the unwilling astronaut's unreal wife

the prayer (which i should note, i made the fuck up in about 2 minutes):

"Our Father, blood in the roots, hallowed be thy name, thy forest grow, thy bring us home, in stars as we art in soil. Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we feed those who trespass against us, and lead us not into your darkness, but deliver us from starvation"

Your face is kind as you lean in, placing a hand on his shoulder. You're so gentle, you're so sure that your touch isn't hurting. It feels like your job to be. You must be a doctor. It must be a hospital. That's the only way this can be right.

He doesn't know how he finds the strength to ask that of you. It's not even in any proper way. It feels as if random syllables decided to work their way out of his mouth, and whatever he says makes your face... sad. It's a strange thing to be if you understood his question. It's stranger that you're almost hesitant when you answer him. "I think I'm supposed to be yours."

Your answer is the strangest thing about this.

You're not sure. About him or about yourself? Were you as lost as him in this strange hospital, feeling like he was tied down to this bed? You could talk, though. You could walk. Clearly, he couldn't. Could he?

As he tries, the tube in the weirdest of all places shifts, shooting pain up his entire lower abdomen. Okay, ouch, ouch, ouch. There's a strong press of your hands as you lay him back down and with a precision that can only come from practice, remove every single one of the tubes poking and prodding, making him feel violated. He doesn't understand how your action of removing them so easily, so tactfully makes it even more embarrassing than the fact that they were there. But your face is strained as you keep it a mask void of emotion while you work with the robot arm, slowly letting him sit up against your shoulder. "You're going to be okay, Ryland."

Ryland. That was his name? Sounds like a mouthful. Why couldn't he be Ryan? Or Rhys? Ryland, really?

Your nose scrunches up, anxiety weaving through your tone. "Did I say it wrong? Oh, shit—have I been saying it wrong all this time? Wait, that's what the computer says. Right?"

It's an involuntary twitch of the corner of his mouth. He doesn't mean it. Your voice is... pleasant. Steady even when confused. He wants to open his mouth, say that he doesn't know how to say it either, but his body is convulsing weirdly. Shivering. Correct, you're shivering.

You note it with a flick of your head towards someplace to the right. "Stay here. I'll get some blankets."

Ah. That sounds... warm. He watches you walk out the door, footsteps resonating against the metal floor, and curiosity creeps up on him. He presses his feet to the cold ground beneath him and tries to stand. And it gives out from underneath him. Or more accurately, his knees buckle from lack of use, and there he goes. It's a loud sound. A lot louder than he thought it would be. Maybe he's heavier. It feels like even the air is heavier around here.

Your steps are quick and frantic as you rush to reach the door. There's the promised blanket in your arms with something else.

Another fabric. Blue. Pockets.

Pants! Oh, thank god!

The sight makes him acutely aware of how undressed he is. The transparent plastic does nothing to cover him even as he thins it tighter around himself. You don't pay it much mind until he does.

"Here." Your fingers are careful not to brush against him as you wrap the blanket around him. It is warm. And you step back as if acutely aware of the space he exists in. Uh oh. That was not his intention.

"Thanks." Finally, his vocal apparatus is working! He stares at you. But you're a blur as you stand at the corner of the room. "Who are you?"

"Oh, uhm." You hesitate, cracking your knuckles. It's an obscene sound in the silence. It's not rhythmic, just a bunch of unsettling noises.

"Doc?"

"Yup. That's it. I'm Doc." Interesting. Settling into the role rather than an identity. It's an odd thing to do. But he'll let it be for now.

"How—why are we here?" It's pretty obvious that the how might be drugs, so he decides to pivot. And from how hard he's squinting to see you, he's sure he has corrective lenses. Glasses, man. Why did he have to complicate things?

"I... Uh... I don't know."

"You don't know?!" He parrots, voice hoarse and desperate. There's not much truth to that statement. He's not sure how much of human psychology he knows, but he certainly recognizes that he caught you off guard. "How long have you been awake?"

There you go, knuckles cracking again. It's hurting his head. The sounds. It feels like someone getting hurt. "Could you please stop that?"

You stop immediately. There's a lot of contemplating for a simple question. It's really suspicious. Like you couldn't tell day and night apart. Seriously though? "I think about two months?"

"Two months?!" He didn't know he could be so loud. It feels unnatural from his mouth. "Wait... How long were you—were we asleep?"

"Uhmm... I'm not sure."

"You're not sure?!" He's tired of repeating your vague words. He stands up way too fast for his body to hold him upright. And here he goes, cold metal floor welcoming him once again. He expects a harsh fall to the ground, but you've shifted yourself to catch him on your side. You let out a heavy 'oomph' like that took all your strength.

"You need food," you say as he settles on your side once again, embarrassed. Second time today now. There's a little screen you move to. It lights up at your voice. "Chicken soup paste, please."

You hand him what looks like a tube of toothpaste and just stay there, watching him as his fingers slip around the cap. He looks at you once, and when you don't move, he knows. He knows it's something he has to do on his own. This might be a test of yours. There's a happy sigh as he manages to get it open. On the fourth try.

And an eerie silence follows as flavor bursts in his mouth.

"Hey, boss wants you." Frank leans over the counter, just as you get yourself a Gatorade. "You might have done something real bad, 'cause that's one mean-looking lady with him."

That has your attention. A new member of the board, maybe? Someone Ms. Underwood wants to show that 'Astrospex' has top-notch care even in space. "You're not with me?"

"Nope." He shrugs, taking the drink from your hands and taking a sip. "And I'm glad."

"Wow," you rub a hand over your eyes. You're pretty sure the dark circles are starting to look like bruises. "I have to fend for myself."

He rolls his eyes, scoffing slightly fondly. He's not really worried about you, so it wouldn't be that bad. "Obviously."

You shake your head, snatching the bottle back with a glare. He gives you a look of mock offense as you head out the door.

You hate her office. Ironically, it lacks... space. It's filled from ceiling to floor with the most expensive items she could find in the world. Hell, that could apply to the whole compound. What you don't expect to hear is an argument. No one pissed off Ms. Most Successful Billionaire according to People magazine. "You are not taking half of my entire health team to what? Antarctica?!"

"It will be a more secure location than that." The voice that answers is polished and firm. It seems like she doesn't want to entertain any more of this than she has to. Your knock is barely there, but the SEAL in a suit opens the door for you anyway. You muster an embarrassed smile as you enter, but Gloria continues on before you even open your mouth. "And you want her? Not Abbot?"

