Gomita 🧸

[Chapter Five]

Jazz whistled a jaunty little tune as he walked around the Ark. With Prime currently away to lead negotiations with the Decepticons, it was up to him to make sure the base was up and running smoothly. He had already checked in with various commanding officers to track their department's current progress. Usually they would do group meetings to discuss progress, but he rather enjoyed doing one-on-one check-ins with everybody. It was much more fun than sitting in a stuffy meeting room. Prowl would no doubt question the efficiency of his approach.

Speaking of Prowl, Jazz quickly sent a quick burst down the bond to see how he was doing. There was no response. The bond was quiet. Prowl must still have been sleeping. Once an early riser and always the last to berth, Prowl now spent more time sleeping as a side effect of carrying.

While Prowl had been granted carrier leave, Jazz's rank made it so that he still had shifts to report to. The result being that he had to spend the first 10 breems of the morning carefully untangling Prowl's limbs from his own, which was a task that was made significantly more difficult by the fact that Prowl's carrier coding made it so that he instinctively clung to warmth. Jazz had long figured out that the only way he was getting out of the berth was by carefully tucking in and covering his conjunx in a ridiculous amount of blankets. He smiled at the mental image of a little bundle of happy Praxian.

Accessing his HUD, he quickly added a reminder to find more datapads that Prowl would enjoy reading in his newfound free time. He knew that his conjunx still felt guilty about being on mandated leave, so he had made it his mission to track down anything that could keep his processor busy for prolonged periods of time. Optimus had gladly lent him some of his favorite mystery novels, Rewind had been happy to have a willing audience to his archival material, Wheeljack and Perceptor had developed a puzzle program for him, and Hound had sent over some of his favorite documentaries.

He entered the Rec Room and grabbed a cube, before taking a seat in a booth currently occupied only by Ratchet. He was the last commanding officer on his check-in list.

"Hey Ratch!"

"Jazz." Ratchet acknowledged him. "How's your conjunx?"

"Getting tired of spending most of the orn just lying or sitting around."

"I imagine he's going to be singing a very different tune once your sparklings start running you both ragged."

"Have a little faith. This is Prowl and me we're talking about."

"You're right. We'll be lucky if your twins don't come out already knowing how to run."

Jazz laughed, but was distracted by a message flagged as urgent from Blaster.

From: 📻 Blaster (Communications Commanding Officer)

To: 🎶 Jazz (SIC/Spec Ops)

Subject: [Keep an optic on Prowl!]

Currently speaking to Prowl in the hallway. He looks the angriest I've ever seen him. He says the Twins pulled a prank in his room, so he is currently hunting them down. He looks like he might actually murder them!

To make matters worse, Prowl looks different…

His previous mirth faded away. Jazz could have sworn that the Twins had promised to behave so as to not stress Prowl during the last leg of his carrying. If Jazz had put a little extra pressure on them, that was neither here nor there. Regardless, if Blaster was contacting him, then it must be serious. He was confused though. It was unlike Prowl to get visibly angry. Aside from Optimus, Prowl had some of the best patience in the entire army.

Not to mention the fact that he apparently looked different? Different how? Good different? Bad different? Carrying frames tended to shift, so Blaster's vague statement offered no information. It just left Jazz worried.

Something must have showed on his face because Ratchet asked, "Is everything alright?"

"Blaster just messaged me. He says the Twins decided to play a prank, and Prowl is disconcertingly angry. He apparently looks 'different'."

"Leave it to those two to slag off a carrier so late in their term." Ratchet rubbed his chevron in exhaustion. "Can't say what's running through their helms, but Prowl's exaggerated anger might just be a side effect of his carrier coding. Heightened mood swings are common."

"But Prowl? He is usually the model example of keeping one's helm."

"Carrier coding doesn't discriminate, but check on him if you're that worried. Bring him over to the Medbay if he actually does look different. You know his frame better than Blaster."

Jazz nodded. "I'll just finish my cube and head out."

"It'll be fine," Ratchet tried to assure him. "I highly doubt this is anything to worry about. Blaster was probably just erring on the side of caution, just like the rest of the army seems to be doing."

"Hah! Tell me about it." Jazz said as his worry began to subside. "The other orn Prowl mentioned he had gotten a heavy bout of nausea after smelling the magnesium additives Bumblebee adds to his energon. Bumblebee went out of his way to throw away every packet from the Rec Room."

Ratchet groaned. "That explains why I've been having to take my fuel bland for the past couple orns. Honestly, you'd think nobody has seen a carrying mech before."

"Well, to be fair, we were at war for millions of vorns."

"Yet, that didn't seem to stop you two now did it?"

He chose not to dignify that with a response and instead took a sip out of his cube to hide his slight flush. So he had sparked up his conjunx after a baffle failed. Sue him.

He was saved from further engaging with the conversation by an incoming comm call. "Give me a klik Ratch. Gotta take this real quick."

[(1) INCOMING GROUP CALL FROM "SIDESWIPE" & "SUNSTREAKER".]

"You two want to explain what exactly it is you did to rile up my conjunx?" Jazz snarked.

"Jazz!" Sideswipe said. "We didn't do anything. That's part of the reason for why we're calling."

He could hear a grunt of assent from Sunstreaker.

"Explain. Now."

"We were just chilling in the hangar, and then Prowl stormed in accusing us of messing up his habsuite. Then he told us that we were responsible for cleaning up, so we are currently here right now, but it looks clean to me!"

"Wait, you're currently in our habsuite?"

"Yes, but Jazz! Prowl wasn't acting right. He was storming down the halls, rapidly crouching down, and carrying a heavy load of cleaning supplies. Now I'm no expert, but I don't think that's stuff a carrier should be doing, but when we tried to tell him anything, he just told us to be quiet."

"He also threatened to drag us down himself if we didn't comply," Sunstreaker added.

Stumped by the information he was receiving, Jazz replied, "Thank you for the heads up. I'll take it from here." But before he forgot, he quickly added, "Oh, and get out of our habsuite."

"Gladly," the Twins responded in unison.

[(1) GROUP CALL ENDED.]

Jazz was at a loss for words. Not only was that behavior worrying and potentially dangerous for a carrier, but it was so unlike Prowl. Even when dealing with the worst offenses committed by the Twins, he had handled each situation calmly and professionally. Never once raising his voice or threatening physical action. He felt worry slam into him. Was carrier coding really that strong?

"What was that all about?" Ratchet's voice broke him out of his worried stupor.

"The Twins just called. Apparently, they maintain that they are innocent. But Ratch, apparently Prowl was physically overexerting himself."

At that, Ratchet immediately went into medic mode. "Overexerting himself how?"

"According to the Twins, he was zooming around the hallways and carrying heavy materials."

"Has he done that before?"

"No. That's why I'm worried. It's been killing him to just sit around, but he's never even attempted to engage in heavy physical activity since it might pose a risk to the twins."

Ratchet pursed his dermae in thought. "Considering he's been fine this whole time, I'm thinking something must have set off his carrier coding."

"Is he going to be fine? Are the sparklings alright?"

"Assuming that it is just temperamental changes, they should be fine. But I am concerned about the fact that he has had such a drastic change practically overnight. I think it would be best to see if having the sire nearby might satiate whatever set off his coding. It could simply be an extreme adverse reaction to being physically separated."

Before Jazz could respond, Ratchet raised a servo and appeared to take a comm call of his own.

In the meantime, Jazz felt his anxieties increase tenfold. He tried figuring out what could potentially have set Prowl off. When tucking him in before his early shift began, everything had seemed to be fine. Prowl's engine was purring happily underneath all the blankets by the time he left. And the previous night, they had happily indulged in their usual routine. Prowl had looked so sweet and content cuddled up next to him. Like always, Jazz had sung the twins a little lullaby, causing Prowl to doze off, leaving him to appreciate his little family in the quiet.

The nerves got the better of him. He needed to check up on Prowl. To make sure that everything was alright. It was better to be safe than sorry.

From: 🎶 Jazz

To: 💌 Prowl

Hey, Sweetspark! Where are you? I heard the Twins were giving you trouble.

Luckily, Prowl tended to be quick at responding. All he had to do was wait and hear his conjunx's side of things. Hopefully, everything was just a result of the crew fussing over him.

