Disciplinary Actions

Disclaimer: Dont own em but I plan on it very soon.

This started out as a chapter for Take Two but morphed into something completely different. So, consider it a companion piece to "I Swear". I guess we could call these my… "Disciplinary Arcs".

This is a stand alone, one shot. It can be read as a separate piece and you don't need read "I Swear" or "Take Two" to follow along.

PS: Don't screw with a Praxian. You've been warned! And I cant help but to make Prowl so adorably clueless. (fond look)

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"It has come to my attention that we have become lax in our conduct. " Prime said to the gathered Autobots.

Prowl stood to Prime's right, surveying the sea of faces with a disinterested optic. He had a feeling what Prime was going to say. The conduct of the troublemakers was something that was notorious. They worked hard, fought hard, and partied hard. They also pranked with extreme prejudice.

Coming to Earth had done little to dissuade the more 'rambunctious' of the crew, their forced hibernation doing little to quell natural sparked troublemaking. And now with the humans, a whole new miasma of questionable mischief was at the pranksters' collective disposal. Their reputations had become legendary back home, many egos inflating over the news when contact was reestablished with Cybertron.

An illogical fact and unfortunate conclusion that irritated Prowl and caused him to crash, twice.

Prowl had little worry over what Prime was ordering now, knowing they had been down this metaphorical road so many times before. It was the same thing promised and yet, nothing ever came to fruition. The motives of the meetings were forgotten soon enough, the culprits going back to their misdeeds as if there had been no interruption.

A soft sigh vented from the tactician. This was becoming so repetitious, even the unemotional Praxian was growing bored. He knew within the hour they would return to their ceaseless hijinks and he'd be chastising some miscreant.

"I'm appalled at the sheer volume of time spent in the brig by my soldiers," Prime said, not focusing on any one individual. There were at least a dozen mechs who had collected brig time thanks to pranks and retribution. The episodes always escaladed until Prime or Prowl intervened and then off to the brig they were sent. They served their time, and upon release, returned to their devil-may-care attitude.

"Apparently some of you think this is something to be proud of," Prime said ignoring the smug look of a ruby Lamborghini. "So there will be the following augmentations to the brig to ensure it's an unpleasant place and one will think twice before committing an offense and being sentenced."

Sunstreaker stared daggers at his commander. He had a sickening feeling where this was going. He sent a thrum of anger to his brother, his fist curling at his side. If Prime made certain declarations, Sunstreaker was going to quit the Autobots. He didn't support Prime only to fall back into the role of slave to master.

"All cushioned berths are to be removed from the brig and only flat, bare surfaces will be available for charging," Prime said, earning a few raised brow ridges. "Second, there will be no more visitations to the prisoners and all forms of entertainment will be removed from the cells immediately."

"What?!" Sideswipe yelled, his optics wide in terror. He was already on edge from his twin broadcasting the worst possible scenarios in emotional Technicolor.

Sunstreaker frowned at the Matrix bearer, having an inkling that this was just going to be the chip to the paint. This is how it started, then next thing the twins knew, they'd be enslaved to yet another master and subjected to demeaning activities. Not that Sunstreaker enjoyed monitor duty and patrolling the streets to a set speed 'limit.'

"You are there to be punished, not isolated to enjoy leisurely activities," Prime said. "No more television, satellite feeds nor musical equipment will be allowed inside the cells."

"Oh man," Jazz whined. He could do a stint in the brig for days, just as long as the radio kept playing. Now that music was to be banned from the cubical isolation wards, the time spent behind the energy bars was going to be long and tedious. It was going to be the Pit.

"Your wireless uplinks will be disabled so you may not hack into any of the human systems," Prime said, looking at the mutinous guilty optics and the bright, happy gleam of the innocent bystanders who were tired of receiving medical care from pranks gone wrong. "While incarcerated, you will receive one ration in the morning and one in the evening, and it will be the lowest grade acceptable to your frame type."

"What?" Sideswipe parroted, now looking scandalized. It was bad enough his music and the spare television he had installed in his usual cell would be removed. Now to add insult to injured pride, he wouldn't be allowed high grade? It was barbaric!

"These augmentations are in effect immediately," Prime said, glaring over the faces, centering this time on the main instigators of the pranks. "The brig is for punishment. Not private entertainment. Hopefully when you realize the severity of the situation you will think twice before earning yourself such punishment."

"Why change it now?" Sideswipe asked, feeling as close to mutiny as his brother. How dare Prime take away his tv and videogames from the brig! What would Sideswipe DO during those long, extended days? It was inhumane…. For a mechanical being.

Jazz was sharing the same thought processes. His arms were crossed, a stern look on his face that didn't seem to fit with his charismatic, friendly, personality.

"This is not a resort," Prime said, "This is an army. And if we wish to eliminate the Decepticon threat, we must act as a cohesive unit to take down our enemies and win this war."

"So why does the brig have to be so uncomfortable?" Sideswipe asked. "If you want everyone to work and play well together, surely you would make the environment more comfortable to keep tempers from flaring."

As if in omen, Sunstreaker growled, his chassis vibrating. He didn't like these restrictions being placed by the Autobot commander. Over half of Sunstreaker's accumulated time spent in the brig was thanks to his twin. If he was going to be punished for his brother's transgressions, there better be something to occupy his processor, lest he lose it. If not, there could be a high probability the brig would be burnt down… again.

"Because to earn a stint is to do something that is detrimental to the stability and cohesion of the army and this type of disruptive behavior has gone on long enough." Prime said, looking to Sunstreaker and making sure the unruly mech understood that this was serious business. He had a guess as to what was running through the golden frontliner's cortex, but he wanted to ensure those 'worst case scenarios' would never come into practice. Prime fought hard for freedom and the ability to choose ones own path. He added in a more level tone, never breaking optic contact with Sunstreaker. "This is war, and if one does something to endanger their comrades, then that is a serious offence. One that will not be tolerated."

