KATE

MASTER FIC LIST

Project Hail Mary 

Pilot Detected (3) - Kid!Reader; Ler!Grace, Ler!Rocky, and Lee!Reader

Pilot Detected (2) - Kid!Reader

Pilot Detected  - Kid!Reader, Ler!Grace and Lee!Reader

For Health - Ler!Rocky and Lee!Grace

Two Idiots - Lee!Grace and Ler!Reader

Be Gentle  - Ler!Stratt and Lee!Reader

Asking For It - Ler!Grace and Lee!Reader

Oral Fixation - Ler!Grace and Lee!Reader

Stop Stressing - Ler!Carl, Ler!Grace, and Lee!Reader

Dirty Dancing - Ler!Rocky, Lee!Grace, and Lee!Reader

Too Much - Ler!Grace and Lee!Reader

Doing Nothing - Ler!Stratt, Ler!Carl, and Lee!Grace

Nightcap - Ler!Grace, Ler!Stratt, and Lee!Reader

Well, Fudge (2) - Lee!Grace and Ler!Reader

Well, Fudge (1) - Ler!Grace and Lee!Reader

FANDOM LIST

Project Hail Mary

The Martian

Andor & Rogue One

Star Wars

BBC Sherlock

Bridgerton

Heartstopper

The fandom list is ever-evolving and may get updated. :)

It’s so much attention, but you love it. And the tickling has made you come out of your shell more than Grace could’ve imagined. Now, it’s like you’re a different person: you initiate conversations, you make jokes, and you even seem to relax a bit with your guilt over being asleep during the actual mission. You feel constantly cared for. 

Rocky’s favorite thing to do nowadays is to wake you up with tickles. He’d found his ball too clunky and uncomfortable for the long journey to Erid, so he built himself a carapace-tight xenonite suit. Now, he sits at the foot of your bunk to watch you sleep. Often, you’re woken up after eight hours of rest by a few gentle tickles on the sole of your foot or a claw softly scratching into your tummy. 

Grace prefers a more playful method. Sometimes, when you’re both sitting in the lab, Grace will catch you watching him work in awe. He’ll beckon you over and patiently explain what he’s doing. Then, he would quiz you on the things he just taught. You’re a fast learner, so you usually get it right, but when you’re wrong he’ll say “Try again” with a smirk and tickle you out of any sort of coherence. 

“Keep talking,” he’ll say with a smug grin. “Oh… right, you can’t, ‘cause I’m tickling you. That’s rough,” he’d add with fake pity. 

Usually it ends in you squealing, “I cahahan’t think when you’re dohohoing that!!” He won’t stop until you either say the correct answer through your laughter or you actually say stop. Which, knowing you, you’d never do. 

Other times, he will grab you when you walk past him, put you in his lap, and start tickling you absentmindedly as he types away at his computer. Then he’ll have the audacity to tell you to be quieter so he can focus on his work. 

Grace also loves it when you ask for what you want, and he’s more than happy to oblige. When a few days go by and you haven’t asked for tickles, he will get worried. He’ll pretend to take your temperature, saying, “Are you sick? You haven’t been in the mood for tickles in so long,” poking you in random spots to “check your health.” His favorite bit is diagnosing you with “a case of the giggles.”

If you have the nerve to tell him his title of “Dr.” isn’t remotely medical, he’ll drag you to the floor or a nearby soft surface and go for your worst spots. He can be mean when he wants to be. 

He gets in the mood to tickle you very spontaneously. When he’s the one initiating, he’s very predictable and always goes for his two favorite spots on you—your tummy or under your arms. Grace’s favorite facial expression on you is the look of delighted panic you get when he pins one of your arms up to scribble under it. 

Once, the two of you were sitting side-by-side in the Don’t Go Crazy Room watching a random movie. 

“Can I see your hand?” He’d asked you. 

You’d offered your right hand, confused. It was the one closer to his body, so he grabbed it with his left hand and pulled it around his shoulders, exposing your entire right side. 

For a second you thought he was trying to cuddle, but then his grip tightened on your captive hand. Your mouth had dropped open in shock, and then a flood of anticipatory giggles had come out of it, as he wiggled his fingers slowly towards your wide-open underarm. You’d tried to squirm away to no avail. 

You still have dreams about that time. You always wake up from those dreams with a happy smile on your face. 

As you ran out of real food and switched to coma slurry, you could see your and Grace’s mental health decline in real time. You were still getting the number of calories and nutrients required, but eating felt like a punishment with the chalky texture and salty taste of the slurry. Grace had to convince and cajole you to eat, which in a way kept him eating as well for the sake of taking care of you. Sometimes he would tickle you to cheer you up after another mundane, unappetizing meal. 

