Chapter Text
So. I'm officially depressed.
(not really officially, because there are no psychologists that can diagnose me in space, but like, according to the webmd article I skimmed, it's pretty likely.)
Probably around half the time I'm fine. I feel normal, if a little tired. I get all my chores done and still have the energy to chat with Rocky about whatever catches our fancy that day. Sometimes we play games or watch a movie.
The other half of the time, I feel awful. I’ll spend most of the day in bed, or curled up with a blanket in the don't go crazy room. Rocky will still spend most of the time with me, either curled up in his xenonite enclosure or right up next to me in his ball. We still talk, but I'm not a very good conversational partner. My answers are usually short and half-hearted.
I guess without the urgent mission of figuring out a way to save our stars to keep me busy, my brain has just kind of given up. The looming inevitability of death will do that to a guy. The startings of malnutrition probably don't help either. I have one real meal a day, and coma slurry mixed with Taumeoba for the other two meals. It definitely doesn't help that I can usually only stomach half a serving of Taumeoba-slurry, or else face the consequences. (The consequences are me being violently ill. It's not a fun time. For either of us.)
I know Rocky's worried. He's always worried about me nowadays, even when I'm having a good day. I'm pretty sure my brush with death during our fishing trip traumatized him. The one time I tried to choke down a full dose of Taumeoba-slurry and vomited in front of him he looked like he was having a panic attack. I'm pretty sure he was convinced I was dying.
I feel pretty awful about it. I try to explain away my lack of enthusiasm for life as “rationing calories” for the trip. Which is kind of true. I would starve to death much faster if I was constantly running around. I try to explain this to him but he definitely doesn't buy it. I don't really buy it either.
I'm in the don't go crazy room now, sitting up on the floor and wrapped in my quilt. The grated floor is digging into my butt, and I try to adjust the quilt to give me more padding. It doesn't really work. I need to remember to grab a pillow to sit on, but I always forget.
It's another bad day. They're happening more often and I should probably be worried about that. I've been watching Bones. It's not as riddled with scientific inaccuracies as most shows, plus, it's pretty much the only forensic drama I can watch, because most of the gross bits of the bodies are gone. I don't exactly have a strong stomach. Plus, I really like Dr. Brennan. She's cool.
Rocky rolls up to me in his ball, and I preemptively turn down the volume. “Hey bud.” I greet, patting the floor next to me.
He rolls over, and sits down next to me. “What Grace watching, question?”
“Um. Same as yesterday.” I answer. I know he doesn't really care about what I’m watching. Sometimes he'll listen to whatever's playing, but he never uses his little crystal thing to actually watch the screen. Usually he'll just work on a project and sit next to me. “Bones. I kinda told you what it was about.”
“Disgust.” He shivers exaggeratedly. “Human murder show. Creepy.”
“It's not–” I pause. “Okay. I can see how crime dramas would be pretty creepy to an alien. And it's not about murder– It's about getting justice for the person who was murdered. There's a difference.”
“Sorry. Joking. We have similar on Erid. Lots of Eridian radio drama about solving crime.”
“Ugh. Sorry.” I rub my eyes, sighing. I'm usually a lot better at picking up Rocky's tone. My whole brain has been slow today. “I'm tired. Makes it hard to think.”
“Worried. Grace tired too much. Sleep too much.” He stomps his foot for emphasis. “Not normal.”
I hug myself, looking away from Rocky. I know it doesn't really do anything- he can still see me. But it makes me feel better. “I know. I know it's not normal, but there isn't really anything I can do about it.” I'm frustrated, and it bleeds through my tone more than I would've liked.
“No. No no no.” Each no is punctuated with a stomp. “Grace just give up. Need to try to find solution.”
“You're acting like a child.” I snap. “I can't do anything about it. I can't magically conjure more food through the power of hoping hard enough.” I need to calm down. I'm being mean. Rocky's just trying to help. But I'm tired and hungry and I've been trapped in this stupid tin can for two years and maybe I deserve to be a little angry about it.
“Not about food! About Grace! You give up!” Rocky's voice is pitched up, the way it gets when he's upset. He's so loud that the sound of the translator is almost getting lost in the volume of his real voice.
“I'm not giving up! I'm sorry I'm not ecstatic about being trapped here for three more years! If I'd really given up I would've just shot myself!” I'm mad, and I'm saying things without my brain's input. I only process the fact that I'd just alluded to killing myself when Rocky freezes.
