Wow, I must admit I didn't think this little random fic spawned in half and hour would go this far xD Thank you all for your reviews since I'm doing this for you guys that asked for more. I'm pretty sure you didn't expect this though. This chapter could, or could not, take a week before, or after, the last chapter.

By the way, I stole Sarah's attitude from my grandmother. Never mess with her when she's cooking for a truckload of guys.

(And if Optimus is appearing in the next chapter, I'm kinda in a rut for ideas. All I have is Keller, coffee, and complaining. Hint hint)

Disclaimer: Surprise! Still don't own them.

Ironhide would be the first mech to tell you that he was old, even for his kind, and had been around the galaxy more then a couple of times. He had seen stars reach the end of their life with spectacular blasts of light, had seen worlds destroyed in massive explosions (a few by his own hands), and had seen miracles happen when all hope had been lost. He prided himself in being one of the most experienced mechs still active and thought that nothing short of Primus suddenly appearing before his being could surprise him.

And then he had landed on Earth and witnessed the Autobot's aged old foe fall to a tiny organic being's hands. Suffice to say, he hadn't expected that but the shock wore off faster than expected and he soon found himself being assigned guardian to Caption William Lennox and his family unit. This suited him just find since he found himself on base more often than not and there was never a dull moment with a member of the Lennox family around.

Today was no exception.

"Sarah Lennox, what the Pit are you doing?"

"Ironhide? Hey, what are you - GIVE THAT BACK RIGHT NOW!"

The weapon specialist carefully held the sharp blade in-between two well-armored fingers and well out of reach of her tiny, fragile, organic hands. Sam and Mikaela, who had themselves been involved in tasks that endangered limbs, thankfully stopped to watch the spectacle.

"Why do you seem so fixated on trying to chop off one of your own digits?" He bluntly asked while glaring at the knife as if it had done some great, personal misdeed to him. Out of the corner of his optic he could see Bumblebee's charges cover their mouths to try and hold back laughter. His charge's femme slapped one of her hands over her eyes while sighing irritably.

"I wasn't trying to mutilate myself, Ironhide," she said through gritted teeth. She continued on as if she was talking to a rather dim protoform. "I was chopping up the garlic for the rice. It's called cooking."

He immediately looked up the unfamiliar term and was assaulted with images and videos of more organics putting voluntary risk to their extremities. It's amazing that they've gotten this far if they require so much preparation for fuel, Ironhide thought while scrolling through lists of websites that were only about food and how to cook it. The sheer amount was staggering.

"Ahem." His optics immediately trained back on Sarah who now had one hand raised with palm facing outward. "My knife, if you'd please?"

"If you continue to use this, there's an 11.008 percent chance that you'll slice one of your fingers off," Ironhide responded still holding the knife well out of organic reach.

"And I will deal with that when the time comes," she irritably snapped back, other hand not raised in the air being placed on her hip, "and I will gladly allow you to say 'I told you so' if it does, but right now I have to two hours to finish this meal or be eaten alive by rabid men being controlled by their stomachs."

"They wouldn't actually do that, would they?" Appalled, Ironhide actually took a step away.

The femme rolled her eyes in exasperation. "It was a figure of speech, Ironhide. Humans don't eat other humans."

"Except some tribes in Africa," Sam unhelpfully inputted but was shushed immediately by Mikaela's hand slapping across his mouth. "Not helping!" She hissed out.

"Anyway," Sarah gritted out, hand still held imploringly in the air, "I would much appreciate it if you'd give me back my knife. The food won't cook itself."

Ironhide took a moment to ponder his choices. He could, of course, comply with her request and give the knife back which could result in her having fewer digits then before. He could either destroy or take the knife away in which he'd get an audio full of furious femme and be coldly ignored for the next few weeks. Or there was another option…

"Very well," he said while carefully lowering his hand holding the knife. However, he stopped just outside organic reaching distance. "But I will remain here and watch over your activities to make sure you do not injure yourself."

"I am not a child Ironhide!"

"Do you want your knife back or not?"

Sarah grumbled out an unintelligible reply looking slightly murderous at the Autobot. Mikaela had removed her hand from Sam's mouth and they were both once again trying to hold in giggles at the exchange.

"Fine, you can stay," Sarah finally snapped out, "but so help me, if you start hovering over my shoulder, you will find that knife in-between your optics." She turned her glare onto the teenagers who immediately stopped laughing. "Sam, I didn't tell you to stop peeling those potatoes! Mikaela, who's watching that pan if you're looking over here? It's going to burn if you don't stir it!" Looking guilty, the two teens went back to their assigned tasks.

Ironhide raised an impressed brow as he finally handed the blade back to the femme. "You'd make an imposing drill sergeant one day."

"I've had plenty of practice on my husband," she replied calmly as she checked the knife for any scruffs. "Now since you're going to be hanging out around here for the next two hours, you've just volunteered yourself as kitchen drudge."

"…what?"

"You heard me. Go empty that trash can."

Will stopped and stared at the spectacle before him. After finally finishing up all the paperwork that had accumulated on his desk in a disturbingly short amount of time, he had decided to check in on his wife and steal some tidbits of food while he was at it. He didn't, however, expect to see the sight of Ironhide, tough old mech with more of an arsenal then a third-world country, to be grumblingly under his breathe (or whatever was the equivalent to giant alien robots) while carefully stirring a pot under the watchful gaze of his wife and two snickering teenagers.

He knew his wife had a way with words, but damn…

He walked back the way he came, carefully making sure not to draw attention to himself before heading in the direction he had last seen Epps. Knowing the sergeant, he would have a video camera on his person and he planned to use that to get the best blackmailing material this side of the century.