C

The rest of the journey passed relatively uneventfully, at least compared to what had come before. Clank mused that this didn't really say much, but while there had certainly been things that happened during the twenty-odd-hours that passed, none of them could be considered major enough to call 'events' in the same meaning of the word.

Ratchet had stayed in the pilot's chair for the first couple, even though there wasn't anything that needed doing there—save perhaps being ready to respond to emergencies, but his ears were almost certainly sensitive enough to hear any alarm quite clearly from anywhere in the ship. Clank suspected that he had stayed seated this long only to be contrary to Clank's suggestion that he use the time to rest. Feeling that Ratchet didn't seem to be in a conversational mood, not many words had passed between them during this time.

But eventually the Lombax relented—muttering something about the seat not having been designed with tails in mind—and found another corner of the vessel for himself. Clank himself remained seated, on the assumption that Ratchet would appreciate a little personal space, but he could not quite let go of a certain curiosity, though he would rather call it concern: as soon as Ratchet's view of the relevant monitor was obscured, Clank opened up the security camera feeds to keep tabs on his companion. The thought occurred that this might be seen as overbearing, but this was easily rationalised away: it was Clank's moral duty to do what he could to make sure Ratchet remained safe and healthy, and it would be negligent not to pay attention.

It seemed that Ratchet thought along similar lines. As the Lombax wandered about the small ship—strictly speaking, most wouldn't consider it large enough to support wandering, but there wasn't really a better word to describe it—he seemed to be taking note of everything in it, including the security cameras. Clank had to suppress his shock the first few times Ratchet suddenly looked directly at him through the monitor. Or at the camera, at any rate. The robot was pretty sure he had no way to actually know he was being observed. But it was undeniable that he must have suspected as much, as Clank doubted it was coincidence that he happened to sit down in one of the very few blind spots on the ship.

Well, if he went out of his way for privacy Clank supposed that his wishes should be respected, even if doing so soon lead to an unpleasant discovery: boredom. For the first time ever, Clank found himself with an overabundance of time and nothing good to spend it on. He tried using it to think further on the situation and how best to deal with Ratchet, but quickly encountered diminishing returns as his thoughts turned more and more circular.

It was after a stretch of this that something happened that demanded Clank's attention, if only because he badly needed something fresh to focus on: he started hearing various mechanical sounds coming from where Ratchet was. At first he was content just to listen and wonder at what the Lombax might be doing, but soon found that his curiosity burned, and the feeling was only increasing.

Though he had first decided against doing so, Clank eventually reached his breaking point and gave in to temptation. He, as quietly as he could—no sense disturbing Ratchet, especially as that would probably make him stop, thus contaminating good data—left the chair, and, mindful of the phenomenon that was his namesake, crept towards the Lombax's location.

It was with great anticipation that he rounded the corner, and as soon as he did his mind was as an opened floodgate. First came a rush of satisfaction as his curiosity was sated, and more still as one of his theories as to what Ratchet might be doing was confirmed—he was indeed tinkering with something. Then followed guilt: was the satisfaction truly worth the invasion of privacy and the possible fallout to their relationship if his spying was discovered? But this was quickly overwritten by concern as soon as Clank turned his attention to the object of Ratchet's tinkering: in his lap was, in a partially disassembled state, one of the blasters he had taken off the warbots.

This was, of course, an incredibly foolish thing to be taking apart and poking with screwdrivers. Those blasters were designed to kill people! What if it went off? What if it went off while pointed in Ratchet's direction? Like right now and oh machine god why is Ratchet looking down the barrel-?

Before Clank knew what he was doing, he had taken a step, and saw with horror Ratchet's ears twitch in his direction. The robot held his nonexistent breath as the milliseconds passed and felt his internal clock skip a couple million cycles when Ratchet glanced directly at him, before returning his attention directly down the barrel of the blaster as he shone a small flashlight into it from some other angle.

A few seconds passed in tense silence as Clank frantically scrambled—unsuccessfully—to find some course of action, conversational or not, that might salvage the situation. His hesitation bit him, though, as Ratchet preempted him.

