Rating: M
Chapter 18
He'd hated the way his dad had bid him
farewell.
Ultra Magnus had given him the usual
speech of expectations and requirements that he always did, that made
the younger mech feel small and insignificant. He tried not to let it
bother him, but it was always did. Those old words of 'Don't do this,
don't do that' never failed to make him feel as if he'd made some
sort of mistake and was now being reprimanded for it with a
condescending scolding.
He wasn't a child anymore.....
Rodimus had kept silent through it all,
smiling as best as he could as the great dane gathered together the
last of his things, before grabbing his coat last. “Be well, son.
I'll be home before long,” Ultra Magnus had said, bending forward
and kissing the arch of the golden retriever's brow.
The affection made him wince slightly,
though Rodimus did not think the older mech noticed.
....he used to kiss him like that when
he was a sparkling.....
On the verge of tears, it took all his
effort to send the other lawyer off with well wishes for both his
convention and his travels, but Rodimus had managed. His smile
dropped and his optics dimmed the moment that Ultra Magnus had walked
through the office door though; his gaze lowering until he was only
staring at his pedes.
Cringing at the painful knots forming
in his fuel tanks, the golden retriever shook off his nausea, burying
it along with his pain behind a smile as he walked out of the office
next himself.
xxXxXxx
Tracks looked up when he heard someone
entering his apartment again. His scowl turned into a full-on snarl
when noticed the familiar gait and blue persian ears; jumping up off
the couch and clawing his robe closer to him. “What are you doing
here?,” he demanded. “You've had your frag! Get lost!!”
Soundwave paused just at the threshold
of the living room, standing silently, his arms crossed neutrally
behind his backstruts as he gazed at the riled pomeranian. It was
unnerving having that red visor fixed on him wholly, studying and
analyzing behind a flat, unreadable mask. Tracks hated it. Hated that
judging look more than the spawn currently growing in his belly right
now. “I said 'leave!,” he barked, starting to circle around the
couch as the kittycon slowly approached.
He whimpered momentarily as he got
trapped between the sofa and an end table, blue optics flaring in a
panic as one of the other mech's golden servos rose towards him. The
escort responded immediately, snapping forward with his denta
chomping air, almost biting the thick digits before Tracks gave a
weak growl and dodged past Soundwave and to the relative-safety of
his berthroom. Stunned, the persian could only stand there idly,
before he realized one of the security guards had approached him from
behind.
“Sir.....,” the autodog started
tersely, walkie talkie held near his helm. His optics were narrowed
and his frown was accusing. “Ms. Flare-up would like to see you
upstairs, please.”
Soundwave did not reply, his visor
flashing for an astrosecond, before he turned on his pede and
following after the other mech. The kittycon glanced behind him as he
was leaving the apartment, seeing red-tipped ears disappearing back
out of sight from across the room.
xxXxXxx
It wasn't hard to find Sentinel if you
ever really needed to find him.
Optimus walked into the bar a little
uncertainly, glancing at the retinue of customers surrounding him.
None of them looked particularly threatening, and they were all busy
with each other, laughing and talking in merry cheer. The german
shepherd felt a little silly just then for worrying. What had he
expected really? Maccadam's was a well-known bar, popular to the
citizens of Iacon and with a rich, long-standing history of
operation. The company was always the friendliest, the events and
shows some of the best around and the owner had the largest stock of
alcohols and tonics within this half of Cyberton, some said. All in
all, Maccadam's was a nice place to be, especially since the owner
and the two bouncers by the jukebox hardly allowed anyone to get
rowdy within the bar's premises.
Trying to shake off his nerves, Optimus
walked further into the bar, smiling kindly at the few 'bots that
greeted him with a smile and a raise of their glass. But after a few
astroseconds, he focused only on finding the wayward Sentinel,
squinting a little through the hazy light and few plumes of cygar
smoke as he searched. If he were the overbearing, cynical autodog,
where would he sit?
'In the shadiest, loneliest part of
the bar,' the secretary thought sardonically, as he finally
caught sight of the blue mech. Sentinel sat where the light was
dimmest, highlighted only by the glow of nearby switches and neon
advertisements for various beers and counseling sessions. Already he
was surrounded by several bottles, each drained empty, and there was
another one in his servo that the rottweiler was just finishing that
very moment.
