Work Text:
“Grace have mate, question?”
Ryland looked over at Rocky, resting in his xenonite ball, blinking a few times, both in a mix of surprise that Rocky would be so interested and at the fact that his memory was actually working for once, calling back the vague face of a girl he must have known and the sting of pain that crawled through his chest and down his arms. “I- I did. For a bit,” he sighed, biting the inside of his cheek as he remembered the last time he’d seen her. Standing on her porch, in the pouring rain, with a bouquet of some type of flowers that he couldn’t remember in his hands, only to hear her announce her feelings with such a certainty that Ryland wasn’t sure how he’d ever forgotten that memory in the first place. He sniffled, pressing his palm to his eye to wipe at it. “But it, uh, it didn’t work out. She thought I had my head in the clouds.” He pulled his knees to his chest. “Guess she was right. She’s with Mark now.”
“Rocky hate Mark.”
He snorted, rubbing the top of his ball like he was ruffling someone’s hair. But he stilled, hearing another voice in his mind, locked inside his missing memories, but so close he felt like it was right next to him.
“Yeah, screw Mark. He sounds like a jackass.”
Ryland flinched, looking around the Hail Mary on instinct before he remembered that he was alone, he was twelve light-years away from the next closest human. He sighed, squeezing his eyes shut. But then again, why did that voice sound so clear?
He thought about it, leaning back against the wall. It was a girl’s voice, but not- not his ex-girlfriend’s voice. It was someone he knew on earth. Ryland squeezed his eyes shut as the face began to come together in his mind: blonde hair, stormy gray-blue eyes, and a smirk that she’d adopted from somewhere. Where? No, it was someone. Who?
Memories began to swim behind his eyes. He was in a building, in a room, cramped with standing lights, large cameras on rails, microphones on long sticks, and people barking orders from chairs. A film set, his brain supplied. But he was a scientist, a teacher, a doctor in molecular biology, what was he doing on a film set? Why would they need a scientist, or a middle school teacher for that matter, on a film set?
Ryland looked around the room, seeing wires and cables strung across the set, not unlike the ropes that weaved through the Hail Mary he’d set up to get around better in zero gravity. The set was a whirlwind of people meticulously checking the rigs and wires over and over again. The Stunt Team. Why did he know that?
“Ryland!”
He looked over to see her sitting cross-legged on a stool behind one of the cameras. So, she was a camera operator on a film set. But why was he on a film set? He took a few steps towards her. She was wearing a black leather jacket that had seen better days, but had no doubt been meticulously cared for over the years by someone who thought it was important. Red stripes traveled down her arms. The back said-
Ryland blinked. He didn’t see the back. She was facing him.
Miami Vice Stunt Team, his brain supplied. How did he know that? Why did he know that? And why would a camera operator wear a jacket from a stunt- it’s not hers. He exhaled shakily, shutting his eyes again and squeezing his fists closed. It’s her boyfriend’s. Why did he know that?
Why was he remembering this girl who wasn’t his girlfriend?
Briefly, another memory flashed across the back of his eyes. This girl, whoever she was, was in between him and someone else, some other guy wearing that same jacket. The three of them smiling brightly into the camera ahead. Not my girlfriend, Ryland thought, turning the memories over in his head. Not mine, but why does she know me?
He was back on the film set, looking at the Miami Vice Stunt Team Jacket. How did he know that?
“It’s a simple one,” she announced, noticing Ryland’s brow, furrowed with worry. Why was he worried? “He’s done it hundreds of times. Just a jump with a harness, wires, and a crashpad for safety.”
“And they’ve checked the safety equipment?” Ryland asked.
Why did he care about the safety equipment if the stuntman had done this hundreds of times?
Jody- Was that her name? It made sense, she looks like a Jody. But again, why did he know that? -rolled her eyes. “He checked it himself after the double checks, and then sent the crew back to recheck.” She smiled to herself, hands buried in the pockets of the Miami Vice Stunt Team jacket- Why was he choosing that detail to fixate on? “Wanted to make sure that you wouldn’t worry about him,” Jody continued. “Apparently-”
Another memory of a film set caught him off guard as the scenery shifted. Ryland was still sat with the crew- Again, he thought, I am a scientist and a middle school teacher. What good am I on a film set?- watching as the stunt team prepared again. His arms were tightly wrapped around the Miami Vice Stunt Team jacket, holding it close to his chest, running his fingers over the cracks in the worn leather- Why do I have it?
“Action!” The director yelled. Ryland immediately covered his face with his hands, not even wanting to watch through the gaps in his fingers. His heart raced inside his chest, threatening to break free from the confines of his rib cage, and he muttered something he didn’t remember under his breath.
Okay, but why?
He was back on the original set, watching as she- as Jody- adjusted her seat. The man in the folding chair barked an order, and everyone backed up, cameras whirring as they moved into place.
“Action!”
Ryland looked up at where the stuntman entered, but despite his best effort, he squeezed his eyes shut. No. No. Don’t do that. Why was he doing that?
Why is the safety of this allegedly very experienced stuntman so important to him?
He finally opened his eyes as the director yelled cut. The soft thud of a body landing on the crashpad ringing like a gunshot in his ears. He felt the tension in the air thicken as both he and Jody held their breath- Yes, but why? If he’s done this hundreds of times, why be worried?- and a hushed silence fell over the crew as they all stared at the crashpad. Ryland’s heart was once again pounding against his ribs, trying to burst from his chest as he waited-
Waited for what?
