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Better Off Not Knowing: Ch 1 Thunderstorm

Summary:

"Fire is three strikes." [What's that supposed to mean?] Jazz had asked. "It is the average time it takes for someone to start a fire with flint and steel. Two-point-eight seconds." [Okay…?] "It is also the same amount of time for a reckless action to burn out of control." Prowl had glared at Jazz who sheepishly smiled in turn.

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❣WAIT❣

This story will not make sense if you have not read up to the Mimic AU update on May 23. If you haven't heard of it, it's a fic/comic by Keferon and you can start reading it here. I HIGHLY recommend it!! (ﾟoﾟ )

This is yet another gift for you, Keferon! ❤(◕w◕✿) I sincerely hope you like it. I did my best to serve you some angst with so little build up. But… Two Peas in a Pod will likely end up having far better angst. (￣x ￣|||)

----Housekeeping----

'Italics and apostrophes?' Jazz speaking without the catalyst of love close by, or speaking aloud near Prowl where others could hear him.

[Square brackets,] Jazz using Chirolinguistics/speaking hand to talk with Prowl.

Think of shanix being the equivalent of sliver coins. Classic fantasy or medieval coins felt a little weird since they can use most metals as ingredients for food or parts.

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With all that being said, put on some good heavy rain ambience and let's get started!!

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"A private room, please," Prowl politely requested, "preferably with a hearth."

The innkeeper glanced from him to the other hooded mech hunched over and shivering by the door; the one that Prowl had brought in along with him. They were both completely soaked from the thundering downpour that had been going on for several hours from early evening into present nightfall.

"If you want a fire, you'll have to share. I've got a few bunks left in the collective chamber room. But, if privacy is more important to you, I've got one left upstairs."

"How much for the one upstairs?" With the demand of the weather, Prowl didn't expect their lodging requirements for the night to be cheap, but upper rooms were usually the pricier ones in general. Hopefully this person wasn't the type to gouge another's purse when they were vulnerable. "And if the kitchen is still available, we would be interested in a warm meal."

"Twenty Shanix, for the room," another glance was sent to his partner, the innkeeper was clearly suspicious of the two cloaked figures, "and ten for collateral. Two more for a serving and a mug. Each."

It was most certainly outrageous with what they would likely be acquiring, but Prowl wasn't in a place to haggle nor did he have time. With thirty-four coins handed over, their – fake – names written down on the ledger, Prowl received a worn key. "Last door on your left. Make sure to come down to the bar soon or you'll have to wait till dawn for your meal."

"Understood." Prowl then returned to Jazz's side once more, ignoring the scrutinizing optics of the other patrons. "I've got us a private room, but no hearth."

The mimic smiled brightly and happily slung an arm over the golem's shoulders, grateful to have him to lean on again. Though Jazz stumbled on the first few steps and giggled – not that Prowl could hear it – a little at his own expense.

Apparently it was quite the convincing act; Prowl noticed, as the tension that had been caused by their entrance was slowly settling. It had been good quick thinking on Jazz's part. Pretending to be intoxicated to obscure the real reason why Prowl was helping Jazz walk.

He was wounded.

And common folk along trade routes or part of small settlements viewed a wounded mech as a beacon of trouble. Whether running from it or causing it didn't matter, they would be chased off. At worst they could be accused of being monsters in hiding and attacked.

But one surprise bout with marauders was enough fighting for one day. Jazz needed a place to rest and recover that was dry and warm.

As they made their way towards the stairs, Jazz whispered just loud enough for the innkeeper to overhear, 'I'm sure we'll find other means of warming up, sweet-spark.'

Prowl of course heard none of it and moved along, completely ignoring the surprised and scandalized look being sent their way.

The room was relatively modest, if not a bit small; a place to sit and a bed to rest. They were lucky that there was a glow-crystal set on the table, providing dim lighting in an otherwise dark room. But it was dry, it had a door they could lock, it appeared to be clean, and that was all they really needed.

Prowl made sure to secure the door before Jazz was brought over to be set down on a stool next to the table that was too small to accommodate two people. Jazz didn't even get to vent in relief before Prowl's hands began to rid him of his cloak, tossing it aside on the floor with a heavy slop.

And Jazz… was a bit distracted when Prowl went after his scarf next, whether it was the blood loss or unsated curiosity or both, Jazz didn't know. While Prowl focused on unwrapping the mess of fabric, Jazz was examining his face in the low light. The longer he searched for the clues that gave away what he truly was, the more Prowl's optics became uncanny. They didn't look any different at first glance and with the expressive face that no golem had, it was easy to miss the tell. Like so many others had. Like Jazz had. But his optics didn't have micro movements of adjusting focal lenses.

