Chapter Text
Grace has been ill since shortly before the Hail Mary reached Erid, and since they’ve arrived, he’s been steadily getting worse. The last of Grace’s actual, nutritional food ran out approximately .34 Earth-years ago; the only thing he has left to eat now is the Taumoeba.
Rocky understands why Grace is ill; Grace explained it on the journey to Erid. Taumoeba gives him energy, but it doesn’t have everything his body needs to stay healthy. It’s not bacteria or some other microbe making him ill—it’s the lack of specific nutrients and vitamins. His body is doing its best to stay alive, but it’s also slowly destroying itself in the process.
There is hope now that they’ve made it to Erid. After the initial celebration surrounding their arrival and the delivery of their findings, the best scientific minds on the planet began working on a plan to keep Grace alive. The computers on the Hail Mary, with all the knowledge they contain about Earth and humans, are a particular boon. The nutrients Grace needs can be synthesized; it’s just a matter of creating the technology needed to do that (which thankfully the computers also have information about).
The Hail Mary docked briefly with the main Eridian space station, in order to deliver the Taumoeba farms and computers. It’s back in orbit now, spun up in centrifuge mode, in order to give Grace the benefit of gravity and the scientists time to build an Earth-atmosphere addition to the station. They check in regularly via radio calls, and with any luck, Grace will be able to move onto the station soon.
Rocky has opted to stay on the Hail Mary for now. Someone has to watch Grace sleep, after all, and he doesn’t trust that duty to anyone else. Grace has been unwell for many days, and Rocky isn’t about to let anything happen to him, not now that they’ve made it to Erid and safety.
Things aboard the Hail Mary are about what they were on the journey to Erid, though less lonely now that they’re in contact with other Eridians. Rocky and Grace spend time chatting, or working on ship maintenance, or else partaking in the seemingly endless supply of Earth entertainment available on the ship’s computers. But as the days go on, Grace starts dozing off more often, and sleeping for longer and longer periods of time.
The first time Grace sleeps for more than 600 minutes in a night, Rocky tries not to be concerned. Grace has slept for longer periods before, and he’s always woken up and been all right.
But then it happens again. And again. The fifth time it happens in a row, Rocky knocks on the wall between their areas in the dormitory. When that doesn’t wake him, he calls his name, repeatedly, growing in volume until finally, finally Grace starts to rouse.
“Rocky, what--?” Grace half sits up, rubbing one hand over his eyes. “Where’s the fire?”
“Fire, question?”
“Sorry, that’s a—human expression… thing.” He yawns, slumping back onto his elbows. “I meant, why’d you wake me up?”
“You’ve been asleep for over 700 minutes,” Rocky says urgently.
“Yeah?” Grace shakes his head and starts to lay down again. “That’s what, eleven hours? Twelve?” He flaps one hand in Rocky’s direction. “It’s just because, y’know, the vitamins and the lack of them and the tired and all that. It’s”—he yawns again—“fine.”
“Stop saying it’s fine.” Rocky lowers his tone, and hopes Grace will still understand him. “It is not fine. You are sick. You’re sleeping more and more, but you’re still tired. You keep saying it’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine, but it isn’t!”
Grace covers his face with one hand. “I know it’s not fine!” he shouts. “I know! I’m not exactly having a great time here, Rocky, but—dang it, I’m doing my best!” He sighs heavily, letting his hand drop from his face and off the side of the bed. “Under these frankly unprecedented and extraordinary circumstances, I am doing fine, all right?”
“But you don’t have to pretend to be fine!” Rocky pipes back just as loudly. “You are sick! You don’t have to say it’s fine when it’s not, you can just be sick!”
“Oh for Pete’s—” Grace rolls onto his side and actually looks at Rocky. “It’s just what you say—”
“Why, question?” He pulls himself up the xenonite wall, putting himself level with Grace. “Why do humans pretend to be fine when they’re not, question?”
“I don’t know!” Grace presses one hand to his forehead. “It’s just what you say when someone asks how you are, but actually answering the question would take too long, or you just don’t want to get into it, or whatever. And right now, Rock? I don’t feel like getting into this.” He flops down on his back again. “I’m going back to sleep.”