When you had to switch to eating Taumoeba, both of you started losing energy and weight fast. It was tasteless and lacked a lot of the vitamins you needed, but it was just enough to keep you alive. Rocky watched helplessly as his two favorite humans withered away. It was a rougher period. The tickling mostly stopped, turning into occasional light tickles for comfort. The two of you watched a lot of movies and TV. You cuddled a lot. You became a lot closer, intimately familiar with the trials of slowly starving on each others’ bodies. You never started calling Grace your dad, but it was implied. 

It was a difficult few years when you reached Erid. Your mental health was hanging by a thread, and the only way Grace stayed sane was by taking care of you. Rocky was very protective of you two, harshly demanding your needs from the Eridian doctors, engineers, scientists that came to take care of you, create the food you needed, and build you a place to live on Erid. 

Things got better quickly when they were able to make meat from your DNA and muscle tissue. Once you were getting proper amounts of iron, vitamin C, vitamin B, and vitamin D, your nutrition improved exponentially. A few months after that, the Adrian had finished building the biodome. You and Grace moved as soon as possible. You were delighted to discover that Adrian had made you your own bedroom. 

The first few weeks, both you and Grace didn’t do much except sleep. As soon as the two of you stepped into the biodome and had eaten something that wasn’t Taumoeba, you realized you were safe in a way you hadn’t been in a while. The realization had allowed you to take blissfully warm showers and sleep for about 12 hours each in your new beds. You’d woken up to find Rocky watching you, stumbled into the kitchen to eat, and gone back to bed. That was your and Grace’s routine. Rocky found it extremely concerning, but was pacified as you slowly gained back your weight and strength. 

When you both started feeling ready to live like people again, you had more time to process your feelings. You quickly found that you had a hard time sleeping alone, even with Rocky or Adrian watching you. You’d lie awake for hours, tossing and turning. When you slept, you’d have nightmares and wake up with Grace’s name on the tip of your tongue before you remembered yourself. 

One night, you just couldn’t do it anymore. You ignore Adrian’s chirp of confusion and stumble into Grace’s doorway. He’s awake and working on his laptop. Rocky is tinkering with something as well at the foot of the bed. 

Grace looks up. “What’s wrong, kiddo?”

“I can’t sleep,” you admit. “Couldn’t sleep the night before. Or the night before that.”

He immediately moves over to make room for you in his bed. He pats the empty spot. You hesitate and then scoot in. 

He gently pulls you against him, fingers tangling in your hair. “Have you been having nightmares?”

You nod. 

He hums thoughtfully. “Me too.”

You’re both quiet for a while. Adrian speaks up in their deep, rumbling voice to suggest: “Can humans have—” They cut off. “Need word.”

Adrian and Rocky debate the proper word for a second before Rocky supplies his partner with “separation anxiety.”

Grace chuckles. “Oh boy, can we,” he mutters sarcastically. “Yeah. We can. Maybe it’s because we’re not used to sleeping in different rooms.”

You’re not really paying attention to the conversation anymore. You are more relaxed than you’ve felt in days, falling asleep to the lullaby of Grace’s heartbeat. He notices, looking down and petting your hair with a small smile. 

When you realize everyone is looking at you fondly, you clear your throat, cheeks slightly pink. “Uh,” you fumble. “I guess I should… go back to my own bed. Train myself out of the, uh, separation anxiety.”

You start to get up and Grace tugs you back. “What, sweetheart, you’re going to go back to bed and be lonely and have more nightmares?” He asks rhetorically, a sympathetic look on his face. 

You shrug helplessly. You shoot a wary glance at your audience of two, who are watching quietly, and murmur: “I don’t know, Grace. This isn’t normal.”

“We’re not normal,” he replies, pulling you back into his arms. 

You sigh deeply in response, cuddling closer. 

“Hey now, kiddo,” he says quietly. “That’s a big sigh.”

You don’t respond beyond a sleepy hum of acknowledgment. 

He shifts slightly, moving his hand to your side. You freeze as he starts wiggling his fingers gently from your hip to your ribs. His chin rests on the top of your head. “You gonna lighten up, or what?” 

You pretend not to hear him, trying to stay still. A few giggles slip out, muffled by his t-shirt. 

Vaguely in the background you hear Rocky explaining to Adrian what tickling is. 

“I need you to laugh properly before I let you go to sleep,” Grace teases in my ear. “Don’t they say something about not going to bed angry?”

