Chapter Text
Jazz surreptitiously peeked at Soundwave. The Porsche could eyeball anyone on the sly. He could sly on the sly. Rocked back in his seat at the World's Boringest Meeting (breem 137), the spy covertly studied the Decepticon Third-in-Command. Specifically his chest. Specifically specifically the transparent panel of his dock, bare now of brand and slightly bowed.
It wasn't obvious. Jazz had walked past Soundwave in the hall before the scheduled tedium and he hadn't noticed anything. Not anything he could put shanix on. Maybe there was a little more heat from the Host but warframes ran hot. Maybe possibly Tall, Dark, and Silent was a little hotter (so shiny!). Jazz was definitely not going to share that observation with anyone.
So he was reduced to sneaking looks out of the side of his visor at the mech across the table. Posture upright. Datapads ordered and stacked. Light-pen unchewed. Soundwave might actually be listening to Ultra Magnus drone on about armistice protocols. Or at least doing a better job at faking it than most of them stuck in the meeting.
Jazz contemplated. The blue boombox was a 'Con loyalist, the loyalest loyalist in the optics of most mecha on either side of the conflict. One of the last of the Old Guard. Had anyone been asked, well out of the Host's impressive hearing, for whom he popped his panels, the consensus answer would be 'Megatron' or 'no bot because he was conjunxed to the Cause'.
Sensible sapients did not speculate on the sire(s) of his many cassettes.
Though rumour had it Soundwave:
1. Kindled with only the most fanatical Decepticons, to ensure the zeal of his symbionts
2. Devoured the brain modules of the transfluid donors mid-interface; and/or
3. Sacrificed his partners to Unicron
Several Autobots had suggested when deep in their engex that Soundwave carved shards off his own spark as they couldn't imagine anyone so cold and ruthless baring his innermost self to anyone. That would also explain why the little guys were so erratic. Honestly, Frenzy crash-tackled mecha three times his size!
Of course, cassettes were quite different from sparklings. You could build a cassette or at least reformat someone into one. But Jazz was looking at Soundwave's chest and he wasn't thinking of pint-sized menaces stuffed in there like Pandora's box. Autobot Intelligence wasn't entirely sure how many deployers the Cons had. Soundwave was the mech equivalent of a mad cat lady 'cause he collected any that showed up.
Perhaps shoving a dozen of them in your chest might make your dock bulge. The spy didn't doubt that if he asked his currently-not-enemy what was up with that warm feeling in his field, the answer would be silence. Yeah, they had a truce but some questions were personal. Shoot-you-in-the-face personal.
On the other servo, Jazz really really wanted to know 'cause if the 3IC was carrying then there was zero zip nada chance Megatron would start the war up again soon. Particularly if he had helped Soundwave kindle.
The spy shifted his side-eye to the Slagmaker and contemplated some more. Personally, he knew a lot about who was clanging who among the Decepticons. If he compared notes with Mirage and rummaged through the Spec Ops archives, Jazz was confident he could plot the whole web of bonking. Megs went for Seekers and speedsters; partners that revved high. He liked passion in the berth.
So maybe not. But that was for recreation not procreation. Even if you weren't there for contributions, you needed to share sparks to ignite. A carrier could get by with supplements or other code donors. If they were trying to a specific frame-type or coding, avoiding transfluid might even be advantageous. Could Hosts bud?
“Hey, Ratch.” Jazz leaned to his right to interrupt the CMO's consideration of a journal article on the Complications of In Situ Prosthetic Modification with Emphasis on Therapeutic Remediation. It looked gruesome. The medic was making marginal notes, most of which were 'what the frag'. Jazz felt safe interrupting. “If you wanted to have a sparkling without cracking your chest, could you do it?”
“You couldn't. Don't try to get out of this meeting by claiming you're going into emergence.” Ratchet muttered, putting his datapad down for a moment to look at Ultra Magnus to demonstrate he was paying attention before turning his helm to glare at Jazz. “If this is a serious question, yes, in theory a mech might be able to self-ignite but not every frame-type can.” Experience and natural suspicion prompted him to add. “Why are you asking?”
“Look at Soundwave.” The spy kept his vocalizer low. If he'd wanted to ensure the conversation was private, he could have used encrypted comms but that would have planted a big red flag and caught the 'Con Communication Officer's attention. Two Autobots whispering while pretending to listen to Ultra Monotonous was unremarkable. Jazz was pretty sure Ironhide and Hoist were playing Hangman.
Ratchet looked at Soundwave. He didn't need to stare. Finely honed medical sensors told him a lot at a glance. Passive scans only as the Decepticon would notice anything active. The ambulance frowned and to Jazz's intense frustration (and thwarted curiosity) moved for an adjournment without actually spilling the beans.
The spy shadowed the ambulance as he ambushed Soundwave in the corridor with the fearsome cry of 'I want to see you in the medbay now'. A dozen veteran soldiers froze at that yell, looked at each other then Ratchet then scattered. Soundwave was not among them for he had received the Appointment Ping of Doom.
“Maintenance not required.” He had the spinal fortitude to resist the CMO.
“The frag it isn't.” Ratchet's prodding digit stopped just short of the Host's chest. “You know why you want to make sure everything is optimal. You also know why my medbay is the best place for that to happen because you and I both know Hook doesn't know about this.” He wagged the finger under Soundwave's olfactory when he made to protest. “I know you know I am right. Medbay now.”
And they went.
And Ratchet locked the medbay doors to ensure no unauthorised (but justifiably curious) personnel observed whatever was 'you know'.
Jazz loitered in the hallway, pacing one way then moon-walking back. He did a little heel-toe then some soft-shoe that took a bit of effort as he was neither soft nor shod. But the style! You gotta have style. The Porsche was just about to try a plié to see if he could get his knees to move that way without having to partially transform when the doors opened.
Soundwave was there, still blue with all limbs attached, and he left tidily. Jazz flipped a shanix whether or not to follow him before deciding he'd probably been harassed enough by Autobots. So the spy moseyed into the medbay to badger Ratchet instead.
“No.” The CMO said without turning. “Medical privacy is still a thing.”
“But, Ratch, it could be a security issue.” Jazz used his best super-serious voice. For reals. It was quite different from his actual serious voice but that was for emergencies with or without knives. “If we're going to have a mini-Megs running around all cute 'n blasty, we need a heads up.”
“No.” The medic finished updating the datapad then code-locked it before storing it in his subspace to make a point. “There won't be a mini-Megatron. Decepticon High Command is aware of Soundwave's medical issue. They will do a security assessment if necessary. I will be consulting on this case. You are not entitled to know why.”
“Harsh, my friend.” He put a hand to his spark. “Straight to the core. So he's not carrying, then?”
Ratchet regarded him with a flat stare before threatening him with a filter change. Jazz left quickly.