Chapter Text
“It’s just for a week,” Sam promises, palms raised and his voice insistent.
But it doesn’t matter what Judy thinks, really, the decision is already made and by people who have more authority over Sam than she ever will. And isn’t that scary?
Not because she wants to control him; quite the opposite really, she wants him to be free. And above all else, to be safe.
These people, these government suits with their dark glasses and shady deals, don’t give a shit. No, at best, they don’t give a shit about Sam, and at worst they want to pull the strings and make him dance. Sad when she trusts the big, alien robot from outer space with her child more than she trusts her own damn governor.
“Just a week?”
“Two, tops. It’ll be fine, Mom. Lennox and Epps are coming with.”
“I thought this was a covert op?” God, when did she start talking like this? When did this become her life?
Was it when Ron took their bouncing baby booty boy to pick up that piece of shit Camaro? Was it when her husband’s great-grandfather led that disaster of an expedition to the arctic? Was it when Prime jettisoned the AllSpark to keep it from Megatron’s clutches? When Megatron himself came online, not quite what he should have been and always falling farther into the grips of his own corrupted code? Was it always meant to be like this? Are their fates entangled, quantum particles?
Huh, quantum physics. That’s cutting edge research she shouldn’t know about, but in the grand scheme of things Judy Witwicky shouldn’t know about and does, that one is relatively harmless. Hopefully.
Sam studies her with beautiful brown eyes that flicker back and forth.
“Mom?”
“Mhmm?”
“It’s gonna be okay.” He grips both her shoulders, thumbs rubbing daisies just like Ron does.
“Okay,” she says, faint. Sam draws her in for a long, tight hug. Judy hugs him back.
She remembers the first time she heard his heartbeat, the whoosh of it on the ultrasound machine. Judy remembers looking over at Ron, seeing the tears in his eyes and the smile on his face and the feeling of amazement growing inside of her along with their baby. Their son.
She remembers the grit of sand in her teeth and her own primal scream and Lennox counting compressions. She remembers Mikaela screaming for someone to fucking do something. She remembers the howl of the wind in the dunes and an eerie, electronic wail and wondering how possibly they could go on without him.
She remembers his first breath. Judy remembers his last.
And yet somehow, some way - by the grace of a god sixteen light years from here - Sam is alive. Judy squeezes him just that much tighter and then draws away. Lets him go. Be free, little butterfly; you are far too special for this world to contain, you needed another to balance your spark.
Speaking of sparks…
“Is Bumblebee going with you?”
“Yeah,” Sam's eyes flickering to the ‘bot in their yard, laid out on his back and enjoying the sun. The solar radiation is good for them, Ratchet explained once when they were stationed at Nellis the first time. Earth is plentiful in many things that make a Cybertronian happy and healthy; sunlight, metals, energon. Things Judy would gladly give in all their abundance - if she had any control or say in the matter - for keeping her baby safe.
“Be safe, Sammy.” Judy manages to keep the wobble out of her voice but doesn’t resist the urge to cup his face. These last years the little-boy fat has melted away; he’s turning into a handsome young man, no longer her rambunctious little one with his pudgy cheeks and wide, wondering eyes.
“Always, Mom. ‘Bee and I got each other’s backs.” In the yard, Bumblebee holds up a fist and then does a quick, two fingered salute. He makes a noise which Judy generally interprets as, “We got this.” It’s as good as it’s going to get, she supposes; Judy takes a deep breath and nods. Smile, woman, he’s doing what he loves.
“Okay. Okay, baby. You… you have fun?”
“We’ll try, won’t we, ‘Bee?”
‘Bee hums again, rolling over onto his front and fluttering his wings. Stretching them, Judy thinks. She smiles and Bumblebee, for all he doesn’t have a mouth as she knows it, smiles back. Then the rumble of a diesel engine catches Judy’s attention. Sheepish, Sam ducks his head and smiles at the ground.
“Oh yeah. ‘Hide is gonna stay with you for the week if that’s okay.”
“Ironhide? Isn’t he Optimus’s lieutenant?” Not to mention the Lennoxes’ guardian. “Doesn’t he have more important things to do than cart us around?”
“He’s off roster, and he offered since ‘Bee’s coming with me.” “He offered?”
“Yeah. ‘Hide took a bad blow in that last spat with the Decepticons.”
