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So kiss me and smile for me...

Jazz cringed as the song moved into its chorus.  It reminded him of things he didn't want to contemplate, of farewells left unsaid, and of losses too profound to remember.  He turned the music off with a fierce jab of his finger and flopped over onto his stomach on the recharge bed burying his face in his arms.

It had not been easy stifling the memories of those few days that had changed everything for him.  In fact, all his efforts had been fruitless as something unexpected always seemed to rise up to bite him on the aft, even if it was simply song lyrics.

He flopped over again and lay on his back staring at the ceiling, fingers tapping an uneven rhythm on his abdomen.  He knew every crack and dent up there having spent a great deal of time just looking at it while cultivating self-pity and then indulging in it for copious amounts of time.  It passed the time and kept his mind off of such things as the harrowing few hours spent inside Unicron and the stunning revelations following the giant's defeat.

So, when his comm. beeped for attention, he was indulging in a wallow of self-pity that had driven every thing else from his mind and he elected, as he usually did, to ignore it.  Answering a call, he'd discovered, often meant having to deal with things and he definitely didn't want to have to deal with anything ever again.

He'd also discovered that ignoring the calls meant that whoever was trying to reach him gave up pretty quickly.  Not today, though.  His comm. beeped insistently at him long past the time the caller usually gave up.  Annoyed by its persistence, he finally answered.

"Go away," he muttered and shut off the comm.

It beeped again immediately.  He answered quickly this time.  "I said..."

"Jazz," the familiar voice interrupted.  "It's First Aid and don't hang up."

Jazz sighed his annoyance.  "I know who it is and I don't want to talk about 'it,' understand?"

"Oh, Primus forbid we should talk about 'it'." The sarcasm in First Aid's voice barely penetrated Jazz's blue funk.

"What do you want?" he asked, resigned to at least hearing what the medic had to say since it appeared that First Aid was going to bother him until he'd had his say.

"I have orders for you."

He'd heard enough. "Oh, really?  Good to know.  Now go away."

"From Ultra Magnus," First Aid added ominously.

Jazz flopped over onto his stomach again.  "Slag Ultra Magnus and slag you."

"Jazz..." Jazz could practically hear First Aid bristle over the comm. "Let me lay it out for you.  I've been keeping you on the active duty roster and keeping Magnus off your back.  However, if you don't start showing signs of pulling yourself out of that pity-fest you've been in, I'm going to have to remove you from duty.  If I do that, Magnus and Rodimus have made it clear that you'll be excused from the Autobots.  We just don't have the resources to fuel the deadweights.  Now, if you can't figure it out for yourself, that means you'll be out of Iacon and on your own."

"Are you threatening me?" Jazz asked actually sitting up.  This change in attitude was a bit alarming.

"Yes," First Aid answered.  "Plus Magnus has said he'll personally come over there and assist you on your way."

He swung his legs over the side of the bed.  Oh, oh, this was serious if Magnus was actually involved.  He really didn't want the big second-in-command dragging him out by his horns and tossing him out on his aft.  He rubbed his head as he played the image back in his mind and actually grinned.  That would certainly not be doing it with style.

Resigned to the inevitable, he groaned, "What do ya want me to do?"

There was a brief, surprised silence.  Obviously, First Aid hadn't been expecting him to give in so easily.  Relief colored the medic's reply.  "I want you to meet the shuttle that's arriving from Earth and escort one of the passengers to the Medical Center."

"When?"

"If you leave now it should be landing by the time you get there."

"Nothing like leaving it 'til the last minute," Jazz drawled sarcastically.

"Just go," was the reply.

"Awright, awright, I'm gone."

True to First Aid's words, the shuttle was just landing as Jazz pulled up to the shuttle pad and transformed.   A small crowd of Autobots gathered on the shuttle pad waiting to meet the departing passengers.  Uncharacteristically, Jazz hung back from the cheerful chattering mob. He didn't know them well, and he was sure they knew him only by reputation and, at the moment, he didn't feel like living up to that reputation.  He wanted to meet the poor slob who'd been shipped here from Earth, deliver him to First Aid and get back to his room.

He wondered what was wrong with the poor guy if he was being shipped all the way back to Cybertron for treatment for what was obviously a non-emergency.  Sure First Aid was good but he was positive Autobot City could handle just about anything thrown at them.  Well, he'd find out soon enough because the shuttle was unloading its passengers.

The passengers mingled with the expectant crowd, which gradually dispersed until just Jazz and the shuttle remained..  He eyed the empty pad suspiciously, wondering if he'd been set up for some huge practical joke, which, he thought, would be in the worst taste.  Not that there was anything wrong with a good practical joke but he wasn't in the mood to appreciate it at the moment.

Scowling, he turned to leave when a large hand fell on his shoulder.  Startled, he twisted away from the hand and found himself staring up into Kup's face.  The old Autobot Security Chief's grin dropped away, and his optics narrowed slightly as he took in Jazz's unexpectedly grim expression.

The younger Autobot flinched slightly under the intense inspection he received from Kup and grimaced when Kup's expression changed to understanding and then pity.

Still studying Jazz closely, Kup handed him a datapad.  "He's still on board," he informed Jazz.  "You'll probably have to go get him."

Jazz took the pad but Kup didn't release it into Jazz's hand.  They stared at each other over the device.

"You okay?" Kup asked, giving Jazz another hard look.

"Fine, hunky-dory, swell," Jazz mumbled, turning his head away from Kup's unwelcomed scrutiny. Wishing Kup would just let him get on with it, he gave the pad a tug.  Kup kept a firm grip on it resulting in a small tug-a-war between the two Autobots.

Kup grabbed Jazz's wrist firmly halting the exchange and tried to catch special-ops agent's eye again.  "I'm sorry, son, I really am.  I understand how you must feel but you can't let it eat away at you."
Jazz's mouth hardened into a straight line as Kup's words headed down avenues he didn't wish to explore.
"What better way to honor his memory than to live? There are others who need you, you know."  Kup glanced at the shuttle.  "Help them. He'd be proud."

Jazz shook his head, refusing to meet Kup's optics. The Security Officer's words of advice only caused the ache in his spark to return all of his previous efforts to suppress it undone.
"Just drop it, ok?" he growled.

"Just think about it, okay?" Kup persisted.

"May I?" Jazz tugged at the pad again.

"Yeah, sure," Kup answered, releasing the pad into Jazz's hand.  He shook his head, stepped out of Jazz's path to the shuttle, and watched him walk away.

Jazz didn't look back at Kup as he turned and walked stiffly towards the shuttle.  Any feelings of  good cheer that he might've had were completely wiped out now leaving him with nothing but the desire to go back to his recharge bed and his music.  He was sick and tired of people offering advice and reminding him of things he was trying so hard to forget.  He just wanted to get this errand done and get back to forgetting.

Climbing the ramp to the shuttle entrance, he glanced down at the datapad in his hand.  It was clearly marked with both the Cybertronian medical symbol and the human caduceus but otherwise contained no information pointing to the identity of the patient.

The interior of the shuttle was gloomy, the lights powered down to conserve energy.  Jazz could make out a shadowy figure near the back of the vessel.  His pump skipped a cycle when the figure shifted and he caught a glimpse of familiar chevrons.

No, Jazz thought.  Not him.

He made his way slowly down the aisle between the seats until he was standing opposite the Autobot hunched down in his seat.

No, not him..."Bluestreak?" Jazz asked quietly.

The silvery mech didn't move, his gazed fixed on the window, his expression blank.

"Blue?" Jazz repeated more loudly and squatted down to get a better look at the gunner.  He hissed softly in shock.  Bluestreak's paint was dull and scratched, his armor battered and dented and Jazz could just make out a rather large dent in the back of his helmet.  He was in a sad state of repair and not all that clean.  Jazz wondered how and why he'd been so neglected.

Jazz touched Bluestreak's arm tentatively.  The gunner flinched away from the touch and then turned his head slowly to stare at Jazz without apparent recognition.

"Oh, Bluestreak," Jazz sighed, dropping back on his heels.  "What happened?"

Bluestreak's mouth pulled into a small frown, his optics focusing sluggishly onto Jazz's face, recognition slowly filling his face.  His mouth opened slightly and if Jazz expected a torrent of words explaining everything, he was severely disappointed.

"Jazz?"  Bluestreak almost whispered the word and then brought up his hand reaching for Jazz's visor.  Jazz suppressed the urge to flinch away from the Datsun's hand, where it hovered just above his face for a moment and then dropped back to his lap.

"Yeah, Blue, it's Jazz."  He took Bluestreak's arm and stood up, pulling the unresisting mech to his feet.  "We need to get going, 'k?  First Aid is waiting."

A resigned sigh escaped Bluestreak's vents as a slight puff of air, but he made no move to either lead or follow Jazz.  He stood in the shuttle's aisle looking more than a little lost.  Shaking his head slightly, Jazz took Bluestreak's elbow and guided him through the shuttle to the exit.  Thinking that his charge had gotten the idea, Jazz let go of Bluestreak and headed down the steps to the ground.

When Bluestreak didn't follow him down the stairs, Jazz felt a wave of anger rush over him.  How could the Autobots on Earth allow this to happen to the sharp shooter?  Maybe they couldn't have been bothered and just shipped him to Cybertron so they wouldn't have to deal with him.  Jazz fumed silently, I'm gonna to have a few words with Rodimus and Ultra Magnus.  Maybe more than a few words.  This was unforgivable.

Energized by anger, Jazz hurried back up the stairs and took Bluestreak's elbow.  "C'mon, Blue.  Let's get out of here."  The gunner came willingly enough but didn't seem to have the will to follow on his own.

