#itsohc

Grace’s room isn’t the closest to the front door but it has a direct line of sight. He’s standing in the doorway in his pyjamas, leaning against the doorframe. Hair scruffy, glasses askew with a firm frown on his face, Grace looks every bit the disgruntled teacher who’s caught a kid trying to sneak out.

After the initial surprise passes, Murdock turns, a smirk teasing at the edge of his lips.

Far be it from him to judge a book by its cover, but he’s always had something of an eye for others’ comfort with their own sexuality. Just one look and it’s crystal clear that while this ‘Grace’ may look like Colt, the two of them sit miles apart in that respect.

“Grace right? I hope we weren’t too loud.”

“You were. Incredibly,”

“I’d apologise but Colt wanted to forget his name so I had to-”

“I don’t want to know.” Grace raises a hand to silence him. The smirk lands. Knew it. “Always assume I don’t want to know.”

“I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” A lie.

“You know he likes you right?”

That catches him out, the smirk dropping and his lips becoming a thin line.

“He likes what I do for him.” he corrects.

“Like being reliable.”

Murdock’s eyes are hidden behind his glasses so Grace can’t tell what’s going on in them but clearly he’s struck a nerve.

“Aren’t you a little know-it-all?”

“Am I wrong?”

They stare at each other a few moments in silence before Murdock gently nods his head in a mock bow.

“It’s been a pleasure.”

Grace watches him leave, staring at the door for a moment before sighing. Maybe now he’s gone, Grace can try to get some fucking sleep.

The following days continue much as before, with frequent hanging out, near daily walks, discussions, and Colt and Grace generally pretending that nothing has changed. It’s awkward to begin with, Colt clearly being very guarded. He doesn’t leave his room without his leather jacket on; clearly he’s using it as some kind of armour to protect himself from the things that make him feel emotionally unsafe.

Grace rubs at his temples. Shut up, shut up, shut up!

Since he’s come back, his brain just hasn’t stopped. Constantly chattering, turning over a hundred disconnected thoughts at once, drawing weird spider-like connections between everything he sees. All of it leads to realisations of things that he has absolutely no way of knowing, but without any doubt in his mind that he’s right.

It’s plagued him with near-constant headaches, pervasive disjointed thoughts, and sudden concrete conclusions that honestly scare him a little. Colt’s description of Ryland still rings in his head, particularly the part of the arrogance and always assuming he’s right. It’s something Grace very much doesn’t want to be.

“You’re overthinking again.”

Stream of thought interrupted, Grace startles turning to see Colt stood behind the couch watching him. How long has he been stood there? Grace didn’t even hear him walk in.

“It’s nothing.” He shuffles over making space for Colt to drop down onto the other end if he wants.

“Of course it is,” Colt takes the hint, dropping down on his usual side of the couch. They often end up on opposite ends like this. It’s become somewhat automatic for both of them to find their spot when they talk.

“It’s just...my brain won’t stop.”

Grace isn’t sure how else to explain it. Despite the constant stream of words pouring through his brain, he can barely grab enough of them to string into a sentence, never mind explain it to someone else.

“Can’t relate.” Grace glances at Colt to see him smirking. “Too many thoughts isn’t something I’ve ever really struggled with. My school reports were filled with words like ‘reckless’, ‘impulsive’, and ‘has no consideration of consequences’.”

It’s somewhat of a running joke between them that Colt is the dumb one. Not that Colt is dumb, he’s just not scientist-turned-astronaut smart. Colt started it and it was awkward to begin with but he genuinely doesn’t seem to give a fuck so Grace has kind of joined in. Only between the two of them though; if it was anyone else it wouldn’t be funny.

“So I really don’t want to cook tonight,” Colt does the majority of the cooking. Grace tries every once in a while but it’s been a few years since he last had to do it with any regularity. Plus his tastebuds are kind of shot after surviving on space food for a few years, “there’s an Italian place across town we could try out.”

“How would we even pay?”

Colt holds up a hand to stop the thought. “Don’t question it. I’m looking for a yes or a no.”

“That’s not-”

Grace freezes, glancing around the room.

Nothing’s broken, nothing’s out of place, nothing even moved but something’s changed. Everything is exactly where it was five seconds before; not one thing is different but there’s this awful shiver crawling down Grace’s back.

“Something’s wrong.”

“With Italian food?” Colt blinks, oblivious to whatever it is Grace is picking up on, “If you’re worried about the oil, I called ahead to make sure and they only use olive oil. No canola.”

“With the room.”

Grace keeps looking but can’t see anything different but the feeling of ‘wrong’ isn’t going away. What is going on with him? There’s nothing there, but his whole body is tense and it just feels off.

“Don’t you feel that?”

There’s confusion as Colt glances around the room, but after a moment his lips quirk as though he’s about to smile.

“Is it like you’re skimming?”

“What?”

“You know, when you’re reading and your eyes gloss over some of the words in a paragraph. Does it feel like that?”

“Yes.” Looking again, it feels almost exactly like that, like his eyes are just glossing over something but no matter how hard he tries to see it, nothing is changing.

All pretence is gone and Colt smiles, shaking his head as he addresses the room.

“Stop being a dick.”