Judy doesn’t remember anything about that, not on the news or from Sam or ‘Bee. Hmm…
“He’s still healing up. Good enough for light duty, and he can sit in on meetings from anywhere, you know?”
“Sure.” Judy does not know. She hardly knows anything about this ‘bot, except that he’s friendly with Sam, is Optimus Prime’s right hand mech, and had a strong dislike for Mojo - god rest the little guy’s soul. Sam never did tell her about why that was.
Out the kitchen window, Judy watches Ron open the gate for the massive black pick up truck; it rolls through and comes to a stop on the drive a respectful distance from Judy’s flower beds. The driver's side door pops open and Major Lennox hops out; he rounds the truck and catches the door - it swings open of its own accord - and grabs a duffle and a brief case.
“Oh, and I invited Will for dinner before we head out,” Sam adds, embarrassment clear in his voice. He cringes when Judy turns to look at him. “
Sam!”
“Sorry! It slipped my mind!”
“Well didn’t slip the Major’s!” Ron calls; he opens the screen door and invites Major Lennox inside. Ron has Lennox’s bags in one hand and a fresh pack of steaks in the other.
“Compliments of Major Lennox, honey!”
“Hi, Mrs. Witwicky, it’s nice to see you again and under better circumstances. ‘Bee told ‘Hide that Sam forgot about dinner, so I took the liberty to stop and grab some food. I hope that’s okay.”
“That is wonderful, thank you, Major Lennox.” His hand is wide and warm and rough with callouses; these callouses are different than Ron’s, from a life of violence rather than building things. But Will’s eyes are always warm and gentle; he puts Judy’s anxious heart at ease. Sam will be safe with him, as safe as anyone ever is in this crazy world.
“Will, ma’am, call me Will.”
“Only if you call me Judy, mister. I look for my mother-in-law every time someone says Mrs. Witwicky and she’s been dead fifteen years! God rest her soul.”
***
Lennox and Sam head out around dusk with ‘Bee. The Autobot’s tail lights flicker in the falling dark, a specific pattern that the great black behemoth of a truck repeats. Clearly some sort of message.
“Morse code,” Rob murmurs, “How much you wanna bet they’re saying goodbye?” He stands at the gate with Judy for a long moment, his wine glass in hand, well until after Bumblebee disappears from view and takes their son and his friend towards whatever it is that they’re doing. Whatever danger they will face.
Judy sighs, sips her wine, and then turns to the truck - to Ironhide - while Ron closes the gate. He is as Lennox left him several hours ago; as she rounds his far side, which faces their garage, Judy gasps.
“Oh, Ironhide.”
The scars are awful, long raking welds across his side panels. The metal is a shiny silver against the glossy black of his paint.
“It is alright, Judy,” comes the disembodied voice, low and gravelly and faintly British, but gentle.
“These look awful.”
“They aren't painful. I have rerouted sensation away from that area of my shielding. The damage is healing.”
“If you say so…” Judy trails off and finishes her round, making for the garage and opening the door. Hopefully Ironhide fits in there… she hadn’t thought of that.
“It’s supposed to storm tonight,” Judy says, “You’re welcome to stay in here.”
Cybertronians aren’t Earth vehicles, they travelled through the stratosphere in their own dermal plating, for crying out loud! Rain doesn’t bother them, and really a thunderstorm probably doesn’t either. But it seems rude to make this ancient alien warrior, healing from an injury he sustained while trying to protect them - to protect Earth - sit out on the driveway while California throws all it has at him.
“Thank you,” Ironhide says, “That is kind.”
Emboldened, Judy comes up and pats his bumper. He flashes his lights at her and makes a little wirr sound somewhere deep in his body; Judy smiles. When she casts around for Ron, she finds him standing on the porch, also grinning.
“Well, you let me know if you need anything more, okay? I’m just inside - I know you can connect through mobile phones and radios and everything.”
“Understood. I will let you know, Judy. I will likely recharge and allow my self repair systems to continue working.”
“You got it, big guy. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Judy, Ron. Sleep well.”
“Night, Ironhide. Sweet dreams.”
Once they’re inside and washing up from dinner, Ron pauses. He glances out at the TopKick, which has since sunk itself all the way down on its shocks and backed into their garage.
“Do they dream?”
