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dracoqueen22Pairings: Hound/Ravage, Optimus/Soundwave, Bumblebee/Rumble
Characters: Optimus, Hound, Ravage, Jazz, Soundwave, Bumblebee, Rumble, Skybyte
Rating: K+
Undaunted – Chapter Two
Ceremonies. Traditions. Customs.
All had been lost during the war. Forgotten. Abandoned. Perhaps somewhere in the fractured and rusting libraries on Cybertron were records, step by step explanations of every unique celebration. Perhaps there were speeches and plans, transcripts and videos.
Remembering their history was a challenge for another decade, Soundwave thought. Right now, they had to focus on surviving, rebuilding, welcoming their exiled brethren home and strengthening the ever-fragile peace.
The conjunx ceremony was fraught with tradition. It varied, region by region, city by city, sometimes by altmode or caste or function. It was unique, and so long as one followed the four basic steps, it suited. Registering the bonding with the proper authorities made it legitimate in the optics of the court, but it wasn’t necessary.
They didn’t have a court system right now. They didn’t have a legal process. Hound and Ravage had to do nothing more than declare themselves bonded to their commanding officer and/or respective leader, and update their medical directives, and they would be legitimate.
They didn’t have to have a ceremony.
But Hound wanted one. Had asked for one. And then, in a joining of everything he loved, he planned their ceremony from what he could remember of Cybertron – mostly with Mirage’s advice – with added touches of another culture their war had demolished – that of the humans. Specifically, what would have been more common to their human friends, both the ones who had died, and the ones newly found.
They had wanted to come, these humans Hound and his team had discovered, living off the eastern coast of the United States on a small, self-contained island protected by one of their mad scientist’s experimental defense domes. But Cybertron’s lack of atmosphere made a casual visit impossible, and they lacked the materials to create survival suits for themselves.
Next time perhaps. Soundwave was certain ‘Doc Greene’, as he liked to be called, would collaborate with Wheeljack nicely, and they would have the ability to visit Cybertron within the next year.
For now, they would have to settle for a live feed courtesy of Buzzsaw, who had grumbled aloud about being forced to attend the mushy ceremony, but was secretly pleased to be given such an important task.
Meanwhile, Soundwave had only look to the slightly raised dais to find Laserbeak, on her preferred perch of Optimus’ left shoulder, her optics dimmed as though she’d slipped into recharge. She’d become something of a security blanket for Optimus, a signal of safety and comfort, and neither she nor Soundwave minded.
So long as she was around, Optimus had confessed, he felt there would always be help. Even if all he needed was a chirr, a warm field, and a hug.
Laserbeak was more than thrilled and honored to be so relied upon. If Optimus were a carrier, Soundwave might have worried about him stealing Laserbeak away. But no, she often returned to him, with several nuzzles and reassurances. Her spark, she said, was big enough to love two.
Frenzy and Rumble were both here as well, sitting on the row in front of Soundwave, too small for their pedes to reach the ground, with Bumblebee perched on Rumble’s other side and Eject wriggling in the seat next to Frenzy. The former pair had made themselves official in the past five years, rekindling the fire which had once burned strongly between them.
Soundwave did not know if they intended to become conjunx now or in the future. Everything remained tentative, steps taken as carefully as though they tiptoed over frozen water. They had to relearn one another, so to speak, as both had changed over the course of the war.
Frenzy and Eject had struck up a friendship that seemed built to last, one Soundwave knew beyond a shadow of a doubt was not romantic in the slightest. So far, neither mech seemed interest in romance, and Soundwave doubted that would change. Some mechs weren’t wired that way, and there was nothing wrong with it.
So long as Frenzy was happy. Which he was. The two of them were, in fact, whispering and giggling to each other, and Soundwave sent a stern glance across the bond.
Frenzy peered over his shoulder with a half-guilty look before beaming and offering Soundwave a flippant wave.
I’ll be good, boss. Promise.
And then he whipped back around, he and Eject’s helms near to each other, their whispers continuing but their giggles quieter.
Soundwave considered warning Blaster. But if the other carrier didn’t know what they were scheming, far be it from Soundwave to warn his one-time rival. Let him be the one to find out what the two troublemakers intended to do with several cans of silly string and a catapult.
Someone slipped into the open bench beside him.
“OP looks mighty handsome up there, don’t he?”
Soundwave tried not to stiffen. After five years, he should be used to Jazz popping up around him.
He wasn’t.
He didn’t look at the third in command, choosing instead to keep his gaze forward, not wanting to see the smirk of satisfaction on Jazz’s face. He knew far too well what he was doing.
“Optimus always handsome,” Soundwave answered, and felt the bloom of pride in his spark all over again, for it was true.
Optimus was handsome, though it was his kindness, his firmness, his forgiveness, his very spark that captured Soundwave’s own. He was aesthetically pleasing, but it was everything Optimus was, that made Soundwave love him.
Jazz chuckled and nudged him with an elbow. “Okay, ya win that one. I ain’t gonna argue with that truth.” Peripherally, Soundwave saw Jazz lean back and get comfortable – he intended to stay. How unfortunate. “That’ll be you ‘nd him up there someday, I’ll bet. Magnus’ll preside, that’s the kind of thing Magnus does, and it’ll be so cute. I think.”
Soundwave blinked behind his visor. He finally turned his head, but Jazz wasn’t looking at him anymore. Instead, his gaze was focused on Optimus, something in the tight restraint of his field suggesting Soundwave knew where this conversation was going.
“Perhaps,” Soundwave allowed. “Decision, Optimus’. Jazz disapproves?”
Jazz laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Mech, I’m way too late for disapprovin’ of any kind.” He leaned back, lounging in the bench with the sort of false ease that he’d perfected over the course of the war. “Optimus is happy. He’s glowin’. That’s all a decent mech could ask for.”
“And Jazz?”
“I’ll make do.” Jazz shrugged, again with false nonchalance. “I’ll improvise. It’s what I do. Not like I don’t have any experience.”
There was a wealth of information in that revelation, but now wasn’t the time to peel into it. Perhaps he’d set Frenzy on it. He’d always admired Jazz and given their propensity for mischief, could probably make a friend of the mech. Both of them could use more friends.
“Jazz generous,” Soundwave said after a moment of carefully cycling and discarding through words.
“I know when I’m beaten. I’m just tryin’ to be the better mech here, ain’t nothin’ generous about it.” Jazz’s shoulders rolled, but he was focused up front, where Optimus had turned his head to acknowledge Laserbeak, one hand raised to scratch gently under her chin. “And I think I’ve made all the threats I need ta make. Ya already know what’ll happen if ya hurt him.”
Soundwave inclined his head. “Affirmative.”
Jazz loudly cycled a ventilation and threw himself forward, hopping to his feet with a jaunty move that belied the disquiet in his field. He half-turned to look at Soundwave, still with that damnable grin, no matter how strained at the edges.
“Ya make ‘im happy, all right? Whatever it takes.”
Something coiled in Soundwave’s internals, something a lot like relief. He’d spent so long on edge, waiting for the moment Jazz sauntered into view, admitted the secret in his spark, and effortlessly whisked Optimus away. He was charming, where Soundwave was not. He was affectionate, beautiful, funny, intelligent and devoted. In comparison, Soundwave often wondered what he had to offer, and considered himself lucky Jazz didn’t seem inclined to make it a fight.
Now, Soundwave wondered why he’d even let himself fear. If there was ever a battle, Soundwave had already won. Jazz lost before he even offered himself into the match.
“No intentions otherwise,” Soundwave said, and surprised himself with the conviction in his vocals, before he admitted what he’d told few others, “Optimus is loved.”
