C.M.D: Another update! Hurray! Not much to say... sorry there's not much else to be had for this update period... but please enjoy another chapter of angst for these two and I'll see you all again next month!
Fall came quickly enough and along with it cooler breezes, thicker robes and new changes. Soundwave progressed through it as he did every stellar cycle prior; forgetting about Tracks altogether while he took stock of his estate and staff, preparing a report for the Emperor's tax collectors to view. It was only when Blitzwing commented on the councilor's release of two Autobot slaves, a couple months beforehand, that Soundwave recalled his promise to Arcee and his lack of thought towards the winged mech.
"Two Autobots? Just before the Emperor's new decree became effective? Tell me Soundwave, what reason did you release two Autobot slaves under?," the censor asked suspiciously.
The telepath frowned behind his mouthguard. "Fact: had served me nearly their whole lives. Status: were dedicated and loyal followers to the Empire. Their freedom was well-deserved," he answered.
Blitzwing only hummed and Soundwave need not glean the other's processor to know that he didn't believe him. "In either case, do remember that Lord Megatron's decree now means that Autobot slaves can not be freed," the tan mech reminded, "I'd so hate to report you to Lady Strika should you not adhere to the law."
The blue Decepticon could have pounded that sneering tone from Blitzwing's vocalizer, but that would easily be seen as treachery and Soundwave did not want to bring further attention to himself. So the telepath merely dismissed the censor's jibe and returned home, unsure how to proceed. The Emperor's new law... it was a problem. It meant that come the new stellar cycle, Soundwave could not release Tracks, without him and the Autobot both being punished. Tracks was trapped here.
And the councilor was trapped with him.
Spark heavy with all the implications and future possibilities, Soundwave returned to his office, hoping that work would ease his troubled processor.
xxXxXxx
Cycles passed before Soundwave noticed; only the rapping at his office door rousing him from his productive trance. "Order: entry.," he called, setting down his quill and parchment, turning in his seat in time to see a guard enter.
"My lord," the servant greeted, bowing. Soundwave waited for him to straighten once more. "The guards patrolling the garden noted a strange presence there. They ask to know what your command is."
The councilor was silent for a moment. An intruder on his estate was to be captured and jailed immediately; the guards knew that, so why were they asking him what to do? "Query: Why has the intruder not been cuffed yet?," he demanded, finding his patience a little less this night.
The guard hesitated at the harsh tone from the Decepticon, bowing again as he fumbled an apology. "My sincerest regrets at disturbing you, my lord, it's just that the others do not want to do something against your wishes. After all, milord has commanded that the winged Autobot be exempted normal policy."
This time, Soundwave flinched. So the intruder in the garden was actually Tracks... What was the slave doing out there? Was he attempting to escape? The telepath worried quietly, as the guard stood by, suddenly remorseful that he had neglected the slave the last couple months. He had no idea if Tracks had deteriorated back to his old self nor the state of health he was currently in. Soundwave had not bothered asking the staff to keep tabs on the Autobot and now he found himself in the dark. A tad frightened, the councilor rose to his pedes, dismissing the guard. "Status: Shall see to the Autobot myself. Order: Clear the garden in the meantime," he instructed.
The guard nodded in acknowledgement, hurrying on ahead to carry out the Decepticon's commands. Soundwave, though, continued at a much slower pace. He had honestly forgotten about Tracks. The shame burned, even hotter when the telepath realized he'd felt less burdened without the thought of the winged slave buzzing about his helm. It had been a blessed reprieve, away from the Autobot's presence, but now Soundwave was at a crossroads. Did he hold onto the anger that had possessed him the last time he met face-to-face with Tracks? Or did he try and be compassionate, offering the slave anything that he wished?
The councilor was inclined to follow the second because of his guilt, yet he bundled himself in a layer of false anger instead as he headed from the warm halls into the cool night. It was cold this evening. Soundwave paused for a moment, slowly surveying the garden as he adjusted to the nippy temperature, wishing he'd thought to bring a cloak. But it was too late now and going back would only delay the inevitable, so Soundwave pressed on.
