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The Blip-B7 is a scientific vessel, as are most of those the Eridians operate. It became a common practice to name them as such upon Human Ryland Grace's insistence that all vessels HAVE a name. Engineer Rocky suggested naming them after a series of Blips in what, in hindsight, was absolutely a dig at his alien companion's uncreative naming habits. But it was accepted and the tradition began with Blip-A4.
Its current task was data sampling for resources in the outer reaches of their solar system. They were investigating small asteroids being pulled slightly from their orbits towards an unknown object, a strange phenomenon only having started a brief while ago, and one they would not have noticed for some time if they weren't out here to observe the miniscule shifts happening in real time.
“Commander?”
“Yes, Sonar Specialist?”
“There's… you gotta see this.”
“Is that… Is that a planet?”
“A moon, we think. Or it was once, based on orbital warping patterns in its structure. Possibly ejected from its gravitational primary.”
“How is that possible? Where did it come from?”
“We've detected a sudden gravitational shockwave matching its mass, but as far as we can tell, there's no path leading it here.”
“So what, it just- appeared? Popped into existence??”
“...As far as we can tell, yes.”
There's silence for a moment while that sinks in. Then, the commander shifts as if bracing themself. “I want every piece of equipment we have monitoring it. I want to know what it is, where it came from, and how.”
“Yes, commander.”
It's several hours before there's any major update. A lot of chatter at the mystery and new discovery, but it's not until there's a startled exclamation from one of them that things pick up again.
“Oh, sleeping ancestors- No way-”
“Radio Specialist? What is it? What did you find?”
“I- there's some masses in the liquid body,”
“Yes, we found them hours ago, What of it?”
“One of them is emitting a radio frequency, I tuned into it expecting little more than feedback, maybe due to a magnetic inbalance-”
“And??”
Wordlessly, they flick a switch, and the noise is played loud enough for the entire room to hear it.
“Please,” a voice sobs, “Please, it hurts- I'm scared, I just- please, I just want to live. Why doesn't anyone else want that? Why can't I- I want to-” it breaks off into more sobbing and the room practically vibrates with tension.
“That-! That is the language spoken by Engineer Rocky's Grace! That is HUMAN language!”
“Yes.”
“There is a human down there?? That shouldn't be-”
“But there is. What now?”
“...Well. Clearly, the human needs help. I want depth readings and material breakdowns of that vessel, and maps of the region. If we're lucky, it is a magnetic material and we can latch onto it and pull it up. Medical staff on stand by, human physiology is different than our own, but- Biology Specialist, you were on the team that helped evaluate Grace, correct?”
“Yes, Commander!”
“Good. You're with Medic, prepare whatever you can. Chemist, I want as much clean, synthesized hydrogen dioxide as we can make, Humans need a lot. We are… What is the human term?”
“Going fishing?”
“Going fishing.”
_-_-_-_-_
Simon is going to die down here. The submarine has long since gone dark, the little power devoted to controlling the sub and keeping the dim lights on having been diverted to the feeble life support system ages ago. His body aches, everywhere, but especially his arms- arm. One raw with burns from exposure to the camera, and the other just- gone. A dull agony radiating from a limb no longer there, but somehow, impossibly, scarred over.
It was like this when he woke up. He doesn't know how he woke up, the last thing he remembers is flashes of agony, attaching the black box to the life vest, hoping, and rage at the monster.
The monster.
It had bitten his vessel. Spiked teeth puncturing the hull as blood filled the tight space. Screaming in overlapping voices he could barely comprehend.
Then there was nothing. He was sure he'd been about to die, there really wasn't any other possibility. He distinctly remembers tearing off his own arm, his blood spurting from the jagged stump, indistinguishable from the mess around him.
Yet here he is. The interior of the sub (as well as himself) is coated with dry, tacky blood, but the hull punctures are – well, not gone – but filled over and sealed with a rough, blackish substance. He thinks it might be like a scab of all things, but he can't really tell. The only light left is the tiniest amount coming from the barely illuminated coordinates.
