✨Switching Between✨ ✨Moods✨

And sure, most diner waiters were technically waitresses, but the occasional unruly-haired college kid would set down their coffees and smile that big teasy grin of his that was so common among them - for the tips, Dean knew - and Dean had to clear his throat to keep from smiling back too hard. With women it was easier. They would roll their eyes at him, knowing this was all an act with no follow up, and Dean would leave feeling at least a little bit lighter. Sam’s presence was ever so present whenever they had male waiters.

And those scrawny kids were usually not even Dean’s type, but who was he to be ungrateful for a pretty smile and batting doe-eyes.

“Oh, I smell pancakes,” Sam said on a too early Monday morning in a rainy Seattle, entering the diner with too much pep in his step if Dean had to be honest. “And fresh coffee.”

“Likely thing for a diner to have,” Dean muttered, earning himself a laugh. Nothing was going to rain on Sam’s parade apparently.

“Hi, welcome in.” The waiter, a guy of about 25, smiled lazily at them from behind the counter. The diner wasn’t busy, so he was fiddling with something Dean couldn’t see. “I’ll be right with you. Take a seat, any seat.”

Sam led the way, which gave Dean an opportunity to glance back at the waiter. He looked… good. Burly with a beard, with something easy going about him. He swallowed thickly and sat down in the booth Sam had chosen, taking the seat so that he could see the entire diner. He deserved a treat on a fucking Monday morning.

“Gentlemen.” The waiter was approaching them with menus. “Can I tempt you with a cup of coffee while you look over our extraordinary options?”

Sam grinned. “Yes, please. Just a regular coffee for me. With room for milk.”

“And you.” He turned his soft brown eyes to Dean. “The same or would you like some sugar? Although I can’t say you’re not sweet enough on your own.”

Dean choked on his own spit and the guy, whose name tag read ‘Alex’, placed the menus on the table and disappeared, returning only seconds later with a pitcher of water and a glass. “I’m sorry. Too much?”

“N-no, I- I’m fine.” Dean coughed again, trying to restore some dignity. “Uh, yeah, the same. Please. And thank you. For the water.”

Alex smiled. “You’re welcome. I’ll be right back with your coffees.”

Sam shot him an amused look once they were alone. “You okay?” he asked with a laugh.

“I’m sure awake now.” He took a sip of his water, eyes on Alex’s retreating back.

“Not used to being complimented by guys, huh?”

If you only knew, Dean didn’t say. “Just wasn’t prepared for it first thing in the morning.”

“You do look kind of half asleep, actually.”

“Great.”

“But I can see how someone might think you’re cute.”

“Sam, please shut the hell up.”

Sam laughed again, so cheery, so comfortable. “I’m just saying. If that was a woman you would be soaking it up.”

Dean grabbed the menu and hid behind it. Leave it to Sam to overanalyze him as soon as he was caught off guard. “God, I hope they have pies.”

“We do, actually.” Alex had returned, carrying their two coffees and a small pitcher of milk on a tray.

Dean perked up. “You do?”

“Of course. Apple, cherry, even rhubarb.”

“He’ll have apple.”

Alex turned toward Sam. “You know him well, huh?”

“He’s my brother and he’s predictable.” Sam’s smile was a little too smug.

Dean narrowed his eyes, not liking the way his face suddenly felt hot. “Guilty as charged, I guess.”

Alex wrote something down in his notepad. “So that’s one apple pie. What would you like?”

When he left, Dean felt he couldn’t look Sam in the eye for some reason. Sam - oblivious or not, Dean had yet to decide - poured milk into his cup and stirred, taking a little too long, being a little too loud. Dean sipped his milk-less coffee, burning his tongue in the process. “So,” he said when Sam had finally stopped stirring. “Any theories?”

Sam craned his neck toward the bar. “About him?”

“What? No, about the case. Why would I be asking for theories about him?”

“I don’t know. You seem overly tense around him. And you haven’t stopped glancing up since he left.”

“I have not. Have I?” He suddenly felt unsure.

“Yeah, dude! You’re, like, so not slick.”

Dean nearly kicked him under the table. “Would you quiet down, Jesus Christ.”

Sam leaned over the table. “So what is it? Does he intimidate you or do you think he’s good looking? I can never tell.”

“I- what?”

“I mean, with women it’s always easy. You act like a fool when you’re into them. But I guess you try to not be as obvious with men, at least when I’m around, which I get. I hate that you feel like you have to do it, but I get it.”

Dean’s head was spinning. “You know?”

Sam’s face shifted from amused to almost pitying. “Dean, I have known you my entire life.”

Dean crossed his arms. Apparently Sam did know him better than he thought. And Dean’s method of never talking about it seemed to run in the family. “All right, let’s drop it.”

Sam nodded. “Right. Sorry. But I figured you should know. That I know, that is.”

“Okay.”

“Maybe I should’ve waited for you to tell me yourself, but I’m sure I would’ve waited for the rest of my life.”

“Shut up, Sammy.”

“And watching you fumble is kind of painful.”

Dean leaned across the table and jammed his fingers into his brother’s ribs. “I said shut up.”

///

Ryland had that look in his eyes.

You've started calling it The Hopeful Fear, on account of how it made his ears pink and his shoulders tense.

You glanced at him sideways from your spot by the taumoeba samples.

