Hands

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

If Bee were to list everything he loved about humans, it's likely that his voice processors would wear out and break again. He loves their resilience, determination, their humor and love. Bee adores Earth and its colorful, wonderful lands inhabited by colorful, wonderful people. He cherishes the humans that have made their way into his life-Mikaela, the soldiers, Judy, Ron, and Sam. He loves their laughs and smiles, their eyes, their courage. But most of all, Bee loves their hands.

Even now, his most vivid memory of first "meeting" Sam as a car are hands, pulse pounding, grasping his wheel, the awestruck, almost reverent brush of fingers against his Autobot symbol. All it takes is that first contact, and Bee is hopelessly, uncontrollably in love with humans.

Since then, he's had dozens of "hands-on" experiences; Mikaela doodling invisible patterns on his windows and upholstery with her fingers, Ron's hesitant, nervous pats, Sam's soapy hands washing away dirt and grime. From scanning the internet and other information databases, he knows that every person's fingerprints are different- Bee never quite understands why very few sources ever mention the hand, or the palm too. To him, every person's hands are different, with their own calluses, sizes, scars, telling more about their lives and personalities than fingerprints ever could. Bee's pretty sure that even if his optics were broken instead of his voice processor, he'd still be able to tell a person's identity just by holding their hands.

Well, if he could hold their hands-such a task is harder than it sounds, as his hand is big enough for a full grown adult (or two) to stand on his palm. He sometimes longs for the casual intimacy of holding hands, wants to touch without being afraid of breaking something or someone.

His hands are metal. He can punch a Decepticon through a building, tear out energon lines. Acts of violence and war come naturally to Bee-he is, afterall, a soldier. Before coming to Earth, hed never paid much attention to his hands. It wasn't until he first met humans, with their casual pats and brushes, that he was aware of the difference between the two races. Even when interacting with others of their kind, Autobots always had to be careful; too much force and carelessness could easily send a smaller Autobot flying, complete with the harsh clang of metal against metal. They were all fighters; they had strong hands.

Sam patted Bee affectionately on the hood, mumbling thanks before all but sleepwalking into the house (too much studying? Bee wondered). The residual heat from the boy's palm lingered on longer than it should have, leaving behind the feeling of warm hands. Autobots certainly were stronger, more suited for battle. But Sam's hands, human hands were something different, better; those hands were meant to hold.

A/N: Ack, I didn't mean for this to sound so sappy, but I had to rewrite this a couple times since I lost the original. Sorry for taking so long, the combo of RL, jobs, and losing my writing notebook pushed this release wayyy back. Also, I plan to ignore DotM since I haven't watched it. The next chapter will probably be the last, and probably won't be done for at least a month (working on too many things at once). Thank you all so much for your wonderful reviews (they were what reminded me to keep working on the chapter).