This is the second side-story written in honor of the 1,500 review of 'Turning Points' and takes place between within and between chapters 23 and 24. This story was requested by Darth Krande, who wanted to see the post-fragmentation consequences for Jazz and Ratchet following their odious treatment of Prowl in chapter 23. For those of you who do not know my Turning Points fanverse, Prowl was a Decepticon who defected to the Autobots after Praxus was destroyed. I have tried to write this little fic as a completely stand-alone work, but it really would be abetter understood in context of its parent story: "Turning Points."

Note: I had originally intended this to just be a one-shot but it looks like it will instead be a two-shot. So the second part will be coming as soon as I can get it finished.

Warning: This takes place after Jazz fragments Prowl's processor and deals with characters coming to terms with having violated an ethical ideal. So; some serious themes but nothing too graphic. I don't think.

Enjoy.

Note: This story takes place starting at the end of the briefing in the first scene of chapter 23 of "Turning Points."

Despite the tight hold Prowl kept on his outward expression, Jazz could feel the roiling emotions flickering in his field. Unconsciously, he shifted away, knowing the growing rage being held just under control was rightfully directed at him. The feeling of the former Decepticon's memory files fragmenting under his mental touch replayed in the saboteur's processor, taunting him mercilessly. Prowl had let him fragment his processor. Slagging ethical programming or not, Prowl had let him have access and he had violated the trust inherent in that action.

The silver minibot was still well within the larger, black and white mech's striking range and while logic might dictate he put a safe distance between them first, Jazz did not retreat before releasing the magnetic restraints holding Prowl to the chair. A part of his spark actually hoped Prowl would retaliate for the injustice he had committed.

Jazz kept absolutely still as Prowl pushed himself to his pedes with a sharp, tightly spoken, "Thank you."

Though the tactician turned away immediately, Jazz had to lean heavily on the table as the world lurched beneath him. He had ruthlessly fragmented the mech's processor out of spite because they had assumed the former Decepticon had betrayed them and Prowl had let him do it. And then Prowl thanked Jazz for letting him off the chair he had been restrained to. It was almost too much.

True, that expression of gratitude had been strained, true it had been extremely formal and it had been impersonal. But gratitude had still been expressed. Jazz did not deserve gratitude from that mech. Not now. Not in any form or fashion and his guilt-wracked spark burned in shame.

Jazz nearly jumped when the conference room door swished shut behind Prowl.

No one said anything for nearly a breem and even when Optimus asked if there was any input into whether Prowl should continue his probationary position the tactical department, Jazz kept his silence.

Finally, after all the other mechs present in the briefing room turned interrogation room had had their say, the Prime addressed him, "Jazz?"

Jazz hid a wince at the accusation he did not hear in his leader's voice. He spoke without looking up from the table. "If Prowl wants ta stay in tactical, let 'im."

Silence fell heavy again and stretched into another half-breem. At length the Prime nodded. "Very well. Smokescreen, once his mental state is confirmed as stable, Prowl will be sent back to your department."

Smokescreen nodded mutely, shame keeping his armor clamped tight to his frame. Jazz understood; it was the younger mech's fault Prowl had been accused of treachery in the first place.

Optimus looked at his gathered officers and released a tired vent of air. "Dismissed."

Everyone rose slowly to their pedes – except Jazz who had never retaken his seat – and filed out of the conference room with heavy solemnity. Jazz continued to stand as if immobilized, letting the others brush past him with flattened armor and tightly held field. He was just about to turn and follow when the Prime spoke again, his voice hard.

"Jazz. Ratchet."

Both mechs froze entirely and those filing out of the room picked up their pace until soon it was just the three of them.

"Do I need to ask what happened?" The Prime questioned with a warning flicker in his powerful field.

Ratchet cleared his vents, "Sir, I…"

"I did it Prime." Jazz cut the medic off, lifting his chin. "I fragmented Prowl. Ratchet was just…"

"I just made sure he couldn't defend himself." Ratchet cut in, spitting the words out bitterly.

