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Chapter 25: I just want him back

"Thank you for agreeing to come with me."

"What other choice do I have?" Ratchet pushed away from the arms steadying him. "And I can walk on my own. I don't need you holding me." One step forward on his bad leg had the ground approaching quickly, but the pair of hands were back on him before Ratchet could face-plant into the shuttle loading dock.

"I can see that." Drift helped him back to his pedes, being far too gentle. It annoyed him. "Ratchet…" There was that pleading voice again.

"I'm not going to use the cane. I don't need it."

"It's not something to be ashamed of, Ratchet. Just a tool to help you while you heal."

Ratchet ignored him, choosing to limp slowly up the ramp on his own. See? That cane wasn't necessary.

He knew he was being ridiculous. After all, he'd had nearly the same conversation with Bumblebee and the mech had grown so attached to it, he'd continued using it long after he'd been cleared by Ratchet.

But this was different.

"Ridiculous. 'We don't have the parts or skill necessary to restore your leg to full functionality'. Is this how they treat all their patients? Just throw their hands up and send them on their way?" A couple more wobbly steps. From the corner of his vision he caught sight of Drift reaching out again, apprehensively. His spark ached, but Ratchet kept his scowl fixed tight. He had to keep reminding himself. This was someone else. Similar, but not the same. Don't get attached.

Another misstep had Ratchet tumbling clumsily into the seat he'd been making his way to. He let out a grumble and rubbed his leg. "I'll just fix it myself."

A white frame gracefully slunk into the seat beside him. Showoff. "I can take you to the Lost Light."

"Right. Your Lost Light. Apparently different from my Lost Light."

"I know how this sounds, Ratchet. But from what you told me, we boarded the same ship. And very quickly after that point, our recollections of events taking place on that same ship vary so wildly it can't still be the same one." Drift looked up at him from where he'd been messing with the navigation. "I'll take you to Perceptor. He'll be able to figure out what happened and get you back on your way to your own ship."

"And you'll have your Ratchet fix my leg?" The thought of meeting another version of himself that could actually do the work he was forged for, someone that still had his hands… Ratchet didn't know how to feel about that.

Drift went silent and looked away. Scrap, maybe that was a line he shouldn't have crossed.

Ratchet hesitated, taking a deep vent before continuing. "Do they even know where you are? That you're gone?"

"…No." There was such quiet pain in Drift's voice when he finally spoke again. "I'm exiled, Ratchet."

"What?"

"Overlord. I let him be brought onto the ship."

"You were exiled for that? Couldn't something else have been arranged?"

"He escaped. People died, Ratchet. It was… it was bad. Rodimus couldn't take the fall, not if this mission was to get anywhere. So I took it instead. It was my choice."

"Why-" Ratchet tripped over his own words, sudden anger blinding him. "Why would you do that?"

"The quest. The Knights must be found. With or without me."

"Who cares about the Knights?" Drift opened his mouth to refute, but Ratchet cut him off. "Stop it with the goddamn self sacrificing every chance you get. There are people that care about you. People who'd be worse off without you around." It was hard to vent. Ratchet gripped his chestplate, throbbing now. "Don't you get it? Don't you know what I'd do just to see him again?"

"…We shouldn't talk about this right now. Not while you're grieving." A hand laid over his own. Ratchet yanked it away. He didn't need pity.

"Shut up." Tears pricked up behind his optics. Ratchet forced them back down. This fool. This idiot. It didn't have to be this way.

"…And you're wrong, Ratchet. No one cared. Maybe they did at one point, or pretended to at least. I know most of the crew was fearful of me, watching for when I'd slip up and hurt someone. And I did. Directly or not, this tragedy was on me. And when I stood before them to take the blame, those true feelings were made very clear to me."

"And no one questioned this? There's no way anyone could've believed that you pulled this whole stunt by yourself with no outside help."

"They didn't want me there, Ratchet. This was just a convenient scapegoat. I knew the consequences for my choice and accepted them. It's fine, it's in the past now." Drift sat there looking so resolute, so sure of himself. Idiot.

"It's not fine. No one stood up for you? Not a single mech tried to stop you from throwing your whole life away?"

Silence from Drift again.

"Do you even want to go back?"

"…No. I don't." Drift's shoulders hunched as he stared at hands balled tightly into fists. "But we have to get you to your Lost Light. I'm willing to risk going back. Even if I'm not wanted."

Enough of this. Ratchet had already made up his mind. "You know what? No. We're not going."

Drift's helm whipped up to gawk at him. "What? But-"

"You don't deserve to be ridiculed just for my sake. You don't want to go back, and I don't want to go back either. There's nothing left there for me."

