Hey there, it's been a long time since I posted anything on here, but I thought I'd get back into the swing of things by posting a oneshot. I have a longer story in the works, and this was the perfect way for my to excerise my writing ability. Hope you all enjoy, and I'm sorry if the ending feels rushed, I'm unfortunately hard pressed for time right now.

Now please enjoy the Prowl and Jazz snippet. Slash is there if you squint, not there if you like their bromance.

Prowl finished filing the last of his deskwork, sighing softly as he reviewed what he'd accomplished for the day. Not surprisingly, it was not that much. Thanks to Sideswipe choosing that day of all days to pull a prank, Prowl had spent a good portion of the morning trying to track down the red hellion for duck taping Huffer's pedes to the ceiling. It had created the illusion Huffer was walking upside-down on the ceiling, though his whining and calls for help shattered the effect.

After that situation had been handled, Prowl had been called to Prime's office to discuss new, creative ways to punish Sideswipe, since their list was running out, and they'd yet to find a punishment that stuck with the mech. Prime doubted they'd ever find a punishment good enough, but Prowl's stubbornness refused to give up on the problem. Sideswipe was a conundrum he was determined to crack, no matter how long it took.

Once the meeting was over, Prowl had been summoned to Red Alert's station. The paranoid security officer had claimed suspicious activity was happening, and due to Prowl's rank, he'd been required to address the issue. As usual, it had been a false alarm, with Red Alert's paranoia getting the best of him. Most of the time, Prowl didn't blame him, considering how stressful the red and white's job could be. But there were times even Prowl didn't have the patience, like when he was behind on work.

Then of course, something else popped up in the form of an experiment gone awry with Wheeljack, and that had taken up the remainder of the afternoon. So by the end of the day, Prowl had managed to put Sideswipe in the brig, convince a frustrated Prime Sideswipe was better kept alive and having around for morale's sake, satisfied Red Alert that there was no Decepticon threat, and forced out a full report from Wheeljack on just what he managed to blow up this time. Not the most progressive of days in Prowl's mind. He'd only just managed to finish up assigning everyone's duties for the following week before evening came. The Praxian still had battle plans to fix and refine, as well as supplies to order.

Feeling worn down at the prospect of yet another all-nighter, Prowl decided he could at least use a cube to help him make it through. Ratchet would surely have a fit if he learned Prowl forgot to refuel yet again, and frankly he didn't have the time to be scolded.

So off to the RecRoom he went to retrieve a cube. But like every plan he made for himself that day, it was blown up by another Autobot; this time, in the playful form of Jazz.

Prowl grunted softly as Jazz's hand clapped friendlily around his shoulders, missing his sensitive door wings by mere centimeters. The SIC never knew whether he should be grateful Jazz was careful not to hurt him, or annoyed by the brotherly embrace. He ended up feeling a mixture of the two.

"Heya Prowler, mah man, what's shakin'?" tone cheerful and light, Jazz had obviously been having one of his usual good days.

"If something was shaking, I would be heading to the med-bay, not the recreation room," Prowl spoke, clipped and straight to the point as he usually was.

Jazz snorted, but in good humor, "I know ya knew what I meant."

Prowl looked at his companion flatly. Ever since they had begun working together under Optimus Prime, Jazz had become Prowl's self proclaimed best friend. In the beginning Prowl had found the mech's actions unbearably annoying and obnoxious, but with time, the SIC had gained a sense of appreciation for the more outgoing bot.

At Prowl's lack of response, Jazz simply gave him a playful nudge. His visor was bright and expression eager, and immediately Prowl knew he wasn't going to be getting anymore work done that night.

"Judging by your unusual close proximity, and current jubilant state," Prowl frowned and crossed his arms, "you desire my company for something."

Jazz laughed, "Don' go makin' it sound like a bad t'ing Prowler."

Prowl sighed, simply waiting for Jazz to make his request, and formulated excuses not to go with the visored mech. Perhaps if he had a valid enough point, Jazz would let it drop. He shifted on his pedes impatiently.

