It had become something of a ritual. Their private time together. Sometimes they would go out into the desert, choose a nice spot, watch the landscape, enjoy the warmth. Sometimes they would drive to a near-by lake, decide on a sheltered spot, and stay there. Sometimes Ironhide would simply remain parked in the garage area of the former storage unit. Will would always lie back on his hood, back on the windscreen, enjoy their companionable silence as long as it lasted, would talk about this and that, would discuss files and possible candidates, and sometimes they would talk about very personal and private matters. But no matter what, Ironhide was simply happy to be with his human partner.

Will had a tendency to doze off when he was totally relaxed. Ironhide monitored his vital functions, took note of every little muscle twitch, every breath, every beat of his heart. He kept track of the lazily moving runes, just like he enjoyed watching them coalesce around his fingers when he touched Will.

Touches were traded when there was absolute privacy, never in an exposed area. The temporary base home was such a place at night and some very remote locations. Ironhide would track the runes, would files away new symbols, new combinations, and he would smile as he translated Cybertronian words.

Humans enjoyed touch.

This human just any other of his kind. Will might be a hybrid and able to become much more than simply human, but he was just as needy when it came to personal gestures as others of his kind.
There was nothing sexual about it. Sometimes Lennox would make soft noises of pleasure, but Ironhide knew a lot more about humans by now to tell apart what those noises meant. Sometimes, like today, Will would switch into his protoform body. It usually ended in sharing, which resulted in Will changing back into human form, exhausted.

Ironhide looked at the human he was cradling against his chest armor as Lennox slept. He smiled softly, let a finger trail gently over the slender form, listened to the soft huff of breath as Will expressed his amusement at the gesture.

"Feels good."

Ironhide smiled and he didn't stop. It was a good feeling to be this close; a very good feeling.

Will was in the middle of weeding through more files that had been dumped on his desk, courtesy of Banachek, when a name caught his eye. It rang a bell. He placed the file on one side, then continued to decimate his pile of papers until he was satisfied he hadn't missed anything.

Finally he took the file again, retired to his couch and started to leaf through it. He had heard the name mentioned by one of the lieutenants at the Autobot base when the men had been asked to make a list of possible unit members, recruited from wherever they worked now.

The base was becoming more active every month. People and material needed to be coordinated, supplies and inventory checked, and suppliers found for their needs. With the Autobot base that was a bigger job than any Air Base had ever been. They worked in secret and while they had connections, there was no central place to run everything through. For now, Epps and two sergeants were taking care of it, but it was a tedious process of keeping track of who did what and when and with whom.

They needed a logistician.

Interesting, Will mused as he went over the file of the person most suited for that job.

He reached for his wireless laptop. Unlocking it with his password he entered the military data base and started to pull information.

Impressive, too.

"Ironhide?" he asked into the quiet of the room.

"Yes?" came the dark voice from the other end of the storage room where Ironhide had parked silently for hours now.

"Where's Sam?" he asked.

"At the base. Why?"

Will studied the laptop's screen and the data displayed there. "Nothing," he muttered.

There was the distinct sound of transformation and Lennox almost rolled his eyes. Blue optics peered down at him.

"I think there's someone suited for the coordinator job," Will told his partner. "And he has ties to Sam."

Ironhide accessed the files on Lennox's laptop and rumbled a little. "Not exactly good ones," he remarked as he came across the link to the personal history of the candidate.

Lennox only nodded.

Sam stared at the file. "You gotta be kidding me! He joined the Army?!"

"Right out of high school. Well, after half a year of attending college and not getting anywhere, it seems."

"But… man, I never would have thought… Trent?!"

Will smiled. "Staff Sergeant Trent DeMarco. Supply Coordination.

"And you had him on your alert list? Why?"

"Because he's good. According to his lieutenant he might just make it to officer."

Sam shook his head, speechless. "Are you going to take him?" he finally asked.

"While I usually make my decisions on my own, this is one case where I want your input, Sam. If he pans out, if his service record and his personality and all fit with our requirements, would you have trouble working with him?"

