Chapter Text
“Grace have mate, question?”
One year later, that question still makes its rounds through Ryland’s head. Maybe it’s the extra alone time he’s had lately, with Rocky going on research missions with Adrian. Ryland usually joins them, but the terrain they’ve been exploring lately has been unsafe for humans.
He’s happy for them. He really is. There’s nothing that could separate him and his best friend, and Adrian never makes him feel like a third wheel. But whenever he sees them together, he finds himself longing for same-species companionship. He’s glad to not be isolated anymore, and he’s even more glad that he’s alive. Still, something is missing from his life on Erid. He doesn’t need a romantic relationship, per se, but another human within a couple million miles would be nice. Cons of not living on Earth, he supposes. What’s an astronaut to do?
It’s this very rumination that leads him to where he is now, sitting alone in Mary’s lab, glasses askew and pen spinning in hand. Despite loving their company, Ryland can’t handle seeing Rocky and Adrian together right now. He needs a moment to himself.
Just then, Rocky comes tumbling through the doorway.
“Grace come quick!! Emergency!”
Ryland bolts up from his chair and follows him down the hall. “What’s going on, pal?” He struggles to keep up with his friend.
They take a left turn toward the medical bay. “Rocky Adrian find human. Very hurt.”
A human, this far from Earth? Did Stratt force someone else into space while he was gone? He’s about to start calculating the time it would take to launch a new mission until he walks through the doorway and—
“Holy shit, Rocky, is that a corpse?!”
“No, not corpse, human! Heart is beating.”
“Ohhh my god, I’m gonna pass out.”
Rocky bounces and runs around frantically. “Grace slow! Do something!”
“Sorry, pal, I just need—”
“Grace slow and stupid! Hurry hurry hurry!”
The man is on the floor, drenched head to toe in blood. Hell, without Rocky’s help, Ryland wouldn’t even be able to tell he’s a man—he looks like some sort of alien, a species much more terrifying than the Eridians, at that. He rushes to put on gloves and carry him onto the stretcher.
Ryland works quickly, in a haze—he doesn’t remember the last time he was this stressed, even after waking up on the Hail Mary for the first time and realizing his crewmates were dead. Their deaths looked so cartoonish, almost comical, to the point where the trauma didn’t hit him right away. But this? Even knowing the man is alive, this is miles more horrifying.
Ryland feels out of his element here: He’s a scientist, a schoolteacher, but definitely not a doctor. Thankfully, Armando and the ship handle most of the vitals and medical assistance. With lab gloves, Ryland is able to help with the more technical aspects, like cleaning the godawful amount of blood off the man’s body.
Even after getting all the blood off and applying disinfectant, the man still looks war-torn. He has a long, deep gash running along his left arm; scars are speckled all over his ribs and back. After the medical tests and vitals are clear, Ryland realizes that in his panic, he’d forgotten to clean the man’s hair. For a moment he debates leaving it, not wanting to be too intrusive.
“...You’ll thank me later,” he whispers, awkwardly. God, I sound creepy, he thinks.
It’s strange to run his hands through hair other than his own: He knows it should feel invasive, disturbing—to an extent, it does. But there’s something comforting about the presence of another human, even if he’s unconscious and covered in blood, even if there’s a layer of lab gloves between the man’s hair and his fingertips. He massages the man’s scalp gently but thoroughly, scrubbing until the water runs clear. The repetitive motion is soothing for Ryland, anchoring him back to reality after the horrifying haze he’s just been through.
Speaking of horrifying, he probably shouldn’t let the man wake up naked. He moves to grab a hospital gown.
He looks down to put it on and for the first time, realizes just how ripped this guy is. It takes effort to pull his arms through the sleeves of the gown. When Ryland finally gets around to tying the strings, he notices the rigid outline of the man’s abs peek through the fabric, and holy heavens, they’re impressive.
God, he feels like a freak. It’s disrespectful to think this while he’s unconscious. Ryland looks away respectfully, hoping the man can’t sense this in his sleep.
