Chapter Text
Security Director or not, he won't see me coming.
The optics hidden beneath the visor watched and narrowed when a hand brushed over plating. It was the slightest of touches, innocent enough to any mech watching. However, Jazz wasn't just any mech and he saw the slight lift of those doorwings and the barely visible smile of amusement. In the short time left before the end of the meeting, Jazz had imagined several dozen ways of dismembering their security director. Optimus Prime's voice brought him back to reality.
“If there's nothing else?”
“I'd like permission to do a scouting run through the space bridge, Prime,” Jazz answered casually.
“Jazz tensions are at an all time high, it's not safe--”
“--I'm aware of the risks, Prowler,” he flashed the other black and white a grin, feeling a small smug sense of satisfaction that his attention and concern was entirely focused on him. “We're low on supplies, will be in and out just to see what's available.”
“It would be good for security to investigate Decepticon activity too,” Red Alert pointed out.
‘I bet it would,’ Jazz thought to himself. He hadn't missed the way Red Alert’s helm had crackled at his nickname for Prowl. Mech probably hated that he was so familiar with Prowl. At the back of Jazz's processor he knew he was being irrational in his jealousy and he didn't much care. “Don't worry about me.”
“It is my job to worry about you, Jazz,” Prowl frowned at him.
Jazz flashed him a brilliant smile. He could not deny that hearing those words made his spark flutter, not that he would admit that to anyone of course. His jealousy was a relatively new development, Jazz figured that it would work itself out, given time.
****
Ask him to dance for Primus' sake!
Prowl never came to parties. That was just fact. That never stopped Jazz from asking him however.
“Of course he says yes to Prime.”
Blaster gave his longtime friend a sidelong glance. “He is Prime, pretty hard to say no to,” he chuckled.
Jazz huffed and put on some particular loud music with a heavy beat and glared across the dimly lit rec room at the two mechs sharing friendly conversation over high grade. “Don’t see what’s so special ‘bout him, why doesn’t he say yes when I ask him hm?”
Blaster just rolled his optics. “Maybe he’s shy? Maybe he was ordered. Maybe he just wanted to come this time.”
“The one time I didn’t ask him?” Jazz asked sharply.
Managing to stifle a smirk, Blaster shrugged. “If it bothers you so much, go over there and talk to him.”
Jazz resumed glaring at them before straightening up and nodding. “You know what? I will, let’s see him try and avoid me then,” he smirked darkly.
“Jazz, I really don’t think he’s av-- and he’s gone,” Blaster cut himself off, shaking his helm in bemusement as Jazz flipped off the sound stage and practically sauntered his way over to their two commanders. “Can’t just deal with his crush like a normal mech, can he?” the mech murmured to Steeljaw who chirred up at him. Blaster huffed a laugh and changed the tune. “This is for all those with a secret crush,” he purred into the microphone, blatantly grinning in Jazz’s direction as the mech threw him a look that would send Megatron running. “Take the plunge and ask that special someone up to dance,” Blaster winked subtly at his friend. He would get it with both barrels later but it was worth it just to watch the ever unflappable Jazz get flustered for once.
****
Who does he think he is?
Jazz was not jealous. He fragging well wasn't! This was just his instincts kicking. Special ops mecha were trained to figure an individual out based on their speech, mannerisms and field fluctuations without the other ever knowing they were even in the same room. This was not jealousy. This was protecting his own. As much as he and Prowl bickered during meetings, the stubborn mech was still an Autobot and that made him one of Jazz's. This other mech. This neutral who had been found on their scouting mission, was not. Jazz didn't trust him.
His optics flitted to where the mech touched Prowl's arm as he asked him a question, and his upper lip curled slightly at the tilt of his helm as he smiled at the Praxian. He fought back the urge to stab the neutral mech through his optics when Prowl looked up and smiled at his question. Smiled!
“Are we done here, mech has to go through the usual security checks with Red,” Jazz spoke up sharply.
Prowl glanced at him momentarily. “In just a moment, I need to finalise a couple of things first,” he looked back at the neutral mech. “You said you are from Crystal City is that correct? I will need to verify your identity with our records.”
The mech smiled and leaned in closer to Prowl. “Well between you and me, I lived in Crystal City, but you know nothing compares to Praxus for a Praxian.”
Prowl's doorwings lifted up and his optics brightened. “You're Praxian? I didn't know any others had survived.”
“Well you learn how to get out of bad situations when you've lived the life I have,” the mech replied somberly. “Almost lost my mind when I lost my sensor panels.”
“I can quite believe it, it's one of the worst things you could do to a Praxian,” Prowl answered sympathetically. “You must have quite the strength of will to have overcome it.”
“I have lots to live for and the struggle is worth it having now met another Praxian as esteemed and as attractive as you,” the mech stated lowly, his fingertips brushing the lower edge of Prowl's sensor panels as Prowl himself actually ducked his helm with a shy smile.
Jazz resisted the urge to roll his optics. “Alright, let's go Slick, questions aren't going to ask themselves,” he interrupted tugging on the mech's arm a little harder than was necessary.
“But, Jazz--” Prowl started to protest.
