Hello and welcome to another Prowl and Jazz story.

If you are reading this with the hope that it is the sequel to Making Sense of the Illogical your out of luck (I am working on it, but real life being the way it, not as much as I'd like). So to all of you who are reading this after seeing an author alert, I apologize. That said, give this story a shot and let me know what you think. To all of you who haven't read Making Sense of the Illogical, read this then go and read that (It's good I promise).

As for this story...I'm not sure where I go the idea for it to be honest. If this idea has been done before and you know what story it is or what author did it let me know so I can give credit where credit is due. Otherwise this will be about fifteen chapters and the plot will be pretty straightforward and (I hope) funny.

Pairing: Prowl and Jazz
Warnings: None so far
Rating: T to be safe

Disclaimer: This idea and plot might be mine (We'll see how original it is) but the characters, setting and whtever else anyone can think of is not, so there.

Possession –Prologue

He came out of recharge slowly, his functions and CPU fuzzy and slow. He tried to remember when exactly he had slipped into recharge, but couldn't remember and, when he tried to access the last few memory files he had, he found that they were all corrupted in some way.

That knowledge was enough to have him initializing quick diagnostics on his systems and, despite his pain receptors practically screaming at him, make him sit up. He onlined his optics, only to come almost faceplate to faceplate with Ratchet.

A very, very angry looking Ratchet. One with a very, very, very heavy looking wrench in his hands.

Scooting back on the berth to gain some space, he opened his mouth.

"Ratchet what…" And stopped short in complete surprise at the noise.

What?

Apparently Ratchet was feeling the same way because he actually dropped his wrench carelessly to the floor in astonishment before hastily turning on his scanners and running them at their highest frequency over him.

"Jazz are you feeling alright? For a second I could swear…" but the medic didn't get to finish because his patient had practically leapt off of the berth at the name.

"Jazz? But I'm…" But again that noise coming out of his vocalizer just didn't sound right.

Unconsciously he raised his hand before getting a glimpse of it and stopping it in mid air to stare.

It was wrong. The coloring was still there. Black and white. It was still there, but it was wrong.

Instead of being white his hand was solid obsidian and as his increasingly wide gaze traveled along his forearm he saw white where there should have been black and black where there should have been white.

It was almost as if his colors had been intentionally inverted. Almost like… Jazz's.

He felt an increasing shock mounting in his processor as he continued his exploration of his body.

There were splashes of blue and red on his chest and, he reached up slowly almost afraid to have his suspicions confirmed, but yes there it was, Jazz's trademark visor and a little further up were the saboteur's auditory sensors and, when he reached behind him, there were no door wings within range of his fingers.

No door wings?

"Jazz" He said aloud weakly in that voice that was his bt wasn't and he vaguely heard Ratchet hitch his intakes and whisper a deeply horrified "Prowl" before all of this became too overwhelming for him and his processor shut him down without warning.

And there you have it. Is anyone feeling bad for Prowl yet? If you're not you should be. I'm going to drag him and Jazz to the pit and back in this story (Or at least that's the plan).

I'm not going to promise updates (Previous experence tells me I'd never stick to it anyway) but depending on how I'm feeling and what's going on we'll see.

Till then, have a good summer. Ciao.