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“Grace leaking!” is my alarm today, shrill chimes coming from Rocky as he slams up against the side of my bed in an effort to climb onto my mattress without squashing me completely. “Grace leaking! Grace leaking! Why Grace leaking! Tell Rocky why Grace leak! Tell Rocky now! Grace leaking—”
“Okay, Rock, I heard you the first time,” I grumble, groggy, still waking up, my throat still sleep-rough, thick, gritty. I clear it with a harsh cough that makes my stomach turn.
It’s become a familiar feeling in the last few months, this sudden lurch into nausea. My stomach doesn’t even hurt, really, when it first starts; it just happens, and I’m well-versed enough with the sensation now that I’m already forcing myself up, rolling to my feet, and stumbling into my small bathroom to retch. It’s not easy to move around anymore, not at all; the babies are heavy, pitching me forward at the best of times, and these are not that.
This time, though, for some reason, there’s a tight squeeze in my core that accompanies a wave of unexpectedly strong nausea before I’m heaving again, barely catching myself against the wall to hold myself upright.
“Grace leak more!” Rocky exclaims, following right after me. The concept of privacy is one we’ve tried to work on, and one he’s never quite been able to grasp. He’s staring right at me, lifting himself up so he’s six inches from my face, as I gag and vomit again into the toilet. So loud I can feel the vibrations of his music through my skull, he shouts, “Grace leak so much! Grace leak so many fluids! Grace hurt! Babies, babies, babies— Rocky check on babies, Adrian check on babies, come, come, come, let Rocky carry leaking Grace—”
“What?” I ask. My throat’s even rougher now, and I cough, nearly slamming my head into the back of the tank. I’d probably be the first person on Erid to knock myself out on a toilet. “Jesus.”
“Grace leaking in sleep!” Rocky informs me, still less than a foot from my face, still as loud as he can be. The panicked notes in his tone are a little unsettling, admittedly. He doesn’t get this freaked out that often. “Grace leaking so much! Leaking metal—”
“Leaking metal?” I ask this time, even more confused as I glance back into my bedroom.
There’s a massive red stain on the sheets, soaking into the mattress, visible where I threw my covers off to the side in my dash to the bathroom.
My stomach drops out. In an instant, my heart is pounding, racing so fast that a new wave of nausea sweeps over me and I’m bowing forward again. The shake in my hands is so bad that the trembling starts vibrating through my entire body, an instant cloud of panic descending that I can’t stop, can’t control, can only experience.
“Grace body panic, panic, panic!” Rocky shouts, rolling away from me, then back, then away, then back, as if he doesn’t know what to do with himself. I understand the feeling.
“Rocky, check on the babies right now, tell me what you can see,” I demand as I struggle upwards from my crouch, back up to my feet. I flush away the contents of my stomach and shove my hand down into my boxers, between my legs; when I pull it back out again, it’s covered in blood, palm wet with it, heavy streams already starting to roll down my wrist. I exhale, “Rocky, now—”
“Adrian machine stronger, Rocky bring Grace— or Rocky bring Adr—”
“Goddamnit, Rocky, just look,” I beg him. I can’t stop the way my voice cracks, or the tears that immediately fill my eyes, terrified, frustrated, hysterical. “Are they moving? Are they— Are they still okay, are they alive?”
“Grace worry babies die, question?” Rocky chimes so loud, so fast, so frantic that I can barely understand him, for a moment. “Why? Why? Why—”
“Because there’s a lot of blood, Rock, and that’s not a good thing, that’s—” I choke up again, unable to continue. Still, I try, but the words won’t come out without more tears coming with them, and I just shake my head, trembling. “Just— We can see Adrian after you check, we— we should, I just— Tell me if they’re okay, please—”
“Quiet, Grace,” Rocky hums at me, rolling closer again. Two of his arms wrap around my legs; a third runs over the side of my swollen stomach. His embrace loosens the sob I’d been trying to swallow back, and I fold down towards him, letting him catch me, support my weight, hold me as I let the tears finally fully come. “Quiet, quiet, quiet. Everything safe. Rocky keep Grace safe, keep family safe. Promise, statement.”
I nod, burying my face against his thorax, wrapping my arms as far around him as they’ll go. For a moment, he just holds me; I feel bad for smearing blood along his xenonite suit, but I can’t bring myself to let him go.
Then, I mumble against him, “Tell me they’re okay, Rock. Please.”
Rocky hums, pulling back just enough to bump against my stomach instead, as if he’s a living x-ray machine— which, in a way, he— sort of is? I just cling to him, letting him look. He warbles, nudging at my stomach with one hand, and my next sob comes with a burst of relief at the movement I feel in response.
“Oh, thank God,” I hiccup, shuffling backwards so I can fall flat on my ass instead, hands coming to stroke over my abdomen. They all rush towards my touch, this time, and I bow forward with a wretched, grateful sound that rips out of me. “You’re okay, it’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay.” I let my eyes rise back up to Rocky, perched between my legs, tilted down. “They’re all okay, right?”