It would have been like staring at statue with magical crystals for optics if he didn't move.

Prowl took a knee after throwing the second wet bundle with the next. His careful, but quick fingers slipped into the wrap of Jazz's tabard just beneath his chest-plate and Jazz flinched harshly. Though Prowl frowned at the reaction, he didn't stop, leaving Jazz to scramble for the other's hands. [Whoa, whoa, a little privacy!?]

"You have remains of an arrow lodged in your abdomen," he pressed with firm look.

Still shivering like a leaf in the wind, Jazz gave a confident smile. [I got it from here– why don't you go get the food before the cook calls it a night?]

Prowl scowled but retreated. "Very well, I will return as quickly as I can." Swiftly he unfastened his own cloak, let it slump to the floor, and gave his wing-panels a few flicks to rid himself of any major droplets. Though, before he took more than two steps, he paused and dug a folded piece of cloth out of his bag to set on the table.

"It's small, but use it to dry yourself as much as you can and clean up the blood. Grab the bedding to cover yourself if you're feeling exposed, just try not to bleed on it. The innkeeper already thinks were shady."

Jazz chuckled silently and nodded, shooing him off with a gesture. Then he grabbed the offered cloth and began wiping it over his upper body. Just enough to wick the water from pooling on his frame. He waited for the click of the lock before Jazz dropped his mask; his easy smile, and started rushing to get the last of his clothing off.

As expected, the moment that the pressure of the wrapping gone, the deep wounds began bleeding down his frame onto the floor. Fortunately, Jazz had experience with being stabbed and knew that nothing important had been hit. Well… nothing a potion or two couldn't fix right away – if only an arrow hadn't broke when he rolled.

It had been a fluke, the stupid bandits had gotten a lucky shot – okay, a few shots and solid stab to his tank, still lucky – because he had gotten distracted by Prowl about to be gored beneath his chest plate; a vital point just shy of the spark. And Jazz had reacted without thinking, putting himself in harms way to protect him. A foolish action the golem had scolded him for afterwards once Prowl saw the bit of wood jutting out from him.

Yes – in light of recent events, he now knew why no weapon had ever frightened Prowl in all the months that they've known each other. And yes, getting stabbed wasn't going to hurt him. Logically Jazz knew, he understood.

Yet, after all this time it had become reflexive of him to try and protect Prowl. Of what had started off as burden whenever their joint investigations went south – the mech had clearly never been in a fight – steadily became something more.

At first, it was because Prowl's goals aligned with his own and it would just make his job easier if the mech wasn't dead. Then he learned of Prowl's end goal, of a future most of monster kind could only dream of. And it was probably the first time in Jazz's life that he actually believed someone might be able to make a difference.

Gradually it had become more and more personal, with every night they snuck out, with every day they spent piecing together clues. The glimpses Jazz got to see of Prowl that others surely had missed or didn't gave the time to look.

It waned and waned until wanting; because his skills couldn't be replaced –became needing; because Prowl couldn't be replaced.

And once Jazz realized how important Prowl had truly become, he started slipping. Never being honest with why he hovered, why he became more reckless when they were together, why he was willing to use himself as a shield.

All for the stupidly simple reason of Jazz just needing Prowl to be safe.

And when Jazz learned he was golem, it hadn't changed a thing.

Well… that probably wasn't entirely true. Things had changed, just – not in a way he could have ever anticipated. Jazz's feelings hadn't changed, but his hope had. And he… wasn't ready for Prowl to see how far he had fallen.

Would he even understand?

But that was a different pain for another time.

As Jazz pressed the cloth into the bleeding gouges near the bit of wood jutting out from his abdomen, he contemplated for a moment about using a knife to pry out the obstruction. But his shaky and numb from the cold hands said it was a very bad idea.

'A fire would be so nice right about now.'

However, the only thing he had to warm himself with was the blanket on the bed and he really didn't want it to get wet. Humble roadside inns like this often don't provide the nicest bedding, there is a good chance that it was super thin and corse. But with a harsh rattle of his body's desperate attempt to keep him moving – to generate some semblance of heat, paired with the dangerous temptation of just passing out right now – it had Jazz standing up.

