[ti]Ep 3[/ti]Breakpoint [Jazz, Patch]

[Patch]

Week 3, day 6, episode 3.0.

Midday. Just a smidge closer to the afternoon than morning. The hot, dry sun above beating down, and glinting off just about anything shiny as far as the optic could see.

Not much, by the way of shiny things in the middle of the dry, red dessert

A soft breeze cast across Patch's dull white plating. Whispered over the bright red lines, that marked her as a medic. The tickle of a story on the wind from whence it came, shifted light over her face, and plucked softly at the indents at the gaps between her armor.

She couldn’t enjoy it.

Not quite, close to the edge, Patch sat. Legs about as crossed as she could get them with the thickness of her armor. Silver, stubby, articulated hands sprawled out behind her to hold her weight, red backpack tilted, but held off the ground.

What was she gonna do about Sundance… How would she talk to her- how would she Fix this? It was always hard to see one's allies damaged. To know them as friends, walking, and cheery, only in moments, at the sound of an alarm to rush out and find them leaking energon from twisted, mangled limbs.

Patch had a strong tank for such things. Last-sparked as she was, it was all she'd ever known. But to watch her friend, to watch Sunni wake up, and hold, such hope, about how she’d recover... And not to have such hope herself. What was harder, was to keep going back. Keep watching the yellow femme struggle. Keep trying to, maintain that hope of her’s, when, Patch really Didn't know, if her patient would ever fly again.

Maybe one day, long ago, such options that Suni had suggested would be available. Perhaps, once, their species could graft new limbs, or damn near replace old ones through repair. But that was through tools, and technology- instruments and resources they no longer had access to. An adept medic could still do a lot with little... But Patch was not a doctor. She'd never been trained to make treatment plans.

Would Sundance, recover? Would it be Patch’s fault if she couldn’t?

This had all been weighing on her. Heavily. Her mentor had been captured, and stripped of himself. Watching this, too. Seeing Ratchet, every day; the shell of him. Sure, he was full of, new, excitement for life, but he was missing what Patch had grown so fond of about him. His stalwartness. His crossness, his ability to take command… His wisdom.

He might as well have died.

Patch had struggled with sleep for years now, but as of last night… It had become dangerous again. She hadn’t, really managed to recharge all that much. Thanks to Avalanche, she’d had company in her misery, but-...

It was an understatement, to say the young femme was stressed.

And so she sat. And tried, to appreciate the… empty skyline, during her breath of a break. The miles, and miles, and miles of blue far off, in the bright, hot air. She tried to feel it on her face, and breathe, and-... Like, what she had liked about it the first day she had come here. Feel that, wonder again.

But it was numb.
Not gone, just, numb. Like a spot so badly wounded, after… After surgeon got to it, it was just… Empty. Dead, until the receptors could grow back.

[Jazz]

The lack of the constant grumbles, 'I needed that', and threats from the old war vet were something that they'd all taken for granted in the time they'd grown used to it. Now that it was gone, there was an eerie stillness to the base that was almost unnerving to those who knew the medic the longest. No doubt the feelings were starting to spread to those who may have not known Ratchet as long as some of them did.

The entire feeling of the base had shifted with the loss of their friend as they knew him.

Even Jazz, the mech known for his odd adaptation techniques with any situation he was thrown into, was having a difficult time. Out of the original group that he'd known since prior to the war, Optimus and Ratchet were the only ones on their side who were still standing. Part of him had considered reaching out to Megatron, as foolish a choice as that may have been, to at least let him know of the situation. Whether or not he would care would be a different story, but it was still an olive branch Jazz had considered, if not for the fact it would probably have some reprocussions he wasn't sure was worth it. 

For now, welfare checks. Particular on the younger ones. He'd peeked in on Bee from time to time but only from a distance, in the shadows. He needed to do his round on the yellow mech when he had the time considering that whole situation, time just hadn't been on his side, and Jazz had been MIA himself for a bit to just reset himself. Optimus hadn't gotten on him for it yet, though he had a feeling that was probably coming. Only a matter of time before the Boss Bot had a meltdown of his own, so he'd have to proceed with caution on that one. 

