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wyntir_knightTitle: The Polyhex Candidate: Chapter 16
Fandom: Transformers: Generation One
Characters & Relationships: Smokescreen, Mirage, Jazz, Prowl, Ratchet, Bumblebee, Optimus Prime, Ultra Magnus, Red Alert, Ironhide, Perceptor, Wheeljack.
Jazz/Prowl, Wheeljack/Ratchet/Perceptor, mentions of Smokescreen/Swindle, Jazz/Mirage, Jazz/Smokescreen.
Rating: R
Warnings: graphic violence, dub-con, attempted rape, implication of bondage, mentions of rape, mentions of torture, reprogramming, tactile, spark-sex, plug-and-play
Summary: A year ago Jazz was captured by the Decepticons and reprogrammed into a walking time-bomb. Now that he has returned to the Autobots his new programming has kicked in and he has left chaos in his wake. It's up to Smokescreen and Mirage to find Jazz and bring him back to their side and back to sanity before he is completely lost. Meanwhile Prowl and Ultra Magnus try to keep Iacon from destroying itself as panic grips the populace, and as Prowl fights for his sanity after a year's separation from his bonded and the sure knowledge that Jazz may not survive.
Additional Author's Note: Please note that the above warnings are in full effect in this chapter. Please be aware.
Chapter 15
Chapter 16 on A03 or under the cut
The door to the room slid shut with the audible clicking of poorly maintained workings cutting Smokescreen and Jazz off from Mirage. With that the psychologist sat on the edge of the berth and he gently touched his patient’s arm.
“Jazz? It’s time to wake up, boss,” Smokescreen said soothingly. “Come on back to us. You’re safe and everything you’ve needed to do has been done. Come on back to us.”
He touched Jazz’s arm gently, stroking along the seams in what he had intended to be soothing. Jazz onlined his optics slightly and reached up to take Smokescreen’s hand, squeezing it lightly.
“What happened?” he asked, his voice slurred with a slight burr of static at the ends of the words.
“You’re safe now, Jazz. We’ve got you back to a safe house and you’re okay now,” Smokescreen replied, moving his free hand up to the saboteur’s helm. “Once you feel up to it, could you tell me what you remember?”
“I ... Uhm ...” Jazz faltered, his optics dimming slightly.
“It’s okay, Jazz,” Smokescreen said, running gentle fingers over the top of his patient’s helm, carefully avoiding those sensitive horns. “It’s okay. Take your time. You’re probably still a little fogged.”
“Yeah, yeah, it is a little,” Jazz replied, as he shifted a little closer to Smokescreen.
Smokescreen felt a slight warming as Jazz expanded his field, reaching out for comfort and familiarity. Smokescreen was more than happy to reciprocate if it meant that Jazz would relax and open up. He gently ran his hand in soothing circles over Jazz’s back, encouraging him to relax and remember what had happened to him. It wouldn’t be pretty, but if he could keep Jazz calm, Smokescreen would be able get some much needed answers.
“So,” Smokescreen said, moderating his voice carefully, “let’s start at the beginning, okay? Do you remember your last mission?”
Jazz tensed up slightly, his field shrinking in fear for a moment. Then Smokescreen purred his engine slightly and he felt Jazz relax and lean back against his chest.
“I, uhm … we were breaking into Darkmount,” Jazz said. “It was a pretty routine job actually. Should have been anyways. It wouldn’t be the first time that ‘Raj, Bee, an’ me were in there. But you know that already.”
“Yeah,” Smokescreen replied. Before he had been transferred out there had been talk of breaking into Darkmount. It was never a mission that he had been able to partake in. There were aspects of Special Ops that he had been good at, and ones that he hadn’t been, and infiltration had never been his best subject.
“Not sure, but I think someone sold us out,” Jazz said. “We got what we were after but …”
Again, Jazz seemed to shrink in on himself and he leaned further into Smokescreen until he was almost cuddling with the psychologist, clearly seeking comfort.