As they walked off the shuttle pad, Bluestreak suddenly stopped and looked around realizing, for the first time, where he was.  Surprised and unhappy realization twisted Bluestreak's face into a frown.

"This is Cybertron," he said slowly.  Jazz nodded.  "I didn't ever want to come back here," he mumbled unhappily.

"Ya didn't know this was where they were sending ya?" Jazz asked.

"Um..." Bluestreak considered the question carefully, apparently digging deep into his memory.
Jazz was glad to get some response from his friend, but it hurt him to see the normally quick-witted and talkative warrior reduced to such a state.

"I guess someone said something," he finally said.  He dropped his gaze from the city around him to his feet.  "I don't know."

Jazz gave Bluestreak's arm an encouraging squeeze.  "That's ok.  It's not that important.  You're here.  Once ya get inside it's not too bad.  Looks a lot like Autobot City."

Bluestreak cringed slightly at the mention of Autobot's Earth base and fell back into his blank silence.

Oh, scrap, Jazz cursed to himself.  I thought I was gettin' through to him.  What in Primus' Name happened?  He pondered the medical pad he'd tuck away into subspace.  I'm gonna have to read that, he realized.  Blue certainly isn't gonna be doin' much talkin' on the subject.
Getting to the medical center proved to be difficult. Vehicle mode was out of the question if he was going to have to hold onto him just to get him to move and Bluestreak couldn't seem to muster enough energy to get his feet to move faster than a weary plod.  Despite the lateness, Jazz just couldn't see any reason to hurry and as long as they kept moving, no matter the pace, the other mechs on the road didn't complain-- much.

He certainly didn't have anywhere else to be and it was rather a relief to be able to focus on something other than himself.  He glanced over at Bluestreak, who seemed fascinated by the movement of his feet, and snorted softly to himself.  First Aid was a sneaky son of a glitch, snaring two petrorabbits with one energon cube.

He chuckled sardonically at the thought and Bluestreak looked up questioningly at the sound.  Jazz gave Bluestreak's arm an encouraging squeeze and nodded in the direction of the Autobot's headquarters.  "C'mon, Blue, you have places to be and people to meet."

Pulling up short, Bluestreak looked in the direction Jazz had indicated.  Shaking his head, he looked pleadingly at Jazz.  "I'd rather not...I mean...not right away.  Please?"

"I really think you should go, Blue," Jazz answered.  Bluestreak looked stunned and then turned away from Jazz, shoulders slumping in rejection.

Jazz mentally doped-slapped himself.  It had been a small request.  He wasn't refusing to go, he just wanted to delay it a bit.  Nothing wrong with that.  First Aid would understand if Jazz explained it to him.  And if he took him to the med center now there was a good chance Jazz would never find out exactly what had happened.

Jazz touched Bluestreak's shoulder.  "Hey, Blue, I'm sorry.  Sure, we can hold off a bit.  Anything ya want to do is fine with me."
The relief on Bluestreak's face touched Jazz's spark and he reached out pulled the Datsun into a hug.  "Anything," he repeated quietly into his audio sensor.

Anything turned out to be going to Jazz's quarters deep within the Autobot's Headquarters. There were no windows there to remind them of where they were, it was away from the hustle and bustle of the main areas, and it could be as quiet or as noisy as they wanted it to be.

Jazz had sent a quick message to First Aid to let him know they'd be along later. The medic had been neither patient nor understanding of the change in plans but Jazz had merely shrugged and cut him off, no doubt leaving the normally peaceful medic fuming and irritated.  Jazz chuckled.  He'd forgotten how gratifying it could be to buck authority for a good reason.

The door to his quarters closed with a quiet shush and he stood still leaning against the door and watched the quiet mech standing listlessly in the middle of the room.  Where once Bluestreak would have eagerly and curiously examined everything around him, he now seemed uninterested.  Looking him over in the better light, Jazz could see that he was not only battered and dirty but also immensely tired.

"When was the last time you refueled?" Jazz asked growing more concerned as he watched the motionless mech, wondering if he should've ignored his friend's pleas and taken him straight to First Aid.

Bluestreak barely managed a shrug, his last reserves exhausted by the long, slow trip to Jazz's quarters.  He swayed unsteadily, and Jazz jumped to grab him before he collapsed to the floor.

"A while ago, huh?" Jazz guided the wobbly mech to his recharge bed and helped him sit.  Bluestreak leaned back against the wall, arms limp at his sides, optics pale.

"Now don't move," Jazz admonished him with a wry grin knowing the tired mech wasn't going anywhere.  "I'll get ya somethin'."

Jazz disappeared into another room and could be heard rummaging about and humming quietly.  He returned quickly carrying a large box.  He dumped the load next to Bluestreak and sorted it.
"Ah," he announced triumphantly and held up a can of energon.  Opening it, he presented it out to the Datsun.  Bluestreak glanced at it and shook his head, making no move to take the container from the saboteur.

Jazz frowned.  "I will not let you waste away, Blue.  You will drink this," he scolded.
He grabbed Bluestreak's arm and tried to shove the container into his hand.  Bluestreak hissed softly as the can touched his palm, and Jazz pulled it away quickly.  He stared aghast at the gunner's hand and then examined the other hand.  Both were so damaged as to be useless, frozen into claws.  Some repairs had been done, but it was obvious that more needed to be done and they were beyond the skills of the Autobots on Earth, Jazz realized.  Ratchet, and possibly Wheeljack, could've done it but both were gone now.  The only other Autobot capable of doing the delicate task of repairing the fine sensors and motor controls in Bluestreak's hands was First Aid and First Aid was here, on Cybertron.

"Primus, Bluestreak," Jazz whispered, kneeling down in front of his friend and cradling his damaged hands in his own,  "what happened?"
He tried to catch Bluestreak's optics but the gunner turned his head away and stared at the wall.  "Why won't you talk to me?"

Frustrated, he stood up and went back to rummaging through the box on the bed finally finding a small container.  Opening it revealed a stash of Energon Goodies, solid energon that was the equivalent of the MREs, Meals Ready to Eat, that human soldiers carried.  Though not as energy rich as liquid energon, they did the job when the liquid variety was unavailable.  They were also easier to feed to someone who couldn't or wouldn't take the liquid variety. If they had a mouth, of course, Jazz thought.

"Ya know, Blue," Jazz said, trying to sound encouraging, "it is embarrassin' to have to have someone feed ya, but ya just can't starve yerself into deactivation."

Bluestreak kept his optics glued to his lap as he softly replied, "They won't let me do it any other way."

Jazz took a shocked step back.  "Oh, Blue," he whispered dropping back to his knees and taking the other mech's ruined hands in his again.  "No, no, not that, never that."  He paused at what he heard himself saying. What a hypocrite he was.   Not long ago he'd contemplated the very same thing and, even now, the thought would occasionally worm its way back into his consciousness.  Now here he was telling someone that there were other ways.

Bluestreak finally turned his head to gaze at Jazz's stunned expression.  Optic fluid trickled down one cheek as his face crumpled with grief.  "Jazz, it hurts so much.  I just want it to stop hurting."

Jazz reached up and wiped away the fluid on Bluestreak's face with his finger and then cupped his cheek in his hand.  "So do I, Blue," he admitted quietly.  "I don't think it ever will, though."

He pushed himself to his feet, cleared a spot on the bed next to Bluestreak and sat down. He put his arm around the distraught 'bot and pulled him close.  Bluestreak buried his face in Jazz's shoulder.

"I use to be able to make it go away," he mumbled.  "To...hide from it, I guess." He pulled away and stared helplessly at Jazz hoping he understood.

Jazz nodded.  "I know, Blue."

"But I can't anymore."

The Porsche took Bluestreak's chin in his hand and studied his face closely.  "Maybe..." he started to speak then stopped, shaking his head as if doubting the truth of what he was about to say to himself as well as to Bluestreak.  "Maybe it's time to stop hidin', Blue.   It's all too much to keep hidden.  It's all going to come out an' knock ya on yer skidplate when ya least expect it if ya try to ignore it.  You've tried buryin' the hurt for millions of years and what good has it done ya?  Look at ya.  Hell, look at me, an' I've only been tryin' to hide from it for a few weeks."  Rubbing suddenly stinging optics under his visor, he came to a decision.  "I think it's time to stop diggin' holes, ya know?"
Bluestreak looked puzzled and wary.  "I don't..."

Jazz grasped his shoulders and peered intently into his face as if he could will his friend to understand.  "It's time to face all the hurt, Blue."

Bluestreak tried to pull out of Jazz's grip, to escape, to flee into his own private place.  Jazz, seeing the blank look steal Bluestreak away, shook him sharply.

"No, Blue.  Not anymore.  You will stay with me."  He sighed with relief as Bluestreak's optics refocussed.
"I thought maybe Hoist was bein' too hard on ya, but I think he and everybody else was too easy on ya.  Lettin' ya deal with this in your own way, hopin' you'd fall back inta your old habits.  Except, the old habits weren't workin' for ya anymore, were they?"
Bluestreak shook his head slowly. "No," he whispered.

"And this new thing you've discovered, it doesn't help much either, does it?  Because you always wake up and nothin' has changed.  Right?"

"Yes..."

" I tried it too," Jazz admitted quietly.  "Now...I'm realizin' it's time to try somethin' else."  He paused and regarded Bluestreak reassuringly.  "Ya ready to try it with me?"

"I… don't know... it's so hard."

"Primus, yes, it's hard, Blue.  But the easy ways aren't workin' anymore are they?"