At the moment he was in the presence of Patch, staying around out of sight to let her settle. With arms finally uncrossing, the old mech rounded the corner and started towards her, playing it off as though he had just arrived to the surface. 

"Ah! There ya are," he started, keeping up his cheery demeanor. "Ya know, I was wanderin' through the base and realized 'Hey, Jazz, you're overdue for your regular once-a-vorn optic recalibation. Better go see Patch for that.' I went right to the medical bay to ask if you were up for it, then I remembered-" he paused as he sat down beside her with a rather graceful flop, upper chassis turned towards her as his grin stayed plastered on his face. "- I don't have optics! That was really stupid of me, huh? Guess my old age is finally catchin' up."

Jazz rolled his shoulders back as he adjusted, leaned forward with elbows on his knees, servos cupping one another as he stared off in the direction Patch was. He'd made his introduction, now it was up to her to respond.

[Patch]

Dull optics turned a bit at the sound of Jazz’s voice. Not away from the view, but away from what nothing Patch was looking at over the edge of the cliff. Her chin tilted slightly towards her shoulder, for a second, acknowledging the change, then shifted right back to where she was before. A sharp, half ex-vent escaping her chest.

Patch didn’t know how long the elder had been watching, waiting. Frag- he might  have been up here for longer than her. She wouldn’t have been surprised.

‘once-a-vorn optic recalibation’?

The little medic rolled her eyes. 'went right to the medical bay' that was clearly gear-slag too.

“What do you want, Jazz.”

Flip. Grumpy. Patch knew, somewhere deep down that likely… He literally just wanted to make sure she was okay. But she wasn’t! She was overwhelmed and overworked and… fragging depressed! Patch would disappoint him if she let him see that, so, she tried, in her own interbuild, “teenager” sort of way, to stop that from happening. To block him from seeing how tired she was by disguising it as general aloofness.

“Did Red send you to babysit me?”

Yet still huffy, almost under her breath- though she knew the spec-ops mech would hear. Her optics remained fixed on nothing in particular, somewhere between the rock beneath her aft, and the rock beneath the mesa a few hundred feet below.

The azure glow of her optics was weak. Weaker than usual at least- indicative of her exhaustion. A mild shadow under the light, not unlike bags beneath a human’s eyes.

[Jazz]

"Actually, I was visitin' with a friend," he began, gesturing with a thumb over his shoulder towards Cliffjumper's makeshift memorial, "and ya popped up here just as I was gettin' ready to head back down. Ya seemed kinda lost in your thoughts so I didn't wanna go around makin' a bunch of noise tryin' to leave and disrupt ya." 

That was one of the biggest fabrications he'd said in a while. Jazz was nothing if not silent on his feet, which was part of why he was so dangerous if you were his target. He probably could have snuck right back downstairs alongside Patch's back with them not noticing unless he really wanted them to. The meck had to more go out of his way to make noise on purpose than to not. Still, either thing would have been a likely reason to not move- since Patch suddenly having a mech within her space probably would have been terrifying. He definitely wouldn't want to see himself out of the blue all fo a sudden, that was for sure.

"Besides, last time I checked, you're pullin' more than your weight and doin' the best ya can considerin' the circumstances the way they've been thrown on your plate like a meal ya didn't want. Pretty sure that disqualifies ya for babysittin'. Sorry."

Patch had been doing the best she could with having everything thrust on her the way she did, certainly handling it the way she needed to in order to cope. Working directly with someone you idolized was hard to have around knowing that he wasn't exactly the same mech. For Jazz, it was odd to see Ratchet as... Ratchet. Back before this war nonsense had changed him into a much grumpier, less bullshit mech. 

The war had changed all of them, and for ones like Patch? It as all they knew. 

"Now I'm just here to check in with ya. Not gonna ask how you're doin' cause I'm sure you're sick of hearin' it."

Jazz stared out at the horizon where there was a whole lot of nothing but dust and dunes as far as the eye could see. Nevada was nothing if not a dusty mess that was notorious for turning his white frame red each time he even so much as drove around the block. He could only imagine what he was going to look like now that he was inviting it along for the ride by sitting in it.

