Despite his best attempts, Jazz had not been able to recharge.

Every time he tried powering down, his processor had run wild trying to determine what Prowl's and his counterpart's creations would even look like. Despite this new Prowl's more calm nature, his processor was only able to conjure up images of sparklings with varying degrees of glowers. Not exactly the most comforting images to fall into recharge with.

Instead, true to his word, he had spent the previous night cleaning his habsuite in the hopes of calming his processor.

It had not worked. If it wasn't the mortification of knowing his counterpart had sired Prowl's sparklings, then it was the guilt of potentially riling up a carrier to collapse.

With the knowledge that this Prowl was from another dimension and operating under completely different rules, Jazz could not really hold anything against him. If anything, his processor held him responsible for everything and tortured him by replaying last orn's events over and over. He'd known something was wrong. He could have done something to prevent this mess. He hated how blue optics that were supposed to be hardened in apathy had been drenched in fear and pain that he had unintentionally caused.

Servos kept themselves busy with cleaning supplies, as if the motions would wipe his conscience clean.

The result was that his habsuite had never looked cleaner—not that it was ever messy. There was too much chaos in his day-to-day, sometimes it was just nice to exist in a space where everything had its own rightful place. A semblance of consistency amidst a life marred by turbulence.

Instruments and musical data pads were safely stored away in his makeshift sound booth. The room was meant to be an office space, but he never had been one to work productively in a confined space. His various shelves and trinkets were all dust-free. Sheets and pillows on the berth had been replaced by clean ones.

He would happily dare Prowl to try finding anything to nitpick. And even in that did he feel guilty for assuming the worst of his soon-to-be new roommate.

His bravado extinguished as soon as he was alerted to Ratchet's arrival via a ping. He took a deep ventilation for serenity of processor, stretched his struts to alleviate some of the tension in his frame, and momentarily closed his optics to muster the strength.

He opened the door, mustered the warmest smile he could, considering the circumstances, and was greeted to a giant nondescript medical supply box staring back at him.

Ratchet's helm popped out from behind. "Jazz, move out of the way will you." Came the lovely greeting.

Acquiescing, he moved to the side, and let Ratchet wheel the box in. It didn't take a genius to see what sort of half-baked plan had been concocted to keep their guest a secret. Jazz wasn't even sure if he could give them props for creativity.

Sure enough, Ratchet opened the doors and Prowl stumbled out, tightly holding on to the bars on the box's side.

"Ratchet, surely there was a much more efficient method of transport. I could have just walked." Prowl said.

"First off, that's more strain than I am willing to put on your systems at the moment. Secondly, believe me, this was more inconspicuous than parading a Second-in-Command who is noticeably carrying."

"When I walked the halls, most mechs seemed content to ignore me and give me a wide berth," Prowl rebutted.

"Yeah, you tend to have that effect on others." Jazz said.

"I do?"

Right. Different Prowl who has no idea what reputation his counterpart has.

"Sorry, the other Prowl."

"Oh."

Jazz hated this already.

"Besides, the base is already on edge because for some reason the entirety of High Command thought it was a smart idea to rush after me before Red Alert could completely clear the hallways."

Jazz scowled at the snide comment. "Our apologies for wanting to check up on a fellow officer."

"Hah! I'll be sure to share that sentiment when we get Prowl back. I'm sure he'll appreciate it."

He scoffed. "Anybody go digging around or what?"

Duty told him it was in the Autobots' best interest to keep everything a secret. Dignity told him he would rather eat shrapnel than let any of his operatives find out the truth.

"The Twins."

He resisted the urge to groan. It just always had to come back to them. With the exception of Cliffjumper, he could not think of anybody worse finding out about his counterpart's conjunxal pursuits than the Twins. He would never hear the end of it. He could almost hear Sideswipe's laughter. The whole base would know within joors.

Oblivious to his inner turmoil, Ratchet kept talking. "Turns out the rumor mill was hard at work. From what I gathered, they either thought Wheeljack had finally blown himself up, Optimus was gravely injured, or Prowl and you finally fought it out."

Well…that latter one was not completely wrong.

"What did you tell them?"

"That if they continued bothering me I was going to put them to work sanitizing the tools. I told Optimus we need to be ready in case anybody starts sniffing around."

"Is there anything I can do?" Prowl timidly interjected. "I can easily play the part of your tactician so long as my lower half is hidden. It may help ward off any unwanted optics and audials."

Ratchet snorted. "Believe me, kid, that might actually make things worse. Our Prowl has a certain frosty aura that can't be imitated. From what I've seen, I don't think you have it in you to even try. I mean that as a compliment."

Jazz noticed that Prowl seemed to deflate at that. It didn't escape Ratchet's notice either because the medic's optics softened.

"The only thing you have to worry about is resting and taking it easy. Not that there's any precedent, but I imagine that hopping between universes isn't exactly easy on a carrying frame. Plus, I mean this in the most respectful way possible, this is our army and business to sort out."

If Prowl had any rebuttals, he kept them to himself. What a refreshing twist on a mech known for refusing to back down.

Ratchet walked over, carefully guiding Prowl to Jazz's berth and helping him lie down.

"Are you sure you want to give me the berth? I don't mind taking the couch."

Before Jazz could even respond with polite platitudes of hospitality, Ratchet answered for him. "You're taking the berth." His tone left no room for argument.

Ratchet started doing some last klik checks on Prowl and moved the various pillows to best accommodate his doorwings. Prowl looked flustered. Ratchet was fussing over him, Jazz realized.

He would have poked fun at the usually cranky medic if it were not for the fact that he realized that this must have been the first time in hundreds of vorns that Ratchet had cared for a carrier.

A medic's entire function was to care for and save sparks from extinguishing. It was a noble profession that had been warped by the servo of war. The normalcy at which mechs were blown apart, shot, and injured meant that medics were always busy. Always busy welding, cleaning energon from their servos, rummaging for supplies, and trying to keep sparks aflame. Jazz did not envy them.

So if Ratchet wanted to fuss over a carrier, Jazz wasn't about to rain on his parade. Let the medic enjoy the change in pace. At least one of them was.

"If you need anything, just comm me."

"Thank you, Ratchet. Truly, I owe you a massive debt."

"Don't mention it. I have a feeling your Ratchet would have done the same."

Prowl gave a small upwards quirk of his dermae in response, but his optics did a poor job of hiding the fond sadness belying it.

