Chapter Text
Pain. That was the first thing Ratchet felt.
Indescribable pain—the same pain he'd felt when Alister shot him in the back, electricity searing through his body like lightning through metal.
His muscles locked up, freezing him in a brutal spasm. His spine arched so violently it felt like it might snap. He clenched his jaw until he felt his teeth crack under the pressure. The smell of burned fur and flesh filled his nose—sharp, acrid, nauseating.
And then the fall.
A long, endless fall into darkness.
But he never hit the bottom.
Because Clank turned back time.
Suddenly, Ratchet was standing in front of Alister again, as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn't just died.
"I thought you were like him, but I was wrong," Alister's voice echoed through the chambers of the Great Clock, distorted and wrong. There was something different this time—accusation in the general's eyes, something that cut deeper than any blade ever could.
"What?" Ratchet heard himself say, confusion and dread mixing in his chest.
"I knew Kaden. I fought at his side. He sacrificed everything for his people." The general's weathered face twisted in disgust. "And you? You had the chance to bring them all back—all the Lombaxes who died in Tachyon's genocide—and you wasted it. Why? Because you were too afraid to take the risk?"
"That's not—I couldn't—" Ratchet felt pressure crushing his chest, making it impossible to breathe, the words catching uselessly in his throat.
"He died protecting you," Alister said, his voice turning colder, more venomous with each word. "And this is how you honor him? By abandoning your entire race? By letting them stay lost in another dimension while you play hero in this one? He'd be ashamed to call you his son."The words hit harder than any physical blow ever could.
Their wrenches collided with such force that sparks flew in brilliant arcs across the platform.
Metal on metal. Sometimes metal on armor. The sound rang out like a death knell.
They fought across the platform, moving in a deadly dance that Ratchet knew by heart. Every clash rang like an accusation. Every strike felt like condemnation. Ratchet saw betrayal in the older Lombax's eyes—the last friend of his father, the only living link to who Kaden had been—now trying to kill him.
"He trusted me to guide you!" Alister roared, his voice breaking with emotion. "And I failed him. Because you're nothing like him. Kaden would have done anything—sacrificed anything—to save our people!"
The Great Clock began to crumble around them, reality itself fracturing at the seams. Time bent and twisted. But Alister's words kept echoing, over and over, louder with each repetition.
Ashamed. Ashamed. Ashamed.
Ratchet jolted upright with a strangled gasp, his whole body trembling, instantly waking Rivet from her sleep beside him.
His heart was pounding so hard he thought it might actually burst out of his chest. Cold sweat matted his fur. For the first ten seconds, he had absolutely no idea where he was. The nightmare clung to him like a second skin, Alister's words still ringing in his ears.
Then it came back to him in pieces.
Veldin. The cave. The sandstorm. Rivet.
He was safe. It was just a dream. Just a memory twisted into something worse.
"Ratchet?" Rivet asked anxiously, sitting up beside him. Her hand found his shoulder in the darkness. "What's wrong?"
Ratchet forced himself to exhale, trying to slow his racing heart. "Nothing."
The word came out automatically—a reflex born from years of dealing with things alone.
Anger flashed in Rivet's eyes, bright and unmistakable even in the dim light filtering through the cave entrance. "Don't do that," she said sharply—sharper than he'd ever heard her speak to him before.
Ratchet immediately shrank under her gaze, recognizing that he'd made a mistake.
Her expression softened almost immediately, the anger melting into something more vulnerable, more concerned.
"Please," she said quietly, and there was something raw in her voice that made his chest ache. "Don't push me away."
Ratchet took a deep breath, realizing she was right.
"Do you remember what I told you about my dad?" he asked finally.
Rivet nodded carefully. "Keeper of the Dimensionator. Stayed behind while the other Lombaxes evacuated to another dimension." She swallowed hard. "Then, like your mom, killed by Tachyon. The guy who forced our people to flee this dimension in the first place."
He paused, trying to figure out where to start, how to explain something that still hurt so much even years later. "It began when I found Alister on Torren IV. He was a Lombax— but more importantly, he was my father's friend. They had their own adventures together when they were younger. He..."
Ratchet stopped, searching for the right words. "Rivet, he was like the answer to all my questions. After spending my whole life wondering about my dad, about who he was, what he believed in, suddenly I had someone who actually knew him. I finally learned about my dad. About our people. " He glanced at her. "No offense to Aphelion, but talking to him opened my eyes more than anything she ever told me. She knew facts, but Alister knew the history. You know?"
