Tried to write something fluffy, but it dove straight into serious-land. Ah well. I like how it turned out. :D

Sitting in Silence

Drift was different when they were alone.

The back of Ratchet's head hit the berth when he could no longer have the piece of mind to sit up. The energy was dancing in every inch of him, electrifying and flickering behind his optics. He and Drift had made it to five connecting wires between their spark chambers and system ports when Drift started to suck on the joint between his wrist and Pharma's hands, and Ratchet's processor gave up on silly things like balance.

Drift's smile was maddening, as he continued the butterfly kisses and nips to Ratchet's joints. He really was more himself this way. Ratchet finally caught glimpses of that youngling from the street whose future was just waiting for him. Confident, energetic, and despite his efforts to make Ratchet happy, it was clearly for his own satisifaction. He wasn't a pleasing dog following someone around—he was a person who knew how to look out for himself. Drift wanted to hear that grinding noise from Ratchet's joints each time he squirmed on the berth for himself.

But Drift wasn't going to have all the fun.

Ratchet grinned and pulled his wrist up in the air, and dragged Drift with it. He slid down until he was face to face with the white racecar and staring into amused blue optics. He nipped the side of the Drift's lips, and dove to the neck with experience his age was good for. Drift groaned, and released Ratchet's wrist. Instead, Drift's servos sought revenge, and wormed their way down Ratchet's chest and toward his waist. Drift moaned Ratchet's name as the tips of his fingers wrapped and played with the wiring in the open space Ratchet's discarded armor had made.

"Primus!" Ratchet jerked a full inch off the berth when Drift's hand pulled just the right wire with enough force that Ratchet thought he'd yank it out—and that's the way he liked it. Some 'Bots were too fragging gentle. It's what Ratchet appreicated about—

Drift punched Ratchet's thigh.

"Ow! Hey!" Ratchet yelped, sitting up on his elbows.

The swordsman glared, eyes narrowed and scowl on his face. He pulled the interface cables roughly from their slots, a spark of white jumping between each plug and socket as the connection was severed. Ratchet's spark leapt, desperate to resumme contact before it was satisified, but his spark was left with nothing to touch, and Ratchet was left with a dent in his thigh.

Drift grabbed his swords from the floor and stomped toward the door.

"Hey! Where're are you going? What!?"

"We talked about that, and you still did it," Drift said, hovering near the door. His shoulders were hunched, and he too was radiating the frustration of stopping mid-frag. "That's the third time, and I can't deal with it. We had an agreement."

The Agreement. Ratchet dug his palms into his optics and fell on the back of the berth with a growl. Maybe Drift wasn't different when they were alone. "You have got to be kidding me. Get back over here."


Ratchet sat up, and growled, "Stop being ridiculous! It's just a word!"

"He is not just a word," Drift hissed, spinning away from the door. He doubled his grip on his swords and stalked back to Ratchet. He slammed his hand on the berth between Ratchet's thighs and shoved their faces together. "A 'He' that you don't believe in, which means you do not get to use his name. Not like that."

Ratchet slapped away Drift's hand. "You're taking this too far. We agreed to leave the spiritual crap out of the bedroom, not misinterpret explectives!"

"Yes, we did. And you broke that agreement. Every time it comes up, we fight and as much as I don't want to do that I really can't ignore it this time." Drift shook his head. He shivered, rattling all of his armor. "Goodnight, Ratchet."

"Get back here!" Ratchet called as Drift disappeared out of the hab-suite, making use of that damned speed of his. Ratchet tumbled off his berth, cursing his joints as he slammed open his door and shouted down the hallway, barely catching a glimpse of white as it reached the end of the corridor. Ratchet could care less who he woke up as he shouted down the hall. "You are the only one who believes that slag! Wake up to reality!"

Drift stopped and slammed his hand into the wall, leaving a sizable dent Magnus would no doubt write up in the morning, and turned around. He shoved Ratchet back into the hab-suite with his hand on his chest, and closed the door behind them with a definitive click. Drift said, "That's not true and you know it, Ratchet."

"It is. People humor you becaue you terrify them! But not me. I know you, Drift. I know you, and I refuse to coddle your antiquated feel-good beliefs," Ratchet huffed. Drift had so much potential, and so much waiting for him. Seeing him drown himself in that hocus pocus was damaging. Ratchet rubbed his fingers together. "It's unhealthy and it's blocking your recovery dealing with all that guilt you've built up around yourself!"

"That last part, it might be true. Maybe I'm not dealing with my past the way I should, but that doesn't mean Primus and the rest aren't real. It doesn't mean that I'm misguided." Drift was calm, and it worried Ratchet. "But I am not the only one, Rodimus—"

And there it was. Ratchet grabbed Drift's shoulders before he could continue. "Is a liar! He's a liar, Drift. Rodimus is better at telling people what they want to hear than Swindle. He tells you he believes that slag because it's what you want him to! Don't get me wrong, I'm sure he cares, but he's a danger to himself with his own mouth. You can't trust it, Drift!"

"No," Drift said. He pushed Ratchet away, and his optics narrowed to slits. Damn that hero worship of his. "Rodimus might not believe everything with the Guided Hand and the Knights, but he's met Primus. He's MET him, Ratchet. There's no way he doesn't believe in at least that."

"So he's told you," Ratchet said, dropping his hands at his side. "I like Rodimus, I do, but you put too much faith in that kid."

"And you don't put faith in anything." Drift cycled air harshly through his vents. "Rodimus was touched by Primus, and I know that'll mean something. I want to see it when that happens, and I really hope you're there to see it, too."

"Slag," Ratchet said. Drift was furious. Ratchet was tired, and everything was just…their evening started so wonderful. "I swear, how do these conversations get this way. Primus. Rodimus. I don't give a frag about either of them. My faith's in you, Drift! I care about you, and you only look at them! What about me?"

"Because I care about you," Drift said, "is why I ignored it the first two times when you called out to a god you don't believe in."

"Drift," Ratchet said. Why did it always end up like this? Ratchet stepped back until his knees hit the berth and he sat down. He was too old for this. "I just, no more talking. No fragging. Just stay. Please."

Drift stood still as the dead for a full click before gently placing his swords back under the berth. He sat next to Ratchet with a small thump and gently tapped their shoulders together.

They sat in silence.