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It was quite a nice morning in Grace's book. The soft cries of seabirds drifted from somewhere beyond his small private stretch of beach, and the waves lapped silently against the sandy shore. Yes, a perfect morning. Perhaps a little early, not even 5 a.m. Earth time, but the magnetic pull of the fog lured him from the warm comfort of his home and Armando's charming company to the wet, cold shore.
So there Ryland Grace was, the only human for miles and miles around, bundled up in a faded blue felt jacket that belonged to someone else. It wasn't a tight fit, because it obviously hadn't been tailored for him, and the morning chill had no trouble seeping into Grace's bones where the fabric wasn't covering his skin. He didn't mind the cold, to be honest. It was refreshing, soothing even. Something tangible that could hold his thoughts, no matter how sluggish these little buggers were.
With a quiet sigh, the scientist eyed the milky mist once more, for the sixth time in this short session of his. He inhaled, twirled the small plastic object he had brought with him between his fingers, and exhaled. Closed his eyes, trying to calm his thoughts. Recalled his mission, still fresh in his mind. And its bittersweet success. Rinse and repeat.
By any measure, Ryland Grace's morning should have been pleasant, just like most mornings he had here. For some reason though, this current morning was different. The mood had shifted from the slightly bustling domesticity he'd earned to something somber. Slow. It hung in the air like an unspoken phrase, something long forgotten. Grace sighed softly, rubbing his face with a free hand to shake off the fatigue and focus on what that unspoken phrase was. If he had to pinpoint it…
"Focus up, space cowboy.”
There was a hint of humor in your voice, just enough to avoid sounding reproachful. If he hadn't been busy fiddling with his helmet's lock, Grace would have shot you a grin. In fact, he did just that, pausing his ministrations long enough to smile at you. It came out more worried than cheeky.
"I’m serious! You better make it quick, Grace. In and out, limbs intact and collector in hand, got it?" Your fingers were hovering over the primary flight displays, face turned away from him. The blue jacket, NASA embroidery and space-themed patches on every surface, stood in stark contrast to the soft green glow of the approaching planet. Your shoulders were set.
Grace thought he'd known you long enough to say that with certainty: beneath the layers of protective walls and professionalism, there was nervousness. For the first time in forever, you resembled the image Grace had pieced together from your brief interactions on Earth. Back then, you were nothing more than an ace pilot on a suicide mission. Always so professional, like you had a stick up your butt, Grace swore he heard you grind your teeth every time someone from the neighboring flight unit asked a stupid question. The scientist only learned that it was a defense mechanism after you confided in him in the bar one evening, aboard the Stratt’s aircraft carrier. You were slightly tipsy and lacking that deadly serious resolve, and he could finally put his guard down after you barked a laugh at one of his awkward jokes.
Granted, that was after you scared the heck out of him just a few days prior. He remembered trying to spark a conversation with you in the halls, and you whipped your head to look at him so violently that Grace tripped on his shoelaces and smacked his face into the metal wall.
"Remember what I told you, you take longer than ten minutes and I'm pulling us out, tether be damned." There it was, the ace pilot in you speaking.
"What, scared for me, pilot-engineer?" he chimes back, checking and re-checking equipment. Rocky whistled something about words of great encouragement. You were still not looking at him. Grace knew you didn’t mean it like that; it's a defense mechanism. When you get nervous, you make a show of being irritated by his smartass behavior; in turn, he makes a show of being offended by your comments. It’s a good old song and dance, except-
"...Just come back safe, Ryland." It came out so quiet, he had to pause to hear it mid-fiddling with the space suit. In the process, he dropped the helmet straight on his leg and yelped something non-expletive. Before he could call you out- "Approaching Tau Ceti-E. Status: optimal."
Right. He'll ask about that later. Now it's time go fishing.
If you were to recall it, everything was going along swimmingly before. And by "swimmingly”, you meant "teetering on the brink of disaster at every turn." Like all good things are. Frankly, the start had been promising: from Rocky weaving a long enough xenonite chain to launch his taumoeba harvester into Adrian's atmosphere, to you teaching Ryland how to operate most of the ship without breaking anything, just in case. So, most of the plan went along well until the both of you started arguing on who's going outside to collect the "lure". The fool of a man was going to risk his life, a very precious life of the only toot-and-scoot-star-eating-thing scientist, mind you, on going outside into the incredibly dangerous environment to reel in a glorified hexagon full of alien bacteria.
You protested, huffing at Grace's attempts to make it seem like a good idea. Honestly, if it weren't for Rocky's timely encouragement, you'd just stuff the man into the cockpit and go have a refreshing night of fishing yourself. Being the only capable pilot be damned; your stomach began to twist unpleasantly every time you imagined Grace on the hull, and the million things that could go wrong with him. Alas, it was two against one, and you had to relent, drawing out an exasperated whine. "Ugh, fine! You win, but if you waste more than ten minutes on this, I'll fly us out without a warning."
The way Grace gasped indignantly and dropped the miniature volleyball he'd been playing with a moment ago had you snickering aloud. He immediately started sputtering something while you tried to explain to the exasperated rock alien that no, you would never just fly off without the scientist you both knew and loved, it's a joke, please stop freaking out. You graciously skipped over the part where a deep sense of dread, perhaps for the first time in a long while, settled into your bones. This plan had no room for error; a smallest mistake and Grace gets his puppy-eyed self ejected into the superheated atmosphere, never to be seen again. The humanity would not survive that. Neither you nor Rocky would recover. And in all truth, you wouldn't forgive yourself. So perfection was the only way out of the "fishing" situation.
You really hoped your face didn't betray your thoughts.
