Title: Musical Misconceptions

Chapter: 3

Rating: R/NC-17

Warnings: Adult Themes (I'm serious no likey no looky)
Characters/Pairings: ProwlxJazz

Setting: G1/AU

Disclaimer: Nothing is mine besides the fun I had writing this and discussing my ideas with chia16 (Chiatea16). Transformers and the songs I used ( none for this chapter ) belong to their rightful owners and subsidiary companies. I have only come to play in their sandbox.

Author Notes:

Finally Chapter 3! Sorry it took so long (I remembered a loop hole that I can say I got it out by Christmas since Armenian Christmas in January 6th.) But yeah I'm not as confident about this chapter as I was with my others. Probably because I wanted to get done with it so I can finally write the smut- this story was originally supposed to be a oneshot PWP but the smut kept getting put off in favor of plot (I should probably wear my boots at all times till I finish chapter 4 so that the plot bunnies can't bite my ankles anymore.) So yes the next chapter should be smut-if the bunnies don't attack again (looks over shoulder and sees little beady eyes peak out from under the dresser.) I hope I can write a smut scene up to my own and anyone else's expectations.

Thanks to taralynden my Beta reader for this chapter

Note on Time Terms: I will just be equating breems to represent minutes, orns = hours, cycles = days, megacycles = weeks, and vorns = years all of which will be nonspecific as time frame really don't matter much in this story (example - an orn could be one hour could be five whatever you dear reader would like and think makes sense I have only provided these to show the lengths of time relative to one another)

"Primus damned glitches, I should just let them deactivate themselves." Ratchet grumbled as he slammed his office door. "I spend orns repairing their sorry afts and how do those two repay me? They booby trap my slagging office."

The CMO winced as the ringing in his cranial unit got louder with the intensity of his tirade. Ratchet gently rubbed the fresh dents on his helm trying to calm the aching within his processor.

"That had to be every wrench in the fragging Ark!" he roared. "It's not my fault we received the wrong shade of gold. If those two little glitches spent half the time they spend planning pranks on properly checking on the supplies then Sunstreaker would be the correct shade of gold right now."

Crossing the med bay Ratchet wrenched open the supply cabinet door. As the door slammed open two small objects flew out of the darkness within and exploded on contact with the medic's armor plating. Slowly Ratchet dragged his servos over his faceplate and looked down at the ugly green-yellow paint coating his hand.

"Chartreuse, they had to choose slagging chartreuse. Traditional chartreuse I could deal with but not this slag!"*

Ratchet grabbed a rag and began scrubbing his armor plating, finding to his dismay that the paint had already begun to stain his pristine white armor.

"Slag it! They couldn't even use a good quality paint! Now unless I want to look like some organic sparking ejected its stomach contents on me I'll have to go get this slag stripped off so I can be repainted." Ratchet shuddered at the thought of the feeling of the paint stripper dissolving layers of his own paint. "Where the pit is that fragging saboteur? I can't go until after I have finished his follow up evaluation and he should have been here orns ago."

With that Ratchet opened a private comm link to said saboteur. "Jazz, where in the slag are you, you little glitch?! Do you have any idea what time it is? I have better things to do than wait around med bay all cycle waiting for you to drag your sorry aft in here! If you're not here in the next 10 breems, I will hunt you down, and you had better pray to Primus that I don't find you!"

That said Ratchet disconnected the comm link. At times like this the medic wished they used a phone system like the humans just so he could have the satisfaction of slamming the receiver down. Instead the medic settled on storming around the med bay muttering to himself.

By the tenth trip around med bay Ratchet had decreased his heavy stomps to a lighter trudge. As his steps lightened the medic felt his systems begin to cool of the rage that had been boiling the energon coursing through his lines. Slowly he walked back to the open supply cabinet and reached for the tools necessary to perform Jazz's medical evaluation.

As he turned the last corner on his way to the med bay, Jazz pasted a falsed smile onto his faceplates, luckily no one had been in any of the other halls sparing the TIC the effort of hiding his emotions. A scowling Jazz was a crime against nature, or so it seemed to the rest of the Ark's crew. If his current sour mood was suspected Jazz feared that word would get around the Ark and to the SIC far too quickly. Jazz hoped he could avoid the tactician until he managed to overcome his protocols against interfacing and spark bonding or at least until he could convince the mech that bonding was not a good idea.

As Jazz opened the med bay doors he nearly froze at the sight of the splotch stained medic.