“Wait-” All my anger immediately evaporates, replaced with icy guilt. “Rocky– I didn't mean– I would never–”
He's making soft, hitched chittering noises. Oh my god. I realise. Oh my god he's crying. I made him cry. I wish I could go back in time and slap myself. Talk about killing yourself in front of the guy who's currently terrified that you're going to die. Nice plan. Great going. God i'm such an idiot.
I have the sudden urge to run to the airlock, and jettison myself into space.
Rocky's still crying. He's slumped, hiding behind his legs as much as he can while staying standing. “God, Rock I'm sorry– I'm so sorry–” My hands hover uselessly over his ball. I hate it. I hate the layer of Xenonite that keeps me away from him. I hate that we can't touch each other without burning ourselves alive. “I'm just stressed– I shouldn't have yelled I didn't mean any of it I promise–”
I approximate a hug as best as I can, wrapping my arms around his ball. Rocky collapses, shuffling towards me and leaning his carapace towards where I'm hugging him. “–I’m not giving up, I promise. We can try whatever you want to, okay? I promise I'll be fine. And then we'll get to Erid and you can introduce me to Adrian, and I can finally eat real food again–”
I ramble on, about all the fun stuff we can do once we get to Erid. Rocky's crying slowly dies down, until he's sitting there in silence. Rocky's hardly ever still, except when he's sleeping. It's unnerving. It makes a fresh wave of guilt pierce my heart.
“Rocky…?” I try. I sit in agonising silence, waiting for his response.
“Grace stupid.” He finally chirps. It's the most relieved I've ever been to be called stupid. “Of course you live. Not allowed to die. Won't let you.”
“Of course–” I slump down the ball, sitting on the ground while maintaining the hug, so I can be eye-to-carapace with Rocky. “I'm so sorry, I won't die, I'll be okay.”
“Sorry also. Was acting like child. Just want to understand so I can help.”
“Oh god, Rocky– You barely even said anything and I just totally flipped out. You don't have to apologize for anything.”
“Yes. Okay. Is Grace fault. Rocky not sorry.” This time, he makes an effort to knock into me to indicate the joke. I crack a smile.
My arms are starting to ache, so I remove them from around his ball. Rocky makes a soft sound at the movement. “I'm not going anywhere, Promise.” I hurry to clarify. “My arms are just tired.” I lean harder into the ball as compensation.
Rocky nods his assent. “Weak human muscles.” He softly bumps his carapace against me one last time, before pulling away. “Can end hug now. Rocky okay.”
“Alright bud.” I pull back just enough to sit more comfortably, but I keep my forehead resting on the ball.
Rocky fidgets with his arms for a moment, running his hand over his forearm. “Understand why Grace was upset. Small space and not enough food is very stressful for humans. Bad bad bad.”
I nod in agreement. “Bad bad bad.” The enclosed space and the boredom have been affecting me worse than I thought it would. There's a reason ISS astronauts can't be up there too long. It doesn't just affect you physically- Being up in a cramped space station with only a handful of people for company is enough to make anybody freak out a little. And I'm stuck here for three more years, with just one guy.
It's definitely partly my fault though. Rocky was kind of right. I have given up a bit. There are plenty of things I could do to try and cheer myself up, but I just can't bring myself to do anything.
“I lied to you.” I sigh, looking away. “There's probably something we can do to help me feel better.”
Rocky perks up. “Explain. How fix, question? Why lie, question? Explain fix first.”
I hum, rubbing my face. I'm not a psychologist, I have no idea how to explain depression to an alien. Plus, after all that I'm too tired to even try right now.
“I'll explain tomorrow, okay? I'm–” I look down in shame. “I should've told you earlier.”
“Why not explain now, question?”
“I'm just too tired right now, Rock.”
“Has only been six hours since Grace last sleep.” Rocky taps at the Xenonite to get a closer look at me. “Worried.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I know. I'm sorry.” My brief bout of anger and then incredible amounts of shame had kind of taken it out of me. I can feel my eyelids drooping. I guess now that the immediate crisis is over, my body thinks it's an appropriate time to go to sleep. Stupid body.
“Fine, acceptable. We talk tomorrow."
“Sounds great, bud.” I close my eyes and slump over on the Xenonite ball, resting my forehead on my arms. I really am exhausted, and Rocky's so nice and warm…
“Grace get up.” I ignore him, yawning and scooting closer to the ball. “Grace. Grace get up. Move to bed. Always complain when sleep not in bed.”
Dang it. He's right. My back will kill me when I get up if I sleep like this. Plus, Rocky would be trapped here if I fell asleep on his ball. Stupid thoughtful alien making me take care of myself.
