Chapter Text
Their detention time ended but their dispute did not. They kept a contrary silence in their cell and refused to talk to each other while being lead through the corridor of the police department to the dispatch office.
-”I still do not understand how succeeding in this project could be detrimental to your career.” Prowl finally whispered at Jazz, annoyance still present in his voice.
-”Figures, it’s because ye’r a twit. It’s not ya fault though, ’s a chronic condition.” Jazz had lapsed back into his accent and attitude, though Prowl doubted Jazz ever came out of his attitude.
-”So you would rather never perform again than work with me?” Prowl’s tone was almost hurt, not like he was seeking approval but there certainly was something to be gained from this arrangement and he could not wrap his mind around why Jazz was so opposed to it.
-”I lay low, mecha forget and after a while I’m back again.”
-”Like a bad disease.” Prowl muttered.
-”Either way, It’s not a big one fer me. Your cushy life might suffer though.” Jazz tipped his helm in Prowl’s direction without actually looking at him. -"All those arrangements on you being a good little mechling while playing outside Praxus or you'd be left without credits."
This made Prowl stop in his tracks and the guard following the pair had to push him ahead to make him keep walking. -”You may be right on the superficial aspect of my situation but I would not refer to my style of life as cushy. It takes considerable effort to get where I am consideering the competition for such an arrangement.”
Jazz actually choked on his air intake and turned to properly look at Prowl this time. His expression somewhere between a scowl and bewilderment.
This time Prowl could not hold his gaze. -”You were not wrong...when you put an analogy of me being spark-bonded to it.”
The look on the other musician’s face now was inscrutably neutral, the usually pouty lips drawn in a straight, visor betraying nothing.
-”Ah’m still not feelin’ sorry for ya.”
-”Nor do I want your sympathy.”
Before being officially discharged both musicians were given back their belongings that they had stored in subspace on the night they had been detained.
Prowl had a few tuning instruments stored carefully in their case for his now broken theremin, he hesitated before taking them, wincing as if touching them burnt; a steelsilk mesh and a small jar with a tiny crystal seed inside.
Jazz’s subspace content was far more colorful and copious. At least a handful of bearings clattered from the containment box and onto the desk, and then to the floor with Jazz diving under the desk to catch them as they rolled in all directions. Among a set of cranks lay a longish metal chain the purpose of which was yet to be determined, a tub of grease, a camertone half-splattered in spray paint, the list went on...
The officer who discharged them informed them that this detention went on their record.
Jazz snorted. -”Ah’ll place that ‘un next ta the others.” Prowl winced at this and shifted a bit away from the other musician as if their proximity would somehow transfer some of Jazz’s offenses to him.
Smokescreen and Mirage were already waiting for them.
The moment their comm-lines were re-enabled Prowl was met by a barrage of notifications starting from his fans to management to, most embarrassingly, a note from his former instructor. To see his pupil like this must have broken the poor mech’s spark.
What would his guild think of him? His progenitors must be so ashamed of him now and….a loud whistle interrupted his thoughts.
-”Pit what didya say ah did?!”
Jazz was half laughing, half swearing partially draped over his noble agent who was trying to extricate himself from the musician’s overly affectionate grasp in a same way one would try prying off a piece of contaminated mesh.
There was more banter ongoing between Jazz and ‘Raj’ but he chose to ignore it in favour of approaching Smokescreen.
-”You look like you have gone through a grinder.”
-”For all intents and purposes I feel like that too, but we are not at the end of it yet, are we?”
Smokescreen gave Prowl an apologetic look. -”You did stir up quite a commotion.”
-”Tabloids, right?” Prowl vented, doorwings drooping. He had worked so hard to avoid them but it seems they were finally coming for him. -”Are you sure there is nothing you can do?”
-”The prime made his offer public. I mean there is very little else happening now to drive attention from that.”
Prowl huffed. -”I almost wish there was…anything, like an armed confrontation happening somewhere to take away from this.”
-”Surely a war cannot be a tradeoff for some yellow press.” Smokescreen chuckled goodnaturedly.
-”I know, it’s foolish but…” how did one explain reasons for effectively running away from home in the form of extended musical career tour?
-”It’s not that bad, really. As long as you do not give them anything to work with you’re good.”
-”Yeah… are they.” The next words died in Prowl’s intake as his attention was drawn to the commotion on the other side of the room. -”Is Jazz trying to strangle his agent with his own scarf?”
