Archive of Our Own

Clawing at the table, Ryland could barely see– glasses long knocked askew and out of sight– as he stayed bent over the conference table. Shoved forward even as he tried to press back– tried to get that knot inside again, needed it inside–

“Alpha~”

Ryland cried out with sounds akin to words and yet closer to animalistic cries– fudge, it’d been so long and everything was right, he felt so good and still he wanted more. More of his alpha, more of his alpha's cock, more of his alpha's scent and taste and– yes! Yes, each bit of skin felt like it was on fire, waves of electricity flowing and streaking out from each point of contact– Tom’s hand pressing down on the back of his neck, his fingers pressing along Ryland's claimed scent gland, and his thumb pressing into Rylands unmarked recessive gland on the opposite side– fuck! Nevermind Toms hand gripping his thigh, pressing deep as if to bruise on Ryland’s scent gland that lied there– each press deeper stimulating Rylands scent to spread, expressed like a harsh rub and sniff sticker by–

“TOM!”

Ryland sobbed, forehead hitting the table as his alpha shifted his grip again, raising Ryland's hips higher and– fuck he had never been so full, so stuffed, each thrust of Tom’s cock in his pussy pushed the alpha's prior loads of cum deeper and dragged some out of Ryland and fuck had he ever been this much of a mess before? When was the last time– 

Brain off, vision little more than fireworks, Ryland whined as his Alpha snarled against his ear, hips moving faster and the sound of squelching getting louder and his cock is getting bigger again! Ryland purred in return to the snarl, cutting his whine off and not even thinking as he tried to arch his hips more, present his pussy perfectly for his alphas cock– Ryland wanted to be good for his alpha, a good omega– he hadn’t been able to before, on suppresents and then too stressed but his alpha had triggered the heat that had been waiting for so long. He had waited so long for this, the heat under his skin, the dulling of anything besides endorphins, had waited for his alpha even when his dumb brain kept him from running to him.

Tom’s rut smelled so good, his knot felt so good, exactly what the omega needed from his alpha, needed to have as his. Ryland reached a hand up to the hand against his neck, begging with a whine leaving his lips as he tugged at his alpha's wrist. Even deep in a rut, it seemed the alpha in control was willing to let Ryland take his wrist in his grip, pull it towards his lips and press Tom’s wrist gland against them. He was too lost to do anything close to a kiss, tongue and teeth laving across Tom’s wrist as he felt his entire body ascend. Each thrust sliding harshly against Ryland's g-spot as Tom’s balls kept hitting Ryland's overstimulated clit– Ryland's thighs had been spasming since the first knot faded, quaking as Tom had shifted him for another– and now, presented correctly as an alpha and omega should be as he growled out low-

“Cunt’s so thirsty for my cock, such a good omega”– Rylands eyes rolled back as another orgasm crashed into him, his hearing the only sense that stayed as his body felt alight and his alpha crowed while continuing– “fuck such a good omega, gonna breed you so well, you wont leave here without being pupped–” the last words turned to a growl as Tom’s hand slid from Rylands thigh to his hip to pull back harshly on his omega- to press his knot against Rylands aching cunt– and the ache wasn’t from the previous knots, but from not having this one yet–

Ryland screamed in pleasure as his prolonged orgasm somehow re-peaked as his alpha buried his fat knot into him. He couldn’t help from biting his alpha again– claiming his wrist gland with his teeth as he had his throat, eyes rolling and pussy clenching down on the throbbing knot in him as his alpha’s scent flooded his senses. 

“This changes nothing.”

The resulting stares as the scent filtered through the closed door– the air itself heavy with the tell tale edged cut of heat and rut. It was almost sickeningly thick– enough to make even something rise in Stratt– and the scent of storms, cotton, and hibiscus mingled into a cacophony of choking chlorine to most of the alphas around– the scent challenging more than deterring to some.

Stratt’s voice had cut through the shocked silence, Carl’s eyes holding the least doubt in her as he simply stood by. 

No one argued, not those left in confusion– and even fewer, the ones who knew what her plans were– what they had always been– for Dr. Grace. It would sweep through the crew fast– even scientists were at the mercy of school yard gossip– and even faster with the fact that Dr. Grace had been claimed and not by Stratt.

Tom had finally claimed his omega– fuck waiting for a heat, his biggest mistake in the past, not when he could’ve lost Rylie again–

Now the alpha was tearing his omega apart piece by piece until his omega was nothing but a puddle of whimpers and dripping slick and cum from his cunt under him. It wasn’t enough, even as croons and words slipped from his mouth like ichor, and his hand left bruises. The alpha’s mouth left its claim and bruised even more of his omega’s flesh, gracing his shoulder blades with nips and hickeys. Each drive into the heat of Rylie’s cunt made his toes curl, made the alpha growl so low it rivalled his omega’s purr in its continuity– made the desire to tear his omega apart and stitch him together as his in entirety continue from the spark it was to the forest fire it had raged into. Each crystal tear that beaded up in his omega's sky blue eyes–  turning them red rimmed– only made him press deeper, each whimper made him drive harder to make his omega go insane. 

The claiming bite he’d finally graced on his omega’s throat had triggered his omega’s heat, and his scent had become so fucking delicious– Tom may have loved the hibiscus, but the alpha was driven wild by the scents they created together– entire fields, laden with life– laden like he’d make his omega.

