A/N: With a grateful nod to Dr. Who, 'The Doctor Dances,' and to my wonderful betas. Again as always, thank you! To everyone else, I can't begin to thank you enough for your continued support and encouragement. It keeps me going.

~Chapter 8~

The battered black car pulled slowly into the abandoned garage, its engine coughing and sputtering, accompanied by a deeper noise that sounded very much like gagging or retching. Violent shudders wracked its frame several times. The car nosed behind stacks and piles of broken pallets and dusty boxes and debris, carefully arranged to hide its presence from the curious. The engine threatened to stall and another harsh cough was heard. A small amount of fuel dribbled out from under the car.

Barricade retched weakly again, and then clamped his fuel pump closed, determined to keep what remained inside. It was little enough that he'd managed to siphon off from a few cars without arousing too much suspicion. The fuel stations were off limits to him now. The humans had been alerted to the thefts and had taken measures to prevent any further losses.

He huddled in his hiding place, the human's sorry excuse for fuel sitting inside, the taste still lingering, nauseating him. He had no means left to purify it, and his pump labored with the stuff. It crept its way slowly with an acid burn, fouling his systems and leaving him sickened. He coughed and choked again, wanting nothing more than to spew the contents out onto the ground. He clamped his lines shut again, waiting in wretched misery for his pump to finish emptying the filth into his systems.

He snarled in his guttural language as he felt the noisesome seep oozing through him. He cursed the Autobots, their human allies, this ball of rock he was stuck on, his commander for leaving him behind, alone and defenseless. He was locked into his alt-mode, helpless inside his damaged body, reduced to consuming garbage, a bottom feeder. The predator inside of him raged, wanting nothing more than to wreak havoc on his enemies. Enough, the cold voice of reason commanded. Anger was a waste of energy and he needed all of his energy to survive.

One last gasp from his pump and it was finally empty. Internal readouts spread data over his display. He had bought himself one more day's time. One more day before he had to find more of this waste product the humans called fuel. Two more days, if he spent most of it in recharge. He shuddered at the thought. His dreams lately were as disturbing as his time on this rock had become.

Ironhide watched his charge leave the house and cross the short stretch of grass to where he sat. Almost, not quite, not really his charge, according to Ratchet, and his systems gave a low, restless hum.

The Ranger looked up at him, dark brown eyes shadowed, his face drawn and tired, and the Guardian gave in to the urge and began to run scans.

"About the party the other week. I wasn't thinking. I'm sorry." A hand scuffled through short, dark hair. "This whole situation is a frickin' mess. Not like you need me adding to it."

The words fell into silence that was part astonishment and part disbelief, before Ironhide finally stirred and nodded briefly. "Your apology is accepted, Captain Lennox."

Lennox stared and then barked out a short laugh. "You're not going to go all Darth Vader and strangle me now, I hope."

It was Ironhide's turn to stare, mystified. "Why would I do that?"

"Sarah's ready to," Lennox muttered darkly, then waved a hand. "It's from a movie, pop culture, never mind. I came out here to tell you I'm leaving in about two more weeks, and the rest of my time will be spent at base. This isn't a deployment, it's a transfer. I'll be stationed at the new base in Qatar, and I'm not bringing Sarah and the baby with me."

Optic ridges drew down into a heavy frown, but he remained silent. Lennox had already said more to him in the last few minutes than he had in the last several months. His scans picked up sharp rises in heart rate, respiration, adrenaline. He smelled the pheromone spike in the air. The Ranger started to pace, his body tense, clearly angry.

"This isn't right, Ironhide. We have a common enemy. We should be joining forces, working together. Not trying to pin you guys down with treaties and restrictions and manipulating you into giving us your technology."

He stopped and blew out a breath, his head dropping low, and now Ironhide's receptors picked up the scent of anxiety, and fear. "We shouldn't be going behind your back. Keeping secrets from you. I'm tired of it. They're putting our lives in danger, the lives of my men."

Lennox looked up at Ironhide. "I know I haven't been very cooperative, I know I haven't really accepted you being here. It wasn't my choice. My hands were tied and I couldn't say anything. But I'm sick of the politicians calling all the shots and yanking us around. Well, to hell with them. I know you don't have to tell me anything, but I'm asking you, as my Guardian, to help me."

A hand raked through hair, and the look the human gave him was purely pleading. "I need to know everything you know about that drone we fought in the desert. Please, Ironhide. Tell me its weaknesses. Give me some advantage I can use to get my men home again."

