[ti]Ep 2[/ti]Oh. You. [Jazz]

[Deleted]

[Set in the early morning of the day following What You Think You Know. Technically 'Week 2, Day 8']

To say that Prowl was disappointed in the way things had turned out would be an understatement. He was appalled. He’d been at the Omega Base for all of a week and things were falling apart. He wasn’t handling it well, to say the least. Oh, he hadn’t gotten up to table-flipping levels of irritation yet, but, he was certainly not happy, as told by his pinched expression. Bumblebee was apparently…ill. He had yet to get a full report, but, he did know that the scout had gone on a rampage of some sort and heavily injured Optimus and Sideswipe. Apparently, three others had been involved, but, he was uncertain as to who. That meant that five, excluding Bumblebee, of their limited force had been in need of medical attention, which put a drain on their already sparse supplies.

The tactician brought a servo up to his temple, feeling an ache coming on. His processor had been running calculations nonstop since the report came. Before his rampage, Bumblebee had consumed a good deal of energon, which he had almost immediately regurgitated. Subtract that. Then, following the scuffle- he didn’t really know what else to call it- all five injured bots had needed medical treatment. In all likelihood, this treatment included the use of energon. Subtract that. Then, there was the daily ration each of them received in order to keep functioning. Subtract that.

Hunched over a makeshift table in his hab. unit, Prowl quickly imputed his calculations into a data pad. The short of it? Things were significantly worse than before. Fuel had always been a worry during the war, but, never so much as it was now. Starvation was a very real and pressing threat. He paused, digits coming up to his chin. He thought for a moment, hundreds of scenarios and their possible outcomes flashing through his mind’s eye.

He vented after a moment, pushing the calculations, and the scenario processing, aside. He would drive himself mad if he continued. Any course of action would need to be determined by Optimus. Their pool of personnel was too small for Prowl to operate as he usually did, circumnavigating the Prime in order to do what was best. Their situation was precarious enough that even Prowl knew he had to be careful about how much he pushed at the moment. He would hold off following any of those scenarios, at least for a time.

With a hissing of hydraulics and a whirring of gears, the black and white mech stood from his stool and made his way to the door, data pad in hand. One of the first things he’d done upon his arrival was create a sort of workspace for himself, a place where he could reason and devise in private. He’d also taken great care with the numerous cameras he had no doubt were in place. As soon as he’d heard that Red Alert was on base, he’d made a point of turning his own quarters into a blindspot. He couldn’t think properly when he was being scrutinized. He had no doubt that the Chief of Security would complain, but, he would deal with that matter when it came.

Prowl left his quarters and made his way toward the medibay. He wanted a full report of the events that had taken place, and those would best come from Ratchet. Unfortunately, at the time, he’d been in recharge, still struggling to adapt to Earth’s time rotation. Then, when he’d been awakened by the tail end of the skirmish, he’d had enough sense to stay out of the medibay while Ratchet was working. What he knew now had been through observation. A quick look at the rec. room not long after the event, a glance into the medibay itself, time spent looking over the scene of the fight. Observation and a short, and rather unhelpful, version of events as told by the uninjured participant. The mech, an enforcer model who’d been painted mostly black, had given him an odd smile, spoken in a series of codes that only enforcers would use, and then disappeared. The only reason Prowl himself had gotten anything out of the conversation was because he understood the codes. From what he had made out, the bot had arrived rather late to the scene. After that, he’d decided his time was better served applying his powers of deduction to the scene of the battle. Between the account and what he saw, Prowl had been able to piece together what he believed to be a likely course of events.

However, he did want to have the true account, and, he believed that, by now, the medic would be done operating. If not, he would wait. As patiently as possible.

[Jazz]

     Jazz was always awful when it came to anything medical. He liked to pride himself on the field repairs he was able to manage and, given his line of work, he was usually able to avoid being directly assaulted by gunfire. He spooked around, went in under the cover of night when all the cons were safely tucked in their berths and wrecked havoc on their ship's systems. That's what he enjoyed doing, primarily because he was good at it but.... it also gave him a very small chance of actually being injured and ending up in situations where a medic was having to look him over. When he did have to go out on the field and face enemy combatants he was usually able to shoot from a distance with his visor's scans keeping him from getting blindsided up close. If it came to that? He had his 'musical talents' that he could use to scatter brain his opponent long enough to get some damage in or gain some distance between them. 

