Chapter Text
“Jazz. What have you done?”
Ratchet’s voice is low, carefully controlled, but that doesn’t mask the horror in it as the medic examines the prone form of Prime’s new tactical CO.
Jazz leans back against a medbay berth, but his affected nonchalance is somewhat marred by his folded arms and tightly contained EM field. “What I had to do,” he says, as lightly as he can manage, “Or he woulda offlined before I could get him to ya.”
“You shouldn’t have done it,” Ratchet says, still not looking in his direction.
“You sayin’ I shoulda let him die?” Jazz’s lips quirk in a crooked grin, though he feels more queasy than amused. “And here I thought that medic coding meant valuing life above everythin’.”
“Not above a mech’s right to autonomy over their own frame, processor and spark!”
“So, you tellin’ me you’d have let him die, Ratch?” Jazz fights to keep the smile on his lips. “That if you’d have been there, you’d have let him die? Let another mech die, knowin’ you could save him?”
Ratchet’s hands are as steady as always as they gently probe the jagged edges of the hole that takes up most of what should be the mech’s torso, but his EM field is a whirling riot of confused emotion that the medic isn’t even trying to contain.
“You know that blast woulda killed him,” Jazz says, nodding at the injury. “Missed his spark by micromechameters. Ain’t no other way I coulda saved him, not out in the field like that.”
“Yes, well. I doubt he'll thank you for this,” Ratchet says curtly.
“Yeah?” Jazz rolls his neck, tilting his helm back to stare at the ceiling and not at the mech on the berth. “Good thing I didn't save him for a thank you.”
“You did what?!”
Jazz carefully doesn’t flinch, or allow his expression to so much as flicker, keeping the bored, almost amused shadow of a smile on his face. “I merged my spark with his and created a bond, in order to stop it from gutterin’.”
The look of horror on Ironhide’s face is almost funny, but the thoughtful, disquieted look on Prime’s face is enough to kill the humor. There’s an odd, sour feeling roiling in Jazz's tanks, like he’s consumed a fuel source full of impurities, but he forces himself to keep up the casual act. “I’ll admit, it’s an unorthodox way to keep a mech online, but hey, I had t’improvise.”
“But - but -” Red Alert splutters, looking dumbfounded, “That means you’re sparkbonded to him.”
“Yep.”
“To a stranger. A - a mech you don’t even know!”
“Yep,” Jazz repeats, grimly holding on to the cheery tone.
“And this stranger didn’t get a say in this at all,” Ratchet interjects, tone sharper than his own scalpels.
A silence falls over the meeting room, broken only by the small scraping noises of mechs shifting in their seats and studiously avoiding looking each other in the optics. In particular, no one seems to want to look at Jazz. He doesn’t blame them, not really - frag, it makes him want to purge his tanks, and he’s a trained torturer. Sparkmerging was an intimate thing, and bad and illegal enough to do without the consent of the other mech, turning what was supposed to be an act of love and sharing into the grossest sort of violation - but sparkbonding. Doing that without permission - joining another mech to you, tying your spark to theirs in a permanent, unbreakable bond - that was infinitely worse. Yet it had been the only way to save the mech’s life. No wonder they were so torn. Jazz had done the right thing, but in the wrong way. Which, as head of Special Ops, was kinda his thing.
The silence is finally broken by Optimus. There’s a crackle of static as his vocaliser reboots, and then he speaks. “What’s done is done. I believe Jazz did what he believed necessary to preserve the life of a fellow autobot.”
“But Prime -” Ratchet begins.
“You just gonna let him get away with this?” Ironhide makes no attempt to hide his anger. “What he did, on Cybertron -”
“We are not on Cybertron,” Prime cuts him off. “We are on an alien world, and at war.” Both Ironhide and Ratchet open their mouths as if to continue arguing, but Prime holds up a hand to stop them both. “That is not to say I agree with Jazz’s… methods.” He turns his gaze on Jazz, making no attempt to hide the troubled look in his optics. “What you did, Jazz… If a Decepticon had done so, I would label it a war crime. I believe you that it was the only way to save Prowl’s life, but doing so without Prowl’s agreement this is not something I can condone, or overlook.”
A heavy silence falls following Optimus’s speech. Jazz opens his mouth to try and break it, but there’s only the click of his vocaliser failing to initialize.
This time Ratchet is the one to break the silence. “So,” he says heavily. “What will Jazz’s punishment be? As you pointed out, Optimus, we’re not on Cybertron. We don’t have the resources to imprison anyone long-term, let alone someone with Jazz’s training.”
Red Alert stirs. “Corporal punishment could be an option.”
Jazz keeps himself perfectly still. Pain doesn’t bother him. It would be a less frustrating punishment than being locked up as this way he could still be useful, but he can’t pretend at least to himself that hearing mechs he considers friends discuss having him whipped or beaten upsets him.
“No,” Optimus says firmly, and Jazz tries not to slump in relief. “Making this into a public spectacle would be damaging to morale. And,” he admits quietly, “I can’t deny I find the prospect of hurting an unarmed and restrained mech distasteful.”
“I’d be happy to do it for ya,” Ironhide growls. “Besides, it ain’t like Jazz hasn’t ever hurt an unarmed mech."
Jazz doesn't allow himself to stiffen. He's always known that what he does, what he is, makes mechs like Ironhide uncomfortable. He'd known from the start of this whole thing that he was going to face fallout. So he keeps quiet and doesn't speak up in his own defense. He doesn't need to.
"That's enough, Ironhide." Optimus looks at Jazz. "While we may wish that some parts of Jazz's job were not necessary, we do not have that luxury. Still," and the look Prime levels at him feels like it's searching Jazz's spark itself, "While being at war might mean having to compromise our morals, we are not Decepticons. We will not win at any cost."