The klik that Ratchet left the room, Jazz regretted not attempting to entertain further conversation with the medic. He was a much needed bouncing board. The door closed and the silence that immediately followed was a loud reminder that he was now alone with Prowl.

Despite considering himself a master of conversation, his skills fell flat in the face of a Praxian that should have been scowling rather than wearing a sheepish look.

He decided to waste time by giving Prowl a tour of his habsuite. Not that there was much to see in terms of layout. Servos quickly pointed to various areas of interest. "The wash room is right behind this door. Try to keep any rinses under 3 breems. We are dealing with some solvent shortages right now. There's some polish on the sills that you can use."

Prowl gave a little nod. "Thank you."

The silence returned. Jazz looked around trying to find anything that could strike up a conversation. "I have a couple of entertainment devices located here. Nothing fancy. Just a couple of holovid players and some datapads for leisure reading. Feel free to grab anything that catches your fancy."

"Understood. Thank you."

Jazz inwardly grimaced. It seemed they were both caught in the vicious cycle that was a host trying to be hospitable and a guest trying to be polite. The silence returned and for a singular klik he almost missed the droning that he usually associated with Prowl.

Better to sink in boredom than drown in silence.

"I'm sorry."

It was odd. There was once a time that he had hoped to hear those words directly from Prowl's mouth. He never would have guessed the sheer amount of chicanery that the universe would have to employ to make it happen. But this was not a genuine apology. It was simply a gesture of goodwill, an attempt to try to fix up a bridge that had never existed in the first place.

"I realize this is strange for you. From what I've gathered, you and this universe's Prowl have an antagonistic relationship."

"That's a civil way of saying we can't stand being in the same room."

"Perhaps, but my point still stands. While I had no way of knowing beforehand, I behaved in a manner that you perceived as offensive, so I apologize for making you uncomfortable. Even now, I can see how this might be odd. I truly do appreciate your goodwill in helping my sparklings."

Jazz was stunned. He could not accept Prowl's apology because it was him that needed to apologize. He had potentially been the final nail that caused the bot to collapse, the reason his sparklings even needed his presence. The bitter oozing bile of guilt settled in his tanks.

"It's fine. Don't worry about it mech." He resisted the urge to rub the side of his neck. "While we're on the topic, I'm sorry too. I didn't mean to give you and your future bitlets such a scare."

Prowl shook his helm.

And what terrible irony that they both seemed hellbent on apologizing without accepting the other's apology.

"It was an unfortunate misunderstanding. I now know you did not mean any harm. Plus, it was the only reason I was able to so quickly figure out that something was wrong."

"How so?"

"Our bond is still active, but it is quiet. I assume this means that my conjunx is still alive, but our two-way connection is fractured. I knew you couldn't be him when you did not react to what I was transmitting."

That somehow made Jazz feel worse.

The silence settled again. A little less heavy than before but still a constricting presence that Jazz wanted to escape. It was difficult to tell if it was because of the medically prescribed forced proximity between the two or if Prowl was just forever doomed to be awkward to be around.

"I'm not technically on the clock, but I've got some paperwork to catch up on." He'd never in his life been happier than now for procrastinating on filing his paperwork.

He grabbed a random datapad on his shelf and turned it on. "Symmetry & Schematics: Architectural Landscapes in Golden Age Cybertron." That would have to do. Tacticians tended to like numbers, right?

He handed the datapad to Prowl. He tried not to think about how their fingers brushed against the other's. "Here. Don't think I've actually read it. But might strike your fancy."

"Thank you."

"Yup." The popping sound that accompanied that statement seemed to echo. "Don't mention it."

He headed to his workstation and started sifting through whatever files he had to catch up on. Paperwork was among his least favorite responsibilities as an officer. Sometimes it felt like its own type of battle. If it wasn't Prowl sending late paperwork notices in the dead of night or Ultra Magnus rejecting files because of insignificant formatting errors, it was trying to make sense of reports from subordinates who were less inclined to care than him.

Curiosity made it so he would glance back every couple kliks to see what Prowl was up to. Unsurprisingly, the mech was propped up and reading the datapad. If he enjoyed it, there was no physical indication.

Welp. Beggars can't be choosers.

Optics flitted back and forth across the screen, until they flicked up to glance towards him. Were it not for his visor, they would have been making direct optic contact. He quickly averted his optics.

He tried to focus but his concentration was broken by the soft sound of another's engine. It was a continual reminder that, for all intents and purposes, there was a stranger on his berth. A stranger wearing the face of a mech that always raised his gasket pressure.

The taps of his stylus on datapad screens and the creaks of a frame subtly shifting around on the berth sounded loud in the surrounding silence.

Jazz groaned inwardly. It was going to be a miserable couple of orns. There was only one thing that would make this whole endeavor somewhat bearable.

"Do you mind if I put on some music? It usually helps me concentrate. I'll keep it low."

And he prayed that Prowl would agree because spending the rest of the orn listening to creaks and taps would surely drive him insane.

"Please do. They are actually quite fond of it."

"They?"

"My twins. They react happily to it. Though, if I may, can I suggest playing something that's not too bold."

Catering to the musical tastes of sparklings was a new one, but he was just thankful for the opportunity to drown out the silence.

"I've got you. A couple of tunes for two tiny tots coming right up."

He ignored the way that Prowl's face seemed to soften in tenderness.

Turning the volume down, soft music started to play from his room's speaker system. He let out an inaudible sigh of relief. Relaxing tones managed to ease away some of the awkwardness. It was a lot easier to concentrate with the music obscuring every single creak of the berth and tap on the screen. It washed away the silence that they both refused to fill in. Musical notes came together to become a barrier that prevented the necessity for speaking from arising.

Movement caught the periphery of his vision. He saw as two glossy doorwings seemed to bob in the same rhythm as the music. Perhaps the twins weren't the only ones fond of music.  

Jazz was finally able to focus. Mostly because paperwork was actually preferable to the alternative.

He had lost track of time before the soft sound of a purring engine in recharge interrupted his flow. He looked back to see that Prowl had shifted to his side. The datapad remained on. His frame was curled into itself. But the flared and twitching doorwings indicated that his sensors were online, watching over him, potentially even tracking him.

Despite everything, Prowl looked surprisingly serene in recharge. Optics were shuttered in recharge and his mouth was ever so slightly parted. Steady ventilations created a natural rhythm.