“It’s okay, Jazz,” Smokescreen replied, wrapping his arms around the saboteur. “It’s okay. We can take this slow. As slow as you want. I know that you’re going to need time. But Jazz, you and I, we need to debrief, and you need to get this out. You can’t heal if you keep it all bottled up.”
Jazz shivered but nodded. For a long moment he was silent, clinging to Smokescreen. When he finally spoke his voice was uncharacteristically small.
“We got what we were after but someone … The ‘Cons knew we were there. The let us get in. They let us take the data. And then when we thought we were out we … we …” Jazz’s fingers dug into Smokescreen’s arm spasmodically and he shivered violently.
This was a side of Jazz that the psychologist had never seen, and it worried him. For all of his party-bot attitude when he was off duty, Jazz was a rock. Nothing threw him, nothing phased him, and nothing ever reduced him to this kind of shivering, broken mess. At least not that Smokescreen had ever seen.
“It’s okay, Jazz, really,” he said, revving his engine again and doing everything he could to calm the other mech without resorting to more drastic measures. The last thing he wanted to do was sedate him.
“I don’t want to remember, love,” Jazz whimpered and he clutched. “I know I’ve got to, I know ya need me to, but I can’t … please don’t make me ...”
Smokescreen knew that there was a line and he was on it, coming dangerously close to crossing. Jazz wasn’t seeing the psychologist – possibly, he never had – and it was clear that he was speaking with Prowl, confessing to his bonded mate, not to Smokescreen. The problem was, this confusion was getting results. Jazz was starting to remember, and if a little confusion helped in that process, then was it really a bad thing?
“Jazz, we need you to tell us what happened. I know it’s hard, but we need that report,” Smokescreen said as he held Jazz close and rumbled his engine soothingly.
Jazz shuddered and then sighed as he nodded slightly. “… we got what we were after, we were leavin’ Darkmount when the ‘Cons jumped us. I told ‘Raj and Bee to run while I stayed behind to set up an explosion …”
“And they both got back to us. Thanks to you,” Smokescreen replied gently.
“It doesn’t matter. I’m back now. That’s all I want to remember.” Jazz twisted to look at Smokescreen and smiled. It was far too tender to be simple friendship.
“I need you to focus, Jazz. I can’t start to help you until I know what happened,” Smokescreen said, trying to be gentle and firm at the same time.
Jazz turned completely and looked at Smokescreen. He reached out with one hand and stroked the Praxian’s door, smirking as it pressed into his hand.
“I can think of a few things I’d like t’ focus on,” he said, his optics smouldering.
Smokescreen pulled away, careful to make it not come across as a rejection. “We can think about that later, Jazz. We’ve got other things we need to deal with now.”
“Oh come on, lover,” Jazz purred. “We’ve got all the time to talk, but right now I’ve got something else I want to remember.”
Smokescreen’s fans hitched as Jazz leaned in close, his hands stroking the edge of the doors. For the barest instant he was almost tempted to reciprocate. It would be so easy to give in, to let Jazz play out his hallucination and move on. After all, he knew from intimate experience just how good the saboteur could be, and right now he was pushing every single one of Smokescreen’s buttons. But that would be so horribly wrong and leave him with so many more pieces to pick up. He was better than his urges. He knew that.
“Jazz, this is a really bad idea. I’m not who you think I am,” the psychologist said, his vocalizer buzzing slightly with his own repressed tension and lust.
He placed his hands on his patient’s chest, gently trying to push him away. Unfortunately it had exactly the opposite effect.
“No need for the games,” Jazz whispered, his field reaching out and brushing over Smokescreen. “Though we can roleplay later, if ya want.”
“Jazz!” Smokescreen pushed Jazz to arm’s length. He needed to snap the saboteur out of this, and if he needed to be harsh, then so be it. “Stop it!”
“NO!” Jazz cried. “NO! I NEED you! Please, Prowl! I need you!”
Smokescreen was instantly pinned to the berth, Jazz kissing him with a desperate need.
Smokescreen bit back a cry as Jazz pressed in further, raw spark energy flowing from the saboteur and enveloping the psychologist.
