Idk What I'm Doing

Tap tap tap

I drum my fingers on the table idly, eyes shut in focus.

“…88.” I say with a nod, opening my eyes, and taking a bite of my burrito.

“Go fish.” Simon replies around a mouthful of his own food.

“Ugh- chew your food, please.”

“That’s what I’m doing.”

“Without talking.. Food’s gonna fall out the side of your face, which I’m not interested in seeing.” I wrinkle my nose at him.

Simon swallows the bite of food, clearing his throat, and making a performance of licking his exterior teeth clean with the long, sharp tongue I often forget he had.

He k owes it freaks me out when I do remember. It’s the only non-human thing about him that does, come to think of it, which he finds sick joy in, I imagine.

I shudder, looking down at my food. “So unnecessary…”

“There, Princess. It’s gone.” He deadpans. I roll my eyes.

“Thank you.”

“What’s 88 mean?”

“Nothing… I was just doing some mental math.”

“Mental math, huh?”

“Yeah. Working on some tests in the lab, and I was trying to calculate how many days it’d take for one of my samples to quadruple, based on the environment.”

“Huh, cool. Can I test you?”

“…test me? Like one of the samples-?”

“No- no, your mental math.”

“Oh! Yeah sure, okay. Shoot.” I reach in my pocket, and pull out a small, blue, NASA branded stress ball.

I guess that’s all the Hail Mary team thought we’d need to handle the stress of the mission…

I toss it to Simon, starting an impromptu game of “the stress ball is lava.”

He catches it with his prosthetic hand, smirking at me. “You stay ready, huh?”

“So I don’t ever have to get ready. Hit me.”

“What’s… 88 + 88?” Simon sits back in his seat, tossing the ball back to me.

I catch it, passing it from hand to hand.

“Seriously? 176.” I toss it back.

Simon catches and holds it, takes a moment, calculating it himself, before nodding. “Yeah, that’s right… probably too easy for you…”

I shrug.

“Okay, how about… 1,114 x 24?” The ball’s in my court again.

I stare off for a moment, thinking.

“You’re burning...”

“Shhh, I know, it’s excruciating, hold on.”

“Quickly, Gracie!”

“That’s… oh jeez, uh… twenty six thousand… uh… seven hundred thirtyyyy six.” I throw the ball to Simon.

Simon blinks at me. “Mary, what’s 1,114 x 24?”

“1,114 x 24 =26,736.”

“No shit! You got it!” Simon smiles with a slow nod, setting the ball on the table. I guess we’re done.

“I- well it’s just multiplication- anyone could work it out.” I look off to the side, a little sheepishly. I can feel my cheeks lighting up red.

“Not that quick- that’s pretty impressive. Whats the square root of 6,422?” He quickly picks the ball up again, launching it at me this time.

“Where are you getting these numbers?” I chuckle as the ball hits me in the chest, and I scramble to catch it.

“Just answer.”

“80.13, I’m a science teacher, I’m gonna know how to do math- it’s really not that impressive.” I say, stuff ing the ball back into my pocket.

“Yeah, but not everyone is smart enough to be a science teacher.”

“No, no that’s not true- intelligence is learned, not innate. Anyone can learn a discipline of study if they put in the effort.”

“How humble of you.”

“That’s- what?! I’m not being humble! I’m being serious.”

“Seriously humble.”

“Stop.”

“Would it kill you to take a compliment?”

“I Take compliments just fine, that’s not what’s happening right now, this is just a conversation.”

“You do?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Alright, fine. I think you’re very handsome.”

“I… what?! Th- that has nothing to do with being good at math, we’re t-talking about being good at math.” I scramble to put the words together.

“I know, but you would have been prepared for me to say ‘I think you’re very intelligent’. Had to catch you off guard. You failed.”

“No I didn’t!”

“You deflected. You ignored the compliment. Whats your deal?”

“I don’t have a deal, Simon.”

“Defensive…”

“Stop.”

“Your face goes red as the ocean, and you look farther into the distance than you normally do.”

“Oh now you’re psychoanalyzing me?”

