Frequencies of The Heart (Soundwave x Reader)

Phantom Instincts

The weeks passed in a strange blur. You had fallen into a routine, a rhythm that kept your mind busy even as the nagging sense of disconnection refused to fade. Soundwave had been recovering, albeit slowly, his frame still battered from the attack. You spent your days scavenging for energon and parts, slipping in and out of the wreckage of the Nemesis or whatever small supply caches you could find nearby. The area was hostile, crawling with the occasional patrol or scout, but you'd grown accustomed to moving through it with a newfound, unnerving ease.

Each time you ventured out, you transformed. The jaguar form came more naturally now, its feral instincts easier to harness. At first, it had felt like wearing someone else's skin—awkward and jarring. But now, you found yourself moving through the debris like you belonged in it, slipping through shadows, tracking the faintest sounds with heightened senses. The disconnect was still there, a hollow echo in the back of your mind, but you could at least function. The transformation had become second nature, even if the person inside it still wasn't sure who they were anymore.

You returned to the cave after one such trip, your jaguar form shifting seamlessly back to your Cybertronian frame as you stepped inside. Soundwave was where you had left him, resting against the cool stone wall, his visor dim but tracking your movements. His injuries had improved, but he still wasn't back to full strength, and for now, this cave had become your world—a temporary refuge from the war outside.

You dropped the small bundle of energon and scrap parts you'd scavenged at his feet. "I found more supplies," you said, your voice flat. There wasn't much to say anymore—at least, nothing that hadn't already been said in the silence between you over the last few weeks.

Soundwave's visor flickered in acknowledgment as he reached for the energon. He didn't speak much either these days, though he still watched you with that same unreadable intensity, as if he were trying to gauge your thoughts without having to ask. You often wondered if he already knew them—he was Soundwave, after all. Maybe he could sense the growing tension, the questions that gnawed at the edges of your mind.

As he started to repair his systems with the scrap you'd brought, you sat down across from him, the cool stone beneath you grounding in its solidity. You stared at the flickering light outside the cave, watching the shadows stretch across the ground. The war felt distant here, but it was never truly gone. Even in moments like this, it was always there, lurking.

You let out a slow breath, your gaze still fixed on the cave's entrance. The question had been building inside you for weeks now, and you couldn't hold it back any longer.

"Why are we still doing this?" you asked quietly, not looking at him. The words felt heavy in the air, cutting through the silence like a blade. "Why are we still fighting? Why are you still fighting?"

Soundwave paused, his hands stilling over the parts he was working on. He didn't respond immediately, but you could feel the weight of his attention shift toward you, like a tidal wave of unspoken thoughts crashing down in the space between you.

You turned your head to look at him, your optics meeting his visor. "What's the point of all this anymore?" you continued, your voice harder now. "Decepticons. Autobots. It's the same endless cycle, isn't it? We keep fighting, keep killing, but for what? Power? Control? At what cost?"

The silence stretched on, Soundwave still unmoving as he considered your words. It wasn't like him to respond quickly, not unless the situation demanded it. But this was different. You weren't asking for a tactical response or an update on the battlefront. You were asking about something deeper—something that you weren't even sure had an answer.

"I never wanted to be a part of this," you admitted, your voice dropping. "I never asked to be saved, or transformed, or thrown into this war. And now, I'm stuck. I'm stuck fighting a war that isn't even mine."

Soundwave's visor flickered briefly, but he still remained silent. You could almost feel the gears turning in his mind, but he wasn't giving anything away.

"I don't even know why I stay anymore," you continued, the words tumbling out faster now. "I could leave. We could both leave. Walk away from all of this. From Megatron, from the Autobots—just disappear."

At that, Soundwave shifted slightly, his posture changing just enough to signal his discomfort with the idea. You knew how deeply his loyalty to the Decepticons ran, how tied he was to Megatron and their cause. For him, this war had meaning—however warped or convoluted that meaning had become over the millennia.

But for you? What meaning did this war hold anymore?

"Do you even want to be here?" you asked, softer this time. "Or is it just...duty? Obligation?"

Soundwave's silence felt like an answer in itself, but eventually, he spoke. His voice was as distorted and monotone as ever, but there was something different about it—something that felt less like a command and more like...a confession.

"Decepticons: purpose."

You frowned, not fully understanding what he meant. "What purpose? What could possibly be worth all of this?"

Soundwave's visor dimmed for a moment before he responded again, this time in a series of short, clipped words, as if the very act of explaining was difficult for him. "Change. Freedom. From: oppression."

You let out a soft, bitter laugh. "Freedom? We're all trapped, Soundwave. Autobots, Decepticons, it doesn't matter. We're all slaves to this war now."

He didn't respond immediately, but the flicker in his visor told you that your words had struck a chord. You wondered how long he'd been fighting this war—how many battles he'd seen, how many allies he'd lost, how many sacrifices he'd made for a cause that may never see resolution. It was a heavy burden, one that weighed on both of you now.

"Leaving: illogical," he finally said, his tone as flat as ever.

"Maybe," you conceded, leaning back against the wall of the cave. "But it doesn't make staying any easier."

For a long time, neither of you spoke. The quiet between you was familiar, comforting in its own way. But it was also heavy, filled with all the things neither of you knew how to say. You both stayed, not because it was logical or because it made sense, but because... what else was there?

The war had taken everything from you. It had taken your body, your humanity, your sense of purpose. And yet, here you were, clinging to the only thing you had left—each other.

Maybe that was why you stayed. Or maybe you stayed because, deep down, despite everything, there was a part of you that couldn't let go of what you had left. Soundwave, even in his silence, was your anchor.

But it didn't make the questions go away. It didn't make the doubts disappear.

"Soundwave," you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper, "if there was a way out, would you take it?"

He didn't answer.

And somehow, that was answer enough.