Name: This is war

Author: pjlover666

Rating: PG13

Characters: Prowl and Jazz, (briefly Optimus Prime and Ironhide)

Summary: Prowl and Jazz are the best Special Operations team Cybertron has ever seen. Only one problem – they can't stand each other.

Warnings: unnamed deaths, mild swearing

Inspired by http: / yamiyouka. deviantart. com / art/ Black-and- Whites- 188595154 – the idea belongs to her. The bunnie just bit me and needed to be written (remove space).

AN: This story just stuck with me. I want to give a huge thank you to gracesolo for the incredible beta she had been – only because of her is this story grammar and mistake free! Seriously! Usually my stories are not beta'd and have tons of mistakes but just read this one and see the enormous difference! Like I said – amazing beta, not only did she fixed the mistakes but also explained some stuff that I didn't understand! We worked hard for this fic to be readable, please enjoy it! ^_^

Thank you gracesolo, this would not be possible without your magic-beta-skills!

This is War

A warning to the people
The good and the evil
This is war
To the soldier, the civilian
The martyr, the victim
This is war

The Cybertronian night was quiet. Too quiet. Not even the sound of the wind could be picked up. The stars shone brightly but the night was chilly. In a valley that held nothing but wild crystals, a fortress stood tall. By the crumbling building and the bad maintenance it looked like it was millennia old. And yet, it still held beauty – sculptures and ornaments decorated the outside walls that would cause any passer-by to simply stop and admire this great architectural artwork.

It crumbled to the ground in less than two breems.

Four simultaneous explosions at its base started the domino of smaller explosions and leveled the fortress to the ground, enveloping it in a giant plume of smoke. Suddenly, a lone figure jumped out from the puff of smoke, accelerating in the too quiet night as he drove far from the fallen building.

The figure that was in alt mode transformed, displaying gorgeous wings on his sides, and glared back in the direction of the once mighty Decepticon base. The engine of the black and white transformer growled the sound carrying in the silence. The black and white Praxian adorned with a piercing red chevron, the only other color the mech possessed, stared at where the now destroyed base stood, smoke still covering it.

His coloring was mostly white with black stripes, complimenting the exotic frame, that was now more black than white, scratches and scorch marks showing prominently over the once pristine plating.

He stared and waited.

His patience was rewarded as second figure, smaller than him, emerged from the smoking base, engine revving as the new mech accelerated in the dark night, quickly reaching the Praxian. He transformed; his smaller frame was mostly black but with white stripes to compliment the sleek frame as well. His frame appeared in better shape than the white Praxian's, but that was because of the dark color – if one knew where to look, they would see that he was far more dented and scratched. A piercing blue visor broke the darkness of the night as the mech smirked arrogantly at his waiting companion.

The Praxian's optics narrowed and he quickly closed the distance between them, looming over the other, his wings flaring high, along with his temper.

"You fragging son of a glitch." He spat, "What part of 'Wait for my signal' did that pile of scrap you call a CPU not understand?"

The other mech's smirk remained, but his lips thinned as his optics narrowed behind the visor.

"Oh, was I s'possed to follow your orders? Sorry, didn' catch that memo."

"Jazz!" He snapped.

"Yes, Prowlie?" Sweetness dripping from the word.

Prowl clenched his fists in a vain attempt to control himself, otherwise he might strike his so-called-partner. Just thinking about it made his tanks turn.

"I am the tactician of this mockery of a team. By disobeying me you put not just me or yourself at risk, but the rest as well-"

Jazz walked right past Prowl, forcefully bumping his shoulder, "Yeh, Yeh – heard that speech like a thousand times. Give yourself a break before that battle computer of yers rolls over and dies."

Prowl growled and reached out to stop Jazz from walking away. Just as he was about to grab his shoulder, Jazz turned around and captured his hand in a death grip, probably denting the metal.

"Do not. Touch. Me." He growled, the carefree facade vanishing. Only around Prowl did Jazz let go of his cheery persona when he wasn't on missions. Unfortunately for the tactician, that meant he had to face Jazz's darker side quite often. Prowl couldn't say he minded – that way he always had a valid reason to lash out at the smaller mech.

"Let me remind you that I'm the demolitions expert. So it was my call, not yours."

Prowl started him down, not intimidated at all, "Then by all means, when where you going to tell me the explosions were primed. You barely gave me a breem to escape." He snatched his hand back from Jazz's crushing grip and motioned to his body and the dents it possessed.

Jazz snorted, "Pah-leeease. It's just some cosmetics work, glitch."

"I know, but if I had wasted even a nano second I could have been buried." He inspected Jazz's body, "I see you are sporting some decent dents as well." Some of Jazz's dents were deep enough to have burst superficial energon lines, causing leakages.

