Iacon was still in disrepair after Tarn’s invasion. There were plenty of buildings under construction. Thankfully, Maccadam’s wasn’t one of them. Perceptor somehow managed to keep his beloved bar from being destroyed by the Decepticon drones.

Depending on who you asked, it was due to his “humility” that he wasn’t attacked or that he offered the drones free drinks so they didn’t want to harm him or it was as simple as the drones were too busy elsewhere that they didn’t bother with a bar of all places.

In any case, the inhabitants of Iacon were ecstatic that their dear Maccadam’s escaped the massive destruction the city suffered. At least the workers could relax with a glass of energon and whatever program was running into the late hours of the night.

The bar was busy, packed near maximum capacity with Autobots and Decepticons drinking, dancing, laughing, singing—basically anything and everything! The only transformer who seemed dour was Shadow Striker who had somehow found the darkest corner in the entire bar and shoved herself there the moment she was dragged past the threshold.

She glowered at Skywarp who was dancing with Alpha Strike, both mecha were obviously inebriated and stumbled with every step. Still, they managed to dance around the room several times, garnering cheers from nearby transformers who raised their drinks in celebration. Arcee was also adding fuel to the flame by recording them on her camera, shouting encouragements that only seemed to encourage others to do the same.

Chromia laughed as Skywarp, in a display of great strength, dipped Alpha Strike who grabbed Cosmos’ drink and downed it in one swift gulp before returning it to her. The two mecha laughed until their pauldrons bumped into each other.

Clobber, who had left to grab them some energon, returned to the booth. She had a big, dopey grin on her face. “They’re sure having fun.”

“Yeah.”

Shadow Striker pushed past Clobber and Clobber called out to her.

“Hey! Where are you going?”

“It’s too stuffy in here,” she explained. “I’m getting some air.”

Shadow Striker didn’t bother waiting for Clobber’s response; she was already out the door. She leaned against the wall and took a deep breath, held it until she got a small pop-up warning, then released it. She stared up at the night sky. There were a few constellations that had slowly started to reappear since the revival of Cybertron. A majority had been swallowed up by the smog caused by the war.

Now, the sky was clearer. It reminded her of nights she would spend on rooftops with Soundwave, music playing at a low volume to soothe her as they mapped out the stars. Her spark ached as she recalled how he would hold her so one of her audials rested on his dock. She would listen to the sounds Laserbeak would make in recharge and how Soundwave’s spark moved even further within his chassis. His spark would spin and spin and spin a clean, smooth rotation. Back then, that was how she would fall into recharge. It was a wonder how she managed to get any rest recently.

She was so stuck in her own thoughts, Shadow Striker missed the sound of the door opening. Her spark nearly gave out as she felt a servo on her arm. She reached for her blaster only to realize that she didn’t have it on her. She never carried her blaster around anymore. Why was that?

“Woah. Easy there.”

Shadow Striker looked up to see Windblade smiling at her. Her faceplate pulled into a grimace, then her standard frown. “What do you want?”

“Just came to check on you.” Windblade leaned against the wall and slid down until she was sitting. She patted the ground next to her. Shadow Striker rolled her optics but relented, sitting next to Windblade. “See? This isn’t so bad.”

Shadow Striker didn’t say anything. She watched Windblade take a sip of her drink then look up at the sky. Shadow Striker never did get a chance to speak with Windblade before. Even though she saved the city speaker. Even though they were both great fighters. Even though they apparently had so much in common.

Bumblebee’s constant barrages to get the three of them to hang out crossed her processor and she blocked them out. Shadow Striker didn’t need anyone else in her life. It was better if she didn’t befriend anyone else. Her spark had nearly shattered when her sister died. That didn’t even touch on the stress her processor was under after the sudden passing of her amica. No, Shadow Striker didn’t need anyone else to worry about.

Suddenly, an arm was being wrapped around her shoulders. The motion jolted her out of her thoughts. She looked over at Windblade who still had her gaze upturned. As she opened her intake to say something, Windblade tugged her closer with a jerk that pressed her against Windblade’s chassis. Flustered, Shadow Striker was at a loss for words.

“Relax, Shadow Striker,” Windblade started, her voice a soft murmur.

From where Shadow Striker was, Windblade’s spark was a strong, steady thrum of noise. Her frame was already going limp against her better judgment. She offlined her optics and listened to Windblade who had begun to recite what she could only imagine was a Camien song. The inflection was different in a way that was distinctly not Cybertronian. Windblade’s free servo reached for Shadow Striker’s, giving it a firm squeeze as she continued.

It was odd, Shadow Striker realized, that she was so comfortable here, outside a raucous bar in the cold night, being held by someone who was practically a stranger to her. Except, Windblade wasn’t really a stranger. At least, not anymore.

Windblade understood why Shadow Striker was so hesitant when she, Chromia, Arcee, Clobber, Cosmos, Alpha Strike, and Skywarp had shown up at Shadow Striker’s habsuite to bring the Decepticon on a so-called “girls’ night”. Windblade caught her hesitance and, instead of leaving her to wallow alone, joined her. That thought settled her processor, her frame buzzing with positive feedback.

Then, perhaps for the first time since Soundwave went offline, Shadow Striker fell into a peaceful recharge.