"Well, I'll be – wham! –" the red minibot murmured when he saw the two Autobots that walked into his bar. Sunstreaker, on the other hand, waved at the minibot with a broad grin on his face.

"Heya, Warpath. Talk about surprise, huh?"

"Surprise? I never thought I'd see this day!" Warpath admitted, and he quickly stepped out of the counter to greet Bluestreak. "How've you been, kiddo?"

"Hey, Warpath," Bluestreak said happily and lowered himself so he could give the minibot a proper hug. "Long time, no see."

"You said it," Warpath said. He turned to the direction of a small door farther inside the bar. "Hey, Gears! Sunstreaker's here!"

Bluestreak looked at Sunstreaker incredulously. The artist nodded with a smile, signing to the soldier that he had indeed heard correctly.

"Big deal! He's here every day!" a very familiar, cranky voice sounded from the inner room. "Now let me get on with my work here, I've only got one pair of hands!"

Bluestreak took a step forward. "So how about you come out and see me instead?"

There was the sound of something being dropped quite unceremoniously and, moments later, Gears stepped out, a look of disbelief in his optics. His jaw almost dropped when he saw the silver mech.

"Hello, Gears," Bluestreak said, extending his hand.

"Drop the polite act and get over here!" Gears declared, opening his arms to hug Bluestreak.

Bluestreak chuckled at that and he complied. Sunstreaker and Warpath watched the second reunion, almost laughing when the soldier winced subtly at the strength of that mecha-bear hug. Gears, apparently, didn't know his own strength.

"It's good to see you too, Gears," Bluestreak said, finally drawing back. "You look great."

"I look like slag, you mean," Gears pointed out dryly. "You have no idea what I have to go through every day ever since I became partners with this robo-slowpoke here."

"Don't listen to him, Bluestreak! He – wham! – says that all the time," Warpath said, his smiling tone quite audible, and he beckoned the soldier and the artist to sit on two nearby chairs. "So – pow! – what can we get you?"

"Give me my usual, guys," Sunstreaker said.

Bluestreak thought about it for a moment. "I'll have an energon cube and a piece of oil cake."

Gears raised an optic ridge and looked closely at Bluestreak. "Someone is hungry. And you," at that, he pointed a lecturing finger at Sunstreaker, "Did you ever think of changing your menu for once?"

"If I did, you'd only say I should stick to my usual course. I'm just saving you the trouble," Sunstreaker replied smugly.

Gears harrumphed, although there was a good-natured tone in that sound. "Alright, then. One Sunstreaker dish, one energon cube and a piece of oil cake coming up!" he declared, and disappeared through the door again, while the three other mechs watched him go with a fond smile on their lips.

"Well?" Warpath asked all of a sudden, looking at Bluestreak curiously.

Bluestreak cocked his head in mild surprise. "Well what?"

"What news, of course!" the red minibot said. "Last time I saw you, I was on my way to – pow! – Omega Supreme, so that the first batch of Autobots would return to Cybertron." His optics locked momentarily on Bluestreak's yellow insignia, and then on the cerulean streak that adorned the black chest plate. "You look different."

Bluestreak waved his hand dismissively. "Different duties," he said simply.

Warpath nodded his understanding. "You're still Ultra Magnus's bodyguard?"

Bluestreak frowned, something that made Warpath chuckle.

"You – bam! – thought I didn't know? There's hardly anyone from the old gang that – pow! – doesn't know!" At the next moment, however, he sobered and looked at Bluestreak with a serious look in his optics. "You took us all by surprise with that decision."

Sunstreaker shifted in his seat and looked away, hoping that the other two Autobots didn't notice him. The conversation was heading to a bad direction and he didn't want to hear it. It awoke memories that made him too bitter.


Sunstreaker was standing in the balcony of his dorm, smiling as he watched another firework pierce the night air and explode in dozens of colours with a deafening sound. He could distinctly hear singing and cheering in the distance, and he was sure Jazz and Blaster were among the crowd, playing their music at full volume. He leaned against the rail, resting his head on his crossed arms.

The war was over. No matter how many times he repeated that to himself, Sunstreaker still couldn't believe it. Even so, it was true, and he was witnessing everything with his own optics. Primus, it filled his spark with such unprecedented joy that he wanted to sing and dance too.

"Wouldn't you rather be down at the streets?"

Sunstreaker opened his optics and turned around, rewarding Bluestreak with a brilliant smile. The – former – gunner had arrived minutes before, so that he and the Twins could have their own celebration right here in the dorm. Sideswipe volunteered to find some energon cubes, while Sunstreaker and Bluestreak remained behind to wait for him.

