He'd shown it to Tarn without even a second thought. Why was he questioning now? Why was he hesitating now? What was there to worry about?

The spark monitor skips a few pulses and Sixshot's optics dart briefly to the screen before returning his attention back to the medic, watching his friend steady himself. Guilt tightens the anxious coil under his spark again and he looks away, down at his knees.

It was just a mask. It was just his face. And First Aid of all people, deserved to have his request granted- especially something as innocuous as this.

There's a click, the quiet hiss of metal sliding apart. Sixshot clenches his hand and sets it on his lap before slowly looking up.