Chapter Text
Prowl was no longer used to being out in the field, and he mentally pitied himself as he realized this.
A blast further away shook the ground, and dust covered part of the field. As the dust settled, Prowl moved behind some rocks, taking cover while recalculating.
As chief tactician, he was supposed to be at the base, with a hologram in front of him to view the entire area, and working with Blaster to maintain constant communication with the forces on the battlefield.
However, today he was there, on the front line. There were two reasons for this: firstly, Smokescreen, his second, was supposed to be the strategist on site, but was currently convalescing. Secondly, the Decepticons seemed to have developed new jammers, and the risk that the Autobots would be out of communication with Prowl was too important to be ignored.
-[:: Don't get overwhelmed, mech!~ ::] Jazz spoke through their communications.
Prowl glanced aside, to meet the blue visor of his colleague, who was several meters away, also under cover. Prowl felt his sparks tingle as he noticed the large smile on his face, and decided to ignore it by rolling his eyes dramatically, just to make it clear to Jazz that he was annoying him.
-[:: I don't get overwhelmed, I adapt our strategy ::] Prowl retorted, his calculations continuing to run in the background of his processor.
He saw more than he heard Jazz's laughter. The other officer was brimming with a cheerfulness that seemed inexhaustible, even if there was a 90% chance that it was all an act, considering Jazz's capacity for pretending.
Prowl sometimes wondered if he was the only one who saw beyond what Jazz was willing to show.
Perhaps he was. Perhaps it was due to their shared experiences over the last few years, their constant collaboration even behind their comrades' backs.
Prowl learned, sometimes at his own expense.
Today, as so many times before, Jazz was on the battlefield, in a spot where he wasn't supposed to be. Prowl himself had planned this strategy, he knew everyone's positions, and clearly, Jazz wasn't supposed to be there. He should have been on another part of the field, dealing with the Seekers with other designated Autobots.
But Prowl considered Jazz's disobedience in his calculations, so there was exactly an 88% chance that he wouldn't follow the plan to get closer to Soundwave.
It was always like that.
Prowl glanced at Jazz, who was himself watching Soundwave standing a little further away.
Honestly, Prowl wondered how no one had noticed anything yet.
It was obvious, that Jazz and Soundwave were in a relationship.
Prowl didn't know if it was because his mind was constantly on all their strategies and reports, but he found it hard to ignore that Jazz always managed to be in close proximity to Soundwave during every battle. And Jazz was competent, perfectly capable of shutting down an opponent. So why was Soundwave always able to escape without injury?
No sooner had the thought formed in Prowl's processor than it was gone. His optics focused on Soundwave, more specifically on the shards of his armor that flew when he was hit by a shot, before his body wobbled and fell backwards.
-SOUND! Jazz's scream was drowned out by the ambient noise.
Prowl barely glanced at his team-mate, whose eternal smile had sunk to a tetanized grimace. He began to make a hesitant movement, probably with the idea of going to the Decepticon's aid.
Prowl's processor seemed to empty completely at this point. He couldn't let Jazz intervene and risk getting caught. So, ignoring all sense of logic and self-preservation, Prowl left his shelter and rushed towards Soundwave.
He didn't check on Jazz's reaction, but hoped the Spy would stay out of it.
Prowl knelt down beside the tape carrier and grabbed his shoulder:
-Get up! he ordered firmly.
Soundwave was disoriented, but not enough to remain inert on the ground. He struggled to his feet, a gaping hole in his second shoulder, wires exposed and sizzling, energon flowing ominously.
Prowl consolidated his grip on him and used all his strength to pull him just a little further away and into cover.
Once they were in some semblance of shelter behind the rocks, Prowl rushed to perform first aid, at least to stop the bleeding.
Soundwave hadn't said anything so far, just looked at him, probably stunned by the pain and shock. But while he may have looked impassive - due to the mask and visor - he finally spoke up, in a strangely hesitant voice that betrayed a hint of incomprehension:
-Prowl: helping Soundwave?
Prowl didn't dare reply or look at him. He kept his optics fixed on the wound, from which he had managed to stop the bleeding.
Soundwave was still too stunned to insist or say anything else.
All around them, the battle was still going on.
Prowl checked the state of the wound one last time. Then, inadvertently, he looked up at Soundwave's visor.
Soundwave was staring back at him.
Prowl could see his optics analyzing him behind the opaque visor. He swallowed, letting a semblance of doubt and concern betray his facial expression.
He hesitantly stepped aside. Then he finally turned away, and left the shelter to return to the battle.
What had he done?
After an interminable length of time, the Decepticons finally retreated. Prowl checked that they had recovered Soundwave. Fortunately, they had.
