Metropolis was beautiful at night, it stood above worms and rats, it towered beyond birds and clouds, it was a timeless tower, untouched and unsullied. Even in the blue dim of the Moon, Ratchet could see spies of colour break through the dark. White marble arches shimmered like the unsheathed blade of an ancient warrior, roofs were coloured the shade of crashing waves and had the rolling shape to match, and upon every balcony seemed hung a wealth of vegetation, green bushels of leaves and vines just gorgeous enough to make one forget the smog.
Ratchet had certainly come a long way, hadn't he? When he closed his eyes and felt the soft of Talwyn's cheek nuzzle against his shoulder, it was not that grand Metropolis he saw, but a dusty shack in the middle of nowhere. A hovel, brown and dead, that he had called Veldin, that he had thought a home. There, among the rot and the grime, he had thought himself happy to work on machines, accept his payment, grunt a goodbye and return to his labours.
The world had thought to snarl at him, by filling itself with such beauty to remind him of his ugliness, and populating itself with heroes, to laugh at his mediocrity. Fine. The world wished to snarl? He would roar. His teeth were sharp, his arms were strong and his mind was as deadly as the business end of his wrench. He was strong, he was alone, he didn't need anyone or anything, he - had been lying to himself.
And, like the worst lies, it had grown more fantastic with every telling. Was it strength to walk alone? Was it wisdom to wallow in anonymity? He had been a fool, lived like a fool and would have died like one, too, were it not for the diminutive figure sitting by his side.
"Clank." He thought, opening his eyes and favouring his strange friend with a warm smile.
There he was, barely bigger than a child's doll, as silver as a newly forged bolt. Clank the robot. Soulless Clank. Annoying Clank. Henpecking Clank. The most annoying person Ratchet had ever had the misfortune of meeting, and the greatest friend he had ever been blessed with.
Upon his other side, nestled like a cat upon a warm pillow, was a treasure no less valuable, even if each trove held a different value. His gaze snuck towards hers and felt two eyes, dark and stunning as dying sapphires, look beyond his easy smile and croaking laugh and stare into a part of himself reserved for no other, that secret chamber with a door that only a beating heart could unlock.
Such was the bargain between lovers. They were poison and antidote, chaos and serenity, life and death and rebirth. With an unfamiliar tinge of pride, he realised that Talwyn had indeed helped the little Lombax rise from the dust, move out of the shadows and mould himself into a nobler design. Isolation had been torture, fame had been hollow, but compassion? Duty? Who but Talwyn could have taught him all the wonderful secrets that lay behind such simple words?
The soft lips that met his would could always pull back, teeth could flash, bite down and tear flesh in seconds. Those hands that knew his body, and where every sigh and shudder was hidden, could become terrible claws fit only for shards of bone and spewing, rancid marrow. She was a warrior. One all the fiercer for having someone to protect and cuddle and lie next to. On that night, though, war seemed far away, and there was no grim set to her shapely mouth. When she saw how her lover smiled at her, a sharp nose simply stretched forward and bobbed his, likely getting a little wetter for her troubles.
They were his most precious jewels, and so wondrously bright that they practically begged to be shown off. That very day, they had all set off on a ramble, seeking nothing but a long walk and good company. Ratchet, in a rare mood, had eschewed the grubby overalls he enjoyed lounging around in and instead donned a billowing tunic of the blackest silk, rimmed around sleeve and cuff with stunning gold.
Talwyn, too, had been in good spirits. Her face was no longer dominated by that fearsome red bandana and her lean form was freed from the constraints of all the grim trappings of a professional soldier. In its place was a dress of bedazzling design, for upon a sky of light violet were dotted tiny stars and glowing orbs Ratchet took to be planets, and all about the dress they wove in endless rotation, circling two blazing Suns carved to resemble her and the flea-ridden rogue she had taken pity on.
Clank, despite his friends urging, would not yield and set out as he was.
"Come on," Ratchet had pleaded, "just hear me out, buddy, okay?"
"I'm listening."
"How about a hat? Just a hat. Nothing else."
"No." The robot had snapped, narrowing his green eyes.
"Not even if you get to choose the hat?" Offered Talwyn with a merry dart of her tail. "I can see you in a Stetson. Maybe a trilby."
