Title: Shards V
Author: AotA
Rating: T
Warnings: discussion of a glowering Prowl's interfacing habits (This fic is not going to have a feel good ending. At all. They will have a chance, but it's still not a nice/happy ending. It's actually going to be sad and/or sparkbreaking.)
Characters: Ironhide, Jazz, Prowl, Cliffjumper, Ratchet
Setting: very AU tf-bayverse
Summary: Allegiances fluctuated at the beginning of the war, some voluntarily… some not so much.
Notes: This is not beta-read so go ahead and point out something that I need to correct. I'm thinking that this is going to be a bit longer than I was expecting, and I won't be making my wishful goal of wrapping this up before NaNoWriMo hits unless I go absolutely crazy with my writing.

When the next orn arrived, Ironhide appeared at the door of the cell, having been sent to retrieve Jazz for more medical work.

Predictably, from Prowl's perspective at the very least, Jazz decided to be… less than cooperative.

"No," Jazz refused, "Ah'm not goin' anywhere. Ah'm goin' ta stay right here."

Ironhide's face was taut with frustration, eventually his attention shifted to Jazz's cellmate, "Sir, can't you do anything?"

Prowl's smile was rusty, but obvious, "Unfortunately, I cannot assist you. I am, after all, the one in the brig. I have no authority to issue commands of any sort."

Ironhide was incredulous, "What?"

Jazz began to snicker but it soon became a full out roar of laughter the longer Ironhide stood there stupefied.

Ironhide growled, "You choose now of all times to pick up a sense of humor?"

Prowl shrugged and spread his white hands in a way that said I have nothing without saying anything at all, "I have always had a sense of humor, Ironhide. You simply haven't been paying attention. It is unfortunate, but some mechs simply cannot begin to appreciate my favored method of expression."

"As it stands," Prowl declared, "I am incapable of helping you."

A beat then…

"Aaaarrrrgh!" Ironhide's cannons whirred and he aimed at Jazz, "What did you do to him, you little glitch?"

"Me?" Jazz asked wryly, warily keeping an optic on the black mech's charged cannons, "Ah didn't do anythin' ta him. As for what we did ta each other… well. Unfortunately, that's just wishful thinkin'. Prowler kinda prefers a place with a bit fewer monitors." He glared at an obvious sensor.

Ironhide gaped at Prowl, mouth opening and closing several times. Eventual what came out was a sad buzz that barely escaped his vocalizer.

Jazz stopped, "Wow… Think Ah broke him?" he asked.

Prowl just stared at Jazz, "I do believe that you have only become more shameless over time. 95 percent of the mechs I associate with have likely never associated my person with acts of inter-mech intimacy. I find it less than surprising that Ironhide falls into that category."

"Why not? Ya got a handsome frame, a brilliant processor, an' a wonderful temperament. What more could they want?" Jazz asked then hastily backpedaled, "Not that Ah'm about ta share ya! 'Cause Ah won't."

While Jazz was talking, Prowl rose from where he had been sitting on the edge of the cell's single berth and strode over to the cell door. Before he pressed the call button set near the bars, he gave Jazz a bland look and said simply, "A personality?"

"What?" Jazz yelped, voice pitched just right to cause an unpleasant squeal when the mech on the other end activated the speaker.

"Is everything alright?" the other mech, Cliffjumper he believed he was called, asked in a somewhat panicked tone of voice.

"Everything is fine," Prowl assured, "However, we will be needing a medic to come down to the brig to retrieve Ironhide."

"He's injured?" Apparently, Prowl's assurances meant little if he asked for a medic the moment after he made them.

"He is not. I believe that his logic center was simply unable to handle a scenario laid out for him. That is all."

"…"unable to handle a scenario"? We're still talking about Ironhide, right?" Cliffjumper repeated incredulously.

"Yes."

After a moment, Cliffjumper proved that he was more intelligent that Prowl had anticipated, "…Do I want to know what kind of scenario this was? Because there was no way that it was one about a battle."

"I would be ill advised to tell you," Prowl said, confirming Cliffjumper's suspicions that whatever it was, he did not want to know.

"Right then… I'll have a medic sent your way. Cliffjumper out."

"Not that that wasn't just hilarious, but what was that you were saying about having a personality?" Jazz asked sharply as soon as the speaker clicked off.

Prowl's wings drooped, "I am sure that you felt some of it when we reopened the bond." He lightly touched the tip of a claw to his chest plating directly over his spark. "I became the Autobot answer to Shockwave. The tactical processor that I have installed made me… valuable." He waved his hand through the air, dispersing the issue, "I associate with the Prime, CMO, and others for a reason, Jazz. You are not stupid. Reckless, yes, but never stupid. You cannot tell me that you have not had thoughts about it."