A deeper drive as he pressed down harder on his omega's neck, chasing something– he’d always be chasing, wouldn’t he? Chasing Rylands attention, chasing the trail when he disappeared– chasing his womb to defile and lay claim to forever. He needed to claim his omega so no other alpha– not even that dictator bitch– could think of snatching his omega away. HIS. Needed to have his scent embedded into his omegas very skin– and boast his own omegas scent like a red cape, begging for an alpha to fucking try. They wouldn’t be successful– not when his omega mewed so wantonly for him– his alpha, claimed and knotted fully– 

Gossip was already spreading 

They always had denied a relationship- Director Stratt and Dr. Grace– had denied any physical attraction besides moments such as–

“Yes, scientifically speaking, Stratt is an appealing alpha– but why does that matter when we need to request additional nitrogen to the–”

“Dr. Grace is an above average omega, one who doesn't realize he is as great as he is.”

– being the closest anyone's gotten to any confession from either, and even then it was practically useless to the gossip mill. What had fuelled it was how Stratt’s eyes found Dr. Grace’s in a room of scientists, could figure out when to send him forward to present or speak up by his body language– and how Dr. Grace responded to each move of hers. Instinctively at her side– even if he didn’t realize she had created such a place for him. Her right-hand man  second in command for the project  her omegean sacrificial lamb. Soft, trusting, expecting only to be shepherded to safety– believing he was only meant for the fields. 

He was– meant for the labs, mostly. Third in line– enough to not let him know. To leave him none the wiser. Dr. Grace can’t have an escape plan if he never realizes he needs an escape.

This… primal divergence was simply a kink in the rope. 

As the highest positioned individual– no need to narrow the scope with countries or agencies below her own– and Director of the Petrova task force, Eva Stratt had the power to ask one of the guards standing with her and Car to open the door and shoot Tom Ryder in the head if she wished.

She would state he was interfering with the project.

Treason.

The scent of claiming, the sound of moans and carnal pleasure–

It was unexpected of Dr. Grace. 

Not that unexpected when one looks at history.

Omegas and Alphas– Ryland and Tom– Eurydice and Orpheus, Cleopatra and Mark Antony, destined to be a tragedy– all because they got lost in their hearts and scents. 

It changed nothing.

Heat-ridden and scent drunk, Ryland was thankful for this moment of reprieve– even if his mind wasn't truly present for it, able to do little more than purr and mewl as he clung desperately to his alpha. His thoughts were of little else besides that he finally had been caught by his alpha, finally put in his place correctly– taken care of and bred like he always imagined with his hand down his panties– and reminded of the permanence with the claim bite at his neck. Ryland purred louder as he rubbed his forehead against his own bloodied claim on his alpha's shoulder– and his alpha even sported another claim on his wrist, he should sink his teeth into the other one so no omega ever had a chance to– 

Both secondary genders were stereotyped as possessive and clingy– but where alphas did tend to claim their omegas' glands in history, modern alphas tended to stick with the primary mating gland. Not uncommonly, they’d match it onto the mirrored side of their omega throat– an omega’s bilateral neck glands notably having a size discrepancy throughout life– but it wasn’t statistically as common as an omega claiming multiple– sometimes even all of– their alphas' scent glands. It was actually depressing- when an alpha or omega passes first the other still has a chance to be claimed again if a gland is unmarked– but if all are claimed, there’s no way to do so again. Interestingly– and still depressingly– people argued it was ingrained in omegas long ago as a way to make sure an alpha wouldn’t abandon an omega, make sure no one else could truly take them away.

But that wasn’t on Ryland's mind as he rubbed his cheek harder, hands digging into the muscles of his alpha's back as his purr reverberated through both their chest– he was so full he could feel it in his bulging abdomen even, pressed against his alpha's abs. His alpha– Tom, Thomas, Tommy– did so well, he couldn’t help purring louder and laying weak kisses to the collarbone right in front of his face, only encouraged as Tom chuffed and pulled him even tighter against his chest. Ryland’s kisses were interrupted by a tiny whimper as Tom’s grip had pulled on his knot slightly–

But he’d pulled Ryland back down too, to sink that knot right back where it belonged and had Ryland's head tilting back and slack-jawed–

His alpha had never been one to miss a chance at kissing him, and the omega purred as he curled a hand into his alpha's hair again, letting the alpha plunder his mouth slowly. He shared in the kiss– tasting his alpha like a wine or the time they did LSD.

It was a design flaw. Dr. Grace had warned Carl and Stratt of his ex being there– they should have seen the look in Grace’s eyes for nostalgia, not nerves. Should’ve sent him straight home, not let the omega get distracted by the crowd, not get sidetracked– and not be followed and claimed right under Stratt’s nose. Carl would say it was a dumb stroke of fate– Ryland had passed by a beta guard who didn’t instantly recognize him– couldn’t smell him, who hadn’t smelled Tom or knew what he was either. Grace was tall for an omega, and he had walked past one of the only guards who wasn’t part of the project– rather, extra security that had joined from another governments agency. Not Ryder’s guy. Otherwise, it would’ve screamed a setup. To Stratt, it was a failure in planning, but simply another bump in the course. Dr. Grace was too far into the project– sunken chest deep in the quicksand while pacing circles in his thoughts and wading deeper. He wouldn’t be able to pull himself out of it– she needn’t grab his ankles and drag him under prematurely. 