“Every baby alive, alive, alive,” Rocky promises me. “Healthy babies.” He pauses. “Grace pebbles.”
He knows it’ll make me laugh, and it works, a wet, shaky thing that chokes out of me. I drop my attention back down in the babies’s direction, my pebbles, rubbing my hand where I can feel one in particular tapping repeatedly against my side.
“Hey, you’re okay,” I promise them. “You hear your dad? You’re all good, it’s good, it’s fine—”
“Not fine, not fine, not fine!” Rocky exclaims. “Grace leaking! Grace leaking metal! Grace losing life liquids! Grace losing blood! Humans need blood, Grace need blood, Rocky need Grace! Grace hurt, Grace hurt, Grace hurt, Rocky fix, Rocky fix Grace, come, come, come—”
“Okay, yeah, you’re right,” I mumble, wiping my hand under my teary eyes before I realize what I’ve done, blood smeared across my face. It makes my stomach turn again, but I shake my head, close my eyes, swallow, until I can breathe again. “Rock— Grab me a towel or something first, please? And a— I don’t know, something loose I can wear.”
Rocky’s a ball of action, spinning away from me to the bathroom cabinet where I keep towels and toiletries. He nearly rips the door off of its hinges in his haste to get it open; when he does finally manage it, he yanks free an entire stack of towels and tosses them at me.
“No more blood, no more blood, no more blood,” Rocky chants, rubbing vigorously at my face with one of the towels. Of course, it’s one of the blue ones, and I fight back a sigh. A whole bunch of red and black options for towels, and he still somehow manages to find blue.
Then, I remember what I’m frustrated by— my blood, too much of my blood, staining my towels as Rocky cleans it off of me— and tears spring up again.
“Grace leaking! Crying, crying, crying, why Grace crying, question?” he demands, lifting the towel up to peer at me from underneath it.
For a moment, it’s like our own secret world.
“I’m just scared, Rock, I don’t want anything bad to happen to them,” I explain. “Help me get dressed and get my suit on—”
“No, no, no, Adrian bring machine to Grace!” Rocky argues. “Grace need rest, lie down, rest, rest, rest. No suit, statement! Too heavy for hurt Grace. No, no, no!”
“Okay, yeah, that’s fine,” I say. The idea of putting the bulky thing on and trudging all the way to Adrian’s lab hadn’t been an appealing concept to begin with. “I’ll just— Uhh.”
I stop, staring at the bed and the bloody mess in the middle of it. Just looking at it makes my heart start to pound again. It’s more out of concern for our babies than for myself, but— I mean, I’m still terrified for all of us. I want to live a lot longer than this, I want to actually see my children, raise them, be with them for as long as I can, my family, stay with them and Rocky and Adrian until I’m— I don’t know, as old as I can get.
Rocky keeps reminding me that a normal human lifespan— or even a longer one, when I told him we can sometimes celebrate people living past one hundred years old— is not enough for an Eridian. It’s an unnaturally short life, often likely cut off there by tragedy or illness, not the natural, endless sleep that comes with old age, eventually. It’s something he complains about often, continuously insisting he and Adrian will “find a cure.” I know they won’t, but I don’t say that. It won’t help anything.
Remembering this fear of Rocky’s, though— and a bit of my own, the idea of leaving him behind stinging at my heart like barbed wire is slowly tightening around it— I understand a little more the sheer force of his panic. I think he wants me to live even more than I do, even longer than I do; the threat of my life being cut even shorter— and our babies, the—
“Grace stop,” Rocky states. “Why Grace stop, question? Grace in more pain? Grace hurt? Grace leaking more, question?”
“No, I just— I realized I can’t lay in my bed, it’s covered in blood,” I tell him. He lets out a distressed chime, shimmying up higher in concern. “It’s fine. Just— Here, I’ll lay some towels down in the living room, and just— Uhh, hope for the best when I clean everything up later. You guys have bleach, right? Or something like it?”
“Bleach, question?” Rocky asks, tumbling after me as I head for my sofa. He’s got a sweater with cows all over it and one of my looser black skirts clutched in his hand, throwing them at me when I stop moving. I nearly fumble and drop them, just barely managing to hook them on the tips of my fingers. “What is bleach, question?”
“It’s a cleaning chemical, gets stains out,” I explain. I don’t know how much I’m still bleeding, but I know my boxers are uncomfortably sticky, so I really don’t care about switching clothes out right now. I just yank them down, carefully not looking at the blood soaking the inside of the fabric or staining the skin of my thighs.
Rocky is already there, swiping another towel between my legs. He’s gentler, this time, slower, careful with me. It renews the tears in my eyes; Rocky doesn’t comment this time.
