peachy

If you were to ask Ryland Grace how he has been holding up two years, seven months, and sixteen days into his voyage to Erid, he’d tell you he has been doing fine and dandy, thank you very much! 

He’d un-suicided the suicide mission! And he’d tell you that he has really pulled together ways to pass the time in space in a healthy way. Take that, Earth scientists! He didn’t need the coma after all! 

He keeps a schedule. He wakes up around 7:00 am, starting every morning with a nice, fresh bowl of coma slurry–and yes, it’s just as appetizing as it sounds. Golly, does he miss the food that actually tastes like food and not crushed up aspirins. Even the baby food-esque goo from those first few days was pretty all right. Sometimes, you just don’t know what you have until it’s gone.

Breakfast, lunch, and dinner are swift endeavors, usually taken like shots. He’s starting to agree with the Eridians on not making a fuss about eating. The joy he’d gotten from eating had ended so long ago now. In fact, he’d investigated the possibility of an NG tube insertion to remove this hell entirely, but he is, admittedly, a bit nervous by the prospect of… all that, and has avoided it for the time being. Can you blame a guy for being a little squeamish? 

And, honestly, he’s not even sure if the NannyBot would insert one now that he’s awake. And if the NannyBot isn’t inserting the tube, then the tube isn’t happening.

Rocky has been working hard on making sure Grace would be more fluent in conversational Eridian by the time they reached Erid. Real Eridian, too. Not the broken, choppy version he’d grown accustomed to. No, Rocky had made it quite clear to his fellow companion that he’d been simplifying his sentences so it would be easier on Grace’s forgetful human brain. In other words, he was baby-talking to Grace for months. Figures.

When he wasn’t basking in the privilege of being the first human to ever get grammar lessons in an alien language consisting of chords and melodic tones, he found himself taking up meditation in the Don’t Go Crazy Room.

…Well, meditation is a bit of a stretch. More like lying around and activating the ocean simulation. He allots himself a much earned hour (at least) of horizontal time on the cool, metal floor of the ship, letting his eyes shut while the sound of the waves crashes around him. He’s been getting pretty skilled at the mental gymnastics required to pull off 100% immersion. One time, it worked so well he sat up and cried when he came back down to–well, not Earth. Interstellar space? 

Boo. Depressing. 

Both fortunately and unfortunately, Rocky’s no fool. Very few things can go undetected around the ship with this guy hanging around. He’s been able to sense how Grace’s mood has become a touch more despondent as the days tick on. He doesn’t totally get how to help most of the time, and Grace feels more than a little sorry for him. Even though he’s doing super great out here, he sometimes feels a little down. In fairness to his one and only crewmate, he’s done his best to prepare the engineer for the kind of toll this trip could have on the human psyche, really trying to impress the importance of why Earth had induced comas in the crew. Unfortunately, neither of them are psychologists, so Grace may have not been able to fully grasp the situation himself while he described it to Rocky.

Despite all that, Grace has been doing pretty well! Much better than he’d expected himself to be, if he’s honest. Things had really settled down on this journey. There were no more crises to be averted, no more races against the clock to save the stars; there’s just the steady, reliable daily grind.

He was doing great. So… so why….

Rocky was asleep, curled into his normal, rigid stance he takes when sleep comes for him. Grace had been watching, as he always does. Except, now he wasn’t, his eyes were wide and singularly fixated on the object he’d just rediscovered. It had been neatly and securely tucked away into one of the storage compartments under the dormitory floor. Its weight is heavy in his grasp, the metal cool to the touch. He turns it over in hands slowly, flinching as the light catches the metallic surface, shining directly into his eyes.

As if the trance had been broken, he recoils from the gun like it had burned him physically. He slams the floor panel shut, slumping on the floor, heart pounding in his chest, tongue feeling like cotton in his mouth. 

He runs his fingers through his hair, tugging firmly to stop thinking about that stupid thing–

“Calm down, Grace. Why are you so freaked out, anyway? You knew Yao’s gun was still here. It’s just been a while since you saw it last.” His eyes jam shut as he mutters the words to himself. The silence in the dormitory is deafening. All he can hear is the throbbing of his own heartbeat in his ears.

Deep breaths. How had he calmed his students down when they’d gotten overwhelmed? Let’s see… Measured breathing! That’s it! He tries to ignore the uncomfortable pang in his chest as he thinks about his class. Did they all survive? Statistically speaking–

Not helpful! 

He takes a deep, shuddering breath, feeling his lungs expand. He holds it for a couple seconds before letting it go. Repeating that seems to do the trick. He straightens up, lowering his hands from his abused locks of hair. He chances a glance at the floor panel only after he’s slowed his breathing.

Should he toss it? That’s the million dollar question. Considering the excessive reaction it caused him just now, he figures it’s probably not wise to have it laying around. Then again, he didn’t really grow up around guns. It’s no surprise it freaks him out. That’s probably why he had that kind of reaction.

Even so, as soon as Rocky wakes up, he’ll tell him about the gun, and they’ll handle it together. Just like they’ve handled everything else this wacky chapter of his life has thrown at them.