Reaching out with his free hand, Jazz yanked the blanket off the bed with ease. Turns out that it was thicker than expected, a bonus with it only being a little rough – thank god – but it made a world of a difference.

It was a bit awkward to wrap himself and avoid the wounded area. Once he was; pathetically, half covered he hobbled back to the stool, bunching what he could in his lap. Both to keep it away from the pool of liquids on the floor and to trap what little existing warmth he had left.

The knock at the door that came a second later was likely a courtesy than anything else, because Jazz would have normally heard that someone was there. But Prowl knew his footsteps were eerily light, even Jazz could miss it if he got distracted. It was not a trained skill that Jazz had once believed, just another tell of what Prowl really was.

Jazz cursed to himself and adjusted the cloth pressed against his wounds to hide what he could, aside from the broken arrow. Just as Prowl entered with a small cauldron and plater in one arm, and a rune-stone lantern – brightening the room like the late afternoon sun – and two empty tin mugs in the other. Food and lantern steaming in the cool air.

A harsh tremble rattled through the mimic at the prospect of something, anything that could warm him. 'That could be the worst gruel ever and I'd probably still eat it.'

Jazz stared eagerly at what Prowl set on the table, and it honestly didn't look half bad, even if it seemed a little light for a meal for two. Not that Prowl could eat so maybe it had been by design, to keep up appearances? The energon cakes were simple and faint blue, the liquid in the cauldron had a richer hue; though not by much. If he had to guess, they were both of low grade. Filling, even though wouldn't provide much energy, but most importantly it was hot.

"Let's get that arrow out before you eat," Prowl stated as moved the other stool to Jazz's wounded side and the set lantern on top, giving him a better view of the injury.

Jazz took hold of Prowl's hand as he knelt once more, [just rip it out.]

"No. That would only result in more damage and cause you immense pain."

[Don't worry, I can take it,] he gave a cheeky grin for extra reassurance.

But Prowl's gaze hardened, like he was offended, yet his tone held no bite, "I do not want to hurt you, I will remove it as carefully as I am able."

Jazz hesitated a second, [real sweet of you, Prowler, but the faster it's out the faster I can swing back a potion.] His smile then shifted to something more genuine, [and the faster I can get warmed up.]

Prowl frowned, but nodded, bringing up Jazz's temperature was equally as important, "very well, brace yourself." He felt Jazz's grip in their linked hands tighten as Prowl raised the other hand over the area.

[Ready,] Jazz insisted and stilled his whole frame as much as he was physically able, fighting back the shivers.

With his pinched grip on the broken bit of wood; as there wasn't enough left of it to get his hand around it, Prowl yanked hard, freeing it in one go. Jazz bit his tongue as he tried to muffle his pained yelp.

"Jazz."

'Mm-hm,' Jazz reflexively hummed in response, still working himself through the flash of pain that had been unavoidable.

"It came apart," Prowl showed him the remains of the shaft and the clearly missing head.

'Frag,' Jazz cursed aloud at first and then vented deeply, [okay, just– just do what you need to to get it out.]

"Jazz–"

[Please, hurry before I crash.] The combination of pain, loss of pressure in his lines and near frigid temperature was pushing his limits of staying online.

Prowl set the piece on the table and uttered a quiet, "I'll try to be quick," before he started feeling for the narrow bit of metal. Jazz jerked back and shouted as burning pain surged throughout as the other's fingers dug into the wound.

'Oh, frag,' Jazz groaned in agony and gripped Prowl's hand hard enough to hurt as he tried to prevent his shaking body from recoiling, 'frag!'

"Just about…" he pinched the edges between his fingers in hopes to prevent cutting into Jazz when he pulled it out, "there."

Jazz couldn't help but stomp his foot as it was finally removed and vented heavily in relief; how ever much that backfired on his warmth problem. The arrowhead was quickly set aside before Prowl's hand returned to apply pressure. He should have expected that, but Jazz still flinched and swore. 'By the pit, sweet-spark.'

Prowl only now noticed that Jazz's lips were moving and became concerned about being discovered as he glanced to the door, "I hope you managed to keep your voice down, we don't need people thinking that you're under attack."

He huffed a weak, shaky laugh, [don't worry, I've already got us covered. No one should be coming to bother us even if we make a huge racket.] When he was met with a sceptical look, Jazz laughed harder, but then he suddenly swayed and nearly fell from the stool. If not for Prowl's quick action to catch him.

"Jazz!"