A small, sad smile tugged at the corner of Ratchet's mouth.
"For the first time in my life, I felt a real connection to my family. To where I came from."
Rivet listened carefully, absorbing every word. Then she asked the question that had been bothering her since he'd mentioned Alister's name.
"Why didn't Alister leave with the other Lombaxes when they evacuated?"
Ratchet swallowed hard, the answer bitter in his mouth. "Because he couldn't. Before Tachyon’s betrayal, Alister was an elder councilman at the Center for Advanced Lombax Research. One day, Tachyon approached the Center with advanced military tech—stuff they'd never seen before, way beyond what anyone thought Cragmites were capable of. The rest of the council, and my dad, were skeptical. They didn't trust him. But Alister?" Ratchet shook his head. "He was thrilled. Fascinated by the technology. So much so that he gave Tachyon full access to our research, our databases, everything."
Rivet grimaced, already seeing where this was going. "And then the scrawny bastard stabbed them in the back?"
Ratchet nodded grimly. "Used everything he learned to build an army and launch his genocide. Alister was branded a traitor by the survivors and forbidden from escaping to another dimension with everyone else. They left him behind on purpose."
He continued more quietly. "That guilt—the weight of knowing he'd helped cause the extinction of our entire race, the need to fix his mistake—is what ultimately destroyed him."
Rivet nodded slowly, her expression somber, urging him to continue with a gentle look.
"Later, Alister learned about the Great Clock. About the Zoni. About the Orvus Chamber and what it could do. When he realized there was a machine that literally controlled time itself, he was ecstatic. He thought he could undo history. Rewrite it. Save my dad. My mom. Everyone killed in Tachyon's attack. Bring back our entire civilization."
Ratchet shook his head, fresh pain crossing his features. "But that's not how it works. The Clock wasn't meant to alter time—only maintain it. Using it the way Alister wanted would've torn apart reality itself. And Alister couldn't accept that. He'd spent so long living with his guilt, with his failure, that he couldn't see reason anymore. He decided to go through with his plan anyway, no matter the cost."
He swallowed hard, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "I couldn't let him do it, Rivet. If he had, he would've put the entire universe at risk. Billions of lives across thousands of worlds. I told him it was impossible, that we had to find another way, and then—"
His voice caught painfully in his throat. "I died. He shot me in the back with his OmniWrench when I turned away from him, and I fell into the void. Just fell and fell and fell."
Rivet frowned, confusion and horror mixing on her face. "But... you're still here."
"Because of Clank," Ratchet explained, and there was profound gratitude in his voice. "Knowing he could safely rewind time by exactly six minutes without damaging reality, he used the Clock and saved my life. But I remember both timelines—the one where I died and the one where I lived. They're both real to me. Both happened. I remember the pain of the electricity, the fall, the moment I knew I was going to die."
Ratchet took another shaky breath, his hands trembling slightly. "That's when I knew I couldn't change Alister's mind. There was no reasoning with him anymore. I had to stop him by force."
He looked directly at Rivet, his green eyes meeting her blue ones. "Do you know what it's like when the only person connecting you to your father—the only person who can tell you who he really was—tries to kill you? When they look at you with nothing but contempt?”
Rivet opened her mouth, then stopped. She realized, with startling clarity, that she truly didn't know. She'd never had that connection to lose.
"No," she said quietly, honestly. "I was raised by Morts from the start. They were the only family I ever had. I never knew my biological parents."
Ratchet went on, his voice growing more unsteady. "But that wasn't even the worst part of the fight."
His breathing grew ragged, the nightmare's grip still not fully released. "He said... he said that if my father were here, he would've done anything to save our people. That he would've used the Clock without hesitation. He said that—"
Ratchet felt his throat tighten painfully as tears spilled down his cheeks, hot against his fur.
"He said my father would be ashamed of me. That Kaden would be disgusted by the choice I made."
Rivet gasped softly at the sheer cruelty of it.
Ratchet took another breath, forcing himself to finish the story. "But Alister died a hero in the end. When the Great Clock broke apart from the strain, when everything was falling apart around us, he used his wrench as a lever to hold the mechanism in place and—"
He didn't need to finish. Rivet already understood. The sacrifice. The redemption that came too late.
She placed her mechanical hand over his organic one without hesitation. There was no awkwardness this time, no uncertainty—only the pure instinct to comfort someone who was clearly hurting, someone she cared about deeply.
