I asked for prompts, and kayxclankforever asked for 'Movie Night'. This is the result. (I'm assuming that Clank kept acting while in Polaris. If he can be a movie star in Bogon and Solana, he can add Polaris to that list.)

Disclaimer: Ratchet and Clank are the property of Insomniac.

Now's Our Moment

Ratchet took a deep breath and looked himself over.

Outfit? Buckled firmly and buttoned with the right holes. No scratches or tears, good. Gloves on—they weren't a matched set with the outfit, no one made suits for Lombaxes anymore, but Clank had sworn that he couldn't spot the difference.

Weapons? A light arsenal tonight: Mag-Net Launcher, Mr Zurkon and the Morph-O-Ray. No wrench. The use of Omniwrenches as weapons hadn't caught on, and no matter-compressor weapons storage would accommodate them—much to Ratchet's annoyance. It didn't matter how many other weapons he carried, he felt vulnerable without a wrench. You just couldn't beat it for a versatile tool—handy for impromptu battles with murderous aliens/robots/interdimensional beings and starship repairs alike.

"Not that either of those are likely to be showing up tonight," he reminded himself. Frankly, even the weapons he was going to carry were more insurance than anything. Clank insisted that there was no logical basis for such a belief, but Ratchet just knew that if he went unarmed tonight, there'd be something there that needed to be shot. It was just the way of the universe.

Ratchet glanced at the clock and shook himself. Time to move on: Clank would be here soon.

Fur? Freshly washed—there was nothing more ridiculous looking than a greasy Lombax with his fur plastered flat to his skin—and neatly brushed.

Maybe too neatly?

Ratchet peered critically into the mirror, then scruffed at his jawline. It was a fine line—too much combing and he looked like a ploughed field, not enough and he looked unkempt. It didn't normally matter, but it did tonight. Which, of course, meant that this was the night that it wouldn't co-operate. Growling low in his throat, Ratchet pinched and tugged the stubborn clumps. I should have gotten a trim. Why did he always think of these things when it was too late to do anything about it?

"Ratchet? Are you ready?"

The Lombax jumped. Dammit, how had he missed Clank's footsteps? He needed to be sharper than that. He gave himself one last look in the mirror, and took a deep breath. It would do.

"As ready as I'm going to be." He turned around—and, despite himself, smiled. Robots in clothes could sometimes look ridiculous, like they were kids playing dress-up, but Clank in a suit… That was a sight worth seeing. "You're looking sharp."

Clank smiled. "Thank you. You look very good yourself." His optical shutters narrowed slightly, giving him a teasing look. "I look forward to seeing the expressions on everyone's faces."

Ratchet stuck his tongue out at his friend, but glanced back to the mirror. The suit looked so…vulnerable. And Ratchet could swear that his fur had a mind of its own tonight. He brushed at the back of his neck again.

"Dammit," he muttered. "Why can't I get this right?"

He pawed at his fur for several more moments, before he realised that Clank was being uncharacteristically silent, and looked back to his friend. The little robot's expression had shifted from teasing to concerned. Ratchet's stomach tightened.

"Are you absolutely sure that you want to do this?" Clank asked. "There will be other opportunities."

Ratchet fiddled with his cufflinks. They matched Clank's, probably by design. "There'll never be a better time," he said.

"That is not what I am asking," countered Clank. "We don't have to do this."

Ratchet clenched one fist. They'd talked about this, they'd agreed on what they were going to do, and now Clank was trying to call it off at the last second? He bit back his sharp response when he saw the expression on Clank's face. Most people could only capture the broad strokes of Clank's emotions, but Ratchet knew him a lot better. This was more than just concern, this was outright worry.

Ratchet sighed, and raised a hand to run over his head. He stopped himself just in time. "Okay," he said, taking a deep breath. "I'm nervous. I'll admit it. But that doesn't mean that I want to call this off."

There had been times when Clank would have peppered him with questions—but Ratchet wasn't the only one who had learned the nuances of his partner's emotions. Clank waited patiently as Ratchet tried to formulate his thoughts.

"I want this to be a choice," he said at last. "Not something that gets splashed all over the HoloNet because we messed up and got caught." That triggered another thought. "And I don't want to think about this like that," he continued, waving a hand. "In terms of making mistakes, and being caught. Like we're doing something wrong." He stuck there.

"We have had our reasons," said Clank, gently. Prompting him, just like they were in enemy territory trying to figure out how to get past a nasty security system.

"I know," said Ratchet. "But it's too much like I'm ashamed of this—of you." He knelt in front of Clank. "And I'm not." He put a hand on the robot's shoulder. "I could never be."

Clank smiled, and relief warmed Ratchet's stomach. Message received. "I must admit, I am looking forward to boasting about the 'catch' I've made," said Clank. His head cocked slightly. "A few of your terrible habits aside, of course."

Ratchet scoffed, shoving his friend lightly. "Keep talking about my 'terrible habits', and I'll call this off before we even get to the premiere," he said trying to sound offended—or at the very least, stern.

It was a failed attempt; Clank was already giggling. Knowing that he'd lost, Ratchet gave in and laughed too. As their laughter faded, they caught one another's eye.

Hugs had become reasonably commonplace between the two of them since the incident at the Great Clock, but they'd taken on a special significance in the six weeks or so. Ratchet tucked his head down over Clank's shoulder. He could feel the delicate machinery that kept his friend moving, a gentle vibration against his chest—a robot's version of a heartbeat. He could feel the smooth dome of Clank's head buried in his shoulder, and Clank's blocky metal hands pressing lightly on his shoulders. Tension drained out of him.

He kept his hands on Clank's shoulders as he pulled away. Clank's hands rested on his forearms, a subtle weight that was somehow grounding.

"Ready?" asked Clank.

