Author's note: Well, I knew I'd end up doing an Animated JazzxProwl. My take on Prowl is one of my "what if" tangents. You might consider it a could-be-canon-but-it-isn't type of thing--something that struck me as interesting to play with. So please don't scream at me about it, mmkay?

And this is also one of the rare fics where I jump POV's. Both muses wanted their say, so I gave it to them.





"Love is seeing an imperfect person perfectly." --Sam Keen


Jazz felt his full lips curl in a grin. Prowl hadn't noticed him yet. He tip-toed forward like a feline, measuring every step to ensure his silence. Fifty feet. Thirty feet. Ten feet. Five feet--

--and then the brewing storm's first raindrop chose that nanosecond to fall. Jazz winced when it hit his shoulder with an audible plop. In the relative quiet the sound seemed louder than cannon fire.


"May I help you, Jazz?" Prowl asked without turning around. His voice hardly rose above a monotone, always quiet, reserved, controlled.

"Man, you're good," Jazz had to admit it.


"Necessity, or paranoia?"

"My previous question still stands."

Jazz balanced on the roof's edge beside his quiet companion. Sleek was the word that came to mind when he first spotted Prowl standing like a gargoyle on the warehouse roof. The cloudy sky held the dark Autobot's complete attention. No problem there--Jazz enjoyed the view--but what was it about Prowl that sent electricity surging through his circuitry? Ever since he came to Earth, Jazz couldn't get that graceful black and gold mech out of his mind. From the moment he saw Prowl fight he was transfixed.

He...had style. His own style. It might have made him invisible to others...but Jazz took notice immediately.

"Just came to see what you're up to." His creamy-smooth voice communed with the wind, "They're playin' video games inside. Pretty fun. You ever try?"

"And risk Bumblebee's running commentary rusting my neural circuitry?" Prowl replied dryly. "No, thanks. I'd rather watch this storm. This world is full of beautiful, natural wonders and the organics are blind to it. They look, but never see the gloriousness that surrounds them. They can't stand the pace of nature, of stillness. How can they not find fascination in the way a snail creeps over wood, or how a spider builds its web?"

Lightning flashed after he spoke. For that instant he seemed to glow and shimmers traced his visor. His mouth relaxed as if the lightning had a soothing effect on his body. He had razor-thin lips that made his chin look almost too long, and the bottom one stuck out a little to give the impression of pouting. Jazz wondered what those lips tasted like. Were they soft? Hard? Pliable? Pondering it made his innards quiver. If things went his way, he'd know before the night was over.

"Can't say that I have. But, if it makes you feel any better, I like the trees."

Prowl nodded without speaking and refocused on the swirling clouds. He kept his arms at his sides, his posture utterly relaxed. His stillness was so absolute that he could pass for a statue. Just by looking, Jazz saw the self-discipline and years of training he spent living the martial arts lifestyle.

"Bumblebee doesn't get you at all. I asked him where you were and he was all 'probably doing that stillness thing he always does.' I was lucky to get that much, seeing as he an' Sari were intent on their game." Jazz shook his head, amused. "I guess your teammates don't get the Metallikato and Circuit-Su lifestyle."

"No, they don't." Prowl's lips thinned even more.

Jazz rubbed his chin. The smell of opportunity was too good to pass up. "I bet I could annoy you worse than Bumblebee."

"Humor me," the motorcycle deadpanned.

"Okay. Spar me. I guarantee I'll make you squirm."

Sighing, probably annoyed already, Prowl eased into a defensive stance. Jazz easily recognized this as an advanced posture. Prowl wasn't a master yet--which made Jazz wonder why he didn't continue his training. Why did he leave when just one more century would've guaranteed him a place in the Elite guard?

"What are the boundaries for this match?" asked Prowl.

"The roof. You lose if you fall off. How's that?"

Prowl nodded once.

Jazz leapt without taking a stance.

Prowl remained still until Jazz extended his leg in a kick. Then he gracefully sidestepped and swung around for a chop. Jazz caught his exposed arm, pinned it to his back and shoved him to the ground.

"You're not guarding your left side. That'll cost--"

Reality somersaulted as Prowl pushed off with his other arm. This rolling action shifted them closer to the roof's edge. He had just enough leverage to clamp his legs around Jazz's knees. Then, growling with effort, he twisted. The pain made Jazz see stars. His legs weren't meant to bend that direction and every sensory node in his knee joints flashed warnings of imminent dislocation. This move used to take him down every time in training. He refused to tap out and lose this match!

"Primus," Jazz grunted through clenched teeth. Devoid of choices, he reached back and delivered a hard chop against Prowl's ankle. His aim was dead on, temporarily shorting the sensory node controlling Prowl's foot. The pressure on his knees instantly vanished. He spun and drove the heel of his hand into Prowl's brow.

Prowl almost tumbled off the roof. Jazz's reflexes saved him. He felt the other ninja's hands clutching onto his arm like vices.

"Whoa, you okay there?" So much for our spar...

"Fine," Prowl said coolly. His face remained composed despite his near disaster. He did not meet Jazz's gaze right away. "You won. Impressive."

"Thanks. Now for the annoying part." A sweep of motion had Jazz sitting on the now-supine Prowl's stomach. Prowl's very smooth stomach, he noted amusedly. Was there any part of Prowl that wasn't perfect?

Heavy rain broke through the clouds and pounded anything foolish enough to stand in its path. Jazz watched it bead on Prowl's dark armor before it rolled off in glistening streams. Its syncopated per-plunk-plunk-plunk filled the heavy night air like percussion.

Prowl just gazed languidly up at him. "And how is this supposed to annoy me?"

"I ain't finished."

Jazz traced the gold stripe running across Prowl's chest, using a touch feather-light enough to confuse his sensors. It was an old Metallikato technique often utilized for interrogation. It got the desired result--Prowl squirmed. His sensors didn't know whether to interpret the touch as pleasure or pain. Jazz grinned and moved his fingertip towards Prowl's face. Now if he could just pop that visor up...

Prowl's response was fast. Jazz's world flipped and he found himself pinned beneath the smaller mech's weight.

"Never touch my visor," Prowl whispered, his voice a sibilant hiss sharper than the bladed throwing disk he held to Jazz's throat.

Jazz raised both hands. As nice as it was to have Prowl straddling his stomach, he wasn't too keen on having pointy objects anywhere near his most vital energon lines. Prowl's reaction told him he took the game too far, so he acquiesced. "Hey, man! Keep it cool, I'm just--"

"I don't care." The tone in Prowl's voice carried more danger than the lightning flashing above him. He embodied the storm itself. "Don't touch it."