Ouch. Rude.

The woman has hair the color of a fox and skin like snow. Despite how powerful she sounds and looks, there's a crack of weariness that worms its way through her answers. "What advantage Dr. Abbot has in experience, he lacks in flexibility. This project requires someone more adaptable."

"That's why you want her? There will be hundreds with her qualification."

"Not really," the woman answers before you can think it. And that earns her a higher position in your heart. "She is an emergency medicine attending who specialized in aerospace physiology and has a pilot's license for an extreme scenario. Isn't that why you want her?"

Gloria is unabashed as she answers with turned palms. "She has the highest customer satisfaction scores."

You cringe at how perverted it sounds. So much for being polite.

It's true. Most of you wouldn't be here if it weren't for the money, and it shows up in your behavior every now and then. But you still love how, on every flight, there's that one person who sees the horizon and feels a bit smaller. Like you do, every time you're up there. You're just one life.

"Ms. Underwood, if we do not go ahead with this project, you will have no customers."

Gloria sighs, not exhausted, just hardening. "You show up here with that fancy document and you expect me to just give up half of my medical team?"

"I asked you to give half of your team." There's a sudden edge to the woman's voice, a definite decision. "Now, I won't. I'm taking all of them."

There's an incredulous scoff from Mrs. Underwood. "Then you'll have to speak with my lawyer."

"Then I'll see him in court."

You don't even have a word in the entire conversation of your fate being decided. Neither do any of your friends. She doesn't even pay you mind until you step outside. "I assume you understand what this entails?"

"Would it matter if I did or not?"

There's a small twitch of her lips and something that seems like respect in her eyes. "No."

You're already agreeing in your head to whatever this project entails. It feels like an elite, important government project that will either end with you dead, in prison, or a hero. But you know why she needs you.

"Malleable," you say a bit too quickly.

"Excuse me?" She pauses just a bit in the easy tilt of her head.

"That's what you meant. Not adaptable. You need someone who won't ask things and who won't ever want to do things their own way."

"We understand each other perfectly then." Her voice sounds warm? You think it's as close as you'll both come to a handshake. "Eva Stratt, Petrova Task Force. Get your team to the conference hall in fifteen minutes."

You barely nod as you turn, but she calls out your name. "Welcome to Project Hail Mary, doctor."

He's so disheveled. Seriously, he looks like Tom Hanks from Castaway.

It's a cruel thought when it's been only a week since he woke up. But you are seriously two seconds away from reaching for military-grade shears. "Hey."

He jolts, taking a step back. Yay! A win for reflexes. His eyes are wide as he takes you in from the corner of the room. He's been avoiding you.

Well, ever since you told him that you were in space and that it's been four years in a coma, he had trouble meeting your eyes. Then he figured out that it wasn't even the same solar system he believed it to be, and then he couldn't even be in the same room as you.

At this point, you can't imagine what he'd do if you told him the whole truth.

Well, truth is, you would leave yourself if you could too.

"Hello," he manages after a few seconds and stumbles around, knocking a pencil case at the edge of his desk down like a cat. "Are you not sleeping?"

"I'm not really sleepy." Damn it. Was it that obvious? The Hail Mary was cold. Really cold. The frequent cold shocks didn't help. But it needed to be. Until he... Until he figures them out.

"Oh, okay." He fiddles with one of the few pens. Crap. Your scribbles were right in front of him. Oh, you had to do something.

"It's weird, isn't it?" you say loudly. Louder than your usual volume. Enough that his eyes shoot up to you, waiting for an explanation. You pause until he moves away from the edge of the desk, closer to yours. "That I know more about you than you do."

"Yeah. It's really weird." There's a dry chuckle, a quiet crinkling of his eyes. His shoulders drop a bit. "How'd you know? After you woke up? How did you know who you were?"

What was the easiest answer? The truth? Or something softer?

You pause, taking a sip of your cup of coffee. The soft answer it is. You then turn to address the computer and say your name. "Personnel file."

Good lord, you hope the computer can do that. And of course, the brilliant, marvelous machine does! It shows him everything he needs to know about you for now.

Your name.

Your age. At least when you left the Earth.

Your residency in Emergency Medicine.

Your specialization in Aerospace Medicine.

A clerkship with NASA.

Your last stint at Astrospex.

Clearance level - five

He puts on his glasses and takes a few seconds, eyes widening as he reaches the end. "Wow... Uh, you're impressive."

What would he say about his then? You snort. It's a harsh sound against the silence, and he sighs with something that sounds like relief. Like you're human after all. "You haven't even seen yours. Go on, try."

"Yeah." He rubs a hand over his eyes. "Uhm—Uh, Ryland Grace, personnel file."

And there it is.

Ryland Grace.

Forty-five.

PhD from Stanford.

Molecular biology with a specialty in speculative xenobiology.

Twelve research papers published.

Grover High School teacher.

Leading scientist on Astrophage biology in the world.

Clearance level - one

Just as you see him reach the end of the screen, you stand up, taking a few steps in his direction. "You're the boss here, Dr. Grace."

But his eyes are down, and you can see it. He's thinking something else. And you're terrified of what it could be. There's a soft stutter, a moment's hesitation before he speaks. "Are you scared of me?"

"What?" You stiffen where you stand. In what illusioned world would you be scared of him? "Why would I be scared?"

"It's a reasonable conclusion." He takes his glasses off, wiping them on the end of what appears to be a polka dot dress. "I'm a guy and I'm the only one here and you don't know me, and it's logical that—"

"Ry." The nickname slips out before you can stop it. You have never called him that before, though. "I'm not scared of you."

"You can't sleep with me around."

"Because—" You run a hand through your coarse hair. "—Because it's cold, Ryland."

"Oh. Oh!" His face lightens, relief washing over him in waves. "Can't we adjust the thermostat? I mean—if it's for the equipment—we—we don't have extra blankets?"

"Well, we only had four." Oh. Oh no. Your hands find your mouth in disbelief of what you just said, but it's already out there. Now you have to explain as he stares at you with the most afraid eyes you've ever seen.

"Four?"

Frank is currently in a weird position. His back doesn't allow him to bend down to puke, but his face is green... very green. Someone from the edge rushes over with a paper bag and there's a grateful smile before he lets out a retching sound. Denny turns his face to the ocean as Jack rubs the bridge of his nose.

