He came the next orn and the orn after that, but each time was the same. Tracks refused his contract of release, stating that he had not done his part for the exchange and thus did not deserve it. Soundwave tried numerous times to get Tracks to accept but the Autobot kept refusing, pointing at the layer of dust that had quickly began to grow once more on the library shelves.
"See? Dust. If there is no dust, then the work has been done and I may go," the slave explained. "But, as there is dust, clearly I have not completed my duties and henceforth should receive no reward."
This utterly baffled the councilor. Where before Tracks had been fighting so hard for his freedom, on the brink of a complete breakdown, he had just upped and changed his tune. Now he was being deliberately lazy to stay a slave. Soundwave attempted to prod the other's processor for clues (against his morals, of course) and yet could still glean no answers. There was a deep-seated calmness to Tracks, a vague hint of curiosity to the mortar of his mental blocks yet what was curiouser still was how Soundwave would handle the situation now.
He attempted to change the terms of their agreement so as to push the Autobot's freedom onto him.
"Am I so unsatisfactory?" Tracks glared. "So, what? You want to get rid of me that much?"
Needless to say, a change of tactics had certainly not gone over well with the multi-coloured mech. Having tried almost everything short of merely chopping the slave collar off of Tracks' throat and tossing him out on the street, the Decepticon finally relented to the fact that, strangely, the winged mech did not wish to leave any more. At least, not at this point. And though he would never mention it to anyone, even himself, Soundwave was relieved Tracks would be remaining under his roof. It was one less worry on his shoulders.
xxXxXxx
The orns were boring and in this humid heat, trifling. Staring out the one window looking beyond the borders of the compound, Tracks pondered like he always did, while trying to make sense of even his own resistance to being set free. He'd wanted to run away the moment he had been forced into slavery, and despite Soundwave being the polar opposite of what the Autobot knew of slave masters, this palace had felt like a fanciful prison. Now though it didn't strike the mech nearly as stifling or even horrific. It simply was an estate, with beautiful gardens cared by loving gardeners and run by a staff that seemed to admire the Decepticon that employed or owned them all. It hardly seemed right to call it the Pit when there was so much evidence countering that statement.
Shuttering his optics slowly, the Autobot watched as a carriage drove down one of the windy roads just on the edge of his sight, leaning against the sill lazily. A cool breeze whispered past, rustling the short sleeves of Tracks' tunic. His gaze diverted momentarily to stare at the bland fabric, for once actually hating the colour. A servant's colours were few in selection; usually reflecting either the Master's tastes or ranking. They were meant to be indistinct colours so as to strip the servants' of any identity and make it easier for them to do their business in the background.
The winged mech felt as if he was wearing mud of an uncertain hue and was beginning to find the poor choice of colour palette appalling.
Perhaps, maybe...?
Tracks squashed the thought before it could fully form. Though Soundwave so far had shown he was not a total monster like some of his Decepticon kin, the fact remained that the Autobot did not know the councilor very well and it would be wiser if he strayed on the side of caution. After all, good deeds didn't always equate to a good person.
Yet... Soundwave hadn't touched him, even after everything...
The slave vented hot air, feeling his frame mould further against the curve of the sill. His "Master" was indeed a curious one and had warranted Tracks' sudden dismissal of freedom. Out of all the 'bots he had met since his capture, Soundwave did not fit. He showed respect where it should not have been given, and kindness where pain was expected. How he knew about Moonracer, well, Tracks chalked it up to those chattery rapists that sold him into slavery, but the councilor's words...
They stuck still.
For Moonracer's sake, Tracks would stay. He would stay and find out who this mech was that could give her memory so much honour when he didn't even know her or needed to pretend to care.
xxXxXxx
Soundwave paced the halls of his estate slowly, worrying. Reports had come in, stating that the Autobot uprising had attacked another slave village successfully. That was the third one so far this week; not to mention, they'd even attacked one of the Empire's smaller towns prided for clothe trade. That was outside of the rebels norm and only proved that they were advancing in their mission. How much farther this would go, the councilor could not be sure, but Lord Megatron had certainly been irate at this latest turn of events.
"They dare attack one of our trade outlets?," he had seethed in court. Shockwave glanced coolly at the Warlord at the use of such tone, before looking forward once more. "The audacity- those pathetic Autobots are beginning to test my patience."
Soundwave had tried to speak in return. "Suggestion: Perhaps Lord Megatron would like to send out scouts? Mission: locate Autobot rebel camps, take note, and prepare for possible infiltration?"