That the humans were keeping secrets was hardly a revelation. Ironhide still had his doubts about them but he studied the man before him, impressed that he was willing to go against orders, to cross that line for the good of his troops, or for a common cause. Intelligent. Loyal. Brave. Daring enough to take on Blackout and live to tell about it, and by all accounts, the one most directly responsible for saving Bumblebee from Sector 7. Lennox was a soldier, someone he could accept and work with willingly. The bickering with his mate could almost be disregarded, when viewed in this light. Almost.

The mention of Skorponok had galvanized his battle AI, and numerous tactical displays were already feeding into his processors. The human regarded him steadily, looking more composed than Ironhide's sensors indicated. Hard to read the facial expression, but his heart was pounding, his pupils dilated, waiting for Ironhide's agreement. Or refusal.

Ironhide leaned forward, closer to the human, but not close enough to be intimidating, programming already altering with Lennox's acquiescence.

"I had thought to revoke my claim but since you accept me, I will be your Guardian, William Lennox." The words triggered changes to core and programs, and his churning systems settled closer to a normal rhythm. It helped, somewhat, with the pain, the weariness. One down, one to go. The mech sighed, a small huff of air. "I will help, since I can't go with you to guard as I should."

Lennox paced closer. "I know. Politics really suck. Thanks, Ironhide." He flopped to the ground next to one leg, the relief on his face easily read. "Now. How do I kill that thing?"

Ironhide touched a finger to his helm and his holo array came online. Blue beams focused on a spot close to Lennox, and a 3-D rendering of Skorponok sprang to life, complete with metallic hissing, snapping claws and lashing, barbed tail.

His charge immediately scrambled to his feet, cursing. "Damn it! Warn a guy, would you?"

Ironhide's mouthplates twitched. "It can't hurt you, and Rule Number 1, soldier. Always be alert."

Lennox leveled a glare at him, then shook his head, chuckling. "Bastard. Alright, show me."

Ironhide rumbled a laugh and slowed the rendering to barely moving. The Ranger cautiously approached the hardlight holoform of the drone. Different points on the armor, primary and secondary targets, began to light up. "As a drone, Skorponok has limited intelligence. He's built and programmed for stealth and rapid strikes, not prolonged engagements."

Lennox snorted. "Yeah, we had plenty of being stalked by that thing. Damned terrorist tactics." He pointed to the head. "It's brighter lit than the others. That his weakest spot? Not under the chest armor?"

"Correct. The ambient heat will render infrared targeting ineffective. Skorponok will rely on his vision to track you above ground. Go for his optics when he shows himself."

The human slanted a glance over one shoulder. "Ironhide. It tracked us from below, under the sand, then jumped us. How the hell are we supposed to know it's even there?" He turned his head to continue studying the holoform. "It's the main reason I'm not bringing Sarah and Anna. There's no way I'm letting them on the same continent with this thing running around."

The statement caught Ironhide's attention, sounding as it did like the end of a long, long argument. "You've already told her?"

Lennox nodded and straightened, turning away from the drone to face his Guardian. Ironhide's receptors detected the trace of anxiety once more. "And that, is probably that. Think we were headed towards separating anyway. This is just a shortcut." The tone was an attempt at flatness, but underneath it, frustrated and hurt. Lennox began pacing again and Ironhide watched him silently.

"She doesn't understand why she can't come, it's just another transfer to her. I can't tell her why I don't want her with me, so I have to let her assume the worst. Another lie on top of lies and secrets and arguing with deaf, dumb and blind politicians and corralling rogue Sector 7 operatives; you guys here but not officially here, and I have to leave to hunt a drone and Barricade is still running around, and my marriage takes the hit for everything. Goddamnit, I'm tired."

Lennox stopped pacing to scrub his face with both hands before dropping them to his sides, shoulders slumping. "And here I am, telling you a whole lot of things you aren't supposed to know about. Faaantastic."

Ironhide rumbled, disquieted and more than a little apprehensive about his charge leaving. Undertaking a mission with this level of exhaustion was ill-considered at best. At worst, deadly. "What you've told me, stays with me, Lennox. My word as your Guardian."

A short chuckle, but Lennox looked visibly relieved. "What happens in Vegas, hmm? Okay, Ironhide, what else can you teach me about killing a drone?"

An hour later, and Ironhide was satisfied that his charge had every advantage he could give him and even learned a few devious tricks along the way. Only one last thing needed.

"Get a hold of a few of those radiation detectors Sector 7 used. You'll be able to track Skorponok, even hiding under the sand."

