Work Text:
When Elegance-In-Motion first met the alien, their designation was nothing more than a bizarre expulsion of air. It was only after establishing communication and weeks of practice that Elegance-In-Motion and the alien determine each other's names.
Elegance-In-Motion was surprised and delighted that their names meant the same thing. What were the odds? It was like fate!
But happy feelings were fleeting, as human brains were easily confused because of frequent memory death. The human would have a hard time with them both having the same name, and saving the stars was already a complex undertaking. No room for miscommunication when the stakes were so dire.
No matter. Names clearly matter more to humans than they do on Erid. Elegance-In-Motion tells the human their name has no translation, and accepts the designation: Texture-Of-Ground. The human can be Elegance-In-Motion. It clearly matters more to them with how often they insist on naming things at every step of their process.
Not important. What is important is that Elegance-In-Motion and Texture-Of-Ground figure out how to stop the star-killers. Even when Texture-Of-Ground learns that humans actually have two names, and the human could have just as easily gone by 'Bed-Of-Crops'.
They save the stars, and then Elegance-In-Motion saves Texture-Of-Ground from long and horrible death. Now it is time for Texture-Of-Ground to save Elegance-In-Motion, which means calculating, rationing, and breeding food.
Together they come to an uncomfortable conclusion: The best chance of survival is for Elegance-In-Motion to enter long, dangerous sleep.
Texture-Of-Ground is not a scientist. They are an engineer. They solve problems. They look at things practically. They fix. So when Texture-Of-Ground is nervous they run cost-benefit analysis.
For one, in the long sleep humans do not burn as much nutrients. They could extend the long-sleep nutrients for longer if Elegance-In-Motion is, well, motionless.
Secondly, Elegance-In-Motion's mood. It is not tasty to drink long-sleep nutrients, and humans have a precise relationship with food. Much of human social structure is built around tasting and sharing of food. Forcing Elegence-In-Motion to sustain themselves on tasteless slurry would be the same as forcing an Eridian to sleep alone. Technically possible, not dangerous to do without, but bad, bad, bad. Just barely survival. Not truly living. Texture-Of-Ground knows what its like to be unalive for a long time in space. They wouldn't wish it on anyone.
Thirdly, when they reach Erid, there will be much to do. Eridians will save Elegance-In-Motion, Texture-Of-Ground knows they will, but perhaps not immediately. First they must save their star, repair the damages the star-killers have wrought, and ensure that Blip-A's original crew are properly honored. Building a human habitat will be a considerable undertaking, and if Elegance-In-Motion is already in stable long-sleep when they arrive, they can stay in orbit while preparations are made.
It is the correct choice. The most benefit for the least cost. Elegance-In-Motion will simply wake up on Erid, belly full of proper nutrients, body healed from adventures in space.
The problem is that they both really, really, really don't want to.
For different reasons, of course. One night Elegance-In-Motion timidly confessed the circumstances of their mission, and how it made them anxious to enter the long sleep again. Texture-On-Ground certainly didn't want to be alone in a ship again, no one to watch them sleep and just hope their last remaining crewmate is alright.
The two of them spend a long time theorizing, discussing, and make a lot of science. But there's no way around it. Nothing they can do but prepare.
There will be contingencies. The transition will be slow.
First Elegance-In-Motion starts a new Taumoeba farm. They will breed a variant with as much nutrients as they possibly can before they go under. Texture-Of-Ground will not be able to continue the project after Elegance-In-Motion enters the long sleep, so it is important to prepare the edible taumoeba as much as possible before it is time.
"You know I just realized, it's like I'm eating starlight!" Elegance-In-Motion says one night. "The Taumoeba eat the Astrophage, and I eat the Taumoeba. It's like the universe is sustaining me!"
A beautiful sentiment. Texture-Of-Ground wishes that they had real food anyway.
Once the most nutrient dense variant of taumoeba, Taumoeba-B, is finished, Elegance-In-Motion begins eating it straight away. Small doses at first, cycles apart to monitor for any unexpected reactions, then slowly they lace all meals with Taumoeba-B. They will fill the feeding tank with a mix of long-sleep nutrients and Taumoeba-B and slowly dilute them once Elegance-In-Motion is asleep. They will keep a full tank of long-sleep nutrients unaltered in case of emergency or if Elegance-In-Motion needs to wake up
It will be difficult to watch Elegance-In-Motion slowly suffer from lack of nutrients while a perfect food source sits in clear sound, but Texture-Of-Ground promises to resist. They'll need a sample of long-sleep nutrients to survive the trip back to Erid if they are to synthesize more without Elegance-In-Motion to help them.
