1) You guys ever have a plot bunny that grabs onto your leg and refuses to let go. This was one such bunny.

2) If you desire to link up these fic with my other 'verses, The Ironhide-Optimus one lines up with Gaining a Gladiator's Spark (GAGS), and the Soundwave-Megatron will line up more with Through a Cybercat's Optics. My other OCs MIGHT show up in later chapters, but it'll be way later. Way, way later.

3) In this, Ironhide is middle-age-ish, maybe 30 in human years. Optimus is... I dunno, six months to a year? i don't really deal with itty-bitty kids.

Pilot: Ironhide

8,305 words

Iacon Square was completely crowded, a common occurrence during off-cycles and work-cycles alike. It was a busy atmosphere that drew bots from near and far, an atmosphere that the locals thrived on. Street vendors and trade mechs called out advertisements for their wares, hoping to draw in one of the high caste femmes or mechs to their booths and carts. Green-opticed traders offered free samples of exotic energon mixes to those passing by in hopes of pulling a customer in to purchase one of the larger, overpriced cubes. Giggling femmes dragged their mechs around, pointing out different items they wished to purchase. They tittered over the little petrohound puppies and oohed over the sparkly jewelry, each hoping that their subtle hints would lead to their mech purchasing them what they wanted.

And in the very center of all this was a single red-opticed military mech. He was a large mech by most standards. His thick black armor covered heavy-duty cables made and honed for lifting heavy weapons and throwing hard punches. Scars littered his frame, deep scratches and cuts that he had never had the money or the motivation to get repaired. He wasn't alive to impress other bots with his handsome body. His scars showed every other bot that he could hold his own in a battle, warning other military mechs to stay away from him, and as expected, it made him look intimidating to the dainty uppercase bots, who shied around him whenever they caught sight of who, or what in their optics, they were walking by. Of course, his red optics made him intimidating enough, even without the scar riddled frame. Everybot knew that red sighted military mechs were only capable of violence unless educated by an upper-caste mech. Of course, that gave this mech a rugged appeal to the upper-caste femmes. Every femme likely a mechly mech.

This mech wasn't there for the femmes, though. He wasn't even there for the wares, which was usually why warriors came to Iacon. No, he was there for a reason that none of the upper-caste bots would have guessed.

He was there for a job. Times were hard, especially for mechs like him, and he needed this job. Nowadays, the only position a military mech could hope to gain that had good pay was that of a pit fighter, one who killed his fellow military-caste bots for entertainment. He might be a warrior that didn't cringe at the sight of processed life-energon, but that didn't mean he wanted to be a mech that spilled it needlessly every cycle. He was above that. He was more than bot that thought and acted like an organic animal, even if that was what the Senate wanted every other Cybertronian to believe.

He navigated the city-state like a mech on a mission, striding purposefully through the large crowds and pointedly ignoring the concerned and shocked looks on the elitists' faces as he shoved past them. Their opinion of him didn't matter. He only concerned himself with the opinion of the mech that would interview him in only three breems.

The black mech paused when he turned down another heavily crowded street and grimaced. He hated crowds. It wasn't that he didn't like being surrounded by people; he wasn't worried about that. He always worried that someone would accuse him of something, though. He never knew when some femme was going to throw herself on the ground and claim that he had shoved her. Assault on a blue-sight would not do him good, and he wouldn't put it past one of these snobs to pull something like that. He'd have to be careful until he reached his destination.

With that unpleasant thought in mind, he began his trip through the crowd, his arms close to his body and his elbows tucked in as much as possible. He had consulted his map multiple times on the trip already, but he could now see the enormous building he was moving toward, making the map rather redundant. As it was, he was fairly certain this street would take him directly to his destination.

The rest of his trip was fairly uneventful. The upper-caste bots mostly strayed away from him, avoiding him as if he had cosmic rust, and strangely, enough, he was okay with that. The last thing he needed was to bump into someone else and gain a huge scratch of another color. The powder blue and pastel pink that was popular at the moment would stand out painfully against his black frame, and he didn't want to give his (hopefully) future employer something else to point out during the interview. He needed this job.

The building was huge. It may not be the tallest building in Iacon, but it was easily the most grand. Just looking at it made the black mech feel inferior, and for good reason! He could guarantee that not just any mech or femme was allowed inside. The Prime's Abode was only open to others by appointment or invitation, and only blue and yellow castes would receive such invitations or appointments. He should be honored to be allowed entrance to such a place, but he only felt unease. He would not fit in here, and if the prime was looking for a mech that matched this palace, then the warrior knew he wouldn't get this job.

Still, he wouldn't know until he tried. Getting to the gate that guarded the entrance was quite a feat in itself. Tourists and local elitists alike crowded the gate, each hoping to catch a glance of the famous Sentinel Prime and his new sparkling ward. The black mech sifted through the crowd, actually thankful that people shifted away once they caught sight of him. He kept his arms close to himself, not wanting to be the "cause" of any trouble. People glared at him and whispered as he passed, but he ignored it. He expected nothing less in a city populated primarily by blue-sights and politicians.