"Ratchet, mah mech, ah know ya get stuck watching the extreme makeover shows with Hoist and Grapple during your energon break but that is so not yer color, it's too dark and has way too much green in it."

Turning to face the amused saboteur, Ratchet growled "Thank you for pointing that blaringly obvious fact out for me."

"Yer welcome. Its part of mah job to point out the facts that others usually overlook." Jazz stated with a Cheshire cat grin.

"You're so smart, how would we ever even know the Decepticons were planning to steal energy without you to tell us?" Ratchet replied, vocalization oozing with sarcasm.

"Ah guess ya wouldn't know, its na like that's what they always do."

"Okay smartaft that's enough banter for now, get your aft on the berth so I can check you over, send you on your way, and go have my paint fixed."

"Do ah get an energon goodie if ah'm good for the doctor."

"You'll get a wrench to the helm if you don't power down your vocalizer and let me do my job."

"Okay" Jazz sighed dejectedly "ah'll let ya do yer work."

With that the saboteur hopped up onto the berth the medic indicated and slouched forward resting his elbow joints on his knees as Ratchet finished gathering the remaining tools for the check up.

Placing the tools next to Jazz on the med bay berth Ratchet moved behind the TIC to began his examination. After a few breems of silence Jazz spoke once again this time he showed no sign of his usual playful banter.

"Hey Ratchet, have ya ever heard of the Special Ops Information Protection Protocol?"

"I vaguely remember hearing about it." Ratchet answered noticing the slight tremor pass through the saboteur's servos. "All I know is that it is a specific string of coding that is downloaded into all special operations mechs, and that it prevents them from commits acts that could divulge or damage the information that they might be carrying. Why, is there something wrong with your coding? Wait - did something happen on your last mission that you feel may have compromised your protection protocol software somehow?"

Jazz shot straight up as he quickly replied "Oh no, no, nothing like that, ah'm just curious as to whether ya have, ya know, heard of any mechs or femmes overriding the codes."

"How do you mean? Like for exceptions to be made to the program that would allow something like hardware connections to be made?"

"Yeah" Jazz said as he settled back into a relaxed slouch.

"Well you already allow me to jack into your ports during medical checkups to monitor how your systems and programs are running." Ratchet responded as he finished checking all of the previously injured areas of the TIC's back plating and coming around the berth to face Jazz.

"Yeah but medical overrides are designed into the code. What I wanna know is have you heard about any other connection protocols being overridden." Jazz replied looking away.

"Oh you mean like for intimate connections like interfacing and bonding?"

"Yeah like that."

"Open up." Ratchet commanded.

"What? No!" Jazz nearly screeched, optics flashing as he shot backwards clasping his servos over the seam of his chest plates.

"I didn't mean it like that you idiot!" Ratchet snapped clipping Jazz across the back of the helm with his servo.** "I need to see how your self-repair systems are progressing on the deeper injuries; though I obviously don't have to check your protection protocols as they seem to be working well above the minimal setting."

"Oh, sorry it's just that we were talking about interfacing and bonding and ya know mah processor jumped to conclusions." Jazz said with a hollow sounding chuckle.

"You need to get that processor of yours out of the gutter. Otherwise I'll be stuck defragging your systems along with Prowl's."

Ratchet watched as Jazz slumped slightly at the mention of the SIC's designation. Something wasn't right. Jazz usually guarded his behaviors and reactions with such precision that it was nearly impossible to tell when he was exhibiting his true thoughts and feelings and when he was displaying manufactured reactions that suited his needs. Whatever was going on was taxing the saboteur's processors to the point of making his background systems run slowly and lapse.

"Does this whole conversation have something to do with Prowl?" Ratchet watched as Jazz shook his head while he curled a little further into a slightly defensive position unconsciously revealing his lie. "Jazz, if Prowl is doing anything to abuse his authority as second in command you need to tell me or Prime so proper disciplinary actions can be taken."

Jazz felt a chill run through his spark as his thought process ground to a halt. Was Ratchet really implying what he thought he was? No, there's no way Ratchet seriously thought Prowl was trying to force Jazz into anything, was there? Prowl may have been a strong willed bot but he would never try to force his will on others, that was just crazy.

The laughter threw Ratchet. It was rolling and deep, an uncomfortable kind of laughter like when one hears an offensive joke but feels obligated to laugh.

"Ratch mech you should know Prowl better than that. He follows the rules like they were written on his very spark, he would never abuse his status as Prime's second. The Autobot cause is his life, and he would never throw away all his work like that."

