Chapter Text
“Would you like to go on a space walk, Doctor Grace?”
No. No, he really wouldn’t. But Rocky’s more excited than he’s been since he discovered that taumeoba are predators to astrophage. Mary had been signaling about a new ‘blip’ for thirteen minutes now, and the level of anxiety that Grace feels is high. Very, very high.
It would be pretty easy to just keep moving, they’re on a somewhat tight schedule to Eridani, stopping in the middle of deep space to investigate a strange vessel that didn’t even give off its own light isn’t really that high on Ryland’s priority list.
There’s a substance that appears to trail behind the small vessel, only visible as it glistens against the lights that emit from the Hail Mary. The vessel is elongated and tiny, but Grace can’t see any visible entrances, windows, or anything that even resembles a pilot’s cockpit. It felt wrong, wrong and out of place in a way that Grace can’t explain. Everything in space feels a little bit off, but this…
As he stares at one of his visual monitors, an eerie feeling crawls upwards beneath his skin until it reaches his shoulders. It makes his body shake with a heavy shiver.
Grace gets Mary close enough, and Rocky preps a docking system to breach the vessel. His heart is in his throat as he distantly recognizes Rocky’s excited chanting while he works diligently. The vessel feels as though it’s crawling with something Grace doesn’t understand, something unknown to human eyes and human brains, unknown to human instincts and a million years of human evolution. And yet, Ryland still feels the fight-or-flight instincts genetically installed into his mind keeping him on high alert for the unknown.
That space walk was miserable, but for different reasons than that of his first one. And the only reason Grace is entertaining this is because Mary was able to pinpoint a faint heartbeat within this death trap. A human heartbeat. Grace felt ill almost instantaneously, and Rocky go
Grace figured out pretty quickly that the glistening substance covering the vessel was blood. Thick, crimson blood. Dread had crawled up his very being, made itself comfortable within his heart. The daunting amount of blood on the outside surface makes his stomach violently lurch, and he’s too horrified to really fathom what the possibilities could be.
Ryland finds the one and only window.
The mess inside is so vile, so unidentifiable, that for a moment Grace couldn’t even tell that the mass that should have a weak heartbeat was a person at all, and Grace is pretty sure the image would stain the inside of his eyelids forever. Tears began to fall almost instantaneously, a reflex reaction that Grace cannot control, and has never been able to control. It’s like his heart is being gripped by a cosmic hand, slowly pulling it from its strings and all he can do to protect himself is shed the tears that his heart cannot.
For a brief moment, as he stares into the bloodied abyss of the vessel, Grace thinks he hears a voice. It’s soft, tempting, like it wants to persuade Grace. Words are not distinguishable, but the intent behind the voice is still identifiable. As the tears slowly fall, Grace tilts his head to try and get a better look through the window. Absently, he takes note that his vision appears to slowly tunnel the longer he peers inside, and the more his vision tunnels, the louder the voices seem to get.
Paralyzed in place, it was his best friend through their communication comms that broke through the fear that rooted Grace’s very soul to the blood-stained window. When he pulls away from it, hands now crimson, the voices cease and his vision returns.
Tears still fall, but Grace doesn’t think they’re his own.
When Grace comes back from his unfortunate space walk, Rocky volunteers to go out instead, to which Grace protests at first. But Rocky can’t see like Grace, and while Grace feels weak for it, he ultimately decides Rocky would be best to drag out whoever is stuck in that mess. That didn’t stop the fear for his friend’s safety, though.
There was no way to open the vessel without forcing it open themselves, it appeared that any openings it possibly had were crudely welded shut like a permanent casket. Which is horrific and unfair, Grace thinks, because at least Stratt gave them air-lock exits.
He tries not to think about Stratt.
The human Rocky returns with is unrecognizable under all of the gore that plagues him. It makes Grace sick with confusion, because this is actually impossible, impossible and horrific and oh my actual god what the f–
He sends Rocky for decontamination immediately.
They cleaned up the best they could without a hot shower, and it was up to Grace to help Rocky undress the man (Rocky’s claws just didn’t have the right dexterity for wet fabric). None of the man’s clothing could be saved after being drenched in gore, their only solution was to cut it all away. The other human had a strange arrangement of garments, the random layers seemingly stitched together by hand. The man wore an odd harness that squeezed across his broad chest, function unknown.
But cutting away the attire helped Grace pin point any additional injuries they might have to be conscious of while moving him to the medbay.
Once the man is laid out on the table, Grace takes note that he’s pretty sure he’s taller than their new passenger. His hair is long and dark, but Grace wonders if it’s just that dark due to the blood staining the strands. They would know once they can get him a deeper cleaning in the showers (if he manages to wake up, and Grace wants that so badly he can almost taste the wishful thinking).
The man also had strange anomalies across his bare (very, very bare) body. Strange scales glisten around the temples and the back of his remaining hand. Scars litter his entire body, some old and many still healing. The left arm is missing, and what makes that strange is the painful-looking boils that still look tender right at the point of detachment (which was the immediate concern, actively bleeding, so Armando moved quickly to remedy this). Across the left side of his ribcage is raised skin, they’re red and agitated in a way that looks painful. The left side of his face took most of whatever the hell the man went through, pieces of flesh missing in his cheek and his left eye so swollen from boils that the man probably couldn’t open it right now even if he wanted to.
Grace briefly felt for a pulse before Armando began his work, and it’s the raised spinal ridges on the back of the other man’s neck that makes his stomach swoop. He can’t see them, thick hair draped over the neck, but the ridges felt abnormally harder than the rest of the skin atop them.
The man on the table had an olivine complexion beneath the layers of blood, a scruffy beard around his strong jaw, and heavy circles under his eyes, a color that Grace is still unsure of. And while Grace might be taller, he’s definitely not as large. This human was built for combat, survival. To take a hit and deal back double the force. Large chest, large hands, large thighs. Large everything.
Armando advises additional mild sedation. If he wakes up now, his chances of survival will plummet even further. The idea only makes Grace’s stomach churn.