“Sorry, Prowl you can ask questions when we're done, time is of the essence with these things,” Jazz replied tersely.
Prowl relented and nodded. “Of course. I'll speak with you later,” he spoke to their newcomer.
“I look forward to it.”
“Over my shiny aft,” Jazz uttered under his breath, faking a static burst as he cleared his intake with a grin. If this mech wasn't careful he'd find himself magnetised to the side of the Nemesis.
“Sorry Jazz?” Prowl canted his helm quizzically at him.
“I said we gotta move fast,” he flashed a grin at Prowl. Damn the mech was too sharp for his own good.
****
Manipulation.
He tried not to frown, it was none of his business really. What other mechs got up to in their own time, he had no rights being aware of, unless it was in some way detrimental to the welfare of the base and the autobots. Prowl sighed. Having Jazz's personal schedule memorised was woefully unprofessional and well beyond the realms of his duty and yet he could not help himself.
Still there was no harm done simply knowing it. He told himself this often. Discreetly altering Blaster’s schedule more often than was necessary to disrupt Jazz's routine was probably pushing it though. Yet, he did not stop himself.
Prowl had come to accept that there were some things he could not control. Like the way his spark did that little dance whenever Jazz spoke to him or Primus forbid, smiled at him. Or the way his optics lingered subtly a little too long on the other black and white when he meandered into meetings late or wandered cheerfully through the rec room. Nor that murderous rage that bubbled up to the surface whenever Blaster leaned a little too close or Jazz disappeared into the mech's room during his downtime.
Prowl definitely preferred things he could control like meetings for command staff, intelligence meetings with special ops or duty rosters for communications mechs who had gotten just a little too handsy during the last party for Prowl’s liking.
He smiled to himself as Jazz appeared at his office door and asked if he was bothering him. He had nothing to do as Blaster was busy but he wasn't ready to recharge yet. Offering the vacant seat, Prowl said he welcomed the company and didn't mind at all. Jazz smiled brightly and internally Prowl all but melted.
Nope. Prowl couldn't control everything, but what he could control, he manipulated to his full advantage. If it earned him that smile every time, he would continue to do it until either he got over this ridiculous phase - because he was certainly not a jealous mech, thank you very much. That would be highly irrational, uncharacteristic and inconvenient - or the heat death of the universe. Whichever came first. Prowl was a patient mech and when that visor caught his optic, he found he was in no immediate rush to do much of anything constructive.
How utterly perplexing and inconvenient, Prowl thought to himself, but then that did sum up Jazz in a spark pulse, he decided with vague amusement.
****
Not the Prime!
Jazz knew he was being ridiculous this time. He and Optimus were friends and he'd known the mech a long time. Knew that he only had optics for one. They had been separated a long time though and a mech had needs. Even a Prime. Who better than his most trusted officer to indulge in? Jazz scowled and cleaned his rifle more roughly than was necessary. The way they'd been talking quietly together, Optimus’ hand touching Prowl's arm and his hand? Yeah he got that Prowl was upset over something but that went above and beyond didn't it?
Why couldn't Prowl come to him? They were friends. Jazz cared. He would listen and offer comfort. Jazz couldn't decide if it was the fact that Prowl normally turned to him or that he'd turned to Optimus specifically this time. The two mechs were close friends and Jazz knew all too well how that closeness could spill over into something a mech couldn't control.
Slamming his gun down hard on the counter. Jazz audibly growled. This line of thinking was getting him no where. “I should go speak to him,” he declared to the empty room resolutely. “We're friends surely me noticing that he was upset and coming to talk to him would mean something. Yeah, I'll do that,” he quickly reassembled his gun. “And if not then I'll just have to go shoot something.”
“Do it quick won't you?”
Jazz whirled around and scowled at the red mech grinning at him. “‘Hide you should know better than to sneak up on a mech.”
“Oh I do, but if you can call me walking around normally, sneaking,” the older mech smirked. “You were so lost in your own thoughts I doubt you would have noticed ol’ bucket head until he'd removed yours.”
Jazz frowned. Had he really been so out of it? He turned to grab his weapon when Ironhide clamped a hand on his shoulder.
“I could feel the tension and frustration in your field before I walked into the room, not to mention your je--”
“--I dare you to finish that sentence, mech,” Jazz bit out tersely. He was not jealous. He. Was. Not.
Ironhide just laughed. “Whatever you're telling yourself it isn't working. I'm pretty sure even the cons know by this point. Do the smart thing and tell him before you fry your processor tying yourself up in knots.”
“No idea what you're talking about,” Jazz grinned, shrugging his shoulder out of Ironhide’s grasp and walking out of the room. “Should keep out of the gossip mill ‘Hide, it's starting to addle your processor.”
Ironhide simply shook his helm as Jazz left. “He's as stubborn as the other one.”
“You're telling me,” Mirage shimmered into view. “Seriously considered offlining myself if I had to stay hidden in here with his angst much longer.”
“You get what you need?” Ironhide smirked.
“And then some. Jazz thinks out loud, surprisingly for an ops mech,” the spy raised an optic ridge.
“Good let's see him refute it this time.”