Ratchet leaned and let his forehead rest on Clank's. The last of his tension left him, and he pulled back again. Clank's small smile made him feel wonderfully warm.

"Ready," he said.

Clank had never really had a problem with stage fright. Unlike Ratchet, who had once struggled to speak clearly and coherently in front of cameras, Clank had always found himself able to talk naturally despite being observed. It was considered to be something of a gift in his actor side-job, and made him excellent at red carpet interviews.

Tonight was the first time that Clank had felt nervous about speaking in front of an audience. It was so important that this be done right, and even as he answered the expected questions, a large part of his CPU was occupied with projected outcomes of possible scenarios.

"So tell us a little bit about the plot of this new film," said the interviewer, smiling so widely that Clank had to wonder whether he had undergone some surgical modification. "The studio's been keeping it very hush-hush."

Clank forced a light giggle. "Well, you understand that I can't reveal too much," he said, as he was expected to. "This is the premiere, after all—you'll find out very shortly."

"But maybe a little snippet for those fans at home that weren't able to attend tonight?" pressed the interviewer.

Clank pretended to consider it, glancing off to the side. Ratchet was standing not ten feet away—not close enough to be seen as hovering, but certainly close enough to be signalled when the time came. He was interacting with the fans lining the cordoned-off red carpet. Clank couldn't hear the conversation without recalibrating his audio sensors, but he could see Ratchet's grin. He had genuinely relaxed now, a far cry from his tension before their arrival.

"Well," Clank said, turning back to the interviewer. "I suppose that a few details couldn't hurt."

Actually, the director had sanctioned everything that Clank was about to say—but there was no need for the interviewer or the fans to know that. And at least Clank could be reasonably certain of how this part of the interview would play out. "Secret Agent Clank has traditionally enjoyed success with the ladies," said Clank. The interviewer's grin widened even further, which Clank would not have thought was physically possible. "But various circumstances have always made these attachments rather short-lived. In this film, he is finally able to form a true relationship—unfortunately, his job places a lot of strain on this." He lifted his hands, half-lowering his optical shutters to produce the effect of a coy look. "I'm afraid that I can't tell you any more than that. You'll have to wait to see the film."

The interviewer laughed. "Fair enough! But since we're on the topic of relationships…"

And there it was. Almost involuntarily, Clank's optical sensors sought Ratchet out again. The Lombax was leaning back against the fence, holding a VisComm out in front of him. Three fans clustered around him, making faces as Ratchet took a photo of them all. The flash from the device made all three fans dissolve into shrieking laughter, which Ratchet joined in with as he handed the VisComm back to its owner. Ratchet's laughter was far clearer to Clank than all of the noise around them.

"…let's talk about yours. We at HoloNet Entertainment Weekly can't help but notice that you haven't been seen with anyone lately…"

Ratchet caught Clank's eye and grinned. Clank couldn't help but smile back, even as he twitched his fingers in their agreed-upon signal. Ratchet gave the briefest of nods and began to make his apologies to the fans still clamouring for pictures and autographs.

"…so how much of this new film's plot is autobiographical? Are you finding that your work saving the galaxy is putting a damper on your love life? Or are you just enjoying your bachelor status?"

This was it. If Clank had been organic, he would have taken a deep breath to prepare himself. As it was, he nudged a little more power into his internal fans—there was a high chance that some of his circuitry was going to work overtime in the near future-and abandoned his analysis of possible outcomes. He had made plans for all reasonable possibilities, and a large number of unreasonable ones. Now he held that processing power in standby for the reactions of the interviewer and the crowd.

"It is true that my work in galactic defence has placed strain on my relationships in the past," he said. "It is not easy, to love someone who may be called away at any moment to deal with some momentous threat. But actually, I have been in a relationship for approximately six weeks now." Six weeks, two days, four hours, thirteen minutes and fifty-eight seconds—to be absolutely precise. "And I am glad to say that my work will not be a problem in this particular relationship."

The interviewer gaped, then laughed. "Well, congratulations! Are we allowed to know who the lucky lady is?"

"Lucky man, actually," corrected Clank.

"Lucky Lombax, to be exact," finished Ratchet. Stooping, he pressed a brief kiss to Clank's antenna. Chatter erupted behind the barrier—and a few shrieks. Clank reached up to take his friend's hand, leaning a little into Ratchet's side. True, his sensors were calibrated to monitor Ratchet's vital signs from a distance, but he enjoyed the physical contact. He could actually feel the pulse of blood through Ratchet's veins. It was very soothing.

So far, so good. There had been no note of disgust in the shrieks, and the new chatter sounded excited rather than disapproving.

Ratchet's thumb brushed over the back of Clank's hand—a subtle expression of reassurance as they waited for the interviewer's reaction. Clank had never seen a look of such complete shock on any entertainment journalist's face. He stored the image for later viewing. Ratchet would appreciate the record.

The fans behind the barrier weren't as slow on the uptake as the journalist. Whooping and hollering was starting to ripple through the crowd. Some appeared to be disbelieving, and some of it would be pure heckling—Clank had a very good idea of the demographics of this crowd—but there appeared to be a large number of genuinely pleased reactions as well.

Ratchet squeezed his hand gently.

"There is one advantage to hero work—one personal advantage, I mean," said Clank. "It does force one to realise where one's priorities are." He looked up at Ratchet, who smiled back down at him. Clank squeezed his friend's hand in return as he turned back to the interviewer. "Which brings us back to this new Holofilm, actually…"

There would be a barrage of questions later. They were very high profile celebrities, after all. The public would want details. There would be embarrassing and rude inquiries, and even cruder speculations. But this moment—Ratchet's hand in his, and the sudden rush of freedom that came from no longer having to watch every action for fear it would reveal something that they weren't prepared for the universe to know—was worth holding on to.