He'd stood there for the longest time, arms wrapped around himself, wandering and waiting for the Decepticon to come back.
Eventually, Tracks realized that the sun was beginning its descent as evening approached... and no one had yet to come for him. He had been left alone, and what should have been a blessed fact was almost too hard to swallow. Was it a trick? A lie? It had to be, the slave rationalized, forcing his fingers to release himself. His optics stared down at the tunic covering his frame -so loose and overwhelming, dyed in the luxurious colours of the rich- and had to fight down the urge to rip this one off as well.
Being clothed in Soundwave's own things was worse than the collar bolted around his neck cables. This was a sort of ownership that dictated he was more than just a slave; this shouted, loud and clear, property of pleasure. Concubine. Whore. Tracks wanted to tear the tunic off, burn it and spit on the ashy remains in frantic disgust. Yet he couldn't. Not unless he wished to travel back to his quarters, practically naked, for every 'bot and beast to see. That would be an even greater humiliation to his already damaged pride.
"...foul... sick... Decepticon..." The words slipped out of the multi-coloured mech's mouth, slow and disjointed, with barely any air or power behind them. It was almost as if he could barely curse the mech that had brought him to this point, but that strange feeling couldn't entirely squash the need to make his disgust and anger vocal.
Thus, he muttered, as the Autobot left the library finally; his pedes taking him back to his room with hardly any of his awareness.
Drawing closer to his door, Tracks silenced himself; his optics narrowing suspiciously at the guard that stood outside the open doorway. He didn't say anything to the mech as he approached (he never did) and he was barely given a glance in return. Which had probably been all for the best anyhow, because Tracks could not be sure he would want anyone to see the odd expression he made upon entering his room and finding the matron of the estate herself rifling through his closet.
"Remove them all," she ordered to a fellow femme as she pulled things aside for easier access. The younger servant hurried to comply with her superior's orders, grabbing an armful of the clothes hung in the armoire and throwing them into a trunk that hadn't been in the room before. The matron herself also grabbed some of the clothes, throwing them inside, before scoping out the rest of the room; sweeping jewelry and any other trinkets into a smaller, padded box.
Tracks closed the door behind him none too gently -the only sign that he was bothered by "his" things being taken, whether he actually wanted them or not. The younger servant jumped in alarm, her flared optics staring at the slave like a flustered petrorabbit. Her gaze looked guilty as if she knew she didn't belong in here. Which she didn't of course. Turning slowly, the matron glanced momentarily at the poor femme frozen in place, before staring coolly at the Autobot.
"Lord Soundwave has ordered us to remove these things from your room," she informed him, "A new wardrobe, more suitable to your tastes, shall be brought in shortly."
The multi-coloured mech said nothing at that; shuttering his optics slowly for a klik, turning on his heel and sitting on the edge of his berth in stubborn silence. The older femme merely snorted (softly, mind you) and snapped for the other servant to get back to work. "The bedding shall also be replaced during your evening bath, seeing as Lord Soundwave has told us its too... atrocious... for your liking."
You could hear the distaste in the matron's tone but Tracks did not notice it. His thoughts were already on other things, trying to make sense of everything that had just taken place in the last several cycles. Subconsciously, he stroked at the hems of Soundwave's tunic that he still wore, staring flatly into his rapidly emptying armoire.
Solitude, a job, those gaudy clothes being taken away with the promise of proper ones to replace them...
Had the Decepticon finally spoken the truth?
Uncertainty nibbled at the back of his helm, growing stronger and stronger the longer the slave sat there, watching as the others moved about, cleaning out the room of everything that had been given to him. Slowly, an idea presented itself, and when Tracks was certain both backs had been turned, a servo slipped into the open trunk filled with clothes; dragging an article out and quickly burying it under a pillow before anyone could catch him. Perhaps Fate was watching over him after all, because this he managed to get away with no one the wiser.
That left a sour taste in his mouth, no matter how he spun it.
The mech was saved too much thought about it when the matron turned around, shooing the younger servant away and locking all of the trunks and boxes for transfer. "Guards will come in to collect these," she said pointedly to Tracks. "And another servant will be along after to present you with your new garments."
Unsurprisingly, she got no acknowledgement to this news. Rolling her optical sensors impatiently, the old femme prodded her companion out of the room, shutting the door behind her loudly as she went. Tracks waited about a klik before pulling the stolen clothe out from under the pillow, holding it out before himself as he plotted away. This, he came to a conclusion, would come in handy for his test. Getting up quickly, the slave shoved it into the now empty drawer of the vanity, just an astrosecond before three guards entered his room.
xxXxXxx
To say it had been a few bad weeks overall was putting it lightly.
Tiredly, Soundwave walked down the hall towards his room, shoulders heavy with a million problems. He knew Megatron would make a few comments the next time he reported to the Emperor; after all, he'd been quite withdrawn during court. More than he was on a regular basis. If anyone was to see that there were things on his processor, it was to be his Lord and Shockwave. Coming up to his door, the Decepticon glanced momentarily down the hall to Tracks' own room, before shaking his helm and continuing on into his own chambers.