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So! 

He didn’t tell Rocky about the gun (so much for the togetherness sentiment). But that’s okay! Because, really, when you think about it, there’s a nonzero chance of them coming across some interstellar pirates of some kind. If Rocky had made him get rid of the gun, they’d be defenseless against potential threats.

Or something like that.

…Rocky knows something’s up. Of course.

“Why is Grace acting so strange?” 

The low, concerned voice and the double tap indicating a question cuts through Grace’s half-focus on the old movie they are watching. Rocky isn’t facing any direction – Eridians don’t “face” anything. But Grace thinks he looks like he’s facing him.

“I’m not, bud.” He tries not to sound defensive. Was he being weird? He’d been on his best behavior following the Incident, which he would probably categorize as a Non-Incident with how well he’s been compartmentalizing. “What makes you say that?” 

He doesn’t even really know what movie they were watching. They’d burned through all the Certified Ryland Grace Classics. Now they’re watching whatever sounds good in the moment. Currently, that would be a tacky old Western. Grace really has no interest in these films, but Rocky is absolutely enchanted. It’s kind of cute. One day, when he’s feeling brave enough to break this rock’s heart, he’ll tell him cowboys haven’t been around on Earth in a while. 

“Grace… seems different. Can’t explain, just a feeling.”

A hum rumbles in Grace’s chest as sits upright. Better nip this in the bud. Rocky tilts his carapace forward, clearly dedicating all of his attention to Grace. He’d abandoned the film entirely, which says a lot about how seriously Rocky is taking the conversation. Multitasking seems to come more naturally to Eridians than focusing their attention on one singular thing. Or, at least, that seems to be the case for Grace’s Eridian. Discomfort, sharp and prickly, rests under his skin. He eases it by hugging himself, rubbing the itch away.

“Well… Remember how I told you the trip to Erid could be a little hard on me?” His voice comes out softer than normal.

“Yes. I remember everything.”

 “Well, yeah. I know that. I’ve been doing okay, but some days are harder than others, I guess. Everything’s fine, and we’re in the home stretch. I’m just getting a little stir crazy.” A half-truth ought to satisfy his curious friend. He doesn’t want to say, ‘There’s a gun downstairs. It’s kind of weirding me out, but I can’t stop thinking about it.’

Rocky doesn’t seem convinced. “What does ‘stir crazy’ mean? Grace has never used these words together.” He taps his claws twice.

“Stir crazy? Oh, it means I’ve been in one space too long. It causes anxiety and restlessness.”

“Ah. Understand. Grace feels restless. Are human needs being met?” Tap tap.

“Uh, I mean… Generally speaking? Pretty much?” He rubs his arms a bit more firmly. The pressure feels nice.

At that, Rocky exudes a very “That’s BS” kind of vibe and probably has more to say on the matter (as per usual), but Grace rises to his feet with a groan, putting the conversation to bed for the time being. “I’m beat. Probably gonna hit the hay,” he stretches his arms above his head, sighing as a pleasant burn spreads through his muscles. “You watch?”

“Grace avoiding the conversation with strange Earth figure of speech…” Rocky chitters, something akin to a grumble. “But, it is late. Of course I watch. Don’t be stupid.”

Success! Grace grins, resting his hands on his hips as Rocky clumbers to his feet. He pats the top of the hamster ball in gratitude for letting this go for the night.

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Grace has decided to take up a new hobby. When Rocky would settle in for sleep, he would inspect the gun. Only because he knows nothing about them! He has all of Earth’s knowledge right at his fingertips, so why not put it to use? It’s time to demystify the unsettling elephant in the room.

He waits until he’s certain Rocky is really, truly asleep. It doesn’t take much to make sure. The Eridian sleep cycle is anything but subtle. 

And, for the record, Grace doesn’t consider himself to be suicidal. Not in the least. He sometimes just… examines a gun hidden in the floors. It’s a very normal thing to do. At first, he’d been terrified of the compact, powerful weapon. Afraid of what it could mean for him. But… it’s also beautiful, in a way.

It’s been a week or so since he’d started tapering off his food. In preparation of what’s to come, it’s important to get his body used to less caloric intake. He’s acutely aware that there’s a real chance the Eridians could fail to develop food safe for human consumption in time to save his life. The vitamins could be tricky to synthesize, he figures. And every time he thinks about it, his mind clinically supplies a laundry list of ailments waiting for him. He’s no medical doctor, but he’s got unfettered access to all of the knowledge humanity has ever compiled into the internet. It could be a slow, painful death.

And… well if push comes to shove, this isn’t that. 

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“Grace! Wake up!”

Grace jolts into an upright position, a plea for his life on his tongue, coughing and sputtering. He can’t breathe. His lungs burn with exertion, legs throbbing as he pushes his muscles to the limits of his athletic ability to escape. He can feel the blades of grass poking his face, the taste of iron and dirt on his tongue, the scent of damp earth suffocating him, the knee in his back forcing him to the ground. A beautiful, small rainbow streaks across the sky, something he used to love once upon a time.

But… he’s not there.