A notification hit his HUD and relief filled him. Obviously, Prowl must have been just fine if he had been able to so quickly compose a response. He quickly opened the message and felt a sense of unease bubble in his tanks at the message.

[(1) Message to "💌 Prowl" failed to send. Comm number not found.]

There was no reason for Prowl's comm number to be unavailable. Even when he was not on the roster of active duty, Prowl never disabled his comms. The workaholic and dedicated commander remained adamant that he should be easily accessible at any time of the orn regardless of his leave.

Whether it was sire coding that kicked in or his naturally honed-in instincts from his time in Spec Ops, Jazz was suddenly hyper-aware of everything around him. There was a lingering sense of uncertainty that belonged only on the field, not in the safety of his own base.

He tried to rationalize it. "Hey Ratch, what are the chances that carrier protocols could have cut off Prowl's access to his comms?"

Unfortunately, the medic seemed preoccupied with his call. The clear concern on Ratchet's face only served to further set off his nerves. He had no proof, but instinct told him it was connected to whatever was going on with Prowl.

The supposed unusual burst of anger, the difference in appearance, and his disabled comms were all painting an ugly picture. But everything had been perfectly fine just a couple joors ago. And even if comms were disabled by an unknown threat, Prowl could have easily let something pass through the bond to warn of an emergency.

Jazz sent another burst through the bond. Love/comfort/curiosity.

The bond was still quiet.

That couldn't be right. If Prowl was up and supposedly in an agitated state, he should have felt something, unless Prowl had his end blocked, but even then, he should have felt the muffling of whirling emotions. He had to see Prowl.

He was just about ready to jump out of his seat to go find him, when Ratchet confirmed his worst fear.

"You need to head to Prowl's office right now."

Jazz felt dread at Ratchet's tone. It was not a sarcastic lilt nor his typical tone. It was the voice he used when one of his patients was in danger.

"His office? I thought you and Red locked that down."

"We did, but Red Alert just informed me that Prowl is demanding entry access," Ratchet explained. "But, more importantly and more concerning, Red Alert noticed that Prowl looked substantially leaner. Given his prior behavior, I told Red Alert to grant him access to appease him for the time being, but you need to go wrangle him to the Medbay."

His spark dropped. It was one thing for Prowl's behavior to change. Carrier coding had been known to cause even the most rational of bots to act erratically. It was a completely different thing for a carrier's frame to undergo a severe physical change so late in their carrying. He almost felt as though his spark was climbing up his throat. It wasn't just Prowl, but also his sparklings that were in danger.

"Jazz! Listen to me. Prepare a cube for him, and meet me in the Medbay. Whatever might have happened, we caught it early, which increases the chances of successfully treating it."

He nodded and ran to the energon dispenser before rushing to Prowl's office. Images of the worst case scenario spiraled through his processor. Worry for Prowl, worry for his twins, worry for his family seemed to engulf him.

Primus damn it! Everything was going perfectly. Why did something have to happen now?

He pushed his pistons to the metal as he transformed and raced to Prowl's office. He would clean up the tire marks later.

Approaching the office door, he input the special access code that Prowl had granted him for easy entry. While he was no coward, he was terrified of what the door would open to reveal. His processor conjured up images of Prowl collapsing in his office, of Prowl hunched over in pain, of Prowl crying out for help with nobody around to hear, of Prowl needing him but being nowhere in sight.

As the door slid open, Jazz was relieved to see Prowl sitting in his desk with bright optics and shiny plating. All of which were indicators of a healthy bot. More importantly, he was happy to see that his conjunx didn't seem to be in any pain regardless of what was going on. Prowl looked fine.

Just the sight of his conjunx was enough to calm his nerves. He entered with a smile. It was short-lived.

Momentary confusion on Prowl's face gave way to the meanest scowl that he had ever seen on his conjunx's face. Sweet dermae that would always curve into shy smiles were twisted into a grotesque glower. Optical ridges that would furrow in confusion or deep thought were now deep crevices of wrath. However, it was Prowl's optics that scared him the most. Light blue optics that were purer than the rawest celestite now burned like a cold fiery blaze. They scalded his plating.

Optics that had always looked at him in fondness now only reflected hatred. Simply put, Prowl looked downright rabid. Jazz felt his smile falter.

Never in the vorns of knowing each other had Prowl ever looked at him with such clear distaste. It stung.

Before Jazz could even take control of the conversation, Prowl hissed out "You!"

"Me?!" He exclaimed dumbfounded. Memories of the last few joors passed through his processor in an effort to try to figure out what he could have possibly done to warrant such a reaction.

Doorwings hiked up in anger, and Jazz didn't even know they could hike up so high.

"I bet you thought you were clever! I will admit you almost got me by framing the Twins. I had completely forgotten that their insolence is only outmatched by yours."

Jazz might have argued that point but considering that he had never seen Prowl in such an agitated state before, he wisely chose to keep his mouth shut. The first rule of being a spy was to let others freely give you the information themselves. He had yet to understand what Prowl thought he did wrong. And any attempt to try and defend himself immediately evaporated from his glossa the second he felt the pure fury emanating from Prowl.

"And as if desecrating my habsuite was not enough, you went behind my back and kept Optimus's absence a secret. Do you have any idea of the risk you have put him and this base in by refusing to communicate that vital information to me?!"

"Desecrate" was a pretty harsh descriptor in his opinion. He knew Prowl was a stickler for cleanliness, but when he'd left for his shift, their habsuite looked pretty organized to him.

But that was besides the point. The more glaring issue was that Prowl must have been suffering from some sort of processor fog, seeing as he had made sure to diligently confer updates of Optimus's progress. And even then, Prowl wasn't cleared for duty. All responsibility of the base fell to Jazz.

"And to top it all off, you had the audacity to convince Ratchet and Optimus to go along with your ploy to lock me out of my office when I am perfectly primed for duty. All because of what? A petty grudge? Or can you simply not comprehend that I am actually qualified for my position?"

Jazz felt like his helm was spinning. What on Primus's name was Prowl talking about?

Forgetfulness was a known side effect of carrying, but Prowl had seemingly forgotten large periods of time. While Prowl had complained about his mandated leave, he had begrudgingly accepted. So why was Prowl acting like this was brand new information?

Even worse, did Prowl feel as though his efforts went unappreciated by him? That was slag! Jazz knew there was nobody more qualified than Prowl. And he made sure to tell him that, repeatedly.

Slowly, Jazz approached the desk and unsubspaced the cube, placing it on the desk. "Prowl, I am sorry that was not my intention." Given that Prowl's hostility was completely one-sided, the best strategy was to try and mollify him. Plus, a cube of energon might have the added benefit of calming him down.

Jazz stood in confusion as Prowl looked at the energon cube with heavy scrutiny. He saw as some sort of realization flickered in those beautifully analytical optics. With speed he definitely should have been incapable of, Prowl jumped to his pedes and slammed his servos on the desk. "So you were in my habsuite!"

Horror filled him as he finally saw the part of his conjunx's body that had been obscured by the desk. Red's assessment had been correct, Prowl looked smaller. Dangerously smaller. The small bump that had formed to accommodate his twins was non-existent.

Every strut in his body was begging him to do something. To wrap Prowl in a bundle of blankets and hide him away from all danger. To hold him close and utter sweet murmurings that everything would be fine. To transport him to Ratchet's immediately.

Meanwhile, his processor was drowning in guilt. Why hadn't he noticed anything? Prowl had seemed fine in the early morning, but what if he had been wrong. He felt his spark drop at the thought that he had let excitement blind him. He would never forgive himself if a momentary lapse in his vigilance had compromised Prowl's health.

What sort of conjunx was he? What sort of sire? He had promised to protect them, yet he had failed.

Throwing all caution to the wind, Jazz went behind the desk and felt his mouth drop after noticing the dents left on the desk. He quickly grabbed hold of Prowl's servos and rubbed gentle circles to soothe the hurt from slamming the desk. In the sweetest voice he could muster, which came easily when it came to his lover, he said, "Prowl, let's go see Ratchet."

He had just barely started to trace little gentle designs on Prowl's doorwings—a motion that experience had taught him would have a guaranteed soothing effect—when a sudden change in his position caused him to cry out in surprise.

It all happened in an instant. Too focused on getting Prowl to Ratchet, he did not stop to think how his actions would be interpreted by a furious carrier, which is how he found himself pinned to the desk by Prowl.

