Chapter 13

An Adjustment of Plans

Author's Notes:

Cliffjumper is Transformers' Kenny, I think.

It was quite late, more than seventy-two hours after the battle, when Ratchet finished the last repair, left First Aid cleaning up, and shepherded Soundwave back towards his quarters. All that was left was cosmetic body work. That could wait until he'd had some decent recharge, no matter how much of a crisis Tracks thought the deep dents on his door panels were.

Frenzy hurried along beside them, jogging to keep up with their longer strides but not showing any other signs of high energy. The kid actually seemed to be in one of his quiet moods, and Ratchet said, "Thank you for your help, today, kiddo. You're doing good."

"Thanks." Frenzy's response was very quiet.

"Something happen?" Ratchet absently reached a hand out to steady Soundwave as they turned a corner. Soundwave probably didn't need the help - he was getting around quite well with his cane - but he didn't want to fix any more dents than he had to. He told Frenzy, "Not everyone's happy about you being here, but they best be civil. You let me know if anyone's harassing you."

"No problems." Frenzy shook his head, then smirked, "None that I'd tattle on, anyway."

"Frenzy …" He was worried by that. Frenzy, tough little bugger that he was, wouldn't want to admit to weakness. Brief concern for the kid roused him out of his foul mood.

"I'm fine."

"You're not, but I don't think anyone is, today." He tried not to remember the flash of light as a spark in a shattered chamber had extinguished, or the smell of ozone and hot metal. Rationally, he knew it wasn't Frenzy's fault. It was still very hard not to be resentful of both Decepticons - former Decepticons - and his failure today.

Frenzy was alive. Cliffjumper wasn't. Frenzy was alive because he'd used his last extra-small power plant to save Frenzy. Cliffjumper had died because he lacked one in a size he could make work. You could temporarily fit a too-small power plant into a mech's chassis a lot easier than an overly large one. He would never tell the kid that, nor point it out to anyone else, but he was pretty sure that Wheeljack knew. 'Jack had given him a long, long, look when he'd said they didn't have a slagging power plant in anything close to a size that would work, and they'd need to try to fix Cliffjumper's rather than replace it …

Probably would have kacked it anyway … he thought, trying to convince himself of that fact. 'Jumper'd been hit bad, worse even than Soundwave. But, Ratchet thought, he might have had a chance. Maybe. He'd had none without that power plant. Life support only went so far to maintain spark stability.

Frenzy's smile slipped from his face, in reaction to Ratchet's words, and, probably, his mood.. "Yeah."

"Your master's doing very well." Ratchet forced himself to sound normal, even though he really just wanted to get very drunk. Alone, preferably, but he was stuck with Soundwave. At least Soundwave was quiet company. To Frenzy, he said with forced good cheer, "He's doing far better than I'd hoped, really. We're all going to need to work with him to teach him more written English words. Abstract concepts will probably be harder than concrete ideas to convey, but I think he'll do quite well."

"He's confused a lot," Frenzy said. "Sometimes he gets mad, or worried, and I don't even know why."

"I'm not surprised." Ratchet ran a hand over his face. "That will improve with time too, as we help him learn to communicate again. - What's important, though, his code is totally stable, and I can already tell he's going to learn to compensate well."

Soundwave had been calmly helpful, and his eons of engineering experience had been obvious. He'd known what tools Ratchet would need, sometimes before Ratchet did. Once he mastered the written English language, communication with him would be much easier. Any lingering concerns Ratchet had about Soundwave's cognitive abilities were rapidly being dispelled by his behavior. He also suspected, given Prowl's report on Soundwave's confrontation with Hot Rod, that they were unlikely to have many behavioral issues from Soundwave.

Frenzy, on the other hand, was probably going to be trouble. He still wasn't thrilled about the whole mess with Steeljaw, and he was well aware of Frenzy's temper. There would be issues there. He also liked the kid. They'd deal with problems when they arose, and he'd probably have a good laugh about them later, with Jazz and Prime.

Pit. He resolved not to think about Frenzy's power plant. And the lack of one for Cliffjumper. He was going to very thoroughly not think about it tonight.

Frenzy smiled, faintly. "So I made the right choice, I guess?"

"I'd say so." Ratchet had felt guilty, putting that much pressure on Frenzy to decide Soundwave's fate, but it had not been his decision to make. Soundwave's case could have gone so badly, too - he'd strongly suspected that Soundwave's level of damage was right at that threshold where personality and natural resourcefulness and determination would affect the outcome more than anything else. He had not known Soundwave well enough to guess how Soundwave would react to his impairments.

Looking at Soundwave now, it was hard to believe he'd wondered if the mech would be able to function at all. Many mechs with the same level of damage as Soundwave would not be compensating nearly as well, even after lengthy therapy. He had been concerned, too, that Soundwave's damage was worse than it had turned out.

Frenzy hunched his shoulders a bit. "I'm worried. About our future, now. Never had to think about things like that …" his voice trailed off, and he looked up at Ratchet expectantly. "Soundwave always worried about our future. Not me'n my sibs. It wasn't our role. We're not supposed to need to worry about anything. That's the master's role."