"What do you want?" he asked, the tone suggesting that he would rather get the interaction over with. Now, Clank wanted a few things at the moment, but none of them were likely to be very popular with the resident Lombax. Still, he had to answer with something.

"What are you doing with that blaster?" seemed the normal thing to ask in the situation, even if it was patently obvious what exactly Ratchet was doing with it.

"What does it look like?" Evidently, Ratchet was of the same opinion, and wasn't appreciative of his time being wasted. He had not taken his eyes off the blaster since the initial glance.

"You are obviously disassembling and examining that type three ion blaster, but I do not know why. Was it in need of repair? If it was, I must advise against attempting to do so yourself. They are only meant to be serviced by Gadgetron-authorised vendors and repair shops, and doing so without specialised training and tools can be extremely dangerous. It also voids the manufacturer's warranty and renders the weapon ineligible for future upgrades. I can only condone risking this if it is strictly necessary for our safety, which I find hard to believe, as it would mean that all three of the blasters you took from the warbots would be inoperable. I struggle to find a reason why you would be doing this, which is why I ask." Clank decided that mostly perfect honesty was the best way to go about things, this time, even if there was a small risk of rubbing Ratchet the wrong way. This assessment proved correct as far as the latter part was concerned, considering the eye roll he got.

"One: that 'Gadgetron-authorised vendor' story is bullshit made up to line their pockets with exorbitant repair fees as consumers are too scared to seek a more sanely-priced alternative. Two: I've removed the ammo so this thing can't hurt a fly right now. I know because I'm literally looking at the mechanism that disconnects the power supply when it's not loaded. Three: as you said, we have two more of these things, so even if I end up breaking this one we're still going to be fine. Four: I don't give a rat's ass about any kind of warranty or blocking off some 'official upgrade path'. If I want to upgrade this thing I'll do it myself. And five:" he looked up to stare directly at Clank, "what I do in my spare time to wind down is none of your business. Satisfied?"

Clank knew he was being dismissed, but he decided not to leave right away. He knew he probably should have, but he had this feeling that he should press a little further.

"Is tinkering something you do often to 'wind down'?" the robot asked, knowing that he was pushing his luck. But he wasn't going to get anywhere towards building a rapport with the Lombax without doing that at some point.

Ratchet looked away, and to the side this time instead of back at the blaster. His ears drooped the tiniest bit, before he answered.

"Yeah. It, uh, helps calm me to have something in my hands. Tinkering is also just something I've always felt I needed to do." he paused, as if trying to find the right words, "It's like, when I see something mechanical, I just need to see what it looks like from the inside too, if that makes sense?" he looked back at Clank, "I don't know how else to describe it. It's not just simple curiosity, there's also a… satisfaction I get from the whole process. The disassembling, the reassembling, the fixing, the modifying. There's nothing else like it. It's why I planned to become a starship mechanic when I made it to Capital City." Ratchet said, his tone differing significantly from just a moment ago: starting out uncertain, but quickly gaining in animation and conviction. Clank wondered at the change, but supposed it was only natural that the Lombax would be happier talking about his passions than being criticised for indulging in them.

That said, and while this was undoubtedly some very good progress, Clank couldn't help but pick up on something he couldn't let slip by.

"'It's why you planned to become a starship mechanic'? Are you saying you have other plans now?" the robot asked. He knew he was possibly throwing away the progress they just made, but this sounded important. Understanding what Ratchet planned to do on Marcadia and why was essential towards convincing him to integrate the meddling of a conservation group into it.

Ratchet's tail, which had, throughout the conversation, ranged from happily swaying back and forth to stiffening in annoyance, froze. He looked to the side again.

"Eh, no, not really." he said. Now, Clank wasn't exactly a master of deciphering Lombax body language, but it was pretty clear that something was up. However, confronting Ratchet about this was unlikely to achieve anything good, so he changed the subject. It would hopefully come up again if it was important. In any case Clank now knew he had to keep an eye on whatever it was Ratchet was hiding.

