Archive of Our Own

At the edge of another star system, there was you.

Lying in your cot, you blinked up at the ceiling. The light was dim. Good, because you didn't like overhead lights. They were always so blinding. A blanket was draped over you. Everything was lead. Your limbs, your head, even your breathing—everything felt so heavy perhaps there was an invisible force sitting on your chest just for the hell of it.

You tilted your head to one side, groaning softly.

Beside you sat Ryland Grace—head in his hands, elbows on his knees, hunched forward.

Not because he was tired. Not even because he was running out of things to do, but because you could barely sit up on your own anymore and it was eating him alive. Every inch of an agonizing bite that your pain took out of his insides, he hid with that little smile on his face as if you didn't know.

You and your goofy smile, you would say. At least, back when talking wasn't such a hassle.

If you remembered correctly, the three of you had set on course for Erid almost two years ago. The whole journey would take three and a half years. At least you'd made it halfway through the trip before your body started to give up.

Grace was doing far better than you. He was, without a doubt, healthier. Fitter. No big problem at all happened to him when he first woke up from the induced coma.

But you? You'd woken up over a month after he did. You remembered him after three days. Remembered who he was to you after a week. Your memories had come to you at a much slower rate than his did, and your body was so sluggish for the first two weeks that he had to help you move around, especially in zero gravity. Your body did not cooperate well. But you thanked the stars every day that Ryland already remembered who you were when you woke up.

Then there was Tau Ceti, and meeting Rocky, and working together until you found the predator Ryland deemed Taumoeba—hilarious, but that's Ryland Grace to you—before sending it back to Earth on probes. All because of the stupid Taumoeba leak. Who knew they could evolve so quickly to weave through xenonite like it's nothing?

You and Ryland made it three months on your way back to Earth before it happened, and you decided to turn around and save Rocky—whose entire ship was made of xenonite—because you both knew Rocky wouldn't make it out alive all by himself.

And then here you were, two years later. On your way to Rocky's planet.

Oh, right. Rocky.

Slowly, you turned your head to the other side of the room.

In the corner of the crew quarters, Rocky sat in his tunnel, clicking his pincers in calculation.

You stared at him—this Eridian who was taking you and Ryland to his home. The three of you had saved each other, but in that moment, it was Rocky who was the savior of all. This 291-year-old mechanic whose sounds were harmony to your ears—music you learned to love from the very first chord.

The astrophage from his ship—whatever was left of it after the Taumoeba leak—was moved to yours. It would fuel the Hail Mary the rest of the way. The distance between Tau Ceti and Erid was much closer compared to Earth anyway—about ten light years. You looked at Rocky and wished, deep down, that your body would pull itself together. That you would survive the remaining year and a half so you could see Erid for yourself.

Rocky's carapace shifted, produced his melodies.

Grace. Grace. (L/N) awake. Grace can breathe now, question?

The robotic voice of Rocky's translation device filled the air. It snapped Ryland awake.

He was on his feet instantly, hands frantically sliding his glasses into place as he approached your cot.

"Hey! Hey, hey, you're okay." Ryland's voice grew quieter as he reached for you, hands cupping your face. His palms were warm. You imagined him running them over his hair, or rubbing his thighs nervously through his pants as he waited for you to wake up. You were falling asleep longer these days. Sometimes three to four days at a time.

"Welcome back to the land of the living," he joked, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. Then he pulled back and smiled at you. "Too soon?"

You managed a small smile back. You wanted to laugh but your throat felt sandy. Only a soft hum escaped you.

"That's okay. Don't talk. I'll get you water." Ryland was out of sight for a second. You could hear him trip over his own stool. Then him censoring his own swear words.

Grace careful, said Rocky. Grace always spill water on ship. Armando clean.

"Yeah, alright, pal." Ryland returned with a pack of water. He already poked the straw in and was holding your head up gently so you could take a sip. "Small sips, baby. Don't want you coughing like last time." His eyes were fixed on you as you drank, and you stared back at him.

If you had seen these eyes before you joined Project Hail Mary, perhaps you would've painted them.

"Little more. Please," Ryland murmured, still holding the straw to your chapped lips. They felt slightly sticky, so you assumed he must've applied some vaseline for you. It was one of the things you'd packed in your bag, apparently. A giant tub of vaseline. Not even the smaller one.

Someone must have really dry something, Ryland had teased when you took it out the first time.

Lips, Ryland, you'd replied. Very dry lips.

As always, whenever you regained consciousness, Ryland would help you up. So he did.

First, he wrapped the blanket around you. Then he slipped one arm around your shoulders and the other under your knees, helping you sit up. Your back hurt. Hell, your entire spine hurt. Your chest felt bruised and your joints popped when moved. You tried to stand, wobbled, then sat back down.

Ryland stared.

Tears brimmed in his eyes. They were so quick to arrive, the tears. Sometimes without Ryland even realizing it. He wiped them away, trying to be very discreet, and wrapped his arms around you again.

"It's okay, baby," he whispered. "I'll carry you. You don't have to do anything."

You opened your mouth and tried so hard to speak even though what came out was a hoarse, barely-a-breath 'Sorry.'

"Hey, no. Mm-mm." Ryland shook his head as he adjusted you in his arms, making sure your head rested properly against his shoulder. He barely struggled when holding your entire weight in his arms. You were so, so light. It cracked his heart clean through, a widening chasm he refused to let himself fall into. No. Not yet. "What did we say about apologizing? We don't do that, right?"

