There was a heaviness in the air, an almost uncertainty. The woman infront of you is so focused.

“Dr. Grace is my last hope,” she spoke up, honest, blunt. “And you are his”.

And that was all it took as you nodded, a loss for words, moving in a sort of trance to gather your things.

The memory shoots you up from where you slept, leaving you gasping for air, hands clenched tight in your sheets. Ryland and you had been taking shifts, one sleeping, one monitoring the flight path set for Tau Ceti. However you had been going in and out of consciousness for hours. The memories just kept coming, so fragmented that they did little to help you understand 

Funny enough, the easiest part of all this to swallow had become that fact that you were in space. Because it was obvious, clear, right in front of you. Every other question felt endless, every answer felt hollow. Some memories were helpful, and others had sent you spiraling, unable to sleep for a few days.

It had been a few days ago when you woke up from sleep to a memory of your parents, the knock on your door from the RA of your dorm…that they were gone. The grief felt so heavy, yet so misplaced, for people that were vague shadows in your mind. That hurt you the most, that you could not recall these people…people you knew deep down were so good. Ryland had sat with you that night, silence between the two of you, no words good enough to mend what had happened.

Then came the flashes to a time before the ship. Bits and pieces of labs full of equipment that you somehow knew the names of, a flash to a jet sweeping through the air, a paper bag being your best friend in that moment. The two of you had come to each other in a sort of unison one night, both yelling the word Astrophage and beginning to dig through the memories together. It was that night that you came to the realization that Ryland Grace was a genius and the two of you would not be returning home. Staring at the equation he had completed on the whiteboard, the two of you sat in a silence so loud it made you want to cover your ears. It was exactly enough Astrophage to get to Tau Ceti…and none left to return. It was a suicide mission, the two of you had signed up to die. There had been a mutual understanding that night that if the two of you were gonna die you would die trying to solve the Astrophage problem, you owed it to the world, to yourselves. Though deep down your brain was far from ready to process that you would never be back to the normalcy of your home planet.

You glanced across the room, looking around for anything to ground you back to the present. The whiteboard caught your gaze, one the two of you had started to keep track of questions, checking them off when a memory came back to fill in the blanks. 

Who are we? How did we meet? Friends? Enemies?

You had added the last part, you thought it was funny. But none of it felt so funny anymore…his last hope, the words pounded loud in your mind. Like two metal pans banging together over and over with no sign of stopping. There was something there, in that memory, a feeling of deep care, of admiration. He was someone you had left your life to help, he had asked for you to join his research. So…you must have been a scientist too? There were too many questions floating. At least you knew where you were going and what you needed to do…but who were you? And why were you even here?

You pulled yourself out of bed, seeing no purpose in forcing yourself to try to sleep. Your sleep schedule significantly shifts when it looks dark outside at all hours. Wrapping yourself in a jacket you had found packed in one of the several boxes, you made your way to the ships controls, Ryland sat in his chair scribbling in a notebook.

“I think I was a scientist too,” you spoke from the quiet, that piqued his interest as he looked, a smile growing on his face. 

“Were you as smart as me?” he asked, looking back to his notes, his usual tone.

“Am,” you corrected. “Am I as smart as you…and the answer is probably smarter. I am smarter than you”.

You shrugged, as a burst of quick laughter came from him, his focus still on the notes. You moved around the room, taking in all the buttons, too many buttons. It had become normal, all these small memories popping in. It was like adding baseball cards to a collection, sometimes they were insane and other times they were mundane little additions that made the collection a little more unique. They were fun and sometimes not so fun…but details none the less, and you would take any your brain could muster to give back.

“What do you think is so special about this system?” Ryland spoke up, more to himself as he erased something in his notes. “The Tau Ceti system was the only star not infected-”

“Well it could be a lot of things, you know?” you spoke, as if on autopilot, words escaping you before you could even fully process them. “I mean, it could be a difference in spectral output that the Astrophage doesn’t want to feed on. Or, you know, evoluntionary pressure?”

He just stared at you, you just stared back.

He spoke slowly, eyes wide, “evoluntionary pressure?”

“Yeah, the idea that another life form could be eating away at the Astrophage and keeping it balanced,” you answered, equally as confused…the tiniest bit excited, maybe more than tiny. “Like a predator, but that is pretty far fetched”.

He shook his head in disbelief, a smile on his face, murmuring unbelievable under his breath. 

“Smarter,” you reminded, a shrug of your shoulders. You had felt so useless thus far, not that you hadn’t been able to help but you weren’t sure where you fit. That’s why it was all so exciting when you remembered that you studied Tau Ceti and you were gonna see it. You were sure the earlier version of yourself, the one who remembered it all would be freaking out at the fact. You wanted to find her, she was in there somewhere. 

The silence returned again, it was however much louder in your own head.

“You doing okay?” he spoke up, still focused, you still roaming the room, the two of you in perfect orbit. That’s what happens when you have no one else but each other, you are sure your brains may eventually murge into one. His jokes had become funnier, even if you knew they weren’t and he had become a friend, more than someone you were forced to coexist with.

“Yeah,” you spoke quickly, unsure what would happen if you let yourself dig deeper into the feeling.

He hummed…he didn’t believe you, you knew that. “Come on, let’s go”.

He spoke it so casually, getting up from the chair and setting the notebook down.

“Hey, so I am not sure if you realized, but we really don’t have anywhere to go to,” your voice slightly trailing off, watching as he began to walk out into the hall. “Ryland?”

“You know you have gotten a lot more sarcastic lately and it's really taking a toll on this relationship,” he yelled from down the hall and you could do nothing but roll your eyes and trail behind him. 

When you finally caught up to him, he was already shifting through settings in what you had begun to call “that big room of screens” and he corrected that it really was a “projection deck”...same fucking thing.

“What’s your favorite place in the world?”he asked, turning his head to meet your gaze.

And you paused, really paused. You were sure that before all of this you would have been able to answer in a second but now you were drawing a complete blank.

“I…I don’t know,” you spoke up, quieter, honest, and it was a scary thought, to not know the smalles thing about who you were, what you liked.

“Just think of something, make something up,” he pushed.

“Fine,” you called up to him, before moving to join him up on the small platform. “Uh…maybe, the mountains?”

With a click on the small computer, the screens morphed into beautiful scenery of lush green mountains, the sound of the breeze flowing through the leaves filling the room. You took a seat, letting your legs slightly hang over the platform. He joined you. He pointed to a digital bird that flew across the screen, miming fake binoculars on his face with his hands, you just nudged him with your shoulder.

“Where would you have picked?”

“Probably somewhere with fog,” he spoke up, looking at you. “I am pretty sure I am from San Francsios…they got a lot of that”.

It felt like meeting someone for the first time, asking all those familiar questions. The two of you found yourself doing that on nights that were too quiet, asking things like favorite color or movie, making up the answers when you couldn’t remember. Placeholders until the memory came back.

You nodded along, letting the two of you fall into a familiar comfortable silence. One you had to get used to with two strangers who had nothing to talk about because they were strangers to themselves. It made your stomach ache in that now all too familiar way.

Then he stood up, practically jumped from where he was sitting and reached his hand out to you, gesturing with his head. 

“What?” you asked, genuine confusion on your face.

“Up,” he just said. “Dance with me, come on”.

You just began to shake your head, waving your hands at him. 

“No,” was all you said, turning to face forward, though a smile tried to force itself on your face.

He turned to the computer, you trying your best to remain uninterested but then he turned on a song  and you felt like you had just gone down the hill of a rollercoaster.

“Stop,” he yelled at you, which made you shhh him with a significant amount of aggression. The whole library had turned to look at him, throwing needles at him with their eyes.

“What?” he whispered back.

“We are in the library,” you whispered back, just as aggressive.

“And you are freaking out about an alien presentation,” he deadpanned. You opened your mouth. Closed it. Then opened it again. “See, even you know it's dumb.”

“It’s not dumb!”

“Making a fake planet with a made up alien species where we decided they all dance to sort through political conflict…”he drawled out the last word, a quirk of his brow, that dumb look he always did. You wanted to smack him.

“Okay, well,” when he put it that way.

“Yes?”

You just rolled your eyes and turned back to the papers, sorting through all the details you had spent way too long on. You never did anything halfway, it was something you had followed your whole life.

“Come on,” he spoke up, standing and throwing his things in his bag in a way that made you cringe. "Let’s go”.

“Where?” your head shot up. “We have an assignmet to do”.

“Not in this state we don’t”.

You just looked at him, a staring contest, him raising his brow up and down causing you to bury your head into the table. He then leaned down right next to your ear.

“Uh, earth to alien girl,” he spoke, covering his mouth to sound like a plane speaker…or radio…you weren’t quite sure but it made you laugh. You quickly stopped yourself. “I heard the laugh. The jig is up, we are going”.

He did not wait any longer, heading out of the door, eyes following him as he left. You quickly stood up, without much hesitation, laying your stuff in your bag and running out after him. There he stood, outside, at the bottom of the steps to the library, phone turned up to the highest volume, playing your song. “The Two of Us” from the Beatles blasted, a song the two of you had come to associate with the other. He was moving in sporadic ways, akin to the way a dad does to embarrass their own kid. 

“What are you doing?” you called down to him.

“Seeing if our alien system we set up works,” he called back, never breaking his messy groove. “Come on!”

It was hard to say no to him, his exictmnet so infectious, his care to make you smile being one of your favorute things about him. It had gotten you through a lot of long nights. So you dance, him spinning you around, you trying to dip him. Even when people walked by staring, it was just the two of you who existed in that moment. It was perfect, you never wanted to forget it. The joy of dancing with a person, your person. Maybe your alien planet was on to something.

You came back just as quickly, looking at him, really looking at him. It was like you had jumped into a memory, only now you were both older, more tired…and potentially actually meeting aliens. You felt somewhat far away, in a daze, as he just waved his hand in front of you, waiting for you to take it.

“For all I know, we could have actually hated each other,” he urged. “Let me keep the peace for a little bit”.

“I don’t think there is any world where I could hate you,” you replied, and you knew somewhere it was true, as you reached for his hand and he pulled you up. 

The dancing was a mess for a while, the two of you laughing through the stupid moves. He did the one person wave at a certain point, one you eventually joined in on. Then you stumbled into his arms, him steadying you, holding you. And you just leaned into it, the feeling of safety, of knowing someone was holding you up when you felt so uneasy. His head gently rested on top of yours. 

The two of you just swayed, the sound of the music mere background noise to the way your heartbeats became so loud. Thump. Thump. BEEEEEEEP

You jumped apart.

“Approaching Tau Ceti".

The two of you froze, two deers in the headlights. You hadn’t considered what would happen when you actually reached Tau Ceti. For a while you were still sure this was some sort of bizarre dream.

Then, as if in sync, the two of you went into panic mode sprinting back down the hall to the control room.

—--

It was under control…really it was. You just were now floating in zero gravity and an alien ship was approaching.

Holy Fu- , wait you weren’t cussing anymore, or that’s what Ryland said…Holy Fudge!

You stood there in awe, Ryland looked like he was turning a shade of pale that you had never seen before. The ship approached, getting bigger and bigger and bigger until it parked right beside the two of you. It was strange, practically glistening, made of shapes you never would consider for a ship. But all you cared about was that aliens were real and you had been right.

“I was right,” you whispered out, the revelation of it all taking you back. 

“What?” he practically yelled, looking at you for some sort of answer.

You just turned to smile at him, two words, “alien girl”.

The ship or Blip-A as the robotic voice continued to call it made itself known, so big it could swallow your ship up. There were a few moments where Ryland had tried to steer away, you gripped on to the back of the chair as he moved the ship back and forth. Then Blip-A would do the same thing. You went forward, their ship moved forward. You went back and they shifted back. It was like a game of Simone Says.

“What do you think it wants?” Ryland whispered, as if the other ship could hear, you turned your head and gave him a look. “What?”

“Blip-B approaching,” the robotic voice began, the two of you turning your heads in sync back to the screen. A small object was tumbling towards the two of you at an impressive rate…yeah okay maybe this was something to be worried about? But you couldn’t help the curiosity that stirred in you, the want to understand those on the other ship, to learn their world, what made them happy. Well, if there was even anyone actually on that ship. Ryland went into a full panic mode you had gotten used to, you still gripping onto the pilot chair to stop yourself from floating too far away. You braced for impact, one that never game as the mental canister hit the side of your ship with a small DOINK. 

“Not a bomb,” you corrected, Ryland could not tear his face away from the screen. “Maybe they are friendly aliens?”

“There is no such thing as a friendly alien,” he bit back.

“Well, in our Alien class in college-”

He just glared at you once again, you smacked him on the head lightly with your hand, “Maybe they need help”.

“And maybe they want to inject us with eggs,” he looked at you like he had just said something profound.

“And you are a scientist?” you countered, a slight tilt of your head, still holding onto his chair.

The two of you watched for a while, just waiting for what was next. Maybe you were supposed to send something back. The two of you didn’t have to wait long before the next “Blip” was thrown, however this time much slower. They wanted the two of you to grab it, each move from them intentional.

“They think we are dumb,” Rylan practically deadpanned. 

“Well, we better prove them wrong,” you began, gaze intently on the small object tumbling through the air towards the two of you. You tuned your head slightly upwards, making sure your voice could be heard by your robot companion. “How would we get to something like this?”

“Nope, nope nope nope,” Rylands voice began to come back, shaking his hands at yoy.

“Would you like to take a space walk Dr. (Last Name)?” the voice spoke.

We were gonna die out here anyways, might as well do it all. 

“Yes” you spoke up and Ryland said the opposite at the same time. You didn’t even give him another look as you manuvered yourself down the hall, pushing against the wall to move, feeling so weightless. It was an odd feeling, one you had never experienced before and part of you was fine with maybe never expeirnecing it again. You were quick to find the set of spacesuits lining the walls, searching for one with your name on it. Now it became very clear how difficult it would be to get on but with the help of the computer voice you were able to find the manuel and squeeze your way inside. 

In the middle of wiggling into the pants, Ryland came flying around the corner. 

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice in full panic. However, he too began to read the manuel, taking steps to pull the suit on. 

“We are taking a huge step in human history,” you replied, like it was the obvious choice. “First contact”.

The two of you moved in a sort of connectedness, him putting on his suit because you said you would. It was how you worked, two people, trying to survive this all. And to do that, sometimes you had to do something insane and hope it worked. You stood in the tunnel now tethered to the inside of the ship, deprezerization happening around you as the door opened. You couldn’t have been prepared, how could you? The image of the infinity of space before you made your heart ache and deep down you knew this was big for you. You moved forward until you were just at the edge, nothing but stars. You were about to take the step when Ryland Grace came flying into you, shooting the both of you out of the ship. 

His grip on yours was tight, the two of you wrapped together as you drifted out into the stars. You looked at him, really looked at him, his glasses slightly tilted inside his helmet. You wished you could reach out and adjust them for him. 

“So…saving the sun?”

You barely got the words out before he stepped forward, closing the space between the two of you, pulling you into a hug. So tight, like you might disappear. You stood there for a second, air caught in your throat before you caved into the feeling. Your arms looped around him, head rested against his chest, as if this was something the two of you just did.

“I missed you,” he said, honest, real.

You stayed there, just together, quiet in the chaos of the day.

“I missed you too,” you finally let yourself say, quiet as if the whole world was listening and you wanted it to be just for him.

You would unpack all of that later, the hug feeling even more familiar now, even more personal. You gently released your hands wrapped around him and nodded with your head back in the direction of the small object tumbling closer and closer.

He nodded, the two do your drifting back towards the ship until you could grip onto the rialing outside of it. In a sort of quiet understanding, Ryland tied your tethers around the railings so you could move up and down the hull of the ship without drifting too far.

“Who do you think's gonna get it first?” he spoke through the radio system within the suits. A challenge, you didn’t have to even look to know he was looking at you with that stupid grin.

“Well I know it’s not gonna be you,” you bit back, eyes set on the object tumbling closer and closer. 

Then he jumped and you did too, the two of you reaching for it, your hands getting closer and closer to the object until you were holding it tightly. You went to celebrate when Ryland Grace did it again, flying into you, this time on purpose, sending the two of you flying. You shut your eyes, grip on it so tight.

“I just sacked the quarterback,” he joked, grip still tight around you, the small cylinder pressed between the two of you, keeping you apart. Then you just laughed, laughed so hard you could barely breathe. Because you were in space, with a stranger you once knew, trying to catch an item from an alien ship and Ryland Grace had tackled you like it was football. And he laughed too, and for a moment, so small you could almost miss it, everything felt right. For a moment, a very small moment, you felt like you remembered him fully.

And when you looked at him, you knew he was someone important to you.

------

You sat at your desk, head propped up on your hand as you absentmindedly clicked your pen over and over. Enough that the sound began to fade into the background, anything to break the silence.

Procgess had been made in the past couple of days. Especially with the discovery of the centrifuge system. And then there was, of course, that other discovery. As in your new neighbor. As in, the alien. 

You had yet to meet the guy but the new presence felt rather large. An alien ship had tethered themselves to your ship and you were sitting and clicking a pen for entertainment. You paused the clicking, glancing up at the camera psoitioned on your desk. Ryland thought it would be good to film logs…guess there was a first time for everything. Even if an alien encounter was not one of those things yet. 

You reached up to hit a switch on the camera at the desk, watching as the red recording light began to blink on. 

“Hi, uh, I am sure Ryland…or well, Dr. Grace has shared with you that we have made contact with an alien,” you began, leaning back in your seat. “I haven’t yet”.

A quiet laugh slipped out, the words sounded insane speaking them out loud.

“He said he had to make the sacrifice just in case,” you explained. “Because I know more about Tau Ceti than him so he would be less of a loss”.

You shook your head at the idea, a smile tugging at your lips no matter how hard you tried to keep it off.

“Which is-” you trailed off trying to find the word. “...kinda endearing if you really think about it…in a sort of messed up and terrifying kinda way?”

Your gaze dropped back to your hands for a moment before reaching for the pen. Click. Click. Click.

“But I wouldn’t really call him dying instead of me a success,” you were quiter now, gaze still set on the pen. “I’d rather not be alone”.

The words hung in the air, heavy. You had developed a mindset quickly on this ship, well after a lot of denial. You were dying. It was as simple as that, because there really was no other choice. And you would live like that, like there was no tomorrow. There was no time for hiding or being scared, it was a time for risks. It was a hard pill to swallow, sometimes that pill would get stuck in yor throat still no matter how hard you tried to wash it down with water.

You cleared your throat, setting the pen down. Your eyes drifted to the small figurine you had placed on your desk. The first time he had made contact he had returned with a small sculpture, a figurine that looked like two human shapes entangled in a hug, a tether tying them together. You were quick to realize it was the two of you when you had first entered space. 

You smiled.

“Not like you guys arent great company,” you continued, gaze fixing back on the camera. “But he’s kinda growing on me…just don’t tell him that, it will get to his head pretty quickly”.

The sound of footsteps caught your attention, your head turning, seeing Ryland now leaned against the entrance to the room. He acknowledged the camera with a nod, giving it an awkward wave, well more like a flick of his hand, before turning back to you.

“Let’s go,” he said, gesturing down the hall with his head before continuing in the direction.

No explanation. What was new? You turned back to the camera.

“He does this a lot,” you admitted. “Just absolutely zero context”.

You looked back to see if he was there still. 

“He is not a perfect teammate”.

“Not true,” his voice called through the ship.

You gave the camera a look, whispering a quiet, “this guy”.

“And grab your alien shirt!” he called out again and you quickly sat up in realization.

Oh. Oh Oh OH!

You snapped your head back to the camera, so fast that it made you dizzy for a second. Eyes wide, grin so big it was actively stretching your face. Reaching up, you clicked the switch for the camera, giving one last wave and then you lept into immediate action.

You found Ryland halfway in his suit, slightly struggling with one of the clasps, even so he refused to ask for any help, just giving a small thumbs up in your direction.

You were quick to grab your suit, attempting to catch up. But your hand shook with energy and you weren’t sure where to place it or how to use it. Your skin felt like it was on fire…in the best possible way.

This was it.

This was really it.

You wrestled with the zipper for a second before pulling it up. As you stood back up, you came face to face with the man, him standing there holding your helmet, placing it on your head. With a click it secured and he tapped on it like it was a fish tank. You fliched slightly, shoving him back.

“Am I really a bad teammate?” he asked and as you looked at him you realized he wasn’t fully joking. 

You paused for a second, scanning his face,

“Yeah,” you answered, flatly.

You just as quickly smiled and tapped back on the glass of his helmet, his eyes meeting yours.

“Not at all. I got pretty lucky”.

The tension in his body slightly eased at that, a smile growing onto his face.

“I should have let you come the first time,” he admitted, beginning to walk down the hall. “You are the alien expert. I am just some guy who was wrong about water”.

“Everyones wrong sometimes,” you replied, trailing behind him. “You know, you kinda have to be every once in a while”.

At that, he glanced back at you.

“Can’t find the right answer if there hasn’t been a couple wrong ones,” you continued with a shrug of your shoulders.

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence, a growing understanding between the two of you. It was funny, you felt like you had known him your whole life. Maybe you had? Or maybe you just had been together for far too long on this ship with no one else but this guy and a camera. Either way, it could have been worse. You were happy with whoever decided they should send you up with the middle school science teacher. 

When the door opened you were immediately blown back into the wall, you landing with a loud thud. A quiet groan escaped you. He had left that part out when he told you about his first encounter.

“Hey, hey,” Ryland began, scooting over to you, hand gently placed on your shoulder. “You okay? That has never happened before”.

You just nodded, at a loss for words for the tunnel system in front of you. It was a hard thing to fully comprehend, that there was another life form existing in parallel to your own. One that could build tunnels that connect to your ship.

“Gravity?” you just spoke up, standing to take a few steps into the tunnel, boots still connected to the ground. 

“This, uh…yeah this is new,” he replied, standing up from where he had fallen and walking to meet you. “Just be prepared, this guy is pretty jumpy”.

You nodded, one again embracing the silence, taking in everything with each step. You knew Ryland was behind you, you knew he would be ready to help if anything were to happen. But you could not get yourself to be fearful, ever since Ryland brought back the small figurine, you knew this was not a harmful connection. 

The end of the tunnel was made of different glass pieces, or something resembling glass, all creating different angles. You reached up, gently pressing your gloved hand to it, looking into the darkness behind it.

“I just, kinda tapped last time,” he offered, you smiled.

“Very scientific approach Dr. Grace,” you joked, glancing back at him.

A piece of you ached inside to feel how this would have felt having you remembered everything. But your body has not forgotten. Your body grew with energy, your heart thudding in your chest, your fingers practailly tingling, a smile so wide it could not be suppressed. You reached out and gently tapped on the wall and that's when you saw it, a small figure dash across your view.

You tapped on more time, soft, inviting, other hand still pressed to the glass. Then it appeared, a spider-like rock formation, slowly moving its way towards you. It stopped, moving its body in a way that reminded you of how a dog would tilt its head in interest and confusion. Then it reached out, a small hand placed against your palm, the glass being the only thing stopping full contact.

“Dr. Grace showed me the figure you had made of us,” you spoke, quiet, not wanting to scare your alien neighbor. “Thank you, it was beautiful”.

The creature in response made a symphony of noises, as if you played all the chords of a piano at once. A quiet laugh of astonishment left your your head turning to glance at Ryland whose gaze was on you. A gentle smile and a thumbs up, his signature move.

There was a burn in your eyes, it was all so overwhelming. All you could do was laugh, unsure what to do with all the pent up emotion. 

The alien made another sound before tapping on the glass. You tapped again, the two of you going back and forth until it let out an almost grunt. You paused, stopping. He tapped again in a direction behind you and you followed it. 

“Oh,” you breathed out, seeing another capsule. “Is that for us?”

The symphony of noise returned, the creature jumping around, moving erratically.

Ryland walked over to grab it before you could, coming to meet you by the glass, gently twisting it open. Inside was another model…figure…art piece? It was close in resemblance to a letter eight, small blue dots lining the exterior of the rings. 

“Wow,” Ryland, spoke up as you continued to admire it. “Yeah, wow, I don’t have anything like this”.

The way he sounded genuine made you break your focus to smile. It was sweet.

“What is it?” he asked, more quietly, turning back to you. 

You could only shrug, trying to examine every angle of it. Everything so far had a meaning, but maybe this was the exception?

You looked back up at the alien, waving the art piece in his direction, “it is beautiful, thank you”.

Ryland reached for it and you handed it over as he tried to place it on his head, “Is it a hat?”

The alien just grumbled in response, beginning to erratically tap again. You watched, trying to understand.

“Maybe a bow tie?” you asked, grabbing it from him and setting it against where the collar of his shirt would be.

The alien just continued to explode with sound and then you turned to watch him, really watch him. His two limbs reached up to tap his head…or you assumed it was head. He then gestured as if removing it, you slightly tilted your head.

“You want us to take off our heads?” Ryland spoke up, confusion lacing his tone. “Buddy, I am not sure how it works for you but this is kinda all connected”.

You slightly glared at him, he just shrugged. Thank you captain obvious. 

The alien once again repeated the action…head? No, OH, helmet, he was meaning helmet.

“Our helmets?” you asked and the alien bursted with even more sound. You glanced back down at the figure in your hand, the pieces starting to connect. He had made the tunnel adaptable for the two of you, there was gravity and now, there was oxygen. 

You looked back up at Ryland, showing him the piece again, “it’s oxygen…its the symbol for oxygen”.

“What?” he looked at you in confusion, taking the piece and turning it around. Then he held it up to the creature. “You are clever buddy”.

The alien just continued its explosion of emotion, once again repeating the gesture. You followed along, reaching up to unclasp the helmet when you flet a hand rest on yours. 

“Maybe this isn’t the smartest idea,” he said, quieter this time, sending a quick glance towards your neighbor before snapping back to you. “I mean, this is a life or death kinda choice here…”

“And we aren’t already in a life or death situation anyways?” you bit back, he opened his mouth and then closed it. “I trust him”.

“You just met him”.

“And he made us a sculpture, created gravity and gave me a high-five,” you pushed back. “Most guys I have met don’t even open my car door for me”.

“You know, you just said something pretty profound back inside,” he countered, hand tighter on yours now to stop the movement. “You said people can be wrong sometimes”.

“Well I am not”.

“Well…we don’t really know if this is just some weird hat he made”.

You just stared at him, he stared back, then slowly his grip released and he nodded.

“I won’t change your mind,” he took a few steps back, a look of uncertainty on his face, shown futher in the posture of his body. Alert. Stiff.

You gave him a nod of ressaunace and a thumbs up, his classic, before turning back to the alien. Gently reaching back up, you unclasped the helmet and began to pull it off. Your heart beat in your chest louder and louder and louder, your ribcage felt as if it was shaking. 

Then you gasped, taking in the air and for a second panic filled you. You opened your eyes, gaze snapping to him…you were breathing. You laughed in pure astonishment, the alien creature celebrating with you, and Rylan looked like he had just aged fifty years watching it happen.

It was late, the moons shining through the windows of the library, your desk in the corner lit by a small lamp. The usual, Ryland and you, there way too late. You flipped through your textbook, he stared at you in disbelief.

“You totally think aliens are real, don’t you?” Ryland spoke up from across the table you were studying at, finishing up notes for the class you shared.

“Well,” you stumbled for the right words. It wasn’t that unbelievable. “I mean, it would be kinda cool”.

“No, no, don’t shrug it off like that,” he pushed. “You lied, you did not take this class cause you had to”.

“Okay, fine!” you practically yelled, earning a few annoyed glares from others still studying. “I just…I mean is it that crazy of an idea? The universe is quite literally endless, there has to be something”.

He just smiled at you, that dumb smile, one you would normally throw a pencil at his face for. But you just smiled back because he didn’t laugh, didn’t make his usual dumb joke, he just nodded.

“Okay alien girl,” he began. “I will be waiting for your name to pop up on the news when you are the first to make contact with one”.

And you nodded back, cause he would.

And you had just  done it, you made contact with an alien…holy shit. Where was your shirt again?

------

How do you prepare for an alien to move in? The answer, after much scientific research…you really can’t. The presence of Rocky, what Ryland had named him, was not a small one. You couldn’t ignore him, he was a permanent part of your lives, your new partner. And yes, he had opinions on everything. After the two of you had found his voice, most nights were spent with Ryland asleep in the tunnel while Rocky and you talked all night. You asked him any questions you could think of, him happy to answer in exchange for a few of his own for you. Sometimes the two of you would get too loud and Ryland would throw a pillow at you, which you would of course throw back. Grace okay? Rocky would ask and you would reply Yes, Grace is just cranky when he doesn’t sleep. The rock laughed at that, you did too…and even Rylan did from his sleeping state on the ground.

Most days were spent answering Rockys questions as the three of you worked through solving the Astrophage problem, the connector between the three of you. You all had a misson, one you would complete. There was now more than one world that depended on it.

“What do you miss most about home, Rock?” Ryland asked one night, the three of you in the projection room. Ryland sat against the hamster ball Rocky had made hismelf while you laid down on your back, staring up at the screens, listening and chiming in when you could.

You could think of a few things you missed, memories drifting in with each day.

Rocky sat with it for a while before speaking up, “My mate”.

As if in sync, Ryland and you both turned your heads to him, you finally completely tuning into the situation. The two of you shared a look.

“You have a mate?” Ryland asked, then stopped. “Not that…that’s like shocking it’s just-”

“He means how long have you been together?” you stepped in, Ryland relaxing back against the aliens enclosure. 

“Hmm,” Rocky perked up as he talked, though you sensed the sadness that still followed him. “186.3 years”.

“That’s incredible buddy,” Ryland replied, gently patting the ball.

“Not long enough,” the alien replied, settling back down, a few quiet symphonic sounds leaving him.

