Archive of Our Own

Simon’s first instinct was to inhale. The most basic, human of movements. 

He couldn’t. His chest and throat seized, something blocking what little air was probably left in the God forsaken sub he was in. He wanted to cough, to spit, and clear his airway. Teeth bit down on something hard. His eyes were still shut, his consciousness teetering on the edge of waking up. Simon couldn’t feel much of anything besides pressure in his mouth and chest. 

He tried inhaling again, through his nose. A blast of oxygen – Air? Actual Air? – filled his nasal passages. It was so intense, so clean and dry, it practically shocked Simon to his senses. His eyes snapped open. Or, at least one did. His left eye stayed dark. He could feel it stay closed. Somewhere in Simon’s groggy mind told him it was bandaged, that his whole head was. He could feel the tightness around his temples. Everything was so bright to him, white and burning into his one good eye. He shut it almost as quickly as he opened it.

“Eye movement detected.” A mechanical woman’s voice called out.

Simon’s eye opened again, his whole body lunging up. Or trying to. He strained against straps around his chest. Writhing and taking shallow breaths through his nose. There was a thin tube wrapped around his face that was pumping in the air, that cold, clinical air. Simon couldn’t make sense of it. It was so unlike the hot, wet air of the Lung, of his last conscious memory. 

Simon’s nose and mouth had been full of blood. Drinking it down unwillingly as he strained against the pressure of the horrific alien biting down on his vessel and his arms melding into the metal walls. A vision of bloody vines growing out of his skin flashed before him. He had been suspended in that hellhole, blood rising and rising. Simon had been so full of rage. So defiant against the universe that had put him there, against his God who had allowed it. The anger against Father, Ava, and the entirety of the C.O.I. It burned so hot that for a moment he thought he himself was boiling the blood that blistered his skin. That the rage had manifested into something real and powerful. Maybe it had. Maybe it was that rage that had allowed him to fight against the Death that awaited him. It was his rage that allowed him to pull his arm free– No. No. Did he get his arm free? Another vision came to him, his own arm dangling from the far wall.

Simon didn’t want to look. He had to look. He really, really didn’t want to look. Staring up at the bright, bright white ceiling that felt impossible, Simon clenched his fists, seeing if he could feel anything at all.

Simon clenched a fist. He let out a sob around whatever device was invading him. It hurt, rubbing against his throat and tongue. Feeling vaguely nauseous, he lifted his head. His left arm was gone. Just empty sheets next to the outline of his hips. He let out a groan, swearing to Eden with another swell of rage bubbling inside of him.

He had just wanted to live.

Now his mouth was full of…something. His arm was missing. And his nose was being filled with precious, precious air.

“Eye and bodily movement detected. What’s 2+2?” The same voice rang out.

Simon caught the movement this time. A robotic arm coming into his line of sight that buzzed and twirled a metal claw at him. 

He let out a confused sound, still unable to speak at all. Did this thing really just ask him a math problem? With this thing in his mouth?

It spun its claw at him again. Assessing him, Simon thought vaguely. His body felt like lead. His initial burst of energy zapped from him. The strap around his chest wasn’t even that tight around him.

He breathed deeply through his nose again, trying to quell the panic starting to rise faster than any rage or confusion he felt.

“Intubation is still in place. An endotracheal tube has been inserted. Please lie still for removal.”

Whatever the fuck that meant. Simon wasn’t the most knowledgeable guy on the space stations, but he wasn’t stupid either. The robot said removal and he prayed to the Last Tree that it meant the nonsense in his mouth. He could feel saliva building up around the tube, nauseatingly. 

The robot arm moved forward, two other appendages appearing and placing themselves on his shoulders. 

Irrational panic reached him fully now. Simon couldn’t decide if he wanted to shrink away from the arm reaching towards his face, or attack it and its hands holding him down. The end result was him wiggling around and trying to turn his head side to side. 

“Please lie still for the removal process. The patient must remain still for the endotracheal tube removal.” It latched onto his forehead then, releasing his left shoulder. Simon’s missing arm must have been less of a threat than his remaining one, now held down by his elbow. The main robot arm carefully grabbed onto the tube in his mouth and started to pull.

Simon was going to vomit.

When the end of it left his lips, he was released by the arms. He gagged, now able to reach up to the strap around his chest and yank it loose. It fell away almost immediately. What was the point of it, then?

He couldn’t think on it, just sitting up and retching over the side of the bed. Nothing but clear, yellowy bile hit the ground. His body was so– so heavy.  His stomach was queasy and he could feel a cold sweat on him. The air was still being pumped directly into his nose. Simon suddenly couldn’t stand it and clawed it off of himself. He sucked in air through his mouth, finally able to take in a deep breath. 

Everything was so bright to his one open eye. The floor was white. The sheets were white. The walls were white. Where was he? Had he actually died back then? This place felt too pure to be anywhere Simon would end up. 

The robot arm swept into view. Simon jerked back, arm coming up defensively in front of him. The arm simply started wiping away Simon’s bile from the floor.

Simon’s breath vaguely evened out. He eyed the IVs and tubes latched into his skin. White, gauzey bandages covered each entry point. Such precious materials. Clean medical supplies, so much of it being wasted on him. Was this why he felt heavy? Like his reactions were being slowed?

He took in what was left of his other arm. Simon felt like he should be freaking out more about this, in particular. His mind felt like it was covered in heavy cloth, unable to move out from under it. He didn’t feel any pain, either. Surely he should be feeling pain?

Pain was all he ever felt. Maybe he really was dead, and his subconscious had created some last goodbye hallucination for himself. A scene where he didn't feel pain and a robot cared enough to use expensive, clean medical supplies on him. Simon couldn’t tell if he wanted to laugh or cry or smash this whole room into pieces.

He was dressed in a simple, thin gown of some kind. His skin, though still marred by old (and new. Definitely some new) scars, was clean. Even the undersides of his nails were white. Had they ever been so clean? Simon couldn’t remember. Eden’s supply of soap was sparse even when he was a child, and as a convicted felon even more so. He would go a week or more between rations of soap. He flexed his fist open and closed, staring down at it. 

His hands were covered in the blood of Filament Station. Covered in the blood of his brothers. And they had been covered in the blood of AT-5. Now the remaining one was scrubbed so clean, he remembered that nails were supposed to naturally be pretty light in color. Simon took another shaky breath and closed his fist tight. 

“Patient vitals are stabilized. Cognitive test protocol re-instated. What is 2+2?” Simon’s head snapped up, breaking out of his contemplations. The robot arm was looking at him, whizzing its claw around. Assessing, again. 