"And just what is a fighter doing in Iacon?" a gruff voice questioned. Despite all the noise around him, this single voice rang out over the din, though no bots aside from the black warrior seemed to hear it. The black mech frowned, turning to respond, and red optics locked with red optics. The other mech was a pale green, scars littering his body in a fashion much like the black mech's. His lithe build spoke of speed and agility that the black mech would admit to lacking, and a cy-gar was tucked into his mouth, giving him an edgy look that the black mech hadn't expected to see in Iacon.

"I'm here for a job. I was summoned by Sentinel Prime," the black mech responded, his voice accented from his time in Tarn. The other mech gave him a strange look, one that suggested the black mech was not what was expected but implied that that wasn't necessarily a bad thing.

"You Ironhide?" the green mech asked, taking the cy-gar from his mouth and rolling it between two fingers as he eyed the black mech.

"Yes. I am Ironhide of Kaon, resident of Tarn," the black mech responded with a curt nod. The green mech grunted, the corners of his mouth pulling down as he studied the mech.

"Well, yer not what we expected, but I guess it ain't our d'cision," the green mech responded. Before Ironhide could ask about the statement, the green mech continued, "C'mon. I'll take ya to the prime, and we'll see if yer what he's lookin' for."

The green mech started walking, and Ironhide was quick to follow after him. Whereas Ironhide had been hesitant with the people around him, the green mech had no such reservations. He shoved mechs and physically moved femmes to the side as he made his way up to the gate. Ironhide closely shadowed him, not having the gumption to shove people aside as this green military mech had. With the green mech's rough movements, it didn't take long to reach the front of the crowd, and the green mech paused in front of the gate.

"I got the mech for the interview," he informed the red-opticed mech on the other side. The polished red mech glanced over at Ironhide and gave him a quick look-over before snorting in amusement, raising an optic ridge incredulously.

"Well, this will be quick," he stated as he opened the gate just wide enough to allow the two mechs passage. Ironhide scowled at the slightly older mech and opened his mouth to tell him just what he thought of his opinion.

"Now's not the time, son," the green mech claimed as he pushed at Ironhide's shoulder, not quite strong enough to shove the bulkier mech forward. Ironhide snorted, an irritated exvent that cause red mech to scoff in amusement, before he started forward, following after the pale green mech as he jogged ahead to lead the way.

"My name's Kup, by the way, not that it's important right now. When we get inside, you'd do best ta keep yer hands at yer side so that none of the snobs think yer stealin' from 'em. Keep yer chin high as if you belong there, and ever'one should leave ya 'lone." Ironhide nodded behind him as they approached the front entrance, huge gilded doors the only thing stopping them. Kup strode right up to the purple-opticed footmen and introduced Ironhide and his purpose for being there.

"Has he been cleared?" the servant caste mech questioned, sneering at the other mechs. Servant caste was an extremely low caste, standing only just above the military caste. It wasn't uncommon for purple-sights to act above a red-opticed mech or femme because that was the only time they could act superior without being punished.

"Frag you, Turnabout, and your slaggin' ignorance!" Kup snapped. "You let me in or I'll have the prime after yer aft before you c'n vent!"

The red mech, Turnabout, gave Kup a condescending look, but obeyed, opening the large door with a sweeping gesture that was likely meant to be insulting. The two military mechs scowled at the mech and stalked past him.

"You'll get a lot of that here, too. Just treat them like ya would another military mech. The socialites aren't that bad, but those fraggin' purple-sights," Kup grumped as he led Ironhide into the building.

If the outside was considered grand, then there were no words that could describe the inside. None of them seemed strong enough, sincere enough. The silver metal walls held elegant etches and beautiful paintings, and the ceilings were supported by towering arches. Small pedestals held rare, porcelain vases, and Ironhide felt the need to stare. Porcelain was extremely expensive, because the raw materials, things like clay and silica, weren't found on Cybertron but on organic planets. On top of that, porcelain was difficult to create and extremely fragile in clumsy metal hands. Only the best of tradesmechs dealt in porcelain.

"C'mon, town-mech," Kup called to him, and Ironhide scowled as he caught up to him.

"Tarn's a city-state," he hissed, not enjoying the assumption that he was some sort of country bumpkin because he had never seen such fineries before. In Tarn, a city-state governed by the militaristic leader Shockwave, fineries were unnecessary. Pit, he had all his belongings in his subspace at the moment, so few possessions had he to his name. Kup ignored his statement as he led him through huge atrium filled with light and windows that branched off from the right side of the large lobby-like area he had entered through, and the two mechs walked to a lift at the back of the atrium.

"Now, Sentinel Prime is already expecting ya, and you'll wanna know a few things about how things are gonna work. When you walk in, Prime'll greet ya and ask you a few questions 'bout yer past jobs. Answer honestly, and be brief," Kup and Ironhide stepped onto the lift, and Kup continued as the lift took them upward to the second floor. Kup led Ironhide off the lift and into a hall that took them deeper into the building. "If ya pass the first part, he'll take ya onto the next part of the interview, which'll be a test of ya fightin' skills. Pass that, and ya get to the final part of the process. That's the decidin' part."