He was hunched over the microscope, seemingly focused on the slide, but his hand had a slight tremor to it. You've seen it enough times to not be worried. It wasn't anxiety, but excitement.

As if sensing you looking, Ryland lifted his head away from the miscroscope by a fraction. The look he gave you was quick, and very telling.

Well, you supposed, you could help with that.

You pushed away from your samples and walked over to where Ryland was sitting. Casual, relaxed, hands in your pockets. You stopped at his shoulder, just slightly behind him, and leaned in a little.

"How's it going?" You asked, keeping your voice light and unassuming.

"Well," Ryland said, fiddling with the slide under the microscope nervously. "It hates nitrogen. But we already knew that."

"Nothing new, then?" You leaned in a little closer, still. Ryland shot you a quick look at the proximity.

"No. I'm afraid not." He sighed, hand drifting to fiddle with a stray pen on the lab table.

"Hm." You hummed idly.

Ryland kept still, not leaning away, but not coming closer either.

With a swift movement, you connected your mouth to the side of his neck and blew a quick, sharp raspberry against his skin.

The yelp that left him - loud and undignified - had you grinning.

He tumbled off his stool, to his feet, tripping in his hurry to get away from you. He turned to look at you, hand braced against the table, the other raised halfway up in front of him. Just in case you meant to follow him.

You straightened, and stayed put.

"Why-" He stuttered. His ears were getting pink.

"Hm?" You raised your eyebrows, feinging ignorance.

"Wh-" His eyes flickered back and forth between your face and your hands, which were still in your pockets. "What was that for?"

You shrugged. "You looked like you needed it."

Ryland's ears turned redder.

He was just starting to stutter out denials and accusations - something like: "you couldn't possibly know such a thing", and: "what does that even mean, that makes no sense!" - when your taumoeba samples chirped from their analysis machine. You turned your head to look at the blinking yellow light. You turned back to Ryland. He had stood up straight, but still had The Hopeful Fear flittering about his face.

"Duty calls." You said simply, turning on your heel to get to your samples.

You snapped a pair of gloves on, and got to work, carefully extracting the taumoeba samples from the machine. After a moment, you heard Ryland shuffle back to his seat.

You pretended not to notice him watching you.

@

Ryland and Rocky were bickering.

Ryland stood in front of Rocky's tunnel, the one that led through the corridor and was at about Ryland's head-height. He had his hands planted firmly on his hips, assuming his full Teacher Persona.

"Rocky, I just don't think it's a good idea." He said.

"Is good idea." Rocky replied, simply.

"Rock, buddy-"

"Grace stupid, statement."

"Hey!" Ryland's voice shifted into Scolding A Middle Schooler tone. "You can't call someone stupid just because they have a different opinion than you."

"Why, question?"

"Because it's rude."

"But is true. Grace stupid."

"I should put you in time out." Ryland threatened.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid."

You curled your fist in front of your mouth to cover up your laughter. You must not have been very successful, because Ryland whirled onto you with a pointed finger.

"Don't make me put you in time out, too." He said firmly. "Don't encourage him."

"You need to lighten up." You said, crossing your arms and leaning against the edge of the doorway.

"I'll 'lighten up' when he-" Ryland pointed upwards at Rocky "- comes to his senses."

"No, no, no Rocky senses, all correct," Rocky immediately argued, shaking his body in emphasis. "Grace senses stupid, leaky space blob no understand, stupid, stupid, stupid."

"I'm done here." Ryland threw his hands up and made his way to the doorway. "I'm not dealing with this."

You wrapped your arm around the front of his middle as he walked past you. He stopped, even though he could have easily kept on walking, and looked at you. He was frustrated, you could see that, but underneath that frustration was something more fragile.

"You need to lighten up." You repeated, maintaining eye contact.

He huffed. "That's not really helpf-UL-AGH!"

He folded in half, grunting, hands wrapping around your forearms. You kept squeezing at his wasit.

"I'll let you go if you laugh." You said, taking a step closer to get better leverage.

"Hhmmgh." Ryland responded, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Yes, yes, yes, make Grace laugh, statement." Rocky chimed in from his perch. "Make less stupid, statement."

"Hear that?" You turned to Ryland. "It'll do you good."

"No, it - hrrgh - won't!" He choked out, twitching against your hands, but making no other moves to escape.

"Come on!" You drawled, shifting your hands up to his ribs. "Laughter is the best medicine."

"That's pseudosciehehence!" Ryland gave in to giggling, high and hiccup-y.

"Actually," You said, digging further up under Ryland's arms to get at his underarms. "It's been proven that laughter helps relieve stress and boost immunity."

Ryland ducked his head close to his chest and let out a desparate whine.

You smirked. "But you already knew that."

"Okay, okahay!" Ryland's hands tighened on your arms, pinning them to your sides, effectively stopping your attack.

You watched him try to compose himself, smiling. He took a few deep breaths, and when he lifted his head, it wasn't with a glare, but another look of The Hopeful Fear.

You grinned knowingly.

"Quiet." He mumbled, pink all over, and released you. You turned to look at him over your shoulder as he stalked further through the Hail Mary.

@

You were in the pilot's seat, checking your trajectory, when you heard him.

"What the fudging - fudger -!"

You frowned, and whipped your head around to look behind you. Of course, you wouldn't have been able to see him, but you narrowed your eyes anyway, listening in closely.

There was a dull thump. Then another.