"Big woop. I'm fine."

"Fine now. But if you had been chased out, your injuries would have quickly turned in to a liability."

Jazz growled and poked a finger into Prowl's chest, "So leave me the frag to die!" But before he could finish his sentence, Prowl pounced him.

"You barbaric moron. How I got partnered with you is beyond me, but after 50 vorns of service together you should have learned that I never leave a mech behind!" He pressed Jazz hard onto the ground. "And that includes your ungrateful aft as well!"

Jazz quickly shifted the tables as he bent his legs and kicked hard, sending Prowl sprawling onto his back. The Praxian growled when he fell on his wings, but before he could recover, Jazz was on him again, using his weight to pin him down.

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't rip yer spark out, mech." The saboteur growled, all pretense of friendly conversation gone from his demeanor.

"Please," Prowl rolled his optics, completely unaffected while any other mech finding themselves in his position would have begged for mercy, "You wouldn't last an orn without me to save your aft, seeing as you have such suicidal tendencies."

It was true, all of it. Neither had any idea how in the world they got paired up together. They were both from special ops and were never on good terms, barely associating with each other.

Prowl was an arrogant field tactician – very organized, specializing in strategy, infiltration, offense and defense. He was cocky, thinking he was indestructible. But he was too cocky and one mission went wrong, his mistake killing his entire unit.

Jazz on the other hand was a loose cannon. His specialties were demolition, sabotage, hacking, and interrogation. He reacted purely with instinct. He barely restrained himself during battle, being quite reckless regarding his own safety, along with the safety of those around him. The unavoidable came – he had made a fatal error, provoking the wrong mechs, causing great loss to the Autobots.

By all means, both of them should have been court martialed. And yet, they were still here. Together. Primus, if they ever found the fool who placed them together, they were going to escort him to the afterlife, screaming. At least they agreed on that.

Jazz growled, both mechs revved up by the explosion, systems still running on overdrive as energon pumped furiously in their fuel lines.

*drip *

They both looked down at Prowl's chest where an energon stain stood out over the white plating.

*drip * *drip *

"Come. The frag. On!" Jazz growled and stood up from where he was holding Prowl against the ground to look at the damage on his chest. He caught Prowl's hand again before the Praxian could touch him.

Prowl glared. Jazz sneered.

"Ok, say it. I know that freakish processor of yers is doing a happy dance now." Jazz used his hands to wipe away some of the energon that was leaking from between two seams on his chest, "I know yer just dying to say 'I told you so', so get it over with."

"Imbecile." Prowl muttered as he opened his subspace, but stopped. He looked around. It was too open. They were both so lost in the heat of the moment that they both forgot they were in the open right in front of a crumbled now ex – Decepticon base.

"Can you transform?"

"Shut yer trap slagger."

"Good, let us find cover and repair ourselves before going back to HQ." Jazz wanted to sneer again at him for being ordered around like that, but a voice called 'reason' that was supposed to be banned from his CPU suggested otherwise. Primus help him, he listened to it as the two ops agents transformed and headed to find cover.

"Frag." Barely four joors have passed when Jazz cursed and stopped driving. It was too dangerous for them to call for back up. The radio waves were probably being probed now as the Decepticons surely knew of their now missing base.

"What is it?" Prowl stopped as well, transformed and looked irritably at the other mech, seriously considering sing-song-ing 'I told you so, you brute'.

Jazz transformed and clutched his chest, right under his bumper. Fresh energon covered his hand. "Maaaybe it took me a little too long to escape." He growled and started doing internal scans to try and see which line was nicked, hoping that it was nothing vital. But his hopes were in vain.

"You think?" Prowl couldn't resist. If Jazz had only listened to him, this could have been avoided. He sighed and walked over, "Let me see."

"Don't wanna get yer pretty white hands all dirty."

"Oh, so you do have a thing for my claws." Prowl smirked and flexed his clawed hands just for good measure.

"Wanna find out who's are sharper?" Jazz flexed his own claws, challenging.

"Perhaps later, now show me – I am in no mood to carry you."

"Pfft, like that'll ever happen."

But Jazz removed his hands, showing the dented seam. Except for the dent on it, Prowl saw nothing other than superficial damage, but energon was leaking from between the seams. He frowned – that meant a burst energon line that was pooling inside. Not good.

"Of course." Prowl growled and straightened from his leaning position to get a better look, "When it comes to you, things are never easy."

"Easy's boring, mech."

"Just shut up and open your chest."

"Sorry Prowler, I like ya but not that much." Prowl snarled as he clutched the med kit.

