#beepfics

The first thing Bee noticed about Erid was the light.

Not because it was strange, but because it wasn't.

After everything they'd been through, she hadn't expected their new home to constantly remind her that she was standing on an alien planet sixteen light-years from Earth. She had expected unfamiliar skies, impossible landscapes, and daily reminders that she no longer belonged to the world she'd been born on. Instead, when she stepped into the biodome for the first time, she found herself staring out at a coastline that felt almost painfully familiar. It reminded her of San Francisco.

The ocean stretched endlessly beyond the glass walls, its dark blue surface disappearing into a blanket of pale gray fog that rolled lazily across the water. Waves crashed rhythmically against the rocky shoreline below, sending white foam spraying into the air before retreating back into the sea. Above it all hung thick clouds that filtered the sunlight into a soft silver glow, casting long shadows across the beach and cliffs. It looked less like an alien world and more like a memory. Like a photograph pulled from an old travel magazine. The resemblance to California's bay area was so precise that for a brief moment Bee forgot where she was entirely.

The Eridians had been studying Earth for years by this point, after Rocky had sent a message to the other Eridians that Ryland and Bee would be living on Erid. They had analyzed climate data, weather patterns, ecosystems, and geography with the same meticulous dedication they applied to engineering. Every detail had been considered. The cool air carried the faint scent of saltwater, moisture lingered in the atmosphere, gathering in tiny droplets along the glass walls. Even the quality of the light felt familiar. The entire biodome had been designed with one purpose in mind, making two humans feel at home on a planet that should have been completely inhospitable to them.

Beside her, Ryland had gone suspiciously quiet.

Bee turned just enough to glance over her shoulder.

Her boyfriend stood several feet behind her, staring at the beach in front of them with an expression she couldn't quite place. His glasses had slipped halfway down his nose, completely ignored. One hand remained shoved awkwardly into the pocket of his jacket while the other hung at his side. He looked overwhelmed in a way she rarely saw anymore.

Which was saying something.

The man had survived a mission across the galaxy as he'd saved Earth and Erid.

He'd willingly launched himself through space attached only to a flimsy rope against the ship to keep him from floating into space more times than he could count now. 

And yet a foggy beach appeared to have rendered him speechless.

"Ryland?"

He didn't respond, seemingly lost in thought,and it made Bee smile.

"Ryland."

She spoke a little louder this time, but again, her response was met with silence.

"Dr. Grace."

That finally got his attention.

"Huh?"

"You've been staring at the beach for five minutes."

His gaze immediately drifted back toward the ocean.

"I have not."

"You absolutely have."

"Maybe three minutes."

Bee laughed softly.

"What's going on in that giant science brain of yours?"

For a moment Ryland didn't answer. He simply continued looking out at the water below, watching another wave crash against the rocks beneath the cliffs. The house perched above the shoreline caught his attention next, its large windows glowing warmly against the gray backdrop of fog and ocean.

When he finally spoke, his voice sounded oddly distant.

"I spent years imagining what Erid would look like."

Bee raised an eyebrow.

"And?"

"I was wrong."

"You were wrong about an alien planet?"

"I know. Shocking."

She bumped her shoulder against his.

"What were you expecting?"

Ryland considered the question carefully.

"A giant cave."

Bee stared at him, a slightly amused expression on her face. 

"A cave."

"Yeah."

"An entire planet-sized cave?"

"Well when you say it like that it sounds ridiculous."

"It is ridiculous."

"I was under a lot of stress."

Bee couldn't help but laugh softly, because yeah, he was under a lot of stress…They both were. 

"That's your excuse for everything."

"It works surprisingly often."

His smile lingered for another moment before slowly fading as his attention returned to the coastline.

Bee watched him quietly. There was something different about him today, not in a bad way. He just looked more thoughtful. 

For years, their lives had been dictated by survival. It had started with the Astrophage crisis and the slow realization that the sun was dying. Then came Eva Stratt, who had appeared seemingly out of nowhere and upended both of their lives by recruiting them to help answer an impossible question: why was Tau Ceti's sun the only one unaffected? From there, everything seemed to happen at once. Endless research, impossible deadlines, and the growing pressure of knowing that the fate of Earth rested on the shoulders of people who were making discoveries as they went.

Then came the mission itself.

The years aboard the Hail Mary had brought a different kind of struggle. There was the confusion of waking up in deep space with no memory of who they were, the terrifying process of piecing their identities back together, and the endless series of challenges that seemed determined to kill them before they ever reached Tau Ceti. Every problem solved only revealed another waiting around the corner. Every success was followed by a new obstacle.

For so long, every decision they made had been focused on the same goal: surviving long enough to see the next day.

But standing here now, staring at the little house overlooking the ocean, there was suddenly something neither of them had allowed themselves to think about before.

A future, a real one.

Not a hypothetical future they'd joked about during sleepless nights aboard the Hail Mary. Not a distant possibility they'd avoided discussing because neither of them knew if they'd survive long enough to see it.

An actual future.

Bee found herself thinking back to those early days aboard the ship before Rocky entered their lives. Back when it had only been the two of them navigating an impossible mission together. They had spent countless evenings sitting in the observation deck long after they should have been sleeping, talking about everything except the things that scared them. Favorite books, music they missed, terrible movies they secretly loved, childhood stories, anything that reminded them there was still a life waiting for them somewhere beyond the mission.

Somewhere along the way, friendship had quietly become something more.

Neither of them had acknowledged it. Not because they didn't know, but because they did.

The mission had simply been more important.

Then Rocky had arrived and somehow become part of that little family they were building among the stars.

Bee smiled at the memory.

For years, she had watched Ryland and Rocky grow closer, an unlikely friendship built from shared disasters, impossible engineering problems, and enough scientific debate to last several lifetimes.

She had seen them argue through translation delays and emergency repairs, plan survival strategies in the middle of chaos, and somehow still find understanding in each other across species and silence. She had watched Rocky carry both of them to safety after their mission on the planet they named Adrian, honoring Rocky’s mate, when Ryland had been injured and she’d nearly lost control of the ship trying to drag them back through the atmosphere.

And she had watched Ryland, again and again, choose to risk everything for Rocky without hesitation, just as Rocky did for him.

What had started as necessity, then cooperation, had slowly become something else entirely. Family.

And now, for the first time since leaving Earth, that family finally had somewhere to belong.

Neither Bee nor Ryland spoke for several moments.

Together they stared at the little beach house perched on the cliffs overlooking the ocean.

A home, not a ship that they had come accustomed to, a real home, that wasn't temporary. 

The realization settled quietly between them as another wave crashed against the shore below.

For the first time in years, neither of them had anywhere else they needed to be.

-

As weeks passed, life on Erid , surprisingly, became normal for the two of them.

Not the kind of normal that Earth had ever offered, no traffic, no crowded schedules, no background hum of obligations, but a quieter version of it. A routine that somehow formed anyway, as if even the end of interstellar crisis couldn’t stop life from organizing itself into patterns.

Ryland had taken to teaching Erdian kids, which he had learned were called "pebbles". 

Life, surprisingly, became normal.

Not the kind of normal Earth had ever offered, no traffic, no packed schedules, no constant pressure humming in the background, but something quieter. A version of routine that somehow formed anyway, as if even interstellar catastrophe couldn’t stop life from settling into patterns if given enough time.

Ryland had become a teacher.

At first, it wasn’t planned. A handful of curious young Eridians, that Rocky told him were called pebbles in Erdian culture, began gathering while he and Rocky worked through translation systems and environmental models, watching him sketch diagrams in midair or on shared displays. Then it grew into something deliberate. He started setting aside time each day, carefully breaking down physics, biology, and engineering into concepts that could survive translation without losing their meaning on the way across species.

He never called it a classroom, as it wasn't the same as the classroom he had back on Earth. The Eridians didn’t seem to need the idea of one, but the pebbles still came all the same to learn. 

Bee would often pass by the beach and find him mid-explanation, hands moving as he described gravity in a way that made even alien biology feel connected to it. Rocky would hover nearby, occasionally correcting terminology or adding context Ryland hadn’t considered. The two of them had developed a rhythm, Ryland speaking in human logic, Rocky refining it into something Eridian intuition could hold onto.

Meanwhile, Bee had built her own quiet place in this new world.

She spent her days sketching and painting, capturing Earth not as it had been, but as it lived in memory. Forests she had never walked through but could imagine from descriptions, cities she had only seen through recordings, faces of people long gone or far away, preserved through stories Ryland sometimes shared when the weight of distance settled too heavily on him.

The Eridians were endlessly curious about it.

Not in a way that felt intrusive, but careful, like handling something fragile and sacred at the same time. They asked questions while she worked, watching as she drew clouds and oceans and the strange human habit of building upward instead of outward. She helped them document it all, translating Earth’s history into something they could understand without flattening it.

It gave her a strange sense of purpose, not survival anymore just a small reminder of Earth. 

And then there were evenings.

Evenings when the light across the alien ocean softened into something almost familiar, and the four of them would walk along the shoreline where land met water in a way that didn’t quite obey Earth’s rules. The sand, or what functionally replaced it, shifted slightly underfoot, warm and faintly luminous in places where microscopic life reacted to their movement.

Ryland walked, still animated even after a full day of teaching, talking through ideas he couldn’t quite let go of. Bee would drift beside him, listening half the time and letting the rest of the conversation wash over her like background noise.

And always, just a little farther ahead, were Rocky and Adrian.

Bee had noticed the two of them, the way they moved together.

Not in the human sense of closeness that demanded labels or definitions or expectations, but something steadier than that. Rocky and Adrian didn’t look at each other the way humans did when they were trying to understand or be understood. They simply were together, as if the space between them had long ago been agreed upon and no longer needed negotiation.

Adrian would adjust their pace without being asked when Rocky slowed. Rocky would shift direction without hesitation when Adrian changed course. There was no distance that needed closing, because there was never any doubt it should be closed in the first place.

Familiar.

Like two beings who had chosen each other so consistently, so quietly, that it had stopped feeling like a choice at all and started feeling like gravity.

Bee slowed her steps a little, watching them as they moved along the shoreline. The oceanlight reflected off Rocky’s carapace , and Adrian’s presence beside him felt almost like an echo made visible, different, but inseparable.

It was romantic in a way Bee didn't know how to translate it into words, but in a feeling. 

It was something older than that. Something more deliberate.

A lifetime of choosing, repeated so many times it had become instinct.

Behind her, Ryland was talking again, probably explaining something about stellar evolution to no one in particular, and Bee realized she had stopped listening.

Because something about the way Rocky and Adrian moved together, simple, unspoken, unwavering, had lodged itself quietly in her thoughts.

Just like Bee, Ryland had thought a similar thing. 

Ryland had handled a lot of impossible problems in his life.

Astrophage, interstellar travel, first contact with an alien species whose entire communication system was built on sound patterns he could barely distinguish at the beginning. Teaching physics across biology that should not have been compatible with human understanding. Surviving the end of Earth as he knew it and then somehow continuing anyway.

None of that compared to this.

Because this…this was personal.

And personal problems did not come with equations that behaved properly.

He was still in the middle of packing up after his class when Rocky approached, his claws crunching underneath the soft sand.

The beach was quieter now, the last of the pebbles having drifted out in their calm, curious way, still processing whatever chaos Ryland had just tried to turn into comprehensible physics, floating displays dimmed, notes hung in the air like half-finished thoughts waiting to be put away.

Ryland, however, looked like he had forgotten how to put himself away.

“Grace,” Rocky chirped, grabbing Ryland's attention. 

Ryland didn’t look up right away. “Hey, Rocky. Class went okay, right? I think I finally got them to understand gravitational curvature without using the word ‘spaghetti’, which, honestly, I’m calling that a win.”

“You are producing distress posture,” Rocky observed.

“I’m not distressed.”

Rocky made a soft clicking sound, subtle, but clearly skeptical.

Ryland sighed. “Okay, fine. I’m… thinking.”

Rocky moved closer, hovering in that careful way he had when he was trying to be helpful without accidentally making things worse. “Humans think loudly. You are thinking louder than usual.”

“That is not a measurement.”

“It is observation.”

Ryland let out a short laugh despite himself, then ran a hand down his face. “Yeah. Yeah, I deserve that.”

Rocky tilted slightly. “What is problem source, question?”

Ryland hesitated. That was the thing. He couldn’t exactly explain it in the language he normally used with Rocky. Not in the calm and clinical way he taught Rocky about relativity, no this was more personal and emotional. Something he had a feeling Rocky wouldn't understand. 

After a moment, he leaned back against a sharp rock against the beach.

“It’s… after all this,” he said finally. “After the mission. After everything we’ve been doing. Bee and I can just… start our lives.”

Rocky’s head tilted slightly, not confusion exactly, something closer to active recalculation.

“Start lives,” he repeated.

“Yeah,” Ryland said. “Like… properly. Not just surviving. Not just reacting. Just… living. Together.”

Rocky chirped softly, a questioning sound that didn’t quite translate.

Ryland looked at him. “You don’t get it.”

“I am attempting,” Rocky replied.

Ryland exhaled, then shook his head slightly like he was trying to organize the thoughts even for himself. “On Earth, there’s this thing humans do. When they decide they want to… commit. To each other. Officially. It’s called marriage.”

Rocky went still.

“…Marriage,” he repeated carefully, as if testing the shape of the word.

“Yeah.”

Rocky’s head tilted further. “Is this required for survival?”

“No,” Ryland said immediately. “No, it’s not about survival.”

“Then what purpose, question?”

Ryland hesitated again. “It’s… symbolic, emotional, social. It means choosing someone. Publicly. Permanently. Sort of.”

Rocky was quiet for a long moment, processing Ryland's words before he spoke up. “Humans make many rules for feelings.”

“That’s… not wrong,” Ryland admitted, a small and sheepish smile beginning to form on his face. 

Rocky made a soft sound that might have been agreement, might have been judgment. “Bee already with you.”

“Yeah,” Ryland said. “That’s kind of the point.”

Rocky considered this again, more slowly now.

“Then why stress, question?” he asked. “Outcome already known.”

Ryland gave a small, helpless laugh. “Because it’s not exactly about the outcome. It’s about doing it right.”

He already knew, logically, quietly, in the part of his mind that had survived everything from astrophage to interstellar collapse, that Bee would probably say yes. After everything they had been through, after everything they had already chosen to be to each other, the answer felt almost certain.

But certainty didn’t make the moment easier.

If anything, it made it heavier.

Because the real pressure wasn’t the question itself. It was everything surrounding it, the timing, the words, the meaning he wanted to fit into something that small and fragile and human. He wasn’t worried about if she would say yes.

He was worried about whether he could make it feel like it deserved the answer.

“Define right,” Rocky said.

Ryland opened his mouth before he closed it again, trying to rack his brain on what exactly 'right' meant in this context. 

“…That’s the problem,” he said quietly.

Rocky paused, then shifted slightly closer, as if this might physically improve the situation.

“You are inefficient, statement” he said gently.

Ryland couldn't help the amused but almost disbelieving laugh that left his lips at Rocky's blunt statement. 

“Thanks.”

“But,” Rocky added after a beat, “you are consistently inefficient. Bee remains.”

Ryland snorted. “That is the least comforting reassurance I’ve ever heard.”

“It is accurate reassurance.”

Ryland rubbed his face again, then let his hands drop to his sides.

“I just want it to mean something,” he admitted. “Not just for me, but her also. Like… after everything we’ve been through, I want the next step to actually feel like a step. Not just… drifting into whatever comes next.”

Rocky was quiet for a long time, before he spoke up again. “Human customs are weird, statement.”

Ryland blinked in surprise. “Is that your conclusion?”

“Yes.”

“That’s it?”

Rocky tilted his head. “You request understanding. I provide understanding.”

Ryland let out a breath, half laugh, half surrender.

“…Fair enough,” he said.

Rocky shifted slightly, as if satisfied with his contribution. “Still problem, question?”

Ryland looked toward the empty space where the class had been, then toward the shoreline, the waves crashing against the rocks to creating a calming sound.

“Yeah,” he said. “It still is a problem.”

Ryland paused, his thoughts immediately turning into a kind of internal chaos he didn’t bother to filter anymore.

'Okay, think. Just think. Normal human romance options. Where do people do this? House? No, too predictable, too plain, too “oh hey by the way, life-altering question while folding laundry.” Dinner? Absolutely not. That feels staged. That feels like a bad movie. I don’t want Bee’s entire emotional future to feel like a bad movie.'

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply as if that might physically shake the ideas loose.

'It has to mean something. But not too much. Not weirdly dramatic. Not like I planned it for three years, because I did not plan it for three years…well, okay, I sort of did, but that’s not the point.'

His gaze dropped to the sand beneath his worn white Converse, the minerals shifting slightly with the tide’s distant pull.

And then it clicked. Of course, the beach.

The one place that never felt like it was trying too hard. The place they always ended up without meaning to, where conversation slowed down and everything felt just a little more honest than everywhere else.

Ryland let out a breath, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly as the idea settled into place.

'Yeah. That could work.'

“But I think I know what I’m going to do about it.”

The words finally broke through after what felt like a long silence. Ryland straightened slightly as he said it, as if speaking the decision aloud made it feel more real.

Rocky responded immediately, letting out a bright, chirping sound that lifted in pitch with what could only be described as enthusiasm. His limbs shifted in a quick, excited flutter, his version of what Ryland had come to recognize as “jazz hands.”

-

The sun, or rather, the biodome’s careful attempt at replicating one, was beginning its descent when Ryland finally decided.

The sky stretched itself into colors that felt almost familiar, echoing an Earth sunset in a way that was close enough to ache. Bands of gold and soft violet bled into one another overhead, while the ocean caught it all and fractured it into shifting shards of light with every small wave.

The rhythm of the day had been simple, familiar. Dinner at their small table overlooking the wide window of their home, the kind of quiet meal that didn’t need much conversation anymore. Leftovers, half-finished thoughts, comfortable silence stretching between them as easily as conversation once had.

They had just finished when Ryland, in what he tried very hard to make sound casual, had suggested a walk.

“Sunset’s good tonight,” he’d said. “We should… go outside. Stretch legs. Normal human behavior.”

Bee had raised an eyebrow at him across the table, clearly aware that nothing about the way he said it was remotely normal.

But she had smiled anyway.

“Sure, Let’s go.”

And so they had. 

Ryland stood just a little too straight as they walked, his hand threaded with Bee’s as they made their way along the shoreline of the beach they had come to know almost by habit now.

Ryland stood just a little too straight as they walked, his hand threaded with Bee’s as they made their way along the shoreline of the beach they had come to know almost by habit now. The sand—soft, faintly luminous in places where microscopic life reacted to movement—shifted under their shoes in a rhythm that had long since stopped feeling unfamiliar.

Bee glanced sideways at him as they stepped out farther from the house.

“You’re doing the thing again,” she said.

Ryland didn’t look at her immediately. “What thing?”

“The thing where you look like you’re about to either solve a universe problem or spontaneously combust from anxiety.”

“I’m not panicking.”

“You’re definitely panicking.”

“I prefer ‘strategically thinking at high intensity.’”

Bee hummed, unimpressed. “That’s worse.”

Ahead of them, the ocean moved in slow, steady breath-like motions, waves rolling in with a patience that felt almost intentional. The shore was quiet in the way it always was at this hour, everything softened by the fading light.

Ryland, meanwhile, was no longer walking in a straight line.

He was subtly correcting their path every few steps.

'Too far from the water. No, too close. Wait, that’s worse. Adjust again. That looks suspicious. Why does walking feel like advanced geometry—' 

“Are you… navigating?” Bee asked suddenly, causing Ryland shut his eyes in embarrassment by the fact that Bee had noticed. 

'I thought I was more stuble that that.'

“Yes,” Ryland said immediately.

“Why?”

“Because I enjoy geography.”

“You are walking along a beach.”

“Yes.”

“In a straight line.”

“Emotionally, it is complex geography.”

Bee stopped walking. Ryland stopped too, far too quickly.

“Ryland,” she said.

“Yes?”

“You’re stressing me out.”

“I’m sorry.”

She narrowed her eyes slightly, studying him in the fading light. “Are you okay?”

“Yes.”

“That was too fast.”

“No it wasn’t.”

“Yes it was.”

Ryland exhaled through his nose, the tension in him tightening instead of easing. “I’m fine.”

The ocean, unhelpfully, chose that moment to interrupt.

A wave rolled in higher than expected. Ryland stepped back on instinct, but it was already too late.

Cold water surged over his sneakers and up his legs in an instant, soaking through fabric and bone-deep nerve endings like it had been waiting for him specifically.

“OH—” he yelped, freezing mid-motion. “That is—why is that so aggressively cold—why does it have opinions—”

Bee burst out laughing immediately.

“Oh my god,” she said, bending slightly at the waist as she laughed. “Ryland, you’re soaked.”

“I can feel that,” he said through clenched teeth, though the warmth spreading in his chest as he watched Bee laugh, made the soaked fabric of his pants somewhat bearable. “It is extremely enthusiastic about the concept of moisture.”

“You’re shaking.”

“I am not shaking. This is controlled thermal response.”

Bee shook her head, still smiling. “You’re unbelievable.”

And that was it.

That was the moment everything stopped spinning quite so fast in his head, because suddenly, he wasn’t trying to optimize anymore. He was just… there.

Ryland took a breath, then another, to stop his racing heart. 

Then, before his brain could rebuild its argument against the idea, he stepped forward, still standing in the edge of the freezing water, and lowered himself down onto one knee.

The ocean immediately climbed higher around him, as if trying to witness properly.

Bee blinked. “Ryland—what are you doing?”

He looked up at her.

And for once, he didn’t rush to fill the silence.

Behind them, far up the shore near a cluster of rocks, two aliens were absolutely not hiding very well.

Of course, Rocky and Adrian were watching.

Ryland swallowed.

“I’ve been trying to figure out the perfect way to do this,” he said, voice slightly uneven now.

Bee’s expression softened immediately, laughter fading into something quieter, more careful. “Ryland…”

“But it turns out,” he continued quickly, words spilling out now that he’d opened the door, “there isn’t one. Which is extremely frustrating for me because I really like systems that work properly and this is not a system and I kept overthinking it and Rocky kept telling me I was overthinking it which I already knew I was overthinking it—”

From the rocks came a very firm voice.

“You are overthinking it.”

Ryland blinked slightly in surprise by the familar voice of Rocky, followed by Adrian's hushed voice trying to tell Rocky to be quiet. Ryland shut his eyes for a brief second. “Thank you, Rocky.”

“You are welcome.”

Bee turned her head slightly, seeing Rock, not caring that he was clearly visible. “Is Rocky… coaching you right now?”

“Yes,” Rocky said.

“No,” Ryland said at the exact same time.

“He was previously worse.” Rocky added. 

“Rocky!”

“I am observing improvement.”

Bee laughed again, softer now, hand covering her mouth.

Ryland dragged in a breath, forcing himself back on track before his entire nervous system collapsed.

“I love you,” he said, suddenly steadier. “And I don’t think I ever really stopped loving you. Even when everything was falling apart or we were just surviving or I was teaching alien physics to people who don’t have the same concept of ‘falling,’ I still knew I wanted this. With you.”

He reached into his pocket, fingers fumbling slightly as he looked for the xeonite ring Rocky had created for him to give to Bee.

“And also,” he added quickly, “I’m very cold, so if you could answer before I lose circulation that would be ideal.”

Bee stared at him for a beat.

Then she laughed, warm, disbelieving, full.

“You’re ridiculous,” she said softly.

“I’ve been informed.”

“You’re soaking wet.”

“Still aware.”

“And you’re on one knee in an alien ocean.”

“Yes.”

A pause.

Bee stepped closer, stopping right before he shoes touched the water before he spoke up. 

“Yes,” she said.

Ryland blinked. “Yes?”

He questioned, almost like he didnt hear her right the first time. 

“Yes,” she repeated, smiling wider now, voice gentler. “Now get out of the water before you get hypothermia, you absolute disaster.”

Relief hit him so fast he almost forgot how to stand, he almost slipped backwards into the water as he scrambled up , Bee catching his arm before he could fully embarrass himself.

Behind the rocks, there was a small shift.

“Outcome: positive,” Rocky observed.

Adrian, quieter: “He nearly fell into ocean.”

“Minor complication,” Rocky concluded.

From the shoreline, Ryland drew Bee a little closer, a breathless laugh slipping out of him like he still couldn’t quite believe any version of reality had led him here. His hands were steady now, surprisingly steady, as he lifted the xeonite ring and guided it carefully onto her finger, making sure, absurdly, that it fit just right.

For a moment, he just looked at her.

The wind tugged gently at her curls, the fading light catching in them like gold threaded through shadow. The ocean behind her moved in slow, endless rhythm, and everything, every impossible thing he had survived, every light-year of distance, every equation and emergency and uncertainty, seemed to narrow down to this single point in time.

Ryland reached up then, almost instinctively, and cupped her face in his hands.

His touch softened as if he was afraid the moment might break if he held it too tightly. He leaned in and pressed a quiet, unhurried kiss to her lips.

When he pulled back, he didn’t move far.

His forehead rested against hers, their breaths mingling in the small space between them, the world behind them fading into the sound of waves and wind.

“I love you,” he said softly. Barely above a whisper. But certain. “I love you.”

Just loud enough for Bee to hear.

Though, judging by the very faint rustling somewhere behind them near the rocks, he had a feeling Rocky and Adrian probably had too.

Bee let out a soft laugh, warm and slightly breathless. “I love you too,” she said, smiling against him. “Even though you can be kind of a dork.”

Ryland huffed a quiet laugh, something between disbelief and affection, finally pulling back just enough to look at her properly again. “I’ll accept that. That’s fair.”

Bee giggled, still holding onto him like she had no intention of letting go anytime soon.

“Come on,” she said gently, squeezing his hand. “Let’s get you warm.”

He blinked at her. “I am not that cold.”

“That's the first sign of hypothermia."

“…Okay, that one’s fair.”

She laughed, already tugging him back, away from the water. And just like that, they started walking again, hand in hand, leaving the shoreline behind them as the light slowly faded into evening.

Behind the rocks, there was a small shift.

Rocky watched them go, then nodded once, satisfied.

“Human romance,” he said thoughtfully. “Confusing. But effective.”

After Ryland's proposal, wedding planning had moved surprisingly quickly.

Not because either of them had been particularly organized, if anything, Ryland's tendency to get distracted by scientific questions and Bee's habit of putting things off until the last possible moment should have made the process a disaster. But planning a wedding on an alien planet turned out to be significantly less complicated than planning one on Earth.

Back on Earth, Bee had heard countless stories about wedding planning. Friends from college had spent months stressing over venues, guest lists, seating arrangements, flowers, catering, and a hundred other details that seemed to determined to turn what was supposed to be a celebration of love into a second full-time job. Entire television shows and movies had been built around the chaos of wedding planning.

But somehow, being sixteen light-years away from Earth simplified things considerably.

There were no venues to book months in advance. No guest lists that stretched into the hundreds. No endless debates about seating arrangements or floral centerpieces or whether distant relatives would be offended if they weren't invited.

The guest list consisted of Rocky, Adrian, and a handful of Eridians who had become close friends over the years.

The venue was a beach.

The decorations were being enthusiastically handled by Adrian, who had somehow turned the entire process into a massive artistic project.

For once in their lives, things had been simple. Maybe it was because there was no pressure to impress anyone, or maybe it was because after everything they had survived together, simple felt like a gift. Because once they had crossed the galaxy together, saving two planets, befriended an alien engineer, and somehow built a life on another planet, things like table centerpieces no longer felt as important.

Whatever the reason, the weeks following Ryland's proposal had passed in a blur of excitement, anticipation, and more than a few moments where Bee would catch herself staring at her ring finger and smiling.

The morning of their wedding arrived quietly.

Not with fanfare or excitement or the overwhelming rush Bee had always imagined accompanied weddings back on Earth. There were no bridesmaids bustling around a crowded hotel room, no frantic relatives making last-minute phone calls, and no carefully orchestrated schedule threatening to collapse under its own weight.

Instead, there was only the distant sound of waves.

The ocean in the biodome rolled steadily toward shore, each wave breaking against the rocks below with a rhythm that had become as familiar to Bee as her own heartbeat. The sound drifted through the slightly open bedroom window alongside cool salt air, carrying with it the faint scent of the sea and the lingering morning fog that still clung to the coastline.

