Title: A Friend From The Ashes
Fandom: Transformers (AU containing Kitty Prowl and Kitty Bluestreak)
Pairing: Just Jazz x Prowl friendship, companionship.
Summary: Jazz is a high strung mech, needing a companion to help him keep his stress in check. After being forced to do paperwork he leaves and in the city finds Prowl and Bluestreak, two lost little kittens in the vast expanse of Iacon.
Warnings: None, except if you view a ton of sweetness and fluff as a dire warning.
Author Note N/B! This is adorably fluffy but only still a teaser prologue for now. If you wish for me to continue this, I'm looking for a good muse to help me though the tougher parts. Please PM me if you are interested.
Jazz hated paperwork! In fact he was doing anything in his power to try and avoid it but it wasn't working, Ironhide wanted the datapads before the end of the next two orns and Jazz was told that his would be expected first ― he was TIC after all. The volatile SIC/Weapon's Specialist was not a mech to be messed with and when you were told - not asked - to hand in your paperwork then you did it without complaint. Having a cannon pointed at you whilst you were forced finish the work that should have been done eons ago, it was not fun. In fact it was dangerous. Why paperwork even existed in the first place the black, white and blue mech didn't know but he was sure that Cybertron could do without it. Pit, he could do without the added strain.
Sighing at the tower of datapads that closed him in from all sides, the Spec Ops Director finally raked together enough courage to set to work. It would take him more than three cycles to finnish all of it and he only had so much time before the inevitable deadline. Believe it or not, Jazz was more stressed out and high strung than any other mechs aboard the Ark. He was just trained to hide it much better than others could. Even he had to admit that it was starting to eat away at his spark at a blinding rate, he would be crashing soon and the burn afterwards was not going to pretty. Even Ratchet had practically ordered him to work on less dangerous mission whilst still running a fully functional, highly trained, Spec Ops team. Jazz was supposed to be relaxing and allowing his systems to recalibrate themselves every cycle but he just didn't get the time. Don't get a mech wrong, he loved his job ― it was just sometimes he was expected to do much more than what he was capable of. He wasn't that young anymore either.
Maybe he would learn his lesson and not conveniently 'forget to do it' next time, the saboteur berated himself for the lack of good judgement he had shown. He didn't need to make his life harder than it already was.
In the underground world of assassination and espionage he had long ago made a name of himself as the Melodical Maestro, a name that was still feared by many and coveted by most rookie agents ― not that they ever truly knew who he was. But his world had long ago shifted from the field; only in dire situations was he called out for his skills. Now he just ran the entire Autobot Army's sector of spies and assassins. He did the jobs that the Prime didn't want to know about or even think about and in return Jazz did not break the rule about keeping everything under lock and key, whether it was sensitive information, hacking for better specs and weapons or even just silencing 'bots that had a tendency to talk too much. He was also tasked with keeping the Autobots, but most of all the Prime, safe from assassination attempts and spy infiltrations in return. A job that required he worked closely with Security Director Red Alert. Jazz was essentially the Conductor controlling the war from the shadows; hence why his widely known name as the Melodical Maestro was even more feared these orns.
To Jazz it was like playing a musical instrument, needing discipline, control and some amount of emotional freedom. It was usually him that made decisions that could kill a hundred different mechs, but save two hundred thousand innocents. Still those decisions often weighed heavily on his conscience. It was not a pretty job and not a job that could be put on paper damn it! Why did he even try! Throwing a styllis at the far wall of his office, Jazz crossed his arms over his chest armour and leaned back in his chair.
Morally justifying some of your actions wasn't always accepted, especially on the scale that Jazz was asked to do ornly. Ridicule for seemingly rash decisions were always around a corner and it was harsh words the saboteur could do without sometimes. It was times like these that the Spec Ops Director felt very much the unappreciated officer, swamped with too much work and way too much stress.
Virtues and morals differed from sector to sector and from Autobot to Autobot but the code was the same, save as many lives as you can and show compassion and understanding to the highest degree. A mere high class entertainment mech from Kaon, controlling Spec Ops, was naturally seen as a threat. Kaonians were always known to be sparkless and cruel; in fact most of the population had turned to the other side of the war. But what not many understood was that being cruel, sparkless and ruthless were things that Jazz was far from ever being.
