Author's Notes: This started off as a one shot, something I've had been working on and off for sometime, but grew a bit longer. In my experience, people tend to perfer a certain length so I'm breaking it up into bits. This is the prologue, just to test out the water so to speak.

Mourning the Day

Another day, another shift. Jazz walked through the halls of the Ark at a leisurely pace, quietly humming some random tune he'd heard on the radio the day before, passing only a few others on his errand. Most able bodied Mechs were on shift, carrying out various repairs, or dealing with extenuating situations throughout the City and beyond. The rest of the crew was either in the Medbay for repairs or recovering in their quarters.

A battle between them and the Decepticons had left much of the Autobot crew with impairing injuries. Luckily enough for them, so had the Decepticons. The day was won, but there was little to celebrate about in the wake of any battle's aftermath. But Jazz didn't let that bother him. He had the recovery and call back lists to hand to Prowl, to update the current shift schedules, as well as a message from the Portland Police Department. Fearing it was another charge or reprimand for injuries or property damage from the skirmish, Jazz hadn't even so much as glanced at it. Let someone else handle the tedious stuff, he decided. Like Prowl. Prowl was the master of dealing with tedious and repetitive tasks. Like talking to the Portland Police Department.

The door to Prowl's office opened with a swoosh and Jazz stepped lightly into small room, three data-pads stuffed under one arm, only to pause mid-stride at the sight before him. On any given day, Prowl's office could only be described as organized chaos, but on this day, the organization portion seemed to have taken a much needed vacation. The Autobot tactician's desk was obscured from sight by towering stacks of data-pads, but there was no sign of the black and white Datsun's presence. Jazz glanced idly around the room, wondering where Prowl could have wandered off to when a voice, thick with aggravation and impatience, grouched at him from beyond the wall.

"What is it, Jazz?"

"Huh? Oh-! Uh, heya Prowl…I gotcha th' call back and recovery lists for ya from Ratchet," Jazz replied to the seemingly disembodied voice and held up the data-pads. "An' somethin' from Portland Police Department."

"Just place the lists with the others and I will examine them later," Prowl's flat, matter-of-factly voice replied. He sighed. "Hand me the Police report."

Prowl's hand appeared from within the data-pad fortress, his palm raised expectantly.

"Okaaaay…" Jazz starred irresolutely towards the towering stacks, hovering his data-pad hesitantly over various mounds in an attempt to choose one that would not mercilessly collapse on him. Choosing the shortest stack, he deftly placed the pad atop it. He waited a tense moment, fearing the pile would topple over, but it held firm and his vents hissed with a relieved sigh. He then placed the other into Prowl's awaiting hand.

He took one more inventory of the monstrosity that was currently occupying the Tactician's desk space.

"You—uh…need anytin'?" Jazz asked warily.

"No."

"If ya need me to, I could do th' shift schedules for ya," Jazz offered, "It'll thin yer work load a bit—"

"No thank you," Prowl replied with a small hint of 'and that's final' underscoring his tone.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Jazz. Most of these are simple media or government inquiries, and various lawsuits for property damage or injury from the other day's altercations," Prowl's voice replied, "Which reminds me, send Sunstreaker and Sideswipe in here when you find them. They have civic services to carry out tomorrow."

Jazz snorted. "They got Community service? Why?"

"It was the Portland City council's decision to reprimand them with communal duties rather then fines or imprisonment for their numerous traffic violations." Prowl clarified. "In fact, Tracks and Cliffjumper are at the Middleton Recreational Center, carrying out their sentence for that little drag racing incident this past February."

Jazz chuckled at the memory, "Will do, Prowl."

As Jazz turned to leave, he heard Prowl's engines rev and then his vents hiss with an aggravated sigh. "Delay that last order, Jazz…I need you to go get Sparkplug and go down to the Portland Police Station right away."

Jazz titled his head, bemused. "Why's that?"

"Apparently, Spike has been arrested."

Author's Notes: How was that? Love it? Hate it? Tell me what what you thought in a review. If it gets a decent response I'll post the rest.