Deep aggressive vibrations from Prowl's revving engine kept him suspended in a state of shock. His conjunx was the type of mech to use violence as a last resort. While he was ruthless when it came to directing battles, when it came to interpersonal conflict, he would never get physical.

"Have you lost your damn mind!" Prowl spat out over him. "Trespassing, conspiracy against a commanding officer, hacking base locks, vandalism, abusing administrative privileges, and purposefully withholding pertinent information! And as if that was not enough, you just had to add assault of a commanding officer to the list! You're lucky I did not snap your entire arm off!"

A chill traveled down his spinal strut at his conjunx's vicious tone.

But that was nothing compared to the way his energon had frozen at the fact that with Prowl using his body weight to restrain him, he could not sense their sparklings. Jazz would know. Nimble fingers had intimately memorized the outward curve of his lover's forge. Hypersensitive audials had memorized the faintest murmur of his twins' small thrumming sparks.

He could not hear them. Two small vibrant sparks that had become steady constants in his life were no longer audible.

His creations were not here. Deep and erratic vents left him breathless.

That was not possible. This had to be a horrible recharge flux. Anytime now he would wake up with Prowl cuddled up next to him. His twins residing safely in their carrier's forge.

The reality of a frame pushing down against him brought him back to the present.

"Prowl, please, are you okay? Are Smokey and Blue fine?"

"Who?" Prowl snarled.

Panic, fear, dread, terror, hysteria all swirled around in his processor. This was perhaps the first time Jazz had ever doubted the accuracy of his audials.

"More of your co-conspirators?"

If those names meant anything to anybody it would have to be Prowl. With Prowl's carrying being so widely known throughout the Autobot ranks, they had tired of everything becoming public knowledge. As a result, they wanted something that would only remain between them both. They were the only two mechanisms alive who carried the knowledge of their twins' designations.

Jazz turned his helm just enough to gaze at his sweet conjunx's face. He was met with a visage that promised retribution. "Smokey and Blue. Please Prowl, I need to know. Where are they?" He begged with tears welling behind his visor.

Genuine skepticism marred his conjunx's face. "I have no clue what you are on about." The familiar sound of Prowl removing his stasis cuffs from his subspace echoed the shattering of Jazz's spark. "I recommend staying quiet before you further incriminate yourself."

Vorns of experience as a Spec Ops operative had long taught Jazz to trust his intuition. Said intuition was currently yelling at him that something was horribly wrong. Every limb was begging to fight back against the mech currently restraining him. His processor was screaming that this wasn't his conjunx. It couldn't be his conjunx.

The same doting mech, who had braved his fear of medics and willingly let his overactive processor wallow in inaction for the benefit of his creations, could not be the same mech who now reacted to their designations in disdain and apathy. The same sweet mech, who lovingly cuddled with him every night, could not be the mech who was now attempting to restrain him.

He sent several bursts down the bond, praying that Prowl would give him some indication of what was going through his processor. Love/Comfort/Fear/Worry.

There was no reaction. No response.

This couldn't be Prowl. The sheer rage emanating from his frame would have been impossible to completely hide from the bond.

Jazz closed his optics, trying to stop tears from falling down his face. He let out a shaky vent and could see as his vent fogged up the metal underneath him. Focusing on the metal, he could make out the warped reflection of the mech above him. Blue optics had a freezing, rather than a warming, effect.

No. This was not Prowl. His spark did not recognize him. Every single energon line in his body was warning him that something was wrong. He had not stayed alive for so long by ignoring them.

He stayed quiet, careful not to further escalate the situation, and quickly sent out a missive. He still had a base to protect.

From: Second-in-Command/Special Operations Commander Jazz

To: Comm Group: "Autobot High Command "

Subject: [CODE RED: INTRUDER ALERT]

A potential infiltrator has disguised himself as Prowl. Chief Tactical Officer Prowl's current status and location are unknown. All available personnel are needed at Prowl's office. Suspect is aggressive. Proceed with stealth and caution.

Battle protocols were fully activated, and Jazz had to fight against the urge to just slam himself against the mech wearing his lover's face. The most reserved part of his processor, the part that was too weak to raise a servo against his lover's likeness, cautioned him to approach the situation carefully.

He let "Prowl" handcuff him. If the situation called for it, he knew he could easily break out of them. He was hauled up on his pedes, hands restrained behind him.

"Honestly, I expected better of you." The fake Prowl snarled. "We've never seen optic to optic, but I never suspected that you would sink so low. And to think I had even the smallest shred of respect for you and your abilities."

The voice that would softly whisper sweet murmurings late at night was now a torrent of vitriol. It flooded Jazz's audials, filling him with hurt.

It was the worst torture imaginable. To hear a voice that had brought him such comfort now bring him such fear and panic. To feel servos that would gently draw patterns on his chassis now push him forcefully. To see fond optics swallowed whole by hatred and indifference.

Where was his dear lover? Where was the mech he had promised to protect? Where was the mech he had failed?

He tried rationalizing everything, but this farce made no sense. Ideally, a talented impersonator would have made sure to replicate Prowl's mannerisms perfectly. Instead, they had managed to mess up Prowl's traits so badly it was almost comical. Where Prowl was calm and collected, this mech was hot-helmed. Not to mention that it was definitely a horrible choice to take on the appearance of a carrier but fail to adopt their physical likeness in its entirety.

So what was the goal?

Maybe they were aiming to encourage infighting within the faction by pinning one of the most respected bots against the rest. It would explain why "Prowl" had been so openly hostile to everybody he came in contact with.

But that raised the question of who would even execute such a plan.

They were currently in a ceasefire agreement with the Decepticons. And even if they had chosen to pursue more underhanded means, Jazz knew for a fact that Decepticon intelligence was aware of Prowl's carrying status. Soundwave was not incompetent enough to sign off on such a half-baked plan.

He could think of no other group or party that would have a stated interest in this sham.

Strong servos started to guide him somewhere, presumably the brig. However, "Prowl" was stopped in his tracks when his office door opened to reveal Ironhide and Red Alert waiting outside. Jazz had worked alongside them all to know that Wheeljack, Blaster, and Ratchet were standing by out of sight, ready to intervene if reinforcements were needed.

For the first time, Jazz felt the tiniest tendrils of "Prowl"'s EM field. There was a small coil of unease running through it.

"Ironhide, please escort Jazz to the brig. He has committed multiple infractions. Among the most notable are assault of a commanding officer and abuse of administrative privileges. Given the ranks of those involved, we will, apparently, have to wait until Optimus returns for sentencing. Do make sure that additional precautions are taken. We all know he is clever."

"Prowl" then proceeded to roughly shove him into Ironhide, who thankfully caught him before he crashed into the ground.

Another mistake. Prowl would never treat a mech in stasis cuffs so callously.

It did not skip Jazz's notice that Red Alert had carefully repositioned himself so that the intruder was trapped in between him and Ironhide.

It did not miss "Prowl's" notice either.

Doorwings ever so slightly hiked up when Ironhide had yet to move a pede.

"Ironhide, I gave you an order," the intruder hissed.

Looking down, Ironhide shared an unsure glance with the saboteur, who tilted his helm and took his cue to slip away from his restraints.

"I don't take orders from you." Ironhide retorted.

The magnitude of the situation came down on "Prowl" as his expression morphed into one of shock. "What is the meaning of this?!"

Jazz approached with the same stasis cuffs that kliks prior had been fastened around his own wrists. "That's what we want to find out. Now we can either do this the easy way or the hard way. I'm just letting you know now that I won't take it easy on you just because you're wearing my conjunx's face, so choose carefully."

"What!?" The fraud exclaimed in shock and horror. Something in Jazz's statement had set off a visceral reaction from the mech because he could teek an EM field that was a dizzying array of confusion, shock, and embarrassment.

"Have you all gone insane? This is treason of the highest order!"

"I hear too much talking and not enough decision-making," Ironhide prompted.

The intruder looked around. Intelligent optics quickly analyzed the situation, and how it broke Jazz to see traces of his lover in them.

And despite the hurt it caused, he forced himself to track those optics. To see as this infiltrator, who had managed to distort Prowl's character, somehow managed to perfectly capture the brilliant glint he had fallen in love with. Clenching his fists and pursing his dermae, "Prowl" dejectedly put out his servos in front of him. His frame trembled in barely contained fury.

