I take a moment to look around me. The train car is empty—a privilege of being with the woman who Is The Government, I guess. Speaking of which, she’s sitting on my right, gazing out the window. I watch her face for a minute as rolling fields pass in our view. She’s not doing any work either, her laptop abandoned on the seats across from us with the neon-colored screensaver spinning across it. 

On my left is Carl. I hadn’t noticed he was sitting next to me. Usually he chooses a seat farther away, but the car is small. Or maybe he just likes us. Heh.

Come to think of it, this whole train ride is rather strange. We have the entire military (yes, all of them) at our disposal with more jets and planes and cars than we could ever use, but we’re sitting on a train for 5 hours just to get to an appointment with an expert. Why the sudden lack of efficiency? It’s not like Stratt. 

I slump in my seat as I ponder this question, sliding down slightly. My sweater bunches, riding up where my back meets the seat and driving my collar up to my chin. I purse my lips, using my precious free will and free time to let my brain be, well, dumb. I don’t notice the amused glance Stratt and Carl exchange over my head. 

After a few minutes of further silence, Carl clears his throat. I glance up at him over my glasses and raise my eyebrows slightly. 

“What… What are you thinking about, Dr. Grace?” Carl asks, thinly-veiled amusement in his voice. 

I shrug, worsening the shirt-bunching-up situation. I glance down slightly to make sure I’m decent—my tummy isn’t exposed, only a hint of my sides and back ribs, so I’m fine. “Nothing,” I reply.

Carl gives me a skeptical look. 

“What? I actually am thinking about nothing,” I reply. 

He smirks slightly at my cheekiness. I see his hand twitch, hesitate, and then something in his eyes hardens into resolve. Before I can process what that means, Carl’s thumb is jabbed into my side where my shirt rode up. 

I let out a very unmanly yelp and sit up straight, yanking my shirt down. I pretend not to hear the choked and muffled noise of amusement from Stratt next to me and I pretend not to see the amused look they share over my head (again). Mercifully, neither of them question my reaction.

“I wasn’t lying,” I say defensively. My voice is slightly high-pitched, dang it. “I was thinking about nothing. Or, how we’re doing nothing right now. Which is weird! Objectively. Y’know. We’re always so…” I gesture vaguely, “busy.”

Stratt finally speaks up. “So you think you’re being underworked, Dr. Grace?” 

There’s something in her tone I can’t place, something in her eyes that I can’t figure out. I think she’s… teasing me? Stratt? Teasing me?

“I- wha- no,” I say, flustered. “N-not necessarily.”

“I’m hearing he’s underworked,” Carl says to Stratt, an air of performance in his voice. 

“Mm, yes, that’s what I’m hearing as well…” Stratt muses. 

“Guys?” I say, chuckling nervously.

“I have just the thing,” Carl says. 

Before I can process what that means, Carl’s big, strong hand is tweaking my side. I squeak and flinch, my body twisting away from his hand until I’m practically in Stratt’s lap. “Carl!” I yelp.

He’s grinning. Motherfluffer. “I didn’t know you were so ticklish, Dr. Grace.”

“I- I’m not,” I deny vehemently. “Y-you just surprised me.” 

“Twice?” Stratt chimes in. I make a very intelligent grumbling noise in reply, covering my reddening face.

Unfortunately this blinds me to the shared look of mischief between Stratt and Carl, who nod once and then start tickling me. In. Earnest.

I absolutely explode with sound, somewhere between a laugh and a surprised squawk. “No- NO! Come ohohohon- GUYS!” Stratt’s nimble fingers worm their way under my sweater and the buttoned shirt underneath, scribbling diligently at my tummy. Carl continues the pinching and tweaking motions up my sides. I’m nearly hysterical. 

“What’s that, Grace?” Stratt muses calmly. “I can’t hear you. You’re going to have to use your words.”

“Noho- NOHOHOHO… Don’t use my ohohown exprehehessions on me!” I squeal. It’s a very masculine, put-together squeal—uh, what do my students say?—Trust.

I try to curl my knees to my chest and armadillo my way out of this one, but Carl puts a stop to that pretty quick by pinning my knees down with his free hand. He also squeezes my knees and thighs a few times, coaxing a few snorts out of me. Stratt actually coos at my reaction, which if I wasn’t being tickled to death I would find shocking.

“No- pleasepleaseplease- ahahahaha… fudge- you’re killing mehehehe!! Please…”

My laughter goes silent when Stratt sticks a finger in my bellybutton and swirls it around. I have a death grip on her wrist, but I can’t find the strength to push her away. My brain isn’t letting me. Traitor. I squeeze my eyes shut so I don’t have to look at the smug grins on their faces.

She stops, though, mercifully. Carl takes the hint and reduces his awful squeezing along my sides. I get about 20 seconds to breathe before Stratt’s hands wander up under my arms for a grand finale. 