Bluestreak glanced away from Jazz's intense gaze.  He stared at the wall for a long time, and Jazz let him, trusting him to stay in the here and now.  Finally, just as the Porsche began to grow concerned that Bluestreak had faded out again, the silvery Datsun turned back to look at Jazz.
"Help me, Jazz?" he pleaded.

"Of course I'll help ya.  And you'll help me."

Bluestreak nodded wearily. "But I don't know how I could help you."
Jazz grinned and wrapped him in a warm hug.  "We'll figure it out, but first," he said, releasing the Datsun,  "we need to get ya refueled."

He picked up the forgotten Energon Goodie and offered it to Bluestreak, who just shook his head, refusing it.  Jazz sighed and aimed a warning glare at him.

"I don't like Goodies," Bluestreak tried to explain.  "I can't keep them down."  He shrugged apologetically.

"So you'd rather I help ya drink?"

"No, I can do it myself."  Jazz looked unconvinced and Bluestreak actually tried to smile.  "Just hand it to me."

Jazz offered up the open can and Bluestreak took it between his wrists bypassing his hands completely.  Very carefully, he brought the can to his mouth and managed to sip without spilling.

"I'm impressed," Jazz said, marveling at his dexterity.

"It was either learn to do it this way or have the twins pin me to the floor and pour it down my intake.  This way is neater," he added quietly.  "As I found out the hard way."

"Primus," Jazz chuckled.  Bluestreak gave him a hurt look.  "Sorry, I imagine it wasn't much fun."

"No, it wasn't.  But the twins did take care of me though I didn't appreciate it..." He stopped talking to take another drink and Jazz nodded encouragingly to keep him drinking and to keep him talking.
Bluestreak lowered his drink and turned bright optics on Jazz, a wry smile on his lips.  "I'm going to have to send them a thank-you note."

"A thank-you note?  And why is that, Miss Manners?"

"Because they cared.  And because they stuck with me despite… everything.  I was not the most cooperative person."

"That would explain the dents and scratches," Jazz guessed.

"Yeah, pretty much.  Well, some of it, anyway."

"And the hands?" Jazz ventured cautiously, not wanting to push Bluestreak back into that silent place.

Bluestreak passed the empty can back to Jazz and stared at his hands.  "I don't remember," he stated flatly, dropping them to his sides where they rested lightly on the bed seemingly forgotten.  He leaned back against the wall and stared off into the distance.

"Hey, no problem, man," Jazz said, worried he'd undone all of the progress he'd made. He decided to change the subject to something less sensitive.
"Ya look beat, Blue," he observed.  He leaned companionably against the wall next to the Datsun.

Bluestreak turned his head to see Jazz better and snorted softly.  "Yeah, I am," he admitted.  "I've been having some trouble shutting down."

Jazz nodded with feeling.  "I dig ya.  Too many dreams."

Turning his head away, Bluestreak nodded gently in agreement.  "Yeah," he whispered  "dreams."

In the silence that followed, Jazz began to hum to himself.
Bluestreak listened for a moment then said, "That's nice."
Quietly, Jazz started to sing.

Come stop your crying

It will be all right.

Just take my hand

Hold it tight.

He hadn't sung in a long time and his voice was rough but that didn't seem to matter to Bluestreak.  He sighed and rested his head on Jazz's shoulder listening quietly.

I will protect you from all around you

I will be here

Don't you cry

For one so small, you seem so strong
My arms will hold you, keep you safe and warm
This bond between us can't be broken
I will be here
Don't you cry

'Cause you'll be in my heart
Yes, you'll be in my heart
From this day on
Now and forever more

You'll be in my heart
No matter what they say
You'll be in my heart, always
Always

Jazz stopped singing and glanced at his friend.  The Datsun had fallen into some much-needed shut down, and, well, if bad dreams disturbed him, Jazz would be there to comfort him.

Long, rambling reports, addendums, and footnotes on every page made reading Bluestreak's medical record tedious and confusing, but, possessed by a desperate need to find all the explanations for Bluestreak's behavior, Jazz waded through it all including a series of reports written by the small group of Autobots which had gone out to the shuttle Lancet's crash site believing they were on a rescue mission only to find it to be nothing of the sort.
These reports had been the hardest of all to read.  Every team member had written up reports of their version of events just the way Prowl had insisted it be done even though they knew he would never read them.  It had been a horrifying ordeal for all of them, but they had all seemed to be able to deal with it.
Except for Bluestreak.
He didn't even have to help with the recovery.  He'd insisted on going because Prowl had been on board. No one had tried to stop him because no one had known what was waiting for him.  The young gunner had been devastated, his usual rambling, cheerful reporting gone, replaced by a terse, dry, unemotional listing of details and nobody had noticed anything wrong with that.  Bluestreak had shut everyone and everything out and nobody had noticed or had cared until he had tried to kill himself.
Primus, poor Bluestreak, Jazz thought.
Sunstreaker and Sideswipe had come to his rescue then, saving his life it seemed.
Somehow, this didn't surprise Jazz at all.  Though the twins rarely showed it, he knew they were capable of great compassion.  Jazz also knew that compassion wasn't always accompanied by gentleness and Bluestreak had come away battered and bruised but alive.
His hands, though, were a different matter.  The report was vague.  The twins took full responsibility, citing negligence on their part, but no one would say exactly what had happened.  Hoist had then made the decision to send Bluestreak to Cybertron for repairs. Hoist also hoped that a change of environment might help Bluestreak.

Jazz finally laid the datapad aside. He now knew what had happened to Bluestreak and he'd finally found out how Prowl had died.
He'd known the moment Prowl had died.  He'd nearly died, too.  The sudden ripping apart of the intangible, but very real, bond they had shared even over the vast distance separating them had sent him crashing to his knees, fighting to stay online long enough to figure out what had happened.  If he'd been alone he would've, in all probability, failed, but Cliffjumper had been there to shake him back to full awareness.  He couldn't even answer Cliffjumper's worried questions.  All he could tell him was that something was wrong.  When news of the Decepticon attack on Autobot City had arrived, he'd only been able to stare at Cliffjumper, too numb to even react.
Then Unicron had arrived and he'd been too busy trying to save Cliffjumper.  He was sure now that if he'd been alone he would've just let the monster consume the moonbase and him without a fight, but he couldn't let a friend die because he'd given up.
Now he knew that a brutal and cowardly sneak attack by Megatron had snatched his bondmate away from him.  He leaned his head back against the wall and stared at the ceiling not even trying to hold back the tears now.
So many regrets, he thought, so much left unsaid and undone on their last night together.  Prowl had shown up unexpectedly at their quarters, just hours before the Lancet's launch, flagrantly disregarding Prime's orders that Prowl remain aboard the shuttle.  It was so unProwl-like yet the only thing he could do.
Without a word, Prowl had gathered him into his arms. Though Prowl been calm and soothing, there'd been a desperation to their love making that night that had left them both heavy-sparked and unsettled.
Jazz, unable to explain his fear to Prowl, had clung fiercely to him loath to give him up.  Prowl could offer no reassurances that would calm Jazz.  Then a last, lingering kiss and Prowl had gone.  Jazz had let him go without a word, unable to say what he'd wanted to say because he knew Prowl felt the same way but could do nothing about it.
A snippet of song ran unbidden through his thoughts:
When you walk away
You don't hear me say please
Oh, baby, don't go
Simple and clean is the way that you're making me feel tonight
It's hard to let go

He wished he'd said, "Don't go," to Prowl that night.  And that Prowl had been able to obey.

Unnoticed, his head in Jazz's lap where he'd been recharging quietly, Bluestreak stirred.  His optics glowed pale as he watched Jazz for a moment marking the tears on his face.  He'd never seen Jazz cry before.

"Do you remember," he said quietly, hoping to distract Jazz,  "when I got stuck in that tree?"

Jazz jumped slightly in surprise and looked down at the 'bot resting in his lap.  "Yeah, I do," he replied after a moment.

"I thought Prowl was going to cough up a transistor, he was so mad."

Jazz shook his head, a small grin touching his lips as he recalled the incident.  "Nah, he was tryin' not to laugh."

Bluestreak frowned slightly.  "He thought it was funny?  But he yelled at me.  Really loud."

Jazz stroked Bluestreak's helm lightly, affectionately, carefully tracing the edges of his red chevron with a black finger. So like Prowl yet so different, he thought.  "Ya know Prowl," he said aloud. "Had to maintain discipline.  Couldn't have ya making a habit of climbing trees."

Bluestreak grinned sheepishly.  Jazz stared at him in surprise and then started to laugh.  "Don't tell me, ya kept right on climbing trees."

He nodded.  "I just was more careful about the trees I chose.  They're great places to snipe from."   He paused thoughtfully.  "He really wasn't mad?"
"Nobody who saw ya dangling upside down in that tree could possibly have been mad.  Now Ratchet, he was fit to be tied but he didn't see ya in the tree.  No, Prowl had a great sense o' humor..." Jazz's voice faded out.  His hand stopped moving and dropped to his side.

Bluestreak sat up clumsily and settled his battered frame next to Jazz, their shoulders touching lightly.  Shyly, he reached out to touch the wetness on Jazz's face with the back of his hand.  Jazz took his hand gingerly, careful not to hurt him, and held it gently in his lap.

"Jazz, I don't think he suffered," Bluestreak said quietly.  "I don't think he even had time to realize what was happening.  I don't think any of them did.  It was over too quick."