“I have no idea,” Judy admits while drying a dish. In a way, she hopes they don’t. Good god, what would their dreams be like after so many centuries of war? It doesn’t bear thinking about. Judy shudders, and Ron - who seems to have come to a similar conclusion - draws her in for a lingering hug.
***
‘One, two, three, four, five, six -‘
‘Stay back!’
‘Sam!’ The crack of ribs makes her sick to her stomach. Someone roars orders in her ear, strong arms around her ribs to hold her back, to keep her from her baby. Someone tackles Ron to the sand, he’s screaming too, his hair mussed and face red, eyes streaming tears. ‘Sam!’
‘Ma’am they’re doing everything they can but you gotta stay out of the way!’ ‘That’s my baby! That’s my son! Sammy! Sammy, wake up!’ ‘Twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three -‘
‘Sam!’ An enormous boom breaks overhead, and her vision fails - just a flash of white light —
Judy wakes with a jolt and a small cry lost in a thundercloud breaking overhead. It shakes the house, followed by another fork of lightning and an ominous, rolling growl. And then… a car alarm? The flash isn’t lightning this time; it’s pale blue, coming on and off and illuminating the bedroom. Gasping for breath and grasping at time and space, Judy scans around.
Ron still sleeps beside her, sighing out deeply before inhaling with a tiny snore. Judy releases a breath she wasn’t aware she was holding, leaning over and cuddling at him for a moment. She loves him so much, and she’s so glad he sleeps so well, but sometimes it’s like the dead. This thunderstorm won’t wake him; it would probably take a damn Decepticon invasion or the end of the world to get him up. Christ Almighty and Primus in the Well! Under different circumstances, Judy might try to roll over and go back to sleep. Except the car alarm continues, and so do the flashing lights… Wait… headlights… Ironhide!
Judy pulls herself out of bed and shuffles to the window. Her pyjamas stick to her with sweat, and she grimaces at the sensation but wraps her arms around herself anyways. Rain lashes their garden, pushing some of her beloved plants flat and overfilling their birdbath to bursting; water streams over the sides in tiny falls. From the garage, Ironhide flashes his lights in an eerily accurate simulation of a real vehicle. His car alarm is spot on too.
Maybe he's having a nightmare and this is how it presents to the outside world? Judy doesn’t know, she just knows she needs to go check on him. If, at the very least, to get the noise to stop before a neighbour wakes and complains. Judy grabs her housecoat from the back of the door and heads downstairs. Over top, she pulls on Ron’s rain poncho and then unlocks the door. It’s pouring, rain coming down in sheets. It hammers against her poncho, and the earth practically shakes with another tremendous crack of thunder. Judy skips, barefoot and squeaking in surprise, down the path and across the drive to the garage. Ironhide has stopped the car-alarm impression, and his lights are dark. When Judy steps inside the garage, the motion-sensor light comes on and bathes the big, black truck in a warm, yellow glow.
“Ironhide?” Judy whispers, “Are you alright?”
“Yes,” Ironhide replies, voice low to respect the sleeping hours. “I… apologize. I did not intend to make you come out here.”
“Then why were you doing… that?”
“My sensors detected you were distressed,” the bot explains, “I wished to wake you without breaking cover. I… uh… Generally don’t patch myself in at the Lennoxes. The baby, you know?” Oh… Oh. Yes, of course.
“Your sensors are really powerful,” Judy murmurs, and then, “Thank you. That was… that was kind.”
Ironhide sinks further on his shocks, a hiss of hydraulics that sounds - for all the world - like a sigh. He opens his door, and Judy hesitates only for a heartbeat before crawling up and into his cab. It’s warm in here, the vents blowing pleasantly and Ironhide’s seats heated to the perfect temperature for Judy’s perpetually-sore back. Gardening really does a body in, let her tell you…
She scoffs at herself and shakes her head. Then she looks around; the cab is sleek, dark leather with tasteful red counter stitching. Ironhide has the Autobot crest on his steering wheel and the kind of radio display that makes grease monkeys like Ron weep. His interior lights up in a soft, red glow when Judy sinks into the seat.
“Bumblebee tells me you have nightmares frequently.”
Bumblebee needs to mind his own business, Judy thinks, but pauses. He’s probably just trying to be a good guardian and care for the troop of tiny, overdeveloped monkeys in his charge. That and the Autobot army is a bigger set of gossips than any women’s group or knitting circle Judy has ever taken part in.