But of course, the Emperor did not care for such subtlety. He'd brushed the blue mech off, glaring at Shockwave. "No. I don't have the 'bots skilled enough nor available to take on such a pointless task. Shockwave and I will discuss a course of action instead. Go, Soundwave; you are relieved for the day." Megatron had rose from his chair then and retreated into his private areas with his assassin, leaving Soundwave to return home with an aching processor and a sour sensation in his fuel tanks.
The Warlord had been really upset. His growing rage at this stab to his pride had sent his thoughts careening and shouting across the entire audience room. Though Soundwave had not paid them direct attention, he could still not completely shake the plots of trickery, imprisonment and genocide from his own helm. He would never contest Megatron on his choices but still the smaller Decepticon felt uneasy. The Autobot rebels had already proven they were more formidable than they had first anticipated... If tested too hard, would they crack and submit, or overcome the ones they viewed as their oppressors?
Soundwave paused in his pacing, venting heavily. To think on this matter was pointless as it was treasonous. If anything, he should be thinking of ways to help combat any more infraction into the Emperor's territory by the rebels and possible re-assimilation of the freed slaves back into their society.
The thought of slaves reminded the councilor of one very special one in particular and he turned on the spot, heading slowly down to the library. It had been a whole month since he'd tried to give Tracks his freedom, but to this orn, the Autobot remained his slave; though there had been a definite improvement. Tracks, for one, seemed to be becoming more mentally sound and he had not had any more violent outbursts towards others or himself. Soundwave did not want to feel happy, for it was not his place, but he couldn't help that little flicker of hope that burned in the depths of his spark. Coming to a pause at the library, the Decepticon knocked gently on the door before stepping inside.
Tracks was staring into the pages of a book, nestled comfortably into one of the plush library chairs; wings facing out over one seat arm, legs draped casually over the other. It took him a moment to turn away from what he was reading, calm, blue optics looking the councilor over.
"Yes?"
Soundwave did not speak for an astrosecond. Truthfully, he didn't have any reason for coming to see the Autobot, other than to check up on his status. But to say that would seem a little callous, as if he did not trust Tracks, and the blue mech really didn't want to upset this pleasant change with anything dumb that he might have to say. Realizing that he was taking too long to say something now, the councilor asked the first thing that popped in his helm: "Inquiry: If you are not busy at the moment, would you like to take lunch with me out in the garden?"
The Decepticon tried not to look as surprised as the slave was; it was harder though when Tracks actually replied.
"...Okay." Tracks tipped his helm to the side slightly as he answered, lip components pursed a little in thoughtfulness. "It is late though. Shouldn't you have eaten lunch a couple cycles ago?"
Casual conversation. This really was a strange and wonderfully new experience. Soundwave felt his circuits hum eagerly, even as he fought to keep his frame as rigid as it had been prior. "Analysis: correct," he said. "Business: extended later than expected. Shall eat now. Fact: Is lovely out. Thought you and I might enjoy an afternoon snack together."
The Autobot turned his attention back to the book and Soundwave felt his confidence falter. Perhaps he had been too brash in asking Tracks to spend time with him. After all- "Yes, it is nice." The soft words interrupted the councilor's train of thought. Looking up, the blue mech was shocked to see Tracks rising to his pedes; arms raised up over his helm as he stretched, giving his wings a little shake as well.
"It's been a while since I've been out in the garden," the slave added, glancing at the Decepticon. "I think I might like to have a little bite out among the flowers."
It felt like the councilor was responding two steps behind. With a belated jolt, he moved to open the door, holding it open for Tracks as he walked past, before hurrying on the other's heels. Soundwave paused only for a moment to tell a passing servant that he was ready to take his lunch now and that Tracks would be joining him, so everything had to be set up in the gazebo. After the servant had hurried off to relay the message to the cooks, the Decepticon pulled up ahead, walking side by side with the Autobots.
Tracks glanced at him with the action, but said nothing. And though it was silent their entire trip to the gardens, it was a pleasant silence that Soundwave found himself enjoying immensely.
xxXxXxx
"You've done a lot to this place in the last couple months."
Soundwave looked up from pouring tea into his cup, his optics resting on the winged mech silently staring out over the garden. The heat was moderate this orn, stirring up the pollen but not warping the perfume into a toxic, heady blend; rousing the insects who buzzed actively as a muffled backdrop around them. Setting the teapot back on the tray, the councilor leaned back into his chair, turning his helm so as to appear to be surveying their surroundings but in fact keeping his gaze on the slave.
