Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Wow, this song really sucks." You turn the radio to the next station to escape the unbearable whining of the latest bad girl band. Instead of the lopsided singing, an old rock song comes out of the speakers of your little truck, while the dust from the desert road gets stuck in the fans. 

It's a hot day in South Dakota. Summer's here, and once again you regret that your old, decommissioned military truck doesn't have air conditioning. But you can't afford a new one, so you'll have to suffer through another unbearably hot summer. 

"Hi, Sherman." You stop in front of the chief who, as so often, is guarding the entrance to Sioux territory. Despite his stony expression, you like him very much. "How's it going?"

"The usual," he replies, pushing up his sunglasses a little. Even without being able to see his eyes, you know he is examining the covered loading area of your car out of the corner of his eye. "Much to sell?"

"Oh, just this and that," you reply vaguely. "Why, are you interested?"

"Nah." He puts his hands on his hips and takes a step aside, chewing on the inside of his cheek. "You sure you can't find a better job? You know what Yeager does at the junkyard."

Your mouth curls into a wry smile. "Oh, Chief - worried about me?" you ask mischievously. 

He shrugs. "Can you blame me?" 

No, you can't. It's an open secret that Cade Yeager is harbouring a whole bunch of Transformers in the big old junkyard in Sioux territory. The people who live here know it's a sanctuary, and a sort of code of honour keeps them from turning the fugitives over to the TRF. Still, it's a place pretty much everyone avoids - except maybe Sherman and you.

"I've got some good stuff to sell," you say. "And the bills don't pay themselves, right?"

The chief sighs quietly, knowing he can't stop you from earning your living. Instead, he steps back from your truck and waves you through the gate. You honk your horn to say goodbye to the friendly but tired chief.

From here on, the road gets sandier and has a few potholes. The back of the truck shakes and rattles, the metal goods fly around in a mess, and you get a good shake in the driver's seat. The dog tags of the previous owners of this military truck bounce wildly on the rear-view mirror, jingling like a bag of change; even the sunglasses on your nose slide down as an extra-deep - and brand-new - pothole shakes your truck. 

"Damn it, Trench, Cade told you not to dig outside the goddamn junkyard," you mutter to yourself, hoping the rusty axles of your vehicle will survive the drive back. 

You push your sunglasses up your sweaty nose and lean into the steering wheel as you enter the junkyard; the place is huge, and the mass of old wrecked cars is not a bad place to hide a bunch of giant robots. That's despite the fact that some of them transform into a shiny Camaro, a Corvette and a Mercedes. How Cade manages to hide freshly polished sports cars under a pile of junk and dirt is still a mystery to you. But hey, Cade Yeager has always been more practical than he was a big thinker. 

"Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in." Your truck pulls up to Cade's workshop and you are greeted by Hound leaning against the building. "Did you bring us anything nice?"

"For you? Always, my big guy," you laugh as you get out, slamming the truck door behind you. "Where's Cade?"

"North side," the giant Autobot nods towards the edge of the junkyard. "The Dinobots have started digging tunnels under this area, and Cade is checking to see if any of them are in danger of collapsing."

You frown. "Tunnels?"

"Seems to be something they enjoy," Hound says, shrugging. "They're settling in. Getting comfortable."

"Sounds great." With a few deft moves, you loosen the tarpaulin on the truck. Out of the corner of your eye you take a quick look at the situation. Trench stands motionless like a normal excavator, Bumblebee climbs down from a pile of cars to greet you, and in the crowd of cars you can make out Drift, who seems to be meditating. Hm, someone is missing. 

"Where's that green bastard?" you ask Hound, who gives another weak shrug. "He never misses an opportunity to make a fool of himself."

"He's sulking." The fat Autobot nudges your truck demandingly, so you finally start unloading his fuel. "Bee pushed him too far and made him so angry that he now hides somewhere in the desert." 

You nod at Bumblebee, who has arrived at your truck and is obviously happy to see you. He chirps a greeting and then looks curiously into the back of the truck to see if he can find anything of interest. 

"Respect, it takes a lot to silence Crosshairs," you laugh, tossing Bumblebee a mechanical puzzle you found at a flea market. It's not much more than a big, metal Rubik's Cube, but he chirps happily and immediately starts playing with it.  

"Come on, don't leave an old bot hanging." Hound nudges your truck again, causing you to give him an annoyed look. In the two years the Autobots have been stuck in this junkyard, Hound has developed a taste for fuel. Now you regularly supply the giant bot with barrels of unleaded petrol, despite the fact that these aliens are powered by who-knows-what.

"What did you say to make him sulk?" you ask Bee, who just waves you off and continues working on his puzzle. That's odd, Bee usually takes every opportunity to embarrass that annoying bot Crosshairs. "Hound?"

To your surprise, the giant Autobot grimaces and mumbles something. What's going on here? 

