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Now
He had that Dream, again.
Megaton: Soundwave, have you ever considered me more than a means to an end?
Soundwave paused, startled. Megatron’s lips formed a tight smile. A smile that spoke of ceaseless exhaustion and worn out voids.
Then he turned around and walked away. Soundwave opened his mouth but nothing came out.
He woke up. Ravage jumped onto his chest. Laserbeak and Buzzaw stirred in their docks but didn’t rise. Ramble and Frenzy had not returned yet.
He blinked, petted Ravage gently on the head, sent soothing frequencies to all of them, and let himself fall gradually back into recharge.
It was just a dream. After all, he had already given his answer.
Before Now
They met again. Face to face. After all that had happened: the defection, the betrayal, the disappointment and bitter resentment. But Soundwave had figured it out in the end. Megatron was right, ultimately, like he always was. Even if it still stung.
Soundwave... could forgive too.
Megatron hesitated, his field felt lost, yet warmer. Soundwave had always felt that Megatron's field was a tad sad, as if a part of him was long gone, or at least suppressed and locked down beyond reach. Empty. Deserted. Left a hollow husk. And Megatron was aware of it.
Now, the empty part, devoid of emotions, had come back to life.
"Soundwave?" Megatron finally greeted.
Long before now
He knelt by the bed, taking the extending hand.
"Soundwave," Megatron said, whispered, drifting out of consciousness, "always by my side."
"Yes," he answered quietly. Not Lord, not Master, not here, not at this moment, and it didn't matter Megatron could not hear him. He said, "Megatron."
And not another word was needed.
Then
After Megatron had returned from Junkion, he couldn’t trust Soundwave.
It was... not a surprise. After all, Soundwave did not come to Megatron’s aid when Scorponok took over. When he needed it most.
Megatron understood that Soundwave’s priority was always to protect his own. He could hear in Megatron’s turbulent mind, a quiet, almost apologetic whisper. Yes, he understood. But as he had told Soundwave before, he was not the same mech anymore.
He could forgive, but he would not trust.
Not fully.
Still, he allowed Soundwave to hear him, albeit with discomforts. There was not a thing to do with it, save for removing Soundwave all together. He didn’t.
It was a compromise.
Therefore after the Typicon incident, still Soundwave stuck by his lord’s side. Without much ado, they reconciled. But it was different now. The implicit warmth, the quiet rapport they once shared, was lost. Soundwave could hear him every time they passed in corridors, met in conference rooms. Murmurs of fretful suspicions. Almost too tiny to be heard. Whispered fears of telepathic invasions. Even if it was never a fear before.
“I wish to put the world in your hands,” Soundwave had once pledged. “For you to shape it according to your Dreams.”
It was still true.
Megatron was still the one mech whose mind Soundwave decided to anchor on. Even if it was different now.
He knew Megatron, the real Megatron, someone beneath the ragged mech he had first met in the pit of Tarn, was still in there, somewhere. Covered by ruins of tattered personalities, shying away beneath foiling blades. From any connection.
Not to Soundwave’s satisfaction.
He set out to repair what was rifted.
“Will that be all, Soundwave?” Commanded Megatron, residing high on his throne. A polite dismissal.
He was still always different with Soundwave, even if the murmured doubts were constantly present. This steeled Soundwave’s determination. This, and the tentative out-reaching tendrils underlying the conscious voice.
“Lord Megatron,” he raised his head, looking directly into Megatron’s eyes, “There is something else... I wish to discuss with you.”
“And what is that, Soundwave?” Megatron cocked his helm. Curiosity. Agitation. Tiredness.
“A proposal.” He said, obediently, defiantly.
Megatron stared at him for a long moment, wondering about his boldness, displeased at it, weighing indulgence with potential punishment, but as curiosity piqued, indulgence won. He nodded for Soundwave to continue.
“I can teach you how to recognize and resist telepathic invasions, like those of my own.” He said in the mildest, most obedient way he knew, Soundwave wanted this to work, and listened keenly.
Megatron’s optics widened. His systems momentarily frozen. He recognized the value of such a skill instantly, but there were also hesitation, fear, anger at being seen through so blatantly.
But Soundwave wasn’t worried about punishment, not for just that. Megatron had known what Soundwave was capable of walking in, and he was not Scorponok after all.
Emotions whirled and clashed, entangled and dissociated. Outwardly, Megatron stayed perfectly still.
This was part of the reason why Soundwave would follow Megatron, even through all the terrible mistakes and wrong turns, because Megatron possessed an insurmountable strength of will. More importantly, he would not stop until their Dream was achieved.
Eventually, the emotional maelstrom quieted down. Megatron arose from the high throne and descended the stone stairs. He took his time, measuring each step. Until he reached Soundwave’s half-kneeling form.
He placed his hand under Soundwave’s chin and slowly lifted it up.
“Do not presume,” he said in a soft, dangerous tone, one usually reserved for the likes of Ratbat, “to know what I want.”
Soundwave looked up at him, unafraid, because he had left such trivial fears behind long ago, because of the same reason for his unbending loyalty to the mech before him, and did not offer an apology.
Megatron searched his optics for an indefinite interval. A hope, a fear, a flitting desperation and bitterness, oh how Megatron wished for the same ability to use on Soundwave now, on others as well, but mostly, Soundwave.
So he could know, for sure.
So he could be sure to trust.
However bitter and desperate, it was still a reaching-out, one that could be caught by no one other than Soundwave. And for a minute, Soundwave wished for the same thing too.
He saw the moment Megatron came to a decision. A determination. A resignation. A fear. A hope. A faint, almost-fondness.
Soundwave was Ecstatic. But truthfully, there was never a doubt.
Megatron retracted his hand, now relaxed. “How do you propose to accomplish that, dear friend?”
Soundwave smiled under his faceplate. “By practice.”
Megatron’s lips curved wryly, “what else.”
So they practiced. They sat together. The same way they used to sat together on rooftops, fortress walls, shoulder to shoulder, only now in a secluded room, table-apart, by a warm lamp.
“There is a subtle feeling, a soft click, when someone pushed into your mind. I have noticed reflections of it from others minds. It will not be easy, but not entirely undetectable. With enough practice, you should be able to notice it too. Do you feel it, just now?” Whispered Soundwave, and pushed in. Megatron’s gaze was distant.
A shake of head, no.
“Please, concentrate.”
Soundwave pulled out, and tried again. A slight resistance, but he pushed through.
Megatron closed his eyes. “I don’t feel a thing.”
“Try to concentrate harder. Now?”
“Nothing.”
“And now?”
No...
“Now?”
“And now?”
“Now?”
...