Stratt had a tense relationship with religion. Carl had a thin one.

Both would pray that Dr. Grace would never have to know her backup plans.

The wing was closed down– the convention went on, none the wiser, as reliable guards stayed. Another pair had set off, returning with a woman who held her head high and only reminded Eva Stratt of politicians who valued their capital over the people. Stratt had a terse conversation with said woman, who turned out to be Tom Ryder’s manager, as she had sent out her guards to retrieve. A beta, one who seemed to have sharp eyes and venom in her words. She had seemed to know before Stratt even spoke– surprisingly, she didn’t seem worried about being escorted by guards, and instead wanted to jump ahead of the alpha. Managing publicity spreading into other self-preservation aspects.

“I never would’ve brought him here if I knew he was here.”

Stratt’s face had shown no response as the woman– Gail– snorted, but Stratt could already feel what patience she had waning.

“You don’t need to say anything I can smell it on you–” and the beta waved aggressively to the door

“On all of you.”

Stratt didn’t stop the woman. Not during her rant. Not as she pulled out a cigarette from the inside of her jacket pocket, nor when she pulled out a lighter and began lighting it.

“I tried so many times to get them separated– and finally he got the memo and broke up with Tom–” the cigarette is jabbed towards Stratt– as if the he– Dr.
Grace, her mind reminded uselessly– in question was her fault.

“But what? You make him a scientist again and give him the confidence to bag my client? I was finally getting Tom off this damn omega–”

Stratt had enough, her hand raising up from its flat position on the desk– and Gail had enough sense to shut up. One doesn;t talk over Eva Stratt– dictator was too small a word for the woman who had the authority of a god amongst the world.

“First. You will not speak of my team in that way.”

Stratt’s hand lowered as she continued– her accent had sent chills down Gail’s spine, even as she wondered if Tom could mimic it for a role– make him the villain or something like this woman since he was the reason Gail was dealing with her ire.

“Second. Dr. Grace is first and foremost a member of the Petrova task force, and will not relocate away from the project.”

Gail snorted, speaking quickly as her mouth ran before her teeth could shut

“Doesn’t he get to choose that–”

“No.”

Gail swallowed her words as Stratt spoke with no inflection.

“He does not.”

It’d been hours– hours of moving his omega around and reclaiming him over and over. The pseudo heat and rut from the claiming bite having succeeded– Tom having succeeded. Rylie wasn’t on birth control anymore– he’d felt his omega’s arm while fucking him, knew there was no implant with each tested angle of his cock in his omega’s cunt, and Rylands mouth had no taste of medicine– and being claimed would finally help his Rylie destress, and if he hadn’t knocked him up– as if, not with how much cum he still had pressed deep in his omega– he would have a heat again, would be at the prime for being bred. It would probably take a while, his body would have to recognize if this took or not– and Tom was confident it took. But his omega and him had time nonetheless. They would have all the time now– he refused to think about his movie 28 Years Later and the filming schedule that was already pushed off for this convention– he still had a few key shots to film and he didn’t want to.

Not when he could be curled up and pressing his omega down below him.

He didn’t question how they were uninterrupted for hours.

He did struggle when the doors finally opened– the alpha in him snarling as he visibly took offense to the alpha dictator walking in amongst sprayed scent displacer surrounding her like a thick fog– fucking ominous villain. Agents followed her, and Tom felt his hackles rise as it felt almost like a military operation in those terrorist movies with how the agents were clearing and sweeping the room. Their presence was a threat, having him curl tighter around his omega– his, his mind seethed as he bared his teeth at the intruding alphas and attempted to pump his scent out– and being met with heavier spray and the eventual coming to of consciousness with Rylie, before their physical separation his cock out of his omegas cunt, but they let Rylie stay under his arm as their bodies adapted to the changes of their bond.

It took a week of negotiation– the conference had ended, and Stratt retained control of the building as she spoke with Gail and Tom– both together and separately. The harshest of deals had to be struck, and not even with Strat–, with Rylie, his Omega– to finally have to settle for the fact the project would be done soon, but before that Ryland had to stay until it was finished.

It’d be the worst choice of his life, he already thought so when the first door closed between them for the first time since he laid his claim on his mate.

Ryland had thought his only regret would be bonding now– he hadn’t regretted it being Tom, had no way to deny his relief at finally coming to and realizing he was in his alphas arms again– but rather that he had bonded before the project completion. He regretted not waiting– once it was finally over, he planned to go to Tom and indulge in his husbands acclaim and fame for a luxury honeymoon, somewhere private and warm and not a boat in the middle of the ocean where he could apologize for separating so early. They could go back to Tom’s place in Australia– maybe even go to the house Tom had only told him about in Spain, or Canada, doesn’t matter where on Earth they were- it would be perfect. He could hide under his alpha, wait for the beetles with the rest of humanity– and pray his funds from the project and Tom’s career would keep things going if Tom really wanted to breed him in this day and age.

Ryland regretted not asking Tom to stay till the project finished– not to move into his quarters. There were a couple of spouses both aboard the ship and at the launch sites employee sector. It wasn’t impossible– but he knew Tom had to be filming without his bleached hair, and Gail confirmed it. Ryland had regretted bonding too soon again and had sent him off– telling him to wait till the project was done because he had to know how his work turned out. He missed him as soon as he left.

He regretted not giving in and leaving early each day his body yearned for his alpha as the launch approached. 

Ryland regretted going to talk to Eva– if he hadn’t been beside her, he was sure he would’ve run after the explosion, instincts too fresh and crying out to go to his alpha.

He regretted not running when she told him three hours– regretted as he sat there, sent directly to voicemail on his mates phone each time he called. Tom didn’t pick up once– eighteen calls before it stopped sending through at all. It made Ryland think– he was filming, its possible his phone died in his trailer and he hadn’t even realized or maybe he remembered you are a subpar omega that didn’t even go into full heat. No, he refused to think about it. He thought about it before another twenty-four calls were placed– all voicemails. Tom was not picking up.

No one was picking up.

He regretted ever thinking Eva would take no for an answer.

At least Ryland was smart.

Gail was thankful the project had mentioned its completion date in the next month– she had a feeling Tom would be a pain in the ass the whole time till he would have Ryland Grace Ryder home– like hell she was gonna let Tom change his name to Tom Grace.

Seventeen days later– ten since Tom and Ryland broke the pseudo heat and rut they sent themselves into by claiming each other– Nine days before Hail Mary’s launch, she muted Tom’s phone during a filming scene. Swiped it away. Swiped the next away. Shut it completely down after the next dozen.

She didn’t need him distracted when they had to make up for him missing time for both the conference and his damned pseudo rut. 

She needed Tom to film this damned zombie movie and get ready for an Oscar– if god so helped it– she would confiscate his phone for a week if she needed to.

Colt’s phone rang almost three hours later in the pocket of a jacket– a jacket left behind at a bar– a ringing phone in the pocket of a jacket in a bar in the city he wasn’t even in at the moment. A tongue-twisting twist that if only had never twined could possibly have stopped the turning of the tides.

But each twist led to this, his phone in an unoccupied bar with no memorable aesthetic– Colt had gone to it during a long night of drinking and bar hopping with Dan and Jody– lost for the past week and a half after he shrugged it off, planning to get a new one the next paycheck, or to retrace his steps with the next day off. Colt had always answered Rylie’s calls– this was possibly the first time it went to voicemail in over a decade.

Muffled, safely in the inner pocket of a sweater– Rylie always wore a damn sweater, he always had cold hands–

“I understand you think I’m the right person for this mission.”

The shuffling of his pocket could be heard– muffling the speaker as the sweater or jacket he wore warmed him.

“But.. I can’t do it… I can’t do it.”

The catch in his voice– Colt should’ve grabbed the phone, shouldn't have forgotten his jacket–

“You’ll find a solution.”

Ryland laughed when nervous– if Colt had only answered the phone he’d know Rylie was nervous–

“You are my solution.”

The monster's growls are clear to the phone's mic, the boogeyman somehow cutting through the shadows of the sweater pocket and into whatever safe place one may imagine. Colt wouldn;t know it intrinsically, but it was obvious Ryland did.

“My place is in the classroom–”

“Stop pretending this is about your students– or your biology, it’s so insulting. Grace. We will lose a third of the human population in the next thirty years– assuming the nations of the world work together to ration food and supplies. Which they won’t. So I’d double the death estimate– omega’s and children included. And if you truly care for them, or anyone else for that matter, you will be on that ship.”

Fuck her– fuck him for losing his phone, fuck him for not finding it for two weeks–

“I understand the stakes. I do. But I don’t have it in me–”

Rylie was crying– and he couldn’t do anything for him, it was a voicemail recording him.

“My mind is made up. I’m sorry but, you just can’t talk me into it. I’m sorry”

It should’ve ended there– Colt should have a voicemail now asking Colt to pick Rylie up, just like from his trip to him after Montana–

“I’m not trying to talk you into anything.”

But she had to be a monster– her voice the harsh shadow to Rylands emotional and colorful words. Even with the breath in– to Colt it sounded the same as a dragon preparing a flame to roast a meal alive. A god damning a village to death after a lacking sacrifice.

“I am… trying to make you understand what I’m about to do next. Please.”

The alpha command in her voice could be heard–

“Stay calm. Come in–”

Rylie had never been weak to alpha voices– he had always been heroic enough to stand up their fathers, brave enough to stand up to all his brothers, and the sounds recorded showed he wasn’t sitting still like she had asked–

“What is this?”

There was his laugh– denial, confusion, panic

“Mission plan will state that we induced your coma early to maximize your safety. You will be remembered as a hero.”

He already was– to Colt and Wesson and Holland–

“Come on–”

He was gasping, his baby brother was gasping–

“This is crazy.”

“I have to do it.”

No, she didn’t. Not to Rylie.

“You’re not– come one– what are you doing–”

The shuffling of furniture, of footsteps– even muffled to the mic it painted a picture that gagged Colt once he would finally hear it.

“This may seem like me betraying you–”

Rylie had trusted a monster– they had left Rylie with a Monster

“But it’s actually me believing in you–”

Her voice was further now in the recording– Rylie had moved away, had backed up in fear and Colt wasn’t there–

“Sure feels like you’re betraying me!”

Two weeks after and Colt would be agreeing, sobbing, and raging.

“Don’t make this harder, please."

Give them some of the family Grace Rylie, show them– he’d be begging to the mic

“Come on guys–”

There was suffling– furniture thrown and muffling the words with clatters 

“-it down and– it differently!”

Glass banged, a heavy thud– he was running– every step loud in the recording.

It was a long run. 

The voicemail lasted the full five-minute limit Colt had for it– he should’ve had a provider that did longer voicemails.

It ends with no answer– just steps running and his brother's desperate breathes.

When Colt finds it, he doesn’t know Ryland called out for him. Called for all his brothers– including Courtland, who’d been long gone to them. Had called for Tom, had begged–

Colt only found his phone after returning to the same bar to drink himself into a stupor– having seen his brother's face on TV for the past week and a half. He’d ignored Tom, had sobbed to Driver on Jody’s phone. Had listened and gagged as his stomach turned itself right side out, had banged his fists till they were bloody and bruised–

None of it helped.

None of it ever could.

But the message...

The message could do at least one thing.

He called his brothers– the two he had left. Driver had never spoken much– but he had become even quieter. Plants wither without sunlight.

And Holland– Holland called Courtland.

On Earth, six alphas knew they were powerless to get one omega back when the opposing force outweighed entire governments.

But they could not be convinced to not get revenge.

Not when they could replay the call.

Not when they could hear Ryland cry. Hear his breaths as he ran.

Colt couldn’t stop his brothers from pulling in Tom– he didn’t like their relationship, didn't like the alpha, and didn’t like how he felt knowing he had gotten one voicemail– one single missed call– when the stupid actor had gotten forty-two. But Tom was a force of nature– Colt had been stunned more than once by the rage and drive the actor seemed to have concealed.

Colt felt it too.

The grace rage had permeated them all in different ways.

Tom Ryder had started a public campaign– he couldn't be silenced, not when he could play it loudly, cry out about his omega being snatched away and show the torment it wreaked on him– as Broken Bond Syndrome symptoms plagued him. Not when millions were on his side, millions waiting on his every word– other celebrities joined him, some even having photos of their past to bring up, moments where Tom and Ryland had snuck to lower scale parties, or been a pair as attendees at weddings or private celebrations– the world fumed at this. So many would’ve been willing– damn the coma gene when they took an omega away unwillingly. Tom’s fanbase consisted of all secondary genders– but having his acclaim, he had reached deeper into both alpha and omega fanbases, stirring both up into a frenzy. Colt had gone to clear Ryland's apartment with Driver, Tom hadn’t been filming in a while, and he had a deep hatred that hadn’t settled– he needed to have something. Colt thought they’d find a mess– would be able to find Ryland's scent– but it was so faded, almost non-existent. He had stood in Rylie’s living room– and had been lost as he realized his brother would never go there again– never grab his sweaters again when cold, never use the blankets–

An omega’s nest was supposed to be sacred; you don’t disturb it, only the omega does–

They’d argued. Colt hadn’t understood how Driver hadn’t shed a tear– they were tearing apart a nest that barely even smelled like Rylie– how he was the only one dealing with the turmoil– it was unfair of him. Cruel even– a pushing away of one of his only connections left. Driver hadn’t let him, had stayed silent before reaching for Colt and simply holding him. One unable to hold back and the other unable to express– both lost to a shoreless horizon, nauseous as if the ground below them didn't exist– like it didn’t for Ryland. They had taken a month to clear it out, too often paused, and lost in thoughts to clear it out fast. The landlord never rushed them— never even demanded the key. Afterwards, the one part less from whole duo went awol, the public fearing they had been silenced for speaking out. Sierra Six had disappeared, seen only as a shadow in places where people passed not long after. Sometimes, people thought they saw triple. Holland had taken in a foster daughter with his own– Claire and Holly got along well.

Rylands abduction affected more than just the alphas. 

Murals went up– riots occurred in the streets as protesters stood against armed riot police, politicians fled from questions and acknowledgment–

How could the governments allow this?

And the opposing side–

How could we blame them?

Especially as the years passed– for a while the supporters became fewer and dwindled- and then the first of the beetles arrived two decades later.

Can you imagine the rage Dr. Grace must have had to manipulate the beetle? To make it project an audio and video message once sensors– somehow made of physical solid xenon– detected Oxygen in the atmosphere and spread the message wide enough that 97% of the globe could pick up the signal? To speed it up to arrive ahead of the rest?

“Hello Earth! Long time, still no see.”

The audio alone could be played even if one couldn’t receive the image– it seemed Dr. Ryland Grace would not let himself be ignored– what could be his last message could not be hidden under the guise of government secrets.

“You may notice this has some added parts to it– the others are shortly behind– inside the beetles you’re gonna find some really interesting logs, and even more interesting research. Make sure these get to Director Stratt straight away.

Now that the important part is over–

I never chose this. I said no.

I never chose to be ripped from earth.

I have been alone. But I’m not anymore. With the beetles coming soon, and with the logs– Earth isn’t alone anymore.

We have the stars.

And we have alien life.

Let the governments try to argue with that.

This is Dr. Captain Ryland Grace, reporting from the Hail Mary

See me in the stars.”

Grace had kept most of the messages light. Even now, he could’ve been a lot worse– could’ve cut deep with scathing insults and boiled rage. He still didn’t have all of his memories back– still couldn’t put exact names to faces, events in exact order. But he had given one damning message in it– saved it before sending it amongst the rest fot the world but this one specifically for her.

Glaring at the camera, slumped against the ground with his eyes gazing upon it like the camera itself had yanked each nail from his hands and tooth from his mouth. There were burn scars visible creeping up his chin.

“I had a mate for less than a month.”

The words had cut through the video, the glare cutting sharper even with the distance of space and time between them.

“I have brothers. I can’t even remember exactly how many.”

The words were spit out, cruelly and meant to strike with venom.

“You took them from me– took the very memories of them from me Eva. Do you know what it's like, to have faces and not remember if it’s your own? To see someone in the thousands of movies you sent and feel like I KNOW them? Do I Eva? You know me better than myself. You made sure of it.”

His head had lifted, gazing down his nose and through his glasses with them towards the camera– piercing blue eyes gazing and trapping the gaze of any viewer and drowning them in the storm behind them.

“I had the chance to come back, you know. You’ve either seen it or will see it. But I won’t. I can’t. By the time I would finally come back, over thirty years will have passed for you all. Less than a decade for me– and yet you… you never thought I would. You took me from my family, my alpha.”

A broken laugh

“But… My brothers have each other. I know I have more than one, they– they can lean on one another.”

Ryland had lifted a hand– rubbing at the faded scars of a broken mating claim.

“My mate probably believes I died. It happens to those in a coma. You took me from him knowing I wouldn’t have to deal with the bond break in coma–”

Frozen as his voice spoke lowly

“Thirty years before I could get home. By now, it's been what, fifteen? This also will take a few to reach you– I think my mate would’ve moved on. I have to believe my mate found someone. He has to have someone.”

Ryland had turned back to the camera, finally breaking from rage.

“The taumoeba are leaking. Rocky has no one.”

He stared at the camera– time no longer capable of being wasted.

“I will not be coming home. And you have to tell them that Eva.”

They’ve killed two teachers in space.

Dr. Ryland Grace had a memorial set up not far from the Challenger memorial– the whole crew had another at NASA’s museum. The news of the other astronauts having died before waking had broken many people's hearts– of course, the only ones willing weren’t the ones to make it. Yet no details had come about.

Statues were in almost every country.

Memorials dedicated.

Murals were put up in new cities weekly.

Songs were written, poetry crafted, rebellion fueled and can you imagine when hackers released the data sent in the beetles regarding the occupants of the Hail Mary's health?

The savior of Earth– even saving the planet hadn’t been his choice, they’d taken it– along with the life that had been growing in him. The on-board medical device had a lengthy report of procedures in simple terms– latest to earliest. Injuries fixed after loss of control. The waking process. The deaths of the crewmates. The removal of a failed fetus early on– the nutrients not capable of keeping up with what was supplied for a suicide mission.

The rage from both sides only grew louder– the loss of a choice rising the one side to fervor, the loss of a life raising the other to out cry..

The proof of his life? Of alien life?

Could you convince people not to want another mission?

For his students– some of which had successfully, and voluntarily, become astronauts themselves? Engineers? Physicists? Regular people even– posting about it, signing petitions.

It became a thing.

Get Grace back.

Would time matter? 

His students didn’t think so.

Would it matter that they would possibly have grandkids older than they were when he taught them?

It didn’t– not when they were a reason he wanted to stay, not when it was used against him.

Being on Erid was like being on vacation at a resort. Well. Okay, not really.

Grace had been running faster than he had on Earth in a long while– better than he had run when being chased, when he had life or death adrenaline pumping through his veins. It was strange to be fair– perhaps opposing all science he expected, he was healthier than he had been in… his entire life.

He was supposed to be in his fifties– at least he was pretty sure of it. He knew he had been twenty-nine when he had been first brought onto Project Hail Mary, and although his memories still weren’t perfectly clear– the older they were, the further from clear they still seemed– he thought he had spent at least four birthdays working on the project. But the travel through space had been strange on his body, and living with the Eridian’s even stranger. The increased gravity should’ve negatively impacted him– but the Eridian scientists here were intent on keeping him as healthy as possible– it seemed it wasn’t just Rocky who had a soft spot for fleshy aliens. Each food the Eridian scientists manufactured was meticulously created with his health as the top priority– and taste being the next most important for them as they created each subsequent item. Hell, he wasn’t gonna stop them– the meburgers tasted too good now, and he felt better than he had in his early thirties in the Petrova program. He looked almost the same as he had back on earth now– his skin seemed to brighten, and he felt as if his joints ached less. He had gotten information from the scientists regarding his food– it was interesting in a third person sort of view that his muscle samples along with later bone marrow fluid samples had been a major changing point in his nutrition and food options. But he had always focussed on smaller things– and how interesting could he find himself and his meburger meals, alone as the only human on a planet when surrounded by hundreds of Eridian’s he could learn more about instead? And the Eridian’s had more than just advanced science– they had culture, society, history– everything he could ever ask could be a whole lesson and subject to study for days. 