Stratt is not impressed. "You work in rockets."

You turn out your hands. You're fine. You've been good with high altitudes and those crazy rides. So has Abbot with his military background and Dennis with his... actually, you don't know how Dennis is okay with all this. But for Frank, it had been a long time. After he hurt his back, Astrospex had taken care to give him what he would call a cushy job. Something that wasn't as bad on his back and something that paid well. He didn't board the shuttle anymore than he absolutely had to, which was a rarity. And that's clear as he wheezes behind the paper bag. "Commercial, controlled rockets. Not that death trap."

He points to what could be something close to an F-18, if Top Gun had taught you right. "I think we'll need today to get settled."

As she nods, you think she might agree. "You'll have two hours after the meeting."

"Great," Frank mutters as he leans on a—you don't know what that is, something that looks like barbed wire but isn't.

And she's already walking away. There's a man with a slight stubble in a suit waiting. "I'll give you a tour later."

Red hair. American. Cute. Also, not the time.

You follow him into a room filled with people who are probably the most intelligent beings on this planet and try to find your seat toward the back of the room. Frank snags the last one out of sight, leaving you to sit at the other head of the table as the others spread out. You don't miss the curious looks as Dennis stumbles over the foot of your chair to the next seat.

Eva Stratt enters five minutes later with a blonde in tow. He's taller than her, but you can barely feel it with the way he's hunched over. Just as he sees everyone in the room, he turns around.

Frank leans over your shoulder with a muddled breath. "He's gonna run."

"Like she'll let him." You point your chin out at Stratt before turning back. "Social distancing might be nice. You stink."

There's a soft commotion before he takes the stage reluctantly. Despite your words, Frank leans in. The Astrophage had been an interest of his before they even had a name. Dennis has his eyes on his fingers. You're pretty sure Jack is asleep behind his sunglasses.

"Why on earth would you need that much Astrophage?" the man asks from beside Stratt, one hand pushing up his glasses.

"Nobody told him?" someone from the side asks.

There's a huff at the front. "He has no clearance."

"Please stand up, Dr. Grace." You know what she's about to say. She's going to christen him into the project. "I hereby grant you top-secret clearance to all information pertaining to Project Hail Mary."

It's a mess as she explains what you already know. Astrophage immune star, rocket ship, data back, Earth saved.

Oh, yeah, and the astronauts die.

You zone out for most of it, your ears distracted by whatever rhythm Dennis was tapping against the table.

"Nothing about this is safe," Stratt is saying. "We only need three. A pilot, an engineer, and a scientist."

Jack scoffs beside you, the sound more concerned than taunting. "You didn't submit the report?"

"I did." It's annoying that he thinks of you as a child sometimes, so you raise your voice to address your concerns publicly. "Ms. Stratt, did you not receive my report?"

"I did." It's a cold shutdown, like it was an insignificant matter, which irritates you more.

"You are aware that my proposal suggested including a medical professional on board?"

She places her palms on the desk, the other man shuffling behind her with wide eyes at you. "Dr. Dubois and Dr. Shapiro are more than capable of performing the primary care needed for the mission."

"You're kidding, right?" Jack leans forward finally, his glasses off at the raise of her eyebrows. "They're squints."

"Researchers. That's what he means," Dennis interjects to your relief as you watch Frank place a hand on Jack's shoulder in the periphery.

"The machines will be calibrated to the task."

It's Frank's voice that cuts through the air sharply this time. "Machines can't perform emergency procedures. They can't adapt without code."

Stratt stares him down, her eyes challenging. "Are you volunteering?"

"Yes," you're the one who answers. And everyone knows that you're not speaking for him. The blonde gives you a pitiful smile from behind her shoulder. "Maybe."

Jack clears his throat rather harshly for his vocal cords, glaring at you. "What she means is, this is what we need to do. We'll all get tested."

She nods once. "Very well then."

Grace cries. And you're not sure what to do. You had exhausted your tears this past year, so you stay his hand and take that weight. You pull the lever.

And the astronauts are where they had always belonged, bright among the stars.

You don't speak much after that. Not that you did much earlier. He stays in the mental health room as always while you stay in the lab. It's a good thing that Stratt had all the books in the world loaded here.

Immunology has never been your strong suit. But you're pretty confident now.

Tissue assay against astrophage of all the blood samples except one shows specific antibodies to fight it. It's still so strange to see that antibodies were able to develop against an organism whose core temperature is near the boiling temperature of water. Miracles happen.

To some.

You struggle more with precipitating the antibodies. You need those to reverse engineer it. You've never been good with microscopic structures or the devices used, especially when they're the best ones money could buy. You liked using your hands. So, it's much more of a process than it should be in theory, but you manage to get some out for the mass spectrometer. You need to be able to replicate it. Again.

It's a few hours of silence, yet just as the machine pings, Ryland knocks against the metal hatch, the sound resonating through the lab. "Hey."

"Hey." You lean against the table, waiting for him to continue.

"Uhm, I—uhm—" He sputters, running a hand through his hair. It's been frazzled since you cut it. But then again, it wasn't your area of expertise. "—This is weird, right?"

Yes, it is. Everything is. But you're not sure what he means this time. "Being the only two people on this ship?"

"No, us not knowing anything about it. Not what's important." You cast your eyes down. So, he still hadn't remembered the Vat. Damn it, the amnesia's as strong as she said it would be. But obviously, she didn't account for this. Without his knowledge on astrophage, nothing you would do would help.

Not that you ever did.

When you look up, he's looking at you, eyes staring at you narrowly through the glasses sitting on the top of his nose. He's still waiting for an answer. "Yeah."

He moves closer, gaze shifting to everything around you. "So, what are you doing?"

You try to stand in front of the analyzer, but he notes the screen. "What's that?"

"Just analyzing a few blood samples."

"Are those proteins? Antibodies?" He reads the screen out loud. "And whose blood is this?"

"It's everybody's." You shrug nonchalantly. But your heart is beating like a jackrabbit.

He takes a step back, hands slightly raised in surprise. "You took everyone's blood?"

"Yeah, well—" You rub your hand on your forehead. "—it was that or an autopsy. So, of course, I stuck with blood and MRI scans."

"Oh, that makes—" The loud blare of a siren of sorts interrupts him. "—sense."