“I’m not-AH!” Grace starts as something suddenly moves in his peripheral vision. Turning, there’s someone stood between him and the TV. Where in the heck did he come from?! He wasn’t there a second ago!

Short, dark, ashy blond hair, with scuffed jeans, a dark shirt, and a half-zipped white jacket; just like everyone in this Clubhouse he looks enough like the rest of them, but distinct enough not to be anyone else. His hands are stuffed into his pockets and there’s a slight smile pulling at the very edge of his lips.

Colt claps once, laughing as he pushes himself to his feet, closing the distance between them, wrapping his arms around the stranger and holding him tight. The stranger shifts, his arms moving to hold him back revealing brown leather driving gloves on each hand.

Heart pounding in his ears, Grace tries to ride out the sudden adrenaline spike as calmly as he can, taking deep breaths as his brain tries to catch up.

The stranger pulls back, patting Colt on the shoulder and holding out a hand expectantly.

“Let me see your watch.”

Colt grimaces, trying to hold his wrist away but the stranger just grabs for it and taps until the clock display appears:

36:09:2:4:23:19:04 … 05 … 06

“You’re getting old.” He’s smiling, clearly poking fun.

Colt jerks his wrist back, pushing the guy away with his other hand. “That’s not funny.”

“Who says I’m joking?” As he puts his hands back into his pockets, he glances over at Grace nodding towards him, “Who’s the new guy?”

Colt turns seemingly having forgotten in the last thirty seconds that Grace was even there.

“Right. This is Grace.”

He frowns slightly, “Grace as in-?”

“Don’t start.” Colt shakes his head. “I’ve given up trying to understand Six at this point.”

He looks at Colt confused, “You mean Courtla-?”

“Grace,” Colt cuts him off, talking to Grace as he indicates the stranger, “Meet Driver.”

They’re friends; between the immediate hug and the friendly back-and-forth, that much is obvious. Someone who visits often enough to feel the need to check Colt’s relativity clock, but doesn’t offer his own in kind. Cleanly dressed but not too clean, and gives an impression of being someone you don’t want to test the limits of.

Driver steps forward, offering a hand to Grace who moves to take it. The leather is smooth which means the gloves are cared for. They’re not just some accessory, he makes good use of them.

Dear god,Grace begs,will his brain not shut up for two minutes!

“That’s a unique name.” he says.

“No one ever remembers my actual name. Driver’s just easier.” he turns to Colt, “You were saying something about food.”

Colt is smiling as he watches them interact and when Driver asks, he fist-pumps in excitement.

“Fuck yes!”

The restaurant is nice enough. Locally owned with about twenty tables and a decent menu. Colt makes a point to ask the server about the oil again despite Grace’s protests. It’s not like it’s a life-threatening allergy, it just makes things taste kind of weirdly spicy.

The food is good, no unexpected spiciness, with Colt leading most of the conversation. He alternates between discussing with Driver and encouraging Grace to share about being a teacher. He has the energy of a kid whose divorced parents have agreed to get along for a meal on their birthday. Energetic, happy, with a mild undercurrent of fear that something could go wrong at any moment.

All too soon the meal is over, Colt paying with some credit card that he refuses to explain the origin of.

“We can keep this going,” he suggests as they cross the parking lot, “There’s this club two streets over that starts up about now.”

“Is that a good idea?” Driver asks, “After what happened last time?”

“That was a mistake. I’m seeing less of an all-out Holland-worthy bender, and more a middle-school teacher letting his hair down,” he gestures to Grace, “A little dancing, a little drinking. Some harmless fun.”

Driver and Grace share a look at each other. They’re three grown adults. If anything goes wrong they can always just leave. And between them they can probably make sure Colt doesn’t drink himself into a coma.

The club is very popular, the queue to get in seeming pretty long. It moves fairly quickly, getting to the front of the line in less than 10 minutes. Even with the high-demand to get in, there’s plenty of room to move around inside, Colt quickly disappearing to grab them all drinks.

The three of them stick together to begin with, enjoying their drinks while taking in the atmosphere. Grace feels very much out of place but when the beer he’s nursing starts to force his brain to slow down, he quickly gets over it. Colt doesn’t wait, hitting the dancefloor fast, dancing like no one’s watching, even singing along to the music. It’s pretty clear he’s come here before. There’s no anxiety, no fear, just fun and smiles and it’s honestly good to see.

It’s electric, bodies in almost every corner pulsing to the beat of whatever the song is. It’s been a while since Grace drank recreationally, and even longer since he hit a dance floor that wasn’t at a wedding. The first drink doesn’t draw him out there, but the second one definitely loosens him up. The first two drinks were smart, but the third is a definite mistake. The drums in the music pulsing directly in his head. Not drunk. Definitely not drunk; just older than he was last time he did this, with a less strong bladder,

“I’m going to the bathroom!” He shouts to be heard over the music and Colt gives a thumbs up.

A few moments somewhere a little quieter will do him some good.

His hand’s on the door, barely having pushed it open when his head erupts in searing pain, vision whiting out as he drops to his knees. Eyes watering, head swimming, Grace thinks he yells out but he can’t be sure.

Someone’s talking behind him but everything sounds like it’s coming through water. Grace braces himself against the door in front of him, though it keeps trying to move, while the other presses firmly against his mouth. The lovely Italian meal from earlier is fighting it’s way back up and Grace really doesn’t want to throw up right outside the bathrooms.