"They were arguing." Drift appears from behind Cade's workshop, much more quietly than you would expect from such a large hunk of metal. "And Bumblebee went too far. Attacked Crosshairs personally."

"So what?" you ask, confused. "It's not like a stubborn idiot like Crosshairs would be intimidated by a nasty word." 

"It was very - how do you humans say? Below the belt," Drift continues, leaning against the workshop. Your eyebrows knit in confusion. It's not like the green Autobot to let Bumblebee get the better of him like that. 

Crosshairs is belligerent and never afraid to get into unnecessary fights. Ever since you started visiting the junkyard regularly to offer your wares to Cade, you've been sworn enemies; there's never a visit from you that doesn't end in a loud argument between the two of you. If you were as big and metal as he is, you'd kick his ass, but with your small, organic body, it's just verbal sparring. Things do get thrown at him by your hand, though, and the bots fight each other almost every day. So what could Bumblebee have said to make Crosshairs sulk? 

"You guys are a bunch of idiots," you sigh, watching a dirty, sweat-soaked Cade Yeager trudge in from the north end of the junkyard. "Act like the boys from my old high school."

"Hi." Cade trudges past you, straight into the workshop, where he wipes the sweat from his face with a not-so-clean rag. He looks completely unnerved, and his clothes are smeared not only with oil, but also sand and dirt. After cleaning his face superficially, he finally turns to you and wipes his nose with the back of his hand. "I wasn't expecting you for another week." 

"Got some good offers." You nod towards the truck. "Two dozen high-performance processors, and at least six of them should still work. A bunch of security circuits and spark plugs, brand-new." 

"Sounds like junk, but I'll take a look later." Cade waves you over to his trailer, opening the door carefully. Immediately, before the door is even completely open, a tiny Triceratops squeezes through the gap and crawls under the nearest car. It is followed by two more small Dinobots, which also disappear into the depths of the junk before Cade or you can do anything about it. The man follows the wild little bots with an exhausted look on his face, but then gets into the trailer and grabs a cold beer from the fridge. In one fluid motion, he throws a second bottle, which you barely catch before it smashes to the ground. 

"These Dinobots," Cade sighs, sinking into the armchair in front of the TV. "Grimlock and Spike have dug a real tunnel system. It's not in danger of collapsing, but I won't get a building permit for it. Hopefully it won't turn the area into a giant sinkhole."

"You just had to decide to take in a bunch of Transformers," you reply, taking a sip of beer. Bitter and far too weak - but cold. On a hot day like this, the temperature of a drink is more important than the taste. "It's your own fault."

"Is that how you talk to your customers?" Cade asks, feigning outrage, but with that slightly amused undertone in his voice you know so well. 

"What happened to Crosshairs?" you ask, taking another sip of beer. "Since when is he so easy to mess with?"

"Oh, that..." Cade looks evasively at the label on his beer and starts fiddling with it. "That, um, that was nothing." 

You've had enough. What happened between Bumblebee and Crosshairs that no one here wants to talk about? 

"It's personal," Cade continues at your very impatient look. "Hard to believe, I know, but Autobots have feelings too." 

"How the hell did Bee hurt Crosshairs' feelings? The guy's little more than two big guns and an even bigger mouth," you scoff. The man in front of you is clearly uncomfortable having this conversation with you, but your interest is piqued. Hurt feelings? Crosshairs? No way!

"He had an argument with Bumblebee, as usual, and Bee got carried away and said something unnecessarily mean. You know them, they act like teenage rebels when Optimus Prime isn't around." 

"Come on, man." You kick the frayed armchair, causing Cade to curse in annoyance. "Not every day someone hits the green bastard that hard."

"Why do you even care?" the inventor replies, giving you a sceptical look. "You always claim to hate Crosshairs. You've never had a conversation that didn't involve mutual verbal slaughter." 

Ah, damn. Cade's not wrong, but he's not exactly right either. Your relationship with the green Autobot is complicated. It's complicated in the sense that you fight all the time, but you actually like him. Really, really like him.
The intense crush doesn't even make sense when you consider that you're human and he's a Transformer! So even if the stubborn bastard ever reciprocated your feelings, the whole thing would still be doomed. So you simply hide your frustration with this fact by arguing with Crosshairs. That way, you don't have to risk being laughed at for your feelings. 

However, you would rather not have Cade find out about this. You're not going to tell a guy like that about your feelings for the Autobot. 

"I'm just saying," you quickly backtrack. "I'm interested in how to shut that loud-mouthed bot up." 

There is a moment of silence between you and the inventor, before he takes a sip of his beer and shakes his head. 

"I don't buy it."

"What?"

"It may be that you two are fighting like street dogs, but there's more to it than that," he continues. "I'm not buying that you and Crosshairs hate each other. Not at all. It's all for show." 