Jazz nodded, keeping his optics on the ceiling. "A small blessing, huh?"  A long paused followed then he said very quietly,  "I felt him die, Blue.  I felt it here."  He pressed his free hand against his chest, where his spark rested.  "I still feel it.  His surprise, his regrets, everything.  And I couldn't do anything about it.  I couldn't help him.  I couldn't hold him in my arms and comfort him. I wasn't there when he needed me most."   He'd never said this to anyone, not First Aid not Smokescreen.  Now, here he was sharing it with the one person least likely to be able to handle it.  But he couldn't help himself.  He just needed to say it, to get it out in the open.
He scrubbed his wet face with the back of his hand.  "Primus, look at me, jolly ol' Jazz.  The happy-go-lucky 'bot without a care in the world."
Bluestreak suddenly threw his arms around Jazz's neck, hugging him tightly.  "That 'bot's still there.  He's just really sad right now," Bluestreak told him comfortingly.
Jazz returned the hug, rocking back and forth.  "Except he doesn't like being sad.  He wants the pain to go away, just like his friend does."
Bluestreak could only nod his agreement.
They held each other for a long time without speaking, each lost in their own thoughts.
"He loved you so much, you know, Jazz.  More than anything, I think," Bluestreak said, breaking the silence, pushing away from Jazz but not quite breaking contact.
"He didn't tell you that, did he?" Jazz asked.
"No, but it was so obvious.  At least to me.  Like when you'd walk into a room, his voice would skip this tiny bit and he'd turn to look at you and get all goofy-grinned.  But it was quick, on off, like a light switch. I don't think anybody else ever saw it."
Bluestreak giggled at a new thought.  "You did exactly the same thing but EVERYBODY saw it.  You had the greatest goofy-grin.  I'd laugh so hard to myself when I saw it that I'd forget what I was talking about.  And everybody would be looking at you and completely miss Prowl's reaction.  When everybody got around to looking at Prowl it was like he was totally ignoring you.
"You two were great together, but I could never understand how the two of you ever got together.  You were so different.  But when you were with each other it made me feel so good…" his voice trailed off into an embarrassed silence.
Jazz smiled sadly.  "Blue, I'm so glad we made ya feel good," he told Bluestreak reassuringly.  He took gunner's face between his hands studying him carefully.  "You, of all people, deserved it.  Thank you for telling me."  Then he kissed him gently on the forehead.  Bluestreak sighed and buried his face in Jazz's neck and Jazz hugged him tightly.
"Primus, I miss Prowl so much," Bluestreak said after a time, voice breaking slightly as if he was having trouble getting these words past his vocalizer. Then he couldn't stop the words.  It was as if something was compelling him to talk, forcing its way out of him after being bottled up for so long.
"I miss everybody more than I can say, but I miss Prowl the most.  He was always there, you know, for me.  Even at the beginning, when I didn't even know if I wanted to be an Autobot or fight in this…this stupid war, he was there.
"Jazz, I know you both worried a lot about me joining up, but I knew that you guys really needed me.  I know, I know, warm bodies to fill out the ranks and fight.  I understood all that.  But Prowl didn't try to force me to do anything I didn't want to do."  He paused almost as surprised as Jazz was by the flood of words pouring from his vocalizer.  "Primus, I was so young, then and naive.  I never thought something as awful and horrible as the Decepticons could ever happen to me or my home."  He shook uncontrollably as the ancient memories he'd tried to bury long ago flooded back.
"I…I can't believe I was ever that young, so filled with righteous anger.  Prowl and the Autobots saved me from myself, you know.  I would be ready to charge off half-cocked, looking to kill all the Decepticons, but Prowl would grab me by the shoulders and stare at me with that look he has…had.  You know the one? And just say 'Stop, tell me what's wrong. Talk about it.'  And he'd listen.  Even when I babbled, he listened."
Suddenly he looked stricken as a new memory surfaced.  "Oh, Primus, there were times when I'd scream at him, tell him to get away from me, leave me alone.  All because he looked like me.  Because he reminded me of home and I didn't want to be reminded of anything. Because I just wanted to forget.  But he always came back…No matter how mean I was to him."
Jazz'd never heard about that before.  Prowl had never said a thing about it. He threw a comforting arm around Bluestreak's shoulders and pulled him in close. "Shhh," Jazz hushed him, comforting him as best he could,  "ya don't have to do this all at once, ya know.  Ya've spent thousands of Vorns not thinkin' about it.  Yer not gonna make things better in a few minutes."
Bluestreak ignored him, unable to stop the memories from swarming willy-nilly through his processor and spilling out his vocalizer.  "Inferno and Trailbreaker tried to keep me from seeing Prowl.  They said he was dead.  They said they were all dead, but I didn't believe them.  How could they be dead?  It was just a crashed ship.  We'd all survived worse, right?  I had to see…I had to see for myself."  He buried his face in his ruined hands.  "I wanted to die, Jazz," he whispered hoarsely.  "I held him in my arms and I wanted to lie down right next to him and die."
Jazz held him close, comforting him with his touch because he had no words to offer.  Everytime he thought about Prowl, he ached.  He ached so badly that he wanted to lie down and die sometimes, too.  He understood what Bluestreak had gone through.  Bluestreak had been thrust face first into an unbearable situation.  He'd tried to hold it together but finally, unable to bear it any longer, he'd broken.
While grieving silently for Prowl, Jazz'd found out from Perceptor that Prime, the rest of the shuttle crew, Wheeljack, and Windcharger had also died. For him, that had been the final blow. He'd fled to the deepest, farthest room he could find, retreating into himself like Bluestreak had done.  The only difference was he'd vanished quietly while Bluestreak had exploded violently.
He sighed deeply and gathered Bluestreak into a close embrace, pressing his cheek against the gunner's.  He shut off his optics and let the tears flow, feeling them mingle with Bluestreak's tears.  In darkness they grieved together for the newly dead and those long gone.

"I'm sorry I had to call you here, Magnus," First Aid said as the medic and the Autobot Second-in-command met in front of the quarters belonging to Jazz, "but, frankly, I'm worried.  Jazz informed me that he was bringing Bluestreak to his quarters and then turned off his radio.  I haven't been able to get through to them at all."
"I don't understand," Magnus said.  "I thought Jazz was supposed to bring Bluestreak directly to you."
"He was, but he…decided to disobey."
Magnus sighed.  "Sounds like Jazz being Jazz."
"I'm afraid you don't understand the situation, Sir.  Jazz has been extremely depressed, despondent actually.  He's even contemplated suicide.  Bluestreak is actively suicidal.  To be honest, I don't trust them together."
"So, why did you let this situation continue for so long?"
"I suppose I was hoping that Jazz would see how serious Bluestreak's condition was and bring him to me."  First Aid bowed his head. "I'm afraid I misread the situation.  I fully intend to accept responsibility for the consequences of my inaction."
"Noted."  Ultra Magnus folded his arms across his chest and studied the smaller Protectobot.  "You have yourself a serious problem, Aid.  I wish I'd been informed of this sooner."
"Yes, Magnus, I should have kept you up to date.  I'm sorry."
"Now, I'm assuming you want me to open the door."
First Aid nodded and Magnus entered his security override pass code into Jazz's lock.  The door slid open upon a darkened room.
"Lights, one quarter," Magnus spoke and the room lit up dimly, revealing a sight that made First Aid's fuel pump skip a cycle.
"Primus below," he whispered.  His scanner practically leaped into his hand as he approached the recharge bed and the two motionless mechs curled up on it.  Bluestreak's back was to them and they could see one of Jazz's arms resting lightly on the gunner's back just under his doorwings.  Their utter stillness was unnerving and First Aid feared the worst.

The securely locked door sliding open awakened Jazz from a light, dreamless recharge.  Annoyance that someone was entering his private quarters, without permission, turned to fear that Bluestreak, who was finally getting some much needed shutdown, would be disturbed.
He felt more than heard the gentle, steady hum of a quietly recharging mech.  It was so like Prowl's yet with a rhythm that belonged only to Bluestreak.  He smiled slightly when the thought of Prowl nestled in his arms brought forth warm feelings instead of pain and regret.
He grimaced and brought his optics online quickly when Ultra Magnus announced much too loudly, "Lights, one quarter."
He was glad First Aid showed a bit more restraint with his whispered, "Primus below," but the sound of the scanner was the last straw.
He pushed himself up on his elbow and glared at the intruding Autobots, shushing them with a finger on his lips.
First Aid jumped in surprise and then sagged with relief when Jazz, his visor glowing brightly with annoyance, popped up and shushed them.
Jazz smirked at him and opened a private comm. link.
"We're fine," he radioed.
Ultra Magnus opened his mouth to speak, but First Aid silenced him with a hand on his arm.
"Bluestreak?" First Aid radioed back.
"I said 'we're fine.'  Ya have to trust me."
"Pardon me if I remain a bit skeptical."
"Ok, ok, ya got me there but trust me on this one."
"I still need Bluestreak in the med center," First Aid reminded him.
"Yeah, yeah, I know.  He'll get there.  Now, take big and testy with you and just go, before ya wake him up."  Jazz closed the link abruptly, laying himself back down.
First Aid gave the pair one last appraisal, glancing briefly at the scanner readings he had taken.  Since everything appeared stable, he decided not to argue with Jazz.  He nodded at Ultra Magnus and turned to leave.
Jazz heard the door slide open and muttered, "Lights out."
In the dark, Bluestreak stirred.  "Jazz? What's wrong?" he murmured.
Jazz pulled the Datsun close, wrapping his arm around him again.  "Nothin'. It's ok, Blue.  Go back to sleep."
"Mmmm, 'k," he answered blurrily.
Jazz listened as Bluestreak's systems powered down again and then kissed him lightly on the helmet.  "Everything's gonna be ok, love. We'll get through this together," he murmured before slipping back into recharge.