“Grace? Grace? Oh shit!”

Someone pushes open the door and a blurry blob drops in front of him. Grace hisses in pain.

“What the fuck?!” Colt’s voice yells over Grace’s head and he winces. It’s so loud. “Are you insane?! What the fuck were you thinking?!”

“Col’,” Grace manages to whine, “Loud.”

Warmness is slowly creeping down his face. Blood. Grace tries to hold it together but he’s struggling to keep himself upright now.

“Driver!” Colt yells and Grace’s head throbs again, “Driver, get over here!”

Something warm wraps around Grace’s shoulders while the blob in front of him disappears, vaguely hearing Colt hurling threats at someone. Another blob, this one in white, with gentle hands that hold Grace’s head in place drops into his eyeline again.

Grace stares, his spoon freezing halfway to his mouth. “But I’m from 452.”

Colt grimaces. That’s way too close. Was Six seriously out of his mind?

You get to choose whose story he hears. Six’s or yours.

He sighs. Fucking Murdock.

“Ryland-451 was a genius,” he starts, “As in a certifiable super-genius who knew more by the time he was twelve than many adults learn in their entire lives. He discovered the multiverse, designed the watch, made the catalogue. Everything we know came from him.

“He kept running into alternate versions of himself and got this idea about everyone helping each other out. Sharing ideas, making friends. The Clubhouse was meant to be this stop-off for anyone with a watch. Somewhere to get some space, or patch yourself up, or lay low if the heat’s on you back home. We don’t know if he knew about the Thing-boost but it’s likely he did.”

The machine alerts and Colt doesn’t hesitate before pouring himself a cup.

“All this while being the biggest fish in his own universe. By the time he was eighteen he’d been a major player in almost every scientific breakthrough, fundamentally reshaping our understanding of the universe.”

Pausing to take a large swig of his mug, he quickly tops it off before pouring another one for Grace who just sits, quietly listening as he continues to munch on his cereal.

“Twenty-one, he’s on the team that discovered some alien microbe eating the sun. The planet panicked, threw together this Taskforce to figure out what, why, and how to fix it. The plan turns out to be making a near-lightspeed rocket to go to some distant star and do,” Colt waves dismissively, “I don’t know. So after four years of development, Ryland Grace leaves Earth as Captain and lead-scientist of the Orpheus.”

“Orpheus?” Grace blurts, “The figure from Greek mythology?”

“It was Ry’s idea.” Colt carries the mugs over to the island, placing one in front of Grace and sitting opposite him with his own, “Something about rewriting history and walking out of hell without looking back. Everybody loved it...until the rocket exploded.”

“What?!” Grace almost chokes on his food, spluttering in shock.

Colt just shrugs, very firmly looking down at his mug. “Somewhere between the asteroid belt and Saturn. Entire six-person crew were dead in an instant. No one knew why or had the means to figure it out.

“The government tried to cover it up but failed. Universe-451 was staring down the barrel of imminent global disaster with everything pointing to an inevitable global war. So it was deemed unsafe and locked off.”

Now finished, Colt raises the cup to his lips and takes another drink.

“So how do you fit into this?”

That catches Colt off-guard, glancing to see Grace looking directly at him.

“I’m-” he starts but Grace cuts him off.

“I may not a super-genius but I’m not stupid. What aren’t you telling me?”

Colt looks down again, chest aching as he wishes he was anywhere else. Grace is just curious, he tells himself, he’s not trying to be an asshole. And he’s probably not letting this go until he has some kind of answer.

“Apparently Ryland had concerns about the mission and made arrangements with Six to come grab me if things went South. Except since he was looking for Colt Grace, and not Colt Seavers it took a few years.

“Nineteen years old with a job I was great at, this awesome girlfriend, finally managing to be my own person when G.I.Joe drops in and tells me I have to leave with him. I wasn’t exactly open to the idea but he wasn’t exactly asking.”

Grace watches Colt; the slightly dead eyes, the sombre tone, now the name. Suddenly it clicks into place and he realises he really put his foot in it.

“You’re his brother.”

Colt nervously taps at his mug with his fingertips. It’s been a while since anyone’s said it out loud. It’s kind of an understood thing amongst everyone that they don’t bring it up. Not Ryland, not the ‘brothers’ thing. It just doesn’t get mentioned.

Grace rubs awkwardly at his neck, looking sheepishly at anything except Colt as he jokes, “No wonder you hate me.”

Shocked, Colt turns to him, “I don’t hate you. I mean, I might not have been thrilled about you moving in but…” He trails off.

He can stop right here. He’s answered Grace’s questions and owes him no more of an explanation. Grace probably wouldn’t believe him, almost definitely wouldn’t care. No one ever does. Except he’s here; he’s asking. Grace came back and is sitting and listening to him. He actually cares what Colt has to say.

He loosely crosses his arms, rubbing at one of them while secretly wishing he was wearing his jacket.

“No-one knew Ryland like I did. Everyone thought he was some kind of savior but he was nothing but a smarmy, self-important, arrogant asshole who loved to hear how brilliant he was. All that really mattered to him was being the smartest person in the room and making sure everyone knew it.” He holds up three fingers. “I can count on these fingers the number of times he spoke to me when there wasn’t a camera pointed at him.”