Walking through the moonlit garden, the Decepticon half expected to be attacked by the Autobot, yet when he finally caught sight of Tracks, it was nothing like he expected. Dressed in a thin night robe, the winged mech sat unsheltered from the cold within the gazebo, tears streaming down his cheekplates as he gazed up at the silver moon. Even before he approached, Soundwave knew something was wrong. Tracks' processor was an unfathomable void and it curtained the entire area like a shroud. Suppressing a shiver, the Decepticon slowly walked closer, pausing on the gazebo steps. Though he'd been sure to keep his pedefalls heavy, no response came from the slave, and so the councilor stood there in the cold for what felt like cycles as he waited for Tracks to notice him.
Then, when Soundwave began to feel frightened, he did. Chin tipping away from the cloudless sky, Tracks looked towards his master; optics like shattered stars in the dim light as they wept in continuous silence. "...have you come to release me?," rouge-lip components parted weakly, a whispered croak escaping.
The Decepticon flinched again. Even if he promised, he could no longer free the winged mech. Doing so would mean immediate death for Tracks... but Soundwave was certain that freedom from slavery was not what the Autobot was referring to. When the silence stretched on between the two 'bots, with no answer given, Tracks drew into himself a little; staring down into his open palms, where a small prayer token sat.
"No... I didn't think anyone was listening," the slave murmured, an entire galaxy extinguished as optics shuttered tight.
Soundwave didn't know what to do. He watched, transfixed, as the Autobot curled further into himself, servos fisting the prayer token tight as their owner shook violently with tears. It was the most spark-breaking sight the councilor had ever seen, made worse by the wave of maddening sorrow that shot forth from Tracks suddenly; almost sending Soundwave to his knees with its crippling force. Tanks roiling with nausea, the Decepticon slowly knelt in place, focusing his gaze on the Autobot again when he heard the broken sobs.
"I-i... I'm sorry," the winged mech hiccupped, still nestled in his self-made shelter, "I'm, I'm sorry..."
He repeated himself a few times over, cheekplates streams for the coolant pouring thickly, as the councilor stared on in shocked horror. This was the first time Tracks had ever even apologized to him... What monster was he to deserve such words at the poor Autobot's breaking point?
"Tracks: Don't-," he started weakly. The telepath's words didn't make it far before another wave of grief threatened to bring him to tears as well.
"S-same... h-how can you b-both be so si-similar?," Tracks heaved disjointedly, once more reminding Soundwave of the femme the slave had lost before his freedom too was taken. "N-not clean... not good e-enough for a-anyone b-but she... y-you... gi-giving me s-something so p-precious...? W-why?"
Suddenly, it clicked. The Autobot's confession, the peek into his memories once more -it cleared away the confusion and left the councilor even weaker with his own dose of self-loathing. Tracks had lost his virginity long before slavery; he met someone pure and untouched, then honoured Moonracer by abandoning his own liberal past and waiting to join with her on their bonding orn. She had been sweet and loving and more than anyone could deserve as a bondmate... Then she was stolen...
And now, here the two mechs sat, Soundwave having given Tracks that same intimacy he should have had with Moonracer, but never would. The Decepticon felt disgusted with himself. He had immediately assumed that the slave was rejecting him because of his inexperience, and had grown hateful towards him for it, when Tracks' reasons had always been deeper than that. How could he forget...?
"I-i'm sorry, s-sorry...," the Autobot wept still, unaware of the telepath staring into his lap with sickening regret, "S-sorry I-i did... So-sorry I d-didn't... n-not the sa-same as th-them... w-wished you were..."
Soundwave could say nothing to that. What words were there to share that would alleviate any of this pain? He'd claimed to care but the councilor had willingly dismissed Tracks, held him to biased accusations and then proceeded to forget he existed as he suffered with silent demons. He let his own lack of confidence hurt the one he loved at the slightest sign of rejection. Meanwhile, Tracks battled once more against the sorrow of his not so-long-ago past life, reminded of his trauma and torn between what he knew and what Soundwave showed him. He could finally acknowledge that the blue mech was different among his kin... but it was no surprise, especially given their last meeting, that the slave wished his master no different than the rest.
In a small, hidden part of him, Soundwave wished it too. At least then, he would have spared them both the pain. The night was getting colder; yet Tracks hadn't retreated from his self-made fortress, and considering he was weeping still, the councilor doubted he would be anytime soon. On another orn, he may have carried the Autobot -willing or not- to his berthroom and out of the cold. Tonight, the telepath couldn't even press past the barrier of misery the winged mech exuded, nor did he have the spark to touch the slave. He'd done more than enough damage without bringing physical back into this.
