Chapter Text
It was really unfair, Jazz decided, glancing from the drink in his hand to the latest Festival update on the vidscreen above the bar. Once again it was time to celebrate the Festival of the Five in honor of the Guiding Hand, and all of Praxus was gearing up for the additional honor of hosting the Challenge of Adaptus. Decorations were going up everywhere, accommodations were being made for the expected influx of visitors and dignitaries coming for the festivities, and the racecourse for the Challenge itself was in its final stages of preparation.
All this excitement had mechs and femmes in such high spirits that even with the official Festival still two days away, impromptu parties and unofficial celebrations were springing up all over the city. But despite the pervasiveness of all that energy and good cheer, which would have normally been an ideal atmosphere for an entertainer like himself, Jazz could not seem to get into the groove, and that just wasn’t fair.
The femme on the vidscreen was currently reporting on the recent arrival of several important mechs that morning. The Prime himself was not due to arrive until the following day, but many of the Senators and other officials were already making their appearances. Jazz would normally be watching with his friends, critiquing their paint schemes and running scathing commentary about the state of modern fashion. They’d even gone so far as to try to set their own fashion trend as a joke, convincing a whole district in Kaon that every mech in Praxus wore a visor when their group had gone there to perform during the last Festival.
That actually hadn’t been Jazz’s idea, although he was the reason Blaster had suggested it. Each of them had gotten a non-functional cosmetic visor as part of their costume armor for the theme of the Challenge of Mortilus and had worn them everywhere, even when they weren’t performing. It had been a lot of fun, especially since Beatbox hadn’t thought her choice of color through very well and had been continually bumping into things she couldn’t make out fully through the deep maroon visor she had selected in contrast to her lighter plating.
From his solitary seat at the bar, Jazz could hear them right now, happily plotting away at a nearby table to come up with a prank to top that one. He glanced back at them over his shoulder briefly before returning his attention to his triple engex blend with cadmium. It was a heavier drink than his usual fare, but it fit the heavy mood he couldn’t seem to shake. He knew if he didn’t join the rest of the troupe soon they were bound to call him on his lack of enthusiasm. So far they hadn’t said anything, but Jazz knew he was getting less and less successful at hiding his melancholy the closer the Festival got. In fact, he probably only had a few minutes at most to finish his drink and get up and be social before one of them decided to be helpful and came over to ask –
“What’s wrong, mech? Why’re you sittin’ here all by yourself?” Blaster’s timely question intruded on his thoughts as the red and yellow host appeared to lean against the bar counter next to him.
Caught off guard, Jazz tried flashing a quick grin up at the larger mech. “Nothin’s wrong, why you ask?” He raised his glass and took a drink in an effort to mask a flinch at how weak that had come out.
Blaster wasn’t fooled in the slightest. “I might believe that, if I didn’t know you as well as I do,” he said, pulling up a stool and sitting down next to the black and white dancer. “You haven’t been your usual cheerful self and we’ve been startin’ to worry.” He frowned and continued when it looked like Jazz was about to try to wave him off again. “It’s no use tryin’ to hide it, mech – you’ve been quieter than usual the last couple of days and now you’re just sittin’ here, lettin’ Switchstep do all the work comin’ up with the new routine while you drown your sorrows in engex.”
“Wasn’t tryin’ to hide anything,” Jazz said. “Just tryin’ to turn myself around without raining on everyone’s good mood.”
For a long moment Blaster didn’t respond, and Jazz was beginning to worry he’d somehow offended him when he finally spoke again. “This is about Prowl, isn’t it?”
“Well, maybe I miss him a little, him being so busy with the Festival and all,” Jazz admitted. “Probably won’t get a chance to see him till it’s over actually, but I expected that, it’s no big deal. Same thing happened at the last Festival. What makes you think that’s the problem?”
Blaster fixed Jazz with a look. “I think this is about more than missin’ your friend,” he said, sounding almost apologetic as he continued. “You’re not just sad you can’t celebrate the Festival together. I think you’re wishin’ the Festival could be celebratin’ the two of you.”
“Now hold up, that ain’t – “
“Jazz, I know. I know you been crushin’ on him since before the Challenge o’ Mortilus, and I saw how you were lookin’ at him during the Champion’s Bonding Ceremony then. Never figured you for the type to get serious, least of all with a mech like Prowl, but…you tried to get over him and it didn’t work, did it?”