Sometimes, Frenzy seemed like just another mech. Then he would say something that reminded Ratchet that he was programmed different, and came from a different culture. Even though Blaster's lot had often assured him that they were happy in their roles, and that genuinely seemed to be true, he still didn't exactly approve of the whole concept of symbionts and carriers. It just felt wrong to him. Freedom, as Prime often said, was the right of all sentient beings.

Well, Frenzy was probably going to have more responsibilities than he was used to, but Ratchet suspected the little mech would do just fine. He said, reassuringly, "I can certainly use the help in the med bay, Frenzy. Both of you are pretty useful, and it's good for Soundwave to have mentally stimulating work. I'm going to put both of you to work on cosmetic repairs tomorrow."

Frenzy switched to an encrypted comm channel to say, ::Thanks … Steelie wanted me to help with his visor modifications, too … I really do like Steeljaw, boss.: Frenzy trailed off for a second. Clearly, it was a request to be allowed to work with Steeljaw, without Frenzy actually saying it.

:It is good to hear you like him, considering you're swapping nanytes with him.:

He really needed to remember that Frenzy wasn't shy. Any other mech with as little experience as the kid had would have been embarrassed. Heck, he knew a few 'well seasoned' mechs he could have made to squirm with a comment like that. Frenzy just flashed him a smirk of appreciation, which slipped off his face after a moment. In a softer tone than he would have expected, Frenzy said, :It was hard, today. I saw … I saw how the other couples were acting. I guess he's got his brothers, but I wanted to be with him too. And then Optimus said it was okay, an' it really was, for me to sit with him for a bit. Nobody said anything. They let me sit there.:

To be fair, Ratchet suspected that most of the Autobots didn't think it precisely unusual for one symbiont to hang out with another. There had been a few comments out of Frenzy's range of hearing, mostly questioning what Steeljaw was thinking socializing with Frenzy. Ratchet had shut them up as necessary. Most of the mechs seemed to take it in stride, though. It helped that Frenzy had busted his aft all morning, and then gone on to be a hero in the afternoon!

:Kiddo, you're not going to have an easy road ahead of you, but it's not going to be impossible, either. A lot of it's up to you. Now - why don't you run on over to Blaster's quarters and check in on that lover of yours?:

:I figured he'd be asleep. He was doped pretty good.:

:You can still ask Blaster if there's anything you can do for them. It'd be polite. Polite is good.:

:Oh.: Frenzy hesitated for a second, then nodded. "Thank you, sir."

"Thank me by busting your aft again tomorrow." But he said this with less than his usual snark.

"Yes sir!" And Frenzy was gone, scampering off in the direction of Blaster's quarters.

Soundwave followed Ratchet into his quarters, well aware of the difference a few days had made in his condition. He was definitely more stable on his feet, to the point where the cane he'd fashioned was only necessary when he hurried. However, after a full day's work he was tired through to the core of his struts, in ways he couldn't ever remember being. It seemed to take ten times as much energy to do anything, and he suspected he badly needed a defrag - though he couldn't check his reports to be sure.

A few days ago, he had been terrified to walk through this door with Ratchet. He had been certain he would be violated, shamed, and used. He now knew that Ratchet was a better mech than almost anyone he'd ever known. He realized, with a bit of startled shock, that he was relieved to be 'home' to Ratchet's quarters. He would be able to rest, and he had no fear of the sturdy medic who walked in behind him.

Ratchet's hand on his elbow still made him jump, however. Ratchet guided him gently in the direction of the private wash rack at the back of his quarters. His least favorite time of the day, he'd rapidly learned, was the maintenance he couldn't perform for himself. At least it was Ratchet, whose hands were cool and clinical and practiced, as he checked fluid levels, topped off oil, and changed a few filters that no longer auto-cleaned themselves. Ratchet had been teaching Frenzy to do this, and that was humiliating for him and embarrassing for the kid. He preferred Ratchet.

After Ratchet finished the night's maintenance, he helped Soundwave shower off. Soundwave endured this with gritted dental plates. He could have showered himself, but Ratchet seemed concerned he'd slip on the slick floor, and was no-nonsense about the whole thing. Given the amount of grease and spilled energon that had gotten under his plating, he did need a good cleaning.

When the whole ordeal was over, Ratchet guided him out to the couch, then returned to his wash rack. Soundwave shuttered his optics and just sat, enjoying the moment of peace. He could feel Frenzy, across a partially muted bond, and Frenzy seemed, if not happy, at least not horribly miserable. His symbiont's emotions, at the moment, were cycling through pangs of grief and flickers of amusement, with the occasional spike of anxiety or annoyance. Over all of that was a pleasant glow of affection, however.

And then he caught a real spike of mischief, the first he'd felt from Frenzy since that horrible day. Frenzy was enjoying himself somewhere.

But the mischief turned again to sadness, and loss. Something had reminded Frenzy of his missing siblings. He wished he could help as he felt Frenzy's sorrow spike higher and higher, in a crescendo of sudden grief. And then, he detected a note of comfort in Frenzy's feelings. He caught flashes of sensation, as another mech wrapped Frenzy up in his arms and held him close. Frenzy responded with gratitude, and trust, and a marked lessening of anxiety. Not a lessening of grief, but acceptance, perhaps, and calm.