A lamp already sat lit and waiting by his berth, bathing the room in a circle of warm light and forcing the darkness into the nooks and crannies. Though sleep called to him, the weight of the scrolls under his arm reminded Soundwave that there was work to be done. Rest would have to come later. The meeting today had brought into light that the Autobot rebels were not as weak-minded as Shockwave had presumed. Two more slave villages had been raided, Decepticons and a few misfortunate Autobot slaves killed; all others disappearing under the veil of night with their saviors.
If such unrest continued, Lord Megatron would be forced to retaliate directly.
Was now really a good time to let Tracks back out into the world on his own? The blue mech wanted to say no... but he had promised. And considering the slave's rapidly deteriorating state of processor, perhaps the best option really was to give him back his freedom despite all his misgivings at the idea. Of course, the leading factor in those feelings was his poor spark.
He really was a piteous fool, falling for a mech that he had only wished to rescue.
Shaking his helm slightly, Soundwave headed for the thin table that sat at the room's window -a temporary desk that he used for reading, when he had the free time in the past. There were even a few tomes on its top, slightly dusted, from when he had read them ages ago. Pushing the books towards the edge, the councilor laid out the newest scrolls he had received from his contacts, lighting the desk lamp for better reading. He had just sat down and prepared himself for a longer night when there was a quiet hiss behind him.
Turning around, the Decepticon was surprised to see a piece of parchment lying on the floor, a few inches away from the door. It hadn't been there before and that was enough of a curiousity to make him get up. Once he had retrieved the parchment and lifted it closer for his inspection, Soundwave realized it was a note, with a simple message written across its face.
'I wish to see you at this moment -Tracks'
Spark giving a helpless little jolt, the councilor wondered if he should take the words seriously. He had been deceived once before and the results had been less than pleasant. Soundwave realized he was standing there for at least a few kliks, for the lamp's oil had started burning down. Re-reading the note, the Decepticon decided to take this chance; figuring that if this was a set-up, at least he could spare Tracks any humiliation that some rash servants of his may have put the poor mech into this time.
Grabbing his cloak just in case, Soundwave left the room and headed down the hall towards Tracks.
The door opened easily when he knocked, which was odd in itself, but odder still it was dark within. Worried, Soundwave only leaned past the threshold a little. "Inquiry: Tracks? Is everything alright?," he called.
"Come in," came Tracks' voice. It was calm, controlled. Flat.
That was... The councilor had never heard that tone before. Curious, he took a few more steps into the darkness, looking around for the slave. He still could not see but his telepath abilities did reassure him that Tracks was indeed in the room. "Claim: you wished to see me...?" A hesitant question, he knew, but this was a situation Soundwave wasn't entirely certain how to handle.
There was a gentle thud as the door closed behind his backstruts; light flaring to life a moment after. Turning around quickly in alarm (what was going on here?) Soundwave found himself in a bigger shock. Tracks was... He was...
Soundwave hurried to avert his gaze though a part of him wished to remain looking at Tracks. Tracks' frame. Clothed only by a sheer nightgown of complementary colour. That thought quickly brought on another forced vent. Keeping his helm resolutely turned to the side, the councilor watched as light from the lamp that was in Tracks' servos danced along the adjacent wall.
"Why yes, I did want to see you," the slave answered his earlier question. The Decepticon could clearly hear the gentle hiss of the robe as Tracks walked toward him, his presence warm against the other mech's side. "I know," the Autobot continued, vocalizer tantalizingly close to the councilor's audio, "That you wanted to see me as well. Are you pleased? I picked this out just for you..."
"P-protest: That i-isn't-" Soundwave tried to speak, but he found his own vocalizer unable of emitting any sensible sound. Without looking at Tracks, he tried to make sense of what was happening, but even a brief sweep of the multi-coloured mech's revealed no answers. Swallowing slowly, the telepath held himself stiffer as Tracks stepped closer; their frames mere millimeters apart and producing heat.
"Isn't that the case?," Tracks asked. Slender fingers stroked gently across his knuckles in teasing fashion. "Why you've been so... kind... to me recently? Giving me actual tasks, replacing my clothes, offering me... freedom..."
The fingers danced ticklishly up the councilor's servo, contrasting the flat tone that quickly bled from neutral to hissing. Alarmed, Soundwave could do nothing as those same fingers snapped around his wrist as far as they were capable of doing; yanking his heavy arm up and slapping his servos on either side of Tracks' hips. This time the Decepticon did look at the other mech, visor flared as he caught the anger painting itself across the slave's face. Tracks glared up at Soundwave, forcing the other's fingers to curl tighter around his waist, but when the blue mech did not respond...
"ANSWER ME!," the Autobot screamed, suddenly shoving the councilor away. Tracks slapped servos to his chestplates in outrage, shaking the fabric of the nightgown. "All week you've played 'Saint'! Don't tell me that this isn't what you've been sucking up for, playing your last hand before you give me my freedom tomorrow evening!"
