Welcome to the next installment of the series. For first time readers this story is 4th in my G1 Autobots series, check my profile for a chronological list of the stories in this series. To my regulars, thanks for continuing to follow me and I hope you enjoy this latest bit o' fiction.

As usual, if there are any glaring errors, continuity problems, questions, or ideas y'all would like to throw in please review.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, if I did Jazz, Ironhide, and everymech else who the real owners have killed off would not have died.

Countdown to Destruction

Chapter 1:

"Autobot scum! Cowardly thieves! They'll pay for this outrage!"

Clench hunkered down into the shadows and began praying to Primus for mercy. It was always dangerous to be assigned as a throne room guard in Darkmount, but a few kliks before, Shockwave had swept into the audience chamber to deliver a very dissparkening report. The ultimate secret weapon and infallibly loyal chassisguard that Shockwave had been breeding for centuries to perfect had been stolen by the Autobots. Megatron was understandably displeased. Knowing why Lord Megatron was angry did not make Clench feel any safer, especially when the first cannonblast ripped through the wall just left of the guard post.

=.=.=.=.=.=.=

It was a bittersweet homecoming for Jazz as their land-shuttle crested the last ridge before the Polyhex border base appeared. The city was still firmly under Decepticon control, but word had trickled out that the remaining natural denizens had seized the opportunity of reduced troop numbers to attempt an escape from Decepticon enslavement. An advance group of Polys had snuck out to beg the Autobots for asylum, which was why Prowl's 'inspection' convoy was detouring so close to enemy territory. Blaster had been added to the group at the last klik as well to confirm the truth or untruth of the Polys' request. It was too coincidental that the request should come now, when the population of Polyhex had always refused aid before. They had stated a battle of attrition against the 'Cons would be preferred over abandoning their underground communities to become Decepticon strongholds. When Prowl and Jazz had become better friends, he asked the native Poly why the Polyhexians would refuse shelter and protection. Jazz had replied that when one lived in an oil bog that to all other appearances was resource poor, were looked down upon as pitiful by other Cybertronians, and were generally considered to be processor-deficient for living in such poor conditions, one tended to be insular and prideful. To give up their pride and tight community would be to give up their spirit and determination; it would break them. It was so illogical, Prowl struggled to understand such a meta-set, but he still listened as Jazz described the islands and floating neighborhoods of his home with furiously broken passion. The pride and loss he heard in the saboteur's vocalizer echoed that of Prowl's feelings for Praxus, and he imagined if all he had left to himself was his pride and self-sufficiency, he too would be unwelcoming of evacuation.

The little shuttle entered the underground courtyard of the compound to be greeted by the garrison's commanding officer. Commander WideBore, a gold and blue cannon-former, greeted them with a full unit of his best soldiers as an honor guard. The commander bowed slightly to Prowl with his servo fisted over his sparkplates. It was an old gesture, one only seen used by those who had been military prior to the war. Theirs was a civilian army whose goal was to preserve culture and life so long as that preservation did not infringe on the universal right of all mechs to live free. Therefore, it was acceptable to salute in any number of ways in the Autobot army, all dependent upon a mech's locus of origin. Prowl, having been a civilian military attaché and later an enforcer, preferred the military salute himself.

When the pleasantries were concluded, WideBore took them down into the base to meet their other guests. The four mech Polyhexian delegation was sequestered in an interrogation room, though none were shackled down. Prowl and Jazz approached the observation window while the rest of their group moved on to the guest quarters. It was Prowl's habit to watch first, as many criminals would become intolerant of the silence and reveal useful tidbits that could be wielded later. Unfortunately, fate had decided this would not be a typical interrogation, for Jazz took one look at the delegation and let out an unholy screech from his engine. Prowl's doorwings tucked down instinctively against the sound and he turned to inquire what the problem was.

Except Jazz was not there anymore.

The Praxian heard a door clang open behind him and he looked back towards the interrogation room. Interesting, he had not been aware that an automatic sliding door could be slammed open, but, as Prowl well knew, the laws of physics did not apply to Jazz. None of the Polyhexians reacted to the door, and the sight of an incensed, heaving Jazz garnered nothing more than raised optics ridges… with the notable exception of the third member of the group. The small black, gold, and white Polyhexian jolted quite sharply at seeing Jazz's faceplates and Prowl observed that the laws of reality were apparently very bendy things as the mech managed to shrink himself enough to tuck into a ball on the seat of his chair.

"Ricochet!" Jazz growled darkly. "What in tha name o' tha Unmaker do ya think ya doin' here?! Ah oughta rip ya spark out."

The mech, Ricochet, apparently also spoke glitchmouse, if the frightened squeaks were anything to go by. Prowl contemplated intervening, but this might be the best method by which to acquire the truth.