"Ya know, with the way the sun hits the surface of the red dust like that, it kinda reminds me a lot of the Rust Sea."

[Patch]

Patch never knew Cliff Jumper. She had never gotten the chance. But she did know of his sacrifice, and of how well loved he was. She’d heard their stories of him, and seen the ways they honored him. Both here, on the roof with his memorial- as well as in their words, their actions. Considering him, and what he would do, and say, and want even after he was no longer with them.

Cliff had been family to these bots. And he was the first spark lost by them, by their team -which included Patch now- on this planet. It was her duty as much as any of theirs to honor and respect him. His sacrifice, as well as his life. The person he was, as well as the soldier.

The reminder of Cliff’s memorial did ground Patch, somewhat. Her optics turned to the pile of stones, a moment, then back to the view.

Patch knew Jazz came up to the roof fairly often to visit with Cliff.

She also knew that Jazz was an excellent liar who would absolutely use this special skill to try and protect her. The young Autobot was well aware she’d never know the difference either way if Jazz chose to deceive her. Though the story wasn’t unlikely, she also knew better at this point than to believe it completely with no second guess.

He acknowledged her position, he… Gave her at least SOME level of respect. Not only as a soldier, or a medic, but… as a person. It was honestly a rare thing, and- as much as the interbuild wished to ignore it, it did, soothe some of the immediate reflexive anger that spurred from being disturbed. Being seen in this state. Again, it helped to ground her.

“Not gonna ask how you're doin' cause I'm sure you're sick of hearin' it”

She whuffed a bit of hot air out the vents on her back, her optics cutting and turning to the side as she nicked her chin away a little. It hurt to lose Ratchet. Bad. Carbine was a pissy child who hated her internals now. Sundance was a fragging amputee because of her, and as of last night, Avalanche knew a little more about how solus-damned broken she was.

It had been a hell of a couple of weeks.
If anything, that was an understatement.

As Jazz continued, Patch pulled her weight off her hands, and sat up. Leaning forward and slouching a bit as her peddes remained crossed. Optics stayed on the view.

“Never saw it.”

Quiet words. Again, a bit grumpy- but more subdued now.

“Didn’t get stationed there.”

Simple as that. Patch knew about the sea of rust, of course, but stuck at the whim of the Autobot war effort for the duration of her life, she never got the chance to see what she was missing.

[Jazz]

"Put that card in your lucky hand," Jazz responded with a soft grunt. "Honestly, probably the best thing that ya never had to deal with that mess. Ya really didn't miss much. Just an endless sea of corrosive gas and unstable planet matter. It's not exactly the place ya wanna go to on vacation, let alone a date." Jazz continued to stare out at the long stretch of sand as he shifted to get himself comfortable. "Now, the Mithril sea? That was a beautiful place to see back in the day, before the siege, the war. Before..." 

Jazz's spark pinched and he visibly flinched some before he shifted again, leaning forward enough so he could place his elbow joints on his upper leg plating. 

"Before the war."

His processor pushed the memory back into the depths. Why he was thinking about all that past nonsense was strange to him, unwarranted. Maybe he was spending far too much time with Cliffjumper, recalling the past, that it was dredging up other memories that he hadn't needed to bother with for a very long time. Perhaps the eye comment had triggered something. Either way, he pushed everything back down into the depths. 

"I'm not gonna give you the pep talk about how it'll get better or try to compare bruises with ya. Personally, I don't know if it'll get better, I don't know if the events of the past couple weeks will correct themselves, and I don't know if we'll ever get Ratchet back. Only thing I can say is to not give up, not yet. I've known that old medic for a long time- if anyone could find their way outta the grave they dug themselves into, it's Ratchet. As for the others? It sucks, yeah, but keepin' it on the forefront of your processor ain't gonna do anyone any good. Ya gotta fix what ya can, move on from what ya can't, and don't beat yourself up if ya can't sort it out." 