Prowl brought him to lean his back against the table, switching his hand with Jazz's, "stay with me– press as hard as you can, understood?" The mimic nodded slowly, any faster and the room would spin, "I'll get the potion."

However with both hands pressing against his injuries, he wasn't able to take the offered vial when Prowl presented it. Before Prowl could question why he was hesitating, Jazz grimaced and, with an unsteady hand, peeled away the cloth hiding the full extent of his injury.

'Sorry,' Jazz soundlessly said before Prowl made him push the cloth back into place.

Scowling, Prowl reminded him, "press as hard as you can." But there was a not-so-hidden promise of reprimand to come, and Jazz did as he was told.

Using one hand help keep Jazz's helm steady and Prowl carefully fed him the healing potion. One sip at a time. Though one probably wasn't going be enough.

Prowl gave him moment after he finished before moving Jazz's hands to check on the results. The outer plating hadn't changed, but the bleeding had stopped and the protoform had at least closed. However, Jazz wasn't clear of danger yet, this would take a long time to finish recovering on its own. Another potion or two, maybe even a trustworthy medic was Jazz needed right now, but neither of those options were available.

Prowl was greatly displeased that this had been hidden from him and at his own failure to notice that Jazz had been severely wounded from scuffle. Not one to waste time, Prowl took the cloth and rushed for the closed shutters to open the window. Thanks to the downpour, Prowl could use the rain to wash the spilled energon from the small towel. After a few quick rises, he wrung out all the water he could and returned to Jazz's side with an intense look.

As expected, Prowl was methodical in the cleaning. But despite the urgency, Jazz was a bit surprised by how gentle Prowl's touch was. Every light dab and brush with the cold cloth was almost soothing to his aching frame. Even the cleaning of his hands were seen to before the cloth was placed on the table. From the same bag the potion came from, Prowl took out the roll of bandages and promptly wrapped Jazz's waist; to keep the area clean and to help prevent reopening.

There was an unexpected amount of care here and, even with Jazz's efforts to keep it repressed, his feelings were beginning to ripple through his field. But as Jazz tried to take Prowl's hand, Prowl moved away, too diligent in his task to notice. Only to reach out a second later to wrap the blanket around Jazz properly in a way that would keep him covered and allow him the freedom to move his arms. Whenever he finally stopped shivering.

Prowl then poured the fuel from the small cauldron into a mug. Jazz didn't even get a opportunity to lift his shaking hands and take it, the golem set the edge to his lips; like he had with the potion.

"Drink slowly, it might be still too hot."

It was, though more than Jazz was expecting, wincing as he burnt his tongue a little on the first sip. Prowl was quick to pull it away… but fidgeted awkwardly for a moment before fanning the energon with other hand.

Jazz watched the action curiously for about a minute and when Prowl glanced at him, he tilled his head in question.

"I cannot blow on it like you could," was all he clarified and held the mug back out for Jazz.

A small bit of Jazz's smile returned as he thought about how it was sort of charming; cute even, that in spite of lacking internals to vent, Prowl sought out a way to achieve the kind gesture. Though the temperature wasn't that much different, it was enough that he could gingerly sip.

It was halfway through the second cup when Prowl spoke again, though evenly at a lower volume than before. "How is your recovery going," he asked as he took hold of Jazz's hand, now that the mimic could hold himself upright without help, "do you think you can eat on your own yet?"

He probably could, but with everything that Prowl has done for him so far, he's tempted to push his luck. Just the thought of Prowl continuing to care for him so earnestly made Jazz's spark flutter. The bittersweet feeling was both wonderful and… painful.

[I think I got it from here,] he answered and went to take the mug with his other hand.

"Don't force yourself, I can see your hand shaking." Yet, Prowl made no motion to stop him from taking over and Jazz hesitated.

[I don't want to trouble you with helping–]

"Jazz," Prowl cut him off promptly, though the words carried no anger or irritation, and set the mug aside, "stop brushing yourself off, you're in this situation because you did not place your well-being as a priority. You have fought on my behalf, the very least I can do is oversee your recovery."

[You don't need to.]

"Neither did you."

Jazz froze. He didn't know what to say, the way Prowl had casually said that– What was going on? Was it just him and low levels in his lines messing with his processor? Was Prowl…? Jazz's mind was becoming overwhelmed with hopeless possibilities of deeper meanings, so he settled on a safe bet, [thanks.]

"You're welcome. Do think you can handle something solid?"

[I don't think that would be a good idea, I – uh, got stabbed in tank.]

