✨Switching Between✨ ✨Moods✨

“Rocky, what’s the word on the breeder tanks and specimen enclosures?”

“Tanks and enclosures sealed, statement!”

Rocky chirps back at me.

“Lights and climate controls stable too?” I shoot back, chewing idly on my pen as I mull over the checklist in my hand.

“Yes yes, all systems stable.”

“Good, that’s what we like to see.” I nod, adding a checkmark on the list.

“Simon, how’re the lights in the main hall? Any flickering, buzzing, or dimming?” I turn, calling down the tunnel hallway to Simon, who stood by the wall, scanning the breaker box.

“Looks good to me. Nothing abnormal.”

“Perfect. Thank you gentlemen, that’ll do it for the baseline system check!” I nod with a smile, happily completing the bi-weekly systems check in with a resounding “all good”.

“You two can feel free to scatter, I’m going to the cockpit to check nav, the smart computer, and life support.” I tucked the clipboard under my arm, nodding up towards the control room.

“Good good. Rocky go finish repairs on Simon fake arm.”

“Ah, so that why he’s missing his prosthetic?” I ask, eyeing the empty sleeve on Simon’s left.

“Yes yes. Need repair.”

“What the heck happened to it? You’ve only had it a couple weeks.”

“I didn’t break it, stop looking at me like o slammed it into a wall or something.”

“We had to lock you in the dorm for three days because you almost slammed me into a wall barely a week into you being awake here. Sue me for assuming you bashed it into something.”

“You can’t use that against me, that was a panic response.”

“To what?! Don’t pull that card on me, I didn’t do anything to you!”

“You were trying to inject me with something!”

“Painkillers! Because your arm was torn off!”

“Whatever! You didn’t warn me!”

“I thought you were asleep! Doctors don’t typically say 3 2 1 go when they’re giving a shot to a comatose patient.”

“You are not a doctor.”

“I have a doctorate!”

“In like, particles or something!”

“Molecular biology!”

“Same thing!”

“Wrong! Stop arguing with me! What happened to your brand new arm?!” I bark.

“Si mon no break arm. Faulty sensors make joints lock up too tight. Uncomfortable and inefficient. Rocky fix error.”

Rocky chimes in, his tone a little snippy. Clearly he’s sick of our shouting.

“See? Not my fault. Rocky’s on my side.” Simon flashes me a smile.

“Whatever. It was a safe enough bet blaming it on you.” I mutter rolling my eyes

“Stupid fox.”

“You annoy me. Greatly.”

Simon chuckles, and Rocky chirps along with him. I have no allies.

“I’m going upstairs.” I knew I lost the argument, but I’d rather fly into Adrian again than admit that, out loud.

-

Nav system looks good… still got a long ride yet to Erid… should probably figure out orbital specs before too long….

I mutter to myself, surfing through the displays on the wall of the cockpit.

Hmmm… astrophage numbers look good… water recycling looks stable… no airlock breach, food’s good, Armando’s good…

I nod to myself, sitting back in the seat with my clipboard.

“Pilot Detected.”

The idle displays all around me blink to life, but it no longer startled me like it had over a year ago.

“Yes Mary, thank you.” I mutter, scribbling on my checklist.

“Hey.”

I turn in my seat as Simon’s head pops up from the hatch.

“Yeeees? Can I help you?” I ask, twirling my pen in my hand.

“No, I’m just here to grab my notebook, I think I left it by the window.” Simon says, hoisting himself up rather impressively with his one and one a quarter arms.

“Oh? Yeah, your diary? Read the whole thing, cover to cover. It’s in the copilot chair- here.” I chuckle.

“Bullshit. It’s not a diary.”

“‘I love Ryland aoooo much, he’s the coolest, nicest, and smartest guy I’ve ever met.’ I think that was page nine?”

“Hilarious. It’s just an Astronomy notebook.”

“‘And he’s such a good teacher, and I love listening to him explain science to me!’ Page 15.”

“You’re full of shit.” Simon grumbles.

“Whatever you say. Here.”

I reach over, picking up the book and lifting it in Simon’s direction, while still keeping most of my attention on the pilot display, scrolling over to ‘Life Support’.

“Thanks.” The notebook slides free from my hand, and I drop it down with a hum and a nod.

“How much longer are you gonna be up here?” Simon asks, craning bis neck to see what I’m doing.

“Why, do you miss my company? Is that what you came to get your diary for?”

“No, I just wanna know how much more peace and quiet time I have left.”

I chuckle, rolling my eyes.

“Almost done, unfortunately. Just checking life support and I’ll be done.”

“…Life Support?”

“Yeah- water recycling, climate control, oxygen. Y’know - crucial stuff.” I shrug, scrolling along the wide yellow and black display.

Simon says nothing in reply.

“You’re wasting your precious quiet time sitting up here talking to me. I’ll be done and down in just a couple minutes al…right..? Simon?”

I turn in my chair, and Simon is just standing there, lost in the eyes, and blank in the face.

“Simon?” I lower my voice, brows furrowed.

“Yeah, yes- yes?”

“You okay? You lost signal there for a second-“

“H-how’s our oxygen.” He asks suddenly.

I blink a couple times, turning from the screen, back to Simon.

“It’s- fine..? Our oxygen is fine. We’re breathing right now, which is a pretty good sign.”

“How long until Erid?”

“A long while still- over a year and a half. We found you two years and some change into the ride.”

Simon nods slowly.

He had a fantastic poker face. One I had never seen before. If something was bothering him, no one would know until he was at the tipping point. That said, a dead giveaway of Simon’s stress could be found just about anywhere but his face.

Clenched fists, tight shoulders, a bouncing leg, if he was sitting down, and the most obvious…

Crack

He cracked his knuckles when he had stress he needed to release.

Crack crack

“What’s wrong?” I lift a brow at him.

“Nothing.”

“Lying.”

“Not lying.”

“Hand and shoulders, Simon, you’re rigid as a board, and you’re cracking your knuckles - what’s going on?”

“Just- nerve pain. I’ll be fine.”

Lying. Straight through his giant sharp teeth. Pretty solid lie, I’ll give him that. He does still get surges of pain from his injuries and mutations every once in a while, but that’s not what he looks like stricken with sudden pain.

I’ll let him have it, though.

“…Okay.” I say calmly.

I treat Simon the same way I do my students when they’d lie to me to get out of something.

If you meet them with the attention and worry they’re after, they’ll walk all over you for the rest of the school year. You don’t just get headaches and stomach aches every testing period, that’s not how that works….