Jazz straightened himself out and looked at Patch. There was no look of pity on his faceplate- he wouldn't insult her with that. She was a kid in comparison to him, a sparkling thrown into this war that had nothing to do with her, and she was suffering the consequences for the actions of those who came before her. Her, Bee, all of the others who had just been thrown head first into this madhouse, some of them kicking and screaming. War was all they knew, and he feared what would come next when it truly was over- if they made it that far. 

"If ya don't try to save one, you'll never save any of 'em," Jazz said softly. "And if ya focus so hard on tryin' to save all of 'em, you'll never get ya save even that one."

[Patch]

As Jazz began to open up a story and talk, the younger femme’s sequestered gaze slowly began to soften. At the words about the Mytheral sea, azure optics began to peek softly up towards the elder bot. Her hunched up posture lifted a bit with interest.

Patch sensed the pain in Jazz’s spark at the loss of his planet- their planet, even if she’d never seen it herself before the war. Continuing to face him, her optics drifted down a bit. A moment of sorrow for a loss that happened long before her life began. Grieving a friend she never knew; again, not unlike Cliffjumper.

As the ol’ saboteur shifted to talk of encouragement, however, the young medic’s eyes lifted a second, then, the moment it registered what he was doing, snapped away to the opposite shoulder. A light whuff escaped her vents as her initial hunch was confirmed. He Was here to try and make her feel better! That absolute aft! How very dare Jazz look after her, or care about her well-being!

The initial boil of inflammation however quickly dissipated to reveal a deep ache beneath. Not at Jazz, or her leadership… Or anyone in particular really. Just… Everything. It WAS hard, and it Wasn’t fair, and it was Just SO Much to balance. By way of actual physical tasks as well as friggin’ feelings.

Patch didn’t want to be ungrateful for… all of it- for the chance to be alive, and the opportunity to serve beneath the Prime. It was just…

Hard.

And lonely.

And for whatever Solus forsaken reason, she didn’t want anyone else to know that! To see that! It made her feel weak, feel… Unable. Like she was supposed to know all this already, and just… Didn’t. It Should have been someone else! It Should Have. ANYONE with more experience… There just, Wasn’t anyone to take her place anymore. Patch was IT. She was the Best they had, and that was a Scary Notion.

Of course, the last-sparked didn’t have the capacity to put Any of this into words… Or even, really fully Conceptualize it for herself. It just felt unfair, and, frightening, and like no one understood. No one except her, and to TRY to explain would just panic everybody.

Still… Jazz’s words helped. Like a balm on a burn. He was soothing- if not, even the words themselves, but the fact he was saying them. Saying them Here. Now. The fact he cared enough. That he saw, and knew she needed support, even if she couldn't bring herself to say it out loud.

It felt, like she had an ally. A believer, even when Patch wasn’t sure she could be that for herself.

“...Klaxon, used to say something similar.”

She finally responded, turning her helm half-heartedly back towards Jazz. A breath of the fresh breeze cycled through her vents, then she continued,

“Bigger medic I served with in Uraya. Took me under his wing.”

A light, low, painful chuckle escaped between the words, as the light from her optics finally reached the freckles of darker metal on her cheeks.

“Saved my aft a lotta times.”

[Jazz]

"It's good advice. Sounds like he was one pitfall of a mech, too." 

Jazz wasn't aware of the outcome of Klaxon's status, though it wasn't hard to fathom that he had either been offlined or was one of their missing brothers, lost to the Well like so many of their kind already. Whoever he was, he had been someone who had left an impact on Patch one way or another. It was a shame he couldn't have taught her life lessons before this war had begun, so that she could see the good in things before the bad came around and consumed everything. it was hard to see a light at the end of the tunnel when you had been raised only knowing the dark.

"I know it's rough right now and it feels like the universe is purposely tryin' to crush ya with all the responsibilities you've been thrown into without any warning. Trust me, I know how much it sucks. Nothin' like havin' to learn on the job, on the fly, and then suddenly bein' the only one."

Jazz shifted some, then leaned back on his servos as he took in the sight of the sea of red of the canyon before them, the sun highlighting the accents of orange dust that kicked up with the small gusts of wind passing through the canyon reminincent of the repetitive swells of a moving ocean.