The white walls surrounding him are a sharp contrast to the fast fading memory of Earth’s landscape. The closest thing in the room to a natural feature on Earth is the rock hovering anxiously at his bedside, but the rocks on Earth typically don’t have five limbs and a computer for a brain. Rocky is as close as the hamster ball would let him be. One of his arms is raised, wanting to reach out. If Rocky had a face, Grace thinks he would have a comically worried, pinched expression. Or maybe that was him applying human traits to a nonhuman creature, once again.

Grace pants heavily, running shaky fingers through his damp, tousled locks, tugging his hair in a way that grounds him. 

Another dream. Of course. He lets out a breathless, shaky laugh. He was far, far away from Earth. He’d never go back. It was just another night on the Hail Mary, being haunted by untouchable ghosts from his past.

Rocky shifts his weight between his legs, observing the human closely. He taps the floor, trying to get a clearer image of him. “Grace… okay now?”

He jerks his head in a sharp nod, lowering his hands from his hair. “Y-yeah, sorry about that, Rock. Okay now.”

A heavy silence coats the room. “Grace’s heart… still fast, fast, fast. Bad dream again?”

“Uh… yeah. Sorry,” he apologizes again, hand absentmindedly resting over the fast, fast, fast heart in his chest, willing it to slow down. He forgets just how much the Eridian can sense about him sometimes. Does he ever get overwhelmed by it all? The constant barrage of stimuli his human body adds to his daily life? The scientist in him wants to ask, but the conversation moves forward.

“No apologies. Just… worried. Rocky always worried for his leaky human.” Rocky’s chords border on chiding, nudging Grace gently. The Xenonite ball offers little comfort, even as his claw-like hand pushes through the flexible panel to rest on Grace’s knee for a moment. Despite the residual fear thrumming in his veins, the gesture comforts him. Physical touch isn’t something Eridians need the way humans do. Rocky does this solely for Grace’s benefit.

What he wouldn’t give to be hugged. He clutches his arms loosely, a half-hearted attempt to self-soothe. He never considered himself to be an overly touchy person on Earth. But now, well… the prospects of ever being hugged by another human being ever again are abysmal. He finds himself itching for some kind of physical comfort almost constantly. 

He took so much for granted on Earth. From the casual clap of your coworker’s hand on your back to congratulate you, to the kind of crushing hug you get from your mother, a knee in the back forcing you –

You just never know when you won’t have it anymore. That rings especially true for someone like Grace, who not only lost his parents in an accident so many years ago, but also now finds himself hurtling at near lightspeed through the endless void of space.

Rocky straightens, seemingly satisfied with his observation for the time being. His ball shifts slightly, breaking Grace from his reverie. “Eat. Grace will feel better. Grace skipped dinner yesterday.”

Grace grimaces, shaking his head. The thought of ingesting that vile slurry makes his stomach turn. “Eugh… I will not feel better. I don’t want that crap right now.”

The vents at the top of Rocky’s carapace move. He’s feeling impatient. “Grace, eat.”

A groan spills from Grace’s lips. He cranes his head up and barks his command. “Feed me!” 

The mechanical arm comes from the ceiling, presenting the rationed “breakfast.” 

Rocky is fixated on him, waiting rather impatiently for the deed to be done. Well, no use putting it off. He forces it down as quickly as possible, swallowing back a gag. His body fights to keep the perceived poison out of his body. He waits a moment or two before deciding he’s in the clear of not puking this morning. “Good, good,” Rocky praises as Grace slings his legs over the edge of the cot. He sits, torso hunched over his lap, trying to shake off the decidedly bad start to his day. He can’t mope around forever, though. Nature calls.

“Toilet.” He hears the wall panel spin around behind the sheet draped around the area. 

Grace walks around the makeshift curtain he’d put up some time ago to give himself the illusion of privacy when he needs to use the bathroom. A thin, flimsy bedsheet does absolutely nothing to spare his modesty. But, Grace figures he needs to keep some semblance of human norms around here so he doesn’t go off the deep end. Technically, Rocky can “see” through his clothes. He’s not going to walk around in his birthday suit, though.

He catches his reflection in the mirror mounted near the toilet, the slight sharpness to his cheekbones causing him to inspect himself a bit more closely. He tilts his head, eyes flitting over his jaw and other visible features. Looking a little thin, but not too bad.

He’d lost weight at a slow, steady pace for the past few weeks. It was expected. Consequences of trying to stretch his food out. He wanted to make sure he had a good few months worth of food for when they got to Erid, not including what he would sacrifice to the scientists there in hopes of synthesizing edible, nutritious food. 

Around the time he started eating less, the nightmares began in earnest. His very own biological punishment for intentionally being a little bit hungry all the time. He figures the stress from… well, everything, has compounded with the latest stressor, and his body’s taking it pretty personally. 

He doesn’t have it in him to tell Rocky what the dreams are about. Call him selfish, but having his best friend’s perception of him shattered might be his final straw. Rocky still thinks Grace is brave, a volunteer savior of the stars. Like him. 

They aren’t made of the same stuff and never were. But he likes to let himself pretend.