If you acknowledge the issue, and offer concrete solutions, like “okay, go to the nurse, and bring me back a note when she checks you over.” Or “alright, I can call your mother and have her come get you.” They’re less likely to pull the stunt in the future.

“Well… go take some medicine and have Armando check you out. Make sure it’s nothing with your jaw or your arm.” I instruct, nodding slowly.

Simon nods back, still a bit stiff in the shoulders. What set him off..?

Whatever the case, he made his way back to the ladder, and descended.

-

I gave it about ten minutes. Before I idled the system displays again, I took one more glance at life support.

From the menu, I could access Armando’s care logs - a painstakingly detailed, chronological summary of every procedure, checkup, medicine and food distribution, and crew chart update that had been recorded since the launch of the ship.

Upon clicking the ‘refresh’ button in the corner, the list of today’s logs appeared on the display.

Most recent log: my breakfast, five hours ago.

Simon didn’t take any medication, or visit the medbay like I told him to. So he was lying.

Then what was wrong?

-

“Grace come see!”

Rocky called out from the lab. I had barely gotten off the cockpit access ladder before he beckoned me over.

“One sec bud.” I jog down the hall to the lab. The air smells like copper wires and shouldering filament.

I enter the room, grabbing a pair of goggles and gloves from the wall. Can never be too safe.

“What’s up? How’re repairs going?”

“Good good! Rocky fix arm completely! No more glitch.”

He wiggled his carapace proudly, pressing the drawer of the airlock closed, and cycling it, passing the prosthetic to me.

I gently open the door, removing the arm, and quickly setting it down. Still hot… it felt like taking a hot pan out of the oven on 200°.

I hiss, shaking my hands as the prosthetic lands on the table.

“Stupid. Stupid Grace.”

“Whatever, I’ll be fine. Whats one more burn.” I shrug, pulling up a stool and sitting down at the lab table.

“Wow- it looks different now too- cleaner- did you update the exterior too?” I ask.

The xenonite on the exterior before was a bit more patchy. A lot of the inner workings were visible through gaps in the metal paneling. It was cool, a kind of steampunk style- definitely a little more prop than practical, as far as looks go.

Now, the arm was completely enclosed in solid, thin, flat xenonite panels, with the only gaps being where the elbow and wrists flexed. Long? Running, linear patterns stretched across the upper arm and forearm, resembling some of Rocky’s tattoo engravings in his limbs.

“Yes, Rocky scrap and rebuild exterior. Simon complain of things getting stuck in old arm. Bad bad. Give Rocky chance to put engravings on new arm shells!”

“Oh! So these lines translate to something?”

“Yes yes yes, these here mean Simon name. No have last name so Rocky give Simon Grace last name.”

I freeze, looking up at Rocky.

“What?! Yes he does, his last name is Fisher!” I spat out.

“Not real. Simon say Fisher not last name. Just place holder. Simon no remember last name.”

“But it still works! Why my name?!”

“Grace and Simon share everything! Food, clothes, secrets-“

“Secrets?!”m what do you mean secrets?!”

“-Names-“

“We don’t share names. That’s not a thing.”

“Yes is thing! Grace say humans share names when married!”

I raise my hand, palm facing me. “Do you see or hear a ring?! No! We aren’t married!”

Rocky hums.

“I’m telling him that means Fisher.”

“Rocky teaching Simon Eridian language. He will know.”

“Whatever- what else have you done with the prosthetic?” I sigh.

“Updated electric muscle signal sensitivity. Easier to flex, grip, and release without strain.”

I nod, “good, good. That was the issue to begin with, right?”

“Yes, faulty signal strength. Very glitch. Is ready for Simon now!”

The metal had cooled significantly by now, making it safe and comfortable to pick up, about the temperature of a hot restaurant plate. I lifted it - surprisingly easily, I expected heavier.

“Is the install process still the same?” I ask, bending the fingers on the hand experimentally.

“Yes. Straps attach to collar mount, shoulder support attach to straps, secure under arm. Prosthetic fastener attach snug to Simon arm, snap all connectors into place.”

That’s a lot of words…

“Got it.”

“Good good!!”

I’ve only ever been standing around while Simon’s prosthetic was being installed… hope I got it…

-

“Simon!” I call out, standing in the hallway like an impatient parent, fists on my hips, with the strap of the prosthetic clutched in my left.

I’d looked all over the ship for him, but I couldn’t find him.

Granted, when I say “looked” I mean I briefly glanced around Simon’s usual haunts - the lab, the UV grow room, the dorm, and his area near the window.

Nothing.

If it were Amy other day I wouldn’t be all that worried, but he’d been acting a little strange earlier, and prosthetic aside, I really just wanted to put eyes on him.

“Hey, Simon! Where are ya, bud?!” There was evident exasperation in my voice, I could hear it.

Creeak

Hey, so what was that…?

Creeeak

The sound is coming from the observation window, but I was about 80% sure I hadn’t seen him-

“Simon?!”

There…

“Simon did you not hear me calling you for the last 10 minutes-? Better yet, how do I miss you?!”

I throw my hands up with mild frustration, walking over to the suspended bed.

The xenonite chains that were supporting the bed platform in the air must have been responsible for the creaking I heard. They’re attached to a pulley, so that we can retract and secure the platform against the ceiling if we need to disengage the centrifuge.

Simon shrugs, and…

He signals to me with one hand, the hand sign for “glasses”.

I furrow my brows.

“Glasses?”

“Glasses off. Missed me.”

He signs again.

I reach up to my face, and notice immediately, the absence of my glasses. Lifting my hand a little higher, I feel them perched up on my head. Right… that explains it.

I bring my glasses down to my nose, blinking a few times, bringing everything into focus. That answers one question, but now I have another.

Why are we signing?

“Thank you… for that, I guess that is how I missed you.” I step up to the platform, crossing my arms on the bed.

“Is there a reason why you’re not talking right now? You alright?” I lower my voice.

Simon periodically went through spells of silence. Sometimes only for an hour or so, sometimes over a day. It was his brain’s way of handling all the stress swimming around in his head when it occasionally bubbles to the surface.

At the beginning it was pretty difficult to help him, communicate with him, or figure out what was wrong when he couldn’t speak to me.

We tried a few different solutions…

Writing was a little challenging- in all honesty his handwriting was pretty bad, and paper isn’t exactly a renewable resource out in the great beyond.

