ad astra (ad meliora) ââ´ď¸ Ě.â chapter six
chapter five masterlist
word count: 3.7k
pairing: fem!reader x ryland grace
You can feel Graceâs suspicious gaze on you.
He follows every one of your movements with narrow eyes, head tilted as if trying to solve a puzzle. He should be focusing on the meal you gave him a minute ago, considering it is the first ârealâ food he has had in four years, but instead he is squeezing the food into his mouth, almost missing it in the process.
You try not to let it show how much it was affecting you, but if you had to guess, youâd say you arenât hiding it well. Your eyelids are heavy, and fingers shaky from the potent mixture of caffeine, no sleep, and anxiety.
After he woke up, it hadnât taken long for him to notice that you are acting off. Where you loitered around him before he went to sleep, you now watch him as closely as possible. When he went to the lavatory, you waited outside the door, and youâre sure that the only reason he hasnât told you to back off yet is that you had almost started crying when you saw him step out of the door again.
Now, youâre sitting in the galley, silence tying both of you in thousands of little knots, tugging your gazes back and forth between each other. It is a game of whoâll break first, and for the first time in years, you wonât be the loser.
âAre you okay?â
Bold question, you have to admit. Not âis everything okay?â or asking again whether you have slept wellâno, he went right to the point.
âIâm fine.â His expression makes it clear that you had said it too quickly. So, you try to double down on it, âSeriously, Iâm okay. Why shouldnât I be?â
Grace sits up, and you clench your jaw, realizing that he had waited for you to say something like that; maybe you actually are the loser.
âYou look like you havenât slept well.â He pauses, and if you have to guess, youâd say heâs trying to assess how far he should go. âYou look like you havenât slept at all.â
âSo?â you say, shrugging.
âThatâs not⌠good,â he says, but it comes out like a question. âYou seem twitchy.â
âYou donât know me,â God, it hurts to say that. âMaybe Iâm always twitchy.â
âYou werenât this twitchy before I went to sleep,â he countered. âDid something happen?â
You bit the inside of your cheeks, trying to physically stop yourself from saying anything. Of course, something happened, and of course you want to tell him. You want to spill your guts, and then sob for a couple of hours, maybe scream a bit.
But Grace isnât your friend, heâs your patient, and you donât act that way with patients. That familiar mantra haunts you more than the literal end of the world. Heâs the victim of heavy amnesia, and youâre the idiot by his side, doomed to spend the last couple of months of your life orbiting him, never again getting close to him the way you had on Earth.
âNothing happened,â you say in a small voice.
Grace studies you for a second before going back to his food-sludge. âI donât believe you.â
âGood for you,â you scoff.
âTwitchy and snappy, wow.â Grace rolls his eyes. âWhatâs next?â
You flinch at his dismissive tone. It hit you harder than it should. Back on Earth, something like that would have been a joke between friends, but up here it is his genuine impression of you, the only one that he has. He has been awake for not even 24 hours, and you have already made him dislike you.
âSorry,â he mumbles and then sighs deeply. âThat was not nice.â
âWe said we wouldnât apologize anymore.â Your voice is thin, trembling slightly.
He looks up, and when his eyes fall on you, he freezes. âOh, geez! Oh, no, no. Donâtââ he gets up and steps closer to where youâre sitting on the floor. âAre you crying? Youâre crying. Iâm such a meanie.â
You didnât notice when it started, but heâs right, you are crying. Silent tears running down your cheeks. But when he crouches down before you, you canât help but let out a watery chuckle. âDid you just call yourself a âmeanieâ?â
âIâI did, yeah.â He scrunches his face. âYouâre crying. What can I do to make you stop?â
You sniff. âNothing, itâs fine.â You wipe a hand over your cheek. âI donât even know why Iâm crying.â
âThis is all a lot,â Grace says.
âFor you, maybe.â
âNo, I think for you too. Maybe more in a way.â
You laugh at that. âMore? You lost all your memories and woke up in the middle of a suicide mission.â
Grace doesnât laugh with you, just looks at you with a soft expression in his eyes. âYeah, and you have been part of that suicide mission for four years, remembering everything that you left behind. You spend four years mourning the world, and I thinkâŚâ he sighs, looking away. âI think now youâre mourning me.â
You furrow your brows and feel more tears gather in your eyes. You shake your head slowly. âDonât say that, please.â
When he looks back at you, his eyes are equally as glossy as yours. The blue shimmering like the ocean youâll never get to see again. âIâm just really sorry that this is how it went. You deserve better than this.â
âYou mean better than you?â You ask, breath hitching. He nods silently, and something burns within your chest. âNo. Mm-mm, donât say that. If someone can save the world, itâs you.â
He snivels. âSure, if thatâs all.â
âI mean it,â you say, trying to make him understand.
