Chapter Text
The twin suns of Veldin filtered through the blinds and small holes in the garage roof, spilling dusty light onto a Lombax in his twenties as he worked beneath a sleekly built ship.
"You know..." Ratchet said, tightening a bolt on Aphelion's landing gear, "for a ship that's over twenty years old, you sure need a surprising amount of maintenance."
"I believe the proper term is precision-engineered, Ratchet," Aphelion replied, a faint note of offense in her synthesized voice. "Some of us weren't designed to be held together with duct tape, spit, and a prayer to god."
"Hey, that was only once," Ratchet shot back with a quiet laugh. "And it worked, didn't it?"
"Surviving doesn't count as 'working,'" the sentient ship retorted. "If I had fingers, I'd be making air quotes around that word."
Ratchet laughed and set his wrench down, wiping grease from his hands. This was exactly why he loved spending his downtime on Veldin. No saving the galaxy, no megalomaniacal villains trying to destroy everything he cared about. Just tools, grease, and his imagination keeping him company.
He did kind of wish Clank hadn't had to go to that meeting in Metropolis, though. Things were always better when there were two of them. Especially in moments like this.
And then there was Rivet...
He'd been thinking about her more than usual lately. Wondering what she was up to. He hadn't seen her in almost a month—hologram calls just weren't the same as being there in person.
That was when a sound familiar to any garage-dwelling Lombax rang out.
The service bell.
"Ratchet!" Grimm's voice echoed from somewhere in the garage. "Someone's ringing the counter!"
"Could you get that?" the feline alien called out. "I'm in the middle of recalibrating the torque wrench!"
A moment of silence. Then:
A moment of silence. Then: "I'm calibrating the compressor! You know how temperamental this thing gets!"
Ratchet sighed, already knowing he didn't really have a choice. "Alright, alright. I'm coming."
He walked from the workshop toward the front counter, passing shelves crammed with spare parts, power cells, and something that looked suspiciously like a very unorthodox toaster. As he rounded the corner, a practiced smile slipped onto his face—the one he always greeted customers with.
But that practiced smile quickly turned to surprise when he saw who was standing there.
Kit, Rivet, and Clank.
Clank stood with his hands folded behind his back, Kit was clapping her small hands together, and Rivet was holding a cardboard box with a grin that could light up Metropolis.
"Surprise!" all three of them said in unison.
Rivet lifted the lid to reveal a clearly homemade cake, complete with crooked wrenches and lightning bolts made of colorful icing.
"Happy birthday, hotshot!" Rivet laughed, her prosthetic arm supporting the box.
For a moment, Ratchet could only stare, mouth slightly open in disbelief. Then a new smile—this one genuine and warm—spread across his face. "You guys... what is this?"
"A birthday cake. Isn't it obvious?" Rivet asked, mischief twinkling in her eyes.
"We thought that after everything you have done for the galaxy, you deserved a proper celebration," Clank added with his characteristic formality.
Ratchet looked at Rivet. "You made this?"
"Mhm," the white Lombax nodded, looking pleased with herself.
"You traveled to another dimension just to give me cake?" Ratchet asked, trying and failing to hide how much it meant to him.
"Of course," Rivet replied, her expression softening. "That's what friends do."
"Cake? What cake" Grimm's voice boomed from deeper in the garage.
"No! Nobody said anything about cake!" Ratchet shouted back, suddenly remembering the old Fongoid's notorious sweet tooth—but it was already too late.
Grimm's massive figure appeared in the doorway, his eyes immediately locking onto the dessert. "This is my garage, kid. Your cake is my ca—"
He stopped short when his gaze landed on Rivet.
"By the stars... there's more of you."
Ratchet cleared his throat. "Rivet, I'd like you to meet Grimm—the closest thing I have to a dad. Grimm, this is Rivet, my friend from another dimension, and as you've probably noticed, another Lombax."
Rivet extended her mechanical hand. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Grimm."
Grimm shook her hand, his experienced eyes examining the prosthetic with clear admiration.
"Excellent craftsmanship," the Fongoid said appreciatively. "Clean welds, responsive servos. Quality work."
"I built it myself," Rivet said proudly.
Grimm whistled low. "You sure you don't want to trade places with this troublemaker? I could use someone like you in the shop."
Rivet laughed. "Tempting offer, but I'll have to pass. I'm afraid Veldin's a bit too dry for my taste."
"Oh yeah?" Grimm asked. "Where do you call home?"
