Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Emergency comm operators in Praxus were trained to respond to any kind of situation. Though Praxus had a very low rate of violent crime, it was not non-existent, and operators had to be ready to hear whatever might be on the other end of the call. Still, it was a bit of a surprise to open the line to the sound of a wailing sparkling on the other end.

“Shh, shh,” The operator immediately pitched their voice lower and tried to sooth the distressed sparkling. It was a struggle to decipher any words out of the crying, but it did seem that the young one was trying to say something. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

The crying continued, but slowly glyphs did become clear. A mix of ‘daddy’ and ‘bad’ in amongst the sobs.

“Is your daddy in trouble?” The operator did his best to interpret. “Did something happen to him?”

“No!” The sparkling exclaimed emphatically. “Daddy is bad!”

“Your daddy is bad.” The operator repeated. In one corner of his screen, the call tracking was complete. An in-built emergency comm mounted in a habsuite in a low-income neighborhood. A notice went out to the nearest Enforcer patrol, “What did he do? Did he do something bad?”

“Yes!” There was another stream of sobbed glyphs, which contained audible mentions of ‘enforcers’ and ‘jail’ amongst other unintelligible ones.

The faint sound of pedesteps were audible through the comm, followed by an adult voice with a distinctive foreign accent. “Red? Hey buddy, what’s wrong-“ Then, clearly, the adult noticed the active comm. “Aww, hey. You didn’t use the comm didja-?”

The operator decided to make himself known. “Sir, is everything alright?”

“Hey, I’m so sorry about this-“ The voice came closer, and there was some brief yelling from the sparkling as he was clearly displaced from in front of the comm. “I showed him how to use the comm if something happened, but this ain’t an emergency. He’s just upset cause I came home from work and finished off his fav energon goodies.”

“GOODIES!” Came a distraught wail from the background.

“I see.” Still, the operator didn’t cancel the notice to the responding Enforcers. Only added a note to approach the situation as a wellness check, with only a suspicion of sparkling abuse. Because yes, sparklings did indeed often have meltdowns over pointless things, the case couldn’t immediately dismissed. “I’m glad that there isn’t an immediate emergency. Still, I do need to send an Enforcer to check on any E-comm call. They are on their way.”

There was a deep sigh through the comm, but the mech on the other end didn’t protest. “Alright. Tell ‘em to knock on the door, I’ll let them in.”

“Thank you, sir. Do you need me to stay on the line until they arrive?”

“Nah, that’s okay. I’m gonna see if I can’t get my bit to calm down a lil. Thanks.”

There was a click as the call ended, and the operator went on to answer the next comm coming in.

Officer Prowl pulled up in front of the address that had been sent to him, his patrol partner Barricade not far behind him. The apartment building was located in a lower-income part of Praxus, though one that was still clean and cared for by its residents. This complex was occupied primarily by immigrants and foreign frames, who were often pushed into lower-income districts even after the abolishment of frametype-discrimination in housing.

The lift in the building was functional, if noisy, as it took the pair up to the 4^th floor to hab 412. Registered to one Jazz of Polyhex, who arrived in Praxus 2 vorn before with a young sparkling and seeking asylum from unrest in Polyhex. He had a dependent, one Red Alert, 4.5 vorn old, and was listed as working as a waiter and performer at a nearby ‘dive bar’ popular amongst immigrants.

“So, a Poly beating his kid?” Barricade questioned as they arrived at the apartment on the report.

“We have no evidence for that.” Prowl shot his patrol partner a look. “This is a wellness check after an e-comm, nothing more.”

“Right.” Barricade rubbed his hands together, “We breaking down the door?”

“The resident indicated that he would open the door for us if we knock.” The look become a little more of a glare, which had never had much effect on the other Enforcer. “Await me outside in case backup is needed.”

Barricade could clearly hear the ‘stay out of my way’ in the instruction, but agreed with a shrug of his shoulders. Prowl then rapped his knuckles against the door and did his best to arrange his facial expression into something friendly. (After much complaints from his cohort over his ‘resting bitch face’, Prowl had spent over a quartex working on facial expressions with the precinct psychologist. His ‘customer service face’ never failed to make Barricade snort, as it did now.)

The door was opened quickly, to reveal a mech that matched the profile for one Jazz of Polyhex.

“Jazz of Polyhex?” Prowl still confirmed verbally, hands open and at his side to show that he was not armed.

“Yeah, s’me.” Jazz appeared tired, with paint dull and optical band dim, but not unkempt. There were no signs of the mech being over-energized, or high on illegal drugs. Just tired. “You want to come in?”

“If that is alright. This is just to ensure that you and your youngling are alright.” Prowl would not accuse anyone of anything unless he saw clear signs of abuse or neglect.

The mech moved aside to allow Prowl to step past the threshold, though the Enforcer hadn’t made it more than a few steps before there was a loud wail and a small blurr smashed into his legs.

“Red!” Jazz called, trying to reach for his sparkling. The smaller Mechling dodged him, even as he clung to Prowl’s legs.

“It’s alright.” Prowl reassured, bending down slightly as he tried to interpret the sparkling’s pleas.

“Don’t take him!” Little Red Alert cried, a few blue sparks crackling between his stubby audial horns. “No jail! No jail!”

“I am not here to arrest your creator.” Prowl did his best to reassure the Mechling. “He is not in trouble.”

Barricade poked his head into the apartment, only to smirk at the sight of his partner with a crying sparkling clinging to his patella guards. Prowl ignored him.

This statement did not entirely seem to reassure the sparkling, who frowned deeply. “But- but. Bad! He did a bad and-“ The crying was slowing to little sniffs and hiccups that still interrupted his words.

“Your creator did something bad, and needs to be punished. But he cannot go to jail, because then he cannot take care of you.” Prowl suggested.

At this, Red Alert nodded. Prowl could respect that sense of justice. The sparkling appeared in good health, with no sign of abuse, neglect, or malnutrition. This was just a case of a tired single creator and a sparkling who saw the consumption of his favorite treat as an emergency.

“I believe I have the appropriate punishment for this crime.” Prowl straightened back up to look up at Jazz, who just looked weary. “Your creator must take you to the store and buy you new energon goodies to replace what he ate.”

Red Alert perked up at that, nodding as he wiped the tears from his optics. His creator gave a brief wince, which he quickly covered with a tired smile. “Alright, lil’ guy.”

Even as Jazz bent down to scoop up his creation, though, Prowl got a close-range comm ping. He accepted it curiously.

::Hey, officer. I’m glad you cheered him up, but I don’t get paid for another decacycle. I’ve got enough for regular fuel and such, but not really to go around getting more sweets for awhile yet.:: It was Jazz, of course.

This was not of great surprise to Prowl. Small dive bars did not pay overly well, though they did adhere to Praxian minimum wage laws. But for a single creator, raising a sparkling and renting a cheap, but well maintained hab- well. It was clear that Jazz prioritized Red Alert, for the sparkling’s plating had a healthy sheen and his optics were bright. Unlike his creator’s.

::It is no problem, I will cover it.:: Prowl immediately responded.

Jazz twitched a little. ::Officer, you don’t have to-::

::I am bound to serve the mecha of Praxus. It is my duty to assist.:: Prowl’s lips twitched from his practiced expression to something a little more honest. ::Besides, it would be a poor example to your creation to see a heinous crime go unpunished.::

Jazz just stared at him for a klik longer, before hefting his creation a little higher into his arms. “Alright little man, let’s go get you some goodies, yeah?”

Prowl sent the report he’d compiled on the incident over to Barricade as he stepped out of the apartment. “Barricade, please report back to headquarters that this was a false alarm. Everything is fine here, it was just an upset youngling. I have one more thing to assist with here, I will meet you back at the station in a joor.”

Technically, Enforcers were never to be without their partner when on duty, but Barricade would be more than willing to get away from escorting a sparkling and his creator to get back to headquarters and gossip with the other Enforcers. Indeed, Barricade just acknowledged the ping before heading out.

Prowl, meanwhile, deactivated his duty decals and subspaced them before transforming as he reached the street. This way, he would hopefully look a little less like an Enforcer escorting a criminal. Since Jazz wasn’t actually in trouble.

The Polyhexian transformed carefully around his creation before following Prowl onto the road as they merged into traffic and headed towards the nearest fuel shop.

Once there, Prowl was quick to grab a cart. Jazz came to take it, setting Red Alert in the sparkling seat. Instead of heading directly for the desserts aisle, however, Prowl turned down the mineral aisle and began selecting items from the shelf to place in the cart. With each, he turned to Red Alert to solicit the youngling’s opinion. Colbalt? What about Iron? Did he like Titanium sprinkles or beryllium shavings? Jazz watched the pile in the cart grow with a tight expression, but said nothing about it.

Finally, they arrived on the aisle which had a wall of frozen energon sweets. Red Alert stared up at the display, likely overwhelmed by all the options. The adults waited patiently as the youngling pondered his options, before finally pointing to one.

“You want that one, lil’ buddy?” Jazz questioned as he reached up to pull down the box.

Red Alert nodded emphatically, clutching the box tightly in his hands. Jazz opened it to remove one frozen bar, which Red Alert settled down to lick contentedly as they headed for the checkout.

Prowl set each item on the belt, watching the total tick higher and higher. He could feel the anxiety in Jazz’s field, no matter how well the other mech tried to hide it. But Prowl wanted to be sure that this little family had all the fuel and minerals they needed. No one would go hungry in his city. As Jazz stood in front of the payment kiosk, making a show of figuring the system out for his watching sparkling, Prowl pinged the machine and had it charge the purchase to his own account.

By the time they had returned to Jazz’s apartment, Red Alert had finished his frozen energon and fell into the deep recharge of the young who’ve had too much excitement for one day and needed a hard nap. Jazz took his creation to berth, while Prowl unloaded the bags of groceries from his subspace and set them out on the counter. After a glance through the cupboards, he began to put things away where they seemed most logical. The frozen energon treats in the freezer first, so that they wouldn’t melt. Supplements in minerals over the cooker. Shelf-stable energon by the sink.

He stopped when he heard movement behind him, turning to see a weary looking Polyhexian softly shutting the door to his creation’s room.

“Apologies.” Prowl said quietly, putting away the last tin. “I wasn’t sure if you have a preferred place for items, so I put them where they made logical sense.”

Jazz stopped in place, as if he hadn’t expected to see an Enforcer in his kitchen. (Well, that was plausible. He probably hadn’t.)

“You- you don’t gotta apologize to me.” Jazz shook his head. “Actually, officer-“

“Prowl.” Internally, Prowl contained his wince. It was rude to interrupt someone, but at the same time- “I am not on duty. You may call me Prowl.”

“Prowl,” Jazz acknowledged. “I should be the one thanking you. You paid for all this stuff. Not even just a replacement dessert, but all this. Why?”

“Because you needed it.” Prowl responded simply. “I am an Enforcer, I am here to serve Praxus and her mecha.”

“We aren’t Praxian.” Jazz shifted, regarding Prowl with an odd expression. (Though Prowl had been practicing interpreting facial expressions, in addition to refining his own, the optical-band of Polyhexian frame-types made his studies moot.)

“You live in Praxus.” Prowl said firmly. “You are here, and no one in Praxus should go without fuel. Though depriving yourself to provide for your creation is admirable, it is not something you should have to do.”

Jazz stared at him a moment long, before giving a brief scoff and shaking his head. His lips, though, quirked into a faint grin. “Yeah, yeah ain’t that the dream.”

Silence fell again, and Prowl was struck by the sensation that he should do.  . . something. But he wasn’t sure what. So instead, he nodded sharply. “I must get back to my precinct. I recommend you get some recharge.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll do that.” Jazz rubbed a hand over his face, but still didn’t move from his place watching his visitor.

“If you ever need anything, you have my comm number. Please, contact me if you or your creation require help with anything.” With that, Prowl had no more excuse to stay, so he headed out of the apartment and down to the street.

Placing his duty-decals back on, Prowl transformed and traced the familiar route back to his precinct. It was almost the end of his patrol shift, but he needed to check over the incident report for the day before Barricade had a chance to submit it.

Chapter Text

Jazz laid in berth, the blackout curtains over the window of his room leaving the space in deep darkness. The faint glow of his visor was all that illuminated the space, the blue light only just highlighting the corners of his berth and the strings of the electro-bass in the corner. There was nothing else, aside from the four walls hung with second-hand blankets in a meager attempt at sound deadening.

It was the middle of the day cycle, most of the mecha in Praxus were out and about. The faint sound of engines on the street and chatter of pedestrians came from outside, and the chime of crystals could be heard in the distance whenever a breeze blew. Above, there was creaking as his upstairs neighbors walked about their habsuite. Somewhere in the building, someone was listening to the latest hits on the local radio station as they worked in their own hab.

After a lifetime of practice, Jazz could usually block out the background noise. Polyhex had never been silent, no matter the time of day or night, and his habsuite had always been shared with anywhere from 4 to 10 other mecha (None of them on the lease, of course) up at all joors. But he’d been younger then, without a creation to worry about. Without nagging anxieties lurking in the back of his processor.

Red Alert would probably only nap for a couple of joors before he was up again, and then Jazz would need to prepare dinner and make sure they caught his favorite vid program, have some playtime. Go through his creation’s berth-time routine. And then get ready for work. He needed to recharge. He really should. And yet, the events of the cycle kept running through his processor.

He’d done his best to avoid the Praxian Enforcers once he’d gotten his residency approved. But the Enforcer who had come into his habsuite a joor ago. Prowl. Hadn’t been anything like he’d expected.

The Polyhexian Enforcers certainly hadn’t been there to ‘serve the mecha of Polyhex.’ They existed to do exactly as their name implied: enforce the law. And the law in Polyhex was whatever those with power said it was. For those without power, it was best to simply stay out of the way. Jazz had encountered them more than a few times in his younger years, usually for petty offences like pickpocketing or some low-value thievery. As he started making actual income from his music, then it was just the occasional night in the “sober cell” when he got a little too rowdy leaving a club or having the good stuff confiscated from his subspace (Enforcers didn’t press charges for that, though. They only shook mecha down so they didn’t have to pay a dealer themselves)

It had been a bit of a whirlwind of a time. Fun, in its way. Jazz surrounded himself then with a party crowd. Other artists, whether their medium was music, canvas, or bizarre abstract sculpture that took up half the apartment. Some stuck around, others just passed through. Here for a vorn, off to their next adventure the next. Everyone pitched in whatever they had to make rent for the next quartex and make sure there was fuel in the kitchen. When the rich jerks running the show didn’t give a scrap about you, you just had to find your community and take care of each other.

Back then, he’d go out and busk on the corner in the day, until he got enough creds to cover fuel for the next few cycles. Then to the bar at night, where he knew if he hopped on the stage and cranked out some tunes and cocked his hips just right he wouldn’t need to buy his own engex all evening. Stumble back home, pass out in a heap with his friends, wake up at some point when the sun made the hab too hot to stay in, go out and do it again.

Looking back now, Jazz couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment things had changed. When he’d started taking his music more seriously, and spending his pocket shanix on bookfiles on how to read notation and music theory and technique. Instead of dross or nuke or whatever was popular in the clubs that vorn. Practicing instead of lying on the floor while his processor melted down.

As his friends started to turn to harder substances, and Jazz was sobering up, they started to drift apart. And then, one of Jazz’s on-again, off-agains announced he was having a sparkling. Was the bit Jazz’s? Maybe. Or maybe not. Nobody in the group had ever been exclusive. But Jazz was starting to suspect that, no matter how young and unprepared and ill-equipped he felt, he might be the only responsible one anyway.

When an actual, steady gig in a nice club came his way, Jazz was able to move out into his own space. His own, tiny, single room space. But his. And when the sparkling arrived, he took the bit with him. Little Red Alert was going to need medical care, attention, expensive meds to help him stabilize from all the substances in his systems when he emerged. His carrier didn’t say a word when Jazz left with him.

It was hard. Jazz busked all cycle, Red Alert in a sling against his chest. And then played at the music venue all night, Red with a trustworthy co-worker backstage. But they were managing.

Until Jazz went backstage after a set one evening to find his co-worker knocked out and Red Alert gone. It didn’t take much digging to find out what happened. Red’s carrier had taken out a big loan for some big idea, and used the only thing of any value they had as collateral. Their sparkling. And when the interest became too much, the Polyhexian Mob had come to collect their due.

There was only really one thing Jazz could do. That being to break into the headquarters of the Polyhexian Mob, snatch the sobbing Red Alert from the secure room he was locked in, and crawl into the baggage compartment of the next train to Praxus with nothing but the contents of his subspace.

Praxus, because not only was it the next train out, but because the city-state was known for being hardline about organized crime. It was the one place on the planet where, if he could just make it in, the mob would never reach them.

Thank Primus, Praxus had accepted his application for asylum and he’d been able to get a job and a cheap hab. One that at least had separate berthrooms, and no scraplet infestations. Because Praxus was the Law and Order city-state. They didn’t have tenements because even the cheapest housing was inspected regularly and had to meet code.

And his job serving drinks and pasting on his flirty smile for tips paid for the place, and Red Alert’s placing at a private school specializing in special needs younglings. And fuel for them both, and sometimes a few special treats because Red Alert really was a good sparkling.