You understood, understood more than you wished you had. It never was. It never would be. You scooted over to the other side of the ball, leaning against it, gently patting it as Ryland had earlier.

“We are gonna solve this and get you back buddy,” you spoke up, facing towards the screen, taking in the world you had left behind forever. A pit settled in your stomach, at least he would be able to return home, that was enough to keep you going. “Your mate will be so proud of you”.

Rocky shared his mates name, a beautiful symphony of sound that only the person you loved could ever be represented by. A silence settled over the three of you, the sound of waves crashing coming from the speakers. They were loud, they felt familiar, maybe you used to enjoy the waves. 

“How long have Grace and (Last Name) been mate?” the alien spoke from the silence. And you and Ryland both snapped back to life instantly. You met his eyes for a second before turning away, trying to form words. 

“We aren’t-” Ryland began.

“We aren’t mates,” you fisnihed for him, him sending you a grateful look. Rocky, always so blunt.

“Then why bicker like mates?” Rocky pushed further. “Why Grace look at you like that when you do not see, question?”

You kept your eyes planted to your hands, scared what would happen if you let them wander. Did he really look at you? Maybe that’s what you had been, long before this, maybe there had been a time where it was something more. You felt it, it lingered in the air, in the memories that would stir. It lingered in the present too, in late nights and honest conversations, in the way he looked at you when you took off your helmet, in the nights he would drape a blanket over you when you fell asleep at your desk.

You were about to answer, try your best to muster words, when Grace beat you to it.

“I am tired,” Ryland said, standing up, not giving a second glance to either of you. “I, uh, I am gonna head to bed”.

You noticed that with him recently, when questions got hard. It had happened a few days ago when Rocky had asked about going home.

You watched as he jumped down from the platform, heading into the hall, him dragging a hand down his face. You sat there for a while, in silence, unsure how to feel. What did you expect? There had not been any reason to assume anything, and he just…he wanted to leave an awkward conversation. But was it really that hard of a question?

“Grace okay?” Rocky spoke up, tapping on the part of the xenonite ball closest to your head.

“Yeah, “ you replied, not because it was honest but because it was easy.

“Dr. (Last Name) okay too?” and you could only laugh at that, cause you hadn’t truly been okay in a while, not since before you woke up on this ship. 

“Yeah, buddy, I am okay,” you turned around to face him instead, tapping your fist against the ball, in which he mirrored. 

You glnaced back at the exit to the room and you weren’t sure why this time was different, what the pull was, but you got up.

“I am gonna get ahead on some of my work tomorrow,” you spoke more abruptly. “I will see you in the morning, Rock”.

“Friend need help, question?” he spoke up and the words, those three words felt like a punch to the gut. You just shook your head at him and you were sure he sensed the feeling as he rolled back to lay in his ball.

You made your way through the hall quickly, turning each corner sharp until you made it to the dormitory again. There Ryland sat, edge of his bed, head in his hands. You had never seen him look so small and you were almost scared to approach him, like he might shatter.

You stepped slowly into the room, pausing right next to him, he made no move to akcnolwged you. Placing your hand on his back, you gently moved it up and down, him leaning into the touch, giving his weight over to you. You let him be selfish, let him give you something to carry because he always was the one doing it for you. 

It was a while before he spoke, his words loud in the silence of the room. It was the quietest it had been since Rocky moved in. 

“I’m sorry about what happened in there,” he spoke, so quiet, words thin and shaky. He took in a breath, barely getting a full breath in. “It’s just…everything is a lot right now”.

You just shook your head, hand still trailing up and down his back, “we don’t have to talk right now”.

“No,” he stopped you, meeting your eyes, his so heavy. “I want to. I need to”.

Then the silence greeted the two of you again, but not uncomfortable, just knowing. You moved to sit beside him on the edge of the bed, watching as he sat fidgeting with his hands.

“Do you ever get memories of the two of us before all this?” He asked, though his eyes did not leave his hands.

You nodded, even if he wasn’t looking, the question making you glance to your hands as well, “Yeah…yeah all the time”.

There was silence again but there was something in the air, a push and pull, a want to speak and a fear of what would come out. You glanced past your hands at the floor, gently bumping your leg against his, he bumped it back.

“We really liked studying late in the library,” you joked, still quiet, just for the two of you, as if Earth could hear you from all the way out here.

He let out a breathy laugh in reply, “yeah we really did”.

“I think we worked well together,” you added, then pausing to correct yourself. “We still work really well together”.

You watched as his hand slowly moved closer, till it rested atop of yours. A reminder that you were both there, alive, breathing. The words of Rocky echoed in your head over and over, a broken record, that it was “not enough”. That’s what it felt like, a ticking timer, its numbers growing smaller and smaller. Even if you had accepted it, even if you told yourself you did. This right now, with him, it would never be enough.

“I think I loved you,” he spoke from the silence and you looked up from your hands, meeting his eyes. You searched his face for any sign he was joking, maybe he was messing with you like he always did. But he was there, fully there, looking at you. And you knew, you knew for a while you had loved him too. “And I never got to tell you that”.

“Why didn’t you?” You asked, an uncertainty in your question. A push and pull between wanting to know and peaceful ignorance. He swallowed, and you just watched him, watched him fight for words.

“Do you remember?” 

You just shook your head, pleading with your mind to catch up in this moment, to tell you why.

“Do you?” you asked, quiet, waiting for the truth…and he just shook his head.

“I just know I didn’t…I owe you an answer,” he replied, hand gripped tighter on yours. “I love you, I know I love you…I think I have always loved you”.

The words just floated, words you knew you needed to hear, but words you had not expected. You just nodded, unsure of what words you could possibly give back to him. What words were enough at this moment? You wanted to pull him close, wrap your arms around him and tell him you loved him, of course you loved him. You felt it when you saw him the first time, a pull towards him, one only love could possibly create.

“I know,” you whispered, scared to admit it, scared that it would be there, a constant reminder of what you could not have. “I love you”.

This was present, not past, not “loved”, it was there. Because you did. You loved when he would do the stupid dance moves anytime he got something right. You loved how he would make you laugh when you were spiraling. You loved how you bickered and how he looked at you like you were a genius, even when he teased that he was smarter. You loved him, you had seen it in every memory that had come back. You saw it when you left your home to join his research without a second thought. You loved him but life was cruel and time was not on your side, not even a little.

“I love you and I am scared,” he spoke up, pulling you from your thoughts. The tension in your body slightly eased, but the pit in your stomach grew deeper. You tried to meet his eyes but he would not look at you, his gaze cast down, his hand moving down to fidget with your fingers. You weren’t sure if he knew they were yours or thought they were his. The thought made you smile. “Because we are going to die out here and it’s not fair. It’s not fair to you if I tell you this knowing we are just going to die”.

“I would rather die knowing,” you admitted, hand gently reaching out to cup his jaw, pulling his gaze up to yours. His eyes rimmed red, watery. He blinked a few times, shook his head, tried to erase the emotions he could not escape. “I’d rather know we will die and get to love you than pretend and try not to love you at all”.

Silence.

“I can’t keep getting these memories and not pretend you aren’t the most important person in the world to me”.

Silence again, your heart was beating so loud you could barely hear the words you were speaking.

“And if you can pretend, good for you,” you continued, quietly, gently releasing your grip on his face. But he just grabbed your wrists before you moved too far, carefully placing it back where it was.

“I can’t pretend anymore,” he admitted, shaky. “I can’t.”

“Then let’s stop,” you spoke, like it was the easiest thing in the world. Because in space, time ticking lower and lower, it seemed like maybe it was. And there, something snapped, him reaching to cup your jaw. You grew closer and closer, foreheads hovering against the other.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his thumb brushing gently against your jaw. 

You just nodded, “Are you?”

“I’ve been sure since I first saw you again,” he replied, leaning into your touch, something you didn’t know you needed so badly. “I’ve known before I even understood why”.

Whatever hesitation left slipped away in that moment as your bodies allowed for it, allowed you to be selfish, the space between you closing. The magnets had finally collided. The kiss was so soft, you committed the feeling to memory. You never wanted to stop feeling it. 

He was so careful, like you might shatter right there. And you just might, the feeling so overwhelming. And then it deepened, just slightly, the pent up hunger for something you both had tried so hard to fight. You scooted closer, as close as you could, his hand traveling up your jaw and slightly gripping into your hair. For a moment, one small moment, the ticking clock seemed to stop.

He pulled away with an “I love you” on his lips before you could even speak. You met his eyes, and there was something there. It was bittersweet, knowing there would come a time where you would no longer get to see his eyes right in front of you. The thought made your stomach turn, a familiar burninig in your eyes. You hoped that if there was something after all of this, after life, that it would be a place you could still see his eyes.

“I know I should have said it a long time ago, I should have given us more time-”’

The words knocked you back, it felt like a blow to the stomach as your head pounded, it always seemed to feel heavy but this felt different. It all falls into place, all those missing pieces, the scientists in the bar, the conversation on the deck, the volunteering…the goodbye. 

“So what, now you are just going off to die?” he was upset, you hadn’t seen him like this in a while, not since his theory about water had not been received well in college.

“I am saving humanity”.

“Oh wow, yes, real courageous of you,” he retorted, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Fuck you Ryland,” you said, quiet, cold. “You’re the one who brought me here”.

His eyes snapped to yours, the two of you just looking at each other, breathing.

“And it was supposed to be a temporary thing,” he bit back. “Empahsis on the whole temporary part of this all. I mean, just a couple of days ago you were saying how you couldn’t imagine people having to say goodbye like this.” 

You stand up, your head pouding as you hold onto it, feeling as if it might explode. You slightly stumble, falling against a wall for support, Ryland is quick to follow. You slide down the wall, slightly caving in on yourself, pulling your knees to your just. There were so many emotions coming to you at one, regret, fear, anger, longing…love.

“Hey, hey, hey," he says gently, reaching down to try and help you. “What’s happening? What…what’s going on?”

You look up and there is a panic in his eyes, one to match your own. You try to speak but you can’t, you can’t find the words.

“I have nothing here for me,” you spoke from the silence.

“You have-” and then he stopped himself and your head once again snapped up to meet his eyes.

“Say it,” you spoke, quietly, pleading for him to say the one thing that could make you stay. “Please Ry, just say it”.

Everything hung there, floating in the air  And he couldn’t, his head just slightly shaking in disappointment. The tether snapped right there. 

“Okay,” it was so breathy, barely even a word.

“Talk to me,” his voice comes back, his hand stretched out to you, you now sitting back against the wall. Your hands gripped your head, your eyes burned and your body shook. There were so many feelings, too many. You just shoved his hand away, before you could even process that it was there. “Just tell me you are okay”.

“You didn’t say it,” you whispered out, scared to say it, scared to acknowledge that it was real. 

“What?” he asked, gently crouching down to your level, gently reaching to brush hair out of your face, you shifted your head away. “What didn’t I say?”

“You didn’t tell me to stay,” and the look on his face was one of unimaginable regret. “You let me get on this ship”.

“You wanted to,” he pushed back and your heart dropped. “I mean…come on, it’s not, it reall-”

“You knew,” the realization hurt more than the memory. He didn’t say anything, he had said he didn’t know why. He had pretended like it was fine but he knew…he knew why you were here.

“I didn’t want to go back to all that,” he tried to reason, and it reminded you of the memory, the samn panic on his face. “I finally have this, I finally have you and it didn’t…I didn’t want to-”

“So you just were never going to tell me?” you looked at him, searched his face for something to understand. “What? You were just gonna hope it never came back to me?”

The same silence as he fought for his words.

“Why didn’t you stop me?” you finally asked, an answer you knew had been weighing on you, a feeling in your stomach you did not understand until this moment. “Please Ryland”.

And it was like dejavu, the same as the memory as he did not say anything. You flet it all over again.

“I stay up at night wondering why I couldn’t have just said it,” his voice was so fragile, you looked up to meet his gaze and this time he was looking at you, focused on you. “And I wonder if maybe we would be living a normal life right now. Maybe we’d be together and you’d be doing your research and I would still be teaching. And maybe you would have come into my class sometimes as a guest teacher and…my kids would have loved you”.

A choked laugh escaped him at the thought as he reached up to run his hand though his hair. You let him talk, let him make up for all the silence as you just waiited to understand. 

“And then I think about how I couldn’t have ever stopped you,” he spoke again. “Because you have always loved space more than Earth and then I wonder if I maybe could have but would that have been fair?”

“I just wanted to know,” you finally spoke up, and you shifted slightly, patting the space next to you, inviting him to sit rather than couch infront of you. He accepted, sitting beside you. “I just wanted you to stop being so scared and say it…because I dropped everything to come and help you”.

“And I begged Eva Stratt for days leading up to take off to put me on that ship,” he admitted.

You hadn’t thought about it really, about how he had gotten there.

“Your mission was to find purpose and see Tau Ceti,” he said. “And mine was to tell you that I love you…because I could not stay on Earth without you”.

The words were so loud.

“That was my mission, that is why I am here,” he continued. “And if you are mad at me, I understand why…but I will take those few seconds you were not and know it was worth leaving everything behind just for that”.

The clock seemed to come back, ticking louder and louder in your brain. The heavy realization that this was it, that there would be a day where this was gone and there would  no longer be the pain and the wondering and the want. That there would come a time where you would not get to hate or love Ryland Grace anymore. And if you could pick one, you would love him for as long as you could. Even if you were mad, even if you wished it was different, he was still here and he had left the world for you.

“We are going to die out here,” you spoke, bluntly and obviously. “And I won’t do that angry at you, I won’t”.

"Let me fix this," he pleaded, his voice sounding so small. "Let me love you with the time we have".

You just leaned your head on his shoulder in response, his head resting a top of yours, a silent agreement. A silent truce. A page turned because dwelling in the past had become something you learned you could not do anymore. You wondered why people ever had at all? Because life was meant to be lived, because the past could offer you only ways to change and grow, it was not a place to remain in. It was your guide forward into a better future. 

“We would have had a good life together,” you spoke from the quiet, honest, no more pretending. 

“We will,” he corrected. “I mean it isn’t really how I pictured it, but the views are pretty nice up here”.

You just laughed, laughed at how ridiculous this all was. How he had chased you all the way into the depths of the solar system, all the way into a new one entirely. 

“I will take any time I can with you,” he spoke, gently reaching up to wipe a tear that had escaped. “I would take a few seconds”.

“This sucks,” your voice cracking slightly, a small huff of laughter escaping you because what else could you do.

“A little less with you here,” he corrected and you just smiled, a watery smile.

“Grace and (Last Name) not go home, question?” the familiar voice caused your head to snap towards the entrance to the room. The normally loud creature had somehow made himself a fly on the wall…you wondered how long he had been there.

“Hey buddy,” you squeaked out, wiping your eyes with the palm of your hand, sitting uop straight. 

“Rocky not understand, why not go back to Earth, question?” he persisted

The question was a hard one to answer, one you wanted to keep avoiding. To speak it into the air was to acknowledge that it would come soon, that it was real. 

“This is a one way trip for us,” Ryland spoke, calculated and straightforward, though you could hear the slight shake at the end of his words. “They gave us enough Astrophage to make it to Tau Ceti and then we will send our findings back on probes”

“We have our mission and then we will be done,” you added, Rocky rolling into the room to stand in front of where the two of you sat. You shifted slightly, an appropriate distance, but his hand still lingered on your thigh, your hand atop of his.

“No understand” Rocky just repeated, shifting back and forth in his ball as if he were pacing. You would have laughed if the conversation wasn’t about your inevitable death floating out in space.

“Earth is too far from here for us to get back Rock,” you continued, a shaky breath, a glance at Ryland, anything to ground yourself. You told yourself you were fine with it. But the thought, the thought of a normal life with Ryland, it ached all over your body. “We have enough food to get us through a couple of years-”

“And then what, question?”

“We will die,” Ryland answered, no longer beating around the bush. “We chose this mission knowng we would die out here”.

We chose this mission. Rockys movements only got more exaggerated, him shifting around in a panic. Ryland gave your hand one squeeze before standing up to follow Rocky as he zoomed around the room.

“We, uh, we have made peace with it,” though it sounded like more of a question than a statement. “We know what will happen and we have made peace with it”.

Rocky stopped moving, turning back to Ryland who now stood in front of him, trying to corral him like a dog that had escaped the house.

“How much you need return Earth, question?” he spoke up, rolling back towards you, Ryland trailing behind him, trying to catch up with his quick changes in direction.

“Around two million kilogram,” the words sounded hopeless.

“I can give”.

Your gaze moved quickly to meet Rylands, an astonished look on his face. You tried to breathe, tried to keep yourself grounded, to not let yourself consider the option.

"I have extra. Can give that much from my ship and still have plenty for return to Erid".

"Rocky, you cant do that”.

“That's too much to ask for Buddy," Ryland replied.

“Let Rocky fix,” he insisted, rolling to your side, as if he were sitting next to you. “Rocky crew die, Rocky cannot fix. Rocky friends need help, Rocky fix”.

Ryland had practically slammed himself into you on the ground, him holding you so tightly, a laugh of disbelief escaping him. The chance, the chance for something else for the two of you. Rocky bumped against you.

“Confsued, confused, confused,” as he rammed into your side. “Grace hurt Alien Girl”.

Someone had leaked the nickname. You pulled away to give a pointed look at Ryland, he just shrugged his smile so wide. 

“Get in here Rock,” he said, pushing the creature into your embrace, the two of you wrapping your arms around his sphere. 

“Confused,” he repeated, insisting.

“It's a hug Rocky,” you replied. “Just go with it”.

The three of you moved with a newly lit passion, a new ease in the way you worked. There was hope, there was a future, a world where you would all make it back. The journey continued on, a new sense of understanding between Ryland and you. It was small glances in the lab, kissing in the hallway whenever you could get a minute away from Rocky…though he would normally somehow find the two of you, it was late night talking about what life would be like when you returned. A hopeful view of a world that could be better.

You worked hard, trying to understand whatever you could about Astrophage, as you got closer and closer to Tau Ceti E. And when the bright green planet comes into view you finally understand why you had picked this system to study. It was beyond what you could imagine, the siwling greens and oranges and reds so vibrant. 

“Ladie and Gentleman,” Ryland spoke. “I give you Tau Ceti E”.

You could just nod, no words fully encapsulating everything you felt in that moment as you looked at the planet. Your lifes work, there, in front of you. And when you walked out onto the hull of the ship with Ryland, you felt as though you could not breathe. It was astonishment on a level you never knew was possible. You were really seeing it, a system you had studied your whole life. And it was then you understood what Ryland meant when he said he could have never stopped you…because this was everything you had worked for. 

“Is everything okay over there?” a knowing laugh at the end of his words.

“Yeah,” you spoke up, unable to form words. “It’s just…wow”.

“It is wow,” he agreed, coming to float beside you, bumping your shoulder. You looked at him, him already looking at you, as if you were Tau Ceti E itself. 

You think you blackout by the time you are back in the ship, so overwhelmed by emotion. You were sure your brain turned off once the Astrophage had surrounded you, the red dots filling your vision. Your brain could not handle it, as you sat back down insid the ship, buzzed with adrenaline. And when the data shows that there is another life form on Tau Ceti E eating the astropage to keep it balanced, you feel your body almost collapse. You laugh, an extremely loud laugh, the only thing your body could do. 

“What?” Ryland asked, him and Rocky turning to look at you.

“I was right,” you speak, much quieter than the laugh, hand coming up to wipe your eyes. This was not the time, there was work to do. 

“You were right,” Ryland reassures, a nod and a smile, one as if he knew all along that you were. And you could just smile back, giving yourself a moment to feel it all. To feel that accomplishment after years of work, after almost giving up. You know your parents are out there somewhere in the universe smiling because they knew too. They knew you would do it all and it had taken you so long to truly believe that you were capable of it.

You jumped into action once more, because this was what you had prepared for, because this was what you had studied. And you knew. Right then, that you were meant to be up there, Ryland and Rocky and you…all of you with one risky plan. A risky plan you would pull off.

And you would, you would get close. When the alarms start flashing so loud, you start to wonder how it went wrong. The beeping rattles through your body, each flash of red light burning your eyes as you try to copilot Rocky as Ryland attempts to get the sample. It is a flash, a blur, your brain moving too fast for you to even process. And when the ship turns too sharp and you bang your head against the control board, you feel your hearing start to dwindle first. You blink over and over, trying to stop it but your head is pounding and you can barely keep your eyes open. You slump against the board, you call out for help for anything and you hear the panic, muffled voice of Rocky call back. Your name is yelled over and over again until you feel nothing at all.

You felt no regret.

Not when Eva Stratt thanked you for your sacrifice. Not when the doctors came in and prepared the injection that would put you under. Not even when the needle pierced your skin. You only did, just for a second, when you heard your name. When his voice called through the room, faint but desperate. It was muffled, your vision growing thinner and thinner, fading at the edges. The voice just grew quieter and quieter. A hand gripped tightly onto yours, shaking you more and more until you felt nothing at all.

You wake up gasping for air, shooting up from your bed trying to focus your vision, as everything begins to come back to you. Ryland and Rocky and the sample on Tau Ceti E. The panic feels worse the second time around. You move quickly, looking around, when you see Ryland asleep on the bed beside yours. You cautiously move towards him, hand gently running through his hair, your other moving to his chest. He was breathing and you feel a sense of calm wash over you at the fact. 

Then you realize that it is quiet, much too quiet and you move quickly out of the room and into the halls. Your head still pounded and the running made you dizzy but you pushed through to get to the main room. Then you see it, the splotches on the ground all leading to a small figure crumbled on the floor. You rush quickly, so quickly, dropping to the floor to meet your alien roommate. You move your hands over him, feeling no sense of movement. Your heart beat won't steady, your breathing is ragged as you move to pick him up. You move him gently, as careful as you can back to the area he had built himself, back in his own atmosphere. And you knew then what he had done, what he had risked to make sure Ryland and you survived. You stand there for a while, watching him…just waiting.

“You gotta pull through, okay buddy?” you speak as if he can hear you, words trembling as they escape you. “You are the smartest part of this team”.

You don’t know how long it is until you feel a hand on your shoulder, your head snapping and your body only calming when you realize it's him. He's alive, he is okay. And you pull your arms around him just as quick, head pressed to his chest listening as his heart beats in a steady rhythm. He does the same, arms wrapped, holding tightly for as long as he could. There was just silence, no words big enough, his head just gently rested atop of yours like it always found its way to. A gentle kiss placed on your forehead, a rhythm of his hand moving up and down your back.

You pull away, you look at each other and just nod. You fall back into that familiar pattern, no words needed as you move around the lab organzing all the samples and getting it ready for Rocky. So close…you were so close and you would all make it. You had to.

A few nights pass, the two of you moving all the samples of Taumoeba into the tanks Rocky had crafted. He would be so excited.

You are sitting at the desk when Ryland comes to join you, sitting beside you. It was like this most nights, most nights the two of you wouldn’t even say a word.

But he spoke this time, he spoke with a hope that had not left him just yet, “what color would we paint our walls?”

You laugh at the simplicity of the question, “you asking me to move in Grace?”

“I thought that was established,” he shrugged, a small smile as laid his head against the desk, you moving to do the same. Heads laid on the table, the two of you just faced the other, smiling. “I mean, we have been living in this space tube for a while already”.

“I gotta think about it, the wall color is a big decision,” you humor him back, let yourself believe that you would still make it home. “We got some time though”.

The silence is normal now, almost more normal than any sound.

“Do you think he is just sleeping?” you speak up, wanting some sort of answer, one you knew you wouldn’t be able to get.

“He sleeps like a rock,” he tries to joke, but it falls back into the silence. He sits up again, running his hand down your back again, you leaning into any comfort you could get. “He is strong, he is gonna pull through”.

Neither of you knew that, but you would choose to believe it cause it made it all easier. None of this was easy.

“I don’t like this,” you let yourself be selfish, be completely truthful and it felt good to not pretend you were alright. “I hate not knowing what is gonna happen next. Not knowing if any of this will even work”.

He just nodded, looking down at you, your head still laid against the table, looking off into the distance.

“I used to think this was gonna be simple” he admitted. “We collect the data, send it home and then we wait for…”

He trailed off, the thought too heavy, to ugly.

“But now it isn’t that simple anymore,” you finished for him and he just nodded. The two of you had a sense of understanding, one where you could say no words at all and completely understand how the other was feeling.

“It’s him,” he added. “It’s…you. I just want it all, I want it all with you and it seems so close”.

Your heart ached at his words. You sat up, running your hands over your face.

“I don’t know if I even have the answers anymore,” he admitted. “I feel like I am lying when I talk, because I don’t know if there even is one”.

The silence wraps itself around the two of you again and you want nothing more than to just be as close as possible to him. You reach for his hand, and he just as quickly grabs it, his hand wrapped tight around yours.

“Do you think about what it will be like after this…if we pull this off?” you spoke up, looking at your two hands intertwined, rested on the table.

“Constantly,” he answered, and you couldn’t hold it in anymore as the emotions bubbled over. Tears fell from your eyes, as your body began to shake. He moved quickly, coming to stand behind your seat, wrapping his arms around you. That’s just how he was, he was your stable force. 

“What do you think it will be like?” you asked, quiet through shaky breaths. “If we get back home”.

“It will be everything I have ever wanted,” he said, like it was obvious, like it was so simple. And you just held him tighter, committing the feeling to memory. 

“What Rocky miss?” 

The words startle you so much you fall out of your chair and Ryland just laughs and you laugh. God you laugh so hard it hurts, so hard you know your stomach will ache for days and you hope it does. Because it would be a reminder of how somehow Ryland and you had survived this all.

“Rocky does not get reaction from friends,” he spoke, his familiar confused tone.

Through laughing you sit up, just moving slightly to reach him and throwing your arms around him. Ryland does the same, the two of you holding the alien in his enclosure, so tight, you didn’t want to let go.

“We are going home Rocky,” you spoke, head still buried into the embrace. “We are going to get you home”.

And everything felt right, right there with a rock and a man you loved. Right there in space, surrounded by the beauty of the stars that you had always yearned for. But you had found a new purpose, a purpose to get a new friend home and return back to yours to save it. 

“Rocky see mate again?” he asked, and the question made your heart ache because you could say yes. And Rocky would spin into a chaos of excitement at the answer, immediately asking what work still needed to be done. The craziest part was nothing, you just had to load the Taumoeba on his ship and get the extra astrophage. It waas bittersweet and you were thankful for that.

Much celebration filled the night, the projection room filled with fireworks and loud music. The two of you taught Rocky how to dance even if he found it dumb.. And that next morning when you said goodbye, a piece of you would leave with the alien creature.

In the tunnel, you stood by the glass formation he had built. He was already on his side of the barrier, staring at the two of you. What words could you even say?

You stood there for a while before moving to place your hand against the glass like you had the first time. 

“Thank you,” you spoke, two words, the only words that could ever come close to being enough. 

“I guess…I guess we should get going?” Ryland spoke, but you felt glued to the ground. Because this was it, that was the last time you would see him, separated by the galaxy. 

“You are bravest humans Rocky has ever met,” and the words hit you hard and you smile because Ryland had rubbed off on him. “It’s joke, you are only humans Rocky has met”.

You smile wider, a small laugh escaping you. You could not be sad, not when you had somehow accomplished the impossible. 

“You spent too much time with Grace,” you joked back and Rocky only made a sound in protest.

“Not enough,” he said and you pressed your hand once again to the glass, his meeting yours.

“Not enough,” you agreed, Ryland moving to stand behind you, hand resting on your shoulder. 

“Don’t forget about us,” he spoke, hiding the shake in his voice with a cough. 

“Rocky never forget,” and you just smiled, turning to meet Rylands eyes, them the same as yours, watery and overwhelmed with emotion. 

“Goodbye Rocky,” he spoke up, and the alien once again protested.

“In Erid we do not say goodbye,” he corrected. “We do this”

The rocky creature began to rub one arm over the other and the two of you just copied. It was easier, you did not have the words in you to say ‘goodbye’. You moved slowly back towards the door of your ship, sending one final glance back to the creature who just watched the two of you. And just like Ryland did, as the door to the ship closed, through the window you saw him give his version of a thumbs up. You smile, looking at Ryland who looked at you. It was going to be okay. 

The two of you moved in a silence through the ship until you reached the dormitory.

“Back to sleep?” you asked, unsure of what was next, four years of a journey ahead.

“I guess so,” he said, a hesitation in his words.

The thought of sleeping again sat heavy in yoru chest, the fear of forgetting it all again. You couldn’t, you could not forget any of this.

“One night?” you asked, and he turned in curiosity to look at you. “Let's sleep on it for a night”.

And he nodded, the two of you making your way to your individual beds. You stood there, pulling back the sheets when you hear his voice saying your name. You looked uo to meet his eyes.

“Stay with me tonight?” he asked, gesturing to his bed. “Please”.

You heard it in his tone, the fear, the want to be close and you knew you wanted it to. You moved across the room, a new sense of intimacy greeting the two of you. The bed was small, but you made it work as you climbed into it, adjusting to fit the two of you comfortably. His arms reached around you, pulling your back to be pressed against his chest and you buried yourself in comfort. There, in the silence, two bodies pressed together. Your breathing fell into a similar rhythm and you could feel his eyes on the back of your head. And then you turned, meeting his face, scanning his. And before you could make the move, he made his, his lips meeting yours in a rhythm of longing and you melted right into it.

It was built up energy, after days upon days on this ship, after years prior of beating around the bush about what the two of you were. And you needed it, your body carved the feeling. You grew closer and closer, the kiss growing deeper as you moved to sit on top of him. His hands reached up to run through your hair, slightly gripping onto it and pulling you any closer he possibly could. You ran your hand up and down his arm before finding a place cup his jaw. There did not need to be words in that moment, the two of you communicating in a new way. 

