Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jazz knew Prowl’s schedule like the back of his helm’s visor. The workaholic mech was always in his office this late, even when his shift had long been over, as he tried getting more battle simulations and reports finished. Jazz knew that because the two of them worked closely together, despite working under different departments under Optimus Prime.

That’s why Prowl’s personal quarters were the perfect pranking spot. Jazz grinned. He loved pissing Prowl off, mostly because he showed no emotions otherwise.

Jazz hacked into Prowl’s door, and it slid open silently. Jazz made to take a step forward, but he froze at the sight in front of him.

Prowl sat upright on his recharging chamber, his optics staring at a frozen, projected image on his wall. Tears of coolant dripped down Prowl’s face, and his hands sat clenched in his lap.

Panicking, Jazz tried to quickly shut the door, but he was too late. Although Jazz had the best audial sensors thanks to his various mods, among other things, Prowl had door wings attached to his back that were great at sensing sound and air currents. Or, the more likely option, he got notified when his quarters were opened without his authorization.

Prowl twitched, and he whipped his head to look at Jazz.

Jazz leaned on the doorframe. “Oh, hey, Prowler!” He gave a half-wave. “Uh, I see you’re not in your office, slaving away. Good for you!”

Prowl leapt to his feet, and Jazz took off down the hall. There weren’t enough mechs wandering around the Autobot base this late at night to simply disappear among them. So he found a grate in the ventilation above his head, hopped up with his hand magnets turned on, and slipped inside the mech-sized vents.

Jazz stifled his breathing with ease (he wasn’t the Head of Special Operations for nothing) and held still.

Prowl stalked calmly down the hall, his face hastily wiped clean of any coolant. He stopped right below Jazz’s vent, transformed his right arm into a rifle, and pointed it right where Jazz was crouched.

“Come out, now,” Prowl growled. “You’re in violation of Code 17-B: Personal Sanctum Integrity, and I will not hesitate to—”

Jazz jumped out of the vent, using the grate and his weight to slam down on Prowl’s head. Prowl let out a loud grunt as he fell onto his back, and Jazz laughed, pushing off of Prowl to jump into the air and transform into his alt mode: a Martini Porsche 935.

“Sorry, Prowler, but I couldn’t quite catch that!” Jazz called as he sped down the hallway.

He heard tires squealing behind him, and he used his rearview mirror to watch as Prowl, now in his alt mode (a Ford LTD Crown Victoria police car) sped after him.

Jazz laughed as he cut a corner close, Prowl right on his heels. Two mechs out for a stroll dove out of their way, one yelling at them to watch where they’re going. Jazz was surprised Prowl was even giving chase; driving one’s alt mode inside the base was strictly prohibited.

Prowl was slowly gaining on him, despite Jazz’s speed. Jazz wasn’t surprised, considering Prowl’s enforcer background. Soon, he would be captured, and he’d have to face the consequences. Time to switch tactics.

There was a party going on in the base’s mess hall. That’s where Jazz had been most of the night, until he had gotten the bright idea to prank Prowl while he overworked. Well, was supposed to be overworking himself.

He probably shouldn’t have had that last glass of high-grade energon. Maybe he wouldn’t be in this mess.

But Jazz was having too much fun to think about that further. He transformed and jumped into the air, using his magnets to dangle on the vents above him. Prowl slid to a screeching halt and quickly transformed. Jazz dove back into the vents and made his way to the party, Prowl definitely on his heels.

Jazz slipped out of the vents in the mess hall, in a dark corner where no one was looking. The party was still going on strong, so Jazz easily joined a group of talking mechs and pretended like he knew what they were talking about.

The party had been thrown to celebrate their last victory in battle against the Decepticons. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker tried to throw as many parties as possible to hand out their homemade high grade energon.

The cafeteria tables that normally filled the room had been folded up and pushed to the sides of the large room. The mess hall was dim, save for a square light in the middle of the ceiling that spun and shot out bright, colored light every once in a while. A remix of both Cybertronian and human pop music pumped from the room’s speaker system. Jazz grinned. That was his work.

Mechs of all shapes and sizes mingled and chatted. Some danced in the middle of the area, others leaned on their friends, too drunk to notice just how drunk they were.

Thanks to his blue visor, he could keep an optic on things without anyone knowing exactly where he was looking. That’s why he immediately noticed Prowl walk into the room, a grimace on his face. Jazz grinned. He knew Prowl hated parties, large groups or gatherings, and anything similar or in between.

But instead of just giving up and dealing with Jazz tomorrow, when they had their regularly scheduled strategy meeting, Prowl’s grimace shifted to one of neutrality, and he stepped into the room.

A lot of mechs didn’t notice Prowl’s arrival. Some grimaced and pretended they were looking at their glasses of energon, others said a polite hello. Meanwhile, Prowl got slowly closer to Jazz’s little hiding spot.

Prowl wasn’t going to give this up until Jazz was captured, was he? Well, as the Earthlings said, shit.

Jazz hopped from group to group, asking them how they were doing and what crazy things had happened at the party so far. He slowly made his way back to the entrance, circling Prowl at a distance.

Prowl grabbed a glass of plain energon from a buffet table filled with drinks and snacks, downed it, and sped walked to the entrance. Jazz grinned and took off running, sliding under mechs and squeezing past them to make it to the entrance first.

He barely managed to duck Prowl’s grasping servos as he slid through the open doorway of the mess hall. He walked backwards, continuously dodging Prowl’s near reaches and grabs, as he led them away.

“Just. Stand. Down!” Prowl hissed as Jazz swatted another grab. He tried to transform his arm into his rifle again, but Jazz kicked his arm before it could get too far.

Jazz laughed. “Tired, Prowler? You could go back to your quarters, and we could pretend this was all just some bad recharge.” He continued leading them down the halls of the base, until they were in a less trafficked area. He knew of a blind spot in the cameras here, so he came to a halt.

Clenching his jaw, Prowl pounced on Jazz. Jazz just stood there and took it, both of them tumbling onto the floor.

Jazz held up his arms, ready for the punching to start, but Prowl simply grabbed Jazz’s arms and pinned them to the floor, his legs straddling Jazz’s middle.

“Why were you sneaking into my quarters?” Prowl asked. His doorwings flared with irritation, his usual scowl on his face.

“Oh, you know. A little of this, a little of that,” Jazz said with a shrug. Both Prowl and Jazz knew how easily Jazz could escape from Prowl’s grasp. Jazz decided not to mention it.

Prowl’s blue optics darkened. He likely had an idea of why Jazz was sneaking into his room, from past experience. He dipped his helm forward, the two red crests on his helm reflecting some of the hallway’s light. “What do you want?”

Jazz tilted his head. He smirked and rubbed his fingers along Prowl’s thighs, which were squeezing his midsection. “Well, now that you ask, I could—”

Prowl dug Jazz’s arms into the ground hard. “Not what I meant, and you know it.”

Jazz huffed out a laugh and let go of Prowl’s legs. Jazz couldn’t help it; he always was a huge flirt with everyone on base. “Nah. I’m a little too tipsy, Prowler. You gotta spell it out for me.”

Prowl stilled. He looked away from Jazz, his doorwings drooping.

Jazz frowned.

With a grimace, Prowl murmured, “For your silence.”

Jazz’s optics brightened in surprise, not that Prowl could see it from behind his visor. He tapped an unknown rhythm onto the floor with his fingers.

“While I could order you not to tell anyone, you and I both know that won’t be enough.” The two of them were basically of the same rank, anyways. “And I could report your code violation, but you could simply retaliate by…” Prowl’s voice broke off into static.

Finally, what Prowl was getting at clicked in Jazz’s alcohol-muddled mind. He sat up, gently pushing Prowl off of him. Prowl remained seated on the floor, his gaze still on a nearby wall.

“I won’t tell anyone, Prowler,” Jazz said quietly. He tried to shoot Prowl a reassuring grin, but Prowl’s frown just deepened.

“Because your word means so much.” Prowl still wouldn’t look at him.

“Come on! I’m basically the Head of Keeping Things A Secret around here. Nobody will hear about… uh…”

Prowl slowly turned to look at Jazz, his optics dim.

“Okay, fine. How about this? You tell me why you were leaking, and I’ll drop it. Special Ops honor!” Jazz drew an “X” over his chest with his finger, much like the humans liked to do. Then he remembered who he was talking to and realized Prowl probably didn’t know what “cross your heart and hope to die” meant.

“And give you double the ammunition to spread into mechs’ audials? I am not a fool.”

“You asked what I wanted in exchange for silence.”

“I thought you’d request a bottle of high grade or for me to take over one of your patrol shifts. Not more fragging evidence to condemn me.”

Jazz laughed. “And now you’re swearing? You really are tired, Prowler.”

Prowl rubbed his face with his hand. He leaned in close to Jazz and, luckily Jazz had audial mods or he wouldn’t have been able to hear him, whispered, “A… character died in the show I’m watching. It’s a human one, called Avatar: The Last Airbender.” He leaned away and stood up. With one last look at Jazz, Prowl brushed dirt off of himself, turned, and walked back the way they had come.

“Heh, you look like slag,” Mirage said, sitting across from Jazz’s seat. “Party too hard last night?”

Jazz groaned and raised his head from his crossed arms. The two of them were in the cleaned mess hall. The usual murmur of conversations filled the room from other mechs sitting at cafeteria tables; Jazz normally found it comforting, but today, it just grated on his audials.

“You could say that,” Jazz hummed. The truth was… he couldn’t recharge last night after his encounter with Prowl. He kept replaying Prowl’s whispered words, wondering if they were some sort of bluff. But then his processor would remind him of the memory of Prowl crying on his berth, and he itched to know more.

He had even tried finding the show Prowl had mentioned, but the base’s and his own personal library of human culture was extremely limited. He could use the human internet, but the base tried to limit any outgoing signals to avoid getting noticed by Decepticons. They were in the middle of a war, after all, on Earth itself.

Mirage chuckled. He slid one of the two glasses of energon in his grasp over to Jazz, and Jazz caught it smoothly. Jazz drained it in one go.

Bumblebee plopped onto the chair next to Mirage, a bright smile on his face. “What we talkin’ about?”

Mirage shook his head. “Nothing much. Anything interesting on your end?” Mirage slowly sipped on his morning energon.

“Not much. Just the usual.” That meant Bumblebee, Bluestreak, Sunstreaker, and Sideswipe were going to get together and play videogames after their shifts. “What happened to Jazz?”

Jazz waved off Bee’s concerns. “Too much high grade. Just need to sleep it off… after I get through a long day of boring meetings.”

Mirage smiled, stood, and patted Jazz on his back. “I don’t envy you, my friend.” He walked over to the energon dispenser and stacked his glass with the other used glasses. Then he left the room.

A ping went off in Jazz’s processor. He sighed. If he left now, he’d only be a few minutes late to the meeting. With Prowl. And the rest of Optimus’ officers.

Bee waved to Jazz as he left. Jazz waved halfheartedly back at him and tried to massage the headache in his processor away.

Optimus, Ratchet, Red Alert, and Ironhide prattled on about energon levels and missing inventory. But Jazz couldn’t keep his optics from straying to look at Prowl as they all sat around in the conference room.

Prowl steadfastly ignored Jazz’s gaze, which was definitely on purpose. (Prowl’s doorwings twitched too much to indicate otherwise.)

As soon as the meeting was over, Jazz sauntered over to the entryway of the room, saying farewells to everyone as they left. When only Jazz and Prowl were left, Prowl sighed and stood from his seat. He kept his face impassive as he approached Jazz, a datapad in his hands.

Jazz tilted his head and grinned. “So, tell me more about this show you mentioned.”

Prowl’s optics darkened. “No.”

“Aw, come on. It’s like I said: your secret is safe with me. I just didn’t take you to be the type to be interested in Earth culture. Only a few other mechs in the base are even remotely interested in that stuff.”

With a snarl, Prowl leaned forward and hissed, “Our bargain was that I would tell you the truth about what you saw last night. And in return, you’d never bring it up again. To anyone. Ever. So leave me alone.” He shoved past Jazz, and Jazz let him.

Didn’t mean Jazz wasn’t going to follow. He tailed Prowl to his office, keeping a far enough distance that he’d have enough reaction time if Prowl decided to throw that datapad at him.

Prowl tried to squeeze into his office and shut Jazz out, but Jazz stuck a pede in between the door. “Heh. You know I can just hack into here if I wanted to, right?” Jazz said with a snarky grin. He pushed open the door, Prowl moving out of the way. “I just want to talk.”