A heavy feeling washed over you then, and you leaned back in the plastic chair, crossing your arms in a quick, habitual motion. The weight hung over your head like an invisible sword of Damocles. Ryland was already busy explaining the finer points of humor to Rocky, thankfully oblivious to your frowning, yearning gaze. Damn it, keep it together! You'll inflate his ego even more, and then where will you be?
Hopefully in a better place than you ended up in.
The situation went from "going along swimmingly" to "oh, we're in deep shhhhi-iiingles", as Grace would have put it if he'd been around and or conscious. Honestly, you would have appreciated his clumsy attempt at humor or definitely-not-nervous chatter right about now. Anything but that disorienting, unrelenting ringing in your ears that prevented any other sounds from penetrating its thick wall. Hell, you'd rather have Rocky's hysterics and his translator software screaming, "BAD! BAD! BAD! ROCKY DIE. GRACE ROCKY FRIEND DIE. GRACE DIE."
You know what? Actually, let’s skip over that part. The timeline of events that replayed itself over and over in your oxygen-starved mind was hectic enough without it. You let out a pained groan and tried once more to tear your face away from the cracked displays in front of you. If this is happening to you, imagine what Grace must be going through!
Grace. As Rocky so eloquently put it, the scientist had gone off on his little fishing trip, leaving you alone with the task of keeping the ship afloat in Adrian's atmosphere, eyes glued to the displays. You'd never admit to being nervous, absolutely not. However, you were extremely concerned that Grace would be heading there in a few minutes after your brief chat.
"Come on, old girl, you've gotten us this far." Your hand smoothed over the surface of the numerous panels in front of you, trying to calm your nerves and strike up a casual conversation with the Hail Mary. She didn't answer, more's the pity.
Honestly, you were doing pretty good for yourself for a while. Flying the ship backwards was no easy task, but years of training had helped you and your rocky navigator maneuver just low enough to get the samples. That is, until Grace was knocked off his feet by debris and almost fell off the ship trying to get that damn box.
It all went down like a lead balloon. The ship began to lose altitude. You couldn't lift off, despite your earlier reprimands to Grace: there was no way you would do that without risking his life. The thought alone made you want to hurl yourself out of the airlock. Your grip on the manual controls turned your knuckles white with tension as the planet's colorful aurora rose around the burning spaceship. Cursing under your breath, you’d sent Rocky to catch the heavily breathing and concussed molecular biologist as soon as he threw himself back into the airlock with a loud clang.
Space fisherman secured, now came the time to get the hell out of dodge. Your hands pulled the joysticks as Mary groaned and fought its way out of the atmosphere. You were going to tear Ryland a new one after you were done dragging the three of you out of here. You were going to collapse and cry about how you almost lost him right after, if you were allowed that luxury.
Your fingers tapped on the telemetry screens fervently while Rocky was busy bumping his xenonite ball against Grace's wobbly legs in the airlock, urging them both to come back to the helm. Hopefully they were both safe if shaken, because you were too busy scrambling with the controls to ask over the intercom. It didn't matter. The pilot was getting them out of here. You were getting them out of here.
Per aspera ad astra.
In your mind's eye, the next few minutes were a blur, a perfect cocktail of everything that had gone wrong. The briefest moment of weightlessness. A breach in the astrophage tank hull. A sudden, violent change in direction and the pull of gravity as Tau Ceti-E locked you from escaping its atmosphere. The debris, which struck the side of the ship with enough force to send Mary into a downward trajectory despite your best efforts to avoid just that. Both your crewmates plummeted somewhere outside the cockpit and you were flung backward against the communication array. It flashed blindingly white, no doubt breaking something in the intercoms. But you didn't have time to check: the intense pull of the centrifuge yanked brutally at the pilot’s seatbelts and threw you, already concussed and discombobulated, against the panels. The sickening crack of your face coming into contact with them rang out clearly before you could do anything to snap off the artificial gravity.
This was bad. No, this was terrible.
The pull was grueling, its relentless pressure on your body a sign of physics' superiority over man. You reached out once and once again, shaking fingers just short of snapping the final lever. You couldn't take in any oxygen, and it...was starting to look like a futile effort, all things considered. By this point, it was becoming quite clear that you wouldn't escape with just a broken nose.
Your body, normally a well-oiled machine, was failing you in real time. Bits and pieces going numb here and there, like light bulbs exploding in the hallway in one of those cheesy horror movies Ryland insisted you watch. In your delirium, your mind began to imagine pop-up error messages as if mirroring Hail Mary's sorry state. An imaginary robotic voice recited the lines, exacerbating your already dire mental state. Error. Lungs not working. Concussion detected. Broken ribs, detected. Remaining power: 15%. Two minutes until shutdown. It would have been so dramatic if the lives of two other crewmates hadn't weighed on you as heavily as the gravitational pull of a gas planet. Adrian still refused to let go of you with Ryland's catch, like a giant fish ready to drag the fisherman down with it.
Ryland. Somewhere out there, the poor man and your shared interstellar friend were probably dying to your negligence. You needed to get your act together, post-haste.
So you struggled. Against the fatigue, suffocation, and the planet's gravity, struggled trying to reach those damn switches that were still too far away, your fingertips barely touching the smooth, hot plastic. As if you could defy the laws of physics and give them a fat middle finger while at it. It wasn't happening, and your hand was about to fall limply to your side as you resigned yourself to the inevitable.
And then you heard it, through the roar of blood in your ears and the blaring warnings of the onboard computers about a low-altitude signal. A distant, inhuman screech somewhere in the many rooms of the aircraft. It snapped your synapses into focus, zeroing in on Rocky's panicked whistles. Both of them were still out there, the weight of the lives that would save the universe hanging on your shoulders precariously.