"What the heck is wrong with this - piece of - poop - !"

Okay.

If Ryland was PG-swearing at this intensity, something was not right.

You swivelled the pilot chair and climbed out. It took a few moments to locate him, given that he had suddenly fallen deathly silent, and no more thumping emerged from the depths of the ship. In the end, you found him in the lab.

There were two packs scattered near his feet, and Ryland himself was standing by an open hatch in the wall, his back to you. He was straining, reaching up as high as he could. He was even standing on tiptoes.

You paused. He hadn't noticed you.

"You okay over there?"

He startled, arms shooting down, torso twisting around to look behind him. Once he realised it was you, he let out a soft breath.

"There's extra test tubes in there." He explained, pointing up to the hatch. "I can't reach it."

You stepped fully into the room, a few paces away from where he stood. "You're, like, six feet tall." You observed. "How can you not reach something?"

"Oh, ha-ha." He made a face at you, voice dripping with sarcasm.

You waved your hand at him. "Don't let me interrupt."

He scoffed, but turned back to the hatch, reaching his arms up as far as they could go. The hem of his tshirt rose with the movement, exposing a sliver of skin on his abdomen. You looked at it, then glanced up at his face to confirm his focus on the task at hand.

Silently as possible, you side-stepped until you were behind Ryland, and wrapped your arms securely around his waist.

"Oh? What's going on-HEY!"

You scribbled your nails over the exposed skin of his navel. His arms shot down immediately in an attempt to shield himself. High pitched, wheezy laughter shook his body.

"Why do you dohoho thihis?" He complained, fingers scrabbling at your hands. His back pressed into your face slightly as he bent forward. You rested your cheek fully against his shoulder blade, feeling the warmth of his skin through his tshirt.

"Well, I like to do it." You shrugged a little. "I enjoy it."

Ryland twisted sharply, successfully disentangling himself from your embrace. You stumbled a little at his sudden movement.

Ryland had pressed his back tightly against the wall.

"Not a step closer." He ordered around a lingering smile and the ghost of a giggle.

You grinned, but stayed put at his request, even though the distance between you was that of only a few steps.

The Hopeful Fear was back in his eyes.

"I'm not sure you mean that." You said and, yeah, maybe you added a bit of a teasing lilt to your voice. It was worth it for the blush that rose in Ryland's face.

"Your days are numbered." He declared, raising his finger in warning.

You watched him with a grin as he shuffled sideways, back still pressed to the wall, watching you carefully, until he was far enough away to bolt.

@

It had been a hard day that had you and Ryland nearly spiralling into a full blown fight. Stress, close proximity, the weight of responsibility, being stuck in space. Sometimes the two of you got emotional.

Thankfully, you had figured out a protocol for days like these.

So, after wrapping up work as soon as voices became raised, the two of you settled into the routine.

Step one, go to the opposite ends of the ship to cool off.

Step two, talk it out.

Step three, food.

Step four, sleep.

Here you were, yours and Ryland's mattresses shoved together on the floor to make more space, tangled in every spare blanket, bodies close. Your feet tangled together loosely. You lay on your side, arm draped over Ryland's stomach. He was stretched out on his back, hand curled loosely around your knee where he had pulled your leg up over his. His breathing was deep and even.

You couldn't sleep.

Ryland's fingers curled lightly against the underside of your knee, tracing a delicate line over the skin there. Suddenly, you regretted wearing shorts to bed.

You stayed still, giving no indication that you felt his movement. Or that you were awake.

After a moment, the movement repeated.

You opened your eyes to look at him. His face was turned slightly towards you, eyes closed, expression relaxed. You closed your eyes again, burying your face deeper against your pillow.

Ryland was always a little twitchy, and that didn't stop when he was asleep. You had gotten used to his movements during sleep. For the most part. This was new.

Tap.

You frowned.

Tap, tap.

Was he tapping his finger into the curve of your knee?

Carefully - in case he really was asleep - you tilted your head back to look at him again.

His eyes were still closed, but now there was a smirk on his face.

"You-!" Your accusation got cut short, because the moment you spoke, Ryland was rolling himself on top of you, face burying into your neck to blow a long, drawn-out raspberry.

You would never admit to the sound you made at the sensation.

Ryland pulled back to look at you. "Vengeance."

"Oh, come on." You complained. "You needed that tickling and you know it."

"Did I?" He challenged, fingers resuming their tracing under your knee. Instinctively, you bent your leg, trapping his fingers. You didn't like the look on his face.

"Don't you know that when you seek revenge, you're only really hurting yourself?" You tried to reason. Ryland pursed his lips in mock sympathy.

He pulled his fingers from where they were trapped by your leg, and brought his hand up to your face. He took your jaw into his hand with a firm grip, maneouvering your head so that more of your neck was exposed.

He started leaning down.

"No, no, no- wait- Ryland-" Your pleading fell on deaf ears. You felt his stubble first, then cool air as he inhaled deeply. You grabbed hold of his wrist, your other hand gripping at the back of his hair.

He blew another long raspberry into your neck.

You scream-laughed. You were human enough to admit it.

But then he didn't pull back. Only started inhaling again. You closed your eyes, already feeling phantom tickling, laughter bubbling out of you.

This time, he blew three short raspberries one right after another.

Your legs kicked out against the mattress, one kicking him in the shin. You let go of his hair in favour of slapping your palm against his back repeatedly.