“What do you mean by that, ‘a mech like Prowl?’ Y’all don’t give him enough credit, he’s one o’ the best mechs I ever – ” a short laugh escaped Jazz’ vocalizer before he could stop himself. “Somehow I keep forgettin’ how insightful you are.”
“Doesn’t take insight to figure out something’s up when your friend stops goin’ home with the groupies and starts spendin’ all his time with one mech instead of with all his friends,” Blaster laughed too. “You really thought it wasn’t obvious how much he means to you?”
“Well, I had hoped I was bein’ sorta subtle,” Jazz said. “Thought it’d be easier to get over if no one knew about it.”
“Including yourself? You been tellin’ yourself you weren’t fallin’ for him too? How’d that work out?”
“Shut your mouth! It was workin’ great until you dragged all the feelings out from under the nice engex I’d buried ‘em with,” Jazz said without much force. “Actually that’s a lie, I was doin’ fine ignoring them without the engex until recently. Guess the Festival is reminding me of Kaon.” He sighed, downing the rest of his drink and signaling the bartender for another. “The whole time at that ceremony all I could think was, I wish that was us.”
“We noticed,” Beatbox piped up from behind him. Jazz realized belatedly that the other two had been listening the whole time. “What we didn’t understand was why you didn’t do anything about it once we all got back to Praxus.”
The bartender returned with Jazz’ refill, which he stood to take and tipped the mech before motioning Blaster to follow him back to join the table.
“Yes, why didn’t you?” Switchstep asked as they settled into their seats. “You’ve been friends with Prowl even longer than you’ve been dancing with us and we’ve been together for ages. Why didn’t you just make a move? You know, take that first step and see how he responded?”
“Because I’ve been friends with him for so long and I know how he would have responded,” Jazz answered. “It took almost 20 vorn after I met him for him to even call me an acquaintance. Then it was another 30 before he’d call me his friend—“
“32.47, but who’s counting?” Blaster interjected. “I remember someone threw a ‘Prowler finally used the F-word party’ when that happened.”
“Didn’t I tell you to shut your mouth?” Jazz reminded him. “Fine, another 32.47 vorn for him to call me his friend. And in that time and all the time since, I learned that Prowler ain’t interested in mates or bondin’, not with me, not with anyone; it‘s just not a priority in his life, and that’s cool. I get it, it’s cool.”
“I don’t believe you, and neither do you.”
“BB, I love you, but we ain’t friends anymore if you don’t take that back.”
She laughed. “Too bad, random-mech-I-work-with-who-isn’t-my-friend-anymore.” The other two started laughing as well, and a moment later Jazz found himself joining in.
“Okay, fine, maybe I’m not so cool with it. But I ain’t gonna ask him for something he doesn’t want. I thought about it and I can’t stand the thought of losin’ him over it, so don’t any of you dare try to talkin’ to him about it. I’ll get over it.”
“Clearly you won’t; this isn’t just a crush, not if you’ve spent the fifty vorn since the last Festival pining over him and the upcoming one has you so sad instead of happy,” Switchstep said. He held his hands up defensively at the growl Jazz gave him. “I’m not going to say anything to him, I promise. But if you feel that strongly about him, I still think you should.”
“I appreciate the support mech, but I know Prowl,” Jazz repeated. “I won’t risk our friendship, not when it took 32.47 vorn to get.”
“52.47, if you count the vorn you were just an acquaintance.”
“Blaster!”
When the laughter died down again, Jazz raised his glass. “How ‘bout a toast to friendship then? However old they are?”
“Oh, are we friends again?” Beatbox teased, raising her glass as well.
“Just for the sake of the toast,” Jazz grinned. The others raised their glasses too and as one they finished their drinks. “So, you made me talk about my troubles, now you owe me a distraction! C’mon, let’s figure out somethin’ fun we can do to mess with the tourists!”
Before anyone could start offering ideas however, the bartender called out to them from behind the counter. “Hey, weren’t you all talking about Prowl just now?” He waved up toward the vidscreen. “If so, someone should probably tell that mech that he’s not the bonding type before he wastes his time.”
The view on the monitor had switched from the shuttle port to an interview stage where the announcer was now talking to some of the mechs and femmes currently signed up to take part in the Challenge of Adaptus. Sitting across from her at the moment was a large green and black mech with silver accents and an arm ending in a huge hook. An image of Prowl’s face was displayed behind them.