The sight was so bizarre. Logically, he knew this wasn't the same tactician who he frequently got in arguments with over mission details. He was too subdued and cool-tempered. Yet, every time he caught a glimpse of a red chevron, or black and white plating, or a twitching doorwing, he could feel himself get wound up out of habit.

He shook his helm and focused on his datapad.

Joors of sitting, when he was accustomed to being on the move, eventually took a toll on his frame. On the bright side, he was officially all caught up on paperwork. Unfortunately, this now meant he had to come up with another distraction.

He stood up and stretched his struts, which let out a couple hisses of compressed air and crackling sounds as joints recalibrated themselves.

His momentary stretch seemed to spook his guest because he saw as Prowl immediately woke up. Doorwings were flared wide and optics were alert as they turned to face him. With the short distance between them, Jazz could track the micro-expressions that shifted from caution to confusion to realization to embarrassment.

"Didn't mean to spook you."

Prowl's cheeks flushed slightly. "I apologize for my overreaction. I didn't mean to fall into recharge."

Jazz waved him off. "Pretty sure that's normal for carriers. That datapad probably didn't do you any favors."

A knock at the door caught their attention.

Please, Primus, do not let it be one of his Spec Ops agents! He had no way of explaining why Prowl was currently in his habsuite. Among other things…

Jazz looked through the peephole and was relieved to see the entirety of High Command—minus Wheeljack—standing outside his door. All holding an energon cube in their servo. Save for Optimus and Ratchet that each carried two.

Looking at the chronometer, Jazz realized that a fueling break sounded like a great idea right about now. And if there were more mechs to carry the burden of conversation, all the better. Anything to pass the time faster.

He opened the door and invited them in. He saw as Prowl tensed at their arrival. Perhaps it had been a faux pas to not warn his guest of visitors.

It was a tight fit, but somehow through a combination of standing and sitting, they all managed to configure themselves nicely in the room.

"Jazz, Prowl. Good orn." Optimus said as he handed Jazz a cube.

Ratchet walked directly over to Prowl and handed him a med-grade cube.

"Thank you." Prowl took a small sip and immediately grimaced.

Suddenly, with only a small downwards curve of his dermae, scrunched optical ridges, and an air of disgust, the Prowl he was familiar with appeared for a klik.

Jazz tried to stifle an amused huff with a sip. "Can't say I envy you. Medgrade tastes like scrap."

"Not my preferred blend I will admit, but as Ratchet figured out, you all favor an energon blend with large amounts of magnesium additives, which tends to induce nausea for me."

"So it was literally pick your poison." Ironhide said.

"Indeed."

They all took a couple sips in silence. It was starting to grate on Jazz's audials.

Thankfully, Optimus took initiative. "Prowl, allow me to speak on everybody's behalf and offer our sincerest apologies for our comportment yesterday. We did not intend to cause you and your sparklings such distress."

Leave it to Optimus to come up with a diplomatic apology. The word "distress" was a wild understatement in Jazz's opinion, but just as he had with his apology, Prowl brushed Optimus's aside.

"It's fine. I understand that we were all operating under different assumptions which clouded our judgments. What matters now is that myself and my twins are fine and that we have come to an understanding concerning our current predicament."

Ironhide snorted in disbelief. "Mech, it's actually impossible to believe you're a version of Prowl."

"I'll say," Blaster said, "Hate to think what your poor bots are dealing with right about now."

Prowl's doorwings twitched at that. "Is there reason to believe that my counterpart might pose a danger to my Autobots?" He asked worriedly.

Optimus was quick to reassure him. No need to work him into another agitated state. "No. Our Prowl might be a bit…abrasive, but I am sure he will quickly piece everything together just as you did. I have faith in his ability to work cordially with your High Command."

Jazz wasn't convinced. He didn't even want to think of the sort of fallout Prowl could be causing considering his explosive outbursts. But he was not about to cause this Prowl any more reason for concern, so he kept his mouth shut.

"So, in your world, are you all also fighting old bucket head?" Ironhide asked.

And truly what a pitiful thing it was to meet somebody from a completely different universe and chose to bond over war of all things.

"Yes. Megatron and his High Command, which is composed of Starscream, Soundwave, and Shockwave."

"It's the same here. Is Starscream still giving Megatron the backstabber treatment?" Jazz asked.

"Some like to joke around that he is an undercover Autobot with the amount of times he's tried to undermine Megatron."

He snorted. It seemed as though both universes shared the major similarities, which made it all the weirder that the only glaring difference was Prowl's disposition. Oh. And him being bonded to him. That was also a big difference that he could not ignore.

"Prowl, if I may ask, how exactly did your Optimus manage to get Megatron to the negotiations table?" Optimus inquired.

Now that was a question truly worth asking. He was also interested to know what the response would be. If there was any way of replicating the circumstances that had lead to the other universe's tentative ceasefire, Jazz knew that Optimus would quickly jump on it. It must have been eating him alive to know a version of him had seemingly succeeded in what he had been trying but failing to do for vorns now.

Prowl let out a sigh that quickly extinguished Jazz's fragile hope before it ever truly caught flame. "I wish I could give you words of guidance, but in all honesty, it is a result of both factions getting jaded with the fighting rather than any true desire for reconciliation on the part of the Decepticons. The negotiations are still on-going, and while I hope for the best, there's no guarantee it won't be a false alarm."

If fatigue over the bloodshed was all that was required to end this blasted war, it would have ended vorns ago.

"Welp, can't say you didn't at least try," Ratchet said while placing a comforting servo on Optimus's shoulder.

Probably sensing the mood shift, Blaster asked, "Any chance you have more files saved in that holoprojector of yours? I'm curious to see what else is different."

Everybody must have been thinking the same thing seeing as all the officers perked up at that.

Prowl quickly took out his small box and took out the familiar holoprojector. "Anything or anybody in particular you wanted to see?"

"You have anything on me? Or well the Blaster of your universe?" Blaster asked shyly.

Jazz could understand the hesitation. With the way things were going, he wouldn't even be shocked if Prowl revealed that his bud was conjunxed with Soundwave. The more fiendish part of his processor hoped it was true just so he could commiserate with somebody on the sheer mental damage he was currently experiencing.