In the distance, Rocky had moved into his ball and was now rolling ahead of Ryland in the corridor.

Mental health room, question?

"Yeah, buddy. Fire it up," replied Ryland. Then he turned to look at you. He walked slowly so he didn't jostle you too much. "Wanna see the ocean again today? Or are we thinking of something different?"

A small smile tugged at your lips. "Ocean," you croaked.

Ryland nodded, grinning though his eyes glistened. "Ocean it is. Front row seats."

In the mental health room, the screens came to life one by one. Ryland sat down first, then settled you between his legs. He pulled you close till you were leaning back against his chest while Rocky sat beside him, silent in his ball. He was already pointing his little crystal gun—that's what you called it anyway—to the screens so he could see.

"There we go," Ryland said as he adjusted you with tender—yet slightly shaking—hands, making sure you were truly comfortable. "Best seats in the house, I guarantee you." He chuckled.

The beach simulation roared to life.

You'd seen this same simulation so many times the past few years that you had it memorized, but you found comfort in it. Ryland knew that. He swayed a little, rocking you from side to side as he rested his chin on the top of your head. Your feet barely reached his with your legs stretched out. His feet were clad in the usual white Converse, yours in a pair of navy blue socks with yellow cartoon stars.

You pulled the blanket closer around you, and Ryland immediately tightened his hold, one hand rubbing your arm over the thick fabric.

"Cold?"

You nodded.

"Okay." He continued to rub your arm, his warmth enveloping you. "Close your eyes. Just listen to the waves. I'm not going anywhere."

Rocky not going anywhere too. Stay with (L/N) long time.

You fell asleep again.

Rocky tumbled quietly behind Ryland as he carried you back to the cot. His hands were shaking more evidently now because he hadn't eaten the day's portion of his food yet. In the crew quarters, he laid you down and tucked you in like he always did before kissing your forehead. He stayed there for a minute, not pulling away, lips to your skin.

Lingering, breathing you in, counting the seconds between each breath you took. Then he pressed his lips to more skin—your temple, your cheek, the tip of your nose.

Funny, because on Earth, Ryland was not the most affectionate person. He wasn't even sure if he liked to be held. He was always on his own. Always content to be on his own. But with you, out here orbiting a different sun altogether, in a ship where you two were the only humans left alive—well, out here Ryland Grace wanted to hold you all the time and he didn't want to ever let go if he could.

So instead of getting up to grab dinner—what was hopefully another chicken flavored goop like yesterday's, it was decent—Ryland scooted onto the cot and pulled you against him. Gently, he let your head rest on his arm as he wrapped himself around you. A cocoon, a shield, a wall. Anything you'd like him to be. Ryland Grace would become it all.

He buried his nose in your hair. Sometimes, when you slept for more than three days, he would help to brush your hair for you. Just to untangle it. Just to touch you. Just to see that a part of you was still very much alive, still growing. It was past your shoulders now. He'd asked you two weeks prior if you wanted him to trim it, and you'd refused.

"You're so beautiful," Ryland whispered, brushing his nose against your hairline. One hand cupped your cheek, traced the sunken flesh there, then the bruises beneath your eyes. He tilted his head so he could take a good look at you in the dim light of the quarters, and the tears came back like clockwork.

"You really are beautiful," he added. "So beautiful to me. I'm glad you're here. You're still here." He slid his hand down your side, wrapping around your waist and pulling you close. Your breath tickled his collarbone and it was the best feeling in the world.

Grace leaking, said Rocky from behind the xenonite. He sat still in his tunnel, just listening. Grace want to eat, question? Grace not eat yet today. Rocky count food bag.

"Not yet, pal," Ryland answered, voice a little hushed so he didn't wake you. "(L/N) hasn't eaten her food either so I'm gonna wait for her to wake up. Then we can all eat together. Sound good?"

Rocky didn't reply for a moment. He hesitated, clicking his pincers again, turning to face away from Ryland's direction. Then, a little quieter, But (L/N) might sleep for 259,200 seconds. Might be more. Grace need nutrients to stay alive until we reach Erid.

Ryland closed his eyes and let the tears slip out. But he caught them before they could touch your skin. You didn't need that on your plate. You were already in so much pain.

"She needs nutrients, too, Rock."

But Armando can give (L/N) nutrients in tube, question?

"No," Ryland replied instantly. "No tubes. She hates needles. She hates tubes. It would only hurt her more." He cradled your head, holding you to his chest, but even as those words left his mouth he knew Rocky's idea was the right option.

To feed you through tubes the way the robotic arm had taken care of the two of you while you were both still in the induced coma. The tubes had saved you. Kept you alive for years. But doing that would mean putting you in a coma for the remaining half of the trip, and Ryland didn't think he could survive watching you so still and depending on an oxygen mask for almost two years.

But it's better than losing you entirely, a part of his mind suggested. He knew that was true, too.

And yet.

Could he bring himself to do it?

Ryland didn't know. For once, his calculations could not fix this. Could not fix you.

Grace, Rocky called. That robotic voice was filled with concern. Rocky don't want to watch (L/N) leak a lot again. (L/N) leak so much. Scary to Rocky.

