#ask fawn

“Ryland.”

“Mmm?”

“Ryland Grace.”

I groan, squeezing my eyes shut, dragging the quilt over my head.

It’s mid morning by now, I’m sure of that, but I had no interest in getting out of bed.

School was on summer break as of this week, I had nothing to do in the lab, nothing to grade, and no pebbles to watch - all my schedule called for, was rest.

…

In a perfect world, rest is why I’d get. But unfortunately that’s not where I am.

“AaAUGH-! Owwwuhhh…” I gasp, a sudden, great weight fallis on top of me crushing me against the bed.

“Simon- get off, you ACME anvil of a man.” I growl from under the quilt.

“It’s 11:25.”

“Breaking News, stay tuned for the weather.”

“Get up.”

“For what?! I’ve got nothing to do!”

“I need your help.”

“Ask Rocky.”

“He can’t help me with this.”

“Oh of course not…” I grumble.

Simon grabs the quilt, nearly grabbing my nose in the process, and yanks it down. “What’d you say?”

I hiss, stung by the chilly air of the bedroom prickling my skin pulling my arms up to my chest.

“Nothing. Just- why does this have to involve me on my break?! Third day of summer break, and you want me up and mobile at eleven in the morning?!”

“You’re acting like I’m waking you up early. I’ve been up since 6.”

“That is sooo cool, and sooo not my problem or business.” I mutter.

“Oh my god… will you just come on? I’m not asking you to re-shingle the roof, Princess, I just need you in the greenhouse.”

I sigh. “With what…”

“Weeding.”

Weeding?!

“Is the roof still an option, or…”

“It won’t kill you to get your dainty little hands dirty for a little while.”

“Dainty?! Excuse you, my hands are bigger than yours! Nothin’ dainty about em’!” I sit up sharply, raising a hand, challenging a comparison.

“Okay then prove it and come help me clean up the greenhouse. Just the central circle - it’s not like we’re cleaning out the whole place.” He raises his hand to mine, palm to palm. I was right, I’ve got about half a knuckle on him.

“Don’t say we, there’s no we, this is all you, all Simon. Grace hasn’t agreed to anything.” I lower my hand, narrowing my eyes at Simon.

He takes a breath, standing up off the bed, freeing me from beneath him.

“Fine, You know what? Fine, whatever… I wanted to clean out the central circle to make sure it looked nice for my seedling, which I think I’m finally ready to plant…” he shrugs, looking down at his pendant, picking it up y, albeit a bit dramatically.

“Thought it’d be nice to do it together, but… no, you’re right, you’ve had a long semester, get some rest, Angel.”

Simon drops the pendant back to his chest, giving me a nod, and making his way to the door.

I stare at his blurry figure languidly moping out of the room.

What a manipulative, sly piece of-

-

“Shit- I forgot to grab a bucket…” Simon grumbles, dropping to his knees in the dense foliage, tightening the Velcro of his garfen glove on his wrist.

“Already got one.” I drop down next to him, setting down two plastic drum buckets I’d been carrying.

“Perfect, thanks.”

“Mhm…” I look out over the central circle of the greenhouse, the sunlight dappled sproutlets bathing the space in a vibrant, chartreuse glow, that sparkled with tiny dewdrops.

The greenhouse was always beautiful, thanks to Simon’s diligent cwre. It was the closest thing to a forest back home I’d I’d seen, smelled, or felt for years. Honestly, the serenity of the space made the chore much more pleasant.

“Soooo… what exactly are we removing? The sedum seems pretty dense.”

Simon hums, pushing around some of the tiny succulents, until a strikingly out of place plant springs up, clearly unable to unfrul from beneath the ground covering without help.

“These. Thankfully the sedum is thick enough to snuff out most of these little suckers, but every so often they slip through the cracks…” Simon growls the last bit of his sentence, twirling a gloved finger around the stem of the plant like a corkscrew, and yanking it out with ease.

“Woah- how’d you just do that?!”

“What- pull the plant up?”

“Yeah- it was so smooth!”

Simon swipes his hand over the lush ground again until another wayward weed springs out.

“Get down by the bottom of the stem, curve your finger around it to get a decent grip, and…”

He yanks the plant free, holding it up like a freshly caught fish.

“Pull it out. Easy.”

He drops the plant in the bucket with its discarded companion, and returns to the sedum.

“Right… okay…” I sigh, scanning over the greenery for a good place to start. I figure there’s hardly any difference, and drop my hand into the lush, gliding back and forth, waiting for-

“Oh-!” A gnarly looking weed jumps out, taller, and a little chunky.

“Did that scare you?” Simon snickers at me, ripping another plant out of the soil.

“It lunged at me! Of course I jumped.” I huff.

“It lunged at you… with its little plant legs… Ryland it’s a plant.”

“A plant with a vendetta.” I grumble, throwing Simon a glare, then giving the same look to the plant.

In a much clumsier movement than Simon, I grab the plant down by the bottom, and pull.

It… doesn’t come out smoothly.

I manage to strip most of the epidermis of the stem completely off, staining the fingers of my glove dark green. The stem snaps about halfway up, leaving it dangling a bit morbidly by the middle.

“We’re pulling weeds, not degloving them.”

“Would you hush? It’s my first one, gimme a break!”

“Baby’s first gardening chore?”

I snap the top broken half of the plant off, throwing it at Simon.

He catches it with a reflexive swipe, spiking it into the bucket.

“Keep throwin’ the plants around and you’re gonna be in here every week pulling the new weeds you’re spreading.”

“How do you even know there were seeds on that part of the plant?”

“Who’s the botanist and who’s the molecular biologist?”

“Whatever…” I grumble, looking down at my maimed plant, honestly feeling kinda bad for the thing.

Better put it out of its misery.

I take hold of the stem again, with a bit more purpose this time, and pull the remainder of the plant out with a satisfying, muffled rip.

“Got it.” I smile, discarding the stumpy plant.

“Good! Only a hundred more to go.”

Right…

I sigh, lowering back down to the sedum, scrounging for more.

-

It feels like it’s been hours… apparently it’s only been about forty minutes.

I’m hot, I’m sweaty, and my knees hurt… the only reason I’m not complaining, is because of how important this seems to be for Simon.

And I know he’d do the same for me…

I still rather barrel roll the Hail Mary than pick these things…

“Gettin’ bored?”

“What?”

“You’re slowing down over there.”

“It’s 10,000° degrees and humid in here, I’m just sluggish.”

“Then take your shirt off.”

“…pardon?”

“If you’re hot, take off your 100% cotton, insulating, tin foil shirt. It’s black. You’re just absorbing heat.”

“Huh… yeah I guess you’re right…”

“Did we get that on tape? Was anyone recording?!” Simon makes a dramatic production of looking around for his imaginary audience.

“Oh hush, you.”

I look down at the rather thick Cats t-shirt clinging to my chest. The more I acknowledge it, the hotter I feel.

In the sense of temperature, of course.

I roll up the hem, sliding the shirt over my head, and tossing it to the side.

“You’re joking.” Simon chuckles.

“What?!”

“A tank top too? So you’re complaining about the heat and you were wearing two layers, you psycho?!”

“It was cold in the temperature controlled house, gimme a break!”

“Unbelievable.”

“It’s a workout shirt, Fillet-o-Fish, it’s breathable.”

“Yeah, and it’s also black. Double insulation.” Simon retorts, yanking a couple more weeds up. “Looks good though.”

“Thanks!” I smile proudly, sitting up and flexing my arms and chest his way.

“Alright, calm down.” Simon chuckles, lifting his living arm, flexing it back at me, completely shadowing me with just the one arm…

“You’re annoying.”