Another scared screech rang out through the Hail Mary, computer voice ringing out a loud "GRACE!" that rendered your soul apart.
Something inside your cracked ribcage tightened like a bowstring, then snapped. Adrenaline surged like a tidal wave, pushing back the darkening haze before your eyes. With a violent push of newfound strength, you threw out your hand one more time, fingers finally coming into contact with the centrifugal controls and slamming them down with a brutal force. Outside, the world still looked like a green blur as the damaged parts of the Hail Mary flew off with a hiss, easing off the pull towards the planet. Finally, you were able to tear yourself away from the consoles. The flickering screens before your eyes were now cracked and slick with blood.
There was...quite a lot of it, you now realized. It had pooled up the side of your face, hot crimson strings coming from the very broken nose and split jaw and up your ear. It would be quite disgusting if you weren't busy finally, finally pulling Hail Mary out of hell.
There was no time to contemplate anything. Adrenaline and unquenchable fire coursed through your veins as you yanked the controls so hard they threatened to tear clean off, a guttural roar escaping your abused lungs. The Hail Mary groaned and creaked, answering your animalistic call, and slingshot herself out in a wide circle.
Nothing tethered you to the seat anymore. You felt like you were in a jar of honey. An insect in amber, only the insect was you, and the amber was the absence of gravity. The world stopped and quieted down to a barely-there ringing; compressed in the claustrophobic space of the red-lit cockpit, the computers were still pointing out all the errors and damage done to the poor hull. At least there was no more awful pull and squash, and no more nausea-inducing nightmare. All that remained was the sound of blood roaring in your head and the deathly silence all around.
You drew in a shaky breath, immediately regretting it as a searing wave of pain washed over you, the adrenaline's work becoming undone. Your body slumped back against the pilot's seat, head lolling to the side from the less-than-graceful movement. Everything felt...heavy. You were tired. So very tired, actually. You were still going to chew out Grace for being so careless, but that could wait for now. He was still out there somewhere in the Hail Mary, hopefully alive.
Poor man. "No, brave man," you corrected yourself as your vision began to darken and blur around the edges, hands no longer clutching the joysticks. "The bravest man out there."
It frightened you that Grace was in no hurry to return here; he didn't even let you know he was okay, didn't freak out like a deer in headlights, and didn't try to pull you out of your seat with a shriek louder than the roar of the engines.
Damn it, you were tired. Too tired, and it wasn't doing you or your teammates any good. Your glance came up to the screen, still very much damaged by your whole face and chest striking it. Beneath all the pixels, glitches, and sticky crimson film covering the display, a digital image of Mary was visible. Shit, you'd left a significant dent in the metal and glass, something to ask Rocky if he could fix after you pull yourself out of the pilot's chair and come congratulate them both on mission success. As if you didn't almost doom the whole mission. Was it you who did that? Probably.
Somewhere on the peripheral, you could hear Rocky frantically rushing toward the cockpit in his glorified hamster ball. With a considerable effort, you tried to call out to him, but only a wheeze came out. Rocky must have been through so much already. He and Grace deserved better, you thought to yourself, sliding forward like a puppet with its strings cut. Teetering on the edge for only a moment, you fell off the chair with a dull thud, abused face and body connecting with the ground. Grace was still out there, probably hurt. You needed to get up and stop kissing the floor. Your limbs didn't get the memo.
Attempting recalibration. Error. Status: very bad. Lungs damaged. Head damaged. Ribs damaged. Feeling in legs: not detected. Residual power: 1%. ??? before shutdown.
Could this be less dramatic? Apparently your imagination runs on the same software that Hail Mary does.
The clinking of rock legs against the xenonite floors of Rocky's enclosure keeps you anchored just long enough to try and raise yourself from the ground. You need to get up. You need to congratulate Rocky on his plan working. You need to ask how Grace is. You need to check on Grace. He's out there, and you need to check if he's okay. This torment of guilt wracking your unruly body is doing nothing to soothe you.
"GRACE SECURE THE PREDATOR. WE GET OUT HERE, NOW-..." A pause, then confused clicks. You manage to crack your eyes open to sneak a glance down the hallway from your less than comfortable spot on the floor, the silent question ‘What’s the holdup?’ playing in your head. If you focused…there. A strange shimmer where there shouldn't have been anything, as if the air in the hallway had blocked Rocky from reaching the helm. You frowned: this flight deck never had a door-
Then it clicked. Shit, the entrance to the cockpit must have been blocked by the parts of the xenonite panes. You distinctly remember leaving some of them behind earlier. You and Grace were trying to extend Rocky's tunnel up to the panels so he could more easily access the payload control system. You never did finish it, leaving the steel-hard panel hanging haphazardly in the hallway. It must have crashed into the entrance and trapped you inside the flight deck when the centrifuge started. Great, just great.
Frantic clink-clink-clink outside of your field of vision. Come on, get up, you sorry sack of-
Error. Body functions insufficient. Damage too severe. Shutting down.
Your eyelids snapped open at the sound of Rocky's desperate shrieks. You must have momentarily lost consciousness, but you weren't sure. Stone claws were banging on the side of the glassy interior, chirps and whistles suddenly incomprehensible to your ears. Maybe you were just too tired to understand him by now, or maybe the translation program had broken down. You'd fix it after a brief rest, just-
Rocky was already slamming his whole body against the walls of his sphere, trying to dismantle the obstacle. Two planes of glossy material separated you, blurring the eridian's outline slightly. Unfortunately for you, even in this addled state, your hearing clearly picked up the distinctive sound of your name on his tongue - melodic and tinged with fear.