“I’m not doing psyco-nothin’!I don’t even have to! I’m looking dead at you.”

“Well knock it off!” I say with an exasperated huff, my knee bouncing nervously under the table.

“You’re sweating.”

“It’s stifling in here.”

“It’s a crisp, bone chilling 68° in here upon your request.” Simon chuckles.

“I run hot.”

“You’re anemic with ice cold hands.”

I groan, taking a final bite of my food.

There was enough burrito left for two, maybe three bites, but in my haste to remove myself from the room, I opted to shove the whole thing in my mouth like a squirrel.

“Woah- you got all that..?” Simon chuckles, raising a brow.

I attempt to speak, nearly choking on the burrito, slapping a hand to my mouth.

Simon smiles, standing up to collect our trays. “Don’t talk with your mouth full.” He taunts, taking my empty tray from the table, dropping a passive kiss to the top of my head before walking away, to which I reply with an annoyed grumble.

Before he gets too far, I reach back, shoving my apparently freezing cold hand up the back of Simon’s shirt, planting it firmly on the small of his back for just a moment, before he hisses, and stumbles away.

“AGH-! Jesus-! You arctic bastard.”

I snort, covering my still full mouth.

“We’re gonna work on taking compliments, Hracie. Because that was pitiful.” Simon calls back as he turns the corner.

-

“Toss me that shirt by the ladder, could’ya?” I blindly point back with one hand, collecting laundry from around the dorm.

“This one?” Simon asks.

“…is it by the ladder?” I ask, without turning around.

“Yeah.”

“Is there… anything else by the ladder?”

“Not that I see, no.”

“Then yes, that’s the one.” I stand, turning around with a half full bin of clothes in my arms.

“Okay, attitude.” Simon retorts, throwing the shirt at me. It hits me in the face, but lands down in the bin.

I don’t flinch. We do this every laundry day.

In order to keep ourselves from becoming disillusioned with the idea of routinely washing our clothes, Simon and I made a game of tossing clothes into the basket while we gathered them up. The longer we kept it up, the more competitive and serious of a weekly ritual “Laundryball” became for us.

A direct hit to the face was an immediate foul, and voided any points that the shot had the potential to earn. I’d be a fool to l move and give him the point. Especially since Simon was currently up by several points.

“That’s a point! Mark it down!” Simon cheers.

“No, that’s a foul! You threw it strait at my face!”

“You could have moved!”

“And Lincoln could have moved out of the way of the bullet. Booth would’ve still been guilty for the attempt.”

“Who?”

“Yeesh- We’ve gotta teach you history… whatever. No points.”

Simon glares at me.

“How is that not a point? You hit me last time and you still got the point.”

“There’s a difference between me throwing the shirt, and you moving in the way of it while it’s in mid-air, and you throwing the shirt directly at my face.”

“Hardly.”

“No, there’s a clear difference. Mine was a fair point, yours is a foul.”

“Whatever… shit’s rigged.”

“You’re winning at laundryball! What’re you talking about?!” I point to a whiteboard on the wall that’s been divided into two halves, one with red tally marks, one with blue. Simon’s side, the red side, had significantly more tally marks than mine.

Simon grumbles.

“Aim for the basket so you can keep that lead.” I smirk, setting the basket down. Simon picks it up after me, taking it away to collect the last of the scattered laundry.

“Should probably throw this in too, huh…”

I look down at the shirt I’ve got on. White, with red trim, with racing flag decals on the chest.

Being a lighter colored shirt, it was already susceptible to stains, discoloration- the works. I liked to wash it a little more often than my other shirts, just to keep it nicer for longer.

“I guess. Doesn’t look that dirty to me, though.” Simon shrugs, tucking the basket under his arm, against his hip.

I”Can’t hurt.”

I cross my arms over my front, grab the hem of the shirt, and yank it off over my head in one quick motion, dropping it in the bin.

“Woah-! Jesus.”

“What?”

“I woulda turned around or somethin’!”

“Oh like I care. It’s just us.” I shrug, balling up my shirt, and winching it toward Simon, sinking it into the basket perfectly.