“No, I’m Simon.”

“That’s such a Ryland Grace joke to make.” I chuckle, returning to my patch of the sedum.

“Well when you live with the guy, he starts to leave an impression.”

“You love my humor.”

“It’s that or the vacuum of space…”

“Whahahat?! You think I’m gonna throw you into space if you don’t like my jokes?!”

“That was also a joke, Angel.”

“…wasn’t very funny…” I murmur.

Silence as thick as the humid greenhouse air falls for a minute or two, broken only by the sound of roots separating from soil, until simon speaks up again.

“Wanna play a game?”

“Mmmmaybe? Kinda? …Yes?”

“Let’s set a timer for ten minutes, and whoever picks the most weeds in that time wins.”

I sit back on my knees, looking across the patch to Simon.

“What do we win?”

“You pick what you want, and I’ll pick what I want.” Simon shrugs.

“Okay… if I win… you’ve gotta pebblesit for Willow and Oakley next Thursday.” I smile.

“What?!”

“Yeaaaahahahah!” I grin, clapping while Simon groans.

“All seven of those little boulders?! Weren’t they just here last weekend?!”

“Yeah, they were. Knocked me out, too.”

“Don’t they have Eridian babysitters? When did we become K-12 and daycare?!”

“Well, Willow and Oakley are friends of Adrian and Rocky, so it’s not like they’re just some randos. Their kiddos were in my class a few semesters ago, so their parents already trust us to watch them.”

“Still… seven pebbles in one house… Hell of an ask, friends of family or not… whatever, okay sure. I’ll agree to that.”

I pump my fist in the air with a quiet “yes!”.

“Hold on, Hotshot, you haven’t won shit yet - I haven’t even decided my prize.”

“Well hurry up!”

“If I win, then…you get to finish grading the botany class finals.”

“Oh that’s not bad, okay.”

“I’ve got 43 students this term.”

“…”

“And I’ve graded maybe 12.”

“Good gravy… okay, yeah that’s about even with my prize. Deal.”

“Perfect. I’ll go grab my timer from the workshop. Empty the buckets out so we both start at 0.”

“On it.”

We scamper off to complete our respective tasks, reconvening with two empty buckets, and a base-6 timer set hopefully to something near 10 minutes.

“Okay. You ready?” Simon calls to me from diametrically opposite my position in the central circle garden. .

“Yep, ready.”

“Okay… three, two, one… go!” The timer begins to click, and the two of us are off - down on hands and knees like hound dogs, combing through the sedum as quick as possible, ripping weed after weed, probably getting more done in the first two minutes than we had the last hour.

By the time three minutes pass, my bucket is already just about a third full. Of course, that’s without squishing them all down to eliminate airspace, but that’s neither here nor there.

“How’s it goin’ over there?” Simon calls out.

“Fine, you? How much have you got?”

Neither of us break focus.

“About half. You?”

“What?! Already?!”

“Maybe you’ve got a bad patch, I dunno.”

“No shot, we’re doing a weigh in after.”

“I mean I figured we would, but if it makes you feel better to declare it like war, go ahead.”

I huff, shuffling a few feet over, trying out a new spot with some success.

A few hearty weeds jump out at me, much tougher than the ones we’d been picking so far.

“Any luck there?”

“Yes, actually there’s a bunch he- OW-! Ow ow-!”

I wince, sitting up sharply, clutching my hand with a sharp pain in the side of my palm.

“Ohhh come on, drama queen. You can’t distract me just because you’re losing.”

“I-I’m not! I’m not distracting you, jerkwad, something stuck me!” I look down at the culprit. A thick stemmed weed with spiked leaves. It looked a lot like the type you’d find in an overgrown backyard, but this one’s spikes were longer, like little saber teeth protruding from each point.

“Mhm, im sure.”

“I’m serious! You’ve got Paleozoic, monster weeds in here!” I flex my hand, wincing with the sharp jolt of pain it sends up my arm. Something’s in there…

“You’re wearing gloves, dumbass. Nice try though!”

“Simon, I’ll grade your frickin’ papers, I don’t care! This really hurts!” I hiss.

Simon finally looks up, watching me fiddle with the Velcro on my glove.

I hear the clicking of the timer stop, and heavy bootsteps coming my way.

“So you got bitten by a plant…”

“Stop, it’s not funny!”

He chuckles, gesturing down to my hand.

“Take the glove off, let me see.”

I unlatch the Velcro, sliding the glove off carefully, letting it fall to the ground.

“Oh goddd…”

“Hm. Splinter.”

“Ughhh…” I look away, feeling a bit queasy.

“It’s in there pretty good too, jeez…” Simon lifts my hand closer to his face.

“Would you stop narrating it?!”

“What?! Woahhhh why are you so pale?”

I wave him off.

“Don’t worry about me worry about the thorn-!”

“You look like you’re gonna throw up.”

“Just might! Consider it weed killer.”

“Gross… alright, let’s see here…”

Simon touches a finger to the splinter experimentally.

“OW- EuGh…” I let out a shout, followed by a heave.

“Whahat the fuck is your deal?” Simon chuckles. “It’s a thorn, Gracie.”

“It’s a foreign object embedded into my skin, and I can feel its intrusion, and it hurts, and it’s freaking me out.”

“Travelled through space and time…”

“Simon.”

“…almost crashed into a planet…”

“Simwon-!”

“And it’s a splinter that’s come the closest to doing you in.”

“This isn’t a joke, either help me or don’t!” I try to yell at him, but my voice falls hoarse and thin with nausea, wavering by the end of my sentence.

Simon’s focus snaps back to me, looking me straight in the face.

“Woah- woah woah- y-you’re shaking- what the hell?! Okay! Okay, hang on, I’ve got tweezers in the workshop, stay here.”

Yeahhhh… not my coolest or most manly idiosyncrasy, I’ll admit…

I’m terrified of splinters. Always have been. Ever since I was little, getting any little bit of wood, plastic, or thorn stuck in my hand or my foot would set me off worse than a scraped knee.

Something about the fact that the object would have to come back out the way it came in made my stomach churn, and my anxiety flare.

“Okay, found them, lemme see your hand again- are you crying-?”

Well, there definitely were years on my face, but it wasn’t like I was boo-hooing or anything.

“I can’t help it.” I extend my hand out, straight faced with tears on my cheeks.”

My god, pull it together, you’re thirty something!

“It’s fine, it’s okay- I- I’m sorry for teasing you about it, I didn’t realize how serious it was.” I can tell he’s genuinely trying to be sincere, but the controlled smile on his face tells me that he’s trying his hardest not to laugh.

I can’t blame him…

I shrug, looking away while Simon examines my palm.

“How’d it get so deep through the glove..? S’gotta be a pretty sturdy plant… kinda looks like burweed, but mutated..? Or just some kind of lookalike..?”

“Okay, Nat Geo, get a move on.” I snap.

“You’re in no position to have an attitude right now, alright? I’m trying to figure out how to pull it without hurting you.”

“No, you’re playing Name That Plant with yourself and staring at my hand.”

“Hush.

“Urgh…”

“Jesus- okay. Hold still.”

I hold my breath.

“OW-!”

“I literally haven’t touched you.”

“Yes you did I felt it!”

“미치겠네… You felt the idea of the tweezers. The concept of them.”

“No, I felt you jab me! And don’t curse me out in languages I can’t understand!”

“I’m not cursing you out. I can do that just fine in English. Now hold still, and relax, okay? Deep breath.”

I take a deep inhale, and let it out.

“OW- OK STOP.”

“I’m gonna amputate it.”

“You’re pushing it further in!”

“I haven’t even gotten a grip on it yet! I’ve barely reached low-thorn orbit!”