“Don’t bother speculating about who I plan to claim,” he was saying. “I’m not making it a secret – I’m doing this for Prowl, and when I win,” he smiled, red optics flaring possessively, “he’s mine.”
Jazz’ own blue visor darkened dangerously. “Not you again,” he growled at the screen, hands clenching into fists on the table. “What the Pit are you trying to pull now?”
“I thought he’d given up,” Switchstep said.
“But if Prowl doesn’t want him, even if he wins he can’t claim him, right?” Beatbox asked.
“As long as Prowl’s exempt from the Champion’s choice he can’t,” Blaster said to her before turning to Jazz. “Prowl did file an exemption, didn’t he?”
“I don’t know,” Jazz replied, already on his feet, “but I’m gonna go ask him right now. I don’t care how busy he is. It ain’t like Prowl to overlook a detail like that, but I know Lockdown. He wouldn’t make that kind of announcement without checking first.”
***
“No, I never filed an exemption. It hardly seemed necessary, as the likelihood of anyone ever claiming me for their mate in one of the Challenges was so astronomically low.” Prowl’s voice was calm and steady as usual as he spoke without looking up from the stack of data pads for the increased Festival security he was reviewing. His doorwings, however, twitched minutely in annoyance. Most would assume it was a reaction to the interruption, but Jazz knew his friend better than that.
“Seems to me you miscalculated,” he said, watching Prowl carefully. Twitch went the doorwings. “I can see how much that bothers you –“
“It does not bother me.”
“ –but it ain’t like you could have predicted he’d do something like this. Course, it ain’t like you not to take care of loose ends either. Why didn’t you eliminate the risk entirely by filing the exemption, Prowler?”
“Please refrain from using that name while I am on duty, Jazz,” Prowl reminded him absently, still not looking up from his work.
“I’m serious, Prowl.” Jazz insisted, reaching across the desk to pluck the datapad out of his hands. “Why didn’t you? More importantly, why aren’t you filing one right now? It’s not too late, the lists aren’t locked yet. You can file an exemption or sign up for the Challenge right up to the start of the Festival, so you still got time. What’s stopping you?”
Prowl’s posture had stiffened when Jazz snatched the datapad, and he tensed even further at the question. A sick feeling growing in his tanks, Jazz forced himself to ask, “You didn’t…change your mind about him, did you?”
Finally Prowl’s helm came up, his expression hard. “I most certainly did not,” he said firmly, voice still even but with hints of indignation bleeding through in his EM field. “I have never had any interest in him or his proposals; that has not changed nor is it going to, regardless of what actions he takes.”
Jazz tried not to let his relief show too much. “Okay, good. Just thought I’d check, cuz if you had changed your mind I’d be obligated to remind you that Lockdown ain’t really lookin’ for a mate. He’s just lookin’ for another trophy.”
“I believe the term he used was partner.”
“What he said and what he meant are two different things, and you know he wouldn’t treat you like a partner.”
“Some of the things he said were in fact said in all seriousness, although I am still not sure why he has decided to fixate on bonding.”
“Does why really matter? Point is that he did, and he’s gonna try to literally win you like a prize and make a mockery of the Champion’s choice to get his way with you. That’s not what the Challenge is supposed to be about! It’s supposed to be about provin’ yourself to your love and having your bonding blessed by the Guiding Hand. Not cornering a mech cuz you can’t take no for an answer.”
“You’re a romantic, Jazz,” Prowl smiled ever so slightly, the small smile that always made Jazz’ tanks flutter and his spark spin just a little faster. Jazz loved that smile and treasured it every time he saw it. “Your feelings are admirable, but reality is not always so ideal. Fortunately the government recognizes this, and the Champion’s choice does not automatically confer legal consent to bond.”
His expression had blanked again, but Jazz was now smiling sardonically. “No, but it does automatically stick you with a one-year courtship period in shared livin’ space if you ain’t exempt and you decline to bond right away.” He started pacing in front of the desk in an attempt to control his rising anger. “You don’t want it! You don’t want to bond with him even at the end of that year, so why put yourself through it?”
“It’s not a certainty I will have to, as you say, put myself through it,” Prowl countered. “He might not win the title of Champion, after all.”
“Oh really? And what’re the odds of him not winnin’? I haven’t checked with my bookie, but I’d wager they’re, as you say, astronomically low.” Jazz came back to lean on the desk, palms flat on the surface. “The other contenders signed up right now? There ain’t a one who could compete with a mech of Lockdown’s caliber if his T-Cog was locked.”
