My Mommy Issues Are Showing

Ryland Grace was an interesting guy.

From the first few weeks of settling in this school, you knew one thing: he was passionate in his job. Which was a refresher, when half of the staff inside this school loathe to work everyday.

You slip your hands inside the pockets of your pants, grabbing the familiar feeling of your phone. It was a Thursday. Thursdays were… okay. You had always thought it was more of a filler day for Friday.

You step outside, ready to end the day with laying on your bed until tomorrow pops up again. The first few days of teaching was fun. The first days were always full of motivation, and hope. And then the burnt out feeling settles in, making each day a slug to go through.

Through the corner of your eye, you spot a familiar figure.

That familiar dirty blonde, currently trying to get his bike out of the parking zone. He fiddles and pulls at the lock he had installed on his own bike.

You walk towards him, hands shoved in both pockets of your pants. Despite summer season, the wind had been incredibly cold.

“Stealing your own bike, Grace?”

He looks up.

“Yeah, seems like it,” he says.

He tries one last time, putting the key inside the little padlock once more, turns it, when he finally unlocks it. The chains dropping to the ground that was previously holding the bike.

“There we go,” he murmurs to no one in particular. Just to himself mostly. He always does that—talking to himself. It had always given him a sense of comfort.

He looks at you again, and stares. Just for a moment or two. He opens his lips, searching the depths of his brain on what topic to talk about.

“So, uh— how was your day today?”

“Not good,” a slight frown forms on your lips. “I have a mountful of essays to read and grade tonight.”

“Well, I, uh— can always lend a helping hand ” he smiles.

“Hm,” you nod.

“Well, I mean— only if you want to, of course. If you don't want my help, then that's fine. English is not my specialty anyways. I can just be your— I don't know, your little moral support—”

“Calm down, jesus,” you chuckle, “You're acting like you've wet your pants, or something.”

He scratches the back of his neck, one hand on his bike. “Yup. Sorry about that.” he gives you a stiff thumbs-up.

“Right,” you pursed your lips, “If I ever am in need of help… then I guess I'll send you a text.”

You take a lazy step back, already waving him goodbye.

“Wait!” he calls out.

You turn around, and he does not say anything instantly.

He blinks, like he wasn't really expecting you to stop.

“I— are you… busy tonight?” he asks, “Wait— yes. You are. That essay thing you have to grade, right—”

“Spit it out, Grace.”

He takes a deep breath—it was subtle, but you notice it. The way his chest slightly puffs up, and the way he goes slightly stiff when he took that breath.

“I was wondering if you want to eat me,” he says.

“Wait— no— eat with me. Yes. Not— you know… dinner—”

A laugh slips out before you even notice it yourself.

“Atleast buy me a drink first, Grace.”

“No— I swear to god, that's not what I meant.”

He runs a messy hand through his blonde hair, which was already messy in the first place.

“You know what? have a nice day, or evening. I'll just—” he then rushes to get on his bike, ready to leave.

“You didn't let me answer your question.”

“Huh?“ he looks up.

“So you're just going to assume I said no?” you take a step closer. Unconsciously, you tilt your head. Gaze going first to his little bicycle helmet, slightly lopsided. And the way his glasses was almost sliding down his nose.

“I mean… I didn't mean to assume, but—”

Your gaze then goes to his bike. You didn't even realize it was a two-seater one. You had to admit—it was a bit silly. An image pops up inside your head: Ryland Grace, riding a two-seater bike all alone.

“You ride your bike with your friends?”

His gaze goes to the empty seat behind him. “Ah,” he clicks his tongue. He shifts slightly, balancing the bicycle with his feet on the ground. “This bike was just a hand-me-down from my uncle. But yeah, no. I don't have… friends. To ride it with. And uh… I don't really want to spend money to get a normal one. So, yeah.” he shrugs.

You nod. “Where are we going to eat?” you ask.

He blinks, slightly caught off-guard. Then a small smile rises from his lips.

“Do you like chinese takeout?”

“Sure.” you shrug.

“Well, um, get on. If… you want to eat. With me.” he says, accentuating the with.

He bites the inside of his cheek. “I don't have a helmet for you, sorry. I didn't really plan this through—”

“It's quite alright.” The bike shifts slightly as you get on, grabbing on his shoulders for support.