Ryland backed off only a fraction, still close enough that you felt his stubble. The breath of his laughter against your neck tickled nearly as bad. He released his grip on your jaw, instead using that hand to gently scratch behind your ear comfortingly.

You panted, dazed, staring up at the ceiling in the low light.

With one last, split-second of a raspberry that had you squawking, Ryland rolled off you.

"Remember this next time you hunt me down with tickling." He said.

"Next time," you informed him. "I'm making you admit you wanted me to do it."

You both turned your heads against your pillows, challenging each other with a look.

In the end, it was Ryland who caved, scoffing to cover up his blush and throwing an arm around you. You let him pull you in, hiding your own blush by tucking your head underneath his chin.

You turn to face the workbench, where several test tube racks are shoved behind your laptop, which in turn holds a lot of depressing readouts from the spectrophotometer.

"Having a little trouble with some stubborn protein contaminants. Look at this."

You point at your screen. Ryland squints, clearly unable to parse the tiny font from his lab stool. You roll your eyes.

"Ugh. Come here-" You grab his glasses from where they're hanging by his chin, and start sliding them into place. It's such a thoughtless gesture that you're already turning to continue your explanation before they're fully on.

Except you're interrupted by a giggle.

You turn back around, glancing at your hands, which still hold his glasses...but Ryland is no longer attached to them. He's shrunk back, a small grin tugging at his lips, one hand covering his ear.

"Surely not..." You mutter. "Don't tell me your ears are ticklish."

"I...won't tell you that, then." He murmers, which is a confession in itself.

He knows this. You can see him thinking it through, the same way you are. A second passes, and the two of you lock eyes.

...He bolts. Predictable.

You give chase, scrambling after him down the corridor as he starts shouting platitudes over his shoulder.

"Listen, hey, we don't have to do this-"

"We absolutely do!"

"Nope! Not happening!" He careens around a corner, nearly tripping over his own feet. By the time you catch up, the corridor appears empty. Perhaps he's gone into a side room.

Of course. The door to the wellness room is slightly open. You hold your breath, and sneak towards the entrance, pulling yourself against the wall so he can't see you coming.

One...two...three.

You throw open the door, and sure enough, Ryland is hiding on the other side. He shrieks, but it's too late. He's backed himself into a corner.

"uh oh."

"Hiding was a silly idea."

"Worth a try, though-"

"You aren't very good at it."

"Ok, let me try again, then?" Grace gives you his best puppy eyes. You almost cave, but think back to the number of times he's ignored your own pleading looks in these situations.

"Hm," you grin, swiftly tackling him to the floor. "Nah."

"Waitwaitwait-" He tries to shuffle backwards on his elbows, but you sit over his legs. knees pinning his hands in place. You've wasted enough time; you reach out as fast as you can, and swipe one finger over the shell of his ear.

It's immediately obvious why Ryland ran across the ship to avoid this.

"AHA- Nooooo! nonoNO-" He screeches, shoulders hunching up. His hands break free; they come up and try to block you, but you pin them out of the way again.

"I can't believe you kept this from me. After everything you put me through!" You convey your utter betrayal by fanning your fingers out behind his ear, swirling random patterns over the skin. Grace breaks into frantic giggles, his neck rapidly turning an adorable shade of red.

"Pleasepleaseplease-ahaha-It tickles!"

"Good."

"I'll- I'll do anythihing! Whatever you wahant! Just, please- MERCY" Grace cackles, snorting when you lean in to blow a gentle breeze onto his ear.

"Hm," you mutter, giving him a break so he can hear you talking. "...Anything? Let me think."

He's still giggling, the blush having spread up his neck to his face. Of course, he could have fought you off if he wanted to - you're acutely aware of the fact he's stronger than you. Something to tease him about later, perhaps. Your fingers trail over his sides as you keep thinking.

"I need something you'll hate..."

"I'll promise not to tickle you anymore- that's -aha- that's what this is about, right?"

You pause. This is dangerous territory. You'd never minded it, but he'd never stop teasing you if you openly admitted that. The best tactic is probably to change the subject.

"Excuse me, I'm the one deciding here." You return to his ear again, ever-so-lightly scratching around the helix, and he falls back into hysterics. "I could...make you do all the laundry for a month."

"Yehes- sure, fine!"

"...Nah, you agreed to that too quick."

You decide to give his ears a break, instead snaking your hands under his shirt to squeeze at his tummy. It sends him into absolute fits. A wide, carefree smile lights up his face, and his hands, having broken free a second time, clutch at his hair like he can't decide what to do with them. It puts a smile on your face too, seeing him like this. He doesn't laugh often enough - not genuinely, anyway. Neither of you do.

And then the idea hits you.

"Oh, I know what you'll hate."

Ryland goes still despite the fact you haven't stopped tickling - like he knows what's coming next.

"I want you..." You grin, drumming your fingers over his sides in a way that makes his breath catch, "...to tell me what a great scientist you are."

Grace gives you a look of utter dread.

"That's ridiculous," He huffs. "No one says that about themselves."

"And you won't accept it coming from someone else. So this will be a great step forward."

"When I get out, I'm going to tickle you so much-"

You don't let him finish; you immediately squeeze at his hips and watch the way he instinctively grabs at your wrists, never quite pushing you away.

"Are you gonna say it?"