For several long moments, Bee remained exactly where she was, curled comfortably beneath the blankets, half-awake and unwilling to move, she simply listened.

The room was bathed in the soft gray light that always seemed to accompany mornings in the biodome. Thick clouds filtered the sunlight into a muted silver glow that spilled through the windows and stretched across the wooden floorboards. Outside, the fog rolled lazily across the water, blurring the horizon where the ocean met the sky.

It was peaceful, comfortably so. The kind of peace that had once felt like an impossible dream, but one you never wanted to wake up from.

Years ago, aboard the Hail Mary, mornings had begun with uncertainty. Every day had brought a new problem, a new obstacle, a new reminder of just how far they were from home. Back then, peace had felt temporary and fragile.

Now it felt permanent, or at least as permanent as anything could be on a planet sixteen light-years away from Earth.

Slowly, Bee rolled onto her side and a smile immediately tugged at the corners of her mouth.

Ryland was still asleep.

The sight wasn't entirely unusual anymore, though there had been a time when she would have considered it a miracle.

Ryland Grace had always possessed an almost supernatural ability to destroy his own sleep schedule.

There had been countless nights aboard the Hail Mary when she'd woken up in the middle of the night only to discover him hunched over a notebook, arguing with Rocky about engineering, standing in front of a whiteboard covered in equations, or researching some scientific question that absolutely could have waited until morning.

Living together had only confirmed her suspicions. The man was fundamentally incapable of leaving a problem unsolved.

And unfortunately, Rocky was often just as bad.

Rather than encouraging healthy sleep habits (partially because he didn't understand them), the two of them frequently enabled each other, disappearing into hours-long conversations about chemistry, astrophysics, engineering, biology, or whatever scientific rabbit hole had captured their attention that particular day.

Bee had lost count of the number of times she'd wandered into the common area at two in the morning only to find both of them enthusiastically discussing something incomprehensible.

Thankfully, age, several near-death experiences, and the responsibility of helping build an entirely new life on Erid had forced Ryland to develop slightly healthier habits.

Slightly. Now he only occasionally stayed awake until three in the morning, it was progress, not particularly impressive progress, but progress nonetheless.

Bee had long since accepted that this was simply who Ryland was. The man she loved just happened to come with an unhealthy relationship to sleep and an endless curiosity that refused to turn off.

The thought alone made her smile widened.

A few strands of messy blond hair had fallen across his forehead sometime during the night, and his wire-rimmed glasses sat abandoned on the nightstand beside the bed. Without them, he looked younger somehow, softer.

Less like the scientist who had helped save two worlds, less like the man who had crossed the galaxy, more like the middle school teacher she'd met all those years ago.

The dorky science teacher who wore terrible science-themed T-shirts, made awful puns, and had somehow decided they were going to be friends whether she liked it or not.

The memory made her laugh quietly.

Even now, after everything, she could still picture him standing awkwardly in the lab on the ship and some ridiculous science joke ready to unleash upon an unsuspecting victim, mostly of the time, it was Bee.

At the time, she'd thought he was strange, maybe a little annoying, but mostly endearing.

And somehow that had been enough. The years that followed felt almost impossible to summarize now.

What had begun as friendship between two people trying to survive an impossible situation had slowly become something neither of them had been expecting. There had been late-night conversations aboard the Hail Mary, hours spent talking about favorite books and movies, quiet moments staring out at the stars beyond the observation deck, and countless little interactions that had slowly built something deeper.

Neither of them had intended to fall in love.

The mission had always been more important. There was always another problem to solve, another crisis waiting around the corner.

Yet somehow, between all the fear and uncertainty and impossible odds, they had found each other anyway.

And now, after everything they had endured, meeting Rocky, saving Earth, saving Erid, nearly dying more times than either of them could count, they were here.

In a little beach house overlooking an alien ocean. About to start the rest of their lives together.

Even now, the thought felt almost unreal.

There had been a time when Bee genuinely hadn't believed either of them would survive long enough to think about things like weddings. Back then, the future had been measured in problems that needed solving and crises that needed surviving. There was always another obstacle waiting around the corner, another impossible calculation, another reminder of how fragile everything truly was.

Yet somehow, despite all of it, they had made it here.

Not back to Earth, not to the lives they had once imagined for themselves, but to something new. Something neither of them had ever expected to find. A home on an alien world with a beach house perfectly made for them, perched above an ocean that shouldn't exist.

A family made up of two humans, an Eridian engineer, his artist mate, and countless friends from a planet sixteen light-years away from the one they were born on.

And today, she was going to marry him.

The realization settled warmly in her chest, accompanied by a flutter of nervous excitement that had been lingering beneath the surface for days. It wasn't fear, not really. Bee had never once questioned whether she wanted to spend the rest of her life with Ryland.

If anything, the certainty of it was what made the day feel so overwhelming, because the truth was that she couldn't pinpoint the exact moment she'd fallen in love with him.

There wasn't some grand declaration or dramatic realization. No singular memory she could point to and say, there, that's when everything changed.

Instead, it had happened slowly, quietly. The way most important things did.

It had been hundreds of little moments woven together over years until one day she couldn't imagine a future that didn't include him.

The way he believed in people, even when they didn't believe in themselves, the way he talked about his students with genuine affection, as though every single one of them mattered, the way he could spend hours explaining a scientific concept with the enthusiasm of someone discovering it for the first time, his entire face lighting up whenever he became excited about something, the way he made people feel seen and important.

Bee had watched Ryland do it countless times over the years. Whether it was a nervous student, a stressed colleague, Rocky, or even an entire planet of Eridians, Ryland somehow had a way of making people feel like they mattered.

And during the mission, during the hardest moments when everything seemed impossible, he'd looked at her with that same unwavering faith.

As though simply seeing her was enough to remind him why he needed to keep fighting.

Her gaze softened.

God, she loved him.

Carefully, so she wouldn't wake him too suddenly, Bee reached forward and brushed a loose strand of blond hair away from his forehead.

The reaction was immediate, Ryland stirred almost instantly. Of course he did, years aboard the Hail Mary had turned him into an incredibly light sleeper. When your entire existence depended on noticing when something went catastrophically wrong, your brain learned very quickly how to wake up at the slightest disturbance.

His eyebrows furrowed slightly before his eyes slowly blinked open.

For several seconds he simply stared at her. Confused, disoriented, his brain clearly hadn't finished booting up yet… and the lack of glasses wasn't helping.

Without them, Ryland always looked a little lost for the first few minutes after waking up, like someone had dropped him into a situation without providing any context.

Bee bit back a laugh.

Then his eyes finally focused, and he smiled.

That smile, the slightly crooked one that never failed to make her heart do something embarrassing.

The one she'd been hopelessly in love with for years.

"Morning."

His voice was rough with sleep, lower than usual. Bee smiled back.

"Morning."

For a moment, everything was peaceful. Then she watched the exact second his brain caught up, his expression froze, he blinked once before his eyes widened dramatically.

"Oh."

Bee immediately started laughing.

"What?"

Ryland sat upright so quickly he nearly tangled himself in the blankets.

"Today's today."

His voice carried the same tone scientists used when realizing they had forgotten something critically important.

Bee pressed her lips together, trying to bite back a laugh, but ultimatley failed.

"Yes, Ryland."

"Oh my God."

"Ryland—"

"Bee, today's the wedding."

His voice cracked slightly on the last word. The panic in his expression was so genuine that Bee found herself laughing even harder.

Years of surviving impossible situations, years of saving planets, years of facing down things that should have terrified him, and somehow a wedding was what finally broke him.

"Yes."

"Oh no."

Bee rolled her eyes affectionately.

"You're the one who proposed."

"I know."

"And I said yes."

"I know."

"So why do you look like someone just informed you the ship is exploding?"

Ryland immediately pointed toward her.

"That's different."

"How?"

"Because I know how to handle a ship exploding."

Bee stared at him, raising her eyebrow.

"You know how to handle a ship exploding."

"More or less."

"You've never been married before, therefore this is unfamiliar territory."

Ryland sighed dramatically as he shifted, collapsing backward onto the mattress as he spoke.

"...That's actually a good point."

Bee laughed as Ryland stared up at the ceiling for several moments before speaking again, his voice noticeably quieter this time.

"Because this is the most important day of my life."

The laughter disappeared from Bee's chest almost immediately and warmth took its place.

She turned toward him, studying the nervous expression lingering on his face.

He sounded completely sincere, not embarrassed, not joking, just honest.

As though there had never been any other future he wanted.

As though there had never been any other answer.

Slowly, Bee leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss against his forehead.

Ryland immediately relaxed a little bit beneath the touch, not completely. She could still feel the nervous energy practically radiating off him.

His shoulders remained tense, his fingers fidgeted absentmindedly with the blankets, but some of the anxiety eased…enough.

For a few moments, neither of them spoke.

Outside, another wave crashed against the shoreline below the cliffs. The fog drifted lazily across the ocean, blurring the horizon into shades of silver and blue. Somewhere in the distance, seabirds called to one another as the biodome slowly woke around them.

And beneath the soft gray light of an alien morning, Bee found herself thinking that she couldn't imagine a better way to begin the rest of their lives.

The moment was interrupted by a soft knock at the front door.

Bee blinked and so did Ryland before both of them turned toward the hallway.

Another knock followed, this one gentle and polite. The exact opposite of Rocky.

Bee immediately frowned.

Because if it had been Rocky, the knocking would have sounded less like a request and more like an engineering emergency. Rocky had never quite grasped the concept of waiting patiently for someone to answer the door. His preferred method involved knocking repeatedly until somebody eventually opened it.

"That's not Rocky," Ryland said.

"Nope."

They exchanged matching looks of confusion as the knock came again, still soft and polite.

Bee finally pushed herself out of bed, slipping out from beneath the blankets before making her way toward the front door. The wooden floor felt cool beneath her feet as she crossed the house, the sound of distant waves following her the entire way.

She hesitated briefly before wrapping her hand around the doorknob.

Then she pulled the door open, and found Adrian standing on the other side, with Rocky behind them.

Bee stared at Adrian for several long seconds, her hand still resting on the doorknob as she tried to process why Adrian was standing on her doorstep at six o'clock in the morning.

It wasn't unusual for Adrian or Rocky to visit. At this point, the two Eridians came and went from the biodome often enough that Bee sometimes forgot they technically lived several miles away. Their visits had become part of everyday life. Rocky would inevitably show up because he wanted to discuss some engineering project with Ryland, while Adrian usually appeared carrying a new sculpture, sketch, or artistic experiment they wanted Bee's opinion on.

What was unusual was the timing, most visits happened later in the day, definitely not at sunrise.

The cool ocean breeze drifted through the open doorway, carrying the scent of salt water and damp fog. Beyond Adrian, the coastline stretched beneath the soft gray light of morning, the waves rolling steadily against the rocks below. Everything felt quiet and peaceful.

At least until Bee noticed the familiar shape standing behind Adrian, and immediately understood why the peace wasn't going to last.

"Rocky?"

The Eridian engineer shifted his weight, his carapace glinting faintly beneath the silver morning light.

"Question," Rocky said immediately. "Why are both humans still in bed?"

Bee blinked in surprise. No hello, no congratulations, no acknowledgment that today was their wedding day. Just straight to the problem Rocky had apparently identified.

Behind her, she heard a muffled groan from the bedroom, Ryland burying his face into his pillow.

"Oh no."

Bee couldn't stop herself from smiling as Ryland had recognized that voice and groaned softly.

Rocky's attention immediately shifted past her and toward the bedroom as though he'd locked onto a target.

"Grace."

The tone alone was enough to make Bee laugh. She remebered when Rocky didn't understand humor or sarcasm, now? He used it all the time, mostly with Ryland.

Rocky moved forward without waiting for an invitation, brushing past Adrian and squeezing through the doorway with the confidence of someone who had long ago decided formalities were unnecessary.

Bee stepped aside just in time as Rocky made his way into the house. The moment Rocky entered the house, he made a direct path toward the bedroom.

"Grace, why are you still in bed, question? Wedding is today."

"It's six in the morning!" Ryland called back, his voice was slightly muffled by a pillow.

"Correction. It is six seventeen."

"Rocky, that's not helping."

"It is helping."

"It absolutely isn't."

Bee let Adrian in, closing the door behind them before she followed Rocky into the bedroom, already fighting laughter.

The room still carried the warmth and comfort of the quiet morning she'd been enjoying only minutes earlier. Sunlight filtered through the fog outside, casting pale silver light across the floorboards.

Rocky, however, had arrived like a force of nature.

The Eridian stopped beside the bed and looked up at Ryland, who remained tangled beneath the blankets.

"Have you dressed yet, Question?"

"No."

"Why?"

Ryland finally sat upright. His blond hair was sticking up in several different directions and his glasses were still sitting on the nightstand. Without them, he looked vaguely offended and deeply exhausted.

"Because I was sleeping."

Rocky considered this statement for approximately half a second before he dismissed it entirely.

"Unimportant."

Ryland looked genuinely horrified at Rocky's comment.

"Sleep is important."

"Incorrect."

"It literally keeps you alive."

"Weddings also important."

Bee pressed her lips together, biting her lip to keep herself from laughing but ultimately failed.

The sight before her was absurd.

An alien engineer arguing with a former middle-school science teacher about the importance of sleep on the morning of his wedding.

Ten years ago she would've assumed she'd finally lost her mind, now it barely registered as unusual.

Rocky turned toward her.

"Bee understands."

"I really don't think I do." Bee chimed in.

"Good."

"That doesn't even make sense." Bee stared down at Rocky.

"Thank you."

Across the room, Ryland buried his face in his hands.

"Oh my God."

The sound that escaped Bee's mouth was somewhere between a laugh and a snort.

Rocky pointed one of his limbs toward the dresser.

"Grace. Get dressed."

"Rocky—"

"Get dressed."

"Rocky."

"Grace."

The two stared at each other. Bee could practically see the stubbornness radiating between them. Finally Rocky made a sound suspiciously similar to a sigh.

"Why are humans so difficult, Question?"

Ryland pointed at himself, his eyes wide and shocked at Rocky's comment.

"I'm difficult?"

"Yes."

"You're the one who came into my house at six in the morning."

"Correct."

"And started yelling at me."

"Also correct."

Bee doubled over laughing, amused as she watched the situation between Ryland and Rocky. It wasn't ususal to hear the two bicker, even on the Hail Mary, but it never failed to make her laugh.

Ryland immediately pointed toward her.

"Don't encourage him."

"I'm not encouraging him." She lifted her hands up defensively, but couldn't contain the amused smile on her face.

"You absolutely are."

Years ago, Ryland had taught Rocky sarcasm, at first, Ryland thought nothing of it. Rocky was teaching both Ryland and Bee the customs of Erid, so he thought he should teach Rocky a little bit about Earth…but little did he know it would backfire on him.

These were one of those moments, and based on Ryland's expression, both him and Bee knew that.

"I liked you better when you didn't understand jokes."

"This is false."

"It isn't."

"It is."

Rocky's carapace shifted slightly as he tapped one limb against the hardwood floor like he was emphasizing his point, the closest thing the Eridian had to looking smug.

"Grace enjoys my company."

"I regret teaching you emotional intelligence."

"Also false."

Eventually Rocky seemed satisfied that enough time had been wasted.

"Beach preparations require supervision."

Ryland pointed at him.

"You mean you require supervision."

"Also correct."

"At least you're honest." Ryland let out a small noise, something between a sigh and a laugh.

Rocky tilted his head slightly.

"Fox cardigan, question?"

Ryland froze immediately, blinking slightly in surprise as he looked down at Rocky.

Bee slapped a hand over her mouth.

Because somehow, somehow, Rocky knew exactly which cardigan Ryland was about to wear on his wedding day.

The infamous fox cardigan. It was Ryland's favorite and Bee's favorite, both on him and for her to wear around the house.

The cardigan that had survived Earth, the Hail Mary, Tau Ceti, multiple near-death experiences, and now apparently a wedding.

Ryland looked personally attacked.

"What is wrong with the fox cardigan?"

"Nothing."

"Then why did you say it like that?"

Rocky paused.

"You wear it frequently."

Bee completely lost the battle and burst out laughing.

Ryland looked between the two of them with the expression of a man who had realized nobody was on his side, not even his own fiancee.

"You know what?" he said. "I'm being bullied in my own home."

"Correct."

"Rocky!"

"Hurry hurry."

Still muttering under his breath about how being awake at six in the morning should probably qualify as cruel and unusual punishment, Ryland finally pushed himself away from the bed and crossed the room toward the dresser.

Bee watched him fondly as he rummaged through the drawers, periodically pulling out shirts only to immediately dismiss them. It was a process she'd witnessed countless times over the years. For someone capable of solving impossible scientific problems and helping save two entire worlds, Ryland Grace was remarkably indecisive when it came to choosing clothes.

Especially when he was nervous, and judging by the way he kept opening drawers only to stare blankly into them, he was very nervous.

Rocky remained planted in the middle of the bedroom, observing the entire process with the patience of someone supervising a particularly inefficient engineering project.

"Grace."

"I'm getting dressed."

"You have examined three shirts."

"I know."

"You only need one."

"I know."

"Then why are there still three shirts?"

Ryland froze before he slowly turned around, looking down at Rocky with an unimpressed expression on his face.

"Rocky, You are not helping."

"I am helping."

"No, you're stress-testing my patience."

Bee laughed softly, shaking her head as Ryland disappeared into the bathroom to get changed and do his normal morning routine to get ready for the day.

A moment later he reemerged wearing jeans, one of his well-worn science T-shirts, and the cardigan.

Bee felt a smile tug at the corners of her mouth the second she saw it. The sight of it felt oddly comforting, familiar, like a small piece of the life they'd once had carrying over into the one they'd built here.

Rocky immediately looked him up and down as he tilted his head slightly.

"Acceptable."

Ryland narrowed his eyes.

"I wasn't asking."

"Good."

Rocky immediately turned toward the door, already making his way out the door.

"Come."

Ryland sighed dramatically and the response was so quick that Bee had to bite back a laugh. For all the years they'd known each other, Rocky and Ryland still interacted like two brothers who'd been arguing for decades.

Before following Rocky out of the room, Ryland paused beside the bed. The teasing expression he'd been wearing faded slightly, only for a moment, but it was enough for Bee to immediately recognized the look in his eyes.

Beneath all the jokes and complaints and nervous energy, reality was finally beginning to settle in.

That in only a few hours, they would be standing together on the beach outside their home, promising to be together forver. The realization seemed to hit Ryland all over again and Bee's expression softened.

Slowly, she reached up and adjusted the slightly crooked collar of his cardigan that always seemed to be crooked, especially when Ryland was nervous and put the cardigan on haphazardly.

"You'll be fine." She whispered softly, his eyes met hers, and for a moment, all the frantic energy disappeared.

"Yeah?" The question was quiet, almost boyishly uncertain.

"Yeah."

Something in his expression relaxed immediately, not completely, he was still Ryland who was a chronic overthinker about everything, but some of the tension left his shoulders.

Without another word, he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss against her forehead, the gesture was brief, simple, comfortably familiar after all these years, and yet it still managed to make her heart flutter exactly the same way it always had. Maybe that was part of love, not the grand gestures, not the dramatic moments, just the small things that never stopped mattering.

"I'll see you in a few hours."

Bee smiled.

"You better."

The moment lasted approximately two seconds before Rocky had to break the small moment between the two, practically shoving Ryland away from Bee and towards the door of their house

"Hurry Hurry."

Still muttering under his breath, something along the lines of "jeez, you really are bossy" that Rocky definetly heard before Ryland followed him outside.

Bee watched from the doorway as the two disappeared down the winding path leading toward the beach.

Even from a distance she could hear them arguing, or as Ryland so lovingly put it, "disuccsuing with passion".

Their voices gradually faded into the distance, and suddenly the house felt much quieter. The absence of Rocky's constant commentary and Ryland's endless responses left behind a strange stillness.

Only the sound of the waves remained.

The steady rhythm of the ocean drifted through the house, carrying with it the distant crash of water against the rocks below the cliffside and the occasional cry of seabirds circling somewhere beyond the fog. Without Rocky's booming voice filling every available space and Ryland's inevitable responses following shortly after, the biodome suddenly felt much larger than it had a few moments ago.

Quieter, too.

Bee stood there for a moment, listening to the familiar sounds of the coastline that had become home over the years before finally letting out a slow breath and turning back toward Adrian, who hadn't moved since they walked into Bee's house.

They remained exactly where Bee had left them, standing near the doorway with several carefully wrapped bundles balanced against their front limbs. Watching her, very intently.

Immediately, Bee became suspicious.

Adrian was significantly quieter than Rocky, more patient, more thoughtful. Where Rocky tended to barrel directly into a conversation, Adrian preferred to observe first.

Unfortunately, years of friendship had taught Bee that particular look almost always meant one thing.

A question was coming, usually a very specific question and frequently a strange one. Though more often than not, both.

"Question."

Bee immediately pointed toward them.

"There it is."

The corners of Adrian's carapace shifted as they pointed back to Bee, mimicking her movements before several of their limbs lifted and moved excitedly, fingers tapping together in quick succession.

It reminded Bee vaguely of someone trying very hard not to bounce up and down.

"Human marriage requires special clothing."

Bee laughed.

"Usually, yes."

"Excellent."

The excitement in Adrian's voice somehow increased.

"I have approximately one hundred and forty-seven questions."

Bee groaned dramatically.

"Oh no."

"First question."

"Adrian—"

"How does one choose wedding dress?"

Bee couldn't stop herself from smiling, of course that would be the first question.

Shaking her head, she crossed the room toward the dresser and closet tucked against the far wall of the bedroom.

The wooden doors creaked softly as she pulled them open and for several moments she simply stared inside. A collection of shirts, sweaters, jeans, a few jackets.

Most of the clothing she owned had been packed years ago for a mission she had never expected to survive.

Certainly not for a life on another planet, and definitely not for a wedding. The thought almost made her laugh.

When she'd boarded the Hail Mary all those years ago, she'd assumed there was a very real possibility she'd never see Earth again.

At the time, worrying about wedding dresses had seemed ridiculous. Now she was standing in a biodome sixteen light-years from home trying to figure out what to wear when she married the love of her life.

Life had a strange way of being unpredictable.

"Most people back on Earth go to special stores," Bee explained as she sifted through hangers. "They try on a lot of dresses until they find one they like."

"How many dresses?"

Bee shrugged slightly as she began to rummage around the hangers in the dresser her and Ryland shared.

"Sometimes five."

Adrian tilted their head.

"Sometimes fifty."

Adrian froze, almost like they were shocked by the crazy range.

"What?"

Bee laughed.

"Wedding dress shopping can be a little intense."

"A little?"

"Okay. A lot."

Adrian considered this.

"Humans willingly do this?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Bee paused slightly at Adrian's question, it was actually a fair question and one she didn't really know.

"Because people want everything to feel perfect."

"Impossible objective."

"Yeah."

"Nothing is perfect."

Bee smiled softly.

"That's kind of the point."

Adrian made a thoughtful clicking sound, almost like they were filing that answer away for later examination.

Bee continued searching through the closet, most of her wardrobe was practical, comfortable, your typical everyday clothing. She knew she shouldn't be picky, she couldn't go out and go shopping for a dress but she wanted to dress up somewhat for her special day.

Eventually her fingers brushed against softer fabric tucked near the back.

She paused slightly before slowly pulling it free, a white sundress. It as simple, lightweight, nothing particularly extravagant.

The fabric had softened with age and there were a few tiny wrinkles from years of storage, but otherwise it was still in good condition. It wasn't something that looked remotely bridal by Earth's standards.

Bee stared at it for a moment. She'd almost forgotten she'd packed it. Sure, it wasn't a typical wedding dress. It didn't have any lace, elaborate embroidery, or veil, but as she held it up to the light filtering through the fog-covered windows, she found herself smiling.

It felt right, simple, comfortable, familiar. Very much like the life she'd built with Ryland.

Adrian immediately noticed, pointing a claw at the dress Bee was holding up as they tilted their head slightly to the side.

"That one."

Bee glanced toward them.

"You think so?"

"Yes."

"You haven't even seen me wear it." Bee pointed out.

"It made you smile."

Bee blinked, and for a moment she wasn't sure what to say.

Adrian continued.

"Humans choose many things because they create happiness. Correct?"

"Usually."

"You smiled more holding that dress than when holding any other garment."

Bee looked down at the sundress again, and realized Adrian was right. Bee did smile when she found the dress, a warm feeling settled in her chest. Not because it was perfect, because it was far from perfect, but because she could already imagine Ryland's face when he saw her wearing it. The way his smile would immediately appear, the way he'd probably forget whatever sentence he was trying to say halfway through, the way he'd look at her like she was the most beautiful person in the universe.

Adrian stepped closer to Bee, their carapace clinking softly against the hardwood floor.

"Second question."

Bee laughed.

"Oh no."

"How many kisses are required during human wedding ceremony?"

Bee nearly dropped the dress as their eyes widened in surprise.

"Adrian!"

"Important cultural information."

"No, it isn't!"

"It seems important."

"It absolutely does not."

Adrian tilted their head.

"I disagree."

And just like that, Bee knew she wasn't getting through the morning without answering all one hundred and forty-seven questions.

-

By the time Bee finally finished getting ready, the light outside had begun to change.

The gray morning fog that had blanketed the coastline for most of the day was slowly beginning to thin, revealing streaks of gold and pale amber across the sky beyond the windows. The biodome's artificial atmosphere had always been beautiful, but sunsets were something else entirely. The Eridians had spent years studying Earth's weather patterns and coastlines when designing the environment, and nowhere was their attention to detail more obvious than during the evening hours.

The ocean beyond the glass shimmered beneath the fading light, each wave catching fragments of gold and scattering them across the water like shattered pieces of glass. The clouds overhead glowed softly around the edges, painted with shades of orange, pink, and lavender.

Bee stood in front of the bedroom mirror for a long moment, smoothing her hands down the front of the white sundress, her makeshift wedding dress.

When she left Earth all those years ago, she expected to save humanity. Instead she'd found friendship, a new home, and somehow fallen in love with the most stubborn scientist in the galaxy, and honestly? She wouldn't have changed a thing.

Behind her, Adrian made an approving clicking sound.

"You continue smiling at dress." Adrian's soft voice spoke up. Bee turned around to glance down at Adrian.

"I know."

"This confirms previous conclusion."

"Oh?"

"Grace will like it."

"That's your conclusion?" Bee laughed.

"Yes." Adrian sounded very pleased with themselves. For the hundredth time that afternoon, Bee found herself wondering how she'd become close friends with two aliens. Then again, if she was being honest, the answer was simple, they'd become family after everything.

Adrian carefully adjusted one of the flowers woven through Bee's hair before stepping back to inspect their work.

Several small white blossoms and strands of ivy-like greenery had been braided into her hair earlier that afternoon. Adrian had insisted, their claws working the stems of the alien flowers into her curls.

Apparently, after conducting extensive research on human weddings, they'd determined flowers were important.

Bee hadn't bothered arguing, the flowers were beautiful, and even though they were foreign and alien, they reminded her of flowers back on Earth.

"Ready, Question?"

Bee looked at herself one final time.

Her heart fluttered both from being nervous and excited.

"Yeah."

The word came out softer than she'd intended. Adrian immediately brightened, their claws clinking together against the carapace in excitement.

"Excellent."

Together, they left the house.

The cool ocean breeze greeted them the moment they stepped outside, carrying the familiar scent of saltwater and damp earth. The path leading down toward the beach wound between rocky outcroppings and clusters of alien vegetation that glowed faintly beneath the approaching twilight.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

Bee found herself taking everything in, the sound of the waves, the warmth of the setting sun against her skin, the realization that this was really happening. That she was going to marry Ryland Grace.

Years ago she'd stood aboard the Hail Mary staring into endless darkness and wondering if she'd ever have a future at all.

Now she was walking toward her wedding.

Life was strange, wonderful, but strange.

As they rounded the final bend in the path, the beach finally came into view.

Bee stopped walking as her breath caught in her throat.

The shoreline had been transformed.

