In the end it all boiled down to one moment. Shockwave knew that now. It wasn't logical, but it was logical that it wasn't.
Set in his berth, the big mech lingered before shutting down for recharge as he called up the files of that faithful cycle.
Crowd's cheer was deafening, as he recalled. The slender winged frame at his side shifted ever so slightly, disturbed by the volume of this roar. Soundwave always disliked noise. Both mechs were standing just outside the arena circle, in a shadow of a balcony, housing important guests.
Gladiators weren't really allowed to come here until they were due to fight, but tonight was a free-for-all challenge night so no one really protested as their duo picked themselves the best place in shadows.
Soundwave seemed completely enthralled by the fight, while Shockwave preferred to study his partner instead. Being an arena slave technic, there weren't many tools that he was allowed to, but he used whatever he had and all the spare time he managed to steal without rising suspicion to upgrade the meager weaponry they possessed.
It was only logical to do whatever it took to raise his survival chances and pairing himself with a pointy air-born mech was his best decision so far.
They haven't lost a single fight after they had become partners, which bought them some albeit limited respect and loosened their leashes a little.
Yet it was taking its toll on his slender friend. The arena bosses raised the stakes a while back, announcing fights for spark and while he himself found it very logical to snuff someone else's spark to keep his own, Soundwave hardly had the guts to do it. Last time he had to steal the kill from under his partner's blade before anyone could notice that the violet hands were shaking with doubt and indecision, and not rage.
Shockwave's line of thought was interrupted by a small agitated chirp and the larger mech turned to watch the fight too. The latest arena acquisition, Megatron, clearly had no problem with snuffing anyone. Shockwave disliked the newb, though he had to give him credit - the guy was well-trained and fought with his entire spark. It was just a matter of seconds before his opponent would be offline for good and everyone on the arena knew it. Including the poor vic.
/I can take him on/ Soundwave transmitted.
/It will get us nothing. The stakes are low today and he is rather tough. Not logical./
/I want to/ Soundwave's transition carried over unusual persistency and something dark lying under it.
This was the moment, Shockwave new, when he had made a mistake. He believed that darkness to be bloodlust.
/If you insist/ he made sure his reluctance was backed up with a generous amount of determination.
Soundwave stepped in front of him and turned to face him. Their heads were on the same level, yet the flyer looked like a joke compared to the technic's bulky frame. A frail long-fingered hand that stopped Shockwave forward movement, however, possessed power that nearly equaled his own.
/Solo. I'm doing this solo/
The crowd cheered even louder - which, logics suggested, meant that Megatron's opponent was down, and Soundwave marched over to the place the steely gladiator stood before anyone else could volunteer to be his next match.
Shockwave remembered his vague joy from the thought that his mate finally made up his mind. When Soundwave was dedicated, there were no chances for others.
The arena was cleaned of the remnants of the last fallen, and the technic was called in to dissect the remnants and utilize whatever spare parts could be saved.
Reluctantly, he left the arena just as a siren sounded, manifesting the new fight begin. He walked back to his workshop, thinking of how his mate would relay the details of this fight in that soft humming voice of her that she saved for the rare moments when they were truly alone.
Turning yet another corner, he trailed along a route he knew too well while his processor called up images of Soundwave's ivory face, freed from her visored helmet, hovering over his, while her fingers slid aside small armor plates and covers that protected his spark and she did it so deliberately slow. And he let her remove them one by one, though he could open them himself in an instant, which would be far more logical, but would lack this wonderful tremor of anticipation...
Startled, Shockwave focused his sole optic on the remnants of a mech that were ungraciously dumped onto his dissection table. Thinking about their secret now was most illogical. His hands traced the distorted chassis, but froze over the desecrated spark chamber still leaking energon, when he suddenly realized the cause of untimely thoughts.
The underlying darkness in her transmission hadn't been bloodlust. It was lust.