Archive of Our Own ^beta

“No. I’m not doing it,” Ratchet said flatly, folding his arms over his chest.

Drift looked pleadingly at the older medic. “But Ratchet, the symbolism! Don’t you want to feel your aura resonate with the crystals?”

Ratchet snorted, rolling his optics. “You sound like an idiot, kid. Are you purposefully trying to annoy me?”

Drift tch’d, turning his helm away. Ratchet had asked that same question of him many times in the weeks leading up to their Conjunx Ritus. As it stood, Ratchet was nontraditional and wanted a simple ceremony with only their closest friends. Drift, on the other hand, continued to express his desire for Spectralist rituals, symbolism, and had attempted to invite every bot who’d ever made their acquaintance in the name of “custom”. “It’s tradition,” he explained, trying once more to sway his conjunx-to-be. After all, he had managed to win over Ratchet's agreement to expand the guest list - surely he could convince him to do this simple thing.

“And I’m not a Spectralist. Never had much use for religion.” Ratchet’s voice softened as Drift’s face fell. “You know this. You knew it going into this.”

“Yeah,” Drift agreed, sounding resigned. Guest lists were one thing; religious artifacts were another. If he knew anything about the older medic, it was that when he stood firm on his refusal, there was no budging him. “Let’s just… maybe we should just go ahead and recharge? Tomorrow’s a big day.”

The brief flare of triumph that Ratchet had felt initially upon winning the argument over whether or not he would carry a “bouquet” of specially chosen crystals passed, leaving him feeling cold and empty. Tomorrow was their Ritus and, although a good portion of his reason for agreeing to a ceremony at all was to appease Drift, he couldn’t shake the feeling that his victory rang hollow. Drift held a servo out for Ratchet, a wordless concession of defeat and silent plea for things to be settled between them; unfurling his arms, Ratchet slipped his servo into Drift’s, linking their digits together. The speedster’s field was pulled in tight, but Ratchet could tell he was disappointed with the outcome. “Of course,” he agreed quietly, leading the way towards their berthroom.

Recharge didn’t come easy for Ratchet as guilt settled heavy as a stone in his spark. If he were lucky enough to do so, a Cybertronian only ever took one conjunx and, considering how many concessions Drift had made for him, it didn’t sit well for him to ignore this one request. It really didn’t hurt anything to recite a few verses, regardless of how hokey he saw them to be, or even to carry a few crystals. Tomorrow was about them, and what better way to celebrate their joining than to openly concede these few things to Drift.

He owed that to the mech, didn’t he?

Once Ratchet was certain that Drift was in full recharge, he slipped from the berth and into the main living space of their shared home. There was only one problem in doing this without Drift’s direction: he had no idea which crystals to choose. With a groan of frustration, he realized that he was likely not going to get near enough sleep as he’d wanted in order to spend time researching everything he could find regarding Spectralist beliefs and ritual crystals. Settling himself into one of their chairs, he picked up the nearby datapad and remotely accessed the information databank, hoping beyond hope that he would find something.

Several joors later, Ratchet heaved a tired but contented sigh; all that was left for him now was to gather up the needed materials and recite a set of chants and incantions over them - and that could be done when Drift left for his morning meditations before the ceremony. Slipping back into berth, he draped an arm around Drift who gave a sleepy half-smile and curled against him. The older medic felt his spark skip a beat at his lover’s proximity, his own lips curling into a smile as he leaned into Drift’s touch. He’d left the Lost Light in search of Drift, crossed countless lightyears to find him, even helped fight off an army of scientifically improbable stone warriors! Although he’d found a lot of Drift’s mannerisms and beliefs to be frustrating and incomprehensible, it was his presence alone that was most sincerely missed after the Overlord incident and thoughts of their first meeting in his Dead End clinic that most often haunted his nights. If Drift wasn’t worth putting aside his prejudices, then who was?

Recharge took him, then all too soon his alarm sounded. Ratchet woke to an empty berth, a personal comm alert pinging on his HUD.

[[Out to meditate. I’ll see you later. I love you.]]

Exhaling a sigh, Ratchet smiled and pulled himself free from the berth, setting out to find the crystals he needed.

-------

After arranging the crystals into an easy-to-hold bundle, he wrapped a braided cord around them, repeating a Spectralist mantra that was supposed to imbue them with the ability to amplify and radiate the emotions within his own EM field. The physician in him scoffed at this, but he reminded himself that sometimes things happened that were hard to explain. Lifting his bouquet, he could have sworn he felt the crystals vibrate briefly but chalked it up to nothing more than the tremble of his own servos. Nerves, he mused, setting out for the ceremony and Drift.

They had opted to host their Ritus beneath the broad hull of the Lost Light, the ship serving as a symbol of their meeting and eventual partnership. At least a hundred seats sat divided equally on either side of an aisle, each filled with a mech who bore some level of personal significance to either himself or Drift. However, all of that melted away when Drift turned to look at him. A jolt of lightning forked through his abdomen to see the speedster’s soft smile, the crystals in his servos suddenly vibrating with a low hum. Drift’s attention lowered to what Ratchet held, and the medic could do nothing but watch as surprise and then adoration blossomed over his face in quick succession.

The smile Drift gave him was more brilliant than the sun and Ratchet found himself reveling in his warmth; he didn’t even notice that the crystals he held seemed to sparkle with his own energy.

Drift lifted a servo out to him much like he had the night prior, only this time Ratchet could feel the pride and love his conjunx-to-be felt for him as clearly as he could feel his own plating. “Thank you, Ratty,” Drift said, openly using the nickname he typically reserved for the most intimate moments between them. As Ratchet took Drift’s servo, his spark sang with as much fervor as the crystals he held - proof that he had ultimately been right about this compromise.