He should’ve known eating the last frozen sweet would set the youngling off, but he hadn’t even noticed it was the last in the box until he was eating it. Red Alert had seen him, and asked for his own, and then Jazz could only show him the empty box.

And even though Red Alert had ran to the emergency comm to report him as a terrible creator, Jazz still didn’t regret showing the youngling how to use the comm. Because he was still terrified one day he’d come home and find the bitlet gone again.

Enforcers had knocked on the door, and he’d braced himself for some searching questions about his parentings. But instead, there had been. . . Prowl. With his awkward, fake smile that had softened into something genuine. And his buying them a full kitchen’s worth of additives and fuel for the next decacycle. The Enforcer’s comm number seemed to blink at him in his contacts list, and Jazz was so tempted to just delete it. But. It might come in handy to have a friendly Enforcer’s personal line. You never knew.

As Jazz was in traffic, taking Red Alert to school, the youngling suddenly bounced inside Jazz’s passenger compartment and slapped a hand against the window. “Pow!”

There was an Enforcer next to them. And despite all their alt modes looking largely the same, Red Alert could apparently tell that this one was Prowl. Indeed, the Enforcer blipped his lights with a quick little blat of siren in greeting, before the highway took them apart again.

And sometimes, they’d be walking to the park and see a familiar Enforcer walking casually with his partner at his side. Prowl always had a moment to stop and greet Red Alert, as serious as if he was talking to any adult. It was kind of nice, really, Red Alert never had the patience for mecha that tried to sparkling-talk him. And he would always have an awkward smile for Jazz too. Not the kind of someone trying to force looking friendly, just the nervous quirk of a mech who didn’t quite know what to do in a social situation. Jazz could jive with that.

Apparently, Prowl had their neighborhood as part of his regular patrol route. Jazz had just never noticed before, because he’d never had a reason to pay attention to any particular Enforcer. They’d always been faceless and nameless to him, until now.

Usually, Jazz used the joors when Red Alert was at school to catch what recharge he could. It was the only time he really had. But one afternoon, he had a job interview. With a mecha who ran a music club, where the patrons went for the music itself and not just to get overcharged with some background noise. It also paid better than Jazz’s current, though unfortunately he’d probably have to keep a late shift for awhile yet until he’d built up his name to take a better time slot.

The interview actually went really well. The mech liked his music, enjoyed both his covers of popular music and numbers of his own creation. Jazz got a little lost in it, playing and grooving to the beat for someone who actually appreciated what he did. But he was pretty sure he was getting the job. He wouldn’t start for a little bit yet, not until one of their current regular musical acts moved on, but he could wait. Jazz continued to talk and chat with the proprietor of the club as he packed up his electro-bass, only for a little alarm to sound in his processor. From his calendar. He was late to pick up Red Alert from school.

Correction: he was going to be late picking up Red Alert from school. Because the alarm was set to go if when he had just enough time to jump out of berth, run out the door, and drive over to the school. But the club he was at was equal distance away, in the opposite direction.

Even if he avoided the city traffic and took the El-rail, he’d be late. Which wouldn’t be too big a deal if it was the first time, but it wasn’t. Because Jazz had overslept his alarm before and been late to fetch his creation, and the school said that if he kept it up they would have to make a report about it.

Jazz wasn’t sure what a ‘report’ entailed but he didn’t want to find out. He could call the school and send someone else in his stead, but who? He knew his neighbors on sight, yes, chatted with them. Sometimes had someone watch Red for a bit. But he didn’t have their comms. His co-workers might be available- but none of them had ever met Red. And Red Alert was a suspicious, paranoid sparkling (after all he’d been through, that was his right.) Even if Jazz authorized them, Red Alert wouldn’t go with anyone he didn’t know and feel comfortable with.

As Jazz scrolled through his contacts, trying to think of anyone who might be free and also trusted by Red Alert, there was a name that he suddenly spotted. “Enforcer Prowl.” And the mech’s voice, “If you or your creation need anything, please comm me.” The awkward but sincere smile when he greeting the pair in the park, or blipped his lights if they happened to pass in the street.

Before he could second guess himself, Jazz sent off a message. ::Hey, Officer Prowl? This is Jazz. Are you free for a little while this afternoon? I could use a hand with something.::

A response arrived in only kliks. ::I am not engaged with anything at the moment. What do you need help with?::

::Don’t suppose you’re near the Petrex Specialty Academy? I had a job interview that ran late, I can’t get there in time to pick up Red Alert. I’ll be there in half a joor, someone just needs to watch him until then.::

::Yes, I can pick up your creation and watch until you arrive. I expect you will need to send my information to the Academy to authorize me. Officer Prowl of Praxus, Petrex District Precinct 1, serial ETU 7285.::

Dang, the guy just sent over his whole serial code like it was nothing. He supposed Cold Constructs did have a different culture about such things, especially specialty-purpose models like Praxian Enforcers. ::Thanks, mech.:: Jazz sent the information off to the school, authorizing an alternate pickup, and did his best to push the speed limit without risking getting any other Enforcers in his company.

A little while later, while Jazz was transforming to walk around a pair of reckless mecha who’d gotten tangled up on the highway (as were hundreds of others, making their way to the nearest offramp while medics attempted to disentangle the two), Jazz got another comm.

::I have retrieved Red Alert. He and I are at Crystal Springs Park, I can watch him until you are able to make it.::

::Thanks. I’m gonna be a little late.:: Jazz admitted, doing his best not to knock against the wings of any of the other mecha jostling around the accident. (A social gaff of the highest order in Praxus) ::There was a bit of a wreck on the Petrex Overpass.::

::Yes, I saw the report on the Enforcer network and adjusted your ETA accordingly.:: Because of course Prowl had. ::There is no need to hurry, we are both fine.::

Still, Jazz did hurry. Getting to the park as quickly as possible and not even taking a klik to still his venting as he trotted along the path towards the play area.

And there was Red Alert and Prowl, sitting on a large rubber mat carefully stacking interlocking blocks of varying shapes into something undefinable. A cityscape, maybe? Jazz watched as Red Alert pointed emphatically at a place out of his reach, and as Prowl solemnly reached over to affix the block in his hand to the indicated point.

“Hey, you two.” Jazz slowed to a walking pace, aiming for a casual amble as he walked up. As if he hadn’t been running half-panicked kliks before. “Having a good time?”

“Daddy!” Red Alert abandoned his creation to run over to his creator. Prowl just gracefully stood, dusting himself off a little.

“Hey, Red.” Jazz hefted up his sparkling before returning his attention to Prowl, standing a short distance away. “Thanks again, Prowl. I normally get him alright, but there was a job interview that was going real well and it took longer than I expected.”

He couldn’t help but spill out excuses, hoping that Prowl didn’t see him as some kind of terrible creator because he’d forgotten to make enough time for his creation.

But Prowl did not reprimand him. He just nodded his helm. “It’s quite alright. I was nearby, and due for a break from duty. I am happy I was able to help.”

Again, the Enforcer continued to surprise him. “Well, I’m glad you were nearby. Red’ll only go with mecha he trusts, and he doesn’t know any of my co-workers well.”

“A smart Mechling.” Prowl complimented. “Did the job interview go well?”

“Uh, yeah.” Jazz headed back towards the exit of the park, Prowl keeping pace beside him. “It’s for a music club. I’m a musician. Play the electro-bass. The owner seemed to like me, said I’d have a place there next quartex.”

“That’s good. Everyone should be able to do something they enjoy.” Prowl nodded in satisfaction as they reached the street. “I hope this goes well for you, Jazz. Farewell to you. And to you, Red Alert. I am sure I will see you both again. Please, comm mee if you need help with anything else.”

With that, he transformed and drove off. Red Alert waved after him, while Jazz just stared. What an odd mech. A kind one, though.

Chapter Text

The next time Prowl received a call to help the little family, it didn’t come from Jazz. Technically, it came from Red Alert, but the message came by way of Enforcer Dispatch.

As the order for Enforcer response came through, Prowl saw the address and put on an additional burst of speed. Because a full Rescue Bot team had been summoned as well, including a firemech and EMT.

A clip of the e-comm call was included. It seemed that Red Alert had dialed a second time, but for something much more serious than an eaten energon goodie. The operator had taken a few kliks to interpret the hysterical sparkling, but it became clear that Red Alert was reporting a fire. A fire in his hab, and his daddy wasn’t waking up.

By the time Prowl arrived, the Rescue Bot team was already on the scene. A fire alarm had gone off in the building not long after the E-comm call, so all of the residents of the building were standing around outside. No smoke or flames were evident, so it appeared that the conflagration wasn’t too serious.

Prowl transformed without stopping, and hadn’t moved more than a few paces before he heard a cry of “POW!”

His wings jerked at the sound of his designation, pronounced that particular sparkling way. He turned to see a member of the Rescue Bot team with Red Alert in their arms, the sparkling reaching out as he called again, “Pow!”

“Red Alert.” Prowl glanced around, but didn’t see Jazz. Instead, he looked at the responder holding the sparkling. “Situation report?”

“Kitchen fire, ignited energon while heating on the range.” The Rescue Bot responded smartly. They looked down in surprise at the wiggly sparkling trying to escape their arms. “Do you know this youngling, sir?”

“This neighborhood is part of my patrol, I often see Red Alert and his creator while on my daily route.” Prowl explained. He held out a hand for Red Alert to take, trying to use his EM field to communicate calm. Even if he didn’t feel it. “Is his creator still inside? The E-comm call indicated that he wouldn’t wake.”

“Ah-“ The Rescue Bot placed a hand to their comm briefly, obviously communicating with another on their team. “It appears the resident fell into recharge while making dinner. The fire is out and the building is not compromised, so he has only been moved away from the immediate area. We will be allowing residents back inside shortly.”

“Good. I am going in to check on the situation.” Prowl paused briefly and leaned down to briefly press his chevron against Red Alert’s helm. “I am going in to check on Jazz. Do not worry, Red Alert. He is fine. You shall reunite with him shortly.”

The sparkling patted his cheeks with chubby hands. “Okay. Okay.”

Leaving Barricade to deal with the evacuated residents of the apartment building alongside the other responding Enforcers, Prowl strode inside and took the stairs two at a time. The door to Jazz and Red Alert’s habsuite had been forced open, an axe embedded in the door track keeping it that way. The mechanism in the door made a fitfil whining noise as it fruitlessly butted against the obstruction.

All of this was of little concern to Prowl as he passed through the doorway and into the small apartment. It smelled strongly of smoke, and there was a visible haze in the space. The fire was indeed out, as the firemech responder was standing in the kitchen with arms crossed as he observed a foam-covered stovetop. Black scorchmarks up the walls showed the source of the conflagration. The medic was there too, helping a woozy looking Jazz stumble into the living room.

“What happened?” Prowl asked, tone clipped as he looked between the two Rescue Bots.

“Cooker fire.” The Firemech responded. “Looks like fuel was left on too long, self-ignited and caught the wall. Fortunately, didn’t have a chance to spread too far.”

“Nnn, fire?” Jazz’s visor flickered dimly as the EMT guided him over to the couch.

“Yes. You’re very recharge deprived.” The medic said disapprovingly as he ran a scan over the confused Polyhexian. “You nodded off while making dinner.”

“Dinner- Red!” Jazz jerked, nearly falling off the couch. “Where’s Red Alert?”

“Jazz!” Prowl knelt in front of the mech, drawing his attention. “Red Alert is fine. He is outside with a Rescue Bot, and will be back here shortly. Are you okay?”

“Rescue-“ Jazz looked around, obviously confused. But the smell of the smoke and the presence of both medic and firemech made it clear what had happened. “Oh, Primus.”

“You don’t appear to have any injuries, though I recommend having your air filters changed in the next few decacycles. For the most part, you just need to get some recharge.” The medic made his final prognosis. “Regular recharge, every cycle, at least 8 joor.”

“Doesn’t seem like the damage is too bad.” The firemech added as he left the kitchen, having clearly decided there was no flare-up risk. “Open up the windows and set up a few fans, smoke should clear out in a few joors. Gonna need to clean and repaint, though. Probably replace the cooker too.”

Jazz just let out a long, drawn out groan as he slumped back against the couch. Only to jerk upright again when there was a yell of “DADDY” and Red Alert dashed in to clamber up into his lap.

“Red!” Jazz quickly hugged his creation tight, field whirling with stress and relief and exhaustion. “Red, thank Primus you’re alright.”

Prowl looked away from the reunion, standing to instead address the two Rescue Bots who were greeting their third (standing just inside, having brought in Red Alert). “Thank you, team. Is the scene secure?”

“Yeah. Building is safe to inhabit, smoke level in the hab isn’t hazardous and should clear out soon.” The firemech hefted his axe out of the door track and subspaced it. The door appeared to have given up, however, and didn’t bother to slide shut even now that the obstruction was removed.

“I will remain here to get an official statement and make sure both residents recover.” Prowl assured them.

“See if you can get that mech into berth!” Was the medic’s parting shot as they departed.

Prowl returned his attention to Jazz and Red Alert as they were left alone. Now that the excitement was winding down, he could see how Jazz was quickly fading.

“Jazz?” Prowl asked quietly. “You look exhausted. Come on, let’s get you to berth.”

“I. Gotta go to work soon.” Jazz protested faintly.

“I will contact your work and inform them you are unable to make it due to an emergency.” Prowl made quick work of looking up Jazz’s employer contact and sent off a message. “Your job now is to recharge.”

The mech offered little resistance as Prowl assisted him off of the couch, though he retained his grip on his creation. Red Alert seemed reluctant to part from his creator as well, clinging tightly to Jazz’s chestplating. That was fine. Prowl helped both of them into berth and waited until Jazz appeared to be powering down into recharge mode. Fortunately, the smoke from the kitchen fire had not made it into the berthroom. A bit of light was making it through the curtain over the window, so Prowl adjusted it to get the room as dark as possible before quietly backing out and shutting the door behind him.

First things first, open up the windows in the hab to help air out the smoke. The noise of other residents filtering back into the building began to echo up the stairs, so Prowl went over to investigate the damaged door. With a bit of force, he managed to shut it, but the locking mechanism refused to engage. He quickly ran a search for a nearby locksmith and made an appointment for first thing in the morning to have the door repaired.

Prowl received a ping from Barricade, asking if he was coming down any time soon. Prowl sent back that he would be staying for a while, likely overnight, to ensure no medical emergencies occurred as a result of the smoke or recharge deprivation. All Enforcers had medic-level 2 training, so this was within the scope of his duties.

Barricade sent back a winking emoji that Prowl really didn’t feel like interpreting at that moment.

So instead he wandered into the kitchen to see if he could do anything for the fire and smoke damage. The cooker was melted to slag, as was the countertop beneath it, by the extreme heat of ignited energon. Most cookers had automatic shutoffs when energon reached ignition temperature, but this one must have been either damaged or old. Either way, its remains would have to be chiseled from what was left of the countertop and the entire section replaced.

The black smear up the wall, at least, could be addressed. A look in an undamaged cabinet provided some cleaning chemicals and a scrubber, with which Prowl began to attack the stain.

Some time later, with a blackened scrubber and the wall down to bare metal (all the paint had been scorched off), Prowl’s wings sensed movement and he turned to see Red Alert watching him.

“Pow, I’m hungry.” The sparkling said softly, coming fully into the kitchen to stand at the adult Praxian’s side.

“Oh. Of course.” It was well past dinner time by now, after all. And since Jazz had set dinner on fire, that meant that Red Alert hadn’t eaten. Prowl was low on fuel as well, he suddenly realized. He often didn’t notice he was getting low when he was busy with something, until he tried to stand or move and nearly passed out. Fortunately, he was not nearly at that point.

Well, with the cooker shot, Prowl wouldn’t be heating anything. He was an abysmal cook anyway, and usually just drank the same basic blend every cycle. Red Alert was a youngling, however, and would probably appreciate something more filling.

Turning to the chiller, Prowl pulled out one of the frozen treats inside. “Here, how about you have a treat, and I will order some fuel to be delivered to us. How does that sound?”

Red Alert looked a little suspiciously at the treat as he took it. “Treat before dinner?”

“Just this once.” Prowl reassured him, pulling out a datapad and heading for the couch. “Do you have a take out place you like?”

The pair ended up seated on the couch and looking through a selection of nearby restaurants that offered delivery. Red Alert pointed out some things he liked, Prowl added on something he thought wouldn’t be too objectionable, and the order was placed.

Fuel arrived surprisingly quickly, and Prowl portioned things out while Red Alert clumsily clicked through channels on the vidscreen before settling on a youngling-focused channel showing a colorful cartoon. It appeared to be about a Rescue Bot squad, though dealing with much less serious situations that were more appropriate for a young audience.

After a while, fuel was finished and Red Alert seemed to be nodding off. It was late, probably around the time the youngling typically went to recharge for the evening. Younglings needed more recharge than adult frames, though they often took naps during the day in addition to recharging at night. Prowl had been doing some research into immature frames to make sure he didn’t accidently do something wrong when interacting with Red Alert.

So, the youngling was sent off to his berth, while Prowl settled into stand-by mode on the couch. It wasn’t quite the same as regular recharge, as he would rouse immediately if either Jazz or Red Alert woke. But the specialty Enforcer mod wouldn’t harm him to use for one night.

