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“Minimal understanding of human gestation, statement,” Rocky tells me, and I sigh, letting my head fall backwards, my hands covering my face. “Eridians lay eggs, protect clutch, do not remain in body. Why remain in Grace body?”
“Yeah, well, probably because humans have to keep their babies inside for a while,” I remind him. I know he knows this, but he’s been panicking and frantic for the last few days, so— I indulge. “Maybe I’m like a shark.”
“What this mean, question? Shark? Shark? Shark?”
“I know there were sharks in the encyclopedias and the computer,” I point out, and he just clacks his hands at me. “Fine, fine. Sharks— I mean, some of them have eggs that hatch inside of them. So— You know, their young start out as eggs, and then they hatch during gestation, and then there’s a— a live birth. Sometimes.”
Rocky tilts a little bit, considering this for a long moment before he appears to evaluate me. “Grace not shark. Grace human.”
“Great point.” I shift a little in my seat, cushioned on the couch Rocky and Adrian helped build for me. I can’t get comfortable anymore, though, and I know that, and yet, I still try. “Just trying to come up with a comparison.”
“Eridians no have shark.”
“Sorry,” I reply before shifting again. “Geez. No wonder you guys lay eggs. These kids are heavy.”
“Five Eridians,” Rocky tones at me. “Heavy, heavy, heavy. Especially for human. Especially for Grace.”
“Well, aren’t I special,” I say before one of them flips inside me and I groan. At the beginning, they had just felt like eggs, but now— now, it’s unmistakable, the shapes of them, the way they kick at me, how they move. They’re not in eggs anymore, that much is obvious.
“Too much for Grace, question?” Rocky asks me, patting at my face, my sides, my hair, all at once, hovering over me. I can feel his weight, his heat, but it’s not yet overbearing, and so I just close my eyes and sink into the feeling.
“I can take it,” I reply. Rocky settles down beside me with a despondent hum. “What’s wrong?”
“Too much for Grace, statement,” he repeats, firm this time. “Sick, sick, sick. What Rocky do to help, question?”
“There’s really nothing you can do,” I tell him, and watch him curl downwards and buzz with frustration and disappointment. “It’s really okay. It’ll be over eventually, and then we get to have our babies.”
Rocky is silent for a long moment before he chimes, “What if Grace hurt, question?”
“I mean, it probably will hurt,” I tell him. “It already sort of hurts. That’s just part of it.”
The distressed trill that Rocky lets loose then grinds through my skull. He taps backwards, agitated, then leans towards me again.
“Why Grace hurt, question?” Rocky demands.
“Because that’s how it goes, Rock,” I reply. “That’s how human gestation works. You get sick, it hurts, and then you— I don’t know, I guess you— you have your baby— or, babies, I guess, for us— and it’s all worth it, in the end.”
“Don’t like Grace hurt. Even for worth,” Rocky insists, in that grumbling tone he sometimes takes on when he’s upset about something.
“It’ll be fine,” I say, leaning back on the sofa cushions. Rocky gets closer, holds his weight up over me; he doesn’t fully lean down, but I can still feel his pressure, and his heat, and I sigh, letting my eyes close. “Hopefully, it’ll be over soon.”
“New, new, new,” Rocky reminds me. “No way to know.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” I say, shifting again. It feels like there are molten rocks living inside my abdomen— which, I guess, technically, there are. “How’s Adrian doing with the ultrasound machine?”
“Not an ultrasound machine,” Rocky corrects me, for the umpteenth time. “Adrian and Rocky ultrasound machines.”
“I know, I know.” Reaching out, I knock my hand against one of his, then close my fingers around it, holding on. He’s learned well enough to know why I do this, and he squeezes my hand in return, just gentle enough not to break the fine bones inside. “But you guys can see everything. I can’t see anything. I’m curious.”
“Grace carry babies,” Rocky states. “Grace know everything.”
“I don’t have X-ray vision.”
“What X-ray vision, question?”
“It means…” I trail off, debating whether or not to explain the entire concept of Superman, then change my mind, veering sideways in the conversation instead. “It means I would be able to see like you do. See through things.”
Rocky contemplates this for a moment before he asks, “Grace want to know more about babies, question?”
