Chapter Text
Did his students ever finish school?
Ryland stared down at his instant noodles, chopsticks suspended halfway between the cup and his mouth. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten. No. That wasn't true.
Eighteen hours, give or take. Long enough for the light-headedness creeping in whenever he stood up to be explained by low blood sugar rather than some exciting new medical emergency. He forced himself to take another mouthful.
Of course they had graduated. One middle-school science teacher disappearing wasn't enough to derail hundreds of teenage lives. They'd sat their exams. Complained about homework. Moved up another year. Forgotten to wear safety goggles unless someone reminded them.
The world had kept on turning.
Maybe the substitute had even found his lesson plans and used them, terrible jokes scrawled in the margins and all. For some reason, that helped. Maybe the things he’d left behind hadn’t all vanished. Maybe some small part of him was still there, doing some good.
He took another bite, this one no easier than the last, but no harder, either.
The xenonite sphere bumped gently against one table leg. “Grace eating again, question?”
Ryland blinked as Rocky bumped into the side of the table a second time, the movement almost sending his noodles flying. Clumsy hands reached for them before they could tip over completely. He hadn’t even heard Rocky come in.
“Well, yeah. It’s kind of something I need to do regularly.” Ryland deftly crammed another noodle in his mouth, ignoring the way that the sensation made him want to vomit. He wasn’t sure whether it was the awful sleep he’d been getting or how long he’d waited between meals, but the thought of trying to eat another bite was enough to make bile rise in the back of his throat. Not eating them, though? That would be a waste – one that he was rapidly coming to realise that he couldn’t afford.
He stuffed that particular thought down for later. One existential crisis at a time.
“Last time I checked,” Ryland lifted another noodle, higher this time, making sure that it dripped a few droplets of precious broth. Rocky skittered back and away from the liquid. “Us humans are annoyingly high-maintenance like that.”
He chewed because chewing required less effort than thinking. His stomach protested, but he forced himself to keep going. Fantastic. Apparently, after enough missed meals, even doing something as simple as eating dinner became a problem that required active management.
Rocky’s carapace tilted further away from Ryland and the noodles. “Grace disgust. Disgust disgust disgust.”
A tired laugh escaped him before he could stop it. “Love you too, buddy.”
Ryland moved methodically from one diagnostic screen to the next, comparing readouts against yesterday's figures. Oxygen scrubbers. Reactor output. Spin rate. Camera calibration.
Ever since what happened with the Blip A, he'd developed the sort of relationship with routine maintenance that probably qualified as unhealthy. Check. Double-check. Triple-check. Then check again because maybe he'd misread a number the first four times. It was the least he could do for Rocky.
Ryland’s gaze caught on the view outside of the ship, watching the camera feed switch between the cargo bay to the side of the Hail Mary to one of the outward facing cameras. Stars flooded the monitor. Each impossibly far away, yet still closer than Earth.
He forced himself to look back towards the readings. They matched yesterday’s. And the ones from the day before. Good. If a system failed because he’d allowed himself to get caught up daydreaming…
He checked the readings again.
Did anyone ever look up at the sky and think of him?
Did any of them think of the Hail Mary, lightyears away, and wonder how he was doing, or what had become of him? Did anyone ever wonder how the mission was going? Whether the men and women – down to one lone man and an Eridian now – were frightened? Whether they’d eaten? Whether they were still alive?
Of course they didn’t. Why would they? Earth had an entire planet to rebuild. He hoped nobody wasted time wondering about one missing teacher when there were billions of lives to put back together.
Ryland pressed his head back against the headrest. He was doing it again. How could he be so self-centred? He was just one more nobody, one last contingency plan.
Stratt had probably thought of something else by now. Or maybe some lab somewhere had stumbled across a different way to kill Astrophage. Maybe they'd never even need the Beatles and the taumoeba at all. That thought was enough to make him flinch. Fuck, he really hoped they still needed the taumoeba, after everything he and Rocky had been through to get it. He wanted – needed – all of it to have meant something.
