New Fic!

[whitefirebird]

Title: (Unknown)
'Verse: Transformers G1(all human AU)
Characters: Ensemble {story}; Jazz, (Surprise), Hoist, Cassette(s), Soundwave(mentioned) {chapter}
Pairing(s): Prowl x Jazz, to be determined 
Warnings: Violence, offensive language. Will contain het and slash in later chapters. Further warnings posted as needed.
Summary: When you are part of the law, and your heart is at risk, what do you do?

AN: This is a story with a slow start; please be patient with me?

AN-2: Within this story (though not this chapter) I make mention of actual addresses. With the exception of Portland’s Police Department, the buildings described at these addresses are entirely fictional and should not be regarded as reality-based. The street-mapping is not the always the same either, though the name may be the same.

Disclaimer: The characters’ physical descriptions and the names associated with those descriptions are mine. The actual characters (and their “nicknames”) are the property of Hasbro and Takara.

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Chapter 1

 Have you ever met someone, and known instantly that they would be important in your life? Not necessarily “Love at first sight”. No, more like “this person will have great influence on my life, good or bad”. Some people are gifted this way. Almost as though they are more in tune with the Universe’s radio. And these people tend to gather together, with people who have similar gifts. In times past they may have been taken to a temple or church, supposedly holy. Or maybe killed, mistaken for a witch. People are people, with gifts or without, so such a thing may also be used for harm as much as good.

 Our tale starts in a world not so different from this one, where men are men and women are women; where the great wars occurred and laws were passed. Everyday life is not so different here; songs are made, stories told, jobs to be done. Though similarity can be deceptive, too…

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The growl of a motorcycle roared through the cool Portland night. Red taillights flickered as the vehicle passed through the deadening streets. This time of night in the riverside warehouse district, no one was about – too late for those of good intentions, too early for those of bad. Even the docks were relatively quiet.
As the motorcyclist slowed for a traffic light, engine quieting, a ruckus in one of the alleyways caught their attention. Looking about, they saw a side-road that the alleyway led onto. Leaving the bike on the footpath near the lights with the engine off, the ’cyclist moved towards the alley. Sounds of fists striking flesh caused them to slip deeper into the shadows, the mixed navy, grey, and black of their clothing causing them to almost disappear in the night’s gloom.

 In the alley, a tied Jason “Jazz” Freeman was wondering if he was still going to make it to work on Thursday night.
“Mister Freeman, why will yer not say yes?”
“’cause Ah don’t work for mob bosses, no matter the job.”
“Such a harsh thin’ to say, Mister Freeman! An’ untrue as well. Mr Wyvern is not a mob boss.”
Jazz looked at the visored enforcer currently pitching forcefully to him. “Yeah, well, when yeh listen propehly to what’s goin’ on aroun’ yeh, yeh learn a few things. An’ I know ‘Mr Wyvern’ is one o’ his. Ain’t no way Ah’m evah gonna work for that guy.”
“Such a shame, Mister Freeman, such a shame.”
A glint of something caught Jazz' eye. Instinct told him it was help. Common sense made him ignore it, as much as possible, so as to give no sign.

Thus the enforcer was completely surprised when a muscled kick took him right at the shoulder, knocking the brass knuckled fists he’d held loose, letting the knuckledusters fall with a dull thud.
“Perhaps you should accept his answer as the only one he will give.” The helmet muffled much of the speaker’s voice, and the clothing and frame gave no clue to the person’s gender.
“Who the fraggin’ fuck are you?” All pretense of polite speech patterns and accent were suddenly dropped.
“An interested third party. And I’m relieving him of your company.” So saying, the apparent rescuer strode forward, bringing their hands up in preparation for a fight.
Bringing his hand to an earpiece, the enforcer tried to contact his team.
“They can’t hear you.”
“What did you do, you slagger?”
“Just put them to sleep. They’ll be out for around 12 hours. Want to try yourself?”
“Slag this. I’m getting out of here.” He turned tail and ran, planning to call a pickup for his team once he reached the van.

Jazz breathed a sigh of relief as his bonds were cut, then winced. Rubbing his wrists, he looked at his rescuer who’d returned to stand in front of him, and was unnerved by the fact they had yet to take off the helmet.
“There a reason yeh haven’t taken yehr helmet off?”
“Judging by the fact that you have Soundwave interested in you, I’d say it would be better if they don’t know what I look like, yes?”
Jazz thought for a minute, grimaced, and agreed.
“I saw you wince. Can you stand?”
Jazz shook his head. “Wit’ cracked ribs, Ah’d bettah not.”
“Ah. In that case, I think I’ll call a friend of mine. It wouldn’t be safe to take you on my bike in your condition.”
Jazz looked up sharply from gently prodding his ribs. “No hospitals!”
Even helmeted, the person gave the impression of amused forbearance “What do you take me for, an idiot? I know not to take you to a public hospital, with cameras Frenzy can hack into. My friend is a doctor at a hospital, yes, but he’s off duty by now, so he can take you in his car to where you’ll be off the grid.”
Jazz relaxed.

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Jazz fell into a light doze sometime after his rescuer’s Doctor friend got him into a car with a wide backseat. He awoke again as a garage door opened and the car was backed in. A motorcycle eased up beside the car, carrying his rescuer, and the helmet came off, though the face was not visible.
Still sleepy, and confused by the painkiller given by the Doctor (“call me Hoist, mate”), Jazz wasn’t really paying attention as he was helped from the car, through a door, up some stairs, and into a large airy space.
Hoist helped him clean up in a fully tiled, oddly constructed bathroom. Then, after being dressed in a robe and clean underwear (where had those come from anyway?), his ribs were bandage-braced, and he was settled into a set of blankets in a chair on one side of a lounge-like area.
“Go back to sleep. You’re safe here.”
Childlike, he obeyed.

Throughout the rest of the night, he woke off and on. Every time he was soothed back to sleep by a smooth and comforting voice, and the hands that dealt with his injuries were calloused and strong, but very gentle.

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 When he awoke again properly, it was mid-morning the next day, his ribs were aching, and his bladder was cramping. After inching his way into the bathroom that he vaguely recognised from the day before and relieving himself, opened the sliding door to return to his nest. He noticed immediately that the chair he'd slept on had been turned to face towards the kitchen, and after settling himself in it, looked up.
Jaw dropping, Jazz could only stare.


End chapter

Wheee! First chapter cliffhanger!

Second chapter later this week.