Author's Note: I know I've been off the radar for a while, writer's block on all your multi-chaps will do that to you. But I was listening to Panic! at the Disco's Camisado, and got bitten by the inspiration bug. And, as usual, I was avoiding my homework, so I had to write it.

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers. Big companies do. *tear*

The energon drip sang a steady beat into the finally silent med-bay. The lights were dimmed, Ratchet had been herded off to recharge by Wheeljack, all the patients were stable and in recharge. All but one.

Prowl tried to relax back into the berth, but nothing was working. All he could think of was the mountain of paperwork that was waiting for him back in his office. Normally this long after a battle he would be there, working through the night to get all the necessary reports done for Prime as soon as possible. Unfortunately, the one injury he had gotten prevented that.

Prowl scowled at his leg for the--he didn't even know how many times he had glared at his leg. From the knee down, his entire left leg was gone. A direct shot from Megatron's fusion cannon will do that to a limb.

This was the servo that prevented him from leaving the med-bay. It was not a serious wound, and he wasn't in any danger of his spark extinguishing, but it did prevent him from walking anywhere under his own power. That left him under the 'tender' mercy of Ratchet while his leg got rebuilt. Joy.

He sighed again and leaned his head back against the berth. His doorwings had been getting sore from him lying in a prone position on them for so long (he wasn't allowed to move to not jostle his leg too much), and Ratchet had turned off the sensors in them. Without his doorwings constantly giving his CPU extra sensory information it felt oddly lightheaded and high, like he was less in tune with his own body.

Prowl stared at the orange ceiling of the med-bay for a while. Why was it so orange? Pit, why was the entire Ark so orange? The hull was orange, halls were orange, the floors were orange, the lights were orange. What was Hoist and Grapple thinking with making the entire ship this ugly too-bright orange? What kind of design color is that? Wouldn't it be better if it was a nice cool blue? Or maybe a green, green could be pleasant. Not that lime green that Sideswipe seemed to like using in his pranks, that was too bright. Ugh, Sideswipe, why did he have to think of him? He had been insufferable lately, more insufferable than normal. The pranks where coming down left, right, and center and nobody had been spared. Not even Prime.

Prowl groaned when he remembered that particular prank. Prime had been less than amused when he came back from a particularly trying meeting with some human bureaucrats to find his office filled to the brim with... Cotton balls. How the twins had gotten so many they would probably never know. What they did know was that Prime had gained a fiery look in his optics and immediately summoned Prowl and all known pranksters to the meeting room. Once all were in side he announced that no one was leaving until the pranksters confessed and were sent-- by Prowl-- to his office to empty it out. Using nothing but their hands, no transforming to take bigger loads. He then apologized to Prowl for dragging him into it, but he needed a commanding officer to be there to make sure they were telling the truth. Prime then turned on his heel, walked out, and locked the doors behind him using his command code.

It took five hours for the twins to confess.

And Prowl had nothing to do during that time besides watch all the pranksters of the Ark argue amongst themselves.

To say that Prowl was happy after that was like saying Megatron wanted World Peace or Starscream didn't want to be 'Lord Starscream Ruler of the Decepticons.'

To make matters worse he still had twenty-five reports to read by the next morning. And it was nearing midnight.

Prowl had a stressful job, and he knew that it was going to be when he accepted it. However, no-one warned him that the Prime's personal unit was the most non-conventional, not-normal, out right weird border lining crazy unit out there. And that only seemed to make it all the more stressful than he had been expecting.

Sure he thought he would see the occasional prank, the occasional battle-weary warrior break down, and maybe some quirky characters. What he saw was a wrench throwing medic, an exploding engineer, an overly-paranoid security director, a trigger happy weapon specialist, a disappearing spy, a bubbly mini-bot, perfectionist architects, a babbling sniper, a gambling diversionary tactician, an organic obsessed scout, a prankster front-liner and his psychotic twin, grumbling mini-bots, a loud communication officer, a cheeky saboteur, and a Prime who was trying to hold it all together. No wonder the last second in command asked to be demoted.

Somehow Prowl managed to get it together though, and even though he had not had a day off for about three million years (not counting their time in stasis) he couldn't help but feel a little pride in the fact he had not gone insane in that time.

As the SiC lay there on that berth he realized something. This was the first time in a really long time that he had just relaxed and not thought about the upcoming battles, or punishments for someone who had done something wrong. And this was all because of his missing leg.

Prowl looked back down at his leg and smiled. What a therapeutic chain of events.

XD I like Prowler. He's a good 'bot, and he totally deserves some love from me, I have decided.

Optimus seemed a little OOC, well, 'cause he was stressed. I'm sure he'll be fine as soon as he gets some recharge. Hopefully...

So, do I suck at one-shots? Tell meh, ah would likes to know.