TITLE: Memory
SERIES: Imperfection, part 5
AUTHOR: Macx
RATING: PG-13
DISCLAIMER: None of the characters belong to me, sadly. They are owned by people with a lot more money
Author's Voice of Warning (aka Author's Note):
English is not my first language; it's German. This is the best I can do. Any mistakes you find in here, collect them and you might win a prize The spell-checker said everything's okay, but you know how trustworthy those thingies are...
FEEDBACK: Loved:

This came to me when a thought popped up in my head (they tend to do that once in a while): what's reactivation after almost dying feel like to Jazz?

Jazz's first memory after his reactivation had been a fuzzy feeling of disorientation, followed by the sensation of choking. Cybertronians didn't breathe like humans did. They didn't need oxygen, though when a coolant like that was available, his body would use it. Since he could also exist in vacuum, like space, breathing any kind of air was secondary.

Still, it had been choking. Choking on input. There had been such a tidal wave of information assaulting his rebooted systems, he had wanted to scream and shut down again. The data stream had been relentless, feeding him what he really didn't want to know right then and there, and he had fought his way out of the swamp that threatened to pull him down.

It had taken Jazz days to deal with what had happened. He remembered the attack in Mission City. He remembered getting hit, then Megatron looming over him. Power-wise he was no match for the Decepticon leader. He was faster, but his speed had been handicapped by the damage inflicted upon him.

Then there were the last seconds. Incredible pain, the strain upon his systems, then the spike of agony, and then… nothing. Just nothing. He had been floating, like suspended in stasis, until Ratchet had pulled him back with the help of the Allspark shard.

Jazz shuddered a little, remembering his time in limbo. He hadn't really died. A small part of him had clung to life with claws and teeth, so to speak.

Ratchet had been worried about his memory circuits. Some of his systems had crashed repeatedly in the weeks it had taken the medic to reboot what they had nearly lost completely, and there were scars. Not physical ones, just those of memories inaccessible, fragmented or torn. There was nothing Ratchet could do and Jazz had to live with it.

At least he was alive.

Something whisked past him, barely missing his head and scraping over his shoulder armor. Someone crashed into him and the next moment Jazz found himself on his back, facing a dark colored mechanoid, red optics glowing ominously down at him.

"You were inattentive," Barricade growled. "It can get you killed."

Jazz untangled himself from the other and sat up. "I knew it was you," he said, sounding almost defensive.

Barricade smile was terrible. "Liar."

Blue optics flared. "What do you want, Barricade?" he demanded.

The former Decepticon straightened and looked down at him, appearing thoughtful. "You were lost," he finally said.

Jazz got up, refusing to fall for the bait. While Barricade wasn't the person to spill his guts when something bothered him, he was pretty good at getting Jazz to do exactly that. Of course he would be good at interrogation, the Autobots' second in command thought darkly. It had been his job when he had still served Megatron.

"There's no enemy here," Jazz said angrily. "No one's trying to bash my head in, so leave it, okay?"

Barricade watched him, silent.

"I was just thinking," Jazz went on, uncomfortably aware that he was close to babbling to escape the silence that would most likely descend between them if he didn't talk.

"You have picked up a dangerous habit."

He wasn't sure whether this was a veiled insult at him thinking or another stab at getting Jazz to talk.

The Solstice decided not to react to either possibility and walked off. He transformed and drove over the hard-packed dirt back to the highway. Accelerating, he tried to let the speed and the feeling of freedom chase away the dark shadows. He picked up Barricade no five seconds behind him and cursed.

The shock trooper was tenacious, like a dog with a bone. That was what made him such a good hunter, too.

"Running?" the rough, gravelly voice could be heard over the com channel.

"Barricade, drop it, okay?"

"You are running."

Jazz gritted his teeth and tore off the highway, down another side road.

Barricade followed.

"Will you stop following me?" he demanded.

There was a low growl. "When you stop being a danger to yourself."

Jazz braked, turned a hundred and eighty degrees and transformed. He was flying at the black and white car before his mind could even process the idea of what he was doing. Barricade's transformation was lightning fast and he caught the full brunt of the attack. Jazz gave a yell of anger as his hands were forced away from the dark chest.

"Stop hurting yourself more," Barricade snarled.

Jazz was suddenly airborne, flipped over the only slightly taller mechanoid, and landed hard on the ground. He launched himself to his feet, glaring at his opponent. Barricade wasn't making a single move to counter-attack. He just stood there, dark and terrifying, waiting.