The Eridian knows that something had happened to Grace before leaving Earth. Something bad, something cruel. But that’s all he knows, and if Grace has his way, it’s all he’ll ever know about the matter.

He strolls around the curtain, deciding to give the staring at his reflection thing a break. It’s been a cruddy morning. He deserves a treat!

“Coffee!” He smiles as the NannyBot obliges. A hot serving of coffee is the best treat he could ask for. He’d been rationing those, too. But, some days are harder than others, and this one feels like it’s going to be a peach. He’ll have the dang coffee.

“I have surprise for Grace.” Maybe it was the caffeine kickstarting his brain, but it finally registers to Grace that Rocky had dumbed his language down again. How long had he been doing that? Grace stamps down the irritation, knowing it’s not fair. His bruised pride isn’t worth lashing out over.

Grace begins his climb up the ladder rungs toward the lab, ignoring the slight burn in his thighs and biceps. It’s getting a bit harder to do this everyday with his new rations. The extra gravity produced from their acceleration isn’t helping matters either, frankly. 

“Oh yeah? What’s that, buddy?” He calls over his shoulder, letting out a puff of air as he opens the hatch. Rocky skitters up the wall with ease. Of course, the gravity has virtually no impact on him. Business as usual for the lucky Eridian.

“Is surprise. Go stay in seperate room while wait.”

Grace sighs, but obeys. He pads to the Don’t Go Crazy Room, plopping on the platform. The screens flick on, automatically on the ocean scenery. The noise of the nonexistent waves lapping at the nonexistent shore is relaxing, at least.

Some kind of commotion can be heard from the lab, his curiosity breaking through his general fatigue. He resists the urge to peek into the other room and spoil the surprise. His foot taps impatiently.

“Are you going to make me wait all day, Bud?”

“Impatient. Irritable. Almost finished.”

Sassy as always. I’ll show you irritable!

Grace’s words die in his mouth as Rocky skitters into the room. Just… him. No ball. No tunnels. 

He stands up quickly, eyes flitting over his friend. Why is he out of the ball? Just as he begins to truly panic, light catches a surface covering Rocky. 

Huh.

Grace crouches in front of him, inspecting him, eyes wide. 

“Well? What does Grace think?” His chords are giddy as he taps the floor.

It looks like he has a membrane covering his body. Rocky had somehow made a Xenonite suit that is molded to his body. Grace’s hands reached out, gliding over the uneven surfaces. It has more give than the other Xenonite he’s worked with up until this point. Soft. Like the flexible panels he has in the ball to hold or touch things, but better.

“I… I had no idea you could make a suit like this,” Grace finally manages breathlessly, hands still trailing over the suit.

Rocky scoffs, but has no real impatience. “Of course I can. Simple. I can make anything.”

“I know you can. It’s just… incredible to see sometimes. You’re incredible.” Rocky truly is the greatest engineer to ever exist, in Grace’s eyes. His ingenuity and genius are unmatched.

Grace doesn’t need to rely on something as simple as facial expressions to read his best friend. Rocky is practically beaming with pride without them.

“What… what made you do this?” Surely he used a lot of his Xenonite supply to pull this off. Maybe he wants to have a more hands-on approach to matters with the ship as they approach Erid. Maybe he is losing faith in Grace’s abilities. It’s not absurd. Maybe he’s worried Grace is slipping to a place he can’t reach, and he is no longer fit to–

“Humans need physical touch to be happy. No argument, I looked on the Earth Thinking Machine. Too long without touch is bad for humans. Bad for Grace. Humans produce stress hormones if not touched. Stress hormones, bad, bad, bad after too long, can cause big problems.” A rocky arm reaches out, landing on a flesh covered forearm. “Rocky fix.”

He did this for him? 

For a moment, he does nothing, not even breathe. Once it sinks in properly, a shuddering exhale is torn from his lungs, his eyes burning with unshed tears. Before he knew it, he was crushing Rocky with the tightest hug he had in him.

It’s not the same as hugging a human, not even close. But he can almost pretend. The soothing warmth from the soft Xenonite surface, the grounding pressure from being hugged back–it’s too much. Tears roll down his cheeks, plopping on the panels of the suit. He buries his face on top of Rocky’s carapace, shocked by the ferocity of his own emotions.

“Thank you,” he gasps between hiccups, his voice weak. “Thank you.”

A low hum registers in his ears as the Eridian gently pats a blubbering Grace on the back. “Happy leaking?”

“Happy leaking,” he confirms with a wet laugh.

“Good, good.”

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The new suit seems to help keep the nightmares at bay. Most nights, Grace falls asleep curled around his best friend (and very own personal heater!). Rocky sometimes gets up while Grace sleeps to tinker, but he never strays far from the side of his cot, using one hand to maintain contact with the human. 

At first, this routine damaged whatever small semblance of pride Grace clung to. He’s a grown man, dang it! He shouldn’t need all of this just to avoid some bad dreams. After several sleepless nights in a row, however, he swallowed his stupid pride and cuddled with the alien.