Ah fuck, you feel the tips of your ears getting hot. "That's bullshit! You know what a big deal he makes when I drive into the yard!"

"Exactly. Crosshairs makes a bigger fuss about you than anyone else." Cade agrees and gets up from the TV chair with a slight groan. Beer in hand, he points at you like a father who has seen through a lie. "He's a pain in the ass in general, but he gets on your nerves in a special way. You may be fighting all the time, but it's obvious you enjoy it. Both of you."

He leaves the trailer with you in tow and heads back to his open workshop to continue tinkering with one of his projects. You have no choice but to follow him, desperately searching for an argument to prove that you have nothing but contempt for the green Autobot. 

"He's a bastard," you snort, and Cade just laughs mockingly. 

"So are you. Or do you think I don't know that you sell Hound ammunition and weapons? Or that you adjust your prices flexibly, depending on your mood and personal profit?" 

"Who doesn't?" you dodge, but the inventor is not quite done with you yet. 

"Or that every time you argue with Crosshairs you look happier than at any other moment in your life?"

"As if you could tell--"

"Or that you've had an emerald-green pendant on your car key ever since you met him? You hate the color green, you told me so yourself the first time I bought something from you." 

He remembers that? And since when does he notice things like that?! 

"Nobody hates the color green.", you try, but to no avail.

Cade takes pity on you and puts his beer down on the workbench. He turns to you so that you can speak quietly and have at least a little privacy in this junkyard. His tone is somewhat mocking, but his eyes are warmer than ever. 

"Bee told Crosshairs that you hate him. Really hate him. He believed Bee at some point, and it seems to have really affected him," he says, looking at you with the penetrating gaze of a man who has taken a beating or two in his life. "The Transformers may be aliens and pretty destructive nuisances to boot, but they have souls as complex as ours. There's no shame in liking that, you know." 

Fuck, he knows.

"It's complicated," you reply quietly, chewing on your lower lip. It's the first time you've dared to talk about the feelings you keep hidden in the back of your mind. "You know what he's like. What I'm like. How different we are."

Cade nods. "I'm not saying it'll work out," he says. "Just that it would be fair of you to clear up this misunderstanding." 

"Fair," you sneer. "Life isn't fair, Yeager. You of all people should know that." 

He grimaces and nods thoughtfully; yes, he knows how unfair life is. Otherwise his wife would still be here and he wouldn't be living in a junkyard with a bunch of Transformers, hiding from the TRF guys. Nothing in life is fair, and the fact that you're in love with a 20-feet-tall alien robot just goes to prove it. 

"You two have a lot in common," Cade finally says, taking your beer. "You're both a total pain in the ass." With that, he turns away, looking for a wrench in the toolbox while taking a sip of your beer. "He's holed up in the hills to the east."

You form a silent 'thank you' with your lips, but all you do is give the inventor the middle finger, who snorts in amusement. Difficult subject, difficult man to talk to. But at least you know you are not completely unimportant to the green Autobot - that alone is enough to get your pulse racing. A clarifying conversation might be just what you both need. 

"Hey, Hound." The giant Autobot looks down at you as you walk back to your truck and close the back. "You look like an... experienced model. Can I ask you a question?"

"Sounds like an insult the way you say it," he snorts amusedly, but nods in agreement. "What do you want to know?"

"Do you Transformers have, I don't know, relationships?" The question alone makes your ears turn red with embarrassment. But hey, if you have to ask, ask the lovable Hound - the warrior has a much softer heart than he'd like to admit. 

"Talked to Cade, huh? Did he spill Crosshairs' little secret?" the giant chuckles, leaning against the workshop again, which is shaking alarmingly at the sudden contact. "Well, we all knew anyway. He can't stop talking about you, even hours after you've left, haha." 

"Oh man." You regret your visit to the junkyard. This is so embarrassing! 

"To answer your question - yes, there are relationships between us," the Hound continues. "Friendship, love, hate - all the same as with you meatbags. But we mostly stick to our own," he sizes you up, tiny as you are in comparison to him. "For obvious reasons." 

You sigh. Yeah, you kind of expected that. Big and metal and small and flesh doesn't really mix well.

"Doesn't mean you can't try." He seems to sense your displeasure and gives you an encouraging grunt. "If it's meant to be, it's meant to be! And I've never seen two people as consistently annoying as you and Crosshairs."

"Very encouraging, thank you," you reply as you take your bag from the truck and check how much water you have left. Enough to make the walk to the ridge to the east. There's no road there, and your old truck won't make it over the rocks and potholes without damaging the axles. So, on foot. Great. 

"It's funny to see him struggling with the whole thing," says Hound, eyeing you as you set out to walk through the South Dakota badlands in this heat. "But I'm not one to begrudge another man's happiness. At least he has good taste." He winks at you and you laugh, for the first time all day. 

