Chapter Text
It hit Jazz like a brick every time he noticed it - Soundwave did literally all the work in the Deception faction.
Gathering intel on any other 'con was like watching a trainwreck in slow motion. Megatron came up with stupid, ineffective plans to kill Autobots. Starscream came up with stupid, ineffective plans to kill Megatron. Shockwave came up with morally bankrupt and tactically useless experiments that benefited no one but himself.
And that was just high command - mixing in the antics of the gestalt heads and team leaders created a whole new level of stupidity and incompetence. But somehow, the ragtag collection of egotists and fools that called themselves Megatron’s Glorious Decepticon Army managed to consistently fight the Autobots to a standstill.
It was all because of Soundwave.
There was no other way to look at it. The communications officer put together all the tactical and strategic plans - that was technically Starscream’s responsibility, but the seeker could so rarely find time between his schemes. Soundwave also produced energon cubes, then ensured they were filled and transported them back to actually fuel the troops - though in theory all Decepticons were supposed to be self-sustaining warriors, fueling on energon they won personally, in battle. The boombox also dealt with Megaton’s outbursts, Starscream’s outbursts, and Shockwave’s passive-aggressive emails every day, and still managed to keep things running.
Some credit had to go to the cassettes, too - without them, there would be no functioning Decepticon intelligence system. Without Laserbeak and Buzzsaw in the sky, Ravage in the vents, and Rumble and Frenzy creating chaos, Jazz was pretty sure he’d have been able to take at least two combiners and a respectable number of seekers out of the equation.
Optimus didn’t like that kind of thinking but, hey - that was the kind of thinking that won wars. The most significant strategic victory would, of course, be taking out Soundwave himself, but Jazz was reluctant to suggest it.
Oh, there were any number of good reasons, though the one that Jazz would use, if Prowl ever brought it up, was the simplest; without Soundwave on the job, the Deceptions would be more erratic and unpredictable, greatly increasing the risk to nearby human populations. Optimus would never authorize assisnation on principle, but with an honourable ‘protect the aliens’ rationale, he wouldn’t even have to feel guilty about it. Well, good - the Prime carried enough guilt.
Still, nothing was stopping Jazz from killing Soundwave and making it look like an accident, or internal conflict gone wrong - nothing but the not-inconsiderable skill of the mech himself.
And possibly something else. Some kind of lingering feeling.
Jazz was a mech who prided himself on knowing his own processor - and at the end of the day, there was no denying that he had a soft spot for the boombox. They were alike in a lot of ways.
It wasn’t that they were both third in command of their respective factions, or even their specialities. They might both deal in intelligence, but Jazz knew that Soundwave was so much more than that. When it came to real value to the cause, he had to be on the level of Prowl, if not the Prime himself. Jazz wasn’t nearly as important.
No, whatever feeling Jazz had for Soundwave wasn't about the war. It sounded bizarre, but sometimes when he was surveilling the boombox, Jazz didn't think about the war at all.
He just - he made it look so damn easy. Soundwave juggled interpersonal drama, logistical tasks and full-scale battles with a no-nonsense efficiency that was almost graceful, and he still made time for his cassettes. Most night cycles found him sitting in his berth, secondary cables plugged into the console running surveillance, and Ravage in his lap. He played video games with Rumble and Frenzy, and bullied the seekers into providing cover when Laserbeak or Buzzsaw wanted a flight. He fueled regularly, maintained a running game of three dimensional chess with Onslaught, and never, ever slept.
The thing was, Soundwave lived his life like they weren't at war. And Jazz - sometimes Jazz just needed to remember that that was possible. Sometimes, he just needed to curl up in a ventilation duct and listen to Soundwave hum his cassettes to sleep.
So maybe the boombox was 'some kinda freak of nature' (Ironhide) and an 'extremely high value tactical and strategic target' (Prowl). Maybe he was the only reason the Decepticons hadn't lost the war yet. Soundwave was also, in some kind of twisted, messed-up way, the only person keeping Jazz sane.
--
Soundwave was watching Jazz again.
The observation came through their host-symbiont bond, thick with the sense of Ravage's commingled amusement and disapproval.
No, Soundwave refuted - it would be more accurate to say that he was reviewing surveillance footage of the Ark on his HUD, while conducting Ravage's routine maintenance, the same way he did every night-cycle. Soundwave valued the time after Megatron had gone to recharge and Starscream holed himself up in his lab; it was the quietest period, ideal for running analysis on the data his cassettes had collected throughout the day.
And if a significant amount of that data was video of the Autobots' third in command? That was Soundwave's business as head of special operations, and nobody but he (and Ravage, Laserbeak, Buzzsaw, Rumble and Frenzy) needed to know about it.
