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The pre-battle tension clotted the air, a sticky, humid heat that pooled thickly around them. Hound squirmed under it, feeling the strained EM fields and nudge of bodies next to him as the army tensed to spring. The hiding place they crouched in was too small, too full, and too quiet. It choked his vents and pinched the fuel lines in his legs and hips, ready for an attack that still was not being ordered, that still was not happening. The seconds oozed into minutes oozed into hours as they waited there, nerves stretched to snapping.
"Mirage," Jazz said suddenly, sharply, and the army surged like a rising tide. Half a second later and they realized it was the wrong word, falling all over each other as they ground to a halt. Curses and mutters filled the air, nearly drowning out Jazz's next words, but Hound strained to hear them, that first word hooking him the way it always did. "Are you out? Did you plant the bomb?" Hound looked over hopefully, expecting to catch a glimpse of blue plating between the shuffle of bodies, but Jazz was alone, crouched by the hideout wall with a hand to his helm. He was nodding, and Hound realized he was speaking over comms.
"Slow down, I can't understand--you're trapped? I'll send someone down to distract the--no, you're literally trapped?" The murmuring of the army died down as Jazz's tone took on a hard, serious edge. The feeling in the room changed, the energy sharper now, more alive. It sizzled through the air like crackles of electricity, leaving the taste of copper in its wake. It set Hound's teeth on edge, and his fingers gouged the earth beneath him for support. "Mirage, calm down. Listen to me. We'll get you out of there, but I need to know exactly where you are. What can you tell me?" Jazz went silent again, listening, and Hound could almost hear Mirage's panicked tone, the smooth, rich voice--so often calm, bordering on slightly smug--fraying at the edges, static sawing into his words and leaving them jagged and rough. He shook his head to dispel the illusion, but it did not go away, and it almost sounded clearer as he watched Jazz's face tighten and his free hand close into a fist.
"You already set the bomb," he said lowly, and Hound realized what that expression was: that strange tautness was the practiced hardening of a soldier who had spent millions of years losing his best friends. Hound's spark clenched so suddenly, so painfully, that for a moment he couldn't see or hear anything. The hideout disappeared, swallowed up by a darkness that roared like the ocean. Hound swayed in it, clinging on to the only lifeline he had left: Jazz's voice. Please save him, he begged. Please think of something, anything. But Jazz's words were sharp, and neatly cut the rope he clung to.
"How long do you have left? ...I see. It's been an honour, Mirage."
He couldn't remember falling, only that suddenly Ironhide's hands were clamped firmly on his shoulders, keeping him upright. He thought he heard the steady, comforting drawl of Ironhide's voice telling him to stay there, to keep venting, but the clipped, urgent tone in Jazz's voice, all the laughter shocked out of it, was what brought him back in the end. He was too close, too loud, and Hound's optics snapped back on to see him kneeling over him. How Jazz had pushed his way through the tightly-woven knot of Autobots, Hound would never know, but he was there, and he was shaking him.
"Stay with it, Hound. He wants to talk to you. He--He doesn't have much time left. You need to take this call now, okay?" And that's when Hound realized that his comm was beeping. He was shaking, and he didn't think his legs could hold him, but with Jazz on one side and Ironhide on the other, he somehow found the strength to reach up and flick his helm radio on. The connection flooded open, and suddenly he didn't have to support himself, didn't have to think, didn't have to do anything except listen to Mirage's voice.
"Hound?" He was wrong about Mirage. His voice wasn't broken, wasn't bleeding static. He sounded the same, just quieter, almost timid.
"Mirage?" He was the one unravelling, his speech cracked and rough. He winced at the sound of it, but Mirage didn't seem to mind, a soft sound like a sigh coming over the comm.
"I'm glad you're there."
"Yeah," Hound said, because he didn't know what else to say. There was a moment of silence, and Hound felt a sudden surge of panic. There wasn't much time. He had to say something. He had to--
"I mean," Mirage said after a moment. "I'm glad you're always there. Ah, that wasn't very eloquent of me. Forgive me, Hound. I'm not up to standard right now."
"Mirage, that's not--you don't have to apologize--"
"I think I do, Hound. For as often as you have been there for me, I have not been there for you." Hound tried to speak, tried to protest, but he could do nothing but choke on static. He was forced into silence as Mirage went on, spinning all his neat little words into a spider's web to trap him. "Hound, I have a confession to make. All this time, all these years, I have been aware of your affections for me." Now he couldn't make any noise at all, even if he tried. He was stuck tight to the web, being coiled slowly into a blanketing cocoon that stole away all sound, all light. "I must apologize, because I never really gave them due consideration. I never permitted myself to look at someone who wasn't from the Towers. I never took you seriously, Hound, and I'm so, so sorry."
This wasn't happening. He realized this suddenly. It was too wrong, too twisted. It was fuzzy around the edges, surreal as only dreams could be. He tried to gasp, to call out for help, but he had to be suffering from sleep paralysis, for he could not move.
"Hound? Are you still there? Oh Hound, please don't leave me at the end. Not now." His voice was finally beginning to crack, panic chipping away his smooth stone facade. "I didn't call you just to tell you that. Please, keep listening."
"I am," he heard himself say, but he wasn't quite sure how, because he could swear he was still locked in paralysis.
"Hound, I want you to know that I--" a hitch, "despite how I acted, I always did appreciate you. No, I cared for you. I did, Hound. You must believe me."
"Mirage..." but he couldn't say any more, words lost to the gibber of static. He was crying, he noticed. His optics had sparked too bright to see, and deep inside something kept clicking, choked little sobs coming from somewhere deep inside him. He thought he heard clicking on the other end too, but Mirage's voice remained mostly even.
"I hope that was a yes, but, ah, I suppose it doesn't matter now. Hound, I--I'm really glad I knew you." Not the past tense. He couldn't handle that. His hands scrabbled on something smooth and hard--it felt like metal, but he was losing the ability to tell--and then something closed around his hands, stilling them, holding them. A small part of his brain knew it was Jazz, but he couldn't help but feel it was Mirage. "Hound, if I ever had the chance to do this all over again, I would have--"
The line went dead.
A moment of silence.
Then, a thunderclap.
The ground trembled.
Time ran out.
Hound
screamed.