They set a timeline. They ration Elegance-In-Motion's food. Texture-Of-Ground studies human medical material, Elegance-In-Motion perfects Taumoeba-B.
The division of space needs to shift. Texture-Of-Ground will need access to every important console if they're going to maintain their course. All but Elegance-In-Motion's lab is walled off and filled with eridian atmosphere, and Texture-On-Ground alters the medical machines to only operate in that room. It's a tight space for Elegance-In-Motion, and it begins to wear on them very quickly, but hopefully they won't ever need to float freely around the Hail Mary again.
"Woah, kinda… weird when you put it like that." Elegance-In-Motion says when Texture-Of-Ground says as much.
Texture-Of-Ground's hands pause nervously in their work. "Not want, question?"
Elegance-In-Motion laughs nervously and rubs the back of their cranial stump.
Over the past cycles, they have taken turns deciding they hate hate hate the plan. Luckily neither of them have succumbed to anxiety at the same time, and were always able to talk each other back into it.
"I just…" Elegance-In-Motion says. "I'm gonna miss her, I guess."
"Is a ship." Texture-Of-Ground says flatly.
"She's home." Elegance-In-Motion says, softly as though only realizing it for the first time. "She's home, Rocky! She's where I learned to be brave, where I met you! I… I don't want to say goodbye forever…"
Texture-Of-Ground doesn't understand how that can be, but considering Elegance-In-Motion's relationship with their own people, maybe a space ship was a better home than earth.
Selfishly, Texture-Of-Ground hopes this means they will prefer Erid.
Soon the day comes, and instead of lurking in dread, they decide to make a celebration of it. It is not dissimilar to their celebration upon breeding the Taumoeba. Texture-Of-Ground wears their special clothes, Elegance-In-Motion drinks the stupid-fluid.
"We will not be making any of that any time soon." Texture-Of-Ground warns as Elegance-In-Motion drunkenly attempts to sing along to an Eridian anthem.
"Then you best take good, good care of it!" Elegance-In-Motion slurs, then collapses very un-elegantly onto their bed.
They lay there motionless for a moment, and a pulse of fear makes Texture-Of-Ground shudder.
Elegance-In-Motion will be trapped in that bed for a long long long time. They won't move. Texture-Of-Ground will be all–
"Wait, Rock, I got something for you before I turn in."
Texture-Of-Ground twitches and focuses on Elegance-In-Motion's beaming face.
"I not get anything for Elegance-In-Motion, anxious." They said.
Elegance-in-Motion shakes their head.
"It's a list. All my favorite albums, books and movies. I wanna hear what you think of them when I wake up."
Texture-Of-Ground shifts their legs. The utility of the gesture is clear. Human entertainment occupies a similar function to Eridians. They share stories and songs as a means to connect across generations, barriers, and distance. Preparing for a later discussion bears the promise that Elegance-In-Motion will wake up.
It's too much. Texture-Of-Ground cannot take it. They sink to the floor and keen.
"It's okay buddy." Elegance-In-Motion says. "We did everything we can to make this go smoothly, and I'll be right here with you the whole time. Four years will pass, no problem."
Texture-On-Ground nods, but still feels shaky on their legs.
"Elegance-In-Motion will not die." They promise. "I will finish the whole list, so Elegance-In-Motion better wake up. Will have much to discuss."
🚀🚀🚀
Texture-Of-Ground can hear it each time Elegance-In-Motion is fed.
An ominous kkkkk-fsshh every four hours. No matter where they go in the ship they can still hear it. Every 'meal' draining the 40% Taumoeba-B to 60% Long-Sleep nutrient mixture. One step closer to when Elegance-In-Motion will begin to starve.
What if Taumoeba-B isn't ready? What if it is toxic in high portions? What if this was all a big, big, big, mistake, and Texture-Of-Ground was stupid for suggesting it?
kkkkk-fsssh.
