british bat cryptid

The first thing Eva notices when she wakes up is that she has made a mistake – because she is waking up. She had never intended to go to sleep in the first place, not here, in her office.

She's slumped against the arm of the sofa, and it's only when she shifts to sit fully upright that she notices the second unexpected facet of this situation in the form of a blanket that slides onto the seat beside her. The woollen material rubs against her arm as it shifts, and she blinks, frowning down at it.

She supposes she can understand how she ended up passing out in her office. Usually Eva keeps a strict schedule that involves at least six hours of sleep (Eva has learned from the mistakes of others, and knows that making critical decisions under limited cognitive function is a recipe for mission failure), but the previous day had been a gruelling one, and the night before that an emergency had meant that she had been unable to spare any time for rest.

The blanket, however, makes less sense. She's still staring down at it as if it might hold some kind of answer for her.

The fact that somebody had gone out of their way, used their precious time, to make her life a little more comfortable shouldn't be unexpected – but, somehow, it is.

The kindness surprises her.

In a world where everyone around her has no choice but to dedicate their every waking moment to ensuring the future of mankind– by her own orders, nonetheless– she has become used to brutal efficiency. She surrounds herself with it. Immerses herself in it. They made her the project leader because of it, because she could get the job done quickly enough to save them all.

She picks up the blanket from where it has fallen, and finds herself rubbing the material of it between her fingers, unable to pull herself from her thoughts. Later, she'll blame the fact that she was still waking up for her sluggishness. The reality, that such a simple reminder of what she was fighting for has almost driven her to tears, is harder to confront.

The kindness had surprised her, but it had been proof that there is still plenty of good in the world.

—

There is still plenty of good in the world.

There has to be, because that was the nature of humanity, but it has been a long time now since Eva has seen any proof of it for herself.

In her cell, she shivers. She had always known that prisoners would be the first to feel the effects of rationing. She had braced herself for it, accepted it, and even now that she is facing it she doesn't truly resent anyone for it. It's a cruelty she could see coming.

She hadn't, however, continued to follow that logic to the conclusion that other resources would be limited, too. She'd had other things to concern herself with, and little time to consider how comfortably she might spend her years in prison.

They'd taken the blanket and the bedding from her cell, the week previous. Others needed it more, they'd said, looking down at her as they carried it away.

It was one thing to know that the world was getting colder and colder, and another to feel that cold creep into her bones through the walls of a cell, with not even the flimsy sheet of fabric as a buffer. Even with her legs drawn up off of the concrete floor, she can't escape it. Her teeth chatter, and she huddles in on herself, hugging her legs to her chest. It must be the middle of the night, by now. These days, she sleeps in the daylight, when some small amount of warmth returns to the room.

This won't be forever, she reminds herself. Not forever; just until she is needed again outside of this place.

She has contingencies in place, of course, when it comes to her time spent in prison, and plans for if those contingencies fail. These years of her life have always been weighed by how usefully they might be spent, either outside of these walls or within. Currently, she's the distraction the world needs to keep the pressure off of the remaining Hail Mary team – but one day, the scales will tip, and her life will be more useful to those trying to recover the beetles.

It's a strange party. Rocky has always assumed that all parties that Grace has held on Erid are odd by Earth standards, but this one feels strange even to itself. Many of the friends that Grace has managed to accumulate over the years are present, people are talking and laughing together, and Earth music is playing over a set of modified speakers. There isn't any food, something that Grace had explained would usually be found at Earth celebrations, but this is normal. Everything is, theoretically, as it should be. There isn't any reason for Rocky to be acting as it is, not by the standards that it knows Grace would judge it by if Grace had already seen Rocky lurking at the outskirts of the gathering, making no move to actually join in.

As it is, Grace hasn't spotted it yet, so Rocky is left with more time to brood.

It's the reason for celebrating that just feels wrong, in Rocky's opinion. It taps the ground to get a clearer picture of the party from where it sits at the bottom of the cliff, then tucks its arms even tighter around itself.

The reason for celebration this time is the removal of Grace's arm cast. Apparently this is a 'colourful' thing, something that they had all assisted Grace in decorating, adding different patterns and eridian messages to it in accordance with important Earth traditions. Grace had said that it would be sad to see it go, but Rocky couldn't be more glad to put the whole thing behind them.