"Do you think he was right?" Ratchet asked, his voice breaking completely. "Do you think my dad really wouldn't have wanted anything to do with me? That he'd be ashamed of the person I became?"
"No."
The word came out instantly, forceful, so full of absolute conviction that Ratchet actually flinched at the intensity of it.
"No," Rivet repeated firmly, turning her whole body to face him. She raised both hands, gripping his shoulders with surprising strength and forcing him to meet her eyes in the darkness. "Listen to me, Ratchet. What you did—choosing not to use the Clock the way Alister wanted—wasn't cowardice. It wasn't a weakness. It was the bravest thing you could have done."
"But the Lombaxes—"
"Are safe," Rivet cut in sharply. "They're alive in another dimension. You may not have found them yet, but they're out there somewhere. If you'd used the Clock the way Alister wanted, you could've erased everything. The entire universe. You would've destroyed reality itself just for the chance to see your parents again."
Her prosthetic hand slid up to cradle his face, the metal surprisingly gentle against his fur.
"You chose to protect billions of lives—trillions, maybe—over the chance to see your people again. Do you understand how selfless that is? How impossibly hard that must have been?"
"But Alister knew my dad better than anyone—what if he was right? What if—"
"What if nothing," Rivet interrupted, her voice taking on a harder edge. "I don't care how well he knew your father. I don't care how many battles they fought together. What he said to you was complete bullshit. He had absolutely no right to throw that in your face—not after he was willing to risk the fate of the entire universe just to feed his own ego, his own need for redemption."
She continued, clearly shaken by what Alister had said, by the weight of those words. "Your father sent you away to protect you, Ratchet. He gave his life so you could survive. Does that sound like someone who'd be proud of his son destroying the universe just to see him again? Does that sound like the kind of person who'd want you to sacrifice everything for his sake?"
Ratchet looked at her, vulnerability etched into every line of his face. "I guess not."
"Of course not," Rivet said with certainty. "He sent you away because he loved you. Because your life mattered more to him than his own. And you honored that by choosing to protect life instead of destroying it."
She gently placed her organic hand on Ratchet's other cheek, cradling his face between both of her hands—flesh and metal—her thumb brushing away the tear that spilled from his eye and traced down through his fur.
Their eyes met in the dim light.
For a moment, neither of them moved. The cave was silent except for the distant howl of the sandstorm outside and their own breathing.
"Rivet, I—" Ratchet began, but the words stuck in his throat when he really looked into her eyes.
Those beautiful blue eyes both looking at him with such warmth and understanding that it made his chest ache.
Rivet's breath hitched. She'd been trying to be strong for him, to give him the support he needed, but looking at him now—vulnerable and hurting and so, so brave—she couldn't hold back anymore.
She leaned in, closing the distance between them, and pressed her lips to his.
The kiss was gentle at first, tentative, as if she were afraid he might pull away. But when Ratchet's surprise melted into response, when his hands came up to rest on her waist, she deepened it slightly. Her prosthetic hand slid to the back of his neck while her organic hand remained on his cheek, and for a moment the entire universe narrowed down to just this—the warmth of his lips against hers, the feeling of his fur under her fingers, the way he leaned into her as if she were the only solid thing in a world that kept trying to pull him under.
When they finally pulled apart, both slightly breathless, neither of them really knew what to say. The kiss had changed something fundamental between them, made real something that had been building since the moment they'd met.
So Ratchet decided to break the silence first.
"Wow."
Rivet laughed—a genuine, bright sound that echoed warmly through the cave. "Has anyone ever told you you're a real smooth talker?"
Ratchet laughed too, the sound mixing with hers, and he felt the last remnants of the nightmare finally release their grip on him. "A few people have mentioned it once or twice."
The male Lombax hesitated, then decided to ask the question that was burning in his mind. "So... does this mean we're—you know..." He gestured vaguely between them. "I don't want to make assumptions or anything."
Rivet threaded the metal fingers of her prosthetic hand between Ratchet's organic ones, the contrast of cool metal and warm flesh somehow feeling exactly right.
"Only if you're okay with that," she said, this time more quietly, without her usual bravado and confidence. There was vulnerability in her voice now, a softness she rarely showed anyone.
"I'd love to," Ratchet admitted without hesitation. "But, you know... we're from different dimensions. I'm worried it might be a little complicated."