"Okay, okay...geez. What'cha hiding under there?"


Why did that single word carry the weight of Cybertron itself? Jazz squinted behind his visor. His sensors detected a subtle increase of coolant and energon pumping through Prowl's body. Every emotion had its own beat, like music, and Jazz could pick the rhythms out regardless of a mech's make.

And right now, Prowl was ashamed. Outwardly he looked unbothered--inside, he was crumpling up like one of Sari's bubblegum wrappers.

"Hey..." Jazz whispered, "I won't tell anybody anything. If there's anything I'm good at, it's keepin' secrets. The whole 'with threat of death' is enough to keep my mouth shut."

"Until you're tortured, which is worse than death." Prowl slid off him with the grace of a feline and uncurled to his full height. His back remained turned. Raindrops trickled over his armor. It wasn't like him to be so unsure.

"Prowl, I'm a ninja too, in case ya forgot. I can handle it. C'mon, whatever it is it's eatin' you alive inside. I sense it."

"Swear you will never tell anyone." Not a question, a command. "Swear that I can trust you. Swear that you will not make my life forfeit by revealing it to another living being."

Jazz's optics widened behind his visor. This was more serious than he previously thought. The pact being asked of him meant Prowl had the right to kill him if he ever gave this information to anyone else. He wondered--was Prowl once a femme? Did he assassinate a high ranking official? He had to know before this secret crushed Prowl from the inside.

"I swear."

"On your life?"


Jazz heard a click and saw Prowl's left hand lower with the visor in it. For a nanosecond the whole world halted, frozen in the shimmers dancing off the visor's sharp points.

"Sometimes things go wrong on the assembly line. One mech in a million. that one."

"Ah! Did the machine give you red eyes or something?" Jazz leaned forward expectantly. Maybe Prowl was built to be a Decepticon and defected, and the visor covered the truth. "That ain't so bad. Red optics would actually suit--"

Prowl turned around and the rain cascaded over his face like tears. Except, for him, shedding tears would be impossible because he had no eyes. There was nothing--no optic glass and no indentations marking where eyes should be. His visor attached to a horizontal port protruding from the bridge of his nose. The bare connecting pins glistened eerily in the gloomy light.

"You're blind!" Jazz gasped. He took a momentary step backwards to make sense of this new realization. Mechs with such a severe physical flaw were often destroyed before a Spark could enter their body. Whoever was checking must have gotten lazy the day Prowl rolled by. "I had no do you--"

"My visor translates electromagnetic waves through oscillators within my central processors. Every color has its own frequency. By observing them I quite literally feel my environment. Light, shadows, even the frequencies of different colors. I 'see' better at close range, however, and I can watch television and read text as long as it contrasts against the background." Prowl said, speaking as if he'd rehearsed it. He thumbed the edge of his visor while he held it in his palm. His servos were fraught with tension, the rigidity not allowing even a tremble to escape his body.

"You can't wire a line to your visual processors?"

Prowl's lips tightened against his front teeth. "I don't have any visual processors."

Wow...that's a big mess-up on the assembly line. Jazz's gaze flicked between the visor and Prowl's eyeless, rain-soaked face. The explanation of how the visor worked made sense, but he couldn't imagine being able to interpret a bunch of buzzing inside his head. In fact, he couldn't even imagine having no visual perception at all. He just couldn't fathom it.

"What about Sari's key?" he asked.

Prowl shook his head. "Sari's key can't repair me. She utilized it once before and only the injuries I sustained at the time were healed. The key can't give me what I never had."

Jazz forcefully squelched a wave of pity. No, pity was for those who were utterly helpless and Prowl proved himself fully capable of handling himself. But he still felt bad that Prowl couldn't see the beauty of the sunsets he so dearly loved. He didn't know what a flower truly looked like. A bunch of vibrations couldn't possibly replace rainbows or the sheen of light dancing over waxed chrome.

"It is my greatest...shame," Prowl went on without emotion. "Do you have any idea what a compactor feels like, Jazz?"

They were just words, but they cut deeper than any blade.

Primus...he survived a scrap yard...

"Prowl," Jazz whispered, extending his hand to touch the blank space where an optic should have existed. The truth frightened him a little--if just a rumor of this got out, there'd be a price on Prowl's head within minutes. He'd be hunted down like a criminal whose only crime was to be physically imperfect.

Prowl's lack of eyes didn't bother Jazz in the least once he got used to it. Within seconds he just saw it as another thing that made Prowl, well, Prowl.

He went on, "Whoever threw you in the heap is blinder than you are. 'Cause what kind of idiot would toss away a treasure?"

"Oh! You're just saying that out of pity." Prowl's frame tensed until his joints whined in protest. "I loathe pity."

"No, Prowl. I mean it."

Jazz felt a nimble hand cup his face. Touch, he guessed, was Prowl's strongest sense and what he relied on more than his audios or visor. That meant Prowl could feel the air shifting around him, allowing him to detect the subtle disturbances caused by anything solid moving nearby. Jazz realized the storm's first raindrop hadn't given him away--it was his body blocking the wind.

"Why me?" Prowl whispered, "Out of all the Autobots here, you become attracted to me. Why?"

"Because we have a lot in common. We're both ninjas with some sweet moves, for one. Secondly, I think you're one fine-looking mech."

The compliment went by without acknowledgement, though Jazz didn't miss the slight upward curl of Prowl's mouth. His intakes came faster as those feather-light fingertips outlined his full lips. Then they shifted upwards to ghost over his visor.

"Nice visor."

"Heh, thanks. And since you took yours off..." Jazz retracted it and guided Prowl's fingers to his spindle shaped eyes. "We...have the same mold of face, you know. Yours eyes probably would've looked like mine. I got blue optics, by the way."

"I know." Prowl put his own visor back on, erasing his odd vulnerability. His now-free hand brushed the other side of Jazz's face. He looked content studying Jazz's features in the manner that came most naturally to him. Vibrations couldn't possibly replace things like surface textures.

"Don't those oscillators get annoying? I mean--" he froze as careful fingertips circled his audios, unwittingly setting off a chain reaction of arousal, "--my face must make your head buzz like a bad muffler."

A wry smile tugged Prowl's mouth into a tilted line. "No."

Primus, his lips were right there...Jazz felt their warmth even though they were a foot away from his face. The air between them heated until the rain had no hope of quelling the increasing conflagration.

