It was a little-known fact about Jazz, and one that he was careful to keep that way. The list of people (or groups) who did know was short enough that Jazz could count them on one hand. The medical staff knew, because it was part of his psych evaluation, but they were under ten or so confidentiality oaths, and Jazz knew Ratchet would do his best to keep them and be certain that everybody else did, too. Rung knew, obviously, since the psychologist had done his psych evaluation in the first place. Most, if not all, of the special operations division were in various levels of suspicion ranging from almost certain to mildly curious, but he knew his 'Bots, so they made the list even if they didn't know. Optimus knew. But the Prime barely counted toward the list because he was Optimus and if Jazz knew one thing, it was that Optimus Prime could be trusted.

Prowl was his baseline. Prowl was at the bottom of the list, almost an afterthought, even though the Praxian had known longer than anybody else on it, because if Jazz knew Optimus Prime could be trusted—who had known only a scant handful of vorns and then only when the saboteur already had a handle on it—then Prowl could undeniably be trusted without a doubt.

Everybody else was either oblivious to Jazz's secret, or only very mildly suspicious. Most of the time it could easily be written off as work issues. Being head of special operations was a very demanding job, after all, and most people could imagine that excuse for him, even if they couldn't comprehend the depth of it, or the way it wreaked havoc with Jazz's problem.

Prowl did, though.

~0~

Jazz dropped down from the vent, ramming his knife through the Decepticon's helm, and the mech dropped like a rock. Mirage was just as silent and efficient, taking out the second guard. By the time the invisible spy moved to start hacking the door controls, Jazz was at Prowl's side, skimming over the damage to patch the most critical injuries and get the tactician on his feet. The damage was extensive, most of it purely malicious. It was no surprise when Prowl came online suddenly, moving to strike with the swiftness of a Circuit Su master. Jazz took some of the blow, deflecting most of it and skipping back a step to avoid the follow up, calling the mech's name quietly.

Prowl shuddered, collapsing as his injuries and malnourishment caught up to him, and Jazz was back at his side in an instant. He finished the quick repairs, offering a cube of energon, and the mech drained it in seconds.

"Tell me who did this, Prowl." The saboteur demanded quietly.

Prowl looked up to meet his gaze, one optic flickering, on the verge of going out entirely. "No." he said simply, and then started getting to his feet. Jazz pulled him back down, armor flaring, a low growl growing in his engine.

"Prowl," he warned.

"The others?" Prowl asked, deflecting the question.

"Bee an' Trip've got 'em. Tell me who did this to you."

Prowl met his gaze again, unyielding.

"Jazz, we need to go." Mirage whispered. Jazz didn't so much as twitch. The growl was still vibrating through his chassis.

Prowl reached out to touch his shoulder with the half of his hand he still had. "No, Jazz." He repeated firmly.

Jazz's visor flicked off, and he rubbed at it as he turned his head away. After a moment, he let out a warm vent and lowered his helm a bit. The growl died out and his armor flattened. Then he onlined his visor and hauled his friend up, hurrying him through the door. He had more important things to focus on right now.

Maybe later he would follow up.

~0~

"Tell me how you've been doing, Jazz." Rung asked in his soft, patient way.

Jazz sighed deeply, staring off at the wall for a long moment. "'S gettin' worse. Everythin' is, Rung. 'S gettin' too much like it was before…back when I was on th'streets." The saboteur's face twisted suddenly. "Fragging war." He spat. "We were s'possed t'be stoppin' stuff like that, y'know. But far's I can tell, we're only makin' it worse. Fragging 'Cons."

Jazz was on his feet before he knew it, pacing across the office agitatedly. Usually, Rung would either wait for him to calm down or change the subject.

"Jazz, stop." The psychiatrist said firmly instead. The cadence of the words was distinctly out of character for him, but far from unfamiliar.

Jazz's gaze snapped to the other mech, visor flashing. "What did you say?" he demanded quietly, pointing his knife at the non-combatant.

Rung lifted his hands calmingly, his smile apologetic and nervous. "Sorry, Jazz. That seems to work oddly well for Prowl, I thought—"

"Yeah, it does, for Prowl. Ya aint Prowl, Rung. An' ya oughta remember that." The saboteur growled, keeping the mech pinned with his glare and raised knife.

Rung lowered his helm a bit. "I will. I am sorry, Jazz. Please, have a seat."

A low growl rose out of the head of special operation's engine, his armor flaring slightly, and then he turned for the door. "I'm leaving." He muttered.

He took one step out of Rung's office.

"Jazz, go back in there and finish your session."

Jazz turned on the tactician with a snarl. "You fragging planned this, you glitch!" he accused.

"Hardly." Prowl glanced up from his datapad. "Rung merely made an observation and suggested trying to mimic the interaction. I did warn him that it probably wouldn't work, but I saw no harm in letting him try."

"I nearly took his head off, Prowl!" Jazz protested, and then suddenly slumped, armor flattening and visor dimming. "I'm getting worse, mech." He admitted quietly. "I'm slipping, an' I don't understand why I can't stop it."

Prowl reached out to put a hand on the mech's shoulder, smiling a bit. "Go talk to Rung about it."

Jazz sighed quietly, nodding, and turned back. "Sorry 'bout that, Rung." He apologized, dropping back into the visitor's seat.

"It's no problem, friend." Rung smiled, hiding his relief. "You say you feel that you're getting worse. Care to elaborate?"

The saboteur shrugged. "It's frustratin'. I know it's happening. I used t'be able t'stop m'self from swingin' so much. For a while there I was almost… normal."

"Before the war started," Rung supplied.

