A Confession at a Shotgun Wedding

by WildSapphicDragon

Summary:

Prowl finds himself just four metres from the altar at a shotgun wedding between Optimus Prime and Megatron as a result of four things.

One, the war is over. Two, Autobot and Decepticon badges do not exist anymore. Three, Optimus Prime mentioned he was the sire of Megatron's not-so-secret carriage. And Four, Prowl was asked to be his best mech, and couldn't say no because Jazz had looked sad when he tried to.

Which is to say, there are five reasons Prowl is at this wedding; the final being the fact he is in love with Jazz and has no slagging clue.

Prowl finds himself just four metres from the altar at a shotgun wedding between Optimus Prime and Megatron as a result of four things.

One, the war ended when they found a way to return to Cybertron but ended up having to fight Quintessons for their home, joining forces to fight them back, and that reluctant truce had become… not so reluctant. When the Quintessions were vanquished, Elita-One's forces filled them in on anything they had missed, and somehow that included the Decepticons in the meeting rooms. They had never left.

Two; many bots and cons had their badges peeled right off and replaced with flat plating of no distinguishable pattern, and Prowl only remembers certain mechs as once being the enemy because of the names he stored in his databanks.

Three; Optimus Prime let slip that Megatron was carrying during one rather drunken night on a terrace in New Iacon, sitting between Ratchet and Ironhide while Prowl scanned the city below. What was both a joyous and utterly confusing conversation about Megatron became the moment a very bad idea was thought up.

Finally, four; Prowl's decided no when being asked to stand beside Optimus Prime during the haphazardly arranged most-important-conjunx-ceremony-in-millenia was ignored because of the secret fifth reason that was not a what, but a who.

Five; Jazz of Staniz.

Prowl had been firm in his 'no, I will NOT stand at the altar with Optimus Prime while he conjunxes the leader of the opposition because of an unplanned carriage', but Jazz had looked at him, then, visor glinting a darker blue, and gone all pouty. Prowl had taken one look at his mouth and instead said 'yes, whatever you want' directly to Jazz instead of Optimus. He had been both too confused and embarrassed to correct himself when Optimus pulled him into a largely unwanted embrace.

So of course it was Jazz's fault. Jazz wasn't stupid. Jazz had done it on purpose, Prowl was sure — or at least his calculations with his current information said so — and now he had to stand at Optimus Prime's left side while he said his vows to the enemy.

There was something in his processor that niggled when he thought enemy, because lawfully speaking, they weren't enemies anymore, but Prowl hadn't gotten this far by dropping his guard when everything seemed rosy.

His TACNET hadn't come up with this possibility. He'd crunched numbers and ran thought trees for hours after the Prime's confession that Megatron was sparked up by him, and admittedly, there were holes in his logic. He hadn't realised Megatron and Optimus were together at all; he'd assumed they were still on shaky ground, given that the truce was only active for about two years so far. Admittedly, though, Prowl did not bother himself with his superior's private life, nor anyone else's; it was trivial to think of himself as anything more than a coworker to anyone. Which was why he had totally missed the variable of Optimus Prime considering him close enough to ask Prowl to be his best mech.

That right should have gone to Bumblebee, but he had been deactivated on duty long ago. Prowl had drawn up possibilities for the ceremony and in many of them the right of best mech had gone to Jazz himself - he was charming he was stuck to Prime's side during most work days and he was gorgeous he was a good visual choice. In other calculations the right went to Elita-One, but less often, because Prowl had once calculated that she would be the one on the opposite end of the altar. Most of the calculations that did not involve Jazz or Elita were instead replaced by Ratchet, who Prowl always thought would be asked but knew was perhaps just as likely to say no as he was.

Or just as likely as he had been.

As he stood there listening to vows he truly did not want to be within at least five lightyears of, he scanned through the possibilities of the future his TACNET was producing in the background. Most of them were that this union would go well. Decepticons and Autobots — or just Cybertronians, he supposed — needed something to bring them together more than ever. Now that the rebuilding effort was well underway the union between the factions had begun to stagnate. Tensions were rising again. This union could be the make-or-break thing.