Now that he’s started, he can’t stop; a lifetime of anger and spite pouring from him in words he’s never dared to speak aloud before.

“They had to change my last name when I was four because one of his crazed superfans tried to kidnap me. For my tenth birthday Dad told everyone he was grateful I was ‘dumb as a sack of rocks’ because it meant he didn’t have to try as hard! When I was fifteen Ry fucked off in a rocket and Mom and Dad decided that without him around, there was no good reason to ‘pretend’ we were a family any more!”

Finally, he yells, angered tears pouring down his face, voice raw, knuckles white.

“I hate Ryland Grace!”

The sudden anger and obvious exhaustion worries Grace. In the moment his first instinct is to do...something? A hug would be awkward, a hand on his arm might work if they were five; but he has to do something; anything so Colt knows it’s okay. Grace watches Colt’s eyes go dull as he pushes down the pain. That’s not good.

“I don’t hate you.”

“I’m sorry.” What else is there to say?

With a swirl of the remnants of his coffee, Colt downs it in one and clunks the mug against the side. The stool scrapes loudly against the floor as he pushes himself to his feet.

“I’m kind of tired,” he mutters, turning to leave, “I’ll see you later.”

Nothing else is said as they part ways, Colt feeling like he’s run a marathon, Grace feeling like the world’s biggest asshole.

Back in his room, Colt doesn’t hesitate, grabbing his phone and making a call. It rings twice before it’s answered.

“I assume it’s good news.”

“Grace is back.” Colt’s voice sounds rough but if Murdock notices he says nothing. “I should be fully healed by ten.”

“Any special requests?”

“Don’t be late.”

It’s kind of embarrassing to think about his reaction; Colt’s taken to flicking small things at him when he call tell Grace is obsessing again. It’s annoying but interrupts enough that it’s actually helpful.

Until today it’s just been the two of them, though he’s actually kind of grateful. It’s been he-doesn’t-want-to-imagine-how-long since he was in a room with more than one person. Sure Colt is no Rocky but Rocky’s no human and there’s a weird comfort in being understood on a person-level.

Today Ken is visiting and Ken is actually kind of amazing!

Supposedly a Ken-visit is something of a unicorn, highly anticipated but few and far between. There’s no rhyme or reason, he just turns up whenever the mood takes him.

For the last few hours he’s shared the strangest stories that make 0 sense when you really think about them but Grace honestly doesn’t care. There’s something about him, whether in his words, or his tone or maybe that weirdly infectious smile that makes Grace feel safe. Whatever it is, it’s affecting Colt too who’s sat on the other side of Ken smiling just as wide.

And Ken is really complimentary.

He’ll be half way through telling another story about how he did something very courageous and brave to impress Barbie (yes,Barbie) and will stop half way through a sentence to compliment Grace’s hair, or his teeth, or his posture. Or he’ll ask Colt about how he’s doing and instead of deflecting like he has every time Grace has asked, Colt will actually answer, talking for minutes on end. It’s hardly the deepest of conversations but it’s just so easy.

“How about we do some karaoke?” Ken stands from the couch, heading towards the games cupboard at the side of the room. Colt’s already on his feet and rushes to stand in front of it.

“Oh no you don’t!”

Grace cups his hands around his mouth and boos, surprisingly not even slightly embarrassed.

“No, no karaoke!” Colt grabs Ken and very firmly turns him around having to forcibly push him away. “The last time you sang, I was smiling painfully for months.”

Ken laughs, Colt laughs, Grace laughs. It’s very bubbly, and happy echoing around the room.

“Okay,” Ken laughs, letting himself be pushed, “I should probably go anyway. We’re going to the beach tomorrow and I’m all about Beach.”

About 80% of his stories have involved ‘Beach’ with almost no elaboration as to what exactly ‘doing Beach’ actually means. Still it seems to be important because all too soon Ken has pulled Grace to his feet and wrapped his arms around him in the tightest bear hug Grace has probably ever had.

When Ken pulls back and turns, Colt’s already there throwing his arms around Ken and squeezing tight. It goes on for several seconds but there’s no awkwardness, no unpleasantness and if you pay attention, you’ll notice Ken’s waiting for Colt to pull back first.

A tap, a swipe, and a slap; Ken waves as he walks through the doorway back home. There’s a shwoop as it collapses and the air deflates. Grace gasps, taking a huge gulp of air. It’s like that first breath after swimming, when your head breaks the water and oxygen just fills your lungs.

“What was that?”

“That was Ken.” Colt is still smiling wide as he gasps a little for air.

“But I feel-”

“Happy?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s Ken.”

“That...doesn’t make any sense.”

“It’s complicated.”

“I’m pretty smart.” Grace shrugs at him and Colt gestures to the couch.

“It’s his Thing.” He drops onto one side of the couch while Grace drops onto the other. “We all have one and it’s like a...a skill or something that helps us in our own universes to be the best us. Six is a crack shot, Driver can avoid being seen, Holland has his dumb luck-”

“As opposed to smart luck.” Grace jokes.

“Look, he couldn’t win the lottery with it but he’s never been hit with a bullet, and he’s shot at a lot. And he somehow always ends up exactly where he needs to be, and finds out exactly what he needs to know. Dumb luck.”