Rocky and I made him an augmentative, alternative communication device with some brutally subpar programming on my part. He uses it occasionally, but admittedly it’s pretty clunky, cumbersome to carry, and could do with an upgrade.

The best solution we’ve found, is sign language. I’m pretty proficient at it, as an educator, so we spent some time learning the basics, and Simon picked up quick. We can carry pretty seamless conversations in ASL now, whenever need be.

“Don’t want to speak.”

“Okay, sure… you don’t want to speak, verbally? Or you don’t want to speak to me specifically right now?”

“Verbally.”

“Gotcha… uhm…”

He doesn’t offer me anything more, just looking down at me, sitting crisscross on the bed above me.

“Well, how about I at least hook up your new arm, and maybe you can fill me in on what’s going on once you have both hands to chat with, hm?” I push the metal arm towards Simon with a smile on my face.

He looks down at it, then to me, and nods.

“Perfect. Can I come up?”

He nods again.

I hoist myself up onto the platform, taking a seat on my knees next to Simon.

“Ok, shirt off, please.” I make a motion for him to remove the t-shirt that used to be mine.

He slid it off without a word or hesitation, sitting straight. He knows the drill.

“Thank you sir… arm up.”

He lifts the torn arm out straight to the side. I pull a fabric slip from my pocket, tugging it over the stump like a sock. Once it’s snug to Simon’s arm, I pick up the prosthetic, and sigh, trying to remember the order of operations

Simon looks down too. He reaches over, tapping the straps that attached to the top of the prosthetic, then reaches up and tapped on the collar mount that was already around his neck.

Right!

“Yes! Thank you, collar to steaps, straps to mount, mount to prosthetic. I remember, thank you.”

I get to work, snapping and twisting and clicking and tightening, until the prosthetic was snugly in place, and sending and receiving signal as it should be.

All the while, Simon stayed silent. No quips, no complaining, nothing.

“Oookay, you should be all set. Can you spell you name out?”

“S-I-M-O-N” the mechanical hand whirs as he makes his way through the five letters.

“Perfect! So, now that you’ve got both hands, you wanna tell me what’s going on?”

I sit back and little, giving Simon some space.

He thinks for a moment, before raising his hands.

“Not speaking.”

“Gathered that much. I was hoping more for a why.”

“Conserve oxygen.”

I raise a brow. What? Oxygen..?

“Conserving oxygen…” re helpers, nodding as he signs.

“You check oxygen earlier today. Don’t want to waste oxygen. Not speaking, less intake.”

Okay…

“I- I’m confused.”

Snap!

We both jump as one of the straps on the prosthetic support comes undone.

“Crap-! Ugh, darn thing. Hold on, let me fix it…”

I scoot back over, and tend to the undone strap, fastening it back into place with a little more care than before, tightening it as best I can, bracing my hand against Simon’s chest… wait…

I pause for a moment, moving my hand down to the center-left of his chest. His breathing was shallow, and his heart rate was low… way lower than it should be.

“Simon, why are you breathing like that?” I ask, urgently.

He lifts his hands again, and gets halfway though the sign for “conserve” before I stop him.

“If you say ‘conserve oxygen’ again, I’m gonna freak out. What do you mean?! Why are you worried about our oxygen?!”

“You checked oxygen earlier. Limited supply, yes?” He signed back just as urgently.

“Whahat?! No! No, I- you misunderstood-“

“How not limited? Ship is made of three cylinders. One for fuel, one for us, one for oxygen, yes!”

“No, Simon no, three for fuel, one for us in the center, that extends outward.” I explain.

His eyes widen.

“Where oxygen stored?? How much?? Why are you talking so much?? Low oxygen.”

I shake my head.

“No no no, no. Simon, stop for a second.”

“Three breathing organisms on a ship with limited oxygen.”

“Stop. No, just listen.”

“No oxygen tanks in-“

“Quiet coyote. Can you please show me two quiet coyotes?” I sigh, raising my hands with index and pinky fingers raised.

“Patronizing.”

“No, I’m not, I just need you to listen and focus, c’mon. Humor me.”

Simon relents, and mirrors my hands with a deadpan stare.

“Thank you. What I was trying to say. Was that we don’t have limited oxygen tanks aboard the Hail Mary. The ship uses a recycling system that supplies us back with oxygen from the other gasses and water that we release in the cabin. It’s a cyclical system.”

“Then what were you che-“

“Hey, tell those coyotes to stop barking, I wasn’t done.”

“You paused.”

“I was taking a breath. Which is what I’m trying to convince you to do before you pass out. Now, as for what I was checking, I was just making sure that the recycling was in proper working order, which it is. There’s nothing to worry about.”

Simon looks at me a little bewildered.

“I promise! You’re nott in any danger of running out of air.” I take a deep breath in and out, just to prove my point. “See? No problem.”

Simon nods, looking down for a moment, losing himself in thought.

I wait patiently, in case he has something more to sign.

“I did not know that was possible.” He signs slowly

“Really?” I ask gently.

“I thought one-way vessels came with limited air. All the time.”

I hum, not looking away from Simon’s hands.

“I’m guessing the Iron Lung had limited supply…”

“Yes. I almost ran out.”

“Oh-“

“The hull breach got to me first though.”

I grimace.

“Right… I didn’t even think about that…. No wonder you got freaked out.”

“The air was really thin.”

“I bet.”

“Smelled like iron.”

“Yeah, so did you when we got you on board. But you got cleaned up, healed up, and here you are, right? Safe and sound.” I smile. “No blood, no thinning air, no creepy fish or whatever. Just a clean ship, a rock, and a teacher.”

“Yes, water.”

I tilt my head, a bit confused by the sign.

“Water?” What do you mean water.”

Simon meets me with the same confusion.

“T-H-A-N-K-S” he spells the word out instead.

“Oh! You meant ‘thank you.’ That’s this.”

I turn my palm toward my face, touching my fingertips to my mouth, and tilting my hand out as if I were blowing a kiss.

“This, what you did, means water.” I hold up three fingers, tilt my hand so my palm faces in to the side, and tap my index finger against my chin. “Close, though.”

Simon nods, mimicking the “thank you” motion.

“And you’re welcome. I hope that puts you at ease a little bit.”

He nods again.

“Still don’t feel like talking?”

“No.”

“Good enough. In your own time… will you at least take some deep breaths? You looked like you were gonna pass out earlier.”

“I am.”

“You aren’t. I can clearly see your chest barely moving, Simon.” I place a hand on his chest.