Jazz nodded, pursing his lips. "B'fore I got back inta th'business of killin' people."

~0~

Prowl carefully pulled the smaller Polyhexian into a sitting position, propping him up against the wall. He cast a scan over the mech, inspecting the chemical residues in the vials scattered across the ground. Most were various sedatives or narcotic analgesics, but a few seemed to be mixtures that Prowl couldn't readily identify. He sighed deeply.

"I thought we agreed you weren't going to do this anymore."

A shiver ran through Jazz, and his visor flickered before he lifted his helm, blinking up at him. "Prowl?" he murmured, though his voice was distant and filled with static.

The Praxian smirked. "Who else?" Jazz flinched, letting his head drop again. Prowl put a hand on his shoulder. "Tell me why, Jazz." He demanded, though gently.

After a long moment, the saboteur reached over to grab something and lifted it for Prowl to see. "Somethin' else I promised I wouldn' do again," he whispered.

The knife was covered in energon. Not Jazz's, Prowl could tell. Someone else's. He'd killed someone.

The tactician took the knife from his shaking hand and tossed it into subspace. "Who did you save?" he asked.

Jazz moved his mouth for a moment before he managed to get words to come out. "N-nobody. I didn' save… he was jus'… in my way." He admitted, the last words barely audible.

"Who did you save?" Prowl asked again.

Jazz snarled, shoving the other mech away. "Nobody! It wasn't like that this time, Prowl, I just… I just could so I… I killed th'fraggin' 'Con an' it didn' even mean anythin' I jus'…" a desperate keen grew up under the growl in his engine, his vents fighting to keep up with his emotional distress.

Prowl sent another scan over his friend, frowning a bit. He shook the mech's shoulder to get his attention, and sighed when Jazz's frightened, flickering gaze turned up to his. "Jazz, you need to get help for this."

The saboteur's face twisted in anger. "I don' need a damn shrink ta tell me what I already know." He snapped, grabbing one of the glass vials from the ground and lifting his arm to throw it. Prowl caught his wrist.

"Stop it." He ordered firmly. Jazz promptly went limp, dropping the vial. "I've done everything I can to help you, Jazz." The Praxian told him quietly. "And clearly it's not enough. If you're going to survive this war, you need to talk to someone who knows how to properly treat this sort of thing."

Prowl sighed again when Jazz didn't answer and his visor flickered out. He started to get to his feet, and paused when the mech grabbed his arm.

"Don'… don' leave me here alone." Jazz whispered.

The tactician knelt back down, putting a comforting hand on his friend's helm. "Have I ever before?"

"No."

"Then I'm not going to start now."

Prowl stood up, Jazz's hand fell back to his lap, and the Praxian went about cleaning up the mess the Polyhexian had made. He returned after a breem to sling one of the saboteur's arms over his shoulder and hauled him to his feet.

"Guess… it couldn't hurt… jus' t'try…" Jazz muttered on the way back to base.

Prowl smiled a bit. "I know a mech. He comes highly recommended. I'll contact him once we get home."

Jazz sighed as he tried to get his legs to hold his own weight. "Thanks, Prowl."

"Of course, Jazz."

~0~

"Is that the only thing you feel is triggering it?" Rung asked.

Jazz sat back, thinking. "It feels like th'streets again." He murmured.

"How so?"

The saboteur frowned. "It was always so… senseless. It never meant anythin'. It was always 'optic for optic' with us an' I can't help but feel like we're gettin' into that here, that we're slippin' into that. Like we're just two rival street gangs fightin' for territory when we're supposed to be more than that, Rung, we're s'possed t'be puttin' an end t'that sort of thing, not… not scaling it up." Jazz sighed, reaching up to rub at his helm. "It's what th'whole war's about, isn't it? Makin' sure people like me stop happening?"

"Making sure circumstances like yours stop happening." Rung corrected softly.

"Yeah. Circumstances." Jazz murmured.

~0~

Prowl was sitting at the table with a datapad projecting the morning news above it when Jazz got home. He could tell the mech was brooding deeply about something, so he grabbed a cube of energon and dropped into the other seat, glancing over the news report as he took a sip. Then he did a double-take, setting the cube down and turning the hologram to get a better look. Prowl didn't even seem to notice, staring off at the far wall without seeing it.

'83% of armed forces side with Decepticon uprising, tension rises between Council members and Prime' the headline read.

"No kiddin', eh?" Jazz murmured as he skimmed the report. "That ain't good." He glanced at Prowl and the untouched cube of energon at his elbow. "Prowl?" he waved a hand in the Praxian's face, frowning when he didn't get so much as a doorwing twitch out of him. "Prowl." He repeated, shaking his shoulder.

Prowl blinked, optics refreshing and focusing. "The Autobots will not last longer than a decavorn, at current projections." He said. "They do not have the mechpower nor the expertise to combat Megatron."

"I hope ya didn' need your tactical computer ta tell ya that." Jazz quipped, scrolling down to look at the statistics on the article. "He's got almost th'whole army t'back 'im. Looks pretty cut an' dry, t'me."

"Indeed." Prowl murmured, sinking back into his brooding.

Jazz sat back, taking another sip of energon. "I know that look. What'cha thinkin', Prowler?"

Prowl didn't respond for a long moment, but Jazz knew he'd heard the question, so he only waited patiently. The answer, when it came, was entirely unexpected.

"I'm going to enlist with the Autobots as a tactician."

Jazz nearly choked on his energon, and he quickly set it down, turning to his friend. "What now?"

Prowl nodded, meeting his gaze firmly. "They need a qualified tactical advisor."

"Didn' you just get done sayin' they weren't gonna last more'n a decavorn?"