As Jazz approached to handcuff him, the fraud maintained unflinching optic contact. Jazz had almost preferred that he hadn't.

He heard as "Prowl" spat out, "I do not know what you are plotting, but you won't get away with it. I'll make sure of that."

And despite his confusion at those words, in that moment, he saw the determination, the steadfastness, and the stubbornness he had grown to adore. He had to look away.

"Ironhide, Red Alert, take him down to one of the interrogation rooms. I'll be there shortly."

Both bots nodded in acknowledgment and proceeded to carry out his orders. He heard as "Prowl" continued to complain and berate Ironhide and Red Alert as they escorted him, but he really did not care to follow. There was a much more important thing to worry about.

He saw as Blaster and Ratchet approached him, concern evident in their expressions, but he waved them off.

Jazz opened Prowl's office doors and let himself drop to his knees as soon as the door shut behind him. Heavy ventilations wheezed out of his frame as he processed the last couple of breems.

The only thing giving him the strength to continue was the consolation that his bond with Prowl was still active. He sent a short burst and felt a keening sound escape his vocalizer when nothing came back yet again. Prowl was alive, but he had no way of knowing what state he was in, of what state their creations were in.

Why? How? When? Who?

Those questions kept haunting him.

Jazz felt like his entire world had been cruelly ripped from his servos, and he had been unable to put up a worthwhile fight.

His loving conjunx had been replaced by a husk that couldn't quite properly imitate him in frame much less in spark. His beautiful twins had been stolen from his grasp before he had ever gotten the chance to hold them.

If Prowl were here, he would have already come up with an entire analysis of the situation, but Prowl wasn't here. Only a fake remained. A fake that had somehow managed to capture the subtlest of mannerisms that Jazz had grown so intimately familiar with, and that unnerved him for reasons he could not quite explain. It was like faint whispers of Prowl were haunting him.

Shakily, he stood up. That was all the time he permitted himself to grieve. Wallowing would accomplish nothing. He needed to get to the bottom of this.

His conjunx was fine. His beloved twins were fine. He would will these two statements to be fundamental facts of the universe. He refused to accept the alternative.

[Chapter Four]

Prowl woke up feeling as though he had been turned inside out. The first thing he noticed was a throbbing helm-ache that made it so opening his optics was nearly impossible. He grimaced and tried rubbing his face in a naive effort to assuage his helm, but he froze when he realized he was enclosed. Panic quickly set in. Where was he?

Acting brashly at this point in time could be fatal. Lying still, he turned up his audials and doorwing sensors to their highest sensitivities. Only the typical whirring and buzz of faraway machines could be heard. No nearby sparks could be detected through his sensors. Relief filled him. Wherever he was, he was 93% sure that he was alone and not at risk of immediate attack.

Regaining his mobility was his first objective. An unknown soft material cocooned him. He gracelessly began to thrash around, aiming to free himself. It appeared he had been close to a ledge because the next thing he knew he fell a short distance and crashed onto the floor. Freed from his rather weak restrains, he quickly jumped to his pedes, alert to his surroundings.

He was dumbfounded when he was met with the sight of his habsuite.

The restraints he had been so eager to break out of had just been an obscene amount of blankets. Prowl might have felt embarrassed by the fact that he had treated such an everyday item as though it had personally wronged him, but his processor was too caught up on the fact that he didn't own any blankets.

Why were they here?

As a matter of fact, his normally clean and organized room was in a state of absolute disrepair. All of his carefully curated possessions had been replaced by clutter.

Pillows and blankets of various colors were piled up into an ugly mound of fabric on his berth. Various posters of questionable taste hung on his walls. Shelves that had beautifully organized his most frequented datapads in alphabetical order according to subject now housed a random assortment of junk. There was a cube of what appeared to be tampered energon on his berthside table. If so, that had to be the world's most pathetic attempt at assassination via poison.

He sincerely doubted that anybody would be that incompetent, so the next most obvious answer for who was to blame for this mess was the Terror Twins. They were the only ones bold enough to even attempt something like this.

By Primus, he was going to throttle them.

It wasn't enough that they continued to wreck havoc on base premises with their little pranks, leaving him to deal with obscene amounts of paperwork, they also had the audacity to encroach on his personal living space. He immediately opened his comms, ready to give them the verbal lashing of a lifetime. Several kliks passed without response.

Messages popped up on his HUD:

[(1) OUTGOING CALL TO "SUNSTREAKER OF KAON— FRONT LINE INFANTRY/ SPEC OPS" FAILED. NO SIGNAL FOUND.]

[(1) OUTGOING CALL TO "SIDESWIPE OF KAON—FRONT LINE INFANTRY/SPEC OPS" FAILED. NO SIGNAL FOUND.]

Cowards.

Prowl rushed out his room. The Twins were naive if they thought something as simple as turning off their comms would save them from his wrath.

He marched down the hallways already compiling a list of plausible offenses for his write up: trespassing, conspiracy against a commanding officer, hacking base locks, potential robbery, and vandalism. A little part of him hoped the Twins were skipping out on their punishment detail, so he could add "failure to fulfill disciplinary measures" to his report.

Sharply turning a corner, Prowl managed to just barely avoid crashing into Blaster.

"Prowl! Oh Primus! I am so sorry about that. Are you alright? Should I comm Ratchet?" Blaster asked with wide optics.

He was momentarily caught off-guard with the genuine, but admittedly overblown, concern emanating from the other bot. He knew that Blaster was a rather friendly mech, but their relationship had only ever been professionally cordial. Besides, they had not even scratched the other.

"I am fine. I hardly think this is worthy of Ratchet's attention." Waving it off, he remembered what his current objective was. "Do you happen to know the current whereabouts of Sunstreaker and Sideswipe?"

"Last I saw they were lounging around in the hangar. Why? Did you need something?"

Prowl felt his previous anger return as he remembered the mess they had created in his room. "Those two thought it would be a funny idea to lay waste to my personal quarters. I intend to show them just how much I enjoyed their little joke."

Blaster looked surprised. "Really? I thought they had sworn to leave you alone for the time being so as to not stress you out."

"There has not been a single orn since their enlistment that they have not been a continual source of annoyance." He hissed.

Blaster flinched at the venom in his tone. "Oh…I'm sorry to hear that?" Curiously, the mech's optics fell and seemed to survey his frame. "Say, have you been fueling as often as you should?"

"Excuse me?" Prowl asked, genuinely puzzled.

"Well, I'm no expert, but Ratchet said that consistent fueling is important for somebody so far along."

This conversation had very quickly taken an unexpected turn. He was no stranger to others questioning his fueling habits. But those concerns came from Ratchet, who was a medic, or Optimus, who was his superior. Both were well aware of his less than stellar habits and actually had an invested interest in his well-being.

But Blaster? They barely even interacted outside of duty-related activities.

Furthermore, what did "somebody so far along" even mean in this context? Was it because of his rank? Was this an awkward gesture of concern from a worried subordinate?

Unable to piece anything together, Prowl felt like he was being taken for a fool. "I don't see how my fueling habits are any of your concern." He said with optics narrowed in suspicion.

Prowl saw the other bot's optics dim for a moment, a possible sign that he was accessing his internal comms. It was not unheard of for the Twins to employ others in their pranks. In that moment, he realized that Blaster's supposed demonstrations of concern could have been feigned for the purposes of throwing him off the Twins' trail. That wouldn't do.

He pointed an accusing finger, voice taking on a threatening edge. "Blaster! If I find out you were a part of their scatterbrained mischief, I will gladly write you up as their accomplice. You'll be scrubbing the walls alongside them for orns to come. And forget about even blasting your music throughout!"

Blaster's jaw dropped.

Turning around, Prowl hastened to make it to the hangar and intercept the two. From the other end of the hall, he could hear Blaster cry out,"Wait! Prowl! Slow down! You might hurt yourself."

Indignation filled his energon lines. Despite what many believed, he wasn't fragile. Though he was rarely stationed in active combat due to his appointment in tactics, he, like everybody else, had seen his own fair share of fighting throughout the course of the war. Besides, it seemed to coincidentally skip everybody's processors that he had previously been an enforcer before any of them had even held a blaster. Granted his position in the Mechaforensics Department meant he was rarely called for active threats, but he was trained all the same.

Approaching the hangar, he slammed the door open. Optics honed in to see a red twin and a yellow twin lounging about.