Life would go on for him, Soundwave realized. The worst was past. He assumed that the mech holding Frenzy was probably Steeljaw, and by the notes of desire that were creeping into Frenzy's feelings, he was finding another kind of comfort now. He blocked the bond on his end, granting Frenzy a little privacy, and then sat alone on the couch for several minutes before Ratchet emerged.

The medic, still damp from his shower, padded over to his cabinet of supplies and pulled out a bottle of high grade. He held the bottle up, questioningly, in Soundwave's direction. Soundwave didn't normally indulge, but it seemed polite to accept.

Ratchet poured them both generous helpings of high grade, then settled down onto the couch next to him. The sturdy piece of furniture creaked under Ratchet's weight almost as much as Soundwave's, reminder of Ratchet's sheer mass. The medic leaned back, shuttered his optics, spread his legs out in front of himself, and stared moodily into his cube for a moment without sampling it. He swirled the container in his fingers, and said nothing - not that there was anything to say! Soundwave couldn't carry on a conversation if he wanted to.

It was funny. He'd never been good at small talk. He'd never wanted to engage in small talk. Now, he would have given part of his spark to be able to sit back and casually talk to Ratchet. They'd worked side by side as a rather good team for a couple of days. He felt a weird sense of camaraderie that he'd never experienced with other 'cons. And yet he couldn't so much as thank Ratchet for the high grade.

Soundwave clicked back his mask, causing Ratchet to glance over quickly at the noise. He sampled the faintly luminescent liquid. It was decent home brew, he thought; somebody on the Ark had a still. It seemed to leave a warm trail all the way down to his tank, and his sensors kicked up a notch in sensitivity with a pleasurable reaction to the liquid. He drained half the cube, and everything was quickly brighter, warmer, happier. A smile played about his mouth and he relaxed against the cushions with a pleased sigh. He didn't drink often, but he'd needed this.

Distantly, he detected a surprised note from Frenzy, and then the emotional equivalent of a giggle.

Yes, he thought, Soundwave, pleasantly intoxicated.

Something of his satisfaction with this state of affairs must of trickled through despite his attempts to block his symbiont. Frenzy's amusement turned brighter. He'd missed that cheerfulness. It made him happy to sense it.

Ratchet, by contrast, seemed to be moody. It took him a moment to realize that his new master was staring into his high grade, not smiling, and looking dour. He twisted around a bit, surprised by that expression. They'd only lost one mech, as far as Soundwave knew … he would have thought that the medic would be happy to have done such a superb job.

The mech - the little red minibot - who had died had not, as far as Soundwave knew, been a personal friend of Ratchet. Perhaps they shared a bond from being on the same small team of soldiers for so long, but surely, they weren't close. Nothing in his intelligence indicated that the mech was a personal friend.

Was it grief?

Maybe Ratchet just took any loss personally?

Maybe something else was eating him?

Frustrated, Soundwave felt his giddy mood evaporate. He couldn't ask. There was something clearly very wrong, based on Ratchet's expression, and it worried him. He didn't want his master in a foul mood. Ratchet had a deep well of honesty to his spark, and compassion that had left Soundwave stunned. He'd never touched another mind like Ratchet's before … but he also knew damn well that Ratchet had a bad temper and a few demons of his own. He'd seen that.

And … he'd had one master too many turn on him. Not just Megatron, but others in the past. He desperately wanted, needed, to be useful and desired by Ratchet. Earning his place would be tremendously harder if his master was in a bad mood.

He forced himself to think, and to remain calm. There had to be something he could do.

Ratchet sipped at the cube of energon in his hand, staring off into space now. His optics were distant, and his jaw clenched. Soundwave hoped that expression wasn't because of something he'd done. Was Ratchet thinking of, perhaps, casting him out?

He needed a place here. Ratchet was his best bet for a powerful master under whom he could thrive. He thought they could form a beautifully relationship. The ;last few days had been proof that he could be useful. He had been an engineer long before he had been a communications officer. He had found he'd enjoyed the work, the occasional frigid hostility from Autobots notwithstanding. He didn't particularly care what anyone but Ratchet and Ratchet's superiors thought of him, however, so he had not been bothered by their distaste for his presence.

Ratchet swirled the energon around, then sipped it again. As he did, Soundwave realized that the medic's hands - the tools of his trade - had gotten quite battered. He'd been working hard for days, and it showed with misaligned digits and a wire that was actually worn to the point of shorting in his wrist. He could see the occasional little arc of electricity as it grounded out against his ulnar strut. It was the sort of damage that Ratchet's auto-repair would correct eventually, but a skilled engineer could clean up within minutes. He was a bit surprised Ratchet hadn't asked one of the other medics or engineers to fix the issues.

Hesitant, unsure of what Ratchet's response would be, he reached a hand out and touched Ratchet's wrist over the damaged wire. Ratchet tensed, and started to pull away, then looked up and met Soundwave's gaze. Soundwave tapped his wrist with one extended finger, and made a twisting motion - miming a screwdriver - with his hand.

Ratchet nodded, slowly, drained the last of his high grade, and then rose. Soundwave thought he'd declined the offer despite the nod, but Ratchet was just after another cube. He returned with the cube of high grade, then produced a packet of small tools from his subspace and offered both the tools and one hand to Soundwave.