"At current projections." The mech agreed.

Jazz lifted an optic ridge. "An' you change that outlook how much?"

"Significantly." Prowl reached out to take his datapad back, shutting off the projector and starting to work on it.

"How significantly?" the Polyhexian asked suspiciously.

"Significantly enough."

"Prowl."

The Praxian huffed, doorwings twitching back. "I double their projected lifespan."

Jazz stared. "To a whole two decavorns. Wow." When Prowl only continued to work, Jazz frowned. "I don' get it. If they're gonna lose, why sign up with 'em at all? Seems like ya might be better off with th'Decepticons."

The Enforcer looked up, regarding him for a long moment. "Perhaps. From a logical standpoint, yes." He murmured, looking distant for a moment. Then he focused on Jazz again. "But if the Prime does not believe they are correct and insists on resisting them, then I believe it would be best to follow suit. It's the right thing to do, Jazz."

Prowl went back to his work and Jazz slowly finished his energon, thinking hard. "When ya goin'?" he asked after several long breems of silence.

Prowl finished what he was doing and flipped his pad into subspace. "Right now."

The Praxian froze when a low growl rose out of Jazz's engine, meeting his visored glare. "A joor of warning's all I get? Seriously?"

Prowl angled his doorwings apologetically. "Not intentionally. The situation changed dramatically overnight, Jazz. I don't think I should wait any longer." When Jazz only continued to glare, Prowl sighed, putting a hand on his friend's shoulder. "I'll be back." He promised, and then left.

Jazz slumped onto the table, the growl dying. He stared at his empty energon cube, fighting back the intense, conflicting emotions warring in his spark. Then he glanced over at the full cube of energon Prowl had left behind and sighed. "Glitch." He muttered as he stood up and subspaced the cube. "Glitching Enforcer. Fraggit." He growled to himself as he left the apartment.

/What happens t'those projections of yours if I come with ya?/

There was surprised silence on the comm for a long moment.

/A significant increase./ Prowl finally responded. /But you don't have to, Jazz./

/Yeah, I know./ the ex-convict pulled up next to the Enforcer, seeming to glide through the morning traffic. /But if ya say it's the right thing t'do, then I'm right behind ya, Prowler./

/Thank you, Jazz./

Jazz was surprised when they left Praxus entirely, getting on the freeway to Iacon, but it made sense. If Prowl felt this was as urgent as he seemed to, then they'd want to go straight to the spark of Autobot power. He idly skimmed around the other travelers, constructing his termination notice for work, but then hesitating when it came time to submit it. He sidled up next to Prowl again.

/Y'let th'High Enforcers know you're quittin' yet?/ he asked.

/As of a joor ago./

Jazz snickered. /Fielded any panicked comms yet?/

/Only a disappointed one from Intrepid, but Smokescreen should only be getting to work in the next few breems./ Prowl answered, amusement in his voice. /I expect, once Intrepid breaks the news to the tactical department, that I will have to explain myself several more times./

/Yeah, no kiddin',/ the mech chuckled, and then fell silent. He dodged around Prowl, coming up on his other side.

/Jazz?/ the Praxian prompted.

/Y'think they'll take me?/ he asked quietly, sounding very small. /This ain't gonna be like th'security firm, Prowl./

/No, it won't./ Prowl agreed. There was a long breem of thoughtful silence.

/Well?/ Jazz asked.

/I don't know. There are too many unknown variables at the moment. We shall have to wait and see how it goes./

/K./

He stuck close for the rest of the journey to Iacon.

He'd been to the province before, but Autobot headquarters was not somewhere he'd dared venture. He transformed when Prowl did, ghosting up the steps in the Enforcer's shadow, staring up at the large building with a sense of impending doom. Prowl seemed to have no such reservations, and swept through the doors with as much confidence as he would have swept into the High Enforcer headquarters back in Praxus. Almost like he already owned the place.

Jazz couldn't help but smirk a bit. Knowing Prowl, it would only be a matter of time before he basically did.

The shorter mech kept his attention on the rest of the room while Prowl talked to the receptionist, watching who came and went. He automatically accepted the pad that was handed to him and followed Prowl to one side to fill out the form. He pursed his lips as he stared at the prompt on the screen. It was nearly three breems before Prowl lowered his own pad to watch him.

"You don't have to do this, Jazz." He reminded his friend quietly.

Jazz let out a warm vent, his optics still locked onto the prompt. "They're not gonna want me, Prowler." He murmured back. "Th'only reason I pass any background check is because I deleted my files, the only way I pass any psych evaluation is if I lie through my teeth an' neither of those are gonna hold up in the long run." He slumped, lowering the pad and looking up at the Praxian. "What I want t'do's got nothin' t'do with anythin' anymore."

Prowl put a hand on his shoulder. "Perhaps. But there is no harm in trying, Jazz. Whatever you decide to do, I will still be your friend."

A smirk pulled at Jazz's face. "I know. Reminds me, though, ya forgot your energon." He grabbed the cube of energon from subspace and shoved it at Prowl. The Enforcer took it with a return smile.

"Thank you."

"Yeah, yer welcome, glitch." He muttered.

"You're one to talk." Prowl muttered back as he went back to the pad.

Jazz flicked his armor dismissively at the taller mech, flexed his hand, and finally pressed it to the pad. His unique energy signature was read and the data retrieval process began. Jazz fidgeted slightly as he waited for it to finish, and then skimmed through the file. He sighed when he saw that everything in his public records was as he left it—nice and clean. His finger hovered over the confirmation button for almost a breem.