Armando works on this man for hours, and Ryland couldn’t watch. Sewing flesh, burning away dead tissue, slowing any blood loss (which was happening in many parts of the poor man’s body), and practically flooding the man with antibiotics. Bone is restructured, muscle tissue is rebuilt, and internal organs are slowly restored. The internal damage is most concerning to Grace, and he feels sick at the smell of death and iron overloading his senses.
Grace found something while decontaminating the man. It looked like a bracelet, but the cord the charm was attached to was heavily degraded. Grace holds it now, examining the seedling that is sealed away timelessly. He sits on the other side of the glass in the medbay, anxiously turning it over and over as Armando works. It’s hour four, he hasn’t eaten and hasn’t moved much from his spot. He wonders what the seed is destined to grow into, wonders of the significance of it to the other man. He hopes he’ll get the chance to return it to its owner when he wakes.
“Grace scared question?” Rocky’s voice pushes past Grace’s thoughts, but it’s not unwelcome. He rolled across the floor to his human friend quietly.
He squeezes his eyes shut. “I think… no, not scared. Just confused.”
“Explain.”
“It just doesn’t make any sense, Rock. We’re so, so far from Earth right now. Nothing we’ve ever built before could reach this distance, we weren’t even sure if Mary could make it.”
“Long shot.” Rocky murmurs, almost to himself. Grace nods.
“Right… and even if they did build something after I left, which I can’t see how they could possibly have the resources to do so with our sun dying, there’s no way this guy could catch up to us like this. It’s just… all wrong. Not to mention the blood. That was…” Grace shivers, feeling a wave of illness pass through his lower stomach. “Something is just not right, Rocky.”
“This human look different.”
“I know.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know, Rock.”
“Ask human when he wakes?”
“No, not when he wakes. He’s going to be very, very confused when he comes to. Asking why he looks different probably won’t go super well.”
“Rocky hopes human wakes…”
Grace opens his eyes again, his gaze falling on the man that lays on the med bay table. The room smells like iron and burning flesh. “Armando is good. He’s good, Rocky.” Grace tries to convince himself of that. He really, really does.
“Rocky?”
“Yes?” Rocky moves forward in his xeninite ball.
“Thank you, for pulling him out of there. I’m sorry I wasn’t… I just wasn’t strong enough at the moment. You did a good thing, rescuing him from that death trap.” Ryland says earnestly, eyes on his best friend.
“Rocky Grace did good thing today.”
“Mm, can’t forget about Mary.”
“Yes! Rocky Gracy Mary do good thing today!”
Grace smiles, appreciating the brief moment the illness deep in his gut seems to subside.
•••
Two weeks go by, and the man remains in a coma. He stabilized a week ago, all they had to do now is wait for what felt like a slow death while Armando periodically worked when a wound opened on the rare accounts that the other human jerked his body in his sleep. Grace got him into a proper medical gown once it was safe to move his body around without hurting him further. That was… a task.
The other human was warm to the touch, so warm.
It’s the start of week three, and Grace has fallen asleep in his spot on the other side of the glass. It quickly became routine to keep watch, Grace choosing to eat and read in the same spot for two weeks. Rocky has had to adjust how he watches Grace when he rests, but he makes it work (with many, many complaints).
He dreams of deep space. He hates it, even now. The endlessness and uncertainty of space means something else to him now. Even in this dream, it feels as though the darkness of space might swallow him whole in an instant.
He feels himself drifting, just like the vessel Grace found that other human in. He’s drifting and drifting, and that same dark-haired man is drifting alongside him. Only he doesn’t have a space suit on, and for a brief moment this concerns Grace. The other human doesn’t appear to be aware that he’s drifting, or conscious at all to begin with. But he looks alone, aimless that far into open space. Ryland wonders how close he can get, if he can get close enough to touch-
“Grace wake, Grace wake!” He’s suddenly ripped from his dream, tired but alert eyes are darting in every direction as panic settles over him. He can’t help but match Rocky’s energy, who is definitely in a panic.
“What– Why are you yelling? What is it? Up, I’m up!”
“Other human wake! Other human loud!”
Grace’s attention refocuses. He looks through the glass barrier, and sees absolute chaos. He bolts from his position, scrambling to stand up and then races past Rocky to get into the medbay. The screams are horrible, muffled by the sound proofing but still heart shattering. Rocky is telling Grace to stay away as he follows his friend inside, but Grace ignores him.
The medbay is trashed. Armando is talking, requesting their new passenger to lay back on the table much like when Grace first woke up. Grace’s breath hitches when his eyes fall on the other man, who can barely hold himself up against the ship’s wall with his remaining arm. His breathing is ragged (something is definitely wrong there), but he still somehow has the energy to curse and scream at Armando. Rocky positions himself in front of Grace the moment he gets into the medbay, blocking his path to the other human, but Grace is already stepping around him.
“Rock, it’s okay, he’s just confus-”
“Who the fuck are you? Where am I?”
Grace’s head snaps back up from Rocky, and for the first time since they recovered this man, both humans look directly at one another. They held each other’s eyes for what felt like minutes, and it’s nothing like Grace has ever seen. Everything about this man is unbelievable, from his strange eyes, to the scales that were once dull at his temple that are now shining against the artificial light, to the deeply intense stare the other man has on Grace. He shouldn’t even be alive. But he has the eyes of a survivor, of someone who wants to live.
Of someone who will do anything to do so.
Grace’s back slams against the glass wall that once separated them, breath knocked out of him even faster than the first time he was pinned to the ground all those years ago. He hears himself wheeze, but before he can process that motion, Grace feels a strong, solid hand pin his throat with heavy weight behind it. Armando’s robotic voice is filling the background with warnings, along with Rocky’s panicked trilling. Ryland lifts his hand in a ‘stop’ motion in his friend’s direction, trying to keep Rocky from getting involved.
The only thing that can be heard in the medbay is Armando’s mild tone and Grace’s heavy, ragged attempts at taking a breath. Rocky stays back, but Grace knows that won’t last long if he doesn’t put a stop to this soon.
With wounds only two-thirds the way healed and a missing arm, this man still has the strength of a wild, cornered dog. Faintly, in the back of his mind, Grace can tell their strange passenger is visibly in pain. The man is bleeding above his eyebrow and probably several other places that remain hidden by the hospital gown, it worries Grace to think about what stitches were probably busted open.