Jazz groaned in frustration, his helm slamming onto his desk with a resounding thump. He was close to frying several circuits, his processor was on other things and by the time he had reached the seventh stack of datapads he felt his entire body begin to ache. Why were there so many useless reports on uneventful patrols and useless complaints that he could never even deal with? Why did he even have so many Spec Op mechs employed in the first place? He was going stir crazy just sitting there and getting nothing done. No! Jazz couldn't do it anymore ― he needed to get out. Having PTSD in the middle of the war making a mech jumpy was expected, and then maybe Jazz would be able to understand himself a little more but his was considerably worse than just a little PTSD. He could not sit still for more than six joors at a time, seven, if you were pushing it. In his mind there was always something that had to be done.
Deciding that having a break would help him finnish more datapads later, the saboteur discreetly slipped out of his office and essentially the Ark without even a single 'bot noticing him. His visor brightened in triumph at that, he still had it. A large grin split his faceplates as he slipped into the City of Iacon; nothing was going to stop him now. Although he kept his emergency comm. line open just in case. It was finally time to get some much needed Energon and blow off some steam. Granted, it wasn't night yet but the late afternoon solar rays were pleasant across his armour plating and the life of the city around him made the Spec Ops Director relax just a tiny bit.
Slipping inside an open Energon Dispensary, the saboteur smiled at the bar tender and ordered a cube of mid grade ― drinking on the job wasn't a good thing and his skills could always come in handy. Settling down on a comfy chair and sipping at his proffered cube Jazz hummed a soothing tune to fill his audios with more than just the chatter of mechs and femmes that had just come off of their work cycle. Lucky slaggers didn't even know the danger they were in every fragging orn. Huffing at the sudden anger he felt boiling in his Energon lines Jazz finished his cube and left the Dispensary behind with a will full glare of his optics and his visor flashing darkly. Yes, he considered himself a pretty jealous mech and seeing others so carefree whilst he was nearly dying every orn tended to rub on the last of his nerve circuits.
"Slaggers." He swore vehemently, his usual joyful facade, fading faster than high grade in a low level bar. It was a blessing that nomech heard him but the star lighted heavens. Had he truly been outside the Ark for so long? They were going to start looking for him soon. Tilting his helm and sensory horns upwards, his visor flashed in his longing gaze at the Cybertronian skyline. Jazz vented a sigh of relief as all his rage drained from his body and was forgotten. His circuits were tingling pleasantly beneath the moonlit night as he made his way over to one of the best outlook spots. He just wanted to find a spot to gaze upon the beauty of Cybertron before it was lost and preferably without his colleagues coming to look for him.
The abandoned alleyway with the towering smelting pits hanging in the background, blackening the air with pollution ― darkened the night sky but also brightened the ion in the air and the stars sparkled brightly and captivatingly. Jazz leaned his back against the alley wall as he allowed all the tension from earlier to drain from his systems. How long he just stood there and stared up at the vast expanse of the Iacon Constellation, Jazz couldn't tell but he was acutely aware of it when his presence wasn't the only one in the alley anymore. An astrosecond later he felt something brush up against his pede and Jazz stiffened until a soft pained 'meow' drifted into across his sensor grid.
Jazz's visor lit up to take in more detail as he looked down; now rubbing tenderly against his pede was a small cybercat ― no more like a kitten. Metallic ear twitching to every sound it picked up, tiny doorwings fluttering on black and white back struts just as a black and white tail curled around his pede in search of his warmth and comfort. A red chevron rubbed against his plating incessantly and Jazz felt his spark melt at the sight. Without second thought he bent down and scratched a twitching ear, the action got a soft purr from the kitten's engine before he settled in his palm.
"Hello there lit'le one. What're ya doin' all the way ou' 'ere?" Jazz inquired, startled when another kitten (this one smaller than the one nestled in his servo) also mewled incessantly against his pede. Jazz smiled, the red chevron was the same and the way those bright blue optics stared at his brother longingly prompted the saboteur to pick the smaller kitten into his other servo. A quick scan told him the two were not Imprinted and he smiled; there was nothing in the rules about not keeping pets on the Ark.