Description
So kiss me and smile for me...

Jazz cringed as the song moved into its chorus.  It reminded him of things he didn't want to contemplate, of farewells left unsaid, and of losses too profound to remember.  He turned the music off with a fierce jab of his finger and flopped over onto his stomach on the recharge bed burying his face in his arms.

It had not been easy stifling the memories of those few days that had changed everything for him.  In fact, all his efforts had been fruitless as something unexpected always seemed to rise up to bite him on the aft, even if it was simply song lyrics.

He flopped over again and lay on his back staring at the ceiling, fingers tapping an uneven rhythm on his abdomen.  He knew every crack and dent up there having spent a great deal of time just looking at it while cultivating self-pity and then indulging in it for copious amounts of time.  It passed the time and kept his mind off of such things as the harrowing few hours spent inside Unicron and the stunning revelations following the giant's defeat.

So, when his comm. beeped for attention, he was indulging in a wallow of self-pity that had driven every thing else from his mind and he elected, as he usually did, to ignore it.  Answering a call, he'd discovered, often meant having to deal with things and he definitely didn't want to have to deal with anything ever again.

He'd also discovered that ignoring the calls meant that whoever was trying to reach him gave up pretty quickly.  Not today, though.  His comm. beeped insistently at him long past the time the caller usually gave up.  Annoyed by its persistence, he finally answered.

"Go away," he muttered and shut off the comm.

It beeped again immediately.  He answered quickly this time.  "I said..."

"Jazz," the familiar voice interrupted.  "It's First Aid and don't hang up."

Jazz sighed his annoyance.  "I know who it is and I don't want to talk about 'it,' understand?"

"Oh, Primus forbid we should talk about 'it'." The sarcasm in First Aid's voice barely penetrated Jazz's blue funk.

"What do you want?" he asked, resigned to at least hearing what the medic had to say since it appeared that First Aid was going to bother him until he'd had his say.

"I have orders for you."

He'd heard enough. "Oh, really?  Good to know.  Now go away."

"From Ultra Magnus," First Aid added ominously.

Jazz flopped over onto his stomach again.  "Slag Ultra Magnus and slag you."

"Jazz..." Jazz could practically hear First Aid bristle over the comm. "Let me lay it out for you.  I've been keeping you on the active duty roster and keeping Magnus off your back.  However, if you don't start showing signs of pulling yourself out of that pity-fest you've been in, I'm going to have to remove you from duty.  If I do that, Magnus and Rodimus have made it clear that you'll be excused from the Autobots.  We just don't have the resources to fuel the deadweights.  Now, if you can't figure it out for yourself, that means you'll be out of Iacon and on your own."

"Are you threatening me?" Jazz asked actually sitting up.  This change in attitude was a bit alarming.

"Yes," First Aid answered.  "Plus Magnus has said he'll personally come over there and assist you on your way."

He swung his legs over the side of the bed.  Oh, oh, this was serious if Magnus was actually involved.  He really didn't want the big second-in-command dragging him out by his horns and tossing him out on his aft.  He rubbed his head as he played the image back in his mind and actually grinned.  That would certainly not be doing it with style.

Resigned to the inevitable, he groaned, "What do ya want me to do?"

There was a brief, surprised silence.  Obviously, First Aid hadn't been expecting him to give in so easily.  Relief colored the medic's reply.  "I want you to meet the shuttle that's arriving from Earth and escort one of the passengers to the Medical Center."

"When?"

"If you leave now it should be landing by the time you get there."

"Nothing like leaving it 'til the last minute," Jazz drawled sarcastically.

"Just go," was the reply.

"Awright, awright, I'm gone."

True to First Aid's words, the shuttle was just landing as Jazz pulled up to the shuttle pad and transformed.   A small crowd of Autobots gathered on the shuttle pad waiting to meet the departing passengers.  Uncharacteristically, Jazz hung back from the cheerful chattering mob. He didn't know them well, and he was sure they knew him only by reputation and, at the moment, he didn't feel like living up to that reputation.  He wanted to meet the poor slob who'd been shipped here from Earth, deliver him to First Aid and get back to his room.

He wondered what was wrong with the poor guy if he was being shipped all the way back to Cybertron for treatment for what was obviously a non-emergency.  Sure First Aid was good but he was positive Autobot City could handle just about anything thrown at them.  Well, he'd find out soon enough because the shuttle was unloading its passengers.

The passengers mingled with the expectant crowd, which gradually dispersed until just Jazz and the shuttle remained..  He eyed the empty pad suspiciously, wondering if he'd been set up for some huge practical joke, which, he thought, would be in the worst taste.  Not that there was anything wrong with a good practical joke but he wasn't in the mood to appreciate it at the moment.

Scowling, he turned to leave when a large hand fell on his shoulder.  Startled, he twisted away from the hand and found himself staring up into Kup's face.  The old Autobot Security Chief's grin dropped away, and his optics narrowed slightly as he took in Jazz's unexpectedly grim expression.

The younger Autobot flinched slightly under the intense inspection he received from Kup and grimaced when Kup's expression changed to understanding and then pity.

Still studying Jazz closely, Kup handed him a datapad.  "He's still on board," he informed Jazz.  "You'll probably have to go get him."

Jazz took the pad but Kup didn't release it into Jazz's hand.  They stared at each other over the device.

"You okay?" Kup asked, giving Jazz another hard look.

"Fine, hunky-dory, swell," Jazz mumbled, turning his head away from Kup's unwelcomed scrutiny. Wishing Kup would just let him get on with it, he gave the pad a tug.  Kup kept a firm grip on it resulting in a small tug-a-war between the two Autobots.

Kup grabbed Jazz's wrist firmly halting the exchange and tried to catch special-ops agent's eye again.  "I'm sorry, son, I really am.  I understand how you must feel but you can't let it eat away at you."
Jazz's mouth hardened into a straight line as Kup's words headed down avenues he didn't wish to explore.
"What better way to honor his memory than to live? There are others who need you, you know."  Kup glanced at the shuttle.  "Help them. He'd be proud."

Jazz shook his head, refusing to meet Kup's optics. The Security Officer's words of advice only caused the ache in his spark to return all of his previous efforts to suppress it undone.
"Just drop it, ok?" he growled.

"Just think about it, okay?" Kup persisted.

"May I?" Jazz tugged at the pad again.

"Yeah, sure," Kup answered, releasing the pad into Jazz's hand.  He shook his head, stepped out of Jazz's path to the shuttle, and watched him walk away.

Jazz didn't look back at Kup as he turned and walked stiffly towards the shuttle.  Any feelings of  good cheer that he might've had were completely wiped out now leaving him with nothing but the desire to go back to his recharge bed and his music.  He was sick and tired of people offering advice and reminding him of things he was trying so hard to forget.  He just wanted to get this errand done and get back to forgetting.

Climbing the ramp to the shuttle entrance, he glanced down at the datapad in his hand.  It was clearly marked with both the Cybertronian medical symbol and the human caduceus but otherwise contained no information pointing to the identity of the patient.

The interior of the shuttle was gloomy, the lights powered down to conserve energy.  Jazz could make out a shadowy figure near the back of the vessel.  His pump skipped a cycle when the figure shifted and he caught a glimpse of familiar chevrons.

No, Jazz thought.  Not him.

He made his way slowly down the aisle between the seats until he was standing opposite the Autobot hunched down in his seat.

No, not him..."Bluestreak?" Jazz asked quietly.

The silvery mech didn't move, his gazed fixed on the window, his expression blank.

"Blue?" Jazz repeated more loudly and squatted down to get a better look at the gunner.  He hissed softly in shock.  Bluestreak's paint was dull and scratched, his armor battered and dented and Jazz could just make out a rather large dent in the back of his helmet.  He was in a sad state of repair and not all that clean.  Jazz wondered how and why he'd been so neglected.

Jazz touched Bluestreak's arm tentatively.  The gunner flinched away from the touch and then turned his head slowly to stare at Jazz without apparent recognition.

"Oh, Bluestreak," Jazz sighed, dropping back on his heels.  "What happened?"

Bluestreak's mouth pulled into a small frown, his optics focusing sluggishly onto Jazz's face, recognition slowly filling his face.  His mouth opened slightly and if Jazz expected a torrent of words explaining everything, he was severely disappointed.

"Jazz?"  Bluestreak almost whispered the word and then brought up his hand reaching for Jazz's visor.  Jazz suppressed the urge to flinch away from the Datsun's hand, where it hovered just above his face for a moment and then dropped back to his lap.

"Yeah, Blue, it's Jazz."  He took Bluestreak's arm and stood up, pulling the unresisting mech to his feet.  "We need to get going, 'k?  First Aid is waiting."

A resigned sigh escaped Bluestreak's vents as a slight puff of air, but he made no move to either lead or follow Jazz.  He stood in the shuttle's aisle looking more than a little lost.  Shaking his head slightly, Jazz took Bluestreak's elbow and guided him through the shuttle to the exit.  Thinking that his charge had gotten the idea, Jazz let go of Bluestreak and headed down the steps to the ground.

When Bluestreak didn't follow him down the stairs, Jazz felt a wave of anger rush over him.  How could the Autobots on Earth allow this to happen to the sharp shooter?  Maybe they couldn't have been bothered and just shipped him to Cybertron so they wouldn't have to deal with him.  Jazz fumed silently, I'm gonna to have a few words with Rodimus and Ultra Magnus.  Maybe more than a few words.  This was unforgivable.

Energized by anger, Jazz hurried back up the stairs and took Bluestreak's elbow.  "C'mon, Blue.  Let's get out of here."  The gunner came willingly enough but didn't seem to have the will to follow on his own.