“I’m nohohot angry,” you giggle into his chest. 

“Ah, whatever, you get the idea,” he mutters, clawing gently into your lower belly. 

Grace notices Adrian peering curiously over the edge of the bed. “Hey, Adrian, you wanna help?”

“Yes, want to know what Grace is doing,” Adrian says. 

“Poke here, with your claw,” Grace instructs, pointing at your side. You try to block it with your hands, but Grace patiently moves them out of the way.  He crosses your wrists and uses one big hand to pin them to your chest.  

Adrian is too gentle at first, afraid to hurt you. But soon, with Grace’s encouragement, they begin tickling you silly, clawing and pinching at your ribs. 

Grace shoves your hoodie up so he can get at your belly unrestricted. “That’s better,” he teases, drawing out the ‘r.’

“Nohoho dohohon’t—“ you protest. 

“No?” Grace teases. “You sure about that? You look pretty happy.”

Adrian’s claws dance against your side as Grace torments your bellybutton with a few teasing fingers. You snort-laugh, prompting Adrian to first startle and then coo in adoration. 

“Awh, that’s cute, isn’t it, Adrian?” Grace murmurs in your ear, trying to see if he can make you snort again. 

“Okahahay okahahay- stahahap…” you whine, curling up around Grace’s hand. 

Adrian removes their claw and Grace slows down, rubbing your tummy gently. You’re thoroughly tired out. Grace shifts more to make room for you in his bed and coaxes you into lying down. 

You shed your hoodie, warmed up from being tickled. Underneath is Grace’s “element of surprise” shirt, hanging loose over your smaller frame. 

“I was wondering where that had gone,” he mutters. You chuckle softly in reply. 

He rests his head on the pillow next to yours, sneaking his hand under your shirt and tracing down your spine. You shiver visibly—it tickles a little, but it feels nice. 

“N-nothing,” you reply, letting Grace manhandle you. There’s a nervous smile on your face. 

“Is okay. Grace Rocky give you something to laugh about, statement,” Rocky trills. 

You flush pinker and cross your arms over your stomach. Grace moves them patiently out of the way with a pointed look over the rims of his glasses that gives you butterflies. 

“Grace teach where humans are ticklish, question?” Rocky asks, tapping his dominant legs together excitedly.

“Well, we figured out last time that you’re ticklish here”—he pokes your tummy—“here,”—he scribbles under your arms—“and here,” he finishes, clawing at your ribs. 

You’re already a giggly mess, torn between trying to squirm away and hide your face. 

“But…” Grace continues, “I bet there’s a ton more spots.” 

Rocky sticks his claws through the mesh panel of his ball to drum lightly on your tummy. A stream of bubbly giggles, tangled with Rocky’s name, leaves your mouth and you try to curl up on your side. 

“Ah-ah-ah,” Grace tuts, grabbing your hips and centering you on your back. “Okay. Let’s try a search grid.” 

“A what?”  

“Quadrant one,” Grace announces, his hands finding the left side of your neck. 

You’re not prepared. You laugh brightly through cries of “Grace, wait!”, twisting on the mattress. Every time you pull your shoulder up to protect your neck, Grace’s fingers pursue your laughter to the other side of your neck. It’s impossible to escape. 

“We have to be thorough. Stop trying to speed up to quadrant two, kiddo, it’s not very scientific,” Grace complains, pinning your left shoulder down to scribble gently around your left ear. He chuckles at the squeal you make in reply. 

Rocky makes an endeared noise and starts to trace his claws up and down your sides. You let out a stream of bubbly giggles. 

“You are just the cutest,” Grace mutters to himself, leaning down to blow a raspberry into your neck. The sound you make is probably high-pitched enough to sound like microphone feedback. 

Grace comes up for air, wincing. “Jeez, kid,” he remarks, moving his hands to skitter across your collarbone and squeeze at the muscle beneath it. You didn’t even know you were ticklish there. “Are you trying to make me deaf?”

“Nahahaha- no, I’m sohohorry…” 

“Stop apologizing. Why are you always apologizing? We gotta do something about that,” Grace says in a fake-scolding tone, doing an unfair 180 just to tease you. “You- need- more- self-confidence,” he adds playfully, poking you somewhere new on your torso to emphasize each word. 

You make a noise of protest and indignation that is immediately overtaken by squeaky giggles as Rocky tries tickling your palm through the mesh panel. 

“Ooh, nice find, Rocky,” Grace says, grabbing your other hand.