“And I just want to get my work done, unlike other mechs around here.” Prowl walked behind his desk and gracefully sat down on his chair. He pulled various datapads out from his subspace and started reading through them.

Prowl’s office was as bare as they came. Nothing hung on the walls, and his desk was perfectly clean and tidy. The walls were made of gray metal, just like the rest of the base.

Jazz plopped down into the guest chair sitting across from Prowl. He spun around in it for a moment, before slowly coming back around to face Prowl.

Prowl stared at him, looking like he seriously wanted to strangle something. Probably Jazz.

Jazz leaned forward, putting his elbow joints on the desk. “You know, I could’ve told everyone in the base about your little secret by now.”

Tap. Tap. Tap. Prowl pointedly tapped away on the touch screen on the datapad, likely adding his own notes into the device.

Jazz tapped an alternate rhythm on Prowl’s desk, until Prowl let out a frustrated groan and cried, “What!? What do you want to talk about? Spit it out!” His doorwings were drawn back into a “V” shape.

Jazz grinned. “I want in on your little human show.”

Prowl froze. His doorwings twittered. “What?”

“If an analytical, soulless mech like you deems this human show worthy of your perusal, then it must really be something. I want to watch it with you.”

“You just want to study me for your own entertainment, to satisfy your own curiosity.”

Jazz shrugged. “There’s… a little of that, too, I won’t lie. But the fact that you’ve been keeping this hobby of yours a secret means it must really be valuable. I want to see it for myself.”

“And if I say no?”

“I don’t push anymore. For good, this time.”

Prowl’s optics brightened in surprise. His doorwings slowly lowered, not quite to a relaxed height, but lower than what they were before. He looked at the wall next to him, his processor whirring in the silence of the office. Finally, he met Jazz’s gaze again, his usual scowl on his face.

“I watch it every other night, after my shift is over.”

Jazz leapt to his feet and cheered. He tried reaching for Prowl to hug him, but Prowl leaned away in his chair. “Hell yeah! So would that make it tomorrow night?”

“Yes. Don’t tell anyone. And don’t make me regret this.”

Jazz waved away Prowl’s concerns. “No one will know a thing. Any snacks you like?”

Prowl settled himself back into his chair. “Magnesium sticks.”

“You got it!” Jazz said, shooting finger guns at Prowl.

Prow tilted his head, before Jazz remembered Prowl didn’t quite get human customs (but he liked human shows? So maybe that wasn’t the case?). Prowl looked back down at his pile of datapads. “Great, whatever. Now get out.”

Jazz chuckled and slipped out of the room. He walked down the hall with his arms resting behind his helm and a light feeling in his spark.

Chapter Text

“I didn’t realize you liked human children shows,” Jazz said with a chuckle as he settled on Prowl’s couch. Prowl’s quarters looked as bland and boring as his office. Like it had never been lived in at all.

Prowl had started the show from the beginning, projecting it on the wall across from the couch instead of from his recharging chamber. “Just because it’s for sparklings doesn’t mean it can’t have deep value,” Prowl growled.

Jazz held up his hands placatingly. “I never said there was anything wrong with liking them. I just didn’t take you to be the kind of mech to do so.”

Prowl rolled his optics and grabbed a magnesium stick from the bowl Jazz had brought. Then he leaned back into the corner of the couch, as far away as possible from Jazz. Jazz just snorted, and he, too, relaxed.

After the first episode was over, Prowl asked, “So, finally had enough?” Jazz knew what he was trying to say: Will you now leave me alone?

Jazz grinned. “Nah. The concept’s intriguing. Almost like human superheroes, but more nature based. I want to know more.” Mostly, he just wanted to spite Prowl. And see how long Prowl would last before kicking Jazz out.

But as they continued watching, Jazz’s snarky thoughts became less and less about Prowl and more about questions and predictions for the show.

When Aang grieved over his murdered friends and family at the Air Temple, Jazz thought about all the good mechs he’d lost from their own stupid Cybertronian war. And from the sorrow he felt from Prowl’s electromagnetic field (which allowed for Cybertronians to share their emotions, if they didn’t keep it to themselves), he knew Prowl was thinking something similar.

On the fifth episode, when Aang visited the King of Omashu in the Earth Kingdom, Jazz guffawed at a particularly funny line from the king. But he jumped in surprise when he heard a low chuckle from his right.

Jazz looked at Prowl, who had the same stoic expression as usual. Prowl tilted his head and asked, “What? Do I have magnesium crumbs on my face?” He paused the show, clicking a button on the projector.

“Nah, I, uh, was just surprised. Is all.”

Prowl frowned. “That what? I have a sense of humor?”

Jazz shrugged. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you laugh before.”

Prowl scoffed and unpaused the show. They continued the episode in silence, with Jazz sneaking glances at Prowl every once in a while.

Once that episode was over, they decided that would be enough for the night. Jazz let Prowl keep the rest of the magnesium sticks, since he preferred sweeter treats himself, and walked over to Prowl’s berthroom door.

Prowl followed, and he opened the door for Jazz with a click of a button on the wall.

Jazz paused and slowly turned back to look at Prowl. Prowl crossed his arms over his chest.

“Can I… come next time?” Jazz asked. Normally, he was his confident self, but the lateness of the night seemed to be messing with him.

“Next time?”

“Yeah. I want to keep watching the show. With you. If… you’re up for it?”

Prowl leaned on the wall. “You could just borrow the files. Instead of subjecting yourself to my miserable company.”

“You’re not that miserable.” Jazz grinned wryly. “In fact, I think I had a fun time watching it with you.”

Prowl’s optics flashed, and his doorwings fluttered strangely. Jazz found himself wanting to know what that movement meant. “Really?”

“Really. You know me, Prowler. I only do things I want to do.”

Prowl huffed. “Don’t I know it. You still have paperwork you need to do, by the way.”

Jazz waved a hand. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll get to it tomorrow. So, same time in two Earth days?”

Prowl studied him for a moment. He held out a hand. “Yes. That is acceptable.”

Jazz laughed and shook Prowl’s hand. Of course, he’d try to make this a formal agreement. “Then until then.”

The two of them continued to watch the show every two Earth days. And Jazz found it to be an enjoyable time.

Prowl continued to loosen up around Jazz, until the both of them were debating on which kind of bender they would be.

“I would be an airbender, mostly because they’re so flighty and hard to catch,” Jazz said.

“And Aang matches your personality quite well,” Prowl mused. “I would be a firebender. I wouldn’t need resources like earthbenders or waterbenders to use my ability. And I could shoot lightning from my fingertips.”

“Lightning?!”

Prowl paused, then he vented loudly. “Right. We haven’t gotten to that part yet.”

Jazz laughed. “Rude! No spoilers! But anyways, I could see you being a firebender. You’ve got Zuko’s grumpy personality and everything.”

Prowl scoffed, his doorwings jerking back. “At least I don’t pretend to be happy all the time.”

Jazz clutched his chest and said, “Ouch. A low blow.” Yet, his smile felt genuine. And from the small curve of Prowl’s dermas, he knew Prowl was only teasing.

Man. If some mech had told Jazz that he’d be having a nice, civil conversation with Prowl two weeks ago, he’d have thought they were crazy.

Jazz leaned back on the arm of the couch and placed his hands in his lap. “You know, you never did tell me how you got into watching this show. It’s not like we have it in the library.”

Prowl hummed. “Optimus suggested—” And both Prowl and Jazz knew any “suggestion” from Optimus Prime was always an order. “—That I pick up a hobby. He said I was working myself too hard, that life shouldn’t just be all about war and strategy. So he asked a human friend for a show recommendation and gave me this.”

“There are millions of human shows! How did that human know this would be a good fit?”

Prowl’s doorwings twitched behind him. “The friend said it’s lighthearted enough to provide a good distraction from work, while still providing the emotional maturity an adult could enjoy. Plus, it was apparently their favorite TV show.”

“I see.”

“I find the ‘animation style,’ as the humans call it, to be easy on the optics as well.”

Jazz suppressed a grin. Prowl did not just say he thought the show looked pretty. No way. He wondered if there were other human shows that fit the bill; they could watch them once this show was over.

Wait. Was he seriously thinking of this hangout routine of theirs in the long term?

Prowl stood abruptly. “Looking at my chronometer, I think it’s time we go our separate ways.”

Jazz looked at his chronometer and saw that it was indeed late. He stood and stretched his frame. “We still on for next time?”

“Of course, so long as the Decepticons continue to be docile.”

Jazz smiled. Even without a processor like Prowl’s, he knew the odds of that.

Chapter Text

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Prowl frowned. “We both won’t fit.”

“It’s called snuggling, Prowler.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Practicing?”

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

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

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

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

“Only 56%?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“If you’d like me to leave, I can—”

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

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

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

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

Chapter Text

“That’s it? Just say ‘hello?’”

“Yeah!” Jazz playfully pushed Prowl, who stood across from him in Jazz’s office. “Then you can dive into small talk or whatever. But you gotta start acknowledging mechs in the halls, instead of keeping your head down.” Unlike Jazz’s quarters, his office only had a few pictures of mechs on the walls. That’s mostly because Jazz didn’t spend his time working here. Or writing up reports in general.

Jazz had woken up that morning to a zonked out Prowl still laying on him on the couch. Jazz had gently prodded Prowl awake, to which Prowl had shot up and fell over the side of the couch. Jazz still smiled at the memory of Prowl’s doorwings moving sporadically, never stopping, as he stood, apologized, and slipped out of Jazz’s quarters.

After their meeting that morning, Jazz had gotten Prowl’s personal telecommunication link, which allowed them to chat internally, and suggested Prowl follow him to his office.

Jazz could tell Prowl still felt embarrassed about his slip up from last night: Prowl’s doorwings wouldn’t stop moving, and he had a hard time meeting Jazz’s optics. But Jazz didn’t push him.

Prowl huffed. “Small talk is pointless. And boring. ‘Oh, how’s the weather?’ What a stupid question. Just look outside and see for yourself.”

Jazz grinned and shook his head. “It may seem pointless, but that helps create the right atmosphere for a friendly conversation. You don’t want to jump into deep topics with someone you’ve just met; that takes time and trust.”

Prowl grumbled but eventually nodded.

“Why not practice with me?”

Prowl stared at him, before he reset his vocalizer and said, “Hello, Jazz.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

“Hey, Prowler! How have things been?”

“Good. I’m working on a new strategy for—”

Jazz held up a finger and shook it. “Uh uh. Try to avoid talking about work. Right now we’re in the middle of war. War and work is what mechs deal with all day, so try to bring up something else.”

Prowl’s doorwings rose before settling back down into a relaxed position. “Fine. I am reading a mystery novel right now that is particularly riveting. I found it in the base’s library.”

“Another assignment from Optimus?”

“No. It’s…” Prowl looked away. “It’s… for fun. Of my own volition.”

Jazz’s visor flashed. “Really? That’s great! What’s it about?”

Prowl’s crossed arms slowly unraveled. “It’s about a smart human boy who finds his neighbor’s organic pet impaled on a garden fork. While I have a hunch on how it’s going to end, I find the boy’s traits to be… intriguing.”

Jazz tilted his head. “That does sound interesting.”

“What about you?”

“Oh, nothing much. My team and I are meeting up to play some cards later tonight. You’re welcome to join, too, if you want.”

“I will be working late tonight, so I will pass.”

“No problem, Prowler.” Jazz took a step away from Prowl and opened up his arms. “See? Was that so hard?”

Prowl hummed. He looked off at nothing for a while before he eventually nodded. “That was indeed acceptable.”

Jazz punched his shoulder lightly. “Now try to do that with every mech you see today. And if you both don’t have time, at least just say hello and their designation.”

Prowl’s new attitude quickly became the talk of the base. Rumors and gossip came in hot and fast around here, then fizzled just as quickly.

Some mechs wondered if Prowl had been brainwashed, others wondered if the old Prowl had been replaced with an imposter. Jazz spread his own rumors: that Prowl had a change of spark, thanks to a few suggestions from Optimus. It wasn’t exactly a lie.

Jazz sat in the mess hall with Mirage and Bumblebee. He kept his visor on Mirage and Bee, but his optics trailed to watch Prowl, who was chatting with Smokescreen. If the mess hall hadn’t been so busy, he probably could’ve eavesdropped on their conversation. The two of them murmured lowly, their doorwings buzzing and flickering as they talked.