As they walked off the shuttle pad, Bluestreak suddenly stopped and looked around realizing, for the first time, where he was.  Surprised and unhappy realization twisted Bluestreak's face into a frown.

"This is Cybertron," he said slowly.  Jazz nodded.  "I didn't ever want to come back here," he mumbled unhappily.

"Ya didn't know this was where they were sending ya?" Jazz asked.

"Um..." Bluestreak considered the question carefully, apparently digging deep into his memory.
Jazz was glad to get some response from his friend, but it hurt him to see the normally quick-witted and talkative warrior reduced to such a state.

"I guess someone said something," he finally said.  He dropped his gaze from the city around him to his feet.  "I don't know."

Jazz gave Bluestreak's arm an encouraging squeeze.  "That's ok.  It's not that important.  You're here.  Once ya get inside it's not too bad.  Looks a lot like Autobot City."

Bluestreak cringed slightly at the mention of Autobot's Earth base and fell back into his blank silence.

Oh, scrap, Jazz cursed to himself.  I thought I was gettin' through to him.  What in Primus' Name happened?  He pondered the medical pad he'd tuck away into subspace.  I'm gonna have to read that, he realized.  Blue certainly isn't gonna be doin' much talkin' on the subject.
Getting to the medical center proved to be difficult. Vehicle mode was out of the question if he was going to have to hold onto him just to get him to move and Bluestreak couldn't seem to muster enough energy to get his feet to move faster than a weary plod.  Despite the lateness, Jazz just couldn't see any reason to hurry and as long as they kept moving, no matter the pace, the other mechs on the road didn't complain-- much.

He certainly didn't have anywhere else to be and it was rather a relief to be able to focus on something other than himself.  He glanced over at Bluestreak, who seemed fascinated by the movement of his feet, and snorted softly to himself.  First Aid was a sneaky son of a glitch, snaring two petrorabbits with one energon cube.

He chuckled sardonically at the thought and Bluestreak looked up questioningly at the sound.  Jazz gave Bluestreak's arm an encouraging squeeze and nodded in the direction of the Autobot's headquarters.  "C'mon, Blue, you have places to be and people to meet."

Pulling up short, Bluestreak looked in the direction Jazz had indicated.  Shaking his head, he looked pleadingly at Jazz.  "I'd rather not...I mean...not right away.  Please?"

"I really think you should go, Blue," Jazz answered.  Bluestreak looked stunned and then turned away from Jazz, shoulders slumping in rejection.

Jazz mentally doped-slapped himself.  It had been a small request.  He wasn't refusing to go, he just wanted to delay it a bit.  Nothing wrong with that.  First Aid would understand if Jazz explained it to him.  And if he took him to the med center now there was a good chance Jazz would never find out exactly what had happened.

Jazz touched Bluestreak's shoulder.  "Hey, Blue, I'm sorry.  Sure, we can hold off a bit.  Anything ya want to do is fine with me."
The relief on Bluestreak's face touched Jazz's spark and he reached out pulled the Datsun into a hug.  "Anything," he repeated quietly into his audio sensor.

Anything turned out to be going to Jazz's quarters deep within the Autobot's Headquarters. There were no windows there to remind them of where they were, it was away from the hustle and bustle of the main areas, and it could be as quiet or as noisy as they wanted it to be.

Jazz had sent a quick message to First Aid to let him know they'd be along later. The medic had been neither patient nor understanding of the change in plans but Jazz had merely shrugged and cut him off, no doubt leaving the normally peaceful medic fuming and irritated.  Jazz chuckled.  He'd forgotten how gratifying it could be to buck authority for a good reason.

The door to his quarters closed with a quiet shush and he stood still leaning against the door and watched the quiet mech standing listlessly in the middle of the room.  Where once Bluestreak would have eagerly and curiously examined everything around him, he now seemed uninterested.  Looking him over in the better light, Jazz could see that he was not only battered and dirty but also immensely tired.

"When was the last time you refueled?" Jazz asked growing more concerned as he watched the motionless mech, wondering if he should've ignored his friend's pleas and taken him straight to First Aid.

Bluestreak barely managed a shrug, his last reserves exhausted by the long, slow trip to Jazz's quarters.  He swayed unsteadily, and Jazz jumped to grab him before he collapsed to the floor.

"A while ago, huh?" Jazz guided the wobbly mech to his recharge bed and helped him sit.  Bluestreak leaned back against the wall, arms limp at his sides, optics pale.

"Now don't move," Jazz admonished him with a wry grin knowing the tired mech wasn't going anywhere.  "I'll get ya somethin'."

Jazz disappeared into another room and could be heard rummaging about and humming quietly.  He returned quickly carrying a large box.  He dumped the load next to Bluestreak and sorted it.
"Ah," he announced triumphantly and held up a can of energon.  Opening it, he presented it out to the Datsun.  Bluestreak glanced at it and shook his head, making no move to take the container from the saboteur.

Jazz frowned.  "I will not let you waste away, Blue.  You will drink this," he scolded.
He grabbed Bluestreak's arm and tried to shove the container into his hand.  Bluestreak hissed softly as the can touched his palm, and Jazz pulled it away quickly.  He stared aghast at the gunner's hand and then examined the other hand.  Both were so damaged as to be useless, frozen into claws.  Some repairs had been done, but it was obvious that more needed to be done and they were beyond the skills of the Autobots on Earth, Jazz realized.  Ratchet, and possibly Wheeljack, could've done it but both were gone now.  The only other Autobot capable of doing the delicate task of repairing the fine sensors and motor controls in Bluestreak's hands was First Aid and First Aid was here, on Cybertron.

"Primus, Bluestreak," Jazz whispered, kneeling down in front of his friend and cradling his damaged hands in his own,  "what happened?"
He tried to catch Bluestreak's optics but the gunner turned his head away and stared at the wall.  "Why won't you talk to me?"

Frustrated, he stood up and went back to rummaging through the box on the bed finally finding a small container.  Opening it revealed a stash of Energon Goodies, solid energon that was the equivalent of the MREs, Meals Ready to Eat, that human soldiers carried.  Though not as energy rich as liquid energon, they did the job when the liquid variety was unavailable.  They were also easier to feed to someone who couldn't or wouldn't take the liquid variety. If they had a mouth, of course, Jazz thought.

"Ya know, Blue," Jazz said, trying to sound encouraging, "it is embarrassin' to have to have someone feed ya, but ya just can't starve yerself into deactivation."

Bluestreak kept his optics glued to his lap as he softly replied, "They won't let me do it any other way."

Jazz took a shocked step back.  "Oh, Blue," he whispered dropping back to his knees and taking the other mech's ruined hands in his again.  "No, no, not that, never that."  He paused at what he heard himself saying. What a hypocrite he was.   Not long ago he'd contemplated the very same thing and, even now, the thought would occasionally worm its way back into his consciousness.  Now here he was telling someone that there were other ways.

Bluestreak finally turned his head to gaze at Jazz's stunned expression.  Optic fluid trickled down one cheek as his face crumpled with grief.  "Jazz, it hurts so much.  I just want it to stop hurting."

Jazz reached up and wiped away the fluid on Bluestreak's face with his finger and then cupped his cheek in his hand.  "So do I, Blue," he admitted quietly.  "I don't think it ever will, though."

He pushed himself to his feet, cleared a spot on the bed next to Bluestreak and sat down. He put his arm around the distraught 'bot and pulled him close.  Bluestreak buried his face in Jazz's shoulder.

"I use to be able to make it go away," he mumbled.  "To...hide from it, I guess." He pulled away and stared helplessly at Jazz hoping he understood.

Jazz nodded.  "I know, Blue."

"But I can't anymore."

The Porsche took Bluestreak's chin in his hand and studied his face closely.  "Maybe..." he started to speak then stopped, shaking his head as if doubting the truth of what he was about to say to himself as well as to Bluestreak.  "Maybe it's time to stop hidin', Blue.   It's all too much to keep hidden.  It's all going to come out an' knock ya on yer skidplate when ya least expect it if ya try to ignore it.  You've tried buryin' the hurt for millions of years and what good has it done ya?  Look at ya.  Hell, look at me, an' I've only been tryin' to hide from it for a few weeks."  Rubbing suddenly stinging optics under his visor, he came to a decision.  "I think it's time to stop diggin' holes, ya know?"
Bluestreak looked puzzled and wary.  "I don't..."

Jazz grasped his shoulders and peered intently into his face as if he could will his friend to understand.  "It's time to face all the hurt, Blue."

Bluestreak tried to pull out of Jazz's grip, to escape, to flee into his own private place.  Jazz, seeing the blank look steal Bluestreak away, shook him sharply.

"No, Blue.  Not anymore.  You will stay with me."  He sighed with relief as Bluestreak's optics refocussed.
"I thought maybe Hoist was bein' too hard on ya, but I think he and everybody else was too easy on ya.  Lettin' ya deal with this in your own way, hopin' you'd fall back inta your old habits.  Except, the old habits weren't workin' for ya anymore, were they?"
Bluestreak shook his head slowly. "No," he whispered.

"And this new thing you've discovered, it doesn't help much either, does it?  Because you always wake up and nothin' has changed.  Right?"

"Yes..."

" I tried it too," Jazz admitted quietly.  "Now...I'm realizin' it's time to try somethin' else."  He paused and regarded Bluestreak reassuringly.  "Ya ready to try it with me?"

"I… don't know... it's so hard."

"Primus, yes, it's hard, Blue.  But the easy ways aren't workin' anymore are they?"