You tug uselessly on your wrists but they each have one hand and they’re not letting up. Rocky is doing more of a tickly hand massage and Grace has stretched your fingers back to scribble over your palms with his fingernails. Your heels thump futilely against the bed to let the restless energy out as you let your head fall back and laugh. 

“Ahaha…wahahait,” You stammer through various squeaks and snorts. 

Grace slows down. “Wait for what?”

You try to catch your breath. “I need a breheheak…”

Grace looks down at you admiringly while you catch your breath. “How do you know when break is over, question?” Rocky asks, tapping his ball in excitement. 

Grace chuckles. “We gotta wait for the kid to say so, Rock,” he says. Then, to you: “Don’t wanna kill you, kiddo.”

Rocky bounces slightly. “Are you saying so, question?” 

You laugh, from humor this time, and nod. 

Grace resumes the search grid. “Quadrant—four? Five? Ah, fudge it.” He squeezes at your hips, showing Rocky how to do it when it gets a good reaction from you. They move on quickly though, eager to cover more ground. 

“Does it tickle here?” Grace asks, squeezing at your thighs. Your hands fly down to grab his, face turning red as you laugh helplessly. “Mm, all I’m hearing is laughter, you’ve gotta be more specific,” Grace teases. 

“YEHEHES it dohohohes!” You squeal.

“Oh, really, I couldn’t tell,” Grace muses playfully. Rocky traces delicate lines under your knee in the soft flesh. Your legs kick involuntarily. 

“Grace, what is this appendage called, question?”

“Knees, Rock,” Grace says, squeezing at the muscle above your kneecap and grinning at the way you shriek in response. “Very ticklish knees.”

Grace’s fingers scribble down your calf and even you’re surprised at the soft, breathy giggles that it coaxes out of you. He hesitates at your foot. “Do you want me to keep going, kiddo?”

You try to catch your breath, debating. “M-maybe- maybe just a bit,” you stammer. “Nohot too much, I cahan’t handle it…”

Rocky chirps curiously. Grace explains: “For a lot of people feet are the most ticklish spot. It’s very intense.”

Grace doesn’t take your sock off, trying not to overwhelm you, but he does scratch gently at the arch of your foot while holding the ankle with his other hand. You cover your face to muffle your loud giggles. You try to tug your foot away on reflex, your leg straining against his strong hold. 

“Grace correct, foot is very ticklish, statement,” Rocky affirms. He grabs your other foot and starts playing with your toes in a way that shouldn’t tickle nearly as much as it does. 

“Should we play ‘This Little Piggy’?” Grace asks, a cheeky smirk on his face. 

“No DOHOHOHON’T I’m nohohot a BAHAHABY!” You shriek. 

“Aww, are you sure? You’re giggling like a little kid,” Grace points out unhelpfully. 

Mercifully, Grace lets go of your foot. He brings his hands up to your face, resting his thumbs on your cheeks and using his remaining fingers to scratch gently at your neck and behind your ears. Rocky continues playing with your toes. Your laughter dies down into soft giggles and gasps. 

Rocky abandons your foot and rolls back up towards your face, tapping his claws on his ball to make out your facial expression better through his echolocation. He makes a series of cooing noises you’ve never heard him make before. 

Grace stops tickling and your shoulders relax. His thumbs stroke your cheeks gently and he leans down to press a fond kiss to your forehead. 

Your breath catches in your throat. “Wha- what was that for?”

Grace clears his throat, looks up at the ceiling with a shuddering breath, and looks back down at you. You can see a slight sheen of wetness in his eyes. You know he’s not the best at verbalizing his own feelings, but you watch him try. For you. 

“It’s just nice to see you happy,” he manages, his voice a little rough. 

You almost smile, because he cries at everything, and you can’t help but find it endearing. But you don’t. You pull him down for a hug instead. 

He awkwardly falls down into your chest with an ‘oof’, wrapping his arms around you as tightly as possible. “Thank you,” you murmur, so quiet he might not have heard it. 

He nods slightly against your chest, acknowledging your thanks without making a big deal out of it. Rocky lets you have a moment.

Grace sits up and Rocky immediately bombards him with questions. “Laugh so much, so loud, statement. Why sensitive in some places more than others, question? How long does it take for humans to lose breath when tickled, question? Why blood flow go to face when tickled, question? Why so cute, question? Why does laugh change with different spots—“

Grace cuts him off, chuckling. “Slow down, buddy,” he says. 

You watch them talk about your ticklish spots right over your head. Your face is beyond flushed. 