A quiet breathy groan escaped him, one that sent heat all up your body, and you made it your new mission to pull the sound from him again.

“You are so perfect,” he mumbled against your lips. “So, so perfect”.

“I love you,” you got out in between kisses, in the moments where you gasped for air before going back.

He sat up, you still sitting on him as he gently picked you up to move you on your back, him now above you. He held himself up above you, reaching to brush a stray piece of hair from your face. And he just looked at you, in a way no one had ever before, so intently, looking at every part of your face as if you were his favorite painting in a museum.

“I love you so much,” he spoke, for only you, so quiet. God you loved him too and you would say it a million times, as many times as you could…even if that would never be enough.

Then, as if on cue, as if the universe wanted to keep you apart the alarm began blare. He jumped up to attention, the sound triggered a panic that both of you shared. You looked at him, him at you. He quickly leaned down, pressing one last kiss to your forehead and then gave you a nod.

You moved quickly, joining him as he rushed down the hall to the control room. You quickly behind him, watching as he scanned the screens.

You notice it first, the other screen flashing the words FOREIGN PRESENSE DETECTED.

“The lab,” you breathed out, looking at the screen.

“The Taumoeba,” he finished for you, jumping out of the chair just as quickly,.He moved down the hall at the same fast paced, the adrenaline pumping through the two of you. It hit you quickly as you looked at the cylinders on the wall.

“They are leaking,” he observed, turning to look at you and the realization of what that meant hit you like a train.

“Rocky,” you turned to him in a panic and he just gave you back a dazed nod. And it was there, right in that moment that you knew. Ryland and you were always meant for unexpected. That a normal life wasn’t what either of you ever needed, you just needed each other. You needed a good friend who had given you both so much.

“Rocky,” you repeated. And he looked at your, pleading eyes, as he too knew what this meant. “We gotta go back for him”.

And you knew what that meant, that meant no going home, it meant leaving it all forever. What even was home? It was people, the people who carry you through life, lifting you up in celebration in your best moments and holding you together in the bad. And when you look at Ryland, you see it so clearly. Your home was not that dingy apartment, it was not San Francisco, it was anywhere the two of you were together.

He reached for your hand, and you grabbed it back, standing there together looking at the wall of samples.

“You want to do this?” he asked.

“We need to do this,” you replied, the most sure you had ever been.

He just nodded at you, that smile you never wanted to forget. Tomorrow you would wake up and you would be traveling back towards Rocky’s ship. It would take weeks and you would watch the days pass by, filled with Ryland and you arranging the samples to send back to Earth. And it would be overwhelming all over again. But for now, you were with Ryland Grace and you were alive. You were wearing an alien shirt and spending late nights in a lab on a ship beside a man with a beautiful smile and titled glasses. Floating absently among the stars and you felt like you have never felt so at home, because you were finally home.

If there was one thing you knew it was that Ryland Grace and you perfectly orbited each other, even when he was far off in San Francisco teaching the next generation of young scientists. It had been that way since you met him in college and it just never stopped. Part of you thought it was written in the stars that Ryland Grace and you were meant to do great things together.

Even after everything that happened with his research paper, even after your lab group dropped you post college from lack of funding, it was still the two of you. Science Partners, pen pals, best buds….among other ambiguous unstated things. You stayed in contact over the years, frequent calls, letters, the stupid punny e-cards he would email you on your birthday every year. There was a time, in college, when the two of you were together almost every day. And your excuse was always that we just work well together.

You knew Ryland Grace, you would say it was your next best subject. However, in this specific, very rare instance, you had no idea what the fuck Ryland Grace was even talking about.

Have you ever considered helping save the planet?

You must have reread the email a thousand times. Enough where your brain eventually shut off from confusion and your head met the keyboard in place of a pillow. Only when a loud thudding rattled through your dingy apartment did you finally realize that you had even fallen asleep. You blinked at the screen, lifting your head from your keyboard, the sun shining through the windows onto your desk. Reaching up, you peeled a small sticky note off your face, rubbing your eyes.

BANG, BANG, BANG. The sound rattled through your thin walls again and only on the second time did you realize it was coming from your front door. You paused for a second and glanced at your small digital clock, it was only six in the morning. Shooting up from your chair you made your way to the door, grabbing an umbrella on the way over, just in case.

You peered through the peep hole, only relaxing for a second when you saw a woman…then her two, what you could assume were body guards, behind her. Right about now you would have called Ryland but he had been off the grid, that email being the first sign of life you had gotten in days.

Shit. Shit. Shit. What do you even do? You glanced back out, seeing them talking amongst themselves before knocking again, the woman calling your name through the door. Quickly turning to the mirror on the wall near the door, you  let out a groan at what you saw. There was mascara smeared under your eyes from sleep and your hair stuck up in fifteen directions, all completed by the oversized t-shirt you had on reading “This gal believes in aliens”. 

Fuck it!

You threw the umbrella to the side, brushed some hair out of your face and opened the door, casually leaning against the frame like everything was under control.

“Hi,” you spoke up, voice rough from not sleep, quickly clearing your throat in response, arms crossed over yourself to hide the stupid shirt. “Hi…uh is there anything I can do for you?”

The women did not look amused, only offering you a nod, slightly peaking into the small studio apartment behind you. 

“Yes, actually, you received an email,” she spoke, sharp, straight to the point. It wasn’t a question really, more like a confirmed fact she was repeating. Her eyebrow quirked ever so slightly at your silence. “Am I wrong?”

You shook your head quickly.

“Yes or no? It is really that simple”.

“Yes, yes, sorry…” you hesitated for a second, coming to the quick realization you had no idea who these people were. And yet, you were so scared to see what would happen if you lied. “Yeah I got an email”.

“Not my decision. Dr. Grace thought however that it would be most efficient,” she continued. “He has spoken very highly of you and from my own research, I can understand why”.

Dr. Grace? Ryland? 

She gestured past you which you could only respond by moving to the side. Her presence commanded space and you respected it, or feared it, there was a lot to unpack. She stepped past you, turning to give a nod to the two men with her who remained outside.

“I am sorry,” you began, closing the door, turning to face her. “Maybe you got the wrong person-”

“That is not possible,” she replied. “He was very insistent that we must contact you in order to move forward”.

For what? Contact you for what?

You watched as the woman moved around the room like it was her space, picking up books and skimming through old pages of notes you had written. Then she turned to face a white board you had mounted messily in your kitchen, scribbled with notes and doodles that surrounded three big words: THE PETROVA LINE.

“Seems we are on the same page,” she mused, the first time you had heard any significant change in her tone. 

The space and the stars and the idea of infinity above had kept you up late into the night as a child. Your parents should have expected your world was one far away from the grounds of Earth, that you would live your life with your head in the stars. Your father used to have to drag you inside from your backyard, you set up with a blanket and a small telescope that they had bought you for your birthday that year. Each night would end the same, your parents calling you to come inside and you asking for five more minutes, which turned into ten, which turned into hours. But your little sixth grade self could not fathom how school was more important than the world above, the possibilities of the stars.

And when you went to college to study that world it was the easiest decision of your life. Then the stars turned on you and you could not understand why.

The Petrova Line kept you up at night.

“You studied the Tau Ceti System, yes?”

The name of the planet system sent a shockwave through you in a way you didn’t even know was possible. Tau Ceti was your whole life, or it had been in a distant past, it was a system you believed to have more potential than people truly gave it credit for. Yes, you knew Tau Ceti, however you had let that ship sail a long time ago. 

“Yeah,” you spoke up, quieter than before. “Yeah I did some work on Tau Ceti”.

And you could not help the wave of disappointment that hit you at those words. You had been recruited to a lab group after college that was specifically dedicating funding to researching the Tau Ceti System, and when it fell through, so did all your plans. You had dropped every other offer for the one that, it was everything you had wanted. It was a risk, and it fell through. No one really prepares you for post college as an Astrobiologist, no one ever tells you that you will end up working as a waitress at the Extraterrestrial Eatery near your house. At least you got to wear a cool space suit there. Tau Ceti and your other research had been benched, pushed to the side for evenings when you had nothing else to do.

“Perfect. Now that is cleared up, grab anything that might be important and we can be on our way”.

The women turned to move past you back for the door and you felt like your feet were suddenly glued to the ground. You opened your mouth to speak, before closing it, then opening it again. Yet no sound seemed to come out.

“What is this?” she asked, turning back, gesturing to your face. “I do not need the fish impression right now, this is a serious matter, we do not have the time”.

You immediately shut your mouth, then took a breath.

“Who are you?” you finally cried out. “What is this? No one is telling me anything!”

You felt insane, like you were living in some simulation where everyone knew what was going on but you. Where were the cameras? When were they gonna jump out and say it was all some weird, honestly unnerving, prank?

“I am Eva Stratt, head of the Petrova Taskforce” she began. “And you have been selected by Ryland Grace to help solve the Petrova Line”.

“I have work tomorrow,” you breathed out, a loss for words. The Petrova Taskforce, some of the world's most brilliant minds coming to you…a waitress at an alien restaurant. The email came back to you, the ominous words from Ryland, saving the world. This was news that a long time ago would have been everything you had ever wanted to hear…now you felt like some imposter, out of place.

Why you? Why now? Why after years of beating around the bush did Ryland Grace need your help to solve one of humanity's greatest emergencies. Why was Ryland Grace solving one of humanity's greatest emergencies?

“That will not be a problem,” Stratt countered. “We have already contacted your place of work and put you on an indefinite time of leave”.

“You can’t just do that!” you fought back, even if you knew that was the least of your worries. It was all so much, all at once. Ryland and Tau Ceti and the Petrova Line and saving the fucking planet. 

You remained still glued to the floor, grasping at straws, scared of saying yes…maybe even more scared of saying no. You glanced around the room, the books, the hours of work, the pictures of Ryland and you scattered around the room from college. It had been years since you saw him and maybe that scared you too, seeing him again, reopening feelings you had sworn to bury too deep to ever reach again. 

Your curiosity for the world remained, your love for space had never quite gone away, that would be impossible. It was just more of a hobby now, you looked less like someone with a PhD in Astrobiology and more like a crazed conspiracy theorist. You weren’t the same scientist from college, bright eyed and ready to fly into space if she had to.

Dr. Stratt spoke your name from the silence, your eyes snapping back to meet hers, “the sun is dying.”

The word settled heavy, lingering in the air between the two of you. 

“Dr. Grace is my last hope,” she continued, honest, blunt. “And you are his”.

And that was all it took as you nodded, a loss for words, moving in a sort of trance to gather your things.

-----------

If there was something you would be fine never doing again it was that fuck-ass fighter jet. But now, standing in front of the door to the conference room, you think you might rather go back and ride the jet a few more times to stall. You hadn’t seen Ryland Grace in years…and now you were there, feet away from him and the idea overwhelmed you more than you thought it would.

The ride over had been a bumpy, hazy mess. Anyone you tried to ask about what was happening would ignore you as if you were a ghost…which only left you with more questions. By the time you landed on a boat your brain was too tired to even try to make sense of it all.

You had met Ryland in college. You both ended up in the same class, ‘The History of Extraterrestrial Life’...better known on campus as That One Alien Class. It filled both of your general education requirements, or at least that’s what you told him was your reasoning.  It had taken him weeks to get you to admit that you believed in Aliens and even longer to admit that the class really wasn’t a joke to you. 

The two of you were paired up for most of the semester, spending time whispering in class and making jokes about how deranged the content was. Even if it did open your eyes up to the whole Tau Ceti system. 

You remember the last day of class so vividly. It was your final presentation and Ryland had taken it upon himself to get you these dumb matching shirts reading, “This gal believes in aliens” paired with “this guy probably is an alien”. It was stupid. And it was so perfect.

The thought made you smile, only for a second, before the nerves of it all settled back in. 

There was too much there, floating, left unsaid. And it scared the shit out of you. 

Before you could even fully prepare, the doors opened, your body moving in autopilot as Eva Stratt led you into the room. There you were, suddenly standing in front of what felt like a million eyes, all looking to you like you had answers. You had to remind yourself not to do the whole fish thing again as you just awkwardly gave a small wave, trying hard to keep your mouth shut. What am I doing?  You were a waitress at an alien themed restaurant, not a scientist…at least not anymore. 

Stratt introduced you to the room, briefly detailing your credentials to be here. You had kept your gaze straight, scared to look in either direction, straight was safe, straight was easier. You had imagined what it would be like seeing him again, more times than you would ever like to admit, and this was nowhere close to what you thought it would ever be. In a room surrounded by some of the world's most important people. 

“This is Dr. (last name),” you hadn’t been referred to as that in a while…and you could not lie, it felt kinda good. “She has researched the Tau Ceti system most of her career and will help us identify why exactly the Tau Ceti star is the only one not losing energy”

Great. They really loved leaving out the important details. You knew the star, probably more than the back of your hand but there was still immense mystery to it.

“Anything you want to share, Doctor?” Stratt finished, turning the room over to you and you made the one mistake, moving your head. There, at the left end of the table was him, Dr. Grace. Not an email, not a letter or postcard, not a lingering memory…no it was really him, looking at you. Every emotion you had ever felt about him hit you at once in a way that made you want to grab on to the nearest wall so as to not crumble to the ground. Ryland, your Ryland, the same one you remember, albeit a little older, a little more tired. Your heart stuttered for a moment, actually stuttered, like it too had forgotten how to function. And all you could do was muster a small wave. Nothing could have prepared you. 

You had spent years pretending that he wasn’t the sun of your own personal solar system. It turned out that was much easier when he was not standing feet away from you, his glasses practically falling off his face.

You swallowed, mouth running dry. And funny as it was, after all the years, after all the anticipation and wondering, your body eventually went back to the familiar state it always did when it saw him. You softened. Your heart beat steadied and your breathing returned to something much more normal.

Stratt cleared her throat, your eyes snapping back to hers.

“Um…Tau Ceti is… pretty dang cool,” you finally choked out, the people around the room sharing looks between each other. “...Thank you”.

Sporadic, unsure claps filled the room as you took a step back, ready to smash your head through the nearest wall. You did not lie, Tau Ceti was pretty freaking cool. But you were sure that was not what the Patrova Taskforce really needed to hear from you at that moment. 

“Thank you,” Stratt said, a slight shake of her head, before she gestured towards the empty chair in the one section of the room you had planned on avoiding for at least a little longer. You tried to ignore her before one of the men in suits began to guide you there himself.

Each step you took felt heavy, like your body was trying to stop you. But there was the other part, your heart racing in anticipation, in want. This was what you had wanted, your work hadn’t been the same without him. You two brought out a fire in each other, seeing the best in the mess of crazy ideas the two of you brought to the table. The two of you.

As you walked down the table, a few of the other scientists took turns shaking your hand, welcoming you on board. Maybe your speech was not a total mess afterall. You hadn’t even realized you had made it to the end of the table, his hand reaching yours before your brain could catch up. 

“Tau Ceti is pretty dang cool,” the familiar voice spoke. Your eyes immediately met his and you felt like the world had stopped for just a second. Every version of him you remembered and every version you didn’t hit you all at once. Then you felt him squeeze your hand, his head slightly tilting. “Earth to alien girl?”

It was an odd feeling, seeing someone after so long. The memory of him was hazy until that very moment. You had tried so hard to remember the shade of his eyes and the way they kinda squinted up when he laughed. You had tried to commit those things to memory, tried to live through the pictures, but nothing compared seeing them in-person, in front of you.

You tried to form words, frozen in place, only coming back to reality as Stratt began to talk once more. You quickly sat down, pulling your hand from his and forcing your attention forward.

There were a few seconds where neither of you spoke, ignoring the weight of his eyes on you. You were supposed to be professionals…since when were you ever professionals? You were on a boat, with the world's best scientists, saving the planet…next to your best friend. And somehow, that felt like the most overwhelming part. You were sure your brain would eventually catch up one day, the shock fading with every minute that passed.

Then he slightly shifted in his chair, “Pretty dang cool?” he asked, just loud enough for you to hear, just like the two of you used to do in those alien class lectures. A smile grew on your face, one you tried to bite back.

“I panicked,” you whispered back, eyes still focused forward on Stratt, nodding along to words you weren’t even hearing. You didn’t have to look at him to know he was smiling too.

The silence again, the silence of years of pushing off visits and ignoring the hard questions. It made you twitch slightly, racking your mind for anything to ease it.

“So, are you the one responsible for the U.S. government pretty much knocking down my door this morning?” you whispered from the quiet, a slight quirk of your brow, gaze still set forward. 

“Guilty,” he said, seeing him lift his hands in mock surrender in the peripheral of your vision. You could almost roll your eyes at how predictable the response was, slightly nudging his foot with yours under the table. He let out a quiet, breathy laugh, one you wanted to be the reason for forever.

“I didn’t think you would come,” he spoke again, his words softer this time, real.

Those were the words that broke your focus, your head turning to meet his gaze, really meeting his gaze, for the first time.

“Kinda didn’t have a choice,” you replied, half-joking, the other half completely honest, thinking back to the morning and the woman who was now commanding the room. Then you smiled, looking back at him, “But I would have come regardless”.

Even if you still weren’t exactly sure what all this was, what you had somehow signed up for. Even if it made you question who you were, why you were here…what you were to him.

You looked down to your lap. You were among the greats because Ryland Grace said you should be. You were not quite sure yet if that was reassuring or terrifying.

“It’s gonna be like old times, huh?” he added, as if it would make it all easier. “You know, you and me, figuring things out, putting the pieces together”.

Fuck. That did not make it any easier.

The meeting breezed by in a blur, words flying all around you as you tried to catch up to speed with what exactly was happening. You could pick out Petrova Line, Astrophage, Tau Ceti, among several other things you weren’t quite sure on. 

And then it was quiet. Just you and him, alone, in a room that now felt much too big. You both started talking at the same time-

“So-”

“Hey-”

You stopped, laughed, apolgized…tried again.

Then you did the exact same thing once more.

“Out of sync,” you joked, a quiet laugh, as the adrenaline wore off and gave way to a feeling you could not describe. You knew him but then again, it had been years. It was finding the balance between an old friend and a stranger. 

“It’s been a little bit, huh?” he added, hands digging into the pocket of his jeans. You finally got a glimpse of his shirt, a science pun you were sure he was so excited to show his class of middle schoolers. 

“Yeah, just a little bit,” you added, feeling exposed now without the other people in the room, the slightest bit bitter that it had taken all this to see him again. But then again, who really was to blame for that? You looked down at the ground for a second, shuffling your feet against the floor, racking your brain for anything.

 “So…saving the sun?”

You barely got the words out before he stepped forward, closing the space between the two of you, pulling you into a hug. So tight, like you might disappear. You stood there for a second, air caught in your throat before you caved into the feeling. Your arms looped around him, head rested against his chest, as if this was something the two of you just did.

“I missed you,” he said, honest, real.

You stayed there, just together, quiet in the chaos of the day.

“I missed you too,” you finally let yourself say, quiet as if the whole world was listening and you wanted it to be just for him. “Why me?”

He quickly pulled away, as if he was shocked into motion, a wild look on his face, you almost started laughing.

“What?” he gasped out, dramatic as ever.

‘What do you mean ‘what’?” you countered, slightly shoving him in the chest. “Why am I here, dumbass?”

“Hey, so first, we are not cursing anymore,” he scolded, his voice morphing into something you only imagine came from years of teaching. “Second, you are the only person I know who would be crazy enough to show up here”.

He shrugged as if it all was nothing, that dumb smile on his face, as he began to move towards the door. “And you would kill me if I got to research Tau Ceti and you didn’t get the invite”.

You wanted to interject, fight it, but you knew, deep down somewhere, that Ryland never stopped knowing you and you never quite stopped loving him. 

“You just gonna stand there?” he asked, already at the door, holding it open. “Or are we gonna do some science?”

It really was like no time had passed between college and now…well if you ignored the millions of dollars worth of equipment now at your complete disposal. It’s funny, the way the body reverts back to old habits. The way Ryland and you moved in the lab was your own sort of rhythm, brains connected in a way that seemed almost superhuman. You needed to grab a tool, he dropped it on your desk before you could even move. He had a question, you were answering it as the question left his mouth…then he would smile at you and roll his eyes and go back to his work. It should have felt different after all this time…and it just didn’t. It was dangerous. And it was so wonderful.

The Vat, or Stratts Vat as everyone began to call it, was a hodgepodge of every science you had ever dreamed of. You could talk to a biologist from across the world and then suddenly meet an engineer who happened to be from your hometown. For a while you pretended that this wasn’t what you wanted, you ached to go back to what was safe and comfortable. But as you stood there, another day on the boat, you realized that maybe this is what you had been waiting for. You were researching again, being curious, all the things your younger self could have only dreamed of. 

Your days were mostly spent with Ryland, the two of you poking at astrophage while you dug through old research papers you had on Tau Ceti. Your presentation was coming up, only revealed to you a few mornings ago by Dr. Stratt. She had come into the lab early, you had just woken up, believing it to be a perfect time to tell you that you would be addressing the taskforce with any details you had on the planet system. You sat there, swiveling back and forth in your chair, your sidekick on the other side of the room jumping up and down about a new development in Astrophage breeding.

“I wish I had your energy right now,” you groaned out, shuffling through your notes.

“Tau Ceti not treating you well?” he asked, peaking his head around a shelving unit that slightly blocked your view. “Did you try taking it out to dinner first?”

All you could do was flip him the finger, scribbling notes at the same time. “You think I haven’t tried that yet?”

He let out a laugh, coming around to stand behind where you were sat working. You had been really trying, but there were some things that just needed to be seen to be understood…and one of those was Tau Ceti. You had theories, tons of them, hopefully enough to be of help.

“She is still my greatest mystery,” you admitted, turning your chair to face him.

“Well Rome was not built in one day,” he looked at you, a serious look on his face regardless of the word choice. “And Tau Ceti is not gonna be understood that quick either".

You let your head dramatically fall to rest on the desk, quietly groaning into the sleeves of your jacket. Then you felt Rylands hands on your head gently shaking it.

“Hey,” he began, a laugh already escaping him, you mentally preparing yourself for whatever he would be saying next. “Remember they used to call you the brain!”

“Uh, you used to call me the brain,” you retorted, lifting your head up and shoving his hands away. “and it was and still is stupid”.

He grabbed your head once more, shaking it around, “C’mon use the brain, I know it is in there somewhere”.

You turned to glare at him, his lopsided smile making it hard for you to be upset at anything. The energy settled down, the man leaning back against the desk across from you.

“Do you think this is all gonna work out?” you spoke up, looking back to your notes. “Tau Ceti and the Astrophage and all of it?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, blunt and honest. “But beats sitting around and waiting for it to solve itself…ar at least that it what I choose to tell myself”.

You just nodded, letting him fade back into his work as you faded back into yours. If Tau Ceti wasn’t enough, the constant push and pull between Ryland and you was. You told yourself to keep it easy, to ignore it, all those dumb feelings squashed down from college that threatened to bubble over any second. You buried yourself in your work, that was easiest. But there would be nights where you would fall asleep at your desk and wake up to a blanket thrown over you. Or mornings when the mess you left in the lab were cleaned up…and there would be Ryland, a small wave and a smile, doing a ‘cheers’ with his coffee mug. You could not let yourself read into it, because then it would be all the much harder to eventually pull away. 

The presentation day had come in a blur, you now standing once again in the front of that room, papers gripped so tightly in your hands. You were never good at the presenting part of it all. In the bustle of the room you were able to find him, him waving his hands above his head to get your attention. You smile, he shot over two giant thumbs up, and all you could muster was one half as enthusiastic one back. You turned to look through your notes when he caught your eye again, pointing at his head and mouthing “the brain”, which you could only roll your eyes in response, a quiet laugh fighting its way out of you.

“Alright everyone,” the powerful voice of Eva Stratt entered the room, coming to stand beside you in front of the projector screen. “As you know, Dr. (LAST NAME), has been working hard gathering information on Tau Ceti, which will be our final destination for this trip”.

Everyone around the room turned their full attention to you as the women gestured to you and took a seat. Deep breath. 

Your heart was jumping in all sorts of directions, as you fidgeted with the clicker, trying to get the presentation to flip to the next slide.

“Hi,” you began.

“Tau Ceti, it  is pretty dang cool!” Ryland called out from the back, heads turning to him, him once again shooting the thumbs up.

“Uh, yes…as Dr. Grace put it, "Tau Ceti is really ‘dang cool’,” some of the scientists laughed at that, the stress easing the littlest bit off your shoulder. You began clicking through slides, diagrams of the systems and the potential planets in its orbit. “Thank you for your enthusiasm”.

You took one last deep breath before diving right in, trusting yourself and the years of work you had put into this already.

“What makes Tau Ceti so interesting, while not an exact match, is that it has the potential to be the closest relative to our own solar system,” you began. “Which means, there is a great likelihood of it supporting life or even already having life within it.”

“Now we know that the Tau Ceti sun is the only star to have not been impacted by the Astrophage, however what is harder to understand is exactly why,” you continued, switching to the next slide, getting into a rhythm. It was easy when it was your whole life's passion. “Which is why our mission is going there, to better understand it…however I have some theories that could be useful to prepare our travelers for what exactly might be going on”.

There was first, the idea that the spectral output on Tau Ceti did not match that of what Astrophage was looking to feed on. However the spectral output is very similar to the Sun so it would have to be significantly off to be a problem, which was unlikely. Along with this, there could be some sort of natural defense, like dust specific to that atmosphere. However, the most exciting idea was that of evolutionary pressure…another lifeform that could be eating away at the Astrophage to keep it in balance. While so extremely far fetched, it was the one that made you the most excited to get the data back from the scientists on the Hail Mary. It could change everything that scientists know about that system.

“But the honest answer is, we don’t know until we get up there and bring back some samples,” you closed out. “Now we do have to be aware that this planet is around twelve lightyears away from us”. 

You were in a rhythm now, comfortable enough to really look up and around at the people in the room, several of them taking notes and nodding along. “Which means we are kinda looking at it in the past. The light we are seeing right now left Tau Ceti twelve years ago. Which is incredible, but there is the risk that this system is already gone or changed and we wouldn’t know until we get there”.

“However,” you flipped to your final slide. “The data we are able to gather from here points to strong evidence that this system is very alive and this trip will not only open doors for Astrophage but open up a world to an entirely new solar system that could be inhabited by human life”.

You clicked again, the slideshow coming to a close, “And, uh, yeah that is it from me…thanks guys”.

The sound of applause filled the room and you finally felt like you could actually breathe again rather than having to remind yourself to. Your face hurt from smiling, looking around the room, taking it in. You imagined your younger self, sat with her big telescope and book of constellations in a chair in the back. She is smiling, the biggest smile you have ever seen. She knew all those late nights would eventually pay off. Even after your original Tau Ceti lab fell through, even when you couldn’t find a job and ended up at an alien restaurant, even when your door got busted down by Eva Stratt…all those days led to this moment, right now. You wished you could go back and tell the girl in college that it would be okay, that she was enough, that one day she would do big things. But eventually she would learn and that made it all the more worth it.

And there was him too. You found his eyes in an instant, it seemed to be the first thing your body did. It was an old habit, one you could not break, nor really wanted to. He was beaming, an ear to ear smile, waving at you like you had just accomplished something so incredible and not just given a presentation. You made your way towards him, your bodies drawn together like magnets. However with each step you took, you felt like you were being pushed further and further away as people began to come up and shake your hand or ask you questions. Further and further until he faded away in the back of the crowd, now a lone hand stuck up above the crowd trying to get your attention. A thumbs up and you knew everything was gonna be okay.

----------

You were sitting at the bar, hot off the mic with Ilyukhina, who had forced you up against your will. The slight buzz in your head was enough to make you cave, you were sure that was the whole reason Ilyukhnia had insisted on getting you a few drinks at the start of the night. All of it leading to a horrific and yet kinda beautiful version of “Space Oddity” by David Bowie …it felt fitting.

She had bought you a final drink as a thank you, one you were nursing now, looking around the room. Grace had stayed late in the lab, normally you were there too, but the others in the lab had started to joke that you hated fun and you were determined to prove them wrong. You were fun! Very Fun.

You hadn’t been down to the bar before, didn’t quite understand how people could celebrate knowing what was approaching. You weren’t even on the ship and you could barely get your brain to settle at night enough to fall asleep. The room was full of people, singing, laughing, leaning into each other and finding comfort. It made you smile, maybe made this whole thing feel more real. It made the pit in your stomach worse. 

Your eyes caught on DuBois, a drunk Shapiro leaning against his arm, the two of them laughing together, in their own world. Your gaze lingered, unable to pull away. The way they could laugh togethering knowing that DuBois would be gone, not set to return. They had people here, people they were leaving and for the first time that really hit you. You tugged your gaze away, looking back down to the bottle of beer in your hands, half empty…it would stay that way. You couldn’t help it though, like it was a piece of art, you found yourself looking back at the two of them. She looked at him with a quiet kind of intimacy, like the two of them could know what the other was thinking without speaking a single word. They moved in a perfect rhythm, a messy, beautiful rhythm. They weren’t just leaving behind Earth, they were leaving behind their people…a chance at a normal life.

You were gonna be sick. Quickly you set your beer on the table and left the bar pushing through the groups of people singing until you were finally out onto the deck of the ship, cold wind smacking you in the face. You gasped for air, but no matter how much you took in, it still didn’t feel like enough.

The ocean was dark ahead, it was like an abyss and as you looked up, you were met with the bright stars, their shine almost too bright with no other lights around to dim them. You felt so small, and in the grand scheme of things you were, and it both terrified you and brought you some peace. 

Your grip was tight on the railing, it almost hurt. You needed to be stable, grounded, anything-

“Hey,” a familiar voice approached from behind, your body tensing before slowly relaxing. You didn’t have to turn back, just slightly nodded your head, an invitation. 

