Rating: M
Chapter 25
C.M.D: Ah, another month of updates~ I'm really loving being able to write again and it shows by how quickly and wonderfully this chapter came out. BTW, you're probably going to want some tissues handy.
Phones rang every few nanosecs as
the great dane entered the building; voices shouting, some colorful
and some not, while others talked or merely muttered unheard beneath
the din. Sidestepping a couple 'bots that stormed out through the
glass doors angrily, the autodog continued to the inner front door,
scoping about for a free enforcer that he could talk to.
One quickly approached from the
left, taking off their hat and looking the mech up and down. “Ultra
Magnus, yes?,” they asked.
“Yes,” the great dane replied.
“The phone call said it was urgent?”
“It is, sir,” the enforcer
sighed, glancing at the lawyer's briefcase, “But probably not in
the way you think.”
“Follow me,” was all he said at
the quizzical look Ultra Magnus gave. With no other direction, the
blue autodog followed, heading to the private offices of the
high-ranking enforcers, instead of to the holding rooms as he had
predicated they would go. Slowing, his guide gestured to the chief
detective's office, sighing again.
“They're waiting for you in there,
sir. We again apologize for the inconvenience at such a late hour.”
“....Thank you,” the great dane
was slow to reply, tipping his helm to the enforcer respectively,
before he approached the open doorway. “Commissioner? Detective?
You wished to see me?”
Three sets of optics rose to greet
him; a fourth remained lowered to the floor dimly. “Magnus,” the
Commissioner said, his vocalizer heavy with exhaustion and sorrow.
“Glad you could make it....”
“Is that....?” The question died
on the tip of the lawyer’s glossa, his attention fixed wholly on
the tiny sparkling huddled in the desk chair. Even from here, Ultra
Magnus could spot the dried tear tracks on the poor thing's
cheekplates and the unease he had walked in with increased. “What's
ha-”
“Let's talk outside,” the
detective suggested. At the femme's words, the Commissioner nodded,
gently grasping Ultra Magnus' arm and leading him out of the room.
Facing the blue autodog again, the mech sighed, rubbing uncertainly
at the back of his neck.
“Magnus, I wish I didn't have to
say this, but...”
“But what?,” the great dane
demanded, tired of this never-ending slue of questions and not an
answer in clear sight. “What is going on? Where is Jackpot? Why is
his creation here at this awful hour?”
“We don't know,” the detective
spoke up then, taking over for the Commissioner.
The lawyer stiffened, looking down
on the femme quietly. “....w-what,” he swallowed slowly, “What
do you mean?”
The smaller autodog cycled a short
intake, glancing back into the room at the sparkling left in the
social worker's care. “....a dispatch team was called out to a
crash-site. Witnesses at the scene said they found the vehicle in the
ravine, the bridge's guard rails broken. When we got there....,”
she continued, looking straight up at Ultra Magnus this time, “It
didn't take long for the enforcers on site to I.D the car as
Jackpot's. We immediately sent another team to his home.... but
Flashpoint was nowhere to be found, and the sparkling was discovered
hiding in the kitchen cupboards.”
“W-why....?,” the blue mech
began.
“We have already taken his
testimony but the pup hadn't seen much,” the detective cut in.
Again, she glanced back into the room. “He said he woke up and
couldn't find his mom. The front door was opened and he heard someone
walking about further inside the house. That's when he hid in the
kitchen cupboards and listened as the unknown 'bot searched the
berthrooms upstairs before finally leaving.”
The Commissioner took over again, a
servo resting weakly on Ultra Magnus' shoulder. “Jackpot was
working a case recently, but he hadn't shared with us about what. He
was to report some of his findings to us this morning.... before
this.... I know they were friends of yours, Magnus, and I don't wish
to burden you further this night.... But they named you as the pup's
guardian, should anything befall either of them.”
“Y-you... you can't be telling me
that they're dead!,” the great dane choked, processor still
reeling. His Academy classmate, gone, alongside her husband?!
“No,” the detective answered.
“Their statuses are being documented as missing....”
“But,” she added gravely,
“Whoever took them, made sure to gather every bit of Jackpot's
work. Not even a journal was left behind.... The perpetrator, or
perpetrators, was organized, calculated and very thorough. They
missed the sparkling, but it's obvious enough from the pup's
statement, that they were looking for him before their window of
opportunity closed. They wanted no one left behind who could be used
as a witness.”