Both Praxians ran towards the struggling pair, pulling the both mechs apart. Jazz clearly the more agitated of the two.
-”Ah can’t believe ya did that ta meh!!!”
-”I cannot believe you Still think you have any say in this matter!” Mirage shot back, pointing at Jazz even as he was still tugging on Mirage’s fashionable scarf as if it was a leash.
Smokescreen held back Mirage while Prowl put Jazz in an arm lock, taking the end of the scarf out of his hand.
-”Lemme go, lemmego, lemmegolemmegolemmego!” Jazz howled, effectively drawing the attention of the nearby guards.
-”I will when you stop behaving like a rabid turbofox. What’s wrong with you two?”
Jazz was not volunteering any information, tight-lipped and seething. Frustrated, Prowl looked at Smokescreen for advice, his agent was just as lost.
-”I agreed to the arrangement on Jazz’s behalf.” Mirage spoke up while dusting off invisible specks of dirt off his armor. -”He may sound like he does not care but ignoring Prime’s offer is a professional suicide.”
-”Ya fraggin traitor!” Jazz had found his voice and strained in Prowl’s grip, baring his denta as he spoke. -”How dare ya! After all we’ve been through, Ya slaggin’ piece of scrap metal!”
The praxians looked at eachother. That violated the agent-client agreement on several levels but that was only for the type of agreement they had. Who knew what those two had agreed on.
-”Shall we leave you two to discuss matters?”
-”Nay, we’re pretty much done.” Jazz had regained his composure and unceremoniously yanked his arms out of Prowl’s now lax hold. -”Where’s exit, ah wanna get outta this dump.”
Mirage released a vent he’d been holding and the praxians exchanged the wing twitches. Prowl chose not to comment on Jazz’s apparenly lacking sense of propriety in favour of avoiding another of Jazz’s outbursts so close in time to each other. He was not sure he had enough patience in him to just let it go the second time that day. Moreover when he was about to face another unpleasantness so soon.
Before exit from the police station they both paused, flanked by Mirage and Smokescreen. Prowl addressed Jazz then.
-”Just try to behave? It’s likely that we will see some journalists out there.”
Jazz looked at Prowl, trying to suppress laughter and after a clearing of his intake, he finally managed a sarcastic. -”Yea, there Might be somemech.”
They were greeted by the media outside, and a good crowd of them, too. Prowl drew his doorwings back, straightening his strut with the motion. His vents drew in air as he steadied himself whilst Jazz’s frame seemed to loosen up, in a way one relaxed in martial arts when readying for combat. And the interrogations started as they slowly made their way to their transport.
-“Is it true you have been hired to compose a piece together?” Prowl ignored that and surprisingly, so did Jazz.
-“Who is your mysterious benefactor?” Their benefactor was already public knowledge, Mirage informed the reporter.
-“What about the Pride of Praxus?” Smokescreen answered that; Prowl did not hear what it was, but he was sure his agent would me much more eloquent about the topic than Prowl would have been.
-“Have you set our milestones yet?” This one Prowl picked up because if anything, he was good at conveying that type of information and he assured them that it’s being worked on.
Few more steps and they would board their transport, almost out of the danger zone when someone asked.
-“What is the due day of the concerto?”
Something dangerously close to malicious glee flashed on Jazz’s face and he turned around, winking at the reporters. Pulling Prowl, who’d been trying to get to their transport and out of sight as soon as possible, into a twirl and then a dip.
-“Y’all will be informed first ‘bout our date.”
Prowl frowned both at being handled and the double-entendre of what had just been said. Jazz’s smile was meant for the cameras, he basked in the limelight of flashes and then turned to face the mech who by now had started trying to extricate himself from the convoluted position.
He looked the praxian in the optic with a sly smirk -”Stop wriggling or ah’ll drop ya on yer pretteh wings.”
-”What the F..” The rest of Prowl’s words were swallowed when Jazz swooped down to kiss him right on the lips.
At least a dozen or photo flares went off immediately, making dots dance in Prowl’s visual feed.
-“The Pit you’re doing?” Prowl hissed, and yelped when he was pulled into the transport, the automatic door closing immediately after him.
Jazz sprawled in his seat with an air of accomplishment -“Welcome ta showbiz doll.”