"Nah, I'm good," Sunstreaker answered. "I'd rather celebrate without having my paintjob scratched by overjoyed mechs, thank you very much."

"Why am I not surprised?" Bluestreak replied with a smile of his own.

"Hey, I'm saving them from much grief. I don't want to kill anybody on this day," Sunstreaker joked. "I'm a nice guy."

Bluestreak raised an optic ridge. "You know… there was a time that you'd probably never admit that sort of thing." He smirked smugly. "You're getting softer."

"I'm not. I just thought it would be a good change to actually greet someone without said someone running away in terror," the yellow mech answered in a mock tone of dismay.

"Now you're just exaggerating," Bluestreak said, shaking his head. "I always thought there was some good in you, even when the other guys didn't believe it."

"You always saw good in everyone," Sunstreaker retorted.

It was a playful tone, so Sunstreaker was taken aback when Bluestreak shifted his weight uncomfortably.

"No, I didn't," he said. "I never saw any good in Megatron, or the rest of the Decepticons for that matter."

Sunstreaker walked up to Bluestreak, looking at him seriously. "But you didn't fight them because you wanted to, Bluestreak. You fought to protect others." He pointed at the brilliant fireworks that lit up the sky. "You fought for this. And we finally have it. I'm not a warrior anymore and you're no longer a gunner. We're just two mechs, ready to claim our old lives back."

Bluestreak fidgeted more nervously than before, leaving Sunstreaker at a loss.

"What's wrong?"

"You'll become an artist again?" Bluestreak asked softly.

"Well, yeah. It's what I do best," Sunstreaker replied. "Once back on Cybertron, I can take up commissions again and use the money to set up a gallery, or maybe set up an art studio where I can work."

Bluestreak nodded absentmindedly. "Sounds nice," he murmured.

Sunstreaker frowned. Something was very wrong. He could feel it in his spark. "What about you?" he asked cautiously, "Did you think about what you want to do?"

"I… think I'll go by the Ark tomorrow," Bluestreak answered.

Sunstreaker was quite surprised by that. "Why? The place is practically buried under the volcano."

Bluestreak sighed, absentmindedly tracing small circles on the nearby rail with tentative fingers. "Because of a promise I made Prowl a long time ago."

"What kind of promise?" Sunstreaker asked, not really understanding.

"To tell him the war is over," Bluestreak said. "And that I haven't forgotten him."

Sunstreaker's bad feeling didn't subside. "But you are coming to Cybertron afterwards, right?"

Bluestreak didn't answer. Worse, he averted his gaze.

"Bluestreak…"

"Ultra Magnus said that if there are any Autobots willing to stay on Earth, they're welcomed to do so," the silver mech said, his voice barely audible. "This planet has taken much damage too, and the humans will need all the help they can get."

A terrible suspicion started crawling up Sunstreaker's spinal axis, and a strange mantra started playing in the back of his processor.

Don't say it.

"I've accepted and taken up the position of the Earth Commander's bodyguard."

Sunstreaker felt like his spark extinguished right there and then. He stared at Bluestreak incredulously, trying to convince himself that he hadn't heard right, he couldn't have heard right.

"You'll remain a soldier?" he asked, disbelief ringing in his every word.

Bluestreak flinched as though he had just been slapped. He said nothing, but his silence was enough as an answer.

Feelings of hurt, anger and betrayal ignited in his spark, making his fluid almost boil; but Sunstreaker subdued them at once. He wasn't going to snap in front of Bluestreak. He wasn't going to give the soldier the satisfaction that he had wounded the yellow Lamborghini worse than any Decepticon ever had. Steeling himself, he turned on his heel and looked stubbornly at the horizon.

"Fine," he said. He ground out the word, trying to keep his tone indifferent. But it was impossible when he could sense that blasted pair of blue optics looking at him pleadingly, wishing to make him understand.

"Sunstreaker…"

"I get it, Bluestreak," Sunstreaker said, cutting off the silver mech. "You don't want to leave Earth. End of discussion."

"Sunstreaker, please…"

"Bluestreak!" Sunstreaker quickly controlled himself, clenching his hands into tight fists. "I said I get it. Okay?"

The answer was just as hurt.

"Okay."


Sunstreaker sighed inwardly. That was the last time he had talked – really talked – to Bluestreak before departing for Cybertron. On the day he left, he even spotted the silver mech's face among the crowd of Autobots that were on the runway to bid their friends goodbye. But the artist had been so stubborn that he had actually forced his optics away from that sight and prodded Sideswipe into a conversation about all the things that they could do on Cybertron.