“Grace. Grace up. Grace.”
“Fiiine.” I definitely don't whine. I lever myself up, using his ball as a handhold. “I'm going, I'm going..”
I manage to make my way to the crew quarters without falling off the ladder, which is honestly a minor miracle, considering I yawn every five seconds. But I do have to tie my quilt around my shoulders to climb, and it makes me feel like a dweeb.
A few months into our trip to Erid I had redesigned my “bedroom.” Which mostly just means that I had duct taped a bunch of blankets to the Xenonite tunnels surrounding my bed, creating kind of a cozy little tent. Apparently NASA really understands the value of duct tape, because I had found an entire crate of it stamped with their logo. The rest of the crew quarters function as my combination dining/living room.
I crawl into my awesome space blanket fort, and curl up around my cuddle pillow (Yes, that sounds incredibly lame and stupud, I know.) I had briefly debated sharpie-ing a face on it, but quickly decided that it would come off as weird and creepy more than funny. Plus, Rocky wouldn't even be able to see it to appreciate the joke. With my pillow and the heat radiating off Rocky’s environment through the Xenonite barrier, I can almost pretend to not be crushingly alone.
I immediately regret that wording. I'm not really alone. Crushingly touch-starved, I guess. It's become a common fantasy of mine, that one day we'll find out how to miraculously make four atmospheres of incredibly hot ammonia not kill me instantly, so I can hug Rocky. Hugging him through the ball is nice, but after years without any human contact it's not really enough to satisfy my brain's dopamine receptors.
Distantly, I hear Rocky's miniature airlock open, and then the much less distant sound of him approaching. The uneven five-beat rhythm of him climbing around the ship has become oddly soothing.
He settles down next to me, and starts pulling a bunch of tiny triangles of clear Xenonite out of one of his pouches. He must've made a pit stop to grab them from his workshop. He's been working on the same project for a while, involving those little triangles. He's welding them together into something, but he only ever works on small pieces of it when I'm around. I keep forgetting to ask what he's making.
“G’night buddy.” I mumble.
“Good night Grace.”
I bury myself further into my nest of pillows, clinging to the one my arms are wrapped around. Rocky chirps, and the lights shut off. He's so great.
I'm asleep before I realise it.
“Grace said would explain in morning. Is morning. Grace explain now.”
Rocky taps on the xenonite wall next to my head insistently. I throw an arm over my eyes to shield them from Mary’s evil LEDs.
“Grace up. Wake up time. Up.”
I groan, rubbing my eyes. “I just woke up, like, thirty seconds ago. When I say I'll do something in the morning I usually mean after I've eaten breakfast and done my gross human body maintenance.”
“Human body disgust. Inefficient.”
I sit up, yawning and stretching my arms above my head. My spine makes a series of popping noises. “Don't I know it.”
“Order of words confusing. Mean you do know, question?”
“Yeah, It's another expression.”
“Understand.”
He follows me through his tunnels as I walk towards my laundry pile, picking up shirts and sniffing them. There is, technically, a chest that all my clothes go in. But this is easier. I find one that doesn't smell too horrific. It's plain, which is probably why I haven't worn it much. I pull off my shirt and replace it with the slightly cleaner one. I've gotten more comfortable changing around Rocky once it sank in that it doesn't really matter if I'm wearing clothes. He can see (hear?) through xenonite walls, my thin cotton clothing won't do much to block sound waves. It makes me vaguely uncomfortable, but like, he's an alien. He has no concept of human modesty. It doesn't matter to him, so it slowly stops mattering to me. Social constructs, and all that.
On the other hand, the fact that it took me five minutes of shirt-sniffing to find an acceptable one was actually slightly worrying. Armando used to take away my dirty clothes, but I quickly realised that they weren't actually getting washed, just stored away. I have so far been unsuccessful in recovering them. I guess water was too much of a finite resource to waste it on laundry. Packing enough clothes for four months was just easier. Which seems ridiculous, seeing as “clothes for four months” amounted to five pairs of pants, twenty tee-shirts, two light jackets and one cardigan. We'd been given “astronaut boxers” and “astronaut socks” which is what I'm calling the incredibly thin cotton undergarments that feel like they're made of 1-ply toilet paper. Even the actual toilet paper was 2-ply. Luckily they were a lot less stingy with those. We'd been given a hundred pairs of socks and underwear each. It was honestly a pretty solid wardrobe.
The good thing is that the astronaut boxers are unisex. Ilyukhina’s don't have a… junk pocket… but they're still boxer-shaped. Small mercies. So while there will be a day when I am forced to go commando, it won't be for a while.