He supposes he may have taken too long to answer any of this man’s questions, too busy with worrying about the other man’s injuries.
“You’re gonna tell me where the fuck I am, before I have to find somebody else who will. You’re not with C.O.I, you’re too fucking pretty.” It’s not a compliment, Grace realizes, the words spoken at him with deadly venom. “So what the fuck is this place? What station am I on?!” He raises his hand just enough for Grace to squeak out a weak ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about’.
It’s the wrong answer. “What did you do to me?” His voice is rising again but it’s rough with disuse, mouth curled into a snarl, his long hair a mess from the too-quick movements as he speaks. “What, am I a little test subject to you guys? Think you guys can pick me apart until there’s nothing left?”
Grace pleads with his eyes, tears starting to prick at the corners. He was correct in his assumption before, he’s taller. But this man, despite his state, is strong. And while Grace may have strength he cannot explain ever having, he certainly doesn’t know how to use that strength like the man in front of him.
“I know you’re… you’re scared, but–” His breath hitches, high and desperate as his attacker puts more pressure on his throat. “...we’re trying to help.”
“Grace save new human! Grace go on spacewalk to pull new human from scary ship! Grace risk life statement!” For a moment, it sounds like anger is bleeding through the translation module. But his body language conveys what the translator does not. He’s vibrating, clacking his claws on the floor while trills that cannot be translated echo in the medbay.
“...and what the fuck is that thing?” He spits with so much hate that Grace’s heart might actually break. Who could feel such negative feelings about a good soul like Rocky? Who was brilliant, and kind, and so selfless that Grace thinks he can only wish to be that brave?
His attacker had turned his head to look at Rocky, distracted enough that his hand slightly lifted. Grace takes the open opportunity to try and get away, but the moment he tries to wriggle free, the pressure returns to his throat. Wild eyes pin him once more, and for just a moment, they’re studying each other. Grace tries to find something, anything in the other man’s eyes. Grace wants to believe this is a reflex or a trauma reaction, that this is just a person who’s just as scared as he is if not more. And he finds that the other man’s eyes aren’t dead, they aren’t lacking in some kind of light, and that means something to Grace. But there’s something else, something Grace doesn’t want to say out loud.
There’s a strange hunger in them.
“...Look at my eyes–” His words die out, his heart beating so fast it’s really all he can hear. His voice is trapped between his lack of air, words just behind his tongue. Grace gently takes the wrist that holds him against the wall between both hands. He feels the tendons there, the way they flex and shift beneath his own palms. He pleads through his eyes, his own voice too far away, begging that this other man see into his own soul and understand Grace isn’t here to hurt.
All that matters is that he can feel warmth at his palms where he touches the other, and that’s all he needs to know that his attacker is really human.
Armando is still talking, warning everyone of Grace’s current state (as a patient, as that is all Armando really recognizes). Rocky is frantic. But even with all of that noise, Grace can’t seem to hear anything. Everything starts to fade, the silence almost… It's almost comforting, he thinks. His brain is quiet for the first time in ages, which means he can’t overthink his actions or his placement in the universe. The idea of his brain shutting off so easily is scary at first, but that fear slowly fades into obscurity.
Grace’s eyes are now half lidded, blue eyes falling on brown and scarlett. For a brief moment he remembers the weight of the charm he found in his pocket. Slowly, Grace dips his hand into his pocket. His attacker watches closely, fingers tensing further around Grace’s neck.
With the last strength that remains, Grace pulls the seedling from his pocket, then slowly brings his hand to the other man’s field of vision. Grace opens his palm, revealing the charm.
He opens his mouth to make one last attempt to speak, but all he can manage is a soft, barely audible whine. He’s brought back to his face in the grass and the feeling of silence is no longer comforting, but instead horrifying and painfully familiar. He may not wake up this time. He might actually die, and that would leave Rocky all alone on this ship. Rocky would have to save Erid and the stars all by himself, if this other human doesn’t kill Rocky first.. He can’t bear that. Grace put his best friend through that scare once, he will never forgive himself if he does it a second time.
He thinks he’s still being studied.
Ryland’s eyes fall closed once more, it’s become difficult to keep them open now, and he’s not sure when he’ll be able to open them again.
•••
Why is he looking at me like that?
Where am I, why does this person look so… so comfortable, clean? Why isn’t he fighting back? Does he work for Ava? He feels strong. He smells strong. Why the hell isn’t he fighting back?
Why am I alive, what the fuck is happening to me? Where’s—
…why is he looking at me like that…?
Something’s not right. Nobody has come crashing through a door to incapacitate him, and the man beneath him doesn’t seem to want to fight back. The alien is yelling, or at least he thinks it’s an alien. It spouts strange notes that he can’t decipher, nor can he tell if they’re even coming from the alien to begin with.
The man Simon has against the glass wall is nothing like anyone he’s ever seen on Eden, and definitely not like anyone he’s seen with C.O.I. People with C.O.I don’t look this healthy, this pretty. There are far too many skirmishes, too much death, too many opportunities to take a blade to the face to look the way this man does. People who look like this man end up very dead, very quickly.
His clothes are strange. They aren’t as utilitarian as he’s used to, nor do they look very warm (arms exposed?). Lots of bright colors, too. Makes him an easy target to spot. And he doesn’t fight back with bared teeth and scathing insults. He’s limp, and Simon can feel just how strong this strange man could be if he just simply tried. He feels the strength from the tendons in the neck he squeezes alone. But no, it’s like he doesn’t even know how to protect himself. That’s concerning, it must be a trick.
And Simon is lost as he stares. He can’t bring himself to believe a word the other person says, because that’s just not how shit works.
The blonde gave up before Simon ever laid hands on him. He’s not a fighter, not like Simon. And then, just before this strange man slips from consciousness, he pulls out Simon’s bracelet.
Fuck…
He only has the time to stare at it for about two and a half seconds before the pale hand that grips his wrist slips away from its hold.
Simon pulls away like he’s been burned, leaving the other man to drop to his hands and knees. The charm clatters on the floor, rolling a few feet away. He’s coughing rabidly, right hand coming up to hold his own throat as he desperately tries to inhale as much oxygen as his lungs possibly can. The alien skitters past Simon as he steps back from what he thinks might be a scientist of some kind, despite not coming with the usual attire scientists on Eden have.
The alien is talking, frantically calling this man’s name as it quickly rolls over to him. Grace, he understands now. He tries to avoid looking at him as he coughed, but his eyes couldn’t help themselves; the other man is crumpled over himself, trails of saliva reaching the floor beneath him where he coughs. One palm supports some of his weight flat on the floor, with his forearm from the other limb with a closed fist supporting the rest. His head hangs low as the alien keeps chittering with concern. It can’t touch Grace, a strange force field separating them. But it tries to reach the best it can, and Grace appears to lean against the surface of this odd force field like its something familiar, something warm.
“I’m okay, I’m–” another heavy cough, “...I’m alright.” His voice is so weak, Simon’s not even sure how he has a voice left at all. He feels his hand shake.
I did that.
But he has a pretty voice, Simon thinks. How could he take something like that away? How is it that he’s hurting yet another life?
“New human violent! All humans violent question?”
“No, Rock, but many can be.” He still hasn’t caught his breath, but he’s trying to sit back up on his knees, probably to open up his lungs for more efficient circulation within his airways. “He’s confused, not violent, it’s a normal reaction.”
Heartbeat racing, Simon takes another few steps back. His feet are bare, the floor cold against his skin. His entire body is on fire, but especially his ribs and shoulder. The lights are so bright, making Simon unable to focus his vision well enough to not have some kind of blur in his left eye.
He glances back at the scientist, noticing his glasses had found themselves on the floor after he collapsed. He feels like his skin is itching, and a strange voice whispers to him, trying to convince him to run, find an airlock-
“Grace, my name is Ryland Grace,” The man looks up from his position on the floor, picking up his glasses. Blue, his eyes are very blue. But they’re not completely focused, probably still dealing with tunneling in his peripherals. Saliva is slick down his jaw, and his voice is painfully rough.
“And you’re on the Hail Mary, my ship. I’m sorry, you were… you were drifting, and Mary found you. That’s Armando,” He weakly gestures behind Simon with his arm outstretched, a robotic arm gesturing back. “He was in charge of working on your wounds, which were absolutely horrific by the way. I have no way of explaining anything Armando had to do the last few weeks to keep you alive. But hey, sometimes you just gotta work with what ya’ got…I guess.”
Simon can’t really hear everything this man is saying, so many words coming out at once. It doesn’t help that he’s struggling to speak clearly after the harsh treatment of his throat, and regret suddenly fills Simon’s chest. His eyes shift upwards towards the robotic medic, then down at his own stump, where his own arm should be.
His left eye twitches at the sight, where he sees strange red splotches at the contact point of where his arm was torn apart. The skin is still quite raw, irritated and covered in scars that he can only assume come from the radiation or the eldritch horror that spoke to him, holding on like it wished to possess his very body and soul.
Maybe it did.
He’s in some kind of gown, he realizes. His good arm throbs with a white-hot pain, and with his adrenaline coming down he’s starting to realize it’s because he must have ripped medical equipment he was hooked up to right out of his own flesh.
“...and this is Rocky, he’s from a place called Erid.”
“Rocky hate new human…”
“I really regret translating that word for you, man.”
“New human try kill Grace! New human dangerous! Rocky Grace only want help new human, statement.”
Dangerous.
Filament station crosses his mind for the first time since he was locked into the SM-13.
That was an accident, we didn’t mean to hurt that many people! I told them to stop, but they wouldn’t listen!
Simon shakes his head, trying to clear it of thoughts that mean nothing now. The alien is still going back and forth with Grace. Maybe, if he’s quick enough, he can bolt while they’re distracted. God knows what they did to him while he was out, and there’s simply no way anyone could even pay him to find out.
His small steps backwards turn into bolder movements. He twists his body to face the opposite direction, then he tries to force his feet to break into a dead sprint. It’s a very miscalculated, very painful mistake. He’s not done healing, that much is obvious. Simon has to catch himself on another wall as a sharp cry escapes his scarred lips. His ribs burn, and his shoulder feels like it was chewed by a wild animal.
Grace looks up then, eyes wide with worry. “Stop, you’re just gonna hurt yourself! Try to take deep breaths, we can keep helping you. You’ve recovered pretty well so far despite everything, we just need to patch up a few more bones, clean up a few more wounds, and probably-”
“For fuck’s sake, stop talking.” Simon snaps, his head twisting back to stare Grace down. Simon regrets his tone almost immediately even before he sees Grace’s reaction, but watching the other man visibly flinch made him want to bash his own skull through a wall.
“Fuck… fuck. Look, I don’t know what you want, or need, but I can’t… I don’t have much left of me.” Simon gestures towards his missing limb. “I shouldn't even be alive. I didn’t mean to hurt you, I swear. I just need to get out of here.” It all comes out in a rush, like if he doesn’t say it all now then the blood ocean might open up right beneath his feet and swallow him whole, drowning him into darkness.
But this time, instead of a constant stream of chatter, Simon is met with silence, which feels worse somehow.Grace has averted his eyes, but he hasn’t made the move to stand just yet. His hands rest on his thighs, sitting back on his knees. Grace wipes his face with the back of his pale wrist. Simon can feel the alien’s field of vision bounce between them, despite lacking true eyes.
When he does finally speak, Simon’s heart twists painfully in a way he doesn’t think he’s felt before. “We don’t have you here because we need to use you.” It comes out small, and Simon doesn’t like that they can’t meet each other’s gaze.
I’m not useful to you?
Something ugly shows itself from within Simon, something bitter and twisted and very contradictory to his previous statement. “Yeah? Am I worth that little to your organization, then? Too broken up to even whore me out?” He spits back, to which makes Grace’s eyes widen with shock. That brought his gaze back up to Simon’s this time, head tilted as he tries to comprehend what this man just admitted to.
“I don’t… I don’t even know what you’re talking about. We saw you drifting-”
“And what? You just wanted to help out of the goodness of your heart?” Simon sneers.
The blonde stares back with a new fire behind his eyes. Carefully and slowly, he grabd the charm up off the floor before finally pushing himself up, legs a bit shaky. His brows are furrowed, and Simon can tell this is not an expression a man like Grace wears often. It does not suit him, he decides.
“Yeah, we wanted to help! I slapped my space suite on, even though I hate space walks, and Rocky actually dug you out of there. I don’t know who the heck even designed that vessel, but it was designed poorly,” he says with a sour taste in his mouth. “But we cut you out, not knowing what to even expect because of all the blood, then we decontaminated you because of all the freakin’ blood! And for days and days, Armando has worked to keep you alive, to try and save what he can, because we wanted to help!” His words strike, one after another, and they’re words of passion rather than hate or distaste. They’re not meant to hurt, Simon realizes.
“I don’t know who you are, but you’ve clearly been through the worst of it… And I have no idea what your background is or why you were in a space boat full of blood,” the man has a hysterical scoff at that. “But heck, I can’t help but want to find out! Because I’m insane now, I guess! Insane and terrified! But whatever is going on, I just want to help.” His hands are thrown up, almost like a motion of surrender and exasperation. “My name is Grace, okay? Just… yeah. I’m Grace. And we don’t want to hurt you, you’ve obviously been through enough.”
Grace stretches his hand out between them, offering Simon’s bracelet to him as a peace offering. “We had to toss what you were wearing, but… I wanted to give this back to you. It seemed important.”
If only Ryland knew.
Silence falls between them, even the alien is holding its metaphorical tongue. It has remained quiet in a way that Simon can’t quite understand. It almost feels like its studying the both of them, perplexed by the argument and waiting to see what the outcome will bring.
Simon continues to hold himself against the wall, but his energy levels plummet once the adrenaline has completely abandoned him.
Simon carefully takes back the charm, their fingers briefly brushing.
“...Simon. My name is Simon.”
Simon watches Grace’s shoulders drop, as if the burden of some kind of weight has been lifted from them. He averts his gaze from Grace’s, because they’re too big and too hopeful. How can anyone feel that hopeful right now when all of the stars are dead? When there’s nothing left but dust and echoes? This man before him, with strange clothes and a strange accent, holds too much of what nobody on Eden can see.
Clearing his throat, he asks, “I never saw you on Eden, did you grow up somewhere in the city center? You look… healthy.”
Now it’s Grace’s turn to be confused. “What..? I’m sorry, I don’t know what any of that is. I’m from the U.S, I just-”
“What station is that? The fuck, never heard of it.” Simon scoffs, which earns him a look of skepticism from Grace.
“It’s… not a station. The U.S? United States of America.”
Simon stares from where he rests against the wall. “That doesn’t… no, there are only humans left on the space stations. That’s it.”
“I hate to break it to ya, but I was born on Earth,” Grace tries to offer in a humorous tone, as if the Universe isn’t desolate and cold.
“Shut up, Earth is fucking dead, just like he rest of the universe.” He spits back.
Now it’s Grace that stares, but before he can ask a dumb question, Simon groans, his temple hitting the metal wall that supports him. Without the adrenaline, holding up his own weight became an almost impossible task. His right arm burns where he ripped medical equipment from his skin. His ribs were fucking killing him, every breath felt like a knife between the rib bones and his left shoulder burned white-hot, so hot it itched in every cell of his body.
He’s coming down, he realizes too late. The adrenaline isn’t there to keep him alive this time. In the silence of this strange and sterile room, Simon begins to slip from the wall. Seconds later, his head slips forward, hanging below his shoulders with a dark curtain of hair blocking his vision.
“Fuck…”
Right before he hits the floor, he’s distantly aware of hurried footsteps. He just hopes Grace makes his death quick for him.
•••
Grace doesn’t think twice before moving as quickly as he can when Simon starts to slip. But he was already lower to the ground as it was with the way he leaned against the wall’s surface. Grace can’t catch him in time, but it doesn’t stop him from pulling the other man over and onto his back.
“Dead? New human dead!” Rocky exclaims as he rolls over to his best friend. Grace is frantic as he reaches his neck to check for Simon’s pulse. He’s alive, but probably in shock.
“Not dead, but we have to get him back on the table.” He does his best to keep his voice steady for Rocky’s sake, but he can’t help the small uptick in the octave. “Armando, mind helping me move the big guy over here?”
When they get him back on the table, Armando goes right back to work.
“It is advisable to examine one’s neck, Dr. Grace.” Armando says, but Grace can’t really bring himself to care about that right now. With a team effort, they get Simon back on the med table.
“After, Armando. You can check on it after we get this guy handled.”
“Grace hurt, Grace need heal.” Rocky pushes.
“I know, I know, I promise. After Simon, I’ll let Armando check, okay?” It clearly doesn’t quite satisfy the Eridian, but he doesn’t push further.
This time, Grace stays close for the next time Simon wakes. Armando works diligently, moving this way and that above the other man to fix what was freshly opened. There’s one thing that sticks in his head, and he plays it over and over in his mind.
Earth is fucking dead, just like the rest of the universe.
He can’t seriously believe that, right? Why would he say something like that? As far as Grace knows, Earth is kicking. It’s probably struggling, waiting for the taumoeba to arrive, but still kicking (He hopes, god he hopes. He made a choice, and with this choice he has chosen to never truly know if the probes made it back to Earth, if the taumoeba survived the trip, if he ends up being the last of his kind. All Grace can do is hope).
The rest of the universe is fine, too. Isn’t it? How could humans know that much, anyway? Grace and his crewmates are the first to make it this far into deep space, Grace being the first to make it this far alive. There’s so much they don’t know, so much they can’t see, so much they can’t even imagine.
It has to be the shock and adrenaline. The human brain can do some wild stuff when it has to do everything it can to protect its host. Although Grace isn’t sure how talking about the apocalypse really helps with that.
Rocky waits with him, always a welcome presence during Grace’s times of stress. “Human scary…” he says quietly. “Human loud.”
“A lot of humans are loud, Rock.”
“Why be loud?”
Grace hums. “Lots of reasons. Fear, excitement, anger, overstimulation. Some humans just talk really loud by default. Humans are very unique between one another. Simon and I are clearly very different people.”
“How humans different from other humans, question?”
Grace smiles back at Rocky. “Same way Eridians are different. You and Adrian don’t look anything alike, do you?”
“Adrian beautiful! Adrian bigger than Rocky, more strength than Rocky.” Grace chuckles, nodding back. “Yeah, humans are the same way. I know you guys can’t see certain waves of light, but that’s a big way humans are different from one another.”
“Grace describe Simon, question?”
“Well, you can’t see color, but his hair is black while mine is blonde. So… light reflects darker against Simon’s hair, and lighter against mine. You can see the length of his hair, though. It’s much longer than mine. My eyes are blue, his are brown. Well… one looks like a dark red, but that’s not normal for humans. I also wear glasses, he does not. I have two arms, he has one. I’m a little taller than Simon, and he has a very different face than I do. His build is unique, too.”
“Build. What build mean in this context? Simon build things, question? Is engineer, like Rocky?”
“No, it means something else in this context. I have no idea if he’s an engineer, we don’t know anything at this point, we’re lucky to even get a name.” Grace glances over at the other man laying across the table. “When I say build in this context, I mean the way Simon is put together. I’m tall and my muscular structure is put together on a smaller frame compared to Simon, and my face has sharper angles. But Simon…” Grace considers Simon for a brief moment before he continues. “I’m strong, sure. But Simon looks like he was built for something bigger. He’s strong in a way that I don’t think I could understand.”
“Explain.”
“Well, he’s… thicker. That’s the best way I can put it. Wider shoulders, larger legs. His muscle structure isn’t cut in the same way mine is. They might not look defined at first, but the second he strains his body in any way, you’ll see it. Human bodies vary widely from each other.” Warmth spreads over Grace’s features, and he’s grateful Rocky can’t see the change in color. “He could probably take a punch a lot better than I ever could with that kind of build.”
“Grace cry.”
“...What.”
“Grace cry a lot if Grace takes punch.”
“Wow… thanks, pal. I really appreciate that. I don’t see how anyone wouldn’t cry in that situation, but thanks.”
“Rocky is always here if Grace is punched.” He says this earnestly, and it tugs a smile from Grace’s lips.
“I know you are, Rock. I can always bet on you.”
•••
The second time Simon wakes, Grace is there for it. It took another thirty-four hours before Simon came to. Rocky agreed to stay occupied in the lab, knowing it might lead to the same outcome as previously if he’s all that Simon sees.
“Eye movement detected. Cognition test. What is one plus one?”
Grace’s heart skipped a beat at that. Simon manages a rough groan, but he’s not as angry as last time, which Grace counts as a win. He sits close to the med table, a book in hand that he had been reading for the last few hours. He remains quiet to the best of his ability to keep from startling the other man as he tries to sit up on his own.
He only manages to get as far as holding himself up with his forearm. Armando is still trying to do a cognitive test, which Simon fails to answer every time, his eyes adjusting to the bright lights again. He’s not done healing, still requiring some work on his shoulder and ribs. Most of the surgeries had been for Simon’s internal injuries and the bloodloss from his torn arm, which was a lot.
Simon favors taking in his surroundings over screaming and fighting this time. Calm isn’t the word Grace would use, rather subdued. Grace keeps his voice soft when he asks, “How do you feel?”
Simon startles, finally looking over at Grace for the first time. He doesn’t say anything at first, but he’s examining Grace with an intensity that makes him want to squirm where he sits.
“…Have we met?” That’s not what Grace expects, but it’s concerning to him.
“Kind of. You woke up from a coma almost two days ago.” Grace refrains from touching the still healing bruises around his neck. “Do I look familiar?” he tries.
“Yeah…” Simon tilts his head as he examines Grace like one would a sample in a petri dish, eyes squinted. “I remember your eyes.”
“My eyes?”
Simon offer a reply, instead opts to slowly reach towards Ryland with is right hand, who remains rigid against the movement. This touch is a stark contrast to the last, scarred fingers gently exploring Ryland’s sharp face. He’s nearly holding his breath as he lets Simon explore, terrified of startling him enough to attack. It never comes, though. Simon holds Ryland’s face in one palm with a gentleness that doesn't seem possible after his outburst two days ago.
“Did you kill me?”
“Oh—“ Ryland inhales a sharp intake of breath, “God, no! You’re alive, very alive. You don’t remember the first time you woke up?”
Simon appears to think about that, pulling his hand away and visibly making an effort to recall any past memories of before. He settles on asking another question instead. “Where am I?” Simon tries to sit up further, but a sharp pain in his ribs keep him down.
“Take it easy,” Grace starts. “You’re on a ship called the Hail Mary.”
“A ship? This isn’t a station?” Grace shakes his head. “What the fuck. What the fuck-“
“Hey, it’s okay! We found you drifting in space. You woke up almost two days ago and—“
“I almost killed you!” Simon gasps, eyes suddenly alert as memories seem to flood in quicker than he can fully process. “I almost killed you, fuck. Yeah, I remember, what the hell. I’m alive? I can’t— I don’t want to do this, you know I can’t go back, right? I can’t go back—“
“Patient’s heart rate has increased exponentially. It is advised to take deep breaths, as you are still recovering. Increased heart rate could lead to—“
“Hey! Eyes on me,” Grace raises his hand upwards above his own head within Simon’s field of vision. It catches his attention, and all Grace can see in those eyes is himself; afraid and confused and alone. “Deep breaths, big guy. Yes, you hurt me, but you didn’t mean to, I know that for a fact because I can see it in your eyes. I don’t know where you came from, who you knew before, but whatever you went through… we aren’t throwing you back out there.” He takes a deep breath, running a hand through his already messy hair. “I’m just… happy to have another person around, you know? It’s just been me for a really long time.”