Behind him, Rocky makes a chirping noise, reminding Ryland of his presence. He startles back before turning around to face his friend.
“Where the heck did you find this guy, Rocks?”
-
Simon wakes up with ears ringing, seeing red. He sees a white, flashing light, and wonders if he’s finally left Eden to meet God. But then the waves rush back in: Thick, hot blood, a slashed arm, voices—Ava, the words filament station, Convict, the samples, get the samples. The taste of iron still sits on his tongue. Unconsciously, he mutters, “I just wanna live…”
A voice cuts through the noise. “You awake?”
He jolts up, only for his nose to slam into something, hard, forcing him back down. He realizes he’s wearing an oxygen mask—he yanks it off, sits up, and looks down to see he’s in a…hospital bed? Through blurred vision, he spots a stanger—a man. He wills his arms to move and rolls himself backward, as far away as he can from the hazy figure. Something starts making an ungodly chirping noise, and the ringing in Simon’s ears only intensifies.
The stranger looks down at something and speaks. “Rocky, calm down. Wait outside for me, okay?”
The chirping noise gets louder. “I’ll be fine, bud, I promise. If anything happens, you’ll be able to hear.”
With his vision slowly clearing, Simon finds his way off the bed. He searches around for something, anything—and spots a scrap of sharp, rusty metal. He grabs it tightly, backing up against the wall. He points the makeshift weapon toward the man.
The stranger extends a defensive hand, backing away slowly. “Hey, hey, I’m not here to hurt you.”
A wave of nausea comes over him, and he’s lightheaded. The ringing returns, the taste of iron still prominent in his mouth.
“Could you put down my sample? How about we talk, yeah? How does talking sound?”
The voice is panicked, but gentle. Still, Simon’s grip remains tight around the shard. His eyes stay fixed on the man, gaze piercing. He scans him up and down, searching for signs of him being armed. Nothing. The COI must be engaging in some crazy psychological manipulation, because whoever they sent to lure him into complacency was doing his job well. His appearance really sells the act: The man’s white shirt perfectly hugs his shoulders, accentuating his biceps. And his face is so…clean, mostly shaven. The glasses are dorky, and the green eyes they shield look passive, not unkind.
“Why don’t we start with names? I’m Ryland—Ryland Grace.” The man offers a handshake from ten feet away. With the other hand, he adjusts his glasses, leaning away awkwardly. He flashes a hesitant smile. Simon reluctantly lowers the shard, ‘cause fuck it, how could things possibly get worse? Whatever this guy has planned can’t be worse than whatever that…creature had out for him.
Oh, god. The entity. Red floods his vision again, and all he can think about is the photos. The click of the camera shutter. The samples, convict, get the samples.
He realizes the stranger—or, Ryland—is still staring at him with expectation. After a moment, he forces the fog out of his brain and remembers his own name: “Simon.”
Ryland follows through with his half of the air handshake. “You’re safe now, Simon. Welcome to the Hail Mary.”
-
On the way back to Erid, Ryland does his best to show Simon he’s safe. He offers him food, water, and a good few feet of personal space. Simon eats like a starved man—he practically inhales the mac n cheese that Ryland had carefully rehydrated for him. He wants to tell Simon to slow down, to not make himself sick, but he doesn’t have the heart to do it. Not after seeing the light return to his eyes from a simple bowl of space food.
After eating dinner (or is it lunch? ) in silence with him for a minute, Ryland contemplates starting some dining table small talk. What could he even ask someone like Simon? It’s not like they met under the most normal conditions. He wracks his brain for the right words. So, how’s the food? Is it better than the stuff in that death-trap submarine? How’s the weather on the terrifying blood planet?
Okay, bad idea. He decides to keep things straightforward.
“We found you on the…SM-13, it said? Your ship was pretty beat up. And you were…not in the best condition.”
The man puts down his bowl. “Yeah…no shit,” he says slowly.
“Yeah, sorry, you uh- you probably knew that.”
“Yep.”
