Whatever dream that filled the lombax's sleep is quickly forgotten, dissolved by the shrieking of an alarm clock. Despite his many attempts, Clank won't let him toss it into the trash can. The sound vibrates, as if it slams a wrench into his skull with each chime. Without even opening his eyes, Ratchet can already tell:

It's gonna be one of those days again.

A minute passes, and green eyes finally open. Stars fill his vision as the alarm continues, so it's decided that sight isn't required. Through firmly shut eyelids, the morning light has already poured straight into the bedroom, taunting him with its strength. Slowly, the body under the covers turns itself to face the wretched device that pulled him from slumber.

A deep breath in, then out. Ratchet's hand hovers towards its target, shaking as it moves over the short distance. He misses, but Clank presses the button to pick up on his slack.

The robot's usual greeting is met with a pained groan. The simple "good morning, Ratchet", combined with the piercing green of his optics, causes the lombax to wince in pain.

The garbled speech that reaches Clank seems to translate to "turn down the lights, pal", so his optics are reduced in brightness. A tired grin serves as the best "thank you" the other can muster.

The robot moves from Ratchet's side just long enough to adjust the window's blinds, making the room as dim as possible. The reduced light seems to improve things a bit. The nightstand is opened, and a small pill bottle is removed. Pinching one of the tablets in his hand, Clank brings the meds to his friend.

The little caretaker speaks softly, to avoid disturbing the lombax too much. "Take this, Ratchet. It will lessen your symptoms, at least. Can you sit up?"

The blankets shuffle once more, and Clank's request is heeded. A watery film lies over Ratchet's squinted eyes, and he grossly wipes away the mucus dripping from his nose.

Ratchet reaches out for the pill, swallowing it down as quickly as he can manage. "Thanks, Clank. Feels like someone's firing a RYNO up my nose or somethin'."

The covers shift once more. This time, off of the body underneath. The lombax's feet touch the ground, and his entire body shakes. A hand is brought to his temple, and a groan of discomfort leaves his throat.

The room threatens to spin, as if every stab of pain in Ratchet's skull upsets his balance further. A step forward is attempted, but every muscle in his body turns to jelly. His gut twists itself into knots, threatening to send up last night's meal. A cold piece of metal wraps itself around his arm.

Like a parent scolding a stubborn child, Clank questions his organic friend. "And where do you think you are going, Ratchet?"

The plan was to get water, hopefully to drown out whatever funk has decided to reside in his brain. But in all honesty, Ratchet decides that he's not going to make it that far without kissing the floor. "The bathroom; closest faucet," he mumbles.

With a synthetic sigh, Clank moves the blankets for Ratchet. "Rest, and I will bring you whatever you need. You are in no condition to move, so please do not force yourself to."

Lying down, the nausea lessens for now. The clink of metal footsteps seems sharper and louder than usual, but it's still a comfort regardless. Deep breaths, and a prayer that the meds kick in soon.

The footsteps return, and Clank's hands are full. A cold, damp cloth is draped over his left arm, and a glass of water is firmly gripped in his right hand. The drink is placed on the nightstand, over a coaster reserved for moments like this. No cup rings will ever appear on that piece of furniture; not if Clank has anything to say about it. "This should help with your mild fever," he says.

The cloth touches Ratchet's forehead, and instant relief comes with the contact. Glancing over to the robot, his face softens. "Thanks, pal. Guess I'm outta commission today. Sorry."

Clank taps his friend's arm in reassurance. "It is alright, Ratchet. Sometimes such things are out of our control."

"I know." A huff of disappointment. "I also know that you and I planned on visiting Al. You two have that chess tournament; you guys shouldn't miss that."

"There will always be more tourneys," Clank assures. "You are my friend, and your health is my priority."

Emptying the glass of water, the lombax gently shakes his head. "You love those tournaments. I can't drive you, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't go," Ratchet insists. Big Al is the only other person that knows 'geek speak' nearly as fluently as his pal, and Clank always excitedly shares their discussions afterwards.

"I do enjoy chess, that is true. However, my place is here. You are my friend, and are more important to me than a board game." Clank picks up the glass, holding it out to the other. "Would you like me to refill this?"

"Sure, thanks." Before the robot leaves the room, he's stopped. "Hey, do you mind checking the garage sign? I'd do it but I gotta stay here." The bright light peeking in from the searing desert, as well as the voices of potential customers, are the last things Ratchet needs at the moment. As much as he'd rather keep that routine, it's best to hand it off.

"Of course I will." Will a gentle nod, Clank turns the corner. The other rooms of their home are dimmed as each of the window blinds are closed. Using the lock's control panel, the message displayed outside is changed.

The garage is closed for the day, but normal business hours will resume tomorrow.

We apologize for any inconvenience.

-Ratchet and Clank

With that chore completed, Clank gives thought to his earlier scan of Ratchet's condition. A slight fever accompanies the migraine, but for now, that is the worst of things. The cool rag probably wasn't necessary, but it's the thought that counts. As long as he stays hydrated, things will improve with rest and medication.