Prowl almost wished for it to go badly. He was shockingly bored running numbers on the birth of sparklings rather than the next battle strategy.

Almost. Optimus Prime deserved rest, and although the sheer number of possibilities pointing to his soon-to-be future retirement made Prowl's doorwings go ramrod-straight, he still did not wish for any reason to push his superior back onto the battlefield.

So Prowl would weather this. At least he had an image capture of Jazz's smile when he had said yes to his role as best mech.

---

There were tears and plenty of smiles and congratulations, which pushed Prowl to seek out the refreshment table, snatch a cube of energon, and nurse it in a dark corner he perceived as private enough. It proved not to be so for spies.

"Hey Prowl!" Mirage shimmered into existence beside him, likely hoping to make him jump. It was Mirage's fourth attempt to do so in just two cycles, and just like all the others, it did not work. "Aw, frag, you're no fun."

"This isn't about fun." Prowl scowled back at Mirage. "Did you need something?"

"This is ALL about fun, you scowler, it's a conjunxing ceremony! Live a little!" Mirage tried to prod Prowl in the arm, but Prowl was moving before he did. "Frag."

"Mirage. Did you need something?" Prowl repeated tersely, feeling his frown deepen.

"Uh." Mirage pointed an index digit at him. "What are my chances of dancing with Skywarp?"

"I don't use my expertise for your most recent hyperfixations," Prowl responded disdainfully. "I have far more important calculations to follow."

"Like what?" Mirage asked, looking genuinely flummoxed. "We're not at war anymore, Prowl. What are you calculating? Energon rations?"

Prowl's mood soured further, if it was possible. "Energon rations are important calculations."

"You can do that in your sleep, Prowl!" Mirage snorted. "You don't need to focus to calculate rations. Besides, Cybertron is alive again — we have energon. Way more than we've had for millions of years. If anything, I think Primus is happy we got our shit together."

"Don't use human phrases like that," Prowl snapped, "You're not an organic." Really, he was just nitpicking to nitpick; Mirage would go away if he felt personally vindicated. "And what I do in my spare time is of no concern to you. We aren't friends."

A funny look passed over Mirage's face. His mouth went crooked on a downwards trajectory and his optic ridges scrunched while his optics narrowed, but he didn't look particularly upset. Prowl wasn't sure he'd seen such an expression on Mirage before, but he had seen it directed to him before, from-

"Why don't you go dance with Jazz?" Prowl suggested. "I don't need calculations to know he's a better choice than Skywarp."

Mirage perked up, his grin lascivious. "Prowl, he's definitely spoken for. Thought you would know that."

Spoken for. Jazz was spoken for - had he missed that? Prowl had never once thought Jazz had a constant dance partner other than Blaster, but he and Blaster weren't what anyone called exclusive. Especially now that Blaster had made it his newest mission to coax Soundwave into their forming band. They sounded good, Prowl could give them that, but lacked the numbers.

"Blaster isn't at this ceremony and Soundwave rarely leaves Shockwave's side," Prowl responded, unable to keep the frustrated puzzlement from his voice. "Unless Jazz is dancing with Soundwave and Shockwave, which I highly doubt, he isn't 'spoken for'. Jazz letting anyone speak for him is an irregularity regardless."

Mirage's odd look returned, this time with his lips quirked upwards. "For someone so smart, you're really dense, you know that?"

Prowl's doorwings twitched once before he got them under control. "Go dance with Skywarp, Mirage, before I lose my patience."

Thankfully, Mirage took a hint for the first time in cycles, and disappeared into the crowd flocking the refreshment tables. Prowl nursed his cube of fuel, scowling into it.

The idea of Jazz being 'spoken for' had dual meanings, in the way Mirage had said it; that Jazz had a dance partner, at least for now, or that Jazz had a partner. It suggested that Jazz may be spoken for in other ways, which by all means was happy news. Mecha were pairing or trining up left right and centre these days — truly it often made Prowl a bit dizzy when he added all those possibilities to his proclivities — and Jazz was a charismatic mech with flirtatious tendencies. It was odd that anyone could even hope to tie him down, but not out of the realm of possibility. It made sense.