"Done?" the shock trooper asked emotionlessly. "Or do I have to take this a step further?"

"Go to hell!" Jazz turned, conflicting emotions rising inside him.

"I've already been there. You currently are."

That had him freeze.

"What are you running from?" Barricade asked coldly. "Me or yourself?"

"You have absolutely no fucking idea what's going on!"

Red optics gazed levelly at him. "As long as you don't talk, I won't. But I can guess. Your medic would call it a reboot trauma."

Jazz stopped, staring. "W-what?"

"You died. You came back. Your systems can't handle it."

Simply put, yes, that was what had happened. And his spark had been almost extinguished. Jazz flexed his fingers, unsure. Barricade shared that spark in a very unique way. He was closer to him than anyone, understood more than he would let on. They had shared in the last weeks, but Jazz hadn't thought that sharing would give the other such insight. Barricade wasn't the most emotional Cybertronian.

"If you want to get it out of your system, fine," the black robot went on. "I'm game. Run, fight, race, whatever you need." A cool smile accompanied the words. "If you want to get beaten to a pulp, tell me. Just don't expect me to sit back and watch you melt into a puddle of self-pity, Jazz."

He walked closer and Jazz clenched his hands into fists. Something inside of him was thrumming with need, wanted to scream his pain out to the world. He wanted his memories back! He wanted to remember names to faces. It was unfair to expect him to function like before when there were inaccessible data strings and whole sub-routines that faltered now and then. Ratchet had reassured him that the routines would heal, but the memories were scarred. Files would forever be lost.

"What are you missing?" Barricade asked, voice intent.

"Names. I know the faces, but I don't know the names. And places. Whole systems. I know I was there, but no longer why and when. I know there are blank areas and no cross-references as to what they might have contained."

"Do you remember the last battles?"

"Yes." No blanks there.

"You know why you came here?"

Jazz grimaced. "Yes, of course!"

That got him a chilling smile. "There is no 'of course' about it, Autobot. Maybe you forgot some things, too. Like where you crashed after entering this planet's atmosphere."

"Football stadium."

"Or why you came here."

"For the Allspark. Barricade, that's stupid!"

"Is it?"

Jazz felt his temper break free again. "I remember everything, even my death!" he hissed. "I remember the pain and the loss and the agony and the nothingness! I know what it was like!"

Barricade grabbed one sharply gesturing hand with almost gentle claws. "Then forget everything else. You survived. That's what you should remember."

Jazz felt energon race wildly through his systems. He wanted to howl at the indignity of having things taken from him that he couldn't classify as important or not.

"You remembered me," Barricade added with a smirk.

He snorted. "You're full of yourself."

"And you're pathetic. You cling to the past."

Jazz snarled something to himself. "I'd love to see you deal with holes in your memories!"

"You're not dealing. You're running."

"I can't face what's not there any longer."

Red optics narrowed. "You can start facing the present."

With that Barricade let go of his hand and walked away. He transformed and drove off, leaving a rather thunderstruck Jazz behind.

It was a few hours later that Jazz found the black and white Mustang, sitting in a dark corner of an empty lot. Absorbed by the night, it seemed. Barricade didn't move, didn't say a thing, as the Solstice rolled closer, then cut off the engine. Jazz pushed a silver fender into the black one.

They sat like this for a while, neither saying a single word.

"I got it out my system," Jazz finally said.

"Good," came the deep rumble.

"Thanks."

"I did nothing. If I had, Ratchet would have my head."

The Autobot chuckled. "Depends on what you were planning to do."

The Saleen growled like a large animal. "Nothing permanent."

Jazz sent a little electrical shiver over their joined metal skins and Barricade rumbled a warning, though it sounded far from serious or dangerous. It was more like an uneasy shifting on his shocks.

They stayed like this, parked against each other, until the sun started to rise. Jazz sent the soft request for Barricade to come with him, leave the soon to be more populated lot, and the former Decepticon agreed. Both cars pulled out, driving within the speed limit to a place they had used often before.

Jazz knew his problems weren't solved. He would be plagued by the scars again in the future, but there was nothing he could do. Coming back had been filled with confusion and pain, the memories of his termination only too clear in his mind.

He had to live with it.

But at least something good had come out of it. His death had shocked Barricade into finally leaving the Decepticons. Jazz smiled to himself. It was a burden off his shoulders, to know that the one who shared his spark's resonance would no longer face him in battle on the opposite side. He knew his friends, especially Ironhide, regarded Barricade with distrust and sometimes open hostility, but that didn't matter any more.

Not at all.