Now, when the occasional nightmare jolts him from sleep, he feels a gentle, careful hand (claw?) fretting over him, pressing a comfortable weight into his chest. He hears a low hum in the air, a song that eases him back to rest.

It’s the best rest he’s had in over a month.

But it only goes so far. 

It’s late. A quick glance at the Mary’s clock tells Grace it’s nearing 4:00 am. 

Rocky’s own sleep cycle has been neglected for quite some time, with how worried he’s been about Grace. He’d pushed, and pushed, and pushed until he finally couldn’t anymore. He could feel the tendrils of an unforgiving sleep pulling at him. Putting it off was no longer an option. Rocky felt great guilt about the timing, knowing his dormancy period would stretch late into the night, far past a good time for Grace to still be awake.

Grace had tried to put his friend’s fears at ease, guilt clawing at his own chest. His needs have been so all-consuming between the two of them that Rocky had been suffering silently. He hadn’t even thought about it; Rocky had been sleeping. But it was short periods of rest, perhaps two hours at most. Rocky admitted sheepishly that stress can shorten these periods, and Eridians can accrue sleep debt, essentially. The bill’s still got to be paid at some point.

He’d rested a hand on the Eridian, told him to get the rest he needs, everything will be fine.

Grace’s eyes burn with exhaustion. If he remains in one position for too long, his body gets too comfortable and his eyes get too heavy, so he moves around. He tries to keep himself busy. He trims his beard, splashes water in his face, he even recites the periodic table in order with atomic masses. 

Eating less has reduced his ability to stay awake for long periods of time. He rubs his eyes, glancing once more at the clock. It’s been over twelve hours since Rocky fell asleep. Which means he’s been up for… just about 21 hours. He lowers his gaze, staring at his feet. His vision blurs, and he rubs his eyes harshly to focus his vision. Where are his glasses? “Dr. Grace. I thought you would do better.” That lilting accent. The cold indifference.

It feels as if someone has slapped him across the face. His eyes tear from his feet, posture rigid as he looks up. How is this possible?

Eva Stratt stares down at him, hair grayed, stern expression deeper set than it had been when he’d last seen her. Her arms are crossed, and her bones seem to be more prominent. She’s always been small, but this was different. 

Behind her, the world is a whiteout. Her long hair blows in the cold, violent wind, snow catching in her eyelashes. Her skin is so pale, so…. lifeless. Her complexion isn’t unlike those of his deceased crewmates on the Hail Mary when he first woke up years ago. A chill races down his spine.

His mouth is so dry it’s hard to form words. “I-I did it. The Taumoeba, they are on the way. They should almost be there. I did what you wanted, what you forced me-”

She scoffs, glancing away. The wind howls, snow obscuring his view of her. “Unbelievable. Even now, you are a coward. You are selfish, Dr. Grace, and you are certainly no victim. Look around. Look at me. How fruitful do your efforts seem?” The raw contempt in her voice is unnerving. He’d never heard it directed at him like this.

Indignation rises in him. Anger he thought he’d left behind when he decided to rescue Rocky instead of going home rears its ugly head. Anger towards Stratt–everything he ever wanted to scream at her if he came home. “I know I did everything in my power to save Earth. I risked my life constantly, forced into situations I was untrained for and unprepared to do. I left explicit, detailed instructions, the most thorough notes I’ve ever written in my life so there would be no time wasted trying to decipher my discoveries. I bred the Taumoeba for weeks to be resistant to enough Nitrogen that you all wouldn’t have to lift a finger when it got home! You drugged me, you stole my memories to force compliance, you sentenced me to death! And despite everything, I did a damn good job!” His words come out in a vicious snarl so unlike him. 

The expulsion of the bottled up thoughts leaves him breathless as he glares at her, waiting for her to reply. He had thought it would feel cathartic to let her have it, but… seeing her, so frail and weak, so sick–he just feels emptiness. 

She levels him with an unimpressed stare over his outburst, entirely unaffected. “Well, Dr. Grace, it seems to me that your best wasn’t enough. Perhaps I was incorrect in my assumptions of you. Perhaps all you’ll ever amount to is a failure after all. Not only to the Project, but also to the peers in your field and to the children you claim to love so dearly.”

He finally takes the time to observe their surroundings, taking in the frozen wasteland. He realizes for the first time they are right in San Francisco–his home. Not some tundra deep in the poles. He was home. No… they’d had more time than this. He knows it for a fact. “I refuse to believe this.” He drags himself to his feet, shoving past Stratt, ignoring how easy it was to push her aside. He breaks into a sprint, pushing his body as hard as he could, despite the snowdrifts slowing him down. He has something important to see, and he needs to see it for himself. 

He passes some familiar landmarks, the world a strange blur around him. His favorite coffee shop is boarded up. The diner he frequented has been reduced to an uninhabitable mass of rubble. The park he used to take evening walks in had completely frozen over.

There! He can see it just ahead. A distant building emerges from the foggy haze ahead.

He pushes the double doors open to Grover Cleveland Middle, heart sinking at the state of it. It looks like no one has been here in a long, long time.

