Chapter Text
“Hello? Ratch, are you there?” Drift sneaks into his conjunx’s office at the hospital, taking care to make sure he wouldn’t be in the way of anything. With the lights off, the former assassin’s optics adjust to the dark, allowing him to see as well as he would with the light.
“Ratchet?” He calls again. There, slumped over the desk and a massive pile of data pads, is the elusive doctor. Drift sighs, settling the small take-out container on the corner of said desk. Ratchet lets out a deep, rumbling snore. Drift snorts.
“Oh, Ratty…” He hums, sitting down next to his mate and leaning his helm on that broad shoulder.
“You do too much… I miss you…” The war frame’s vocalizer shakes at the end. It had been demi cycles since their paths crossed, their jobs taking precedence over even each other. Ratchet loved to work, Drift knew that, but it still hurt when he was left alone at night because Ratchet had suddenly decided to take overnight shifts without warning him.
Was there something he was doing wrong? Was there a reason Ratchet stopped wanting to come home to him? How long has Ratchet felt like this? Then another, more horrible train of thought passes through Drift’s processor; one that he knows is unlikely, but any mecha worth their conjunx is worried about:
Has my Ratty been seeing someone else?
…
Drift silently leans against Ratchet for a long while. He knew the mech would have to get up and go back to work eventually, but he’d take anything he could get at this point.
Since that night at the bar, talking to those mecha around him, he had been pouring over ideas on what he should get Ratchet to start. Supposedly, this gift-giving of food had been fixing relationships left and right, and Drift wanted to be apart of whatever this was.
He needed to be. He didn’t know what he would do without Ratchet by his side.
…
Ratchet’s faceplates twitch, his own loud snort the final thing to waken him. He sits up, yawning. He tries to stretch, only to find one arm pinned to his side. Panic rushes through his system at the idea that his joints have finally rusted together when he looks down at himself.
He finds none other than his conjunx leaning into his side, deep in recharge with his intake slightly open. The big mech takes small vent, his chassis rising and falling slowly with his slow spark-rate. Ratchet smiles softly, dropping a servo on his mech’s helm and petting his audial fins.
They flick about uncomfortably until Drift’s faceplates scrunch up. He yawns widely, the war frame’s fangs bared. Ratchet chuckles at the display when Drift smacks his dermas, his optics squinted with tiredness.
“Ratty?” Drift asks, his vocalizer crackling from recharge.
“Good morning.” Ratchet hums, leaning over to press a kiss to the corner of Drift’s optic. The larger hums, a smile forming on his dermas as he leans into it.
“Good morning…” He sighs happily, “I brought you some polonium fried carbon. I know how much you like spicy food.” Drift offers, gesturing to the new box on the desk.
“Really? Well, that’s- That’s very nice of you… Thank you.” Ratchet stutters, picking up to container and taking a whiff. Yup! That’s extra spicy all right!
The medic’s intake starts liquidating the more he smells it, so he sets it off to the side. He’ll have to eat it later; otherwise he wouldn’t get any work done. He was already late on his reports as it was.
Ratchet missed the way Drift’s smile drops a little at the edges, his audial fins drooping as well.
“Aren’t you going to eat it?” The race car flutters his optic lids as a last attempt, but seeing that Ratchet wasn’t even looking at him in lieu of his data pad pile, it was a wasted effort.
“I’ll have to eat it later… I have far too much work to do. I’ve already wasted so much time recharging, I’m sorry, but I really have to get back to work.” Ratchet states. Drift bites back a whimper, nibbling on his lower derma and struggling to hold the tears that were rapidly forming in his optics.
“Ok…” Drift replies, his vocalizer cracking as he stands. Ratchet hadn’t noticed that either, already mentally disappeared into his paperwork.
“I’ll see you at home tonight.” Drift presses. Ratchet makes a strange sort of hum followed by a slight nod.
“I love you.” Drift pushes as much emotion into those words as he can. Ratchet repeats them, but he’s still too far gone in his work to manage more than a mumble.
Drift covers his intake and quickly stalks out of the room and out of the hospital. The moment he makes it outside the tears start to trickle down his faceplates.
“I’m sorry… I’m sorry for whatever I did…” He whispers to no one, transforming and tearing off down the street towards home.