They stopped in front of a door, and Kup turned to look at Ironhide. The black mech felt that the pale green guard was sizing him up, and Ironhide was suddenly uncertain how he would measure. He wasn't quite sure what the prime was looking for in this position; all he knew was that it was a bodyguard position. For whom, he knew not, and he wasn't sure if he would fit the bill. After all, if it was some sort of femme… no elitist femme was going to want a scarred-up mech-wrecker like him following her around, and no mech would want someone as intimidating as he scaring off all his friends.

"You'll do fine," Kup finally announced. "Good luck."

And then the door opened, and he shoved Ironhide in. Ironhide barely caught his balance before he tripped, and he straightened to gaze across the room into Sentinel Prime's gentle yellow optics. The mech was seated behind a large titanium desk littered with datapads, a single cube of energon in an ornate reusable cube, and a single holocube that showed pictures of the mechling that Ironhide assumed was the next prime.

"Come, Ironhide. Have a seat, and we shall begin the interview," Sentinel ordered calmly, gesturing to the metal chair across from his desk. Ironhide nodded and strode across the immaculate office, glancing around at the beautiful pictures of various global wonders, such as the Helix Gardens and the Sea of Light. Two datapad cases filled with datapads were situated against the wall behind his desk, and Ironhide spied an energon dispenser off to the right on a tall table. He gingerly took a seat in the surprisingly comfortable metal chair, and Sentinel immediately started the interview, lifting a datapad into his hand and reading off of it.

"Your datafile states you hail from Tyrest, yet you relocated to Tarn. Was there any specific reason for the change?" Ironhide shrugged his left shoulder, not particularly expecting this to be the first question. He had expected Sentinel to ask for his credentials, along with his work history and employer opinions as his previous interviewers of his last three near-miss job opportunities had.

"I needed a job. Nobody in Tyrest wanted to hire a bot with scars and red optics," he stated evenly, no accusation in his tone. He was simply stating a fact. The corners of Sentinel's mouth pulled down, but he didn't comment.

"And you found work in Tarn, correct? Can you detail your work for me?"

"I was in charge of defending the medbay area against Seeker attacks. Sometimes, they had me defend the femme section of the base whenever one of the femmes was with spark."

"And there were no conflicts?" Sentinel's sharp optics speared Ironhide, gaining a frown from the black mech. "The upper castes have been led to believe that the military caste mechs hold no constraints on injuring weak sparklings and taking femmes for their own when undefended by their mate." Ironhide's optics narrowed at the tactless statement, wondering just what this mech was trying to do. Sentinel Prime employed a good number of military-grade mechs as guards and would know how to act around one. He was also a very wise mech that never purposefully insulted a mech.

"If that is what you believe, then may I ask why you summoned me? I do not need a summoning to be put down, if that is your goal. I can receive that anywhere I go," Ironhide stated, fighting back the snarl that wanted to rise in his voice.

"Then you understand that even with this job, you will still receive negative feedback from those around you? This job will not change your standing in society," Sentinel informed him firmly, his golden optics locked on the black mech in front of him.

"I'm military caste, but that doesn't mean I'm stupid," Ironhide bit out, beginning to wonder if perhaps he should just leave. "It's not possible to jump castes. I figured that out when I was a youngling and the servant caste caretaker next door laughed at me for wanting to be an entertainer." Sentinel's frown returned, his optics softening in something like compassion.

"Yes. The caste system is not kind to all, is it? I do hope you can deter all insults like that without throwing fists like a barbarian. The mechs and femmes you will be forced to deal with on a cycle-to-cycle basis will likely say such tasteless things, and the first time it is proven that you injured another because of their tactlessness and your own temper, you will be released of your duties." Ironhide stared at the prime, red optics wide in surprise. That had been a test? He had said those things just to see if Ironhide would snap. It made him wonder what the other bots would likely be saying to him. If Sentinel felt the need to test his temper, he feared what the other elitists would do and say to likewise check how "barbaric" the red-sight was.

"Now," Sentinel continued, looking back down at the datapad in his hand, "I have looked up your credentials, and all your employers have given you shining reviews. In spite of all of this, you still are in rather desperate need of a job. Can you give me a reason why?"

"I can't truly say," Ironhide began, fighting his grimace. "Shockwave released me from duty when he found a medic that had good fighting skills. Likewise, he found another mech that protected the femmes full-time. There just weren't any other jobs open."

"I see," Sentinel responded. At this point, he set down the datapad, entwined his fingers in front of him, and leaned forward on the desk as he turned his attention fully to the red-opticed mech across from him. "Ironhide, the bot that you will be defending is very important to me. We have brought in bodyguard after bodyguard, and this bot has taken to none of them. If you succeed the next test, a test of skill in battle and defense, you will meet this bot, and if he accepts you, you receive the job on the spot. Pay, rooming, and the like will be negotiated afterwards, but I only wished to give you a fair warning that you might be the very best fighter on this planet and not receive this job. Do you understand?"