It really did remind remind him of the settling sediment of the Rust Sea.

"When I was assigned to be part of Kaon's security back in the day I didn't even know how to hold a blaster, let alone fire one. Never had to before that. Then there was the riots and break outs and I didn't really have a choice. Offlined my first mech before the war even started, all cause it came down to him or me. I carried that with me for a long time, beatin' myself up over what I could have done different, if we could have both walked away from it. It wasn't until I lost my optics that I had to come to realize that sometimes no matter what choices we make, what path we choose, the outcomes aren't ours to decide."

Jazz took in a deep breath through his intake, then looked over at Patch directly now. She was still so young, especially compared to him, but the weight she held on her shoulders showed on her faceplate. The beginning stages of Ratchet for sure.

"Basically, shit happens, kiddo, and it's just out of our control. We just gotta take the licks and keep on tickin'. It's lonely, isolating, I get it, but if ya let it beat ya down you're not gonna be good for anyone, let alone yourself."

He reached out and placed a servo on her shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. It wasn't anything she couldn't pull out of since the grip wasn't that firm, but more of a way to make her aware that he was here with her, even if she didn't feel like it, or wanted to just disassociate herself. Jazz wasn't about to let her, not a kid, not if he could do anything about it.

"I've been with Orion since the start, ya think he hasn't fucked up? Or me, for that matter? There were a couple times I considered leavin' the 'bots over leadership choices, and I'm sure we'll have many more of those conversations as the years go on because that stubborn sort takes a lot on himself, just like you, just like Ratchet. It's okay to say ya can't handle it, that ya need help. Burying things where ya think no one can see em, where ya think ya can ignore 'em until they boil over are how mechs like Megatron happen. Hell, it's how mechs like me and Prowl happen. It's how you let it affect you and those around you that makes the difference. So don't push us away, especially us old-timers. We know, we understand, and we're here."

[Patch]

At the weight of Jazz’s servo on her pauldron, Patch… tensed, lightly, as her chin tilted slightly towards it on reflex. She wanted it there, it just, startled her a second.

“Hell, it's how mechs like me and Prowl happen”

A tired, broken huff escaped her. A reflex- a release of the feelings as much as a laugh. She continued to listen, contemplating the words.

She took a moment, metaphorical gears turning in her helm, as it… seemed she, more made peace with what she wanted to say, than put the words together. She took an in-vent, and held it a second, optics drifting across the view in contemplation.

“Everybody I knew before here is dead.”

A stoic, soft fact. Not a realization, so much as… the externalization of something she always carried. Countless people. COUNTLESS acquaintances, patients, friends, teachers, sparkmates, enemies, allies, Everyone. Nearly Everyone Patch had Ever interacted with had left their frames behind, in this realm, and moved on. Wiped from the game table, so to speak. Unable to be reached ever again.

“Or just, gone. Somewhere I can’t get to em’.”

It was a devastating, dizzying amount of loss that most in their species who Did remain could very much relate to. Especially the elders. They’d lost their cities, as well as the people who'd once resided within them. Everything they’d built, their society, their culture. They’d had to watch it fall, where those younger never knew it to begin with. Never felt it's loss, so much as it's absence.

A hint of broken hope slipped into the younger medic’s voice. Her optics drew softer, sadder. Her voice unmasking to a light young tone.

“I thought, maybe this place would be different. After a few weeks, with, no one gone… I thought-... I mean I knew it wasn’t safe but I figured maybe-...”

“I wouldn’t-” The words drew out warbled, and soft, and, warm. Embarrassed. Broken like a sauce would break, too warm now that it separated. As her optics grew hot, and bright and her vents began to stagger.

“I thought maybe I wasn’t gonna lose anyone else.”

She didn’t know how to reach for help. Just kinda… Stuck, as her frame locked up and let go, a release in the relative safety, and silence of the and stillness of the moment. A breath to take stock. A chance to release.

And let go she did, as she started to shutter, and cry. Optics closing as her features curdled.

Losing her mentor was hitting Patch Hard. She’d been trying -and vehemently failing- to keep it to herself, but even as much of her pain as was likely prominently displayed… It was all an understatement- a whisper of how displaced she felt.