The younger man laughed a little. "Will, the last time I saw Trent he a) had tried to get me beat up and b) Barricade made his life hell. I know he doesn't know about Barricade, but he was a bastard in school, and I had his girl."

"Trouble then?"

Sam exhaled explosively. "I don't know. It's been almost eight years. I'd hope he has grown. I know I have. I know I changed. Maybe so did Trent."

"His records are clean. They are actually perfect. He even had a tour in Iraq. I know there are marks in his civilian records, but they were placed there by Barricade. Otherwise, aside from that planted information, he's a really good man."

"Huh. Trent." Another head-shake. "Well, if you think he's the right guy for… what's he doing?"

"Supply coordination."

"Yeah, that. If you want him because he's good, get him. I don't mind, really. I think I can kick his ass if he gets on my nerves."

Will chuckled. "You can do more than kick it, Sam. We trained you. He's a supply guy trained by the Army; you've been trained by Rangers and Marines, not to mention a Decepticon."

That got Lennox a grin.

"I'll have Bowman talk to him first like with all guys, then I'll have a whack at him. If he doesn't run screaming, we'll go the next step."

"If you take him, what about Barricade?" Sam asked quietly, a faint worry line on his forehead.

"I'll deal with it."

Sam shrugged. "Better you than anyone else."

Will smirked. "I think you have a better connection to him, aside from Jazz, that is."

"In a way," he answered carefully. "We… respect each other."

Sam knew the relationship was way more complex than just respect. He knew more about Barricade than anyone, except Jazz, and he knew the former Decepticon trusted him to keep that knowledge to himself. He would. What he had seen had been private information, not for his eyes, but the telepathic contact had revealed it nevertheless.

"I hope he respects my decision if I recruit DeMarco."

Sam nodded. "He will. He's a warrior, too."

Will smiled a little. "I'll let you know about my decision, Sam."

"Thanks. Man, I still can't believe it." He shook his head with a smile. "Trent in the Army. I bet his dad was pissed as hell. He wanted him in business college to take over his company."

Will chuckled. "Sometimes kids rebel."

"One hell of a rebellion."

Trent DeMarco had been the typical high school jock, with a pretty girl-friend, a cool car, muscles, football success and parents who doted on him for almost all his teenage life. He had always been admired by lesser boys, girls had swooned over him and things had been pretty good until high school senior year.

Something had changed one day. Something had turned against him and it had started with Mikaela. For some reason she had dumped him and chosen that loser Witwicky. The other boy was a typical nerd. No success with girls, nor in sports, and while he was smart, he didn't look the girl-magnet part. Trent hadn't seen him hang out with anyone, let alone a girl, aside from his equally idiotic buddy Miles. Witwicky had been an awkward kid in pre-school who had turned into a geek in high school. Someone a person like Trent wouldn't want to be associated with.

They had traded insults instead of baseball cards. Sam kept on insulting Trent's intelligence and Trent had retorted with suggestive remarks about Sam's physical prowess. That had gone until senior year.

Then something had changed. Something in Sam had changed. One day he was trying to peddle off his junk in class, the next he was missing class, and then, two weeks later, he returned to school with a hot car and Mikaela as his girl-friend – who had been equally absent for the same amount of time. Rumors had spread like wild fire, especially since just two weeks earlier Mission City had been under attack from a terrorist group.

Neither Sam nor Mikaela had said anything concerning those rumors. They had kept their silence, shrugged, said they knew nothing. Some of Trent's buddies had muttered about seeing injuries with Witwicky, a bruise, cuts, signs of past injuries. Nothing had been confirmed. It had been strange. Still, the strangeness hadn't been enough to calm Trent's anger or have him ignore the fact that the other boy had stolen his girl.

Being seventeen, nearly eighteen, Trent had been hot-blooded and losing Mikaela to that geek had really irked him. He had gone as far as setting a bunch of other losers with no brain onto Witwicky, hoping to get him bruised and scared and running. His jock ego had been severely dented and hurt by losing a hot girl and his friends hadn't helped.