"Noho!"

You scribble up his sides, and the pitch of his laughter slides higher again.

"Are you gonna say it?"

"NO!"

An evil idea occurs to you. "You have a nice laugh. You could admit that instead, if you'd prefer?"

"aha- screhew you!"

Your hands have reached his ribs, now. They poke gently at each one, and Ryland completely melts, covering his face and making a flustered sort of noise that's swiftly overtaken by helpless chuckles.

You slowly creep your fingers up higher and higher, watching as Grace gets increasingly embarrassed.

"Plehease, oh no, nono, that really tickles!"

He brings his arms down once you reach the top of his ribcage, head thrown back in near-silent laughter. Feeling a little sorry for him, you ease up, holding yourself still. However, it quickly becomes apparent that he's trapped your hands under his arms, and can't seem to stop making himself laugh, even though you've stopped moving.

"Oho- jeez-"

You give him an expectant look, flexing your fingers ever so slightly, sending him into more giggles.

"Ok, ok ok ok-" He babbles, adjusting his glasses. There's a moment of hesitation. "Uh...I'm... "

"...Yes?"

"I'm...a good scientist."

You retract your hands, satisfied. "Yes. You are."

Part of you wants to get him to say 'great' instead of 'good' - wants to keep that smile on his face for as long as possible. But, looking at him, you know he's giving you his best effort. You can see in his eyes that he's not ready for anything more than 'good'.

Something swirls uncomfortably in your chest with that knowledge.

If Grace notices the slight waver in your smile, he doesn't mention it. He's too busy propping himself up by the elbows, trying to wipe the silly grin off of his face.

You get up, and extend your hand towards his, trying to shake off the feeling. "Come on, you."

He swats your hand away with a pout. "No, I'm not talking to you right now."

There's absolutely no venom behind it.

"Ok, I guess the first ever Taumoeba WGS can wait, then. I'll make sure it's just my name on the paper."

He grins. "Oh, will you now?"

You lean against the wall. "Well, maybe I'll put you in the acknowledgements. Moral support, or whatever."

A moment of silence. He considers this. You consider the mischief creeping onto his face, and the way his fingers twitch ever so slightly; a barely noticeable motion that is definitely intended as a threat. He sees you notice, sees the cogs turning in your head.

The two of you lock eyes.

Despite the companionship he has, an awful emptiness latched its teeth into his core and wouldn’t abate. No matter how much time he’d spend with Rocky or watch clips of Earth in the Don’t Go Crazy Room, the feeling of wrongness stayed, and Grace has no idea how to stop it. 

A shudder runs through his form, making Grace hunch further in on himself, gripping onto his arms. His skin ached something fierce, despite his hands rubbing along the surface in a meager attempt to self-soothe against the barrage of phantom needles. What he would give to be bundled in his mother’s arms like he was ten again after tumbling off his bike and scraping his knee. Or being smothered in his dad’s all-encompassing embrace after a failed science experiment, a promise that one day, “He’d be the smartest and coolest of all scientists”. What he’d give for any form of hug at all whilst in deep space-

The invisible aches haunting his body intensify in a sudden surge. Grace freezes in place, struck by a daunting realisation.

…Oh. 

It was cruel and unfair, but it made sense. The urge to cry welling up behind his eyes has Grace's breath shuddering out of him sporadically. 

“Grace, okay, question?”

The doubled thudding of the Eridian’s back leg cuts through the static building in Grace’s head. He looks to the side and finds the alien ‘watching’ him intently, his carapace shifting in blatant concern. 

Grace has to push the word out of his throat. “...No.” He rubs his palm along his arm with a disconnected fervor. It doesn’t feel as though the warmth of his own skin is even getting through. 

“What problem, question?” 

How could he even begin to explain the torrential emotions wreaking havoc on his wrung-out body? “There’s something wrong with me.”

“Grace sick? Question?” Rocky is growing restless, feet thunking against the xenonite shell of his ball.

Grace swallows back the lump trying to start an uprising of sadness in his throat. It was a persistent battle. “It’s a human thing,” he rasps. “I don’t know if it can be helped.”

“Explain. Rocky fix.”

Grace shakes his head as he burrows into his arms, both to hide his burning eyes and to escape this conversation. Rocky couldn’t fix it. Bless that alien’s heart of gold for trying, but he just couldn’t. What Grace needed, what he was craving, was human touch. It had been years since he left Earth, and his skin was growing desperate for an inkling of steady, warm contact. But by abandoning his journey to Earth in favour of saving his best friend - which he didn’t regret for a second, mind you - he’d robbed himself of the chance to ever experience it again. 

Granted, the last memory of touch was being forcibly restrained to the ground, suffocating pressure pinning him down as he screamed for help that would never come. Not exactly a golden recollection of human connection. 

A steady series of tapping filters into Grace’s ears, getting past the marching band thumping away. He peeks over his forearm. Rocky has rolled himself so close that he’s right beside his friend. 

“Heartbeat fast,” the Eridian states, worry warbling through his medeloic voice. “Bad, bad, bad. Oxygen needed.”

He’s close enough that Grace can feel the alien’s warmth through the xenonite. His skin practically buzzes with the idea of leaning against the Eridian’s stone-like form, multiple arms encircling him with a pressure that could settle his racing thoughts and lonely heart.

Grace can’t help it. He gives in to his pathetic, human instincts. 

