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The moment Drift stepped through the door of his and Ratchet’s shared hab, he could tell something was off.
It was unnaturally quiet, and the smell of sickness lingered in the air.
“Ratchet?” He called out softly. “Are you home?”
There was no answer, so Drift ventured forwards, passing the rack on the wall where he normally hung his swords. He’d keep them on him until he knew for certain that nothing was wrong. There were some wartime habits that never died.
The more optimistic part of him hoped that Ratchet had simply taken an extra shift, but there had been nothing in the crew’s duty roster to indicate that. Besides, it would be uncharacteristic for Ratchet to miss a chance to spend some one-on-one time with Drift after the latter had been gone for three days on a diplomatic mission. Perhaps a younger version of Ratchet would have put his work first, but not this Ratchet.
From day one of their joining, Ratchet had consistently put Drift’s needs above his own obsession with his work. Though Drift never expected such treatment, it was typical for him to return from a long mission to find Ratchet waiting for him with his favorite meal, a warm shower to be shared by the two of them, and a variety of fun berthroom activities.
“Ratchet?” He ventured again, creeping into the berthroom with feather-light steps.
Drift stopped in place when his gaze landed on Ratchet asleep on their shared recharge slab. He was curled into a tight ball, and full-body trembles racked his frame. Ratchet let out a pitiful cough as he stirred, optics flickering online.
“Ah, slag,” he whispered hoarsely. “I’m so sorry, Drift. I made plans to greet you when you returned, but I seem to be feeling a little under the weather.”
“Oh, shoosh. You don’t need to do anything when you’re obviously sick. Have you visited First Aid?”
Ratchet’s sheepish look told Drift all he needed to know.
“Ratty,” he signed, shaking his helm. “What am I going to do with you?”
“Leave me to die a cold, lonely death?”
Drift huffed a small laugh as he set his swords aside and leaned over Ratchet, pressing a palm to his conjunx’s forehead.
“Your frame feels hot. Have you at least managed to give yourself a diagnosis? I need to know what we’re dealing with.”
“It’s just a run of the mill virus. My firewalls normally protect me against such things, but I may have encountered a new strain somewhere. My systems just need some time to fight the foreign coding. I’ll be fine.”
“Yes, you will be, because I’m going to take care of you.”
“Drift,” Ratchet protested. “That’s not necessary. You don’t need to spend your free time looking after a pathetic sick bot.”
Drift quirked a browplate at him. Typical Ratchet. He was always so eager to offer help, yet so hesitant to accept it.
“This pathetic sick bot happens to be my conjunx. In sickness and in health, remember? Besides, I know better than to think I can trust you to look after yourself.”
Ratchet rolled his optics, but his mouth curved up into a hint of a smile.
“Alright, fine. What course of treatment do you prescribe, Doctor Drift?”
Drift grinned, reaching under the berth to grapple for some spare mesh blankets.
“Let’s get you comfortable first.”
He draped two of the mesh sheets over Ratchet, smiling softly when his conjunx’s tense posture seemed to relax slightly. Drift bent forward and planted a kiss on Ratchet’s cheek.
“Careful. I don’t want you to get sick too.”
“If I get sick from loving on my conjunx a bit too much, it will have been worth it. Will you be okay if I leave you for a few kliks to go prepare some fuel?”
Ratchet nodded. His shivers had ceased, which was a good sign. Hopefully some warm energon would help him further.
Drift made his way to their fuel station and set to work preparing a cube of medical grade energon for Ratchet. He included an assortment of mineral additives, which would give his conjunx some much needed nutrients and also help to mask the bitter taste of the medical grade.
He went ahead and prepared a normal cube for himself as well. Looking after a sick Ratchet was like looking after a cranky cybercat, and Drift would need to keep up his own strength.
Ratchet had nodded off while Drift was gone, but he stirred at the soothing smell of heated energon.
“Thank you, Drift. You manage to make even medical grade fuel look appealing.”
Ratchet could sometimes be fussy about refusing to fuel while he was sick, but this time he accepted the energon with no complaints, sipping slowly on it to avoid upsetting his tank.
Drift pulled up a chair and planted himself next to his conjunx, watching attentively even as he sipped his own fuel. One word from Ratchet, and he’d gladly set his own energon aside to retrieve whatever his ailing conjunx might need. He stretched his field out and brushed it affectionately against Ratchet’s. Though Ratchet’s field felt weaker than usual, it reciprocated the gesture, causing Drift to smile fondly.
“Is there anything else I can do for you?” He asked once they’d both finished fueling.
“I’m bored,” Ratchet confessed, shifting beneath the blankets.
Ah. Drift should have guessed as much. It was always difficult for Ratchet to sit still and relax, even when he was sick.
“Some entertainment is in order, then. Would you like me to read to you?”
Ratchet’s field flickered with interest.
“That would be lovely, Drift.”
“Excellent.” Drift stood, clapping his hands together. “Anything in particular you’re in the mood for?”