The two uninvolved Polyhexians rose from their seats and moved to stand near the wall, clearly indicating their intent to stay OUT of the situation. Jazz stalked up to Ricochet with all the predatory grace of the Special Operations assassin that he was. "So, brotha' dear, whacha got ta say fo' yaself, cuz surely ya got some sorta excuse prepped ta keep meh from killin' ya where ya sit?"

Huh, Prowl was sure that the deadly saboteur's file did not list any living relatives, but research into known Polyhexians with the given designation of Ricochet brought up a ping in the database. The known Decepticons database. Well frag. It was obvious why Jazz had never mentioned such a relation, but now Prowl had to wonder if their secret mission was exposed. His battlecomputer offered a 22% likelihood that the Decepticons knew about the planet-wide evacuation, a 35% chance it was an attempt to take the Autobot base using the Polyhexian insurgents as pawns, a 42% chance that the Decepticons were infiltrating the insurgents and the spy had taken the opportunity to double his reward, and a 1% chance it was something else.

Ricochet was speaking frantically now, so the Praxian turned his awareness outward again. "Ah'm notta 'Con no more Jazz, ah swear! Ah realized Ah was doin' wrong n' Ah left!"

Jazz did not appear impressed. "Nice try Ric, but Ah'm havin' ya locked up 'nyway."

Jazz signaled to the guards WideBore had rushed to station outside the room when it became apparent one of the Polyhexians was not on the up-and-up, and two of the mecha entered to cuff the purported 'defector'.

=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=

Once the explosive situation was dealt with, the remaining Polyhexians were simple to approach. They allowed their identities to be thoroughly verified; being associated with a known Decepticon was not conducive to accomplishing their goals. However, as they explained, they wanted to have everything out in the open so their sincerity would be taken as genuine. Their leader, Boots, told how they had come to acquire Ricochet as one of their number.

"Tha mechlin' was a 'Con, bu' nah a bad 'Con. Dems bad'uns in tha citeh, bu' even they's didn' start tha' way. Mos' o' our citeh joined tha 'Cons earleh on, bu' they wasn' bad mecha, jus' desp'rate for a betta Cybertron. Then mecha b'gan dis-appearin' n' reappearin' a few deca's mecha looked da same, sounded da same, bu' dey didn' act da same. Mah mechlin' was one o' tha Taken. He was kind, fierce, hon'rable. Tha puppet dey sent back was cruel, a rapist, murdered a sparklin' fo' crossin' his path at da wrong time. Ah hadda put him down. Mah sparklin'. N' it was da 'Cons dat made him dat way. Ric was luckeh, he wasn' one chosen fo' tha firs' batches, so he got ta see tha scrap fo' what it was, n' he fled straight ta us. We tested him fo' vorns befo' we trusted him, but he was jus' a scared mechlin' tryin' ta get out o' a bad choice."

Boots focused on Jazz. "He's sorreh fo' what he's done."

The still-upset saboteur nodded, but said nothing.

=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=

Once the questioning was over, Prowl transmitted the proposal to Iacon for Optimus to look over, but it was not really a concern for the chief tactician. He fully anticipated that Prime's compassion would remove a rejection from consideration unless overwhelming evidence was found to contradict the Polyhexian Resistance's claims, and Prowl was already preparing the necessary changes to the evacuation plan.

Being thusly freed from his duties, Prowl asked the question that had been burning within him the entire discussion. "It was my understanding that Polyhexians, as a whole, were very insular and not prone to accepting outside prosecution of clan members, yet you abandoned Ricochet without hesitation. Such actions are far beyond that which is feasible to claim as justifiable for full disclosure. I am curious as to why."

"It is true dat we put clan firs', n' all o' us's fo'giv'n Ric, bu' r'dem'sion 's about more'n jus' fo'giv'ness. 'S 'bout 'tonement n' r'conciliation. Sadleh, dat means Ric's on his own until he asks fo' help."

Prowl nodded, the answer was logical from an emotional standpoint, and if the squirming Jazz was trying to repress was any indication, he did too.

=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=

When they left the interrogation room, Prowl expected Jazz to leave and deal with his brother. Instead, the saboteur followed the tactician to their quarters. The group was being housed in the Primal Suite, as it was the only one large enough for all of them. Prowl would be in the master berthroom, Jazz in the attached bodyguard berthroom, and the rest in the Primal guard bunkroom. Jazz was strangely quiet the entire walk which made Prowl reluctant to let him alone. He made excuses for the both of them to their hosts, citing the long journey as having tired them so they would be undisturbed for the rest of the dark-cycle, then retired to the Primal Suite. Jazz tried to bid him a good dark-cycle, but Prowl snagged his elbow, tugging him implacably into the master berthroom's antechamber.

