Two in the Morning

By Dreaming of Everything, betaed by Mmouse15

This is a completed oneshot. It's also prompt 1 (Two AM) of the 64 Themes fic challenge on Livejournal.

"You should be sleeping," Ironhide said. If he'd been anyone else, Sarah thought, his tone would have been soft, sad. But he wasn't someone else, he was Ironhide, so he sounded accusatory, angry.

She ignored him, walking nearer instead. She stopped just short of him, maybe a foot away of being able to reach out and touch the smooth metal of his leg, just barely warm with the engine running inside him.

He stirred again, after a minute, turning to stare at her. Six months ago, she probably would have flinched, or at least quailed under the unreadable, alien and belligerent stare, but things had—changed.

Yes. That was definitely true.

"I'm not the only one who needs to sleep," Sarah said at last.

He growled, or at least made a noise damn similar to a growl. "Autobots don't sleep, human."

"You need to recharge, then, and you and I both know that you're just nitpicking! I did not have you pinned as someone all that concerned with semantics, Ironhide."

"I do not need recharge at this time."

"Oh yes you do. Ratchet called. One of the few things my mother ever taught me that was worth listening to is that you obey the doctors when they tell you to do something."

"I don't need your meddling."

"Yes, you do!"

"I do not!" he roared, temper suddenly flaring, whipping around to point one huge cannon—it was bigger than she was—at the woman.

Sarah started trembling, just barely, and didn't move other than that.

The mech recoiled, suddenly, after one—two—three seconds. He almost flinched away.

"Go away," he muttered. "Go sleep. Your functionality will be impaired. Your offspring still needs care."

"Listen to me!" Sarah said, almost shouting with frustration.

"Human! Just go away!"

"No. I'm not going to. I don't care, Ironhide—"

"Well, you should. …I thought you didn't want me near you or your child."

"That was nine months ago. Before you saved us from Blackout."

Ironhide didn't say anything. It was true.

"It goes by threes. A year ago we were introduced. Nine months ago, I accepted you. Six months ago Will died. And now—"

"Will died because I shot him," Ironhide said, and his tone was strained: he had to fight to get the words out. They were said harshly, and Sarah stilled.

"I don't blame you."

"You should."

"Ironhide. Listen to me. It was an accident. I know that; you know that! Friendly fire happens, sometimes. It was just bad luck and easy-to-make accidents—"

"I've never been careful on the battlefields. That is what caused it. And it is, undeniably, my fault. You should go."

"Oh, stop pushing me away, for the love of God! It's not like you're going to murder me and Annie in cold blood!"

He didn't say a word, just continued staring away, inscrutable and cold, untouchable.

"...Really, Ironhide. You're not. I know that."

"Go away."

"Oh, fuck." Ironhide turned back to look at the woman, surprised by the obscenity: it wasn't normal for Sarah. She never swore. "I'm not going to go away. I'm worried about you. You're a part of my family, and I need—I need all the family I can get, right now." To his alarm, she started to cry—Ironhide wanted nothing more than to leave, he was in over his head and there was nothing he could do to fix this. "So does Annie. We both need you, Ironhide. And you need us. You need to sleep, and you need—you need—to understand that this isn't your fault. It isn't! And all I can think, looking at you, is how much my husband would hate having you hurt yourself over this—feel bad all you want but move on! It wasn't your fault. It was an accident. I'm not going to blame you for that. You protect us, both of us. I can sleep at night, knowing that, unless you're driving yourself into the grave because you feel you have to—I don't want that, Ironhide. I want you. I need you here for me, and for Annie, and I want you to be part of this family, not some—some obligation that's slowly killing you—"

"The Prime refuses to move me to a different assignment. I've asked."

Sarah sighed. "...I misunderstood you, I guess. I know you were close to my husband, so I guess—I assumed we were part of that, too. You saved us, but that's just your job, isn't it? I won't hold you here if you don't want to be here. I know there's friends of my husband's that I wouldn't want to live with, no matter how close he was to them... I'm sorry. I thought you were that way with us, too, Annie and me. Sorry."

There was a long silence.

"I can talk to Optimus Prime tomorrow. I'll request a transfer." She turned, almost as if she was going.

"Don't," Ironhide said, the words sounding like they cost him. " It's not that."

"What is it, then? I don't care, you know. I'm disappointed, and a little hurt, but I'd rather you leave if you don't want to be here. We'll be fine."

"No! It's not that—

"I do not... dislike you."

"I know that. That's not what we're talking about, though. I'm not going to hold you here, in memory of a dead man."

"No... Autobots—Autobots do not have families. But I would like to be a part of yours. If I was—"

"Really?"

When there was no reply, Sarah continued. "You are a part of mine. I wish you knew that, and I wish you'd act like it, sometimes. But I feel like I'm an obligation, and like all I do is remind you of Will, me and Annabelle, and that's not fair for her. And I wish you'd take better care of yourself. But you're—part of it. My family."

"...I want to. Be. But I'm not. You shouldn't try to change that. There are better mechs out there. Better humans. A lot of them."

"But none of them are you." And this time, Sarah really did reach out, touching one careful hand against the smooth, gleaming metal of his leg, cool to the touch and silvered pale with moonlight.

"I'm here on orders. I'll leave when I can. Will—he wasn't the first person I've killed."

Sarah drew one hand back, slapped him with all her force. It didn't hurt—Ironhide could barely feel it through his armor—but he rocked back anyways, surprised. He stared at the woman—panting with emotion, and eyes prickling with tears—and wanted nothing more than to run away from her.

"Don't say that."

"It's the truth."

"No. It's not. I know that, you know it, don't lie to yourself and don't lie to me. Will was your friend. I understand that. And that never stops hurting. And you hate yourself for shooting him—it was just an accident! You don't accept that, but I do. And I'm not going to put up with you saying those things to me. You talk like that, I do want you to leave. I want you here, but only if you can keep from hurting me. I've had enough of that over the years."

After a minute, Sarah relaxed, or maybe crumbled, face turning downwards where it was buried in shadow, massaging one hand with the other. "My mother—she wasn't a nice woman. I grew up catering to her whims. Sometimes she'd hit me. And she was the best woman I've ever met at hurting other people with her words." She laughed, mirthlessly. "You keep up that kind of speak and I'll leave you. No matter how much I love you, I'm not putting up with that anymore."

"I'm sorry," Ironhide said quietly, minutes later.

"It's—nothing. I overreacted. I'm sorry. I do want you here."

"I don't really want to leave."

"I know."

"...I won't. I'll stay. To protect you. For you, and for Annabelle. And for Will."

"Can I keep you as family? I won't ask the same of you—I know you do it differently. It's alright."

"...Yes. I would be—honored, to be a part of your family. Thank you."

"Thank you." Sarah put her hand out again, and relaxed, some of the tension leaving.

"I'm glad you won't leave," she whispered.

"I am, too."

--End--