Again, the other thought ill of him...
Visor dimming sadly, Soundwave took another step away from the slave, his servos hanging loosely by his side. "Fact: Do not want this," he replied hesitantly. Tracks could blow up at him at anytime. "Truth: Am sorry for your loss and suffering you have endured. Only wish to see you happy. Tracks: means more to me than your body."
The words had left him. The same ones he had deigned would be left better unsaid and forgotten altogether. Venting tiredly (and spark-brokenly, though Soundwave was dutiful to squash that selfish bit), the councilor turned his helm away from the stunned Autobot; stepping around Tracks and leaving the room.
xxXxXxx
Sitting at a table, basking in the sunlight coming in through a nearby window, Tracks sat; cleaning rag left abandoned on the table top alongside a stack of dust-covered tomes. The multi-coloured mech did not feel the warmth of the rays on him nor was he aware that the longer he sat there, the more and more he started to blend into the library's surroundings. In all sense of the word, he was lost to this realm. At least, for this moment of time.
All of his plans... All of his thoughts...
A gentle knock rapped at the door, disturbing the stifling silence, before the door was opened and Soundwave himself stepped inside. "Greeting: Good afternoon," the councilor said softly. He got no response. Hesitantly, he paused, shutting the door behind him an astrosecond later to deter nosey listeners. "Report: Have heard you turned away breakfast. Inquiry: perhaps your appetite would appeal to some lunch?"
Again, no answer. Tracks remained seated, gazing at the wall in worrisome silence. Deliberating a moment, Soundwave walked further into the room, helm canted slightly to try and catch the other's optic. He was surprised and in all fairness worried when he saw that the slave's gaze was unfocused. He had to do something, anything, to break the Autobot from this frightening trance.
"Tracks: About last night...," the telepath began, shoulders weighted with a million of unretractable worries, "Fact: Am sorry about my indecency and the disrespect I have done upon you."
With his helm bowed slightly with contrite, the Decepticon did not see as the slave gave the smallest flinch, breaking free from his catatonic state. Turning his helm slowly, Tracks stared at the councilor, mute. After all he had done to the mech -the screaming, accusing, testing and provoking- and Soundwave had not once whipped him, humiliated him or touched him as any of the others had. The Decepticon was even daft enough to apologize for the insanity that the slave had been insistent to embark upon last night, when it was not his fault nor his idea.
What a sick, senseless, confusing...
Soundwave straightened up once he saw he had Tracks' attention; silently, grateful to know that the multi-coloured mech had not shut himself away. Reaching into his robe, the councilor withdrew a scroll, holding it towards the Autobot. "Status: Have finished the contract for your release. After lunch the metalsmith arrives to-"
"I refuse," the soft tone interrupted.
Surprised, the telepath stared at the other mech, taking a moment to absorb what had just been said. Optics locked onto his visor, Tracks repeated himself. "I refuse."
"...Problem: Am confused," Soundwave started uncertainly. "Tracks: wanted freedom... Correct?"
The Autobot barely batted an optic. "I have not done the work and I refuse to do any at all today. Therefore, I can not be compensated. Keep your contract and send the metalsmith away." Waving a servo flippantly, Tracks turned his helm away, once more staring at the wall.
The councilor though was not so ready to leave. "Protest: But..." The Autobot was adamant to ignore him and, perplexed, what choice did Soundwave have but to respect his wishes? He'd give Tracks anything, as long as it would make the slave happy. Still trying to make sense of what had just happened, Soundwave turned on his heel, heading for the door.
"Her..."
The soft spoken word made him stop just as he rested a servo on the door handle. He glanced back at Tracks, still facing the other way.
"...her name was Moonracer," the Autobot continued quietly. Wings were held stiffly, as if they were bound in place; helm turning barely an inch in the Decepticon's direction. "She..."
Soundwave made no comment on it, but he could hear the strain in Tracks' vocalizer and felt grief peek through the black clouds smothering his thoughts.
"She was my friend, my confidant and my bondmate-to-be. What sickness started, b...bandits were sure to finish. And now she is nothing."
Spark filled with Tracks' own sorrow, the councilor turned his helm away respectively to allow the slave his privacy as tears rolled down his cheekplates silently. He had always known the Autobot had suffered, but to know the full extent of what he'd lost the day he was taken into slavery... Soundwave wished with all his might that he could wrap his arms around Tracks and will all the pain away, but that would be overstepping his boundaries and he knew he would only cause more harm to the other mech than good in the end.
Servo tightening on the handle, the Decepticon looked back at the slave, visor dimmed sympathetically. "Fact: She is not nothing," he kindly said, "Status: She is loved and sourly missed. Wish: She was still here to make you happy, as you were meant to be."
Tracks did not reply, but Soundwave could feel his grief increase tenfold, and knew the doors of the slave's mind were opening as memories overtook his unyielding defenses. "Acknowledgement: Thank you for trusting me enough to share with me her memory," was all the councilor said before he left, giving Tracks the time alone that he deserved.
