A/N: This just blindsided me this morning and I couldn't get rid of it, it's partly inspired by the JazzProwl Wrekers dynamic in Vrigo1's master collection of Wreckers stories: What's Wrong with a Little Destruction. Necessary back story: Jazz, Prowl and the twins have been on a mission with the Wreckers, they got their collected afts handed to them and are now on their way home.

I don't own them and I am soooo sorry about this folks!



"Jaaaazzzzz." Prowl's voice was almost a whine as it floated into the Xantium's rec room, causing all the mechs in there to stop what they were doing and stare at each other in confusion.

"Prowl." Jazz's voice had a distinctly annoyed edge to it.

"You do realise that this is treason?" Prowl snapped back

"So have me court-marshalled." Jazz didn't sound fazed by the accusation.

"And insubordination of the highest sort." Prowl continued.

"So toss me in the brig." Jazz sounded bored, more than anything else.

"I order you to cease this nonsense immediately and release me," Prowl barked in his best 'do as the seconded in command says' voice.

The footsteps which had gradually been drawing closer to the rec room door stopped.

"Prowl." Jazz's tone was calm, even. "I don't care that my actions could be classed as treason, assaulting a ranking officer, insubordination, over reaching my authority or any one of the other things you've put down on my charge sheet; I remind you again that you're relived of command and rank on the grounds of being medically unfit for duty?"

"On what possible pretext and evidence?" Prowl demanded.

Jazz gave a long suffering sigh and said, "Mental and physical exhaustion. I know you went through the entire five solar cycles worth of constant fighting without getting more than a joor's worth of recharge, and you've been working for the last five shifts straight through, and if that kind of stunt is a good enough excuse for Ratchet to declare Prime unfit it's glitching well good enough for me to do the same to you."

The assembled Wreckers looked at each other in amazement and then stared at the twins, who just shrugged, as confused and amused as their hosts.

"You are going to leave that slagging analysis alone, clean the mud, dust and energon off your paintwork; even if I have to tie you to the wash rack walls and scrub you clean," Jazz carried on in the same too calm tone "Then you're going to the repair bay so Spin can check out all these tears in your wings and Primus knows what other damage you're hiding, and if necessary I will sit on you to keep you there until you get medical clearance to leave. And finally if I have to disconnect your main data cables you will get two full recharge cycles before I even consider reinstating you. Is that clear?"

"Yes Sir!" Prowl spat the words out and then went back to a pleading tone "But must you tow me around by my wings like an errant sparkling? Allow me some dignity, please."

"When you stop behaving like a spoiled sparkling I'll stop treating you like one." Jazz's voice was firm and patient, like a tutor to a bright but wayward pupil.

The Wreckers and their guests crowded into the doorway of the rec room as the footsteps resumed their determined march in the direction of the wash rack. The sight that greeted their optics made those who had face masks very glad of the fact. Marching down the corridor, face grim and visor flashing, was Jazz; walking slightly sideways due to the fact one hand had a death grip on Prowl's left door wing. He was literally dragging the Datsun backwards down the corridor by said appendage, Prowl, on the other hand, was leaning the opposite way from his tormentor, trying to break Jazz's grip on the wing so he could get away.

As they came level with the door, Prowl flung out a hand and grabbed Springer's arm, causing Jazz to come to an abrupt stop and spin round as he suddenly found himself trying to tow the triple changer's mass as well.

"Springer," Prowl pleaded, "this is your ship, your command; please tell him to let me go back to work."

Springer summoned up all his reserves of self control and experience at keeping a straight face regardless of the circumstances, and flashed a quick look at Jazz, who glared back.

"Sorry, Prowl." Springer managed to put a fair amount of sincerity into his voice "He ranks me, and it seems he ranks you to at the moment. And as the, ah, situation isn't directly threatening the wellbeing of my crew, I can't do anything, you know, rules and protocols and suchlike prohibit me from interfering."

He slipped his arm out of Prowl's grip and stepped back out of range of another grab.

"I'll be waiting for you in the repair bay, sir," Spin said respectfully to Jazz.

Jazz nodded at him and resumed towing the exhausted, battered and dishevelled tactician towards his fate.

As the bulkhead doors closed behind a sullen looking Prowl, the assembled Autobots let the laughter they had been suppressing flow freely. In very short order, the best strike force that Optimus Prime had, and his two finest melee warriors, were reduced to helplessly quivering piles on the floor.

"Oh, Primus," Whirl got out. "Springer, that was just..."

"Priceless" Sideswipe finished gasping

Sandstorm suddenly staggered to his feet and fell on the nearest console and began pounding the keyboard furiously.

"Uh, Sandy?" Scoop asked from his position on the floor.

Sandstorm looked at them, pure wicked delight shining from his optics and a predatory grin spreading across his face.

"Well, don't you want to see the start of the argument?" he asked as the security recording logs opened on the screen before him.

There was a thoughtful silence before, with a swiftness that would have had any observing physicist wonder if it was possible for an unassisted mech to break the light speed barrier, everyone was crowded round the terminal, their optics glued to the screen.