Ultra Magnus glanced back into the
office himself this time, feeling his spark ache for the exhausted
sparkling still sitting in the desk chair. The social worker tried to
offer the little mechling a drink but he did not even respond to the
cup held before his servos.
“....He needs a place to stay,”
the Commissioner informed softly. “The pup is in danger himself
should his parents' kidnappers return, but he's too young to be moved
into another's home -even to be filed into the foster system. He'll
need a name change, a new place of address, someone who can actively
watch over him.... We think, seeing as how you are the preferred
choice of guardian and that the child knows you, it would be best if
he was taken in by you.”
The lawyer quickly rose out of his
daze at the other autodog's last words, staring at the pair of
enforcers, stunned. “You want.... me? No,” he said rapidly,
feeling his fuel tanks roil now, “No, I can't possibly take in the
pup! I.... I-i have work, and.... and the last time I saw him, he was
only a couple decacyles old, he doesn't even know me!”
“Yet,” the femme politely spoke
up, “He was entrusted to you by two friends, whose lives are in
unknown danger this very moment, and he is scared and tired and in
need of someone to protect and care for him.”
“If you can find it in your spark,
Magnus,” the Commissioner added, “Please, take the pup in. Your
work will keep him well protected, without drawing any actual
attention to the sparkling. After all, City Hall is well guarded; no
one would question a sparkling protected under security's watchful
gaze.”
Venting slowly, Ultra Magnus turned
fully this time, looking at the sparkling who had not budged once
since he arrived. He recalled Flashpoint's smiling face the orn she
told him that she was pregnant, surprising the great dane in between
stories of their Academy orns while they enjoyed some oil together.
Having this bornling had meant so much to her.....
“I'll take him,” the lawyer
finally replied, hearing the other two autodogs vent behind him.
“I'll talk with the social worker
for a couple kliks,” the Commissioner said, “And then she'll have
you look over some paperwork, Magnus. It'll be easier if we change
the pup's surname to yours, but please think of a new name to give
the sparkling. It's essential this be done before we release him to
you tonight.”
Ultra Magnus merely nodded, and at
the other mech's gesture, walked into the room; slowly approaching
the sparkling, before he took to one knee. Primus, the tiny thing
could have only been several stellar cycles old....
“Hello there,” the great dane
greeted softly, his lip components pulled in a broken smile as glazed
optics slowly turned up to him, “My name's Ultra Magnus. I'm a
friend of your mom's and.... I'm here to take you home, Hot Rod.”
xxXxXxx
There was no work to be done at the
office this orn, but Soundwave debated whether or not he should
leave. It was a growing itch he felt all the way down to his sensory
grid, and it constantly plagued him with thoughts of fleeing.
Usually, a slow orn was nothing to worry about.... This was not just
a regular orn. His restlessness was due to the fact that he currently
housed Tracks in one of the mansion's downstairs guestrooms, the
escort that he had been trying to court and had accidentally sparked
-which had turned into a hellish nightmare thus far for the autodog.
Tracks had been amazingly silent since
coming to yesterorn and still currently was. That, in itself, had not
been what the persian had expected. He had anticipated screaming and
throwing and poor attempts at fleeing. Anything other than a
seemingly positive response was more likely! Yet, the pomeranian was
behaving.... and in a few short cycles, Ratchet was to be returning
with an ambulance to take the escort to the hospital. Where he would
be kept in his own private room until the twins were protoformed.
Soundwave removed his mouthguard and
visor, rubbing at his bare face with both servos. Truthfully, he
didn't want Tracks to leave. He wanted him to stay here, where he
could be certain that the autodog would be fed and entertained, with
the hope that he may be allowed a chance to win the beautiful mech's
spark. Yet, the kittycon was a realist if nothing else and he didn't
wish to make Tracks' suffer any more than he already had with his
fanciful delusions.
A knock on his personal office door
startled the blue mech, who quickly donned mask and visor again
before turning in his seat. “Request: Come in,” he called.
The door opened and inside stepped one
of the maids he had tasked with the autodog's care. “Sir,” the
femme shortly curtseyed. “The autodog would like to see you. He
says that it's imperative.”
It took the persian to realize he
hadn't answered for a few kliks. Shaking his helm quickly, the mech
cleared his throat and folded his servos atop the desk. “Order:
Kindly tell Tracks that I shall be along to visit with him shortly.