He had taken extreme measures, and things had really gone downhill from then on. False accusations against him, parking tickets he had never gotten were suddenly piling up, and the police were constantly at his parents' house. His so-called buddies had drifted away when things had gotten troublesome for Trent, leaving him out to dry.

His father was a successful business man and having a son who was in trouble with the law hadn't fit into his image. LA had been a new start for Trent. He had tried college, but found that he was no longer interested in economics, in becoming his father's heir to a company he didn't really want to inherit. So when a guy in uniform had handed him a flyer and asked him if he wanted an education and a job opportunity, he had said yes.

A month later he joined the Army. College courses followed. Trent wasn't bad in economics and he wasn't afraid of numbers, so he easily accomplished what had seemed like a drag at the UCLA. He had courses in management, operations research, resource allocation, statistics, and business or public administration, and his CO encouraged him to go for officer.

That he wasn't all too bad at acquiring what was needed – wherever he was, wherever he went – had served him well. Trent soon had a reputation to get everything from everywhere, even if it seemed impossible. He had had a tour of duty in Iraq, where he had managed supplies for a small base and astounded his superiors in how he handled requests. The language barrier had only hindered him for a few days until he had hired a translator he could trust and who knew what Trent wanted.

'Impossible means it has just not been done yet', had been a quote used around the man.

His Captain had been sad to see him return State-side after his time in Iraq had been up. It had been a learning experience for DeMarco, showing him something outside the box. He knew he had taken a lot with him from that time and it still served him well.

Throughout his supply manager career superiors had checked him a dozen times and rechecked the results of the investigations a dozen more, but everything he did was within legal limits. Trent had the ability to go by the rules, bending them only so much that it was still legal while skidding close to the illegal. Never enough for a conviction, let alone sound accusations. And what he supplied was never illegal either; those were necessary items to keep morale alive and kicking.

You needed something, you went to DeMarco. It was impossible to get within the time specified? Ask DeMarco. You needed more than what had been allotted to you? Ask DeMarco.

Trent was known to easily charm local suppliers, wrap them around his little finger, and then branch out from there. When he had left Iraq, he had had a tight network of supplies going and the new supply coordinator had been surprised how well-oiled everything moved.

Three months ago he got the call. Lieutenant Waters spoke to him personally, told him about a possible transfer, a new position, about career opportunities and the like. Trent listened to it all, but one thing stuck to him: Nevada, Nellis Air Base.

Two weeks after that he had an appointment with Captain Bowman. The initial interview was easy, his records were clean and perfect, and Bowman referred him to Major Lennox, who seemed to be liaison to some kind of special team that needed a logistician, a position he would be qualified for if he made Lieutenant. As Bowman had pointed out, the officer rank was a matter of signing the right papers if he got the job.

So Staff Sergeant Trent DeMarco walked into the office of Major Lennox, keeping his expectations low. It never paid to be too excited.

No expectations would have prepared him for the Major himself, nor what the next several hours revealed.

Trent knew he was staring and with his background and training he shouldn't be staring at all.

He had done everything by the book. Straight line from the door, center himself on the senior officer two paces away from the desk. His eyes had been locked directly ahead in the correct position of attention – until he had thought he had seen something move. His eyes had flickered, had caught on to the strangeness… and he knew the moment he had seen that crawling thing on the Major's cheek, he had lost his position of attention.

"At ease, Sergeant," Major Lennox said without apparently taking note of his expression.

Trent tried to get his act together, but the weird symbols on the other man's skin were creeping him out.

"Sir," he only managed.

Lennox looked at him, a smile on his lips. The man wasn't in uniform, but Captain Bowman had told him that Lennox was an Army Ranger Major, liaison to the new unit, currently at Nellis, and he would decide on who got the job. Whatever was spoken here, whatever Trent saw, it would be top secret.

Now Trent understood why. At least when it came to visual stuff.