“Just- d-do it fast!”

“And when it breaks, and half of it is unsalvageably lodged in your hand, what then, wiz-kid? Huh?”

“I’m. Gonna. Hurl.”

“Then stay. Fucking. Still.”

I throw my head back with a groan, making my arm as rigid as I can.

“Do not move. I’m serious.”

Simon sighs, gripping my hand tighter, pressing his thumbnail into the unaffected center of my palm, just enough to barely hurt. Distraction.

I shut my eyes tight, feeling the tweezers jostle the intruder, and I let out just about the most pathetic whine as the saber thorn slides out of my skin.

“A-aaAH-!”

“It’s out, Angel, calm down.” Simon says, not letting go of my hand.

I let out a shaky breath, letting my head hang forward.

“You okay? You wanna see it?”

“No.”

“…to which question?”

“Both.”

Simon chuckles, dropping the thorn into my bucket with an audible olop. Horrible.

“Awww, well you did good. You survived.” He perches the tweezers on the edge of the bucket, bringing his now free hand to join the other on mine, rubbing gentle circles into my palm.

“Narrowly. Don’t ask me to pick weeds in here ever again unless Rocky makes some kind of… I dunno, sword-proof xenonite gloves to protect me from your devil plants.”

“Devil plants is a pretty good name. I’m gonna use that.”

“Good! Have at it. It’s accurate.” I shrug.

Simon chuckles, lessening the pressure on my hand, tracing spirals against the skin.

I feel myself tense for a moment, hoping Simon doesn’t notice.

“Does that hurt? You got another splinter?”

Dang it.

“No.”

“Then what was that? Lemme see…”

He raises my hand, squinting at it, and scratching the nail of his index finger against my palm.

“Hehehey-! I said there’s nothing!” I try to yank my hand back, but the unforgiving grip of Simon’s metal arm keeps me right in place.

“You serious?”

“Whahat?!”

Four nails drag across my palm.

“AH- h-hah- quihihit!”

“Your hands are ticklish, you big ball of nerves?”

“Theres absolutely nothing abnormal about that! Why are you shocked?!”

“You’re Right, I really shouldn’t be.”

“Thank you.”

“I mean you giggle like a toddler when I touch your elbow, for fuck’s samke, so…”

“Hey! I-okay, Gills, ear fin, ring any bells?”

“Yeah, well all of that was caused by a horrific mutation, and was completely out of my control. Nice going, asshole.”

I scoff.

“Oh don’t play that card with me!”

“So rude and insensitive… “

“Cry me a river and swim in it.”

“Swim in it?! What’re you trying to give me flashbacks?! My god!”

“That’s such a reach, and you know it!”

“After I tended to your boo-boo, this is how you treat me?”

“Boo-boo?” I quirk a brow, chuckling. “We’re pushing 40.”

“After I fixed your ouchie… y’know what? I know what it is. I didn’t kiss it better. That’s why you’re being so ornery.” Simon grins.

“No correlation. You don’t have to kiss it better, thank you.” I pull at my wrist again.

“C’mere, let me see…” Simon counters my resistance, pulling my hand closer to him with the unfair advantage of xenonite on his side.

“NooOOOO.”

He brings his face down to my palm, blowing against it with an obnoxiously loud raspberry.

“NOOHOHOHAHAHA- SIHIHIMON-!”

“Mmmm-pfffffbt-mwah! Mmmmm-pfffbt-mwah!”

“STOHOHOPIT- STOHOHOP! THIS IS RIDICULOUS-!!” I attempt to pull backward, slipping on the dewy sedum, and landing on my side with my arm sticking straight out like a moron.

“My care and affection is ridiculous? I’m just trying to make sure you’re recovering as best you can.” Simon teases, talking into my hand.

“STOHOHAAAHAP! YOUR BEARD AND YOHOHOUR TEETH, SIMON!”

“What about them?” He asks slowly, scratching his overgrown stubble across my hand.

“AHAHAAAHA-!” I cackle, deciding to give up trying to yank my hand back, instead, managing to curl my fingers into a tight fist, knuckles against Simon’s chin.

“You tryna punch me, Angel?”

“Nohoho! It’s my only defehense!”

Simon smiles down at me, tilting his head away from my fist.

“For your hand, sure…”

“What’s that supposed to mean-?” I stare back at him, curled up on my side with my arm still firmly held up- oh.

“Wait-“

“Yeahhhh.” Simon flashes a sharp, toothy smile.

“N-nonONO-!”

“Yeaaahhh…” he purrs, lowering his hand down, under my arm - slowly.

“StohoHOHOP- SIMOHOHON!”

“Haven’t touched you yet. What is with you and the preemptive reactions to everything? Who hurt you?” Simon chuckles.

“Nohoho one! It’s just anticipAHAHATION.” Simon makes a quick motion towards my ribs, but doesn’t touch me.

Simon snorts.

“Shut uhuhup!”

“You’re like a metal detector…”

“Whahahat?!”

He moves his hovering hand across my body, stalking above my stomach.

I curl in on myself, wheezing out laughter I just couldn’t seem to control.

“The louder you get, the closer I am to…”

Simon moves his hand swiftly back under my arm, and he’s rewarded with a startled, yelping cackle.

“Gold.” His hand latches onto my uppermost ribs, vibrating his fingertips deep into the bones behind the hollow of my still extended arm.

“AAAAAAAHAHAHAHAAAA- FUHUHUHUDGE-! AAAH-! SIHIHIMON-!” I shriek, kicking and writhing on the garden floor, my free hand swatting and reaching for Simon’s.

“Kinda pitchy today…”

“WHAHAT’D YOU CALL ME?!”

“Pitchy. I said pitchy. Bring it down a little and you might be able to hear me.” Simon snickers, sliding his hand down my ribs, aiming for my stomach.

Reflexively, I move to roll onto my stomach to guard myself.

In order to not rip my arm out of place, Simon has no choice but to let me roll.

What I don’t expect however, is the complete release of my wrist, only to immedietly feel the same grip on my hair.

“O-OW-! Ow ow- Simon-! That hurts!” My eyes squeeze shut as I’m dragged rather forcefully up into my elbows.

“Grace! Watch what the fuck you’re doing!”

“The hell are you talking about?!”

“Look down, idiot!”

“You’re holding my head back! I can’t!”

Simon growls under his breath, shoving my head slightly down.

I open my eyes, and look down into the sedum.

A tall, gnarled, spiked plant looked right back at me, exactly where my face would have landed.

“Where did that come from-?”

“You probably jostled it free, wriggling around like a lunatic.” Simon explains, loosening his grip on my hair, fingertips splaying out across my scalp.

“A shudder runs down my back.

“Doesn’t take much…”

“Hush. And thank you, I dunno how I missed that.”

“Mhm. There is no way on Earth, Erid, or AT-5 that I’m gonna sit here picking needles out of your face while you bitch and dry heave, and scream.”

“Okay- It wasn’t that bad.”

“Do not…”

“It wasn’t!”

“Do not even start. I made less of a scene getting my shoulder patched up.”

“Okay, Buddy- You were doped up on painkillers and sedatives and barely awake for that!”

“Torn off limb… half inch splinter… which could possibly… be worse…”

“Stop it, okay? We are not going injury for injury, that’s messed up.”

“Injury is a strong word for a thorn in your hand.”

“It was!”

“Right.”

“Something that causes harm or damage! That’s an injury!”

“Okay Webster, show me the lasting wound you sustained, then.”

Simon releases my hair, allowing me to sit up, forgetting about the devil plant.