Prowl pulled up a video file. Music started to pour out, and Jazz was treated to a video of his counterpart and Blaster jamming out in the Rec Room. The Jazz in the video was jamming out on an Aghartan electro-bass while Blaster was playing on a keyboard. He felt a small twinge of jealousy at the sight. His own bass had been destroyed at the start of the war.

The song was unknown to Jazz, but it was not too far from his typical style. It was probably an original composition. He had to give it to his counterpart, it was a catchy tune.

"Awesome! Even across dimensions, we still got it!" Blaster said.

His friend laughed, and Jazz felt his own dermae curve into a smile. He had to admit that there was something gratifying in knowing that their friendship had carried over. No matter what, it seemed that their jamming sessions were a constant. And they were pretty damn good at it.

The holoprojector switched files. The next file was an image. It seemed to be an image taken by the Jazz of the other world. He was in the corner of the frame with a wide grin on his face. For what it was worth, it seemed to be genuine. Behind him, Prowl and Red Alert sat deep in thought as they played a game of sorts. Interestingly, Inferno was sitting too close to Red Alert to be considered simply friendly.

Red Alert had seemingly caught on to that too because he timidly asked, "Am I and Inferno…"

Prowl's optics flickered in recognition. "Conjunxed in our universe? Yes, you are."

Red Alert's face flushed a bright blue. He quickly tried to backtrack. "No, I was simply just asking if we were also partners!"

Ironhide let out a hearty laugh as he affectionately smacked his servo on Red Alert's back. "That's your sign to 'junx that mech up if I've ever seen one."

Red Alert spluttered in response. "Do you have any idea how much of a security risk that would pose?!"

Jazz felt a grin crawl onto his face. "So what I'm hearing is, danger aside, you would conjunx him?"

Red Alert's flush grew brighter. "Just move on to the next one," he demanded.

Prowl acquiesced to his request, but Jazz would swear he saw a glimmer of mirth in his optics at Red's flustered face.

The next file was an image of a Medbay. Ratchet was lying on a berth. Or should have. First Aid was trying to push him back onto the berth. From one visored mech to another, Jazz had no idea how First Aid's exasperation was so easily palpable despite the visor and facemask. In the background, he saw Ironhide, Prowl, and Brawn looking on in amusement. But what caught Jazz's attention was the copious amounts of medical equipment attached to all four frames.

It seemed to catch Ratchet's attention too.

"What the frag happened!?" Ratchet exclaimed with widened optics.

Prowl flinched. "We were running a supply run and got intercepted by the Decepticons. We were incapacitated before reinforcements could arrive."

"Incapacitated? It looks like you took a shot straight to the chassis. How the frag are you still alive? Because according to that image, I sure as pit wasn't there to provide aid," Ratchet said.

"Luckily for us, my Ratchet did a great job of training First Aid, who momentarily took over as CMO while he was recovering." Prowl replied.

Ratchet's optics seemed to soften with pride, even if it wasn't exactly his apprentice.

Prowl awkwardly added, "If I may give one piece of advice, make sure that when running potentially risky operations, do not employ a roster that leans heavily on High Command members. We almost lost Ironhide, Ratchet, myself, and potentially Jazz had he succumbed to bond shock."

"Understood." Optimus responded with worry.

The concept of half of High Command being incapacitated was unthinkable. And loathe as he was to give their Prowl any commendation, he had to admit the mech's plans tended to save them from any such predicaments in the first place. They just usually got the rank and file killed instead.

Not that he was going to express that to this Prowl. He was not keen on testing the bounds of his patience and politeness.

The file changed once more. Another video file.

Jazz felt his ventilations hitch in shock.

It was a video of his counterpart sitting on the floor. A soft smile on his face as he randomly hummed a tune. But what caught his attention was the line-up of singing crystals in front him. As he hummed, the sound reverberated between the crystals, each creating a soft melody that all built up to a stunning harmony.

It was a beautiful sound from a lifetime ago. The first and last time he had heard it for himself had been in the Helix Gardens at Praxus, just a couple vorns before their destruction.  

"Are those singing crystals?" Blaster asked dumbfounded.

Jazz couldn't blame him considering that he felt much the same. Singing crystals were endemic to Praxus. Praxus had been completely obliterated. Considering their fragility, there was no way they would have survived. So how was his counterpart happily playing with a cluster of them?

Prowl seemed confused by Blaster's tone because he proceeded to say, "Yes, are you not familiar with them?"

"No, I know what they are, but how the hell did you find them?"

"What do you mean?"

Jazz felt a familiar sense of dread creep into his struts.

"What I believe Blaster is curious about," Optimus chimed in, "is how you were able to conserve them before Praxus's fall."

It did not escape Jazz's notice that Optimus had used purposefully vague language. They were both thinking the same thing. It seemed like the universe was determined to spite them. It cruelly held up a mirror to everything they had lost.

"As the war spread out, many of us saw the writing on the wall for what was to become of Cybertron. Praxians especially saw it fit to preserve our city's greatest treasures. It took a lot of trial and error, but our scientists managed to find a way to stabilize the smaller crystals. I fear that even then, only a few number survived. Their fragility has always been laborious." Prowl explained.

"What became of Praxus in your world?" Optimus asked. And Jazz could hear the restrain in his leader's voice.

"Same thing that happened everywhere else, it slowly collapsed as the fighting increased in vigor."

Jazz thought the silence earlier in the orn was bad, but this was straight up torture. With Prowl's keen processor, everybody knew what was coming next.

Whatever energy was in the room, Prowl quickly picked up on it because his voice was littered with a wariness that he could not effectively hide from Jazz's trained audials. "What became of Praxus in this world?"

He felt his voicebox stall because he was not about to be the one to break the news.

"Praxus was destroyed by a Decepticon attack early on," Optimus explained.

It was still a vague answer. It would have been enough for anybody else but from what little Jazz knew of Prowl, he knew the mech wouldn't be satisfied with that response.

He almost winced when Prowl asked, "Destroyed in what way?"

Optimus opened his mouth to say something, but the few kliks he hesitated were enough to aggravate Ironhide into saying, "Megatron carpet-bombed it into oblivion."

There were times that Ironhide's bluntness was welcomed even if it was often ill-timed. This was one of the times Jazz actually appreciated the mech cutting to the chase.

Jazz saw as doorwings immediately stiffened in alarm.

"But why?!" Prowl blurted out.

It was a question that they were still asking themselves despite knowing the answer.

