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Grace is getting better at predicting how long Rocky is going to sleep. A lot of factors go into it: how long he's been awake, how big his meal is, and, most importantly, how much physical movement he's been doing since his last sleep cycle. He told Grace that Eridians sleep anywhere from about 3-12 hours, which is a very wide range, but Rocky's usually out for about five or six, depending on what they've been doing lately. At the very least, he can expect him to sleep for a good four and a half.
That means he has four liquid hours for himself every three and a half days or so.
It's not that he doesn't feel bad about leaving him when he thinks he's being watched, but it's his only alone time, and privacy is something he gets very little of around here, now that they're building the xenonite tunnels through more or less every room on the Hail Mary. He's got to savor what little he has.
"Grace chew bad," Rocky complains as Grace munches on a dry but seasoned piece of chicken breast. Grace rolls his eyes.
"Guess I'll just choke to death instead," he replies sarcastically. Rocky is very vocal about his misophonia, but it's not like he can do anything about it.
"Soup is better. Except when Grace slurp."
"I'm not gonna eat soup for every meal just because it annoys you less."
"Mashed potatoes fine, too. Grace could mash food before eating. No chewing."
"Wish I could bring you to Earth, Rock. You'd love snakes."
Rocky finishes the last horrifying "bite" of his meal, then folds his front legs up in that way he does when he's preparing for sleep. Grace knew this would happen--it's always not long after he eats. It appears to just be how his biology works.
"Grace watch Rocky sleep, question?"
"I always do, don't I?" he asks. To feel better about his half truth, he adds, "You want your story?"
He chirps happily. In the ten ish minutes it takes Rocky to fall completely to sleep, Grace has been telling him the plots to his favorite movies. It had started after Rocky had just happened to fall asleep while he was talking, but when he'd woken up, he requested that Grace talk to him as he drifts off every time. It was nicer, he said, than falling asleep to silence. A reminder that someone was there.
"Alright. Where'd I leave off?"
Three approximately remembered scenes from the Princess Bride later, Grace trails off, then tests his luck.
"Rocky? You still awake?"
No response. Excellent. He stands as slowly and quietly as he can, then sneaks away to the lab to work in private.
Honestly, he does miss the chatter, just a little bit. He's gotten used to it, and, although it can get overstimulating at times, he misses it when it's gone. Still, there's something liminal and nostalgic about working in a silent lab. It's been a while. He likes working alongside Rocky, even though he's pushy and demanding, but they spend all their time together. With their current project, he's been ordering Grace around a lot. It's nice to have a moment of peace to just do stuff to cells and take notes.
As usual, he doesn't realize how much time has passed until he notices that both his feet are asleep from the way he's sitting crisscross in his chair, and his shoulders are aching from leaning hunched over like a goblin. When he forces himself to look up from his microscope, it actually hurts his eyes to adjust back to reality. Eye breaks, he reminds himself, and taking little laps around his bench top every once in a while. He always gets too wrapped up to remember those things in the moment.
His back pops as he stands to stretch, which initiates a domino effect of unfortunate events.
First, the backs of his knees knock his rolling chair backward into the xenonite panel, which makes a pretty loud sound.
Actually, a louder sound than he expects. Much louder, and different in nature. Instead of a hollow thunk, what results is a strange, long crack, like someone stepping on a frozen lake and splitting the ice.
Wait. Cracking ice.
The panel.
In a split second display of poor self preservation instincts, he glances up instead of moving out of the way. In his defense, how is he supposed to know that of all the panels in the lab, the one that would break is the one directly above him? By the time he realizes he's about to be hit, there's no time to move out of the way.
It comes down on his head hard, and it's large and heavy. Heavy enough to knock him off balance, which sends him crashing into the bench top in front of him with force enough that when his ribs clip the side of it, the pain is so intense and immediate that he cries out. The surprise dims his reflexes, and instead of reaching out to catch himself from hitting the floor, both arms instinctively guard his abdomen in agony. That means that he has no free hands to catch himself when he hits the floor with force, his temple colliding hard with the metal floor of the ship. A sharp strike of pain is the last thing he registers before his senses go black and is body is blissfully numb.
-----
A high-pitched ringing sound is the first thing that lands in his awareness. For a moment, he panics, thinking that some alarm on the ship is going off, but as it fades, he realizes it's coming from his own ears. Soon after it clears up, the pain fades in, intolerable within seconds. His instinct is to jerk forward to clutch his temple, but when he tries to sit up, he bonks his forehead on the xenonite that's still pinning him to the floor.
It's not that it's immovable--it's heavy, but not so bad that he can't pick the panels up. Thanks to Rocky, some of them are small enough to lift, while others, he more or less had to raise from the ground and shimmy into place. The one on top of him is, unfortunately, the latter. They mustn't have secured it well enough. He pushes against it, but has to stop as soon as he starts because the pain in his ribs becomes unbearable with the strain. He groans again.
