A/N: Three pages of nonsense.

The more and more I write Soundwave, I keep thinking "WHY ARE YOU IN THIS BUSINESS, SIR." He is horrendously OOC from a G1 AND TFA standpoint, and I apologize, but humanizing him has screwed with him. Shockwave is already the Beautifully Apathetic One, and this lonely, beleaguered 30-year-old Beatles-lover just, like, won't BE MADE into anything evil. He's the one that SIGHS when Megatron gives extravagantly evil orders. And takes his cat's honor very seriously.

Also, Partners nod :D Teehee.

Characters: Soundwave, Ravage, SURPRISE

Pairings: kitty loooove

Notes: My take on Soundwave, as aforementioned, is really weird. Just warning you. This is more of a 'HE IS SO MISERABLE YOU WILL LOVE HIM NOW' snippet than anything.


Here Kitty Kitty


"Order: explain entry!"

The increase in decibels alone warranted the exclamation mark, even if it wasn't at all satisfying to speak at a louder level instead of yell while waving his arms. The grey cat just looked at him—down its nose, at that—and sauntered off behind the desk.

Soundwave slapped his forehead.

At first, hiding Ravage at the office seemed like a relatively stable, if risky, ploy, considering the almost certain doom awaiting his poor feline were he locked in his nephew-infested apartment all day. Mostly, the cat just curled up in his lap and slept while he attended to his duties, then waited patiently in his 'gym bag' while Soundwave ferried him out of the building, as though fully informed of the need for secrecy. The ploy became a little less stable and a little more dangerous one week when Soundwave found out two very important things.

Ravage was not a he and Ravage was in heat.

Aside from making the first-time pet-owner radically uncomfortable, it was horribly complicated trying to hide her plaintive, insistent yowls while he was on any of the various communication channels, organizing everything from meetings to drop-off points. The telecommunications officer's stowaway was nearly found out upon three separate, very stressful occasions, one of which involved Starscream sneezing upon entry to his office and shrieking that he smelled cat. Otherwise, Soundwave had pleaded "Connection: unstable. Feedback probable." so many times that the President had ordered a full-system overhaul of their telecommunications, which he only vetoed at the last moment.

Then one day, as if it wasn't complicated enough, someone answered her call.

The cat showed up on the front step of the D-con high-rise one morning, a sinewy grey thing whose eyes lit when Soundwave half-trotted past him with his gym-bag-bulging-with-shifty-hormonal-she-cat. The rogue tried to follow, certainly, but the fact he was smacked in the face by the revolving doors was not entirely Soundwave's fault when he was distracted by Ravage practically howling from inside the gym bag, which he could not explain away with a faulty connection. Gym clothes did not howl.

Once the communications officer was up top, he opened his shades to his office—and nearly stumbled back over the desk. The cat, whose 'maximum potential height' was firmly lodged at the top step of the purple building (perhaps pawing fruitlessly at the glass), was sitting outside his 47th story window, tail waving placidly, eyes locked on the gym bag. Soundwave stared, practically fizzling at the ears.

Suddenly, his view of the freak-cat was blocked by Ravage, who went up on her back legs to press her paws to the glass and mrrow appreciatively. The imposter mirrored the motion and, apoplectic, Soundwave regained motion long enough to snatch her back and close the shades, disapproving buzz of his vocalizer causing her ears to flatten to her head with a grouchy gurrrrr.

At the end of the day, the window ledge was empty and there was no cat-sized splotch of blood and fur on the ground (and believe it, Soundwave looked)—which meant, of course, that Soundwave had yet to see the last of his cat's courtier.

He came in to work the next day, almost having forgotten about the incident due to some pressing business the President had assigned him, and found the devil-cat in his office.

Soundwave tossed him out (discretely). The cat came back (with equal, nay, impossible discreteness).

Soundwave tried everything. He couldn't lock the doors to his office, but he bolted all the windows and kept an eye on security cameras, and still the cat materialized out of the shadows, against all common physics—always to stride over and make lewd overtures to his lady-cat, half the time nearly exposing her in the process. It was getting to the point where Soundwave was staring at corners and twitching and glaring around if there was a sudden noise. This was a problem.

"ORDER: EXPLAIN ENTRY!"

Currently, the devil-cat had squirmed into his office again—under the door, over the door, through the door, and what about the stairways in between?!—and beelined for Ravage's hiding place under the desk, completely ignoring his order. Soundwave tugged viciously at his hair for a moment, voice simulator spitting static, as there were no clipped, logical phrases to describe what he was experiencing at that moment. Usually, impartial computer-speak suit him perfectly--he even chose to use it as it suited the rather bland feeling of his life after he lost the ability to speak and sing—but today? Today, he didn't even particularly care that he was talking to an animal, much less ordering it to explain itself.

Today, someone was attempting to steal his cat's honor.

Soundwave rushed after him, going to his knees to drag the devil-cat out and stop him from having his way with Ravage, only to find the space under his desk completely empty. Baffled, he stared, red visor considerably askew, then heard a nasal meow from above him, which only ended in him slamming his head on the underside of his desk.

He surfaced rubbing the back of his head and fuming from the ears, then abruptly stopped plotting neuter-y vengeance when faced with the scene of the two purring cats on his desk. Black and grey, shiny and rough, they sat leaning against one another with their tails batting at the air. They looked positively smitten. The communications officer recalled enough frustration to manage a rather useless glare at the tomcat, then realized he actually had a collar and peered at the scratched-up tag.

"Designation: Bradbury?"

Bradbury looked immensely pleased with himself. Soundwave only sighed with the deepest melancholy humanly (and electronically) possible as his darling pushed underneath the rogue's chin, purring her acceptance with a passionate motor-boat noise. Now, as so often these days, Soundwave couldn't say no. It was settled. Two cats would be harder to hide than one, but he was sure he would find a way.

Kittens, however, were out of the question, which was why his next phone-call was to the vet. Revenge, it seemed, was still possible.