Jazz's visor flashed and he turned his internally directed ire at the medic. "He didn't even try."

Ratchet's optics also flashed with acute anger. "You think that makes a fragging bit of difference?"

"Of course it does!" Jazz snapped, his engine revving.

Ratchet shook his helm, fist clenching. "I could have…"

"Silence!" The Prime did not yell, but his firm words succeeded in breaking through the argument and both mechs fell silent, though neither one looked at their Prime.

Releasing another weary intake of air Optimus spoke, his words heavy and the quiet disappointment that wove between each syllable was enough to make both saboteur and medic want to melt into the decking. "You are two of my most trusted officers. If any other mech had done what you two did, especially in front of witnesses… but then I too am culpable in that I did not stop you. I too let anger cloud my judgment."

Balling both hands into fists and slamming them onto the table, Jazz leaned forward finally lifting his gaze to again meet his Prime's, hating the hurt he saw buried deep in Optimus' optics. It was his fault, he did not want to see the Prime take responsibility for actions that were not his.

With an effort, Jazz kept his tone even and his words calm. "You cannot punish both of us without needing ta punish everyone. I'm tha one who actually fragmented Prowl. I'm tha one who should be punished."

"Jazz…" Jazz hissed at the medic with such vehemence that Ratchet fell silent, optics wide. The saboteur looked back at the Prime, just as intense.

"Prime?" It was more of a demand than a question.

With a tiny shake of his helm Optimus spoke with measured words. "The failure today was not yours alone Jazz; we all believed him guilty of intentionally killing Autobot soldiers. It is hardly fair to…"

The growl of Jazz's engine – thick with self-directed loathing – cut the Prime off. "But I tore his mind apart while he jus' let me do it. No one else. He dropped his fragging firewalls knowing what I was planning ta do."

It was not the first time Jazz had fragmented a mech he was questioning. But it was the first time he had truly regretted it. And that regret all but radiated through his field, leaching into the air around him.

After a long handful of seconds the Prime nodded. "Very well. Jazz, report to the brig for the rest of the orn. If you wish, place yourself on restricted energon rations for the rest of the decaorn as well. But regaining Prowl's trust – if possible – is more important to the future of our cause and that will now fall on you more than anyone."

Jazz winced, that last statement feeling like a slap to the faceplate, all the more so because Jazz knew it was well-deserved. He looked to the side, hearing the implicit order in those words as well; orders to do what it took to reconcile with the tactician if possible. Not that he needed such an order.

"Prime…" Ratchet tried again but did not continue.

Optimus looked at his CMO. "You yourself have admitted that your role in this… travesty was passive in that Prowl never actually attempted to resist. And you did help defragment Prowl's processor on your own initiative."

Ratchet looked to the side. "That does not make it right."

"No." Optimus agreed gravely. "No, it does not. It is incumbent upon all of us not to let this happen again. Jazz? Go."

Jazz stiffened, straightening at the order. But he knew what was expected and, without a word, he spun around and stalked out of the briefing room.

Ratchet slumped as the door closed behind the saboteur and he released a vent of air. "You know, in some ways, what we did to Prowl was but a small penance for how many of us he has killed within the last six vorns. I know I got mad when Ironhide and Smokescreen sent him out to deal with Barricade, but… Primus, I still can't forgive him."

Optimus did not speak immediately; well aware that many Autobots still held Prowl's former position as a leading Decepticon tactician against him. The medics more so than the rest, for it had been on Prowl's orders that they had become special targets for the Decepticons. Processors flashing over the mission report again, Optimus thought he knew what had spurred Ratchet's uncharacteristic willingness to let a mech get hurt, even in regards to Prowl.

While it was true that Ratchet's job during that interrogation had been to back up Jazz's efforts, it had also been to ensure there was no abuse. Clearly, the medic had chosen to ignore that duty in favor of exacting revenge. Regardless of the fact that Ratchet had then rectified his error, it had still been a dereliction of duty: a break of trust. More so even than Jazz's fragmentation of Prowl. Judging by the pain Optimus saw in Ratchet's optics, he knew the CMO was painfully aware of that fact.