“Jazz! Stop! I-” Smokescreen gasped as another sharp pulse was sent into his spark and it was all he could do to push the other mech away.
“… prowl … oh, prowl, I need ya! I need ya so much! Please! Don’t say no! I’m sorry! I just need this! I need you!” The words tumbled from Jazz’s lips in a fevered litany as he used all his skills and raw power to press Smokescreen to the berth and continue the forced interface.
Pain ripped through Smokescreen’s spark as his energy reacted to the assault and clashed with the foreign signature. Without conscious thought he lashed out, sending a harsh pulse into Jazz as he shoved at the saboteur again.
Jazz stumbled back momentarily as the unexpected display of aggression and it was the only window Smokescreen needed. He heaved his weight up and slammed Jazz off the berth and to the floor. He pulled back sharply but was stopped as Jazz’s hands closed on his wrists in an iron grip.
“No! You can’t leave me!” Jazz cried out as he pulled Smokescreen close, clasping one hand around the back of his head and capturing the Praxian’s mouth in a searing kiss.
The fight, the spark energy, the kiss, and the fact that Smokescreen was already revved from the earlier touches were leaving the Praxian weak and losing the fight. Without intending to, he leaned into Jazz as his reserves started to give out on him.
Neither mech heard Mirage enter the room, but they both heard the cry of outrage as he descended on them.
“What the frag do you think you’re doing?” he roared as he grabbed hold of Smokescreen and tossed the mech aside in a perfectly executed flip.
Smokescreen cried out in pain as the tenuous connection was forcibly broken. He landed hard against the berth, his hand instantly coming up to cover his chest above his spark chamber. Mirage spun on him with a growl.
“I knew you had no morals, but how could you! How could you take advantage like that?!” Mirage demanded. He never saw Jazz descend on him.
“No! You will NOT take him away from me! He’s MY PROWL!” Jazz screamed as he attacked Mirage.
The spy was thrown to the ground as Jazz landed on his back, fists slamming into his sides with the force of a pile driver. His attack was wild, but he wasn’t holding back and it was all Mirage could do to hold him off. And not harm his commander.
“Jazz! Stop!” Mirage growled as he tried to grab his commander’s wrists. “Stop! We’re not a threat to you!”
“No! I won’t lose him again! You can’t take him from me!” Jazz slammed his fists into Mirage’s nosecone, knowing exactly where to hit in order to do the most damage possible.
Smokescreen lurched to his feet and tackled Jazz from the side, rolling him away from Mirage and pinning him to the plating.
“Prowl!” Jazz shrieked as Smokescreen slapped a pair of vibrocuffs around the saboteur’s wrists. “Please! Prowl!”
Without a word Smokescreen pressed his fingers against Jazz’s neck, just below his helm and slipped a sedation stick into the exposed port.
“Shhh … calm down, Jazz. Calm down and we’ll help you. We’ll bring you back to Prowl. I promise,” Smokescreen whispered.
Jazz’s struggles weakened until he was reduced to a shivering, whimpering mass on the plating.
“Now I only owe you one, Mirage,” Smokescreen said in a breathless murmur as he continued to lay across Jazz’s back, pinning the saboteur to the floor.
Mirage’s optics never left the vibrocuffs, curiosity warring with a deeply felt offense warring on his faceplates.
“Where did you get those?” Mirage asked then suddenly he raised his hand and shook his head. “No, never mind. I do not want to know.”
Without another word, he less-than-gently nudged Smokescreen out of the way and helped Jazz to his feet.
“It’s okay, Jazz,” Mirage whispered as he helped his commander onto the berth. “Everything will be all right.”
Smokescreen rolled to his feet and leaned against the wall, one hand rubbing his chest.
“That sedative will have him out for the next several groon,” he said. “By then he’ll have calmed and we’ll be able to start over.”
Mirage removed the vibrocuffs from his commander’s wrists and replaced them with a normal pair.
“I’m sorry about this,” he murmured as he laid a hand on Jazz’s helm. “You’ll be fine, but this is for your own good. We can’t have you freaking out on us, right?”