"So, do ya wanna go out on a patrol wit' me?"

Prowl blinked slowly, looking at Jazz with a frown. A patrol; a mere patrol? Jazz requested his company because he didn't want to be bored on a patrol? Prowl wasn't sure if he should feel insulted or not. Jazz was perfectly capable of surveying the surrounding area for suspicious activities without him, actually, even better without him, not to mention Prowl had a surplus of work to do.

"You're serious?" he had to ask, even though he knew Jazz's response.

"I'm always serious, Prowler."

The Datsun heaved a heavy sigh, exhaling air through his vents. Right on cue, Jazz's lips puckered out into a pout, and his head lowered meekly. The expression was entirely unbecoming for an officer with his rank, and yet it worked.

"Fineā€¦but just this once," Prowl caved.

Immediately Jazz cheered and looped his arm through Prowl's, promptly dragging the mech out of the base and into the Oregon night.

"Jazz, is this entirely necessary?" Prowl yanked back for possession of his arm, but Jazz's grip was firm, and the winged mech couldn't break free.

"Jus' makin' sure ya don' try ta ditch on me man. Ya done it before," Jazz excused his actions with a reminder of what Prowl did last time. In his defense, there had been a convenient Decepticon attack on an oil rig only a few minutes later, and he really had to go. Prowl couldn't have asked for better timing.

"I recall there being a legitimate cause for that," Prowl amended.

Jazz only snorted at him, and the Porsche quickly let go as soon as they had gained some distance from the base. Prowl sent Prime a short message on his activities, so the great leader wouldn't think anything had happened to him. Not that anything ever did happen to Prowl; he was always in his office working. But that was the reason why Prowl sent the message in the first place. He wasn't where he always was.

Just then Jazz's form folded down and flattened, his tires biting at the dirt road before gaining purchase and shooting off. Prowl sighed at his manic laughter, but transformed and followed after his enthusiastic friend. Somehow, he was going to have to cut this patrol short and get back to his office. Forget the energon, he was severely behind.

Prowl watched Jazz's sleek form split off on a fork in the road up ahead. It was a less used path that narrowed into a measly trail into the mountains, before it simply disappeared thanks to weathering and time.

"Jazz, why are we taking this route?" Prowl inquired over the comm.

"Evah heard o' the scenic route?" Jazz laughed and accelerated, in turn forcing Prowl to do the same so he wouldn't fall behind. Considering the road they were now on technically no longer had a speed limit, Prowl wasn't overly troubled with the idea he could be breaking the human's speed laws. But keeping to his nature, the Datsun slowed down anyways.

"Jazz, we have no reason for speeding," the second in command tried to reason, "I believe a scenic route is supposed to be enjoyed at a leisurely pace."

"Maybe, if yer scared ta have a lil' fun," Jazz laughed and only poured on more juice, soon whizzing completely out of sight as his form ducked around a turn and was lost to the foliage of the forest in the mountains.

Internally Prowl moaned, having had enough of this. He couldn't be out and about playing like some oversized sparkling with a mech that couldn't handle a little obligation and patrol a base on his own. The Praxian slammed on the brakes, and transformed, shaking his head. He was done.

Without a second thought, Prowl abandoned Jazz yet again, and trudged back to base to finish the rest of his work. It was going to be a long night, and he was sure Jazz would be moping in the morning, but it was nothing a little energon and a good board game together couldn't fix. Jazz was thankfully a very forgiving mech.

By morning, Prowl was snoozing on his desk, cheek smeared on a datapad, and arms flung up around his head as if he'd been protecting himself from something. Slowly, the black and white Datsun's optics flickered online, and he held in a low moan.

Miraculously, he'd managed to finish all his work, and even chart out a few of the following week's events. Unable to swallow down a groan as he sat up, his datapad stuck to his face uncomfortably, making him peel off the device. It stung from being plastered to his cheek all night, and Prowl deposited it quickly with his other work.