"Come on ya two, we're goin' 'ome." Jazz said happily, his spark soothed momentarily from the ache he constantly experienced. Tiny fluttering doorwings and gently nudging helms was the only indication that his two new companions found their saviour satisfying. Before Jazz could do anything though, the two small kittens had Imprinted on his spark just as he had Imprinted on theirs. A small, emotive bond was formed between them and Jazz grinned at the comforting feeling. How long had it been since he had truly been needed?
Ratchet laid his helm on his desk, optics offline as he tried to work around the major processor ache he felt building across his circuits. Damn his old friend and his need for gathering paperwork! He was tired and his servo was beginning to protest at the overuse of a faulty styllis. Cursing Ironhide violently, Ratchet finally mustered the courage and lifted his helm. Chevron scraping across his desk rather painfully as he pushed himself to his pedes unsteadily. Ratchet had signed probably about a hundred medical reports and he needed to get out and do something, this sitting still was driving him up the wall. It was time for some recharge anywa―.
"Hey Doc? Ya still 'ere?" A distinctive voice shouted from the Medbay just as he heard the door hiss open to admit the TIC into his domain. Ratchet breathed a sigh of relief, finally! Finally he had something else to do but stare at endless data streams of medical jargon and routine checkups that Ironhide had no business knowing about anyway. Stepping out of his office and into the Medbay Ratchet allowed his optics to adjust to the overly bright light. Finding the TIC already seated on a berth and waiting for him; Ratchet cleared his intakes to capture the saboteur's attention. It didn't take much...
"Heya Ratch! Ah was wonderin' 'f ya would do a check up o―" Ratchet didn't hear anymore. He just stared, his optics recalibrating themselves several times just to make sure what he was seeing was real and not a cruel joke. There, half hidden on Jazz's lap by stroking servos were two Praxian Cats. One of the most rare cybercat breeds in the whole of Cybertron and judging by the way they were constantly drawing strength and comfort from Jazz's EM field, they were young too. Probably too young to be away from their creators already. The oldest one was most likely one or two breeding cycles apart from his brother but siblings they were no less; in fact the older one was protective if not over protective of his younger sibling. They looked haggard; the eldest's beautifully elegant doorwings had deep gouges in them that were lazily leaking Energon. Both of the Praxian's were trembling in fear and most likely spark stress. Ratchet felt pain ripping through his spark chamber; the two little ones had been abandoned.
The Medic sighed and hung his helm his hands; it was a secret joy of his to be able to see cybercats again. One of his biggest secrets that he actually possessed a spark but he was nowhere near qualified enough to know exactly what it was that they needed to overcome this.
"I'm not a veterinarian Jazz but I'll see what I can do." Ratchet admitted softly, his spark bleeding as those frightened optics looked at him with a too bright calibration and their forms continued to tremble in both cold and fear. Ratchet just couldn't let those innocent little blue optics be tainted by anyone and seeing Jazz of all mechs handle them so well was another thing he would never forget. Ratchet had never seen Jazz so content with the world around him and the lazy smile that was stretched across those usually frowning faceplates was truly genuine. Motioning for Jazz to put them on the berth, Ratchet proceeded to do a low level internal scan ― opting for the least invasive and most gentle scan there was. It was often used on sparklings and nervous younglings, a scan reading EM fields rather than internal systems.
What the scan told Ratchet was both disconcerting and alarming. He watched with fascination as Jazz stroked the youngest behind his ear, the smaller of the two of them was trembling with open distress now. The youngest cybercat's small vocalizer was shorting and he was malnourished to the point of death. Ratchet could easily fix all of it; he just needed to gain their trust first.
Reaching out to stroke the twitching metal of the smaller one first before moving on to the black and white one, Ratchet felt relief wash through him when the eldest one leaned into his touch and a small, confused emotional ping was sent across his comm. They were definitely more sentient than he had first thought; they were probably bred for only a Prime's company. Why they had been abandoned Ratchet wouldn't understand; unless they had run away from their breeder who could have any number of things happen to him.
"Hush, I won't hurt you. Your brother needs some repairs done and then you two need to get some Energon into your systems." Ratchet dictated softly but firmly. A quick scan running across the black and white's armour to check his damage.
Ratchet sighed and turned to Jazz, his optics grim but hopeful.
"Look Jazz, they're in pretty bad shape. It's going to take me at least three joors to fix the young on―"
"Bluestreak." Jazz intervened.