Red lights are flashing in the lab and everywhere you look.

"Approaching Tau Ceti orbit," Mary trills out. Grace had been calling the computer that the other day. It sounded almost human for it. "Prepare for engine cutoff."

And then there's a countdown as you both rush to the cockpit.

"Why engine cutoff?" Grace pants as he reaches the seat, everything else forgotten for now. "Seems like something we should talk about."

Mary ignores him. "Pilot detected."

"What? No. I’m not a pilot!"

"It's me, Grace. Strap in," you yell at him as you buckle yourself. Unfortunately for your proclamation, the only thing you're familiar with is the stick. Oh, well, you were dead anyway.

But Grace. Not Grace.

You pull and push the stick, but nothing happens. Was it still on autopilot?

"Four, three..."

"What happens at zero? I mean—" Ryland Grace is not at all strapped in. He's clinging to the side of his seat. You engage forward thrust to balance it instinctively.

Or something like that. And it works; Grace presses against the chair briefly in comfort.

"You are now orbiting Tau Ceti," Mary announces.

As you let go of the stick, you notice it. Grace isn't in his seat anymore. Neither are you.

And for the first time in a really long time, you feel weightless.

Grace has always considered himself to be curious, but he wasn't the cat. Maybe that's what makes him hesitant when he hears a kid cheer from the room down the hall with the scraping of chairs. Still, he found himself walking through to the laboratory the medics were using.

You're there. Of course, he doesn't know why he's surprised. You were the woman who talked at the meeting about having a medical expert on board. You probably were a medical expert. It doesn't help that the only medical expert he knows is the slightly crusty, rude, and temperamental Jack Abbot. And the intern, Dr. Dennis, he thinks.

You're warmer than Dr. Abbot and have more lines on your face than Dr. Dennis. You don't look much older, though. Experience can wear some down just as well. He knows that.

You're holding Dr. Lamiah tightly against you, her mouth still open in quiet surprise at your gesture, as Dr. Abbot taps you on the shoulder. You're teary-eyed as you let go of her to wrap your arms around him. And he holds you just as tightly, letting out a sigh. Dr. Dennis is being held in a one-armed hug by a man with eyes so blue he could see them from the door.

You all look relieved.

Grace let himself lean against the slightly ajar door, only for it to give way and slam against the wall.

Grace's mouth curves into a fond smile as he leans against the heavy door.

Slam!

It gives way under his weight to go and smash against the wall. God, he swears he's not that heavy.

Fudge. All eyes are on him now. And here's to hoping one astrophage explodes, blowing him through the roof. Nope, that didn't happen. He puts out an awkward wave, which you catch with a smothered laugh. "What's up, guys?"

The Doctor with striking blue eyes is the one that answers him, slightly shaking Dennis, who is still in his hold. Although he looks a little uncomfortable now. "What's up?! What's up is we're space-ready, baby!"

"Let's get Stratt here," the older man chides, looking slightly impatient as he taps him on the other shoulder. "Is she on the ship?"

All eyes turn to him once again. Okay, whoever spread the rumors about him being the second-in-command, he hopes that their soup is always cold and their bed always damp. But luckily, Dr. Lamiah speaks for him. They both were in her lab about an hour ago, discussing the process. "Yes, she visited my lab about an hour ago."

Dr. Dennis takes the opportunity to slowly remove himself from under the other man's arm and rushes past him with a mushed grin. As he leaves the room, Grace turns to you, scratching his neck. "Is anybody going to tell me what's going on?"

"Patience is a virtue, sir." Your grin is teasing, and he was even less patient now, knowing that something that could make quite such a celebration happen had happened. But it was very obviously important enough for Stratt to be here. And luckily, Eva Stratt was always everywhere at the right time.

She entered the room with a quick scan of everyone's faces, including his perplexed one. Her face then settled on Dr. Abbot, blank yet somehow, with months of knowing, an arch of her eyebrow showed that she was expectant. "You have news?"

"You got this, kid," he mutters to you as he pushes you forward. "Stratt, the good doctor will speak for us."

You begin speaking with a fond roll of your eyes at his antics. "We have successfully developed an immunotherapeutic vaccine against the astrophage."

Ah! That was what was going on.

So, for context, a few months earlier, the medical and genetic teams had discovered that astrophage, in all its glory, could infect certain individuals of a species and cause massive cell proliferation and tumor growth. Death would occur in weeks. This was concerning considering that the mission lasted years. The medical team had made it their mission to find a vaccine.

Stratt raised an eyebrow. "How successful?"

"Four out of five infected specimens survived," Doctor Blue Eyes piped up, running a hand through his hair. "Which is pretty good considering that only five out of ten species were infected."

Grace rubbed the bridge of his nose. "That's a fifty-fifty chance."

The youngest guy shrugs. "Better than nothing against a virus with a seventy percent kill rate."

Her gaze shifts to Dr. Lamiah, cautious. "Any side effects?"

"Mild disorientation for the first few days, nausea, slight memory loss, cold shocks." She shrugs once, thinking about the gravity of it. "Nothing that isn't already there from the coma."

"And how many doses have you made?"

The entire room goes silent at that. Dr. Abbot clears his throat, stepping in front of you. You huff as you move to the side. "It can't be mass-produced. We have to isolate the strains and modify them for human subjects."

Stratt stuffed her arms into her pockets, a gesture of mild annoyance on her part. She was probably thinking that the celebration was overkill. "How many doses do you have?"

"Zero," he says after a moment, then he tilts his head. "How many do you need?"

"Both the primary and secondary will need to be vaccinated."

"So, eight." He nods solemnly, mulling it over. "We'll make ten. We need one for a human test."

It doesn't surprise anybody except him that your hand goes up.

"Doc?"

"Yeah?" You look up from your notes. The vaccine is somewhere near done. You have to find a way now to tell him everything.

Ryland's eyes are fixed on the ship in oblivion. But you don't think that's what's on his mind. You're always scared of what's on his mind.

But as you stare outside your window, there's another harrowing reality you have to face. Aliens are real.

And you both might be first contact. Actually, he would more likely be that.

It's been a while since Ryland played catch with the alien. To be honest, their ship is weird. It's huge for one thing. You can't even imagine how they got it off the ground. And another thing, it was very hot. The thermal camera showed that it was probably quite a few degrees above the boiling point of water.