Rocky had said it would be a worse reason to host a party than the others they had shared, but Grace had said it didn't care. He'd rather celebrate something simple, rather than the avoidance of something as dire as death by astrophage crisis, like their first celebration had involved.

Rocky would argue otherwise. Any situation involving its friend being in pain was dire enough for it.

When the accident had first occurred, a fall that had led to a broken bone, Grace had been in agony. Rocky couldn't forget the sounds it had made, the vocalisations of pain that Rocky hadn't heard it make for many years now. Worse, almost, was how Grace had attempted to calm Rocky in the aftermath. As if Rocky were the one that had been howling in pain just a few hours beforehand.

It was "just something that happened", Grace had told Rocky. "Just an accident, nothing more."

It was something that Grace could have avoided, Rocky had argued, and Grace had shrugged. It'd told Rocky that it needed to learn its new limits. It was getting older, and having brittle bones was just one of the consequences of that process that it should have been expecting.

Grace had gone on to remind Rocky of the other signs of aging that it was anticipating, after that. It had explained things to Rocky that Rocky had already heard it bring up a dozen times before.

That was another human thing of its that Grace hasn't managed to shake – reminding Rocky of things that it had no physical way of forgetting. Grace blamed its own imperfect memory for forgetting that fact, but Rocky knew the truth behind its reminders. Its friend had been circling back to the same morbid topics surrounding its own mortality at an increasing frequency, as of late.

It keeps going back to the same topics, and saying the most unthinkable things, and now it wants to do something as ordinary as hosting a party? Rocky doesn't know how it can follow suit, not after what Grace had said to it.

As if intercepting the light-thoughts from Rocky's crystalline pathways, Grace finally notices Rocky's chosen lurking-spot and ambles its way over to it.

"Rocky!" it exclaims, showing its teeth. "I didn't see you over here, sorry. How's it going?"

It's aiming for casual, Rocky knows, just as it knows that Grace is hiding its discomfort. After all of these years, it's almost figured out how to mask its emotions from it – but just as Grace has adapted, so has Rocky. Silly Grace, thinking that Rocky wouldn't be able to notice a lie.

"I'm tired," Rocky replies, choosing not to address the 'elephant in the room'. "It's nearly my sleep cycle."

Despite the lack of enthusiasm, Grace latches onto its words. "I didn't realise," it exclaimed. "I could tell people to start leaving, if you wanted. You could sleep. I would watch."

Rocky hums, a noncommittal noise that it had definitely picked up from the human, and one that has the human drooping slightly where it now sits. Rocky didn't care – it was fitting to use its own quirks against it. Nothing less than it deserved, after what it had said.

"Some day, Rocky, you're going to have to let me go. I just want you to be ready for that."

Grace had been mistaken at the time when it'd thought that Rocky had been upset over the idea of it dying. Not that Rocky isn't – but it was the fact that Grace had assumed that Rocky wasn't able to do something about it that had really gotten to it.

Despite Grace's squishiness, there are many human traits that Rocky is grateful that it possessed. Its humour, its closeness, its melodic laughter… and, right now, the fact that it would be impossible for Grace to be able to interface with any eridian thrum.

Rocky isn't sure why it is hesitant about Grace knowing of the thrums Rocky has encouraged, thrums with the goal of extending its short lifespan, but Rocky is. Grace has been amenable to things in the past that had shared the goal of improving its life, such as the various walking aids and supports that helped it move under greater gravity than it was designed to handle. Grace had been grateful for such interventions, even, but this…?

Rocky isn't sure.

Not that Grace's opinion mattered in this case. There is only one option, really. There is a problem, and Rocky is going to fix it. Even if it can't stop its friend from falling and injuring itself, it can do that.

By its side, the human shifts. Even lost in thought as Rocky is– another human trait that Rocky had picked up over the years from Grace, or at least was willing to blame on it– Rocky picks up on the motion, and refocuses.

"Later," Rocky says, addressing the human's concerns over its sleep. Grace shrinks in on itself some more, so Rocky shifts a little closer, extending a claw to lay on its knee. Grace takes comfort in contact, Rocky knows, and uses now to distract from its mood – and to check up on the human, emitting a click to get a better picture of its friend.

Rocky hasn't been squeamish about observing Grace for a long time now, and had been there when the fracture had occurred, so finding it along Grace's arm-bone is a simple matter.