"You come highly recommended, sergeant. Lieutenant Waters praises your abilities. Your records speak for themselves. How would you feel about a challenge?"

DeMarco allowed his eyes to meet the dark brown ones of the Major.

"That's part of my job description, sir."

Lennox chuckled. "I see." He walked around the table and Trent tried not to stare at the bare forearms and the moving tattoos. "Let me show you what you are hopefully signing up for," the Major added and gestured at him to sit down.

Trent did as ordered.

The briefing he then got was the most fantastic, terrifying, awesome and fearful one he had ever been privy to.

Will had watched Sergeant DeMarco's reactions throughout the briefing, the visual proof and everything else he had shown the other candidates before him. The man was openly fascinated and terrified, but he was taking it well.

"How long have we had alien contact, sir?" the sergeant asked, visibly fighting for control of his emotions.

"Eight years."

Lennox could see the wheels turning.

"So the rumors about Mission City were real?"

"Yes. Now, aside from working with mechanoids, you will also have civilians around you, sergeant."

"I'm used to working with civilians, sir. It's part of my job description."

"Scientists?"

"Them, too."

"Does the name Sam Witwicky ring a bell?"

Trent frowned, eyes narrowing a little, and while he tried to remain neutral, there was a tell-tale flicker in the blue eyes.

"I knew someone by that name in school."

"That very person is working closely with the Autobots. He was their first contact when they arrived on our planet, Sergeant, and while I can't reveal the precise nature of the ties he has with them, he is very much part of the unit."

"I understand."

"Any animosities between you and him from high school have no room in this."

"Sir, it's been eight years," DeMarco said calmly. "A lot has changed."

Lennox nodded slowly. "It has. For Sam more so than for you, Sergeant. There's no room for old grudges."

"I have none."

"Good to hear. You'll be shipping out at 0800 tomorrow, Sergeant. Your personal belongings will be transferred. Welcome to the Autobot base."

Trent gave him a brief smile. "Thank you, sir. I'm honored to be part of the team."

Trent's office looked like the command center of a small military unit. Well, in a way it was. He had the usual desk, chair and lamp, a copy machine, a printer, a scanner, and all the machinery he needed. In addition he had been linked to Nellis Airbase to access their network for logistic matters. For the first few days he got himself an inside look into the inventory and supplies of the Autobot base. That got him sleepless nights. Aside from two sergeants, no one had ever taken matters into hands and kept track of their supplies. What was needed was ordered. The Autobots sent their own requests to Banachek, who in turn delegated it to whoever else was lower on the ladder than him.

Trent thought it was a nightmare. He was used to antiquated systems, to handwritten log-books in warehouses, to inventory lists in Cyrillic and Arabian writing, but this was… truly abysmal. The Autobot system was… well, the Autobot system. The humans did their own stuff. No one had tried to coordinate the two.

Now he knew why they had needed someone who easily adapted to new things.

Trent snorted, shaking his head. Yes, he had his work cut out for him.

A month into his new assignment he had worked out a computer interface between Autobot and human systems with the help of Ratchet. The mech had brought the hard- and software together and Trent had implemented the programs he needed to track whatever was on the base, came into the storage facilities and left it again. Now he only needed the manpower and time to register everything, right down to the last screw in some old and rusty bucket.

At least he now had an idea what was needed on the Autobot side, he mused. Their requirements and orders for supplies differed immensely from the human population, of course. He didn't need to be a genius for that.

Trent set to work on finding suppliers for those orders. He first used Nellis' network to go on a scavenger hunt for suppliers in the area, those who had worked with the military before and knew that this wasn't just a handshake trade between two farmers. He then added some of the supply companies he had worked with himself in the past years. Using a military website where suppliers could advertise or offer contracts, he found several interesting ones, only to erase two of them immediately after checking them more thoroughly.

The next two weeks he spent talking to representatives of supply companies or store owners directly. He had gotten himself a car and had spent a week putting a lot of mileage on it.

In the end he had two contracts worked out, a third that might soon be signed, and several suppliers who promised to deliver without a contract to Nellis.