The memory flooded like a dam had broken in Ryland's mind, because how could he ever push that image away? All the weeks leading up to the sickness taking over you, it had started with the vomiting. Small amounts at first, but then came the never ending waves that had you dry heaving into a bag until you bled. Until your body gave out and there was nothing left for your stomach to pump and all Ryland could do was let you sag against him as you struggled to breathe.

He had held you there on the floor of the corridor, brushing your hair back, whispering nonsense that sounded reassuring enough if the situation wasn't so dire. He had rubbed your back when the wave returned and you continued to throw up whatever food you'd managed to swallow or literally nothing at all but stale air.

No. Ryland didn't want that to happen again. Gosh. Should he really consider feeding you through…a tube? He couldn't do that to you. Couldn't even sit back and watch if he were to let Armando do it.

Gosh, no.

"I'm sorry, Rock." Ryland cried softly, arms wrapped tightly around your still-asleep body as if you were no more than a pillow for him to crush. "I can't do that to her. I can't. I'm not gonna give up. We can still try to let her eat normally. She can do it. I know she can. She's strong."

He kissed your forehead and let the tears paint salty stains on your skin this time. Let your skin remember the taste of his love, his regret. Let your skin remember his warmth and the shape of his lips when he whispered your name against your forehead like a secret.

"You sleep so much lately," Ryland murmured. "Must be pretty darn tired, huh?" He opened his mouth to crack a stupid joke, but none came to mind. Only the thought of your half-lidded eyes and weightless limbs. His gaze hardened.

"You're strong," he said. "You're everything to me. We'll get to Erid together. I know we will. You got this. You're stronger than me; I know that."

On and on, Ryland whispered in the artificial night as the Hail Mary glided through space, inching towards Erid regardless of its pilot's aching heart.

When you didn't wake up after four days, Ryland panicked. He was never the type to remain calm under pressure to begin with. Calm and Ryland Grace were not the best of friends.

Your skin was burning. Ryland had tried to wake you up, and the moment his fingers brushed your cheek, his heart lurched in his chest. He frantically moved around the quarters, rummaging through the bags and yelling at Armando about giving you proper medication because you had a fever, and it was high. At one point, it crossed his mind how much he was depending on the robot arm sometimes.

He was the scientist on the ship, darn it. Why was he so dependent on a robot that could go wrong? Machinery that could never replicate what human hands could do?

(L/N) not wake up, question? Rocky asked from his spot in the corner of the room. It has been four days. A deviation in the sleep pattern.

"I know, Rock," Ryland replied, exasperated. He rummaged through the medicine kit that was stocked up in the small storage area, trying to find literally anything that he knew could help lower your body temperature and get rid of the darn fever. Then, quieter, he added, "I know."

Your breathing was labored—short bursts that made Ryland tug at the hair at the back of his head as if it would force his mind to think faster for a solution.

"Okay. Okay, I'm here. I'm here, I'll take care of you," Ryland muttered as he gently lifted your head, adding another pillow. Your neck was damp, so he used one of his t-shirts to dab at the sweat because it was the closest thing within reach. "You're okay. You'll be just fine, you hear me?" He brushed your dampened hair off your forehead and winced when he felt just how hot your skin still was.

How could he stop his hands from shaking?

Ryland willed himself to be just a tad bit calmer, but it wasn't working, and it frustrated him. Hands. Fingers. Stop shaking. He only wanted to change you out of the sweat-soaked shirt you had been wearing for the past two days and into a clean one. His, to be exact. That worn out red one that said Ah! The element of surprise.

And yet, when his gaze landed on the bruises that had formed on your arms, your sides, blooming across your ribs, Ryland's breath was caught in his throat.

"No," he whispered, one hand hovering inches above the purples and blues, tender spiderwebs etched into your pale, drying skin. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart. I'm so sorry."

The ship hummed along as Ryland slowly changed your clothes for you. Rocky remained in his little ball in the corner of the room, listening intently. He did not ask why Ryland was muttering sweet nothings, little reassurances that was meant more for himself than for your unconscious body.

Once you were in new, clean clothes, Ryland tried to wake you. He just had to try. He sat on the edge of your cot and lifted you into his arms, your thin body cradled against his chest. You were so light it tugged at his heartstrings so hard, he almost doubled over. One hand brushed over your damp brow, through your hair. It was getting really coarse, your hair. Dry. A few strands falling away so easily.

His fingers foxtrotted on your skin—tracing, memorizing you. An equation he couldn't solve; a combination of atoms he would study beneath a microscope again and again, and every time the results appeared it would only consist of his name, because in every layer of skin lived Ryland Grace and his need to ensure you breathed.

He didn't know how long he spent sitting there, just studying you. The soft shadows from your eyelashes resting, and the even darker shadows that tinged your under-eyes a sunken, deep purple. The little bump in the bridge of your nose. The curve of your lips, already chapped again even though he made sure to apply vaseline on them every few hours.

One thing he was grateful for at that moment was the fact that you did not have any prominent, recent wounds. He didn't know what he would've done if your old wounds were to reopen. No. He couldn't even bring himself to think too deeply about it.

"Hey," he whispered, tears gathering in his eyes, clinging to his lashes. A part of him wanted to fetch his glasses off the table just so he could see you even clearer. "Hey, sweetheart, you gonna wake up? You sure do enjoy leaving me alone with Rocky a lot these days. I mean, I like him, but I like you more, you know?"