Now, however, as he contemplated matters with a clearer mind, he could only berate himself for his reaction. Bluestreak was barely an adult when the Decepticons destroyed his city, and he had lived in war ever since. After fighting for so long, killing enemies and mourning friends, it was only natural that being a soldier became a part of Bluestreak's life – one that the silver mech couldn't discard so easily. Unlike Sunstreaker and the other Autobots, Bluestreak didn't have a previous life that he could reclaim; only painful memories. So Bluestreak did the only thing that made sense to him: he stayed a soldier.

He stayed a soldier, and Sunstreaker disparaged him for it. When Bluestreak needed his support, his understanding, even his patience, Sunstreaker offered none. He simply acted like a spoiled sparkling that was denied a treat. Granted, he felt betrayed. Even so, it was wrong of him to act as though Bluestreak had taken that sort of decision out of spite. The younger mech was too kind and gentle to do that.

I'm so sorry Bluestreak, Sunstreaker thought, and he meant it. It was easy to put the blame on the silver mech for their separation this whole vorn, but not anymore. Sunstreaker could only admit that he was as much at fault, if not more, and all he could do now was keep regretting it.

"Sunstreaker?"

Sunstreaker looked up, surprised to see that Gears was standing behind the counter, and neither Warpath nor Bluestreak were within sight.

"Warpath went to check on an order and Bluestreak went to wash his hands; oil cakes are messy," Gears said, seeing through Sunstreaker's restlessness. A chuckle flowed out of his lips and he shook his head. "You know, I've never seen Bluestreak eat so fast before."

Sunstreaker smiled warmly. "He's still used to Earth-time."

"Ah, that explains it," Gears said thoughtfully. "However, it doesn't explain why you haven't touched yourcube."

Sunstreaker blinked and looked down. His energon cube was indeed in front of him, shimmering under the light.

"Sorry. I forgot myself," he said, and he took a sip.

"I would never have guessed," Gears said in a matter-of-fact tone. "So how long is Bluestreak gonna stay?"

"Just today," Sunstreaker answered. "He's leaving tomorrow morning."

"Pity," the minibot noted with a sigh.

Sunstreaker just waved his hand in a nonchalant manner. "Don't worry. I'm sure Bluestreak will be back next vorn."

"It's not me I'm worried about," Gears said and regarded Sunstreaker closely. "After all these times you've come here to have your lunch, this is the first time that you actually look happy."

Sunstreaker felt his optics widening, but he didn't have the chance to say anything. Bluestreak came back into the room, shaking his hands to rid himself of the excess water. Gears smiled and shifted his attention to the silver mech, as though he hadn't said anything to Sunstreaker at all.

"Better?" Gears asked, his teasing quite audible.

"Much," Bluestreak answered quite cheerily, taking his seat next to Sunstreaker again. "That oil cake was excellent, Gears."

The minibot laughed. "Yes, I know. You've already said so three times."

Bluestreak's optics reflected his realisation, but he grinned at the next moment. "That only shows how good your oil cake was."

"Or how hungry you were," Gears pointed out.

Bluestreak scratched his head embarrassedly. "I guess it was both," he concluded. He paused for a moment, contemplating matters, and then looked at Gears curiously. "Warpath said you guys keep in touch with Bumb… Goldbug and Cliffjumper."

Gears nodded. "Yeah, we are," he replied. "Goldbug is teaching sparklings at the Academy, and those little glitches simply adore him. Cliffjumper is working in a factory not far from here as superintendent."

Bluestreak smiled. "Tell them I said: 'Hi' when you see them again."

A snort flowed out of Gears' lips. "That will be easy; we've all agreed to meet at the war memorial later on."

Sunstreaker winced and tried to stop Gears from saying anything else, but it was too late. Bluestreak sat up in his seat and stared at the minibot.

"What war memorial?"

"You mean you don't know?" Gears asked, quite surprised.

Bluestreak shook his head. Keeping himself discreet, Gears glared in Sunstreaker's direction, a silent question reflected in his optics.

You didn't tell him?

Sunstreaker shrugged subtly. He never asked.

Gears threw another glare at the yellow mech, obviously chiding him, then patted Bluestreak's shoulder.

"Sunstreaker will take you there. Trust me, it will be worthwhile."

Sunstreaker realised with dismay that this was the second time he was cornered, and he didn't like it at all. And, unfortunately, Bluestreak wouldn't help him out of his predicament this time. The soldier was already facing the artist with quite the pleading expression.

"Can we go, Sunstreaker?"

Well, it couldn't be avoided now. "Sure," he answered.

Bluestreak brightened a bit and he hastily took out of subspace some credits to pay for his meal. Sunstreaker, however, was faster and he stopped the gunner.

