Changer

"I need the reassurance that there will be no trace left"

"Dont you trust your sensei?"

"I wont be going back"

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The sound of getting suited up, the roar of a car, and the motor of a bike, its a busy night, another breakout very common in gotham but the masked vigilantes are always there to save the city allways so present why not me? so devoted to the city, to the mission.

All of them fullfilling a role, a role designated for them.

Bruce - The Batman - The Leader/The head

Dick - Nightwing - The acrobat the angry robin

Barbara - Oracle Batgirl - The vigilance

Jason - The Red Hood - The ride or die

Cassandra - Orphan/Batgirl - The silent factor

Tim - Red Robin - The strategist

Stephanie - Spoiler - The surprise factor

Damian - The Boy Wonder/Robin - Dicipline

Duke - Signal - the light in the night

They make a great team, perhaps the best one in the superhero world, they are a family.

The Batmovil moves with such ease and speed, Batman in the steering wheel, Red Robin on the passenger seat with an holographic panel where he is controlling the CCTV's getting intel and going through his strategies again.

Through the roofs on the other side of town is Nightwing and Robin, Nightwing deciding to help this week as the rising crime in Gotham is talked about in Bludhaven, He taking the lead in the patrol of this area of town and Robin shadowing him like a good partner, they are scouting sector B which seem to be having quite the activity this time of the year, Robin is scouting the surrounding streets from the rooftops, in a way Nightwing can still see him, it's not out of distrust, it's just to be careful, it seems they are gonna stop some Joker thugs and with luck stop his more recent macabre plan.

Orphan and Spoiler are patrolling the docks with a bit of extra help from Batwoman as they stepped in what looks like a drug trafficking operation and she was the bestest one to help, the docks have too much activity, they need to be fast, Oracle is the one on the front making an opening for them to step in as she punches her way through the armoured men towards the cabin where the capitan seems to be hiding, Spoiler Glitter bombing and kicking the soldiers as she tried to get to the boxes of drugs to get them away just incase they break, Batwoman tanking the bigger hits and kicking ass, taking on the bigger and heavier armoured men yet it's not much of a problem for her, she is trained and she knows very well what to do, she has a dutie to this city.... And to these kids too.

The Red hood as always on crime alley and the Narrows, tonight crime alley seem to have gone to hell, it's a fucking mess, some laughing gas is in the streets and he gotta stop that, he may not have the entire militia anymore but he still has too many resources, he's tailing a minivan that has tanks of laughing gas on the trunk as he's getting shot at, thanks for the tough helmet and padding, it's taking to much of the impacts, he is shooting at the minivan as he drives, Finally behind him he could see the Batmovil reincorporating itself behind him as back up, Red robin preparing to jump forward at anytime and batman pressing as fast as he could make the car go being able to get past the minivan and force them to stop the minivan, and pushing open out the doors.... the Joker

on the other side of gotham there was

[The Clocktower]

[Upper floor]

"Batman, Hood, RR!" oracle exclaims with worry as she leans as much as she can towards the holographic screen, besides her Duke gearing up into his suit, preparing to go as back up if needed "Babs. on your word" he said seriously getting only a nod from Barbara as acknowledgment but not as a yes, more of a 'not yet'

[The Clocktower]

[Residing place of 2 Special grade curses and multiple grade 2 and grade 3]

[Lowest Floor]

Gathered up in a corner Gojo starts handing small talismans "LISTEN HERE KIDDOS this are for security measures OKAYYY?? so you gotta wear them! this will make us invisible to normal eyes okay" he explains, its gibberish in your head, you are just so focused on getting rid of all the buggs on the place before any of them realizes this place has been compromised, you just hear Gojo give the green light to start moving, with the talismans on no normal eye or electronic can detect them.

So you move, faster and more precise than your teammates with such ease you make your way to the upper floors faster than even Yuta, finding yourself fighting with Grade 2 curses and moving on through the floors, eliminating all of them until a heavy presence, a heavy feeling, something is wrong and the others seem to have caught up o that too, the chat is flooding with messages and Gojo being a pain, you can't help but be worried, worried about Barbara who is upstairs who wouldn't be able to run as fast as before, you don’t know if today is one of those days were everything hurts, you can't help but be reminded of the laugh of that laugh.

[Upper floors]

"Hood, RR, stay on position, B, careful I have a bad feeling about this" Oracle says through the comms, she is able to see all of Gotham be everywhere even if not in person, she can see, she always sees, and then he turns to the camera where she was looking at them and laughs, like a maniac "well isn't this fun? Us five together" the ones in front of him were confused and stand in shock when joker killed his two goons without a care "now… we are just us five" he says and Red Robin  of course tries to correct him "we are actually just four" he tries saying before getting interrupted by a cackle "well aint that just a matter of perspective son?" Red Hood stepped in front of Red Robin, The joker laugh manically as his face slowly turned and stared directly towards the exact camera Barbara was watching from and then turned to look at the Bat "Owh isn't this marvellous?! It's like we are a big happy family!" he starts cackling hard, maybe it’s the laugh gas "This fucker" Red Hood grunts as he pulls out his gun and points at the Joker, he is so angry, everything is Green, and suddenly for a moment he is there, he's back at the warehouse but just for a second because he feels his father's hand on his shoulder "Robin calm" he lowers the gun but always alert and as Always B in front of them always making the space between them and the danger.

"… Duke" Barbara says and before she can turn around Duke is already on it, on his way to help his family

Meanwhile Barbara sends an standby for the others, just in case, something is wrong and she doesn’t know why.

[The rooftops]

"Babs what's going on?" Nightwing asks with mild concern, he knows his family is very capable but he can't help but just worry "The Reds and B have encountered Joker" She says with mild worry "B is there, I know they can handle it, and if they can't Robin and I will just sweep in and save 'em" he jokes with his such charismatic charm that manages to calm everyone and make them feel more safe, more secure, more confident. The line goes silent after a small 'thanks' from Barbara.

Now that that's dealt with he needs to know what happened to Robin's hand, if he thought that he wouldn't realize then Damian is doubting Dick's Older brother senses why not me

"Dami" he starts slow, nothing sudden so he doesn't scare the calm away "codenames Richard" Robin answers as he looks around the perimeter "Is your hand okay?" he starts directly yet slow "I notice things you know? Does it hurt?" not what happened, not an explanation but 'does it hurt?', validation for his feelings rather than what happened "no. it does not hurt… Richard don’t you feel we are forgetting something? Something is wrong and I can't really put my finger in what" Damian tries explaining the best he can "its just that I have these feeling, where I come from they didn't train me for this situations, I wasn't raised to feel and I want to understand what is this" Damian talks and tries his best to speak in a way he feels comfortable enough to let it out, Dick stands there slightly baffled on how direct and how easy was it to for Damian to speak it, he is proud really and Damian realizes and he rolls his eyes "tt. Don’t flatter yourself that much Richard, I've been practicing" He says with a smug face that’s so typical of Damian… yeah practicing, it wasn't fully a lie not really

'You! You!'

'me? Me what demon shit, you gotta speak your mind before someone does for you'

Damian charges towards you with disciplined rage, he was raised and moulded into what he is, the grandson of the Demon, the Son of the bat an yet a single side step makes him fall, makes him fail, falter, or maybe is the fact that a difference from everyone else you don’t give him the time of day, you don’t even try to engage with him, not because you believe yourself as better but because you don’t seem to care about this place at all, you don't even seem interested in the cowl, do you even know about it? He's never seen you down there, don't the family trust you? Can't they see how capable you are? You side stepped him as if he wasn't capable enough, you made him clatter to the floor and shatter with curiosity, why? Why didn't you praised him like Richard did, why didn't you tried to even know him like Jason did, you didn't even tried hating him like Drake did, why didn’t you care? Why did you have to go away from time to time? Why did you came back happier? The family not enough, didn't they treat you enough, he is sure that when he isn't with you someone else is, right? Obviously. Then why can't he make you smile, do you even care about him? You must care because then why did you comforted him when he was struggling socially at school, when he didn't understood the slangs the wording the people his age did.

Sigh 'Damian Dami. Kid, ugh Chum' you sat beside the angry child that looked ready to pounce on you with rage 'it's not your fault' you said and you saw his angry face filled with confusion 'It's not your fault that you are far ahead mentally and in ability than your peers, you are a brilliant child okay? But you must understand that you can and will be able to learn stuff from this children, and- hey don’t interrupt me yet baby bat, yes, there is stuff you can learn from them, for example patience… and tolerance and not in the fighting, In the emotional side, on that side you lack the understanding, you will practice speaking your mind in healthier ways and expressing your feelings too, and it's okay to not know everything yet, Damian you are twelve, it's okay, you are okay, and I'm here' the small child beside you was staring at you with big round greenish eyes and big black pupils like a dumb baby

you must care because if this isn't you caring then what is this, then what is he to you?! Isn't he your brother?! Your only blood brother….. Right? He is your brother isn't him? You must care, you need to care! He can't be wrong, you must care right? Right?!

[Clocktower]

[Gojo]

Do not go to the upper levels. Special Grade, I'll deal with it while Yuta deals with the one in the basement, [name] go with him, do NOT engage unless necessary Yuta can handle it.

