Disclaimer: Don't own it.
A/N: Written for the September 2013 Anniversary Challenge on lj prowlxjazz community.
Original publish date: 9/17/13
Prompt: Want some?
Verse: G1-ish/pre-Earth
Rating: G/K
Warnings: tomfoolery; slight crack (Because I can't write serious things anymore?)
Summary: Prowl and Jazz are on a stakeout. A very serious stakeout.
Stakeout
Prowl lay flat on his abdomen, completely immobile. Not a single tremor or whir of hydraulics gave sign of his presence. The wings on his back were lowered as far as possible to help conceal him. His optics focused on the scope of his rifle, gaze intent on the tower balcony below across the expansive roadway. Slowly, he let out an intake of air through his vents and continued to steadily hold his position.
A slightly shifting pede creaked behind him.
Creak
Squeak
Whir
Creak
Prowl felt a wing twitch in irritation.
Squeak
Creak creak squeak
Whir
The tactician turned to glare at the bot crouched alongside his body.
Jazz didn't notice his glare. Or perhaps, he just didn't acknowledge it.
Whir squeak
Creak
Squeak squeak squeak squeak —
"Oh for the love of Primus! Jazz, be still," Prowl hissed in annoyance. "You'll give away our position."
The saboteur fixed his attention on the tactician and froze in the middle of his fidgeting.
He smiled sheepishly. "Sorry, mech. I'm not so great at sittin' still."
Prowl refocused his optics on the balcony. He muttered, "Then why are you on this mission?"
"Orders, Prowler. Couldn't say no," Jazz cheerfully supplied.
"You're an Ops mech. You should be able to remain stationary for extended periods of time."
"Sure, I can do that. Like a joor…two joors tops. But I'm a mech of motion, ya know? I don't really do slow an' steady. Jus' don't have the patience fer it."
Both junior officers, Prowl and Jazz found themselves on an Iacon rooftop across from a known Decepticon safe-house. The extravagant building and gaudy tower acted as a cover for weapons running. They were there to take out a top target in the swindling gang supplying dangerous assets to the enemy. Though Prowl functioned primarily as a tactician for the Autobots, he was still a topnotch sniper. Jazz was sent as backup and security detail while Prowl focused on acquiring a clear line of sight to take out the target.
Prowl was starting to wonder if one of the Twins would have been a better choice.
Beside him, he idly listened as Jazz finally settled down into a tolerable position. Silence enveloped his processor once more, and his surroundings faded into the background. His wings adjusted slightly to determine the direction and speed of the wind, which could impact the shot once things set into motion. It could be a few breems or several joors. They would wait until the target made an appearance or a superior officer ordered them to withdraw.
Another deep intake of air flowing smoothly through his vents.
Calm. Collected. Cool. Concentration. Coherence. Coordination.
Crackle
Prowl stiffened. What was that?
Crackle crackle crunch
Crunch
Crunch crunch crunch crackle crunch
The tactician shuttered his optics in disbelief; he grit his dentae. "Jazz?"
"Hmpf—crunch—fhrwl?"
"What are you doing?"
"Crackle—crghmph," came the explanation.
Sadly, Prowl was well-versed in incoherent, distorted communication from this particular comrade. "Why are you eating?"
"Ighm hufmrp," Jazz said.
"I don't care if you're hungry. Mute it before I stuff that energon goodie up your aft!" Prowl growled without turning away from his position.
Blissful silence followed. Long quiet moments passed between them, only the sound of blaring sirens in the distance and the wind howling against their plating. But the peace was only momentary.
Prowl felt a nudge on the shoulder supporting his rifle. He glanced at his companion in confusion.
Jazz grinned and held out a chunk of his crispy, crunchy energon goodie. "Want some?"
The Praxian felt something in his processor snap and abruptly pushed himself into a sitting position. "No, Jazz! I do not want some. We are on a mission! And you need to be QUIET!" he shouted, seething.
Visor flickering at the outburst, Jazz saw something catch his optic within his peripheral. "Uh, Prowler…"
"Not another word! We've been out here for joors, and you're going to give away our position with your inane chatter and Primus-forsaken crunching!"
"But Prowl, ya really should —" Jazz tried to interrupt.
"I should really what, Jazz? Ask for a transfer? A more competent partner? Oh, I know! A nice, quiet desk job!" Prowl gestured wildly with his hands, rifle still within his grasp.
"Prowl!" Jazz yelled.
"What?!"
The saboteur grabbed the other mech's helm and turned it forcefully back toward the tower. No less than six enemy mechs were staring at them from the balcony. And began to open fire with blasters.
"Slag!" Prowl cursed and tackled Jazz to the ground behind their makeshift cover on the rooftop. Shots rained down on them.
Covering his horns, Jazz asked, "What now?"
Prowl charged up his rifle and said, "We finish the job and run like hell."
"You got it, mech," Jazz said with a grin. "I'll draw their fire."
Prowl nodded in acknowledgement. "Go."
Jazz transformed into his sleek alt-mode and began weaving back and forth across the rooftop, providing his partner the perfect distraction.
Taking a deep intake of air to focus, Prowl rolled to his knees and aimed without hesitation. He popped off six rounds taking out each mech with deadly precision, including their primary target. Distressed shouts and calls rang out through the safe-house as more mechs poured onto the balcony.
"Time to go, Jazz!" the tactician called out.
The saboteur transformed back into robot mode. They began sprinting to their designated exit and immediately transformed once they hit the street. Driving erratically for several blocks in case they had a tail, they settled into a more sedate pace as they re-entered a secure zone. Jazz sped alongside his companion and opened a private comm. line.
-Well, that was fun!- Jazz laughed.
Prowl huffed and did not dignify him with a response. Even if it was kind of fun.