Sideswipe turned his burning glare to Prowl and was shocked to see the tactician staring with wide optics, his mouth agape. Apparently Prowl was not in on the Prime's decision.

That was disheartening.

"I expect each and every one of you to start acting like the adults you are and eliminate the foolishness that not only wastes time dealing with the aftermath of your pranks, but the paperwork and processor aches that it creates for those who must clean up after your messes. Hopefully, now, you will think twice before doing something and maybe put your energies to better use."

Sunstreaker's optics narrowed in suspicion. It sounded legit. Eons of past experience made him keep his guard up, still unsure to the Prime's ulterior motive. Mechs in power always had an ulterior motive. Sunstreaker had been waiting for Prime to fall prey to that particular personality flaw since his induction.

"Prowl will remain the warrant officer," Prime said, giving his stunned second officer a look. He nearly choked upon seeing Prowls frozen, shocked visage. "I expect his orders to be carried out, lest a month is spent to the confines of the brig for insubordination."

"All that time in lock up, and no one to visit?" Mirage asked. He had been pulled into the prank wars a couple of times.

"No more visitations," Prime said. "Once incarcerated, there will no longer be visitors."

"That's…. that's… barbaric!" Sideswipe snapped, thinking how horrible it would be sitting for hours on end with no one outside of his cell to talk to. Autobots were natural socializers. To ban them from visiting their friends while jailed seemed to be extreme.

Hoping to alert the guilty to the damage they inflicted while enacting their little schemes, Prime turned to Prowl, waiting until the tactician blinked in slow motion to acknowledge him before speaking.

"Prowl, give your statistical report on pranks and related monetary and hours lost from the last quarter," Prime said, startling Prowl out of his stupefaction. "Just the overview, if you please."

"Last quarter approximately twenty-two thousand dollars worth of damage was done to property, seven thousand eight hundred hours lost due to incarceration and unable to perform duties which had to be picked up by others, doubling schedules and creating a unprecedented amount of processor ache along with explanations to local human authorities, assigning innocent bystanders to clean up the mess left behind from the ones pulling their pranks."

Prime held up his hand and Prowl fell into silence. "And what about yourself?"

"Sir?" Prowl asked, perturbed by his leaders request.

"How many hours of charge do you get in a cycle while dealing with the idiocy of your comrades?" Prime asked.

Prowl felt uncomfortable, his doorwings giving a flicker. When a minute passed by, Prime arched a brow ridge, expecting an answer. Prowl wanted to bolt from the room. He didn't want the others to know how much of their troublemaking had cost him.

Prime knew his SIC was hiding his level of involvement and pitched his voice, making it sound like a command. "How many hours of charge do you get within a solar cycle when dealing with prank related fallout?"

"Two, sir," Prowl said, feeling his cheek plates heat. He felt ashamed to admit how much charge he lost.

"Two," Prime repeated softly, staring into Prowl's optics. He noted the emotional doorwings, their fluttering a clear sign of a Praxian in distress. Prime turned to the room at large and raised his voice, "Two hours of a charge. Just to cover for those who misbehave and cause damage."

Wheeljack looked guiltily to the floor. He had caused some of his better explosions when the SIC was already burdened with extra duties from slacking comrades.

"And has slipped into emergency stasis…?" Prime looked to Ratchet expectantly. "How many times during the last quarter?"

"Eighteen," Ratchet supplied. "Slagger has to take 10 hours to completely defrag then he leaves without my authorization to attend to the work that has accumulated since his crash."

"Has no one realized the inconsiderate nature of these pranks and their related consequences?" Prime asked, sounding more like a creator chastising their young. "Did it never once occur to those making this mischief, that their actions cause such harm?"

Jazz looked particularly displeased. He knew Prowl shuffled the mechs like a well versed dealer, but he didn't realize the toll it was taking. It was no wonder Prowl didn't socialize with the crew. He was too busy working or trying to get some charge.

Prime didn't expect an answer to his question. He gave the assembled mechs a stern look and added, "From now on, the brig is for punishment. Not leisure. And as Warrant Officer, Prowl may chose the punishment, though now I give him leeway to incorporate human alternative punishments instead of brig time. Perhaps then the guilty parties will realize their disruption and the consequences related to those actions."

"What?" Prowl asked, feeling as if someone had just slapped him.

"You may use human alternatives to brig time and I will not reverse your decision," Prime said, noting how rigid the doorwings were held. They were actually vibrating with the intensity. "It will be up to you to decide."

"Like what for instance?" Prowl asked, having little to no experience in human disciplinary actions.

"Ask Sparkplug," Prime said, his optics twinkling. He turned to the assembled mechs and barked, "Dismissed!"

The gathered bots dispersed, some worried, others thinking the whole thing was just another ruse to get the pranks under control. It was okay to pull a stunt once in awhile, but the serious pranksters didn't realize they were going too far in their endeavors. They were never done in malice. And rarely did someone get hurt bad enough to require medical attention. Other than…

Gears lost an optic. Mirage lost several pieces of plating that wasn't easily replaced. Red Alert fritzed out four times and required intensive surgery to replace destroyed circuits. Ironhide required a full systems flush after the glitter energon incident. Prime himself had to endure a fuel tank replacement because glue had somehow found its way into the dispenser.

Perhaps that was why the commander was taking the fun out of his ranks? They had overstepped their bounds.

Later that day, Sparkplug poked his head into the SIC's office.