"Yes. I will strive to succeed," Ironhide responded, simply because there was nothing else to say. Sentinel smiled then, a gentle curving of his lip components that told Ironhide that even though he was at the very bottom of the caste system, Sentinel did not view him as trash like every other bot did.

"Very well," Sentinel responded, rising to his pedes behind the desk. Ironhide blinked in surprise, but rose as well. All his other interviews had required far more questions, things about his background, his creators, and "what if" situations that he would respond to. Sentinel had asked fewer than five questions! "Let us move on to the next test."

Sentinel strode around the desk and exited the office, glancing back only once to ensure that Ironhide was following after him. Instead of walking in front of him as any other upper-caste mech would have done, Sentinel slowed until he walked in step with Ironhide, giving Ironhide an idea of how much taller the prime was than he.

"You came to me quite recommended. How exactly did you meet Impactor?" Sentinel asked conversationally. Ironhide blinked at the question then grinned. So that was how Sentinel heard of him. Ironhide hadn't applied for this job, after all, but had been summoned.

"We used to work together in Tarn. He started in tactics, then he transferred to some leadership role. Then he left for better work. Guess he works here now?" A part of Ironhide lifted at the thought of Impactor working in the Prime's Abode. He hadn't seen his friend in quite a while, and he couldn't argue the joy that would come from having a friend in this sea of elites.

"No, he moved on to work with Killswitch on the Defense Force," Sentinel informed him. Ironhide's grin only grew.

"I should've expected something like that. We always knew Impactor would get some fancy job working with bigwigs. Mech's got the ambition to dream it and gumption to achieve it."

"You are happy for your friend," Sentinel observed, and sparking red optics met his gold ones.

"Course I am! Any military mech that can get that far is an inspiration to the rest of us," Ironhide responded. Sentinel's look became calculating, and Ironhide realized that this whole conversation must have been another test. No matter. He was proud of Impactor, and if that torqued off the prime, then it wasn't his problem.

"What of your own ambitions? Have you any specific hopes for the future?" Sentinel questioned. Ironhide gave him another half-shrug as he glanced at a passing blue-opticed mech.

"I guess the same as any other military bot: I wanna be treated like a real mech instead of expendable scrap. Other than that, I'm at a loss. I don't know what I want to do."

"You earlier mentioned your desire to be an entertainer," Sentinel recalled. "What is your talent?"

Ironhide snorted before he could restrain himself. He gave Sentinel an amused sideways glance before shaking his helm and returning his attention to the hall before him. "I'm a military mech. I can blow things up, tear things down, kill mechs that cross me, and find hundreds of ways to slaughter a mech seconds after meeting him. Red-sights don't have talents; we have directives."

As Ironhide spoke, Sentinel's lips pulled downward into an expression that crossed between a scowl and a frown. The black mech beside him spoke with honesty, simply stating a fact that he had been told since he was young. His expression was hard, that of a mech that had spent time doing exactly what he had just said because some other bot had told him to. It sickened Sentinel, but the prime knew the Senate wouldn't abolish the caste system, not when it brought them so much power. It was why Sentinel employed so many red-opticed military mechs and purple-opticed servant mechs: because these mechs weren't emotionless and cruel, no matter how much every other bot believed them to be.

"Surely you do something in your free time," Sentinel persisted. Ironhide shook his helm.

"If I did, I can assure you I wouldn't speak such a thing in such a public place with the prime standing beside me. I mean no offense, my prime, but I am already breaking the law; I know how to read."

Sentinel's helm whipped around in the most graceless manner, and shocked yellow optics locked with Ironhide's black and silver helm. While it was frowned upon for servant caste mechs to read, a military mech learning was completely outlawed. After all, they were murderers and savages of the worst kind. If they were to learn how to read, what havoc could they wreak with that knowledge? Of course, many middle-caste mechs shrugged this off, saying that any bot that could read could cause trouble with that knowledge. The Senate was adamant on this though. Sentinel was disgusted to know that this was only another way the Senate kept the strongest caste oppressed. Unfortunately, a prime could only do so much, and changing such laws was out of his abilities.

"How did you learn?" Sentinel asked after quickly regaining his composure.

"Shockwave ensures that his mechs know how to read orders when they are sent via datapad. We are then ordered to never let another non-red spark know about our abilities."

"Shockwave is a wise leader," Sentinel murmured, surprised to actually have something positive to say about the militaristic computer on legs. Ironhide snorted.

"Naw. It was just another strategy for him. The best army is one that has intelligence," Ironhide responded with a grin. Sentinel found himself smiling, too, despite the mech's mildly depressing words.

"Ah, here we are," Sentinel suddenly noted as they approached a set of double doors. The doors slid open with a hiss as they approached, and Ironhide just about felt his spark stop.