“Here!” I scoot myself in front of Simon, sitting crisscross, presenting my hand to him once again, pointing to the… rather tiny… red dot at the top left of my palm. Truthfully the redness was probably more from the tweezers than the thorn itself.

Simon squints, making a visor with his hand over his eyes.

“Right there.” I circle the dot insistently with my index finger.

“Oh! Oh my god it’s gruesome!”

“…alright.”

“Ohhh! It’s horrible!”

“Okay, yes, thank you.” I deadpan.

“How ever will you recover from that… mangled mess of a wound?!” Simon wails, grabbing me by the shoulders, yanking me into his chest, wrapping me in the most theatrical hug I’ve ever experienced, turning me in such a way as to make me look like a dying damsel in his arms.

This guy…

“Okay! I get the picture, it’s a small poke, yes.”

“…I can still hear his voice…”

“I’m dead now?!”

“If only that- ihihif only that… tiny, quarter inch thorn didn’t take him.” Simon tries to stay in character- whatever scatter this is- but he breaks, laughing at himself.

Of course, I laugh too, hand to my face as I shake my head.

“And his laughter…”

“Okahay- enough- HEHEY- c-c’mohohHOHIN- AHAHA-!” I feel a hand drop onto my stomach, pinching and kneading the muscle through my shirt.

“SIHIHIMON! AAAAH-! AaAAAHAHA-!”

“Ugh-! My god you’re sweaty.”

“ITS DEW FROHIHON THE PLANTS.”

“No the fuck it isn’t.” Simon soots his hand up to my collarbone. I sputter, hiking my shoulders up nearly to my ears, hands curled at the wrists at my chest.

“Dew smells like plants and soil. That’s not what I’m getting…”

“WHAHAT-?! I DON’T SMELL!”

“Right.”

“YOU DIDN’T’T LEHEHET ME SHOWER- H-HAHA-! YOU DRAGGED ME STRAIGHT FROM BED TO THE GREENHOUSE!”

“You had the whole morning to get up and shower, lazy bastard.”

“OHOH LIKE YOU SMELL LIKE A BUNDLE OF LILACS 100% OF THEHEHE TIME.”

Simon scoffs, stopping his hand for a moment.

“I don’t smell, it’s a natural musk.”

“Yeah, if the musk is Chicken of the Sea and cortisol.”

“Ohhh you think you’re funny.”

Simon hisses, wrapping one arm around my neck, putting me in a playful headlock. His other hand shifts down to my thigh, squeezing right above the knee, vibrating his fingers into the muscle.

“AAAAAAHAHAHHAHA NOHOHO NKNONO STOOHOHOHAHAHA-! I’M SOHOHORRY!”

“No you aren’t.” He spider crawls his fingers under my knee, scratching at the crook, and the back of my shin.

“AAAHAHAHA STOOOHOHOP!! GET OHOHOUTTA THERE!”

“And go where?”

“I DOHOHON’T CARE!”

“Interesting…. ‘I don’t care’ instead of ‘stop completely’… curious.” Simon mutters.

The hand of the arm holding me in place curves inward, scritching at the side of my neck, below my ear.

The other hand skitters around my leg again, fingers dancing feverishly over my kneecap, before dragging up to my hip.

I howl, gripping onto the metal arm around my neck, banding against it uselessly with my first.

“AAAAAHAHAHA-! FFFFUUHUHUDGE! FUUHUHUDGE- AH-!!” At this point I’m screaming more than anything else, thrashing around against Simon, trying not to kick and destroy the sedum under my sneakers.

“You’re gonna scare my plants with all this screaming- jeez…”

I thrash about, angling myself away, fending off the hand on my hip as best o can, flipping myself so that my back was against Simon’s chest.

He releases the headlock, opting instead to grab me tight around the middle, pulling me in.

“Where are you going? You’re just spinning around like an idiot! This is worse for you!” Simon chuckles.

“I’m lohohow on options!!”

“Suppose that’s true…”

I hate when he talks low like that.

“AaaAAAAAAAAHAHAHHA NOOONONOHOHAHAAAAA-! AAAAAAAAAH!”

Simon digs his claws into my midsection, hugging me impossibly tight while he rakes at my ribs and sides - whatever he could get a grip on.

I lurch forward, Simon follows, obviously, snickering behind me, laughing at my strife.

“Solid muscle and metal, baby- you’re not goin’ anywhere.” He purrs, planting a kiss to the back of my neck, humming against the skin.

“NAAAHAHAHA- DAHAHAMNIT, SIMOHOHON!”

“What’s up?” He mutters into the side of my neck now, hands shooting up to the top set of ribs.

I can hardly speak, just babbling nonsense and sputtering uselessly.

Simon chuckles, and I can hear and feel him taking a deep breath.

“N-NOHOHO NO NONONONO-!”

With no hesitation, or concern for my life, he blows hard against the side of my neck, just above the shoulder.

“AAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHHA OKAAAAHAHAY OKAY ENOHOHOUGH! I- I CAN’T- AHAHAHA-! H-HAIL MARY! HAIL MARY!”

Simon releases me, and I push off of him, tumbling into the soft sedum.

“Careful.”

“I- I know… I see it…” I pant, laying flat on my back with a hand on my chest, very aware of the devil plant staring me down a few inches to my left.

“You okay?”

“I’ll let you know when oxygen returns to my brain.”

“I did not hold you that tight. You had plenty of breathing room.”

“I was seeing stsrs…”

“I can show you a real chokehold if you want.” Simon’s voice drops low, and he leans over me with a challenging look.

“No! Nonono, thank you.”

He chuckles, sitting back, arms holding him up behind him.

“Ow-“ he hisses, retracting his real hand, looking down at it.”

“What’s wrong?!” I sit up on my elbows.

“Devil plant.”

“See? Not fun, is it?!”

Simon tilts his hand, observing the thorn in the lower pad of his palm calmly… way calmer than me…

“Need me to get it out?”

“Nah.” He brings his hand to his mouth, the human half, closing his teeth around the splinter, sliding it out without so much as a wince.

Of course he wouldn’t flinch.

I stare at him.

“What? You want it?”

“No. Drop it.”

“‘Drop it’? What am I a dog?” He says through closed teeth, leaning towards me.

STOP! Biohazard! Get rid of that thing, you maniac!”

Simon snickers, turning his head and launching the thorn off like a blow dart.

“Fine, Fine. It’s gone. Why are there so many of these things? I pick weeds every week, there’s no way there should be so many of them.”

“Well I mean the sedum is pretty plush, it comes up almost two inches from the garden floor- so there’s plenty of room under the canopy for stuff to grow without you really seeing or knowing.”

I say, darling a hand through the tiny succulents.

“It probably looks completely clear by the time you finish weeding, but they’re probably still lurking underneath, out of sight.”

“I dunno… I feel like I’m pretty thorough.”

“You are! These guys probably just unfurl slowly. This isn’t a dog at your gardening skill- even the best botsnists back on Earth probably have weeds and pests they can’t get rid of. It’s nature.” I shrug.

Simon grunts, looking out at the central circle garden with annoyance.

“Your garden’s beautiful, Simon. I’ve never seen someone take such good care of plants in my life, don’t let some dumb weeds ruin your pride. Hey! The more specimens you find, the more experimenting you can do with them!”

“I guess.”

“What if you bred together devil plants with the strongest thorns and made like,, a super devil plant!”

“You would hate that.”

“I would! But it’s something you can do! I don’t have to come visit it!” I chuckle.

Simon smiles, shaking his head.

“I think I’m gonna focus on getting the majority of them out before I start playing plant god.”

“Fair enough, I guess.” I look around for the long discarded gardening tools, picking up my gloves, shaking them off, and unlatching the Velcro.

“What’re you doing?”