“Oh- Christmas Eve!” I yelp. My eyes shoot open and my elbows tighten to my sides, trapping her hands. 

“Oh, I’m stuck,” Stratt says, her bottom lip sticking out slightly in a faux-pout. 

“N-nahano, you’re not stuhuck, just gehehet out-“

“She’s trying,” Carl adds unhelpfully as Stratt wiggles her fingers around in earnest, right into the hollows of my armpits. I’m wheezing. Thank God she’s not doing this under my shirt, or I’d have actually died.

“I think we have a hostage situation,” Stratt remarks, changing technique to scratch her nails lightly up, down, up, down… It’s maddening. Fresh rounds of giggles burst out of me at every motion of her fingers.

“Don’t worry, backup is on the way,” Carl says, bringing his walkie-talkie to his mouth to mime calling for help. It’s not like I receive much help, because then he’s pulling up my shirt and digging one hand, poised like a claw, into my lower belly. 

I’ve always had a slightly soft stomach—no matter how much I work out or ride my bike to work, there’s always a little bit of pudge at the very bottom of my belly under the abs I’d worked hard to maintain. And, of course, Carl abuses this feature. Ruthlessly. His fingers vibrate into the soft skin, making me squeal and my arms loosen to grab at his hands. This action frees Stratt’s hands (where they were never really trapped, let’s be honest). As soon as Stratt is free, they both stop. 

I suck in greedy lungfuls of air. Vaguely, I process that there’s moistness at the corners of my eyes from laughing too hard. I can also vaguely sense that they’re both smiling at me. I tuck my knees to my chest, hide my face, and let out an embarrassed groan. “Ne-never do that again.”

“No promises,” Stratt says. 

“Okay, I’m asking you again—am I expendable? Is that why you’re keeping me around? Because I almost just died—“

“So dramatic,” Stratt murmurs, cutting me off. She’s smiling wider than I’ve ever seen her smile. I stop my flustered rambling, just looking at her smile in awe. I glance the other way to Carl, who’s sporting a similar grin.

“I- I lost the astrophage,” I say, chewing my lip. 

“What do you mean, you lost it?” He asks. 

“Like, they moved off the slide. They’re somewhere in the box.” My lip starts to bleed. 

“Okay… okay,” Grace says slowly. “Okay. Well. We still have them inside the box. So.”

“Could be worse?” Carl pipes up. 

“I’m so sorry,” I stammer. 

“Stop apologizing,” Grace says absentmindedly. “How do we fix it…maybe… put the box in a box?”

I look around. “What? What bigger box—“

Carl points silently at the lab within the warehouse. 

Grace snaps his fingers. “Bingo.”

It’s a whole operation to get the astrophage out. Carl and the other security people help us block all light out of the lab. Then we put our box simulation inside the lab. Grace goes in and Carl and I hold our breaths as Grace retrieves the astrophage. The tang of iron floods my tongue as I worry my bottom lip even further between my teeth. 

Carl and Grace get swept up in the excitement of the moment as we discover that the astrophage successfully bred inside the container. I stand there, the activity and excitement swirling around me as Stratt’s people come to collect us. Grace, Carl, and I are shuttled through about 15 modes of transportation to get to Stratt’s Vat, a giant carrier ship swarming with scientific activity. 

Later in the day, Grace and I finally have a moment of peace in our new lab. Stratt had sort of kidnapped us permanently for Project Hail Mary. It’s a lot to take in. I’d moved on from chewing my lip to picking at my cuticles, which are now a bloody mess.

Carl is the first to notice. I’m watching them move a piece of heavy lab equipment, and when they’re done, Carl forcibly removes my hand from the other to stop me from picking. 

“What’s up with you?” Carl asks. Grace stops what he’s doing. 

“I’m fine,” I say. It’s not very convincing. 

Grace walks over and puts his hands on his hips. He looks at me over the rims of his glasses. “Tell us what’s wrong.”

“I- it’s nothing. I just feel underqualified.”

Grace gives me a skeptical look. “I’m serious. It’s been so… busy on this carrier. Everyone seems to know who they are and where they’re going. And- and I made that stupid mistake with the astrophage earlier…”

“Your stupid mistake helped us figure out how astrophage, y’know, do the deed,” Grace says. I can tell he’s trying to make me smile. “And it wasn’t just you who didn’t realize they would move off the slide.”

“Okay,” I say, unconvinced. 

We’re at an impasse. Grace stares at me, eyebrows raised, as if calling me out on my bullshit. Carl looks between us, eyeing us warily. It’d be comical if I wasn’t being scrutinized. 

“Listen,” Carl says, breaking the silence. Grace’s and my head swivels to him. “This carrier is full of very confident, very arrogant, and very smart people. You two are the most humble smart people on this ship.” Then, to me: “Will you stop being stupid and feel competent already?”