He goes stiff. Every muscle and vein in his body. You feel it on your fingers.

“I— um—” he stutters for a second, before he visibly collects himself.

“You should wear the helmet.” he says. He turns around, just enough as he removes it from his head. “I'm not a bad driver—promise! this is just for precautions. I mean, you wear protective goggles and gloves inside the laboratory at school, even though there are almost no harmful chemicals there, you know? you can never be too careful.”

You chuckle. “Well, what about you?”

“I'll be alright.”

You felt his cold fingers brush against your ears as he puts the bicycle helmet on top of your head. It was a bit too large. His fingers then moved to secure it, tightening it—but not too tight to the point it was uncomfortable.

“Is that okay?” he asks, a whisper.

You nod.

“Right.” he clears his throat, realizing rhe proximity and the situation he's in right now. He immediately pulls away, hands going back to the handlebar of the bike.

But you don't miss the way his fingers flex when he had pulled away.

—

The humid air hits your face immediately. Followed by the sound of sizzles and pans moving around.

Ryland chooses a booth near a window. He sits across from you.

“Do you come here often?” you ask. Your eyes then go to the menu that is on the table. You grab it, feeling the laminated surface of it on your fingers.

“Yeah, I do. An embarrassingly frequent amount of times,” he replies, grabbing the other menu adjacent to yours.

A small child that looks to be atleast 14 years old comes to the table, holding a small notepad and pen in hand. Turns out he was the waiter.

“Oh— uh,” you swallow, you have not finished reading the whole menu yet. Your gaze lands onto the noodles. “I'll just… get the classic stir fried noodles.”

“Great choice.” Ryland smiles. “I'll get the chinese soup dumplings.”

The child nods, and goes back to the back.

You quickly assess your surroundings. It was quite quaint, not alot of people were occupying the seats. And the flashing neon red sign of the restaurant's name was etched inside your mind. Chinese letters you couldn't quite read.

“So,” your gaze lands back at the man infront of you. “A science teacher, hm?”

He shrugs. “I just love science, I guess.”

“Did you always want to become a science teacher?”

He thinks for a second or two, clasping his hands that was resting on the table. “No. But I'm glad that I became one.”

You nod, eyes slightly narrowing. “So I assume you had a job prior to this?”

“Jeez, is this an interrogation?”

You chuckle. “Maybe it is.” you shrug.

“I was um… a Molecular biologist.”

“Fancy words,” you raise a brow, “So… you have a PhD then?”

“Uh— yeah. Which is, you know… everyone can get a PhD.” he shrugs.

“So they call you Dr. Grace?” you wag your brows teasingly.

He chuckles, shaking his head at that. “I would prefer if you don't call me that.” yet the smile on his lips was the exact opposite of his words.

“Fine, fine.” you lean back slightly, raising your hands in mock defeat.

The waiter comes back, setting down two glasses of water, then leaves.

It was Ryland's turn to ask. “How about you? anything I need to know?”

You shrug, reaching for the glass of water. The cold hits your fingers immediately. “I'm an open book. Ask away.”

“An English teacher, hm?” he leans in, eyes narrowed beneath those glasses he wore.

“What?” you pull your lips away from the glass of water, setting it down on the table. “English is fun.”

“It is. It certainly is.” he nods. “Okay, but well… you know— I don't want to pry, but…”

“Oh come on, Grace—”

He sighed at his own rambling. “What did you do before becoming a teacher?”

You freeze at that. For a moment, your eyes blink, staring right at Ryland.

He opens his mouth, quickly realizing the look on your face. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't had asked—”

“No, no. It's fine, uh—” you couldn't quite find the right words to explain it to him. Your eyes lands to the table, tracing the dark lines etched onto the very wood itself.

“Yeah, uh—” you swallow, looking up. “Just… planes and stuffs. Aeronautics. Yeah.”

“Really?” his eyes slightly light up at that.

You nod.

“Yeah… I flew.” you say, “Well, I don't have wings. I fly planes, before.” you say.

A deep sensation of something moving around settles inside your stomach. A white lie. That's it. It was true—you did fly, but not planes. But to space. And you really didn't know why you didn't want him to know the full truth. It was still too raw. Flashes of memories come alive, like you were reliving it all over again.

