Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It began simply enough - with a few short words that Jazz didn't expect to change his life as drastically as they did. But as with all disasters, this one came in a form no one would expect. 

"You're being sent to Praxus, Jazz."

Looking back on it, if he'd known what awaited him in Praxus, Jazz probably would have saved himself the trouble he found himself in, and would have set out without argument. But Jazz had no way of knowing what or who there was to find in Praxus, and thus he protested.

Five joors later, he was on a transport headed away from Polyhex. 

Jazzman: Hey Deadfire? 

Fire: Mmhmm 

Jazzman: I'm on my way to Praxus... Got a spare room I can steal? 

Fire: Uh. Sure. 

Jazzman: I owe you one. 

Chapter Text

"So... why?" 

Jazz had been waiting for Deadfire to burst and start asking questions. It didn't take much - as soon as the door of his friend's home shut behind them, he was interrogating, his doorwings quivering in agitation and what might have been a little suspense.

Jazz snorted. "Askin' th' wrong party, my mech. They weren't too eager t' give me any details when Ah left," he explained. (Deadfire ex-vented in frustration.) "Look, Ah know this isn't exactly a good time..." 

"It's fine," Deadfire insisted. "I owe you one. Just... why Praxus? And why you? You'd think they wouldn't be eager to send one of their best mechs away from them in this time."

"Ain't that th' truth, Fire. Ya know as much as Ah do 'bout it." The Polyhexian scanned the room around him, searching for anything that would be out of place. Deadfire may have been a friend, but friends could turn on one another, and people could have been in and out of his home. He didn't blindly trust people, and that had kept him alive. 

"Which is to say, nothing." Deadfire's lips pressed in a firm line. "I don't trust it, Jazz. Please be careful. They could be trying to get rid of you." 

Search completed with negative results, Jazz chuckled, and patted the taller mech on the shoulder. "Startin' ta sound paranoid, Fire. But Ah'll be careful, if it makes ya happy." 

Deadfire shifted away from him - he wasn't a fan of contact. "I have to go. Make yourself at home, I'll be back before long." 

Even for a mech like Jazz, it didn't take long for boredom to develop. Jazz shifted, and slowly sat up. He'd been laying on the floor, running through potential reasons he'd been deployed to Praxus; but all his processor cooked up were different ways a small Polyhexian could be covertly offlined in a society that was not their own. 

Jazz snorted. He could practically hear the 'now who's being paranoid?' hanging in the air. 

Praxus had legendary Enforcers - surely he hadn't been sent here to be sent to the scrapheap. No, if he was wanted out of the way, sending him away was a good call - and keeping him alive an even better one. Jazz was well-liked, after all. Unless he was 'offlined in the line of duty', he was certain that his superiors would find themselves in a load of slag. 

Or perhaps he was overthinking things, and he was, indeed, there to investigate a sticky situation. 

Either way, laying around on the floor wasn't going to help. Deadfire had been gone for a few breems, and while he said he'd be back before long, Jazz recognized an excuse when he saw one. The Praxian was going through his own set of troubles, and Jazz didn't blame him for not wanting to be caught up in the Polyhexian's. 

So, then. Getting out and stretching his legs sounded like a good idea. 

Jazz got to his feet and cast a last quick glance around the room - everything was as Deadfire had left it, except the gift that Jazz had tucked away in a cabinet. Nothing seemed out of place, but Jazz couldn't shake the suspicion that--

No. It had absolutely not. Jazz was just being ridiculous.

...Then again, in his line of work, one could never be too careful. Jazz strode over to the offending datapad. It seemed to have been shifted to the left. A slight move, something that someone else might have missed; but Jazz was not someone else. Being observant was just another thing that had saved his life. 

He studied the datapad with the seriousness of a mech who thought it might jump up and bite him, one of his hands hovering near it but not daring to touch it. If someone was there and had moved it, perhaps they had set some form of trap. It wasn't impossible, Jazz knew that. 

"...Jazz? Are you okay?" 

The Polyhexian whirled, an energon dagger winking to life in his hand as he and Deadfire locked gazes. "Ah didn't hear ya come back," he said pleasantly, tucking the weapon back into his subspace. "Ah was just... thinkin'." 