You just read the message and rolled your eyes as you start going down the stairs, you realise something is very wrong, no its not the domain of the curse, you know better, of course you know better you were raised in the house of The Batman, there is some new cables, you don’t like it, this isn't the type Barbara nor Bruce would buy, it looks cheap and…. Its attaches to the gas tubes, Yuta seems to be fighting the curse well until he isn't and you got to intervein punching it and making it collide to one of the walls, you just hope the rattling of the walls didn't get to Barbara

[Upper Floors]

"Duke is on his way B" Barbara says into the comms 'Thanks Oracle' Bruce answers with all that seriousness he always carries

"What is it this time Joker? We are done playing this stupid cat and mouse game" Batman says as he steps closer to the Joker and the man laughs "no no no Batsy, you do not get to decide that" he laughs, that Laugh… it's different, it's so familiar to Jason and Tim, that haunting laugh, Jason gets that feeling that dread "RR, something is very very wrong" he says just to Tim and at the same time loads one of his guns with actual bullets "I know. I don’t know what it could be… wait wait…" Tim in a moment of clarity realizes "Duke is coming" he says and Jason looks at him confused

"We left Barbara alone."

he says louder and even Bruce freezes up when he is about to get even closer "What did you do?!" and yet the Joker taunts him "owh no no no Batsy, don’t you wanna blow it up" he says with such an creepy smile as he pulls out and tiny box with a red button, and the dread fills their bodies

'uhm Guys? B? Hood? I can't hear you guys' the CCTV stops working the comms do too and as she is going to go for the back up the lights on the clocktower are gone

.

.

.

.

[Basement]

The curse is gone and so are the lights, you have a bad feeling about this… "uhm [Name], there is green gas filling the hall" you whip your head towards Yuta and take his hand and run, through the tunnels until you find a room and enter "pull your undershirt over your nose and try not breathing in much" you start to explain as you look around "Wha- why [name]?" Yuta asked confused but already serious "It's Fear gas." you said with dread

.

Tick

.

Tick

.

Tick

.

You stop right on tracks freeze up in place, and slowly very slowly started to turn around…

[rooftops in Gotham]

For a second Damian was too lost on his mind reminiscing, these feelings, he sighs, he lets out the air on his lungs before he breaths in again "I accidentally broke the tv remote, I am currently working on my strength management, do not worry Richard" he says with a more calm expression "you really are working on it huh? Good job Damian" Dick says with such a smile, these are the moments he wishes lasted forever but they can't. Good moments can't always last forever.

'RR to everybody-'

[Basement Clocktower]

you see it, infront of you and Yuta

[01:00]

The timer, the timer, owh how familiar you are with these, why why why just why, not this again, its going to happen again... and then it gets to you 'Barbara'

it sinks in it finally does

'RR to everyone-'

'Theres a Bomb in the Clocktower'

Lmaooo amost 3k words, it took me quite a while but i got inspired and finish writting it,

But crazy is what kept you alive in the end. You managed to find the true final log from the lost ship that failed to send. It was of the researcher begging that if anyone finds the ship to not approach and just destroy it, that they would have set it to self destruct but that they had no time to do it because it was too late. But they said that if it does find you, you have one saving grace. Burn it. If you’re uninfected, escape alone and burn everything. That’s how you ended up in an escape pod watching your ship self-destruct as you drift off into the void of space. You didn’t know where you were drifting off to, for how long, if you would survive to make it there, or if you really were the last human on your ship, but what you did know was that you were safe from whatever the fuck that Thing was.

You were on the brink of dying of starvation when the Eridians found your pod. You thought you were having some sort of weird death hallucination before you passed out thinking that it was the end for you. It wasn’t. You woke up later in what seemed like a hospital bed surrounded by these rock-crab-aliens in strange hamster balls with a translator that spoke to you in robotic voices. You were pretty sure the absurdity of the situation kept you from freaking out.

“Do not be afraid. Are helping human. Statement.” one of them said. “Will make human better. Then introduce to human Simon to see if both can meet Grace. Grace also human. Statement. But first make healthy.” they added.

The eridians were very friendly. Not at all like the horror you had previously experienced on your late ship. They whistled and made chirping noises that seemed to be their home language. They didn’t prob or dissect you like you thought they might. Instead, they would come to your room, give you food that actually seemed very human, and ask you questions about where you came from, and how you were feeling. Sort of like medical observation. They even let you ask questions too, though you never knew where to start. You asked about who Grace was only for them to say that he and an eridian named Rocky “saved the stars” and lived here on Erid. But when you asked if you could meet him, they simple said “Unsure if (name) will be friendly to Grace. Grace every important. Want (name) to meet Simon first.”. But when you asked who Simon was they said “Simon found just like (name). Eridians save and take care of Simon too. Will meet Simon soon.”.

…

… Your first interaction with Simon wasn’t the best first impression. You told the Erindians taking care of you about your ship and what happened. You didn’t tell them every detail, but you did explain that something happened where it deformed your crew mates and made them dangerous. And although the Eridians did acknowledge Simon’s mutations, they found that he didn’t seem to react dangerously once he got used to his new situation nor hostile when he was informed that there was another human that they wanted him to meet. So yes, Simon was mutated to some degree, but he wasn’t dangerous, therefore you would be fine. But when you didn’t know that. The first thing you saw was a human with half of his face lined with sharp teeth and an eye that looked something you saw on one of The Thing’s forms, and that immediately triggered your fight or flight response and had you screaming bloody murder “BURN IT! BURN IT! YOU NEED TO BURN IT!” till they had to herd you away and calm you down.

It took a few days and a xenoplate divider separating you, for your reassurance, to get you to try that again. You both sat against the farthest wall from each other, stealing cautious glances at each other with an air that was thick with tension. It said that one of you wanted to say something but didn’t want to be the one to start it. It felt weird. Like you were two feral cats having a stand off all puffed up. It wouldn’t be until you two actually looked eyes with each other that something seemed to… click? You don’t know what it was but despite his alert stare burning into you, and yours on him, you saw eyes that have seen horror, just like yours.

That’s when your body moves on its own. You unfold from sitting with your knees pressed to your chest to a slow crawl that brings you closer till you’re right against the alien glass, all while keeping that eye contact and occasionally surveying his face. Simon stays where he’s seated, eyes never leaving yours. There’s a few beats before you finally speak.

“What happened to your face?”

It came out with the same bluntness that only a child can deliver even though you were a fully grown adult who should know manners. It wasn’t supposed to be mean. It was a genuine question.

“Radiation.” he answers.

You scoff in disbelief, “I’ve never seen radiation do all that to somebody.”.

“You don’t know where I’ve been.” he remarks before asking you a question, “What happened to you?”.

“My ship got overrun by an alien that infects people and then mimics them before deforming them and trying to kill us,” you answer. “It flipped everyone’s insides out and made their heads grow spider legs and crawl around in the vents till it finds a new body. I was the only one left. I had to blow the ship up.” you add. For some reason it felt important to let him know the horrors you witnessed, but at least it earned you the right to know his.

“I’m a convict that they sent into a blood ocean to find a way to save the stars with no real way out for me. I found a monster that busted my sub open and taunted me the entire trip! I lost my arm and the radiation mashed my DNA with the fucking thing!” Simon explains as he gets up onto his knees and quickly crawls closer to you, almost trying to size you and your story up. ”It segmented our cook by his joints and bent them backwards and walked on all fours! It grew a spike through our captain’s head when he was getting ready to shoot it because he could tell who was human and who wasn’t anymore! I was next in line to get my brains blasted out!” you rebuttal with a yell.

“I was sent down there to die!” Simon shouts.

“I don’t know if I really was the last human left on my ship! I just set it up to blow up and took the first escape pod out! I keep having nightmares that someone was still left and I could have taken them with me! But I just…” a sob lodges itself in your throat before you can finish your sentence. Your eyes weld up with tears and you just lose it. But you don’t need to try and regain yourself in order to cap off what you were trying to say before Simon finishes it for you.

“You just wanted to live.” he states.

“I did!” you wail.

“I’ve been there.” he nods.

Interacting after that takes a very promising turn. You exchange stories about your worlds. Simon tells you about Eden, what it was like, the Iron Lung, The Eel, the quiet rapture, the stars going out. You don’t really know what he’s talking about when he says the stars are dying one by one. As far as you knew the stars were perfectly fine and The Thing was the only terrifying thing out there. Simon does eventually tell you how he ended up in his situation and how he became a convict. You feel like you can’t really judge him too hard though. You signed anyone who might have still been alive and a human their death warrant when you took the escape pod. Yeah, maybe you it wasn’t the same as the things he got locked up for and did, but you’re the same amount of haunted by it as him.

The divider between the two of you was removed once the Eridians saw you two getting along. You were allowed free range of a much smaller biodome. They said it was to let you get used to the type of range you’d have in the main one where Grace is. You and Simon never really gave the mentions of Grace much thought even when Rocky and Adrian, the two Eridians closest to Grace, came by to meet you. The one named Adrian explained that Grace had already heard about you and Simon when you were first rescued and was more than happy to have some fellow humans around but that it was important for you and Simon to acclimate to Erid before meeting them. But Rocky then budded in saying that they also wanted to make sure you and Simon weren’t hostile. You heard about that a few times during the beginning of your stay but never fully noticed how weird that sounded.

“Do they think we’ll attack him? Like assassinate him or something?” you question one day, looking up at Simon, who you were previously leaning on while you watched the artificial sky. “Maybe. I am a convict with a history.” he shrugs, “He doesn’t seem like he's with C. O. I. though. His name doesn’t ring a bell for me.” he adds. “Me neither.” you remark. Simon chuffs before nudging you. “Maybe they think you’re actually your little mimic alien thing playing the long game. How exactly do you know you weren’t infected?” he teases. You laugh and give him a playful little push. “Oh, shut up! I just know okay! And even if I was secretly it, I wouldn’t wait this long just to go after some guy I’ve never heard of. I’d… go… after… YOU!” you shout out at the end, curling your hands into a jaw shape over your mouth, making stupid fake monster noises as you, and gently lunging towards Simon.

Simon lifts up his arm to block your ‘attack’ while you make your fake hand jaws chomp down on it, which is just you opening and closing it and going “Om-nom-nom” while you both laugh. You catch your breath and just blurt out “Dude you should have seen it. One of my crew’s heads just opened up like a flower and it was just teeth inside. It was nasty!” as you return to your place leaning on him and Simon responds with a casual “You should have seen The Eel. Those eyes are burned into the back of my eyelids.”.

Simon woke up wrong.

There was no other way to describe it. His eyes snapped open in the darkness of the dome's night cycle, and the first thing he registered was absence. The space beside him in the blanket nest was cool. Empty. You had shifted in your sleep, rolled away from him, and now there was a handspan of distance between your back and his chest.