Did… that make him a bad person?
Ryland forced himself to keep moving.
Stratt would be too busy saving Earth to think of him often. But, maybe Carl…? Ryland shook his head.
“Nope.” Absolutely not. “We’re not opening that box today.”
He checked the readings one final time. Systems normal. Nothing unexpected in sight. Ryland let out a breath he hadn’t realised he had been holding. Somewhere deep in the ship came the unmistakable scrape of xenonite against steel. Rocky. Working again. Or was that still? Ryland wasn’t sure. When was the last time they had taken a break together?
When was the last time Rocky had been the one to ask for a break?
Ryland stared blankly down at his workbench. He had been up for no more than a handful of hours, and already, the sweet siren call of his bed was tempting him away from his latest project. He had been tinkering with a modification to one of the ship’s environmental systems, though “tinkering” was a generous word for it. At this point, he was mostly rearranging problems that had already been solved because it was easier than sitting still. Or finding something else to work on.
It was becoming harder and harder to keep track of how long his days should be, with Rocky used to working on a cycle that was roughly 4.7 times shorter than what Ryland was used to. Though, with how many days back-to-back the Eridian seemed content to go between sleeping and eating, it should hardly matter.
A frown settled on Ryland’s brow. Wait… he looked towards Rocky’s side of the workroom, watching as the Eridian bent over their own project. Rocky’s side of the workroom was a mess of carefully arranged components and half-completed mechanisms, the Eridian moving with the same focused determination he always had. Except… there was something wrong. Something missing.
Ryland leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. When had that happened? When was the last time Ryland had seen him eat? Or sleep? Or… do anything other than work, and watch Ryland sleep?
“Hey, Rocky?” Ryland called out. “When was the last time that you slept?”
Rocky didn’t pause with his tinkering. “Why, question?”
Ryland blinked. “Because I can’t remember the last time you asked me to watch you?”
Rocky’s plates shifted in what Ryland had learned was amusement. “Rocky need less sleep than Grace, statement.”
A huffed breath escaped Ryland as he tried not to roll his eyes. Sitting straight, he tossed his screwdriver between his hands, watching Rocky closely. “I know you need less sleep than me.”
“Weak, leaky, very sleepy space blob Grace sleep too much, statement.”
“Flattery isn’t going to distract me,” Ryland said dryly. It was almost as if Rocky hadn’t heard him, the Eridian continuing to work without pause. “Rocky.”
“Many repairs, statement. Many, many things to do. Sleep later, statement.”
Ryland’s brow drew down into a frown. “Rocky, I’m being serious right now. When did you last sleep?”
“Grace! Grace, have solved problem with carbon scrubber efficiency, statement!”
Ryland watched as Rocky held the dismantled carbon scrubber between his claws, enthusiastically explaining a change in airflow that would apparently make the whole system a fraction of a percent more efficient. Ryland nodded in what he hoped were the right places, his hands already reaching automatically for the screwdriver he'd abandoned on the workbench.
“That’s great, Rocky…”
The wrench spun slowly between his fingers. Carbon scrubber. Right. Had there been something wrong with it? He hadn’t noticed. He kept his gaze on Rocky, the sinking feeling in his stomach seeming to grow.
What else hadn’t he noticed?
Once he became aware of it, Ryland couldn’t banish the thought from his mind.
When was the last time Rocky had asked him to watch him sleep? Two days ago? Three? … more? Ryland groaned as he pressed the screwdriver into a panel that didn’t actually need tightening. The screw turned a quarter rotation before he realised it was already secure.
Had Rocky been sleeping while Ryland himself was asleep? That… didn’t add up with what he knew about Eridian culture. Rocky had seemed pretty emphatic that watching someone sleep was important.
He knew that Eridians needed less sleep than humans. Maybe that was all it was. Only… he couldn’t remember ever waking to find Rocky having drifted off above him. Not… not since the Blip A.