Jazz’s lips pulled into a smile, one softer than before. “That’s all I wanted to hear.” He sketched a salute. “Catch ya on the flip side, Sounders.”
And then he was gone, slipping out of the row where Soundwave had chosen to sit, and sliding into one a few back, next to Smokescreen. Soundwave had heard rumors that the two shared berths more often than not, though research seemed to indicate it was less a thing of romance, and more one of comfort.
‘Jazz odd,’ Buzzsaw chirped to him as Soundwave turned back around, directing his attention to the front. He’d been watching the entire time, from his perch in the rafters, where he had the best view of the entire room.
‘Friendship perhaps possible now,’ Soundwave replied.
Buzzsaw sent a sound akin to a raspberry. ‘Still watch for knife in back, boss.’
Soundwave buried a snort. ‘Always.’
Optimus stepped forward, gathering everyone’s attention by lifting his hands and calling for silence, and the rest of the conversation slid away. He had Soundwave’s full attention, not that it was hard, and there Optimus was, at ease in front of the small crowd, a gentle smile on his lips and in his optics.
“Friends and family, I welcome you all to the public conjunx ceremony for Hound of Lower Monoplex and Ravage of Stanix,” Optimus began, his sonorous voice filling every nook and cranny of the small room. “It is my honor to be chosen to conduct this ceremony, and I am proud to be a part of this momentous occasion, this celebration of love enduring. If you would all rise, we can welcome the soon-to-be endura.”
Obedience was almost immediate, though not silent. Too many mechs with too many creaks and whooshes and groans as they rose to their feet and half-turned as one to the open door at the end of the aisle. A song began to play, soft and sweet, one that Soundwave’s memory file tagged as an old ballad he’d thought lost to the war. He wondered how and who had managed to dig it up.
Moments passed, stretched with anticipation, until as one, Hound and Ravage stepped into the doorway, the former from the right and the latter from the left. Hound was beaming, his armor jittering, and Ravage had raised her head high, her optics bright and pleased.
They strode together, step in step, Hound matching Ravage’s stride as though he had been doing so for centuries, as if it were easy to match a bipedal pace to a quadrupedal one. Their size difference was all the more apparent now, and Soundwave knew, the subject of some ridicule among those who had not been taught to keep their prying to themselves. Soundwave wished he could claim said slaggers were only from the Neutrals, but they were evenly spread throughout the three factions.
There were far too many who still didn’t consider Ravage an intelligent being in her own right, one capable of making her own decisions and truly loving another. And while a part of Soundwave would have been glad to hunt down every detractor to inform them the error of their ways, he knew better than to do so.
It would help no one and in the end, they didn’t matter. What mattered, instead, was this. Hound and Ravage together, happy, hoping beyond hoping during the war that they could come to this very moment.
They passed Soundwave’s row and for a moment, Ravage’s gaze flicked away from the podium that was their destination, to land upon Soundwave. A wealth of words carried in the single glance before she focused forward again. The last echoes of the bond thrummed between them, always present for all that Soundwave had broken it. She was imprinted on his spark forever.
And then they were at the podium, standing in front of Optimus, turning to face one another, the love in their field enough to make Soundwave’s knees tremble. Especially when Hound lowered himself to one knee and rested one hand across it, palm up. Ravage lifted a single paw, resting it over his hand. Hound’s fingers curled, the tips of them resting over Ravage’s paw, claiming, but loose enough to set her free if she so wished.
He knew her so very well.
Soundwave strengthened the blocks around his processor again, if only so he could focus. Especially when Optimus beamed down at them, his happiness for their sake nearly blinding.
The crowd seated itself. The music softened, though it continued to play in the background, just enough to maintain the mood. Soundwave made a mental note to acquire a copy of it. He thought Optimus might like to fall into recharge to it.
There were, perhaps, about a dozen Cybertronians in attendance, and an island full of humans through the lens of Buzzsaw’s camera. All watched as Optimus smiled and began to speak.
“There was a time when both of you could only dream of this moment,” he said, voice soft but carrying, and rich with meaning. “When we were all wrapped in the chains of war, and dreams were tiny things to be nestled in our sparks. They were the smallest of hopes to cling to, in the darkest of times, and I believe I speak for all of us when I say how glad I am that you two are here before us today, to finally claim that carefully nurtured dream.”
Hound’s ventilations audibly stuttered, though perhaps only audible to someone with Soundwave’s advanced systems. Ravage, in response, shifted closer to him, lending Hound the strength of her field.
Optimus looked down at them. “It has always been my preference that the two hopeful partners speak their promises to one another without ceremony. We, after all, are only here to bear witness to a truth that the both of you already know.” He gestured to each of them in turn. “Ravage, would you like to begin?”
This, Soundwave knew, had been agreed upon by all parties. Ravage had insisted she be allowed to speak first
“Hound,” Ravage’s vocals crackled with emotion. “I never knew I could fall in love with another spark beyond the definition of family. I did not know I could meet someone who I would grow to need in my life. But from the moment we met, I knew you were the exception. You would always be the exception.”
Soundwave’s spark squeezed at his once-cassette’s frank admission of love, for there were no other words to describe the emotion in Ravage’s spark.
“I love you,” Ravage continued. “I will always love you. I have spent over half a lifetime waiting for this moment, and I intend to spend the rest of my lifetime wherever you are. If you’ll have me.”
“Oh, Rav.” Hound dropped to both knees, his hands cupping Ravage’s face as he pressed their foreheads together. “It’s I who should be begging you to accept me. I’d never seen beauty until I met you. I didn’t know my attention could be captivated by anyone until you eclipsed everything, inside and out.”
Hound’s optics shimmered where Soundwave could see them, and like Ravage, the naked emotion in his vocals, in his expression, turned Soundwave’s spark to mush. He’d not seen a commitment ceremony in centuries, but this one already proved to be the best, the most honest of them.
“You are the strength that kept me together. You’ve always been my strength,” Hound murmured as he held Ravage’s gaze. “And if you let me, I will spend the rest of my life offering my strength in return. Frame, mind, and spark.”
It was the heaviest of promises, the most earnest. Only the sincere offered all three to their beloved, because all three in tandem were the very definition of a mech. Rossum’s Trinity, if you asked the texts.
Ravage lifted a paw, resting it on Hound’s thigh. Her head bumped back against his, leaning into the press of their foreheads.
“You are mine, Hound of Lower Monoplex,” she said. “Always and forever.”
Hound’s thumbs swept over Ravage’s jaw. “I’m yours,” he agreed. “And I take you as my own, Ravage of Stanix, until the Allspark welcomes us and beyond.”
Soundwave’s spark squeezed and squeezed as Hound and Ravage embraced, the tendrils of their fields so tightly knit as to be indistinguishable one from the other. They had wanted this for so long, had put it aside for the sake of others, how could Soundwave be anything but happy for them, here in their moment of triumph?
“Thus the words are spoken,” Optimus said as he lowered himself to one knee, resting a hand on Hound’s shoulder and the other on Ravage’s upper back, between her shoulders. “Thus the vow is made, one to the other. Witnessed by your friends, your family, and the ever-watchful gaze of our creator.”
Ravage, Soundwave knew, believed very little in Primus or the all-seeing optics of any kind of deity, sleeping or dead. But Hound had enough religion for both of them, and she’d conceded to his wishes in that regard.
Give and take. Compromise and adapt. They’d been making concessions for each other for centuries. What was another in the grand scheme of things.
“Hound of Lower Monoplex, and Ravage of Stanix, I officially pronounce you conjunx,” Optimus continued, his optics bright with happiness, his field nearly eclipsing them both with delight. “May your bond be everlasting and your love never falter.”