He slows his pace to a crawl as the door shut behind him, the slam echoing eerily through the vacant building. Broken windows allow snow in, settling on the floors in windswept piles. Lockers were left ajar, papers spilling onto the floor. The posters that hung on the walls have long lost their vibrancy, the words bleeding together in a jumbled mess. Based on the morbid nature of his current surroundings, he knows what he will find when he walks into his own classroom. Despite that, he can hardly do anything to stop his legs from taking him there. When he reaches the door, he sees his trembling hand push it open, body and mind seemingly detached from one another.

Worn, old backpacks are left behind, hung over the backs of desk chairs. Bean bags are strewn across the room, sitting long forgotten on desks. His homemade replica of the solar system has decayed significantly, only remnants left hanging from the ceiling from fishing wire.

Grief, thick and heavy in his chest, threatens to consume him. He’s held it all in until now. He covers his mouth, tears welling in his eyes. Earth… is gone.

A sniffle coming from the back of the classroom draws his attention. In the furthest corner of the room, a small child huddles on the floor, crying softly. He wastes no time in crossing the room, crouching in front of them, his instincts to help overpowering his own immense grief.

“Hey, hey… it’s going to be okay. Where are your parents?”

The child stops sniffling, their gaze lifting to meet his own. As he registers their facial features, his eyes widen, a gasp tearing from his lungs. She… this…

“Abby,” he breathes, eyes burning with emotion. She was gaunt, too many of her bones visible. Her red, curly hair was limp and lifeless, patches of her scalp visible from malnutrition. Her once vibrant green eyes, sharp with cleverness and curiosity, now look dull and defeated.

“Mr. Grace…?” She sniffles, skin an unhealthy gray pallor. She looks otherworldly, not belonging to the living or the dead. “What are you doing here? They said you were going to save us. Y-you said the scientists would fix it.”

He falls to his knees, emotion threatening to choke him to breathlessness. “I-I did. You just need to hold on a little longer, okay? I promise.” Does he even believe those words himself? There’s no saving anything now. The beetles, if they ever arrive, will come back to a forgotten wasteland of a planet. No one will receive them. They’ve long passed the point of no return.

Her clothes sag off her body as she shifts, hugging herself. “It hurts. I don’t want to hurt anymore.” She glances out the window, eyes glassy and distant. “I… miss my mom and dad. I miss my horses. I miss the summer, I miss the sun. I just want to see them all again.”

Her words break something in him, something deep and irreparable. He throws his arms around her, shuddering sobs racking his frame. “Just–just hold on, it’s going to be okay, all right?” His voice cracks with emotion. “I’m so sorry.”

He feels her shake her head, then pull away from his grasp. “I can’t wait anymore, Mr. Grace. I have to go now.”

He sits in a frozen heap on the floor as she pulls away, swaying as she raises to her feet. She begins to stagger towards the door, triggering panic to bloom in his chest. He knows what that means. “No! No, please!” He attempts to move, to chase her, to do anything. His legs might as well be made of lead. He struggles violently against the invisible forces weighing him down, slowing any forward momentum he might have otherwise gained; his legs feel so tired, and so, so heavy, chained down by something he cannot see—but he has to reach her, he has to save her, he—

But... it's no use. She walks out of the classroom, and disappears into the void.

He weeps, crumpling in on himself, the world shifting in the blink of an eye to the frozen wasteland of his home. He’d demanded to see for himself, and now he’s paid the price. He knows. He knows what he was helpless to fix. If he’d just worked harder, if he’d just willingly gone in the first place, they wouldn’t have had to take his memories. He could’ve started everything that much earlier. 

A grim, heavy acceptance settles over him. He understands that he’s doomed his home. All the pain, all of the struggle, all of the fear–none of it was enough to stop the forces in motion. 

He feels an icy cold hand come to rest on his shoulder. He doesn’t need to look up to know who it belongs to.  He knows she isn’t alive anymore.

“Don’t worry, Dr. Grace. Soon, you will join the rest of humanity. In what barely amounts to a blink of the universe’s indifferent eye, humanity will have risen and fallen.”

He gasps, eyes shooting open, his body lurching forward violently from where he had been slumped against the wall. He can’t breathe. His stomach rolled violently as hot tears spilled from his eyes. He can’t breathe. 

It’s all my fault. They’re dying. I couldn’t save anything. I’m going to die and it won’t matter. None of it matters.

It takes him a moment to raise his head, body trembling from the cold. Instead of frozen wastelands, the sight that greets his weary eyes is familiar. His surroundings were white, but made of a durable lightweight plastic rather than the snow and ice he just saw. He blinks, dazed, realizing where he was. The Hail Mary. 

He cranes his neck up, finding Rocky, completely still, right on the middle cot where he usually sleeps. His cheeks are wet, and sobs still wrack his frame weakly.

The images are still fresh in his mind, and he curls in on himself. The feeling of Statt’s cold hands, the look of defeat and betrayal on the eyes of his former student–it all makes him want to throw up. He can’t think about it anymore.

He fumbles with the floor panel clumsily, reaching for the object he knew would get his mind off this. Underneath his meager personal effects–there it is.