“Cold cold cold.” He signs rapidly, tensing up a little.

“Anemic, anemic, anemic, I’m aware. Breathe.”

“Panic. Go away.”

“You’re not panicking! Your heart rate is evening out, you’re not sweating, your eyes aren’t dilated. Don’t cry wolf.” I say, a little sternly.

“Coyote.”

“What? Oh- Stop. Breathe.” I can’t help but smile. “I’ll make you if I have to.”

He narrows his eyes at me with a challenging glare.

I roll my eyes, sighing. Fine, dramatics it is.

“EMERGENCY! EMERGENCY, CLEAR THE AREA!” I shout, sitting up suddenly, and shoving Simon down onto his back on the bed, being sure to not startle him too bad. He did ask for this, though.

“WE HAVE ONE, ADULT MALE, KINDA-HUMAN, UNREAPONSIVE, NOT BREATHING.”

Simon smiles, more out of shock than anything else, looking up at me like I’m fresh out of my mind.

“CHECKING FOR PULSE.” I make an obnoxious show of “looking for Simon’s pulse”, testing his wrist, putting a hand, then an ear to his chest, which I think got a little giggle out of him, then probing at the side of his neck with two fingers. I catch the pulse for just a moment before Simon shrugs up his shoulder and swats my hand away with a snort.

Now we’re cookin’.

“NO LULSE!”

“Yes there is.” He signs quickly.

I gasp, batting his hands away.

“HE’S CONVULSING!” I shout, voice a little raspy. I haven’t had to yell in quite a while.

“STARTING COMPRESSIONS. CLEAR THE AREA!” I chuckle, placing both hands on Simon’s chest, in the furthest thing from COR procedure placement, and begin gently pressing down on Simon’s chest, repeatedly.

Each “compression” forces a little bit of breath into Simon’s lungs, coupled with the quiet chuckles that squeezed their way through.

I pause, acting like I’m listening for signs of life.

“SIMON?!” I call out theatrically, reaching up to shake him by the shoulders.

Simon signs out “yes”, and I decide that isn’t good enough.

“STILL NOTHING! I’VE GOTTA DO MOUTH TO MOUTH!” Again, not protocol, but who cares.

I lean down, and Simon catches me by the cheek with his hand, pushing me back, the both of us snickering like idiots now.

“WE’RE LOSING TIHIME! HE’S NOT- HEHE’S NOT BREATHING!” I move my hands from Simon’s chest, sliding them under his arms, scratching gently.

Simon gasps, which I’m counting as a breath, and finally starts laughing like he means it.

“Oh- OH! HE LIVES!” I cheer, bringing a hand up to his stomach, and dragging my nails quickly over the tightened muscle.

“HE’S ALIVE!!”

Simon lets out a high pitched, sort of squeaky laugh, his chest rising and falling. Thank goodness.

“Now I’ve gotta check your vitals. You were out for quite a while! Thought I lost you!”

“No. Stupid. So dramatic.” He signs.

“We gotta crack that brain open too, because clearly you’re losing it. I’m not dramatic.” I scoff. “Okayyyyy, organs? Everything still in place?”

I bring both hands to Simon’s middle, kneading and pinching at the soft part of his stomach.

Simon snorts, shaking his head madly, and striking a fist against the bed. If this was his stubborn attempt to not laugh, boy was it cracking.

“Okay… Organs are where they should be… how about reflexes?”

I bring a hand down to Simon’s knee, giving an experimental squeeze just above the joint. He kicks his leg out, dropping it flat to the bed with a startled gasp.

“Wow! Reflexes on point! Other leg?” I repeat the motion, to the other leg, this time squeezing a little harder, latching on tight as his leg bucks under my grip.

“MMHMHAHAHA- OKAHAY!! EVERYTHING IS FINE!!” Simon shouts.

“Oh! Look at that we’re back online! I missed that voice!” I smile wide. “Doesn’t exempt you from a check up though, unfortunately. Bear with me!”

I snicker, sliding my hands up, and out to Summon’s ribs, I don’t move them.

“Grahahace.”

“Mhm?”

“Gehehet the fuck offa me.”

“That’s not nice, why must you swear at me?”

Simon lets out a sound that’s half groan, half chuckle.

“I just wanna make sure you’re breathing properly, that’s all!”

Simon glares at me, but it has no effect.

“Come on, biiiig deep breath in for me.” I coax gently.

To my surprise, he takes a hesitant breath, slowly taking in air. His ribs expanding into my hands.

“Good! Very good, hold it… aaaand… out!”

At the last word, I clawed my hands, and dug into Simon’s ribs suddenly.

“*snrk-!* A-AHAHAHA- SHIHIHIT!” Simon sputters, barking out laughter in shock, kicking his legs against the bed.

“Perfect, lungs are working!” I snicker, scribbling over Simon’s ribs, careful to avoid his gills.

“Just give me a couple more nice deep breaths and we’ll call it good.” I slow my hands, gently trailing them up and down Simon’s ribs.

“I- I cahahan’t breathe with you- touching me!”

“Well not with that attitude you can’t! I’m barely doing anything anyway.”

“You’re scrahahatching my gills, you fuckin’ ass!”

“Hey!” I hissed, jabbing my index fingers into the skin above Simon’s gills. He yelps, tensing like he’d just been electrocuted.

“You’re not gonna turn your voice back on just to curse at me in every other sentence.” I vibrate my fingers against Simon’s gills, a little rougher than I usually would.

“OKAHAHAY OKAY OKAY I’M SORRY IM SOHOHORRY, I WON’T ANYMORE-! GRACIE-!!”

“Promise?”

“YEHEHESS!!”

“And you’ll take some deep breaths for me?”

“AGH- YEHES!”

“And you promise to just ask me questions instead of working yourself up about things that you don’t need to panic about?” I speak unnecessarily slow, not letting up on Simon’s gills.

His back arched up off the mattress, teeth gritted, hands gripping my wrists.

“GRAHAHACE!! YEHEHES, ENOUGH!”

I chuckle, letting go.

“Okay! Okay. I’m done.”

Simon collapses down, gasping for breath.

“Slow down, breath in and hold it for a sec.” I say softly, placing a hand on his chest. He flinches, but doesn’t protest.

I feel his chest rise and expand, holding the air in for a moment.

“Good, good.. and… out.”

Simon lets the breath out. 

I nod, patting him gently on the chest.

Simon takes two more deep breaths before I’m satisfied, lifting my hand.

“How’dya feel?”