The thought of returning to that ship, his own or otherwise, filled his spark with a sense of dread. It would never be the same.

"Alright, then. So what are you going to do? Just wander space?"

Light glistened off the Greatsword propped up against the seat, catching his eye. "We'll go find your swords. They mean a lot to you, don't they?"

"We?"

"Well, yeah. I'm going with you."

"I practically had to bribe you into getting in here, and now you don't want to leave? You can't stay with me, Ratchet."

"In case you forgot, this is my shuttle. What's so important that you apparently can't have a crusty old medic around for? And when's the last time you got fixed up? You look terrible." Now that he'd really gotten a look at the mech, it was clear just how little he'd bothered to do any semblance of personal upkeep. The disheveled, scratched up appearance he'd initially chalked up to the state he'd last seen Drift. And not… this.

"I've been helping people, Ratchet. I'm finally contributing some good for once. I can't just stop."

"You can stop for basic maintenance so you don't fall apart. Now get over here. I don't like that clicking sound in your chassis. And grab my med-kit while you're at it."

What was he doing? Logically he knew he should get the hell away from this Drift, get back to the Lost Light so he could properly move on. But the thought of leaving…

This Drift already had a Ratchet. And really, his life was none of his business.

But Ratchet just couldn't bring himself to leave.

Uncomfortable silence stretched on as Drift sat beside him, letting Ratchet port in. Just as before, nothing requiring immediate attention, still Ratchet tapped his chestplate, signaling for Drift to open up.

At the sight of Drift's internal wiring, Ratchet's optics glazed over, his processor completely blank. What was he looking at? What was he supposed to do?

Panic set down like a crushing weight. He had to do something. Shaking hands grabbed the nearest tool. Just stop the bleeding. That's the best he could do for now. All that matters is keeping Drift alive.

Energon pooled down around them. The tool slipped from his grasp, clattering to the floor. There were too many wounds and Ratchet's useless hands couldn't even hold anything properly.

"Ratchet?"

"Don't talk, Drift. I won't let you die." Ratchet's voice cracked as he tried to keep in even. "I won't let you you die."

He leaned forward to pick up the tool now on the floor, but was stopped by hands wrapped around his wrists.

"Hey." Drift mumbled softly. He had his chest closed now. What did he think he was doing? Ratchet tried to pull his arms away, only for the grip to hold steady. "No, Ratchet. You don't need to do this."

"Don't be stupid. You need repairs. Just let me fix you."

Another attempt to free his hands was thwarted and Ratchet felt the panic rising again.

"I'm fine. It's nothing urgent. Your hands still haven't fully adjusted to your frame yet. You shouldn't be using them so much." Damn Drift using his own logic against him.

Not that it would make a difference. These hands would never match the precision needed for him to be of any real use, no matter how much time was given to adjust. Why was he in such a rush to prove it?

"I'll have someone check me out. Eventually. I promise." Drift gave a gentle squeeze before releasing Ratchet's wrists. They fell to his lap, his drive no longer there. It's not as if he'd be able to fix Drift anyway.

The world around him remained in a haze-like state even as Drift took his seat once again. Engines rumbling, muted and distant. They were leaving. Part of him knew he ought to urge Drift to stop the shuttle and get his aft back into that hospital to have someone look him over. But he didn't. Ratchet simply sat still and stared at his hands. His useless hands.

No. It wasn't the hands that were useless.

There was no need for Drift to go back in there, to go search for a medical professional to repair him. Because Ratchet was here. There shouldn't have even been a need to.

Twice now- twice he'd gone and lost his nerve when he was needed. Drift wasn't even dying and yet Ratchet couldn't even assess his condition. This dull, numb fog shrouding his mind, it terrified him. Nerves of steel forged and sharpened over millions of years- worn down to nothing, just like that.

Ratchet didn't know what to do.

Drift kept glancing over at him. He probably didn't know what to do either. What do you do with a medic that can no longer heal? One who can't even look at an injury without shutting down now, apparently. He felt so stupid. Insisting on being brought along as if he'd be anything but dead weight at this point.

"Ratchet." A touch to his shoulder violently wrenched Ratchet back to the present. He looked up to see Drift, pulling his hand back cautiously. "We're stopping for fuel and supplies."

He already had his mouth open, ready to snap back that it was far too soon to be stopping already, when Ratchet checked his internal chronometer to see that much more time had passed since their departure than he'd believed.

"Just go on without me. I'll stay back."

Drift had already stood up and was busy gathering his things. "I'm not leaving you in here alone. Come on. Come with me. It'll be good for you to get out, get your mind off things. We'll grab some drinks."