The sun beats down hot on your back as the hill formation gets closer and closer. The sand under your boots changes color from light brown to red as you get closer to the smooth, reddish rock. The rocks form the image of a riverbed where water used to flow millions of years ago; now it is only a labyrinth of rocks and hilltops that shine in the most beautiful warm colors. Lizards watch your march to the hills, follow you or disappear under the nearest dead branch lying in the sand. The ground is hard and needs water and the constant pattern of cracks in the ground causes severe dizziness if you look at your feet for too long. 

Shit, it's so hot. 

“Crosshairs!” You call out to the rocks when you get close enough. ”Hey, it's me!” 

No reaction. No sound can be heard and you move on. The small stones crunch under the soles of your boots and a bird of prey screeches somewhere. Every sound echoes off the rock walls, which now provide at least a little shade. If a Transformer moves here, you will hear it. 

“Come on, I walked all this way, just for you!” you call into the corridors between the rocks. ”In this heat!”

Then, a sound. It is the unmistakable grinding of a large, mechanical body moving minimally. 

“I didn't ask you to, so you can just leave.” You quickly walk around the next corner and there he is, lying on his back on a low rocky plateau with his arms behind his head. “So piss off.”

He doesn't even look at you, instead his tone is cold and dismissive. Usually he sounds rather hot-tempered and belligerent, but today there is no fire behind it. 

"The hell I will," you reply, stepping closer to cross your arms over your chest. "What's the matter? Are you just gonna sit here all day and pout?"

"Like hell I will," he repeats your words vaguely, still avoiding opening his eyes to look at you. "Who told you that?"

"Hound, Drift, Cade, pretty much everyone over at the junkyard," you reply, and now the Autobot comes to life. He looks at you with a quiet note of panic and anger, then sits up. As he shifts his weight, a few small stones bounce around, and you realise once again how much bigger he is than you. Can this really work? When the differences are so great?

"What have they told you?" he asks. "Details. Spit it out."

"Is it important?"

"Yeah, it is." 

You sigh. Stubborn bastard. And that goes for both of you. Why is it so hard to have a normal conversation with him? 

"Listen." You climb onto the plateau where he sits - it takes a few moments, you are not 20 feet tall - and sit down. Your legs hurt like hell after the march through the Badlands, and your clothes stick to your sweaty body. But all that discomfort aside, it's more important to finally work up the courage to tell Crosshairs what's on your mind. "This can't go on."

"Sounds like a conversation I don't want to have," he growls and starts to get up, but you hold onto the metal of his arm to stop him. Of course, it doesn't stop him from doing anything, at least not physically, but the fact that you're holding him seems to be at least a little convincing, so he stops his movement. 

"Let me finish, will you?" you grumble. "You green idiot! I'm trying to tell you something."

"And what is that? That I'm an idiot?" he replies, and okay, maybe he's right. Maybe you shouldn't start a declaration of love with an insult. Oh man, you were never good at this stuff! But if you don't do it now, you never will. 

A deep breath calms your nervous heartbeat and you look up into bright turquoise eyes. 

"Cade told me you think I hate you," you begin. 

"I'll crush that guy--"

"I don't hate you," you continue, unaffected by the threat of violence against Cade. "Bumblebee was just messing with you.”

"You don't?" Oh, is there a hint of relief in his voice? But his face still grimaces. "Then why do you always pick fights with me?"

"Me? You're the one who starts it every time--!" you reply immediately and heatedly - but then you manage to stop yourself from asking him if he was built without brain cells and start one of your typical arguments again. This is about breaking old patterns. "Look, I don't hate you - I like you. Okay?"

Crosshairs hesitates for a moment, sizing you up to see if this is just a ploy to get one over on him, so you do your best to look as upright as possible. "Fine, you like me. So? Are we done here?" 

"No, we're not." You rub your sweaty forehead and try to find the right words. This conversation is even worse than you feared. Telling the Transformer face to face that you have honest feelings for him seems almost impossible. No matter how you try to say it, it sounds stupid. 

Alright, gather your courage - and do it. Just say it.

"Crosshairs, I'm... kind of... a little bit in love with you," you force out with all your might. God, it sounds so stupid when you say it out loud! 

A second of silence, then-

"You've got to be kidding me." Now the Autobot stands up and takes a few steps away from the platform to get some distance from you. "This is really low, if you think this is funny -"

"What? No! I'm not joking! I don't know why I like a stubborn, smug bastard like you, but I do!" 

"And what do you expect to happen now?" he counters heatedly. "That I admit I like you too? A fragile little human like you? With more guts in your tiny organic body than some- most Transformers?"

"Maybe, yes," you reply weakly, swallowing. "So it's true? That you like me?"

"And if I do, what does that change?" A certain resignation washes over the green bot as he lets himself fall onto the plateau again, causing you to jump a few centimeters into the air yourself. "There are just too many differences between us. Insurmountable differences."