At first, you see Earth, but you weren't on Earth per se, but you were in space. You were looking out the window, the blue planet visible from above. Then you turn and look at your fellow crewmates, floating around inside the spaceship.

And then it all became blurry. Then it unblurs, and you were seeing flashing red lights. And something pulling you, instinctively you grab onto a chair. You look down, and the hatch was opened. Things were flying out and into the vacuum of space. You mentally count your crewmates, 1… 2…

Two.

Someone was missing.

“Hey.” someone calls out.

You snap out of it, and turn towards the sound. It was Ryland. And right now, the worry was etched onto his very face fight now.

“You okay?” he asks, voice going soft.

You look around. It was still the same Chinese restaurant you were in. Then you turn your eyes back at him again.

“Yeah, sorry.” you murmur.

“You sure? you… stared into space for a second there.”

You chuckle at that. Ryland doesn't even realize the unintentional pun he had said.

“…Yeah. I'm fine.” you give him a smile.

It doesn't convince him, but he lays down on it for now.

His shoulders deflates as he nods. “Right.”

“Yeah,” you scratch the back of your neck. “Right. uh, planes.” you clear your throat. “I did fly them before, yeah. Worked at a random airline, and…” then you shrug. Because there was no airline. Unless you didn't know that NASA was counted as one.

“And then the transition to the English Teacher?” Ryland chuckles slightly.

You smile. “Now you're getting it.”

The waiter comes back with two steaming hot food. Settles it on the table.

You look at the food, and then to Ryland. An involuntary smile rises from your lips.

He wasn't so bad.

—

Fridays were always your favorite.

The class room was empty as you type away on your laptop. Golden light of the afternoon spilling inside.

You do notice the absence of Ryland today. Usually he would take a peek inside your classroom, or invite you to have lunch during the twenty minute break in between classes. But today… it was like he had vanished.

The whole staring thing yesterday… it probably drove him away. You tense up, the possibility of driving another person away from your life… it clenches deep at your heart.

You pull your laptop shut. You just have to continue this back at the apartment. You slide it easily inside your backpack, and swing it around one shoulder. It was muscle memory at this point.

You step outside, and look at the empty hallways. It was eerily quiet.

You turn your gaze to the classroom where Ryland always teaches. And then you walk towards it, heart beating fast with each step that takes you closer to it.

You open the door, expecting fully for him to be sitting on that chair, gaze deep into his laptop. Or maybe, he was grading papers again, with that little stamp he always uses.

But he wasn't there.

You step closer to his desk. You reach out for the cabinet under, pulling it.

There was a single black whiteboard marker. And the stamp he uses.

You grab it, inspecting it thoroughly. You still remember the day when he was using it. It was so clear in your mind.

You hear cars pull up towards the front entrance of the school. Instinctively you tucked the stamp inside your pockets. It was weird, yes, you knew that. You'd bring it back to Ryland when you see him again.

And you realize it. Maybe you were just overthinking things? what if he just got sick?

You quickly make your way outside the school. You feel a droplet to your forehead. You look up, and clouds were already starting to form.

You hurry your pace.

“Wait.” someone calls out.

You freeze instantly. You don't need to turn around to know that voice.

“It's been a long time.”

You begrudgingly turn around, just to confirm who it was.

Ginger—no, almost like a blonde color hair. Like Ryland's. Then that voice, it was smooth. Like it held all the authority in the world.

Eve Stratt.

He remembers brilliant golden hair and the light glinting off a pair of glasses— Grace. Ryland Grace, that was his name. Simon’s savior, his rescuer, the one who pulled him out of hell. 

He rolls onto his side and winces, remembering his ribs, and glances around, trying to figure out what’s happened. He’s still in the medical bay.

Simon twitches, noting that there are blankets piled up on top of him. A lot of blankets, actually, he’s almost bordering on too hot, but right now the warmth is comforting. 

It hits him in a wave that he is actually warm, and he has slept longer than he can remember sleeping in years. Simon curls in on himself, trying to memorize this feeling, to remember how it feels to be cocooned in this warmth that is nothing like the Iron Lung, that comforts and shelters instead of oppresses.

