ೃ࿔*༄˖°

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. 

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.