“OHHHH! That’s a point!” I pump my fist in the air, and clap a couple times, before jogging over to the board and adding a tally under my name.

Grace: 17, Simon: 26. …Still a ways to go…

“Anyway- you wandered the ship without a shirt for like a week when you woke up.” I say.

“Well that’s because I was in recovery.y skim felt like it was burning off.”

“Mmm, fair enough.” I mumble. “How’re those scars doing now, by the way? I know it’s been months now, but-“

“Fine. Hardly anything hurts anymore. Just occasional aches and nerve pain.”

“Well that’s good.” I cap the marker and set it on the ledge.

“Everything looks nice and healed now, from what I can see.” I turn, smiling at Simon.

“Yeah, I can’t…. Complain…” Simon trails off, looking at me - halfway concerned, halfway stunned

“…What?”

“Speaking of scars…” Simon points up and down my torso.

“Yeah..? What- what about them?” I cross my arms over my chest, a little self conscious now.

“How much of you is scarred up..? I didn’t realize it was so extensive.”

“Oh… y-yeah it uh…” I look down, lifting my arm. “My whole arm here, shoulder to palm… and a little bit of the back of my shoulder and neck as well. Oh, and the uh- handprint on my other arm. I kinda like that one though. Looks like a heart.”

“Those look pretty serious.”

“Mhm. Second and third degree.”

Simon grimaces.

“Oh, no It’s alright, it’s been a few years. Nothing hurts.”

“Can I ask how-?”

“I told you, didn’t I? It’s from when Rocky and I flew into Adrian to collect the samples we sent back to Earthp.” I explain, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. “I blacked out from bashing my head into the cockpit wall once the gravity changed, so Rocky had to drag me down here himself.”

Simon nods, listening quietly.

“He busted through his xenonite dome to right the ship and take me to medbay, but since he’s over 200°, it meant that I got burned in the process. But I’ll take burns over a failed mission any day. We got the job done.” I shrug.

“Rocky’s that hot?! So that’s why his hamster ball feels like a furnace.”

“Yeah.”

“Brutal…” Simon takes a step towards me, raising his hand. “May I?”

“Hm? O-oh, yeah. Go ahead.”

“You’re sure it’s not gonna hurt?”

I smile, raising my opposite hand to a particularly dark splatter of scarred skin, flicking it a few times with audible force, proving that I’m well beyond any pain.

“Promise.”

Simon winces.

“It’s fine! Like I said, it’s been years now.”

Hesitantly, Simon rests his hand on my shoulder, gently scoping out the textured hills and valleys of the burns.

He lets out a low whistle, raising and turning my arm.

“I never realized how beat up were… I’m sorry- must’ve been hell to heal.”

I shrug, tilting my head. “Pshh, it wasn’t that bad- I mean- look at you! You got… crushed in a submersible, you had to fight off a viral mutation, a-and you lost an arm, for goodness sake!”

“I mean, yeah, but-“

“You had two broken ribs and a dislocated shoulder!”

“Grace, I know, I lived it.”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry… I just- …”

“Just what?”

“I just don’t want you to feel any kind of way about what I’ve got going on with all you’ve been through.”

Simon frowns.

“Why are you downplaying your own situation?”

“I- I’m not.”

“You are. You constantly do. It’s starting to piss me off. Genuinely.”

I tense up a little. His voice feels far more stern than before.

“What’re you talking about?!”

“Every time you get a shred of kudos for anything you’ve done, experiences, accomplished, or said, you shrug it off! It’s beyond humbleness or self deprecation at this point, it’s habitual.”

“…”

“You’re allowed to accept praise every once in a fuckin’ while. You don’t have to be a thankless martyr all of the time.”

“H-hang on- I’m not a martyr! I’m not trying to act like a martyr! I just don’t think every little thing I do, or that happens to me is worth making a big deal about!”

“You don’t do little things, though! That’s what I’m trying to get through to you!”

“Yehes, I do!”

“Shut up and fuckin’ listen!”

“Watch your mouth.”

“HUSH.”

I flinch, Simon’s voice echoes up the walls. I shut my mouth.