Status: Have a few things to finish with first.”
The maid nodded and curtseyed again,
before leaving, shutting the office door behind her as she went. The
moment she was gone, Soundwave slumped back in his chair, ears
flattened with sudden anxiety. Was the autodog saving his fits for a
face-to-face meeting with the kittycon? Was that why he had been so
quiet all of yesterorn? Visor dim with his fears, Soundwave
contemplated on whether he should comply to the escort's demands, or
simply wait until Ratchet arrived and let Tracks' leave, his anger at
the persian not spoken.
Even while pondering his choices over,
the blue mech knew he would be heading momentarily to see the
pomeranian.
xxXxXxx
The pup went skittering the moment
the door was slammed shut behind him, bolting for the stairs before
an angry growl froze him in place, halfway up. “Rodimus! Get back
here -now.”
Shaking and lip components pouted in
fierce stubbornness, the sparkling turned back around slowly and
walked as far as the bottom step, leaning around the corner to show
his guardian that he had returned. Ultra Magnus stared back steely,
cycling a heavy vent, before he gestured to the space in front of him
with one stiff finger. Rodimus shuffled in place for half an
astrosecond, but still did not budge.
“Come stand here now,” the great
dane snarled, losing hold of his rage. “I want no more of your
games today!”
Flinching, Rodimus quickly ran over,
standing exactly where the other autodog had pointed. “Optics up
here!” He tried to look, the sparkling really did, but he was
shaking and his optics were overflowing with tears, and he just
couldn't face the grouchy lawyer that very moment.
Growling again, Ultra Magnus decided
not to press the mechling further and instead began stripping off his
outer clothing. “I can't believe you!,” he said, resisting the
urge to rub at his optics in irritation. “Being called to your
school by your Principal..... What were you thinking, climbing to the
school roof and dropping objects off the side?”
“I-i wasn't dropping stuff,”
Rodimus tried to defend himself quickly, helm snapping up to the
great dane, “I was getting the balls from off-”
“Silence!,” barked his guardian.
The golden retriever took a step back, optics flared in fright.
Shoving his things none-to-gently into the closet, Ultra Magnus
turned his attention back to the sparkling. “This is just another
list of misdemeanours you have committed all month! Clogging washroom
toilets, booby-trapping teachers' desks, fighting with classmates....
When I took you in, I did so to provide a good home, education and
life to an unfortunate sparkling. Instead, I have the honour of
cleaning up after a lil' hellion and having all my good deeds shoved
back in my face!!”
“B-b-but-,” the sparkling
stuttered.
The lawyer stood over Rodimus
rigidly, his optics narrowing angrily. “I am not finished; do not
interrupt! For three stellar cycles now I have given you my time and
my attention, at the cost of missed work and lost associates,” he
continued, leaning in closer and closer to the mechling, “Not once
have I complained or regretted it, but your behaviour has done
nothing but worsen and I am tired of it! If you don't care to stay
under my care then I will see to it that you are placed under another
household!”
Words ringing with an air of
finality, Ultra Magnus straightened up and stormed into the kitchen,
leaving the silent sparkling in the entry way as he tried to swallow
back the rest of his rage. Loud clanging came from the kitchen as the
lawyer moved through the cupboards, soundless to the golden retriever
staring in shock at the empty space his guardian has just vacated.
Thick, hot tears fell in swollen drops down Rodimus' cheekplates; his
intakes cycling fast and low as his trembling worsened. Ultra Magnus'
threat had struck the sparkling harder than a punch to the face would
have and the poor thing struggled to keep afloat of his fears, rising
like a black sea to drown him.
“P-pu-puhl-lease....,” came the
choking, gasping words behind the great dane, “P-pl-please....”
Ultra Magnus set the pot down,
turning blankly and staring at the weeping mechling. “Please,
what?,” he asked callously.
Rodimus wheezed as he cycled an
intake, optics dimming as they filled more with coolant; his face a
messy track of fluids and tears around a stuttering mouth. “P-please,
I-i,” the sparkling hiccuped, “I-i'll, b-be, I-i'll b-be go-good.
I-i wo-won't m-make y-you mad a-anymore; I-i'll be-behave! D-don't
m-make m-me g-guh-go a-a-away! D-don't l-leave... p-puh-puhl-lease!!”