Optimus spoke softly, carefully considering his CMO. "Clipblade was on the fatality list."

Ratchet's engine growled and his field flickered between battling anger and pain. "The seventh medic from Iacon alone killed in the last two vorns. Because of him."

"And you believe that fact justifies what was done to Prowl?"

Ratchet harrumphed angrily and then slumped in defeat. "A part of me does."

"Yet you helped Prowl afterward." Optimus pointed out softly.

"Because it still wasn't right." He huffed, his tone growing ironic. "Core coding is a pain in the aft sometimes, but it is there for a reason. I broke the ethical standards of my profession, Prime."

"Your record of service has, to this point, been exemplary." The Prime noted gently with a touch of sadness. Ratchet had managed to set aside his personal antagonism for Prowl in the past, when the tactician had first defected.

Ratchet nodded once, his bearing resigned but accepting. "And this is a black mark that will follow me long after the war is over, I know. But I will not run from it or try to deny it, Prime."

Optimus watched as Ratchet pulled out a datapad and quickly downloaded a file before handing it to him. Their hands nearly brushed as Optimus took the datapad and in that brief contact, he could feel the intense mix of emotions the medic was keeping a tight leash on. With concern, he read the document presented to him. It was the official form for filing a 'breach of medical ethics' to the Iacon Medical Academy and Ratchet had already completed it. All that was needed was the Prime's confirmation for it to be submitted.

The Prime felt his own spark clench in pain. He did not want to sign this, a stain that would tarnish Ratchet's otherwise flawless service record. The CMO's bedside manner might leave a lot to be desired, but never had he actually violated the ethical standards of his profession. Optimus was loath to permanently mar that record with what the matrix was affirming was a temporary loss of judgment. But he also knew the dangers of not addressing such matters even when they seemed relatively small. It was a slippery slope and he could not help the small flick of pride in his CMO and friend that Ratchet would not tolerate such a thing, even from himself.

With a small nod that somehow conveyed his reluctance, Optimus pressed his hand to the pad and let his field flare to impress his EM pattern on the document. Within a second the confirmation screen vanished and was replaced by a blinking, deceptively benign message that read: 'Thank you, your document has been successfully submitted.'

Had they not been at war such a complaint could easily ruin the career of the medic in question. As it was, Ratchet would likely still receive the censure of the medical community. But that would not change the fact he was still the Prime's CMO because Optimus was not about to dismiss him for such a thing. Silently, Ratchet accepted the datapad back, slipping it into subspace without even looking at at the screen.

"I know you have a lot against Prowl." Optimus said softly, "But what I told Jazz is true and applies to you as well."

Ratchet looked down. "Do I owe Prowl an apology? Yes. Do I wish to do so? That I cannot say. He has gone out of his way to not be a threat to myself or my staff since he has been here, I know this. But the fact remains that my department continues to be at special risk because of him. And you know the cruel 'games' the Decepticons like to play with medics because we are non-combatants. That is not something that is so easy to forgive."

"Has he asked you to forgive him?" Optimus asked pointedly.

Ratchet did not answer immediately and his armor shifted. He had scanned Prowl's processor twice now and he knew the point Optimus was actually trying to make. Taking in and releasing a deep vent of air, Ratchet answered the real question. "No, nor do I believe he will. He knows what a violation of his own ethical coding those orders were and does not believe he should be forgiven, hence he has not asked. Nor did he particularly hold what just happened against me. Does that make me less concerned about him personally? Not yet, especially now. You are the Prime, Optimus, I will trust your judgment."

"Will you talk to him?" Optimus pressed.

"When I am ready." Ratchet nodded reluctantly. "I know we need to regain his trust and that some of that burden now rests on me. I do not like it because I am not sure just how much I trust him, but I will speak to him. When I am ready. Please do not ask more of me now."

Optimus nodded, respecting his CMO's limits. "You may go."

With a nod that was half acknowledgement and half apology, Ratchet took his leave.