"Good" Ratchet replied releasing the air in his vents he hadn't realized he was holding. "I knew Prowl wouldn't do anything like that. I just had to ask to be sure. Given your obvious uncomfortable reaction to my mentioning Prowl I had to assume the worst given the nature of our discussion up to that point. But I guess the two are unrelated correct?"

At Jazz's nod Ratchet continued

"Knowing you, like the rest of the ops bots you're not going to tell me what exactly happened to put you at odds with Prowl, are you?"

Not bothering to wait for an answer Ratchet released a deep vented sigh.

"Well at least promise me that if the situation gets worse between you and Prowl you'll come to me or Prime for help. I'd hate to see something happen to either of you because you're both too stubborn to ask for assistance."

"Thanks Ratchet ah promise we'll come to ya if we can't resolve this ourselves."

"Good. As to the other topic I can't say with any certainty whether or not the Special Ops Information Protection Protocol can be overridden, as you special ops mechs won't fragging tell me anything, but your best bet to find out would be to speak with Mirage. He may not have an advanced version of the protocol software like you since he was reformatted into a special ops mech at the beginning of the war but he may be able to give you some insight into his own experiences with the programs, if he has any that is."

"I can't tell you whether talking to Mirage will help since I just can't figure out the extent of his relationship with Hound. They are not bond mates - that I'm sure of - but as to whether they are just good friends or more then that is anyone's guess. Fact is, he's the only other ops mech on the ark who might be able to answer your questions."

"Thanks ah'll see if he can help"

After a few breems of relative silence a sly smirk spread across Ratchets faceplates.

"So you're not going to tell me who the lucky mech or femme is? Come on at least tell me if it is a member of the Ark or someone back on Cybertron that you planning to court."

After a sustained silence Ratchet expelled a huff of air through his vents.

"You see this is exactly what I mean about you ops mechs keeping things from your poor overworked medic, and it's not like I can repeat what I hear in the med bay to anyone anyway. Except of course the bots commanding officers should the information garnered be important to that mechs functionality. So the only two who would ever hear about it would be Prime and/or Prowl and then only if it is vital that they know such information. Fine, don't tell me. I'll find out what's going on eventually, whether I hear it from Bluestreak or any of the bots who don't know how to keep their olfactory sensors out of other bots files, I'll hear at least one hypothesis of what's going on."

With that Ratchet began opening one of the internal protective panels that separated the chest cavity from the abdominal cavity. Opening this panel allowed the medic a narrow but unobstructed view into the inner working without the hassle opening the smaller interlocking panels that comprised the outer plating, should he see nothing in need of repair within the chassis Ratchet could save himself the trouble of opening the plates and thus save himself a few orns worth of work.

Angling a small light into the cavity Ratchet's smirk faded into a slight grimace at what was illuminated.

"Jazz, I know you have a problem with comprehending specific instructions in favor of improvisation but what part of 'don't do anything strenuous' do you not understand? What the slag were you doing racing, fighting, fragging yourself into overheating! These wires should have repaired by now and they still look like they passed through the fires of the pit."

Glaring up at the TIC Ratchet was surprised to see his faceplates tinged a slight pink as the metal was heated a few degrees. Ratchet was sure the optics behind the visor were averted in a shyly guilty expression that the humans had once described as sheepish. The raw shame the expression divulged, actually shocked the medic. The thought that Jazz, a bot who would shamelessly sing, dance, and prank his way to his objective and laugh about it, could even feel ashamed was surprising to say the least. Quickly Ratchet backtracked through the conversation logs to find what had possibly embarrassed the saboteur.

Racing and fighting were definitely out as Jazz had done both before and hadn't even had the decency to pretend to be sorry for it. Fragging himself was plausible to a degree since self-service was a common activity but doing so until overheating was nearly impossible.

Even when the repair systems were not already being taxed with extensive self-repairs to other injuries most bots could not bypass the system lock caused by an initial overheating. As such it was extremely difficult to be able to build up and hold enough energy for a long enough period to damage and/or stall the repair of damage.

The only way Ratchet was aware of building and holding the energy needed to singe circuits without there being a major system failure, or the use of an external power source was through the use of a feedback loop or extremely intense energy field manipulation while the systems were already being taxed with other repairs which would then mean that he was not fragging himself…but fragging…somebot else?