“He’ll be fine, Raj,” Smokescreen said.
Mirage turned on the psychologist and instantly took in his state. His paint was smeared with streaks of black, his engine was running high, his vents straining, and his optics were off-colour. And he kept rubbing his chest. Right above his spark chamber. Instantly he knew what had happened, but he didn’t – he couldn’t – believe that his commander was capable of such a thing. There was more going on and Smokescreen’s lack of ethics were at the core of it.
“Out!” he demanded, pointing at the door. “I will not discuss your actions in front of Jazz.”
“My actions?” Smokescreen asked, his voice a low and angry growl. “And what exactly do you think it is that I did? Other than save your aft.”
“I said out,” Mirage growled.
There was a momentary stand-off, neither mech willing to back down, both sizing the other up. Finally, Smokescreen turned and stored out of the room and into the main living area. As soon as the door hissed shut behind Mirage, Smokescreen turned on him.
“Why, precisely, is it that you hate me so much? What in the pit have I ever done to you?” Smokescreen demanded in a low hiss.
“Aside from selling us out to the Cons when we had the Combaticons captured?” Mirage’s tone was a sneer that held nothing but contempt for the psychologist.
Smokescreen glared at Mirage, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “A, I never sold anyone out! And B, you hated me from the moment I joined the Bots so don’t you dare hide behind an imagined sin!”
“Then let me rephrase,” Mirage replied, ignoring the flash of anger. “I don’t trust Decepticons or those who associate with them.”
“Associate with Cons?!” Smokescreen’s voice rose to an angry pitch.
Mirage hissed and glanced at the recharge room door.
“I have never associated with Cons save for the one time you people insisted on sticking me in a room with one! Against my advice I might add!” Smokescreen continued in a lower voice.
“ And yet, when you were locked in that room I seem to recall you getting awfully close to said ‘Con.” A smirk ghosted across Mirage’s face, his entire being radiating arrogance.
Smokescreen huffed in irritation, turning away from the spy. “I broke up with him when they joined that maniac. I joined the Autobots shortly after, and the only Con I have ever had associations with is stuck in a fraggin’ MIND PRISON!” Smokescreen’s voice broke as he was overcome with emotion before he could control himself.
“And that’s why I don’t trust you,” Mirage said simply. “Your judgment is compromised. Just look at who your friends and lovers are. Look at what your habits are.”
Smokescreen spun back to face Mirage. “You know nothing of my friends or my lovers,” he said angrily, jabbing a finger in the middle of the spy’s chest. “Or my habits for that matter. You act like I’m going to gamble away The Prime or something!
Mirage glanced down at the offended finger but made no move to remove it. “You are a mech with an addictive personality and impulse control issues. Give me one good reason why I should trust you not to sell us all out?
“Because I have never been anything by loyal to the Autobots! I would NEVER commit treason and there is nothing the Cons could offer to buy me off!” Smokescreen snapped making a slashing movement with his hand to emphasize his point.
Mirage turned and paced away slowly. When he spoke his voice was thoughtful. “Most people don’t outright commit treason. All it takes is a whispered suggestion, and off-hand hint about sensitive information. A spy can squeeze more information out of you than any interrogator could ever dream of.”
“I’m not any other mech, Mirage. And considering that both Jazz and Neuron trust me, I would think a little bit of faith is in order here.”
Mirage shrugged indifferently. “If I were a Decepticon I could make you spill every one of your secrets without even trying.”
Smokescreen smiled and stepped in close to Mirage. “That sounds like a challenge to me...,” he said in a low, seductive voice.
“And that is precisely what I’m talking about, Smokescreen,” Mirage said with a sneer. “The second the opportunity presents itself you jump at the chance to take a bet or to whore yourself out. How long do you think you can keep this going before you let something slip?”
Smokescreen’s optics widened as if he had been slapped and he stepped back from the other mech.
“… frag you, Mirage …”
With that whispered curse Smokescreen turned and headed back into the second recharge chamber, shutting the door firmly behind him. As soon as the door was shut, he slid down the wall, burying his face in his hands.