Simon licked his lips. His teeth felt weird. “Uh… it’s uh, 4?” It sounded uncertain even to himself. His voice was rough, rougher than usual. His throat was scratchy and suddenly Simon was becoming aware of other sensations. Like thirst, and the ache in his back and shoulders. 

“Cognitive test completed. Thank you, Patient.” The voice said, arm nodding at him. “Dr. Grace has now been notified of your awakening.”

Simon’s stomach lurched again and he scrambled back, only halfway on the bed now.

“Doctor– Doctor who?” Simon’s voice sounded way too scared for his own liking. Someone else was here? In his hallucination? Or, no, this was real right? Maybe? If it was real, then it was bad because it meant someone else was here.

Simon cursed at himself, at his body being so sluggish, probably from whatever this doctor had pumped into him. He scanned the room quickly and spotted a pile of folded clothes on a chair. Praise to the Tree, please fit him. He felt too fucking vulnerable in this gown.

“Doctor Ryland Grace of the Hail Mary. He will be arriving momentarily,” said the robot arm, almost cheerfully. Simon glared at it as he dressed. He didn’t know what was real and what wasn’t, or if this was a heaven or hell or some kind of weird purgatory. But he knew he wasn’t going to be taken advantage of again.

Pants were on, but the shirt was a problem. He was still hooked up to the IVs and Simon definitely didn’t know how to navigate getting those off without another hand.

Then he heard it. A muffled voice quickly approaching. He felt the sheen of sweat that had broken out acutely. The cold air of this bright, white room suddenly felt piercing. His bandaged eye throbbed.

There wasn’t just the voice. Something else was with it, a heavy bumping sound, similar to his brother’s rolling barrels of fuel waste to the airlock on Eden. It was all coming so fast towards him. 

He looked at the tubes of clear fluid infiltrating in his arm. Simon suddenly couldn’t rationalize why he had allowed himself to continually be filled with whatever they were pumping him with. 

Simon lifted his arm to his mouth and bit down on the bandages, tearing them off with his teeth. He needed these out now.

The voice paused at the door, and Simon lifted his eye to see the vague silhouette of a man behind frosted glass. There was some kind of chiming happening, and the man’s head turned to look down.

Simon, without ever looking away from that shadow in the glass, steeled himself and bit down again onto the IVs now bare. His teeth dug deep and sharply into his arm. Too deep. Too sharp.

The door opened and Simon whipped his head to the side, ripping out the small metal hooks in his skin. 

“Let’s just see if he’s actually awak– OH my - hey-!” A voice was speaking, an honest to God human voice filled Simon’s ears. 

But all he could do was see red. Blood splattered into his eye, into his mouth. He could taste it again, that metallic hot liquid that was no doubt dripping down from his face. His arm exploded in pain, and he spit out the IV tubes from his mouth. Blood was sent flying onto the wall and ground. 

It had been so white. Simon felt vaguely guilty about tainting such a pure space. He kept his eyes on the man though, everything quiet as they locked eyes.

Was this Dr. Grace? Of the– what had that robot said? The Hail Mary?

Simon couldn’t help but let out a deranged laugh at the irony. Father would have been horrified at what Simon had done in a holy place– spilling his filthy, sinful blood here. 

The man was startled at the sound from Simon, his chest heaving up and down quickly. 

“Uh.. Hi, hello– that’s a lot of blood there. Armando could of helped, uh, with getting those out,” he said, somewhat shakily. Simon didn’t move, staring down the newcomer in the room.

He was blonde, taller by Simon by a few inches, but definitely not as built. Simon tightened his fist. He could take him down, even in his state.

The man flinched, “Hey, don’t clench your arm like that, the bleeding is going to get worse.” He started towards Simon, quicker than he was expecting.

Simon backed up, hipchecking the bed but never breaking eye contact. He didn’t want this stranger any closer to him, regardless of the discomfort of looking at another human for so long.

For the first time in so long.

The man paused after a few steps, assessing Simon not unlike the robot arm still twirling over his shoulder. 

“I … Do you even speak English? There’s no way you do, that would be highly improbable.”

The blonde man pursed his lips. “I’m Dr. Ryland Grace, you’re safe here on the Hail Mary.” He gently lifted his hands to his chest, pointing at himself, “Ryland Grace.” Ryland Grace said it like he was explaining his name to a small child.

Simon huffed out a bloody laugh, splatters hitting the floor. Who was this guy? Were there even other languages still being spoken? Of course he spoke Common English. He carefully kept his face the same, gritting his teeth. He must look feral. Good, he thought to himself.

He glanced around for anything he could use to defend himself. This place couldn’t be friendly towards someone like him. A convict, The Butcher, a nobody– whatever title Simon still had, it wasn’t a good one. There was no way he was getting off using such rare materials for free. And this guy was already treating him like an idiot.

Behind Dr. Grace, something moved and made noise. Noise like the chimes and strings that used to play during the weekly services under the Tree. Simon and Dr. Grace both jumped a bit at the movement.

A waist-high glass, angled ball rolled next to the doctor and inside was a creature. Brown and spotted oxidised green, with many legs like the old Earth creatures Simon had seen in a book once. That thing was making the noise, and moving. It was a living rock.

And it freaked the fuck out of Simon.

He pressed backwards suddenly again, his one bloodied arm finding the edge of a table. Bottles and papers and glass tubes rattled around.

“What the fuck is that?” Simon exclaimed, voice still scratchy and breaking. It came out much more panicked than he’d like.

“Language, dude!” Dr. Grace said, eyebrows furrowing towards Simon. Simon glared back. 

Then this Doctor Ryland Grace’s face lit up. His mouth opened wide into a grin and his eyes–blue, Simon now noticed, very blue– almost sparkled. 

“English! You’re speaking English!”

The rock creature beside him started to chime again, this time rolling around his ball excitedly around Dr. Grace. Simon faltered. His glare turned to one more of confusion, than mistrust. 

“What other language… is there?”

Ryland Grace looked at him again, awe taking over. His mouth hung open, still in a wild grin. He tilted his head at Simon, saying, “Well, y’know, there’s lots of languages humans can speak. English is just one of them?”

Simon didn’t know. With so few humans left, what would be the point of learning a dead language? He looked down at his arm, still dripping blood into a small puddle on the ground.

“What’s your name?”

Simon looked up through the hair that had fallen in front of his eyes. This Dr. Grace looked back at him, still, with such an earnest look. Earnesty was fatal in this world. How had this man survived this long? Picking up strays and patching them up with medicine that would cost a year’s salary? Maybe it was the obvious luxury he lived in that made him stupid, this place with white sheets and white walls.  

Simon licked his lips. He tasted his own blood again. Like metal and salt.