     Either way, he had ended up under the care of Ratchet. Not to ignore the bragging rights that were attached to his designation, as Jazz wouldn't have been able to ask for anyone better to look him over, but... he was still a medic, and Jazz was still Jazz. His poor luck with medics in the past and what was burned into his memory core just meant that he just couldn't bring himself to willingly allow medical staff to go fumbling around 'for the sake of'... whatever it was that medics swore by. He'd have to be in a pretty dire condition to let himself be subjected to them.

     Plus needles. 

     He wasn't even that heavily damaged besides the shake to his helm that had him rattled and that wasn't anything Ratchet could fix, so while the medic was busying himself with much more pressing matters and was too distracted to know better, Jazz silently excused himself and made his way out.

     The next day was no better than the previous one had been. The saboteur was still a little distracted by what had been replaying and inwardly fussed at himself for allowing the nightmares he  had worked so hard to bury to come back to the surface. Jazz knew that Bee had been the one who had turned on them, though it wasn't Bee that he saw when he tried to play back everything that had gone down. He told himself that Bee had been the one standing there, that the little yellow scout had turned his blasters on his comrades and opened fire, but he just couldn't visualize it properly. Instead he was seeing flashes of blue and orange and hearing voices that weren't placed properly. He brought a servo to his helm and shook it some trying to clear out the inconsistencies.

     Jazz had spent the entire time in his room trying to sort things out, trying to bury everything again and get himself in working order. He was no good to anyone like this, not to mention that feeling so out of control was one thing he could have really done without. He had tried to listen to his tunes to drown things out with no success. The last option was to go out for a drive, though that was not something he could bring himself to do at the moment. He had promised Optimus to try and assist with some of the troops here who thought it was alright to just wander off when they assumed no one was looking, and to turn around and do the same thing would only make their arguments more valid. No, he had to get over this here and now. There was no time for this nonsense.

     Venturing out of his quarters, Jazz figured that he'd go and check on how the patients were doing in the... medical bay. Not where he wanted to go, but maybe he'd be able to stand at the doorway and shout across the room? Then he wouldn't really be INSIDE, so that'd be fine. He didn't get far, as he wasn't paying attention when he rounded the corner and ended up pretty much crashed face-first into a figure of his past that he probably could have done without seeing.

[Deleted]

Prowl remained focused on his datapad as he moved down the hall, expecting the base hallways to be clear. One digit moved over the screen, flipping through information acquired from the ever-watchful Red Alert. Of course, it wasn’t unusual to see Prowl wandering about with his optics on a datapad. He never stopped working. Ignoring the use of travel time to continue studying in order to properly gauge a situation would be an oversight. And, so, he utilized his travel time. Still, as engaged as he was, he wasn’t a fool. He kept close to the walls, knowing that the others were more likely to walk down the middle of the hall.

The situation in general was bad enough that Prowl actually wondered if the Autobot presence would come to an end. Starvation was the biggest threat, particularly with the sheer amount of energon that Bumblebee had drained from their resources. But, they were also being hunted. That had been a disturbing bit of information. This went beyond the usual enmity with the Decepticons. A new enemy, one that should by no means be able to do what they had done. Humans were meant to be a primitive race. And yet, they had killed at least one Cybertronian and used others in experimentation. He paused just a moment, reviewing Cleaver’s file for the umpteenth time since receiving it. As cold and calculating as he was, even he felt a twinge of unease at the manner of death. Humans had done this?

