A/N: Here it is! The sort-of-sequel to Masquerade! This installment attempts to explain just what the "raccoon incident" mentioned so often in Masquerade was. Enjoy!

1. "I don't know what the hell it is."
(Pre-Masquerade, Post-movie)

"Then he tossed me out of his medbay, broken optic and all. Never healed right."

"Yourmedic did that?"

"Not Ratchet, if that is who you mean. We had one before he was reprogrammed—nasty fragger, worse temper than Ratchet now. His anger is directed at the situation, not the wounded… usually. This one just hated everything. He defected to the Decepticons eventually. Not a great loss."

"Are you serious? Is that even possible?"

"What do you mean?"

"There was a medic meaner than your doc."

There were many simple pleasures in life, Will Lennox reflected, leaning back against the porch steps. Balmy nights, weekends, the sound of his wife moving about the house with his daughter in tow, jeans with enough well-frayed holes to qualify as spaghetti strainers and chatting with fellow war veterans over alcohol at the end of a day. Those were all things he rather enjoyed, and was glad for. They were well worth the effort of bargaining a lengthy leave of absence for both he and his squad. God knew they'd done their share of duty.

Despite the fact that said fellow war veteran stood over twenty feet tall and had a penchant for becoming a monster of a black pickup when the mood struck. It had taken some getting used to, the notion that this robot was not only alien, but one of the good guys—Autobots, Lennox reminded himself. He'd seen those guns, and the damage they could do. Nice to think they were on his side, for a change.

Like Lennox, Ironhide was seated, leaning forward on one metal knee, with the other folded up beneath him. The headlights on each huge shoulder were on, albeit dimly, casting the ground before the Autobot in pale white light. It was easy to see every gear and panel of the black body, and even trace the outline of the aforementioned cannons, buried within the massive forearms. There was a tension in the other warrior that no amount of R&R would erase. It would have been decidedly unnerving, that wary stare, had Lennox not seen it so often among his fellow human soldiers.

Sarah certainly found the big robot intimidating, not that he could really blame her. Chances were, she'd come around as he had, though it would probably take her longer than the week or so she'd been aware that their recently "borrowed" vehicle quite literally had a mind of its own.

"Ratchet is not… mean," Ironhide stated, breaking into Lennox's thoughts. His voice was deep, grating like rocks rolling over a dry riverbed. It wasn't entirely unpleasant, and was probably the least alien thing about him. "We frustrate him with our recklessness and heroics, I believe. He would rather we all were able to cease our war, so that he would not have to patch us back together as often as he must."

"Hey, no," Lennox said, holding up a placating hand. "I get that." He took a long drink from the bottle beside him, swirling the dregs in idle thought. "Our guys are the same way, really. Bitch out of love." A pause. "Y'know… brothers in arms. That kind of thing."

Ironhide's scarred head dipped once in a nod. "Although I will be the first to admit the concern can be… irritating." The last word came out in what Lennox could only describe as a growl.

"And I'll be the first to ask if it's because you get yourself shot to hell more often than the others?" the captain asked, grinning around the last of his drink.

Metal brows drew down. "How did you obtain that information?"

Lennox shrugged. "Not hard, big guy," he said. "The eye, the limp, the cannons. All comes together. Didn't even need to bother your buddies—you learn that kind of stuff in our army."

A grunt was all the response he received. The captain started to speak up again, to either goad the grouchy, robotic officer into another round of story-swapping. Talking about war was not Lennox's favorite topic, but, as he had discovered, it was one of the few ways he could get his alien visitor talking about who and what their race was. Curiosity was human, after all, and Lennox was positively dying of it. However, his plan was interrupted by the slap of the screen door swinging shut, and the familiar pad of bare feet against whitewashed wood. Looking up, he met Sarah's eyes, and grinned.

"Hey," he said. "Been out here too long?"

She shook her head, sitting beside him with her legs folded up against the rough wooden steps. "I just put Anna down," she told him, a smile flickering across her lips at the mention of the child. "Thought I'd come out and check on you two." Sarah looked out across the dark lawn then, her gaze slowly drifting up to meet the black Autobot's. "Hello, Ironhide." To her credit, and her husband's pride, her voice did not catch, nor did it waver, even when the glowing blue eye flicked down to regard her.