So why did it rankle Prowl so much to think of it?

TACNET firing off, Prowl focused enough to disappear into his processor and pay attention to the possibilities emerging.

Blaster. He was the first mech to come to mind, but it only took a few more lines of code to render that point moot. Blaster was charming in his own way, he and Jazz got along well, but were too similar. Prowl had recorded once, long ago, that Jazz had said he enjoyed mental sparring; he and Blaster agreed on too many things for Blaster to be a viable romantic pursuit. A friendly one, yes, and Prowl predicted they would be amica before this year ended. Not romantic partners that would work, and Jazz was not someone who made decisions on a whim — as much as Prowl knew he liked to come off that way.

Soundwave was the next mech to show his name in Prowl's calculations but was discredited even quicker than the first. Soundwave was another mech who Prowl respected for his clever processor and incredible judgement, and Jazz was much the same, but where Jazz seemed to find Prowl worthy of his effort Soundwave was not so lucky. Jazz did not push Soundwave like he did Prowl. If Soundwave said no — or rather was quiet in his refusal — Jazz did not pursue. That did not indicate a potential spark of romance. That and Prowl was fairly certain he had seen Shockwave run his servo up Soundwave's backstrut during this very ceremony, and did not need to know more than that. So it was not Soundwave.

Mirage had just shown his face and proven that he was not a good candidate, but Prowl ran a thought tree on Mirage and Jazz regardless. It came apart fairly quickly. The pair had a close bond, both being spies and proficient agents, but Prowl was almost certain that Mirage had something not-so-fleeting for Skywarp; and the same argument against Blaster could be made about Mirage. They were too similar in their work arenas, too similar in their thinking. Jazz would grow bored if he was always agreed with. Mirage was another bad idea.

Sideswipe was a more compelling argument, but that line of thinking fell flat, too. Jazz and Sideswipe had bonded more in the last few years, both clever and viciously quick thinkers in vastly different ways, but where Jazz used his full potential himself Sideswipe always felt lacking if Sunstreaker was not present. Prowl did not necessarily think it was such a good thing when the twins were together — they caused more processor aches than even he could comfortably count — and he did not see Sunstreaker approving of his twin pursuing Jazz romantically. The more Prowl thought of it, the less Jazz likely seemed to be happy in a committed relationship with Sideswipe.

Or anyone, for that matter. He ran names just for the sake of it - Ratchet, undeniably almost impossible. Optimus, impossible. Starscream, thankfully highly unlikely. Thundercracker, highly unlikely. Skywarp, less unlikely but still so. Chromia, unlikely. Blurr, somewhat unlikely. Elita-One, highly unlikely to impossible. Hound, unlikely.

The results were promising and somewhat comforting. Prowl didn't want to look too closely at that last feeling and packed it tightly away - or would have if Jazz himself did not suddenly sense he was being thought about.

"Prowler, what are you doin' over here all by your lonesome?"

Jazz was as gorgeous as Prowl had seen earlier at the start of the ceremony. Shining with wax detailing and fresh paint, visor glinting with that charismatic persona and the digits of one servo curled around a flute of something bubbling. His smile, all glinting dentae and pursed lips, made Prowl's spark spin just like it did when he looked at the image capture.

He should have deleted it. He was developing a response to it.

"You can decipher that just fine yourself, Jazz," Prowl responded, wishing he had more energon in the cube in his servo. He needed to ration that lifeline. "I thought you were dancing tonight."

"Hopefully soon," Jazz responded, visor glinting with an expression Prowl often saw on him. Scheming.

"Ah." Prowl felt something nasty push through his lines. "Well, if you came for calculations on your chances, Mirage has already tried such a thing and I sent him away with a vehement denial. You will not find me feeling amicable." He took a long drink to focus on something else other than the sudden unwelcome surge of guilt for his tone.