Maybe it was a front. He couldn’t trust anyone, not after what happened. And for this doctor to have so many resources? There was no way he wasn’t someone powerful, connected to the C.O.I. But if he was with them, shouldn’t he know exactly who Simon was? About the mission to AT-5? Although, the boots on the ground hadn’t even known his name.

Maybe the universe was a bit bigger than he realized.

Simon looked back down. It was quiet, just the drip of blood hitting blood from his remaining fingers. Both of his arms hurt, somehow. His phantom limb was throbbing in its missing place. He suddenly felt nauseous again. His name, this man had asked him his name.

Could Simon give it, so easily?

He must have sensed Simon’s struggle, as the doctor slid his glasses from his eyes. They hanged precariously from his ear. Simon had a passing thought of how careless it was to handle fragile glass like that. A hand ran over the blonde man’s face.

“Look, I’m sorry– I should of been here when you woke up.”

The rock creature started up again, echoey cords bouncing off the walls.

“Yes, I know, Rocky, I know. You’re right, one of us should have been watching over him.”

The ball rolled around from where it was behind Dr. Grace, stopping beside the man. Simon could see it leaning up and shaking one of its arms at the man. Music rang out.

“Armando was technically here to watch! Listen, he’s just scared. He was in bad shape, and trust me I know what it’s like to wake up alone with Armando hanging over you. Humans tend to uh, freak out sometimes.” Dr. Grace grimaced as he said the last part, sending an apologetic look to Simon. “Sorry, Rocky here is really worried about your arm. I know he’s kind of scary to look at, but he’s harmless.”

The rock– Rocky – now raised two arms towards the tall man, shaking them in what had to be irritation. The whistling music got louder. Dr. Grace let out a laugh, “Sorry, sorry Rocky! You’re not actually scary looking. Just… unfamiliar for humans.”

Rocky stomped a leg but seemed to be satisfied with this answer. The doctor laid a hand on top of the sphere and rubbed it in a friendly manner. Simon felt like he was in a fever dream, listening to this one-sided conversation.

“You can… understand… it?” Simon said, slowly. 

Dr. Grace grinned, meeting Simon’s eyes. “I can! It’s taken me a few years, but I’ve got a decent understanding of their vocabulary. Eridians use their bodies to make chords and music-like sounds to communicate. It’s fascinating! Oh– I’ll definitely have to find the old translator so you can understand him, too.”

Rocky let out some more whistles and then a longer note before scuttling off through the open door.

“Thanks, Rocky.” Dr. Grace said, face not quite ever looking away from Simon. “He said he’ll go find it, and get it working again. It’s been a while since I stopped using it. I wonder where it even is?”

Simon was still gripping the table he had initially leaned against. He felt less threatened now, like maybe these two weren’t going to outright attack him, but still. Still, he was on edge. And getting lightheaded.

The doctor repositioned his glasses onto his face properly. He looked squarely at Simon’s arm.

“We aren’t going to hurt you,” he said, simply and slowly. “I meant it, when I said you were safe here on the Hail Mary.”

Simon shifted his weight, still feeling unbalanced for a myriad of reasons.

“I don’t know what that is. Hail Mary. Who controls this station?” Simon said. He wanted to know just how much danger he’s in overall. Maybe this doctor wasn’t going to hurt him (right away), but whatever entity controlled this much wealth had to be dangerous. 

“Well, I wouldn’t call Mary a station. She’s a ship. I guess you could call me her captain, but I’m a terrible pilot. We’re en route to Erid.”

Simon felt even more unbalanced now. He shuffled back and hit the wall, opposite of the doctor. He curled his arm into his stomach, glaring again. “Ship? You’re traveling?” 

Egregious wealth to have a ship like this flying, FLYING, to another station. Erid? Simon had never heard of it.

“Who runs Erid?” He said, voice rising.

Dr. Grace paused, blinking at Simon. “The.. Eridians? It’s their planet, it’s where Rocky is from. I haven’t really spoken to him about what kinds of governments they have, but I’m sur–”

“Cut the shit!” Simon spit out. Planets? Alien lifeform somehow surviving the Quiet Rapture, he could get behind. He experienced that in the Blood Ocean. But a planet? A planet with living forms on them? Yeah, right. “The planets are dead, stop lying to me. They all died with the stars. Now tell me who runs your operation!”

Dr. Grace’s face scrunched up in confusion. Seriously, was this doctor just born? Hadn’t he pulled Simon from AT-5? Somehow, all the way up into space and onto this ship?

“The stars? I mean, sure the astrophage probably dimmed some of the suns, but not all of them. In fact, with our discovery of Taumoeba, no other stars should be affected. You’re from Earth, obviously, but the beetles haven’t made it there yet–”

Astro-what? Taumoeba? Earth? Simon was starting to feel more pissed off with every word out of this doctor’s mouth. The stars were dead. Earth was dead. 

“You can’t be serious. I don’t know any astro-whatever, but I know the reality of the universe. We were all damned by the Quiet Rapture, and those assholes in the C.O.I. can try their damnedest to figure out why but it doesn’t matter! It’s gone, it’s all gone!” His voice was loud. He could tell, it was echoing off the white, white walls encasing him. His breath was loud. Every heave of his chest felt like an asteroid hitting his lungs. The doctor stared at him with wide, blue eyes. Such blue eyes. When was the last time Simon looked at someone and saw the color of their eyes? When had he last seen the color blue? He felt so overwhelmed, he barely noticed his legs sliding down from under him. He hit the ground, and brought his knees up. He cradled his bloodied arm against himself. Simon’s forehead closed the top of his position, coming down to his knees. His breathing was just so loud. So fucking loud. He sucked in a breath that raged against his lungs.

“Don’t fucking lie to me! I know what I saw down there. It’s hopeless, the stars are dead! They sent me down there to find a solution, but it wasn’t there! There wasn’t anything besides those– those things! Even if the black box made it, it won’t matter! God, what was the point of sending me down there? Telling me I would be free?” He was yelling now. He knew he was. He just couldn’t stop.

“They sent me to die just to know that we were all doomed from the start!” His breath was now coming shallow and quick. He couldn’t get enough air, like he was back in that place watching the oxygen meter get lower and lower.

“I just wanted to live,” Simon croaked out, voice breaking in a way he just hated. He hated and hated and hated.

“I just…wanted to live.” Quieter, this time, through gritted teeth and stinging eyes.

He didn’t notice the doctor coming closer until he was there, dropping down to his knees in front of Simon. Simon tilted his head just enough, just barely to see him. When had this guy gotten so close?

Simon just kept trying to breathe, his chest heaving up and down. His bleeding arm, still clenched and curled into himself, stung against sweat.

The blood on the ground divided the space between them, one hesitant and one wholly unwilling to cross it. Dr. Grace just kept looking at Simon with those wide, blue eyes.

“Hey…seriously, what is your name?”