“Feet, armpits, and ribs are usually the most sensitive spots for people, but it also depends on the person,” Grace explains. 

Rocky bounces around excitedly. “How many more times can we tickle, question? Want to learn more, more, more.”

Grace looks to you with a smile. “That’s up to the kid.”

What Grace said then is right. You have all the time in the world. And it is contributing to the problem. 

The problem is that Grace seems to have awakened something in you with only his fingers, his teacherly instinct, and his slightly tipsy judgement. And you can’t go back. 

The only thing your brain wants to think about is tickles. Specifically, Grace tickling you. And now there is too much time to look at his hands, his kind smile, his strong arms, and wish his attention was directed at you. 

Which is silly, because it always is. The first thing he does in the morning is check in with you and he never stops making sure you’re okay. Even when he’s not okay. Even when you’re not being a scared kid at all—steering the ship past debris, fixing a broken device that had stumped Grace in ten minutes, beating him and Rocky at Clue. He’s always quick with a pat on the back or a side hug or a friendly compliment that you don’t know how to take without blushing or stuttering or deflecting. 

The problem (it’s always about the problem) is that his attention is somehow too much and not enough. You’ve never had someone care like this before. You’ve never had an object to project your desires of hugs, comfort, and a happily-ever-after onto. You’ve never had someone who you cared about pleasing so much. It’s not entirely clear he can tell. He’s probably just being nice, you tell yourself. Stop getting so attached. 

You watch Grace’s fingers fly across the keyboard from where you’re curled up in your bunk with a mug of tea that Grace made you. You try suppress the tingles that spread across your skin as you imagine them on you, his strong arms hugging you close and his fingers seeking out every spot that makes you laugh. You swallow the wave of guilt and shame that crashes over you almost immediately after the tingly feeling. 

You force yourself to look away from Grace’s hands. You look over at Rocky instead. He’s tinkering with something, crafting it out of xenonite. It looks like a Rubik’s cube. Your eyes widen, remembering the conversation you had with Rocky the other day about your old Rubik’s cube from Earth. Is that for me? 

You watch the way Rocky builds. All five of his legs are doing something. Two are supporting him upright, one is manipulating the raw xenonite material, and the other two are articulating the shape of the design. Your mind wanders. You imagine three of Rocky’s hands holding you down firmly, the other two roaming to your sensitive spots as he coos at you in complex Eridian chords. Your ears turn pink as you imagine Grace nearby, telling Rocky where to tickle and how. Teasing you. Calling you cute. Petting your hair when it’s over. You shiver. You can almost feel it. 

You shift abruptly in your bunk, rubbing away the goosebumps prickling on your skin. Grace looks up, smiles at you like you’re the best thing he’s seen all day, and continues working. It makes your stomach flip. 

Could you tell him? No. You’d never live it down. You don’t know him like that. He doesn’t like you enough to do something so indulgent. You’re not his friend. You’re not his student. Or his- or his child. You’re just his unfortunate responsibility. He’d think you’re a freak. He’d regret doing it the first time if he knew you’re so weird about it. He’d eject you from the ship. He’d-

You take a deep breath before the spiral goes any further. In for four, hold for four, out for four…

A wave of sadness crashes over you. It’s strange to be in such good company and yet so lonely. You set your mug aside and roll over in your bunk, pulling the blankets over you. Grace stops typing. You hear it, but you don’t turn around. 

“I think it’s time for a break,” Grace mutters to himself. He gets up to make himself more coffee. “Hey kiddo, you want some more tea?” 

“I’m okay,” you say, facing the wall. Your voice sounds kind of hollow. 

Grace pauses in the doorway at your response, and then keeps walking. He comes back a bit later with a fresh mug. He sits down and you hear him take a sip. You don’t hear the typing resume. You shiver. He must be watching you. 

“Kid?” He asks softly. 

You roll over and then sit up. “Hm?”

He leans back in his bunk, examining you for a second. “You gonna tell me what’s wrong?” 

Rocky becomes alert. You shake your head. “It’s nothing serious,” you offer. 

He hums in acknowledgment, debating how to handle this without stressing you out. You see him switch into teacher mode in real time. “Why can’t you tell me?”

You fumble. “I, um, I don’t know. I just can’t.”

“Why not, question?” Rocky prods. 

You flush, now being scrutinized by both of your crewmates. “It’s too embarrassing,” you manage. 

Grace tuts. “Not a good enough answer,” he says gently, angling his head down to try to make eye contact with you. You feel like one of his students. “No such thing as embarrassing on such a small ship.”

