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Rocky is up to something.
It probably won’t kill us—we’ve put far too much work into keeping each other alive for that—but every time I try to get closer to see what he’s doing, he acts like I’m trying to murder his firstborn or something and shoos me away so I don’t “ruin Grace surprise”. Jerk.
And even now that he’s finally done with whatever it is, he’s making me hold out just a little longer. Because Eridians apparently take joy in causing painful and unnecessary amounts of suspense, particularly if it’s on a spaceship where nothing new ever happens and the only human aboard is about to lose his gosh darn mind if he doesn’t get to know what it is right this second.
“Grace turn around please,” Rocky says. His voice ekes a little higher with every note: clearly, he is pumped.
“But I want to see!”
He twists his whole carapace side-to-side in his version of a head shaking no. “Is surprise! Turn around please.”
“Ugh, fine! This is so mean. You’re being mean.” I reluctantly turn away. There’s a blank screen in front of me, just a little to the left, that offers a dull reflection I use to shamelessly peek at whatever the heck he’s doing.
“Grace stop peeking.”
I whip around. “How can you even know that? You can’t see!”
“Turn around. Close eyes this time.” He taps an impatient finger against the wall and makes a spinning motion with his arm.
I huff, but I turn around again.
“Close eyes.”
“Can you really hear if my eyes are open? That’s seriously creepy.”
“Can hear blink. Gross wet sound. Grace body make many gross wet sounds almost always. Close eyes now please.”
“Always with the rude, this one. Y’know, it’s not nice to comment on other people’s bodies! They might get sad. You’re making me feel bad about myself. My self esteem will not recover from this.” I get no response from the cruel Eridian. “Closing my gross wet eyes now.” I stare determinedly at the reflection in the screen. I will not blink. I will not blink. I will not—
Mother Mary on a mauve motorcycle, my eyes burn! I blink.
“Why Grace try to trick smarter better hearing Rocky when know will fail, question?”
“Because clearly, Grace dumb.”
“We know this. Will you close eyes now please?”
“Okay okay, you win.” I close my eyes.
“Finally! Keep eyes closed until say.”
I fidget. I can’t help it. I want to know what he’s been hiding for the last week. Whatever it is, it sounds … almost like cotton stretching? No, it’s sort of squeaky. More like leather, actually. Did he make me a leather jacket? That would be cool, but kind of unnecessary, and I have no idea where he could get any kind of material even approximating leather, so I’m stumped. There’s some thump-thump-thud sounds like he’s hopping around. “Can I look now?”
“No!”
“Stop being slow! The suspense is killing me.”
“So drama. Relax.”
There’s more shuffling and banging noises. Keeping my eyes closed is genuine agony. Then a whoosh and some more thuds like he’s moving from his side of the room into the ball. Or maybe sending something through the airlock to my side? It is a present for me, I guess that would make sense.
He walks closer, a soft tap-tap-tapping sound. I’ve heard it so many times over the last few months that I’m generally able to tell where in the ship he is even if I’m not looking at him or in the same room—there’s not really enough space in here to make that a big challenge. There’s definitely something different now about the sound … maybe the echo to his steps? Whatever it is, it’s enough to tickle the “hey, something’s weird!” alarm in my brain. I squeeze my eyes shut even harder so I’m not tempted to peek.
And then something warm and smooth curls around my arm.
I shriek, my eyes snapping open and my legs stumbling backwards, the thing on my arm slipping away as I tumble to the floor butt-first.
Rocky scrambles closer and then there’s a weight on my chest pushing me backwards and my spine and head crack against the floor—OW—and I’m being squished by what feels like a ton of rocks, but mostly around the middle, and maybe it’s not a ton of rock but just a few hundred pounds, because Rocky is—is he hugging me?????
Delighted and bewildered, I squeeze him back before I consciously realize what I’m doing. That’s when the lack of oxygen starts becoming an issue. “Can’t … br—eathe …”
The arms crushing my ribcage loosen, but only a little. “You are fragile.” His whole body rumbles when he speaks and I can feel the vibration of it against my skin. “And ♬ ♪ ♫ ♩.”
“Gonna—haaaah—need you to define that one, buddy.”
“When I squeeze, you melt.”
“Squish. I’m squishy.” I laugh. I feel a little delirious. There’s a sensation in my chest that makes me feel like I’m going to cry or puke or scream or all of them simultaneously. God, wouldn’t it be awful if I threw up on Rocky the first time he hugged me? Why is this happening? How is this happening? My breath hitches in my throat. Even though I’m not having the life crushed out of me, I feel like I can’t get enough air, but I’m not crying yet, just gasping in that really embarrassing way you do before you bawl your eyes out. I cling onto him a little tighter.
Look, sometimes a guy gets a little emotional when his best rock-spider alien friend who lives in a completely incompatible environment and who thus cannot be touched is suddenly hugging him. Especially if said guy hasn’t felt the touch of another person in—okay, let’s not put a number on it, because that’s definitely going to make me lose it even worse—but especially if it’s been a while and he didn’t think he’d ever get to touch anyone ever again forever, and it’s not like he was ever a super clingy person before, but his stupid human body and his stupid human brain have needs that include frequent physical contact, and—
“Grace okay, question?”
