jazz immediately sat down on the couch and this time when he learned forward with elbows on his knees it was not to push Rung away, but because he was too worried to relax and lean back.

Rung gave him a reassuring smile. “Welcome back, Jazz. Before we begin, I hope you won’t mind me sipping my rations while we work through what is troubling you.”

“Not at all.”

“Thank you,” Rung said and he sipped from the cube at his side. “If you could please enlighten me as to what’s been troubling you? I read your files after we messaged and I’m little confused why you are troubled now when you’ve been back for a while now.”

Jazz anxiously rubbed his hands together. “I learned something two orns ago, and it’s very sensitive about another’s wellbeing.”

“Is that person in immediate harm, or is anyone in immediate harm from them?”

“No, I don’t think so. I think he’s at a critical point where anything could go wrong, and I don’t know what to do to save him from that. Nothing that would result in harm, just wrong.”

“Let’s back up, then. Who is it and what has happened? You do not have to use his real name if you don’t want to.”

“I’m afraid I do, since part of the sensitivity of this is his rank and role. You’re going to guess who it is anyway, even if I tried hiding it.” Jazz really wanted to take Rung up on his offer and craft Prowl a cover story, but the reality was exactly as Jazz stated.

“Then who?” Rung asked.

“It’s Prowl.”

“This base’s Head Tactician, who – if memory serves me correctly – is the one who arranged your last appointment with me?”

“Yeah, that one. You can see why this is sensitive.”

“I can. I promise you that so long as no one is in immediate danger, him or others, then therapist-patient confidentiality can be trusted.”

Jazz dryly chuckled. “If it weren’t for our first appointment and I’ll the work I’ve done since then, I wouldn’t believe you. But you didn’t rat me out to my superiors, so that earns you extra trust points.”

“I’m happy to hear that. What has happened in regards to Prowl?”

Jazz began over again, repeating the things he told Mirage. He first told Rung about all the details he’d noticed, and then he told Rung about the drive. Finally, he ex-vented. “Prowl’s a chargeholic.”

“I see,” Rung murmured as he sipped his energon. “I suspected as such with the information you were providing me before you actually said it. His symptoms are not uncommon for someone with high-grade use disorder..”

“Yeah? What do we do about it? Prowl could lose everything if he’s found out, because he slips up or we spill the bolts.”

“He’ll need professional help. Normally that means rehab, but we are at war and he’s highly valued, so rehab would not likely be approved by the General or regional leadership. I could see the Prime approving Prowl getting the help he needs, but hopefully we don’t need to go that far.”

“Okay, so then…?”

“Let’s come up with a few ideas how we can talk to him. If we can get him to agree to therapy and the medical option I use in times like these, then as someone at his rank, schedules can be arranged so he has access to therapy for any regular or urgent session.”

“Won’t that set off suspicion from others?”

“Not if others think that he’s seeing me with the intent of me being an advisor to tactical planning or regulations enforcement,” Rung told him. “No one likes questioning me or why others come to me – nor should they do it anyway. Many often find me forgettable nonetheless, and in times like these, that can be handy.”

“Alright, so we’ve got Prowl’s cover story. What do I say to actually get him to agree to see you? He’s in denial.”

“Those with a high-grade use disorder usually are. There will need to be a sort of intervention. I would recommend including his friends, but I understand that you are his only one.”

“Yeah. Mirage is in a weird place with Prowl,” Jazz acknowledged. “You think I should stage an intervention of one?”

“I don’t want this to rest solely on you, so I would like to offer my help. I am classified as a medical professional, and as such, not even the General can question me if I’m called for help.”

“Really?” Jazz’s posture eased up a little with Rung’s offer. “That would make this so much more obtainable, for me at least. Honestly, I don’t think I can do it alone – but wait, won’t that blow Prowl’s cover if you invoke a sort of ‘no comment’ response when questioned?”

“Not at all,” Rung replied. “I have a proven method whenever someone tries to force me into revealing details from sessions, or anything related to a session. Please don’t worry about that.”

“Okay, I’ve got enough worries.”

“Understandable. Let’s discuss what will happen and what may happen. Are you familiar with interventions?”

“Probably not enough,” Jazz admitted. “Most mechs I know just accept they are chargeholic, and others stop bothering with them. Then they drink themselves to death in their loneliness.” Jazz shivered at that prospect.

