Title: A Day in the Life
Pairings: None
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Author's Note: This is a for the prompt 'Worst Day Ever'. It was supposed to be a flash fiction (under 1000 words), and I do have a version of that on my DA account. But I couldn't get everyone in here that I wanted to with that limit. So here we are at nearly 2k words. I would not qualify this a flash fic anymore, but it's not a full story, so it's getting shuffled into the All for One Flash Fics.

Unbelievable.

Scrapper looked from his datapad to the ongoing work, then back to the datapad. The damage to Nemesis was bad enough. Past 'bad' in fact, and straight on to 'catastrophic'. Three of the lower levels were completely flooded. They might not need to inhale the local atmosphere, but the water slowed their maneuverability, not to mention all the damage the liquid was causing. The water splashed about his feet even now. Several ship systems had had to be rerouted or completely offlined until repairs were completed.

'Catastrophic' certainly applied.

So yes, the damage was catastrophic enough as it was, but on top of that, he was forced to work with absolute idiots.

"Can't you read simple directions?" Scrapper jabbed a finger at the datapad. "Why are you putting that junction there? And that," he pointed at a welded metal sheet, "is barely on! It clearly needs reinforcements here, here, and here!" He struck the weak joints, then held the pad out. "Just follow the plans!"

It was intolerable. Every time these four imbeciles finished anything, he had to point out all the parts they ruined. And the process would repeat. And then again. For three straight duty shifts, they'd been doing this. If only his gestalt was here. Actual mechs who knew what they were doing. But no, they were fixing more delicate parts of the ship, parts too important to trust to morons. Leaving said morons to Scrapper.

It was the worst day ever.

.

Rumble and Frenzy shared an annoyed look. Really, what was Scrapper's problem? Did he honestly think they, a fraction of the Constructicon's own size, could do this? Slag, Rumble had had to stand on Frenzy's shoulders to get that welding done. So yeah, it wasn't the best. They'd like to see how well Scrapper could weld balanced on Grapple's shoulders.

Of course, there was also the fact they didn't really want to be doing it.

Technically, yeah, they were being punished, but this sloshy mess wasn't their fault. They honestly thought the base was under attack. And any self-respecting Decepticon would deploy their full range of weaponry in an assault.

Maybe using a sonic attack and piledrivers in an underwater base wasn't the best idea, though.

And maybe they breached the hull.

By a lot.

If the ship wasn't already sunken, they'd have sunk it good.

But it wasn't their fault! It really looked like the base was under attack. And here they were, getting punished and yelled at by a stupid Constructicon for doing (they thought) their duty! It was so unfair!

It was the worst day ever.

.

Skywarp tuned out Scrapper's yelling. He had a lot of practice tuning out mechs yelling at him. What was the Constructicon going to do to him, make a wall out of him? Instead, he looked to the mech purposefully ignoring him.

TC wouldn't talk to him or even look his way. That hurt. It wasn't his fault! Okay, maybe a little. Like, ten percent, tops! He just wanted to play a prank. What could go wrong with that? So, he did some research (TC should be proud of that!), snuck into Screamer's lab and nabbed some chemicals (he always had the best chemicals), and made a great smoke bomb, perfect for throwing at Rumble and Frenzy. True, smoke bombs don't normally explode, but that was an accident! There was a decent amount of smoke, though.

It wasn't Skywarp's fault that the two brothers ruptured the Nemesis' hull.

Now, TC was mad at him. He'd been mad at Skywarp before (like, a lot), but the teleporter had always gotten the other mech to talk eventually. He couldn't stand being ignored.

He poked his trine mate's wing, to no response. Then again. And again.

It was the worst day ever.

.

If that purple idiot didn't stop poking him, Thundercracker was going to throw him out an airlock. Granted, that'd just plop him into the ocean, but it was the thought that mattered.

All they needed to do was fix this section and they could be done. But no, Rumble and Frenzy were worthless, either due to their stature or a simple desire not to be useful and 'Warp… well, 'Warp was being 'Warp and poking him in the wing. Because that was helpful.

Primus, couldn't anyone do anything?

Granted, Thundercracker was hopeless at construction work – Scrapper had been quite clear about that – but he was trying.

He didn't want to be here. No surprise, though, that when 'Warp's little prank was discovered, the entire trine was immediately implicated. Also, no surprise, Starscream had quickly distanced himself from them. So much for trine loyalty. Which left Thundercracker stuck here, sharing 'Warp's punishment.

Again.

One of these days he was going to borrow a null-ray from Starscream and shoot the purple idiot. Not that that would deter the teleporter, but it might make Thundercracker feel better. For now, he was stuck trying to read Constructicon plans which made about as much sense as Starscream's science.

It was the worst day ever.

.

Starscream scowled at his personal computer screen, the words and figures forgotten.

Those two morons. He'd long since given up on Skywarp displaying rational thought (or any thought), much less decision making, but he'd thought better of Thundercracker. How hard was it to keep track of that imbecile? Was it too much to ask that Thundercracker keep him under control, enough at least that Skywarp wasn't blowing up the Nemesis? But here they were, with a massive rend in the hull, thanks to the teleporter's antics and a couple of rowdy cassettes.