“Never,” Hound murmured in an echo of Optimus.
The sheen of joy in Ravage’s optics spoke more than enough words. They slid shut, ever so slow, and her field slid into Hound’s, merging into one.
Soundwave’s spark fluttered. He ex-vented, long and slow, even as his remaining cassettes pulsed love across their shared bond. He registered the sound of clapping around him, the engines revving in congratulations. He felt as though he were floating, his shields fluctuating against the strong inflow of positive energy. It was like high grade, like overcharge, and it made him dizzy.
Soundwave whispered a silent prayer as well, to a deity he still wasn’t sure he trusted. He asked the universe, also.
Let her be happy. It was all he could have hoped for any of his cassettes.
~
It was hard not to feel a teensy bit of envy.
Oh, Jazz was monumentally happy for Hound. He knew how long the tracker had been waiting for this. He’d been there, in all those lonely nights, sharing a berth with Hound because he missed Ravage something fierce but couldn’t admit it, and just wanted a warm frame to platonically cuddle. He’d caught them so many times, curled together, whispering promises to one another, hopes for a future where the war didn’t exist, where they could at last be as one.
Jazz was so, so glad they finally had this opportunity. It was the only good thing to come out of that horrifying year where the Decepticons had won.
But it was also hard not to envy him a little. Well, maybe more than a little. Maybe a lot. Especially as the ceremony ended and everyone started milling around, chatting in little groups, slipping in to congratulate the couple.
Jazz didn’t miss anything. Especially not the way Optimus and Soundwave immediately gravitated together, Soundwave saying something to make Optimus chuckle, and the subtle way Soundwave rested a hand briefly against Optimus’ lower back. Or how Optimus leaned into the touch just enough to draw comfort from it.
Jazz knew Optimus. Knew him inside and out. Knew that Optimus loved Soundwave with every inch of his being, even if their being together was moving at a pace more glacial than continental drift.
Jazz would bet the entirety of Cybertron that at some point in the near-future, maybe before Earth’s sun burned out even, Optimus and Soundwave would be making very similar vows to one another. They were a good match. Jazz couldn’t have picked someone better for Optimus.
Well, unless he looked in the mirror. Except that was kind of a lie because Jazz was not what anyone would call a good mate. His past was even more checkered than Soundwave’s. Besides all that, he was a coward. Because he’d never been able to bring himself to tell Optimus how he felt, and now there was no point. No chance. If there’d even been one in the first place.
Jazz hauled himself out of the bench and slid into the crowd, moving seamlessly amid the chatting mechs, so quiet most didn’t see him. The few that did, Jazz offered grins, handshakes, a joke or two. It was distressingly easy to pull that mantle on sometimes. Scary easy to be ‘Jazz’ when he needed to be.
Of all the personas he draped over his frame, he liked ‘Jazz’ the best. Maybe he’d even keep it, once he was secure and certain in this peace.
“So that’s what you look like when you’re rattled.”
Jazz drew up short and spun slowly, planting a bright grin on his face as he turned to greet one of his last remaining subordinates, though perhaps that was a strong word. Eventually Bumblebee would leave him, too.
That was the way world worked. People came to him, they learned from him, he trusted them, and then, they discovered how to be happy again, and they left him. People were always leaving Jazz.
Maybe he should change his name to Waypoint.
“Who says I’m rattled?” Jazz demanded as he planted his hands on his hips, body language deliberately playful and unbothered. “This is a wedding, mechs. I’m practically giddy.”
“Right,” Rumble drawled as he leaned against Bumblebee’s side, one elbow on Bumblebee’s shoulder, casual as you please. “And those long looks my boss’ direction aren’t ya plotting how to kill him and get away with it.”
Jazz reared back, feigning affront. “What? Of course not! Me and Sounders are the best of buddies now. Just ask him.” He smirked, flashing his denta. “Besides, any good soldier knows when the battle’s lost. Sometimes, ya gotta cut yer losses and run.”
Bumblebee snorted. “You’ve never run from anything a day in your life,” he said, and gave Jazz one of those inscrutable looks he hated so much.
Kid always was too insightful for his own good. Never had any friends because of it. Well, until he joined up with jazz’s crew anyway. Jazz’s kind didn’t mind a mech with talents like that. Was pretty useful out in the field in all.
Couldn’t be a good agent if you couldn’t look through your targets, right to the very spark of them. Pretty annoying to turn on your fellow agents though. They all got used to it.
“You don’t have to pretend you’re okay,” Bumblebee added, hitting the nail squarely on the head, no busted thumbnails for this one. “Not to us.”
“Pfft. I’m fine. There’s nothin’ to be not-okay about.” Jazz waved a hand, flippant, ignoring the way his spark squeezed and stuttered, and flight-or-fight twisted around his tank, strong enough to make his hydraulics rattle.
Danger, Jazzmeister! Thy secret is out!
Jazz squinted at his subordinate and his cozy significant other. “Don’t you two have somewhere else ta be right now?”
It was Rumble’s turn to snort, mates like mates after all. “Yeah. We can see when we’re not wanted.” He shoved off Bumblebee’s side and made a show of dusting off his frame. “But you know, Jazz, regret’s a heavy thing to carry. All the things ya didn’t say especially.”
Jazz twisted his jaw. The light in his visor went flat. “Mech, maybe not tonight is a good night to test me, yeah?” It wasn’t a threat. If anyone asked, Jazz was absolutely not threatening anyone.
Friendly reminders didn’t count as threats.
Bumblebee sighed and curled an arm around Rumble’s elbow. “Come on, dumpling. You should know better than to tug the tail of the tiger.”
“But it’s so much fun!”
Jazz folded his arms under his bumper. “Oh, is it now? And when should we show up for your shotgun bonding, huh?”
Rumble tossed a middle-finger over his shoulder. Someone had been spending a little too much time with the humans. He’d picked up on some nasty habits. Brat.
Jazz snorted and dropped his arms. He searched the crowd, trying to see if anyone had noticed their little conversation and put the hints together. But, no. Everyone was too busy with their own happy lives, content that the war really was over, and danger lurked nowhere.
Ah, civilians. What did that even feel like?
Jazz worked his way to Hound and Ravage, the former of who was grinning so brightly he could serve as a lightbulb, and the latter who was getting twitchier by the moment, probably as a result of all the attention. Ravage had always preferred shadows. This much time in the sunshine was likely driving her crazy.
There was a lull in the congratulations swamping them, so Jazz swooped in to speak his piece, locating his happiness for them and planting it on his face.
“It’s about time,” he said as he slid to a stop in front of them, hands on his hips. “Congratulations you two. So’s you know, I was rooting for you the whole time.”
“Yes, I know,” Ravage said with a roll of her optics. “And I appreciate your discretion. You could have reported us and made things quite difficult.”
“I would never stand in the way of true love.” Jazz pressed a palm to his chestplate, over his squeezing spark. “In fact, I’d like to thank that I had a hand in making sure you two lovebirds finally got to build your nest.”
Hound chuckled. “I’ll be sure to mention you in my speech at the reception.” He shifted closer to Ravage, plating pressed to plating, his field brimming with emotion. “You know, though, if you ever need us...”
“I won’t.” This Jazz knew for sure. “It’s a new world, kiddos. The time of spies and tricksters is at its end. Enjoy your marital life and domesticity.” He gave them two thumbs up, perhaps a touch too overplayed, but damn it, Jazz was ready to get out of here.
Too much joy in the air.
Hound laughed, blind to the subtext, but Ravage’s keen-eyed stare was one Jazz was ready to back slowly away from. So he toned it down and gentled his smile.
“In all seriousness,” Jazz said. “Congratulations. Many happy returns.”