It was a military mech's playground, a fighter's dream. The far half of the room was separated by a clear force field, and Ironhide could see the holo-generators. It was a practice stadium. He could battle to his military spark's content, fight with opponents without sparks. He wondered how high the difficulty levels got to and how long it would take him to defeat every false opponent.

He tore his optics away from that to look at the huge shooting range to his right. Mobile targets were set up half a racing stadium away, and he was willing to bet that he could hit every single target. A polite call of his name brought him back to reality, and he turned to look at Sentinel. The prime was standing in front of a counter to Ironhide's left, and behind that counter was a huge set of shelves that held guns, knives, and swords. No maces or exotic weapons like that, but he could get such armaments elsewhere if he truly desired them.

"Bulls-eye will get you set up with a weapon," Sentinel stated, gesturing to the counter just as a mech stood up from behind it. He must have been rearranging something underneath. Like Kup and the gate guard, this mech had red optics, and Ironhide instantly felt at ease. A military mech would know his weapons. Not that this mattered.

"I don't need a weapon," Ironhide replied confidently. "I've got my own." Sentinel seemed surprised by this. This was the first time a warrior had turned down the use of one of his high-end, expensive weapons to use their own, but he supposed there was always a first for everything. This Ironhide character seemed to surprise him at every turn.

"Very well. You will be using the practice area over there," Sentinel stated, gesturing to the far half of the room. "I will set the holo-generators for a specific circumstance, and your objective is to protect the precious cargo without harming it. And believe me, you will know if you harm it. Compute?"

"I understand," Ironhide responded with a cocky grin. Fighting he was good at. This he could do.

"Very well. Enter through the force field, and I will activate the field and start up the objective." Ironhide nodded, and the two mechs walked the distance to the practice area. Sentinel stopped by the holo-generator as Ironhide walked on, and the prime started fiddling with the controls with an ease that spoke of experience in this room. Perhaps their prime wasn't as defenseless as he seemed, Ironhide noted as the force field yielded to him, then hardened once he had passed through.

"Your objective is at your pedes," Sentinel informed him. "Pick it up."

Ironhide crouched down and lifted the objective up. It was a bundle of metal wrapped up in a mesh heating blanket. Ironhide was about to unwrap it to see what was supposed to be inside, but Sentinel spoke again.

"These parties are attempting to steal your objective, destroying you and it however they can. Defend it, and eliminate your assailants."

Three mechs appeared, each having a different optic color, and behind each mech were four or five other mechs with optics that matched whichever leader they were with. Ironhide's optics narrowed as he hugged the objective close to his chest, and he pulled out his plasma cannon.

"Come and get it," Ironhide growled lowly as was his habit. He may not like killing, but it didn't mean fights didn't make his energon race. There was a single thing the upper caste was right about: red-opticed mechs were created to fight. Battling was in Ironhide's core programming, and just like every other warrior on the planet, combat made his spark soar.

As if his words were the signal to start, the three leading mechs dashed forward. Ironhide immediately jumped into action. The first one exploded into a shower of sparks when Ironhide's shot hit in directly in the chest, and Ironhide spun away from the other two, using his cannon to punch one of their heads in and shooting the other one close-range. Both exploded into a shower of sparks, and two of the backup from all teams leapt forward to take their leaders' places.

It was all instinct from there. Ironhide moved with a grace that didn't seem to suit his lumbering frame, pivoting easily and lunging around and toward his foes as he battled, his face holding a confident smirk with every mech he "destroyed." He was actually rather sad once the fight ended. His cannon discharged into the chest of the mech that had been grabbing for the objective, and that mech disappeared. Ironhide prepared for the next challenger, only to find that there were none.

Sentinel's applause broke him from his battle lust, and he straightened as he glanced around himself then down at the objective in his arms. He resituated the object in his hands, and to his surprise, a small squeak came from inside the bundle. Ironhide stared at the little object and was about to pull back the mesh blanket when it suddenly disappeared in a shower of sparks. Ironhide pulled back in surprise and turned his attention to Sentinel, who had an amused look on his faceplates.

"You are trying to skip ahead. You will find out what that objective is," Sentinel assured him. "Follow me."

Ironhide had to jog to catch up as Sentinel set off at a brisk pace. In fact, if Ironhide didn't know better, he would have said that Sentinel was excited. That seemed illogical, though. Any military mech could have defeated those projections. They might have shaken up the objective a little, but not enough to damage it.

"Ironhide, this is the most crucial part of your interview, the part that will decide whether you have this job or not. I will warn you that he bot that needs protection is rather picky with whom he deals with. If he rejects your presence, you will leave the Abode at once, and you will receive expedience credits for taking your time to come here."

That was more than Ironhide was expecting, to be honest. He had expected the guard to turn him away at the front gate. He had expected Sentinel to be disgusted by his battle lust and scars. He had expected to be sent back to Tarn without any restitution. Again and again, this Sentinel character surprised him.

The rest of the journey was made in silence, broken only by passing mechs that paused to greet Sentinel Prime and glance warily at Ironhide. The black mech was surprised to see that each bot had a different color of optics. It was almost as if the caste system didn't exist in this place, and that fact kind of made Ironhide uneasy. How much was just for appearance sake?