Leaning forwards Ratchet looked back down into the TIC's abdominal cavity and upon finding a minor but undamaged wire Ratchet transformed one of his digits into a small energon scalpel. Carefully Ratchet made a tiny incision on the outer covering of the wire and started a timer on his chronometer. Periodically checking the incision the medic began to visually check that nothing had been knocked loose or further damaged inside the saboteur's chassis. While working Ratchet also began to gather his thoughts and put them in order so he could begin to form a decent hypothesis of what was troubling the mech in front of him.

First Ratchet decided to examine Jazz's embarrassment. Assuming that it had something to do with interfacing, Ratchet considered what could have been embarrassing or troubling to the saboteur. The first scenario that came to mind was that Jazz may have been fragging around with one bot while planning to court another, which would be an awkward position for a mech in his high standing to be caught in. The second scenario was that the Jazz and the bot that he was seeing had wanted to keep their relationship a secret. In which case Jazz's embarrassment could be merely wounded pride at the prospect that he could sneak past the Arks security (much to Red Alert's annoyance) without being caught but had been careless in hiding the evidence of his relationship during his medical exam. In either case Ratchet decided to discontinue his current train of thought as it did not feel right to pry any further into the personal life of one of his fellow Autobots.

After dropping the subject of Jazz's personal life Ratchet decided to mentally examine the possible issues Jazz could be having with Prowl. After exceeding 57 possible causes of an argument between the two commanding officers, Ratchet decided it was time to abandon that question too in favor of just concentrating on the task at hand.

Once more Ratchet checked the incision he had made and finding that it had finished repairing he checked the timer on his chronometer. Doing a few quick calculation Ratchet concluded that Jazz's repair systems despite the extra work they were doing were functioning within the acceptable range. With this knowledge in mind Ratchet began the task of putting Jazz's internal machinery back the way it belonged

Standing as he finished resealing the panel separating Jazz's internal cavities Ratchet did one last check of the work he had done in Jazz's chassis the day before. While he double checked his work Ratchet began compiling all of the data from his examination into a single file so when he finished all he would have to do is download it onto a data pad, check that the data had transferred properly, write out brief report, and hand to Prowl to review.

Once he had finished double checking the repairs he reviewed his notes once more before he spoke.

"Okay Jazz, you can close your chest plates. All of your repairs are pretty much done, with the exception of those internal wires, so I will recommend that your medical leave be extended till the next cycle. Oh and this time you're not to do anything strenuous for at least the next five orns so the wires can fully repair."

"Wait, why are ya assignin' me medical leave till next cycle if mah repairs'll finish in five orns?"

"You obviously need time to sort through your "issues." So I'm putting you on medical leave until tomorrow so you can take tonight fix whatever is bothering you and return to work in optimal condition. If for some reason you can't fix what is bothering you at least talk to Prowl and come to some sort of understanding. The crew needs you to be your usual exuberant self to boost their morale, just as they need their tactician to be his usual stoic self to give them some stability. Now get out of my med bay, go back to your quarters, and rest before I comm. Ironhide to come force you to comply."

With that Ratchet turned around and reached to open the drawer where he stored his blank data-pads.

"Okay ahm goin'." Jazz said as hopped off the berth heading for the doors with a wave of his servos. "Oh and Ratchet, ah wouldn't stand right in front of that one when you open it, ya might get a little messy, the rest should be fine though."

"Thanks." Ratchet grumbled as he touched the drawer's handle. As realization dawned on Ratchet he whipped around shouting "Wait you were! … just going to let me open it." he finished to the empty room. "Little fragger probably noticed it the moment he walked in."

Ratchet growled as he stood to the side of the drawer and slowly drew it open. Just as several small objects flew out of the drawer and exploded their slimy green contents onto the ceiling the medbay doors slid open. With a brief snarl Ratchet grabbed a blank data-pad from the drawer, slammed it shut and headed towards his office as Prowl entered the room.

"The report's not done yet." He barked over his shoulder as he set to work.

"Then I will wait here till it is done."

After a few breems of silence Prowl shifted before continuing, "I assume the exam did not go well by your excessive force exerted upon the drawer."

"No it went fine." Ratchet sighed. "The only injuries still present are some minor circuit damage that did not repair completely because he did something stupid when I told him not to. I have no clue what that aft was thinking, I mean who would want to do anything amatory when they have just been repaired and have not even been medically cleared? It's asinine but at least other than that everything else was fine."

"I assume there is no permanent damage then?"

"No everything will heal but it was a good thing he and his partner stopped after his systems locked."

"Why, what may have happened?