âIâm sure you do.â
You hate seeing the defeated look on Graceâs face. Sure, even back on Earth, heâd get a bit sulky from time to time, but he was never one to doubt his own intelligence. He knew he was smart, no matter what. It wasnât arrogance, or at least not merely that. It was more a mind so active, so ready to study the world around him, that he had no choice but to go along with it. Now here he is, looking like someone had opened his head and spooned out his brilliant brain, bit by bit until all that was left is the ability to look pitiful.
âI get auditory and visual hallucinations whenever the lights go out.â The confession burst out of you before you could rethink it.
Grace looks up, alarmed. His eyes are wide and his mouth half opened. âWhat?â
You close your eyes briefly and take a deep breath. âThatâs why I look like this. I didnât sleep, Iââ You cut yourself off, knowing that whatever you say next could change everything. Â
âYou what?â Grace asks in a low voice.
You smile, your nerves running wild. âI monitored your heartbeat,â you whisper, hoping that it was quiet enough that the sound waves wonât ever reach him, forever getting lost in the space between you.
But, of course, because the world is unfair, he hears it. âOh,â he says, blinking a couple of times as if needing to recalibrate himself.
âAnd I named almost all the objects on the ship,â you blurt out.
âOh,â Grace says again, watching as you get up and start to pace.
âAnd I talk to myself and the stuff around me basically at all times. I know you know that one already, but I wanna reiterate that I do that a lot.â
âOâOkay,â Grace stutters while getting to his feet as well.
You stop your movement, turning to him. âIâm telling you this because I cannot have you doubting yourself like that. Hundredsâno, thousands of people worked day and night to get us here. I completely destroyed my brain, and our other two crew members died, all for this moment.â
âThatâs a lot of pressure,â he points out feebly, and you take a step closer.
âI know, itâs horrible. Iâm sorry, but this is our situation. Iâm okay with what happened to me, and so is everyone else. This is what we signed up for, but only if it has a purpose. My sanity is nothing against the lives of eight billion people. So, please, donât start doubting yourself, because right now, youâre literally the only thing I still haveâthe only thing I still believe in.â
He stares at you speechlessly for a couple of seconds. Then he suddenly starts walking toward you, and before you could stop it, he wraps his arms around you, pulling you against his chest in a tight embrace.
Your entire body lights up. Every nerve, every cell in you is aware of him, as he is burning his outline into you. His left hand is draped around your back, and his right one is on the back of your head, pulling you close until your face is pressed into his neck. He smells like the sterile, clean smell all fabrics on the ship hold, mixed with something that is just himâsomething you had last smelled this closely four years ago, and might now be your favorite smell ever. Screw vanilla, petrichor, or freshly brewed coffee; if you could, you would bottle his smell and douse yourself with it every day.
He shifts, laying his head on top of yours. âIf Iâm overstepping, you can tell me and Iâll let go.â
âNo,â you squeaked, shoulders tensing at the suggestion.
His breath hits your hair as he exhales softly in what might be a laugh. âThen, if you want to, you could hug me back.â
The gentle reminder is what breaks you. Your arms snap around him, holding him tightly, like the safety belts on a rollercoaster. If you let go, heâll fly off and youâll never see him again. Sobs start to wrack through your body, shaking your shoulders, and he tightens his arms as well.
Heâs murmuring something in your hair, although you cannot make out what. Your hearing is filled with static, getting louder and louder the longer he holds you before it becomes so loud that you cannot take it any longer.
You push yourself away from him. Grace looks startled at that, but not offended.
Heâs your patient. He is so vulnerable up here, trapped with you. But at the same time, your heart is beating so fast, you think itâs trying to escape your ribcage to jump back into his arms. You swallow.
âToo much?â Grace asks carefully.
âNo.â Yes. âMaybe.â
âOkay.â He nods. âIâm sorry if I overstepped.â
âYou didnât.â He didnât; you did.
âOkay,â he says and nods again as if that is the only gesture that still makes sense. âI think⌠I think thereâs a lot we should talk about. Starting with how to best handleâŚâ He trails off, looking down at his feet.
âMe?â
âYour situation,â he says hastily.