Graced had noticed he had gotten more limber first– and now even his burn scars seemed to limit his range of motion less as he stayed on Erid, his skin's elasticity seeming to return further than he could’ve expected– crazy for a planet with more pressure pulling down on him. He had told Rocky how aging had affected humans, how it was a quick process compared to the Eridian’s– and all of them had been shocked, almost scandalized at the idea their savior would only have another three to five decades to live. They’d been delicate for a while, mournful almost, until Grace had made them realize he may be soft, but he was still the result of an apex race on his planet– although that had led to many questions of Earth. Some he hadn’t even told Rocky while in space. It hadn’t truly mattered, and to a man of science like Grace, it had never been at the forefront of his mind– it wasn’t like him hiding his lack of a return what felt like eons ago. It simply had… never really been brought into a conversation. Trapped in an exoskeleton, the only scent Rocky had was of ammonia to Grace. And with no scent to trigger his biology, it took a lot for him to remember he hadn’t told Rocky of that aspect until they had arrived to Erid and they’d begun treating him– and he had gotten loopy, apologized for asking Rocky to lie with him. He had rambled about how he normally wasn’t like other Omegas, but he wanted Rocky there while everything was spinning and he couldn’t stop laughing from the meds. How sorry he was for being even more clingy– and the response 

“Grace can cling as much as Grace like! Rocky do not mind if Grace cling for a long time.”

That had led to many questions after Grace's medications had worn off– funny, how it mainly had been malnourishment and dehydration that had made him need an Eridian's last minute crafted IV, and a case of pneumonia and scurvy to have him over-medicated due to the same worried Eridians. That hadn’t settled any of the Eridians, who found the aspect of secondary genders even more foreign to them than the shocking lack of size discrepancy within. Well, to them. Grace could still remember being tall– and yet still swamped by some alphas, a shadow hidden behind alphas like Colt, maybe-Tom, and Stratt. He didn’t want to think about that. He would give it to them, the Eridians who, as far as he noted by now, could be upwards of ten times Rocky's mass– as he heard of some even larger than Adrian– that human size dimorphism was mild. It was a strange idea to the Eridians– a species stuck to one size. Adrian was about eight times the mass of their mate– sleek, blue-green stone rising from each face of their body to resemble a small mountain range. Adrian had short but thick enough limbs that Grace could barely link his hands around with the tightest exosuit Adrian had worn when visiting before. Adrian wasn’t even the largest on the planet– although a couple Eridian’s had voiced their wish to see Grace next to the largest; it was from a less scientific approach, and more from a comedic. Notably, Grace had been above average height for generalized men, at 5’11”-- even with muscles, he had remained slender compared to others. He had risen above the average in another category– breaking into the minority of Omega scientists– and not regretted going to teaching afterwards, no matter the smug huffs from those who openly disparaged him and his work. 

Funny, how he could remember nicknames and some passing moments– but he still couldn’t remember older memories. 

That intrigued the Eridians as well– it had made him a little uncomfortable when he found out they were recording him all the time so he would not have to worry about forgetting, and he had to discuss boundaries and when he was allowed to be recorded. To the eridian’s who couldn’t forget, they seemed confused how Grace was alright not always remembering. But still– boundaries were enacted.

Classroom? Yes. He could see how it could benefit them after he passed.

Inside the dome? Occasionally, within reason as long as it's in the open. Sometimes scientists would drop by, and discussions would be had that were important. 

Inside his home? No. Nope. Nada. 

He had asked for soundproof walls and the Eridian’s had been confused– and Grace had been too, trying to figure out how to make dense enough walls the Eridians wouldn’t be able to hear through them– they had incredible hearing, and crafted everyday sensors to improve it on their planet and predict other things in their atmosphere and society.

So instead, no recording, and ignore most sounds that occurred within the dome otherwise.

He’d gotten less paranoid and even stopped caring over time. So what if they heard him in private moments? After they first asked a long time ago, they knew not to ask again, and it's hard to be embarrassed over something they didn’t acknowledge after the first time or two.

With the collection of movies he had from the Hail Mary, he had the luck– for luck could be both good or bad– of having many with who he thought was his mate. Or maybe who his mate reminded him of. Ex mate? The bond was broken now. He hadn’t been whole in a long while; they hadn’t been together in decades now for the alpha. But it was a blessing and a curse, seeing the actor Tom Ryder– he’d hunted for it in the credits– and feeling a vague sense of knowing. Knowing Tom’s real voice came through when he talked quietly in some scenes, knowing what smile was closest to what he thought was genuine, knowing that those muscles were real. 

A strange revulsion would hit him sometimes, watching some of his movies– perhaps he wasn’t his alpha, maybe someone he knew really well– friends? In certain scenes, he felt familial attachment. Which talk about fucked up– better than when he had to remember why he liked kids – being a teacher, remember?-- was he imagining a family member? Or maybe a family member's mate? He had so many memories, but he also knew he was mated only right before the mission and the memories of possibly-Tom Ryder went far further back than that. 

It haunted him, in the moments when he couldn’t fill his time with other things, like teaching the pebbles.

Imagine how haunting it was when the Eridians informed him they found data in Armando’s history of a fourth set of DNA… DNA that had been partially derived from Graces.

That had fucked him up in another way.