His arms stretch out from his self-contained ball of panic to clutch around the xenonite, drag Rocky into his chest, and slump against the warm, glass-like surface. A sob tries to strangle his throat, but any noise is kept locked behind Grace’s pursed lips. Rocky tucks himself against the wall separating them, soft melodic noises rumbling from his form in an attempt to settle the erratic pounding he can hear within Grace’s chest. He’d only heard this in moments of extreme distress for his human, and it hurt every time. Though Grace is trying to stay quiet, soft plinks of moisture hitting the top of the zenonite were heard loud and clear for the alien.

Grace clings to the zenonite ball as tightly as he can, trying to trick his mind into believing that the smooth, warm surface was what it was after. That this hug shared between two species unable to co-exist within the same environment is enough for his human instincts. 

His skin prickles. The tears keep falling. It isn’t enough. And it is going to stay that way for as long as he is away from Earth. 

A shudder runs through the man at this bleak thought, the ever-expanding pit in his chest feeling as though it’s swallowing up his entire being. 

As if he heard the emotional casam split further, Rocky’s warbles take on a mournful croon. “Grace, tell Rocky what wrong. Please?”

Grace presses his tear-stained cheek against the warm surface, sighing miserably. 

“I’m touch starved.” He says it quietly, fingertips brushing over a surface that isn’t organic enough to trick his brain into thinking it’s skin. “Humans are social beings; we naturally seek connection, and with that comes physical contact. It’s common with anyone we’re close to, not just mates. It’s ingrained into us to co-regulate, so when we go for a long time without that, it causes us to experience skin hunger. It makes humans feel bad.” 

Rocky cocks his body to the side, akin to tilting one's head. “Is hug helping badness?”

Grace wishes he could say yes, but then he’d be lying, and he didn’t want to do that to Rocky. Shaking his head miserably, Grace scrubs a fist across his eyes to stem the flow of tears. “No. I’m hugging you, but I can’t feel you hugging back. Pressure is a key thing with hugging; it feels safer that way.”

Rocky trills sadly. “Apologies.”

Grace shakes his head again, but this time it’s paired with a weak, sincere smile. “It’s not your fault. Just sucks that our biologies are so different. I bet you’d give really good hugs without this thing in the way.” Grace knocks twice on the ball, emphasizing the distance between them.  

Rocky chitters, though there’s something contemplative about his tone now - an inquisitive warble rumbling through the plates atop his body. He leans away from Grace, his back legs thumping against the casing of his ball as he thinks. “Rocky has idea.”

“Yeah?” Grace lets his arms fall away, desperately ignoring the loss they feel as the warmth disappears from them. There was no need to be clingy. It wasn’t exactly like the hug was helping him in the long run. It was like putting a sticky plaster over a gaping chest wound and calling it a day.

Rocky trills again, more full-bodied. Determined. “Yes. Need to begin work now. Will show Grace when ready.” Rocky is practically buzzing. An eagerness tugging at his limbs as he fidgets in place, itching to start whatever ‘mystery project’ he’s begun cooking up.

“...You gonna tell me what your idea is?”

The alien gives Grace his version of a thumbs up and happily chirps, “No.”

______________________________________________________________

Two days. 

Rocky has been working nonstop for two days. 

To make it even more peculiar, he hasn’t allowed Grace anywhere near him as he crafts. Any time Grace sets foot in the lab, he gets hissed at. Forget Eridans being extraterrestrial lifeforms of complex intelligence. That sentient stone spider is a cat in disguise. Grace has it on good authority that the little guy practically purrs whenever he’s smug or has done something clever. There was simply no other way to describe the happy trills rumbling from his body. 

So, Grace has been forced to amuse himself with other things on the Hail Mary, as his only companion is acting like a kid fresh into puberty and staying in his room to play video games. Fortunately, Stratt had been generous enough to provide enough stimuli aboard the ship to keep the passengers entertained while they slowly died in an eternal abyss of stars. 

Unfortunately, he could only consume so many episodes of Star Trek in total silence before he felt an oncoming existential crisis about watching a space show in space.  

Thankfully, just as he’s considering going into the lab and risking being cursed out in Eridian, a series of clunks from multiple legs echo through the ship. Only… it didn’t sound like it was coming from inside the hamster tunnels running throughout the vessel. Nor was the clunking dulled slightly by a xenonite ball following the demands of five limbs. 

It sounds clearer. Closer. Concerningly faster than the ball as well. 

Grace drops the Comfort Quilt™ from his shoulders and scrambles up from his crossed leg position. He doesn’t even know what he’s bracing for, but what greets him when it stomps into view is not what he’d been expecting in the slightest.

Rocky is encased in xenonite. Not a ball. His body is literally wearing such close-fitting xenonite that it follows every crevice, bump, and grain on his form. 

“Hi, Grace!” He chirrups, sounding utterly exhilarated as he holds up a claw and splits it into the famous Vulcan greeting from Star Trek. “Surprise!” 

Thank god Grace put down his mug of coffee before preparing for a potential ambush, or the inventory would be down a cup. His jaw has long hit the floor in place of ceramic shards, eyebrows high as if pulled by a passing moon’s gravity. “You’re- you made a suit,” he sputters out.

“So Rocky can fix starvation of skin!” Rocky bounces and wiggles in place, the thin xenonite moving with him flexibly. He eagerly reaches out with his two front limbs. “Can hug properly now!” 

