XXX

Blaster was counting the days, as he felt himself in seventh heaven. He could already feel the symbiote's consciousness against his own, feeling it's joy, and hapiness especially when he sang.

The news about him, being a symbiote carrier came as bolt from the blue, some of the crew members didn't even believe the rumors. Smokescreen opened new betting pools, about the sparkling's birth-date, the identity of the sire, etc. Blaster found it hilarious, although he didn't know about a certain one, which was shot down secretly by Jazz, threatening to inflict grievous bodily harm to every single participant as well as to the psychologist himself. Smokescreen gave up, and stopped accepting bets against who Blaster's sire may have been.

Blaster didn't know a spark could feel such happiness, as he felt, planning parties, mixing music, being a communication officer, having his own radio show, and waiting for the arrival of his first symbiote

XXX

Jazz was so sleepy, he almost clashed, face first, with the locked doors of the training room. Yep. He definitely wasn't a morning person. If it were up to him, he was sure, he would have never seen the crack of dawn, ever. As he crouched down to hack the damn panel, he cursed the fragger, who locked it, muttering himself. After a few minutes, as he entered the airy room, he stumbled, and only his superior reflexes saved the lives of the two energon cube he was carrying. Primus… he felt exhausted. The other occupant of the room didn't take notice of him, or didn't show any indication he saw the other entering. Jazz nestled up to the wall, then slowly slipped down, into a sitting position.

Prowl was standing in the middle of the room, locked in the position of one of the key stances of circuit-su. Going through the motions of circuit-su kata was part of Prowl's morning ritual; coming here almost every dawn, bringing him energon, was part of Jazz's.

The tactician's movements were calculated, but graceful, every one of them executed with intense dedication, and professionalism. His stances were so perfect, that some mornings it was almost painful to watch, thought Jazz. As his optics swept the tall lean praxian, he assessed Prowl's haggard face-plates, and noted with a sigh that the doorwinged mech didn't have his "beauty sleep" last night, again.

Indeed, Prowl has led a spartan lifestyle, only fulfilling the bare necessities to keep his chassis intact, and presentable. Although his protoform, and spark could have supported it, he didn't have any mods, or extra armour for the sake of aesthetics. In the washracks he rinsed, but never waxed afterwards. When Sunstreaker suggested that a paint touch up was long overdue, prowl swatted the yellow nuisance away, although his paint job wasn't smooth, thanks to Ratchet's crude welds dotting his armour, covered only with a thin layer of paint. The only thing decorating his body was his cherry red chevron. He only recharged the bare minimum, to keep his first-class battle computer at maximum capacity. According to the crew, Prowl was a workaholic. Beside spending time with Jazz, Prowl have never indulged in hobbies.

Despite all of this, the Sic radiated regality, and calmness. A certain coldness always embraced his character, wherever he went. When he was angry, he was able to intimidate even Optimus, flaring his doorwings, ice cold fury in his optics. Although it was a rare occurence, considering the fact that Prowl almost never lost his legendary patience, but when he did, it scared the pit out of every-one.

XXX

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The stern line of Prowl's mouth-plates morphed into a gentle smile, as he watched the dozed off saboteur. He was aware of the fact that Jazz hated mornings with a vengeance.

As he caressed the huddled up form with his gaze, Jazz opened his optics, under his visor.

-Ah betcha ya'r runnin' low- amused, Prowl recalled the early times of their friendship, when he couldn't understand what the sleek bot was saying.

-I can not grasp the concept of why do you insist coming down here, every morning.- answered Prowl accepting the energon cube.

- Then Ah guess ya gonna hafta suffer in ignorance…-Prowl shot a disapproving look toward Jazz.

-You are incorrigible...

-Okay, Okay... It's for ya own good. Ah'm actually makin' sure ya refuel in tha mornin'.- said Jazz, yawning, and stretching his lithe body, arching his backstruts. - An' beside that, Ah loooove to watch ya hot aft while ya train...- Jazz put the emphasis on the word "love", playfully purring his engines.

-By the way, do ya happen ta know anything about Smokescreen having the monitor duty again? Three shifts in a row?

Prowl's doorwings twitched..

-Ah'm flattered by tha way... Ya really know how ta sweep a mech off his feet…- Jazz stood on the tip of his pedes, trying to cup Prowl's face, but his servo was promptly swat away.

-What did I told you about interpersonal space?

-Tsk...Ya'r such a buzzkill… It's ya luck that Ah love ya anyways…- It was an implicit agreement between the two; Jazz was allowed to flirt as bluntly as he wanted, (he did it anyway with everybody) and Prowl behaved oblivious about it.

The next few minutes passed in amicable silence, both of them consuming their energon. Then Jazz suddenly turned serious. As he turned his back on Prowl, he hugged his own upper chassis tightly.

-What are tha chances of tha Decepticons findin' out Blaster is a symbiote carrier?- Prow let his Tac-net came online, running every variables through the program.

- There are a 96% chance that they will gain this information during the next 4 earth month. If we conceal both the information, both the existence of the symbiot, it will be a slight dislocation in the time-span, instead of the 4, it will be 7, with a chance of 99%, considering the fact that the symbiote demand for activity, and exploration will increase exponentially . If we are really careful, and disguise the symbiote as a regular sparkling, the chances of this information remaining a secret will increase, until the symbiote's last upgrade.

-Ah cannot just lock mah sparkling an' his symbiote in a room.- frowned Jazz

-What.. What… are - Jazz cleared his vocalizer- What are tha chances that they figure out that Blaster is mah creation? What if…

-Jazz.- said Prowl, his voice unfaltering, strict. He watched the smaller bot clamp down on his armor plates to stop the rattles caused by the tremors shooking his chassis.- Jazz- he said again, in a commanding tone, as the other was still trying to control his trembling.

-We will most certainly find a way.- Actually Prowl streched his servo, to touch Jazz's back comfortingly, but halfway he hesitated, than he let his servo fell back. He wanted to scoop the smaller mech up, wanted to embrace him, protect him, to keep him safe, to gave him a good life. But he couldn't. He would be powerless to fulfill his promises. He wouldn't hurt Jazz again, he wouldn't let the saboteur pay the price for his arrogance once again.