Want to get back into the habit of writing. In an attempt to work off a bit of the writing rust, here's something I've been meaning to write for eons. Meet the Sarah Lennox who lives in my head.

Set not long after the first movie, assumes Sarah and Ironhide have met.


For My Children


When her brother drove up in the old farm truck one morning with that look in his eye, Sarah Lennox knew she wasn't going to be seeing her husband for the rest of the day. So while Will and Jordan went off to work on fixing the broken down tractor that Jordan had been complaining about for months, Sarah changed Annabelle's diaper, changed clothes, gathered Annabelle's baby bag, and headed outside.


"Yes, Sarah?"

"I'm taking Annabelle up to Mom's. Would you mind?"

Ironhide's door popped open.


Her parent's old farmhouse was less than a mile up the road. All the land between her house and theirs, and all the land surrounding Sarah and Will's house belonged to her parents. In short order, Ironhide's tires were crunching back over the dusty gravel of her front drive. Sarah stopped him before he got too far.

"You can drop me off at the barn, Ironhide."

He grunted an affirmative and the wheel spun, cutting across the drive and coming to a stop before the double-doors of the barn. It was old, in need of paint, but the walls and roof were in good repair.

Sarah undid the latch and heaved. The big barn doors slid aside with a loud rattle, letting the morning light spill into the interior. A table saw, band saw, jointer, and other large woodworking tools lined the walls. Hammers, clamps, and hand saws hung from pegs along one wall; cabinets full of chisels, drills, nails, and wood stains lined another, a fine layer of dust over their shelves. Front and center, taking up what would normally be a large empty working space, was a makeshift table made from a pair of sawhorses and a large piece of plywood. Stacked atop it lay pieces of her current project, spilled over from her over-full working table; oak pieces of varying sizes that would soon become a chest to contain Annabelle's growing collection of toys. Sarah flipped on the lights, breathing in the scent of the place. The fluorescents flickered a few times before coming on fully with their familiar low hum.

This was her shop. Will cleaned his guns and kept his exercise machine in the garage attached to their house. This space was all her own.

Radio on, cell phone set on the workbench, hair pulled back: she was ready. Now where had she stopped...

"You are building something."

Ironhide's voice made her startle; she'd forgotten he was still outside. He was still in vehicle form, large front grill pointed mostly towards the fields to the side of the barn, not inside. She wondered, not for the first time, how he "saw" in that form.

"Yes. A toy chest for Annabelle."

She waited, but when he didn't say anything more she got down to business, soon losing herself in her work.

The shadow from the sun outside tracked slowly across the floor as under her hands, the separate pieces began to assemble into a sturdy wooden box. She'd added embellishments to the corners and a curved top like a pirate's treasure chest. Annabelle was too young to appreciate such a thing now, but in a few years...

Eventually Sarah straightened, closing up a container of wood putty. The putty just needed to set, then she could give the chest a final sanding, and then start on the stain.

Her stomach rumbled. The red numbers on the radio proclaimed it to be past one. Her mind felt clear, focused, but her body informed her in no uncertain terms that she'd been working for long enough. Her mother had said she could keep Annabelle until dinner time, so she'd go get herself a meal and a shower before picking up her daughter.

She gathered her phone, turned off the radio and the lights, and rattled the barn doors closed. Ironhide's door popped open again as she approached. Little things like that still occasionally caught her off guard, especially when he'd just been sitting silently in the same spot for several hours, just like any regular truck. She felt almost silly, riding such a short distance to the house, but since he was still there she took the invitation and climbed in. Ironhide turned himself around, apparently now feeling chatty.

"You create such things often?"

"When I can. It's a hobby." A hobby that had produced their bedframe, the rocking chair in Annabelle's room, and the medicine cabinets in both the bathrooms, among other things. Her mother was still using the very first tool chest she'd made for herself as a planter.

They were at the house. Sarah and Ironhide rarely spoke. She knew her husband and he were becoming quite close. Maybe it was for that reason she felt the need to continue the conversation. "My mother made all of our baby clothes. They held up better than you would think; I used some of them for Annabelle.

"I want her to have something like that. Something she can keep, maybe give to her own kids." She hesitated, not sure if this question would be out of line, but decided to ask it anyway. "Did you have things like that?"

"Not as such," he replied, shortly, and swung his door open. Sarah frowned, but feeling as though she'd already overstepped, did not push. She stepped down. He startled her by speaking again; she hadn't thought he would.

"Ratchet, our medic, does not have any integrated weapons. I designed the one he carries. I've rebuilt it for him three times." He gave a frustrated sounding huff, twitching on his tires. "There's parts in my cannons that came from Bumblebee. Same for him from me."

"So you do have something a little like it."

He grunted, but that was it. Apparently they were done. Sarah thanked him for the ride and headed inside.