The room was a peaceful silent, with the occasional beep from some far off medical device interrupting it. Jazz onlined slowly, stretching leisurely as he did so. He was pleased to note that his movements weren't punctuated with pain. There was a slight stiffness but compared to the other times he had onlined after an injury, this was nothing to complain about.

Jazz gave a lazy smile as he let his arms dangle off of the berth, grazing the smooth, cold floor with the tips of his claws, just enjoying the haziness of a long recharge followed with nowhere to be. He powered up his visor, the red glowing brightly in the dim lighting.

He considered powering back down, even going so far as to readjust in the bed but something prevented him from doing so. It was a nagging sensation, like he was forgetting something very important and it made Jazz feel nervous.

"Prowl!" He snapped, realization hitting him hard and Jazz sat up faster than his new welds were willing to let him. He grunted as he was reintroduced to the sharp tearing agony in his abdomen, that the pain inhibitors had been masking.

"Easy there." Ratchet hushed him, placing a gentle hand on both Jazz's shoulder and back, easing him back down onto the berth. Surprisingly, Jazz let Ratchet move him. He hadn't been aware that the medic had even been in the same room, let alone close enough to touch him.

Jazz watched Ratchet silently, red visor locked onto the medic as he came around to the other side of him, picking up a data pad that rested on top of the monitor. Ratchet flicked through the contents of it, pausing every now and then to look at the monitor and scribble something down with a stylist. He replaced the data pad for a hand held scanner, running it over Jazz's frame.

"You make a pretty terrible Decepticon." Ratchet finally said, gently grasping Jazz's arm. He moved it slowly, testing the flexibility of his shoulder by stretching it past the spy's head. Ratchet lowered it back onto the berth, with the palm facing down. He nodded before moving to the opposite side and repeating the process.

Jazz watched this perplexed, only flinching when Ratchet then focused on his abdomen where it was mostly new unpainted metal, crisscrossed with fresh and ugly welds. The spy tensed, half flinching as Ratchet splayed his hands flat on the middle of it, pushing ever so slightly.

"I had to replace quite a bit of your internals here." He informed, running his fingers over each weld, testing it. He seemed satisfied, nodding to himself. "Your repairs are holding quite well."

Jazz didn't say anything. He was too busy watching the medic like a nervous animal, ready to strike. Ratchet didn't acknowledge his edgy behavior though. Both during the war and before it, Ratchet had his fair share of nervous, hostile patients. Although, Jazz was probably the most dangerous he had ever dealt with but that didn't change the fact that Ratchet knew what he was doing.

"Are the pain inhibitors still effective?" He asked Jazz, pressing a little harder on the wound. Jazz frowned looking at Ratchet's hands, then to the medic's face.

"Yeah, not a single lick a pain…" He drawled, confusion lacing his tone. "Ya wasted pain meds on meh?" He then asked rather quickly.

"Would there be a reason I wouldn't?" He snapped, fixing a testing glare on Jazz.

The spy shrugged. "Ah can think of a number of reasons." He replied. "Which brings meh to another realization. They're letting the CMO treat meh?"

"The command staff wasn't necessarily happy about it." He grunted, pausing to fiddle with the monitor beside Jazz. "But as it stands, it is in your best interest to be treated by me. So I told them where they could kindly shove their opinions."

"Ah." Jazz hummed, looking at the medic in a whole new light. "So… mah best interest?"

Ratchet turned to look at Jazz. "I assumed a familiar face would be readily accepted opposed to a stranger."

Jazz gave an understanding shrug, as if he accepted this statement. There was a silence between them as Ratchet typed away on his data pad and Jazz took the opportunity to look around.

"Where's Prowler at?" He commented only after making certain that there was actually nobody else in the med bay. It was unnerving sight, for a med bay to be so empty. "And where is everybody else?" He added, head still swiveling around to get a better feel for his surroundings.

Ratchet hummed something under his breath, before tucking away the data pad. "This is the secondary med bay. Away from the other Autobots." He explained. "It's separate from the main one and a lot more secure."

