Work Text:
”Hey. It’s late. Come to bed.”
”Once l finish this report,” Prowl replied, so quickly it had to be a pre-programmed reply to these exact words.
”Yeah, by then it’ll be early."
Jazz shook his head, clearing sleep from his processors as his systems rebooted. The slight blurriness of his vision was fixed after a few blinks as optic sensors reset. Jazz sat up, finding himself looking at Prowl's silhouette, illuminated in the darkness by the screen of the datapad in his hand. To everyone else, lights off meant recharge. To Prowl, it meant dimming the screen to lessen the strain on his eyes, in order to keep working when he should be snoring by now, c’mon mech.
Yeah. Yeah, they’d had this conversation before. Before conversations, arguments. Those were in the past now, but the issue had not been entirely solved.
Setting up a home office for Prowl was sort of a patch-job solution. While it did not exactly discourage the mech from working overtime, sometimes multiple nights a week, at least Jazz did not have to go drag him out of his office anymore. Having Prowl present — at least physically, even if mentally submerged in work — also meant that Jazz could look after him, and more easily convince Prowl to leave his work alone for the night and join him in bed.
”Y’know, nobot’s going to need that report at sunrise. Finish it in the morning. You’re up before anyone else anyway,” Jazz said, trying to reason Prowl out of his work-fixated mindset. ”More important you got your sleep.”
”In a moment,” Prowl replied. The strategist could make even a vague, indefinite estimation sound certain. Almost enough so to convince Jazz.
Too bad Jazz was no longer fooled by his partner’s in a moment. It meant anything from minutes to several hours, because the only time Prowl was not exact about units of time was when it came to overtime.
The saboteur craned his head to look at their berth, where he had been contently sleeping until he’d become aware of the lack of a warm frame next to him. He could've slipped back in and returned to recharge mode.
Jazz turned to look at his partner again.
Prowl's attention had fully returned to the report in his hand.
Jazz got on his feet, with a sigh. A couple of quiet steps took him to Prowl’s side. He did not gain his bondmate’s attention. The concentrated frown stayed, accentuated by the angles of the red chevron decorating the strategist's forehead. Prowl’s eyes only shifted to move to the next paragraph, never straying from the datapad even as Jazz stood by his side.
"For a bot so in love with schedules, you sure are good at forgettin’ your sleep schedule," Jazz huffed, turning to lean his backside against the edge of Prowl's desk.
"I have not forgot. Eight hours of recharge is impractical and excessive", Prowl replied, still looking at the datapad. "We do not need to adapt to human biorhythm simply because they're our close allies."
"Not like you ever recharged for a full cycle back on Cybertron, either." Jazz chuckled, but did not hide the disapproval, or the touch of concern, in his voice.
"My daily routines and recharging patterns are highly optimised for an excellent work-life balance."
Another autoreply. Had to be, and Jazz bet Ratchet'd heard that one a couple of times. And no doubt barked a disbelieving laugh every time. "I'd like to get a second opinion on that"
"You can ask Ratchet."
"Nah, wouldn't dare to disturb Ratchet. Already catching Zs." Jazz's visor flashed. "Y'know, like you should be doing."
Jazz hopped to perch on the edge of the desk, nonchalant. At least for a bot who was trying his best to figure out how to drag his partner to bed this time.
"Are you trying to distract me?" Prowl asked, the hint of amusement in his voice also present in the way the corners of his mouth started to curl upwards.
"Dunno. Maybe. Is it working?"
"Not really." Prowl lifted his optics from the datapad. The slowly spreading smile relaxed his features. "Your company is a pleasant addition."
Jazz smiled back. Despite the late hour, Prowl looked content, no signs of stress or tension present on his face now that his work mode frown had softened into a smile. His optics glowed a peaceful, steady blue.
Maybe there was no reason to drag the strategist to bed. Not that Jazz would admit it to Prowl, but eight Earth hours of recharge was a bit excessive. Soon after the Autobots had decided to stay on Earth, Prime had suggested they familiarize themselves with the circadian rhythm that defined human lives. Increasingly curious about their ways of life, Optimus was looking for ways to connect with their new human allies, through learning about their habits (and trying out every human ball game he learned about). That was a whole other story, though.
Scooting over to sit in the middle of the desk, Jazz flashed an affectionate grin at the seated bot now directly in front of him. Jazz's visor brightened to a warm glow, then turned mischievous as he extended his legs. The saboteur pretended to stretch casually before hooking his feet on each of the armrests on Prowl's chair. Using his legs, Jazz drew the chair and its occupant closer to the desk, until his bonded was close enough that Jazz only needed to lean forward to press a light kiss on Prowl's chevron. The silly, romantic gesture was followed by a low chuckle and a gentle hum of his systems.
"Ah well. C'mon then, finish your work. I'll keep you company. Long as you don't go starting a new report."
Jazz leaned back, content to sit on the table, one leg dangling off the table while the other remained propped on the armrest of Prowl's chair. He watched the strategist's face set into an even smile, and the sweet expression remained in place as Prowl's attention turned back to the datapad. Seeing his bondmate’s whole posture relax, from the hinges of his doorwings to his grip on the datapad, reminded Jazz that it was not always about being right.
Yeah, Prowl still needed to place more value on his well-being and less on his work, and yeah, it was well into the recharge cycle and now Jazz was not going to be sleeping before the report was done, either.
But studying that soft expression in place of Prowl's signature occupied look, and feeling the fingers of his partner's free hand occasionally brush his leg — the one still resting on the armrest — reflexively but not absently, made the moment sweet, shared, even as Prowl's in a moment turned into several moments.
After all, relationships sometimes were about compromises. And love about shared moments.