Chapter Text
Even after all these years, Simon misses Mars.
Maybe he’d only lived on it for a grand total of three years - roughly three cycles of the planet around the sun - but the little time he’d spent there had been miles better than living in a space station in the middle of a cosmic void.
One might ask what Mars could possibly offer that Eden couldn’t. In all honesty… Not much.
Mars’ real leg up on Eden was that it had Simon’s real family.
He’s not supposed to call her that, he knows - Father Rory has long since taught him that his “real family” is here on Eden, that his “real family” is his brothers and sisters who share a roof over their heads rather than a surname or genetics.
Most days, Simon is fine with that. Most days, he’s content to pretend that he’s found a home here, that he’s forged some sort of connection between the other kids who’d been dropped off here for similar reasons as him. Most days, he can go along with it all.
Today is not one of those days.
The analog clock on the far wall of the Grove reads three-thirty-seven, signaling to Simon that he’s been here for nearly an hour. The metal bench he’s curled up on is far from the softest surface to lay on for an extended period, but he’s comfortable anyway - not from the bench, but from the comfort of the dim golden glow emitted by the artificial lightning bugs that circle the Last Tree.
When it comes to wallowing in self-pity, there is no better place on Eden to go than its indoor garden. After hours, it’s a safe haven - a quiet room built to showcase a small variety of flora. By day it’s the most popular room on the entire station, full of people admiring - and even praying to - the star of the show: the Last Tree in the universe.
When Simon first arrived here nearly four years ago, he’d thought Eden’s overflowing pride for this tree was… Nonsensical. Stupid. Moronic. There were plenty of trees back home on Mars, after all, even if they were also kept safe inside glass bubbles. Why should this one matter so much? What was there to be proud of?
Then came the Quiet Rapture, and Mars and every tree on it disappeared in the blink of an eye, along with every star in the universe and nearly every other celestial body too. Suddenly Eden’s tree became the only tree in the entirety of spacetime. Suddenly, everyone’s pride turned into obsession.
Suddenly, a bracelet containing a small leaf from the tree dangled from Simon’s wrist, a bracelet Father Rory made him swear never to remove, lest he face eternal damnation for abandoning the cause.
The garden doors slide open with a soft mechanical hiss, and Simon freezes, breath catching in his throat at the realization that he is no longer alone in the room.
It could be Father Rory, here to track him down and reprimand him from leaving the youth quarters. It could be Father Lindgren, here to do a routine check of the Grove. It could be that lady again, the one who showed up last time Simon had chosen to feel sorry for himself down here, the one who’d paid him no mind and knelt in front of the tree to pray.
He stays rooted to the bench, face pressed to the cool metal, knees tucked to his chest, breath shallow in his lungs as he waits.
A single pair of footsteps echoes across the walkway towards him, one step after the other, slow and gentle. These are not Father Rory’s footsteps, firm and with purpose; nor are they Father Lindren’s, sluggish and heavy, nor are they the praying woman’s footsteps, hurried and unsure. These are calm, gentle.
“Simon?”
A hushed whisper cuts across the quiet of the garden, the only noise besides the low whir of distant machinery. It’s familiar. Safe.
A pair of familiar, knobbly knees walk into his vision, blocking his view of the tree. Simon blinks, looking up as far as he can before his eyeballs protest.
Chris’ concerned face looks down at him, backlit in gold. Like a guardian angel with a halo to match.
“...You okay? Can I sit down?”
Simon doesn’t really have it in him to say anything, so he just nods, pushing himself up off the bench to make room. Chris slips into the now-empty spot wordlessly.
For a moment, the two of them just sit there. But, like all things - the stars, the majority of the human population - their silence comes to an end. Chris clears his throat. “Do you want to talk about it?”
His eyes bore holes into the side of Simon’s face. Simon pointedly does not look back to him when he shakes his head, instead electing to stare past the Last Tree and out into the infinite stretch of outer space beyond, separated from them only by a glass window. “Not really.”
Chris is a year older than him. A year wiser. Simon kind of looks up to him, he can admit. The last thing he wants to do with Chris is have some awkward heart-to-heart. He’d rather shoot himself in the eye.
“Okay,” Chris sighs. “But I’m here if you change your mind. I care about you, I’m your brother, man.”
A dry laugh bubbles up Simon’s throat and spills from his lips before he can stop it. “No, ‘man’, you’re not.”