Checking his chronometer for the time, Prowl discovered it was eight o'clock in the morning. He had slept in, but hopefully not to a degree that set him behind again. He stood and exited his office, surprised Jazz hadn't sprung in and whined to him about up and disappearing yet again. Oh well, Prowl thought, he'd see the mech's face soon enough.

Going about his daily business of signing, scheduling, planning, and dishing out appropriate punishment for Autobots' childish behaviors, Prowl spent a good portion of his day preoccupied with work. Of course, he was always working; but this time, something was nagging at him in the back of his mind, and he just couldn't figure out what.

"Prowl, there you are," a deep voice called out to him from behind.

The tactician turned around, looking up at Prime mildly, "Sir. Do you require something?"

Optimus Prime shook his head, but there was underlining confusion in his heavy gaze, so Prowl patiently waited for him to begin speaking. He knew his commander didn't like to barrage his SIC with questions or assignments, but it was always out of necessity that he did.

"Have you seen Jazz? We had a meeting scheduled today, but he never showed. I've been trying to contact him, but the link is dead."

Surprised, Prowl immediately opened the comm, trying Jazz's frequency. There was no static, or merry voice to great him; only a resounding silence.

"That is odd," Prowl mused, "his comm was working just fine yesterday."

Immediately his battle computer sprang into action, assessing, analyzing, and calculating the odds of why Jazz's comm had gone out of commission. The probabilities came, and Jazz's chance of running into trouble was at forty eight percent. Far too high for Prowl's liking.

"Do you know where he could be?" even though Prime wasn't saying it, Prowl knew by the leader's look that he too suspected something had gone awry.

"The last I saw of him, he was out on a routine patrol. According to the schedule, he was supposed to clock in around eleven last night," Prowl blinked slowly in realization, "Hold on one moment sir."

Quickly the black and white bot began walking down to the assignment board, with Prime following close behind him. Nearing the large, electronic bulletin, Prowl brought up yesterday's assignments. His doorwings rose up high on his back as he saw what he feared would be missing. Jazz had never clocked back in. Not wanting to jump to conclusions, the SIC gave Optimus Prime a look that hinted concern, before hastily the pair went down to the security room.

"Red Alert, pull up the footage from last night," Prime immediately commanded.

The red and white mech, always on alert, lurched at the order, but immediately did as he was told, wiping out a few feeds on the screen to pull up one big one for the leader's viewing. The paranoid bot looked from Prowl to Prime, obviously concerned.

"What's going on? Was there a security breech?" the only reason he wasn't near hysterics was because Prime was there, and a hysterical bot was a bot that could be taken off duty.

"No, not a security breech. We have a mech missing," Prime answered.

Prowl merely watched the recorded feed intensely, carefully fast forwarding it through the entire night, but no one save Hound turned up in it, being mech that had been assigned to replace Jazz after he'd gotten back from patrol. Discouraged by that fact, Prowl leaned back, a pit of dread forming in the usually detached tactician. If something had happened to Jazz, it was all Prowl's fault for not sticking around.

"Red Alert, Prowl, make calls around the base, see if anyone has been in contact with Jazz since last night," Optimus ordered, "I will begin assembling a search team just in case."

"Yes sir," both bots echoed in unison.

As Red Alert opened his comm to the general frequency everyone shared, Prowl walked out, hurrying down the hall as his processor spun. Thanks to the feed, the probability of Jazz being outside the base increased sharply, up to seventy nine percent. It was an unacceptable amount, and not something Prowl wanted to doubt.

So, logically, he concluded it be most efficient to begin checking where he had last seen Jazz the evening before. If there were signs of a struggle or accident, Prowl could easily comm the base and call off the investigation, and get help to the area immediately. Satisfied with his decision, the black and white tactician hurried out of the base, transforming and rushing off to where he'd abandoned Jazz.