He left before he could make a fool of himself, and they didn’t have time to respond anyway, not with another well-wisher bouncing up to take Jazz’s place. Literally. Eject could be a ball of energy sometimes, and it never took much to drag Frenzy into his pace. Cute as a button, those two were.
Time, however, for Jazz to make his escape.
He slipped into the crowd, aimed himself at the exit, and the fresh air of freedom beyond the door.
He didn’t expect to get intercepted by the last mech he wanted to talk to at the moment. He loved Optimus with all his spark, honestly, but sometimes, Optimus had the worst timing. He could be so unbearably dense. Yet, they’d known each other for so long, Optimus would definitely notice something wasn’t quite right.
“Oh, hey, OP. Great job on the ceremony,” Jazz said, pulling on every mantle of confidence and ease he had in his arsenal. “You haven’t lost your touch.”
Optimus smiled at him, gentle and affectionate. “Thank you, Jazz. I appreciate the compliment.” He tilted his head in confusion. “Leaving so soon?”
“Yeah. I should get there early to help Skybyte finish setting up.”
It was only partially a lie. Jazz probably should get there early to warm up. It was his first public concert in ages. That Skybyte had unbent enough to perform with him was a monumental leap forward in Autobot-Neutral relations. Skybyte was the sort who held onto grudges for ages, even if Metalhawk’s downfall had been brought upon by his own actions. Luckily, Skybyte had no clue about Jazz’s help in that department.
Optimus rested a hand on his shoulder, warm and companionable. “I am glad to see that you, too, are settling into a post-war life, Jazz. It’s what I hope for every Autobot who has fought alongside me.”
Jazz reached up and patted Optimus’ hand before he slid out from under it, the ache of longing threatening to clog up his intake. “You just want everyone to be as happy and snuggly as you are.”
“Guilty as charged.” Optimus chuckled. “We have earned it, I believe. All of us. And you especially.” His gaze turned briefly distant, his words warm. “I don’t think I can ever repay you for your loyalty, for your friendship. If not for you--”
Jazz shook his head, cutting Optimus off. He’d had enough of gratitude, but thanks anyway. He hadn’t done what he did because he wanted Optimus to be grateful. He’d risked life and spark and limb because a world where that monster had his hands on Optimus wasn’t a world worth living in.
“Don’t worry about it, boss. It comes with the territory. It’s what I’m here for.” Jazz grinned, most of it sincere, the rest of it there to hide the emotion his visor couldn’t. “Anyway, I’d better get going. Skybyte bitches worse than Metalhawk if I’m late.”
Optimus laughed. “That I can believe. Soundwave and I will be by later. I intend to catch at least some of your performance.”
“Then I’ll look for you in the crowd.”
Jazz winked and danced backward. He tossed off a friendly salute, careful to keep his smile intact. “Catch ya later, OP.” He slipped into the crowd before Optimus could say anything further and told himself he wasn’t running away.
He waited until he was a fair distance gone to look back, unsurprised to see that Optimus had sought out Soundwave, and the two were now standing together. Optimus had Laserbeak back on his shoulder, nuzzling the side of his head. Soundwave was offering a treat to Buzzsaw. Whatever they spoke about, it made Optimus smile.
He was happy. So happy. He’d improved so much since that horrible enslavement five years ago. He wasn’t perfect. The echoes of it still lingered, but Optimus was moving forward. Healing.
He was going to be just fine. And that was enough. It had to be.
Jazz cycled a ventilation and slipped out of the ceremony hall, into a sky twinkling with twilight, manufactured though it was. Cybertron spun endlessly through space. One of these orns, maybe they’d get caught by a star. Or Perceptor and Brainstorm and all the other vastly intelligent mechs would figure out how to put Cybertron somewhere permanent.
Maybe it was for the best they didn’t. No one liked Cybertronians and hadn’t for quite some time. Maybe better that no one could easily find them. And someday, they’d leave Earth behind, too. So the surviving humans could rebuild and forget they ever knew the metal monsters which slayed them.
Jazz chuckled to himself as he hustled toward the temporary stage, constructed for this evening alone. My but he was feeling maudlin tonight. He should be delighted, celebratory even.
Five years of peace! He should be in the highest of spirits! Or something.
The stage came into view, already brightly lit and draped in celebratory banners. An awful sound screeched out of the speakers – probably Blaster checking the sound system again. He could be pretty particular about it, especially now that he could spare the time to focus on his true love.
Music was the rhythm of his spark. It always would be.
Jazz rounded the corner of the stage and spied Skybyte in the center of it, playing straw boss to Blaster’s cassettes – minus Eject and Rewind unsurprisingly – as they ran around to finish the last fiddly bits. Jazz hopped up onto the stage just as Skybyte turned to survey the open area which would serve as the concert hall.
“About time you got here,” Skybyte said, ever so friendly, ever the grump. He planted his hands on his hips. “I thought I would have to start without you.”
Jazz smirked. “I didn’t know acapella was your style.”
“I have recordings.” Skybyte squinted at him, something in the hard edge of his stare softening. “You look like someone snatched your favorite blaster. Is there something I should know about?”
“Nothing treaty-related.” Jazz flicked a hand. “It’s personal. I’ll get over it. Did you decide the set list?”
A mutual enjoyment of music, that had been the ties that slowly drew the Neutrals and the Autobots into something closer to a partnership, rather than bitter enemies. Jazz had been the first to cast the line, but Skybyte had been the first to bite the bait. He’d harbored a deep love of poetry, but never had the skills to attach it to music.
Jazz had hooked him, line and sinker, with a wink and a tidbit of information: there wasn’t an instrument on this planet or any other that Jazz hadn’t fallen in love with. Some he could play like any master. Others, not so much. But the music lived in his spark as much as it did Blaster’s.
And a trio was born. As in three, because what musical group could be complete without someone to smooth over the rough edges? Jazz and Skybyte relied on Blaster to make them sound good.
“Yes, I did. After conferring with Blaster, we thought it most appropriate to start with ‘Exit the Fall.’” Skybyte’s frown did not ease.
Jazz nodded. “Good choice.” He cast about, looking for his electro-bass. One of many instruments he’d be playing this evening. “You got ‘In the Rafters’ on there, too?”
“Of course.”
“Then I’m happy with whatever the rest is.”
He found the bass in its cradle, treated carefully. Blaster’s little mechs knew the value of it, knew how to handle it properly. Good kids, they were. Jazz would have to bring them a treat later.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Skybyte’s frown lingered, less severe, more concerned now. “There is decidedly less… you in your step.”
Jazz barked a laugh as he knelt by his instrument’s case and ran his fingers over the aged metal. It had survived so much, even more than the war, just like its owner.
“I would have thought a poet could come up with a better adjective.” Jazz removed the electro-bass from the case and gave it a testing strum. “It’s been a long half-decade is all. No worries. I’m good to play.”
Skybyte huffed an exasperated sound. “I wasn’t concerned about your ability to play, Jazz.” He rolled his optics, muttered something subvocally, and turned away. “Forget I asked. Let us just concentrate on the show for the evening. I don’t wish to disappoint anyone.”
“Impossible,” Jazz replied cheekily. “We’re the bees knees. Everyone loves us.”
“The bees knees. Primus, you Autobots and that infection you call a human language. If I never have to suffer another ridiculous idiom, it will be a miracle,” Skybyte muttered. He walked away, off to bark another command at Steeljaw as more lights brightened the stage.
Jazz grinned and focused on his electro-bass, giving it another few strums. He looked out over the courtyard where a few curious mechs had already begun to gather.
It was a good future they were building here. Maybe not perfect. Maybe not everything he could have ever wanted.