Rows of carefully crafted xeonite chairs that Rocky had carefully crafted lined the sand, arranged in neat semicircles facing the ocean. Dozens of Eridians already occupied them, their dark forms illuminated by lanterns suspended from elegant curved supports driven into the sand.

Soft golden light flickered across the beach. Near the shoreline of the ocean, across the faces of everyone gathered there, at the center stood an arch. Bee immediately recognized Adrian's handiwork.

The structure had been sculpted from polished xeonite, its surface gleaming beneath the sunset. Vines of alien ivy twisted around the supports, woven together with clusters of colorful flowers that spilled down the sides in vibrant cascades of blue, silver, and pale violet.

It was beautiful, more beautiful than anything she'd imagined, and standing beneath it was Ryland.

For a moment, everything else disappeared. The ocean, the sunset, the guests, all of it faded into the background.

Her attention settled entirely on him.

Ryland stood near the arch talking animatedly with Rocky, one hand gesturing wildly as he apparently explained something for the tenth time.

Bee could practically hear the conversation from here, probably something about structural integrity, or seating arrangements, or why Rocky absolutely could not attach additional support beams to decorative flowers.

The sight made her smile immediately.

Then Ryland looked up, and he saw her.

The words died in his throat. Whatever he had been saying vanished completely, his mouth opened slightly before he closed it.

Rocky followed his gaze.

Immediately, the Eridian made a triumphant clicking and melodic sound, similar to their version of music. Several nearby Eridians turned toward him. Ryland didn't seem to notice, he was staring at her.

Bee felt heat creep into her cheeks despite herself.

Years together, and somehow he still managed to look at her like that, like she was the most incredible thing he'd ever seen.

Slowly, a smile spread across Ryland's face. That soft, warm and completely awestruck.

The kind of smile that made her heart feel too large for her chest.

For a brief moment neither of them moved before Adrian gently bumped the back of her knees with their limb, a silent gesture, telling her to go to Ryland.

As Bee walked down the makeshift aisle, many Eridians clicked and sung softly as Bee walked by them before she stopped when she reached Ryland.

The beach seemed impossibly quiet as Bee finally reached the arch.

The ocean continued its endless rhythm beyond them, waves rolling toward the shore and breaking softly against the rocks. The wind carried the scent of saltwater and blooming alien flowers across the beach, and yet somehow, standing beneath the arch, all of those sounds felt distant, muted. As if the entire world had stepped back and given them this moment.

Bee's attention remained fixed on Ryland, and judging by the expression on his face, Ryland was having a similar problem.

He was staring. The nervous energy that had carried him through the entire morning seemed to have vanished the moment she'd stepped onto the beach.

For a scientist who always had something to say, he suddenly looked completely speechless.

Bee smiled.

Ryland immediately smiled back. Then he smiled wider, and somehow looked even more emotional, like he was on the verge of tears.

Across from them, Rocky made an amused clicking sound.

"Observation. Both humans appear broken."

Several nearby Eridians clicked in agreement, and Adrian squeaked softly a soft laugh.

Ryland pointed at him without looking away from Bee.

"Rocky."

"Is true."

Bee laughed softly under her breath.

The sound seemed to snap Ryland out of whatever trance he'd fallen into, just a little.

The smile on his face softened as he reached for her hands. His fingers immediately intertwined with hers, warm, slightly rough and calloused, but steady. The same hands she'd held during terrifying experiments aboard the Hail Mary, the same hands that had helped her survive impossible situations, the same hands she'd fallen in love with somewhere between saving two worlds and finding a home on a third.

For a moment neither of them spoke.

They simply stood together beneath the arch as the sun continued its slow descent toward the horizon.

Eventually Rocky stepped forward, The xeonite beneath his carapace clicked softly against the stone pathway leading beneath the arch.

Bee glanced toward him briefly as he spoke up.

"Question," Rocky began.

He paused before he tilted his head slightly to the side.

"How do humans begin wedding ceremony?"

Ryland blinked, Bee looked up at Ryland, also blinking. A long silence followed between the two, realizing that they really hadn't thought this far in ahead.

Finally Adrian raised a limb.

"I told you to ask before ceremony."

"Too late now."

Several Eridians clicked with amusement at Rocky's deadpan joke.

Ryland groaned.

"Rocky."

"Apology."

The Eridian shifted slightly.

"Humans love each other very much, Statement."

Ryland immediately buried his face in one hand.

"Oh my god."

Bee laughed harder.

"Good speech," Adrian said helpfully.

"Thank you." Rocky sounded genuinely pleased.

Eventually the laughter settled, the beach grew quiet once more. This time it felt different, softer, more meaningful. The sunset painted the ocean gold behind them as Rocky stepped back.

"Proceed."

Bee squeezed Ryland's hands gently and immediately she felt him squeeze back.

For a brief moment neither of them spoke, just enjoying the feeling and presence of the other, before Bee took a slow breath, almost like she was processing what she wanted to say before she spoke up.

"Ryland..."

The nervous smile on his face immediately softened. Bee found herself smiling too, not because she wasn't nervous, because she absolutely was, but because somehow looking at him made everything easier.

"I don't think either of us expected our lives to turn out like this."

A few quiet clicks of agreement came from the audience.

Bee laughed softly.

"Years ago we were recruited to save Earth. Then we woke up on a spaceship with no memories and somehow things only got stranger from there."

Ryland smiled, his eyes never left hers.

"We met an alien, we almost died several times, we saved two worlds."

Rocky proudly straightened.

"Correct."

"Rocky." Ryland shot him a glare.

"Apology."

Bee shook her head, still smiling.

"But through all of that... through every terrifying moment and every impossible challenge... one thing never changed."

Her fingers tightened around his.

"You."

Ryland's expression immediately shifted. Bee watched emotion flicker across his face, watched his eyes grow suspiciously bright and glassy…Oh no, he was already crying.

"I fell in love with the way you never stop believing in people," Bee continued softly. "The way you care about everyone around you. The way you talk about your students like they're the most important people in the universe."

Ryland looked away briefly, looking down at his worn in converse, clearly attempting to regain composure. It wasn't working.

"I fell in love with your kindness, your optimism, your terrible science jokes."

Several Eridians clicked curiously, though Rocky was the loudest, as he had experienced the jokes first hand for many years. Ryland laughed through a watery smile.

"And I fell in love with the way you always choose hope, even when everything seems impossible."

The tears finally slipped free from his blue eyes, and Bee's heart melted, because Ryland wasn't even trying to hide them.

He simply stood there crying openly, listening to every word she said, looking at her like she was everything.

"If the mission taught me anything, it's that home isn't a place."

Her voice softened.

"It's people."

The ocean rolled quietly behind them.

"And Ryland..."

A tear slipped down her own cheek.

"You've always been my home."

Ryland immediately lost the battle of trying to stay composed, completely. A very undignified sound escaped him.

Somewhere behind them Adrian whispered, slightly leaning towards Rocky

"Grace leaking."

"Humans do this." Rocky clicked softly, but loud enough for both Bee and Ryland to hear.

Bee laughed through her tears, and Ryland laughed too, not even caring that both of their friends were pratcially making fun of them from how emotional they were.

Then wiped at his eyes.

"I love you," Bee finished quietly. "And I promise that no matter where life takes us, no matter what world we're standing on, I'll always choose you."

Silence followed, the kind that only existed when words weren't enough. Then Ryland sniffed.

"Oh, come on."

Bee immediately started laughing.

"You cried before your vows."

"I know."

"You didn't even make it halfway."

"I know."

Rocky clicked proudly.

"New record."

"Rocky!"

Eventually Ryland took a deep breath, trying to control himself from openly sobbing in front of Bee and everyone, and finally looked at her, really looked at her. His eyes still red and bloodshot but his smile still impossibly soft.

"I had a speech."

Bee grinned.

"I know."

"It was good."

"I'm sure it was."

"I forgot all of it."

Every Eridan squeaked in loud laughter, Ryland laughed too before heshook his head.

"You know what? Fine."

He squeezed her hands before he began to speak up.

"I love you."

Bee immediately felt tears threatening to spill from her eyes, even though she spent hours making sure her makeup was perfect.

"I love that you're kind…" His voice grew steadier. "I love that you're patient, especially with me…Seriously, I have no idea how you do that."

Bee couldn't help but laugh softly under her breath as Ryland spoke.

"So do I."

Ryland smiled before he continued to speak.

"I love every version of you. The artist, the scientist who pretends she isn't a scientist, the woman who crossed sixteen light-years to save humanity."

His voice softened.

"And the woman who somehow convinced me I deserved to be loved."

Bee's breath caught.

"I spent so much of my life alone," he admitted quietly. The sunset glowed behind him, as Ryland smiled.

"But I never feel alone anymore."

Tears immediately returned to Bee's eyes, a tear escaping from one of her eyes.

"Because you're here."

His thumb brushed across her knuckles, softly and gently, like he always did. Then Rocky stepped forward carrying two small rings in his claws.

Bee glanced down and immediately recognized them, Xeonite and handcrafted, meaning that Rocky must've made the rings for Ryland. The metal gleamed silver-gold beneath the fading sunlight.

Carefully, he placed one ring into Ryland's hand, and then another into Bee's.

"The strongest structures are built together." Rocky's voice softened, and if he could smile, he would be. The words settled warmly between them as Ryland carefully slid the ring onto Bee's finger, his hands trembled slightly as he slid the xeonite ring onto her left ring finger.

Bee did the same for his, and for a moment they simply stared at the rings before they looked at each other, relizing that tjis was there life, this was the the life they'd built together.

Then Rocky clicked excitedly.

"Now kiss."

The entire beach burst into laughter at Rocky's comment. Ryland rolled his eyes in amusement and Bee laughed, bu she kissed him anyway in front of all the Eridians.

The cheers from the Eridians echoed across the beach as the sun finally slipped beneath the horizon.

And for the first time since leaving Earth all those years ago, Ryland Grace and Bee Grace began the rest of their lives together.

The biodome had never felt quite so quiet recently. It wasn't empty, as the Eridians had designed it too reflect earth to make Ryland and Bee feel at home on Erid. 

Years ago, when Bee and Ryland first arrived on Erid, the structure had been little more than a functional habitat designed to keep two humans alive on a planet that should have been completely inhospitable to them. Over time, however, it had become something far more personal. The Eridians had approached the project with the same meticulous dedication they brought to everything else, studying Earth's ecosystems, climates, and landscapes with almost obsessive attention to detail until the biodome no longer felt like a survival shelter. It felt like home.

The ocean stretched beyond the glass walls in an endless expanse of dark blue water, its surface broken only by the steady rhythm of waves rolling toward the shore. Above it, thick gray clouds hung low in the sky, filtering the sunlight into a soft silver glow that washed over the beach and surrounding landscape. The resemblance to Earth's Pacific coastline was almost uncanny. Every aspect of the environment had been carefully engineered from climate data gathered during the years following first contact. The humidity, the temperature, even the particular quality of light that accompanied overcast afternoons had been recreated with astonishing accuracy.

There were moments when she would glance out the windows and forget, just for a second, that she was standing on another world entirely. The crashing waves, the fog rolling in from the water, the cool gray light filtering through the clouds, it all felt so familiar that her mind instinctively tried to place her back on Earth.

Then she'd look up at the cloudt sky and remember that Earth was over eleven light-years away.

After everything that had happened, after crossing unimaginable distances through space and building a life on another world, Bee had somehow reached a point where waking up beneath an alien sky no longer felt unusual. Instead, what surprised her were moments like this, when she would glance through the windows and find herself staring at a scene so familiar it could have belonged back on Earth.

Curled comfortably into the corner of the couch, Bee balanced a sketchbook against her knees and absentmindedly twirled a pencil between her fingers. She'd been attempting to draw one of the flowering plants growing near the point where the grass and the rocks of the beach connected, a species cultivated by the Eridians specifically because its colors reminded humans of wildflowers from Earth. At least, that had been her intention when she'd opened the sketchbook nearly half an hour ago.

In reality, she'd spent most of that time staring at the same unfinished page.

Not because she couldn't figure out the drawing, but because her attention kept drifting elsewhere.

Specifically toward her husband.

Across the room, Ryland sat at the dining table near the window, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond the shoreline. From a distance, there was nothing particularly unusual about the scene. He wasn't pacing, he wasn't fidgeting, he wasn't even talking to himself, which was admittedly rare enough to warrant concern on its own.

That was precisely the problem.

Ryland Grace was never this still.

Most days he bounced between half a dozen projects before breakfast. If he wasn't working on lesson plans for the kids on Erid, he was reading scientific journals. If he wasn't reading scientific journals, he was helping Rocky solve some engineering problem. If he wasn't doing either of those things, he'd inevitably stumbled across a new question and fallen headfirst into a research spiral that would consume the next several hours of his life.

Bee had once woken up at three in the morning to discover him sitting at the kitchen table because he'd suddenly remembered a question about microbial adaptation and couldn't sleep until he'd found the answer.

The fact that he was currently doing absolutely nothing was significantly more alarming than if he'd been building some kind of experimental contraption in the living room.

For several minutes she watched him in silence.

Ryland didn't move.

Didn't blink much.

Didn't even notice she was staring at him.

Finally, Bee set her pencil down and closed her sketchbook.

The sound earned a small glance from him.

That was progress, at least.

"Okay."

Ryland blinked.

"Hm?"

Bee narrowed her eyes.

"You've been staring dramatically out that window for at least twenty minutes."

His eyebrows lifted.

"I have not."

"You absolutely have."

"I was thinking."

"You were brooding."

"I don't brood."

Bee snorted.

The man had spent nearly five minutes staring wistfully into the distance while rain tapped softly against the windows.

If that wasn't brooding, she wasn't sure what was.

"You look like the protagonist of a sad independent film right now."

Ryland frowned.

"I don't even know what that means."

"It means you're sitting beside a window contemplating your feelings while the weather conveniently reflects your emotional state."

"The weather is not reflecting my emotional state."

Bee gestured vaguely toward the ocean.

"Look outside."

Ryland obediently glanced toward the window.

Gray clouds, fog, cold waves, a dramatic ocean backdrop.

He slowly looked back at her.

"...Okay, that's a little suspicious."

"A little?"

"Moderately suspicious."

Bee smiled despite herself.

"There he is."

Ryland frowned.

"Who?"

"My husband."

"I was gone?"

"For about twenty minutes."

"I was sitting right here."

"Physically, yes."

Ryland rolled his eyes.

Bee leaned forward slightly.

"So."

"So?"

"What's wrong?"

His expression immediately shifted.

The teasing smile that had been tugging at the corners of his mouth faded almost instantly, replaced by something quieter. More distant. His gaze drifted back toward the ocean beyond the glass walls, settling somewhere out past the shoreline where the gray water disappeared into the fog.

Bee followed his line of sight for a moment before looking back at him.

And suddenly she knew.

She knew before he said a word.

Because there was really only one thing that could leave Ryland sitting quietly by a window, lost in thought and pretending he wasn't worried.

Rocky.

Bee had watched the friendship form firsthand. Some of her favorite memories on the Hail Mary were from the mission involved the two of them.

At the beginning, neither Ryland nor Rocky had known what to make of each other. They'd been two strangers from entirely different worlds attempting to communicate across impossible barriers, armed with little more than curiosity, determination, and an alarming willingness to experiment with absolutely everything.

Somehow, it had worked.

Bee had been there for the endless problem-solving sessions that stretched late into the ship's artificial nights. She'd watched them argue over calculations, debate scientific theories, and accidentally create entirely new problems while attempting to solve existing ones. More than once she'd walked into the lab to find the pair so focused on their work that neither of them had noticed the passage of several hours.

Other memories were far funnier. She still remembered the day Rocky had essentially decided he lived on the Hail Mary now.

Eventually Bee had walked into one of the ship's common areas only to discover that Rocky had somehow accumulated enough equipment, supplies, while Ryland tried to construct a larger version of Rocky's zeonite ball for sleeping, but it ultimately resulted in Rocky and Ryland arguing playfully.

But there had been difficult moments too.

Moments Bee still didn't like thinking about. Through all of it, she'd watched the friendship between them grow into something neither of them had expected.

Because beneath all the science, the experiments, and the constant problem-solving, Bee knew what Rocky had truly given Ryland.

He'd given him companionship.

Sometimes Bee wondered if Ryland had realized just how lonely he'd been before all of this.

Before the mission, before the Astrophage started dimming the sun, before the impossible task of saving Earth had landed on his shoulders.

Back then, his life had revolved almost entirely around his students. He spent his days teaching science at Grover Cleveland Middle School and his evenings creating lesson plans, grading assignments, and finding new ways to make his classes engaging. He loved it, Bee knew he genuinely did, but there had always been something quietly isolated about the life he'd built for himself.

Then Eva Stratt had walked into his classroom and changed everything.

One minute he was a middle school teacher trying to convince twelve-year-olds that science was cool. The next, he was helping humanity solve one of the greatest scientific mysteries in history.

And somewhere in the chaos that followed, he'd met Bee.

Bee still remembered those early days of the project. The endless meetings, the uncertainty hanging over every discovery, and the quiet understanding that nobody truly knew if they could stop what was happening to the sun. They'd spent months working side by side before either of them realized they were becoming something more than colleagues.

Then the mission happened.

And suddenly the two of them found themselves farther from Earth than any human beings had ever traveled.

Bee remembered those early months aboard the Hail Mary better than she liked to admit. The uncertainty, the isolation, the fear that crept into the quiet moments when neither of them allowed themselves to think too hard about how far away home really was.

No matter how hard they worked, there were moments when the loneliness felt almost impossible to ignore.

Then Rocky appeared.

And little by little, everything changed.

What had started as cooperation born out of necessity became friendship. Friendship became trust. Trust became something deeper, something stronger than either species could have anticipated.

Rocky didn't just save the mission. In a lot of ways, he'd saved them too.

Rocky wasn't simply Ryland's best friend. He was family.

Perhaps the closest thing to a brother Ryland had ever had.

And for years after Bee and Ryland settled on Erid, Rocky had been a constant presence in their lives. Sometimes he arrived with a question, sometimes with an invention, sometimes simply because he wanted to visit.

There had been entire weeks where Rocky showed up so often that Bee had jokingly suggested giving him his own room in the biodome.

The thought had earned an enthusiastic response from Rocky and a horrified one from Ryland.

Now, though, things were different.

The visits had stopped.

At first neither of them had thought much of it, believeing that Rocky was busy. But then a week turned into two and two weeks turned into a month.

Rocky and Adrian hadn't visited in months.

No engineering emergencies, no scientific questions, no impromptu beach walks. Nothing.

Logically, Bee knew they were probably fine. If something serious had happened, someone would have told them. The Eridians adored Rocky and Adrian far too much for news like that to remain secret.

But logic wasn't really the problem.

The problem was that Ryland missed him.

Bee could see it every time he glanced toward the beach that Rocky and him would walk every morning, every time someone knocked on the biodome door and his head immediately snapped up in anticipation, every time he casually brought Rocky into conversation despite insisting he wasn't worried.

Because he was worried. Not enough to panic, but enough that it lingered in the back of his mind, turning quiet afternoons into thoughtful silences and leaving him staring out at the ocean instead of losing himself in one of his countless projects.

Bee's expression softened.

"It's Rocky, isn't it?"

For a moment, Ryland didn't answer.

His fingers tapped absently against the edge of the table before stilling again. Outside, a wave crashed against the shore, the sound muffled by the thick wooden walls of their home.

When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than before.

"Yeah."

The single word hung in the air between them.

Ryland let out a long breath and rubbed the back of his neck, looking vaguely embarrassed at having been caught so easily.

"I know they're probably okay," he admitted. "I mean, statistically speaking, they're almost definitely okay."

Bee smiled faintly.

"Statistically speaking?"

"Well, yeah."

"You're using statistics to justify being worried about your best friend?"

"I'm using statistics to justify not being worried about my best friend."

Bee raised an eyebrow, and Ryland paused.

"...Okay, maybe it's not working."

That earned a small laugh from her. Ryland's shoulders relaxed slightly at the sound.

"I don't know," he continued after a moment. "It's just weird."

"Weird?"

"Rocky usually tells me when he's busy."

Bee nodded in understanding, that was true. Rocky once spent nearly twenty minutes explaining why he wouldn't be visiting for three days because he was attending what essentially amounted to an engineering conference.

Ryland sighed, glancing at her briefly.

"Four months, Bee."

His gaze drifted back toward the ocean.

"I just..." He hesitated. "I miss him."

The admission was so quiet it almost broke her heart.

Because beneath the scientist, beneath the teacher, beneath all the endless curiosity and terrible jokes, Ryland had always been someone who loved deeply.

And right now, he missed his friend.

Bee closed her sketchbook with a small thud, placing in on the couch before she walked over towards were Ryland was standing in front of one of the windows in their house. She grabbed onto his hand, gently grabbing his attention. 

Ryland’s thumb shifted over her knuckles in a slow, absent rhythm, barely conscious, like his body had memorized her without needing permission from his mind. Outside, the ocean kept folding itself inward again and again, relentless and indifferent, but inside the small warmth of the room there was something steadier. Something quieter than the world outside.

Bee watched him for a moment longer than necessary.

His gaze kept drifting toward the horizon, where the sky and water blurred together into a single gray smear, like he was expecting answers to be written there if he stared long enough.

She squeezed his hand again, just enough to pull him back.

“I’m sure he’s okay,” she repeated, softer this time, not because she was uncertain, but because she knew certainty didn’t always land on the first try.

Ryland gave a small, humorless exhale through his nose, the kind that almost became a laugh but lost confidence halfway out.

“You sound very confident about that,” he said again, though his voice had already lost some of its edge.

“I am.”

“You have evidence?” he asked, glancing at her now, one eyebrow lifting slightly as if the question was both serious and not serious at all.

Bee didn’t even hesitate.

“Absolutely not.”

That got him. A real reaction this time, Ryland’s mouth twitching up before he could stop it.

“Great. Wonderful. That’s very scientific of you.”

“Thank you.”

“That wasn’t—” He paused, looking at her like he was recalibrating. “That wasn’t a compliment.”

“It is when it comes from you,” Bee said, as if that settled the matter completely.

For a second, Ryland just stared at her. Then something in his expression cracked, not dramatically, not like a breakthrough or revelation, but like a piece of tension finally deciding it was allowed to fall apart. A small smile surfaced at the corner of his mouth, hesitant and a little tired, but real enough to matter.

Bee felt it immediately, like a shift in pressure in the room.

There. That was better.

She counted it without meaning to. Like a habit of her own.

She gave his hand another gentle squeeze, grounding him more than reassuring him.

“Ryland,” she said, tilting her head slightly, “it’s Rocky.”

“Exactly,” he replied automatically.

“No,” she corrected, smiling now, “I mean it’s Rocky.”

His brow furrowed, the smile fading into confusion again as his brain tried to follow a path that didn’t fit neatly into his usual logic.

“That’s the same thing.”

“It isn’t.”

She shifted her weight slightly, angling her body toward him fully now, as if proximity could help her argument land better. The room felt smaller like this, less like a waiting space and more like something lived in.

“Think about everything we’ve seen him do,” Bee said.

Ryland immediately groaned, tipping his head back slightly.

“Oh no.”

“Remember when he decided he was going to redesign half the environmental systems because he thought they could be two percent more efficient?”

“That took six weeks,” Ryland said flatly, like the memory itself was an injury.

“Exactly.”

“And he gave me spreadsheets,” he added, with the kind of resigned disbelief that suggested he still wasn’t emotionally recovered.

Bee laughed under her breath.

“There were so many spreadsheets.”

“There were charts, Bee.”

“I know.”

“There were color-coded charts.”

“I know,” she repeated, grinning now.

Ryland shook his head slowly, like the memory physically pained him.

“I still have nightmares about the color coding.”

That made Bee laugh a little harder, the sound easing something tight in her own chest. It was absurd, the way someone so brilliant could be so personally victimized by organizational systems.

“See?” she said, leaning back slightly. “That’s my point.”

Ryland narrowed his eyes at her, though the effect was ruined by the fact that he still looked mildly amused.

“What point?”

“Rocky gets distracted.”

“He does not,” Ryland said immediately.

Bee just stared at him. Not accusing, just waiting for Ryland to realize that maybe he and Rocky weren't so different.

Ryland stared back.

The silence stretched, filled only by the distant crash of waves and the faint hum of the building settling around them.

“…Okay,” he admitted finally, shoulders dropping a fraction. “He does.”

“A lot,” Bee said.

“A concerning amount.”

“A terrifying amount.”

That earned her a longer exhale, this one closer to a laugh than anything else.

“Fair,” Ryland said.

Bee's eyes glanced out the window, watching him more than the ocean now. The tension in his posture wasn’t gone, not entirely, but it had loosened at the edges. Like a knot that had been pulled just enough to breathe again.

“Maybe he’s working on a project,” she offered.

Ryland tilted his head slightly.

“A four-month project?”

Bee shrugged. “He’s Rocky.”

That, at least, made him pause.

He opened his mouth, closed it again, visibly running the logic through whatever internal system he used to make sense of impossible things. Bee could almost see the calculations behind his eyes, probability, behavior patterns, past evidence, emotional variables he didn’t always know what to do with.

Finally, he sighed.

“Okay,” he said slowly. “That’s actually a reasonable explanation.”

Bee smiled like she’d just won something.

“Thank you.”

“I don’t like how quickly that argument worked,” he added, pointing at her slightly with his free hand.

“You never do.”

That earned her an eye roll, but it lacked any real bite.

The room settled again after that, the conversation easing into something softer. Not finished, exactly, but paused in a way that didn’t feel like waiting anymore.

Outside, the ocean kept moving like it always had, indifferent to worry or reassurance. Gray clouds drifted in slow layers across the sky, breaking and reforming light over the water in shifting patterns that never stayed the same for long.

Bee let her gaze linger on Ryland instead of the view.

He looked different now than he had a few minutes ago. Not fully relieved, that would’ve been too much to ask from him, but steadier. The sharp edge of his worry had dulled, replaced with something more familiar. Something that made him feel like himself again.

She could see it in the way his shoulders weren’t quite as rigid. In the way his eyes weren’t locked onto the horizon like it owed him answers. In the way his thumb kept tracing slow, unconscious shapes over her hand like he’d forgotten he was even doing it.

He was still thinking. Still worrying, a little.

But he was also here.

Eventually, Ryland lifted his free hand and rubbed the back of his neck, exhaling slowly through his nose.

“You’re probably right,” he said.

Bee raised an eyebrow.

“Probably?”

Ryland paused briefly before he spoke, quieter, but more certain. “Definitely.”

“Wow.”

“What?”

“That sounded physically painful.”

“It was,” he admitted without hesitation.

That got another laugh out of her, small, warm, real. Ryland rolled his eyes again, but there was no real irritation in it anymore.

“I’m serious,” he said.

“I know.”

And he did. She could tell.

Another small smile returned to his face, this one slower to fade. It lingered like it had decided it wasn’t leaving immediately.

“He’s probably just busy,” Ryland added.

“There you go,” Bee said gently.

“Working on some ridiculous engineering project.”

“Mhm.”

“Or accidentally starting a scientific revolution.”

“That also seems likely.”

“Or both.”

Bee nodded once, solemnly.

“Honestly, both seems most likely.”

That finally made him laugh properly, not just a breath or a half-smile, but an actual sound that softened his whole expression.

It did something to the air between them. Something subtle but important. Like a door that had been cracked open just enough for warmth to slip through. Bee felt it in her chest immediately, that quiet release of tension she hadn’t fully admitted she’d been holding too.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

They just sat there, hand in hand, listening to the ocean continue its endless conversation with the shore.

-

Morning on Erid arrived the way it always did, softly, without urgency, as if the planet itself preferred to ease its inhabitants into consciousness rather than demand it from them.

Inside the biodome, light filtered through layered atmospheric panels overhead, scattering into muted bands of gold and pale blue that drifted across the interior like slow-moving tides. The air was warm and slightly humid, carefully regulated but never sterile, carrying the faint scent of engineered plant growth and mineral-clean filtration systems working quietly in the background. Somewhere deeper in the structure, a system cycled on with a gentle mechanical hum, then faded again, as if even the machines had learned not to disturb the quiet too aggressively.

Bee was only partially awake when she realized Ryland wasn’t in bed anymore.