Instead, he hums, then rumbles, “Grace rest. Grace lie down while Rocky find Adrian, bring them back, bring machine. Grace stay safe, Grace protect self, protect babies. Stay safe, safe, safe, statement. No moving. Do not leave.” He pauses, withdrawing the towel. A soft chime rolls out of him before he tilts up towards me. “Please, question?”
It makes my heart want to actually burst. I rub my hand over the top of his carapace; he catches my hand in his, wipes the blood off with his towel.
“I won’t move a muscle,” I promise him. “I’ll wait for you. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Grace move muscles always, statement,” Rocky accuses. “Liar, liar, liar.”
“It’s just a saying.” I stumble into the skirt, nearly tripping over myself in the process. It’s just so hard to bend; carrying five Eridians— half-Eridians, half-humans, I correct myself— is getting tougher and tougher the bigger they get, the bigger they make me. “Help me out, babe—”
Rocky chimes again, assisting me in pulling the skirt up to just below the lower curve of my stomach. He ties it with expert hands, so much more dextrous than he appears at first glance, before he takes my sweater from me without asking and tugs it down over my head.
“Rocky get Grace blanket,” Rocky hums at me.
“No, don’t, I’ll just— use the towels,” I say, laying one out on the sofa, then another, then another. Can’t be too careful, not after what I saw on the mattress. I already know which blanket he means, anyways. “I don’t want to ruin my quilt.”
“Grace never can ruin,” Rocky insists. “Grace best, best, best. Rocky love Grace.”
“I love you, too,” I tell him with a pat to his hand. He helps lower me to lay down on the towels with a chirp before he’s hovering over me, once again mere inches from my face.
“Grace cannot sleep while Rocky brings Adrian, statement,” Rocky demands. “Rocky not here to watch, protect, keep family safe, keep Grace safe. Awake, awake, awake.”
“I’ll do my best to stay awake, I promise. It’s not like I’ll be able to fall asleep again right now, anyways.” I sigh as I finally lay down again, then immediately get thrust upwards as Rocky piles pillows behind me. “Rock—”
“Grace comfortable, Grace rest, Grace safe, Rocky fast, fast, fast, bring Adrian fast,” he promises. His hand touches mine, gently separating so he can take hold of me. I squeeze his hand in return, shaking it a little. “Love, love, love. Rocky protect Grace. Make everything okay, statement.”
“I know you will,” I reply, leaning to kiss what I consider his face. He gives me a tremble, a wriggle, and then a deep hum before bonking his thorax against my head. I reach out, clutch one of his arms, wrapping around the joint. I don’t let him go, just— hold him there, bury my face against him, and take a second.
Then, I release him, and Rocky strokes my face. A moment later, he strokes my stomach, lightly bonking there, too. The tumble of movement inside me in response is so overwhelmingly reassuring and welcome and wanted that I can’t even find it in myself to be annoyed by the jerking and the light throbs of pain that result.
“Come back soon,” I tell him. I pull back, lay against the mountain of pillows he’s stacked behind me, layers of towels spread underneath me. It’s more than a little mortifying, but I’m also too petrified to care all that much, right now.
“Rocky return to Grace soon, statement. Promise, promise, promise.” With one more light tap of his hand against my side, he lingers, then breaks away, spinning for the door. “Grace rest!”
“I’m resting, I’m not moving, babe, I swear,” I say with a wave. “Just go, you’re wasting time.”
That makes Rocky give a distressed trill of a sound before he’s rolling out the door in a blur that I can barely see. My glasses are still on the bedside table, but I’m not getting up right now to get them, let alone going back into that— that bloodbath.
I don’t know much about pregnancy— I never have, really. All I’ve known is just the science of it. The medical parts were just sort of tangential, and the emotional parts, I just— I never really thought about them, until it was happening to me. And everything that is happening to me, right now, is constantly unprecedented, because no human has ever cross-bred with an Eridian before. No Eridian has ever carried a child like this, either; I can tell the way they’re always constantly at a loss with me, with my body, with my pregnancy that is unlike anything their species has ever witnessed or endured. Even I’m at a loss with me.
All the same, not knowing much— or, maybe, partially because I don’t know all that much, save what I knew before and what Rocky reads me off the encyclopedias and data from the ship— I start running through everything that could potentially be wrong in my head. I begin with telling myself, “This is a fluke, and everything’s fine,” and escalate through a variety of options, each worse than the last, panicking through placental abruption, early labor, uterine rupture, every possible risk I’ve read about— or Rocky has told me about— until I’m finally hyperventilating, thinking, “This is it, I’m going to die, they’re going to die, something’s wrong with my body and we never should have done this and I don’t know what it is and we can’t fix it and my babies are going to die and I’m going to die and I can’t let that happen, I need them to live, I need to live for them, I can’t do this,” and the angry thought at my body, “You can’t do this to me, you can’t, I’ve come so far, I’ve worked so hard, it’s not fair—”
My babies shift again, a restless tossing over one another. The same strange tight cramp from earlier flares up again out of nowhere, brings with it another wave of nausea, and I groan as I sit up a little further, panting, trying to breathe through it so I don’t throw up all over myself.