“So what’s Ken’s thing?”

“Well Ken’s not technically human so we haven’t quite got it figured out yet. He just gives off this really comforting...vibe.”

“Okay?”

“Then there’s the fact that on our own, each of our Things are low-level but when there’s two or more of us, everyone gets a boost. Six doesn’t have to even look at what he’s shooting, Driver can actually hurt to look at-”

“And Ken makes you feel high.”

“Exactly.” He points to Grace, then to himself, “One, two, and Ken means we just got a huge dose of the good stuff. We just need to watch out for re-entry. The post-Ken crash can be brutal.”

“So with both of us here,” Grace thinks aloud, “then my Thing, whatever it is, is also boosted.”

Colt nods. “That’s generally how we figure it out. Notice anything new since you moved in?”

“I don’t think so.” Grace hasn’t felt anything different since he arrived. Nothing that couldn’t be explained by the increase in gravity, and lack of an Eridian room-mate anyway. “What about you? What’s your thing”

“Healing mostly. The more of us around, the faster my body fixes itself, which is good cause I end up in trouble a lot. It’s part of why I live in the Clubhouse. Someone always shows up eventually and until then Armando can keep me alive-”

“Armando?”

“This nanny-bot thing in the medbay. It’s hooked up with everything needed for basic treatments, which is good because technically- Wait, where are you going?”

One word was all it took and Grace has scrambled to his feet, rushing for the hallway and leaving Colt in his wake. Colt shouts after him, but Grace doesn’t stop, mentally reciting the layout Colt had told him for the hallway. Six’s room, Lars’ room, kitchen, Holland, medbay!

He’d never thought to question it. After all this is a universal meeting point for other versions of himself and they can’t exactly sign up for a local doctor. They have to be treated somewhere.

To call it a medbay is to be a little generous. Really it’s the room where they keep the medical stuff, the walls lined with various medical storage units. Some have drawers, some have cupboard doors, all of them are filled with various things someone might need to patch up nearly any kind of injury or sickness. Bandages, sutures, needle and thread, basic first aid, painkillers of every strength while in the centre of the room is a gurney. The wheels are locked in place beneath the hanging robotic arm that looks worryingly familiar and turns as Grace bursts through the door.

The arm flexes it’s little grabby fingers as Grace slowly walks towards it, staring. What in the actual fuck?

“That’s Armando.” Grace points at it, turning as Colt appears at the door behind him. “You actually have a nanny-bot called Armando.”

There’s so much in this place that begs so much benefit of the doubt, it had been second nature to extend it a little further each time but this might be a stretch too far.

“See this is the post-Ken crash I warned you about.” Colt gestures towards Grace, a little out of breath. The exercise has definitely been helping Grace get some of his stamina back and turns out he’s a speedy little thing. “It’s okay though, the bounce-back can be bad but if we grab you some chocolate or something-”

“Have you been watching me?” The desperation he’d restrained until now bursts through and Grace sounds panicked. This isn’t the one from his ship. It can’t be. It’s established so they’ve had it a while and there’s no good reason how they have this.

“What?! Of course we’ve-?” The confused look on Colt’s face suddenly hardens, “Six didn’t tell you.” It’s not a question but a statement; one he clearly isn’t happy with, but in truth neither is Grace.

“Tell me what?”

Colt knocks the door with the side of his fist, muttering to himself, “It’s bad enough that he brought you here, but to not even tell you-”

“Tell me what?!”

“About the founder of the Clubhouse,” Colt gestures at the room around them, “Lord of the realm whose memory haunts every corner of this fucking place!”

“Who!” Grace shouts.

“Ryland Grace!” Colt snaps.

The room goes painfully silent. The loud exuberant laughter of not even fifteen minutes before is barely even a memory.

“What...?”

Grace stares at Colt.

Colt stares at Grace.

“Grace I-” Colt starts, but Grace doesn’t give him a chance.

The blob shifts, becoming a figure looming over him, which in turn morphs into Colt. He’s wearing a white shirt and a black jacket with red on the shoulders. His hands are grasping a pillow and he’s frowning in disapproval.

“What are you doing?” Grace manages to croak out.

“I’ve let you rot in bed for three days. You need exercise and we don’t have a gym so we’re taking a walk.”

Colt raises the pillow above his head ready to bring it down again and Grace panics. Shifting his weight he snatches the pillow under his head and swings it with as much force as he can at Colt’s side.

Colt half-dodges but still gets whacked, laughing as he backs away.

“Okay, okay. Geez.” he tosses the pillow onto the end of the bed. “By the way you stink so maybe shower first.”

He leaves.

What the-?

Standing up takes a moment. Every movement feels like trying to shift lead. Thinking about it, Grace has spent the last few years with minimal gravity and has probably adjusted to having a bit more bounce to his step.

The bedroom he’s been assigned is kind of sparse. There’s an exposed clothing rail, some shelving, a bed with a bedside table and a small set of drawers. They’re pretty bare since Grace doesn’t really have a lot to display on them. It makes the room feel kind of empty, like staying in a hotel.

One of the two doors leads to the en-suite. Pretty basic; a toilet, a sink, and a shower unit big enough for one person. There’s some miniature toiletries and Grace gives himself a pretty basic scrub down. He doesn’t have the energy to go hard but when he steps out the bathroom after twenty minutes, the three-day-funk has dissipated.