Normally, he would be able to mind over matter this situation and hype himself up. A moment of agony is just the price he has to pay for freedom, but his mind is running too slow and his thoughts are too fuzzy to do a proper risk vs reward assessment. It's like he's thinking underwater.
"Rocky," he shouts weakly, hoping against hope that his friend might hear him. Even in his muddled brain, he knows that's not likely. When Eridians sleep, nothing in the world can wake them, especially not a sound being made in a different room entirely. If he wants help, he's either going to have to go get it himself, or wait for Rocky to wake up, which could be hours from now. How is he going to last that long?
Getting up is the only way to go, he thinks. He tries to roll out from under the panel, but his exit is blocked by the bench, and besides, his ribs can't bear that much weight. As it stands, at least the xenonite panel doesn't have 100% of its weight on him. It caught on something and is a little crooked, leaving him just enough space for his chest to move up and down, or at least enough to accommodate the shallow breaths his probably broken ribs are allowing him to take.
Distantly, he knows that this is his fault. Not only that, but Rocky is going to be mad.
No, not mad--betrayed. Well, probably both, but the sting of knowing he's been lying is going to hurt worse. In a way, he's kind of getting what he deserves. He's not there to keep Rocky from danger, so he runs into it, himself. The universe has a way of working these things out, he supposes, but it's not going to make Rocky feel any better. In fact, it will only make his anger more complicated, as it will be tempered with concern and, if he's lucky, a little pity.
He's not sure how long he lays there for. Because of his swimming head, time is a blur. It could be three hours, could be 45 minutes. It feels like forever. Periodically, he shouts Rocky's name again, but to no avail. Help is going to arrive when it arrives, and he just has to suck it up until then.
His ribs are on fire. Every breath he takes feels like someone has stabbed him in the side. He hasn't broken a bone since he was a child and fell off the monkey bars straight onto his wrist, and he'd blocked out how painful that had been. Not to mention, it probably wasn't as bad as this is. At least he hadn't needed to use his arm to breathe. At least his school had gotten him straight to the hospital for pain meds.
Suddenly, he hears something. Or, at least he thinks he does. A rattling sound from down the hall, and it's getting closer.
"Grace," Rocky's voice, tone indecipherable through the computer program.
"Rocky!" he shouts. The rattling stops, then starts moving toward him. Rocky had heard him, thank god, and he's coming to help. That, or he's coming to yell at him. Probably both.
"Grace," Rocky snaps. "Why Rocky wake up alone?"
"I'm sorry," he replies, but fortunately, before he has to say anything more, Rocky finds him and zeroes in. He's still a little ways down the hall.
"What happened?" he asks. "Grace trapped. Injured, question?"
"Yeah. Wanted'a get some work done while y'slept." Woah, his speech is coming out weird. Did he actually give himself a concussion?
"Why Grace sound drunk, question?"
"Hit my head," he replies. When he looks to the side, he can see Rocky's feet inside his ball. Rescue? How will
he manage to do that without being able to touch him?
"Why did Grace not just move panel, question?" So many questions. They're making his head pound worse than it already is.
"Hurt my ribs, too. S'too heavy. Hurts too much."
Rocky doesn't say anything for a moment, but suddenly, he feels the panel begin to shift, then lift off of his body. When his blurry vision focuses, he sees that Rocky has managed to get under the elevated part of the panel with his ball and rolled forward, serving as a wedge and bringing the point of contact closer to the other side of it to increase the angle.
"Grace crawl out now," he prompts when Grace doesn't move. Oh, right. He should probably stop staring and do that.
Noisily, and with a lot of difficulty, he manages to prop himself up on his elbows, then draws his knees closer to his chest.
"Ahh," he moans. "This hurts."
"Rocky not feel sorry for Grace," he warns.
"Sorry. I'll be quieter."
"Did not say that. Grace focus on crawling. Make pain noise if need."
And make pain noise he does. By the time he's fully out from under the panel, he's sitting back on his feet, hunched forward in agony. The pain is so bad that he's sweating, panting in shallow puffs of air that are beginning to make him feel lightheaded.
"Thank you," he says, reaching out to touch Rocky's ball. He rolls backward in a recoil, reminding Grace that he's not forgiven yet. "Rocky, m'so sorry. I didn't mean to--"
"Grace need medical attention," Rocky curtails coldly. He blinks, the subject having changed too fast to keep up with. "Breathing and heart rate fast. Stupid."
"Oh. Uh, yeah. Okay."
He has to use the wall to do it, but he gets to his feet. There, he still can't stand up straight, still can't breathe right. His face is damp with sweat, and he's dizzy. Really, really dizzy.