“Hey,” he repeated himself, this time softer, as he came around to your side, gripping onto the railing next to yours. “Earth to alien girl?”

“I thought you were working late?” you spoke up, anything to take your mind off earlier, get rid of the image of people who would never see each other again. 

“The lab gets kinda lame without a certain scientist analyzing everything I do,” he joked, but you could not get yourself to laugh. “I love your analyzing…that’s uh, that’s what I meant”.

It was almost a compliment, a small smile crept on your face that quickly faded out as another gust of wind hit you, the waves crashing below you. The two of you sat there in silence for longer than you ever had before.

“You okay?” he broke from the silence, turning his head to look at you.

You nodded, “Just cold”.

He nodded back, unconvinced you could tell, as he began to reach for his jacket regardless. You did not fight him on it, you were cold, maybe it would help. The chunky fox cardigan draped over your shoulders as he absentmindedly buttoned the top to keep it  from falling off of you. You mumbled a quiet ‘thank you’, bundling into the thick yarn. 

“So are you gonna tell me what is really wrong?” he spoke again, him still standing in front of you, adjusting the sweater so it covered you. You met his eyes, his head slightly tilting.

“Have you seen Dubois and Shapiro?” you finally allowed yourself to speak your thoughts into the air. 

He nodded, returning to stand next to you, leaning once again against the metal rails, "Yeah, they are definitely hooking up”.

“No,” You shook your head, “There’s something more, you can see it in the way they look at each other”.

The silence met the two of you again, the waves below you getting louder and louder, them in their own conversation. You wondered if the waves too had problems like this, if they thought about the world and what they were meant to be. You felt nauseous, you chose to blame sea sickness. It hurt even more because maybe you wished he would look at you like that. You supposed that was your last tether to Earth, last tether from making you lose your mind…it seemed to be him.

“I just cannot imagine knowing the person that you loved was gonna be gone in a few days, just out in space, floating…and you just never see them again. And you can’t even do anything about it” your voice slightly quivered, it was all too much. The several drinks in your system did little to ease your worry, you actually think it made it worse. “After I lost…after my parents, I mean, it took so long to be okay with not getting a goodbye. But they, I mean Shapiro gets to say goodbye. How do you even say that kind of goodbye knowing they are out there and will die, alone?”

You hadn’t realized how blurred your vision had gotten until you looked up, finding Ryland’s gaze, his eyes scanning your face. He had been there, in college, when your parents had passed, had sat up with you for weeks on end keeping you distracted, helping you stay on top of work when your world felt like it was ending. 

He carefully reached to wrap his arm around your shoulder, pulling you close to his side, a silent kind of comfort, the kind you liked. You rested your head against his chest, melting into his touch, allowing him to be strong for you for a little. It made your head hurt, all of this and him…there was always him.

You weren’t sure how long it was before he spoke up again, you had counted at least twenty crashes of the waves against the boat. It seemed to be the only thing you could think about without falling apart.

“Where do you see yourself after all this?” he asked, pulling you the little bit tighter against him. You were not in the headspace to dig into that, nor the question he was asking. Because where did you go? You were doing the thing you had worked your whole life for and then what? Back to the restaurant? Back to serving punny dishes named after planets and pretending you were fulfilled? 

“Probably go home,” you began, your voice thin, a little shaky. “Can’t keep the Extraterrestrial Eatery without their best server for too long”.

It was supposed to be funny but it came out dejected. A quiet laugh escaped him at your words.

“That’s not-”

“That’s exactly what it is,” you cut him off, sharper than you meant it to be, gaze set down at your shoes, at the hem of his sweater, at anything that wouldn’t make you think so much. “That’s my life, Ryland”.

Before this your life had been small, so miniscule…your dreams seemed so far away. Now you were here, it was all right in front of you. You didn’t even think you would ever get this close to studying Tau Ceti, all the resources right there for you to use. 

“This…all of this is everything I ever worked for,” you continued. “Being here, doing things that actually matter, and then it’s just gonna be over”.

The lab, Tau Ceti…him. You had grown so used to it, too comfortable and the feeling of it being torn away felt weird. But that was life, you would adjust, or you would try.

“It doesn’t have to be over,” he offered, trying to comfort the ache in your words. And it hit you, with a force that could have sent you overboard. Your head snapped up, looking at him, you opened your mouth to say something but stopped yourself. 

“I gotta go,” you spoke, in a daze of sorts, his words replaying over and over in your head.

“Hey, no. Come on” he too stood up, no longer leaning against the railing. “Talk to me, I am here! We could go sing karaoke or  something, be stupid, forget about it”.

“You hate karaoke,” you countered, already edging towards the stairs back down into the boat.

“Maybe I could like it?”

“I am gonna go to bed,” you turned back to him, lying through your teeth. You searched his face once more, took a mental picture of him standing right there, breeze blowing through his hair, glasses slightly tilted. He looked perfect.

“It does not have to be over,” you repeated, more to yourself than to him, before ducking down into the stairs and back down the hall. You were sure he called your name but your body could not turn around. It could have been the alcohol in your system. Maybe you were losing your mind. Maybe it was a little bit of both, but your feet carried you right to Dr. Stratt’s office.

You didn’t even knock, pushing open the door, her head snapping up from the silence. Her eyes slightly narrowed, you standing there in the doorway, trying to catch your brain up to your movements. 

“Take me instead,” you blurted out, desperate. 

The woman did not react right away, just studied you, like she was weighing something you couldn’t see. 

“I have nothing keeping me here”.

At least, almost nothing.  

“I have worked my whole life for this,” you continued, words spilling out of you before you could even really think them through. “Tau Ceti is my everything and now I am here. And I can do it, I want to do it”.

You swallowed, a shaky breath, so loud in such a quiet room.

“I need to”.

You stood there, feeling so small in the doorway, waiting for something, anything that would confirm that you weren’t making a mistake. Doctor Stratt just nodded her head, short and direct, like she always was.

“Go get some sleep Doctor,” and you just nodded back, your brain going completely silent for the first time that night.

--------

When the explosion happened a few days later, it was all the justification Eva Stratt needed. The day had been a mess, the loss of those doctors devastating, the power of Astrophage even more extraordinary . There was no time to even process though, as just as quickly as it had happened, Dr. Stratt had pulled you into a conference room. The plans moved fast, there was no time to delay with launch day approaching. You agreed as quickly as it was proposed, Ilyukhnia sending you small thumbs up from across the table.

The explanation was a blur. The coma, the four year trip, the three hours until you would have to be ready. Three hours before your life changed forever. That was all it took for everything to become real. But you nodded along. You had a duty now, not only to yourself but to Dubois and Shapiro and all of humanity. For Ryland Grace and his students, for the young girls out there dreaming of studying the stars. It would all be worth it, for them. It had to be.

You made your way back towards the lab, moving in a sort of hazy trance. You were allowed a few personal items to bring with you on the ship, most of the ones you wanted to bring were stored on the shelves of your desk. A picture of you and Ryland at a weird alien museum your class had gone to. A photo of you with your parents on move-in day at college. Your favorite book. A journal of your personal notes. And that stupid alien shirt.

You smiled, piling the items into a box you kept in the lab, when the door came rattling open. 

Ryland Grace came stumbling into the lab practically lit on fire, out of breath, a million emotions on his face. You knew it before he even spoke the words.

“What are you doing?” he asked in a panic, searching your face, his eyes shooting in every direction, him taking steps closer to you.

“I don’t-”

“No, you aren’t doing this,” his stopped you. “What are you doing? They can’t just take you?”

“I volunteered,” you countered back, simple, straight to the point…it would make it easier. You turned back to the box, finishing placing the items, scared what looking back at him would do. He was quiet behind you and that hurt the most. Maybe it hurt because of the quiet, maybe it hurt because he didn't have more to say.

“This is it for me,” you said, still facing the box, busying yourself with organizing and reorganizing the objects, anything to keep from facing the truth. “I have studied Tau Ceti my whole life and now I am going to see it, I am going to help save this planet”.

“You don’t know that,” he bit back. “I mean we can hope but you have no idea if this is even gonna work-”

“Beats the alternative,” you countered.

“And what's the alternative?”

That made you turn, you finally facing him. He looked so tired, a mix of confusion, anger, sadness… somehow all at once. 

“This,” you admitted. “Going home to that apartment, living through pictures of a better time while I work that shitty job. That’s not living, that is not how I am going to live!”

“So what, now you are just going off to die?” he was upset, you hadn’t seen him like this in a while, not since his theory about water had not been received well in college.

“I am saving humanity”.

“Oh wow, yes, real courageous of you,” he retorted, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Fuck you Ryland,” you said, quiet, cold. “You’re the one who brought me here”.

His eyes snapped to yours, the two of you just looking at each other, breathing.

“And it was supposed to be a temporary thing,” he bit back. “Empahsis on the whole temporary part of this all. I mean, just a couple of days ago you were saying how you couldn’t imagine people having to say goodbye like this.” 

You didn't have the heart to tell him that you hadn't planned on saying goodbye to him at all. It was wrong, you knew that, selfish, but you couldn’t get yourself to do it. He was your last tether to Earth and it was growing thinner and thinner.

“I have nothing here for me,” you spoke from the silence.

“You have-” and then he stopped himself and your head once again snapped up to meet his eyes.

“Say it,” you spoke, quietly, pleading for him to say the one thing that could make you stay. “Please Ry, just say it”.

Everything hung there, floating in the air  and he couldn’t, his head just slightly shaking in disappointment. The tether snapped right there. 

“Okay,” it was so breathy, barely even a word. You had no more fight left in you, no words left to say, nothing he could do that would change your mind. He was too stuck in his ways, too stubborn. You grabbed the box, looking at him once more, before you shoved your way past him and out the door of the office. It was quiet, too quiet down that hallway and when you looked back he was looking at you and you just gave him a smile, a small one…I will learn to forgive you.

You felt no regret.

Not when Eva Stratt thanked you for your sacrifice. Not when the doctors came in and prepared the injection that would put you under. Not even when the needle pierced your skin. You only did, just for a second, when you heard your name. When his voice called through the room, faint but desperate. It was muffled, your vision growing thinner and thinner, fading at the edges. The voice just grew quieter and quieter. A hand gripped tightly onto yours, shaking you more and more until you felt nothing at all.

----------

The first thing you realize is that you cannot open your eyes, like they are glued shut. You squeeze them a couple times, blinking over and over until they finally force themselves open.

So bright!

You should have just kept them close. You blink a few more times.

Then you realize that you can’t move, and not because your arms are stiff…no, there is a giant, what you could best describe as, plastic bag wrapped around you.

“Eye movement detected,” you  practically jump out of your skin at the sound disrupting the silence. The voice is clean, almost inhuman, as it once again repeats its previous statement. 

You try to move your arms, nothing. Your legs, nothing. Your fingers…just a little bit. The feeling of helplessness crashes all over you at once as you come to the slow realization that this was not just a bad case of sleep paralysis. 

Before you could even begin to make sense of it, a giant robotic hand swept across your vision, reaching down to unzip the human sandwich bag you were being trapped in. Now was your change, you shifted your weight as much as you could side to side until you rolled and made contact with the hard floor. A groan escaped you, the only sound you could really get out.

What the actual fuck?

There are tubes, connected in places you didn’t even know were possible. But nothing was as alarming as the realization that you had no idea where you were…no idea who you were. You looked around in a panic, trying to worm around off the ground, the robot hand stopping you in your place, lifting you off the ground and placing you back onto the table. You left out a mix of muffled objections, the most you could muster…your vocal chords were somehow still waking up. The computer acted before you could even protest, removing all the tubes, sensations you had never felt before and hoped to never feel again. At least, you assumed you had never felt them before. 

You saw it as your chance, the robot hand busy putting the tubing away, you jumping off the table and immediately crumbling to the ground. 

“Fuck!” the sound surprised you…you were making progress. Using the little strength and feeling in your limbs that you had, you scooted and crawled across the floor. Where was the door? Your head snapped back and forth, up and- There it was, on the ceiling, of course it was. The ladder connected to it seemed daunting but what choice did you have.

The robot spoke again, speaking a name, or you assumed it was, “detected, alive”.

It must have been your name, huh, you didn’t completely hate it. You continued to move across the floor, slow, scared that the robot arm might just yank you right back into the air. 

“Movement detected in the dormitory," the robotic voice spoke once again, causing you to speed up. It was trying to blow your cover, ruin your plan. Who knew, there might be a whole army of robots up there ready to get you. With each scoot across the floor, the feeling in your limbs began to find itself again. By the time you reached the ladder you were able to somewhat pull yourself up, each step getting harder and harder. You were tired, even if it seemed you had just woken up from some coma-like situation. You reached the top, banging the door over and over until it eventually popped up.

Reaching the top, standing on solid ground again was a feeling you had a new respect for. Then you turned your head…and you came to the jarring realization that you weren’t on solid ground at all. A giant window looking out into the great plane of stars…you were in space. You took slow, cautious steps towards the window, scared that you might somehow get sucked out. 

It was beautiful, you were at a loss of words for a reason other than your inability to talk. 

“Holy shoot,” a voice spoke from behind you, you stumbled slightly turning around, throwing your hand up in defense. “You are awake”.

“Am I?” you asked, genuinely…you wouldn’t have been shocked if you had died and were now in some weird waiting room. 

The look on the man's face was one of relief and that was enough to slowly allow your hands to fall back to your side. He seemed slightly more put together than you were, except for the glasses titled slightly on his face…though he made no move to readjust them. Maybe he was an alien and that was how they wore their glasses? Were you an alien too?

“Where am I? What is this? What…” you trailed off, once again catching a glimpse of the stars. The feeling was hard to explain, like you were floating in your own head, nothing there but faint blurry glimpses of something that you knew came before this. But no matter how hard you fought, you could not get yourself to decipher the memories. “I can’t remember what…”

He nodded as you spoke, and you knew he understood. You couldn’t understand, but your body softened slightly, your heart beat became steady and your breathing returned to something much more normal. 

“I, uh, I woke up a couple days ago…in that room,” he tried to explain, looking as if he too was piecing it together in real time. “Where do I even start…”

You stood there, helpless, waiting for something.

“We are in space,” you rolled your eyes at his words, pointing out at the window next to the two of you. “Oh right, well, just clarifying”.

“Anything else genius?” you didn’t mean to come across as on edge but you were confused and hungry and annoyed that your brain could not do what it was meant to do.

“We aren’t in our own solar system,” he spoke again, finally with some seriousness to his tone, you perking up and meeting his gaze. “We are, according to the map in the control room, in the Tau Ceti system about twelve lightyears away from Earth”.

He trailed off on the last word, giving you a second to absorb…but you were not a sponge and your brain was rejecting all of it. It made no sense, it was insane…but so was the giant robotic arm that picked you up earlier. 

“We were sent here for a reason,” he finished. “I just am not sure what exactly that is yet”.

He then paused, a long pause, like he was choosing his next words carefully, “we were sent in a group of four”.

“Oh,” you looked up at him, a feeling of relief washing over you, maybe they knew more, maybe they had been awake for longer. “Well, let’s just go pick their brains?”

“They didn’t make it,” he added, the words sitting heavy in the air.

You just nodded, unsure of what to say, scared of how it would all feel once your memories began to trickle back like his were. 

Would they have been your friends? Would the grief hit you later? The words sat weird in your stomach, even weirder knowing that there was a time where you knew everyone on this ship, there was a time where you knew why you were there. People who were your friends and now it was just you and strangers, chosen by some sort of fate to survive. 

“What happened to them?”

“What am I? Your magic eight ball,” he joked, a weak attempt at trying to lighten the mood…you hated that it made you smile the way it did. “Don’t fight it, I know it was funny.”

“Oh wait, the memories are coming back…” you pretended to think, before letting a blank look spread on your face. “You’re an asshole”.

He threw his arms in mock defense and you weren’t sure why but it all felt so natural.

“I found some vodka earlier,” he offered up, a shitty solution, a temporary one for sure, but a solution nonetheless.

“We brought vodka?” you paused. “At least we know we had fun”.

He laughed and you laughed too, anything to keep you from thinking about what this all was, what this meant and how exactly you get back to Earth from twelve light years away.

The man, who you learned was named Ryland Grace, took you around the rooms he had already spent time exploring. The labs…so you were scientists? Then the controls, and the space suits and the shelves of equipment that you could not even begin to understand. He eventually showed you a small closet, one containing boxes labeled with four names, pulling the one with yours on it down. 

In yours were some pictures…one of the two of you, so you were friends? Maybe? You should go with friends for now. Then a picture of two older individuals stood next to you, in front of the sign of a college…they must have been your parents. Did they know you were up in space? Did they send you up here? The thought made your head hurt so you stopped, tucking it away, it was for another day. There were too many questions floating as is. Then the shirt, a giant shirt that confused that shit out of you even more. You took it out of the box, holding it up to show him and the two of you just burst out laughing. 

“So I have bad taste in clothing?” you asked, trying to regain your breathing, him wiping away the tears from his eyes. 

“You should see some of the other clothes people brought,” and those words were just the start. Too much vodka flowing through your system, the two of you found comfort in trying on stupid hats and shirts packed throughout the ship. At some point you found yourself collapsed on the floor with him, laying there, the bag of alcohol laying between the two of you.

You talked for hours that night…well you assumed it was night, trying to hypothesize about who the two of you might have been. Were you smart? Where had the two of you met? Were you friends? Somewhere in your mind you felt like there was something else there. But you did not want to dig there, when you tried your head would just pound right back. So you laid there, accepting the silence of space, accepting that none of it made sense.

“I am glad I am not alone,” he spoke up from the silence, so quiet you might have missed it.

“I am not sure why, but I feel like we were meant to do this together,” you replied, turning your head to the side to look at him.

The alarm’s still blaring; he’s no help. Another minute passes before you bother to reach your arm over Grace’s body to slam it off. And by then, with half your weight pressed down on his chest, he’s already rustled awake. Caught underneath you, Grace has a weary, half-conscious grin on his face. It’s almost enough to make you livid, the way he’s looking up at you, all glimmery, just past his lashes. Barely awake and far too pleased. Stubbornly, you say, “We’re throwing out the alarm clock.”

Your executive decision comes like a punch to the gut. Grace’s grin falls, and he immediately props up on his elbows. “What? Why?”

You have to rub your eyes. “It’s disturbingly loud—like, fire alarm loud. Adrien has the biodome on a regular twenty-four hour Circadian rhythm, which means we can wake up naturally,” you list off, “And it also doesn’t work.”

“It works.” Grace grabs away at his glasses, taking them up off the bedside table and slipping them on just to argue with you more visibly. Plainly, he states, “I’m awake right now.” “But, it doesn’t wake you up. It wakes me up, and then I have to do the dirty work of getting you out of bed.”

“Whatever this is—” Grace makes sure to jut his fingers around your stomach with a bunch of tentative prods, just about the same as you’d done minutes trying to jolt him awake, “—is not getting me out of bed.” You immediately grab for his hands, trying to pry them away from you. Despite your morning bickering, the back and forth of the two of you tousling against one another doesn’t have a single drop of malice to it. When all is said and done, you’re very, very pleased to be stranded in space with him.

—

“Okay, class. Review time. Who wants to tell me about Newton’s Laws of Motion?”  

Your favorite (and very rare pastime) is accompanying Grace to his science classes. The Eridian younglings seem to be extra jumpy every time you decide to help out and watch Mr. G in his element—pressed to the xenonite glass and rattling away at the sight of you sitting on a tall stool beside his setup. There’s a very large makeshift Newton’s Cradle atop the steel table today, and a chorus of loud chirping, each youngling more eager than the next to impress. Each has their own individualized pattern of: Me. Me. Me. 

The enthusiasm is resounding. Grace claps, a grin growing wide on his face, “One at a time, one at a time.” One very small Eridian at the front of the multitiered formation raises their claw particularly high. One of Rocky’s younglings. Grace throws an index-finger up: “Shoot, Junior.”

Junior shrills: If mate, where younglings?

You can practically see Grace’s soul rise up out of his body. His hands are stilled at his sides. Regret sets in on his face. Of all the things. You swallow, hand coming up to pull at the neckline of your sweater; it’s unbearably hot despite the fog. It takes a moment for Grace to fall back into motion. Sternly, he says, “That is so presumptuous of you and not at all appropriate for you to ask me in a classroom setting.” Stubbornly, Junior thuds himself into a slump on the floor. Grace carries on, “Who’s up next?”

It’s clear that Grace wants to get a grip on the detour quickly and try to steer them all back in the right direction. But, it’s too late. This initial question seems to spiral into a very clear trajectory. More chirps and hums: Tired of human Newton. Want learn human courting ritual. Tell us first meet story.

Grace puts both of his hands up. “We’re supposed to be learning about Newton’s Laws. Not scaring our very special guest.” His objections are met, and vastly overpowered, by the repetitive chorus of the younglings, who are increasingly interested in the same thing: First meet. First meet. First meet.

“Okay. You want me to do first meet.” Grace turns to you, finally, a sorry look on his face and a blush tinging his cheeks red just beneath the rims of his glasses. “They want me to do first meet, hon.” He’s exasperated. You can’t help but grin, because this occurrence is nothing new. You’ve told some iteration of “first meet” to the class about a hundred times—detailing, at length, your chance meeting with Grace. All things considered, it isn’t the worst story in the world.

It takes you a very short amount of time to get yourself set up for the retelling. You sit cross-legged in front of the xenonite glass. The younglings make sure to huddle up as close as possible as you speak. Now, Grace has his cardigan shed, hanging on the corner of his whiteboard, and he’s taken your place on the high stool. You talk, and he listens—along with the rest of his Eridian science class. “Mr. Grace and I met on a ship on an ocean just like this one, but bigger, a very, very long time ago. We were both recruited for a very important mission to save the Earth. We all know this part of the story, right?” The younglings sing with agreement. They know Earth’s prior turmoil as much as they know Erid’s.

From behind you, you pull out two identical, xenonite models. You hold up one, “So, here’s me,” and then the other, “And here is Mr. Grace.” They’ve seen these before, and are sure to brighten up at the sight of the little figurines. “When I first met Mr. Grace, I thought he was… handsome.” 

The word choice sets Grace into a fit, all while the younglings chirp along and stamp their claws on the floor. “Oh, good lord,” you hear him grumble. You peer over your shoulder to see that Grace has his hands buried in his face, unable to look you in the eyes.

“We were assigned to work with one another, which meant we had to see each other constantly. This was more difficult than you’d think. When I talked to Mr. Grace, like this…” You dance your little figurine mini-me towards mini-Grace, and you make sure to pull mini-Grace back. “He’d be a little bit surprised, and retreat into his shell a little. An equal and opposite reaction, kind of like…” you trail off, gesturing to the Newton’s Cradle behind you. The younglings seem to murmur with agreement: Third Law. You nod, “And I’d do the same. We kind of danced around each other for a while, but it all worked out in the end.” Junior waves a claw around: Is true?

Grace concedes, pressing his glasses higher up on his face. You can see the bottom half of his lenses beginning to fog up. He’s absolutely flushed and it’s impossible to conceal. He concedes: “It wasn’t that simple, but for the sake of the lesson, yes, it was just like Newton’s Third Law of Motion.” Then, they erupt into further discussion amongst themselves: Now, mates. Human courting very simple. Human courting like physics. Bond is easier than Eridians.

“Alright, alright,” Grace pipes up again, trying to quiet them down. “If you guys can run me through the other two laws, we can do lunch a little bit early.” 

—

The younglings are only half-willing to accept your departure and listen to the rest of Grace’s motion unit. While Grace teaches the rest of his lesson, you’re due to meet with Rocky on the central quarter of the beach. He’s always making sure to monitor the two of you, a good host tending to his human guests.

You’re not sure how the topic comes up. Maybe, it’s the unintended topic of Grace’s physics lesson, or your nearing one year anniversary of being on Erid. Or, it’s the fact that it’s simply been long enough without verbalizing your particular feelings on the matter. Grace was something to you on the carrier, before either of you had been sent up to space. Acquaintance, then crush. Then, sort-of boyfriend. Definitely boyfriend, by the time he’d gotten the greater portion of his memory back.

Now… all the Eridians like to call you mates, which is altogether too biological for either of you. Partner’s probably better. With all this taken into account, there hasn’t been a very good time to iron it out with him. The two of you have been so satisfied on Erid that it seems sort of pointless to do so. You’re happy. And still, you’re being struck with the sudden feeling that you desperately, desperately want to be married to Grace.

So, you bring this up to Rocky. As the two of you have your daily stroll about the biodome, he’s trying his best to understand the minute details of what a “marriage” is. You make sure to trudge along the sand slowly, matching the pace of Rocky rolling along as best as you can. Human ritual is confusing. Mate asks mate to be together forever, but together already. Futile?

There’s no doubt about it that the proposal thing is futile. It’s futile and outdated already on Earth—and so, it should be futile and outdated all the way on the other side of the galaxy on Erid, where its inhabitants bond so easily. “Well, yes. Obviously, we’re already together, together.” It sounds so immature when you say it. “But, it’s an Earth tradition, you know? Beyond the formality and all, it’s… romantic.” 

Rocky dips only slightly into the seafoam as it approaches and recedes with the tide. Need meaning of word. You have to think about this particular word deeply. Romantic? What’s romantic?

Grace is, even if he doesn’t claim to be. Nobody else would be willing to ration out coffee for you, teach the robot-arm to dance to your favorite songs, and take up handicrafts to make you slightly less bored (his favorite: an army of medical glove dolls). His proudest achievement, by far, has been solving your complaints about having zero reading materials. His idea: taking Stratt’s pirated-everything laptop and transcribing books for you by hand on the back of old lab manuals. It takes you a short minute to collect your thoughts together neatly for Rocky’s understanding. “Humans like to express care for their mates. In a marriage, rings are a symbol of a lasting bond. You wear them on your left hand, here.”

You wiggle your ring finger at Rocky. He rolls a bit closer to you, water flicking off the geometric edges of his xenonite shell. Oh. Understand. Like how Adrian name carved on arm? All Eridian mates do this.

“Yeah,” you nod, “It’s exactly like that.”

I know Grace finger circumference. And I know your finger circumference. His claws are raised into the air triumphantly, as if struck by a stroke of genius. Adrien and I fabricate rings for human ritual. You try to breeze over this fact that Rocky has your body measurements stored in his very extensive Eridian brain. What’s more concerning is the fact that he’s serious about the rings. You almost immediately draw back, raising your hands up and waving them rapidly, with a punchy “no.” Rocky seems to slump in his xenonite casing. You’re far too disagreeable. Why not? Rocky provide easy fix.

“Grace and I haven’t had the talk yet, and I don’t want to rush it.” The truth is that you’re shy to ask. When all is said and done, you’re sure that Grace will say yes. There’s no reason for him not to say yes—one, because he adores you, and two, because you’re basically already married. But, the question feels far too serious for your taste, and you’d rather let him bring it up himself.

Rocky seems to tumble on his back and roll over into the water again. No sense. Not difficult to see—you, Grace, good life. Unnecessary complication. You don’t have much of an argument against him.

—

Your walk back up to the house after Grace’s class is filled with nothing but high remarks. It’s just the two of you again, the younglings back to their respective clans and Rocky back to work.  As you trudge up the hill with Grace, breeze whipping around your hair, he’s still a little bit caught up by the thought of you handling his students earlier in the morning. “Maybe, you can take my job and I can take up something more solitary. Like fishing.”

“It’s not a big deal, Ry.” You have to stifle your amusement. “You short-circuited. It happens.”

Grace tilts his head, blinking intermittently, “Would you really call that short-circuiting? I’d consider it more strategic than anything else.” Grace shoves his hands into his pockets, more mortified than anything else at the thought of his own flustered shock. He doesn’t believe what he’s saying himself, and still, he’s far too prideful to admit otherwise. As the two of you reach the front door, Grace makes sure to skip in front of you eagerly to open it and let you both in. 

“Right. We can definitely classify it as a strategic, intentional lapse in speech,” you tease. While Grace bends over to untie his Converses and kick them off, he seems to hang his head particularly low.

“You’re not allowed in the classroom for the rest of this month,” he tells you. Two and a half weeks. It’s more for his sake than it is his students’. You nod, placing your work boots on the rack right by Grace’s sneakers. 

“In any case, they’re just curious. It isn’t an inherently bad thing.” He doesn’t try to contest that point. Curiosity is never a bad thing, and it’s palpable how much his new class of younglings adores learning from him. What he doesn’t like, admittedly, is how their curiosity extends into your shared dating history. He’s very lucky you haven’t retold how you sacrificially launched yourself into space with him; it would no doubt cause a coup.

It’s clear that Grace is at least overall pleased with your storyelling—because as soon as you shut the door behind you, he seems to stoop down to try and kiss you. His blonde hair tickles at your forehead with the action, glasses slightly askew. It’s with much regret that you have to stop him. Grace comes upon an impasse. He’s kissing the front of your palm, not your lips, and he’s deeply confused. He retracts. “What?” You make sure to duck out the way and keep a straight path towards your writing desk. Grace trails behind you like some kind of lost puppy, “Wait, wait.”

“It’s Friday.” Since the start of Project Hail Mary, you’d been assigned to documentation, and so, on Erid, you thought it would be best to carry on with the work. Fridays—you and Grace had agreed upon sticking to as close as Earth time as possible—were for your weekly log, an ongoing tracker of your settlement on Erid. You tell Grace, dragging your chair back and seating yourself onto it, “It’ll take ten minutes just to type something up.” More like twenty. You’re very thorough, and he knows that. “I’ll make it quick, and then we can do dinner.”

You’re dancing around the fact that Grace very clearly does not want dinner. He nearly keels over at your despondence towards him. “I’ve been waiting all day to get you to myself,” he confesses. Much to his protest, you open the old laptop and click into the usual file. Grace tries again, throwing his cardigan over the back of your chair: “Maybe we can circle back to the log in an hour or so, and work productively on our oxytocin output.” The corporate-scientist talk really kills you.

