A/N: Ok, nothing M in this at all, maybe just a little bit of drinking. My take on how Ironhide and Chromia met. Hope you like! You all know my disclaimers.

Vorn: Year

Decaorn: month

Orn: day

Cycle: Hour

Klik: seconds

Breem: minute


Cool Smooth Woman


Cybertron – the Joltwire Club

Ironhide was leaning on the bar, arms crossed, a cube of high-grade at his side. His optics were half-hidden under the slight overhang of his red helm. And he was not happy. He was currently supposed to be partying, enjoying both his and Ratchet's promotions from three orns ago: Ratchet's to CMO of the Autobots and himself to the lead Weapons Specialist. By all means, he should have been happy. If his femmefriend of 4 vorns, Fleetstar hadn't left him for another mech just ten orns before his promotion. He wasn't in the mood. He had thought this femme had been as close to the 'one' as he could get. Obviously, he was wrong. And tonight all he could do was watch as Ratchet chatted up the good-looking inventor from the engineering department at the local academy, while Kup was having a high-grade competition with Trailbreaker.

The warrior felt so out of synch with the scene. It was all just a blur. A chaos of partying bodies spinning around him, who was a pinnacle of stillness in the frivolity. Huffing softly, Ironhide chugged the rest of his high-grade before slamming the cube back on the bar, waving off the serving bots attempt to get him another.

A bit of motion caught his attention.

A blue femme was making her way through the dance floor. That in itself usually wasn't remarkable, femmes and mechs frequented this club. But the expression on her face and her body language were at odds with the atmosphere. Her faceplate was set in an expression of frustration, and she wasn't walking, she was stalking through the writhing bodies on the dance floor, pushing aside any bot that mistakenly fell in her path. Ironhide watched, interested for the first time in the past cycle in the club, as she neared the bar, shaking off a pleading orange femme.

"…-sorry Chromi! I didn't know that he was like that…I-"

"Save it," the blue femme cut the orange one off with a growl as she neared the bar, slamming herself down on the seat next to Ironhide's.

"I'm so sorry!" the orange femme tried again. Inwardedly, Ironhide smirked. At least someone was making him feel less pathetic. She was more than he was.

"I heard you. Don't ever do it again. Go and dance, I'll find you later," the blue femme dismissed her slightly smaller companion with nothing more than a pointed glance before turning towards the serving bot and ordering. "Hmm…give me a Wireburn, extra sparky."

Ironhide found himself admiring the blue femme, who appeared confident and in control. Such a contrast to Fleetstar who had been needy and insecure at times. Her frame wasn't bad either, the warrior noted. Then he listened to what she ordered and had to laugh. She turned sharply to look at him, optics glowing bright with fire.

"What is so funny about ordering a drink?"

Ironhide smirked at her. "Nothin'. Jus' neva heard a femme order a sparky Wireburn before is all."

For a Wireburn was a cocktail that it was thought that only the strongest tanked of mechs could drink. It was super refined high-grade, mixed with hot metal spice additives and garnished with sparking wires that fizzled and popped in ones mouth. Ordering extra sparky usually meant three or four wires, depending on the establishment. Ironhide had one once, held his tank in, and vowed he would only drink it again if he was too drunk already not to upset his tank.

The blue femme arched her eyeridge challengingly at Ironhide. "Oh really? Don't believe a femme can handle one?"

Ironhide grinned at her, liking her strong attitude. "Not really. But if ya can drink one o' those without sputterin', ya're next drink is on meh. Deal?"

It was the femmes turn to smirk and she held out her hand. "Deal," she agreed heartily. As Ironhide shook the hand, he was surprised to find that it wasn't smooth and polished like most femmes were, but slightly roughened. She obviously didn't mind getting her hands dirty.

The drink arrived, with four edible sparkling wires. Ironhide stared at the femme as she stared defiantly back, raised the glass to him, and still holding his optics with her own, sculled the bright red liquid and wires in one go. The red mech watched her reaction carefully, feeling upstaged as she finshed her drink, wire sparks still snapping within her mouth (he could hear them) without flinching or anything but a slow, sly smile at him. He chuckled and held out his hand to shake once more, conceding defeat.

"All righ', ya surprised meh femme. M' Ironhide," Ironhide said, introducing himself as the blue femme took his hand once more.

"Nice to meet you Ironhide. I'm Chromia," she said, still smiling, optics twinkling merrily before saying, "And for my drink on your tab, I'd like some plain old Vosnian high grade." Ironhide obliged, agreeing that she had deserved such an expensive drink after having a drink that made most bots, mechs included, want to purge their tanks for orns afterward. When they were settled with drinks again, they began to trade small talk.

"So…what are you doing here?" Chromia asked casually.

The red mech next to her shrugged and said "S'possed to be celebratin' a promotion to Weapons Specialist."

"Ah," her optics brightened in understanding, "you're that mech who's now in charge of weaponry."

With a puzzled frown, Ironhide asked, "Sorreh, but are ya with the Autobots? Where's ya insignia?"

With a little laugh, Chromia answered, "I haven't been with the Autobots long, only for about one decaorn, so they haven't given me my insignia yet, but I'm almost there. I'm going into weapons technology, so that's how I heard about your promotion. Not your name, but the promotion itself."