That handspan felt like an ocean. Like the blood ocean. Like the moment in the submarine when the hull had buckled and he had reached for you and his fingers had brushed nothing but cold metal and rising water.

His chest seized. His lungs refused to fill. He was burning—no, he was on fire, a slow, internal immolation that started in his gut and spread outward until his skin prickled with heat. His pulse hammered in his ears. His hands trembled.

Where is the kid.

It was not a question. It was a primal demand, the kind of thought that existed before language, before reason, before anything except the animal need to gather the pack and protect the young.

I need the kid. I need to keep the kid close and safe. I need her against me. I need to feel her breathing. I need to know she is real. She is alive. She is not drowning. She is not calling my name from the other end of a dying submarine while I cannot reach her.

He moved before he could think. His arm shot out, hooked around your waist, and dragged you across the remaining distance. You made a soft, sleepy sound of protest. You were barely conscious, still swimming up from whatever dream had held you, and then Simon was wrapped around you.

His chest pressed to your back. His arm locked over your ribs, pulling you so tightly against him that there was no space for air between your bodies. His face buried itself in your hair at the back of your head, where he could feel the warmth of your scalp, smell the faint scent of the soap the Eridians had synthesized. He inhaled.

Deep, shuddering breaths. In through his nose, out through his mouth. Your scent filled his lungs. Your warmth soaked into his skin. Your heartbeat, a small, steady pulse against his sternum, slowly, slowly, began to calm his own.

She's here. She's warm. She's alive. She's alive. She's alive.

You, still half-asleep and desperately touch-starved, did the only thing your body knew how to do. You relaxed into him. You tucked yourself back against his chest like a small animal seeking warmth. Your hand found his arm and held on. A quiet, sleepy murmur escaped you:

"Simon? 'S early.."

"Go back to sleep." he rasped. His voice was wrecked, rough with something he couldn't name. "Just… stay. Stay here."

"Mm'kay.." you agreed, already fading. "Stayin'."

You were asleep again in seconds, your breathing evening out into the soft, rhythmic cadence of deep rest. Simon did not sleep. He lay awake in the dark, holding you, counting your breaths, pressing his thumb to your wrist every few minutes to feel your pulse.

The burning did not stop. But it became… manageable. Bearable. As long as you were in his arms, he could breathe. As long as he could feel you, he would not burn alive.

When the dome's light cycle began (a slow, gradual brightening designed to mimic a natural sunrise) Grace woke to an unusual sight.

Simon was already awake. Sitting up against the wall of the blanket nest. And you were in his lap.

Not sitting beside him. Not leaning against him. In his lap. Curled up sideways like a cat, your head tucked under his chin, your legs drawn up, your hands clutching the front of his shirt. Simon had one arm wrapped around your back and the other hand tangled in your hair, fingers slowly, rhythmically stroking through the strands.

Grace blinked. Rubbed his eyes. Looked again.

"Morning.." he said cautiously. "Everything okay?"

Simon's head snapped toward him. For a moment—just a moment—there was something feral in his eyes. A warning. A threat. Stay back. Don't come closer. She's mine to protect.

Then recognition flickered across his face, and the feral light dimmed. Not disappeared. Dimmed.

"Fine." Simon said. His voice was flat. "Everything's fine."

It was clearly not fine. Grace had spent enough time around traumatized people, had been a traumatized person himself, to recognize the signs. Simon's jaw was clenched. His shoulders were tight. His eyes kept darting to the dome walls, to the door, to the Eridians moving past the observation window. He was scanning for threats. Constantly. Compulsively.

And he would not let go of you.

You, for your part, seemed unbothered. You were awake now, blinking sleepily, but you made no move to leave Simon's lap. When Grace set out breakfast, you accepted a cup from him with a quiet "thank you" and drank it while still tucked against Simon's chest.

"You gonna get up today?" Grace asked, aiming for casual.

"Maybe," Simon said. "Later."

"Simon needs a hug." you announced, in the matter-of-fact tone of someone stating an obvious truth. "A really long one. I'm helping."

Grace's lips twitched upẁards towards a smile. "Is that what's happening?"

"Yep!" you said. "I'm very helpful."

Despite everything: the tension coiling in his gut, the burning under his skin, the relentless need to keep you close, Simon felt something loosen in his chest at your words. You weren't scared of him. You weren't confused by him. You just… accepted. You curled into him and called it helping, and maybe, in some strange way, it was.

The episode did not fade as the day wore on. It just got worse.

Simon followed you everywhere. Not walked beside you, followed. He was a shadow, a second skin, a living tether. When you went to the food preparation area, he went with you. When you sat down to look at the Eridian specimen containers, he sat behind you, bracketing you with his legs, his chest against your back. When you stood up to stretch your legs, he stood with you, his hand finding the small of your back, pressing there like a brand.

He touched you constantly. Not gently. Not the soft, tentative touches of the past few weeks. These were possessive touches. Anchoring touches. His hand on your shoulder. His arm around your waist. His fingers wrapped around your wrist, thumb pressed to your pulse, counting, counting, counting.

You did not mind. You were a tactile creature, starved for physical affection, and Simon's intensity did not frighten you. You had seen him feral before—in the submarine, in the first days on Erid—and this was not that. This was something else. Something desperate and scared and hungry.

So you leaned into him. You patted his hand when it tightened too hard on your shoulder. You hummed softly when he buried his face in your hair. You reached up to poke his cheek when he looked too pale, too tense, too much like he was trying to hold himself together with sheer willpower.

Grace tried, in his gentle, patient way, to intervene.

Mid-morning, he approached with two cups of water. He held one out to Simon. It was a peace offering, a gesture of care.

"You haven't eaten much.." Grace said. "Or drunk anything. You need to stay hydrated."

Simon stared at the cup. His arms were wrapped around you from behind, his chin resting on top of your head. You were sitting between his legs, playing with a piece of Eridian fabric, completely content.

"Not thirsty." Simon said.

"You're lying," Grace said mildly. "I can see your hands shaking. Dehydration makes tremors worse."

"I said I'm not thirsty."

There was a warning in his voice now. A low growl. Grace recognized it for what it was: not anger at him, but the defensive posturing of a wounded animal protecting its most valuable resource.

He set the cup down within Simon's reach anyway. Then he stepped back. Gave him space.

"Okay," Grace said softly. "Okay, yeah. The cup's there if you change your mind."

He did not try again for several hours.

By midday, Simon was visibly struggling. His skin was pale, sheened with sweat. His hands shook slightly even when he wasn't reaching for you. He was grinding his teeth (you could hear it, the soft, rhythmic click-click-click of his jaw working/.

You had shifted positions several times throughout the day, always within the circle of his arms. Sometimes you sat in his lap. Sometimes you leaned against his side. Sometimes you lay with your head in his lap while he stroked your hair.

Now, you were sitting cross-legged in front of him, showing him the knots you had learned to tie from an Eridian instructional hologram. Your fingers were nimble, precise. You had always been good with your hands, the submarine had demanded it.

Simon watched your fingers move. His own hands rested on your shoulders, thumbs tracing small, restless circles on your collarbones.

"You're really good at that," he said. His voice was hoarse. He had barely spoken all day.

"Thanks," you said, beaming. "Do you want me to teach you?"

"…Maybe later."

"Okay"

You went back to your knots. Simon went back to watching you. The burning in his chest had not stopped, but it had… settled. As long as he could see you, touch you, hear your breathing, the fire was a companion rather than an enemy.

By late afternoon Grace found Simon standing by the dome window, staring out at the Eridian landscape. You were in his arms again, literally being carried this time, your legs wrapped around his waist, your arms around his neck, your cheek pressed to his shoulder.

You were almost too old to be carried like that. Almost too big. But Simon didn't seem to notice or care. He held you easily, one arm under your thighs, the other across your back. His face was turned toward the window, but his eyes weren't focused on anything outside.

"Simon," Grace said quietly, coming to stand a few feet away. "Talk to me."

"Nothing to talk about."

"You've been like this all day. The kid's been great, she's handling it like a pro, but you're scaring me. A little."

Simon's jaw tightened. For a long moment, he didn't respond. Then, so quietly Grace almost didn't hear it:

"I woke up and she wasn't there."

"She was right next to you."

"Not close enough."

Grace understood. He truly did.

He thought about waking up on the Hail Mary, alone, with nothing but the hum of the engines and the cold weight of amnesia pressing down on him. He thought about the first time he had realized Rocky was real. not a hallucination, not a fever dream, but a person. And how terrified he had been of losing him.

"She's not going anywhere." Grace said. "You know that, right? She's safe here. The Eridians aren't going to hurt her. I'm not going to hurt her. And you're not going to hurt her."

"I know."

"Then what's the problem?"

Simon's arms tightened around you. You made a small, sleepy sound, you had dozed off against his shoulder, lulled by his warmth and the rhythm of his breathing.

"The problem," Simon said, "is that I know exactly what it feels like to hear her cry out for me and not be able to reach her. And I will never, never, let that happen again. Even if it means I have to hold her every second of every day for the rest of my life."

Grace nodded slowly. He wanted to argue. He wanted to say that this wasn't healthy, that Simon needed to find a way to cope that didn't involve physical restraint, that you were a teenager and you needed space to grow.

But he looked at you, asleep in Simon's arms, peaceful, trusting, utterly content, and he thought: Maybe this is what healing looks like. Maybe it's messy and uncomfortable and too intense for outside observers. But maybe it's also exactly what they both need.

"Okay," Grace said. "Okay. I'll stop trying to fix it. Just… drink some water, alright? For her."

Simon hesitated. Then, slowly, he shifted you to one arm, you didn't wake, just curled tighter against him, and reached for the cup Grace had brought. He drank half of it in one long swallow.

"Thank you, Simon." Grace said.

"Don't thank me," Simon muttered. "m'not doing it for you."

"I know. That's why I'm thanking you."