"Well, enjoy your tinkering," Clank said, choosing to have faith that Ratchet hadn't been lying about the safety of doing so and he wouldn't end up with a holey Lombax on his hands. Taking one last look at him to make sure he probably wasn't making a mistake by doing so, Clank made his way back to the cockpit. He noted that several moments passed before the sounds of tinkering resumed, and idly wondered at what had Ratchet so distracted after he left.

R

Fuck. He knows.

Or, Ratchet amended, he at least knows I'm hiding something. Crap.

He took a moment to berate himself for letting that tidbit slip. Of course it was a mistake to lower his guard around Clank. He'd need to be more careful in the future.

Then again, Ratchet had to admit, his intention to maneuver himself into joining the Rangers would have to come to light eventually. Obviously he'd want it to do so on his own terms but, realistically, was he ever going to bite that particular bullet at any other time than the last minute?

Yeah, no. No he was not, and saying otherwise would either be the height of foolishness or dishonesty. He knew that Clank would never be alright with him doing anything near that dangerous and that it would inevitably lead to a horrible argument. The robot was, truth be told, starting to grow on Ratchet, and he realised with a start that he was quite unwilling to jeapordise the shaky relationship they'd built up so far. Clank was, at times, fairly grating, on occasion openly insulting—mostly not on purpose, though—and harbored plans to stick Ratchet into some sort of cage, but despite all these things the Lombax would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy his company on some level.

Which was… inconvenient, given their diametrically opposed views on the divisive subject of Lombax conservation. One could not both micromanage every facet of their lives and stick to the far superior policy of strict nonintervention, after all. No, something would have to give, and since it sure as hell wasn't going to be Ratchet it would either have to be Clank or their relationship. Inconvenient.

Ratchet forced himself to return his attention to the blaster in his hands, knowing that it would do no good to stay mired in that train of thought. It could wait until later.

As Clank had mentioned, this was a Gadgetron type three ion blaster. It wasn't in a standard housing—probably a custom order to better fit in with the rest of Drek's militia—but the internal components were bog standard. Which made sense. No reason to design something different and go to the trouble of setting up new production lines if you didn't need to.

Now, Ratchet hadn't had a lot of experience poking around in actual working Gadgetron weapons. While not unattainable for him with a bit of saving up, he hadn't ever had a reason to prioritise something like that over the ship. Any time he needed to go on the offensive back on Veldin his wrench had done the job just fine, and pulling a gun would have escalated things dangerously in most situations anyway. He'd come across some broken Gadgetron components on occasion in the junkyards, but never enough for any serious plans to try building one. Ratchet suspected Gadgetron's waste reclamation initiative had something to do with the scarcity. Why throw your broken pistol away when you can get a little store credit for it towards a replacement, after all? Besides, the third party repair shops never seemed to have spare components on hand for some mysterious reason, so there's no reason to go there either.

No, right now Ratchet was working off general tinkering principles and the things he'd seen and read about online. Just because he hadn't had any plans to own one didn't mean he didn't enjoy following the newest in blowing stuff up from a distance. So right now he was mostly figuring out how things fit together and the finer points of how it seemed to work, and he was having a blast doing it! This stuff was way cooler in person than on someone's blog. Plus it had been a while since he'd been able to tinker for its own sake without feeling like he should be working on the ship.

In fact, he was pretty sure he was getting enough of a hang of this that he'd be able to make a few optimisations. It was a badly kept secret that Gadgetron artificially limited the capabilities of its weapons and that a big part of their 'upgrades' was just rolling them back. The company fiercely denied this, of course, but Ratchet was seeing a whole lot of inefficiencies that could be tightened up.

On top of this, Ratchet was pretty sure that the only real difference between a type three ion blaster and the more expensive type two was that the latter had two impulse coils instead of one. This was pertinent because Ratchet happened to have two spare type threes and time on his hands. Strictly speaking it was more effective to have one big coil instead of multiple smaller ones, and this was the case with the type one ion blaster, but it was apparently more economical to produce one size of coil for the two models and have the higher end one be five percent less efficient. Besides it made the flagship type one look even better by comparison.