He wishes he had died, then. At least it would have been fast, if not painless. Now? He is stuck here, wherever here is – he's given up on trying to figure it out when he apparently disappeared into another world for 3 days that felt like 3 minutes – with no food, no water, a barely healed wound that is bound to get infected and kill him, radiation poisoning, a limited oxygen supply, and no way to navigate the damn sub towards help.
He'd go back to the COI. Even if they lied and it meant being back in a cell. The Black box was gone, hopefully that meant it had made its way to them. Hopefully it was worth it, because all that was left for him was a slow, painful death. Maybe he could speed up the process? The scar tissue over his stump is thin and raw, he doesn't think it would be hard to tear it open again, and then at least bleeding out would be faster than slowly suffocating as his air runs out.
He's debating it, laying curled on the floor with the pendant clasped against his heart. The radio buzzes quietly above him, he hadn't had the energy to turn it off after begging for help from anyone, and eventually breaking down as the hopelessness of his situation settled in. It's the only sound other than his breathing.
Then there's a heavy clang and his vessel lurches dangerously. He's not proud to admit it, but he screams like a frightened child, scrambling until he's pressed to the front of the sub, between the hull and the steering hub. A high pitched whine escapes him, heart thudding rapidly in his chest and breathing coming in quick bursts as the sub is dragged upwards at an angle, he can see the depth monitor and coordinates shifting rapidly in the corner of his eye.
What's happening? What's causing this? Why?? Is it the COI?? Maybe they heard him on the radio? Maybe they just- couldn't respond? Some receiving equipment or whatever damaged?
Or- fuck, what if it's the monster again? Or something else that wants to kill or- or absorb him?? He hates to admit it, but that honestly seems more likely.
He flinches as a crackle comes in over the radio. There's a strange melodic sound, some sort of- of crooning? A chuff here and there? He whines again, the COI theory looking less and less likely by the second.
He's dragged up and up and up and suddenly- suddenly he's weightless. He shrieks, scrambling for the bolted down chair and clinging to it tightly. The hull groans dangerously and there's strange, dulled noises all around him. Then… nothing. A long, stretching moment where there is no sound and no movement.
The port hole is pried open above him.
_-_-_-_-_
“Commander, our sensors indicate the vessel is heavily irradiated. It seems to be originating from a device attached to the front of the ship.”
“Hm… have a robot remove it and place it in lead sealed containment. Then pump some astrophage into the atmospheric stabilizing chamber to absorb the worst of it from the vessel. I want the extraction team to be wearing full protective gear, and then immediate decontamination upon retrieval.”
“Yes Commander.”
They work efficiently, only daring to approach when the sensors show a significant decrease in radiation levels. Clearly, this human was also sent to die, for there is no way to open the vessel without pulling it apart. So, that is what they do, prying open a weak point at the end of it.
The human makes a high pitched sound of terror as soon as it sees them and they cringe away slightly. Still, it is clearly injured - why, it's missing a limb! Grace was very firm on the fact that humans are supposed to have two walking limbs and two grasping limbs, and this one only has one! - and it is absolutely filthy, coated in a dried, flaky substance like the rest of the vessel.
Medic goes in first, making low noises that are supposed to be soothing, but it doesn't seem to have the intended effect on it.
“Clear the entryway and a path to the radiation recovery pod. We don't have translation software, so guiding the human there is probably the easiest option.” They call, and the extraction team is quick to obey.
The human notices – sees, most likely – that they have moved out of the way, and seems to decide fleeing is the best course of action. They use the pipes around the sub to propel themself forward and launches out of the hole, scrambling for hand holds in the chamber as they try to escape.
They fling themselves straight into the chamber, crashing against the clear wall far too rapidly. Many Eridians wince, that had to have hurt.
The airlock closes behind it and it makes a ragged, animalistic sound of terror as the chamber is guided into the ship towards the medical bay. They slot it into its gap, making sure it's secure and the astrophage lines are flowing where they encircle it, and immediately move to decontaminate.
_-_-_-_-_
Simon whimpers quietly. He was right, more monsters. Monsters that herded him into some sort of cell and left him there in the dark. They're some sort of… massive, stone-like, five-limbed spiders. He's only ever read about spiders, but that's the closest thing he can think of, and there's a lot of them.