"I like complicated," Rivet replied with a small smile. "Besides, we don't have to figure everything out today. We can take it one step at a time."
She leaned into Ratchet again, this time more gently, resting her head against his shoulder. "We have all the time in the universe."
The male Lombax returned the embrace, wrapping his arms around her and holding her close. The cave was cold and the storm still raged outside, but neither of them felt it anymore. They had each other, and that was enough.
Before long, exhaustion caught up with them again—but this time, when Ratchet closed his eyes, there were no nightmares waiting for him in the darkness.
This time, he fell asleep peacefully, Rivet's warmth against him, and dreamed of better things
The first rays of Veldin's twin suns filtered through the cave entrance, painting the stone walls in warm amber and gold. The sandstorm had passed sometime in the night, leaving behind the familiar stillness that always followed such events—a quiet so profound it felt almost sacred.
Ratchet woke slowly, awareness returning in gentle stages. He was warm, comfortable in a way he hadn't been in a long time. It took him a moment to remember why—and then he felt the weight against his chest, the steady rhythm of breathing that wasn't his own.
Rivet was still asleep, curled against him with her head tucked under his chin. Her prosthetic arm was draped across his torso, the metal cool but not uncomfortable, while her organic hand clutched loosely at his fur. She looked peaceful, her face relaxed in a way he'd rarely seen when she was awake.
For a long moment, Ratchet didn't move. He just lay there, watching the way the morning light caught in her white fur, turning it silver and gold by turns. Last night felt like a dream—the nightmare, the conversation, the kiss. Especially the kiss.
But the weight of her in his arms, the faint scent of metal and ozone that clung to her prosthetic, the warmth of her breath against his chest—all of it was undeniably, wonderfully real.
He became aware of voices outside the cave. Distant at first, but growing closer.
"—positive this is where the tracker signal was coming from?" That was Clank's voice, carrying clearly in the morning air.
"According to my sensors, yes." Kit's softer tone, always so precise. "The coordinates match exactly."
"Well, they better be in there," Grimm's gravelly voice joined in. "I didn't haul my old bones all the way out here just for the exercise."
Ratchet felt Rivet stir against him, she blinked up at him, momentarily disoriented, and then her face flushed a deep purple as she remembered where she was—and who she was wrapped around.
"Morning," Ratchet said quietly, a small smile tugging at his lips.
"Morning," Rivet replied, her voice still rough with sleep. She made no move to pull away, though her ears flattened slightly with embarrassment. "So... last night wasn't a dream?"
"Nope."
"Good." A smile crossed her face, shy but genuine. "That would've been really disappointing."
The voices outside were getting closer now.
"Ratchet! Rivet!" Clank called out. "Are you in there?"
"We should probably—" Ratchet started.
"Yeah," Rivet agreed reluctantly, finally pulling back. The sudden loss of warmth made them both shiver slightly in the cool morning air.
They stood up, brushing sand and dust from their clothes, both acutely aware of how they must look—fur mussed from sleep, still standing closer together than was strictly necessary.
"In here!" Ratchet called back. "We're fine!"
Three figures appeared at the cave entrance, silhouetted against the bright morning light. Clank's small form was unmistakable, as was Kit's similar build. Grimm's massive frame towered over both of them.
"Thank goodness," Clank said, his optical sensors focusing on them. "When the sandstorm hit, I was quite concerned. The meteorological data suggested it was one of the largest—"
He stopped mid-sentence.
Even without facial expressions, there was something in the way Clank's head tilted, in the slight pause before he continued, that suggested he'd noticed something. His sensors were sophisticated enough to pick up on elevated heart rates and body temperature.
"Is everything alright?" Clank asked, and there was definitely something knowing in his tone.
"Yeah, totally fine," Ratchet said, perhaps a bit too quickly. "Just, you know, waited out the storm. Pretty standard cave stuff."
Kit's optical sensors swept between them, and though her face was equally inexpressive, Ratchet could have sworn he detected amusement in her voice when she spoke. "I am glad you both remained safe. The storm was quite severe."
Grimm, however, was less subtle. The old Fongoid's eyes narrowed as he looked between the two Lombaxes, taking in their mussed appearance, the way they kept glancing at each other, the faint purple flush that was still visible on Rivet's face.
A slow grin spread across Grimm's weathered features.
"Well, well, well," he said, drawing out the words with obvious delight. "Looks like somebody had an interesting night."
"Grimm—" Ratchet warned.