It’s his first conversation with another human in years: It started off near-violent, and now it’s violently awkward. In this moment, Ryland has zero doubts that he belongs on Erid instead of Earth.
Speaking of which, he’s still not sure if Simon is from Earth. Everything Ryland knows scientifically is telling him he must be, but what Rocky told him about where they found the man tells a different story. This isn’t exactly a clear case, the blood ocean being the obvious indicator. Not to mention Simon’s impressively large build: the man’s got the physique of a soldier and a half. This brings Ryland to his next question:
“Who—Why were you down there?” he asks.
Simon lets out a long sigh. “Can’t tell you,” he says, eyes trained to the table, averting Ryland’s gaze.
He should’ve known he would say this. So stupid of me, he thinks. The man barely woke up from what would’ve been his own grave. Of course he doesn’t want to talk about what happened down there. What Ryland had seen of him was already bad enough.
“Yeah, I get that. I’m sorry.” It's the second time he’s apologized. Why does he keep apologizing? He saved the man, for gosh darn sake.
Silence fills the room. Ryland bounces his knee restlessly, not quite sure what to say next. He twirls his fork and takes another bite of his pasta.
“What….” Simon gestures to the room around him, staring at the ship in awe. “What is this? Are you with the COI?”
“Who?”
An incredulous stare is all Ryland receives in response. “I don’t trust you,” the man says flatly. His gaze is piercing.
Ryland thinks for a moment, tapping his foot against the floor. “Would it help if I told you how I got here?”
“Dunno. Maybe.” It’s hard to read his expression, but Ryland notices his eyes widen, ever so slightly, and that’s all the encouragement he needs.
He leaps up, determined to salvage this first impression. He runs down the hall and disappears into the lab. A few seconds later, the schoolteacher emerges, rolling a whiteboard in front of the kitchen countertop.
Words might be failing him right now, but he can always rely on his diagrams.
Ryland uncaps a marker with his teeth. “Alright…”
Rocky emerges from the hallway and runs up to Grace, bouncing excitedly.
“Puppet show! Grace do puppet show!”
“I don’t think Simon wants a puppet show right now, bud. We’re using the whiteboard.”
“New human boring.”
Ryland ignores him and turns to Simon. “Where do we start?” he asks.
Simon is staring at Rocky in horror, looking utterly overwhelmed. “Probably with…that thing.”
-
With every new detail he learns, Simon has to stop himself from choking on air. Ryland has spent the past hour explaining everything to him: The stars, the astrophage, why the sun is—or was—dying. How him and his…rock-friend saved it all.
He’s surprisingly engaging. The flow chart Ryland draws is impressively large, yet easy to follow. No wonder he used to be a teacher. The more he speaks, the more Simon feels like he can let his guard down. This story is way too complex and otherworldly to be made up by the COI, and the way Ryland tells it feels too heartfelt to be an act.
Not to mention the non-consensual, one-way trip. He begins to think he and Ryland are two sides of the same coin. But with different sides comes contrast, and that metallic space between them also starts to widen. Now Simon feels like the threat on this ship—a convict shouldn’t be in the presence of someone so…heroic.
He’s not ready to express all of this, but he decides he could at least throw the guy a crumb.
“I…was also sent here, unwillingly,” Simon starts.
Rylands’ gaze softens.
“They didn’t tell me it was a one-way trip, but…I knew. ‘Course I fucking knew. A calculated risk, that’s what they called it. Bullshit.”
“I’m sorry, Simon.”
“S’alright,” he murmurs, but it’s not. Not when he knows that Ryland Grace will forever be hailed as a hero, while he is still condemned to Convict. He stares at the floor, unmoving. His chest feels tight, and his hands are shaking.
Simon feels a hand brush his shoulder, and he looks up to see that hero staring at him.
“Okay?” Ryland asks, voice low and gentle.
And for a moment, the metallic space feels thinner.
-
Not long after, the two men arrive back on Erid—Simon follows Ryland out of the ship and into his biodome. My biodome, Ryland thinks, realizing he’s never considered the possibility of being able to share this with someone else. He hopes that telling Simon about how he got here has helped the man ease up, if only a little.
