Author's Notes: Thanks for the reviews. I can truthfully say I have never tried drugs nor would I. I work too many high level security jobs that if you even think of messing with drugs or crime you are bounced and security clearance revoked. Little things like rent, utilities and putting food on the table are wonderful reasons why to behave. So I have no idea where this plot bunny came from other than our wonderfully confusing English language.

There is a new poll on my profile page, please vote what you would like to read more of. Reviews are love, new chapters are hugs back. Onward to getting more than what you expect.

TF TF TF TF TF TF TF TF TF TF TRANSFORMERS

You know you're addicted to humans when:

You spend more time and mental effort picking out Christmas / birthday presents for your charges than you do writing reports for the entire year.

Ironhide glanced up, his blue optics refocusing outward. The magnified panel of his right arm cannon plate faded into a holding que as he listened to the phone call. Will Lennox nodded, his attention obviously more on the paperwork in front of him than his wife's voice. The ancient mech vented lightly, wanting to reprimand the human officer but didn't. There were times he had been unable to give his sparkmate full attention but at least he spared half his systems to listen and replay it later. Humans lacked recall capability, even when looking at the person as they talked.

"I scoured the counter to remove the char mark. Seriously, Will. I need a new pot. You destroyed my best two with your garage projects and what is left should be melted for scrap," her voice barely leaving the phone receiver but clear to Transformer enhanced hearing.

"Okay honey, I'll take care of it. Love you, bye."

Three days later Ironhide knew Will had forgotten his wife's request. He rumbled, the nearest soldiers dropping into defensive positions, expecting an attack. He smirked at their response, pointing towards the sun setting in the west and the faintest trace of the Cybertronian signal. Sensors confirmed what Prime had suspected, the comet landing crater old and the area empty. Empty except for faint traces of biological life. The Mojave desert an unlikely landing spot except it was empty of humans who would report the landing; though Decepticons rarely cared about who saw them.

"Only thing worse than sand," Ironhide grumbled softly, lifting a large black tread to shake more of the gritty particles out of his gears. "Is water. Slagging stuff gets in everywhere." The soldiers spaced out, weapons raised as they watched all directions except up. The temptation to yell and fire his cannons straight up to remind them of an airborne danger passed. "They'd shoot and waste the ammo. Might need it later."

"Stand down," Lennox ordered minutes later, lowering his own weapon. "Michelson, Jennings scout left. You two, right. Rest of you mark metal but hands off. Let the demolitions team clear it first. Then we can retrieve and leave. Got better things to do than play in the sand."

The long flight back to the Diego Garcia base allowed Ironhide to recharge fully with an unintended side effect. Night time found him wide awake to consider his role as protector. Not just of Will and his troops but the family he had accepted as his own. "Sarah's request carried a level of emotion I had not heard before. If Will cannot help, I must." His heavy treads across the airfield and around the buildings kept the guards alert, not that any of them would be accused of slacking off. NEST soldiers developed an obsession with expecting the unexpected to happen. A few even needing counseling after panicking when a coffee pot bubbled or a chair creaked, expecting a drone attack. His blue optics dimmed a little as he accessed the military's central computers for help.

"How many types of pots are there? Gone all to pot as in wreck or disaster. Describes Will's attempt to cook oatmeal joors back. Worthless fire alarm. All it did was make slagging noise instead of putting out the fire. Couldn't transform to do its job? Inferior human parts, no extinguisher gel, no opening of emergency doors. What type of safety device is that?" he noted an unlocked door on a nearby weapons bunker, sending a digital message to the night watch to secure it. "Pitiful locks. My smallest leaser could burn through that wall and dangerous? Hah. Bullets are more annoying than damaging." Continuing walking, he stepped over a armored personnel carrier before ambling towards the lagoon side of the base.

"Pothole, damage to a road. No mention of a kitchen," he rumbled softly, at least knowing what to call the flaws in the pavement. "Pot to throw out a window. Negative, the farm has indoor plumbing and this describes a lack of money. Pot calling the kettle black. They speak? Hmm. Phrase might come in handy. Potluck. Ah, finally. Food related." The black armored mech paused, his files on food extremely limited. Humans ate it, complained about it and wanted more of it. Ratchet raved about unhealthy it could be and Optimus banned the humans from eating it inside their alt modes. The rest was inconsequential compared to the need for training humans to stay out from under his feet pads. "Slag it. I need human help on this. Junior Supply Officer should do."

Ironhide found the man not in the storage hangars or his office but the far dock, unloading a small boat. The boxes neatly stacked under the tarp bearing no official seals or indicators of their contents. The alien mech ignored them, detecting no explosives or relevant energy signatures. "Can you help me?"

"With?" The human asked, stuck between diving in the water and risking sharks eating him or the alien mech hauling him to the brig for illegal shipments. The safety of the brig won out.

"I need a good pot."

"Hey, no problem! I can get the best around. Didn't think you would be in to that type stuff being mechanical and all." Laughing he relaxed. This was his area of expertise, providing soldiers with those comforts the higher brass banned. A good businessman, he always looked for ways to expand and supplying car parts or fluids could work out profitably.