Ratchet let out a huff as he gestured none too subtly at his leg.

"I'll carry you."

"You will not. Anyway, weren't you just trying to get rid of me? I thought you didn't want me here."

"I wasn't trying to get rid of you, Ratchet." Drift took his hands in his own. "Come on, up you go."

Ratchet pushed him away. "I can stand up on my own just fine, thank you very much." To prove his point Ratchet shoved himself off the seat in a burst of momentum that ended as abruptly as it started- sending him straight into Drift, who was apparently already prepared to catch him. He stayed there, in that awkward position, with Drift supporting most of his frame weight, waiting for the inevitable snippy comeback. But it never came. Drift only stood in silence as he held Ratchet up.

Memories of being held in those arms- hands treating him with such tender care, carrying him through familiar halls. Bright expanses of stars and endless galaxies, shone through windows that could never do the sight justice. Laying side by side, a warm hand in his own, weathered down, full of a gentleness its idiot owner couldn't even see in himself. Ratchet's spark welled up with such warmth. He'd felt so safe. Loved.

That warmth left as Drift broke the contact, pulling away to leave Ratchet standing on his own. Hands shot out against his better judgment, stopping Drift. "Wait."

Drift looked back at him expectantly and the words he'd meant to speak slipped away. What even was it he wanted? To grasp blindly at a moment long gone? This was someone else. But not quite a stranger all the same.

Don't get attached?

As if he hadn't already. And he hated himself for it.

"Just carry me then, if that's what you want to do."

Clearly not the response Drift had anticipated from the expression that briefly flickered across his face. His hesitation didn't last long though, and Ratchet soon found himself hauled up in those arms once again.

Drift chuckled lightly. "You know me too well."

Did he? Ratchet shut his optics as he laid his helm against Drift.

The answer to that didn't feel as clear in his mind anymore.

---

If anyone had seen him being escorted around like this, Ratchet wasn't aware of it. His optics remained firmly shut, blocking out everything except the frame against his own. If he tried hard enough, maybe it would be someone else holding onto him.

Then again, did he really have to try? When his mannerisms were the same? When the way his voice fluctuated was the same? When his very spark beat was the same?

Drift droned on, listing out suggestions of where to stop, but Ratchet wasn't listening. He grunted in agreement, not paying mind to the words, but to the voice. Anything just to hear that sound.

It didn't hit him until the sensation of a hand on his shoulder that he'd been set down at some point. That wonderful voice filled his audials once again, not that it made any sense to him.

"Ratchet."

"Huh?"

"Your usual, Ratchet." Drift motioned to the outdoor bar just behind them. "I can get it for you. If that's what you want?"

A numb nod of his helm was all Ratchet could manage. "Yeah. Yeah, that's fine."

Drift only glanced back at him briefly before making his way to the bar. His usual. What even was his usual? As if he ever really paid attention. Swerve always knew what to get him. It's not like he ever had a reason to doubt him. Ratchet wasn't the type Swerve targeted for his petty pranks. Friendship? Or cautious to prank the one rooting around under his hood every other week. He'd like to think the former was true.

Sometimes… he wished some idiot would pull a prank or two. They were all far too stiff around him.

Hands wandered to the table he was seated at, fidgeting aimlessly. Drift would always joke around with him. One of the few that did.

…Did this Drift ever get a drink with his Ratchet? He must have, to know Ratchet's usual like this. Well, assuming it matches up. He assumes it will.

The quiet bustle of the seating area pulled him out of his head and back into the present. Good. He needed to think about anything else. There seemed to be a good variety of mechanical and organic patrons around. It reflected in the scenery of the planet too- he cursed himself for not paying more attention to where the slag they'd landed- a mix of organic vegetation among the harsh metallic structures. A mess of two vastly different worlds. It was… beautiful, really. Drift would have been in awe.

Clearly this Drift had picked the planet on purpose, probably knowing it was a safe harbor for mechanical beings. Maybe he'd wanted to bring his own Ratchet out here too.

Would he ever see his Ratchet again? Drift didn't seem too keen on returning to his own Lost Light, had hardly even mentioned his own Ratchet at all.

Maybe… he didn't have to. Would it be so terrible to just go- to travel the stars, just the two of them? It was clear Ratchet wasn't the only one here reaching for something he couldn't have.

It was selfish. Such a selfish, despicable thought. And he hated that it was the only thing keeping him going anymore.