"I wouldn't call this secure mah mech." Jazz piped in. There were at least three easy access points were he could slip out of.

Ignoring him Ratchet rolled his optics. "Prowl is in the main med bay. He is still in stasis right now but thanks to you, he should make a full recovery." He continued. "But this brings me to my previous point. What kind of Decepticon saboteur risks his plating for the Autobot's second in command?"

"Megatron ain't too pleased about meh killin' his men." Jazz looked away. "Guess ah'm not much of a con anymore." He finished with a short laugh that lacked any humor.

"I can see that being a problem."

"So what now?" The spy asked.

Ratchet sighed. "After I deem you stable enough, you are to be escorted to the brig until further notice." He looked down. "Despite you actions, we can't just start trusting you."

"Can't blame ya. Wouldn't trust meh either." Jazz hummed. He was trying to appear unaffected by everything but Ratchet had been around for a long time and could see right through his act. He looked up again, red visor oddly dull, most likely from the stress of everything that had happened.

"Would it be too much to ask ya something?" Jazz muttered. Ratchet waved his hand, urging him to continue. The spy almost seemed to reconsider what he was going to say before finally giving in. "Can ah rest a bit in here. Don't want to be locked up just yet. Not so soon at least."

Ratchet offered him a rare, genuine smile and it lit up the old mech's face, almost erasing all signs of the war he had seen. "As far as I'm concerned, you haven't come out of stasis yet." The warm smile remained and Jazz found himself returning it. It was an odd feeling for him.

"Thanks mech." He purred before adding. "Can ya let meh know if there is any change with Prowl?"

The medic smirked, giving a single nod that had Jazz grinning away. The more he got to know the medic, the more he was beginning to like him.

Ratchet turned with a laugh, making his way to the door. He stopped though, resting his hand on the frame of the door and stopping it from closing. He seemed to consider something before finally talking.

"You know. Not many bots are going to say this but we are grateful for Prowl's return. He may be a clueless aft, but he's our clueless aft." With that final statement hanging in the air, Ratchet left and the door snapped shut behind him, cutting Jazz off from the outside walls.

Jazz remained motionless in the odd silence of the med bay before curling one arm back to rest his head on. He tilted his head up to the ceiling, dimming his visor to a nearly nonexistent glow as he began activating his recharge protocols.

Normally he would have used this rare opportunity to escape. Get as far away from both Decepticon and Autobot as he could. He knew he could probably find some group of friendly neutrals with a ship and disappear off the planet but oddly enough, that didn't seem appealing to him. He was as much of a neutral as he was a Decepticon. Yeah. Maybe it suited him for the moment but it just wasn't who he was.

….

The brig was currently the worst thing for Jazz. Prowl was still locked away in a medical induced stasis lock. Overall, health wise the mech was stable but apparently the shock of the injury had caused his glitch to act up whenever his processor began the act of powering up. It just wasn't safe for him to be conscious without the risk of severe processor damage or locking up with no way of bringing him out of it.

Surprisingly enough, Ratchet wasn't concerned. He was the first one who had assured everyone that it wasn't something to be worried about. This was actually a good sign in itself. He informed everyone that problem would sort itself out and Prowl would wake up on his own. It would just take time.

Without Prowl, nobody was really there to keep Jazz company. Bumblebee was deep in Decepticon territory on some mission and Blaster was off helping one of the other bases. Jazz half expected Bluestreak to visit but after a while of no shows and disappointment, Jazz had learned why. Apparently, there was rumor that Jazz had injured Prowl to near off-lining, in some half-baked attempt at infiltrating the ranks. Jazz had to chuckle at that. He thought it was more obvious that he had more style than something so half-aft and poorly planned.

Surprisingly, for as busy as he was, Ratchet was the only one who took the time to visit Jazz. He was probably the only reason Jazz hadn't lost his mind and strangled the nearest mech.

Ratchet visited the mech under the guise of a medical checkup but Jazz had long since healed with no complications and there really wasn't any need. Not that Jazz was complaining though. He just really liked the conversation.