Deadfire's expression said he didn't believe him, but the Praxian didn't push. 

When Jazz twisted back around, the datapad was in the position it had been before Deadfire had originally departed. 

Am Ah goin' mad? 

Chapter Text

Standing on the sidewalk, Jazz gazed up at the Enforcer Headquarters for that district of Praxus. A large, impressive building, there were lights in almost all of its windows. Jazz could see Enforcers bustling about inside. Every so often, a pair of Enforcers would leave the Headquarters, clearly for patrols, while others returned. None of them so much as glanced at the Polyhexian, and that was quite fine by him. 

In order to get out of his friend's home, he had made an excuse about needing fresh air and a relaxing stroll. He didn't think it would go over well if he told Deadfire that he wanted to scout out the district, including the EH. No, the Praxian probably would have taken it badly and insisted he tag along to keep him out of trouble. 

So there he stood, lip plates pressed in a firm line as he wondered what lay beyond the doors. Normal Enforcer work? Or something more sinister? 

"You know, mechs who loiter in front of the EH are usually looking for trouble."

Jazz tilted his helm in the direction the voice came from, his sharp audial senses having picked up the footsteps long before the mech had reached him. "Ah don't want any trouble," he stated. "Ah'm just lookin'." 

"You've been looking for an awful long time, though."

Jazz turned toward him. Blue and red, black 36 decals, gold chevron. The Praxian held himself with pride, like his ego had never been taken down a notch; Jazz disliked him immediately.  

"Ah'm a curious mech," he answered. "Not that it's ya business anyway. Don'tcha got better things ta do than spy on mechs?" 

"I wasn't spying. Merely observing. It's only spying if you try to hide it, isn't it?" the Praxian asked. "I'll leave you to it - staring at the EH must be fun." 

Once the Praxian was gone, Jazz opened a comm. line to Deadfire. 

::Deadfire, do ya know any Praxians with 36 decals?::

::One. His name is Smokescreen. Why?::

::Ah may have encountered 'im outside o' th' Enforcer Headquarters. Seems like a real aft, too. Gives me a bad feelin'.::

::A bad feeling? Smokey's harmless. Usually.:: Deadfire sounded genuinely surprised. ::Did he cause any trouble?::

::Nah, but he mighta been tryin'. He just seemed a li'l off ta me. Ya friends with Smokescreen? Ah'd like ta meet 'im...::

::So you can bash his faceplates in?::

::Ah'm not Ric, Fire. Ah jus' want ta talk to 'im. Got a bad feelin' an' I wanna check some things. If Smokescreen's willin' ta meet with me, of course.:: 

::I'll ask him. Come home careful. The weather forecast says there's a chance of acid rain soon.:: 

Jazz frowned. ::In that case, Ah'm on my way now. Been caught in a storm before an' barely survived. Ah ain't lookin' to repeat th' experience.:: 

Jazzman: Ricochet, I hope things are going well. I'm in Praxus now. Deadfire says hello. I miss you. 

Jazzman; Ric... I know we argued, but I do care about you. 

Jazzman: Ric. I'll come see you once I'm done in Praxus. I promise. I should have done that before I left. 

Jazzman: I love you, Ricochet. 

"My name's Smokescreen," the handsome Praxian smiled. He shook Jazz's hand, grip firm. "I'm a psychiatrist. You are...?"

"Jazz," he introduced simply. Smokescreen gave off a much different feel than he had the night cycle before. His EM field was friendlier, and a smile curved his lipplates. Yet regardless of that, there was danger in his optics. 

Jazz didn't like that. 

"Well, Jazz! Welcome to Praxus. Have you enjoyed your visit?"

"Ah haven't decided," he answered with an easy smile. "It's different from Polyhex, Ah'll give Praxus that. As fer likin' or dislikin', Ah haven't been here long enough ta decide that." 

"Oh, I see," Smokescreen breezily agreed. His optics glittered, with intelligence and possible malevolence someone else might have missed. "If I may be so bold as to ask, what might have inspired you to want to meet me? I'm no one interesting." 