Sideswipe gave him a cheery smile and waved. "Prowl! It's good to see you. How's it going? How are you feeling?"

Sunstreaker gave a small polite nod.

Had they no shame?

"That's Commander Prowl to you," he said through gritted dentae. "Do either of you want to explain why you deemed it appropriate to make an absolute mess in my habsuite?"

Confusion marred both of their faces as they shared a glance with the other. They were no doubt communicating via their shared bond, trying to come up with some sort of cover story to bypass disciplinary action.

It seemed that Sideswipe had been chosen as their spokesperson. "We're not sure we follow?"

"Don't feign ignorance! I know this is payback for your most recent punishment detail."

The Twins shared another quick glance with the other. "I mean it took us forever, but looking back, its kind of hilarious. Didn't think you had it in you." Sunstreaker responded.

Prowl could feel his anger reaching a boiling point. Could these two take nothing seriously? No matter what he did, no matter how many punishment details or hours in the brig he assigned, he seemed incapable of cracking discipline into their dense helms.

"Stand up! Since you two made the mess you are cleaning it!" He seethed.

The Twins were momentarily still.

"Stand up, or I'll drag you there myself!"

That got a reaction out of them since they quickly jumped to their pedes. Optical ridges were creased in what seemed to be a combination of concern and shock.

"Okay, okay! Just take it easy Prowl. Stress isn't good for you." Sideswipe quickly stammered out.

"You should have thought about that beforehand," Prowl snapped. He was not in the mood to deal with his sarcasm at the moment.

With a small wave of his servo, Prowl ordered them to follow. He marched out of the hangar, leading the Twins back to his quarters. It seemed they at least had the good sense not to repudiate. On his way, he stopped by a cleaning supplies closet, quickly crouching down and reaching up to gather the appropriate supplies.

"Hey! Prowl! Come on, take it easy."

He chose to ignore their lack of formalities for the moment and pushed a random assortment of supplies into their servos, slamming the door behind him.

"I don't think this is good for—"

"Will you two quiet down! You are not getting out of this."

Finally arriving at his habsuite, he opened the door and ordered the two inside. "You have exactly 30 breems. This room better be spotless by the end. I better be able to see my reflection on the walls, and I expect all my possessions to be returned to their exact locations. And do not even think about tampering with anything else or so help me you do not even want to know what punishment I will conjure up." The door slammed shut.

Short of having to deal with an unexpected Decepticon invasion, a throbbing helm-ache and the Twins' antics were the worst way to start an orn. Rubbing his temples with his servos, he let out a deep and heavy sigh in an effort to regain some sense of control. Taking a look at his chronometer, he winced at the realization that he was late to today's meeting. Ironhide would never let him hear the end of it.

Unsubspacing his personal datapad, he quickly reviewed the orn's agenda as he made his way to the meeting room. It would do no good to show up late and unprepared. He opened the door and was rewarded to an empty room.

While he wasn't entirely shocked that some commanders—like Wheeljack and Ironhide—would take his tardiness as an excuse to take their leave, he was surprised to see that not even Optimus and Red Alert had managed to exercise their patience.

Alone in the room, he let out a heavy groan at the fact that it had seemingly only taken a couple breems to dissuade the entirety of High Command from seeing today's meeting through. And they wondered why they had yet to win the war?

Prowl resigned himself to heading straight to his office, mentally shifting schedules and timelines to accommodate the orn's cancelled meeting. He would just have to schedule another one. However, upon entering his office's access code he was met with a baffling message:

[PASSWORD INCORRECT. ACCESS DENIED.]

Perhaps he had accidentally missed a number. His subsequent attempt yielded the same message.

[PASSWORD INCORRECT. ACCESS DENIED.]

As did the next…

[PASSWORD INCORRECT. ACCESS DENIED.]

and the next.

[PASSWORD INCORRECT. ACCESS DENIED.]

Prowl rested his helm lightly against the wall in frustration. This had to be the worst start to an orn ever.

"Prowl? Is something wrong? Do you require assistance?"

Quickly straightening his posture and rebuilding his poise, he turned and came fact-to-face with Red Alert, who was just the mech he needed to see. And while he had half a processor to reprimand him for the missed meeting, he had a more pressing matter to address.

"Yes, as a matter of fact I do. I have been trying to access my office, but all of my attempts have been denied. Is there a base-wide systems update that I was not made aware of?"

Red Alert looked at him perplexed. "Ratchet determined it would be best to eliminate your access to your workstation for your own well-being."

"Excuse me?" Prowl could feel his dentae grinding against each other. That damn medic just did not know how to mind his own business. He had been prattling him nonstop to stop by the Medbay for an appointment, but Prowl was busy, and he felt fine.

"Then Ratchet will be happy to know that I feel fine and am in perfect condition to carry out my duties, so if you could please renew my access, that would be greatly appreciated."

"Sorry, but Ratchet's suggestion was endorsed by Prime, so you'll have to take it up with him. But, as you know, he's not here. And due to an obvious conflict of interest, you cannot go down the usual chain of command. But that aside, I think it is best for you all to just wait it out. Not much longer if I remember correctly." Red Alert responded warmly.

While Prowl should have been angry that Optimus had seen it fit to lock him out of his duties without discussion, he was more concerned by the Prime's absence.

"Optimus isn't here?"

"Has Jazz not been keeping you updated? We are uncertain when he will return, but we have received notification that everything is progressing smoothly."

Prowl froze at the mention of the Third-in-Command's designation. It was bad enough that Optimus had left without telling him, but it stung to know that he had instead chosen to confide in the disrespectful saboteur. Rather than focusing on the sting, he instead channeled his anger towards the impertinent spy.

"No, Jazz had not shared that with me." He replied with clenched servos.

Red Alert looked surprised at that piece of information. "He probably did not mean to stress you out. We know you don't like waiting around helplessly," he replied sympathetically.

He almost snorted at the concept that Jazz had held any benevolence in his silence. It was much more likely that, like always, the spy had chosen to forgo proper procedures in favor of taking matters into his own servos.

"Red Alert, I do not care what Jazz's reasons for omitting information are or what Ratchet and Optimus said, you will grant me access to my office."

"I'm sorry Prowl, but I really do think it is for the best for all of you to listen to Ratchet's expertise."

Between all of the morning orn's mishaps and the knowledge that Optimus had left without warning, which meant that Prowl had been unable to oversee the Prime's itinerary, he was at his breaking point. Only because it was Red Alert, who he actually found to be one of the more tolerable commanding officers, did Prowl try to limit the bitterness that would surely leak into his words.

"The Prime is gone, which means that, per the established chain of command, I am currently responsible for overseeing this base, which I cannot do without access to my office."

Red Alert looked at him in doubt. "Actually, responsibility over the base currently falls to—"

"Red Alert!" Prowl snapped, having finally reached the end of his already frayed patience. Too much time had already been spent on dealing with inane interruptions due the the incompetence of others. "I don't care what channels you have to go through, but I am telling you that you will restore my office access."

Red Alert looked hesitant for a second, but whatever expression was on his face must have finally moved him to action. "Alright…just give me a klik." Optics dimmed as Red Alert got in communication with somebody. As Prowl waited, he saw Red Alert throw him worried glances every couple kliks.

"Okay, you should be good to go."

Prowl stepped forward and entered his code, internally feeling relieved when the usual message appeared:

[Password Correct. Access Granted]

Never in his life did Prowl think he would be so happy to hear the sounds of pistons as the door unlocked. "Thank you," he spat out, more out of maintaining decorum than actual gratefulness for aid in resolving a problem that never should have existed in the first place.

"Of course." Red Alert nodded his helm as he placed a servo on his shoulder, which caused Prowl to immediately stiffen. Did nobody in the damn Autobot army know how to conduct themselves professionally?

He shot Red Alert a glare, hoping that would be enough to prompt the offending servo's removal.

"Prowl, is something wrong?" Red Alert asked urgently as he quickly removed his servo.

He felt his temper flare. "The Twins completely defaced my habsuite. Ratchet decided to proceed with an authorization that I did not give him my permission to pursue. Jazz, in all his infamous wisdom, saw it fit to withhold information about our leader's whereabouts. And I just had to grapple with my own security director over access to my own office, and you have the audacity to ask if something is wrong?!"

Red Alert's face shifted into a hurt expression. "We just don't want you to push yourself like you usually do. It's never good for you, but especially not right now."