He recognized a few placements: That doorwing flick meant dismissal. Prowl’s doorwings rose up and back (surprise). Then they settled into a relaxed position.

“What are you looking at?”

Thanks to Jazz’s Special Ops training, he didn’t flinch when he was brought back to the conversation at his own table. Instead, he just tilted his head. “Just you two, why?”

Mirage chuckled. He looked behind him, but there were too many mechs for him to pinpoint exactly where Jazz had been looking. He turned back to Jazz and said, “Yeah, right. Come on, you got some intel on someone? Or is the resident flirt picking his new target?”

Jazz took a sip of his energon. “I told you, mech, I’m just enjoying my time with you two. Besides, you can’t tell where I’m looking. That’s the whole point of the visor.”

Bee glanced behind him. Like he had been doing all day. His audial horns buzzed. He must be in an internal conversation with Bluestreak. Those two never stopped talking.

Mirage chuckled and leaned in close to Jazz. Jazz continued to laze about in his chair. “That may be true, but your field of curiosity and affection isn’t directed towards us.”

Jazz laughed. “What, I can’t be affectionate towards my own teammates?” Jazz must’ve been thinking too hard and hadn’t reigned his field in.

Mirage swatted his response away and shook his head. The two of them were about to bicker further when they heard, “Hello Jazz, Mirage, Bumblebee. How has your afternoon been so far?”

The three of them looked over to see Prowl standing next to their table, a datapad in his slender hands. Bee froze, ending his comm call with an audible click. Mirage grinned with mirth, sitting up straighter. Jazz just gave Prowl a lazy wave.

“Finally joining the cool kids’ table, Prowl?” Jazz asked.

Mirage added, “Yes, I am surprised that you’ve decided we’re worthy of your time.”

Prowl took a seat next to Jazz, setting his datapad on the table. He pulled a glass of energon from his subspace. “I know not what a ‘cool kid’ is, nor what their table would be like, but yes. I am working on being more amiable around base.” He took a sip of his drink.

Bee squirmed. Jazz hummed in thought.

Mirage’s optics flashed. “Wow, uh, that’s surprising. I mean! Good… Good for you!”

Prowl didn’t bother responding, instead honing in his gaze on Bee. “Something wrong, Bumblebee?”

“N-no! Heh. Just surprised you’re out of your office. Sir.” Bee put on his best innocent smile.

Jazz covered his smile with his hand. That was something they’d need to work on later.

Prowl sat his empty glass down on the table with a quiet clink. “Is that it? Your reaction has nothing to do with Sideswipe and Sunstreaker who have been strangely absent all day today?”

Bee relaxed. “Nah, nah. They’re on cleaning duty today.”

“Oh really? Even though I assigned them patrol duty for the last prank they did?”

Bee tried to keep his smile relaxed, but it strained. “They must’ve gotten the schedule wrong. You know how those knuckleheads are.”

“Right… And Bluestreak isn’t with them, planning another prank as we speak? You know, in my office?”

Bee stood abruptly, knocking his chair over. His field, filled with fear and dread, slowly made itself known. “You know what, I’ll just go find out exactly where they are and report to you—”

Prowl calmly subspaced his datapad and empty glass of energon. And lunged. Bee tried to dodge, but he was too late: Prowl grabbed him by the leg and lifted him up into the air.

Although one of the shortest Autobots, besides the minibots, Bee wasn’t exactly light. None of them were. Yet, Prowl held him up with one arm like he weighed nothing.

Prowl turned to Jazz and Mirage. He tilted his helm in a mock salute. “If you’ll please excuse me, something has come up.” He walked out of the mess hall, a struggling, frantic Bee forced to come with him.

“Heh, good old Prowler,” Jazz said with a chuckle. He finished off the last of his energon, though his gaze was on Prowl’s back from behind the safety of his visor.

When he looked back at Mirage, he nearly dropped his glass. Mirage was giving him a sly, knowing look. From an inch away from his face. The fragger must’ve used his special ability of turning invisible and snuck up on Jazz. Normally, he was better at noticing that.

“That’s who you’ve been looking at? That poor excuse for a mech?”

Jazz pushed Mirage’s face away from him. “He’s been acting weird lately. I’m just keeping an eye on him.”

“Uh huh.”

“You’re telling me you didn’t suspect him of being brainwashed when he approached our table today? He never hangs out in the mess hall.” Jazz liked the idea of keeping Prowl’s true reason for a change of heart a secret. One that only the two of them would share.

Mirage sat across from him again, crossing his arms over his chest. “Well, he has given me the creeps more than usual. He almost smiled at Optimus the other day!”

Jazz laughed. “‘Almost’ smiled? What does that even look like?”

Mirage tried to make part of his dermas quirk up, but it only ended up looking like an awkward half snarl. He shook his head and laughed along with Jazz.

Chapter Text

Jazz just wanted to go wallow in his quarters, away from everyone else. But that wouldn’t do for his usually extroverted persona, so he kept up the smiles and laughs as he sat through meeting after meeting.

Hound had found a Decepticon spy trying to scout their base and had brought them in to be interrogated. Which meant Jazz spent his entire morning digging into the processor of the Decepticon as he hijacked their systems and brutally forced his way past their firewalls.

Just the thought of that made him feel sick. He tried to focus on the conversation at hand, on Ironhide making suggestions on the information Jazz had pulled from the spy, but he couldn’t stop hearing their pleas for mercy as he held their overly hot helm in his hands.

The room was silent. He looked around and realized everyone was looking at him, waiting for him to say something.

Jazz put on his best, fake grin. “Sorry, I didn’t catch that.” He put his shaking hands underneath the table.

Optimus said, his voice gentle, “Based on Prowl’s calculations, we’d like to send Bumblebee and Mirage on a recon mission to further determine if this Decepticon was a plant or not.”

Jazz nodded. “Sounds good to me.” He pinged the two in question, and they responded within seconds. They’d be in their meeting room within a few Human minutes for their debriefing.

As soon as everything was situated, Jazz knew he should be getting to his pile of paperwork and reports. But his mind just kept going back to this morning, and he felt like purging.

Someone grabbed his arm. He looked over to see Prowl standing next to him.

The two of them stood in the hallway outside the meeting room. How long had Jazz been standing out here, frozen in guilt?

Prowl glanced around them and, assuming the coast was clear, whispered to Jazz, “I’ve been reading this book on friendship…”

Jazz relaxed minutely. “Oh, yeah?” His friendship with Prowl wasn’t exactly well known, not that he minded. Maybe Prowl didn’t want to associate himself with someone as wild as Jazz. Or, the more likely option, Prowl didn’t want Jazz’s reputation of fun and spontaneity to be sullied by Prowl. Jazz grinned at that thought.

“And in the book,” Prowl continued, “Friends share emotional vulnerabilities with each other. Would this be one of those times?”

Jazz tilted his head. “Prowl, are you asking me if I’m okay? In the weirdest way possible?”

Prowl let go of Jazz’s arm and straightened his posture. “Yes. I suppose I am.”

Jazz chuckled and patted Prowl’s shoulder. “I’m fine, Prowler. But thanks for asking.” He tried to take a step away, but Prowl got in front of him.

“The book also mentioned that friends should be honest with each other.”

When Jazz only opened and closed his dermas in surprise, Prowl grabbed Jazz’s hand and dragged him down the hall. He pulled Jazz down a few hallways, Jazz stumbling to keep up.

Jazz’s processor finally caught up with him, and he tugged himself away from Prowl’s hands. “I told you, Prowler, I’m fine!”

Prowl stopped and looked at Jazz with a carefully neutral expression. Jazz recognized that look. That was the same look he shot Bee the other day, right before he—

Too late, Jazz couldn’t dodge Prowl’s lunge for him. But instead of grabbing him by the leg, Prowl grabbed Jazz around his waist and hoisted him over Prowl’s shoulder. Jazz most definitely did not yelp. Or squirm in Prowl’s strong grasp, to no avail.

Prowl carried Jazz in the direction of Jazz’s quarters. No amount of complaining or asking Prowl to set him down made Prowl listen to him. And sure, Jazz could’ve grabbed Prowl’s helm and used it as leverage to twist around and off Prowl, but where was the fun in that? He wanted to know what Prowl had in mind.

Though, he was regretting his decision to not escape as they walked by other Autobots on base. He heard snickers as they passed by them, along with Sideswipe calling, “Someone’s in trouuuuuble!”

“Prowl, this had better be worth it,” Jazz hissed into Prowl’s audial.

Prowl only hummed, a hint of a smirk on his face.

They eventually made it to Jazz’s quarters. Prowl turned Jazz around, so he could input his door code, before walking into his room. He gently laid Jazz down on his couch and pushed down on Jazz’s chest when he tried to sit up.

From his subspace, Prowl pulled out a mech-sized blanket, a small, pink cube from an energon goodie cake, and a bouquet of Earth flowers that looked so incredibly small in Prowl’s fingers.

Prowl draped the blanket over Jazz. He set the slice of cake and human flowers on Jazz’s messy coffee table. With a clap of his hands, the lights went out in Jazz’s room, showcasing the soft stars on the ceiling. Next Prowl sat on the other end of the couch, his thighs just barely managing not to touch Jazz’s pedes.

Jazz looked at Prowl in bewilderment. He clapped his hands, turning the lights on again. “Prowl, what is all this?”

Prowl clapped his hands again, turning the lights off. “The book mentioned bringing someone’s favorite things could help when they’re having a bad time. And you, Jazz, were having a slag of a time.”

Jazz tried to grin at the swear Prowl let slip, but he couldn’t quite manage it. He didn’t want to talk about his personal problems. So he focused on something else: “How did you know that energon goodie cake is my favorite?”

Even through the darkness, Jazz could see an outline of Prowl’s smirk. “Well,” Prowl said, his posture rigid and his hands in his lap, “Thanks to your suggestion, I have been gathering information about you through all my daily small talk. I know your favorite kind of music is hip hop and jazz, you have a secret collection of knives hidden on you at all times, and your visor is not merely aesthetic, it’s a mod to let you see things you shouldn’t normally be able to.”

Well, yeah. That’s how he was seeing Prowl so well right then.

Jazz let out a huff. “You know, that’s a little creepy, Prowler.”

“Oh? Says the Head of the Autobot’s Special Operations?”

Jazz lightly kicked Prowl’s leg. “It’s different when there’s not a mission involved.”

“Right. My apologies.” But Prowl didn’t sound the least bit sorry.

The two of them sat in silence for a minute or two before Jazz softly played what the humans called low-fidelity or “lo-fi” music from his speakers.

Prowl turned to look down at Jazz. He said slowly, “I know you had to use unpleasant methods to get information from that Decepticon today. That must’ve been difficult for you.” For the first time, Jazz was thankful Prowl liked to sit so far from him. That gaze in his optics was… hard for him to meet head-on.

“It’s my job. Doesn’t matter if it’s difficult or not, if it helps us stop this war.”

“Doesn’t mean you should deal with your struggles or trauma alone.” Prowl tilted his head. “Would you like to talk about the problem, get advice for the problem, or be distracted from the problem?”

“Uh, none of the above?” For some reason, Jazz’s optics darted to Prowl’s dermas when he listed the last option. “Your ‘friendship book’ doesn’t know everything Prowl. There’s exceptions to every rule.”

“That may be true, but that doesn’t mean you should bottle everything up.” Prowl patted Jazz’s pedes. “But I won’t push you. Just… know I’m here for you. As your friend. If you need a break from being the ‘cheerful Jazz,’ know that I’m available at any time. Or that you are allowed to give yourself breaks to process things.”

Jazz didn’t know what to say to any of that. It felt too heartfelt for Prowl, too unlike him. Was Prowl like this all along? And he’d just been really good at hiding it?

So instead, in his usual Jazz fashion, he dodged the difficult conversation and said, “Man, you got all that from some friendship book?”

Prowl’s dermas curled up into a half smile. “Not just one book. There’s quite a few on relationships in the base library that I’ve been perusing.”

“Relationships?” Why did Jazz’s spark jolt at that word?

“I’ve been trying to understand the best way to strengthen my bonds with Autobots, as you suggested. So I’ve been meeting with Bluestreak and Smokescreen, who I see in a familial light, to discuss things. It’s been… nice.”

Jazz smiled. His first real one of the day. “That’s great, Prowler.”