You think they both are planning a coup against you with all the stick-figure communications. There's a lot of time spent just looking out, though. A lot more than you like. And all that time, your eyes wander. It's heartbreaking how lost he looks.

You have to get back to the lab. As developed as the Hail Mary is, those strains won't be isolated on their own.

He doesn't answer you. He does this sometimes, you know—just to know that another person was there with him. He'd call out your name, wandering or waiting until you appeared. Then, most times, he would blurt out a random fact when you found him. Other times, he would softly nod to himself and mutter something like, *yeah, okay, here she is, she's real.* Those times, you would rush to wrap your arms around him.

Suddenly, there's a harsh jolt that knocks you to the side of the wall. "Shit! Ry! You okay?"

Ryland rushes to your side, more excited than panicked. "Doc, there's a tunnel attached to the airlock!"

You look him over for any injuries. His arms are good, no visible head wounds, could be abdominal bleeding if he— "What?"

"I think they want to meet!" He's grabbing you by the shoulders, grinning from ear to ear. His hair is shaggy, but you don't regret cutting it. You look back at his eyes, crinkled at the edges.

"Again, what?!"

"Just think about it—we're the first humans to make contact with an alien!"

You're perturbed by how excited he is. "Okay, I feel like you think this is an *Arrival* kind of situation, while it's more likely that it's *Predator*."

He shakes you once more, head tilting. "I don't know what any of that means."

"We'll watch it the next movie night," you sigh out, defeated. If there's one thing scientists always have an affinity for, it was discoveries. It wasn't going to be any different with Ry. "Are we really going out there?"

There's a placating smile on his lips. You suspect that's the one his kids use on Mr. Grace to get him to agree to school trips to amusement parks. It's cute. "Please?"

There's no use fighting it. "Okay. But I'm getting the gun."

Ryland usually sits with the team. But they're nowhere to be seen in the mess hall right now. He's pretty sure he knows a lot of people here, but quite possibly none who are interesting enough. Not as much as someone who stood up to Stratt.

"Hi." You startle as he comes to a halt beside you, plate in his hand. "Oh, sorry. Are you okay?"

Your eyes are so sunken that he's worried you might hurt yourself when you rub them awake. He's pretty sure the medical team hadn't left the Vat since the crew arrived. "Yeah, I'm fine. Please, sit."

He complies like it wasn't his first intention at all. "You're one of the medics, right?"

"Aerospace medic would be more accurate, but yes." You tell him your name. It's a good name. It fits you. Ironic that he thinks that. "You're the second-in-command."

"Stratt doesn't have a second-in-command," he chuckles, waving a dismissive hand. They got to you too, huh? "She's a one-woman show."

"Well, then according to everyone else, you've got backstage passes." You stuff a piece of the muffin you had been picking at into your mouth with a playful wink.

His laugh is louder this time. You're quite something he didn't expect. He holds out his hand. "Grace."

"Grace?" You repeat with a small frown as you dust your hands on your jeans to shake his. It's not the first time he's embarrassed by his name, but it's definitely the worst. "That's a girl's name."

"Well, that's awfully conservative of you. I'd like to consider my name as gender-neutral." He huffs lightly, trying to make it into a joke, then winces when your face falls.

It's a mess of apologies and explanations from your mouth. "Oh, I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to be judging. I had friends named Grace and they were shes, and they were—beautiful, okay, not that you're not—"

And he's laughing once again. He hasn't laughed this much since the Grover High punch spike incident. Your face relaxes at the sound, eyebrows drawing tight in light confusion. "What?"

"It's alright, Doc. You're not actually wrong. I'm Ryland Grace."

You scoff once, relieved that you hadn't actually offended him, as if it would've been the worst thing ever. "What you are, sir, is an asshole."

He smiles. And he wants to ask you if what you said in the meeting was true. If you were actually going. As he opens his mouth, your eyes slowly shift to the clock past him on the wall. "I'm sorry, am I keeping you?"

Your eyebrows scrunch once again as you refocus back on him. "No, no... We have a team meeting in a few minutes."

Grace pretends very miserably to not be curious and fails because you continue to explain after a pause. "To discuss our results. Three of us are compatible for undergoing the coma."

"Are you one?" It's a breathy, rushed question that you smile wistfully at.

"Yeah." Your eyes are shining with something he can't quite place. But he's sure that one part of it is relief. How?

He doesn't know why he's thinking that, but his mind goes, *god, not her.* When he speaks again, it's more for reassuring himself than you. "It's okay. She won't take you."

"Really?" It's not a whiny question but rather a desperate whisper. You look shattered.

"Because—because—" This is hard to explain for him as much as he understands Stratt's perspective. Sort of. Maybe. Actually, it doesn't matter if he understands or not. "—you're, well, a woman."

Stratt wanted the crew to be completely heterosexual males. No room for romantic tension or menstrual supplies on her ship.

"Oh. Yeah." You sigh, and he lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. "I know, right? Can't believe I forgot about Illyukhina's hysterectomy."

Grace knew that Stratt wasn't pleased with her going, but she was the best they had. It felt like an extreme measure. "You sterilized her?"

You swallow, shrinking yourself under his gaze. "She agreed to it. That's the only reason Stratt let her in on the mission."

"That—" he pauses, thinking. Maybe this was the only way. This was the Hail Mary. "—That makes sense."

But you're not convinced. He feels horrible. Whatever his face had looked like, it had made you think that you were the one who had done something immoral.

"I think I should go." You crack your knuckles before standing up, still managing a wistful smile in his direction. "It was nice to meet you, Grace."

"Oh, okay." He's a little stunned as you leave, but he calls out from behind. "You too, Doc."

You turn the corner to the lab. You stop. You take a deep breath in. It's fine. It's going to be fine.

You start putting one foot over the last. And finally, when you get to the lab, it feels frigid. Dennis is frozen behind his screen. It doesn't take long for any of you to notice. Frank huddles up beside him, and it's not long until there's a hand around his shoulder. Jack looks at you once and hangs his head, burying himself in the Beacon.

Dennis is compatible. And he's going.

So much for your volunteering.

To be honest, Frank is taking this worse than all of you. It doesn't help that he's the only one that's not compatible. Lucky for him, his back injury disqualified him from ever considering it. But he's not happy about it. Jack is ecstatic. He was always the dutiful army man. And he was drifting since his wife died. You could understand that. You were... relieved too, when you got the email.