The pain is still there, but… it feels less sharp, somehow. It’s dulled, faded a bit. 

Simon lifts his head a little bit, and looks around again. He feels a bit more lucid. The medical bay is lit dimly, the lights low and orange-warm, and— there, in the bed beside him.

Grace is draped along the length of the bed, lying on his side facing Simon, his head pillowed on one arm, the other arm dangling over empty space like he had been sitting on the bed and ended up slumped sideways. He is fast asleep. His glasses dangle precariously off his face.

Simon watches him for a moment, curious. 

Ryland Grace is of an average height, his golden hair ferociously tousled, and a day or two’s stubble speckles his chin and cheeks. He is still wearing that bright flight suit, but it’s half-unzipped, the sleeves knotted around his waist.

Underneath is a short-sleeve shirt adorned with the emblem Simon had noticed on his suit earlier. It is white and has red trim and the colors are bright, unfaded, and if Simon tilts his head he can just make out the text -JECT HAIL M- on the emblem, now that his head isn’t spinning quite so badly. 

He stayed. Grace stayed and watched over him while he was delirious, made sure he was alright. Simon… doesn’t know how to feel about that.

He frowns, thinking. He needs to get the black box back to the COI. He has to earn his freedom, and then— and then he doesn’t know. The COI won’t trust him, and he won’t go back to Eden.

He can’t. 

There’s nowhere else to go. That’s the problem. He has to pick one.

…there is another option, the darker part of himself whispers.

Stay, heal up, take advantage of Grace’s good will as long as he can. Then when he’s stronger take over the ship and try to carve out a life for himself. (And pray that whatever group Grace represents will not miss him).

Unbidden, the image rises to the forefront of Simon’s mind of him taking a knife to the golden-haired man sleeping so naively beside him. It would be so easy— step close, quick and quiet, a hand over the mouth, two quick strokes of the knife to sever the jugular vein and he bleeds out without even waking up. 

Something gives an ugly jolt in Simon’s gut and he feels a little sick. No, no, he can’t, he won’t, no way, not now.

He slumps back onto the pillow, disgusted with himself. This man has been nothing but merciful, given him everything, and that is his first instinct.

Simon grits his teeth, ignoring the pain in his nose. (Maybe it would have been better if he’d died in the attempt to get the black box back to the Consolidation. Maybe Ava was right.)

He cannot help but wonder if whatever god Eden insists exists is truly merciful and waiting for them, or if something out there is just toying with them all. It gets harder and harder every day to have faith in a deity that has never done anything for you except cause pain, and Simon’s faith died that day on Filament Station.

But… somehow in the infinite dark Grace had found him. Someone had found him who decided they cared. (He doesn’t deserve any of this, not really. Not him.) 

Simon realizes that he is still wearing his boots. In bed. Reluctantly, he pulls the blankets off, loathe to let go of the warmth, and forces himself to sit upright, then to swing his legs over the edge of the bed. His head is spinning, but he takes a deep breath and pushes up into a standing position.

It’s second-nature at this point to move quietly, and he makes next to no sound as he moves toward what seems to be the door. He doesn’t make it far, though. His legs are shaking from the exertion, his joints beginning to ache, and he feels weak, and tired, and the pain is worse, and he’s feeling more and more sick by the moment. 

He falls to his knees and retches. Nothing happens, he hasn’t eaten in far too long, but he dry heaves anyway, unable to stop it, the burning in the back of his throat making everything worse. From behind him there’s a noise. 

Grace flails up from the bed, awake all at once, and disappears for a moment as he falls off the other side of the bed. He pops back up immediately, adjusting his glasses.

“I’m up!” he says, before noticing Simon on the floor.

Grace hurries over to him, immediately a flurry of movement. Simon shrinks away from the attention.

“…s-sorry—“ he forces out, voice rusty again from disuse, and waits for Grace to be angry or— something. 

The man kneels down beside him and lays a gentle hand on his shoulder, and despite the care he takes Simon can’t stop the automatic flinch. Grace doesn’t react, and for that Simon is absurdly grateful, because his hand feels like a burst of electricity and a hot water bottle at the same time, its presence comforting.