"Prowl?" the receptionist called. Prowl walked back over to the desk and Jazz watched closely, tuning his audios to listen in, and his optic ridges rose. News regarding important recruits traveled fast around here, apparently, and to high places at that. Prowl nodded, turning toward the door the femme indicated, and glanced over his shoulder to gesture Jazz to follow.

The Polyhexian was across the room in a flash, but it was only to protest. "She didn' say anythin' about me comin'."

"No, but you're with me, and this is the best chance you have of successfully becoming an Autobot." Prowl countered as they stepped through the door into a hallway beyond. "Trust me, Jazz."

"I do, but this is the Prime we're talkin' about, Prowl! There's no fragging way he's gonna want anythin' t'do with me!"

"Perhaps not. Or perhaps you underestimate him." Prowl looked down at him as he trotted along beside the mech. "There is no harm in meeting him."

Jazz made a frustrated noise, but didn't object further, sinking into the Praxian's shadow as they came to an elevator and rose through the levels of the base.

"Y'know, if he's as perceptive as they say, he'll condemn me on the spot." Jazz muttered as they stepped out.

"If he's as perceptive as they say, then he'll give you a fighting chance." Prowl disagreed. "Same as I did."

Jazz blew out a vent at that, focusing instead on casting his sensors out to be ready to bolt if he needed to. It was an old habit, one he had never truly broken, even if he usually wasn't so serious about it. When Prowl stopped at a particular door and knocked, Jazz was practically hiding behind the Enforcer. Then it opened and a voice came rolling out at them in greeting, riding on the swelling tide of an almost tangible power.

Prowl stepped through without hesitation, and then paused. "I'm terribly sorry, Prime, but one moment." He turned back to the door. "Jazz," he called disapprovingly.

Jazz had made it about halfway down the hall, and froze mid step, deflating a bit. Reluctantly, he turned around and came back under Prowl's watchful gaze, shuffling into the Prime's office like an errant youngling before a school's headmaster. The presence filling it was overwhelming, but on second thought not particularly threatening.

"Please, take a seat." The Prime offered, gesturing to the guest chairs across the desk from him. "You must be Prowl, lead tactician for the Praxian High Enforcers."

"Until this morning, yes. This is Jazz, my friend. He is informally just as skilled as I am, though in vastly different fields."

Jazz shifted uncomfortably as the Prime smiled. "Welcome, both of you."

And despite everything, Jazz incongruently felt that he was. Instead of soothing him, it only made him more agitated, though.

"Ya don' want me here." He blurted. Prowl flicked a doorwing at him, but all the Prime did was turn his gaze and full attention on the small mech. The weight of the wisdom and power in the young Prime was almost stifling.

"And why is that, Jazz?" he asked softly.

Jazz shrunk under the gentle compassion in the Prime's gaze. Here he was, sitting before the spiritual leader of Cybertron itself, as close to having a conference with the Maker as he would ever get before he died, and the mech was talking to him like he was anybody else and not…

"Jazz has a history of being on the wrong side of the law." Prowl said once the silence had stretched a little too long. "He believes that disqualifies him from being—"

"Wrong side of the law." Jazz repeated derisively, giving the Enforcer a withering look. "I am a murderer, Prowl. Plain an' simple." He glanced back at the Prime for an instant before lowering his gaze to the desk between them. "Street gang in Polyhex. I killed people, an' not all of 'em were others like me." He admitted quietly.

There was silence in the Prime's office for a very long moment. Jazz focused on the desk, trying to keep himself from exploding under the weight of it. It entirely escaped his notice that the silence was thoughtful and not judgmental as he imagined it to be.

"When was this?" the Prime asked, and the tone of his deep voice was not what Jazz expected. He dared to look up again, a seed of hope growing in his spark.

"'Bout 80 vorns ago, now, when Prowl pulled me out of it." He answered quietly.

"And since then?" The Prime's gaze was intent, but not harsh, or even critical.

Jazz winced slightly. "I altered my records… so I could get a job an' everythin', but since that nothin' illegal."

The Prime sat back with a hum, regarding the minibot before him. After a long moment he laced his fingers together on his desk. "Jazz, if it is truly in the past, then I see no reason to drag it into the present. Assuming that is the only reservation you have regarding your eligibility—"

"It's not." Jazz interrupted. Prowl's doorwings twitched in surprise, and Jazz was still for a long moment, searching the Prime's blue gaze, but he was listening now to the presence swelling around them and he understood, somewhere in his damaged personality core, that if there was ever going to be another spark in existence that he could trust even close to the way he trusted Prowl, it was Optimus Prime. So Jazz took in and let out a shaky vent, and bared his spark to the Prime, never understanding exactly how much that impressed the mech.

By the time he was done talking he was sure he was going to either purge his tanks or straight up keel over dead. Prowl's wings were twitching and his engine was vibrating as if the ex-convict was a youngling in need of comforting, and Jazz supposed he must have been because it was definitely helping. He heaved out another deep vent, and dared to look up at the Prime. Optimus was staring at him intently again, and this time the Prime's gaze was intense in a way it hadn't been before. Jazz dropped his gaze to the desk, fearing that the condemnation he had expected was about to be expressed.

"Jazz, if this is where you want to be then you are more than welcome to be here." The Prime finally announced with a sense of finality.

Jazz's helm shot up. "Seriously?" he demanded.

Optimus Prime smiled at him, and nodded.

~0~

"Is there anything else bothering you, Jazz?" Rung prompted after a moment.

Jazz stared intently over the psychiatrist's helm for a few seconds. "Y'know, I didn' know what it was for a long time. Pretty much 'till Prowl pulled me out, I had no clue. I musta been on th'verge of splittin' more'n once in there." He fell silent again and Rung let him think. Then he looked down and focused on the mech. "If I get back t'that point, Rung, I'm pretty sure I will. What happens then?"