"Did you want to see me?" Sparkplug asked.

"Yes," Prowl said, motioning for the human to join him. When Sparkplug entered, Prowl asked, "How do you punish Spike?"

"Wha?" Sparkplug asked, staring at the Autobot Second with a shocked expression. "Spike's a good kid. I don't have to punish him."

"I am searching for alternative means in which to punish the pranking Autobots who apparently are unable to find the flaw in their disruptive behavior." Prowl explained.

"Well, when Spike was little, I spanked him," Sparkplug said, earning a furrowed brow ridge. "I took him over my knee and spanked his bottom."

Sparkplug mimicked the action and added, "A few whacks was enough to get the point across. But that was for major things like, drawing on the wall with crayons and biting other kids."

"Are there other alternatives?" Prowl asked. He couldn't really see himself pulling an Autobot over his knee. Mainly because most of the Autobots were a lot bigger than himself.

"Time outs," Sparkplug said, holding back the laughter at the absurdity of the situation. Just the thought of a giant metal robot asking about how to curb unruly behavior from childlike minds was enough to send the human into a laughing fit. Sparkplug refrained, not wanting to dissuade Prowl with his quest for alternative forms of correction.

"How does one remove time?" Prowl asked, his battle computer instantly jumping to life. Was it possible the humans had figured out how to manipulate time to their advantage? Such information could win the war!

"With Spike, he had to sit on the couch, in one spot, without moving or talking, for an hour," Sparkplug explained. "Each time he made to get up, or tried to talk me out of the punishment, one hour would be added to his sentence."

"You removed recreational time as punishment?" Prowl asked, not sure if that was the point of the parental exercise.

"Yup," Sparkplug said. "But standing with his nose in a corner worked too. Just as long as he didn't fidget or whine to get out of it."

"Nose in a corner?" Prowl asked, blinking several times in confusion.

"It's just a way to make the one being punished to be detached from everything," Sparkplug said with a shrug. "They can't engage in any conversation or see what's going on around them. They have to stand and keep their nose out of everyone else's business." When it was clear Prowl was still unsure, Sparkplug added, "It's like putting blinders on them. The only thing they can see or concentrate on is the wall in front of them."

"I see," Prowl said, his frame buzzing. He canted his helm, "Are there more forms of punishment?"

"Making the guilty party go and publicly apologize for their wrong doing is a good one," Sparkplug said, remembering how red Spike was when he had to apologize to a neighbor for breaking his window. "And making them work menial jobs until they've repaid their debt."

"What is the normal wage one places upon such transgressions?" Prowl asked, every intention of making some of the bots pay for their speeding tickets.

"It's all up to the one dishing out the punishment,' Sparkplug said. "It could be anything from spending the afternoon pulling weeds from a flower bed to cleaning out a garage or babysitting plants and pets. And only the one wronged can say when they feel as if restitution has been paid."

"Rather unbalanced form of crime and punishment," Prowl frowned.

"Not really," Sparkplug said, finding he enjoyed educated the reclusive bot on the facets of punishment. With Spike, he rarely had to implement such forms of correction. "If there is a task you don't find particular pleasant, yet it must be done, you can have the guilty party do it for you."

"Examples?" Prowl requested. There were many things he found unpleasant. He wasn't sure they qualified under the terms of punishment.

"Clean the washracks," Sparkplug said, knowing that the Autobots were notorious for their cleanliness. Their frames were immaculate, but they didn't like cleaning the area used in their maintenance. Prowl instantly perked at the idea. "File paperwork? Be a gopher."

"How does one make the guilty party into a small animal?" Prowl asked, finding it harder and harder to fathom human idiosyncrasies.

"Go- For," Sparkplug repeated. "It means if you want something to drink or need something delivered, you send the Gopher after it."

"I see," Prowl muttered, rubbing his chin in thought. "What about for human law infractions? What do you suggest?"

"Speeding tickets?" Sparkplug hazarded, knowing the sport car Autobots had a habit of receiving the annoying papers. "Whoever gets one, has to spend a week or two patrolling the city in the bad part of town, or standing by the roadside wearing a sign warning others to slow down."

Prowl's optical ridges shot up near the edge of his helm.

"Racing or reckless driving means they have to attend safety classes and then perform hours of community service by preventing the very thing they were guilty of," Sparkplug said, trying to think of things that would involve the more 'prolific' perpetrators. "They could give demonstrations of reckless driving and allow humans to use them during 'class practice'."

Prowl's doorwings hiked up in excitement, but he quickly schooled the appendages and canted his helm toward the informative human.

"What would be a proper punishment for blowing something up or causing destruction?" Prowl wondered.

"Make them clean up the mess, do repair work, and then maintenance for anything else as a reminder not to damage the equipment in the first place," Sparkplug said with a one sided shrug. Spike's 'active volcano' had erupted in the kitchen and the kid spent over six hours cleaning the mess from the walls, ceiling, floor, table, cabinets, and curtains. Spike had an ingrain hatred for laundry.

"And of course there's always the parental favorite or going to bed without dinner or grounding the kid," Sparkplug added.

Prowl frowned. "We are already ground based. How much deeper do you propose we go?"

"It means the one in trouble can't play video games, go out with friends, can't listen to music," Sparkplug counted off things he used against Spike on the rare occasion it was warranted. He didn't see Prowl perk up at the mention of music. "They can't go to parties. Can't have the new thing they've been whining to get. Not allowed any junk food. No phone calls."

"Hmm… this bears some thought," Prowl said, his processor already active. The idea of sending an Autobot to berth without fuel was out of the question. Fuel was necessary to function. The humans could go days or even weeks without sustenance. Cybertronians weren't as fortunate. If they didn't ingest fuel on a regular basis, they slipped into stasis or terminated. And to Prowl, that would defeat the whole point.