"Impressive," Epps had remarked when he had reviewed the papers. "Now I see where your reputation came from. Ratchet's quite happy about your help with coordinating supply orders, Lieutenant."

"It's my job, sir."

"And you do it well."

Trent had tried not to swell with pride, but there had been small slivers of satisfaction running through him.

The first time Trent ran into Sam was in the kitchen area of the Autobot base. He had been under Captain Epps' command for three months now and his work had yet to be boring. Of course there had been set-backs, most notably when the joined system had crashed and taken everything with it. Ratchet had been grumbling to himself for days and Trent had simply kept out of his way, had done manually what had worked without electronics already, and now things were back up and running.

The Autobots themselves were something he had to get used to, especially the former Decepticon among them. While Barricade barely interacted with any of the humans, there was a strange gleam in his eyes whenever Trent was close by. He had no idea why, and he was wary around the rarely appearing mech, but since the others didn't interact with him either DeMarco figured that was just something alien.

Ratchet was a mech he was working together with on a regular basis. Bumblebee and Jazz were known to him, but he had barely exchanged three words, and Ironhide was mostly away with Lennox. He saw more of and talked to Optimus Prime often.

While Trent knew that Sam Witwicky worked for the aliens as well, was actually government employed, he had yet to meet him personally. The past few months had been too busy for him to surface from his office for more than a few hours of sleep, so he would even have missed the second coming. What he had heard, Witwicky was working on his first doctorate. Doctorate! It was so far-fetched, it fit right in with everything else that had happened already. Apparently Sam was some kind of whiz kid, but no one really talked about him specifically. He was good with any kind of machine, knew his way around a screwdriver, and the respect the men who had been in Mission City and with the Autobots after that had for Sam was immense.

After those three months, though, they ran into each other. In the kitchen, early in the morning. Trent had worked through the night to get their inventory up and running smoothly, and had needed some coffee rather badly. He walked into the kitchen and nearly bumped into someone.

"Hey, Witwicky," he greeted the other.

Sam blinked owlishly at him, then gave him a wary smile. "Uh, hi, Trent. Lieutenant DeMarco."

He snorted. "Dr. Witwicky then?" he taunted.

Sam flushed a little, but there was a much harder expression in his eyes than years ago, when they had last met. This wasn't embarrassment or awkwardness coloring his cheeks. It was something else. He had also grown physically. Gone was the more gangly look. There were muscles where Trent couldn't remember seeing any. His face was sharper and he carried himself like someone who had been with the Army, too. Trent could recognize former military because of how they walked and their overall bearing. Sam had probably gone through basic training, seeing that he worked with soldiers, and it had stuck.

They looked at each other and finally Sam's features shifted a little. He held out his hand.

"Hi. I'm Sam Witwicky. You can call me Sam."

Trent was surprised for a moment, then smiled as he accepted the offer for a truce. He took the hand.

"Hello, Sam. I'm Lieutenant Trent DeMarco, the logistician of the base. Call me Trent."

It got him a smile. "Hey, Trent. Long time," Sam remarked casually.

"And things have changed."

He was still walking carefully. This was the former high school teen who had been a thorn in his side. Sam had stolen his girl and it had sat badly with Trent back then. He was a different man now and so was Sam, apparently. Still, it paid to be careful at first.

"Coffee?" Trent offered.

Sam nodded. "Sounds good. You're up early."

"Or late. I was going through the inventory lists."

Small talk was good. It melted the ice between them and Trent wanted to work here as long as he could. This was a once in a life time chance. The past three months had shown him that and he liked his work.

"Oh. Okay."

"I didn't see you here before. You stayin' off base?" Trent asked and held out a freshly brewed coffee.

"I was working on my dissertation and things got too busy here. All those new men coming in, it was like Grand Central Station. I needed some quiet time." Sam drank of his coffee. "Done now."

They sat down.

"You're still a geek," Trent teased, grinning.

"And you're still a jock."