"Don't sell yourself short, mech," Jazz disagreed. "Plenty interestin' for me. 'specially th' decals. Why 36?"

Smokescreen leaned closer, his voice dropping to low tones. "I haven't even told my brother that," he confessed. "It's a well-kept secret." 

"Ah see. Don't it get tirin', havin' somethin' like that ta keep a secret all th' time?" Jazz asked. "'specially from ya own brother." 

Smokescreen shrugged. "It's not that bad, Jazz. I'm sure mecha like you know all about keeping secrets." 

That set off red lights and sirens. "What would ya know 'bout mecha like me, Smokescreen? Ya only jus' met me, an' ya can't tell me ya think ya got me figured out already."

 "I meant that... intriguing mecha, such as yourself, must have their own share of secrets, no matter how small." Smokescreen's smile was a little forced, a little strained - like he realized he'd slipped up. Jazz willed himself not to gloat, as that would have been a slip-up of his own. 

"Ain't that th' truth, my mech," he replied simply, as though he missed the slip. 

"You still haven't told me why you wanted to meet with me, however."

"Suppose Ah haven't," Jazz quietly mused. "Ah was just curious 'bout a few things - ya can't blame a mech fer bein' curious, can ya?" 

Smokescreen smiled, though something still seemed off about him. "No, I suppose not. And while it has been exhilarating, I must be going. Duty calls."

Exhilarating? That was an interesting choice of words. Jazz frowned, gaze boring into the Praxian shrink's retreating back. Something didn't feel quite right, and he was caught in the middle of it. Perhaps there was something going on in Praxus, and Smokescreen was somehow involved. 

::Fire, you know Smokescreen. Who's his brother?::

::An Enforcer by the name of Barricade. Why do you ask?:: 

::Ah'd like t' meet with 'im, too.:: 

::I'll... see if he's not too busy. Jazz, you're being strange.::

::Ya don't have ta tell me, Fire, Ah know Ah am.:: 

Jazz cut the line, and rose. Questions, questions... meeting with Smokescreen had raised even more questions. He grimaced. 

I'm sure mecha like you know all about keeping secrets. 

Just how much did Smokescreen know?

Chapter Text

::I spoke with Barricade. He can meet you next solar cycle. Would you like his comm. number?:: 

::Yes, secretary Deadfire,:: Jazz teased. ::Ah'll give 'im a ring this evenin' an' see when an' where 'e wants ta meet at.:: 

::Do be careful in the meantime. And don't call me secretary, that's not my function.::

::Naturally. An' lighten up, will ya? No harm was meant, my mech.:: 

::Hmmmmm.:: 

"You must be Jazz." 

Barricade had a firm grip and a strong handshake, qualities that usually indicated one of two things: a good mech, or a tyrant to be. Jazz peered into Barricade's optics, but he saw no indication of tyranny or any form of villainy in their depths. That didn't tell him everything, though, and he was not quick to judge a mech on first glance. 

...For the most part, anyway. 

"That's me. An' you must be Barricade," he stated, to move things along. 

"That's me," the Enforcer parroted, with a gentle smile which showed he meant no mockery. "I understand you wanted to speak with me about my brother, Smokescreen?" 

Jazz's own smile slipped from his lips, and he tilted his helm forward in a slight nod. "Walk with me, mech? Ah don't like to stay in one place when Ah talk about serious things." 

"By all means then, lead on. I would be... content to walk with you." The Enforcer's doorwings had drooped a bit, the expression on his face that of a mech who had been down this route before. "What has he done this time?" 

Jazz ex-vented. The sidewalk was clear of people, but he still spoke in low tones when he answered - one could never tell when someone lurked about. "Is 'e free at this time?" 

"Who, Smokescreen? Usually. Why? What trouble has he gotten himself into this time?" Barricade asked. His doorwings were canted in what Jazz recognized as agitation. "I promise you, brother or not, I will be the first to throw his aft in jail if he has harmed you or yours." 

"Easy, officer, Ah never said that. Ah'm not hurt, an' there's none of mine in this city. 'cept maybe Deadfire, but 'e can care for 'imself. Ah'll explain everythin' once Ah get th' chance ta talk to Smokescreen," Jazz promised. "'e might not 'ave done anythin'. Ah don't know yet. An' Ah know that's probably confusin', but Ah don't wanna say more an' seem like a madmech." 

