Part four. It's a bit longer this time.

"Ratchet, it's me! It's me!" Angela said frantically, but the mask distorted her voice into that of a gruff man. The gleaming metal of the wrench seemed ready to be brought down on her covered face, where the bones would surely be shattered as badly as the glass. Ratchet was no pushover; he may have been small, but he had quite a bit of strength in his arms. She tugged at the mask with the hand that he hadn't pinned so he could see her and she could speak clearly. "It's me!"

His vivid green eyes widened in recognition, but he made no move to let her up. He was too surprised - and perhaps a bit too happy - to think of doing anything but staring at her. Angela, however, was quite ready to get up. It was rather embarrassing to be pinned on one's back by a guy in only his boxers. What did he think about sometimes? It was rather comical, actually. Ratchet, who now wore a stunned expression in place of a malicious snarl, was kneeling with one knee in the soft spandex of Angela's stomach, the other on the ground beside her. His left hand was clamped on her right wrist, pinning it to the ground, but his right was still raised, as if he would strike with the wrench in it. And Angela, ever-calm, tried to keep her eyes focussed on his and not allow herself to think about what it must've looked like to anyone who happened to walk in, or about exactly how good he looked without a decent set of clothes on. "Angela?"

"Yes, Ratchet, Angela. Do you mind letting me up?"

"Oh, uh, sorry." He got off her quickly and retreated a few feet, somehow avoiding the broken glass with his bare feet. "I was just...surprised, that's all. Surprised that it was you and not a...thief. Well, not a...an evil thief, at least..." He couldn't seem to hold eye contact with her, nor form complete sentences without severe thought. The truth was, he was happy to see her, and had even been considering braving the cold of the Tundor Wastes for a visit, yet he somehow wished their circumstances were different. Why did she break into his house and sneak around in his kitchen instead of simply waking him up at a normal hour? He'd told her the couch was hers to use whenever she wanted, so why sneak in?

They stood in an awkward silence for several moments before Angela asked for a dust pan and broom and began to sweep up the shards of glass. She couldn't get all the little fragments, but she got most of them. Those that were left behind would have to be cleaned up with a vaccuum cleaner in the morning, when the noisy appliance wouldn't disturb anyone. After that, there was more silence. Ratchet couldn't think of anything to say, and neither could she. It was a long, awkward five minutes before either of them spoke.

"Ratchet, I... I'm sorry I snuck into your house. Mr. Fizzwidget told me to come here on vacation, and I...wanted something to drink," she said, quickly cutting out half of the truth. Sure, it was her thirst that had awakened him, but the actual fact was that she'd wanted to see him, if only for a moment. A moment of sentimentallity was all she had time for; any more would have to wait. "I didn't think you mind, so I came in. The door wasn't locked."

The smaller lombax just nodded dumbly for a moment. "Well, then...do you want me to get a blanket for you, so you can sleep on the couch?"

"Yes, please. That would be nice." She slipped back into her overly-formal, polite manner of talking that she always used when she was nervous. She watched as Ratchet slowly unfolded the thick blanket on the metal couch, not as a cover for her - the air was too hot for any sort of cover - but as a cushion. She set down and removed the thick, heavy armor that hid her body and set it on a nearby lamp table. The dark did not seem to hinder either of them; the soft glow of the computer's screen saver was all they needed to see. She laid down and rested her head on a small roll that was apparently to be her pillow and sighed slightly, half-dejected, half-content.

"Everything alright?" Ratchet asked, kneeling in concern before her.

"Yes, yes...well, actually, the couch is a bit hard..." She sat up again and shook her head. "But I'll be okay."

"No, it's alright. I'll try to find another blanket for you to lay on." Angela flushed deeply, but between her fur and the dark, it didn't show. She hadn't actually wished for another blanket, but she said nothing. Ratchet left and came back a few moments later with empty hands. "I'm out. It's not like you need blankets on Veldin."

"That's okay. I'll be fine anyhow." She waved her hand dismissively and tried not to look in his eyes. "If you can't find another blanket, don't worry about it. Just go back to bed and get your sleep."

"But, Angela..." The final syllable of her name seemed to hang between them for a moment. "I..." Ratchet closed his eyes to shut out the look he just knew she'd give him. "I want you to be comfortable." He dared to open one eye a moment later and found her staring with an unreadable expression on her face. Was it pity? Adoration? Incredulity? He couldn't tell. And he wasn't sure he wanted to. "Um...I'll just...go to bed now, okay?"

"Wait..." she whispered. He did. Angela's eyes darted around the room nervously, trying to find a place to settle. They found one: the soft, pale fur of Ratchet's chest, barely concealing the muscle there. She pulled him against her suddenly, in an impulsive, out-of-character move, and pressed her cheek against his furry body. He was warm and soft, unlike the couch, and, due to their height differences and the fact that she was sitting down, she was able to look up at him for once, instead of the other way around.

At first, Ratchet wasn't sure what to do. Should he hug her back? Should he push her away and tell her to get a grip, that she never acted like that? Instead, he simply stared down at the top of her head, then, as she turned to look up at him, he smiled. He knew what she wanted him to do, even if she didn't say it. However, that didn't mean he had to do it... No, he could make this fun! "Yes?" he questioned.

Angela didn't respond right away. The nearly-cold exterior she often wore was back, and, though she didn't push him away, she no longer nuzzled and rubbed against him. "It's nothing," she said at length, sighing and looking down again. She dropped her arms and leaned back so that they were no longer touching. "Sorry about that. I guess I kinda lost it."

"Maybe I knocked you a bit harder than I thought, eh?" Ratchet laughed. "Well, if you're sure, goodnight." Angela said nothing, but lowered her head a bit more. Ratchet turned and walked towards his room. She looked up and followed him with her eyes; he could feel them on his back as he turned the corner. She sighed and shook her head, and closed her eyes once more. "Hey, I thought you said you were uncomfortable. Here, have these." Ratchet had somehow suddenly reappeared at the end of the couch and was arranging a pillow and bedsheet.

"I thought you said you were out."

"In the closet, yes. These are from my bed."

"Then what will you sleep on?"

Ratchet smirked. "These right here," he told her, sitting down next to her and laying back on the pillow with his hands behind his head. He slung his legs over her lap and grinned like a fool. She leaned back a bit from him, and his face fell slightly. He sat up to explain, but kept his legs over hers so she couldn't stand up. "You said the couch was too hard. I'm out of blankets - for real this time, none anywhere in the house - so I figured you could lay on me. I'm pretty sure I'm a little softer than the couch, at least..." He stopped talking then, as Angela had leaned against him and now had her face pressed against his neck, her hands curled in a child-like manner on his chest.

He smiled and put his arms around her before leaning back. Her long legs were tucked up under his, as if using them for a blanket. She may have been a good deal taller than him, but with the way they were laying, Ratchet was just able to lay his head on hers. He stroked her cheek lightly, the powder-soft fur yeilding to his touch. It was at that moment that he thought with a slight grin that it was almost a reverse of the photograph they both kept - almost. Only it was better than the photograph, because now, not only was she leaning on him, but he was leaning on her as well. Their embrace was not purely platonic, nor was it posed. It was natural and loving. And, very gently, he leaned down and pressed his furry lips to the end of her nose. After all, she had once kissed him, so why shouldn't he return the favor? Ratchet closed his eyes and fell into a light sleep almost immediately.