"That's all I can think of," Sparkplug said, hoping Prowl was done with him so he could go find Ratchet and have a good laugh. "Is there something else I can help you with?"

"No, that will be all," Prowl said, giving the human a smirk. "I believe you have provided invaluable information that will help me greatly."

"Well, if you need anything, just yell," Sparkplug said, exiting and grabbing his stomach as the giggles started to shake his body. That had to be the strangest conversation he had ever had with the Autobots. And that included the request for explanation of nudity magazines. Sparkplug thought 'the talk' was difficult with Spike. He never thought he'd have to give it to an alien race!

Booooo-fizzzzzle-oooM!

'Wheeljack, are you functioning?' Prowl called immediately over comms.

'Yeah, I'm fine,' the inventor said, a small chuckle leaking over the open channel. 'Just crossed some wires and singed my circuits. Nothing to worry about.'

'Maintenance to hallway Beta three,' Red Alert called, interrupting the comm. chatter. 'Wheeljack has blown a hole through the wall and there is currently a smelted piece of metal meteorite embedded into the bulkhead.'

'On our way,' Grapple and Hoist called.

'Wheeljack, did you engage the safety procedures before beginning your experiment?' Prowl asked, already having an idea of the answer. He wasn't disappointed.

'No, I forgot. Sorry, won't happen again' Wheeljack called, sounding embarrassed.

'You have been warned twenty-six times within the last week to engage the safety mechanisms that surround your workshop to ensure the health of your fellow Autobots and destruction of base,' Prowl said, his doorwings flicking with annoyance. A small grin spread across his face though no one was around to see it. 'You have your choice of punishment. Either three days in the brig, or you clean your laboratory and put it into proper, standard order.'

'Uhhhh,' Wheeljack muttered, unsure of his choices.

He could go to the brig, but since all of the comfortable amenities had been removed, it wasn't a fun place to hang out anymore. Not to mention he wouldn't have anything to tinker with while incarcerated. A bored Wheeljack was even more dangerous than a bored Sideswipe. He didn't like the thought of being idle, so he choose action over inaction. 'I'll clean up my lab?'

Prowl's smirk turned devilish at the inventor's choice. 'Very well. I will give you until sundown tomorrow to get it put into proper order. And be rest assured Wheeljack, I will inspect the lab to ensure your compliance.'

'Ummm… okay,' Wheeljack said, looking at the cluttered mess that was his lab. He was going to be in here for at least a week! He hoped Prowl hadn't set his standards too high.

Prowl returned to work, a smile threatening his lip components. He was in such a good mood that he didn't notice Jazz sneak in and stare dumbfounded at him.

"Primus, what has gotten into you? And do you have any more left?" Jazz asked, noting Prowl looked smugly satisfied.

"I'm busy, make yourself scarce," Prowl said, looking up to Jazz and not bothering to hide his good humor. His optics narrowed as he added, "On second thought, do you have those reports ready?"

"I was going to get to them later," Jazz said, offering a charming smile. "There's a concert tonight and Blaster scored us some tickets."

"Those reports were to be done last week," Prowl said, his brow plates crinkling as he stared at Jazz.

"I've been busy," Jazz said, his pede tapping on the floor to some unknown beat. With Jazz's reputation, he was probably listening to music over the sub frequencies.

"There has been no Decepticon activity and no Special Ops during that time,' Prowl said. He was starting to get miffed at Jazz's dismissive behavior. "They are not that complicated. They would only take two or three hours to complete."

"You volunteering?" Jazz asked, grin back in place.

"Get the reports done by noon tomorrow, Jazz," Prowl sighed, slumping in exhaustion. He was just now caught up with last months reports and his berth had been calling to him since his last unscheduled stasis lock. Suspiciously, the berth used Ratchet's voice.

"I'll try working on them when I get back," Jazz said, perking up and tilting his helm toward the door. Something or someone was drawing his attention. "See you later, Prowler!"

Prowl opened his mouth to speak but Jazz was already gone. He sighed, pushing away from his desk and standing up with a hissing protest of hydraulics. It was still early by most standards, but since Prowl had been running on so little charge, his systems were depleting faster than normal. As per ordered by the bossy CMO, Prowl was to refuel on a regular basis and ensure at least eight hours of charge per cycle. His helm had barely hit the berth before he was out cold, dreaming of reformatting Wheeljack into a vacuum cleaner and Jazz into a dancing jackhammer.

The next morning Prowl's work was interrupted by a Decepticon attack. When everyone returned to base, Prowl promptly carried Jazz's datapads to the medical ward so the injured saboteur could have something to occupy his processor. Jazz muttered something like a threatening thanks as Prowl left.

The morning Jazz was released. Prowl waited until it was ten o'clock and when Jazz didn't appear with his assignment, Prowl ordered the Porsche to his office. When no completed datapads were presented, Prowl promptly shoved a dozen new ones in the Third's embrace.

"What's this?" Jazz asked, looking at the armful of work.

"Since you refuse to do your job, then you are to finish my assignments while I once again fill out your reports for you," Prowl said, motioning toward the door. "I suggest you start to work on them. There are four top priority cases that will need to be run by Prime at three o'clock."

"But, this is your job," Jazz said, going to the desk and dropping his armload of unwanted responsibility.

"And since I am unable to perform my job because I am having to cover for you and do your job, then you can take over my assignments until I'm caught up," Prowl said, motioning to the datapads. "Its either that or you spend a week in the brig." His neutral expression dropped and a wicked gleam appeared in his optics. "Without visitors, access to human entertainment, and rationed to low grade."