When the dome's light cycle was beginning to dim, simulating dusk, by late afternoon. You had woken from your nap and were now sitting in Simon's lap again, because of course you were, playing a simple counting game with a handful of small Eridian stones.

Simon's was not calm, though. He was wired, every muscle in his body taut, his eyes tracking every movement in the dome. When an Eridian passed too close to the observation window, he had physically turned you away from it, shielding your body with his own.

But something else was happening, too. A quiet desperation. A need that went beyond physical proximity. Simon kept opening his mouth like he wanted to say something, then closing it again. His hand kept tightening on your shoulder, loosening, tightening again.

You noticed. You noticed everything.

"Simon?" you said softly. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"You keep… you keep doing that thing. With your mouth. Like you wanna talk but you can't."

Simon was silent for a long moment. Then:

"It's just-... is there something you want? Something I can… do for you? Today has been- I know I've been..."

"You've been hugging me," you said simply. "That's not a bad thing."

"It's not normal."

"Who cares about normal? Cause I surely don't."

Simon let out a breath that was almost a laugh. Almost.

"Kid-"

"I'm serious. You needed a really long hug. I gave you a really long hug. That's just… being friends."

"Is that what we are?"

"We're friends that survived." you said. "That's even better than just friends."

Simon looked at you, really looked at you, for the first time all day. You were so young. So small. So impossibly brave. And you were looking at him with those steady, knowing eyes, and you were not afraid of his intensity, his possessiveness, his desperate need to keep you close.

"What do you want to do?" he asked. His voice cracked on the last word. "Right now. What do you want?"

You thought about it. You looked around the dome: at the Eridian technology, at the specimen containers, at Grace sitting across the way with his data tablet. And then you looked up, at the ceiling, where the Eridians had projected a simulation of the night sky.

"I wanna see the real stars." you said. "Not the fake ones on the ceiling of the nightlight projector. The real ones. Through the telescope."

"We can do that," Simon said immediately. "I'll take you."

"I want Grace to come too."

Simon went very, very still.

"...What?"

"I want Grace to come," you repeated. "He knows the constellations. He can tell me the names. I wanna learn them."

The burning returned. The jealousy. The possessive, territorial no that rose up in Simon's chest like a physical force. He did not want to share you. He did not want Grace's presence, Grace's voice, Grace's gentle explanations. He wanted you to himself. He needed you to himself.

But you were looking at him with those eyes. Trusting. Hopeful. And you had asked for so little, in all the time he had known you. You had never complained about the food, the cold, the fear, the nightmares. You had bitten your knuckles bloody to keep from crying. You had dissociated rather than burden him with your terror.

And now you were asking for something so small. So simple. To see the stars with both of your people.

Simon's jaw worked. His hands clenched into fists, then unclenched.

"Okay," he said. The word came out strangled. "Okay. Grace can.. come."

Your face lit up like the stars you wanted to see.

"Really?"

"..really."

"Oh, thank you, Simon! Thank you thank you thankyou!"

You threw your arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. Simon closed his eyes. He held you. He breathed you in.

She's happy. She asked for something, and I gave it to her. That's what matters. That's all that matters.

The burning did not stop. But it… shifted. Became something warmer. Something almost bearable.

The night cycle had fully settled over the dome. The Eridians had dimmed the artificial lights, allowing the natural darkness of the planet to seep in. Through the observation windows, the real sky was visible: vast, endless, scattered with unfamiliar stars.

Grace led the way to the observation platform. It was a natural rock formation, elevated and stable, where the Eridians had mounted a high-powered telescope designed for human use. The climb was short but steep, and Simon insisted on helping you up every step, his hand never leaving your back.

Grace set up the telescope, adjusting the lenses and calibrating the focus. His movements were practiced, efficient—the same steady competence he had shown on the Hail Mary. When he was finished, he stepped back and gestured to you.

"All yours, kid. Take a look."

You approached the telescope with the reverence of someone approaching an altar. Your hands trembled slightly as you gripped the eyepiece and pressed your eye to the lens.

And then you gasped.

The stars were not points of light. They were worlds. Swirling masses of gas and dust and fire, so far away that your mind could not comprehend the distance, but so bright that they burned through the darkness like beacons.

You saw blue stars and red stars and yellow stars like the one Earth had orbited. You saw nebulas—clouds of color that stretched across the void like cosmic paintings. You saw the silhouette of a nearby moon, pockmarked with craters, hanging in the blackness like a silver coin.

"Oh!" you breathed. "Oh my god! they're so beautiful! I didn't know they could be so beautiful!"

Grace chuckled as he stepped up beside you, close but not too close. He kept a respectful distance, aware of Simon's eyes on him, but his voice was warm and eager as he began to point.

"See that cluster there? The one that looks like a question mark? The Eridians call that the 'Seeker's Path.' They believe it's the trail left by their ancestors when they first discovered space travel."

"It's so bright."

"That one's actually a binary system. Two stars orbiting each other. The Eridians say it's a symbol of partnership: two entities moving through the universe together, bound by gravity and trust."

"That's… that's really deep."

"It is." Grace agreed. "There's another one over there.. the one with the reddish tint. That's called the 'Hearth Star.' It's the Eridian equivalent of a good luck charm. Sailors used to navigate by it."

You listened, enraptured, as Grace named the constellations and told you their stories. Your questions came rapid-fire: Why is that one blue? How far away is that one? Do they have planets? Could someone live there?—and Grace answered each one with patient, delighted thoroughness.

Simon watched from a few feet away. He had not joined you at the telescope. He stood with his back to a rock formation, arms crossed, eyes fixed on you.

But something was changing.

The burning was… receding. Not gone..it would never be fully gone, he suspected, but fading. Cooling. Like stepping out of a fever into the first gentle breeze of autumn.

He was watching you smile. Watching you laugh at something Grace said. Watching you point at a particularly bright star and ask, "What's that one called?" and Grace respond, "That one doesn't have a name yet. Want to name it yourself?"

And you had thought about it for a moment, your brow furrowed in concentration, before announcing: "I wanna call it 'Simon.' Because it's really bright and kind of scary but also really pretty and I like looking at it."

Grace had laughed—a genuine, surprised laugh—and Simon had felt something crack open in his chest.

She named a star after me.

The burning turned into warmth. The warmth spread through his limbs, loosening the knots in his muscles, easing the tension in his jaw. He took a breath (a real breath, deep and full) and it did not hurt.

He watched you climb down from the telescope and run back to him, your face flushed with excitement, your eyes shining.

"Simon! Simon, did you see? Did you see the stars? There are so many! And they're all so different! And Grace said I could name one and I named it after you and now there's a star called Simon and it's in the sky forever and ever and-"

He caught you as you launched yourself at him. His arms came around you automatically, pulling you close. But this time, the embrace was not desperate. It was not possessive. It was just… a hug. A long, warm, grateful hug.

"I saw," he said. His voice was soft now. Almost gentle. "I saw everything."

"Isn't it amazing?" you asked, your voice muffled against his chest. "The stars are real, Simon. They're real and they're beautiful and we can see them. We can see them whenever we want."

"Yeah." Simon said. "Yeah, we can."

He looked over your head at Grace. Grace was packing up the telescope, his back to them, giving them a moment of privacy. But he must have felt Simon's gaze, because he glanced over his shoulder and offered a small, knowing smile.

Simon nodded at him. A silent thank you. A silent acknowledgment.

I trust you. Not completely. Not yet. But enough. Enough to share this.

Grace nodded back. Then he turned away, continuing his work, leaving Simon and you to your moment.

The walk back to the dome was quiet. The Eridian night was cool but not cold, and the path was lit by bioluminescent plants that glowed soft blue in the darkness.

You walked between Simon and Grace, close enough that your shoulders brushed theirs. You were tired, the excitement of the stars had worn you out, but you were also happy. Genuinely, deeply happy. The kind of happy that made your chest feel too full and your eyes sting with tears that weren't sad.

"Thank you for taking me." you said, to both of them.

"Anytime, kid," Grace said. "The stars aren't going anywhere. They'll be there tomorrow night, and the night after that, and every night for the rest of our lives."

"That's a long time." you said thoughtfully.

"Yeah," Simon said. "It is."

It takes barely a manoeuvre for the pinned location to come into view in the distance.

Your body lurches forward in the cockpit at the sight of a liquid — you're quick to register as blood, fresh blood, leaking from what seems to be a... blob of metal, rising up like wisps of smoke in the air.

"A Leviathan class lifeform has been detected. Proceed with caution."

"What the fuck—!?" Throwing yourself back on your chair, you swivel around to toggle all available lights off, turning back around to slam your hand against the control panel—

You have to keep the engines on if you plan on making an escape.

Waiting for the engines to boot would mean certain death, and on the other hand, you can't outrun a leviathan with the Cyclops even if you were to set your engines on fire anyway.

".... Okay. Let's assume I didn't see it and it didn't see me," you sigh, "Is it the Ghost Leviathan?" you inquire, having been previously acquainted with one adult residing in the region.

Would things be easier if it was a creature you previously survived an encounter with? Probably not.

"Scans indicate this is a different life form than the previously scanned adult Ghost Leviathan."

Great. But maybe it's just not worth it. Maybe it's just a fresh kill you have unfortunately been too late to save. All you need is the confirmation.

"Is the human life form alive?"

"Vital signs present, yet rapidly deteriorating."

Things never go your way, do they?

"Wonderful," you spit out, "So my choices are; ignore I even heard the announcement and leave a human being to die and live the rest of my days with the choice haunting me, try saving said human being and either die trying or they die anyway and all of it turns out to be for nothing, or everything works out by some miracle and they're not an asshole and I get a new friend on this forsaken planet besides the Cuddlefish."

Any sane person would simply turn around and leave. If the person has lost so much blood to the point it's clouding the surrounding waters, chances of their survival might as well be zero.