"Hey, mine was a compliment," DeMarco mock-protested.

Sam smirked. "So was mine. I think."

They shared a laugh.

Trent studied him for a while, silent. This was the boy who had saved their collective butts. Trent had gotten the info. People working here knew the short history of the Autobots and humans, and they knew Sam had played a vital role.

"I got the briefing on Mission City," Trent remarked. "And Hoover Dam."

"Yeah. It's mandatory."

"You were the hero of the hour."

Sam laughed derisively. "Trent, I was scared shitless and nearly died several times. I wasn't a hero. I survived, that's all." He shrugged. "I wouldn't even have been there if my great-grandfather hadn't been involved and if I hadn't inherited the glasses."

"The ones you tried to sell us in class?" Trent laughed.

"Yep, the same ones."

"Thank God I didn't buy them then."

Sam smirked. "We might be all dead now."

"Probably. You saved everyone, Sam."

Another shrug. "It's history. I'm not staking my future on the publicity."

DeMarco chuckled. "So you got into mechanics?"

"It fit. And I like it. It's a knack…" Sam stopped. There was suddenly a wary expression in his eyes. He drank more coffee, then switched the topic. "Why did you go military?"

Okay, Trent thought. Delicate topic evasion tactics.

He knew those. He decided to follow the sudden detour and leave the reason for Sam's interest in mechanics be.

"It was all I could think of doing in LA. Wasn't much of a choice left otherwise."

"What about your Dad's business?"

Trent snorted derisively. "The old man wanted me to become his successor at all costs. Sure, I played football, just like him. I was the quarterback, like him. I never wanted to be him, though."

"Didn't look like that in school."

"No, it didn't." Trent shrugged. "I got what I wanted from my parents. I think it was the wrong stuff."

Sam studied him, those brown eyes way too intent and old for a guy his age.

"I never thought I'd be career military," Trent added, grinning. "But it worked out. I like it. It's like something I always wanted to do without ever knowing that it's right there, at my grasp. Never figured to see aliens, but hey…"

"You might get to see even more freaky stuff."

Trent regarded him solemnly. "Listen, Sam," he said, voice quieting down. "I know what you remember. I remember it myself. I did a lot of bad stuff and I endangered you with it. I paid for it."

Sam suppressed a wince.

"The military hasn't changed me or made me into a completely new man, but they showed me something: a future. Working this job… I'm all I can be. It's fun, it's exciting, it's more than business dynamics in flow charts and power point presentations at boring meetings. I'm doing something here."

"Will told me you're good," Sam remarked.

"I know where to get what we need. I think it's the best requirement for the job." Trent emptied his cup. "So, how's Mikaela?"

Sam blinked at the change of topic. Trent hid a grin at hitting his former school buddy out of the blue like Sam had just minutes ago with him.

"Uh, fine, I think. She's moved to LA with her Dad a few years back."

"So you guys split?"

He nodded.

"Too bad. She was one special lady. Hot body, too."

Sam laughed. "I agree."

"She knew about the Autobots?"

"She was right in the middle of it."

"Why did she leave?"

Sam fidgeted. "We got together while in the middle of a life-and-death situation. It was hot and exciting and she was the girl I always had dreamed about, but… we turned out to be better friends than lovers."

"Too bad. Anyone new?"

More fidgeting. "In a way," was the evasive answer.

Trent rose and refilled his coffee. "Another one?" he offered, but Sam declined.

There was a beep and he pulled out his cell phone. It was remote connected to his work station.

"Well, I'm off to check what the program has spit out," he sighed. "See you around."

Sam gave him a smile. "Yeah. See you."

DeMarco left, shaking his head. Sam Witwicky, doctor of engineering. He wouldn't have thought of ever seeing the guy again, let alone be able to talk so normally to him. Sam was an okay guy. With secrets, he mused. Those evasion techniques were nothing new to Trent. There were things still classified for the normal grunt that concerned Mission City, the Autobots, their Decepticon ally, and Sam Witwicky. Lennox was a mystery all of his own.