“Fine.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm… what?”

“That’s all? Just fine?”

“I mean- what more do you want me to say?”

“Well how do you feel now that you know you’re not slowly asphyxiating?” I shrug, scooting myself up beside Simon, lying down alongside him.

“Ah- well yeah, it’s nice to know. I just feel kinda stupid.”

“What? Why?”

“Why would we be running out of oxygen?? I mean, you told me you’ve been aboard this thing for years… there’s no way the ship would have tanks big enough for that much air…”

“Yeah but you didn’t know, that’s fine. Doesn’t make you stupid.” I shrug.

“Hmmmph.” Simon groans.

“I mean think about it- the only ship you’ve ever been on besides Mary was a flimsy rust bucket with hardly enough o then for a three hour trip. Of course you’d expect every other ship to have limited air supply.”

I shrug, turning to look at Simon.

“Assuming the worst and trying to prepare for it doesn’t make you stupid, Simon. It just means you’re-“

“Traumatized.”

“…yeah… not quite what I was gonna say, but yes.” I turn back to face the ceiling.

“But now you know, and there’s nothing to worry about.” I say, making a show of taking a deep breath.

Simon does the same, much to my delight.

“So…”

“Hm?” I reply softly.

“The air recycling system. It’s working properly?”

“Perfectly, yeah.”

Simon nods slowly. “Would you… mind… explaining how it works? I- I dunno, maybe understanding it would put me at ease.”

The stupidest, nerdiest, widest smile splits my face, and I sit up fast as a whp.

“You’re asking me to explain something to you?!”

“Oh dear lord- come on…”

“You’re asking me to explain science to you?!” I find myself tense from excitement, balled fists shaking in the air with unspent energy.

“Woah- okay.”

“What?!”

Nothing- just- you look stoked.”

“I am!”

“Gracie. It’s not that monumental of an event- you explain things to me all the time.”

“Yeah but you hate it!”

“What? No I don’t!”

“Wrong.”

“Correct! I may not know what the hell you’re talking about, but I don’t mind listening! Just- tell me about the air system? Before you implode, please?”

I nod, sliding to the end of the bed, and reaching back to grab Simon’s arm - his good arm - tugging him along.

He chuckles, following me off the bed.

“Okay, okay slow down- where are you dragging me?” Simon takes my wrist with his free, mechanical hand, and moves it down, so that our hands are connected.

He interlaces his fingers with mine, and my brain goes blank. Gosh, I’m lame..

“I- I uh… uhm to the uh…”

“Really? Holding hands broke you?” Simon chuckles, squeezing my hand gently.

“No…” I stand there for a moment, stiff, unsure of what to do next.

“Want me to let g-“

“NO. no- I mean, I don’t mind. Where was I going?”

Simon snorts. “To show me the air recycling system?”

“RIGHT! Yes! Okay, cockpit!” I start off, dragging Simon behind me.

“So, what do you know about zeolite filters?” I ask, looking back over my shoulder.

Simon chuckles, shrugging. “Absolutely nothing, Dr Grace.”

“Does everyone have seven cards?” I ask, setting the deck down in the middle of the floor.

I had gotten my hands on an uno deck, rummaging around in crew storage. Every once in a while when I got bored, I’d go through bags and boxes to see if there was anything worth the time of day.

The three of us could do with something new to entertain us - there’s only so much we can do in the lab day after day.

I’d come to realize, however, that a game of Uno between a teacher, an ex-con, and a sentient rock would be one of the most ridiculous original experiences of this whole journey

“Yea, I do.” Simon nods, meticulously arranginghis hand.

“Yes yes, seven cards!”

Rocky holds his hand of cards up, numbers facing us. Simon and I turn away quickly.

“Woah! Rocky, bud, you don’t show us your cards, that’s like- the whole point of holding them in your hand!”

“Ohh! Sorry sorry.”

“It’s fine, just face your cards towards yourself.” Simon shrugs.

“Rocky can see all cards!”

“Then don’t look at our cards! That’s cheating!” I huff. “Okay, we ready?”

Simon and Ricky both nod, and with their signal, I reach over, flipping over the first card of the deck.

“Red Six.”

“Wait- isn’t Rocky colorblind?” Simon turns to me with furrowed brows.

“Rocky no have six. Go fish!”

I groan, dropping my head.

“No, Rocky’s not colorblind, he’s blind blind.”

“Like you?” Simon chuckles.

“Don’t you have one arm? Not really in the position to pick on disabilities. And no, not like me. Rocky evholocates to ‘see’. He can tell the difference between colors, but doesn’t see them like we do. Kinda like shades of grey.”

“…So colorblind?”

“Oh my lord- sure, yes, fine.”

“Rocky no have six!”

“Well do you have any red cards, Rock?” Simon asks.

“Mmm… yes. Not six.”

“You can still play the card.” I say. “It doesn’t just have to be a red six. It can be a card of the same color, or number.”

“Ohhh understand.”

Rocky chirps, selecting a card, and setting it on the pile.

Red two.

“Simon, your turn.”

“I know, shut up. Let me think.”

“Think?! You had all 85 years of Rocky’s turn to think!”

“SHHHH. I’M STRATEGIZING.”

“IT’S THE FIRST ROTATION!”

“Y’KNOW WHAT? HERE.” Simon slams a card down.

Draw four.

“You’re joking.”

“Rotate that.”

“Whahat?” I scoff, counting out four cards from the deck and adding them to my hand.

“That sounded better in my head.”

“Not quite sure how it sounded good period, but okay. Rocky, your turn.”

“Simon no pick new color.”

“Oh shit, uhm… I dunno, green.”

Rocky and I both groan.

“Seriously?”

“Rocky no have green!”

“Draw a card, bud. Unbelievable.” I mutter, gesturing to the deck.

“Mmmm dumb dumb game.”

Rocky grumbles, reaching for the deck with his xenonite clad claw.

-

It takes us a few rounds, but eventually we fall into a rhythm. Arguing is at a minimum, there’s hardly any questions about rules… until I’m down to my last two cards.

“YOU CAN’T STACK TWO ‘DRAW FOUR’ CARDS! YOU CAN’T STACK ANY CARDS!!”

“YEA I CAN! I ABSOLUTELY CAN. ROCKY, DRAW EIGHT, QUICKLY.”

“Why Rocky draw eight? Question?! Card say four!”

“Simon put down a-“

“You don’t have to draw eight-“ I put a hand over Simon’s mouth.

