Prompt: Instant Attractions

When they first met, they were both coated in dirt and energon. The area where they stood motionless was surrounded by screams of anger, desperation, agony, and death. Plasma shots passed so near them that their armors got burnt. Explosions and smoke filled the air, the ground was a mix between a gruesome cemetery and a chaotic battle field for survival. At that moment though, they both forgot who they were, what they were, and why they were fighting.

In spite of everything, Jazz had once been a hopeless romantic. He loved everything about courting and pleasing a bot. He firmly believe in love at first sight, which was why he never stayed with any of his lovers. He had never felt that pull before. Prowl though, having lived a painful and neglected younglinghood, had never believed in love, and the term 'love at first sight' was so absurd and illogical that he could not help but be disgusted by those that let themselves be bewitched by its spell. To him, it was a poison that made you blind and deaf to the reality. A poison he wished would never find its way to him.

Now though, as he found himself staring into the red visor of a mech he had never seen before in his entire existence, he couldn't help but let the spell be cast upon him, let the effects of that delicious poison run its course. He felt no need, no reason, no desire to stop it.

Jazz couldn't stop looking at the mech in front of him. His spark felt like it was being grabbed by an invisible force, surrounding him, whispering promises and gently pushing him towards the other. As if under a spell, he took a slow step forward, and in that moment, he knew that he was staring at his other half.

He looked at the blaster in his servo and was disgusted that he had been about to use it to kill the mech in front of him. He took another step forward, wanting to reach the beautiful doorwinger. Praxian. Inside, a wave of despair ran thought his circuits at this realization. The Decepticons had destroyed the neutral city of Praxus, had burnt it to the ground. No survivors. His spark cried in pain as he regretted taking part in its destruction, in the obvious agony he had caused his Praxian. Yes, his Praxian. His spark had found its other half and he wasn't letting go. What would have happened if this mech had been in Praxus at the time of the attack? What if he had died and Jazz never met him? He wondered if anyone had held him, comforted him as he cried in grief and loss of his city and its habitants. The thought was met with a possessive snarl as he took yet another step forward. Now more than anything, he wanted to take the doorwinger and hold him in a protective embrace.

Prowl looked at the mech taking slow and careful steps towards him. His com. link buzzed yet he was deaf to it. His spark pulsed in need to be near the visored mech. The spell cast upon him was so strong that he forgot his hatred and anger towards the Decepticons. Surely, the spark which his own so desperately called for had not been involved in the genocide. The poison he had feared his whole life seemed to take full effect and he suddenly wondered if this was the bot that would listent o him, believe in him, defend him from every insult, acknowledge him, love him. He felt like he had found the one thing that would make him complete. How could this poison have been kept from him?

There were only a few steps separating them now. Neither had spoken once, the weapons in each one's servos were forgotten, their faction emblems were a blur, the color of their optics meant nothing. In an act that seemed so normal, the tactician raised his hand, palm up in a silent calling, a silent welcome. Visor brightening, Jazz made to take it. And then, the spell was broken in the most horrible way. A shot pierced the doorwinger's shoulder, a scream of pain filling Jazz's audio receptors.

Everything happened so fast. His other half fell motionless on the ground. For a moment, all Jazz could do was stare in horror at the unmoving form. Anger and despair grasped his spark. Before he could go to his other half's side, four mechs appeared and started shooting at him, a fifth one crouching next to the doorwinger, medical tools in his servos.

The saboteur bared his denta. Who were they? What were they doing to his Praxian! He tried getting closer, but he was outnumbered and had to retreat, his own (suddenly the word felt like acid in his mouth) comrades coming to join in the fight.

He ran, avoiding the shots and insults thrown his way. He avoided his own faction and hid inside the ruins of a small house, the shadow hiding him perfectly. He watched what was going on. His anger subsiding, he realized that the one tending to the doorwinger was a medic and felt both relived and gratefulness. Shots were fired far, far too near the small groups who (he now realized) were protecting the other half of his spark. A different kind of spell was cast upon him. One that spoke of murder. Visor glowing in anger, with no hesitation, he aimed his blaster at started shooting down one by one the mechs that dared to shoot at the small group.

Place quiet now, the confused mechs turned to help move Prowl, he was in need of emergency surgery and they had to get back as soon as possible to the base. He suddenly came online with a pained groan and was in a daze, mumbling incoherent words.

From his hiding place, Jazz watched as the doorwinger was gently lifted and taken away. For a moment, their optics locked again. Both reflected the same pain. They had found each other in the most unlikely place, in the most impossible situation, yet they knew not the other's name nor if they would ever meet again. Jazz's spark clenched even more painfully when the injured Praxian lifted his servo much like he had done before, yet this time, in desperate need. A need which Jazz could not acknowledge, forced to stay where he was. Ashamed, he turned his optics away, not able to bare the hurt expression on the doorwinger's faceplates as he did so.

Biting his lip, servos clenched so hard his clawed servos were drawing energon from his palms, he felt his spark tear at the anguished cry that reached him, yet he could not go! Letting out a choked sob, he got up and ran, his faction already retreating.

He didn't look back.

*is nervous* Um, yeah... well... *runs*

If you review I might add another chapie! *keeps running*