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If you pretend that being the saviors of humanity on a spaceship heading to an alien planet whole lightyears away from the place you once called home and are still learning to accept you may never see again is anything close to normal, you lead a pretty boring life aboard the Hail Mary. Between taking a horrible spin at piloting, finally managing to catch up on all the movies you promised yourself you'd watch on Earth, sightseeing using the observation dome, and scarfing down your dwindling supplies of coma slurry, you're slowly starting to settle into a routine here. All while you regularly interact with the strangest being you’ve ever had the pleasure of sharing a ship with.
Also, Rocky is there.
Grace squints from where he’s sitting on the floor of the former coma-room-turned-proper-dormitory, studying the whiteboard you’ve scribbled all over in fading dry erase marker. ‘“Observation one: corny vernacular”?’
‘Yes,’ both you and Rocky say simultaneously, in front and next to him. You point a generously crafted rod of xenonite from Rocky to the corner of the whiteboard Grace's just read out.
‘Why did you start doing this again?’
‘Rocky question whether humans are all strange, or if Grace is only strange one,' Rocky answers, whistling from inside his ball. 'Conduct research together in secret while Grace distracted. After reviewing findings, Rocky can conclude Grace very different.’
Grace raises an eyebrow. ‘Different in a good way.’
‘Different in good way,’ Rocky says, before his automated voice pitches into amusement. ‘But still strange different. Corny.’
‘Yes,’ you agree, steepling your fingers. ‘Extremely corny. And especially when you swear. Because you don’t. You are incapable of swearing.’
‘I can swear,’ Grace protests, throwing up his hands in protest. ‘As in, biologically, I possess the linguistic capabilities for swearing. I just don’t want to. It’s not usually necessary.’
‘It’s sappy, is what it is. There aren’t any kids here to teach.’
‘I’m setting an example for Rocky. What if we get to Erid and he starts cussing like a sailor?’
‘Too late,' you say. 'I’ve taught him all the swears I know.’
‘On Erid, also have equivalent terms,’ Rocky chimes in, following it up with a long string of guttural trills issuing from him as he clicks his claws. You look on with pride. Grace winces like he’s a bad stand-up comic.
You sigh. ‘In the time I have been aboard and mentally sound enough to hear you on this ship, I have heard you say “crap” once and that was it, Grace. You muttered it under your breath like it was an expletive.’
‘It is an expletive.’
‘It is the bare minimum expletives can get and even then you looked embarrassed.’ You give him your best pleading look. ‘Come on. Say “fuck” once. Once.’
‘Fudge,’ Grace corrects, his schoolteacher-mode automatically switching on.
Rocky thunks dully against his ball. You pinch your brow. ‘”Shit.”’
’Shoot.’ His mouth quirks; he's enjoying himself.
You groan. ‘You’re killing me here, Grace. Not even a “hell”? One little “hell”.
‘Heck no.’ Grace is full-on smirking now, his head resting on his arm, the poorly-shaved stubble on his chin exposed to light; he's let his hair grown out shaggier lately, protesting that he doesn't need Armando. ‘See? I don’t need swear words to annoy you.’
‘Fine, whatever. Observation two.’ You smack another corner of the whiteboard with your pointer. ‘Choice of attire.’
Grace frowns. ‘Hey, I didn't exactly get much of a choice in what I'm wearing.’
‘Fair point,’ you concede. ‘But you owned at least half of these back on Earth. And that —‘ this, accompanied by you stabbing the rod at his chest, where a graphic tee reads in large Impact font, YOU MATTER! …UNLESS YOU MULTIPLY YOURSELF BY THE SPEED OF LIGHT SQUARED, THEN YOU ENERGY — ‘is exactly one such shirt example.’
‘What, you don’t like it?’
‘I never said I didn’t like it,' you correct. 'I’m saying it’s corny.’