“Fifteen minutes,” you wager. Grace groans. You know exactly where this tends to go. He gets needy, distracts you from your work, makes it near-impossible to return to. Secretly, you adore when he gets like this—all restless and slightly irritable. “It’s not like I’m going anywhere,” you chuckle, “I mean, physically, I cannot leave the dome.”

“One smooch and I’ll get out of your hair?” he rasps back. You tilt your head to look up at him with a very empty look of exasperation. Grace takes both of his hands and cups them onto your cheeks, before holding you still to plant his lips onto yours. Still seated at your desk, you have to twist your neck oddly to better face him, and when you finally find a comfortable enough way to turn, you make sure to brush Grace’s forearm with your hand. You can feel him smiling into you. It’s almost juvenile, the way he evolves the quick peck into a deeper and more intimate kiss.

You tug on the side-loop of his jeans, and he pulls off of you with a labored breath. “O-kay,” you punch out, “Quota reached. You go work on lesson plans over there, and I’ll do my logging over here.” He lets out another belligerent grumble, and reluctantly obeys. Grace makes sure to press a kiss to your temple, before padding over to the living room to give you space.

Though, you can hear Grace mumbling, out of sight, “Armando, do you see what I have to deal with?” It sounds as if Grace drags a chair out at the dining table and slides himself onto it. Then, silence.

Alone, now, you have ample time to consider what your writings will be made up of. Your log from last Friday reads briefly about improvements to the biodome—perfection of water temperature thanks to Adrian and your attempts to germinate soybeans from the Hail Mary. You’re not exactly sure what to write about for this week. There’s Grace’s lessons with the Eridian younglings, your ongoing efforts to create an English-Eridian dictionary, and today’s extensive talk with Rocky about marriage. The last option, of course, needs to be omitted from the record, on the off chance that your other half checks the file. All things considered, you could be happily un-married to Grace.

—

But you’re pleased, of course, finding that he thinks otherwise.

Only a few weeks pass when the subject crops up again. You’re busy hanging up laundry, while Grace sweeps the floor. It’s one of those more productive weekends in the biodome, and he’s whistling along to The Beatles. The clothesline reaches from one edge of the bedroom to a corner of the dining room on the opposite side. You’ve got a good momentum going, a rhythmic tug and fold of clothes off the line, until Grace asks—or, rather, stumbles into—“Do you remember when I thought we were married? I mean, I thought I was married to you, but I didn’t know that you were you. What am I saying?”

You know exactly what he’s trying to say, and it’s enough to make your hands jittery. Just when you thought you’d be able to flee from the overall concept of marriage, he decides to throw you off your game. You hold up a maroon shirt of his—a worthy distraction. It has a crude illustration of an amino acid with downturned eyebrows and fumes puffing out on either side of it. A-mean-o, the shirt reads. Not very funny, but you’re sure that you’ve stolen it from Grace at least once or twice. You try to laugh it off. “Well, I’d say it’s pretty difficult not to remember,” you tell him, “You’re still a pretty long way from living it down.” 

“Well, I don’t think I’d necessarily want to do that,” he hums. You fold the shirt with an all-too-sharp precision and toss it onto the rest of the old shirts piled on your king bed. Does he know what he’s saying? You can’t tell. The next garment that you grab off the line is one of Grace’s red jumpsuits that the two of you have naturally turned into gardening gear. The act of folding this up isn’t nearly as easy, considering that your hands are stiffening with nervousness.

Grace comes right behind you, one hand brushing against the small of your back as he passes you and bends over to rustle around his side of the bed. He’s very determined to obtain whatever’s been stashed there. You can see his hand slip underneath the mattress, and he makes sure to hold the foreign object behind his back as he turns to face you. “Can I give you a hypothetical? Won’t take too much of a setup.”

“Ryland.” You’re as wary as you are delighted. You try to peer around him to see what he’s got tucked behind his back, but he’s very quick to angle himself away from you.

“Okay, just be patient with me.” He chuckles at your eagerness, one hand coming out to hold you still by the shoulder. Then, he retracts it—chest rising and falling as he looks more soberly over your face. “The first time we met.” Grace stalls, then tries again, “Let’s say, hypothetically, the first time we met, I desperately wanted to talk to you.”

“What?”

“Like after my first astrophage meeting, I saw you eating dinner in the cafeteria on the center-left table, but I was too nauseous from the jet ride over to eat that night. So, I sat there the morning after because I thought you might show up. And you did,” Grace rambles through the explanation, before talking a big breath in. “How would you react if I had done that? Hypothetically?”

“I’d probably call you a stalker, hypothetically.” Your lackluster response makes him squirm.  

“Okay, well, that’s what happened,” Grace surrenders. He only seems half-offended—less so when you seem to start laughing at him. “Okay,” he breathes in, “I’m trying to tell you that I’ve always wanted you around me since forever ago. And I want us to do… this.” He takes your hand to place the object onto your palm. You seem to sober up a little bit, hushed. Grace hands you a small, xenonite box, all cross-hatched. It weighs barely anything.

“This isn’t an ammonia bomb, is it?”

Grace snorts. “I have a sneaking suspicion that you know it isn’t that.” You turn the box over in your hand; you’re sure that there’s some sort of Eridian engraving in it that you haven’t quite mastered yet. “I figured that we haven’t done things very linearly. You basically proposed by coming up to space with me, and I proposed by already thinking we were married. So, the real deal’s in there. Sorry for the wait.”

You don’t even care to open it that moment, too preoccupied with him to even think about the box in your hand. You make a sweeping motion to throw your arms over Grace’s shoulders, chin tucking over his shoulder. With just as much ardor, he brings his arms around your waist. There, the two of you embrace there for the next couple of minutes. In your cottage on Erid, in the middle of space, ages away from Earth. Away from Earth might’ve bothered the both of you once before—but now, it doesn’t seem so bad.

—

It’s a warm night in the biodome. Grace has your hand in his lap, and he’s using his index and his thumb to rotate the wedding band on your left hand. It’s a perfect fit on both of you, some kind of dark metal alloy with what you think is xenonite glass embedded into a middle-layer. The hushed sound of the waves echoes out from down the hill, and the two of you sit on the grassy knoll in one another’s company. You’ve been thinking this all night long, and you’ve got to ask: “Did Rocky tattle on me?”

Grace hangs his head with a grin, “Not on purpose. I went and asked if I could get him to fabricate me some wedding bands. You can imagine the look on my face when I found out he already had them done.” Before he can tease you any further, you make sure to take Grace’s face into your hands and kiss him silly. He seems to chuckle into it a bit, caught off guard by the sheer intensity that you seem to want to press your lips into his. By the time you’re done with him, his glasses are practically at a forty-five-degree angle on his face.

You have to reach your hands up to straighten them out for him. Then: “How long d’you think before your class notices these things?”

Grace groans, leaning his forehead straight onto your shoulder. “I can’t even think about that right now… Half a class period, if I’m lucky.”

“I know what I’m asking and I want you to do it,” you affirm. “You can say that Grace and Yao and Ilyukhina don’t know two cents about documentation,” It’s a good excuse, and you know it is because you’ve spent the past few hours thinking it up. All Stratt needs to do is feed it to the committee. “DuBois would’ve done that job, bless his soul. I can do it in his place. Same job up there as I do down here, and I’m good—you know that. I can be useful.” Utilitarian, first. You know Stratt well enough to cover all your bases.

Decent justifications. You can see Stratt crack just slightly. She shakes her head disapprovingly, “We would have to recalculate for launch to account for your rations and your belongings. It would take an extra week to account for the extra weight. And you’d have to get fitted for a suit.” With an authority as uninhibited as hers, all Stratt needs to do is say yes. All the logistics are not as much of a barrier as she’s making it out to be.

So, you have to be more point-blank: “He might hate you for sending me up, and for a while, he might hate me even more for making you do it.” That part frightens you more than the act of doing it: Grace’s disappointment seeing you on the same suicide mission that he’s been relinquished to. It’s strange, though, that you haven’t felt more sure about something in your whole life. You want to be with Grace. “He has to go up. We all know it, even if he thinks he’s not fit for it.” You glance down at your lap, and back up at Stratt, “You care for him, don’t you?” 

She’s quiet. You push harder, “I know you do, or you wouldn’t go through all the effort to take care of him. I’m asking you to do this for him. Let me do this. He needs me.”

“You’ve only just met,” Stratt counters. For a moment, she sounds like your mother—scolding you for running away, in some juvenile act of defiance. It’s possible that Stratt cares about you even more than she does Grace. You’ve known her for double the time that he has, and worked with her just as closely. Your most generous assumption of her feelings towards you is that of a caring mentorship.

“And it will have been worth it in the end. You have to believe that.” The last thing you’re sure about is that Stratt has seen you and Grace together from the beginning. How you had liked Grace and Grace had liked you. How you’d kept each other company all of those months. How you’d spend all those dull morning meetings passing notes to each other. How, after one of those wistful karaoke nights, you’d been holding hands at the bar seats—Rylan’s cardigan draped over your shoulders.

It’s a set plan. You’ll be missing on the day that Stratt asks him to go up—some excuse about Yao and Ilyukhina needing your informational support after DuBois’ passing. And, inevitably, when she forces him to go up, you’ll be packing your go-box to be loaded onto the Hail Mary. Grace will run out to the field to evade the anesthetic, and you will be nowhere. In the end, he’d have fought harder if he knew you were planning on going up there with him. 

—

When you wake up from the coma, you’re quick to shed yourself of the plastic wrapping, the intubation, and the rest of the IV and tubing with sweaty, frightened palms. It takes you a minute to orient yourself—dead, black air outside the portholes, the bleak whiteness of the ship’s hull. You’re in a bedding unit on the ground floor, accompanied by the automated whirring of a robotic arm. “What is the capital of California?” the computer repeats, “What is the capital of California?” When you look up, the rest of the pods shut, you know clearly what you have to do. 

“Consciousness detected. User 4,” the computer rattles on as you clamber up the ladder, bare in the stark-white underwear they sent you up in. You remember—Stratt, “not enough time to code your information into the ship’s computer”—as glance down the robotic arm spinning on the floor below. When you climb up to slide each of the coma pods open, with no avail—there’s absolutely no one home—you realize that you must’ve woken up a little late. You have to find him. They must be around somewhere, but it’s all eerily quiet.

The hull of the ship is… not exactly what you remember it to be. You’d done only one walkdown with the rest of the crew, and it never once had anything like this. There are these strange crystallized structures mounted up on the walls, lined with dark geometrical frames. “What the hell,” you mutter. You come up to one of the larger structures in the containment room, and tap your hand on the crystalline surface of it. It’s anything but normal, and still, no crew in sight. You feel like you might be sick from the implication.

It’s not before long that you hear a repeated thunking along the floor just outside in the room over. Before long, there’s a smaller version of the structure hurdling in. You feel your stomach drop at the sight. Inside, there’s some kind of spidery thing making its way towards you, appendages rapping closely against the glass shell to wheel along. It feels like something straight out of Alien, and you’re very sure that you need to start running.

“Oh, no. Nope.” You shoot your arms out, looking for anything to throw. If a bunch of these beings have taken over the Hail Mary, and possibly captured the rest of your missing crew of three… it's awfully neat. There’s nothing on the ground, no signs of struggle, and absolutely nothing to throw.

“Grace. Grace. Grace,” an automated voice buzzes out. What? Your jaw goes slack. This thing knows your boyfriend’s—no, you’re not even sure you’d gotten that far—Grace’s name.

There’s a raspy voice echoing down the hall that’s all too familiar: “Rocky, I said I need an extra hand. You’re not still mad at me about the eating thing, are you?” You can already feel the tears welling up in your eyes. You remember clearly how you let Stratt stick you with the syringe. You’d done it for him, and he’s here—and you’re both here. Everything according to plan. Except the alien, of course. Still, he rolls back and forth, back and forth in front of you.

“Grace, friend awake. Grace, come now,” it buzzes again, pressing up flush against the containment of the glass, as if trying to examine you. “Come, come, come, come…” All things considered, it doesn’t appear that this thing wants to eat you.

You have to cough a few good times, massaging at your throat, before yelling out a crackly: “Grace!” There’s a clatter—the sound of something metal dropping onto the floor, glass breaking. Then, rushed steps. He stands in the doorway, hands locked behind his head, eyes wide with his glasses hanging off the edge of his face. You run straight into him, arms shooting around his waist.

“You’re awake,” Grace says. You can feel his arms wrap slowly around you as you press your ear to his chest. Though, for you, it only feels like a long nap since you’ve last seen Grace, you can’t be sure how long it’s been for him.

Rocky, you remember Grace calling him, rolls toward the two of you: “This is hug, question?”

Grace nods, chin coming up against the top of your head. “Yes, Rock—this is a hug,” he looks down at you, astounded, “And… uh, morning. I didn’t think you’d wake up. System advised against taking you out myself, and—”

You can’t be bothered to peel yourself off of him. “Just be quiet a second, Grace. I’m just trying to soak in the fact that you’re okay.” Before they put you under, you’d considered plenty of scenarios about how he’d react to your being on the Hail Mary when you both woke up. His confusion, a possible hint of anger. Now, he’s… rather pacified. You reach up to run your hands through his scruffy blonde hair, nails dragging it on his scalp. He’s watching you check over his face with intent.

“Oh. This is… nice,” he hums, eyebrows knitted together. You must look strange, inspecting him like this—but for you, on that last day you hadn’t been sure that either of you would get up to space safely. Grace is just as handsome as he was when you left him, and the yellow NASA jumpsuit on him reminds you only of his old raincoat.

You have to tilt your head up to kiss him, and as soon as you get remotely close, he seems to straighten up and away from you. “I’m sorry, I can’t—I’m married.” You retract from Grace stiffly. Was he married? No, that doesn’t make sense; he couldn’t have been married, he lived alone—one ex. He had an ex before. And then, he had you. Grace tells you, “I don’t know why I know that, but I’m very certain about it. In here.” He taps his index finger against his right temple. You have to think it over again.

“Right. Sorry,” you say deliberately. It’s a perfect chance to solve it then and there—Are you? or No, you’re not.—but there’s an obstruction, you remember now, Stratt’s words: He won’t remember a single thing about himself. Echoes, if anything. “I’m just… super happy to see that everything’s doing well,” you tell him, “Just got ahead of myself.” Maybe it’s the easy way out, avoiding the truth of your circumstances and his. It’s too immediate, too real. You can see Grace squeeze his hands together in an anxious kind of manner, how you’d seen him do when he had a time crunch on the project and didn’t want Stratt to be pissed with him.

—

Per your lack of actual belongings, Grace lets you borrow a pair of boxers and a t-shirt of his. In the reflection of the windows, black space and your own silhouette, you have to wonder what just the three of you are going to do. No Yao, no Ilyukhina. News of their passing gives you a bout of nausea, to which Grace resolves with a bottled water and an assurance that their burials were nothing but peaceful. Though there’s a lingering sense of urgency for you to be around Grace, you can’t exactly push it. Married? Grace seems flighty around you within the first couple of hours of your waking up from the coma, like he’s frightened to be caught in the same room as you. When you give him your name, he doesn’t seem to react to it in any way. It’s like some odd fever dream.

You figure it all has to be taken in little by little. The two of you agree to have a bit of alone time—if that’s even possible—in the projection room. Together, the two of you settle on a beach ambience, all fog and homely. For a moment, with the digitalized sound bouncing around the enclosed sphere, you can pretend that the two of you are there, sitting on the sand together with your knees pulled up to your chests. Grace starts. “So, your name isn’t on Mary’s manifest. Are you some kind of stowaway?” There’s a commitment to his words, a seriousness just beneath the joke that makes you pull back an immediate answer.

You can’t even comprehend what Grace might think when you tell him—if he’ll be heartbroken that you’re there, if he’ll be made that you martyred yourself for him. So, you keep it vague: “I thought it best fit for the project to be sent up with the three of you. I’m still shocked that I swung it, but I did.”

“They just let you come up?” His skepticism makes you nervous. Maybe, Stratt was right. You aren’t supposed to be on the Hail Mary, and you never were; you were only meant to document and archive and keep track of the information. 

You run your tongue over your teeth. “No, I mean, I really had to sell the idea.”

“Of you joining the suicide mission.” Him and his stupid logical inquiry. You can only give him a sickly sort of nod, and trust that he won’t dig any further into it. After all, if it was as easy as it was for Yao, Ilyukhina, and DuBois to give themselves up for the cause, it’s not out of the realm of possibility for there to be someone else like them. Grace seems to accept this easily. “And, you and I…?”

Would’ve been great together, given time. And now there is time. Instead, you admit a measly: “We knew each other, yeah.”

“And you know about me. Who I am,” he affirms. Grace isn’t quite sure how to ask you how you know him, what you were to each other—friends, coworkers, or otherwise. 

You shoot for as-vague-as-possible: “I mean, as much as you do. We only knew each other for a very short amount of time.” He looks unsatisfied by your answer, but doesn’t seem to prod any further. To him, you appear just as clueless an agent as he is. Guiltily, you hope that he’ll stay that way until you can figure out how to tell him anything different.

—

You decide to put on a puppet show, laying supine in the little pod with little figurines in your hand. Rocky’s doing: he’s made one little miniature of you and one little miniature of Grace. In front of your face, you dance them along with one another, two geometrical forms moving in unison but unable to join together. You can hear Rocky rolling into the room far before he even enters the room, the bulkiness of his xenonite shell knocking across the ground of the hall. When you tilt your head to look out at him, he’s already well jutting into your sleeping pods.

He asks, “Why hide while Grace working, question?” Right about now, Grace should be doing a couple of extra checks on the Taumoeba, and making sure that the Hail Mary’s trajectory towards Rocky’s ship is still on-point. Which means he’s busy. And you can escape for a generous forty-five minutes before he needs a spare hand.

You have to lock the miniatures away in your closed palm, and slide them just beneath the pillow. You scoff: “I’m not hiding. Where’d you get that from?” You click a button off the side of the pod, letting it extend the bed outwards; as you get up, legs dangling off the side, you can see Rocky roll back slightly. 

He insists: “In bed. Make little noise in corner of ship.” It’s all very matter-of-fact.

“I just needed to take a breather,” you correct. In truth, you are very patently hiding from Grace. It’s a terrible habit now that you know that Grace is a pin drop away from recalling who you are.

Rocky pushes again, “Need meaning of word.”

“Breather, like… there’s a lot happening, and I need to rest for a second and think.” It’s the most clean-cut definition you can think up for Rocky. Though, it omits the obvious: you’re terrified to tell Grace and are perpetually delaying the inevitable.

“Think what, question?” As flatly as his programmed voice seems to ring out, Rocky shows a genuine sort of care that you’d find rare among most humans. You can’t exactly reject his attempts. They’re nothing but good-willed.

It takes you another minute or so of silent deliberation before you can figure out how to seek Rocky’s help without giving away too much. Finally, you offer up a decent, analogous-enough hypothetical: “If your mate—if Adrien had come up with you, left Erid, would you be angry with them?”

Disjointed and with much urgency, he responds: “Not angry. Sad. Very sad. Adrien stay on Erid. Stay home. Journey is too high risk.” His response can only send you into a further state of despondency. Rocky and Grace are more alike than either of them would like to admit. Rocky only affirms what you already expect of his response, and by extension, of Grace’s. He must be able to gauge your panicked reaction in the laborious sound of your breathing and the well-engrained frown adorning your face. “Are you sad, question? Thinking of mate.”

“Something like that.” You smile faintly. The thought of calling Grace that—given your absolute lack of time together—amuses you. Still, it’s an endearing thought. You wonder if he’d be as entertained by it as you are.

“Not familiar with Earth mating traditions,” Rocky reminds you. “If talk with Grace, maybe feel better, question?” Rocky has absolutely no clue.

—

Out of the three of you, you happen to have the least painful injuries after Tau Ceti-E—a couple of tender bruises on your back, and a sprained ankle. As you’re still very much in love with Grace, it feels absolutely excruciating to act casually around him. Him flinging himself out of the ship for the bacteria collector was enough to send you into a panic. And, now that everyone’s safe enough—injuries aside—you fall back into an easy enough routine.

And, it’s not as if he’s a blank slate. He’s still plenty identical to how he was when you first met—intelligent, sometimes klutzy, and prone to curiosity. You flock to him like you did then, on the carrier ship. There’s some instances, you think, that Grace must feel it, too—despite how much he strays away from you.

Like now, as you insist on cleaning his wounds up. Though it’s an easy enough job for the robotic aide, both you and Grace have unanimously agreed to let the system cool down after the obvious intensities of your near crash. So, you’re in the lab, Grace is seated on one of the tall stools, whining as you peel off the old patch off his cheek. “Ow. Ow. Ow.”

“This isn’t going to go any faster with you squirming like that,” you say, discarding the papery adhesive on the counter. The gash on Grace doesn’t look terrible, just scabby around the edges. You take up supplies from the open medical kit on the counter beside you both. Your hand grips his chin as you drag an antiseptic-saturated cotton swab across his cheek. His scruff is rough against your fingertips. “Just stay still and let me disinfect it. You’re worse than a kid.”

“You know, I don’t think you’re wrong,” he responds with gritted teeth. You can tell he’s trying, out of embarrassment, to hold in any further disgruntled noises. “Have you been icing your ankle?”

“As much as I can,” you mumble. You can tell that he’s trying to distract himself, hands gripping the seat of the stool.

Grace hums, “Well, if you need to be off your feet for the next couple of days, I’m pretty sure Mary isn’t going to get any worse.”

You lift the swab off his cheek a moment. “Are you asking me to take a break, or are you telling me to?”

“Whatever you’ll agree to more easily?” Grace grins softly. His insistence is so familiar that you almost forget that the half of him that knows you is missing.

You return the swab back against his wound, and he flinches less intensely than before. Softly, you tell Grace, “I’ll think about being off my feet. Don’t want Rocky waking up to a dumpster fire of a ship—you know how he hates messes.”

It isn’t until the new bandage is on his cheekbone that the two of you, at once, recognize the sort of position you’re in. Grace with his hands grasped tightly around either side of your waist, and you wedged in between his parted legs. You must have failed to notice, and clearly he hadn’t either. You swallow soft, face hot. You can see Grace’s eyes flash down to your lips and back up.

“Thanks,” he coughs out, red-faced, “I better go check on Rock now.” As soon as his glasses are shoved back onto his face, Grace dismisses himself with a beeline towards Rocky. You make sure to step aside, making sure to toss the used supplies into the nearest waste bin, before closing up the kit and tossing it back into its usual drawer. Now, the ship feels exceptionally tiny. You can see Grace press his face closer to the xenonite glass of Rocky’s container. His glasses are fogging up, and you can see through the glass that he’s trying his best not to glance up at your direction.

—

While Grace is occupied with taking care of Rocky, you’ve dedicated yourself to restoring the Hail Mary to her prior state. The cleaning is a decent distraction, and gives you a good chance to survey the ship’s inventory. The cockpit has the worst of it, manuals scattered and screens cracked from the interior pressure. You try your best to order everything back into place.

There's a whiteboard discarded in the flight deck lodged behind the chairs, bent in the middle but still largely recoverable. You pick it up gently, as if recovering some kind of ancient artifact. There’s a couple of phrases at a time scribbled neatly in columns: San Francisco? Good with cilantro. I’m a teacher. You can’t imagine what it must be like to be him—bits and pieces of who he was before the launch, trying to sew themselves into something meaningful. Another column: Notebooks? Sweet coffee, no exceptions. Gorgeous.

There are a couple more identifiable things that sell the understanding that it’s all you. Hometown. The names of cafes and restaurants you liked to go to before the project started. That sells it: this side of the board is all about you—detailing in fragments all the time that you’d spent being together all that time on Project Hail Mary before the launch. How you’d like each other from the start over breakfasts in the carrier ship’s cafeteria. How you’d pass notes across the table during those five o’ clock committee meetings.

Open windows. How you’d kissed for that first time before dinner with the team, in your crammed bunk room. You’d had the windows propped open that night to let the open air and sea mist in; he remembered that. He remembered sentiments about you—but he still can’t quite place your name or your face. It’s you who’s clouding Grace’s brain, and he doesn’t even know it. He thinks you’re married. It’s an educated guess that he’s reiterated enough times to think it’s real.

—

It takes quite a bit of thinking over when you decide to confess. While Rocky shows Grace his ship, you’ve decided to stay back and make sure the Hail Mary is in top shape to get refueled. You come up with the courage while he’s gone, and it’s all plotted out thoroughly in your head:

Grace, I haven’t been honest with you. I need to tell you that I knew you more than I said that I did, before this. I need you to forgive me for what I’ve done, and know that it was the best possible choice I could’ve made—even if you might not agree. And anyway, we’re here now and we won’t be going back, so there’s nothing to be done but be together. 

When Grace makes it back in, suit shedded, he doesn’t think twice to collapse onto the ground of the main hull. You find him like that, knees pulled up to his chest, heavy-lidded eyes swollen from crying. He must know now, somehow, how he got there. And, he must have a sneaking suspicion about how you got there, too. The need for your drawn-out confession has evaded the both of you.

There’s the chirps and ticks of the ship’s machinations, the low hum of the Hail Mary cutting through space, and there’s the sound of his muffled sniffling. Oh, Grace. You’re quite aware of the fact that he can see the soles of your shoes right next to his. Your voice falls lower than a whisper: “Are you upset with me?”

“It’s you. Of course not,” Grace grumbles. You let out a little bit of a sigh—seating yourself onto the ground beside him. He hangs his head, “We’re so not married.”

“In your head, I guess we were.”

“That’s so embarrassing,” Grace groans, palm coming up to cover his face. You have to nudge his shoulder with your own. Not that embarrassing, you want to say—but all too shy to do it aloud. He murmurs, “Why did you do it?”

“It was this or slow death. Living with the fact that I wouldn’t ever see you again.” This is a confession in and of itself—admitting to Grace that you cared about him crazily enough for you to leave the planet. “I convinced Stratt before she sent you up, made sure you wouldn’t find out about it. I knew you wouldn’t want me to do it, and I knew you didn’t have a choice.”

“You knew she was going to send me, and you volunteered yourself up to keep me company,” he repeats back to you. He nods with a sturdy, rasped out “huh.” It’s clear that he’s still trying to settle with the fact that he’s known you this whole time—more than known. Grace rubs his fingers gingerly against his forehead.

“Sure you’re not mad?”

To that, he eagerly shakes his head. “I should be. Selfishly, I’m kind of stoked. I mean, I get you all to myself. That’s, like, the dream. I win.” Grace throws a weak, celebratory fist into the air. You have to stifle a giggle. Yes, this is the Grace you knew. “Obviously,” he says, “you get the short end of the stick.”

“Don’t,” you tell him, index finger pointed. “I’m one-hundred percent where I want to be. It’s you and me, Dr. Grace.”

“You and me,” he repeats. He makes a quick swipe at your hand, lips brushing over your knuckles in a quick kiss. Grace makes sure to hold your hand hostage in his own, and the two of you sit there a while, your head leaning on his shoulder. There isn’t a single bit of assurance that the two of you will be making it back to Earth in due time, and still, you don’t feel much of a need to rush.

The first time you meet him truly is ultimately… gratifying. Dr. Grace lives up to expectations. You’re at the other end of the table when Stratt leads him in: a mousy, blonde-haired thirty-year-old man. Glasses askew, and dark-blue eyes blown wide. It takes a lot of will for you not to tilt your head at the sight of him—the way his eyes dart around the room, his unsuccessful attempt to back himself out of it. It’s… amusing–like watching a baby bird get coaxed out of the nest. What comes next is rather productive. You type fast on your laptop: astrophage, single-celled, Venus, high-CO2, breeding, replication by mitosis. You aren’t able to focus much on him, per say. It’s more his words, his cadence when he talks about the discovery—and the following queries that come with debriefing him on Project Hail Mary. He’s cute. And there isn’t enough time in the world for you to think that.

—

The next time you see him is in the mess hall a couple days after. Clearly, Stratt has him settled in—probably placed him in a nice bunk with another one of the old scientists. He sits mulling over a bowl of cereal, looking almost identical to the way that he did in the meeting room. The greatest change, clearly, is his choice in clothing. He’s got a knit cardigan on, over some punny science t-shirt that you can only vaguely read. Dr. Ryland Grace sits alone. And, he’s in your spot.

Your imagination runs its course. Maybe, he likes solitude. Maybe, he’s still facing the fact that this ship is filled with some kind of Sisyphean effort to try and save the planet. You’re very sure, looking at him stirring his spoon pointlessly in the bowl, that this situation is too big for him. He wants to go home. You’ve got your own tray of breakfast—oats and bottled juice. Clearly, you’re not used to the barrack-like quality of the ship quite yet, or else you’d be able to sit down with just about anyone else. The only downside of your job is that you don’t have very much time to talk—buried in screens and stacks of files. You sit alone, too, most of the time, in this very spot that Grace has decided to occupy for himself.

You approach him slowly, waiting for him to notice your presence on the other end of the table. It’s regrettable that he doesn’t, so caught up on the swirling quality of his cereal. You have to knock your knuckle on the edge of the tabletop. “Dr. Grace,” you hum. He retracts his hand from his spoon like it’s red-hot and stands up to greet you.

“Hi,” he says, pulling his own tray back to make room for yours. “Please, please sit down.” You wonder if he’s going to try and reach out to shake your hand—but he’s back down as soon as you swing your leg over the bench. You follow suit, giving him a polite, tight-lipped smile. Grace hums, eyes squinting as he taps his fingers across the tabletop. “I recognize you,” he says, “You had the, uh, fast hands.” The observation comes out of his mouth disjointed and awkward—but, straight to the point.