Apparently so, because the threat was enough to have caused Optimus Prime and Megatron to forge an alliance. Unheard of. And not particularly hopeful. The only reason Prowl could think of that would lead to this outcome was that Megatron himself was afraid. Which meant that the threat was very, very real. His processor continued calculating, coding contingency after contingency. Possibilities. Infinite possibilities that he then sorted: ranking by most favorable and tossing out those that were irrelevant. Action that could be taken, mostly against MECH…and against the Decepticons. He knew that Optimus would never agree to the Autobots being the ones to break the treaty….but the opportunities this provided to finally- finally- take down Megatron were far too good not to plan. Prowl knew that his calculations could be rendered obsolete within the span of a few seconds, but, as it stood…this treaty could be the key to bringing down the worst war criminal in Cybertronian history. A bot responsible for the deaths of millions. Megatron knew Optimus would never betray whatever miniscule bit of trust had been placed in him. And that was all the opening that was needed.

Even if Optimus wouldn’t take advantage of it, Prowl had no issues in circumventing the Prime. He’d done it before, and he was more than willing to-

These dark thoughts were the reason he wasn’t paying attention when he came to an intersecting hallway. The impact of another body colliding with his was enough to send him back a step, barely maintaining his grip on the datapad. The shock wore off quickly and his expression, stern before, set into annoyance. His doorwings tensed, the appendages giving his emotions away far more than his face ever would. Blue optics snapped up to regard the offending individual.

Immediately, his faceplates smoothed over, becoming unreadable. His doorwings tensed almost impossibly further. He recognized the bot before him all too well. And, last Prowl knew, his name had been added to the list of casualties in the Exodus. Apparently...death hadn't taken. Unsurprising, considering what it was that Jazz did for the Autobot cause.

“Jazz,” the name was said with little inflection, nothing giving away how the tactician’s mind stalled for a split second.

Then, his processor immediately began to cycle through data regarding him, everything Prowl knew about him flashing through. Including their last encounter. The single time Prowl had ever let his guard down. Not long before the exodus, when even Prowl was losing hope, his calculations inadequate in the face of his homeworld dying.

He stood upright and stiff, as usual, but there was an added element in his posture, one that few had likely ever witnessed: discomfort.

[Jazz]

     Jazz had only momentarily lost his footing after the impact, silently thanking that his overtaxed processors weren't too busy to pay attention where he had failed to and instinctively reacted to 'falling risk happening, yo' to keep him upright before it ended catastrophically. A pede planted diagonally behind him to stop him from falling back and halted further misstep, then patted his helm slightly to shake off whatever lingering rattling there was.

     Odd how he hadn't been warned about the approaching 'hazard'. While there were times he didn't exactly pay attention to where he was going, be it due to his own fault from listening to music or just not watching or simply in too much of a hurry, he was always made aware of things approaching him. His visor usually sent a signal and alerted his systems of proximity threats. These were handy for such times previously mentioned, and absolutely required when out in the battlefield. Had he been out fighting Decepticons and the Autobot before him were an enemy, would he have been in this situation? It sort of bothered him and it was something he'd have to do a system scan on just to make sure nothing had gone faulty. 

     Didn't really want to see Ratchet about it, considering their last medbay encounter didn't go so well.

     Though one probably could have considered this mech to be an enemy, at least through the optics of most of those who had to deal with him. The master of tactics, best of his kind, take no prisoners, and withhold probability of success percentages just to ensure no one got cold feet on missions. His reputation preceded him, and while most regarded him as probably a lot of the four-letter-words of the human language, he was sourly respected for what he could do.

     Prowl.

     This particular mech? Oh, Jazz and he had an interesting history for sure, not limited to tactics of war. Jazz had a long memory, and from what he could tell about Prowl's posture? Yeah, he definitely had one too. Not that Jazz doubted it, though he didn't expect the tactician to have THAT stored away too, which was obvious with the stalling that Jazz could read a mile away. Prowler never could hide anything from him, no matter how hard he tried.

     "Well, fancy seein' you 'round these parts. Been a long time since... I last saw ya," he trailed off, turning his helm and lifting a servo to pretend to brush some dirt off his arm. There was some there, but none that was going to be swept away with such a gesture. Washracks were needed for that grime. "When'd you come crashin' down on this planet filled with all new opportunities..." Jazz scoffed at the last word, figuring Prowl already knew what was happening here and what they were facing, "... and new enemies that wanna dissect us like some screwed up science experiment?"