Joors passed before Prowl was suddenly pulled from standby mode. It was morning now, the faint noises of a waking world accompanying the light of sunrise filtering in through the windows. And the door to Jazz’s berthroom was open, the mech leaning in the frame looking only slightly more alert than he had the night before.

“Jazz? Are you feeling alright?” Prowl asked as he stood and approached.

“Just. Tired.” Jazz scrubbed a hand over his face. “What’re you doing here?”

“I stayed overnight to look after Red Alert and to ensure you did not have a medical problem while recharging.” Prowl dug around in his subspace before producing a ration pack. They weren’t much for flavor, but would fill an empty tank. “Here, you should fuel and then probably try to get a few more joors.”

Jazz took the ration and popped the seal before downing it. He didn’t go back to berth though. “Can’t. I gotta get Red up and to school.”

“I can do that.” Prowl really didn’t think Jazz should be driving just yet. “Recharge a little while longer, I will ensure that Red Alert gets fueled and dropped off on time.”

Given that Jazz looked ready to drop back into recharge were he stood, he didn’t argue too much further before stumbling back to his berth. Nodding in satisfaction, Prowl went to Red Alert’s berthroom to wake the youngling.

Fortunately, Red Alert didn’t seem to be the type to try and wheedle further recharge from a guardian. He only seemed a little confused that it was Prowl there instead of his creator, but otherwise readily got up and sat himself on the couch for morning cartoons while enjoying some chilled energon. The locksmith arrived around the same time, and was happily able to repair the door so that it would slide and lock once more. The chunk taken out of the bottom of the frame would probably be permanent, though.

Prowl verified what time the Petrex Specialty Academy started in the morning, to ensure he and Red Alert got out the door on time. He then paid the locksmith, set a temporary code on the door lock, and wrote the code on a note to leave by the door in case Jazz woke and tried to leave.

At the school, creators were arriving to drop off their own creations. An Enforcer pulling up with a youngling caused some chatter, though Prowl paid it no mind as he walked Red Alert to his teacher and explained that Jazz was unable to come due to a minor medical emergency the evening before. With a wave goodbye to Red Alert, Prowl left to stop by the precinct to check in and ensure there was nothing pressing to get done. Some files to process, pointed questions from Barricade to deflect, and talk with his Chief about the previous night’s incident.

With immediate tasks done, Prowl returned to Jazz’s apartment to ensure the mech was still doing alright. Though he had set the door code himself, he still knocked first before letting himself in. Jazz was no longer in recharge, instead being in the kitchen looking over the damage from the night before.

“The firemech reassured me that the damage is relatively minor, though you will need that section of counter replaced.” Prowl offered.

“Yeah. Guess we were lucky.” Jazz sighed and leaned against an intact section of counter. “Thanks for looking after Red.”

“Of course. I am glad that both of you were unharmed.”

“So. How much trouble am I in?”

Prowl cycled his optics as he tried to make sense of the question. “Trouble?”

“For the fire.” Jazz sagged a little onto a stool. “For fragging up dinner and being a creator and nearly killing my kid. I figure you’ll want to at least find a better caretaker for Red.”

“Whatever for?” Prowl cocked his head, not entirely sure where this was coming from. “You are certainly not the first creator to accidently set their dinner on fire. And from what I have seen, you are an exemplary creator. Red Alert is healthy, well socialized, and clearly has been meeting his developmental milestones. And you and he also clearly love each other. Why would he be placed with new caretakers?”

Jazz stared, mouth dropping open a little. “You. You really think all that?”

“I do.” Prowl nodded firmly. “But you are clearly very tired. Do you have difficulty recharging?”

“It’s just my work schedule. I work nights, you know, being at a club and all. So I make dinner, get Red to berth. Comm a neighbor to check in on him on occasion while I head to work. Get home real early, then I gotta stay up so I can get Red to school. And sometimes I can recharge while he’s at school, but not always as much as I should.” Jazz placed his face in his hands. “If I could just get work that doesn’t keep me out so late, I could probably manage, but that probably wouldn’t be for awhile yet.”

“If someone else was able to take Red Alert to school in the mornings, would you be able to drop into recharge when you get home from work and get more rest?” Prowl questioned.

“I- I guess.” Jazz seemed like he hadn’t quite thought of it before. “But I should be able to get my own creation to school.”

“Creating is something normally done in bonds of pairs or more. Raising a sparkling by oneself is difficult, and I do not believe mecha were meant to do it alone. I may not have experience myself, being Constructed, but I have done research into sparklings and caretaking lately.” Prowl waited until Jazz looked up at him. “I think you are an excellent creator. I think you just need a little help.”

“Alright. Alright.” Jazz rolled his helm and straightened up a little. “I don’t really know if I got anyone who could do that, though.”

“If you have no one else, I would be happy to.” Prowl said without hesitation. “My normal shift starts shortly after Red Alert’s classes begin anyway. It would be little work to come here two joor early to ensure he is up, fueled, and to school on time.”

Jazz stared, before laughing a little and shaking his head. “Mech, you’re something else.”

And thus, Prowl’s new morning routine began. On school cycles, he arrived at Jazz’s habsuite and let himself in. Red Alert was awoken, and carried into his creator’s room to give him a kiss on the cheek. Jazz would fuzzily mumble back a good morning, before rolling back over into recharge. Red Alert, meanwhile, would get his breakfast, cleaned up, and taken to school before Prowl reported to work. It was kind of nice, to have a routine like this. Before, Prowl would simply report to work early, sometimes by joors, to get work done before his patrol shift. And thought he wasn’t getting quite as much overtime in, he thought that this might be more satisfying.

Chapter Text

Jazz had thought artists were the worst gossips out there, but he had quickly been proven wrong when he encountered the parents of school-age younglings. The fact that a Praxian Enforcer was now bringing Red Alert to school every morning was the hot topic of the vorn. Jazz laughed off questions about his ‘Enforcer beau’ from other parents when he picked up Red Alert, but then he went in for an end-of-session with his kid’s teacher and she asked why Red Alert’s other parent wasn’t there with him.

Prowl was not out telling others that he was Red Alert’s creator or caretaker (Jazz had asked), clearly everyone at Red’s school had just made the assumption. He hastily explained that Prowl was just a friend who had volunteered to drop Red Alert off in the mornings, and got on with it.

And then later, Jazz had to question his statement. Were he and Prowl friends? Because that seemed to make more sense than “Prowl is just the weird Enforcer that my kid has latched onto and keeps offering to help me get my life in order”, but at the same time-

During his life in Polyhex, Jazz had had many friends. His group had been varied and vibrant and full of energy. They did a variety of substances together, legal and illegal. They drank together, got wasted and fell over eachother and stumbled home barely holding eachother up. They shared berths, shared intimacy, shared their music and their art and their passion.

There wasn’t really any of that with Prowl. The straight-laced Enforcer was not the type to do anything he hadn’t been prescribed, probably only drank weak energon spritzers, and hadn’t made a single innuendo, inappropriate comment, or even done the slightest bit of flirting.

Since Jazz was always in recharge when Prowl was at the hab, only waking up long enough to offer his creation a fuzzy good morning before dropping back off, he only really encountered Prowl in the park when he took Red out to play. But then, the Enforcer was on duty doing his patrols. He would always stop and make polite inquiries, asking Red Alert about his day at school and Jazz about his job, or local events happening in the neighborhood, or how Jazz’s music was coming along. And his patrol partner, another Enforcer with heavier armor and a sharp-edged smirk, would always be lurking close by. Pretending to keep and optic on the other citizens using the park, but always glancing over to Prowl and Jazz and Red Alert. But whatever that Enforcer was thinking about their relationship, he was wrong. Prowl saw this as some weird duty, and Jazz hardly knew him at all.

Which was why Jazz was currently sitting in front of his home terminal, staring at the ticket website for a local theatre, and arguing with himself. Red Alert’s creation day was coming up, and Jazz had been saving up to get them both tickets to a live performance of the kiddo’s favorite show. With the actors and everything. But now Jazz was questioning whether he should invite Prowl too.

Because Red Alert adored the Enforcer, that much was clear. Prowl was very patient and understanding with him, which the youngling did not get nearly enough of from most of the adults in his life. (There was a reason Jazz shelled out to keep him enrolled in a specialty private academy). And Red Alert was super into Rescue Bot squads (though to be fair, a lot of younglings his age loved fire trucks and ambulances and other such mecha).

But was that a thing you could ask of your . . . of your ‘Enforcer acquaintance who took your kid to school in the mornings for you.’?

Finally, Jazz decided there would be no harm in sending Prowl a message asking if he wanted to come, and telling him their seat numbers in case he wanted to purchase an additional seat next to them. Either the Enforcer would come (which would make Red Alert happy), or he would politely decline.

The message, however, returned undelivered. Which meant that Prowl’s comm system was set to private, so overloaded it wouldn't even store messages for later. Well, he was an Enforcer. Probably doing busy Enforcer things.

Proven later that evening, when Jazz was watching the news after sending Red Alert to bed. There had been some big Enforcer operation, a joint thing between Praxus and Kaon addressing border smuggling and all kinds of nasty things. Jazz resolved to speak to Prowl in the morning, and set an alarm so he’d get up on time to catch the Enforcer.

In the morning, however, as Jazz tried to shake the recharge fog from his processor and get out of berth, he did not hear the sound of the habsuite door being unlocked and slid open. Instead, it was the much louder chime of the doorbell. Which was strange. Prowl had the code. He always let himself in as silently as possible, as evidenced by the fact that it rarely stirred Jazz from his recharge.

A little suspicious of what was going on, Jazz cautiously went over to the door and slid it open. On the other side was a Praxian Enforcer, but it wasn’t Prowl. It wasn’t his patrol partner either, the big, guileless grin on his face ruled out them both.

“Oh! Good morning, you must be Jazz.” The Enforcer had a young, chipper voice. “I’m Bluestreak, I work with Prowl. Anyway, he told me that he normally comes over and takes your creation to school in the morning but he can’t make it today so he asked me to come over. Sorry about the door chime but I thought it would be weird to let myself in since we’ve never even met or anything.”

“Right.” It took Jazz a moment to parse out the message. “Wait, did something happen to Prowl?”

“Oh, he’s fine.” Bluestreak gave him a waved assurance. “But you know running those big operations like that raid yesterday really takes a lot out of him and he glitched and crashed and all that so he’s going to be out for at least a cycle. Two if Chief Flatfloot can convince him to stay home but he usually just drags himself back to his desk half-slagged if nobody ties him to a berth so like. Anyway, he asked me to come help you out and apologize that he didn’t message you or anything.”

“Wait, what?” Jazz asked with more alarm. He had read up as much as he could on glitches after taking in Red Alert. The kid didn’t suffer crashes (thank goodness), but if he had a bad episode with his glitch it could really mess him up for cycles. “He glitched? He crashed?!”

“Yes.” Bluestreak gave him an odd look. “Didn’t he tell you about his processor glitch?”

“No???” Why in the world would he have told Jazz that?

“Oh, I figured he would’ve. Since you two are dating and all.”

Jazz felt like the world was tilting around him. “We aren’t dating!”

Bluestreak appeared very surprised by that. “Are you sure? Because Prowl is always saying that, but he’d say that no matter what because he hates being teased about that kind of slag. But we all figured he’s lying because he never stops talking about you and his wings do this thing? I mean, he’s not super expressive and he’s always got that ‘I’m too serious for this’ face thing going on but there’s still this little twitch and like. For him that might as well be a giant sign. I guess it would make sense if you’re just friends too, though, because like. I don’t know if Prowl’s ever had any friends? He’s not really a ‘relax and hang out’ kind of mech.”

Jazz was definitely not awake enough for any of this right now. He wasn’t even sure what to address first; the fact that Prowl had suffered a processor crash and was recovering or the fact that apparently the entire Praxian Enforcer Corps thought he and Prowl were dating.

“I can take Red Alert to school today, since I’m up already.” Jazz finally got out. “Thanks, though. Do you think- do you think Prowl would be up for a visitor?” Because he couldn’t help but be a little worried for the mech.

“Maybe? I mean, maybe if it’s you? Because even if you two aren’t dating he still likes you. More than anybody else, anyway. I helped get him home yesterday, but as soon as he gave me your info before he kicked me out.” Bluestreak shrugged. “You can try at least. It’d be good for him, he’s terrible at actually taking care of himself.”

The Enforcer sent Jazz a message with Prowl’s address before bidding him farewell. Of course, he lived in the building across from his Precinct, which was probably mostly occupied by other Enforcers.

Red Alert was rather confused when it was his daddy waking him for school instead of Prowl. Routines were very important to the youngling, and this was a breach of Routine.

“It’s alright, Red. Prowl’s just sick right now, he’s at home. He’ll be back soon.” Jazz reassured his creation as he carried him out to the living room for cartoons and breakfast. “Maybe you can come see him after school.”

“Okay. I’ll see Prowl after school.” Red Alert nodded, as if he was sealing a contract. Privately, Jazz hoped that Prowl would be up to a tiny visitor. He wasn’t sure how, exactly, Prowl’s glitch affected him or what his crash aftercare was like.

After dropping his kid off at school, Jazz made his way over towards Petrex Precinct #1. Unsure of what, if anything, Prowl would want (his comm was still off, so Jazz couldn’t ask), he went with only himself. The apartment building was directly across from the precinct, sturdy and square with little ornamentation or decoration. A purely utilitarian cube, housing primarily Enforcers and other staff at the precinct.

With the code Bluestreak had given him, Jazz was able to get in and make his way up to Prowl’s hab. Avoiding the door chime (did Prowl get sound sensitivity? Red Alert certainly did), Jazz instead lightly knocked on the door.

It did not open, but Jazz could hear the sound of soft movement from the other side. Prowl was certainly home. He knocked again, a little louder, and spoke against the door. “Hey, Prowl? It’s Jazz. Bluestreak said you’re having a bad day, I just wanted to come check in on you.”

This time, Jazz could pick up the sound of pedesteps before the door slid open.

“Jazz?” Prowl looked terrible, leaning on the doorframe slightly as dim, static-y blue optics regarded his visitor. His wings hung low, and a faint tremor ran through his plating. “Is something. Wrong? Bluestreak he. I sent him. For Red?” It sounded like Prowl was struggling to remember what word came next as he spoke.

“I’m fine. Red Alert is fine. I wanted to make sure you’re okay too.” Even as it was clear he wasn’t. “Can I come in?”

In response, Prowl stepped aside to allow Jazz entrance. The door slid shut behind them as Jazz stepped inside, cautiously following behind the Praxian as he made his wobbly way over to his couch and collapsed onto it.

“Would you like some fuel?” Jazz asked, keeping his voice soft. He knew Red Alert would stop fueling during a bad episode, which would inevitably make things worse.

“Fuel. I. Yes.” Prowl made a vague gesture in the direction of his kitchen. “Under counter.”

Prowl lived in a simple studio flat, with a berth in one corner under the only window, a couch in the center, and a fuel prep area in the opposite corner. A weapons locker occupied one wall, alongside a set of shelves full of datapads. They were the only real personality in the otherwise plain habsuite.

Under the counter next to the sink and cooker, Jazz did indeed find a stack of plain, shelf stable energon cubes. High energy, but little mineral content and almost no taste. Presumably, what Prowl preferred on bad days. Jazz grabbed two and returned, popping open one cube and handing it over.

It was a shaky start, but Prowl got the cube to his lips and took a long sip. His hands stopped shaking by the second sip, and his optics brightened after a second. A third, and Prowl spoke again.

“Thank you.” Prowl’s voice was steadier now as well, as though he was no longer trying to force glyphs through a firewall.

“Get low on bad days?” Jazz inquired, as non-judgemental as possible.

Prowl’s lip tugged into a bit of a sneer and he tilted his head. “Somewhat? On high-draw days, I extract all the energy from the fuel before my tank finishes processing the liquid.” He sipped steadily as he spoke, draining the cube quickly. “I am not low on fuel, but also do not have the energy to function correctly. If something occurs that prevents me from getting a high-energy blend in a timely manner. . . well. I end up. As you saw. Or crash completely.”

“I see.” Jazz handed over the second cube as Prowl finished the first. “So you keep a bunch of these cubes hidden away?”

“I try. But; sometimes there are circumstances that prevent me from being able to fuel in a timely manner.” Prowl was looking more and more steady, though his plating was still shivering slightly and his wings hung low. “My cohort will tell you I am neglectful and forget to fuel, but it is not that simple.”

“I’m sure it ain’t.” Jazz dug into his subspace and pulled out a blanket. “You look cold, want to cover up?”

There weren’t any blankets in Prowl’s hab, not even on his berth, but still the Praxian allowed Jazz to drape it over his shoulders and wings. When he got closer, he could feel the heat coming from Prowl’s helm, though it did not extend downwards to his frame.

“Extra coolant cycles for my processor.” Prowl answered the unasked question as he held the blanket closed below his chin. “Overheat warnings come around crashes. But the coolant cycles don’t discriminate for which part of my frame they cool.”

“Red gets that too.” Jazz revealed. “Overactive processor, he gets anxious and panics and overheats, then he’s always cold after from the neck down.”

“Oh.” Prowl glanced down at the blanket he was clutching, clearly noticing the cartoon trucks, ambulances, and other rescue vehicles parading across it. “Is this Red Alert’s?”