Grace attempting humor, question?

"Yeah, pal," said Ryland. He would usually have a better comeback than that. He couldn't do that right now. "I think humor might just save her. She's gonna wake up and laugh and say sike! because she got us good. Right, baby?" Ryland brushed his nose against your temple. "I'm properly scared now. You got me good, so you can wake up, alright? Wake up. Rocky's been dying to watch that Barbie movie you like so much. The one where the princess switched places with a commoner. We can fire up the screens right now if you just…you know, open your eyes."

Ryland's voice grew quieter by the end of it, like he wasn't too sure whatever he was rambling about would do you any good. Were you even listening? He doubted it. You were so out of it—breathing still labored, skin still warm and damp and pinkish apart from the bruises.

Gently, with his thumb, Ryland brushed over your bottom lip and tugged it down. Just a little. He needed to see, needed to confirm. And as expected, your gums were angry red. One wrong touch and they would bleed, he knew that.

You weren't gonna wake up anytime soon. But he would not give up. You could survive this. He believed in you. Because you were the most stubborn person he had ever come across, and he himself was a close second.

"Mary," he called as he laid you back down on the cot, flat on your back. Armando moved into place as if it already knew what Ryland was going to say.

"Yes, Dr. Grace," answered the female voice of the Hail Mary.

"How much more vitamin C dosage do we have?"

"Ascorbic acid supply low—twenty-five percent to depletion."

"Oh."

Rocky tumbled closer, his carapace shifting.

Rocky can make. Rocky try to make, he said.

"Mm, I don't think we can achieve that, Rock. We have limited supplies." Ryland sighed, ran a hand down his face, then rested his hands on his hips. "We don't have the amount of glucose to make the ascorbic acid. And for the amount that sheneeds? We don't have that. 25% is so low. Gosh, I'm so stupid. Did I take more of the vitamin C than I was supposed to? Did I take her share of it? How can we make it from scratch when we don't even have enough glucose? It has to be catalytically hydrogenated to sorbitol and then be oxidized by acetobacter suboxydans to sorbose and—"

Too fast. Grace speak too fast. Do puppet show.

Ryland turned to face Rocky properly and sighed. He put his glasses only to look at Rocky over the lenses. "Really? You want me to do a puppet show in front of (L/N) right now?"

I make joke. Grace grumpy and stupid a lot today. You need to laugh.

"Oh, wow." Ryland lifted both hands and dropped them to his sides, exasperated. "You hear that, Mary? I need to laugh a little. The love of my life is dying of scurvy and malnutrition and I need to laugh a little. Come on, Rock. Look at her." He gestured at you, lying so small and still on the cot, your chest barely moving at all to indicate that you were still breathing. "Look at her and tell me that we can do anything to save her right now. Because I would, Rock.

I would do anything to save her. I'd give her all my food rations and eat taumoeba for the rest of the trip if it meant keeping her alive—but she can't even stomach anything. Not even water. It will come back out. You know that. So how? How do we save her?" Ryland's voice finally cracked. His lips quivered as he tried to swallow his tears. It was futile. "Do you still need me to do a puppet show for you? Huh? Do you understand me now? I'm running out of things to do. To try. She's slipping away from me and I can't do anything and I've never felt so useless in my life!"

Ryland took his glasses off again and hastily wiped away the tears that slipped out. He sniffled, wiped more tears, then slid his glasses back on. His voice was heavier when he continued, "I thought I got it all figured out. I don't even know what I'm doing anymore."

Grace, Rocky said, sounding quieter as well. Grace is brave. You do well. You take care of (L/N) and Rocky well. (L/N) will be okay, statement.

At that, Ryland smiled through his tears. "Hey…" He crouched so he was at Rocky's height and placed a fist against the side of the ball. "Look at you, using actual words of encouragement."

Rocky paused, then placed his own fist against Ryland's on the other side of the xenonite. Grace need greater words of encouragement, question?

Ryland chuckled, shook his head, then wrapped his arms around the ball as more tears slipped freely down his cheeks. He didn't bother to wipe them this time, especially not with Rocky leaning into him within the ball. Ryland closed his eyes.

"No, Rock," he whispered. "I just need all of us to stay alive until we reach Erid."

The hug lasted for a few minutes. Neither one of them wanted to pull away, and Ryland was grateful that Rocky was there to glue him back together as he cracked.

And later, when you remained asleep, Ryland gave the ship soft, quiet commands. He watched as the robot arm carefully prepared a nasogastric tube, inserting it through your nose. This woke you, of course, but Ryland was there. He was immediately at your side, cradling your body to his chest, pressing his lips to your temple.

"It's okay, you're okay," he whispered. "I got you, sweetheart. Just wanna make sure you get enough food in your system, hm?"

You didn't make a sound. Your eyes fluttered, lips parted while the discomfort lingered as the tube went into your stomach. Meanwhile, Ryland murmured ridiculous things into your ear—things like Rocky loves hugs now and I'm gonna give you the lower grade food packs and keep the delicious ones all to myself so you'll just have to wake up properly and fight me, deal?

Ryland stayed as the first bits of the liquified food entered your system. His gaze hardened at the sight of it, at the sight of your obvious discomfort, but a part of him was relieved. Relieved that you were getting nutrients, even if it wasn't enough. Even if it was taking away his own share of the food you both had left. That didn't matter.