Simon’s mind and body buzzed, his senses so overloaded. He didn’t understand why this doctor wanted to know his name. 

His arm was hurting so badly now. Why had he ripped out the IV like that again? It had only been minutes now, but he couldn’t remember. Just that he was scared. Like he was about to die, so it didn’t matter if he hurt himself in the process. A flash of an arm swinging in the Lung, bloodied and limp crossed his vision.

Simon buried his face again on his knees, breathing deeply. Praise the Tree, why was his breathing so damn loud?

“Simon.” May as well, if he was going to die soon anyways, either from his own hands or the hands of the other. Someone alive should know his name. The rage that had spilled out was now bubbling down, pacified by Simon’s outburst.

The doctor settled a small smile onto his face. “Simon. Simon, it’s nice to meet you. It’s been, uh, a while since I spoke to another person. I’m sorry, I’m definitely out of practice.”

Simon paused at this.

“Is it really just you? Where is your crew?” Simon said, unmoving from his curled position. He was aware he was acting like a child, like he was hiding from Father again in some corner of Eden’s bowels. 

“My crew...” The doctor started. Simon glanced up. Something shadowy had entered those blue eyes. “The crew is just Rocky and I, at the moment.” 

Simon said nothing to this. What could he say? He can read between the lines. He was also coming to terms that this was probably real. His left shoulder, his phantom arm still throbbed. His right arm stung where the lacerations he made were still raw and oozing. Simon’s back and head hurt. He was so tired. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. Dr. Grace looked back at him, smiling but not reaching his eyes, “I’m sorry I wasted your medical supplies…You must have used a lot because of this.” Simon lifted his left shoulder towards him. His breath was more even now, finally quieting. “I’m sorry.”

He was suddenly exhausted. He felt too tired and hurt to care about whatever delusion this guy had going on. A planet to go to? To travel to and meet other living beings? Whatever you say, Dr. Grace.

“Don’t be sorry. It wasn’t a waste, you needed them. You were,” the doctor paused. Grace looked down at the blood between them. “You were really close to dying.”

“I thought I had died. I still think I might be dead.” Simon huffed out something akin to a laugh. His own dark eye shifted to the blood on the ground. The bright red pool that may as well have been as deep as the ocean on AT-5. Simon felt his lips twitching. The thought that he was actually dead gave him a pleasant light-headedness.

The doctor stayed silent for only a moment. 

“The vessel we found you in. There wasn’t a door.” Any semblance of self-deprecating mirth vanished from Simon. “You were extremely injured when we found you. You were soaked in this strange– it was like blood but not quite. It was toxic and you were just…floating around in it, once we cut open the hull. Your heartbeat was so slow. But you were alive.”

Dr. Grace paused, looking down at his own hands now, flexing them. He had his own scars, riding all the way up the side of his arm, past the sleeve of his t-shirt. “You are the first human I’ve seen in years. The first person, Simon. I couldn’t–” He took a shaky breath. “I couldn’t let you die.”

Simon’s heart ached. He squeezed his unwrapped eye shut, thinking of the endless days passing under the blood ocean. Dark and rancid, just navigating towards his own demise. How lonely it was, knowing you’d die so deep down. So deep that no one would ever bother to fish you back up again. But he had. He had gotten Simon out.

A stranger pulled from a bloody void and cleansed. Simon couldn’t fathom the amount of kindness towards anyone, much less himself. Dr. Grace must have known loneliness the same way Simon had, to be this desperate.

“Simon.” He met those blue, blue eyes. “Simon, I know I don’t know you. But I’m so glad you didn’t die.”

Simon didn’t dare breathe. His eyes stung in a way he didn't know was still possible. His hand pressed tightly between his chest and legs as Simon curled even more into himself. He wished he could ball himself up so tightly that he ceased to exist. A sound foreign to him escaped his lips.

Then it was there. A touch.

A hand on his good shoulder. 

A gentle pressure that sent Simon over the edge. 

He looked at Dr. Grace who had leaned in. Kneeling in the blood Simon had spilled onto that white, white floor. It was staining Dr. Grace’s pants. He didn’t even seem to notice.

Grace’s other hand came up and pressed on the back of Simon’s neck, and he pulled. Simon was pulled into the arms of his savior. He hadn’t let Simon die. He was glad Simon didn’t die.

He asked Simon for his name, and said it out loud.

As the man, the angel, embraced him, Simon could feel the trembling in the arms around him. Dr. Grace’s fingers shook against Simon, as if holding back some urge to press down harder, to bring him even closer. Simon was sure he was also trembling.

A sob wrenched its way out of his throat, and against the instincts inside of him screaming about the danger, he leaned into the doctor’s hold. He leaned into Grace’s arms that were so gently holding him. The touch of another human who wasn’t harming him, who had healed him. Simon couldn’t help but sob again. He uncurled himself just enough to press his bloodied face into that man’s shoulder. His bandaged eye ached under the pressure. Simon didn’t care.

He lifted his bloodied arm and wrapped it around Dr. Grace, silently praying for forgiveness. His blood would stain the man’s shirt.

The doctor gave into his trembling muscles, squeezing Simon closer. The warmth of another body against his! Simon could hardly believe it. He could feel wet tears slipping out of his unbandaged eye. 

“Doctor, thank you.” Simon wheezed out. His emotions were scrambled. He had been so confused and angry since waking up. His body was filled with such pain and relief at the same time. He had always latched onto comforts. They were so rare, touches that didn’t end up in pain. Simon yearned for them, the same way he wanted to live even as Death had closed in around him on the submarine. The gentleness reminded him of his mother. There was a knot in his chest. He felt that this was proof of his existence in this moment.

Simon did not want this touch to end. He wanted to be held and to stay in the bright, white light that surrounded both of them. He felt almost human.

“It’s not.. I’m not a doctor, like that.” He could feel the rumble of the other man’s words from his chest, “I’m just.. I’m just Ryland. Ryland Grace, microbiologist extraordinaire! Please, just call me by my name." 

Dr. Grace, no– Ryland leaned back, arms sliding away from Simon. He stayed kneeling, and now Simon could see his eyes were wet with tears too. He almost wanted to laugh. Two grown men clinging to each other and crying. His hands kept contact, the light touch of Ryland’s fingers on his shoulders.

Maybe the loneliness of Ryland Grace was the same as his, something inconsolable and utterly human.

He purposefully tried to shove down the weariness swimming in the pit of his stomach. How could he latch onto this savior so quickly? A dark voice in the back of Simon’s mind called him stupid, an idiot for already letting someone so physically close to him. He was too vulnerable.

A bigger part of Simon won out though, motivated by the blue eyes staring down at him and blonde hair haloed by the bright white lights in the ceiling. Ryland Grace, at that moment, seemed Holy. Like an angel sent to guide Simon into the afterlife. He would follow without a second thought. Simon had always latched so quickly onto comforts, always a loyal soldier to whatever cause kept him safe and breathing.

Who could blame him for the sin of selfishness? In a world that had thrown him to the pits of hell, why not indulge in something that might save him? Living on, in spite.

Maybe it was just his exhaustion taking over. Or maybe the pendulum of extremes Simon’s psyche was riding on swung the other way, and his body followed.

“Okay, Ryland.” Simon said, voice cracking from the weight of his emotions. Something passed over Ryland’s face, like he wasn’t expecting the effect that having his name said out loud had.

Simon would say his name over and over again. Praise to the tree, he would say Ryland’s name outloud. 

Grace smiled at Simon in the next moment though, and leaned back on his heels.

“You need some more work, though, Simon. Seriously, next time just ask Armando to help you with the IVs.” Ryland shifted next to Simon’s right side, continuing, “Let’s get you back to the bed.” 

Simon couldn’t find it in him to argue or even try to bring himself to his feet. He let Ryland touch him again – oh Praise the Tree, another touch – gripping his upper arm to help Simon stand again.

He wobbled, still unbalanced from the IV solution and his missing limb. His mind felt hazy.

“Was there.. Medicine in the IVs?” He asked as they shuffled back to the bed.

“Most definitely. Painkillers, antibiotics, nutritional fluids– all sorts of stuff, really. I told Armando to do whatever it took.” Ryland said it so casually, like it wasn’t lifesaving, precious resources. Rarer than anything on the stations.

Simon sat down on the bed, trying to remember how to breathe through his nose. The robot, Armando, dropped down from the ceiling again. It whizzed at him. Simon wondered if this was also a sentient alien lifeform.

“Lacerations to the right arm. Stitching required.” it said.

“Do you need some water? I feel like you probably need water,” Ryland said, again, casually speaking about an important resource like it was nothing. “Armando, water please.” 

Armando, who at this point was working on cleaning excess blood away from his forearm, used one of its additional arms to procure a pouch of clear liquid from… somewhere. Simon wasn’t sure. 

Ryland stabbed the pouch with a little straw that came attached to it, and handed it to Simon. Or, tried to. 

Simon’s one arm was being worked on, and Ryland held the water out to air. 

Ryland’s face turned deep red and he muttered an apology. He scrambled for a moment before setting it on a table beside the bed. He ran a hand through his already wild, short blonde hair. 

“Uh, right, sorry I didn’t mean to – I wasn’t thinking –” 

“It’s okay.” Simon said, giving the man mercy. 

Armando had numbed his arm now, and Simon didn’t want to watch. So he looked at Ryland, really looked at him. He seemed older than Simon, but nothing crazy. Maybe closer to 40 than Simon’s own 31. Tall and lean. Like he had muscle, but wasn’t keeping up with it. Or maybe he had been a scrawny guy and was building muscle. Simon wasn’t sure. He kind of wanted to know, though. Ryland was looking back at him, then suddenly realizing their shared staring backed off. He turned around and started organizing a counter on that side of the room, various medicine bottles and thin pieces of glassware. Papers and notebooks were strewn about. So many books and so much paper. Simon was astonished at the amount of stuff that was here and how casual Ryland was with it.

It was quiet, then. Just the noise of Armando stitching up his arm. Simon closed his one exposed eye, and leaned back. Maybe it was too soon to trust the crew of the Hail Mary. Maybe he should keep his guard up a little more.

Or maybe he could just let this robot give him stitches. He could drink the water pouch after. He could talk to the alien rock when it came back. 

Ryland Grace had saved him. Bandaged him up, kept him alive. Asked him for his name and gave him a hug.

And Simon, despite his internal screaming, wanted to trust. He wanted to try, at least. What else did he have at this point?

“Your eye,” Ryland said, bringing Simon back to the present moment, “is kind of damaged. I’m not sure to what extent though. The left side of your body seems to have taken the worse of what happened.”

Simon said nothing, looking down at his bare chest. He finally took it all in. Marbled scarring up from his hip to the stump off his shoulder. It was pink and white, healed but a permanent reminder of his ordeal. Examining it now made him feel itchy. It clearly extended down past his hips, under the drawstring pants he had scrambled to get on earlier. His bandaged eye was probably similarly scarred.

“Take off the bandages.” He said. Simon had to know. Ryland gave him a pained look from his position across the room and adjusted his glasses.

“Are you sure?”

“Please.” Simon hated the way the word sounded, like he was begging. But he was. He needed to know, the same way he had needed to know that his arm was gone.

Ryland nodded, walking over. Armando was almost done with his arm, but Ryland took charge with the bandages. He didn’t wait or ask Simon if it was okay to touch him. He just placed a gentle hand on the side of Simon’s head, and used his other hand to start undoing the wrapping.

His hand was warm. It took everything in Simon not to lean into it. He kept his head still, staring past the doctor’s shoulder.

The bandage fell off, and Simon kept his left eye closed. He was terrified of what he might see with his damaged eye. Had it been infected by the blood ocean? Was he half-blind now?

Ryland tilted Simon’s head, fingers pressing lightly under his jaw. His eyes were studying him, almost clinical. Simon idly wondered if he actually was a medical doctor, and was just lying about it earlier. 

“The scarring here is the same as the rest of you. I suppose that isn’t a bad sign, necessarily. It looks like it’s healed the same.” Ryland gave Simon a quick smile, “Kind of makes you look like a cool action hero.”

Simon couldn’t help his furrowed brow. Hero? He was no hero. Ryland let out an awkward laugh and released Simon’s head. 

“Hang on, I’ll grab a mirror so you can see.” He turned, walking to the cabinets on the other side of the room. Simon’s arm, now freshly stitched and bandaged, came up and felt his cheek. Just how long had he been on the Hail Mary for his body to heal like this? 

His skin was rough, but clearly no longer raw and blistered. He traced the edge of the scarring, moving up at an angle past his cheek, through his eye, and up towards his hairline. Had the blood from that cursed moon really done this to him? Simon felt like he should have even more scars if that was the case. He remembers his whole body being soaked in the stuff. 

Ryland stepped back next to the bed, holding out a square piece of metal. A mirror. It was so clear and uncracked. Simon had never seen one so pristine. He held it out to Simon like it was nothing. Then he handed him a cloth, slightly damp.

“Here. I’ll give you a moment. The cloth is um, for your face. You got, uh,” Ryland gestured towards his own face. Simon paused, before remembering the blood no doubt staining his mouth and right side of his face. He nodded silently at the doctor.

“I’m going to see where Rocky’s been, it probably shouldn’t take this long to find the translator.” Ryland paused, before continuing, “Will you be okay?”

Simon held the mirror, holding it in his lap. His left eye still shut. Would he be okay?

He wasn’t sure.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

Ryland Grace looked doubtful, but didn’t press. He stepped back making some wild hand gestures between Simon and the doorway. 

“Okay! Okay, cool, no problem then. I’ll uh, I’ll just be right out here so just yell if you need anything, Simon.” He propped open the door, a large round panel, and stepped over the edge into the hallway. Ryland gave Simon a thumbs down.

Simon squinted in confusion. Ryland stared back before quickly flipping his thumb up, laughing a bit.

“Ha, sorry that's a thing, it’s Rocky and I’s – it's a misunderstanding, but it’s the same thing as a thumbs up but you know,” He gave Simon an exaggerated thumbs down, grinning wide. 

Simon just nodded, watching the blonde man emote his way past the door.

“I’ll be back, Simon! Just a moment!” He called out, moving away from the room. 

He looked down at the mirror, taking in his own visage. Simon startled, quickly flipped the mirror back down. Dried blood was splattered all over his face, from when he bit out the IVs. His right eye had deep coloring under it, dark bags of exhaustion. Simon’s dark hair was so much longer than he was expecting, tumbling down past his shoulders. And the scarring.

Simon held up the mirror again.

He had already felt it. He had tried to prepare himself for it. It was a fruitless effort. There was a continuous maze of scars that rode up from his shoulder to his hairline. The left side of his face was marred, only a triangular form next to his mouth differing from the rest. It was like there had been a deeper cavity there, now healed over. It was vaguely smoother than the rest but the shape was outlined with a rough ridge. Simon thought it looked like a fucked up extension of his mouth. He could almost see where teeth could have been.

Teeth. Simon glanced at his bandaged arm. The feeling of his teeth digging down into the flesh of his own arm suddenly came back to him. He kept his jaw clenched as he opened his lips.  Dried blood cracked at the edges of his mouth. Sharper, longer teeth filled his mouth. More than there should have been and crowding his gums. He gasped, making them part and scrape against each other. What had happened to him?

How had Ryland stomached looking at him? Touching him?

He shut his mouth tightly. Fuckin’ blood alien did this, he just knew it. It turned him even more monstrous than he already was. Simon took the damp cloth and started wiping at his face. He rubbed and rubbed until it was saturated pink and tearing apart.

Simon kept his left eye welded shut. He knew he needed to look, to see if he was blind at the very minimum. The skin around his left eye was just as rough as the rest of his face. He breathed deeply through his nose.

Fuck it, he thought. And he opened his eye.

It was red. The white of his eye was blood red. He could see perfectly though, maybe better than he ever had.

Simon shut it again, cursing under his breath. He brought his palm up to it and pressed. Pressed like he could will his eye to be normal again. Father would have probably called him demonic looking. Ava would have called him a freak. Simon felt nauseous again.

He turned his head to the water pouch. Sighing, he grabbed it. The water was cold in his hand, his thirst hitting him like a brick. Simon took a sip. Oh, God. He emptied the pouch almost immediately. His throat rejoiced at it. Simon relished the cool sensation. What a luxury cold, clean water was.

Simon opened his left eye again. He could see well with it. His eyesight had never been bad, per say, but it was different now. Sharper when he looked towards the other side of the room. He could see the edges of individual papers on the counter. The little numbers and lines on glassware were clear to him, even from many feet away. He closed it again, covering it with his hand. He looked only with his right eye. The numbers blurred significantly.

There was a clattering in the hall. Ryland’s voice drifted down the corridor and into the room.

“I forgot that storage box was even there, no wonder it took forever for you to find it.”

“Grace always messy statement. Lose things easily.” A robotic sounding voice replied to Grace, accompanied with the tumbling sound of the alien’s sphere. Ryland’s easy laughter floated into the room, as he stepped inside. Rocky rolled in right on his heels.

In Ryland’s hands was a sleek looking device, handheld with a clip on the back. He was grinning, again.

“New Friend Simon calmed down, question” The voice said as Rocky seemed to tentatively roll towards the bed. The undercurrent of music-like chords and whistles rang out under it. “Why hand on face”

Ah, it was the alien translator. Rocky was talking to him through it. Simon kept his eye closed, but brought down his hand.

“Uh. I just needed a moment to process my eye.” Simon said. His voice sounded rough, even to his own ears. He glanced at the empty water pouch sitting beside him. His tongue slid through his sharp teeth to wet his lips. Simon wanted another one.

“Friend Simon in deep sleep for a long time. Rocky and Grace keep watch as much as we could,” Rocky said, rolling even closer to Simon. He was bigger, taller than he realized. The top of his carapace was taller than the bed. The alien leaned his body towards the edge of the ball he moved in.

“Of course Friend Simon wake up when both of us go do big science. Grace say Armando watch, but Rocky disagree. Not same as Friend watching statement.”

Ryland kept smiling and walked to Simon’s other side, handing him the device. “Keep this with you, and you’ll be able to understand Rocky. Feel free to turn it off though.” Ryland grinned wider as Rocky shook an arm at him.

“Grace is rude, Friend Simon need translator to hear Rocky. Rocky is only sensible one here.” Rocky directed this last bit to Simon himself, “Keep it on and feel safer.”

“Hey! Now that’s rude!” Grace said. The blonde man had stepped back to the other side of the room, picking up the shirt Simon had failed to put on earlier. He brought it over to the bed. “You can wear this for now. There’s not a ton of clothes on the ship, but uh, just feel free to wear whatever. What’s mine is yours!” 

Simon looked between the translator and the shirt and the water pouch beside him. Surrounded by a kind of generosity he hadn’t experienced before. He looked back to Ryland with a wide, brown eye.

“I don’t…Why?” He was starting to feel lost again. So much was happening, he wasn’t sure how to process it. “What do you mean, what’s yours is mine? Mine is yours, whatever you just said?”

He let his hand falls from his damaged eye, settling it on the translator. A small, black device that had a clip on one side and the speaker on the other. A little red light glowing at the top.

“Friend Grace always share.” The robotic voice for Rocky vibrated against Simon’s palm, “Only human for long long time. Grace share with Rocky too, but now can share human things.”

Simon felt like he could almost hear the hopefulness in the automated voice. Maybe the accented music-like rumblings from the actual being were influencing that perception. Simon quietly clipped the device to the edge of his borrowed pants. Then he grabbed the shirt that Grace set on the bed. It was soft.

“Ah, Rocky, c’mon! You know I always try to share ‘human things’ when I can,” Ryland’s voice was light as he leaned against the foot of Simon’s bed.