Turning into the kitchen, the diminutive warbot goes to fetch said hydration. The freezer is opened, and a bit of ice is scooped into the glass. A nearby stool is moved under the sink, and Clank climbs to the faucet. Water slowly fills the glass, and the robot opens the cabinet below the sink. If memory serves him right, there's one more thing to fetch before returning to the bedroom. After placing it in his storage, the robot makes his way to his friend.

The quiet is refreshing, but the hammer keeps pounding in Ratchet's brain. It's a bit frustrating, not to have the energy for most basic functions. Lying in this bed, without the strength to tinker. There is a small sketchbook in the nightstand's drawer, used for late-night invention concepts. However, using that would require inspiration, and moving a pen and paper. An empty screen lies directly in front of the bed, taunting him with the idea of using this downtime for holo games.

He lets out a sigh. Holo games would require focus that can't be given with a killer migraine. The sounds would grate against his eardrums, no matter how pleasant they may be in normal circumstances. Even if the game was muted, turning on said holovision would fill the beautifully dark room with harsh, unforgiving light.

A yawn creeps out of Ratchet, as if the lack of light calls him to sleep. Or maybe it's the promise of rest, the hope of waking up with all of this nonsense gone. It's not like he has the power to do much else anyway, so sleep sounds great. And so were his muddled thoughts as heavy eyelids drooped down.

Clank enters the room, noting that the lombax is snoring away. The rag that was once on his forehead has been moved to the nightstand. The glass is placed on the coaster, ready for when Ratchet awakens. As a non-organic life form, he may not be able to fully understand what the other is going through, but Clank will certainly give his support. Hopping into a nearby chair, he pulls a book from his personal storage. Taking his time to read will prove a quiet distraction until the time comes.

Hours later, Ratchet's body throws itself out of slumber. His entire body tenses up, threatening to send up the water and meds. Clank expected this, however, and is already at his side with a bucket from his storage compartment. Nothing comes up, and after a few minutes of agony, speech comes. "Y-you really think of everything." It's phrased not as a question, but as a thankful confirmation of the truth.

"I do try to be prepared, especially since this is not the first instance of you suffering with migraines." Clank places the bucket nearby, ready for the inevitable 'round two' of nausea. "But this does remind me that you have very little on your stomach to expel. If you have the appetite, I will happily prepare something light for you."

With an exhausted huff, Ratchet settles back into bed. "I'll try something, sure." Clank leaves once more, this time to raid the cabinets for a suitable breakfast. Or, technically, lunch at this point.

A metal hand swings open the pantry, scanning the small closet. There's a sugary cereal, some toaster pastries, and potato chips as quick snacks. Clank shakes his head, wondering how Ratchet can eat such fattening things over the years and gain so little weight. Then again, he's never known anyone else that has a near light-speed metabolism.

Green optics meet a can of broth, which seems like the perfect candidate for this meal. Enough protein to help, has plenty of flavor, yet stays light on the stomach. A pot is placed on the stove to warm it up. Turning the oven on low, the pot is filled with the soup. Clank tunes his sensors to monitor Ratchet from a distance, but he notes no further changes as the minutes pass.

Metal footsteps fill the room as the robot carefully brings in a mug of warm broth. With it, there's a slice of bread. The smell of it encourages Ratchet to work on sitting up a bit, and he takes the cup gladly. It's just warm enough to comfortably drink, so he gently sips on it. "Thanks, pal."

"You are most welcome. Would you like me to leave you to sleep this migraine off? That seems to be the most consistent method of getting rid of them." Clank wishes for a more permanent solution, but for now, this must suffice.

Ratchet slowly shakes his head. Picking up the bread, he tears off a piece to nibble on. "You're good. Company's nice."

With a silent nod, Clank takes his previous reading position. His book is opened once more, right where he left off.

A sudden high pitched ding, the announcement of an holo call, fills the room. Ratchet squirms in discomfort, and Clank quickly leaves the room to attend to the caller. "Hello, Al," the robot answers.

"Hey, Clank, just wanted to make sure you two were okay. You're never late for, well, anything, so I figured I'd call to check in."

"I am fine, but Ratchet is not feeling well today. I am afraid I must forfeit this tournament."

"Forfeit? No need to do that! This bracket is competing the whole weekend, so there's plenty of time. I can sign us up for tomorrow, if you're still interested."

Clank's optics brighten up a bit with a smile. "I will certainly be there! Thank you for understanding, Al."

"No problem. I'll let you get Ratchet squared away, and I'll read up on some new strategies!"

Al hangs up, and Clank manually dims his optics once more. Returning to the bedroom, the robot silences his communication alert. "Al gives you his regards, and we have rescheduled our match for tomorrow."

The news brings a smile to Ratchet's face. "That's good. Don't want you to miss it." The closure makes rest a bit more attainable, and his eyes close for a nap.

About an hour later, nausea sets in once more. The bucket Clank brought proves to be useful, and is quickly emptied and scrubbed clean. More bread is fetched, and another dose of medication is given. The two of them stay in the dim bedroom for the rest of the afternoon. There's comfort in knowing that a new day will melt away the icy dagger in the organic's brain.