"Grace careful!" Rocky exclaims. It's only because of his warning that he realizes he's swaying so far forward, he's on a collision course with the floor. He takes a clumsy step forward to compensate, the jarring movement eliciting a hiss of pain from his ribs.
"Ow," he moans, "ow. M'okay."
"Pain looks bad."
"S'really bad. Think I broke some ribs." Rocky trills anxiously.
"Grace is clumsy. Wobbly."
"Really dizzy. Hit my head."
"Grace said that already. Remember, question?" He doesn't. He shakes his head. "Is okay. Grace get to medical room, will fix."
"'Kay." His next step forward makes him even dizzier, resulting in him needing to back up against the wall and slide down to sit on the floor. His stomach is churning urgently with vertigo and intense pain. "No, no. Need'a lie down."
"Can rest after Grace receive medical attention."
"Noo," he whines. God, did he really just do that? He's so nauseous. His mouth fills with insidious, warm water, which only increases his distress, because he knows what's going to come next. "M'gonna be sick."
He bolts to his feet, now disoriented enough that he doesn't know which way is up, and leans against the wall, bent double as he loses the coffee in his stomach. Great, now he's putting Rocky through this. If he's annoyed by Grace's chewing, this has to be unbearable.
"Grace okay, question?" he asks, words coming out quick and anxious. "Grace safe, question?"
"Fine," he replies, wiping his mouth and coughing. He staggers several steps away in what he hopes is the direction of the medical bay. This sucks. He needs painkillers and a dark place to sleep until he feels better.
"Grace is not fine," Rocky bites. "Stop lying. Can see Grace is not fine, so stop lying. Insulting."
Grace winces.
"Sorry. Jus'don't want you to worry."
"Rocky worry no matter what Grace says. Feel better if Rocky know Grace is telling truth."
Telling the truth. Of course. He owes Rocky that much, after what he did.
"I need help," he admits.
"Rocky help. Grace follow Rocky. Lean on ball for balance. Get to medical room together."
"Okay," he replies. That's the only way. He's going to have to rely on his best friend, whom he just betrayed, to get himself treatment for an injury he acquired in the process of said betrayal. Rocky is a bigger person than most people he knows.
He begins to roll in the direction of the med bay, and Grace follows, hugging the wall of the ship the whole time. When he stumbles, he always reaches out for balance, and Rocky's space ball is always right there to steady him. Slowly, painfully, they make their way across the lab and to the door.
"Watch step," Rocky commands. He does, or tries, but his injured brain miscalculates how far he needs to pick his foot up and he falls forward, hitting Rocky's ball at an angle that doesn't allow him to catch himself. He hits the ground on his injured side with a horrible, strangled cry. "Grace, Grace, Grace," Rocky frets, so anxious that he's rocking his ball back and forth in small circles.
All he can do is try to breathe through the pain, but that's the problem; he can't breathe, can't fill his chest with a proper breath and it's making him lightheaded, so lightheaded that he's going to pass out, and oh god the pain--
"Grace," Rocky's voice comes from beside him, this time steadier and less frantic. He's forced himself to still inside his ball.
"Can't breathe," he strains through gritted teeth.
"Grace can breathe. If Grace can talk, can breathe." His tone isn't dismissive, but slow, sure. Like he's trying to soothe him.
"It hurts," he manages. All he can feel is pain and air hunger.
"Pain medicine soon. Grace is close. Catch breath. Then, Grace get up."
He shakes his head. "I can't."
"Do for Rocky. Trust Rocky. In slow, out slow."
Sweat drips from his forehead onto the floor. He takes another gasping breath, but this time, he holds it at the top for as long as he can before releasing, visualizing all the little O2 rings from his alveoli crossing through his capillaries into his bloodstream like they're tourists unboarding a cruise ship. He releases it, holds, and takes another, holding that one, too. The O2 rings have little hats and suitcases and Hawaiian shirts. He has to hold his breath for long enough to give them time to get off the boat, or they'll end up in the water. Release, hold. Breathe in, hold. He can't be responsible for the biggest maritime tragedy his lungs have ever known just because his brain thinks he's dying.
"Good," Rocky encourages. "Grace breathing slower. Need more time, question?"
"No," he replies. The sooner he gets up, the sooner he gets pain meds. Eyes on the prize, and doesn't double vision mean twice the prize? "Think m'okay."
"Lean on ball. Rocky is here."
Even after he abandoned him in his sleep, Rocky is here for him, and he's not leaving. Grace doesn't deserve him.
"M'so sorry for leaving," he grunts as he uses the ball to climb back to his feet.
"No worry about that now. Rocky Grace argue later."
He chuckles.
"Sure."