“Yeah. I’m a creator, I always have an emergency blanket around.” Jazz said with a little laugh.

“Mmm.” Prowl hummed in response, though his lip tugged into a smile. That awkward, lopsided one that was none-the-less so honest.

Jazz was starting to realize he had been viewing Prowl in the wrong way. He’d thought the Enforcer was just being friendly, making the kind of meaningless small talk that any stranger on the street might. But Bluestreak had revealed that Prowl didn’t normally chat with others at all. And that he had very reserved frame language, meaning Jazz couldn’t expect the kind of emotional cues he got from other Praxians. Maybe, to him, the inquiries about the weather or his work were just empty words, but to Prowl, they represented a genuine attempt at connection.

“Do you have anyone you usually call on to help you during episodes?” Jazz asked gently. Because Bluestreak had also said that this was a condition Prowl was known to have, and he had had cycles like this before.

“No. My cohort is not helpful at times like this.” Prowl let out a soft scoff. “I am not popular with most, they say I am too strict and don’t socialize with them. And though Bluestreak tries, he is. A lot at times.”

Yeah, Jazz could see how that would be true. But he also didn’t want to think of Prowl sitting alone in his hab, shivering and barely able to get to his special fuel, until he could force himself back to the office. “Hey, Prowl, you know how you gave me your comm and said I could call any time if I needed help?”

“Yes?” Prowl tilted his helm curiously.

“That goes both ways. I want you to know that.” Because Jazz was realizing that Prowl was his friend. A better friend than he’d had for a long time, even if they’d never sobbed out their life story to each other after kegstanding way too much nightmare fuel. “If you ever need a hand with something. This or otherwise. Call me up.”

Prowl’s mouth worked for a moment, the Praxian seeming to be at a lost for words again. “I. Am supposed to be helping you. That is my job.”

“You didn’t offer to take my kid to school every morning because it’s your job. You think any other Enforcer would do that?” Though Jazz was discovering that Praxian Enforcers didn’t have the deep cracks of corruption as there had been in Polyhex, that didn’t mean most of them were ready to throw everything down for one single creator and his youngling. “We’re friends, right?”

“Friends. Yes. I, believe we are at least?” Prowl slumped back a little against his couch as the empty second cube slipped from his fingers. “I did not want to presume the status if you did not feel the same.”

“I think we’re friends, Prowl.” Jazz chuckled. “And friends help each other. You’ve been a big change in my life, let me pay a little of that back.”

“Ah. Yes, okay.” Some of the remaining tension seemed to run from Prowl’s frame at that confirmation.

“Although. Apparently all your cohort think we’re dating.”

Prowl grimaced. “I have tried very hard to dissuade that rumor. But they are all plainly aware of my lack of a social life, and take every opportunity to tease about it.”

“S’alright. Everyone at Red’s school thinks the same thing.” The idea wasn’t too annoying anymore, mostly just funny. “But speaking of. Red Alert’s creation day is coming up soon. I got tickets to a live-showing of his favorite show, wanted to ask if you were interested in coming along.”

“For his creation day? Of course.” Prowl shuffled under the blanket, clearly having a hard time sitting back up without letting go of it. “What date? I will request the day off.”

Jazz sent him the information, and found that this time his message went through. Prowl was obviously feeling better enough to have turned his comm system back on. “You’ll have to buy your own ticket, though. Sorry. Try for the seat next to mine.”

“That’s alright, I can do that. I will do so later, once I can connect back up to the datanet without overheating.”

The rest of the cycle was spent in Prowl’s apartment, just spending time with the Praxian and making sure he was keeping fueled and comfortable. Though he wasn’t up for much stimulation, it turned out that Prowl did enjoy music as long as the volume was kept low. So Jazz queued up some of his favorite albums, keeping up a low commentary on the artists, the instruments, the message of each track. It was nice. It was companionable. Jazz loved to infodump on his favorite artists, to discuss the emotional meaning behind music and it’s message and the circumstances around why it was written. And, it turned out that Prowl liked to listen.

When school ended, Jazz brought Red Alert to see Prowl as promised. He warned his youngling that Prowl needed quiet, just like Red Alert did when he had a bad cycle. Bless the kiddo, he just nodded seriously and pressed a finger to his lips. Then he joined Prowl under the blanket that was his favorite and pressed into his side, and they all kept working their way through Jazz’s collection.

And a few decacycles later, when it was Red Alert’s creation day and they went to the theatre in Petrex to watch the youngling’s favorite actors recreate an episode of the show on stage? And Jazz had Prowl sitting at his side, a rapt Red Alert between them? Well yeah, that felt about right.

Chapter Text

A live performance of a sparkling’s vidshow was not Prowl’s first choice for entertainment (or fifth, should he be honest), but it had been surprisingly fun. Perhaps because Red Alert had been bouncing excitedly in the seat next him the entire time, shouting out the name of each character as they appeared on the stage. At one point, the enormous fire truck actor had looked right at Red Alert in response to the shout and given a little salute before going back to fighting the ‘bad guy’. Prowl thought Red Alert would explode.

Prowl had never expected how much he would enjoy spending time with a sparkling. He had only ever interacted with them at a distance, through the script of Enforcer formality and procedure. Every one was different, in unpredictable ways. Red Alert, though, was in some ways familiar. He didn’t trust the unfamiliar, was wary of strangers, and preferred schedule and routine. Fortunately, though, he had chosen to trust Prowl. And Prowl would not betray that.

And Jazz had been right there too, supporting his youngling, making sure he had everything he needed. How many joors had Jazz put in at his job to purchase these two tickets? Prowl rarely spent shanix on anything except his special fuel blend, so he hadn’t hesitated at the cost. But to a single creator, it must have represented much.

Then, there had been the incident a few decacycles ago. When Jazz had come to see him after his crash, and assisted him with aftercare. Without a single comment on him ‘forgetting to fuel’ or being ‘too obsessed with his work.’ No, he had been kind. And Prowl had felt. . . cared for. Undoubtably, a result of Jazz being an attentive creator to a special-needs creation.

When the show ended, the trio remained in their seats until the rest of the crowd had filtered out of the theatre before getting up. By then, all the excitement of the cycle seemed to have worn Red Alert right out because the sparkling dropped off to recharge as his creator carried him outside. Jazz chuckled as he hitched his creation up a little higher and ensured that his magnets were engaged strongly. “Wow, he crashed pretty good. Probably be out all night, hopefully.”

“It was a very intense cycle for him.” Prowl stooped down to grab the plush of a fire truck which had fallen to the ground. Red Alert had quite insisted on getting the toy of the lead Fire Truck character of the show at one of the big merchandise booths outside the theatre. Jazz had hesitated, and Prowl had quickly paid for it. His part of the youngling’s creation-day present.

“Yeah. Gonna keep him home the new couple cycles, in case he needs a cool down before getting back to school and being social again.” Jazz took the fire truck toy and subspaced it. “Thanks for getting the plushie, by the way. Heatwave is his favorite character, and his old plush firetruck is getting worn a little thin.”

“Of course. I cannot come to celebrate his 5^th vorn without getting a present.”

“You coming is plenty of a present.” Jazz scoffed. “He loves getting to see you, and talks about you endlessly.”

Prowl’s wings gave a little twitch in surprise. “He likes me that much?”

“You don’t talk down to him. You’re patient with him. A lot of mecha find out he has a processor glitch and start treating him like he’s a newspark, and I know he hates that. S’why I send him to the Specialty School.” Jazz let out a little chuckle. “And you’re an emergency vehicle. That probably helps too.”

“I suppose I can. . . sympathize in a way. I have never been treated like a sparkling, as I am Cold Constructed. But I feel, as a mech with a processor glitch, I am held to a standard that others are not. I must work harder, do better, and never fail.” Prowl said softly, giving voice to a feeling that had loomed over him since he had onlined.

“I’m sorry.” Jazz offered. Not pitying, just. Sympathetic.

They had reached the street, where the last of other attendees were transforming and merging into traffic. But instead of transforming, Jazz paused. “Hey, do you want to come over to my place for a few joors?”

“Why?” Prowl asked automatically, suppressing a cringe a few kliks later as he realized how that sounded.

Fortunately, Jazz did not appear offended. He just gave a little shrug. “It’s still early, Red’s going to be out for awhile, and I don’t get much adult interaction outside of work. We could chat, have a drink. Order dinner, if you want.”

True, it wasn’t particularly late. The show had been designed for creators with young creations, so it had ended well before dark. And Prowl didn’t have anything else to do for the evening. “I don’t drink engex.”

“I don’t either,” Jazz reassured. “Stopped not long after I got Red, no intention of starting again. But I found some interesting Praxian style energon blends I’ve been meaning to try out.”

“If it’s no imposition.” To tell the truth, Prowl didn’t think he’d ever been invited to another mech’s habsuite. Not to “hang out” at least. To bars, yes, and other public venues, usually by his cohort. But despite him spending most mornings in Jazz’s hab getting Red Alert ready for school, this invitation still felt special.

Jazz carefully transformed around Red Alert and joined traffic, Prowl close behind him. Tracing a familiar route back to his apartment building, the lift to the fourth floor, the habsuite down the hall with the notch still in the sliding track. The door paused just a little bit at the damaged spot before retracting fully, just as it always did.

As Jazz disappeared into Red Alert’s room to put the youngling in his berth, Prowl hesitated before taking a seat on the couch. There wasn’t really anywhere else in the small hab to sit down, and standing around would be too awkward. So, Prowl sat on the couch, hands in his lap, and waited.

It was only a few kliks before Jazz was quietly sliding shut the door to Red Alert’s room behind him. Rather than joining Prowl, he crossed over to the kitchen nook. “Got any fuel preferences?”

“Uh.” Prowl was not in the habit of being particularly adventurous with fuel. Solid or liquid varieties. “Nothing with strong negative flavors?” Was all he could come up with. Which was, perhaps, not the most technical term, but the only way Prowl could think of to describe the sips of engex he had once tried and decidedly not liked. “And no carbon dioxide.” He added as an afterthought.

“No burn, no bubbles, got it.” Jazz interpreted. He returned with a bottle in hand and a pair of glasses. With no entertaining table, he managed to open the bottle with his denta, pour both glasses with a practiced hand, and set the bottle on the floor before passing a glass over to Prowl. “There’s a bottle shop down the street with some non-intoxicating options. Picked this up, ‘cause I liked the name, been hanging on to it until I had a friend to split it with.”

The bottle said “Praxian Sunset Lullaby,” in elegant script, with an image of the sun setting over the Crystal Gardens and stylized musical notes above on the label. Prowl gave the liquid in his glass a curious swirl, watching the deep blue of a highly refined blend sparkle with purple iridescence.

Jazz was already sipping his with a pleased hum, so Prowl took a tentative sip. His chemoreceptors registered an incredibly smooth energon blend, hyper-refined until any of the grit of the mining and grinding process of the original crystals was gone. A low energy profile as well, but this sort of thing was made for enjoying and not simply for the nutrition content. The glimmer of shavings of amethyst and bismuth gave it a sweetness, but not enough to be sickening. As promised, there were no intoxicants. Prowl swallowed, and took a larger sip.

“An alright pick?” Jazz questioned.

“Ah, yes. It is quite nice.” Prowl confirmed. “I mainly drink the same blend every day, one that’s got a full set of minerals. Unless I’m having the specialty high-energy blend for high processor loads days. I don’t usually drink just for. The taste. But I do like this.”

“It’s pretty good.” Jazz agreed. “I’ve never really tried this non-tox stuff. Back in the day, my buddies and I would just buy whatever’d mess us up fastest. Taste wasn’t really part of the equation. Stopped all that, and then it was just what was cheap and filling. But I might hafta get stuff at that bottle shop more often, when I got a lil’ extra shanix in the account.”

Prowl glanced at what remained in his glass. Hyper-refined fuels were expensive, due to the intensive filtering processes they were subjected to. “If this was an expensive bottle, please don’t feel obligated to give some to me-“

“Pssh.” Jazz waved a hand dismissively. “Stuff like this is meant to be shared between friends. Why d’you think I’ve been saving it?”

Friends. That affirmation again. It gave Prowl an odd, warm feeling in his spark. He had never really had friends, outside of his work cohort. And even they often didn’t have patience with him. “I assume you have other friends as well.” After all, Jazz was clearly sociable with experience in talking to mecha.

Jazz, however, gave a long sigh and looked down into his glass. “Not in awhile, if’n I’m honest. Me and Red showed up here in Praxus with nothing but the stuff in my subspace. Can’t go back to Polyhex, so it’s a whole new start here. And I’ve been real tired. Taking care of Red, working, making sure there’s enough shanix to keep us housed, fueled. It hasn’t really left enough time for social matters.”

“That must have been hard.” Prowl offered, unsure of what he should say.

“Yeah. I’ve always been in a crowd. Ever since I crawled out of the Stanix hotspot, and was picked up by a group of musicians. Made my own way and moved and grooved with a rotating cast of wild artists of all types.” Jazz took another long sip, before picking up the bottle and filling his glass again. “But that was also a group always looking for new ways to get fragged up, if you catch my drift. And I knew I couldn’t keep doing that. Especially after I got Red. And then we had to leave Polyhex, and. Well.”

“Why did you leave?” Prowl asked curiously. He had access to Jazz’s basic information, such as where he lived and worked, and any criminal history (in Praxus, at least), but not the details of anything that had happened back in Polyhex or why they had fled. Belatedly, it occurred to Prowl that this might be a rather rude thing to ask. “I mean, if you are okay with sharing that information.”

“You know?” Jazz looked. . . thoughtful, Prowl guessed. And maybe a little melancholy. “I’ve never really talked about anybody with it before. My friends, roommates, lovers, whatever you wanted to call them. I was starting to sober up and sort out of my life and they. . . weren’t. We were already growing apart, when I found out one of them was sparked up. Being honest, I didn’t think they would be able to look after a kid, could barely look after themselves. So, I took Red Alert after he emerged. Got him medical treatment, and we both cleaned up together. Whenever I wanted to give up, I saw how hard he was trying. Just a lil’ newspark, not even a vorn old, and I knew I had to keep going for him.

“I’d play at a club I’d gotten a job at, let a couple of the other performers look after Red backstage so I wouldn’t have to pay a sitter. And it looked alright for awhile. Like things were gonna all work out. Then, one cycle, I finished a show and went backstage an’ my coworker was knocked out and Red gone.”

Jazz’s hands tightened on his glass. “Red’s carrier had used him for collateral with a loan shark. And they had come to get what they was due. I managed to get Red back, but we couldn’t stay. No chance. There wasn’t no place in Polyhex we could hide. Came here to Praxus because you lot have a rep for not allowing the mob step a single pede inside, no matter what they want.”

“Absolutely.” Prowl responded, leaning forward a little as he tried to get across how serious he was. “We do not allow organized crime to operate here in Praxus, and there is nothing and no one that could make us hand you or Red Alert over to criminals from another city-state. I do not care how much power they make think they have outside of these walls, but it means nothing here. We will do everything in our power to protect you. I will do everything in my power to protect the both of you.”

“Thanks, Prowl.” Jazz seemed to relax a little bit at that. “I’m always so scared I’m gonna find Red gone again. It’s honestly been a relief to know I got a real, upstanding Enforcer to look after him when I can’t. I think he knows he safe with you too, which is great. He hasn’t felt safe with any mech but me in a long time.”

“I promise to not betray that trust.” Prowl said seriously. “While there are Enforcers here with bias, or areas where they come up short, the Praxian Enforcer Corps is dedicated to serving all in the city-state equally and truly.”

“Certainly couldn’t say that about the Enforcers back in Polyhex.” Jazz shook his head a little at the thought. Glancing over, he looked for a klik at the serial number stamped into Prowl’s pauldron. “What is it you do, anyway? I usually see you just walking around the neighborhood, but I get the idea your actual job is more important than that.”

“Interacting face to face with the public is important.” Was Prowl’s automatic response. He had said it too many times to rookies who thought that the street beats were just busywork. But for Jazz, he elaborated. “You are correct, though. I am actually built for large scale operations, coordinating Enforcer detachments from various departments, and even city-states, in strikes against organized crime or other large-scale criminal activities.”

“That’s what Bluestreak meant about big raids taking a lot out of you.” Jazz noted with an air of surprise. “That big joint thing I heard about between Praxus and Kaon a few decacycles ago, that was you.”

“That was me.” Prowl confirmed. “I can intake and process enormous amounts of information simultaneously, allowing me to command multiple squads. When I was constructed, I was installed with an experimental tactical processor. It causes me to glitch, and sometimes crash, when run hard.” He admitted awkwardly. Unused to talking about the circumstances of his glitch with someone who didn’t already know. “But it is worth the cost.”

“That- well.” Jazz seemed about to say something, but stopped himself. “Anyway. It’s your frame, and I figure you know best about yourself. But I’m serious. You ever need help, or a buddy to bring you some fuel, or even just a quiet place to wrap up and lay down a bit with some company. You can always call me up.”

“Thank you.” The words affected Prowl more than he could express. “Typically, mecha are concerned with ‘fixing me.’ I appreciate the offer of support without bias.”

“You got it, my mech.”

