Chapter Text
It's smooth(ish) sailing for the rest of the day. The pads disappear a lot faster than the box says they're meant to, but he's aware that different people bleed different amounts, and that the first couple days are usually the worst. But by the end of day three, Simon is looking even more miserable, and the blood just keeps coming.
<Simon heart rate too fast> Rocky says from his position against Simon's stomach. His laptop said heat could help with the pain, and Rocky was happy to have some way to contribute.
“Hm?” Alerts from Rocky about high heart rates aren't uncommon, so he's not immediately worried.
<Simon liquid not as loud. Bad bad bad bad bad>
“What?” He looks over, realizing Simon hasn't really moved in a while “Crud, okay”
He shifts over, a sense of panic not quite sinking in but looming over him, like the shadow of the other shoe waiting to drop “Simon? Hey, are you feeling okay?”
“Tired… cold…” he starts to sit up, his arms shaking from the force of lifting his own body weight “something's- wrong, I-I feel- m’dizzy…”
Oh no, no no no this wasn't supposed to happen “I think you've lost too much blood”
“S’not lost, I know where it is” and in any other moment he would have laughed, but the aforementioned panic has ceased its looming, descending upon him in the form of full blown terror.
Okay. C'mon Grace. Breathe. He can't help if he's panicking, because sometimes he gets stupid when he panics.
He hauls Simon up off the floor of the ‘don’t go crazy’ room, but deadweight he can't lift him all the way, and the IV makes things awkward. He has to hold him by the armpits and drag him down the hallway to Armando, Rocky screeching in alarm all the way. He keeps the IV bag clenched in his teeth.
Getting Simon up onto the bed leaves his back screaming, but that's the furthest thing on his mind.
“Hypovolemic shock detected. Blood transfusion required”
“Okay, do that”
“Supply of blood: zero units”
“Crap. Uhm, okay, his blood type is A positive, and I'm-” he doesn't know his blood type. He cannot freaking remember his own blood type. It has to be here somewhere, right? Some medical file cast aside, hidden under a million other files because paper is stupid and gets in his way. He tries rifling through them, but the words are blurring together and Simon is dying behind him, and he just-
He hurls a three ringed binder into the wall.
“Please refrain from damaging the ship's interior” Mary chastises him in her usual even tone.
Wait. The answer has been staring him in the face the whole time.
“Mary, what’s my blood type?”
“Your blood type is O negative, Dr. Grace”
O negative. Universal donor. He's never been so grateful to the ship's AI in his life.
It takes an entire pint of blood, plus more of that tranexamic acid stuff for Simon to be stable. He could've used more than that, but Grace was starting to feel sick by the end and he knew it probably wasn't safe for him to push it. Rocky has been pacing anxiously around the ship, trying to find ways to occupy himself. This was partly at Grace's instruction, because he knew just how freaked out the poor guy was. Hopefully it would be enough to distract him from the all consuming fear.
“... Grace?”
He sits up way too fast “Simon!”
“You okay?”
“I should be asking you that! You lost, give or take, about THREE CUPS of blood! That's about 15% of all the blood in your body, which is, in fact, NOT GOOD FOR YOU!” He takes a deep breath, because this is not Simon's fault, and he doesn't deserve to be the target of his own anxious outburst “I probably look pasty right now because you can’t exactly store blood long term, and I’m the only other human here. I had to give you some of mine. You’re still down by about a half pint, but you’re not in shock anymore at least!” He feels gross and weak, but it’s a fair trade off for Simon's life.
“... Sorry”
“Don’t- You don’t need to apologize for things out of your control. It’s not your fault that your body doesn’t seem to understand that blood’s supposed to be on the inside. And it's also not your fault that blood isn't shelf stable”
“Okay, yeah, sor-” He stops, cracks a little smile.
Grace smiles back "Old habits die hard, right?"
"Yeah, something like that"
“...Are they always this bad?”
“Couldn't tell you. It's been like 20 years since my last one. Starvation meant it took a while for them to start, and hormones stopped them soon after. But” he smiles bitterly “There's no hormone therapy in space. Had my last dose right before the whole SM-13 thing" He sits up slowly "So I guess I'm fucked now"
“We can figure something out”
“And how exactly do you plan on doing that? I’d need blood draws regularly too”
“We can probably synthesize testosterone. If not, well, my body does make its own, we could probably extract it from my blood or something. And Armando can do the testing”
“... You'd do that?”
“Of course. You deserve to feel comfortable in your own skin. Also, I'd rather not have to worry about your body deciding to eject a bunch of blood"
"The feeling is mutual"
Simon makes his way over to Grace's cot around the same time Rocky's pacing has led him back around.
<Simon Grace okay, question? Less liquid in body>
"Just temporary blood loss. We'll make more"
<Amaze amaze amaze! Human body make more how, question?>
Oh boy "Well you see, -"
This is going to take a while. He doesn't mind, though.