"Ma'am," Ironhide responded simply, cordially.

Surprisingly, Sarah attempted to hold a conversation with the big robot. She was a damn resilient woman, his wife, he decided as he listened to her polite inquiries into the life of their alien guest. Ironhide, unfortunately, seemed rather disinclined to elaborate on her questions, providing monosyllabic responses, and shifting almost uncomfortably in place, gears clicking audibly in the quiet air. Personally, Lennox found the whole exchange comical, with the Autobot made so unsettled by a mere human. Though, he suspected that if he ever dared to give voice to such a sentiment, he'd be facing down one of those massive guns.

It was when he found he could no longer keep his laughter in check that he laid a hand on Sarah's shoulder, squeezing once before taking her hand. "C'mon," he said, grinning. "Ironhide's not the chatty kind, I guess. I'll have you meet a Camaro sometime that'll talk your ear off."

Her eyebrows raised a fraction, until she was certain he wasn't joking. And then she laughed, smiling with eyes only for him. "Sure," she teased, letting Lennox pull her to her feet. "And then what? An ambulance?"

"Babe, you have no idea."

They ascended the steps, hands still clasped. Behind them, metal clanked and groaned as Ironhide got to his feet. Lennox turned his head to catch the Autobot's eye. "You want to stay here tonight?" he asked. "The barn's open if you need a place to… sleep or whatever it is you guys do."

Ironhide tilted his head in response, considering. "Optimus was unspecific as to the time of my return," he said, half-to himself. "Very well. I will stand watch."

"No, that's not what I…"

Lennox's protest came too late. Ironhide turned and made his way towards the edge of their property, the headlights in his shoulder armor illuminating his path. Much to the humans' relief, neither of the cannons put in an appearance. Sarah only shook her head, before pulling her husband inside.

Quiet descended over the farm. One by one, the lights in the house winked out, leaving the property bathed in only weak starlight. Even Ironhide's headlights faded, as his optics allowed him to see well enough without them. He remained at attention, scanners checking the dark woods before him, but detecting nothing more than minimal nonhuman activity. Nothing unusual—and therefore, piteously dull. A glance back towards the dwelling showed that the humans had begun their rest, with even their undersized, screaming spawn silent for the first time since his arrival.

You should be thankful for the respite, his more rational processors informed him. You could be picking up pieces of the dead again…

Well,that was an image he would prefer not to pull up. Wordlessly, he began moving in a slow circuit around the property, heading back in the direction of the dwelling. It wasn't that bad, he admitted, having simple duties such as this. After so much time being on the front lines, seeing soldier after soldier fall… marching in circles around a human habitation could be considered a form of relaxation, really.

His scanners flared a warning, and the black Autobot froze. Active life-forms within radius of the dwelling. Slowly, he brought his cannons online, turning to face the part of the structure Lennox had labeled "the garage". It never hurt to be cautious.

A line of cylindrical objects stood upright outside of a back door, lidded. Ironhide wondered briefly at their purpose. However, that thought was driven out of his processors as one of the lids dropped off seemingly of its own volition. Half-startled, he retreated a step. When nothing else occurred, curiosity took over, and he crouched, peering closer at the disturbance.

The appearance of a small, furry head was unsurprising, considering he knew something had to be causing the phenomenon. Small, bright eyes stared back at him, unflinching, and for a moment, Ironhide had to admire the beast's courage. A quick scan of the internet provided the designation for the creature—"raccoon", an omnivorous mammal which occasionally found its way into human waste receptacles. He almost dismissed it as harmless, but another web entry caught his attention.

Rabies? What in Primus' name…?