"I don't understand your friendship." Ratchet offhandedly commented on one of his visits. He was leaning on the other side of the brig, arms crossed over his chest as Jazz chugged a cube of energon. Jazz flicked his visor to the chair that was folded beside the medic. No matter how many times offered, Ratchet never took a seat. Even in the med bay. It was almost as if the medic was so constantly busy that he forgot that he could sit down.

"What friendship?" Jazz asked, crushing the cube out of existence with a quick snap of his wrist.

"You and Prowl, smart aft. Who else?" He grunted, glaring at Jazz.

Jazz gave the medic a wide, cheeky grin that spit his face plates. "Ah'm a social mech." He purred.

Ratchet didn't look impressed. "There are a lot of social mech here. Most of them can't stand Prowl." He paused. "I can understand you getting along with Bumblebee. Everyone gets along with him and Blaster is right down your alley. So what's with Prowl?"

"Prowler?" He hummed almost whimsically. He looked away with a crooked grin. "I dunno." He admitted. "Me and him. We just clicked, ya dig?"

"That so?" Ratchet grunted.

"At first ah was just gonna get some info, then bounce." He chuckled. "Typical me but the more I stayed and the more ah got to talkin' to the other mechs round here…" Jazz shrugged. "The more ah realized that ah had nothin' waiting for meh back with the cons."

"So you stayed." Ratchet filled in.

Jazz nodded. "So ah stayed." He shrugged, tone turning dark.

"Why is that a bad thing?"

"The lot of ya… y'all a strange bunch. Like a family." He muttered.

Ratchet frowned. "Still not making it any clearer."

"Ah came here lookin' for the remnants of the senate." Jazz whispered looking down. He took to tracing patterns with his claws.

Ratchet's optics widened ever so slightly at the realization. "The senate is dead, Jazz." He muttered. "Optimus made sure of that."

Jazz still avoided making optic contact. "Ah can't believe that. Ah don't want to believe that." He shook his head. His voice sounded weak and bitter. "If that's true. All those mech's ah killed and all those years servin' Megatron meant nothing." His voice broke at the end.

Ratchet frowned hard, and he crossed the small distance between him and the humming bars. He glared at Jazz, who held his head low. "You are an idiot." He snapped and it surprised Jazz enough to jerk his head up to look at Ratchet.

"Wha?"

"You are an idiot." Ratchet reiterated. "Tell me what sitting in a pile of your own self-pity is going to do? Hmm?" He crossed his arms over his chest. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing. You did horrible things. Find me a mech in this Primus forsaken war that hasn't. The difference is what you do now." He snapped.

"Ya think I can just change? Ya think anyone is gonna believe meh?"

"I never said it was going to be easy. Look at Optimus. He still has hope that he can get through Megatron. You've already got a couple of mech's ready to stand behind you. Including the Autobot's second in command." Ratchet smirked. Jazz still didn't look convinced.

"Let me tell you a story." He began. "Back in the golden age, I was a prestigious doctor. The rich upper-class mechs flocked to me. Even the Primes, and yes I have been around long enough for that to be plural." He snapped, daring Jazz to comment on that. "and you know what? I hated it every single moment of it. I became a doctor to help bots. Not tend to the needs of the rich. Apparently I was 'too skilled of a doctor' to serve the 'lesser mech's." He growled, his tone dripping with disgust.

"Anyway. My closest friend was a mech named Orion Pax, once data clerk turned cop." At this point the medic paused to give Jazz a firm glare. "Now I know you know who that was." He added. "Orion was the one who suggested I open up a clinic in the poorer regions, and help the mech's who couldn't afford it. So you know what I did?"

"Ya opened it?" Jazz filled in with a smirk.

"I did. I charged the rich ridiculous prices for my services and I used the money I made from them to fund my clinic and train new medics. Against their orders mind you." Ratchet gave a warm smile. "I helped anyone who walked into my doors. Whether they were strung out on circuit speeders or suffering because of their own dumb choices. I just wanted to help bots, give them a second chance. Primus knows, Optimus brought his own share of mechs that needed my help."

"This sounds like some recruitment slag." Jazz cut in but it lacked any conviction.