A deranged laugh almost escaped him. "What a lovely sentiment!" He turned his back on Red Alert and sneered, "If only you did not all seem hellbent on standing in my way at every step."

As the door shut behind him, he took a couple kliks to get his temper under control. He let doorwings sag behind him and rubbed his face.

Deep in-vent.

Deep ex-vent.

He rolled his helm and shoulders and fell back on his straight and proud posture. He was finally ready to tackle on the orn's workload. Enough time had already been wasted.

His top priority was to get in contact with Optimus. In the safety of his office, he could admit that the Prime leaving without asking for any of his counsel and without any notification unnerved him. Pit, he was shocked that Prime had not extended an invitation! These were not unreasonable expectations to have as Prime's Second-in-Command.

He was just about to start plugging into his workstation when he overheard his office's internal system announce:

[AUTHORIZED SPECIAL CODE INPUTTED; ENTRANCE GRANTED TO "SECOND-IN-COMMAND & HEAD OF SPECIAL OPERATIONS COMMANDER JAZZ".]

And immediately, he felt a deep-seated rage bubble to the surface. The Twin's intruding in his habsuite was nothing compared to the absolute transgression that was the saboteur messing with his office. He could not decide what was worse—the blatant disrespect or the audacity.

Though his anger tended to be blinding, this particular bout was clarifying.

All of the day's mishaps snapped together to reveal a clear image. All potentially united by a singular designation.

Situation 1: The Twins had ruined his habsuite. How had they gained entry into his habsuite? Easy. Jazz was by far the best hacker the Autobot ranks had to offer. He could easily undermine Red Alert's security defenses. Plus, as Spec Ops agents under his jurisdiction, the Twins could easily be swayed or encouraged by their commander in their mischief.

Situation 2: Blaster had behaved with faux concern. Why? Most likely answer: He was somebody's accomplice. The mech was best friends with Jazz. He would have gladly helped to get Prowl off his tail.

Situation 3: Ratchet had barred him from his workstation. Why? As the Third-in-Command, Jazz's suggestion to do so could have pushed Ratchet in his authorization. This connection was admittedly weaker than the rest but still plausible.

Situation 4: Per Red Alert's own admission, Jazz had been directly informed of Optimus's temporary departure from the base. Prowl never received such information despite the fact that he would be the presiding commander in his absence. This meant that Jazz had willingly omitted information that could be detrimental to normal base operations, which was grounds for negligence of duties.

Situation 5: Somebody had accessed and tampered with his office's mainframe. Who? The only saboteur arrogant enough to leave his designation as proof: Jazz.

The door opened, revealing the true culprit to all of the last joor's setbacks.

The saboteur confidently strode in with a smile on his face.

And how Prowl absolutely detested that grin. While the rest of the army might be fooled, thinking that it was simply a marker of amicability, Prowl saw it for the disguise that it was. A marker of somebody who would yield to the court of public opinion rather than that of duty.

For simplicity’s sake:

s!Jazz/c!Prowl: versions that are conjunxed.

Jazz/Prowl: versions that hate each other.

- c!Prowl would struggle with the sense of guilt he would feel from essentially “replacing” his original conjunx.

- c!Prowl would be devastated by the separation—not only from s!Jazz but from everybody and everything he ever knew. I feel like this pain would be magnified by the fact that he has his twins on the way, so like he’s essentially a single mother (even if the other Autobots will help out).

- Also, this new universe is still in the middle of a brutal war, so I think c!Prowl would be too focused trying to keep his kids alive. His entire priority is taking care of the family he can still protect and trying to help these new Autobots, all while mourning the versions he left behind.

- We can make things angstier by adding a scenario where (because of something that will be revealed in an upcoming chapter) c!Prowl’s sparklings could potentially imprint on Jazz. So there’s the whole messy dynamic of trying to navigate that, where it literally feels like the universe is trying to replace s!Jazz. (This could also be the opening for Jazz and him getting closer.)

- Jazz and c!Prowl’s initial interactions are going to be super awkward because of the differing relations they have with their counterparts. Even after overcoming that awkwardness, there’s always the chance that c!Prowl is going to be afraid of projecting his s!Jazz on Jazz.

-Jazz feeling like he is always being seen as an extension of s!Jazz.

- Meanwhile, s!Jazz has to deal with the fact that he lost his conjunx and his twins. I don’t think he would be able to move on. He’ll always keep searching for the family that was taken from him.

- c!Prowl and s!Jazz yearning for each other but never knowing if the other moved on or is okay. Both wanting the other to find happiness even if it’s not with them. Both feeling guilty at the thought of even entertaining other romantic pursuits.

- Extra angst points if Jazz and c!Prowl get romantically involved only for s!Jazz to finally reach him and then he feels like he’s been replaced.

- Extra extra points if Prowl falls for s!Jazz but never says anything because he thinks he will never measure up to c!Prowl.

- Prowl angst where he has to live in a universe where people are constantly mourning a version of him that he cannot emulate or if he feels jealous of the fact that there’s a version of him that was liked by so many people.

- Depending on how long they’ve been separated, there’s some good angst in trying to figure out who c!Prowl would want to stay with. His original conjunx and sire or the Jazz that essentially raised his kids and helped him during the roughest time of his life ever.

- Maybe s!Jazz & c!Prowl feel compelled to befriend Prowl & Jazz (respectively) because they already feel like they’ve failed them once and they won’t do it again to another version.

- Love by chance, where maybe Jazz wasn't c!Prowl’s first choice, but that doesn’t diminish the bond and trust they’ve built over the vorns.

My heart aches to think of all the opportunities for angst and heartbreak here. There’s just so much fun to have there!

That’s how I would approach it if I were writing it, but feel free to have your own interpretations of how it would go down!

⚠️ [Chapter Content Warnings/Minor Spoilers:] Depictions of a panic attack, depictions of a medical emergency, and discussions of family loss and mourning. To avoid, stop reading when the POV shifts. The important plot points are that Prowl realizes the Jazz of this chapter is not his Jazz and crashes as a result of stress. ⚠️

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.  ────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.  ────── 

[Chapter Three]

Jazz was going to kill that damned tactician.

There was a reason he had specifically requested shifts that started later in the orn. It was already a pain to have to wake up early for their meetings, and the sneaky slagger had seen it fit to move his start time to an earlier joor. His recharge schedule was a mess.

He entered the Command Meeting Room and was pleasantly surprised to see that it was only Optimus, Blaster, and Red Alert. Where were the others?

Checking his chronometer, he realized he was only a couple breems early. Ironhide and Wheeljack did have a tendency to run late—Wheeljack, because the laboratories were the furthest from the meeting room, and Ironhide, because he was allergic to punctuality. More often than not, that got both of them in hot water with Prowl.

Speaking of, where was Prowl? He was the only reason these meetings were scheduled so early. His former irritation intensified. Never mind that, for the time being, Jazz was going to enjoy the currently peaceful ambient.

He took a seat next to Blaster, giving him a small pat on the back. Blaster gave him a small smile in return.

The door opened revealing a yawning Ratchet. He sat down with the energy of a mech that was ready to knock out.

The relatively peaceful silence was broken by Red Alert. "Where's Prowl?"

"He's not here yet?" Ratchet asked.

"No," Optimus responded. "He actually missed our pre-meeting check-in."

Jazz was once again in awe at Optimus's patience.

"He's late." Jazz wasn't one to take tardiness to spark, but he also knew that Prowl was not one to extend mercy for others' momentary lapses in time management. The result was that he felt internally annoyed at the hypocrisy.

"Huh. Guess there's a first time for everything." Ratchet mused.

Red Alert did not look amused. "That's not like him. Do you think he's alright?" Leave it to Red Alert to make a big deal out of nothing.

He heard Blaster grumble, "He's fine. I saw him in the Rec Room earlier today." There was more to that story. Jazz was about to start prodding when he heard Ironhide's familiar rumbling outside the room.

Ratchet stood up in exasperation and opened the door, chastising the latecomer. Words were exchanged, but he really did not care to follow. It sounded like apologetic platitudes from Prowl. At least he had the decency to apologize for making them wait. With his role as the agenda keeper, they quite literally could not start without him.

What did surprise him was to see Prowl, Wheeljack, and Ironhide all walk in at the same time, which implied that they had made the trek together. They were an unlikely trio.