“SHUT UP. Rocky, Simon put down a draw four, and I put one down too. That means you have to draw four cards twice.”

“Bullshit.” Simon scoffs, swiping my hand away.

“You skipped me like six times! And you’re calling bull?!” I throw my hands up, getting in his face a little.

“NOWHERE IN THE RULES DOES IT SAY YOU CAN STACK DRAW CARDS.”

“House rules, Fishstick!”

“Not in House. In spaceship, Statement.”

Rocky juts in.

“Yeah! You can’t play house rules that’s not fair.” Simon hisses.

“It’s MY spaceship that’s also my hoise. Cry about it!”

“That’s YOUR thing, Cryland Grace.”

“Oh shut up you’re just pissed off you’ve got like half the deck in your hand.”

“Oooh ‘pissed’? Professor Grace is swearing now?”

”Whahat?! That’s not- YOU SWEAR LIKE A SAILOR, I DONT WANNA HEAR IT.”I bark out, shoving Simon’s shoulder. He snickers at me.

“Rocky draw cards. Is Simon turn.”

Rocky taps the floor impatiently.

“Yeah, go ahead and pick something from that Rolodex you got there.” I snicker, clutching my cards tight.

Simon growls, mulling over his cards for quite a while.

“Oh my goodness, today, Yu-Gi-Oh.”

“Who?” Simon shakes his head at me.

“Nothing, gOOOO.”

“Pick a Color, dipshit. You slapped a draw four down and didn’t choose a color.” He mutters.

“Oh… uhm. Blue.” I say, sheepishly.

“Perfect.” Simon smiles.

“Whaddya mean perfect? You’ve got 99 cards, statistically it’s not a miracle you’d have a blue.”

“Having ‘statistically’ and ‘miracle’ in the same sentence is oxymoronic.” Simon says.

“You’re oxymoronic.”

“Yeah? Get skipped, moron.”

Simon slams down a blue skip card, and I groan.

“What?! How many skips do you have?!”

“How many come in a deck?”

“Eight.”

Simon just snorts in reply. Awesome, so he has all of them.

“Rocky, your move, bud.” I sigh.

Rocky chirps, going over his cards, before placing down a blue 2.

Simon nods, reading over his hand like the morning paper, before selecting a card from somewhere in the middle, like he was an out to perform a card trick, and sets it down.

A yellow 2.

Perfect.

With a smile on my face, I take one of my cards, a yellow 7, and place it down on the stack.

“Uno!” I announce proudly.

I earn a satisfying groan from my competitors that fills my heart with joy.

“How grace have one card!! Not play fair.”

Rocky whines.

“What?! Yes I did, I played completely fair!” I chuckle.

“Hardly.” Simon mutters.

“What’s up?” I turn to Simon with a conniving smile.

“If it weren’t for that stack move you’d still have three cards. I still don’t think that was fair.”

“Ohhhh you want some cheese with that whine?” I taunt.

“Mmmm…”

Rocky shimmies in place nervously.

Simon and I turn to him, a little concerned.

“What’s wrong?” Simon asks.

“No have yellow card…”

“That’s okay, just draw another one.” I shrug.

“No, have card can play… make Simon mad.”

Oh now I’m interested.

“It’s alright, Rocky it’s just a game, he won’t be that upset.” I reassure with a sly smile.

Simon shoots me a look, and I pretend can’t see it.

Rocky deliberates for another moment, before dropping his card.

Draw four.

“Rocky choose Red.”

“HAHAAA! YES, ROCKY!” I pump my fist in the air, reaching over for a high three, which Rocky confusedly accepts.

I snort, looking over at Simon, who begrudgingly picks up four more cards, stacking them on an honest to god, second tier.

“Running out of hand to hold all that?” I chuckle.”

“Shut the hell up, Ryland.”

“Ryland?! Oh so you’re mad at me now? What happened to Grace?!”

“You’re the reason I’ve got 79,000 cards of course I’m mad at you!”

“Is it my fault?” I look around at an imaginary audience. “Or are you just really bad at Uno?”

Rocky chirps, giggling at my quip.

“I’m gonna rip you into shreds.” Simon mutters.

“Ohhhh! That’s a threat. FOUL.” I shout. “Draw four more, just for that.”

“Would you just go? It’s your turn.” Simon’s tone was low and cold. He was getting irritated, and I was loving it.

“Okay okay, Grumptopus, jeez.”

I look down at my final card, and my face twists into a grimace. It wasn’t red, or a playable wild card. Da hit.

I reach for the deck to draw a card.

“Ohhhh how the mighty has fallen.” Simon coos.

I roll my eyes, lifting the card. A red 3. Perfect.

“Oh! Ok, nice. Still Uno!” I place the card down on the stack.

“What?!”

“Not fair!”

Rocky and Simon holler over each other.

“What?! I drew a card I could use so I played it! What’re you two complaining about?!”

“Since when was that a thing?!”

“Since I read the instructions before we started the game?!”

“Rocky not hear Grace say this! Could have played many card!!”

“I wouldn’t have half the stack I have if you would have explained that!”

“I DID! NEITHER OF YOU WERE LISTENING!”

“You’re MAKING UP RULES!”

“NO I’M NOT!! CHECK THE RULE CARD!”

“You know what? Draw eight. New house rule.” Simon huffs.

“What?! No! That’s not how that works!”

“It is now.”

“You can’t just make things up because you’re losing horrifically.”

“YOU CAN’T MAKE THEM UP JUST TO WIN.”

“I’M. NOT.” I lean over to Simon, annunciating each word with a point to the face.

“Stay away from me.” Simon shoves me back with a hard push to my chest. Just for dramatics, I let myself fall back onto the floor with a thunk.

“AaaaAAAAAAAAH. OOOOOHOHOW. FOOOUL.” I shout, laying there like a dead bug.

“Grace okay question?!”

Rocky whimpers, skittering in place across the floor from me.

“He’s fine, he’s acting like a drama queen. Ryland get the fuck up, you’re scaring Rocky.” Simon sighs.

“You broke my aaaaarm.” I drawl.

“You landed on your back, dumbass.”

“…You broke my baaaaack.”

“My god.”

“Draw four and I’ll be healed… all my discs will- I dunno, realign.” I roll onto my side.

“How about I draw four liters of blood when I bite your hand off?”

“WOAH.” I flinch, sitting up and leaning away from Simon, shooting him a wide eyed glare.

“Oh! He’s healed. Christmas miracle.”

“Just spewing threats!”