Colt’s waiting in the lounge, laid across the u-shaped couch in front of what may be the largest TV Colt’s ever seen. It stretches almost the entire width of the room opposite the doorway. Turned off it’s almost a mirror and Grace catches sight of himself; the white shirt with stripes he brought with him, the glasses, the scruffy hair. It’s…odd.

Propping himself up, Colt peers at him over the couch back.

“Finally.”

It hadn’t occurred to Grace that there was more to this universe than the Clubhouse. So much time confined to a small space with no hopes of surviving outside without careful pre-planning and a red space suit; he’d kind of forgotten outside was a thing. Thinking about it he hasn’t seen any windows in the Clubhouse. That’s not normal for an Earth-based living area. Still he hadn’t questioned it yet so maybe it’s not that big a deal.

It’s sunny outside; almost painfully bright as Grace scans the world around them. It looks normal. Houses, roads, grass, people; nothing unusual but still so alien. Grace softly crosses his arms. He feels weirdly exposed right now.

“So is this your world?”

Colt seems completely disinterested in everything around them. Striding beside Grace, hands in his pockets as he stares at nothing while they walk.

“No. Well...yes. It’s complicated.” he gently shakes his head, “I live here, but I’m not from here.”

“Where are you from?”

“Nowhere special.” He shrugs off the question without a care, pointing to a crossing a short way ahead. “This way, come on.”

Colt speeds up and barely pauses, halfway across the crossing before Grace even gets to it. Still feeling awfully heavy, he kind of awkwardly hobbles across while Colt waits for him on the other side.

“There’s a park up here. Simple paths, a couple benches. Perfect for someone who looks as shit as you do.” Colt grins, seemingly pleased with the mild insult.

“Thanks?”

On the other side of the road they easily fall into step again, Grace setting the pace while Colt matches.

“What about you?” Colt asks, “What’s your world like?”

“Pretty normal, I guess. Honestly I left Earth some time ago. It could be all different now.”

The grin drops and Colt glances at him. “Why would you do that?”

“To save the world, I guess.”

“Typical,” Colt scoffs as he looks away. Is Colt judging him?

“I didn’t want to.” Grace snaps at him, “I wanted to live. Apparently I was the best choice because I ‘had no one’. I still had a life and they-”

He stops himself. Even after everything, after the wonders he’s seen, the things he’s done; after meeting Rocky and proving everybody right about him being the best choice, all he can think about is himself. Stratt was right. He is a coward.

“I didn’t want to,” he mutters.

“So why did you?”

Grace looks away from Colt. He’s not actually said it aloud yet. He’s thought about it, typically when Rocky’s asleep and there’s been nothing to do except wait and watch.

“They ran me down. Drugged me. Told me it was for the best. That I’d figure it out.” Simply thinking about it makes his chest hurt, tightening as his heart rate spikes. “I guess I’m not that brave.”

“It’s not brave. It’s stupid.” Colt’s firm as he speaks. “Flying off in a ship to play hero.”

Grace turns. Colt is very pointedly not looking at him. Chin set, mouth a firm line. He’s not just saying that. Colt’s stating it as fact.

“It was the right thing to do.”

“Being right and being stupid aren’t mutually exclusive.”

The rest of the walk is silent, even as they enter the park. It’s nothing too big, mostly green space with some pathways going around and criss-crossing with occasional benches. Colt doesn’t pause, continuing to walk and Grace simply follows his lead.

His legs start to ache a little after ten minutes. It’s probably the most exercise he’s had in years. Moving around is so much easier when you don’t have to move your legs to do it. A little push here, a grab there and you’re across the room in seconds. Even with centrifuge mode, there’s really not a large amount of space to be moving around in.

Grace doesn’t even realise how much he’s struggling until Colt’s hand on his back startles him out of his thoughts, firmly pushing to guide him to a bench they’re passing by.

“C’mon wheezy.”

Grace drops rather gracelessly onto the bench, suddenly aware of how much he’s struggling to breathe. He’s not out of breath, but he’s clearly struggling to get enough air in his lungs. Colt drops onto the bench beside him and reaches across to push Grace to lean back.

“I-” Grace starts.

“It opens your lungs up. Trust me.” Colt takes a few exaggerated breaths to show him and Grace tries to match it. It’s slow, painful, and awkward but after a few minutes it’s getting easier.

“Thanks.” he eventually manges to say.

“No problem.”

They’re not alone in the park, various strangers scattered around taking full advantage of the beautiful weather. It’s warm, barely any clouds blocking the sun, but there’s a soft breeze that keeps making Grace jump. You forget when you’re in a highly controlled environment; air moves.

Someone’s jogging, a few people are out on a walk, someone else is exercising their dog, and towards the other side there’s a couple sat on a blanket while their children run literal circles around them burning off some energy. It seems like a really nice place.

“Why did you move?” Maybe there’s a nicer way to word it but there’s no energy to put into figuring it out. They’ve still got to get back to the Clubhouse after this.

“I wasn’t safe.” Colt slowly lets out a sigh. “That’s what the red numbers mean. Unsafe.”

Noted.

