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Ratchet often found himself offline nowadays.
He was probably malfunctioning, but he couldn’t think of any reason. He did brief check-ups, lacking any patience to do the longer ones. Nothing was out of order. He was not even doing much, there wasn’t anything to do around the ship. Nothing he could classify as "doing anything".
When he had told that to Drift, the latter just laughed and said something like, "Recharge while you have the chance."
Ratchet could still hear his laughter.
Oh, think of the— the familiar silhouette appeared in the doorway. Ratchet tried to reboot his optics a few times to get a clearer vision. Great. He fell into recharge sitting again. At least it was in his own habsuite… well, in the room he occupied temporarily and not at any other part of the shuttle. There had been some instances where the last thing he remembered was doing… something, somewhere, and the next thing he knew he was coming online in his own habsuite.
Alone, of course. At least, he was alone.
Drift was looking at him, smiling a little.
"What," Ratchet snapped.
"You always do that thing when you’re just coming out of recharge," Drift explained, leaning against the door-post. "You know— shaking your helm, rebooting your optics, frowning—" he cut himself short suddenly and lowered his gaze. "Uh. Well. I just didn’t notice before."
"It’s not like you had a chance," Ratchet replied, a tad more impatiently than he was actually feeling.
Drift looked a bit embarrassed, and Ratchet felt slightly— bad about it, or something. He stood up and came closer to the swordsmech.
"Did I miss something?" he asked, giving them both a chance to change the topic.
"Uh… no?" Drift replied, somehow uncertain.
Ratchet screwed up his features. "Then why—" Why did Drift drop by? He couldn’t have known Ratchet would finish recharging just then; in fact, there was a big chance he didn’t even know that Ratchet was offline, what with his ever-changing schedule— "schedule", right, as if he had—
Drift escaped his gaze. It was mildly concerning. Ratchet laid a hand on a black arm before he could even think. The other mech didn’t flinch.
"I— I wanted to see you," Drift admitted before the medic could ask anything; softly, as if it was a big thing - a giant thing, as if they both hadn’t been finding excuses to catch each other on a tiny, tiny shuttle in the middle of nowhere.
"Ah," Ratchet answered intelligently. Drift looked at the floor as if he was thinking of remodelling it and meant to ask Ratchet for advice. The medic fidgeted before swallowing and stepping back.
Drift immediately raised his gaze.
"Well, come in," Ratchet snorted and didn’t feel anything at the brief smile that graced Drift’s features for a moment again.
The white mech stepped in and immediately flopped down onto his favourite spot on the floor. He never touched the tiny recharge slab, claiming it made him "uncomfortable". Ratchet sympathised - it really was tiny, and part of the reason he recharged half-sitting most often.
Except for the times when he didn't remember ever reaching this room, and yet woke up in it. They never talked about it, of course, but well, there wasn’t anyone else on the shuttle and Ratchet could still remember where he fell into recharge, thank-you-very-much.
Drift was now looking at him - expectantly? probably, - and with a loud exasperated vent Ratchet sat down by his side.
"How’s it looking?" he asked after a couple of minutes of staring into nothing in front of him.
"The space?" Drift asked with a short laugh. "Great. Amazing. You should take a look."
Ratchet’s hands itched, but he kept them by his sides.
"Uh. Sorry," Drift said quickly. He was apologising a lot, nowadays. Too much. Ratchet stole a quick look - he was looking slightly embarrassed again. He patted Drift’s elbow and quickly looked away.
"It’s alright," he finally said. "I just… I guess I wish I could do something."
"You can rest."
He whirled his helm back and met Drift’s optics, an intense, fiery look in them that he might have— maybe— maybe had missed, and then they both turned away just as quickly.
"I am resting," he grumbled. "I am resting so much I’m gonna purge energon soon."
A faint touch of a familiar EM-field, clinking of plates - Drift must have shrugged. "Well, if your systems need rest you can’t stop them. Just let your frame decide what it needs."
Ratchet shook his helm, but he wasn’t sure he could say anything to protest it. He was tired. He hadn’t realise just how tired he was until he was stuck on a shuttle with absolutely nothing to do except… except be with Drift.
But that was what he came here for, wasn’t it? If he was being honest. Even if he couldn’t say as much, at least he could admit it in his own head.
"My frame is way too old to make any sensible decisions," he chuckled.
"Stop it."
Drift knew, of course, that this complaining habit was not going away any time soon; that didn’t stop him from answering in kind. They both had their traditions. Their small things.
"As long as you let me do something."
"I let you pilot a shuttle!"
"Not anymore!"
"Well, not anymore after you fell into recharge at the controls, no—"
"See what I mean about a problem."
"You’re fine," Drift waved him off. "Just need rest."
"If I get any more rest—" Ratchet snarled but then stopped. This was not… this was not like before. And he wasn’t even actually anything close to being angry, just— just— well.
Drift didn’t touch him, but his field was reaching out. Ratchet let his own decide what it needed - what it wanted right now. Drift smiled.
At some point, he must have dozed off.
When he came back online, he could feel a warm frame, a soft embrace of an EM-field right by his side, touching him, supporting him— when he came back online this time, he wasn’t alone.