Rung tapped at his datapad thoughtfully. "Well, that will depend on the severity of the split. Some splits are barely noticeable and rarely triggered, some are intense to the point of debilitation. I can't help but doubt you will ever reach that point, though, Jazz. Not with the support network you have now."

Jazz tilted his helm. "Hm." He said.

~0~

Prowl woke suddenly, casting his sensors wide as unease stirred in his spark. When he couldn't sense anything wrong after several seconds, he cycled a deep vent and shifted a bit, trying to reinitiate recharge. But something was off, even if he couldn't directly observe it, and the unease only grew, eventually urging him to his pedes to make a round through his modest apartment and double check.

It was astonishing and alarming on several levels when he almost walked right past the mech curled up in the corner of his living room. The Enforcer whirled when the slightest noise alerted him, rifle in hand and ready to fire. He froze as soon as he made it to that point, though, staring in consternation and mild shock at the Polyhexian staring back at him.

"Jazz?" he murmured, relaxing only marginally. "How did you get here?"

As far as Prowl knew, the smaller mech hadn't known where he lived, though with the recent ex-convict's skills it shouldn't have been as surprising as it was that he'd figured it out and bypassed the security system so easily. Jazz didn't respond, just kept staring at the Praxian miserably. Prowl slowly put his weapon away, his processor catching up to the situation and spitting out probable causes.

"Are you alright?" He asked.

Jazz's engine groaned quietly and he dropped his helm back against his knees, his newly installed visor flickering out. Prowl straightened, taking a step closer and sending a scan over the mech. He'd just identified what the ex-convict had clutched tightly in one hand when the mech held it out to him, the servo visibly shaking. The Enforcer quickly took the vials, easily recognizing the toxic liquid in them by smell alone.

"Did you take any, Jazz?" he demanded, though gently.

The Polyhexian's vents heaved in distress, but he shook his helm without lifting it. Prowl nodded in relief, carefully placing the illegal drugs in his buffered and shielded subspace pocket specifically set aside for such confiscated items.

"I didn' know anybody else who would take care of it right." Jazz whispered, his voice muffled and barely audible. He shivered, curling into himself even more, his next words almost lost. "Didn' know anybody else who would help."

Prowl looked down on the quivering pile of mech wedged into the corner of his living room, and he understood. Jazz didn't know anybody else outside of the gangs. He had nowhere else to turn to help him overcome his dangerous impulses, nobody who would be interested in helping him be better.

Jazz had nobody else, and as much as his damaged personality core must have been telling him that he couldn't take the risk of asking for help and being turning away, he was here, and he was asking, even if it was silently.

The Praxian knelt down, reaching out to put a hand on the smaller mech's shoulder. Jazz's flickering gaze turned up to him for a moment before falling away again. All Enforcers had basic training in psychology and psychological disorders. Mostly they used it to recognize symptoms and to attempt to mitigate or minimize the effects of traumatic events on mecha caught up in them—particularly younglings. Always the number one best thing they could do for mecha already struggling with a psychological disorder or in danger of developing one was to remove them from situations and environments that were unhealthy, unstable, or otherwise toxic.

Jazz's environment among the gangs, in prison, and apparently wherever he had been the last three deca-orns had been indisputably and viciously toxic to both spark and mind. The only positive environment the mech had ever experienced in his life was the one Prowl seemed to produce. It was his one shot at getting away from the people and places that had turned him into the mech he had been when he and Prowl had first met. By now, Prowl recognized that the damage was most likely irreversible… but that didn't mean it couldn't be helped, if someone was willing to be patient with him and teach him how to help himself.

So the Enforcer smiled at the ex-convict, twitching his wings and vibrating his engine as he would for a distraught youngling, because that's what Jazz was in a lot of ways; a youngling that had been taught to behave in ways that were not good, a child that had never finished maturing because everything around him had constantly told him he couldn't.

He felt Jazz relax slightly under his hand, and eventually he looked up to meet his gaze again.

"Stay here, Jazz. It will be safer for you." He said.

Jazz stared at him blankly for a long moment. "Not fer you, though. Ya know there's a pretty hefty price on m'head."

Prowl smirked. "And you know I'm perfectly capable of handling myself."

Jazz stared for another long moment, and then started to smile just a tiny bit, almost shyly. "K." he whispered.

Prowl rose to his feet, gesturing to the armchair in the room. "The chair's a bit more comfortable than the floor. It'll have to do until we can set up more permanent accommodations, but we'll talk about that more when the morning comes."

Jazz nodded, accepting the hand Prowl offered to help him to his pedes, his joints creaking as he pulled himself out of his tight curl. He drifted over to the armchair, dropping into it with a weary vent and inspecting the impressive view from the wall of windows it was set before.

Prowl was almost out of the room before he heard a very quiet, "Thanks, Prowl."

He paused, turning back with a small smile. "You're welcome, Jazz."

~0~

"Guess you're pro'ly right." Jazz agreed. "I'm still gettin' worse, though." He frowned to himself. "Any suggestions for that?"

Rung sighed a bit. "Your job is such that it puts you into those situations regularly. Short of avoiding going on high-risk missions, there's not much we can do there. While you're here, though, I would suggest taking time whenever you can to just relax and not think about your work. I know Diffusion has a meditation technique, I believe this would be a good use of it."

"I'm sure Diffusion has a great meditation technique." Jazz drawled. "But I wouldn' know anythin' about it. Didn't train with anybody who'd be interested in that part o'the program, remember?"