"Noted, I will find a way to preserve the cakes for later. How much more do you think you can drink without causing strain?"

[Maybe the rest of that,] Jazz looked to the mug.

"And your temperature? I've noticed that your shivers have ceased."

Jazz answered with a regretful look, [still freezing numb, unfortunately. If not for your help and… keeping me distracted, I might have blacked out by now.]

Prowl blinked – Jazz was bundled, drinking warm energon and wasn't trembling – "I don't understand, by all accounts you should be warming up."

[Maybe core temp dropped too low or my systems are worn out? I don't know, but I should be fine so long as I don't fall asleep.]

"That isn't reassuring, Jazz." The golem franticly glanced about the room and over the supplies as he thought of what he could do for the mimic. Only pausing when his optics landed on the rune lantern, particularly the hot glowing stone resting within. The glass was hot enough to burn any person who touched it, Prowl had seen it happen many times on accident. But a lantern was not an effective at providing heat due to the glass and without it was a fire hazard. Perhaps… "Hold a moment, I may have found a way to help."

Prowl stepped a good few paces away to swiftly remove his belt pouches and soaked garments, then fluttered his plating like a cyberhound, ridding himself of as much water as possible. He was so quick that Jazz didn't even have time to do anything other than stall in surprise.

Next, Prowl moved the table to the bedside, followed by propping the pillows up together on the bed against the wall on the same side, then he retrieved the stool with lantern.

But when Jazz was scoped into Prowl's arms – oh, god – Jazz fumbled for control over his field as his spark spun and thrummed loudly. Loud enough apparently for Prowl to give pause and look down at bundled up monster he held.

"Jazz? Is everything alright?"

Yes– no– I'm overreacting to every little thing, Jazz grumbled internally, his embarrassment growing. Unable to use his hands, he nodded, and thankfully Prowl moved on. A second later he was carefully set down on the bed, but… not against pillows?

What came next was even more unexpected.

Prowl turned away from Jazz to the lantern and unhooked the top to reach for the stone glowing from the fiery heat caused by the magic imbued rune.

'Wait– w-what are you doing, you'll burn yourself!' Jazz called out and sprang up to stop Prowl, but the sudden movement tugged harshly on his injuries and forced him to curl in on himself from the pain. If Prowl heard him flop onto the bed, he ignored it and plucked the stone from its cage. Leaving Jazz to watch in a mix of disbelief and horror as Prowl's chest-plates opened to put the stone inside. Then the light vanished as they closed, all save for the small glow stone still on the table.

When Prowl turned back to Jazz his plating was already back in place, but Jazz could see the glow along some of the edges of his plating like bio-lights. It was beautiful, he was beautiful. Jazz felt his spark leap and he admonished himself for it.

"What's wrong, did I hurt you when I set you down?" Prowl asked as hurried to his side, yet careful that his actions did not jostle the bed and by extension Jazz's injuries.

Taking hold of Prowl's – now very warm – hand, he signed, [what are doing– you'll burn, get that thing out now!] And made a grab for the other's chest-plate, but would have fallen over had Prowl not caught him.

"Jazz, calm down, it is not hot enough to melt my plating–"

[– you'll fry your system!]

"There is nothing for it to burn," his voice flattened out completely, soft yet hollow, and something about it turned Jazz's fear into sorrow, "I have centered the stone in a way that will allow you to bask but prevent you from burning yourself."

[You… turned yourself into a bed warmer?] There was something funny about that, but Jazz couldn't find it in himself to laugh.

"Being what I am, I have no warmth to share. It was the only thing I could think of that I could do to help you." His voice didn't carry the tone of– anything really, but Jazz could see there was odd mix of tension and softness in his face, like Prowl himself wasn't sure what to make of it. "Does this… bother you?"

Jazz managed a smile, a touch sad, but it was difficult with his emotions all mixed up, [your kindness will never be a bother Prowl. But… you're not in any pain, right?]

"No, I do not feel pain," he answered simply and shifted lying back on the pillows at a small incline.

But before Prowl fully settled, he adjusted the blanket around Jazz – making sure Jazz was tucked in around his feet too – and himself as he carefully guiding Jazz to rest on top of him. Plate to plate Jazz could already feel the faint heat starting to build within and to him it might as well have been the sun as he wrapped his arms tightly around Prowl, shuddering at the warmth.

Prowl was startled by the return of Jazz's shivering, he went for one of his hands beneath the cover, "Jazz?"

[All good,] he reassured with a relieved expression as he was beginning to relax, [it's working.]