The stabbing pain seizes me, races through my body, up my spine, radiating through my tailbone and my stomach. I can’t help groaning again, bowing forward over my stomach, my hand clutching the low spot I can feel the babies have spilled into together.
“God,” I whisper, just trying to breathe through it. All the pain is doing is making my body shake harder and my fear ramp up harder, taking hold of me just as much as the aching throb is. “Please, just— just stop, please—”
This time, the pain explodes. I can’t help but cry out, and I have to move, because I can’t just lie here. It hurts too much— but— I promised Rocky—
“Sorry, I’m sorry,” I say aloud, voice fracturing as I shift to slowly roll myself off of the sofa and onto the floor. I don’t even know who I’m talking to, I’m just— I’m just talking, at this point, and maybe it’s stupid, but I’ve got smarts and no common sense, I’ve been told that my whole life, and now—
God, maybe it’s the end of my life, and I never learned—
But—
But something locks in inside of me, a solid determination, and I shake my head. I’m on all fours on the floor, my hands and knees planted down hard, and I bow my head down until my forehead hits the floor, just trying to breathe.
I can feel the blood dripping out of me, rolling down my thighs.
“No, you don’t,” I whimper to myself. “No, no, no, you don’t.”
It takes more effort and energy than I have, but I force myself upwards onto my knees only. Clutching at the sofa to keep myself upright, I start trying to haul myself back onto the cushions, but my body is screaming at me. The pain burning in a band around my middle and scorching through my spine starts to loosen, lessen, and I suck in desperate breaths.
“You’re going to be okay,” I promise them. I wrap one arm around my middle, feeling them all roll closer to the pressure, as if they’re curling up in my arms, and I sob again. “You’re okay, it’s okay, it’s going to be okay. I promise, okay? And— And, hey, I made it this far, right? Made it all the way to Erid, made it all the way with you guys. We got this. We did it together, we can finish it together. It’s all okay, isn’t it? I’m going to—” I swallow thickly, shifting so, so slowly to try and climb back onto the towels on the sofa. “I’m going to keep you safe, I won’t let anything bad happen to you. And if something bad happens to me, well—” I laugh, wet and lacking humor completely. “Rocky’s got you. Your dad, I mean. And Adrian, they’ll be great. And they’ll try really, really hard to make sure you’re okay, and that I am, too. But if I can’t be here for you, they’ll be perfect, both of them. They love you so much.” I grip my own middle with my hands, feeling the rocky outlines of their shapes, and I sob once. “I love you so much, I’m so sorry, I’m not enough, I’ve never been enough, I shouldn’t even— be here—”
“Grace fall!” Rocky exclaims, kicking the front door open, finally, finally returning to me. “Grace promise no movement, Grace liar, liar, liar—”
“It hurts,” I snap, then immediately feel guilty. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be—”
“Grace hurt, Grace can yell,” Adrian insists, spinning in right behind Rocky. They’re dragging three of their huge machines, recognizable from the many, many, many times they’ve insisted on using them on me since they built the devices. They’re all ways for us— all of us, myself and Rocky and Adrian, all— to watch the babies more closely. These aren’t small machines, here in their newborn stages, and yet, Adrian hauls them through the door on their own while Rocky flies for me, hoisting me back up and onto the sofa without a second’s hesitation.
“Grace hurt,” Rocky repeats with a frustrated buzz. “Grace rest. Rocky fix, statement. Rocky Adrian look after Grace. Rocky Adrian not let Grace—”
“Grace need yelling, Grace allowed yelling, statement,” Adrian cuts him off. Rocky gives an agitated huff, high-pitched. “Rocky get Grace water.”
“Rocky—”
“Rocky get Grace water,” Adrian cuts him off to repeat. “Go, go, go, statement. Help Grace, statement.”
Rocky seems to hesitate, rotating in my direction for a moment before he groans in a loud hum and spins off for my kitchen. Once he’s gone, Adrian is the one there, helping me lay back down. They’re bigger than Rocky, limbs longer, thorax larger; it’s easier for them to manipulate my body, as if I’m nothing more than a ragdoll to them. In moments like these, I’m grateful for it. I even kind of like it.
“Rocky say Grace hurt,” Adrian comments as they drag over their machines. I watch, tilting my head, admiring the golden sparkles embedded in their rock thorax. “Grace lose many fluids, Grace leaking. Grace leaking blood, life fluids, question?”