Your immune system was weaker. Your sickness was more severe than the little nausea and silly fevers Ryland had been getting himself whenever you were asleep for days on end. The long trip, the malnutrition, the worry of running out of food—it affected him, too. But you even greater. And he couldn't do that to you. Couldn't worry about himself when you were already wasting away in front of him, in his arms, all while he remained upright and functional. A cruel comparison he refused to name.

"Mary," Ryland said once the feeding had stopped. "Proceed with vitamin C injection, 1000 mg."

"1000 mg vitamin C in a single injection is not advised due to the low—"

"It's okay. Just…just do it. It's okay. She needs it."

"Very well, Dr. Grace."

You looked much more relaxed then, after the injection. Ryland stared at you for a long while, accompanied by the clinking sounds of Rocky's tinkering on his side of the quarters. He looked over his shoulder, watching as Rocky used three of his limbs to make…whatever it was that he was making. Then he turned back to you, smiled a little at the visibly serene look on your face.

In his head he was already calculating the amount of vitamin C left that he'd need to stretch out to ensure you got enough of it every day. 75 mg per day would be ideal, but neither of you could afford that. It had to be a long term solution. Perhaps giving you 1000 mg earlier had been a foolish decision, but it was worth it—you were no longer frowning in your sleep, no longer breathing in short, shallow bursts of air that did nothing to calm you down.

"I've got you," Ryland whispered as he gently laid down beside you on the cot. He was used to the tight squeeze at this point; he would take this tight squeeze with you in his arms over the space of his own cot any day. "You're gonna be okay," he added, kissing your forehead for a long while before finally draping an arm over your waist, gentle, careful.

"Rocky?" Ryland whispered, laying his head beside yours. His gaze remained on you, tracing your eyes down to your chin.

Yes?

"Will you watch us sleep?"

Rocky always watch Grace and (L/N) sleep. Make sure you both are safe.

That made Ryland smile. He nuzzled the side of your neck, resting there, closing his eyes.

"Thanks, Rock."

Grace sleep. Rocky right here. I watch you sleep.

Ryland nodded. He moved to rest his hand on your chest and let the weak, distant beat of your heart lull himself to sleep.

The next few weeks on the Hail Mary were the push of hands against Ryland's shoulders back on earth again—tugging his hands to the back, pressing his cheek to the grass, plunging a syringe into his neck. Every time you woke up, it was only for a few hours. He would clean you, change your clothes, carry you down to the cupula window so you could watch the endless space beyond the glass.

On days when you were a bit stronger—thank you vitamin C and the food that was sent straight to your stomach even though it meant Ryland ate less—he would take you to the mental health room (or the Don't Go Crazy Room, as Ryland officially named it in his head) to watch a movie you'd seen a thousand times and Rocky would question everything happening on the screen because, well, he didn't really understand Barbie movies. Especially Swan Lake. Why did the girl turn into a swan? What is a swan? Cue puppet show.

Sometimes you vomited in the corridor and it was ugly because Armando had to reinsert the tube through your nose and you had to experience the discomfort again and again. And Ryland would cry as he watched you four times out of five.

Grace leak so much. Source never ending, question? Rocky asked once. You laughed. Properly. Loud until you snorted for the first time in forever and Ryland simply leaked even more though he laughed then too.

But then the end of the day would come, and you would fall back to sleep and Ryland couldn't tell whether this time you'd wake in two days or two weeks. And the hands on his shoulders would return, shoving him into the dirt in a dream.

The dream was vivid almost every night now, whenever he managed to fall asleep anyway. Carl's face blurred in the distance, telling Ryland that he knew who he was.

And then there was your face the moment he remembered who you were for the first time since he woke up. He had sobbed for hours by your side, watching as you remained unconscious, all the tubes and wires still attached. At this point he had not remembered about Stratt and the forced induced coma and the way they tackled him to the ground.

For those few months back then, Ryland had thought the two of you were the bravest people in the world—volunteering to be sent on this mission to save the sun, save earth, save humanity. Even when he remembered he was a coward, he was forced, you always reassured him that he was brave. Rocky called him brave. You called him the savior of humanity. Yet Ryland wasn't so sure he was a savior at all now that you laid there on the cot slowly fading away under his watch.

He tried to think about the two of you back on earth more than the time you had spent together on the ship.

Those glimpses haunted him; in his sleep, in his waking hours sitting beside your cot and monitoring your vitals because he had to be everything now—a doctor, a pilot, a scientist, an engineer, a lover, a fighter, a human being who was not ready to watch your heart fail—Ryland would see those memories of the two of you together on earth.

And it broke him.

Gosh, it broke him.

Because in those memories you were so clear—a stark contrast to the blurred backgrounds and lingering side characters with zero faces like the illustrator had given up trying to draw them. You were the center of each memory. Singing karaoke and spinning in a chair in the lab and stealing his portion of the mashed potato at lunch. The two of you brushing shoulders and switching coffee cups and laying in the darkness of the small bed on a large ship.

Fingers in his hair. A smile directed at him. Bringing him his packed lunch because he forgot about it, too excited working on the centrifugal system of the ship with one of the other scientists even though that wasn't his job. Stratt allowed him to do whatever he wanted, so Stratt allowed you to do the same.