[Deleted]

Prowl straightened further as they observed each other for that moment. His moment of emotional weakness passed and he was once again the tactician. Cold, ruthless, and masked by his logic. And he had no doubt that Jazz still saw right through it all. He had an uncomfortable way of doing so. It was a good skill to have…Prowl just didn’t like it when it was used on him.

 
His optics flickered over the saboteur’s form, taking in the signs that must have been from the recent encounter. Hm, there was one of the three. The satisfaction that he felt at seeing that the damages had been minimal were…surprising, to say the least. Had he been worried? He didn’t worry. He planned. Jazz was just a good asset to have, and losing him would mean the removal of that asset. And the blow coming from a fellow Autobot would demoralize them even further. That was all.
At least, that was what he told himself.

Jazz spoke, then, and Prowl’s optics snapped back to his faceplates. The casual air with which the saboteur addressed their…last meeting sent another tick of unfamiliar emotion through Prowl. Followed by something like annoyance…embarrassment? Maybe. He found himself tracking the way Jazz unnecessarily moved to dust himself off, a natural reaction to the current situation. Given the nature of their…past encounters, he found himself thinking even more than usual, working to analyze the body language, tonal shifts, word choices, and field readings of the mech opposite him. Jazz thrived on unpredictability. Prowl on prediction itself. This bot was practically his antithesis, which was why it was no wonder their relationship was as odd as it was when one looked from their first meeting onward.

“Indeed, it has been,” he responded, his voice a calm baritone rumble, “I arrived a few days ago as a passenger aboard Kamal’s ship,” he paused, mentally analyzing the use of the word ‘opportunities’. A dig at the common belief that Prowl saw everything as an opportunity? Maybe, “Considering our alien nature, it comes as little surprise that at least a small sect would want to learn what they could about us…by whatever means they can.”

Still holding the datapad in one hand, he placed the other on his hip, again observing Jazz.

“I take it that you were involved in the…skirmish in the control room?”

The question was, as always, blunt and to the point. He could have returned Jazz’s question about how long he’d been on Earth, or inquired about his injuries. But, that wasn’t Prowl’s style. He didn’t beat around the bush, he always went straight for what he wanted. This was no different.

[Jazz]

     Prowl had managed to switch himself back to the tactician that everyone knew, but it was already too late. Jazz had identified the various hints to his subconscious emotions he did his best to hide and, while most would have maybe poked fun or brought it to his attention to embarrass him further, Jazz was a little more subtle about it.

     "It's alright, Prowl. I'ma remember our last encounter quite fondly."

     As subtle as Jazz could possibly be. He knew what lines he could and could not cross with this enforcer, and it was a careful game of balance. Considering how difficult it was to get him to show anything outside of 'I am cold and calculating and I will throw you to the wolves the moment you lose value to me', he had to be extra cautious. Jazz wasn't about to ruin how far they'd progressed. While the little blips of twitching limbs here and there would have been fun to run with, he took the hint that Prowl was ready to move on to a conversation that was much more to his taste.

     "Skirmish? Yeah, guess ya could call it that." Jazz subconsciously rolled his shoulder. "They're still tryin' ta get all the info on what caused that scuffle. Not sure where they stand at the moment, but your suspect who started the fiasco is currently in the medical bay for observation and... clearly some work, or else he'd be int he brig. I wouldn't really bug him much right now- 'least until Ratch gives the okay that he's good for company. I would ask that ya don't drill him too hard if you're gonna be doin' your bad cop routine. He's kinda tender at the moment." While Jazz didn't include the 'do it for me as a favor' in it, Jazz figured the tone on his statement would hint enough to that. As good as Jazz was at reading Prowl, the situation was also vise-versa. In a strange way, the pair worked awfully well together.

     "Glad ya made it here, though. Optimus could use some mechs around here to help keep us sparklin' types in line. Emphasis on 'us', myself included. Guess I never did phase myself outta that age bracket."

     As good as it was to see Prowl again, it was just another reminder of a time that Jazz could never regain. While living in the past wasn't really good to do in a time such as this, he couldn't help that his memory core decided to take a road-trip there more often than not. Seein' old faces definitely had a way of triggerin' it for sure, and it probably didn't help that all the time he spent alone after the Exodus until this point that was the only company he actually had to keep himself from goin' completely nuts.

