Title: Giving It A Chance
Chapter: Judgement
Pairing/Characters: TCliff-jumper, Bumblebee, Ironhide, Kup, Jazz, Brawn, Pipes, Tracks, Warpath, and Tailgate; mentions of Arcee.
Verse: TF:Prime
Words: 1914
Warnings: None.
Summary: Judgement - Cliff-jumper has seen the yellow mini-bot before but this is first time he ever drew a conclusion about him and it is not a necessarily good one either.
Disclaimer: Do not own anything.
Notes: This is a part of a 100 Theme Challenge I found on Deviantart. This set of numbers are revolving around the developing relationship between Cliff-jumper and Bumblebee.

Enjoy!

The wide open space of a large steel room was filled with the battle cries of veteran and rookie soldiers alike; plus all the ranks in between. The Training Room was next to the equally large firing range, each room filled with trainers and trainees eager to learn the art of combat. On the right side of the Training Room a large expanse of glass separated the fighters from the observers with a public washrack through the door directly ahead of the open entrance way to the observation area. The walls were lined with various work-out machines, the left side of the room one large mat with an old army green mech shouting at a fresh group of Autobots performing standard drills to "Move yer pedes! Come on, do ya think the Decepticons are going to give ya time ta get close enough ta land a hit! MOVE!" while the right side of the room was organized into six rings in rows of three.

In one ring a flash of red clashed against a solid bulk of dark orange and brown, both mechs spider-webbed with glowing yellow and orange lines of light indicating degrees of damage. In correspondence to the glowing 'cracks' of light, certain areas of their frames were slowed as though true damage had been collected during the fight and giving true parameters to the fight without either mech needing medical attention afterward. This particular fight was referred to as 'light-sparring'.

Cliff-jumper ducked as a fist came swinging at his helm, stepping back to gain more distance for a quick analysis. Immediately he spotted the open spot in his opponents stance and he lunged forward, slamming his fist against Brawn's face, the training gloves using reversed magnetic force to send the other down into the mat instead of brute physical force. At once, Cliff-jumper leapt for his next opening and pinned Brawn down, avoiding the waving arms trying to connect against him, using both knees on Brawn's back. Raising his fist, he smashed it downwards upon the back of Brawn's helm the strong magnetic force keeping his fist from actually contacting Brawn at all.

However a large red crack splintered downwards from the calculated point of contact transmitted from the training gloves and the red lines drew bright lines all over Brawn's helm and face-plates. An astro-second later each line that had appeared on his form throughout the fight glowed red and flashed bright before fading into gray.

"Kill shot! Cliff-jumper wins!" Warpath announced loudly as the official referee of the match, loud cheers erupting from the spectators behind the glass.

Cliff-jumper smirked down at Brawn as he gave a loud groan and stepped down on the mat to release his sparring partner. Holding out a hand to Brawn, he received a light smirk in return as it was accepted. Pulling Brawn up to his feet, the gray lines on Brawn and the yellow and orange lines on himself disappearing quickly, he patted Brawn's shoulder with the same hand, "Nice match, Brawn."

Brawn grinned true and energized, "Same to you, friend." Holding out a hand to clasp. Cliff-jumper took the hand and they gripped tight. It was an unspoken ritual between the warrior mini-bots and occasionally the others they sparred; an equalizer and show of sportsmanship to both the victor and loser. Cliff-jumper tightened the grip almost to the point of painful, giving a confident smirk and receiving nothing but an exasperated roll of optics, before letting go and stepping out of the mesh-wired ring.

Almost immediately Warpath called for Tailgate, fresh out of a match he lost, to take referee position, and jumped into the ring, facing Brawn who settled into a fighting stance at once.

Chuckling, Cliff-jumper moved to the benches resting against the wall holding the observation glass, leaning back against the cool glass with a low exhale. Slipping his gloves off and putting them in subspace, his optics roamed over the six matches in progress, pausing at one between Pipes and a mech designated Tracks in which Ironhide was giving the pompous mech a swift talking to.

Cliff-jumper caught Pipes' optic and saw a wry grin form on his fellow warrior's face. He shrugged at him and then winced, rolling his shoulders to ease the tensed wires there, hearing a bit of popping due to the intense heat escaping from under his armor because of the intense matches he had fought and sighed heavily as cooler air seeped by in response.

"Toss it here!" A voice shouted, loud enough to be audible over the battle cries of fighting mechs. Cliff-jumper looked over at the Training Room entrance and spotted the speaker just in front of it. He didn't know their designations but he had seen them around the Training Room; in fact he had beaten the one shouting numerous times. Two mechs were tossing a datapad between themselves, a vibrant yellow and black mini-bot with doorwings moving between them with the occasionally jump for the flying datapad.

"Come on shorty! If you want your firing range scores so much why don't you just grab it?" The first mech laughed, tossing it over the other mini-bots helm and reach.

