So I seem to be constantly attacked by plot bunnies. Seriously, i have five awesome ideas including The Medcical Journals and i cant focus on any of them for more then five minites. (sorry MJ fans, I'm working on it with a pile driver.) I actually had this one collecting dust for a while and i finally decided to clean it up and post. Just an amusing thing seeing as I'm stuck on this ProwlxJazz bro-ship thing.

There was a quiet click of a glass bottle hitting the rim of a shot glass as two shots were poured, the first slid to the side for the first mech, the second snagged by the aggravated mech pacing in front of him. He tossed it back with a content sigh, then set it back on his desk as he watched the mech refill the glasses.

"Ya ready?"

"Yes."

"Well. "Ave at it."

He remained quiet for a few more nano-klicks, pacing the suddenly too small office. He hit the wall, spun, and exploded.

"Just once, I'd like to be appreciated. I am surrounded by idiots and half glitched mechs and it's my job to turn them into an army. But between the pranks, the parties, no thanks to you, and the mechs trying to off' each other, the Decepticons just need to sit back and watch us self-destruct by ourselves!"

"Prime expects me to run an army and I'm running a mad house because nobody will take orders. Even my fellow officers don't respect me as much as they should and the unlisted, they're even worse! I can't even leave my office because then I'm having to deal with their petty problems, crude humor and pranks when I had far more important things to worry about."

"And the mechs themselves! Always getting into fights over the smallest things or trying to avoid their duties or trading shifts off, all of which comes back to me and I have to sort out the mess! Or they'll be bullied, or threatened, into taking someone else's shift and end up taking triple sometime quadruple shifts and then they're so exhausted and spent that they miss critical details that could spell disaster for us all."

"Shot."

He grabbed the glass off the desk and tossed it back, handing the empty glass to his friend to refill.

"The officers are just as bad. Yes I may be head of Tactical but that doesn't mean I'm a fraggin miracle worker! I still need everyone to follow orders to the nano-klick and continually feed me data that I can use to predict the next move. When Ironhide gets distracted and dives into a Decepticon unit, I can't rely on his power to back up, say, the snipers if some Decepticon tank decides to take pot-shots at them!"

"Or the seekers. They're already twitchy mechs but if they're inactive for any amount of time, all pit breaks loose. On the battlefield it's the same way. Slingshot and Skydive can't stay focus even if Silverbolt is there to keep them on track. But if something happens to him, I lose almost all control over the seekers because they all panic when he goes down and then Sling and Sky take off to go after the seekers that shot down Silver, and in the meantime miss taking out the unit that nearly overran Prime and Magnus!"

"And the Twins! Don't even get me started on those two pit-spawns! I swear they're direct offsprings of Unicron himself! Sunstreaker's constantly getting into fights with everyone that looks at him wrong and Primus help anyone that scratches that awful paint of his! Brig times does nothing for him as he just sulks in the corner and as soon as he gets out he's back to fighting. Sure, turn that power toward the enemy but then he's ignoring orders, running helm long into battle with no direction or purpose and has caused more collateral damage to our side then the Decepticons!

"And Sideswipe! If it's not Sunstreaker's murderous tendencies is that glitched maniac pulling potentially dangerous pranks, poisoning the unlisted with his toxic high-grade, and being a general nuisance! He has no respect for any kind of authority and doesn't have a problem telling them that. He's into gambling, making illegal and dangerous high-grade, illegal activities that I am positive somehow leads back to the Decepticons and yet because he covers his tracks so well and it's always 'in our best interest', I'm under orders to turn a blind optic!"

"The Prime himself tells me to ignore that glitch's illegal activities. Optimus Prime means well, he really does but sometime I really wonder who's running this army. Some of the choices he's made has resulted in badly needed missions failing and all because he believes that the Decepticons can change. They can't, and how many mechs are going to terminate before he figures that out and lets me do my job!"

"Shot."

He grabbed the glass, once again easy tossing the strong liquid back, and slammed it onto the desk, continuing his pacing as his friend tipped the bottle to refill the glass.

"Speaking of my job, for Primus sake it is not that hard to go over reports to ensure that they are correct and that information is properly organised. I already have to do a million things outside of my job description that I don't need to be worrying about sorting data that should have already been sorted before it even got to tactical!"

"Wheeljack for example, if he could just not blow something up for a groon it would reduce half the paperwork that comes from his division. And if Perceptor used three syllable words instead of six, that would also make things easier for to mention cut down on the number of reports! Amazingly, there is such a thing as too much detail when it comes the to the exact size, shape, thread, and color of a screw that he just might possible need for a weapon that has a proven 93.675% chance of blowing up in Wheeljack's face!"

