Time since launch: 000:34:56
Time to destination: 256:11:82
Engage autopilot? Yes /No
Engage autopilot for: 1 hour?
24 hours?
48 hours?
Trip duration?
Autopilot engaged.
Drift is recharging already. It’d taken him less than fifteen minutes once he’d finally laid down on the single berth shoved into the corner of the tiny shuttle. Ratchet misses the days when he could pass out like that, reach recharge in less than an hour. These days, no matter how tired he gets himself, nothing works. He lays awake during the nightcycle, and he’s stopped even trying to recharge before midnight. He’d thought Drift had a similar problem, but apparently his months of galavanting across the known universe have cured him of that.
He seems calmer. Stiller, somehow, though he still fidgets and sways and visually dissects every room he steps into, just the way he has since Ratchet first met him. Something within him’s settled.
Ratchet gives the navboard one last check before dimming the lights and sending the shuttle into its nightcycle. Then, he settles himself on the edge of the berth, ready to fight an unconscious ninja for room.
They’d agreed to share the bunk without much trouble. They’re adult mechs, done dancing around their feelings for each other and more than mature enough to berth together. Still, first times are daunting by nature, especially for a mech as change-intolerant as Ratchet, and he’s not sure where to start. Of course, Drift had to go and fall asleep and leave all the hard work to him. Making things more difficult for Ratchet, as usual. He pokes Drift’s arm. He doesn’t stir. Damned speedsters and their power optimization subroutines. Unless Ratchet starts registering as a threat to Drift’s subprocessor, the chances of waking him or moving him in his recharge are slim to none. Ratchet heaves a sigh and pulls his pedes up onto the berth.
He’s just gotten comfortable on his side, perched on the berth’s edge and facing towards the room, when Drift throws an arm over his waist and almost makes him scream like a newspark. He’s warm all pressed against Ratchet’s back like that, and when he speaks, the half-asleep rasp of his voice sends warmth to untouched parts of him as well. “Could’a woken me up,” Drift mumbles into the nape of Ratchet’s neck.
It takes a moment for Ratchet to reboot his processor’s language centers. “I don’t know if you’re aware, but you’re a little hard to wake up once you’re in recharge.”
Drift hums a laugh and nuzzles the back of Ratchet’s neck. His whole frame is tingling, somewhere between numb and ecstatic. Drift tugs him closer and slots a knee between Ratchet’s, then gropes around sleepily until he finds Ratchet’s hand and tangles their fingers together over Ratchet’s spark. Ratchet makes a noise like a fractured compressor line.
“Mm,” Drift hums again. “Roddy tells me I sleep like a rock.”
“He’s right,” Ratchet says without thinking. Then, “I never said that. Don’t repeat that to anyone.”
Drift’s laughing openly now, and the movement of his lips against the back of Ratchet’s neck sends another shiver across his plating. “Your secret’s safe with me, I promise.” He squeezes Ratchet’s hand.
Ratchet squeezes back. “It had better be.”
“Mm-hmm.” Drift’s engine is already cycling back down into low power mode, and the “g’night” he gives Ratchet is sleepy and slurred.
“Good night, kid. Sleep well.”