"It's for a human...friend." Ironhide hesitated, the word friend too casual yet English lacked the complicated Cybertronian concept of Guardian and charges. And the human's obsessions with genders and relationships made him wary of identifying a human femme as the one needing his help. Especially when her own sparkmate did not take the request seriously enough.

"Sure, right. The pot is for a...friend. Rolled or seeded?"

"Unknown. For use in the kitchen."

"Cook with, that's cool too. Any particular type? Maui woolie? Mexican green?"

"American made?" Ironhide offered, cross referencing the fierce pride the American soldiers referred to their homes and existences.

"Hawaii it is. And fresh right? No old, stored stuff for you? Meet me at the shipping hangar, southwest side tomorrow at this time and I'll get you what you need."

Tucked in one of his subspace fields, Ironhide kept it hid as a surprise during the flight off island. Finally granted leave time, Will Lennox was heading home to his family, a certain black mech accompanying him. The long trip was uneventful and the greeting awaiting them made every second worth it. Annabelle's high pitch squeal of delight and "Hide!" made his spark glad. Sarah grabbed her husband into the house and upstairs, trusting Ironhide better than any babysitter.

It was the next morning that he pulled it out of subspace, carefully sitting it on the porch. Sounds coming from the house indicated Sarah moving around the kitchen, making coffee. Any second and she would come out to look at the sunrise, a ritual he approved of. Seeing the day's new light reassured the spark and help set the processors, even if humans didn't absorb solar energy as a side fueling.

The front porch door opened and he stood, arms back, black chest plates proudly pushed out as she nearly collided with it. "This is for you."

"Ironhide," Sarah blinked, trying to keep from looking like a fish gasping as she breathed rapidly in and out. "Why?"

"You said you needed a new pot for your kitchen. The supply officer on base stated this was the best that could be secured."

"A pot? But this is...oh." Then she giggled, suddenly understanding. The tall four leafed plant moved in the morning breeze, as Sarah circled it. "Thank you for the gift. You really shouldn't have," she said, before moving back inside and right up the stairs to their bedroom.

"William Lennox! What type of soldiers do you command!"

Sputtering, fumbling for a gun he didn't have, the startled officer reacted as any ranger would. "Army strong? Why?"

"Ironhide just gave me a pot plant," Sarah stated, hands on hips as she glared at her husband.

"A what?" he yawned, the last of the sleepiness leaving him. He did pull the covers around his naked body as he shifted to a more upright position. Not for modesty but an instinctive protective covering of vital body parts from an enraged mate.

"A marijuana plant because he thought that is what I meant when I told you to bring home a new pot. Which you failed to do. Now you can deal with this."

"He did? A real one?"

"Not holographic with those leaves dear," she glared, the sarcasm in her tone clear.

"I'll have a talk with him," he sighed, attempting to smooth his hair down then quit. Alien robots didn't care about ruffled hair and his wife would probably boot his butt down the stairs if he didn't get moving. Ironhide felt sheepish once an internet search confirmed the mistake. Will laughed until he realized it mean reports and paperwork to document the incident on base. The best part was telling Ironhide he got a reward check from the Pentagon for helping stop illegal trading. Nobody needed to ask what he intended to use the money for.

LENNOX FARM

The sound of the doorbell brought two reactions. Annabelle hiding around the big chair, ready to bolt for the hidden slide in the closet in case it was a meanie robot. Sarah, swearing before throwing the small pan and the blackened cornstarch pudding into the sink. "Be right there!" Wiping her hands on the apron, she glanced at the monitor display before pushing on the frame, turning it back into a picture of her family. A gift from Ironhide, it ensured the door opened only when she wanted it to. The offer of armor reinforcing the walls of the farmhouse refused, more than once.

"FedEx, special delivery," the man at the door began, hesitating before reading off the shipping tag. "for Femme Lennox from big guns. Husband military?"

"How'd you guess?' She teased, knowing pictures of Will in his uniforms, complete with service medals hung in the hallway where they stood. The fact a certain black GMC top kick vehicle was also in them was rarely noticed by outsiders.

"Three boxes for you ma'am. Calphalon cookware set. Sign here," he offered her the signature tablet, lifting the boxes over the threshold.

"Can we have spaghetti? I like that," Annabelle asked, suddenly appearing in the hallway. Delivery guys were okay and sometimes even carried candy. Once mommy approved it as safe to eat.

"Yes, after I make a phone call to thank a certain mech. Annabelle, honey no running. Especially on the stairs! Where are you going?" She closed the front door, stepping out and around the boxes.

"To make my birthday list. I need some plastic dishes for my dollies," she explained, pausing on the top landing.

"NO!"

"But mommy," she started back down the stairs, her shoulders dropping and the lower lip pouting.

"No lists for Ironhide. Daddy and I will give him your lists," Sarah stated in her best I'm the mommy and this is the law voice.

"Okay. But can I ask for what I really want?"

Visions of miniature cannons and interstellar communication satellites followed by armored suits and giant sized play buildings filled her thoughts. Worse, the Autobots would probably give her daughter those things even without a list. All Sarah needed was a quantum atomizer exploding in the backyard to enlighten the next family reunion. "Which is sweetie?"

"Daddy and 'Hide home safe with us."

to be continued...