Ratchet wasn’t only someone Patch trusted to look after her- but someone she trusted to Be There to look after her. She was feeling his loss in not only her own Failures to take care of her people, her Team as he would have… But in her inability to look after herself.

Ratchet wouldn’t have Let Her get to this place. HE would have seen it, and known it’s potency, and protected her from it. He Had Been protecting her from it this whole time- protecting All of them from how bad their situation was. Which Patch was now aware of nearly in full.

[Jazz]

It was odd to see someone cry this far into the war, any capability to do so having been lost to them long ago as they became seasoned veterans to the efforts. They'd lost many, contined to do so, to the point where their numbers in abundance now ran in the far few. Waking up was far less common than being offlined, a fact they had all learned to understand. 

But that was for the ones who had been doing this for so long, who had chosen to walk this path with the option to fight or die. The younger ones, the ones born into this, had a similiar choice to make from the moment they came online into a world that had no forgveiness and no redos. 

That was a world they hadn't created, rather been forced into, by the actions of ther predecessors. And they were the ones who were suffering the most as a result. It wasn't common to see anyone cry, and that was their fault. The older ones. The ones who were supposed to make the world safer and better for those who came after them. The younger ones should have had the freedom to do so, from simple things such as a fellow sparkling snatching another's favorite toy or a fall they were taken by surprise with, to be comforted by a loved one before being allowed to run free again.

"I'm sorry, Patch." Jazz shifted some, moving the arm closest to Patch back some so that she could seek comfort and shelter to freely cry if she wanted to, without being pushed to do so. "This war has taken a lot from everyone, but mostly from you kids. Ya never got a chance to breathe, to know a time when ya didn't have to worry about stickin' your head up at the wrong time and that bein' lights out. It's natural to seek it out, to want it, even if you're not used to it."

Jazz vented softly. 

"I'm sorry that this is the universe ya got stuck with. I wish I could say that it won't happen again, that we would wake up tomorrow and the war would be over, but I can't. All we can do for now is appreciate the time we have with the ones we establish bonds with. Just... don't ever shut anyone out, okay? Tryin' to stay safe by refusin' to let anyone get close is no way to live, and ya don't deserve that. Don't do it to yourself."

[Patch]

As the servo shifted away, Patch immediately took the opening to scootch her aft closer, and fold into Jazz’s chassis. Her own arm wrapped around his back, a clunk of metal as her forehead struck him. Her helm rolled a bit so the center crest wasn’t in the way, pressing her temple into the white strip between his headlight and his neck guard.

The apology washed over her like oil after an acid storm- and it seemed this only opened the floodgates further, emotion wise. The sobbing unrestrained, yet quiet. A force of habit even in the relative safety of the moment of peace, and the welcome company.

“I don’t wanna die here Jazz, I don’t wanna die on this planet.”

A warm, open whimper. As though bleeding the words.

“I wanna go home.”

Did she really mean go back to their own planet? To Cybertron, war-torn as it was? Or just to a place- to a feeling of safety? Of comfort, and familiarity. Had she ever really had that to begin with? Was that even what Cybertron had BEEN? Or was it just… easier to think of the thing you’d always known before, as better, when the current moment got hard.

Did Patch really mean she wished to go elsewhere, off this planet?

Or was it perhaps, that ‘home’ had become the people here. And Patch wanted them back. That feeling of security, and assurance, and warmth.

She took a shaky stagger of a ventilation as her whimpering drew softer, and quieter. Into only air, entering and leaving to help cool her unsteady spark.

In all but a whisper, through all but a smile, helm still turned into the elder mech’s chest. Like the words fell out in a breath without thought she muttered,

“I- I’m scared.”

[Jazz]

When the invitation was taken to shield herself in his arms, Jazz responded by resting a servo delicately on the top of her helm in an attempt to comfort her.

"It's okay to be scared, Patch. What matters is how ya handle that fear. The moment ya let it consume ya is when you've really lost." 