He makes a noise of disbelief. ‘And yet I seem to recall that you like stealing my fox cardigan and wearing it to bed, pretending it’s cold when you hoard the quilt and when Rocky — a wonderful heating pad, let me remind you — watches you sleep.’
‘Snap,’ Rocky trills gleefully. You shoot him a look; he doesn't respond, both because he can't see and because he doesn't care.
‘Fine. Fine.’ You take a deep breath and jab the pointer at your final observation. ‘Observation three. Glasses.’
Grace snorts. ‘Just “glasses”?’
‘The marker got all streaky near the end and I didn’t feel like writing more.’ You look at Grace, whose glasses are currently precariously dangling halfway off of his face, only barely holding onto his ears. ‘And I don’t think I need to, either. What are you doing?’
‘What?’ He takes them off, twirling them around with a hand on the stem, blinking innocently up at you. ‘They’re my glasses.’
‘And they’re the only pair you have, Grace,’ you emphasize to him with mounting frustration. ‘You’re going to break them at some point, and I’ll have to deal with you making a face every time you have to read the titrations in the lab.'
‘Rocky can figure out how to make new ones on Erid.’
‘True! Rocky make new glasses possible for inefficient human vision.’
Both of you give Rocky a look at that, and the Eridian lifts two claws, doing his best approximation of a human shrug. ‘Rocky only trying to help.’
‘I appreciate it, bud.’ Grace raps an affectionate knuckle on Rocky’s ball, turning back to you, his eyes roving over the board. ‘So… your findings are that I talk funny, I dress funny, and I’m going to get my glasses broken if I don't stop playing with them.’
You nod. ‘Precisely.’
‘And what, if I can ask, are all these compiled observations supposed to mean?’
‘Good question!’ You stab one final time at the center of the whiteboard, a large question mark drawn with several stars scribbled next to it (this is about the point when the marker gave up, and so it’s much less conclusive than you would have liked). ‘You're going to like where this is going.'
'Oh, am I.'
'Yes. I initially started making notes of you out of boredom, and because you kept hogging the video diary and I needed a new implement. But I've come to realize a lot of other things, too. Based on my findings, I can conclude that I breathe the same recycled oxygen as an extremely strange, cheesy, self-censoring, heedless-of-vision-device individual —‘
‘Hey —‘
‘ — but that, despite these things, there are many other things about you that I’ve found make you a remarkable guy,’ you continue, counting on your fingers. ‘Kind. Smart, not just scientist-smart, but smart smart, I’m not explaining that bit further. Selfless —' you cut off his attempt at a protest — ‘not only for the mission, but for everything you’ve done to help us keep going, while keeping yourself going. Great at teaching us things, too.'
You should have rehearsed this beforehand. You swallow. 'You’re an incredible individual overall. And — even though the findings point to a little strangeness — there’s no one I would rather spend the rest of my life on an alien planet with.’
Too late, you realize you’ve prattled on a lot, and been entirely too honest for what should have been a humorous shipmate meeting.
It's dead silent in the room. Grace simply stares at you, mouth agape in surprise, the glasses for once stilling in orbit around his hand. He isn't crying, but worriedly, it looks like he isn't far off.
Rocky clicks. 'All done, question?'
‘Oh, uh. Yeah, all done, statement,’ you finish, gesturing to the board a final time before lowering the rod and clearing your throat. ‘In summary, you’re a good crewmate and friend. Even if you could stand to say “fudge” a bit less.’
Grace stares at you for a few seconds more before he breaks into a lopsided, wide grin, eyes shining bright and blue. ‘And you called me sappy.’
You sputter, your face heating. ‘Shut up.’
‘Embarrassment from also being sappy,’ Rocky chirps, and you lob the rod at him like a javelin; it glances harmlessly off of his ball, and Rocky skitters away, trilling high-pitched laughter.
That makes Grace laugh too, a full-bodied sound erupting from his throat, and it’s so unexpected that you can’t even find it in yourself to be mad at him for it. You let yourself join in on the laughter soon enough, and it echoes around the space you three call home.