𝐩𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 ━ transformers

𝚂𝙴𝚅𝙴𝙽

The torment that Ironhide had endured going over to the Cambridge's habitat had ceased once Eleanor and himself found themselves on common ground. Though it still pained Ironhide to succumb to a job as lowly as guardian, he did not mind it as much as he did upon arrival.

On some days, he might even say he enjoyed the days he was to leave base and return to the comforting albeit strange presence of Eleanor Cambridge.

Perhaps he has caught a virus in his CPU, one that was incurable. Ironhide could very well be on his way to offlining, especially since he had been willing to be in the presence of a human for more than a megacycle without wishing to grab his cannons and blow every bit of existence to smithereens.

When the twins finally arrived on Earth, Ironhide wanted to bash their helms against the concrete. Granted, it would do little to their armor, but it would have made Ironhide feel immensely better about training them and welcoming them onto the base. The two were a force to be reckoned with already-one small smash would do nothing to their physique.

On that day, Ironhide's digits twitched, and all he wanted to do was crush and shoot, watch something blow up before his very optics. There was little time for words when the twins barely heeded his instructions in the first place. The only response he received from those metalheads was condescending mockery followed by the destruction of a hangar-almost. Ironhide had to stop in, with the help of Optimus himself, to prevent the twins from annihilating it.

Once all was said and done, he wasted no time in retreating from the base that day, and when he reached the Cambridge's, he lugged his holoform into the injured Eleanor's room, grunting as he sat in her brittle desk chair. Humans.

However, the inquires of Eleanor had seemed to ease the giant plating pressing onto his chest. Her clumsy, human mumbling was amusing, if only for the fact that she heated up like an Autobot dipped in lava. Her over-exaggeration of her injury was enough to get Ironhide to forget about the entire altercation altogether, and that petrified him.

The new apology he gave her had seemed to hold more weight than any of the others that Ironhide forced out of his mouth. It felt too raw, like he had been stripped of his armor once more, like he transformed himself into a pod to come to Earth and felt the searing heat of moving at the speed of light all over again.

Her green eyes reminded him of a youngling on Cybertron, one he had met long ago. It had been well on its way to adulthood, yet still carried some of the arrogance that a sparkling wielded. Eleanor's eyes were tinted the same color, vivid and alive, kind-the same hue the youngling's were when Ironhide accepted its aid during a time of turmoil.

Though it was two completely feelings that drifted through Ironhide, the semblance was there. Accepting. Understanding. Growing. Helping.

With the youngling, Ironhide needed to protect it from the 'cons. He had to think fast and get the youngling back to its Creator before something undoubtedly devastating could fall upon it.

With Eleanor. . . Eleanor did not require protection even though she was forced to be bed ridden due to her injuries, she did not need the assistance. Instead, it was Ironhide who felt as though he was helpless, like he needed the protection rather than her. He could not discern what it was he needed to be shielded from, but the way the sensors on him grew warm with the presence of the young girl, he figured it would surface soon.

Primus. He truly did have a virus. Ironhide would have to see Ratchet about that in the morning.