She found him near in the kitchen instead, sitting at the small and slightly uneven table with a mug between both hands and staring at the wooden door like it had become the most important object in his universe. Not in a frantic way, not exactly…more in the restrained, practiced way of someone who had learned how to hope without letting it show too much on his face.

“You’re doing it again,” Bee murmured, her voice still thick with sleep as she rubbed her eyes, trying to get to sleep out of her eyes. 

Ryland didn’t look at her. “I’m not doing anything.”

“You’re staring at the door.”

“I’m observing a lack of activity,” he corrected, as if that made it better.

“That’s just staring with extra steps.”

That finally earned a faint shift in his expression, though he still didn’t turn away from the door. His thumb traced a slow, absent circle against the ceramic of his mug.

“It’s been four months,” he said quietly.

Bee sat up a little more, pushing hair out of her face. “You said that yesterday.”

“And the day before,” he added.

“And the day before that,” she echoed, more gently this time.

Ryland took a slow sip, like the motion gave him something to focus on that wasn’t uncertainty. “Consistency matters,” he said, though it sounded more like something he was telling himself than her.

Before Bee could respond, a sound cut through the stillness.

Three soft knocks.

Not urgent. Not hesitant either. Just deliberate, evenly spaced taps against the biodome door.

Ryland froze.

For a fraction of a second, everything in him seemed to go still, like his body had recognized the pattern before his mind dared to assign meaning to it.

Then he moved.

The mug was set down too quickly, clinking against the counter. The chair scraped softly agaisnt the hardwood floor as he stood, already halfway across the room before Bee had fully registered the shift. There was a kind of careful urgency to it, controlled, but unmistakably hopeful, like he was trying not to believe what he already wanted to be true.

“Ryland—” Bee started to speak, her legs moving faster before her brain could process it. 

“I know,” he said immediately, though it wasn’t clear what he thought he knew.

He reached the door handle and paused just long enough for hesitation to catch up with him. That small moment mattered more than the speed of everything else, the way his shoulders tightened slightly, the way his gaze fixed on the seam of the door as if it might decide the outcome for him.

The slightly humid and and foggy air met his skin as he opened the door. 

And everything changed, glancing down, he saw the two familiar Eridians 

Rocky stood there first, solid and familiar in that unshakable way of his, with Adrian slightly behind and to the side, composed, observant, quietly attentive in the way they always were. Ryland’s expression broke into immediate recognition, a smile forming before he even fully processed what he was seeing.

“Rocky—” he began, already stepping forward.

Then he froze, because there were others.

Three small Eridians stood clustered near Rocky and Adrian’s feet, shifting gently as if the ground itself was something new and interesting. They were unmistakably young, their movements curious and unguarded, hovering close together in a tight group that suggested both caution and comfort in numbers.

Ryland blinked in surprise. His smile didn’t disappear, it just paused, like it had hit something it didn’t understand.

“…Rocky,” he said slowly, voice flattening with confusion, “why are there pebbles following you?”

Behind him, Bee had already arrived, stopping just short of his shoulder. Her gaze dropped immediately, and she went very still in the way she did when her brain was rapidly reorganizing reality into something it could work with.

After a beat, she said carefully, “Okay. I have a question. Actually, several.”

Rocky, meanwhile, looked entirely pleased with himself, as if this was the most natural outcome in the universe. Adrian remained calm, almost expectant, as though waiting for them to catch up.

The three small Eridians shifted closer to Rocky’s leg, one of them tilting toward Ryland with open curiosity.

Bee crouched slightly, bringing herself closer to their level. “Those are… children,” she said, as if confirming it out loud might stabilize the concept.

Ryland’s head turned toward her very slowly.

“Yes,” he said, softer, like he was still catching up to his own understanding.

Rocky gave a small, proud gesture. “Correct.”

The word landed heavily in the silence that followed.

Ryland looked back down at the children, who were now watching him with obvious interest, unafraid in the way only something very young, or very certain, could be.

Bee stepped forward a little more, her voice gentling as she addressed them. “Hi,” she said.

One of the children tilted toward her immediately, and something about that simple reaction seemed to undo a thread of tension in the air.

Adrian watched the exchange for a moment before speaking, his tone steady and factual. “They are ours.”

That did it. Ryland froze completely. Bee straightened so quickly she nearly bumped the doorframe. “I’m sorry—what?”

Rocky repeated, as if clarifying a minor detail. “Ours.”

Ryland slowly turned his head toward Adrian, then Rocky, then the children again, as if checking whether reality had shifted in the last thirty seconds without informing him.

“You have children,” he said carefully, like testing whether the sentence would hold its shape.

“Yes,” Adrian confirmed.

Ryland’s mouth opened, and then he closed it, like he wasn't sure even what to say. 

Bee exhaled slowly, pressing a hand to her forehead. “Since when?”

Rocky answered immediately, as though this were simple scheduling. “Eridian children remain small for extended period. Time has passed.”

“That is not an answer,” Ryland said, voice rising slightly in disbelief.

Rocky tilted his head. “It is accurate answer.”

Bee let out a quiet, helpless laugh, the kind that came from being completely overwhelmed but not in a bad way.

One of the children made a soft chrip then, curious, almost questioning, and Ryland’s entire posture shifted.

Not away from confusion, but into something else entirely.

He crouched slowly, deliberately, like approaching something fragile and significant at the same time. “Hi,” he said again, but this time his voice was quieter, steadier.

One of the children stepped forward without hesitation.

Bee watched as Ryland held still, like he was afraid even breathing too sharply might break the moment. When the small Eridian reached out and touched his fingers, Ryland let out a breath he seemed to have been holding for months.

Something in Ryland’s expression softened in a way Bee hadn’t seen in a while, not relief exactly, but recognition. Like something inside him had just been quietly answered without him realizing he’d been asking.

Bee reached for his hand instinctively, grounding him as the child continued to explore his fingers with careful fascination.

He squeezed back automatically.

One of the other children shifted closer, watching him like he was something newly discovered and worth memorizing.

He stayed like that for a moment longer than necessary, kneeling in the open doorway, one hand still gently wrapped around the small Eridian’s fingers as if letting go would somehow collapse the entire situation back into uncertainty.

His laugh lingered faintly in his chest, half disbelief and half something softer that didn’t have a name yet. He glanced down at the child again, then back up toward Rocky and Adrian, his expression slowly trying to reorganize itself into something that could function in conversation.

“…Okay,” he repeated under his breath, more to himself than anyone else. Then, a little louder, with careful clarity creeping back in, “So that’s why you guys haven’t been here for months.”

It wasn’t a question. It was the first piece of logic his brain had managed to successfully assemble.

Rocky gave a small, affirmative motion immediately. “Correct.”

Adrian followed a beat later, nodding once. “Yes.”

Ryland exhaled through his nose, leaning back slightly on his heels as if that answer had weight to it. His gaze flicked briefly toward Bee, like he was checking whether she was also experiencing the same surreal recalibration of reality.

Bee just lifted her hands slightly. “I mean,” she said slowly, “it does explain a lot.”

Ryland made a quiet sound of agreement that bordered on exhausted amusement. “Yeah. Yeah, it does.”

The child in his hand shifted again, curling their fingers around his more firmly now, as if deciding he was acceptable company. That tiny pressure seemed to anchor something in Ryland’s expression, pulling him back into the present in a way that was almost grounding.

He looked down at them again, then back at Rocky.

“You could’ve… mentioned this,” he said mildly.

Rocky tilted his head. “You did not ask.”

Ryland stared at him, unimpressed and Bee made a sound that was suspiciously close to laughter and then covered it with a cough.

“I feel like that’s not how communication works,” Ryland said.

Rocky seemed to consider this. “It has been sufficient.”

“That is deeply concerning,” Bee added.

Adrian glanced between them. “We believed you would understand upon arrival.”

Ryland let out a long breath, leaning back slightly again, his free hand coming up to rub the bridge of his nose. “I mean… eventually, sure. But there’s a difference between ‘eventually’ and ‘walking up to my door with three small life forms and letting me emotionally short-circuit on impact.’”

One of the children made a soft sound at his words, tilting their head as if intrigued by the tone rather than the meaning.

Ryland softened immediately.

“Not you,” he said quickly, glancing down at them. “You’re fine. This is… all very fine, actually.”

Bee watched him for a moment, the corners of her mouth tugging upward. “You’re adjusting surprisingly well.”

“I’ve had a lot of practice adjusting to things that should not be real,” Ryland said dryly. Then he glanced down again at the child still holding his hand. “This just… takes the cake.”

Rocky made a small approving sound. “Cake is good.”

“That’s not—” Ryland started, then stopped himself, shaking his head. “Never mind.”

For a few seconds, the moment settled into something calmer. The children shifted closer together again, no longer hesitant, now clearly comfortable with the presence of new people. One of them wandered a little closer to Bee, studying her with open curiosity, while the one holding Ryland’s hand seemed perfectly content to remain exactly where they were.

Bee crouched again, slower this time, offering her hand palm-up. The child near her hesitated only briefly before stepping forward, touching her fingers with the same careful curiosity.

Her expression softened instantly.

“Hi,” she said again, like it was the only greeting that mattered.

Adrian watched this quietly before speaking, his tone even. “They are interested in you both.”

Ryland glanced up at him. “Yeah. I noticed.”

Rocky shifted slightly, his attention flicking toward the children with unmistakable pride. “They learn quickly.”

“I can tell,” Bee said, still smiling faintly as the child near her gently tapped her palm like they were testing the concept of touch.

Ryland let out another quiet laugh, shaking his head again, though this one was warmer. “This is… not how I expected today to go.”

Bee looked over at him. “You had expectations?”

“I had… continuity,” Ryland corrected.

“That was your first mistake.”

He huffed a laugh at that, then looked down at the child still holding his hand. “You know,” he said thoughtfully, “you’re kind of a really good surprise.”

The child blinked up at him.

Ryland nodded once, as if confirming his own assessment. “Yeah. Solid work.”

Bee gave him a look. “Are you complimenting a child like they’re a peer-reviewed study?”

“I compliment everything like it’s a peer-reviewed study,” Ryland replied automatically.

That earned him a full, unrestrained laugh from Bee this time.

-

The moment lingered in a soft, almost fragile kind of normalcy for a few minutes.

Ryland was still kneeling in the doorway, one child still comfortably attached to his hand like they had quietly decided he was part of their immediate environment now. Bee remained crouched nearby, letting the second child explore her fingers with slow, careful curiosity, her expression softened into something warm and unguarded in a way she didn’t even seem fully aware of.

Rocky and Adrian stood just beyond them, watching with the calm attentiveness of people who were not surprised by emotional reactions, just observing them as they unfolded.

Then Adrian moved.

It was subtle at first, just a shift in their posture. They lowered slightly, reaching down with deliberate care toward one of the children who had been lingering closer to their side. The small Eridian chriped immediately, climbing onto their shoulder with complete trust, curling into them without hesitation as if this was the most natural thing in the world.

Bee straightened a little as Adrian turned and stepped forward, the child now resting securely on top of their head.

Adrian stopped in front of her and, without any dramatics at all, simply extended the child toward her.

Bee blinked. “Oh—”

There was a half-second where she hesitated, purely out of instinct rather than uncertainty. Then her hands lifted automatically, carefully receiving the child as Adrian guided them into her arms.

The moment the child settled against her, something in Bee’s expression shifted completely.

Her entire face softened at once, eyes widening slightly, mouth parting just a little in quiet disbelief. The child made a small sound, shifting closer against her chest without fear, and Bee instinctively adjusted her grip, holding them as if she’d done it before and simply forgotten.

“Oh,” she said again, but this time it came out breathless, almost disbelieving in its gentleness. “Hi.”

She was too focused on the child in her arms to noticed Ryland looking at them, studying them like she was trying to memorize every detail all at once. One hand carefully supported their back while the other steadied their small frame against her.

“They’re… really light,” she murmured, almost to herself.

The child chirped quizzically up at her, completely calm but curious.

Bee let out a soft laugh that had no real structure to it. “Hi,” she repeated again, like the word itself was the only thing she trusted right now. Then, looking up slightly toward Adrian and Rocky, she added, “Do they have names?”

Adrian glanced down at Bee, then at the child in her arms.

“Yes,” they said simply.

“This one is Grace.”

The word landed quietly. Ryland blinked. Bee didn’t move at first.

For a moment, Ryland’s brain did what it always did, searched for pattern, coincidence, translation error, anything that would slot the word into something less emotionally complicated. Grace. It was Earth language. Familiar, comfortable, statistically unremarkable.

He exhaled slightly, a faint, almost relieved smile forming. “Oh…okay. That’s… that’s kind of funny,” he said lightly, still looking at the child. “Grace. Like, just coincidence, right?”

Bee, however, didn’t respond. She was staring at Adrian.

Rocky shifted slightly beside him, watching both of them with the quiet awareness of someone about to clarify something important.

Then Rocky spoke, entirely matter-of-fact.

“In Eridian culture,” he said, “first child often named after someone deeply loved and respected.”

Ryland’s smile faltered slightly as Rocky continued, as if simply stating a scientific fact.

“Care about Grace. Therefore first child named Grace.”

Ryland’s expression went completely still, like his brain had tried to process the sentence and failed so completely it defaulted to emptiness for a moment instead.

Then his mouth opened slightly and then closed again, like he was trying desperately to form words but ultimately failed. 

He looked at Rocky, then at Adrian.

Then at Bee holding the child, Grace, like they suddenly weighed more than they should have, like the name itself had changed something fundamental in the air.

“Oh,” Ryland said faintly.

It wasn’t really a word.

Bee’s eyes were already glistening in a way she was clearly trying very hard to ignore. “Wait,” she said softly, voice breaking just slightly on the first syllable. “Rocky, you mean…this isn’t—”

Rocky nodded once. “It is meaning.”

Ryland let out a small, shaky breath that sounded like it got caught halfway through becoming something else entirely.

“Oh,” he repeated again, quieter.

Then it hit him properly.

His face crumpled in a way that was almost immediate and completely unguarded, like something inside him had simply given up trying to stay contained. He looked down at the small hand still wrapped around his finger, then back at Bee holding Grace, then up at Rocky again as if hoping there was still a version of this that didn’t make his chest hurt.

There wasn’t.

“Oh my—” he started, but the sentence broke apart before it could finish.

Bee made a small, helpless sound, half laugh, half sob, and suddenly she was crying too, pressing her forehead gently against the top of the child in her arms as if grounding herself in something real.

“Oh, Ryland,” she said softly, voice trembling.

He gave a broken laugh that didn’t hold together at all.

“I…why would you—” he tried, then stopped again, shaking his head quickly like that might reset his emotions. It didn’t.

Rocky watched them both with clear confusion.

“Why humans leaking. Question?” he asked.

Adrian, ever composed, observed quietly. “Positive emotional response.”

“That is… very positive,” Rocky agreed.

Ryland let out another laugh that immediately turned into something wetter at the edges, wiping at his face with the back of his free hand in complete disbelief at himself.

“I didn’t—” he said again, quieter now, voice thick. “I didn’t think—”

He stopped, because there weren’t words for it. Not really.

Instead, he just looked at Grace again, at Bee holding them like they had always belonged there, and then back at Rocky, his expression collapsing into something raw and open and impossibly grateful.

“…You named them after me,” he said softly.

Rocky nodded. “Yes.”

Ryland shook his head, smiling through tears now. “That’s… that’s insane.”

Bee laughed through her own tears at that, wiping her face with one hand while still holding Grace securely with the other. “We’re all insane,” she managed.

Ryland let out a quiet, broken breath of laughter.

“Yeah,” he said, voice barely steady. “Yeah, I think we are.”

-

A few days after Rocky and Adrian had first brought their children to meet Ryland and Bee, something quietly shifted in the shape of their lives.

What had begun as an unexpected introduction didn’t fade back into rarity the way Bee might have assumed it would. Instead, it settled in, becoming routine in the most natural, unforced way imaginable. Rocky and Adrian began visiting the biodome regularly again, but now they never came alone. Their children were always with them, as if it had simply become understood that where they went, the little ones went too.

At first, Bee noticed everything.

The way the children’s footsteps echoed differently through corridors of their home as they played that had once felt too quiet. The way their chirps, small, curious, constantly in motion, slipped between the steady hum of life and made the biodome feel less like a carefully maintained habitat and more like a lived-in home. She noticed the way they pressed their hands against glass panels just to watch the condensation respond, as if the environment itself was quietly acknowledging their presence.

But as the days passed, what once felt unfamiliar began to lose its sharp edges.

The biodome adjusted around them, or maybe it was the people who did. Either way, the change stopped feeling like a change at all. It became rhythm. It became normal in the way that something slowly becomes essential without ever announcing itself.

Even the air seemed different, not in composition, not in any measurable way, but in the subtle emotional sense of space. Like the difference between a place built purely for survival, and a place that had quietly learned how to hold life in it.

Ryland adapted faster than Bee expected.

Or maybe he didn’t adapt at all, maybe he simply leaned into what was already there. He spent long stretches of time with Rocky and Adrian, often crouched beside their children as they explored, asked questions, and tried to make sense of everything around them with the relentless curiosity only something very young could sustain.

Bee found herself there too, more often than not. Not because she planned to be, but because it just… happened. The biodome would fall into one of its slower afternoons, and suddenly they were all in the same space, Ryland explaining something far too enthusiastically, Rocky correcting him with absolute calm, Adrian observing everything quietly, and the children weaving between them like they belonged to all of it at once.

The shoreline of the beach stretched wide and pale beneath a sky that never seemed to settle on one mood. Today it leaned toward a soft gradient of lavender dissolving into warm gold near the horizon, as though the planet couldn’t decide whether it was morning or afternoon and had chosen both. The sand was fine and faintly luminous in places, shifting slightly underfoot with a soft resistance that made every step feel deliberate. The ocean beyond it moved in slow, rolling sheets of clear water that caught the light in thin, shimmering layers, like the surface was constantly rewriting itself.

The group arrived together, but the children reacted as if they had been released into an entirely different universe.

Which, in fairness, they had.

One of them immediately crouched at the shoreline, pressing all hands into the wet sand and watching it shift beneath their fingers with as they chirped happily. Another wandered in a slow, looping path a few steps away, stopping every few seconds just to stare at something new, the way the water retreated, the way the sand clung to their feet, the way the light bent strangely when it hit the surface.

The third child, Grace, had already chosen Ryland.

It wasn’t subtle. There was no hesitation, no gradual approach. They simply attached themselves to him with the quiet certainty of something that had already made its decision. One small hand curled around his fingers, and when he shifted even slightly, they shifted with him as if that was the most natural arrangement in the world.

Ryland noticed almost immediately.

Of course he did.

“Oh,” he said softly, glancing down like he was only now registering the fact that he had acquired a companion. “Hi again.”

Grace tilted their head up at him, unblinking, completely unbothered.

Bee, a few steps behind, watched the interaction unfold with a faint smile already forming before she even realized it. Ryland crouched automatically, as if his body had decided before his thoughts caught up, and within seconds he was drawing lines in the damp sand with a thin stick he had picked up, talking as he went.

His explanation was animated in the way it always became when he was excited, hands moving slightly, voice shifting between careful instruction and unfiltered enthusiasm as he described tides, gravity, and Earth oceans in a way that was at least partially simplified and entirely heartfelt.

Rocky stood nearby, arms loosely folded, watching with quiet focus.

“That is not correct explanation,” Rocky said at one point, calm as ever.

Ryland didn’t look up. “It’s conceptual.”

“It is incorrect.”

“It’s emotionally correct,” Ryland countered without missing a beat.

Bee let out a quiet laugh behind them, shaking her head as she watched one of the children attempt to copy the lines in the sand with intense concentration, like this was the most important task they had ever been assigned.

And maybe, for them, it was.

Grace stayed next to Ryland without question. Every time he shifted, they followed. When he stood, they stood. When he stepped closer to the water, they moved with him like a small, determined echo. There was something disarming about how naturally it all happened, as if this arrangement had always existed and everyone was simply catching up to it.

Bee noticed.

Of course she noticed.

And something in her chest softened in a way that felt almost intrusive in its suddenness.

“He’s got a shadow,” she murmured to herself, watching Ryland pause mid-explanation as the child tugged at the laces of his white worn converse. 

-

It didn’t take long for the beach to lose any sense of structure.

Ryland was the first one fully in the water, though it started cautiously enough, careful steps forward, testing the temperature, adjusting to the way the waves shifted against his legs. That caution lasted all of about thirty seconds before one of the children splashed him directly in the face with unrestrained enthusiasm.

The reaction that followed changed everything.

Ryland blinked, froze for half a second, then laughed, actually laughed, loud and surprised, like something in him had been caught off guard and decided it was allowed to exist anyway.

After that, everything became movement and sound.

The children rushed into the shallow waves with growing confidence, splashing and calling out in excited bursts that echoed across the shoreline. Ryland followed them in fully now, sleeves rolled up, glasses slightly askew from the first wave that had hit him too hard, laughing every time they succeeded in knocking him off balance again.

It was not graceful or controlled. It was, however, the most alive Bee had seen him in a long time.

Grace climbed onto his shoulders without hesitation, gripping his hair lightly for balance, while another circled in front of him, repeatedly chirped something that translated loosely into what Bee could only interpret as “again, again, again” with increasing urgency.

Ryland complied every single time.

Rocky eventually joined them, stepping into the water with his usual calm precision, right up until the moment one of the children splashed him directly in his face. After that, whatever composure remained dissolved immediately into chaos, because Rocky, apparently, also had a limit to being splashed repeatedly.

From the shore, Bee watched it all unfold with a hand raised slightly against the brightness reflecting off the water.

She was smiling before she realized it.

Rocky appeared beside her at some point, watching the chaos with the quiet satisfaction of someone observing a successful and highly unpredictable outcome.

“Grace very popular with offspring,” he said with clear approval.

Bee laughed softly. “Yeah. He kind of is.”

Another splash sent Ryland stumbling backward slightly before catching himself, still laughing as Grace on his shoulders tightened their grip. He looked entirely unbothered by the fact that he had essentially been turned into a moving platform for joy.

If anything, he looked lighter than he had in years.

Eventually, the shoreline settled into something gentler.

Bee and Adrian ended up sitting slightly apart from the water’s edge, where the sand was dry and warm beneath them, still catching faint traces of light that reflected softly across its surface. The sound of the ocean and the children’s laughter carried across the beach, but it had softened into a background rhythm now, something steady rather than overwhelming.

Adrian sat with their usual composed posture, gaze shifting between the water and Bee before he spoke.

“Question.”

Bee glanced at them. “That word always makes me nervous, but go on...”

Adrian turned slightly toward her. “You and Grace ever plan offspring?”

Bee choked immediately, her cheeks flushing ever so slightly at Adrian's blunt question. 

“What—” she managed, coughing slightly as she turned toward him. “That is not a casual question.”

Adrian considered this without visible alarm. “Noted.”

Bee dragged a hand down her face, still half laughing, half trying to recover. “We’re not… there. We haven’t even fully processed whatever is happening right there,” she gestured vaguely toward the water, where Ryland was currently being dragged sideways by two determined children, laughing as he tried not to fall.

Adrian followed her gesture calmly. “Processing ongoing.”

Bee exhaled a laugh. “Yeah. That’s one way to put it.”

She didn’t realize how long she’d been watching until Adrian spoke again.

“You are smiling,” they said.

Bee blinked, then looked down at the sand briefly like it had betrayed her. “Am I?”

“Yes.”

Then she looked back up towards the water.

Ryland was still in the water, hair soaked, glasses crooked, laughing so hard he had to pause just to breathe properly. One child clung to his arm while another chirped excitedly while Rocky decided to roll around in the water, kicking up sand in the process. 

Bee watched them for a long moment.

And something in her chest shifted, quietly, but undeniably.

A future that had once felt distant flickered into view, not as a concept but as something that could actually exist in motion. A child sitting between them in the biodome while Ryland overexplained the smallest things with the same intensity he brought to everything. A hand-drawn picture being held up for approval while Bee laughed and Ryland immediately turned it into a full scientific lecture about imaginary ecosystems. Walks along this same shoreline, but slower, steadier, with small footsteps between theirs.

It didn’t feel impossible anymore.

It just felt… unspoken.

“Yeah,” Bee said quietly after a long moment, voice softer than before. “I’ve been thinking about it.”

Adrian nodded once. “Acknowledged.”

Neither of them noticed Ryland approaching from the water until he was already close, one of the children clinging to his back like a very persistent passenger.

He paused mid-step, still in the water.

“Thinking about what?” he asked.

Bee froze so completely it was almost impressive.

Adrian answered immediately, completely unbothered.

“Your offspring.”

Ryland made a sound that was halfway between a laugh and immediate regret.

“What? No, why is that…why is that the topic—” he started, then immediately lost his footing as Grace, who was back, shifted their weight, causing Ryland to loose his balance and fall into the water.

Bee stared for a little bit, and then burst out laughing.

Adrian blinked once. “Unexpected outcome.”

“I’M FINE!” Ryland’s voice called, slightly muffled as salt water washed into his mouth but still laughing.

Bee wiped at her eyes, still laughing. “I can’t believe this is my life.”

Adrian considered the shoreline, the chaos, the laughter carrying across the waves.

“It is a good life,” they said simply.

The beach stretched endlessly alongside them, a ribbon of dark stone pebbles and pale sand beneath the foggy, clouded sky that looked exactly like San Francisco's on a moody autumn afternoon. The resemblance was uncanny, deliberate, even. The Eridians had studied Earth's climates with meticulous care when designing the biodome, analyzing weather patterns and atmospheric conditions until they'd recreated the exact quality of light that filtered through the Bay Area's famous fog.

Even after years of living here on Erid, Bee still couldn't get over how beautiful it was. How much thought and detail the Eridians had put into every aspect of the biodome created for her and Ryland to feel at home. The temperature regulation, the moisture content in the air, even the particular shade of gray in the clouds, all of it carefully calibrated to match the climate data they'd gathered from Earth.

The ocean rolled lazily against the shoreline, waves glittering beneath the diffused light that managed to break through the cloud cover. Each wave caught the light differently, creating shifting patterns of silver and shadow across the water's surface. The air was cool enough to be comfortable, that perfect temperature where you needed a light jacket but didn't feel cold, where the breeze felt refreshing rather than biting. The kind of weather Bee had always loved back in California.

Though, predictably, Ryland had spent the entire walk complaining about it.

Bee smiled to herself as she listened to her husband and Rocky walking several feet ahead of her, their voices carrying back on the wind. She'd buried her hands deep in the pockets of her jeans, feeling the cool air prickle against her exposed forearms. The sand beneath her worn converse sneakers was a mixture of textures, smooth in some places, coarse with pebbles in others. Each step made a soft crunching sound that was oddly satisfying.

"Yesterday the water was boiling," Ryland was saying, shoving his hands into the pockets of his signature fox cardigan, the rust-colored one with the little embroidered fox on the chest that he wore all the time on Earth, and now Erid too. "Now it's freezing. Is there a middle ground?"

His tone was dripping with sarcasm, which Rocky and Adrian still didn't quite understand the concept of, but Rocky knew by now that this was just Ryland and his particular sense of humor. The way humans said things they didn't literally mean in order to express frustration or amusement or both simultaneously.

Rocky chirped quizzically, his carapace tilting slightly to the side in that particular gesture of confusion that Bee had learned to recognize. When he spoke, his voice came through the translator with its characteristic musical quality.

"How water freezing when water remain liquid, Question?"

"You know what I mean." Ryland rolled his eyes, and even from behind him Bee could see the way his shoulders moved with the gesture. He was pretending to be annoyed, but the little tilt in his smile gave him away. That tiny upward quirk at the corner of his mouth that meant he was actually enjoying himself.

"I do not," Rocky chimed in, his tone perfectly sincere.

"It was cold."

"Yesterday, Grace say water too hot."

"Because it was."

"Today water too cold."

"Yep."

Rocky paused mid-step, his carapace tilting in that particular way that meant he was processing something, running calculations or cross-referencing data or whatever it was that Rocky's brilliant mind did when confronted with human inconsistency.

"Is there temperature that does not cause human complaint, Question?"

Ryland sighed dramatically, throwing his head back like he was appealing to the cloudy sky itself for patience.

"No."

"Interesting," Rocky noted, though didn't quite understand how to fix the situation. 

"It really isn't."

"It is."