He didn’t remember wanting kids of his own.

He knew he hadn’t wanted to come– had he even known he was pregnant?

Would he ever know if he did?

He couldn’t forget that factor.

Not when the DNA told him clues of his mate– brown hair, blue eyes.

Tom Ryder had brown roots in some scenes– brown hair in a couple of the movies. His eyes were a deeper blue than Grace's.

It was too early to tell what would’ve fully developed. 

Sometimes Grace dreamed of a little girl with dark hair and blue eyes. Sometimes a blonde boy– and so often it morphs to what he can only think is a childhood reminisce of himself or his brothers. Too Grace to be psuedo-Tom, yet eyes too dark to truly be Grace. Maybe it was haunting in its own way– each dream of it had less features he recognized, but somehow always knowing, a deep resonance in him to understand. This was what he had begun representing his lost child as– the last physical contact he had ever had with another human alive before they’d passed.

The hum of the Eridian’s helped him tone those dreams out. The memories of them consciously buried. Tucked away, where Ryland wouldn’t even admit to Rocky or Adrian, only found in dreams.

Grace, curled up on a bed– even in dreams unable to remember exact details of rooms, his Eridian furniture and home pervading the dream as he’d curl into warmth. The blankets would be soft on his skin, warm as he would soak in the smell– you can’t smell in dreams, not this way, it's all fake– and curl around the arm around his waist. Eyes hazy without his glasses– and no urgency to see the face attached, just content as warmth would prevail and he’d laugh– a kick at his stomach turning it into a wince.

How easy in the dream is it, to press back against the warmth and purr– soak in the atmosphere that surrounded the figurative planet that was his nest. His nest– in his dream structured with more blankets, clothes, walls surrounding and keeping him safe. Not as safe as the arm around his waist, the nose snuffling around his throat– the dark hair falling into his vision.

He’d wake up before he could get a kiss, and that haunted him as well.

Grace’s memory left him with many questions, and it would drive him insane if he didn’t have other things to focus on.

Thankfully he distracted himself well. And when he failed– Rocky and Adrian succeeded.

Sometimes though, he couldn’t deny he sobbed at being alone– not truly, and yet somehow completely.

Hope and strength had been built with the rescue of astronaut Mark Watney. Hope had grew with the launch–

But camaraderie for the governments had dropped. Trust had fallen. 

The plans for Get Grace Back were slow.

Too slow.

No Eridian scientists to lengthen their lifespans. It still took time for the Taumeoba to grow, to populate– crops withered, people died. Resources like food were scarce, even as scrap metal grew. Even if they couldn’t get Grace back, perhaps they could get something to him– something to show their love, appreciation, adoration– But people couldn’t agree on that– divided still on whether to save or thank, whether to go or not.

Mourning slowed, but the mantra and memories did not.

They’ve killed two teachers in space.

It didn’t matter that it technically wasn’t true, the challenger never truly reached space, and Ryland wasn’t dead– Schrödinger’s cat now often called Schrödinger’s Grace to those more crass– and yet, it hit harder.

They’ve killed two teachers in space.

Astronauts volunteer– they know the risks.

Christa McAuliffe volunteered, but wouldn’t know all the risks.

Ryland Grace knew all the risks, but wouldn’t volunteer.

The fact one died to save the world– and not just theirs. The inspiration it also brought.

Dr. Ryland Grace– glass ceiling shattering omega, scientists turned teacher turned back to scientists and astrophage specialist– Even as mourning passed, his face coated shirts. Quotes taken by his students form him– notes saved, encouragements on tests and even “Massive waste of carbon”-- appearing across the world. It permeated into all scenes and circles, from fast fashion to luxury designs. Old research members– cleared of knowledge of his abduction, or even predating Project Hail Mary– began using his research for quotes, his logs treated the same respect as poured over and peer reviewed essays. They argued to those who fought against or tried to disaparage– even Dr. Lokken would defend Dr. Grace to an extent. The amount of children named after him– even as the population dwindled, the numbers soared for those names and variations. 

And Ryland wouldn’t know if they never told him.

It wouldn’t get there for a long while– but they finally sent one.

A probe of their own, a group effort from people around the globe–

Meant to go faster and further than the pioneer plaques and voyager records– and with a destination in mind. Where the others meant to announce to the universe who we were, what we had done–

This one was for Ryland Grace.

To show him who he was– a missed man, a scientist, loved.

What he’d done– saved the world and inspired it further.

Video’s and audio logs– all attached.

A peek at his own future, videos attached with two identically wrinkled men who introduced themselves as Colton and Wesson– telling him he was a triplet. Private enough videos of two others– brothers, one who he would barely remember even when seeing him again, and yet feel the gut wrenching hit of realizing he was alive– Courtland and Holland. The longest recording held a wrinkled man– aged the way cowboys in old westerns were– ruggedly, handsomely, and with eyes intently staring into the camera, an older Tom Ryder from the movies was recorded. Nose broken a few too many times to match predictions in his prior movies– and yet still recognizably him without a doubt. Videos from grown up students, old and greyer friends. Even Stratt had a message aboard– too many connections in her pocket, too many opportunities to stop it and instead she sent a message along.

It wouldn’t get there for a long time– but they had sent it.

They knew their generation would probably not be around to hear the response.