Chapter Text

The two of them sat in silence in Jazz’s room for the next 30 Earth minutes, just listening to music. Prowl kept a hand on Jazz’s pedes, his gaze up at the fake stars. Jazz tapped a soft rhythm on his chest that matched the music playing from his speakers.

To be honest, no one had ever really done anything like this for Jazz before. Most of the time, he got a few pitying looks from Mirage or a low apology from Optimus after a gut-wrenching interrogation. This was the first time he felt almost at ease the same day he had stuck his metaphorical fingers into another mech’s processor.

But eventually, they both had work to get to. Jazz ate the cube of energon goodie cake in a single bite, thanked Prowl, and went his separate way to his office. He normally liked to keep his door open, as paperwork was so boring and any distraction was worth his while, but today, he kept it closed. He continued softly playing music as he concentrated on his work. Every once in a while, his thoughts strayed to Prowl.

“Okay, so what does that mean?”

“That I’m trying not to laugh.”

Jazz deadpanned at Smokescreen, or as best he could from behind a visor. The two of them were in Smokescreen’s office. The room was about as bare as Jazz’s office, though a few hundred human magazines were on the wall in one mech-sized frame; the magazines appeared to be various human car models. A photo of a younger Smokescreen, Prowl, and Bluestreak sat on Smokescreen’s desk.

Smokescreen sat behind his desk, Jazz on the other side in a rather comfortable guest chair.

Smokescreen chuckled. “See? I laughed.” His wings went from being up and tilted behind him to shuddering.

Jazz let out a huff but smiled along with him.

Smokescreen leaned back in his chair and sighed. “Okay, fine. It meant I was thinking. What’s got you so invested in doorwings all of a sudden?”

“A friend of mine has them, and I’d like to read him better.”

Smokescreen grinned and leaned forward on the table. “Oh?” His wings spread out, framing Smokescreen.

Jazz had a feeling he knew what that doorwing gesture meant. He leaned forward and tapped Smokescreen’s hand with one of his fingers. However, before Smokescreen could snatch his hand, Jazz grabbed the photo on his desk instead.

“How long have you known Prowler and Blue?”

Disappointment flickered through Smokescreen’s field for a moment, before nostalgic contentment filled the room instead. “Prowl and I were both enforcers before the war. He was much higher up, thanks to that smart processor of his. He worked on taking down gangs or serial killers, I just handed out speeding tickets.”

“And Blue?”

“We found Blue much later. Megatron had bombed some big neutral cities on Cybertron during the war,” Jazz did remember that. Those had been a terrible few months of clean-up and rescues, “and Prowl and I were looking for survivors when we found Blue. Since he had doorwings like us, we helped the neutrals who were left to watch over him and take care of him. When he was old enough, he joined the Autobots, and the rest is history.”

While Jazz had been with the Autobots for a long time, he hadn’t been the Head of Special Operations until recently. He must’ve been in a different clean-up crew at the time.

“That explains why you all get along so well,” Jazz mused.

Smokescreen laughed. “Prowl may be a hard aft, but there’s goodness in him. It just takes some coaxing to get it out of him sometimes.”

Jazz did know that. Although, he felt like he was seeing that more from Prowl lately. He felt pride swell up at the thought that that was because of his doing.

“Then you must have a few dirty secrets on Prowl?” Jazz murmured. “I’m looking for more prank ideas. Lay them on me.”

Smokescreen shook his head, though he was grinning. “Wouldn’t that ruin the whole point of them being ‘dirty secrets?’ And besides, you haven’t earned any secrets from me.” His wings were back to that wide, open stance, framing the mech. An allure gleamed in his optics.

Jazz hummed. While he was a huge flirt, he hadn’t ever tried anything with Smokescreen before. This could be fun. He stood up and leaned over Smokescreen’s desk, giving him a good view of his bumper.

Smokescreen’s engine revved softly. “Prowl has a secret collection of human-made plushies. I only caught a glance at it before he shoved it into his subspace, but the plushies looked human-like. Except for some organic cow-like thing that had six legs and a flat tail.”

Jazz grinned. Prowl was collecting memorabilia from the show they were watching? That was a good, little secret. So he’d just have to reward Smokescreen for it.

Jazz grabbed Smokescreen’s hand and kissed it all over: between his fingers, on the fingertips, on the palm, and on the back. Then he ran his glossa up Smokescreen’s arm.

Smokescreen’s fans kicked on. “Prowl keeps a diary of his day-to-day life.”

Eh. Not that interesting. Of course the meticulous Prowl would keep a log of everything that was going on. But, he didn’t want to ruin the moment, so he let go of Smokescreen’s hand, stepped around the desk, and sat in Smokescreen’s lap.

With a shudder, Smokescreen continued, “And Prowl doesn’t ever recharge around those he doesn’t trust. I blame his enforcer background, especially since so many of them were corrupt back in the day, but he even took forever to feel comfortable sleeping around me when we had to share quarters!”

That made Jazz pause. He thought back to their hangout, which felt so long ago now, where Prowl had fallen asleep on him on the couch. Smokescreen’s words made Jazz’s face plating warm.

Taking that to mean something else, Smokescreen huffed out, “Okay, enough talking.” He dove down and kissed Jazz on his dermas.

Jazz returned the kiss, feeling his way up to Smokescreen’s helm. He caressed Smokescreen’s red crests as he tugged on Smokescreen’s bottom derma with his dentas.

Wait. The crests were yellow, not red.

He reached behind Smokescreen to touch his doorwings. When Smokescreen gasped, Jazz pulled back to tease him, only to get lost in Smokescreen’s eyes. They were the wrong blue, too light and bright than what he was used to.

What was wrong with him? Why was he thinking of Prowl right now?

Smokescreen’s fingers traced Jazz’s seams along his body. “You are as talented as the rumors say,” Smokescreen said with a low laugh.

But Jazz’s thoughts were spiraling out of control. He wished the hands touching him were white and not blue, that Prowl’s deep, controlled voice was filling his audials.

Jazz climbed off of Smokescreen as he ventilated hard. Smokescreen looked at him in confusion for a second, before he tried following him. Jazz held up a hand.

“Sorry, uh, sorry,” Jazz said. “I… I just remembered something I have to do.”

That same disappointment from earlier flickered through Smokescreen’s field, before he reigned it in. Jazz could still see the low angle of his doorwings, though.

“Hey, no problem. We can put in a raincheck for later, no biggie.” Despite Smokescreen’s reassuring smile, Jazz could feel the awkwardness in the air. And the lingering question.

“I definitely was having a good time,” Jazz reassured him. “I’ll take you up on that rain check when my processor isn’t so occupied.” He waved goodbye as he quickly left Smokescreen’s office. His processor wouldn’t stop conjuring up ideas of Prowl in his head, and he pushed them all away as he made his way back to his quarters.

Chapter Text

Prowl sighed as the next chapter’s title rolled onto screen for Avatar: The Last Airbender. He paused the show.

Jazz glanced at him. “What’s up?”

“This is the episode that caused coolant to spill from my eyes. You know, the time you were trespassing into my quarters.” Prowl leaned back on the couch in his quarters, his wings tucked tight against his frame. Jazz sat on the other side of the couch.

“Oh. So you’re saying I should brace myself because something bad is going to happen?” Jazz wanted to complain about the spoiler, but from Prowl’s sorrow that was tickling his own field, he decided to keep that thought to himself.

“I just don’t want to embarrass myself if I end up crying again,” Prowl murmured. His optics wouldn’t meet Jazz’s gaze.

Jazz smiled softly. “Hey, that’s okay.” He scooted over so that he was sitting next to Prowl, their thighs touching. Prowl didn’t shove him away, so he took that as a win. “That’s not embarrassing. You’re feeling the moment, and that’s fine. If you need a break, let me know, but otherwise, know that I’m here for you.”

Prowl studied him for a moment. Apparently deciding on something, he nodded and pressed play on the projector again.

Jazz slowly wrapped his arm around Prowl’s waist as they watched the episode. Prowl either didn’t notice or didn’t mind the warmth. The episode consisted of Aang and his friends joining forces with Jet and his Freedom Fighters to find Aang’s flying bison, Appa.

When Aang had to fight a brainwashed Jet, Jazz had a nasty feeling he knew how it was going to turn out. He watched as Jet was severely injured by one of the antagonists of the show, Long Feng.

He glanced at Prowl from the corner of his optic, and he saw coolant dripping off of Prowl’s stoic face. Jazz didn’t comment on it until the episode was over.

Jazz leaned forward and paused the show as it played the end credits. Prowl just continued looking straight ahead.

Hesitantly, Jazz reached up and turned Prowl’s chin towards him. Prowl tried to move away, but Jazz’s grip was strong.

“That was a pretty rough episode,” Jazz said softly. He wiped the mess of coolant from Prowl’s face with his free hand. “Want to talk about it?”

“No. I’ll get over it soon.”

“It’s fine to show emotions, Prowler.”

“Emotions are easily exploitable. They aren’t based on logic.”

“Emotions are what make us more than drones or human playthings. They make us more than meets the eye, you know?”

Prowl’s gaze softened. He grabbed Jazz’s hand that was still holding onto his chin and lowered it, so they were holding hands on Prowl’s lap.

“Besides, if we all ran on pure logic, then our morals would be way too extreme. Life isn’t pure black and white.” Jazz poked the red crests on Prowl’s helm. “Sometimes there’s a little bit of red thrown in there.” He grinned. Until he thought of what happened with Smokescreen. He shoved that memory down.

Prowl swatted his hand away, though his field didn’t have as much sorrow in it anymore. The both of them knew the tolls of war, of the sacrifices that had to be made. Mechs of all ages got hurt or offlined, but it was the young ones especially that made the war feel much more sorrowful.

Jazz knew Prowl thought of Bluestreak when he saw Jet get injured (and likely die off-screen), along with the other mechs Prowl had to send to his deaths, despite all the good they meant or the sense of justice they had. Or perhaps Prowl saw himself in Jet, as they both had their flaws yet were leaders trying to end a war.

Prowl looked down at their conjoined hands, as if his processor finally caught up with him. He let go, and Jazz returned his hand to his own lap, though reluctantly.

With a quirk of his lips that could be called a smile, Prowl said, “So, should we watch the next episode? We’ve only got three more left of this season, I believe.”

Jazz’s visor flashed. “Really? We’re really cruising through this, huh?”

Prowl nodded. He switched over to the next episode and pressed play on the projector.

Jazz resumed his hold on Prowl’s waist, waiting for Prowl to finally get annoyed with him, but the two of them finished the season cuddled up together.

The two of them talked about the season finale for hours in Earth time. When the both of them realized how late it had gotten, they both stood up, and Prowl walked Jazz to his quarters’ door.

At the door, Jazz pulled out a small disk and a stuffed plushie from his subspace. He handed them to Prowl, who took them with confusion.

“I figured since we’re on the last season of the show, we should pick a new one to start watching,” Jazz explained. “I’ve been doing some research on some other human shows we could watch, and I’ve compiled a list.” On the disk were kid shows like Teen Titans, Danny Phantom, and Legend of Korra. And some more adult shows like Castlevania, Arcane, and Masters of the Universe: Revolution. “They’re all on that disk, available for digital download.”

He wasn’t going to tell Prowl which ones were the kid shows. Not until after a few episodes, of course. And he wasn't going to tell Prowl that he had snuck off base to procure them.

The plushie was a miniature version of Momo, a winged lemur who accompanied Aang in the show. Unfortunately, the plushie was human-sized, but Prowl didn’t seem to mind from the fond way his fingers stroked over the plushie’s fake fur.

Prowl stopped looking at the items in his hands and looked up to meet Jazz’s gaze. And Jazz’s spark froze at the sight of the smile—a real, genuine smile—on Prowl’s face. It showed Prowl’s pearly whites and everything.

“Thanks, Jazz,” Prowl said. His field radiated warmth, and his doorwings were relaxed. “That sounds lovely.”

Jazz let out a choked sound before he quickly covered it with a reset of his vocalizer. “Y-yeah… I mean, yeah! No problem!” He tried to reach for the button that let him out of Prowl’s quarters without looking, but his hands only managed to fumble blindly on the wall.

Prowl gave him a curious look before stepping forward and pushing the button over Jazz’s shoulder.

Jazz chuckled, forcing back the static that threatened to burst from his vocalizer, and said, “See you in two nights?”

Prowl nodded, a softer version of that damn smile creeping on his face. “See you then.”