With nervousness in your stomach, you slide a little closer to him; even sitting next to you like this, he is so much taller than you. It's true, the differences are vast. Transformers and humans are fundamentally different, in size, physiology and even things like sexuality. Even if you both pull yourself together and admit that you like each other... is it possible to pursue those feelings fully? Not to mention that sooner or later the Autobots will go back to Cybertron. Then Crosshairs would be light years away from you. 

"We fight a lot," you say after a few quiet minutes. "You can be very obnoxious."

"Likewise," he replies.

"I like that, though," you clarify. "I mean, that you are unapologetically yourself. Uncompromising and truly loyal only to yourself." 

"Well, finally someone who appreciates that," he says, thinking for a moment before extending his hand invitingly. After a hesitant moment, you climb onto his palm and let yourself be lifted up to be more at eye level. "It's not often that someone sees the best in me." 

You laugh - for the first time you dare to laugh openly in front of him. It takes away some of the tension, leaving a warm smile at the corners of your mouth and a light feeling in your chest. 

"I'm not a smooth talker," the Autobot continues. "But I think you're both the least annoying and the most annoying person on Earth." 

"I'm flattered," you say with a mischievous smile. Quite frankly - this is a damn good compliment coming from the bot, and you accept it gladly. 

"You've got more wits and guts than some Transformers, you really do. You'd probably kick a Decepticon's ass if you could. Or the TRF." 

"Oh, I would love to," you agree, chuckling. "And I would kick all their asses!"

"Yeah, you would." Suddenly, there is more warmth in the Autobot's voice than you have ever heard before. It sends a pleasant shiver down your spine and you sigh lightly, a little hope in your breath. There are so many differences between you, but still... 

"I mean it, by the way," you tell him, sitting more comfortably on the palm of his hand. The metal is pliable and much warmer than expected - metal, not of this world. If a being made of metal can be warm, there must be a way to make this work, right? "I really like you, Crosshairs. Differences or no differences." 

He sighs. He never does, at least not this hard. "It's not that easy, doll." 

"Is it ever?" you ask with a wry grin.

"We Autobots aren't very popular right now. I don't want to see you torn in half by a Decepticon or crushed by a building when things get rough," he replies. 

"I can take care of myself," you say. "And if things get really bad, I guess you'll have to protect me."

Crosshairs isn't really convinced, so you'll have to bring out the big guns; you stand up and wave him down to you. He complies, tilting his massive head down slightly so that you can place your hands on the bare metal of his jaw. The turquoise light of his eyes is almost blinding up close, but you use the proximity to plant a quick kiss on the metal. The gesture elicits a deep growl from the Autobot in his metal chest, a sound that makes the otherwise belligerent tiger inside you purr like a kitten. 

"Then I guess I have to give you an ultimatum," you say, running your hand over the seams that connect the metal plates on his face. "Either we swallow our worries and see where the journey takes us, or I'm leaving the junkyard in my truck today and never come back." 

"Not fair," he replies quietly and is obviously very flustered by your gesture of pure affection. 

"Life isn't fair," you laugh softly and give him another kiss. "And neither am I."

He sighs slightly and sets you down on the sandy ground - your stomach lurches slightly in fear that he will decide against you - but Crosshairs nods slightly. 

"Whatever. We'll see what happens," he concedes, and that brings a very warm, relieved grin to your face, along with a pleasant glow in your chest. He hesitates for a moment, then nods westwards. "Come on, doll, I'll give you a ride. Let's see what kind of junk you've been hauling around today."

Well, you don't know what else there is to say. This... situation, this relationship, whatever it is, is definitely new territory for both of you. Whether it will work is written in the stars; but you are very happy to have taken a step towards him. The courage to reveal yourself to him and be honest about your feelings has paid off, much to your own surprise. Good. You feel good. 

As Crosshairs transforms into his alt form Corvette - as impressive as ever - you take a deep breath, letting go of all the nervousness and tension as you exhale. It's a relief, a weight lifted from your heart that you didn't even know was there. 

"You're one wicked car, love…" you mutter softly as you take your place in the driver's seat, your hands moving deliberately over the steering wheel. Smooth and elegant. Sporty. Unique. 

And all yours. 

Chapter Text

A stakeout. How and why you let yourself be talked into this is a mystery to you. Cade Yeager talked you into it, and for whatever reason you agreed. The man really has a talent for charming others - must be that southern drawl.

"Honestly, if we do this more often, I demand the right to eat and drink inside you." Tired and bored, you sit in the driver's seat of the alt form Crosshairs, parked in the shadow of an old coal-fired power station. "I think it's a cheek that I'm not even allowed to drink coffee."

No reaction. It's not the first time this subject has come up, and it's starting to get annoying. The Autobot vehemently refuses, much to your displeasure. 