Lennox's head whipped around. "Whaa? You know about those? Damn, 'Hide. Thought that got all covered up."

Sometime during the hour of intense drone killing lessons, his designation had devolved from 'Ironhide' to ''Hide,' and the Ranger seemed more energized than when they started. Ironhide snorted, amused. "We have our secrets too, Captain."

"Will. Call me Will. I guess you do, mech. You're entitled to a few of your own." A smile of genuine humor and then his charge looked away, towards the house, and Ironhide watched the energy drain and weariness settle over him. "Wanna hear something stupid? She didn't tell me to come back safe, the way she always does. It's ridiculous, a soldier's superstition, I know, but- Every deployment, every mission, without fail, it's been her telling me to come back safe and me promising I'd come home. But not this time."

"'Hide-" Will's voice caught, and he cleared his throat, blinking up at his Guardian.

"Take care of them for me? Sarah- She's taking all this hard, and I don't- I can't- be here... to help, to make things- right...if they can ever be right again, and- I may not make it home... this time-"

Lennox broke off. His gaze shifted to the house again, and Ironhide hummed, his voice a soft, deep rumble. "I'll take care of them, Will. While I live, I won't leave them."

The Ranger nodded. "Thanks, for everything. Guess I'd better go grab my things and get back to base."

Ironhide watched Will walk away and disappear into the quiet house, leaving him with his own doubts unspoken. Until Sarah accepted him as Guardian, his help was limited.

They were fighting again, and this time, it was the end. Mikaela stormed out of his alt-mode, slamming the door so hard it rattled his frame. She ran into the Base, crying, and Sam let her go, but his fists were clenched and tears stood out in his eyes, the shine reflecting back from the lights of the dash.

Any moment, Sam would start hitting him. Bumblebee knew it, he could feel it. He would pound out his frustration on the seat or the door, and then when he was calmer, he would turn to him. Sam would talk, and Bumblebee would listen, letting his energy field flicker around his charge in tiny comforting pulses. It was those times he felt closest to Sam, felt a connection, could almost swear that Sam felt it too.

Sam sat inside of Bumblebee with those tear-filled eyes, tense and not talking, only his fingers moving, scratching and scratching at the glyph marks on his hands.

He got out of the car, and walked over to a tree. Bumblebee read his intent a fraction of a second too late. He transformed at a frantic pace, but before he could reach out, Sam slammed his fist into the tree trunk. Bumblebee saw him wince, heard the crack of bones. He pulled Sam back from the tree, grasped his wrist delicately between forefinger and thumb, and ran his scanners over the broken bones.

"It's okay, 'Bee, I'm fine."

Bumblebee didn't believe him, he knew what he heard, but his scanners didn't lie. Flesh bruised, some contusions, but no broken bones. Sam smiled, and for a fraction of a nanosecond, it wasn't Sam. Something not-Sam was there, behind Sam's eyes, looking up at him. There and gone, a flash of something that shouldn't be there, and Bumblebee ran the visual file again, disturbed. Just Sam, just a smile, nothing out of the ordinary, and Bumblebee wondered if he saw anything at all, and maybe he misheard the cracking of bones too. Maybe his worry over Sam was making him imagine the worst.

Bumblebee still had a hold of Sam's wrist and his scanners were still not detecting anything more serious than bruising. "Maybe Ratchet should look at this."

"No!" Sam yanked his hand away. "There's nothing wrong."

One of Bumblebee's hands landed on the ground next to him with a soft thud. Vents cycled a long exhalation. "If Ironhide were your Guardian...

"I'm just as happy he's not, or I'd already be flat on my back on Ratchet's exam table with both cannons pointed at me."

Bumblebee huffed a laugh and Sam grinned and reached out to thump plating. "You worry too much. I'm fine."

Sam's fist never connected. The Autobot's helm tilted, watching as Sam checked himself, his hand hovering, then cautiously drew back from metal plating. He looked strangely relieved and Bumblebee warbled concern. Sam only shrugged.

"Give it a rest, 'Bee? Please? It's not like I'm the first guy on Earth that's ever lost his girlfriend." Just the only girl I ever wanted. "I'll live."

"Are you ready to go in?"

"I kind of don't want to go in yet." Run away, away from Base, away from his girlfriend. Ex-girlfriend... "Can we go for a drive?"

Bumblebee tactfully ignored the fact that they had just been for a drive. "Of course, Sam."

"Great." Don't think about anything, distract yourself, avoid, run away... "Afterwards, we could play a video game or something."

