Full of Grace

He was a scientist first. A researcher. Maybe a professor. He, like so many others, dedicated himself to higher academia to the point of self-erasure, chasing the approval of advisors and committees until Grace thought he'd earned the requisite mix of humbling and prestige to stand by his theories. He hadn't. The fallout was apocalyptic and he has to remind himself (not daily, but often) that it was worth it to discover 8th grade science instead. He loves it. He was meant for this and it shouldn't matter that all the non-teachers in his life think he's settling, casting pitying looks when he insists that yes, he prefers working with middle schoolers to cutting-edge members of his field.

The other teachers are nice enough, though judgemental in their own ways. They resent the minuscule pay bump that comes with his PhD, the notoriety of his publications, the habit of wearing a suit, the credentials after his name. They sometimes slip into conversations that this was never a calling for you, was it? You're here now, sure, but only because you have to be. The kids were never your first choice.

Grace doesn't know how to explain wanting something retroactively because he didn't realize it was an option. He eats lunch with the kids instead.

"You have no immediate family."

Yeah, family has all passed. Dating isn't on his radar. Marriage is a pipe dream. Maybe he's aro, or ace, or both, or maybe he's never had the time to figure any of that out. Everyone in his life he'd potentially be interested in is paired off already and who the hell has time for mingling - or worse, apps - when there's grading-meetings-emails-IEPs-curriculum-PDs-data collection-lesson planning to do? Grace has never felt like his life lacked anything though, not until others claimed as much. He used to tell his neighbors about all the cool things "his kids" were up to, until they pointed out that none of those were his kids. You're not their dad. You don't get it, they said, always with a smile while pushing the stroller away.

No? Six hours a day, nine months a year, shouldering everything their real parents weren't giving them... it sure felt like he "got it."

...but they're right, of course.

He's just their teacher.

"You don't even own a dog."

Of course he doesn't own a dog! Do you know how much a dog costs? They aren't paying him enough for gas and that mountain of student loans doesn't give a damn about his fall, so how can he justify another life he might not be able to care for? One vet bill could be the end of them both. No one wants to hear another sob story about how teachers aren't paid enough, but the lack that creates is suddenly evidence of an unfulfilled life? How is that fair?

He gave up that life for his research.

He gave up that life for the kids.

Then he gave up that life for the mission.

Now she wants him give it all up again, and Earth, and his literal life because she claims the nobody middle school teacher is suddenly Somebody after all. He's terrified and all he can think is, Would she spare me if I had a wife? Or kids? The only thing teachers are ever praised for is prioritizing the kids, so maybe...

"Stop pretending this is about your students. It's so insulting."

Grace and Rocky save the world. Two worlds, actually. At the end of it all Grace is allowed to live in a beautiful place where all his needs are met, money not required. His ideas are taken seriously, debated and deconstructed, but always with respect. He has friends and colleagues and a revolving door of acquaintances, none of whom are considered inferior to a mate. And he has the kids. He imparts knowledge to a bouncy, chaotic group who - like all middle school aged sentient beings - quickly get over the fact that he's an alien and want to know when the next break is. But that's okay. Their family units thank him at the end of the day, rather than threatening to report him.

It's all so simple and it's all Grace ever wanted.

Happy pride btw

this study got out of hand haha, but it's a perfect shot for the text from the book (opening of chapter 24) - what a brutal passage :(

Imagine, after decades of your world becoming colder and colder, you are saved. A single Eridian, the only one of twenty three to survive, arrives in an alien ship, accompanied by a creature you can barely conceive.

Everything about the alien is so loud, hinges formed from tissue thumping and stretching in constant movement, even while unconscious. Completely organic, reliant of oxygen and hydrogen. Instead of a protective carapace, it regrows its damaged tissues. It has senses you do not, and technology so unlike your own, both able to utilise a force you have never heard of. The same force that killed almost your entire mission team. Highly adaptable, able to teach itself how to fly its ship in under a week, able to become fluent in the engineer's dialect in less than four years.

And if Erid's best engineer is correct (and there's no reason it wouldn't be), this creature not only managed to breed a predator of the warmth-taker to survive in various atmospheres, including Threeworld's, but also turned around to provide aid when it discovered that the predator could escape xenonite.

And you think: Surely, this creature which protects itself without a carapace, which sleeps so lightly and knows so much and learns so quickly, which saved two planets at the cost of ever returning to its thrum, surely, a creature so extraordinary must have a name to match

And you think: Perhaps it is strength, Mountain-Base or Lonsdaleite-Carapace. Perhaps it is intellect, Diamond-Claw or Lockpick-Mind. Perhaps it is courage, Song-Through-Silence or Path-Carver

And you think: None of these names hold the true weight of what this creature is to them. How do you describe something like that, which aids without expectation of anything in return, which risks its own life for the sake of a species it cannot touch, which performs miracles simply because it was asked.