Chapter 17
Fandom: Transformers: Generation One
Characters & Relationships: Smokescreen, Mirage, Jazz, Prowl, Ratchet, Bumblebee, Optimus Prime, Ultra Magnus, Red Alert, Ironhide, Perceptor, Wheeljack.
Jazz/Prowl, Wheeljack/Ratchet/Perceptor, mentions of Smokescreen/Swindle, Jazz/Mirage, Jazz/Smokescreen.
Rating: R
Warnings: graphic violence, dub-con, attempted rape, implication of bondage, mentions of rape, mentions of torture, reprogramming, tactile, spark-sex, plug-and-play
Summary: A year ago Jazz was captured by the Decepticons and reprogrammed into a walking time-bomb. Now that he has returned to the Autobots his new programming has kicked in and he has left chaos in his wake. It's up to Smokescreen and Mirage to find Jazz and bring him back to their side and back to sanity before he is completely lost. Meanwhile Prowl and Ultra Magnus try to keep Iacon from destroying itself as panic grips the populace, and as Prowl fights for his sanity after a year's separation from his bonded and the sure knowledge that Jazz may not survive.
Additional Author's Note: Please note that the above warnings are in full effect in this chapter. Please be aware.
Chapter 15
Chapter 16 on A03 or under the cut
The door to the room slid shut with the audible clicking of poorly maintained workings cutting Smokescreen and Jazz off from Mirage. With that the psychologist sat on the edge of the berth and he gently touched his patient’s arm.
“Jazz? It’s time to wake up, boss,” Smokescreen said soothingly. “Come on back to us. You’re safe and everything you’ve needed to do has been done. Come on back to us.”
He touched Jazz’s arm gently, stroking along the seams in what he had intended to be soothing. Jazz onlined his optics slightly and reached up to take Smokescreen’s hand, squeezing it lightly.
“What happened?” he asked, his voice slurred with a slight burr of static at the ends of the words.
“You’re safe now, Jazz. We’ve got you back to a safe house and you’re okay now,” Smokescreen replied, moving his free hand up to the saboteur’s helm. “Once you feel up to it, could you tell me what you remember?”
“I ... Uhm ...” Jazz faltered, his optics dimming slightly.
“It’s okay, Jazz,” Smokescreen said, running gentle fingers over the top of his patient’s helm, carefully avoiding those sensitive horns. “It’s okay. Take your time. You’re probably still a little fogged.”
“Yeah, yeah, it is a little,” Jazz replied, as he shifted a little closer to Smokescreen.
Smokescreen felt a slight warming as Jazz expanded his field, reaching out for comfort and familiarity. Smokescreen was more than happy to reciprocate if it meant that Jazz would relax and open up. He gently ran his hand in soothing circles over Jazz’s back, encouraging him to relax and remember what had happened to him. It wouldn’t be pretty, but if he could keep Jazz calm, Smokescreen would be able get some much needed answers.
“So,” Smokescreen said, moderating his voice carefully, “let’s start at the beginning, okay? Do you remember your last mission?”
Jazz tensed up slightly, his field shrinking in fear for a moment. Then Smokescreen purred his engine slightly and he felt Jazz relax and lean back against his chest.
“I, uhm … we were breaking into Darkmount,” Jazz said. “It was a pretty routine job actually. Should have been anyways. It wouldn’t be the first time that ‘Raj, Bee, an’ me were in there. But you know that already.”
“Yeah,” Smokescreen replied. Before he had been transferred out there had been talk of breaking into Darkmount. It was never a mission that he had been able to partake in. There were aspects of Special Ops that he had been good at, and ones that he hadn’t been, and infiltration had never been his best subject.
“Not sure, but I think someone sold us out,” Jazz said. “We got what we were after but …”
Again, Jazz seemed to shrink in on himself and he leaned further into Smokescreen until he was almost cuddling with the psychologist, clearly seeking comfort.