Simon shakes his head. “Rocky, your move.”

“Oh! Yes yes. Rocky play red 4.”

He sets down the card, and looks to Simon.

Silently, he selects the 475th card in his inventory, placing down a red 5.

I groan, reaching to the deck again, still not having a playable card.

I pick up a green 5.

With a smile, I drop the card on the pile.

“Still Uno.”

“Get the rule card.” Simon hisses.

-

“If you can't play a card, draw 1 card from the draw pile.. If it matches, you can play it at once! See?! You selectively deaf dummies, I told you! Legal move!”

I flick the card, presenting it to Simon and Rocky.

“You literally never read that rule.”

“Someone’s listening ears weren’t on.” I smirk.

“Okay- OKAY- you know what? Fine! That’s on the card, but you know what isn’t? “Draw four stacking.” THAT’S illegal.”

“Oh my lord you’re still on that?! It didn’t even affect you! Rocky had to draw!”

“I am still on it! IT’S NOT A RULE.”

“IT’S A HOUSE RULE!”

“WHOSE HOUSE?!”

“MINE! AND MOST EVERYONE’S ON EARTH.” I shout, Simon and I once again yelling in each other’s face.

“Mary, how far are we from Earth?” Simon calls out to the ship.

“Current distance from Earth: thirteen point seven two one lightyears.”

Simon gives me a pointed look.

“Yeah, 14 lightyears away from the closest house with their own Uno Rules. Yours included.”

“This is still my house! I’d let Rocky play Blip A house rules, and I’d let you play Iron Lung house rules. You two are just sore, hating, losers.” I shrug.

“Rocky no have Uno game on Blip A. No games on ship.”

Rocky chimes in, having sat down, legs tucked, watching Simon and I argue, dropping a green 9 onto the pile.

“How does the rock have so many fewer cards than me?! He just drew eight!” Simon gestures to Rocky with exasperation.

“Because he plays the game correctly? Imagine that.”

“Keep running your mouth, Space Ranger. See what happens.”

“You don’t scare me, Sabertooth Tiger-fish”

Yeah?”

“Yeah, you’re all talk, softie. Play a card.” I chuckle.

“Softie?”

“Yehehes! Go!”

Simon condenses his cards into a thick pile, setting them face down and turning to me.

“Oh come on-!”

“No no, say it again!”

I lean away, giggling a little nervously now.

“I said you’re a softie! You know I’m right!”

“Hm.” Simon stares at me for a second, silently.

…

“AaAAAAH-! GET OHOHOFF!” I shout as Simon pounces at me, knocking me back to the floor, harder this time.

“I’m a softie, huh?! That’s what you think?”

He reaches for me, and I catch his hands, putting us in a stalemate, pushing at each other, myself on my back on the cold metal floor, and Simon pinning me down by the waist, leant over me.

“Simon get Grace!”

Rocky cheers.

“WHAHAT?! TRAITOR!” I gasp, pointing firmly at Rocky.

Dumb move.

Simon takes the opportunity to latch his. Ow free hand onto my ribs, digging nearly as hard as he can, and running his knuckles up and down the bones like a xylophone.

“AAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHA OW OW OW OHOHOW SIMON-! CHRIHIHIST!”

“What? Whats the problem? This is what you get for not only calling me soft, but cheating your way to an Uno.” He hisses, leaning into the pressure he was putting on my ribs.

“AHAHAHAHahAAAAAA OWWW! I DIDN’T CHEHEHEAT! HOW MANY TIMES DO I NEED YO SAHAHAY THAT?!”

“Heresay. Baseless claim.” Simon shrugs, moving his hands down to my hips, digging his thumbs into the bones, vibrating them viciously.

“AAAAAAAAHAHAHAHA OHOH MY GOD WHY ARE YOU SO AGGRESSIVE?!” I shoot my hands down to grab rather fruitlessly at Simon’s wrist and prosthetic forearm.

“Rocky.” Simon calls out.

My Eridian traitor of a best friend perks up at Simon’s call.

“Come here and hold his hands out of the way, would’ya?”

“WHAT?! NOHOHO THATS NOT FAIR!”

“Oh! And suddenly you care about fair!”

“ROHOHOCKY, PLEASE.” I plead. “HE’S GONNA KILL MEHEHE.”

“Rocky if you do it, I’ll take the child locks off your laptop.” Simon offers.

Rocky chirps, standing up and trotting over to me.

“Rocky is sorry Grace!”

He says, easily grabbing both my wrists tight in the xenonite shielded grip of his claws, dragging them back, and parking right behind my head.

“TRAHAHAOTOR!! OHOHOHAHAHAHA-!! SIHIHIMON!”

The moment my hands were free, Simon shot up to my armpits, raking his fingers vigorously there for just a moment before pulling back, wiping his hands on my chest.

“Ugh! Why are you sweating so much?!”

“BECAUSE I’M STREHEHESSED!” I shout. “GLAD IT’S REPELLING YOU.”

“Watch it.”

I stick my tongue out at him.

Simon sneers, grabbing the hem of my shirt, and ya Ming it up, forcing my back into contact with the freezing floor.

“AaAH-!” I hiss, lifting my back off the floor with a grimace.

“Oh relax. You’re such a baby.” Simon pokes a finger into my navel, sending my spine crashing back down into the ground.

“NOHOHO! NO. C’MON.”

“Take it back.”

“WHAHAHAT?!”

“Take it back. I’m not soft. And while you’re at it, admit that you cheated.”

“I DIDN’T! I’M NOT GIVING A FALSE CONFESSIOOOAAAAAAHAHAHAHA-!!”

Simon shrugs, making his metal hand into a claw, and dragging it back and forth over my stomach.

I thrash like a fish from side to side, pulling at my wrists in Rocky’s steel grip. I’d probably sooner break my wrists then wriggle them free.

Simon chuckles, watching me flounder around.

“Y’know what, Rock? Flip him over. He seems to want to anyway.” Simon chuckles.

Rocky chirps, switching my hands in his grip as I rock back and forth, forcing me into a 180 rotation, landing on my stomach. Crrraaaaap.

Instantly, I feel Simon’s hands on my back, kneading the muscle around my lower spine.

“NOOOHOHOHO NO NO NO OW-! PLEASE, SIHIHIMON THIS ISNT FAIR!! A-AHAHAHA-!”

“I already gave you your out. Comply or stop complaining.”

“WHY’RE YOU TORTURING ME FOR BEING GOOD AT A GAHAHAME?!”

