Title: Resonance
Author: dreamerchaos
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are owned by Hasbro. I'm only playing with them.
Pairing: SoundwavexPerceptor.
Rating: PG-13. Nothing too traumatizing. Also hints of slash in another briefly mentioned pairing.
Summary: There is a melody, a resonance, that incities the Spark to yearn for another.
At first, the low, vibrating hymn gives him pause; the microscope blinking in wonder, bewildered by the strange melody. He halts in mid-step, and Brawn halts as well.
"What is it?" The scowl is evident in the Minibot's tone. Not the slightly bit pleased that the scientist is lagging behind the group on their way back towards the Ark.
"…Can't you hear it?" Perceptor tilts his helm in the direction of the haunting melody. A strange tumble of anxiousness and excitement stirring within his pumps, a shiver passing up his spinal column at the strange voice.
"No." Brawn growls, "I only see you falling behind the group…Again."
Reluctantly, Perceptor tears his gaze away from the direction of the singing voice, face twisted in consternation, "How strange." He wondered aloud. Ignoring the smaller mech's frustrated, yet slightly worried gaze that followed him, no doubt the mech contemplating whether the scientist's processor was malfunctioning.
He begins to notice the little things - the shared moments - between certain Autobots that, previously, had garnered neither a raised optical ridge nor a question.
Blaster humming a quick-beat song to his Cassettes, Rewind and Eject sprawled across his lap as the Communications Officer drummed his fingers upon the arm of his seat. Eject's chin dropping, then jerking, the Cassette struggling to resist a short recharge. His brother already curled up, deep in slumber, face tucked against Blaster's chassis.
Later, when Ratchet's voice lowers into a soothing, very faint song, the words reminding Perceptor of the melodies the femmes would sing to the sparklings and younglings in the crèches. The red and white medic's hands petting Grimlock's helm, the large Dinobot leader purring in pleasure at his Creator's touch, soothed by the medic's touch and voice, red optical band narrowed while he contemplates his brother, Sludge, laid out upon the medical berth with Wheeljack tending to the injuries he received during the last Decepticon and Autobot scuffle.
Much later, by accident, the scientist ducks back into the corridor he had been leaving, not wishing to interrupt the private moment. Jazz, sporting a cocky grin, head tilted, singing a bright, chipper song of affection to Prowl. Arms wrapped around the SIC's waist, pulling them flushed, the security officer's back and wings pressed back against the wall. Lips marred in a frown of disapproval at their position and Jazz's shameless attack, but all the while Prowl is unable to resist the saboteur's embrace, his own arms twining around the black and white mech's neck.
Each voice is different, carrying its own inflection and tempo. However, no matter how dissimilar each was, their voices caused a familiar stirring within his chassis. Resting a trembling hand above his Spark, Perceptor squeezes his fingers into a fist, struggling with the strangest yearning to hear that voice and song from not too long ago.
"What is it like?" Perceptor asks, finally gathering the courage to approach the Special Forces mech.
"What, Percy?" Jazz tilts his head at the scientist, chin resting upon crossed hands. Contemplating the strange question from the shy, reclusive microscope.
"S-singing. Why do you sing? And…how?"
Perceptor ducks his head, embarrassed, trying to avoid the scrutiny of the blue visor.
"You…don't know how to sing." Jazz says finally, obviously surprised by the microscope's inadvertent admission.
"It―I've never possessed the desire or compulsion to sing. The m-mere thought of it makes my throat feel tight."
"Then why the sudden interest?"
Perceptor taps his forefingers together, shifting in discomfort. Knees pressed tightly together, huddled within his chair, "I…A while ago I heard a strange song when we were travelling back to the Ark. Since then, I can not help but to notice the words and melodies that several Autobots share with one another."
"You heard someone singing? Outside the Ark?"
Perceptor's head bobs in fervent agreement.
"Who else have you heard sing?"