“B'rtin'er.....,” he slurred as he
tossed his bottle to the side carelessly. It clinked and rolled
dangerously across the lacquered counter before getting stopped by a
bowl of beer bolts down the way. “Bratin'r!!!,” Sentinel growled
louder, smacking the wood with his servo, trying to get the elusive
bartender's attention.
“I think you've had enough, Sentinel.
Don't you?,” Optimus sighed, coming up behind the other mech. The
security guard spun around haphazardly in his seat, glaring at the
multi-coloured autodog. For a horrifying moment, he thought Sentinel
was going to start yelling at him all over again, and no offence to
anyone, but Optimus certainly couldn't handle Sentinel angry when he
was sober -let alone drunk.
“....whurr 're y-yeh?”
“....what?,” the secretary gaped.
The other's narrowed optics shuttered
at him blearily for a long moment, before Sentinel snorted, almost
tipping back in his seat with the action as he faced back towards the
bar.
“S-stupid, slaggin'....
fe....fr'gger....,” the rottweiler snarled, burping loudly as his
servo clambered about the counter, searching for another drink.
The german shepherd stood behind him in
a daze for almost a whole klik before he snapped out of it. Who was
he....? Had Sentinel really forgotten so quickly? No, Optimus told
himself, shaking his helm. Sentinel could forget a lot of things
-basic manners, special occasions, what he did with the last
doughnut- but never had the rottweiler forgotten who he was
specifically. It kinda defeated the purpose of the other autodog
hating him.
“'R-render!!,” Sentinel shouted,
pounding the counter now. The bartender gave the rottweiler a dry
look, obviously displeased with his noise and aggressiveness. Raising
a servo in apology, Optimus move forward and gently pushed all of
Sentinel's empty bottles away from him, before touching his shoulder
plating.
“Sentinel....,” he said, hiding his
cringe as drunken optics turned to him sullenly, “Come.... let me
take you home. I think you've had enough for tonight.”
It was almost ridiculously easy to get
the security guard to rise from his chair. It toppled to the floor as
he swayed up onto his pedes; attempting to stand on his own before it
became obvious that he was completely incapable of that, and almost
dropped on top of Optimus entirely. “W-what......,” the german
shepherd huffed, trying to keep upright even with the heavy mech
leaning on him, “J-just how much did you drink, Sentinel?”
His ex-friend grumbled and slurred
something indistinguishable into his ear, making the appendage twitch
as hot air brushed over it. Trying to ignore the queer sensation,
Optimus slowly shuffled for the door, apologizing and smiling kindly
at anyone who moved obstacles and other things from his path. The
bouncer even held the door for him on his way out, which the
secretary would have thanked him for if it wasn't for the fact that
Sentinel decided to slip from his grip then and puke all over the
doorstep.
“Urgh.....,” the multi-coloured
mech groaned, shuttering his optics and trying not to curse.
“Sentinel....”
The rottweiler groaned pitifully as his
companion pushed him back up, slinging Sentinel's arm across his
shoulder plating and gripping his wrist tightly. “C'mon, you,”
Optimus sighed, side-stepping the puddle of vomit as best as he
could. “You need some water and your bed. Honestly..... What would
make you want to drink yourself into such a stupor?”
Sentinel shuffled awkwardly along with
the secretary, tripping and fumbling over his own pedes most of the
time. Leaning away at a gross belch, the german shepherd almost
missed what the other autodog grumbled.
“W-what?!,” he gaped, snapping his
helm towards the drunk.
“....th'nks.....,” the rottweiler
repeated quietly.
Optimus dropped him.
The blue mech growled weakly against
the sidewalk, groaning and slowly attempting to push himself up.
Realizing what he'd done, the secretary quickly dropped to his knees,
helping Sentinel up into a sitting position, propping him against a
nearby post. “I, e-erm, that is.....,” Optimus stuttered,
“Are.... are you alright? Sentinel?”