"It's on me," he said.

Bluestreak stared at the artist incredulously. "You can't be serious!"

"Actually, I am," Sunstreaker retorted. "This is your first time on Cybertron after the war."

"Sunstreaker, no. It wouldn't be fair."

Sunstreaker frowned. "What's fairness got to do-?"

Gears cut the artist off, offering his own solution to the argument. "Today it's on the house, guys. I insist."

Both Sunstreaker and Bluestreak got ready to protest, but Gears wouldn't take 'No' for an answer. Accepting their defeat, the younger mechs put their credits back in subspace, nodding their thanks, and then waved the minibot goodbye before exiting the bar in seemingly companionable silence.

Now it was time to say hello to some other friends.


Sunstreaker and Bluestreak drove side by side along the street, still not exchanging a word. The silver mech tried to coax the artist into telling him what kind of war memorial Gears had been talking about, but Sunstreaker didn't indulge him. He just said in a fake, playful tone that Bluestreak would have to wait and see.

The truth, however, was much different. Sunstreaker was torn and he didn't know what to do. The War Memorial was a must-see for all Autobots, so that the ones who gave their very lives in the name of peace would never be forgotten. But Sunstreaker wasn't sure if Bluestreak should see it. He didn't want the soldier to be sad, thinking of those he would never see again. Sunstreaker still remembered the talk he had with the younger mech so long ago.

It was for the best, Bluestreak. We had to give them a hero's funeral.

They weren't heroes, Sunstreaker. They were our friends. We laughed with them, we cried with them, we fought at their side… only for them to go where we can't follow.

Sunstreaker's spark wrenched violently at that thought. He recalled the anguish reflected on Bluestreak's face as if it was only yesterday, and he never wanted to see it again – especially in those few hours that they could afford to be together.

And yet… who was he to deny Bluestreak's right to greet the mechs who had come to mean so much to him? If Sunstreaker acted selfishly now, Bluestreak would never forgive him, and the artist certainly didn't want that either.

Sunstreaker sighed and sped up, finally deciding that there was nothing for it. He would take Bluestreak to the memorial, and he'd be by the silver mech's side if the sight proved too much. It would be the least he could do.

"Is that it?"

Sunstreaker turned his optic sensors forward at Bluestreak's voice. Indeed, he could see just ahead a large building, towering in the middle of a square that bustled with life.

"Yeah, it is," he said, "But the real attraction is inside."

Though Bluestreak said nothing, Sunstreaker could feel the soldier's questioning look locked on him.

"You'll see what I mean," Sunstreaker said, and he transformed to his robot mode. Bluestreak followed his example and eagerly walked up the short flight of stairs leading to the entrance.

"Bluestreak, wait up!" Sunstreaker cried, chasing after the silver mech.

It was of no use. Bluestreak disappeared through the threshold, so Sunstreaker crossed the entrance as well, cursing under his breath. The lights inside were dim, but Sunstreaker adjusted his optics in no time to locate Bluestreak's silhouette in the vast hall unfolded before both Autobots. He saw the younger mech standing perfectly still, surrounded by the lifelike holo-images of Prowl, Ironhide, Ratchet, Wheeljack, Brawn, Windcharger and Huffer. An iridescent light shimmered on them, giving them an almost ethereal aura. Other than that though, it was as if all seven mechs were very much alive, regarding anyone who observed them with a friendly smile reflected in their optics.

Sunstreaker watched Bluestreak finally force his legs to move and approach with utmost reverence each holo-image. The soldier didn't speak, and there was an unreadable expression on the silver features as Bluestreak paid his respects to all the commemorated Autobots, leaving Prowl for last. Sunstreaker clenched his hands into fists, ready to hurry at Bluestreak's side the moment the silver mech would break down to tears.

Nothing of the sort happened. Bluestreak simply traced the engraving at the base of the holo-image, the one that formed Prowl's name. And when Bluestreak looked up at the image in the same way he used to look at the real Prowl, Sunstreaker noticed that Bluestreak was talking. He could clearly see the silver lip components moving, forming words that Sunstreaker couldn't hear because they were spoken too low.

Sunstreaker understood. Bluestreak always believed that some things he wanted to say were meant for Prowl's audios alone. Apparently, the tactician's death didn't change that, and probably nothing ever would. Just like it would never change if it had been him and Sideswipe in Bluestreak and Prowl's place. So Sunstreaker kept his distance, his head bowed as he waited patiently for Bluestreak to finish. He only looked up when Bluestreak walked up to him once more.

"Let's go," was all the silver mech said.

Sunstreaker just complied with a single nod.

TBC...