“Stratt hired me on as a documentation specialist. Fancy title for making sure that everything gets dated and down on paper,” you tell him. You almost want to light up at the thought of him picking you out in that stuff-full room—but you’ve got to keep your cool. “I’ve been assigned to record all research regarding the astrophage.” Which means you’re going to spend a lot more time together.

“Important work. Historians will love you if everything turns out how it’s supposed to,” Grace nods. In truth, you’d never considered your job in that light. In your head, Stratt had simply wanted documentation as a contingency. If all Hell broke loose, there’d still be the logs that you maintained of all the work of the scientists, the engineers, the researchers… You hadn’t been able, in the rush of it all, to consider what it meant long-term.

“Right,” you chuckle, “And molecular biology’ll make a pretty shrine for you, too.” It’s a silly thought—Father of the Astrophage, on a platinum plaque. The flattery makes him shift in his seat, index finger coming up to push up his glasses higher up the bridge of his nose. You have to soak it in a little bit, his nervousness up-close. It’s charming.

The two of you sit in silence for a moment, making ample use of your food by using it to keep quiet. Grace has his cereal, and you your oats. It’s easy. You feel like a little kid again, trying to make a friend in the cafeteria; you’re sure that’s what it looks like, too. You take a moment to crack open the lid of your juice, and Grace takes the opening. “Is this where you would’ve wanted it to end up?” he asks, “When… everything, you know—”

“Went to shit? No, not at all,” you huff. It comes up again. What would you do if the apocalypse started? Except, this time, it’s very clear that neither of you have much of a choice. Yes, it’s definitive now. Grace doesn’t know how he got here, still, despite the briefings. He’s in the middle of the ocean, and so are you; he wants advice. “I think most people hope for a conservationist sort of end. Like, in the middle of the redwoods, in a tiny cabin with a stone chimney, or something.”

He lets out a dry chuckle and stifles it quickly with the back of his hand. “Is that what you wanted?”

“No. I mean, I think I’m where I’m supposed to be now. It’s this or slow, slow death.” For an unquantifiable amount of people, you could add. You find it better not to.

“And, your family—?”

“—knows I’m here, if you can believe it. Stratt’s act of kindness. They think I’m doing administrative work for the U.N., which isn’t a complete lie,” you murmur under your breath. He can only nod solemnly. Carefully, you recall: “She told me that you didn’t… have anyone to contact.”

He doesn’t seem phased at all by the inquiry. “No, no. My parents passed away before I finished doing my doctorate. They were older. I moved to the Bay for my tenure track after that. It was the easiest decision I could’ve made, considering—” He doesn’t have to spell it out for you: he bombed his own career with a single dissertation—it was teaching or nothing at all. And, all things considered, Grace really loved to teach. “I lived alone in the end. No dog, one ex.”

Ex. You think it’s probably too soon—and, too much pressure—to tell him that you don’t have anyone else waiting for you at home, either. In some twisted way, you might want him to be curious about it. To wonder if there’s someone waiting for you at the shore, or if you’re hooking up with one of the pilots on-deck. It’s all a bit of harmless fun. Vaguely, you explain, “I had an apartment, too. Nice place. Took forever to hunt for it, lock down the lease, decorate—and then, nothing. Had to surrender the keys after Stratt made it clear she wanted me on-board.”

—

It’s all been a little bit less lonely since Grace’s boarded the ship. You practically have to be glued together on account of Stratt’s orders. “He should rarely leave your sight,” she tells you over dinner one night, in a cleared navigational deck, “It’s imperative that you have his calculations recorded down to the decimal and uploaded to the database.”  Really, it isn’t the hardest task. After that first breakfast, he seems generally comfortable in your company. He floats towards you, seemingly, more than you do him. The greatest tell is his punctuality. Grace makes it early enough to morning meetings so that he can position himself right beside you.

When there’s much more dull conversation being held about different nations providing staff or material, you notice that he has the tendency to get more… distractable. Beneath the table, you can feel his knee brush against yours as he bounces his leg—sole of his sneaker scuffing against the floor. Of course, he doesn’t have nearly as much reason to listen when the conversations turn more diplomatic and less scientific. And, while you’re supposed to pay attention heartily and take your extensive notes, Grace is on the less helpful end of the spectrum.

He likes to pass notes. They vary in topic and seriousness. There’s one particular morning when he chooses to be heavy-handed with them. It starts as soon as the representatives begin to argue. With nimble fingers, Grace slips the note right next to the trackpad of your laptop. Britain is a tool. Britain being the politician from Britain, an older man with too-tight trousers who dissented to almost everything Stratt had to offer. You take the card and slip it between the front cover and the first page of your notebook.

More chatter, and you can already see him scribbling out the next one behind his walled-up hand. You peek over, and he slides it determinedly towards you. Hope they do something other than eggs today at caf. Yes, they’d served it five days in a row. You decided to keep your complaints about it in for the first three days, and broke on the fourth. Grace had heard the bulk of your argument—the grittiness of powdered eggs, and how you’d kill for a stack of pancakes. This note, you slide back over to him. It’s not nearly as taboo as the first, which means he can have it back.

The last one Grace has for you comes a whopping ten minutes later, after he gets pulled into a conversation about laser tech for the breeding tanks. Once that devolves into yet another disagreement, he turns his attention back over to you. This new note, he makes sure to fold in half before lodging it beneath the keyboard of your computer. It takes you another five minutes of conversation lulling for you to open it. You pry the two edges open to read it: What do you do with sick chemists? Helium. What do you do if they die? Barium.

This one makes you snort to yourself too loud for your liking. You brush the index card into your lap with your nose scrunched in realization of how much of a slacker you must look like. This routine of yours is beginning to set itself in most morning meetings, and you’re beginning to wonder if you should start giving him the silent treatment. Grace appears rather proud to have made you laugh, chest puffed out; he tries to hide his smirk by looking down at his lap. If Stratt has an opinion about it, she doesn’t say anything. 

—

You’re staring, and you really can’t help it. Grace has his cardigan shedded and strewn across the nearest lab chair. He’s doing an awful lot of calculations, something on astrophage power output that you’ll have to ask him to spell out for you later. The graphic, of course, is no better than the rest of the shirts he’s worn all week. But, the real kicker is the way that the fabric of his short-sleeves are hugging around his biceps. You couldn't have guessed that Grace would be so… fit. 

You can’t take your eyes off him now, as he takes a black Expo marker to the surface of the whiteboard. The shirt’s tight. You’re checking him out. It isn’t until he peeks over his shoulder at you that you become all the more conscious of it. It’s a fleeting moment; unwillingly, you peel your eyes off of his and onto your laptop on the desk in front of you. You’re supposed to be compiling a folder to send out to the Payload Systems team. Not… this.

“Sorry,” you shoot out mindlessly. You make an exerted effort to examine the inventory list on your screen and cross-check it with another spreadsheet on the tab over. Busywork. It’s better to look like you’re doing literally anything else.

Grace doesn’t take his eyes off the board as he continues scribbling across it. He lifts the marker off the board a moment: “What for?”

You suck in a deep breath. An apology implies that you’ve got something to be sorry about.  You want to leave now—but there’s really no good excuse to. Stratt is off-site, which means that you’re only doing busywork ‘till she’s back with new news. So, you elaborate with an empty “…Nothing.”

“O-kay,” he enunciates. You can’t do anything but return back to your screen with an attempt at dutifulness. Grace stays at the board, head tilted to write some undecipherable combination of greek-letters at the upper-right corner, and you can go back to your previously abandoned work. It’s almost machine-like, the way in which he scrawls the information from left to right, without any hesitation. You write several lines down on the notepad to your left: Hermle centrifuge machine needs replacement. Polypropylene for containment units — CNPC bulk load. And, messily, at the corner of your page, In love with Grace?

It’s difficult to tell. You’re together ninety-percent of the time. You’re clearly attracted to him and his square frames and his dad clothes. He makes you laugh, lets you use his old iPod to listen to Oasis. And maybe it’s  the close proximity speaking, but you feel deeply about Grace in a way that you aren’t sure how to describe. Like now, as he caps the white board marker and slides it into his back pocket, before coming over to check on you with quick steps.

“On a scale of one to ten, how illegible is that?” he asks you. You try not to cave as he rests both of his hands on the edge of your desk, toned arms straining right beside you. You squint as you stare at the board, trying to make sense of the numbers.

“I think I can get everything down except for that bottom-half. It’s not your handwriting, just the formulas,” you admit. You’d never been one for complex mathematics, and you need to make sure you can get the equations recorded exactly as they are.

He hums, “That isn’t bad at all. For now, just note the biomass—circled and labeled it wet weight, in tons. If you need to, you can send the number out to DuBois, see if I got the match right, and I…” Grace trails off, picking up the mug that he has set on the desk next to you. He makes an additional effort to peer into your own empty mug, before picking it up with his other free hand. “Will be right back.” He carries them out of the room without another word. Another plus: he fetches you drinks without any asking.

It’s more quiet when he’s out of the room, presumably at the espresso machine just down the hall. In Grace’s absence, you can actually think more clearly about the situation. You know that Shapiro and DuBois have their own version of a relationship—albeit, more or less casual. At the end of the world, nobody really bats an eye about it. All things considered, it’s actually better for morale. You have to wonder if that’s in the cards for the two of you.

It isn’t long before he comes back with the two mugs. First, he places his a safe couple of inches away from your computer. Then, he makes a slow gesture for you to take your mug out of his hands. “Careful. It’s hot,” he tells you softly, running his hand beneath the bottom of the cup to swipe off the possibility of a wet ring. As he gingerly passes the handle into your hands, your fingers brush against one another comfortably. You note, eyes glancing up from the steaming cup, that there’s a faint blush littering his cheeks. But, he’s too intent on the handoff to take his eyes off the coffee to look up at you. Yes, you think, In love with Grace.

—

Once you figure out that fundamental fact, you start to think it over too much. There’s nothing necessarily wrong with your finding. It’s natural, and probably inevitable, for you to have fallen for him. What’s more anxiety-inducing is what you’re supposed to do about it. Under any other circumstances, you’d be okay keeping your mouth shut and letting the opportunity pass you up. But, considering the timeline of the Earth at present, it seems like there’s no time to waste. At the end of the world, it isn’t the sort of thing you should keep to yourself. You should tell him. And still, you’ve been sitting on the idea of it for weeks.

You really hope that Grace hasn’t figured it out, as observant as he is—but it’s really very clear to everyone else on Project Hail Mary. You can tell by the way they watch you both, like it's morning television. Grace rambles on about astrophysics, and you listen. He goes off on tangents about old and wrong college professors, and you laugh. You talk about your life before the project, and he listens with his chin resting on his hand. He asks you questions about what you used to do, where you used to go—like you’re another thing to learn. And everyone fawns.

It’s a good night when you hole yourself in your bunk room. All the engineers and specialists and to-be cosmonauts are all gathered together for drinks and a movie. The simple act of slipping away, letting people assume that you’ve got a migraine or an extra load of paperwork, is easy. It’s in the comfort of your tiny twin bed that you get to listen to the ocean and wailing ship creaks, window propped open to let in the fresh air. It’s strange to think that this room has been yours for so many months; the gunmetal ceiling of it is familiar now.

You get to enjoy this for upwards of an hour, until footsteps come clunking down the hall. You’re sure you know who they belong to. There’s a couple of soft, metal knocks on your door. “Hey, buddy. You sleeping?” It’s Grace’s muddled voice on the other side of the door. “Dinner’s up and everybody’s wondering where you’re at.”

You raise your head off of your pillow, “Door's unlocked. Just come in.” It’s a quick scramble for you to sit up and toss your legs over the side of the bed. As soon as Grace makes it through the doorway, you give him a sheepish smile and a wave.

“Jeez, it’s freezing in here.” Grace’s cardigan is hanging on his right hand. Another tight tee tonight, vintage tour shirt for The Beach Boys. You have to look away as he tosses it on the desk chair adjacent to your bed and as he comes up to sit right beside you. “You know,” he starts, lowering onto the hard mattress, “If you’ve been feeling overworked, I already told you I’d tell Stratt I could handle my own documentation for a week. It’s lab standard, anyway—”

He’s not making it any easier for you. “No, it’s fine,” you insist. It isn’t very easy to tell him that you’re not overworked, that you just have stupid feelings for him. Your refusal only makes him work harder.

Dismissively, he continues, “You can just sit there and watch me work. Read a book or something. A little bit of downtime isn’t going to be the end of the world. And, yes, I know how it sounds given the current circumstanes—but I think you definitely deserve it with the amount of running around that you do.” He’s getting rather impassioned about you resting, so much so that when you mumble out his name—a soft-spoken “Grace”—he doesn’t even pick up on it. He only marches on, “When you think about it, it’d help my research, too. Because if you’re stressed, I’m stressed. And that’s just no good.”

“Ryland,” you blurt. He halts, lips parting and closing. You never call him that, and now he seems very, very dazed. You explain, “I’m not overworked. I just needed a bit of time to think. Alone.”

“Right,” he cedes. “I’m sorry.” You can see his shoulders slump in the slightest, all guilt-ridden about having disturbed you. Grace leans weight onto his sneakers, clearly in an attempt to get off your bed and dismiss himself. Too easily, you reach for his arm to hold him in place.

“No, I want you,” you retract it just as quickly with a blurted, “Here. I want you here.” Grace looks more puzzled than before, but sits himself more comfortably on the end of your bed. Open to listen. You clasp your hands together, “Okay. I’m going to give you a hypothetical… Say, you have a decent life, nothing crazy. Good job at a library. It’s modest, and you’re happy with it. Go You have a good place, good friends. No… partner.” Maybe, the two of you are more similar than you realize. “And that’s okay,” you add, paying no mind to the way Grace’s eyes soften behind the lens of his glasses.

You carry on: “You’ve been okay with that for a decent amount of time. Then… apocalypse starts. You find somebody by chance, who you’d probably never cross paths with otherwise, and you realize that you like being with them. And, suddenly, because the apocalypse has started, you probably won’t have another opportunity to like another person like you do this one. And you really like the one.” You can feel your palms clam up at the confrontation of it all, the vulnerability.

He blinks slowly once. Then, twice. Grace raises a slow index finger up towards himself, eyes peering just over the frame of his glasses, “That’s me.” He states it out like an educated guess, cut-and-dry.

“No, it’s Yao,” you shoot back. “Yes, it’s you, obviously. Who else would it be?”

“Okay,” he says, hand reaching up to take his glasses off. Grace stands up with a deep breath, hand ruffling through his spiky-blonde hair as he walks further away from your bunk. Again, he mutters out a soft, “Yeah, okay,” not far off from how he looks trying to expand out a calculation. Grace taps his foot on the floor, paces left, then right, rubs his palm over the scruff on his face. A torturous lack of response. Then, finally, he turns around. “So, the whole time you weren’t just really into microbiology?”

You have to gawk at him. “Are you being serious?” He looks completely serious, glasses hanging off of his chin, blue eyes inspecting the irked look on your face with doe-like curiosity.

“Well, can you blame me? You’re gorgeous, and you’re also impossible to read.” Gorgeous? He thinks you’re gorgeous. That’s nice. You can feel the warmth bloom in your chest at the implication—but you can’t help but scoff out of pure offense. He puts his hands up in a haphazard shrug. “I mean, now that I know, it makes a lot more sense why you look at me like… that. I wasn’t totally sure.” Now, it seems that he’s making a bit of a game out of it. You don’t care to ask him to elaborate on what “that” looks like.

Stubbornly, you tut, “I’m taking it back. I’m taking it back, and it was completely hypothetical!” You stand up from your spot on the bunk, walking narrowly past Grace to your desk. Briskly, you pick up his cardigan—disposed of on your desk chair—before bunching it up and shoving it towards him. 

“No, no, no—you can’t take it back. Cat’s out the bag,” Grace insists teasingly, hands clinging to the cardigan. Before you can completely let go of the woollen fabric, he makes sure, next, to grasp his hands over yours. They’re significantly larger and warm, too warm; with your hands plastered to his chest, there isn’t really anywhere for you to go. You think he must feel the nervousness practically radiating out of you, because he seems to slow down: “Okay, I’m being difficult. I can grovel if you want me to.” Grace’s voice lowers down into a rasp.

There’s a cockiness about it that you haven’t exactly seen from him before. You can’t tell if it’s making you flustered or annoyed—both, likely—and in some bout of courage, you get on your tiptoes to press your lips against his. The cold, metal frame of his glasses nudges against your face as the two of you kiss. Grace takes one hand up to cradle your jaw, and you can hear a quiet, satisfied hum come out of him. It does live up to hypothetical expectation, the way his body melds against yours clumsily around the barrier of the cardigan. It’s very him, and it’s very you. 

Grace can barely be convinced, with your hands pushing back against his chest, to let you take a breath of air. Once the two of you split, Grace has a sideways smirk. “I really like you, too. Not sure if I made that clear,” he murmurs. “So, would you come grab dinner with me?”

It's bullshit. Makes you want to punch the daylights out of him — and Ryder, too. Oh, that absolute fucker, taking credit for and leeching off of Colt's talents, skills, injuries with the whole "I do my own stunts" nonsense while he can barely sit in a car in front of a blue screen setup.

It's as if Colt thinks himself invincible. That he's Tom Ryder's best stuntman, that he's the best stuntman there is — which he probably is, to be honest, but he's not immortal. And he acts like you're slapping the unavoidable truth of it in his face whenever you dare to show concern, or God forbid, get upset when he gets injured.

You try to make it work, somehow. It's not like you don't understand not wanting to show vulnerability, changing your approach accordingly so he doesn't take offense to you doing things for him. That it's just because you want to do things for him, and not because you think he's an incapable, worthless piece of shit, or whatever other atrocious thoughts that he's brewing up in his head.

So imagine your surprise when Colt "I-can-walk-off-anything" Seavers fusses over you like no tomorrow whenever you get injured.

The first time it happens, it's a mere papercut.

Yes, a stupid papercut.

The reason why you yelp and then hiss in annoyance is solely because it's unexpected, and while it stings a little for now, you know it'll sting for at least for the rest of the week before it fully heals rather than the actual pain levels it causes.

While you're no Colt (nobody is), you're not that fragile.

"You a'ight?" Colt's head peeks in from the doorway, and upon seeing you clutching your finger with barely a drop of blood pooling at your fingertip, disappears momentarily. The sound of heavy footsteps running echoes in the corridor before he re-emerges with the first aid kit.

The whole kit. You bark out a short laugh at the sight.

"Let me see," Colt gingerly takes your hand in his, gently wrapping a bandaid over your finger, crossing the ends over so it doesn't slide right off, then briefly brushes his lips over your finger, "All good."

Your boyfriend who used to shut you out when you tried fussing over him is unironically kissing a papercut better. With his whole chest — lips, whatever, — even.

Another time it happens, it's more subtle.

You had a persistent ache in your wrist that made it hard to bend your wrist or squeeze things for a few weeks, and the orthopaedist has diagnosed it as a Ganglion cyst — nothing to worry, pretty common really. Here's your pills and spray, don't force it. It's nothing you can't manage, though it flared up occasionally during some menial tasks like chopping ingredients to cook.

Which is an odd time for fully chopped — sliced, diced, julienned and minced, also — ingredients to spawn in your freezer, filling it to the brim.

In Colt's defense, he did wait a few days after he saw you taking small breaks while prepping ingredients, squeezing the physical therapy ball to relax your muscles in between, to execute his nefarious plan.

You don't point it out directly.

"Aww, you might as well roll a red carpet for me to walk on next time," you press a loud, exaggerated smooch on his cheek, and he preens.

"Uh oh, careful what you wish for!" he hums, catching your lips in a soft kiss before you can fully pull away, "You know I would."

This time, you see Colt all but jerk forward as he lunges in your direction when you lose your balance.

He manages to catch your upper arm in a firm grip, though your knee is already grinding against the pavement. You grit your teeth as you scramble to get up through the stinging pain.

Fuck, please don't be a wardrobe malfunction. It's not like you planned on falling on gritty pavement when putting on the thin, breezy pants to combat the heat, but please, please, please, don't be a wardrobe malfunction.

"Thank you," you mutter to whoever is helping you up from the side. As soft of a fall as it was, you can't bring yourself to look at them, and with Colt ushering them away with a surprisingly assertive "I've got her, man," you don't have to face them after all.

"I've got you, baby," This time, it's directed towards you, voice considerably softer, though before you can utilize the hand you have on his shoulder to finally stand upright and thank him, your feet are swept off the ground.

A small noise of surprise rips from your throat as you wrap your arms around his neck on instinct.

Eyes flicking down momentarily, Colt clicks his tongue, yelling to no one in particular as he picks up his pace, "Can we get a medkit in my trailer?"

"On it, buddy!" You hear Dan call from a distance.

Looking down also, there is more than just a wardrobe malfunction in this situation.

Ignoring the giant hole in the knee of your pants, the flimsy fabric flapping down pathetically at the sides of a wound, there is a trail of blood that is quickly travelling down to your ankle, the red a stark contrast to the light cloth that absorbs it.

Colt pushes the door handle down with his elbow and shoulders the door to throw it open, promptly seating you on his bed, ushering the guy who brought the first aid kit to hand it over before shooing him away, slamming the door shut right after.

"Oof," he kneels in front of you, carefully lifting the fabric to get a closer look at the wound, brows furrowed with concern, opening the first aid kit with practised ease. "That looks like it hurts."

"It probably looks worse than it is," you murmur, "It was quite a soft fall, really."

Colt doesn't seem satisfied with the answer, the crease between his brows deepening as he gives your pants a light tug. "Need these off so I can clean it off before the bandages."

"Mister Seavers," you gasp, clutching your pearls in mock horror, "What scandalous requests are you making..!"

Colt fixes you with a look. Despite not wanting to play along, it seems like he doesn't have it in him to scold you, either.

Tapping your knee, "Can you lift yourself up a little?" he asks, fingers already at your waistline, undoing the button and zipper before sliding your pants off your legs, letting the fabric pool around your ankles before dabbing antiseptic on some cotton, lightly pressing it to the wound, mumbling "Sorry," the moment it touches your skin.

It's odd, seeing him this fussy over a bit of blood. It's not like you're playing hero or whatever; it really was a soft fall, and while there is arguably a lot of blood, you can tell it's merely a nasty scrape.

"You're fussing," you offer lightly, running your fingers through his hair.

That seems to help, seeing as his shoulders sag when some of the tension leaves his body.

"Obviously," he huffs, "I don't like seein' you hurt."

"Knee scrapes are nothing compared to what you go through every day when shooting."

He looks up at you through his lashes, gaze a mix between exasperated and fond. Mostly exasperated, because how dare you compare the two.

"You look pretty," you speak up before he can, trying to diffuse the situation. You've made your point, he knows.

"You're so full of shit," he cackles, throwing his head back, "I know for a fact you're not concussed. Bit late, but I caught you, remember?"

"Yeees," you drawl, "All the more reason for you to believe I'm speaking with my whole chest, pretty boy."

"Uh-huh," he nods, sporting a wide grin as he finishes bandaging up the wound.

"Looking for Tom Ryder's stunt double for scene 43."

"Ugh," both of you groan, glaring at the walkie-talkie on the counter as if it personally offended you.

A moment of silence passes before Colt speaks up.

"I'll be right back after my scene," he nudges your bare thigh, just above the bandages with his nose, "Don't you go anywhere."

"Doubt I'm gonna walk around the set without pants on, babe."

"Fair point." He nods, pointing to the door with his chin, head hanging low since he has to leave you. "I'll bring the actual medics along to take a look just in case, okay? ... And a pair of sweatpants, or whatever I can find for you to wear."

Falling back on the bed, you reach your hand out dramatically towards him as he turns around, wheezing out a sickly; "You must continue your journey without me..."

"Easy," He laughs as he opens the door, "Kung Fu Panda."

"Try not to use skadoosh on Ryder, handsome."

The house you're in is alive with bustling movement. Drunk and drugged bodies are grooving to disco music, base thumping loud enough to be felt in your chest. If Holland could smell the weed permitting the place, he'd be horrified.

He looks over at you, eyes squinting as if that would make it easier to hear you. "What?"

You cup your hands over the sides of your mouth. "Find more clues. Talk to more people. Split up!"

Holland finally understands. His mouth opens into an 'o' shape, a hum falling from his mouth. He nods. "We can do that. I'll, uh, go over there!"

When you follow the direction he jutted his chin in, your eyes fall to the bar and woman dancing on the counter top. She was wearing next to nothing. but you knew she wasn't who Holland was looking at.

You look back at him, brows furrowed. You weren't surprised. "Focus on the case. Don't drink too much."

Holland rolls his eyes, moving his hand to pat your shoulder. "I won't. This is detective work, sweetheart. You know I'm good for it!"

You weren't sure.

But he's an adult. One who has a steady job, so, it would be rude of you not to believe him. You offer a nod before walking in the opposite direction.

While you were gone, you'd been able to talk to three people. Two girls and a guy. They were all related to Victoria Shnaps, the daughter of a dangerously wealthy local politician, who's recently gone missing. The girls were her sisters while the guy was her cousin. Two days before she went missing. None of them gave you viable information— except for her youngest sister, Jazalyn. She's seen her sister talking to some guy called Steve.

You only knew she was being honest because she's got quiet after she said that. Like she wasn't allowed to. Her words had faltered, mouth hanging open, before closing and forcibly clearing her throat. She wasn't media trained. And that was a slip up if you've ever seen one.

When walking through the throng of bodies, your eyes glaze over the room in search of your partner. It doesn't take you long to find his dirty blonde mop of hair.

He's not at the bar.

But even from a distance, you can see him swaying on his feet. It looked like he was being subjected to a gentle breeze like a hung up piece of linen. He's talking to someone. That's good.

When you walk up behind him, your fingers graze his back. Just a gentle way to announce your presence. A soft smile captures your lips when you gaze up at him and glance to the woman he's talking to.

Holland startles, looking down at you with hazy eyes. It takes a minute for him to realize who's touching him and to feel comfortable. His eyes light up when he recognizes you.

"Oh!" His voice sounds like water running over rock. He motions to the woman standing in front of him, amber liquid sloshing out of the rim of his glass. "T—This is her! My partner.. in detective work. Told you 'bout her, yeah? Best—" Holland cuts himself off with a hiccup. "In the country, no, world."

The woman glances down at you, utterly perplexed.

You offer a tight smile.

The woman standing in front of you both was Cassandra Nettles. Long blonde hair, silk wrapped body, and a string of pearls around her neck that costs more than the budget for a presidential campaign. She's a person of interest.

And he's talking to her about things that don't matter— even if they are sweet.

"Okay." You splutter, taking the glass from his hand so he wouldn't spill any more of it. "My apologies, ma'am, it's been a long night."

Holland huffs. "We got here an hour ago." He looks back at the woman, eyes narrowing. "Wait, do I know you?"

Your hands fall to the small of his back and onto his bicep. The hand on his arm squeezes hard enough to shake him, not to be painful. "No you don't. You're drunk as a skunk— and you need to rest."

Holland relents, tearing his gaze from the woman fully. He looks down at you. Red-rimmed blue puppy eyes. Just a single look at the slight frustration in your eyes makes him quiet.

After an apology is given to Cassandra, you practically guide him by the scruff like a mama cat towards the door.

"M'sorry." He murmurs on to way to the car.

"We were here for Intel." You sigh, pointing in the direction of the car. "Not to drink."

"I know." He murmurs quieter this time, like those words coming from you hit harder.

TWO - The Time Holland Lost His Gun

"We'll be back later tonight." You're crouched on the ground, speaking to Holly with a soft smile on your face. "I left twenty bucks for pizza and cookies— don't tell your dad about the sweets."

Holly rolls her eyes. "He won't care. He doesn't."

You frown down at her. "He does care, kid. I promise. He'll be sad if he knows you got cookies without him."

She shrugs, standing from her criss-crossed position on the rug and walking away from you. She turns the corner down the hall towards her room.

A sigh leaves your lips, chest feeling the dull ache from the implications of her words. She didn't think Holland cared. You knew it wasn't your place to say anything more than 'he does'— but gosh, you really wanted to.

But you'd only joined the Nice Guys Agency a few months ago. You weren't enough of a permanent person to have any precedent in their lives.

So, you force yourself to stand up and walk towards Holland's room.

He'd been in there for the past twenty minutes, supposedly getting ready for a stake out. But he'd been in there for a little too long. Your knuckles wrap against his half-opened door to push it open further.

Holland is pacing around the room, dirty-blonde hair mussed and shirt half unbuttoned. His fingers rake through his hair. When he sees you, he stops in his tracks. An annoyed huff leaves his lips.

"I can't find it!" He grunts.

"What?" Your hands fall to your sides, head tilting slightly.

"My gun." Holland turns around, hands jutting out to rip the comforter half-off his bed. There's nothing there. So he moves on to demolishing the pillows.

"Your gun?" Your voice rises, unable to curb the surprise that gets frayed with panic. Your throat works around a swallow. Then, softer. "You lost your gun?"

"Lost?" He breathes, turning to look at you. "Misplaced. It's just... not here."

A silent curse falls from your lips. Your hands find purchase on your hips. "Where'd you leave it?"

Holland shrugs his shoulders, a frustrated noise leaving his mouth. "If I knew that, I wouldn't be looking for it. Would I?"

His words land harder than they should. You physically recoil, taking a step back to look at him with widened eyes. There was no reason for him to have been rude.

"Shit— I— sorry." His voice quiets, head dipping down. "I'm frustrated. I can't— I can't just have a gun laying around the house."

You nod. Being sensitive was something you understood. Especially when you were on a time crunch and lost something important. "I know. I'll go look— just, please, lets find this quickly. Healy's gonna be pissed if we're late. We'll find it."

Holland runs his palm down over his mouth. He hums.