Jazz practically ran back to his quarters. Luckily, it was late at night, so only a few other mechs were around; whenever he spotted one, he slowed his pace down to a walk and waved at them.

As soon as he was behind the door to his quarters, he slid down onto the floor, using the door as support for his back, and clutched his chest with one hand. His spark hadn’t stopped whirling hard in his chest, much faster than it normally did, after seeing Prowl’s reaction to his gifts.

He took deep, slow vents. But every time he thought he was finally calming down, he’d think of Prowl’s smile, and his spark would go crazy all over again.

Jazz let out a low groan. He covered his face with his hands and whispered into the quiet of his berthroom, “Shit.”

Chapter Text

“Something wrong?”

Jazz flinched from where he had been staring at the surface of the table he sat at. He looked up to meet Mirage’s concerned blue optics.

The two of them were getting their morning energon in the mess hall, though the other tired mechs in the room were keeping the chatter to a low murmur.

Jazz took a sip of his glass of energon and plastered on a fake smile. “Nothing’s wrong. Just… just thinking.” Jazz’s leg jittered up and down, and he forced it to stop. “What have you been up to?” Jazz had stared at his ceiling all night last night, Prowl’s face appearing in his mind over and over and over again. Before he knew it, it was time for him to get up for his shift.

Mirage shrugged. Jazz knew he and Bumblebee had gotten back from their scouting mission recently; the information from the captured Decepticon had been accurate, but outdated. Though, the Autobots had an idea of where the Decepticons had been headed, based on what had been leftover in the abandoned hideout.

Mirage was about to say something further, when Bumblebee sat down at the table and cried, “What happened to you, Jazz!?”

Jazz put his glass down on the table a little too hard. “Just couldn’t recharge last night. Nothing crazy.” He stifled the irritation in his field, forcing out calm and ease. He hated that he thought of Prowl’s words, about him being just like Aang. All smiles, all the time, even when he didn’t feel like it.

“Oh? Something on your mind?” Mirage asked. He leaned forward on the table right as Jazz leaned back. “You never have a problem with recharging.”

“Yeah! Spill it!” Bee added.

Jazz covered his grimace with his hand. “What if…” He sighed. No, he shouldn’t involve these two. Especially Bee. He was the worst at keeping secrets, despite his job in Special Ops.

But with the way they were looking at him, sparkles practically in Bee’s optics, he gave in. “Mirage, how did you know Hound was the one for you?”

Mirage’s optics flashed in surprise. Hound, a green and black mech with the ability to project holograms, was Mirage’s conjunx endura (or, as the humans say, his spouse). Hound had an incredible ability to track mechs, so he and Mirage often worked together on scouting missions. But Bee was taking that role as of late because Hound was on an undercover mission in a town full of neutral and Decepticon mechs, to gain information from them.

Mirage eyed Jazz carefully, while Bee looked at Mirage in unbridled curiosity. Jazz hoped his face didn’t give anything away.

“When Hound cares about something, he really looks at it, studies it,” Mirage said.

Oh, did Jazz know it. Jazz thought of all the times Hound went on and on about the beautiful nature on Earth and the way ecosystems were carefully balanced from top to bottom. He had even ranted to Jazz about the importance of weeds for an Earth hour (Jazz barely managed to escape by comming Mirage for a rescue).

Mirage continued, “Before the war started, I came from a family of great influence. Mechs were constantly begging for my attention or there was always some big event to go to; there was just constant noise. And that noise didn’t stop once the war started.”

Jazz and Bee nodded. They knew just how much the war weighed down on mechs.

With a warm grin, Mirage said, “Hound just… lets me be. He sees who I am, ignoring all the expectations, and gives me his full attention. It’s nice to take off the mask. And just… enjoy the quiet.”

Jazz laughed softly. “That was awfully poetic, Mirage. Sure your prestigious heritage isn’t the real you?”

Mirage waved his comment away. “Shut it, you oversized tin can.” But he’s laughing, too.

“Yeah, wow,” Bee joined in. Though, his gaze was on Jazz. “But what brought that up, Jazz?”

Jazz forced his frame to remain relaxed. No sense in giving them any additional information. “Oh, nothing. Like I said, I was just thinking.” He thought about all the other times he had taken lovers, and most of the time, it had just been surface level. Quick flings. Just someone to keep his berth warm at night or to distract from the terrible war they were in.

Did he want something long-term with Prowl? That was one of the thoughts that had swirled around his processor all of last night. And then he asked himself if he’d ever truly been in love with someone. Sure, he’d felt attracted to other mechs and loved spending time with them. But… he knew something different was happening between him and Prowl.

And that thought scared him.

“Who do you find most attractive on base, Bee?” Jazz asked. “Or do you have a special sweetspark in your life?”

Bee’s dermas twisted into a lopsided smile. “No special sweetspark, and… I don’t know. Everyone’s my friend. I couldn’t really pick one.”

Jazz smiled at that. Bee was still so young… he had all the time in the world to find his special someone.

Mirage hummed. “And you, Jazz? Who is your special someone of the week?”

Jazz laughed. “I don’t have a ‘special someone of the week.’ Who calls them that?”

“Oh? So you just have a ‘special someone?’” Mirage’s optics darkened.

Damn this mech. The two of them spent way too much time together as coworkers. He wished Hound were here, to drag Mirage away and distract him from thinking this hard.

“Is this seat taken?”

The three of them looked over to see Prowl standing there. He had a glass of energon in his hand, but no datapad this time.

Jazz reset his vocalizer to prevent any static from coming through.

Mirage shook his helm and waved at the chair next to Jazz. Prowl dipped his doorwings in thanks. He sat down, his thigh touching Jazz’s, and Jazz stood, knocking his chair over behind him.

Some nearby mechs sitting at tables looked over at them, wondering what the loud sound was from.

“Nice seeing all of you, but I need to make sure Sunstreaker and Sideswipe aren’t up to something,” Jazz said, barely managing not to stutter. He didn’t bother cleaning up his knocked over, empty glass on the table. “If you’ll excuse me.” He nodded at the three of them with an attempt of a smile before walking away. He ignored their pointed stares as he exited the mess hall, his stupid spark doing funny things in his chest.

Chapter Text

Jazz kept avoiding Prowl as much as he could. He couldn’t exactly skip out on watching their show together, since that would really tip Prowl off, but as soon as they were done, he’d leave Prowl’s quarters. Whenever Prowl tried to stop him in the halls or in his office, when Jazz had to drop datapads off, Jazz made up some excuse and left.

After two Earth weeks of this, Prowl stopped bugging Jazz. They only discussed work together, and they watched Avatar in silence. Which was a shame, as the third season was really good.

Jazz felt guilty about it all, but he couldn’t bring himself to fix the issue. So when he was invited to a secret night of drinking in one of the private rooms of the base, he gladly welcomed the distraction.

When Jazz entered the room, he was greeted by Smokescreen, Mirage, Bluestreak, Bumblebee, Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Ironhide, and Wheeljack. The mechs sat around a large table with drinks in their hands. Bottles of homemade, high grade energon, definitely provided by the twins Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, were on the table.

The room was supposed to be used for storage. Crates filled with cleaning supplies and coolant had been pushed to the corners of the room. The camera hanging on the wall had been disabled; Jazz wondered what favor Ironhide owed Red Alert now. Or maybe they’d gotten lucky, and his partner Inferno was in charge of security tonight (he was much less paranoid and strict than Red Alert).

An empty chair was next to Bluestreak, so Jazz leisurely walked over and sat down next to him. Everyone was chatting about something or another: Ironhide complained to Smokescreen about Inferno outshooting him in target practice; Sideswipe and Sunstreaker bragged about their latest prank on Ratchet (they had dumped pink paint on him when he entered the med bay); and Mirage lamented to Wheeljack that his conjunx still wasn’t back on base.

Bluestreak poured and handed Jazz a drink, and Sideswipe and Sunstreaker stopped talking. They leaned over the table and looked at Jazz.

“Care for a drinking game, Jazzy?” Sideswipe crooned. He tilted his black helm towards Jazz.

“Never have I ever?” Sunstreaker added. As he grinned, the yellow and black fins on his helm flexed.

Everyone else’s chatter died down at the prospect of a game. Jazz grinned back at them as he draped himself on his chair. “Sounds good to me,” Jazz said.

If Jazz was less drunk, he’d be regretting his choices that night. Everyone in the room was absolutely sloshed, him included. The world was starting to blur around him, and when he tried to check his internal cronometer, his processor just ignored his request.

Bluestreak hiccuped next to him. Most mechs didn’t have the ability to hiccup, and Jazz idly wondered if it was just a Bluestreak thing. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker leaned on each other, deep in recharge. Bee was even more bubbly than usual, although he still didn’t talk as much as Bluestreak normally did. Smokescreen and Mirage chatted back with him, although their words were much more slurred than Bee’s.

Ironhide had fallen backwards onto the floor ages ago and had never bothered to right himself. Wheeljack was just staring into his drink, not saying a word.

Someone opened the door to their room. Jazz looked over, and his optics reset at the sight of Prowl walking in. Judging from the fury and disappointment oozing from his field, and Prowl’s doorwings drawn up into a “V” shape, Prowl was not happy to see an illegal drinking party happening, especially with higher ups like Jazz and Ironhide in the mix.

Drinking was only allowed during base-sanctioned parties, which Jazz thought was a load of slag. Though, he knew that was to ensure readiness for battle. Still a load of slag.

“Heyyyy, Prowler,” Jazz called. He waved a hand so enthusiastically, he accidentally smacked Bluestreak next to him.

At those words, the entire room erupted in chaos. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe woke from recharge and frantically shoved as many bottles of high grade into their subspaces as they could. Bee and Bluestreak froze in fear. Mirage sighed and drank the rest of his drink in one go. Ironhide used a nearby crate to stand before stumbling over to Prowl, mumbling something about the whole thing being his fault.

Wheeljack tried to slip past Prowl, but Prowl caught him by the arm and threw him at Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, who barely managed to catch Wheeljack without dropping any bottles.

Prowl held up a hand, and everyone stopped moving. After a moment of unbearable silence, Prowl said, “Head back to your quarters. Your punishments will be decided and given out tomorrow.” He eyed the camera in the room, his scowl deepening.

Everyone groaned. Prowl silenced them with a glare. He leaned against the wall next to the exit as he watched them all leave. Well, almost all of them.

Prowl held out his arm in front of Jazz. “A word, Jazz?” Prowl said.

Jazz patted Prowl hard on the chest and smiled. Bluestreak and Bee gave him sympathetic looks as they ducked underneath Prowl’s arm and scampered out of the room.

“Shall we chat while I escort you to your quarters?” Prowl suggested. He lowered his arm.

“Sure, Prowlzy! Prowler. Prow Wow?” Jazz giggled. He stumbled past Prowl, Prowl following him out of the now mech-free room.

The two walked in silence for a moment. Prowl spoke up once there wasn’t another mech near them in the hallway, “I know you’ve been avoiding me.”

“Avoiding you? Nooooo.” Jazz spun in a circle. It was a lot of fun. Every circle he made, he saw Prowl watching him, his hands on his hips.

“I just want to know why. Was it something I did? What’s the reason for this distance?”

But Jazz just kept spinning, the room getting more and more blurred.

Prowl sighed. He picked up Jazz and held him to his chest, bridal style. “Nevermind.”

Jazz patted Prowl’s chest and giggled. “How are you so strong? You go to a secret enforcer boot camp or something?”

Prowl ignored him. “You realize the only reason I discovered this little meeting of yours was because I had come to your quarters to finally get some answers from you.”

Jazz reached up and put a hand over Prowl’s dermas. “Shh…. Shh… That processor of yours is so loud. Can’t you see what fun I’m having?”

Prowl only shook his head as his optics flared, likely from irritation. That only made Jazz laugh more.

Jazz onlined with a groan. His processor wouldn’t stop glitching from the overabundance of energon in his systems. He turned on a protocol that would help dilute it, although the high grade wouldn’t truly go away until he burned it off as fuel.

As his helm ache slowly dissipated, he turned on his optics. The ceiling to his quarters greeted him, the nearly transparent stars on his ceiling looking back at him. He didn’t want to get up yet. He tried rolling onto his right side, only to realize something was holding his hand.

Jazz jolted and looked to his right to see Prowl sitting on a chair next to his bed. Prowl had slumped forward in the seat, his optics off. His doorwings fluttered behind him, and the grip Prowl had on Jazz’s hand tightened.