"Denny," you call out. His breath is somewhat ragged as he turns in Frank's grip. "It'll be okay."

He tries to smile at you reassuringly, but he's a bad liar. Always had been. "I'm alright. I'm alright."

"No, you're not, kid." Abbot is isolating the vaccine by the looks of it. "And that's fine. You're already brave. Don't fake smile through it."

His facade drops so fast that you can almost see his heart hit the floor. "I'm going to die."

If anyone had told you a year ago that you would've been in space with an adorable alien and an even more adorable scientist, you probably would've jumped off the balcony.

But here you are, in a really uncomfortable sleeping bag beside Ry, shifting closer so that Rocky Balboa could see you both. When Rocky settles on the mezzanine-like space above Grace, he turns to face you.

There's a pinch of his eyebrows together like he's thinking something so hard that he's in pain. You nudge him with your shoulder. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah." He hums for a moment. "Hey, Doc?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, of course." You fully turn to your side so that you're facing each other. It's a strange question for the time when so many more curious ones could be asked. You're both so close that you can see the wrinkles in the corner of his eyes. It's still the same. "Why?"

There's a curious chitter above you, too. But it's not quite captured into a sentence.

Grace doesn't answer for quite some time, like even if it's on the tip of his tongue, he's aware of the damage it could do. It takes him a second to swallow his hesitation. "I know. About Illyukhina."

You still don't get what he's talking about. What could he know that was only about her? Had you ever told her something? No, you had been careful. She only knew what she was supposed to. You only knew what you were supposed to. "What about her?"

He takes a deep breath in. "The hysterectomy."

Oh. You turn away from him to face the ceiling. Crap. That was a hard one to explain at this moment.

Or maybe, it meant that he remembered your first conversation. That lights a warmth in your chest.

"Rocky no understand word," the computer translated their vibrations. Ryland turned beside you.

"It's okay, Rocky. It's a human thing." There's a clinking of limbs as he settles above.

Grace probably thinks that you had a hysterectomy, too.

You honestly didn't know what to say without getting into the whole story. So, you stayed silent.

And when Ryland put his hand on yours, you let a tear escape in the dark as you intertwined your fingers.

"You're gonna be okay, Doc. You and me?" His fingers tightened around yours. "We're gonna be okay."

Ms. Stratt, for all her faults, sings very beautifully.

Grace is watching her very keenly, hand on his head, when you settle into the chair beside him. "So..."

His hand slips in shock at your voice, head jerking before he catches himself. Oh, crap, you didn't mean to scare him.

"You're the one who got the boss to do karaoke."

"I wouldn't take all the credit." He smiles, pushing the glasses that were almost falling off his nose back into place. "The crew were very convincing. You know, something about a dying wish."

It's a very unhumorous joke to make light of the situation in front. Everything has been going perfectly. Yeah, perfectly leading to their death. Dennis is there with his crew. Yao. Illyukhina. Dubois.

Yao. Illyukhina. Dubois.

Somewhat cruelly, you can never remember their names. There's a tap of the mic twice and you see it. Jack caught you watching them. There's an extravagant flick of his head as he launches into a song.

And now he's treating you to his well-worn version of Survivor's 'Eye of the Tiger'. Your lips curve into a smile.

You watch wordlessly as Frank lets out a loud groan from the other end of the room. He's sitting down with a ginger ale in his hand. Probably had to call home after this.

"Now, your boss is singing," Grace says in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Yeah. He's terrible." It's an exaggeration, but the chuckle that stifles out of Grace is a welcome sound.

He scratches the back of his neck before speaking. "He's in the secondary crew, right?"

Oh. Wow.

It was going so well. And he had to remind you of your failure. You were always going to watch one friend die. Your throat feels itchy now. Jack is doing an air guitar solo very elegantly. "Yeah. He is."

Grace sees it and straightens in his chair. "I'm sorry. That must be hard."

You take a sip of your light beer. "Harder for them, I imagine."

"Of course." There's a soft scoff from his mouth. "Hey, at least you were ready. I can't imagine. There's not a brave bone in my body."

"It's not about being brave, Grace." You rub your fingers against your forehead. Maybe even light beer was too much right now. "It's about having nothing to lose."

"Uhm... Maybe." He crosses his arms against his chest. It's the most—confrontational? No, defensive—you've ever seen a person. "I mean, still, not all people who don't have anything to lose would be willing. And some have too much to lose. That's why they're going."

"Relax, Grace." You lean back in your chair, regretting your words. Maybe not everyone was as reckless as you. "I get it. Everyone has a different reason. Mine would've been that."

He takes a slow breath in and really looks at you. His gaze is kind, like he's watching a wounded animal in the wild or something. He sighs before speaking. "Did you lose someone?"

It's always right in the feels with this one, ain't it?

"Yes." That's all you're willing to give. You won't explain. You can't.

He nods once, like he understands. Maybe he does. "Still, a suicide mission might not be the way to meet them."

Maybe not. Maybe you'd have to think of other ways sometimes.

You always associate Rocky with a hamster. It's pretty self-explanatory. But this hamster was really intelligent and really nosy. "What is Doc doing with astrophage, question? Bad! Bad! Bad!"

"These are dead astrophage, Rocky. I'm trying to make something. I'm almost done. I just need to..." You were lucky that the vaccine was done. Rocky was a lot more suspicious than Grace. And awake. Maybe it was the fact that you both hadn't spoken much. You were always buried in research papers, and Rocky and Ry were very much in the present.

In fact, that's the reason why you had to take this risk of openly doing this. They had a plan. And you had to make sure that this vaccine was ready before the plan.

"Doc need what, question?" His foot taps hard against the glass, and you're scared of waking Grace. Rocky probably has him in his echolocation. "Astrophage give Doc what, question?"

Oh, you give up. Confidentiality was a joke now. How much longer could you hide this?

"Okay, Rocky, listen." You put the samples in the centrifuge at opposite ends. "What I'm making is something that is supposed to protect humans from the astrophage getting inside their bodies."

"Human body not fit to host astrophage." True. In theory, astrophage should've been deadlier to Eridians—similar body temperatures and all—but yep, humans had a special tendency to make enemies of everything.

"No." You shake your head as you calibrate the machine. "But some are. And those that are suffer from very serious illnesses. I'm trying to prevent that."