Jazz had comforted many in his time for various reasons, from showing compassion for those lost, to comfort as their own sparks dimished, but for some reason this felt... different. He wasn't nervous about it, but rather more unsure of what he should do, what else he could say. His pep talks were always twisted in one way or another to match the situation that called for it, but this time? 

This time it was none of those things. This was a child who feared death like many of them, but also craved a home. A home that they neither really knew nor had any real idea of what it meant, and Jazz didn't quite know what she meant either.

Cybertron? A planet dead and foreign, wrecked with war and carnage as far as the eye could see. A wasteland that they could only hope they could one day restore. Perhaps Ratchet could, somehow. If perhaps they could located one of the lost great minds of their homeworld. It was a possibility. There was also Earth as an option to what home was. A young planet with young inhabitants who had only just learned to crawl in comparison to the universe around them. They were a mix bag, who had brought their own emotions of love and compassion, but as well as grief, who had taken from them in the same way their own kind had, though for far different reasons. It had room to learn- if the organics who called this planet home would all pull their heads out of their asses. 

Then there was something else, something more to what 'Home' meant.

Jazz had lost his long ago, along with a portion of his spark he'd never get back. 

"Home is just a figurative word, Patch, and it can be whatever and wherever ya make it. No matter where you decide to plant your roots, or even if ya never do, your home can be a small as the few here who call you family, or as large as the entirety of the universe. One day you'll figure out what that words means to you, but in the meanwhile I can promise ya one thing at the very least." It was then that Jazz dropped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her in tight to him, not to keep her confined, but rather to give her the added shelter of having someone shield her from the world around her that seemed to bring her more grief than she deserved- far more than she needded. "I won't let ya die here, Patch. I'll make sure ya get a chance to find somewhere to call your home, no matter what. You deserve far more than just that, but tomorrow ain't got any guarentees, so I can only offer that much."

[Patch]

“but in the meanwhile I can promise ya one thing at the very least."

Patch prepared herself to pull away, and look up at his faceplate for the coming words- only to be embraced tighter. Drawn into his chest and held. Her helm clunked lightly against his plating.

Her optics brightened over his shoulder as they widened and softened. She took a draw of air through her vents, surprised. Few had promised her this- fewer still she’d actually believed. It was a hard thing to promise, in the world in which they’d lived.

It was Still a hard thing to promise…

Yet she believed Jazz.

Of all the mecha on this plannet… Of all the mecha still alive- Patch had seen what Jazz was capable of. Seen some of it, at least. She’d heard stories, and knew of his reputation. Pits- if he’d made it this far at all, through functionalism, through the war… He HAD to know a thing or two.

And that made it worse! Made the feelings it brought up harder to swallow. As an intention, as a WANT, it was kind… But as a goal. To know, in Words that it was now a distinctive objective of someone whom she so respected to keep her alive?

It was… Kind of, exactly what she needed to hear.

Patch understood most autobots she interacted with probably wanted her alive for one reason or another. She dedicated her Life to keeping others around. But it could be so easy to forget that feeling was reciprocated. That others intended to care for, and protect her if the time arose to do so.

It was a quiet sort of faith one needed to have, that such capacity to help really existed in those one held most dear. That it would be reciprocated if the time came.

It was, nice. To hear someone repeat it out loud. That they cared. That they wanted her around. That they wanted good things for her, and were prepared to work to get her to a good place, if she needed it.

It definitely also helped that said person was Very Equipped to Actually Protect Her if someone meant her harm. Was it a hollow promise? Maybe, logically, a little bit of one, yeah. Even Jazz couldn’t predict natural disasters, or M.E.C.H activity, or any number of other uncertainties. But-... Even still it eased her spark a bit. It made her feel safe, and a little more protected. And loved. Which was nice.

The young femme found it difficult to respond in words. Rather, breathing in the initial surprise, and... sitting with it a moment. 

After a short time of thought, searching for the proper expression of her appreciation… Patch was left with a blank. No better manor of saying it than a weak, exhausted, deeply meant,

“Thank you.”

She returned the embrace about as tightly as she could as her optics squeezed shut- and the young femme had a bit of strength to her.

“For everything, Jazz.”