---

Drift didn't speak as he returned to sit across from him, two drinks in hand. The cube slid a bit as it was pushed to him and Ratchet took it in his hands to steady it. The strongest grade they had available- energon shavings on top and a curly straw to boot. It was his usual. Ratchet didn't know how to feel about that.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Drift turned to look at a lush, elegant tree just off to the side, casting shadows over where they sat. Such a warm, gentle smile spread across Drift's face. A genuine smile. Whether it was really meant for him or someone else wasn't clear. "This planet. It's a real marvel."

"Yeah. It really is."

Condensation had formed on the sides of the glass, getting his hands wet. The drink remained untouched otherwise, Ratchet found he had no appetite at the moment. Looking up, he could see it was the same for Drift's drink. Were they just going to sit here waiting to see who would be the first to take a sip? Or they could just keep up this barely concealed game of make believe, pretending to be in the company of someone far out of reach.

Unless, of course, it was only Ratchet playing this little game of delusions. After all, Drift still had the hope of actually seeing the one he cared about again. He wasn't stuck grasping out, desperate and hopeless, for someone he couldn't accept was gone. He could only imagine how pathetic he must look.

"Ratchet." The smile had faded from his face, and Drift was looking right at him, before lowering his optics back to his drink. "What was he to you? Your relationship, I mean."

Ratchet could only sit in silence, staring at his hands, still on the glass. How was he supposed to answer something like that?

"I apologize if this is too invasive. You don't have to answer. I know it's still a fresh wound."

"…I don't know. I don't… I don't know." The words slipped right out, leaving Ratchet stunned. This wasn't something he'd put much thought into. They just were… what they were. And that had always been enough for him. "Doesn't matter anymore anyway."

"Don't say that. It does matter."

"No, it doesn't." Ratchet gripped the cube in his hands, not sure why he felt the need to die on this hill. "We weren't sparkmates, we weren't Conjux, and we certainly weren't anybody's business."

"Did you… want to be?"

"I just want him back." The glass cracked under his grip. Ratchet held on tighter. "But I can't have that. I can't because he's dead. So it doesn't matter."

How badly he just wanted things to go back to how they were. There was something there, a bond that meant more to him than anything else. And like hell was he going to slap some frivolous label on it just so other mechs could pry into their lives to push them into one box or another.

"I just want him back."

Something touched his arm. Drift, reaching across the table, probably trying to provide some sense of comfort. Ratchet couldn't bear to look at him. They had the same face. The same face. And he hated that his stupid processor couldn't make up its damn mind. Hostility or desperate clinging? Which was it? He had to be giving Drift mixed signals. One moment wanting so horribly to stay with him and the next to get as far away as possible. He was a mess.

"…And what about you?" Ratchet forced the question out, desperate to change the subject.

The hand slowly pulled away from his arm. "I guess I should've expected you to return the question, huh." Drift propped his elbow up on the table as he took to flicking his straw. "We… we weren't anything special. Friends. Not as close as we could've been if I hadn't gone and fragged up my life. You know how it is." Those optics were full of something he couldn't place. Something so intense it made Ratchet's spark ache.

"I doubt he's missing me."

"Bullshit." Anger welled up inside him. How could he sit there and speak so flippantly about this? As if he didn't care? As if it didn't matter?

"I don't believe that for one second." The glass was near its breaking point. Ratchet didn't care. "I saw the way you looked at me. The way you stayed by my side through all of that. The way you held me? You can't sit here and act like you don't care about him."

"He's better off without me, Ratchet."

He's heard this load of scrap before. "You don't know that. What makes you think you get to decide that?" Here he was, actively ruining any hope of keeping Drift in his life. Why stop digging the hole now?

"I saw… visions. Which I now know were of your Drift. But at the time I assumed it was for me." Drift smiled sadly at his drink. "I saw how close you'd become. I wanted that. So badly. And I was sure I'd lost my chance forever until finding you. I thought 'this is my chance to change things'. But…some things just aren't meant to be. I can't go back."

"You can still go back to him. Are you seriously just going to throw that away?"

"We need to drop this. I'm done discussing it." Something terrifying flashed across Drift's optics, but Ratchet held his ground. He wouldn't be intimidated.

It passed as quickly as it came and Drift rubbed at his face with a sigh. "Ratchet. I can't go back to him. And I can't stay with you. This isn't healthy. For either of us. Being around you hurts me. It hurts me. And I know it has to be the same for you. Especially for you."

"We'll find my swords. And then we're finding a way to get you back to your Lost Light. But if you stay any longer, I don't know if my spark will be able to tell the difference between you anymore. And he deserves to be remembered." Drift stood up and turned away, taking his untouched drink with him.

"As does your Drift. Remember him for who he was. Not who I am."

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