The autodog glared up at him sullenly,
his gaze still not entirely focused and swimming in a cloud of
alcohol-induced confusion. Optimus refrained from rubbing his optics.
“Right.....,” he sighed. “Let's.... let's try this again,
alright Sentinel? We need to get you home.”
“Stupid, sl'ggin'....,” Sentinel
hissed and growled as he was hoisted up onto his pedes again. “Y-ya
g't bo'ze?”
“Do I have, what?” The german
shepherd started walking slowly down the street again, the security
guard leaning against his shoulder plating. He shook his helm in
exasperation. “No. No, I don't have any more booze, Sentinel.
You're going straight home and to bed, and that's final. I think
you've done enough damage for one night.... Honestly! Why would you
skip out on work just to go drink yourself under the table for?”
Sentinel groaned as they stepped down
from the curb; Optimus looking both ways before hurrying as best as
he could to cross the street. “'Cuz....,” the other autodog
slurred, “....'i-im.”
That was vague.
The rottweiler snorted, and again,
Optimus flinched, surprised and both worried by how self-deprecating
that sound was. He struggled to glance back at his ex-friend as they
moved down the block, finding the mech only staring down at the
concrete dazedly and scowling at something unknown. “W-was.....urgh,
st-stupid,” Sentinel mumbled, almost tripping again. His assistant
hoisted him up a little more, focusing on the corner coming up ahead
as condensation started to spot his brow.
“D-durd, urgh..... f-frag! W-wit',
e-ex....ex.... t-too much whore!!,” Sentinel growled loudly,
frustrated at his own slurring. If the volume wasn't enough, the
context of which the rottweiler was talking about was surely enough
to get Optimus to drop him again. The blue mech got lucky this time;
he was already near the wall, so he merely fell against it when he
swayed, instead of hitting the floor.
“W-what.....,” Optimus asked, his
intakes coming in short, tense bursts, “A-are you talking about?”
The other autodog pushed against the
wall, looking around himself dazedly, as if he couldn't remember how
he had gotten there or what he was doing. Of course, that might have
been exactly how Sentinel was feeling, but the german shepherd didn't
care. Not right now, not when his ex-friend was talking about his
priciest lay.
“Answer me, slaggit!,” he snarled,
jumping forwards and grabbing the drunk's shirt.
Sentinel, surprisingly, did nothing as
he was shoved back against the wall, his optics dim and unfocused.
“S-screw'd.... u-up....,” he mumbled contritely, to the
secretary's astonishment. Optimus grip went slack as the security
guard sighed, half a whimper slipping out along with it. “...Didn't
m-mean t'...., Sentinel continued, turning away from the smaller mech
and rustling around in his pocket awkwardly, trying to get his keys.
Optimus decided to look up then, realizing that they had actually
made it to the rottweiler's apartment.
“....werz m' fault.....”
The german shepherd clued in a couple
astroseconds later, that his ex-friend was walking through the
building's front door, heading for the elevator. Quickly, he chased
after the stumbling rottweiler, panting as he managed to skid into
the elevator just before the doors closed. Sentinel was grumbling and
whispering to himself as if he was having a conversation this entire
time, but his words were too low and slurred for Optimus to really
make out.
“S-sentinel..... Sentinel, what are
you talking about?,” he asked again, gentler this time. His spark
was starting to pulsate wildly, and even his fuel tanks were doing
flip-flops now. This was more than just the ramblings of some poor
drunk.... this was Sentinel, for once, speaking the honest-to-primus
truth, without being vague or getting horribly defensive. For the
sake of fixing their friendship, Optimus needed this.
The rottweiler shook his helm, refusing
to look up at the other autodog, even as the elevator reached his
floor and he swayed dangerously on the way out. Optimus followed at
his heels quietly, deciding it would be better to pursue this when
the taller mech was in his own home and away from nosey neighbours.
Somehow, he wasn't too surprised when the security guard headed right
for his fridge after stepping inside, pulling a beer out from the
back.
“Sentinel....,” he sighed in
exasperation. “You really shouldn't-” Sentinel pulled away from
him sullenly when he tried to take the autodog's bottle, stumbling
for the couch and crashing on it. Optimus watched as a servo padded
around the floor, yanking a book out from under the couch; the
rottweiler opening it up on his lap as he took a big swig from his
bottle.