“Yeah, a lot of blood,” I tell them. Reaching out, I grasp a little, squinching up my fingers. It takes Adrian a moment, but then, they pull my hand into theirs and give it a squeeze. “Not to sound, like, lame or anything, but I’m kind of scared, Adrian. I don’t know what to do, and if anything happened to the babies, I’d just— I don’t know, I just— I can’t let that happen. I can’t.”
“Adrian refuse to lose babies,” Adrian chimes at me. “Adrian refuse to lose Grace. Adrian refuse to lose Rocky. Adrian protect family, never lose family, never, never, never. Always positive outcome. Always, always, always. Adrian take care.”
I nod jerkily, gripping their hand tighter for a moment before I allow them to release and get back to work.
“Adrian find problem,” they insist, turning on the buzzing machines. “Adrian always find problem. Adrian always solve problem. Adrian love Grace, protect Grace, heal Grace.”
“I know,” I mumble to them, letting my eyes shut. I just feel so tired. “You got this. I’m just gonna rest.”
“Grace awake!” Rocky exclaims as he reenters the room, carrying three separate glasses of water, each full to the brim and spilling in trickles on my floor. “Grace stay awake, awake, awake, Grace not losing more fluids, Grace healthy, Grace safe—”
“Rocky calm, statement,” Adrian cuts him off. “Sit, sit, sit. Adrian fix Grace, Adrian help babies, Adrian help Grace.”
Rocky seems to prickle at this for a moment before he acquiesces. He knows even better than I do that Adrian is the most capable person— well, “person—” that we know. If anyone can help, it’s them.
They make quick work of setting up their machinery, focused on their tasks. I can tell that the jerky movements of their limbs are not quite how they usually act, but I keep it to myself. It’ll only set Rocky off, and Adrian is the rock— if you will, and I will— we have to rely on, right now. Neither of us is doing an amazing job at this, after all.
“Grace continue leaking, statement,” Adrian mumbles in a vibration, tones low as they wrap one of their flexible scanners around my torso. When they duck between my legs, I feel brief humiliation, but it’s quickly overcome by another surge of pain that I can’t suppress— nor can I stop the groan that comes out of me, pained and unbidden and ragged and rough. I clutch for Adrian, gripping one of their forearms, gasping through the pain.
“Sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” I choke out before I turn my head to the side and gag again. This time, Rocky’s there, and he shoves one of my bowls under my chin just as I retch up bile. There’s nothing left for my body to give—
Except—
“Are they coming?” I ask Adrian. Rocky chimes in panicked, loud tones that I can barely process or translate right now. “Being born, I mean? They’re not— Is it too soon? Or— too late, or—”
“Grace almost ready,” Adrian promises me, a gentle hand placed against my cheek. “Grace leaking, losing fluids, blood, blood, blood. Body preparing, statement. Practicing, hurting. Eridian offspring rough against human insides. Babies need birthing. Body done with babies, babies done with body, babies done with bodies. Soon, soon, soon.”
“Right now?” I ask, a new, different, unique surge of panic washing over me. I’m not ready, I’m not, who could be, giving birth to a— fucking litter of aliens—
Except—
No, not aliens, because they’re half-me, and they’re half-Rocky, and Rocky and Adrian are both here to do it with me. The most alien thing about this is how new it is; the rest of it—
I know the rest of it better than I know my own self. I know they won’t let anything happen to our babies— or to me— if they can help it. I know them, I know Rocky, I know Adrian, I know Erid, I know our babies, and I know—
I know myself. I’ve fucked up, I’ve made so many mistakes, but I saved lives, didn’t I? In the end, at the end of it all? To stop the end from coming in the first place?
Maybe I can save my babies’s lives, too. Maybe I can save my own.
“Soon, soon, soon,” Adrian vibrates at me. “Grace lie down now, statement. Insistence, insistence, insistence. Body preparing, body not ready, Grace almost ready. Rest, rest, rest.”
“Grace leak blood,” Rocky argues. “Grace leaking, Grace hurt—”
“Adrian watch Grace,” Adrian insists in return, as if I’m not even here. Honestly, I’m grateful for the reprieve from thinking, and I just let myself collapse backwards into my pillows again, arms wrapped around my middle. “Adrian know about caring for Grace. Protect Grace. Keep Grace safe, keep pebbles safe, keep family safe, statement.”
“See?” I mumble, feeling more exhausted by the second. “Adrian’s on my side. Pebbles.”
“Pebbles,” Adrian sings in happy agreement. “Adrian love family, love Rocky, love Grace, love pebbles. Adrian love family, protect family, statement. Promise, promise, promise.”
Rocky trembles with a low buzz for a moment, folding downwards, before he seems to give his equivalent of a long sigh and shifts upwards again. He shuffles for Adrian, lets himself be hugged by them, and I let my eyes close, exhausted, just happy they’re here right now.
“You’re sure they’re okay?” I mumble, hand stroking slowly over the center of my heavy stomach.