If you were to be a slave to your own conscience, you wouldn't be able to survive. While it doesn't apply to the situation you have on the planet, considering every life pod you've ever responded to the distress call of has already long been destroyed, it's just how life works overall, isn't it? Each to their own, in a way.

It's just not worth the effort. The decision is clear, if only you give yourself some time to ponder.

"The odds of surviving an encounter with an apex class leviathan life form are three thousand seven hundred twenty to one."

The thing is, you don't ponder.

"Are you sure whatever you're doing is worth it?"

"It's been a while since I've been stupid." Beelining to your seamoth, jumping down the hatch in equal parts glee and dread, you mutter, "Time to change that."

When Simon regains his consciousness, the light around him is so blinding he can't even open his eyes from the strain.

He can breathe. God, he can breathe. There's not much else he can feel, or do, assuming his body is numb.

"Ugh..."

"Oh, sorry!" His face contorts at the unexpected voice, pulse spiking, "It's probably too bright for you, yeah? Give me a second."

There is a muted whirr as the light gradually decreases, finally dwindling down to what his eyes consider acceptable levels. Blinking what feels like needles from his eyes, he squints, forcing his eyes to focus.

The sight that greets him feels nothing short of heaven.

His surroundings, not only blindingly bright compared to the bleak world he was born and raised in, is pure, pristine white. There are large glass panels across the room as far as he can see, an abundance of them, too. Outside, an ocean, not of blood but a serene blue, sparkling like the ghost of the stars he knows of, only brighter.

Simon jerks in place, trying to launch himself off whatever surface he is resting on, though his movement is restricted by what he assumes is constraints.

"Who—" he roars, "What are you? Where am I?! The black box—"

Dread doesn't even begin to explain the feeling blooming in his chest. Hasn't he done enough? Suffered enough?

"I'll explain," you offer, gently as possible, well aware of how frenzied he is getting in his ignorance. "From the top, just to be safe. You are on planet 4546B. The Aurora has crashed, and I was under the impression that I was the only survivor until I got a reading of another human being nearby. You were in a... crude imitation of a submarine — or I believe that's what it was supposed to be, at least. You're..." you swallow thickly, knowing if his answer is as you predicted, it will raise even more questions than before, "You're not from the Aurora, correct?"

The man stills, gears in his head turning.

"... No." He offers after a moment of silence, "I..." am from Eden, the reply briefly crosses his mind, though he instead settles for further solidifying his reply; "Not from the Aurora, no. Frankly, I don't understand half the things you're saying."

"Figured as much," you sigh with a slight smile, rolling your shoulders back, "Well! We can cross that bridge when we get to it. The technology of the wreck I fished you out of falls spectacularly short of Alterra's, let alone the alien facilities' standards." Pursing your lips, you continue, "Anyway. I found you with your not-submarine half-chewn open. You were bleeding out a lot, missing a limb, and severely... uh, mutated." you offer hesitantly, not knowing how he'd take the news. Blowing off the subject, you go on, "You're a lucky man. An extremely lucky man. I had my radiation suit on when the cyclops picked up on your readings, so I was able to get you with little to no harm inflicted upon myself, despite the apparent presence of a Leviathan in the scans. And I had built a proper medical bay equipped with everything this world and beyond had to offer." You take a sip of something from a bottle to pace the conversation, "The readings picked up on a lot, and by that I mean a lot of afflictions, and number of poisonings including but not limited to radiation and alcohol poisoning. Honestly, I don't know how you managed to stay alive for as long as you did."

He takes a look down. While covered in bandages, his body feels light, healthy in a way he has not felt since childhood.

"All cured now, of course." You exhale through your nose, "Regarding your arm, I could synthesize a prosthetic, if you'd like," tapping a few times on your tablet, you show him an example model, "Something like this, customized to your body any tastes, of course. I did not want to go through with any big body modifications before you woke up."

A choice. You gave him a choice.

The realisation alone is enough to make his brain screech to a halt, all his thoughts about the SM-8, the eel, the black box getting drowned out by the weight of someone finally thinking him human enough to ask. Whatever this is, purgatory or afterlife or a dream, he decides he can live in it a little longer.

"Thank you," he chokes, eyes glassing over. With that distant look in his eyes, you can't be sure if he's addressing you, despite being the only other sentient creature in the room.

"Sorry about the bindings," You chew on your lip nervously, "I didn't know whether any of your afflictions were infectious—" Clicking your tongue, you drag a hand over your head, "Oh, that's a lie. I know we're both survivors, but I was worried you'd be a danger to me. People are assholes sometimes, I'm sure you know. I hope you can understand."

"Oh, I'd know." That surprisingly draws a weak chuckle out of him, "Uh, so can I be released now, or...?"

"Oh!" you startle, "Yeah, sure! Let me just run a scan real quick to see if you're clear, like getting dispatched from a hospital."

He lets his head hit the foam pillow of the medical table he's resting on. You don't know all he's ever known are cramped med bays overflowing with people ushered out too hastily to ever recover fully, if you were even lucky enough to get treated, that is.

"Vital signs normal. Nutrition and fluid intake required. Continuing to monitor."

"Right, of course." you laugh sheepishly, "You've been unconscious for so long, no wonder you need actual sustenance. The IVs can only do so much," you lean over to remove the clasps of the belts binding him down, though your posture is still tense, he realises.

That's alright. He's not too relaxed either.

"We have a wide, wide variety of cooked fish, some types of salads, veggies and fruits, and of course, snacks from the vending machine on the menu. Whichever you prefer. While you decide—" you walk over to a large machine that opens a hatch automatically and take a bottle, opening the cap and handing it over to him, "Water. We also have choices with that, but I wouldn't want to overwhelm you, heh."

Overwhelmed with choices he never got to make in life? He doesn't think of that as too bad of a punishment.

"You never gave me your name," he mumbles before raising the bottle to his lips and all but inhaling the liquid inside.

Blinking at the sight, you get him another bottle of water, this time from a locker filled to the brim with them, and offer your name as you hand over the bottle to him.

"... Simon." He offers, hesistant, as if his own name was a curse he puts on you when he utters it. Yet he owes you his name, at the very least.

"Good to meet you, Simon. Glad you survived."

A small laugh akin to a choke leaves his mouth in disbelief, even though living has all he's ever wanted.

Simon woke up wrong.

There was no other way to describe it. His eyes snapped open in the darkness of the dome's night cycle, and the first thing he registered was absence. The space beside him in the blanket nest was cool. Empty. You had shifted in your sleep, rolled away from him, and now there was a handspan of distance between your back and his chest.

That handspan felt like an ocean. Like the blood ocean. Like the moment in the submarine when the hull had buckled and he had reached for you and his fingers had brushed nothing but cold metal and rising water.

His chest seized. His lungs refused to fill. He was burning—no, he was on fire, a slow, internal immolation that started in his gut and spread outward until his skin prickled with heat. His pulse hammered in his ears. His hands trembled.

Where is the kid.

It was not a question. It was a primal demand, the kind of thought that existed before language, before reason, before anything except the animal need to gather the pack and protect the young.

I need the kid. I need to keep the kid close and safe. I need her against me. I need to feel her breathing. I need to know she is real. She is alive. She is not drowning. She is not calling my name from the other end of a dying submarine while I cannot reach her.

He moved before he could think. His arm shot out, hooked around your waist, and dragged you across the remaining distance. You made a soft, sleepy sound of protest. You were barely conscious, still swimming up from whatever dream had held you, and then Simon was wrapped around you.

His chest pressed to your back. His arm locked over your ribs, pulling you so tightly against him that there was no space for air between your bodies. His face buried itself in your hair at the back of your head, where he could feel the warmth of your scalp, smell the faint scent of the soap the Eridians had synthesized. He inhaled.

Deep, shuddering breaths. In through his nose, out through his mouth. Your scent filled his lungs. Your warmth soaked into his skin. Your heartbeat, a small, steady pulse against his sternum, slowly, slowly, began to calm his own.

She's here. She's warm. She's alive. She's alive. She's alive.

You, still half-asleep and desperately touch-starved, did the only thing your body knew how to do. You relaxed into him. You tucked yourself back against his chest like a small animal seeking warmth. Your hand found his arm and held on. A quiet, sleepy murmur escaped you:

"Simon? 'S early.."

"Go back to sleep." he rasped. His voice was wrecked, rough with something he couldn't name. "Just… stay. Stay here."

"Mm'kay.." you agreed, already fading. "Stayin'."

You were asleep again in seconds, your breathing evening out into the soft, rhythmic cadence of deep rest. Simon did not sleep. He lay awake in the dark, holding you, counting your breaths, pressing his thumb to your wrist every few minutes to feel your pulse.

The burning did not stop. But it became… manageable. Bearable. As long as you were in his arms, he could breathe. As long as he could feel you, he would not burn alive.

When the dome's light cycle began (a slow, gradual brightening designed to mimic a natural sunrise) Grace woke to an unusual sight.

Simon was already awake. Sitting up against the wall of the blanket nest. And you were in his lap.

Not sitting beside him. Not leaning against him. In his lap. Curled up sideways like a cat, your head tucked under his chin, your legs drawn up, your hands clutching the front of his shirt. Simon had one arm wrapped around your back and the other hand tangled in your hair, fingers slowly, rhythmically stroking through the strands.

Grace blinked. Rubbed his eyes. Looked again.

"Morning.." he said cautiously. "Everything okay?"

Simon's head snapped toward him. For a moment—just a moment—there was something feral in his eyes. A warning. A threat. Stay back. Don't come closer. She's mine to protect.

Then recognition flickered across his face, and the feral light dimmed. Not disappeared. Dimmed.

"Fine." Simon said. His voice was flat. "Everything's fine."

It was clearly not fine. Grace had spent enough time around traumatized people, had been a traumatized person himself, to recognize the signs. Simon's jaw was clenched. His shoulders were tight. His eyes kept darting to the dome walls, to the door, to the Eridians moving past the observation window. He was scanning for threats. Constantly. Compulsively.

And he would not let go of you.