"Look. The point is, I don't care if you stay with the Autobots or go back groveling to Megatron. What I'm trying to say is that, sometimes we just need a push to get us in the right direction. Optimus pushed me. Now I'm pushing you. What direction you take is your choice." He fixed Jazz with a firm glare.

Jazz gave a laugh, he took a few moments to reflect, actually reflect on what Ratchet had told him. Finally he nodded. "Ya got good advice mech."

"Damn straight." Ratchet huffed in return. "I'm needed in the med bay." He paused, debating something. "Oh and Jazz?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm not senile. Don't think I didn't recognize your designation from back when Optimus was Orion. Even if you believe it or not; he's still the same stupid, self-sacrificing, idiot that he was back then. Now he's just bigger." Ratchet finished.

Jazz looked shocked, visor flashing a brighter color, perhaps the only indication of his surprise. Ratchet shook his head before turning and leaving. The spy watched him go before whistling. He was slowly learning that Ratchet was not a mech he could mess with.

…..

Prowl wasn't a mech for physical contact. In fact, he hated it but the second he was cleared to leave the med bay, he was caught by a worried Bluestreak. The sniper wrapped Prowl in tight hug that squeezed an undignified squeak out of the tactician.

Prowl stiffened dramatically at the sudden contact, holding his hands out awkwardly like he was attempting to fly. As he did this, he glanced around swiftly. Thankfully he found that it was empty of all other bots where they were. With his dignity a little more intact, he coughed to alert Bluestreak that the hug had lasted long enough but the mech didn't get the hint. Instead, he buried his head further into Prowl, squeezing a little tighter. In response, the tactician reached a single hand out, placing it on Bluestreak's shoulder. He then tried to push Bluestreak off of him but the sniper wasn't budging anytime soon.

"Uh…" Prowl began, looking around the hallway for help but there was none to be found. "I believe this isn't professional conduct, Bluestreak. I am your superior." He reminded him.

Bluestreak looked up at Prowl but didn't release his hug. "Really?!" He snapped irritably. "I almost lost you and this is the first thing you say?" He pulled back looking rather irked. "Aft." He growled.

Prowl raised an optic ridge. "That also is hardly professional."

The look Bluestreak gave Prowl could have melted the paint of his armor. "I have been your friend before this war and here you are getting yourself almost killed! Do you want to know how worried I was about you?!" He leaned in, pointing a digit at Prowl. "I don't give a shit about protocol! I thought you were gonna die!" He hissed.

"My apologies." Prowl said calmly before giving a barely noticeable smile.

"Of course you'd be calm about this." Bluestreak snapped, rolling his optics before blowing a puff of air out of his mouth. "You are always so stupidly calm about everything." He gave Prowl another, harsher glare. "I'm glad you're alright."

"Yes. Thanks to Jazz and Ratchet I am still functioning." Prowl stated as he started to walk down the hallway and as far from the med bay as he could get.

"Sooo…" Bluestreak seemed to swallow really hard. "Jazz actually did save you?" He asked very quickly.

"Where is Jazz?" Prowl asked not liking the tone that his friend was using.

"In the brig." Bluestreak shrugged before flashing Prowl a guilty grin.

"Has his wounds been treated?"

"Yeah. Ratchet made sure of that. Um… we kinda, might have, possibly thought that he was responsible for your wounds." Another guilty shrug. "You know. A Decepticon ploy to infiltrate the ranks." He finished.

Prowl gave a sigh, loud and drawn out. "Red alert?" He stated more than asked. He was answered with a nod. "I would have to commend Jazz for his effort then. His injuries were fatal. Any lesser wound and it certainly would have been a possibility." Prowl muttered.

"Ratchet said the same thing." He piped in quietly. Prowl almost snorted at that.

"As it follows. Jazz was in the process of leaving before I got injured. He sustained his injuries defending me. Several times. Prowl explained as he reached the door to his office. He popped into the dark room for only a few seconds. Just long enough to grab a few items. Bluestreak waited for him in the hallway.

"Huh." He huffed just as the tactician reemerged. "That doesn't seem very Decepticon like..."