Optimus took up the mantle of explanation. "Praxus refused to stand by Megatron's side, so he decided it did not deserve to stand at all."

Optics were wide and overblown as an EM field extended, giving those closest to him a taste of the underlying shock and horror. It was a morbid contrast with the soft humming and melodies that were still being emitted by the holoprojector. Jazz felt when Prowl seemed to realize his loss of control. He quickly reeled his field back in.

"How many were deactivated in the attack?" He whispered, as if a softer tone would be able to hold the weight of the incoming response.

"Only a couple dozen survived."

Doorwings drooped so low that Jazz almost feared they had broken off.

And what a crazy thing that in a few short breems, this Prowl had shown more grief for a city he had never stepped pede in than the Prowl who had spent a lifetime there.

"My condolences for the loss," was the awkward reply that left Prowl's mouth. The small grimace that followed was proof that even Prowl felt like his response was lacking.

Jazz was willing to cut him some slack. Despite the richness of their language, there wasn't exactly a good string of words that could appropriately respond to the sudden knowledge that a city had essentially been wiped off the face of the planet for no reason other than arrogance.

While Prowl was still seemingly digesting the information, another clip started playing automatically. Everybody focused on the video, leaving Prowl to his own thoughts for the time being.  

Whoever was recording must have been short as the first few seconds were unfocused and had the view obstructed by taller mechs. Thankfully, the camera-mech seemed to have been able to reach a higher vantage point as the camera finally focused on Jazz and Prowl.

It was a celebration, he realized belatedly.

Sunstreaker handed Prowl the same box he stored his holoprojector in, while Sideswipe handed a similar one to Jazz. Both opened their respective boxes and smiled at the sight before thanking the respective twin who had handed it over.

Jazz carefully removed what appeared to be a decal from the box. He stepped forward and gently placed a kiss on the center of Prowl's chevron before carefully placing the decal on Prowl's chassis. He whispered into Prowl's audial a secret that would stay only between the two of them.

Watching the video play out, he could not tell what he hated the most—how gentle his counterpart was with Prowl or how fondly Prowl was looking at him in turn.

He spared a glance to see how Prowl was faring. The Praxian was looking down at his own chassis. One servo over his forge and the other lightly tracing the pattern on his chassis. Despite everything, it was impossible not to feel bad for the mech. He looked utterly heartbroken at the moment. Their curiosity might have been satiated, but each file was no doubt a raw open wound for him. The little revelation about Praxus probably didn't help things.

The file continued. Prowl carefully took the decal out of his box. He gently took Jazz's servos and brought them together as he placed a chaste kiss on them. He murmured something. Yet another secret that only two mechs knew. Unlike Jazz, who had easily placed the decal, Prowl seemed to be taking his time. If he had to guess, the mech was probably trying to center it as perfectly as possible.

With both decals placed, the watching crowd of gathered mechs broke into cheers. The video cut off.

Thankfully, an orn had been enough for the initial shock to subside, so nobody felt compelled to comment on the unlikely pair.

"So, who popped the question first?" Ironhide asked. And Jazz was profoundly thankful that the frontliner had chosen a tolerable question rather than one that would widen the awkward abyss.

"We had discussed it together beforehand, but it was Jazz that ultimately decided to go through the formalities first."

"Let me guess," Ratchet said, "You took care of all the ceremonial planning."

"It's what I am good at. We had a much more private ceremony that was officiated by Optimus, but we also had this one per Jazz's own request. I left most of the artistic flair up to Jazz for both. He is much better in that regard than I."

Ratchet snorted. "Figures that's how it would work between you two."

Jazz shot the medic a questioning glare and received a carefree shrug in turn.

"And on that note, I believe it is time to take our leave," Optimus stated. Jazz supposed it was better to end on a definitive high note than continue and uncover another landmine.

"Please take the time to rest Prowl. Rest assured, we are doing what we can to return you to your proper place in the universe," Optimus said.

The rest followed in his lead. Red Alert and Ironhide gave polite farewell nods.

"Comm me if either of you need anything," Ratchet said as his farewell.

Blaster gave Jazz a quick fistbump and waved politely to Prowl. "It was nice talking. Hope we can get you back to your world soon."

"Likewise. Send my regards to your cassettes, I know they are no doubt snooping around," Prowl added in good humor.

Blaster stopped in his steps, but gave a small helm nod. "Got it!"

It was just Prowl and him again.

There was a metaphorical wall that neither wanted to cross, but that he was ready to break down out of fear of being enclosed. He set his cube down. "Alright, I'll bite, why me? Or more accurately, why him?"

Prowl looked surprised that he had actually asked. He took a couple kliks to form a response. "We just understood each other better than anybody else could."

"That's a vague answer if I've ever heard one."

Prowl seemed to fluster at that. "He's just different from everybody I've ever met before."

Well this was going nowhere. He briefly wondered if Prowl was being purposefully obtuse or if the mech was truly at a loss for words.

"You're a cryptic little fragger aren't you?"

And against all expectations, Jazz froze when he heard Prowl stifle a laugh with his servo before his entire frame embraced it. It was a sound he hadn't heard before. Dare he say that it actually lightened the room.

"That's one way of describing my ineptness with words." Prowl said after his mirth had started to fade. "Though, I'm willing to bet that that is rich coming from you."

"Me?"

Prowl raised an optical ridge. "What? You expect me to believe that the Head of Special Operations does not have his own air of mystique around here."

"Nah, mech." Jazz responded in jest. "Don't know how it works over there, but over here what you see is what you get."

Prowl tilted his helm and narrowed his optics. "Hmmm, my apologies, I must have mistaken you for somebody else."

And holy frag were they actually bantering right now.

Not wanting to get too fixated on that thought, Jazz returned to the initial topic. "How did you two meet?"

Prowl twiddled with his fingers. He must have been embarrassed at the answer. And wasn't that an odd sight. Their version of Prowl would never fidget. Servos were always straight by his sides or clasped together. They would clench in frustration or move in irritation but never out of embarrassment.

"I crashed into him because I was distracted reading the orn's departmental updates." Prowl admitted.

Somehow that seemed to be just in character for him.

"That's one way to make a first impression."

"It wasn't until a couple days later that I learned he was in Special Operations. At the time, I was only a junior tactician. He sought me out a few days later, and I was sure it was for payback." Prowl recounted fondly.

"What did he want?"