"Hey, Prowl..."


Jazz forgot caution and tasted that fire. Electricity leapt through his processors faster than the lightning passing overhead. Prowl's mouth was everything he imagined and more. He felt the other mech stiffen in surprise--and accept. Prowl's answering kiss was clumsy, inexperienced, but Jazz didn't mind. He was proud to be the first.

" see the world with your whole body, do ya, Prowl?" Jazz grinned.

"Yes." Prowl gasped, clearly flummoxed.

"Cool," his grin widened, "Then watch this."

Jazz brushed his lips across Prowl's jaw while his hands felt their way over the curves of his jet packs. Prowl's body stiffened in response to the unexpected, unrestrained touch. By Primus, his chassis was so smooth. Jazz trailed his glossa up the length of Prowl's neck, tasting the rain and all the years he spent wandering alone.

Prowl made no attempts at encouraging or discouraging the action. At most, he stiffened and his hands quivered.

"How do I look to you now?" Jazz whispered into the audio sensor beneath his lips. How strange that this moment lasted as long as it felt short. Forever seemed too far away and ended in the blink of an optic.

Prowl's intakes cycled a mile a second. The control he prided himself on began to slip away in the swirl of emotions surrounding them. His voice shook with the strain against his calm mask. "S-stunning."

Thunder smashed into the landscape and spread out over the area like a shockwave.

"Sweet," Jazz paused an instant to admire the rain sheen on Prowl's cheeks. "Let's try a deeper kiss. Tilt your head to the left a little--that's it. Now relax. Relax..." He captured that fire again, but this time he opened his mouth and gently suckled each of Prowl's lips in turn. His circuits roiled upon Prowl responding in kind. So he learned fast., excellent. Jazz opened his mouth a little more and let his tongue sweep across the silky space between Prowl's lips. He felt Prowl's glossa rise with the grace of a serpent--and suddenly their kiss became more electric than the sky.

Jazz loved it when Prowl raked his tongue against his teeth, and he discovered Prowl's knees knocked when he wrote their names on the bottom of his glossa. They cycled air simultaneously, breathing as one being while their breath made love to the raindrops falling across their lips. Jazz's body crackled with built-up static and he felt a buzz building between Prowl's teeth. It wasn't long before their movements created tiny electrical sparks. There was no world beyond the sizzling sensory experience pressing itself into existence amidst their hungry lips.

Then, with startling suddenness, Prowl shoved Jazz away and sprang up like a nimble feline. He caught a limb of the tree protruding through the roof and used the branches as parallel bars to propel himself closer to the topmost boughs, his swinging form a liquid shadow flowing between lightning flashes. He did not make a single sound.

Jazz got the silent message.


"Awesome." He back-flipped onto the nearest branch and swung up to sit against the tree trunk with his legs dangling off either side. Above him, Prowl hung upside down. He was an ornament, a creature of the night...something of legend. The tree moved and he swayed right along as part of it, completely unbothered by the storm.

"Do you know why rain fascinates me?"

"Hmm, nope."

Prowl scooted forward so their faces were mere inches apart. "I can hear everything."

Rain dribbled into the thin depression between his lips. Leaning forward, Jazz caught it on the tip of his tongue. He was surprised when Prowl's lips latched on, pulling him into a slow, upside-down lip-lock. His circuits sizzled--was this a sign the attraction he felt wasn't entirely one-sided?

"Listen to it," whispered Prowl between kisses.

Jazz offlined his optics, rendering himself blind. Disorienting at first--even scary with the tree rocking around him. Rain surrounded them in an impenetrable sound wall. He heard it tinkling over the metal warehouse rooftop, pattering on the cement far below and slapping against the tree itself. He smelled the greenery and wet earth. Moist air cooled his cheek. Prowl's kiss tasted like the storm itself--dark, hot and a little dangerous. Even his clumsiest kisses had grace.

"I hear it, Prowl." Jazz brought his optics online when the branch trembled. Prowl now sat in front of him, their dangling legs bumping at the knee and calf. "S'music to my ears."

"So is the sound of your voice," Prowl replied matter-of-factly.

Jazz smiled and watched another rain drop trickle the entire length of Prowl's torso. He knew Prowl could measure its progress inch by inch. "Glad ya like it, Prowl."

Prowl turned his head away, focusing on the rain drops spilling through the leaves. He put on a great air of calm collectedness, but the readings his internals gave off said quite the opposite. He wasn't as sure as he tried to appear. Being kissed and touched rattled him to the core, and he had no idea how he should respond to this attention.

"Prowl," Jazz reached out.

"I've never--"

"Hey, it's cool with me. B'sides, this is about you. Just feel it, Prowl."

"I...can't!" Prowl stiffened noticeably the next time Jazz leaned in for a kiss. There was a flutter of motion and Jazz found himself gazing at the empty air. His companion had darted all the way to the end of the branch.

It finally occurred to Jazz that he probably moved a little too quickly. He kicked himself mentally. How selfish of him to presume Prowl would just fall happily into his arms and allow any sexual ministration be placed upon him! For the Pit's sake he hadn't been touched so intimately before in his life!

"Hey, Prowl!" The remorse Jazz felt showed through his voice, "I'm sorry...I guess I got carried away. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he muttered. "I--just need some time alone. Ex-excuse me."


Without another word, Prowl dropped gracefully through the branches and into his personal warehouse quarters. The shadows swallowed him whole while the bough he just occupied swung gently in the rain.

Jazz hung his head and sighed. His earlier elation stayed with the storm rapidly blowing itself towards the east. He was a total jerk tonight and knew it.

I better make it up to him.


Four days passed Jazz in a blur. He spent them distracted, even slightly irritable, because he couldn't get Prowl out of his mind. Things were quiet Decepticon-wise. He was glad for that--in his muddled state he doubted he'd be able to fight properly. Sentinel Prime didn't make thinking any easier. That mech was a loudmouth, but he wasn't an idiot--he easily figured out the source of Jazz's foul mood and engaged in a little light teasing.

"Rejected? Poor guy."

"Weld it," Jazz growled.

"Oh, come on. What do you see in him anyway? He's the most sullen mech I've ever seen."

"He has reasons."

"Or a flare for the dramatic like the rest of you ninjas."

"You're so stunned! Do you enjoy lumpin' us together in the same mold?"