But why did he fear he would leave him behind?... Besides... Maybe it would have been preferable if the Decepticons simply abandoned him? So the Autobots could have captured Soundwave and...
Prowl shook his helmet. No, he shouldn't be thinking about this. He'd already deviated from his role by healing the enemy.
While the Autobots were returning to the Ark, no one made the slightest comment about Prowl. Probably because no one had noticed anything except Jazz . The terrain wasn't the most suitable for visibility, so Prowl must have gone unnoticed, fortunately.
They arrived at the base and Prowl set off discreetly for his quarters- he didn't want to go to the infirmary and endure Ratchet's remonstrances.
Not surprisingly, he felt a presence at his back. A familiar presence.
Prowl said nothing at first. He walked through the empty corridors until he reached his quarters. As he stopped in front of his door to unlock it, he sighed:
-Would you like to come in, Jazz?
He didn't even glance at the spy standing a few steps away. Prowl entered his room without waiting for an answer, but he perceived the footsteps that followed him.
The door closed, trapping him in the room with Jazz.
Prowl finally turned around, arms crossed, head held high, ready to fulfill his role as a serious, unflappable officer.
Jazz stared back at him, equally serious and without a hint of a smile. It was rare to see him like this.
After a few seconds' silence, Jazz spoke, his voice devoid of emotion-and coming from Jazz, it betrayed a certain distress-.
-Why did you help him?
Prowl pressed his lips together, not immediately trusting his voice. He took the time to inhale, to search for his words, before answering, almost too low:
-Because otherwise, you would have done it.
The silence stretched on, and Prowl struggled to keep his door wings from twitching; he wanted to remain impassive, but it was getting complicated. Especially with Jazz still staring at him. It was similar to Soundwave: the visor hid his gaze, but didn't prevent him from feeling that he was being watched.
Finally, Jazz murmured:
-You noticed?
Prowl raised an eyebrow. Notice what? That Jazz regularly observed Soundwave, whether on the battlefield or on the various recordings they had of him? That he always found a good excuse to be the one to fight him? That strangely enough, their fights always ended in a draw, with neither of them seriously injured? Or that Jazz seemed to be having a particularly good time hacking into the Decepticon network, especially when Soundwave retorted and the two engaged in virtual battles?
Prowl wondered if Jazz knew about all the little clues he was leaving here and there, not to mention the spy's habit of disappearing without warning - and the tactician suspected that his disappearances weren't always top-secret missions, even if Jazz would have us believe otherwise.
Beyond that: why hadn't anyone but Prowl noticed anything yet?
Prowl often questioned this, because the whole situation seemed so obvious to him. But he came back to his earlier conclusion: you couldn't spend that much time with someone without getting to know them a minimum.
...and probably his own feelings for Jazz had played a major role in his observations.
-You should leave, Prowl simply replied.
There was no need for them to discuss this for hours. What was the point? Prowl was far above emotional states. He wasn't programmed to be sentimental, but to work out military tactics and if they started talking too much, he felt he'd start worrying unnecessarily.
But Jazz didn't leave. Instead, he took a step towards Prowl:
-You didn't answer my question.
Prowl didn't back down despite his growing envy:
-I've got nothing to answer.
-Why did you help Sound?
-Is it really important?
He saw Jazz's lips twitch slightly, and the mech with the blue visor took another step:
-You could have denounced me to OP. You could have put me in jail. You...you could have let Sound die.
Jazz was finally close to him, so close they were almost touching.
Prowl looked away for a brief second before regaining his composure, but when he looked again at Jazz, Jazz's mouth had lowered into a trembling, nervous pout:
-Why did you do it, Prowl?
Prowl felt his own expression drop. He wasn't prepared for this. He wasn't sure he could handle it.
Again he looked away, his body sending him new notifications, his HUD telling him to back off and take cover.
-... I...
He was surprised by the way his voice came out, so hesitant. He wasn't supposed to be hesitant!
He switched off his optics, took a deep breath. What could he say, frankly...?
-I wasn't thinking.
The last straw for him, who thought too much every day.
He turned his optics back on and looked feverishly at Jazz.
-If he'd been wounded, it would have impacted you.
Jazz's visor lit up slightly, a sign of surprise. Then, past the surprise, Prowl felt Jazz's field manifest itself. A field filled with pleasant surprise, gentle concern and deep gratitude.
Jazz crossed the last few inches separating them and took him in his arms, careful of his door wings.
Prowl stifled a surprised gasp.
Jazz's voice was only a whisper near his hearing receptor:
-Thank you, Prowler...
Prowl pursed his lips in a thin line. Then he responded to the embrace shyly, putting his arms around the other mecha.