I lift my head to glance towards him, surprised. Rocky just tilts his carapace, as if he’s a curious cat, and I shift forward over my swollen stomach. Automatically, one hand falls to my side; I pretty much always permanently have a hand resting there now, supporting the heavy weight, feeling for any movements— and there are so many movements.
“Grace not answer,” Rocky comments. “Grace not want?”
“No, no, I do, I want that, I was just— having an emotion about it,” I tell him, shuffling myself a little closer to him. He climbs up onto the cushion beside me, his xenonite suit tight against his body. It’s almost like he’s not wearing anything at all— almost.
“Which emotion, question?” Rocky moves himself closer, one hand coming up to stroke my hair, the other resting on my shoulder. Heat just radiates off of him, and I lean into him without a thought.
“A good one,” I reply. Rocky gives an unsatisfied hum. “I think… happiness. But a sensitive kind of happiness. I feel kind of raw when I think about them.”
“Raw, question?”
“Vulnerable,” I clarify. “And— I don’t know, emotional, but I’m not totally sure which emotions, just— a lot of them.”
After considering this, Rocky says, “Human gestation emotional, statement.”
“Very emotional,” I agree. “It’s just a lot. I don’t exactly know how to explain it.”
“Grace no need explain,” Rocky insists. “Rocky understand, understand, understand.” His hand strokes through my hair, over and over, and I tip closer into him. There’s something bone-deep comforting about being near him at any point, but especially right now. “Grace still want knowing more?”
It doesn’t take me any time to agree, “Yeah, I would. What can you see, Rock?”
Rocky shifts backwards a little bit. I miss his touch, but I allow him to make his observations, sat back on the cushion beside me. His carapace tilts this way, that way, then this way again, before he ducks closer, two of his hands running over the bulge of my stomach.
As if they know he’s there— and maybe they do, maybe they can see him, too— all of them start moving at once. I wince, feeling two of them pushing against my ribs with their tight movements. Humans were not meant to carry five Eridians, but— well, I’m here now. In for a penny, or whatever.
“Careful,” I warn them— and Rocky, pushing against my side, causing them all to tumble over towards his touch. “Jesus Christ.”
“Babies active,” Rocky comments.
“Yeah, I can tell,” I reply, rubbing my hand over the top swell of my stomach. I’m rewarded with a kick of my own, right against my palm, and I wonder if they can see me, too— or how much of me they can see. Talk about X-ray vision.
“Healthy, healthy, healthy,” Rocky trills, tilting again, nearly pushing himself against my abdomen. “Move a lot. Develop well. Five, five, five.”
“Tell me what they look like,” I ask.
Rocky hums, a sonorous note that vibrates through me. “Look small.”
“Little rocks?” I ask. “Got a bunch of pebbles?”
“Not pebbles, statement,” Rocky replies, though he doesn’t sound very offended by the notion. “Babies.” He pauses, then says, “Similar to Grace, too.”
“What, really?” I ask, bewildered. From what I can feel— and what he can see— they’re pretty much just Eridians. It doesn’t feel like I have much to do with it, besides being their incubator. “Aren’t they just like you?”
“No,” Rocky hums, running three hands over my stomach, now. “Can tolerate colder temperature. Like Grace body. Eggs hatched in Grace body. Can touch Grace, can exist in Grace dome atmosphere, Earth atmosphere. Heart in thorax pump like human, like Grace. Blood less mercury. More plasma, more hormones, more water.”
I can’t help the strangled laugh that comes out of me. “Of course, there’s more water. Why wouldn’t there be?”
Rocky pulls back a little, examining my face rather than my torso. “Grace leaking, question?”
I reach up, swiping my hands beneath my eyes, and, sure enough, tears gather in streaks along my palms. “Geez. Yeah, sorry. I didn’t even realize.”
“Grace upset, question?”
“No, not upset,” I tell him. “I just—” I try to think, to put this into the right words, but— it doesn’t really matter if I mess it up. Between us, we give each other the benefit of the doubt, more often than not, when we fumble our words. “I didn’t really think they had anything from me.”