On a whim, you turn to walk down the hall. The bathroom was just a few doors down. You'd seen him go in there a few times in the mornings you came by to pick him up for work. Maybe, if you were lucky, you'd find it in there.

The bathroom light is turned off, the room bathed in darkness. It takes a few seconds of whacking your hand on the wall to find the switch. When the room is emerged in golden overhead light, the first thing you notice is the Jack Daniels.

It's practically empty— say for the sliver of brown liquid barely coating the bottom of the bottle. There's an empty glass next to it.

Walking into the room, you step on a balled up towel. The sudden change in flooring startles you, almost taking a tumble. A ghost of a smile twitched at your mouth. Getting scared over a towel. Yep, seemed like you.

You bend down to grab it when you see it. The glinting metal. Half shoved under the bathroom sink, like it had been kicked by accident. It was Holland's gun. You could tell by the 'H' poorly etched into the handle.

The towel drops to the floor. You grab the weapon and stand back up.

Your eyes once again drop to the empty bottle of booze. It didn't take a genius to put two and two together. As much as you adored March— he had a problem. Enough of one to make him forget where he 'placed' his killing machines.

"Hey, March." You call his name, trying to keep the frustration in your chest from fraying your words. "Come here for a second?"

There's a moment of silence.

Then, his feet pattering down the hall.

He slides into the door frame, hand grabbing at the wall to stop himself from tumbling. He looks at you with big, hopeful eyes. "Did you—"

"It was kicked under the sink." You say softly, trying to keep your voice down. So Holly wouldn't hear you and he didn't think you were accusing him of anything.

Holland pauses. His brows furrow like he was confused— he raked his brain for the memory of even bringing his gun into the bathroom. Just to come up empty.

"How the.." His gaze drops to the empty bottle.

Oh. That.

Holland's cheeks heat up. His arm bends to scratch the back of his neck, chuckling softly. "Guess I must have had a bit too much last night."

"I can't believe you're legally allowed to carry this." You sigh, looking at him with a disappointed expression.

Your words sink into his skin. His mind immediately puts him on the defense, arm dropping back to his side. "Christ, c'mon now—"

"Holland." You whisper-shout his name, shaking your head. Your voice stays a fevorent whisper. "You can't leave this for Holly to find."

Holland gapes at you, trying to find some way to come back to that. There wasn't much. He puts his hands on his hips, grasping at straws. "She knows how to handle a gun."

You stare at him.

He looks at you.

Holland wants to flinch. It sounded terrible to admit out loud. What other twelve year old little girl knows her way around a gun? Most girls were probably drawing rainbows in their notebooks and listening to the beetles.

You just keep looking, waiting for something. Like he'd take back his words. But he doesn't.

You inhale a deep breath to keep yourself grounded. "That doesn't matter. She shouldn't be around this stuff— you know that."

Your voice is quiet, almost a plea.

Holland's lips press into a line. He glances down at the floor, like the tiles turned into the most interesting thing in the world.

He's quiet for a minute.

"I'm a good dad." He says quietly.

Your guard falls at his words. The gun gets placed onto the counter, your arms falling to your sides.

"Of course you are." Your voice is gentle, filled with conviction. "I never said you weren't. This—this is an accident. It happens. It doesn't mean I'm calling you a bad dad—I'm telling you to be more careful."

Holland absorbs your words, sniffling.

He nods.

"You're a great dad, Holland. Okay?"

"Yeah."

THREE - The Crisis That Leads To Cuddles

The more time you spent with the March's, the more glaringly obvious it became that Holland had no idea how to handle a teenage girl.

His approach to more sensitive topics was that of a man's: meaning, if Holly was upset about something, he'd ask her if she was getting her period. He'd have such a straight face when he did it too. Then, of course, he'd wonder why she got even angrier.

Holland tried. Don't get him wrong. He'd bend over backwards for his daughter in a heartbeat, no matter how he acts. Being in any kind of argument with Holly felt like his chest was being ripped apart.

That leads you to tonight.

You came over to make them dinner— something you did on Friday nights. It started a few months ago when you joined the Nice Guys Agency. Holland made a passing comment about not having a real home cooked meal since his wife passed, and you decided then to make sure he and his daughter had a slice of familiar domesticity. Even if it was once a week.

Over those few months, you and Holland got closer. There would be laughter drifting through the kitchen, the occasional mini-food fight, and even, if he was feeling bold, hands trying to take bites of the food before it was set. That always got him a chaste whack to the hand.

For a while, Healy would come too. It would be all of you sharing a meal after work. Eventually Healy didn't come as often. He had other arrangements on Fridays. So, it would just be you, Holly, and Holland.

Tonight was different. Holly was sitting at the counter, swiveling in her chair. The two of you were talking about school and whether or not she was excited about the next year. Her answers were less vague than they used to be— she was coming out of her shell around you.

When Holland came into the kitchen, he'd have to swear his brain turned off. There was just something about seeing his daughter comfortable with you. It was a glimpse back in time to what used to be. His heart broke a little when you told her a story about your 8th grade graduation. Holly threw her head back like a little kid and let out a big belly laugh.

He hadn't heard that laugh in over a year.

He walked up behind Holly, palm pressing against her back. He leaned over himself to press a kiss to the top of her head. "Hey, ladies."

Holland made his way around the counter top, acting on pure instinct. The floral pattered button up he was sporting was less buttoned than usual— with no glinting ring strung around his neck.

You look over to watch him advance towards you. The scent of aftershave and pine filled your senses. It was unmistakably Holland, earthy and cozy. His hair was damp like he'd just gotten out of the shower.

"Hey, dad." She muses, leaning over to grab a piece of pepper you'd cut up.

Holland wraps his arm around your shoulders like he'd done it a hundred times. The warmth of him instantly bleeds into your skin. The proximity makes your pulse jump, throat working around a swallow. You fit perfectly against his side when he pulls you into his side.

Then, he presses his lips to your temple.

It's gentle. Loving.

Holly watches the interaction, expression falling. She blinks. Almost like she couldn't even begin to believe what she'd just witnessed.

"How are my girls?" He questions as he pulls back, a genuine smile gracing his face.

You look up at him in disbelief. Holland had never been so affectionate— especially in front of Holly. You were used to winks and side hugs when leaving. Or the occasional thumb swiping across your cheek if you'd wiped flour on yourself by accident. This was uncharted territory.

"We're fine." Your voice comes out heavier than you intended it to. "Uh, tacos are almost ready."

"Smells good." He nods, thumb rubbing a circle into your shoulder. When he finally drops his arm away, he looks over the both of you with a small smile on his face.

The smile doesn't last long.

Holly stands from the chair, offense clear in her eyes. "Where's your ring?"

Holland's head snaps to his daughter, her harsh tone startling him. His ring? His hand goes to his neck, finding only the neckline of his undershirt. He wasn't wearing his ring.

He splutters for a second. "Honey, it's just upstairs. I took it off to shower—"

"You're never supposed to take it off!" Her voice rises, hurt fraying her tone. It sounds like there's something in her throat. Like the words are physically painful for her to speak.

She turns and stomps off, her hands going to her face before turning the corner.

Holland stands there absolutely stunned. His jaw is hanging open, eyes wide, and palms facing upward like he'd just gotten smacked.

You didn't even need to be observant to know what that was about. A dull ache forms in your chest for Holly. She must feel betrayed— like her father was replacing her mother with you. And that's not your intention at all.

With a flick of your wrist, you turn the stove knob down.

"What the hell was that about?" He questions, turning to look at you.

"Go talk to her." You breathe, glancing in the direction she ran off in.

Holland bites his lower lip, hands taking purchase on his hips. "I don't understand. I just forgot to—"

"Holland."

He quiets at the serious tone of your voice.

You watch as his shoulders deflate, slouching in on himself. A somber expression takes over his face. You can see the gears turning in his mind, replaying exactly what happened.

"She's sad." Your words come out soft. Almost gentle. Like he's fragile and you're horrified of breaking him. "You should go talk to her."

Holland absorbs your words.

He lets them sink into his skin and roll around in his mind. Finally, he nods.

"Alright." He shakes his head, reluctantly turning on his heel and following in Holly's footsteps.

Your palm flattens over your chest, trying to soothe the ruminating ache. There was no way you could imagine just what she was feeling. You weren't in her mind.

Minutes pass.

Or, what feels like minutes.

Your fingers drum against the counter top. Anxiety starts to creep up your throat. There's a second where you think it would be best to leave.

Then you hear it.

The unmistakable muffled sound of Holly shouting 'I hate you'. You flinch. Your eyes close and a sigh leaves your lips, head dipping down. This was not how you envisioned your Friday night going.

Glancing at the half prepared chicken tacos, you give leaving some extra thought. That's what's probably best. To do it quietly, maybe make up their plates before you do so. But you were probably the last person Holly wanted to be near.

You're about to grab your purse. It's hanging right on the edge of the counter chair. It almost glows like an exit sign.

Holland sulks back into the kitchen. He looks like a smaller version of himself. Slouched shoulders, trudging steps, and gaze tilted to the floor. Your name falls from his lips like a plea.

A curse enters your mind.

Then, you get a good look at him. His eyes are glassy like he's about to cry.

One thing about Holland that most people don't know: he values his daughter's opinion more than anyone. Losing his wife was terrible. But if he even thought Holly had a negative view of him? His whole world shattered.

"I don't understand." His voice sounds paper-thin. There's a lost look in his eyes, like he was a second away from falling off a cliff. It broke your heart.

"Hey." You murmur, motioning for him to come over. Moving around the counter, you tentatively step towards him.

"She... she.." He clears his throat, head turning away to blink roughly. Try to stop the tears that threatened to fall. "Am I bad dad?"

A frown tugs at your mouth.

"No." You say quickly, shaking your head. Certainty drips from your lips like honeysuckle. "She doesn't mean that, March."

His gaze stays on the ground.

He blinks hardly.

"She does." He whispers.

You want to hug him and slap him at the same time. Once he gets an idea into his head—good or bad—he's a damn bull. Too stubborn to avoid tunnel vision.

Is this even your place?

It's not like he's your boyfriend or anything— though those professional lines have been blurring. And that kiss definitely meant something. But do you even have any place here? If anything aren't you just his kinda-situationship?

Maybe it was best to have left.

But now you're here.

And you feel like you're being ripped in half knowing some of your favorite people in the world are hurting.

So, you outstretch your arms and motion for him to come in.

Holland accepts. He walks slowly towards you, arms snaking around your waist. His nose gets buried into the crook of your neck. Little droplets land on your skin. Your arms wraparound his back and give him a gentle squeeze.

Silence envelopes the two of you.

There's a moment where you just let Holland soak up your embrace. He shakes a little, sniffling to hold back the mess of tears that threatened to fall.

"You're doing your best." You whisper, voice barely audible. "Kids don't come with manuals, right? Even the best of the best make mistakes."

Holland slumps against you. Like a giant dog jumping onto your lap, thinking he's smaller than he actually is.

"Mhm." He mumbles, pulling away from you to wipe at his face. His movements were quick— like you'd suddenly burned him. Or he realized he was leaning on you and got embarrassed.

"You're a good dad." Veneration wraps your words. "Say it."

Holland huffs. "I'm a good dad."

"Little louder. Like you mean it." You offer a gentle smile, rubbing at his arms for motivation.

Despite his saddened expression, the ghost of a smile twitches at the corner of his mouth. "I'm a good dad."

"There he is." You murmur, chest warming a little.

Holland wipes at his eyes with his wrist. He blinks and gazes down at you. Eyes hazy, he looks like a kicked puppy.

"I still don't know what I did to make her..." He trails off, cutting himself off with a sigh.

There's a moment of silence as you try to gather your thoughts.

There wasn't any good way to say this. Especially since you and Holland weren't together.

"I think she's feeling a little betrayed." There's a softness to your words. "You usually wear your ring. Tonight, you didn't. And these past few weeks I've been coming over to cook for guy—"

"I don't see why that means—"

"Let me finish." Your correction is gentle, keeping your voice calm.

Holland closes his mouth. He nods and mumbles an apology.

"She might think you're replacing her mother." You opt to get straight to your point, trying to cushion the blow with your tone. "Having me here, cooking for you guys. You even kissed me tonight, Holland."

For the first time ever, he's quiet.

"I know that's not your intention." You watch for his response, trying to see how he was taking your words. "But she doesn't. She sees me doing things her mom did— and that makes her feel some kind of way."

Holland darts his tongue out to wet his lower lip. His head twitches in a half-nod, like he's barely able to move anything. Like he's frozen.

Silence settles.

It's the uncomfortable kind of silence. The kind that worms into your ribs and presses against the walls of your bones, stabbing at your lungs when it tries to make space for itself.

Holland sighs.

"What should I do?" He asks gently, puppy eyes boring into yours.

"Give her some space. Then listen to her." You raise a brow at him. "Really listen to her. Then talk with her."

"Okay."

You tuck some of your hair behind your ear. "I'm gonna.. uh, get out of your hair. I feel like I've outstayed my welcome." A soft chuckle leaves your lips. "Dinner's ready. All you've gotta do is assemble the tacos."

Holland's brows furrow, taking in your words. "No." It tumbles from his mouth quickly, hands jutting out to grasp at your wrist. But he drops his hands, teeth sinking into his lips. "You... you could never overstay your welcome here."

Your heart flutters at his words. "I know." You offer a smile to reassure him. "But I think it's best for Holly to be alone with just you."

Holland eventually accepts it. That was what was logical, after all. You were always right about things like this.

"Okay." He scratches the back of his neck. "Thank you... for everything tonight. I'll see you in the office tomorrow?"

You nod, turning to collect your purse. "You will."

Holland follows after, gingerly grabbing your coat and handing it over to you. He watches you slip yourself into it. There's something stirring in his chest. Something he hadn't given much thought to.

He did kiss you. Pressed his lips to your temple like it was nothing. Called you his. He wasn't sure what that meant. Though, he knew he'd have to dissect it to know.

The two of you walk towards the front door. He opens it for you, standing at the threshold to make sure you get to your car okay.

"Have a good night, March." You say with a small smile, waving your fingers at him.

He does the same. "Yeah. You too."

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You nearly sobbed (you should be asking him that), but choked back the sound by pressing your nose into his shoulder. In many ways, Ryland continuously reminded you that regardless of the situations he found himself in, he gave up his comfort (and his physical body) to help. He was a constant string of sacrifices, an endless loop of giving. 

It made an ugly feeling strike through your gut. When was the last time he asked for something in return? 

Closing your eyes, you sunk deeper into Ryland’s hold and hoped to convey wordlessly that he could hold you the way he needed to. That he could hold you tight; grip you selfishly.  

The seconds ticked by, and the awkward silence that had settled over the ship began to morph into something softer. You realised that Rocky was also in the room, but hadn’t made a single sound. Not even his translator echoed mechanically in the air, asking questions.

Ryland quietly cleared his throat. “Did you want to—uh, talk… about it?” 

His question was followed by his thumb rubbing a small crescent into your back. You turned your head to press your cheek against Ryland’s shoulder, gaze idly running along the floor. 

“No,” you murmured. “But thanks for asking.” 

Ryland nodded his head, exhaling through his nose. After a short moment, you felt his cheek press against the side of your head. 

You couldn’t say when the two of you began to sway, but, at some point, your heart rates had synced with one another, beating in tandem while your bodies rocked side to side. There wasn’t any music to accompany you; you weren’t sharing a romantic dance.

Your lips briefly twitched with a faint smile as you imagined Rocky asking you about it. 

Why Grace and Y/N move to side on repeat. Question. 

You weren’t good with numbers or molecular biology like Ryland, but you knew a lot about the human body. And you knew that people rocked themselves when they needed comfort. Maybe Eridians did something similar? You’d explain it to the overly enthusiastic alien, but the thought left you when Ryland moved his hand up your back, palm splayed against your spine.

“This is nice,” Ryland whispered.

You hummed, and tears crowded the edges of your vision. 

“Same time tomorrow?”

You let out a wet giggle, muffling it into his shirt. 

Ryland let out a soft huff, his smile trailing after his breath and hidden from view.

--------------------------------------------------

thank you for reading, God bless <3

“You’re staring at me.” You announced groggily, eyes still closed yet your boyfriend’s gaze burned into your skull; piercing through bone and settling in your frontal lobe.

“What are you gonna do, sue me?” His response coerced you into slowly opening your eyes, lashes fluttering elegantly as you did so. “I don’t know how good the legal representation is here.”

His voice was gruff, but he looked wide-awake, all bright-eyed and ready for the day ahead. His glasses sat askew on his nose, loving eyes peering over them; his fox cardigan was pulled over the top of his clothes, indicating that he’d likely been on a walk already.

Instinctively, you shuffled closer to him; laying your hand against his chest, head eagerly coming to meet its placement. Your leg lifted over his body to cage him in and shove him further onto the other side of the bed, a motion provoked by the feeling of being far too close to the edge on your own side.

All of a sudden, you felt yourself tumbling onto the floor — taking Ryland with you as your body thumped off the ground, causing Ryland to let out a yelp from underneath you. His hands shot to your hips, steadying you on top of him so you wouldn’t continue rolling across the harsh-floor.

“I forgot about that.” You admitted embarrassingly, feeling how Ryland’s hands now caressed up and down your hips to your waist, smiling up at you before he cocked an eyebrow.

“You forgot about the best night of your life?”

You laughed at his outburst, hands coming to playfully steal his glasses from his nose to which he protested, a small pout playing at his lips as you held them above your head — swinging them like a pendulum, enticing him to come and get them.

“Oh, you break the bed once and now you’re mr cocky, is that it?” You teased, narrowing your eyes while you looked down at him, watching as his expression twisted into something you rarely saw from him; a confident kind of mischief.

A few moments passed between the two of you as cogs seemed to turn inside Ryland’s head.

“No.” He spoke simply with a shrug, shooting upwards to sit you in his lap; hands coming to harshly tug at the bottom of your thighs to pull you closer to him. He bit down on his bottom lip at the friction, letting out a brief noise of struggle.

A small yelp left your lips, followed by a giggle as you settled into his lap; watching how he leaned in closer, eyes scanning all over your face.

“Technically, it’s Dr.” He smiled cockily, bringing a hand to travel up your arms to retrieve his glasses, settling them back onto the bridge of his nose as he pushed them up with a single finger.

Before you could get too carried away, there was a hurried knocking on the door — causing Ryland to gently lift you off him, standing up tall and kindly offering you a hand to get up aswell.

Fearing his already-inflated ego, you swatted his hand away jokingly whilst rolling your eyes, scrambling up from the floor as Ryland left the room for a moment, coming back in with Rocky trailing just behind him in his xenonite ball.

“Good morning, humans of Erid!” Rocky announced energetically, clicking his claws. “Grace come to me early, say needed fix—“ He seemed to trail off as he noticed the odd-silhouette of the bed with his limited vision, unnaturally caving to one side, sheets and pillows now discarded over the floor.

Ryland wasn’t paying too much attention to Rocky, only staring at you with a knowing look that made you nervous, knees almost buckling with desire.

“I see problem.” Rocky sounded out, rolling over towards the broken bed, seemingly inspecting the break. “This is made of Eridian strongest material. How this happen, question? Eridians made to withstand great force!” He continued, turning back in his ball to face you.

You suddenly felt scrutinised by the alien, feeling like you’d just been accused of a heinous Eridian crime you didn’t know existed — and Ryland was no help, his previous cocky demeanour shifted into a wave of apprehension and embarrassment when Rocky began questioning the ‘how?’ of the situation.

Immediately, a smirk fell on your face noticing how Ryland turned sheepish, an idea popping into your head to tease him even further for his ego-fuelled activities from minutes before.

“Well Rocky.” You began, crouching down to match his height as your hands steadied themselves against your knee caps ready to explain the whole process to the unsuspecting alien.

You practically felt Ryland freezing up beside you, the air in the room shifting.

“Sometimes when two humans love eachother very much, they get this feeling.” You looked to Grace for a moment, watching as he seemed to turn red in the face, silently begging for you to stop; but you wanted to see how far you could take it.

“Feeling!” Rocky repeated in confirmation, evidence that he was hanging on every word.

“It’s a very strong feeling, an urge to—“

“Can you just fix it? Rocky. Please.” Ryland sounded out urgently, his hands coming to gesture aimlessly in the air, before his hand came to aggressively press against his forehead in frustration.

A smug expression overcame your features, standing up proudly with your hands firmly pressed against your hips in a sassy stance as you turned to Ryland.

“Grace have attitude problem! Grace need human-sleep-box fixing. Maybe then will be nice to Rocky.” The alien seemed to grumble, begrudgingly following behind Grace on his adventure of apologetically picking up the discarded sheets and pillows.

You smiled obnoxiously at the two, leaning against the wall whilst letting out a pleasant sigh of contentment as your plan had worked.

Although, Ryland didn’t allow much room for you to revel in the blissful, prideful moment — immediately tossing a pillow to bounce off your chest, softly falling to the floor as he mouthed sarcastically.

‘Oops!’

That morning on your way to work, you unfortunately found yourself in the middle of a massive attack in town. A monster the size of a two-story house, appeared out of nowhere on your commute. Out of fight, flight, or freeze, you froze when the monster ran towards you. Completely froze. The gigantic creature’s claws swooped right at you, but your feet might as well have been made of lead. Closing your eyes, you braced for impact, and tensed every muscle in your body. 

The impact never came. Instead, you opened up your eyes to the city street far below you. Superman made it just in time, wrapping you in his arms and flying you away from the scene at lightning speed. As quickly as he picked you up, he placed you back down on a rooftop nearby. “T-thank you,” you stuttered between panicked breaths. 

His voice was deep and calm as he spoke. “Sit down, and take some deep breaths. You’re safe, now.” Superman flashed his signature grin before he flew back down to finish off the creature. That smile has stuck with you ever since; the pictures of him don’t do it justice.

You snap out of your thoughts and run over to open the balcony door. The balcony isn’t in total ruin.  He narrowly missed the glass pane table during his crash landing. Two of your flower pots, however, were not so lucky. Dirt and shards of pottery cover the floor. Not to mention the concrete beneath him is cracked. 

This is not the Superman you typically see close up on TV, or the one that saved you two weeks ago. Right now, his suit is covered in dust, dirt, and who knows what else. Cuts of various depths and sizes cover the skin of his face. Instead of that bright smile, he grimaces with a busted bottom lip as he clutches at his side.

“Superman? Are you—are you okay?” It’s a stupid question. You realize that the moment it slips out of your mouth, but what else are you supposed to say?

He coughs to clear his throat. “Peachy,” he rasps. You walk closer to him, avoiding the pottery pieces to kneel at his side. Pain paints over his face as he moves his head to look at you. “Sorry about the pots. I’ll, uh, get you some new ones.”

“Don’t worry about that—what on earth happened?” For Superman to be this banged up, it must have been a major incident.

“Metahuman—a very strong one. Packed one heck of a punch,” he winces as he shifts to sit up. “I got some good blows before it launched me. The justice gang’s got it from here.”

“Here, let me help you inside.” You offer him your hand, and try to lift the very tall hero to his feet. Once he’s up, you throw his arm over your shoulder and direct him inside. “You know, it’s kinda funny. This is like a total role reversal,” you ramble as you both step over the threshold into your living room. 

“What do you mean?” he asks, stumbling onto the couch as soon as he reaches it. 

“Oh! You rescued me two weeks ago—from that giant monster thing in midtown. I thought I was going to get shredded by its claws, but you saved me just in time.” Heat grows in your cheeks as you retell the story. 

“Gosh, yeah. I remember you—Sorry I never caught your name. I was kinda in a rush,” he smiles. Although his bottom lip is completely busted, he still has that same smile, dimples prominent as ever. You try not to dwell on the fact he remembers you, but a small grin slips past your lips at his words. 

There’s a small lull before you speak again. “Can I do anything to help you? At least clean you up a bit until you feel strong enough to leave?”

“I don’t want to intrude—” He moves to sit up straighter on the couch, ignoring the pain in his side.  “I’ll get out of your hair in just a couple of minutes—” 

“I really insist,” you interrupt. “It’s the least I can do. You quite literally saved my life.” He lets out a deep exhale, before nodding in agreement. “Do you need me to help you up again?” A chuckle leaves his lips. It’s quick. Easy to miss.

“I think I can manage,” he replies. In the next moment, he’s up. “Where do you want me?”

“My first aid kit is in the kitchen,” you say, motioning towards that direction. 

“Don’t people normally keep those in the bathroom?”

“My horrible knife skills made me move it. I’ve cut my hand more times than I can count,” you explain. Superman follows you as you step into the kitchen. You grab one of your barstools and place it beside the kitchen sink, before opening a cabinet to grab the first aid kit. “Okay, you sit on the barstool, and I’m going to get a washcloth really quick,” you direct before walking down the hallway to the bathroom.

He does as he’s told, sitting down on the stool. He takes in your apartment, looking at the pictures you have on the wall, and the way you’ve decorated the place. It’s only a few moments before you return with the wash cloth in hand. 

You turn on the water faucet to wash your hands before you get started. “I know you have healing abilities or… whatever, but cleaning you up can’t hurt right?” The interlude in conversation is killing you a little bit. “Well, it might sting a little” you trail off, lathering soap in your palms. 

“I heal from the sun. It’s why I’m not healing right now. No sun, and the moon doesn’t have enough sunlight to work,” he elaborates sheepishly. He’s not used to this much conversation while being in the suit, let alone having a stranger help him instead of the other way around.

“So you’ll be completely better as soon as the sun comes up?” you ask as you reach for a paper towel to dry your hands.

“Pretty much, especially since this isn’t that bad.” 

You finally turn towards him with a pensive look on your face. His height will make this a challenge to actually reach his face. Even while sitting down, he’s practically looming over you. “Um—can you reach under and press the paddle thing? On the bottom of the stool?”

“Oh, sure,” he responds. He reaches for the wrong side at first before he finds the lever. When he presses it, the stool lowers quickly, catching him off guard. 

“There. That’s much better.” You’re at eye-level with him, now. The brighter lights in the kitchen illuminate the damage on his face. A bruise begins to bloom on his left cheek, and the gashes look much worse than you originally thought. “Man—if you’re this rough I can’t imagine the other guy,” you marvel.

Superman laughs again, but this time it’s louder than before; a deep belly laugh, which is followed by a wince as he grabs his side. He knows his ribs are bruised. The pain isn’t sharp enough for them to be broken. He recovers the conversation quickly. “Trust me, he’s much worse. This is nothing,” he insists. 

A comfortable silence develops between the two of you. Turning back to the side, you wet the rag under the warm water and squeeze out the excess to start on him. The dirt is what you tackle first. Careful of the gashes, you wipe away the dirt covering his skin, rinsing out the rag between every few passes. His eyebrows are caked with dirt and blood, taking multiple passes to get clean.

You reach up to hold his head gently, directing him to lean his head back so you can get the grime off of his neck, too. Superman’s glad you can’t hear his heart pounding inside of his chest. Butterflies form in his stomach at your touch on his skin. Your hands are so careful with him, like you could hurt him more somehow.

“So what do you normally do when you get beat up like this? I’m assuming crashing into apartments isn’t a regular thing for you,” you ask, breaking the silence. 

“I’m not beat up. The other guy is beat up,” he counters.

“Sorry—sorry. What do you do when you get… slightly wounded like this?”

His throat bobs before he responds. “Uh—let’s just say I have a place to go to when it gets bad. like I said earlier I can get out of your hair if you need me to—I can probably fly now with no problem.”

Immediately, you hold the side of his face between both of your palms and tilt his head down to meet your eyes. “This isn’t a bother. I would tell you if it was.” He nods, gaze diverting to the ground. Your hands leave his face to rinse the rag again. “Okay— I’m going to start on the actual cuts now. This will probably sting.”

The gash on his forehead catches your eye first. It extends all the way from his temple to his hairline; The wound is deep, concerningly deep. With brows furrowing in concentration, you wipe along the wound, getting off the dirt and dried up blood. “Sorry,” you whisper, seeing him grit his teeth together. 

The longer this goes on, the harder Superman finds it to ignore how pretty you are. Your genuine care for him, and how your eyes search over his face is not something he’s ever experienced before. When he’s at the Daily Planet, he blends into the background, and when he’s Superman, he’s more focused on other people than caring for himself

If he’s honest, he’s thought about you quite a lot since that day. After disposing of the monster, he went back up to the rooftop to check on you, but you were already gone. He assumed within a couple more weeks he would forget about you. Fate had other plans. Ones that included crash landing at your apartment.

Your voice interrupts his train of thought. “Are you sure you don’t need stitches for something like this? Or at least steri-strips? It’s a really deep cut, and it’s still oozing a little bit of blood.” You step back for a moment, reaching back to the med kit on the counter. “I think I have some in here—“

Superman catches your wrist, halting your movements before you start digging through the supplies. The action is simple, gentle even, but you can’t ignore the sheer strength of him. If you wanted to break free from his grasp, you wouldn’t be able to. “I promise I’ll be fine. I don’t want you to waste them on me,” he asserts, letting go of your wrist. You miss the feeling of his hands on you the moment it’s gone. 

His eyes overwhelm you. Such a deep blue color that you could drown just by looking into them. It feels like he can see right through you. Sighing deeply, “If you say so, Superman,” you quip, getting back to the task. 

He has another cut along his cheek. This one is not as deep as the gash on his forehead, so it won’t take as long. You repeat the same motions, wetting the rag, squeezing it out, and cleaning off the dried blood and dirt from around the cut. As you work, his dark, long eyelashes flutter against his cheeks, making perfect contrast with his blue eyes.  

“So, how did you end up in the middle of that mess a couple weeks ago?” He asks. It’s the first time he’s initiated conversation since getting here. 