In truth, Grace had meant to sit and go through the catalogue and get a feel for the thousands of universes but apparently his brain had had other ideas, effectively shutting down for the last few days.

“So you can’t go home either?”

Colt shrugs. “No big whoop.”

“So a small whoop?”

“...What?”

“Nothing. Just something my students used to say.”

That gets his attention; Colt raises his eyebrows in surprise.

“You’re a teacher?”

“I was.”

“So why did they send you into space?”

“Very good question, very complicated answer. Let’s just say I learned never to be too good at my job again.” Grace jokes and Colt snorts.

They both grin, Colt struggling to hold back giggles but ultimately deciding ‘fuck it’ and just bursting into full blown laughter. Grace follows soon after, quietly chuckling to himself.

It’s strange. There’s something in this moment. It’s comfortable. It’s familiar. Despite everything they’ve both been through, for the first time in a very long while they feel...at home. Like they’ve found something they didn’t even know was missing. Enjoy this moment. It won’t last.

“Come on then.” After the laughter finally dies out, Colt pushes himself to his feet brushing himself down out of habit and holding out a hand to Grace. On his face is the first genuine smile Grace has seen since they met. “That’s probably enough exercise for today.”

The face is almost exactly identical, though the hair is maybe an inch longer and a slightly darker shade of blond. Given he’d already met Courtland the similarities aren’t as surprising as he thought they might be. No, the surprising thing is definitely the bedsheet loosely wrapped around the guy’s hips, bunched up in one hand while the other holds open the door.

“You look like shit.” the doppelganger says.

A little rude but not untrue. Grace has spent the last few years living in low gravity and with dwindling food supplies. Maintaining a healthy physique isn’t as easy when the nearest gym is trillions of miles away and all there is to eat is alien microbial life forms.

“I’m...Grace?”

“Obviously.” The naked man looks him up and down, brow furrowed. “Six send you?”

“Courtland just said to knock on the door.”

“Of course he did,” the guy sighs.

“Colt.” a voice calls from the room behind the door. Grace tries to subtly glance over Colt’s shoulder and catches a glimpse of another man in the room. Dark, wavy hair, short scratchy stubble, and from what Grace can see, also completely naked. “I’m waiting.”

It’s as he glances away trying to consciously suppress the blush creeping up his neck that Grace notices the navy tie hanging loosely from the doorknob. Well fuck.

“Give me thirty minutes.” If Colt notices the embarrassment peeling off of Grace he makes no indication of it. “I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”

“Only thirty?” the other man comments.

Rolling his eyes, Colt calls over his shoulder. “I can kick you out now and make it five.”

The other guy says something else but Grace does everything he consciously can to make sure he can’t hear it.

“It’s alright, I can probably-”

“Kitchen.” Colt points over Grace’s shoulder back down the hallway. “Second door on the right. Thirty minutes.” and the door slams closed.

Grace doesn’t need telling again.

The kitchen is easy enough to find, though it doesn’t look much like a domestic kitchen. It’s about twice the size with large blue cabinets above the worktops, two floor-to-ceiling cupboards, a central island and three ovens. Everything is shiny clean, like one of those designer kitchens that’s never been used. Around the island are some stools, one of which Grace sits in.

This is all a little overwhelming. Just this morning he’d been in orbit around Erid.

They’d already gotten the taumeoba to the surface and no doubt the planet’s best Eridians were working to fix their Petrova problem. Rocky had gone down a few times as well but given the ammonia, intense gravity, and multiple atmospheres, Grace had been confined to the Hail Mary until they can figure out if there’s anything they can do for him. Rocky seemed confident there is but it’s going to take time and Grace’s health has slowly been deteriorating.

Which is when Courtland had appeared.

Taller than Grace by a couple of inches, well groomed hair, muscular, and facially identical, Grace had genuinely thought he was having a mental break. There’s absolutely no way this person is real and has appeared on a ship multiple light years from Earth.

After the initial freak-out Courtland managed to introduce himself and offered a temporary solution while the Eridians develop the biodome. Somewhere with gravity, with human food, and with far less hazards that are likely to kill him before he even sets foot on Erid.

Grace wasn’t sure about it. Stranger danger doesn’t just go away because you’ve made friends with an alien, and frankly the offer seemed too good to be true. Every question about where he’d be going, how he’d get there, when he’d go back were all met with vague non-answers like ‘somewhere safe’, ‘by walking through a doorway’, and ‘as soon as your place is ready’.

In the end it was Rocky who convinced him, not that his pal was really on board with Grace going away. In the end, the need for Grace not to die on the ship outweighed the need to know precisely where he was.

Just over thirty minutes pass before Colt walks into the kitchen, thankfully clothed. The jeans are worn, fraying in a couple of places, while the red t-shirt is a little loose around his chest. He’s not wearing shoes and his hair is very dishevelled.

Colt heads straight for one of the cabinets, pulling out a large pot before turning to Grace.

“Any allergies?”

“Um, canola I think?” It’s been a while since he’s had to think about it. Do allergies get better or worse over time? Does space radiation aggravate or cure them?

“Good job I’m an olive oil man. Coffee?”

“Like actual coffee?”

“Well we didn’t get this for the aesthetics.” he gestures towards the coffee machine nearby, flicking it on and letting it run.