Jazz opened and closed his dermas. What was Prowl doing here? He tried to recall last night, but the last thing he remembered was Prowl carrying him down the hallway. His spark stuttered at that thought. Prowl had carried him here, holding Jazz to his chest like a sparkling, and probably tucked him into his recharging chamber.

Jazz covered his face with his free hand and let out a shuttering vent.

Prowl stirred next to him, sitting up and finally onlining. He flexed his doorwings as his gaze lazily fell onto Jazz.

Jazz stared back. He clenched the blanket on top of him.

“Have a nice recharge?” Prowl asked. He stroked the back of Jazz’s hand with his thumb.

Jazz’s gaze flicked to their hands. He tried to speak, but only static burst out. He reset his vocalizer and tried again, “Uh, it was good? But what are you doing here?”

“You asked me to be here.” Prowl’s optics flared. “You don’t remember?”

Jazz chuckled apologetically. “I’m afraid my memories are a bit corrupted. I remember you carrying me here?”

Prowl nodded. “You wouldn’t let go when I tried to put you down. You even magnetized your hands to my chest.” A wry smile quirked the edge of his dermas. “You said some… things. And did some… thing.”

Jazz’s visor would’ve flashed, but he realized he wasn’t wearing it. He saw it resting next to the pillow he was laying on. “Some… things? Like what?”

Prowl let go of Jazz’s hand, leaning back in his chair. “The real question, Jazz, is did you mean them? Or were they just shallow flirtations?”

“Mean what!?” Jazz hissed. He hugged his field tight to his chest; Prowl didn’t need to feel the fear and mortification there.

Prowl watched Jazz for a second, before he shook his head and pulled out a glass of energon from his subspace. “Well, I’d love to chat more, but I’m afraid I have work I need to do. Here’s some breakfast.” He handed the glass to Jazz. He stood up and dipped his doorwings.

Jazz downed the energon in one gulp and sat up. “Now wait just a minute—”

“Best get ready for the day, Jazz. We have our usual morning meeting, after all.” While Jazz struggled to get out of the blankets wrapped around him, Prowl left.

Jazz glared at Prowl from behind his visor during the entire meeting. His bad mood was only amplified by the helm ache that still hadn’t gone away. It wasn’t nearly as bad as when he first woke up, but he still wanted it gone.

As soon as the meeting was over, he practically leaped over to Prowl’s side, but Prowl simply moved past him, muttering some excuse about work, and left the room. Seething, Jazz stalked over to Prowl’s office, ignoring the confused looks he was getting from other mechs.

When he knocked on the door, Prowl called out, “Sorry, but now isn’t a good time. Unless it’s urgent, I’ll have to ask you to come back later.”

“Prowl, let me in,” Jazz growled.

“Is it urgent?”

“Just open the door!”

“Hmm… No.”

Jazz threw his hands up into the air. He pulled out various cords from the panel on his side and jammed them into the keypad next to Prowl’s office door. The panel fritzed out as he hacked into it. As soon as he got the door open, he went into Prowl’s office and pushed the button to close the door behind him.

Prowl looked up from a stack of datapads on his desk. He frowned, his doorwings twitching behind him. “Did you just break into my office?”

Jazz walked up to his desk and leaned over it. “Semantics. Tell me what happened last night.”

Prowl leaned back in his chair. “You were found illegally participating in a drinking party that hadn’t been approved. As such, your punishment, which was commed to you just like everyone else involved, includes extra patrolling shifts and—”

“Shut it. You know what I’m asking about.”

“What does it matter, Jazz?”

Jazz’s fingers twitched. “Because… it does.”

“Well, I’m afraid we’ll have to discuss this another time. I’m quite busy with working, you know, the thing you should be doing right now.”

“Why won’t you just tell me what happened!?”

“I’m just following the example my friend set out when it comes to unwanted conversations. The book I read states clear, upfront communication is key, but apparently that’s not how it really works. ‘There’s exceptions to every rule,’ you know?”

Jazz froze. He looked away from Prowl’s knowing, piercing gaze.

After another minute of silence, Prowl straightened his pile of datapads. “If that is all, then I ask that you leave. And send someone to fix my now ruined keypad.”

Jazz turned around to leave. He heard movement behind him, then typing on a datapad. Jazz stared at the closed door for another ten seconds. With a frustrated growl, he turned around and slammed his hands on Prowl’s desk.

“Okay fine!” Jazz cried. “Yes, I was avoiding you, and I’m sorry for doing it. The reason for that is because… Because…”

Prowl looked at him patiently.

Jazz faltered under his gaze. He sighed. “I… realized the way I feel about you is… more than a friend. And I panicked.”

Prowl tilted his head. “But surely that isn’t new to you? You have multiple more-than-friends, from what I’ve heard.”

“The feelings aren’t the same.”

“Meaning?”

Jazz’s fingers twitched where they sat on Prowl’s desk. “I want to be with only you, Prowler. That’s entirely new for me.”

Prowl stilled. His gaze fell to the datapad in front of him, but Jazz knew he wasn’t actually reading it. “Last night, Jazz, you showered me with various compliments. Like how you thought my crests were regal and my wings befitting me of a fairy princess, whatever that is.” Prowl’s face tilted even lower. “Then you asked me to dance, since you refused to be put into your recharging chamber. And… it was… fun.”

Jazz walked around the desk and crouched down, a mystified look on his face. Prowl’s doorwings fluttered behind him, and his optics darted away from Jazz’s gaze.

“You asked me to stay, so I stayed,” Prowl continued. “And you wouldn’t let go of my hand, so I didn’t let go of yours. I apologize, Jazz, but I couldn’t stop watching you sleep and—”

“You feel the same way, don’t you?” Jazz whispered.

Prowl’s wings shot straight up. He looked down at Jazz. Both of their fields relayed shock and wonder.

Prowl tried to speak, but only static burst from his vocalizer. After a moment, he nodded and whispered back, “Yes.” His wings spread out, framing his body.

Jazz grinned. He recognized that gesture. “Can I kiss you, Prowler?”

Sitting up straight, Prowl said, “While I am not experienced, I have read up on various—”

Jazz silenced him by smashing his dermas on Prowl’s.

Chapter Text

Jazz laid in his recharging chamber that night, thinking about tomorrow. The Autobots had found some good intel about the location of the Decepticon base. So, they were launching an all-scale attack the next day.

Jazz was to infiltrate the base and try to take as much information as possible. Mirage would be tailing him, to provide backup if needed. Jazz had an additional goal in mind: take down Megatron, if the opportunity struck.

Then his mind wandered over to Prowl. His… well, they hadn’t exactly put a label on what they were just yet. The two of them decided to take everything slow, to see if they were really a good fit for one another. Jazz was grateful for that because, while spending time with Prowl was what his spark yearned for, the thought of being tied down to one mech was still… taking some getting used to.

They also decided to keep it a secret from the rest of the base; no sense in telling everyone about them when they weren’t even official yet.

Watching shows together returned to normal, although with a little more flirting. Those nights were… nice. Almost domestic, even.

As he was lost in his thoughts, he heard a knock on his quarter’s door. He stood up and opened the door, his visor flashing in surprise at seeing Prowl standing there.

“Hello Jazz,” Prowl greeted.

Jazz leaned on the open doorway. “Hey Prowler. What’s up? Didn’t realize you were still up this late.” His field filled with warmth that he tried to squash at first, before he remembered he didn’t need to and let it out.

Prowl’s doorwings preened, until his field flared in embarrassment and the wings went back to being neutral. “I… have a request of you. Feel free to turn it down, if it makes you uncomfortable.”

Jazz tilted his head. Unusual, but Prowl had been surprising him in various ways, as of late.

“I can’t get myself to recharge. My processor won’t stop running battle simulations for tomorrow or double and triple checking that my initial calculations are correct. So I…” He massaged the spot between his two optics. “Can I recharge with you?”

Jazz couldn’t help the shock that flared in his field. From the wince on Prowl’s face, he most certainly felt it. “Wow, you enjoyed that one time sleeping with me on the couch, huh?”

Prowl sighed. He turned on his heel. “Nevermind, I’ll just steal a sedative from Ratchet—”

Jazz grabbed him by the wrist. “Come on, Prowler, I was just teasing you. Of course I’d be honored to recharge with you. We trust each other, don’t we?”

Prowl looked back at Jazz, his wings twitching. He slowly nodded.

Jazz tugged Prowl into his quarters, shutting the door behind him. He didn’t stop tugging Prowl until they were at his recharging chamber. Jazz bowed. “After you,” he teased.

Prowl wouldn’t look at him as he climbed in, the chamber barely big enough for the both of them. Jazz climbed in and laid on his side, so he was facing Prowl. He got an up close view of Prowl: the dimness of his optics, the scratches along his frame, and the purse of Prowl’s dermas. Jazz’s spark sung at their close proximity.

“So, what brought this on?” Jazz asked.

“When we slept on the couch together that one time…” Prowl whispered. He paused, gathered himself, and continued, “That was the best recharge I’ve ever had. Normally, my processor is running scenarios or calculations in the background. But with you… My processor was just… silent.”

Jazz digested the words. When Prowl laid on his side, facing Jazz, he found he couldn’t meet Prowl’s optics.

“If I kick you or murmur in my sleep, please don’t hesitate to kick me out,” Prowl said.

Jazz laughed. “I’ll just kick you back. As revenge for carrying me around base that one time.”

Prowl smiled softly. Jazz smiled softly back. They leaned in for a gentle kiss.

“Good night, Prowler. And good luck tomorrow,” Jazz murmured.

Prowl wrapped his arms around Jazz. “Same to you, Jazz. And thank you.”

Jazz awoke slowly, his internal alarm pinging in his head. He turned it off. As he stirred, he realized his chamber was much warmer than it should be, and his optics onlined.

Prowl’s face was inches from his own. Jazz barely held back the jolt of his frame. He glanced around him, and he both saw and felt Prowl’s hand on his waist, their legs tangled together. Jazz’s hands were inches from Prowl’s chest, and he was seriously tempted to run his fingers down it.

Prowl’s hand tightened on Jazz’s waist. Prowl’s optics slowly onlined, their pale blue a warmer shade than usual.

“I see that it was not a dream,” Prowl muttered. His voice was lower than usual, gravely. Hearing it made Jazz shiver.

Jazz grinned. “Afraid not, Prowler. Have regrets?” His own voice was smooth.

Prowl hummed. He removed his hand from Jazz’s waist. “No, no regrets,” Prowl said. “My calculations were correct: Being with you would reduce the overthinking in my processor by 80%, allowing for a swift and satisfying recharge.”

“That’s—” Jazz reset his vocalizer as it spit static. “That’s good to hear.” What would it be like to wake up next to Prowler every day? His spark whirled happily in his chest at the thought, and Jazz tapped a beat on his leg to distract himself.

Prowl sat up. “Thank you again for letting me join you.”

“Anytime, Prowler.” The tapping on his leg picked up the pace.

“Shall we go get breakfast? We have a long day ahead of us.”

Jazz nodded, though he waited for Prowl to climb out first before joining him. The two walked together to the mess hall, although Jazz realized too late that the both of them entering together would have certain… connotations.

Optics followed them as they waited in line to get their share of energon. Low murmurs filled the hall, and Jazz inwardly groaned. The rumor mill was already going at it.

Red Alert pulled Prowl away, murmuring something low. Prowl apologized to Jazz, who waved him off, and Jazz sat by Mirage and Bumblebee alone.

Mirage grinned at him like one of Earth’s organic wolves had finally caught its prey. Even Bee wasn’t oblivious, as he looked at Jazz and back to Prowl, who was walking out of the mess hall with a frantic Red Alert next to him.

“Have a nice recharge?” Mirage asked airily.

Jazz groaned. “It’s not what it looks like. We just happened to enter the mess hall at the same time.”

“Right, except that Prowl hardly ever comes in here to grab breakfast.”

“That’s not true. He’s been in here more than often as of late.”

“And why’s that, I wonder?” Mirage took a sip of his energon. “Does it have anything to do with the two of you spending time together?”

Jazz was about to retort, when Red Alert’s quick exit of the mess hall with Prowl made more sense. “You snuck into security, didn’t you?” Although Red Alert was an incredibly paranoid mech, sneaking in would be child’s play for a mech that could turn invisible, like Mirage. Jazz just wondered what had tipped Red Alert that his office had been compromised.