"This is no slagging time for your foolishness, Jazz! It is the main reason we're in this position now."

"That bad, huh doc?" But Jazz wasn't affected. Prowl wasn't surprised. The mech never really cared for his well-being. The tactician had to wonder if Jazz had lost a limb would he even notice that it was gone?

"I took only one medical course under Ratchet. I am hardy considered a medic." Prowl would never admit to anyone else, but Jazz's recklessness was the main reason he took those courses. He was aware of Jazz's self-destructive tendencies during battle and knew that sooner or later he would need those skills. So far, he had not been proven wrong.

Prowl started walking towards a couple of boulders that would provide temporary cover. Jazz would never agree to expose his spark chamber in the open like they were now.

The visored mech sat down, leaning against the boulder. Prowl waited patiently until Jazz unlocked his spark chamber. The smaller Ops mech was paranoid – his chest plates locked in such a way that even the best medics could not open it manually. But that paranoia had saved him some pretty nasty interrogations in the rare times when he was being held captive.

As the chest plates opened, more energon leaked onto the ground, causing a small 'splash' sound in the quiet night.

Prowl's engine gave a dangerous rumble, "I swear, if you ever disobey me again the Decepticons will be the least of your problems, slagger."

Jazz raised an optic ridge, "You're so charming, have I ever told you that?"

"No." Prowl answered and ignored Jazz when the mech squeaked as Prowl started probing in the wound, feeling some of the lines, trying to find the break. Jazz shifted uncomfortably due to the mixed signals of pleasure and pain.

"What the frag is taking so long? It's supposed to be a big tear. You should easily find- Ah!" He gripped Prowl's hand, this time definitely denting the metal as his claws dug in the servo.

"Found it." Prowl coolly said and used some scans to estimate the damage. "Congratulations, Jazz." He mocked, "The line is crushed between the dented plating. If you want it fixed, I suggest you brace yourself."

"I am sooo getting you back for this."

"I'm merely helping you, Jazz." Voice full of pure innocence, "It is your foolishness that led us to this."

"Hah, that may be true but yer enjoying yourself too much- OH FRAG FRAG FRAG!" Jazz howled in pain as his dent was fixed, releasing the flow of energon that now started to drip out of his chassis.

"Fraggin' son of a glitch!" He glared at Prowl and used up all of his strength not to lash out at the other bot, "Ya could have warned me!"

"I did." Prowl answered, oblivious to the rage that was emitting in waves from the mech before him, "And chose a moment when you were distracted so it would hurt less."

"Hurt less, my aft." If he could, Jazz would have crossed his arms. When he saw what Prowl was preparing to do, he couldn't help but moan.

"Do ya have to mech? Just rip the line out – the flow will stop."

He eyed with pure detest the cauterizing tool in Prowl's hand. He hated cauterizations. With a passion.

"Just nick the slaggin' line out – if you won't, then I'll do it." But Prowl gripped his hand.

"The joys of working with suicide cases." Prowl muttered. "I will not let you rip out a vessel that will heal itself in a couple of orns. So sit the frag still!"

"You're a dead mech walking, Prowl. When we get to base no one will find yer body, I'll make sure of it! Pit, I'll use ya as a wall decoration, that chevron of yours makes a good ornament."

Jazz willingly let Prowl hold down his hands, knowing they might cause damage if not bound, "If I didn't know better, Jazz-" Prowl pressed the heated tool over the line and ignored Jazz as he swallowed a scream, "- I would interpret this as an invitation to move in with you."

Jazz muted his vocalizer for a couple of nano seconds but quickly regained his composure, "Slag you, Prowl. Who would wanna frag with you? They'll fall in recharge during the middle of it."

"You speak as if you've been with me – which you have not." Prowl stood up and glared down at Jazz, "Nor will you ever be."

"Now that's a relief."

Prowl resisted the urge to kick the mech but patiently waited for him to lock his chassis again. Jazz grinned a crooked smile and transformed.

"After you, my love."

Sarcasm was a powerful ally.

"Please," Prowl transformed, "don't strain yourself." And speed off, leaving dust in his trail.



To the right
To the left
We will fight to the death
To the edge of the earth
It's a brave new world
From the last to the first

Prowl resisted the urge to smack his helm on something hard. If he off-lined himself, at least the pain would go away. But he barely had the energy to move. Being a Decepticon prisoner was quite tiring, really. But his current processor ache wasn't from his wounds and mind probing. No.


Slagging glitch had literally blown up the brig wall that he was now peeking through and grinning like a mad mech.

"Honey, I'm home!"

"Primus, I'm in the Pit aren't I?" Prowl muttered, his vision slightly going in to static.