Pleased, Soundwave got to work. He told himself this was nothing different than what he'd done for his symbionts. The amount of high grade that Ratchet was consuming, however, was worrisome. He did not believe Ratchet intended to stop with this cube. His intelligence on Ratchet indicated that the mech had a tendency to go on the occasional binge, and would be in a sourly bad mood the next day. Laserbeak had reported that Ratchet sometimes went so far as to throw things at his staff on the day after a bad night.

He could endure harassment - and the Pit knew he'd learned to duck thrown objects while working for Megatron! - but he feared his position was still precarious. He would do anything to avoid angering the medic, but he was also well aware of the potential for misunderstanding and miscommunication. Would Ratchet be furious with him, if Ratchet wanted him to perform one task and he didn't understand and did something else? What if he made an error in a repair, due to a lack of communication?

Tomorrow might be difficult. Perhaps he could put Ratchet in a better mood now by tending his damage, and the mech would drink less.

Ratchet's fingers were amazing, he realized, after a few moments of study. They had been heavily modified for precision and sensitivity. He had many more sensors than a normal mech, and the tolerances were razor thin. They were precision instruments, not the usual blunt instruments of destruction that most soldiers wielded.

He found them beautiful, strictly from an engineering standpoint. He wished he could ask who had designed Ratchet's modifications. He ran a fascinated finger down Ratchet's palm … and then blinked in surprise when Ratchet made a fist and tried to pull his hand away. Strictly on reflex, he held on tight to Ratchet's wrist and made a disapproving noise. He was trying to work.

And then he realized who he'd just wordlessly scolded.

And looked up.

Ratchet was watching him, optics a bit too bright with intoxication, and no longer scowling. He couldn't read Ratchet's expression at all.

On impulse, he retracted his visor. Ratchet blinked at him in surprise, clearly not expecting that. With naked optics, he met the medic's gaze. He wasn't sure why he'd bared his own optics, except to suspect that the half of a cube of high grade that he'd consumed had something to do with it. He smiled, feeling strange as he did, like he wasn't himself. He never let on to others what he was feeling, and he'd just retracted his visor - which felt like baring his very spark - to Ratchet.

He had started wearing a visor and mask after the death of his bonded, to conceal his pain from the world. There had been those who would use that pain against him, to hurt him further. He had also wished not to be recognized, as the press surrounding her death had put him in such an unjustly bad light. (Did Ratchet even know who he had been, he wondered? He'd covered his tracks well over the years, but Autobot intelligence was at least as good as Decepticon intelligence. He wasn't sure what they knew about his past life.)

Since then, he'd never willingly bared his optics to anyone. It was, he had felt, the kind of gesture one did with a friend. He'd had no friends. He did not need to show his face to his symbionts because they knew his emotions regardless of his expression.

He needed to make a connection with Ratchet. It didn't feel wrong to bare his visor to this master, but his smile was at least partially feigned. He was very nervous, for uncountable reasons.

Well, the work on Ratchet's hand still needed to be completed. He returned to studying the damage. The frayed wire could simply be taped up. The rest was a matter of adjusting tension wires and tightening a few screws that had worked themselves loose.

The medic lifted his other palm up and rested it against Soundwave's face, urging him to look up. He heard a buzz of static, probably a single word, but he couldn't understand what Ratchet had just said. He let his mouth twist into an expression of frustration at being unable to communicate, showing emotion he normally wouldn't, because in that brief and shining moment when he'd seen into Ratchet's spark he had come to trust the mech.

Ratchet sighed, and stroked Soundwave's cheek with one thumb. It seemed like Ratchet was searching his expression for something. A clue, communication, a sign … he didn't know what Ratchet wanted.

The mech was handsome, Soundwave thought, as he returned Ratchet's gaze. He wasn't blind and he noticed such things even when he never acted on them. Megatron's power. Starscream's grace. Optimus's regal bearing. He was not one to be swayed by mere physical appearance, but he noticed, and quietly appreciated, attractiveness in others.

Ratchet was as solid as the granite bedrock, and as strong as a force of nature. His rugged features and sturdy, hefty build didn't hint at the compassion and kindness in his spark, but his optics told that truth. They spoke more clearly of who he was than any words that Soundwave could not understand.

He was a very, very desirable mech.

And his hand was warm against Soundwave's face.

Oh. Sudden realization of what Ratchet might be thinking struck, and he felt a little foolish for not seeing it earlier.

The first time he'd come to Ratchet's quarters, he had been terrified he would be violated. Now, he found himself not displeased by the closeness. Ratchet would be a good lover, Soundwave thought, with an appealing mix of sensitivity and assertiveness. The mech had certainly earned the right, as well … Soundwave owed him his life, Frenzy's life, and he was directly responsible for Soundwave's welfare. Soundwave had been treated very well, with little asked of him other than some honest work.

Ratchet had done everything for Soundwave without a thought for his own needs, but now, he was intoxicated, his inhibitions were down, and Soundwave decided that look in Ratchet's eyes must be one of interest. Ratchet would be, he thought, too honorable to use Soundwave as he must want to under normal circumstances, but with the addition of the high grade, his desires would be stronger and his morals, less.

He knew he himself was attractive. Some found him mysterious. Others just appreciated his height and strength. He'd rarely been propositioned, given his reputation, but he was - had been - a telepath. He was very well aware of how others viewed him.

