Major William Lennox was a toucher. Some people called it being kinesthetic, some called it being a tactile learner, but Lennox was just that; a toucher. You know that kid you saw in the store, running his hands all over the clothes, the wall, and anything he could reach? Or the guy at the mall who seemingly couldn't believe the jacket was leather until he had sufficiently felt it up and poked his fingers in all the pockets? Yeah, that was Lennox.

He played with his pens and continually rolled and folded the edges of his paper during meetings. He randomly picked things up and fiddled with them, for no other purpose than to occupy his hands with something. He couldn't wear hooded jackets because he could never leave the strings alone. He liked things with texture; the fabric on his bullet proof vest, the ridges in the handle of his gun, and of course the various fabrics and materials he wore on a daily basis. He clapped people on the back and hugged a lot. His hand could usually be found on someone's shoulder during a conversation, or he'd use a shorter individual next to him as an armrest. He constantly patted his alien comrades, whether they were in their alt mode or otherwise. Lennox wasn't particularly affectionate, he was just a toucher. He didn't think about, and eventually the employees of N.E.S.T. thought nothing of it either.

Cue Samuel Witwicky. Sam was fairly infamous for being a bit touchey-feely himself. Even more so, Sam was actually quite affectionate about it. He clung to people (and robots) and fiddled with objects like any other self respecting toucher-kinesthetic-tactile person would, and, being a short-attention-spanned young adult, he did it even more often than Lennox.

So, Will really just did not understand the sudden frustration practically oozing from the kid, almost always directed at the major himself. He couldn't even pinpoint what it was exactly that would cause it. Sam would just start muttering under his breath and glare out of the corners of his eyes like he was doing at that very moment, and to be completely honest, it was kind of freaking Will out. A lot. Will would just be minding his own business, talking to somebody, and suddenly Sam would start grumbling and glaring away. He thought that perhaps it was the backslapping and hair ruffling that was doing it, and thus made a conscious effort to simply not touch Sam. Instead he would stamp down the urge and fiddle with whatever object was closest to him instead. It did not work, and if anything else worsened.

The notion of Sam being possessed by Megatron or the Fallen or some other evil robot through some strange robot voodoo was quickly becoming a very real possibility in the soldier's mind. Or worse, the possibility that Sam might be thinking Lennox was possessed by some evil alien robot. Hell, for all Lennox knew Ratchet was still popping Ambien into the kid's mouth every night, and this was a result of whatever hallucinogenic side affect was caused by it. If that was the case, Lennox was going to be rightfully pissed, because he told Ratchet that prescribing Ambien to a sleepwalker with nightmare induced insomnia was the absolute worst idea in the history of terrible ideas. But Ratchet had done it anyway, and now Lennox was probably going to be murdered in his sleep by an almost hypnotized Sam.

And nobody else noticed.

Seriously, nobody; not even the bots. Bee wasn't acting like a mother hen whenever Sam would "glitch" for lack of a better term. Optimus wasn't concerned by it, Ratchet didn't notice and Ironhide even approved of the more animistic behavior. Lennox was completely alone in his confusion spawned terror.

Fear of being smothered by a pillow in the night aside, life went on, and much of Sam and Will's political work had to be done within reaching distance of one another.

Lennox had just finished glancing over a series of reports, and he set them back down on the desk, scattering a group on pens and pencils in the process.

And then Sam blew up.

"Will you stop! Fucking! Shit! Up!" Sam practically screamed, and Lennox could do nothing else but gape and cower in fear. The younger of the two snatched the pens off the desk, waving them in Lennox's face. "Everybody- everybody else does not do this! They don't! They do not incessantly just mess crap up for the pure delight of screwing with Sam's brain!" He slammed the pens back on the table, angrily rearranging them before picking up the reports and flipping through them, rearranging those as well all through his diatribe.

"Let's just – let's just rearrange shit to get on Sam's nerves. That sounds like an awesome past time! I swear, you're worse than middle school! Worse than Miles! You are like- I mean, what even are you. A serial shit-fucker-upper? Just come to torment me! Huh? And, okay, I am sorry to be swearing, and flipping out but you are driving me to my wit's end. I cannot take this anymore Lennox! Nobody else does this! JUST. YOU."

One report hit the desk, followed by another, and that was followed by a terrified Lennox looking to the techy for support only to find he had disappeared.

"For."

Report hitting the desk.

"The."

Another report meets the desk.

"Love."

And another.

"Of."

Another.

"God."

Please let there not be any more than that.

"STOP."

Sam slapped the last three paper packets on to the desk with a definitive smack, followed by a dead silence in the room. Lennox could only stare down at the younger man, whom in return sent a smoldering glare upward. Lennox carefully shifted his eyes to the desk (much like one tries to slowly move out of range of a rabid animal), which he had been ignoring up until that point.

Everything was lined up in perfect order. Not a page of the reports was askew. The three pens were lined up according to how much ink they had, followed by the tallest then shortest pencil. All the ends were matched as if a ruler had been placed under them. And then it clicked.

"Sam, are- are you OCD?' Lennox finally managed to gasp out, gawking at the fuming youth.

"No." The kid snapped, easing up to the ex Army Ranger until their chests bumped, not at all deterred by the two or more inches Lennox had on him. "I am CDO, with the letters in alphabetical order, like they should be."

The joke was so over used that Lennox wanted to laugh until he cried, but the completely serious look on Sam's face convinced him that the boy would rip his throat out if he so much as giggled. He took a moment to imagine how the situation must look to everyone else in the room: A scrawny college age kid with ruffled hair in ratty converse, dirty jeans, and plaid button up shirt color poking out over top of a gray sweatshirt versus a tall ex Army Ranger in combat boots, camo trousers, and wife beater show-casing his non-mechanical guns, with the college kid winning and the Army Ranger about to melt into a puddle from sheer terror. And a tiny part of his mind screeched "set up!"

"Dude, man, Sam, I had no idea-"

"Obviously!" Sam yelled, backing off the major, bringing up his arms and gesturing wildly – one such gesture Lennox was sure was a strangling motion. "I mean, seriously. I'm off my medicine for like, a month now, because of some stupid technicalities Ratchet is having to jump through hoops to get them to send my prescription here, and on top of it I have to deal with you! And you know, my – my OCD isn't that bad! It's like, the slightest OCD ever! Almost! Barely even there! It's just the MONTH of you messing! With! Things! That's what got me!" Sam heaved, breathing rapidly – nostrils flaring- until he finally managed to take three large breaths and seemingly calm down. He brushed his hair back, patted his cheeks a bit and then settled into a more characteristic slouch.

"Alright, freak out session over. I'm fine now; Just had to get that off my chest." Hazel eyes blinked innocently up at Lennox. "What were we talking about?"

Across the room Epps burst into a wheezing bout of laughter.

"Did everybody know the kid was OCD except me?" Lennox yelled, receiving only more laughs in response. Lennox swore, kicking angrily at nothing and cursing humanity before stomping off.

Sam just watched the major storm off, shrugged, and hailed an amused Bumblebee in search of doing something fun for a change.

Dedicated to all those people who just cannot tolerate people messing stuff up. C:

For once these are traits that will not be carried over into other one shots. xD I just…felt the urge to do this one. Sam demanded to have a chance to freak out.

I am writing the next chapter of Stockholm, I just got caught up in what direction I want to take it. D: Half of me wants to turn it into a complete, huge mindfuck, and the other half just wants to keep it simple (well…as simple as Stockholm can get).

So, enjoy a nice funny fic in the mean time. C: