Work Text:
As soon as she receives the video footage from the Hail Mary, Eva Stratt excuses herself from any previously scheduled commitments, retires to her office, latches the door, and sits down at the desk with her laptop open in front of her. The data from the hard drives was downloaded directly onto a usb stick.
She picks up that flash drive and stares at it for a long time. It’s such a tiny little thing, and the entirety of humanity is relying on the information contained within. She plugs it into her computer and opens the file. They’re unnamed entries: logs of every single personal video diary that the Hail Mary recorded while on its long, never-ending journey.
She clicks the first one. Eva expects Yao’s face to fill the screen. He probably recorded it from the pilot’s seat for utmost professionalism. However, it’s not Yao on the screen—nor Ilyukhina. Instead, it’s Ryland Grace.
He’s fumbling around the ship, sporting a beard and a mane of long, scraggly blonde hair. He seems confused and scared. Not for the first time, Eva feels an acute pang of guilt in the bottom of her stomach. Gradually, the story begins to unfold. It seems that the amnesia concoction did its job too well: Grace doesn’t remember anything, and it’s gut-wrenching to watch the most intelligent man she’s ever known fumble around like a lost child. She holds her breathe and, not for the first time, reminds herself that he must have regained his memories eventually. After all, Grace succeeded in his mission.
She pauses the video to stand and retrieve a cup of coffee. Then, she resettles into her chair.
It's going to be a long night.
--
The alien is a pleasant surprise.
Despite her reservations about Rocky, Eva’s glad that Grace isn’t out there alone. Losing his crewmates was hard enough—but to be all by himself, twelve lightyears away from the only planet he’s ever known? That’s too much to ask. Even she would never ask that much of him, had she known the outcome.
But you did, didn’t you? Her traitorous thoughts betray her. You sent him out there to die.
She shakes her head and refocuses on the video. Rocky is at the forefront of the screen, explaining the various details of the complicated, exceedingly dangerous mission they’re about to attempt to do. Rocky speaks to the camera as if the ‘Earthlings’ can respond, and it’s kind of endearing. However, Grace is quick to gently correct his friend. But that leads to a conversation that Eva wishes she was never privy to.
“This is a one-way ticket for me, pal,” Grace speaks lightly. He carries a container across the room and sets it somewhere off-screen.
Rocky turns around to give Grace his full attention. “What?” He sounds genuinely confused.
“We had enough astrophage to get here, but not enough to get back,” Grace says, moving back and forth.
“So, what happens Grace? Question.” Rocky taps one of his appendages against the xenonite for emphasis.
“Oh, I got enough food to last me at least a couple years, maybe a couple more if I stretch it out.”
“So, Grace die? Question.” Rocky’s tone is suddenly distraught—a complete turnaround from the excitement he was exuding recently.
Grace picks up two large crates in both hands. “Yea once…once we’re done, I’m gonna die.”
The silence that fills the room is heavy. The top of Rocky’s carapace moves back-and-forth. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks softly.
Grace fumbles for an answer. Eva notices that he’s trying to avoid Rocky’s gaze. He’s staying purposefully busy—desperately trying not to linger for too long.
“It slipped my mind,” Grace says airily.
Lie, Eva thinks. She remembers the day Grace had fought and ran from the security guards to escape his impending doom. It’s all too vivid in her mind, even now.
“No,” Rocky says sternly. “Grace say Grace go home.”
Grace finally turns to face Rocky. He removes his glasses and leans down. “Listen.”
“No.”
“Listen,” Grace’s voice sounds rough—he’s holding it back, Eva realizes. He’s holding everything back.
The thought makes her heart ache in her chest.
“No,” Rocky repeats adamantly.
“Listen, I got to meet you,” Grace says, pointing at Rocky. Then, he gestures to the rest of the spacecraft. “I got to do all this amazing stuff. I’m good. I’ve made peace with it.”
Although the video feed is not clear, even Eva can see the distinct shine of tears in Grace’s reddening eyes. Rocky does not notice. But he does hear the way his friend’s voice seems to change and grow heavier with emotion.
“What mean?” Rocky asks frantically. “What mean make peace?” He presses against the xenonite, as if hoping to understand Grace’s meaning by simply being closer to the man.
“It means,” Grace looks away for a moment, then back to his friend. “I know I’m not going home. I know why. And it’s okay.”