Once arriving at the beaten down spot, Prowl transformed and peered around. Frowning, he pressed on by foot, walking beneath the forest's canopy in the lazy afternoon light. With such a hype going on back at base in the search for Jazz, Prowl thought the afternoon's calmness was inappropriate; or as Jazz would say, ironic.

Not missing a single detail, Prowl searched for any sign of Jazz running into trouble, but the tracks his alt had made ran straight and true, following the trail up the winding mountain. Prowl could even make out where Jazz had realized he'd lost Prowl, but unsurprising, he'd gone on with his patrol.

A small pang hit Prowl, but he pushed it aside. He was Jazz's superior officer, and he hadn't time for the whims of a lonely mech. And, Prowl reminded himself, he was going to make it up to him later anyways.

Continuing on, Prowl noted the trail grew more treacherous, and judging by the sudden set of pede marks instead of tires, Jazz had realized it too. Prowl cycled his vents softly, wondering privately how far the trail went.

Hot, white, scream inducing pain shot through Jazz like a firecracker, making him whimper pathetically as he came to. The saboteur swallowed dryly as he struggled into full awareness, warnings bleeping at him in his processor, alerting him to the considerable damage that ravaged his frame.

The mech laid very still, trying to piece together what had happened. Fractured memories and glimpses bombarded him through his haze of pain until he could put the puzzle together. He'd been patrolling, and after Prowl had bailed on him, he'd decided to take a more adventurous route; a route that he previously hadn't been considering.

But when he'd gotten distracted listening to some tunes, he'd misstepped high up on a mountain, a careless mistake, and he'd gone tumbling down into a gulley far below. And that, Jazz recalled, hadn't even been the worst part. With a beam in his leg shattered, the black and white mech had tried to drag himself out of the gulley and comm for help, when out of nowhere Ravage had appeared.

The cat had attacked Jazz before he could pull out his blaster, and the struggle in the gulley had been fierce, if brief. Ravage had sliced a deep gouge in Jazz's helm, severing his lines of communication with the other Autobots, and had driven his claws in deep inside Jazz's chest and torso, going for the vital components. Somehow the injured mech had managed to keep the cat away from his throat, and during the scuffle had miraculously obtained a hold of his blaster and shot at the Con until he was forced to retreat.

Jazz cycled with a wheeze, vision on the fritz. Whatever damage the cat had caused, it hurt like Pit and completely immobilized the TIC.

Failing to bite back a strangled cry, the Porsche cringed as he forced his frame to move, propping himself up on his elbows.

Once he'd managed that, he finally caught sight of the state his body was in. Grimacing from a mixture of pain and discouragement, Jazz took careful note of his condition.

Ravage's claws had raked deep gashed up the saboteur's torso and side, leaving internal components exposed and sparking. Energon gushed from these wounds rapidly, telling Jazz he'd been losing precious energy all night.

His shattered leg's armor was crumpled along his thigh, and his knee bent out at an odd angle. The only good thing was he couldn't feel it, and energon was not leaking out. Jazz hefted a heavy sigh through his vents, only to cough and gag as he spat up energon. That didn't bode well at all.

He shakily put his hand over his chest, unable to look down far enough and see it. As he pulled his hand away, he saw the wet, syrupy consistency of congealed energon on his chest. A clear sign of infection by rust or corrosion, Jazz could only bemoan his bad luck. He could only hope that the damage hadn't reached his spark chamber, or else he was in some real slag.

Weakly, the black and white saboteur tried to roll onto his side, in desperate attempt to at least crawl, but a screech rang out, and pain blared through his frame. It took the dazed mech a moment to realize that the screech had come from him, and that he was still alone.

"Fraggit," the injured mech had succeeded in rolling onto his side, but now he was stuck that way, with his broken leg beneath him. It did not appreciate the weight applied to it.

Trying to come up with some options, Jazz's visored gaze went up to the top of the gulley. No one knew where he was except Prowl, and the chances of that mech noticing his absence any time soon was very low. He wished Prowl wasn't such a shut in.

