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On Earth, his skin wasn’t super tan, but it wasn’t super pale either. During the school year, he didn’t necessarily put in the effort to stay active and get outdoors, but he did ride his bike to school as often as possible. California was sunny, sometimes the UV rising unexpectedly, causing most people’s light skin to tinge pink in the sun. Grace was one of those people, but luckily the pink would fade quickly to light brown dots that spattered gently across his nose and cheeks, sparing him from painful burns when he forgot sunscreen. The freckles never really went away though.
Then Grace spent years holed up in labs and aboard Stratt’s vat, becoming vampire-like in his lack of time in the sun. He missed walking along the beach or riding his bike down a quiet street, the sun softly warming his skin.
When he woke up with longer hair and beard than he had ever had, he barely recognized himself in the small singular mirror the Hail Mary had in its bathroom.
But as he hysterically turned his head from side to side, he noticed the mole just below his left temple. The memory comes naturally; he had been a little self-conscious of that mark when he was younger, but grew to appreciate the way it easily connected with his freckles. Childishly, he liked to picture constellations that connected the little speckled stars that were his freckles, the bigger moles representing planets. It made more sense when you looked at his shoulders and back, the marks more prevalent from years in the ocean and sun.
Surprisingly, those years still showed on his paler skin; as Grace remembers he’s been in a coma for four years, his pale skin makes sense but the typically sun-induced freckles across his cheeks don’t.
Scientifically, Grace wants to ponder his skin’s lack of reaction to being in a coma. Selfishly, he’s just glad he has memories that give him any sort of identity; even if it’s as silly as considering his freckles as stars. He’d always been obsessed with the stars. He just happened to be among them, now.
After weeks of an unimaginable journey, he finally remembers how he got into space. He ends up back at the mirror in the bathroom before he goes to say bye to Rocky, questioning every memory he had reconstructed his identity with. Who was Ryland Grace? All he was sure of was that Ryland Grace was a coward.
Tears run down his cheeks and Grace splashes water in his face. Rocky’s waiting, he reminds himself. He scrubs at his eyes, blinking them open to find his head inches away from the glass.
He notices the mole first, of course, then his imagination conjures up the makeshift handle of the Big Dipper that extends from the mole to the first cluster of freckles on his left cheek. His brain helpfully identifies the rest of the constellations he mapped out years ago, stretching across cheek to cheek.
After a few moments of staring, his heart clenching at the swirl of emotions in his head, he blinks hard and amends his statement from earlier: Ryland Grace was a coward, but a coward compelled to the stars.
This pushes his legs to move away from the sink, out the door, and into the EVA suit to say goodbye to Rocky.
The first project that Rocky starts as they rocket towards Erid is a better version of his ball. Grace is curious, but all he gets when he asks is Need silence to work. Grace finish Taumoeba experiment.
Which is a complete lie by the way—Grace was intimately aware of how good at multitasking Eridians were. Grace had glared at Rocky, who was facing away from him but still able to hear Grace’s hands mockingly raised to squeeze Rocky’s carapace in frustration. Grace stalling.
Rocky’s carapace shook minutely, faint high trills of laughter echoing through his tube. Yes, Grace was stalling, the idea of confronting his food situation daunting. Hiding his smile at Rocky’s infectious giggles, he reluctantly went back to sit at the lab table and let Rocky work.
It was only a few days into their journey, Grace still testing various combinations of Taumoeba, then browsing their extensive media catalogue when he got bored. Unexpectedly, watching Disney movies just put him in a funk, when they used to be his guilty pleasure.
Olaf’s “I like warm hugs!” rang in his ears as Frozen played on the laptop. He had the blanket wrapped around his shoulders, but he still felt cold. Grace already had his arms crossed loosely, but now he hugged himself even tighter, willing his skin to stop tingling uncomfortably.
This was a recent development, his skin constantly close to itching; he would scrub his hands up and down his own arms, but that only helped for a short moment.
As Grace sits there ruminating, Rocky makes himself known suddenly. Grace friend! Surprise finished! Rocky wasn’t in his tunnel that ran above him, Grace hearing Rocky’s notes directly behind him. There was something different about Rocky’s approach, his ball not making the regular bumps against the wall and floor.
It turns out Rocky was trying to surprise him with his recent project, at least as much of a surprise as possible when you’re in the same room at all hours of the day.