Not once.
But that was impossible.
The screwdriver slipped from his fingers, clattering onto the workbench. Rocky had always been there. Working. Building. Watching. Making sure Ryland slept. Prodding Ryland to eat. To work. To keep going.
Ryland stared at the panel in front of him without seeing it. Could Rocky be sleeping somewhere else? He had to be, right? He couldn’t just be not sleeping.
The thought should have been reassuring. Instead, it felt like a fresh weight settled in his chest. Had he done something wrong? Was there a reason why Rocky wouldn’t come to him anymore? That was silly, right?
They spent so much time together. Working, arguing, relaxing, occasionally eating – even though Rocky still liked to make a fuss about that one. Ryland’s grip tightened on the edge of the workbench. But what if he had done something?
What if Rocky didn’t feel safe enough to sleep around him anymore?
Ryland spent so long curled up in bed. Sleeping. Staring at nothing. Letting the background buzz of memories and white noise take over. If it wasn’t for Rocky, some days, he wouldn’t get up at all.
Did Rocky think he would fall asleep while he was supposed to be watching?
There had been nights he'd woken gasping from nightmares, heart hammering, unable to remember where he was. Nights he'd barely spoken. Days he'd stared out into space instead of at Rocky.
Maybe that had been enough.
Maybe Rocky had stopped trusting him while Ryland had been too wrapped up in his own head to notice.
“Grace, question?” Ryland blinked. Rocky was still talking, the carbon scrubber held proudly between his claws. “–understand, question?”
“Uh…” Ryland rubbed a hand over his face. “Sorry, buddy. Can you… can you say that part again?
“...which part, question?”
Ryland winced. The smile that settled on his lips felt painfully thin. “All of it.”
The Eridian sighed before holding up the pieces again, explaining more slowly this time. Ryland nodded along without truly hearing him.
Just how much had he overlooked already?
The hours seemed to crawl by.
The next time Ryland was dragged out of his own thoughts, it was by the sound of a wrench slipping from between Rocky’s claws.
Normally, it wouldn’t have meant anything. If Ryland had dropped a tool while working, he wouldn’t have given it a second thought. But this was Rocky. Rocky, who could manipulate delicate equipment with terrifying precision and rarely seemed to make mistakes at all.
The wrench bounced once against the workbench. Another claw shot out, catching it before it could hit the floor.
Rocky barely reacted. They simply set it back down and continued working, as though nothing had happened.
Rocky was never clumsy when it came to his own work.
Ryland watched for another few minutes, pretending to work on the disassembled pieces in front of him. His concern grew the longer that he watched.
A calculation that took two attempts instead of one. A wrong component picked up, then placed back again, then picked up a second time before Rocky corrected himself. Three times he stopped moving entirely, as though he had forgotten what he was about to do.
The pauses were brief. If he hadn’t already been looking, Ryland knew he would have missed them. But watching as Rocky worked – as they hesitated, and fumbled, and made mistakes – Ryland knew that something was wrong.
His stomach tightened. He had been so busy disappearing into his own misery that he hadn’t noticed the changes happening right in front of him. How long had it been going on? How many times had Rocky dropped something while Ryland stared into nothingness and tried to remember the half-forgotten faces of his past? How many times had Rocky corrected little miscalculations he would never normally make – ones that Ryland could be offering to help with – while Ryland daydreamed about whether it would feel like a relief, or like the inevitable finally happening, if he were to close his eyes and…
He shook his head roughly. No. Those kinds of thoughts were doing him no good. Were doing Rocky no good. He couldn’t keep doing this. Not anymore.
Ryland placed his screwdriver down.
“Rocky?” No answer beyond the steady clattering of claws on metal. He tried again. “Hey, Rocky?”
The Eridian turned, carapace tilting to one side. “Grace has question, question?”