But good enough.
Definitely good enough.
***
Characters: Optimus, Hound, Ravage, Jazz, Soundwave, Bumblebee, Rumble, Skybyte
Rating: K+
Ceremonies. Traditions. Customs.
All had been lost during the war. Forgotten. Abandoned. Perhaps somewhere in the fractured and rusting libraries on Cybertron were records, step by step explanations of every unique celebration. Perhaps there were speeches and plans, transcripts and videos.
Remembering their history was a challenge for another decade, Soundwave thought. Right now, they had to focus on surviving, rebuilding, welcoming their exiled brethren home and strengthening the ever-fragile peace.
The conjunx ceremony was fraught with tradition. It varied, region by region, city by city, sometimes by altmode or caste or function. It was unique, and so long as one followed the four basic steps, it suited. Registering the bonding with the proper authorities made it legitimate in the optics of the court, but it wasn’t necessary.
They didn’t have a court system right now. They didn’t have a legal process. Hound and Ravage had to do nothing more than declare themselves bonded to their commanding officer and/or respective leader, and update their medical directives, and they would be legitimate.
They didn’t have to have a ceremony.
But Hound wanted one. Had asked for one. And then, in a joining of everything he loved, he planned their ceremony from what he could remember of Cybertron – mostly with Mirage’s advice – with added touches of another culture their war had demolished – that of the humans. Specifically, what would have been more common to their human friends, both the ones who had died, and the ones newly found.
They had wanted to come, these humans Hound and his team had discovered, living off the eastern coast of the United States on a small, self-contained island protected by one of their mad scientist’s experimental defense domes. But Cybertron’s lack of atmosphere made a casual visit impossible, and they lacked the materials to create survival suits for themselves.
Next time perhaps. Soundwave was certain ‘Doc Greene’, as he liked to be called, would collaborate with Wheeljack nicely, and they would have the ability to visit Cybertron within the next year.
For now, they would have to settle for a live feed courtesy of Buzzsaw, who had grumbled aloud about being forced to attend the mushy ceremony, but was secretly pleased to be given such an important task.
Meanwhile, Soundwave had only look to the slightly raised dais to find Laserbeak, on her preferred perch of Optimus’ left shoulder, her optics dimmed as though she’d slipped into recharge. She’d become something of a security blanket for Optimus, a signal of safety and comfort, and neither she nor Soundwave minded.
So long as she was around, Optimus had confessed, he felt there would always be help. Even if all he needed was a chirr, a warm field, and a hug.
Laserbeak was more than thrilled and honored to be so relied upon. If Optimus were a carrier, Soundwave might have worried about him stealing Laserbeak away. But no, she often returned to him, with several nuzzles and reassurances. Her spark, she said, was big enough to love two.
Frenzy and Rumble were both here as well, sitting on the row in front of Soundwave, too small for their pedes to reach the ground, with Bumblebee perched on Rumble’s other side and Eject wriggling in the seat next to Frenzy. The former pair had made themselves official in the past five years, rekindling the fire which had once burned strongly between them.
Soundwave did not know if they intended to become conjunx now or in the future. Everything remained tentative, steps taken as carefully as though they tiptoed over frozen water. They had to relearn one another, so to speak, as both had changed over the course of the war.
Frenzy and Eject had struck up a friendship that seemed built to last, one Soundwave knew beyond a shadow of a doubt was not romantic in the slightest. So far, neither mech seemed interest in romance, and Soundwave doubted that would change. Some mechs weren’t wired that way, and there was nothing wrong with it.
So long as Frenzy was happy. Which he was. The two of them were, in fact, whispering and giggling to each other, and Soundwave sent a stern glance across the bond.
Frenzy peered over his shoulder with a half-guilty look before beaming and offering Soundwave a flippant wave.
I’ll be good, boss. Promise.
And then he whipped back around, he and Eject’s helms near to each other, their whispers continuing but their giggles quieter.
Soundwave considered warning Blaster. But if the other carrier didn’t know what they were scheming, far be it from Soundwave to warn his one-time rival. Let him be the one to find out what the two troublemakers intended to do with several cans of silly string and a catapult.
Someone slipped into the open bench beside him.
“OP looks mighty handsome up there, don’t he?”
Soundwave tried not to stiffen. After five years, he should be used to Jazz popping up around him.
He wasn’t.
He didn’t look at the third in command, choosing instead to keep his gaze forward, not wanting to see the smirk of satisfaction on Jazz’s face. He knew far too well what he was doing.
“Optimus always handsome,” Soundwave answered, and felt the bloom of pride in his spark all over again, for it was true.
Optimus was handsome, though it was his kindness, his firmness, his forgiveness, his very spark that captured Soundwave’s own. He was aesthetically pleasing, but it was everything Optimus was, that made Soundwave love him.
Jazz chuckled and nudged him with an elbow. “Okay, ya win that one. I ain’t gonna argue with that truth.” Peripherally, Soundwave saw Jazz lean back and get comfortable – he intended to stay. How unfortunate. “That’ll be you ‘nd him up there someday, I’ll bet. Magnus’ll preside, that’s the kind of thing Magnus does, and it’ll be so cute. I think.”
Soundwave blinked behind his visor. He finally turned his head, but Jazz wasn’t looking at him anymore. Instead, his gaze was focused on Optimus, something in the tight restraint of his field suggesting Soundwave knew where this conversation was going.
“Perhaps,” Soundwave allowed. “Decision, Optimus’. Jazz disapproves?”
Jazz laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Mech, I’m way too late for disapprovin’ of any kind.” He leaned back, lounging in the bench with the sort of false ease that he’d perfected over the course of the war. “Optimus is happy. He’s glowin’. That’s all a decent mech could ask for.”
“And Jazz?”
“I’ll make do.” Jazz shrugged, again with false nonchalance. “I’ll improvise. It’s what I do. Not like I don’t have any experience.”
There was a wealth of information in that revelation, but now wasn’t the time to peel into it. Perhaps he’d set Frenzy on it. He’d always admired Jazz and given their propensity for mischief, could probably make a friend of the mech. Both of them could use more friends.
“Jazz generous,” Soundwave said after a moment of carefully cycling and discarding through words.
“I know when I’m beaten. I’m just tryin’ to be the better mech here, ain’t nothin’ generous about it.” Jazz’s shoulders rolled, but he was focused up front, where Optimus had turned his head to acknowledge Laserbeak, one hand raised to scratch gently under her chin. “And I think I’ve made all the threats I need ta make. Ya already know what’ll happen if ya hurt him.”
Soundwave inclined his head. “Affirmative.”
Jazz loudly cycled a ventilation and threw himself forward, hopping to his feet with a jaunty move that belied the disquiet in his field. He half-turned to look at Soundwave, still with that damnable grin, no matter how strained at the edges.
“Ya make ‘im happy, all right? Whatever it takes.”
Something coiled in Soundwave’s internals, something a lot like relief. He’d spent so long on edge, waiting for the moment Jazz sauntered into view, admitted the secret in his spark, and effortlessly whisked Optimus away. He was charming, where Soundwave was not. He was affectionate, beautiful, funny, intelligent and devoted. In comparison, Soundwave often wondered what he had to offer, and considered himself lucky Jazz didn’t seem inclined to make it a fight.
Now, Soundwave wondered why he’d even let himself fear. If there was ever a battle, Soundwave had already won. Jazz lost before he even offered himself into the match.
“No intentions otherwise,” Soundwave said, and surprised himself with the conviction in his vocals, before he admitted what he’d told few others, “Optimus is loved.”