Still, he couldn't get out of this mess thinking about negative things. He had to be able to do something constructive, he had to be. But with that last bout of internal reassurance, Jazz heard something crack above his head. Immediately the downed saboteur glared up at the top of the gulley.

Ravage had escaped, and even though he'd been injured, Jazz was certain the spy would be able to alert another Con of his predicament. The Porsche struggled to move again, but blinding pain surged down his chest and bridged across his torso, where it imbedded itself in his leg.

A stream of obscenities rushed out Jazz's lips before he could stop himself. Normally he wasn't one to lose his cool, but no bot liked winding up in a ditch marinating in their own fluids. Not to mention Jazz's pride had been wounded thanks to Ravage's almost successful attack. Maybe that was why Bumblebee had such low self esteem, Jazz pondered; the yellow minibot was always getting bested by that little son of a glitch.

Another crackle of fallen leaves snapped Jazz back into the present. The saboteur focused once more on the top of the gulley, just waiting for some Con's head to appear over the rim. He aimed his blaster, ready to shoot the first Decepticon he saw into scrap metal.

Jazz's hidden optics widened as an all too familiar, and unwelcome, bot peered over the edge. Without a second thought the Porsche fired his weapon, only for it to be shot out of his hand. He didn't flinch in front of the enemy, and only sneered.

Soundwave slid down into the gulley, moving in on the downed mech.

Prowl sprinted forward as soon as he heard a scream of pain not far away. He'd reached the peak of a trail where there had been an obvious disturbance, and from what the Datsun could gather, Jazz had fallen down the mountain side.

However, sprinting down a mountain side was much easier in theory, not in practice. He stumbled and slid, before he had to end up surfing on his pedes down towards a muddy gulley. It took Prowl only seconds to spy Jazz's energon soaked frame, and even less time to see Soundwave moving in on him.

Immediately Prowl freed his blasters from subspace, and fired, hitting the Decepticon in the shoulder.

Soundwave jumped back more out of surprise than pain, but the action of jumping back was what Prowl wanted. He needed that blue Con as far from his friend as possible. With cool precision, Prowl jumped into the gulley, and landed perfectly between Jazz and Soundwave.

He flared out his doorwings, and drew himself up tall while he kept his blasters trained on the masked mech. There was no slagging way this slagger was going to cause Jazz further harm.

The two mechs stood frozen as they glared one another down. Even with Prowl's shorter stature, the intimidation factor was not affected. When a mech could calculate thousands of variables in a matter of seconds, even Soundwave had to give Prowl his grudging respect.

"Back off Soundwave. I already have a team moving in as we speak," Prowl threatened.

Though true, the team Prowl called in as backup was likely still getting organized. If Soundwave chose to risk it, there was no telling what kind of damage could be done in the resulting scuffle. Prowl was a competent fighter, sure, but his specialty was strategy, and here out in the field alone, with against a mech with far more strength and nearly equal cunning, the odds were not in his favor.

Jazz groaned for the first time since Prowl had come to his aid, and the Praxian almost made the mistake of turning to check on him. He mentally slapped himself for the near folly, and growled at Soundwave instead. He couldn't afford any distractions, even if that distraction was the mech he was trying to protect.

The standoff didn't last much longer, for Soundwave caught Prowl's bluff, and released Frenzy and Rumble from his chest compartment. Cursing Prowl backed up, watching the pair of smaller Cons with wary optics. They laughed in excitement, the sound making Prowl's spark sink in his chest. He had a bad feeling this would not end well.

Jazz's vision faded in and out, the muffled sound of blaster fire and banging metal barely keeping him awake. He tried to focus on what was making all the noise, but all he saw where blurred shapes of color. One form in particular caught his optic; black and white with a smear of red. It had to be Prowl.

Unable to do much of anything at this point, Jazz could only emit a low moan as he felt a few small rocks batter against his downed frame. He turned his head away from the action, his thoughts foggy and confused. Why would Prowl be here? The mech was always in his office working, how could he have known to come so soon?