âIâm sorry,â you whisper.
âHey,â he scolds, although his tone is light. âWe talked about apologizing.â
âAlright, alright.â You take a breath. âWhat do you wanna know?â
âWhen did it start? How advanced are the hallucinations? Can you discern between whatâs real and whatâs not? Is it just when the lights go out?â He fires off the questions in the way you assume he must have done back on Earth in his classroom.
You blink, momentarily overwhelmed, and before he can continue, you lift your hands. âOkay, just⌠gimme a sec.â You run a hand through your hair and sit back down, leaning against a cabinet.
Grace goes to sit down on the chair he sat on previously, when he halts, wide eyes finding yours. âDoes the chair have a name?â
You nod, your cheeks burning.
He looks down to where you sit on the floor, before realization flickers across his face. âIs it okay if Iâwould you rather if I sit down on the floor with you?â
He asks it so earnestly that the burn on your face runs down your body, enveloping it like a comfortable blanket. âI canât possibly ask you not to sit on our chairs.â
âYouâre not, Iâm offering.â You mull it over for a moment, although that is just for appearance. You know your answer already, you have known it ever since he sat down on Veronica, and you felt her intense discomfort as if it were your own.
Still, the words donât quite make it off your tongue and out of your mouth. Instead, you kind of shift to the side, offering him the space beside you. He accepts it wordlessly and sits down, close enough so that your entire left side is aware of his presence, but far enough so that youâd only touch if one of you decides to reach out.
He waits patiently until youâre ready, arms balanced casually on his knees. When you start talking, youâre purposefully not looking at him. âIt started about two years ago. At first, it was just random sounds that I could easily write off. Like, a beep, or something that sounded like footsteps but couldnât possibly be because, well, Iâm alone. But then it would become more frequent⌠one night when I went to get some water, I suddenly heard this laughter. Itâit wasnât menacing or scary; it was just laughter. For a second it sounded like a childhood friend of mine. It freaked me out so much I couldnât sleep for three days, which obviously didnât help the matter.â
Grace isnât looking at you, but his eyes are slightly narrowed, head tilted in your direction. âAnd that only happens when itâs dark?â
You hesitate. âNot quite. Even when itâs light, Iâll sometimes hear stuff where Iâm not sure how real it is. Itâs never too bad, never visual, just stuff like coughs or clangs. Just any random sounds youâd hear in busy rooms,â you say. âYou know when youâre kind of deep in thoughts and then think you hear something, like someone calling your name or trying to get your attention? I get that, too. Itâs just that for me both options arenât real.â Â
âOkay,â he says for what must be the millionth time in less than an hour. âWhat about the visual stuff?â
âThat only happens in the dark,â you say, hoping he wonât be able to hear the slight shake in your voice. It isnât a total lie, after all. âItâs mostly shapes, nothing distinct. Just stuff you see out of the corner of your eyes, and then realize that there was nothing there, or the old âis that a hat stand or a man in the cornerâ situation, you know?â You trail off, pursing your lips.
âIs there more?â
âThere is⌠sometimesâŚâ You groan, letting your head fall into your hands. âThe worst is when I can feel something that isnât there. Like a hand on my shoulder, or a breeze in my hair.â
It feels so humiliating to lay it out like that for him. Like youâre performing surgery on yourself before him, dissecting every part of you, taking out every organ and holding them up for his inspection.
To his credit, he doesnât look as freaked out as he probably should be, considering the person heâs stuck with in space just confessed to being a total lunatic.
âThatâs good to know. Thank you for telling me,â he says, sounding like a therapist at the end of a long overdue session.
You snort. âYouâre welcome. There is more from this nutcase where that came from.â
âYouâre not a nutcase,â he retorts intently. âDonât say that about yourself. Thatâs not appropriate medical lingo, you should know that.â He grins at you at the end of the sentence. Itâs almost a miracle the way he is able to switch your mood so quickly.Â
You shake your head, amused. âOh, Iâm sorry, Doctor Graâah, shit.â
âMhm.â He laughs haughtily. âPhD, baby,â he croons and then briefly looks mortified at himself.
âOh, wow.â You laugh now, too, and mumble, âAsshole,â although it holds no bite.
He bites his lip, trying to stop the grin from widening.
It feels nice to sit here with him, you realize. The casualness of your conversation reminds you of the way it had been back on Earth, and while that does make your heart clench a bit, the familiarity also makes your shoulders loosen.