"Sargasso," the Lombax replied.
"Yeah, that's definitely a bit more humid," Grimm said, clapping his hands together. "Anyway... we should probably dig into that cake before I decide to claim it as a garage fee."
About twenty minutes later, Grimm, Ratchet, and Rivet had consumed roughly half the cake between them.
"Kid, have you ever thought about a career change?" the Fongoid asked Rivet through a mouthful of frosting. "With baking skills like this, you could easily make it as a pastry chef. A lot safer than being a Resistance fighter."
"Thanks, Mr. Grimm, but I'm afraid I wouldn't have gotten very far without Kit's help."
"Nonsense," Kit said modestly. "I merely located the recipe and uploaded it to my database. You performed the lion's share of the work."
"How did you even know today was my birthday?" Ratchet asked, suddenly curious. "I almost forgot myself."
"In that case, it is fortunate that one of us remembered and was able to inform your friends," Clank replied with what might have been a robotic smile.
Grimm snapped his fingers. "Right. I almost forgot myself." The Fongoid stood up and headed deeper into the garage. After several seconds of metal clanging and muttered cursing, he returned holding something that looked a lot like—
No way, Ratchet breathed. Is that—
"Your old hoverboard," Grimm confirmed, looking immensely pleased with himself. "Found it beat up in one of the storage rooms and figured I'd surprise you. Fresh paint job, new stabilizers, and a jet engine of my own design. Should be twice as fast as the old model."
Ratchet stared at the hoverboard. Despite the new metallic blue paint and upgraded components, it was unmistakably his old board—the one he'd ridden all over Veldin's deserts long before he met Clank. Before everything changed.
"Grimm, I..." Ratchet stumbled over his words, not quite sure what to say. "Thanks. Really. This is... this is perfect."
That's when something occurred to him.
"Hey. I just remembered I've still got my newer board on the ship," he said, turning to Rivet with a spark of excitement in his eyes. "Have you ever tried hoverboarding?"
Rivet raised an eyebrow. "Can't say that I have. Hoverboots are more my style."
"Want to learn? We could have a race—I mean, after you get the hang of it, obviously."
"A race?" Rivet's competitive streak immediately flared to life. "You're on, dude.But just so you know, I'm a pretty fast learner."
"I wouldn't expect anything less," Ratchet said, barely containing his excitement. "Come on. I'll show you the basics out back."
Clank and Kit exchanged knowing glances as the two Lombaxes headed toward the garage's rear exit.
"Twenty bolts says she beats him within the hour," Grimm muttered.
"I do not gamble," Clank replied diplomatically. "But if I did, I would be inclined to agree with your assessment."
The Veldin desert stretched out before them, vast and golden under the twin suns. Ratchet stood on his hoverboard with the ease of long practice, demonstrating the basic stance for what had to be the third time.
"Okay, so the key is keeping your knees bent," he explained, shifting his weight to show her. "Think of it like you're constantly ready to absorb impact. The board's going to want to throw you off at first, but if you stay loose and flexible—"
Rivet pushed off with perhaps a bit too much enthusiasm, wobbled dramatically for about three seconds, and then face-planted directly into the sand.
"Ugh!" She pushed herself up, spitting out sand. "I think I just ate half the desert."
Ratchet tried very hard not to laugh and failed completely. "You good?"
"Peachy," Rivet muttered, brushing sand off her clothes with her prosthetic hand. "Let's go again."
And she did. Again and again. Each time she fell, she got back up with that determined set to her jaw that Ratchet was beginning to recognize. She wiped out six more times in the first hour alone, each impact sending up small clouds of Veldin dust. But by the second hour, she was managing to stay upright for longer stretches, even attempting some basic turns.
The twin suns climbed higher, beating down on them with relentless heat. Ratchet felt his fur starting to cling uncomfortably to his skin, matted down with sweat. The sensation was unpleasant—sticky and restrictive in a way that made him want to scratch at his own pelt.
Without really thinking about it, he pulled off his shirt and tossed it onto the sand nearby.
When he looked back up, he found Rivet staring at him with wide eyes, her board drifting to a stop beneath her feet.
"You, uh—" she started, then seemed to lose her train of thought entirely. Her face flushed a deep purple that definitely wasn't from the heat.
"Hmm?" Ratchet asked, completely oblivious as he reached for his water canteen. He unscrewed the cap and poured some over his head and shoulders, sighing in relief as the cool liquid cut through the oppressive heat.