You rub your hands over your face. “You don’t understand. It’s shameful.”

“Hmm,” he hums skeptically. “Says who?”

You flounder, searching for an answer. “Says me. Says… society.”

“We have our own society,” Rocky says. “We make own rules. I watch you sleep. I spend every second with you. This is not normally acceptable for humans. You eat in same room as me. Is not acceptable for Eridians. Is same thing.”

You sigh. You debate your options. It’s going to come out at some point—either now or when you lose your mind from the lack of physical affection. Best to get it over with. 

“Fine, okay, fine,” you acquiesce. “I’ll tell you what’s wrong. Just- it won’t be smooth. Or put together.”

Grace nods, a patient expression on his face. He’s smiling a little too—he must find your embarrassment amusing. Or endearing? “Take your time.”

“Do you remember… do you remember the thing that you did. To me. Last week in the Don’t Go Crazy Room?” You ask haltingly. 

“Dumb question. Obviously I remember, statement. Eridians always remember,” Rocky says immediately. 

Grace bites his lip. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”

You decide that you’re done with eye contact for the day. You stare at the floor and say, “After you figured out that we could eat Taumoeba. You were doing karaoke. You said I had to be a kid again.”

“Ohhh,” Grace says slowly. “Yes. I tickled you.”

You have no idea how red your face is, but you assume it’s noticeable. You forge on: “Okay. Um. I l-liked when you did that.”

There’s a bit of silence. Rocky breaks it. “That is it, question?”

“Yeah, that’s not embarrassing,” Grace says, chuckling slightly. 

“What do you mean it’s not embarrassing?” You say, trying to keep your voice level, but you hear the pitch go up from nervousness. 

Grace shrugs. “Lots of people don’t mind being tickled,” he says simply. 

“I don’t know much about human culture, but tickling seemed fun. I understand why you like,” Rocky adds.  

“No- no, you don’t get it,” you say, covering your face. “I- I’m obsessed with it. I can’t say the word. I can’t stop thinking about it. All I want is for you to—“

Grace crosses the room, crouches in front of you, peels your hands away from your face. “Hey,” he says gently. Teacher voice. “Sweetheart. Stop for a second.” 

You look into his kind eyes and nearly melt at the pet name. You try to slow down, to regulate your breathing. In for four, hold for four. “Do you really think we care about that, kiddo?” He asks. 

You shrug helplessly. “I- It’s objectively weird, Grace.”

He snorts a little at that. “C’mon, kid. I called an academic a staggering waste of carbon in my youth. Rocky over here introduced himself to me without any clothes on. I don’t do anything without wearing a science pun t-shirt. Rocky likes it when I do puppet shows.” 

Rocky chirps in affirmation. 

“We all have our quirks. Okay? We don’t mind yours,” he says. 

You nod slowly. 

“And- listen. I don’t know much about your past and how that contributes to this. But it’s perfectly normal to need physical touch. I was going crazy before you woke up. Even high-fiving you improves my mental health. So I don’t mind. Rocky doesn’t mind,” he adds. 

It’s silent for a few moments. You’re processing. It’s hard to believe, but if anyone were to be this accepting, it’d be him. You don’t know what you did to deserve these companions. 

Rocky interrupts your thought process in his up-to-no-good octave: “Grace. We owe the kid some tickles, statement.”

You flush, looking up to see Rocky already in his ball next to you. Grace grins.

You splutter and cough, immediately starting to hyperventilate. Grace is about to intervene when your breathing pattern changes into steady, controlled counts of four. Interesting, Grace thinks. You must be good at self-regulation. That only manages to make him more curious about you. 

After a few hours of talking you through the uncomfortable medical aspects of waking up from a coma, giving you privacy to put some real clothes on, and figuring out if you have amnesia like he does (you don’t), he finally explains his side of the story. 

You’re wide-eyed as Grace explain how he was sent on the mission against his will. You don’t believe him when he explains how he met Rocky, and you nearly have a heart attack when he peeks around the corner. You’re relieved to hear about how Rocky and Grace managed to identify a predator of astrophage. 

“I- I have so many questions,” you say. “I remember you. I remember everything. But- why was I in coma for so long? I was supposed to wake up in time to help—Where are we going? Do we have to- do we have to kill ourselves now?”

“No, we’re going to Erid,” he explains. “Rocky’s planet.” He explains how Rocky donated fuel, the Taumoeba leak, and how Grace had gone back to save him.  

“Listen, I- I have a lot of questions too. I remember very little about you. Why would they send a kid?” Grace asks.