It takes so, so much effort and a lot of time, but slowly, they make it to the med bay, where he lies down on the bed, closes his eyes, and waits for Armando to whir around him, pressing here and there on his ribs and head seeking out tender spots. It feels unnecessary and gives him little more data than Grace just explaining his symptoms, but Armando is so stubborn. It's not worth the argument.
"Diagnosis: bruised or broken ribs. Diagnosis: head injury, likely a concussion. Treatment course: pain control and observation."
Rocky bobs up and down, recoiling indignantly. "Can't do more for Grace than pain medicine and watch him sleep?"
"Not much t'be done," Grace replies. "Stuff's just gotta heal on its own." Rocky seems to pout a little. "S'okay."
"Fine."
Grace braves the light to look at him, even though he knows it's not necessary. Rocky can barely tell the difference and doesn't exactly care about eye contact.
"Rock, I'm so sorry."
"Not now," he scolds. "Grace need rest, now. Can fight after sleep."
"Not trying to fight. Trying to apologize."
"Well, Rocky want fight. Wait until after sleep. Rocky need time to rehearse." He fights a smile, because he's absolutely serious. "Grace sleep now." It's not a question.
"Okay. Fight tomorrow."
He shuts his eyes and just hopes Rocky will be okay until they can hash this out tomorrow.
-------
The next time he opens his eyes, it stings, but it's not unbearable. More importantly, the thoughts in his aching head are clearer, like he can actually think straight. The pull of just closing his eyes once more is strong, but he resists.
"Mary, how long was I asleep?"
"Approximately 13 hours, Doctor Grace," she returns. That's terrible. No wonder he's so groggy.
"Grace is awake," Rocky chirps. He sounds so relieved that for a moment, Grace forgets he's in trouble. "How Grace feel?"
"I'm okay," he replies. "Sore, but that'll stick around for a while. Thanks, uh. Thanks for staying. I know I'm probably the last person you want to be around right now."
Rocky almost flinches. "Grace is only person Rocky want to be around. Very hurt. Rocky big worry. So scary."
"Right. Sorry. I just meant I know you're mad at me."
He taps the inside of his ball angrily. "Does not mean Rocky no want to be around. Grace know that." Grace nods. "Grace apologize now."
"I'm so, so sorry, Rock. I left you alone while you were sleeping. I shouldn't have done that."
"And, question?"
He thinks about it, scared of answering incorrectly.
"And I lied to you. I told you I'd watch you sleep, and I didn't. I should have. You do it for me."
He seems satisfied with that.
"Rocky know Grace does not care if Rocky watch sleep. Rocky watch because it make Rocky feel better. But Grace supposed to want to keep Rocky safe, too."
He feels tears, remorseful and just outright sad, prickle in his eyes.
"Of course I want to keep you safe. I just figure, we're on the ship. I know nothing can hurt you here." Rocky hesitates. There's more to this than he's seeing on the surface.
"Rocky have... bad dreams."
A beat of confused silence.
"What?"
"Started having many Earth week ago. Rocky think I need feel someone near. Haven't had bad dreams since Rocky met Grace. Grace leave is reason."
"Oh, bud. I'm so sorry. Why didn't you say something? I wouldn't have left if I'd known that."
"Didn't know why! Didn't know Grace leave Rocky alone!"
He's pretty sure he's never felt so guilty and ashamed in all his life. He sniffles.
"I can't tell you how sorry I am. I'll never, ever leave you alone again. I promise. I shouldn't have done it at all."
"Then why?"
"Why what? Why did I leave?" Rocky trills an affirmative. "I... don't know. I guess I get anxious if I sit alone with my thoughts for too long. I start thinking about things. Remembering things. A lot of it isn't nice. I guess I do things to keep my mind off everything."
Rocky creeps toward him in his ball. Grace places his hand on the faceplate.
"Rocky doesn't want Grace to feel bad, either. Make Grace think bad thoughts is not good solution." Grace thinks for a moment.
"Maybe I just start bringing in things to do. I can read, do word puzzles, play games. Stuff like that."
Rocky perks up.
"Would be okay?"
"Of course, buddy. That would be good."
"Good for Rocky, too."
Despite the pain in his ribs, he sits up. "Can I give you a hug?"
"A... why?"
"Something humans do after they fight and make up. You don't have to, though. Only if you want to."
"Grace Rocky hug," he replies. Grace winces as he gets down from the bed, hoping Rocky doesn't see it. "Careful. Hurt." Darn it.
"I'm being careful." Delicately, without pressing himself too tightly against it, he wraps his arms around Rocky's ball, and hears the little tap against the glass as Rocky leans in to accept it. His version of hugging back. He can even feel a little warm spot where he touches the xenonite, right in the middle of his chest. "Forgive me?"
"Yes. Rocky forgive."
He smiles. It's a long moment before either of them feel that the hug is done.