They walked in silence for approximately thirty seconds, Bee counted, amused at listening to both Rocky and Ryland bicker. She thought after all these years she would get used to it, she never did but it always did amuse her. Ryland spoke again, breaking the small amount of silence because he always had to fill the silence wirh something. She could practically see him building up to the next complaint, the way he did when he was on a roll.

"The wind is also terrible today."

"Wind speed identical to yesterday," Rocky replied immediately, probably because he'd actually measured it with some instrument built into his suit.

"Yesterday the wind was fine."

"Yesterday you complain wind too strong."

"That was different wind."

Rocky stopped walking entirely, his whole body going still in that way that meant he was genuinely baffled.

"How wind different, Question?"

"It just was."

"Wind is wind."

"Not all wind is created equal, Rocky."

"All wind created by atmospheric pressure differential."

Ryland threw his hands up in exasperation, his cardigan sleeves flapping slightly with the motion.

"You're impossible."

"I am possible. I standing here, Statement."

Bee had to bite her lip hard to keep from laughing out loud. She caught Ryland glancing back at her with an expression that clearly said 'are you hearing this?' His eyebrows were raised, his mouth slightly open in mock disbelief. She gave him her most innocent smile while she shrugged her shoulders, the universal gesture of 'don't look at me, you started this.'Even though the wind hadn't actually changed, Rocky was right about that, it somehow felt colder today than it did yesterday. Maybe it was the dampness in the air, or the way the breeze came in from a slightly different direction, carrying the salt-spray scent of the ocean more directly.

"Also," Ryland continued, apparently not done with his litany of complaints, "the sand is too soft here."

"Sand composition unchanged from previous walk."

"It feels different."

"Human perception unreliable."

"My perception is fine, thank you very much."

"Evidence suggest otherwise."

Ryland stopped walking and turned to face Rocky fully, gesturing at the beach around them.

"Okay, but yesterday the sand was firmer. Today it's all—" he stomped his foot slightly, demonstrating, "—squishy."

"Moisture content may vary based on tide schedule."

"See? So it IS different!"

"Sand still sand."

"But wetter sand!"

"Wet sand still sand. Same silicon dioxide composition."

Ryland made a frustrated noise and turned to continue walking.

"You're being deliberately obtuse."

"I being accurate."

"Same thing!"

"Not same thing."

Bee snorted quietly, unable to hold it in anymore. The sound made Ryland glance back again, and this time she couldn't hide her grin. He pointed at her accusingly.

"You're not helping."

She held up her hands in surrender, still smiling.

Some things never changed.

The fate of two planets had rested on their shoulders once. They were tasked with going to Tau Ceti E to figure out why the Astrophage wasn't diming that sun, that's when they met Rocky, who helped come up with plans for the mission. And now, here they were on Erid, living a new life away from Earth, but together. 

Now Ryland and Rocky spent most of their time arguing about weather patterns and sand consistency and whether clouds looked different on Tuesdays.

Bee wouldn't have it any other way.

Behind them, Adrian walked beside Bee at a leisurely pace, occasionally making soft clicking sounds that Bee had learned meant contentment. It was a different sound than Rocky's clicks, softer, more melodic, like wind chimes in a gentle breeze. Adrian's carapace caught the diffused light in interesting ways, the natural patterns on their shell creating subtle shifts of color as they moved.

Unlike Rocky, Adrian's interests had never revolved around engineering or science. They enjoyed creation for creation's sake. Specifically sculpture, architecture, music, and the Eridian version of decorative carvings. Bee had watched Adrian carve carefully into a piece of zeonite that Rocky had synthesized for them, and she'd been fascinated by the process, the way Adrian's claws moved with such precision, the way they seemed to see the finished piece inside the raw material before they even began.

The first time Bee had visited Rocky and Adrian's home, her eyes had lit up like a little kid's eyes on Christmas morning. She'd actually gasped when she walked through the entrance, her hand flying to her mouth.

Every wall had been covered in intricate carvings, geometric patterns that flowed seamlessly into organic shapes, abstract representations of Eridian history, tiny detailed scenes of daily life all interconnected like a massive visual story that wrapped around the entire dwelling. There were depictions of the ocean, of the stars, of Eridians gathering in groups, of the moment of first contact with humans. The level of detail was staggering. You could spend hours looking at a single wall and still discover new elements you'd missed before.

Beautiful things made simply because someone wanted them to exist.

It reminded her of Earth.

It reminded her of home.

And right now, walking beside Adrian while her husband argued about meteorology with a literal alien scientist, Bee felt that familiar warmth of belonging spreading through her chest. Different planet, different sky, but the same comfortable absurdity of people she loved. The same gentle teasing, the same easy companionship, the same sense that she was exactly where she was supposed to be.

Ahead, a cluster of Eridians were gathered near the edge of the shoreline, their carapaces forming a loose semicircle around something Bee couldn't quite see yet.

Several enormous zeonite blocks had been arranged in a semicircle, each one taller than either of them, probably eight or nine feet high, their surfaces still rough and unfinished. The zeonite had a strange black color, almost deep slate color in some lights, with veins of lighter material running through it like marble. Tools were scattered around the base of the stones, carving implements, measuring devices, what looked like some kind of polishing equipment.

Bee's attention immediately shifted, her art-history-professor instincts activating like a homing beacon. She could feel it happening, that familiar pull, that magnetic draw toward anything that even remotely resembled artistic creation.

"Oh."

She slowed to a stop, her eyes widening as she took in the scene. Her fingers twitched in her pockets, already itching to take notes, to document, to analyze.

Adrian noticed immediately, their carapace shifting to look at her.

"You interested, Question?"

Bee tilted her head, already cataloging details with the practiced eye of someone who'd spent years studying art. The way the stones were positioned, not quite symmetrical, but deliberately arranged to create a sense of movement. The tools scattered nearby, different sizes, different purposes, suggesting multiple sculptors working on different aspects. The careful, deliberate movements of the sculptors themselves, the way they stepped back periodically to assess their work from different angles.

"What are they making?"

"Community sculpture."

Bee's eyes widened further, her pulse quickening.

"A public art project?"

"Yes. Represent historical event. Treaty of Seven Currents."

"That's—" Bee's brain was already spinning, making connections, drawing parallels to Earth's artistic traditions. "That's incredible. Collaborative public art, commemorative sculpture, community engagement—"

Immediately she was interested.

Interested was actually an understatement. Bee's pulse had quickened noticeably. Her fingers were already twitching like she wanted to take notes, to sketch, to document everything she was seeing. This was the kind of thing she would have spent an entire semester teaching back on Earth, public art as community expression, collaborative creation as social bonding, the intersection of history and artistic representation.

Ryland and Rocky continued walking ahead, now apparently debating whether clouds looked different on Tuesdays versus Thursdays, completely unaware that Bee had slowed to a complete stop several yards behind them.

Bee stepped closer, drawn like a moth to flame, her feet moving almost without conscious thought.

The sculpture wasn't finished yet, probably only about forty percent complete, if she had to guess, but she could already see the shape emerging from the stone. It was like watching something being born, the form slowly revealing itself as the sculptors carefully removed everything that wasn't part of the vision.

Flowing curves that suggested water, the way waves moved and curled.

Layered forms that built upon each other, creating depth and dimension.

An abstract representation of movement and unity, if she had to guess. Seven distinct elements that somehow formed a cohesive whole, probably representing the seven Eridian clans that had signed the treaty.

"It's beautiful," she breathed, and she meant it. The composition was already stunning even in its unfinished state.

Adrian's carapace shifted slightly with what Bee had learned was pride, a subtle change in posture, a particular angle of the head.

"You think so, Question?"

"Absolutely. The composition is stunning. And the way they're carving it, look at how they're working together, each one adding to the whole without overwhelming the other elements. It's like a visual conversation. Like they're all speaking the same language but with different dialects."

Adrian was quiet for a moment, watching Bee's face as she studied the sculpture. Bee was aware of being observed, but she couldn't tear her eyes away from the emerging forms in the stone. The way the light hit the carved surfaces differently than the rough stone. The way you could see the individual tool marks, the evidence of hands, or claws, shaping the material.

Then Adrian chirped softly, a questioning sound.

"What Earth art like, Question?"

Bee froze.

The question hit every single part of her art-history-loving brain at once, like someone had just pressed every button on a control panel simultaneously.

It was like someone had just asked a sommelier to explain wine, or asked a musician to talk about their favorite song, or asked Ryland to explain microbiology. It was the kind of question that had no simple answer, that opened up into infinite branching paths of information and context and historical significance.

Adrian tilted their head, looking up at Bee as she froze, her eyes still not looking away from the various Eridians working hard to create the sculpture, their movements careful and deliberate.

"Question?"

Bee laughed, a slightly manic edge to it that she recognized as the sound she made when someone had just accidentally triggered a hyperfixation.

"That's... actually a really big question."

"I listening."

And that was all the encouragement she needed.

Bee took a breath, her hands already starting to gesture, pulling free from her pockets as if they had a mind of their own.

"Well, art on Earth goes back tens of thousands of years. Some of the earliest examples are cave paintings, people would paint animals and hunting scenes on cave walls using natural pigments. Ochre, charcoal, manganese oxide. They'd grind up rocks and minerals and mix them with animal fat or water to create paint."

Adrian immediately leaned forward, their whole body language shifting to indicate focused attention.

"Why?"

"Lots of theories. Some people think they were storytelling, like visual records of successful hunts. 'Hey, remember when we killed that mammoth? Let me paint it on this wall so we don't forget.' Some think they were spiritual or ritualistic, like asking the universe for good fortune before a hunt. Some think they were just... humans wanting to make marks, you know? To say 'I was here, I saw this, this mattered. I existed and I want to leave evidence of that existence.'"

Adrian made a thoughtful clicking noise, a sound Bee had learned meant they were processing something interesting.

"Interesting. Eridians also make marks in sacred caves."

"Really?" Bee's eyes lit up even more, practically glowing with excitement. "See, that's fascinating because it suggests a universal impulse toward, toward marking space as significant, toward using visual representation to communicate meaning across time. It's like—"

She caught herself, recognizing the familiar feeling of her thoughts spiraling outward into increasingly complex territory.

"Sorry, I'm getting ahead of myself."

"Please continue," Adrian said, and their tone was genuinely encouraging.

And just like that, Bee was off.

"Okay, so then you have ancient Egypt. They made these incredible monuments and sculptures, pyramids, sphinxes, massive statues of pharaohs. Everything had symbolic meaning. The poses people stood in, the size of figures, even the colors they used. Like, if you were a pharaoh, you'd be depicted way bigger than everyone else. Not because you were actually giant, though imagine if they were, that would be terrifying, but because you were more important. Size equals significance."

One of the nearby Eridian sculptors had stopped working and was listening, their carving tool held motionless in their claw.

"Size indicate importance, Question?"

"Exactly! It's called hierarchical scale. It's like... okay, imagine if Rocky was drawn twice as tall as Ryland because Rocky is a better engineer."

"Rocky IS better engineer, Statement," Rocky chirped lowly from down the beach, just loud enough for his voice to carry back but quiet enough that Ryland wouldn't hear and start another argument.

Bee ignored him, staying focused on her explanation.

"The point is, it wasn't about realism. It wasn't about making things look exactly like they appeared in real life. It was about meaning. About communicating ideas and relationships and power structures through visual language."

Adrian's carapace rippled with what might have been understanding, a wave-like motion that traveled across their shell.

"Symbolic representation."

"Yes!" Bee was getting animated now, her hands moving more, gesturing to emphasize her points. "But then you've got Greece, and they went in a completely different direction. Like, completely opposite."

"What Greece?"

"Oh, a civilization from Earth. Ancient Greece. They were obsessed with anatomy and realism. They wanted sculptures to look exactly like people, every muscle, every tendon, perfect proportions. They studied the human body like it was a science project. They had these mathematical ratios for the ideal human form."

Adrian looked genuinely horrified, their carapace pulling back slightly.

"Exactly?"

Bee laughed at their reaction.

"Pretty close. They studied human bodies extensively. There's this concept called contrapposto where…Okay, imagine you're standing with all your weight on one leg."

She demonstrated, shifting her hip so her weight rested on her right leg, letting her left leg relax. Her whole body curved naturally with the shift.

"See how my body curves? One shoulder higher than the other? One hip jutting out? The Greeks figured out how to carve that into stone to make sculptures look alive and natural instead of stiff and rigid. Before that, most sculptures looked like they were standing at attention. But contrapposto makes them look like they're actually standing the way real people stand, with weight and balance and natural movement."

Two more Eridians had stopped working now, their attention drawn to the strange human explaining Earth art with increasingly animated gestures.

Adrian was completely focused, their eyes fixed on Bee.

"Why want look exactly like human. Question?"

"Because humans are weird and obsessed with ourselves?" Bee offered with a self-deprecating grin.

Adrian nodded seriously, as if this was a perfectly reasonable explanation.

"Acceptable explanation."

Bee grinned and kept going, her voice picking up speed as she warmed to her subject.

"So then you get to the Renaissance, that means 'rebirth' by the way, because they were trying to revive classical Greek and Roman ideals, and artists like Michelangelo are taking Greek realism and adding emotion and drama and religious significance. Michelangelo carved this sculpture called the Pietà, which is Mary holding Jesus after he died, and it's—"

She pressed her hand to her chest, right over her heart.

"—it's devastating. You can see the weight of grief in how she holds him. The fabric of her robes looks soft even though it's marble. He made stone look like fabric. Like, how do you even do that? How do you take something as hard and unyielding as marble and make it look like it would be soft to touch?"

Several minutes passed.

Bee had completely lost track of time, lost in the flow of information pouring out of her.

She was explaining Leonardo da Vinci now, talking about how he dissected corpses to understand anatomy better, actually cut open dead bodies to see how muscles and tendons connected, how bones fit together, which made several Eridians click with what might have been approval or horror. Bee wasn't entirely sure which, and she was too caught up in her explanation to stop and ask.

"And he invented sfumato, which is this technique where you blur the edges between colors so there's no harsh lines. It's like... okay, you know how when you look at something in fog, the edges get soft? Everything kind of blends together at the boundaries?"

Adrian nodded, probably thinking of the foggy sky above them right now.

"That's sfumato. It makes paintings look more realistic because that's how we actually see things. We don't see hard edges everywhere. Our vision is softer than that, more blended. The Mona Lisa uses it extensively, especially around her eyes and mouth, which is part of why her expression seems so mysterious."

"Mysterious how?"

"You can't tell if she's smiling or not! The soft edges make it ambiguous. Is she happy? Sad? Amused? Knowing? You can't quite tell, and that's intentional. Leonardo wanted that uncertainty."

"Why want ambiguous?"

"Because—" Bee gestured wildly, her hands cutting through the air. "—because art isn't always about answers! Sometimes it's about questions! Sometimes the point is to make you wonder, to make you think, to create space for interpretation!"

The crowd around her had grown to at least fifteen Eridians now. It kind of reminded her of her lectures back on Earth, many art majors crowded into a room, looking at projected images of paintings and sculptures while frantically taking notes as Bee talked animatedly, her voice echoing in the lecture hall.

Bee didn't notice the growing audience.

She was explaining perspective now, how Renaissance artists figured out mathematical systems to make flat paintings look three-dimensional, how they literally used geometry to trick the eye.

"It's all about vanishing points. Imagine you're standing on a long straight road. The sides of the road seem to get closer together the farther away they get, right? Even though the road is actually the same width the whole way. Artists figured out how to calculate that mathematically, how to use lines and angles to create the illusion of depth on a flat surface."

She grabbed a stick from the sand and started drawing, crouching down to sketch lines in the damp sand near the water's edge.

"See? All the lines converge here. This is the vanishing point. Everything in the painting follows these sight lines, so your brain interprets it as depth even though it's actually flat. It's literally a mathematical trick to hack human visual perception."

An Eridian sculptor clicked thoughtfully, leaning in to look at Bee's sand drawing.

"Trick brain, Question?"

"Exactly! It's an optical illusion based on how human vision works. Our brains are constantly interpreting visual information and making assumptions about depth and distance, and artists figured out how to exploit that."

"Clever."

"Right?" Bee was fully energized now, her voice getting louder, her gestures becoming more expansive. "And then Baroque artists took that and added drama and movement and intense lighting—"

She swept her arm dramatically, nearly hitting Adrian with the stick she was still holding.

"—like Caravaggio, who painted these intense religious scenes with stark shadows and bright highlights. It's called chiaroscuro, which literally means 'light-dark' in Italian. Everything is super dramatic. People are always in the middle of something intense happening. There's this painting called 'The Calling of Saint Matthew' where Jesus is pointing at Matthew, and there's this beam of light cutting through the darkness, and everyone's reacting with these huge dramatic gestures. It's like the visual equivalent of a dramatic movie scene with intense lighting."

At some point she had started pacing, walking back and forth in front of the sculpture.

At some point her hair had started falling out of its ponytail, loose strands whipping around her face in the wind.

At some point she had completely forgotten where Ryland was, forgotten that she'd been walking with anyone, forgotten everything except the flow of information and the attentive audience in front of her.

"And then you get Romanticism, which was all about emotion and nature and the sublime, that's the feeling of being overwhelmed by something vast and powerful. Like standing at the edge of a massive waterfall or in the middle of a storm. That feeling where you're awed and terrified at the same time."

She was gesturing with both hands now, the stick abandoned in the sand.

"Artists like Caspar David Friedrich painted these huge landscapes with tiny human figures to show how small we are compared to nature. It's about awe and terror and beauty all mixed together. There's this painting called 'Wanderer Above the Sea of Fog' where a man is standing on a mountain peak looking out over this sea of clouds, and he's so small compared to the vastness around him. It's about the human experience of confronting something bigger than yourself."

The crowd was at least twenty-five Eridians now, forming a loose semicircle around Bee.

Several were taking notes, with what, Bee wasn't exactly sure, but she was too caught up in her own rambling thoughts to ask. Some kind of recording device, probably, or maybe they were just memorizing everything. Did Eridians have eidetic memory? She should ask Rocky later.

"Then Impressionism!" Bee's voice had gone up half an octave, getting higher and faster as her excitement built. "Okay, so Impressionists were like 'what if we stopped trying to make everything look perfect and instead captured the impression of a moment?' They painted outside, quickly, with visible brushstrokes. You can see the individual marks of the brush. Claude Monet painted the same haystack like thirty times in different lighting conditions because he was obsessed with how light changes perception."

"Same haystack?" An Eridian asked, sounding genuinely baffled.

"Same haystack! Different times of day, different weather, different seasons. Because the light made it look completely different each time. Morning light versus afternoon light versus sunset. Sunny day versus cloudy day. Summer versus winter. It's not about the haystack, it's about the light! The haystack is just the excuse to study light!"

Adrian was utterly transfixed, their carapace completely still except for the slight movements that indicated breathing.

"And then Post-Impressionism, where artists like Van Gogh took Impressionism and made it even more emotional and expressive. Van Gogh painted with these thick, swirling brushstrokes, you can see the texture of the paint on the canvas. His paintings feel alive. They vibrate with energy. It's called impasto, when you apply paint so thickly that it has actual physical texture."

She was fully animated now, her whole body involved in the explanation, her hands tracing swirling patterns in the air.

"He painted sunflowers and starry nights and wheat fields, and everything feels intense and emotional because he wasn't just painting what he saw, he was painting what he felt. The world filtered through his emotional state. When he was manic, the paintings are bright and swirling and energetic. When he was depressed, they're darker and heavier."

-

Meanwhile...

Far ahead on the beach, Ryland had moved on to complaining about the angle of the sun, how it touched the water, casting the sky in a muted orange color. 

"It's too bright."

"Sun brightness unchanged," Rocky replied, probably because he'd measured it.

"It's in my eyes."

"Adjust position."

"I shouldn't have to adjust my position. The sun should adjust."

Rocky paused, his carapace tilting.

"That not how celestial mechanics work."

"Well it should be."

Rocky made a sound that might have been a sigh, a soft hiss of air, before he glanced back, noticing how Bee and Adrian were missing. 

"Where Bee, Question?"

Ryland frowned, looking around. He'd been so caught up in his complaints that he hadn't actually checked on his wife in... how long? Several minutes at least.

"She's right—"

He turned around, expecting to find Bee and Adrian a few yards behind them.

Instead, he found nothing. Empty beach. No Bee. No Adrian.

"—here?"

Rocky rotated slightly, his whole body turning to look back the way they'd come.

Both of them looked back down the beach.

Far behind them, much farther than Ryland had expected, Bee stood in front of a half-finished sculpture surrounded by Eridians. A crowd of them, actually. When had that happened?

She was waving her hands enthusiastically, her ponytail half-undone with strands of hair flying around her face, her voice carrying across the beach on the wind.

"—and then Van Gogh cut off part of his ear—"

Ryland blinked.

"Oh no."

Rocky chirped, tilting up at Ryland as he questioned what was happening.

"Bee making presentation, Question?"

"She's giving an art lecture." Ryland's voice was flat with recognition. He knew this pattern. He'd seen it before, many times where he would ask her some art related question, and hours later he still wouldn't get his answer and Bee was out of breath from talking so long.

Rocky paused, his carapace tilting as he observed the scene, probably running some kind of analysis.

"I count forty-three Eridians."

"What?"

"Audience. Forty-three individuals. Wait. Forty-four. Another approaching from north."

Ryland stared, his mouth slightly open in disbelief.

Sure enough, a small crowd had gathered around his wife. Some were sitting on the sand, their carapaces settled into comfortable positions. Several were taking notes with recording devices. One appeared to be sketching, actually drawing what Bee was describing, trying to visualize Earth art based on her explanations.

"How long has she been talking?"

Rocky checked something on his suit, probably accessing whatever internal chronometer he used.

"Forty-eight minutes, thirty-two seconds."

Ryland's voice went up, cracking slightly.

"You timed her?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Scientific curiosity. Wanted measure duration of human hyperfocus state."

"Of course you did." Ryland pinched the bridge of his nose, a gesture of long-suffering patience. "Of course you're running experiments on my wife."

"Not experiment. Observation."

"That's the same thing!"

"It not. Experiment require controlled variables and hypothesis testing. This pure observation."

"Rocky—"

"Also taking notes on physical manifestations of hyperfocus. Hair dishevelment, increased gesture frequency, vocal pattern changes—"

Ryland started walking back quickly, his feet kicking up sand in the process.

Rocky followed behind, easily keeping pace as he was no longer in a ball like he was back on the Hail Mary with Ryland and Bee.

"How did we not notice she was gone for forty-eight minutes?"

"You complaining about sun."

"That doesn't—" Ryland gestured helplessly at the air. "We should have noticed! We should have realized she wasn't with us!"

"Bee very quiet normally. Easy to forget presence when not actively engaging."

"She's not quiet now!"

Indeed, as they got closer, Bee's voice became easier to hear. She'd moved on to the Arts and Crafts movement, her voice slightly hoarse but no less enthusiastic, no less energetic.

"—which eventually inspired the Arts and Crafts movement because many artists felt industrialization was removing the human element from creative work. William Morris believed craftsmanship had value beyond simple functionality, that beautiful things should be accessible to everyone, not just the wealthy! He wanted to democratize beauty!"

Ryland stopped beside her, slightly out of breath from the quick walk back.

She didn't even notice.

Her hair was definitely falling out of its ponytail now, the elastic barely holding on. She'd gestured so much that her jacket had slipped off one shoulder, hanging awkwardly. She looked slightly manic, her eyes bright and unfocused in that way that meant she was completely absorbed in her own thoughts.

Adrian immediately noticed Ryland's arrival, their carapace shifting to acknowledge him.

"Hello Ryland."

"Hi," Ryland said, slightly breathless.

Bee continued talking, completely oblivious to her husband's presence.

"—and Morris designed wallpapers and textiles with these intricate natural patterns. He wanted to bring beauty into everyday life. He said, 'Have nothing in your houses that you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful,' which I think is—"

"Bee."

Ryland spoke up, softly at first. She didn't respond, too caught up in her unprompted lecture.

"Bee."

He spoke a little more loudly, trying to get her attention... but that didn't work either. Ryland ran a hand through his slightly mussed blonde hair, sighing slightly in defeat. This was familiar territory. Once Bee got going on a topic she loved, it was like trying to stop a freight train.

"Bee."

She kept going, now explaining the philosophy behind handcrafted furniture, her hands tracing the shapes of imaginary chairs in the air.

Ryland looked at Adrian helplessly, his expression clearly asking 'how long has this been going on?'

Adrian seemed amused, their carapace moving with them as they did the familar gesture of excitement, similar to jazz hands. 

Rocky stepped forward and simply turned up the volume on his speaker to maximum.

"BEE."

The sound was loud enough to make several nearby Eridians startle.

Finally she turned towards him looked up, blinking like she'd just woken up from a deep sleep, her eyes taking a moment to focus.

"Oh!"

She smiled brightly, slightly breathless, her chest rising and falling from talking non-stop for nearly an hour.

"When did you get here?"

Ryland stared at her, his expression somewhere between amused and exasperated.

"You've been lecturing an entire crowd for almost an hour."

Bee looked around, her head turning slowly as if seeing her surroundings for the first time.

Only then did she realize dozens of Eridians had gathered around them. Some were sitting on the sand, their carapaces settled into comfortable positions. Others were perched on the stone blocks of the unfinished sculpture. All of them were watching her with rapt attention, their eyes fixed on her face.

"Oh."

She paused, glancing around her, and her eyes went wider as the full scope of the situation registered.

"Oh."

Her hand went to her hair, discovering the disaster of her ponytail, the elastic barely hanging on, strands everywhere, probably looking like she'd been in a windstorm.

"Oh no."

Rocky stepped forward, his carapace tilting in that particular way that meant he was about to say something he found very logical and everyone else would find very awkward.

"Question."

Bee immediately looked at him, still trying to fix her hair, attempting to gather the loose strands and re-do her ponytail, which was easier said than done in the wind.

"What?"

Rocky's tone remained completely serious, clinical even.

"Is this human mating behavior?"

Silence.

Complete, absolute silence.

Even the wind seemed to pause.

Ryland blinked, his eyes widening slightly in shock at Rocky's sudden question. Ryland glanced over at Bee, whose eyes were also wide with shock, her hands frozen in her hair. Both of their faces were turning red from embarrassment, the color creeping up from their necks.

Several Eridians in the crowd clicked with interest, leaning forward slightly.

"What?" Bee's voice came out slightly strangled, higher than normal.

Rocky gestured toward her with one claw, his movement precise and deliberate.

"Bee displaying extensive knowledge in attempt impress mate. Classic mating display behavior observed in multiple Earth species. Peacock show feathers. Bower bird build elaborate nest. Human give lecture about dead artists."

Ryland made a sound like he was choking on air.

"ROCKY!"

"What?" Rocky's tone was genuinely confused.

"NO!"

Adrian tilted their head thoughtfully, considering Rocky's hypothesis.

"This not correct, Question?"

Bee's entire face turned red. Not just her cheeks, her whole face, up to her hairline, down her neck, probably down to her collarbones under her shirt.

"I wasn't trying to impress anybody!"

Her voice had gone up a full octave, nearly squeaking.

Rocky looked genuinely confused, his carapace tilting as he processed her denial.

"You talk for one hour, twelve minutes."

"That doesn't mean—"

"You become louder when Ryland arrive. Volume increased by approximately fifteen decibels."

"I did NOT—"

Bee made an absolutely horrified noise, somewhere between a squeak and a wheeze, her hands flying to cover her face.

Ryland was laughing so hard he had to bend over, hands on his knees, his shoulders shaking.

"Okay," he gasped between laughs, trying to catch his breath. "Maybe Rocky has a point."

"RYLAND!"

"You did get louder! And you definitely kept looking at me!"

"I was just…I was excited about the Arts and Crafts movement! You know I love that movement!"

Bee scrambled, trying to defend herself, her words tumbling over each other.

"Sure you were." Ryland couldn't help the small but amused smirk that began to form on his face at Bee's reaction, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

"I WAS!"

Rocky seemed pleased with himself, his carapace settling into a satisfied position.

"Hypothesis confirmed. Human mating display successful. Mate appears amused and affectionate."

"It is NOT confirmed!" Bee's voice cracked slightly, breaking on the last word.

Ryland was still laughing, now wiping tears of amusement from his eyes with the back of his hand.