“Let’s not focus on that fear, but rather what we can do to guide a positive outcome to the best of our ability. Let’s first discuss what is an intervention, as well as neutral terms to use during one.”

Chapter Text

Four orns ago Jazz had confronted him, calling him a charge chaser. Up until that point he had never heard something like that applied to him and it upset him. He was also hurt at the accusation, and even a little scared. Most of all, however, he was ashamed – just as he had been since learning of Jazz’s arrival. He’d been fighting the swirl of emotions after receiving that notification ever since then, along with the unexpected distress of not knowing what to do.

Try as he might, though, he couldn’t not drink on the orn Jazz said that. Even then, when he started, he told himself it’d be just enough to take the edge off Jazz’s words. Then he had a sip, and another, and then another, until he was more inebriated than something meant to take the edge off. He honestly tried to stop halfway through and had even walked away from the bottle in his sizable private quarters. The pull of the bottle had him, and he resumed before he could put up a serious fight. It was both a frightful moment and a calming one. He wasn’t sure what he’d think in the aftermath, whether it would remain frightful or if he’d shrug it off.

Unfortunately, morning duties came too soon, and Prowl was feeling physically worse for wear, mentally and physically. Considering how that drive had just about ruined him, it was quite a feat to make Prowl feel worse. It turned even harder when he was called to his superior’s office, to be told what a disappointment he was for failing in his responsibilities yesterorn.

All of this led to Prowl feeling more terrible than ever and very much alone by the fourth orn. He was miserable, afraid of what his subconscious was trying to tell him (that Jazz wasn’t out of line), and all of it made him wish to be consoled by his one friend. Up until four orns ago, high-grade could make him feel better, but it couldn’t console him. Now drinking brought new emotions with it, and none of it happy like before the confrontation. Combining that with Jazz being both the only one he wanted to see and the one he was also most anxious to connect with again, Prowl was not enjoying any moment of these last orns.

Maybe that misery was why he didn’t notice anything was different until he was far enough into his private quarters for the door to shut as he kept his optics on the ground. He barely noticed the aides disappear as he approached his quarters, as usual, but he especially didn’t notice the wooziness of the guards. His tac-net caught something was amiss, but he automatically dismissed its pinging, as he often did outside of Tactical or the battlefield. It had a lot to say about the lack of tactical value in frequently using a substance besides energon to function, and he had long since learned to tune it out in those matters.

“Hey, Prowl.”

Prowl’s optics snapped up to see Jazz near the middle of the room, standing and looking at him with a soft look. By his side, in a chair, was a small orange frame. Prowl vaguely recalled him being the therapist. Rung’s expression was mostly neutral, but his posture was open even as he sat.

“Jazz?” Prowl gasped. “What are you doing here? How are you here?”

“Like any guards can truly stop me,” Jazz faintly teased. “That said, Rung here isn’t as effective in being sneaky as I am, so I made the guards a little sleepy for a breem. Worked out just fine.”

“Oh.” Prowl thought about threatening to call Security on Jazz and Rung, but he knew that would be foolish. After all, questions would fly, like why is a therapist breaking into Prowl’s quarters? He looked down and tried not to look at the desk drawer with the secret compartment he kept all his high-grade. “I don’t suppose I can persuade you both to leave?”

Jazz shook his helm. “Would you be okay sitting down?”

“I’d rather stand.” Prowl forcefully pulled his optics up to face them again. A part of him was pointing out that this was going to hurt. Jazz wasn’t going to be his friend anymore, and Rung was going to have him committed. If the worst was to happen, he’d rather brace for what was about to become of him.

“Okay,” Jazz soothed. “Prowl, we’d like to have a discussion with you. We don’t want this to become emotional because communication would break down. We just want to have a conversation with you, and it’s important for you to know we’re coming from a place of care. I care about you. You have so much worth, Prowl, and I think you’re worth helping.”

Prowl was sure he looked as uncomfortable as he felt. “I hardly think someone you think of as a charge chaser can be of worth.” His words were a little harsh, but they came from a spot in his spark that still stung.

Jazz winced. “I’m sorry I said that. I should’ve have, but I didn’t know how to be smarter about it. You aren’t a charge chaser, but you do have a high-grade use disorder. You are not your struggles, but you aren’t without struggles, either. You aren’t alone.”