Bluestreak glanced away from Jazz's intense gaze.  He stared at the wall for a long time, and Jazz let him, trusting him to stay in the here and now.  Finally, just as the Porsche began to grow concerned that Bluestreak had faded out again, the silvery Datsun turned back to look at Jazz.
"Help me, Jazz?" he pleaded.

"Of course I'll help ya.  And you'll help me."

Bluestreak nodded wearily. "But I don't know how I could help you."
Jazz grinned and wrapped him in a warm hug.  "We'll figure it out, but first," he said, releasing the Datsun,  "we need to get ya refueled."

He picked up the forgotten Energon Goodie and offered it to Bluestreak, who just shook his head, refusing it.  Jazz sighed and aimed a warning glare at him.

"I don't like Goodies," Bluestreak tried to explain.  "I can't keep them down."  He shrugged apologetically.

"So you'd rather I help ya drink?"

"No, I can do it myself."  Jazz looked unconvinced and Bluestreak actually tried to smile.  "Just hand it to me."

Jazz offered up the open can and Bluestreak took it between his wrists bypassing his hands completely.  Very carefully, he brought the can to his mouth and managed to sip without spilling.

"I'm impressed," Jazz said, marveling at his dexterity.

"It was either learn to do it this way or have the twins pin me to the floor and pour it down my intake.  This way is neater," he added quietly.  "As I found out the hard way."

"Primus," Jazz chuckled.  Bluestreak gave him a hurt look.  "Sorry, I imagine it wasn't much fun."

"No, it wasn't.  But the twins did take care of me though I didn't appreciate it..." He stopped talking to take another drink and Jazz nodded encouragingly to keep him drinking and to keep him talking.
Bluestreak lowered his drink and turned bright optics on Jazz, a wry smile on his lips.  "I'm going to have to send them a thank-you note."

"A thank-you note?  And why is that, Miss Manners?"

"Because they cared.  And because they stuck with me despite… everything.  I was not the most cooperative person."

"That would explain the dents and scratches," Jazz guessed.

"Yeah, pretty much.  Well, some of it, anyway."

"And the hands?" Jazz ventured cautiously, not wanting to push Bluestreak back into that silent place.

Bluestreak passed the empty can back to Jazz and stared at his hands.  "I don't remember," he stated flatly, dropping them to his sides where they rested lightly on the bed seemingly forgotten.  He leaned back against the wall and stared off into the distance.

"Hey, no problem, man," Jazz said, worried he'd undone all of the progress he'd made. He decided to change the subject to something less sensitive.
"Ya look beat, Blue," he observed.  He leaned companionably against the wall next to the Datsun.

Bluestreak turned his head to see Jazz better and snorted softly.  "Yeah, I am," he admitted.  "I've been having some trouble shutting down."

Jazz nodded with feeling.  "I dig ya.  Too many dreams."

Turning his head away, Bluestreak nodded gently in agreement.  "Yeah," he whispered  "dreams."

In the silence that followed, Jazz began to hum to himself.
Bluestreak listened for a moment then said, "That's nice."
Quietly, Jazz started to sing.

Come stop your crying

It will be all right.

Just take my hand

Hold it tight.

He hadn't sung in a long time and his voice was rough but that didn't seem to matter to Bluestreak.  He sighed and rested his head on Jazz's shoulder listening quietly.

I will protect you from all around you

I will be here

Don't you cry

For one so small, you seem so strong
My arms will hold you, keep you safe and warm
This bond between us can't be broken
I will be here
Don't you cry

'Cause you'll be in my heart
Yes, you'll be in my heart
From this day on
Now and forever more

You'll be in my heart
No matter what they say
You'll be in my heart, always
Always

Jazz stopped singing and glanced at his friend.  The Datsun had fallen into some much-needed shut down, and, well, if bad dreams disturbed him, Jazz would be there to comfort him.

Long, rambling reports, addendums, and footnotes on every page made reading Bluestreak's medical record tedious and confusing, but, possessed by a desperate need to find all the explanations for Bluestreak's behavior, Jazz waded through it all including a series of reports written by the small group of Autobots which had gone out to the shuttle Lancet's crash site believing they were on a rescue mission only to find it to be nothing of the sort.
These reports had been the hardest of all to read.  Every team member had written up reports of their version of events just the way Prowl had insisted it be done even though they knew he would never read them.  It had been a horrifying ordeal for all of them, but they had all seemed to be able to deal with it.
Except for Bluestreak.
He didn't even have to help with the recovery.  He'd insisted on going because Prowl had been on board. No one had tried to stop him because no one had known what was waiting for him.  The young gunner had been devastated, his usual rambling, cheerful reporting gone, replaced by a terse, dry, unemotional listing of details and nobody had noticed anything wrong with that.  Bluestreak had shut everyone and everything out and nobody had noticed or had cared until he had tried to kill himself.
Primus, poor Bluestreak, Jazz thought.
Sunstreaker and Sideswipe had come to his rescue then, saving his life it seemed.
Somehow, this didn't surprise Jazz at all.  Though the twins rarely showed it, he knew they were capable of great compassion.  Jazz also knew that compassion wasn't always accompanied by gentleness and Bluestreak had come away battered and bruised but alive.
His hands, though, were a different matter.  The report was vague.  The twins took full responsibility, citing negligence on their part, but no one would say exactly what had happened.  Hoist had then made the decision to send Bluestreak to Cybertron for repairs. Hoist also hoped that a change of environment might help Bluestreak.

Jazz finally laid the datapad aside. He now knew what had happened to Bluestreak and he'd finally found out how Prowl had died.
He'd known the moment Prowl had died.  He'd nearly died, too.  The sudden ripping apart of the intangible, but very real, bond they had shared even over the vast distance separating them had sent him crashing to his knees, fighting to stay online long enough to figure out what had happened.  If he'd been alone he would've, in all probability, failed, but Cliffjumper had been there to shake him back to full awareness.  He couldn't even answer Cliffjumper's worried questions.  All he could tell him was that something was wrong.  When news of the Decepticon attack on Autobot City had arrived, he'd only been able to stare at Cliffjumper, too numb to even react.
Then Unicron had arrived and he'd been too busy trying to save Cliffjumper.  He was sure now that if he'd been alone he would've just let the monster consume the moonbase and him without a fight, but he couldn't let a friend die because he'd given up.
Now he knew that a brutal and cowardly sneak attack by Megatron had snatched his bondmate away from him.  He leaned his head back against the wall and stared at the ceiling not even trying to hold back the tears now.
So many regrets, he thought, so much left unsaid and undone on their last night together.  Prowl had shown up unexpectedly at their quarters, just hours before the Lancet's launch, flagrantly disregarding Prime's orders that Prowl remain aboard the shuttle.  It was so unProwl-like yet the only thing he could do.
Without a word, Prowl had gathered him into his arms. Though Prowl been calm and soothing, there'd been a desperation to their love making that night that had left them both heavy-sparked and unsettled.
Jazz, unable to explain his fear to Prowl, had clung fiercely to him loath to give him up.  Prowl could offer no reassurances that would calm Jazz.  Then a last, lingering kiss and Prowl had gone.  Jazz had let him go without a word, unable to say what he'd wanted to say because he knew Prowl felt the same way but could do nothing about it.
A snippet of song ran unbidden through his thoughts:
When you walk away
You don't hear me say please
Oh, baby, don't go
Simple and clean is the way that you're making me feel tonight
It's hard to let go

He wished he'd said, "Don't go," to Prowl that night.  And that Prowl had been able to obey.

Unnoticed, his head in Jazz's lap where he'd been recharging quietly, Bluestreak stirred.  His optics glowed pale as he watched Jazz for a moment marking the tears on his face.  He'd never seen Jazz cry before.

"Do you remember," he said quietly, hoping to distract Jazz,  "when I got stuck in that tree?"

Jazz jumped slightly in surprise and looked down at the 'bot resting in his lap.  "Yeah, I do," he replied after a moment.

"I thought Prowl was going to cough up a transistor, he was so mad."

Jazz shook his head, a small grin touching his lips as he recalled the incident.  "Nah, he was tryin' not to laugh."

Bluestreak frowned slightly.  "He thought it was funny?  But he yelled at me.  Really loud."

Jazz stroked Bluestreak's helm lightly, affectionately, carefully tracing the edges of his red chevron with a black finger. So like Prowl yet so different, he thought.  "Ya know Prowl," he said aloud. "Had to maintain discipline.  Couldn't have ya making a habit of climbing trees."

Bluestreak grinned sheepishly.  Jazz stared at him in surprise and then started to laugh.  "Don't tell me, ya kept right on climbing trees."

He nodded.  "I just was more careful about the trees I chose.  They're great places to snipe from."   He paused thoughtfully.  "He really wasn't mad?"
"Nobody who saw ya dangling upside down in that tree could possibly have been mad.  Now Ratchet, he was fit to be tied but he didn't see ya in the tree.  No, Prowl had a great sense o' humor..." Jazz's voice faded out.  His hand stopped moving and dropped to his side.

Bluestreak sat up clumsily and settled his battered frame next to Jazz, their shoulders touching lightly.  Shyly, he reached out to touch the wetness on Jazz's face with the back of his hand.  Jazz took his hand gingerly, careful not to hurt him, and held it gently in his lap.

"Jazz, I don't think he suffered," Bluestreak said quietly.  "I don't think he even had time to realize what was happening.  I don't think any of them did.  It was over too quick."