At least he could see these ones. Even if only for that brief moment of dim lighting. These ones seem more strategic, and that frightens him. Like pack hunters.
He doesn't know how long he's alone, curled and floating near the far end of whatever room he's in. He'd felt his way around the cramped space, and it's only about half the size of the sub, with smooth walls and warm channels running in stripes all around it.
Eventually, the creatures come back, a wall in front of the room sliding away. One of them has some sort of bag? He can't make out the details in the dim, brownish light filtering in. He snarls as it presses a series of buttons and another points a- a gun of some kind at him, and he goes rigid, eyes wide. It flares with light and he cries out, flinching away both at the sudden pain in his eyes and the terror of what that means.
They sing to each other again, and as he blinks the spots out of his vision, he sees one gesturing with the gun. It has some sort of plate on the end? They seem to be discussing something on it.
He doesn't understand, none of this makes sense! He snarls again as the first tries to enter, trying to puff himself up to be as intimidating as possible, though he knows he wouldn't win a fight. They sing again, and slowly back away, though the panel stays open this time. He's grateful for the light, minimal though it is. At least it's something.
_-_-_-_-_
“The astrophage appears to be working, radiation levels emitting from him have decreased significantly.”
“Him?”
“Yes, genitalia was confirmed.”
“Alright, what else?”
“He's frightened sir, and we don't currently have the translation software on board to explain the situation. He displays aggression towards any who approach, and without appropriate sedation, it's likely trying to force medical assistance anyways will be more harm than help.”
“I see. Alright, supply water and cloth to him, he may wish to drink and clean himself if the opportunity arises. Other than that, minimize direct contact, but allow him to observe. Hopefully that will help him calm down, but if not, Grace should be able to speak to him and explain upon our arrival.”
“Understood.”
“Navigation, please continue on the most direct route back to Erid, as fast as we can safely go. We do not have safe food for him on board, and there's no guarantee he will drink, nor do we know the last time he did. We have 72 hours at maximum before his body shuts down if he doesn't accept our water.”
“Understood. Estimated arrival in 58 hours and 29 minutes.”
“Grace will be pleased to have a companion, I think.”
_-_-_-_-_
Something's happening. He thinks it's been a couple of days in here, but he doesn't seem to have run out of air. They've even given him water, and when he eventually gave in and drank it, it was ecstasy. And he's not dead, so they clearly want him alive for some reason, which is… good. At least for now. But something is happening. The normally calm creatures, who skittered and drifted about in the room before him, were much more active than normal, and there were noises and small jerks all around him.
Then they approached again, this time pressing a smaller box by the door of his cell, and starting some sort of… equalization process. He snarled and loomed half heartedly, exhaustion from hunger and lack of sleep weighing heavily upon him. Eventually, the door opened into the new space, but fuck no and fuck them! He wasn't going to- to willingly put himself into some sort of- of- whatever that was! A fancy dinner plate, probably!
They tried to coax him in, but he stubbornly drifted himself to the back of the cell. After a while, they seemed to give up, closing the door again and undoing the seal around the smaller box to take it away. He smirked slightly. Suckers.
His victory did not last long, as the cell jolted around him and began to move. He yelped slightly and started swearing at them. Spitting vitriol and empty threats and beating against the walls even as- even as gravity returned, and he stumbled to his feet. Even as his knees buckled as it seemed heavier than normal. That was- that was probably just exhaustion talking. Exhaustion and too long spent floating, forgetting how everything was supposed to feel.
The exhaustion won over his rage eventually, and he just… sat there. Arm wrapped around his knees and face buried in the filthy material of his pants.
He just… hopes it'll be quick.
_-_-_-_-_
“GRACE!!”
Grace sighed slightly. There goes my quiet afternoon, he thinks wryly and with no small amount of fondness. He looks away from the waves breaking on the shore towards Rocky, who is-
Who is coming to him at a frankly alarming rate. The Eridian races towards him, stumbling slightly through the sandy terrain.
“Rocky? What-”
“Grace!! It is an emergency!!”
He's on his feet instantly. “What's going on??”