"Fighting the Decepticons and the TRF, and you're getting pedantic over some doughnut powder on your seats," you grumble softly, leaning against the car door to get some night air through the open window. " It was an accident. And I said I was sorry." 

The Corvette's engine growls quietly and unhappily, but you don't let it bother you. You'll get your way sooner or later, right?


It's a warm night, and the time on your phone is 3:22 a.m. There are much nicer ways to pass the time than sitting here, hoping this area stays as empty as it now is. There's an Autobot nearby who needs help - and the site of this old coal-fired power plant is a good place to meet them. Remote and out of reach of the TRF. The Autobots have to be careful these days, just like Cade and you. Places like this are scouted in advance if possible, and with Crosshairs already pacing the junkyard like a wild animal bored out of its mind, it's your turn tonight.

"You're not very talkative today. What's going on?" you ask into the silence. Again, no answer, just the soft chirping of a few crickets in the tall grass that has eaten its way through the plant in the years since it was closed. It's a peaceful place, now reclaimed by nature. It's a nice change from the junkyard you've been hanging around in the last few months. 

Usually, when you're alone, the green Autobot is much more interested in talking to you. In public, he still plays the grumpy asshole, but when it's just the two of you, he's quite approachable. Since you two decided to pursue these romantic feelings, your relationship has improved considerably; the endless fights are now just long discussions, and it is rare for you to throw things at him or for him to wave one of his guns in your face. Yes, definitely more approachable than before. 

Except for tonight.

Sighing, you lean further back in your seat and close your eyes. Tiredness creeps under your skin, whispering words of temptation. Just a quick five-minute nap...

The sudden howling of the engine startles you and you jump, cursing wildly. You slam your hand down on the steering wheel to express your displeasure; first this idiot remains silent and then he has the audacity to annoy you! 

"We're on a secret mission," you hiss, sticking your head out of the window to see if anything is moving. But the darkness remains still and untouched, despite the loud roar of the engine. Only the crickets are silent now, as frightened as you are. "That means be quiet." 

"Can't you take a joke anymore?" Crosshairs asks from the radio. "Or are you too tired?"

"Oh, suddenly talkative again?" you grumble, leaning back again. "You won't even let me drink coffee. Tell me a story, maybe I'll stay awake." 

"Do I look like an Autobot who tells stories?"


Sourpuss. 


"Fine, then... let's play a game. I get to ask a question, then you, then me again, and so on." With a half-hearted, suppressed yawn, you sit up more comfortably. If you don't get a distraction, you'll really fall asleep.
 
"If it stops you from being annoying," the Corvette agrees. 

"Okay, alright. So, if you could change your colour, what colour would you definitely not choose?"

"That's easy - purple." 

"Purple?"

"Ugly colour." 

You giggle. "Now it's your turn."

"How much sleep do you humans need, anyway? You're always complaining about being tired, and Cade usually stays up for two or three days at a time," he asks. 

"That depends on who you ask," you reply honestly. "Humans need between 6 and 9 hours of sleep per night. It varies from person to person. And Cade has insomnia, so you can't use him as a reference."

"Insomnia?"

"That's when we humans can't sleep well or at all."

Crosshairs makes a mocking sound somewhere in his metal body. "You humans and your complaints." It's obvious that the Transformer doesn't understand the cruel fate of being not able to get a good night's sleep. Hm. That makes your next question obvious. 

"Do you guys ever sleep?" 

"That depends on who you ask." Crosshairs repeats your words - a quirk he has displayed since you met. At first he did it to get you worked up during arguments, but now it's more something that's exclusively used when talking to you. A form of communication and appreciation, in his own way. "Many Transformers deny that they sleep. Some, however, enjoy an occasional nap. Hound, for example, sleeps all the time, and I swear I've heard Optimus Prime snore before." 

Yeah, that's right. Hound is a big fan of long naps in the brutal midday South Dakota summer sun. He then sounds like your old Uncle Charlie dozing off in front of the TV after a few beers. It's quite charming, actually.

"And you?" you ask. "Do you sleep too?"

"Sometimes. But more out of boredom than anything else."

Sometimes. That's a yes. The idea of sleeping together is very tempting... Maybe you should give it a try. Although spending the night in your boyfriend's alt form isn't exactly comfortable - sports cars aren't made for that. Still, something as intimate as sleeping together sounds very pleasant. Getting close to each other is something that burns in your chest anyway. 

"My turn." You yawn again and look at the clock. 3:48 a.m. What you wouldn't give for a warm blanket and a soft pillow... 

"You just asked me a question."

"That was a follow-up question, it doesn't count," you reply curtly to the Autobot's protest. "You never talk to me about Cybertron or the war. Why?" 

