Title: Echoes of the Past
Authors: Tirya King and DesertCat87
Timeframe: Except for the Prologue, this takes place in the past when Jazz and Prowl were very young.
Summary: What happens in the past can lead to who one is in the future. And Jazz and Prowl were about as different back then as they are now.
Disclaimer: We do not own Transformers. We do own the following: Patchjob, Hazard, Hex, Backfire, Gunlock, Vivance, and any other oc's you may encounter
DeserCat87 Author's Notes: Woot! Another chapter fic! This one is gunna be fun too! I just wanna thank Tirya for letting me write along with her. :D Now, that's all I got to say this round, thanks again everyone and remember: reviews are an author's best friend!
Tirya's A/N: Well here we go with something new! This is my first published collaboration with someone else, and I'm wicked excited about it. Thank you, Des, for agreeing to write this with me. I hope everyone enjoys this! We're in for a wild ride!
Things you should know: This takes place in the same universe as 'Nurture vs. Nature,' but happens many years beforehand. The characters that you may recognize from Des's stories are very similar to their originals in personality and occupation, but remember, this is a different universe. They are not the same.
Echoes of the Past
Prologue: Present of the Past
"Jazz, please stop trying to sit up. You will only aggravate your wound further."
"I'm fine, man. I'm sick o' lyin' around like some lump o' slag metal."
Prowl shook his head, feeling his door panels twitch slightly in irritation. After taking a missile right in the chest, most bots would be bed-ridden for weeks. Yet after only a few days of rest and healing, the special operations officer insisted he was just fine. He was never one to stay still for long and, for him, a week was quite long enough.
Why he was so itchy to get back to work, Prowl didn't think he would ever understand. It wasn't as though Jazz had nothing to do while he was here. All his friends had taken turns sitting with him in his quarters after Ratchet had thrown him out for 'driving him insane.' It seemed the CMO wouldn't stand stir-crazy officers any longer than he had to. For the time being, Jazz had been confined to quarters with strict instructions to stay there on his berth and not move. If he needed something, he could call someone.
"You are not fine. You will not be fine for another week at least. Try to relax." Prowl had a megacycle off before he met with Prime for a debrief, so for the moment he was free to try his luck at calming his friend down.
"Relax?" Jazz frowned, but did lay back down anyway. "How can I relax, man? It's boring in here. It's too quiet. You know I hate the quiet."
Prowl's gaze became more sympathetic. "I know." His friend did indeed look miserable to be stuck in here while the rest of the world went on without him. Despite the loud, nearly deafening, music that continuously played, Jazz wanted more. Louder. So loud that he forgot that for the majority of the time, he had only himself for company while everyone else was on duty.
Searching his subspace pockets, the tactician finally found what he was looking for. He was never one for get-well gifts or other such things. But he figured the wounded Porsche might need this. He'd gotten it a while ago and now seemed as good a time to give it as any. "Jazz," he said, offering a plain, unmarked disc. "Perhaps this might help?"
The younger officer took the offered disc and stared at it for a moment. "What is it?" he asked curiously.
Prowl did not let even the hint of a smile show on his face, but his optics crinkled at the edges. "Play it and see for yourself."
Not one to turn down any sort of music, Jazz did as he was told, replacing 'System of a Down' with the mysterious gift. The sound that came out was nothing like he'd ever heard on this planet, yet he knew it so well. With a sudden realization, his face went slack. No, it was no music one would find on Earth.
It was from Cybertron.
"Viv," he whispered, hearing the trilling notes and the voices reaching a beautiful crescendo. The music flowed around him, making him feel safe and warm like he hadn't felt in years. This was his creator's favorite orchestra from Cybertron; she'd taken him to hear them many many times. Of course she had owned all of their music and he'd quickly learned to love it as well. But… "Prowl, wasn't this…"
"No," the tactician shook his head. "It took some considerable searching, but I found a copy still in existence. I thought you may like it while you are confined to quarters." So much of the Cybertron's beautiful culture had long been eradicated due to the war. Many things, like these older recordings, were true treasures.
Jazz looked back at his best friend, not knowing how to thank him for this gift. However he knew Prowl understood how much this meant to him, so he didn't even try. Instead he chose humor as was his habit when things got too serious. "So is this repayment for scratching that other one?" he teased, grinning.
The Datsun sat up straighter, door panels upright and proud. "I did no such thing," he denied. "Jazz, that was millions of years ago, and you still insist…"
"Dude, you did! You scratched her favorite cd and oh man was she ready to skin you alive." The years seemed to melt off him as he tossed back another jibe. An easy grin made its way to Jazz's face, reminding his friend of the young maverick he had first known.
Giving him a long-suffering dry look Prowl said, "I don't have skin."
Jazz waved his left hand flippantly. Details. "Anyway, the point is, you scratched it. No wonder Vivi didn't invite you around so much after that."
"On the contrary, she seemed to think I was a good influence on you."
The injured Porsche laughed at that and even Prowl managed a small smile. The rest of the visit was spent in companionable silence as each remembered days long passed. A time when life was, if not happier, at least much simpler.
In the background, the old orchestra played on.