“Human!”
His baffled silence must speak for itself, because Rocky lets out a truly exasperated sound, even as his radiators rush with his increased exertion. “Exploration Vessel Blip-B7 found a HUMAN!”
“WHAT?? That's not- it can't be-”
“It is! It is true! Found on the fringes of the system!”
“How did-? All the way out HERE-?”
“We do not know. He is alive and being brought here now, that is all I have been told.”
Grace doesn't wait for more before he himself is stumbling up the sandy hill towards the large air lock. He arrives just in time to see the cell being put down and freezes at the sight of the trembling, curled up man.
"Holy Moly, guys, did you explain ANYTHING to him?? Where the heck did you find him??"
_-_-_-_-_
Simon's head shoots up, eyes wide at a HUMAN voice saying HUMAN words. He's scrambling to his feet, even as the fucking BOX he's being carried in is set down on the- the sand?? And rocks?? That shouldn't be- what??
The man is already rambling a hundred words a second as he fiddles with the controls, getting the box opened, and Simon-
That's air! Cool and fresh and with the slightest smell of minerals to it. His gaze drifts and- that's WATER. Tons of it! Lapping at the shore like he's only ever seen in old history videos! He doesn't understand, that shouldn't be possible!
He doesn't really process all of what the man is saying until he goes silent.
"Hey..." the man says gently, and Simon's gaze snaps back to him. "Hey," he repeats, "It's alright. How about we get you cleaned up and- and maybe some food? Have you eaten?"
Simon's heaving for breath – when did he start panting? – as he stares at the slowly outstretched hand in front of him. He snarls, charging forward. The man is so startled that he's easily shoved aside, and God, why does he feel so heavy? He makes it a good several feet away and picks up a fist sized rock, holding it threateningly as he whips around to glare at the man and the- the freaky rock-spider-monster THINGS.
"Who the fuck are you?? Where the FUCK. AM. I??”
The man waves aside the monster that was hovering – fussing?? – over him, and gets back up slowly. He gives Simon another searching look, even as he's waving all of the monsters away, shooing most of them back the way they came.
"My name is Ryland Grace. This is my biosphere on the planet Erid. It's designed to be hospitable for human life. Water, breathable air, light... the works. Who are you? How did you- How did you GET this far from Earth?" He sounds slightly awestruck, but Simon's brow pinches. Earth? Earth has been gone for DECADES, along with everything else. He wasn't even born yet when it happened.
"What the fuck are you talking about? Earth is GONE. Are you with the COI? What IS this?? What are those- those THINGS??"
The man looks... the only word Simon can find to explain it is shattered. "Gone?" He whispers hoarsely. "Earth is GONE?"
Simon... lowers the rock. Just a little bit. Liars exist, sure, definitely, but that reaction was so... immediate. So genuinely gutted. "Yeah? Where the fuck have YOU been? The quiet rapture happened before I was even born. Y'know, all the stars died? Everything habitable is gone? Or..." he glances around, "or we thought it was."
The man - Grace? Right? - wheezes and shakes himself, eyes squeezing briefly shut. "Ok..." he whispers, then louder, "Ok. I don't know what the COI is. I'm- I was with the Petrova Project; Project Hail Mary? I left Earth, um... about 30 years ago? Spent 27 of those in space, but only experienced about 10 of them, because relativity, y'know? And I was comatose for a little over 4 of them... and I've been here for about 3? Like I said, this is the planet Erid. Of the 40-Eridani star system? And those are Eridians. The- er, natives of this planet. They built this place for me, after I helped save their star from astrophage."
"...Astrophage?”
Now the man looks confused again, brow furrowing. "Er, yeah. Y'know, the star-eater? Found a way to reverse the effects of it, but I guess... I guess the Beetles I sent with the Taumeba solution didn't make it back to Earth after all. Sorry... Sorry about that."
A star eater? That sounds like... like it could be... Simon's eyes blow wide and his jaw drops. "You STOPPED the quiet rapture here?? How- How far away is this place from AT-5?" To not even know this place EXISTS... either the COI and Eden have no idea this place is here, or they've been LYING.