Grace stares. His ears heard it, but his brain could not comprehend the development. That being said, his heart definitely could, and it felt full enough to burst. 

He practically dives for Rocky and slams his full weight into him, knees colliding heavily with the floor. Rocky’s three back limbs counterbalance instantly, and the other two wrap tightly around his human. His claws grip into the fabric of Grace’s cardigan and stay there, keeping the man close against his body heat.

After months of being on the ship - technically years, but Grace didn’t count the coma for his own mental health - with absolutely no physical contact from another being bar a ball of xenonite, this hug was everything. 

It was tight, yet not enough for Grace’s deprived body. Every nerve was screaming from overwhelming warmth and pressure, but the idea of letting go only made Grace grip harder. He barely acknowledges he’s sobbing into the top of Rocky’s carapace; he’s too preoccupied trying to convince himself he isn’t dreaming. 

Rocky stays put, soft notes humming out of him in a gentle, soothing coo. He’s seen Grace cry before - that man had earned the title of ‘Leaky Space Blob’ after all - but this is different. It’s relief, it’s despair, it's everything the man has been silently yearning for in the depths of his subconscious. 

Rocky is more than content to stay where he was with Grace practically smothering him from his doubled-over position, all his strings cut and emotions raw. He would stay put for as long as Grace needs. He lifts one of his limbs from the floor and runs it through Grace’s hair. 

He pretends he doesn’t hear the high-pitched, wounded keening that leaves the human in a cathartic, emotional release.

______________________________________________________________

“How did you do this?” Grace asks. “This looks too thin- heck, it feels too thin to be safe for you.”

Rocky chitters, pleased. “Much trials and errors,” he says. “Important. Needed to make.”

Grace tightens his arms around Rocky for a moment before letting him go again. Well, kind of let him go, Rocky is lying over Grace’s legs with the man’s arms draped over his limbs. Yes, he was being a little clingy, but his entire nervous system was recovering from months of neglect. He needs this. 

“It means a lot,” he swallows back tears that threaten to have another revolution and overthrow his ability to see. He’s already shed enough to fill a water bottle or two. 

They’d moved to the dormitory once Grace felt reasonably steady to become a functioning human being again. (For those curious, it took a decent while for that to happen.) Now, he’s lying on his back atop the bedclothes with an Eridian carefully perched on his lower body as a steady source of contact. It seemed the small alien was enjoying the newfound freedom of touch without a ball getting in the way. 

One of Grace’s hands is being diligently studied by the Eridian. “Humans soft.” Rocky remarks, something like awe filtering through his musical tones as he delicately handles Grace’s fingers. “Too easy to damage.”

Grace snorts. “We can’t all be sentient canon balls, Rock.”

“What is ‘canon ball’, question?” 

“Projectiles we have on Earth. It was used in battle.”

“Rocky is terrifying space spider and dangerous ball, question?” 

Grace thinks of when Rocky first barged into the Hail Mary and proceeded to almost cause irreparable property damage to multiple items and devices within the ship. “Yes.” He states with a laugh. “You’re a force to be reckoned with.”

Rocky perks up. “Good reputation to have!” He prods at Grace’s fingers. “Better than leaky, squishy, space blob.” He pokes at the softer skin of the man’s side to further drive his point home.

Grace yips, batting Rocky’s claws away from his torso instinctively. “Hehey!”

Rocky jolts upright, removing himself from Grace’s legs. “Hurt? Grace hurt? Rocky hurt Grace?!” His voice flits up several octaves as he panics, hands tightly curled against his body to keep them far from his friend.

“No. No, no, you didn’t- hey, come back here, you silly goose. Stop freaking out.” Grace grasps one of Rocky’s retreating limbs and gently tugs him forward with an exasperated chuckle.

Rocky hesitantly steps closer, but doesn’t settle back down. Grace’s legs mourn the loss of their weighted blanket. “Grace make hurt noise,” he states. “Make same sound when burnt with solder iron.”

Grace sighs and sinks deeper into his mattress. He didn’t think this would be a topic he’d have to explain to aliens, but here we are.

“Humans have a pretty complex nervous system that has evolved to alert us when we’re in danger, specifically through touch. When you poked me, my body was telling me something was digging into a place where vital organs sit. The noise I made was just a byproduct of that.” 

Rocky considers this explanation, then makes a confused warble. “You laughed afterwards.”

Damn. Grace had been hoping Rocky didn’t catch that. 

“...Yeah.”

“Why, question?” 

“...It’s a human thing.”

“Explain. Grace live on Erid in future, need to know human biology.”

Well, no dodging the question now.

Grace sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “It just tickled a bit, that’s all.”

“No understand word.”

Double damn. 

“...Tickling is when humans are touched in a certain way that makes us laugh. It’s attached to the nervous system thing, part of our fight or flight response.”

Rocky tilts his carapace and extends a claw to wiggle against Grace’s side again. The small squeak Grace lets out causes heat to flush his ears. Rocky chirps, delighted. “This make laughter on command!”

Grace opens his mouth to parry that point, only to gasp and fall into bouts of snickers when Rocky’s claws start prodding at his stomach insistently with both claws. “R-Rohohocky!” 