He'd let Megatron interface with him a few times, willingly enough, though he'd found it rather unsatisfying. Despite his efforts to make it good for Megatron, Megatron had also found the experience less than he'd anticipated. Soundwave's spark had really not been in it, though he hadn't minded precisely. He knew he'd been a technically good lover. It had been annoying when Megatron had complained he lacked passion. If Megatron had wanted passion, Soundwave had thought in irritation, he should have fragged Starscream.

From his standpoint, aside from the fact that he had not been that attracted to Megatron, beyond aesthetic appreciation, he just wasn't much of a valve mech. Megatron, to probably nobody's surprise, was all about his spike. He'd also been large, and rough, and it had been uncomfortable. He had never overloaded himself, something Megatron had taken as a personal insult, and Soundwave had known better than to point out that Megatron was doing it wrong.

He envisioned what it might be like with Ratchet. Ratchet would be kind and most likely skilled. He was an older mech, Soundwave's intelligence suggested he'd had plenty of partners over the years, and one would assume he knew what he was doing.

The truth was, Soundwave found him desirable, on many levels.

Just as much as he found himself desiring Ratchet, he wanted assurance that he would be valued. This would give Ratchet extra incentive to keep him around. If Ratchet was using Soundwave to blow his circuits on a regular basis, the medic would have one more reason - one very potent reason - not to discard him.

Besides, he still wasn't entirely sure why Ratchet was keeping him in his quarters. Maybe he had planned this from the beginning, but being such a compassionate mech, was waiting for Soundwave to make the first move.

He was handsome.

Soundwave … wanted him.

For a moment, he simply envisioned letting Ratchet have his way, as Megatron had. However, that hadn't worked well with Megatron, and he didn't think Ratchet would care much for the perfectly robotic approach either. He doubted Ratchet wanted a drone in his berth. He certainly desired an expereince a little more interesting than that.

A long, long, long time ago, Soundwave had been bonded to a partner … to a mech who had been like half his spark. She would, he thought, be horrified by where he was now in his life, but she was dead and he was alive, and he'd had to make choices to survive that had very often been less than perfect, born of pragmatism rather than idealism.

However, remembered, what it had been like, to have a lover who he'd been passionate with. Few would believe it, and none left alive save Frenzy had known him closely then, but he had been a very different mech those many millenia ago. He was not even sure if the Autobots realized who he was. Mirage might, and perhaps Jazz had the data in his file, but it probably wasn't common knowledge. Did Ratchet know? Had he seen those memories, when he'd put Soundwave's very mind back together? Had he read Soundwave's files? He wasn't sure.

He remembered nights spent in her arms. He had been her sanctuary, calm and solid, a fortress against a vicious, cruel world. He remembered the comfort, the passion, the love and the laughter. He remembered talking quietly until the sun rose over the city … something he would never be able to do again with a lover. He was so frustrated sometimes, with his limitations. He wished he could simply say to Ratchet, Soundwave will interface with you. Please?

It rocked his world when he realized he could envision Ratchet in that role, and shook him even further when that mental image involved him holding Ratchet, not the other way around. He kept seeing Ratchet beneath him, in his imagination, mouth thrown open in ecstasy, optics bright with overload, screaming his name … Ratchet, he was certain, was not a valve mech.

And even if Ratchet screamed his name, he wasn't going to understand it.

Still, he wanted this. Ratchet wouldn't love him (how could you love someone you couldn't talk to?) but he wanted the physical connection.

Before he could decide what action to take next, the medic rose and retrieved himself another cube of high grade. Soundwave found that distressing. The medic was truly a mess tonight, emotionally.

A good interface might be good for Ratchet, really. It would distract the mech and let him take comfort from Soundwave's body. Therefore, right now seemed like a very good opportunity to initiate matters. Ratchet seemed attracted to him and his inhibitions were down.

Soundwave will pretend you are Fairwinds … He thought, as Ratchet settled down next to him again. This time, the medic had just brought the bottle back with him. He offered it to Soundwave, who still had half his original cube left. Ratchet's motions were a little sloppy, as over-stimulated sensors fired erratically. It occurred to Soundwave that if they were attacked right now, the Ark's CMO would be too intoxicated to perform his functions optimally. He'd burn the high grade off rapidly under a high stress situation, Soundwave supposed, but it could still be a problem. He hoped somebody else was on call tonight!

However, he tried not to be disapproving. Ratchet had obviously had a hell of a day. Maybe he'd been closer to that nasty little red minibot than Soundwave thought. Maybe he was just reliving nightmares from his past. Maybe he'd gotten in a fight with a friend. Soundwave couldn't know, because he couldn't ask.

Fairwinds, he thought, I will pretend you are Fairwinds and make love to you tonight.

No. That wasn't right. Making love implied he would be the dominant partner. Ratchet probably would object to that.

I will pretend I am Fairwinds. She will forgive me for this …

He'd loved her so much. His spark suddenly twisted, at what he was contemplating. It was a charade, of course. A pleasurable one, but he didn't love the Autobot, and the Autobot didn't love him. He was … using himself … in ways his long ago partner would have found abhorrent.

It didn't matter.

Survival mattered.