"The quiet-? Is that what they called it? Um, I don't know what AT-5 is. Sorry."
One of the monsters - Eridians? - makes a series of crooning noises, and the man tilts his head at it.
"...A rogue moon covered in thick liquid?"
More of the strange musical noises that have become far more common to hear than he'd like the past few days.
"Very rough texture- RED? Thick, red liquid- like BLOOD?? That can't be right‐”
Music.
"What do you MEAN it APPEARED OUT OF NOWHERE?? Celestial bodies don't just DO THAT??"
Music.
"Just- nothing and then POOF? You checked that it wasn't hiding in another orbit first, right? Then... wormhole theory maybe??" He frowns and turns to Simon, expression sharp and analytical. Simon feels a shiver coarse up his spine. That look has never boded well for him.
"What exactly is this 'quiet rapture?' And when did it happen?
Simon eyes him warily for a moment. "...The Quiet Rapture happened a little over 45 years ago. Everything... EVERYTHING just... vanished. Every star, every planet and moon and ASTEROID that could possibly be habitable just... vanished. All at once, the entire visible universe went dark. The only people left alive were the few who were on space stations and ships. I was born from those survivors.”
Grace looked briefly horrified before he considered it, then his eyes blew wide and all the blood drained from his face. "Oh, Holy Shit... The Filament Disaster." Simon twitched at the name, and Grace knew then that he was right. "A-About 10 years before Astrophage was even NOTICED, there was this big, mysterious disaster. I think- 5 stations and a few ships that were in the asteroid belt near Mars just VANISHED. It's part of why Ares 3 had to evacuate so quickly and why Mark Watney had no one to come get him when he was stranded on Mars, all the support stations were just - gone! Vanished without a trace! Hundreds of personnel disappeared with no explanation! All astronauts were immediately called back to Earth while an investigation was underway, but nothing was ever found. It was eventually just accepted that some sort of systems failure must have resulted in the crafts being torn apart and the debris absorbed into the asteroid belt, but if what you're saying is true..." his voice fell to a whisper and the stone Simon was barely holding onto fell from his grasp. "Then it wasn't the universe that vanished... it was us..." He finished.
Grace nodded carefully. "I think you... jeez, this is unbelievable," he combed his fingers through his hair. "It must be some sort of wormhole situation. I don't know if you were in an alternate universe or pocket dimension or just in some sort of astronomical VOID- maybe surrounded by dark matter? That could theoretically block outside light from view but- gosh, I’m not any sort of physicist, I just- wow. Wow." He exhaled sharply then looked back up at Simon. "Hey, we can... we don't have to figure this out right now. You look like you need a bath, a big, warm meal, and about a year of sleep. How does that sound?"
Truthfully that sounded... REALLY nice. Nicer than Simon thought he'd ever have. And all at once as the last dredges of adrenaline left him, he felt beyond exhausted. Truthfully, he felt like he was on the verge of death. His limbs felt like they weighed 100 pounds and his stomach cramped tightly at the thought of food and he wanted to sleep so badly.
"Yeah..." he croaked out, throwing caution to the wind and deciding that if this is a set up, a trap, he'll just have to deal with those consequences later. "Yeah, that sounds good.”
The blonde man smiled brilliantly. Simon doesn’t think he’s seen a smile that bright in… ever, maybe. “Great. Great, good, that’s- yeah. This way?” He gestures back over his shoulder and Simon follows the line of his gesture. There’s an oddly shaped building on top of a- God, that’s a hill. He’s never seen a hill before. He nods his agreement and skirts warily around the remaining two monsters and the damn box to follow him. Grace leads the way, going rather slow, actually. In any other situation, he would be annoyed at that, but he’s just so tired, and everything feels so heavy. There’s a whirring sound as they enter, and Simon snaps his head over with a jolt.
“What the actual fuck is that??” He demands as Grace puts a hand on the thing to nudge it away.
“This is Armando! He’s my medical robot.” Is his cheerful reply, and Simon boggles. The sheer resources it would take to build something like, nevermind keep it operational? Just who is this guy? Or, maybe resources are more abundant in this universe? He’s still not entirely sure he buys that story, but it’s the best he’s got for now.