"And then other's don't do enough detail in reports, or worse of all, don't hand in reports at all! Engineering is late, medical is late, pit, Prime's! reports are late! Magnus has yet to hand in a late report but everything is so fragging detailed, it's just as bad as Preceptors. The only reason Tactical isn't late is because it's my division!"

"But your Special Ops unit is one of the worst! Never bringing in reports on time, hardly ever follow orders and always disappearing from the battle field and popping up in another place, usually right in the middle of things and I have to redirect units to bail your mechs out! They are constantly improvising scenarios and it forces me to have to work on the fly as I have to compensate for your mess while at the same tome making sure our east flank isn't over run by Decepticons."

"And of the Special Ops, you're the worst of the worst! You're reports are sloppy and lacking detail, nothing is organised and you repeat near useless information while leaving important details too vague for them to be of use to me. You're constantly dragging me away from my work to do irrelevant things like recharging and refuelling when I could easily go for another three orns before it starts effecting my performance."

"Ratchet is constantly harassing me, even more so you then you because he can make my life miserable by taking me off duty and leaving me to go mad in my own quarters with nothing to do! His reports are also constantly late, though I have to admit First Aid does a wonderful job of reminding him, but they're still late! By the time he need more supplies, he's already run out and is yelling at me for falling behind when he never gave me the report, three cycles earlier when I could have gotten his supplies before he runs out. He constantly questioning my ethics when mechs are damaged that he claims could have been avoided but what he doesn't see is the numbers they would have been had I not done what I did. My ethnics coding keeps me under a tighter leash then what he could ever do to me."

"Shot. Oh, ya out of high-grade."

"You drank it that fast?"

The mech shrugged in response.

"Was only 'alf full anyways."

"Top drawer."

He ignored his friend as the mech sidestepped around him, reaching for the desk drawer and grabbing another bottle. He quickly refiled both shot glasses before returning to his chair to watch.

"And I'm not emotionless, I just have to keep them under control. I have far too much running through my processor to spend any time worrying about emotions that have the potential to make me crash at the most critical part of a battle and therefor even more life will be loss. It's a never ending cycle until this war has ended and until then I cannot afford to lose the slightest bit of concentration."

"Where do I even start with Red Alert? Every little twinge in the system and he convinced we're going to be overrun by Decepticons. Then he's all over me because I didn't tell him there was a potential for an attack and has to run 153 different security checks all to prove that we're just as locked up safe and tight as we've always been. But my word isn't good enough for him because he thinks I'm a Decepticon! So he's gone and bugged my office, your office-"

"Ee bugged mah office?"

"Yes, above the door is a mike. He knows anything else you'll find."

"Huh."

"Anyways, he's bugged everything he possible can including but not limited to the rec room, Prime's office, my office, your office, Tactical, Medical, engineering and literally everything in-between, then locks himself in his office for joors on end staring at dozens of screens and Ratchet hardly bats an optic but he tears me a new one when I try and work for a cycle straight."

"I'm not some rookie frontliner that doesn't know what I can and can't do. I am a fully capable warrior, not just some desk jockey that's hardly stepped out of his office and dosent even know what end of a gun to hold. I can handle my own in a fight, but everyone that doesn't flat out despise me thinks that I need half a unit to protect me when I'm working on site when I could easily use that unit elsewhere. I'm not a fraggin' sparkling!"

"Mechs either forget just what I'm capable of or just assume that I need protection because I'm 'just a tactician' or they've seen what I can do and run screaming in the other direction."

"Someone did tha'?"

"Yes. He got transferred to Tyger Pax the next orn."

"Oh tha's priceless."

"Landed me with a massive pile of paper work because I was still working on the transfer papers to get him here, then he got shipped off the next orn!"

"My work never ends!"

He ended at a yell, doorwings straight up in anger as he focused on venting and cooling his frame. After a silent klick, he straightened, flaring his doorwings before letting them settle to their usual place. When he turned back toward his friend his neutral mask was firmly back in place and he felt like a massive weight had been lifted from his chassis.

"Bett'a?"

"Yes. Thank you." He replied in a level tone.

"Same tahm next groon?"

"I'll schedule you in."

"Ah'll see ya then Prowl."

"Have a good orn Jazz."

Come on, the mechs gotta rant at some point. Dealing with that crazy pack, anybody would blow a fuse. And then some.

Read and Review guys, love you!