Once inside he pulled the smaller mech into his arms and spoke lowly into his audials. "You have been there for me through the passing of my city, the loss of my people, the discovery of my little brother, and so much more. Please, my Light, let me do the same for you."

Jazz sighed, he was not ready to discuss his brother. He had hoped that it would be vorns in the future, perhaps when the war was over, before he would have to think about his lost family. He shrugged his shoulders in pseudo-acceptance and burrowed in like a youngling trying to escape the world. "Mah brotha's a 'Con Prowler, wha' more's there ta say?"

Prowl nuzzled the top of his helm. "When family is involved, nothing is ever so cut and dry."

Jazz huffed. "Fine, but if we're doin' this Ah wanna eat firs'… n' maybe some highgrade fo' afta."

Prowl acquiesced and settled his courtmate on the couch with a big fluffy mesh. The Praxian moved over to the in-suite dispenser and pulled two rations and two ener-teas. Jazz might desire highgrade, but it would not help the saboteur deal with the issues at servo. Prowl seasoned their cubes and returned to his beloved. A corner of the plush mesh was lifted to allow him to join the lump of Polyhexian; a lump that snuggled into his side as soon as he was comfortably seated. Jazz claimed his meal and began consuming it very slowly.

Prowl rolled his optics. "Delaying only means more time that you have to think about all this."

Shrinking was apparently a family trait, as Jazz all but disappeared into the mesh. "Well, contrareh ta whacha might be thinkin', there is no tragic backstoreh ta meh n' mah brotha'. We're twins in tha aspect o' bein' a double sparking n' were raised in'a good home wit' lovin' creators. As we grew howevah, we realized tha' tha world didn' have a place fo' ambitious, but low-caste, creations of a pair o' wire weavahs. Ah learned from mah carrier ta see tha little joys in functionin' n' ta work mah way up slower so Ah didn' catch tha optic o' tha Functionists or tha nobles. Ric though, he always chafed. He wan'ed ta have open doors ta pursue his dreams, not half-locked windows ta sneak through when tha caste-keepahs weren' lookin'. Then our carrier passed inta tha Well n' took our sire wit' him. We… uh, we kinda, mighta hadta become purloiners o' otha mecha's stuff ta survive." Jazz looked up at Prowl uneasily.

Prowl arched an optic ridge at Jazz's insecurity and replied dryly. "Oh, woe is me. My courtmate used to be a thief, a criminal. How can I ever look at him in lust again? He was pardoned by the Prime himself, but I, as a duly sworn former enforcer, cannot abide by even past infractions. Woe. Woe is me."

Jazz giggled and continued. "Ah didn' kno' ya knew tha' 'bout meh. *Ahem*, anehway, we had a policy ta onleh steal what we needed ta survive n' tha's it. But as time moved on Ric became resentful o' wha' we hadta do jus' ta eat n' have'a room ovah our helms. He was such a good mech. He'd take an extra job or two ta feed tha street sparks n' elderleh, but he was so angreh.

"Then tha 'Cons came along sayin' everythin' he evah wan'ed ta hear. Ah couldn't talk him out o' joinin'. Tha'Cons took Polyhex cuz o' tha; mos' every mech in Polyhex was like mah Ric. He was a fav'rite o' tha local commander so he w's kept out o' tha darkah side o' tha 'Cons, but Ah hadda bad feelin' in mah tanks, so Ah investigated. Ah saw things Ah ain' nevah wanna see 'gain, but good as Ah was even then, Ah was noticed. Ah tried ta get Ric ta escape wit' meh, but he didn' believe meh n' we hadda huge fight, n' tha 'Cons noticed, n' noticed tha' Ah looked like tha mech they w's lookin' fo', n' Ah hadda escape. Ah made it ta Altihex, joined tha Autobots wit' tha info Ah nabbed, n' tol' everyone Ah was an orphan wit' no family, none tha' would own ta meh anehway."

Prowl hummed. "Do you believe he has changed?"

Jazz shrugged. "Ah don' kno'. He didn' seem like tha same angreh mechlin' Ah hadta leave behind, but Ah don' know."

"If he is sincere, what will you do?" this was murmured lowly, with no judgement in the tone.

Again, Jazz shrugged. "Ah used ta be angreh wit' him. But afta so long Ah've jus' become sad. Ah'm happeh jus' ta see tha' he's alive, n' mebbe a neutral, but Ah don' know how ta be around him anehmore. Ah mean, we've become so diff'rent!"

Prowl snuggled him in close to nuzzle Jazz's droopy sensor horns. "Oh my Light, you take it one moment at a time and you will learn to be brothers again. If you feel the need for a buffer at any point, bring one of your friends or adopted family with you."