"Hey-" your voice stops his freak-out dead in its tracks. "Is...is Mr. 'I Go Fish' okay?" A chirp, and then a twirl serves as an answer from Rocky. You know the eridian won't leave his side if the situation becomes critical. Or maybe he did leave and rushed to get your help for Ryland. Poor Grace, maybe he's hurt somewhere out there. A nasty thought of ‘yet another person you've failed, great job’ surfaces and torments your rapidly fading mind, guilt digging sharp claws into the broken frame of the machine that is you.
Another frantic screech, another round of banging from the eridian. Error. Error. Shutdown imminent. Your vision blurs with unshed tears, making Rocky's silhouette even blurrier. He sings your and Grace's names in his melodic language. It tears you apart.
“...save him.” Your voice is barely audible as you look at your dear rock-spider-thing friend, losing the last of your strength. Poor Rocky lets out a distressed hum, three claws extended and pounding the wall as if trying to grab you from where you're sprawled on the ground. You press on, losing light and feeling all over. "Promise me, please?"
Rocky makes a series of whistles and shifts closer to the blockage, like he's contemplating hauling his frantic self back from where he came, turning what was supposed to be his face back and forth between you and the dark hall behind him.
"I jus’...need a lil shut-eye, youknow?" You were already slurring your words, though really you didn't need to speak clearly around such a perceptive ‘I-see-through-walls’ crew member. "It's been a long day. You watch?" A low chirping hum and a nod. Good. Good. You make the tiniest of efforts, pulling yourself up just enough to curl up against the cool surface of the wall behind you. Rocky bumps heavily against the wall separating you, pressing in as close as he could.
His frantic song pipes up again as you finally close your eyes, exhaling the air along with that languid feeling that has been lingering within you for so long.
Somewhere on Erid, years after a moment forever etched in the amber of consciousness, Ryland Grace still sat on the shore of his biodome, absentmindedly fiddling with a tiny plastic object he brought with him. The thing in his fingers seemed unfazed by these manipulations, mercifully oblivious to the way its surface was smoothed again and again by human touch. Whatever initial had once been on it was no longer visible, worn down to the smoothness of the pebbles that littered the beach where Grace sat. Truly a miracle of eridian engineering.
Grace didn't even glance at the flimsy piece of plastic he was fiddling with, instead staring out at the seemingly endless expanse of ocean. He didn't need to see it to know what it was. Just an ordinary key from one of the Hail Mary’s laptops. Heck, he still remembered how it came into his possession. Five years ago, when their merry band was stranded in space, it had simply flown into his temple. Not even an intentional happening! Grace knew that by the "Oh god DAMN it, not again!" that resonated in the lab as the suddenly airborne object clinked against the side of his face, making him do an exaggerated "ow" when it bounced off and cluttered to the ground.
"Oh that did NOT hurt and you know it," came the reply from across the room. The owner of that voice was both amused and slightly annoyed by what had just happened. Pausing their work on the laptop that housed Rocky's speech translator, they rose from their seat with a slight creak of the joints to pick up the keycap-turned-projectile.
"Oh good! It's great to know that my well-being is the least of your worries!" Grace joked back to the pilot-engineer, earning himself a disgruntled sigh. “Looks like the taumoeba research will fall on your shoulders, oh bother…”
"Want me to kiss it better?" The answer hit him like a punch in the face, causing Grace to cough just as he drew in a breath and immediately choked on it. Real smooth. The engineer-pilot-comedian was now looking directly at him, eyes crinkled with amusement as they searched his suddenly frozen expression.
"Well? C'mere then, cowboy."
"WOAH NELLY. PAUSE. WH-"
"Then pull your punches, Grace." If he wasn’t busy being flustered at the deadpan offer, he would have elbowed his lab partner in the ribs. Not too hard, of course, he wasn't that mean. And he was fond of the owner of those ribs. Besides, Rocky might notice and try to replicate that and then both of the humans on board would be in trouble. "Help me look, would you?"
Grace then had to pretend to look for the keycap for five or ten minutes in very close proximity to his search buddy. After bumping into each other with an apologetic hiss a few times, the pilot give up on the idea altogether. With a sigh of annoyance, they reached out and placed their hand on Grace's shoulder, patting it with an overly warm palm, before returning to their laptop and trying to improvise something to accommodate for the loss of a keycap. (“Do you think Rocky can wait a bit for me to come up with something? Or is he gonna be calling us ‘Grac and Grac Frind’ for the next few days? Ugh, don't answer, that's awful.”)
Their touch stayed with him for a few hours after, and he had to make sure his glasses didn't fog up whenever he replayed the gentle moment in his head. And to think, this was the same person who had scared the bejesus out of him back on Earth. The same one that looked at him with hidden adoration whenever Grace sneaked glances in turn. In all seriousness, the scientist was very proud of the fact that he had been the one to break through the protective shell of his pilot (who, by necessity, had become a pilot-engineer). And Rocky, of course. Rocky also helped a ton.
The little rascal of a key was later pointed out by Rocky, lying among the taumoeba test tubes. Grace decided to keep it for whatever reason. Not like the laptop needed it anymore, since Rocky made a new key for it right after the incident. And now this piece of plastic has turned into something like an anti-stress toy in Grace’s cold fingers.
Ryland froze, closed his eyes, and shook his blonde head. It was far too early for that. The artificial sun hasn't even risen yet to warm the air around him, and memories of the past made Grace either want to hurl the innocent plastic rectangle into the water or double over and have a much-deserved ugly cry. It had been several years since the Hail Mary mission had succeeded, and perhaps a little while since Grace had settled into his new life on Erid with Rocky's help.