“Babies okay, pebbles okay, healthy, healthy, healthy,” Adrian assures me. I peel my eyes open, letting my head fall to the side. The Eridian machinery they’ve made is difficult for me to understand, but they’ve adapted to me enough to allow me to see the small shapes of our children spilling all over each other inside me, tumbling over and over, trying to find the outside, to find Adrian, to find Rocky, to find me.
I slowly rub the same spot I can see them in, on the screen, and feel them in, inside of me, and watch them move at the same time I feel them move, a waterfall of them in the direction of my hand. Though the speed and force of their movements nearly knocks me to the side, I stay firm, breathing heavily on the couch.
“And the— the blood?” I ask, still softly stroking. God, but I wish I could hold them by now— or ever—
“Grace lose blood, excess, excess, excess. Grace close to birth, Grace danger, danger, danger,” Adrian insists. They shift onto the back of the sofa, peering down into my face. “Grace rest until babies come.”
“Hey, I don’t think—”
“Grace risk life! Grace risk pebble lives!” Rocky cuts me off.
My voice is choked when my eyes snap open. I point at him, and my voice is both sharp and wavering when I say, “I would do anything for them, I would never risk—”
“Not Rocky meaning, statement, no, no, no—”
“Rocky scared, statement,” Adrian interrupts us both. “Rocky scared. Grace scared. Adrian scared. Scared, scared, scared. Rocky Grace Adrian protect family. Rocky Grace Adrian never fight Rocky Grace Adrian. Never, never, never. Protect, statement. Rocky Grace Adrian protect family.”
It stops me short. When I look towards Rocky, I can see him lowering again, frustrated and humming. His arms fold in front of his face, blocking his thorax, and tears surge up to prickle at my eyes again, burning as they start to spill.
“I’m really sorry, Rock, I shouldn’t have—” I start, but then Rocky is barreling towards me. He slams into the side of the sofa, then pulls himself up on top of it. He’s so careful with his heavy body, hovering himself over me as he bumps into my stomach, my chest, my throat, my face, my hair, as many kisses as he can give.
“Rocky love Grace, statement,” Rocky rumbles into me. “Rocky love Grace. Love, love, love.”
“I love you, too,” I say, then look past him to Adrian. “You, too.” With a hand against my side, I tell our babies, “And you, too, don’t worry, I didn’t forget. You’re my favorites.”
“Rocky Grace favorite!” Rocky insists in a demand. “Grace liar, liar, liar—”
“Grace need rest, statement,” Adrian stops him. “Grace stop moving, Grace stop leaking, Grace tell Adrian if more leaking. Adrian make more blood, statement. Adrian save Grace. Adrian protect Grace, love Grace. Protect family, love family, statement.”
“Grace stop moving!” Rocky chirps in echo. “Grace rest, rest, rest. Rocky watch. Rocky protect Grace, Adrian protect Grace. Rocky love Grace. Love, love, love. Protect, protect, protect. Save, save, save.”
I nod again, stiff as I fight back the harder sobs that want to erupt from me. Reaching for them, I find myself with armfuls of them both in a heartbeat, clinging to them as closely as I can.
“Love, love, love,” I repeat, tightening my grip on both of them. “I love you. It’ll be okay.”
Adrian rubs my back with one gentle hand. Rocky, for his part, just keeps bonk-bonk-bonking his thorax into my cheek before he rears back with an apparent sudden thought.
“Grace never stop moving, moving, moving,” Rocky points out. “Rocky tie Grace down. Grace rest. Rest, rest, rest. Adrian sit on Grace. Rocky sit on Grace. Grace trapped, statement. Must rest, rest, rest.”
“You’re both menaces,” I grumble at them as I shift uncomfortably on the sofa. The extremely intermittent pains, I’m realizing now, must be contractions— if this is, in fact, early labor, but I’m not ready, we aren’t ready, I can’t—
We can’t—
“Love, love, love,” Rocky explodes in agreement. “Rocky love family! Love, love, love—”
“Adrian know everything,” Adrian stops him. When he slowly rotates towards them, they add, “Adrian know Rocky. Rocky love Grace, Rocky love Adrian, Rocky love family. Rocky love like Adrian love.”
“Rocky love Adrian.”
“Adrian love Rocky.”
“And I love you both,” I tell them, shuffling again as I can feel my muscles once again begin to tighten. “So, can you help me, please? Your rock babies are the ones doing this to me.”
“Pebbles,” Adrian chimes.
“Grace involved, Rocky involved,” Rocky protests at the same time. “Tango take two.”
I don’t have it in me to correct him on the wording right now, too focused on the next contraction— and I can tell, I’m willing to admit it, that’s got to be what they are— even if it is maybe early— or late— and even if there is so much blood— and even if I—
Even if—
“Listen, Adrian, Rocky, guys, I need you to do something for me,” I tell them. I can tell that they instantly shift their attention to me, focused in my direction, waiting for me. “If it comes down to it— You’ll save our babies, right? You’ll keep them safe?”
