Chapter Text
Grace was slowly getting used to not having Rocky around 24/7 anymore.
At first, it had been unnerving, to say the least. He couldn’t help but keep thinking back to when he had first departed from Rocky, on his way back to Earth and alone again for the first time after finally, finally making a true friend. A friend that understood him better than anyone else... and who he would never see again. The relief he had felt when Rocky had been back on his ship - aside from the obvious relief of his friend being alive and safe and no longer at risk of dying a slow, horrible death - was so immense, yet something he hadn’t been quite sure he could properly express. After all, if things had truly gone ideally, they would still be on their separate ways - was it right to express gratitude to be back in his friend’s presence, even when it meant that Rocky had been forced to abandon his ship, his only remaining piece of his home planet, to drift endlessly in space?
Now, on Erid (but still trapped in the Hail Mary while the Eridian scientists continued to figure out how to keep him alive), that isolation was less suffocating, but it was still... uncomfortable. He knew it was necessary, knew that Rocky had to explain everything that had happened in his many decades away from home to everyone that was waiting - and more than that, knew that Rocky deserved to enjoy life back at his own home, with his own loved ones and his mate, more than anything. He knew Rocky deserved this, and he wanted Rocky to be happy, truly. But... that didn’t stop the quiet ache in his chest, the odd sense of loss after so long spent as the only two souls in the universe that were truly real to each other anymore.
Still, as time went on, he grew more accustomed to it. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, per se, but he could live with it. Especially now that he was no longer actively starving and dying of scurvy, the lack of company wasn’t as pressing of an issue. He found other ways to occupy his time, even if he still talked to himself most of his waking hours - a habit he was sure was being rigorously noted by whatever Eridian happened to be observing him that day, since they always had at least one person observing the Hail Mary, usually from the outside since seeing through walls wasn’t exactly an issue for them. He was slowly building his muscles back up, too, since he was sure that several months of bedrest and starvation had deteriorated them immensely. Climbing, walking, spinning - hell, he’d even tried a cartwheel when he’d felt particularly well-rested one day.
For once, he was glad Rocky wasn’t there, if only because it meant that he didn’t have to deal with the incessant laughter that came with his spectacular failure to stick the landing.
...though, in a way, even that would’ve been preferable to the emptiness of the Hail Mary these days. He’d never thought he would’ve missed the constant judgement and taunting (all good-naturedly, of course, but still), but now... he would give anything just to fill the silence of his ship, still half taken-over by Rocky’s tunnels. The xenonite was still slightly warm to the touch, the Eridian atmosphere intact behind the barrier despite it getting far less use these days.
After Grace’s food problem had initially been solved (they had synthesized more coma slurry, bleh, but at least he wasn’t at risk of starvation anymore) and when Grace had first started being able to move around more, Rocky had given him a gift.
It was a large, weighted stuffed spider that was just about the size of his torso, if not a little larger. The colors were mismatched but carefully woven together - apparently it had been made by another Eridian who was very skilled in making textiles, at Rocky’s request. Grace had dubbed her Amethyst, due to her pale purple, jagged carapace. He’d only met her once, about a week before he had been gifted the plushie, and he’d been far more out of it at the time, but he still thought the name fit. Since Grace was alone far more often, and since he couldn’t really physically interact with the Eridians due to the differing atmospheres and all that, the stuffed animal had been their way of offering him physical comfort that he couldn’t otherwise have.
And Grace would be damned if he passed that up.
Sure, it wasn’t the same as a real hug, not the least of which because it wasn’t particularly warm (although he would occasionally attempt to heat it however he could to simulate that warmth, but he hadn’t particularly felt like mentioning that to Rocky. Or anyone else, for that matter). But the comforting weight, the surprisingly pleasing texture, and the feeling of having something draped across him at nearly all times was soothing in a way he hadn’t had in a long time.
Grace found himself holding the plush practically wherever he went - slung over his shoulders as he climbed the various ladders in the Hail Mary, sitting in his lap as he worked on a research paper (hey, he had to find some way to pass the time, and he was getting amazing insights into alien life, here!), cradled close to his chest whenever he slept, idly petting it as he watched a movie, squeezing one of its legs for moral support when he had to eat another round of synthesized coma slurry. In part he was able to justify it as needing to rebuild his muscles - slinging around a large, weighted object during practically every activity was a great way to regain his strength - but mostly he just craved the comfort, more than he was maybe willing to admit.
He was sure this was being duly noted down in whatever files the scientists were keeping on him, but hey, they were the ones who had gifted it to him. If they didn’t want him to constantly carry it around, maybe they should’ve thought of that before they gave it to him.
Rocky still wasn’t around all that often, stopping by only when he got the chance, usually at least once every day or two, but never for too long. Grace couldn’t blame him. And, at least with this plushie, he could sometimes pretend that his friend was here, if he closed his eyes and wrapped its several limbs around him and pretended its weight was the same crushing weight of his friend pressing down on him. Sometimes, when he was already starting to drift off, he’d idly trace the pattern of the scar on his hand, the raised mark of Rocky’s clawprint an irrevocable reminder that once, just once, they had been in the same atmosphere, had made contact despite all odds, and came out alive on the other side of it.
Grace was sure this wasn’t the healthiest way he could cope with all of this. But then, what were they gonna do - send him to therapy? There’d be way bigger issues they needed to address before they could even begin to unpack his dependence on his friend. And besides, they were more focused on making sure his physical needs were met, before they even began to tackle the vast expanse that was the human psyche.
The stuffed animal wasn’t enough. But it was more than he’d had before. And he’d learn to be happy with that.