The more he learned, the more he realized how much of a threat this seemingly innocent creature posed. A carrier of a potentially fatal disease was not going to be tolerated while Ironhide stood watch over this property. One last check proved that such creatures were not generally kept as companions, and were regarded by humans as pests. Grimly, he leveled the cannon at the raccoon's muzzle. It could not escape, and Optimus had said only to not harm humans—nothing about harming the local wildlife in the line of duty…

Suddenly, the creature was gone. Before he could puzzle out where exactly the little pest could have gotten itself to, it had finished its unexpected leap, and had landed smack dab on his face, tiny claws catching onto every possible crevice of the facial plates and optic scarring.

Ironhide reeled backwards with a choice oath, almost tripping over himself in his haste to get away from the thing currently attached to his head. He batted at it, trying to scrape it off, but it only chattered in a manner eerily similar to a certain Decepticon drone, and shifted, scampering around his shoulders with wild abandon. Each time he slapped at it, it was gone, hissing as it went. He was not yet desperate enough to fire on it—not while it was still crawling about his shoulders—that was idiotic.

"Primus! Get off of me!" he snarled, giving his torso a violent twist.

Amazingly, the motion seemed to dislodge the creature. It leapt down to resume its post on the waste receptacle, turning back to face him with an almost visible malice. A snarl of its own issued from a tiny, sharp-toothed mouth.

"Brave. But foolish," Ironhide informed it. Keeping back a pace, he swung both cannons into line, taking aim on the space between its beady eyes. "Farewell, you rabid little rodent."

Lennox was supposed to be used to waking to the sounds of warfare. Military training, and life in general, had kept him primed to listening for gunfire and explosions. However, he had never expected to hear such while curled in his own bed, far away from anything he remotely considered to be a battlefield. So, needless to say, when cannon rapport rocked the house, he was sorely confused.

His family was his first priority, and after the explosions had passed, he ushered his frightened wife and screaming child into the basement, just in case. Those shots had sounded too familiar for his liking. The last time he'd heard them, they'd been aimed at a homicidal tank occupying the far end of a city street. He kept them all down below the house, until the last of the tremors and shots had passed overhead. Only then did he move to climb back up the stairs.

Sarah's hand caught his elbow, nails digging, panicked, into his skin. "Will, no!" she whispered. "You don't know what's out there…"

He gripped her hand, tightly. "I'll be right back," he said. "I promise. All right? One look, then I'll be back. I wouldn't go if I thought… it was one of them."

Reluctantly, she let him go, turning her attention to the crying baby in her arms. He hated leaving them, but he really had no choice. It was unlikely anything fatal awaited him out in the yard, but the feeling of dread encased him all the same.

That feeling only increased when he stepped cautiously out onto the porch, keeping close to the side of the house, so as to present the smallest target he could. Nothing seemed amiss, save for the absence of a certain, large, belligerent robot. Definitely cause for concern. Lennox didn't think Ironhide one to leave what he considered his post. Advancing with almost paranoid slowness, Lennox made his way down off the porch, turning to face the garage. He stopped, staring, unable to fully grasp just what it was that he was seeing.

Only half of his garage still stood. The rest was a smoking, charred crater in the ground, with pieces flung halfway across the yard. Warped metal was all that remained of the aluminum trash cans he'd placed outside only hours before. Shrubbery was smoking, a few choice bushes still on fire. An uprooted tree had somehow gotten itself embedded in his lawn, amidst long rows of torn, burned turf. Several craters in a vaguely familiar shape littered the area, as if a heavy body had been pressed hard into the earth by a great force.

Lennox was only slightly aware that his jaw was hanging open. The figure that emerged, limping, from the woods, only caused him to gape further.

For a moment, he wasn't sure if he was seeing Ironhide, or some gigantic version of Swamp Thing. Mud clung to every available surface of the Autobot's armor, while branches and bits of leaves appeared to have worked their way into the gaps and joints. What bits of black armor Lennox could actually see were dented, and a long strip of his grass dangled from the chestplate. Ironhide looked, as far as Lennox could tell, irate, good eye blazing and huge hands clenched. When he saw the human standing in the grass, staring up at him, the aggressive posture turned into something much more... embarrassed?

"Why the fuck are you wearing my lawn?"