“No!” Rocky knocks on the wall insistently. “Every time you sleep, you sleep for longer. You said humans go crazy if they don’t sleep. What about when they sleep too much, question?”
“Not listening,” Grace says, folding his pillow over his ears. “Sleeping.”
“You’ve already slept!” Rocky says, his words high-pitched and urgent. “You need food, and activity—”
Grace rolls back on his side, propping himself up on one elbow. “And if I needed a nurse, I’d ask Armando, all right? Just let me rest!” And he reaches around with his other arm and throws his pillow at the xenonite wall between them.
It hits the wall with an ineffective thump; Rocky doesn’t even flinch. But then Grace lurches awkwardly forward. He scrabbles at the bed frame with one hand, and keeps himself from falling down headfirst, but by then his hips are pitched too far forward, and he flails out of the bed, his legs hitting the floor with a loud thud before the rest of him follows in a tangle of blanket.
“Ow…”
Rocky immediately drops to the floor. “Grace! Are you all right, question?”
Grace lies there for several seconds, inert but still breathing. Then he grunts and pushes himself into a sitting position. He takes a moment to disentangle himself from the blanket, and grabs the pillow from where it fell, tucking it under one arm. Then he uses his other hand to grab the bed frame and pull himself to his feet.
Rocky taps two hands together anxiously, then taps the wall three times. Tentatively, he says, “Grace, question?”
“Everything kinda sucks right now, Rocky,” Grace replies, his voice flat and quiet. “Now leave me alone so I can rest.” He gathers up the blanket and folds it over one arm, then trudges out of the dormitory without another word.
For a few silent seconds, Rocky wants to follow. He wants to apologize; he wants to make sure nothing happens to Grace while he sleeps. But the impulse passes, and he stays put.
At least he can hear Grace’s progress through the ship. He makes his way through the laboratory and into the projector screen room, where he tosses the pillow down and spreads the blanket on the suspended platform. Then he lays down on his side, arms folded across his chest and legs bent and curled towards his torso. After several minutes, Grace’s body relaxes slightly; he’s fallen asleep again.
For several more minutes, Rocky considers what to do.
It isn’t that they’ve never argued before. The journey to Erid was long, and disagreements happened. It would have been strange if they hadn’t argued; they were two different species, from different worlds and with different needs. But they had usually been able to resolve those disagreements without much trouble. This… this feels different.
He doesn’t know why it feels different. Maybe it’s because they’ve never let an argument last overnight. It could also be stress—Rocky has been worried about Grace’s condition for many days now, and it is making him treat Grace more delicately than he has before. He also suspects Grace is worried about his own condition, and trying to hide it, though he isn’t sure why. It may be a cultural difference, though he cannot find out now without asking Grace.
Rocky slumps down a little as he thinks. He needs more information. He needs to talk to Grace. He cannot talk to Grace right now, though; they’ve discussed before that Grace needs time alone, and clearly this is one of those times.
What he most needs, Rocky knows, is to stop worrying so much about Grace. The best scientists on Erid are in thrum right now, coming up with ways to keep Grace alive. Grace will get better, and he will live, and all will be well.
But the twenty-two members of his crew were also some of the best scientific minds on Erid. And as he watches Grace grow weaker and weaker, he cannot help thinking of his friends, who also grew weaker and weaker, until one by one, they slept and did not wake again. It does not matter that it is not for the same reason; the similarities terrify him because there is once again nothing he can do to help.
He is worried about his friend; he cannot help it. He worries about what this illness is doing to him (and what it may yet do). He worries about what might happen while Grace sleeps out of the dormitory and away from the medical robot that knows how to care for him. He cannot do anything about some of those worries, but he can do this: he can watch Grace sleep, even if only from a distance.
He opts to go to into the laboratory, which is at least a little closer to the projector room. He’ll be able to hear Grace’s sleep better from there, while still leaving him alone. He has a few small things to work on in his area of the lab, and he can tend to those while Grace sleeps. And hopefully, when Grace wakes, they can talk about things.
Grace will get better, he tells himself. All will be well. It’s just a matter of making sure he lives long enough to get better.
And that’s what worries Rocky the most.