Jazz opened his mouth to protest but Prowl flared his doorwings.

"Or shall I take this matter to Prime and he may learn of your gross insubordination?" Prowl asked.

Jazz gritted his denta and collected the datapads. He wisely waited until he was out of hearing range before letting loose a verbal beating to his so called friend.

Prowl suppressed the urge to whoop for joy, thinking it very unbecoming of an officer, and picked up the other half of his workload. He knew he had Jazz cornered. If he didn't perform the assigned tasks, when it came time to report to Prime directly, he'd be in deep slag. Prowl allowed himself a little revving giggle as he started on the upcoming roster.

Wheeljack's lab had been tidied up when Prowl inspected it, and Wheeljack was ordered to spend the rest of the week in cleaning up his work area and removing anything potentially dangerous.

Sideswipe offered to remove Wheeljack, which earned him two days of running menial errands. When the Lamborghini collapsed on his berth at night, he was in deep charge almost immediately.

The first to enjoy the new brig accommodations was Jazz, who thought Prowl was merely pulling his plugs when he warned the Porsche to not hack into TeleTrans systems and blare music for his teammates to enjoy. When his three day stint was up, Jazz noticeably avoided Prowl, and sat with his head between the speakers during the evening get-togethers that Blaster hosted to boost troop morale.

Must to everyone's surprise, Prowl attended, and as his comrades stared slack jawed at him, he toasted the twins on their brewed high grade.

"We aren't in trouble for having high grade?" Sideswipe asked when he retrieved his jaw from the floor.

"Occasionally it is acceptable but it is not to be an every day, or evening, occurrence," Prowl said, giving the twins a look that meant he was serious. He would overlook the illegal brew to allow the crew a chance to wind down on occasion. They were adults after all.

"What else will you allow us to get away with?" Sideswipe asked, narrowing his optics. Jazz's horror story of how he spent his three days in the brig still fresh on everyone's processor.

"Minor pranks that do not involve a trip to med bay, nor disrupt the posted duty roster," Prowl said, taking a hefty drink of the high grade. He didn't bat an optic at the potency. "However if a joke has caused harm to be sustained, or an augmentation to the schedule to accommodate injury or possible embarrassing situation, then the mech responsible will spend a minimum of one week in the brig."

"Rather harsh, don't you think?" Jazz asked, joining the trio and grabbing a cube. He sipped and sputtered before downing the cube in several rapid gulps. He graced Prowl with a dark, annoyed look.

"And forcing me to cover shifts and slip into stasis due to lack of charge and refueling would constitute what type of punishment, in your optics?" Prowl said not deterred. He was finally getting the required amount of charge. His systems were starting to feel better than they had in a very long, and disheartening, time. Even his glitch was under control.

Jazz was quiet. Instead he grabbed two more cubes and walked away, his ego still sore from the silence he suffered in the brig. He had thought he could do just about any form of punishment, and serve brig duty, but with the lacking accommodations, the brig was boring and very ominous. Now it wasn't a place to dwell willingly.

Prowl downed the last of his cube and gave the twins a nod before departing for some recreational reading in his quarters. There were holonovels he had wanted to read for millennia but with his schedule, he never found the time. Now, he enjoyed a few chapters before charge and woke refreshed. He didn't notice the several pairs of optics follow him out of the rec room.

The next morning when Prowl awoke, his systems alerted him to their current operating efficiency, and much to his surprise, there were very few diagnostics that required self repair during charge. With a lighter step, and Jazz still couldn't understand how the much larger Praxian can be so stealthy, Prowl made for the rec room for morning ration. Much to his chagrin, Cliffjumper was starting his usual griping attitude very early.

"You can deny it all you want," Cliffjumper said, pointing a stubby servo at Mirage, who looked vaguely annoyed with the minibot blocking his path. "But I know you're a traitor."

"And the many times Prime and Prowl have proven that I am, in fact, a loyal supporter of the Autobot cause has no bearing on your evaluation?" Mirage asked in his simpering tone.

"You have them fooled," Cliffjumper snapped, jerking his head toward the command center to encompass the officers as a whole. "With your training, it's easy to do. But just so you know, you don't fool me! I have my optic on you!"

"As it has been focused on me since our first joint mission," Mirage sighed, looking bored.

"You Tower Mechs think you are so much better than everyone else," Cliffjumper sneered, taking a step toward the Noble and granting him a sour, loathsome look. "But you're lower than a Decepticon! Slimy, underhanded, traitorous, deceitful Decepticon!"

"We Tower Nobles are better than you, but that does not mean my loyalty is any less than your own, nor should my allegiance be questioned! I have lost more than what any of you have suffered," Mirage snapped, his cool exterior dropping to display the enraged spy. "And I place myself in danger behind enemy lines just to ensure that my fellow Autobots are safe."

"You go behind enemy lines so easily because the Cons see you as ally," Cliffjumper said, smirking and adopting a casual pose.

"I would never…." Mirage hissed, his fists remaining at his sides though his frame was now shaking with rage. His voice was low, threatening, but he refrained from physically attacking his fellow Autobot. "How dare you! How dare you insinuate….that I… I would…."

Cliffjumper offered a smug look, knowing he had riled the noble. Brawn was standing behind his fellow minibot, his brow creased in anger. Hound and Trailbreaker were standing next to the dispenser, a spare cube held in Hound's hand for Mirage as the spy was going to join his companions for morning ration.

"Cliffjumper, you know that Mirage isn't a traitor," Hound said, trying to diffuse the situation. "Prowl and Prime have exonerated him every time you accuse him."