Prowl glanced at Rung, who was nodding encouragingly. Prowl settled his optics between the two, not really wanting to make any more optic contact. He shrugged and dismissively said, “It’s not as bad as you think. I doubt ‘disorder’ is the right word.”

Rung gently asked, “If your ankle strut broke, you would go to a medic to get it repaired, correct? The use of ‘disorder’ in this case is more like an ankle strut in need of repairs, but for your processor. It is not a judgment.”

He chose to say nothing, but he felt his tac-net latch onto the idea of disorder merely meaning something akin to broken strut than being a broken mech. Prowl wasn’t so sure he could believe such a simplistic view, that agreeing to it would mean he wasn’t facing the prospect of being broken himself.

“Prowl,” Jazz softly called his attention and Prowl finally looked at him again. Jazz nodded and continued. “I miss my best friend. You have been hiding from me, maybe to hide this disorder, and it hurts me. I really do miss you. You’ve been distant since I arrived, and I wonder if this is why.”

At first Prowl opted to not respond, but when no one said anything, it became clear that the pair was going to wait on Prowl. “It’s been a concern since your return, yes,” he finally acknowledged.

Rung prompted, “Jazz tells me when he left you turned down high-grade as something you didn’t want to try. When did you have you first drink?”

“How do I know that anything I tell you won’t be used against me? This meeting here could be held against me,” Prowl instead deflected.

“You are in control,” Rung promised. “No one will do anything without your consent. I have a proposal for improving your health, but I’d like to start with a conversation. An important part of that conversation is knowing when troubles started to grow for you.”

Did Prowl really trust Rung? A glance at Jazz, who looked as hopefully as a visored mech could, both guilted and encouraged him to try. “About 1.3 vorns ago.”

“What made 1.3 vorns ago different?”

“I was working in my promoted position, and I found the rank and position to be harsher than Blackflash ever made it look.”

Rung nodded. “Jazz tells me he heard some details about the passing of Blackflash, that it was in battle. Your promotion was just as abrupt since you were only a mentee for a few deca-orns before that. I imagine that was hard, to not only lose your mentor, but to be forced to replace him.”

“It… hurt, I suppose,” he hesitantly replied.

“And I doubt you had time to work through that pain,” Rung quietly affirmed. “So, the pain of what caused your promotion and then carrying out the new role caused you to take your first sip?”

Prowl lightly shrugged. “Access to a misbehaving soldier’s high-grade, and some other factors, I suppose you could come to that conclusion.”

“What does drinking high-grade feel like?”

Prowl almost shivered as he thought about it. “Like my problems have floated off, replaced by a warm blanket that wraps me up as if I were wanted.”

Jazz immediately jumped in with an earnest reply, “You are wanted. Is there anything else that might make you feel the same way? Did anything make you used to feel that way?”

Suddenly he felt shy and extra vulnerable as he knew the answer. “I…”

“Please, Prowl, let us help you,” Jazz pleaded.

“… I have not felt wanted for anything beyond my tac-net for a very long time – since sparklinghood. The only time that has been different has been with you, Jazz.”

“Me?” Jazz looked surprised but it quickly morphed into hope. “Prowl, I’m here now, and no one has to send me on any mission any time soon. Please, let me help you. I want my best friend back – I want you back.”

“But I’m so damaged now,” Prowl whispered in ashamed despair.

“No, you’re not,” Jazz reassured. “Don’t feel that way, because you aren’t damaged, nor have you ever been damaged. You have a disorder, and that’s it.”

“Jazz… I have been avoiding you because I worry that perhaps I’m not as okay as I tell myself, and that brings me…”

When Prowl’s words lingered Rung quietly suggested, “Do those thoughts bring you a sense of shame? If so, you should know that is perfectly normal when one has a disorder. You are not the disorder, and therefore you have nothing to be ashamed of. Would you be ashamed of a broken ankle strut, or even needing others to help carry you to the medical specialist?”

“And how do I deal with the shame?” Prowl resisted expressing his discomfort with body language.

“First you must recognize that negative emotions are counterproductive and know they will hinder your recovery.”

“Recovery?”