"To fuel together. We didn't get romantically involved until vorns later, though I fear that had to do more with my inability to properly understand the fact that he was trying to court me."

"How long did it take you?"

"I'm not answering that."

Jazz snorted. It seemed this Prowl actually had a sense of humor. Having said that, Prowl's socially awkward nature seemed to be engrained into his very being. Internally, he was grateful that his guest was at least willing to entertain conversation. It wasn't horrible all things considered.

But curiosity was still gnawing at him.

"Why?"

Prowl seemed to immediately understand that he was pivoting back to the original question. Optics dimmed in thought as the silence crept back in.

This time he was in no hurry to fill it.

After what seemed liked joors, Prowl finally said, "He's the best mech I've ever had the honor of meeting."

The total earnestness of Prowl's voice made the statement seem like a fact rather than an opinion. For all he knew, it could have been completely true. Yet, for reasons Jazz would not completely acknowledge, he could not accept it.

"More so than Optimus?"

Prowl seemed to be caught off guard by his rebuttal. He once again took the time to piece together his response. It was almost comical. The mech had been able to figure out their current interdimensional predicament with ease but stumbled when it came to stringing together words.

"It is different…Optimus holds himself to higher standards because he has to. Yet, Jazz is, and pardon my lack of better wording, just a common mech. He's no Prime, yet his spark is just as noble, and that is more impressive to me. Despite the vorns at war, Jazz has never let it harden his spark."

Jazz had nothing to say to that, which Prowl must have mistaken for confusion because he continued with his explanation. Funny that it was almost bordering on rambling.

"He has a special way of making you believe that tomorrow will be better. That despite all the bad in the world, there is still good to enjoy. His protectiveness for his soldiers, his compassion for life, his desire to laugh with others, the vibrancy that powers him, how could I not choose him?"

It was such a heartfelt confession that Jazz almost felt embarrassed at his lackluster response:  "You really do love him.

"I do."

He let out a shaky laugh at that and shook his helm. The situation was still so absurd.

"We have not known each other for long," Prowl said hesitantly, "but in some ways, you remind me of him."

"That's funny because you're nothing like him."

That seemed to sober Prowl right up. His mouth curved downwards as dentae tried to catch on his bottom derma—a funny little quirk for somebody of his disposition.

"If I may ask, why exactly do you and the me of this universe have such a strained relationship?"

Jazz let out a sigh. How was he supposed to explain that without potentially offending him? The mech had just given a lovely soliloquy on why he loved his counterpart, and Jazz was going to have to give a brutally honest scathing review on why he hated his.

"Don't feel compelled to give me a diplomatic answer. I won't take anything personally."

Well. If he was asking for it. He just had to give a slightly filtered answer.

"Where do I even begin? He's arrogant and rude. Not to mention he's petty and holds on to grudges. I could excuse all of that. All of us have our vices. But it's his attitude that pisses me off the most." He could feel his anger bubbling underneath. Better to stop there than to fuel it.

"Go on."

The poor mech was unaware of the boiling pit of anger that threatened to spill out of him. And yet, when Jazz faced him, it felt as though his sharp optics were looking right through him. Seeing the expressions that were muted by his visor.

And there was something that Jazz found perversely vindicating in ranting about Prowl to a version of Prowl that would actually listen rather than flee or double down.

"He's sparkless. The first mission he oversaw for my department was technically a success, but I was the only one who made it back. I lost 4 operatives that day. You want to know what his response was when he found me mourning?"

Prowl nodded politely, prompting him onward.

"He told me that the chances of them dying was 63% and then told me to submit my mission debrief. I'd only been back for a joor at most and the cold slagger was already asking for paperwork, as if I hadn't lost my entire squad."

Jazz clenched his servos. He had hated him since. Hated how his monotonous voice sucked all emotion out of everything he said. Hated how his optics always carried an underlying scheming analytical glint rather than any sort of warmth.

"He sees all of us as disposable game pieces. A genius he may be, but one simple truth always seems to evade his mind. At the end of the orn, we're the ones risking our plating to give him even the smallest chances for victory. Whether it be the infantry tasked with protecting the tactics center or the Spec Ops operatives that risk their lives to get him the information for his plans, he needs us. And he doesn't have the decency to at least treat us as the mechs we are."

Jazz understood that death was inherent to war. Though it was a morbid reality, it was a familiar stranger. It sat next to him in the same seats friends had once sat. It was a haunting presence that settled in rooms that had once seen laughter. It stared back where his reflection once lived. And there was nothing he detested more than those who happily accepted it like a companion.

Just like Prowl seemed content to do. It bothered him to no end that Prowl so easily directed so many into the cold embrace of death. Never showing regret, grief, or guilt at his role in their deaths. It was like he was conspiring with death itself.

He gritted his dentae. "And when something goes wrong, it is always our fault. He never thinks to blame his plans. Because of his role, he barely sees the heat of battle, and it shows. Anything as simple as a gust of wind can greatly affect our performance. Unlike his simulations and numbers, we are living metal and energon, we can't be so easily predicted."

Vents were coming out more heavy than when he had started. Servos were still clenched and trembling. He would never admit it out loud, but what he hated the most was how his carefully crafted control fell so quickly when it came to the tactician.

His anger was visceral.

Here he was always trying to look out for his mechs, always trying to raise the mood, always trying to keep a smile on the darkest of days. Only for the blasted tactician to so callously toss those same mechs away while wearing nothing but a blank visage and sucking the warmth out of any room he entered.

The creaking of his berth broke him out of his incensed state. He saw as Prowl slowly and awkwardly stood up.

"Do you mind if I take a seat on your couch? Remaining idle in the same position for too long can also strain my frame."

"Sure."

Unsure if his offer of assistance would be welcomed, Jazz took a seat and pretended to focus on something else as Prowl slowly wobbled over. From here, he almost felt stupid for not noticing the physical differences between the two Prowls. There was a noticeable outward curve where the twins resided.

As a matter of fact, the entire Autobot faction needed to get their optics and processors checked. There was no way this mech should have been walking the halls without anybody sounding the alarm that something was up.

He was broken out of his thoughts by the sound of Prowl's voicebox resetting multiple times.

"When I was a junior tactician, I thought I could lead the Autobots to victory if I could account for every variable."

Jazz opened his mouth, but Prowl held out a hand.

"I have no interest in trying to defend the Prowl of this world. You know him better than me. Besides, your judgments are yours to hold. I'm simply sharing my own perspective."