Sentinel's mouth uncurled in a sly grin. He shrugged and Jazz wished his conduct regulations would disappear for the three seconds he'd need to stuff a nunchuku down his superior officer's throat. Then he decided that would be a waste of a good weapon and let it go.

"Man, whatever!"

Jazz did not appreciate being ribbed about this matter. That said, he went off on a solo drive so he wouldn't get himself arrested for assault.

Jerk, what does he know? Jazz fought to cool his temper. Prowl was something special, like a wonderful treasure buried under garbage. And during a war like this, Jazz knew he couldn't afford to waffle on these feelings. Not when the next second could mean total annihilation.

He didn't realize he blew a traffic light until a semi horn blared in his audios. Quick turning on his part saved him from being T-boned in the intersection. Humans cursed at him.

Jazz drove the next block in sullen silence.

I need to get him something. But what? Something stylish? No,'s gotta appeal to his tastes, but be something only I could come up with. Music ain't gonna do it for him--

A soft, hollow clattering noise made Jazz slam on his breaks--thank Primus nobody was behind him. He backed up towards the objects responsible for the sound. They were such simple little things--six rods of hollowed wood arranged in a circle with a piece in the middle that made them clatter whenever the wind blew. Two others appeared nothing more than a horizontal rod with bamboo strung up underneath like a fringe.

"For the nature lover in you." The sign below them said.


"Hey, Bumblebee!" Jazz radioed, "You awake?"


"Yeah. Hey, think you can bug Prowl for awhile? I want to surprise him with something. Can you keep him in the warehouse for...oh--twenty minutes?"

Bumblebee's voice took on an air of superiority. "No problem. But you owe me game time for this."

Unbothered, Jazz rocked on his wheels. "Awesome! Thanks a lot, man!"

He closed his com-link and transformed one arm to reach for the strange, alien artifacts. They were delicate and small, requiring his gentlest touch.

"Hey!" The short, bald shopkeeper burst through the glass door. "You better pay for those wind chimes, buddy!"

"Ack!" Jazz backed off a few feet, startled. "Huh? Pay?"

The man's face turned brilliant red. He stuck out his hand. "Yeah! Pay! Or do I need to call the cops?"

"Ah, sorry. Here," Jazz opened his side door and dumped a small energon cube onto the human's palm. Then he peeled out, completely unaware of his currency blunder. "Thanks!"

"Hey! This isn't--" the angry human's voice faded behind the sound of Jazz's engine.

Getting to the warehouse took five minutes thanks to the light traffic. Nobody paid any mind to the sports car with an arm holding wind chimes driving down the road.

Jazz assumed his bipedal form and peeked in the window. Bumblebee had Prowl teaching him a few Metallikato stances. Good. Excellent! Grinning audio to audio, Jazz leapt onto the roof and scaled the giant tree. It was breezy--another plus that seemed more like an omen.

It took him over ten minutes to tie each set of chimes to the topmost branches--Jazz would never forgive himself if he broke the strings--but the results pleased him. There were four chimes, one for each direction, and they created the most beautiful hollow clatter. The circular chimes hung from north and south while the bamboo rows dangled east and west. Together, the chimes sounded similar to rain, or even a rushing stream. Their tone varied depending on how the wind played with them.

Jazz made himself scarce amidst the beams of the warehouse eves. Not a moment too soon--Prowl emerged muttering to himself about Bumblebee's inability to focus on anything requiring patience.

A breeze stirred the chimes.

Prowl looked up. His mouth tightened and in three quick leaps he was at the top of the tree, examining each chime in turn. Another gust sent all four sets clattering in hollow waterfalls of sound.

Prowl smiled. A real smile, not some tight-lipped mockery restrained by his iron control. The tree swayed and he sank to sit on the first branch hefty enough for his weight.

"You can come out now, Jazz."

Oh, he's good. Jazz thought as he emerged from his hiding place. Of course he couldn't hide--his presence changed the way the wind sounded rushing past the building. A sheepish grin tugged his pouty lips. "If ya listen real close, they spell out 'I'm sorry for being a jerk and I hope you don't hate me.'"

Gently, as if it might break, Prowl cupped his hand under the western chime. "In ancient human history, wind chimes were used to bring good fortune and promote meditation."

"Like 'em?" Jazz's hopes rode on the gently rattling objects hanging above Prowl's head.

"Yes," Then, dropping his voice no higher than a whisper, Prowl said, "Thank you."

"Welcome." He rubbed the back of his neck. It wasn't often that he had to suffer through awkward moments like this. "'re...not mad?"

"I--never was."


Prowl looked down at him. He scrunched his mouth as if the admission tasted sour. "You made me feel sensations I am not accustomed to. I...should apologize for running rather than explaining myself."

"Oh, don't worry about it." Jazz remarked. He swung himself up to perch next to Prowl. "It's cool with me."

"Aren't you forgiving me a little too easily?"

"Nah." Jazz's smooth reserve came back like sunshine pouring between clouds. "You're worth it."


"You're worth it."

That's what Jazz said over an hour ago. Prowl hadn't moved from his perch beneath the beautiful gifts clicking in the breeze. They were perfect chimes--each breath of wind sent sound spiraling around the tree like a protective aura threading itself through the whispering leaves. He could lose himself for days in this new harmony.

Sighing, Prowl let his mind meander into the sunset he knew burned at his back. Telling Jazz his secret left him deeply unsettled all week. He didn't know what possessed him to reveal it so easily and he wished he could take it back. What if it slipped out in casual conversation? The shame it'd incur. Optimus and the others would start treating him completely different. He'd hear pity in their voices. He'd be ridiculed. Someone could even report him to Ultra Magnus and have him "mercy killed." For that reason alone, Prowl didn't trust anyone until recently, on a day where his self esteem was particularly low. The revelation was impulsive, stupid and potentially deadly. What if he did something foolish that made Jazz his enemy? Even if he were to kill him for telling the secret, the damage would be done!

Speaking of Jazz...that mech with a voice like smooth cream matching exactly the texture of the mouth from which it came...Prowl suppressed the shiver in his servos. He never used to give interfacing much thought--mostly a result of never allowing anyone close enough to feel such sensations. Falling in love meant bonding, and bonding meant his shame entering the light. Keeping to himself, moving like a ghost through shadows seemed like the logical choice. Let no one near, lest they learn the truth. Social graces were one of the many sacrifices he had to make.

But in the end, did it make me any happier? Prowl questioned himself. How strange it is to feel lonely with people a mere thirty feet beneath me.