"No understand. Doc here." He taps again. "Doc send Earth, question?"

You wring your wrists. There's no way out of this. "It's for Grace, Rocky. While I'm piloting, he's the one going out to fish. I can't leave him unprotected out there."

His carapace tilts to reveal a more somber-looking surface. "Why Doc no need, question?"

He probably thinks that you're being a martyr. But that's not the truth. "Because I already have it, okay? Now, you can't tell—"

There's a clatter of pens from the door. You can feel the wind get knocked out of you. You grip the desk for support as your legs start failing you. Rocky leans forward toward the sound. "Grace awake."

When you turn around, your vision is blurry, but you can see it. And Grace isn't looking at him. Red-eyed, hand over his mouth, he's looking at you.

"I can still do it," Jack murmurs from the bed, still a little loopy from the morphine. "We've come a long way with prosthetics. They can fix me up. Good as new."

"Come on, Abbot." Frank keeps his head down as he talks. "There's no way."

His leg is gone. His right leg is gone from the knee down.

And no one knows if Dennis will ever wake up. You couldn't even recognize him.

They weren't even close to the research center. You don't know why you had insisted on going to see the rockets, but you were glad that you had dragged at least Frank along.

If you had just convinced Dennis...

"She can't go. She's a kid!" Abbot's voice rises too much for this makeshift hospital. He tries to swing his legs to the side to get off the bed, but it's too much. No amount of morphine can hide the pain creeping into his face.

"Oh, wow. Don't hold back; tell me what you really think." Your snark has no edge, just amusement, as you make him settle back on the bed.

Wasn't he the one telling Dennis it was okay? Or... did...

"Come on, we all know it. It's supposed to be me!" He sits sideways on the gurney. "I'm supposed to do this, okay? Not Dennis. Not... you. Definitely not you."

"Look, Stratt had a meeting." You cross your arms and rub the bridge of your nose with one hand. "I said yes. Grace said he had to think about it."

Frank chuckles dryly, a smirk settling on his face. "I'd have the next person on speed dial."

"Not everyone can be as lucky as you, Langdon." It's a sharp, cruel statement—nowhere befitting your last words to him. And he shrinks at their weight. "Grace has a right to choose, too. We can't be angry that it's not what we chose."

He takes a sharp breath in. Hanging his head, he nods grimly.

It's barely a minute of silence before the SAT phone chimes your name. You take the heavy box in your hand and press the button. "Here."

"Stratt here. Dr. Grace has agreed. We will be in the medbay in an hour. It is now functional. Are the vaccines secure?"

Frank mumbles a "wow" as even Jack looks surprised. "Grace agreed?"

"Yes. He was uncomfortable about the process, so he has been induced into the coma by the ground team." She takes a deep, audible breath in. "Will Dr. Langdon be able to perform the remaining procedures with Dr. Lamiah?"

"Yes, but—" You hesitate, your mind moving at a million miles an hour. "—how did you get him to agree? It didn't look like he'd ever be willing to do this."

"Things are not always as they appear. Are the vaccines secure, doctor?" Her tone is sharper, as if she has stopped entertaining questions.

Abbot extends his hand toward you, fingers curling. You hand him the phone. "They are. The locker didn't move. But you know there's only one left."

"That is what we need. We will meet you there."

All of you breathe uneasily after that. You turn to Frank. "Do you trust me?"

There's a moment where you think he might laugh at you. It's harder when he agrees nonchalantly. "Yeah."

"I'll burn the vaccine, too," you add.

"Wait, wait." Jack raises his hand, turning both of your attention to him. "What about Dr. Lamiah's team? We shared the procedure notes with them."

You pause, thinking, when Frank steps closer. "But they're hard copies. It would at least take them a day to get them here and two to make the vaccine."

"Stratt could get the replacement trained by then," you pipe in, nearing the foot of the bed. "Grace wouldn't have to go."

"Right." Frank walks away toward the door. "I'll get on it then."

You squeeze Jack's leg as you turn away. You'll probably be thrown into a cell after this. It's easier without saying goodbye, right?

"Wait." You almost don't hear him speak. It's barely a whisper, a whistle of air. And he's not even looking at you. You move over to his right and take his hand in yours.

"Hey."

It takes him a moment to look at you. His hand leaves yours and cups your face, pulling you down.

"What are you—"

His lips press against your forehead so softly. Like he's scared. He's scared of you, he's scared of what he's doing, he's scared of the fucking world.

Then, he gives your shoulders a gentle shove. "Go."

"Jack—"

"Go!"

You leave the room before you cry.

Punctuality wasn't taught to Eva Stratt. She learned it the hardest of ways.

So, it's exactly an hour later when she gets to the medbay. Immediately, it's the smell of charred papers that unsettles her. She was right to be wary of you. It was good that she didn't bring the crew down here with Grace.

"You can't take him, Stratt." You cross your arms in front of you, standing rigid behind the still-new gurneys.

She tilts her head to the side. She already knows what you and Dr. Langdon have done. But Stratt likes confirmation.

"There's no vaccine left. There are no records of it." You stand tall, a slightly smug look on your face. Dr. Langdon stands right behind you. "You can bring Dr. Lamiah in, make another, and that'll take days. Days you can use to train your new scientist. The microbiologist from Peru, right?"

"Portugal," she corrects. You wither at her steady tone. "That will not be necessary. Dr. Grace is going anyway."

"What?"

Stratt does not need to see the look on either of your faces to recognize that she's a monster. She knows. She also knows that she's a necessary evil. "There is a thirty percent chance that the infection does not occur in an unvaccinated individual, correct? I'll take that chance."

You stare at her face, seeking any sort of emotion. Frank steps forward in rage. "Are you even human?"

"I'm here for humans, Dr. Langdon. So are you." She gestures to the others to bring the sleeping man closer to the machines. She then turns to you. "Now, you can either help, or you can lose your chance to say goodbye to your friends as well."

You swallow at that. And Stratt knows her point is made. "You will be watched 24/7, doctor. Make no mistake."

And that is what it takes to give humanity a chance.

The first thing Grace did after you explained everything was walk away.

When you told him what happened, what you had done. You told him that your information about his choice was vague because that was what had been haunting you for a long time. You told him that the ship woke you up when Illyukhina and Yao's vitals became unstable. That you had been awake for a year.

"I need time."

That's what he said. Then, he went into Rocky's ship.

Without you.