"Here," Sentinel finally said, a grin on his face as he strode up to a door. "Now, I request you remain calm, because I doubt you will expect this."

Ironhide frowned in confusion as the door hissed open and Sentinel stepped through. A loud, excited squeal rose from inside, and Ironhide felt his spark drop. No. There was no way Sentinel was trying to hire him to guard the future prime. It wasn't possible. Even as those thoughts went through his mind, he strode into the room and took in the sight of Sentinel Prime holding a small blue and silver sparkling over his helm. Sentinel's optics turned to Ironhide's, and his grin softened as he lowered the sparkling and settled him over his strong spark.

"Orion, I have brought a mech for you to meet," Sentinel cooed, gaining another giggling squeal from his sparkling ward. He walked over to Ironhide in three large strides, and strong yellow optics locked with Ironhide's military red. "Orion, this is Ironhide. Ironhide, Orion."

There was a beat of silence as the two introduced parties took each other in. The small mechling was adorable, even to a hard-sparked mech like Ironhide. His thin blue plating had hardened enough that it was no longer translucent, but the delicate cables underneath still peeked through between underdeveloped metal plates. Wide blue optics were set in a face that was made chubby by excess metal that would be used by his body to strengthen his plating. In fact, his whole body seemed chubby, a common trait among sparklings, and his movements were uncoordinated and awkward, giving Ironhide a mild guess at him age. On the sides of his helm were small antenna, and they twitched in time with his scattered and quickly changing emotions.

The beat of silence probably didn't last very long, yet to Ironhide, it was an eternity. Little Orion studied Ironhide carefully, as if gazing into his very spark, and as the silence went on, Ironhide was worried what the little mech would find. He wasn't worried the mechling wouldn't like him. No, he was worried the mech would. Ironhide was in no way gentle or nurturing. There was a reason he hadn't mated and sparked a child of his own.

As if reading his thoughts, little Orion suddenly broke out in a huge smile, showing off his lack of dentas, and squealed in delight as he wriggled in Sentinel's grasp, holding his little hands out to the black mech-wrecker. Seeing his ward smile, Sentinel grinned as well, turning his gaze to the horrified Ironhide.

"It would seem you have passed the final test," Sentinel stated. "Now, we simply must—"

"No," Ironhide interjected, rudely cutting off the prime without hesitation. Sentinel frowned as his gaze turned serious, and Orion's smile faded as he glanced up at his caretaker, obviously wondering why he wasn't being held by this fun-looking new mech.

"Ironhide, I understand your hesitation," Sentinel began, only to be cut off again.

"I don't believe you do, my prime. I am a military mech, not a nurturer. I fight for a living—"

"You defend for a living—"

"That does not change the fact. I am not part of the nurturing caste! I wouldn't even know the first thing about caring for a sparkling!" Ironhide argued, gesturing to the mechling in Sentinel's hands to accent the statement. Orion flinched a little at the movement, and to Ironhide's dismay, wide blue optics filled with coolant. The mechling gave a little hiccup, an overdramatic whimper, and then started crying.

Orion Pax didn't cry loudly. He didn't scream or whine. No, Orion only whimpered and gave sad little squeaks as silent tears ran down his chubby cheeks. Little antenna drooped as Orion turned and cuddled his face into the chest plate of whoever was holding him at the time. When Orion Pax cried, it broke sparks.

At least… when he fake cried, that was how he was… Ironhide didn't know the difference between fake crying and true crying, though — he didn't even know there was such a thing as fake crying. All he knew was that his spark was filling up with a guilt that he had never experienced before.

"Frag — I mean, uh, rust!" Ironhide corrected at Sentinel's stern look. Ironhide winced a little before resting his thick hand on the little mechling's back, rubbing a little as he tried to calm the little sparkling, not even questioning why Sentinel wasn't doing anything to calm Orion as he whimpered and clicked sadly.

"Here, maybe he will calm down if you hold him," Sentinel suggested as he handed the sparkling over to Ironhide, who grimaced at the suggestion. Still, he allowed the tiny mech to be placed in his arms. Orion squeaked as he curled against Ironhide's chest, nuzzling his helm into the metal as he searched out the strong thrum of Ironhide's spark. Ironhide, for his part, simply held the little mech securely, his red optics widening in awe as the little mechling calmed and pressed into Ironhide's chest as his little whimpers turned into soft clicks. At that moment, Ironhide was in love. The little mechling in his arms was the sweetest thing he'd ever seen, and he'd do anything to keep the little mech safe.

For the reader's benefit, it should be noted that in a few vorns, Ironhide would realize that Orion was far more intelligent than given credit for, and the mechling knew exactly how to get what he wanted. Sentinel was likewise as conniving, though not necessarily in a bad way, and he knew that once Ironhide held the mechling, he would form a guardian bond with him simply because Ironhide had no other bonds, so his spark would be reaching out. It was probably why Ironhide subconsciously avoided sparklings and younglings: he knew, at a subconscious level at least, that he would form some sort of guardian bond with any younglings he came in contact with. Ironhide never stood a chance.