Bumblebee's optics half-shuttered in a smirking look. "I'll let you beat me this time."

He transformed and Sam slid in behind the wheel.

"Hey, I would have won last time, but that wireless in your head is faster than my controller."

The Camaro headed for the gate, an amused hum filled the interior. "It's not my fault they don't make controllers in my size."

"Well, you should slow it down or something."

He could do this, he could manage. Focus on school, focus on 'Bee, run faster...

He scratched absently at the glyphs on his hands as they left the Base, still amiably bickering with his Guardian.

"Coffee," Maggie muttered to herself. "How can we be out of coffee?" She pushed aside sweeteners, creamers, knocking a few items off to bounce down to the counter. A few tins of tea and chocolate, even one of caro, followed, until her fingers hit the back of the third cabinet she had searched and came up empty handed once again.

"Damn!"

For the last 2 weeks, Maggie had worked, not slept, worked, and not slept more. Like a terrier with a rat, her restless mind nagged and picked and worried at Jazz's proposal, setting up countless scenarios, most of them with disastrous consequences.

Her lip curled the tiniest bit, wishing she could avoid the comparison, what Jazz wanted from her, but this was hardly the first time she'd been propositioned. Only the fact that he was an alien made of metal-oh and big enough to crush you flat, let's not forget that-made this any different.

Maggie pulled one of the kitchen chairs over and climbed up, beginning the coffee hunt through the higher set of cabinets. The chair wobbled and she gripped one of the shelves to steady herself. She glared at the chair, blew out a breath, and started digging through the cabinet.

Alright, if she were perfectly honest, there was something more to all of this. It was subtle, but enough to put Jazz in a completely new category. And that was the worrisome part. Saying 'no' to him would have been easy, but for that.

She pulled out yet another container of sugar and rolled her eyes. The soldiers that came and went on occasion seemed to require a lot of sugar, and it was likely the damn soldiers that drank up all the coffee, too. She dropped the box to the counter and continued her hunt.

To place herself willing into his hands, his very large and very alien hands, was at once a thrilling and frightening thought, she had to admit. Jazz was a huge, metalloid creature hundreds of times stronger, and millions, maybe billions, of years older. His hands could rip through metal, could crush her without a thought, and yet… and yet… There had been something so vulnerable in his asking, a longing for something that he didn't have, but was sure she possessed, and he was asking her to share it with him. And the undercurrents of his asking… please, don't say no, don't leave me empty-handed, I need this, please.

It moved her beyond words but it was also very troubling, that this large, powerful being needed anything at all from the likes of her. If he and his race had come to Earth only a few hundred years earlier, they would have been worshipped as gods by the small and insignificant, scurrying little creatures known as homo sapiens. What toll had time taken on him? What had their war done to him, that he would seek her out, and ask her cooperation, her so small and weak and alien, to accomplish something that meant so much to him?

Maggie stared at the back wall of the upper cabinet before letting her head thunk forward onto the door. No coffee. She was going to be facedown into her keyboard before she finished for the night.

That Jazz had even asked her was astounding, and humbling. What he had asked her… that was almost beyond her ability to comprehend. He wanted to touch her, to explore and learn everything about her, and she would learn about him too, and in the end… he would take her. It filled her with confusion and excitement and not a little fear; it struck her dumb in his presence. The hot blush of her cheeks, her gaze sliding down and away from his cool, visored regard that was somehow hopeful too, was the only answer she could give him for days on end.

Her heels slipped on the plastic seat as she shifted position to search another cabinet. Maggie grabbed for the door. Stupid, stupid, who wears high heels to climb on chairs? She wobbled a little, trying to regain her balance-

-and gasped when her back pressed up against a wall. In the middle of the kitchen.

The wall moved. Something warm slid around her waist and she looked down to see large metalloid fingers. "Need some help?" A deep chuckle met her ears and Maggie uttered a mortified little groan.

"...Oh. Hi, Jazz."

"Hey, Maggie. Ya lookin' for somethin' or just cleanin' out the cabinets?" Jazz's voice held an undertone of playfulness that reached right through the embarrassment and tugged a reluctant smile from her.

"I think we're out of coffee. I've checked every shelf except that one." Maggie pointed to the last high shelf, sneaking a quick peek up at him. He was utterly fascinating to watch up close like this. Jazz reached and plucked out a single bag and held it out for her inspection.

"This good?"

"Damn. No, it's decaf. I need caffeine."