You, for your part, seemed unbothered. You were awake now, blinking sleepily, but you made no move to leave Simon's lap. When Grace set out breakfast, you accepted a cup from him with a quiet "thank you" and drank it while still tucked against Simon's chest.

"You gonna get up today?" Grace asked, aiming for casual.

"Maybe," Simon said. "Later."

"Simon needs a hug." you announced, in the matter-of-fact tone of someone stating an obvious truth. "A really long one. I'm helping."

Grace's lips twitched upẁards towards a smile. "Is that what's happening?"

"Yep!" you said. "I'm very helpful."

Despite everything: the tension coiling in his gut, the burning under his skin, the relentless need to keep you close, Simon felt something loosen in his chest at your words. You weren't scared of him. You weren't confused by him. You just… accepted. You curled into him and called it helping, and maybe, in some strange way, it was.

The episode did not fade as the day wore on. It just got worse.

Simon followed you everywhere. Not walked beside you, followed. He was a shadow, a second skin, a living tether. When you went to the food preparation area, he went with you. When you sat down to look at the Eridian specimen containers, he sat behind you, bracketing you with his legs, his chest against your back. When you stood up to stretch your legs, he stood with you, his hand finding the small of your back, pressing there like a brand.

He touched you constantly. Not gently. Not the soft, tentative touches of the past few weeks. These were possessive touches. Anchoring touches. His hand on your shoulder. His arm around your waist. His fingers wrapped around your wrist, thumb pressed to your pulse, counting, counting, counting.

You did not mind. You were a tactile creature, starved for physical affection, and Simon's intensity did not frighten you. You had seen him feral before—in the submarine, in the first days on Erid—and this was not that. This was something else. Something desperate and scared and hungry.

So you leaned into him. You patted his hand when it tightened too hard on your shoulder. You hummed softly when he buried his face in your hair. You reached up to poke his cheek when he looked too pale, too tense, too much like he was trying to hold himself together with sheer willpower.

Grace tried, in his gentle, patient way, to intervene.

Mid-morning, he approached with two cups of water. He held one out to Simon. It was a peace offering, a gesture of care.

"You haven't eaten much.." Grace said. "Or drunk anything. You need to stay hydrated."

Simon stared at the cup. His arms were wrapped around you from behind, his chin resting on top of your head. You were sitting between his legs, playing with a piece of Eridian fabric, completely content.

"Not thirsty." Simon said.

"You're lying," Grace said mildly. "I can see your hands shaking. Dehydration makes tremors worse."

"I said I'm not thirsty."

There was a warning in his voice now. A low growl. Grace recognized it for what it was: not anger at him, but the defensive posturing of a wounded animal protecting its most valuable resource.

He set the cup down within Simon's reach anyway. Then he stepped back. Gave him space.

"Okay," Grace said softly. "Okay, yeah. The cup's there if you change your mind."

He did not try again for several hours.

By midday, Simon was visibly struggling. His skin was pale, sheened with sweat. His hands shook slightly even when he wasn't reaching for you. He was grinding his teeth (you could hear it, the soft, rhythmic click-click-click of his jaw working/.

You had shifted positions several times throughout the day, always within the circle of his arms. Sometimes you sat in his lap. Sometimes you leaned against his side. Sometimes you lay with your head in his lap while he stroked your hair.

Now, you were sitting cross-legged in front of him, showing him the knots you had learned to tie from an Eridian instructional hologram. Your fingers were nimble, precise. You had always been good with your hands, the submarine had demanded it.

Simon watched your fingers move. His own hands rested on your shoulders, thumbs tracing small, restless circles on your collarbones.

"You're really good at that," he said. His voice was hoarse. He had barely spoken all day.

"Thanks," you said, beaming. "Do you want me to teach you?"

"…Maybe later."

"Okay"

You went back to your knots. Simon went back to watching you. The burning in his chest had not stopped, but it had… settled. As long as he could see you, touch you, hear your breathing, the fire was a companion rather than an enemy.

By late afternoon Grace found Simon standing by the dome window, staring out at the Eridian landscape. You were in his arms again, literally being carried this time, your legs wrapped around his waist, your arms around his neck, your cheek pressed to his shoulder.

You were almost too old to be carried like that. Almost too big. But Simon didn't seem to notice or care. He held you easily, one arm under your thighs, the other across your back. His face was turned toward the window, but his eyes weren't focused on anything outside.

"Simon," Grace said quietly, coming to stand a few feet away. "Talk to me."

"Nothing to talk about."

"You've been like this all day. The kid's been great, she's handling it like a pro, but you're scaring me. A little."

Simon's jaw tightened. For a long moment, he didn't respond. Then, so quietly Grace almost didn't hear it:

"I woke up and she wasn't there."

"She was right next to you."

"Not close enough."

Grace understood. He truly did.

He thought about waking up on the Hail Mary, alone, with nothing but the hum of the engines and the cold weight of amnesia pressing down on him. He thought about the first time he had realized Rocky was real. not a hallucination, not a fever dream, but a person. And how terrified he had been of losing him.

"She's not going anywhere." Grace said. "You know that, right? She's safe here. The Eridians aren't going to hurt her. I'm not going to hurt her. And you're not going to hurt her."

"I know."

"Then what's the problem?"

Simon's arms tightened around you. You made a small, sleepy sound, you had dozed off against his shoulder, lulled by his warmth and the rhythm of his breathing.

"The problem," Simon said, "is that I know exactly what it feels like to hear her cry out for me and not be able to reach her. And I will never, never, let that happen again. Even if it means I have to hold her every second of every day for the rest of my life."

Grace nodded slowly. He wanted to argue. He wanted to say that this wasn't healthy, that Simon needed to find a way to cope that didn't involve physical restraint, that you were a teenager and you needed space to grow.

But he looked at you, asleep in Simon's arms, peaceful, trusting, utterly content, and he thought: Maybe this is what healing looks like. Maybe it's messy and uncomfortable and too intense for outside observers. But maybe it's also exactly what they both need.

"Okay," Grace said. "Okay. I'll stop trying to fix it. Just… drink some water, alright? For her."

Simon hesitated. Then, slowly, he shifted you to one arm, you didn't wake, just curled tighter against him, and reached for the cup Grace had brought. He drank half of it in one long swallow.

"Thank you, Simon." Grace said.

"Don't thank me," Simon muttered. "m'not doing it for you."

"I know. That's why I'm thanking you."

When the dome's light cycle was beginning to dim, simulating dusk, by late afternoon. You had woken from your nap and were now sitting in Simon's lap again, because of course you were, playing a simple counting game with a handful of small Eridian stones.

Simon's was not calm, though. He was wired, every muscle in his body taut, his eyes tracking every movement in the dome. When an Eridian passed too close to the observation window, he had physically turned you away from it, shielding your body with his own.

But something else was happening, too. A quiet desperation. A need that went beyond physical proximity. Simon kept opening his mouth like he wanted to say something, then closing it again. His hand kept tightening on your shoulder, loosening, tightening again.

You noticed. You noticed everything.

"Simon?" you said softly. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"You keep… you keep doing that thing. With your mouth. Like you wanna talk but you can't."

Simon was silent for a long moment. Then:

"It's just-... is there something you want? Something I can… do for you? Today has been- I know I've been..."

"You've been hugging me," you said simply. "That's not a bad thing."

"It's not normal."

"Who cares about normal? Cause I surely don't."

Simon let out a breath that was almost a laugh. Almost.

"Kid-"

"I'm serious. You needed a really long hug. I gave you a really long hug. That's just… being friends."

"Is that what we are?"

"We're friends that survived." you said. "That's even better than just friends."

Simon looked at you, really looked at you, for the first time all day. You were so young. So small. So impossibly brave. And you were looking at him with those steady, knowing eyes, and you were not afraid of his intensity, his possessiveness, his desperate need to keep you close.

"What do you want to do?" he asked. His voice cracked on the last word. "Right now. What do you want?"

You thought about it. You looked around the dome: at the Eridian technology, at the specimen containers, at Grace sitting across the way with his data tablet. And then you looked up, at the ceiling, where the Eridians had projected a simulation of the night sky.

"I wanna see the real stars." you said. "Not the fake ones on the ceiling of the nightlight projector. The real ones. Through the telescope."

"We can do that," Simon said immediately. "I'll take you."

"I want Grace to come too."

Simon went very, very still.

"...What?"

"I want Grace to come," you repeated. "He knows the constellations. He can tell me the names. I wanna learn them."

The burning returned. The jealousy. The possessive, territorial no that rose up in Simon's chest like a physical force. He did not want to share you. He did not want Grace's presence, Grace's voice, Grace's gentle explanations. He wanted you to himself. He needed you to himself.

But you were looking at him with those eyes. Trusting. Hopeful. And you had asked for so little, in all the time he had known you. You had never complained about the food, the cold, the fear, the nightmares. You had bitten your knuckles bloody to keep from crying. You had dissociated rather than burden him with your terror.

And now you were asking for something so small. So simple. To see the stars with both of your people.

Simon's jaw worked. His hands clenched into fists, then unclenched.

"Okay," he said. The word came out strangled. "Okay. Grace can.. come."

Your face lit up like the stars you wanted to see.

"Really?"

"..really."

"Oh, thank you, Simon! Thank you thank you thankyou!"

You threw your arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. Simon closed his eyes. He held you. He breathed you in.

She's happy. She asked for something, and I gave it to her. That's what matters. That's all that matters.

The burning did not stop. But it… shifted. Became something warmer. Something almost bearable.

The night cycle had fully settled over the dome. The Eridians had dimmed the artificial lights, allowing the natural darkness of the planet to seep in. Through the observation windows, the real sky was visible: vast, endless, scattered with unfamiliar stars.

Grace led the way to the observation platform. It was a natural rock formation, elevated and stable, where the Eridians had mounted a high-powered telescope designed for human use. The climb was short but steep, and Simon insisted on helping you up every step, his hand never leaving your back.

