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Only Mostly Dead	By : sefiru Category: S through Z > Transformers (Movie Only) > Transformers (Movie Only) Views: 2200 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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Only Mostly Dead

By Sefiru

Happy Valentine’s Day, all! Thanks to everyone who read “Optimus Prime’s Hobby”; this one is a bit more serious, and also not dashed off in five minutes before class. This is a Jazz-is-dead fic, but take heart – my long-time readers know that I Do Not Do Darkfics. Enjoy.

Summary: Movieverse – when Prowl arrives on Earth, someone has to tell him his spark mate is dead …

Pairing: Prowl/Jazz

Ratings: R, M/M, Angst, WAFF

Disclaimer: I don’t own Transformers and I make no money on this.

***

Only Mostly Dead

***

     Sam Witwicky’s day began with the shriek of his alarm clock and Mojo’s piercing yipping. As always, Sam rolled out of bed, turned of the one and chased out the other; then he went to the window and opened it. “Morning, Bumblebee.” The Camaro< blinked his interior light in silent response. He located a reasonably clean set of clothes and pulled them on, then headed downstairs for breakfast.

     Thank God his parents were so oblivious. He’d had to do some fast talking to explain how Bee was suddenly an 09 model instead of a 77 – he’d spun his dad a bullshit yarn about a rich collector who offered a trade “and he even threw in the custom paint job” … and his dad had bought it. His mom just assumed that any suspicious behavior on his part had to do with Mikaela< (she was half right). And he’d only thought having his mom ask him about the M-word was the most embarrassing event of his life. Her buying him a box of condoms was much, much worse.

      He fed Mojo and grabbed his school bag, ready for an interminable Friday of classes. As he walked around the side of the house, staying off the mathematically-level grass, Bumblebee swung his driver-side door open. His engine turned over as Sam climbed in, and in moments they were on the street. “Did you have a good night’s rest, Sam?”

      “Sure did. How about you?”

      “Yes.” The Autobots didn’t sleep, exactly, but they did have a kind of dormant maintenance mode. Close enough. “Is Mikaela joining us this afternoon?”

      “Probably.” Sam leaned his hands lightly on Bee’s steering wheel to give the illusion that he was the one driving. Over the last couple of months the two of them had become close friends; Bee reminded him of a cool older cousin who knew all the moves and was willing to share them. Kind of funny, since he was literally older than the Pyramids. The short drive to school every morning gave them a chance for private conversation. “Any news from the other Autobots?”

       “As a matter of fact, another of our teams has made contact. They’re near Earth and plan to land tomorrow night.”

       “Cool!” Sam tilted his head. “But you don’t sound that cheerful about it.”

       “Prowl is with them; he was Jazz’s spark mate.”

       “Oh.” If a spark was like a soul, that would make them … really close. He knew the Autobots didn’t really have genders, but they did have the sense of touch. If they could feel pain, they could probably feel pleasure – did Autobots marry? He winced in sympathy. “And someone’s going to have to tell him …”

       “Yes. It’s said that spark mates feel what the other feels, but … No doubt Prime will take it on himself.”

       Sam heaved a sigh. “Prime takes everything so damn seriously. I mean, that can’t be good for him. I gotta find a way to at least make him crack a smile.”

       Bee mirrored the sigh as he pulled into the school parking lot. “May it be so, Sam. I don’t think Optimus has smiled in centuries.” He chose a spot that would be in the sun all day, and parked. Sam gave him one last pat on the dashboard as he got out.

      “Take it easy, okay? And I’d better not catch you listening to Michael Bolton again.”

      “Of course. I’ll find a musician that annoys you even more.”

      Sam snorted, but he felt better knowing that Bumblebee wouldn’t mope. Finding something worse than Michael Bolton would probably keep him busy all day! Sam used to be worried that Bee would get bored sitting in the school lot for hours on end, but it turned out the Camaro was perfectly content to do nothing but catch the rays, listen to the radio and be at peace. He’d had little enough of that in his long life.

       Mikaela was already at her desk in first period English, skimming the portion of The Great Gatsby they were supposed to have read for today. She glanced up at him. “Hi, Sam.”

      “Hi.” He started pulling materials out of his bag and stacking them on his desk. “Some of my friends are going to drop in tomorrow; want to come along?”