Ryland hesitated, suddenly aware that he had no idea how to phrase things without sounding utterly ridiculous. “I…” He started, then stopped. He tried again. “You’re looking a bit tired there, buddy.”
Rocky let out an amused trill. “Rocky fine, statement. Friend Grace tired, question? Rocky watch sleep.”
Ryland didn’t smile. “When was the last time you slept?”
Neither of them moved for a beat. Then another. Then another. Finally, Rocky turned back towards his workstation, as if the conversation was already over. “Rocky has work to do. So does Grace, statement.”
Ryland pushed down the automatic wave of guilt. He hadn’t been carrying his fair share of things. In his defence, it was kind of hard to keep up with a crewmate who apparently decided to just. Not sleep for days – weeks? Surely not weeks – at a time.
“We’re not talking about me right now, Rock. I want to know the last time that you slept.”
“Rocky sleep later.”
“When later?” Ryland pressed.
Rocky continued to work. “Later, statement.”
“Rocky!” The name came out firmer, sharper, louder than Ryland had intended. Rocky’s claws stilled.
The workroom fell quiet, save for the low, familiar hum of the Hail Mary around them. Ryland immediately regretted the sharpness in his voice. He opened his mouth to apologise, only to stop as Rocky slowly lowered the component they had been holding onto the workbench with painstaking care.
When he finally spoke, Rocky remained still, his carapace tilted away from Ryland and towards his work.
“Sleep is…” The melodic notes of Rocky’s voice wavered as they searched for the right words. “...difficult, statement.”
Ryland’s frustration melted away as quickly as it had come. Crossing the room, he stopped just behind Rocky, not quite daring to close the last of the distance. “Why?”
Ryland forced himself to remain quiet, to resist the urge to fill the silence with rambling words and reassuring touches.
Rocky shifted their weight, claws flexing around their tools. The movement seemed restless, almost uncertain.
“Is it because of what happened with your crew?” Ryland probed at last. He knew the confusion, the devastation, the utter, all-consuming loneliness of waking up alone and discovering he was the only one left. He couldn’t imagine what it had been like for Rocky – to spend years with their crew, for them to simply not wake up, one, by one, by one, until only they remained. “Are you afraid you won’t wake up?”
There was no radiation problem on the Hail Mary. Nothing like that could happen again. But Ryland knew on a deep, personal level, that such fears were rarely grounded in logic.
“If Rocky sleeps, might not wake up in time.”
Ryland pressed his hand to the clear surface of Rocky’s xenonite ball. Not for the first time, he wished he could wrap his arms around Rocky. That he could comfort them in the best way that he knew how.
“That isn’t going to happen,” Ryland said firmly. Rocky didn’t answer. “It won’t. You’re not on the Blip-A anymore. You’re–”
Rocky turned, pressing one clawed hand against the inside of the xenonite, directly beneath Ryland’s hand.
“Not afraid for Rocky,” they said softly. Ryland frowned, the meaning not quite sinking in. “Rocky afraid for Friend Grace.”
Ryland’s breath caught. For a moment, all that he could do was stare.
“Grace sleeps many, many, many hours, statement. Rocky keeps watch. Rocky listens. Grace stops making breathing sounds… Rocky wake Grace.”
Ryland felt something tight twist painfully behind his ribs. “Rock…”
“If Rocky sleeps,” Rocky continued, voice low and soft, barely loud enough for Ryland to hear. “Who left to watch friend Grace, question?”
Ryland swallowed past the lump in his throat as silence blanketed them. He watched the way that Rocky seemed to almost shrink in on themself, as if they were ashamed of their confession. He watched each tiny hesitation as Rocky moved, the tool clutched in their claw held loosely, clearly forgotten.
He had spent so long drowning in his own guilt – for refusing to go, for being the only one to survive – that he had never stopped to think, to ask what surviving had cost Rocky.
“Okay. Okay…” Ryland said softly. “Here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to sleep. Right now, buddy.”