Sentinel watched with a smile as his ward relaxed into the larger mech's arms, and he relished the knowledge that he had succeeded. He had gotten another military mech out of the system, and he had gained his ward the most loyal and protective bodyguard possible. That was why he had hoped to hire Ironhide: because he could be sure that the black mech would keep his youngling safe. It was no secret that warriors were overprotective of their sparklings, of anyone they formed a bond with. Ironhide would now do anything to keep his ward safe, and on top of that, the mech disliked being overly violent. This was very good, especially since the majority of those harassing the prime and his ward were article writers and members of the Circle who want to coo over the next prime. The last mech Sentinel had interviewed would have murdered any mech or femme that so much as vented on the mechling. Ironhide was a bit more mellow than that.

"I am still uncertain about this, my prime," Ironhide hedged, gaining a smile from the mech in question.

"You will learn, Ironhide," Sentinel assured him. "Most is instinctual. I doubt you will have many troubles, and if you do, I have a femme from the nurturing caste in the palace at all times."

"I am not an emotional mech, Sentinel. I fear I will not be able to give this mechling the support he will need," Ironhide admitted. That was the guardian protocols kicking in. Ironhide would always want the best for his ward, even if that meant giving him away to a better caretaker. Sentinel shook his helm, though.

"That was my assumption when I first adopted him. Have your doubts, Ironhide, but do not allow them to interfere with your duties."

"I… Yes, sir."

"Good!" Sentinel all but chirped. "Now, I will call for a mech to show you to your chamber and give you a tour of the Abode. Will you need to return to Tarn for your belongings?"

"I — no. I have everything with me," Ironhide informed him. Sentinel nodded once as if confirming something, then he started for the door. Ironhide's spark stalled as he rushed after him. "My prime, what should I do with Orion?" Said sparkling squeaked at the sound of his designation, smiling up at his new bodyguard who wasn't looking at him.

"You are his new caretaker, Ironhide. He must stay with you," was Sentinel's response. "I assure you he will not mind the tour you will receive. He enjoys exploring our abode."

"But, Prime, I can't—"

"You can," Sentinel disagreed. He came to an abrupt halt and pivoted to face his new employee. "The job you have just received could have easily gone to another warrior. You will receive a paycheck, spending money for your outings, free energon, and a rent-free room to call your won. If you wish to turn down the job, you may do so by handing Orion to me and leaving."

Despite his arguments, Ironhide felt himself hold Orion closer, almost possessively, wrapping his arms around the sparkling and pressing him to his chest. Now that it was stated so succinctly… Ironhide wasn't sure he wanted to give up his new job. No, he wasn't used to dealing with children, but even Spire, the femme that had been in charge of femme quarters in Tarn, had stated he would make a good sire. Maybe… maybe he should give this job a chance.

"I… I will try. You cannot say I didn't warn you, though," Ironhide stated. Sentinel nodded again and turned to walk away.

"Kup will be here in a few. You may keep Orion until I have time for him."

With that, Sentinel walked away, leaving Ironhide with a happily clicking sparkling to care for. He felt a little hand tap at his armor and looked down at the blue and silver sparkling in his hands. Orion twittered at him, smiling widely as he stared into Ironhide's red optics.

"You got no idea what you just got us into," he informed the sparkling, who only squealed at the sound of the mech's voice. Ironhide grimaced. "And you don't talk yet, do you? How the Pit am I supposed to take care of you if you don't tell me how?" Orion's response was a chirp, and his attention returned to Ironhide's chest armor. He traced the scars curiously, examining the healed cuts and lacerations carefully before looking at his own unblemished chest with a questioning whirr.

"You gotta fight to get those, Orion," Ironhide stated, and the sparkling looked up at him excitedly at the sound of his name. Ironhide gave a weak smile at that. He had a feeling that his life was about to get far more interesting, though he couldn't decide whether this was a good thing or a bad thing.

"So, got yerself a job, huh?" Kup began as he strode up the hall to the odd pair. Orion squeaked in Ironhide's hands, and the pale green mech grinned down at the sparkling. "Ello, little mech," he cooed as he rubbed his fingers against the plating behind Orion's left antennae. The little mech twittered once before he relaxed against Ironhide's chest, a little purr rising from his engine.

"They're cute when they're that age," Kup stated with an affectionate smile. The smile grew back into that signature grin as his optics turned to Ironhide. "C'mon, I'll show you yer room."

Kup set a brisk pace, long legs striding with purpose as Ironhide hurried after him, holding Orion close to his chest as he jog-walked to keep up with Kup. The second Kup brought them into that familiar atrium, Ironhide's guardian protocols kick-started, and suddenly, Ironhide was extremely aware of every set of optics locked on the sparkling in his arms. The black warrior forced back battle protocols but allowed his battle computer to online and catalogue each passing mech and femme as a threat or not. Kup glanced back at him, noting how dark his red optics were becoming, and called out his name with a gesture to hurry up.