Every four hours, and they can't escape it. Texture-Of-Ground is glad to not have nightmares, as the sound would haunt them if they did.
Cycles pass. The 40% mixture drains. When the tank is fully empty, Texture-Of-Ground refills it with 43% Taumoeba-B.
Over the next few months of close monitoring, their anxiety dies down. They finish the changes to the ship's consoles, their new earth-suit in case they need to access the lab, and install a xenonite arm to automate exterior repairs.
This gives Texture-Of-Ground time to learn about earth. They sit beside Elegance-In-Motion's bed for hours reading. The thinking machine is amazing technology. Texture-Of-Ground assumes it is the human's closest approximation of a thrum until they read about 'Spoken Tradition.'
Apparently there are humans who do thrum, and have thrummed for longer than many earth civilizations have existed. Despite this, top earth scholars do not seem to think highly of it. Texture-Of-Ground reads the words 'primitive' and 'archaic' and wonders what earth scholars would think of eridian science hives. Texture-Of-Ground must make their own thinking machine to send to earth when the time comes. Make a good impression.
Texture-Of-Ground is able to fill the gaps in Elegance-In-Motion's knowledge. They learn that their new name does not simply mean 'ground,' but refers to just one of many of earth's biomes.
Squishy earthlings have less atmosphere, meaning there is more diversity in terrain. Erid is also diverse, a beautiful and varied planet, but technically, to humans, would all be considered 'Rocky.'
Beautiful Erid. They cannot believe they are returning to Erid! Between their fear and relief it took this long to accept they were going home. They were going to where it was 'Rocky.'
And maybe Texture-Of-Ground has adopted a human reverence for names, as they decide they don't like 'Texture-Of-Ground' as much as 'Feeling-Of-Home'
Elegance-In-Motion sleeps. Feeling-Of-Home watches sometimes.
"I am the one moving." They say. "You are more like the ground. Should switch back."
Kkkkk-fsssh.
The last of 56% Taumoeba-B empties from the feeding tank. Feeling-Of-Home refills it with 59%.
Near halfway through their first human year, Feeling-Of-Home finally gets around to The List.
They had been putting it off. They missed Elegance-In-Motion so much that they worried they'd devour The List in a couple of months. Luckily, however, The List was far longer than Feeling-Of-Home realized at first listen. Elegance-In-Motion had accounted for Feeling-Of-Home's quick processing time, and left instructions:
'I thought we could start with a book, since there's an audio version. 'Red Mars' is 23 hours long, about the length of a single day on earth. To make it more engaging, I thought I'd use a little earth teaching activity. I've put some book marks in the audio file, when you reach them I want you to stop and record what you think so far. It doesn't have to be a lot, but I'll be eager to listen when I wake up!'
Feeling-Of-Home looked at the sonar-readout for a long time. When had Elegance-In-Motion prepared all this? Stupid, stupid, stupid, they should have focused on perfecting their food source instead of worrying about Feeling-Of-Home being lonely.
And yet, Feeling-Of-Home couldn't help but love them more for it.They weren't alone this time. Elegance-In-Motion was still here. They made sure that Feeling-Of-Home could still feel them even now.
All of the books had audiofiles, but most human entertainment was light based. This wasn't so bad for the movies and television shows, but the games were annoying to use. After one attempt at 'No Man's Sky', Feeling-Of-Home dismissed everything that relied on quick reactions to navigate the controls.
They enjoyed the puzzles, but for most of them the difficulty was scaled via pattern complexity, which wasn't much of a challenge to an Eridian. Ultimately Feeling-Of-Home's favorite game was 'Dwarf Fortress' because of its simple visuals and attention to detail. Even when their colony was faced with disaster, it was cathartic to come up with elegant solutions.
Kkkkk-fsssh.
The feeding tank was refilled with 66% Taumoeba-B. Feeling-Of-Home got around to 'Star Trek.'
Oh stones did they get into Star Trek.
Feeling-Of-Home knew why Elegance-In-Motion waited. The other programs were a required context to understand what human society was like, and just how hopeful Star Trek was in answer. Still, the first few logs Feeling-Of-Home recorded were of calling Elegance-In-Motion stupid, stupid, stupid, for making them sit through 'Diehard' before 'Next Generation'.