Mutely, the german shepherd padded
forward. “.....our highschool year book.....,” he mumbled in
surprise, his optics quickly dimming. He did not have many fond
memories of his highschool orns. The secretary wiped subtly at his
optics, turning his attention back to Sentinel and their year book,
once again startled to find that the rottweiler had flipped the page
and now was scratching the space next to Optimus' graduation photo.
“A' hurt 'im.....,” Sentinel said,
his ears flat against his helm and even his tail curled pathetically
against his hip. “A' not m-meant t'..... j-jus'.... Urgh, A' werz
y-young! S-stupehd.” He paused to finish his beer, throwing the
bottle across the room. Optimus ducked as it smashed against the
other wall.
“Sentinel!!”
“....'e chose h-her,” the blue mech
whined softly. “A-a'.... Nuv'r thought a'd s-see hur 'g-gain.....
boot 'ere s-she wez!! N-nu good! Nu good 't all! She l-look'd.....”
The drunk waved a servo over his frame strangely, frowning. “W-weird.
C-clothes, 'ark.... n-nu tail, h-helmet.....b-black..... She nu
E-elita. Nu more! A'..... A' l-loved 'im first.... wez w-wantin'
t'....t' s-say so. Lil' mech, g-gonna be big 'un s-soon. W-want'd t'
be 'i-is.... t' 'a-ave 'im b-back....”
Sentinel slouched against the couch,
sinking deeper and deeper into the cushions as his optics filled with
tears. “A' muss'd up,” he whispered. “D-dudn't t-think 'e'd
ch-choose 'er..... A' g-gut hurt. S-so bad. H-hurt 'im back.... still
d-duhin'. Duhn't know 'ow t' stop. S-still..... still love 'im.”
Drunken optics turned to him then, and
Optimus couldn't help the little flinch he gave at suddenly being the
centre of attention. To see those usually determined, arrogant blue
orbs of his friend's..... filled with coolant and so broken..... it
tore. Really deep. How would he have guessed that Sentinel had been
beating himself up on the inside since they first parted ways all
those stellar cycles ago? And, to say that he-
The german shepherd swallowed sharply
as a limp servo lifted for him; Sentinel waving him over tiredly.
Anxiously, Optimus approached, seating himself on the very edge of
the couch as he faced his old friend. “Sentinel....”
“T-th'nks....,” the security guard
mumbled, cutting off the other autodog. He shuttered his optics
slowly, his helm rolling to the side as he began to slip into
recharge. “F-fer listenin'.... W-wish.... wish a' c-could tell 'im,
a'.... a' wez sorry. J-jus'...... Jus' w-wanna see 'im h-happy.....”
Sentinel yawned, chin dropping to his
chestplates as he slouched further in his seat. “....w-want......
wan 'im.....s-smile.....at..... me...... 'gain.....”
“....Sentinel.....,” Optimus called
softly, reaching over and lightly touching the other's shoulder. The
rottweiler did not reply, instead, tipping to the side and slowly
sinking to the couch's arm; curling up against it slightly in his
drunken state.
Sighing, the multi-coloured mech rose
to his pedes, gently re-arranging Sentinel so he was spread
comfortably across the couch, before draping a blanket over him. The
german shepherd made one last stop in the kitchen to grab a glass of
water and some painkillers; leaving them with a small note on the
coffee table, in plain sight of the other's view.
Standing awkwardly for a moment,
Optimus stared down at his old friend, smiling softly as he turned
away and finally left.
xxXxXxx
“Just what the slag do you
think you are doing?!” Flare-up slammed her fists on the desk,
fangs bared at the kittycon as he strode into her office. The
security guard that had escorted him upstairs quickly backed out of
the room, shutting the door behind him as he went. “Mr. Soundwave,”
she growled, drawing the mech's attention again.
“Fact: Only was visiting Mr. Tracks-”
“You do not have my authority to
visit him!,” the femme snarled, knocking over her glass as a servo
flew into the air; one, sharp finger pointing at the persian.