Jazz was about to offer to drive her somewhere to get more, when Mikaela stormed past the door. Maggie slid away from his hand and stepped off the chair, hurrying to follow the other girl into the rec room.

"Mikaela, what-?"

"We broke up," Mikaela sobbed.

Maggie put an arm around her and led her over to one of the couches. "I'm sorry," she offered. "Are you okay?"

Mikaela's words were coming out all in a rush, between more sobs and putting her head down and crying. "I knew it was coming. So did Sam. Who knew discovering an alien race would drive us apart instead of bringing us closer?"

Jazz would have thought she was attempting a joke, but it came out on a wail, and Mikaela put her head down and cried even harder.

Maggie kept patting her shoulder, awkwardly. Jazz was reminded of just how very little time had passed since Maggie arrived, and impressed all over again with how well she had adjusted, considering the very odd circumstances.

The young engineer-in-training talked and cried, and the young analyst listened and comforted, and Jazz studied them both from across the room, absorbing, processing. Having watched the slow unraveling of Sam and Mikaela's relationship, he now sat, knowing already that nothing could have been done that would have changed the outcome-his behavioral algorithms had all pointed to that conclusion-yet fascinated at the dissection of how things went wrong and why, and what could have, should have been done differently.

It was the talking itself that helped, Jazz decided, as the post-mortem wound down, Mikaela finally dabbing her eyes dry and squeezing Maggie's hand.

"I'll live. There's still school to finish up. Ratchet keeps me busy, I've got you to talk to, I'll be fine. Sam's got Bumblebee, he'll be fine."

Comparisons were inevitable and Jazz wasn't unaware of the fact that Maggie kept glancing his way as Mikaela talked and cried and mourned the end of her relationship.

Jazz didn't know how humans did it, not having instant access to AI's and processors and logic circuits to help predict outcomes, but he had to admit that sometimes it was the illogic of faith that trumped all that an advanced alien race could bring to bear and hope that kept them going in spite of the odds against them, and that in the end it all came down to one simple question.

He saw Maggie's glance again, then her head tipped close to Mikaela's and under the guise of a hug, heard her whisper, "Was it worth it?"

Mikaela's smile was watery, but she never hesitated. "I'd get in that car again with him in an instant. I mean, in Bumblebee."

Maggie hugged her again, murmuring a quiet, "Good, I'm glad," and Jazz found himself cautiously optimistic. The positives outweighed the negatives, and fascination was its own compelling reason for her to agree.

Mikaela said her good nights to them both and Maggie walked with her to her quarters. Jazz stayed, sifting through this most recent data, processing, analyzing and adding to his knowledge of humans. The internet was a vast store of information, but there was nothing so valuable as personal observation.

He wasn't surprised when Maggie sought him out later, but he found himself wanting to back away from her question. Jazz didn't trust easily, he freely admitted, and that part of him that he kept closed away from everyone, that kept secrets buried, skeletons tucked away in closets as the humans said, demanded he keep his motives hidden. Yet he desperately wanted her to agree to this. He could make this about feelings and attraction, he could lie if he had to, tell her what she wanted to hear, make her believe him, he was good at that, trained for it, it was part of what he did-

He put a stop to his runaway thoughts and regarded the femme. Why? Why do this? she had asked, and Maggie blurted out the truth a little too often, not to value it in others.

"Curiosity," he told her, and at the doubtful arch of a brow, he laughed. "No, it really is that simple. And that complicated."

He leaned closer, the colors swirled through his visor and became translucent, letting her see his optics.

"Think of it, Maggie. It's already in your books, your movies, your culture. Your people dream about it, imaginin' what it would be like ta explore other worlds and in a couple hundred years, humans'll be out there. You'll be roamin' the stars, interactin' with other species, and the one thing that drives y'all on is curiosity. Ta know, ta find out what it would be like ta be with someone that looks different, acts different, thinks different. Ta take a new kind of partner out and dance with 'em.

"It's a chance for me too, Maggie. I have the same fascination, the same need ta know. It's why I'm askin' ya ta be my partner. We have that chance way ahead of everyone else, startin' here and now."

"So." Jazz held his hand out to the little femme. "Wanna dance?"

Maggie watched him carefully, her gaze flickering between the translucent visorand his hand. He was right, she was curious, maybe too much for her own good, but still.

"... You said- we'd go slow." His eyes, they're beautiful.

"Maggie, we'll go so slow, they'll have ta invent a whole new definition of slow, just for us."