"I see no reason to." His answer comes instantly and is played nonchalantly. Though you know Crosshairs well enough to recognise when he is avoiding something. It seems to be a sensitive subject. "Why don't you ever talk about what you did before the scrap business?"


Touché. 


"What if I told you I used to own a company? Was a big CEO?" you say with a wry grin on your face.

"I'd say you were lying, love." 

He's right. There was no job that paid a fat income, just odd jobs and living paycheck to paycheck. Nothing special until you bought that old truck and started selling scrap metal to all the people who would get into it. Cade got into the business because he needed parts to repair the Autobots he had rescued. And before you knew it, you had a bunch of alien robots in your life. Strange how life works sometimes.


But when you think of the dark times in your life, without a job or a place to live... Living in a truck for months on end is not something you really enjoy. Not to mention the dangers involved. Talking about it is not exactly something you like to do either.

"You can sleep if you want," you hear Crosshair's voice. He seems to have noticed that the conversation is making you thoughtful and silent, so it's time to pull back and talk about more pleasant things. "I can do this by myself. I'm really good at sitting around and being bored."

"And let you have all the fun here? Never." You laugh and lean forward, your upper body resting on the steering wheel. "And miss the chance to pull an all-nighter with my boyfriend?" 

"Huh. There are many names for what we have among you humans." Crosshairs sounds slightly mocking, which only makes you smile; he is definitely not an Autobot that talks too much about feelings and relationships. This Transformer is a tough bastard who keeps his own emotions well hidden under many hard shells of metal. It's a shame, really, because you really want to know more about him. 

"That's true," you agree. "There are many nuances. Is it so different for you?"

He pauses for a moment, apparently considering how much he wants to tell you about Transformer culture. "It's not unusual to have close relationships with each other," he says finally. "But romantic interest is expressed separately. With a lot of effort and a ritual. Not really my style."

"A lot of effort?" 

The Corvette's engine growls quietly; a sigh. He regrets having revealed so much in the first place, arousing your curiosity. "It's unnecessarily elaborate and corny. Humans take the easy way out, they agree that they like each other and that pretty much seals the deal."

"But there are lots of rituals around relationships on Earth too," you object. "Marriage and all that comes with it. What kind of rites do you have?"

"Physical intimacy, opening up to each other, things like that. Gifts. Like I said, not my style."

"Hm." No, that doesn't sound like Crosshairs at all. It was quite a discussion to get him not to deny your relationship in front of everyone. He probably thinks of himself as a cool guy who would never be sentimental - even though you know he's actually very lovable. But he'll never admit to being vulnerable.

"Do you mind if I think of you as my partner?" you ask hesitantly. "If it's not your style?" 

You run your hands over the fine leather of the steering wheel; a gentle caress of this car, this Autobot, this person who is beginning to mean a lot to you. A giant robot from outer space and a simple human being. What a strange, perhaps even fateful romance. 

"It's not that easy, doll." He often says that when he can't find the right words. Whether that's because English isn't his first language, you can't tell. More likely it's because he's not a sentimental Autobot and has trouble talking about such things. Real warriors don't talk about such things, actions speak louder than words, blah blah blah... 

"So it bothers you." Your voice is heavy with resignation and you fall back into the car seat. "I see."

"No, it doesn't," Crosshairs assures you immediately. "It doesn't bother me."


With a heavy sigh, you get out of the Corvette. With a little too much momentum, you close the door and take a few steps into the summer night. It's hard not to expect the same from an Autobot as you would from a human. A human relationship is as complicated as it is simple, and this feels like a tightrope walk over a pit of sharp wooden stakes. The Transformers - at least the ones you know - are difficult to deal with. They fight, they only really listen to Optimus Prime and they love to get rowdy when it comes to violence and fighting. Not much room for romance, even if you do want to make a real connection with the green Autobot.

Behind you, the car door springs open again and the engine growls impatiently. 'Get back here' is the silent message. Not an order, more of a brusque request from Crosshairs. 'Don't be like that'.

"I don't expect you to settle down with me," you finally say, crossing your arms protectively over your chest as you stare at the open car door. "But I was hoping for some kind of belonging. Some kind of bond." 

"What are you talking about? We have a bond," the green Autobot replies, transforming into his giant form in the shadow of the dilapidated building, giving you a confused look. "I thought we'd already decided on that. A few months ago, on that day in the desert."

You shrug helplessly. "Apparently not." 

"If I'd known it was going to be so depressing and complicated with us, I wouldn't have agreed," he finally grumbles, leaning his shoulder against the building, which is creaking ominously.  At your indignant expression, however, he adds: "Don't get me wrong, I like you very much - but this is all very... cheesy."

"Cheesy?!"

Crosshairs makes a helpless sound in his chest, knowing he's in trouble. "I'm just not cut out for this kind of talk! If you're looking for a fabulous leader, a skilled marksman who can shoot the stars out of the sky for you, then I'm the bot for you, but all this emotional drivel... Love, that's not me."