Ratchet vents heavily, abruptly sounding more weary than angry. "Which brings us back to deciding on a suitable punishment."
"I must admit, I find myself at a loss," Optimus shakes his helm. "This was not a scenario I ever envisioned having to deal with."
"Well, you know how I think we oughta handle it," Ironhide growls, metal clanging as he slaps a fist into his palm.
"Oh shut up, Ironhide," Ratchet snaps, "like beating the slag out of Jazz will change anything."
"It'll make me feel better," Ironhide grumbles, optics smoldering with a barely contained fury.
"Yes, well, this isn't about you," Ratchet says tartly, "This is about the mech in my medbay who's going to wake up to find himself bonded without consent to a mech he doesn't know!"
"Ratchet has a point," Optimus says gravely. "Here we sit, discussing a suitable punishment for Jazz's actions, without consulting the victim or taking his feelings into account."
Ratchet splutters, vocaliser spitting static, before recovering. "Optimus, I wasn't suggesting leaving the punishment up to Prowl!"
"Why not?" Prime asks simply.
"Well! It's - it's not appropriate!"
"Ratchet is right," Red Alert interjects, "it's not the place of the victim to decide on a punishment. They cannot think with the necessary clarity or detachment to decide on a fair outcome."
"And apparently neither can we," Optimus says, looking at Ironhide. After a moment the old soldier drops his defiant gaze. Ex-venting, Optimus continues, "I am not saying we leave Jazz's punishment entirely in Prowl's hands, simply that we make him part of the discussion. After all, so far he has had no say in any of this situation."
"Frag it, Optimus, I hate this but you have a point." Ratchet frowns unhappily.
"I still think it's inappropriate," Red Alert says.
"And I still say he deserves a good hiding."
Jazz meets Ironhide's hostile gaze with a wry smile. "I'll try not to take that too personal."
"So it's decided," Optimus says firmly, before Ironhide can respond and things can escalate "We wait for Prowl to be back online before we decide on anything. Ratchet, when can we expect him to be up?"
The CMO hums thoughtfully. "Despite the extensive nature of his injuries, he's stable. I've fixed the worst of the damage internally, so now it's just a matter of repairing his plating. I should be able to bring him out of stasis by tomorrow, although I recommend he takes a couple of days before starting active duty. He would have needed a few days to adjust to Earth before starting his duties anyway, so this shouldn't strike anyone else as odd."
Prime nods. "In that case, let's reconvene tomorrow. Ratchet, let us know when he's ready to see us, so we can talk things over. "
"Understood," Ratchet says. "For now everyone should get some recharge. That includes you Optimus. And I don't think I need to tell you all that this should be kept quiet. If I hear so much as a whisper of gossip about this, Primus help me, I'll turn whoever is responsible into parts."
"I'm sure there is no need to worry about discretion," Optimus says, fixing everyone in the room with a stern glance. Whatever he sees must convince him that no one is going to talk, and he gives a nod, signaling satisfaction and dismissal in one gesture. The meeting room empties swiftly. Normally, there'd be some dawdling, some small talk, maybe an informal reconvening to someone's quarters to talk less officially about the meeting's contents, but tonight if there's any plan to do so, Jazz is not invited. He busies himself tidying away a datapad into his subspace while the others are leaving, until he's the last person left in the room.
"Not like you to keep so quiet," Mirage says, appearing beside him. Jazz doesn't do much as twitch at the revelation of the spy's presence. He'd trained 'Raj, after all, and he would have been disappointed if Mirage hadn't been watching.
"Don't think anyone was particularly interested in hearing anything I have to say," Jazz says ruefully, thinking of Ironhide in particular.
Mirage makes a dismissive noise. "I didn't expect that to stop you. Seriously Jazz, why didn't you defend yourself?"
Jazz shrugs. "I did a bad thing," he says simply.
"Yes, but you had your reasons," Mirage persists. "And I'm sure there's more to it than just saving another mech's life. Primus, it's not like you wanted to be bonded to some stranger either." Mirage's tone is too well-bred to betray distaste, and besides, as a Towers mech, the concept of bonding for reasons other than love aren't totally alien.
"Sometimes, even if you do things for the right reasons, it don't change the fact they're wrong."
Mirage's silence concedes Jazz's point.
Jazz chuckles tiredly. "They're mad at me. That's alright. I knew they would be, knew what I was doing was wrong, that I wouldn't be able to hide it and Prime wouldn't be able to ignore it, and I did it anyway. So now they've gotta punish me. You know the game, 'Raj." The first rule of Special Ops was don't get caught. The problem was there was no way Jazz's gambit was ever going to go undetected.
"And you're just going to stay quiet and let them?" Mirage's voice is incredulous with disbelief. "Look, I understand that what you did was wrong, and I understand feeling guilt, but it doesn't change the necessity of what you did. What you do. What if they do find a way to lock you up? Or if they demote you? They might not like what you do, your methods, but they need you." Mirage doesn't say it, but Jazz knows he means, they need us. Jazz's punishment could have ramifications for the whole department.
One corner of Jazz's mouth curls up into a humorless smile. "They do need us. Don't worry Raj, I'm not planning on losing my job over this."
"Then why didn't you talk to them," Mirage demands. "Why didn't you explain!"
"It's not them I need t' convince."
Mirage gives Jazz an utterly unreadable look. "You're talking about the new tactical officer." The one you violated. "You really really think he's going to be rational about this?"
Jazz thinks back over the personnel file he'd acquired and smiles grimly. "Mech, I'm banking on it."