“It’s okay, Jazz,” Smokescreen replied, wrapping his arms around the saboteur. “It’s okay. We can take this slow. As slow as you want. I know that you’re going to need time. But Jazz, you and I, we need to debrief, and you need to get this out. You can’t heal if you keep it all bottled up.”
Jazz shivered but nodded. For a long moment he was silent, clinging to Smokescreen. When he finally spoke his voice was uncharacteristically small.
“We got what we were after but someone … The ‘Cons knew we were there. The let us get in. They let us take the data. And then when we thought we were out we … we …” Jazz’s fingers dug into Smokescreen’s arm spasmodically and he shivered violently.
This was a side of Jazz that the psychologist had never seen, and it worried him. For all of his party-bot attitude when he was off duty, Jazz was a rock. Nothing threw him, nothing phased him, and nothing ever reduced him to this kind of shivering, broken mess. At least not that Smokescreen had ever seen.
“It’s okay, Jazz, really,” he said, revving his engine again and doing everything he could to calm the other mech without resorting to more drastic measures. The last thing he wanted to do was sedate him.
“I don’t want to remember, love,” Jazz whimpered and he clutched. “I know I’ve got to, I know ya need me to, but I can’t … please don’t make me ...”
Smokescreen knew that there was a line and he was on it, coming dangerously close to crossing. Jazz wasn’t seeing the psychologist – possibly, he never had – and it was clear that he was speaking with Prowl, confessing to his bonded mate, not to Smokescreen. The problem was, this confusion was getting results. Jazz was starting to remember, and if a little confusion helped in that process, then was it really a bad thing?
“Jazz, we need you to tell us what happened. I know it’s hard, but we need that report,” Smokescreen said as he held Jazz close and rumbled his engine soothingly.
Jazz shuddered and then sighed as he nodded slightly. “… we got what we were after, we were leavin’ Darkmount when the ‘Cons jumped us. I told ‘Raj and Bee to run while I stayed behind to set up an explosion …”
“And they both got back to us. Thanks to you,” Smokescreen replied gently.
“It doesn’t matter. I’m back now. That’s all I want to remember.” Jazz twisted to look at Smokescreen and smiled. It was far too tender to be simple friendship.
“I need you to focus, Jazz. I can’t start to help you until I know what happened,” Smokescreen said, trying to be gentle and firm at the same time.
Jazz turned completely and looked at Smokescreen. He reached out with one hand and stroked the Praxian’s door, smirking as it pressed into his hand.
“I can think of a few things I’d like t’ focus on,” he said, his optics smouldering.
Smokescreen pulled away, careful to make it not come across as a rejection. “We can think about that later, Jazz. We’ve got other things we need to deal with now.”
“Oh come on, lover,” Jazz purred. “We’ve got all the time to talk, but right now I’ve got something else I want to remember.”
Smokescreen’s fans hitched as Jazz leaned in close, his hands stroking the edge of the doors. For the barest instant he was almost tempted to reciprocate. It would be so easy to give in, to let Jazz play out his hallucination and move on. After all, he knew from intimate experience just how good the saboteur could be, and right now he was pushing every single one of Smokescreen’s buttons. But that would be so horribly wrong and leave him with so many more pieces to pick up. He was better than his urges. He knew that.
“Jazz, this is a really bad idea. I’m not who you think I am,” the psychologist said, his vocalizer buzzing slightly with his own repressed tension and lust.
He placed his hands on his patient’s chest, gently trying to push him away. Unfortunately it had exactly the opposite effect.
“No need for the games,” Jazz whispered, his field reaching out and brushing over Smokescreen. “Though we can roleplay later, if ya want.”
“Jazz!” Smokescreen pushed Jazz to arm’s length. He needed to snap the saboteur out of this, and if he needed to be harsh, then so be it. “Stop it!”
“NO!” Jazz cried. “NO! I NEED you! Please, Prowl! I need you!”
Smokescreen was instantly pinned to the berth, Jazz kissing him with a desperate need.
Smokescreen bit back a cry as Jazz pressed in further, raw spark energy flowing from the saboteur and enveloping the psychologist.