"Rocky, buddy, I'm already married to her. She doesn't need to impress me with William Morris facts."

"Then why she do it?"

"Because she can't help herself!"

Bee covered her face with both hands, her voice muffled.

"I hate both of you."

"No you don't," Ryland said, still grinning, his voice warm with affection despite the teasing.

"I'm considering it!"

Adrian watched this entire exchange with what appeared to be fascination, their carapace shifting slightly as they observed the human interaction. Then they spoke, their voice thoughtful and perfectly innocent.

"Bee never explain artist named Van Gogh, Statement." Adrian interjected. 

Bee's hands slowly lowered from her face.

Ryland's laughter stopped abruptly, his smile fading.

"No."

Adrian continued, completely innocent, as if they had no idea what they were about to unleash.

"What happen after ear? You say he cut off ear, but then stop talking. Very unsatisfying ending."

Bee's eyes lit up, the embarrassment of the mating display accusation immediately forgotten.

The horror was replaced by the irresistible pull of an unfinished art history lecture, the need to complete the story, to provide context and closure.

"Oh! Well, Van Gogh was a Dutch Post-Impressionist painter who—"

Ryland pointed accusingly at Adrian, his finger jabbing the air.

"Don't encourage her."

He warned, glaring down at Adrian with mock severity.

"—struggled with mental illness his entire life—"

Adrian didn't stop Bee. Like Bee, Adrian was interested in knowledge of art, especially sculpture, and Adrian wanted to learn about art of Earth and what it was like. They settled in to listen, their carapace shifting into an attentive position.

"Adrian, I'm serious."

"—and the ear incident happened after an argument with Paul Gauguin—"

"She's going to talk for another hour!"

"—who was staying with him in Arles—"

Too late.

Bee had already turned back toward the sculpture, her hands gesturing again, her voice regaining its enthusiastic energy despite the hoarseness, despite having been talking for nearly an hour already.

"So Van Gogh and Gauguin were both Post-Impressionist painters, but they had very different styles and philosophies, and they were living together in this yellow house in southern France—"

Ryland sighed deeply, but he was smiling, his expression soft with affection.

Rocky clicked happily, a sound of satisfaction.

"Mating display continuing."

"Rocky, I swear—"

"Very persistent. Admirable trait in potential mate."

"We're already married!"

"Still admirable."

Adrian settled in to listen, their carapace shifting into a comfortable position.

The crowd of Eridians, which had started to disperse when Bee stopped talking, immediately gathered again, reforming their semicircle around her.

Bee was fully back in lecture mode now, explaining the complex relationship between Van Gogh and Gauguin, the artistic tensions, the personal conflicts, the famous yellow house, the ear incident, the aftermath, Van Gogh's time in the asylum at Saint-Rémy, the paintings he created there.

"—and even while he was in the asylum, he was painting these incredible works. The Starry Night, which is probably his most famous painting, was painted from his asylum window. Those swirling stars, that cypress tree reaching up like a flame—"

Her voice was definitely hoarse now, rough around the edges, but she didn't seem to notice or care. The words kept flowing, unstoppable.

Ryland sat down in the sand with a soft thump, accepting his fate.

Rocky sat beside him, his carapace settling into the sand.

"How long this time, Question?" Adrian asked, their tone genuinely curious.

Rocky checked his suit, running calculations.

"Estimating sixty to ninety minutes based on previous data and current speech patterns."

Ryland leaned back on his hands, looking up at the cloudy sky which was starting to dim as the sun began to dip below the horizon, the light taking on that particular quality of twlight.

"Might as well get comfortable."

And together they settled in for another hour, watching Bee gesture wildly while explaining the tragic beauty of Vincent van Gogh's final years, her voice carrying across the beach, her passion undimmed, her audience completely captivated.

Some things, Ryland thought with affection, would never change.

And honestly? He wouldn't want them to.

𝓜𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓲𝓪𝓵 𝓛𝓲𝓼𝓽:

𝓞𝓷𝓮𝓼𝓱𝓸𝓽𝓼:

ꜱᴛᴇᴠᴇ ʜᴀʀʀɪɴɢᴛᴏɴ

The Sun Will Rise and We Will Try Again - Twenty One Pilots and Stranger Things Crossover

-

ʀʏʟᴀɴᴅ ɢʀᴀᴄᴇ

The Persistence of Lecture The Meaning of Grace Everywhere, Everything | Part 1 , Part 2 It's Time Go

𝓢𝓮𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓼:

Patient Zero: Hawkins, Indiana- Resident Evil and Stranger Things Crossover

The first thing Bee noticed about Hawkins again was the quiet.

Not the peaceful kind of quiet people romanticized when they talked about small towns. Not the comforting quiet of late summer evenings or slow Sunday mornings.

This quiet felt… heavier.

Like the town had learned how to hold its breath.

The sign appeared just as the sun began to dip low enough to stain the sky orange.

“Welcome to Hawkins, Indiana. A Great Place to Call Home.”

Population: 30,412.

She knew that number wasn’t right.

Half the town had left after the Starcourt “fire” in the summer of 1986. 

Bee hadn’t seen the sign in nearly seven years. She graduated high school in 84, got an art scholarship in Chicago and hadn’t returned to her hometown ever since then. 

The paint had been redone since she left, it was cleaner, brighter now, but the words still felt strangely hollow. Like the town was desperately still trying to cover up its dark past and trying too hard to look like a normal town. She slowed the car slightly as she passed it, fingers tightening around the steering wheel.

The road beyond the sign stretched ahead in the same familiar way she remembered, two quiet lanes cutting through endless farmland, telephone poles marching into the distance, trees beginning to darken with the coming evening.

Indiana hadn’t changed, but she had.

The engine of her old Honda hummed softly beneath her along with whatever pop song was playing on the radio that she was too lazy to change because the music provided some entertainment as the town slowly came into view. Small houses, water towers, the distant outline of downtown Hawkins rising from the trees.

Bee let out a slow breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

“Okay,” she muttered to herself. “You can do this.”

It wasn’t supposed to be permanent. That was the promise she’d made to herself when she packed up her Chicago apartment three days ago. She was just staying in Hawkins for a while, just until Mom wasn’t so lonely.

Dustin leaving for college had hit their mother harder than Bee expected. The house had always been loud growing up with Dustin’s endless talking, the sound of science experiments going wrong in the basement, their mom yelling about burnt waffles or unfinished homework, but after Dustin graduated high school in 89 valedictorian and he was accepted into Oglethorpe University in Brookhaven, Georgia, the house had been quiet, silent for the first time in 25 years. 

Bee had left too, before the fire or the earthquake, only she hadn’t been running from Hawkins. She’d been running toward something else.

Chicago had seemed enormous when she first arrived for college. Tall buildings, trains rattling overhead, crowded sidewalks where no one noticed if you kept your head down and minded your own business. It was definitely different from Hawkins, Indiana, which was all she had known before. Hawkins, Indiana where everyone knew your mother’s maiden name or your weekend schedule. 

For someone like Bee, Chicago had been perfect. She could keep to herself, not having to worry about her neighbors coming in unexpectedly at the worst times. Most people in Chicago were too busy worrying about their own lives to be invested in someone else's. 

She’d always been quiet, even when she was a kid. 

Where Dustin moved through the world like a storm of enthusiasm, Bee had always been the opposite. Careful. Observant. The kind of person who listened more than she spoke. Teachers used to say she was thoughtful. Her mother used to say she was shy.

Bee had never really minded.

High school had been easier that way. While Dustin built entire friend groups out of sheer personality and nerdy activities such as D&D, Bee kept her circle small. Very small.

There had only really been one person in it, Robin Buckley. 

Bee smiled faintly as she turned onto a familiar stretch of road. Back in high school, Robin had been the loud one in their friendship, the one who talked fast, joked faster, and filled every silence Bee left behind. Somehow it had worked. Bee grounded Robin when she spiraled into anxious tangents, which were often, and Robin pulled Bee out of her shell just enough to keep the world from passing her by.

They’d spent long afternoons studying together, trading music recommendations, whispering sarcastic commentary about teachers during class.

Robin had once described their friendship as “the human version of a balanced chemical equation.”

Bee still wasn’t entirely sure what she meant by that, but years later, she missed talking so easily with her best friend. She wondered if Robin still was in Hawkins, or if her and her mother moved away after everything that happened. She had a feeling her mom would know. 

The car rolled past the edge of downtown Hawkins, and Bee noticed something else had changed.

There were more people.

More cars parked along the street. Storefronts that had once been empty now displayed fresh paint and new signs. A diner she vaguely remembered being boarded up was open again, the windows glowing warmly in the afternoon light.

Hawkins looked… alive. That was new.

A lot had changed since she’d left after graduation.

The biggest difference had come three years ago in 1990, when a massive new pharmaceutical company had opened a research facility just outside town. Umbrella Pharmaceuticals. Bee had seen their logo plastered on billboards along the highway during the drive in.

Apparently they’d brought jobs, and new people.

And apparently they’d brought Hawkins back from the edge of becoming a ghost town.

Bee wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

Her car turned onto Maple Street almost automatically, muscle memory guiding her through the neighborhood she’d grown up in.

The houses looked smaller than she remembered.

That was the strange thing about coming home as an adult, places that once felt enormous shrank into something manageable, familiar in a way that made your chest ache a little.

Her mother’s house came into view at the end of the block.

Same pale yellow siding. Same crooked mailbox Dustin had accidentally backed his bike into when he was ten.

Bee pulled into the driveway and turned off the engine. For a moment, she didn’t move, reminiscing in the silence of her car. 

Chicago suddenly felt very far away.

Her apartment there had been small but comfortable. A fourth-floor walk-up with a view of the street below and a coffee shop on the corner. She’d liked her job, liked the quiet independence of living in a city where no one knew her history.

Leaving it behind had felt… strange, but every time she’d called home over the past year, something in her mother’s voice had been different. She wasn’t sad, in fact she insisted that she was proud both of her kids found their way in life, but she was… quieter.

Ever since Dustin had left for college, the house had gotten too big for one person.

Her mother had insisted everything was fine, of course.

“I’m not lonely, honey.”

“You focus on your life.”

But Bee knew better.

Their mother wasn’t as young as she used to be. Simple things such as yard work, errands, keeping the house in order had started becoming harder.

And Dustin wouldn’t be able to help until summer when he was home for longer than a week.

So Bee had made the decision that felt inevitable the moment the thought appeared in her head.

She’d packed up her apartment in Chicago, quit her job, and moved back to Hawkins for the time being, until she knew her mother would be okay on her own or until she could find someone to help out around the house.

The driver’s door creaked open as she stepped out into the cool March air. The scent of damp earth and early spring drifted through the neighborhood. The air was fresher than Chicago, probably because of the agriculture industry that gave Hawkins most of its money. 

Bee grabbed a box from the trunk of her car before walking toward the front door. The porch boards creaked under her weight in the exact same way they always had.

Some things never changed.

She raised her hand to knock and the door swung open before she could.

Her mother stood there, eyes wide for half a second before softening with relief.

“Bee?”

Bee set the box down immediately.

“Hi, Mom.”

The next thing she knew, her mother’s arms were around her in a tight hug.

“What are you doing here? I thought you were busy with your new job.” her mother asked quietly, not daring to let go of her daughter. 

“I was worried about you, mom. I know things haven’t been the same since Dusty left for college.” She responded, pulling back slightly to look down at her mother who had shrunk over the years. 

“You didn’t have to do this,” her mother said quickly, even as she held on. “I told you I was fine—”

“I know, but I want to.” Bee replied gently.

For a moment, neither of them spoke, enjoying the comfortable silence settling between the two of them. 

Then her mother smiled.

“Well,” she said, wiping quickly at the corner of one eye. “You picked a good time to come back. Dustin and his friends will all be home next week for spring break.”

Bee laughed softly.

“Already?”

“College kids,” her mother said with a shrug. “They get more vacations than anyone.”

Bee carried the box inside, setting it down in her old bedroom, down the hallway as familiar surroundings wrapped around her like a memory. Glancing around, the house looked exactly the same as she remembered it when she was 18, leaving to start her new life. The house might be considered ‘dated’ now, but it still had that same cozy feeling she got whenever she was young. 

Spring break. That meant Dustin would be back soon, which also meant his friends would be back too. It had been a while since Bee saw his friends, she remembered when they were 11, all sweet and innocent and cared more about D&D rather than relationships. 

Bee’s mind drifted briefly through half-forgotten faces from high school hallways, Nancy Wheeler, Jonathan Byers, Billy Hargrove, Barb..And Steve Harrington.

Bee frowned slightly at the thought.

They’d technically shared a few classes once or twice, but that was about it. Steve had existed in an entirely different world back then. The popular and loud one. Back in the day, he was known as “The King of Hawkins High”.

Bee had always kept her distance from people like that, she preferred it that way. She didn’t want to have to change herself just to fit in with superficial people who cared more about the clothes you wore than the contents of your brain. 

She wondered if he was still the same. She shook those thoughts away, leaving to go back out to her car to get the rest of her things she tightly packed into her car. 

Outside, the wind rustled softly through the trees lining the street.

Hawkins looked peaceful, normal even .

By the time Bee finished unpacking the last of her boxes, the sun had already dipped low behind the trees. The sky outside her bedroom window had turned the muted lavender color that always came just before nightfall in early spring. Hawkins evenings still arrived the same way she remembered, slow and quiet, the air cooling quickly as the day slipped away. There were less stars than she remembered when she was a kid, probably from the growing light pollution from the new businesses in Hawkins. 

Bee stepped back from the dresser and stretched, rolling her shoulders as the faint ache of the long day settled into her muscles. Moving was exhausting even under the best circumstances, and she’d driven nearly four hours from Chicago before hauling half her belongings up the front porch steps.

Her old bedroom looked… different.

Not dramatically so. Her mother had kept most of it the same over the years. The same pale green walls, same bookshelf against the far corner, same desk beneath the window where Bee used to spend hours doing homework or sketching absentmindedly in her beat up sketchbook.

But it felt smaller now, or maybe she’d just gotten used to living somewhere that didn’t carry so many memories in every corner.

She sat briefly on the edge of the bed, letting the quiet settle around her. From somewhere downstairs she could hear the faint clatter of dishes and the low hum of the kitchen radio her mother always left on while cooking.

The smell reached her a moment later. Garlic, tomatoes, it was something warm and familiar and made her smile faintly.

Her mother must’ve started dinner while Bee was unpacking.

She pushed herself up and headed toward the door, stepping into the hallway just as the house lights flickered on below.

The staircase creaked in the same places it always had. Bee found herself stepping around the third stair from the bottom automatically, muscle memory from years of sneaking downstairs late at night when she and Dustin were kids.

The kitchen looked exactly the same.

Same yellow curtains above the sink, same worn wooden table in the center of the room, same refrigerator door covered in old magnets and faded photos Dustin had insisted on putting there over the years.

Bee paused when she noticed something new, though.

A photograph pinned near the corner of the fridge.Dustin, standing between Lucas Sinclar and Will Byers, all three of them wearing college sweatshirts and grinning at the camera.

She walked closer, studying it.

Dustin looked older, of course. His hair was still curly and unkempt, but shorter now, his face less round than it had been when he left for college. But the same bright, unmistakable enthusiasm still seemed to radiate from the picture.

Bee felt a small tug of affection in her chest. Her little brother had always filled every room he walked into.

“Dinner’s ready,” her mother called from the stove.

Bee turned. Her mother was placing two plates on the table, steam rising from a large bowl of pasta between them.

“Spaghetti?” Bee asked, raising an eyebrow.

Her mother laughed softly. “I figured after moving all day you deserved something better than sandwiches.”

Bee pulled out a chair and sat down, grateful for the warmth of the kitchen.

For a while, neither of them spoke much. The quiet wasn’t uncomfortable, it rarely was between them. Bee had always been content with peaceful silence, and her mother had learned long ago that conversations didn’t always need to fill every second.

Bee twirled pasta around her fork before finally glancing up.

“So,” she said, clearing her throat slightly, “how’s Dustin been?”

Her mother smiled immediately.

“Oh, busy. Always busy. You know how he is.”

Bee huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah. That hasn’t changed.”

“He calls at least once a week,” her mother continued. “Sometimes more if he’s excited about something. Classes, his friends, some science project he’s working on…”

Bee couldn’t help the corners of her mouth tilting up slightly at the mention of ‘science project’, though Dustin was about to be 21, he hadn’t changed much from that scrawny teenager she remembered. She could practically hear Dustin’s voice in her head already, talking too fast, jumping from topic to topic without stopping for breath.

“He and the others are coming home next week for spring break,” her mother added.

“Right,” Bee said. “You mentioned that earlier.”

“They’re all doing well, from what I hear. Lucas is still at school out in California, Max transferred somewhere closer after last year… Jonathan’s in New York with Nancy, I think.”

Bee nodded slowly as she listened.

It had been a long time since she’d seen most of Dustin’s friends. Back when they were younger they used to fill the house constantly, bikes scattered across the lawn, loud conversations drifting through open windows during summer afternoons in the basement, conversations about what spell was the best, the usual.

The house had felt much louder back then.

Bee took another bite before something else crossed her mind.

“Have you heard from Robin lately?”

Her mother looked up from her plate.

“Robin Buckley?”

Bee nodded.

“She’s finishing her master’s degree,” her mother said. “English degree, I believe. At Smith College.”

Bee blinked in mild surprise.

“Really?”

“Mm-hmm. She visited a few months ago, actually. Stopped by to say hello.”

Bee felt a small warmth at the thought. Robin had always been the ambitious one between the two of them, full of ideas, always chasing the next thing that interested her.

“Is she staying out there after she finishes?” Bee asked.

“I’m not sure,” her mother admitted. “She mentioned maybe teaching eventually.”

Bee smiled to herself. That sounded exactly like Robin.

The conversation drifted again for a moment, the quiet punctuated only by the clink of silverware against plates. Then her mother spoke again.

“Oh…and you might run into Steve Harrington while you’re back.”

Bee paused mid-bite, her eyes glancing up briefly from her pasta.

“Steve?”

Her mother nodded casually. “Yes. He stayed in Hawkins.”

Bee leaned back slightly in her chair. That… she hadn’t expected.

“What’s he doing here?” she asked.

“He teaches at the high school now,” her mother said. “Health class, I believe. And he coaches middle school baseball.”

Bee blinked. For a moment she couldn’t quite picture it.

Steve Harrington. The same Steve Harrington who had once walked through the halls of Hawkins High like he owned them. The one with the perfect hair, the expensive car, the crowd of friends constantly orbiting him like planets.

A teacher? A baseball coach?

“That’s… surprising,” Bee admitted.

Her mother chuckled softly.

“People grow up, Bee.”

Bee looked down at her plate again, twirling her fork absentmindedly. Yeah right, people may change but do people like Steve Harrington change? 

In her mind, Steve Harrington still looked exactly the way he had in high school, leaning against lockers without a care in the world, laughing loudly with his friends with his stupidly perfect hair. 

She wondered if he’d changed at all.

For as long as anyone could remember, Dema had stood untouched.

Its towering white walls cut across the horizon like a scar, separating its citizens from the world beyond. Within those walls, the Bishops ruled absolutely. Every aspect of life was controlled. Every thought monitored, every dream suppressed. The city crushed your spirit, that's what it wanted. It wanted you to feel hopeless, to give in, to forget that anything existed beyond those suffocating walls.

The Bishops ruled the city, creating a religion to practice these sick ideals. There were nine of them, one to rule each district of the city, to control and rule over their citizens with iron fists wrapped in crimson robes. But one was the most powerful, the one whose name was whispered with the deepest fear: Nico.

And for just as long, there had been the Banditos.

Living beyond the city in the wild lands of Trench, they fought for freedom. They sabotaged supply routes, guided escapees out of the city, and refused to bow to the Bishops' rule. They wore yellow duct tape on their shoulders like armor, carried yellow flowers in their pockets like prayers. Yellow—the color that meant hope still existed somewhere in the world.

Their leader was known as the Torchbearer. For years, that had been Steve Harrington.

He had led the Bandito's across Trench, built camps from nothing with his own bleeding hands, rescued citizens from Dema's grasp in the dead of night, and spent countless nights studying the city that haunted every horizon. He knew every gate, every guard rotation, every weak point in those impossible walls. He'd memorized the layout of streets he'd never walked, towers he'd never climbed.

But no matter how many victories they claimed, one truth remained, heavy as stone in his chest.

Steve could never destroy Dema alone. The walls were too strong, the Bishops were too powerful, their control too absolute. To bring down Dema, they needed someone from inside. Someone who understood the city, someone capable of fighting the Bishops on equal ground, someone capable of seizing, taking control of vessels the way the Bishops did, turning death itself into a weapon.

No citizen held this power, except for one.

The Banditos called this person Clancy.

Not because it was a name, but because it was a role. A title passed from one hopeful soul to the next, each one carrying the weight of everyone who'd come before. Each one carrying the desperate belief that maybe, just maybe, this time would be different.

A Clancy possessed the rare ability to seize vessels the same way the Bishops could, taking control of the dead and turning them into living puppets. It was the only power that could truly challenge the rulers of Dema. The only thing that could level the playing field.

Over the years, Steve had searched endlessly.

Some Clancys died before they could reach the tower. Some disappeared into the city and were never seen again. Some surrendered, choosing the safety of submission over the danger of rebellion.

Each loss carved something out of Steve's chest. Each failure made the next search harder. Made belief feel more like foolishness.

Yet Steve never stopped looking. He never gave up hope that one day, one cycle would end the rule of the Bishops and free the citizens of Dema. Even when hope felt like the cruelest thing he could carry.

Then they found Eddie Munson.

And for the first time in years, Steve allowed himself to believe.

Eddie wasn't what anyone expected. He was loud, reckless, stubborn. He didn't lead people like Clancys had before, with quiet determination or solemn speeches. He led them with music, with laughter that echoed across Trench, preaching hope and screaming "stay alive" like it was both a command and a promise.

He laughed in the face of danger and somehow managed to make everyone around him laugh too, even when their hands were shaking, even when fear sat heavy in their stomachs.

The younger Banditos adored him. They followed him like he was made of starlight, hung on every word, learned every song. The older ones respected him, saw something in his eyes that reminded them why they'd started fighting in the first place.

And Steve…Steve became his friend.

The kind of friend who stayed awake talking beside campfires until sunrise painted the sky pink and gold, discussing everything and nothing, childhood memories, favorite foods, the shape of clouds, the weight of responsibility. The kind of friend who knew exactly how Eddie took his coffee in the morning (too much sugar, not enough patience to let it cool). The kind of friend who trusted him with the future of every Bandito, with the lives of everyone they'd sworn to protect.

Together they trained, Eddie learning to control his power while Steve taught him everything he knew about Dema. Together they planned, spreading maps across makeshift tables and marking routes with trembling fingers. Together they dreamed about the day Dema finally fell, about what freedom might actually feel like, about a world where yellow flowers could grow without fear.

Steve remembered one night in particular. It was the first time Eddie had been practicing seizing, taking control of a small animal, a dead rabbit, then releasing it gently. His hands had been shaking with exhaustion, sweat dripping down his temples.

"What if I can't do it?" Eddie had asked quietly, vulnerability cracking through his usual bravado. "What if I get up there and I freeze? What if I'm not strong enough?"

Steve had looked at him, really looked at him, and seen the fear beneath the confidence. Seen the boy who'd escaped Dema's walls with nothing but hope and terror.

"You're stronger than any of them," Steve had said, and he'd meant it with every fiber of his being. "You're going to tear that place apart, Eddie. I know you will."

Eddie had smiled then, that brilliant reckless smile that made Steve believe impossible things.

"Yeah," Eddie had said. "Yeah, I will."

For the first time, the future didn't seem impossible. It seemed close enough to touch, close enough to taste. Steve could almost feel it, the moment when those walls would finally crumble, when the Bishops would fall, when everyone trapped inside Dema would walk free into Trench.

Then the day finally came.

Banditos emerged from every corner of Trench like a flood. Hundreds of yellow banners appeared across the landscape as they marched toward Dema's gates, a sea of hope moving as one. Every Bandito covered in yellow duct tape with yellow flowers in their pockets, symbols of everything they were fighting for. Some were crying. Some were singing. All of them were ready.

Steve's heart had been pounding so hard he could barely hear his own thoughts. This was it. After years of planning, years of losing, years of hoping, this was finally it.

The final battle had begun.

While Steve led the Banditos against the Grateful Gone rising from the ground to attack them outside the walls of Dema, Eddie slipped away. Steve had watched him go, their eyes meeting for just a moment across the chaos. Eddie had nodded once. A promise, a goodbye, a see you on the other side, and then he was gone, disappearing toward the base of the tower.

Their plan depended on it.

The Torchbearer could lead the army, but only Clancy could reach the Bishops. Only Clancy could climb the tower. Only Clancy could end the cycle.

Steve had forced himself to turn away, to focus on the battle in front of him. He had to trust Eddie. Had to believe.

The fighting lasted for hours.

The Grateful Gone came in endless waves, shambling forward with dead eyes and rotting hands. Citizens who had lost their lives to depression, who couldn't handle living in Dema, now controlled by the Bishops like puppets on strings. An army that never tired, never stopped, never felt pain.

Steve's arms burned with exhaustion as he fought. His sword was slick with something he tried not to think about. Around him, Banditos screamed battle cries and fell and got back up and kept fighting. He saw Marcus take a hit to the shoulder but keep swinging. Saw Elena pull another Bandito out of the path of grasping dead hands. Saw Thomas fall and not get back up, yellow flowers spilling from his pocket onto blood-soaked ground.

Yet the Banditos kept pushing forward, kept fighting with everything they had.

Because high above them, somewhere inside the tower, Eddie was fighting for all of them.

Steve's lungs burned. His muscles screamed. But he couldn't stop, wouldn't stop. Not when they were this close.

Another wave of Grateful Gone rose from the earth in front of their neon gravestones, dirt falling from their shoulders, mouths hanging open in silent screams. Steve braced himself, raised his torch, that both served as a weapon and a symbol of hope. 

And then they fell.

Just collapsed, all at once, like strings had been cut. Bodies hitting the ground with heavy thuds, finally, truly dead.

For a moment, nobody moved. Nobody breathed.

The bishops had fallen. 

A roar erupted throughout the battlefield that shook Steve's bones.

Banditos cheered, weapons were thrown into the air, some collapsed from relief, others cried openly. Years of fighting, years of losing, years of hoping…and they had finally won. Steve felt tears streaming down his face, felt his chest expanding with something too big to name. Joy. Relief. Disbelief.

Eddie had done it.

Eddie had actually done it.

Steve had never ran into the city and climbed the stairs so quickly in his life. His legs burned, his breath came in ragged gasps, but he couldn't slow down. He and a handful of Banditos raced up the main tower where the Bishops had ruled, taking steps two and three at a time. Robin was beside him, Nancy just behind, all of them desperate to reach the top, to see Eddie, to celebrate their impossible victory.

When they finally reached the top, Steve burst through the doorway expecting triumph.

Expecting freedom. Expecting Eddie standing there with that brilliant smile, maybe a little bloody, definitely exhausted, but alive and victorious. Expecting to throw his arms around his best friend and laugh and cry and finally, finally breathe.

Nico lay dead at the center of the room.

The final Bishop, the most feared of them all. Gone. His crimson robes pooled around him like spilled wine, his face frozen in an expression of shock.

For a brief moment, Steve smiled.

They'd done it.

Eddie had done it.

Steve's eyes searched the room, looking for Eddie, ready to celebrate—

But his smile died on his lips as he watched Eddie reach for the red robes hanging along the cobblestone wall.

The room fell silent. No one even dared to breathe.

Steve's heart stopped.

No.

No, that wasn't, Eddie was just, he was going to destroy them, right? Tear them down, burn them, throw them from the tower as a symbol of Dema's fall?

"Eddie?"

Steve's voice came out smaller than he intended, almost pleading.

Eddie didn't respond. Didn't even look at him.

Slowly, deliberately, Eddie tore one of the crimson robes from the wall.

Then another.

The bright red fabric pooled around his feet like blood.

Steve's chest tightened. His hands started shaking.

For a moment, Steve thought he was destroying them. Had to be destroying them. Because Eddie wouldn't, he couldn't—

Instead, Eddie lifted one, and draped it over his shoulders.