Grace taps his fingers against his legs a couple of times before sitting up a bit straighter. âAlright, what can I do to help you?â
Your head snaps toward him. âWhat? You donât have to help me. Iâll handle it, donât worry.â
He sighs, âI wanna help you. This whole thing will only work if we help each other.â
âNo,â you say, now sitting up straighter as well. âThis will work if we do what weâre supposed to.â
âYeah, but youâŚâ he sighs again. âThink about it like this: you cannot take care of me if you donât take care of yourselfââ
âI know that,â you cut in, but he continues to ignore you.
âAnd I think that it would be a lot easier for you to take care of yourself if I help you with it. Also, if I help you so that you help me, that will help me double, which is good for everyone, because if Iâm taken care of, I can help you more, and the people back on Earth, right?â
You stare at him. âI donât know. I donât think I caught all that.â
âPerfect.â He claps his hands together. âThen weâre on the same page.â
You groan, which turns into a laugh. âYouâre impossible.â
âNo, this mission is impossible,â he says. âIâm just a variable in it.â
You smile, and the room falls silent. The galley has always been a place of comfort for you. You had your girlsâchairsâhere, it was far enough away from HAL 9000, but close enough so that youâd hear it if anything changed with your patients, and from all the rooms on the ship, it was by far the most normal.
Originally, there wasnât supposed to be a galley on the Hail Mary. Food could be stored anywhere, and it wasnât like you would have a fridge or oven to use in space. But when it was decided to send an awake crew member up as well, the galley was added to establish at least a little sense of normalcy.
It was your room, the closest youâll ever get again to having a home. When it was created, you had even been allowed to decide on the color scheme. When you passed your choices to the engineers, they had gently but firmly tried to get you to change your mind, stating that you would surely get sick of it, but you stuck by them.
And youâre glad you did. Sure, the galley was a lot, with its brightly coated walls painted with swirls of light blues, yellows and greens, and the furniture which ranged in colors from throughout the rainbow. But you love it. It is like your own little oasis, in the middle of all the whites and grays found in the rest of the Hail Mary.
Your favorite parts are the insides of the cupboard doors, though. You only realized that they had been painted once you were up in space. Every door was decorated by someone on the engineering team. Some were covered with glitter and color, in what was a more childlike attempt at a painting by the less artistically accomplished of the team, and others were detailed masterpieces of landscapes or fantastical scenes.
When you had first seen in, you started weeping, and Commander YĂĄo and Dr. Ilyukhinaâwho had that point had still been awake (and alive)âhad hugged you tightly. There was a lot to do, and not a lot of time, but Dr. Ilyukhina spent the next two hours showing you each masterpiece, explaining who did what, and laughing about some of the flimsier ones. They were all signed, and you two ribbed about how if the world would actually end, that the insides of your galley cupboards might be the last remains of human art, floating around forever in space until it would one day be found by some aliens, who would surely believe that humanity was a species made up of toddlers.
You thought a lot about those last couple of days before putting Commander YĂĄo and Dr. Ilyukhina in their comas. The overwhelming combination of adrenaline bubbling in you mixed with the fear briefly put to rest by each otherâs company.
A thought that has been crawling around your brain for years now comes to the forefront of your mind, and you can no longer ignore it.
âWe need to deal with Commander YĂĄo and Doctor Ilyukhina,â you whisper, as if scared that the two crew members would feel offended if your voice reached them back where they lay in the med bay.
Grace closes his eyes, shoulders rising when he takes a long breath. âYeah, youâre right.â He does nothing for a second, just breathing deeply, and then he opens his eyes again to slowly get back to his feet.
He holds out his hand for you to take, and while you hesitate, you do take it and let him help you up. Once you stand you make to pull away, but he stops you by holding on to your hand lightly.
âBut this conversation is not over. Donât think I donât realize that youâre avoiding telling me how to help you.â He squeezes your hand. âYou need me not to doubt myself, and Iâll do that if, in turn, you let me help you. Help me, help you. Tell me what you need, and Iâll do it, just like we said yesterday. Okay?â
He tilts his head, his eyes trying to find yours. When they do, he smiles expectantly.
âOkay,â you say, and while you try not to mean it, his face is so sincere that a part of you wants to just surrender to his requests. It does make sense after all. It is just painful to admit that you might not be able to do the one thing youâre here to do.
âGood,â he says, and without another word turns to leave the galley. You follow him quickly, and side by side you walk to the med bay. Maybe this could workâmaybe you could work. Â
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