"Now, you'll learn about how our hierarchy works here pretty fast. The caste system don't mean slag in this place. Instead, yer position here gives you yer standing. Since you care for the future prime, you might as well be a blue-sight," Kup explained. Ironhide nodded at the statement, though he didn't really understand. They crossed through the lobby, and Kup led Ironhide back to the elegant stairs that stood across from the entrance.

"How will that affect me in public?" Ironhide questioned, trying to figure out how he was supposed to act around everyone. He was of the lowest caste. Surely the other bots working in the Abode would hate him if he tried to act superior.

"In public, yer a military mech who happens to take care of the future prime. Yer stoic, yer protective, and yer caring t'ward yer charge. T' be honest, you'll probably get a lot'a femmes tryin' ta get yer 'ttention, cuz there ain't nothin' they like more th'n a rugged red-sight that's good with sparklin's."

"I have a bad feeling about this," Ironhide mumbled.

"You should. This ain't an easy job, and you got yer work cut out for ya. Jus' don't be 'fraid ta ask questions. Ev'n if they don't like you, they'll answer for Orion's sake," Kup responded easily. He slowed then, stopping in front of a door that was connected to the main hallway. Strange. Ironhide had expected to be housed in one of the lower levels, and he mentioned as much to Kup. The other mech snorted.

"Yer room is Orion's room, too. This room 'as been held for orns in wait of the new bodyguard," Kup stated as he entered the code into the keypad. The door hissed open, startling little Orion and gaining the mechling's full attention as Kup and Ironhide stepped into the room.

It was huge, far larger than any room Ironhide had ever seen. The room appeared to be split down the middle. The right half of it was much like the nursery Ironhide had been introduced to Orion in, and the other half was obviously a lavish berthroom for an adult. Ironhide took in the high-class berth that had a soft metal top rather than a simple titanium flat top. He took in the extra furniture — comfortable chairs, a sofa, and a short table – that he never had before. On that short table was an energon dispenser, giving him unlimited access to energon rather than daily rations that military caste mechs were supposed to be limited to. Shelves were set up with a few datapads, and there were open spots where he could put holocubes with photos. There was a desk with a hover chair situated in the far right corner. All things that he had never experienced.

Suddenly, this job was far more overwhelming. He wasn't built for this. He wasn't accustomed to such finery, such useless trivialities that decorated his room. He had never seen a berth that was not hard and immobile, much less recharged on one. He had never had access to a library, much less had a miniature one in his berthroom. Even such a small collection of datas would be considered illegal if they were found in his housing unit!

Most of all, he wasn't created to care for a sparkling. He wasn't a member of the nurturing caste. He had no prior experience with younglings other than watching from afar, smiling at their antics. He had no way of knowing how to care for the mech, how to know what the mechling needed when he needed it. What if he hurt him on accident? What if he fed him something wrong? What if—

"Yer gonna glitch if you don't calm down," Kup noted from afar. Ironhide jolted and turned his attention to the mech beside him. "Yer freaking him out."

"What?" Ironhide asked. Then he followed Kup's gaze to the sparkling who was staring up at him with concerned optics. Seeing that his new guardian was gazing at him, Orion squeaked happily at the red-opticed mech.

"I know it's a lot to take in, bu'cha gotta adapt. Ya got the guardian bond with the little one to guide ya—"

"Guardian bond?" Ironhide repeated, but Kup spoke over him.

"And you'll learn to use it. Any problems ya have c'n be solved by Lunarsprite. She's his nurturer." The knowledge that Sentinel had somebot from the nurturing guild helping made him feel far more comfortable. He was about to ask Kup about Lunarsprite when the mech stepped back, his red optics dimming as he took a comm. "Frag. I gotta go. Relax in here fer a while. I gotta take care of s'me business real fast."

And he was gone. Ironhide stared at the door the Kup left through, then turned his attention to the sparkling in his hands. Orion had made himself comfortable against Ironhide's chassis and was beginning to doze. His left hand was in his mouth, and his right held one of Ironhide's armor plates firmly. His blue optics steadily grew dimmer, and Ironhide decided to take a file from Kup's datascript, rubbing one hand just behind Orion's audial antenna. The little mech's optics offlined completely, and he gave a light purr as his systems cycled into recharge.

As Ironhide made his way over to the sofa in the center of his half of the room, he found himself thinking that this might not be as bad as he expected. It would certainly be a learning experience, but maybe it wasn't something he needed to be afraid of. Orion Pax would someday rule Cybertron with the help of the Senate and the Lord Protectorate, and Ironhide would be there to ensure that he was safe every step of the way. It wouldn't be easy, but it would be worth it.

And in that moment, as little Orion slept, he gained his most loyal follower and the mech that would grow to be his closest friend. He would always be Ironhide's little mech.

Cute, no? I will be replying to reviews in PMs in this story to see how that goes. Hope you guys liked it.