Still, Ironhide doesn’t sound judgemental; he states it like a fact. He’s just direct and to the point, she thinks, which might come off as brusque or insensitive if you’re prone taking things personally.
“Yes,” Judy admits, “Since Egypt.”
The ‘bot is silent for a moment; processing, maybe. Or… she doesn’t know... She has no idea what's going on in that head of his, or even where it is for that matter.
Ironhide interrupts her musings by stating, “And you haven’t shared this with anyone.”
It’s not a question. Curled up as she is, Judy can’t quite shrug, but she hums and says, “It’s not really important.”
Ironhide makes a sound, a little electronic chirrup, followed by a buzz and a whirr. Unsure of what that means, Judy continues, “I mean, people died… Optimus… Optimus died. My son died. You all almost died. So what if I have nightmares?”
“That doesn’t mean you deserve to suffer in silence, Judy Witwicky,” Ironhide chides now. Ooh, full name; she sits up a little straighter, eyes gravitating to the radio despite the fact that it's dark and has been the entire time they’ve spoken.
“My son died,” Judy repeats, swallowing around the lump in her throat, “My… whole world. And for eight minutes, he was dead.”
Dead as dead can get. No heart beat, no breath, no nothing. Humans are, Judy knows bitterly well, much less durable than Cybertronians. And a lot harder to revive. Fuck, Judy thinks, blinking back the sting tears. You don't just walk away from something like that, and yet Sam had. The doctors, amazed by the lack of damage to his vital organs, said it was a miracle.
Yeah, a miracle of Primus.
Judy lets her head fall back against Ironhide's seat and closes her eyes. He seems comfortable with the quiet, and she is too; the only sound for some time is the soft thrum of Ironhide’s systems, and beyond that the fury of the storm. So Judy ignores the crack of thunder and instead focuses on the sound of his life systems, because this is a real, living creature who can feel pain and sorrow and joy and love. She wipes at her face with the back of her sleeve, having to push up her poncho to get to her terrycloth housecoat.
The glove compartment opens of its own accord and Ironhide urges, “Dry your eyes, Judy.”
“Thanks, ‘Hide.” She accepts the box of tissues, dabbing her eyes and blowing her nose and making damn sure the dirty hankies end up in her house coat pocket and not down the nooks of alien seats. There’s hand sanitizer too; Judy takes some. It’s not like alien robots can get human germs, but the thought of putting her snotty hand on Ironhide gives Judy the same revulsion as if she were to put it on any other person.
For a while more, they don't say anything else to one another. Judy isn’t quite sure how long. To be honest, she dozes, lulled by the storm outside and the warmth and presence of Ironhide’s cab. So when Ironhide does speak, she comes alert again with a slight jolt.
“Sam’s loss will remain on my conscience - all of our conscience - for a very long time.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Judy counters, “You got hurt trying to protect Sam.” Hurt badly. All of the Autobots took an absolute beating; Prime of course was the worst, and poor Arcee. But Ironhide too, and Sideswipe, Bumblebee, the little ones…
“Perhaps. But Sam is my friend. We were reeling with losing Optimus, and then to lose Sam…”
“It was indescribable,” Judy answers where the Autobot falters.
“Yes.”
“I watch him die over and over again.”
She grabs another tissue and dabs her eyes. “Sorry.”
“Do not apologize to me for your grief, Judy Witwicky,” Ironhide corrects now, firm, “You must excise this wound or it will eat you alive.”
His language choice seems to get more formal when he’s upset; it niggles at her heart in some way. Big ol’ softy, here.
“Talking from experience, big guy?”
He huffs, and a wry smile tugs at Judy’s lips. She reaches out and pats the console apologetically.
“I wasn’t there when I was needed most,” Ironhide continues, quiet again. His voice fills with an old, aching grief. “My core function, the reason I was brought into existence was to protect the AllSpark and the Prime. And I failed. Over and over again. We got there too fuckin’ late. Too late to save the AllSpark. Too late to save Optimus. Too late to save Sam.”
Judy nods and wipes her eyes once more, holding the wad of tissues to her mouth to stop herself from sobbing aloud. Suddenly, he growls, “This war takes and it takes and it takes.”