The corner of her mouth quirked with a little smile. If she was really going to do this, really, she couldn't imagine a better partner than Jazz, with that smile that said he was sharing a secret with her, that playfulness, and his air of lazy assurance.

It was the chance of a lifetime and she would never, ever, have it again.

Maggie took a deep breath, and then exhaled, very slowly.

She reached out to touch him, first the tip of one finger, then the finger pad, then further down, her own fingers slipping lightly over his smooth metalloid skin. A slight quiver, a tentative touch, and her fingers uncurled slowly to spread out against his palm, her hand coming to rest lying softly within his.

Jazz curled his thumb in to stroke lightly over the back of her hand. He felt that small quiver again, heard the quick indrawn breath as he touched her, then a slow and gentle sigh.

"Yeah, Jazz," Maggie said softly, "let's... dance."

Sarah's Journal

April

I was so upset and angry and hurt when Will told me he didn't want me with him in Qatar. I've always gone with him, every transfer, every move, all over the world, but not this time. We argued, I mean really argued. I scrambled for every reason I could think of for going with him. It's just a transfer, that's what he said, and it's not like I'll be right there in the warzone, so why shouldn't I be going with him?

He had no good reason. At all. And that's when the horrid suspicion began sneaking its way in. He just kept saying he didn't want me to, but he wouldn't say why, and what was I supposed to believe except, he doesn't want me? I started crying, and god I hate when I do that, but I couldn't help it, it was too much for me right then.

When I finally calmed down, I said yes, okay, fine, whatever he wanted. What else could I do? Will's mind was already made up and I have no say in this. So he'll be over there for 2 years and I'll be half a world away from him. It hurt too much to tell him to come back, like I always do before he leaves, because damnit, I should be going with him, not staying behind.

Is it all over? Our marriage? I don't know and even if it is, I can't bring myself to admit it and Will hasn't said it either. Maybe not over, but on hold, in limbo.

And it hurts. Everything hurts so damn bad I could scream these walls down and still keep on, and I'm so tired I can't even think straight.

I wish now I had told him to come back to me. Asked him to please come back, because I'm not sure of anything with him anymore.

But... what if I asked him and he really doesn't want to come back to me?

I'm not sure what would have been worse, him lying to make me feel better or dead silence.

-o-o-

Something strange happened, after Will left. Annabelle was playing with her toys, I was doing the dishes, still upset. I must have forgotten to lock the screen door, because one minute she was right behind me, and the next, she was gone. I raced out to the porch and looked wildly around.

Ironhide was walking towards me with his hand held up in front of him. My heart leaped into my throat. Annabelle. He had Annabelle in his hand.

He stopped a few yards away from me and set her on the ground. Annabelle turned around and began climbing on his foot.

Ironhide made a sound like a rush of air, and picked her up. "Your mother will bolt you down if you don't stop this, little one. Now stay put and behave."

I could hear Annabelle's giggles as he brought her closer to me, and set her down again. He didn't move away, didn't give me any space like he usually does, but I was too frantic to care. I ran forward and grabbed my daughter, who was busily trying to climb up on his foot again. I backed away with Annabelle in my arms. Ironhide lowered himself to the ground and sat down.

"Sarah," Ironhide said. "I'm your guardian. If you're ever going to trust me, now would be a good time to start."

I didn't know what to say. I heard that sound again, like a huff or a sigh of air. I looked up at him, and it was like I was seeing him for the first time. He looked tired. I don't know why I thought that, but he did. He looked as tired as I felt.

Annabelle leaned out of my arms and towards Ironhide, reaching out to him. Ironhide lifted his hand, looked at me, and dropped it.

He could have ignored me, he could have just taken Annabelle, but he didn't. I drew a line and set a boundary that first time he came close to her, and never once had he crossed it.

We looked at each other. He lifted a brow ridge and I bit my lip. He was right, I knew he was, and it seemed he wasn't going away anytime soon. He was our guardian, and if I was ever going to start trusting him, now was the time.

I put Annabelle down on the ground again, balancing her on her feet. "Go on," I said, "go see Ironhide."

Annabelle gave a happy shriek and wobbled a few steps towards him, then lost her balance. She crawled the rest of the way, giggling when she reached his foot and started climbing again. Ironhide placed his hand behind her, ready to catch her if she fell.

I came quite a bit closer than I usually did, and took a seat on the ground near Ironhide. I watched my daughter climb around on that enormous metal foot of his, and heard that deep, throbbing sound again; the air vibrated around me.

I'm not sure, but I think, maybe, he was happy.

tbc