"Oh," said Ironhide. It was no wonder he hadn't of seen her around. He had been too busy with the promotion and his breakup. With her attitude, Ironhide realised he should have realised her long before today.

Tilting her helm to the side, Chromia's optics narrowed and she questioned, "Pardon me if I am being rude, but why the frag aren't you celebrating? It's a great promotion!"

Grunting, Ironhide said nothing for a few kliks, just staring into his high grade, wondering if he should say anything. His brief thoughts were interrupted by a short punch to his shoulder guards. Out of the corner of his optics, he saw Chromia frown and cross her arms before she growled, "I asked you a question, and usually, bots tend to give an answer. It's a little thing called 'conversation.'"

"If ya really must know, I'm kinda getting' over a breakup," he said bluntly, not really caring anymore After all, what was the point? What was done is done.

"Oh…I'm sorry," Chromia said quickly, realising her faux pas.

Waving a hand, Ironhide grunted again, "Eh, don' worreh 'bout it. She probably wasn' righ' for meh if she wanted to run away with anotha mech."

"Well then, she's a stupid femme," blurted Chromia before she realised what she had said and covered her mouth quickly, faceplates heating. Ironhide slowly turned to look at her, noting the embarrassed expression and feeling very flattered. Tipping his drink to Chromia, Ironhide nodded and said, "Thank ya…it's a good compliment."

"Well, you are a handsome mech. I'm surprised some of my more ditzy and flirtier femmes haven't tried to get you to take them home yet," said Chromia, putting her hands back down, glad he didn't construe too much into the comment. Looking at his profile now, Chromia realised her conclusion was right on the mark. Although not a gorgeous, pretty boy mech (but then again, who wanted one of those? They used all your wax!) Ironhide was ruggedly handsome, a striking bold red and with a strong build.

"M' glad. I don' want the needy ones anymore, the ones that hero worship meh. I want a confident femme. An equal. A cool, smooth femme who can handle a gun like her high grade and Wireburns. Someone who I don' have to come home an' avoid cos I don' wanna hear about her complain 'bout her paint or how dirty I am or how she wished I wasn' an army mech…someone like ya Chromia," Ironhide said softly, but with conviction and feeling. They stared at each other, azure optics to azure optics, sizing each other up.

"Are you asking me out Ironhide?"

With a sly grin, the red mech replied, "Well, I'd like ta. C'n I walk ya home all gentlemechly like tonite as well?"

Chromia's pleasant expression faded and was replaced by a sternness that confused Ironhide. She said her next words softly, if not dangerously, "I'm not going to be a rebound frag."

"Ya won't be. Ya're different from most femmes I've ever met. I'd like ta know ya better. I wanna see whatcha like with a weapon in your hand," answered the warrior in all seriousness.

Chromia smirked, satisfied with the answer and stood to go. Ironhide followed. The blur of the world around him was starting to slow and become comprehensible once more.


After a pleasant walk to Chromia's apartment near base, they discovered they had many things in common. They preferred guns to bladed weapons, were both adept at martial arts and defence, both liked aged rust sticks and both thoroughly enjoyed action holo-vids. They differed on the stance of their Prime. Chromia had hope that the young Optimus would rise to greatness, while Ironhide was a little skeptical. They also disagreed on their preferred weapon of choice in terms of size and design of guns. Ironhide and Chromia both felt invigorated by each discussion, to have someone interested in you who shared things in common, but not so much that it was weird and there was nothing to talk about after a while.

They reached the door and Chromia grinned up at him, while he smiled back. He was feeling…good. For the first time since his breakup. Actually, he felt even better. Chromia was daring and challenging, something Fleetstar had never managed to do.

"I had a good time tonight Ironhide…so, the sparring room on the first floor at the tenth and a half cycle tomorrow?" Chromia checked. She wasn't kidding, she did have a good time. She found Ironhide quite refreshing from most modern mechs, even if he wasn't the most intelligent, but he was savvy and weapons wise and had a good sense of humour,

"M' glad you did Chromia. Yeah, tomorrow. Bring ya're A-game," Ironhide teased lightly, grinning back.

"Goodnight." Chromia smilied at him again before turning to open her door.

"Goodnigh'"

Chromia turned back to him, seeming to hesitate, looking at him warily. She seemed to make a decision before she walked right back to him, and pressed up against him to claim his mouth in a kiss. Ironhide was surprised, but didn't let it show, kissing back, flicking his glossa against her top lip, asking for entrance. She let him, hands resting on his chestplates. They kissed for a breem, before separating once more.

With a satisfied smile, Chromia went back to her apartment, calling over her shoulder, "I was right. Your previous partner is the biggest idiot on Cybertron," while all Ironhide could only stare at her closed door, wondering and thanking Primus why this ballsy, pretty blue femme had suddenly dropped into his life.


A/N: I wanted to do an I x C for a long time. I always pictured Chromia as this ball breaking, daring femme who was full of confidence and surety that 'she was femme, hear her roar' sort of thing. Hope you liked! And for those who like my lemony writing, I might do an M story for these two soon. Not sure yet. REVIEWS ARE LOVED!