"Sorry, I guess." He grins. "But all right." Ratchet's still weary from captivity, from stunner hangover, from the interrogation, but he leans into that touch, soaking it up like a sponge, still a little surprised at York's easy acceptance of his explanation that he's apparently a fifteen-foot metal robot everywhere but here. He reaches up impulsively, turning York's head to kiss him, light and slow, lingering for a moment before he releases him.

"That sounds good," he says, feeling oddly weightless despite the circumstances of the last few days, relieved with his ability to finally be honest with York more than he'd even really expected.