With the answers unclear, Jazz's thoughts switched to pondering how the fight was going, since he couldn't actually tell what was going on. A few sharper noises met his audios, and Jazz got the inclination it was shouts of profanity, most likely coming from the two smaller blurs getting beat back by Prowl's smudged form.

And then quite suddenly, sound was everywhere, echoing all around him. He barely lifted his head to see the three forms Prowl had been battling were retreating, while bright flashes of colored light pursued after them. Jazz could barely register that the lights were additional blaster fire.

His head fell back down into the mud, letting its coolness bring some comfort. He didn't care if he was dirty anymore. He just wanted to rest. The feeling of being shaken aroused Jazz for but a moment, before sweet unconsciousness engulfed him, oblivious to the panicked shout of another, desperate to awaken him.

A steady beeping noise was the first thing Jazz heard as he slowly came to. It took the visored bot a moment to realize it was the sound of a spark monitor. Cracking open his hidden optics, his gaze flickered over to the machine, staring at the steady readings it was giving off. He was still alive.

The feeling of being watched quickly diverted Jazz's attention, and he turned his head in the other direction. To his surprise, he was face to face with a recharging Prowl, who was slumped over onto his berth, half sitting, half hanging out of a chair.

Jazz, for the first time in his life, didn't know what to think. Prowl had been watching over him? A faint smile just barely surfaced on his strained features. So the Praxian did care about him after all.

"Ah, you're back with the living," the familiar voice of the Autobots CMO quickly won Jazz's undivided attention.

"I didn' think I evah left, Ratch," he smiled, feeling more like his old self slowly, but steadily.

Ratchet did not find the humor in Jazz's words. The medic simply went to his patient's side, taking readings and running a few diagnostics now that he was conscious.

"You nearly did. That was incredibly stupid of you to climb that mountain. The fall alone could have killed you!"

Relieved to see Ratchet was mad at him, Jazz knew for certain he was in the all clear. The medic was never angry with those when they were barely recovering from the brink of offlining. Jazz inferred he'd make a full recovery and be back on duty soon enough.

"So what happen'd?" Jazz asked simply, not about to antagonize the bot like the twins would.

Ratchet stared at him flatly for a long moment, as if debating answering, "You fell off a mountain, and got attacked by Ravage, judging by all the claw marks I had to weld shut. Then Soundwave was predictably close by, and tried to take you back to the Decepticons. Lucky for you Prowl figured out where you where, and kept him and those fragging cassettes busy long enough for back up to arrive. You're lucky your actions didn't wind up putting anyone else under my care."

"So Prowler's okay?" Jazz looked back at the mech asleep beside him, a shallow smirk forming.

Ratchet rolled his optics, exasperated by how nonchalant Jazz was when faced with near death experiences. He seriously wanted to run a psyche exam on him sometime.

"Fortunately, all he got was a crack in his leg strut from Rumble," Ratchet paused however, looking over the pair, "Slagger won't leave you side either."

Jazz blinked at that, his surprise clear on his visible faceplate, "No kiddin'?"

"I think he felt bad about ditching you on patrol," Ratchet explained.

"He, mentioned that?" the TIC could only stare in disbelief at the slumbering bot at his side. It was not like Prowl at all to behave like this.

"He felt bad," Ratchet shrugged, "Although it was your own stupidity that got you into that situation," the medic growled, appearing to be seriously contemplating hitting his current patient.

"Ah, well, nice ta know he cares," Jazz exhaled a low sigh from his intakes, dimming his optics as he simply relaxed.

"He's always cared Jazz," Ratchet spoke simply, and then left the pair be.

Jazz smirked at that, and let his optics fall shut. He'd probably get an audio full from Prowl when the SIC finally awoke, but it was nice to know that deep down the cold, calculative Praxian did have a spark. He'd have to make up all this trouble to him later, but for now, he was contented to slip into recharge alongside his companion.