Chapter Text
Help
Imagine Grace and Rocky on Grace's ship.
Rocky is tapping beside Grace in the pilot's chair. "Why time wrong here, question?"
"I don't know," Grace says, nudging the ship closer to the blip. "Never seen this bef-"
A loud, brassy moan tears through the space, through Grace's head, as Rocky keens without translation.
Something red hits the floor behind them.
A face of nightmare, dripping, lifts from the ruin of a man pulled from becoming something else.
It gargles a single word.
"help…"
Rocky's translator goes haywire, a staccato chorus of "HELP HELP HELP!" to Grace's screaming of the same word.
The ship joins in - a high-pitched contaminant beat.
Ryland yanks the joystick hard - an instinctive retreat from what's rising from the floor.
Everything spins.
A reverse washing machine.
Because everything is red when it stops.
Simon sighs, now sliding down a control panel headfirst to the floor.
"thanks…"
Shower
Imagine Grace, Rocky, Simon on Grace's ship.
Grace is holding Simon down as Armando removes foreign matter from his wounds.
But everything is foreign matter.
"Are those TWIGS?!" Grace shouts, unable to temper volume or panic. "ARE THOSE TEETH?! WHERE'S YOUR ARM?!"
Rocky spins back and forth as Grace gibbers.
"Nono no wrong time wrong! Stop! Send back red man! Eject! Eject!"
"I'm not trash!" Simon yells, his red eye glaring.
"Oh, shit," Grace moans, unable to look away. "Going to be sick…"
Armando readies two needle arms.
"Dispensing a sedative and anti-nausea, please stay still."
They don't.
Grace drops, and is soon snoring.
Rocky rushes over, tells Armando off, and watches Grace sleep.
Simon stops yelling.
He feels… better?
Another robot arm appears.
"What's th-"
An abrupt shower of disinfectant douses him utterly.
Simon glares.
"Fuck y-"
A hot shower follows.
Simon spits out a sigh.
Alcohol
Imagine Grace, Rocky, Simon, in Grace's ship.
Grace and Rocky are watching Simon drink every last drop of alcohol, hunched over, the fangs on the side of his mouth clamped over the tubes of each bag.
"Grace have more, question?"
Ryland shakes his head slowly, his eyes wide, his glasses hanging from one ear. "Grace have no more, Rocky."
The bags run dry and Simon lets out a frustrated growl.
Rocky taps the side of the ball. "Grace make more. Grace make more. Grace make more!"
In a loud, clumsy panic, the two proceed to roll and stumble their way to the lab to synthesize some alcohol, STAT.
Toothpaste
Imagine Grace, Rocky, Simon on Grace's ship.
"Here," Grace says, holding out a tube of toothpaste. He's getting ready for bed and he's happy to share.
Simon, sitting on the bunk meant for Yao, looks at it through the mop of curly black hair.
"What's that."
Grace runs his finger under the name. "Toothpaste. Takes care of your teeth. Even uh…" he gestures vaguely at the fangs erupting from the man's face. "There are no dentists in space," he says brightly, waggling the tube. "This is your dentist!"
Simon stares at the tube, one red eye glaring.
Simon stares back at Grace, his eerie gaze unblinking.
Grace stops waggling the toothpaste.
"What the fuck's a dentist."
Sleep
Imagine Grace, Rocky, Simon on Grace's ship.
Simon is trying to sleep. He stares up with one eye red, one eye black. Everything is weird and he feels like crying.
Grace and Rocky are watching him sleep.
Annoyed about their weird custom, but too annoyed to get up, Simon finally closes his eyes. Even the one that doesn't want to close, but wants to watch them right back.
Sleep refuses him.
But he's stubborn.
"He is asleep, question?"
Grace shuffles awkwardly.
"I don't know, Rocky."
Simon lets the red eye open and turn their way. He lets the voice come out of those wicked teeth.
"YES HE IS"
Rocky screams musically, Grace screams less so. Both flee, rolling and scrambling loudly away.
Simon turns over, snickering.
Touch
Imagine Grace, Rocky, Simon on Grace's ship.
Simon is wandering, exploring everything.
Confused and a little haunted.
When Grace finds him, he's kneeling in front of the main porthole.
Sobbing.
"Stars," Simon whispers, when Grace asks what's wrong.
Grace kneels beside him. "Hey, I get it. It's intimidating."
Simon shakes his head, not bothering to wipe his tears away.
"No," he points, "the stars… they're there."