Oh. You looked up at Stratt like she was the sun because you understood the weight that woman had to carry to make sure this project worked. Even if it meant a lifetime in jail afterwards. Especially if all of you failed.

Ryland wasn't so sure how you felt about Stratt now, after learning what she had done to him. You understood the importance, the solution, sure. But there was resentment there, in your heart, perhaps greater than Ryland's own, because how dare she do that to him, treating him so inhumane?

You had no memory of Ryland being put on the ship. You had no idea they had put him in a coma much earlier than you and Commander Yao.

Well, none of this mattered now.

Ryland stared at you as the food entered your stomach through your nose. You were awake, blinking slowly. He glanced at his watch to remind himself regarding your vitamin C shot for the day. He should administer it in about three hours from now—

"Ry?"

Your voice was a quiet whisper, a croak. He turned immediately, hands hovering, unsure where to touch. You could see the way he had lost a bit of weight himself—his face a little sunken, glasses sliding down his nose. His hands were still warm when they touched yours, rubbing more warmth into your fingers.

"Yeah? Yeah, sweetheart, what do you need?" Your lips moved, but your voice was too quiet. He leaned closer. "Say that again, sweetheart."

(L/N) need to watch ocean, said Rocky.

"That true?" Ryland smiled at you though you continued to blink slowly, your gaze barely fixed on anything. "Yeah, we can watch the ocean today. Of course we can."

Rocky tumbled closer to Ryland then. He was holding a xenonite box with multiple flat surfaces.

Here. Rocky make Grace and (L/N) another present.

He passed the box through the drawer in the corner of his wall and Ryland retrieved it. The box was still warm as he brought it back to you.

"Look, sweetheart," Ryland murmured as he sat on the edge of your cot, holding the box up so you could see it. You tilted your head and it took a while for your gaze to fully drag itself towards him. "Rocky made us another present." He twisted the cap to the right and opened it, then fished out a xenonite figurine—similar to that of the spaceship and the one of himself that Rocky had given him when they first met.

Except this one was a combination of two figurines the size of Ryland's palms. They were clad in what appeared to be the space suit, and their hands were intertwined. Ryland smiled, holding the model up for you to see.

"It's us," he said, beaming, leaning down so he could bring the model closer to your face. "Do you see that? This is me, because I'm taller, duh. And this is you, because you're prettier. Do you like it? I think you like it. You're smiling." He chuckled, and you were indeed smiling, staring at the xenonite figures as they held hands. You and Ryland in your space suits, together even in zero gravity.

"Pretty," you managed, and that was enough to have Ryland nodding and blinking back tears. "Thank you, Rocky."

No need thank Rocky. I make for (L/N) and Grace so you both happy. (L/N) and Grace are mates for long time.

"Not long enough," you heard Ryland murmur. He sniffled, resting his free hand on your arm. He cried so much lately, even more than before. You could tell because every time you were awake and your eyes landed on him, his own eyes were almost always bloodshot. Glassy. Tired.

You turned your attention to Ryland, then placed your hand on top of his, squeezing slightly. "You keep it for me?" You smiled again, just a little, and it hurt. God, why did it hurt?

"What's that, sweetheart?"

You cleared your throat and tried to speak louder, though your voice came out rather hoarse anyway due to the NG tube. "You will keep that…" You lifted a shaky hand, pointing at the model. "Keep that…for me?"

Ryland's eyebrows furrowed for a moment, then he nodded even though he almost shook his head. "Y-yeah…yeah, of course. I'll keep it in the lab, make it a nice decoration on your side of the desk. So when you're strong enough to take a look at our nitrogen-resistant taumoeba babies, you can have the two of us sitting right there." Ryland mimed placing the figurines on a flat surface. "And they'll be reminding you of us, okay? Am I being cheezy? Sorry. I watched too many romcoms while you were asleep. That's why you should stay awake. So you can show me more Barbie movies. Deal?"

♪♩♩♫, said Rocky. No more Barbie movies. Rocky want other movies. Show me other movies.

You chuckled and tried so hard to lift your hand again so you could brush the tears under Ryland's eyes. You managed to keep your fingers against his cheek long enough to wipe a few of the tears away before your limbs grew heavy.

"We should…show Rocky the Fast & Furious movies," you teased. "Confuse him…some more."

This made Ryland laugh. If only you could bottle up that sound and replay it in your head every time the darkness took over and sent you somewhere deep in an abyss where Ryland was not.

"I think we'd lose him by the fifth movie," said Ryland.

Later, in the Don't Go Crazy Room, Ryland cradled you in his lap as the two of you watched the same ocean simulation play again. Rocky made some comments about the wave, narrating them—Waves touching (L/N)'s feet now; oh! (L/N) doesn't have clean pair of socks. Grace lift (L/N), walk along the beach. Every day the beach is not same. Beach changes every day.

You wanted to tell Rocky that no one wore socks to the beach, but decided against it. You didn't have the fight in you. Your feet were indeed clad in a pair of worn-out socks, a faded green with a big smiley face on each side, right above the ankles. Ryland's socks, no doubt. You wondered what had happened to all your clothes because when you looked down at yourself, you were wearing his. His sweatpants, his t-shirt, his blanket wrapped around your shoulders.

"Ry," you murmured. His right cheek was pressed to your left. His hair tickled the side of your face.

"Mm?"