"They weren't really looking," Cliffjumper said, obviously to Prowl standing in the doorway watching the confrontation. "They were sloppy. I, on the other servo, see everything perfectly clear."

"And how is my work 'sloppy'?" Prowl asked in a neutral tone entering the room.

Trailbreaker exchanged a look with Hound, both taking a step away from the arguing mechs and allowing the senior officer full control.

Cliffjumper gave a violent start, his helm whirling around to find Prowl standing as a silent shadow behind him.

Prowl's face was emotionless, but his hands were placed on his hips and his doorwings were fanned wide. It was a common stance among Praxian builds when feeling threatened or aggressive.

"Please, explain how your own resources have uncovered a Decepticon spy that has eluded both Prime and myself," Prowl asked, staring into Cliffjumper's optics. "Display your evidence to support such accusations."

Cliffjumper muttered under his breathing function, earning a hike in doorwings and arched brow ridges from his superior officer.

"I am sorry, I did not understand your presentation," Prowl said

"I said there isn't any 'physical' proof," Cliffjumper said, glaring at Prowl. "The slagger is able to cover his tracks!"

"Accusations are biased and have no foundation," Prowl said, citing the script that had been repeated many times in the more 'formal' setting of investigative trials. "You are ordered to still your vocalizer and do not speak such slanderous charges unless you have legitimate, physical evidence in which to substantiate your claim."

Cliffjumper shuttered his optics a couple of times in slow comprehension.

Prowl sidestepped the minibot and went to the dispenser. He had just touched the keypad for a cube when Cliffjumper decided to have the last word.

"You may have blinded the others but not me!" Cliffjumper snapped, that threatening finger punching toward Mirage who still stood fuming. "Watch your back, Tower Brat! I'll be watching you! And you'll regret every signing up with us!"

"That is quite enough," Prowl said, turning from the dispenser and looking to the nearest table. He walked over and promptly sat at one of the chairs and motioned Cliffjumper over.

"Remove your aft plates and place you chassis across my legs," Prowl ordered.

The other bots in the rec room stared, wondering how the Praxian kept a straight face while speaking the command.

"What?" Cliffjumped asked, his expression stunned.

"If you disobey a direct order and continue to harass your fellow Autobots, then as a form of punishment, you will submit yourself for a spanking," Prowl said, nodding toward his awaiting lap. "Remove your aft plates and place your chassis across my legs."

Cliffjumper snorted, crossing his arms over his chassis, "I will do no such thing."

"If you don't, then you spend month in the brig," Prowl said, undeterred.

"A month!?" Cliffjumper snapped, glaring with all the incredulously hatred he could muster.

"You either submit to a spanking or you spend a month in the brig," Prowl said. "You're discord has given many mechs sour dispositions, caused civil unrest amongst the troops, lowered morale and after hearing your repetitive accusations met with unsubstantiated evidence, I am employing a human alternative. Since usual corrective punishment apparently doesn't give you the intended lesson, hopefully the human punishment will allow the lesson to sink into your processor. No one here is a traitor and when you disrupt the harmony on this base, that constitutes a form of treason against your fellow Autobots. So, you have a choice. Take your spanking or a stint in the brig."

Cliffjumper scoffed, sauntering to Prowl, his aft plates dropping from the magnetic locks.

"If you think a trivial spanking will change my mind, you are sadly mistaken," Cliffjumper said, standing resolute in front of Prowl. "I don't fear you, nor your ridiculous human form of punishment. I'm as tough as they come."

"I am unsure to the strength one must administer for this punishment, so we will both be learning a valuable lesson," Prowl said grasping the minibot by surprise and jerking him over his lap.

Cliffjumper yelled in indignation at the rough treatment. His voice pitched in fury as Prowl called to the room at large and over comms. 'You're attention please. Red Alert please transmit these proceedings for the entire crew.'

"What!" Cliffjumper yelled from where Prowl's legs were pressed against his chassis. He made to get up, but Prowl's firm hand came down against his backside, causing his yell to become a roar of outrage.

"For falsely spreading the rumor that Mirage is a Decepticon sympathizer and threatening his well being," Prowl said sending his hand down with a sharp slap. "You are hereby being punished in hopes that you will learn to respect other mechs in your company without creating ill feelings and mutinous intentions amongst your fellow Autobots. And will furthermore, still your vocalizer about such treasonable offenses."

Every other word was punctuated with a smack. Cliffjumper twisted and squirmed to evade the slaps. They stung his unprotected protoform. The minimum pain wasn't what hurt Cliffjumper, it was the humiliation. The entire ARK was witnessing his punishment. Had he would have known Prowl's intentions, he would have chosen the brig. Certainly a month in isolation was better than having every single mech on base watch as your bare aft was spanked and your misdeeds recounted for everyone to know.

Face burning in humiliation, Cliffjumper was granted freedom, Prowl lifting the minibot off his lap. He stood beside of the thoroughly defeated, and chastised minibot, his hand going to Cliffjumper's shoulder.

"You're disruptive behavior will cease. Now, apologize to Mirage and if I hear of this incident again, you will receive a spanking every hour, on the hour for three days. Do I make myself clear?" Prowl's face betrayed no emotion as he spoke.

Cliffjumper jumped gave a nod, his optics staying transfixed on the floor. He couldn't look anyone in the optics. He may not be able to do so for a very long time.

"Sorry Mirage. I promise not to do it again."

Had Cliffjumper looked up he would have been shocked at Mirage's expression. The usually pompous, sophisticated mech was staring wide optic and slack jawed at the SIC and his companion.

Prowl's optic ridge shot up, looking at Mriage, who faltered, collecting his scattered thoughts and sputtered, "I accept. Thank you, Cliffjumper."