“Rocky protect family!” Rocky exclaims without hesitating. “Rocky keep safe, pebbles safe, safe, safe, statement.”
Adrian speaks a heartbeat later. “Grace mean if Grace die.”
Rocky stops instantly, whirling back towards me. “Grace will not die. Grace will not die, statement. No choice, no choice, no choice. Rocky choose family. Adrian choose family. Rocky Adrian choose Grace, choose— choose pebbles. Same time, statement. No choice, statement. Rocky fix. Rocky always fix. Promise, promise, promise.”
“But,” I try to say, “if there has to be a choice—”
“No choice, statement,” Rocky repeats, more forcefully this time— honestly, maybe even more forcefully than I’ve ever heard him. “Grace live, Rocky live, Adrian live, babies live. Thrive, thrive, thrive, statement. Grace Rocky priority. Adrian Rocky priority. Babies Rocky priority. Grace Rocky Adrian family priority. Babies family. Family ours, statement.”
I can hardly speak. I hate feeling this way, so I force myself forwards, choking up, “Babies first, though. Right?”
Maybe he agrees with me, maybe he can sense my desperation, maybe he just wants the argument to be over. Whatever his reason, Rocky gives me a shaky little nod before he rolls around between me and the machine Adrian has begun using to examine my chest. Sometimes, I think things like this are just to satisfy their curiosity— not that I could blame them, when I would’ve done the same thing. I did, basically.
“Grace correct, statement,” he mumbles before he sinks down beside me. “Rocky sad. Sad, sad, sad. Rocky scared, statement.”
“Yeah, same here,” I reply. Closing my eyes again, I lean back into the pillows, take a deep breath. “How much longer do you think, Adrian, sweetheart? Until they’re born, I mean.”
Adrian trills, pulls away, then answers, “Maybe minutes, statement. Maybe hours, statement. Maybe days, statement—”
“Sorry,” I interrupt. “What do you mean, days—?”
“Grace stay safe, Grace lie down, Grace lay eggs,” Adrian insists, then pauses. “Apology, statement. Grace not lay eggs. Grace lay babies. Grace unwell. Unpredictable, nervous, nervous, nervous. Grace stay laying down, insistence. Birth soon, soon, soon. Adrian prepare, statement.”
“Wait, are you leaving?” I ask, feeling bereft at the thought out of nowhere.
Adrian can apparently read my tone relatively well, because they push the closest machine out of our way, making just enough space that they can curl up next to me and Rocky again comfortably, kitty-corner to us both.
“Adrian stay until Grace sleep,” they rumble at me. It’s such a soothing sound, I close my eyes into it. “Adrian Rocky watch Grace sleep. Protect Grace, protect family, promise, statement.”
“Yeah, okay.” I shift a little against the pillows. “Am I still bleeding?”
“Grace stop leaking, statement.”
“I can take my blanket now, then— Rocky, if you don’t mind,” I say, and he’s already sprinting off. Shuffling downwards a little, I make room on my side, making sure Rocky and Adrian can both fit. Adrian hops right up, turning in a couple of circles before they settle down, resting two arms draped over my thigh. The room starts to get a little smeary, blurry, and I try to really lock in, to stay focused on them, but it’s not working. I can feel myself losing myself, dipping out of consciousness, even as I cling to it.
“Grace tipping,” Rocky chirps with urgency, returning without my blanket. “Adrian, Grace tipping—”
“I’m okay,” I mumble, a second before everything goes dark and slips away.
When I wake up, I don’t know what happened, or how much time has passed, or anything except the fact that I’m being vigorously shaken.
“Grace, Grace, Grace, Grace, Grace—” Rocky is chanting, and I groan, feeling his hands around me, rolling over in his hold. “Grace! Adrian! Grace awake, statement! Grace awake, exclamation! Grace, Grace, Grace—”
“I don’t feel good,” slips out of me, and I roll my head back against the pillows, letting my eyes close again.
“Grace stay awake!” Rocky insists. “Grace does not sleep while Rocky gone. Grace stay awake. Rocky cannot watch, Grace stay awake, healthy, okay, statement! Rocky must watch Grace sleep!”
“Grace unwell, Grace need help, statements,” Adrian chirps right after him. “Grace fall asleep, statement. Adrian Rocky look after Grace. Promise, promise, promise.”
“Sorry.” I shift a little, but Rocky keeps me in place, laying me back against the pillows again. The room just keeps on spinning and blurring, so I shut my eyes hard this time. Everything is still spinning in that darkness, too, so it’s with a whimper I reopen my eyes. “I’m dizzy, I don’t— I don’t—”
I almost pass out again, the world whirling around me. Adrian catches me, coaxes me back upwards, while Rocky grips my face in two gentle hands and shakes me a bit.