"Miss me, partner?" Jazz walked closer and Prowl ignored the fact that the saboteur cast aside a limb of sorts, probably from a Decepticon that was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Jazz whistled, "They sure did a number on ya. Fraggers." But the way he said the last word was venomous.


"What is it, Prowler?" The visored mech was trying to undo the cuffs that where chaining him to the wall.

"What the slag took you so long?" Prowl glowered, but a twisted version of a smirk appeared on his energon stained face.

"Well, ya know – places to blow up, mechs to interrogate or kill, sneaking in the base – hard work, mech."

Prowl snorted, groaning slightly when Jazz lifted him, arm holding his waist while the other supported the arm around his neck. "Poor you, then."

They walked another set of steps until Prowl's legs gave out.

"You know what this means, don't you?" Jazz asked in a serious voice that slightly worried Prowl.


"That I will carry you – not the other way around like ya predicted!" It was... strange to say the least, seeing that look of triumph on Jazz's face in a place like this. But Prowl let himself be lifted in the smaller mech's arms.

"You do realize next time is my turn? I do hate being in debt." Prowl tiredly replied.

"Sucks it'll never happen, though." Jazz said confidently and fled the room, Prowl in his arms. After Jazz was sure they were out of range, he motioned for Prowl to look at the base. Prowl stared, knowing perfectly well what was to come.

A huge, optic-searing explosion took place. The shockwave was so powerful it shook the ground beneath them.



Unfortunately for Jazz, Prowl returned the favor over the vorns – multiple times. The joys of being Ops.

To the right
To the left
We will fight to the death
To the edge of the earth
It's a brave new world
It's a brave new world
It's a brave new world

Optimus, the newest Prime bearing that title barely for 50 vorns, quietly sipped his energon next to Ironhide as he watched Cybertron's best Ops team that ever existed, bicker in the lounge.

"How they haven't killed each other, Ah have no fraggin' clue Prime." Ironhide muttered beside him.

"They are friends."

"Friends? Bah, they would stab each other in the back the first chance they got." The weapons specialist scoffed, not able to see any signs of friendship between the two Ops mechs.

"I wouldn't be so sure. They have survived so far. They have helped each other more times than they have exchanged fists."

"Yeaaah. So that's why we found them in an all-out training match, trying to rip each other's sparks out."

"They are keeping each other sharp." Prime secretly smirked behind his mask when he saw how Prowl's wings flared sharply, clawed hands clenched and his posture screaming hostile intent at Smokescreen who was openly hitting on Jazz.

"Of course they are." Ironhide grumbled unconvinced, "Ratchet worked on them an entire orn!"

"Yes, but they didn't possess any lethal damage, did they?"

"Well, yeah but-"

"And the reason he took so much time was because it was mostly cosmetic work." He smiled at Ironhide and shifted his attention on him. "Ironhide, the matrix itself made that pairing. I have yet to regret it."

The rest of the crew never really saw the real them. To others, they were simply Prowl and Jazz – a boring tactician and a happy-go-lucky mech that enjoyed partying. For the other soldiers, they were just two ordinary mechs who couldn't stand each other and bickered all the time. No one but Prime, Ironhide, and Ratchet knew the deadly combination they made. How they worked with cold efficiency that would chill a mech to his very core.

They were death incarnate.

And yet somehow, they have found a balance in each other, something no one expected, and something both Ops mechs were too proud to admit.

The others may not see it, but he was Prime for a reason. He saw that glint in their optics. Probably neither Prowl nor Jazz realized the strong feelings they harbored for each other. They were very often forced to deal with the darkest aspects of this war and he wasn't surprised by their brutal personalities. As much as they tried to stay indifferent to each other, they couldn't. Not now that a strong bond of friendship had formed, even if their pride refused to allow them to see the bond. Even if they denied that it was an act, the pair enjoyed bickering, sniping at each other in mock anger. There was something in the way they held each other's gaze that told Prime he made the right choice by placing them together.

Optimus Prime was glad he had a battle mask to hide his huge grin at the outraged look Jazz possessed when a new recruit started to hit on Prowl. This was war, bonds like these shouldn't form – at least that's what the last Prime had reasoned. But Optimus didn't agree – after all, what better reason to fight, but for those who you treasured and wished to protect?

I believe in nothing
Not the end and not the start
I believe in nothing
Not the earth and not the stars
I believe in nothing
Not the day and not the dark
I believe in nothing
But the beating of our hearts
I believe in nothing
One hundred suns until we part
I believe in nothing
Not in satan, not in god
I believe in nothing
Not in peace and not in war
I believe in nothing
But the truth of who we are