Simon is a mix of different emotions. Grace can see about twelve different questions flash across the varying expressions he displays. “You have a lot of questions, huh?” Grace softly adds. Simon swallows, closing his eyes tightly before nodding. “That’s okay, so do I. But we can take everything at your pace, you still need to heal.” Simon offers another tight nod.
“…That thing, the talking rock. Was that real?”
•••
Grace takes the time to tell Simon how he and Rocky met, why they’re working together, and how they both ended up in deep space to begin with (excluding how he got into the Hail Mary). But none of it made sense to Simon. The stars are gone. There’s nothing left to save.
Simon spent what felt like hours trying to piece it all together. The stars died before he was even born, even when he could still see them up until the light no longer reached Eden. This man looks to be a little older than Simon, too, so surely he knows just as well as Simon that there’s nothing left to look forward to.
Everything he has worked for, his fight for survival since the day he was born, his near 16 years in prison, the people he has hurt or killed in the past, the loss of his mother and his brothers, did it mean anything?
But he can’t believe Grace when he says the stars are still here, that only a single cluster of stars are slowly dying. In his delusional world, the majority of the stars in the universe are still bright and violent and beautiful. In Simon’s correct world, the human population has been decimated into numbers so small that their species has probably hit a bottle neck and nobody wants to admit it.
Somehow, this man speaks nothing of the Quiet Rapture. He was spared of the death and conflict, of the Father’s self-appointed position, of the death of all greenery and most life as he knows it. Of the warring factions that were incapable of helping one another. This man wears clothes that he likes, not that he needs. He has the choice to help others, and waste precious medical resources in doing so on someone he doesn’t even know. This man has a home planet that somehow still thrives.
Why?
Simon sits on the med table, still hurting everywhere but trying to ignore it. Grace sits across from him, having flipped a large bucket upside down to perch himself. And while they spoke, Simon had begun to realize he probably looks… different. He’s actively choosing not to look at himself on any reflective surfaces or asking Grace what he sees.
But the stars…
He’s so tired.
Simon hasn’t offered to explain the Quiet Rapture, because he’s never had to explain that to anyone to begin with and his head hurts too damn much to even begin to. Now, he listens as Grace tells him how they got him out of the SM-13, to which Grace is unaware of the actual title or purpose of.
“Why were you in a ship with the only exit welded shut, anyway..?” Simon only barely catches the question amongst the seas of words, having been lost in his attempt to sort his own thoughts. He looks back up at Grace, he can’t remember when he ever even took his eyes off the other man.
“That’s not important.” He says quietly and with finality. Grace is searching him. He has his arms folded over his knees as he sits, with curious eyes trying to find an answer that Simon won’t provide for him. But even with eyes that can dig as deeply as Ryland’s, Simon remains silent.
Ryland lets it go. He shifts to new topics, such as where Rocky came from (which is another puzzle Simon refuses to unpack right now, he will continue to view the alien as a creature that somehow survived Earth’s extinction, not as a sentient alien from another planet outside of their solar system, it’s easier that way).
Grace talks a lot, but Simon uses that as a way to think to himself, the scientist’s babbling decent background noise. And right now, he’s thinking this blonde man has some kind of plan for him. He has to. Maybe to use him for labor, at the very least. That wasn’t uncommon for Simon. He has a compacted, strong build that many guards took advantage of when new construction started to expand the prison. He’s also an experienced pilot, if he’s trapped in this hellscape then maybe he can try and bargain.
Simon had kept his eyes away from Grace’s form as he spoke because he wouldn’t be able to think to himself otherwise, but now he decides to chance a look as the man rambles. Unfortunately, it was a cruelty to himself to look at all.
The other man’s glasses hang off from his ear as he speaks (strange), his face tired but also not making eye contact. He has a gentle voice, so gentle it sort of reminds him of his mother and one of his brothers, who was the only other person he had a deep bond with outside of his family. Grace’s hair is disheveled and long at the front, like he didn’t sleep well. His face is unmarred by scars and cruelty, his eyes holding the entire galaxy all on their own. There is one scar that Simon can see now that his adrenaline has flatlined. It stretches across the blonde man’s forearm, very clearly a burn mark. Simon wonders where it came from, wonders why someone or something would mar skin like his.
Simon’s not sure what Ryland Grace is, or what he’s really capable of. But he can’t possibly be a threat in the same way Simon is. Maybe in other ways, but not like Simon.
Finish it, it would be so easy to just finish him—
Simon bites his lip to silence his own thoughts, hard enough to taste iron in his mouth, hears the dull crunch of cartilage within his own head without a flinch against the pain. This catches Grace’s attention, who looks morbidly concerned. Simon simply licks away the blood, and Grace looks away.
The scientist suddenly leans back, still talking absently but mostly to distract himself this time, and in doing so he exposes his throat. Too vulnerable. Brown and scarlet zero in with a focus he hasn’t had since he was blindly mapping his way through the blood ocean. The skin is dark and bruised, an ugly collection of purples and blues against otherwise pale, soft skin. His voice is still tainted with roughness at the end of each sentence, a reminder.
Fuck… what have I done?
“I’m sorry,” He cuts Grace off halfway through a sentence. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t- I wasn’t going at you to… I wasn’t gonna kill you, I wouldn’t, I swear. Just wanted you to know that. I shouldn’t have attacked you like that, and I’m not… I promise I’m not dangerous, not usually. Fuck, I was just… I’m sorry.”
Butcher.
The other man stares at Simon with impossibly wide eyes. Absently, Grace raises a pale hand to his own throat with a gentle touch, blue eyes now softening but drifting away from Simon.
“You didn’t know what you were doing. You woke up on a ship you don’t recognize, surrounded by people and things you’ve never seen before. I don’t blame you.”
Simon can’t help but grimace at that. “Do you make excuses for everyone that tries to kill you?” He meant to say it with morbid humor, but it unfortunately comes out sounding like a serious question of concern.
Grace meets his eyes at that, and Simon can’t quite read his expression. The scientist takes that moment to stand from his perch on the bucket, heaving a heavy sigh. “…I’m talking a lot, I’m sorry. We should finish your healing. Your mouth could get infected, and I know your shoulder probably still hurts. Armando got all of the internal damage dealt with, which was very touch and go for a while, but now we just need to finish the external wounds.”