“That’s not very nice, you know.”
“But true – some of ‘em probably won’t even be able to finish the course, let alone with the best time. Even if the competition was good though, let’s face it: the Challenge of Adaptus is perfect for Lockdown. He does this stuff for a livin’ every day and he’ll be in his element on an obstacle course like that. I can’t stand the mech, but even I have to admit he’s one of the best bounty hunters on Cybertron.”
“I am aware of that.”
“So you did run the numbers then? I know you love statistics Prowl, so tell me honestly. What’s the math about his odds?”
Prowl’s hesitation was not promising, and neither was his eventual answer. “Against the currently enrolled contenders, Lockdown’s chances of winning the race and becoming the next Champion of Adaptus are nearly 95%. Factoring in a margin for error and an allowance for random chance, of course.”
“Oh, of course, and a 5% error margin is what you’re counting on to get you out of livin’ with the creep for a year, constantly fending off his attempts to break you down?” Jazz threw up his hands in disbelief. “You’re the one always tellin’ me if you argue with math you lose! Why do I even have to ask you why you haven’t done up the form already? C’mon, you probably have a copy lyin’ around this very office!”
“There are other considerations,” Prowl hedged, optics flickering away from Jazz to the datapads on his desk, but Jazz wasn’t about to let him brush him off like that this time.
“Really? Explain ‘em to me.”
“It’s not important.”
“You’re dodging the question.”
“I have a lot to do right now, Jazz.”
“That’s your excuse then? You’re too busy to fill out the form? Pit, I’ll do it, give me the datapad and all you have to do is sign.”
“Jazz, please!” Prowl’s voice wavered for the first time, rising slightly and sounding almost desperate. Immediately Jazz stilled, forcing the tension to drain out of his field. Not an easy feat, since Prowl almost seemed afraid for some reason and all Jazz wanted to do was find the mech responsible and give him a piece of his mind…and possibly his fist.
“It is important, isn’t it? What’s goin’ on?” He went with his first guess. “Did Lockdown come here and threaten you?”
“No. He has never threatened physical injury to my frame.” Prowl dodged again.
“How ‘bout threatenin’ your peace o’ mind? Mech, I know a stalker when I see one, and I shouldn’t have to tell an Enforcer that stalking is illegal. Damn it, Prowler, this ain’t right!”
“There are other considerations,” Prowl repeated quietly, if anything looking defeated now rather than frightened. That, combined with the fact that he’d let the nickname pass without comment, had Jazz starting to edge toward panic.
“We’re friends, ain’t we?” he said, trying to project as much support as he could in his field instead of letting his own fear show. The last time Prowl had started talking about considerations that way he’d been obliquely referring to unofficial orders from his Captain. Jazz prayed to Primus that wasn’t the case now. “Talk to me. Maybe I can help.”
“It can’t be helped, Jazz. And no, that’s not a lack of faith in you,” Prowl added quickly, that small smile making the briefest of reappearances. “You’re one of the most capable, creative, adaptable mechs I know. You could probably even give Lockdown a run for his shannix if it came to it, but he’s not the problem. The problem is me.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Jazz said firmly, sliding one of his hands forward across the desk to take Prowl’s. “No one asks for a stalker.”
“That’s not what I meant. What I meant is that I am not in a position to take action on the matter. I can’t take steps against him that would impede his ability to work with the precinct. Captain Barricade relies heavily on him to deal with criminals who flee Praxus to avoid prosecution.”
“There are other bounty hunters on Cybertron,” Jazz tried.
“None as capable or as dedicated to our precinct. Lockdown almost exclusively takes our contracts, and as you noted, he is highly skilled. While I do not care for his personal attentions, it is a minor inconvenience compared to the professional benefits, and a restraining order or an investigation would be disruptive to that state of affairs.”
Jazz cursed silently. He wasn’t sure how much of Prowl’s speech was coming from his own propensity for self-sacrifice when it came to his job and how much was coming from Barricade, but either way it was clear that Prowl wasn’t going to stand up for himself on the matter and was willfully ignoring a very important detail. “He’s focusing his professional attentions here because he’s chasin’ you for personal reasons. The only way you won’t end up losin’ the preferential treatment is to give him what he wants, which you don’t want to do, so you might as well get rid of him sooner rather than later.”