Grace is talking. “—it’s okay, you’re still recovering, you gotta take it pretty easy. C’mon, let’s get you back to bed—“ 

Simon shakes his head, immediately curling away from Grace’s hand. “N-no, it’s—“

How does he explain that this is too much, that he can’t do this anymore? He feels dirty, unclean.

He’s getting dirt and engine grease on Grace’s floors. To his surprise, the other man doesn’t argue. 

Instead, Grace asks, “Can I touch you? I need to check your temperature.”

Simon looks up and sees him sitting, waiting for an answer.

…he is so tired. Simon nods faintly, letting himself surrender to the care of this baffling stranger just once more. 

Grace feels his forehead carefully and nods. “Good, okay, yay! Your fever’s broken. It was very scary for about twelve hours there. But if you’ve cooled down, that’s progress.”

Simon stares at him, wondering when the other shoe will drop. When will Grace realize where he came from, what he is? When will he realize he’s sharing medical supplies with a convict, with the Butcher of all people? 

But no, the other man doesn’t seem to be considering this at all.

Grace crosses his legs and tilts his head, frowning thoughtfully. “Is it something wrong with the bed?” he asks, and Simon is getting tired again. He is very tempted to just lay down here on the floor.

He shakes his head minutely. There’s nothing wrong with Grace, it’s him that’s the problem. As usual. He needs to get better, get out of here, and find somewhere to hide and live out his days until the food runs out and the last of humanity dies. 

…he has never heard of Grace before. Wait.

Simon frowns, confused. There are more humans left than it’s possible for someone to know personally, but not that many.

(Nine hundred and thirty eight, his brain supplies, like it has for the last four years. Nine hundred and thirty eight left).

People at least hear of each other, between Eden and the Consolidation it’s possible to hear every human’s name who’s left. He has never heard of a person named Ryland Grace before. 

Simon stares at Grace, who squirms a bit, clearly nervous. “…where did you come from?” he rasps.

Grace shrugs. “It’s— well, it’s complicated, and kind of a long story, but… the short version is that I’m from Earth.”

Simon looks down at the ground, gritting his teeth again. So it’s to be more bullshit made up stories. (Hold on, the voice in his head is telling him. Something still doesn’t add up.) “Y’know, if you’re gonna fuck with me, you should pick a lie ’s more believable.”

Even to his own ears he sounds more tired and desperate than angry. 

He doesn’t look up, but still his savior’s —savior, protector, goddamnit Simon you should have stayed quiet— voice is a little hurt. “I’m telling the truth. I came from Earth.”

Simon grates out, “The Earth is gone.” Why was it easier to get along with people when he was half-out of his mind from a concussion.

Grace fidgets. “Well, I really hope not, that’s kind of what I’m trying to prevent!”

He sighs, and stands, offering a hand. “Look, you’re still hurt. Please, can we get you somewhere more comfortable so I can check on… everything… and make sure you’re doing alright? Then maybe a shower and some food and we can talk.” 

Simon contemplates him for a moment, his brow furrowed. People have lied to him almost constantly since the day he got thrown in prison (and before that), so he’s gotten pretty good at knowing when someone isn’t telling the truth.

That’s the thing about Grace, he is being honest, or at least what he believes is honest. Simon curls his fingers tightly into the palm of his good hand. He can still feel the tingling sensation of warmth left behind by Grace’s hand in his. 

…he stayed. He stayed by Simon’s side to watch over him. He soothed him through a fever he can’t remember.

Simon exhales, and reaches out to take his hand again, trying to remember the way he felt last night. Grace helps him to his feet, and Simon lets him lead him like a lamb back to the bed. 

*** 

Grace is surprised by the fact that standing upright Simon is actually taller than he is. He’s also trying to clamp down on the urge to talk because his brain is going seven different directions at once. That or turn into a gibbering puddle on the floor.

He can’t do this. He cannot do this, he has no idea how to deal with this, what is he even doing, this is a terrible idea. 

He helps Simon sit down on the bed again and doesn’t miss how he winces in pain. The first thing he reaches for is the radiation scanner, because if Simon’s not shedding radiation anymore then that might mean Rocky can at least come say hi and Grace would feel a lot better if he had his friend here to keep him focused. 