"Ah, yes, that's right." Rung murmured. "Then I would suggest asking Prowl to teach you. Circuit Su has an equally effective technique, as I understand it."

Jazz nodded. "Not a bad idea." He murmured. "Dunno why we didn' think of it earlier…"

~0~

"Hey, Jazz!" A voice called across the prison mess hall. Jazz kept moving as if he hadn't heard, taking a seat at an empty table to drink his morning ration. He gave an almost imperceptible sigh when four other mechs came and sat with him.

"Y'know, I thought I was bein' pretty obvious." He said.

The leader of the small band gave him a hard look. "So were we. Look, Jazz, we got a 380 comin' in, ya need ta be ready ta receive."

Jazz shrugged. "Sounds like your problem, t'me."

The lanky mech narrowed his optics at the other Polyhexian. "You got a responsibility ta fill here, Jazz. I hope ya aren't forgettin' that."

Jazz snarled, armor flaring and engine growling viciously. Before the other mech could so much as lean away he struck, taking his throat in one hand and dragging him halfway across the table. "Now you listen here, Viper, an' you listen close." Jazz hissed into his face. "Ya know what I c'n do, an' ya know I'll do it without much provocation. Take your little minions an' stay away from me. I'm not helpin' ya, now or ever again. Ya understand?"

Viper scowled, pulling at his hand. Guards were approaching, and finally the mech nodded. Jazz released him, taking a gulp of energon.

"What's going on over here?" one of the guards demanded as he reached them.

Jazz grinned easily. "Oh, nothin', sir, just a little missunderstandin'. It's all good now, no worries."

The heavy-set mech didn't look very convinced, but nodded and moved away, keeping an optic on them from a distance.

The white and blue minibot smiled brightly at Viper and the other mech scowled. "Good luck an' all, though. You're gonna need it."

"You know what this means, Jazz." Viper growled. "There won't be a single place you can go to be safe, once word gets out."

"Oh, I don' know about that." Jazz countered. "I c'n think of a few places I can go. Enjoy your energon, V. Somewhere else, though, if ya don't mind."

Jazz kept grinning as the mechs moved off with glares, and whistled cheerfully to himself as he finished his own energon, watching the rest of the hall attentively. When he caught a flash of black and white at one of the guard entrances, he hopped up and disposed of his empty cube, strolling across the hall. He disappeared from most people's perception long before he got to the door, and slipped through easily.

"Y'catch all that?" he asked nonchalantly.

"380, that's a communication from the outside, yes?" the Enforcer replied, referencing the datapad in his hand.

"Sure is. I'd keep an optic on Viper an' Slick. They're th'next best t'receive it. It should come either tonight or tomorrow, in hexi-code. Unless they changed it."

"Do they suspect you of giving information yet?"

Jazz grinned sharply, dangerously. "Not yet. This time t'morrow they pro'ly will."

The Praxian peered at him. "You don't seem worried. Do you believe they won't try to start anything over it?"

"Oh, they will. They're not terribly smart, after all." The Polyhexian speculated lightly.

"And you're sure you'll be alright?"

"Look, I got this covered." Jazz growled, glaring at the taller mech. "Just be ready t'pull 'em off me like ya said ya would." The Enforcer nodded calmly and the minibot glared a moment longer before grinning. "Alright, see ya tomorrow, Prowl."

The mech nearly skipped back out into the mess hall.

"I have no idea why we're trusting a word that one says." The guard with Prowl rumbled. "You've seen his file, right? The mech's completely glitched."

"Perhaps." Prowl allowed, working at his pad. "But his intel has been useful and accurate so far."

The guard huffed. "If you say so."

The next morning, just outside the mess hall, Viper sidled up next to Jazz as he walked down the hall and leaned down to hiss in his audio.

"Take the next right, glitch."

Something sharp poked into Jazz's side and he stifled a chuckle, but did as he had been told. He turned the corner and walked straight into a swinging fist. He took the hit, going to the ground, and burst into laughter. Three of the mechs waiting for them grabbed him and drug him further down the hall, away from any guards that would get in their way. There were eleven of them, Jazz noted. A pretty large group. This had to be every one of their mecha in the whole prison complex.

He was still giggling when they shoved him up against the wall and Viper stepped in front of him, murder in his optics.

"You little glitch, you sold us out, didn't you!" he accused. When all Jazz did was laugh some more, the mech snarled, raising his makeshift knife, and stabbed it straight into Jazz's shoulder, where the main gears that controlled the appendage were housed.

Jazz's face went blank, and Viper sneered. "Not so funny now, is it, little glitch." He pulled his knife out and energon started trickling down the minibot's armor, even if his expression didn't so much as twitch. "Community law still applies, even here, Jazz. You got anythin' ta say ta defend yourself?"

Jazz shrugged the shoulder that wasn't damaged. "Not really. I found m'self a way out, an' I'm takin' it."

Viper's armor flared aggressively. "It's that Praxian, isn't it?" he demanded. "Ya idiot, you really think he's gonna actually give ya a way out? He's an Enforcer, a High Enforcer at that. You can't trust a word those fraggers say. Thought you knew that, glitch."

"Naw, I think this one's different." Jazz disagreed thoughtfully.

"Oh really?" Viper grinned sharply. "Well then where is he now, Jazz? Because according to community law, your punishment is death. Surely you told him that, since you're so smart."

"Y'know, I did. And y'know what your problem is, V?" Jazz smiled brightly. "You're so predictable it's funny."

"Freeze." A cool, commanding voice ordered. Exclamations of surprise went up from their sentries at the Praxian's abrupt appearance. Seven guards stepped around the nearest corner, stunner rods raised.