You closed your eyes, pressing closer, feeling his arms tighten around you in return.

"Thank you."

Ryland paused, then slowly lifted his head so he could look at you. Your eyes were closed, your lips quivered every few seconds as if fighting the cold even though the room was quite warm already. He fixed the blanket around you, then rubbed your arm.

"For what, baby?"

You managed a small smile as you opened your eyes again, immediately finding his already staring at you. They were so blue. You didn't think you could ever get tired of trying to describe them in your head, just for your own entertainment. Just a little folder of Ryland's Eyes tucked away in the corner of your tired, barely lucid mind.

Cerulean? Azure? You couldn't pinpoint the exact shade because they shifted in different lighting. The first shade of blue that splashed the sky after a pink sunrise, perhaps. Bright like blue paint spreading in clear water from a paintbrush. Blue like the sweater you wore on your last day on earth. Blue like the ceiling of your childhood bedroom because your parents had thought they were having a baby boy. Blue like the recording of the ocean unfurling before you, each wave already embedded in your mind from the many times you had seen this.

"Hey," Ryland whispered, brushing your hair back to catch your attention because you went quiet for too long. "Still with me?"

"Mm."

He smiled, just a little. "You haven't answered me, sweetheart."

"…I know."

"Thank you for what?"

A soft sound escaped your throat when you lifted your hand so you could cup Ryland's cheek. Your fingers trembled. Your thumb barely brushed against his stubble.

"For everything."

Ryland shook his head. He leaned back so he was out of your line of sight, but his arms wrapped tightly around you still. Rocky had gone silent, just clicking his pincers in his xenonite ball. The only sound that accompanied your silence was the rolling of artificial waves, the hum of the Hail Mary, and the quiet sniffles of Ryland Grace.

"Ry…"

"No," he answered immediately. "We're not having that conversation. None of that thank you for everything bullshit, okay?" You couldn't help the smile that tugged at your lips. He rarely swore, you knew that. Perhaps even sixth grade science teachers had their limits. "We're not doing that. You are here, you're in my arms, you're breathing, you're okay."

You felt his lips press against the back of your head as his hands continued to rub your arms. He did that a lot. He rocked you like a child being put to sleep. His cheek pressed to yours again after a few moments, and then Ryland was muttering a soft It's fine and I'll take care of you. You didn't know how to tell him that you didn't feel fine.

That you had not been fine for a long time now.

Erid felt like a distant dream—one that you believed Ryland would reach, just without you.

"I mean it…" you added in a clear voice. At least, clearer than your voice had been in weeks. You tried to be firm, to make Ryland listen. "I'm grateful…for you."

Ryland nodded profusely, his voice thicker when he replied, "I know. You don't have to thank me. All you have to do is stay with me; that's all I need, baby."

On the screens, the ocean continued to unfurl, crashing against the sand that your feet did not touch. You watched the foam and pretended you could taste the saltiness of seawater on your tongue, could feel the coarse sand between your toes.

Eridians were intelligent.

They could definitely synthesize sand and create an ocean of their own for Ryland. A home, a beach, with just the right amount of fog because Ryland loved the gloomy weather. He would be so happy. You knew, and you believed, that Rocky would make sure everything would be just as Ryland liked it. He would have a wonderful life on Erid because he deserved nothing less.

You knew all of this because you had told Rocky about it all—your silly little wishes for Ryland to have on Erid, you spilled them to Rocky and he accepted with wonder. He didn't question where you would be. He only promised he would do everything he could to fulfill your wishes, and you trusted him.

Your only hope was that Ryland allowed the Eridians to help him, and that he allowed himself to accept all the kindness you knew he didn't think he deserved.

You closed your eyes when your eyelids grew a little too heavy. Your limbs lay like lead on your sides, yet Ryland's heartbeat was strong against your back. He turned his face slightly so he could press soft kisses to your cheek, your temple. He cradled the back of your head with one hand and kissed your forehead for a long, long time.

He did that a lot, too.

You felt the warmth of his tears sliding down your skin.

"I love you, you know?" His voice was shaky, barely a breath.

You nodded, eyes still closed, hand trembling as you reached for his over the blanket.

"I love you more."

"Mm-mm. We're not competing. But I would definitely win if we did."

You just chuckled weakly.

"Don't…think so." You gave Ryland's hand a final squeeze. "Love you to Erid…and back."

"Cheese ball."

"Cheese factory."

Ryland snorted, shook his head. "You're unbelievable," he said.

And you only shrugged because, yeah, you were unbelievable, but you really, really loved Ryland Grace.

Your heart stopped beating approximately six months before the Hail Mary reached Erid.

It was Rocky who discovered the absence of it while you were asleep.

You had woken up the day before, but your body would not accept any of the food passing into your stomach anymore. The ship had run out of ascorbic acid supply. Food was running low. And you simply slept longer and longer.

The few hours you were awake the day prior, Ryland had held you close in front of the ocean simulation as always. He had talked to you softly, describing what he saw because you could no longer open your eyes. Even when you did, they were unseeing. He had kissed you, his lips so much softer on your chapped ones, and tasted the blood that leaked from your gums, painting your teeth a pale red.

"I like the ocean," you managed to whisper.