You snort mockingly. What does he think you expect? Flowers and love poems? Absolutely not! 


With your knuckles, you knock gently on his leg casing, causing Crosshairs to reach out and lift you up to face level. Now you can look the Autobot in the eye, who would rather rip off his own arm than seriously think about his feelings or this relationship. 

"I know what and who you are," you reply simply. "Maybe not all the details, but I dare say I know you pretty well by now. Are you really that uncomfortable talking about our relationship, even with me?"

"Can you blame me?"

"Crosshairs!" The admonishing tone in your voice makes him cringe. 

"Okay, doll, if you insist - I'll tell you what: you tell me something about yourself and I'll do the same. Something you wouldn't tell anyone. Something that's private. Something that makes you who you are."


Oh? That sounds a lot more accommodating than you're used to from him. But since he usually avoids any kind of serious conversation with anyone, you included... Why not? Whether he's just doing it to avoid trouble and arguments remains to be seen - sometimes you just have to accept a vague peace offering and trust that it's sincere. 


"Alright, I'm in. Let me think about this for a second though."

"Take your time. It must be something very important to entrust to your partner," he replies, opening his forearm to check the hydraulics. A nervous habit. "That's how it is with these old rituals."

"The rituals of the Transformers, then?" you ask with a faint smile, and he shrugs. 

"If it makes you stop bothering me - then yes. You want the corny stuff, you get the corny stuff." 


That's very interesting, you have to admit. The culture of the Transformers is much more complex than you might expect at first glance - at least according to Drift and what he's told you in your last conversation about what Cybertron was like before the war. And it's a peace offering on Crosshair's part, which is quite rare.


He settles in the shadow of the building, holding you at chest height. It takes you a moment to search your memories for a suitable story; it's hard to narrow down what's appropriate and what's not. Especially since you don't know the exact rules of these alien rituals.
 
"When I was a teenager, my father took me hunting," you begin. "Duck hunting. He told me I had to learn how to use a gun. I hated it." As you tell the story, you feel a little queasy and your hands fiddle with the hem of your shirt. "Hurting and killing innocent animals. But every year he made me go with him. Shooting birds out of the sky, just because we could. The thought of it still makes me sick." 

The Autobot listens attentively, without any cheeky comments.

"After five years of hunting, I had enough and threw all his guns down the old well on our farm so he wouldn't kill any more ducks. He beat me up real bad, but I was never more proud of myself."

"Did it work?"

You shake your head. "No, he just bought some new guns. And kicked me out a few months later."

Crosshairs snorts. "Sounds like an asshole."

You laugh and nod. "Oh yeah, absolutely!"

He makes a thoughtful sound and sits down to try and make sense of it all - obviously a little uncomfortable that it's his turn now. Well, there's no turning back now! 

"I've seen a lot in the war," Crosshairs finally says. "We all did - all the Autobots, I mean. What I don't like to think about are the battles where you lose friends. Good friends. When there's nothing you can do but listen to the metal of their bodies being torn apart. Things like that stay with you for a long time." His chassis sinks slightly under the heavy sigh he lets out. "On quiet nights we all still think about it. At least I do.' 

"I understand. Thanks for telling me." With a slight wave, you beckon him down, and Crosshairs follows; he leans down so you can rest your forehead against the cold metal of his jaw. A brief kiss for him follows, which he enjoys as silently as ever, as do you. The exchange of affection is something he rarely initiates, but he seems to enjoy it immensely each time. 
In fact, you appreciate that he has revealed this one important detail about himself. It suggests that there is a lot going on inside him. It must be hard to lose your comrades and friends in raging battles, and then live long enough for the losses to accumulate. He will outlive you too - but that is a thought, a problem for another warm summer night.

"Are you satisfied now?" he asks as he sets you down. "If not - not my problem anymore."

You chuckle. "Yes, yes, I'm satisfied. It wasn't so bad to get to know each other a little, was it?" There is no answer as the Autobot transforms into his alt form and the Corvette's engine rumbles thoughtfully. Sitting in the driver's seat, you check the time - 4:23 a.m. Time to head back to the junkyard. And it's time for a long nap, though not necessarily in this car seat, which gets really uncomfortable after a few hours. 

"So we're very emotionally attached now? Bonded? Officially, according to the rules and rites of the Transformers?" you ask with a certain amount of humour in your voice, but Crosshairs seems to be taking this very seriously. The engine howls wildly in confirmation as he switches on his headlights, illuminating the terrain. A thoroughly approving sound, accompanied by a ferocious roar. It sends a shiver down your spine, that deep, throaty sound.

It soothes the resentment and gives you new hope; if he's willing to be open and to share a little something of him... maybe the two of you can be happy after all. 

"Still, I demand the right to at least drink coffee when we do something like this."