Just some hardcore angst. Have some stuff I need to get out of my system... healthily.

Don't know if it's good or not.

Set in Bayverse.

Italics =Thoughts/Emphasized words

Bold =Bond/Spark talk

"Quotations" =Normal speech

-Dash thing- =Comm. link talk

DISCLAIMER: Don't own anything but the plot. If I did, there would be an entire show based off of Prowl/Jazz.

Jazz was in a horrible mood: he was dirty, under energised, deprived (of a good overload or two), and he was ready to send the next slagger that annoyed him to the pit, consequences be damned. Freshly back from a Special Ops mission that had accomplished nothing; he had come back to the Iacon base to find that the twins had played a prank that had gone south. The washracks and all the energon dispensers- except those in Medbay were out of order. However, those dispensers were only programmed to make Medical energon. Hatchet was guarding it zealously with those doom wrenches of his, only giving it to those who needed it. According to him, Jazz's levels weren't that low. Yet.

Don't get Jazz wrong; he loved his twins, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe. They were after all, his sired creations. But sometimes they just got on his nerves and he wanted to kill them. Don't let him get started on their carrier. Prowl was a complete workaholic. Normally, after returning from a mission, his bonded would let him steal a kiss or even something more in his office. This time, he had blown him off completely. That angered Jazz, so instead of acknowledging Prowl's tentative prods along the bond, he shut it down altogether.

Ignoring the pain coming from the other half of his spark; Jazz stormed off to their quarters. White hot anger flashed through him. Only later would he realize how badly and immature he was acting. Or that he was acting under the influence of a malicious virus given to him by Soundwave.

Later, when the day shift was coming off duty, Prowl cautiously entered their quarters, hoping Jazz was in recharge. Not that anyone could see or feel his caution. Jazz was still shutting him out and the twins were off molesting... err helping their bondmate relax. As if Ratchet could ever relax whilst on duty.

He almost had made it to the berth when a voice rang out; cold, merciless, and unforgiving.

"Look who decided ta venture out of its cage. So glad you could, Prowl." Jazz had his back to him.

Prowl, not Prowler or any other variation of his name: meaning Jazz was seriously slagged off.

"I thought you would have appreciated the fact. Here, I brought you your energon." Prowl hated how his voice came out. Cold, unfeeling, flat. Oh how he lamented that he couldn't outwardly show emotion.

In a flash Jazz was up and had swiped the energon away. Only later would he realize that his bonded had given him his own ration. Spattering all over the floor and over Prowl, the liquid looked like rivers of processed energon- the Cybertronian equivalent of blood. Prowl only blinked, only able to convey his primal terror and pure fear through his spark and processor. Not that Jazz would feel it.

"So the drone actually feels. How sweet. Or did someone just program you ta bring energon?" Jazz snarled, not caring nor actually realizing what he was saying.

Prowl froze, never before had his bonded spoken to him like that. It hurt. It hurt so badly that his spark literally stuttered. He had heard the rumors of him being a drone. That he didn't have feelings. After all, what mech with a spark would send hundreds of soldiers to sure death? He was the Prime's tactician, slag it! He didn't have a choice. But would those under his command believe that? No, they were just looking for someone to blame.

"You don't mean that...?" It was barely a whisper, not a statement, but a question.

"Ya really think Ah don't? News flash, Ah don't give a slag about you. Now, I wonder why the slag Ah bonded to you. Pit, Ah wonder why Ah even gave you the time of day." Jazz pinned him against the berth, energon blade dancing across Prowl's neck cables.

Prowl couldn't do anything but panic on the inside. Never before had he been on the end of his bonded... no the saboteur's anger. All he could do was take it; there was no way for him to express how he felt physically.

"You're cold. Frozen. You're just a pile of slag. Worthless." Jazz spat onto Prowl's facial plates. "You don't have a spark. You can't. You're too dirty. Too cold. Cold, you hear me? C-O-L-D. No one can ever love you. I'm surprised I could even pretend to."

Prowl could feel himself breaking with every single word that Jazz spoke. Jazz... didn't love him? Before he could ponder it anymore, Jazz continued. Meanwhile, the dagger continued its deadly dance.

"Ah hate you! Primus, Ah just want to slagging kill you. Leave you to rot. But Ah can't. You know why? This cursed bond can't be undone. Still, Ah should. But no, Ah won't. Why? Because you have ta suffer, you made me suffer. Now it's your turn." Prowl couldn't take it anymore.

"Please, stop. You, you don't mean any of this." Prowl begged the now stranger that was above him.

Jazz just snorted. "Of course Ah do. You're cold, Prowl, and Ah hate cold."

Prowl just couldn't take it anymore, his processor was going in loops. You're cold, Ah hate cold. You're cold, Ah hate cold...

His spark spun painfully, trying to reach across a heavily blocked bond, yet failing every time.

If only he could express his emotions. If only his emotional cortex wasn't damaged. If only he was able to display emotions. But he couldn't. No matter how hard he tried. He couldn't show any emotion until Ratchet and Perceptor could fabricate the parts needed. Until they could repair the damage. If he wasn't beyond repair by then.

Cold.

Hate.

He was cold.

Jazz hated cold.

Jazz hated him.

Hate can't be love.

Jazz didn't love him.

That meant nobody could.

So right yet so wrong.

Prowl just gave up... he gave in to the processor crash. He gave in to this new logic. He gave in to the fact that there was no hope for him. He gave in to the insanity that had now become his life.

Somewhere among all that, his spark decided that it too would give up hope. Give up everything.

And the final thing that Prowl saw was the harsh glare of a stranger.

Don't know if anyone will actually read this. I know where this is going...

But if you think I need to change something/tone it down/or whatever. Just tell me.

Review... if you want to.

-Star of Iron