Work Text:
His fingers trace along the colourful drawings on his papers, the rough stubble of the crayons bumping against his fingertips.
Grace breathes in, memories running through his mind in flashes. Children’s laughter and smiles, chanting “Lava, lava, lava!” as a bean bag of Earth is tossed around.
Did he teach them well enough? Are they using what he taught them?
Do they know their teacher is going to die in space so that they can live well past his expiration?
Grace smiles to himself. He closes his eyes, resting his palm against a drawing.
Save the world, Grace. For them.