It’s been years, even more than he’s been on the Hail Mary, since he’s felt this sensation. The scuttling, electric sparks spread through his nerves, causing him to flail helplessly. His hands scrabble to both grab onto and bat away Rocky’s curious limbs. Neither tactic got him very far.

“Grace sound very happy,” Rocky informs him. Thank you, Rocky. We’d be lost without your keen observation skills. “Are all humans this sensitive?”

Grace makes a strangled, embarrassed noise in the back of his throat and tries to yank his legs up so he can curl into a ball and hide. 

“No, stay stationary. Rocky is not done exploring this.” Rocky’s claws grab onto Grace’s knees to simply push them away, only for Grace to yelp and kick his legs out. 

“Nononono- Rohohocky c’mohohon!”

Rocky chirps, curiosity singing through his melodic voice. “Tickles happen all over, question?” He inquires, his back hand squeezing Grace’s knee and thigh twice in place of stomping. 

“ROHOHOCK!” The hearty cackles that sprang forth like an exploded fire hydrant were answer enough.

Rocky scuttles and prods over the muscular limbs, little chirps of excitement emanating from the depths of his carapace with every new noise he draws from Grace. Scratching at the underside of the human's knees produced a series of breathy, unstoppable giggles that vividly reminded Rocky of the young Eridians back home with newly developed squeaks perpetrating their vocal cords. 

Rocky relays that thought to Grace, and the temperature of the human’s face increased dramatically. 

“Grace embarrassed, question? Sound cute.” Rocky reassures, wiggling his claws into Grace's lower abdomen. 

A flustered noise left the man, quickly buried behind his arms as he wriggled incessantly from the tickling. “E-Enohohough wihihith- my knees!” He pleads, the feather-light wisps of touch sending his brain into a haywire state of laughter. 

“That okay, plenty more to try!”

Grace feels pressure firmly lay across his legs, keeping them still despite their instinctive desire to kick. Rocky has become essentially deadweight, using his higher body mass to easily pin Grace to the bed. At first, his heartbeat kicked up in learned fear from being pinned down amongst dead grass, but the gentle touches and familiar warmth of the Eridian dashes his anxiety instantly. 

It was kind of hard to focus on the last memory of being pinned whilst Rocky's two front claws had taken to prodding all over the man’s torso. Light and experimental pinches being tossed in just for curiosity's sake. 

“Grace should have informed Rocky of this sooner, could’ve cheered you up easily,” Rocky says, mirth filling his voice as he takes in Grace’s blinding grin, flushed cheeks, and bubbling laughter. He made sure to keep his touch light, not wanting to accidentally hurt his friend; however, in doing so, the tickling was simply more unbearable. 

And as much as Grace's touch-starved body is relishing in this newfound, sorely missed companionship, it’s tiring quickly. 

“R-Rohohock! Plehehease! No- Nohoho mohohore!” Grace wheezes out a laugh before slumping back into the rumpled bedclothes, all fight disappearing and leaving him in a puddle of giggles. 

Rocky chirps, withdrawing his claws from Grace’s stomach. “This hurts, question?” He stomps his back foot into the mattress to punctuate his concern. 

“No, not at all.” Grace drapes an arm over his eyes and takes in grateful gulps of air, the last of his laughter shaking his chest. “Just overwhelming, bud. It’s been a long time.”

“But Grace is okay, question?”

The hollowness is gone. Grace’s cheeks hurt from smiling. He feels good. “Yeah.” The scientist reassures. “Better than okay. I don’t think I’ve laughed that hard in a while.”

“Want me to do again, question?” 

Grace’s arm that’s draped over his eyes shoots down to preemptively cover his stomach, an embarrassed grin spreading across his face. “Uh- no, no, that kind of touch is usually for play. Kinda wanting to get some rest now, Rock.”

Rocky chirps, leaning a bit more into Grace’s chest, akin to a weighted blanket. He wraps his claws underneath Grace in a hug, while one reaches up to scratch through his hair. Grace practically melts, a blissful sigh heaving Rocky up and then down in a slump. 

“Better, question?”

“Yeh, feels n’ce,” Grace slurs out, eyelids long since closed, and wrapping his arms over Rocky’s warm, xenonite-enclosed form. It was like hugging a hot water bottle made of glass. Sleep was sneaking around the corner with a bat and a trip to Night Night Station. 

A claw slips down his scalp, scraping close to the skin of his ear. Grace flinches with a small grunt. The claw pauses.

“Grace is serious? Here as well, question?” The amusement is abundantly obvious. 

“Shut up,” Grace grumbles, gently taking Rocky’s front limb and guiding it back to his hair. 

Rocky chuckles. “Humans are very endearing. Will be doing this again, statement."

Grace rolls his eyes, trying to pretend there wasn’t a blush practically living on his ears now. Rocky let him dodge answering that. After all, he plans to use this newfound information to keep Grace’s spirits up. There would be plenty of time to prove to his friend that humans were loveable space blobs. 

“You sleep, I watch.” He murmurs, carefully scratching the man’s scalp in rhythmic patterns. 

Grace’s fingers intertwine with Rocky’s and squeeze. “Thanks, Rocky. …And thank you for fixing this. You’re a miracle worker.”

“Will always fix for Grace. Grace family, statement.” 

Grace squeezes a bit tighter, hoping Rocky understands the love being projected through the gesture. He pretends his voice isn’t choked up as he whispers, “You’re my family too. Statement.”