They lapsed into silence for a bit, each sipping at their glasses and relaxing a little into the couch. It was a small piece of furniture, so Prowl found that their knees touched each other when they sat back a little. This was not unpleasant, though, so Prowl left it as is. Instead, he sought for something to say to restart the conversation on a safe topic. He picked something from his list of ‘safe things to say when talking to someone.’ “So, how is your work going?”

“Pretty good.” Jazz perked up at that. “A slot is coming up for the midcycle shift pretty soon, boss says I got a good shot at it. Ain’t as popular as the evening shift, since that’s when you get the dinner crowd, but mid-cycle would get me the lunch shift and I’d finally be working normal hours. Be able to take Red to school in the morning, work a day, pick him up after my shift. Have dinner, recharge through the night. Like a normal mech, stop pulling these wild hours.”

“That will be good.” Prowl agreed, even if he felt a little pang at the thought that he would no longer be needed. “I know that having to work the late shift has troubled you.”

“Turned me into a shambling empty is another way to put it.” Jazz laughed. “But yeah. Can’t wait to start working normal shifts like that. Don’t think it gets you outta visiting, though. Red Alert would miss you too much.”

“Oh, yes. Of course.” It was nice to know he would still be welcomed at the habsuite.

“Do wish the move came with more of a raise, though.” Jazz looked around the small, rather cramped habsuite. “This place ain’t half bad, I’ve certainly lived in worse. But it’s small, and younglings take up a surprising amount of space. Be nice to live someplace I don’t have to hear what all my neighbors are up to all the time, too.”

As if to emphasize his words, there was a click from somewhere above before the soft woosh of solvent rushing through pipes was heard in the habsuite. Someone on an upper floor was taking a shower. Through the wall the vidscreen was mounted on, Prowl could just pick up someone watching the afternoon newscast. And in a hab on the floor below them, a child was screaming. (Happily, Prowl thought.) Yes, the soundproofing in the building left something to be desired.

“I see what you mean. This building is still meeting code, but the habsuites are small. And the construction is old.” Prowl made a note to himself to look up the prices of the habs in the building, the age, and to see if he could figure out a solution. For now, however, he would focus back on the here and now, and his companion. His friend.

Chapter Text

::I estimated your current rent and compared it to my current salary. If we shared expenses, it would be possible to rent a reasonably sized three berthroom hab with significantly more space than either of us currently have. I have attached a list of possible habs currently available in buildings within a reasonable distance of Precinct One, your work, and Red Alert’s school.::

The message was precise and to the point, as Jazz was starting to expect from Prowl. Sure enough, there was a link on the message that led to a list of various rental listings. Jazz couldn’t help but click on them and scroll through the listing photos, imagining what it would be like to fill those spaces. Space for Red Alert to play, room for him to practice his bass, washracks with oil baths and spacious solvent showers.

It just meant having a roommate. Jazz had had plenty of roommates in his life. In fact, he had never lived by himself. (Though Red Alert didn’t count as a roommate) Would sharing a hab with Prowl be so bad? The Enforcer would probably make for the quietest roommate he’d ever had, at least. And unlikely to throw giant parties that trashed the place or get paint on all of the furniture in a midnight nox-fueled art frenzy.

Which led to Jazz moving into a new, larger hab closer to work and Red Alert’s school. Large changes tended to exacerbate Red Alert’s glitch, so Jazz set up his berthroom as close as he could manage it to how it was before. Shabby, second-hand furniture and all. Perhaps, they could have a family shopping trip for some new things once Red Alert settled down a bit.

Prowl had relatively little to move in, on his part. Just a berth, a set of shelves, and his weapon’s locker. All of which went into his own room, tucked out of sight.

Jazz had been saving up his tips from work, enough to buy himself a new, nicer berth and a replacement stand for his electro-bass so it could recline safely in the corner. One of his coworkers was a visual artist, in addition to playing music, so he bought a piece from her to put on the wall of his berthroom. To have something to put there, and to support his fellow artists.

The new kitchen was larger and better stocked, with cabinets and a full-sized chiller for fuel storage. Prowl pitched in to buy fuels and additives to fill it up, though Jazz discovered quickly that he didn’t actually use any of it. He apparently just drank the same mix every single cycle, in pre-mixed cubes that didn’t require preparation. They were all tucked into one cabinet, next to a stock of the high-energy blend Prowl kept for high-stress cycles. Jazz had been forced to learn some cooking basics to keep him and Red Alert fueled on a budget, but now he was toying with figuring out some meals to make to see if he could entice Prowl to try some new things.

As Jazz had predicted, Prowl was the quietest roommate he’d ever had. The Enforcer would wake and join Jazz and Red Alert for breakfast, then be gone at his job all day (occasionally taking Red to school along his way). Typically he was back by dinner, though sometimes he didn’t get in until after Jazz went to bed. When home, he mainly read. Cold Cases going back decavorns, apparently. (Jazz was about to chastise him for bringing work home with him before realizing that he wasn’t exactly any better. Was playing music in your free time when you worked as a musician too much different than an Enforcer reading old case files when at home? Maybe it gave Prowl the same satisfaction, who knew)

He could, at least, be enticed to take his optics off his datapad for movie nights. Red Alert was finally getting to the age where he was watching media that his creator could also enjoy (though Jazz doubted anything would ever topple the obsession with Rescue Bots for the kiddo), and Jazz was eager to introduce his creation to all his old favorites. Which turned out to also mean introducing Prowl to all his old favorites. Being a Cold Construct, Prowl had never seen any classic youngling movies. Such a shame.

Thus, Jazz discovered a new fact about Prowl. He liked to bitch about movies.

The Enforcer had been enticed into the living room for a movie, seated in a comfy chair next to the couch holding Jazz and Red Alert. From the beginning, Prowl let out the occasional scoff or disbelieving snort. About halfway through, it seemed he couldn’t keep his critiques in any longer and started muttering about various scenes and character decisions. Which then became him audibly pointing out dumb decision making, plot holes, and impossible physics.

At one point, Jazz laughed at the continuing commentary. “Prowl, it ain’t that deep. It’s a kid’s movie.”

“Ah, of course.” Prowl shut his mouth, frame language becoming rigid and closed off once more.

Jazz frowned slightly at his response. The Praxian had finally started looking happy and relaxed, in his own subtle way. (Jazz had a folder for ‘Praxian Frame Language’ that now had a sub-folder just called ‘Prowl’.)

Prowl remained silent until the end of the movie. As credits rolled, he pushed himself up from his chair, presumably to head back to his room. Jazz quickly tuned the vidscreen over to Rescue Bots to distract Red Alert before moving to intercept his roommate.

“Hey, Prowl?”

The Praxian paused and turned towards his roommate, trying to look stoic but under the mask, Jazz thought he saw some nervousness.

“I really don’t mind you riffing on movies.” Jazz told him. “I was just joking earlier.”

“It is alright.” Prowl responded stiffly. “I am aware that most mecha do not like to hear critique on their favorite media. I will try to refrain in the future.”

That sounded like there was some past behind it. “Lemme guess. Your coworkers don’t appreciate hearing their favorite movies are trash?”

A flinch and a twitch of the wings, and Jazz knew he’d guessed right. “Well. Yes, that is accurate.” Prowl sighed. “I never understood the movie references or conversations in the Precinct mess, so I watched a number of recent popular films. Unfortunately, they were-“

“Garbage with slag writing, filmography, and acting?” Jazz guessed when Prowl paused.

“Ah. Yes, in brief. However, mecha do not wish to hear about all the things wrong with the media they like. I cannot just ‘turn my processor off’ to watch things.” Prowl huffed, past frustration coming back to him. “My processor does not ‘turn off’. I will analyze the media, observing such features as writing, lighting choices, costuming and props, and everything else. That is my. Enjoyment, if you will. To notice and pick apart these things. I cannot just watch things ‘mindlessly’ and not think as it plays in front of me.”

“That’s totally valid, mech.” Jazz could totally see that. Though he sometimes enjoyed trash for trash, he was an artist at his core. And similar things often bothered him. The difference, he supposed, was that he could let those things go if the rest was enjoyable enough. “Look, these films I’ve been showing you and Red. I know they’re bad. That’s part of the charm, I guess. I remember watching this stuff when I was a lil’ spark. It’s bad, but it’s funny. It’s got good messaging, and fun characters, and silly stuff. And if you want to riff on all the bad slag, please. Go ahead. I want you to enjoy this stuff. And if that’s how you enjoy it, go ahead.”

Prowl’s wings perked slightly. “You do not mind me pointing out anachronisms and contradictory plot holes?”

“Nah!” Jazz waved a hand in dismissal. “Pit, sometimes that’s the only way to watch bad movies. Don’t feel the need to keep quiet on my account.”

“Okay. Thank you.” And there was that small, awkward smile.

A little later that night, after Red Alert had been put to bed, Jazz coaxed Prowl back out into the main room for another film. This one a little less youngling appropriate, and notoriously awful. Jazz had once gotten high with his roommates and watched it to loudly make fun of it whenever they were sufficiently bored. He was pretty sure that it would be just as funny sober beside Prowl and his commentary.

As the opening rolled, Prowl sat cross armed and resolutely silent, but Jazz could see him biting his lip a bit. So Jazz started in, complaining that the irresistibly attractive main lead had a speedster alt that hadn’t been developed into decavorn after the time period the film was supposedly set.

That seemed to open Prowl up, and soon enough the two had a good back and forth going. The film was bad, but not so bad that it was unwatchable. Enough that it was funny, with a high enough production quality it was still entertaining. And riffing on it with Prowl was fun. He had insights into ancient law procedure Jazz had never known about, while Jazz pointed out a critical plot point involving a piece of music that had been written when the film came out and was certainly not late Golden Age.

By the end both were laughing. Jazz loudly, Prowl much more quietly. But he was laughing. An embarrassing little sound, with the occasional vent wheeze that would’ve absolutely gotten Jazz teased by his old roommates. Instead, however, Jazz said nothing about his snorting laugh and just felt proud he’d gotten the stoic Praxian to smile so hard at all.

The mid-cycle shift at Downbeat was not the most lucrative for the performers, but it allowed Jazz to work during the time that Red Alert was at school. Meaning he got to take his creation to school in the morning, pick him up after shift, spend the evening with him, and get a full night’s recharge. That was worth making fewer tips at work.

There weren’t a huge number of mecha who came in to have music with their lunch, the joint was much busier during and after the dinner hour, but there were usually enough to have at least a few occupied tables at any given time. Jazz finished up a joor of waiting tables and took his place on the small stage with one of his co-workers. They rotated who was on the stage at any given time, which meant that Jazz could solo or be paired with any of his co-workers at any given time. Fortunately, they had a good rapport and usually produced some fine tunes.

As Jazz started to play, the door to Downbeat opened and a group of mecha entered. A rather familiar group, in matching paint and decals. Fortunately, Jazz was too much of a professional to stumble as Prowl, his patrol partner Barricade, Bluestreak, and presumably Bluestreak’s patrol partner, took a table near the stage. Prowl looked up to his roommate with a sharp nod, before returning to browsing the menu, while Bluestreak gave the musician a cheerful wave. Barricade leaned in to say something to the table, drawing a withering glare from Prowl and a laugh from the other two Enforcers.

The group ordered, and clapped politely when Jazz finished up one song and began another. They were just finishing up their meal when Jazz and his coworker completed their set to rotate back to table duty. Jazz’s comm chimed several times as patrons tapped the tip buttons on their tables, with a noticeable number coming in from the table where the Enforcers sat.

Hustling his bass to its stand, Jazz hopped off the stage to catch the group before they left.

“Hey Prowl, hey fellas.” Jazz greeted, gathering up their dishes. “Enjoy the fuel?”

“It was great! And your music was super good too. Prowl said you were a musician and that you played at a restaurant but then he invited us all out here and I’m glad he did because that was really great!” Bluestreak said enthusiastically.

“Did he now?” Jazz glanced over at his roommate.

“I have heard some of your practicing at home and wished to see you actually perform.” Prowl responded with a bob of his wings. “The fuel here has also received very good reviews on the ‘net.”

“It’s totally not because he spends all shift mooning over you or anything.” Barricade responded with a slag-eating grin, earning a not-so-subtle elbow from Prowl.

Jazz just laughed the statement off. “Well, glad you came by. Stop back any time!”

And they did. It wasn’t always Prowl, but Bluestreak became a regular. And then more Enforcers. And more, coming in and out at various times of the cycle depending on when their breaks were. They all tipped generously, to any of the performers, and their presence seemed to be encouraging other Praxian patrons to come by for lunch as well. Downbeat was staffed primarily by non-Praxian frames, so it attracted mostly immigrants and other foreign-frames who primarily came by in their after-shift joors. And now mid-shift was the rush of Enforcers and Praxians.

Jazz’s boss laughed and mentioned he might have to hire more for mid-shift if this continued, thanking Jazz for inviting in his Enforcer beau. Any comments that Prowl was just his roommate fell on deaf audials. Especially after Jazz had to pick up a few extra joors one afternoon, leading to Prowl picking up Red Alert from school and bringing him to the restaurant to watch his daddy play.

One afternoon, as Jazz played, the table of Enforcers suddenly all straightened, obviously receiving a comm all at the same time. One punched the pay button on the table before all running out and transforming nearly the klik they were out of the door. Obviously, there was a crime happening somewhere.

Jazz didn’t worry much about it until a little later, when he finished his set and received a comm from Prowl.

::Red Alert’s school has gone into lockdown due to an intruder. I am on site responding. Going comm silent.::

And then Jazz was running out of the restaurant as well.

At the Petrex Specialty Academy, an Enforcer barrier had been erected at a two-block radius. Fortunately, one of the Enforcers recognized Jazz and let him through to where other anxious parents had gathered. Another Enforcer was there, trying to keep everyone relatively calm. All they knew at the moment was that a mech had made it through the security check at the school and attempted to kidnap a student. They were currently working to recover the student and contain the intruder.

It was Jazz’s nightmare. His worst nightmare. All he could imagine was that the mob had somehow made it into Praxus, come to take Red Alert again. But Prowl was inside the building. Prowl would protect him. Prowl had promised.

Finally, after a joor of increasing panic, there was the bulky form of Barricade leading a mech out of the doors in stasis cuffs. The intruder was a Praxian frame, but perhaps the mob had managed to hire a local thug.

Then teachers were coming out of the back door of the building, leading their students in strings behind them. A reuniting station was set up, each parent being checked before being handed their child. Jazz watched anxiously for Red Alert, certain that his bitty would be in full breakdown mode, but he was not with the other younglings of his class.

No, instead, there came another mech from out of the school. The winged form of Jazz’s roommate, Red Alert clutched tightly to his chest.

“Red!” Jazz dashed up to Prowl, taking in the sight of his creation clinging tightly to the Enforcer’s plating. As anticipating, Red Alert was sobbing, blue sparks flicking between his horns as a sign of his intense stress. But he was safe.

“He is unharmed.” Prowl reassured, wings gradually lowering from their high alert position. “Just upset.”

“Thank Primus.” Jazz breathed, reaching out to run a gently servo down his creation’s back. “Red. Hey, Red Alert, bitty. It’s okay, I’m here. You’re safe.”

It took a little more convincing to get Red Alert to release the magnets keeping him tightly adhered to Prowl’s plating so that he could cling to his creator instead.

“Did he, was the intruder after him?” Jazz had to ask as he rocked Red Alert slowly, forcing his field into an artificial calm as it meshed with the youngling’s sparking, stressed one.

“No. Currently information is that the intruder was an estranged sire, breaking a restraining order to try and take his creation.” Prowl’s own field extended a bit from his frame, the flat of a professional still running conflict programming. But soothing and steady in his own way. “There is no evidence that Red Alert was under threat.”

Which, of course, did not mean that the youngling was any less traumatized. When Prowl attempted to step away, to finish doing his job, Red Alert shot out an arm to grasp a piece of plating tightly. That settled that.

So instead, Prowl escorted them home, after being granted permission to submit his report of the day via comm. The rest of the evening was spent curled up with Red Alert on the couch in a pile of blankets until the exhausted youngling fell into recharge.

Deep in the night, or perhaps early in the morning depending on how you saw it, Jazz woke with a start to the sound of crying from the next room over. Red Alert with a night terror, no doubt. As Jazz worked to get himself out of berth, there was the sound of a door opening and the sound tapered off. Prowl must have gotten there first.

Moving quietly, Jazz opened the door to his room and looked out into a dim living space. Prowl had settled at the dining table with Red Alert in his lap. The Enforcer’s service rifle was laid out on the table (Clip and battery pack safely removed), and Prowl was pointing out the various parts of the weapon and having Red Alert repeat them. The youngling’s tears were drying on his face as he put himself to the task, quietly learning the parts of the rifle, what they were called, and what they did. And Prowl sat there with infinite patience, disassembling his weapon to reveal its innards and get Red Alert to assist with its basic maintenance.

And Jazz stood and watched, spark swelling with affection as he watched the pair. Perhaps, this is what love felt like.

Chapter Text

The apprehension of the mech at Petrex Specialty Academy stayed in the news cycle for several decacycles. Especially the video footage of Prowl hurtling down the school hallway, transforming, and tackling the intruder to the ground to cuff him. (After the youngling he had been attempting to kidnap had bitten her estranged sire and scrambled away from him) It had earned him much good-natured teasing from the rest of his cohort about being a “big dang hero.”