He needed to come to terms with what happened, if only for his own sake. Grace has (to some extent) come to terms with everything that came before, heck! He's finally made peace with the fact that he was essentially drugged and sent on a suicide mission against his will.
So why did every time he stopped and glanced back at the spare jacket in his closet, his eyes stung like hell and his breath caught in his throat? The very same jacket that was now hugging his frame?
He knew the answer. And so did Rocky, who came to visit him every day at Grace's wonderful new home. He'd skitter in, delighted to see his beloved leaky space blob, and then tense up when he ran past Armando's little station.
There, neatly folded, it lay on the dresser. Out of the way but never truly hidden. The faded blue piece of clothing that Ryland couldn't bring himself to wear, NASA's embroidery still on the front like a tiny glimpse of the past. Even the silly patch of Snoopy in an astronaut suit was still there. Grace couldn't muster any strength to wear it. He couldn't bring himself to hide it somewhere no one could reach, either.
It didn’t belong to him. But his selfish past self had kept it, and now his current self had to live with the consequences. Thanks, brain.
His wobbly legs carried him toward the cockpit. Only a few seconds had passed since he'd woken up in med bay, but Grace was already feeling like he’d throw up from anxiety. Rocky rested in the same room as him when he came to, heavily injured but mournful even in his sleep. But you weren’t there. Where are you? Where the heck are you?
The ship's hallways flickered with the same ominous red light, and Grace stumbled through the spilled mercury that Rocky had left behind. Back to the cockpit. Where are you? He called your name, your rank. Nothing. His breath caught in his throat as he saw the cockpit entrance. Shattered xenonite, mercury- that's where Rocky had climbed out of his sphere to save him, nearly dying in the process. But why in the cockpit, why not in the airlock…
Terror settled firmly in the molecular biologist's stomach as he was forced to crouch through a hole in the glossy material. His eyes took a long time to adjust to the darkness and the flickering red light. Where are-
On the floor. A blue felt jacket, stained with dark red-
The scream that tore itself from Grace's chest echoed throughout the ship.
Ryland’s eyes stung.
By now it wasn't a mystery why he was currently fighting ugly tears. Not while twirling around the discarded keycap in his fingers. Not when your jacket hung on his shoulders like a long-forgotten embrace, flapping ever so slightly in the wind.
Grace couldn't stop long enough to properly mourn. Everything was too heavy at the time, too much responsibility. He'd spent too much time on the taumoeba, sending it back to Earth, rescuing Rocky, flying to Erid, nearly starving in the process and establishing a new home here. He hadn't stopped to think about anything but survival and logistics. It was no surprise that it all came flooding back to him now that he'd stopped running and found this new happiness. He has grieved Ilyukhina and Yáo, however briefly he knew them for. Even all his previous life, now lost. But he has not grieved you. Not fully. Not beyond the cold numbness and fat silent tears as he took your bag with him from the living quarters. Surprising, because Grace knew himself to get hit with emotion at the most inopportune times.
He muses that this is just like you. Hitting him in the metaphorical gut with the punctuality of an aircraft pilot. Not in the middle of very important work. Not in the middle of slowly going insane in the aptly named "Don't Go Crazy" room. Or even mid-conversation with Rocky about the nature of all life.
No, you were always the ticking clock out of the last two humans on Hail Mary. A calculated calm against Grace’s chaos. Like a swinging pendulum, you politely waited for the right moment when he was all alone, finally off his legs and having room to breathe. Grace would have been grateful if he hadn't felt like bursting into tears.
With a quiet, sad groan, he ran a hand over his face, knocking his glasses off his nose and letting them hang dangerously low on his chin. He wanted this wound to heal. You deserved to be remembered for more than just his grief, or because your last moments with him were spent in a small argument. Or because Grace never had the chance to ask you what you meant when he was struck by how soft those words sounded when you asked him to come back safely.
Your sacrifice in rescuing both of your charges from Adrian's atmosphere was subsequently honored by all eridians, and Rocky threw himself headfirst into doing just that after everything was set and done. Poor fella missed you something fierce. It was noble, sickeningly so, and Grace knew that if you were still there- you'd scoff and throw a humorous quip to rebuke any compliment coming your way. Christmas crackers, if he tried hard enough- he could hear your voice still, clear as day.
"...I can't believe you held onto this sorry thing for all these years."
The impression in Ryland's mind was...frighteningly accurate. Right down to your accent, down to the tired notes of your voice, which he'd last heard when he'd sent his and your logs to Stratt and Earth. He did not dare open his eyes, still burying his face in his hand, lost in the memory of the voice of his late engineer-pilot-lab partner.
"No, seriously. I'm-...uhm? Hello? Erid to Grace? Do you copy?"
Oh-kay. The voice in his head was too accurate. It was bordering on madness now; Grace could almost picture you standing next to him, arms crossed, brow furrowed, staring into the distance. The wind flinging strands of your hair all over the place, the exhaustion of the past fifteen or so years softened by the newfound peace here, on Erid. Maybe you'd kick a stone into the water, leaving ripples on the bluish-gray surface. Maybe you'd shoot him that charming, slightly crooked smile you gave him every time he and Rocky had a breakthrough.
Grace groaned and mumbled something about going crazy before even being fifty, bracing himself to get up from the frankly cold shore. He didn't risk opening his eyes yet, squeezing the faded plastic of the Hail Mary laptop's keycap between his thumb and a pointer finger.
"...I think you’d really like it here. I remember now. You loved the sea; always had such a calm expression on your face when you were out in the fresh air. Made your jaw clench less," he muttered under his breath, straightening up to stand. He had a busy day of school to prepare for, and melancholy in the middle of a beautiful morning was not exactly part of his plans.