Grace set up the telescope, adjusting the lenses and calibrating the focus. His movements were practiced, efficient—the same steady competence he had shown on the Hail Mary. When he was finished, he stepped back and gestured to you.

"All yours, kid. Take a look."

You approached the telescope with the reverence of someone approaching an altar. Your hands trembled slightly as you gripped the eyepiece and pressed your eye to the lens.

And then you gasped.

The stars were not points of light. They were worlds. Swirling masses of gas and dust and fire, so far away that your mind could not comprehend the distance, but so bright that they burned through the darkness like beacons.

You saw blue stars and red stars and yellow stars like the one Earth had orbited. You saw nebulas—clouds of color that stretched across the void like cosmic paintings. You saw the silhouette of a nearby moon, pockmarked with craters, hanging in the blackness like a silver coin.

"Oh!" you breathed. "Oh my god! they're so beautiful! I didn't know they could be so beautiful!"

Grace chuckled as he stepped up beside you, close but not too close. He kept a respectful distance, aware of Simon's eyes on him, but his voice was warm and eager as he began to point.

"See that cluster there? The one that looks like a question mark? The Eridians call that the 'Seeker's Path.' They believe it's the trail left by their ancestors when they first discovered space travel."

"It's so bright."

"That one's actually a binary system. Two stars orbiting each other. The Eridians say it's a symbol of partnership: two entities moving through the universe together, bound by gravity and trust."

"That's… that's really deep."

"It is." Grace agreed. "There's another one over there.. the one with the reddish tint. That's called the 'Hearth Star.' It's the Eridian equivalent of a good luck charm. Sailors used to navigate by it."

You listened, enraptured, as Grace named the constellations and told you their stories. Your questions came rapid-fire: Why is that one blue? How far away is that one? Do they have planets? Could someone live there?—and Grace answered each one with patient, delighted thoroughness.

Simon watched from a few feet away. He had not joined you at the telescope. He stood with his back to a rock formation, arms crossed, eyes fixed on you.

But something was changing.

The burning was… receding. Not gone..it would never be fully gone, he suspected, but fading. Cooling. Like stepping out of a fever into the first gentle breeze of autumn.

He was watching you smile. Watching you laugh at something Grace said. Watching you point at a particularly bright star and ask, "What's that one called?" and Grace respond, "That one doesn't have a name yet. Want to name it yourself?"

And you had thought about it for a moment, your brow furrowed in concentration, before announcing: "I wanna call it 'Simon.' Because it's really bright and kind of scary but also really pretty and I like looking at it."

Grace had laughed—a genuine, surprised laugh—and Simon had felt something crack open in his chest.

She named a star after me.

The burning turned into warmth. The warmth spread through his limbs, loosening the knots in his muscles, easing the tension in his jaw. He took a breath (a real breath, deep and full) and it did not hurt.

He watched you climb down from the telescope and run back to him, your face flushed with excitement, your eyes shining.

"Simon! Simon, did you see? Did you see the stars? There are so many! And they're all so different! And Grace said I could name one and I named it after you and now there's a star called Simon and it's in the sky forever and ever and-"

He caught you as you launched yourself at him. His arms came around you automatically, pulling you close. But this time, the embrace was not desperate. It was not possessive. It was just… a hug. A long, warm, grateful hug.

"I saw," he said. His voice was soft now. Almost gentle. "I saw everything."

"Isn't it amazing?" you asked, your voice muffled against his chest. "The stars are real, Simon. They're real and they're beautiful and we can see them. We can see them whenever we want."

"Yeah." Simon said. "Yeah, we can."

He looked over your head at Grace. Grace was packing up the telescope, his back to them, giving them a moment of privacy. But he must have felt Simon's gaze, because he glanced over his shoulder and offered a small, knowing smile.

Simon nodded at him. A silent thank you. A silent acknowledgment.

I trust you. Not completely. Not yet. But enough. Enough to share this.

Grace nodded back. Then he turned away, continuing his work, leaving Simon and you to your moment.

The walk back to the dome was quiet. The Eridian night was cool but not cold, and the path was lit by bioluminescent plants that glowed soft blue in the darkness.

You walked between Simon and Grace, close enough that your shoulders brushed theirs. You were tired, the excitement of the stars had worn you out, but you were also happy. Genuinely, deeply happy. The kind of happy that made your chest feel too full and your eyes sting with tears that weren't sad.

"Thank you for taking me." you said, to both of them.

"Anytime, kid," Grace said. "The stars aren't going anywhere. They'll be there tomorrow night, and the night after that, and every night for the rest of our lives."

"That's a long time." you said thoughtfully.

"Yeah," Simon said. "It is."

Naturally, everyone involved is curious. The Eridians sing, you assume with glee, at your arrival, claws opening and closing in a rather adorable display of happiness, and you have a distinct feeling it's because there is a new, unlikely addition to their human collection.

No, really. What are the chances that the Eridians would meet three different humans from different places?

It's not bad, them being this curious and inquisitive. Being studied doesn't feel as condescending as it could've been when they're polite as can be about it.

What feels bad is Grace, Simon and Rocky being curious about your past, and your time in the Tulpar. Your crew.

Simon, because he has been alone in the submarine. Grace, too, had been alone until Simon was found, despite having a crew of his own aboard the Hail Mary. He lost them before his mission started, or so he said. You didn't want to pry too much, though he did divulge that the deaths happened in an induced coma which they never woke up from, so it's safe to say it has been a relatively painless for the deceased. Rocky's twenty-two crew members passed away because of radiation poisoining, Grace had said as additional information.

"Rocky could not fix." The Eridian had supplied, with Grace resting a hand over the xenonite as a gesture of comfort, and oh, your heart hurts. He had to watch his crew die while being able to do nothing to save them.

Meanwhile, you contributed to the deaths of your crew.

None of the events they've mentioned are even remotely similar to what you have been through. While your circumstances forced your hand to sign a contract and work for Pony Express, you can't say you were forced into the ship like Grace or Simon. Hell, all three of them, including Rocky, were out on life-changing missions, planets and lives depending on them, while you've just been moving cargo.

Not even something important like food or supplies. Something as insignificant and useless as mouthwash.

What even are you supposed to tell them?

That the second-in-command forced himself onto the medic, then crashed the ship against an asteroid when he learned the entire crew sans the Captain would be laid off, half-killing the Captain, driving the pregnant medic to suicide, manipulating the intern into maiming himself to the point he had to be put down out of his misery with an axe to the face by his mentor, shooting said mentor in the head, trying to get the barely alive Captain into the only functioning cryo-pod before both were killed by you?

Oh, and there was also cannibalism involved at some point.

No. .... No! What are you doing? They have names. They had names. Ones you cannot shake away simply by using language to distance yourself from them. Severing your connection to them should not come so naturally after everything that happened.

Anya, oh, Anya, who was endlessly more capable than she gave herself credit for, with her medical skills far surpassing what the crew deserved, despite her record of having failed getting into medical school eight times. Anya, who resorted to diplomacy instead of violence by confiding in Curly after what Jimmy did to her.

Swansea, who was a pain to put up with due to his rough exterior, even though you could tell he wasn't a bad person deep down. Perhaps broken and battered, though never intenting real harm to you or anyone you cared about. A half-baked, less than ideal mentor who just wanted the best for his intern, to be there for him in a way he could not with his own children.

Daisuke. Oh, the sunshine intern who tried his best despite not being equipped for it, who only wanted to make his parents proud, wholly undeserving of his cruel fate.

Curly, the seemingly capable Captain who was rendered useless by misplaced affection for his friend, and has indirectly doomed you all. Curly, whom you bitterly laughed in the face of when administering his medicine in Anya's place, now that he finally knows what it's like when your autonomy is taken from you. That he is alive and has failed you all.

Jimmy was the piece of shit that wrecked everything, the very scum of the earth who had the gall to even exist, after everything he's done, in denial and blind about his wrongdoings as ever. Blaming the crash on Curly, raping Anya and impregnating her, pressuring Daisuke in the vents, trying to treat the injuries he sustained from that little adventure with mouthwash despite Anya clearly having said it would infect the wounds, then killing Swansea—

... Killing him has felt nowhere near as satisfactory as it should've been.

Dragging Curly out of the cryo pod and killing him also felt more like petty revenge and closure rather than a final act of mercy as it was intended.

Everyone — the Eridians included — feel so... patient. Accepting. They're not pushing you for answers you're not ready to give despite you invading their space, and them being the providers of everything you have on Erid, be it your shelter, food, or possessions.

You're not sure how much longer you can drag out hiding behind a "traumatising event" when the only reason why you're not sharing your past is because you don't want to lose the one place that feels like you belong.

Tulpar was a temporary alliance of people with unfortunate circumstances that tried sticking together to get through it all. Erid, with Simon and Grace and Rocky and every other Eridian involved, feels like home.

The dilemma weighs heavily on you, you're aware. Those around you are also aware.

Simon looks at you like he knows exactly what you're feeling, but can't bring himself to ask about it. Like he has you all figured out. Like him opening up would be like baring his neck under your blade, and expecting you to show the same vulnerability in hopes of... what? Coming to an understanding?

Instead, he settles for making your day a little easier in small ways. Like setting out your designated mug on the counter so you can pour your coffee readily if you're still asleep, or pouring one for you with a small "I got you" when he hears you making your way over to the kitchen. Picking up stuff you left lying around and putting them where they belong when he knows you haven't deliberately placed them there. Airing out your room so it's not stuffy when you come back, especially when you need to hole yourself in for some alone time.

Grace, on the other hand, is not subtle as he thinks he is. Some might think his furrowed brows and wistful eyes are him pitying you, though knowing him, he's likely just being empathetic of your situation. He is much more vocal than Simon — which doesn't take a lot in the first place, considering Simon just doesn't show his concern by speaking, likely because he doesn't know where he stands or whether he even has the right to pry — often checking up on you verbally instead. "Doing alright?" and "Something on your mind?" and every other variant available gets tossed around, and if you're not in the mood to talk, he simply raises an arm in a silent invitation you never pass up, slithering under his arm for a hug. He's warm and comforting in a way you didn't think possible,with an uncanny effect of making your worries stop buzzing in your mind the moment your head hits his shoulder.