It took the captain a minute to realize the words had come from him. Ironhide did not flinch, though he did contrive to look apologetic, and the cannons disappeared into his forearms. "I was defending your property," he rumbled. One hand grasped at the turf attached to his chest, trying in vain to pluck it off. "And encountered an intruder."

For a split second, some of Lennox's anger abated. "A burglar?" he asked.

"No." Ironhide shook his head, sending bits of earth and leaves flying. "A diseased rodent was invading your waste receptacles."

The anger returned. "You shot my house to hell because of a rat?" he shouted. He heard the screen door bang open—Sarah must have heard him yelling about the grass and decided the coast was relatively clear.

Again, Ironhide shook his head, his other hand gesturing towards the woods. "Not a… rat," he said. "A raccoon."

Momentarily disarmed by the Autobot's stunning lack of knowledge regarding earth's fauna, Lennox found himself launching unwillingly into an expository tone. "A raccoon's not a rodent, it's a …" Here, he paused, struck by his own lack of knowledge on the subject. He glowered up at the towering figure. "Okay, I don't know what the hell it is, but it's not a rodent—"

"You blew up our yard for a goddamn raccoon?"

Both heads turned to face the newcomer. Sarah was standing on the steps, arms crossed, murder in her eyes. The tone of her voice was enough to peel paint. Lennox took a step backwards as she advanced on them. Above, Ironhide's huge form leaned slightly away from the enraged female, though he did not follow Lennox's lead.

Nice knowing you, Big Guy.

"What were you thinking?" Sarah shouted. She stared, unflinching, up at Ironhide, feet planted, as if daring him to speak to his own defense. "Has it not occurred to you that this isn't your planet, you big tin can? Things break here! Like our house! Where we were sleeping!"

Here, Ironhide attempted to interject, but was never allowed the chance. Sarah rolled right over the top of his protests, shaking with rage. Privately, Lennox had never been more attracted to her. "Did you never even stop to think what would happen if your rodent ran past the house?" she demanded. "You could have killed us! Or does that not matter to you?"

"I was defending your dwelling," Ironhide said, though it sounded fairly half-hearted to Lennox. "The animal could have been rabid. And the noise of the creatures in your waste containers was certain to have awakened your spawn."

"If you really want to 'defend us', find some other way!" Sarah retorted. "Your guns are louder than any damn raccoons, and they can't get in the house! Think about that next time, before you go around shooting up our property, you goddamn, oversized… riding mower!"

Lennox tried to slip an arm around her in a gesture of support, but her glare only turned on him. "No you don't," she snapped. "Whose bright idea was it to let Robo-Rambo here play sleepover in the backyard?"

Ouch. Score another point for Sarah… He was certainly sleeping on the couch for the rest of the night. Time to try and save face. "Hey, Sarah, come on," he said, spreading his hands. "He said it was rabid…"

"No, he didn't."

"She is correct."

"Okay, fine then," he said, pressing a hand to his face. "Fine. At least we don't have to worry about the thing coming back and tearing the garbage apart—"

As if on cue, a small, grey blur came streaking out of the woods. It scurried between the assembled humans, running boldly over Ironhide's left foot, and disappeared into the ruin of the garage. After a moment, the raccoon reappeared again, running out the opposite direction. Behind it, the still-standing walls slowly toppled over in a puff of displaced dust.

Angry silence descended over the three, broken only when Sarah let out a string of curses that made both veterans stare at her. Without further comment, she turned on her heel, storming back to the house. The slam of the screen door was appallingly loud. Neither Lennox, nor Ironhide said a word for a long while after she'd gone. The captain had his eyes closed, fingers pressed to his temples, while Ironhide just looked impressed.

"Your female is formidable indeed," the Autobot observed. "I wish you luck in returning to her good graces."

The grind of metal graced the evening, and Lennox glared at the transforming Ironhide. "Just where do you think you're going?" he growled.

Diesel engine revving, Ironhide replied simply, "To exterminate a rodent."

To add insult to injury, the mud sprayed from his spinning tires plastered itself across Lennox's face. Before he could protest, the Topkick was gone, leaving a mud-covered captain staring, dismayed, at the rubble that was once his garage.

"I never should have left the military…"