"Blaster…and Ratchet…and, um…" Here Jazz can practically see the heat rising the the fore, the scientist's face heating up in private horror and embarrassment, "a-and you."
"Aah." Jazz covers his mouth with his other hand, masking the twitch of a smile lest the gesture embarrass the microscope further, "So all of those moments remind you of the song that you'd heard."
"Yes."
"What do you feel, exactly, when you recall the song?" The saboteur is beginning to sense the direction of the conversation and the cause of the scientist's concern.
"…it's like my pumps are twisting together in a knot." His hands slide down to rest over the area under discussion, "and then…my Spark feels like it's going to burst forth from my chassis. Like my body is too small to properly contain it any longer."
Jazz frowns, lowering the hand from his mouth. "Like your body aches to hear more?" He asks.
Perceptor raises his chin enough so that confused, blue optics meet azure visor. "Yes."
The saboteur sits back further in his seat, folding both hands together, resting elbows upon the table, chin resting upon the braced hands. "That sounds like something I heard about on Cybertron." He ponders.
"Is…is it a virus?" Perceptor's throat bobs, swallowing nervously.
"No, no." Jazz is quick to sooth the scientist before his mind spins up horrible conclusions, "It's…I heard stories…more like urban myths, really, about the era before the Golden Age. About the command of voice and song for one mech to call forth and summon another. Even from great distances."
"Some sort of compulsion program or code?"
Jazz shrugs. "No one knows, even to this day. Some musicians that I knew said it was all a hoax. A couple of my friends thought it originated from an old romantic story about Cybertronians of old singing a haunting melody in order to find their Spark mate. They called it the Resonance, or something like that."
"I've never heard of such a thing." The scientist admits with a faint pout of displeasure, "It's ridiculous! How ― Why! ― would our ancestors put forth so much time and energy into such an act to find his or her one true mate somewhere on Cybertron? Let alone the remote possibility of them possibly finding their mate within the twisted maze of streets and cities, or even if his or her mate was on that particular planet; there were many deep space explorations taking place during those vorns. Space travel was still young, but many were eager to explore and study the mysteries of the unmapped territories."
The saboteur raised his hands in surrender, unable to help a slight grin at the scientist's impassioned lecture about Cybertron's history. "All I know is that a lot of mechs and femmes thought they were just stories. No need to get yourself worked up, Percy."
"RRrrr―" Jazz raises an optic as Perceptor unleashes a low growl of frustration, the scientist gripping his audios as if in complete agony, "I just wish this would all make rational sense!"
Jazz pat the scientist's shoulder comfortingly. "Chill and relax, Percy. For all we know, by this time next week, you'll have probably forgotten all about it."
Sadly, Jazz proved to be terribly wrong.
Curled upon his berth, Perceptor tossed and turned, unable to gain any rest or comfort from recharge. Repeatedly throughout the next two weeks, as if haunting him, the strange, pulsing melody followed him no matter where he went. Even the sanctuary of his labs could not keep the voice from finding him.
He grew incredibly more jumpy, startling with every moving shadow. Barely capable of maintaining conversation or proximity with the other Autobots before fleeing to his quarters, unable to handle the flux of emotions and sensations everything the hymns and song began anew.
It does not help matters that his nervous, shattered composure has come to the medic's attention. More than once Ratchet has dragged the scientist into Medical, practically cuffing him to a berth and forcing him into stasis before Perceptor's emergency systems did it for him.
Perceptor, willing to bet credits that Ratchet was seriously considering scheduling the scientist an appointment with Smokescreen, had decided to lay low and try to endeavor through his problems…Without causing his companions further concern or worry.
It felt like his CPU was slowly corroding away and that there was nothing he could do about it.
Sighing in defeat, Perceptor rose from the berth and onto his pedes. Another nighttime cycle without recharge. Ratchet will not let him hear the end of it.