“Grace not hurt, Grace not sick, Grace not unwell,” he demands. “Rocky keep Grace safe! Adrian keep Grace well! Grace, Grace, Grace—”
“It’s fine,” I drag out, wrapping my arms around both of them, nestling in between them. It’s so warm, but also so comforting, and that’s more important to me, right now. I still feel groggy from knocking out, and disoriented, and pained, and scared, and I—
In all honesty, I don’t care about anything except Rocky, Adrian, and our children— I don’t care about anything except my family, our family. How could I care about anything else, anything more? They’re the most important things in the world— in the universe, to me, right now.
“Rocky, get Grace blanket, request. Grace,” Adrian rumbles, then puts their hand over the crest of my stomach as Rocky rolls away again at rapid speed. “Grace, Grace, Grace. Stay with Rocky, stay with Adrian, stay with children, stay with class, stay with Erid. Please, please, please.”
“I got nowhere else to go,” I answer, honestly and happily and trying to ignore everything else, the disorientation, the pain, the fear, as I’m curling closer to them. Rocky’s back a second later, throwing my quilt over me. In the next instant, he’s pitching himself up onto the back of the sofa so he can lean over me, watching me with intense intent. “Uhh.”
“Rocky watch Grace sleep, watch Grace rest, watch babies rest,” Rocky demands. “Babies scare, Adrian scare, Rocky scare. Scare, scare, scare. Rocky keep Grace safe.”
I’m about to protest more, but— honestly, all I really want to do is rest and be with them and watch the babies. Maybe I’m the one carrying them, but they’re ours, and they settle close, both of them wrapping around me with gentle touches.
If Rocky and Adrian are both insisting I stay here, who am I to argue? It’s with our children’s best interests in mind.
And mine.
They actually care about us— about me.
“Grace sleep,” Adrian sings to me. “Real sleep. Not unconscious. Rest, rest, rest. Adrian Rocky watch, look after Grace, rest, rest, rest, statement.”
I nod, burrowing down a little further. It’s difficult to rest, to feel any sort of calm, not while everything in me feels like it’s turning inside-out. There’s no way to know what will happen, they— This— This is not anything we can predict, or understand. I’m not sure what’s normal for a human, not one hundred percent— but, well— I’m human, but my babies aren’t, are they? Half-Eridian, half-human, all ours. None of this is normal— but it is ours.
“Rocky worry,” comes an unexpected and soft rumble. I can feel the shifting of him against my side as he wriggles closer, an arm winding tighter around me.
I’m— I’m scared, I’m scared, I am, but I don’t want him to be, and I don’t want him to worry, and I don’t want Adrian to feel like they have to be strong for us.
“Hey,” I mumble, then yawn. When I stop, I manage to add, “It’s all going to be okay. Everything will end up alright. I promise.”
“Grace break promise before.”
“Not on purpose.”
“Promise still broken,” Rocky grumbles at me.
“All I want,” I tell him, feeling the honesty bubbling up and out of me, “is to be there for our family. For us, Rocky. You’re all I’ve got, and I love you. I don’t want to lose you, or lose this. I’m going to fight, I swear. I promise.”
Rocky considers this, then tightens his hug. On the other side, Adrian bonks me.
“Rocky love Grace.” He tightens his grip, just a little, then says, “Rocky Grace stay home, lie down. Keep family safe, safe, safe, statement.”
“That doesn’t sound like a bad idea,” I agree, letting him wrap around me more tightly. I’m glad he doesn’t ask me to go back to the bed; for one thing, the mattress is still covered in blood; for another, I’m starting to feel like I can barely walk, anymore, and the pains are getting sharper; I haven’t bled any more, not that I’ve noticed, thank God, but all the other differences, the changes, the ways my body is preparing and progressing, they’re obvious, now that I know what’s happening. “Grace love Rocky.”
“Adrian!” Rocky chimes at the top of his voice. “Babies moving, statement.”
“Soon, soon, soon,” Adrian replies. “Adrian Rocky Grace work together, statement.”
I have no argument to that— especially not when the next band of pressure tightens inside of me, pushing me just that little bit farther along, and our babies all tumble over each other, unable to fit inside me anymore, and the end is so close, so terrifyingly close—
“Adrian Rocky Grace together, statement,” Rocky agrees.
“Yeah,” I say. “Together.”
There’s a pause.
Then, Rocky exclaims, “Grace rest! Grace rest right now, statement— insistence— Grace—”
“Okay, alright, I’ll rest, keep your pants on.”
“Rocky never wear pants.”
“Yeah, Rock, it’s just a—”
“Adrian never wear pants. Grace barely wear pants.”
“Just let me sleep,” I say, trying hard not to think of bloody mattresses, panicked shouting, terrifying loneliness, early labor, painful contractions. I have them, Rocky and Adrian, and soon I’ll have our babies, too, and they won’t let anything happen to me, not anything they can stop.
And I’m home.