Jazz looked puzzled, smile disappearing for a fraction of a moment before it returned, wider than before. "Prowler, no, mech, I'm not here to ask about my chances with someone. I'm just here to say hello! Y'looked lonely."

Lonely. It was an odd descriptor for him. Prowl did not so much need company as much as he desired it at inopportune times — Mecha did not enjoy spending time with him. he wasn't anyone's friend, let alone amica or conjunx or even a confidante. It didn't bother him, or… rather it… never used to. War was a priority, a necessary evil, a purpose and a trophy all wrapped into one. Without it, Prowl had found his calculations grew mundane and and his day-to-day became messy. He did not so much long for war as he desired its purpose back. He had plenty to do but they were all simple things; paperwork, discussions of roadways and reparations and what to do with criminal presecution now that just being part of one or the other faction did not a criminal make. Patrols across New Iacon and political visits to other cities, discussions with Optimus Prime and having to ignore Megatron in the same room. He desired a purpose that thrilled him, yes, but also something that was worth his time. All he looked forward to these days was his refuelling breaks with Jazz.

Lonely implied that Prowl had a problem with being alone. He didn't think it was that; there was no one besides Jazz and Optimus Prime who really chose to seek him out, anyway. Optimus sought him out for various opinions and work-related activities, and at times Prowl would go to what he perceived as a meeting and end up with a cube of high-grade in his servos instead, staying until lights-out; they were friendship activities, often involving Ratchet and Ironhide and Elita-One, and he knew he was invited purely by incidental mistake.

Often his processor supplied that he was invited out of pure pity; but he would ignore that, because that implied others cared for his wellbeing more than was rational.

"Prowler?" Jazz waved a servo in front of him, and Prowl belatedly realised the mech had been talking. "Did I break you?"

"No." Prowl twitched his doorwings, almost as if he was ruffling his frame out to reset his processor. "I was simply deep in thought. Can I help you, Jazz?"

Jazz got that look on his face that Prowl now recognised instantly. It was the same one as Mirage's, but it bothered him less; the scrunch of his optic ridge and the pout of his lips was objectively attractive and easy to look at. Prowl liked looking at Jazz. He was… interesting. Stimulating. He liked to say objectively handsome, but that was a lie; Jazz did not necessarily fit Iacon's standard of beauty of splashes of conflicting colours and a massive, bulky frame. jazz was more subtle than that. Prowl thought he was handsome. It was a fact, an easy one; Prowl was clever, Jazz was handsome. It didn't matter that Prowl had never found any other mech to be handsome.

"…I dunno," Jazz eventually said, still looking at Prowl with that perplexed, attractive expression. "I wanted to be away from the crowd for a bit, I guess. You're better company."

That thought was… well, at risk of sounding like Shockwave, illogical. Prowl was not good company by any means — it didn't take much experimentation to figure that out. He did not despise that knowledge, in fact, it gave him security and even more ability to be alone with his thoughts and get his work done efficiently; but again that word cropped up in his processor unbidden. Lonely. He was alone so often that yes, objectively, one could call him lonely… but when Jazz visited his office he was not. He liked when Jazz visited his office.

"I'm happy to provide you with company, Jazz," Prowl said earnestly. He meant it. "I would have thought you would enjoy congratulating the newlyweds."

"Nah." Jazz leaned against the wall behind them both, arms crossed over his impressive chest, visor glinting and helm tilted at an attractive angle. "I congratulated them already, didn't want to stick around. All the… soft and fuzzies made me feel a lil' like I was missing something."

"Missing something?" Prowl asked, not so sure why he wanted to pursue that line of discussion.

"Yeah." Jazz shrugged, nonchalant, but Prowl could tell he was thinking deeply about it; his digits tapped his upper arm in a soothing song he had heard from Jazz many times now. "Someone, maybe."

He turned his helm slightly so that his visor caught the shine of the chandelier, and Prowl could have sworn Jazz was looking at him deliberately, not just because they were talking.