… … …

Jazz stalked through the corridors without really seeing anything, though a part of his processor was consistently taking in data from his sensors and processing his surroundings in the background. The all but visible storm cloud that was Jazz's field warned other mechs away from him. For many of the rank and file, this was the first true glimpse they had witnessed to just how dangerous a mech the normally easygoing saboteur actually was.

With a silent snarl, Jazz stepped on the lift and jabbed the controls to make it drop.

He was deposited in the detention area and the hapless mech manning the central station jumped to his pedes, but Jazz flicked a digital transmission to him telling the poor bot to stand down. He marched down one long hallway and then down another to one that dead-ended in a special, carefully insulated cell. It was where they put over-charged brawlers until their systems had burnt through the high-grade.

Jazz let himself in and then locked the door.

Well, he was imprisoned for what he had done to an innocent mech. That should make him feel better. Instead his processors replayed again – in exacting detail – Prowl's willing submission to his hostility, his knowing surrender to the fragmentation on top of the anger and despair the tactician had felt at the time. He wanted to be angry at Prowl for letting him do something like that, but Jazz knew himself well enough to know that had Prowl actually fought him – or even attempted to protect himself – he would have done far worse. And in doing worse, would have had even more to feel guilty about.

Fraggit all to Pit! Unintentionally or not, Prowl had actually protected Jazz from himself by not fighting.

With a roar of frustration and self-directed fury, Jazz slammed a balled fist into the nearest wall. The special allow and polymer structure absorbed the blow and dissipated the force into the wall, leaving both itself and Jazz undamaged. The silver minibot struck the wall several more times, giving it the beating he knew Prowl should have given him. Then it struck him just how immature he was being at the moment and he stilled, his vents working to cool his frame.

The wall hadn't hurt anyone, he had. Acting on impulse, Jazz crossed to the back wall and with a flick of a thought accessed the controls that brought a restrain chair – designed for those who were self-destructive – out of the floor. Almost carelessly, he threw himself onto it, wirelessly activating the restraints and the chair transformed around him to effectively immobilize him.

Yes, if he was going to be imprisoned for his crime against Prowl, he would go all out, not allowing himself to throw a youngling-like temper tantrum.

Jazz sat like that, buried in self-recriminations for at least a joor. During that time, he intentionally replayed the events, his processor racing, reviewing the whole thing over and over again. He ruthlessly picked apart every assumption he had made, every mistake he had committed, every wrong he had done and figured out dozens of ways he could have realized the truth, hundreds of things he could have done differently.

Eventually Jazz realized it didn't matter what might have happened. The damage was already done.

And sitting there in self-pity did nothing to fix the problem. Jazz had been the one to hurt Prowl; he was the one who had to fix this. Or at least try.

But he couldn't do anything sitting there in the brig.

"Report to the brig for the rest of the orn. If you wish..." The Prime had said. "Restoring Prowl's trust is more important…"

With some creative grammatical interpretation, Jazz could make that order fit his needs. And he could always finish his brig time later.

With the flick of a command transmitted to the cell's controls, the restrain chair released him. Jazz was almost to the door by the time it unlocked and popped open for him.

Once again, he breezed past the watch-mech and made his way back to the main part of the base. It was late, Jazz belatedly realized as he noticed the corridors were only sparsely occupied. With an irritated huff, he rechecked his chronometer.

Humph. Late indeed.

Perhaps Prowl had not gone into recharge yet.

So Jazz made his way to Prowl's quarters. As it turned out, however, the tactician was not there. Jazz paused momentarily, considering his options. But he really was not sure what the best next step would be. As if on cue, a quiet ping on his HUD alerted him that his fuel levels were nearing 30%. Apparently he had burned through more than he had thought back in the cell. Of course, he had not bothered to refuel since the debacle of a mission that had started all this. And had blatantly ignored his systems while in the throws of self-reproach. Besides, his systems were designed to remain functional at far lower energon levels than most would believe.

With a sigh of air he quietly headed for the rec room. It was something to do, at least, though he was determined to keep his fuel levels at 50%, as Prowl had been kept during the first part of his parole as a POW. It was only fair, especially as it would only be for seven more orns before the decaorn was up.