Resentment painted black lines through his consciousness. It was society's fault he had to create his visor just to keep his blindness secret. Any mech with irreparable flaws ended up in the scrap yard. Those who managed to survive were often killed out of mercy. Whoever escaped self-exiled to live amongst their own kind. In all of Cybertron's history the population of flawed Cybertronians probably numbered in the hundreds. They were the people shut away and never spoken of. Shame drove many to suicide. Some even believed their Sparks were automatically Pit-bound for daring to enter such flawed bodies.

Earth showed a different face to its disabled. Prowl noticed the compassion right away. Humans unable to walk used crutches or wheelchairs. The deaf used their hands to speak and the blind had a tactile reading system and walked unashamed with the aid of white canes, dogs or small robots programmed to guide them. Even the mentally disabled--those with autism, Downs syndrome, dementias like Alzheimer's and various mental illnesses--were cared for by their average peers.

Prowl swallowed the anger building in his throat. The wind chimes and a deep intake cycle were all it took to squelch it. Jazz was proof that not every Cybertronian would see him as inferior garbage.

But how could one person compete against millions?

And we are right back where we started... Prowl mused.


He gazed at the base of the tree, "Yes, Jazz?"

"Bulkhead's makin' some oil shakes. C'mon down and have one."

How strange...the simple sound of Jazz's voice made Prowl feel less lonely. It was like sitting on his own island and Jazz became a boat passing nearby. He had two options--let the boat go and stay alone, or jump on and go forward on a new journey with a companion. If he let this chance pass, how long would it be until another arrived? What if another never came?


Prowl ran his fingers over a twig. The scratchy bark gave way to the leathery softness of leaves--boat-shaped leaves--that he cradled gently on his palm. When he realized he couldn't stall forever, he tipped his head towards the rattling wind chimes and made his choice.

Two minutes later, he found himself sandwiched between Jazz and Bumblebee. Their laughter surrounded him. With the hot oil shake firmly held in both hands so flying elbows wouldn't spill it, he sipped the smoothness and observed the video game Jazz and Bumblebee were playing. It was a race driving game of some sort. Prowl didn't see the logic in it. How could Bumblebee spend hours controlling a virtual machine when he had four wheels and an engine of his own? Was technology that huge a draw?

"No! Turn, turn! Ack!"

"Sweet! I'm winning!"

"I am SO coming for you."

"Uh-huh, then why did I just cross the finish line first?"

"Jazz? The white flag means there's one lap to go. Therefore...I hope my dust tastes good, 'cause you're gonna eat it!"


Their laughter shattered the noises from the TV.

Prowl stiffened when Bumblebee's elbow jabbed his side. The little yellow bot could never sit still while playing this particular game. Buttons clicked and joysticks creaked. Bumblebee guided his car through the final lap.

"Yes!" he hopped off the couch, spun around and performed a backwards walk humans called 'the Moonwalk.' "Owned. P-W-N-E-D, owned!"

Jazz pointed and laughed, "Hey, what'cha call that move? Do it again!"

Bumblebee was happy to oblige. Prowl palmed his forehead when Jazz got up and did it. It was either do that or risk them both seeing the bemused smile threatening his lips. Once again Jazz proved his easygoing nature. Did anything rattle him?

Prowl sipped the last of his shake without slurping. The oily texture had the same smoothness as Jazz's voice.


He gasped and oil squirted into his intakes. A minute of coughing later found him glaring at Bumblebee.

"Hey, take it easy!" Bumblebee held up his hands, "I only called your name about five times. You were daydreaming." He held up the controller, "It's your turn. You and Jazz."

"I never--"

Jazz leaned over with that wonderful voice of his, "Be cool, Prowl. I wanted to play you. You're player one. Top of the screen."

"Oh, fine. But only one race." Prowl decided to humor them. He set his drink bucket down and adjusted his grip on the tiny controller.

Neither of them were any good at steering the virtual cars. Prowl had trouble because the colors on the screen were so similar and he couldn't read their vibrations properly. Jazz kept over-steering and spinning out on turns, and laughed every time he crashed.

Prowl realized he was actually enjoyed this round--finally the game seemed fair because he was playing against somebody on his skill level. Not having Bumblebee jeer in his audio also helped. And somewhere during the third lap, he realized he'd scooted over until he sat hip to hip and shoulder to shoulder with his opponent. Winning didn't matter because, in some odd way, he felt like he had a prize sitting right next to him.

Then, almost too soon, the race was over. Prowl won only because one of the computer-controlled cars pushed his vehicle over the finish line mid-crash.

"Sweet! Nice moves for a--"

Oh, Primus, here came the slip.

Time froze for half a millisecond. Prowl's world tunneled and ice filled his fuel tank. Reality spun in confusing swirls like sediment stirred underwater. Prowl felt himself stretch forward in slow motion, his sense of self a rubber band strung between the inevitable tick and tock of time.

"--tree hugger!"

Huh? Tree hugger?

Suddenly, he snapped back into the present and the universe regained its normal clarity.

Bumblebee laughed raucously, slapping his knees, "Ha! He can't believe he won! Check out his face!"

Better they thought he was in disbelief than recovering from a nasty scare. He relaxed, setting his controller aside. "I don't hug trees, I sit in them."

Jazz's soft chuckle set Prowl's circuitry tingling. He fought the urge to seek solitude because he knew he had to face this new direction in his life head on. These emotions were nothing to be afraid of.

How to deal with Bumblebee when their relationship became more apparent would take some thinking. Prowl knew he'd be crowing about the lovebirds the second he saw a kiss, a caress, or something as simple as--

"They're sitting so close together--their armor's squeaking," Prowl heard Bumblebee whispering.

"So?" Bulkhead plopped to sit next to the TV. Prowl's empty oil bucket tipped over in the small quake.

Another whisper, "I think they're pairing up."

"Um...that's none of our business."

"Oh, c'mon, this is Prowl, we're talking about. He's about as wooden as...well...wood!"

Jazz snickered and Prowl wished they would leave or stop discussing the current subject.

"What?" Ratchet barked as he walked in on the whispering. "Who?"

Optimus' presence was only apparent when he quietly cleared his throat. "Yes, Bumblebee, enlighten us."

"Somebody's dating?" Sari's voice joined the throng.

Bumblebee grinned and pointed towards the couch, and Prowl was sorry he turned his visor on to look at them.

"Ohhhhh," Sari giggled.

All at once, every optic in the room trained on Prowl and Jazz. Prowl hoped the floor had a hole big enough to swallow him whole. If there was anything he hated more than being talked about, it was having people stare at him.