Rocky let out a questioning sound. Ryland sent him a small smile. “And I’m going to stay right by your side, watching you.”
“But what if Friend Grace–”
“Friend Grace will be right here. I swear.”
Rocky fell asleep with the same speed Ryland remembered. Less arguing than he had expected, but still that same unsettling speed. It was like watching the power cut out between one moment and the next as the Eridian settled in his habitat above Ryland’s bed and promptly fell asleep.
Ryland stayed exactly where he had promised. Laptop at the ready (just in case), and a handful of projects off to one side, should he need them.
He glanced down at the laptop, his mind drifting back for a moment to Earth. Just how many new things had he– no.
No. Not now. Those thoughts could come later.
He turned his attention back to Rocky.
He could almost imagine the faint tang of ammonia in the air as he watched them sleep, even though he knew it wasn't possible. His hand pressed against the divide between them, the warmth radiating through the xenonite almost uncomfortable. Somewhere deeper in the ship, the engines hummed steadily, the vibrations travelling through the walls in a familiar, comforting rhythm.
Rocky is here. With me. Alive.
Ryland let out a breath that he hadn’t realised he had been holding. He pressed a hand to his chest and began to count each unsteady inhale and exhale, breath after breath, until his pulse calmed enough that the number no longer seemed to matter.
The thought of joining him had crossed Ryland’s mind more than once. Just closing his eyes for a few minutes. Just resting. But he knew better than that. He couldn’t do it. Not here. Not while Rocky was asleep and vulnerable and there was no guarantee he’d wake up again.
Then, somehow, eighteen hours were gone.
Rocky shifted from sleeping to awake so quickly it almost felt like no time had passed at all. Ryland closed his laptop – which had been open more out of habit than any actual intention of using it. Apparently, he'd spent most of those hours doing nothing more productive than watching Rocky sleep and waiting for him to wake.
“Morning sleeping beauty.”
Rocky tilted their carapace towards him, claws tapping against the ground as if trying to get a better picture of where Ryland was.
“Grace… watched Rocky sleep entire rest cycle, question?”
“I promised, didn’t I?” He shrugged, the corner of his lips ticking up into a lopsided smile. “Besides, it’s surprisingly effective motivation when your friend has apparently decided sleep is optional and basic self-preservation is more of a suggestion.”
“Rocky not stupid. Rocky not work work that much”
“Rocky,” Ryland said, a warning note creeping into the edge of the word. Rocky paused.
“...Rocky work more than usual, statement.”
Despite everything, Ryland laughed. He couldn't really help it.
He shifted back against the wall, moving the laptop out of the way before it could end up buried under the blanket. He folded the patchwork fabric beneath his head, buying himself a few extra seconds to figure out how exactly he was supposed to say this.
Rocky watched him expectantly. Ryland looked up at them, worrying at his lower lip.
“Hey, Rock? We need to talk.”
“...About sleep, question?”
Ryland winced. “Okay, when you say it like that, it sounds like I’m about to give you a lecture.” A pause. “Which I am. A little.”
He sighed. “But it’s about more than that. We need to talk about everything.”
They moved to the Don’t Go Crazy room, where Ryland could sit with his back against the wall, and Rocky could move freely in their hamster ball. For the longest while, neither of them spoke.
Ryland had spent so long trying to figure out the right words that, now they were finally here, together, he wasn’t sure he could pull them together in the right order.
“I think we’ve both been pretending we’re fine. After what happened with your crew…” Ryland began, and Rocky fell unnaturally still. “I thought maybe that was why.”
“Why, question?”
“Why you weren’t sleeping. Between losing everyone like that, and then losing the Blip-A – even though things were decades apart – that’s gotta be a lot.” The words felt as inadequate as he had feared, but Ryland forced himself to keep going, because he knew that feeling. Waking up, and realising you were the only one left behind.