"I'm glad to hear it," Prowl then reached for the mug, for the remainder that Jazz said he could finish. He had planned for this angle, allowing him to continue assisting Jazz while he warmed up. "Are you comfortable, though? I could–"

[Prowl,] Jazz chuckled softly, nuzzling – accidentally? intentionally? – into Prowl's warming chest-plate as he looked up, [I've never been more comfortable in my whole life.] Touch was required for communication or it was something that just happened on the job, but this kind of closeness was new. And eagerly welcomed.

Prow's optics narrowed slightly, "I highly doubt that. Once you've warmed up, you will have the bed to yourself–"

Jazz clung to him like he was about to leave, [no, stay… please?]

"Very well," Prowl didn't see the point in arguing – especially with Jazz in such a poor state – whether he kept watch standing or in bed didn't matter. "I will stay. Now, before the energon gets cold…"

The remainder had become cooler, but with the new arrangement, Jazz felt like it was more affective. Though as Prowl steadily grew warmer, Jazz became curious.

[Do you feel any of this?] Jazz asked as he brushed the fingers of his other hand against Prowl's side. The mischievous streak in Jazz had him doing it softly, trying to tickle Prowl.

"The heat? No, I cannot sense temperature, and I hardly notice the contact either."

Boo, he pouted that his plans had been foiled, [what can you feel?]

"I can only perceive touch in its basic form. I cannot tell textures apart nor discern weight. Only that contact has been made." Prowl informed as he set the empty mug back on the table.

[What about… fields,] Jazz had always been cautious with keeping his in check, though slipups still happened even to the best of people. And while Prowl certainly had never commented on it, perhaps maybe–?

"No," his volume dropped, almost as if disappointed, but more likely in annoyance. "Perhaps if I could, I could better understand emotions or more accurately predict other people's intentions. Like you."

[Me?]

"Why didn't you tell me that your injuries were severe," Prowl looked directly into the visor of the monster, making it clear that there would be no dodging the subject, "I would have put more haste in assisting with treatment."

[Ah, sorry,] Jazz began somewhat nervously, [I didn't want to worry you.]

And I thought that I would have drank the potion before you noticed.

"Unacceptable. How it might have affected my disposition should not matter. Hiding the injuries was an unnecessary risk to your life. Had you just told me the truth, we could have dealt with it sooner. You should know by now that if you're ever in need of help, you need only ask and I will do what I can." His expression then shifted slightly, back to that mix of tension that Prowl himself seemed confused about, "now I'm left concerned that you're at risk of succumbing to your wounds."

Ah, the comment from earlier probably didn't help either.

[Sorry,] Jazz repeated, [but I'm okay, really, I just…] he paused, staring at Prowl probably a little too intensely as something occurred to him.

When had Prowl ever been actually worried?

Confused, surprised, irritated, exasperated even, but any other emotion – there hadn't been anything else. [Wait, are you really… worried… about me?]

Prowl appeared as though he was ready to answer, but he just seemed to stop the moment he opened his mouth, looking puzzled as shifted his optics and yet, was not looking at anything in particular. When he found his voice, his expression returned to his usual seriousness. "If you're inquiring about my choice of words, it was the most acceptable phrase for the situation. An acknowledgment of the danger and the outcome if there are no positive results from our efforts."

[But – are you?]

"Jazz," Prowl said patiently, "I logically understand the concept, but with being what I am."

A tool with no sense of self or feelings. Just a shell that he considers his body and an artefact that measures his worth. A golem, a very unique at that, but a golem all the same.

"I do not know how to answer that question."

A real golem would have said no, an easy answer; Jazz believed. But Prowl hadn't, even if he was dodging around the subject out of habit of pretending to be a mech. It had to mean something, right?

However, Jazz let it go in favour of getting answers about something that had been bothering him for a while. As there was an opportunity to ask intrusive questions without it coming off as suspicious.

[About that… why didn't you tell me you were a golem? Before – what happened, was I untrustworthy?]

"I didn't because I am not permitted to expose the truth of my existence, it was not a matter of trust." There wasn't any hesitation for this answer, because Prowl had been expecting this confrontation since finding Rung. Thinking about it constantly, trying to figure out how to get the best outcome, how to explain his situation without betraying his master, how to… keep Jazz working with him.

Ah, orders from his master. That made sense to Jazz, as Prowl was bound to his creator's; Orion's, words.