An engineer, a combat specialist, and a tactician all walk into a bar. Eh. Jazz would workshop it later.

It was much more likely that Prowl had decided to chew them out on the way.

He looked as the latecomers made their way towards the available chairs. As the tactician walked, Jazz noticed that he was walking at a considerably slower pace than his usual rigid gait. A servo was lightly around his abdomen. He would have found that detail much more interesting were it not for the fact that the tactician had chosen the chair directly next to his to sit in.

Now, Jazz had seen his own fair share of unnerving images in his line of work, but he felt his plating flare out when Prowl looked directly at him, and his dermae curled into a smile. Were it not for the fact that Jazz knew that Prowl's face was incapable of showing any sign of goodwill, he would have thought the smile looked rather genuine. It was creepy. It was uncanny to see the usually scowling face inverted to reveal a fond expression. It wasn't right.

He saw as surprise made itself clear on the tactician's face. Thankfully, Optimus finally decided to interrupt and start the meeting.

Out of the corner of his visor, he saw the tactician settling into his chair. There was a small dejected slump in his posture. He could see small minute expressions flit through the Praxian's face in the fleeting moments that their optics met.

A full breem passed in silence. Yet another breem that he could have been recharging.

"Prowl?"

"Yes, Prime?" Prowl responded hesitantly.

"I believe this is usually when you would read us the day's agenda."

Prowl's frame tensed. In a remorseful tone that could not have possibly come from the same voicebox renowned for its monotonous cadence, he responded, "I do not currently posses an agenda of today's meeting. I didn't even know my presence was required until this morning."

Jazz was honestly at a loss for what he was currently hearing. Never in the orns that he had served alongside Prowl had he ever seen the tactician show up to a meeting unprepared. His dedication to his duty was perhaps the only admirable trait that he possessed.

If that wasn't weird enough, there was something wrong with the bot's demeanor. His signature rigidity was missing. Both doorwings and his helm were slumped downwards. Sitting so closely, he could see that his servos were trembling. It actually seemed like the mech wished he could disappear.

This wasn't normal. Prowl had to be playing at something. He clenched his servos. He just didn't know what yet.

Wanting to see if anybody was picking up the same vibe, he looked around. Everybody was in varying states of confusion or wariness. Good. He wasn't the only one.

Red Alert broke first. "Prowl, what are you talking about? In what scenario, would the Autobot Second-in-Command's presence not be required in a High Command meeting? Moreover, you are literally in charge of writing the damn orn's agenda. Why are you acting like you haven't done this a thousand times over?"

He saw Prowl flinch at the questioning. Was that worry written across his face?

"Red Alert, I haven't been in charge of compiling the agenda for the last couple of decaorns in compliance with my medical leave. Besides, I don't know what you are talking about." He pointed in Jazz's direction. "The Autobot Second-in-Command is currently present."

Jazz revved his engine in indignation. Was that a jab at the current military hierarchy? Or was this whole charade Prowl's way of letting him know he had heard of Jazz's disapproval at his appointment? If that was the case, the mech could hold a serious grudge. Jazz could almost appreciate the commitment to the bit.

Regardless, it was too early to deal with this. "Mech, I have no clue what game you are playing right now, but stop wasting our time."

He heard Ratchet say, "Medical leave? What the frag are you on about? I haven't cleared you from duty."

For being such a self-proclaimed genius, Prowl was an idiot if he thought he would get one over Ratchet. Nothing skipped his notice when it came to matters of medical records and health. Although, that didn't seem to deter Prowl from doubling down on his story.

"Ratchet, you were present for my latest check-in. Ask Jazz, he was there."

As if looking for confirmation, Ratchet turned to him with a clear questioning expression.

He quickly jumped to his pedes and pointed an accusing finger at Prowl. "The frag I was! I don't know what you are plotting this time, but you are not dragging me down with you."

It would not be the first time that Prowl had attempted to engage in some sort of mind games to get his way. Subtlety had seemingly been thrown out the window today. But, Prowl was mistaken if he thought Jazz was going to play along. He was not getting roped into whatever plot the Praxian had deemed fit to create.

"Enough!" Optimus bellowed.

He saw as Prowl flinched. Both of his optics were bright. His usually guarded icy optics were now a vibrant cool blue. Optical ridges were scrunched. In fact, Jazz could actually feel the tactician's EM field. It was swirling with fear, anxiety, and stress. Not only was such an open display of vulnerability virtually unheard of for Prowl, but that dizzying cocktail of emotions only served to push Jazz further on edge.

With a trembling servo, Prowl had the gall to actually clasp his servo. He held his servo with a sickening familiarity, interlocking their fingers like two puzzle pieces, as if it was a normal occurrence, as if it was just something that they did together. He didn't even look ashamed.

Jazz felt his rage bubble over. "If you want to keep that servo, you better let go right now." He hissed out.

Pretending like Jazz's anger had actually managed to burn him, Prowl quickly unclasped their servos with a heartbroken expression. Had anybody else bore that expression, he would have been quick to extend some sympathy, but this was Prowl, such an expression looked foreign on him. It was a mockery.

It irritated Jazz that he had yet to pinpoint what exactly such a bizarre performance from the Praxian was intended to yield.

Optimus's exasperated voice shook him from his thoughts. "Prowl, Jazz, this behavior is unbecoming of both of you. Either settle down or step outside to cool down."

Prowl turned towards him with a questioning tilt of his helm. Was he asking him to step outside? Jazz refused to bend to whatever weird power play Prowl was currently engaged in. He would be the bigger mech. The saboteur sat down. He looked at Prowl. Curious to know what he would do. Daring him to continue with his performance.

After a couple kliks, the tactician seemed to follow in his lead, and dejectedly answered, "Of course. I apologize, Optimus." He sat back down in his chair, sparing a brief glance his way. Jazz quickly averted his optics. He would not entertain this game anymore.

"Given the orn's miscommunication," Optimus said carefully while looking at Prowl, who seemed to shrink in guilt, "we can pick up directly from our last meeting. After careful deliberation with Ironhide, and implementing Jazz's proposed adjustments, I believe strategy §J.P4229 to be the most efficient use of our resources to best undermine current Decepticon standings."

Doorwings raised in alarm and the beginnings of a suppressed whine could be heard as Prowl looked around flabberghasted. Knowing him, he was probably pissed that Optimus had willingly let Jazz and Ironhide adapt one of his "perfectly-crafted" plans.

"I do not understand. Why are we aiming to attack the Decepticons?" Prowl asked in genuine confusion.

The room was quiet as everybody took in the sheer stupidity of that question. That it was Prowl who had asked it just elevated the general bafflement that filled the room. If Jazz had any reservations about the situation, they were fully gone now.

Not one for dumb questions, regardless of who was the one asking them, Ironhide was quick to sarcastically retort, "I didn't expect to need to explain this to you of all mechs, but usually in war there is an opposing faction that we need to fight against."

Prowl tilted his helm. "Believe me, Ironhide, I am well acquainted with the characteristics of war. I am just confused as to the timing of this." He turned to Optimus and asked, "Were we unable to come to an agreement during negotiations? Otherwise, I see no justifiable reason for purposefully violating the current ceasefire agreement."

Jazz didn't think it was possible, but the room had managed to grow even quieter and more confused. The fact that Ironhide had yet to deliver a rapid quip was a pretty good indicator of the general sense of unease. Even Optimus's battlemask was incapable of hiding the sheer bewilderment gracing his features. Out of the corner of his vision, he could see Red Alert getting visibly more agitated. The beginnings of bright blue sparks were ever slowly starting to make themselves known.

Always the diligent leader, Optimus was the first to collect himself. He began to speak slowly, as if it would help pull Prowl out of whatever fugue state he was currently in. "Your concern would be valid if not for the fact that, to the best of my knowledge, there is no withstanding agreements between us and the Decepticons." Then, as if remembering who he was dealing with, Optimus narrowed his optics in suspicion. "Unless, there is something you wish to disclose to the rest of the room that I was not made privy to."

Prowl's jaw dropped. Once again, barring the circumstances, Jazz would have thought this to be a hilarious sight. He might have even copped a picture. However, with context in mind, this was yet another point in the growing list of deviations from their normally aloof Second-in-Command's documented behavioral parameters.