“I know what that’s like. At least, some of it. Waking up and knowing you shouldn’t be alone, but you are. Wondering…” His breath hitched. He refused to allow tears to derail the conversation. “...why you get to be the one who survived, when they didn’t.”
Rocky’s claws tap-tap-tapped. “Yes.”
Ryland nodded, relieved and devastated all at once.
“Rocky made peace with crew loss, statement. Many, many years pass. Rocky alone. Then… Grace.”
Tears pricked at the corner of his eyes as Rocky spoke.
“Friend Grace was supposed to return home.”
Home. A word both so simple, and so painful. Did he even know what that meant any more? Had he ever?
“Rocky–”
“Rocky stopped Friend Grace from returning home, statement.”
Ryland shook his head. He had a creeping feeling that he knew where this was going. “Rocky, no–”
Rocky’s claw tapped more firmly against the wall of his ball, the sound echoing and sharp between them. “Grace was going home. Grace return to Earth. Friend Grace…”
His throat tightened. Ryland pressed a hand against Rocky’s xenonite ball. This time, there was no clawed press in return. “Rocky, no–”
Rocky pressed on. “Friend Grace save Rocky. Grace chose Rocky. Because of Rocky, Friend Grace stayed. Because of Rocky… Friend Grace lose everything, statement.”
Ryland pushed himself closer, both hands resting on the xenonite. If he could, he would reach through and gather Rocky in his arms, ammonia be damned. “Do you really think that I regret saving you? For even one second?”
Silence.
Something inside of Ryland’s chest began to crack and break. He shook his head. Voice trembling, he tapped on the xenonite. “Rocky. Buddy, I…”
Words trembled. He couldn’t keep his confession inside any longer. “Sometimes, I wonder if I should have kept going.”
Rocky’s attention snapped towards Ryland.
“But not because of you. Never you.” A wobbly smile fixed in place. “I just… What if Earth needs me? There are so many people down there who lost everything. There is so much that will need to be done still, even with everything we’ve given them. It’s going to take a generation to rebuild. More.”
Hands remained pressed against the too-hot xenonite, ignoring the way that it made his skin uncomfortable, as if he had the first stages of sunburn prickling across his palms.
“Some days, I wonder if I gave them enough. If I let them take enough pieces of me to make all of this worthwhile. But you? Rocky, I could never regret coming back to save you.”
“Everytime Grace sleeps, Rocky watches. Rocky watches, and thinks: Friend Grace should be home. Friend Grace should see Earth Again, statement. Rocky took that, statement.”
“No.” The word came easily. Ryland shook his head. “No, you didn’t. It was my choice. Neither of us knew. It was my choice… and I’d make it again. And again. And again.”
“But, Earth–”
Ryland smiled sadly. He tapped on the xenonite, neatly cutting Rocky off. “Back on Earth, I didn’t even have a dog. No family waiting. No partner. No one depending on me in the way people depend on each other. I had students who mattered to me, but they weren’t mine forever. But on Erid… Rocky, you have everything. Adrian is still there waiting for you. And, when we get there, together… I’ll still have you.”
Ryland wrapped his arms around the Xenonite. Beneath him, Rocky pressed two clawed hands against the surface, reaching for him in return.
It wasn’t a fix. Tomorrow, Ryland would still wake up missing Earth. Rocky would still struggle to sleep. Neither of them would suddenly stop carrying the people they had lost.
But it was a start.
“Friend Grace still… sad, question?
“Yeah, buddy. It’s not you, it’s me. The way that my brain works. I’m still going to be sad, and miss things sometimes.”
“Rocky still scared to sleep, statement.”
Quiet settled between them. Neither could say how long they were in there for, each pressed against the thin layer of material that separated them. Each feeling just a little less alone than the day before.
“New rule. We both talk when we’re scared. We take turns watching. And nobody has to be alone anymore. Agreed, question?” Ryland asked, a teasing lilt to his voice.
“Agreed, statement.”