     "I was gonna go check on everyone but... I think we got some catchin' up to do and that's a lil' more important at the moment. Things to share. I'd invite ya back to my place, but I know you don't like mess and I'm sure my chaos would give ya a meltdown... So you pick the location." Jazz was fibbing, of course. Considering he didn't have anything in his quarters that was 'personal' outside of a collection of music, there really wasn't anything that would keep his space outside of immaculate. It was always his way to keep himself packing light.

[Deleted]

Prowl’s doorwings fluttered in a portrayal of his discomfort with the line of conversation. Few were proficient in reading the intricacies of Praxian body language. Jazz seemed to be among them. Though, Prowl still wasn’t sure if it was that Jazz could read Praxians, or that Jazz could read him. The latter was a…disconcerting possibility. He had hoped that his moment of weakness would not have opened him up too far…but he feared that he had been weak before the wrong bot. Jazz was perceptive, and it was his job to collect intelligence. In that way, they were similar. Still…he didn’t enjoy having one individual who seemed to read him better than even his commander.

This was proven by that small, parting comment. Subtle, but a sure way to tell Prowl that he could read his discomfort quite well. A gracious phrasing, though. He doubted anyone could remember an encounter like that, with him of all bots, fondly at all. But…he did not press, far too glad to move on.

His optics tracked the movement of Jazz’s shoulder, taking in the signs of a patch job. A minor injury, then. The others had apparently taken harder hits, as he didn’t see any of them up and about.

“I see.”

Even Prowl was wary of Ratchet’s wrath. Particularly when the medic was operating and under duress. He also knew the importance of leaving him to his work. Obviously, something was seriously wrong with Bumblebee if the medic was keeping him for observation. Was the cause of his uncharacteristic behavior of a medical variety? The preliminary report had suggested an illness of some sort, but, he hadn’t thought it would warrant observation…unless one of the others had damaged him badly in the fight.

Prowl would have to wait for those answers. He knew better than to go poking at a raw situation when patience was all that required. He had time.

Jazz’s reference to his interrogation methods as his ‘bad cop routine’ sent a flash of dry amusement through his field. He did appreciate the saboteur’s way with words. Still, that unspoken plea snuffed out the amusement as quickly as it had come, and his doorwings tilted down in slight surprise. A favor? Hm. Interesting.

What was far more interesting was the small nod that Prowl found himself giving as he agreed to comply. There were few bots he would acquiesce to so easily. He hadn’t thought that Jazz had worked his way into those few, but, apparently, he had. The tactician felt a flash of sourness. Friends were a liability, and allowing interpersonal relationships to grow would lead to clouded judgement. He could afford neither.

But that didn’t stop others from trying to build those relationships. Others like Jazz. Who said he remembered their last encounter fondly. Who casually said he was ‘glad’ to see him. It was strange to him. According to many his fellows, he was a sparkless spawn of a glitch. Too cold to be good for anything but crunching numbers. Bots weren’t glad to see him, unless it was because of his functionality. He had a feeling that even Optimus, who was unreasonably compassionate and kind, sometimes wasn’t glad to see him.

But, as the mech across from him had said, he served a purpose here. So they were glad to have him.

“And I suppose you’re relying on me to keep you in line?” he said blandly, glancing again at Jazz’s injured shoulder.

It seemed that he didn’t have much of a choice in the matter. Jazz’s invitation-that-was-not-an-invitation trapped him. The saboteur didn’t ask if he’d like to catch up, he stated that they were going to. That it was important. Prowl’s doorwings tensed again. He didn’t do catching up. Impartation of necessary information, yes. But not the inane talk that ‘catching up’ implied. However…he knew Jazz knew this. Just like he knew Prowl’s processor could only handle so much chaos before he snapped.

Though, he sincerely doubted the mech’s quarters had reached that level. Still, he had no issue in picking a location. He had nothing else to do in his waiting time but run the same scenarios he’d been running in hopes of reaching a better outcome than the ones he’d had so far.