"Right Bluestreak's shorted vocalizer and his Energon depletion. Normally I wouldn't allow them on the ship but these two are not feral. They are Cybertronian pets and obviously abandoned, which explains their fear at our presence. I'm guessing that they have already imprinted on you?" Ratchet asked.
"Well, that's a relief. The eldest seems very protective of his brother, and going by the deep scratches on his doorwings he had gotten caught in a very nasty fight. His repairs will take a joor or so, if that is the only thing wrong with him. I'm going to ask you to stay here until I can put them under a light sedative as they would most likely be uncomfortable with only me by their side. After that you need to finnish some of your paperwork; Ironhide is going to kill you if you don't finish. I'll comm. you when I'm done."
"There ya go lit'le on's Ratch said tha' ya need ta drink this 'fore Ah let ya recharge." Jazz placed the two cybercats on his quarter's floor; giving them room to explore whilst he prepared the medical grade mix that Ratchet had given him. Jazz smiled as Prowl pushed Bluestreak behind him protectively and began snooping around the room. Checking for traps, danger and probably glitchmice too. Shaking his helm at the black and white cat's antics; Jazz let out a chuckle.
"T's clean Prowl, Ah checked it m'self." He remarked before heading over to his kitchen to find two used cubes of Energon. After making sure they were clean he placed them on the ground and called them over. Bluestreak was the least bit affected by the new surroundings and bounded over to Jazz despite Prowl's warning hiss of alarm
Jazz just leant down, beckoning the eldest over to him and staying as unthreatening as possible. His fingers scratching behind Prowl's swivelling ear before he caressed a red chevron to make the cybercat melt in his servos. Jazz chuckled as Prowl tentatively crept forward, sniffing at the contents of the cube, before he began lapping at his own cube of Energon.
"Ah'm no' gonna hurt ya Prowler, yer safe 'ere. Nomech's goin' te harm ya." Jazz soothed as he watched the weariness the cybercat displayed grow. Those optics flicking up to check his quarters before he continued drinking his Energon quietly. A flash of uncertainty pushed against their bond and Jazz made sure to expand his EM field to offer them comfort and reassurance. Bluestreak was of course more accepting of the emotions as he gave a happy mewl after he had finished his dinner. His tail swishing back and forth and he didn't stop the movement even when he was constantly hitting Prowl in the side. The eldest though stayed silent, his sharp optics flickered around the room again before they settled on Jazz calculatingly, those doorwings tensing before they gave an accepting flutter. It held a clear message for the saboteur, he was trusted but Prowl would remain hesitant. There was too much trauma to trust as easily as his sibling.
Jazz did nothing but smile at the black and white cat, giving a little nod in understanding. It would evidently take a lot more work to get the Praxian cat to trust him fully. With a gentle sigh and a waving servo, Jazz called over the two of them. He had already constructed a small nest of warm berth coverings and a long forgotten soft toy he had in one of his boxes from his old life; they would need something to play with after all. Jazz himself was getting tired as well; it had taken Ratchet about six joors to fix the both of them. Apparently Prowl was worse off than Bluestreak had been and required an Energon drip and a processor scan. Little Prowl had a logic glitch and it would cause some difficulty for the young one in the future.
"Ah'm gonna turn the lights on low Blue, Prowl. Ah still 'ave some work ta do but Ah'll be quiet." Jazz promised softly and dimmed the lights just as he had said. Pulling at least six more datapads from his subspace Jazz sat on his berth and began working on the stack. Amazingly enough he had done triple the amount of work he had set aside for himself that day. Whether it was because of his newly found companions or the fact that they would be staying with him from now on, he couldn't tell, but Jazz somehow understood that the stress he had been feeling on his shoulder plates recently had significantly lessened.
There was a brush of affection across their emotive bond and Jazz looked up from his datapad. The styllis that had been tapping against his lip plates absently stopped as he just stared. Bluestreak was curled in a tight little ball; half hidden by the blanket Prowl had pulled over the both of them. Only now the black and white Praxian cybercat's doorwings were still and relaxed, that white helm resting on his paws as sharp optics looked up at him in gratitude. A soft 'meow' was his only answer before those optics powered down and the kitten made himself more comfortable in the nest of blankets.