Rocky falls silent, but the top of his carapace still twitches. Eva’s coming to recognize the movement as hesitance, or perhaps thoughtfulness.
Despite the gravity of the situation, Grace still holds his hand up with his thumb pointed upward. “Thumbs up?”
“No,” Rocky says, tone solemn and low.
“Tiny thumbs up?” Grace tries again.
Rocky’s two front appendages bend closer to his body, as if shielding himself. “No.”
“We got stars to save, okay?” Grace says. That’s when his voice finally starts to break—when he realizes that even Rocky is discomforted by the knowledge of his fate.
Grace bites his lip and stares at Rocky; his friend says nothing for a while. The weight of the world has seemingly resettled on both of their shoulders.
“Grace?”
“Yeah.”
“You are…” Rocky hums and pounds his leg against the xenonite, frustrated. “Need word.”
Grace blinks in surprise. “Wha—What word do you need?”
“To risk self to help another.”
Grace averts his eyes. “Uh, dumb,” he says quickly.
“Grace,” Rocky calls out.
But Grace is already turning away from his friend. He approaches the laptop to type in their word.
Brave, Eva realizes. He meant brave.
Rocky shifts restlessly as Grace walks off the edge of the camera’s screen and disappears through a dimly lit corridor. But he doesn’t go far. Rocky follows. He’s the only one on the video feed now. Rocky climbs a little farther down his xenonite tunnel.
“How much astrophage you need? Question.”
“Two million kilograms,” Grace’s voice is soft and faraway.
Rocky’s fingers move as he quietly calculates how much fuel his own ship must have to spare. “I can give,” he finally decides.
Grace is silent. Eva doesn’t realize that she’s holding her breath.
“I go home six years slower,” Rocky continues.
“That’s too much.” The response is automatic, half-hearted.
“Rocky watch crew die. Could not fix.” Rocky speaks slowly, as if this moment holds more significance than anything he’s ever done. “Grace say Grace will die. Rocky fix.”
A moment passes before Grace gradually approaches Rocky and reappears on the feed. The light illuminates his face: there are tears streaming down his cheeks. He simply stares at Rocky, at a loss for words for the first time in his life.
“Grace go home,” Rocky states.
And Grace, having never thought it possible to return home, finally breaks down. Soft, tumultuous sobs wrack his shoulders, yet he still tries to keep it in—who is he trying to be brave for? He puts his hands on his hips, trying and failing to come up with something adequate to say in appreciation.
At last, he simply nods. “Okay.”
He speaks quietly, almost hesitantly—like he’s afraid that if he agrees the offer will suddenly vanish into thin air. When Rocky remains silent, Grace kneels to sit on a crate on the floor, overwhelmed. He puts his hands in front of his mouth to hide the whimper that escapes his throat. His body trembles with emotion.
Rocky crawls closer. “I thought you made peace. Question.”
Grace’s arms fall into his lap. He waves his hand in the air. “I didn’t mean any of that,” he admits. “That’s just something you say.”
Oh, Grace, Eva thinks. That’s just something you say to try and hide how much you are hurting.
“Thank you,” Grace says. If ever two words were said so sincerely, it was right then, directly from a man who had resigned himself to a slow, lonely death in space until that moment.
Eva watches Grace attempt to hug Rocky, and the latter’s panicky reaction. He seems wholly bewildered by Grace’s physical affection. Eva tries to smile, but her breathe shudders in a broken sob instead. She can no longer see the screen in front of her. She reaches up to hurriedly wipe tears away from her eyes, but more keep falling in their place.
It’s now, knowing that she gave up her own humanity to save them all, that she selfishly, desperately wishes Grace were still here. He deserves to live in the world that he saved. He deserves to be a teacher, a friend, a partner. He deserves to be happy, to love and find companionship—to know that he’s worth more than he could ever comprehend.
Sitting there, in the middle of her office at midnight, in a world where everyone will come to know Ryland Grace’s name, Eva allows herself to truly cry for the first time in so, so long. She sheds tears for humanity, for Grace, for herself. She mourns the time lost between them—the time they never had together. And, although she does not wish for things to be different, she does wish for another chance—however undeserving she may be of one.
And she hopes that, perhaps one day, she and Grace will meet in another place, somewhere far away from here.