“…helping you weed?”

“No.”

“What?!”

“You’re done. Take your soft hands back to the house and go back to bed.”

“Wh- okay- first of all-“

“Take a shower first, then go to bed.”

“I’m not going back to bed! I may as well just stay here!”

“Fine, you can stay here, but until we get better gloves, you’re not touching the weeds anymore. I’m rescinding my request for your help.”

“Fish giveth, fish taketh away…”

“Watch it.” He glares at me, and I smile back.

“Well then what am I gonna sit here and do?”

“You can get a move on with grading those botany finals in the classroom.” Simon swipes the gloves from me with a grin.

“Oh come onnnn…”

“Yeah, I didn’t forget.”

“Dang it! Fine…”

Simon snickers, slipping his own gloves on while I stand up, dusting myself off.

“I’ll come join you when I clear this quarter of the circle. Won’t be long.”

“‘Kay…” I mutter, shuffling off towards the classroom.

“…And I’ll help you watch the kids next Thursday. I’m not doing it alone, but I’ll help.”

“Really?!”

“Yes.”

“Even though I lost?!”

“Wasn’t a fair loss, we’ll call it a draw, and split the difference.”

“Yes! Oh you’re awesome! Thank you!”

“You’re welcome Angel.” Simon’s voice softens, and I can hear him smiling without even looking at him.

“See you in a bit.” I wave over my shoulder.

“Mhm, love you.”

“Love you too.”

A/N: Soooo for consistency sake, I made a mock up of the main atrium of Simon's greenhouse to help me visualize while I write. The layout changed from the way I wrote it in Precarious Plant, but I think the way I have it now makes a lot more sense.

Now I'm no architect, so not too much on my drafting skills please...

And while you're here - I realized after writing this that I really relied on the reader to know wtf sedum is, without explaining it too much, so l thought I'd show you, since it's mentioned no less than 946,000 times.

Pretty tight? :) it's so bright and cheery, I love it!

“Rocky, what’s the word on the breeder tanks and specimen enclosures?”

“Tanks and enclosures sealed, statement!”

Rocky chirps back at me.

“Lights and climate controls stable too?” I shoot back, chewing idly on my pen as I mull over the checklist in my hand.

“Yes yes, all systems stable.”

“Good, that’s what we like to see.” I nod, adding a checkmark on the list.

“Simon, how’re the lights in the main hall? Any flickering, buzzing, or dimming?” I turn, calling down the tunnel hallway to Simon, who stood by the wall, scanning the breaker box.

“Looks good to me. Nothing abnormal.”

“Perfect. Thank you gentlemen, that’ll do it for the baseline system check!” I nod with a smile, happily completing the bi-weekly systems check in with a resounding “all good”.

“You two can feel free to scatter, I’m going to the cockpit to check nav, the smart computer, and life support.” I tucked the clipboard under my arm, nodding up towards the control room.

“Good good. Rocky go finish repairs on Simon fake arm.”

“Ah, so that why he’s missing his prosthetic?” I ask, eyeing the empty sleeve on Simon’s left.

“Yes yes. Need repair.”

“What the heck happened to it? You’ve only had it a couple weeks.”

“I didn’t break it, stop looking at me like o slammed it into a wall or something.”

“We had to lock you in the dorm for three days because you almost slammed me into a wall barely a week into you being awake here. Sue me for assuming you bashed it into something.”

“You can’t use that against me, that was a panic response.”

“To what?! Don’t pull that card on me, I didn’t do anything to you!”

“You were trying to inject me with something!”

“Painkillers! Because your arm was torn off!”

“Whatever! You didn’t warn me!”

“I thought you were asleep! Doctors don’t typically say 3 2 1 go when they’re giving a shot to a comatose patient.”

“You are not a doctor.”

“I have a doctorate!”

“In like, particles or something!”

“Molecular biology!”

“Same thing!”

“Wrong! Stop arguing with me! What happened to your brand new arm?!” I bark.

“Si mon no break arm. Faulty sensors make joints lock up too tight. Uncomfortable and inefficient. Rocky fix error.”

Rocky chimes in, his tone a little snippy. Clearly he’s sick of our shouting.

“See? Not my fault. Rocky’s on my side.” Simon flashes me a smile.

“Whatever. It was a safe enough bet blaming it on you.” I mutter rolling my eyes

“Stupid fox.”

“You annoy me. Greatly.”

Simon chuckles, and Rocky chirps along with him. I have no allies.

“I’m going upstairs.” I knew I lost the argument, but I’d rather fly into Adrian again than admit that, out loud.

-

Nav system looks good… still got a long ride yet to Erid… should probably figure out orbital specs before too long….

I mutter to myself, surfing through the displays on the wall of the cockpit.

Hmmm… astrophage numbers look good… water recycling looks stable… no airlock breach, food’s good, Armando’s good…

I nod to myself, sitting back in the seat with my clipboard.

“Pilot Detected.”

The idle displays all around me blink to life, but it no longer startled me like it had over a year ago.

“Yes Mary, thank you.” I mutter, scribbling on my checklist.

“Hey.”

I turn in my seat as Simon’s head pops up from the hatch.

“Yeeees? Can I help you?” I ask, twirling my pen in my hand.

“No, I’m just here to grab my notebook, I think I left it by the window.” Simon says, hoisting himself up rather impressively with his one and one a quarter arms.

“Oh? Yeah, your diary? Read the whole thing, cover to cover. It’s in the copilot chair- here.” I chuckle.

“Bullshit. It’s not a diary.”

“‘I love Ryland aoooo much, he’s the coolest, nicest, and smartest guy I’ve ever met.’ I think that was page nine?”

“Hilarious. It’s just an Astronomy notebook.”

“‘And he’s such a good teacher, and I love listening to him explain science to me!’ Page 15.”

“You’re full of shit.” Simon grumbles.

“Whatever you say. Here.”

I reach over, picking up the book and lifting it in Simon’s direction, while still keeping most of my attention on the pilot display, scrolling over to ‘Life Support’.

“Thanks.” The notebook slides free from my hand, and I drop it down with a hum and a nod.

“How much longer are you gonna be up here?” Simon asks, craning bis neck to see what I’m doing.

“Why, do you miss my company? Is that what you came to get your diary for?”

“No, I just wanna know how much more peace and quiet time I have left.”

I chuckle, rolling my eyes.

“Almost done, unfortunately. Just checking life support and I’ll be done.”

“…Life Support?”

“Yeah- water recycling, climate control, oxygen. Y’know - crucial stuff.” I shrug, scrolling along the wide yellow and black display.

Simon says nothing in reply.

“You’re wasting your precious quiet time sitting up here talking to me. I’ll be done and down in just a couple minutes al…right..? Simon?”

I turn in my chair, and Simon is just standing there, lost in the eyes, and blank in the face.

“Simon?” I lower my voice, brows furrowed.

“Yeah, yes- yes?”

“You okay? You lost signal there for a second-“

“H-how’s our oxygen.” He asks suddenly.

I blink a couple times, turning from the screen, back to Simon.

“It’s- fine..? Our oxygen is fine. We’re breathing right now, which is a pretty good sign.”

“How long until Erid?”

“A long while still- over a year and a half. We found you two years and some change into the ride.”

Simon nods slowly.

He had a fantastic poker face. One I had never seen before. If something was bothering him, no one would know until he was at the tipping point. That said, a dead giveaway of Simon’s stress could be found just about anywhere but his face.

Clenched fists, tight shoulders, a bouncing leg, if he was sitting down, and the most obvious…

Crack

He cracked his knuckles when he had stress he needed to release.

Crack crack

“What’s wrong?” I lift a brow at him.