He turned, rotating his body so that his shoulder was to the saboteur, rather than his front.

“We can speak in my hab. unit. I believe you will find it clean enough to suit both of us.”

He would motion for Jazz to follow him, leading the way down the hall, returning to his sparse room.

[Jazz]

"Hab unit it is. Though you could be a little more relaxed and call it your humble abode or room or somethin' like that. This ain't Cybertron where things gotta be just so and in perfect order." No, they just had to have a level of order around here because they were being hunted by something they hadn't had to deal with before. Cons were easier- they shoot, you shoot, you take them down and wipe them out before they get to you. Humans? There were innocent ones who had nothing to do with what MECH was scheming away with. If one organization wronged you you couldn't take it out on the entire population. It just didn't work that way. This was a style of fighting that Jazz wasn't used to and would need to adapt to.

"And to answer your previous question- No, I'm not the one relyin' on ya to keep me in line. I think that'd be more for Optimus's benefit. Things got pretty intense in medical yesterday." Intense was a nice way to put it. Optimus seemed like he was two seconds from removing Jazz's head from his shoulders- probably would have had the big guy been able to see. He'd have to 'deal with things later'. That was a meeting he was not looking forward to. "Things are pretty crazy around here. Lots going on. Nothin' that you wouldn't know how to or can't handle, but I figure a warnin' would at least benefit ya. Means that if somethin' happens ya can't come after me for not givin' ya a heads up."

Jazz followed, linking his digits together and placing them against the back of his helm. He recalled the last time he had been brought to Prowl's 'hab unit', only the memory was a little bittersweet. It was good to see the tactician had survived and made his way here to Earth to reunite with them, but the double edged sword was one he didn't like the reverse blade of. Prowl was a reminder of simpler times, and that was something he was trying his best to clear out of his processor. Back home, when things were unclear and the two reconnected under different circumstances, things had happened between them that neither seemed to want to bring up in any blunt manner. They had assumed they would never see one another again- the fact that they were made it a little awkward- if not down right hysterical in that 'we're going to die so lets do this one thing' and then surviving kind of irony. What were they to do now? Look away from one another and avoid optic contact?

Jazz just couldn't forget. Part of him wanted to believe Prowl couldn't either.

"So what happened after the last time I saw ya? I'm assumin' that since ya didn't arrive here on Earth with the others that ya didn't make it to the main ship in time when the order to evacuate was given."

[Deleted]

Prowl glanced back to give Jazz a bland look. The suggesting that he relax was one he’d heard numerous times and had, just as often, ignored. He didn’t do relaxed. He ran on minimal recharge and fuel at a constant rate because he had to work. It was what made sense. Crunching numbers, running scenarios, applying logic. Jazz was…not at all like him.

Which was why he was so uncomfortable.

The other mech was unpredictable. To Prowl ‘going with the flow’, as Jazz put it, was the equivalent of chaos. He nearly twitched just thinking about it. The saboteur was good at what he did, including making himself difficult to track. For someone like Prowl, who had to be in control at all times, this was frustrating. He still didn’t understand how what had occurred between them had occurred. They did not mix. At all. And yet…

He mentally paused when Jazz spoke again, referring to something that occurred in the medibay. He doubted he would get any straight answers out of the saboteur concerning the matter. Jazz was as skilled at circumnavigating questions as he was at stealth and Prowl knew that, if he didn’t want to talk about something, pressing the matter would be an exercise in futility. He would simply ask Ratchet once the medic had a chance to do his work and then cool down.

The tactician vented quietly as they approached his door.

“I am unfamiliar with this planet and its inhabitants. And the restrictions on eliminating even the hostile humans are…vexing,” he admitted in return to Jazz’s odd compliment of his capabilities, “We have never encountered a foe of this sort, and…the factor of the truce makes me uneasy,” he glanced at the saboteur again, “…I thank you for the warning,” he added, a bit awkwardly.

Normally, he wouldn’t share so much. But, he saw no point in hiding his thoughts on their present situation when Jazz could read him so easily. He was the one bot Prowl had ever allowed in during a moment of weakness. Which, in all honesty, he regretted a little. Not the actions themselves, he wasn’t sure what he thought about that to be honest, but the opening it had provided.