His heart skips a beat, and he slowly reaches for it. The weight is as comforting as always, which disturbs him in a distant part of his brain. He lets his fingers run along the smooth ridges, flicks the safety on and off, squeezes the handle. 

Had that really been a dream? Obviously, it was a dream, but that doesn’t change how real it felt. He jams his eyes shut, attempting to banish the visceral images. His heart rate spikes, anxiety and grief swelling in his chest.

Actually… He needs to put the gun away. Even in his state, he is well aware he is in no position to be holding the weapon.

But… he doesn’t want to.

Huh.

He looks down at it again, sniffling. He allows his mind to wander. 

It… it would be fast. What waits for him on Erid, really? Months of starvation and pain as the poor Eridians try to solve a problem that may not have a solution. His body would slowly deteriorate, he would get sick. He will likely die.

But what about Rocky? It would be so traumatic and unfair to him. His whole crew died, and he couldn’t do anything to stop it. The way he clings to Grace, assuring him of his survival… It’s about more than just Grace surviving. It’s penance for letting them die. He won’t let it happen again.

“Grace.”

Grace whips his head up, eyes wide, almost dropping the gun in surprise. Rocky is standing perfectly still, posture rigid and tense.  His carapace is tilted forward. His usual comforting melodic voice is strained, low, and… afraid. He’s afraid.

He’s unsure at what point the Eridian had climbed down from the cot, slipping into his fitted suit. Gosh, he really is out of it.

“R-Rocky,” he breathes, feeling hot tears roll down his cheek. He wipes them away roughly. This probably looks pretty bad.

“Grace never mentioned having gun.” Rocky is painfully aware of what this is. They've watched too many Westerns recently. Of course he knows. 

Grace finds himself speechless for a moment, sniffling as his eyes flitted to the gun resting in his hand. It was better than looking at the hurt and fear etched into the body language of the Eridian.

“It’s not… it’s not what it looks like, Buddy, I swear,” he tries to explain, yet his fingers tighten around the handle all the same.

“Explain.” Nothing useful comes to mind. “It’s not mine,” he feels the need to mention.

“Is in your hand. Is yours.” Rocky’s voice sends a shiver down the human’s spine.

This is too much. Grace was never going to do anything to himself. Now, he has a real mess to explain.

“Why is Grace crying?” Rocky inches forward, voice softer.

He wipes his tears uselessly. Why can’t he just stop crying? He feels completely exposed.

This seems to settle some kind of internal debate within Rocky. He has made a decision.

“We get rid of gun. Now.” He hears Rocky’s approach, the vibrations from the force of his movement reaching Grace.. Panic lances through his chest, and he scrambles to his feet, posture defensive. His head spins for a moment, but he blinks the black spots from his vision.

“No! No, just… I’ll put it up, okay? It’s okay.” His tone borders on pleading, his eyes shining as he implores his friend to not take his lifeline away.

Rocky seems undeterred.

“Grace, give Rocky gun. Now, now, now.”

“You don’t trust me?” 

Rocky pauses, clicking his claws as he considers. “With my life, yes. With all life on Erid and on Earth, yes. But… not with Grace’s life. Not right now.” He pushes forward, quickly finding himself at Grace’s feet. “Give gun to me, now.”

Grace feels a fresh wave of emotion in his chest, and he takes a shuddering, rough breath that sounds more like a wheeze. He shakes his head, one hand gripping his chest, the other white knuckling the gun. Rocky freezes.

The truth comes pouring out of his lips before he has half a mind to stop it.

“No!” He’s yelling, but he can’t stop. “No, I’m so tired, Rocky!” His voice is wavering, breaking as he says Rocky’s name. He loses the power behind his words, slumping forward. “I’m–I’m tired. If… doctors can’t fix, then this–this is my fix. Okay?”

“Stupid! Can’t believe such stupidity! Eridians will fix, I will fix!” Rocky stamps his foot on the ground hard. The noise carries through the tall chamber of the dormitory.

“There are some things we can’t fix, Rock–some things not even you can fix! I need you to accept that things… might not end the way you want them to. I have made peace with that, and I need you to do the–!” his words are cut off with a surprised grunt.

The last thing Grace expects to happen is to be tackled to the floor by his friend. He hits the floor of the dormitory hard–the wind is knocked from his lungs, stunning him. Rocky uses four of his five limbs to restrain the human, the fifth focusing on snatching the weapon away, holding it out of reach.

“Rocky!” He wheezes, trying to escape from the alien’s grasp, despite the futility of his efforts. “Rocky will not let Grace harm himself! Last time you ‘make peace’ with decision, you lied!”

“I wasn’t–I wasn’t going to do that! And I’m not lying!” Grace knows his voice is weak as weak as that argument sounds. He… probably wouldn’t have. 

“Lies! Grace weeping and holding weapon only meant to kill!”

Grace feels the fight leaving him. He closes his eyes, cheeks still wet from the tears. “I’m sorry. I… I wouldn’t have. Not like that.”

Rocky’s weight on him lessens, but not enough to let up. Grace can practically see the gears turning in the Eridian’s head. “Understand. We will remove gun from ship.”