Grace reaches out one hand from beneath the blanket, stopping Frozen and shutting the laptop. He pulls the blanket back around him, hoping his weird mood didn’t show on his face, and turns to look at Rocky.
“What-” The noise died out in his throat as he ran his eyes across Rocky. He was definitely not in his ball. Instead, Rocky was wearing something similar to what Grace had worn when he boarded the Blip-A, at least in shape. The similarities ended there, the texture looking less glass-like and closer to transparent fabric.
“You’re here!” is all Grace can manage, dropping the blanket from his shoulders and kneeling down to Rocky’s level.
Rocky could not do things in ball, so Rocky made new suit! Grace surprised, question? Rocky tapped twice on the ground, the sound lacking its usual thump due to the fabric, but still recognizable.
“Yeah, bud, this is amazing! You gotta tell me how you did this,” Grace ends up cross legged on the floor, leaning closer as his scientific brain caught up. No wonder this took Rocky so long, this was a completely different version of xenonite.
For once Rocky disagreed, shaking his carapace in frustration. Rocky explain later. Grace want hug, question?
Oh.
Grace didn’t want to admit how quickly his heart sped up at the thought, hands shaking at the thought of hugging Rocky without the rigid barrier. His hands returned to their familiar spots on his arms, absentmindedly rubbing his skin.
Rocky took a step closer, a front leg nudging Grace’s kneecap. Rocky was warm, but not too warm. He wanted a hug so badly.
Grace answer question, statement. Two of Rocky’s other legs were raised, his claws tapping as he tried to hear Grace better.
His head was nodding before his mouth caught up with his body. “Yes- yeah, Rock, a hug would be nice.”
Rocky let out a soft trill. Grace let his arms fall down at his sides, Rocky moving surprisingly slowly. Rocky’s two back legs bracketed Grace’s thighs, but then Rocky’s patience apparently ended there, Grace’s eyes widening and letting out an oomph as Rocky’s carapace thudded into his chest.
As his brain turned to mush, Grace first noticed how expectedly warm Rocky was. It was just a couple degrees below too hot. The fabric was soft too, practically invisible due to how thin it was. Rocky wrapped three out of five legs around Grace, one above his right shoulder, another below his left arm, and a third gently cradling his head.
How Rocky knew immediately how to give the best hug ever, Grace didn’t care. He still hadn’t returned the gesture, so while he blinked salty tears out of his eyes he wrenched his arms up and wrapped around Rocky’s carapace, squeezing as tight as possible.
Rocky increased his pressure as well, but not too much. Grace could tell he was being as gentle as possible, and that only made the tears fall faster.
Is happy tears, question? They were so close that Rocky’s notes rumbled through Grace’s body, adding to Grace’s mushy bones.
“Yeah, bud,” Grace choked out, shutting his eyes with a smile and nuzzling into the top of Rocky’s carapace.
It took him a while to notice, but his skin had stopped itching. Touch-starved, his mind unhelpfully supplied.
Grace could’ve fallen asleep like that, ignoring the pain starting to grow in his hunched back. But Rocky was unfortunately against Grace sleeping on the floor, eventually tapping Grace with a claw and slightly moving away.
He chased Rocky’s warmth, but Rocky scolded him, Grace body fragile, hear muscles stiffen. Rocky was still close, hovering above his lap, holding Grace’s shoulders with two of his arms to keep Grace’s back straight. It made Grace feel a little silly, but sue him.
“Can’t we just hug forever,” Grace sighed, giving in. He reached for Rocky’s arms, gently pulling them down and supporting his own back with a stretch.
Humans inefficient. If hug forever, could never get work done, Rocky complains, Grace smiling fondly at him. They slowly separate, Rocky’s priorities shifting to wanting to explore the ship from his new perspective.
The hug satisfies Grace’s itchy skin until it's the end of the day cycle, Grace lying in bed with Rocky back in his tunnel above him.
Grace not asleep yet, Rocky states the obvious, not glancing up from his tools.
“Thanks Captain Obvious,” Grace grumbles, pulling the blanket over his face to shield his cold, dry skin from the world.
What is Captain Obvious, question?
“Nevermind,” Grace sighs, turning onto his side to face the wall of his bunk.
The wall is not entertaining. Grace goes to shift again, only to pause. Rocky was not above him. Grace sat up, scanning the room.
Rocky had somehow gotten into the new suit again and was standing a foot away from his bed.
Grace sleep, Rocky watch.
Grace hid a smile. “If you can fit up here, I might sleep better,” he admits, scooting to press his back against the wall.