Rivet made a small sound that might have been a cough or might have been something else entirely. She quickly looked away, suddenly finding the horizon absolutely fascinating. But Ratchet caught the way her eyes kept drifting back toward him when she thought he wasn't paying attention, then snapping away just as quickly.
"You want some water?" he offered, holding out the canteen.
"Yes! Water. Good idea. Very hot. I mean—it's very hot out. The weather," Rivet stammered, taking the canteen perhaps a bit too eagerly. She took a long drink, using the moment to compose herself.
They continued practicing after that, though Rivet seemed slightly more distracted than before, occasionally losing her balance at moments that had nothing to do with the board's instability.
Eventually, after a few hours of good fun—and several more spectacular wipeouts that had them both laughing—Ratchet noticed something on the horizon that made his blood run cold.
A brown wall, stretching from ground to sky.
Big.
A sandstorm.
"Rivet!" he shouted over the suddenly rising wind. "We need to move—now!"
He kicked off on his board, the jets flaring to maximum thrust. He heard the other Lombax racing right behind him, her board's engine whining as she pushed it to keep up.
"I know these hills!" Ratchet called back. "There's a cave nearby where we can take shelter!"
The wind was picking up fast, throwing sand into their faces. Ratchet squinted against it, relying on memory as much as sight to navigate the familiar dunes. Behind them, the wall of sand grew closer with terrifying speed, a roaring monster that would swallow everything in its path.
Pushing their boards to the absolute limit, they finally spotted the dark opening in the hillside.
"There! Hurry!" Ratchet yelled, pouring every last bit of power into his board.
They shot through the entrance and crashed to the ground in a tangle of limbs and hoverboards. If they'd flown into the sizable cave even a second later, they both would've been swallowed by the sand. The storm hit the entrance like a physical force, the world outside disappearing into a howling brown chaos.
For a long moment, they just lay there on the cave floor, chests heaving as they caught their breath.
Rivet was the first to break the silence, her voice slightly breathless. "Does this happen often on Veldin?"
"In the summer?" Ratchet sat up, running a hand through his fur. "Almost all the time. They usually pass after a few hours."
The yellow Lombax brought his wrist communicator closer and tapped a button. A small hologram of Clank flickered to life above his arm, bathing them in soft blue light.
"Ratchet, is everything alright?" Clank's synthesized voice carried a note of concern. "I have detected a sandstorm of considerable size moving in your direction."
"Yeah, everything's fine, buddy," Ratchet answered, trying to sound more confident than he felt. "But I'm afraid Rivet and I are stuck in a cave until the storm passes. Can you track my communicator's coordinates?"
"One moment," Clank said.
After a few seconds of strange mechanical noises—the kind that suggested complex calculations happening at high speed—the robot's green eyes lit up again. "Done. I have your location marked. The cave appears structurally sound."
"Thanks, dude. I appreciate it," Ratchet said.
"Stay where you are and do not do anything stupid," Clank instructed with the air of someone who'd learned this lesson the hard way.
"Have I ever done anything stupid?" Ratchet asked innocently.
The silence that followed was deafening.
"Okay, we'll stay in touch," Ratchet said quickly, changing the subject before Clank could actually start reciting examples.
"Good luck," the small robot replied before disconnecting, his hologram winking out and leaving them in the dimmer light filtering through the cave entrance.
The two Lombaxes sat there for a while without saying a word, listening only to the howl of the wind and the hiss of sand against stone. The storm outside sounded like a living thing, angry and relentless.
Eventually, Rivet spoke up, her voice softer than before.
"So... probably not how you imagined your birthday going."
Ratchet laughed, the sound echoing warmly off the cave walls. "Yeah, I'll admit I'd rather be tinkering with something in the garage. Maybe finishing that servo alignment on Aphelion." His eyes drifted to the other Lombax, taking in the way the faint light caught her white fur. "But the company?"
He let out a low whistle. "Top-tier."
"Smooth," Rivet laughed, shaking her head. "How long did you practice that one in front of the mirror?"
"Longer than I'd like to admit," Ratchet replied with a grin, not even trying to deny it.
Rivet's expression shifted from cheerful to something more thoughtful, introspective. She drew her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them.
"It's incredible," she said quietly. "Seven months ago, I was fighting side by side with other rebels for our freedom from a dictator, thinking I was the last of my kind. Every day was just... survive. Make it to tomorrow. Keep fighting."