Grace frowns. "Yes. That's… um, space?"
"How?" Simon asks in a whisper, his gaze wandering impossible constellations.
Grace is silent for only a moment.
Then he launches into an explanation of everything. The Big Bang. The formation of celestial bodies. States of matter. Gravity. Nuclear fusi-
Simon puts a hand over Grace's mouth after thirty minutes.
He freezes at the warm touch.
"Please shut up."
Grace nods.
Simon returns to gazing at the stars.
Smiling.
Nightmare
Imagine Grace, Rocky, Simon on Grace's ship.
Grace is ready for sleep. Rocky is above, ready to watch.
But Simon starts screaming.
"He is bad at sleeping," Rocky says. "Needs practice."
Grace sits up. "Don't think it's that easy."
"You sleep easy. Once not easy, but now easy."
"Once?"
Rocky bobs above him. "One time you made noise. Say word I don't know."
"Uh… help? Stop?"
"No. I know these." Rocky taps. "That one!"
From the dark hall leading to the porthole, the moan comes again.
"Mom…"
It hurts. Grace rushes to Simon's makeshift bed under the stars.
The man's teeth grind. The red eye flares. Monstrous. Alien.
"NO!" Simon roars.
Grace sinks beside him. He rests a hand on Simon's wounded shoulder.
Simon stills.
Simon sleeps.
Grace watches the man, until sleep claims him too.
Rocky finally rolls in with a musical snort.
"Fine. I watch both."
Journal
Imagine Grace, Rocky, Simon on Grace's ship.
Grace is sitting on Yao's bunk with Simon, flapping a small notebook around.
With a sigh, Simon points, sensing Ryland's need to help.
"What's that for."
Grace grins and opens it, flipping through pages. "It's a journal. You write in it."
Simon stares. "Write what."
"Everything," Grace says, smiling as he taps the page with his pencil. "Anything. It calms you down, writing out how you feel. Here."
He hands a spare book to Simon. "Try it?"
It's hard to keep the book open with only one arm, but Simon shrugs and starts.
The word 'FUCK' fills the page loudly thirty times over.
Simon folds it closed and hands it back.
"How's that."
Grace nods awkwardly as Simon stares, unblinking.
"That's… a great start."
Chess
Imagine Grace, Rocky, Simon on Grace's ship.
Grace is sitting opposite Simon, who's leaning forward, chin on his remaining hand. He looks bored.
There's a chess board between them.
Rocky taps on the glass ball. "Horse man up! Up!"
Grace smirks. "It's called a knight. Up where?"
"Your ass?" Simon says suddenly, with a smirk of his own, his red eye always baleful.
"Why would horse man go up ass, question?"
Grace winces. "No, Rocky, he's being-"
"Ass is not part of board."
Simon laughs.
It's the first time Grace has heard the sound. He smiles, enjoying it.
Rocky talks over it. "Dumb move. Horse man go up right. Not up ass."
"Right up the ass!" Simon cackles.
Grace giggles with him, until Simon picks up a pawn and throws it, cleanly knocking Grace's king off the board.
"Checkmate!"
Grace sighs.
Friend
Imagine Grace, Rocky, Simon on Grace's ship.
Simon is sitting next to Grace, slowly spinning on his stool as Grace does science.
He likes watching thoughts form in Grace's head.
Simon's not sure when that started, but… he likes the man's thoughts.
They are curious and kind.
"Your friend doesn't like me."
He watches the lie form as Grace smiles.
"Yes, he does!"
"I don't," Rocky says nearby, holding up a ship, and a newly crafted man with one arm. "Watch. Wrong time man leaves ship. Everyone happy."
Rocky tosses the little man away and dances the ship around.
Simon loses time.
When time returns, he's facing a wall. His foot hurts.
Simon sighs.
"Again?"
"Yep," Grace says. "Two more minutes."
Simon glares at the wall.
He hates time out.
"Is Rocky okay?"
"You punted him around the ship like a soccer ball, so no."
Simon snickers.
"Three more minutes."
"Fuck."
Translator
Imagine Grace, Rocky, Simon on Grace's ship.
Grace is attempting another experiment.
Rocky guides him. Simon distracts him.
But they haven't sniped at each other.
Yet.
Everything goes well until the translator crashes.
Now Rocky is an agitated harmonica to Grace's attempts to fix it.
The experiment was delicate - he needs Rocky's input.
"Dammit," Grace sighs.
"87 degrees," Simon says suddenly.
"What?"