The world tilted.

Steve felt like the ground had disappeared beneath his feet, like he was falling through empty air with nothing to catch him.

"No," Nancy whispered, her voice breaking with disbelief.

Eddie adjusted the robe with careful, deliberate movements. Crimson against black, the colors of the Bishops. The colors of everything they'd been fighting against.

Steve stared, unable to move, unable to speak, unable to process what he was seeing.

This wasn't real. This couldn't be real.

"Eddie..."

The name barely left his lips, breathy and broken and desperate.

Eddie didn't answer. Didn't even flinch.

He picked up another robe, turning around as he draped the hood over his head, shadows falling across his face. When he looked up, his eyes seemed different. Distant. Like he was looking at them from very far away.

One by one, he offered the robes to the gathered Banditos.

Some hesitated, staring at the crimson fabric like it might burn them. Others accepted immediately, reaching out with trembling hands, wrapping the red around their shoulders like it was something precious.

The moment they did, something changed in their expressions. Something hardened. Something closed off.

The victory dissolved and something colder took its place.

A new beginning, or maybe an ending.

Steve wasn't sure anymore. Wasn't sure of anything.

His mind was screaming. This wasn't supposed to happen. Eddie was supposed to destroy the Bishops, not become one. They were supposed to win. They were supposed to be free.

Then Eddie stopped in front of him.

The room seemed to disappear around them. The other Banditos, the dead Bishop, the tower itself, all of it faded until there was only Eddie standing there in crimson robes, and Steve still wearing yellow duct tape on his shoulders.

His best friend. The person Steve had trusted more than anyone, the person he'd believed would save them all. The person he'd stayed up with until sunrise, sang with, laughed with, dreamed with.

Eddie held out a robe toward Steve.

An invitation. A choice. A betrayal.

Steve looked down at the crimson fabric, and something inside his chest cracked open. Not anger, he couldn't find anger anywhere in the hollow space where his heart used to be. Not hatred. Just grief. Just devastating, crushing grief.

Because the person standing before him wasn't Clancy anymore. Maybe he wasn't even Eddie.

Maybe he'd never been.

Slowly, Steve shook his head.

"I can't."

For the first time, Eddie faltered.

The words felt like giving up. Like admitting defeat. Like watching everything he'd fought for turn to ash.

His hand tightened around the robe, knuckles going white. His jaw clenched. For just a second, something flickered across his face, regret, maybe, or pain, or the ghost of the person he used to be.

Yet he never looked up.

Never met Steve's eyes.

As if he couldn't bear to. As if looking at Steve would shatter whatever resolve he'd built around himself.

Or perhaps he simply couldn't see him anymore. Couldn't see past the yellow duct tape on Steve's shoulders, the color of the Banditos, the color of hope, the color Steve had spent years carrying like a torch through the darkness.

Steve remembered the first time he'd seen Eddie. Years ago, when Eddie had first escaped the walls of Dema, stumbling into Trench like a newborn learning to walk. He'd been scared and alone, breathing in the fresh air like he'd never tasted anything so sweet. The chill of the wind had cut through his thin grey and drab prison clothes, and he'd been shaking, from cold or fear or relief, Steve had never been sure.

Steve had walked up to him and handed him a jacket without a word. A jacket with yellow duct tape on the shoulders.

Eddie had stared at it like it was made of gold. Like it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

"What's this for?" Eddie had asked, voice rough from disuse.

"It means you're one of us now," Steve had said. "It means you're free."

Eddie had put it on with trembling hands and smiled, that brilliant, reckless smile that Steve would come to know so well. The smile that made him believe impossible things.

"Free," Eddie had repeated, like he was testing the word. "Yeah. Yeah, I like the sound of that."

It felt like so long ago now. Like a different lifetime. Like a dream Steve had woken up from.

Eddie's gaze passed right through the yellow on Steve's shoulders now, like it was invisible. Like Steve was invisible.

Without a word, Eddie stepped around him.

Offering the robe to someone else.

And just like that, the cycle began again.

-

Steve didn't remember leaving the tower.

One moment he was standing there, watching Eddie hand out crimson robes like gifts, watching Banditos accept them with eager hands. The next moment he was stumbling down stairs, his vision blurred, his chest so tight he couldn't breathe.

Robin was beside him. He didn't know when she'd grabbed his arm, but she was holding on tight, guiding him down and down and down the endless spiral of steps.

"Steve," she kept saying. "Steve, breathe. Just breathe."

But he couldn't. Every breath felt like swallowing glass.

They'd lost.

After everything, after years of searching, years of fighting, years of hoping…they'd lost.

No. Worse than lost. They'd won, and then had victory ripped away and twisted into something unrecognizable, a bishop, Nico. They were so close, and Steve knew it. 

By the time they reached the bottom of the tower, Steve's legs were shaking so badly he could barely stand. The streets of Dema stretched out before them, impossibly quiet after the chaos of battle. Bodies of the Grateful Gone littered the ground, finally at rest. Yellow flowers were scattered everywhere, trampled into the dirt.

The celebration had ended only minutes ago, Steve could still hear the echoes of it. The cheering. The chanting. The sound of red fabric tearing as Eddie distributed the robes.

But now there was only silence.

Heavy, suffocating, wrong.

Robin guided him to a narrow alleyway tucked between two towering white buildings. Other Banditos were already there, moving like ghosts. Some wrapped injuries with shaking hands. Others gathered abandoned equipment, their movements mechanical, empty.

Nobody spoke.

Nobody wanted to.

Not after what they'd just seen.

Not after Eddie.

Steve's knees gave out and he collapsed against the wall, sliding down until he was sitting on the cold ground. His pack was beside him, he didn't remember dropping it, and he stared at it like he'd never seen it before.

They were supposed to be celebrating right now. They were supposed to be free.

Instead, they were hiding in an alley, preparing to run.

Steve's hands were shaking as he reached for his pack. He needed to do something. Needed to move. Needed to focus on anything other than the image burned into his mind, Eddie in crimson robes, Eddie with dead eyes, Eddie becoming everything they'd fought against.

He pulled the pack open and started shoving supplies inside. A canteen, a map, a flashlight. His movements were jerky, uncoordinated. His vision kept blurring.

He could still picture the scene perfectly, like it was happening right in front of him.

The tower rising over the city, impossibly tall.

The red robes hanging from its sides like banners of victory.

Eddie standing at the very top, crimson fabric draped over his shoulders.

For one brief, impossible moment, Steve had thought they'd won. Thought Eddie had finally done it. Thought this Clancy would be different.

Then Eddie had grabbed the robes.

And instead of throwing them down, instead of destroying them, instead of ending the cycle—

He'd wrapped them around his own shoulders.

Steve squeezed his eyes shut, but the image only became clearer.

Eddie standing above the city dressed in crimson, looking like he belonged there. The citizens going back to their bleak routines, multiple worships a day, after a long day going back to their dark and drab rooms with the only light being the neon, the buzz deafening their ears after a little bit. What Steve thought were Banditos stepping forward one by one, reaching for robes with eager hands. Accepting the role of Bishop. Accepting Dema. Accepting defeat.

Accepting everything they'd sworn to destroy.

A sob tried to claw its way up Steve's throat. He swallowed it down, forced it back, shoved it into the hollow space in his chest where his heart used to be.

He couldn't break down, not here, not now.

He had to keep moving, keep calm to lead as he knew the Banditos were counting on him…more than ever now.

A pair of footsteps echoed through the alley.

Steve didn't need to look up. He knew the sound of Robin's walk, the particular rhythm of her steps.

She stopped beside him and slid down the wall to sit next to him. For several moments neither of them spoke. The sounds of the city drifted around them, distant bells, the wind whistling between buildings, the soft crying of other Banditos trying to muffle their grief.

Robin stared toward the massive tower looming over the rooftops, her expression unreadable.

"I really liked this Clancy," she said quietly, her eyes glancing up at the tower, knowing that Eddie was looking down at them.

Steve's hands froze on the strap of his pack.

The words hit harder than any physical blow could have.

Because she wasn't wrong.

Everyone had liked Eddie. He was impossible not to like.

He'd been loud when everyone else was afraid to speak, funny when morale was low, hopeful when things felt impossible. He'd made them believe that maybe, just maybe, they could actually win.

Steve remembered nights around campfires in Trench, Eddie making up ridiculous songs about the Bishops, making everyone laugh until their stomachs hurt. Remembered Eddie promising he'd tear Dema apart brick by brick if he had to. Promising he'd never become one of them. Promising he was different.

Promising.

Steve's throat tightened.

"Yeah," he said quietly, his voice rough and tired and broken. "Me too."

Robin looked down at her hands. They were covered in dirt and blood, she'd been fighting just as hard as him.

"He was so close," she whispered.

Steve let out a slow breath that felt like it was tearing something inside him.

"So was the last one."

Robin's eyes shifted toward him, understanding settling in her expression.

The last one, and the one before that, and the one before that.

The pattern repeated itself over and over, an endless cycle of hope and betrayal. Find a Clancy. Teach them. Believe in them. Watch them climb the tower. Watch them fall to the bishops sick rule or worse, watch them choose to stay at the top.

The conversation ended there for a moment.

Because there wasn't much else to say.

They both knew the pattern. They'd both lived it too many times.

Steve resumed packing, his movements mechanical. A map disappeared into his backpack. Then a flashlight. Then a handful of supplies, dried food, bandages, a spare knife.

Anything to keep his hands busy.

Anything to avoid looking up at the tower.

Anything to avoid thinking about Eddie standing at the top, wearing crimson, becoming everything Steve had spent his life fighting against.

"So that's it?" Robin finally asked, her voice small. "We just leave?"

The question lingered in the air between them.

Steve zipped the bag shut. The sound seemed unnaturally loud in the quiet alley.

"What?"

"We just leave?" Robin repeated. "We don't—I don't know—try to talk to him? Try to bring him back?"

Steve's jaw clenched. He wanted to say yes. Wanted to say they'd storm back up that tower and drag Eddie down and remind him who he used to be.

But he knew better.

He'd seen this before.

Once someone put on those robes and their faces and hands were smeared in that black paint, once they felt that power, once they stood at the top of the tower and looked down at the city spread beneath them, they didn't come back.

They couldn't.

Steve stood slowly, his body feeling heavy, like every failed attempt was another weight strapped to his shoulders. Like he was carrying the ghosts of every Clancy who'd come before, every Bandito who'd died believing in freedom, every promise that had turned to ash.

He glanced toward the tower one last time.

High above the city, crimson banners fluttered in the wind. The setting sun painted them even redder, like they were soaked in blood.

Somewhere up there was Eddie.

Not the Eddie he'd known. Not the Eddie who had laughed around campfires and made terrible jokes and promised to stay alive. Not the Eddie who'd put on that yellow-taped jacket with trembling hands and smiled like he'd been given the world.

That person was gone.

Maybe not forever.

Maybe not completely.

Steve tightened the straps of his backpack, the familiar weight settling against his shoulders.

"That's not Clancy up there anymore," he said, his voice flat and empty.

The words hurt to say. Hurt worse than the battle had, worse than any physical wound.

Robin looked away, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

Because she knew he was right.

Neither of them wanted him to be a Bishop, the thing he hated the most…but he was.

The alley fell silent except for the quiet sounds of other Banditos preparing to leave. Packs being zipped. Weapons being gathered. Quiet goodbyes being whispered.

Then Steve looked beyond the city walls visible between the buildings.

Beyond Dema.

Beyond the towers.

Beyond the endless white stone that had haunted his dreams for years.

Out there was Trench. Wild, unpredictable, free.

And somewhere in these walls, someone wanting to escape from the Bishops rule, someone was waiting.

Someone who didn't even know it yet.

Another Clancy. Another chance at freedom, finally.

Another person who would promise to be different, who would swear they'd never fall, who would look Steve in the eyes and make him believe impossible things.

Steve had spent too many years doing this to stop now. Had lost too many people to give up. Had carried hope for too long to let it die in a Dema alleyway.

Even if hope felt like the cruelest thing he could carry.

Robin watched him carefully, studying his face like she was trying to decide whether he actually believed what he was thinking, or if he was just going through the motions.

Maybe he did believe.

Maybe he didn't.

At this point, belief wasn't the important part, continuing was, getting up was, taking the next steps to find the right Clancy was.

"We'll try again," Steve said, his voice stronger now, steadier.

Robin blinked, surprise flickering across her face.

"Again?"

A tired smile appeared on Steve's face. A hopeful smile even after he watched his best friend become the one thing he hated.

The kind of smile that said he'd been knocked down a hundred times and intended to stand up a hundred and one. The kind of smile that said he'd carry this weight until it killed him, and maybe even after that.

He adjusted his backpack and started toward the alley's exit, his legs steadier now, his purpose clear.

Toward the city gates.

Toward Trench.

Toward whatever came next.

"Always," he said.

Robin stood and followed him, and one by one, the other Banditos did the same. They moved through Dema's streets like ghosts, yellow duct tape still on their shoulders, yellow flowers still in their pockets. Defeated but not broken. Lost but not gone.

They passed through the gates as the sun set, painting the sky in shades of orange and red. The Grateful Gone lay still on the ground, finally at rest. The battlefield was quiet now, peaceful in a way that felt wrong.

Steve didn't look back, he couldn't.

If he did, he might see Eddie standing at the top of the tower, watching them leave. Might see the person he'd trusted most in the world wearing crimson robes. Might see the moment when hope died and the cycle began again.

So he kept walking, one foot in front of the other, leading his people back into Trench.

Back to the wild lands, home for the Banditos.

Behind them, the tower stretched into the darkening sky, impossibly tall, impossibly white, impossibly permanent.

And somewhere at its peak, the newest Bishop stood at the window, watching the Banditos disappear into the wilderness.

Watching Steve walk away.

Watching the yellow fade into the distance.

Eddie's hand touched the crimson fabric at his shoulder, and for just a moment, something flickered across his face. Something that might have been regret. Something that might have been grief.

But then it was gone, smoothed away, replaced by the cold certainty of power.

The cycle would continue.

It always did.

-

THREE YEARS LATER

Bee hated the walls.

Not the way someone hates an inconvenience, or the way you hate waiting in line, or the way you hate cold coffee in the morning. She hated them the way you hate something that's stolen pieces of your soul. The way you hate something that's beaten you down so many times you've lost count. The way you hate something that wins, again and again and again, no matter how hard you fight.

Most citizens didn't seem to notice them anymore.

After a while, people stopped looking up. The towering white structures surrounding Dema became part of everyday life, no different than the roads beneath their feet or the grey buildings stretching endlessly toward the sky. Just another feature of the city that crushed you slowly, day by day, until you forgot what it felt like to breathe freely and you eventually take your own life.

Citizens walked beneath them every day without a second thought, heads down, shoulders hunched, moving through their routines like automatons. Work, home, sleep, repeat. The walls might as well have been invisible for all the attention anyone paid them.

But Bee noticed them every single time.

How could she not?

They were impossible to ignore, at least for her. Every time she turned a corner, every time she walked down a street, every time she looked up at the sky, there they were. Looming. Watching. Waiting. A constant reminder pressed against her consciousness like a thumb on a bruise.

The walls weren't just stone and mortar. They were a promise.

A promise that no matter how far she walked, how hard she fought, how desperately she wanted to leave, how many times she tried, Dema would always be waiting for her. Dema would always win. The walls always won.

She stood now at the edge of a deserted street in the outer east district, Keon's district, staring at the massive structure looming overhead. Her neck ached from tilting her head back, but she couldn't look away. Cold white stone disappeared into the clouds, so tall it seemed to pierce the sky itself. Somewhere beyond it was Trench. Freedom. Or at least what she imagined freedom looked like, she'd never actually experienced it long enough to know for sure.

The wind carried the distant sounds of the city around her. Footsteps echoing off stone. Muted conversations bleeding through walls. The faint ringing of bells marking time for the evening worship, another day closer to nothing. Life continued as normal, the way it always did.

Even when people were miserable.

Even when they wanted more.

Even when they dreamed about escape but were too afraid to try.

Bee's gaze drifted downward, away from the impossible height of the walls, toward the pavement beneath her feet. Toward the long scars cutting through the stone like claw marks, deep grooves, scratches, drag paths. Evidence of struggle that were left there on purpose.

A bitter smile touched her lips.

Those were hers.

Every single one.

Years of escape attempts had left marks across Dema's roads, a trail of failure carved into the city itself. Physical proof that someone had tried. That someone had fought. That someone had refused to accept this place as home, no matter how many times they were dragged back.

Evidence that she had failed to escape and find freedom. She couldn't remember how many times she had tried to escape and failed, how many times he Bishops had tried to drown her and crush her spirit. 

The first time she'd tried escaping, she had been fourteen years old.

She could still remember it with painful clarity, the way her hands had shaken as she'd packed a small bag with stolen food and a change of clothes. The way her heart had hammered so hard she thought it might burst through her ribs. The way the fence had felt beneath her fingers as she'd climbed it in the dead of night, rough metal cutting into her palms.

She'd made it nearly halfway to the outer walls before being caught.

A hand had closed around her ankle, smearing black liquid against her skin…the mark the bishops left, and yanked her down from the fence. She'd hit the ground hard enough to knock the wind from her lungs, stars exploding behind her eyes. When she'd looked up, gasping for air, Nico had been standing over her.

His face had been completely blank.

Not angry, not disappointed, not even mildly annoyed.

Just... nothing.

He dragged her back towards the city and dragged her back to her assigned housing unit without saying a single word. She'd kicked and screamed and clawed at his back the entire way. He hadn't reacted, hadn't flinched. He didn't acknowledge her struggle at all as she kicked and screamed, her heels digging into the gravel as evidence, hoping someone would find her and help her. 

It was like fighting a statue.

The second attempt had lasted two days.

She'd been smarter that time, waited until a supply shipment was leaving the city, hidden herself among the crates, held her breath as the gates opened and the truck rolled through. For two glorious days she'd walked through Trench, feeling grass beneath her feet instead of stone, breathing air that didn't taste like ash and despair. The wind was cold and the grey uniforms every citizen wore did nothing to provide her any warmth from the harsh winter of Trench. 

She'd thought she'd made it…but she was wrong.

Nico had found her sleeping beneath a tree, curled up with her stolen jacket pulled tight around her shoulders. She'd woken to find him standing there, watching her with those empty eyes. This time he'd tied her hands before carrying her back.

The third attempt had lasted nearly a week.

After that, she'd stopped keeping track of the exact numbers. The details changed, different routes, different methods, different desperate plans cobbled together from hope and stubbornness, but the endings never did.

Eventually, Nico always found her.

Sometimes he found her hiding in abandoned buildings on the outskirts of the city, pressed into corners with her knees pulled to her chest, trying to make herself small enough to disappear. Sometimes he found her running through the streets at night, her lungs burning, her legs screaming, her heart pounding so hard she thought it might kill her before he could catch her.

Sometimes she woke up to discover him standing beside her bed, just watching, waiting. Like he'd known exactly where she'd be and had simply decided to let her sleep before dragging her back.

The memory alone made her stomach twist with something that felt like nausea mixed with rage mixed with a horrible, creeping sense of helplessness.

She hated him.

Hated him with an intensity that sometimes scared her, a white-hot burning thing that lived in her chest and never quite went out. But not because he shouted at her, he never did. Not because he punished her beyond the recapture itself, he didn't. Not because he threatened her or hurt her or made her life worse than it already was.

In some ways, that would've been easier to process if he did, easier to fight against, easier to hate cleanly, without the complicated tangle of emotions that came with it.

No, Nico never seemed angry.

Never frustrated.

Never disappointed.

Never anything at all.

I's like he never showed any emotion, and maybe that's what this city did to you, make you an emotionless husk until it all ends. 

Every time he dragged her back to Dema, his face remained completely blank. Expressionless and empty, like her escape attempts weren't worth reacting to. Like she wasn't worth reacting to. Like she was simply a problem to be solved, a misplaced object to be returned to its proper place.

Not a person. He never treated anyone like a person, especially not the citizens in his district.

Just a thing that kept ending up where it didn't belong.

And somehow, that was worse than any punishment could have been. The complete and utter absence of acknowledgment. The way he looked at her, or rather, the way he looked through her, like she was made of glass. Like she didn't matter enough to warrant even the smallest emotional response.

The worst part, the part that kept her awake at night, staring at the ceiling of her assigned housing unit, was that despite everything, despite every failure, despite every time Nico's hand had closed around her arm and pulled her back...

She still wanted to leave. Still dreamed about Trench every night. Still found herself staring beyond the walls whenever she got the chance.

Still wondered what freedom felt like, really felt like, beyond those two days she'd managed to steal.

The wanting never stopped. It lived inside her like a second heartbeat, constant and insistent and impossible to ignore. Some days it was the only thing that felt real.

Which was exactly why she found herself sitting in the backseat of Nico's car right now, her hands resting nervously in her lap, her heart doing that familiar hammering thing against her ribs.

She didn't know why he'd agreed to this.

She'd asked, more out of desperation than any real hope, if he would drive her to the outer edges of the city. Just to see, just to look, for the last time. She'd expected him to say no, or more likely, to simply ignore her the way he usually did.

Instead, he'd said yes.

On one condition, that she would never escape the city ever again, or even think about it. It was the only way she could get one painful breath of fresh air.

And now here they were.

Outside the window, the city slowly disappeared behind them, grey buildings giving way to smaller structures, then to open spaces, then to fields of dead grass stretching toward the horizon. Bee watched carefully, her eyes tracking every landmark, every turn, every checkpoint they passed through.

Even now, even sitting in Nico's car with him right there in the driver's seat, she couldn't stop herself from cataloging escape routes. Noting which roads led where, which gates had guards, which sections of wall looked weaker than others.

It was automatic at this point. instinctive, like breathing, even if she wasn't planning an escape. 

Nico sat in the driver's seat, silent as always, his hands steady on the wheel. His face was turned toward the empty road ahead, expression blank, giving away nothing. The streetlights streaming through the windshield painted harsh shadows across his features, making him look even more like a statue than usual.

Bee looked up at those street lights, their yellow glow almost casting a comfortable glow over the barren road. She closed her eyes, praying those lights would take her away from this, take her somewhere safe. Home, but deep down, she knew it was insane to think that. 

For several minutes neither of them spoke.

The silence wasn't unusual, Nico rarely talked. When he did, it was usually because he needed something, and even then his words were clipped and efficient, stripped of anything resembling warmth or personality.

Bee stared out the window, watching the landscape change. Empty fields replaced buildings, green and lush grass growing off the side of the road wildly, freely. The farther they drove from the city center, the lighter her chest felt, like someone was slowly removing weights she'd been carrying for so long she'd forgotten they were there.

This was the furthest she'd been from Dema's core in months. Maybe longer.

She almost smiled. Almost.

The feeling was too fragile to trust, too easily shattered. Hope had betrayed her too many times before.

Instead, she glanced toward the front seat, studying the back of Nico's head. His dark hair curly hair blowing slightly in the wind, his posture was perfect, as always. Everything about him was controlled and precise and utterly devoid of humanity.

"You know," she said carefully, testing the waters, "I'm surprised you said yes."

Nico didn't look away from the road. Didn't even twitch.

"To what?"

His voice was flat. Emotionless. The same tone he used for everything, whether he was recapturing her or asking what she wanted for dinner or informing her of new city regulations.

"The drive," Bee said.

Silence stretched between them, long enough that she thought he might not respond at all. Then—

"You agreed to the conditions."

That was it, a couple of words. As if that explained everything, and maybe it did…because after all, he told her the conditions and she still agreed to it. 

Bee rolled her eyes, a familiar frustration bubbling up in her chest.

"Wow. Riveting conversation." She scoffed, sarcasm dripping from her voice. 

Nothing. Not even a flicker of reaction.

She sighed dramatically, slumping lower in her seat.

"Do you ever get tired of being mysterious? Or is this just your personality? Because I've gotta tell you, it's really annoying."

Still nothing.

Bee sank even lower into her seat, until she was practically horizontal, staring at the car's ceiling.

"Great talk."

The road continued beneath them, smooth and endless. The engine hummed softly, a steady rhythm that might have been soothing under different circumstances. For a while, everything felt strangely normal. Almost peaceful, in a surreal sort of way.

The sun was warm through the window. The landscape rolling past was almost pretty, in a desolate kind of way. If she squinted and ignored the walls visible in the distance and pretended she wasn't sitting in a car with the person who'd recaptured her more times than she could count—

It almost felt like freedom. Almost.

Then Nico stiffened.

It happened so suddenly that Bee nearly missed it. One second he was driving normally, hands relaxed on the wheel, posture perfect but not tense. The next second every muscle in his body seemed to lock up simultaneously.

His hands tightened around the steering wheel, knuckles going white.

His shoulders went rigid.

His jaw clenched.

Every line of his body screamed tension in a way she'd never seen before. In all the years she'd known him, if "known" was even the right word for their strange, horrible, toxic relationship, she'd never seen him react to anything. Never seen him show fear or anger or surprise or any emotion at all.

But this...This was different.

Bee frowned, her own body tensing in response to his.

"Nico?"

No answer.

His eyes remained fixed on the road ahead, but there was something in them now. Something she couldn't quite name but that made her stomach drop.

A strange feeling settled over her, cold and heavy.

Slowly, carefully, she leaned forward in her seat, trying to see what he was seeing.

"What is it?"

Then she saw him.

A figure stood in the middle of the road, maybe fifty yards ahead.

Motionless. Waiting.

At first, Bee's brain couldn't process what she was seeing. The figure didn't move, didn't wave, didn't step aside. Just stood there like they'd been planted in the asphalt, like they were part of the landscape itself.

Then the details started filtering in.

One thing standing out to her the most, Yellow.

That was the first thing that registered. The color immediately drew her attention because it was so out of place, so vibrant against the grey and brown and white of everything else. Yellow tape crossed the front of a worn olive-green hoodie in an X pattern. More yellow tape wrapped around both knees of dark olive cargo pants. A yellow bandana hung loosely around the figure's neck, bright as a sunflower.

Dark curls escaped from beneath a black beanie, wild and unkempt in a way that no one in Dema would ever allow their hair to be.

In one hand, the figure carried a torch.

An actual torch, like something out of a story, flames dancing wildly in the afternoon breeze. The fire seemed impossibly bright, impossibly alive, casting flickering shadows across the road.

For a split second, nobody moved.

The car kept rolling forward, eating up the distance between them and the figure. Thirty yards. Twenty-five. Twenty.

Then Bee saw something she'd never expected to see in her entire life.

Fear.

Nico looked afraid.

Not just tense, not just alert, actually, genuinely afraid.

His face had gone pale. His breathing had quickened. His eyes were wide, fixed on the figure ahead like he was staring at death itself.

Bee's own heart started hammering.

She'd never seen Nico afraid of anything. Hadn't thought he was capable of fear. He was a Bishop, one of the nine rulers of Dema, powerful and untouchable and completely in control of everything.

But right now, in this moment, he looked terrified.

"Nico—"

The Bishop slammed on the brakes.

Everything happened at once.

The tires screamed against asphalt, a sound like the world tearing itself apart. The car lurched violently, throwing Bee forward against her seatbelt. The belt caught her hard across the chest, knocking the air from her lungs.

But they weren't stopping.

They were accelerating.

Nico's foot had hit the gas instead of the brake, or maybe he'd done it on purpose, she couldn't tell, couldn't think, couldn't process what was happening because the car was speeding up and the figure in yellow was getting closer and closer and—

Metal shrieked under the weight. Glass shattered all around them.

The car jerked sideways so violently that Bee's head slammed against the window. Pain exploded behind her eyes, white-hot and blinding. The world tilted, spinning, everything turning sideways and then upside down and then sideways again.

The figure in yellow disappeared from view.

Or maybe Bee's eyes had closed.

She couldn't tell.

Couldn't tell which way was up.

Couldn't tell if she was screaming or if that was the sound of metal tearing.

The car rolled.

Once. The ceiling became the floor became the ceiling.

Twice.

Her shoulder slammed against the door so hard she felt something crack. Not break, maybe, but definitely crack. Pain shot down her arm, sharp and immediate and impossible to ignore.

Three times.

Something struck her head again, the window, the seat, the roof, she didn't know. More pain. More confusion. The world was a kaleidoscope of motion and sound and terror.