Unable to voice his own guilt, Soundwave rose; leaving Tracks to weep over fresh wounds and lost love under the frigid moon's watchful gaze.
xxXxXxx
"-are you even listening? Soundwave!"
The telepath looked up from his viewpoint of the floor, finding Megatron glaring at him with impatience. A quick glance about informed Soundwave that he had the entire group's attention and their processors spoke of treachery and ill-will upon their fellow Decepticon. Realizing he had made a grave error, Soundwave bowed humbly, trying to his vocalize his regret but the Emperor brushed him off before he had a chance.
"Perhaps, if you cannot focus, my dear councilor, I should have your position revoked?," Megatron demanded testily, continuing his march down the hall. Everyone followed in stride. "Would that be more suitable to you, Soundwave, instead of wasting my time?"
"Apologies: Did not mean to be dismissive of you, my Lord. Status: was absorbing the news you had shared so graciously," the blue mech said, desperate to appease the Warlord. In truth, he had heard none of the conversation that had apparently taken place; too wrapped up in his own troubles and guilt.
Tracks once more reined in his processor, but after that cold night the garden, the telepath could not escape the consequences that his careless choices had brought about. Both his home and his thoughts remained sunken in a deep, dank void, while guilt at the fabric of the councilor's sanity. Trying to formulate some sort of solution was out of the question- Tracks had retreated from sight again and Soundwave dared not confront the Autobot a second time, believing himself unworthy of even offering comfort. Truly, things had deteriorated much farther than they had began...
Alas, those were all subsidiary and were best left forgotten at court. Soundwave could not afford a second slip-up this orn.
"Yes, I suppose it is a lot to digest," Megatron was saying, unaware of the councilor trying to refocus on the situation at hand, "But, it is progress to eradicating the rats that try to infest my Empire."
"Unfortunately, there are some that take displeasure from the changes towards Autobot slaves," Blitzwing commented with a sneer, from the right of the Emperor, "But Lady Strika is quick to make them see the error of their ways."
"Agreed," answered the robust femme, for once joining their private little circle; substitute for the presence of both Starscream and Lugnut. Out of everyone's thoughts there, hers were the most plain and quiet -a great change of pace to the telepath.
"It is a shame slavers create such a large trade: they lack any real focus or strength. Whiners the lot, stealing from the teat of the Empire," she spat disdainfully. "Easily swayed by credit, but for those that aren't, I am happy to flog myself."
"Yes," Megatron rumbled with mirth, "You do well by my name, Lady Strika. Lugnut it a very lucky mech."
Strika, not one to shyness, blushed with modesty at the Warlord's praise, even as her chestplates puffed out with pride. "In time, all the discontented will find their place in my new Empire," the silver mech continued, "And even as we speak, the Autobots' pitiful liberation of their kin is-"
The entire party looked to Megatron as he trailed off, following the Warlord's sour gaze to the messenger quickly approaching them. Recognizing it as one of his own servants, Soundwave stepped forward to meet the mech; the poor 'bot skidding to a halt and wheezing as he tried to deliver his words. "M-milord," he gasped, "A-apologies, b-but the Autobot Tr-tracks -he h-has fallen severely i-ill!"
The words were barely shared before Soundwave felt his spark seize.
"Autobot Tracks..," Megatron began, drawing the frazzled councilor's attention. The silver Decepticon's face was void of any expression, placing a touch of fear into the telepath's erratic, pulsating orb. He hoped that this latest interruption would not end unwell... "Ah, yes," Emperor went on, tone lighter than it was an astrosecond ago. "Your concubine. Go, Soundwave. I have no more need of you this orn and I doubt you wish to lose such a valuable possession."
Stunned for a moment by his good fortunate, the blue mech quickly nodded and hurried after the messenger, back through the main court and to his carriage out front. "Order: Tell me how this happened," he commanded of the poor servant, as they clambered into the cab together.
xxXxXxx
He was such a fool...
The thought made itself known as Soundwave treaded carefully through the dark room; lighting a lantern on the vanity and checking the water of the nearby basin. The liquid within had cooled considerably, but it was still very hot to the touch. A perfect temperature. In silence, the councilor added into the water a satchel of dried herbs and roots, swirling the odd-looking concoction with the accompanying cotton clothe.