“I’m a pilot,” you explain. “I was… I went to a special trade school as a teenager. I was some sort of prodigy. At least that’s what they called me. I volunteered. You and Stratt didn’t want to put a kid on the mission initially. But then the rest of the crew were struggling to adapt to the demands of flying the Hail Mary in simulations, so Stratt convinced you I was the right person.”

“But I’m a teacher, why would I ever send a kid to their death?”

You shrug. “I’m 18. So I could consent. And you got to know me, and… I guess you thought I was good.”

He chews on his lip. “Okay. Well… definitely could’ve been helpful when we were flying in Adrian’s low orbit.”

A swell of guilt crawls up your throat. It must show on your face, because he immediately backtracks. “No- no, I didn’t mean that, I- don’t feel bad. We managed fine.”

•••

A few weeks pass. You get your strength up, and also learn how to talk to Rocky. You rely heavily on the laptop translation program, but Rocky takes to you immediately. You’re so quiet and curious—exactly the type of student Grace used to like as a teacher. “A pleasure to have in class,” as he would say in parent-teacher conferences. Rocky sees it too—he’s got some kind of protective instinct for you. He’s much nicer to you than he is to Grace, at least. Much less teasing. When you smile at his jokes, he’ll repeat them until they’re worn into the ground.  

Grace doesn’t tell you about the weeks of anxiety he’d had over your sleeping body, the way he’d prayed to gods he previously didn’t believe in for you to wake up so he’d  have human company. The way he’d worried when Adrian’s gravity had started to pull the ship apart during the Taumoeba sample collection, threatening your dormancy in the crew quarters. He couldn’t believe you were finally awake. 

Your personality is hard for them to figure out. You want to trust them, but you’re struggling. You’re much more comfortable with Grace than with Rocky but you are still very quiet. You find their friendship, their shorthand and ease, intimidating. You feel a deep guilt that you weren’t able to help with the actual mission—you make up for it by stealing Grace’s chores and ship maintenance tasks. You barely tell them anything about yourself, afraid to get close to them just to have them taken away from you. You don’t unpack that. You’re good at not unpacking things.  

You bury those feelings under your apprehension about going to Erid, which is easier to deal with. You don’t remember everything about your life before Stratt recruited you—it must be the lingering effects of the coma—but you do know that you don’t really want to go back to Earth. Something about it unsettles you. So you try to look forward to Erid. 

You pretend not to notice all the ways in which Grace is trying to break you out of your shell. 

•••

Rocky and Grace are in a party sort of mood today. Grace had figured out that the two of you could eat Taumoeba once the food (and eventually the coma slurry from your two dead crewmates) ran out. The starvation-before-reaching-Erid problem had been weighing on your minds and it was good to know that you’d at least survive until Erid where the scientists there could synthesize the things you need. 

You’d managed a relieved smile and celebrated with them for a bit but Grace caught you trying to slink off just as he brought out the last of the vodka. “Hey, come on,” he calls out to you as you try to leave the Don’t Go Crazy Room. “Stay with us?”

“Oh, I don’t drink,” you say. There’s a crease between your eyebrows. 

Grace laughs. “Not what I meant, kiddo, I wouldn’t give alcohol to an underage—well, we’re in space, so maybe it doesn’t matter…” You watch him ramble, the crease on your forehead deepening into a line. 

“Please stay, question?” Rocky asks beseechingly. He taps his front-facing legs on the floor gently. Something in your face melts—he sure knows how to weaponize cuteness. You reluctantly sit down a few feet away from Grace.

After a few swigs of vodka Grace turns on the karaoke machine. He and Rocky are goofing around. They try to get you to sing but you refuse. Grace pouts. He’s a little tipsy. “Why not?” He whines. “C’mon, kid…”

You shake your head, tight-lipped. You’re stressed again. Grace chews his lip, frustrated. He’d been doing everything he could possibly think of to make you more comfortable around them. 

Grace stops drinking and grab some water, thinking maybe the drinking was stressing you out. After half an hour he’s a little more sober. You do seem to relax a bit more. You make a joke about his singing that makes Rocky laugh, one of his non-dominant legs thumping on the ground. The teasing makes Grace grin so wide he’s afraid he’ll put you off. It feels like a victory—he doesn’t even care that much for his dignity. 

The room goes quieter after a while, the three of you basking in each other’s presence and the success of having another problem solved. 

“Hey,” Grace says after a while. “Why don’t you behave like a kid?”

Your body language stiffens slightly despite your best efforts to remain relaxed, to remain easy to be around. You shrug. “No time.”