Jazz’s lips pulled into a smile, one softer than before. “That’s all I wanted to hear.” He sketched a salute. “Catch ya on the flip side, Sounders.”
And then he was gone, slipping out of the row where Soundwave had chosen to sit, and sliding into one a few back, next to Smokescreen. Soundwave had heard rumors that the two shared berths more often than not, though research seemed to indicate it was less a thing of romance, and more one of comfort.
‘Jazz odd,’ Buzzsaw chirped to him as Soundwave turned back around, directing his attention to the front. He’d been watching the entire time, from his perch in the rafters, where he had the best view of the entire room.
‘Friendship perhaps possible now,’ Soundwave replied.
Buzzsaw sent a sound akin to a raspberry. ‘Still watch for knife in back, boss.’
Soundwave buried a snort. ‘Always.’
Optimus stepped forward, gathering everyone’s attention by lifting his hands and calling for silence, and the rest of the conversation slid away. He had Soundwave’s full attention, not that it was hard, and there Optimus was, at ease in front of the small crowd, a gentle smile on his lips and in his optics.
“Friends and family, I welcome you all to the public conjunx ceremony for Hound of Lower Monoplex and Ravage of Stanix,” Optimus began, his sonorous voice filling every nook and cranny of the small room. “It is my honor to be chosen to conduct this ceremony, and I am proud to be a part of this momentous occasion, this celebration of love enduring. If you would all rise, we can welcome the soon-to-be endura.”
Obedience was almost immediate, though not silent. Too many mechs with too many creaks and whooshes and groans as they rose to their feet and half-turned as one to the open door at the end of the aisle. A song began to play, soft and sweet, one that Soundwave’s memory file tagged as an old ballad he’d thought lost to the war. He wondered how and who had managed to dig it up.
Moments passed, stretched with anticipation, until as one, Hound and Ravage stepped into the doorway, the former from the right and the latter from the left. Hound was beaming, his armor jittering, and Ravage had raised her head high, her optics bright and pleased.
They strode together, step in step, Hound matching Ravage’s stride as though he had been doing so for centuries, as if it were easy to match a bipedal pace to a quadrupedal one. Their size difference was all the more apparent now, and Soundwave knew, the subject of some ridicule among those who had not been taught to keep their prying to themselves. Soundwave wished he could claim said slaggers were only from the Neutrals, but they were evenly spread throughout the three factions.
There were far too many who still didn’t consider Ravage an intelligent being in her own right, one capable of making her own decisions and truly loving another. And while a part of Soundwave would have been glad to hunt down every detractor to inform them the error of their ways, he knew better than to do so.
It would help no one and in the end, they didn’t matter. What mattered, instead, was this. Hound and Ravage together, happy, hoping beyond hoping during the war that they could come to this very moment.
They passed Soundwave’s row and for a moment, Ravage’s gaze flicked away from the podium that was their destination, to land upon Soundwave. A wealth of words carried in the single glance before she focused forward again. The last echoes of the bond thrummed between them, always present for all that Soundwave had broken it. She was imprinted on his spark forever.
And then they were at the podium, standing in front of Optimus, turning to face one another, the love in their field enough to make Soundwave’s knees tremble. Especially when Hound lowered himself to one knee and rested one hand across it, palm up. Ravage lifted a single paw, resting it over his hand. Hound’s fingers curled, the tips of them resting over Ravage’s paw, claiming, but loose enough to set her free if she so wished.
He knew her so very well.
Soundwave strengthened the blocks around his processor again, if only so he could focus. Especially when Optimus beamed down at them, his happiness for their sake nearly blinding.
The crowd seated itself. The music softened, though it continued to play in the background, just enough to maintain the mood. Soundwave made a mental note to acquire a copy of it. He thought Optimus might like to fall into recharge to it.
There were, perhaps, about a dozen Cybertronians in attendance, and an island full of humans through the lens of Buzzsaw’s camera. All watched as Optimus smiled and began to speak.
“There was a time when both of you could only dream of this moment,” he said, voice soft but carrying, and rich with meaning. “When we were all wrapped in the chains of war, and dreams were tiny things to be nestled in our sparks. They were the smallest of hopes to cling to, in the darkest of times, and I believe I speak for all of us when I say how glad I am that you two are here before us today, to finally claim that carefully nurtured dream.”
Hound’s ventilations audibly stuttered, though perhaps only audible to someone with Soundwave’s advanced systems. Ravage, in response, shifted closer to him, lending Hound the strength of her field.
Optimus looked down at them. “It has always been my preference that the two hopeful partners speak their promises to one another without ceremony. We, after all, are only here to bear witness to a truth that the both of you already know.” He gestured to each of them in turn. “Ravage, would you like to begin?”
This, Soundwave knew, had been agreed upon by all parties. Ravage had insisted she be allowed to speak first
“Hound,” Ravage’s vocals crackled with emotion. “I never knew I could fall in love with another spark beyond the definition of family. I did not know I could meet someone who I would grow to need in my life. But from the moment we met, I knew you were the exception. You would always be the exception.”
Soundwave’s spark squeezed at his once-cassette’s frank admission of love, for there were no other words to describe the emotion in Ravage’s spark.
“I love you,” Ravage continued. “I will always love you. I have spent over half a lifetime waiting for this moment, and I intend to spend the rest of my lifetime wherever you are. If you’ll have me.”
“Oh, Rav.” Hound dropped to both knees, his hands cupping Ravage’s face as he pressed their foreheads together. “It’s I who should be begging you to accept me. I’d never seen beauty until I met you. I didn’t know my attention could be captivated by anyone until you eclipsed everything, inside and out.”
Hound’s optics shimmered where Soundwave could see them, and like Ravage, the naked emotion in his vocals, in his expression, turned Soundwave’s spark to mush. He’d not seen a commitment ceremony in centuries, but this one already proved to be the best, the most honest of them.
“You are the strength that kept me together. You’ve always been my strength,” Hound murmured as he held Ravage’s gaze. “And if you let me, I will spend the rest of my life offering my strength in return. Frame, mind, and spark.”
It was the heaviest of promises, the most earnest. Only the sincere offered all three to their beloved, because all three in tandem were the very definition of a mech. Rossum’s Trinity, if you asked the texts.
Ravage lifted a paw, resting it on Hound’s thigh. Her head bumped back against his, leaning into the press of their foreheads.
“You are mine, Hound of Lower Monoplex,” she said. “Always and forever.”
Hound’s thumbs swept over Ravage’s jaw. “I’m yours,” he agreed. “And I take you as my own, Ravage of Stanix, until the Allspark welcomes us and beyond.”
Soundwave’s spark squeezed and squeezed as Hound and Ravage embraced, the tendrils of their fields so tightly knit as to be indistinguishable one from the other. They had wanted this for so long, had put it aside for the sake of others, how could Soundwave be anything but happy for them, here in their moment of triumph?
“Thus the words are spoken,” Optimus said as he lowered himself to one knee, resting a hand on Hound’s shoulder and the other on Ravage’s upper back, between her shoulders. “Thus the vow is made, one to the other. Witnessed by your friends, your family, and the ever-watchful gaze of our creator.”
Ravage, Soundwave knew, believed very little in Primus or the all-seeing optics of any kind of deity, sleeping or dead. But Hound had enough religion for both of them, and she’d conceded to his wishes in that regard.
Give and take. Compromise and adapt. They’d been making concessions for each other for centuries. What was another in the grand scheme of things.
“Hound of Lower Monoplex, and Ravage of Stanix, I officially pronounce you conjunx,” Optimus continued, his optics bright with happiness, his field nearly eclipsing them both with delight. “May your bond be everlasting and your love never falter.”
“Never,” Hound murmured in an echo of Optimus.