“Surprise me.”
Drift paced over to their shared bookshelf, perusing all of the books and datapads available. Between the two of them, they had quite an impressive collection. He skipped over all of Ratchet’s medical books, as well as his own collection of spiritual guides and meditations. Neither option was likely to interest Ratchet while he was in such a state.
He finally settled on a volume of classic Cybertronian poetry. It was one of the first texts Drift had learned to read, and held a special place in his spark.
He returned to Ratchet’s bedside and held up the datapad, which earned him an approving nod. Satisfied that Ratchet wouldn’t be bored by the text he’d chosen, Drift powered it on and began to read. He made sure to keep his voice quiet enough that Ratchet could drift into recharge if he needed to, but clear enough for Ratchet to hear everything that Drift was saying. He treated each word with reverence, just as he’d done eons ago on the streets of Rodion.
Ratchet listened quietly, not interrupting, and his optics carried an intensity that signified he was hooked on every word.
They remained like that for a long while, until finally, Ratchet’s optics began to flicker and he settled sleepily into the blankets. Drift only stopped reading when he was certain Ratchet had fallen into recharge. He smiled down at his sleeping conjunx, bending forward to plant a kiss on Ratchet’s cheek.
“Rest well, Ratty. You’re safe and loved. I will look after you for as long as you need.”
While Ratchet recharged, Drift set to work cleaning and sterilizing their hab. It wouldn’t help anyone if Drift contracted whatever virus Ratchet had. Once he’d finished tidying up, he decided to nap on the couch, spark still warm with affection for his conjunx.
-
When Drift finally stirred from his slumber, he immediately went to check on Ratchet. He found Ratchet reading quietly in their berth, blankets discarded. Ratchet’s features were less pale than before, and his optics much clearer.
“How do you feel?” Drift asked, leaning over to feel Ratchet’s forehead. It didn’t feel as hot as before.
“I feel a lot better. I’m starting to regain some of my energy, and my internal temperature has returned to normal.”
“That’s great!” An idea occurred to Drift then, and he smiled calculatingly. “How would you feel about taking a bath?”
Ratchet thought for a moment, then nodded. “I think I could manage that. Though I might need some help getting to the washracks.”
“That’s not a problem. Just leave it to me.”
Drift leaned over and took Ratchet gently into his arms, lifting his conjunx with ease despite Ratchet’s bulk. He loved showing off his strength like this, and judging by the excited buzz of Ratchet’s field, the medic loved it too.
The two of them were fortunate enough to have private washracks attached to their hab, which included a tub for soaking. Drift gently lowered Ratchet into it and turned on the water, adjusting the temperature until it was warm, but not scalding. He didn’t want to risk altering the temperature of Ratchet’s frame too much after his fever had finally broken.
Ratchet sighed contentedly, leaning back as the tub slowly filled. Drift added a generous amount of solvent to the water, as well as several scented oils and some salts to soothe any aches in Ratchet’s frame.
“Does that feel okay?”
“Mmhmm,” Ratchet hummed. “Though I wish you could join me.”
The tub was plenty big enough for both of them, and in other circumstances, Drift would gladly take Ratchet up on that offer, but not this time. However, that wouldn’t stop him from sharing some sort of physical contact with his conjunx.
“How about a massage?”
Ratchet tilted his helm back and smiled. “I certainly won’t say no to that.”
Drift seated himself on the edge of the tub behind Ratchet, waiting for his conjunx to reposition himself before reaching down and placing his hands on Ratchet’s shoulders.
“Tell me if this feels too hard,” he said, rubbing gently.
“I could take a little harder, actually.”
Drift adjusted accordingly, putting a little bit more pressure into his touch.
“Mm, that’s perfect.”
Drift’s field flared out happily around the two of them, wrapping Ratchet in a makeshift embrace while he worked. His nimble digits sought out the gaps between Ratchet’s armor, straightening kinked wires and massaging sore protoform. He worked his way down Ratchet’s shoulders and lower back, giving each spot his full attention.
By the time he was finished, Ratchet’s posture had relaxed, and his field reverberated warmly against Drift’s own.
“Thank you, Drift. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“No thanks necessary. I’d do anything for you, and I know you’d do the same for me.”
“You bet your aft I would.”
Drift’s spark felt light as he helped Ratchet out of the tub and dried him off before carrying him back to the berthroom.
“Drift?” Ratchet asked quietly, nuzzling against his conjunx’s neck before he was placed back onto the berth.
“Yes, dearspark?”
“Would you mind reading to me again? I love listening to the sound of your voice.”
“Of course, Ratty.”
Drift sank into his seat at Ratchet’s berthside and took the datapad from earlier into his hands, picking up right where he’d left off.
Ratchet might not always be the best at taking care of himself, but he’d trusted Drift enough to ask for help, and that meant the world to Drift.
He stretched his field out around the two of them once more, filling it to the brim with love and affection.
You will never stand alone against enemies or illness, for I am always by your side until our sparks burn out.