Jazz looked up. "Would ya come wit' meh?"

"I would be delighted to meet my future brother-in-bond."

=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=

Despite having Prowl's support, Jazz waited a full orn before dealing with his brother. He played it off as needing to get the mission done, but the SIC knew the truth. Jazz nearly delayed his visit a second orn, but the guards had reported hearing sounds of crying from the cell. They also reported that, though the prisoner seemed calm when they checked, he was increasingly despondent. Before going in himself, Jazz reviewed the security footage, but was reminded how Ricochet was as naturally prone to subterfuge as himself, even when it was just emotions he was hiding. His little brother had found the one spot in the cell where his faceplates could not be seen by any camera angle. This made Jazz suspicious; was Ricochet playing it up for sympathy, or was he sincerely distressed? There was only one way to find out…

=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=

When Ricochet was first deposited in the Autobot brig cell he was completely unperturbed. This was standard Autobot procedure, and he knew that his brother would not let him be tortured. At least he hoped Jazz still cared enough to give him such protection. Ricochet tried to banish such worrisome thoughts, Jazz had been angry with him, but his brother had always forgiven him before, no matter what stupid trouble he got involved with.

The black and gold Polyhexian maintained his optimism in this manner until the next morning. He expected his brother to stew for the dark-cycle then confront him at first light. When that did not happen and Jazz showed no sign that he even remembered he had a brother in the dungeon, Ricochet began to falter.

At first he paced, arguing with himself that Jazz would not leave his dear little brother to rot, but gave up when he found himself counter-arguing with the less than congenial way they had parted after Polyhex fell. Thinking about the vitriol he had cast at his brother, the only living family he had left, had him collapsing in a despondent pile of parts on the slab of a berth.

=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=

Jazz glided in on silent peds, every system running stealth protocols and an extra block on the dormant sibling bond. While the saboteur did not need to avoid the cameras, he did need to evade any passive scan his brother might be using to time his crying bouts. Jazz could already hear the sniffles and hushed, hiccupping gasps. He rechecked that his baffles and silencers were still running at optimum. He made the turn to the antechamber for the isolation cell they had chosen for the suspected Decepticon and nodded in approval at the digit-width floor vents. There would be no escaping that way. During their thieving orns Ricochet had been just as good as Jazz at sneaking around through tiny vent systems, but the Autobots had to cassette-proof their bases.

Jazz positioned himself so he could observe his brother freely. Whether the sobbing was genuine remained to be see.

The longer Ricochet sobbed the more ragged his venting became, which in itself was a point in his favor; fake crying had no such effect on the ventilation system. Eventually, he seemed to be gearing himself up for something, a supposition that was proven true when Ricochet rolled shakily to his peds and turned to the observation window. The black and gold Poly had tear tracks all over his cheek plates and dried tear stains of varying ages underneath that. That could have been seen as just part of the ploy, but Jazz could see the marks where Ricochet had tried to scrub them away. While Ricochet had always been a good actor, he had never been one for the details; that was always Jazz's portion of a job.

"Um," the imprisoned mech began with a waver. "Um, is anyone there?"

Jazz contemplated revealing himself, but he wanted to see what his brother intended.

"Hello, anybody out there?" he said louder. "Ah need ta talk ta brother please! It's important!"

Jazz waited some more. He knew perfectly well that Prowl had reassigned the guards so that the twins could have this little chat in private. He was wondering how his brother would take being ignored at this apparent turning point in his self-confidence. Ricochet began to wilt as the silence continued until he crumpled down onto the berth and buried his helm in his knees.

Jazz decided it was sufficient to trust the actions were authentic and stepped into visual range of the laser-grid door. "Ya kno' Ah always wondered wha it would take ta get ya ta leave, but ya was so sure o' yaself n' ya path wit' tha Cons. Ah mourned ya. Like ya was dead. Now ya wan' meh ta jus' fo'give ya n' pretend it all nevah happened."

Ricochet had shot up, startled, as soon as Jazz began speaking, hope evident in his optics. That hope died with each word from Jazz's vocalizer. He shuffled forlornly towards the bars. "Ah'm sorreh Jazz, Ah don' got nothin' else Ah c'n say. Tha 'Cons offered meh ever'thin'. Ah jus'… Ah ain' got no excuses, Ah kno' tha'! But Polyhex was supposed ta be safe! Then they started using our people as playthin's, for target practice, gang bangin', n' worse. Then tha reprogrammin'. The Polyhex 'Cons protested the mistreatment o' those we joined ta protect, Ah c'n at leas' say Ah was one o'em, n' in return tha 'Con leadahship tol' us tha' we would be heard in a group audience in Kaon. Ah was elected ta stay behind ta make sure tha leadahship wouldn' try somethin' wit' tha civvies behind our backs. It's tha onleh reason Ah escaped. Tha others came back, dif'rent. Cruel, cold, not carin' tha our civvies was trash ta tha 'Cons… Ah left before someone snitched tha Ah'd been missed in tha 'corrective measures'. Ah couldn' get out o' Polyhex anehmore, so Ah was hidin' in tha lower levels, n' Ah accidentally stumbled 'cross tha Resistance group. It took vorns fo' them ta trus' meh, but Ah've been fightin' as one o' them evah since. Ah'm sorreh Jazz, so very sorreh fo' not lis'nen ta ya!"

