I got this idea while chatting with Macman. The story idea I think kinda came from my own experience playing DL. Defeating Ace was the first time I actually thought to myself, 'I'm killing people...!' I mean, I played through four games and it took me that long to actually think about it. XD Probably because that's the first time you see a character, and not just a randomly-generated foe, kick it. You killed Drek, but he'd been blasted up to the other planet before (which, by the way, if a planet takes up THAT MUCH of the sky, then gravity should pull the planets to collide with one another since they're so close; they must have some daggum fancy technology to keep them from crashing). You didn't actually see him (which has prompted a lot of speculation, 'cause if you don't see a body then you don't know it's dead ;) ). Quark and the Protopet didn't die. Nefarious didn't die. Ace was the first character death on screen. Thus, it kinda got a funny reaction.

The original version had a picture that went with it, which you can find at my DA page (Sandy87).

Sasha rolled over in bed for the third time that night. She pulled her pillow over her head. Even though she'd been planetside for nearly two months, she still couldn't sleep with the city noise. She missed the soft hum of the Phoenix around her. It was low and gentle and, in some stupid way, seemed almost motherly. Like a giant womb that muffled all the outside noise.

She pulled the pillow off her head - it was suffocating - and stuffed her fingers in her ears. Normally, she loved her ears. They were sensative to just about any sound, alerting her to an employee before he knocked on her office door. Unfortunately, that also meant that they picked up every little horn blasted outside, every engine that spluttered and backfired. And, when she was trying to sleep, that got downright obnoxious.

She'd tried earplugs, but for some reason they didn't muffle enough sound, and she couldn't sleep with the constant sensation that there was something in her ears. She just wanted to stick a finger in there and do some excavating. She'd even tried sleeping pills, but they'd given her such a hangover that she couldn't stand them the next morning. And so she tossed and turned, finally falling asleep for a precious hour or two before an engine or a horn or a siren or some other city sound roused her, only to repeat the cycle.

Something thumped outside her door. It didn't really startle her - the night watch of the combination mayoral house and civic center walked by sometimes - but it did catch her interest. It didn't sound like the usual watchman; the footsteps were too quiet and light and too close together. But they didn't sound hurried like a burglar; they shuffled and scuffed the ground.

Quietly, she rolled over and slid out of the bed. The cold floor greeted the furry soles of her feet and she stifled a yip of surprise before pulling on her slippers. She slipped a robe over her nightshirt and stepped lightly toward the door. Quiet outside, she opened it cautiously. A soft creak from around a corner caught her attention - the door to the balcony, she realized. She followed the sound as gingerly as she could, not wanting to alarm the sleepwalker.

Her breath came easier when she rounded the corner and saw it was only Ratchet, walking around in an old pair of pants that he'd slept in since the time she'd first met him. He was sitting on a bench with his arms folded on the railing and his chin on top of them. One foot was up against a post of the railing; the other dangled precariously off the side, almost daring the rest of him to follow. His ears twitched but he didn't turn around, "Hey."

"Hey," she replied, walking up behind him. She sat down on the bench next to him but facing the opposite way. She looped one arm around around his stomach and placed her head on his shoulder. He didn't do anything - didn't lean over and nudge her with his chin, didn't stiffen like he did when she caught him off guard and embarrassed him. She reached up and tugged the end of his ear. "What's wrong?"

He shook his head - or at least she could feel the muscles in his neck and shoulders move like he was shaking it - but didn't say anything. He did swing his tail up on her lap, though, and she played with the fluffy tip with her free hand. She shifted so she could look at him, drawing on leg up onto the bench and tucking its foot under her other knee, her thigh under the base of his tail.

He did seem to notice that, at least, as he gave her a funny look before glancing at his tail resting across her lap. She smiled but he just turned his head away and leaned against her, his shoulder pressing quite hard on her collarbone. She nipped at the side of his face when it smothered her and he readjusted his position so he wasn't on her nose, but he was still silent. She scratched one ear. "Ratchet?"

He tensed and pulled away from her, standing up like he was going back inside. She caught his arm before he left, standing up to face him. He'd grown taller in the month he'd been away on Dreadzone - not a lot, but enough she could tell. He seemed a little more muscular, too, the short fur of his chest and shoulders concealing the definition that she could feel when she leaned against him. He had also grown quieter, like something troubled him, and it was this last trait she noticed most.

"What's wrong?" she asked a second time. "You're not like this." His shoulders sagged and he turned away from her again, looking out over the city, his hands loose on the rail. He jumped up and turned around, all in one fluid motion, seating himself on it. Momentarily, she forgot her worry to marvel at just how lithe and agile he was, but the dull expression on his face soon brought her back.

He looked at her, sharply. "I'm a murderer."

"You're...what?"

"I killed them, all of them, thousands probably. Species and race and anything else, I killed them. Dallas and Juanita were right. I may not have killed baby seals for fun, but I did kill."

"Ratchet, you're a soldier. Killing...that's your job. Besides, it's not like you had a choice - they'd have killed you if you hadn't killed them." He sat there, very quiet. His eyes shook, unsure where to concentrate. She stepped a little closer and leaned over toward him. "You okay?"

"I'm alright." He pulled her to him gently and rubbed behind her ears, combing her hair. He put his head on top of hers. She hugged him worriedly, not sure she believed his words. "Thanks."

"For...?"

He shrugged. "Whatever. Just...thanks." He slid down from the balcony and stepped around the bench, keeping his arm around her shoulders. "We should go back to bed. I don't have to do anything, but I've seen you at work."

"I can't sleep anyway," she groused, leaning over and resting her cheek on his. "Too noisy."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out two small, flat discs connected by a loose headband. "White noise generator. Works wonders when you've got to sleep on a battlefield," he explained. "I think it can handle a little city noise."

She took the headband and possitioned it around her ears. It muffled the sound a bit but didn't really do much else. "How do you turn it on?" He reached up and touched a small switch cleverly hidden within a fold of one of the discs so that it couldn't be accidentally flipped while sleeping. "Oh!"

Ratchet said something else, but she didn't hear it. Somehow, the small, quiet sound in her ears drowned him out. She pulled off the headband, smiling. "See? It works." She nodded and her smile widened as they walked back inside.

"Hey, are you trying to get the tabloids in here?" she scolded as she noticed him absentmindedly following her into her room.

"What...? I, uh, no...no...uh...no!" he stammered, backing away. She couldn't see for sure, but it looked he was would have been blushing under his fur if the light was better.

She giggled and pulled him to her playfully. "You need to think less about what you've done, and more about what you're doing." He laid his head on her shoulder and made a small noise nearly like a purr.

"Think about sleeping standing up?" he joked.

"No...think about sleeping in your own bed." She pushed him back and laughed. "Go to sleep Ratchet. Alone."

"Can't. Clank's in my room."

"Oh...you know what I mean." She stuck out her tongue at him and he grinned. He leaned over and nudged her cheek with his muzzle, not quite a kiss but not quite something else, either.

"'Night." Then he left, sleepily trapesing down the hall. She giggled to herself and pulled the headband back around her ears as she climbed back into her bed. Finally, some peace and quiet, but most of all peace.