Jazz nodded, keeping his optics on the ceiling. "A small blessing, huh?"  A long paused followed then he said very quietly,  "I felt him die, Blue.  I felt it here."  He pressed his free hand against his chest, where his spark rested.  "I still feel it.  His surprise, his regrets, everything.  And I couldn't do anything about it.  I couldn't help him.  I couldn't hold him in my arms and comfort him. I wasn't there when he needed me most."   He'd never said this to anyone, not First Aid not Smokescreen.  Now, here he was sharing it with the one person least likely to be able to handle it.  But he couldn't help himself.  He just needed to say it, to get it out in the open.
He scrubbed his wet face with the back of his hand.  "Primus, look at me, jolly ol' Jazz.  The happy-go-lucky 'bot without a care in the world."
Bluestreak suddenly threw his arms around Jazz's neck, hugging him tightly.  "That 'bot's still there.  He's just really sad right now," Bluestreak told him comfortingly.
Jazz returned the hug, rocking back and forth.  "Except he doesn't like being sad.  He wants the pain to go away, just like his friend does."
Bluestreak could only nod his agreement.
They held each other for a long time without speaking, each lost in their own thoughts.
"He loved you so much, you know, Jazz.  More than anything, I think," Bluestreak said, breaking the silence, pushing away from Jazz but not quite breaking contact.
"He didn't tell you that, did he?" Jazz asked.
"No, but it was so obvious.  At least to me.  Like when you'd walk into a room, his voice would skip this tiny bit and he'd turn to look at you and get all goofy-grinned.  But it was quick, on off, like a light switch. I don't think anybody else ever saw it."
Bluestreak giggled at a new thought.  "You did exactly the same thing but EVERYBODY saw it.  You had the greatest goofy-grin.  I'd laugh so hard to myself when I saw it that I'd forget what I was talking about.  And everybody would be looking at you and completely miss Prowl's reaction.  When everybody got around to looking at Prowl it was like he was totally ignoring you.
"You two were great together, but I could never understand how the two of you ever got together.  You were so different.  But when you were with each other it made me feel so good…" his voice trailed off into an embarrassed silence.
Jazz smiled sadly.  "Blue, I'm so glad we made ya feel good," he told Bluestreak reassuringly.  He took gunner's face between his hands studying him carefully.  "You, of all people, deserved it.  Thank you for telling me."  Then he kissed him gently on the forehead.  Bluestreak sighed and buried his face in Jazz's neck and Jazz hugged him tightly.
"Primus, I miss Prowl so much," Bluestreak said after a time, voice breaking slightly as if he was having trouble getting these words past his vocalizer. Then he couldn't stop the words.  It was as if something was compelling him to talk, forcing its way out of him after being bottled up for so long.
"I miss everybody more than I can say, but I miss Prowl the most.  He was always there, you know, for me.  Even at the beginning, when I didn't even know if I wanted to be an Autobot or fight in this…this stupid war, he was there.
"Jazz, I know you both worried a lot about me joining up, but I knew that you guys really needed me.  I know, I know, warm bodies to fill out the ranks and fight.  I understood all that.  But Prowl didn't try to force me to do anything I didn't want to do."  He paused almost as surprised as Jazz was by the flood of words pouring from his vocalizer.  "Primus, I was so young, then and naive.  I never thought something as awful and horrible as the Decepticons could ever happen to me or my home."  He shook uncontrollably as the ancient memories he'd tried to bury long ago flooded back.
"I…I can't believe I was ever that young, so filled with righteous anger.  Prowl and the Autobots saved me from myself, you know.  I would be ready to charge off half-cocked, looking to kill all the Decepticons, but Prowl would grab me by the shoulders and stare at me with that look he has…had.  You know the one? And just say 'Stop, tell me what's wrong. Talk about it.'  And he'd listen.  Even when I babbled, he listened."
Suddenly he looked stricken as a new memory surfaced.  "Oh, Primus, there were times when I'd scream at him, tell him to get away from me, leave me alone.  All because he looked like me.  Because he reminded me of home and I didn't want to be reminded of anything. Because I just wanted to forget.  But he always came back…No matter how mean I was to him."
Jazz'd never heard about that before.  Prowl had never said a thing about it. He threw a comforting arm around Bluestreak's shoulders and pulled him in close. "Shhh," Jazz hushed him, comforting him as best he could,  "ya don't have to do this all at once, ya know.  Ya've spent thousands of Vorns not thinkin' about it.  Yer not gonna make things better in a few minutes."
Bluestreak ignored him, unable to stop the memories from swarming willy-nilly through his processor and spilling out his vocalizer.  "Inferno and Trailbreaker tried to keep me from seeing Prowl.  They said he was dead.  They said they were all dead, but I didn't believe them.  How could they be dead?  It was just a crashed ship.  We'd all survived worse, right?  I had to see…I had to see for myself."  He buried his face in his ruined hands.  "I wanted to die, Jazz," he whispered hoarsely.  "I held him in my arms and I wanted to lie down right next to him and die."
Jazz held him close, comforting him with his touch because he had no words to offer.  Everytime he thought about Prowl, he ached.  He ached so badly that he wanted to lie down and die sometimes, too.  He understood what Bluestreak had gone through.  Bluestreak had been thrust face first into an unbearable situation.  He'd tried to hold it together but finally, unable to bear it any longer, he'd broken.
While grieving silently for Prowl, Jazz'd found out from Perceptor that Prime, the rest of the shuttle crew, Wheeljack, and Windcharger had also died. For him, that had been the final blow. He'd fled to the deepest, farthest room he could find, retreating into himself like Bluestreak had done.  The only difference was he'd vanished quietly while Bluestreak had exploded violently.
He sighed deeply and gathered Bluestreak into a close embrace, pressing his cheek against the gunner's.  He shut off his optics and let the tears flow, feeling them mingle with Bluestreak's tears.  In darkness they grieved together for the newly dead and those long gone.

"I'm sorry I had to call you here, Magnus," First Aid said as the medic and the Autobot Second-in-command met in front of the quarters belonging to Jazz, "but, frankly, I'm worried.  Jazz informed me that he was bringing Bluestreak to his quarters and then turned off his radio.  I haven't been able to get through to them at all."
"I don't understand," Magnus said.  "I thought Jazz was supposed to bring Bluestreak directly to you."
"He was, but he…decided to disobey."
Magnus sighed.  "Sounds like Jazz being Jazz."
"I'm afraid you don't understand the situation, Sir.  Jazz has been extremely depressed, despondent actually.  He's even contemplated suicide.  Bluestreak is actively suicidal.  To be honest, I don't trust them together."
"So, why did you let this situation continue for so long?"
"I suppose I was hoping that Jazz would see how serious Bluestreak's condition was and bring him to me."  First Aid bowed his head. "I'm afraid I misread the situation.  I fully intend to accept responsibility for the consequences of my inaction."
"Noted."  Ultra Magnus folded his arms across his chest and studied the smaller Protectobot.  "You have yourself a serious problem, Aid.  I wish I'd been informed of this sooner."
"Yes, Magnus, I should have kept you up to date.  I'm sorry."
"Now, I'm assuming you want me to open the door."
First Aid nodded and Magnus entered his security override pass code into Jazz's lock.  The door slid open upon a darkened room.
"Lights, one quarter," Magnus spoke and the room lit up dimly, revealing a sight that made First Aid's fuel pump skip a cycle.
"Primus below," he whispered.  His scanner practically leaped into his hand as he approached the recharge bed and the two motionless mechs curled up on it.  Bluestreak's back was to them and they could see one of Jazz's arms resting lightly on the gunner's back just under his doorwings.  Their utter stillness was unnerving and First Aid feared the worst.

The securely locked door sliding open awakened Jazz from a light, dreamless recharge.  Annoyance that someone was entering his private quarters, without permission, turned to fear that Bluestreak, who was finally getting some much needed shutdown, would be disturbed.
He felt more than heard the gentle, steady hum of a quietly recharging mech.  It was so like Prowl's yet with a rhythm that belonged only to Bluestreak.  He smiled slightly when the thought of Prowl nestled in his arms brought forth warm feelings instead of pain and regret.
He grimaced and brought his optics online quickly when Ultra Magnus announced much too loudly, "Lights, one quarter."
He was glad First Aid showed a bit more restraint with his whispered, "Primus below," but the sound of the scanner was the last straw.
He pushed himself up on his elbow and glared at the intruding Autobots, shushing them with a finger on his lips.
First Aid jumped in surprise and then sagged with relief when Jazz, his visor glowing brightly with annoyance, popped up and shushed them.
Jazz smirked at him and opened a private comm. link.
"We're fine," he radioed.
Ultra Magnus opened his mouth to speak, but First Aid silenced him with a hand on his arm.
"Bluestreak?" First Aid radioed back.
"I said 'we're fine.'  Ya have to trust me."
"Pardon me if I remain a bit skeptical."
"Ok, ok, ya got me there but trust me on this one."
"I still need Bluestreak in the med center," First Aid reminded him.
"Yeah, yeah, I know.  He'll get there.  Now, take big and testy with you and just go, before ya wake him up."  Jazz closed the link abruptly, laying himself back down.
First Aid gave the pair one last appraisal, glancing briefly at the scanner readings he had taken.  Since everything appeared stable, he decided not to argue with Jazz.  He nodded at Ultra Magnus and turned to leave.
Jazz heard the door slide open and muttered, "Lights out."
In the dark, Bluestreak stirred.  "Jazz? What's wrong?" he murmured.
Jazz pulled the Datsun close, wrapping his arm around him again.  "Nothin'. It's ok, Blue.  Go back to sleep."
"Mmmm, 'k," he answered blurrily.
Jazz listened as Bluestreak's systems powered down again and then kissed him lightly on the helmet.  "Everything's gonna be ok, love. We'll get through this together," he murmured before slipping back into recharge.