Chapter Text
They have to wait until Rocky wakes up to actually talk. Despite how eager Grace seems to be for Simon to finally be engaging with him, he won’t tell him any more details about his apparent rescue until the Eridian is present to contribute– apparently it was a team effort. It’s like it’s physically causing Grace pain to stop talking, but this is non-negotiable apparently.
When Simon tilts his head in a silent question, Grace just chuckles and says “Rocky will kill me if he finds out he missed a puppet show opportunity.” He stops, starts to explain that the expression “kill me” isn’t literal, but stops again and fixes Simon with a wide smile.
“Oh man, you have no idea how good it feels to not have to explain when a statement is an exaggeration. This…I missed this.”
Simon is suddenly struck by how little he knows about this man, about this ship. He hasn’t bothered probing much deeper than any information Grace has offered in passing because he hasn’t believed any of this might actually be real before. He knows the name of the ship is the Hail Mary, it apparently hails from Earth, and it was sent up here by some organization called the Petrova Task Force. He knows that Grace is the only human besides him on said ship, that he was on a mission to the Tau Ceti star system for…some reason…and that while he was there he discovered an alien microorganism he’s calling Taumoeba. He knows that this microorganism is apparently the most important thing on this ship right now, and that they’re traveling somewhere with it, but doesn’t really know where or why. Those questions hadn’t really mattered to Simon before, but they do now.
They shouldn’t, the vigilant, smart part of himself is screaming. None of this matters. None of it is real. You’re letting yourself be tricked. You’re letting yourself be broken.
“Heartbeat? You still with me?”
Simon blinks out of his thoughts. Grace is looking down at him with concern.
“You look tired. Get some rest. Do you need any bandages replaced before you turn in?”
Simon stands at last and shakes his head. “The robot listened earlier, when I asked it for this.” He gestures at the gauze on his face. “I’ll…give it another chance.”
I’m giving a lot of things a chance, apparently, he thinks.
Grace gives him a small nod. “Holler if you need anything. I’ll be in here a while longer, between work and watching over Rocky. Otherwise, sleep well.”
Well, that won’t be happening. Simon knows what he’s walking into here, but he also knows that he’s fighting a losing battle. His sleep isn’t really sleep, but that isn’t stopping his body from shutting down around him.
He’s so exhausted. What he wouldn’t give to actually rest.
The dorm lights are already dimmed when he gets back, and Simon starts to strip off the shirt he’s wearing. Ever since the depths of AT-5, he can’t stand being too warm and he’s already running hotter than he should be as is. The thought of the scars, the veins covering his torso almost makes him reconsider for a moment, but his comfort wins out in the end. He folds the shirt as best as he can, then straightens out the crumpled towel he’d left on “his” bed. He decides to take a second to organize his precious few possessions, even though none of them actually belong to him.
Well, that isn’t fully true. He removes his Eden pendant and tucks it deep inside his pillowcase, along with the piece of paper containing his lists. He remembers doing this on Eden long ago, to keep things safe. It’s a comfort, to know that he’s protecting things that matter to him again. The shirt and towel he’s borrowing he decides to rest close to where he’ll lay his head. And…that’s it. All that he has, temporary or not, laid out before him.
It’s more than he’s had in a long time.
Satisfied for the moment, Simon makes his way back to Armando, who wiggles at him in its usual greeting. “Hello again. Um, my arm probably needs more coverage. Can you…wrap it up?” It’s so weird, talking to this thing. Simon doesn’t know where to look– an arm, its trunk, the ceiling? He knows it doesn’t matter, but it’s still weird.
Nevertheless, the robot whirrs gently and shimmies in a way that makes it look like it's gesturing for Simon’s arm. Against his better judgement, Simon slowly steps forward until it can reach his stump, and winces as the robot grasps it to keep it steady. “Gentle, please,” he breathes. Between the soreness and the pressure, it takes an enormous amount of effort for Simon not to jerk away and he fights back a whimper. Thankfully, the robot is clinical in its wrapping of his stitches, and the moment it lets him go Simon takes three big steps back, breathing a sigh of relief.
Curling up in the cot, even knowing where he’ll inevitably end up, still has him biting back another small noise of satisfaction. So soft, so warm. How does he ever manage to get up at all? He rolls on his side and tucks his good arm underneath the pillow, brushing it up against the outline of the Eden pendant where it’s tucked away in a corner, good and safe. He thumbs it absently as his exhausted mind begins to wander.
There are three beds in the dormitory, not including Armando’s medical station. One is Grace’s, even if he’s taken most of the bedding and relocated to the lab for the moment, and Simon’s using another. Rocky’s atmosphere bubble takes up the third. Something about this bugs him. Why would a ship be built with three cots, but only have one human passenger? Surely that space could have been better utilized…
Unless the Hail Mary had other humans on board before. If that’s true, though, what happened to them? Why is Grace alone?