Personally, Prowl thought that the negotiator who had kept the kidnapper distracted until the youngling could escape was the real hero, but that wasn’t quite as dramatic on the security footage as an armored Enforcer tackling someone to the ground and cuffing them.

There was also the fact that newsmecha had later gone in and interviewed the victim’s teacher. Who also happened to be Red Alert’s teacher. Who had gushed about the brave Enforcer who took down the intruder also being the creator of one of the students in her class.

It would probably be at least another quartex before he stopped hearing about that one.

Jazz, at least, had seemed mostly amused at the error and laughed it off. He was not mad about Prowl making a claim to his creation (which Prowl was not doing, everyone else was just making that assumption). After all that Jazz had experienced, Prowl would not claim Red Alert in any way except as a friend and sparkling sitter, unless specifically invited to do so.

Though, perhaps privately, he did see Red Alert as his in just the smallest way. Prowl had never considered having sparklings before, given his complete lack of a romantic life and general failings in the social realm. But this last vorn, helping out watching Red Alert, getting him up for school, taking him out to the park. . . It had been fulfilling in a way Prowl had never expected. And he felt like he would do anything for the youngling.

Another result of the intruder at Red Alert’s school, besides Prowl’s general embarrassment at the hands of his cohort, was that the youngling refused to go outside the habsuite unless securely in the arms of Jazz or Prowl. Which was not a sustainable situation. Jazz was able to stay home from work for a few cycles, but both he and Prowl needed to return to work and Red Alert couldn’t cling to them forever.

In the dark hours, when Red Alert awoke with night terrors, Prowl had been calming him down by showing him the workings of various small arms (with clips and batteries removed) and was thinking of purchasing a small toy blaster for him to practice with. Perhaps he would feel more secure with his own “weapon.” (In addition to the stuffed firetruck he carried everywhere). And as Prowl thought about bringing Red Alert to the precinct to the firing range, he had an idea.

“I propose I take Red Alert to work with me for a few cycles.” Prowl suggested in the evening, after the youngling had finally fallen into recharge.

“Your work?” Jazz asked, obviously surprised by the idea. “Ain’t you gonna be busy?”

“I have quite a bit of deskwork to do for the next decacycle and am not on street duty. So it will not be a bother to have him with me.” Prowl explained. “I am also hoping that he will feel more comfortable in a safe environment, the inside of an Enforcer Precinct, surrounded by Enforcers, to once again get used to interacting with mecha without being attached to one of us.”

Jazz gave the idea some thought. “He does like first responder vehicles. Your coworkers wouldn’t mind?”

“My cohort are all trained in interactions with traumatized younglings. None will treat him improperly.” Prowl promised. “Petrex One Rescue Bot Team is also attached to the precinct, I will see about getting some of them in to meet him.”

That got a grin out of Jazz. “Oh, he’d love that. Especially if they’ve got a firetruck.”

“The Guardion team would love to meet him, I’m sure.” Prowl responded with a little smile. “And, if he does well, next decacycle is Meet a Rescue Bot Day at Crystal Springs Park. There will be several teams from around Praxus there, to interact with younglings.”

“Well, that’s a serious motivator.” Jazz nodded. “Alright, we’ll see how it goes. Comm me if there’s any trouble at all.”

“Of course.”

Red Alert was noticeably apprehensive at going out to a new place, especially without his creator, but he trusted Prowl and did express interest in meeting other Enforcers. (and potentially a Rescue Team). He was quiet inside Prowl’s cabin as they drove to the station, hugging his plushie firetruck to his chest, but took Prowl’s hand to walk into the building instead of insisting on being carried. Which Prowl considered an improvement.

“Good cycle, Sergeant.” The officer at the front desk greeted as they entered. “Who do you have with you today?”

“This is Red Alert.” Prowl gestured to the youngling peering out from behind his hip. “I am looking after him for his creator today, and possibly the next few cycles.”

“Hello, Red Alert. A pleasure to meet you as well.”

“Hi.” Red Alert responded softly, keeping close behind as Prowl passed through the security gate and into the bullpen of the precinct.

They were still reasonably early, so it wasn’t too raucous yet, but there were still a few of Prowl’s cohort about. Barricade was the first to notice them.

“Ayy, Prowl. You brought the half-byte.” Barricade grinned as he noticed Prowl’s short companion. “How you doing, squirt?”

“Okay.” Red Alert crept out a little bit at the sight of another Enforcer that he recognized. Though he’d never really spoken to Barricade before, Prowl’s patrol partner was usually hanging about when they met in the park. “You work with Prowl, right?”

“Heck yeah, I work with Prowl.” Barricade slung a companionable arm around his partner, ignoring a glare from said mech. “We get out there on the streets, catchin’ the bad guys.”

“You catch bad guys?” That seemed to interest Red Alert a little bit.

“Only the best bad guy catcher in Praxus.” Barricade bragged, flexing his heavy, thick armor plates.

“Indeed.” Prowl deadpanned. “Once Barricade sits upon a criminal, there is no hope for escape.” 

“Oi!” Barricade barked in defense.

“Oh my Primus, did Prowl just tell a joke?” Bluestreak was snickering, perched on a desk nearby. “It’s a miracle!”

“Well, if you ever took off your heavy response armor, ‘Cade,” Commented another Enforcer as they walked by.

Barricade looked around the room for help, but there was none forthcoming. The final ding to his plating was the sound of Red Alert giggling in front of him. He had been had, and slunk off to his desk in humiliating defeat.

“So, we finally get to meet the famous Red Alert!” Bluestreak was more than happy to take Barricade’s place by the pair. “Prowl talks about you all the time you know.”

“He does?” Red Alert looked up at Prowl curiously.

“I enjoy spending time with you, Red Alert. And I talk about you to my co workers.” Prowl explained.

“It’s the most I’ve ever heard him talk.” Bluestreak laughed, bending down a little. “But it’s real nice to meet you in person and all. My name is Bluestreak. Is that a Heatwave plushie you have?”

“Yeah!” The mention of his favorite show was a sure way to perk Red Alert up. “I like to watch Rescue Bots, and Heatwave is the coolest. He’s big and strong, and he’s a fire truck.”

“Fire trucks are pretty cool.” Bluestreak agreed. He bobbed his wings and gave a little wink to Prowl to indicate that he’d received the message Prowl had discretely sent over. “Hey, I know one that works here. Do you want to meet him and the rest of the Rescue Bot team here at Precinct One?”

“Y-yes!” Red Alert exclaimed, apparently surprising himself with his own volume. “I mean. Can I?” He looked up at Prowl hopefully.

“Of course you may. I will come along with you.” Because Prowl was just pleased Red Alert was showing excitement. He held the youngling’s hand as they followed Bluestreak out of the back door of the precinct and to the shared yard with the Rescue Bot squad based in the other half of the building.

Where there was a large fire truck, going through a morning stretching routine as if preparing for training.

Red Alert let out a little gasp, tugging on Prowl’s hand, as Bluestreak waved a hand and called out excitedly, “Hey, Guard Fire! You busy, you’ve got a fan who wants to meet you!”

“A fan?” Guard Fire turned, a grin on his face. Spotting Red Alert, he knelt down. “Hey, little mech. Are you visiting with your creator today?”

“Ah, I’m just friends with his creator.” Prowl explained. “Here, Red. This is the firetruck that came to help when Jazz set dinner on fire.”

“Oh, right! I remember! I’m glad to see you’re alright. And I hope your creator learned a thing or two about fire safety.” Guard Fire said in a serious voice. “You were very brave for calling us Rescue Bots in before things got bad.”

“Th-thanks.” Red Alert squeaked out, clearly caught between his shyness and excitement. Prowl could feel the youngling’s EM field twist against his, not to mention the way his frame was vibrating. “I know that fire is bad, and when the kitchen was on fire. And daddy wouldn’t wake up. I went to the e-comm button!”

“And then I came and put that fire right out!” Guard Fire bragged. “Do you want to see me shoot my fire hoses?”

“Yeah!”

Prowl settled back to watch as Red Alert joyfully cheered for the fire truck putting out imaginary fires and shooting various targets in the training yard. Bluestreak popped in and out, bringing Prowl any work he couldn’t do in his HUD via datapad. They were preparing for a large bust in two decacycles. The Polyhexian Mob had been pressing at the northern Praxian border, coming through via Vos. The city state of the aerials didn’t pay much attention to what went on at their ground levels, but there was a treaty in place requiring them to proffer assistance if harm came to Praxus by traveling through Vos.

And this was one mission Prowl was determined not to fail. Jazz and Red Alert should not have to live in fear. Though he could not march into Polyhex itself, he could cripple the mob as much as he could outside of the city-state’s borders.

At the very least, Red Alert was perking up considerably. He was greatly enjoying the fire-fighting displays, and now Prowl was also idly searching the datanet for a sparkling water-gun that Red Alert might enjoy.

He became a little shy again, coming back towards Prowl’s side when Guard Fire’s teammates came out. But the rest of the Guard team were equally friendly, even the normally surly Guard Wing, so Red Alert was drawn back from his shell again to continue spending time with the Rescue Bot squad.

But then they had a call to respond to, so they snapped out their goodbyes, kitted up, and rolled out in only a few kliks.

It was about time for lunch anyway. And there was really only one place to go.

“Shall we go get lunch and see Jazz?” Prowl suggested once the Guard Team was well out of sight. “Bluestreak will come with us. Perhaps a few other Enforcers.”

“Okay.”

Red Alert was quiet as he curled up in Prowl’s cab on the way to the Downbeat. He was rocking a little, clutching his Heatwave plushie.

“Are you alright, Red Alert?” Prowl inquired, pulling to a stop at an intersection.

“I. I want to see daddy.” The youngling admitted. “But what. What if there are bad mecha there?”

It was a reasonable fear for Red Alert to have, given his history. Jazz had also mentioned the youngling had an anxiety-related glitch, which meant even small events could make him spiral.

“There are a lot of mecha in the world.” Prowl began slowly, choosing his words carefully. “Most of them are very good. A few of them are bad. But that is why there are Enforcers like me, and Bluestreak, and Barricade, and the others around Praxus. And that is why there are Rescue Bots. And that is why you have Jazz.”

Red Alert let out a small little hum, looking out Prowl’s tinted windows to see Bluestreak in alt sitting next to them. Traffic cleared, and the pair continued on.

“Jazz will always be there for you, Red Alert. Even when you are grown up, he will always love you. And-“ Prowl got a little quieter. “I will always be there to help you and protect you too.”

“Okay.” Red Alert’s fraught field relaxed a little and he uncurled to sit more comfortably in the harness that held him securely in Prowl’s cabin. “You’ll always catch the bad guys?”

“Yes, I will. Or one of the other Enforcers. We will.” Prowl promised. And he knew, he would do his best to keep up that promise for the rest of his existence.

“Thank you.” Red Alert leaned forward as best he could to give Prowl’s windshield a kiss. “I love you, Prowl.”

It took a klik for Prowl to get the response out without his vocalizer shaking. “I love you too.”

Though Red Alert was still a little nervous at first walking into the Downbeat, he cheered up at the sight of his creator on stage. Jazz gave his youngling a wave as he continued jamming with one of his co-workers on vocals, getting a smile out of Red Alert as Prowl sat him down in a booster chair.

After completing his set, Jazz took a break and came over to visit the table. Red Alert got a kiss, before Jazz pulled up a chair. He was effortlessly social, joining the conversation like he’d known everyone for vorn. Prowl just sat back, and let the verbal white noise wash over him. This felt right.

Over the course of the next decacycle, Red Alert got more confident and regained a sense of independence. Enough that he could accept a familiar sparkling-sitter. Bluestreak was happy to watch the youngling for a few joor at the precinct, when Prowl needed to do something where it would be inappropriate to have a youngling with him. Jazz had a co-worker that did well with his creation as well, the vicious-looking alt mode of the sharkformer Sky-Byte apparently a reassurance to both creator and creation.

So, as promised, Red Alert got taken to the Meet a Rescue Bot event at the park. He held the hands of both Jazz and Prowl tightly at the sight of the park full of other younglings and their creators. It was a popular event, with over a hundred young fans of emergency vehicles present.

The Guard Team from Precinct One was there, and Red Alert slowly relaxed as he spotted Guard Fire and his teammates. Guard Fire waved and gave a great, “Hello, Red Alert!”

Seeing some rescue bots he knew gave Red Alert some bravery, and he headed to visit them before making his way around all the other Rescue Bots there. Several teams from around Praxus were in attendance, showing off specialized alt modes or life-saving mods. Fire Trucks, Ambulances, Aerial-frames, Heavy-duty engineers, even a rescue boat from the station nearest the Mithril Sea.

The biggest attraction at the gathering was a special appearance of the Protectobots, the premier Rescue Bot team from Iaacon Central. They were one of very few Rescue Bot teams that were also a gestalt. The Guard Team happened to be another, so the meet and greet concluded with an appearance from both Defensor and Guardion.

It was a big, exciting day for Red Alert and it wasn’t a surprise that he needed a few more cycles to recover. Prowl presented him with a toy blaster that could shoot either a harmless colored laser, or a jet of water, which led to many happy joors on the firing range with Bluestreak or in the practice yard with Guard Fire. Even after Red Alert returned to school regularly, Prowl would still take him on the occasional cycle. Everyone at the precinct loved him, and teaching him some basic self-defense seemed to be helping his confidence as well.

That had to stop, however, as the cycle of the big operation to take out the arm of Polyhexian Mafia trying to reach into Praxus via Vos. Prowl was too busy planning out and perfecting every part of the operation, and there were also guest Seekers from Vos at several Precincts which were involved. The military-grade flightframes served as a kind of Enforcer in their home-city state, though they had as little regard for grounders as most other Vosians. Prowl was happy to let the few flightframes working at Precinct One deal with them.

Prowl was spending more and more time at his Precinct, sometimes even recharging there, as things came to a head. Then, it was finally the cycle.

As the primary tactical lead, Prowl was in a secure location dealing with a constant barrage of information. He had the sensory feeds of all squad leaders feeding into him, and sending back comm orders as the situation evolved in real time. This was running at 100%, what Prowl had been built for. No matter the damage it caused to him afterwards.

Once the primary targets had been either contained or neutralized, Prowl was supposed to be relieved by a secondary so he could go on break. Except his relief did not arrive. Many were taking a break, fueling up and celebrating the win, but Prowl could not join until someone came to take over the scene. He couldn’t unplug without someone there to plug in, to continue cleanup and coordinating a last few arrests.

When Prowl’s relief finally arrived, over a joor late, Prowl unplugged and immediately felt light-helmed and fuzzy. His tactical systems were slowly winding down, making him acutely aware of the lack of energy in his frame. Rather than ream out the mech who had been sitting with his friends and fueling instead of coming to take Prowl’s place at the monitors, Prowl just made his way towards his desk to get the emergency fuel he had there.

Except it wasn’t there. Because he had consumed all he had over the last few cycles of hard planning, and had forgotten to bring more. Home, he needed to make it home.

Prowl hated crashing at work. Everyone inevitably got very worried and fussed over him, bringing in the medic, who would do scans and try to keep him overnight and do all kinds of unnecessary things. He needed his fuel. He needed to sit in the quiet and let his systems cycle down. He needed to get home.

He only stumbled a little crossing the street, focusing entirely on remaining upright and moving forward. But then, his code didn’t work in the door. Right. He had moved out of his old apartment. He lived with Jazz and Red Alert now.

Perhaps it wasn’t the smartest idea to transform and drive, but Prowl wasn’t thinking entirely clearly at that moment. He had a goal: get home, and his tactical systems were focused on Achieving Goal.

Transforming in front of his apartment building, Prowl swayed from a wave of dizziness. Hanging onto the wall until it passed, Prowl continued into the building, up the elevator, and down to the hall to the apartment he shared.

Three tries got the door open, not because he had trouble remembering the code, but because his fingers didn’t seem to quite be catching his processor’s instructions. But then he was inside, and there was the kitchen with his fuel. He stepped towards it, but then there was movement. A voice.

“Prowl, you okay?”

Prowl turned to see Jazz, looking at him with concern. A question, that needed an answer. But the glyphs wouldn’t organize themselves into a sentence inside his processor. A new objective piled on top of his first one, answering the query trying to pile on top of getting fuel. It was too much. His overworked, underfueled processor finally gave in, and the world went black.

Prowl came to slowly, senses returning one by one. His tactical systems had shut back down to baseline, reset by the crash, though he was thinking only a little more clearly. He was sore, a result of falling to the floor. But he wasn’t laid out now. He was sitting up, something soft against his plating and a hard surface against his back.

Optics blinking on, Prowl saw that he was still in the kitchen. But sitting up, back against a cabinet. A glance down showed that he was covered in a blanket decorated in cartoon rescue vehicles. And also that Jazz was sitting next to him.

A nudge at his elbow, and an offered cube of bright blue high-blend. Prowl raised a shaking hand and took it, raising it to his lips to take a drink. Fortunately, one Jazz was assured it wouldn’t be spilled, he let go. Prowl hated it when people tried to feed him like a sparkling.

Half the cube gone, and the fog in his processor was starting to clear. Words came again, sentences. Limbs responding to his commands again.

“Thank you.” Prowl rasped out once the cube was finished. Another was pressed into his hand.

