whitefirebird: (Kagome)
[personal profile] whitefirebird
Author: Whitefirebird
Day: 8
Prompt: My love is larger than your stupidity
Verse: G1/Movieverse
Wordcount: 1,128

You couldn’t even call it a true meeting, the first time. They were just two bots going places, and the only reason they took notice of one another was an otherwise unavoidable collision. A servo caught on one’s hip-joint, even as the servo’s owner fell, dropping a datapad and several boxes in the process.
Jazz sat up, dizzily shaking his head. A hand made its way into his vision, and he looked up. It only took one glimpse of smooth black and white plating and graceful doorwings, and Jazz found himself helm-over-pede in love.
“Well? Are you getting up or not?” the voice was smooth and deep.
Shaking his head again to clear his processor of the fog that had overtaken it, Jazz grasped the hand and was pulled to his feet.
“Thanks, mech.” Jazz eyed the boxes he’d dropped, and groaned.
“Hmm? Something wrong?” The black and white Praxian looked him over for injury. “You don’t seem hurt.”
“Nah, mech, but Ah will be ‘f anythin’ in those boxes is damaged afore Ah deliver ‘em.”
The Praxian eyed them also. “Are they that important? Here, I’ll help you pick them up.”
“Ah’m a Courier. It’s part of our pride that anythin’ we deliver is given t’ the receiver in the same condition it was given t’ us. A clumsy Courier ain’t one, if yeh know what Ah mean.”
A thoughtful frown crossed the mech’s faceplate. “I think I see.”
They quickly gathered all the boxes and the single datapad to one side of the thoroughfare and checked everything for damage. Wonder of wonders, there was none.
“Ah think Ah should know the name of the mech that helped meh.”
“My name is Prowl. And you?”
“Ah’m Jazz. And yeh’re pretty.” Jazz could have smacked himself for that last part. “Ah didn’t mean t’ say that.”
Prowl looked at him strangely. “That’s the first time anyone’s said that to me. Are you sure you’re alright?”
“Ah’m fine.”
“If you say so.”
And that was the end of that.

~ * o * ~ * o *~ * o ~

When they met for the second time, civil war had ravaged across Cybertron. In the battle for Praxus the former TIC and head of SpecOps had been killed. Jazz was chosen as his replacement. Even as he made his way to his predecessor’s – now his – office, he couldn’t help but notice that the 2IC’s door was shut.
The gossip he’d been hearing on his way in had made much of this fact. Apparently, the Head of Tactics never kept his door shut, in case of emergencies, and simply to be available for those able to brave his stoicism.
Jazz couldn’t resist. He swiftly scrambled the lock, opening the door, and coming face-to-face with the mech he’d fallen for long ago.
Noticing the signs of grief, Jazz made to step into the office. Prowl’s helm snapped up even as a rifle came out of his subspace.
“Don’t shoot!”
“Yeah.” Jazz continued forward, finally hugging Prowl. The black-and-white sagged in his grasp.
“I thought… nevermind. What are you doing here?”
“Ah’ve been chosen as TIC. Command called meh heah to Iacon.”
“It’s been so long. You still have that accent.”
“An’ yeh’re still pretty.”
A liquid chuckle answered him. “I still think you’re stupid to think that.”
“Good thing yeh’re not meh then, eh?”
Prowl looked thoughtful. “You may be right.”

~ * o * ~ * o *~ * o ~

Jazz sat on his berth, his head in his servos, fighting to keep a keen from escaping. It was all his fault. Now Prowl didn’t want anything to do with him, no thanks to Sideswipe.
Their first battle on Earth with the Decepticons had been vicious, and Jazz had deemed it wise to try a little lightening of the atmosphere around the Ark. He’d enlisted the aid of the prankster twins in this endeavour, thinking it a good idea to channel their mayhem semi-constructively.
Then, they’d caught him and Prowl in one of their pranks.
Sideswipe had gotten him massively drunk. Jazz could hold his liquor with the best of them, and his secrets, but with Sideswipe prodding him along, he’d inadvertently confessed his feelings for Prowl. Apparently Sunstreaker had been recording the whole thing, and took it straight to the Tactician. Now Prowl was avoiding him. Not even his team could get the Praxian to stay in the same room as him.

If Prowl didn’t want him, he wasn’t sure he could keep himself from doing something stupid.

~ * o * ~ * o *~ * o ~

The next battle with the Decepticons bore out his hypothesis. He found himself acting quite self-sacrificing – pushing others out of the way of fire, taking hits he should have dodged. It culminated in him taking a flying leap onto Megatron’s fusion cannon when the Warlord was aiming at Ratchet.
The next thing he was aware of was staring at the orange ceiling of the Ark’s medbay, listening to Ratchet’s cursing.
He didn’t particularly feel like sitting up, so he started taking stock of his surroundings. He wasn’t tied down, there wasn’t much in the way of noise – so the medbay was relatively clear of injured, Ratchet was dealing with paperwork from the sounds of things-
So who was holding his servo?
“I know you’re awake.”
‘Ulp. This doesn’t sound good.’ “Prowl…”
“Having retrieved you from playing the martyr, I think you need to listen to what I have to say. So lie there and shut up.”
“You were the first mech to ever tell me I was pretty. And you meant it. When Praxus fell, I was devastated – I thought I’d lost you for good, since that was where I had last heard of you. When you showed up in Iacon, I didn’t know what to think. Then you started doing silly things to make me smile, and I didn’t know why. When the twins came to me with that recording… I had to make certain of my own feelings. I also reviewed every memory I had of you, trying to be certain that they hadn’t just made it up. And then you played hero in this last battle, and I thought I might lose you for good this time.”
“Jazz, sometimes you’re smart. But a lot of the time you’re stupid.”
“Hey!” Jazz objected, but Prowl just smiled at him and carried on.
“You’re at your stupidest when trying to impress me.” Jazz twined their hands nervously. “But my love is larger than your stupidity.” A horned helm came up, its owner hardly daring to hope.
“You’re out of luck, and stuck with me.”
“No one else Ah’d rather have.” Jazz replied with a beatific smile.

The End
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