He would have to slightly modify the housing, of course, but that wasn't a huge deal. Plus Ratchet kind of liked the 'naked components sticking out of the chassis' look. The current styling wasn't that great, anyway. It looked like someone with a very corporate mindset had tried to make something edgy and sleek but hadn't been brave enough to commit to either.

So out came the plasma saw and non-plasma pliers and a number of other tools, and Ratchet got to work. It wasn't long until he was lamenting the poor lighting inside the ship, which forced him to use a flashlight to see what he was doing properly. This inevitably led to him lamenting not having more than two arms as he tried to awkwardly hold the flashlight in his mouth. He had, a good while ago, had the genius idea to make a little thingy that allowed him to attach a small light to the end of his tail to address exactly this issue. It had kind of worked, though his control over his tail was just barely enough to keep the light steady and pointed in the right direction. The main problem, however, was that it didn't take very long for him to get tired of keeping it fixed at a weird angle while holding up something of non-negligible weight. Despite these limitations he had been so proud of the brilliance of his idea that he had stubbornly kept using it right up until the point he managed to sprain something in his tail. That had been a deeply unpleasant and odd sensation, and thoroughly ruined the rest of his day. After that Ratchet had stubbornly learnt his lesson and stopped doing it. For long stretches anyway. He still kept the thingy stashed in his armband with the other tools just in case and to this day maintained that the concept was ingenious despite its issues.

But Ratchet managed, and was soon making good progress. He had experience holding a flashlight awkwardly in his mouth, after all, this not being the first time the situation called for it. He hadn't been lying when he told Clank that this sort of thing calmed him; it really did.

Ratchet didn't know how long he'd been at it by the time he'd finished making sure the second impulse coil was properly attached and correctly wired up and had put the modified body back on, but he certainly knew that he was getting pretty tired. It had been a pretty long day, after all. He decided it was probably getting time to turn in.

Which introduced the question of where exactly he was going to do that. The ship, being made for warbots, didn't include sleeping accommodations. He was probably going to end up having to find a corner somewhere and curl up in the blankets and comforters he'd packed.

Truthfully, Ratchet didn't really mind that. It wasn't too different from the way he normally slept. Unlike most people he'd met, he'd never really been too sold on the idea of beds. At least not the ones he'd slept in. The proportions didn't really make much sense to him, usually being either too long or narrow, depending on the side in question. Maybe if they made them circular it would work out better, or at least with sides of equal length. As it was he always felt like he was in danger of falling off if he moved in the wrong direction or that he was wasting half the area by curling up as he did. He had tried not curling up, and while that solved those issues it… didn't really work. Ratchet didn't know why, but it just didn't. Felt too awkward.

So Ratchet stowed all his stuff away, including the modified blaster, and stood up to look for a good spot. He idly took note of the security cameras. While he still wasn't entirely comfortable with the idea of being watched, he had to admit that he couldn't really do anything about being observed more conventionally while asleep, so logically it was a moot point. Emotionally, though, the argument wasn't terribly compelling.

Due to the small size of the vessel, it wasn't long before he ended up in the cockpit, where Clank was dutifully sitting in the co-pilot's seat. The robot seemed to have turned around just as Ratchet entered into view, even though the Lombax's steps had been silent. Ratchet was again reminded of those security cameras.

A moment passed in silence as the two stared at each other. Deciding to seize the initiative and avoid any awkward questions from Clank, Ratchet decided to break it.

"I think it's time I hit the hay. How long until we reach Marcadia?" Ratchet had a vague idea, but for the most part had completely lost track of time since they left Novalis.

"There are an estimated thirteen hours and forty-three minutes remaining until we reach Marcadian space, so that is a good idea," Clank responded, before looking around, "Where do you plan on sleeping, if I may ask?"

Ratchet shrugged, "Haven't figured that part out yet, but I'll probably find a corner somewhere. Wake me up when we're about an hour out, will you?" He doubted he'd be asleep long enough to need Clank's help, but it was better to be safe. It wouldn't be great to be wiping the sleep from his eyes when he made his first impression with the Rangers or whomever Clank decided to try contacting.