“Jazz! Stop! I-” Smokescreen gasped as another sharp pulse was sent into his spark and it was all he could do to push the other mech away.
“… prowl … oh, prowl, I need ya! I need ya so much! Please! Don’t say no! I’m sorry! I just need this! I need you!” The words tumbled from Jazz’s lips in a fevered litany as he used all his skills and raw power to press Smokescreen to the berth and continue the forced interface.
Pain ripped through Smokescreen’s spark as his energy reacted to the assault and clashed with the foreign signature. Without conscious thought he lashed out, sending a harsh pulse into Jazz as he shoved at the saboteur again.
Jazz stumbled back momentarily as the unexpected display of aggression and it was the only window Smokescreen needed. He heaved his weight up and slammed Jazz off the berth and to the floor. He pulled back sharply but was stopped as Jazz’s hands closed on his wrists in an iron grip.
“No! You can’t leave me!” Jazz cried out as he pulled Smokescreen close, clasping one hand around the back of his head and capturing the Praxian’s mouth in a searing kiss.
The fight, the spark energy, the kiss, and the fact that Smokescreen was already revved from the earlier touches were leaving the Praxian weak and losing the fight. Without intending to, he leaned into Jazz as his reserves started to give out on him.
Neither mech heard Mirage enter the room, but they both heard the cry of outrage as he descended on them.
“What the frag do you think you’re doing?” he roared as he grabbed hold of Smokescreen and tossed the mech aside in a perfectly executed flip.
Smokescreen cried out in pain as the tenuous connection was forcibly broken. He landed hard against the berth, his hand instantly coming up to cover his chest above his spark chamber. Mirage spun on him with a growl.
“I knew you had no morals, but how could you! How could you take advantage like that?!” Mirage demanded. He never saw Jazz descend on him.
“No! You will NOT take him away from me! He’s MY PROWL!” Jazz screamed as he attacked Mirage.
The spy was thrown to the ground as Jazz landed on his back, fists slamming into his sides with the force of a pile driver. His attack was wild, but he wasn’t holding back and it was all Mirage could do to hold him off. And not harm his commander.
“Jazz! Stop!” Mirage growled as he tried to grab his commander’s wrists. “Stop! We’re not a threat to you!”
“No! I won’t lose him again! You can’t take him from me!” Jazz slammed his fists into Mirage’s nosecone, knowing exactly where to hit in order to do the most damage possible.
Smokescreen lurched to his feet and tackled Jazz from the side, rolling him away from Mirage and pinning him to the plating.
“Prowl!” Jazz shrieked as Smokescreen slapped a pair of vibrocuffs around the saboteur’s wrists. “Please! Prowl!”
Without a word Smokescreen pressed his fingers against Jazz’s neck, just below his helm and slipped a sedation stick into the exposed port.
“Shhh … calm down, Jazz. Calm down and we’ll help you. We’ll bring you back to Prowl. I promise,” Smokescreen whispered.
Jazz’s struggles weakened until he was reduced to a shivering, whimpering mass on the plating.
“Now I only owe you one, Mirage,” Smokescreen said in a breathless murmur as he continued to lay across Jazz’s back, pinning the saboteur to the floor.
Mirage’s optics never left the vibrocuffs, curiosity warring with a deeply felt offense warring on his faceplates.
“Where did you get those?” Mirage asked then suddenly he raised his hand and shook his head. “No, never mind. I do not want to know.”
Without another word, he less-than-gently nudged Smokescreen out of the way and helped Jazz to his feet.
“It’s okay, Jazz,” Mirage whispered as he helped his commander onto the berth. “Everything will be all right.”
Smokescreen rolled to his feet and leaned against the wall, one hand rubbing his chest.
“That sedative will have him out for the next several groon,” he said. “By then he’ll have calmed and we’ll be able to start over.”
Mirage removed the vibrocuffs from his commander’s wrists and replaced them with a normal pair.
“I’m sorry about this,” he murmured as he laid a hand on Jazz’s helm. “You’ll be fine, but this is for your own good. We can’t have you freaking out on us, right?”
“He’ll be fine, Raj,” Smokescreen said.