Viper snarled, lifting his knife, optics blazing with hate. Jazz twisted, hauling one of the mechs pinning him to the wall into the path of the strike. He jerked his other arm out of the second mech's grip as the guards and gangsters clashed. He slid around to the stabbed mech's other side, snatching the knife from his chest as he collapsed to the floor. Viper only had time to look terrified before Jazz's fist connected with his face, sending him to the floor. The Polyhexian was on him the next instant, knife raised, armor flared and engine growling, a matching snarl on his face.

"Told ya t'stay away from me, Viper." He hissed.

Prowl slipped the stunner in his hand under an armor plate, sending the largest gang member to the floor, and then turned and froze. "Jazz," he called warningly.

Jazz looked up sharply, knife pausing its downward arc, and snarled at the Enforcer. Prowl only held his gaze, and gave a slight shake of his head. Jazz hesitated an instant.

Three guards went down in quick succession. The nearest one turned to Prowl and stabbed his stunner between the Praxian's doorwings. He dropped with a surprisingly short cry. The remaining three guards fell just as quickly.

"Change of plan, mechs." The traitorous guard announced.

Jazz was on him before anybody else could move. The next thing they knew, the stunner was in Jazz's hand and the guard was on the floor. Viper had taken the opportunity to roll over and snatch the Praxian, though, and Jazz froze to see the stunned Enforcer at the gang officer's mercy.

The other mecha grabbed the stunners from the incapacitated guards, reversing the effects of them for their comrades, and soon all eleven of them were back on their feet, as well as the one guard. The stare-down between Jazz and Viper didn't waver.

"Viper, we don't have time for this," the guard warned.

Viper hesitated, glancing away. Prowl closed his hand into a fist. Jazz jammed the stunner on and threw it, launching himself at the gangsters on one side at the same moment Prowl launched himself at the gangsters on the other side.

Ten seconds later, they were back to back, surrounded by a pile of stunned mecha. They both straightened, taking one last look around as reinforcements hurried down the halls before removing themselves from ground zero.

"You're pretty tough, for a Praxian." Jazz quipped, grinning up at the Enforcer.

"And you're fairly strong, for a minibot." Prowl shot back, smirking.

"Inmate Jazz, stand down and relinquish your weapons." A guard demanded, approaching cautiously, as if expecting the mech to snap.

Jazz did just that, snarling at the guard, lifting the knife and stunner. "Make me, fragger!"

Prowl's hand landed on his shoulder. "Jazz," he admonished.

Jazz switched his grip on the knife, drawing it back, ready to strike, and then paused. After a long moment where nobody moved so much as an inch, the Polyhexian's armor flattened and he straightened out of his fighting stance. "Yeah, okay." He agreed, tossing both weapons to the flabbergasted guard.

Prowl smirked at the guard a bit as he gestured Jazz away from the cleanup. "Come, let's get you to the med-bay for that shoulder wound. I can hear the gears grinding in there."

"Yeah, lucky Viper's so dumb he didn't put that knife deep enough t'actually do any real damage."

"Indeed."

~0~

The saboteur checked his chronometer. "I never understand where the time goes in this room." He commented.

Rung smiled ruefully. "I've never figured it out, either. You're welcome to stay and talk longer, if you want, of course."

Jazz shook his helm. "Naw, it's getting late, an' I'm sure dealin' with all us crazy folk wears ya out. Besides, Prowl's still up an' we're both off duty. I c'n get 'im t'start teachin' me how t'meditate properly right away if I catch 'im now."

"Until next time, then, Jazz." Rung agreed, noting some things down on his datapad while the saboteur got to his feet. But then the psychiatrist paused, a curious expression coming to his face. "Jazz," he said hesitantly, turning to the minibot.

"Yeah?" Jazz asked, pausing at the door.

"If you don't mind me asking, why is Prowl the only person you respond to like that?"

The Polyhexian seemed to freeze for a moment.

~0~

The op had been going perfectly. Jazz had recognized that it was going a bit too perfectly, but he hadn't said anything, letting events run their course while he waited patiently. Once the Enforcers descended on his fellows, it was the matter of only a breem to hack their primary command channel. It took only a few seconds longer to pinpoint the source of the calm, commanderly voice speaking over it.

/Alpha team mission accomplished./

/Beta team mission accomplished./

/Beta team, hand off your prisoners to Alpha team and assist Delta team in the east wing./ the tactician ordered. /Approach from the north and south ends, be prepared for at least twelve contacts./

Jazz slipped into the mobile tactical command center without a sound, and struck early when the nearest mech turned to him. Praxians, he cursed to himself. Annoyingly hard to sneak up on. Still, he had the first mech in a set of stasis cuffs and a knife at his throat before the second mech could do more than pull out his rifle and aim it. Acid pellet, Jazz recognized. Interesting choice.

The calm voice on the comm didn't waver as it called a team back to tactical command. Jazz grinned sharply, pulled out his own gun, blew the door open, and slipped out with his hostage. So predictable, he mused as fire was held. He was surrounded before he'd gotten far, but of course the Enforcers didn't know he had a grapple. They were on the roof of the nearest building before anybody could do anything about it.

Jazz set his hostage down, chuckling to himself darkly. The Praxian promptly tried to kick him and he snarled, stomping down on the offending pede. "No, bad tactician." He barked. "Be good. Won't be here long, anyway." He assured the mech with a cheerful smile. "Judging by the way your commander was handling things down there…" he paused, tilting his helm. "Wow, not long at all." Jazz grinned sharply down on his bewildered prisoner, stepping up beside him and leveling his rifle at his helm. "Lucky you."