Mirage shrugged. “Who can say? All I know is that there has been diminished chatter about the ever-so-flirty Jazz sleeping around as of late. Why is that?”

Bee cut in, “Are you and Prowl dating? Not that that’s a problem, but… It’s… This is Prowl we’re talking about here.” Bee then did his very best impression of Prowl’s stoic, cool face. Jazz would’ve laughed if he wasn’t getting interrogated here.

Jazz huffed. “Look, Prowl and I aren’t a couple, okay? There. You can pass that rumor around.”

Mirage tapped his finger on his glass of energon. “But you want to call him yours, don’t you?”

“Nah,” Jazz said, putting on his best calming tone. “Like Bee said: Prowl’s Prowl, you know?”

“Right…” Mirage and Bee said at the same time.

Jazz leaned forward. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Why are you hanging out with him then?” Mirage asked.

“Yeah, Prowl is an emotionless drone. You deserve better than that, Jazz,” Bee said with a supportive smile.

Jazz’s optic twitched. He was terribly glad for his visor right then. “Everyone’s got emotions. Prowl’s just not good at expressing them. But when he does… he’s not that bad? Kind of… fun, even?” He shut his dermas before he could make even more of a fool of himself.

Mirage and Bumblebee turned to look at each other. “He’s got it bad,” Bee said.

Mirage nodded sagely. “I remember how I acted when I first realized my feelings for Hound. He’s not doing much better.”

“Hey, I’m right here, you know!” Jazz hissed.

Mirage shifted to face Jazz again. He reached out and placed his hand on Jazz’s shoulder. He said, “Although I don’t quite understand what you see in Prowl, we’re here to support you every step of the way.”

“I told you, I’m not—”

Bee sat up straight, his attention looking over Jazz’s shoulder. “Good morning, Prowl, sir.”

Jazz straightened, too, and looked behind him. But there was no one there. He kept his feelings of shame and embarrassment close to his frame as he slowly turned back to face his team.

Bee and Mirage were laughing, Bee clutching Mirage’s shoulder. “To finally get Jazz, what an honor!” Bee cried, coolant leaking from his optics.

The two of them separated when Jazz continued to stare at them, saying nothing. That didn’t stop them from fist bumping each other.

“I see you two have been around each other too much on missions,” Jazz said slowly. “Perhaps after today’s assault, I can fix that.”

Chapter Text

“You’re finally fucking here.”

Jazz’s grin widened into pure glee as he walked into a private room in the medical bay. Prowl lay on a berth, wires plugged into his open helm, which housed his whirring processor. The wires plugged into a machine next to his berth, which displayed Prowl’s various vitals. Other mechs would be squirmy about seeing the insides of another mech’s helm, but Jazz had seen much worse.

Ratchet typed away on a computer in the other corner of the room. He looked up and sighed when Jazz entered. “He hasn’t stopped asking for you since he onlined. And swearing,” Ratchet explained.

“I’m not fucking swearing,” Prowl growled.

Ratchet frowned at Prowl. “Yes you are. Your processor is too fragged for you to notice.”

“You just swore.”

Ratchet massaged his temple. He shot an exasperated glance at Jazz, and Jazz laughed while he approached Prowl.

Their attack on the Decepticon base hadn’t gone too poorly, but it hadn’t gone how they wanted it to, either. Their intel had been correct in that the base was an important one to the Decepticons, but the important mechs, like Megatron, Starscream, Shockwave, and Soundwave, managed to slip out of their fingers.

The only reason it wasn’t a complete failure was because the Autobots now had nearly half the Decepticons’ forces in their brig. And their stores of energon from their now captured base.

Most of the Autobot base was on high alert to make sure they kept those Decepticons imprisoned. Jazz had just gotten off his shift, where he had helped watch over the prisoners and interrogate a few of them to figure out where Megatron and his commanders had gone. He hadn’t had any luck in getting any helpful information.

He had just been about to head back to his quarters when he got a message from Ratchet asking him to come to the med bay. Apparently, Prowl’s processor had suffered from a heavy crash once the battle was over. That happened sometimes, Ratchet had explained via comms while Jazz had walked over. Prowl had just worked his processor too hard. Jazz supposed he would, too, if he had to run all the calculations Prowl did while a raging battle was going on.

Jazz sat down on the edge of Prowl’s berth. Prowl tried to sit up, until the tug of the wires and chords in his processor forced him back down. And Ratchet’s seething glare.

“What’s got you swearing up a storm?” Jazz asked.

“Were you even listening, asshole?”

Jazz snorted. He didn’t know Prowl knew any human swear words. He found it delightful. “I suppose not. So! What did you need me for?”

“I had to know you were all right.”

Jazz tilted his head. “Yeah? Why wouldn’t I be?” Most of the Autobots had already been fixed up by Ratchet, save for Optimus, Sunstreaker, and Ironhide, who had much larger injuries. They were likely resting in the other med bay rooms.

“I just had to know. Just… had to see you.”

Jazz’s spark let out a, well, spark at those words. He glanced back at Ratchet, who seemed to be too engrossed in his work to notice. Slowly, he grabbed Prowl’s hand and squeezed it. Prowl squeezed back, a gentle smile on his face.

“So, I see the rumors about you two are true,” Ratchet deadpanned.

Jazz snatched his hand away from Prowl’s, his visor deepening into a vibrant blue. Prowl tried reaching for Jazz’s hand but opted for resting his hand on Jazz’s leg instead.

“What rumors?” Jazz asked with his best straight face.

But Prowl ruined Jazz’s denial by saying, “Damn, that color looks nice on you.” He flicked his hand in the general direction of Jazz’s face, before settling his hand back on Jazz’s leg. Prowl’s doorwings tried fluttering from underneath him, but his weight prevented them from moving around too much.

Ratchet shot Jazz a haughty, gruff grin as he looked away from his computer. “It’s not a bad thing that you two are together. Prowl needs to stop hiding himself away in that office of his. But I don’t see what you get out of the arrangement.” Genuine curiosity bloomed from his field.

While Ratchet put on this air that he didn’t care what happened on base, so long as mechs stayed out of the med bay, Jazz knew he had a secret affiliation for gossip. At least Ratchet wasn’t the type to spread it around, since he strongly believed in patient confidentiality.

That being said, he liked letting people guess. “That’s for me to know and you to find out, isn’t it?” Jazz said with a smirk.

Ratchet scoffed but didn’t pry further.

“There is a—” Prowl’s vocalizer burst into static. He tried sitting up again, and Jazz forced him down with a hand. He continued, “There is a ERROR% chance that Jazz is—”

Ratchet growled and wagged a finger in Prowl’s direction. “What did I tell you about running calculations right now!? You should be letting your processor rest.”

“Kiss my ass you fucking killjoy…” Prowl muttered, looking away.

Ratchet looked ready to throttle him, but by some unseen power, he just turned back to his computer.

Jazz watched him work for a moment before looking back at Prowl. Likely feeling Jazz’s gaze, Prowl stopped pouting at the wall and shifted to look at Jazz.

“I have a present for you,” Prowl said. He tried to sit up, to reach his subspace.

Jazz pushed him down with a laugh. “Is that why you keep sitting up? I’m not going anywhere, Prowler, so you can give me your gift later.”

Prowl sighed. “That’s lame. And shitty.”

“You’re swearing this much on purpose.”

Prowl swatted Jazz’s back. “If someone else accuses me of such a debased thing, I’ll happily force my processor into a coma.”

“Why wait? I’ll just unplug your—”

“You will do no such thing!” Ratchet yelled. He had a wrench in his right hand. Jazz held up his hands, knowing any wrong move would make that wrench end up colliding with his helm. Did Ratchet always carry that in his subspace? Jazz hadn’t seen a wrench lying around anywhere.

“Right. Of course. I was just teasing, Ratchet.”

“Oh yeah? How about we play the quiet game, since you’re so fond of human culture.”

Jazz nodded, miming zipping up his dermas. He would’ve just up and left, but when he tried, Prowl tried to get up with him and loudly complained. So Jazz just continued sitting by Prowl’s side, until Prowl eventually fell into recharge.

Chapter Text

“You have nothing to say? Nothing at all? No swearing this time?”

“Jazz, get out of my face.”

“But I thought you liked looking at my face? Or maybe… a ‘blue visor that looks damn good on me?’”

Prowl frowned, though that was undermined by the flutter of his doorwings. He pushed Jazz’s face away from him. “You are intolerable.”

“You didn’t deny it,” Jazz teased. He let Prowl walk past him before following behind him. The two of them were walking in the Autobot base, heading somewhere Prowl had deemed a “surprise.”

Jazz was usually careful of doing any teasing or public displays of affection when other mechs were around. Or cameras. But he couldn’t help himself: Prowl’s crashed state from yesterday was the perfect teasing material.

He had washed and waxed his frame today, especially his face and visor, to see if he could get a rise out of Prowl. Judging from the way Prowl kept looking back at him, that had been a good decision.

When a mech came around the corner, Jazz waved at them with a smile. And Prowl did the same.

Wait.

Jazz hurried to Prowl’s side, and he looked him up and down.

“What?” Prowl asked. He didn’t break stride.

“What was that?”

“What was what?”

Another mech passed by them, and Prowl waved at them. And smiled. The other mech nearly smacked into Jazz as they stared at Prowl’s face.

“That!” Jazz pointed at Prowl. “You need to stop doing that.”

“What, saying ‘hi’ to mechs? That was your recommendation.”

“No! The…” Jazz pointed to his own dermas.

Prowl tilted his head. He slowed down, until they were both stopped in the hallway. “Smiling?”

“Yes.”

“Why? I thought smiling was considered a friendly gesture.”

Jazz clenched his fists. “Yes… But…”

Prowl watched Jazz flounder for a moment, before he leaned close. The red crests on his helm gleamed in the lighting of the hallway. “If you wish for me to smile only at you, all you had to do was ask.”

Jazz’s frame warmed as he tried to say anything without static bursting out. Prowl’s face was so close, too close, his blue optics looking at Jazz’s dermas.

And then Prowl straightened. He shot Jazz a smirk before turning and waving to a mech that was heading their way. As soon as the mech was gone, Prowl said over his shoulder, “Now do you see what I’ve been dealing with all morning? I’m afraid I’ll have to keep ‘dishing it out,’ as the humans say, until you do.”

At those words, Jazz’s fans kicked on. He desperately tried to reign in his field, but Prowl’s stupid, attractive smirk only widened.

“You are intolerable,” Jazz hissed as he ducked under Prowl’s doorwings. The low chuckle he heard as he walked away certainly didn’t help.

Jazz barely managed to swerve around Prowl’s grasping fingers. The two of them were driving around the Autobot base, in a race that normally would’ve gotten them in trouble, except Prowl had gotten permission from Optimus Prime to call it a “training exercise.” Jazz smiled at that; leave it to Prowl to find a loophole in the rules.

Prowl transformed back into his alt mode and punched it to get back on Jazz’s tail.

The desert stretched on around them. The glaring sun and the hot sand underneath Jazz’s tires were making him feel slightly feverish. Or maybe it was the thrill of being chased, consensually this time.

Finally, Jazz drove past their “finish line:” an outcropping of rocks and boulders near a cluster of cactuses. He skidded to a stop and transformed with a flourish. Prowl slowly came to a stop next to him before he transformed as well. Both of them were behind the pile of rocks, the base out of view. The cactuses were too small to provide any real shade.

“How’d you like my dust, Prowler?” Jazz crowed. “Taste good?”

Prowl shook his head, though he had a small smile on his face. He held out his hand. “Good job, Jazz.”

Jazz grinned and took the hand, only for Prowl to tug him to Prowl’s chest. Prowl murmured next to his helm, “I’m afraid the dust doesn’t taste nearly as good as you.” He kissed Jazz’s cheek, and Jazz shuddered.

“Who knew the great tactician Prowler would be such a flirt?” Jazz draped his arms over Prowl’s shoulders and pulled him in for a real kiss this time. “How did you learn to be such a tease?”

Prowl’s doorwings fluttered. He rested his hands on Jazz’s waist. “Lots of research, I’m afraid.”

“Well, it’s certainly paid off.” Jazz kissed the spot between Prowl’s optics, and Prowl’s field burst with warmth and affection.

Prowl pulled away, which Jazz pouted at, until Prowl pulled out a large blanket and a mech-sized, tarp umbrella from his subspace. He set the blanket over the sand, and he set up the umbrella to shade them.