Prowl's tanks flipped suddenly, and he angled his helm away, breaking optic contact with Jazz's visor. He could never tell where Jazz was looking, but it suddenly felt a lot like their optics had made contact that made him feel… indescribably seen. Being seen was not so much the thing that made Prowl seek an escape; it was that it didn't bother him in the first place, and he hadn't accounted for that being comforting.

"Don't let me keep you from the dance floor, Jazz," Prowl said, staring down into the dregs of his energon. He had forgotten to finish it. "If you want to ask someone to dance, you should. You deserve to pursue your own happiness in this time of peace."

It still gave him that odd feeling of wrongness; the idea of Jazz dancing with someone. Prowl could not work out who Jazz might want to pursue romantically, and a dance was not an inherent romantic thing — he had seen Jazz dance with Blaster countless times and it no longer made Prowl feel white-hot discomfort when he saw them doing so. He didn't know who it was, and it made him feel angry, and yet he did not quite know why it made him so angry. He wasn't just frustrated because he coudln't work out the mech's identity. He was angry because the other mech involved was Jazz.

His words, however disingenuous Prowl knew they sounded, seemed to give Jazz a push. He pursed his lips — attractive, dangerously so — and twisted to put his flute of half-drunk bubbly high grade on the closest surface. Then he held out a servo to Prowl.

"Well, Prowler, are you gonna dance with me, then?"

Prowl stared at the servo in front of him. Within easy reaching distance, it would take only a twelve-percent of a full hinging of his elbow joint to grab it, and Prowl very much wanted to. But as he stared at Jazz's servo, everything felt very overwhelming — his TACNET fired off so fast in so many directions that Prowl was suddenly very conscious of what usually worked seamlessly in the background. There was so much data, so many things filling holes and blanks and coding suddenly rewriting to try and compute scenarios better with a new monumental variable that Prowl felt a bit like he was upside down.

"Jazz, why-" Prowl's voice let out a burst of equations directly from his background calculations and he scowled, resetting his vocaliser and trying again. "Jazz. Why would you ask to dance with me?"

Jazz's smile turned a little softer at the edges. Prowl found he liked that look; he didn't see it often. "Prowler. I've wanted to dance with you for years. You're the only mech worth dancing with."

Prowl, utterly blindsided and trying to decipher those words, took Jazz's servo in his own. He was momentarily distracted from his interpretations because Jazz's hold was very warm, very comfortable, and his thumb was stroking the back of Prowl's servo.

"Wh-zzhht-" Prowl reset his vocaliser again as Jazz tugged him along to the dance floor, only half-remembering to pawn off his cube of energon to the closest table they passed. "Why would I be worth dancing with? I haven't danced in millions of years. I only have steps for shortform ballroom dancing from Praxus and the Iaconian two-step from an ancient age uploaded into my active memory."

"Prowler." Jazz spun around, visor glinting blue, and took Prowl's other servo in his free one. Prowl realised belatedly that they were already on the dance floor. "I don't care if you dance one of Blaster's stupid jigs. I just wanna be here with you."

Prowl's processor felt dangerously close to crashing. "Why?"

Jazz laughed, bright and musical and delightful. Something in Prowl's chest clenched. "Because I like you, Prowler. Primus. Do you think I stop for refuelling chats with just anyone?"

Prowl blinked his optics rather dumbly at Jazz as he began to move, tugged into a shifting, shimmying sort of movement he was sure he was supposed to want to complain about. "I have valuable information and insight. I assumed you wanted that."

"Well, I do appreciate your perspective," Jazz said, coming in a little closer, "But I appreciate it because we're close and because I like you. Did you… think I didn't like you?"