      “Wouldn’t miss it,” she replied with a grin. Her talent with cars had turned into an outright fascination with the Autobots; she was even learning robot first aid from Ratchet. Other classmates began to filter in; Sam settled into his routine of half-listening to the teacher, watching Mikaela from the corner of his eye, and ignoring the class jocks. That knuckle-dragger Trent still hadn’t noticed that Mikaela had dumped him; Sam would love to be a fly on the wall when he did. The end of the day eventually came, and he strolled out in the wake of the stampede for the exits. Mikaela ‘coincidentally’ walked up beside him, and followed him to Bumblebee’s spot. “Hey Bee, how’s it going?”

      “Fine, Mikaela. And Sam?”

      “Yeah?”

      The Camaro’s radio clicked on. “Never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down …”

       “Gyaaa!”

***

      Saturday rolled around, and Sam’s father roped him into tweezing crab grass from his immaculate lawn. This did not improve the state of his nerves. More Autobots were coming – the first such arrival since Optimus put out the call. There were messages on his phone from just about everyone in the know; mmaggie and banachek and even jkeller. The Secretary of freaking Defense was sending him text messages, and he was supposed to care about pulling weeds? He managed to escape after lunch; he and Bee picked up Mikaela, then went hunting for vehicle modes for the new arrivals. It was a bit like buying clothes for someone he didn’t know.

       “We need something unobtrusive for Prowl,” Bee was saying.

       “He’s not the sporty type, huh?”

       “Not at all. Which is odd, considering …” considering what Jazz was like.

       “Yeah.” He briefly touched the Camaro’s door panel. “So something really ordinary-looking, huh? Like a Datsun. Do they even still make Datsuns?”

       “Technically, no,” Mikaela put in. “But let’s swing by the Nissan lot.”

       After a few hours of this, Bee had a fair selection scanned into memory: a nice Nissan SUV, a jeep, and a couple of sports cars. The colours, Bee explained, were a function of the bots’ self-repairing armor, and would be chosen by each Autobot for himself. They stopped at a supermarket to buy some cole slaw and soda, and then headed out of town. Their destination was an old gravel pit about half an hour away, which was officially owned by the nonexistent Sumdac Systems. The large open pit, out of sight of the highway, made a suitable drop zone – or firing range, depending – for the Autobots, and the equipment sheds were easily converted into Ratchet’s workshop. When Bumblebee approached the gate, it recognized his transponder signal and slid aside on its own.

      They were the last ones to arrive, and it looked like every human who knew the secret was there. Each of the Autobots had adopted one or more human companions; Bumblebee had Sam and Mikaela, Ironhide had Captain Lennox, and Ratchet had developed a professional relationship with that Sector Seven dude Banachek. Optimus Prime had taken up with Simmons, of all people, and had amazingly managed to cure him of being an asshole. Well, driving around the country in the sole company of a million-year-old, thirty-foot-tall alien robot commanding officer would take anyone down a notch or two. He also, it turned out, played a decent saxophone.

      Simmons was perched on a folding chair on the building’s roof with his sax, playing a rendition of Rhapsody In Blue. Nearby, Optimus Prime sat on a rocky outcrop in robot mode, listening and watching the human activity at his feet. Captain Lennox was setting up a gas barbecue, while his wife (who had figured out what Ironhide was almost immediately) sliced watermelon, and their daughter played in a sandbox that Ratchet had put together. Ironhide himself was nowhere to be seen, but the noise of his fusion cannons echoed from further down the quarry. The other marines were doing some work on the second building which involved a lot of banging and cursing; their perfectly ordinary jeep was parked in a back corner beside Secretary Keller’s car. Keller was talking to Banachek and Maggie Madsen over beer. And Glen was, as usual, stuffing his face. Ratchet came out of his workshop at the sound of Bumblebee’s engine.

       “Did you get the scans, Bee?”

       “I have them. Though I had to overwrite my episodes of Knight Rider to fit them in.”

       Sam laughed as he and Mikaela climbed out. “Bee, you have the weirdest taste.”

       The Camaro transformed and gave an eloquent shrug. “It’s about a talking car; what’s not to like?” Sam just shook his head. Sometimes he wasn’t sure if Bumblebee was pulling his leg or not. After that, Bee went to download the vehicle scans into Ratchet’s medical computer, and Mikaela went with him to ply Ratchet with questions. Sam went to help the Lennoxes set up dinner. A few minutes later, Bumblebee came out to speak to Optimus Prime. Sam walked up in time to hear Prime say, “There is no harm in enjoying the respite that has been granted to us. Who knows how long it will last.”