“Nothing.”

“Lying.”

“Not lying.”

“Hand and shoulders, Simon, you’re rigid as a board, and you’re cracking your knuckles - what’s going on?”

“Just- nerve pain. I’ll be fine.”

Lying. Straight through his giant sharp teeth. Pretty solid lie, I’ll give him that. He does still get surges of pain from his injuries and mutations every once in a while, but that’s not what he looks like stricken with sudden pain.

I’ll let him have it, though.

“…Okay.” I say calmly.

I treat Simon the same way I do my students when they’d lie to me to get out of something.

If you meet them with the attention and worry they’re after, they’ll walk all over you for the rest of the school year. You don’t just get headaches and stomach aches every testing period, that’s not how that works….

If you acknowledge the issue, and offer concrete solutions, like “okay, go to the nurse, and bring me back a note when she checks you over.” Or “alright, I can call your mother and have her come get you.” They’re less likely to pull the stunt in the future.

“Well… go take some medicine and have Armando check you out. Make sure it’s nothing with your jaw or your arm.” I instruct, nodding slowly.

Simon nods back, still a bit stiff in the shoulders. What set him off..?

Whatever the case, he made his way back to the ladder, and descended.

-

I gave it about ten minutes. Before I idled the system displays again, I took one more glance at life support.

From the menu, I could access Armando’s care logs - a painstakingly detailed, chronological summary of every procedure, checkup, medicine and food distribution, and crew chart update that had been recorded since the launch of the ship.

Upon clicking the ‘refresh’ button in the corner, the list of today’s logs appeared on the display.

Most recent log: my breakfast, five hours ago.

Simon didn’t take any medication, or visit the medbay like I told him to. So he was lying.

Then what was wrong?

-

“Grace come see!”

Rocky called out from the lab. I had barely gotten off the cockpit access ladder before he beckoned me over.

“One sec bud.” I jog down the hall to the lab. The air smells like copper wires and shouldering filament.

I enter the room, grabbing a pair of goggles and gloves from the wall. Can never be too safe.

“What’s up? How’re repairs going?”

“Good good! Rocky fix arm completely! No more glitch.”

He wiggled his carapace proudly, pressing the drawer of the airlock closed, and cycling it, passing the prosthetic to me.

I gently open the door, removing the arm, and quickly setting it down. Still hot… it felt like taking a hot pan out of the oven on 200°.

I hiss, shaking my hands as the prosthetic lands on the table.

“Stupid. Stupid Grace.”

“Whatever, I’ll be fine. Whats one more burn.” I shrug, pulling up a stool and sitting down at the lab table.

“Wow- it looks different now too- cleaner- did you update the exterior too?” I ask.

The xenonite on the exterior before was a bit more patchy. A lot of the inner workings were visible through gaps in the metal paneling. It was cool, a kind of steampunk style- definitely a little more prop than practical, as far as looks go.

Now, the arm was completely enclosed in solid, thin, flat xenonite panels, with the only gaps being where the elbow and wrists flexed. Long? Running, linear patterns stretched across the upper arm and forearm, resembling some of Rocky’s tattoo engravings in his limbs.

“Yes, Rocky scrap and rebuild exterior. Simon complain of things getting stuck in old arm. Bad bad. Give Rocky chance to put engravings on new arm shells!”

“Oh! So these lines translate to something?”

“Yes yes yes, these here mean Simon name. No have last name so Rocky give Simon Grace last name.”

I freeze, looking up at Rocky.

“What?! Yes he does, his last name is Fisher!” I spat out.

“Not real. Simon say Fisher not last name. Just place holder. Simon no remember last name.”

“But it still works! Why my name?!”

“Grace and Simon share everything! Food, clothes, secrets-“

“Secrets?!”m what do you mean secrets?!”

“-Names-“

“We don’t share names. That’s not a thing.”

“Yes is thing! Grace say humans share names when married!”

I raise my hand, palm facing me. “Do you see or hear a ring?! No! We aren’t married!”

Rocky hums.

“I’m telling him that means Fisher.”

“Rocky teaching Simon Eridian language. He will know.”

“Whatever- what else have you done with the prosthetic?” I sigh.

“Updated electric muscle signal sensitivity. Easier to flex, grip, and release without strain.”

I nod, “good, good. That was the issue to begin with, right?”

“Yes, faulty signal strength. Very glitch. Is ready for Simon now!”

The metal had cooled significantly by now, making it safe and comfortable to pick up, about the temperature of a hot restaurant plate. I lifted it - surprisingly easily, I expected heavier.

“Is the install process still the same?” I ask, bending the fingers on the hand experimentally.

“Yes. Straps attach to collar mount, shoulder support attach to straps, secure under arm. Prosthetic fastener attach snug to Simon arm, snap all connectors into place.”

That’s a lot of words…

“Got it.”

“Good good!!”

I’ve only ever been standing around while Simon’s prosthetic was being installed… hope I got it…

-

“Simon!” I call out, standing in the hallway like an impatient parent, fists on my hips, with the strap of the prosthetic clutched in my left.

I’d looked all over the ship for him, but I couldn’t find him.

Granted, when I say “looked” I mean I briefly glanced around Simon’s usual haunts - the lab, the UV grow room, the dorm, and his area near the window.

Nothing.

If it were Amy other day I wouldn’t be all that worried, but he’d been acting a little strange earlier, and prosthetic aside, I really just wanted to put eyes on him.

“Hey, Simon! Where are ya, bud?!” There was evident exasperation in my voice, I could hear it.

Creeak

Hey, so what was that…?

Creeeak

The sound is coming from the observation window, but I was about 80% sure I hadn’t seen him-

“Simon?!”

There…

“Simon did you not hear me calling you for the last 10 minutes-? Better yet, how do I miss you?!”

I throw my hands up with mild frustration, walking over to the suspended bed.

The xenonite chains that were supporting the bed platform in the air must have been responsible for the creaking I heard. They’re attached to a pulley, so that we can retract and secure the platform against the ceiling if we need to disengage the centrifuge.

Simon shrugs, and…

He signals to me with one hand, the hand sign for “glasses”.

I furrow my brows.

“Glasses?”

“Glasses off. Missed me.”

He signs again.

I reach up to my face, and notice immediately, the absence of my glasses. Lifting my hand a little higher, I feel them perched up on my head. Right… that explains it.

I bring my glasses down to my nose, blinking a few times, bringing everything into focus. That answers one question, but now I have another.

Why are we signing?

“Thank you… for that, I guess that is how I missed you.” I step up to the platform, crossing my arms on the bed.

“Is there a reason why you’re not talking right now? You alright?” I lower my voice.

Simon periodically went through spells of silence. Sometimes only for an hour or so, sometimes over a day. It was his brain’s way of handling all the stress swimming around in his head when it occasionally bubbles to the surface.

At the beginning it was pretty difficult to help him, communicate with him, or figure out what was wrong when he couldn’t speak to me.

We tried a few different solutions…

Writing was a little challenging- in all honesty his handwriting was pretty bad, and paper isn’t exactly a renewable resource out in the great beyond.

Rocky and I made him an augmentative, alternative communication device with some brutally subpar programming on my part. He uses it occasionally, but admittedly it’s pretty clunky, cumbersome to carry, and could do with an upgrade.

The best solution we’ve found, is sign language. I’m pretty proficient at it, as an educator, so we spent some time learning the basics, and Simon picked up quick. We can carry pretty seamless conversations in ASL now, whenever need be.

“Don’t want to speak.”

“Okay, sure… you don’t want to speak, verbally? Or you don’t want to speak to me specifically right now?”

“Verbally.”