"After your display of trust," Prowl continued, "with coming forward with what you are, it would have been courteous to do the same. But I could not, though it would have been better to do so and avoid the unexpected… affect that came with the later reveal."

[Affect–? A-are you in danger because others now know!?] Jazz shot up in panic; despite it causing the pain to flare up again. Was it like a fail-safe? A way to destroy the evidence? Jazz may not be skilled in magic craft, but he certainly has dealt with enough booby-traps to know of counter spells.

"I am not in any particular danger should people be made aware," Prowl carefully help coax Jazz back down, "not that some wouldn't become more inclined to get rid of me should they find out."

Jazz knew there was no doubt that the whole council would see him exterminated in a spark-beat. Not just because of the dangerous the work Prowl was actively apart of. But because his very existence was an additional risk. And all with a mech like Sentinel hunting for sport within the halls of the council's castle. It had Jazz's plate crawling with dread.

Prowl played with the worst kinds of fire on a regular basis without a hint of fear. Acting like building a bridge over whitewater with nothing but slick stones to keep him from succumbing to the rapids was normal.

Perhaps it was due to Orion knowing what Prowl was, was what lead him to having an indifference for this very real danger that he was subjecting his creation to. But even after learning the truth about Prowl, it didn't make it any less wrong, it didn't quell the ire Jazz held against the mech.

He may be a golem, but Prowl was different. He was real, he was alive with feelings and an inquisitive mind. So Jazz was rightfully angry, outraged that Orion Pax was putting Prowl up to such a monumental task with no means of protection. Like he didn't care what happened to Prowl, like he was ready to throw him to the wolves to save his own plate.

There might be many benefits to being a golem; no need for fuel or rest, no sickness or pain, but it did not outweigh the cost of enslavement of Prowl's freewill. And yet there was no way to truly free him either, as a golem required power of someone else to exist.

"What I meant by that, was… It had become difficult to tell you, and when Rung exposed me – I," Prowl made that face again, but stronger and he looked almost – sad, "it shouldn't matter if you know, you're not a threat to the mission, but I didn't want you to know."

It pained Jazz that Prowl had to be exposed and cornered into telling him the truth about himself. Which only was only making more of mess of his already complicated feelings for the golem. And suddenly, it made him wonder if all those times before when Prowl told him he trusts him; however few, were lies. Jazz pretended that it didn't hurt, that it didn't feel like the crystal of his spark was cracking. He was very good at hiding his pain, his loneliness, his longing. At hiding the truth.

[I'm sorry, and even if you regret what happened, it made me happy. Because I wanted to know you.] Because somehow, this silly, quirky mech – monster? – person with no life outside of research and bureaucracy had managed to find his way into Jazz's meticulously guarded spark without even trying. [I wanted to know more than just what I see, I wanted to feel you, to hear you. I still do.]

"You… are?" Prowl became mildly confused as he glanced from Jazz's face to where he lay and back again. But the question was far too open for Jazz to understand, was it about everything or one thing in particular or literal?

To the mimic's surprise, Prowl's confusion was simpler than that.

"You're not mad that I didn't want you to know?"

[No, I'm sad that you did, though. But I'll respect your decision, I won't pry for–]

"I wanted," Prowl jumped in, clearly in haste as he looked shocked by his own actions and began fumbling, "I wanted to? I couldn't, I didn't –"

Jazz took hold of Prowl's arm with his other hand, [it's okay,] he tried to reassure him, [Prowl, it's okay. I rather you be honest, don't force yourself for my sake.]

Please, don't pretend… it will only hurt more.

Emotion was beginning to creep back into Prowl's tone, becoming frustrated and irritated. "Don't be sad, I don't know how to deal with someone that is sad. I don't know how to help. I rather you be mad."

[You want me to be mad at you?]

"It's what I expected, for weeks I calculated what would happen and the odds only got greater and greater that you be outraged – betrayed, and I thought about what you would do once you found out the truth. Of what I am and of what I'm not."

The realization dawned on him, [you… were worried.]

"Jazz," Prowl's frustration peaked as they came back around to this thing he couldn't explain or understand and he was almost hissing as he looked away, "I told you–"

[No, it wasn't a question, it's an observation – Prowl, look at me.] When the golem refused, yet remained quiet, Jazz continued. [Prowl, listen, you said that you wanted me to be mad about learning the truth.]

"And I've declared my reasoning!"