“I can give you some alone time, if you want—Just, whatever you need,” he stutters. Best not to push the man too far. Simon nods, and Ryland follows through with his word, leaving the other alone on the beach.
Once Ryland turns around, Simon sits down in the sand, facing the horizon. It’s foggy and cool out—there’s no sun to get in his eyes. Everything feels heavy right now, like he’s still down under, drowning; it feels strange to be above shore, watching the tide roll in gently in front of him. One wave barely touches the tip of his toes, and he flinches back.
As he stares out at the ocean of this new planet, more memories flood in from the old one: his mother whispering jaljalyeom every night before bed; the orchards of Eden which, to a young boy, felt infinite and endless; the white rabbits scurrying through the grass, eating dandelions next to piles of apples.
He remembers growing up, the trees losing their leaves over the years, and slowly dying as the light fades. It’s so bright here, even with all the clouds, but he can’t seem to pull himself out of the dark.
His fingertips dig into the ground, pushing the cool, damp sand into his palms and under his fingernails. It’s grounding. Chasing more of that feeling, he leans back until he's lying down, the surface cooling each of his limbs. He almost wants to close his eyes, but he can’t bring himself to surrender, not yet. So he settles for this, letting the chill take over his body as the fog clouds his vision. He’s unconscious of the passing time, eyes wide open, bones settling into the sand. He counts the drifting wisps of clouds before eventually losing track.
He hears the sound of footsteps approaching, and quickly jolts up. Ryland approaches with a little wave. Simon’s shoulders relax, and he stands to face him.
“Hey there. The room’s ready. You look a little…sandy,” Ryland says, clearly stifling a laugh.
For the first time in months, Simon smiles.
-
Ryland ushers Simon into the house, which is now clean of its usual notebooks and pens scattered around the floor.
“Not to be a diva, but…I just washed the sheets, so you might wanna change,” he says.
Simon looks down at the hospital gown that he’s still wearing, covered in sand. “I don’t have any other clothes,” he mumbles, looking at Ryland awkwardly.
“Oh, shoot, yeah—You can uh, borrow some of mine, if you want?”
“Yeah. That works.”
Ryland turns away, ignoring the building heat in his face. Why won’t his brain work right now? He blames it on his lack of human contact for the last six years, because the alternative reason is something he doesn’t want to admit.
He grabs a towel from the closet and tosses it to Simon. “Bathroom’s to your right. Feel free to wash up,” he says coolly. He mentally congratulates himself for not stuttering. To his relief, Simon turns away, closing the bathroom door behind him.
Ryland redirects his focus to the closet, searching for a shirt that would fit the man. He browses through his options, quickly realizing all of them are the same size, and probably too small. After some debate, he settles for his “I HAD POTENTIAL” tee, as it’s the one made out of the most flexible material, and therefore the most comfortable for someone bigger like Simon.
He’s not choosing it because he thinks Simon would look good in black. Definitely not.
He opens his drawers and grabs the first pair of boxers he sees. He refuses to go through the same decision process for underwear as he did for the shirts. That information is not available to him, and he is not ready to think about that right now, no thank you.
Just as he picks up a pair of checkered pajama pants, Simon knocks on the door. Jeez, did he spend that long looking through his clothes?
“Come in,” he chimes.
Nothing could have prepared Ryland for what happens next. Simon emerges from the hallway, long hair dripping water onto his bare chest. His lower half is covered only by that towel, which Simon grips in one hand. He lifts his other hand to brush his bangs out of his eyes—he’s frustratingly casual about the whole thing, and Ryland feels like he’s about to short-circuit.
He practically throws the bundle of clothes at Simon.
“Thanks,” he says, catching them. He unfolds the t-shirt. “..You can’t be serious.”
“I—What?” Ryland sputters.
“I knew you were nerdy, but goddamn, this is something else.”
That familiar heat returns to his cheeks. “You want clothes to wear or not?!”