He caught Ratchet's hand again, intending to start things off with touches that would begin clinical and turn … more. He was aware of Ratchet finishing a fourth cube of high grade as he worked to realign the mech's delicate, sensitive, finely engineered finger mechanisms. Ratchet sighed, visibly relaxing, and Soundwave wondered if he'd been in pain or if it was the high grade's influence.

When both hands were done, he tugged gently at Ratchet's fingers and worked his way up one arm. At this stage, it would be easy for Ratchet to assume he was simply being thorough, but when he trailed his fingers down a neural line that was sensitive with deliberate pressure, that had to be unmistakable.

He looked up to meet Ratchet's wide, wide blue optics. Ratchet's mouth was open in surprise. He had obviously not been expecting that touch. Soundwave slid his fingers under Ratchet's armor and stroked the nerve wire on his forearm again, deliberately, gently.

Ratchet remained frozen, optics too bright, expression still startled.

Soundwave, desires you, Soundwave thought, surprising himself with the truth in that statement. He mimicked what Ratchet had done earlier, and pressed his hand to the medic's face, feeling the play of finely wrought mechanisms under pliable metal. Ratchet's cheek was too warm, heated by high grade, and his jaw was tense. Soundwave stroked his cheek arch with one thumb, pretending this was Fairwinds. It had been so long since he'd taken a lover he wanted.

He had often started things off with her like this … a touch here, and a touch there, optics meeting, wordless communion. He would stroke and caress her flier's body, so fine and light - she'd had the body of a finely wrought highborn noble, not the heavy armor of a warrior. Ratchet's frame was a vivid contrast to hers, and for a moment, he hesitated, because all he could see was the partner he'd bonded with and who he had intended to spend the rest of his life with. She was so long dead, though, and he could use those memories …

He would push her back to lay on the berth, his larger frame covering hers. She'd made him feel protective, powerful, strong, and he'd revelled in it.

With a mental shake, he reminded himself that he would need to take the submissive role, as soon as he could get Ratchet to stop staring at him like he'd suddenly grown a second head. Clearly, the medic had not expected him to be willing, or to want to initiate matters. A few days ago, he had been horrified. Not now. Now, he wanted this.

He tried to learn towards Ratchet, intending to offer a kiss … and then turn that kiss into an embrace. Perhaps if he could get Ratchet to kiss him, he could then lie back and pull Ratchet down on top of him. He almost wanted to feel Ratchet's hefty weight on top of him, and he definitely wanted to see Ratchet's pleasure in this act.

Ratchet stopped him with a firm hand on his shoulder before their lips connected. The medic's mouth was set into a hard line. Puzzled, Soundwave hesitated. That scowl was directed at him now, when it had just been a generic frown earlier. Perhaps Ratchet was wondering if he was truly willing? Ratchet would not, he suspected, take advantage of this offer if he thought Soundwave wasn't truly interested. The mech's moral code was fierce.

He caught a hand he'd just repaired, and remembered how his long ago lover had once pressed a kiss to his knuckles, early in their relationship. She had been so far above him in social rank that he had scarcely dared to meet her optics, much less make the advances on her that his body craved. She had pulled his hand to her lips and kissed his fingers and then pressed his hand to the silver armor over her spark … and smiled in gentle invitation.

He would do that, he decided. He stroked the medic's gentle fingers for a moment, wishing Ratchet would relax. The medic was rigid, staring at him, neither pulling away nor accepting his advance. Ratchet's optics were a little unfocused, when Soundwave looked up - he'd had four cubes of high grade, which was enough to have flattened a smaller mech, plus several swigs from the bottle he'd tucked between his knees. Perhaps that intoxication would make this easier, if he could just convince Ratchet to relax and accept what he was offering.

He pulled Ratchet's fingers to his mouth and pressed a kiss to the knuckles. It gave him an odd sense of deja vu, as his memory helpfully supplied how very excited and anxious and wildly aroused he'd been when Fairwind had touched her lips to his fingers that very first time. She'd been hinting at her interest for months, and he had insisted on proper decorum. He was simply her assistant, a university student with an internship, and she was older, a noble, with wealth and power. He had been a carrier from a working-class clan, with a scholarship and three small symbionts.

He had never expected her to reciprocate his feelings, had never expected her to make the first move, had never expected, ever, to bond with her not long after that. She had been his all and his everything, and between them, it had been perfect. He had thought they would last forever. Instead, they'd only had a few short years.

She'd kissed his hand that first time, like he was kissing Ratchet's.

Ratchet still wasn't responding like he'd expected. He had assumed Ratchet would reciprocate immediately. There was no reason for Ratchet to turn him down. It wasn't like Soundwave could - or would - ask for a commitment. This was just about giving pleasure.

Ratchet wasn't responding.

He pressed Ratchet's hand to his jaw, and then turned his face and kissed the inside of Ratchet's wrist. When that got him no further reaction, he pressed Ratchet's hand to his chest, over his spark, and ran a finger up and down Ratchet's wrist. Ratchet's hand was warm. He wanted to feel Ratchet's fingers slide under his armor, tease his wires, stroke his sensors. He wanted to spread his legs, and arch his back into Ratchet's thrusts.

The thought was enough to let cause his fans to click on, and his interface equipment hum to life.