Simon is clearly not okay, Grace thinks to himself as he gets the radiation sensor turned on. He’s scared, and defensive, and honestly all of that is very justified, but Grace doesn’t know how to cope with it and treat this man who comes from what seems to be an entirely different world.

He takes a breath and starts doing radiation scans, trying not to think about any of it, because if he does he’ll explode.

The sounds of Simon’s desperate begging are still ringing in his ears from last night. (Or, what passes for last night, by the ship’s clock. There’s no light outside to go by.)

His memories of his last days on earth are still indistinct, hazy as hell, but he can remember a bit of the emotion there, the visceral terror that had gripped him so suddenly. Something happened, and he can’t remember what, and that scares him. 

But he’s got to take care of Simon, and make sure he’s okay. That’s his objective right now.

Grace checks the radiation readings and allows himself a little fist pump. “Yes! You’re not shedding radiation anymore!”

He glances up over his glasses. “Would you be okay with meeting Rocky? He’s my… crew mate? Sort of? And he’s been really worried about us. He’s very sensitive to radiation, that’s why I’ve kept him away, but it should be safe now if you’re not actively shedding.” 

Simon narrows his eyes, in what Grace is rapidly coming to recognize as the face he makes when he’s weighing the cost of a decision. Eventually he nods slowly.

Grace grins. “Sweet. I’m going to go get him. Sorry, it’s— this has been a really long and stressful mission and we’re sort of shaken up lately, I’m not— it’s not going great, it’ll be— yeah, never mind.”

He shakes his head at himself, exasperated, and moves to leave, but pauses and looks back. “Oh, um— don’t freak out. I swear he’s friendly.” 

Grace mutters to himself under his breath, frustrated with himself, as he heads toward the cockpit, and Rocky meets him halfway there, already in his ball.

“New Human okay, question?”he asks.

Grace nods. “Yeah, he’s… well, he’s alive, and he’s not radioactive anymore, so. As good as can be expected, I guess. He’s still pretty sick.” 

Rocky tries to roll down the hall, but Grace sidesteps and blocks him quickly. “Hold on, bud, just— we gotta take it slow, okay? He’s kind of wary of like, everything, let’s try not to scare him.”

Rocky chirps. “Rocky can do that, statement. Want to make sure New Human is alright.”

Grace smiles softly. This alien cares so much about other people. He’s proud to call himself his friend. He nods. “Alright, let’s go say hello.” 

*** 

Simon is waiting on the bed, wondering what the hell is going on out there because it is suddenly loud. He doesn’t know of anyone named Rocky either, which means that wherever Grace came from, his crew mate is likely from the same place.

This whole ship is bizarre, to be honest, round and well-lit and large and far too clean, and also there is thunking coming from the hallway. It’s distracting him. What is that. 

He fiddles with the hem of the new shirt, wondering where it came from. This is too big for Grace to wear, he thinks— oh god what the hell.

There is a rumble and a crash and something large and clear and crystalline rolls through the doorway, bumps over the edge onto the slightly lower floor and comes to a stop a few feet away from him. 

Simon is on his feet before he gets a clear look at the thing, and he puts the bed between them automatically, leaning on it with one hand for support when his ribs start screaming at him.

Grace appears in the doorway a few seconds later, slightly out of breath, waving a hand. “Sorry, sorry, kinda ran away with him, these floors are weird and the centrifuge isn’t perfect.”

Simon stares at him for a moment, waiting for another crew member to appear, but no, it’s just Grace, and this… weird glass ball thing. 

A voice comes from the other side of the bed. “Hello, New Human.”

It’s flat, robotic, and a weird, trilling music is under the words.

Simon leans cautiously around the bed to take a better look at the glass ball thing. It sits still on the floor, not moving, and he frowns. What the hell.

Inside the ball— inside the ball is a thing that sort of looks like a spider, if a spider was about twenty times the size and made entirely of rocks. Simon blinks. 

It takes his brain a second to process what he’s looking at, but when it does he backs against the wall, not wanting to take his eyes off the thing in case it lunges at his face.

The odd creature lifts a —is that a leg?— and waves at him in a surprisingly human gesture. “You are doing better, question?” 