“...I do love it here. You still won't answer the question, Doctor-Captain Ryland Grace."
With that, he fell on his ass rather disgracefully (hah), eyelids flying open in an instant. His poor glasses dropped down from his ear and into the saltwater with a tiny plop, and Grace had to spend a few awkward seconds retrieving them with a couple of non-curses dropped haphazardly here and there. When he finally retrieved and put the still-damp lenses back on, he was sure he had a crazed look on his face. Going insane in space was nothing he didn't know of. However, such vivid auditory hallucinations were something new, so he had to blink away the tears and fatigue from his eyes before he could make out the figure standing a few steps away.
There you were. Half-turned, just as he'd imagined you. The embroidered NASA jacket was missing from your shoulders, draped over Ryland's back instead, though you didn't seem to mind. In fact, you weren't even looking at him. Arms crossed over your chest, standing there, scanning the biodome's horizon. Bathed in the soft, muted light filtering through the early fog. You wore the same calm expression you had whenever you stepped onto the deck of an aircraft carrier to look out to sea, or when you paused to admire the endless ocean of stars beyond the portholes of your spaceship. Calm, collected, but not a stone-serious pilot that you were once; no, something softer, something only Grace knew. You looked so real.
Ryland's throat felt dry as a desert. "Oh, goody. I finally lost my mind, huh? Darn, I was hoping to teach the kids about the first law of thermodynamics today." Grace forced out a joke, hoping the hallucination of you would disappear once he addressed it directly. No luck. Instead, the version of you before him turned its head. You narrowed your eyes at him, and an all-too-familiar smile spread across your lips.
“I know that one. Energy cannot be created or destroyed. Dr. Grace, do I get a sticker?” It was a small smartass moment from you, meant to lighten the mood, but Ryland was too busy hyperventilating to point out that you were taking the spotlight of the resident nerd away from him.
"Hoo boy. Apparently not. Damn, here goes my streak," you huffed, voice thick with worry and so much endearment that Grace thought it would drown him. "Honesty though, you look like you've seen a ghost. So let me repeat myself. Erid to Ryland Grace, do you copy?"
The sound that escaped Grace was...well. It could be best described as "pathetic", maybe a little bit "like a squashed seagull". For a few heartbeats, he just sat there, gawking up at your form in the morning fog. The sight of the humanity's savior, gasping like a fish out of water at something so simple as a conversation partner? Now that was amusing. Amusing enough for you to let out a weary, if hearty chuckle. Ryland felt a sharp pang in his chest at the long-forgotten sound enveloping him.
"How...wh-. What? How are you here?" He waved his hand in a wild gesture, pointing at your amused figure, then at the house he'd left, and then back at you.
“Don’t exactly know.” Your shoulders slumped a little, but weariness didn’t replace the humor fully. It’s like you truly were supposed to be there, standing alongside Grace as the cold water soaked the hems of your spacesuit, because... well, you literally were standing nearly knee-deep in the sea, not joining Ryland on the shore. Yet, you were incredibly close, and he was about to jump in after you if you didn't press on. "Not sure? Somehow, that feels right. And you know me; I don’t deal in hypotheticals.”
“No, no you di-…don’t. Don’t deal in them. Yes. I knew that." The wind picked up, and Grace shuddered, his unsteady hands coming up to keep your coat in place on his shoulders. Your gaze softened at that, surveying his form, and within a few heartbeats you inched closer. Water sloshed around your ankles as you slowly, gently approached your molecular biologist, as if he were a ghost who would vanish if you moved too quickly. Like a startled fox that would give chase at the slightest sudden movement, Grace sat down in front of you. Incredibly still, the man didn't dare breathe as you knelt in the water at his eye level. None of you moved. Just two humans staring each other down in shock and indecision. You break the silence first, voice low and thick with emotion as you pointed at the jacket with a nod of your head.
“Can’t believe you kept it. Looks good on you.”
Grace sobbed. The dam had broken, and now the ugly tears he'd held back for so long poured out, rolling unabashedly down his cheeks. The sight broke your heart: the bravest man you'd ever known, doubled over and sobbing, the discarded piece of plastic he'd been fiddling with all this time being washed away by the waves, now that it had slipped from his fingers.
For an agonizing moment, you sat there, helpless. Frozen. You always did this when you encountered something that was completely outside your area of expertise. You knew what you were doing when it came to technology and aircraft; you understood the language of calculations and rigorous logic. On Earth, you were the voice of reason among your motley crew of pilots working for Stratt, and more than once you heard whispers behind your back about how you were a ‘fucking robot and not a human being’. Years later, locked in a tin can with Ryland, you thought wistfully to yourself that he must have felt the same way. Seriously, at first glance you were polar opposites. And then you got to know him better. And with that came a terrifying realization: you didn't know how to deal with your emotions.
Of the two of you, Grace was the bright flame that mirrored your cold water: he experienced every emotion known to man and did that unapologetically; he didn't shy away from the ugly and loud sides of human nature, and was open when you were hidden. He cried, laughed, danced, joked, tripped over everything that existed and didn't exist, acted like a charming idiot and was the bravest man in the world, and you were enchanted. You were very different from each other, and yet, like two opposing magnets, you became inseparable. He fell first, but you fell hard. And when you finally realized it? It scared you so bad that you locked yourself in the sleeping quarters and heaved there for an hour while your head spun. You had to ask Armando for anything that would stop your hyperventilating, it was that dire.