He didn't need to know specifics to do his job, Trent knew. Sam was part of this outfit, he was trusted, he was special. So much he knew and so much he accepted. His job was to make sure matters moved smoothly.

Everything else was unimportant; at least on a surface level. Trent knew he would keep his eyes and ears open.

Six months into Trent's arrival at the base. Sam found Barricade still watching the supply officer and logistician with sharp optics. He knew from Jazz that the black mech had hacked into some files on his own – he had an access code, but he was too much of a Decepticon to believe that a code gave him all the access he needed – and was checking DeMarco's background for even the slightest glitch.

"It's a hobby," Jazz had remarked. "Keeps him happy."

Sam had taken one look at that shit-eating grin and had shaken his head. Yeah, happy Barricade. Better for everyone.

Sam and Trent had found they were easy friends, much easier than in school. They had shared a few beers over the last months, exchanging stories, catching up on their lives. Sam had been surprised to hear that Trent had no steady girl-friend.

"They dig the uniform, but there's nothing permanent," had been the remark and Trent had shrugged.

Trent's own questions as to Sam's relationship had been warded off. Sam wasn't ready to reveal his connection to Bumblebee and aside from Epps and one or two of the old unit, no one even suspected. It was a little far-fetched to think a human would have an intimate relationship with a mechanoid, especially when it became physical. Sam, in turn, would be hard-pressed to explain that physical touch went only so far and that technopathic connections, like the deep-link, was by far more intimate than anything else.

Sam found Barricade in the main hangar, standing to one side, sharp optics on the busy going-ons of unloading the trucks that had just arrived. There were lots of crates with numbers on them that told Sam nothing at all.

Trent was there, all business, directing the men where to go with what. The loading cranes were moving between the supplies, men pushed crates around with fork-lifts, and there were still trucks coming in or just heading out. DeMarco didn't even glance up from his tasks as Sam joined the silent watcher in the shadows.

::Back off, Barricade::

Red optics glared out of a dark and terrifying face. Maybe it were the words, maybe it was Sam's way of communication. The former Decepticon was never happy about direct mind-to-mind contact if it wasn't initiated by him first.

::He tried to kill you::

Sometimes Sam was still surprised about this strange kind of protectiveness. There was no reason for Barricade to hold a grudge, other than Trent indirectly almost killing someone Barricade thought of as worth protecting. A lot had changed in that perception over the years, but Sam still wondered about motivations sometimes.

::And you stopped him. You stopped those guys he told to rough me up:: Sam added as clarification. ::Trent never wanted to see me dead. He wasn't hiring killers.::

::How would you know?::

He sighed. ::Thanks for your concern, but it's been a while since I saw him. We talked and he has grown up. Just like I have::

Barricade didn't appear all too comforted or happy. Then again, he never did.

::I appreciate the concern:: Sam added with a fine smile. ::But it's okay::

Gleaming claws flexed. ::His presence here is unnecessary::

::The best men for the job:: the young engineer quoted. ::His records are perfect, his abilities are needed. You don't have to work with him. He's Epps' concern. Just try not to make his life too hard, okay?::

Barricade's optics narrowed. ::You trust too easily, human::

::I trusted you::

The smirk was quite open. ::I rest my case::

Sam laughed. He knew how to take Barricade and the concern truly warmed him. While they no longer trained regularly together, Barricade had become something of a guardian himself. Bumblebee would always be Sam's primary protector, but the black mech had taken over as his back-up, and he had been there countless times before.

::If he steps out of line, I'll be sure to call you:: Sam promised.

Barricade rumbled something. Sam smiled to himself some more. He doubted that Trent DeMarco would fall back on his high school behavior. The man he had gotten to know wasn't the high school jock he had last seen eight years ago. People could change; he believed that. He had changed himself.

Leaving the busy loading procedures, he mentally went through his schedule for the day, found there was nothing urgent waiting for him, and decided to see if Bumblebee was tied up somewhere important or had some spare time.

Maybe they should just enjoy the day together.