“Grace offspring too, statement,” Rocky trills, lifting up higher, asserting himself. “Grace Rocky young combine Grace Rocky.” He hums again, and I lean in, wrapping my arms around him, impulsive, automatic. “Grace need hug?”
“Yeah, really bad,” I mumble into him. Without hesitating, his arms come up around me, and I sigh, relaxing into him. “That’s nice.”
“Hug or babies?”
“Both.” I shift a little closer, letting my face rest against his carapace. I can feel the heat blooming through me from that point. “I’m really glad they’ll have something of me.”
“Young belong to Grace, statement,” Rocky tells me, patting one hand against my stomach again— and, once more, all of them rush towards his touch, and I groan, pushing his hand away. “Apology, apology, apology.”
“It’s not your fault they’re excited to see you,” I reply. “Can you tell how long it’ll be? How developed are they?”
“Eridian eggs short time for hatch,” Rocky reminds me. “Humans longer time. Gestate for months.”
“Yeah, but— can you tell how far along they are, maybe? How many months old they look?” I ask, and even as the words come out of my mouth, I know there won’t be any right answer. Time is different on Earth compared to Erid, and— and, at the end of the day, this is a completely new experience, with nobody and nothing that we can turn to.
Despite the inherent absurdity of my question, Rocky still considers his answer before he gives it, studying me closely with a soft, vibrating warble.
“Not done,” Rocky finally declares. I groan again. “Not new! Still time. Not much longer time.”
“If you say so.” I shift again, uncomfortable, and ask, “Do you know when Adrian is coming over?”
“After labs,” Rocky replies.
“Okay, I’ve got some time,” I say, and I stretch with a yawn. Stretching, however, strains at my already-struggling torso, and I have to double forward again with a huff, sucking air into my lungs.
“Grace, Grace, Grace—”
“I’m good, I’m good, Rock, just— shouldn’t have moved that way,” I reply, breathless. All my muscles are aching, my back throbbing, the swell of my stomach too heavy and too hot, and I shuffle to push myself upright. “I think I’m going to try to take a shower.”
“Rocky watch Grace shower, statement,” Rocky says. “Keep Grace safe, keep family safe, until Adrian comes. Safe, safe, safe.”
I consider this for a moment before I just shrug and hold my hands out. “Alright, sure. But you have to help me up.”
“Grace unable to stand,” Rocky comments as he spins forward in front of me, every limb seemingly moving at once. He stretches up, takes my hands, and hauls me forward until I’m on my feet. “Grace being silly.”
“Yeah, I’ll show you silly.” I nudge him with my ankle as I pass, and he follows right after, faster than me, running ahead, then backtracking, ahead, then backtracking, over and over. “Put a bunch of giant heavy babies in you, see how you like it.”
“Rocky no carry babies, statement.”
“Yeah, I—”
“Rocky lay eggs,” he continues. “Grace know this. Grace—”
“Yeah, yup, I definitely know this,” I cut him off before he gets too graphic in front of Armando, or until he says so much that I’ll need him to do something about it. “I guess I should have thought that they were something like me already, since— You know. Not eggs anymore.”
“Grace thinking clearly!” Rocky exclaims with delight, and I nudge him again.
“Quit with the attitude, I’m allowed to be foggy.”
“Grace like foggy.”
“Hush.”
“No hush.”
“Fine, then— make yourself useful,” I reply, and he’s already there, helping me peel my loose button-down off. He’s gentle with his touches, careful, and my insides soften a little. “Hey, Rock?”
“Yes, Grace?” he chirps, tossing my shirt in the direction of my hamper. Close enough.
“Thanks,” I say.
Rocky pulls back a little, examining me in that curious, confused way I’ve come to recognize. After a moment, he replies, “Thanks for what, question?”
“Everything,” I tell him, and lean forward, ducking down as much as I can with my stomach in the way, and drop a kiss on top of his thorax. He chirps, vibrating, then shakes his hands at me before he bonks our heads together and hugs me.
“Rocky thank Grace,” he chimes, right against my face.
“Grace thank Rocky,” I say, then shift back again. “Alright, help me into the shower, I can’t step over the little— the thing anymore.”
“Edge.”
“Know-it-all.”