“Just, shut up and let me talk.” He huffs, lowering his voice. “You survived a coma, you made first contact with alien life, you found a solution to a problem no one on your entire planet could figure out, saved the planet, saved Rocky’s planet, and just for a victory lap, you saved my life too. And continued to care for me after I tried to kill you.”

“You didn’t mean to do it, Simon, we’ve talked about this a hundred times. You woke up, you were terrified, you didn’t know who I was and you tried to defend yourself.”

“By almost slashing straight through your throat?”

I sigh, raising a hand to the thin scar on the side of my neck, before dropping it back down again.

“You missed, I’m fine. There’s no hard feelings.” I say softly. I know he holds onto a lot of guilt for how he acted when he woke up, though I try to convince him that anyone would do the same in that situation.

“See?! And on top of it you’re sickeningly selfless and forgiving. Does any of that sound minuscule to you?”

“…I get what you’re saying, but-“

“Oh for fucks sake.”

“Listen! I get it! But I had to be thrown into all these situations in order for me to do anything about them! It’s not like I volunteered! Getting on this ship was not my idea! I’m just a regular guy! I- I’m just a nerd from California! I’m not that special!”

“Well that hurts to hear- you’re ‘not that special’?!”

“Yes! I’m not… Superman, or anything!”

“Do you hear yourself?! Better yet, do you even like yourself?”

“…What a dark question…”

“Well you didn’t answer, so clearly it’s not that weird. You considered it for a second.”

“No, I didn’t. I- I like myself just fine, I just know my place.”

“Your place?!”

“Yes!”

“Your place is memorialized in stone, Grace.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“And you’re so pessimistic.”

“I’m not pessimistic. YOU’RE notoriously pessimistic. I’m realistic.”

Simon scoffs. “Realistic, my ass. Your self confidence is so low it’s in hell.”

“My self confidence is fine.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes!”

Simon laughs incredulously. “Okay, so you think you’re a good looking guy, then?”

“Simon.” I deadpan.

“Answer the question.”

“I mean- sure, I- I guess so? I dunno!”

“Out of 10?”

“…I’m not answering that.”

“Why?”

“You’re not gonna like what I say.”

“That’s the first thing you’ve been right about in ten minutes. Try me anyway.”

“…out of ten?”

“Out of ten.”

“…six. And a half.”

“Christ’s sake…”

“You asked!”

“Six?!”

“Yeah! It’s above average!”

“By one point!” Simon throws his head back. “This is ridiculous. You’ve got just about the worst self image I’ve ever seen.”

“So being realistic based on comparative data of the entire population means I have no confidence?”

“Stop saying realism. It’s not realism, it’s borderline nihilism. Looks aside, you single-handedly saved two planets, and you’re sitting here telling me it’s no big deal.”

“I. Never. Said that.”

“Then say it.”

“Say what?”

“Say ‘I saved the world.’ Say it.”

“I’m not playing this game with you, you’re not my therapist.”

“Ohoh but it looks like you need one. So say it.”

“No!”

“Gracie…”

“Why are you so obsessed with this?!”

“Because it concerns me that you’re so dismissive of yourself.”

“It’s not that big of a- woOAH-!”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Simon lifts me up by my armpits, and tosses me backward onto the bed. He holds me in place with a metal hand on my chest.

I wheeze, looking up at him.

“What the heck are you doing?!”

“I’m giving you, Ryland Grace, one more chance to prove to me that you understand your worth, and the grandiosity of your achievements.” Simon crawls into the bed beside me, his voice dropping low, almost threatening.

“Oh or what, you’re gonna hurt me?” I scoff.

“Worse.” Simon purrs.

“What’s that me-hehahAhah- w-wahahait a second Simon-!” Simon drags a hand from my hip, slowly up the side of my body.

“None of those words are the ones I’m asking you to say.”

“S-stohOHOP this ihihisn’t f-fair-! I dohohon’t have a shirt on-!”

“I told you that shirt didn’t need to be washed. Your bad.” Simon taunts, digging into my ribs hard.