He hadn't meant to cause trouble! He
hadn't! Ultra Magnus was working all the time now; he barely spent
any time with the pup. Rodimus was just trying to make friends and
have his guardian be proud of him!
“....I want your word,” the
lawyer said, ignorant to the younger autodog's fears and trauma.
Anger and exhaustion still held sway over his spark. “I want your
promise that you won't cause anymore trouble and that you will do
everything that I say. If you can't obey my rules, then I'm afraid
you won't have a place here for much longer. I'm sorry, Rodimus, but
I don't have time to tend to bad, little sparklings.”
The mechling nodded his helm
rapidly, still huffing and wheezing. “I-i-i pr-promise!,” he
forced through a ball of static. “I-i'll d-do a-as y-you wa-want!”
Ultra Magnus stared for a long
moment before he nodded, accepting Rodimus' promise. At the gesture,
the sparkling rushed forward, clinging to his guardian's leg and
burying his face tight; his fingers curling into the fabric,
reluctant to let go. He was still shaking and everything hurt, from
his vents, to his processor, to even his spark.... yet, he just
hugged the great dane's leg tighter, afraid that if he released the
limb, the lawyer would abandon him too.
“Rodimus....,” the older mech
said, a slight hint of annoyance in his tone. Rodimus stiffened,
practically whimpering when the great dane's large servo rested on
his helm. Yet, all that happened was that the lawyer began to pet
him; occasionally stroking under a flattened ear. Sniffling, the
sparkling nuzzled closer into the touch, still retaining his
strangling grasp on his guardian's pant leg.
“Rodimus,” Ultra Magnus
repeated. The golden retriever hesitated a weak, 'yes?', but did not
lift his helm still or stop shyly pushing back into the bigger mech's
petting. Rodimus wanted the touch, needed it, though he craved to be
held closer. To be protected between two arms, rocked and cradled,
soothed by a thrumming spark and reassured how much he was wanted. He
knew these servos were capable of it; had been showered in such a,
long, long time ago it seemed now.
“...I am still a little upset with
you,” the lawyer continued, only now his vocalizer softening, laced
with exhaustion. “I accept your apology and your promise, but I
would like you to return to your room while I prepare dinner. Clean
yourself up, start your homework, and I will call for you once it's
time to eat. I will forgive you shortly myself, I just need a little
time.”
The sparkling didn't want to let go.
He was afraid to, so very terrified, but he swallowed back a sob and
released the great dane. If he broke his promise now, just after it
was made, than he knew he would be abandoned without a second
thought. Ultra Magnus always kept his word -Rodimus would just have
to do the same and make sure to never upset the older autodog again.
He didn't want to lose the other's love.
Obediently, the golden retriever
pulled away and exited the kitchen without a word of complaint;
glancing back only once before he headed upstairs, in compliance with
Ultra Magnus' request.
xxXxXxx
It had been too long. Blackout marched
down the street stiffly, glaring and sometimes even growling, at the
pedestrians that came across his path. Normally watching the smaller
autodogs and even kittycons skitter off frightfully would bring a
smile to his face. Unfortunately, his processor was preoccupied with
too many other things right now, especially about a certain plan
involving a certain autodog.
It had been over a decacyle now, and
still, the mutt had not come running back to him! What was going on?
The panther had already been by Ultra Magnus' home and it was obvious
that Rodimus had not reconciled with the mech. So why hadn't the
autodog crawled back to Blackout like he was supposed to? Well, with
no idea as where to find the golden retriever or what to do, the
kittycon had no choice but to make his way to his little helper.
Swindle had better not have any other clients at that moment, because
Blackout would wait for no one.
Turning down onto one of Iacon's
well-known business districts, the kittycon hurried for the plain
brown door sitting between a jewelry store and a retail office.
“SWINDLE,” he roared, slamming through the door. Blackout didn't
even care that his action had sent the door swinging off of its
hinges. “SWINDLE, WHERE ARE YOU, YA LIL' SEWER-SUCKING VERMIN!”
“He's not here....,” a second
vocalizer spoke, an older, blue serval stepping out from the
entrepreneur's office. He glanced at the broken door then to the
panther, looking the larger mech up and down quickly with a stern
optic. “You'll have to seek your business elsewhere, whoever you
are.”