“Clients are forbidden from the escorts' personal quarters, and
you, Mr. Soundwave, have blatantly disregarded the rules and my
authority! What right do you have to strut past security, lying to
their faces about standard protocol?!”
Soundwave did not look contrite, nor
unnerved by the autodog shouting at him. Calmly, he crossed the room,
sitting in one of the chairs before her desk. Irked, Flare-up watched
this, barely holding back from leaning over and slapping the
presumptuous mech.
“Assumption: Had felt there was no
crime in visiting the carrier of my child,” the kittycon said
neutrally.
She growled as she loomed over the
desk. “There,” she spat, forgoing politeness and etiquette, “is
plenty of a crime in this, Mr. Soundwave. You may have signed
a contract to keep the lil' spawn, but you do not have the right
nor the permission to come and go as you will. This building is
private property, its occupants also employees -all of whom are
highly protected and ensured by the company the utmost safety and
privacy in their everyday lives. Though Mr. Tracks is sparked, that
does not make him your 'beloved' suddenly, and I'm sure as slag
certain he doesn't want to see your dull mug.”
“How dare you then try to force your
presence on him?,” the femme added venomously.
The persian bridged his fingers before
his face, his expression concealed brilliantly from view. “.....
Status: Would like to visit Tracks. Inquiry: May I have your
permission?”
Flare-up sneered. “I think we've
already discussed your viewpoints on my say-so, Mr. Soundwave,” she
replied. “And besides..... Why should I? What could you possibly
get out of seeing him? He certainly isn't going to frag you.”
“Fact: Would be willing to pay to
continue seeing him.”
This angered the femme. “Pay....?,”
she hissed. “PAY?! Mr. Soundwave, this is not the Edo era. I do not
sell and buy sex, nor do I offer the freedom of one of my 'geishas'
over for some fancy pile of coins! We're talking about individuals
here -who choose and live their lives as they please, and all with
the additional security that they can walk away from this once
they've tired of it. Don't you dare insult my employees with your
'charity'!!”
Flare-up narrowed her optics when even
the kittycon did not respond to this. “....Get out of my office,”
she snarled, fangs bared and fists clenched on the desktop. “Get
the frag out of my building and off of my property. If I even see you
around the block, I will-”
“Statement: Said it was his choice,”
Soundwave quickly cut in, speaking soft and calm. His visor flashed
in the light. “Inquiry: If I seek his permission first, may I then
continue seeing him? Fact: If he refuses, no matter what, I shall
step away and will only return after the sparkling is born. Will also
close the account with your company and not hire any of your
employees ever again.”
“Inquiry: Is this satisfactory?”
Flare-up glared at the mech quietly for
a klik, her ear twitching atop her helm periodically as she thought
it over. “.....And you still would pay? Knowing that these would
more than likely be entirely non-romantic engagements?,” she
mumbled curiously.
The persian nodded his helm.
The jack russell frowned, before
plopping down into her seat, rifling through the folders on her desk.
“Very well, Mr. Soundwave,” she answered stiffly, not looking at
him as she pulled out a new sheet. “You may have your chance. But
be aware that I am keeping you to your word, and that these visits
will also be closely monitored by our capable staff watching over Mr.
Tracks.”
“Status: Understood,” Soundwave
said, his tail giving a little flick.
xxXxXxx
Swindle scrolled down the page quickly,
his optics taking in the information while his other servo rapidly
jotted it down on a piece of paper. The document on the screen had
been sent to him through a secret source, generously paid for their
help, but was on a timer, before both the source codes and details
were wiped completely from existence -a necessary precaution, after a
few of the kittycon's trade had been caught in the act of illegal
work and had their hard drives hacked into for evidence.
Nowadays, most sources rigged their
files with quick-activated time bombs, giving the viewer only
astroseconds to take in the information before a virus was unleashed;
devouring the file and its contents, and leaving it all too corrupted
for any sort of retrieval. Swindle only had ten astroseconds
left.....