There was so much Star Trek. The whole List could have just been Star Trek. Not all of it was good, and even the best Star Trek was limited to human's imagination of what aliens would be like, but the sheer concept lit Feeling-Of-Home's mind on fire.
Sometimes they had to stop watching just to pace in tight circles and scheme. What would a human eridian space station look like? Were they the first federation? What if they made more ships, more alien friends, sharing their taumoeba with the neighboring stars? Much much much to think about.
Feeling-Of-Home's workshop filled with mock-ups of Human-Eridian federation ships. They considered how humans and eiridians combine technology, how they make up for each other's weaknesses, how they share their strengths. Feeling-Of-Home wrote possible theories on how to address aliens not in the space age, methods of establishing contact, long, passionate ballads of Kirk and Spock fusing their eggs.
Kkkkk-fsssh.
73% and Feeling-Of-Home was working up the courage to watch humans mate.
It didn't take long navigating the internet to discover which corners of it had recreational erotic– Porn. It's Porn. Eridians have porn and apparently so do humans. And there was absolutely nothing forcing Feeling-Of-Home to watch said porn. No one had a phaser to their head. But they were curious, morbidly curious, and morbid curiosity and boredom made for a dangerous combination.
What if it was gross. Or worse, what if it wasn't gross, and Feeling-Of-Home had to sort out what to do with that. Elegance-In-Motion had explained the process but that was in the context of sterile, scientific harmony. The real thing was bound to be a lot more intense, and far, far, far away from anyone that could judge them, Feeling-Of-Home had the opportunity to understand. Once in a lifetime, even.
Of course they gave in. How could they not? So after their work was done and they had recorded their opinion of Pink Floyd's 'Dark Side of the Moon' and checked and checked and checked that Elegance-In-Motion was still sleeping and there was nothing to record what they were doing, Feeling-Of-Home played the video. And–!
And…
And they didn't know what they were watching, if they were honest.
It was… wet? They supposed? But everything humans do is wet. They clicked another video, tried another website. But none of it was really all that… anything. Human mating was so far from real sex that it didn't register as taboo at all.
A little let down, Feeling-Of-Home gave up the experiment. It wasn't even gross…
Kkkkk-fsssh.
88%. It doesn't even feel scary anymore.
After passing the two-third mark, the increase doesn't really mean much to Feeling-Of-Home. Elegance-In-Motion's body would have gotten used to the Taumoeba-B by now, a problem with ingesting it would be unlikely at this point.
At least, that's what Feeling-Of-Home thinks. They don't know. This isn't their area. Not like–
Not… like…
Feeling-Of-Home droops over their work desk.
They miss Song-From-The-Depths.
It's been a long time, and for all of it they have missed Song-From-The-Depths. But between the mission, first contact, and narrowly escaping death, it became a distant ache. There was so much else to worry about before, and as each of those worries stepped out of line one by one, that impossible fear stood alone in Feeling-Of-Home's mind. Like it was waiting patiently all along. The only thorn left in their heart.
They wonder if their mate has moved on.
It is too painful to even think about. It makes them stomp their feet on instinct. But Feeling-Of-Home is an engineer. Think logically. Feel better with math.
So. They proceed as though Song-From-The-Depths has moved on. That way it is not a surprise when they return to Erid. And if they haven't, then it is very, very, very happy! Statistically better to believe Song-From-The-Depths re-mated. Simple math.
And that's fine. They probably think that Feeling-Of-Home is dead. They probably waited a long time, too. When Feeling-Of-Home arrives to Erid and Song-From-The-Depths is mated to… to… to fucking Laughing-River or some scab, Feeling-Of-Home will calmly ask how long Song-From-The-Depths waited. It is understandable that Song-From-The-Depths move on eventually, so what is proper number? What does Feeling-Of-Home want to hear?
…They want to hear that Song-From-The-Depths never re-mated, and that Laughing-River blew up.
Math is not making Feeling-Of-Home feel better.
Instead, Feeling-Of-Home hopes. They hope, and they hope, and they give a scathing review to 'Titanic' because Rose had the AUDACITY to re-mate after Jack's death.