“He has already proven that he will not easily be gotten rid of.”
“No kiddin’, he’s propositioned you like 20 times already.”
“He has asked directly 23 times, though he has hinted and implied indirectly a great deal more frequently than that.”
“Yeesh, what is this, correct Jazz’s numbers day?”
Prowl’s optics flickered, momentarily distracted. “That was only the first time I have corrected you today. Who else has been doing so?”
“Blaster, if you can believe it.” Jazz replied. “That’s not the point though. The point is I don’t want you getting hurt.”
“And that is precisely why filing an exemption now would be dangerous,” Prowl explained. “Since he has already publicly declared his participation and intentions, if I render his actions pointless it will embarrass and anger him, possibly to the point of violence. Given the circumstances, it is less of a risk to allow him to proceed and simply endure the subsequent courtship period upon his victory.”
Jazz tightened his hold on Prowl’s hand, sudden realization flooding through his processor. “I get it now – you’re countin’ on this bein’ the end of it, cuz if you still turn him down after that year he’s got no more options. It’ll be public knowledge because of the publicity of the Festival so no one will be able to bring it up again. But Prowl, he’ll know this is his last chance. He ain’t gonna let you go without a fight, and even if he doesn’t hurt you physically – which I don’t trust him not to – that’s not what I meant when I said I didn’t want to see you get hurt. I don’t want you to be miserable either. Y’know, miserable? Like you’re feeling right now?”
Prowl pulled away, withdrawing both his hand and his field. “The situation I’m in now is the result of my own actions or previous lack thereof and how I feel about the matter is irrelevant.”
Jazz swore internally. It was killing him that Prowl seemed to think he deserved to be in this mess, but he wasn’t going to be able to convince him otherwise right now. He needed to back off and calm down before trying to break through to him again, and Prowl wasn’t going to be willing to talk about it anymore until he finished his work. There wasn’t a lot of time left though – would he be able to get another chance before the Festival started and it was too late?
“Can you at least tell me why you didn’t file an exemption in the past?” he asked, stalling for time as he kept trying to think of some way to help his friend. “A couple of minutes is all it would have taken and then you never would’ve had to worry about it. Lockdown would’ve seen you were exempt and never would’ve done this.”
Prowl regarded him sternly. “If I tell you, will you leave so I can get back to work?”
“If that’s what you need right now…yes. Promise.” Jazz was forced to concede.
“All right.” Prowl continued looking straight at Jazz, his expression unchanging, but the sudden pain that leaked into his field had Jazz’ spark crying out at its rawness. “I never filed an exemption because I did not want to encourage my reputation amongst my fellow Enforcers as a sparked drone with no interests beyond the scope of my duties. When I first considered it, the damage it would have done cementing that image far outweighed the advantages of eliminating the minimal risk of having to tolerate a single year’s inconvenience.” His doorwings shivered slightly with suppressed emotion. “I was not well liked and had no friends on the force. The harassment I would have garnered from my colleagues over the centuries considerably exceeds what a single mech, even one as unpleasant and tenacious as Lockdown, could put me through in a single paltry year. Most of his harassment an exemption would not have saved me from anyway. It was a calculated decision and I am satisfied with the outcome.”
Jazz stood frozen for a moment, struggling with the urge to leap over the desk to hug Prowl and tell him he wasn’t a drone, that he was wonderful and beautiful and his colleagues were idiots for thinking that about him. But Prowl wasn’t likely to appreciate or believe that. “Satisfied ain’t happy, Prowl. And right now, ain’t neither of us happy,” he managed to say instead before turning to make his way over to the door. “You got friends now, you know. And friends care about each other’s happiness. But they also keep their promises – I’ll let you work in peace.”
“Thank you,” Prowl said, though Jazz wasn’t sure if he was thanking him for his concern or for leaving. “I hope the Festival is lucrative for you and your troupe. Just, please,” he added, “don’t force me to arrest you again.”
With a thumbs-up – but no promises – Jazz bowed out and headed off down the hall.
As his footsteps faded, Prowl’s doorwings sagged slightly. He waited until he was sure the mech was out of even his advanced audial range before speaking again quietly to the empty room. “I never filed an exemption because I did not want to eliminate the option entirely. Not wanting to be bonded to Lockdown does not mean I never want to bond. Just because I do not want him to choose me,” his voice trailed off to a whisper, “doesn’t mean that I never want to be chosen.”