Less simple is dispelling the sound-memory of the incident that had led to it; it had been a terrible thing, a sound that no human should make. Eridians would emit cracks when fighting, or when colliding with their craggy environment, but that was just the sound of their carapace doing its job and keeping them safe. With Grace, the sound had meant something very different, transforming from something ordinary into something terrible.

Rocky wouldn't ever be able to forget it, just as he wouldn't be able to forget any of the reminders of Grace's shorter lifespan. As it huddles against the human, clicking again more audibly to reassure it that Rocky is watching over it, Rocky can't shift its thoughts away.

Neither, it suspects, can Grace, not if the grip against Rocky's arm and the closeness of it is anything to go by. Grace still needed Rocky, in more ways that it might realise.

And here Grace was, telling Rocky that it needed to let it go without a fight.

Never.

---

It takes Grace a few years longer to realise what must be happening to him, and longer still to work up the courage to actually confront Rocky about it. Although, he wonders if part of the hesitation might not have been due to nerves, but rather a morbid curiosity over how long it would take for Rocky to tell him.

Did Rocky truly think he wouldn't notice? Grace isn't as observant as his eridian friend, but he isn't stupid, no matter what Rocky might say when Grace is overly tired or acting in a way that doesn't make sense to him (as if anything that didn't make sense to Rocky must be stupid by default).

It isn't like there hasn't been opportunity to bring the subject up, either. Grace has spent a long time trying to get his friend to talk to him about Grace's shorter lifespan, and what to do when it is spent. He has never succeeded, and to this day it has been one of the few things that they'll properly clash over; Rocky, never willing to sit still for the conversation, and Grace, never willing to just let it drop.

Well, no further. Today, Grace isn't going to give Rocky the chance to escape the conversation.

"Hi there, Rocky," he calls out in greeting, watching the eridian skitter towards him down the beach. Grace is aiming for casual, but he knows that Rocky knows him well enough now to notice his nerves showing even through a simple greeting. "Come on, sit down. I want to talk to you about something."

Rocky does as he asks, but audibly clicks in his direction as he does so, a sound that is typically used to get a better picture of his surroundings in difficult or unusual terrain. The eridian has told Grace before that Grace's squishiness makes him especially easy to get a read on, so the louder echolocation sound is purely for Grace's benefit – I've got my 'eyes' on you, Rocky is telling him.

In return, Grace smiles. Rocky's full attention is exactly what he wants here, after all.

"Yes, yes, talking," the eridian chimes, "what else would Rocky be here to do? This is supposed to be your rest day. No adventures today."

As he settles, he shuffles his claws in front of him, something that is decidedly not for Grace's benefit, Grace suspects, given that this is usually a nervous tell.

"Agree, agree, agree," Grace replies. "No adventures. Maybe a movie, or a game of chess… I just have a question for you, first."

He turns, making sure that he has Rocky's full attention.

"When, exactly, were you planning on telling me that you'd done something to mess with my lifespan?"

Rocky doesn't freeze, exactly, because he had already stilled himself when Grace had started talking and adopted the pose of a boulder in true eridian fashion. He does, however, fail to respond.

Grace waits, and waits, then sighs.

"Why wouldn't you just tell me? Why not ask?"

"...What is the point of asking when there is only one correct answer. Statement."

At that, Grace finds himself scowling. "That's not the first time I've heard that kind of sentiment, Rocky. And yeah, I guess everything worked out in the end, because I got to meet you, and we were able to save our worlds, but… still. It stings to not have been able to make that choice myself."

Rocky shuddered. "What if Grace said no? Grace had said that he had made peace with lifespan, and maybe it is like the first time, a false-peace, but maybe it isn't. Maybe Grace has made peace. Maybe Grace doesn't want to–"

He cuts himself off, his final note ringing out without another to follow.

"It doesn't matter," he finally continues. "Rocky has fixed everything. Any other outcome would be unacceptable."

He pauses. Shuffles from one claw to another.

"Rocky can't keep being Rocky without Grace."

The last part is warbled quietly, almost too quietly for Grace to pick up with his limited range of hearing. It's not an apology, or an excuse, but a confession.

"I don't think Grace would be Grace without Rocky, either," Grace admits, and feels Rocky lean into his side at the concession, "but no matter how long I live for, one of us is going to end up dying eventually."

He pauses, and pulls Rocky closer, drawing him up into a hug. He doesn't want to say what he has to say next, knows that it'll hurt his friend, but some things need to be said. If they had been, then this conversation wouldn't have needed to happen.

"There are just some things that you can't fix."