"Correction: The gardeners have," Soundwave said, servos folded calmly in his lap. "Fact: Very diligent in their work. They take pride in tending to the plants and I am proud of their accomplishments."
"Well, I mean, I know that they are responsible for that," Tracks replied, giving the Decepticon a slightly exasperated look. He turned back to the garden. "But it is your overall decision as to what comes and goes in the garden, is it not? In that way, you too are responsible for the wealthy growth you have here."
That was true, in some aspects, so Soundwave merely nodded and did not press the point that he had not turned one servoful of soil in the seeding of the plants. "Look," the Autobot continued, casually raising a finger and pointing to a cluster of bright flowers thriving within a bush. "Here you have roses." He pointed next to the batch of tall flowers blooming from the bases of the garden's few trees in massive clusters. "And here you have tulips; there is even Jade vine growing up those trunks. You have so many specimens here, most are not even indigenous to this area. How did you ever manage to plant them, let alone make them sprout and thrive?"
The councilor looked over the garden as Tracks spoke, taking note of the species the slave was cataloguing. Roses, Tulips, Jasmine, Hibiscus, Orchids, Gladioli, Laelia, Flame of the Forest, Calatheas... The list went on, and true to what the Autobot said, most were indeed not indigenous to the Empire and thus were a wonder to behold in this garden.
"How did you do it?," Tracks repeated, looking back at Soundwave this time.
The Decepticon smiled beneath the battle mask, inclining his helm toward the plants. "Fact: Have been many places in the name of the Emperor; have seen many gorgeous foliage in my travels. Studied: various species and their habits, before hand-picking two of each for transfer. Potted them and brought them here, myself, before giving my notes to the gardeners and firm instruction on their care," Soundwave answered, a touch of pride filling his tone. "Status: the flowers have flourished beyond expectations."
The slave could hear the pride in the councilor's words and his stare was a silent one as he gazed at the blue mech for a long moment. Soundwave turned his helm a fraction of an inch to Tracks, wondering what he was thinking, while losing himself to how beautiful his optics were and how glorious he looked leaning casually against the gazebo's seating rail. Eventually, the Autobot did avert his optics, returning to his sight-seeing of the garden. "You speak as if this garden were your only treasure," he said softly.
"...Fact: It is," Soundwave replied. "Status: Do not take pleasure out of the slave markets or how they are orchestrated and maintained. Fact: Are a choice of the people and the Empire. Workers: are best when choosing the work themselves, but slaves do exist, thus, will take those into my care when I know I can offer them better than what they are living then and there. Truth: can always buy their freedom back when they wish to here."
Tracks said nothing in response, but the councilor could sense a slight change to the mech. Good or bad, he was not entirely certain.
Standing to his pedes slowly, the Decepticon reached out a servo, politely inviting the other mech to join him. "Inquiry: Would like to show you something. Will you be so kind as to accompany me for a moment?"
The winged slave looked apprehensive at the request, understandably Soundwave felt, but he rose to his pedes after a moment also, to the telepath's great delight. "What are we looking at?," Tracks asked, refusing the offered arm and marching down the gazebo steps.
Soundwave quickly took the lead, keeping the pace short and glancing back frequently to make sure that the thinner mech was following. Tracks, of course, was and the Decepticon made note of how defensive he seemed at constantly being monitored for his obedience. Drawing back the number of times he checked for the other's presence, the councilor quickened his pace, hurrying around the section of brightly coloured Birds of Paradise with the slave a few steps behind.
Turning into the hidden alcove, Tracks was surprised to find the large pathway of limestone broke away to a smaller, tighter path of cobbled fiery-red and black stones. They meandered through the dirt in what seemed a chaotic pattern, partially under brush and grass. It appeared greatly unpleasant -that was until one looked up to where the stone path faded off to nothing but a few stones; marking their end at the front of a white marble bench, set before a gorgeous little pond. Soundwave took that moment to glance back at the Autobot again and felt his spark swell with pride at the glimmer of awe and admiration in the other mech's optics.
The winged slave allowed his gaze to follow slowly across the pond, huddled between large, blossoming trees and bordered by a myriad of colourful flora around the lip and just behind a small mound, erected to make way for a tiny waterfall. In the water itself were a few select species of fish, with glittering scales of orange, red, white and even gold; diving in an out the watery roots of lotus and water lilies that speckled the pond's surface. Tied in with a spattering of sunshine peeking through the curtain of leaves, the entire sight almost magical to behold.