The glass-like ball wiggled as Rocky seemed to stand tall on his many legs. “Yes. Grace share when you can. But lonely lonely lonely. Human life short, Eridian’s much longer. Human needs different, pack species.”

Ryland huffed a laugh out, turning towards Simon. “He’s been researching human behaviors on the computer. Since he’s learned that humans are social creatures, Rocky’s been worried about what that meant for me in the long run. Without anyone else.” He said the last bit quieter, looking away and picking at the hem of his own shirt.

“Yes! Rocky return home, save Erid star, and see Adrian. Grace come too. But no other human. Very sad, but Simon fix. Simon Grace become human pack.”

Ah. So that’s what it was. Simon’s fingers caressed the worn shirt under his fingers. He had been right, then, about Ryland’s loneliness. The alien was right too, that humans needed other humans to survive. It’s what drove them all at their core. Protecting, serving, and sacrificing. Even at his lowest, watching the sparks fly as he was welded into the Iron Lung, he felt in some sense needed by humanity. Needed to die, sure, but someone had to go down there, right? Only a person could’ve done what he did. Humanity had needed him, in a harrowing way.

He wondered why he couldn’t find any comfort in that. The shirt was unbelievably soft. He stared at it with only one eye. Simon didn’t know what to say.

“Let’s not overwhelm him, there’s no guarantee that Simon doesn’t want to go back to his own home.”

Simon didn’t. He stayed silent, though.

“Don’t feel like you have to stay forever, but we could figure it out, if you wanted to Simon. That, uh…” Ryland’s voice faltered for a moment, as if trying to parse the next word out, “vessel is lost though. We couldn’t risk bringing that amount of biohazard onto the Hail Mary, I’m sorry about that, but we could compare what you remember about your last coordinates and build a–”

“No.” Simon cut in. He had brought the clothing close to him, now. It was probably the softest, gentle piece of clothing he had ever felt. 

“No?” Ryland said, face falling a bit as he turned to face Simon fully. “No to what?”

“I don’t want that. I don’t want to go– to go back.” Simon tripped over his words, his altered teeth awkwardly scraping against themselves. “I can find a way to be useful here, to you. I can repay you for…all of this.” It would take a lifetime to repay this kind of generosity. Eye for an eye, blood for blood, though, as Father would say.

Ryland didn’t seem to like the idea, frowning fully now. Simon’s stomach clenched. 

“Pay me back? What? No, that’s not– That’s not what I want either, Simon. If you want to stay, then please do. This isn’t a transactional thing. We saved you because it was the right thing to do,” Ryland said, stepping closer to Simon now. His hands waved around as he spoke, accentuating his words. He spoke like it was a factual matter to him. No disputing what his motivation truly was. Simon felt adrift, like nothing was truly making sense. 

He had always worked for his place in life, a clearly defined purpose. First it was to tend to the Last Tree, as a Child of Eden. Then to feed it, as the Butcher. Then to help his brothers further Eden’s cause, as an unwitting terrorist. Then to sit in repentance, as a Convict. Then he dove into an ocean of horror, as a desperate man. 

“Oh, praise the tree,” Simon muttered, feeling exasperated. The taller man tilted his head at Simon, examining him like he was a puzzle to figure out. 

“Is that, uh, is that like a good phrase or a bad one?”

“Friend Simon have new phrases, statement. Different word combinations than Grace.” Rocky chirped, rolling in his sphere. “Different human shape, different from Grace, different human words question.”

“Shape!? Rocky, don’t comment on people’s bodies, it’s not good manners.” Ryland said quickly, reprimanding the alien. Simon was reminded of the teachers when he was a small child.

“Manners? Oh, human social culture. Grace tell Rocky of this before. Sorry sorry Friend Simon.” Rocky said, turning in his sphere. Simon guessed he had turned to ‘face’ him, but all the sides of the alien seemed the same to him. “Rocky wondered if different human always come in different shape and speech. Only met one human. Is Grace.” 

Ryland seemed to chew on his cheek, face scrunched in a way that endeared him to Simon.

“Okay, quick human culture lesson. If they can’t change or adjust something in 10 seconds or less, we don’t say anything about it.”

“Why not? Talking about differences bad question.” Rocky said, against shifting himself towards Ryland. Simon felt himself relaxing a bit at the conversation unfolding before him. He felt no offense from the alien’s observations. Simon was different, much different to Grace. He knew that the two of them still had much to talk about. Like this business with stars and planets still being habitable. Even if this guy was delusional, it seemed much better here than with the C.O.I.

“Sometimes! It can be, especially when it’s, y’know, a recent…thing.” Ryland fully faced the alien now, but gave an awkward glance towards Simon at the end. Simon just watched, hand still caressing the shirt in his lap.

“Is not recent. Simon heal on ship for almost full human year now.” Simon’s hand stilled. Both eyes shot open, wide at the scientist in front of him.

“A year?” He asked, voice loud and astonished. His mouth hung open. Red eye wide, mouth full of sharp teeth, and a scarred face. Simon’s self consciousness about all of it evaporated as he heard it. A year? 

Ryland flinched and brought his hands to his face, glasses shifting off to one side and dangling. He let out a groan and rubbed his eyes. 

“I– I mean– Yes, yeah. You’ve been on the Hail Mary for about twelve Earth months. Armando’s kept you stabilized, but we weren’t sure why you weren’t waking up. Your vitals were seemingly fine, your bloodwork was relatively normal, you were breathing, but…” Ryland trailed off. Like he, too, felt perplexed at the longevity of Simon’s coma. He looked at Simon, meeting both his eyes. Simon blinked, taking the other man in.

“So, all of this, the eye, the teeth,” Simon said, gesturing towards his face, “You have any clue about all this? It’s fucking weird.”

Ryland flinched at the vulgar language used, but Simon couldn’t care less about that. The taller man put his glasses back on properly and moved closer to Simon. 

“Yeah, I have no tangible explanation about it. Theories, lots of those, but the only evidence that something happened to you is the features themselves. And a change in your blood.”

“My blood?” Simon felt something churning in his stomach at the apologetic look on Ryland’s face. He didn’t like the sound of this at all.

“Yeah, so, we did bloodwork on you once every few weeks. Just to, y’know, monitor. Everything was pretty normal, after we got you stabilized, rehydrated. Some elevated white blood cell counts, but that was to be expected with the healing your body was undertaking. Armando had to do some surgery on you in the beginning, then dialysis to try and clean your system of that toxic blood.” Ryland paused, looking down at the white sheets Simon sat on. “I’m type O, by the way. Universal donor. Your type is AB!”

Simon’s eyebrows shot up. Had Ryland…given him blood?

“Did you..give me your blood?” He asked, staring openly at the blonde man. Ryland smiled, his blue eyes crinkling at the edges.