       Bumblebee nodded seriously as Sam clambered up onto the rock. The Autobot leader looked somber even for him. “Are you okay, Optimus?”

       “Well enough, Sam. I am merely worried about Prowl.”

       “Yeah.” Sam shuffled his feet. “Just – we’re all here for you. Or him. I mean – ”

       Prime’s expression lightened slightly. Not quite a smile, just a lift of his ‘eyebrows’, but the closest he’d come to it so far. “Thank you, Sam.” He held out his hand, palm up; Sam stepped onto it, and Prime lowered him gently to the ground. “You should get something to eat. They won’t be landing for a few hours.”

       “Okay.” The barbecue was under way: steak, burgers, franks and (courtesy of that Figueroa guy) gator chops. Sam loaded up a plate and found a spot on the tarp the Marines had laid out; they were debating whether any of them would get adopted by the new arrivals. The girls had formed their own group around a dented card table, with Bumblebee sitting next to them. They seemed to be discussing movies. Simmons came down from the roof to grab a bite and made small talk with his former boss. And the whole time Optimus sat watching them, silent, occasionally glancing at the hole in the cliff wall where Jazz’s body lay. The gator chops tasted like chicken.

       It was around eight o’clock when Optimus stood up and turned to face the west. Ironhide’s guns fell silent and he appeared to stand next to his commander. Ratchet and Bumblebee also joined them. The humans, realizing the landing was at hand, climbed onto whatever vantage points they could find. Sam couldn’t see anything yet, but he figured the Autobots’ thermal sensors or something could see their friends just fine. A few minutes later he spotted a point of light in the sky, which rapidly grew into a quartet of fireballs. FOOM! FOOM! FOOM! FOOM! They slammed to the ground one after another.

       “Took them long enough,” muttered Simmons. “Did they go sightseeing on the – ”

       “Simmons.” Prime’s tone was utterly neutral, but the former agent closed his jaw with a snap. Yeah, he was whipped. Ratchet checked a readout on his arm and nodded; the alt-mode and language data was downloading as planned. Soon afterwards, the towering forms of the new Autobots emerged from the torn-up landscape. Sam could just make out which one had chosen which car model; the Nissan in two-toned white and navy, the Mustang in red and white, the Subaru in silver-blue, and the Jeep in military green. Optimus took a step forward. “Prowl. Wheeljack. Bluestreak. Hound. Welcome to Earth.”

      The one wearing the Nissan came forward to meet him; this had to be Prowl. “Prime.” He gave his commander a nod. “Take me to Jazz’s body.”

      That was … harsh. Optimus bent his head. “It’s not pretty, Prowl.”

      “Take me to him. I don’t care that Megatron ripped him in half.” Wait, how did he know that?

      Prime flinched minutely. “You felt that much detail.”

      “Optimus.” Something in Prowl’s voice made Prime turn back towards him. “That’s not all.” He hooked his fingers in the center seam of his chest plating and pulled the halves apart to reveal his spark chamber …

     … where there were quite clearly two sparks dancing around each other.

     “No way,” Sam whispered half to himself. Optimus rocked back on his heels, and there was a general murmur of shock.

     “That’s Jazz?” Mikaela asked in an undertone.

     “I guess so.”

     “Ratchet, put him back together,” Prowl cut through the noise. “We’ll be waiting.”

     “I won’t rest until it’s done,” the medic declared.

     “I’ll help,” Mikaela added.

     “Me too,” said Sam, although he didn’t really have an idea how.

     “Indeed,” said Optimus, “All our resources are at your disposal, Ratchet.”

***

     Over the next week, Ratchet worked without pause to put Jazz’s broken body back together. Wheeljack, who was also a medic, assisted him, and Mikaela was right beside them, shamelessly skipping school. Sam wished he could get away with that. He spent as much of his evenings as he could at the workshop, often just fetching and carrying for the mechanics; more often than not, Prowl stood in the corner watching them like some two-toned metal gargoyle. Outside the shop, Optimus Prime stood guard, virtually daring anyone human or robot to get past him. The only times Prowl went out of the building were to speak with him, conversations that were close enough for Sam to overhear. Like the one about the battle in Mission City:

       “You were going to do what, Optimus? I don’t know whether to salute you or smack you.”