“AAAAAAAHAHAHAHA-! OW OW OW OHOHOW!!”

“You always say ‘ow’ when I tickle you, but you never actually fight me or tell me to stop. Hm, what a concept.”

“SHUHUHUT UP, YOU’RE SUXH A BULLY.”

“Yeah, I’m the worst.” He drags his nails up to my stomach, shocking my system with a sharp pinch to the abdominal muscle.

“AaAAAAH-! SIHIHIMON!”

“That is my name, Angel, yes.”

“G-GEHEHET OHOHOFF-! HA-HAHAHAHA-!!”

“Are you gonna tell the audience that you saved two planets nearly single-handedly?”

“UUURREGH, NOHOHO-!”

“The. I’m not moving.” Simon shrugs. “And just for being stubborn, you’ve gotta tell me that you think you’re at least a 9.”

“YOUHUHU’RE INSANE.”

“Probably.” Simon lifts his hands up to my collarbones, drilling his thumbs in just below the bone.

I scrunch my shoulders up, making some sort of unusual sound - sort of like a strangled duck’s quack - and kick my hips, tugging at Simon’s wrists weakly.

“Get the fuck outta the way.” He hisses, gathering my wrists in his prosthetic hand, and yanking them over my head, anchoring them like a steel bolt to the mattress behind me.

“NOHOHO-! NONONONO SIHIHIMON.”

“I, Ryland Grace…” he starts, using his free hand to skitter into my armpit, now that there wasn’t anything I could do about it.

“A-AHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-!” I give up protesting, and just start screaming instead.

“Am the savior of Earth, and of Erid…”

He switches quickly to my thigh, squeezing firmly, and repeatedly, just above the knee about an inch or two.

…I never knew that was somewhere a person could be ticklish…

“AAAHAHAHAHA AH-! AH-! HOHOLY SHIT SIMON STOHOHOP-! OHOH MY GOD-!! BREHEHEAK! BREAK!!” I shout, voice high, frantic, confused, and desperate.

Simon retracts his hand, staring down at me with wide eyes.

“Did you swear?”

“I- I’m sohohorry-! I didn’t mean to-!” My face drained of color, honestly a little disappointed in myself.

“Oh my god…” Simon chuckles.

“Oh my gosh…” I mutter to myself.

“…Over being squeezed on the leg, The Mr. Professor Ryland Grace actually swore at me?” Simon smiled.

“Not at you, I’d never sweat at you- just- in exclamation- I- I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry- I’m so, so sorry- I didn’t-“

“Grace.”

“I’ve usually got a better filter than that! I dunno what that was! It won’t happen a-mmph-!”

Simon covers my mouth with his hand, and I glare at him.

“Would you hush? It’s just one curse word. You’re a grown man, you’re not gonna get in trouble for swearing. Good god. EuGH-!” Simon retracts his hand, wiping it on his shirt.

“Did you just lick my hand?!”

“It got your hand off my mouth. Mission accomplished.”

“Ohohoh you little bastard.” Simon chuckles. Immedietly he darts his hand back to my thigh, squeezing and pinching as fast as he could.

“NAAAHAHAHAHAHA-! AHAHAHAHA- *snort!* STOOOHIHOP-! AHAHA UUURRRRGH IT FEEHEHELS LIKE YOU’RE ELECTROCUTING ME-!!”

Simon huffs. “Ha! Really? It’s that bad? Bzzzzzzt. Bzzzzzzzzt.” He make a dramatic show of taser sounds, vibrating his fingers into the muscle of my thigh.

“OH MY GOOOHOHOD OKAHAY I’LL SAY YOUR STUPID SCRIPT.”

“And mean it?”

“YEEEEHEHEHES!”

“And promise to stop deflecting every mice thing I say about you?”

“STOOOOHOHOP. YES, OKAY! OKAHAHAY!”

“Fine.”

Simon releases my wrists, and let’s go of my leg. Immedietly I curl up on myself like a bug.

“W-what’s the script again..?”

“I, Ryland Grace…”

“Oh skip the legal formalities, just tell me what to say.”

Simon sighs. “Fine. ‘I saved the world.’”