With a movement so swift, unexpected, and violent it made him jump, Ratchet spun away and lunged to his feet. The bottle of high grade smashed into the wall, and it took him a nanoclick to realize that Ratchet had thrown it. The cube followed, in an explosion of crystal shards.

He stared. His fans stalled.

That … had not been the reaction he'd been trying for.

I am a fool, he thought, savagely, embarrassed and humiliated. Then, anger rose. He'd never been so soundly and unexpectedly rejected in his life. Was he so undesirable? So broken?

Until this instant, he had not really realized just how … damaged … he was. The medic didn't want him at all. He had been repulsed by the offer, in fact, or angered by it. Was Soundwave truly that pitiful?

No. Denial rose. He would not be pitied. He wasn't helpless, useless, or pitiable. He started to scramble to his feet after Ratchet, intent on at least making his real anger at the rejection known somehow, when he realized that the medic's shoulders were shaking. Ratchet had his back turned, and at first, he thought that the other mech was laughing.

Laughing.

At Soundwave.

Soundwave's fury was so strong it scared him. He was normally cool, collected, logical. Right at that moment, had he a suitable weapon, he would have killed Ratchet.

And then … a sob. One small, electric hiccup of utter misery.

Ratchet half turned, and saw him standing there. He ground out angry words at Soundwave, and stomped towards the door. Soundwave reached out, grabbed his shoulder, tried to stop him. Both of them were unsteady on their feet, Soundwave with vertigo and Ratchet with drink. Somehow, they went down together in a tangle on the floor.

Ratchet struck at Soundwave's chest, but not hard. He uttered words that Soundwave couldn't hear, but they were full of rage, and grief, and loss. With closed fists he pounded on Soundwave's broad armor, cursing and shoving at him. Soundwave's weight had him pinned down - Soundwave had landed across his legs.

He tried to let Ratchet up, scooting aside, but Ratchet just kept smacking at him. Angry blows, but the anger didn't seem to be aimed at Soundwave. It took him a minute to realize that Ratchet was hitting the Decepticon sigil still emblazoned on his chest, bold and symbolic. Sunstreaker had painted that mark on with the same care he'd given to the rest of Soundwave's paint, a few days earlier. It was gleaming and bright, pristine.

He'd pressed Ratchet's hand over his spark, but in doing so, he realized he'd also pressed Ratchet's hand to the Decepticon sigil. This reaction seemed to go beyond that, though he suspected that the symbolism hadn't helped.

After a bit, Ratchet's rain of light blows let up in frequency. Soundwave sighed, shifted his weight so he was sitting more comfortably, and then, even though he was afraid he would be rejected again, he wrapped his arms around Ratchet's shoulders. He was not a demonstrative mech, and the gesture made him uneasy, but he felt compelled to try to communicate sympathy.

As he had feared, Ratchet didn't seem to take being hugged well at first. Perhaps this was a mistake.

The medic made a protesting noise and went rigid, similar to when Soundwave was trying to seduce him. Soundwave was certainly not trying to get inside his plating now … but he owed Ratchet so much, had so many debts to repay him, and he just didn't know what else to do. Even had he been able to communicate his skills at this sort of interaction were limited. However, he didn't release him. He prayed Ratchet would relax, would accept what Soundwave wanted to offer. A hug was so much less than he was willing to give.

Ratchet didn't cry. He wasn't the sort to bawl his spark out.

However, slowly, cautiously, he relaxed into Soundwave's arms. Soundwave leaned back against the couch, and tugged a little at Ratchet's arms, until Ratchet was comfortably leaning against his chest. The medic lay there, optics focused on Soundwave's sigil. After many minutes of silence, he lifted a hand and traced that purple geometric pattern, over and over and over again.

His rage was gone. Soundwave could feel the anger bleeding out of him as his frame relaxed. After a bit, Ratchet tried to sit up, and resume his dignity.

Soundwave tightened his arms, suddenly feeling fiercely protective. He hadn't seen Ratchet as vulnerable until this moment. Ratchet needed this. Soundwave thought that he needed someone to hold him on nights like tonight, when he was consumed by demons. If Soundwave had not been here, he suspected Ratchet would have probably drank himself into a stupor, alone and miserable.

Where were the medic's friends? Didn't they know he suffered so?

Ratchet relaxed back against his chest, after a moment, traced Soundwave's sigil again and again, sensitive fingers ghosting over the symbol of the enemy.

He had wanted to be Ratchet's servant.

He knew the role of a servant well.

And once, he had been, not a servant, but an equal partner. He had loved her with all his spark. He had bonded with her. He did not think he could ever love like that again … he had always thought Fairwinds would be the first and last partner he ever took. They had been trying for a sparkling when she had died, had planned a future together, had defied all who disapproved.

Therefore, it confused him when his spark stirred with feelings for Ratchet that were not those of a servant for a master. He knew what passionate love was, and he knew what unquestioning loyalty to a master was. What he felt for Ratchet was something different than either.

Idly, he ran a hand down the other mech's back, as he would a symbiont. Ratchet went tense at the contact, and for a moment, Soundwave was afraid the other mech thought he was making a second pass at him. He would not make that mistake again. Clearly, his advances were not wanted in that regard. It hurt, but he could understand, and accept, that Ratchet did not find him desirable.