“Gotcha… uhm…”

He doesn’t offer me anything more, just looking down at me, sitting crisscross on the bed above me.

“Well, how about I at least hook up your new arm, and maybe you can fill me in on what’s going on once you have both hands to chat with, hm?” I push the metal arm towards Simon with a smile on my face.

He looks down at it, then to me, and nods.

“Perfect. Can I come up?”

He nods again.

I hoist myself up onto the platform, taking a seat on my knees next to Simon.

“Ok, shirt off, please.” I make a motion for him to remove the t-shirt that used to be mine.

He slid it off without a word or hesitation, sitting straight. He knows the drill.

“Thank you sir… arm up.”

He lifts the torn arm out straight to the side. I pull a fabric slip from my pocket, tugging it over the stump like a sock. Once it’s snug to Simon’s arm, I pick up the prosthetic, and sigh, trying to remember the order of operations

Simon looks down too. He reaches over, tapping the straps that attached to the top of the prosthetic, then reaches up and tapped on the collar mount that was already around his neck.

Right!

“Yes! Thank you, collar to steaps, straps to mount, mount to prosthetic. I remember, thank you.”

I get to work, snapping and twisting and clicking and tightening, until the prosthetic was snugly in place, and sending and receiving signal as it should be.

All the while, Simon stayed silent. No quips, no complaining, nothing.

“Oookay, you should be all set. Can you spell you name out?”

“S-I-M-O-N” the mechanical hand whirs as he makes his way through the five letters.

“Perfect! So, now that you’ve got both hands, you wanna tell me what’s going on?”

I sit back and little, giving Simon some space.

He thinks for a moment, before raising his hands.

“Not speaking.”

“Gathered that much. I was hoping more for a why.”

“Conserve oxygen.”

I raise a brow. What? Oxygen..?

“Conserving oxygen…” re helpers, nodding as he signs.

“You check oxygen earlier today. Don’t want to waste oxygen. Not speaking, less intake.”

Okay…

“I- I’m confused.”

Snap!

We both jump as one of the straps on the prosthetic support comes undone.

“Crap-! Ugh, darn thing. Hold on, let me fix it…”

I scoot back over, and tend to the undone strap, fastening it back into place with a little more care than before, tightening it as best I can, bracing my hand against Simon’s chest… wait…

I pause for a moment, moving my hand down to the center-left of his chest. His breathing was shallow, and his heart rate was low… way lower than it should be.

“Simon, why are you breathing like that?” I ask, urgently.

He lifts his hands again, and gets halfway though the sign for “conserve” before I stop him.

“If you say ‘conserve oxygen’ again, I’m gonna freak out. What do you mean?! Why are you worried about our oxygen?!”

“You checked oxygen earlier. Limited supply, yes?” He signed back just as urgently.

“Whahat?! No! No, I- you misunderstood-“

“How not limited? Ship is made of three cylinders. One for fuel, one for us, one for oxygen, yes!”

“No, Simon no, three for fuel, one for us in the center, that extends outward.” I explain.

His eyes widen.

“Where oxygen stored?? How much?? Why are you talking so much?? Low oxygen.”

I shake my head.

“No no no, no. Simon, stop for a second.”

“Three breathing organisms on a ship with limited oxygen.”

“Stop. No, just listen.”

“No oxygen tanks in-“

“Quiet coyote. Can you please show me two quiet coyotes?” I sigh, raising my hands with index and pinky fingers raised.

“Patronizing.”

“No, I’m not, I just need you to listen and focus, c’mon. Humor me.”

Simon relents, and mirrors my hands with a deadpan stare.

“Thank you. What I was trying to say. Was that we don’t have limited oxygen tanks aboard the Hail Mary. The ship uses a recycling system that supplies us back with oxygen from the other gasses and water that we release in the cabin. It’s a cyclical system.”

“Then what were you che-“

“Hey, tell those coyotes to stop barking, I wasn’t done.”

“You paused.”

“I was taking a breath. Which is what I’m trying to convince you to do before you pass out. Now, as for what I was checking, I was just making sure that the recycling was in proper working order, which it is. There’s nothing to worry about.”

Simon looks at me a little bewildered.

“I promise! You’re nott in any danger of running out of air.” I take a deep breath in and out, just to prove my point. “See? No problem.”

Simon nods, looking down for a moment, losing himself in thought.

I wait patiently, in case he has something more to sign.

“I did not know that was possible.” He signs slowly

“Really?” I ask gently.

“I thought one-way vessels came with limited air. All the time.”

I hum, not looking away from Simon’s hands.

“I’m guessing the Iron Lung had limited supply…”

“Yes. I almost ran out.”

“Oh-“

“The hull breach got to me first though.”

I grimace.

“Right… I didn’t even think about that…. No wonder you got freaked out.”

“The air was really thin.”

“I bet.”

“Smelled like iron.”

“Yeah, so did you when we got you on board. But you got cleaned up, healed up, and here you are, right? Safe and sound.” I smile. “No blood, no thinning air, no creepy fish or whatever. Just a clean ship, a rock, and a teacher.”

“Yes, water.”

I tilt my head, a bit confused by the sign.

“Water?” What do you mean water.”

Simon meets me with the same confusion.

“T-H-A-N-K-S” he spells the word out instead.

“Oh! You meant ‘thank you.’ That’s this.”

I turn my palm toward my face, touching my fingertips to my mouth, and tilting my hand out as if I were blowing a kiss.

“This, what you did, means water.” I hold up three fingers, tilt my hand so my palm faces in to the side, and tap my index finger against my chin. “Close, though.”

Simon nods, mimicking the “thank you” motion.

“And you’re welcome. I hope that puts you at ease a little bit.”

He nods again.

“Still don’t feel like talking?”

“No.”

“Good enough. In your own time… will you at least take some deep breaths? You looked like you were gonna pass out earlier.”

“I am.”

“You aren’t. I can clearly see your chest barely moving, Simon.” I place a hand on his chest.

“Cold cold cold.” He signs rapidly, tensing up a little.

“Anemic, anemic, anemic, I’m aware. Breathe.”

“Panic. Go away.”

“You’re not panicking! Your heart rate is evening out, you’re not sweating, your eyes aren’t dilated. Don’t cry wolf.” I say, a little sternly.

“Coyote.”

“What? Oh- Stop. Breathe.” I can’t help but smile. “I’ll make you if I have to.”

He narrows his eyes at me with a challenging glare.

I roll my eyes, sighing. Fine, dramatics it is.

“EMERGENCY! EMERGENCY, CLEAR THE AREA!” I shout, sitting up suddenly, and shoving Simon down onto his back on the bed, being sure to not startle him too bad. He did ask for this, though.

“WE HAVE ONE, ADULT MALE, KINDA-HUMAN, UNREAPONSIVE, NOT BREATHING.”

Simon smiles, more out of shock than anything else, looking up at me like I’m fresh out of my mind.

“CHECKING FOR PULSE.” I make an obnoxious show of “looking for Simon’s pulse”, testing his wrist, putting a hand, then an ear to his chest, which I think got a little giggle out of him, then probing at the side of his neck with two fingers. I catch the pulse for just a moment before Simon shrugs up his shoulder and swats my hand away with a snort.

Now we’re cookin’.

“NO LULSE!”

“Yes there is.” He signs quickly.

I gasp, batting his hands away.

“HE’S CONVULSING!” I shout, voice a little raspy. I haven’t had to yell in quite a while.

“STARTING COMPRESSIONS. CLEAR THE AREA!” I chuckle, placing both hands on Simon’s chest, in the furthest thing from COR procedure placement, and begin gently pressing down on Simon’s chest, repeatedly.

Each “compression” forces a little bit of breath into Simon’s lungs, coupled with the quiet chuckles that squeezed their way through.