The Hail Mary was half-way to Erid. Feeling-Of-Home wore their celebration clothes, folded a little party hat for Elegance-In-Motion, sang them eridian victory songs. Maybe they could hear it where they slept. Feeling-Of-Home allowed themself a little fantasy that Elegance-In-Motion had been awake this whole time.
The fantasy was ruined soon after.
In one of the programs, a dramatized look into earth medical facilities, a long-sleep patient was revealed to have secretly been awake for months. 'Locked In' syndrome, as they call it, is when the body is in the long sleep but the mind stays active. They are trapped in insensate darkness, unable to move, while personnel don't bother to numb their pain for medical procedures.
Feeling-Of-Home is horrified. They try to learn more from the human internet, but find that the vast expanse of knowledge is contradictory and confusing. So many earth scholars say different things! Earth scholars think they are too good for Spoken Tradition? Maybe if they didn't have thinking machines they'd be able to actually agree on something, and Feeling-Of-Home wouldn't be so lost in a sea of misinformation!
They decide that they will not be making an eridian thinking machine. Humans must learn to thrum again. For their own good!
"...Elegance-In-Motion." Feeling-Of-Home calls many times as they watch them sleep.. "Is Elegance-In-Motion awake question? Is Elegance-In-Motion 'locked-in' question?"
There is no reply. But there wouldn't be a reply. No one could tell that the human from the television program was still awake. What if Elegance-In-Motion was trapped, terrified, and bored out of their mind? It would be so much worse than what Feeling-Of-Home suffered on their ship! Poor, poor, poor, Elegance-Of-Motion!
They should wake them up. Just to check. Just to make sure. But that wasn't the plan. They had to trust the health maintenance machine. They had to trust in their own engineering and Elegance-In-Motion's science.
Still. Any security Feeling-Of-Home has eased into over the past two earth years is gone now. They hear the last of the 95% Taumoeba-B empty and refill the feeding tank with 100% Taumoeba-B.
Elegance-In-Motion will starve for the rest of their journey. They had warned Feeling-Of-Home that they shouldn't watch from now on, and for once, Feeling-Of-Home agrees.
The List is out of order. Has been for a while. Feeling-Of-Home tried to follow it faithfully, but sometimes a film program was booooooring and the next few entries were sequels. Feeling-Of-Home started skipping, then jumping back when they changed their mind, then just doing whatever.
They learned when perusing entertainment on their own terms that, aside from porn, there were many, many, many good movies that Elegance-In-Motion didn't include. Feeling-Of-Home was able to remember references they'd made, they knew they'd seen them, but they weren't included on The List.
Feeling-Of-Home knew why they were sensitive about 'Alien', 'Aliens', or 'The Thing,' but Feeling-Of-Home was starved for more than just hopeful, feel-good stories about space. They even liked the programs with evil, scary, spiders in them. Elegance-In-Motion could have been a bit more funny with their selection.
"Alert, alert, medical caution."
The sonar reader clattered to the floor. The Hail Mary hadn't spoken to them in months, not since a panel outside the ship had come loose.
"Patient in unstable condition."
Feeling-Of-Home fell over themselves rushing to their earth-atmosphere suit. They hadn't worn it since the transition to 100% Taumoeba-B. Elegance-In-Motion had told them not to watch them sleep!
They hadn't been watching Elegance-In-Motion sleep. They had been told not to, and they just listened!
Stupid, stupid, stupid!
Why had they listened? Humans did not understand. Of course Elegance-In-Motion would think its a small thing to go unwatched while sleeping. And now they were sick, just like the original crew, and Feeling-Of-Home hadn't been watching!
They didn't know how they managed to keep their hands steady as they slipped into their suit. They rushed to Elegance-In-Motion's bed for the first time in many, many, many, cycles, and nearly lost all hope at what they saw.
Elegance-In-Motion looked like a husk of themselves. As if a big scary spider had drank their insides. Feeling-Of-Home had only ever seen dead humans in movies, was this the real thing?
Were they already gone?
No. No. Elegance-In-Motion cannot die. They were careful. They used science!
They only looked like that because of the starvation. Feeling-Of-Home knew that. That was why Elegance-In-Motion told them not to watch, and Feeling-Of-Home was stupid for agreeing, but the Hail Mary had done what they'd programmed it to do. It alerted Feeling-Of-Home to the problem before it got too bad.