“You doing better?” Jazz asked gently.

“Yes, I am now.” The second cube was sipped at more slowly. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“Don’t be sorry about nothing.” Jazz said, softly but firmly. “I’m sorry I tipped you into that crash. By asking a question, right?”

Prowl tilted his helm a bit, considering. “It is. Well, that is the basics of it. When I am that low, adding one more variable can cause blackout. A question to answer, another task to be completed, an unexpected obstacle. I do not blame you.”

“Alright. Alright.” Jazz simply accepted the answer, no argument. “It okay if Red comes over? He’s worried.”

“Of course.” Prowl had not considered that Red Alert had seen him crash too.

Jazz looked back over his shoulder and called towards the living room. “Red! Prowl’s awake now, you can come see him.”

The youngling had obviously been hovering nearby, because he ran into the kitchen and plopped onto his bottom at Prowl’s side in only a few kliks.

“You’re okay now, Prowl?” Red Alert asked, fear clear in his optics and his field.

“I’m fine. Just low on fuel.” Prowl reassured him, lifting a hand to rub his helm gently. “I need to rest for a bit, and then I’ll be back to normal.”

“Okay. You take Trukk Blankie. It will help you.” Red Alert said firmly, patting the colorful blanket covering Prowl’s lap. “Trukk Blankie makes you feel better.”

“Then I will take Trukk Blankie. Thank you, Red Alert.” Prowl said solemnly.

“You want couch, or berth?” Jazz inquired as he unfolded himself to stand.

“Berth.” He needed to be horizontal and without stimulus for a bit. Prowl waved off an attempt to help him stand and held onto the counter until the dizziness went away. Then it was a shuffle to his berthroom and falling onto the cushioned surface. Yes, with Red Alert’s blankie still wrapped around him. Jazz gently shut the door behind him, and Prowl let himself fade.

It wasn’t really recharge that he needed, for the “tiredness” was different in a sense. He just needed to be laying down, with little stimulus, and no responsibilities. He could finally reorder himself. Outside his berthroom, there was the soft sound of a Rescue Bots episode on the TV, the volume too low for Prowl to make out any of the dialogue. Through his window, the wind blow and the chime of crystals in the nearest park made soft music, to accompany the familiar hum of traffic on the street and the murmur of pedestrians on the sidewalks.

He could drift, in the land between awake and recharge, and reflect on the day. They had done good today. All of the Praxian officers had performed admirably, and there had been little friction with the Seekers of Vos. A severe blow had been dealt to the Polyhexian crime ring, and it would be a long time yet before they would be able to rebuild their numbers and venture back outside the bounds of their city state.

Yes, it had been an accomplished cycle. Which let Prowl’s thoughts turn to more recent events. Jazz, helping him after his crash. Not dragging him upright, or insisting he call a medic or report to a med center. Just sitting him up, putting a blanket on him, and waiting with the fuel he needed. It was the type of support Prowl rarely got.

He liked living with Jazz and Red Alert. Never had Prowl considered himself someone able to tolerate (or be tolerated by) a roommate, but this co-habitation was working better than he had ever dreamed. Perhaps . . this is what having a conjunx or amica was like.

In the half-awake world, thoughts drifted from reality to fiction. Into dreams. What if he shared his berth with another? Felt someone else’s frame heat and the idle of their engine. What would it be like to come home to a kiss? To share words of affection.

Prowl was aware that, even amongst his co-hort, he was not anyone’s first choice for company or companionship. But what if. What if there was someone who would prefer him above all others? A dream he’d never thought possible.

What if, when someone asked if he was Red Alert’s creator, he could say yes?

And so Prowl dozed, drifting through dreams of family he’d never before gotten to experience.

Chapter Text

It had scared the scrap out of Jazz to see Prowl just. Drop like he had. The Praxian’s wings had dropped, he swayed in place, then the light of his optics went out and he just. Crumpled.

Jazz automatically went to the e-comm, but paused before actually activating it. Because Prowl had a known glitch, and had expressed he didn’t like getting sent to the medic every time he crashed. So instead, Jazz had just gotten out a few of the specialty cubes kept in the cabinet next to the sink. Shifted Prowl to be sitting up, so he didn’t look like a splayed out doll (or dead body). Draping him in trukk blankie was the way to appease Red Alert so that the youngling would wait in the living room instead of hovering anxiously.

At least it seemed now that Prowl was alright. He had crept out of his room for a quiet dinner, before going back in to recharge more. By morning, he appeared fully recovered.

Obviously, some kind of big thing had gone down with the Enforcers. Prowl had spent over a decacycle barely at home, actually staying overnight in his office some cycles, and now he’d come back completely wrung out.

The evening news aired a story on Praxus and Vos combining teams to arrest several prominent members of the Polyhexian Mafia during a visit to an underground warehouse for illicit goods. They had been trying to push into Praxus via the border with Vos, but had now been driven totally back within Polyhex’s borders. Sans several of the big movers and shakers of the Family.

As the news moved on to other things, Jazz let out a vent and realized he was shaking a little. For the past several vorn, the fear of Polyhex had hung over his helm. Logically, he knew that his dealings with them had been fairly small change. Red Alert’s originally carrier was no doubt long gone for failing to repay his debt, and the mob would hardly dump resources into getting back a sparkling in a totally different City-State. Jazz’s offense to them would probably get him a knife in his spark if he ever went back into Polyhex, which he had no intention of doing, but he was nowhere near important enough to go hunt down.

But that didn’t remove his fear. His anxiety. The nightmare of finding Red Alert gone again. It had hung over him even in Praxus, piling on top of the stress of being in a new, unfamiliar city-state where he knew no one and the trials of raising a special-needs sparkling by himself.

Finally, Jazz felt like he could vent again. It would likely be many vorn before the Mob recovered from this. He knew mecha in Praxus now, at work and in the creators group at Red Alert’s school. And he had help at home. Prowl had done so much for him, and Jazz wasn’t sure how he would ever repay the mech. Couldn’t imagine not having him around.

It was time for him to get himself out there again, into the world. Jazz made a datanet site for his music. Something simple, a little bit about himself and a few video clips of him playing some original songs. Next was to get some high-quality recordings, that folks could download for a fee. As much as Jazz enjoyed playing with his co-workers, he’d always had a little dream in his processor of being known planet-wide.

The issue of how to get high-quality recordings bothered him a bit, until a co-worker helped Jazz get a Praxian library card. Because the Praxus libraries didn’t just had datafiles, apparently. The buildings also had small soundbooths for practicing or recording. And music editing software one could borrow. And even instruments that could be borrowed. All for free.

Jazz wished he’d known when he’d first moved to Praxus, though in reality he wouldn’t have had the time to visit then. Had no time at all when he was working his aft off to support himself and Red Alert all by himself with no help.

Now, he could drop by the library to record while Red Alert and Prowl spent time in the youngling’s section. Red Alert was learning how to read in school, and had thrown himself into the task whole-sparked. And Prowl made a great audience for the halting, stumbling reading aloud, only stepping in to offer suggestions or correct when Red Alert got too frustrated.

Of course, once he had a small library of original downloads built up, then he just needed to get his name out there. Jazz’s immediate thought was busking, until Prowl pointed out that in Praxus, buskers could only operate with a permit. Which involved assigning them a location, and to keep said location a busker had to dedicate a certain amount of joors a cycle to performing at it.

However, Prowl commented as an aside, it was not illegal for him to hang out in a park and play. And if he gathered a bit of an audience, as long as he did not put out any kind of tip or payment code, that was fine. Nothing wrong with some free music without the expectation payment. And if he placed a small comm box that directed mecha to his netsite when pinged, well that was fine too. They could always download something they liked.

Sometimes, it was real nice to have an Enforcer for a roommate and friend. Because now Jazz could play at the park near their habsuite, letting mecha come and go as they pleased. Playing whatever he wanted, whatever came to processor. Watching Red Alert play nearby, never out of visual range, tentatively making friends with some of the other younglings that came to the park. He wouldn’t hide anymore, wouldn’t fear. And neither would Red Alert.

“Anyway, it’s worked a treat. I don’t get the immediate creds, like with busking, but mecha are totally downloading stuff from my site and must be sharing it around. Not a whole lot, but a few extra creds every decacycle is nothing to sneer at.” Jazz commented to his co-worker Sky-Byte as the two hung out in the break room between sets. “Swear to Primus, Prowl’s a certified genius. Coming up with ways to ‘busk’ without actually doing nothing illegal.”

“I guess that’s one advantage of dating an Enforcer.” Sky-Byte responded with a laugh.

“Not dating, just friends.” Jazz responded automatically. “And roommates.”

“Hmmmm.” Sky-Byte made a disbelieving sound.

“Really!” Jazz protested. “We’re good friends, and he’s helped me out loads.”

“But you want to be more.” Sky-Byte guessed.

“Ah-“ That actually stopped Jazz and made him think for a moment. “Well. I mean, I enjoy what we’ve got. But I can’t deny-“

“Pining love, lighting up a beating spark. Silent, true, words trapped but never spoken.” Sky-Byte said poetically. “Have you told him?”

“What am I supposed to say? I don’t even know what he thinks.” Jazz sighed. “I dunno. Things have never been. . . like this before with a friend. I used to be pretty free and easy, back in the day. It wasn’t complicated. But with Prowl. . .”

“Guess you’ll have to figure it out.” Sky-Byte shrugged.

Right, figure it out.

If you had asked Jazz a few vorn ago what his ideal partner would be, Jazz would’ve named someone much like himself. Fun-loving, adventurous, musical, a party-mech. Now, however, he was realizing the exact opposite. What he needed was someone dependable, caring, responsible, and kind. Not to say that Prowl wasn’t adventurous, he was often willing to try something new with Jazz, but he wasn’t exactly a ‘stay at the club until they kick us out’ type.

Of course, Jazz wasn’t anymore either. He’d grown up, and changed. Amazing what being responsible for a creation did to a mech. Not that Jazz regretted one bit of it, not even for a klik. He wasn't the same mech he'd been when he was young. 

But where would he even start? For all the experience Jazz had, he didn’t really have any in relationships. Well, not serious relationships. In Polyhex, things had felt serious at the time, but there things had always been informal. Falling in and out of tangled, multi-layered arrangements that had no name, just sealed with heated movement and hazily-remembered night cycles.

Jazz had never had to actually sit with someone and talk with someone about having a relationship. And he was realizing he had no idea how to do that.

Thoughts of how to possibly start this conversation with Prowl were so distracting that Jazz didn’t notice the dinner on the stove starting to boil over until hot energon popped against his finger.

“Ow!” Jazz automatically stuffed the burned finger into his mouth and turned down the stove burner.

There was a soft tug at his hip plate, and Jazz looked down to see Red Alert next to him, a small notepad and a pen in hand.

“Fire hazard.” The youngling said solemnly. He scribbled on the notepad, before peeling the top layer off and sticking it solemnly to Jazz’s chest (about as high as he could reach). “Safety Vi-lation.”

Hands on his hips, Red Alert looked back at the stove (now turned down with dinner no longer boiling over), nodded in satisfaction, and wandered back towards the living room. Leaving a bemused creator behind him.

A little later, Prowl arrived home from work just in time to join for dinner. He spotted the ‘ticket’ still stuck to Jazz and raised an optical ridge. “I see you received a safety citation.”

“Yeah, apparently so.” Jazz said with a chuckle.

“Fire hazard!” Red Alert chimed in, digging into his fuel.

Prowl nodded. “Yes, very dangerous. I am glad you noticed.”

After dinner, once Red Alert had been given a bath and put to berth, Jazz finally removed the little sticky note from his chest plating. “So, what’s with the scribbles?”

“Ah, that is due to the Guardion team.” Prowl gave a sheepish shrug. “Red Alert really enjoys visiting them, and they made him ‘Deputy Safety Officer’ and gave him a little foil badge and a pouch for the notes. So now he’s writing ‘citations’ for people who aren’t being safe.”

That. Well, sounded remarkably like Red Alert actually. Jazz laughed and shook his head. “So he’s out writing nonsense tickets huh? I guess at least it’ll give him a chance to work on his penmenship.”

“He already cited Barricade at the precinct for standing on a rolling chair, and Guard Wing for flying indoors.” Prowl couldn’t keep in an awkward smile. “It is quite funny, everyone at the precinct is very fond of Red Alert."

“Well, hopefully he won’t cause too much trouble at school.”

A decacycle later, and Jazz was chatting with Red Alert’s teacher at the pickup area at the school.

“Well, he’s certainly gotten more outgoing and less shy around others.” She commented, “Though it’s usually in the form of reprimanding another youngling for doing something unsafe. We’re working on ways of encouraging safe behavior without being rude or scolding.”

“I’ll talk to him about it at home too.” Jazz promised.

“He’s still young, there’s plenty of time for him to figure things out.”

Indeed there was. Red Alert would grow in his own time. And Jazz would figure things out too, with his own personal social goals. 

That evening, Red Alert was running through the living room to catch a new episode of Rescue Bots when he tripped over a toy left lying on the floor and faceplanted. A toy that Jazz had already asked him to pick up.

Jazz watched silently as Red Alert picked himself back up and glared at the toy that he had tripped over. Then he picked up the toy, returned it to the toy chest at the corner of the living room, and pulled the notepad and pen from the little pouch magnetized to his hip.

“Safety Vi-lation.” Red Alert said sadly as he write out a ‘ticket’ and stuck it to himself.

Jazz quickly had to dash into his berthroom and shut the door so his sparkling wouldn’t hear him laughing hysterically.

Chapter Text

Prowl had a plan. He often had plans, as that was the primary purpose of his function. But this was a different kind of plan. Not for law enforcement, but for personal matters. Therefor, the most anxiety-inducing kind of plan, as he had little data on personal matters. But this was important. He had done research, looked up venues, made arrangements, and now there was only one thing left. To ask Jazz out to dinner.

It had started the decacycle before. When Red Alert came home from school and showed off what he had drawn in art class that cycle. The teacher had asked all the students to draw something that represented their family. The three figures in Red Alert’s piece were rough and wobbly, but recognizable enough as the youngling standing between Prowl and Jazz, holding both of their hands.

The art went up on the chiller, alongside several safety citations (Jazz was delightedly saving all the one he had been issued. The latest even contained the legible glyph ‘hazard’). Still, Prowl brought it up that evening once Red Alert went to bed.

“I wish to make sure you are not upset with me over what Red Alert drew today.” Prowl opened up with. “I am not purposefully attempting to insert myself into your family.”

Jazz chuckled a little. “Prowl, I ain’t upset. Not with you, or Red, or anything else. Of course he thinks of you as family, you been helping raise him for over a vorn now. Families ain’t always traditional. I’m happy to call you part of mine.”

“O-oh.” Unexpectedly, Prowl’s voice came out a little choked up. “Thank you.”

Being Jazz, he did not fail to pick up on that fact, or the twitching of Prowl’s wings. “You alright?”

“I have simply never been considered part of a family unit.” Prowl explained softly. It wasn’t something Enforcers typically did, create social bonds outside of their cohort.

Rather than say anything else, Jazz reached out to tug Prowl into a gentle hug. Prowl stiffened at the contact, before relaxing into the warm hold. Tentatively, Prowl raised his hands to place them on Jazz’s back and just. Held on for a while.

Part of being an Enforcer was regular visits with the precinct psychologist. For most, this was a chance to work out the stresses of their function. Prowl, however, had built strategies for dealing with both the stress of interaction with the public, and ways of dealing with his crashes. So, he often used his scheduled timeslots to address other things. Like social interactions.

Walking into Smokescreen’s office, Prowl sat down and said, “I wish to discuss interpersonal relationships today.” He had found it was best to start an appointment by clearly stating his intent for the session, lest they wander off topic.

“Alright.” Smokescreen, the therapist contracted to the precinct, nodded and leaned back a little in his seat. The office was comfortable, no desk or anything. Just a couple of squashy armchairs, cut for Praxian wings, and neutral tone walls with a few inoffensive photos of crystals and local fauna. “Which interpersonal relationships are bothering you?”

“It is myself and Jazz.” Prowl leaned forward a little bit, steepling his hands in front of him. He had mentioned his roommate several times in sessions over the last two vorn, so Smokescreen was already aware of the Polyhexian. “The other night, we had a discussion about family. And he stated that he considers me part of his, as does Red Alert. I am still trying to figure out what that means.”

“You two live together, as roommates, and share responsibilities of the care and raising of a youngling.” Smokescreen noted. “That can be considered a family. Families come in a lot of different shapes, so there isn’t some official definition out there.”

Prowl gave a frustrated huff through his vents. He hated it when there wasn’t an official definition of things. That made it so much easier to make decisions. “Yes but. I am unsure of what our relationships is classed as. I wish to define it.”

“That might be something you need to do with Jazz.” Smokescreen noted. “You call him your roommate. That is accurate, you share a habsuite. Your friend, I know you have established that with him. Co-mentor, perhaps, to Red Alert?”

Yes, that all sounded correct. Prowl fidgeted, only a little. It wasn’t quite what he felt, though.

Smokescreen leaned back a little, casually crossing one leg over the other. “Prowl, what do you want out of this relationship?”