Thankful that he wasn't going to be chastised by another Prowl, Jazz let him continue.

"When my plans were awry, I would seek to place blame on anything or anybody. After all, my plans were crafted to perfection. Weather, geography, individual assessments, past experience, enemy information. I took everything into account. Though I never acted on it, I would resent individual soldiers for their inability to follow through. It felt like an insult to all my joors of hard work."

Sitting so close, Jazz realized that he could actually teek the shame swirling in Prowl's field.

"And even when my soldiers followed all my directions and things still fell through, I couldn't accept it. It's not that my plans were wrong; it had to be the universe's fault for refusing to follow the logical course of action."

Prowl looked at him. And Jazz got that uneasy feeling that he was laid bare in front of him. It was a sense of vulnerability that he detested. It set off every alarm in his processor. That it was Prowl of all mechs that made him feel like this made it all the worse.

"It took me a long time to finally understand that the hardest part of being a tactician is to trust others. Our real job is to give our soldiers the best possible chance for when our plans inevitably fall through. That is not a failure. It is just the unfair reality. Jazz taught me that."

"Try telling our Prowl that." Jazz huffed.

"But, and, I do hope I am not overstepping,"

And Jazz hated how ominous that sounded. Because he finally realized that despite their differences, his counterpart and him seemed to share certain traits. Traits that this Prowl had intimately gotten acquainted with over vorns, which meant Prowl saw through him. He saw through every wall he had managed to build over his functioning.

"You can't let yourself drown in guilt for things out of your control. Nor can you resent those that give themselves the grace that you deny yourself."

It was an utterly disgusting thing to somehow be so intimately known by a mech harboring the same face that was quick to rile him up. He didn't know whether to hide or lash out. He quickly adjusted his visor, trying to assure himself that it was still on.

"It was an awful bold choice to bond during times of war. You don't fear bondshock?" Jazz asked.

It was an obvious deflection and Prowl knew it too. It turned the vulnerability back on his guest. Thankfully, the Praxian seemed happy enough to play along.

"It was something we constantly debated. With Jazz's position as Second-in-Command and my position as Third-in-Command, along with our skills in our respective departments, we both knew that it would be a devastating blow to the Autobots. We wanted to wait until the war ended but…"

"There was no guarantee that both of you would make it out."

Prowl nodded. He bowed his helm.

"There was a mission that Jazz once took on. One that I myself had planned. I predicted it would take at most 4 quartexes to complete. I didn't see him again for 2 vorns. Every orn I would lie awake wondering if he was still alive. My processor kept imagining every way his mission could have gone wrong. The regret came next. Regret over unspoken words. Regret over sending him there. I couldn't stand the thought of his vibrant spark being extinguished with nobody to bear witness to its final flare. Bond shock is a mercy compared to the anguish of waiting."

Jazz was once again impressed by the vocal inflections that a usually monotonous voicebox was capable of expressing. He felt his anger flare. This meant that their Prowl was capable of it, he just refused to. But this wasn't the time to focus on that.

"When we were finally reunited, we begged Optimus to allow it."

"I doubt the Boss-bot would have held it against you."

"I think it eased both of our consciences to have his approval. We both trained our replacements in preparation for the worse."

"You aren't afraid now that you some bitlets on the way?" Jazz asked.

He was genuinely curious. It was one thing to bond during war. It was not unheard of, even if many believed it was foolish. It was another thing to create during war. It was a vulnerability of the worst kind.

Doorwings drooped down. "Yes. It was a possibility we didn't even consider at the time of bonding. The war still seemed so endless, so carrying seemed cruel. But when a baffle failed, we both couldn't resist. It is why we desperately need Optimus to succeed in his negotiations."

"I hope everything works out for you all. I mean it." It wasn't even a statement borne out of politeness, Jazz truly wished this Prowl and his counterpart the best. Between the videos, their conversation, the bonding, and the sparklings, the genuineness of their love was not up for debate. He might not understand it, but it wasn't his place to doubt it.

Prowl sent a shy smile his way. "Thank you. I have the upmost faith in Optimus. I hope that the end is near for you all as well."

"That might be too optimistic." Jazz laughed bitterly at that. "With this multiverse or whatever, do you think our species is just doomed to this war?"

It was an earnest question. Prowl sat back in thought, chewing on his derma. He wondered if Prowl was even aware of this little habit of his.

"Our Wheeljack is obsessed with the concept of the multiverse. It's the only reason it came to mind so quickly. One time after a fuel break turned lecture, Jazz said that we'd find each other in every iteration of the universe."

He grimaced. "Sorry to disappoint but that's not happening in this one."

A twinge of sadness flashed in an EM field. It was quickly reeled in.

"Is that not proof that there's a universe out there where the war did not happen?"

"I guess so."

It was a nice sentiment to sit on. And maybe it was petty, but Jazz found no solace in it. Better to occupy his processor with other things.

"You mentioned your bitties react positively to music. Any chance they have song requests."

Prowl's optics brightened up. He unsubspaced the same box that held his holoprojector. He handed him a small data slug.

At Jazz's confused helm tilt, Prowl explained, "After one of our bases got destroyed, Jazz lost several of his musical compositions. Ever since then, I like keeping a copy as a backup. I am sure he won't mind. Especially if you are doing it for our twins."

Jazz let out a genuine grin. Music was a language he was happily fluent in. And he was curious to see what else his alternate self could come up with. He quickly fetched one of his instruments.

Sitting on the couch next to Prowl, he spent the rest of the orn playing his counterpart's pieces, making his own mental edits, and taking note of certain chords for future inspiration.

All the meanwhile, doorwings bobbed along.

He only stopped when he heard the familiar purring engine that accompanied a bot in recharge. It was noticeably louder. Jazz looked to see that Prowl had fallen asleep in an awkward position. The mech was sure to wake up with some nasty kinks in his neck and back.

Ratchet would definitely kill him if he let him recharge that way.

He could either wake him up or carry him to berth. He opted for the former option.

"Prowl?" He tried whispering him awake. Whispers slowly transitioned into slightly elevated calls. It was just his luck that unlike the last time he had fallen asleep, Prowl did not wake up with the slightest noise.

He came to the horrifying realization that he was going to have to shake him awake. He slowly extended a servo and placed it on glossy white plating. Ignoring the smoothness and warmth emanating from under his servo, he gently shook the mech's shoulder in a desperate attempt to get him to wake up.