[Yes, you have, but Prowl. That's what being worried is like – you think it over and over; sometimes it gets worse with time, with the more you learn. You were worried that I would be mad or feel betrayed, so you didn't want me to know.] Jazz is being pushy, he knows this, but he can't help it. [You didn't want to upset me, you didn't want things to change.]

Still not looking at him, Prowl now closed his optics. "What are you getting at?"

[What, are you worried I might be on to something?] Jazz saw that Prowl trying to dodge the subject that was agitating him and Jazz wasn't trying to harass Prowl, he just wanted him to see.

"Jazz, don't, I'm a golem. I do not have emotion, it's mimicry–"

[And yet, you're upset. You can get irritated, you can become angry,] he said as removed his hand from Prowl's arm to sit himself up. Only to then boop him on the nose, causing Prowl to finally look at him with a bewildered expression. [You can be surprised, and you can feel,] Jazz brushed his thumb along Prowl's to further express the significance of the word as he said it.

But Prowl doesn't say anything as his face slowly falls to that expression again; the one Jazz was beginning to realize is worry. He was worried again, about what, Jazz wasn't sure.

Though it made him smile, a small and – honestly; a hopeful one. Maybe, just maybe, Prowl only needed time and experience outside his little archive and duties. More adventures in and out of the city. Where he wasn't sheltered from the world.

[Prowler, I don't think you realize how much of yourself is genuine.]

There was much Prowl could argue about how it all came down to not fulfilling his purpose. For what he was created for. But then it countered with wanting fulfilment, to needing, and back to that infuriating spiral Orion had set upon him once. No… no this was worse. It was worse, because the layers and pathways Orion had him functioning on had been shifting radically since Jazz had become an active part of his job.

Jazz caused him so much irritation with what he did and didn't do, more than Orion or Shockwave ever have combined. And yet, for all the trouble Jazz caused him, Prowl found – stability, constancy, familiarity in Jazz's presence. Thinking about that changing or going back to what it was like before was… frustrating.

The light of Prowl's optics flickered as turned his gaze away, he did not know what to say or rather, there was nothing he could say that would satisfy Jazz.

Though the small physical reaction surprised Jazz, he had never seen that happen before. Was it a sign of some sort? Perhaps he had pushed a little too much a little too quickly? Jazz still wanted to get Prowl to see how much was him and not just what he was born to be, but it appears that this would have to be enough for now.

And so, Jazz settled back down into the comfort and warmth; that now felt like within Prowl's cassis was an engine, a spark. [Prowl… thank you.]

"For what?" Prowl begrudgingly spoke, yet tucked the blanket back around Jazz, "nothing that has transpired indicates a situation where gratitude is warranted that hasn't already been addressed."

Still upset, but making sure I'm looked after? Prowl, you're turning into a real spark-breaker.

[For trusting me, for being honest, for caring, for sharing more of yourself with me. You didn't have too, but you did so… thank you.]

Almost out of habit, Prowl was going to say it was 'what was expected' of him to do, that it only made sense for him to answer the questions given. But, it wasn't honest, the wire thin lie was enough to stop him from saying anything immediately. Because he didn't have to answer nor explain himself to anyone other than Orion. Rather than find a workaround like he normally did to get past the limitations of the rules binding him together, Prowl questioned instead. "And this is worthy of such appreciation because?"

[Because you're important to me, simple as that.] Jazz smiled brightly and this time, he allowed his emotions to freely broadcast through his field – joy, compassion, trust, hope, and – love. [You have given me a certain kind of happiness I didn't think I'd get a chance to feel again.]

That didn't make any more sense than the last answer and it had Prowl tilting his head in confusion. And for a moment it felt as though something shifted, something that he did not recognise, but it was gone before he could determine its coherency, so it was dismissed. "I don't understand. How does my importance affect your happiness?"

Jazz chuckled softly as he resisted the temptation of just leaning up and placing a kiss on Prowl's cheek. [You're smart, Prowler. You might figure that out on your own in time.]

"Jazz–"

[Let me keep this one a secret a little bit longer, okay?] He closes his optics and nestles in with a soft smile, [I'll tell you one day, I promise, but just not tonight.]

There is a long stretch of silence as Prowl hasn't stopped thinking about it. Trying to figure out the emotional puzzle, but submits in frustration. Mumbling, "this is like that damn play all over again."

Jazz, who Prowl thought had fallen asleep, laughed. With a bright, wide smile and harsh shaking in his frame.

And for the first time, Prowl wanted to hear Jazz's voice, not to hear him speak, but because he wondered what Jazz's laugh would sound like.

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