The white Lombax fell silent for a moment, lost in memories that Ratchet could see flickering across her face.
"And now?" Ratchet prompted gently.
A smile returned to Rivet's face—small but genuine. "Now I'm sitting in a cave with another Lombax, and I don't have to worry about whether I'll live to see tomorrow. I can actually plan for tomorrow. For next week. Next month. Life's been strange lately."
"Strange good or strange bad?" Ratchet asked.
"Strange good. Definitely strange good," Rivet said with conviction. "With Nefarious gone, I can finally just... be, you know? Develop interests outside of resistance work. Make sure the world becomes a better place without burning myself out in the process. But it still feels weird sometimes. Like I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop. For the next crisis. The next dictator. But it doesn't come, and I'm learning to be okay with that."
Ratchet thought about her words for a moment, recognizing something familiar in them. "I think I get it. I remember when we finally beat Tachyon.I felt like I'd been running for so long I forgot how to stop. I didn't know what to do with myself."
"That's why you came back to Veldin?" Rivet asked, genuine curiosity in her voice. "To stop?"
"Partly," Ratchet admitted. "But also because this place reminds me of who I am when everything else falls apart. Before I was a Galactic Ranger, before I was a hero or whatever people call me now—I was just a kid in a garage, dreaming about the stars. Sometimes you need to remember that version of yourself. The one who did things because they were interesting, not because the fate of the galaxy depended on it."
Rivet smiled at him, and that soft, sincere smile made Ratchet's heart beat faster in a way that had nothing to do with their earlier sprint from the sandstorm.
"I get it," she said. "But I have to say—even without all the heroics, you're still impressive. The way you taught me today. Patient, encouraging, even when I face-planted into the sand for the fifteenth time."
Ratchet laughed. "You were counting? Why would you do that to yourself? Besides, you still did way better than I did when I started. It took me about three weeks just to get the basics down. Three weeks of constant bruises and Grimm laughing at me every single day."
"Three weeks? Seriously?"
Ratchet nodded solemnly. "Seriously. You can ask Grimm if you don't believe me. He's got some pictures somewhere.Very embarrassing pictures.”
They both laughed at that, the sound echoing warmly through the cave and mingling with the storm's fury outside. As the laughter faded into comfortable silence, Ratchet became acutely aware that the temperature had dropped sharply. The desert heat vanished quickly after sunset, and deep inside the cave, with no sunlight to warm the stone, there was nothing to hold the warmth. The realization hit him that he'd left his shirt outside in their panicked rush to shelter.
A shiver ran through him, involuntary and pronounced.
Rivet noticed immediately, her eyes sharpening with concern.
"You okay?"
"Yeah, it's just..." Ratchet wrapped his arms around himself. "I forgot how cold Veldin nights can get. I'm usually inside by now."
Another shiver ran through him, stronger this time, making his teeth chatter slightly.
"Alright, that's enough," Rivet said firmly, with the same determination she'd shown when learning to hoverboard. She stepped closer and opened her arms. "Come here."
"What?"
"Body heat, genius. We need to cuddle or you're going to freeze. Don't make it weird."
Despite the cold—or maybe because of it—Ratchet felt his face burn as he moved closer. Rivet wrapped her arms around him, and he hesitantly did the same, acutely aware of every single point where they touched. Her prosthetic arm was cool against his fur, the metal slightly uncomfortable, but her other arm was warm and solid, and he could feel her heartbeat when he was this close. It was faster than it should be for someone just sitting still.
"This is... practical," Ratchet said, his voice coming out slightly strained.
"Totally practical," Rivet agreed, though her face was flushed a deep purple that was definitely visible even in the dim light. "Just two people using practical survival techniques. Nothing weird about it."
"Nothing at all."
"Completely normal."
"Very normal."
They sat like that in tense silence for several minutes, neither willing to admit how not-normal it felt. The cave was quiet except for the muffled roar of the storm and their slightly too-quick breathing. Ratchet became hyperaware of every detail—the softness of her fur where it brushed against his, the rise and fall of her chest, the way her fingers were gripping his shoulder just a little tighter than strictly necessary for warmth.
Eventually, though, exhaustion from the long day caught up with them. The adrenaline from the sandstorm escape faded, replaced by bone-deep weariness. And despite their racing hearts, despite the tension humming between them like a live wire, they both gradually drifted off to sleep—still wrapped in each other's arms, still pretending it was purely practical, still refusing to acknowledge what both of them had started to feel.