Grace seemed strangely kinder after that. He sat at the edge of the seat as you injected the vaccine into him and told you that he forgave you and that it didn't matter because you both were going home anyway.

You were the one in the pilot's seat. And it was done. Adrian had provided you with all the answers that you needed.

You were never fascinated with flying. You only got the license because it would make you more desirable to NASA. Then, you quit. Because you couldn't look up at the sky without thinking of everything you lost to be there.

Now, when you look out through the small window of the cockpit, the hairs on your neck stand. You're scared. You're scared that you've done the wrong thing. You're scared that you're the wrong person for this. And you're fucking scared that you've always put Ryland's life in danger.

Well, not anymore. You still had your secrets. He didn't know that the food supply left would be barely enough for one person. But what you could do was make sure that one of you was in a coma. The coma slurry was perfectly enough for the four-year journey.

You had the ability to induce a coma. You would tell him after this.

And you would make sure that he would get home.

You lean on the hatch watching him as he pulls down the EVA suit slowly. He steps out of it, still not facing you.

You can hear Rocky's ball rolling in behind you before the computer speaks. "Doc, Grace good, question?"

"As we'll ever be," Grace responds, turning. He's smiling a little.

"Ry?" You take a step closer to him. You take another one when he doesn't flinch or step back. "I really was trying to help."

He steps forward and wraps his arms around you. There are about hundreds of tubes in that white onesie he wore underneath. You still melt into the gesture, hands tightening around him.

"This is a human hug, question?"

"Yeah, Rocky. This is it." You laugh.

"Ry, when this is all over, after you and Rocky find a way to save our planets..." You pull away, staring into his curious eyes. "...you have to let me do something."

He shakes his head, chuckling lightly. "No, Doc. After we figure out how to save our planets, you gotta teach me how to put you in a coma."

Why is he always a step ahead in understanding you?

"Ry, listen to me. I owe you this." You rub your wrist, tensing at his words. "This is the only way we can make sure you have a chance of getting home. Best-case scenario, we both have a chance."

"Doc." He places his hands on both your shoulders. "I think you've had enough lonely years in space."

"It was barely one."

"Yeah, now it's my turn." He grins down at you, and you are overcome with gratitude, but you can't let him—you can't ever let him. But as if he senses your turmoil, he jolts you a bit. "And this is my choice."

You can't ever argue with that.

There's a lot of chittering around you. It sounds like cicada mating season around here.

Ugh.

There's the light. It's right in your face. Again.

"Up and at 'em, Doc."

The voice... is nice. It wasn't there the first time. But you're glad to hear it. You can feel your mouth twitch.

"Was that a smile, Doc? Aww, for me?"

"That is intact human motor function, question?" The other voice is mechanized, but it's not familiar.

"Yeah, Quartz. That's a good sign."

Quartz? People did name their children after stones. Usually gemstones, right? Ruby, Jade, Opal... Quartz was definitely weird.

Damn it, eyes open.

Your eyes blink once. The light is now less harsh. There's something in the way. You know who it is.

"Come on, Doc. Open your eyes for me."

It's like the voice calls to every instinct you have. Your eyes crack open. There he is... sandy-haired, blue eyes. As adorable as the day you met him.

"Gra— Grace!"

You can feel his fingers wrapping around yours. "Yeah, it's me. Hey, Doc."

You feel movement to your side and turn. There's a giant, spider-like thing to your side, fully covered in crystals, and then covered by a glass spacesuit-looking thing. Behind it, in a similar fashion, is Rocky.

Ryland's hold on your hand tightens. "Welcome to Erid, Doc."

When you turn your gaze back to him, his eyebrows are scrunched tightly together despite his light words. And you think the sound that bubbles out of your mouth is a laugh.

Ryland and Rocky are sitting by the shore as you walk down with Adrian. To your surprise, they're a lot less talkative and nosy than Rocky.

"Adrian!" Rocky careens excitedly. "We were just talking about you."

"What about?"

"Oh, nothing." Ry shakes his head too quickly. You've noticed that he does that when he's trying to lie. Badly. "Just what a fantastic job you've done in the biodome."

"No." Rocky shudders, showing displeasure at Grace's words.

"He was being picky, wasn't he?" You pipe in, settling in the sand beside Grace.

Rocky walks up to Adrian's side. "He was saying that the water is too cold."

Adrian tilts his face, the right side sinking a bit more in the sand, and turns to you. "Grace very picky or humans very picky, question?"

"Humans are picky. Grace is just one of the pickiest humans you'll ever meet." You chuckle. "Though I have to agree with him there; the water is a bit too cold."

Grace stares at you, slack-jawed. "It's freezing. You know, you need to be less of a people-pleaser."

You think Adrian is staring at the two of you. They speak after a second. "We will talk to the biodome team. Come, Rocky. Doc, don't forget about class."

"I won't, Adrian."

"Grace, don't forget about class, too," Rocky reminds him.

"I'll get there."

You give them both little waves as they walk away.

"You heard about the Sun?" There's a slight quiver in Grace's voice as he stares out at the simulated sea.

"Yeah. It's good, right?"

"Yeah." He picks up a pebble by his side. "They refueled the Hail Mary, you know? We could go back if we wanted."

You hum, not really understanding his words. As far as you knew, there was nothing left on Earth for you. Your friends were probably long gone. And the Earth was saved. Your duties were done.

"You know—" he continues, throwing one of the pebbles into the sea. "—you could go back if you want."

There it was. The same guilt that consumed you years ago. Just in a different form.

You were already in the coma when he made the decision to turn the ship around to save Rocky. He had apologized a million times about that. You told him there was absolutely nothing to apologize for.

Balance, you had called it.

"Ryland Grace," you wait until he turns his head toward you, "what makes you think I'd ever want to leave?"

He leans down, his lips twitching at the edges. You move closer, letting your foreheads meet. "I'm happy where I am, Ry. Don't take that from me."

He nods against you, and you both stay in the quiet peace of your decision. For a moment, before loud chatters spark up from the corner of the beach.

"Now, don't you have class, Mr. Grace?"

He laughs as he leans back. "Don't you have a class of your own, little miss?"

You do.

Quartz was taking a class on the genetic factors and the diseases affecting carapace formation in neonates.

a/n: thank you for reading! i hope you liked it! thoughts and criticism are always welcome as long as they are kind. Lots of love.