Rocky does jazz hands, excitedly climbing the side of the bed. But Rocky apparently has his own plan, resting his weight on Grace’s chest and forcing him to lay on his back.
Grace blinked, leaning his head up. Rocky wasn’t putting his whole weight on Grace (it would probably injure him), but just enough pressure to feel like a warm, weighted blanket. Similarly to earlier, two legs hold Rocky up while his other three rest on various parts of his body. One on a shoulder, another in his hair, and the last hovering above his face.
Rocky wasn’t moving a muscle, waiting for Grace to say something. “What’s up, Rock,” Grace yawned, letting his head fall back against the pillow. The pressure and warmth were making his eyes heavy.
Above him, Rocky’s claws tapped against each other; he was either thinking of what to say, or trying to hear better. Maybe both.
Rocky used to hearing Grace from far away. Now close, can hear more. Rocky finally states, shuffling his weight from one leg to another.
“Really? What did you notice?” Grace is subtly trying to get Rocky to start talking, giving him a chance to shut his eyes and drift off to sleep. But Rocky is curious, in a way Grace can’t begrudge him because they’re both aliens learning about other aliens.
Grace has many tiny hairs, Rocky starts, his claws moving gently across Grace’s scalp while another arm pokes at his stubble.
“It keeps me warm,” Grace defends. He definitely wasn’t going to sleep yet if Rocky was going to ask questions. He didn’t mind though.
Then Rocky pulls purposefully at the hair on his scalp. “Ow!” Grace yelps, glaring as Rocky starts to chitter high notes of laughter.
Apologies, Rocky adds, a second too late to be a real apology. Grace sighs fondly.
Rocky seems to particularly like his face, skimming his claws lightly against his facial features. It tickles, but Grace holds back a sneeze; Rocky would definitely freak out.
His claws stop on the bridge of his nose. What are the purpose of these, question? Rocky’s arm that was buried in his hair moves to his left temple. And this.
Right. “The smaller ones are called freckles and the bigger one is a mole. They don’t really have specific purposes, just part of human skin. Freckles can come from the sun.”
Is that why Grace have so many ♩♬♪, question? Because Grace spend a lot of time studying Sol, question?
Rocky is now ignoring every other place on his body, six claws tracing his nose and cheeks. Grace was getting cross-eyed trying to watch him.
“Kind of,” Grace drags out the end of the sentence. “I actually spent a lot of time inside before I left Earth, locked away in a lab.” He chuckles awkwardly, but Rocky doesn’t react. “I was actually confused that my freckles were still noticeable, considering I’ve been in space for so long.”
Rocky like, his friend announces as Grace trails off.
Grace smiled. It was rare for Rocky to like anything about leaky space blobs. “I like them too, bud,” Grace muttered softly.
Freckles are like Eridian tattoos, Rocky decides, Grace’s mind filling in the translation for freckles. They had already talked about tattoos before, considering Rocky displayed his family crest when stating his name and how eagerly he had showed Grace the Petrova Line engraving.
Grace goes to explain how freckles are natural, not like tattoos, but he stops himself. He remembers staring in the mirror, not recognizing himself; only to mentally trace the all-too-familiar constellations across his cheeks. In a way, his freckles were his own tattoos. And wasn’t the whole reason for a tattoo to permanently burn your history onto your soul, to display the things you love?
“Yes and no,” Grace finally mumbles. “I like to think so.” He fidgets, the movement only prompting Rocky to lean further into his chest.
No understand.
Rocky lifts his claws from Grace’s face, unnaturally unsure.
Grace sighs, frustrated. Rocky couldn’t see the stars the same way humans could.
“You know how when we visited Adrian, you were all annoyed because I was taking too long?”
Yes, Grace look at medium-rough texture circle planet. Have moment. Grace smiles at that, absentmindedly reaching up to trace Rocky’s markings like Rocky had done to him.
“Well, humans like to give space special cultural relevance. Probably because it's so mysterious, but a lot of it comes from how the planets and stars look visually.” Grace pauses, waiting for questions. Surprisingly, none came.
Rocky was still refraining from touching Grace; selfishly, Grace wanted the warm, gentle grazes back. He ignored the ache in his heart, fingers brushing over Rocky’s Petrova Line.
“I was always one of those people. I would spend hours staring up at the stars, mapping out the constellations.”
Grace is space human, statement, Rocky agrees, finally showing signs of life as he wiggles his carapace.