"Wanna ditch this game and go somewhere private?" asked Jazz. How did he always seem to know exactly what Prowl was feeling?

Prowl didn't suppress his relieved sigh. "Yes, thank you."

He pretended not to hear Optimus inquiring about their swift departure. Escaping into the cool night air felt like emerging from imprisonment. He hurried towards the clattering wind chimes, eager to drink in their peaceful music.

"Wow, you're uptight." Jazz said from directly behind him. "Ya all right?"

Nodding, Prowl leaned back and shut off input from his visor. The oscillators peppering his motherboard stilled. "It was, as humans say, getting stuffy in there."

A chuckle from Jazz. The branch jiggled when he sat down. "Not a people person at all, are you?"


But Jazz obviously was. He could strike up a conversation with anybody and be having a grand old time within two minutes of introducing himself. While he had the capabilities to be still, he often chose not to. Even now, as they perched together on the branch, Prowl felt Jazz gently swinging his legs to some arcane rhythm.

"Hm. Prowl?"


"I need to kiss you."

Prowl's intakes paused. That nervous ripple from before bubbled up to coat his consciousness. "W-why?"

Jazz's voice was closer than before and carried a wide smile, "Because you're so attractive to me that I can't resist the gravitational pull of your mouth."

"Did you read that or make it up?"

"Does it matter?"


Prowl decided to act first. He took Jazz's face in his hands and eliminated the space between their lips. Jazz's soft, slick mouth tasted like the oil shakes they recently drank. Their tongues curled together in rhythm with the swaying branch on which they sat. He felt Jazz's talented hands sliding over his thighs. It felt so good, so good. His own hands were in motion, studying headlights, framework, joints and a smooth, aerodynamic chassis of almost liquid chrome. For the first time he felt like he saw Jazz the way he was meant to be seen.

"You are stunning," Prowl whispered. His innards ached in ways they never ached before. He had no idea his body could feel this way.

"Thanks," Jazz panted. He shuddered when Prowl traced one of his headlights. "Plug or port?"


"Your access..."

Ashamed, Prowl pulled out of the kiss. "I don't know." He planted his palms on Jazz's chest. His dim memories from the assembly line told him access ports were leftovers from wiring responsible for his basic programming. "I..."

"You never touched yourself?"

"No. I never felt the des--aaah!" Prowl's voice dissolved to a moan when Jazz's fingertips pressed against the apex of his thighs. His legs, torso and lips quivered violently as hot, tingling needles wreaked havoc upon his neural network. How could such a tiny port generate so much sensation?

"Jazz!" He rasped.

Jazz rubbed his thumb back and forth. "Feel good?"

Prowl's world tunneled. "Unh!"

"Port. You've got an innie." Jazz smiled, "Awesome."

"Wh-what--do you have?" Prowl struggled to remain upright through the electric deflagration buffeting his body.

"Plug. Outie."

Prowl felt Jazz guide his hand to something no longer than his fingertip. A warm, metallic jack plug with indentations running down its sides. The slightest graze of his fingertips made Jazz's body shiver.

He wanted to pull back--logic told him it was wrong to touch someone so intimately. This kind of touch meant intimacy. Intimacy meant letting someone close. Letting someone close meant vulnerability. Vulnerability meant--

"Prowl," Jazz whispered in his audio, "It's okay."

If only Prowl had the strength to believe it. He spent so long alone that he found himself reluctant to give up that solitude. A relationship required time, sharing secrets and, most of all, risk.

On Cybertron, two mechs began their courtship by up-linking. A means of saying "yes, I want to see you exclusively." Spark-bonding only happened when a pair was ready to commit forever. Prowl's mind reeled for excuses not to take this any further. They were in a war. Any time, any day, one or the other could die in battle. Or what if he or Jazz lost interest? What if he proved himself unworthy as a lover? What if--

His servos tingled as Jazz's lips brushed a silken line from his throat to his audio sensor. Electric desire created sparks around his exposed port. It was so powerful, so intense, like the buffeting heat of an incinerator blazing within his body.

--what if he woke up happy?


Jazz steeled every ounce of self-control he had. He wanted to bury himself in Prowl's port and get lost in electric bliss. None of the lovers in his past ever caused him the passion Prowl set ablaze.

Prowl's hesitation frustrated him a little. Jazz knew he'd wait as long as it took...but he feared waiting around left time for something terrible to happen. In a war, anybody could die any second. Every new morning could be his or Prowl's last. He wanted to live those moments to their fullest. He wanted Prowl to live those moments with him. He wanted to give that moment.

The wooden wind chimes tapped above their heads. Prowl's soft voice whispered through the sound.

"Jazz...have you ever...?"

"Few times," Jazz panted, "Only uplinks. You're different, Prowl. I...feel..." He smiled into the meandering fingers settling on his lips, "crazy about you."

Then he took an index finger into his mouth and suckled. Just as he thought. Prowl had extra sensitive hands, which meant they were his hot spot.

"I'll give you a choice." Jazz paused to lick another digit and grinned at Prowl's squirming. "Now or later. Doesn't matter to me. I ain't giving you up."

"That isn't a choice," Prowl replied. "Choosing between now and later won't change the results."

"What if I'm killed tomorrow?"

Prowl stilled as though the very thought stole the wind from his sails. What he asked next spoke volumes of his constant hesitation. "What if I fail you as a lover?"

"You're new at this. Nobody's perfect the first time around." Jazz grabbed Prowl's chin, hauling his face close so he could stare straight into his visor. He wasn't angry--but it hurt seeing Prowl thinking the whole world looked down on him for a flaw that wasn't even his fault. "And I'm not askin' you to be perfect, Prowl. If we mess up, we'll deal. I don't slaggin' care if you can't see me--'cause I can see you just fine, and I...I love what I'm lookin' at."

The words curled like smoky wisps in the moist evening air.

"I'm not askin' you to Spark-bond right this minute. Just uplink. We can take this as slow as you want, but let me show you what I'm willing to give you. Then you can decide where it goes from there. Just one chance, Prowl," Jazz grasped Prowl's left hand, which was a little narrower than his own, "Please. Even if you regret it, you'll regret not doing it even more, because not doing it means never knowing. I won't be mad at you...whatever you wanna do is fine."


Jazz's feelings swirled like a hot bubble in his throat. "I love you. I want to love you."

Prowl turned his head in silent contemplation. His thin, wiry lips pressed tight into a line against his teeth. Then, with the liquid grace of a feline, he grasped the branch above his head, lifted himself up a few inches and curled his left leg around Jazz's waist. Hot air cycled through his intakes. He was panting, clearly trying to cool his internals while maintaining his composure.

Jazz grabbed the same branch and mirrored Prowl's pose, using his right leg so they held each others' pelvis in a half-embrace. He felt time and space slow to a crawl. The universe was made of sludge and shifted against his body in sluggish, highly electrified waves of anticipation.

Prowl lowered his right arm and wrapped it sensually around Jazz's neck. Jazz did the same, using his left. Holding the posture forced them to support each other and required perfect balance or they'd both fall. In ancient texts, it was said Circuit-Su began as lovemaking positions that evolved into a fighting method. Certain postures stimulated different sensory nodes to attain the highest levels of pleasure.

"Ohhh, Prowl..." Jazz felt ripples of static shocks trickle over his hips and neck, "you're doing the Infinity Chain..."

"I have a little statue of two mechs using this position," Prowl flashed a brief smile, "I...always wanted to try it."

"Sweet! Me, too," Jazz mused. "Ready to up-link?"

Prowl cycled a deep intake. The tremble in his fingers was arousal, not fear. "Yes."

Jazz slowly brought their ports into contact, causing static to spit between them. He watched Prowl's mouth drop as his body made a connection for the first time since his assembly. Jazz was pleased--their ports snapped together like they were made for each other. That became his last thought before the sex haze sent fireworks dancing across his visual field. "Unh...Prowl..."

He felt Prowl's free hand inch forward until their pinkies touched. His lips did the same, a lazy, undulating kiss trembling in the sheer need of closeness.

"I love you," Jazz gasped between lip locks. He couldn't stop the words once they started. "Prowl, I--"

"I know," Prowl's smile said it all. "I know."

Electrical energy built in their bodies. Circulating around their legs, making its way through their pelvic sensors and up towards their arms, where it escaped their fingers to stimulate sensors on the backs of their necks. Every major node roiled in passion like a chain of firecrackers.

Jazz leaned over and crushed Prowl's lips in a fiery kiss. Everything he was seemed to pour through their joined mouths and swirling tongues. Right then, nothing in the world mattered beyond the chain formed by their intertwined limbs.

He felt Prowl's internals judder. The branch above them quivered with his efforts to hang on. Something held his overload back. Something internal, intangible, the same fear that kept him in the shadows his whole life.

"Prowl," whispered Jazz, "I can hold us up."

Prowl bit his bottom lip and grimaced. His struggle to maintain his iron calm was painful to watch. Even at the height of passion he seemed reluctant to release it.


"I...c-cant..." Prowl groaned. Desperation burned throughout his lithe body. His fingers dug into the branch.

"Prowl, it's okay to let go. I've got'cha." He grinned, "I know this sounds cheesy, but I won't let you fall anywhere but in love with me."

That made Prowl chuckle. "You--have horrible--unh--pick-up lines..."

"I know. Now let go," Jazz sprinkled nibbling kisses across Prowl's throat and cheek, his own response gradually rising to the point of no return. He held back only because he wanted to see Prowl overload first.

The tree limb lost some tension as Prowl's fingers slipped off.

"Jazz..." He stiffened.

"Let it happen," Jazz nuzzled his throat and increased his port output.

Another low groan escaped Prowl's grimacing lips. The air smelled like hot oil and electricity, the unmistakable odor of a mech about to overload. Tension made its way throughout his frame. Just when it seemed like his body would shake itself apart, an awareness settled over his features. The fear fell away like a discarded cloak. He relaxed his leg, letting Jazz support their weight while he surrendered himself to ecstasy. He arched up, threw his head back and chanted Jazz's name at the sky. Louder and louder, higher and higher, more and more musical until his voice dissolved to wordless, rapturous moans.

Jazz smiled as he watched Prowl overload. It was so raw, real and powerful--he almost couldn't believe such a reserved mech could make that much noise. Seeing this unrestrained moment stamped his feelings in stone--he loved Prowl. He wanted to love him for the rest of eternity.

.o was the most amazing sensation. It tingled, ached and burned every inch of his frame. He had lost all control and didn't care, because he knew the arms holding him up would offer it back when he returned to himself.

Prowl heard his own voice chanting Jazz's name as a mantra. To him it equated to saying 'I love you.'

There was a blank moment where his memory failed. He regained awareness while in the process of regaining his grip on the branch above. Reality swam in slow motion and he felt his coolant and intakes working double to cool his internals. Every part of his body tingled--even his tires and the spaces between his teeth. He felt more alive than he ever had in his life.

This Spark-beat in time made him glad he chose the metaphorical boat.

"How'd it feel?" Jazz panted in his audio input sensor. His creamy voice sounded mildly strained.

"Wonderful," Prowl whispered back. He rubbed the back of Jazz's neck, brushed his tongue across his round audio and purred, "Wonderful."

Jazz's body trembled against his chest. The heat he radiated smelled of hot oil and metal--the same scent Prowl noticed right before he overloaded. He heard Jazz moaning softly, perhaps unconsciously--and he hoped it would continue because he thought Jazz had such a beautiful voice. Especially now when the vulnerability within ached like molten mercury just under the surface.

"Jazz," he trembled, bringing their foreheads into contact. There was no avoiding a smile. Gratitude, desire, love, he let it all show just for Jazz. "Your turn..."

Jazz released the bough and clung to Prowl like a vine. His soft, full lips were right against Prowl's audio sensor.

"I'm on the edge," he breathed. Tremors wracked his chassis and his jaw clenched, "Oh, Prowl--oh, f-feel so--unh!--s-so good!"

Jazz's overload was an explosion of tension and mewling cries. Everything he was bubbled out to be tasted, touched and heard. He liked to kiss in the height of passion. Prowl had no complaints--he accepted the shuddering lips and glossa that swept like a conflagrated wave through his mouth. He timed the movements of his tongue to the energy pulses slamming across Jazz's neural network. Jazz rewarded him with a wonderful, open sound halfway between a moan and a sob.

Even in this wonderful moment where Jazz lay vulnerable, Prowl couldn't avoid doubting himself. He hardly contributed anything to their lovemaking. Then he pushed his inner censor away. This wasn't the time to judge his own performance!