"Ah kno' y'are Ric, but Ah gotta 'ntire faction dependin' on meh ta protect'm from 'Con threats, n' Ah gotta prove wit'out a shadow o' a doubt tha ya ain' one." Jazz replied as he moved to lean against the wall.

"What do ya wan' meh ta say?! Ah mean it Jazz, Ah ain' a 'Con anehmore! They been huntin' meh fo' vorns now, ya c'n ask tha others!"

Jazz shrugged. "Can't prove tha' ain' jus' a trap ya 'Con buddies set up ta make ya seem genuine."

Ricochet slammed his fist against the berth in frustration. "Jazz! Come'on bro, if ya don' give meh a chance, ain' nobody gonna! Ya realleh hate meh so much ya wan' meh ta die?!"

Jazz maintained an outward appearance of being unaffected. "Ya wanna prove ya serious?"

"Yes!"

Jazz smirked at the exasperation in that single word. "K, then what we'll do is put ya in stasis, ship ya ta an undisclosed location n' let ya serve parole under heavy Autobot guard, prolyl 'til tha end o' tha war."

Ricochet wilted. He stared in devastation at the floor. He looked up at Jazz, then down at his servos, seeing, not for the first time, all the energon that covered them. He laughed mirthlessly. "Idn'it sad how one realleh bad decision c'n cost ya yer life? Sometimes it don' even need ta kill ya ta do it eitha."

Ricochet stared up into Jazz's visor. "If it wasn' ya askin' Ah'd be balkin' so hard agains' this, but cuz it's ya, bro, Ah accept. Anehthin' ta redeem mahself in ya optics."

Then he voluntarily initiated a stasis cascade.

=.=.=.=.=.=.=

As soon as Ricochet dropped Jazz leapt forward, frantically ripping through the firewalls guarding the door controls as he hacked them into dropping the bars. It was faster than going through the lengthy opening protocols Red Alert insisted be used on all brigs. Jazz's ops protocols were pinging him urgently that this could be a trap to get him to release the prisoner, but he ignored them. That was his brother in there and there was no way in Pit he was going to allow his brother to suffer an unmonitored shutdown; mechs had deactivated from such foolishness. Jazz reached his now prone brother and plugged into medical port. He acknowledged the brief message from Prowl that a medical team was on the way and began monitoring his brother's descent into stasis.

Already he could see several errors in the cascade and he moved to correct them as fast as he could. H heard the door open behind him and he moved aside to allow the medic room beside him. The white medic plugged in and piggybacked on Jazz's connection to his brother's psyche. The saboteur showed the medic what he had already fixed and made the changeover so he could extricate himself.

When Jazz came out he could see the three technicians running diagnostic scans and hooking up various mobile monitors. Blaster was standing in the observation room waiting for him. It was not until the hostmech had enveloped him in a hug that Jazz realized he was shaking.

"Ah wasn' expectin' that." Jazz said faintly.

Blaster grimaced. "If he'd waited a few more kliks Prowl an' Ah were gonna comm ya that he was clean."

Jazz whimpered and buried his helm against the strong sparkbeat under his audial.

"Ah know it won't help much at this point," Blaster continued. "But he wasn' lyin'. Ah delved as deep as Ah could wit'out bein' in physical contact wit' him an' there was no sleeper programmin' or any o' Sounder's taint."

It did not, in fact, help at all with Jazz's guilt, but his ops protocols were pleased by the outcome. Objectively, the saboteur was satisfied that he could send a positive report to his superiors concerning the suspected spy, even as his brotherly half keened at what he had done to his last remaining family member.

The medical team had finished stabilizing Ricochet and were moving him out of the cell, so Jazz left the emotional safety of his best friend's hug, whom he really should offer an amica bond, to follow his brother. His duties as an Autobot were satisfied, it was time to fulfill his familial duties to his twin.