He watches as Grace pats the robot one more time before retreating into a kitchen. It’s… much better stocked than any other kitchen he’s ever seen. Both with equipment and the sheer abundance of food packets. “That’s… a lot of food.” Just how many other people are here to justify that much?
“It is! The Eridians have been very generous and synthesized me all sorts of goodies. The first they mastered – after basic survival vitamins and glucose – of course was actually dairy, believe it or not. I suppose it makes sense, milk is just fat lipids and nutrients, so making a slurry of those with the right ratios probably wasn’t too hard. From there, cheeses and creams and yogurts galore! We should probably start you out with something easy on the stomach. When did you last eat, what was it, and how much of it?”
Simon eyed him somewhat warily as he tried to absorb all of that. “Uhh… A nutrient ration bar. Like. A week ago. I think.”
Grace whipped back around to him. “A week? Jeez, you have gotta be starving! Ok, ok, definitely something easy on the stomach then. I’ve still got some nutrient slurry, it doesn’t taste great, but we don’t want to deal with you getting sick if anything is too rich. Goodness, sit down, will you? A week without food, while injured, in double gravity? It’s a wonder you haven’t passed out!”
Well. At least I was right about everything feeling too heavy. He cautiously eases himself into a chair while Grace stirs some sort of thick powder into a cup of water. He puts a straw in and holds it out to him. “Here, but drink it slowly. I’ll go find the starvation recovery guides from when I first got here – though you’re in better shape than I was so we can start you way further along in the process – but we should follow a diet plan, at least until you recover.”
Simon eyes it warily. “...You first.” Grace blinks and comprehension flashes across his face. His smile is softer now, but it seems no less genuine as he nods and takes a drink. When he doesn’t seem immediately off, Simon slowly accepts the glass.
It’s bitter with an odd, sweet undertone. Almost salty too, just a little. He’s certainly had worse though, so he doesn’t voice any complaints. Grace just… watches him, and Simon’s skin prickles uneasily. “What?” he snarls, curling in on himself, “Waiting for me to attack you?”
Grace blinks, and hurries back several paces immediately, diverting his gaze to anywhere else. “No! No, nonono, not at all! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare, that was so rude of me, again, I’m so so sorry! I just- I- Well, I…” He sighs and drags a hand down his face, knocking his glasses (glasses! This guy is rich enough for glasses!) askew. “It’s been… a long time since I’ve seen another human.”
He shakes his head and hurries into another room, calling over his shoulder as he goes. “I’ll just go grab those logs for you real quick! We can probably start you on some brown rice - turns out I had just enough viable grains to start a germination process, alongside a few other things. A bunch of different beans! Lentils and stuff, too. Turns out a bag of 15 Bean Soup is like… almost entirely viable seeds, so even though I was literally starving to death, I’m really glad I didn’t eat those in space. It means I get a lot more diet variety now, that’s for sure. There was actually a whole seed stock aboard the Hail Mary! Dozens of crops! I guess when Stratt said every possible available resource she meant it. I’m no botanist, but I’d say my greenhouse is at least slightly brag worthy!”
“You have a greenhouse?” Is his first quiet question to all of that when Grace returns, flicking through a tablet. Grace looks up and beams. “Yeah! We can go once you’ve eaten and gotten all cleaned and rested, if you want! I try to check on it daily, anyways. Oh, sorry, um, if you don't mind, I kinda asked earlier, but we got, y'know, understandably distracted- anyways, ah. What's your name?”
He looks eager as he waits, practically bouncing in place with contained excitement. When was the last time someone asked him for his name? When was the last time someone bothered? Should he tell him? Would it be wiser to keep that to himself for now? What if this is another illusion? What if-
"It's... Simon."
"Simon," Grace says, sounding ridiculously pleased, and he feels a shiver crawling up his spine. "It's- It's really nice to meet you, Simon."