Well, he’s not alone exactly. He has Rocky. But that raises another question– if Rocky had been a crew member on this ship from the start, wouldn't it have been designed with him in mind? As it stands, the xenonite tunnels everywhere and the sleeping pod built over a bed clearly intended for a human give the impression of making the best of a situation, not intentionality.
The last thoughts Simon can remember before he slips away are, How did these two creatures find each other? And how did they find me?
~~~
The smell of sweat, iron, and rust claws its way into Simon’s lungs. The world gurgles low and rumbles around him, and pain radiates up the base of his skull, down his spine, across his back. Without even opening his eyes, he starts to sob.
Back again. Of-fucking-course.
Where is it dropping him in this time? How much of this nightmare will he have to relive? It’s never the same, but it’s always the same. Sometimes it starts with Ava’s cold voice saying “Begin the descent.” Sometimes he’s already on his way to the SM-8 black box, charging straight into the jaws of his death. Nothing he ever tries to do differently changes the outcome, the best he gets is an agonizing new death and a jolt back to consciousness at another, equally horrible time. He’s always left staggering, lifeblood surging out of him to join the rest of humanity sloshing around his feet, the world crashing in around him. Something always tears him apart, sometimes from the inside out, sometimes from the outside in.
He doesn’t have it in him anymore. It’s too much. Simon opens his eyes.
The ghoulish green glow of the X-Ray camera button above him is the only thing he can see. The SM-13 is quiet, not even a rumble from the engine against his aching back. No lights, no sounds other than his own ragged breathing and the blood shifting around him, pressing the sub firmly into the coagulated ocean floor.
Now he knows when he is, at least. The towline has snapped. He’s been dragged off course. He’s in the fucking Eel’s den, off the map, the engine stalled out, too deep for the comms to work. He knows what he does next, it plays out behind his eyes like a movie: he pries up the maintenance cover and crawls inside the subfloor to restart the engine, unknowingly releasing the porthole cover in the system reboot. The Eel lurks and circles while the glass nearly shatters from the pressure, a chorus of HULL BREACH HULL BREACH HULL BREACH echoing in his ears. Something in the crawlspace catches on fire. The rage surges up inside of him and he takes it out on the overhead speaker.
He can see it all happen, he’s lived it all before. Why does he have to do this again?
Painfully, Simon uses his left arm–the only silver lining to all of this, he hasn’t lost it yet–to push himself up to a sitting position. He doesn’t even bother hitting the X-Ray button for light, there’s nothing to see that matters. He could navigate this fucking coffin blind if he had to.
Out of the corner of his left eye, by the inoperable terminal, tendrils of light wave in an invisible breeze. Simon stiffens.
It’s here. Despite himself, he feels his lips wobble. What does it want from him? Why him?
“SIMON…” the lilting whisper creeps out from inside his own mind. “RETURNED…”
And then he’s begging into the darkness, shaking his head, voice hoarse and cracking– “Please, I can’t. Anything else, anything else, just don’t send me back there again. I can’t do it, not again, no more, please–!” He starts hyperventilating and buries his face in his knees. It feels like metal rods are stabbing through his eyes, and he cries out. “I don’t understand! Tell me what you want, please!”
Something inside his chest is writhing, twisting against his lungs, like it’s trying to get out. The voice is silent, but he can feel the tendrils spreading towards him, sliding over the folds of his grey matter. The sub moans around him, covering up another pained gasp.
And then, echoing so deep in his skull it feels like it rattles his bones: “AGREED.”
It feels like he gets pushed through the floor itself, when the world collapses around him. Simon can’t breathe. He can’t move. He’s been turned inside-out, upside-down, flayed open and bright with stunning agony–
And then he’s heaving himself out of a thick, hot lake of blood, coughing and retching on the salty, acrid taste flooding his mouth, and staring out into the eternal storm quaking around him.
Holy shit. This is different.
He hasn’t been back here before, he’s remembering through the shock. He’s been led by the Eel countless times now, sometimes willing, most times not, but not since that very first time has he managed to find himself in this place again, this red void of suffering. Last time, he was faced with the Eel crooning about being one in the blood, the Eye’s gaze locked on and piercing into him as it melted his mind.
Now, stumbling to his feet, thick rivulets of blood coursing down his body, the Light stares at him dead-on.
It’s humanoid in appearance, just like he remembers, mostly unmoving as the storm rages in the distance. It hovers above the blood, arm-like protrusions extended towards the roiling crimson sky, wavering streaks darting out from it like ribbons of lightning.
“TALK. ONE QUESTION.”
Simon is frozen in terror. He wants to run, but thick vessel-like growths are sliding over his feet, climbing slowly up his legs. A question. He gets a question? Why does he get a question? What’s going on?”
Simon pants, and finally chokes out “Why are you doing this?”
There’s a pause, and the clouded sky splits open like an eyelid. Beyond the Light, the Eye bores into him with an unholy glow. Simon begins to unravel.
“BALANCE,” the response comes from everywhere all at once, and then it’s ripping his mind apart.