“I think not!,” Blackout snarled in
reply, stepping forward, fists curling at his sides. He didn't like
the arrogance coming off this stranger one bit and he wouldn't take
an ounce more. “Who the frag are you?! Where is Swindle? Tell me
right now! That little credit-whore owes me information!!”
The thug moved to take a step forward,
when he froze, staring down at the serval. He was at least twenty
times the other kittycon's size, yet the murderous aura coming off of
the stranger had Blackout frozen. He only smelled that kind of scent
off of the psychopaths who were buried deep in solitary during his
couple stints in the slammer.
“I,” the blue mech growled back
slowly, not once having moved in his original stance, “Am the
'whore's' sire.... And next time you refer to my son like that, I'll
make certain it will be your last, street scum.”
“S....s-sorry,” the panther said,
tacking on “sir” for extra measure.
The serval snorted in disgust at him,
but merely turned to return to the office; one optic still fixed on
the larger kittycon sourly. “Swindle will be out of the office for
a while. I suggest that you find another informant in the mean time
or wait 'til he returns.”
Blackout didn't even say thanks before
he turned and left, taking care not to damage the office front door
more than he already had. He was lucky that the stranger hadn't
demanded compensation, but he wasn't going to rouse the other's anger
-old mech or not. If he was as much of a killer as he smelled, age
would hardly impede experience. Storming back to the nearest light
rail platform, the panther realized grudgingly that he'd have to wait
some time longer to find out what was happening with Rodimus. Unless
of course, the autodog came running to him soon.
Blackout was wise enough to know how
silly of a notion that was to hold onto at this point.
xxXxXxx
Soundwave stood outside the guest
berthroom for he didn't know how long now, and he still wasn't
certain how much longer he would be standing here. He was trying to
gather his nerve, to knock and enter, but it was becoming more of a
chore the longer he shuffled in place anxiously. This shouldn't have
been so difficult! But it was Tracks inside -his ever beautiful
autodog who was bitter and betrayed currently- and trying to work
around the escort's haywire emotional triggers was a skill that the
kittycon had not acquired yet. Seeing yet another servant peek down
the hall at him, Soundwave waved them off, venting shortly as he once
again stared at Tracks' door.
Before he could even think about it for
another astrosecond, he quickly rapped at the door and dropped his
servo down by his side when a soft “Come in” immediately
followed.
Ears lowering an inch, the billionaire
tried to shake off the last of his nervousness as he took hold of the
handle; entering the room and gently shutting the door behind
himself. Tracks was sitting on the couch, propped up by a few large
pillows, sipping slowly from a cup of tea. That made Soundwave
worried once more. If Tracks decided to blow up in his face, he had a
number of fragile objects to use as projectiles just in front of him.
“....Greetings: Tracks,” Soundwave
finally said, realizing that he hadn't spoken for about a klik since
entering. “Inquiry: How is the orn faring you?”
The pomeranian shuttered his optics
slowly at the persian, before setting his cup down on the table with
some difficulty. “Fine, I suppose,” he answered quietly. “I see
you're not going to offer explanation as to why I am here in your
home, instead of at the Agency. Of course, it probably wouldn't do
you any favours at this point, given that you didn't bother to tell
your staff to inform me of where I am upon waking.”
A true point, and one that made the
kittycon recoil a little guiltily. Blue optics stared at him over
cold frames in silence; judging him in ways that Soundwave rather not
ponder on. “Still not saying anything?,” the escort demanded
crisply. “I had honestly expected better of you -but that would be
giving you too much credit.”
“Apologies: Did not want to upset you
further with undue distress while you recovered from an eventful
night,” Soundwave replied. He didn't know if it was the right thing
to say, but saying nothing any longer would definitely do him no
good. “Fact: would not remain here long, only until this orn before
Ratchet had you transferred to Iacon General. Status: should be
arriving shortly with ambulance, as promised.”
Tracks turned his attention away for a
moment, grunting as he bent towards the coffee table, shifting
position to make allowance for his swollen abdomen. Grabbing a few
biscuits off the plate of offered sweets, the autodog relaxed once
more against the couch and pillows, nibbling at his snack delicately.
“Yes.... my eventful night,” he hummed, glancing at Soundwave
momentarily. “Ratchet said that I had temporary amnesia from the
shock but that I would recall everything shortly. He did mention
though that if I didn't, to seek his medical help immediately.”