       “If you’d like to …” CLANG. “Nice shot, Prowl.” The two of them obviously knew each other well.

       A strange energy came over the Autobots as the work went on. Bluestreak and Hound, between exploring the area in their new vehicle modes, set to work turning the gravel pit into a fully secure and equipped base, while Ironhide and Bumblebee made runs to gather supplies – sometimes with Optimus to haul a really big load. It was as if they just couldn’t stand still, and if they couldn’t help with Jazz directly, they had to be building something. As Bee put it, “We’ve all spent too much time destroying things.” Luckily, most of the materials Ratchet needed were easy to find on Earth, and Secretary Keller was able to help with the more exotic stuff.

     After nearly ten days of round-the-clock effort, Ratchet’s task was close to complete. All of the Autobots, along with Sam and Mikaela, lingered around the workshop, listening for any sound of progress. Ratchet complained about working while everyone hovered over his workbench, but he didn’t try to chase them out. Jazz’s body was laid out on that bench; it looked brand new, almost as if it had never been damaged, though its paint was a lifeless grey. Finally, Ratchet told Prowl to stand beside the bench. “This had better work,” he said, and threw a switch.

       At first nothing seemed to happen. Then Sam heard a faint sound, a rising whine like a turbine winding up. The Autobots’ heads all turned towards the inert body. Then there was an electric crackle and Prowl grunted, clutching his chest plate as blue light shone around its edges. The light pulsed and seemed to jump into Jazz’s body; a pale blue sparkle spread outward from his spark chamber, leaving bright silver paint in its wake. And then his engine rumbled to life, and his optics lit up. “Yo, Prowl, ya made it.” Jazz sat up on the workbench, looking none the worse for wear. “Wassa matter, y’all look like you seen a ghost.”

       “You almost were a ghost,” Ratchet pointed out.

       Optimus simply said, “It’s good to have you back, Jazz.” There was a world of emotion in his voice. All the Autobots reacted in their own ways; Bumblebee was practically dancing in place, Ratchet and Wheeljack slapped each other’s shoulders, and Bluestreak muttered at length into Hound’s audio receptors. Ironhide’s fusion cannons glowed hot.

      “Scuse me a minute.” The weapons tech stepped out of the workshop, and a moment later there was a raucous bellow that needed no translation, accompanied by the sound of cannons fired into the air. Sam couldn’t help but grin.

      “I guess this means we won,” Jazz said, standing up and shaking out his limbs. Prowl was silent, staring at the silver bot like some predatory animal.

      “Yes,” Prime said. “But talk of business can wait for one day. Take this time to enjoy your reunion.”

     Ratchet said, “Let me do a quick scan to make sure everything is working right.” The other Autobots took this as a signal to exit the building; Sam and Mikaela trailed after them. As soon as Bumblebee had room to move, he was literally dancing – the tune playing on his radio was, inevitably, Staying Alive. Sam just shook his head. Hound and Ironhide had found canisters of kerosene, and banged them together in a toast; Wheeljack and Bluestreak went to vehicle mode and ran circles around the base buildings. Sam had never seen the Autobots celebrate like this, not even after Mission City. But then, that had been more like just an ending, and not really a success.

     Ratchet emerged from the workshop and carefully shut the door behind him. From within there was a muffled clang, as if, say, a robot had been pushed down onto his back. “What are they doing in there?” Sam wondered.

     Mikaela gave him a sideways smirk. “I have a few ideas.”

     “Uh, maybe we can go somewhere so you can demonstrate …” As Mikaela led him off, Sam looked up. Optimus Prime was smiling.

***

+ After all, why should Optimus be the only one who comes back from the dead?

+ Prowl’s alt mode is a Nissan Marano SUV; you can see a picture at my blog, sefiru.wordpress.com. Too bad this will never be canon, thanks to the deal with GM.

+ I know, Rhapsody in Blue features a clarinet, not a saxophone. Simmons is just weird.

+ Why’d I stick Simmons with Optimus? The ‘tude and size difference kind of remind me of a Chihuahua. Yep – Optimus made Simmons his bitch. (however, I’m not going to ship them. Yech.)

+ I may continue this storyline sometime. No promises on when, though.
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Only Mostly Dead