A/N: This one-shot was inspired by Chapter 2 of "Typical" by Mariosonic. It's his story and plot bunny; he just let me borrow them for a bit. A million thank you's! I'd also like to thank my mentor and beta reader, Lady Dragon2, for her suggestions, advice and feedback on this ficlet, and for educating me about the Transformer Universe. You are awesome!

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"A broken family, a household missing an occupant, and here he was trying to fill it. No matter what, he would keep his promise."

From: "Typical", Chapter 2, Ironhide and the Lennox family, by Mariosonic.

A Promise Kept

Six months now since the loss of her husband.

She was quieter, graver, smiles appeared only rarely. A light in her had gone out. Routine alone forced her to keep going, caring for Annabelle, doing chores, paying bills.

She moves like a shadow-self through the days, half of her torn away, missing. She sits in his closet while Annabelle naps, wearing his shirts, stroking them, breathing in the faded scent-memories of warm male and aftershave. Her mind turns in on itself, clawing painfully at the same thoughts like a wound picked open again and again, I can't believe he's gone, I can't believe he's never coming back.

She dreams of her future like a lonely desolate road laid out before her. She moves wearily along it, seeing the flat featureless plains on each side, the dreary sameness, the utter lack of change, going on and on straight to the horizon. This will be her life, from now until the day she dies. She wakes up sobbing for him, and can't get back to sleep.

She begins to think of her pain as a black hole, a sucking vortex that devours all the light and life around her, replacing it with blackness and despair that spreads icy fingers through every part of her.

Weeks and months go by, and family and friends come with good intentions to comfort her, to help with Annabelle. They leave impatient and frustrated with the stranger that has come to replace her, the one who can only speak of sorrow and loss and nothing else.

One stays and doesn't leave, watching over them from his post in the yard; his promise made to a dying friend. The first months have been hard. Anger, guilt and pain cycle through him over his failure to protect her mate from death. He snarls with rage and canons rev as he imagines tearing the killers apart, gripping their sparks and brutally crushing them until they blacken and die. He throttles back his anger with an effort as he sees her walking towards him.

She leans against him, and he watches helplessly as the tears slip down her face. All his warrior's expertise and weaponry are useless now in the face of her pain. He tries and fails to find some words of comfort, his CPU straining to overcome millennia of battle programming and violence. A long-buried ache stirs in his spark as he remembers a loss of his own. He finally raises his hand and holds it awkwardly against her back as she grieves.

She presses closer to him, and he shudders as he feels tears running down his armor. How long since he comforted another, held them as they mourned in his arms? A million solar cycles, two million? Optics close and pain squeezes his spark as memories flood through him. He looks down and strokes a gentle finger against the small form huddled against him, his voice rumbling in a wordless, soothing purr.

He hesitates a moment, uncomfortable still with his holoform, but this is something he can do for her. The large finger drops away and he activates his holomatter projection, wrapping strong, warm arms around her as she sobs. He murmurs softly by her ear. "I'm here. I'm here."

He is calmer now as he watches over them, watches over her especially, doing his best to fill the void left by death. He listens to her patiently, even when she repeats herself time and again. Her pain touches that ache deep inside of him and he begins slowly, hesitantly, to share it with her.

His holoform is seen frequently as he helps her around the house and yard and plays with Annabelle, finding that the simple domestic chores ease his own grief. They talk, listen, and share sorrows and memories, grieving together for loved ones who are gone.

Loss and pain and empathy build a bridge between them that spans both their worlds. He holds her as she cries. He cannot, so she cries for them both.

He says goodnight one evening and heads for the door, ready to resume his post in the yard. A touch stops him, and he looks down at the small hand resting lightly on his arm. "Don't leave me alone?"

Blue eyes plead with him, ask him to help push away the icy despair, to remember that she's something more than this pale grieving ghost she's become, haunting the house with her sad memories.

Sighs and whispers as he moves with her in the darkness. Murmurs, soft moans, then a gentle kiss and a quiet heart-felt whisper in the night, "Thank you." He wipes away tears of relief as the blackness inside her begins to recede.

She stirs restlessly in her sleep and reaches out. Strong arms pull her against him and wrap her up securely; a deep voice speaks softly in the darkness. "I'm here, Sarah."

She sighs and whispers to him, "Don't leave me alone."

"I won't," he murmurs, and continues to gaze out the window at the night sky beyond, as she drifts back to sleep.