“Wasn’t complaining. Just making observations.”
-
“So, I have bad news.”
Simon whips around from the corner of the bedroom, where he’d been pacing for the last half hour. He looks at Ryland, standing in the doorway, and braces for impact.
“I asked Rocky to start construction on a new room for you as soon as we landed. The Eridians work pretty fast, but…We had a, uh, communication issue, you could say, and they haven’t exactly finished it yet.”
“Okay,” Simon says, still not sure where this is going. They’re kicking me out, aren’t they, he thinks. Those rock bastards.
“I failed to explain to Rocky that humans need something called privacy. He’s not exactly the best at giving me that. So tonight, we only have one bed.”
Simon’s shoulders relax immediately. That’s it? He thought he was getting shipped off the damn planet and sent back to the COI, for fucks sake. A bed, or lack thereof, was nothing.
Ryland continues to explain.“The Eridians are big co-sleepers. They do this thing where they watch each other, for protection and stuff. I had to tell him that for humans, that’s um, kind of creepy, in most cases.”
“That’s fine. I’ll sleep on the floor.”
“What? No, no no. You just survived the most terrifying death trap known to man. Giving you the bed is the least I can do.”
Simon raises a suspicious eyebrow. “What’s the catch?”
“Catch? There is none,” he says, like it’s obvious. “There’s no space in my office, though, so we’ll be in the same room.”
Simon opens his mouth to respond, but Ryland interrupts him before he can finish.
“I was rummaging through the storage closet of the ship and found…this!” He pulls a sleeping bag through the doorway, gesturing like it’s some grand reveal. “Not sure why they thought I would need this. Maybe it came from my apartment, or something.”
“You…You would sleep in that. For me.”
“Yeah? I mean, it is a sleeping bag. Meant for sleeping. My mom and I used to go camping a lot, so it’s nothing new for me.”
Simon looks at him incredulously, too stunned to speak. Ryland tosses the bag on the floor and starts to unroll it.
-
Later that night, the two men lay in silence. Ryland is on his back, mind hazy. He stares up at the dark ceiling until his vision blurs, eyes beginning to close.
“Why do you trust me?”
Ryland slaps an arm over the ground next to him, fumbles around for his glasses, and puts them on crooked before turning to face Simon. “Well, now I feel like I shouldn’t. You gonna kill me in my sleep, or what?” he mutters. It’s still too dark for him to see anything.
“Just…you don’t know me.”
“I know enough,” he defends, not exactly appreciating the comment on his naivety. He was just trying to be nice.
“You met me a couple hours ago, and I’m in your bed.”
Ryland stifles a laugh. “Well technically, I did take you to dinner first,” he says, and regrets it immediately. What audacious creature possessed him to say that?! He opens his mouth to take it back, to say Haha, sorry, that was stupid, I’m not even—
Simon lets out a sharp, momentary exhale—Could that be a laugh? For a second, Ryland dares to think it might be one.
…Screw it, if he’s being a loser, he might as well commit to being honest.
“I know enough to say that we’re pretty similar,” he says, tone serious now. “I know that we’re both…pretty darn brave.”
Simon scoffs. “Brave. Sure,” Simon mutters. Ryland can’t see his eyes, but the lack of pointedness in his tone tells him that it’s not meant to be an insult. Not toward him, anyway.
“No, no. Listen. When I woke up on the Hail Mary, the rest of my crew was dead. And unlike me, they weren’t put here against their will, they—they chose to be there.”
“You told me that already,” Simon says, not unkindly.
“What I’m saying is, after that day, I never thought I’d find another human who went through anything close to that…Let alone someone else who was forced against his will. So, unless I wake up to you trying to axe murder me, I’m gonna assume I’m safe with you.”
They lay in silence for a beat, and Ryland can hear his heart pounding in his chest. He follows up. “You awake?”
Nothing.
“Ryland.”
He turns around. “Yeah?”
“The bed’s big enough for two. Get off the fuckin’ floor.”