“Yep, Grace is space human. Anyway, I loved the stars so much I started noticing how similar my freckles were to the constellations I had memorized. One day I took a pen and connected the dots, and it’s basically like my own tattoo now.”
Rocky hummed, absorbing the information. Constellations are pictures of the stars, statement. Grace have Erid constellation, question?
Grace opened and closed his mouth. No sound came out.
No, he didn’t. But the idea was so perfect he felt stupid for never thinking of it himself.
“Eridanus,” Grace whispers, throat scratchy. “That’s the name of Erid’s constellation.”
Does Grace have, question?
“No, I don’t, bud.”
Rocky makes a distressed noise, the pressure on his chest suddenly gone as Rocky clammers off the bed.
“Rocky!” Grace sits up, blinking away the sleep from his eyes. Rocky scuttles away, disappearing around the corner.
Grace shudders, the ship colder than he remembered. He goes to follow, but Rocky is already returning. He has a pen in his claw.
Rocky make Erid constellation!
An emotional rollercoaster follows as Rocky climbs back onto the bed. The most important emotion, though, is fondness. Similar warmth to the heat Rocky exuded spread through his bones, his heart beating faster. Rocky had determined that Grace had his own version of the Eridian tattoos, unknowingly accepting one of the most important identifiers of Dr. Ryland Grace as simple truth. He did immediately suggest an improvement, subtly insulting Grace, the act so Rocky in nature it made Grace smile.
“You know what? That’s a great idea, Rock,” Grace choked out, eyes starting to water and throat sticking together.
Rocky know. Always have great ideas. Rocky was back to hovering above Grace, his back against the wall and Rocky in his lap this time. Show Erid constellation, question?
Rocky gestures to the laptop sitting near the bed. Grace reaches for it, opening up their internet archive and quickly finding a clear image of the Eridanus constellation. Rocky had his crystal gun too, letting him hear the image.
Where should Rocky start, question?
Grace blinks, picturing his own face in his mind. His mole on his left temple stood out to him, especially because he usually traced his freckles from that starting point.
Well. Screw the Big Dipper. He can map out the constellations again later.
He reaches up to point at the mole. “You can start here.”
Rocky grips the pen, wobbling in his unnatural grip. Grace doesn’t comment on it—Rocky might be adept with his xenonite tools, but with the new suit and alien writing instrument you couldn’t blame him.
Grace closes his eyes, gripping Rocky’s arms where they braced against the ground. It was weirdly intimate, the ship silent except for its usual grunts and groans. The tip of the pen was cold and Rocky poked him a little hard. He flinched, Rocky immediately making a noise and stopping. “Mm fine, Rock. Keep going.”
Grace is reminded of the late hour as Rocky works, stifling a yawn in fear of disrupting Rocky’s lines. He occupies himself by daydreaming, thinking about Eridian tattoos. They obviously meant a lot, and he knew Rocky had more that he hadn’t explained yet.
“Wait, Rocky, you should get Eridanus too.”
Yes, is obvious. Rocky has matching tattoo with Adrian, Erid constellation will be matching tattoo with Grace. Will carve later.
Rocky keeps working as if he hadn’t just metaphorically dropped a bomb on the conversation.
Grace. And Adrian. Who was Rocky’s mate. Were on the same level of importance to Rocky.
Nope. Not unpacking that.
Grace stop panic. Stupid human not realize sooner. Rocky love Grace.
Grace opens his eyes at that, blinking up at Rocky. Rocky kept drawing, the smug jerk. Grace grumbled to himself to Rocky’s amusement. He ignored the way his hands shook, wrapping them tighter around Rocky’s arms, feeling bubbling up his throat. He should’ve been asleep by now.
Rocky draws what must be the last line, leaning back in Grace’s lap. Done! Rocky chirped, immediately lifting his arms to do jazz hands.
Grace choked out a wet laugh, his cheeks hurting with the wide smile that spread across his face. “Grace love Rocky,” Grace whispers.
Rocky cheers some more, insisting that Grace go look in the mirror. Grace obeys, dragging himself out of bed with Rocky on his heels.
The scene was intimately similar to his first moments awake on the Hail Mary; only this time, his face was relaxed, lips quirked in a gentle smile. He wasn’t lost, he wasn’t afraid. He still wondered about the whole coward thing, but as he reached up a hand to trace the faint pen marks of Eridanus on his left cheek, the world didn’t seem as complicated.