It's the other clothes I'm worried about. Rocky won't be bothered if I smell, but I sure as heck will. I've pretty much exhausted my supply of clean clothing, and while I could do laundry in the sink, I really don't want to waste the water if I don't have to. I've already been wearing my red flight suit as pants for a concerningly long time. Plus, something in my amnesia-addled brain made me think it was a good idea to chop the leg off of one of my precious pairs of sweatpants to make a hat out of. So I'm down to three and a half pairs of pants, plus the flight suit. I'll have to raid my crewmates' closets soon. Not looking forward to that.
“Grace stand still for long time. Okay, question?” Rocky chirps at me. I realise I've just been standing in the middle of the room, lost in thought.
“Yeah, yeah I'm fine, sorry. Just thinking.”
I toss my discarded shirt into the pile, and sit down on an empty bed. I'm pretty sure it was Yao’s. I'm not brave enough to check. “Mary, breakfast please.”
I wait the few minutes it takes for Armando to rehydrate and heat my meal. Rocky clambers out of the room once the robotic arms give me my food. I know he can still see me, but I guess it makes him feel better. As always, my breakfast is served in a foil pouch. I peer inside and sniff it. Mmm. Vegetable egg omelet. Nice.
I eat my food slowly. This will be my one real meal of the day. Coma slurry for lunch and dinner. Yum. I alternate between my one meal being breakfast, lunch or dinner. It took a lot of finagling with Armando’s settings to get it not to dispense my food on a schedule. I suck down a pouch of water, (we’d tragically run out of coffee last month.) before holding out my trash for Armando to take care of. I have no idea where it goes. Maybe there's a mini-airlock somewhere that waste is jettisoned from. I hope the shirts it took weren't jettisoned. That would suck. I should do that too, at some point. Figure out where all the Hail Mary’s waste goes.
I'm totally stalling. I probably do not need to go spaceship dumpster diving.
I tap my foot against the floor. I'm not looking forward to that conversation with Rocky.
I use the bathroom and brush my teeth, before sitting back down on my bed. Dang. That's something I need to figure out too– I'm going to run out of toothpaste at some point. I fidget idly while doing mental toothpaste-math. I give up when I realise I don't actually know how much toothpaste armando has stashed away. Ugh. I'm just stalling again.
“You can come back now,” I call to Ricky, flopping down on the bed. “I'm done with the icky stuff.” It's kind of funny that Rocky couldn't care less about seeing me naked, but eating and brushing my teeth was disgust disgust disgust. I know he doesn't actually care that much. I'm pretty sure he only runs away for the bit.
I plug in the communication laptop while Rocky clambers back to the crew quarters. I have a feeling that we'll be here for a bit.
He climbs over to me, sitting on the xenonite panel that's level with my bed. He folds all his legs neatly underneath his carapace. He's loafing. I always think it's adorable when he does that. I smile to myself, I have to remember to show him some cat photos later. He will probably be terribly offended by the comparison.
“Okay.” Rocky doesn't have eyes, but somehow I know he’s completely focused on me. “Grace explain now.”
I sigh, twisting my fingers. I have no idea how to begin.
“Um okay. Sometimes humans get really sad for no reason. It's like- a brain sickness. Nothing is wrong with the body, but you feel sick.” I'm explaining this badly.
“Mental issue, question? Emotional?”
“Um yeah, yeah. A chemical imbalance in the brain makes you really sad. It makes you really tired and not motivated. It's not always for no reason though– a lot of people are depressed because of their situation.”
“Understand. Grace’s body in bad situation. Brain is unhappy.”
“Yeah– Sometimes malnutrition or stress or a bunch of other things can trigger the chemical imbalance.”
“Understand. Is similar Eridian sickness. Lack of ♪♫♩ cause brain issue. Make Eridian very tired and sad. Called ♪♩♩♬♪. Rocky had for many years when alone on Blip-A. More related to loneliness for Eridians.”
I log the unknown word as depression. It makes sense that Eridians get depressed when lonely. From what Rocky’s told me, they're a very social species, like humans. Plus, I guess they don't really get physical problems as easily as humans do. They're a lot sturdier.
“There's– ugh– a lot more. There are different kinds of disorders that cause depression, and there are a lot of factors that might cause it.” I crack my knuckles, one by one. I feel like my explanation is kind of lackluster. I honestly don't know a ton about mental health. “But that's the general idea. That's what I have. It's why I've been sleeping so much and acting weird.”