=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=

Ricochet drifted up slowly from the world of dark that had consumed him. He emerged into one of bright light and soothing white walls. He shuttered his optics a few times as adjusted to the higher light levels. Ricochet was puzzled, it did not feel like any time had passed, and that was confirmed when he looked around and spotted his brother. Jazz was speaking with a hot black and white Praxian who appeared to have the hots for his twin. Ricochet's bleary meta suggested that such was an interesting happenstance that needed investigation. He tried to turn a little to hear their conversation, but his motor functions had not fully rebooted yet. He must have made some sort of noise in the attempt though, because Jazz's visor snapped his direction with laser focus.

Ricochet froze.

It was like coming under target lock by a dozen of the nastiest Decepticons he had ever met. That,… that was an amazingly angry look. Jazz was pissed.

With frantic self-preservation born of vorns of evading angry ex-comrades, Ricochet tried to bully his motor functions into operation. Unfortunately, Primus had granted Jazz the preternatural ability to read other mecha, and he noticed what Ricochet was doing and pounced. Ricochet let out an energon curdling shriek of fright, which, hey!, vocalizer was working!, and tried to roll away from the Unmaker's Herald leaping through the air towards his throat.

He did not make it.

The pit-hound, formerly known a Jazz, landed on his abdomen and grabbed his throat with barely restrained claws. Through his panic Ricochet dimly registered that was not, in fact, being eviscerated, and that Jazz sounded rather panicked himself.

"… do ya not kno' ya coulda killed yasself?! Were ya tryin' ta give meh a spark-attack?! Ya ain' nevah 'llowed ta try tha' again, ya hear meh?! Nevah! Mah spark 'bout gave out when Ah saw ya drop, n' then havin' ta hack ya ta save ya, n'… n'… Do ya kno' how maneh glitches Ah had ta save ya from ta keep ya idiot self from accidentally self-offlinin'?! Nine! Nine glitches tha' woulda killed ya!"

Jazz huffed and puffed atop Ricochet's chassis and the gold and black mech boggled at his brother. "Tha's funny considerin' how not concerned ya was in tha cell-block!"

Jazz let go of his brother's cervical column and sat back sadly. "Ric, Ah'm an Ops officer, it's mah duteh ta question defectors. As ya brotha, Ah believed ya tha firs' time ya said ya w's sorreh, but mah superiors weren' gonna accept tha' as proper validation n' prolly woulda sent someone else ta interrogate ya, n' they wouldn'a been nice about it. Ah did what did ta prove what Ah alreadeh knew in mah spark."

Surprisingly, Ricochet thought he could understand that, and it was almost nothing to forgive in comparison to the reconciliation he himself had asked for. "So, do they believe meh now?"

The sound of frustration Jazz let out sounded like the skreel of a rotor stripping.

"Tha's all you care about?!" Jazz began, shaking Ricochet back and forth. "Ya almos' died! Ya an idiot, bolts-fo'-meta…"

Jazz took a sharp in-vent and sat in silence, panting to cool his overheating frame. When Ricochet's vision cleared he saw that the hot Praxian had intervened and was stroking Jazz's helm and sensor horns whilst thrumming in the most soothing manner.

When Jazz was calm he leaned down to press his forehelm over his twin's spark. "Yes Ric, they believe ya. Ya're actualleh bein' offered a choice. Ya c'n stay a neutral n' be 'vacuated wit' tha other Poly's, or ya c'n become an Autobot."

Ricochet picked up the helm stroking that the Praxian had ceased. "How'd ya convince ya higher ups ta accept meh so fast?"

Jazz turned his helm and snickered. "Prowler here called in a telepath ta verify ya while Ah was wit' ya."

"So yer beau used his influence ta get meh a pass. Nice Jazz!"

Now Jazz was really laughing and 'Prowler' had the most perplexed look on his faceplates.

The saboteur's visor twinkled as he met his brother's optics. "Ric, Prowl's the SIC."

The gold and black mech felt his optics widen to the limits of their shutters, but the physical evidence of his shock was lost on him while he fell into the realization that he had been ogling the rusted Second in Command of the Entire, Farking, Autobot Army! The mech that made Decepticons quake when his baritone vocalizations echoed across the battlefield. Survivors of battles that the SIC had directed described him as a cold-sparked, ruthless mech. Officers who faced him both cursed Prowl''s name and commented that he would make a fantastic Decepticon.

Why? Why would his brother let such a mech court him?

Well, there was only one way to make sure his older brother was not being abused or blackmailed.

"Ah wanna become an Autobot."

=.=.=.=.=.=.=

Dealing with his brother was way more stress than Jazz had planned to deal with on this trip. The saboteur had this grandiose plan to use the unique features of each location they visited to romance Prowl off his peds. Having his brother show up was making that first date impossible to accomplish. He had absolutely no energy left now to even consider setting up a date. He opened the door to his temporary quarters and stumbled over to his berth, visor already offline, and flopped down like a toppling crystal. Which is how he discovered that somemech had left a datapad on his berth… with his face.