Metal shrieked like a living thing dying.

Glass rained down around her, glittering in the sunlight, beautiful and deadly.

Her seatbelt dug into her chest and shoulder, the only thing keeping her from being thrown around the car like a rag doll.

Then, finally, the car stopped moving.

For a moment, there was only silence.

Bee hung suspended in her seatbelt, the world still spinning even though the car had stopped. Her head throbbed, her shoulder screamed at her in pain, her chest ached where the seatbelt had caught her.

She tried to breathe and coughed instead, her lungs burning.

Smoke.

The smell hit her before the realization did, acrid and chemical and wrong. Smoke was filling the car, thick and grey, making her eyes water and her throat close up.

Then she heard it.

The crackling. Fire.

Oh god, fire.

Panic surged through her, sharp and immediate, cutting through the disorientation and pain. She had to move. Had to get out. Had to—

She tried to reach for the seatbelt buckle, but her hands wouldn't cooperate. Her fingers felt numb and clumsy, like they belonged to someone else. The buckle wouldn't release. She pulled at it, yanked at it, her movements growing more frantic as the smoke grew thicker.

The heat was building. She could feel it now, pressing against her skin, making sweat break out across her forehead.

The crackling grew louder.

Closer.

"Help," she tried to say, but it came out as barely a whisper, her voice lost in the smoke and fear.

She pulled at the seatbelt again, harder this time, desperation making her movements jerky and uncoordinated. The buckle still wouldn't release. The smoke was so thick now she could barely see. The heat was intense, painful, like standing too close to an oven.

This was it.

After all those escape attempts, all those times Nico had dragged her back, all those years of fighting and hoping and dreaming—

She was going to die in a car crash on the outskirts of Dema.

The irony would have been funny if she wasn't so terrified.

Then she heard a voice.

"Easy."

The word cut through the chaos like a knife, clear and strong and steady, close. Very close.

Hands appeared through the smoke, strong hands, capable hands, hands that knew what they were doing. They reached for her seatbelt, found the buckle, pressed the release.

The belt snapped free.

Bee started to fall, but the hands caught her, hooking beneath her arms, supporting her weight.

"I've got you," the voice said. "Hold on."

She was being pulled, dragged out of the car. The world tilted again as she was maneuvered through the wreckage, through the smoke, through the broken window. Metal scraped against her legs. Glass crunched beneath her. The heat was intense, almost unbearable, and then—

Cool and fresh air of Trench.

The smoke cleared and she could breathe again, gasping and coughing and alive.

The hands kept pulling her, kept moving her away from the wreckage. Away from the heat, away from the fire that was consuming what was left of the car.

Normally, she wouldn't have let a total stranger drag her around aimlessly, but every bone in her body ached from the wreck.

Finally, they stopped.

Bee was lowered gently onto grass, soft and cool beneath her. The hands released her carefully, making sure she was stable before letting go completely.

She lay there for a moment, just breathing, just existing. Her head was spinning. Her body ached everywhere. But she was alive.

Alive.

She blinked, trying to clear her vision, trying to make sense of what had just happened.

Slowly, the world came back into focus.

Orange flames lit up her surroundings, climbingthe twisted remains of the overturned vehicle, maybe twenty feet away. Black smoke poured into the night sky covered in stars you could never see from the city. The heat radiated from the wreckage in waves, intense enough that she could feel it even from this distance.

Too close.

She'd been too close.

If someone hadn't pulled her out…She would've been a goner.

Bee turned her head, looking for her rescuer.

A man crouched beside her, watching her with concerned brown eyes. He was maybe in his mid-twenties, with messy brown hair that stuck up in several directions and a face that might have been handsome if it wasn't currently covered in soot and worry lines.

He wore an olive-green hoodie with yellow duct tape crossed over the chest in an X pattern. More yellow tape wrapped around his knees, a yellow bandana was tied around his neck, dark olive cargo pants, and worn boots. The same figure she saw on the side of the road. 

The torch lay on the ground beside him, the flames dying out before it laid against the moist grass.

"Can you hear me?" he asked, his voice gentle but urgent.

Bee blinked at him.

"Yeah," she managed to speak between coughs, her voice rough from smoke.

His shoulders visibly relaxed, some of the tension leaving his body.

"Good. That's good." He studied her face carefully, like he was checking for signs of serious injury. "You hit your head pretty hard. How do you feel? Dizzy? Nauseous?"

"Like I was just in a car crash," Bee said flatly.

The response slipped out automatically, her default coping mechanism, sarcasm in the face of trauma. It was either that or start crying, and she refused to cry in front of a stranger.

The man actually laughed.

A short, surprised sound that seemed to catch him off guard as much as it caught her. His eyes crinkled at the corners, genuine amusement breaking through the concern.

"Fair enough," he said, still smiling slightly. "Anything broken? Can you move your arms? Your legs?"

Bee took inventory of her body, carefully moving each limb. Everything hurt, but nothing felt broken. Her shoulder throbbed where she'd hit the door, and her head was pounding, but she could move. Could breathe, could think, mostly.

"I don't think so," she said. "Just... bruised. Everywhere."

"That's good. That's really good."

He paused slightly, looking at her as she raised an eyebrow slightly at him.

"Well…not good that you're bruised, that's really bad actually—." He began to ramble aimlessly, which in any other circumstance, Bee would be annoyed, but she couldn't help the way the corners of her lips tilted up in amusement as he rambled.

He sat back on his heels, running a hand through his hair and leaving streaks of soot behind. For the first time, Bee noticed that his hands were shaking slightly. Not much, but enough to be visible.

He'd been scared too, she realized. Scared for her.

The thought was strange, foreign. When was the last time anyone had been scared for her? When was the last time anyone had cared whether she lived or died?

Bee's gaze drifted past him, toward the burning wreck.

The driver's side door stood open.

Empty. Her heart sank, a cold weight settling in her stomach.

"Nico," she said quietly.

The stranger followed her gaze, his expression darkening slightly.

"He got out," he said, his voice carefully neutral. "Saw him run into the fields right after the crash."

Bee stared at the empty driver's seat, at the open door, at the space where Nico should have been before her head laid back against the soft grass with a soft thud.

He'd gotten out.

But he hadn't stayed.

Hadn't checked on her.

Hadn't come back.

He'd just... left.

Left her trapped in a burning car.

Left her to die.

She shouldn't have been surprised. 

A lump formed in her throat, thick and painful. Not because she cared what Nico thought, she didn't, she couldn't, he'd never given her any reason to. But because some small, stupid part of her had hoped that maybe, after all these years, after all the times he'd dragged her back, after all the times he'd found her and returned her and kept her alive—

Maybe he cared, at least a little, at least enough to make sure she wasn't dead. 

Apparently not.

It made her question, why did Nico always chase after her if he didn't care? 

"Hey."

She looked up at him, it was almost like he could see the internal spiral. 

The stranger had moved closer, concern written clearly across his face. His brown eyes were kind, genuinely kind, in a way that made her chest ache.

"You okay?" he asked softly.

Bee swallowed hard, forcing the lump in her throat back down.

"Yeah," she lied. "I'm fine."

He didn't look convinced, but he didn't push. Instead, he just nodded and settled into a more comfortable sitting position beside her, close enough to help if she needed it but not so close as to be invasive.

For a long moment, they both just sat there in the grass, watching the car burn. The flames had fully engulfed it now, consuming what was left of the metal frame. The heat was intense even from this distance, making the air shimmer and waver.

Bee's mind felt sluggish, struggling to process everything that had happened in the last few minutes. The figure in the road. Nico's fear. The crash. The fire. Being pulled from the wreckage. Nico leaving.

It was too much, too fast.

She focused on breathing instead. In and out. Steady and slow.

Finally, she turned to look at the stranger properly.

Really look at him.

The way he carried himself, confident but not arrogant, capable but not cold. Everything about him was different from anyone she'd ever met in Dema. Different from the grey, lifeless citizens shuffling through their routines. Different from the Bishops with their crimson robes and empty eyes.

Different in a way that made something stir in her chest. Something that felt dangerously close to hope.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

The stranger tilted his head slightly, like he was surprised by the gratitude.

"For what?"

Bee gestured toward the burning wreckage.

"For saving me." Her voice softened, became smaller. "I would've died in there."

The stranger looked away briefly, like he was uncomfortable receiving thanks. Like saving people was just something he did, nothing worth acknowledging or celebrating.

Then he shrugged, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Couldn't exactly leave you in there, could I?"

Something about the way he said it, so casual, so matter-of-fact, like of course he'd risk his life to pull a stranger from a burning car, like there was never any question, made Bee's throat tighten again.

She studied him more carefully, taking in details she'd missed before. 

The yellow. So much yellow. Almost too much if she was being honest. 

And suddenly, like a puzzle piece clicking into place, realization struck her. He wore this bright color, one no one ever saw inside the walls of Dema. It was too bright, too hopeful, the Bishops couldn't see it. 

There were only a few people who wore it, but Bee always thought they were a myth, something a citizen made up to give more citizens hope. Hope that maybe there was more to life than this city. 

Her eyes widened.

"No way," she breathed.

The stranger raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering across his face.

"What?"

"You're one of them."

His smile grew, like he'd been waiting for her to figure it out.

"One of who?"

Bee's heart was hammering again, but this time not from fear, from excitement, from disbelief, from something that felt like the world tilting on its axis, she couldn't tell.

"The Banditos."

The word came out almost reverently, like a prayer, like a secret, like something sacred.

The stranger's smile became a full grin, bright and genuine and real.

"We're real," he confirmed.

Bee stared.

Actually stared, her mouth hanging open slightly, her brain struggling to process this information.

The Banditos were real.

Not just stories whispered between citizens when the Bishops weren't listening. Not just rumors passed down through generations. Not just desperate fantasies invented by people who needed something to believe in.

Real.

The stories flooded back, things she'd heard as a child, huddled in corners with other kids, trading tales like precious treasures. Stories about people who lived beyond the walls. People who refused to kneel. People who fought back against the Bishops and won, sometimes. People who wore yellow like armor and believed in freedom the way other people believed in breathing.

Ghosts in the wilderness, some called them.

Rebels beyond the walls.

The people who refused to give up.

Most citizens thought they were myths, fairy tales, things parents made up to give their children hope, even though hope was dangerous in Dema.

But Bee had never stopped believing.

Even when it seemed impossible, even when everyone else dismissed the stories as fantasy, even when believing felt like the most foolish thing she could do.

She'd believed.

And now one of them was sitting right in front of her.

The stranger extended his hand toward her, his smile warm and open.

"I'm Steve," he said.

Bee hesitated for just a moment before taking his hand. His grip was warm, steady, grounding. Real. Solid. Proof that this wasn't a dream or a hallucination brought on by hitting her head.

"Steve?" she repeated.

"Steve Harrington."

His smile grew wider, and there was something in his eyes now, something proud and fierce and unbreakable.

"Leader of the Banditos."

Bee's jaw nearly dropped.

Not just a regular Bandito. Not just someone who'd escaped Dema and joined the resistance, but the leader himself, Torchbearer.

The figure from every story, every rumor, every whispered conversation. The person who'd been fighting the Bishops for years, who'd rescued countless citizens, who'd built a community in Trench from nothing, who carried hope like a torch through the darkness.

Standing right in front of her.

For the first time in years, maybe in her entire life, excitement replaced the hopelessness that had taken up permanent residence in her chest. Not just a flicker, not just a spark, a genuine surge of something that felt dangerously close to joy.

"You can't be serious," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Steve laughed, the sound rich and genuine.

"I get that a lot."

Bee stared at him, speechless, her mind racing. The Torchbearer. The actual Torchbearer. The person she'd heard about in stories since she was a child, the person she'd half-convinced herself was just a legend, a symbol, something people invented to keep themselves going—

He was real.

And he'd just saved her life.

"I'm Bee," she finally managed to say.

The moment the name left her mouth, Steve froze.

It was subtle, just a fraction of a second, barely noticeable. But Bee caught it. The way his eyes widened slightly. The way his breath caught. The way his entire body seemed to still, like he'd just heard something significant.

Something changed in his expression.

Something shifted behind his eyes, something hopeful and hungry and almost desperate. Like he'd been searching for something for a very long time and had just caught a glimpse of it.

He looked at her differently now.

Not like a citizen he'd rescued.

Not like a stranger he'd pulled from a burning car.

Like a possibility, like she might be the answer. 

Like maybe, just maybe, the thing he'd been looking for had finally found him instead.

Steve's hand tightened slightly around hers, still holding it from their handshake. His brown eyes searched her face, studying her with an intensity that should have been uncomfortable but somehow wasn't.

"Bee," he repeated softly, like he was testing the name. Seeing how it felt.

She nodded, suddenly nervous without understanding why.

"Yeah. Just... Bee. Not short for anything. Just Bee."

A slow smile spread across Steve's face, not the friendly, casual smile from before. This one was different, deeper, like something inside him had just clicked into place after years of being misaligned.

"Bee," he said again, and this time there was something almost reverent in his voice.

The moment stretched between them, heavy with something Bee couldn't quite name. The air felt charged, electric, like the space between lightning and thunder. Like something fundamental had just shifted in the universe and they were both standing at the center of it.

Steve's eyes never left her face, and Bee found she couldn't look away either. There was something in his gaze, recognition, maybe, or hope, or the ghost of a belief he'd thought was dead.

For the first time in three years, hope stirred inside Steve Harrington. Real hope.

Not the stubborn, desperate kind he'd been carrying like a weight and trying to convince the other Bandito's and himself. Not the kind that felt more like obligation than belief. But genuine, honest-to-god hope that maybe, just maybe, Dema hadn't won.

Maybe, just maybe, he'd finally found another Clancy.

The Hail Mary drifted silently above Adrian, its white hull reflecting the pale amber light spilling across the planet below.

From inside the command module, Bee could see the enormous Petrova line stretching across the atmosphere like a glowing red river suspended in the darkness of space. It shimmered with various clouds of shifting shades of bright orange and green, constantly moving, twisting and reforming itself as billions upon billions of Astrophage absorbed the starlight pouring in from Tau Ceti E, but was quickly re-named to a less "boring" name, "Adrian" in honor of Rocky's mate. 

It was beautiful…Though admittedly terrifying.

And if everything went according to plan, the three of them would be able to collect enough of Adrian's atmosphere to determine why Tau Ceti wasn't dimming despite the massive amounts of Astrophage absorbing its energy.

A discovery that could save Earth, a discovery that could save Erid…No pressure.

Bee sat in the pilot's chair with one leg tucked beneath her, her attention divided between the endless streams of telemetry scrolling across the monitors and the small external camera feed showing Ryland's progress outside the Hail Mary.

Her eyes lingered there longer than she cared to admit. Ryland looked impossibly small against the backdrop of an entire planet.

His bright red EVA suit caught the glow of Adrian's atmosphere every time he adjusted the tiny thrusters attached to his backpack, carefully guiding himself farther away from the ship and toward the Astrophage collectors Rocky had designed from xenonite.

Even after everything they had survived together, the coma, waking up with no memories, discovering they were the only humans aboard the ship, realizing Earth's fate rested entirely on their shoulders, and somehow becoming friends with an actual alien, Bee still couldn't get used to watching the man she loved willingly throw himself into situations that made her heart stop.

She knew the science, she knew the calculations, she knew Ryland would be careful, but none of that stopped her from worrying. It never would.

His voice crackled softly through the communication system, breaking the quiet hum of the command module.

"I'm almost there."

Bee smiled slightly, keeping her eyes on the monitor displaying his suit telemetry.

"Take your time, honey."

"I know."

There was a pause, and then she heard the quiet amusement in his voice.

"Safety first."

Bee immediately rolled her eyes.

"That's my line."

"I've learned."

"You have."

She couldn't help the small laugh that escaped her.

Across the room, Rocky continued monitoring the Hail Mary's systems, several of his limbs moving independently across different consoles with the effortless precision Bee had come to associate with Eridian engineering.

Every few seconds, he made a thoughtful clicking noise as another system reported normal readings, life support was stable, engines were stable, Ryland's tether showed no signs of stress, everything was exactly where it should be.

Outside, Ryland reached the collectors and carefully checked each one for the third time, or maybe the fourth. Bee knew him well enough to know there was no such thing as "checking once" with Ryland Grace.

"Okay," he said through the radio, his voice shifting into that focused tone he used whenever he was solving a problem. "I'm in position."

Bee leaned forward slightly, eyes locked onto the screen. The collection itself wasn't dangerous, not compared to everything else they had done, but still, she found herself holding her breath.

Rocky glanced toward one of the displays before looking at the external cameras, holding his "gun" that Ryland had so lovingly called it in one of his claws so he could "see" the screen. Then, with complete confidence, he announced, "It is time go." Bee blinked in surprise before she slowly turned in her chair, looking down at Rocky. Her brain short circuited slightly, did she hear Rocky right??

"What?"

Rocky looked back at her, clearly confused by her reaction as he tiled his head slightly by Bee's shocked expression.

"It is time go."

His voice carried the same calm certainty it always did whenever he explained engineering principles or corrected Ryland's calculations, as though there was absolutely no possibility he had said anything strange. Bee stared at him for several long seconds before looking toward the communication panel.

"...Ryland."

There was no answer. Of course there wasn't. She glanced down at the monitor both to glare at Ryland and make sure he was okay, Ryland was too busy staring in awe at the shimmering Astrophage surrounding him.

Bee narrowed her eyes.

"Rocky, honey..." she said carefully, turning back toward the Eridian. "I think you mean..."

She paused, trying desperately not to laugh.

"...it's go time."

Rocky tilted his body slightly.

"No."

Bee blinked.

"...No?"

"It is time go."

"Rocky."

"It is human saying."

Bee slowly pinched the bridge of her nose in mild annoyance. 

"It is absolutely not."

"It is."

She sighed. Of course, of course Ryland had taught the alien the wrong phrase because he thought it was "funny". Poor Rocky, he genuinely didn't know any better, and had no idea that Ryland was messing with him. 

"Ryland."

A suspiciously long silence filled the communication system, the kind of silence that told Bee everything she needed to know, Ryland knew he was in trouble just based on Bee's voice…but that didn't stop her from teasing her. 

"Nope. It's time go."

She closed her eyes, running a hand over her face before she dropped her forehead dramatically onto the console with a soft thud.

"I've already lost."

Ryland's laughter immediately filled the speakers. A full, uncontrollable laugh that made his breathing audible through the radio.

"Bee..."

"No."

"Bee..."

"Nope."

"I can hear you smiling."

"I'm not smiling."

"You absolutely are."

Bee rolled her eyes before glancing toward one of the darkened monitor screens. Unfortunately, the reflection staring back at her proved Ryland right. Somewhere during all of this, a smile had appeared on her face without her even noticing, the kind of smile that only ever happened because of him, the kind he somehow managed to pull from her no matter how stressful, terrifying, or impossible the situation became.

She sighed before she spoke, pretending to be annoyed with him but the small smile on her face betrayed her annoyance. 

"...You're impossible."

"I've been told."

"By me."

"Frequently."

Bee shook her head, still smiling.

"You are the most frustrating man in the galaxy."

Ryland sounded far too pleased with himself.

"Statistically speaking, there are only two men in this galaxy that you've met."

"I stand by my statement."

Rocky clicked curiously.

"Grace taught Rocky incorrect phrase?"

Bee sat up immediately.

"Yes."

"No."

Ryland interrupted.

"I creatively restructured the English language."

"You lied to an alien."

"Technically—"

"No."

"...Okay, maybe."

Rocky processed this.

"Grace intentionally gave Rocky incorrect information."

"That sounds worse when you say it like that."

"It is worse."

Bee laughed.

Rocky turned back toward his screen.

"Grace says humans shorten phrases."

"They do."

"So..." Rocky continued, completely confident, "go time becomes time go."

Bee stared.

"That is not how that works."

"It is now."

She opened her mouth to argue, then stopped herself, that sounded exactly like something Ryland would accidentally create and probably tell his students back on earth. 

Bee sighed loudly, hitting her head against the back of the pilots chair dramatically. "...Honey."

"Yes?"

"I'm breaking up with you." 

There was another pause, and then Rocky suddenly became very still. 

Bee had learned over the years that Rocky's silence was rarely meaningless. Unlike humans, who often went quiet when they were thinking or unsure what to say, Rocky's stillness usually meant something was happening internally. He was either processing a complicated problem...or he was deeply concerned. 

Judging by the way his carapace shifted uneasily, Bee had a feeling it was the second one. 

Then, Rocky turned toward her. The movement was so sudden that if he had a neck, Bee was certain he would've given himself whiplash.

"Barnes and Grace cannot break up?!"

The words came out louder than she expected, filled with a strange combination of alarm, confusion, and genuine distress. 

Bee blinked in suprise by Rocky's sudden outburst. For a moment, she wasn't entirely sure she had heard him correctly, then she looked toward the communication speaker that Ryland had created when they first came across Rocky…which feels like so long ago, and immediately heard Ryland make a noise somewhere between a laugh and a horrified gasp.

"Oh no."

Rocky looked between them.

"Is relationship ending, Question?!" Rocky sounds genuinely horrified, tapping one of his limbs against the clear xenonite of his ball to emphasize his concern.

"No!" Bee quickly said.

Rocky's limbs froze.

"No?"

"No."

"But Barnes said—"

"I was joking." Bee reassures him, which causes Rocky to tilt his head slightly in confusion before the realization sets in. He had a hard time understanding humor and especially sarcasm…

"Oh…Humor confusing." Rocky lowered his head slightly. 

Bee couldn't help but laugh fondly at Rocky's reaction before she nodded her head. 

"Humans joke about ending relationships, Question?" 

Bee opened her mouth and then closed it, because when Rocky said it like that, she realized how ridiculous it probably sounded.

"Okay," Bee admitted, "when you say it like that, it does sound a little strange."

Ryland laughed through the radio, his voice crackling slightly over the radio. 

"Rocky, she wasn't actually breaking up with me."

The Eridian turned immediately.

"Are you certain, Grace?"

"Yes."

"Because earlier Grace had significant emotional attachment to Barnes."

Bee's smile softened. There was something strangely endearing about the way Rocky phrased things. He didn't say Ryland was in love with her or that he had feelings for her. He didn't even use the words crush or romantic interest because those were concepts he was still learning.

No, Rocky simply observed, he collected facts, and unfortunately for Ryland, Rocky had collected a lot of facts.

"Earlier?" Ryland repeated, his voice suddenly carrying a hint of concern.

Rocky tilted his body slightly.

"During mission. Before relationship began."

There was a pause…a very long pause before Ryland spoke up. 

"Rocky..." Ryland said slowly. Bee immediately recognized that tone. That was the tone Ryland used when he was desperately hoping something wouldn't happen but already knew there was absolutely no stopping it.

It was the tone of a man who had just realized the universe had betrayed him. Rocky, however, continued completely unaware.

"You stared at Barnes frequently."

Bee froze, then she slowly looked down at the monitor which showed the outside of the ship where Ryland was. 

"Oh my god."

A laugh escaped her before she could stop it, and she immediately covered her mouth with one hand in a failed attempt to hide it.

"Rocky," Ryland said, sounding somewhere between horrified and defeated.

The Eridian clicked.

"Statement is accurate."

"That is not helping your case."

"I am not aware I am making case."

Bee laughed harder, because that was the worst part, Rocky wasn't teasing him.

He wasn't trying to embarrass him, he was just stating facts. The same way he would explain an engine malfunction or the chemical properties of Astrophage.

"Continue," Bee encouraged, far too amused.

Ryland immediately went quiet.

"Bee."

"What?" she asked innocently, even though the smile in her voice gave her away.

Rocky shifted toward her.

"You would like additional information?"

"Rocky—"

"Yes."

Ryland groaned through the speaker.

"Oh no."

Rocky continued.

"You became quiet when Barnes entered room."

"I did not."

"You did."

"I was just..."

Ryland paused. Bee could practically picture him running a hand through his already messy blonde hair, searching for a scientific explanation that would somehow make him sound less ridiculous.

"...flustered."

The admission came out quieter than his previous arguments.

That was enough, Bee lost the battle completely. She laughed, not a small laugh, agenuine, warm laugh that filled the command module and echoed through the communication system.

Outside the ship, Ryland closed his eyes and let out a long, defeated groan.

His cheeks suddenly felt warmer beneath his helmet.

Well…The cat was out of the bag. Not that Bee hadn't already known, she had known for a while. Honestly, everyone had probably known except him. 

"I cannot believe you are telling her this," Ryland muttered.

Rocky tilted his body.

"Why?"

"Because these were private conversations."

Bee laughed again, shaking her head before she spoke up.

"Ry." 

"Yeah?"

She smiled at the speaker.

"You were really obvious."

There was another pause.

"I was not." Ryland tried to defend himself, trying to convince everyone and himself that he wasn't hopelessly obvious that he was in love with Bee before he finally told her. 

"You absolutely were."

"I was subtle."

Rocky immediately interrupted.

"No."

Bee laughed even harder.

Ryland sighed.

"Traitor."

"Rocky is not traitor."

"No, you're right. You're worse. You're honest."

"Thank you."

"That wasn't a compliment."

"Rocky accepts."

Bee leaned back in her chair, still smiling.

Because as embarrassing as this was for Ryland, she couldn't help but feel a little warmth settle in her chest. Before he had told her how he felt, before they had admitted that there was something between them, Ryland had been carrying those feelings alone, and somehow, even then, Rocky had noticed.

He had seen the way Ryland looked at her when he thought she wasn't paying attention, the way his entire mood changed when she entered a room, the way a lonely scientist who had woken up with no memories slowly became someone who had something, someone, to fight for. 

"I regret teaching you words."

"No."

Rocky clicked.

"You taught Rocky accurate observation."

And unfortunately, he wasn't wrong.

Rocky had noticed immediately. Rocky had watched all of it. The way Ryland and Bee slowly fell in love with each other between awkward conversations, the obvious flirting Ryland thought was subtle, the countless moments where Rocky interrupted romantic tension by asking about an unrelated scientific problem.

He had become their friend before either of them realized how much they needed one. Especially out here in space, alone.

Bee reached over and gently placed a hand against Rocky's carapace.

"I'm not actually breaking up with Grace."

Rocky tilted his body.

"Not?"

She shook her head.

"No."

"Relationship continues?"

"Yes."

A series of relieved clicks escaped him.

"Good, good, good"

Bee smiled, she learned when Rocky repeated things three times, it meant he really meant it. 

"I like him too much to leave him because he taught you a phrase incorrectly."

Ryland immediately responded.

"Wow."

She glanced toward the speaker.

"What?"

"Nothing. Just feeling very supported right now."

"You deserve it."

"I taught an alien one wrong phrase."

"You deliberately taught an alien one wrong phrase."

"It was creative interpretation."

Rocky looked toward the speaker.

"Grace."

"Yeah?"

"You caused emotional distress to both of us."

Ryland paused.

"...Both?"

"Rocky included."

Bee laughed again.

Ryland sighed.

"I'm sorry."

"Apology accepted."

Rocky nodded.

"Good."

Then he paused.

"However."

Bee immediately knew that tone.

"...However?"

"Grace should not teach Rocky human sayings without verification."

Ryland scoffed.

"Excuse me?"

"Barnes is quality control."

Bee smiled proudly.

"Thank you, Rocky."

"You are welcome."

Ryland sighed.

"I can't believe I'm being supervised by my girlfriend and an alien."

Bee leaned back in her chair.

"Sounds like a personal problem, honey."

Rocky tilted his body thoughtfully before he tilted his head up slightly to look up at Bee. 

"Human relationships are extremely complicated."

Bee looked over at him with wide eyes and Ryland laughed loudly over the speaker.

"You're just figuring that out?"

"Yes."

Rocky's limbs shifted slightly.

"Rocky believes Barnes and Grace are successful."

The words were simple, matter-of-fact, but somehow, coming from Rocky, they meant everything. 

Bee's smile softened, because that was Rocky. He didn't always understand human emotions, he didn't always understand human phrases, but he understood them. 

He understood that they mattered to him, and despite the danger surrounding them, despite the impossible mission resting on their shoulders and the fate of two worlds depending on their success, Bee couldn't help but think that she was incredibly lucky. 

Because somehow, somewhere between saving Earth and saving Erid...