Gaping, Tracks turned his helm slowly toward the councilor, unable to tear his gaze away from the beautiful scenery. "I-is that... Oriental lilies? Mimosa Pudica?! That's -how did you even find Middlemist Reds? Those are so extremely rare!"
Soundwave beamed behind his battle mask. "Inquiry: do you like? Fact: Was-" He never got to finish his sentence though, before the Autobot went rigid; optics narrowing suspiciously.
"Wait a minute...," he muttered angrily. "That's... That's my bedroom window!" His long finger pointed to the frame of a windowsill almost invisible behind the sweeping branches of one of the trees, but it was indeed the window directly to Tracks' selected room. Accusingly, he spun towards the blue mech, all previous contentment and wonder gone, to be replaced with rage. "What's the meaning of this?," he demanded. "You've had people peeping outside my window all this time?!"
"A-assumption: incorrect!," the councilor was quick to say. He held his hands out in front of himself placatingly, keeping his helm tipped downwards an inch. "Status: Knew you liked reading a-and thought... thought, y-you might like your own quiet space, a-away from the sun and prying c-curiosities of t-the other workers."
It was a gift, the slave realized, and his frame softened a tad awkwardly. Glancing around uncertainly as he struggled to find something to say, Tracks saw that the little pond area was secluded, and if he had not noticed this place being built from his room, then surely no one could see through his window either without getting closer. Blue, dimmed optics turned back to Soundwave after a long moment, before he finally vented, arms hugging himself loosely.
"...u-um... Thank you...," he mumbled softly.
The Decepticon shuttered his optics in surprise. He had been certain that their civilized meeting had reached its end with a simple misunderstanding, but just as quickly it had turned itself back around; sure, it was a little awkward now, yet Tracks was not yelling and screaming and turning into a foaming, destructive force before storming off. That was good in itself but Soundwave had never expected a thanks in return, no matter what form. It left him without a doubt stunned... and made a little part inside of himself buzz joyfully.
Pondering for a klik on how to proceed, the blue mech eventually turned slightly back the way they had come, a servo held forward lowly. "Proposition: Have some boltberry tarts and an exotic tea-blend from Vos back at the gazebo. Would you care to sample them with me?"
Tracks looked up at him again, and shrugged, casually, as if nothing almost explosive had just passed between them. "I might as well, seeing as how I'm already here," he replied, taking the lead back to their previous spot.
Soundwave followed quickly.
xxXxXxx
Reports were hard to work on after such a orn as his. First, there'd been the stress of the morning that normally would have weighed heavily over Soundwave's helm, but it was a cloud that he could have pushed through all the same. The events that had followed after -the surprising invite and acceptance to tea, accompanied by unexpected and even more pleasurable conversation, and a serene afternoon in the gazebo, drinking tea and eating foreign snacks, before it all had come to an end and they had parted ways; Tracks, to his room for the night, Soundwave to his office- made it impossible to work. Processor buzzing still over little, but well noticed facts of the slave's prior life (like where he went to school, how he knew so much about flora and his favourite authors) was it any shock than that the councilor could not focus on anything else?
Leaning back easily in his chair, the Decepticon vented merrily, completely forgetting about the work he had come to do in the first place. Was it wrong to admit, just to himself at least, that he had enjoyed this afternoon so much? That for once, it felt wonderful to bask in the Autobot's company, admire his beauty, and not be chewed out for it? Quietly, Soundwave wondered to himself if he'd ever have a chance like this again. It was too good to hope for but what if he could just show Tracks that he was different than the others he had come across thus far, maybe they could...?
Across the compound, staring at the ceiling above his berth, the winged slave lay silently. His tunic billowed over the sheets, and absent-mindedly, he was aware that the bottom hemming was lifted too far up his thigh to be considered comfortable given his status. Yet there were bigger things on his processor, filling his thoughts and leaving him mute as he pondered and pondered and pondered. Nothing though could offer him any real answers; not the shadows on the walls, the hollow wardrobe, the whispering garden or the stars that glimmered brightly in the darkening sky above.
While one reminisced and foolishly dreamed, the other pondered and pondered, until the sky lit with fire, announcing the break of dawn.
A night of memories, half-wishes, uncertainties and ever-looping thought processes would decide where their lives would take them as the week wore on.