“Well, it’s a boring answer. I was heading to work. I picked up the shift from one of my coworkers so she could go to a doctor’s appointment. Just my luck.” 

“Getting to be saved by Superman is pretty good luck though—not everyone can brag about that,” he says through a smile. 

“You know what? That’s a good point. I was telling people about it all week long,” you confess. After a few more passes, you finish the cleaning cut on his cheek. All you have left is the area you’ve been dreading the most, his busted bottom lip.

Superman has no idea where to look, especially not when your eyes focus so keenly on his lips. The rag brushing against his lip should hurt, but he’s too distracted to really feel the pain. He doesn't mean to listen in so closely, but he does. The sound of your heart pounding in your chest resounds in his ears, much faster than it was ten minutes ago. 

Meanwhile, you're doing everything in your power to avoid eye contact, keeping your gaze focused on the task. You’re close to him. Probably too close. Every breath he takes hits your skin. The dried blood on his lip is particularly stubborn. You turn the facet to be warmer, hoping the temperature change will help.  

His leg bounces steadily while you press the near hot cloth against his lip. The nervous energy has to escape him somehow, especially since he can’t mumble his way through conversation. 

Finally, you pull the rag away, toss it in the sink, and turn off the water. You don’t move other than that, standing between his parted legs. “There. All finished,” you whisper. He stays leaned forward, eyes locked into yours. He doesn’t dare move back. The tension is palpable, so thick you can barely breathe. You’re not sure if you’re imagining the way his eyes flicker to your lips and back your eyes. 

The magnetic pull towards him becomes unbearable, eating at you from the inside out. All the inhibition you have left is wearing thin. Screw it. You fall forward, pressing a soft, chaste kiss to his mouth. The pressure against his lips is light, not wanting to hurt him. You pull away from him quicker than you leaned in to kiss him.

Your eyes are wide, like you’re shocked at your own actions. “Shit—I don’t know why I did that. I’m so sorry. That was so not cool of me to do—“ 

Superman doesn’t let you finish your sentence. He replies by kissing you back—hard. The last thing on his mind is his busted lip. It might as well be healed with how he’s kissing you. Both of his hands wrap around your waist and tug you to him, moving you with hardly any effort. Within seconds, he’s on his feet, causing you to stumble backwards. The barstool falls to the floor and you gasp at the loud clatter. Taking the opportunity, he presses his tongue into your mouth to deepen the kiss. 

With nowhere else to move, you walk backwards. Superman mirrors your every step until you run into the wall behind you. Leaning down, his hands slide to the back of your thighs, and he lifts you. His body is all encompassing, completely overwhelming you. The only thing that stops your head from hitting hard against the wall is his hand cupping it. Your hands travel to his hair, threading into his dark curls, while your legs wrap around his waist.

He kisses you in a way that tilts the world on its axis.The act is messy. His hands are all over you. Respectful, but still all over you. One of his hands grips your thigh tight. Tight enough to bruise. With his other hand, he holds your side, and inadvertently nudges up your shirt in the process. Rough and callused fingertips clutch your bare skin.

He licks into your mouth, tongue pressing against yours. The kiss is messy. His lips slotted between yours. You both alternate between who gets the bottom lip. If his busted lip was hurting, you wouldn't know from the pressure against your mouth. A faint taste of iron hits your tastebuds when his saliva mixes with yours. 

Overwhelmed, you break away for a moment. You don’t risk looking into his eyes, burying your face in his shoulder instead. Superman is sensitive. That’s clear to you the second your lips touch his neck. His hand tightens on your hip as his head falls back. The action exposes more skin for you to kiss. “Jeez Louise—" he pants. He can’t remember the last time he’s felt anything like this. Your lips are hot against his skin as you mouth all over him. 

You’re only stopped from going lower by the collar of his suit. When you suck at his pulse point, he groans. Loudly. The wanton noise should embarrass him, but he’s lost the ability to care. His heart hammers in his chest, pulse throbbing under your tongue. Your hands tug gently at his curls. The soft noises he lets out only encourage you to pull harder. You feel the vibrations in his throat from all the moans he’s holding back.

There’s a voice of reason in his head trying to convince him to stop, or at the very least slow down. He tangles a hand into your hair and pulls you back from his neck, while his other hand cups your face. Your pupils are huge, completely darkened in comparison to before. Looking at him with wide eyes, you pant through your parted mouth, desperately trying to catch your breath. 

Without thinking, his thumb moves from where it rests on your cheek. The digit runs across your bottom lip that was now covered in his spit and swollen. He’s on the verge of speaking before you move.

It’s too close for you to resist. You open your mouth and wrap your lips around his thumb as you take it deeper. He's completely exasperated. “Oh my goodness.” His pupils dilate as your tongue presses against the pad of his thumb. The moment doesn’t last long. The way his eyes bore into you makes you lose nerve fast. 

After you release his thumb from your mouth, you start examining his suit closely. Your hands slide down his frame, touching at his sides. You can’t feel any of his skin, the tough fabric prevents that. The separation is driving you crazy. You want to touch him. You want to feel his skin. "How do you—how do you get this suit off?” you ask hazily. 

He pauses, dead in his tracks. The gravity of the situation is catching up to him all too quickly before he sets your back down. “I-I really don’t think this is a good idea—we shouldn’t—I shouldn’t.” He takes a small step back from you with his hands held up in surrender like he had done something wrong. 

“Why not?” You don’t mean for your voice to sound so desperate, but he’s awoken something in you. His chest aches at the sound of your voice. 

“B-because I’m Superman. I rescued you  like two weeks ago…” he stammers. He takes a moment to rub his temples in an attempt to relieve the building stress. “This has to be an inappropriate power dynamic,” he sighs. “It just wouldn’t be right.”

“I’m a fully grown adult if that’s what you’re worried about,” you contend.

“That’s—“ he pauses and huffs, almost frustrated. “No that’s not the issue here.”

“Superman’s not allowed to have some fun every once in a while?” You tread lightly, taking small strides to close the distance. This time, you corner him against the counter and tilt your head to meet his eyes. Your hand falls to his abdomen, wandering dangerously close to the part of him that’s aching, that’s been aching ever since your lips touched his.

“Gosh—you’re making this really hard,” he gulps, voice almost pained. It's taking all of the strength he has in him to resist. More strength than he used to fight the meta human earlier

“Yeah, I can tell,” you taunt, glancing down to the fabric of his trunks. 

“Not like that!” he protests, eyes going wide with bashfulness. His presses his eyes closed as he pinches the bridge of his nose 

“Please? I don’t kiss and tell if that’s your concern. I won’t run off to the daily planet to tell everyone,” you continue.

“I just— I don't want to take advantage…” he begins to argue, but you’re not having it. Your hand trails from his abdomen to palm him over the trunks, placing enough pressure to make him gasp. 

“Please? I’ll be good,” you beg. Superman’s last bit of resolve disintegrates at those words. 

“Shoot. Gosh. O-okay. There’s uh—a zipper in the back.”

“I was expecting something more elaborate than that,” you giggle. You reach for his hand, interlacing his fingers with yours. Nerves pulsing in your skin, you guide him down the hallway to your bedroom. He looks at you longingly as you stand in front of the bed, which only makes your nerves worse. “You wanna turn around?” you ask. 

“Oh! Yeah. Yes,” he stutters. Without a word, his hands reach up to detach the cape from his suit. When he turns around, you spot the zipper running down the middle of the suit. As you unzip it, the broad muscles of his back come into view. His creamy skin is covered with bruises from the fight. You allow your hands to explore the expanse of his back. The rigid muscle of his shoulder blades tense under your touch. 

When you take your hands off of him, he instantly turns back around. He begins the task of getting the rest of the suit off. He’s not off to a great start, nearly falling over while pulling his boots off. You help him with the rest of it, tugging the fabric down his body, and onto the floor. 

Entranced by the newly exposed skin, your hands roam over his chest. The suit hides most of his muscle definition. Superman melts into your touch. He can’t remember the last time anyone traced over his skin with such reverence. Your fingers are careful not to apply too much pressure over any of the bruises. You smile when you notice the goosebumps rising on his skin. 

A particular bruise stands out to you, right below his pec over a rib. It’s already a dark purple, despite the fight being less than an hour ago. Your head moves before you can think, pressing your lips gently over the bruise. Almost as if a kiss would make it better. 

Superman’s almost convinced it does make it better.  His mind is racing. He’s never done anything like this before, ribs aching in his chest, lip throbbing. He pushes the feeling down, much like he pushes your sweatpants down. 

The adrenaline takes over for him. He steps towards you again and leans down to attach his lips to your neck. He’s practically making out with your neck. Indulging in the taste of your skin as his tongue glides against your carotid artery. A whine leaves your lips. 

You overwhelm his senses. He can feel your heart pump under his tongue. He can taste the salt on your skin. He can hear the blood traveling through your veins. All the while, he’s touching you like you might disappear. A hand in your hair. Around your waist. Cupping your cheek.

It’s not long before his mouth trails up your neck, to your cheek, and lands back on your mouth. Superman kisses you like he’s starving. Like he’s been poisoned, and you’re the only antidote that can save him. It’s so messy—spit threatening to drip off of your lips. 

You exchange groans and moans between each other as he lays you down softly on the bed. When he breaks the kiss, the look of desire in his eyes almost melts you into a puddle. His gaze examines you, looking at the skin of your legs he couldn’t see before. 

Now that he’s out of the suit, you’re finally able to get a good look at him. He’s in a pair of black boxer briefs. They hug his skin, showing off his strong thighs. His happy trail catches your eye. Dark black hair disappears underneath the band of his underwear. He’s broad. The way he’s standing in front of you while you’re laid back on the bed should be daunting. His abdomen is taut, but he’s not obnoxiously ripped.

You're still in a shirt and underwear, laying back on the bed. “I- I don't think I can handle much more of the staring,” you mumble. Superman doesn’t say anything, not at first. Instead, his hand skims the hem of your shirt, pushing it up to reveal the waistband of your underwear.

His eyes, while blown out and dark, are comforting. You feel safe under his gaze. “Can I—“ he pauses, fighting the voice on his shoulder telling him this is a bad idea. “Can I touch you?” He’s trying to keep eye contact, but his eyes keep flickering back and forth from your eyes, to the damp spot on your underwear. His breathing picks up at the sight of it. Your legs spread wide for him, knowing exactly what he’s looking at.

You nod your head eagerly. “Want you to touch me.” 

He begins over your underwear, finger dipping just enough under the elastic waist to make it snap lightly against your skin. “These are pretty,” he says, looking back up at you.The underwear is from a multipack you bought at Walmart, not exactly what one would typically describe as pretty.

You stifle a laugh, “Funny joke.”

“I’m being serious.” His eyes are locked on the space between your legs as he traces down your slit. You take in a sharp breath as he finds your clit through the fabric and presses gently. “The pattern on them is pretty—I like them.”

His finger drifts lower. “You’re so wet,” he mumbles as he reaches the damp spot. “You’ve soaked through these.” His voice is one of awe, like he’s surprised he warrants this much of a reaction. He presses a fingertip over your entrance through the fabric. The action grows the size of the darkened fabric. Superman’s eyes flicker to yours for a brief moment, and the heat in your cheeks increases by tenfold. 

“Can I take them off?” You answer the question for him, lifting your hips and pushing the fabric hastily down your legs. The urgency brings a smile to his face. “Eager?” he asks.You nod, not trusting your voice to answer. He helps you pull them all the way down and off your ankles before discarding them to the side of the bed. “Scoot back for me,” he mutters.

Clumsily, you move back on the mattress, leaning against the pillows on your headboard. You watch him through hooded eyes as he sinks to his knees on the bed, before resting on his chest between your legs. His body just barely fits on the mattress. 

Both of his hands rest on one of your thighs, engulfing your skin in his grip. His calloused thumbs rub gentle circles into your thigh as he watches for any signs of discomfort. When he finds none, he guides your legs to spread open. The act is incredibly vulnerable, especially with the way his gaze dissects you. 

Without thinking, your legs close, or at least try to close. “Don’t need to be shy with me,” he whispers, voice thick with desire. Superman keeps your thighs spread open, letting him take in the sight of you in front of him. “Pretty here too,” he mumbles. It’s quiet enough that it probably isn’t meant for you to hear, but you do. Loud and clear. 

The comment makes your cheeks burn with embarrassment. Your hands reach up instinctively to cover your face, muffling your voice as you speak. “You can’t just say stuff like that.” His deep chuckle doesn’t help calm the fire burning on your skin. 

“M’just telling the truth,” he remarks. “Take your hands off your face.” You listen, stomach feeling warm at the command.

One of his hands slides up your inner thigh, making you shiver at the touch. In the next moment, he takes his thumb and spreads your folds, looking like he's about to devour you whole. If you didn’t know any better, you would think he’s going to do just that. He breathes in sharply when he sees the wetness at your entrance, threatening to drip down onto the sheets.

He removes his thumb, only to let his pointer finger slide through your folds. The touch is featherlight, sending electricity through your veins when he nudges your clit before stilling at your entrance. His bright blue eyes dart back up to you. “Need to stretch you out a little bit… is that okay?” he asks, voice gentle.

The words weigh on you for a moment. Stretch you out. Evidently you weren’t hallucinating the massive bulge in his boxers. Still, you nod eagerly, “Y-yeah. Mhm.”

He circles around your entrance first, collecting the wetness on his finger. He watches your face as he eases his middle finger into you slowly. Even just one finger causes all the muscles in your body to tense as you whimper. Meeting resistance, he eases back out before trying to sink deeper into you. “Relax for me.” His head rests against your thigh, curls splaying on your skin. The sight is enough to send another pulse through you. His gaze is caring, bordering on full adoration. 

You relax enough for him to sink deeper into you. He’s slow and careful, pressing in all the way until his knuckle. You pulse around him when he, just as slowly, pulls his finger back out to the tip. He watches your little gasps. The way that your hips grind ever so slightly with each thrust of his finger. He’s not in a rush, letting the rhythm of the slow steady strokes continue for a couple of minutes. It’s obvious the goal right now isn’t to get you off. He’s prepping you for him. 

“Can I add another?”

“You can do whatever you want,” you whine.

“Careful, sweetheart. You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into,” he warns. 

“You’re Superman—I trust you.”

His heart tightens in his chest. You trust him. The voice deep down screams at him to stop, that he shouldn’t be doing something so depraved, but your voice is louder. His pointer finger easily joins his middle finger inside of you. 

It’s the rare time he takes his eyes off of your face. He’s too entranced by the way your entrance accommodates the stretch. “Wish you could see this. Taking it so well.” His face is concentrated, and the movement of his fingers is intentional. He doesn’t rush for a single second, slowly working you to take both fingers as deep as he can press them inside of you. 

When the tip of his ring finger slips into you, you feel the stretch. The movement is unhurried, letting you take him in at your own pace. Your head lulls back into the mattress. “Oh, God,” you whimper as all three fingers fully sink into you. 

His head still rests against your thigh as he watches your reaction. “That’s it… there you go…” he coddles before turning his head to press a sloppy kiss against your thigh. Now that he’s managed to fit three fingers inside of you, his goal shifts again. He needs to make you fall apart. 

He sets a pace with his hand, not too fast, and not too slow. You whimper, the sound desperate. Rolling your hips against him, you reach down to hold his other arm. You need a touch to ground you. “I know, baby. I know,” he whispers. There’s not an ounce of condescension in his words. 

You jolt when his fingers stroke against a specific spot. He grins wide. “There it is,” he says under his breath. “That’s the spot isn’t it?” When you don’t immediately reply, he continues. “Talk to me, baby. Is that where it feels good?”

“Y-yeah—yeah. Feels s’good. R-really good.”

He curls his fingers to nudge against the spot repeatedly, and your reaction is instantaneous. You buck against him, but his strong arms keep you from moving away from the stimulation. “Can feel you pulsing around me. Doing so good f’me.” Once his thumb drifts to circle over your clit, you’re done for.

Your orgasm hits you like a freight train as your head falls back against the pillows. Your hips spasm in his grip, muscles tensing with pleasure, Superman continues pistoning in and out of you throughout the waves. You’re too distracted to notice his own hips grinding against the mattress.

He slows down the pace of his fingers as your orgasm fades. He lifts his head from your thigh to place a chaste kiss to your pulsing clit, before he finally removes his fingers from you. You whimper at the loss. 

He stands again at the foot of the bed, looking down at his hand and spreading his fingers . Superman’s fingers glisten in the dim light of your bedroom, strings of slick between them. He doesn’t give it a second thought before he pushes his fingers into his mouth to clean them off. He’s confident with it. The way he licks them clean like it’s no big deal almost makes you mad. Key word, almost.

“Oh my God,” your jaw drops.

His eyebrows raise as he pops the fingers out of his mouth. “What is it?” he asks. If you didn’t know better, you would think this was an act. 

“You just—“ your eyes flicker to his hand that’s now damp with saliva.

“Oh—golly. M’sorry if that was—weird.” Superman is shy in front of you. Actually shy. The blush scattered over his cheeks and nose grows more vivid by the second.

“Don’t apologize. I think that’s one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen,” you reassure him. He’s within arms reach, so you grab his hand and pull his body closer to the bed. Looking up at him with wide eyes, you palm him through his boxers. His length is solid underneath your hand. He chokes back a groan at the pressure, head falling back.

When you take away your hand, his eyes are instantly back on you. You reach down to the hem of your shirt to tug it off of your skin. Your sports bra follows quickly afterwards. He gets starry eyed the second he sees the skin

He lets a gentle hand cup your breast, thumb tracing over your nipple. Slowly, he trails feather light finger from the base of your collarbone, all the way down to your nipple. Goosebumps rise in the wake of his finger. It’s almost like he’s forgotten where he is—how hard he is right now. He’d be content enough to stand here and study you if you’d let him. 

His lips follow the trail of goosebumps, leaving sloppy kisses over your skin. He takes your nipple into his mouth, letting his tongue swirl around it while his other hand grasps your other breast. Your hands tangle into his messy black hair as his mouth works on your chest. When you think he’s finished, he switches to your other breast instead.

You tug on his hair, trying to get him to stand back up. He takes the hint, giving your nipple a slight graze of his teeth before standing. Both of your hands press against his abs. “Wanna see you, too,” you plea. There’s no care in the way he strips his underwear off of his body, leaving himself bare to you. 

You can’t hide the way your eyes widen in shock. “You’re really big…” you mutter breathlessly without even thinking. The words tumble out of your mouth, and it;s much too late to take them back. 

He turns red. Tomato red. You’ve seen him a million times on tv in the midst of battle, soaked with sweat and blood. Yet, you’ve never seen him as flushed as he is in front of you. His hair, usually so put together and styled, sticks up in all directions from your hands running through it. His curls become more prominent from the sweat of his skin. 

“I’m sorry. We don’t have to do anything—we can stop.”

“No, no! I didn’t say that, I just—never taken anything like that before.” He’s trying, really trying to not lose his mind at your words. You're not making it easy. 

“I’ll be gentle—say the word and I’ll stop. The last thing I want to do is hurt you.” He doesn’t move immediately, and you can basically see the gears turning in his head. “Do you have any condoms?”

“Shit, uh—no.” “But I’m on birth control if—if that’s okay with you?”

He gulps, Adam’s apple bobbing. He knows what the answer should be. He should scramble to put back on his suit and fly back over to his apartment to grab the sealed box of condoms that have been collecting dust in his drawer. It would take less than five minutes to make it there and back. 

Patience is not his strong suit. Especially when you’re laid out in front of him like this, with your thighs spread wide. He watches how you pulse around nothing. He can hear how your blood pulses, rushing down to your core. He tries to calm down, but the pure desire drips off of him as he speaks. “That’s fine with me.”

He strokes himself a few times, precum leaking from his tip. He kneels on the bed between your legs. His free hand softly lands on your knee, thumbing your skin. He’s staring at your entrance like he’s trying to figure out how he’s going to make this work. Your voice interrupts his thoughts. 

“Um.” You push yourself up a little bit on your elbows. “I’m realizing I don’t even know what to call you… I can’t call you Superman while you’re inside me, that’s just weird.”

The bluntness of your words makes him cough on the saliva collected in his mouth. “Goodness, uh,” he stutters, stopping the movement of his hand on his dick. He’s breaking all kinds of rules right now, so why not another? Lex’s video already published it to the world. 

“Call me Kal-El,”

“Kal-El?”

“Y-yeah.” He hasn’t heard another person call him that before. It lights a fire in his stomach.

“Okay. Please, Kal-el. Want you.”

His eye contact is too much. Way too much. His gaze somehow makes you feel more naked. The feeling in your stomach from his beautiful eyes looking into yours grows to be too much. When he lines himself up, nudging at your entrance, you let your gaze fall to the ceiling. Without missing a beat, his hand grasps your jaw, capturing your chin between his thumb and fingers. His palm rests on the front of your neck. The grip is gentle. He’s barely applying any pressure. He tilts your chin. “Keep looking at me.”

“O-Okay.”

You’re glad he makes you look, because the sight of him sinking into you is heavenly. He’s gorgeous. His eyelids flutter for half at second, and his mouth falls open. The groan that leaves his mouth is downright sinful, and causes you to pulse around him. You gasp at the intrusion.

He moves slowly, filling you up inch by inch. Kal-El’s hips jolt, accidentally pushing in faster than he meant. You wince at the stretch, letting your nails dig into his back. 

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he mumbles. As if to prove his apology, he presses kisses all over your face, before moving to your hairline, and then your forehead. The action is so incredibly affectionate, making your heart tighten in your chest. 

It’s around the half way point when you really start to struggle with his size. 

“Shit—so much. Too much—”

“Shh—you can take it. It’ll fit,” he coos. One of his hands comes up to stroke your side to soothe you. “Breathe, baby. Take a deep breath for me, yeah? Let me in.” He praises you the second you steady your breathing, taking one large breath to calm yourself down. “That’s it. Can I keep going? I can stop if you need me to.”

The idea of stopping nearly sends you into panic mode. “No, no—no. Please, don’t stop. Want more.” Your hands grab at his back, trying to keep you as close as possible. He twitches inside of you at your words. It’s clear that you’re struggling to take him, but you want more. You want to make him fit. 

“O-Okay sweetheart. Calm down. M’not going anywhere.” He kisses you to keep you distracted while he eases himself into you, urging you to open up for him. “Being so good for me,” he mumbles in between kisses. His hand engulfs your neck, wrapping around it to hold your jaw and keep your lips on his. 

Your nails claw into his back when he bottoms out inside of you, scratching down his skin. It’s almost too much, like you’re nearly being split in half. “Kal-El—fuck. Oh, fuck. You’re so deep. Oh my god.”

“I know baby—” His eyes are closed tight above you. It’s clear he’s holding back, and it’s taking everything in him to do so. “Golly, you feel so good. So warm. Gosh, gosh, gosh,” he rambles. 

When he finally opens his eyes and sees you underneath him, the expression on your face melts him on the spot. Your eyes water at the stretch. The sight shouldn’t stroke the fire in his stomach, but it does. He did this to you. Taking your face in his hand, his thumb swipes away the tears that escaped your eyes. He leans down to press soft kisses to your lips, swallowing every sound you make.

“Did so good, baby. I’ll wait as long as you need me to wait,” he mutters against your mouth. His lips drop down to press at your neck. The kisses are sloppy, mostly his tongue licking at your skin, tasting the salt that’s accumulated there. The care in his words makes you dizzy, and him sucking into your neck doesn’t make you feel any less lightheaded.

He sticks to his word, not moving an inch inside of you. At least five minutes have passed before you speak up. “You can—you can move. Please move.”

The pace he sets is just as slow as he moved his fingers earlier. He doesn’t want to do too much too quickly. The ache fades the more he grinds into you, pleasure replacing it. Kal-El’s blue eyes remain on you, looking for any sign that he needs to stop. 

Every stroke of his cock inside of you sends stars across your vision.  “Feel you—feel you in my stomach—” you whine. You look down through glassy eyes at the sight of your bodies connecting. Seeing just how thick he is between your legs makes you whimper.  Your gaze is drawn elsewhere, though. It’s slight, oh so slight, but you can see it. The subtle bulge right above your mound that moves with every thrust. “Kal, look—” you whimper. 

He leans back onto his knees, no longer hovering over you like before. It makes the bulge even more visible this way, with your ankles wrapped around his back. “Jeez—goodness sake—” He’s completely speechless, watching the way it becomes more prominent the deeper he thrusts. 

Your hand moves, slipping between your bodies before resting over the bulge. When you press down, you feel him moving from the outside. Fireworks explode across your vision. Heat bubbles in your veins. You can barely breathe. 

“S-See?”

“Yeah—” he swallows. “I see it, baby.”

You want him to feel it, not just see it. Grabbing his hand from where it holds onto your thigh, you move it to rest over the spot. He groans deeply. Desperately. He presses down, hard, grinding his hips to thrust against the top of your walls. “Feel so full—s’full,” you gasp, barely able to get the words out.”

“Shh—I know. Taking it like you’re made for it.” You nod your head at that. Like you want that. Like you want to be made for him.

“D-do you like that? Like the idea of that?”

“Please—please, please, please,” you beg. You’re not sure what for, but Kal-El moves like he knows. 

“I’ll give you what you need, baby.” He unwraps a leg from around his waist and throws it over his shoulder. You gasp at the change in angle, and your hands grab at his skin. His thrusts become slow and calculated, like he’s teasing you. In actuality? He’s trying to hold himself together, because he knows the sooner he cums, the sooner this whole thing ends. The last thing he wants is for this moment with you to end because he can’t control himself. 

Kal-El watches as you fight the pleasure growing in your belly. He counters this by finding your clit with his thumb. While his thrusts are gentle, his thumb circles your bud at a pace so fast your head spins. “Let go, baby. Let go for me,” he encourages. The heat bubbles in your stomach, releasing through your veins as your orgasm hits you. Your body shudders with each wave of pleasure. You murmur his name over and over again like it’s the only work you know.

He stops circling your clit, but he doesn’t stop the pace of his hips. Your leg falls from his shoulder as he presses his forehead against you. He cages you in with his body, forearms at the side of your head holding him up. Your legs wrap tightly around his waist, trying to get him as close as possible. 

“So pretty. So gosh dang pretty,” he moans. Your eyes are weepy and red. Your swollen lips are covered in spit. Sweat collects on your forehead... But gosh, you’ve never looked more pretty to him. Completely coming undone for him. Being so vulnerable with him. 

People aren't vulnerable with him, especially not as Superman. Though, you have no problem showing him your weaknesses, showing him the spots that make your eyes roll into the back of your head. You're more than happy to show him your achilles heel if it means you get to stay in this haze for a little while longer. 

He’s getting close, dangerously close. His thrusts grow erratic and powerful. The force behind them jolts you in the bed. You’ve reached the point of pure overstimulation. Broken whimpers and moans leave your lips. He wants to keep you grounded, to keep you focused on him. He grabs your hand, and pins it beside your head, fingers interlacing with yours. 

“Want you to cum again for me. You can do it, sweetheart. Know you can.” He’s moved on from thrusts to deep grinds. His pelvis nudges against your clit. You shake your head at his request.

“C-can’t. It’s too m-much,” you whine. He doesn’t let up on the pace, snapping his hips roughly against you. 

“Wanna see you cum for me one last time. So beautiful when you do. Please? Be good for me.” You sink into pleasure as your third orgasm overtakes you. Your cunt pulses around him, squeezing tight. You shake in his grasp, muscles completely out of your control

“Oh gosh, gonna—where can I—” 

“Inside—p-please,” you say in the most hazy, fucked out voice he’s ever heard. With a few more calculated thrusts, he spills inside of you. You whimper with every pulse of his cock inside of you. You cling onto him like a lifeline.

He falls against you, pressing every inch of his skin to yours. You’re almost asleep when speaks. “Gotta get you cleaned up. C’mon, sweetheart.” He’s lifting up off you, urging you to sit up. 

“Sleepy—Don’t wanna move,” you mutter, trying to hold onto his arm. You hear a faint chuckle above you. Kal-El takes matters into his own hands. He finds your bathroom, and brings a warm, wet rag to wipe between your legs and your thighs. You barely acknowledge the touch, drifting into a deep sleep.  The last thing you recall is the feeling of a shirt slipped over your head. 

The first time you wake up, it’s when the sun is just about to rise over the horizon. Your curtains are open. The light just starts to hit your face as your eyes flutter open. Around your waist, you feel the weight of his arm holding you close to his chest. He has you tightly against him, legs entangling with yours. You’re practically engulfed by his warmth. You let sleep take you once again, content to stay as long as possible in his arms. 

The next time you wake up, the curtain across from your bed is closed, and the space next to you has gone cold. It’s silly to feel disappointed, but you can’t help the frown on your face as you sit up in bed, trying to rub the tiredness out of your eyes. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you spot a neon sticky note pad on your nightstand. The writing on it is slightly messy, like he left in a rush. 

Unfortunately, Superman has a secret 9-5 job. I couldn’t bring myself to wake you up before I left… you looked too peaceful. Thank you for fixing me up the best you could. The sun finished the job this morning. See you around. 

-S

As usual, Clark finds himself very late to work four weeks later. Extremely late. He can’t even blame it on Superman. He just forgot to set his alarm. He decides to go to a bakery that opened up a couple months ago near the Daily Planet. If he’s going to be this late, he might as well bring donuts. 

He’s not paying much attention, reading the paper in his hands as he stands in line. He glances up when it’s finally his turn, and instantly becomes a deer in headlights when he sees you. It takes him way too long to remember the glasses—you have no idea who he is right now.

Despite his very awkward pause, you don’t lose the smile on your face. “Can I get you something?”

“Oh uh—hi yes. Can I get um—a dozen assorted donuts and…” Clark barely manages to pull himself together as he blabs out his, Jimmy, and Lois’s order from muscle memory.

“Of course! What’s the name for the order?”