"Rocky says 87."
Grace quickly makes the adjustment, his eyes wide.
"You understand him?!"
From Simon's jagged maw come multi-layered chiming notes as his red eye flares.
Rocky jerks back, before replying in musically blistering tones.
Simon shrugs. His reply is short, discordant.
The conversation continues as an astounded Grace finishes the experiment and fixes the laptop.
Simon laughs. Rocky bobs.
The translator catches the last of their conversation:
"…so clumsy."
They freeze.
Grace frowns. "Who's clumsy?"
They stare at Grace and slowly point at each other.
Grace snorts.
"Liars."
Home
Imagine Grace, Rocky, Simon on Grace's ship.
Grace is eating with Simon, who stares down at the leafy greens on his plate with wide eyes.
"I have plenty, go ahead."
But Simon refuses to eat them.
Grace decides not to push. "So… where's home?"
The man looks thoughtful.
"I'm from…"
He stills. His red eye seeks Grace, lit from within, as he suddenly speaks in a voice made of many.
"WE ARE FROM THE NIGHT SIDES OF ALL WORLDS, WE-"
Grace claps sharply, twice.
"What did we say about not talking over others?"
"RULES DO NOT APPL-"
clap clap!
"Simon was speaking. If you want to talk, you have to raise your hand."
"BUT-"
"Five."
"WE-"
"Four."
The gaze turns angry. "YOU WILL R-"
"Three."
Slowly, Simon's hand rises from under the table.
Grace shakes his head. "Simon first."
Teeth gnash, the eye rolls, but Simon becomes himself again.
"…Mars."
Grace almost falls out of his chair.
"You're a MARTIAN?!"
Plants
Imagine Simon on Grace's ship.
Simon is searching for Grace after a nightmare - his smile always sears the terror away.
But Grace isn't in his bunk.
Or the lab.
Grace isn't in archives, watching movies under his quilt, his mouth tugging back in a smile, the tears welling in his eyes.
Where is Grace?
No Rocky to ask.
Only the Red, spreading along the walls like blood.
Whispering that he doesn't need Grace.
These tiny creatures.
This tiny ship.
He only needs the stars.
"No," he whispers, but the jagged maw laughs.
"Grace!" he roars, because he knows he's being undone.
Warm hands press something into his own.
The touch lingers.
Simon looks down.
A seedling yearns for light.
The Red growls in retreat.
Grace is there when he looks up. Spooked, but smiling. Rocky too.
"It worked?"
Simon nods, not trusting words.
He traces Grace's new concern to his once-arm…
…where something sprouts in answer.
"Uh." Grace turns. "Rocky, we might need to prune Simon."
Tether
Imagine Grace, Rocky, Simon on Grace's ship.
Grace is on a space walk to patch heat shielding.
Rocky monitors. Simon paces.
When the tether snaps, they both feel it.
Rocky stutters.
"Fuck," Simon mutters, jumping into the pilot seat.
But Grace isn't grabbing anything - he's out, drifting.
Rocky keens.
Simon runs.
Grace needs a new tether.
Simon decides to be his tether.
Fucking suit isn't sealing though.
Ignoring Rocky's song, Simon punches the airlock.
Airless agony.
His blood is boiling.
But Simon demands to live.
The eye blazes. The monster within growls.
Grace stirs at Simon's touch, eyes widening behind the visor.
He panics.
Not helpful, Simon says without air to do so.
When the airlock finally closes again, he collapses.
When he wakes, Rocky watches. Grace sleeps nearby, hand locked around his.
Simon smiles at this new tether.
"Scary fanged idiot friend," Rocky snorts.
"Hmm?"
"Ship has hook."
Simon winces.
"Oh."
I'll likely add this to an ongoing collection if I continue with my daily drabble nonsense :D
It's been tremendous fun. This pairing has absolutely captivated me, and isn't far off from my other big love - Sambucky (Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes aka the Winter Soldier). Both Simon and Bucky lost an arm. Both have a destructive side. Both are attached to absolute sunshine souls in Grace and Sam.
It's funny, I usually write longfic in past tense. Then this happened and it's been all tiny fics in present tense. Next thing you know, I'll be writing x readers. (no, never, never ever, never)
PS: if anyone was confused by plants, or by the mention of twigs, it's basically canon that Simon merged with the 'blood' tree in his last uh... cohesive moments. I like to think that tree is still a part of him.
Thanks for reading - if you enjoyed them and you have a moment, leave a comment!