The sheen of joy in Ravage’s optics spoke more than enough words. They slid shut, ever so slow, and her field slid into Hound’s, merging into one.
Soundwave’s spark fluttered. He ex-vented, long and slow, even as his remaining cassettes pulsed love across their shared bond. He registered the sound of clapping around him, the engines revving in congratulations. He felt as though he were floating, his shields fluctuating against the strong inflow of positive energy. It was like high grade, like overcharge, and it made him dizzy.
Soundwave whispered a silent prayer as well, to a deity he still wasn’t sure he trusted. He asked the universe, also.
Let her be happy. It was all he could have hoped for any of his cassettes.
It was hard not to feel a teensy bit of envy.
Oh, Jazz was monumentally happy for Hound. He knew how long the tracker had been waiting for this. He’d been there, in all those lonely nights, sharing a berth with Hound because he missed Ravage something fierce but couldn’t admit it, and just wanted a warm frame to platonically cuddle. He’d caught them so many times, curled together, whispering promises to one another, hopes for a future where the war didn’t exist, where they could at last be as one.
Jazz was so, so glad they finally had this opportunity. It was the only good thing to come out of that horrifying year where the Decepticons had won.
But it was also hard not to envy him a little. Well, maybe more than a little. Maybe a lot. Especially as the ceremony ended and everyone started milling around, chatting in little groups, slipping in to congratulate the couple.
Jazz didn’t miss anything. Especially not the way Optimus and Soundwave immediately gravitated together, Soundwave saying something to make Optimus chuckle, and the subtle way Soundwave rested a hand briefly against Optimus’ lower back. Or how Optimus leaned into the touch just enough to draw comfort from it.
Jazz knew Optimus. Knew him inside and out. Knew that Optimus loved Soundwave with every inch of his being, even if their being together was moving at a pace more glacial than continental drift.
Jazz would bet the entirety of Cybertron that at some point in the near-future, maybe before Earth’s sun burned out even, Optimus and Soundwave would be making very similar vows to one another. They were a good match. Jazz couldn’t have picked someone better for Optimus.
Well, unless he looked in the mirror. Except that was kind of a lie because Jazz was not what anyone would call a good mate. His past was even more checkered than Soundwave’s. Besides all that, he was a coward. Because he’d never been able to bring himself to tell Optimus how he felt, and now there was no point. No chance. If there’d even been one in the first place.
Jazz hauled himself out of the bench and slid into the crowd, moving seamlessly amid the chatting mechs, so quiet most didn’t see him. The few that did, Jazz offered grins, handshakes, a joke or two. It was distressingly easy to pull that mantle on sometimes. Scary easy to be ‘Jazz’ when he needed to be.
Of all the personas he draped over his frame, he liked ‘Jazz’ the best. Maybe he’d even keep it, once he was secure and certain in this peace.
“So that’s what you look like when you’re rattled.”
Jazz drew up short and spun slowly, planting a bright grin on his face as he turned to greet one of his last remaining subordinates, though perhaps that was a strong word. Eventually Bumblebee would leave him, too.
That was the way world worked. People came to him, they learned from him, he trusted them, and then, they discovered how to be happy again, and they left him. People were always leaving Jazz.
Maybe he should change his name to Waypoint.
“Who says I’m rattled?” Jazz demanded as he planted his hands on his hips, body language deliberately playful and unbothered. “This is a wedding, mechs. I’m practically giddy.”
“Right,” Rumble drawled as he leaned against Bumblebee’s side, one elbow on Bumblebee’s shoulder, casual as you please. “And those long looks my boss’ direction aren’t ya plotting how to kill him and get away with it.”
Jazz reared back, feigning affront. “What? Of course not! Me and Sounders are the best of buddies now. Just ask him.” He smirked, flashing his denta. “Besides, any good soldier knows when the battle’s lost. Sometimes, ya gotta cut yer losses and run.”
Bumblebee snorted. “You’ve never run from anything a day in your life,” he said, and gave Jazz one of those inscrutable looks he hated so much.
Kid always was too insightful for his own good. Never had any friends because of it. Well, until he joined up with jazz’s crew anyway. Jazz’s kind didn’t mind a mech with talents like that. Was pretty useful out in the field in all.
Couldn’t be a good agent if you couldn’t look through your targets, right to the very spark of them. Pretty annoying to turn on your fellow agents though. They all got used to it.
“You don’t have to pretend you’re okay,” Bumblebee added, hitting the nail squarely on the head, no busted thumbnails for this one. “Not to us.”
“Pfft. I’m fine. There’s nothin’ to be not-okay about.” Jazz waved a hand, flippant, ignoring the way his spark squeezed and stuttered, and flight-or-fight twisted around his tank, strong enough to make his hydraulics rattle.
Danger, Jazzmeister! Thy secret is out!
Jazz squinted at his subordinate and his cozy significant other. “Don’t you two have somewhere else ta be right now?”
It was Rumble’s turn to snort, mates like mates after all. “Yeah. We can see when we’re not wanted.” He shoved off Bumblebee’s side and made a show of dusting off his frame. “But you know, Jazz, regret’s a heavy thing to carry. All the things ya didn’t say especially.”
Jazz twisted his jaw. The light in his visor went flat. “Mech, maybe not tonight is a good night to test me, yeah?” It wasn’t a threat. If anyone asked, Jazz was absolutely not threatening anyone.
Friendly reminders didn’t count as threats.
Bumblebee sighed and curled an arm around Rumble’s elbow. “Come on, dumpling. You should know better than to tug the tail of the tiger.”
“But it’s so much fun!”
Jazz folded his arms under his bumper. “Oh, is it now? And when should we show up for your shotgun bonding, huh?”
Rumble tossed a middle-finger over his shoulder. Someone had been spending a little too much time with the humans. He’d picked up on some nasty habits. Brat.
Jazz snorted and dropped his arms. He searched the crowd, trying to see if anyone had noticed their little conversation and put the hints together. But, no. Everyone was too busy with their own happy lives, content that the war really was over, and danger lurked nowhere.
Ah, civilians. What did that even feel like?
Jazz worked his way to Hound and Ravage, the former of who was grinning so brightly he could serve as a lightbulb, and the latter who was getting twitchier by the moment, probably as a result of all the attention. Ravage had always preferred shadows. This much time in the sunshine was likely driving her crazy.
There was a lull in the congratulations swamping them, so Jazz swooped in to speak his piece, locating his happiness for them and planting it on his face.
“It’s about time,” he said as he slid to a stop in front of them, hands on his hips. “Congratulations you two. So’s you know, I was rooting for you the whole time.”
“Yes, I know,” Ravage said with a roll of her optics. “And I appreciate your discretion. You could have reported us and made things quite difficult.”
“I would never stand in the way of true love.” Jazz pressed a palm to his chestplate, over his squeezing spark. “In fact, I’d like to thank that I had a hand in making sure you two lovebirds finally got to build your nest.”
Hound chuckled. “I’ll be sure to mention you in my speech at the reception.” He shifted closer to Ravage, plating pressed to plating, his field brimming with emotion. “You know, though, if you ever need us...”
“I won’t.” This Jazz knew for sure. “It’s a new world, kiddos. The time of spies and tricksters is at its end. Enjoy your marital life and domesticity.” He gave them two thumbs up, perhaps a touch too overplayed, but damn it, Jazz was ready to get out of here.
Too much joy in the air.
Hound laughed, blind to the subtext, but Ravage’s keen-eyed stare was one Jazz was ready to back slowly away from. So he toned it down and gentled his smile.
“In all seriousness,” Jazz said. “Congratulations. Many happy returns.”