Red Alert immediately sprung to his pedes. "This must be a Decepticon ploy! A clone sent to infiltrate us from within! The machinations of a mind control device! Or Prowl was actually a Decepticon double agent all along!" He unsubspaced a pair of stasis cuffs. "Jazz! Restrain him!"

While extending an arm to deter Red Alert from approaching the tactician, Blaster shouted, "Prowl, dude, I don't know what's up with you today, but you are agitating Red! Just knock it off!"

It was not often that Jazz agreed with Red Alert's assessments in the face of oddities. Their security director tended to jump the gun. But he was tempted to side with him now, for no other reason than the fact that he had yet to conjure up a logical explanation for Prowl's current behavior. Something was definitely happening, but there was no identifiable motive or end goal. Unless Prowl had grown a funny strut in his frame and was trying a new routine on them, the only thing he had succeeded in was wasting their time.

Regardless of whether it was the Decepticons' most ridiculous infiltration to date or Prowl's own blunderings, locking the tactician in the brig wouldn't be the worse thing. Either they succeeded in stopping the Decepticons or Prowl was kept out of view for a while. Win-win in his mind.

"Red Alert, let's not jump to conclusions," Optimus said in an attempt to take charge of a situation that could very quickly spiral out of control. He took a slow step closer and asked, "Prowl, are you feeling alright? Has anything happened?"

Prowl angled his helm upwards and began to shake. With a fragile wavering voice and trembling doorwings, he responded, "I do not know. I just do not understand what I am doing wrong. Everyone seems to be upset with me, but I cannot figure out what I've done."

"Oh come on! Drop this little act. Feigned naivety is an unflattering look on you." Jazz hissed out.

Blaster stepped in. "Jazz is right. You're embarrassing yourself. You literally asked me about Rewind. Since when do you care?"

Ironhide added his own complaint. "In what world would we have a ceasefire agreement? Even if we did, you of all mechs would never take the Decepticons for their word."

"Not to mention the supposed examination I conducted. You haven't even stopped by for your vornly physical! I've been trying to chase you down." Ratchet complained.

All the complaints pushed Red Alert into making his own. "You were late today and didn't show up with the agenda! That alone should be grounds as proof that something is wrong."

Optimus intercepted the shouting. "Prowl, I must agree with everybody else. You are not behaving like yourself. If you do not know what is wrong, I believe that asking Ratchet to conduct an evaluation would be for the best."

In retrospect, Jazz could admit that bombarding a mech renowned for reacting poorly to stressful social situations with a group of complaining mechs was probably the worst approach they could have employed.

For this reason, he was not at all surprised when the Praxian crouched over to clutch his helm. Deep and heavy ventilations wheezed from his frame.

What did surprise him, was when he tried reaching out for his servo again.

Jazz liked casual touches and, occasionally, even sought them out, but those were reserved for close friends, not for tacticians he hated, especially when said tacticians were behaving abnormally. He was fully on-guard.

Without putting much thought into it, Jazz smacked the servo away from him.

Hopefully that would knock some sense back into him. The Prowl he knew would no doubt strike back, so, after realizing what he had done, Jazz was about ready to enable battle protocols in preparation for a counterattack. But he was stunned into inaction when he saw what were supposed to be icy blue optics melt away as tears streamed down a pained face.

—-

Why? Why? Why?

It was the only question that kept resounding in his helm.

Prowl felt like his world was crumbling under his pedes, and he was powerless to do anything. He could not plan or react without information, which he was sorely lacking. It did not matter how much everybody seemed to be blaming him. He was sure there was something wrong. A vital piece of information that was missing. The entire world seemed to be moving to the beat of a drum that Prowl could not hear. Seemingly overnight, everything had changed, crushing all his hope for the future.

Whether it was because negotiations had failed or whether the Decepticons had not engaged in good faith, the result was the same. The war was back in full effect.

He could not help but mourn the tentative fragile hope that he had kindled over the past decaorns. Immediately, he thought of his twins and began to grieve. He couldn't bare the thought of his twins, conceived amidst a moment of loving passion, emerging into the gaping jaws of war, when they had been so close to knowing peace's embrace.

Did this mean that Jazz was going to have to start going undercover again? He felt his ventilations stagger. The saboteur was going to have to leave for large periods of time again. Leaving him, leaving them in the dark. He would have to return to praying that if anything were to happen, Jazz would have the good fortune to send one last burst across their bond before it fell quiet forever.

He couldn't handle the thought. Whether his carrier coding was to blame, he had gotten used to being in close proximity to his conjunx. Waking up in his arms and falling into recharge together were his favorite parts of the orn.

The painful pricks of gathering tears made themselves known. His frame was heating up.

Anticipatory grief was throwing him into disarray, and he was not the only one affected. The twins were stirring, sensing something was wrong, making their displeasure known in the only way they could. He needed Jazz, but it looked like his conjunx needed help himself, and he kept rejecting his advances. He didn't know what to do.

Looking around made things worse. Anger, confusion, fear, unease, suspicion. All expressions that made him freeze.

Optimus was disappointed in him, his best friend was looking at him in open distrust, Ratchet was feigning ignorance, Ironhide looked annoyed. The same mechs that had just orns prior been so accommodating seemed to have thrown any care for his gravid state into the smelter.

Internal ringing brought his attention to various alerts filling up in his HUD.

[LOW FUEL LEVEL WARNING!]

He let out a frustrated whine. In his confusion with Sunstreaker and Sideswipe and attending this meeting, he had forgotten to actually find edible fuel. He felt his panic grow as he looked through the rest of the warnings.

[LOW COOLANT LEVEL WARNING!]

How had he missed that? Before he could even react, an urgent system diagnostic popped up:

[ENERGY CONSERVATION MODE ACTIVATED. NON-VITAL SYSTEMS SHUTTING DOWN.]

His eyes widened in shock. Had his tanks been so thoroughly depleted? Non-vital systems included his door wing sensors, comms, audials, optics, and what else? What about his twins? With his tanks empty, he felt the heavy weight of panic settle at the thought.

Would his frame consider them non-vital? They were the most vital things in him! He felt himself start to shake.

Help. He needed help. They needed help.

Vorns of finding comfort in strong steady servos, of having his worries eased away by sweet assurances, of forged trust, led him to instinctively reach for Jazz. Regardless of whatever issues existed between them right now, he knew his conjunx would never let anything happen to their sparklings.

Jazz smacked his servo away.

Prowl recoiled in shock. Jazz would never hurt him, would never even dare to raise a servo against him. The same servo that so delicately caressed his cheek could not be the same servo that now denied him aid. Those angered optics were not the beautiful blue optics that looked at his family with nothing but adoration.

Pressure in his helm started to form as he struggled to formulate a likely explanation.

Prowl let his helm slump, slowly letting his eyes fall downwards, taking in the frame in front of him in its entirety. He looked at Jazz's chassis and froze. It was blank. The matching conjunx decals they had gotten to celebrate their union were gone. Jazz wasn't wearing his. He started to hyperventilate. That wasn't possible.

He sent several bursts down the bond, praying that Jazz would respond to his desperate pleas. Help/Fear/Panic.

There was no reaction.

Prowl felt a sob escape his vocalizer as he came to a horrifying realization. The mech standing before him could not be Jazz. This wasn't Jazz. Where was Jazz?

[SYSTEM SHUT DOWN IMMINENT.]

Panic invaded every seam in his body. Concern over his own well-being was third to his concern for his conjunx's well-being, which was second to the fear he felt for his twins. Disjointed thoughts continued to churn in his processor causing it to throb in pain.

With bleary optics that were dimming against his will, he looked around. Faces and expressions were obscured with the flashes of black that disrupted his vision. These couldn't be his friends. He could not trust them. Hot searing pain continued to build as he tried to move away from the table.

A crash was building, but even if he held it off, then the rapidly approaching system shut down would surely get them.

Protect. He needed to protect his sparklings.

He felt his vision go black.

The room around him had gone silent, an indicator that his audials had shut down.

He opened his mouth, pushing himself to speak. He prayed his vocalizer components still functioned. "Please! Help them!" He tried keening. Although, he wasn't exactly sure who he was begging to. With his current state, he could not tell if his supplications had made it out of his dermae or if they would be answered.

Pairs of unknown servos began to roam his frame. Limbs had powered off, leaving him powerless to do anything. He couldn't even thrash in a last ditch effort to protect them.