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The tactician ignored the angry explosions and gunfire surrounding him. His world had narrowed to only himself and the injured mech in his lap. There was no sound that could penetrate through to him. The injured silver mech reached up to cup the tactician’s face with bloody hands, attempting to wipe away tears only to smear energon in their place. The tactician bent his head down to rest his chevron against the other’s helm. “The medic is enroute. Hold on just for a few more kliks.”
His frantic words earned a grating chuckle from the silver bot. The fingers tracing the tactician’s face froze momentarily before resuming their comforting motions. “Lover-”
“Don’t say anything, save your strength. Please , Jazz.” There was desperation slipping into his voice. It was enforced by the terror-panic-sorrow in the tactician’s field.
He was pulled down to have a soft kiss placed on his lip plates. The tactician drew back slightly, against what every part of his spark was screaming at him. Surprisingly, the dying mech began to hum.
You are my sunshine,
The tactician nearly started at the soft voice. He pressed his forehead against his sparkmate’s again. More tears rolled down his cheeks to drip onto the silver mech’s chassis.
My only sunshine.
“Jazz, please, don’t. You need-” The tactician cut himself off with a choked noise. The silver mech pressed another kiss to his lips and offered a sad smile.
You make me happy,
Even as his energon bled from his body, the silver mech kept his voice soft and melodious. The tactician closed his eyes, buried his face into the neck of his lover. The gentle vibrations of the dying mech’s words nearly made him sob. A faint push against the tactician’s spark alerted him to his sparkmate trying to ask him something. Sing with me? Please.
When skies are gray.
The tactician’s voice was muted and wavered, but he tried to sing along.
You’ll never know, dear,
His fingers drifted away from the tactician’s face and his cracked visor flickered.
How much I love you-
The silver mech’s voice cut off with a whimper and hiss of static.
With a stifled sob, the tactician continued to sing in a wavering voice that promised to snap. His own optics began to cycle down as a new, burning ache began to take over his spark.
Please don’t take my sunshine away.