… … …

There was only a smattering of mechs in the rec room as Jazz ghosted to the dispenser. He was planning to just disappear back to his own quarters but the words of a couple of mechs – speaking together quietly in a corner – caught his attention.

"I don't know, the Prime said it wasn't Prowl's fault."

"But he went on a fragging rampage for 6 stinking joors. A mech doesn't do that just 'cause."

Jazz paused and looked over in time to see the first speaker shake his helm. "If he was falsely accused, ya can't blame him for being upset. Cobalt saw it. Prowl is a very dangerous mech."

The second mech snorted air through his vents. "He is a tactician. Dangerous with data perhaps, but…"

"No, Joust!" The first speaker interrupted and Jazz realized he had drifted several steps closer to them so as to better hear. "Dangerous like: Prowl was tearing up a training room and taking on three mechs at once… for six joors. Cobalt said he would like, tear their sparks out, slam them into walls, rip limbs off… simulated or not. He was violent!"

"Six joors?" The second mech asked incredulously and received a firm nod. "Slag."

"Yeah; slag."

They both fell silent for a moment as they both took a sip from their energon cubes. Then the second mech shook his helm again. "Remind me not to get on his bad side, then."

With a softy grunt, Jazz moved away, having heard enough. He had felt the roiling, burning rage and aggression rolling off Prowl in the conference room. Here was his proof of just how much Prowl had wanted to strike him down. Yet he had not done so. The tactician had apparently taken care to wait till no one else would be hurt, not even those who had hurt him.

Jazz's respect for the former Decepticon's character took a spike upward. He also saw a glimpse, a tantalizing hint – of just who prowl really was. It was a better vision than even all his previous scans of the defector's processor had afforded him. Renewed guilt draped even more heavily over Jazz's spark.

Prowl had trusted him – had given him access to his processor multiple times – including this last time. And Jazz knew he had broken that trust. And ultimately without cause because Prowl had been innocent in this case. He knew what he had to do, but found he was suddenly nervous about doing so.

Regaining Prowl's trust is more important. The Prime had told him.

Jazz continued to hesitate just a moment, right outside the rec-room, but decision flared in his chassis and determination girded his struts. He would make this right, if he could, and he would do it now. He accessed the tracking device welded to the former Decepticon's frame…and blinked.

Prowl was just across the corridor, in the observation room. The minibot downed the energon left in his cube in one gulp and tossed the empty container into the recycler before he walked the short distance to the observation deck entry.

Newfound determination not withstanding, Jazz still hesitated at the door itself. He knew Prowl probably knew he was there, and he knew Prowl probably did not want to have anything to do with him right now. Nothing civil, anyway. Leaving would be cowardice and hurtful to a mech he had already hurt. And continuing to wait would be foolish.

Taking in a deep vent of air, Jazz opened the door and stepped inside the dimly lit observation room.

Prowl was standing next to the crystalline window, staring out at the recharging city below. The Praxian said nothing.

Cautiously, Jazz slid forward, though he was careful to stop a very respectful distance away to watch the tactician. Prowl seemed calm enough at the moment, but Jazz knew the fury that should be directed at him. Indeed, Prowl never even flicked a doorwing to acknowledge his presence.

Jazz looked down, not sure how to begin this conversation and trying not to worry about the possibility it might become quite a bit more physical than just a mere exchange of words. A part of him still wanted the beat-down he knew he deserved. The saboteur tried again to frame his apology, not sure how it would be received.

However, before Jazz could so much as activate his vocalizer, armor plating shifted over the Praxian's frame and Prowl's doorwings finally flicked in acknowledgement of his presence.

"Jazz."

Armor clamped tightly to his frame, his field flickering with hints of his inner turmoil, Jazz took a few steps forward. This was not going to be an easy conversation.

PS: If you want the rest of the conversation, it's featured in chapter 24 of "Turning Points." (I didn't include it here because it was already written in Jazz's POV)