The blue mech straightened an inch at
the statement. Tracks didn't remember his mad attempt at escape? The
thought was unbelievable, but maybe it was for the best. Soundwave
didn't really know if it was a good idea that the pomeranian know his
involvement in that stormy night. He dared to hope for an
astrosecond.
“Of course, that won't be necessary,
because things have finally come back to me....”
And it was a foolish endeavour.
Soundwave opened his mouth to try and
explain himself again, but the escort looked at him coolly, cutting
off anything the other mech might had said. “It was raining
-horrible weather really- which could explain my memories being lost
for a short time,” he added. “What I can't figure out is.... why
you saved me.... from being run over, of all things.”
“Why were you there, Soundwave? Why
did you risk running through a storm to find me, when I could have
disappeared to any place at that point?”
Silence hung in the air after the
questions were spoken; even Tracks had abandoned his biscuits for the
time being, his attention fixed wholly on the kittycon standing still
by the door. Soundwave couldn't speak though. He was completely and
utterly befuddled. He had expected rage and insults and threats of
self-harm by this point, but the autodog sat calm and quiet upon the
couch, not a hint of animosity in sight. Was it just lurking in wait
for the persian to say the wrong thing? Soundwave supposed it didn't
matter.
He could never answer Tracks question
easily anyhow. The reasons behind any of his actions that night had
now gotten tangled up in his vocalizer chords, wedging in deep and
refusing to move lest they choke him completely. How could he confess
anything when he knew everything he felt or thought was wrong and
selfish?
The kittycon just didn't want Tracks to
die....
A knock on the door interrupted the
quiet. “Sir, the ambulance and Ratchet have arrived. They are just
pulling up the driveway now,” a servant informed from the other
side of the door.
Glancing at his pocket watch, Soundwave
was surprised that it was already after lunch. “Arrival:
acknowledged,” he said in response. “Tracks: be ready shortly.
Request: please see to our guests in the meantime.”
“Yes, sir,” answered the servant,
before their pedesteps quietly faded down the hall outside.
Soundwave lifted his gaze to the
pomeranian and quickly felt guilty again. “Apologies,” he offered
to the displeased scowl starting to form on rouge lip components,
“Fact: did not mean to speak for you; merely wished to ensure
Ratchet that you were not in harm. Status: you may prepare to leave
at your own pace.”
Blue optics shuttered at him slowly.
Then.... “In that case, I will do just that,” the autodog
replied. “Please tell Ratchet I won't go to the hospital with him
today.”
The red visor blinked comedically as
the persian tried to make sense of what just happened; watching in
bafflement as Tracks took another nibble out of his biscuits before
reaching awkwardly and reclaiming his cup of tea. There was no hurry
in his motions, no sign that the escort was going to get up and pack
or the like. Struggling, Soundwave finally managed to push out a
“Inquiry: ....what?” before Tracks gave him any more attention.
“Well,” the multi-coloured mech
supplied matter-of-factly, “You just told me that I can get ready
to leave this place at my own discretion. So, I'm doing just that. I
don't want to leave today -in fact, I quite like it here. There's
doors and privacy, no guards hounding me, the room is gorgeous and
the food quite delectable. All in all, this is a much nicer
environment than the Agency or even the hospital could provide. Thus,
I want to stay here. When I'm tired of your estate then I will call
Ratchet and leave for the hospital at that point.”
A part of Soundwave wanted to jump in
glee. Another part of him, a larger part, felt a deep-unsettling
sense of dread at the notion. “Query: are you certain?,” he
asked, needing Tracks to assure him that this was truly what he
wanted.
The pomeranian held in a sigh, but
didn't stop the roll of his optical sensors. “Yes,” he answered,
sipping at his tea, “I would like to stay here. It's only fair that
I receive exceptional care, seeing as I am carrying your offspring.”
That was reasonable, the persian
supposed, but he still felt so very anxious knowing that Tracks would
be staying here longer. “....Status: understand,” he eventually
vented, deciding it was best just to please the sparked autodog. He
didn't want to cause anymore trouble than he already had. “Action:
Shall inform Ratchet of your decision. Assumption: He may wish to
talk with you and confirm before he leaves.”
“That's fine,” Tracks waved
dismissively, dusting biscuit crumbs off of his belly. “I'd expect
nothing less of him.”