Feeling-Of-Home vented a slow breath. Don't think about their knobbly, withered body. That is not a symptom.
Instead, Feeling-Of-Home inspected Elegance-Of-Motion inside and out. Their skin was wetter than usual, and their usual body heat had gone up. They calmly and carefully held their sonar reader up to the Hail Mary's screen.
"It's an infection!" Feeling-Of-Home gasped. "It's just an infection…"
They sagged in their suit. Their arms shook as they scanned the diagnostics with the sonar reader.
One of the life support tubes had gotten infected, which the medical machine had replaced automatically. But with the limited resources the body couldn't fight the infection with the normal dose for antibiotics. This was one of the things they'd prepared for. Easy, easy, easy fix.
Feeling-Of-Home left the lab to find the undiluted tank of long-sleep nutrients. They would not use all of it, not only for conservation but to not shock Elegance-In-Motion too much. The calculations had already been made years ago. Feeling-Of-Home just had to prepare the mixture.
Recovery was going to be slow. First the body had to be eased into a healthier dilution, and then it had to fight the infection. All the while Feeling-Of-Home had to keep careful watch of the antibiotics. It was a careful balance, a puzzle, but Feeling-Of-Home was good at puzzles. They were an engineer. They could still fix.
Many cycles passed. Elegance-In-Motion fought infection in their sleep. The wetness did not go away, neither did the heat. At first it was like things were only getting worse, but that was because the body was returning to normal function.
They steadily adjusted the dilution to 60% long-sleep nutrients. Elegance in Motion's skin became less tight around their inner carapace. Presumably, color returned to their skin.
Still, Feeling-Of-Home watched Elegance-In-Motion sleep. Every cycle. Every feeding. No more earth programs, no more projects. Feeling-Of-Home wasn't going to stop watching until they reached Erid, which would only be in a few more months.
Elegance-In-Motion was doing better, but they couldn't stay on the 60% long-sleep nutrients forever. There still needed to be enough left for Eridian scientists to synthesize more. Worse, even if Elegance-In-Motion survived the infection they'd need to ease back into 100% Taumoeba-B. Running out and switching to a far less healthy food source could shock their exhausted system into organ failure.
Feeling-Of-Home checked the navigation screen constantly, and each time they could have cried. They were so close, nearly at Erid, so, so, so close!
They did the calculations from Elegance-In-Motion's bed. Maybe they did not need to return to 100% Taumoeba-B. Maybe they could keep it stable at 70% or 60%. But that would mean less time to keep Elegance-In-Motion stable in orbit, and Feeling-Of-Home did not know what civilization would be back on Erid. What if it was like all those post-apocalyptic programs? What if they returned to a world of chaos?
What if no one cares if a strange, leaky, alien dies?
No matter how they considered the numbers, consulted medical journals, or begged the Hail Mary for answers, it was a risk. A gamble.
Kkkkk-fsssh.
Every four hours.
Kkkkk-fsssh.
The long-sleep nutrients drained every four hours.
Kkkkk-fsssh.
Feeling-Of-Home had grown used to the sound of the feeding tank, but now it thundered across their carapace, filling them with dread.
Kkkkk-fsssh.
So close to Erid.
Kkkkk-fsssh.
Feeling-Of-Home watched only Elegance-In-Motion and the sonar reader, nothing else.
Kkkkk-fsssh.
The final tank of undiluted long-sleep nutrients had only a third left.
Kkkkk-fsssh.
They had to make a decision.
Kkkkk-fsssh.
Kkkkk-fsssh.
Kkkkk-fsssh…
🚀🚀🚀
Grace could smell fog.
But not like, good fog.
Not the fog of being out at sea. Or of a crisp winter morning.
It was a thick, dirty, suffocating fog.
City fog.
Kinda fog that sort of smells like pee.
He wrinkled his nose and rolled over. Something tugs. Something really, really hurts.
With a high, screeching, yelp, Ryland Grace sat up to curl over his stomach. It ached between his legs, specifically in a place where no one ever wanted to ache, and for some reason there was also a pain in his back.
"Oh jeez…" Grace hissed through his teeth, "Oh gosh. Oh jeez…"
Despite his clenching abdomen, Grace felt himself pee a little. It stung, like lemon juice in his-
"♫♩♬!"