He leaves the privacy of his quarters, walking unhurriedly down the dark twists and unlit turns and hallways of the ship, only a few emergency lights guiding the way. Not worried about setting off Red Alert's security systems, the Security Director firmly secured inside his own quarters, courtesy of Inferno literally throwing the Lamborghini over his shoulder and carrying the sputtering, kicking and flailing mech to his rooms after discovering that the Director had gone without energon and recharge again. Too busy with focusing all of his attention on updating his security files and systems to notice the depletion of fuel and his shaky neural circuits.
It does not take him very long to reach the sealed entrance into the Ark. Far easier to input several sequential codes before the doors slide open. Security had certainly slackened without Red Alert hovering about.
A slight breeze stirs the dust, kicking up pebbles and small weeds as Perceptor walks carefully across the terrain, lit only by the half-full moon. He stays within sight of the Ark, walking aimlessly, like a sleepwalker awakening from an unremarkable dream.
Finding no solace or comfort standing alone in the slight chill and rustling dark, Perceptor is contemplating returning to his room and berth when he hears it.
His knees lock, jerking ramrod straight.
Clapping his hands over his audios, Perceptor grimaces. 'Not again…why do you persist in haunting me?'
This time, however, there is an invisible cord welded into his chest. Against his will, the scientist finds himself tugged in one direction, pedes moving slowly with purpose, following the weave and tremble of the song beckoning him further from home and berth.
He digs his pedes into the dirt, but to no avail. Prisoner within his own frame, he cannot help but to follow. A marionette following its master's tune and dance.
Nearly two miles pass until he stops ― suddenly allowed ― dropping into a halt. Perceptor rests his hands on his knees, regaining his composure, feeling weak once released from the control of his puppet master.
"Who are you?" He demands, whipping his head left and right. Searching for the stranger who insists in toying with him, "Show yourself! I'm tired of playing these games!"
A shadow steps out from behind an outcrop of tall boulders, stepping into the sparse moonlight.
"Y-You―" Perceptor jerks back, in surprise, then horror, taking several hasty steps backwards from the Decepticon Communications Officer.
The red visor follows his movement. Slowly, as if the air was a heavy weight encompassing the limb, a hand reaches out towards the scientist, beckoning the microscope to come closer. "Come Here, Perceptor." The mech intoned.
Once again, the invisible cord stretches taut. Perceptor gasps, pedes sliding slowly, inexorably in the mech's direction. "..no…" His limbs will not obey his command, every step drawing him closer to the Decepticon. His hands flex open and closed, hanging useless at his sides.
Pressed chassis to chassis, Perceptor trembles as the arm stretched towards him wraps smoothly around his waist, trapping him within the embrace of his enemy. Hands folded between their bodies, curled obsidian fingers trapped between sapphire and crimson, while Perceptor's face tilted up by the hand caressing the side of his face.
"What do you want from me?" He whispers, staring up at his reflection in the ruby visor.
Soundwave's facial guard snaps open, ivory lips pushing close, their breaths intermingling, drawing a shudder of surprise from the scientist and a twist of pleasure from the telepath.
The Decepticon's chassis suddenly thrums, entire frame vibrating with the low, rising hum of song. Immediately drawing for a quickened gasp of recognition from the shocked scientist, while their lips touching in a chaste caress.
"The song…" Perceptor says in awe, face twisting in unadulterated bliss as the thrumming hum seeps into his plating, Spark pulsing at the tickling, constant caress, swelling in greeting, the heat pushing against the inside of his chest plating, as if reaching forward to embrace the counterpart star of churning light resting within the Decepticon's chassis.
Soundwave reels the scientist in closer ― if it were even physically possible, with little to no space already separating their entwined forms ― Perceptor's arms slipping around the telepath's neck, arching his neck, a willing victim beneath the Decepticon's denta.
"Sing For Me." Soundwave commands, drawing forth an answering melody of shudders and startled gasp, pain and pleasure intermingled when the telepath sinks the sharp points of his denta just right.