Jazz shakily drew back and slowly shifted his leg off Prowl's hip. He managed this without disconnecting their bodies, but every movement he made sent delightful aftershocks racing through Prowl's body. Before he knew it Prowl was sitting back against the tree's main trunk. Jazz gently separated their ports. His body weight shifted in a rustle of metal and leaves--with his visor offline, Prowl wasn't sure exactly what he was doing--and then a soft glossa outlined his port in fire.

"You just lay back and enjoy this." Jazz told him.

Prowl felt his waning arousal reawaken. Jazz was kissing, suckling and licking sensors he never knew existed until five minutes ago.

"Jazz!" he hissed through clenched teeth. Stillness and silence were impossible. He could only pant hungrily as his world dissolved into static bliss once more.


The first thing Prowl noticed when he came back online was that he wasn't in the tree anymore. The second thing Prowl noticed when he came back online was the solid weight of arms wrapped gingerly around his shoulders. The third thing Prowl noticed when he came back online was the warmth of sunlight on his cheek.

Prowl heard the wind chimes clatter from a larger distance than earlier. Jazz must have carried him into his quarters. He activated his visor out of habit and waited the three microseconds it took to create a tactile image of his surroundings.

Jazz stirred and moved his legs. Prowl touched his lips to feel them curl in a soft smile. He felt those same lips kiss the tip of his nose.

"Mornin', sunshine."


"Yeah. You look good layin' in it."

Prowl took Jazz's word for it. The question burning in his circuits refused to be contained. "Did you enjoy last night?"

Jazz leaned closer. "Did you?"


His own answer surprised him. It didn't require any thought. For a few seconds he pondered what he'd been so afraid of. He was lying in the arms of someone who knew his darkest secret--and that someone did not care.

Humans had a saying. "Love is blind." Prowl ran his finger over Jazz's cheekbone and realized he finally understood its meaning. Love made Jazz as blind to his design flaw. It did not make him ugly, deformed or pitiful--it was part of him, like a limb or his paint job. It shaped him, but it was not him.

"Hey, Prowl...what's it like?"


"Bein' blind. Is it, y'know, black?"

The question made Prowl snicker inwardly, though he didn't know why he found it so amusing. He never imagined being able to talk openly about it.

"Not so much black as nothing," he replied. "When you shut down your optics, your visual processors are still there, telling you they're off, correct?"

"Yeah. There's always a signal light blinking in the middle."

"Now take away that light. Take away the perception. You are left with nothing."

"Um...that's hard to imagine."


"Do you enjoy confusing me?"

"Perhaps." Prowl caught himself. He was being frank, having a conversation--it honestly surprised him how easy it was to talk to Jazz. Deciding to test this, he asked the one question he'd never ask anyone else. "What is it like to see?"

Jazz chuckled in his ear, his voice like silk, "Music for the eyes. Brighter things are louder. Like the sun, man I bet we'd go deaf if it was as noisy as it is bright."

He just explained light in a way Prowl could understand and didn't even realize it. Light used to be just vibrations, a signal from his visor or a breath of warmth against his armor. Those with vision needed it to see. Other than that he never gave it a second thought.

"Is it beautiful?"

"It can be. 'Specially when it shines on you."

Prowl ducked his head so Jazz wouldn't see him grinning. It meant a lot to know someone found beauty in his imperfection. Jazz draped an arm around his waist and pulled him down into a slow, crackling kiss. Prowl resisted the habitual stiffening of his servos. This was a good feeling. He didn't need to run away. He was allowed to be happy.

But, just as nothing could stop time from rolling forward, Jazz sadly drew back.

"I need to report to Sentinel," he sighed. "He doesn't like it when I disappear for too long."

"So soon?"

Jazz nodded, though his reluctance to leave did strange things to Prowl's circuitry.

How amusing, Prowl thought, at first, I wanted nothing to do with him. Now I don't want him to leave.

The wind chimes tapped together in the distance. Prowl pursed his lips. Such a wonderful seemed only proper that he give something in return. Something that meant as much to him as the kindness bestowed by Jazz. He tipped his head to the sun's warmth and it came to him.

"Wait, Jazz. Don't go."

Jazz was poised to climb the tree. "Eh? You okay?"

"I'm fine. Just--wait a moment."

Prowl approached the tree and ran his hand along the gnarled, rough bark. He felt no shame using his hands as eyes in Jazz's presence, and searched until his fingertips found the infinity symbol he carved into a root. Then he followed an invisible line down and pressed his palm into the soil.


Jazz watched Prowl dig until he finally retrieved what he sought. In his hands was the little statue he spoke about just last night. A little copper sculpture of two mechs making love in the Infinity Chain position. He couldn't identify who the figures were, but guessed they were the most ancient Autobots of Cybertron's distant past.

"I want you to have this." Prowl said softly.

Jazz's Spark skipped a beat. That was Prowl's treasure!

"Aw, Prowl," his smooth voice took on an awed tone. "Are you--are you sure you want me to take it? It seems to mean a lot to ya..."

"It does, as do the wind chimes you gave me." Prowl did not hesitate when he held the sculpture out, "Consider it a...thank you...for last night."

"Far out," Jazz's fingers brushed Prowl's when he grasped the small, ruddy statue. It was solid, heavy, and fit perfectly on his palm. The sunlight made it shimmer like a beacon. Some of the details were worn off from Prowl's fingertips tracing its shape, but Jazz could make out visors on the mech's faces. That made him chuckle. "I...dunno what to say..."

"You don't have to say anything. Be silent. Contemplate."

"Ha, ha! The old ninja code." Jazz grinned, leaning over and touching his lips to Prowl's. Words seemed too small anyway, but he said the ones he felt were the most important. "Thanks, Prowl. You're awesome."

Then he ascended through the hole in the roof, using the tree trunk as a ladder. The sun was bright this morning, glaring down in golden-white streams that nearly blinded him. He spared a backwards glance at Prowl--and was just in time to see him step into the sunlight without fear and smile.


Jazz kept Prowl's statue on the windowsill in his quarters. It was the first thing he saw when he awoke, the last thing he looked at before recharging and his focus point during his meditations.

The way the Infinity sculpture glowed in the light was music for Jazz's eyes. He never forgot the way Prowl looked during his first overload--mouth agape, moaning his name and utterly overcome. And he swore on his life he'd always remember seeing Prowl emerge from the shadows--how his armor and visor scintillated in the knowledge of how loved he was.

Sometimes Jazz felt bad that Prowl couldn't see the statue or the sun, but his sorrow never lasted long. Prowl was living proof that sight didn't always require optics.