Something in Ironhide’s body revs angrily and his whole frame shudders; Judy, briefly, seizes with the fear of being squished in his transformation, and maybe that’s what catches his anger because he lets it a deep sigh and the whole cab… sags. It feels like defeat.
“I lost my sparkmate that day, and you lost your son. You’re well within your rights to grieve, Judy.”
Something inside Judy twists, some strange cross between a puzzle piece clicking into place and someone tugging her heartstrings. “Your sparkmate? Optimus is… is your… um… cog - con -?”
“Conjux. Yes.” His voice is barely audible.
Right. Conjux endura. Life partner. Soulmate. That’s how Sam described it; soulmates, the resonance of sparks that draws Cybertronians together. And they live a very, very long time.
“I’m sorry… I can’t imagine - oh, ‘Hide.”
Christ, how did he go on? How did he keep fighting? Ironhide was, according to Sam - who heard it from Major Lennox - the one that pushed the Autobots to stand and fight despite their immeasurable loss. He even agreed to help rescue Sam, to protect him, at all costs. Sam, who he could very well have blamed for the loss of the mech who means everything to him. His soulmate. His life partner. Conjux endura.
The Autobots fought for Sam and for Earth. And it cost them. Frag, did it cost them.
Judy's son was 'only' dead for eight minutes, but eight minutes is an entire lifetime when you're realizing you're going to have to spend the rest of your days without him. It's amazing that how she remembers so little from that day, but what she does remember is this:
In Egypt's desert, thrumming under her sheer and overwhelming panic and disbelief, was a deep and vast hopelessness. And a question throbbing in the forefront of her brain. What now? To Judy, in those eight minutes, it didn't matter anymore if the Fallen destroyed the world when the most important part of hers was gone.
So, Ironhide’s strength to stay and honour his Prime and Conjux, to answer the ‘what now’ with ‘we will go on’, leaves Judy in awe.
He continues, still quiet, “Primus saw fit to return our loved ones, Judy. It doesn’t erase the pain, but Sam is alive. He is here, he is well, and he loves you very much.”
Damn mech, he keeps making her cry. Judy can’t help it now, dissolving into tears. She presses back into the seat and maybe she imagines it, but it feels as if the thing gets tighter around her, squeezing like a hug.
“Oh, sweetspark,” comes that disembodied voice, and then a low, electronic croon.
Ironhide doesn’t tell her to stop crying. He doesn’t scold her or complain, even when Judy presses her face against his leather. He just lets her cry. So Judy cries. She cries and cries, clutching at Ironhide’s seats until she can cry no more and slumps down, exhausted.
It’s a bombed-out quiet between them for a while as Judy gathers herself enough to croak out, “Sorry.”
Surprisingly, Ironhide hums, “What, did you snot on me?”
The sudden shift in tone jars Judy so badly it shakes a laugh free. She smacks the seat and protests, “No I did not! I was very good about not dropping any used tissues down your seats, sir!”
“Ugh ...Thank you." Ironhide shudders. Probably in disgust; the pause makes her think that he hadn't considered that possibility, and Judy giggles again. Serves him right! Jerk!
Judy glances out the window now, noting how the rain has passed. In the distance, over the Koslowski’s roofline, she can make out the first pale fingers of dawn. It’s already brightening, the world cast in a dove-grey light.
Her garden is awash with puddles and leaves blown from the trees; she’s definitely going to get her feet wet going back inside, but that’s alright. The storm has rained itself out, leaving in its wake a sort of peace. The pathetic fallacy is not lost on her.
“Ironhide?”
“Mhmm?”
“Thank you. Thank you for… for everything.”
For being here tonight. For standing in as guardian, for protecting and caring for Sam. For fighting for a race of primitive beings sometimes - often times - intent on destroying themselves.
The mech pauses for a stretch before replying, “You are welcome.”
When she shifts and twists towards the door, Ironhide helpfully pops the door open for him. Less taken off guard this time, Judy pats his dashboard in thanks and bids Ironhide goodnight. Or at least what’s left of it.
She climbs down and picks her way back across the yard and to the door. There, something possesses her to turn back and gaze upon the alien in her garage. Ironhide remains a truck; huge, tricked out, hiding more weapons than a small country and a massive spark, but very much a truck. Judy waves. The truck’s lights flash, just once, and then go dark. Smiling, Judy opens the door and goes inside the house.
***