He paused outside his hab. suite, triggering the door and stepping aside for Jazz to enter first. As he moved, he talked, answering the question presented to him.

“I did depart with the Ark, and was aboard long enough to make the jump to this galaxy. However, the Decepticons were close behind, and the ship sustained severe damage. I was in a section that took heavy fire and was forced to evacuate when it became too much,” he would step into the room, moving again to his makeshift desk and setting his datapad down upon it, “My pod was caught in the gravity field of a nearby planet, on its outer edge. I spent some time revolving around the planet, trapped without long range communications or proper rations. Eventually, I would have crashed on the planet below, but, the likelihood that I would have survived that long with my energon being as low as it was were slim at best.”

His tone was matter-of-fact, like he was discussing his most recent battle plan, not the nearness of his own demise.

“I was rescued by an Autobot called Kamal, who offered me passage to Earth. I arrived approximately seven Earth days ago.”

He would look at Jazz, the plating above one optic shifting to simulate a raised brow.

“You did not leave with the Ark. How did you make your way here?”

[Jazz]

     "Well, thank you," came the appreciative tone when Prowl opened the door for him and stepped aside for him to move into the hab suite first. "It's good to see ya still got those amazin' manners of yours." He pretty much made himself at home and sat down on the berth before looking around. No matter how many of these he went in to, he was reminded just how similar they were t one another. Same basic layout, with a few things here and there that made it their own personal space. Prowl was the exception to items, but something about it was familiar, even if it wasn't visible. "Well, ain't this a familiar situation. Only, ya know, we ain't home. Cozy little spot ya got here. I would ask if ya plan on decorating, but I think ya done about as much of that as you're gonna do."

     Jazz had heard Ratchet's comm and the reminder was somewhere in the back of his processor, though it was not the most important thing at the moment. For now he was reacquainting himself with an old comrade, one that he had a lot of catching up to do with. Even though most would have never said they were pleased to see the Enforcer, Jazz could honestly say that he was. If ever there was a bot that could have come close to understanding him and how he operated, it was Prowl... for better or for worse. 

     "The truce is definitely a pain, though I can't say it ain't a nice change in pace. Good to go out and not gotta worry being shot at by the Cons... though how long it's gonna last? Can't say for sure. Got a feelin' it won't be too much longer, so ya probably ain't gonna need ta bite your tongue very long. Doubt it'll be cause of any one of us, though." Jazz made a face that could have been best described as a scoff, though no vocal air was passed when he made it. "From what I gather, these humans we're up against got some pretty nifty trinkets from some of our own. Managed to take down that bruiser of a Decepticon they've got- Breakdown, I think I remember the designation to be- and poke around on him somethin' good. Lost an optic in that mess... don't really know what else more, though I doubt they really stopped with that." 

     Ah, the questions. The prodding. The need-to-know. "Figured this was comin'. Guess we can say ya stay pretty consistent." He stretched his servos over his helm, then flinched some as he was reminded of the pain to his shoulder. It was mostly cosmetic damage, but it certainly stung like an irritating lil scrapper. He lowered his arms and rubbed the shoulder while rotating it to try and get the annoying kink out. "You're right. Came here on my own. Commandeered a ship and spent a good chunk of the time exploring around, trying to figure out where the Ark had gone off to. Don't worry, though. I spent my 'vacation' time ensuring I reminded the cons of how much of a thorn in their sides I am. Best story is still the one where I snuck on board one of their destroyers and released all the emergency shuttles before disabling the controls. Last I checked they were floating around in the middle of nowhere... didn't stick around for the explosions, though."

     He didn't get into the reason why he had missed the launch of the Ark, especially considering his team was assigned to leave with the ship. Jazz went silent, leaned forward and interlaced his digits with one another, elbow joints on his knees. While it was not unusual for the saboteur to be silent from time to time, there was a tenseness about his frame that certainly wouldn't go unnoticed to someone as observant as Prowl.

     "I... really am glad to see ya, Prowler."