I pause, acting like I’m listening for signs of life.

“SIMON?!” I call out theatrically, reaching up to shake him by the shoulders.

Simon signs out “yes”, and I decide that isn’t good enough.

“STILL NOTHING! I’VE GOTTA DO MOUTH TO MOUTH!” Again, not protocol, but who cares.

I lean down, and Simon catches me by the cheek with his hand, pushing me back, the both of us snickering like idiots now.

“WE’RE LOSING TIHIME! HE’S NOT- HEHE’S NOT BREATHING!” I move my hands from Simon’s chest, sliding them under his arms, scratching gently.

Simon gasps, which I’m counting as a breath, and finally starts laughing like he means it.

“Oh- OH! HE LIVES!” I cheer, bringing a hand up to his stomach, and dragging my nails quickly over the tightened muscle.

“HE’S ALIVE!!”

Simon lets out a high pitched, sort of squeaky laugh, his chest rising and falling. Thank goodness.

“Now I’ve gotta check your vitals. You were out for quite a while! Thought I lost you!”

“No. Stupid. So dramatic.” He signs.

“We gotta crack that brain open too, because clearly you’re losing it. I’m not dramatic.” I scoff. “Okayyyyy, organs? Everything still in place?”

I bring both hands to Simon’s middle, kneading and pinching at the soft part of his stomach.

Simon snorts, shaking his head madly, and striking a fist against the bed. If this was his stubborn attempt to not laugh, boy was it cracking.

“Okay… Organs are where they should be… how about reflexes?”

I bring a hand down to Simon’s knee, giving an experimental squeeze just above the joint. He kicks his leg out, dropping it flat to the bed with a startled gasp.

“Wow! Reflexes on point! Other leg?” I repeat the motion, to the other leg, this time squeezing a little harder, latching on tight as his leg bucks under my grip.

“MMHMHAHAHA- OKAHAY!! EVERYTHING IS FINE!!” Simon shouts.

“Oh! Look at that we’re back online! I missed that voice!” I smile wide. “Doesn’t exempt you from a check up though, unfortunately. Bear with me!”

I snicker, sliding my hands up, and out to Summon’s ribs, I don’t move them.

“Grahahace.”

“Mhm?”

“Gehehet the fuck offa me.”

“That’s not nice, why must you swear at me?”

Simon lets out a sound that’s half groan, half chuckle.

“I just wanna make sure you’re breathing properly, that’s all!”

Simon glares at me, but it has no effect.

“Come on, biiiig deep breath in for me.” I coax gently.

To my surprise, he takes a hesitant breath, slowly taking in air. His ribs expanding into my hands.

“Good! Very good, hold it… aaaand… out!”

At the last word, I clawed my hands, and dug into Simon’s ribs suddenly.

“*snrk-!* A-AHAHAHA- SHIHIHIT!” Simon sputters, barking out laughter in shock, kicking his legs against the bed.

“Perfect, lungs are working!” I snicker, scribbling over Simon’s ribs, careful to avoid his gills.

“Just give me a couple more nice deep breaths and we’ll call it good.” I slow my hands, gently trailing them up and down Simon’s ribs.

“I- I cahahan’t breathe with you- touching me!”

“Well not with that attitude you can’t! I’m barely doing anything anyway.”

“You’re scrahahatching my gills, you fuckin’ ass!”

“Hey!” I hissed, jabbing my index fingers into the skin above Simon’s gills. He yelps, tensing like he’d just been electrocuted.

“You’re not gonna turn your voice back on just to curse at me in every other sentence.” I vibrate my fingers against Simon’s gills, a little rougher than I usually would.

“OKAHAHAY OKAY OKAY I’M SORRY IM SOHOHORRY, I WON’T ANYMORE-! GRACIE-!!”

“Promise?”

“YEHEHESS!!”

“And you’ll take some deep breaths for me?”

“AGH- YEHES!”

“And you promise to just ask me questions instead of working yourself up about things that you don’t need to panic about?” I speak unnecessarily slow, not letting up on Simon’s gills.

His back arched up off the mattress, teeth gritted, hands gripping my wrists.

“GRAHAHACE!! YEHEHES, ENOUGH!”

I chuckle, letting go.

“Okay! Okay. I’m done.”

Simon collapses down, gasping for breath.

“Slow down, breath in and hold it for a sec.” I say softly, placing a hand on his chest. He flinches, but doesn’t protest.

I feel his chest rise and expand, holding the air in for a moment.

“Good, good.. and… out.”

Simon lets the breath out. 

I nod, patting him gently on the chest.

Simon takes two more deep breaths before I’m satisfied, lifting my hand.

“How’dya feel?”

“Fine.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm… what?”

“That’s all? Just fine?”

“I mean- what more do you want me to say?”

“Well how do you feel now that you know you’re not slowly asphyxiating?” I shrug, scooting myself up beside Simon, lying down alongside him.

“Ah- well yeah, it’s nice to know. I just feel kinda stupid.”

“What? Why?”

“Why would we be running out of oxygen?? I mean, you told me you’ve been aboard this thing for years… there’s no way the ship would have tanks big enough for that much air…”

“Yeah but you didn’t know, that’s fine. Doesn’t make you stupid.” I shrug.

“Hmmmph.” Simon groans.

“I mean think about it- the only ship you’ve ever been on besides Mary was a flimsy rust bucket with hardly enough o then for a three hour trip. Of course you’d expect every other ship to have limited air supply.”

I shrug, turning to look at Simon.

“Assuming the worst and trying to prepare for it doesn’t make you stupid, Simon. It just means you’re-“

“Traumatized.”

“…yeah… not quite what I was gonna say, but yes.” I turn back to face the ceiling.

“But now you know, and there’s nothing to worry about.” I say, making a show of taking a deep breath.

Simon does the same, much to my delight.

“So…”

“Hm?” I reply softly.

“The air recycling system. It’s working properly?”

“Perfectly, yeah.”

Simon nods slowly. “Would you… mind… explaining how it works? I- I dunno, maybe understanding it would put me at ease.”

The stupidest, nerdiest, widest smile splits my face, and I sit up fast as a whp.

“You’re asking me to explain something to you?!”

“Oh dear lord- come on…”

“You’re asking me to explain science to you?!” I find myself tense from excitement, balled fists shaking in the air with unspent energy.

“Woah- okay.”

“What?!”

Nothing- just- you look stoked.”

“I am!”

“Gracie. It’s not that monumental of an event- you explain things to me all the time.”

“Yeah but you hate it!”

“What? No I don’t!”

“Wrong.”

“Correct! I may not know what the hell you’re talking about, but I don’t mind listening! Just- tell me about the air system? Before you implode, please?”

I nod, sliding to the end of the bed, and reaching back to grab Simon’s arm - his good arm - tugging him along.

He chuckles, following me off the bed.

“Okay, okay slow down- where are you dragging me?” Simon takes my wrist with his free, mechanical hand, and moves it down, so that our hands are connected.

He interlaces his fingers with mine, and my brain goes blank. Gosh, I’m lame..

“I- I uh… uhm to the uh…”

“Really? Holding hands broke you?” Simon chuckles, squeezing my hand gently.

“No…” I stand there for a moment, stiff, unsure of what to do next.

“Want me to let g-“

“NO. no- I mean, I don’t mind. Where was I going?”

Simon snorts. “To show me the air recycling system?”

“RIGHT! Yes! Okay, cockpit!” I start off, dragging Simon behind me.

“So, what do you know about zeolite filters?” I ask, looking back over my shoulder.

Simon chuckles, shrugging. “Absolutely nothing, Dr Grace.”