Besides, Jazz was worth watching. The little grounder - and he was nearly a minibot, it was ridiculous that someone so small should be so lethal, when some deeply buried piece of Soundwave's code always wanted him to pick the mech up and protect him - was so unpredictable.
Some days he did nothing but sit in the crew mess on the Ark and chat with random members of the faction. Soundwave had thought nothing of this for years, until he discovered that Autobot productivity rose between fourteen and eighteen percent for the entire orn after one of Jazz's ‘talking days’. Other shifts, he sat between the Prime's bodyguard and second in command and played the two mechs off each other, so effortlessly that neither realized they'd both agreed to Jazz's suggested course of action.
Soundwave couldn't help but think that if he just had more data, he'd be able to understand how the black and white mech did it. But even after millions of years feeding his algorithm, a coin toss could predict Jazz's next move about as well as he could.
It was fascinating.
Soundwave could usually see, in retrospect, the way that Jazz used his faction's soft-sparked silliness and arbitrary, unspoken rules to manipulate the rest of Autobot high command into doing what he wanted. But in the moment, every word out of the mech's mouth seemed more illogical than the last.
He doubted the other Autobots understood it, either. Everyone seemed to take Jazz at face value, even when doing so was obviously ridiculous. The black and white mech could stroll through the halls with energon on his hands, and bots would still call out to him, or stop to have a chat. Jazz would stand there with a smile on his face, bopping his head and whistling a tune, and nobody would notice the way his servos shook, or that he never un-tensed his shoulders.
Naive fools, the lot of them. Any Decepticon still alive at this point in the war knew exactly how dangerous Jazz was, but the Autobots treated him as a sort of morale officer. Good time Jazz, the laid back member of high command, just as likely to sit down and have a drink with you as write you up when he found the latest still. As if that made him any less lethal.
No, Jazz wasn't someone to mess around with - he wasn't stupid, like the Prime, or easily distracted, like the battle computer. Jazz was sharp, and unpredictable, and - no, Ravage, the mech's looks weren't relevant to this assessment - and interesting.
So yes, Soundwave liked to spend some time each cycle thinking about Jazz; it was tactically sound to maintain awareness of the enemy's key players, and it was something to think about that didn't make him want to rip out his own data cables by the roots. If obsessing over the Autobot's third in command was Soundwave's escape as well as his duty, no one needed to know.
At least it was more productive than trying to assassinate Megatron.
--
::He's up there again:: Buzzsaw messaged the cassettes' private chat.
::What's he doing?:: Laserbeak asked - she was lounging in Soundwave's hands, thoroughly enjoying her ornly maintenance, and definitely wasn't planning to fly up and check for herself.
::The usual. He's curled up, listening. Crying.::
::Crying?:: Rumble usually didn't bother with the spy stuff his siblings got up to - not his division, thanks - but Jazz was kind of cool, for an Autobutt. Why was he crying in their vents instead of in his own base like a normal person?
::Definitely - I've picked up the sound of his systems more than three times in past joor. Stealth mods as good as his don't cut out for anything less than serious sobbing.:: Buzzsaw confirmed.
::Why do you even know that?:: Frenzy asked snidely.
::Experience. Not that you'd know anything about that, sparkling!:: Buzzsaw jeered.
::I am not a sparkling!:: Frenzy whined.
::Enough.:: Ravage rarely contributed to the chat, but when he did, his word was law.
::What do you think we should do?:: Laserbeak asked.
::Tell him to go away?:: Frenzy offered.
::Tell the boss?:: Rumble suggested.
::Soundwave’s watching Jazz videos, again - maybe telling him isn’t the best idea.:: Laserbeak said.
::Or maybe, it’s a great idea!:: Rumble countered. ::They’re already obsessed with each other. Maybe they should just - talk. I dunno.::
There was a pause. Nobody was composing a message. They were at an impasse.
Frenzy finally asked the question they were all thinking. ::Ravage? What should we do?::
Ravage didn’t reply, but he crawled out from underneath Soundwave’s berth and climbed up into the ventilation ducts.
::Oh frag! What do you think he’s gonna do?:: Rumble asked Frenzy, in their private chat. Ravage could still decode it, but it was the principle of the thing, really.
::Nothing good.:: Frenzy replied.
--
Soundwave shunted his surveillance analysis to background processing when he felt Ravage get up - his eldest symbiont typically spent at least another joor under the berth before beginning his evening rounds. Rumble and Frenzy were whispering together, too, and Laserbeak had tensed in his hands. Something out of the ordinary was happening.
Still, if Ravage was handling it, Soundwave was content to wait and see. He kept his optics on, but went back to coaxing the tangles out of Laserbeak’s wires.
A few moments later, Ravage backed out of the vent opening, dragging Jazz by the scruff of his neck, and Soundwave regretted his decision.