I can’t talk. I just nod against his carapace and hope he gets it.
He’s so warm. Almost too hot to hold onto for this long. I don’t care. So what if I get a few minor burns? I don’t think I could let go if I tried—something deeper than my own conscious choice is in control, making me curl my fingers and my whole body around him, some cavern of need that I boarded up when it became clear I wasn’t going to see another human for the rest of my life. It’s a comfortable 22° C in here, has been that way for weeks, and yet I feel like I’ve been dragged out of a blizzard and wrapped in a blanket in front of the fire. If this is a dream, so be it. If I’ve finally gone crazy, so be it. I need this. I’m not letting go until something forces me to let go.
One of Rocky’s hands taps a rhythmic series of notes on my back. I melt a little more. He starts to make a very low sound, a constant hum that I feel in my bones, and I melt even further, but I don’t let go.
We stay like this for a long time. Long enough that I can feel my back starting to tense up, and the warmth that was pleasant is now too hot, right on the edge of painful against my bare arms and hands.
“Grace.”
I mumble something about him giving me a few more minutes, but it comes out in one long blur of sound.
“Grace like surprise.”
It’s not a question, but I say, “Yeah,” in a dreamy voice anyway.
“Good.”
I can tell he’s ready to be done with this activity, but I hold on for a bit longer. He doesn’t complain. He can tell I need this—he wouldn’t take it from me. I suddenly want to start crying again.
Okay. Deep breaths. Calm. When you let go it won’t be forever (probably). (Hopefully.)
I give him one last big squeeze, so hard I start shaking, then let him go. He waits until my arms have dropped to loosen his own and step back.
I stare. And stare. And stare. And my mouth gapes in a really attractive and definitely not stupid way. “What.”
Rocky waves, and the shiny-fabric-mesh-bubble-thing wrapped tight to his arm flexes easily with the motion. “Hello friend Grace! I make new suit.”
“I … how? Out of what? Why?”
“Take long time. Have to be careful because not have much material—use all of it now. Is experimental Xenonite compound, more flexible, meant for detail work or sometimes adhesive. Part of whole, not usually whole itself— Eridians thought maybe walk out into space with it, but no work—” He waves a hand. “Not important. Flexible material mean can interact with Grace. Touch Grace!”
My brain catches on part of that and won’t let it go. “Why would you use all of it? What if we need it? What if there’s an emergency, or—”
“We need it,” Rocky interrupts gently. “For this. You health is emergency.”
“What? I don’t—I’m doing okay. Not great, but I would’ve been okay, you didn’t have to … waste it on me.”
“Not waste. Necessary,” he says sharply.
“But—”
“Necessary. Humans not good with long isolation. Go crazy. I was not waiting until Grace go crazy to fix.”
“I’m not … I’m not isolated. I have you.”
“Humans need physical contact.”
“I wasn’t going to die without it.” I don’t even know why I’m arguing. What he’s saying makes sense, but it feels wrong the way the Hail Mary’s gravity did when I first woke up. Something in my gut that sends my insides churning.
“Maybe not. But you not need to suffer. Owe you that.”
“Owe me?” There’s a pit in my stomach now.
“Mistake with breeder tanks. You save me, again, and you save Erid.”
“The breeder tanks—that was my mistake. Everything you made—everything you’ve ever made for me—has worked perfectly. I’m the one who screwed up.” I almost killed him, I almost killed his entire planet, and he blames himself? Has he felt like this the entire time?
He shakes himself no. “Should not have used xenonite for tanks, should have blend, should have multiple materials, swap materials during breeding process. Knew this. I make tanks, tanks fail. Mistake is mine.”
“No, that’s not on you, I’m the one who suggested breeding them and playing with evolution, I’m the science human, I’m responsible for that because it was my idea!”
“You not change my mind. But will stop talking about tanks.” Rocky makes a noise that I think is his version of a sigh. “Your life so brief. Like sound of small soft object dropped in water. Little amplitude. Fade quick. I decide to spend the rest of you life making better for you. You save me, save Erid—and I ♪ ♩ ♬ ♫ ♩ ♬ ♫ ♪ you, friend Grace.”
I know what he said. But I ask anyway. “What—”
“Care lots lots lots. Feel much much much affection. Strong strong strong personal attachment.”
“... Love.”
“I love you, friend Grace,” he says again, way too sincerely for me to not start crying again like the wet squishy sack of water I am. “I make you life better. We save Earth. You save Erid. Now I save you.”
“Okay,” I blubber. “Y-yeah, okay, sure. If—if you’re sure.”
“Am sure.”
I put my face in my hands. My palms are sweating. Every breath I take does that embarrassing hh-hh-hhh hitch in my throat, and my chest hurts, and I feel like I’m about to puke again. I’m just not … good … with this kind of stuff. I want to curl up in a ball and hide until the feelings and Rocky’s over-earnest declarations of love and devotion are done and we can go back to bantering about whose atmosphere is composed of stupider elements. I’m about to explode out of my prickling, oversensitive skin.
I take one more hitching breath. “I’m gonna—gonna need another hug.”
He curls around me again, and I press my cheek into the thin mesh between us, and the warmth of him soaks all the way down to my bones like the long-forgotten shine of my old sun.