AN: Hey, sorry for the horrendous wait. I wouldn't be surprised if most of you have abandoned all hope of this story ever updating! I just finished this chapter, and I don't have any more written up atm, but it's break so if I can tear myself away from tumblr then maybe I'll get more writing done.

I'd like to say THANK YOU to everyone who faved, alerted, and reviewed in the interim between chapters here You guys kept reminding me that hey, yeah, I DO have a story to finish. And also sorry for the wait I do feel really bad about that, since I know I hate it when I'm following a wonderful story (not saying mine is) and then all of a sudden there are no more updates. So I know what that feels like. Anywho, if ya'll actually read this, drop me a review or something! Please? Even if it's to rant about me not updating. Or just one word. I'm not picky…

The Start of A Beautiful Relationship

Chapter Four

The young mechs parted ways after their break and headed to their respective classrooms. Optimus was off to his next class, Languages, taught by Mirage. Mirage had a long-standing dislike of the Organic Science and Chemistry teacher, Hound, and with all the recent gossip during their break he had to wonder if there was possible chemistry there as well. A soft chuckle escaped at his mental pun, and it was only when a friendly, "What's so funny?" came from behind him that he realized Starscream had been trailing after him the whole way.

"Oh, nothing," Optimus shrugged, wondering how he had failed to notice his friend right behind him. He was awfully quiet, but then again the halls were pretty noisy. "What class do you have next, then?"

"I've got…" Starscream peered at his datapad. "Organic Science and Chem with Hound. Should be interesting, I'm pretty excited for that class."

"Neat. I'd just recommend not mentioning Mirage to Hound and vice-versa. They don't get along."

Starscream glanced sideways at him, having caught up to the taller mech's strides. "Like a Prowl and Jazz kind of don't-get-along, or just a 'they really hate each other' kind of way?"

"More the latter, I think," Optimus responded as they neared Starscream's classroom. It was directly across the hall from Optimus' class. He glanced in the door's window briefly before reaching for the handle to open it and hurriedly backpedaled. "Shh, no, wait!" At the seeker's confused expression he gestured towards the closed door. "It looks like they're having an argument, best not to interrupt."

Starscream hummed noncommittally and peeked through the window. A slim blue and white mech was indeed arguing with a boxier green mech, and as he moved to push his audio against the doorframe Starscream began to make out what they were saying.

A slightly rough voice filtered through, sounding somewhat confused and apologetic.

"…Don't know what you want me to say, Mirage. Sorry for being me? I really have no idea what your issue is with me. Is it personal, is it work-related, what? If you don't tell me what I have apparently done to wrong you, I can't apologize for it!"

"Well, unless you have the time to apologize for..for…"

"For what?"

"For just…Agh, forget it! I have a class to prepare for."

Starscream jumped back from the door quickly as Mirage practically stormed out of the classroom and shoved his way to the other side of the hall. After shuttering his optics in surprise, the seeker shrugged and gave a reluctant Optimus a small wave as he headed into chemistry.

The rest of the day was entirely uneventful. The shuttle, Skyfire, was in his gym class, but he'd only caught the name as their drill-sergeant of a teacher barked it out. They'd had no time to converse. Strictly speaking, cybertronians didn't need to exercise, but teachers had found that students tended to do better if they had a physical exertion period during the day, so gym was mandatory. For those students that were more advanced, the dean led a self-defense class that met after school every five orns.

Starscream had been standing in front of the sign-up datapad hanging on the info board for the last ten klicks, debating whether or not he should try out. The hallways were relatively empty now, just a few pairs or small groups of students left talking about their vacations or heading to after school extra-curricular activities.

"You should try out for that."

Starscream jolted at the quiet voice and swung around to find the principal, Prowl, standing behind him.

"I, uh, what?" He stammered out, still put off by his shock.

"I said, 'You should try out for that.' If my observations prove accurate, you could become quite proficient in the art of self-defense." One brow was raised at him as though the former enforcer was revising his calculations concerning intelligence. At least, that was the impression Starscream received.

"Oh, right, well, I was just…yeah. I uh, I think I will sign up for it, thanks," he shot the Praxian a smile before turning and quickly adding his name to the list. He didn't hear anything, but when he turned around again, Prowl was halfway down the hall. An idea struck him—hadn't Bluestreak mentioned Prowl's mastery of Metallikato and Circuit Su?

"Prowl!"

Said mech turned as the young seeker jogged up to him so as not to be shouting down the hallway.

"Um, will you be there?" That was the best way to broach the subject and possibly achieve his goal, Starscream had decided.

"I see no need to attend. Jazz is…well-equipped to teach all levels of self-defense," Prowl stated, "Why?"

"Well, it's just that I heard…through the circuitry, you know, that you're a master of Metallikato and Circuit Su. So I thought maybe it would be cool to have you there to, I don't know, teach us some of that too?" He set his best turbo-puppy face to work.

A miniscule flicker of surprise crossed Prowl's slim features. According to his calculations, 99.12% of the student body despised him. Starscream apparently fell into the 0.88% that didn't.