There’s a long, stretched silence. Simon picks a star to focus on outside the window and stares at it intently. If looks could kill, it wouldn’t matter, because according to Father Cassidy, that star - and all the rest of its kind - are already dead. Simon can’t pretend to understand why he can still see them if that’s the case.
“This about your parents again?” Chris finally speaks up. He doesn’t sound upset, just… Concerned. “I know you miss them, believe me, I miss my old man too, but - you know we’re your family now, right? Father-”
“-Isn’t here right now,” Simon cuts him off. His skin crawls at the worry in Chris’ voice. “So you don’t have to regurgitate the bullshit he’s been feeding us.”
Chris exhales. “...Sorry.”
Simon lets himself turn, slightly, to look at Chris. To his credit, the guy does look apologetic. Simon can’t help but feel a pang of regret for snapping at him.
“Maybe I’m not your ‘real family’,” Chris continues, “But I still care about you, man. Why else would I come looking for you at three in the fucking morning?”
Simon frowns. “You really didn’t have to.”
“Well, I’m here now, so…” Chris’ fingers come down to smooth down the fabric of his sleepwear - standard-issue stuff provided to everyone on board, each set an off-white color with Eden’s logo embroidered over the chest in a deep green. Chris’ set is slightly slightly too big for him, hanging off his frame awkwardly. Simon’s are just a tad too small, enough so that the elastic leaves imprints on his hips after a long enough sleep.
“...I don’t know if I mentioned this before,” Chris adds, “But before Eden picked me up, I lived on Anther with my dad.”
Well, that’s interesting. Not the bit about his dad - Chris speaks of him often when the adults aren’t around - just that he’d lived at Anther Station before this. Most of the other kids here were from Mars originally, like Simon. “You talk about him a lot, yeah.”
“He meant a lot to me. He worked at the med bay on Anther, came back with a lot of stories about the weird shit he had to deal with in there. Great storyteller, my dad.” Chris’ lip quirks into a smile, but it slips off just as fast as it’d come. “But he ended up catching something from one of his patients, some… Space flu, I don’t know, I can’t remember the name. That thing that ended up getting Anther quarantined for like a year half a decade ago. He died maybe an hour after he got sick… I didn’t even get to say goodbye.”
Simon blinks. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“My point in telling you this is that I get it. I know this - Eden - doesn’t compare to what we had back home. But Eden is our home now, Simon.” The weight of Chris’ hand settles on Simon’s shoulder. It’s not entirely unwelcome. “All we have is each other now. We have to stick together.”
Maybe he has a point. This is all they have left. No one else is coming to save them. Eden has made sure to point out that much.
Simon slumps back against the bench. Chris’ hand still lingers on his shoulder, grounding. “Okay.”
“Knew you’d come around,” Chris smiles reassuringly. He pats Simon twice on the shoulder before rising from the bench. “You should come back with me and get some sleep. Wouldn’t wanna miss the AT-5 mission sendoff tomorrow morning, I heard Father Cassidy is going down to the moon himself this time.
Father Cassidy’s always been nice. Maybe a little enigmatic - a “head in the clouds” type of man - but better that than violent or dismissive. He’s someone Simon would least like to see sent off to a desolate moon on a dangerous expedition, and it wouldn’t make sense for him to go, either. The last Simon checked, Father Cassidy’s a scientist, not a convict.
He says as much and Chris shrugs. “I know, it doesn’t make sense. But apparently this mission is actually important, or something. They probably want an actual scientist down there this time. Someone who knows what they’re doing?”
Simon frowns. “...I guess.” It doesn't really add up - that would imply the other missions, the one they sent convicts to complete, weren’t important - but who is he to question Eden’s decisions?
He considers staying on the bench until morning, but that’d be stupid. Simon would probably fall asleep and wake to Father Lindgren prodding him with a rake or something, who would go tell Father Rory, and that wouldn’t go over well at all.
So Simon lets Chris drag him out of the garden and back to the youth quarters reluctantly, mourning the loss of the peace and quiet before he has to curl up the bottom bunk of one of many triple-decker bunk beds in a room occupied by teenage boys who don’t know how not to snore.
Even sleep won’t be much reprieve, haunted by dreams of spitfire and sparks, but Simon’s resigned to it at this point.
Just as he is resigned to living out the rest of his days floating through space on a ship full of people who have turned to sending criminals off to explore distant, barren moons in a desperate attempt to “secure their future”.