Prowl only smiled when he turned to walk back down the hallway, his back facing Bluestreak. "No. It doesn't, does it?"

….

Prowl knew he was walking on a very thin tight rope. In one hand he was balancing a cube of energon and in the other was an impressive stack of data pads. He glanced around vigilantly, optics searching for a certain medic who would be absolutely livid if he knew that Prowl was disobeying his instructions. If Ratchet caught him, even contemplating working, the medic would have him confined to berth rest. A fate that the tactician would like to avoid at all cost if he could.

A certain, inexplicable delight came to Prowl as he made it to the door of his quarters without so much as passing another mech in the hallway. Had he been one to grin, he might have just indulged but as it turned out, he would rather not push his luck.

He gave another quick glance before shifting his items awkwardly, all to one arm before fighting to enter the long and complex code to his door. It hissed open, almost knocking the items from his hands but surprisingly Prowl righted them before they could topple to the ground.

His quarters were just as he left them, barren and disturbingly clean without any signs of actually being lived in. Prowl entered it, stopping first at his desk to place his workload down. As he moved though, a sort of sickly unease crept into his mind. Something wasn't right. Prowl couldn't place it though and the more he tried to push it away as unnecessary paranoia, the more it nagged at him.

Suddenly it clicked.

There was no need for him to turn his light on when he entered. Unlike some of the more frequented areas of the base, his lights weren't on an automatic sensor. Not to mention he didn't frequent his room enough to accidently leaved them on.

Prowl swirled around on his feet, body tense and expecting the worst. He frowned, his posture going rigid.

"I shouldn't be surprised." Prowl quipped, his voice sounding oddly loud in the thick silence.

Jazz gave a wicked grin, lip plates sliding over white teeth as his visor snapped on, illuminating the sharp features of the spy's face. He lounged on Prowl's berth, hand lazily supporting his head as the other arm was draped along his entire side. He looked very comfortable. More importantly, Jazz looked like he owned the berth.

Jazz sat up in one disturbingly fluid movement, clawed hand wrapping around a cube of energon that had been previously resting on Prowl's bare berth. He got to his feet with the same grace, visor narrowing to a dull hue as he practically pranced up to the tactician. He leaned in; face inches away from the smooth welds that crisscrossed Prowl's abdomen. It was almost with a casual curiosity and it took a lot for Prowl not to step back. Slowly Jazz looked up, meeting Prowl's stern optics.

"Good ta see ya standin'." He purred.

"The same applies to you." The tactician returned but it was said guardedly. It was hard to tell where he stood with the spy. Considering, he wasn't sure if Jazz blamed him for his current… 'demotion'.

Jazz pranced past Prowl with the same elegant gait, his shoulder mere centimeters from grazing Prowl's as he passed. Prowl followed the spy's movements so as not to expose his back to Jazz. The spy pretended not to notice as he traversed along the edge of the desk, running a single talon along the smooth metal.

He stopped at the data pads, using his hands to walk up them before turning one on with a swift flick of a sharp claw. He leaned in with the same casual curiosity as he had with Prowl's wounds.

"Really?" He tutted, picking up the data pad and holding it over his shoulder for Prowl to see. The tactician visibly bristled, armor flaring as he reached out to grab the data pad. His fingers were almost brushing against the warm metal before Jazz pulled it away, carelessly tossing it. Prowl watched with a silent horror as it clattered to the ground, bouncing a few times before lying flat on its screen.

Prowl felt an odd heat burn at his face as he held his mouth open in disbelief. He wasn't one to often get mad. In fact, Prowl prided himself on his almost unending patience but this snapped it brutally.

Jazz turned around crossing his arms over his chest as he struck a rather scolding pose. He was just in time to see Prowl's door wings shoot up and go rigid and his blue optics narrow to mere slits. He seethed, silently.

Jazz shook his head. "Just outta stasis and you're already gettin' to working?" He questioned.

Prowl's frown seemed to grow if that was even possible and he took one quick glance to his data pads and the certain spy that stood between him and them.

"Move out of my way, Jazz." He snapped rather harshly.