"I will do so," Clank replied before, after a pause, continuing in a bit of an unsure tone, "uh, pleasant dreams… Ratchet." The Lombax in question couldn't help a small snort in response to the robot's awkwardness, but didn't say anything. Something Clank had said hit at a notion he hadn't yet fully considered, or at least fully internalised.

Clank had told him to have pleasant dreams. For the longest time, Ratchet's dreams had, in one way or another, revolved around making a life for himself away from Veldin, either on Marcadia or Kerwan. What had struck him was that Clank had, indirectly, essentially told him to have pleasant dreams about something that was going to happen tomorrow.

Truthfully, Ratchet still hadn't internalised that. He felt a little like a kitten who, after spending hours chasing birds, finally catches one and has no idea what to do with it. Well, emotionally at least. He definitely knew what he was going to try to do when he got there but he was having a hard time deciding how he felt about the whole thing. He figured he should be happy—ecstatic, even—but instead he felt this mounting sense of unreality. Like it couldn't be real, and that soon enough he'd be ripped back into normalcy and back into the same old grind.

He knew it was irrational to think that was going to happen, of course, so he tried not to. As one might expect, this didn't help much. He was simply too used to having to face headwinds not to feel cynical whenever there was a momentary lull.

Trying once more to force these thoughts out of his mind, Ratchet went looking for his bag. Or, put more accurately, shifted his attention to the patch of wall he knew he had placed it against and, seeing that it was exactly where he had left it, went and picked it up. Deciding that he needed something that took a bit more time than two seconds to have a chance of distracting him from tomorrow, he began solving the problem of making a decent place to sleep that wouldn't leave him horrendously sore or something.

He quickly decided that, as he'd relayed to Clank, he would indeed set up camp in a corner. The Lombax found he much preferred to have as many sides covered as possible when he slept. He just felt more secure that way. While only having two of four covered wasn't ideal, it was better than only one or none at all.

While there were a few corners in the ship to inspect, he eventually settled on the same one he'd used for his tinkering, for much the same reasons: it was about the most secluded place in the ship, save for opening up the walls in the hopes of finding a service corridor or something. He paused for a moment, considering the possibility. It was a long shot, but there was a distinct possibility that it'd yield a wonderfully snug spot.

It probably wasn't a very good idea, but when had that ever stopped him?

C

Clank was about done being annoyed at himself for how stilted he had just sounded when wishing Ratchet pleasant dreams when he once again started hearing mechanical noises. Clearly, the Lombax had decided to get in a little more tinkering before turning in. Clank didn't really mind that. So long as Ratchet was happy and not putting either of them in danger he was fine with it.

After about half an hour of off and on noises they seemed to stop, which Clank took to mean that Ratchet was probably in bed or doing whatever Lombaxes liked to do right before that. He was tempted to check on the security cameras, but felt like that was pushing it too far. Ratchet was putting in a good amount of trust to fall asleep around him, so spying while he was getting ready to do that seemed like a betrayal of that trust.

Or, at least, undue spying would be. Clank fully intended to check up on him at least once during the night to make sure everything was definitely okay. He felt like that was a decent compromise between mostly preserving Ratchet's privacy and fulfilling his duty to ensure the health and safety of a possible endling.

The hours then came and went, with nothing of note happening. About the most exciting thing that occurred was the detection of a rogue planet a few dozen astronomical units away from their trajectory. Clank felt there was something almost romantic in the notion of an entire world frozen and shrouded in the near complete darkness of the abyss of interstellar space, never again to have a star to call a sun. It was tragic, but also possessed a certain coziness in the stillness and privacy of a world almost impossible to detect unless you just happened to pass close to it on the way to somewhere else. Where nothing happened and nothing would happen. Clank knew that there existed rogue planets whose cores remained hot and could sustain a limited form of life beneath the surface. It, too, would be destined to remain almost perfectly obscure to and divorced from the wider universe, and would likely never have the chance to reach the surface, much less reach out into space and escape their sanctuary. That, too, possessed a melancholic beauty in Clank's opinion. He didn't know why he was even capable of thinking that, but he did.

But other than that, nothing really happened, and eventually Clank decided it was time to check up on his Lombax companion.