That was the hard part. Prowl wasn’t used to wanting. Well, he wasn’t used to wanting something for himself, which might be possible to achieve. He was used to operating within a certain set of rules or orders. “I. I am not sure. I want. I think I want more.” But he wasn’t sure what more meant.

“Do you want an official relationship?” Smokescreen inquired. “Like an Endura bond?”

The idea of an Endura bond was something Prowl had not considered in a long time. Not since he was fresh out of the factory, still sifting through all the downloads he was installed with to navigate Cybertronian life.

“I. Do not know about an Endura bond. But, I think, I want something. Defined. A commitment, of some sort.” Something that told him that Jazz wouldn’t just leave if he got bored of serious, stoic Prowl.

“Then I think you should tell Jazz that.” Smokescreen advised. “I can’t go off and write a contract between you two. Or tell you what you want. Think about it, and then sit down and tell him this. From what you’ve told me about the guy, he’s willing to have a dialogue about this kind of stuff.”

Yes. So far, Jazz had not brushed off any attempt from Prowl to discuss a subject. “Okay. I will do that.”

Time to plan a date. Maybe.

And so, Prowl did some research. If he wished for this to be something more than a conversation on the couch in their habuite, they needed to go out somewhere. A common place for this kind of ‘date’ appeared to be a restaurant. Dinner.

Prowl rarely went out to fuel, so he ran a search for likely places within reasonable distance of their habsuite. One that popped up, with good reviews, was immigrant-run and specialized in Polyhexian options. Okay, that was step one.

Step two, look up the next cycle that both Prowl and Jazz would be off, preferably for the full cycle so that Prowl wouldn’t stay late at work past dinner. (Either purposefully or on accident.) And then inquire with Bluestreak if he would be available that evening to watch Red Alert.

(Bluestreak had immediately asked if they were going on a date. To which Prowl had hesitated before responding. . . “maybe.” Then cut through the resulting excited word-dump to ask “But are you free?” Of course Bluestreak was.)

Step three. Ask Jazz out. No pressure.

Red Alert had been put to bed. It was only himself and Jazz in the living room. Time to execute phase one of the Plan.

“Jazz, would you join me on the couch?” Prowl sat down on one end of the sofa, rigidly controlling his wings so they wouldn’t betray his nerves. For some reason, this was more anxiety-inducing than leading an Enforcer raid.

“Sure, Prowl. What’s up?” Jazz plopped down on the other end of the couch, attention on his roommate.

“Next decacycle, we both share a full cycle off. I want to ask you if. You would like to go out and eat at a restaurant I found. Together.” His prepared speech mostly came out correct.

“Sure, that sounds fun.” Jazz agreed, “You and me, or Red too?”

“I was thinking of just you and me.” Prowl replied, concentrating very hard so his voice wouldn’t waver. “I checked in with Bluestreak already on his availability, and he is willing to watch Red for a little while.”

“So. A friendly dinner, or more like a date?” Jazz questioned, visor focused on Prowl.

“I was thinking. More of a date.” He had been expecting that, but it still took effort to get the glyphs out. “I wish to discuss our relationship, and our goals for it and the future.”

“It’s a date then.” Jazz confirmed, showing nothing but relaxed frame language. Then, he chuckled.

“What?”

“Oh, you know. Having a first date only two vorn after everyone else thought we’d started.” Jazz explained.

Ah, yes, put that way, that was rather amusing. “I suppose they’ve been watching too many romantic dramas.” Prowl guessed.

Jazz didn’t loose his smile. “Must be.”

One decacycle until their date. Which didn’t necessarily have to be romantic, it could also just be two friends having dinner together. But, perhaps, Prowl was starting to think he wanted it to be romantic.

There was also Red Alert to think about, though Prowl doubted there’d be any protest from the youngling if things were made “official.” (Prowl still wasn’t entirely sure what that meant, but he was pretty sure that the common phrase.)

Prowl still sometimes took Red Alert to school in the mornings, if Jazz had other errands to run (or had needed to take a late shift for a co-worker). So, a morning found Prowl driving with Red Alert in his passenger cabin. The youngling was being oddly quiet, fidgeting a little in his seat.

“Red Alert, is anything wrong?” Prowl questioned.

“Prowl. Are you my sire?”

Oh. Maybe. He shouldn’t have asked after all.

“No, Red Alert, I am not.” Prowl said slowly.

“Okay.” Still, the youngling looked deeply thoughtful. “I know you weren’t always here. But, you have been here a long time.”

Well, two vorn to a youngling was a long time.

“Not my carrier.” Red Alert checked again.

“No, I am not.”

“And not my daddy.” Given that it was a slang word for a he/him using sire found mostly in Polyhex? In all certainty. Because that was Jazz’s title.

“I am your daddy’s friend. And also help take care of you.” Prowl said softly.

“Do I call you anything other than Prowl?” Red Alert questioned.

“Prowl is okay. Unless there is anything else you want to call me.” This would probably have to be something else to talk about with Jazz on their date.

“Okay. I’ll tell Strongarm. She thought you were my sire.” And Red Alert seemed satisfied with that.

Pulling up in front of Red Alert’s school, the youngling gave him a goodbye before hopping out to dash over to a blue Praxian youngling in his class. She pointed over at something, which made Red Alert frown and start stomping in that direction.

Ah. There was an adult idling in a ‘no stopping’ zone. Already, Red Alert was pulling out his citation pad and pen. Prowl didn’t bother to record the mech’s information, a citation from Red Alert would probably be consequence enough for the minor infraction.

Finally, it was date night. Prowl took Red Alert over to the precinct for Bluestreak to watch for a few joors (it would likely be spent at the shooting range, where Red Alert was working very hard on his marksmanship with his toy blaster. He had his own stat sheet on the wall next to that of the Enforcers, and it was quickly amassing a line of glittery gold stars.)

Then, he and Jazz headed for the restaurant.

“Dang, a Polyhexian place?” Jazz looked up at the door, and at the colorful decoration and music coming from within. “Didn’t think they had these in Praxus.”

“The Polyhexian immigrant population is small, but certainly not non-existent here.” Prowl explained. “I. Hope you don’t mind?” It belatedly occurred to him that Jazz might not want to think of his native city-state.

Fortunately, Jazz caught on with what he meant. “It’s alright, Prowl. I’ve got a lotta good memories of Polyhex, to go with the bad. It’s nice to get a bit of that good memory tonight.”

They had a reservation, so the pair were led to a table in one corner for two and given their menus. The music was bouncy and light, though fortunately not overwhelming. It was similar to the style that Jazz played, though, privately, Prowl thought Jazz’s was definitely better. All over the walls were art pieces in bright color, showing scenes of Ancient Polyhex, back before the unification of Cybertron.

Jazz was looking around and smiling, so apparently Prowl had picked well. He pushed his menu away after a glance confirmed he had no idea what any of it was. “Would you pick for me?”

“Can do.” Jazz gave a chuckle, but not a cruel one. He knew by now that Prowl wasn’t adventurous with his fuel, and was more than happy to let Jazz just pick for him much of the time.

So, Jazz gave the waiter their order, and passed the appropriate dish over to Prowl when the fuel came.

“Alright, so. First date.” It was Jazz who got the conversation started once they both had their dinners. “I already know a lot about you, and you about me, so we don’t got that part to do. You mentioned wanting to talk about our relationship. In what way?”

Jazz had gotten it started, but it was still Prowl who would have to get the glyphs out. Explaining how he felt. It wasn’t easy. “I. Have realized that I like you. I enjoy your company, and you have improved my life significantly. But I. Do poorly without exact words or definitions for things. And I. Would like to make things more. Serious, I suppose is the word?”

To that, Jazz’s frame language relaxed. Apparently, that was what he wanted to hear. “Gonna admit, I’ve been thinking about asking you out for a bit. I just. Wasn’t sure how.”

Oh. Oh. Well, that was something to hear.  “You didn’t know?”

“I’ve never really dated before!” Jazz admitted with a laugh. “Or had a serious relationship. Lot of flings, a lot of messy stuff without glyphs. But with you, it’s been different. And I didn’t want to ruin that.”

“Then you would be willing to officially be in a relationship?” Prowl checked.

“Yeah, Prowl, I am.” Jazz placed his hand on the table, palm up as if in invitation.

Oh, it probably was an invitation. Cautiously, Prowl set his hand in Jazz’s. Who twined their fingers together and oh. That was actually quite nice.

“And you will be here for me, if I need you?” Prowl asked.

“And even when you don’t.” Jazz promised. “As long as you do the same for me in turn.”

A smile quirked Prowl’s lips, and for once, he didn’t worry what it looked like. “Okay. Then we are courting. Dating. And in the future?”

“And in the future, maybe more. We already live together. Have a kid together.” Jazz’s thumb rubbed gently against the back of Prowl’s hand. A little electrical spark crackled between their palms. “Somehow, I don’t think it’ll be long til we’re sharing Endura vows.”

Prowl’s wings rose in interest and surprise. As he let himself think of him. And having an Endura bond. For the first time in a very long time. “I think I would like that.”

“Yeah. So would I.”

Chapter Text

There was frustrating growling coming from the counter next to the kitchen. Prowl went to investigate and saw the culprit: Red Alert bent over his admissions form to the Rescue Bots Academy, checking his answers for the tenth time.

“Red Alert, is something wrong with your admission?” Prowl inquired gently as he sank onto a stool next to his adoptive creation.

“I just want to make absolutely certain that everything is perfect.” Red Alert said without even looking up from the datapad. “I have to get into the Academy. There’s no other option.”

“They ain’t gonna turn you away, kiddo.” Jazz joined in on Red Alert’s other side, a bit of a smile on his face. “I bet you’re the most qualified candidate they’ve ever had. You’ve seen every episode of Rescue Bots and Rescue Bots Academy. Twice!

“Four times.” Red Alert muttered. “And that doesn’t count! The actual Academy is much more competitive than what is displayed in a vidshow program for younglings!”

“Red Alert. The primary thing that the Rescue Bots are looking for is applicants who want to help others. Who will put assisting others over their own selves.” Prowl said firmly. “And you have that. They would be fools to turn you away, which is why they will not do so. However, if it would make you feel better, I will check over your application.”

Closing his optics briefly, Red Alert gave in and handed up the datapad to Prowl. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” Prowl rested a hand on Red Alert’s shoulder briefly before scrolling the application back to the top to re-read it.

Jazz, meanwhile, leaned in to give his creation a kiss on the helm, earning an embarrassed hunch from Red Alert.

With Prowl’s approval, the pair finally talked Red Alert into submitting his application to the Academy, then sat and watched some comfort vids with him until his anxiety calmed down. He probably wouldn’t get much recharge that evening, but Prowl had taught him long ago that lying down in berth and cycling one’s systems down was restful even if recharge did not initiate. It had been proven by the Enforcers during multi-cycle missions, and that was the kind of data that Red Alert believed in.

Prowl and Jazz, meanwhile, retired to their own berth. After vorns together, they slotted together easily. Ventilations syncing and sparkbeats slowing in tandem. It had been awkward once, the first time they had ever tried recharging together. Prowl had never shared a berth, and Jazz was used to tangling himself up in exhaustion with one or more berth partners. Recharging with another mech wrapped around him like an electro-leech took some getting used to, but now Prowl couldn’t find rest without it. He’d never known that feeling the soft movement of ventilation fans wafting against his plating could be so comforting, but it reminded him that Jazz was there. And that he was loved.

Red Alert crawling into berth with them in the wee joors of the morning was also not unusual. Though now old enough to have graduated from standard schooling and headed to the Academy, Red Alert’s anxiety meant sometimes he still needed comfort from his caretakers when he was feeling particularly bad. And neither Prowl or Jazz would deny him that either. They just shifted a little to allow their creation in, not even waking fully as Red Alert settled in alongside them as well.

Two vorn into education at the Rescue Bot Academy at Iacon, and it was time for students to choose their alt mode. Red Alert was back in Praxus for a school break, staying in his youngling room with Prowl and Jazz. (They had, of course, not touched it in the slightest.)

“I don’t know what I should pick.” Red Alert scowled as he scrolling through the various alt mode options in the Rescue Bots Academy catalogue. “I don’t have the mass requirements for most of these.”

“What is it you would like most to do?” Once again, Prowl was seated next to Red Alert assisting him.

“I want to help people!” Red Alert exclaimed. He paused on a schematic for a fire truck, which showed the water converter systems for pulling H2O from atmosphere and converting it for fire suppressant use. “And maybe put out fires.”

“Yeah, you ain’t gonna fit that one.” Jazz peered over his shoulder on his other side. “Sorry, kiddo. You’ve got the slim racer frame of us Polyhexians. That fire truck is for mecha at least three times your mass.”

Red Alert grumbled in frustration and scrolled a little faster. “Most of these are for larger frames!”

“Look towards the back to see what fly-car options there are.” Prowl advised. “You should have the correct mass and engine specs for any fly-car model.”

A ‘fly car’ was a term for a rescue responder who carried basic response supplies, but was faster and more agile than the heavier responders on their team. The most important factor in emergency response was speed, and a fly-car who could reach a scene well ahead of heavier frames, even if they were only equipped with basic medical and fire response supplies, greatly increased the chances of controlling a scene until further response arrived.

And indeed, in the back of the catalogue were the specs for fast light-frames.

“You’ve got engine specs for any of these.” Jazz looked them over approvingly. “Heck, bet you can even beat some of these. I’ve seen your track times for the Academy! You’ve got those racer specs from me.”

“You are capable of keeping up on the Enforcer track with us, which means that you will easily train to the specs of a fly-car.” Prowl added.

“Yeah. Strongarm said she’s getting an Enforcer Standard frame modified for Rescue-response.” Red Alert paused on a low-slung, high speed alt mode and read over the various specs. “But she’s a heavier frame than me. This one, though-“

Jazz let out a whistle. “Oh, that one is all you, kiddo. Racing into the scene, sirens on! I can see it now.”

“You can always choose a new alt later if this one doesn’t fit.” Prowl advised. “But I think this one suits you well. If you select it, I can take you by the precinct later to try it out in the track.”

Nodding, Red Alert selected the alt mode and let the coding be transmitted to his t-cog systems. He was going to be a great fly-car responder. Best in the Academy. You just wait.

It was the big cycle. Red Alert was graduating from the Rescue Bot Academy. Jazz and Prowl took the fast train to the capitol of Cybertron a decacycle in advance so that their creation could show him around the city-state. There were lots of museums, though Jazz managed to sneak a few music venues into the schedule. They also got to meet the other three mecha on Red Alert’s team. They had been working together the last two vorn now, in the Academy, and would be graduating together as a team (they hoped.)

Inferno was an enormous, easy-going mech from a rural neighborhood on the far outskirts of Cybertron. He was a natural pick for a fire-truck alt, and wore the frame well at his impressive size. Also good for a fire-responder is that he was very level-helmed. It meant he balanced out Red Alert very well, and proved to be a natural at helping the smaller mech calm down when he was anxious or upset. Prowl was very glad to see that Red Alert had found such a good friend to be at his side.

The other two on the team were also a good fit. Strongarm, who had known Red Alert since they were younglings at the same primary school, was eager and excited to get out into the world. The pair had been terrors of Rules and Safety when in school together. Strongarm had interviewed with Prowl about joining the Enforcers, but Prowl thought she’d be happier in the enforcement track of the Rescue Bots Academy.

“Captain Prowl, sir!” Strongarm immediately saluted when Prowl, Jazz, and Red Alert met up with the rest of the young mech’s team.

“We aren’t in Praxus, you can just call me Prowl here.”

“Of course, Captain Prowl!”

Their fourth member was quiet, a heli-evac medic named Ambulon. Well, perhaps he wasn’t as quiet as he seemed, he was just overshadowed by the three much louder personalities on his team. But he didn’t seem to mind, field only radiating fond amusement as he let Red Alert, Inferno, and Strongarm relate some dramatic tale from training.

But then he told Jazz that he really liked the mech’s latest album, and that immediately put him a point up in Jazz’s books.

At the graduation ceremony, four young bots stood on the stage. Red Alert and Strongarm both were visibly vibrating (Red Alert from anxiety, Strongarm from excitement) as their calmer teammates stood at their sides. In front of them, the Torchbearers, the highest ranked rescue team on Cybertron, assigned to the Primal Palace and surrounds.

Pyra Magna stepped forward, four Rescue Bot badges in hand. “Inferno, Red Alert, Strongarm, and Ambulon. Today, you graduate from the Rescue Bots Academy, to join the ranks of those who dedicate themselves to saving others.”

Each received the badge on the chest plate, and now Red Alert was shaking with pride. He kept his posture at rigid attention, even as his optics flicked over to the audience. To where Jazz and Prowl were clapping enthusiastically (and whistling in Jazz’s case) along with the other mentors, creators, and friends.

The new team was assigned to Praxus, though the opposite side of the city-state from Petrex. They would be a dedicated Rescue Team in the district of the Crystal Forest, an enormous park of untamed wilderness that was popular with tourists and vacationers. Team designation: Quartz One.

As the newly graduated Rescue Bots were released from the stage to celebrate with their families, Jazz gave a sigh. “Seems like just yesterday he was writing me my first ticket.”

“They grow up fast.” Prowl acknowledged.

“What d’ya think about making another?” Jazz asked with a grin.

It took Prowl a moment to parse his meaning, before his wings raised in shock. And maybe, interest.