Simon feels like he’s in a bit of a daze after that. Grace offers him a bowl of rice – rice! He hasn’t had rice since he was a little kid! – and it tastes so good, even though Grace says it’s just plain. He’s led to a small room with a toilet and stall, and showed how to operate the heating dials – warm water is an actual option! – And he’s not just given a small basin and a rag, he’s given a chair to sit in under warm, cascading water! For as long as he wants!
“I’ll go get you a towel and some clean clothes for afterwards!” Ryland informs cheerily. “You’re pretty beat up and clearly tired, not that I blame you. Do you… need or want any help? I promise not to look more than necessary.”
Simon blinks slowly at him, sluggish mind struggling to keep up. (Evidently, as soon as his subconscious categorized this man as Safe Enough, all energy devoted to staying alert was diverted to things more important, like his blessedly warm and full stomach, and the desire to sleep above all else.) “Oh,” he responds at last, and shrugs half heartedly. “It- I mean. I.” modesty is a form of privacy, something that hasn’t been a privilege afforded to him in years now. “It’s whatever. Same bits, I guess. Just… Try not to reopen things, or whatever.”
“Alright,” he agrees, and ducks out to go retrieve the aforementioned supplies. When he returns, he’s discarded the baggy pants and jacket, leaving him in only his t-shirt and a loose pair of underwear. That’s fair enough, he supposes as Grace helps him out of his ruined clothes and into the shower chair. If he’s going to get dirty and soaked anyways, why suffer through extra layers? Grace pulls off some sort of nozzle to run beside them and fiddles with the knobs, prompting Simon to put his hand into the spray until he likes the temperature. It ends up being sort of lukewarm, and shivers at the sensation as Grace directs it to run down his back.
“Too cold?”
“No. ‘s nice.”
Grace hums quietly in acknowledgement and gets to work, starting with a thorough rinse off to get the worst of the clinging blood and filth, then moving up to his head. Simon tenses for a moment as his fingers slide into his hair, coaxing the matted locks apart and working the water in as thoroughly as possible, but is quickly fighting the urge to go absolutely boneless. Grace is gentle, as promised, but the pressure of his fingers is firm and blissful as he massages his scalp. He almost whines at the loss as the hands disappear, but only for a moment as a squirting sound and clean scent fill the air and he opens an eye – when had he closed them? – to peak. The shower head is back in its fixture on the wall, spraying over both of them, and Grace is putting down a bottle, a puddle of gel cupped in one hand that he lathers. Soap. He has actual, real soap. Maybe even the special kind for hair that his mother used to use.
He closes his eyes again as his hands return, scrubbing it in carefully. The process is repeated thrice more, each time the water running more clearly. It’s… blissful, and Simon stops resisting the urge to lean his forehead against Grace’s stomach. God, when was the last time he got to feel something even remotely like this? The warmth and presence of another person close to him, trusting him with access to their vitals? Feeling the rise and fall of breathing against his face? Nevermind while he’s being so lavishly doted upon.
Once no more gray or pink saturates the rinse, Grace moves on, lathering more of that soap onto a rag and swiping it carefully along his shoulders. He’s apologetic as he moves away, once he’s reached everything he can from his position as Simon’s standing pillow, but Simon is too out of it to register the mumbling as anything other than background noise. Still, he allows himself to be gently nudged and tugged about, twitching a little in ticklish dismay as the bottoms of his feet and between his toes are cleaned, too. Eventually, Grace coaxes him to stand and spread his legs a little, pressing the sudsy cloth into his palm and both of his warm – so, so warm, almost burning, feels like brands – hands held against his ribs. Simon obeys the gentle command to clean his own privates gratefully, even as Grace averts his eyes and helps keep him up. Once he’s done and drops the cloth onto the floor, Grace rinses him and the chair one more time and sets him down in it, finally turning off the shower.
He tries not to mourn the loss of warmth as it shuts off and Grace moves away, but he doesn’t have to for long. A large, soft towel – has he ever felt fabric this soft? This thick? Everything he’s ever known was already long worn and ragged – is wrapped around him. Grace- no. No, at least for now, at least until this dream breaks, he deserves to be called by his first name. What was it? He mumbles out the question and the second, smaller towel on his head stops squeezing out the water in his hair.
“Sorry Simon, one more time?”