“Query -” he began, then paused. What could he even ask, in this situation? Soundwave was on edge, processor spinning; Jazz was never sloppy - there was no way that he would’ve let the cassettes catch him unless he meant to. What was his angle?
The Autobot spy was surprisingly docile, hanging in Ravage’s grip, but his optics were online and he didn’t seem to be injured. Biding his time to lull them into a false sense of security, perhaps? Primus knew Soundwave couldn’t predict his next move, save that it would be something hard-to-counter, and likely end up damaging Soundwave himself, rather than the cassettes.
He quickly docked Laserbeak - she wouldn’t be in any shape to fly, with her maintenance only half-done - and waited for Ravage to drop the mech so that he could cuff him and begin hardline questioning.
Instead, Ravage climbed onto the berth and awkwardly shoved Jazz into his lap. Soundwave’s arms came up automatically, keeping the smaller bot from falling to the floor. He restarted his reality matrix.
“Heya, Sounders,” Jazz said, grinning and wrapping his arms around the boombox’s neck.
Soundwave’s processor crashed.
When he rebooted, he was still sitting on the berth, but Jazz was hovering awkwardly by the door, surrounded by cassettes.
“You fragging killed the boss!” Rumble was yelling, though he had to know that Soundwave wasn’t offline - their sparkbond was whole, and pulsing rapidly with emotion.
“He’s not dead!” Jazz protested, “And he’s not gonna be. I didn’t come here to kill anyone, so how ‘bout you just let me leave before he wakes up, ok? We can pretend this whole thing never happened.”
“Negative,” Soundwave croaked.
“Oh, frag,” Jazz muttered. He leapt into the air, clearly aiming for the still-uncovered vent, but Ravage caught his ankle before he could get a grip and dragged him back down.
“Ravage: explain,” Soundwave commanded.
Ravage glared around the room for a moment before sending a short-range comm. ::Jazz - you’ve been hiding up in the vents, watching Soundwave and crying for the past three orns. Soundwave - you’ve watched nothing but constant video footage of Jazz for longer than that. Both of you are slipping. Deal with this before someone assassinates you.::
He shot another blazing look at Soundwave and slid out the door.
“Rumble, Frenzy, Buzzsaw: return.”
“No way, boss!”
“Not a chance!”
“I’m not missing this.”
“Return,” Soundwave insisted. They did, with quite a bit more grumbling.
While Soundwave was occupied with the symbionts, Jazz had half-heartedly begun to edge towards the door. He stopped when Ravage growled from somewhere outside the hab suite. He might not want to be part of the conversation, but Ravage was definitely still keeping an eye on the proceedings - and if they didn’t resolve things to his satisfaction, they’d know.
Once his symbionts were safely stowed, Soundwave looked up at Jazz.
Jazz grinned. “I dunno what Ravage is talkin’ about, mech. I’m just doing normal surveillance stuff, same as always. You’re a tactical priority, what can I say?”
Soundwave looked at the Autobot - happy face, tense body, servos shaking slightly, and yes - a hint of static in his voice. Jazz was seriously stressed. Not that knowing that helped Soundwave figure out what to do next.
“Okay, okay, fine,” Jazz continued. “So it’s not like high command asked me to be here. But y’know, you’re a dangerous bot. I like to keep tabs in my spare time.”
Another typical move; acting like he wasn’t a member of high command himself. Nobody had to send Jazz anywhere - as the head of spec ops, he planned the missions and decided which ones to execute himself, and which he’d delegate. He had to know that Soundwave knew his position, though. What was the point of acting like just another grunt after four million years of knowing each other as intimately as enemies could?
“Sounders, my mech, you’re killin’ me. Say something, already! Or do you want that cat of yours to come back in here and smack me around some more?”
Oh. Soundwave had been sitting in silence for quite some time, hadn’t he? Perhaps Ravage had a point about the surveillance videos. He was rather used to hearing Jazz talk without feeling the need to reply.
He eventually decided to start with the most pertinent question.
“Query: crying?” Soundwave asked.
Jazz laughed awkwardly. “Heh, naw mech, not me. Crying? Nope. Just maybe a bit of a vent malfunction. A cold, as the humans say.”
“Negative.”
“What?”
“Ravage, Buzzsaw: certain that Jazz cried.”
“Frag, the bird too?” Jazz winced. “So okay, maybe my emotional circuits are a little out of whack. Four million years of war’ll do that to you. Or - maybe not to you. But to those of us who actually have feelings.”
If Soundwave hadn’t recognised that as another one of Jazz’s strategies, he might have almost felt hurt. If anyone alive knew how much he loved his cassettes, Jazz did - he’d watched Soundwave long and hard enough. But of course, the Autobot was deflecting; trying to offend Soundwave rather than engage in a serious conversation.
“Jazz: explain,” Soundwave insisted.
“How ‘bout you explain, instead. The cat says you’re watching me all time - what’s that about, huh?”