"Heh," Jazz smirked halfheartedly, "Caught me. Didn't really want ya ta be high ranked. Ah was just deludin' myself though, 'cause ya are too efficient ta do anythin' half sparked. Ah was just hopin' that it was about whatever ya were doin' disguised as a Decepticon."

"It does in part," Prowl acknowledged, "but that mission also has to do with my position as an Autobot. One of my objectives was to remove any possible records of my capabilities, and if at all possible, any record of my existence from Decepticon archives. I took advantage of the chance to look for your whereabouts as well."

"Did you?" Jazz asked, "Find me that is."

"I do not even know," Prowl said, "I find it highly probable, but I lost the chance to review the data that I took when I was…"

"Thrown in tha brig?"

"Indeed."

"Well, we're together again at least, even if we are in tha brig."

-=/\=-

Ratchet was not impressed when he was told that he needed to go pick up Ironhide from the brig. The reason that the weapons junky had gone down there in the first place was to retrieve a patient for him. And he wound up being the one needing to be retrieved.

Ratchet was very much not impressed.

Ironhide was stock still outside of the cell staring into space. "Hello there," Ratchet muttered, jacking into the back of the weapons specialist's helm "My name's Ironhide and I'm an idiot. I fry my logic center for no good reason."

Prowl called out, "He had reason."

"You," Ratchet jabbed a finger toward the cell without looking up from what he was doing, "Shut up. Ironhide was supposed to bring Jazz to me in the medical bay. I am not happy that I was forced to come down he and do so myself. And have to fix Ironhide." He frowned, fiddled with a few things, then eventually asked, "Whatdid you do to him? This is pretty impressive damaged considering how little time it took for you to blow his processor."

Jazz piped up even though he was on the far end of the cell from the door, "Just Prowl's interfacin' habits!"

Ratchet snorted, "Really? That's it? I'm disappointed. Though it will be good to know that Prowl is interfacing. I have been tempted to order him to find a partner and have a few overloads soon. It's just as well that I didn't I suppose, considering that you're bonded."

When Prowl started to protest, Ratchet simply spoke over him, "I'm a medic Prowl. There are always signs, you just have to know how to read them. And I could tell that you weren't getting what you needed."

With a violent smack that had what he could see of Prowl flinching, he hit Ironhide upside the head, "Welcome to the online, Ironhide!"

Ironhide winced, frozen joints unlocking, "Ow! What the Pit, Ratchet? When did you get here?"

"I've been here putting your processor back together. I will tell you this: Don't think about what made you offline. It is unimportant and I don't feel like doing this again for such a stupid reason."

"…What?" he asked, processor still fuzzy.

"Exactly," he informed a still clueless Ironhide before switching tracks, "Now, you will either come over here quietly, or I will drag you out and down the corridor screaming if need be so that I can check you out in the medical bay again."

"How 'bout neither?" Jazz asked.

"It's orders from above. It's going to happen one way or the other."

That actually drew Jazz closer, "Ya are jokin', right? Ya seriously want me in med bay for another round? A Decepticon?"

"Especially so," Ratchet said, "You are a prisoner, and a Decepticon, and the anomaly in your processor is concerning as it resisted general analysis."

"An anomaly?" Prowl asked concerned. He was unsurprised that the command would want a more in depth scan of such a thing, but he had thought that it wasn't overly important considering the flippant way that Jazz had told him about the readings that Ratchet had taken during the first examination.

Ratchet nodded, "It doesn't look malignant, but we won't be able to know for sure until I examine it, especially since it looks manufactured."

"…" Prowl was disturbed, "…Jazz?"

"Ya aren't jokin' 'bout this, are ya?" Jazz said, coming to stand right by the door.

"No. I'm not."

Jazz reluctantly gave his assent, the seriousness of the medic and the leashed fear coming from Prowl making him unusually biddable, "Fine. Ah'll come an' let ya do your tests, but Ah'll be fine. Ya will see." His words were said in general but the sentiment was mostly addressed to Prowl, trying to soothe some of the fear that Jazz knew Prowl didn't want acknowledged.

"Good. I wanted to start the tests a while ago, but the holdup shouldn't have any effect upon them." Ratchet opened the cell door and Jazz stepped out.

Oddly, the tension that Jazz expected to feel within the Autobot base only began to hit him when the door closed and he was separated from Prowl. He clamped down on the panic even as he could feel it echo through their bond. It didn't make him feel any better to know that Prowl too was frightened, in his own proudly stoic manner.

Jazz waved goodbye as he followed Ratchet around the corner, taking them out of sight of the cell door. Jazz's spark chilled as Ironhide's large bulk closed in on him. He didn't know why, but he didn't like this. He didn't like this one bit.