“Wha’surn’me?” He mumbles again, only slightly more coherent, but he is apparently understood this time, because the hands on his head resume their gentle motions. “Ryland. Ryland Grace.” Simon sighs contentedly and leans more firmly against his torso. “Ryland…”
A small shiver wracks the taller man’s frame, but he barely notices it, too lost in the haze of warmth and comfort and exhaustion. A comb eventually enters the equation, delicately teasing out the knots and matting that can be undone – some distant part of his mind acknowledges that a blade will be needed for the worst of it later – and then he’s being coaxed into standing and stepping into a pair of clean underwear and the softest pair of pants he’s ever felt. Forget the towels, these must be the softest material in the universe.
“I’d like Armando to have a look at your wounds before you sleep, especially your arm. I can bandage up most of your cuts and all, but I’m not sure where to even begin with an amputation injury. Is that ok?” Ryland’s voice is still soft and Simon nods jerkily, allowing himself to be guided into the main space again. He’s sat down on a stool next to the thing and flinches away as it whirs to life. “Armando, add a new patient to the database. Name: Simon. Status: left arm amputee, malnourished, suffering residual radiation poisoning, potential other unknown ailments.”
“Confirmed,” the arms chime emotionlessly, “beginning diagnostic and treatment.”
Ryland stays close, thank God. He doesn’t protest as Simon grips his damp shirt in an iron grip, just keeping a steady hand on his shoulder blade as the thing whirs around him, spraying disinfectant spray and bandaging, well, everything. He feels almost more bandage than person by the time the arms retract with a parting instruction to administer a potassium iodide tablet once daily by mouth to clear up residual radiation in his body.
He’s once more coaxed to his feet and stumbles as he’s led into yet another room. He looks around blearily and is promptly stunned still at the sight of the bed. It’s massive, and so thick! Covered in pillows and blankets, too. Only the thinnest mattresses were afforded to him and his mother when he was a child, and he wasn’t granted so much as a ragged sheet after being convicted by the COI.
Ryland tugs the edge of the blankets back and settles him – jeez, when had he started leaning so heavily on him? – into the bed, guiding his legs up and leaning him back against the pillows. Simon couldn’t suppress the quiet whimper as he sunk into the softness. God, this was- he couldn’t- God.
“Anything else you need?”
Simon grunted in the negative. He thinks this might be Heaven. Would that make Ryland an angel? That would make sense. His Saving Grace. He doesn’t know what he could have done to earn an angel, he’d actually rather expected the opposite, if anything at all. But his skin is still tingling pleasantly from the pampering touches given earlier, and his aches have all diminished into a dull background, and everything is so, so soft. It’s the only explanation that makes sense, really. Nobody is ever this kind in real life.
“Ok. Ok, I’m glad. There’s some water on the stand here if you want it, I’ll just take one of these blankets and go pass out on the couch, alright? Holler if you need me.”
Simon musters an enormous amount of will to open his eyes at that. “What? No.”
“Pardon?” His angel looks confused, one hand holding the edge of a blanket half dangling off the edge anyways.
“Bed’s fucken huge,” he rasps, flopping his arm over the open expanse to his left before letting it fall back onto his chest, “Don’ need allathat space. Not- not gonna kick you out. ‘S yours, innit?”
“Well, yes, but- I mean- I figured you wouldn’t-”
He groans a little and lets his eyes slip closed. “Fine, do whachu wan’... ‘m too damn tired to argue.”
There’s silence for a moment, then retreating footsteps, and Simon feels a stab of disappointment he doesn’t really know how to explain. Somewhere nearby, he vaguely registers the sound of wet fabric flopping onto something and more rustling, but whatever shreds of energy he had left to process or do anything really were lost to his brief outburst. Then the bed dips beside him.
He manages to crack one eye to see the blurry form of Ryland – now in dry, equally soft looking clothes – climbing onto the other side of the bed. That surge of disappointment is swiftly replaced by an equally as odd feeling of happiness, though, again, he’s not really sure why. Still, that last little piece of tension keeping him awake leaves him as Ryland settles half upright beside him, tablet in hand, and everything fades away.