So no, you've never been the kind of person who handles emotions well. Even after Grace chipped down your defenses with jokes and conversation, helping you see that you weren't so different; after you tentatively took his arms to allow yourself to feel like something more than the sum of your parts... even after all that, the sight of Grace crying still sent you into a panic. Logic and reason were your forte, and it’s not like you didn’t know how to console a person. However, any time Grace’s eyes glistened with unshed moisture? Oh, you short-circuited alright. It made your chest feel tight and knocked your whole feigned balance off kilter. You felt so helpless, so clumsy, trying to comfort him. He'd once said it was kind of cute the way you looked: like there was a wild animal before you and you didn't know if it'd appreciate a pat on the head or if it would lunge for your throat. You would have smacked him upside the head for that comment if he hadn't pressed his tear-stained face flush against your neck, hugging you so tightly, as if your body were a lifeline. The way your mind was racing and your heart was pounding, you thought you were having a heart attack. You managed back then, clumsily running your fingers through Grace's wild hair and soothing him with all the gentle words one could muster up. But that wouldn't fly now, would it?
The hypothetical says ghosts can’t touch anything, that’s their whole shtick. That’s what you probably were, right? Certainly no better explanation on your end, and so you watched with silent horror as humanity’s savior doubled over and broke down because of you. You never wanted this. You never wanted him to hurt, but fate had decreed this for both of you.
“Hey…come on now, space cowboy-“ Suddenly, something clicked. Not in your mind, but in your chest, and it had you settling where you knelt. Clenching and unclenching your fists, you cursed out the hypotheticals and slowly extended your arms forward, fingers outstretched. The movement was anything but calculated, but stopping now would mean failure. For a moment, you feared the worst: that you would simply pass right through Grace's heaving body and make things even worse. But then…
Your fingers brushed the frame of his glasses. Your eyes were probably bigger than saucers, and Grace was too busy to notice two things: first, he'd stained the lenses of his glasses with tears, and they were about to fall off his nose once again. Second, you caught them just before they could do so, fingers holding them in place in a silent awe. Okay, whatever you meant to do, you needed to keep doing it. So you pressed on, gently prying the tear-stained spectacles off of Grace's face and carefully folding them, not believing yourself for a second as you placed them on the sand.
Finally you found the resolve you’d been missing. Take that, hypotheticals! To hell with them all. To hell with logic, ghosts don't exist, and if they do, and if you're one of them? You had just touched something real, and you intended to continue doing just that. With a gentle, feather-light motion, your palms settled on Grace’s face, cupping his cheeks. His skin was so warm to your touch, hot and wet with tears, but you didn’t mind. His stubble scratched your fingertips where they rested against his face. It was the first real sensation in a long time, and it was glorious. Grace flinched, finally focusing his hazy gaze on you. It seemed that he finally realized the palms on his cheeks weren't his. His throat twitched as he swallowed, and you, overcome with emotion, mimicked the movement. Once again, you were the first to break the silence.
“…Hey.”
“H-hey.” Ryland’s voice was a little wet and strained from all the crying. He leaned into your touch as if transfixed, shuddering as your cold thumbs swiped the salt off his face. “Is this…is this real?” His fingers circled around your wrists, testing the waters, holding you tentatively yet firmly in place against his face. You were going to cry.
“As real as I can allow, it seems.” Your facade was crumbling. Saltwater crashed over you in waves, no doubt soaking Ryland's sneakers as well; his ankles were submerged by now, likely because he'd moved closer to you. That couldn’t have been comfortable for him. But he didn't try to retreat, far from it. Instead, he pressed forward. As if he knew the unspoken rule: you wouldn't meet him on the sand, so he took the first step and joined you where you knelt in the water, ever the gentleman. You had to make an effort to keep your voice from wavering as you piped up again, “Real enough for the both of us, for now. God damn it, I…” despite the general heavy feeling of mourning that had settled over you and Ryland, your chest shook with a disbelieving laughter.
“Wh-What’s so funny?” Grace sniffled, those gorgeous blue eyes transfixed on you. “Did I say something funny?”
“No, it’s not that. You know what’s crazy?” You probably looked wild to him: your eyes sad and bright, laughing out of nowhere. “God…this is the worst timing imaginable.”
The man huffed at that, furrowing his brows and sniffling once more. “Oh no you don’t. If I'm hallucinating, then you're explaining!" He pointed an accusatory finger your way. He looked so determined, despite his flushed face. You bit your lower lip harder than necessary to keep yourself from laughing.
“I…fuck. I really want to kiss you.” That probably didn't sound romantic at all. What do you expect from a phantom, sitting with their ass in cold water?
“Say what.” Ryland blinked at you, his expression frozen in eternal stupor. "Okay. That’s, um...What, like right now?"
“Yes, right now. Snot and all.” You huffed in mock annoyance. “Though if you keep questioning me, I’ll settle on disappearing into the fog all mysterious. Never to be s-“
The way Ryland lunged, you’d think the man was an astrophage that sensed carbon dioxide. One moment he was sitting with his converse sneakers getting soaked in saltwater, the other? His arms were already balling in your shirt by the time you could utter so much as a gasp. It seemed your time for reflection was over: he yanked you forward, lips locking with yours in an instant. Now, it was your turn to behave like a fish out of water (how fitting, look where both of you are). It only lasted for a few heartbeats before you eased into him, palms still resting against the stubble on his face, relaxing into the death grip and the feeling of searing hot lips against yours. It’s…everything you were denied. Everything you ever wanted.
Grace kissed like a man starved. You’d think the nerd who unironically wore “I had potential” T-shirt would be more reserved in his affections, especially since he was literally busy making out with the person he mourned not ten minutes ago. But the molecular biologist was completely uninterested in bashful eyelid fluttering and oohs and aahs of it all. His nose was pressed slightly uncomfortably against yours, and if you hadn't removed his glasses, they would have definitely poked your eye out by now. And he kissed you, oh God, he kissed you with the fury of a blazing star. You had to make a conscious note of not melting right then and there. Grace would probably catch you anyway, but you didn't want to risk it. What a mood killer that would be.