All the more reason for you to come clean. They deserve to know.

"Hi, Rocky," you greet the engineer, trying to avoid shuffling in place to hide your nerves, even though he can probably see your distress in the form of your hammering pulse or other elements in your body you're not fully aware of. "... Is it possible for us to make a trip to the Tulpar again?"

".... Ship name of friend, question?" Comes from the speakers.

"Yes." you nod, "Where you found me."

"Yes. Possible." Two taps of his claws on the floor, inquisitive, though you pick up on the shift in tone halfway through his Eridian sentence. "Rocky was under the impression— thinking — ...... if friend wants. Statement." The computer doesn't pick up on the nuance, though the string of words get his thought process well enough.

"I..." you start, hesitant, "I don't have good memories on the ship."

Rocky inclines his entire body towards you, listening intently.

"I don't want to talk about it to this day, honestly," Taking a deep breath, "But you deserve to know. You, Grace and Simon, at the very least. Nobody else. You can even come on the ship, if you want," you offer meekly, shoulders sagging at the thought of Rocky being subjected to the carnage inside, "Though I can't promise a pretty picture."

"Why."

"I'll tell you on the way—"

"No." Tap tap. "Why friend want to go now, question?"

"It's a silly reason." you mumble, rubbing your nape in discomfort.

"Rocky decide. Friend tell."

"There is food on the ship," you swallow, "Not like, the life-changing kind, but we had a food synthesiser and a vending machine and the like. Some ready-made food bags, too. The machine's coding was extremely strict about rationing, so there might be some left in the dispenser — maybe even the vending machine. We can also take the synthetizer for analysis to make... different food for us, even if it's from leftovers."

Rocky perks up. "I like! Good reason! Friend very..." A long hum, "...Need word. Think of other and work for other sake."

Ah. You type in the word considerate in the laptop.

"You know how Grace goes on and on about his sugar cravings. Don't tell him, but we did have sugar on the ship. We were allowed to synthesise a cake for birthdays of crew members, so I thought maybe..." you shrug, "... I don't know. Maybe we can get something from the ship that can be of use, regarding food. Nothing else." You point, "Strictly nothing else, I mean it, Rock. We have some pretty dangerous stuff in the ship, too."

"Like gun, question? Rocky see in movie."

"...... Exactly a gun, buddy."

The extraction mission was, thankfully, successful. You now have the synthesiser, food scraps and leftovers as well as some flavoured protein powder, courtesy of Curly's stash. Which, Eridian biologists can hopefully make something out of — and knowing them, they would work miracles.

Maybe you can synthetize a cake for Grace and Simon. Rocky too, though you doubt he would be able to digest what you eat. You can study Eridian biology to make a "cake" for him out of his sustenance, perhaps.

A weight is lifted off your shoulders, too. You have told Rocky everything, sparing no details, not shying away from any inquiries, replying as openly and honestly as you can. His lack of facial expressions made it easier to keep your composure as you talked through everything that went down in the Tulpar.

Deep down, you knew Rocky would not judge. Whether it was just a feeling or whether it was an idea that formed after many months of vigilant observations, you came to that conclusion. It went about as well as you have predicted.

"Not friend fault," he spoke, the hum quieter than usual, "Rocky hate Jimmy. Friend did what friend must. Survive. It important. No one blame friend. Thank for telling. It change nothing in Rocky perception of friend. Strong. Resilient. Kind. Rocky know."

"Thank you." You choke, trying to will away the tears stinging your eyes, "That means a lot to me, Rocky. I think I needed to hear that. Thank you."

"Welcome. Rocky thank also for telling. Keep secret until friend say it okay."

"I will tell them once we're home, promise. That was the reason for this whole adventure, remember? Maybe after the scientists are done analysing the findings, though. Maybe I can bait them into not hating me after I tell them the truth via bribery with sugar."

"... Stupid."

"Excuse you?" you clutch your non-existent pearls, apparently having forgotten how sharp-tongued the engineer could get after having a moment.

"No, excuse friend. Stupid, stupid, stupid, ugh! Grace Simon love friend. Hate friend not happening, ever! Statement."

"You know what?" you furrow your brows, pointing an accusatory finger at him, "Betting with you about this just might be the one thing that pushes me to do it as soon as possible."

"Good good good. Will tell you 'told you so'. Easy win for Rocky. Will ask culture questions as prize."

Grace and Simon are very much aware something is happening behind the scenes with you and the biodome engineers.

You leave the dome frequently for "check-up"s and "consultations", which has never happened to them. The Eridians usually prefer doing their checks in the biodome where the subjects (being all three of you) are more comfortable, yet they're whisking you away constantly.

It doesn't help that neither Adrian or Rocky say a peep about what's going on, whether it's Grace or Simon inquiring.

"Come ooon, pal," Grace groans, pleading eyes fixated on Rocky's exoskeleton, "They've been absent ever since you took off with them a while ago! We want to know what's happening!"

"They look a little sickly lately," Simon braces a hand on Grace's shoulder, "They're okay, right?"

"Of course friend is okay!!" Rocky stomps a claw on the floor, offended, "Rocky would not let friend come to harm!!"

"We know, Rock," Simon raises his free hand to pacify the Eridian, voice soft, "We're just worried." Turning to Grace for confirmation, "Right?"

"Right." Grace confirms, and Rocky lets out a long thrum akin to a sigh.

"Friend make preparation. Do not disturb. Will tell when ready."

They try to leave it at that.

Coming back to your shared home, you're meet with both avoidant and inquisitive gazes alike.

"..... Hi, Grace. Hi, Simon."

"Hi," They both echo simultaneously. You can practically see the gears in their heads turning, trying to approach the matter of your absence with the necessary amount of tact.

A fond sigh leaves your mouth. They kind of look like guilty housecats that have to face the consequences of chewing through the kibble packaging, for some reason.

"Sit down, both of you. I'll talk before you even need to ask."

Their eyes light up as they scramble towards the couch. Grace seems almost excited, while Simon looks like he's barely holding himself together, clearly expecting some bad news.

Well. Depending on their perspective, it just might be.

"Remember my ship? The one you found me in?" After they nod, you continue, "I asked Rocky to go back to see if there was anything we could salvage food-wise. We had pre-packaged rations, ingredients for the synthesiser, maybe some scraps from the vending machine that could be cloned, and some personal stashes and the like. The most variety we have regarding flavour is each of our meburgers, at this point, so—"

Grace plops down next to you unceremoniously before throwing his arms around you with a sigh, Simon getting up from his side of the couch to sit next to you as well, though he doesn't mirror the side-hug.

"You had me worried for nothing while thinking about expanding our palette!" Grace whines playfully, shoulders sagging as if a weight has been lifted from his shoulders.

"I've been overseeing the replication process." Before they ask, you tack on, "The new stuff we'll get are a surprise, and yes, there are multiple."

"Wow," Simon muses, and out of the corner of your eye, you see Grace pumping his fist in the air and mouthing what you're pretty sure is booyah!

"There is something else," you swallow audibly, and Grace removes his head from where it's nestled in your neck so fast you worry about him getting a whiplash, previous mirth almost wiped from his face as he fixates his gaze on you, silently prompting you to go on.

Simon, as if sensing your unease, takes your hand in his. The gesture is as comforting as it's anchoring.

"The details... I will spare you the details for now. And I will try to be as... objective as possible."

The tension in the room is palpable.

"The reason why Tulpar was damaged when you found it is because we crashed into an asteroid. It wasn't an accident."

Simon squeezes your hand. Grace's hand rests on your knee.

"The sabotage was intentional, orchestrated by our Captain's co-pilot, after the Captain disclosed that we were to be laid off once our current delivery was complete. Our Captain was... alive, barely, yet severely mutilated after the crash, and was blamed for the sabotage by the co-pilot, who assumed the position of Captain. One crewmember, our medic, was driven to suicide by him. Another, our intern, was forced into a dangerous situation by him and sustained fatal injuries, which were later infected because of incorrect and insufficient medical care after the death of our medic. Our mechanic put him out of his misery, which took a toll on him, and he tried killing our de-facto Captain. He was unsuccessful, of course, and was... executed, after. I killed him. The co-pilot and the former Captain, both. I deemed it necessary, and if given the chance, I would do it again. I'm sorry to have kept this from you for so long. I would understand if you wanted to send me away elsewhere, I have already talked to Rocky about it—"

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Simon speaks up first, cutting of your tangent. "I don't want you to leave." He looks at Grace.

".... I— I agree," Grace reinforces, "This might be a lot to take in suddenly, but there is no need for—" He gestures around him vaguely, "... Any of that."

"Thank you for telling us." Simon brings a hand to your face, "Breathe."

Oh. You didn't realise you were holding your breath.

"You know my past. I could never judge you for doing what you think is right, especially given your circumstances."

I always believed that our worst moments didn’t define us. Didn’t make us beyond repair.

"Thank you," you breathe out, eyes glassy. It would be a lie to say you weren't slightly out of it from how well they were taking the news that was slowly but surely poisoning you from keeping it bottled up inside.

"I know we've known each other for a relatively short time," Grace leans forward to catch your gaze, "But I know you're not a bad person. We, unfortunately, live in crazy times. I mean, pfft—" he exhales, waving his hands about in an exaggerated motion, "Dying stars, blood oceans— the ugly side of humanity should be old news by now."

"You're so freaking out." A broken laugh leaves your lips through the tears.

"I'm processing, there's a difference." Grace sticks out his pointer finger, the gesture entirely teacher-like in nature.

"So, I can stay?" you ask, a monster by the name of fear lying dormant under the seemingly hopeful question.

"Of course," comes the reply from both men, no hesitation whatsoever.

"And you don't... hate me? Think any less of me?"

"Never," They both echo without skipping a beat.