Megatron had been decidedly less than impressed. And guess who he'd blamed? No surprise there.

It'd taken a fair amount of verbal aerobatics to escape the worst of the Slag Maker's ire, although he'd still sustained a fair number of fresh dents. He left the two morons to their own devices. If they could blow up the ship, then they could deal with the repercussions. He had his own problems to deal with.

And he would.

Starscream scrolled through the intel reports. Each one was meticulous, every detail laid out. Soundwave was oh so painfully thorough with them. True, that mech's attentiveness and precision did make the Starscream's true objective more difficult. It'd be so much simpler to plot an assassination if he didn't have to worry about his private computer being hacked or spies lurking about in the shadows. He'd manage, though. Somewhere, in this endless list, was the perfect opportunity, the perfect setup. He'd lure Megatron in and spring his trap.

It'd be Megatron's worst – and last – day ever.

.

Even Ravage's patience had limits.

Slinking unseen through the shadows, spying on others or leaping out to attack? He loved it. He was the best of Soundwave's cadre at stealth. None ever saw him, until it was too late. He leapt (both figuratively and literally) at a chance to exercise this specialty.

Today, he regretted that.

Usually his targets did something, anything. Made it interesting. He preferred it when they ran, if he were to be honest, but he'd take anything over… this. Starscream sat, scrolling endlessly through reports. And more reports. And even more. They weren't even interesting ones, as far as the feline could tell. No destruction, no battles. Just intel reports.

The Seeker hadn't notice Ravage, lurking in the shadows – at first crouched, then sitting back on his haunches, then with his head on his paws, and finally laying on his side. If only the mech would move, get up, do something. Ravage couldn't even leave. He was trapped in here, until Starscream opened the fragging door. Which, judging by how intently he read the reports, wasn't happening soon.

The feline sent a request to his master. Logically, since he was here to witness Starscream doing something, if he took a few swipes at him then surely the mech would act? Soundwave replied that he was not to attack the Air Commander. Observe only.

Ravage stared at the Seeker's delicate, oh-so-rendible wings, his claws twitching. He couldn't hunt. He couldn't leave. He could barely move. And his target just sat there, not doing anything.

It was the worst day ever.

.

Soundwave didn't complain. Ever.

Complaints were a waste of time and energy. Therefore, pointless. Instead, he either corrected or adapted to whatever situations arose.

War tears apart their planet? Adapt.

The main systems are damaged? Correct.

The command vessel sinks on an alien world? Adapt.

Energon levels run dangerously low? Correct and/or adapt, as the situation demands.

Two of his Cassettes blow a hole in the side of the Nemesis because of a prank?

That one tested him. If he indulged in complaining, he'd have had some words for the pair. Instead, he moved directly to correcting the problem. He'd put Frenzy and Rumble on repair duty for the foreseeable future, along with Skywarp and Thundercracker. He could feel his creations' frustration and anger, but they were wise enough not to voice it around him. They did not enjoy it when he corrected their insolence.

The telepath could still sense them though. And so many others, wearing against his processor.

A fair number of the troops echoed the brothers' sentiments, if not for the same reason. An ever-growing resentment swirled around the Nemesis. The extra workload angered the entire Constructicon gestalt, particularly Scrapper. Skywarp and Thundercracker were having their own squabble. Starscream was, as always, a nest of anger and misdirection. Other mechs, also forced into emergency repair work, complained and picked fights with each other, for no other reason than for something else to do. On top of that, Ravage's boredom ticked against Soundwave's consciousness.

The telepath could normally block out stray and invasive thoughts, but as he neared the end of his third straight duty shift, and his resilience wore down. That left him open to the increasingly volatile thoughts of his fellow Decepticons. With all the hostility pounding against his processor, he considered if simply flooding the base with system-terminating levels of radiation might qualify as 'correcting' this problem. His master would undoubtedly not approve.

He scanned over the newest repair report and forwarded it to Megatron. They were making progress. Perhaps things would return to acceptable levels of hostility soon.

He didn't complain. Ever.

But, objectively speaking, today was not a good day.

.

The repairs were proceeding. Leaning back in his command chair, Megatron dismissed the status report with a flick of his wrist. The exterior was nearly complete. Any weak points in security were under triple guard. Soundwave was overseeing the repair and security details. In theory, Starscream was too.

Megatron smirked.

He didn't think that one was too concerned with the base's security. They'd had a long and volatile discussion over that incident. The Air Commander had wisely halted it before Megatron ended it for him. But he'd seen the hate-filled gleam in Starscream's optics. No, that one was not busy with base defenses.

The Air Commander had busied himself in his quarters 'with urgent matters'. Not very discreet. Certainly, there'd be no overt plans to be found, if they searched. No evidence. The Seeker was too clever for that. But why else would he slip away? What important matters needed his urgent attention, that couldn't be done on the bridge? What indeed.

A grim chuckle escaped his lips.

When would the inevitable attack come? How devious would Starscream be this time? Or would his impatience get the better of him? The predictable betrayal always brought some excitement, regardless of the form it took. It might seem a dangerous game to a lesser mech, but Megatron would win. He always did.

He nodded to himself. Repairs were proceeding well and he had a promising bit of entertainment coming his way.

It was a good day.