Once he was sure everything had its chance to absorb and settle, Soundwave grabbed the basin and returned to his previous post: Tracks' berthside. The Autobot did not notice the blue mech's presence, nor had he once prior during the several cycles Soundwave had fretted silently by his side. And not surprisingly, either. The councilor had already heard the healer's assessments, just as he had heard the testimony of several of his staff. Tracks had been found collapsed in the gazebo... The servants noted that he'd been seen in the gardens all orn for the last few orns; the guards echoed the same statement during their nightly rounds. Not a single 'bot had noticed that the winged mech wasn't merely popping by every once in a while, in actuality, never once having moved from his spot since Soundwave had left him in the gazebo one night earlier in the week.
The healer confirmed that a series of unprotected exposure to the cold and lack of proper nutrition had caused the Autobot to collapse into a dreadful fever. If not for the councilor's good will and stature, Tracks may have very well died in a couple orns' time with his condition as bad as it was. It was that, on top of everything else, that caused the Decepticon to grieve in silent despair. How could he be so negligent a second time?
He'd already forgotten about the slave for almost a few months, and it had caused Tracks to fall apart, yet after witnessing the poor mech in such a state the only thing Soundwave had done was abandon him once more. What kind of monster was he?! No one in the compound cared for the Autobot -if not ordered, they would not trouble themselves with Tracks' well-being, and they had demonstrated that fact by leaving the mech in the gazebo for so long. Only Soundwave, who was master over Tracks, and Arcee, who had kindly befriended the winged Autobot, had ever cared about the slave. And with the absence of the femme, the councilor had not been doing his part...
It was him who had brought the other mech to this condition and it was time he stopped wallowing with guilt and take responsibility. It was that reasoning alone that Soundwave dismissed all others, assigning himself to oversee Tracks' recovery, despite how much he wished to run away from his feelings and the heavy weight of consequence. For now, the telepath soothed himself with the knowledge that he would not have to face the slave until he awoke from his fever... but when he did, the Decepticon knew he would have to atone for his actions. It was inescapable.
Miserable once more, Soundwave reached for the clothe in the basin; wringing it out until it was only somewhat damp and gently lying it across Tracks' burning forehelm. A small groan escaped the Autobot at the cool touch, his pained expression easing slightly in recharge. The telepath watched, hypnotized. Sick as he was, Soundwave could glean nothing from Tracks' addled processor, and it might have bothered him more if the slave's intakes didn't also settle from a horrible rattle to a slow, even cycle. It was an improvement.
Smiling unknowingly, Soundwave leaned in to collect the clothe as it began to warm; finding, to his spark's distress, blue optics gazing up at him blearily as he pulled away. "Y-you...?," Tracks croaked, unaware of the flinch the Decepticon gave.
The councilor hurried to wring the clothe out in the basin again, almost fumbling it as he brought it back to the Autobot's helm. "Fact: Is me," he replied softly, "Status: Are sick with severe fever. Tracks: must rest and recover."
The Autobot shuttered his optics slowly, still dazed, before he wheezed out, "Then w-why are you he-here?"
Soundwave felt a pang of guilt as he pressed the cold clothe to Tracks' helm. "...Tracks' state: My fault. Taking responsibility and helping you recover is only right," the blue mech answered, almost whispering. It was not a confession he had hoped to make just yet but it was one the slave deserved. He only hoped that Tracks forgave him...
Soundwave startled out of his reverie when he felt warm fingers touch gently against his wrist, glancing down once more to discover Tracks staring up at him, but this time with sad optics. "I...," the Autobot started, coolant clouding his vision, "I'm sorry."
"A-apologies: not needed-," Soundwave tried to interrupt, but Tracks only shook his helm violently; his grip tightening around the Decepticon's wrist.
"N-no," the winged mech choked, intakes rattling, "P-please... I-i... I was wrong about you... I'm s-sorry..."
Astonishment did not even begin to cover what the telepath felt. He searched, and fearfully probed, but all he knew was that Tracks was sincere in his apology... Grieving, but honest... There was nothing for it. Soundwave vented quietly, resting his captured servo on the slave's helm again, watching as the other mech shuttered his optics for a moment in exhaustion. "Tracks: Must rest now," was all the councilor said. "Status: food ready whenever you can eat."
Tracks barely had a chance to nod in response before he succumbed to a fever-ridden recharge a second time. Soundwave remained as he was for several, long kliks, before he was able to release himself from the Autobot's grip and return to his diligent waiting.
C.M.D: Be kind; give me your mind~ REVIEW, please?