“I mean–” I pause. “I still have issues outside of that. Even if I was less depressed I still won't have as much energy as I used to, because of the food problem.” I'm trying not to sound like a pessimist. I just want Rocky to not be too disappointed if whatever we try doesn't help.
“Understand.” He mimics a nod. “Only one problem in many. Still can try to fix, so less problems total.”
“Aww Rocky.” I shuffle up to the barrier, sitting with my knees to my chest and leaning my shoulder against it. “There isn't an easy cure. At least nothing we have.” I'm pretty much 99% sure there is no Zoloft on the Hail Mary. “You can treat the causes and the symptoms, but sometimes humans stay depressed even when they're perfectly healthy.”
“Understand. Complicated, not like physical injury. Bad bad bad.” He's spinning in little circles. His way of pacing. “We find a way to help. Have to try. Depression is hurting Grace. What are causes?”
“Um. let me think.” I rap my fingers together idly. “I definitely have some vitamin deficiencies, but that's part of the food issue. The small space is bad. Seeing the same things every day is pretty depressing.” I tilt my head back, thinking. “And uh, the lack of natural sunlight is bad, but, again, nothing we can do about that.” I pick at the hem of my shirt and avert my gaze. If Rocky had eyes he would be narrowing them.
“Grace is not telling everything.” Crap. “Can hear your heartbeat speed up.”
“It's nothing you can help with…”
“Tell. Then I decide if can help or not.”
I groan. “It's embarrassing."
“Eat is embarrassing and you eat in front of Rocky. Tell.”
“Ugh. Okay.” I hug my legs tighter to myself. I don't like thinking about this particular issue. “Humans are a social species. Just like Eridians. And being isolated is bad. Like really bad, isolating people for too long is illegal pretty much everywhere.” I sniff, tilting my head back and willing away the burning in my throat. “And just. Knowing I'm never going to see another human again is really hard. And I know this is dumb, because I have you, and I'll be around all the people on Erid– but.” Dang it. I blink, and my cheeks are wet. “But I– I'll never– All the people I knew– Even if I could go back, they could all be dead. Will be dead. God– everyone my age would be dead. And everyone else would be so much older. And god– even on Erid there will always be a wall between us. I– I'll never be able to touch someone again.”
I wipe my eyes with my forearm, trying to steady my breathing. Rocky stays silent.
“Sorry. That went off on a tangent. You um. Get the gist though.”
“Is not dumb.” Rocky must've sat back down while I was talking, because he's pressed up against the Xenonite wall. He makes a low, mournful sound. “Understand. Rocky was same on ship. All others dead. Was scared scared scared. Not of dying. Scared of never seeing home again. Scared of never seeing Adrian again.”
He presses a hand up against the wall. I raise my own to meet it. “Rocky lonely too. Wish I could touch without hurting. Want want want.”
Oh god. The tears are coming back. I drop my forehead to the barrier, letting out a hitched sob. I wish I could reach through the Xenonite and hold Rocky's hand properly. His three fingers would fit perfectly in the spaces between mine.
“Me too. Want want want.”
We spent an hour just sitting there. We started playing a game, where Rocky would hum a melody at me, and I would try to copy it. They get progressively more complicated. I always end up getting lost after a few rounds, but Rocky doesn't seem to mind. It's nice. Soothing. Something we can do while still being pressed right up against each other.
Once again, my human body gets in the way. I pull back from the wall. My face and hands are probably bright red from being so close to a heat source for so long. “Sorry. My legs are starting to hurt.”
Rocky nods. “Is okay. Understand that against wall is not very comfortable for human.”
He hums to himself, making small chirping noises. “I have idea. Might not work. Will take many days to build.”
I smile at him. That's great!” He's brilliant. Of course he’d already thought up a way for us to get closer. “Take as much time as you need!”
“Yes! Rocky start work now. Will be in lab.”
I flash him a thumbs-down, which he returns before skittering away.
I watch him as he leaves, and then I just sit for a moment. I feel weirdly empty. Like Rocky had taken all my energy with him when he'd left. I rub my sternum and take a deep breath. You're fine, Grace. It's fine.
My face feels gross after all my crying, so I go over to the little bathroom and rub my face down with a damp towel. It makes me feel a little bit better.
I sit back down on the bed. I should do something, but I really don't want to. I'm tired.
I run my hands through my hair, pulling at my scalp. I can't go to sleep yet, Rocky just started working. It would just make him worry about me even more.
My eyes land on the pile of clothes in the corner of the room. Okay. That's something I can do.