SIMON CONVICT BUTCHER–
~~~
“Heartbeat? Heartbeat, wake up–”
Simon convulses and lashes out before his eyes even open. Someone yelps and leaps back, narrowly avoiding one of his legs as it strikes out, power dampened by the blankets he’s tangled in.
Simon scrambles upright, breathless and wild, heart pounding in his chest. The blood is everywhere. The wisps of light are latched deep in his brain. The storm is roaring in his ears, it’s coming for him–
“Hey, hey, it’s okay! It’s okay, you’re back.” A voice, high and nervous but trying to be soothing. Grace, Simon realizes as his senses slowly return to him. Grace is here. He’s back on the Hail Mary. The thought is what finally allows his lungs to heave in a gasp of air and have it take root.
“That’s it, Heartbeat, good. Deep breaths, keep going. You were dreaming, but you’re here now.” Grace is talking softly to him, like he’s a scared animal. And in this moment, that’s all he really is, isn’t he? A terrified animal, caught in a trap, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Something brushes up against his clenched fist, and the flinch that tears through Simon’s body nearly shakes the cot. The touch only lasted for half a second, maybe less, but it feels like he’s been electrocuted. He yanks his arm in close to his bare chest and hunches over himself, protecting both his literal and metaphorical underbelly. He hears Grace inhale sharply, maybe take a step back.
Over his own ragged breathing, he hears a distressed-sounding musical bleat. Rocky. “Grace, what wrong with Heartbeat, question?”
“Fine,” he chokes out before Grace can say anything. He’s blinking rapidly, trying to clear the blood from his vision. “Don’t touch me.” It’s easier to put up a wall than even attempt to tell the truth, so he’ll stick with this as his heart rate slowly starts to come down. “I’m handling it.”
Grace hums, a low sound in his chest. “Got it. Still not going anywhere. I uh, brought you half of a burrito.” Simon manages to peek one eye out to see that, sure enough, half of a wrapped burrito is resting at the foot of his cot. “Came in to see if you were awake yet and you were freaking out in your sleep.”
Simon stays quiet, but slowly untangles himself to take the burrito. Sharing food. Sharing resources. Sharing comfort. Any progress Simon had made with Grace last night has surely shattered after this, but still.
Grace had wanted to look out for him. Another gentle stab hits his heart.
His mind is still spinning as he takes small bites of the burrito, the taste helping ground him back into the present moment. He’s been elsewhere long enough that the rock is awake now. That isn’t the weird part. The weird part is that Simon doesn’t feel like much time has passed at all. Normally the time between his trips to the Hail Mary feel endless, an eternity of torture. And it still was this time, Simon can feel the flesh tearing off of his bones like it just happened, but…at the same time, it’s like he just fell asleep. He can’t wrap his brain around it.
Something’s changed, though, he can feel it. Something’s shifted. The only question is, did it happen here or there?
“Hey,” Grace starts, drawing Simon’s attention. “We don’t have to talk about it. And we don’t have to do what we planned last night, either. Just, um, letting you know. No pressure. That looked…nasty.”
Still disoriented, it takes Simon a second to remember what he’s talking about. It comes back slowly, though– their time in the lab last night. Simon asking about how Grace and Rocky got him onto the Hail Mary. Grace enthusiastically agreeing to tell him.
“...Rocky still want to do puppet show,” the Eridian says, rocking side to side minutely. “Have new models. Made just for Heartbeat.”
“And they’re very good, Rock, but we can wait if we need to–”
Simon shakes his head firmly, stopping him. “Just need a second.” Rocky trills in response, which doesn’t get a translation but he thinks is Eridian for general happiness. Rocky trills a lot around Grace. Not so much around Simon.
“Will prepare in lab. Grace help, question?”
“Of course, bud.” Grace starts to follow him out, but turns around before he reaches the doorway. “Do those happen every night?”
Simon considers lying, but doesn’t see the point. Admitting it can’t hurt him either way, real or not real. “Yeah.”
“Oh.” Grace looks like he wasn’t expecting that answer. “Guess it’s good I sleep in the lab, then.”
If this is a joke, it’s at least one that Simon gets. It still isn’t very funny, though, so he doesn’t laugh. He just takes another small bite of his burrito.
Grace turns and bumps his forehead against the doorframe, eyes closed. “Good talk. I’m going now.” And true to his word, Grace goes.
Alone again, Simon’s mind turns back to the vision. As usual it was harrowing and nauseating and painful and a whole host of other things, but more importantly this one was different. The Light listened to him. The Light spoke to him. And he spoke back.
Balance. The Light, the Eye, they're doing this, fucking with him…for balance. What the fuck does that mean? He should have asked a better question, fuck!
…Maybe, next time, he can.
Simon savors the last bite of his burrito, a new sense of determination lodging in his chest. He has an agenda to pursue now, for when he’s on the Hail Mary and when he’s on the SM-13. He’s done wallowing, not while there’s something he can actually still fucking do in both places to figure out what the fuck is happening to him.
He’s going to get to the bottom of this mess, one way or another.