"'Cause he's short, mech." The other sniggered as he caught it easily.

Cliff-jumper frowned at the sight, watching the doorwings go down, lying flat, as he struggled in vain to get his scoring datapad back. Usually he would be up in an astro-second to defend a fellow Autobot; especially when it was for a fellow mini-bot because of all the 'regular' sized soldiers who looked down on them since day one. Cliff-jumper found himself staying where he was however as he studied the other mech. He didn't even know the mech's designation but he had seen him around recently, he had shown up with the newest batch of Autobots two orns ago. He was hard to miss with such a bright paintjob.

Now Cliff-jumper frequented the Training Room often and had seen the yellow mini-bot in action. The mech was a sad fighter. Cliff-jumper couldn't remember a match he had witnessed that the yellow mech had won! The yellow mini-bot often got a few chance punches in but then was quickly taken down; he hadn't even graduated from light-sparring yet as a matter of fact. Cliff-jumper shifted, feeling something akin to pity rise in his processor for the yellow mini-bot. His scores in the firing range were probably sub-standard at best, no wonder he seemed so desperate to get the datapad back.

Still, Cliff-jumper had the mini-bots best interests at spark, really. If the yellow mech wanted to survive this war he would need to toughen up and learn to take action for himself. Getting bullied by these two mechs was honestly pathetic.

Cliff-jumper straightened when the entrance doors opened and the sleek silver frame of the Special Operations Commander, Jazz, stood beyond them. Just having the silver mini-bot in the room gave Cliff-jumper a warning signal in his HUB. It was a mini-bot that he admired and warily skirted about despite how happy-go-lucky he often appeared to the ranks. The mech had a way of making you forget his rank and title and divulge your spark to him without thought with a voice as lyrical and smooth as the highest grade of energon and a frame many swore was created from the wells of sinful lust.

Cliff-jumper had seen the easygoing party mech become as sharp as a laser-dagger in the span of an astro-second when a undercover Decepticon agent was discovered after drinking too much high-grade... supplied by the mech himself. They never had seen Dealer again, after Jazz 'arrested' him.

Jazz knew things and some things he knew were never even spoken about by the mechs they belonged to.

Cliff-jumper tensed when Jazz approached the two mechs and the mini-bot, all oblivious to the Special Operations Commander's close proximity. The datapad was tossed once again and Jazz had it in his sharp talons in astro-seconds. The three mechs tensed in surprise as soon as they each turned to look at the intervening intruder. The two instigators remained tense with growing apprehension dawning on their faces, glancing at each other nervously.

Though Cliff-jumper had to raise an optic ridge when the yellow mini-bot's doorwings rose up from their flat position with the tiniest flutter. Instead of being anxious in the face of Jazz's appearance, the yellow mini-bot's large optics locked on Jazz with an interesting amount of relief.

Jazz looked up at the mech who had shouted first with a blank expression, saying something that Cliff-jumper couldn't hear and gripping the scoring datapad tightly. The mech babbled nervously, glancing around and Cliff-jumper followed his gaze and noticed the growing amount of spectators. A few of the mechs who were supposed to be fighting were yelled at by Ironhide because they had stopped mid-fight and tried to watch the confrontation. On the other side of the room, Kup was strictly telling the rookie trainees to mind themselves and continue with their drills.

By the time he looked back, the two mechs were running full-tilt to the Firing Range, optics wide with panic. Finding Jazz and the yellow mini-bot still at the entrance, he spotted the light smile on Jazz's face as he returned the datapad into the yellow mini-bots hands. A quick gesture of an arm from Jazz and large smile appearing on the yellow mini-bots face-plates preceded the pair turning around and heading out of the Training Room. Before the doors shut their last inch, Cliff-jumper spotted a silver arm snaking across to land on the yellow mini-bots helm lightly.

Staring at the door even after the interested spectators returned to watching their chosen matches, Cliff-jumper scowled. No wonder the yellow mini-bot was not being yelled or ranted at for any of his low skills! He was a favorite. To the Special Operations Commander no less! That mini-bot probably got away with murder!

Snorting in disgust, Cliff-jumper stood up and grabbed his training gloves in the process. He needed to release some stress. The best way to dot while in a room full of mechs slamming their fists into each other's armor? Join them.

Slipping the gloves on, he spotted Ironhide dismissing Pipes and jogged over to the mentor of the entire army.

"Need a mech?" Cliff-jumper asked with an eager smirk. Ironhide looked down at him with a calculating optic and then grinned darkly.

"Get in there, youngling." Ironhide directed his next statement to Tracks, "You better fight back this time, Cliff-jumper won't go easy on you."

Punching his fists together, though they never touched, he saw an alarm ping silently in his HUB and opened it. Grinning wide at Arcee's message, he began walking toward one horrified Tracks saying smoothly, "I'm going to have to wrap this up quickly. I've got a date." and lunged.

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