Simon stares from where he sits on the med table, arms in his lap. Grace stands above him, the artificial and fluorescent-white light harsh against the man’s silhouette. It makes his blonde hair glow, Simon thinks to himself.
“…My mouth?” He says dumbly, eyes narrowing at Grace in confusion.
“Yes. You have a two-inch-by-one inch space on your left cheek that is exposed, and that’s gonna lead to infection.” Grace’s tone is that of factuality, not exasperated emotions like before. “And… you probably want to shower, I bet. I really can’t imagine what it was like to be alone in a submarine full of blood.” In that moment, the scientist’s brain starts to hit overdrive again, Simon can visibly see the change in his expression, “Not that you reek! You kinda do, of iron that is. All we could do is use the mech cleaner on you. It just smells like metal in this room right now. But do you want to? Shower, I mean.”
…Fuck.
Simon squeezes his eyes shut, digging the heel of his hand into his left eye, which has been bothering him the last few minutes. His head is swimming with voices he doesn’t recognize, and he assumes it’s the dehydration. But the idea of a shower sounds absolutely godsend. So after a few heavy seconds, Simon gives a very tiny nod, hand still at his face. Maybe if he’s healed enough, Grace can find a proper use for Simon in exchange for the resources he’s sparing.
“Okay… let’s finish up your wound care, then.”
His left eye twitches. The convict never properly processed it before, but now that everything has slowed down he’s still noticing his vision seems blurrier than he remembers, but only in the left eye. The same eye feels more sensitive to bright lights than the right.
Odd.
“Alright.” He says tersely. “I’ll… I’ll behave. I swear.”
Grace deflates just a smidge, but he appears to try to recover just as quickly. He gives Simon a nod. “This isn’t, like, a prison, y’know? I’m just one human who’s kinda stranded in space with a funky alien. I mean, it’s definitely preferred that you don’t kill me, but we’re not here to hurt you for any reason. You don’t have to… well, behave, this isn’t a corrections facility or something.” He says with all the empathy he holds in his heart, and unfortunately for Ryland Grace, is a lot.
Simon stares back at Grace with a mixture of awe and skepticism. He wants to believe him, by the Tree as his witness, he desperately wants to believe Grace. And can’t help but like the way his name sounds in Grace’s accent. The last he remembers anyone saying his name, it was just Ava, whose accent sounded a lot like Grace’s, screaming incoherently to grab the black box—
The box! How the hell did I forget that stupid box?!
Simon’s eyes grow wide in realization, and all he can hear is Ava’s screams and the monster’s begging cries. The giant eel whose voice equated to dozens, if not thousands of stolen voices, begging him to do what’s right, to let go, to see the light. Ava’s screams and broken cries, warning him that what he found is more important than anyone’s freedom, let alone his own.
His vision tunnels and suddenly he can’t fucking breathe, I can’t fucking breathe-
“Simon?”
But he doesn’t hear the scientist’s sweet and soft voice. It’s Ava’s, with a filter of static.
“Hey, are you okay? Can you look at me for just a second?” Her voice rings at the same time Grace’s mouth moves. Simon’s hands had gripped the edge of the table where he sits, palms flat but fingers curling underneath until the knuckles go white. When Grace makes a careful approach to reach out with his hand again, Simon jerks back, eyes locking with Grace’s.
“Don’t fucking touch me!” Simon snaps at Grace before making a move to block himself from whatever Grace is about to do, but all he feels is the movement of his stump pointlessly jolting forward.
Grace swallows, bringing his hand back to himself. He opens his mouth to say something, and Simon dreads the thought of hearing Ava’s voice again.
But the alien comes storming in, calling for Grace, who is already trying to keep the alien from getting too close to Simon. It’s trilling again and it fucking hurts his head, ringing back and forth like a bell. He tries to close his eyes, bringing his palm to his forehead as he leans forward on himself, elbow resting on his knee. There’s more talking, so much fucking talking.
“It’s okay, he’s just-“
“Grace say confused one more time—“
“What the heck else do you want me to say!”
“Rocky Grace not safe, statement. New human-“
“He yelled once, Rock, once! That doesn’t immediately mean danger.”
“New human always angry at Grace!”
“Simon, his name is Simon.”
Brown and scarlet open again, palm still holding his head up. Eyes trained on the sterile floor.
His name is Simon.
His name is Simon, and he is a convict, assigned to SM-13 to die. He was born on Mars. His mother sent him to Eden. He and his brothers… blew up Filament Station. It was an accident, he thinks. Prays. His name is Simon, and he’s pretty sure he fought God in an ocean of blood on a desolate moon in the middle of bumfuck nowhere.
Simon, I’m Simon. That’s… Grace. Not Ava. Not mom. New person.
The convict takes in a deep breath, the air around him sterile, mechanical. Grace looks back at him, keeping the alien at bay.
“You okay?” Grace asks again quietly, blue eyes trained on him. This time, Simon hears a man's voice as his lips move to formulate a question. Simon swallows the tight lump in his throat, eyebrows knitted forward as he stares back at the taller man. He’s pretty sure he’s sweating, and there’s background noise behind his eyes that he prefers not to focus on. Grace clearly expects some kind of response, so Simon offers a small nod.
Simon forces himself to look at the alien. For the first time since he woke up, he’s considering the strange creature. It’s so expressive, even without a face Simon can tell it's angry with him. “I’m sorry,” he starts, but he can’t really find the words to follow up with that. He feels the words, deep in his chest, he just doesn’t know how to say them right now.
The alien, Rocky, chitters back, but Simon’s not sure what that meant. He doesn’t 100% trust Rocky, just as he doesn’t 100% trust Grace. But he still means the apology.
Grace had clasped hands pulled to his mouth, anxiously watching the interaction between the two. Rocky steps back, however, to remain close to Grace’s legs as a protective maneuver. He seems very protective of his human counterpart.
“...Simon need heal.” Rocky states, much quieter than before, arms huddling closer to his own body.
Grace looks from Rocky to Simon. All Simon can do is take the small olive branch that it is before he mentally prepares himself from more poking and prodding