Simon finds a grip on one of the cabinets and shakes his head, struggling to stay upright. “No, no, ‘ve had enough, I want out, ‘ve had enough weird alien shit— please, don’t, I-I can’t—“

He doesn’t know what he’s trying to say, what he thinks he can do to get Grace’s attention and beg him to get him out of this weird situation

— it can’t be real, no way, this has to be a dream or something, because what do you mean there is an alien in a hamster ball sitting across the room from him and asking how he is?? 

Grace hurries into the room and over to him, making soothing motions with his hands. “Hey, it’s okay, Rocky’s not going to hurt you, I promise.”

He kneels down beside Simon and seemingly makes a move to reach out to him, but hesitates at the last second. “I-I don’t— I don’t know where I’d be without him, to be honest. I know you’re wary, that’s— that’s totally fair, especially after… that thing. But Rocky’s not like that, he’s like us, he’s an engineer.” 

Simon stares at him, then at the rock sitting there— watching them? Does it watch? Can it? It doesn’t have eyes.

Grace tilts his head. “Can we at least get you back on the bed? You’re really not better yet, you gotta take it easy.”

The rock rolls the ball over to the doorway and then settles down on its floor with all its limbs tucked up under it. “Rocky will stay here. Watch. Keep safe. Good. Grace fix.”

Simon frowns, severely confused. It hasn’t attacked him, though. He lets Grace tug him once more to the bed, but without thinking about it his fingers twitch toward the place where his knife sheathe should sit on his left shoulder. 

A spike of panic goes through him suddenly, and he reaches for the pouch at his belt. With fumbling fingers he opens it and pulls out the sheathe, and then from below it the pendant.

Simon exhales, his thumb automatically moving to stroke over the worn leather. Everything’s fine, both things are here, they’re not broken. It’s okay.

When they were discussing the retrieval, he’d unwrapped the pendant from his wrist and tucked it away at his belt, worried that it might get shattered if he left it out. 

He’s forgotten that there’s someone else —and a goddamn alien— in the room with him until he hears: “What that, question?”

Simon jumps, curling a hand protectively around the pendant and its precious seed while he glances at the alien. It has rolled a little closer, trilling softly, and he wonders how the thing can see when it has nothing even resembling a face.

It’s… sort of harmless looking, to be honest. It’s small, and there are elaborate engravings on its legs. Simon exhales shakily, weighing his options. 

He desperately does not want to talk about the Last Tree, or Eden, or any of it, and explaining this is a very easy way to end up there. He kind of wants to clam up and protect it…

but that’s not going to make Grace want to keep him around. He’s better off answering when asked, even when the question isn’t coming from Grace directly, at least not until he can figure out what the situation is here. 

Simon exhales, and uncurls his fingers from the pendant jerkily. “’s a seed,” he starts. “A seed off the Last Tree. ’S important.”

The alien —Rocky— rolls a little closer. “What mean by last, question? Grace, are trees dying from astrophage too, question?”

Simon is so confused.

Grace looks over at him, curious. “What do you mean by last tree?” 

Bracing one hand on the bed, Simon huffs, annoyed and in pain. “The Last Tree, the one Eden keeps— kept, the one that’s all we have left after all the planets fuckin’ disappeared, I don’t know how you don’t know this—“

He cuts himself off before his voice gets any louder. “Sorry. ’S… ’s pretty common knowledge.”

Grace is looking at him, over the rims of his glasses, like Simon is a bizarrely complicated question he wants answered, like a math problem he’s trying to figure out how to solve.

“Okay…” he says finally. “We need to talk. Like, fully talk. Because when I left—“

Grace laughs and it’s a little strained. “When I left earth, things were pretty bad, but we definitely still had trees.” 

Simon feels something hit him full force in the chest that is either disbelief or awe. Either the man who saved him is crazy or he’s telling the truth.

The possibility that he’s been toying with for years in prison appears unbidden, and he wonders again how likely it is that they were the ones to disappear, and not the universe. It didn’t… seem quite possible before, but there’s also an alien rock spider sitting five feet from him.

What he says, though, is closer to, “Umm…” 

TAG LIST! (HoLy ShIt there's fifty of you now! Fifty! How did this happen?!?)