He left the seat slowly, aware of the capability of Ratchet's prodigious ears. The last thing he wanted to do was wake the poor bax. So Clank made sure to take soft and measured steps as he approached the room Ratchet was in.

When he entered, he had to do a bit of a double take at the scene he was presented with. The room was strewn with bits of paneling and various structural components that seemed to belong to the ship, and there was a very definite hole in one of the walls. Even though he couldn't see very deep into it from the entrance, there was definitely something with yellow fur in there.

Withholding his irritation that Ratchet had been actively disassembling their ship while they were at warp, Clank walked further into the room to get a better look.

Though he certainly remained annoyed, he found it difficult to turn it into anger at the sight that befell him. Inside a hole in the wall barely bigger than him, Ratchet lay curled up on a jerry-rigged nest of blankets as he slept. Though it was difficult to tell, the nest seemed to have been constructed to minimise and cushion the horribly uneven surface that must have been in there. Suddenly, one of Ratchet's ears twitched, and in that terrible moment Clank was sure that he'd been discovered. But as the seconds ticked by, ever so slowly, nothing seemed to happen. Then, about when Clank had calmed down again, there came another twitch, and Clank froze once more. But when the third twitch came not too long after the second one, it became apparent that Ratchet probably hadn't heard him. No, if the Lombax was hearing something, it was probably because he was dreaming.

Now that it occurred to Clank, it seemed that all the signs seemed to match. Though Ratchet's eyes were closed, the robot could see that they were moving underneath the eyelids. His breathing was fast and irregular, which initially alarmed Clank, but did fit with REM sleep. And, of course, his ears twitched every so often, along with his tail.

Clank wondered what he might be dreaming about. He hoped it was something pleasant, but he couldn't really be confident that that was the case, with the way Ratchet's face occasionally seemed to shift into a near grimace. Indeed, the longer Clank watched, the less it looked like Ratchet was having a good time.

He considered waking him, but nearly instantly dismissed the idea. The invasionary nature of the action aside, Clank knew that Ratchet needed his sleep, even if it wasn't pleasant.

Of course, in hindsight, Clank knew he should have expected this. Everything pointed towards Ratchet having had a hard life, and that probably wasn't conducive to very nice dreams. He could hardly imagine what Ratchet might be reliving right now, or what scenario might have been created from his experiences. The sight helped put things into perspective. The Ratchet he was looking at now was very different from the waking version that would likely resent any attempt on Clank's part to address and try to help with any of the things that might be causing his current suffering. But despite pushback from the object of his concern, Clank decided that he had to at least do something. Doing otherwise felt deeply wrong as he watched this side of Ratchet.

A few minutes passed as Clank lost himself in the moment. During it Ratchet's breathing seemed to still some, and he looked more peaceful than when Clank had first arrived, though his ears still twitched on occasion. Clank was relieved that he at least seemed to feel a bit better, and decided that he'd stayed long enough. Taking one last glance at the Lombax, the robot left the room and climbed back into the co-pilot's chair.

Nothing much happened after that. It turned out that Clank hadn't needed to wake Ratchet up, as he'd stumbled out of the room, yawning, some two hours before arrival. He had then proceeded to spend the next thirty minutes either rubbing his eyes, yawning some more, or staring blankly into space. It was during the third non-activity towards the end of this period that his stomach grumbled very audibly, snapping him out of it enough for him to go to his bag and retrieve some sort of nutrient bar, which he slowly ate over the course of some fifteen minutes. Clank didn't get an opportunity to see its nutritional information, but he somehow doubted it could be considered healthy.

The rest of the time passed in silence save for Ratchet's occasional queries as to how long it was until they arrived, which grew more frequent as they got closer. Clank noticed how Ratchet's tail seemed to grow in animation at about the same pace, and by the end his ears were so perked up that Clank suspected he might be able to stand on them if he had good enough balance. It was obvious that the Lombax was more than a little excited, even if he tried—and failed—to keep it out of his voice.

Then, at long last, they were hailed by the Marcadian Space Traffic Control system and Ratchet nearly fell out of his chair.