Frowning, the mech scrolled all the way
to the bottom, his optics flaring in surprise, before his terminal
screen gave a shuddering wink. His only warning, before the entire
monitor went dark, an error message popping up, announcing the file
as gone. Swindle paid it no mind. In about a few moments, his
terminal would reboot, opening back up to the main page where the
rest of his seemingly innocent and mundane files and folders sat on
the desktop, with no harm done to the computer or the hard drive
itself.
Turning to his paper, the devon rex
scratched down the last of the information he had just read, taking
that moment to stare in mute shock at the black words glimmering up
at him. He had hoped to find something juicy.... and Primus, had
Swindle rolled onto the biggest piece of gossip anyone could hope for
in his business. He would have felt happier, the kittycon noted, if
it wasn't for the fact that he'd have to report this to his “client”
next time the big idiot came by.....
And he just knew Blackout wasn't
going to respond kindly to this latest revelation.
xxXxXxx
He turned to glare at the security
guard over his shoulder plating as the mech lifted a servo to his
headpiece; listening and quietly murmuring something in response to
the person on the other line. Deeming it a waste of his time, Tracks
turned his helm back forwards, staring out his apartment window
silently.
Primus....., he thought, a servo
reaching up and touching the glass softly, it was beautiful out.
The pomeranian balled his fist. He
wanted to be out there; wanted to walk, helm held high, out in the
sunlight, having all worshipping optics on him. Adoring him.....
loving him..... dreaming to be him..... He wanted to have his sense
of freedom and confidence and beauty back, but instead, he was caged
-inside a contract, his apartment, his body, unable to get out or
escape.
Maybe if he opened the window, removed
the screen....? Tracks mulled the prospect of jumping as he leaned
closer to the glass, his optics quickly calculating the height and
distance from the ground. Oh, such a drop would certainly kill him,
but.... at least he'd be free.
“Suggestion: .....perhaps you should
step back a little?”
The autodog jumped at the vocalizer,
spinning around in terror, clawed fingers once again hugging himself
as he growled at the persian. “W-what.....,” he started lowly,
glancing around quickly. The security guard had disappeared, leaving
him all alone. “What are you doing here?! Why did you come back?”
He had thought Soundwave's first visit
was bad enough.... Now, Flare-up was sending him back after a couple
kliks to further taunt him? That glitch.....
The kittycon did not answer that.
Tracks flinched and slammed back against the window as the other mech
took a step forward, his ears flattening against his helm in fear and
warning. “S-stop,” he hissed, fangs bared. “Don't c-come any
closer!!”
Soundwave, amazingly, stopped.
“Apologies: Did not mean to upset you,” he said gently. The
pomeranian barked bitterly at that.
“Oh, please,” he sneered, huddling
into himself; his optics fervently looking for a way to get around
the blue mech and to a more open space. He disliked being cornered.
“It's very obvious you don't give a slag about my feelings.
Otherwise, you wouldn't have condemned me to this life of breeding
imprisonment. And you know what I say to bastards who spout
meaningless apologies? FRAG OFF!”
Soundwave actually flinched a little as
the autodog screamed at him, but did not budge anymore than that.
Trembling, Tracks turned away from him, coolant filling his optics
and his intakes starting to come in faster, panicked bursts. He would
not let this fragger see him cry, he vowed, he would not let them
beat him down. The escort had only ever had himself to rely on.... to
trust..... No one else would help him. No one else would give him his
freedo-
“Inquiry: Would you like to leave?”
Slowly, ever so slowly, blue optics
turned; staring at the kittycon in shock. Soundwave did not move
forward, nor did he say anything else. Instead, he merely lifted a
servo, holding it out for Tracks to take. His visor gleamed in the
light, fixed on the upset mech gently.
A slender, shaking servo started to
raise, reaching out for the larger one.
The persian held his intakes, ears
perking in anticipation. His frame tensed, waiting for that lovely
servo to rest into his own, ready to pull the pomeranian close to him
and possibly offer some comfort to the distressed autodog.
It should come as no surprise then,
that Soundwave was utterly stunned when Tracks just ran past him,
disappearing once again into the farther depths of his apartment;
hiding from the kittycon. Servo dropping back down to his side
slowly, the persian stood standing by the window for a klik or two
more, before he vented softly and turned to leave.
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