With a curt nod to all present Prowl spun on his heel and exited the rec room. Jazz extricated himself from the shadows and followed him out, a bounce to his step as he caught up with Prowl.

"By the way, feel free to use a spanking on me any time." Jazz grinned.

Prowl's step faltered for a fraction of a second before he continued to his office. There was no way he was going to use such a punishment on Jazz. The Porsche would enjoy it too much. Leave it to Jazz to make disciplinary into recreational. No one should be that eager for a punishment. Jazz should have his processor checked. Perhaps it was time to schedule psyche evals for the crew again.

Prowl disappeared in his office and was not seen the rest of the day. When Prowl finished all of his work, he stretched and looked at the time. It was the first time in his memory banks that he had finished ahead of schedule. His tank chose that moment to protest and since it was evening, Prowl decided to join the other Autobots in the rec room. As he entered the rec room, conversation lowered to a buzz, and several mechs shifted, their plating crawling, their nerve function on edge.

A couple of Lamborghini's however looked adamantly agreeable to the SIC as he got his ration and took a seat at an empty table. With identical looks they twins initiated "Operation: I've been a naughty mech!"

Prowl found himself presented with a cube of high grade, courtesy of said twins, both of who wore seductively foreboding expressions. Prowl felt his fuel pump falter and his lines to freeze. Primus, how could they do that?

"You know high grade is only for special occasions?" Prowl deadpanned, trying to thaw his internals.

"You could always… punish us," Sideswipe coed, slithering into the place beside of Prowl and draping himself across Prowl's lap. Instead of being face down like Cliffjumper had been for his punishment, Sideswipe was face up, his optics shining in expectation. Sunstreaker was hovering close to Prowl's opposite shoulder, his engine throttling on high and sending the vibrations straight into a doorwing.

"Do either of you wish to be thrown into the brig?" Prowl asked, hoping to assuage the attentions. It didn't work.

"We're off duty, you're off duty, and regulations state that you can't give commands during personal time," Sideswipe said, purring like a contented cat at seeing Prowl's visage darken in anger.

"But if you want, you can punish us, just like the way you punished Cliffjumper," Sunstreaker said in Prowl's audio. His voice dropped to a rumbling, dangerous tone as he added, "It was very… exhilarating."

Knowing only one way out of this situation, Prowl swallowed his pride. He turned toward Sunstreaker and leaned forward causing their olfactory sensors to touch. Expectedly the golden mech hissed and recoiled. As Sunstreaker struggled to regain his sensual appeal, Prowl looked to Sideswipe and grasped the ruby mech by his olfactory sensor, lifting him free of Prowl's lap.

"If you two are quite finished, I would make the suggestion that if you wish to proceed in such a fashion again," Prowl said, standing and extracting himself from the Lamborghini imprisonment. "Bring some friends to assist you."

Without an acknowledgement Prowl left the rec room. He was enjoying a holonovel series and looked forward to the quiet time from the insanity of his teammates.

The twins watched him go.

"Is it a wonder why we love him so much?" Sideswipe asked with a sigh.

"Slagger was threatening my finish," Sunstreaker murmured, a chamois in his servo as he vigorously buffed. Sideswipe cast his optics skyward.

The next morning Prowl found his desk sporting a very odd collection. There were several cans of synthetic blend motor oil, a can of expensive, durable wax, peach flavored human lubricant, a sappy love poem, Sunstreaker's mirror, a datapad, and Jazz's visor.

Prowl stared at the unusual items. He started when Sunstreaker marched in unannounced and swept the mirror from the collected artifacts. He gave Prowl a scowl and muttered, a "Fragger" before taking his leave.

Prowl didn't know if Sunstreaker meant him or his brother. Not sure what to do with his tokens of admiration, Prowl picked up the datapad and hit the button, thinking it was more sappy poetry. Must to his astonishment it was a collection of femmes bared to their protoforms and displaying all of their attractive features. Stunned Prowl sat in his chair, unable to take his optics off the pictures. He scrolled through them, feeling his own sensors heat to an uncomfortable level. A noise of surprise escaped him before he could stop it. Added to the femme pictures were very realistic drawings of the ARK crew, all in risqué poses. Prowl found the picture of himself, reposing on a berth, his chest plates parted in post-coital relaxation. Scratches adorned his finish, his optics half shuttered, and a generous spike that most certainly wasn't part of his factory design was at rest between his parted thighs.

Prowl was pulled from his racing thoughts by a ship wide comm..

'Attention all Autobots, I am currently missing my visor. If found please bring to my quarters.' Jazz said over comms.

Prowl shook himself and grabbed the visor and headed to Jazz's quarters. He wasn't surprised when Mirage answered the summons.

"I believe this belongs to Jazz," Prowl said, presenting his unwanted trophy.

"Slagging twins," Jazz called from the berth where his sightless face was turned toward the door. The scar that cratered his optics distracted from the normally handsome features. "Wait until a mech's out of it and then rob him blind! Literally!"

"Thank you," Mirage said, closing the door.

'Jazz, you have the reports due on my next within the next hour,' Prowl said over comms, going back to his office and staring at the collection of pilfered items.

'I promised Hound I'd trade shifts with him so he could go with Trailbreaker on the nature hike,' Jazz answered. 'I'll get to them later.'

'You have until tomorrow morning at start of shift to have them prepared,' Prowl said, finding a drawer to dump the wax and motor oil into. The scandalous datapad was slipped into his subspace for later inspection. The poetry was thrown away, the peach flavored lubricant clattering in the bin soon after.