I’m slightly shocked. I’m not sure if I’ve ever heard Carl speak that many words to me before. “I- okay,” I stammer, a little more convincingly this time. 

“Seriously? All it takes is Carl?” Grace mumbles. Carl and I both chuckle slightly at his petty complaint. Carl starts to turn away, seeing his mission as complete, but Grace speaks up first. 

“Nuh uh. We’re not done here until you’re smiling. Or laughing. Preferably both.”

I let out a slight huff of a laugh. “What?”

Grace opens his arms wide as if inviting me for a hug. Carl’s mouth ticks up at one corner in a slight smile. I fidget, stammer out a few confused mutterings, and then step closer for a hug. I grunt softly as Grace squeezes me tightly. 

Just as I start to relax into the hug, I feel something prodding up my sides. Fingers. Definitely fingers. “Grace—“

“Shh,” he shushes me. “Resistance is futile.”

“What- nohoho- Grace. C’mon—“ I whine, struggling slightly. Damn him and his stupid biceps. 

“Wait, are you tickling—“ Carl cuts in, but he’s interrupted by a loud squeal that erupts from my mouth before I can stop it. 

“Oh, geez, I got a squirmer on my hands,” Grace teases nonchalantly. I feel my world tilt as he pulls me down with him onto a bench. 

“Sure seems like it,” Carl remarks, barely able to disguise the humor in his voice. 

“Let me gohoho…Grace, I’m FIHIHINE, I don’t need thihihis—“ 

Grace doesn’t reply. He just flips me around to sit properly in his lap—how is he maneuvering me so easily?—which exposes a lot more of my tickle spots. I kick out as he digs into my tummy with the hand that’s not holding me in place. Loud cackles fill the lab. 

I feel his chin dig into my trapezius so he can murmur in my ear, “Is this helping? Are you feeling better? Hmm?” 

I ignore him. “Carl- hehehelp me, God damn it!!” I shriek. 

Carl shrugs. “Sorry, kid. I think the tickle monster’s got you.”

“What- nohoho don’t say it like thahahat…”

“Like what?” Grace asks, slipping his hands under my shirt so he can scribble gently at my ribs. “The tickle monster?” I cover my face in embarrassment. “Oh, you don’t like that, huh?” He asks, and I can hear the grin in his voice. 

I shake my head desperately. “Aww,” he coos. “That’s too bad, because the tickle monster’s here… and he’s gonna get you…” 

“No!!” I protest. My face is so red. I nearly scream when Grace pinches and massages at the muscle that connects my ribs and armpits—he knows human anatomy very well, if I’d ever doubted that. Carl laughs openly at Grace’s shenanigans. 

“Tickle monster is feeling hungry,” Grace declares before he sticks his face in my neck and nuzzles. “FUCK!!” I squeal, pushing at his head and twisting in all sorts of directions to try to free myself. “No- nohohot hungry- GETOUTGETOUT!! GRAHAHACE- there’s literally Skihihitlles over thehehere! Stohohop…”

Carl’s smiling ear to ear at the display. “I don’t know if I’ve ever seen someone so ticklish,” he muses, stepping closer. My eyes are squeezed shut in laughter so I have no warning for when his hand makes a claw and squeezes right into the middle of my belly. I struggle a little harder, but between the two men, I have no hope of getting out. I can tell they’re both being gentle with me, though, which only makes my cheeks redder. 

“Pleasepleaseplease guys I cahahan’t…” I whine. 

Grace moves his hands up to my armpits, wiggling his fingers gently enough to be maddening but not to make me scream. “Can’t what?” He asks. 

“I can’t hahahandle it— please, I’m feeling better—“

“But isn’t this so much fun? I’m having a great time,” Grace teases. “Tickle monster hasn’t had his fill yet.”

“Tickle monster is gonna actually kill me!” I outburst. 

Both Grace and Carl laugh at that. Carl stops completely and Grace keeps me on his lap, fingers in my armpits, until I can breathe normally again. When he stops and lets me go, I’m so embarrassed I don’t know what to do with myself. I go straight to the mess of experiments we’d left earlier and start cleaning up, looking to keep my hands busy. 

“Heeey, don’t be like that,” Grace says, trailing after me. He leans against the table next to me. “The point was not to embarrass you.”

I don’t reply. “C’mon,” Grace says, poking me a few times. He looks gratified when I squirm for him. “It was cute. Stop stressing.”

I give him a flustered look. “Cute?”

“Yes,” Grace says. He opens his mouth again as if to say something more, but decides against it. Probably to avoid embarrassing me more. 

“Okay,” I finally say, no less embarrassed. “I’ll stop stressing.” 

Carl and Grace return to moving lab machinery around. I catch bits of their conversation:

“We’re doing that again, right?”

“Totally. Plus, they definitely liked it.”