Miraculously, the padd was not broken, which told the saboteur who had left it. A certain high-level tactician had terribly bad penchant for flipping desks and throwing datapads whenever he was especially angry. Therefore, said mech had commissioned Wheeljack to make him armored pads with glassteel screens.

Jazz sat up and flicked on the screen.

All it held was a level number and an authorization code for the lift. Jazz cocked his helm. Granted Prowl had excused himself from the medbay well in advance of Jazz, but what kind of situation could have cropped up that quickly that would have Prowl communicating so cryptically. Curiosity filling his spark, the saboteur groaningly arose from his berth and trudged back out to see what his courtmate needed.

=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=

The lift pinged cheerily at Jazz with every subfloor it passed and the saboteur wondered, with no little irritation, how the regular inhabitants of the base put up with it.

Jazz side-opticked the control panel.

=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=

When the lift opened on the 8th subfloor the cheerful 'Bingle, Bingle' was gone. Instead it played a particularly complex aria from a popular old horror film that Jazz had decided was appropriate for the lowest level of the base. Greatly cheered by his own ingenuity, the Polyhexian sauntered off to find his Prowler.

It did not take long. The mech in question was just around the corner patiently reading a datapad. Jazz could not help but notice how svelte the Praxian looked. He practically gleamed with fresh polish. What in Primus' name was going on down here to warrant such a shine? Now highly suspicious, Jazz finished his approach into the Praxian's line of sight.

Prowl looked up and smiled softly.

"Ah Jazz, just on time." He said as he subspaced his padd. "If you will follow me, the problem is just this way."

Jazz moved to walk beside his Praxian. "So ya was bein' kinda secretive in ya message. Wha's so delicate tha' ya need an opsmech fo' it down here?"

Prowl smiled a tiny smug, mischievous thing that was there and gone before the saboteur could truly claim it existed. The Praxian led him through a door into a rather rough looking corridor. With a sharp double-take, realized he was looking at the substrata the underground base was imbedded in. He was unaware of any Polyhexian tunnels having been mapped in the area, so the set they were traveling through must have been both natural and not very extensive. Jazz wondered if perhaps an accidental connection had been made between this unguarded backdoor and one of Polyhex's tributaries. It would explain the need for a saboteur in lieu of a proper demolitions expert, as well as one who was a Polyhex native.

Polyhex, for all that it looked like floating towers and townlets, its true polity lay underground. Jazz wrapped his arm around his Prowler's waist assembly and snuggled in. "When we get finished investigatin' down here n' get some good 'charge n' defrag, Ah'm kidnappin' ya n' we gonna go do sumthin' romantic."

Prowl did not say anything, and when Jazz glanced up he could see that his Praxian looked faintly uneasy.

"Um, Prowler, Ah kno' Ah'm 'sposed ta not be overtly assertive, but ya'd tell meh if Ah got too alpha-ish, right?"

Prowl glanced over sheepishly. "I prefer you just the way you are. I… I have never been a normal prathama and I find your atypical bija behaviors endearing and comforting."

Jazz nudged in a bit closer. "While Ah'm glad ta hear tha', wha's settin' ya off then?"

Prowl coughed. "I may have accidentally received a datapad detailing a romantic encounter for one Praxian and one Polyhexian to take place on the overlook of a certain military base."

Jazz smacked his helm, he had wondered where that padd had gotten off too. Prowl was not finished though. "And when it became apparent that the advent of your brother's defection would prevent you from accomplishing your plan, I took steps."

"N' part o' ya plan was getting' meh ta come wi'out meh knowin' what was goin' on. Which means there's not realleh a problem down here is there."

Prowl smiled faintly.

They entered a room with rough-hewn walls and Jazz's jaw dropped in delight. Inside the room was a natural hot oil spring pouring from the wall and bubbling up from the floor, filling the basin-like room. An architect had obviously been brought in on the project as the grotto had been turned into a spa with carved seats, mood lighting, and semi-private nooks.

It was to one of these that Jazz was directed. He could see treats and what looked like contraband Polyhexian highgrade. The saboteur had no words. No one ever would have considered that Prowl could be so romantic and it made Jazz's spark feel like it was overflowing with love. Prowl settled him into the luxury of the oil and the Polyhexian melted into the soothing heat. Prowl settled next to him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

"Ya tha mos' wonderful thing that ever happened ta meh, ya kno' that?"

Prowl blushed up beautifully, but said nothing.

"N' while Ah'd like nothin' mo' than ta snuggle wit'cha til Ah fall asleep, Ah think Ah need ta ask ya some stuff 'bout tha courtin' thing."

Prowl looked at him. "I will answer whatever I can."