"They could have caused irreparable damage Jazz's self-repair systems, making it very difficult or even impossible for his systems to repair themselves. If that were to happen Jazz would become a liability to the Autobot army since he could not fight or spy as these tasks would become much too dangerous for him. I also fear he wouldn't even be able to serve as a moral officer as he would likely be too depressed by his own situation to be of help to anyone else."

"Is there any thing I can do to prevent something like this from ever happening?"

Ratchet glanced in the SIC's direction, noting the smoldering look in the tacticians optics.

"The only thing you can do is to try and protect the bots from themselves and each other, make sure they are aware of the situation and that they follow my instructions in regards to their repairs and maintenance." he said handing his report to the SIC. "This applies to you too. I don't give medical instructions just because I like to hear myself talk."

Ignoring the comment directed at himself Prowl continued, "Is Jazz aware of what could have happened to him?"

"No, he was deeply troubled by other concerns when he came in so I opted to hold off on telling him as he was not listening to much I was saying anyway. I figured I would ask you to keep an optic on him tonight and make sure he does not do anything foolish for at least the next five orns so his systems can fully finish their repairs. On that note I am requesting he be on leave until the next cycle though so that he can deal with whatever else was troubling him. Primarily whatever his issue with you is: he became agitated when I mentioned you so whatever disagreement you two are in the middle of please try to resolve it before it escalates into something more."

"Thank you, I will take care of it once I review your report and after I report to Prime with the relevant findings."

Pausing at the door Prowl continued, "Ratchet the twins will be in by 0700 tomorrow to clean the med bay. Please have a list of tasks ready for them ordered by priority and make sure you are in before them so that should they be late I can take the appropriate disciplinary actions. Also please make sure to go see Grapple or Hoist as soon as possible about fixing your paint, it is unbefitting for the chief medical officer of the Ark to walk around covered in stains."

The sound of a wrench hitting the med bay doors echoed with a resounding clang as the medic glared at the place the SIC had been.

"Guess Jazz isn't the only bot who has a habit of pointing out the obvious … but it is nice to see Prowl show some concern for his fellow Autobots once in a while."

Heading over to the previously occupied berth Ratchet began cleaning and organizing his tools to be put away. As he worked he began to once more review the information he had garnered from his commanding officers.

After a few moments a thought crossed his mind. Opening a comm. link Ratchet asked. "Hey Smokescreen where do the bets stand on pools numbered 774852 and 998563?"

"There are only four bets remaining for 774852 of which one will expire in about three megacycles. Why? Have you heard any talk about Jazz or Prowl requesting new living arrangements?"

"No, No, I was just curious as to how many were still left in the pool. Now what about 998563?"

"Most bots have already placed a bet for what they think Prowl and Jazz's relationship for the month is and like usual the majority of votes are friends, strictly coworkers, or coworkers who secretly want to deactivate each other in their recharge. There are just a few stragglers who will probably put their bets in right before the deadline in two orns."

"I'd like to bet on lovers for this month."

"What, you mean your going to donate a few extra credits to all the bots when the pool expires at the end of the month? That's mighty generous I'm sure everyone will appreciate your generous donation."

"Yeah that or I'm going to win real big."

"You know you sound like Prime, Red Alert, and Inferno now. What makes you think they have gone from just coworkers to lovers? Have any insider information you would like to share?"

"Nah I'm just going on a hunch."

"Well just make sure you have enough credits to pay everyone off at the end of the month."

With that Ratchet closed the comm. link. "Well I hope my hunch is right."

Ratchet put the last wrench back in it place and turned to leave the med bay.

Just as he reached the doors First Aid came through them halting mere inches from colliding with the CMO.

"I'm going to see Grapple and Hoist about fixing my paint, watch the med bay while I'm gone. If you need me just send me a comm." he stated stepping around the young medical assistant and started down the hall.

First Aid quietly stared after the CMO wondering first why the medic was splattered with such colors and then secondly and more importantly why was he not ranting about the obvious disrespect shown by the "two half processored sons of glitches" as Ratchet sometimes referred to them.

With a slight tremor First Aid headed to the office deciding it was better to bury himself in reports then try to ponder what vengeance the medic was planning to put the twins in their place.

Author Notes

*Sorry I had to poke at the fact that the movies toys are colored wrong. I can't bring myself to buy a Ratchet toy cause that color bothers me too much (the dark green/yellow they made the toy is the same color the carpets in my family's house when we first moved in, it was hideous I was so happy when we ripped it up and put in new carpets and flooring)

**I imagine this like a Gibbs head slap, Ratchets been watching too much NCIS in addition to extreme makeover shows