Simon quickly drags his knuckles up the length of my back, and down again, making me shriek, every muscle in my body tightening up.

“STOHOHOP! SIMON, YOU JEHERK! THIS IS AS BAD FOR ME AS YOUR GILLS AHAHARE FOR YOU.” I shout.

“I’m sure of it.” He purrs, sliding his nails and metal fingertips up, over my shoulder blades, creeping them over the curve of my shoulders.

My laughter turns pitchy and frantic, and I scrunch my shoulders as best I can.

“MO-! NOHOHO! SIMON I- I’M BEHEHEHGGING YOU, PLEASE.”

“I’m not even doing anything to you, my god, this is the easiest I’ve gone on you yet.”

“DOHOHON’T GIVE ME THAT YOU KNOHOHOE WHAT YOU’RE DOING.”

“Do I?”

I growl through my laughter, shaking my head as Simon continues to skitter his fingers over my shoulders like massive spiders.

“Hey, Rocky, how wide is your wingspan?”

“Rocky. I have wings. What Simon mean, question?”

Simon snorts, the whole time he speaks he prickles his fingers across my shoulders.

“No, no, I mean how far out either direction can you reach your arms out. I need you to hold Grace’s arms out like this.”

I can’t see him with my face driven down onto the floor, but judging my what came next, I assume the brief reprieve I was granted was Simon posing for Rocky with his arms out like a T.

“Oh!! Yes yes, Rocky do that easily!”

“W-Whahat-?!” I sputter, feeling my arms stretch out to either side of me.

“Perfect.” Simon’s hands come to rest at the base of my neck, on either shoulder. “Last chance…”

“I- I’m not admitting to sohohomething that isn’t true! LeHEHEHEHAHA! NOHOHOHAAAAAHAHA WAIT LEMME TAHAHALK-!”

I let out a shrill scream, as Simon pinches the back of my neck, vibrating his hand in place.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHA-!!! STAHAHAHHAAAAP SIMON-! SIHIHIMON- C’MON!! OKAHAHAY, YOU AREN’T A SOFTIE!! OK?! LET THAT BE ENOHOHOUGH!”

“Distress detected.”

“Mary, disengage.” Simon calls out.

“Denied.”

“She needs it from you bud, tell her to disengage.” Simon pinches a little harder, moving to the side of my neck.

“I- I CANAHAHAAAN’T!”

“Distress detected.”

“Yes you can, just say it!” I can hear the snarky smile in his voice.

“M-MAHAHARY, DISENGAHAHAHAGE!”

“Unable to process response. Distress detected.”

“DAHAHAMNIT-! MAHAHARY! DISENGAGE! DISENGAGE!” I cry out.

“Distress alarm: disengaged.”

“There you go, good job.”

“DOHOHON’T. JUST GET OFF MEHEHEHE-!!”

“Say ‘I’m sorry for making up bullshit rules’ and we’ll let go.”

“NOHOHO! IM NOT SAYING THAT, I DON’T CURSE LIKE YOU DO.”

Simon scoffs, leaning down and blowing a loud, ridiculous raspberry on the back of my neck, just below my hairline.

“SHIHIHI- AGH-! SHOOT-! STOHOP DON’T MAKE ME!”

“Almost had you.”

“GET AWAHAHY I’M GONNA THROW UP, IM GONNA PEE, I’M GONNA DIHIHIE.”

“All at once?! Jesus…” Simon chuckles against my neck.

“LET ME UHUUP AND I’LL PROBE ITS A REAL RECOGNIZED HOUSE RUHUHULE. PLEASE. I- I’M GETTING LIGHTHEADED PLEASE.”

Simon seems to deliberate for a moment before stopping, placing his hands flat on my back as my body deflates into the floor.

“If you’re bullshitting, I’ll knock you out for real.”

“Okahahay… *snf*” I whine, face down.

Rocky let’s go of my arms, and I pull them in, against my torso, bent at the elbows.

After a moment, I lift up into a push-up position, sitting upright from there. My face is red and slick with tears, and I lift my shirt to wipe them away.

“Leaky…”

Rocky hisses.

“Are you crying?!” Simon huffs out a chuckle, tilting his head to get a look at me.

“No.” I wave him off, reaching off to the side of the discarded Uni game, grabbing my laptop, and dragging it over.

Simon takes me by the shoulder, pulling me into his side, somehow still unable to keep from laughing.

I really wasn’t all that upset. The tears were just from laughing too hard, but I sure didn’t mind Simon feeling bad about it anyway.

“Ohh I didn’t mean to make you cry, Angel, I’m sorry.”

“Get the hell offa me, you’re not sorry for anything.”

Simon snorts, squeezing my shoulders as I click away at my keyboard, occasionally swiping tears from my cheeks.

“Here, look, see? ‘While not an official play, stacking draw cards is a widely used, and accepted house rule in the game of Uno.” I tap the screen, looking over to Simon.

He looks rather annoyed that, as I was trying to tell him, I was correct.

“There’s no way.”

“Ohoh yes there is.”

“No way!”

“Cruel, unusual, and unjust punishment.” I sneer.

I push away from Simon, and pick up my forgotten cars, gesturing for the others to pick theirs up too.

“C’mon, let’s finish this. Rocky put down a green 9. Simon, your move.” I huff.

Simon sighs, picking up and fanning out his cards in his hand again. He hums in thought, selecting one from the middle and playing it. A yellow 9.

I gasp, a smile on my face.

“YES!” I slam my card down, a yellow 1.

“YES! UNO OUT, BEE-OTCH!”

“That counts as a swear, Gracie.”

“I don’t care, I win. Oh, what a satisfying conclusion!” I stand up with a loud clap, taking a bow.

“Play again, question? Rocky want win!”

“Oh god no- not right now. I can’t take Amy more card games with him today.” I scoff.

“Me?!” Simon glared up at me.

“Yes, YOU.” I point back down at him.

“I’ve probably got bruises cookin’ right now because of you and your sportsmanship.”

“You’re suuuch a wimp!”

“and you’re so- aggressive!”

“Your codeword is Hail Mary, and you didn’t use it once. Do NOT give me that.”

“Oh whatever! I’m going to visit Armando to make sure I’m not internally bleeding from every capillary in my torso.”

“Have fun with that. Rocky and I will play on our own.”

“Good! At least I know if you pick a fight with him, he’ll kick your butt.”

I shrug, walking off down the hall, tugging my shirt back into place.

“Oh so you admit you lost that tussle?”

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.