"K, so, Solaris n' Windblade 've told meh enough o' what't means ta be a bija ta get meh started, but Ah kno' it ain' in mah codin' tah be a completeleh submissive little mate. So, Ah need ta kno' what ya expect from meh. Ya said ya like my 'ssertiveness, is'zat normal for a prathama? N' how much is too much? Where do ya 'spect meh ta yield ta ya in tha relationship, n' where c'n Ah be free ta take lead?"

Prowl hesitated to answer. To truly be honest with Jazz he would have to tell him about Sentinel, and he was not sure he was ready for that yet. Perhaps he could tell the bare facts of it and leave out the more painful details?

"You are right about the normalness of my acceptance, I am not a typical prathama." He began slowly, hesitantly. "I,… I actually was a bija once. My first courtship was with a mech who pretended kindness but became abusive. I was unable to escape him for several centuries and once I did I was nearly irreparably damaged mentally. "Prowl took a bracing vent. "Smokescreen and one of his psychologist friends worked for vorns to help me heal. The long duration of the abuse caused my spark to subvert the bija coding. The dormant prathama coding then surfaced to fill the void."

Jazz draped himself over Prowl's shoulder so he could hold his servo with his right servo and stroke his erratically twitching doorwings with the other.

Prowl's vocalizer hitched, but he was determined now to finish this. "It was a normal side-effect for cases of extreme abuse of a bija. We, those like me, were considered too passive to be true prathama, but too aggressive for a bija. Medically we are labeled tatastha, which means 'neutral' in Iaconian Standard, although we are publicly called prathama. Those who recover from the abuse are more likely to end up in a trine bond with a prathama and a bija."

"Hmm," Jazz hummed. "One o' each ta balance their neutrality?"

Prowl nodded. "Yes, it is difficult for a tatastha to provide enough strength of will to make a bija feel safe, nor is a tatastha able to submit enough to satisfy as prathama."

Prowl waited with bated vents for Jazz's reaction, but Jazz did nothing more than continue to stroke Prowl's servo and doorwing. Prowl's battlecomputer informed him that there was a 76% chance Jazz would call off the courtship do to Prowl's 'unsuitability'. His battlecomputer suggested that it would be less emotionally painful if he broke it off first; at least he would not have to hear the empty platitudes. It was not a viable options though, Prowl would rather have his spark broken than ever see a look of pain on his Jazz's faceplates. Perhaps he could explain more and raise the percentages of a favorable outcome.

Prowl opened his mouth to speak, lips trembling in distress, when Jazz finally spoke. "Ah'm sorreh Prowler, tha' aneh mech would think treatin' ya tha' way's in aneh way acceptable. Ya probable wise not ta tell meh who it was tha' done it cuz Ah guarantee they'd be top o' mah hit list, but if ya evah feel ya need ta talk about wha' happened, Ah promise Ah'll listen n' hold ya til ya bettah, though don' get upset if Ah gotta disappear fo' a bit afta tha' ta work off a couple murderous intentions."

Prowl was frozen. There was a 0.00023% chance of Jazz doing something unexpected.

"N' while Ah'm not 'xactly opposed ta havin' a second lover, c'n we wait a cent'ry or two before we try ta court a third fo' our bond?"

That… was not even in the realm of expected responses. In fact, Prowl's battlecomputer was alternating between furious overcompensation and stark silence in response to this mech that kept smashing its predictions to pieces. "You… do not fault me for my inadequacies?"

Jazz stopped petting him and raised his helm from where he had it tucked in the crook of Prowl's neck to give him the most flabbergasted look. "Prowler! How are ya in aneh way inadequate?!"

Prowl looked away. "I am not a real prathama, I cannot champion you properly."

Jazz blinked. "What?"

"Such a wonderful bija could not possibly be happy with such a flawed prathama."

Jazz growled low in his chassis and pulled himself up through the oil until he could straddle Prowl's lap. Then he framed his Praxian's helm with his servos so he could not look away. "Prowl, Ah am not a bija, Ah tailor mah actions tah fit ya culture as best Ah can cuz Ah love ya. But from ya culture's standpoint nearly all Cybertronians, mahself included, would register as tatastha! Can't two tatastha enjoy a full n' fulfillin' bond wit'out conformin' ta tha prathama n' bija standard?"

Prowl looked at Jazz in wonder that such a mech could love him. So bright and beautiful. Such a marvelous intuitive lateral thinker. "I have no empirical evidence to support the concept, but I do not see how you could be wrong."

Jazz smiled and pressed their forehelms together before settling back down onto his seat and snuggling in as he had before. "Good, then if ya don' mind, Ah'm gonna sit here wit' mah amazing lover an' enjoy tha super romantic date he planned fo' us."

Prowl smiled back and reached for the plate of goodies and highgrade. He was so lucky to have found such a mate.