Jazz plopped down on the blanket with a sigh. Once the umbrella was truly situated, Prowl sat down next to him.

“How’d you get that?” Jazz asked, gesturing to the umbrella.

From his subspace, Prowl pulled out a basket full of magnesium sticks, energon goodie cakes, and flavored energon. He set it between them. “Wheeljack,” Prowl said simply.

Jazz hummed. He took a goodie cake cube and tossed it into his mouth. He smiled as the rich, sweet flavor burst in his intake.

As the two of them sat there, they chatted about various things, from what they thought the season finale of Avatar was going to look like, to some of their earliest memories. The two of them held hands and traded kisses as they talked. Their fields mingled with one another, too. It was incredibly nice.

When it was time for them to head back to base, Prowl subspaced all the items he brought. But then he pulled something else out from his subspace: a medium-sized box and a box that was only the size of Prowl’s palm. Right. Jazz had completely forgotten about the gift Prowl had tried to give him in the medbay. Prowl handed Jazz the medium-sized box first.

Jazz thanked Prowl and opened it: it was a box full of custom-made knives. He grinned and hugged Prowl. “Thanks! One can never have too many knives, you know?”

Prowl squeezed Jazz back. “Of course.” Now he handed Jazz the smaller box.

After subspacing his new knife set, which he also guessed were made by Wheeljack, he opened this new gift. It was a glow-in-the-dark star, but words were engraved on it: Love is brightest in the dark.

Jazz recognized that phrase. That had been in the show they were watching. In season two, Aang and his gang had to go through a complex underground tunnel system to avoid Fire Nation attacks. Aang and Katara had found the Tomb of Two Lovers, which told the tale of two lovers from feuding towns. The lovers had built the tunnel system to provide a secret spot for the two of them to meet, and that’s where the phrase originally came from.

Jazz looked up at Prowl and gave him a crooked smile. Prowl shot back that brilliant smile that showed off all his pearly whites. An emotion swelled up within Jazz, one that nearly made him blurt something, but he held it back.

“Thanks, Prowl. You’re the best,” Jazz settled on.

Prowl dipped his doorwings. “You’re welcome, Jazz.”

Chapter Text

After nearly two Earth weeks of interrogations and interviews with their Decepticon captives, Jazz had finally gathered some intel on where the big baddies of the Decepticon cause had disappeared to.

Now it was just a matter of planning the actual assault on the Decepticons’ most secretive, well-hidden base.

So far, the Autobots weren’t having much luck.

“No, Prowler, you’re staying behind.”

“If I join you and your team, your success rate increases by 15%. And that barely makes the success rate of the mission passable.”

The two of them were arguing in the conference room on base, where they usually had their morning meeting. Optimus, Ratchet, Ironhide, and Red Alert watched the two of them bicker from their seats around the table. Prowl and Jazz had stood from their seats and glared at each other.

“You’re a tactician!” Jazz hissed. “You need to be behind the frontlines.” He glanced at Optimus. “Tell him he needs to be behind the frontlines.”

“Tell him that I am a capable mech, and that my margin of error is less than .5%,” Prowl cut in, before Optimus could say anything.

Ratchet massaged his face with a groan, and Ironhide leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. Red Alert muttered something insulting.

Optimus held up his hands. “Look, why don’t we—”

But Jazz was having none of it. “.5% margin of error? We know hardly anything about what’s really hidden in that base. Your numbers are off.” He struggled to keep his field close to his frame.

Prowl’s doorwings hitched into a stiff “V” shape. “No, they’re not. That’s why the success rate of the mission is so low to begin with.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

“Well, I think you’re overestimating your abilities.” Jazz really hated that their first big fight was so public. Such a thing was inevitable, with how closely they worked together. However, this was too important for him to let go.

Prowl’s optics brightened, and his doorwings shuttered behind him. “What do you really have against me going? It’s not because I’m the Second In Command.”

“It’s like I said—”

“And I am deeming your words a lie or only partial truth, 80%.”

“You are going to get yourself killed! My team has worked together, you haven’t worked with us before.”

“I can adapt.” Prowl scowled at him.

Jazz shook his head, leaning forward on the table. “Not when it’s life or death.”

“Then that’s a risk that’s necessary to the Autobot cause.”

“No it’s not!”

“Yes it is! If my death allows us to end the war, then that’s an honorable sacrifice.”

Jazz clutched his helm and let out a hysterical laugh. “Honorable? Prowl, I love you too much to lay your life down for something as silly as ‘honor!’ Especially if that death was easily preventable!”

Prowl’s doorwings fluttered. “And I love you too much to watch your entire mission fail, when I could’ve been there to watch your back!”

Both of them froze as their processors finally caught up with what they had said. Jazz stared at Prowl, who wouldn’t meet his gaze. Prowl’s doorwings wouldn’t stop twitching and moving, and he covered the lower half of his face with his hand.

Warmth erupted in Jazz’s spark and spread to his entire frame. His field gushed with joy and delight. That had been the first time either of them had said those three important words to each other. Well, in this case, they had said more than just “I love you,” but who’s counting?

Then Jazz remembered they weren’t alone. Jazz glanced over at the rest of the table, already dreading their reactions. Red Alert stared at them with his jaw dropped. Ratchet smirked and muttered, “Finally.” Ironhide flinched in disgust before schooling his expression. And Optimus gave them a surprised but warm smile.

“Well, now that the truth of the matter is out in the open…” Optimus said, standing. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to make an executive decision: Prowl will join your team, Jazz. I trust that you will watch over him. Oh, and congratulations. You two make a lovely couple.”

“Prowl,” Jazz called. “Prowl!”

As soon as the meeting was over, Prowl slipped out of the conference room and practically ran back to his quarters. Jazz chased after him.

“Wait up!”

Before Prowl could slam the door to his quarters closed in Jazz’s face, Jazz tackled Prowl to the floor. Jazz’s helm knocked into Prowl’s, and the two groaned in unison.

“Why are you running away from me?” Jazz asked. He sat up, straddling Prowl’s hips. He thought of that time Prowl had chased him, all that time ago. What a turn of events.

Prowl looked away from Jazz. His fingers rubbed against Jazz’s knees. “I just…” He tried to push Jazz off of him, but Jazz refused to budge. With a sigh, he pinged his quarter’s door closed and explained, “We had discussed taking things slow, and I… ruined that.”

“I mean, I ‘ruined it’ first. Besides, we both feel the same way, so who cares?”

Prowl looked up at him. “I suppose that’s true.”

Jazz laughed and leaned down to give him a peck on the dermas. “You don’t sound all too excited about it.”

As Jazz pulled away, Prowl leaned up and recaptured Jazz’s dermas with his. “I fear I am far too happy about it for how young our relationship is. My spark feels like it’ll spin right out of my chest. And I keep thinking about what it would be like to be bonded to you. But these emotions are too strong, so I’m trying to hold everything back.”

Jazz’s fans kicked on. “Then stop holding back. I feel the exact same way.”

Prowl grabbed onto Jazz’s waist and flipped them, so that Prowl was now straddling Jazz. Jazz’s vocalizer spit out static at the warm look Prowl gave him and the way Prowl glowed like an angel. He dove down and kissed Jazz senseless.

Jazz waited impatiently on Prowl’s couch as he set up the projector. They were on the last episode of Avatar: The Last Airbender. And Jazz was practically vibrating with excitement.

When the episode started and Prowl walked back over to the couch, Jazz grabbed him and pulled him onto his lap. Prowl let out a gasp in surprise, before settling down against Jazz’s chest. Jazz had to maneuver his head to see around Prowl’s doorwings, but he didn’t mind. He had instigated this, after all.

“Oh wait, pause it, Prowler,” Jazz said.

Prowl paused the episode, shifting so that he was facing Jazz. “What’s wrong?”

“I, uh, need to apologize. About earlier. I don’t really think you’re incapable on the field. Or anything like that. I just… wanted you to stay safe. Though, I did a slag job of conveying that.”

Prowl touched his red crests to Jazz’s helm. “Apology accepted, Jazz. I admit, I’m terrified about this upcoming mission. So many things could go wrong that I haven’t accounted for…”

Jazz grabbed Prowl’s hand and squeezed it. “We’ll be okay. I’ve got the world’s smartest mech on my team now.”

Prowl smiled. “And I have the world’s sneakiest, most troublesome special operations agent on my team. The Decepticons won’t know what hit them.”

As the show started back up again, Jazz internally pulled up a picture of his glow-in-the-dark ceiling. Each fake star made the ceiling look surreal, but one star shined a little brighter than the rest.

He grinned and mentally tucked the picture away in his processor. He settled further into the couch, Prowl’s warmth and humming spark mingling with his satisfied field.

Chapter Text

“You and Prowl.”

“Yes.”

“You. And. Prowl.”

“Yes?”

“You and Prowl? That’s why you were asking all about him!” Smokescreen flailed where he lay on a medical berth. Jazz laid on a different medical berth across the room.

After the success of their last mission, a lot of mechs had been injured, which led to multiple patients being squeezed into each room, just to accommodate them all. Megatron and his commanders had been apprehended, and now a forceful peace treaty was in the works between the Decepticons and Autobots.

Meanwhile, now that the war was basically over, mechs had the breathing room to address the gossip that had spread like wildfire about Prowl and Jazz dating. This was especially easy for mechs to do because Jazz was forced to rest in the medbay.

Jazz had been congratulated by Bee and Mirage, both with smug, annoying fields. Bluestreak, Sideswipe, and Sunstreaker had given Jazz weird looks. When he had asked why, they asked if they could no longer pull pranks on Prowl. Jazz only winked at them by flashing one side of his visor.

And now he had to deal with Smokescreen questioning him. The mech had just barely come online after being put into a medically necessary stasis to help his frame heal, but somehow, he already heard the juicy news about Prowl and Jazz. Someone must’ve excitedly commed him about it while he was out.

“Look, I was genuinely trying to get information about him as a friend at the time,” Jazz said with a sigh. He glanced over to see Smokescreen staring at him incredulously. “So, sorry I guess? We good?”

Smokescreen shrugged and winced as that jostled one of the injuries on his arms. “I was just looking for something fun at the time, so yeah, we’re good. I just can’t believe you’d pick Prowl of all people.” He played with the yellow crests on his helm.

Jazz frowned. “You know, if you actually got to know Prowl, you’d know he’s a treat to be around. I’m incredibly lucky to have him. I don’t get why people don’t understand that.”

As Smokescreen opened his dermas to respond, the door opened. The mech of the hour, Prowl, walked in. What was strange, though, was that his doorwings were fluttering and his field was warm and soft.

Prowl avoided eye contact with Jazz as he walked over and sat on his bed. Jazz smiled at him and held his only hand. Jazz’s other arm had been blasted off by Megatron’s powerful cannon, so he was waiting to get a new one installed.

Prowl commed Jazz, “Did you really mean all that?”

Jazz’ optics flashed in surprise. He lifted Prowl’s hand to his dermas and kissed it. “Of course,” he commed back.

Prowl’s doorwings fluttered some more, and Jazz rubbed the back of Prowl’s hand with his thumb.

“Ugh, okay, I see it now,” Smokescreen said.

Jazz flinched. He had sort of forgotten he was there. He looked over to see Smokescreen wincing as he sat up a little, just on his elbows.

Smokescreen shot them a teasing grin. “I’ve never seen either of you look so happy. And yes, Jazz, I know what one of your real smiles look like.” He shook his helm. Then his smile disappeared, and he looked Jazz right in the optics… or as best he could with Jazz’s visor being in the way. “If you hurt Prowl, I will have Sideswipe and Sunstreaker rain down a prank war so vile and toxic, you will never be able to recover.”

“Smokescreen, lay off of him,” Prowl cut in before Jazz could quip back. “Jazz has been nothing but good to me so far.” Prowl squeezed Jazz’s hand.

Jazz had almost forgotten that these two had known each other for quite a long while.

Smokescreen held up his hands. “All right, all right. But the warning still stands.” He laid back down on his berth.

Jazz laughed. He let go of Prowl’s hand and pulled Prowl into a kiss. He looked right in Prowl’s eyes and said, “Don’t worry, I won’t ever let the light of my spark snuff out.”

“But love is brightest in the dark, my dear Jazz,” Prowl said.

They kissed again, until Smokescreen groaned for them to “stop being so sappy that they made his spark hurt.”