Nodding in acknowledgement, the
billionaire said his farewells and finally exited the room; pausing a
moment outside the closed door afterwards, trying to wave off the
queer sense of vertigo he was experiencing. He still had his
misgivings about this whole affair, but despite it all, Soundwave
felt a tiny, daring little sliver of hope flare to life again within
his spark.
xxXxXxx
No matter how many times he left, he
always found himself right in the same place again.
A broken, little smile tried to creep
its way onto his face, before it was strangled altogether; Rodimus
sipping at his oil quietly, optics still locked on the house across
the street. He'd grown so used to calling the townhouse home, but
truly, it wasn't. Not in the same sense that most children called a
place 'home'. Indeed, he had spent much of his younger stellar cycles
within that building, but home -a real home, with loving guardians
and hours of silly and good play- was the place he had lost eons ago
when his parents had disappeared.
Ultra Magnus' house had been a decent
replacement. It was full of so many rules and ridiculous
expectations, but it was warm at night and kept him safe from the
unknown dangers out in the world. Even at what it had cost him....
Rodimus wanted to say that he hated the
great dane. He had right to, as he mentioned when he had exploded in
the other mech's face earlier that orn, yet.... Yet he couldn't; not
fully. Just as the times when he would run away during his sparkling
orns, the golden retriever always retraced his steps back to this
place. Back to Ultra Magnus. The older mech was strict and
distant.... but in the beginning, he had given his all to a poor,
miserable sparkling.
He'd stayed home for cycles, attempting
simple conversations or games, and even offered the pup hugs -so very
warm despite how awkward they were, coming from the great dane. Ultra
Magnus tried.... he did... but he just didn't understand what it
meant to have a child, let alone raise one, and it showed as his
trepidation gave way to routine and the unusual to commonplace.
Without any ill intent, the lawyer had treated Rodimus like an equal
adult... and when his patience had waned too thin for the sparkling's
desperate antics for attention, his ire was as strong as if directed
at any other full-grown mech.
The golden retriever recalled that it
was this sort of treatment that had forced him into a lie. By choice,
of course, but only because a traumatized sparkling such as himself
could not afford to lose the only other person they had left. Rodimus
lifted his cup to sip again and noticed blankly that it was empty. He
stared into the oil-stained bottom, lost in a sea of memories.
What would it have been like, the young
autodog wondered, if his parents hadn't disappeared? If he had been
raised with them, instead of the great dane. If he had come to hate
Ultra Magnus, instead of innocent serenity becoming true affection
the longer he played in the other autodog's farce, and was rewarded
with constant, uninterrupted time and care.
It was stupid to ponder on things like
that now, Rodimus knew, but it was also foolish to stand outside his
foster parent's house in the dead of night for kliks on end. He
thought for an astrosecond that maybe he should go find that slagging
kittycon, Blackout, and blow off some much needed steam, but the
thought immediately churned his fuel tanks sickly. The panther must
of thought he was being cheeky, revealing the truth to Rodimus and
though the kittycon's plans may have backfired on him, Rodimus was a
little glad all the same for what was happening.
It hurt. It totally did.
He wasn't going to lie about that.
Knowing that Ultra Magnus loved, or at least, lusted after some
kittycon a few stellar cycles younger than Rodimus himself, tore the
golden retriever to bloody shreds on the inside. It felt like someone
had ripped out his spark and shoved an insecticon inside the empty
space instead.
Yet, for all the agony Rodimus felt
now, he was somewhat relieved. No longer would he have to listen to
the great dane's callous and ignorant comments about his future, or
receive tender pats and shoulder rubs that meant nothing, nor would
the younger lawyer have to hope that the affection in the other's
optics might come out as a full confession. His whole life he'd
fantasized that one orn Ultra Magnus would turn to him, after
treating him like an adult and never a foster son, and realize that
Rodimus had been bred into the perfect mate for him. Foolish.
Now there would be nothing to long for
and nothing to suffer over....
About to turn away, Rodimus finally
noticed that a light was shining dimly through the kitchen curtains
in the otherwise dark house. Surprised, the autodog didn't know what
to do and it came as a shock to him that he found himself standing
before the front door an astrosecond later. It wouldn't be wise, a
little voice niggled at the back of his helm.
But he was here now, wasn't he?
Maybe, just maybe, there was a chance
to....?
Keys gave a little jingle as they were
lifted out of his coat pocket and carried over to the door's lock.
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