Prowl thought back to so many of their interactions. Jazz coming in almost daily for refuel trips together, dragging Prowl from his desk to the fancy fuel press Jazz insisted he get his fuel from. Discussing plans for the roadways in New Iacon and the flight paths in Vos. Jazz's laughter when they met up with Ironhide or Ratchet or Shockwave or Ravage while passing out datapads, and the strange hot feeling Prowl would get that made his doorwing glass slide up and down whenever Jazz laughed at someone's joke. Jazz insisting on heading to the gardens for fresh air, Prowl's insistence that it was a waste of time, and the two of them ending up between hedges anyway. Jazz's glittering visor as he stood in the sunlight, his frame gleaming white and silver and blue. The optics behind that visor, which Prowl had only seen once, after a mission that left that visor broken, and being the one to request a private audience with Ratchet to fix it away from view of anyone else. Of Jazz letting Prowl stand there while Ratchet worked. Of the way Prowl had thought of those blue optics after the fact, lying in berth and struggling to recharge because his processor wasn't making sense. Now, a lot of it suddenly felt more explainable.

"Oh," Prowl murmured, processor stalling.

"Yeah, Prowler, 'oh'." Jazz let go of one of his servos, and before Prowl could protest, he was touching his faceplate. That gentle smile was back. "Primus, Prowl, you had no idea, did you..? That I care about you so much."

Utterly blindsided by both those words and his processor supplying memory after memory, all pointing to one thing in the data, Prowl worked his jaw, mouth opening. Nothing came out.

Jazz took his servo again and guided Prowl into a spin slow enough not to unbalance him but fast enough to kick his TACNET into working again. The data poured together in a quick stream, suddenly only one conclusion coming up again and again.

Prowl's doorwings flickered a few times, restless energy climbing across his plating. "You want to… pursue me romantically. You want to dance with me because you like me."

Jazz's expression looked simultaneously caught-out and delighted. "…Yeah. Yeah, I do want both of those things. Look, Prowler, if it ain't something you want that's fine. I know I'm being a little presumptuous, but I felt like I had a chance… that's why I brought it up. Usually I wouldn't, but the way you let me in just had me hoping that, y'know, maybe…?"

Prowl had never seen Jazz nervous. For a moment he didn't think that's what this was; it was just an emotion he wasn't used to — but no, Jazz had never once been nervous in front of him. Not that Prowl had ever noticed, at least. Jazz was cocky and suave and charismatic, always assured of his victories even to a fault; but he was nervous now. He was nervous because this mattered to him.

His battle computer supplied Prowl with all the information he needed, but for all it was worth, he barely even glanced at its conclusion before he spoke.

"I won't say I know the ins and outs of… this kind of relationship, but I…" Prowl's vocaliser caught, and he paused, considering his words. "…I want to be closer to you, Jazz. I want to try this, I know that I feel strongly about you now. I was missing such a key piece of the puzzle and now I… I understand." His sparkchamber felt tight, warm, too constricting; but he persevered. "I didn't think you could be interested in me. I didn't think it was a possibility, I didn't let myself take it into consideration. But I like our talks. Our walks. You make me feel seen and listened to… not lonely.… and I really like your smile."

He didn't want to ruin this, break this, do something wrong — but Prowl had only just figured out that his feelings for Jazz ran so deep. Part of them almost terrified him, but he was determined to not be afraid of anything, least of all Jazz of Staniz, with his glinting visor and warm servos and understanding smile. Jazz, who looked at him like Prowl was worth more than the battle computer and the enemies he had made.

"I know it's not what you want to hear." Prowl squeezed Jazz's servo desperately, not wanting to lose something he had just gained. "I want this. I just need to figure out how to do it."

Perhaps this was the purpose he needed. This new thing, a wondrous thing, that Prowl could discover meant more than old battle reports still in his desk drawers and ration calculations he ran fifty times over; this thing with Jazz, the mech who smiled at him like he saw the mistakes, but not just those.

Jazz's smile, that soft, bright, wondrous thing, only grew. "I can work with that, Prowler. I can definitely work with that."

The tightness in Prowl's sparkchamber lifted. Jazz let out a musical laugh as he tugged Prowl close, and when they fell into a dance Prowl didn't know, he let Jazz take the lead.

Notes:

The JazzProwl agenda continues!! Enjoy the first part of a series I will definitely be continuing. I fell in love with the scenario too much to not.

Consider leaving a comment? They keep me writing your faves!

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of How Prowl of Praxus gained his peacetime purpose in Jazz of Staniz