"Aw, sn't tha' jus' sweet?" Jazz purred, his visor softening at the image. Chuckling at his own train of thought, Jazz smiled before setting back to work. There was still so much to do and he also had to get Prowl to Sunstreaker in the morning to get some detailing done, mind you, both of them could use a repaint. Jazz winced as he noticed the healed scratches across black and white doorwings. They had been sealed and buffed with much care and consideration but Ratchet hadn't had the time to redo the paint. Again the old adage of 'so much to do, so little time' made Jazz aware of the situation he now found himself in. After two joors of endless data streams and signing off on reports, Jazz's visor flicked over to Prowl and Bluestreak's sleeping forms. He smiled at the adorable sight before heading for his private wash racks to get ready for a good nights recharge. Hopefully this time his memory fluxes wouldn't be as bad.
The moment Jazz crawled beneath his berth covers he was deep in recharge, the flitting memories of his past mercifully staying away from his subconscious for once. It was the sound of soft whimpers and quiet mewls that dragged Jazz from his recharge; his dark visor flickered on in the dark of the room. Jazz shifted on his side in confusion, trying to figure out what had awoken him. When his visor connected with a small pair of sorrow filled optics, paws scratching at the side of his berth in search of purchase, Jazz sighed but expanded his EM field anyway. The little kitten looked up at Jazz so pleadingly that he couldn't refuse the request. At first Jazz was confused as to why Bluestreak would be asking to placed in the berth with him but he stilled when he noticed black and white plating instead of black and grey.
"Prowler?" Jazz inquired softly; his spark breaking at the sight of bright blue coolant tears gathering at the corners of the kitten's optics. Without second thought Jazz picked him up and pulled him close to his spark chamber. Prowl curled closer to the warmth and rubbed his chevron against Jazz's spark chamber. Jazz tickled his ears and stroked over doorwings lovingly, the soft purring of Prowl's engine made Jazz relax.
"T's not always so easy te be the strong on' 's it? Tha's okay though Prowler, this will be yer and mah secret." Jazz whispered into the emptiness of his quarters and chuckled when he felt Prowl burrow further into his side. The gentle hum of the kitten's engine rumbled against his spark chamber and those doorwings gave on flutter of contentment. It didn't take long for the two of them to swept away by exhaustion. It had been a long orn.
Prowl awoke to the mewling and whining of his brother, and with regret he wiggled himself free from the comfort he had found next to Jazz. Jumping from the berth, despite the sudden height and danger to his small frame ― Prowl managed to keep his yowl of pain hidden when he twisted one his front paws painfully. It wouldn't do to startle Jazz or Bluestreak into complete wakefulness; Bluestreak would freak and attack anything in sight and Jazz would most likely be too tired to continue the work he was supposed to do.
Prowl hissed softly, doorwings quivering helplessly at the influx of pain. And yet in his immense self control, he managed to keep silent. Prowl could always nurse his own wounds later. Luckily the moment he crawled back into the warm nest of blankets Blue calmed and pressed closer to his warmth and curled tightly against his frame. Metallic ears twitching once or twice whilst those doorwings fluttered to settle into a more comfortable position.
Prowl could do nothing more than just whisper quiet comforts over their sibling bond to try and keep Bluestreak from thinking about their creator and how she had died. He had tried to shield his brother from the scene that orn but Blue, being the curious kitten that he was, hadn't heeded his warning and looked from beneath his paw plating. His brother's sobs that orn were still very fresh in his audios. Bluestreak's spark had been broken when their creator's cold lifeless form had just been left there by the intruders. They had been lucky to get away in time.
Prowl had known that orn that they couldn't stay there anymore and needed to get away fast. Taking to the back alleys had been their only option at any chance for survival. Now that Prowl had found this kind spared mech called Jazz he was never letting go again. He was tentative at first to even approach the stranger that had sauntered into their alley but Bluestreak was hungry then and Prowl knew they hadn't eaten in orns. Their best bet had been to trust the stranger and they had been lucky enough that Jazz not only fed them but also wanted them as companions.
Nuzzling his brother's small chevron with his own, Prowl tried to settle down into his own recharge but it was going to be a difficult cycle. He no longer had Jazz's thrumming spark to sooth his own distress and he could already feel his resolve breaking. He was lost and afraid he didn't know what to do anymore.
Thanks for reading, if you enjoyed this then please leave a review and please read the Author's Note if you wish for this to be continued.