“Yes,” Rung affirmed. “We’ll discuss that shortly, but I want you to understand that first you must make that recognition, and then you must ask yourself and those close to you for forgiveness. Afterwards work on surrounding yourself with support and redefine who you are, beyond the disorder.”

“I see,” Prowl murmured. Letting go of the shame he’d lived with so long seemed impossible, and he wasn’t sure he could hear more now. “And what do you mean by recovery?”

Rung answered. “It’s a combination of medical and therapeutic rehabilitation for dependency on high-grade. It involves a personal medical detox program, regular communication over secured lines – or in person, as we’re able – and also leaning into your support network. It also requires removing temptation, at least initially. Are you willing to discuss the detox program? Jazz and I have not searched your room, but if you are willing, we’d like to help you remove the high-grade.”

“You haven’t?” Prowl’s expression was noticeably surprised.

“No,” Rung said with a helm shake.

“Like he says,” Jazz confirmed. “I wanted to because I’m an agent, that’s what I do, but Rung reminded me that it’s important to let you make that decision rather than take it from you. I agreed with him that it’s important to support you by giving the decision to you.”

“Thank you,” Prowl murmured, shocked how much of this was truly in his control. There was something sating about it, to have control after feeling like he was on the precipice of spiraling.

“I’m willing to try for at least a few orns. The high-grade is in that drawer, behind a false back,” he pointed to the desk drawer. There was a part of himself horrified that he did that, and so willingly, but he was tired of that part always making the calls. He realized he needed to be strong for himself and at least try to redirect his energy. These last four orns had especially driven it home that he was so far away from happy.

Rung nodded to Jazz and the saboteur fetched it, pulling out three standard-sized bottles (one almost empty), and handing it to the therapist. Prowl wasn’t sure what the plan was for its disposal, but before he could ask, Rung put the bottles in the side of the cushions and spoke. “I know asking the medics on base for help would make you uncomfortable, but I have an off-base doctor who understands disorders and I’ve discussed your case with him. His name is Ratchet and he’s prescribed some medications to help with the withdrawal symptoms for the first orn.”

Rung pulled a small medication bottle out of his subspace. “He of course wants to discuss it with you as soon as possible what your treatment should look like, but he understands the first night is an obstacle where you’ll need local support he can’t provide. He’s agreed to communicate with you over video as soon as you’re able tomorrow, and you can do it here, in the privacy of your quarters. If you have not had high-grade in the last ten joors, you can take this medication.”

“If it requires a ten-joor absence from high-grade to be safely consumed, I’ll need another joor,” Prowl grimaced as he confessed. He hated admitting he’d be drinking on the job. He unsubspaced a small empty bottle and held it out.

“We can work around that. Would you be willing to let Jazz stay here, to help give you the medication and support you? It’s up to you if he stays, but Ratchet, Jazz, and I are hoping he could stay for as long as possible so you aren’t alone – especially if there is a complication.”

The idea of being alone right now terrified him. “That’s acceptable.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Rung smiled. He handed the medication to Jazz and said to him, “Remember the instructions?”

“Yup,” Jazz nodded.

“Good. Prowl, are you okay if I leave now, you here with Jazz? Do you want anything more from me before tomorrow? I will be sending you regular check-in comms throughout the orn, and we’ll set up a schedule for therapy to happen after you’ve talked to Ratchet.”

He swallowed back his growing panic. “I think I can manage.”

Rung gathered the bottles and subspaced them. He walked up to Prowl and gave him an encouraging smile as he took the empty bottle. “I believe in you and be kind to yourself knowing how hard this step is, and it’s okay to struggle. Just know you don’t have to do it alone. You have Jazz, Ratchet, me, and I’m sure anyone else you want will be in your corner. Jazz has already told me he’s willing to do whatever it takes to help you, so when I leave, feel free to ask him whatever you want without feeling like an outsider is around.”

Prowl silently nodded. He and Jazz watched Rung leave, and then Jazz turned his optics to Prowl. He waited for Prowl to speak.

A million words came to mind, ranging from crying to accusations, and even rejection of what had happened, but instead he landed on what he wanted to do since Jazz came back. “Can we hug?” he blurted out. “Hug, and then rest until it’s time for medication and recharge?”

“Absolutely, Prowl,” Jazz agreed. He cautiously approached Prowl and gathered him up much like he’d done twice in the past. “I’m here for you.”