He felt an immense sense of relief when bleary optics turned on and emitted a soft blue glow. They looked around in confusion at him. "Jazz?"

"You fell asleep on the couch. Let's get you to the berth."

Prowl slowly sat up. He looked at Jazz before nodding.

However, somewhere along the span of 3 kliks, something must have been lost in translation because against all expectations Prowl proceeded to actually crawl on his lap and curl around him.  

Frag. Frag. Frag.

In his sluggish state, the poor mech probably thought it was his conjunx he was cuddling up to. Jazz could feel his face heat up at the feeling of warm vents on his frame. Of the thrumming of internal machinery against his plating.

Any further attempts to wake him up were only met with the mech further hiding his face against the crooks of his plating.

Carry him it was.

Jazz carefully wrapped his servos around Prowl, mindful of his forge and doorwings, and maneuvered him as efficiently as possible to the berth.

And because the universe hated him, Jazz very quickly found that he was unable to lay Prowl flat on the berth. The mech seemed to instinctively cling to every piece of Jazz's plating that was near to him. He would remove one limb and another would magically wrap itself around him. Not to mention that every time he tried to pry him off, Prowl's engine would let out a pitiful whine, and in the klik that Jazz hesitated out of fear of injuring him, the mech would pull him closer.

He was in a scuffle with a sleeping carrier and somehow he was losing.

He let out a groan before opening his comms.

[(1) OUTGOING CALL TO "RATCHET - CMO”.]

"Jazz! Is something wrong with Prowl?" Came the medic's worried voice.

"He's fine. I've just gotten myself into a bit of a situation here."

"Explain."

"He fell asleep on the couch, so I tried carrying him to berth, and now he won't let go."

"Oh. That's typical for carriers."

"Okay, so what do I do?"

"He's not letting go unless you apply excessive force, which I am not recommending. If I see even a scratch on him, I'm welding you to the wall.

"Not hearing a lot of solutions here."

"Just share the berth with him."

"What?!"

"This is actually probably for the best. Physical contact will help the sparklings more than just being nearby."

"Ratchet, you can't be serious."

"Do I sound like a joking mech to you?"

"He's going to kill me tomorrow morning when he wakes up.

"This Prowl? Nah, I'd say at worst he'll just hide in the washrack for the rest of the orn."

"Ratchet!"

"Good night, Jazz."

[(1) OUTGOING CALL ENDED.]

Resigning himself to his fate and with servos still wrapped around him, Jazz slowly got on the berth. Perhaps Prowl would simply loosen his grip over the course of the night, allowing him the chance to escape.

As Jazz lied on his back, Prowl seemed content to rearrange his body around him, not that Jazz was giving him a lot to work with. He was as stiff as a rod, desperately trying to limit the surface area that Prowl could come into contact with.

He tried to ignore the warm frame beside his own. He focused on literally anything else. The soft whirring of the base's electrical system. The thumping of pedes from soldiers rushing to their shifts. The gentle rumbling of faraway voices.

The problem with turning the volume of his audials up to fixate on background noise was that it also amplified the sounds emitting from the frame beside him.

He tried to ignore the happy purring of a recharging engine. The soft and steady vents that continued to warm his frame. The subtle whirring of internal mechanisms. The humming of a spark.

To make matters worse, he automatically grabbed onto any sound that could drown out the little whispers in his processor that actually enjoyed the sensation of a warm frame next to him. There was a part of him that he refused to acknowledge that actually relished in the weight of strong arms wrapped around him.

Thankfully, a subtle sound caught his attention. Try as he may, he couldn't quite pin where it was coming from. It was a quiet thrum that seemed to momentarily diverge into two distinct sources before converging again. It sounded close, but the volume indicated otherwise. He played with the audio settings of his audials, determined to find the source as a welcomed distraction.

He didn't think it was possible but Prowl had somehow managed to pull him even closer. The unknown sound got louder.

Jazz felt his vents stagger as understanding dawned on him. The twins! It was the unmistakable thrum of two tiny sparks. He felt his mouth drop in awe. Any resolve to untangle himself from Prowl dried up with the reminder of why he was in this situation in the first place.

His visor had brightened and cast a dim blue light on Prowl's recharging face. Jazz forced himself to look away.

Prowl knew he was in trouble when the mechs he was lecturing relaxed, grinning at something behind him.

"Bad dog" Jazz's stern voice barked, "drop it."

Prowl's wings fluttered, and he obediently took a step back from the mechs.

He could hear them laughing at him, but Prowl was already beyond caring.

"Sit."

He did.

And his wings starting trembling with excitement as Jazz unspaced a familiar collar and leash.

"He dropped so fast" someone snickered.

Prowl ignored them, keeping his optics solely on Jazz as he was collared.

"What a little bitch."

"He clearly likes it."

"Y'sure he's not acting up because he wants this?"

"Nah" Jazz grins at them, "I always make sure he regrets it."

With a click, his leash was hooked onto his collar.

Prowl's panels burned. He ignored them.

"On two today Prowler" Jazz chirped, starting to walk without waiting for Prowl to respond.

Prowl scrambled to his pedes and tripped after him, ignoring the cackling and jeering as he hurried to catch up.

He wasn't allowed to tug on the leash after all.

Humiliation burned in his core as everyone turned to watch the spectacle Jazz made sure he would be, calling and waving to every passer by to make sure nobody missed the fact that Prowl was leashed again.

As they neared the more secluded area of high command's barracks, Jazz gave a little whistle and a familiar servo gesture.

The command to drop his panels.

The hall behind them was crowded with his audience, fully in view, but Prowl did as he was told and let his panels snap back.

The resulting leering and laughter made his face plates burn brightly. Lubricant started dripping down his leg.

"Oh hey, Op" Jazz chirped.

Prowl's head snapped up, whole frame starting to shake.

Now Optimus knew he'd been bad again.

"Another round of training?" Optimus asked, like he didn't know.

"Nope" Jazz popped the 'p', "punishment again."

Optimus sighed, like this was to be expected, "better luck next time then."

Charge started hissing across Prowl's frame. If he let it, it could trigger a light overload.

He wasn't allowed to overload until Jazz gave the command.

His doorwings rattled, and his spike twitched hard.

"I better let you go, looks like he's thinking of misbehaving again" Optimus chuckled, stepping out of the way.