"Nope." Jazz taunted, leaning his entire weight on the desk as if in challenge.

"Jazz."

"Not happening." He added just edging on Prowl with a single glance. The tactician pulled back ever so slightly. He wasn't foolish. Even in top condition, even with Jazz's smaller stature; he wouldn't be able to move Jazz. The mech was fast, cunning, and trained far better than Prowl would ever be in hand to hand combat.

"An army does not run itself." Prowl explained, trying to reason with Jazz. His tone was still rough around the edges and his frustration bled through.

Jazz snorted loudly. "An no armies run by one mech. Ya got replacements to take care of that, while you're resting."

Prowl sighed once before moving to step around Jazz and reach for his work but the spy instantly put his body between them.

"Please." Prowl began, taking a visible breath. "I need to do my reports." He begged.

Jazz seemed to pause. He looked away in thought, as if he was actually considering it before he turned back with a wicked grin that split his face.

Nope!" He sang out. "You're on medical leave mech. Do I have to call Ratchet?" He added and Prowl physically paused, wings striking upright at the threat. Jazz was scary. Ratchet was far worse.

"You are bluffing." Prowl growled, optic narrowing to thin, almost nonexistent slit as he stared down the spy. He flattened his reserve before adding, "You don't have access to his comm. number."

Jazz snorted. "Ya wanna bet, Prowler?" He bounced away, just out of arms reach of the tactician. He was smirking viciously as he did this, stopping and placing a single hand on the side of his head, as if he was preparing to call someone.

Prowl let the calculations run through his head and by Jazz's actions, he didn't think that the spy was bluffing. He wasn't sure how the mech would have gotten Ratchet's comm. codes but it certainly wasn't impossible.

As if reading his mind, Jazz gave a crooked leer. "Meh and Ratch became good friends after he put meh back together. He was the one who visited meh in the brig." He explained.

"Of course you two would get along." Prowl muttered under his breath. He shook his head before flicking his optics to his datapads in a sort of longing way. He released a loud sigh, moving back to sit in the small chair that had been shoved away from the desk, in their shenanigans. Prowl gestured absently.

"So what now?" The tactician asked.

"Ah was beginning to think ya'd never ask." Jazz purred pulling something out of his subspace. It was a dark bottle of some sort. He shook it around with a large, toothy grin and the thick liquid sloshed around. Prowl cocked his head to the side.

"Is that?"

"Yep." Jazz answered, looking at the bottle with a fondness. "High grade. Pretty potent too. Got more than this too." He continued.

Prowl shook his head. Logically, he should decline and confiscate the most likely illegal brew but it had been a very long day for Prowl and without high grade, he figured it would only get longer.

He opened his mouth with all intentions of asking where the spy had acquired it but instead, "I think I have some glasses under my desk," came out. Prowl frowned but then shrugged it off. He had an inkling that Jazz had swiped it off of someone and Prowl narrowed it down to either one of the twins or Mirage.

Jazz got up from the desk, allowing Prowl the space to pull out a box. The tactician rummaged for only a second before pulling out the glasses that he mentioned. They were a nice crystal, a reminder of Praxis probably. Prowl handed Jazz one and the spy brought the glass to his visor to better examine it. He had a feeling that Prowl only brought these out on a special occasion.

Jazz gave a small, genuine smile before moving further into the room, sitting on the floor and leaning his back on the side of Prowl's bed. He waved the tactician over. Part of him knew that Prowl wasn't one to sit on floors, a "dignified" mech such as that but surprising to both of them Prowl sat, awkwardly.

"Ah got cards." Jazz stated, placing them down, between the two. After he did this he reached out, grabbing both glasses before pulling the bottle of high grade out and filling them both up rather generously. He handed the now full glass to Prowl who took it easily enough. With a wry grin he held out the glass.

"To surviving another day?" Prowl intoned. Jazz smirked, nodding his head before reaching out and clinking his glass against Prowl's.

"Ah can drink to that." He hummed.

Author's note- This is long overdue but I got swept up in the holidays. I'm sure you guys know how that goes. So… What do you guys think?