“Jazz: is a tactical priority.”
“Oh whatever, Sounders. You think you’re cute and funny, sitting there making that face at me? Throwing my words back at me? If you don’t wanna have this conversation, I can go, mech.” Jazz was vibrating harder, now, and letting his irritation show. Soundwave didn’t know what exactly he wanted, but he didn’t want Jazz to leave.
“Negative. Soundwave: watches Jazz. Reasons: many.”
“Yeah? Like what?”
Soundwave looked at the Autobot, still standing anxiously by the door, and shifted over on the berth.
“Query: would Jazz like to sit?”
Jazz blew out a vent and shrugged. “Sure, Sounders, if you want.”
He walked over and hopped up onto the berth-top, facing Soundwave and crossing his legs.
“Jazz: is unpredictable. Dangerous. Fascinating.”
The bot in question smirked. “Yeah, that’s me - your friendly neighbourhood spy. It’s not news, though - I’ve been doin’ this for the past four million years. What changed?”
“Earth. Jazz: dances, now. Sings. Jazz: seems more alive.”
Jazz hummed, thoughtfully. His visor seemed hazy - Soundwave couldn’t interpret the expression on his face.
“Query: what changed?”
“For me, you mean? Here on Earth? It’s the music - ”
Soundwave cut him off, recognizing one of Jazz’s favourite spiels. “Negative. Ravage: stated that Jazz spends more time in the vents, now. Query: why?”
“I dunno, I guess it’s kinda being on Earth for me too. It’s these humans, y’know? They care about each other so much. Like - they’re awful to each other, too. But some of them love the others, it’s - I thought it was like nothing I’d seen before. Except then, I realized that it reminded me of you. The way you are with the cassettes, y’know? There’s just something about that. I dunno.”
“Cybertronians: love one another.”
“Sure, yeah, we did. Before the war. But you - you still do. Sometimes, it feels like you’re the only one out of all of us who still remembers how.”
“Negative. Jazz: remembers. Jazz: takes joy in the moment. Jazz: can still dance, sing. Other Decepticons, Autobots: slog through. Jazz: lives.”
“Slag, mech - that’s just me. If I didn’t enjoy the little things, I’d have nothing at all, y’know?”
“Soundwave: loves family. Otherwise: has nothing at all.”
“Guess we’re not so different after all, huh, Sounders?” Jazz rolled his eyes at the boombox with a grin - revelling in the sappy, classically Autobot line. Still, Soundwave wasn’t irritated; he couldn’t deny that the mech had a point.
“Affirmative,” he replied.
Jazz mellowed a little in the face of Soundwave’s sincerity, and they sat in silence together for a time. It was comfortable.
“So what now?” Jazz asked eventually.
“Query: what does Jazz want?”
“Oh nothing much. For this war to be over. To go home to Cybertron. To play music in front of a crowd again, and then come home to a mech that loves me. Nothing that’s going to happen in this lifetime, that’s for sure. Why, what do you want?”
“Cassettes: safe, happy. Cybertronians: free, equal. Cybertron: alive, thriving. Nothing much.”
Jazz let out a humourless laugh. “What are we fighting a war over then, huh? All of that sounds pretty good to me.”
Soundwave didn’t exactly disagree, but - “Free Cybertron: incompatible with theocratic leadership,” he clarified.
“Frag, is that what you think Optimus wants?”
“Primes: theocratic leaders - dictators. By definition.”
“Yeah, they used to be. But Optimus isn’t like that, mech - you must know, you’ve surveilled him enough. Seriously, the guy is just waiting for the war to end so he can retire; he’s definitely not going to want to be in charge of anything during peacetime.”
“Retire: pass on the Matrix of Leadership. New Prime: old problems.”
“Naw, that’s not the plan - OP is used to the Matrix, I think he’s planning on keeping it until he offlines. Besides, the only one who’s exhibited any Signs of Affinity is Hot Rod - and that kid is less interested in becoming a dictator than I am.”
Jazz was smiling now, practically dancing in his seat. Soundwave couldn’t suppress a rising tide of good feelings in his own spark, either.
“Peace negotiations: theoretically possible,” he admitted.
“Yeah? You think ‘ol Megs will go for it? He seems more interested in killing OP than anything else, these days.”
“Leaders: can be convinced.”
“Leaders, huh? You think I’ve got some convincing to do, too?”
Soundwave smiled behind his mask. “Affirmative. But Soundwave: has confidence in Jazz’s ability.”
“Me too, mech. Me too.” Jazz sighed happily and lay his helm against Soundwave’s shoulder, the last of the tension leaving his frame.
The warmth of his plating was a shock, but a welcome one - Soundwave would be content to sit with Jazz, just like this, for the next four million years. But they couldn’t, of course. They had work to do.