"I'm just saying, kid, you've got that look."
"What look?" Ratchet asked, his face starting to redden beneath his fur.
"The look of someone who finally figured out what everyone else around him already knew." Grimm chuckled, clearly enjoying himself.
"I do not know what you are talking about," Rivet said, but her voice was slightly higher than usual.
"Sure you don't." Grimm winked one of his eyes. "Come on, let's get you two back to the garage. I'm guessing neither of you had breakfast?"
As if on cue, Ratchet's stomach growled loudly, and Rivet's followed a moment later. They looked at each other and laughed, some of the awkwardness dissolving.
"I will take that as a no," Clank said dryly.
They made their way out of the cave and into the bright morning sun. The desert had been transformed by the storm—sand dunes reshaped, rocks exposed that had been buried, the whole landscape subtly different from what it had been the day before.
Ratchet's hoverboard was half-buried in a drift near the cave entrance, but otherwise intact. Rivet's borrowed board was in similar condition. His shirt, however, was nowhere to be seen—probably carried off by the storm winds and buried under several tons of sand by now.
"Looking for this?" Grimm asked, pulling a familiar piece of clothing from a bag slung over his shoulder. "Found it about half a klick back. Figured it was yours."
Ratchet took the shirt gratefully, noting the knowing look Grimm gave him as he did so. He pulled it on quickly, very aware of Rivet's eyes on him before she quickly looked away.
They began the trek back toward the garage, Grimm leading the way with the easy confidence of someone who'd walked these dunes for decades. Clank and Kit followed behind him, their mechanical legs handling the sand efficiently.
Ratchet and Rivet brought up the rear, walking side by side. For a while, neither of them spoke, content in the comfortable silence. But eventually, Rivet's hand found his, her metal fingers threading between his organic ones.
Ratchet glanced over at her, a question in his eyes.
"What?" Rivet asked, a small smile playing at her lips. "You said you were worried about the complicated parts. Might as well start getting used to them."
"Fair point," Ratchet agreed, squeezing her hand gently.
Up ahead, Grimm glanced back at them, caught sight of their joined hands, and his grin widened even further. He leaned down to mutter something to Clank and Kit, and both robots turned to look back as well.
"Oh, come on," Ratchet called out. "Really? You're all just going to stare?"
"I am simply observing," Clank replied, utterly unrepentant. "It is a significant development in your personal growth, Ratchet.”
"We're happy for you," Kit added softly.
"Yeah, yeah," Ratchet muttered, but he couldn't keep the smile off his face.
The walk back took about twenty minutes, the garage gradually coming into view as they crested the final dune. The familiar corrugated metal structure looked exactly as they'd left it, weathering yet another sandstorm without complaint.
Aphelion's voice crackled over Ratchet's communicator as they approached. "Welcome back, Ratchet. I trust your impromptu camping trip was... enlightening?"
"You too?" Ratchet groaned.
"I have sensors, you know? Very sophisticated sensors. And I've been monitoring your vital signs since yesterday." There was definitely smugness in the AI's voice. "Elevated heart rate, increased body temperature, hormone levels that suggest—"
"Okay! Thank you, Aphelion! That's enough sensor data sharing for today !"
They reached the garage, and Grimm immediately headed for the kitchen area—a corner of the workshop that had been grudgingly converted into something resembling a functional cooking space over the years.
"Alright, kids," the old Fongoid said, rolling up his sleeves. "How do you feel about pancakes? I'm thinking we celebrate your birthday properly this time, Ratchet. With breakfast and without any near-death experiences involving sandstorms."
"Pancakes sound perfect," Ratchet said.
"I could eat," Rivet agreed.
"Excellent. Kit, think you could help me with the batter? These old hands aren't as steady as they used to be."
"Of course, Mr. Grimm," Kit replied, moving to assist him.
The smell of cooking pancakes began to fill the garage, mixing with the familiar scents of engine oil and metal. Ratchet realized, standing there with Rivet's hand still in his, surrounded by his friends—his family, really—that this was what home felt like.
Not a place. Not a planet.
This. These people. This moment.
"Come on," Grimm called out. "Food's almost ready. And somebody better have a good story about what actually happened in that cave, because I know it wasn't just 'standard cave stuff', as you put it."
Ratchet and Rivet exchanged glances, both fighting back smiles.
"Maybe after breakfast," Ratchet said.
"Definitely after breakfast," Rivet agreed.