"No hats." He had repeated tonelessly.
"None? None at all?" Ratchet lamented, struggling not to laugh. "Not a single hat for your best friend? Not one little fez for poor ol' Ratchet? Not one teensy widdle pity-fez?"
His face, though wanting for skin, was the very picture of disdain.
Their day had been full of similar japes, not all of which the robot was the target of. When the three of them had paid their friend Al a visit, and chatted breezily about foolish things, little Clank had done his work and snuck behind the counter, rose soundlessly behind his prey and affixed something to his broad back. He would not reveal what he had wrote, only to giggle that Al would 'get the joke' once he worked out the binary. Ratchet smiled and nodded, but found it far more interesting to question just where his friend had found a pen and paper on such short notice.
From there, they had strolled along the suspended walkways, treading paths they had dared so often that the sight of so many clouds and cars beneath them no longer turned their stomachs. The three friends had encamped themselves around the magnificent statue at the foot of Metropolis' bustling train station, happily watching commuters come and go as Ratchet and Talwyn enjoyed a bite to eat. After the defeat of the Progs, world after world had risen in acclaim at the triumph of their hero, and every swindler and gouger had used his tribulations to make a quick profit.
Commemorative t-shirts had proven especially popular, always showing the dashing Secret Agent Clank hauling Vendra away and calling for his faithful bellhop to bring around the paddy wagon. Ratchet had even watched, with no little disbelief, a TV movie of the whole affair in which he had been reinterpreted as a sleepless, grizzled, chain-smoking, raincoat wearing sleuth who spoke only in dispassionate mumbles and made several vague references to a hazy 'retirement' that mean old Vendra Prog had interrupted. Apart from a sub-pare car chase, the whole thing had seemed to involve the hero looking at his reflection in a filthy rain puddle and shaking his fist at the sky. At least Clank had been given blonde hair and a nice dress, so he supposed it wasn't a total waste.
Yet the one shameless cash-in he guessed would survive was the very one he and Talwyn had ate with such glee. The Netherger was a slab of pale meat, seasoned with vegeatbles and spices and balanced in a bun. In rather macabre fashion, it was widely claimed that the meat was comprised of those who had crossed over, uninvited, into their world bent on conquest. With the first bite came a horrible scream that Ratchet supposed gave some a sense of justice, after having again been threatened with invasion and annihilation. He had to admit, poor taste or no, they damn sure knew how to grill a good burger.
After lunch, they had sat upon the grass, in the cooling shade of a great rocky monolith that had once been a training course. Ratchet had regaled his lover with tales of their exploits, embarrassing poor old Clank by revealing how he had mistaken a mannequin for Captain Qwark.
"There was a voice." The robot rushed to explain. "And movement. My error was completely understandable." His little head swivelled towards Ratchet, who thought he saw some mischief in those eyes. "Less so were the actions of whoever decided to blow it up."
"Discharging explosive weapons in public." Ratchet sighed with a disapproving tut. "Some people."
Talwyn breathed in deeply and raised an eyebrow, folding her arms and looking less than amused with his fanciful recounting of their youthful indiscretions. "I get the feeling," she had mumbled, "that 'some people' refers exclusively to furry, big-eared, last-of-a-dead-race people."
"Is it just me or do they sound really handsome?" Ratchet recalled laughing, remembering how the twitching fur of his tail had stretched out and coiled about the smooth skin of hers.
Yes, all in all, it had been a good day. Looking out the window and giving the Moon a benevolent tilt of his head, Ratchet stretched forth his arms and laid them around the two most important people in the world. The unhappiness of the past no longer rankled him, the uncertainty of the future had ceased to unnerve him, all that held was the present, and that on a single day and that single night, life was perfect.
"I've enjoyed today." He mused to no one in particular.
"See, Clank?" Jested Talwyn, giving the robot a friendly wink. "This is why we need to let him tag along more often!"
"Yeah?" He grinned devilishly. "You sure I won't cramp your style?"
Talwyn smirked, shook her head and nudged at his chin with her fist. "Never." She beamed.
The night wore on, and one by one, the three friends retired to their slumber, resting peacefully with the memories of a good day out and smiling as they dreamed, feeling strangely certain that tomorrow would be even better.