Grace scoffs. “Not true. We have all the time in the world now.” But you know he knows what you mean. If you’re that age and already such a good pilot, you probably didn’t have much of a childhood.

Rocky pipes up: “You can relax. Grace will not hurt. Rocky will not hurt.”

You nod slightly. Grace smiles. “C’mon, kid, you gotta relax,” he says, reaching for you. 

You stiffen further, cursing your own reflexes. You want to relax so badly. You’re not used to any sort of physical contact. Grace has been trying you with pats on the shoulder, ruffling your hair, and high fives the past few weeks to get you more comfortable with him. You look at him like a deer in headlights. You don’t run away. You quietly congratulate yourself for managing to be okay with how his hands get close, hesitate, and grab you. 

He scoops you up and pulls you into his lap. Never mind, you think. Now I’m panicking. In for four—“Grace, what are you doing?” You ask, your voice a bit breathy and anxious. You grab firmly onto his forearms and try to pry him off. He doesn’t budge. 

“Chill out, not gonna hurt you,” he says in your ear. You suppress a shiver at the gust of air over your sensitive skin. “Just trying to get you to be a kid.” With that, he digs into your sides. 

You yelp, trying to twist out of his grip. “No-nonono Grace don’t do it—stop—Grace, no—“ You grit your teeth to muffle any laughter. 

“You can laugh, I know you wanna,” Grace teases, crawling his big hands up a little higher onto your ribs. Rocky’s alert by now, watching carefully. He can tell Grace is not hurting you, despite the almost pained noises you’re making to avoid laughing. 

You kick out against the floor, grunting in frustration. “Lehet me go!” you growl. 

“Why are you so afraid to laugh?” He asks. “It’s not gonna kill ya.” 

“What Grace doing, question?” Rocky finally asks. 

“Torturing me!” You shriek. It’s the most emotion they’ve gotten out of you yet. 

“Not torturing,” Grace corrects in his teacher voice. “Tickling. If you touch certain human body parts it causes a nervous system reaction of this, uh, funny feeling and it makes humans laugh. If they’re sensitive to it—ticklish, that is.”

“Why doing this, question?”

“Because he’s evil—“ you grumble, a choked laugh escaping as Grace squeezes a little harder. 

“Because grumpy pants over here needs to lighten up,” he says, blowing a puff of air into your neck. “And it’s fun. And I’m in the mood for some fun today.”

You change tactics, curling up in his lap as much as possible to block the tickles out. Doesn’t manage to deter him, though. There’s always a spot wide open, no matter how much you defend. Grace skitters his fingers along your neck so you reach up to swat him away, letting out a few squeaky giggles, and he takes the opening to claw at that junction between your sides and ribs. Instant squirming. When he’s able to crack you open, you laugh a lot.

“Ahahaha- GRAHAHACE! It’s not FAHAHAIR- Lemme gohoho!!” 

“Life’s not fair, kiddo,” Grace teases. He pokes and prods at where your arms are clamped down to protect your armpits, which gets you giddy and giggling almost as much as if he could actually get under your arms. “Especially not for people this ticklish,” Grace adds. 

“Cute,” Rocky trills. “Is supposed to be cute, question?”

“Ohhh, hear that?” Grace murmurs in your ear, rubbing his stubble there while he’s at it. He earns a squeal for his efforts. “Yes, Rocky, it’s supposed to be cute. Veeeery cute. Aren’t you?” 

Your face is so red. You definitely can’t handle compliments. “I’ll let you go if you promise to be a little more relaxed,” Grace says calmly, chuckling a little at the shrill shriek he hears when he claws gently at your tummy over your shirt. 

“PLEHEHEASE PLEASE I’ll be MOHOHORE relahahahaxed…” Your laughter dies down as his fingers slow.

Rocky chirps happily. “Good,” Grace says. 

He loosen his hold on you, but you don’t move. He rubs gently up and down your side. Your body is limp in Grace’s lap. “You okay?” He asks softly after a bit.

“Mm,” you hum noncommittally. Your eyes are closed.

Oh. You trust me, he realizes. Grace smiles to himself and he feels his eyes sting slightly with wetness. Rocky notices and mutters something about leaky humans before settling down in his ball. But Grace can tell Rocky’s happy.

You actually fall asleep like that. On Grace. He’s so touched that he has to get himself together before picking you up bridal-style and bringing you to bed. He tucks you in gently and goes off to get ready for bed as Rocky watches you sleep. Grace climbs into his bunk, wishing the ship a quiet goodnight.