He left before he could make a fool of himself, and they didn’t have time to respond anyway, not with another well-wisher bouncing up to take Jazz’s place. Literally. Eject could be a ball of energy sometimes, and it never took much to drag Frenzy into his pace. Cute as a button, those two were.
Time, however, for Jazz to make his escape.
He slipped into the crowd, aimed himself at the exit, and the fresh air of freedom beyond the door.
He didn’t expect to get intercepted by the last mech he wanted to talk to at the moment. He loved Optimus with all his spark, honestly, but sometimes, Optimus had the worst timing. He could be so unbearably dense. Yet, they’d known each other for so long, Optimus would definitely notice something wasn’t quite right.
“Oh, hey, OP. Great job on the ceremony,” Jazz said, pulling on every mantle of confidence and ease he had in his arsenal. “You haven’t lost your touch.”
Optimus smiled at him, gentle and affectionate. “Thank you, Jazz. I appreciate the compliment.” He tilted his head in confusion. “Leaving so soon?”
“Yeah. I should get there early to help Skybyte finish setting up.”
It was only partially a lie. Jazz probably should get there early to warm up. It was his first public concert in ages. That Skybyte had unbent enough to perform with him was a monumental leap forward in Autobot-Neutral relations. Skybyte was the sort who held onto grudges for ages, even if Metalhawk’s downfall had been brought upon by his own actions. Luckily, Skybyte had no clue about Jazz’s help in that department.
Optimus rested a hand on his shoulder, warm and companionable. “I am glad to see that you, too, are settling into a post-war life, Jazz. It’s what I hope for every Autobot who has fought alongside me.”
Jazz reached up and patted Optimus’ hand before he slid out from under it, the ache of longing threatening to clog up his intake. “You just want everyone to be as happy and snuggly as you are.”
“Guilty as charged.” Optimus chuckled. “We have earned it, I believe. All of us. And you especially.” His gaze turned briefly distant, his words warm. “I don’t think I can ever repay you for your loyalty, for your friendship. If not for you--”
Jazz shook his head, cutting Optimus off. He’d had enough of gratitude, but thanks anyway. He hadn’t done what he did because he wanted Optimus to be grateful. He’d risked life and spark and limb because a world where that monster had his hands on Optimus wasn’t a world worth living in.
“Don’t worry about it, boss. It comes with the territory. It’s what I’m here for.” Jazz grinned, most of it sincere, the rest of it there to hide the emotion his visor couldn’t. “Anyway, I’d better get going. Skybyte bitches worse than Metalhawk if I’m late.”
Optimus laughed. “That I can believe. Soundwave and I will be by later. I intend to catch at least some of your performance.”
“Then I’ll look for you in the crowd.”
Jazz winked and danced backward. He tossed off a friendly salute, careful to keep his smile intact. “Catch ya later, OP.” He slipped into the crowd before Optimus could say anything further and told himself he wasn’t running away.
He waited until he was a fair distance gone to look back, unsurprised to see that Optimus had sought out Soundwave, and the two were now standing together. Optimus had Laserbeak back on his shoulder, nuzzling the side of his head. Soundwave was offering a treat to Buzzsaw. Whatever they spoke about, it made Optimus smile.
He was happy. So happy. He’d improved so much since that horrible enslavement five years ago. He wasn’t perfect. The echoes of it still lingered, but Optimus was moving forward. Healing.
He was going to be just fine. And that was enough. It had to be.
Jazz cycled a ventilation and slipped out of the ceremony hall, into a sky twinkling with twilight, manufactured though it was. Cybertron spun endlessly through space. One of these orns, maybe they’d get caught by a star. Or Perceptor and Brainstorm and all the other vastly intelligent mechs would figure out how to put Cybertron somewhere permanent.
Maybe it was for the best they didn’t. No one liked Cybertronians and hadn’t for quite some time. Maybe better that no one could easily find them. And someday, they’d leave Earth behind, too. So the surviving humans could rebuild and forget they ever knew the metal monsters which slayed them.
Jazz chuckled to himself as he hustled toward the temporary stage, constructed for this evening alone. My but he was feeling maudlin tonight. He should be delighted, celebratory even.
Five years of peace! He should be in the highest of spirits! Or something.
The stage came into view, already brightly lit and draped in celebratory banners. An awful sound screeched out of the speakers – probably Blaster checking the sound system again. He could be pretty particular about it, especially now that he could spare the time to focus on his true love.
Music was the rhythm of his spark. It always would be.
Jazz rounded the corner of the stage and spied Skybyte in the center of it, playing straw boss to Blaster’s cassettes – minus Eject and Rewind unsurprisingly – as they ran around to finish the last fiddly bits. Jazz hopped up onto the stage just as Skybyte turned to survey the open area which would serve as the concert hall.
“About time you got here,” Skybyte said, ever so friendly, ever the grump. He planted his hands on his hips. “I thought I would have to start without you.”
Jazz smirked. “I didn’t know acapella was your style.”
“I have recordings.” Skybyte squinted at him, something in the hard edge of his stare softening. “You look like someone snatched your favorite blaster. Is there something I should know about?”
“Nothing treaty-related.” Jazz flicked a hand. “It’s personal. I’ll get over it. Did you decide the set list?”
A mutual enjoyment of music, that had been the ties that slowly drew the Neutrals and the Autobots into something closer to a partnership, rather than bitter enemies. Jazz had been the first to cast the line, but Skybyte had been the first to bite the bait. He’d harbored a deep love of poetry, but never had the skills to attach it to music.
Jazz had hooked him, line and sinker, with a wink and a tidbit of information: there wasn’t an instrument on this planet or any other that Jazz hadn’t fallen in love with. Some he could play like any master. Others, not so much. But the music lived in his spark as much as it did Blaster’s.
And a trio was born. As in three, because what musical group could be complete without someone to smooth over the rough edges? Jazz and Skybyte relied on Blaster to make them sound good.
“Yes, I did. After conferring with Blaster, we thought it most appropriate to start with ‘Exit the Fall.’” Skybyte’s frown did not ease.
Jazz nodded. “Good choice.” He cast about, looking for his electro-bass. One of many instruments he’d be playing this evening. “You got ‘In the Rafters’ on there, too?”
“Of course.”
“Then I’m happy with whatever the rest is.”
He found the bass in its cradle, treated carefully. Blaster’s little mechs knew the value of it, knew how to handle it properly. Good kids, they were. Jazz would have to bring them a treat later.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Skybyte’s frown lingered, less severe, more concerned now. “There is decidedly less… you in your step.”
Jazz barked a laugh as he knelt by his instrument’s case and ran his fingers over the aged metal. It had survived so much, even more than the war, just like its owner.
“I would have thought a poet could come up with a better adjective.” Jazz removed the electro-bass from the case and gave it a testing strum. “It’s been a long half-decade is all. No worries. I’m good to play.”
Skybyte huffed an exasperated sound. “I wasn’t concerned about your ability to play, Jazz.” He rolled his optics, muttered something subvocally, and turned away. “Forget I asked. Let us just concentrate on the show for the evening. I don’t wish to disappoint anyone.”
“Impossible,” Jazz replied cheekily. “We’re the bees knees. Everyone loves us.”
“The bees knees. Primus, you Autobots and that infection you call a human language. If I never have to suffer another ridiculous idiom, it will be a miracle,” Skybyte muttered. He walked away, off to bark another command at Steeljaw as more lights brightened the stage.
Jazz grinned and focused on his electro-bass, giving it another few strums. He looked out over the courtyard where a few curious mechs had already begun to gather.
It was a good future they were building here. Maybe not perfect. Maybe not everything he could have ever wanted.
But good enough.
Definitely good enough.