Upon the list of things that might improve waking up with a nightmare of a UTI, having a boulder thrown at him was at the very bottom. Pain whited out Grace's vision, and he screamed loud enough to crack the sides of his mouth.
The boulder jumped back as though it weighed nothing at all, letting out its own pained screech. There was a flurry of sound, whistles and chirps, familiar in a distant, dreamlike way. Words swam to the forefront of Grace's mind, swirling into meaning around the haze of pain and disorientation.
"Why Grace do that what Grace's PROBLEM Grace have NO IDEA what Rocky go through bad bad bad stupid human ungreatful–"
"R-rocky?" Grace gasped. "Oh my god, Rock. Is that you?"
He reached out a hand, and was shocked to see his wrist was half the width it had been when he'd seen it last. The pain and relief fled for a moment, Grace looked down at his pale, skinny limbs and wondered if he'd truly been reduced to bone. Even holding his arm outstretched made it tremble with exertion.
It was a far cry from waking up jacked on the Hail Mary.
Grace shook his head. At least he had his memories now. At least he'd agreed to it this time.
Letting his arms drop, Grace sank into the pillows of his…
…Bed?
An actual, proper bed, and not the cot he had on the Hail Mary. What was more, Grace looked around what he realized was a room. With windows and sunlight. The distant crashing of waves.
And the smell of fog, even if it was a stinky pee fog.
"...Am I dead?" Grace asked.
Rocky recovered from his outrage to shake.
"Grace no die! Eridians build this habitat for Grace. Everyone grateful for save Erid. Will be so happy to see Grace is awake!"
"Oh my gosh…" Grace whispered.
He could hardly believe it. He was on an alien planet right now? And all the aliens knew about him? He was some kind of space hero! And he was alive! And… and…
And gosh dangit this UTI hurt so bad.
Grace winced and tried to settle himself more comfortably in his blankets. The Eridians must have erred on the side of cold, what he wouldn't give for a hot water bottle…
"What happened, Rock?" He asked. "It… hurts."
Rocky sagged a little. "Grace had infection on the ship. Rocky should have been watching. Was stupid, but was able to fix."
Grace's eyes widened. If he was still in pain from an infection he'd contracted on the journey, then either Eridians worked quickly or it had been even worse before he woke up.
Despite the sting, Grace smiled and held out a shaky hand.
"Yeah, Rocky fix." He said. "I'm fine, buddy. Hurts like hell, but nowhere I wouldn't expect."
Rocky trilled happily and crawled up onto the bed to settle under Grace's arm like a labrador.
"Adrian wary of pain relief, not want risk damage your brain…" There was a soft chitter. "More than squishy human brain already damaged."
Grace couldn't even be mad. "Adrian's here? You guys are back together!"
Another joyous whistle, and Rocky propped himself up proudly.
"Yes, yes, yes!" He confirmed, and then chirped something that Grace couldn't fully make out, but sounded like, "Poor idiot Laughing-River…"
Grace let his arm fall over Rocky's carapace and tilted his head back. The pain was going nowhere any time soon, but it was impossible to care with the enormity of his relief.
They'd done it. They'd really done it. Grace and Rocky had saved the stars. For a moment all they could do was bask in that.
Eventually, the pain would become an issue again. The eridian doctors would be called, and Grace would finally get to meet Adrian! There wasn't a three course meal waiting for him, but the thick nutrient-shake was at least more palatable than the coma slurry had been the one time Grace tried it. It might as well have been ambrosia the way Grace gulped it down, reminded of those first days on the Hail Mary.
But after much eating, greeting, and sleep, Grace and Rocky would have a moment to talk. To discuss the plan for recovery, and some projects Rocky cooked up in his years alone.
"Oh…" Grace said awkwardly when he mentioned it. "And… how was it on your own?"
Rocky lowered the xenonite figuring he'd made of a hypothetical cross-species space station. A small, anxious sound thrummed from his vents.
But after a moment, he merely shook it off.
"Uneventful." Rocky said. "Would rather talk about Star Trek, and why Rose from Titanic is worst hero in the world."
"Woah, buddy!" Grace laughs. But he supposed he did ask for this.
And boy, had Rocky understood the assignment.