Neither of you pulled away. This was bliss in its purest form: Ryland's lips on yours, chapped and hot where yours were clammy and cool. A soft, needy sound escaped him as you dared to release one hand from his face, running it down his neck. Your fingers, gliding along the faded blue cloth of the jacket, trailed over his shoulder, down his arm, stopping at his knuckles, which were pressed tightly against your chest. Grace keened, breaking away from his overzealous attempts to map out your lips for a gasp of much-needed air, and squeezed his eyes shut when you gently ran a thumb over his knuckles in soothing circles. The spell was yet to break, so why not allow the briefest moment of calm in the eye of the storm? One of Ryland's hands released its death grip on your shirt and cupped the back of your head. You reciprocated, pressing your forehead to his. You both simply existed like this, frozen and miserable on the shore of the biodome and neither of you gave a damn. Pressed close, claiming back the closeness denied to both of you. In a remarkable display of self-control, you didn't cry. Too busy imprinting every bit of Grace on the hard drive of your mind, mapping out and remembering how he felt. No doubt he was doing the same, enjoying the way your hands wrapped around his. His fingertips were still tangled in the hair at the back of your neck.
"Don't go. Please, whatever you do. Just…" His voice was barely audible, but you heard it so clearly. “Just don’t leave.”
Your lips were pressed into a thin line, heart aching for his plea. It took some effort, but when you spoke, your voice almost didn’t waver. “You strike a hard bargain, Dr. Grace.” You really didn’t want to. Cosmic forces willing, you wanted to climb out of the waves and stay right then and there, reclaim your lost time with the scientist before you and ask so many questions. You wanted so badly to kiss him again. And again, and again. But the fog was dissipating. The artificial sun was rising and bathing you both in gorgeous pink hues. Somehow you knew: time ran short again. Soon you will be gone once more, and your starman will be left alone on a cold shore. It painted a sad picture, but your mind was already brewing something. If you could touch him and break this unspoken rule of the universe, no one said you couldn’t break another. “Let me offer you a deal in return. What if…”
“No. No deal. Absolutely not.” Grace pouted, and the sight filled your ribcage with yearning. “I just got you back, you can’t beat that deal. Please?”
“Hey, you didn’t let me finish!” There it is again! That look he gave you whenever you ruined his sweet vibes. Oh, how you’ve missed that. "What if..." you continued, still holding his hand, "What if I come back tomorrow? Same time."
Grace perked up. Granted he still looked miserable, but the prospect of this not being the last time he’d ever see you made him a little hopeful. “Same time? What, you can. Like. Do that?”
You snorted a laugh, something you'd picked up from being around the only other person in space. “Yes. You know me, I’m never late.” In Grace’s eyes, you could see the sparkle of the new dawn. Almost time to go. “Don’t miss it, space cowboy.”
He answers by furiously nodding, blonde hair going all over the place. The smile that played on your lips was bittersweet, but filled with unspoken affection. What a doofus. Nodding at a phantom that haunted him. No wonder you loved this ridiculous man with the fury of the Sun. Ryland opened his mouth to say something, but you beat him to it, leaning forward and pressing your lips against his. This kiss was fleeting, gentle, your way of saying it wasn't goodbye, but ‘see you soon’. And just as Ryland melts into it-
“What Grace doing, question?”
Ryland yelped, shooting up to his feet in an instant. He must have missed Rocky bounding into the dome entirely, transfixed on the reunion that took place in the morning fog. Rocky stood there in his glorious xenonite suit, tilting his whole body in a questioning manner. Right, shoot. Grace was literally knee-deep in cold water, disheveled and red as a tomato, his fist clenched tightly to his chest. The same one you were holding a few moments ago, speaking of which-
The man whipped around, eyes searching the horizon frantically for any sign of you. Nothing. The fog had dissipated, and you were gone with it, it seems. Just when Grace suddenly had the unpleasant thought that he was actually going crazy, Rocky made a small clicking noise behind him. “Jacket. Grace never talk about it. Never touch it. Is Grace okay, question?”
“Yeah, you know what?” The scientist made no effort to move just yet, shoulders relaxing ever so slightly. He finally took the time to take in his surroundings: the sea, the pinkish light dancing on the surface; the wind rustling in his hair; the sun coming up, heralding a new day of endless possibilities. He sighed. “I thought I’d…you know. Take our little friend here for a walk. As one does. The weather is lovely,” he was rambling again, not knowing if he should bring up a very affectionate if sad encounter that might or might not have been real, “I thought they’d appreciate the change of scenery.”
From the shuffling behind him Grace could piece together that Rocky was not entirely convinced. He tapped his claws together, as if contemplating. “Rocky Grace Friend. Think would appreciate the biodome, question?” Ryland barely registered the inquiry though, taking the time to unclench the fist that was still pressed against his own chest. The breath caught in his throat.
On his palm lay the keycap. Wet and very much real. He distinctly remembered losing it in the tide when the late ace-pilot manifested before him. But Ryland definitely hadn't fished it out. So how did it return? Surely it wasn't…
“Don’t miss it, space cowboy.” Same time tomorrow. You sneaky, sneaky bastard.
Grace turned to stare at Rocky, who still waited patiently for an answer. The wind picked up agin, flapping the sleeves of the jacket draped over his shoulders. A tentative, yet warm smile finally replaced the worry etched into Ryland’s face. Tomorrow, same time. He won’t miss it.
“You know what, Rock? I have a feeling they would.”