Prowl sat in his office, feeling a serene peace flow over his frame. He didn't realize he'd been spark weary for so long. Perhaps now, with all the mechs fearing a true punishment detail, some semblance of order would return to his chaotic world. Illogical actions and words had always plagued the Praxian since his sparking, but he had been able to filter through the nonlinear thinking and develop a strong, plausible rational.

That was completely fragged as soon as he joined the Autobots.

He sighed through his vents, his gaze drifting to the trash and finding the sappy love poem and lubricant that sat innocently staring at him. A frown creased his face, and with a slow, furtive movement, he removed the datapad from his subspace. Perhaps just one more look, and then he could get to work? The pictures added a nice visual to the holonovel he was reading and much to his surprise, the day went by in a blur. He retired early, and when he rose the next morning, his joints were locked into an uncomfortable position. He flexed on the way to his office and when he opened the door, it was to find a desk lacking the promised datapads from Jazz.

'Jazz, my office,' Prowl said, not waiting for an answer.

A stern lecture was in progress when there came the squeal of tires in the hall, followed by the rumbling of twin engines. Enraged, Prowl yelled at the Lamborghini racers into his office and slammed the door on the carnage.

When Jazz didn't give his normal, short, sit rep on supplies and morale, Optimus Prime went looking for his Third. The command center was quiet, as was the rec room. A stack of datapads as tall as Prime were reposing on Jazz's desk, but the saboteur was no where to be found. Jazz wasn't in his quarters and wasn't with Blaster. Ratchet hadn't seen or heard of the Porsche. In fact, no one had seen Jazz since the night before. Frowning Prime marched through the ARK, his processor coming up with worse case scenarios that became more and more ridiculous. Thinking Prowl would have an idea as to Jazz's whereabouts, Prime set off and much to his dismay, found the door closed. He knocked and received an instant reply.

"Enter."

Prime opened the door and found Prowl sitting at his desk, two datapads in front of him. He instantly snapped to attention upon seeing his commander.

"Optimus Prime, Sir, to what do I owe this pleasure?" Prowl asked, as always the perfect soldier.

Prime opened his mouth to speak but found his vocalizer frozen. Jazz was standing behind Prowl facing the wall. A soft sigh drew his attention to his right side and found Sunstreaker standing with his back to the room, his arms crossed over his chassis. A quick inspection to the left revealed Sideswipe in a similar pose.

"Wha…. What is going on?" Prime asked, looking at the three mechs who appeared to be disinterested in the room or its occupants.

"Disciplinary actions, Sir," Prowl said without skipping a beat. "Jazz, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker are being punished."

"How?" Prime asked. He went to Sunstreaker, ignoring the growling threat from the golden menace and searched for any restraints or punishment devices. There was nothing. Just a mech. And two walls.

"They are standing in the corner," Prowl said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "For the next four days…"

"Four!?" Sunstreaker snapped, whirling around to snarl at the black and white officer.

"Five for Sunstreaker," Prowl said with a raised brow ridge at the outburst.

"Frag off! I'm going to the brig! It's a lot better than having to deal with you idiots," Sunstreaker snapped and marched from the room without dismissal or backward glance.

Prowl sighed and gave his head a little shake. He continued as if he was never interrupted.

"Jazz has neglected his duties and as punishment he is to stand in the corner during shift, only taking a break to refuel and performing two hours of datapad work before he is to return to the corner," Prowl said, hearing Jazz clonk his head on the wall in embarrassment. "And Sideswipe will perform the same corner punishment but instead of dealing with datapads, he will be scrubbing every floor of the ARK to learn that one must not race indoors."

Prime just stared at his Second in silence. His optics blinked several times. His processor started to hurt.

"Is there something I can help you with, Sir?" Prowl asked.

"I needed a sit rep from Jazz," Prime said, though it sounded more like a question when he spoke.

"Very good sir," Prowl said. "This afternoon while Jazz is taking a break from his corner, he will prepare a detailed report for you."

"Oh Man," Jazz moaned softly, his helm lulling against the wall.

"That would be refreshing," Prime smirked. He turned to go, then halted, adding, "Oh, and Prowl?"

"Yes, Sir?" Prowl asked.

"Here's a list for you," Prime said, handing over a mini datapad. "For mechs who have requested a spanking."

Prowl stood stunned as Prime took his leave. He glanced to the screen, his optics spiraling wide. A whine escaped Prowl's frame before smoke came out of his helm. He keeled over but was caught by Jazz before he could damage himself.

"Was… he ….serious?" Sideswipe asked slowly, staring after Prime.

Jazz picked up the datapad and looked at the screen. Sure enough, there was a list of names, and their 'offenses' in order of request. Jazz sputtered for a second before he too locked up, falling over Prowl in strutless surrender. Sideswipe stared, flummoxed as to what caused such a massive shut down in the two senior officers. With tentative servos he picked up the datapad and read the list….

And found Prime's name in the first ten slots.

{{-}} {{-}} {{-}} {{-}}{{-}} {{-}} {{-}} {{-}}{{-}} {{-}} {{-}} {{-}}

Again- one shot, no plans to continue. There may be other one shots along these lines but until a thought comes to mind, they will stand alone.

Hope you enjoyed and had a good laugh

Reviews are welcomed as is concrit. Flames are ignored unless they're from Wheeljack, then I will involve Inferno.

I could have added this as another twin adventure to Take Two, but I felt it was long enough, 23 pages, to stand on its own and had sufficient ensemble cast so it wasn't so 'centered'. Not to mention, I like the idea of these Disciplinary Arcs. :D I just didn't want to break it into individual punishments. :D I may later…. who knows?

In hindsight I should have included a warning for possible perviness.

Prime is a lonely…. lonely mech.

Any takers are keeping him company?