Grace wants to protest, but remains silent. This is hardly a negotiation.

“Rocky help Grace. Grace will feel better.”

“I…” he let his head tip back, resting against the floor. He feels the pressure leave him as Rocky skitters away to handle the gun. He finds himself missing the feeling. 

He makes no effort to move a muscle, lying on the floor with a numb body. The occasional stray tear rolls down his cheeks. After what could have been a minute or an hour, Rocky returns, observing Grace for just a moment before knowing the next step.

A warm weight settles over his body, a low hum vibrating through his body that is felt more than heard. It… is so calming. His body relaxes, giving into the tranquility.

“Rocky… what…?” Grace mumbles, glancing up. A peace unlike any he’d felt in his life eases into his bones, calming his frayed nerves, his anxious mind.

“Contact will help. Song we sing to afraid pebbles on Erid will help.” He pauses. “Everything will be okay. Rocky promise.”

It could be the influence of Eridian song flooding his brain with oxytocin, or maybe the physical touch that’s doing it. But he lets himself finally break down, a cathartic release of the emotions he’d been clinging to for months. He tells Rocky everything.

The recurring nightmare about his final days on Earth, the dream that shook him to his core tonight, the circumstances surrounding his presence on the Hail Mary, about using the gun as some kind of bizarre coping mechanism–why the gun was even there in the first place. 

And Rocky listens. They’ve moved to Grace’s cot, his arms a grounding weight on Grace’s body. A claw runs through his locks soothingly as he pours his heart out. He cries harder than he ever has in his entire life.

Grace lets the words flow from him, like the doctors of old would let their patients’ blood, hoping to release the diseases trapped within their bodies. His eyes are swollen and heavy by the end, his body boneless.

“Grace… is good person. Brave and kind. Rocky’s opinion would never change, not of Grace.”

Grace has the knee-jerk reaction to deny, but holds it in. Rocky senses it anyway.

“Grace gave up chance to go home just to save Rocky. My Grace is braver than any human or Eridian. Stupid and leaky, but brave. Only the human brain could be so stupid to not see Grace’s good traits.” Grace lets out a wet laugh, sniffling. 

“Grace sleep now. I watch. Rocky will fix, fix, fix. Grace will be okay, promise.”

⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡° ✮˖ ࣪ ⊹⋆.˚

Grace doesn’t think he would have survived the trip to Erid in one piece without Rocky holding him together.

Once he was able to admit he wasn’t doing as fine and dandy as he thought he was, Rocky was able to help. He even read up on hours worth of psychology literature to make good on his promise.

Reading up on that literature came in handy during the darkest hours of his early days on Erid. When the diseases he’d anticipated weakened his body, when he became as frail as the ghosts in his nightmares, he’d almost begged Rocky to let him go. Rocky stubbornly held on, and in hindsight, Grace is thankful for it.

The Eridian version of the coma slurry was able to be produced first, and not a moment too soon. Luckily, he didn’t have to taste the earlier prototypes of the slurry, because his new team of doctors forced the matter of the NG tube he’d shied away from for so long. He spent months recovering, building his strength back up. The extra gravity on Erid was especially hard on him when he was so weak, but he had a new lease on life. He wanted to live.

Today is the day they let him into the biodome for the first time, and he’s not ashamed to admit he broke down and wept. His cane clattered to the ground as he fell to his knees, taking in the beautiful scenery they’d built just for him. Adrian and Rocky had been alarmed, worried the gravity was too much for the human’s weakened muscles and joints, but quickly realized the exaggerated display of emotion was from happiness. 

The rolling waves crashing gently into the rocky shore, the dense fog lazily rolling in, the small house perched on a grassy cliffside overlooking the vast expanse of nature–the sky. Oh, the sky! He never thought he’d see it again. He could stare at the robin egg blue for hours, he could bask in the feeling of the sun warming his skin forever. How could someone not weep with joy at being able to see and feel these remarkable parts of life he thought he’d said goodbye to forever?

He now lies on the beach with Rocky, eyes on the inky black sky and the simulated twinkling of stars above him. Rocky knew Grace would want to stargaze, and made sure the biodome was equipped for a show of the universe every night. Of course, the constellations and stars are the same, just a bit out of place. He’s spent the past few hours reacquainting himself with the familiar beacons of the sky, noting how they’ve shifted several degrees from where they’d be from Earth’s view.

The dew collecting on his skin leaves him feeling damp and cold, but he can’t find it within himself to care. His fingers sift through the small pebbles from the shore absentmindedly, finally able to not just imagine he’s on the beach. He’s actually there. All those days on the Hail Mary spent trying to trick his mind into believing he was somewhere he considered unattainable, yet here he lies. Funny how life works.

The past few years have been wrought with fear and anxiety about what the future holds. The details that are out of his control, the what-ifs about what he could’ve done differently, the fear of the pain and suffering that awaited him on Erid. His safety net and potential exit strategy being forcibly plucked from his hands.

An end so violent, so selfish, so cruel–one he couldn’t even possibly think about doing to Rocky now.