“Heck yeah I did. You had lost a lot of your own, and your arm’s wound was directly exposed to the fluid in the ship,” Ryland sounded a bit excited now, “We made a quarantine and surgical suite in the airlock. Rocky did a quick job of it. It was fantastic.”

The alien made a noise, untranslated by the machine, but obviously very proud sounding.

“Yes! Rocky is expert engineer. Can make anything. Friend Simon very hurt, Grace Rocky make safe space for healing. Rocky learned much about squishy human anatomy. Very interesting to share vital liquids, but also very disgust.” The alien shuttered at the end.

“While Armando worked on you, it was clear you needed to replace what you had lost or you wouldn’t survive. So I hooked myself up with a bag and got to work. Your body had absorbed a decent amount of the ‘toxic blood’-- although I don’t quite believe it was purely hemoglobin, not with what it did and how it acted, but it did get into your system. I think it’s what caused some of your mutations.” He paused at the last word, hand reaching up to scratch at his stubbled jaw. “Sorry, sorry about that phrasing. I’m not sure what else you’d call it. But you had a lot of the stuff. I was trying to make sure there was enough normal blood in you. For a while there, the toxic blood level kept overtaking your regular stuff.”

Simon couldn’t help but agree. Ryland’s theory about the causes of his mutations sounded perfectly plausible to him. But an invasive blood type in him? Fighting to overtake his regular human blood? He felt horrified at the prospect.

“It’s fine. How did you get the toxic blood out?” He asked. How had he been purified? Was it from Ryland Grace’s own bodily sacrifice?

The man paused, his lips thinning in thought. Ryland then looked to Simon, eyes holding something unreadable to him.

“We didn’t.” Huh? Ryland shrugged his shoulders, then ran a hand through his hair. He started to pace a bit. Simon leaned forward, staring at the doctor.

“What do you mean? Is it still in me?” Simon felt hot all over, hand clinging to the shirt in his lap like a lifeline.

“I mean.. It’s kind of like..” Ryland was fully pacing in the medical room, obviously trying to figure out and explain something he couldn’t. Simon didn’t feel any comfort from that, his supposed savior being at a loss on what he did. Ryland picked up a sheet of paper and began folding it in an intricate way Simon couldn’t follow.

“From the bloodwork we’ve done, it’s like your body is now partially…producing it. It’s strange. You make your own blood, right, we can tell from that. AB blood, normal looking plasma, perfectly human. But every time we drew a vial, there was something else. A third layer that separated out from your red blood cells and the plasma. It’s darker, heavier than your human blood. The cells are slightly off, differently shaped.” Ryland paused. The paper he was fiddling with was now in a triangular shape, sharp and compact. He flicked his wrist. The paper glided through the air. Simon stared at its trajectory headed to the floor. It slid to a stop on the smooth flooring. Its sharp, longer end pointed at the smeared blood puddle from earlier.

“I took a sample of the blood from your vessel before we sent it away. Compared it. It’s the same,” Ryland said. He looked towards Simon, eyes sad and droopy. “I kept giving you mine, over time. I hoped replenishing you with mine would help clear it out. But the levels of it stayed the same, if not fluctuating. I’m not a doctor, so I didn’t even know if what I was doing made sense. I was desperate to try anything. The toxic blood has a lot of mercury in it, insane levels of it actually.”

Simon felt like his head was spinning at the revelations. Ryland Grace had invested so much into him, more than Simon could comprehend. His own blood, given freely? To a clearly injured, dying man? Why?

“Rocky disagreed with this plan. Very dangerous, make Grace sick.” Rocky chimed in, sullen sounding, “Grace give human blood to Simon, but Simon toxic blood stay the same. Grace stayed weak from giving.”

“I only got sick from it once, Rocky. Just a fainting spell, it’s fine. I stopped after that, about 5 months in. You eventually got stable. Just in a coma and circulating this stuff in you,” Ryland said. He walked over to the folded, flying paper and picked it up. He flicked it again, this time directly towards Simon. “You weren’t actively dying, so we figured it was fine. Your body didn’t seem to…change anymore than it already had. You were healing.”

It landed on the white sheets. Simon felt his eyes burning and his vision clouding.  Tears started to drip down. Some landed on the soft shirt.

“Friend Simon leaking! Grace Simon leaking!” Rocky’s vehicle scooted around the bed, “Friend Simon is okay. No longer in deep sleep, blood stabilized now. Just weird now.” The rock-like alien lifted one of his hands and pressed it against the glass enclosing him.

“I can’t believe you, that was so stupid of you.” Simon mumbled out, tears slipping freely. Ryland flinched, hunching his shoulders. “Why do that? Why do that for me? You don’t even know me.”

Ryland walked back to Simon’s side. He looked sheepishly towards him, and covered Simon’s hand with his own. 

Simon couldn’t help himself. He let go of the shirt and turned his wrist, gripping onto Ryland’s hand tightly. Simon looked up and met Grace’s blue, blue eyes. Ryland squeezed his hand back. It was warm, a warmer touch than he had felt in years. 

Ryland’s own eyes filled up as he looked at Simon. They were wide and so full of emotion. Simon felt bare, like Ryland could see into the very core of his soul. “Because I had to. It was the right thing to do.”

He smiled and lifted their arms together. Ryland pressed the back of Simon’s hand to his forehead. His other hand came up, cradling Simon’s as Ryland took a shaky breath.

“And I’m not very brave, Simon. I saw you and knew I wasn’t the only person in this remote, vast part of the universe. Selfishly, there was no way I was going to let you die. No way. I had to save you, I wanted you to live.”

Ryland’s tears came sliding down his face as he lowered himself next to Simon, gripping the man’s only hand tightly against him.

Simon could hear his own words ringing in his ears.

I just wanted to live!

Doesn’t anybody else want that?

Here he was now, inexplicably. Simon had lived a nightmare of blood and misery. Now he was in a waking dream, hands clinging to him. Yearning for Simon to live.. 

Oh, Praise the Tree, there was someone who wanted Simon to live.

“Thank you.” He said, quiet and reverent. 

Ryland looked back at him and smiled.

Simon inhaled deeply, chest shuddering from emotions he couldn’t name. The room was white, and bright. The air was dry, clean and cold. He still had so many questions, so much to process. 

His arm had been ripped from his body by his own brute will. Smothered in blood, Simon had raged and wailed against forces beyond his comprehension. Deep down, he knew that ocean’s blood would return to torment him. It was already in him. It would mock his hubris and try to drown him again. 

But for now, an angel held his hand and wept for him. He could exhale on his own. So he did. Simon breathed out and tugged Ryland to him. Two humans collided again, burying their heads together.

Ryland had given life back to him, so Simon would survive.