I’m quiet for a long while.

“My god is it that hard for you to say?!”

“There’s a lot behind that I- I don’t- that’s a loaded phrase!”

“Gracie.”

“Okahahay okay, I… saved the world.”

“Louder.”

“Simon.”

He latches onto my side, leaning down, a few inches from my face.

“Louder.”

“OHOHOKAY! I SAVED RHE WORLD! I- I SAHAHAVED THE WORLD!”

“Good Job. Do you believe it?” He skitters slowly up my ribs.

“I- YEHEHEAHAHAH YES, YES!”

“Good. Say ‘I saved Earth and Erid.” He remains close.

“I- HAHAHA-! I SAVED EARTH A-AND ERID-! AND SOHOHO DID ROCKY!!”

“Mmmm… I’ll take it. But only because it’s provable.”

“OKAHAY, THEN GET AWAHAHAY!” 

“One more… ‘and I looked damn good doing it.’ Go on.” Simon snickers

“WHAHAT?!”

“You heard me loud and clear, commander. C’mon.” Simon digs both hands under my arms.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAHAHA-! OKAY I- I LOOKED GOOD D-DOING IT-!”

Simon slows his hands to a stop.

“Damn right… You’re amazing, Gracie.” I feel my face burn.

Simon smiles. He leans down, closing the tiny space between us, kissing me as I take in a greedy inhale.

For a moment, I’m frozen.

I don’t pull back, I don’t push him away.

If it were anyone else, I would. Instead, I allow my body to relax, meeting Simon with the same energy.

I could feel his sharp teeth sticking me in the lip, but I rather liked the vampire bites they left behind, so I didn’t complain, instead lifted a hand around to the back of Simon’s head, pulling him closer, remaining this way until I feel a hand snake its way up the back of my shoulder, scritching at my neck gently.

“Mmph-! MhmhmhehehaAha- come ohohon-!” I giggle into the kiss until my smile breaks the connections, and I tilt my head down, shoulders scrunched to my ears.

Simon kisses my forehead before releasing me, and pushing up off of me.

“What was that for?!”

“Making me waste a half hour reminding my savior of his worth in the universe.” He wipes the beads of blood from my lip with the cuff of his sleeve.

“Some therapist you are… and don’t call me that.” I sit up slowly.

“Why shouldn’t I? You let me get away with Angel.”

“I tolerate Angel.”

“Bullshit.” He’s right.

“Savior sounds too culty, don’t you think? That and salvation.”

“I’ve never called you ‘my salvation that’s absurd.”

“You did. Twice. Forever ago. Had to shut that down fast.” I chuckle.

“Whatever. Also you and I have very different perspectives on cults.” Simon picks up a shirt from the clean clothes pile beside the bed, and tosses it to me. “Cover up.”

“Cover what up?! There’s nothing left to cover up!” I chuckle, gesturing to my chest with a shrug.

“All of it, put a shirt on.”

“Why?”

“Your hands were freezing on my neck. I’m serious, that anemia is gonna freeze you to death.”

He had a point. It was chilly in the dorm, and my hands were pretty icy too. I slip the black shirt on, one that I’d been letting Simon use for a while.

I look down, and the shoulders and chest were significantly stretched.

“Did you start the laundry yet?”

“No… I dunno where the detergent stuff is.”

“Oh- just use baking soda and some vinegar from the lab. You don’t need much.”

“Ew.”

“What?”

“You want our clothes to smell like vinegar?”

I chuckle. “Oh, n-no, they won’t. Acetic acid and sodium bicarbonate actually work pretty well as chemical deodorizers. They trap and break down bonds in odiferous compounds and eliminate any unpleasant smell.They’re not a perfect substitute for detergent, but in a pinch it works. As long as they’re diluted in a sufficient amount of water, they won’t damage the fabric. Plus natural detergents make the waste water easier to recycle.”

“Huh… it’s crazy how you just know that off the top of your head.”

I open my mouth to say something like “it’s a teacher thing!” Or “ah, it’s just basic chem.” But I think better of it, instead giving Simon a smile.