Then Ratchet sat up, and this time, Soundwave let him, sensing a change in Ratchet's mood. Ratchet gazed at him speculatively for a moment, then sat next to Soundwave on the ground, and produced a datapad from his subspace. He fiddled with it for a moment, and then showed a series of images to Soundwave.

First the face of the fallen minibot, the little red one with the horns. Mechs died in war, and Soundwave had just accepted that the minibot was one more casualty. He'd seen the Autobots showing signs of grieving, but it had not registered on him as significant. A sorrowful loss, but not a devastating loss. Had Ratchet, perhaps, been his friend?

The image that Ratchet showed Soundwave was of the minibot, dead, facial features slack and optics unlit, in the Ark's morgue.

Then Ratchet toggled the image on to show Soundwave a picture of Frenzy … lying in the dirt, smoke coming from his mouth, power plant destroyed, moments from extinguishing forever. They'd come so close to losing him. That reminder made Soundwave clench his jaw, and nearly snap his visor and face mask back into place to hide his emotions. Why was Ratchet reminding him of that terrible day?

Ratchet kept going, on to another image. The Decepticon and Autobot symbols, side by side. They blurred together, swirling into a mass of color … and resolving into a caduceus. He understood that symbol, even if it wasn't Cybertronian. It was the sign of a medic. After that display, Ratchet made the datapad disappear again. He reached up and ran a hand along Soundwave's jaw, then up the side of his face.

The touch left warm tingles behind as Soundwave's sensors fired in reaction to the touch of a mech he was coming to realize he was quite attracted to. However, this wasn't the caress of a lover. Ratchet's fingers found the line of an almost imperceptible weld, the only external sign that was left of the savage injury he'd suffered. He traced that repair, fingers slow and steady and deliberate.

Soundwave turned his head and pressed a kiss to the inside of Ratchet's wrist, knowing he was risking another rejection, but unable to stop himself. He desperately wanted … something. His spark felt strange, his emotions wild.

Ratchet leaned in and pressed his lips to Soundwave's mouth. His ventilations smelled strongly of high grade, and his optics were dimmed. Soundwave gasped, surprised, then returned the kiss. Instinctively, he leaned towards Ratchet, hand coming to rest on the shorter mech's shoulder, weight bearing Ratchet towards the ground.

Ratchet let himself be pushed down, tugging Soundwave along. Soundwave belatedly realized that he was taking a dominant role and tried to back off a bit. He needed to submit, to let Ratchet take his pleasure …

Ratchet shifted underneath him when, pushing up on Soundwave's chest. Soundwave rose up on his hands and Ratchet promptly slid one leg underneath Soundwave's hip and raise both knees. Much to his shock, Soundwave found himself on top, his still-closed (but rapidly heating) interface panel resting against Ratchet's valve cover.

Oh.

Suddenly, he didn't need to pretend that this was Fairwinds, or that he was Fairwinds. With delliberate intention, he raked his fingers down Ratchet's chest plates. The medic cried out, arching his back and simultaneously clutching at Soundwave's arms.

He never would have done this with Megatron, or with any other mech he had been subservient to. He was stunned at his own actions, even as was aggressively pinning Ratchet down, closing his mouth on Ratchet's neck cables, fingers digging into the sensitive wires above Ratchet's hip. Ratchet groaned, taking it, not fighting, seeming to welcome Soundwave's assertiveness.

Mine, he couldn't help but think, as he found a cluster of sensors with his mouth, right at the edge of Ratchet's jaw, that made Ratchet shudder when he kissed them. Mine.

No. Not his. Ratchet was his boss, not the other way around, but if Ratchet wanted this to be his role, he would assume it … and for a moment, he could pretend too. He knew this wasn't about love. It was about forgetting, and about defying the awful reality that they both found themselves in.

Ratchet clutched at his shoulders. The medic's valve cover clicked open, and seconds later, Soundwave's spike extended. He lined himself up and pushed into that tight, slick entrance. Ratchet shivered beneath him, head thrown back, thighs clenched around his hips.

It felt amazing.

Ratchet's optics were shuttered, and his ventilations came in rapid, desperate gasps. He clung to Soundwave, sobbing small noises of arousal with each powerful thrust of Soundwave's spike.

Soundwave would have liked to have taken more time, but Ratchet came quickly, with a shout, valve clenching tight, heels scrabbling at the floor, hands balling into fists behind Soundwave's head. Soundwave tried to slow down, hoping to wring another climax out of the medic before his own pleasure struck, but Ratchet made a moaning sound that set his circuits afire, and suddenly he was losing himself in a rush of sensation, an electrical storm of release …

When he came back to himself, Ratchet was pushing at his shoulder. He rolled off the medic, and stroked his hand down Ratchet's chest plates. He wanted to tell Ratchet how attractive he was, how pleased Soundwave was … but all he could do was touch, and smile.

The medic curled up against him on the floor, one hand resting on Soundwave's Decepticon symbol, and nearly motionless except for the whir of his fans. After a moment, Ratchet's systems began to power down as he slipped into recharge.

Soundwave held him, admiring the strong lines of the medic's jaw, and the power in that sturdy frame.

He would do whatever it took to keep the medic, he thought, no matter how difficult.