“Coffee sounds amazing.” Does he even remember what coffee tastes like? It’s been so long. “I’m sorry if I interrupted your date.”

Opening one of the cabinets reveals a built-in fridge hidden away. Colt chuckles as he pulls out three large potatoes. “That wasn’t a date.”

“It wasn’t?”

“That was some much needed stress relief. Which is why you had to wait.”

Grace grimaces. Hearing about other people’s exploits has always made him uncomfortable. Time’s certainly not made that any easier.

The potatoes are peeled before being dumped into the large pot, covered in water, salted and put on the heat. He grabs two mugs and takes the now steaming coffee pot and pours it out for them. Colt moves to sit opposite Grace, sliding one of the mugs over.

“Here.”

The mug is almost full and the smell is achingly familiar. As Grace lifts it to his lips and takes a sip, his glasses steam up and the bitter taste on his tongue makes his eyes weep. Taking off his glasses, Grace wipes at his eyes.

“Good right?” Colt smiles as he takes a swig from his own cup. “So do you know what your thing is yet?”

“What thing?”

“Guess not. What do you think about the watch?”

Grace frowns. “I don’t really use a watch.”

“Did he not even-? Fuck’s sake.” Colt puts down his cup, muttering under his breath as he stands up. “Oh Colt just do everything why don’t you? Fucking asshole.”

“I’m sorry?” Grace calls after him but Colt’s already heading out the door, coming back after a few minutes and placing a small black box on the island between them.

He gestures to it. “Your watch.”

Sure enough, inside the box is a basic watch; black strap, black face, no hands, two side buttons. It looks like a very basic smart watch.

“Thank you. But I don’t really need-”

“If you’re staying in the Clubhouse, you need a watch. Trust me. Put it on.”

Wrapping it round his wrist, Grace feels it very gently hum into life, though nothing comes up on the screen.

“It’s not doing anything.”

“It’s in camouflage mode.” Colt says it as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “It comes with a tracker, a wormhole generator, and a relativity clock.”

“I’m sorry a what?!”

Colt sighs, putting his cup down and holding out his own wrist sporting an identical watch. He taps it once and a small digital display projects up from the screen showing the number ‘88’ in green.

“Each universe has a number. Green is where you are, white is where you can go, red is locked off. You scroll to find the number, and give it a tap with your palm to open the door. The door lasts for maybe 5 seconds so you have to be quick.”

Grace copies the gesture, scrolling through the numbers and watching them tick up and up. Most of them are white but a few are red.

“How many universes are there?”

“Too many but the watch has a catalogue of between two and three thousand.”

“And the...relativity clock?”

“I’m not sure how, but the watch connects with you on the quantum level and displays how much time you’ve been through relatively speaking. It’s good because multiversal travel can really fuck with your internal clock.”

He taps the screen again and the display changes reading a time.

36:07:2:3:14:23:56 … 57 … 58

“Years, months, weeks, days, hours, minutes, seconds.” he points to them all. “Since every universe travels at different speeds at different points, we mostly use it to figure out how long it’s been for each of us since we last saw each other.”

That’s amazing. Grace taps the screen and out pops the display. Tapping it again reveals his clock.

36:07:2:3:14:24:15 … 16 ... 17

…

“Is that normal?”

Colt stares in confusion. “...No.”

Both clocks are displaying identically. Matching right down to the second turning over at the exact same time. Surely it’s impossible. They couldn’t possibly have lived through the exact same amount of time.

“Maybe it’s broken.”

“These things were designed to survive a nuclear explosion. They don’t ‘break’.”

They watch as the clocks tick in sync for a few more seconds before Colt taps his watch and closes the display.

“It’s nothing.” he insists though he doesn’t seem confident, moving to check on the potatoes.

The rest of the time passes silently, Colt keeping his back to Grace and answering any attempt to start the conversation again with closed single word answers. Eventually the food is ready and Colt puts it into a large plastic bowl before stabbing it with a fork and sliding it towards Grace.

Mashed potato. Simple. Basic. A good choice when you consider Grace’s stomach hasn’t had to handle actual human food in a long while. Soft and easily digestible.

“Lid’s on the side. Whatever you don’t eat goes in the fridge.” Colt gestures to the hidden fridge. “No guests in the common areas. No exploring without me. Don’t go in my room. And if Six talks shit, tell him to go fuck himself.”

“Thanks for-” but he’s gone.

Colt doesn’t want to hang around, heading straight for his room and not even slightly surprised to see Six waiting outside for him.

“How’s he doing?”

“Fuck you.” Colt tries to walk straight past but is stopped when Six places a hand firmly against his chest and pushes him back.

“A normal person would say ‘thank you’.”

“No, a normal person would have left him where they found him.” Colt scowls. “Instead of using him as some fucked up stand-in for some stupid, dumbass-”

A smack, then a thud. Colt’s swiftly silenced with a single crack to the face that knocks him to the ground. Cradling his jaw, he glances up to see a disapproving finger held out at him. They lock eyes, staring at each other. Colt’s blazing with silent fury while Six is ice-cold and firm.

“Next time, I’m breaking your nose.”

Six reaches for his watch, scrolling through the universes before dropping his palm on 279. A silvery glowing doorway appears in front of them.

“Keep him in one piece,” He leaves through the door which collapses in on itself behind him.