Mirage turned on the psychologist and instantly took in his state. His paint was smeared with streaks of black, his engine was running high, his vents straining, and his optics were off-colour. And he kept rubbing his chest. Right above his spark chamber. Instantly he knew what had happened, but he didn’t – he couldn’t – believe that his commander was capable of such a thing. There was more going on and Smokescreen’s lack of ethics were at the core of it.
“Out!” he demanded, pointing at the door. “I will not discuss your actions in front of Jazz.”
“My actions?” Smokescreen asked, his voice a low and angry growl. “And what exactly do you think it is that I did? Other than save your aft.”
“I said out,” Mirage growled.
There was a momentary stand-off, neither mech willing to back down, both sizing the other up. Finally, Smokescreen turned and stored out of the room and into the main living area. As soon as the door hissed shut behind Mirage, Smokescreen turned on him.
“Why, precisely, is it that you hate me so much? What in the pit have I ever done to you?” Smokescreen demanded in a low hiss.
“Aside from selling us out to the Cons when we had the Combaticons captured?” Mirage’s tone was a sneer that held nothing but contempt for the psychologist.
Smokescreen glared at Mirage, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “A, I never sold anyone out! And B, you hated me from the moment I joined the Bots so don’t you dare hide behind an imagined sin!”
“Then let me rephrase,” Mirage replied, ignoring the flash of anger. “I don’t trust Decepticons or those who associate with them.”
“Associate with Cons?!” Smokescreen’s voice rose to an angry pitch.
Mirage hissed and glanced at the recharge room door.
“I have never associated with Cons save for the one time you people insisted on sticking me in a room with one! Against my advice I might add!” Smokescreen continued in a lower voice.
“ And yet, when you were locked in that room I seem to recall you getting awfully close to said ‘Con.” A smirk ghosted across Mirage’s face, his entire being radiating arrogance.
Smokescreen huffed in irritation, turning away from the spy. “I broke up with him when they joined that maniac. I joined the Autobots shortly after, and the only Con I have ever had associations with is stuck in a fraggin’ MIND PRISON!” Smokescreen’s voice broke as he was overcome with emotion before he could control himself.
“And that’s why I don’t trust you,” Mirage said simply. “Your judgment is compromised. Just look at who your friends and lovers are. Look at what your habits are.”
Smokescreen spun back to face Mirage. “You know nothing of my friends or my lovers,” he said angrily, jabbing a finger in the middle of the spy’s chest. “Or my habits for that matter. You act like I’m going to gamble away The Prime or something!
Mirage glanced down at the offended finger but made no move to remove it. “You are a mech with an addictive personality and impulse control issues. Give me one good reason why I should trust you not to sell us all out?
“Because I have never been anything by loyal to the Autobots! I would NEVER commit treason and there is nothing the Cons could offer to buy me off!” Smokescreen snapped making a slashing movement with his hand to emphasize his point.
Mirage turned and paced away slowly. When he spoke his voice was thoughtful. “Most people don’t outright commit treason. All it takes is a whispered suggestion, and off-hand hint about sensitive information. A spy can squeeze more information out of you than any interrogator could ever dream of.”
“I’m not any other mech, Mirage. And considering that both Jazz and Neuron trust me, I would think a little bit of faith is in order here.”
Mirage shrugged indifferently. “If I were a Decepticon I could make you spill every one of your secrets without even trying.”
Smokescreen smiled and stepped in close to Mirage. “That sounds like a challenge to me...,” he said in a low, seductive voice.
“And that is precisely what I’m talking about, Smokescreen,” Mirage said with a sneer. “The second the opportunity presents itself you jump at the chance to take a bet or to whore yourself out. How long do you think you can keep this going before you let something slip?”
Smokescreen’s optics widened as if he had been slapped and he stepped back from the other mech.
“… frag you, Mirage …”
With that whispered curse Smokescreen turned and headed back into the second recharge chamber, shutting the door firmly behind him. As soon as the door was shut, he slid down the wall, burying his face in his hands.
Chapter 17