"Jazz is also a master of both disciplines, but as per school rules is restricted to teaching simple self-defense, as I would be in the same situation. Is that all?" The turbo-puppy optics turned into kicked turbo-puppy optics, and Prowl grimaced mentally. He supposed if he had a weakness, it was not being able to handle others disappointment with him.

"I…okay. See you. Or not, I guess." Wings slumping, Starscream turned to walk away when he heard a heavy sigh.

"Fine. I suppose I could arrange to give a demonstration of both fighting styles with Jazz at the introductory session, to encourage students to stay with the program. Is that acceptable?"

"Really?" The seeker's mood took a dramatic upturn at the reluctant offer, a smile growing ever-wider on his faceplates. "That would be awesome! Thanks Prowl, you're the best!" The black and white suddenly had an armful of ecstatic, tri-colored seeker, and just as suddenly was watching Starscream leave, a wave and cheery, "See you tomorrow!" thrown over his shoulder.

Prowl sighed and slumped against the cool, painted lockers, dragging a hand over his faceplates as he slowly sank to the floor. What am I getting myself into? He'd been dealing with Jazz's forward attempts at flirting for vorns now, pushing aside every compliment and obvious attempt at ogling, no matter how they made him feel. He'd seen Jazz in action in other settings (mostly at staff parties, but he'd managed to find himself in the same bar as the silver mech on occasion) and was well-aware at how smooth the mech could be. Jazz could have any mech or femme swooning over him in a matter of nano-clicks, and his methods in those situations were wildly different than those he applied to Prowl. The former tactical officer was thus forced to assume that Jazz just kept up the effort as a sort of running gag to make fun of him for being so strict and cold.

Sometimes though, they managed to have normal conversations, sitting side by side in the lunch room, bantering about whatever was on their processors that day. Jazz would lean in a little and make some wry comment that would have Prowl's mouth itching to form a smile at the humor. He never did, but he would always respond with an equally dry quip that would bring out Jazz's infectious laugh, lopsided smile cast at him, visor shining a little more brightly because of him. Those days were the best. Unintentionally or not, they usually happened on significant days, like Prowl's creation day, or on the few small holidays celebrated over the course of the vorn. But that was as close as Prowl ever let Jazz, or anybot for that matter, get.

He'd been hurt. That was why he'd been honorably discharged from the Enforcers—usually bots made a career out of it, many stayed until their deactivation—he'd been wounded physically, badly, but it was the internal scars that kept him from passing the psych evaluations needed to continue his work. Prowl had been discharged, deemed a lost cause—a failure to those he'd looked up to. Unlike some bots he'd only wallowed in his misery for a short time before turning himself around and applying for jobs elsewhere. Somehow he'd landed the position of principal at this school, and he'd been here ever since.

The barest ghost of footsteps alerted Prowl to Jazz's presence, and when he glanced up the silver mech was slightly closer than he'd calculated. His tactical center catalogued this information and added it to the calculations concerning Jazz.

"Yes?" Prowl half-spoke and half-sighed the question, optics narrowed as he found himself unable to find the urge to school his features into their usual stoic mask. The silver mech paused, obviously not expecting that response.

"You alrigh' Prowler?" Jazz wavered slightly before settling on extending his hand.

Prowl blinked and met Jazz's hand with his own, fingers curling around slim silver digits instinctively. "Yes," an uncharacteristic smile, soft and slightly lopsided, slipped onto his lips, "I'm just tired, but thanks for asking."

Jazz clucked his glossa in mock reprisal as he gently tugged the Praxian to his pedes. "Ya need ta get more recharge, Prowler. Can't have ya takin' naps in tha hallways now, eh?" His voice managed to stay steady as well as his grip, but Jazz wasn't sure how he managed to get words out at the invisible sparks prompted by the rare contact between them. Thanks to that his spark was beating so loudly in his chest he was sure Prowl could hear it, and his fingers felt like they were dipped in molten slag. In a good way. When their fingers inevitably slid apart, Jazz did his best to commit the feeling to memory, before realizing that Prowl was saying something to him.

"…So would you be okay with that?" Prowl watched Jazz expectantly, hoping to avoid some sort of innuendo-filled comment that would inevitably lead to awkwardness.

"I, uh," Jazz floundered, having no clue what Prowl had just asked him. Not that it really mattered—he'd do anything the Praxian asked, to be honest. "Sure, yeah. No problem."

"Alright," Prowl nodded solemnly and began to turn away.

"Oh! Uh, Prowler—I mean, Prowl, um, would you, er, want to…" Jazz gesticulated in a very general fashion, hoping beyond hope he didn't look and sound like an idiot, and wondering if he could gain a clue as to what he had just agreed to.

"Plan it out? No, I think it will be more…genuine and realistic if we don't. Besides, I haven't gotten to stretch my limbs out like that with a decent partner lately, and it will hopefully be a good evaluation of which skills, if any, need a little polishing. See you tomorrow."

And with a tiny nod over the shoulder, the smallest of smiles playing across his lips, Prowl strolled down the hallway silently, hips gently swaying to the beat of his gait.

Jazz was left staring slack-jawed in the hallway wondering why Primus liked to torture him.