The red and blue mech's optics widened as the weapon powered up, but then the Polyhexian seemed to change his mind and stepped over the prone form, plopping down to sit on the number 38 on his chest. The rifle stayed powered up, but it rested on the tactician's shoulder, pointed at the ground next to his head.

"What is wrong with you?" the mech wondered.

"Shut up." Jazz growled, clubbing him with the weapon. The Praxian obliged, wincing as he shifted to relieve some of the pressure on his doorwings. A breem went by.

"Does your commander usually stand behind closed doors waiting for someone t'call 'im out, or what?" the gangster wondered.

The access door inched open, admitting the other tactician onto the roof. Surprisingly enough, the other Enforcers stayed back, letting the door close behind him as the Praxian slowly approached, rifle held ready even if it wasn't aimed. He halted several steps away and regarded the minibot, his gaze passing over his fellow before returning to Jazz.

"What do you want?" the mech asked.

"Isn't that a good question!" Jazz crowed. "Y'know, I'm not even sure anymore. Used t'be energon. Then it was safety. Now I'm not even sure what the frag we're all doin' up here. Could've gone about this a million different ways, an' I do mean a million, I calculated 'em all out." He rambled. Then he growled, armor flaring aggressively. He shoved his rifle in his hostage's face, glaring at the other Praxian. "Nobody cares. Ya want th'rookie back, ya go through me, simple as that."

The commander's doorwings twitched back, maybe in surprise. Slowly, he straightened, and lowered his rifle, studying the mech. There was an insane gleam in those red optics, but nothing he hadn't seen before. In fact, the desperation there was all too familiar.

"No." he said simply.

"No?" Jazz repeated. The Praxian he was sitting on squeaked, optics wide when he turned to grin down at the younger mech. "Guess they don' want'cha back, kid. Don' I know how that feels. But in that case," he moved fluidly to his feet, grabbing the Praxian and hauling him to the edge of the roof.

"Stop." The other tactician ordered.

Jazz glanced back, lifting an optic ridge, face almost blank. Without breaking optic contact, he shoved his hostage against the railing.

"Prowl!" the mech yelped, trying to lean away from the deadly drop. Prowl glanced at the younger mech, and the rookie's doorwings twitched before his chassis went still, responding to silent words of assurance.

Jazz grinned. "I'm impressed, I'll admit it. You're pretty good at this, way better than any o'the Enforcers around here. Where ya from? Couple'a Praxian tacticians, gotta be High Enforcers." His grin turned down to a snarl. "Gotta be important." He pushed at the Praxian again, and he didn't cry out this time, though his doorwings flinched violently at his precarious position, chassis tensed.

Prowl only cocked his helm, continuing to study the mech. He slowly shook his head, putting his rifle into subspace. "I'm not going to kill you."

"I'm not gonna give ya a choice." Jazz growled, and sent the younger tactician over the edge.

The next thing he knew, he was on the ground and Prowl was hauling his rookie back over the railing.

"Wow. That was unexpected." The minibot quipped, and launched himself at the larger mech, ditching gun for knife. The vibrating growl in his engine was discordant as he attacked, distinctly abnormal. Prowl grunted as the knife sliced into a joint, sending fluids spurting across the metal of the building. But it didn't seem to make a difference. He didn't get angry, or even slow down, and Jazz let out a vicious snarl of frustration as the mech countered every attack he threw at him without returning the assault.

The gangster whirled, sliding in for the kill, and was met with a solid punch to the face that sent him reeling back. He collapsed to his hands and knees, venting harshly as he recognized the feel of energon running down his face. "Why don't you fight back, glitch!" he demanded, throwing his knife as hard as he could at the Praxian.

Prowl simply caught it, and Jazz's face went blank. "That's not even fair." He complained mildly.

The tactician stepped closer, regarding the Polyhexian. "I'm not going to kill you." He repeated, almost gently.

"Why not!?" Jazz cried, staring up at the mech almost pleadingly.

Prowl slowly knelt down, keeping the mech's gaze, and then held his knife out to him. "Because you are worth saving."

Jazz's optics went wide as he stared. For several breems, nobody even vented on that rooftop as Jazz stared at Prowl, reading the impossible conviction in him that it was absolutely true. That he was worth saving. He was not. He knew that. This stranger did not know him, did not know what he had done. And yet, as he hesitantly reached out to take the weapon and the Praxian didn't so much as flinch, didn't waver in his quiet confidence, Jazz believed it. He believed that he was worth saving.

He carefully took his knife, rolling back onto his aft and cocking his helm at the Praxian. "You're weird."

"I've been told." The mech replied seriously.

Then Jazz smiled, an honest smile. It felt like he hadn't smiled like that in vorns. "I like you."

Prowl smiled back, his mouth just barely turning up. "Thank you."

~0~

Jazz blinked out of his blank expression and smiled a bit, shrugging. "I trust 'im." He answered simply.

Then he turned and disappeared through the door.

"Hey, Prowl!" Rung heard him greet cheerfully. "Rung says ya need ta teach me how t'meditate."

"Does he?" Prowl hummed back, sounding bemused. The door slid closed on the rest of the conversation and Rung smiled to himself as he finished jotting down his notes for the session. Then he put his pad away, set his office in order, and headed for his room. As Jazz had surmised, after all, as much as he loved his job and his patients, dealing with the toxic amounts of mental instability among the Autobots was, indeed, exhausting.

A/N: In case it wasn't as obvious as it was in my head, italicized sections are flashbacks, and the flashbacks are regressing in time as the story goes along.

And go look up borderline personality disorder if you're still lost. ; )

As always, reviews are welcomed and appreciated!