"I know, baby. I'm sure the ocean likes you too." Ryland kissed your forehead. He did that almost every five minutes as if to remind you that he was still right there. As if his arms weren't wrapped so tightly around you, you could barely breathe. "I like you a lot too, did you know that?" He tried to laugh. "I like you so much I'm gonna make sure you have your own ocean on Erid. I talked to Rocky about it. He said Adrian's good at that kind of stuff. Oh, yeah! We can meet Adrian! How exciting is that?"

Your answer was a quiet hum, one that barely escaped your throat.

And then you went silent, and your limbs grew heavier, and Ryland muttered his love for you past the moon and stars and a whole other solar system into your ear the entire time he carried you back to the quarters and tucked you into your cot for the last time.

Rocky panicked in his ball, rolling around and bumping into the walls on his way to your cot, waking Ryland in an instant.

Grace! Grace, wake up! Grace not hear, question? Grace!

"I'm up! I'm up, Rock, what is it?" Ryland asked, equally frantic as he sat up beside you. His hair was sticking out in different directions, eyes sunken and bloodshot. He nearly toppled off the edge of your cot. It was never big enough for two, no matter how much smaller you had become over the past few months.

He pressed, "Rocky, what is it?"

(L/N) heart make no sound! Rocky watch Grace and (L/N) sleep long time. Always hear two different heart sounds. (L/N) sound stop!

Ryland turned to face you immediately. His hands were unsteady as he tried to nudge you awake. Fingers in your hair, grasping your shoulders, cupping your face. He lifted you as gently as he could into his arms and to his chest and he was shaking so, so much he couldn't function.

What must he do? What was happening? Was he dreaming?

Something heavy was lodged in his throat that he couldn't speak. Whatever came out of Ryland's mouth was a bunch of utterly painful sounds. Sounds he didn't think he could produce.

Rocky not familiar with all human biology! What (L/N) need, question? Rocky fix! Rocky want to fix!

He was still tumbling around the quarters without direction. His ball kept hitting the edge of your cot as if he could jump onto it.

Ryland shook his head. Tears blurred his vision.

"This—this isn't something you can fix, pal."

If Rocky cannot fix—if Grace Rocky cannot save (L/N), Rocky watch (L/N) die? Grace Rocky watch (L/N) die together, question?

Ryland could no longer form words. He was holding your eerily still form to his chest, sobbing loud and ugly until they turned into guttural screams. Screams he had been holding in for so long—since the day he was tackled to the ground and remembered it when everything was already done. He screamed for the loss of his autonomy; he screamed for earth and humanity and the fact that he could save two planets but not you.

He could never have saved you.

In the end, he was a coward anyway.

"Come back," he sobbed into your shoulder. "Come back to me, please."

Somewhere behind him, Rocky made sounds that Ryland didn't have the words for. They were shrieks so high-pitched they rang, echoing in Ryland's ears until they hurt. He didn't have the heart to translate those sounds now. They no longer mattered.

"Come back to me, please, baby. Six more months. Just six more months." Till we get to Erid. Till safety. Till we figure out how to save you. Till we synthesize all the nutrients and food you can consume so we can heal you again.

You remained silent.

You remained still.

And Ryland cried into your chest until he fell asleep, curled around your stiffening body like a vice.

A caretaker.

A savior.

A lover.

You were buried in front of the ocean.

Ryland's house was complete. It was small, atop a hill that overlooked the one thing he wished you could have seen before you closed your eyes forever.

The ocean. Of course. Always the ocean.

It was the very first thing he had requested the moment they landed in Erid and Rocky had to get everyone's help to build Ryland a biodome to preserve his atmosphere. He never let you out of his sight. He had kept you, dressed you in your space suit, watched your fingers stiffen. Six months he had stayed in that same cot while you laid in one of the chambers in the wall, your hair growing brittle, your skin turning blue.

He did not ask for a house. A bed. A meal or a shower. Whatever it was that the Eridians could replicate, he did not ask for just yet.

But the ocean? A beach?

Rocky was right. Adrian had assembled a team of their finest mechanics and engineers and the biodome was built within several Eridian days. A muted sunlight with heavy fog, large rocks in the distance, and a house atop a hill. It took them longer to try and synthesize human food, and Ryland was so much weaker himself, but he did not care.

You were beautiful.

Your features relaxed, your face serene. You looked like you belonged in that space suit, more than he ever did. He had dug out the soil beside his house by himself. Rocky stood there at the edge of the grave, clad in his xenonite suit that allowed him to freely move within the biodome now. He watched as Ryland lowered you into the ground and kissed your forehead one last time.

When the ground finally covered you, Ryland sat cross-legged beside your grave for a long time. Rocky did not move. He sat there, too. They stared at the little marker Rocky had made—your name, your position on the Hail Mary, the date you were born and the date you passed.

And right there at the bottom, small and carved in Eridian letters:

Loved for eternity by Ryland Grace.

It was Rocky's idea. He even had a mating stone for you and Ryland built into the marker. Not quite a tombstone, but not quite otherworldly either. Just something small and sacred that would remind the two of them of you whenever they stepped foot here.

"She's okay, Rock," Ryland whispered.

Yes. (L/N) near real ocean. Can see it every day.

Ryland huffed, smiled. His fingers traced the edge of the soil that held you as if he could feel your skin just one more time.

"Yeah." Ryland nodded.

You're home, he wanted to say.

You're home now, and you can look at the ocean every day.