Then again... Ah may be one. 

"Confusing things happen often in this line of work, Jazz." Barricade's doorwings settled back into their default positions, though one of them would flick from time to time. Whether they were shooing away bugs or just twitching in irritation, Jazz didn't know and he definitely didn't ask. He'd learned not to ask a Praxian about doorwings unless you wanted a ten-solar-cycle-long story about the appendages. 

"Ah'd assume so," Jazz shrugged. "Any idea where 'e is?" 

"Yes. He should be taking his refuel break soon, and he always refuels at this place." Barricade gestured to an open-air cafe that was just across the transformation lanes. "Come, before the pedestrian crossing shuts off." 

Jazz followed, taking long strides to keep pace with Barricade. The Enforcer was taller than the Polyhexian and had longer legs. He didn't seem to notice the longer steps Jazz was taking to keep up, however, his optics focused ahead. Jazz willed himself not to ex-vent in exasperation. It wasn't as though Barricade was being malicious. 

"While we are here, would you like anything?" the Enforcer asked politely. 

"Nah, mech. Ah refueled with my friend," Jazz shrugged. "Ah jus' want ta talk ta Smokescreen, an' you too of course. If my suspicions are correct, ya oughtta hear this conversation too."

Barricade's doorwings flicked as he found them a table, and took his seat. "You're certain that you can't tell me?" 

"Never said Ah can't, mech, Ah jus' wanna wait." Jazz sat across from Barricade, slouching comfortably in his chair. By contrast, the Enforcer sat with his back as straight as a ramrod, as though he worried a superior officer would walk through the door at any moment. "There anythin' interestin' Ah should know 'bout Smokescreen?" 

Barricade's lip-plates pressed together, forming a firm line. He ex-vented long and low, optics dropping to his folded hands, which rested on the table. "Smokescreen... has something of a gambling problem. He won't stay in the legal gambling dens, no matter how many times I throw him in the pen or someone else does. It's like he doesn't understand that the illegal dens are illegal for a reason. But... I'm assuming you know that already?" 

Jazz grimaced. "Ah ain't here from a gamblin' den, officer, an' Ah woulda told ya if Ah was. Ah just-" 

"Cade?" 

And there he was; standing by their table, helm tilted and doorwings quirked in curiosity. There was no trace of recognition or that possible malevolence in his optics, however. It confirmed Jazz's suspicions as he pushed himself to his feet, extending a hand for a shake. "Smokescreen, Ah'm Jazz. Ah have a few questions for ya." 

Hesitantly, Smokescreen took the offered hand and gave it a shake. "I'm, as you know, Smokescreen. How can I help you, uh, sir?" 

"Ya seen any strange mechs as of late, Smokescreen? Maybe they were followin' ya around or ya saw 'em a lot, by chance?" Jazz asked. 

Smokescreen fixed him with a strange look. "Of course not. No one wants to mess with a shrink who has an Enforcer for a brother," he bluffed. But there was something in his optics... 

"Even if that shrink is one who has a gamblin' problem?" Jazz asked, voice low. "Look, Ah'm not gonna judge ya for your idea o' a good time, an' Ah'm not gonna try ta get ya busted for it. Ah just wanna know if ya've been followed or harassed recently." 

Barricade glanced between them, and brushed a hand against Smokescreen's shoulder. "I'd like to know, too, Smokey. You seem uncomfortable." 

"Of course I seem uncomfortable!" the younger Praxian exploded. "I'm being harassed right now, by my brother and some mech I don't know. I came in here to refuel, and I'm going to go do that now." 

As he strode away, Jazz frowned. "Ah shoulda seen that reaction comin'. 'e doesn't want ta reach out for help with 'is situation. Seen it all b'fore, Ah'm afraid..." 

Barricade leaned forward. "Answer a question, Jazz. How would you know my brother is possibly being harassed?" 

"Ah think there's someone walkin' around this city, wearin' Smokescreen's faceplates. An' probably committin' crimes under that guise."