“Soundwave? You there?”
“Jazz?”
“Who else? Listen, man, we gotta get the hell out of dodge.”
“What happened?”
“They know.”
“...”
“About us.”
“Affirmative. Rendezvous point four?”
“Works for me. I can’t stay on, babe, but I love you and I’ll see you soon, okay?”
“I love you as well.”
The line goes dead and Soundwave is left alone in his quarters. If the Autobots know about him and Jazz, it’s only a matter of time before Lord Megatron knows as well, and Soundwave’s Lord is not so gentle with traitors as Optimus has been known to be.
Megatron.
He has, he supposes, made his decision a long time ago. He entered into this relationship with Jazz knowing that it would someday come crashing down, but now, faced with the reality of leaving the Decepticons…
None of their planning, none of their discussion, none of their arguing had prepared him for this moment. Unthinking, he packs what meager supplies he’ll need for the short trip to the small asteroid just outside Cybertronian space. Rendezvous point four. From there, they’ll regroup and flee further. It’s good, he thinks somewhat hysterically, that he and Jazz constitute the best of Autobot and Decepticon intelligence. Soundwave has tracked down traitors before, and he’s sure Jazz has done the same. For all their talk, the Autobots do not take defection lightly. Jazz wouldn’t be executed as Soundwave would likely be, but his fate would not be pleasant. Freedom for all sentient beings, so long as those sentient beings choose ways of life compatible with the Primal traditions of “good” living.
Unbidden, an image of Megatron and Starscream fighting comes to mind. Starscream had completed a task in a way Lord Megatron found unsatisfactory, and Megatron had taken strong offense to it. The ensuing skirmish had been bloody. Starscream had spent quite some time in the medical bay, and Lord Megatron had been satisfied for the time being.
It’s time for Soundwave to leave.
::Ravage: report to Shuttle Bay B-13 at your earliest convencience.::
::What’s going on?::
::Briefing: will occur onsite.::
She doesn’t question him further. The others undoubtedly would have, and he’s glad they’re currently recharging in their compartments. With luck, by the time they are conscious again, the worst of this will have blown over.
Soundwave hopes they have the chance to wake up again. Lord Megatron has long considered the cassettes disposable.
Yes, it’s time to leave.
Their departure is so smooth as to arouse suspicion. Even without Soundwave there to keep an optic on things, Megatron must have noticed something by now. Ravage detected no trackers on the escape pod itself, but it’s possible they’re being followed. No matter. He and Jazz have planned for every eventuality. They’ll lose their pursuers soon enough, if they haven’t already.
::Soundwave.:: Ravage hails him over a private frequency so as not to wake the others. ::Are you sure about this?::
::No.::
She doesn’t respond, just dips her head in an approximation of a nod. ::I am.::
“Get away from me!” Starscream’s voice cracks on a shrill scream and she shoves Megatron back towards the door of his own habsuite. “What in the name of the Primes is wrong with you?”
“I…”
“You what? Is this somehow not what it looks like? You’re not trying to plug into me after… after that?”
Clearly, it is what Megatron had been trying to do. He’d apparently hoped Starscream would be a little more open to the idea. “Starscream, don’t be unreasonable.”
“Me? I’m the one being unreasonable? I’m the one dripping energon all over the floor while you try to get behind my panels!” Starscream points to the energon that is, indeed, leaking from a large gash low on her right side. “You’ve completely lost your processor!”
Starscream’s not stupid. He’s not. Whatever else they say about her, it’s probably true, but she’s not fucking stupid and she knows exactly where this is going and it will not happen, not again, not like this, not—
“Starscream!”
—not ever, not today, she’s—
“Starscream, hey, say something.”
—kill him, he’s going to do it—
“Stars, baby, come on.”
Someone takes her hand. Starscream reacts at once, twisting out of their grip and pulling her null rays up level with their face before they can—
—be Wheeljack. Before they can be her terrified conjunx-to-be, staring cross-eyed down the length of Starscream’s null ray. She shuts the null rays down, but can’t quite bring herself to lower her arm. Wheeljack needs to stay there, stay at arm’s length, or else… what?
What?
What’s going on?
“You’re in my apartment, sweetheart, you’re okay.”
That’s… not right. That’s not quite right.
“Can you hear me?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. Okay, um. I. Um,” Wheeljack stammers. She can see him stammering, she realizes. She can see the whole room, and her body, because of course she can, her eyes have been open the whole time. She never—
She…
“Hey, hey, no, don’t—don’t go away again. Scrap, okay, um.” Wheeljack reaches for her haltingly, then changes his mind. Good idea, she thinks, but can’t quite force the words through her processor. She’s not sure they even occur to her as words.
Before she can think more on the subject (or not think, feels like she’s thinking through thick soup, like the time she’d cracked something in her processor), Wheeljack changes his mind about touching her and covers her hand on his shoulder with his own. His hand is warm. Grounders. No insulation. He squeezes her fingers gently and for some reason, she squeezes back. He does it again, so she does it again, over and over until with a sharp intake of air through her vents, she comes back to her frame.
Wheeljack was right. She’s in his apartment, sitting at his table with a half-finished cube of high-grade in front of her. She’s not…
She doesn’t remember exactly where she went, nor does she care to. It’s never good.
“Hi, baby,” Wheeljack whispers, squeezing her hand again.
“Hi.”