An arm lifted up from the crashpad, and at the end was a definite, steady, unwavering thumbs up. Ryland gasped, his eyes fluttering open, his breathing shallow and rapid. Rocky shifted back and forth on his rocky legs nervously. “Grace okay, question?” he asked as Ryland ignored him, looking down at his closed fist…only to see that he too had made a thumbs up.
He shut his eyes again. Jody let out a sigh of relief with Ryland. She turned to face him, a familiar smirk that wasn’t hers spreading across her lips. “He wasn’t kidding about you worrying about him.”
Ryland shrugged, his gaze still tracing the lines of the Miami Vice Stunt Team jacket- Genuinely, why did he care so much about the jacket- and Jody raised an eyebrow at him accusingly. He flinched, clearing his throat as he looked back at the set to see the silhouette of the stuntman disappearing behind a set piece. “He loves that jacket,” Ryland admitted, gesturing to her. “Always told me that he’ll take it off when he dies, so-”
Jody blinked, “You get nervous every time he has to take it off?” Great observation, Jody. Now just tell him why he got nervous. Tell him why he cared.
Ryland nodded. “He jumps off buildings and gets set on fire for a living, can you blame me?” He groaned. Why did he care? Why was this mystery stuntman who wore a Miami Vice Stunt Team jacket so important to him?
She smiled to herself, “I can’t imagine,” she murmured, fidgeting with the fabric cuff of the jacket. “You hold it together well.”
He laughed. “Years of practice. Over twenty years to be specific.” He was in his twenties in this memory. What did he mean? Ryland bit down hard on his cheek. WHAT DO YOU MEAN? He screamed inside his head.
“Well, I’ve gotta prep for the next shot,” Jody said. “They’ll take him to medical to check him over if you want to meet him there,” she gestured to a tent near the back of the room. Ryland nodded, thanking her as he turned on his heel and followed her point to that area. “Ryland,” she shouted, and he turned back around, seeing Jody giving him a thumbs up. He smiled, returning the gesture with his own, and continued on to the medical tent tucked in the back.
But. Why?
Ryland pushed one of the flaps of the tent open, murmuring names that he couldn’t understand to one of the crew members. He groaned. Why did he have to mumble so often? And he looked over to the first cot, feeling a wave of relief wash over him as he saw that familiar thumbs up. Ryland looked up, trying to see the man’s face but it only came back blurry, like his eyes were swimming with tears of relief. Why was he crying over this stuntman?
Who was this stuntman?
Jody’s mate, his brain supplied and Ryland opened his eyes, staring dejectedly at the floor. He had to admit that it stung a little bit, for reasons that he really didn’t understand. Jody wasn’t his mate, but he also had a hunch that the stuntman definitely wasn’t Mark.
“Fuck Mark, he probably doesn’t know the speed of light, like an idiot.”
The stuntman’s voice. Why did he know that? Why did he know the voice but not the name or the face? And why did some random stuntman know about Mark?
Ryland pushed his hair back, burying his head in his hands with a heavy sigh as Rocky continued chattering and trilling at him.
Ryland glanced up. “Do you even know the speed of light?”
“186,000 miles per second. I took notes in class, Dr. Grace,” the stuntman triumphantly declared from the other room, leading both him and Jody to let out a snort of laughter.
The memory faded once again, the warmth seeming to leave his body with it as he laid back, staring up at the ceiling, the stuntman’s face still hazy in his mind and his name lost in his mumbling. He sighed as Rocky rolled around to rest near him.
Why was the stuntman in his apartment? Why did he know the speed of light off the top of his head?
Ryland finally sighed, slowly standing up dejectedly, resolving that the answers to his exponentially multiplying questions were locked inside his head, probably right next to the answers about why he cared so much about a jacket that wasn’t his, being worn by a girl who wasn’t his girlfriend.
So why did he remember a photo of just the two of them so clearly? Why did- he took that photo. It wasn’t him.
It was someone else with his face.
He shook off the feeling, his skin crawling with unease regardless, as he stood up to go and retrieve his laptop. Ryland looked down at Rocky in his xenonite ball, a pained smile crossed his lips. “Movie night in the Don’t Go Crazy room?” He asked.
The Eridian danced happily. “Yes! Yes! Rocky want to watch movie about dog!”
“Which one?”
“Movie with Tom!”
“If you make me watch a Tom Ryder movie, I will punch you,” the stuntman threatened.
Ryland froze. He laughed, clicking through the Netflix catalogue as the stuntman set a bowl of popcorn down on the coffee table in front of them. “What? Don’t want to see your own work?”
The stuntman groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “I have been dragged around the world to premiers just to hear that Tom Ryder is so brave for doing his own stunts as soon as I walk by him on the red carpet. If I have to hear that cocky asshole’s voice one more time, I’m genuinely doing this next movie with no safety equipment.”
Ryland shook his head as the stuntman laid back, his hands in the pockets of his Miami Vice Stunt Team jacket- that damn jacket again, why did he care so much about a jacket and a stuntman whose face he couldn’t remember? “Well, you’ve always been the brave one.” Brave one of what? “Mr. I can jump a boat through fire with my hands tied behind my back.”
The stuntman laughed. “Some of us have to put all that science and physics in your brain to the test in the real world.”
“Is there a way to do that without setting yourself on fire?”
“The setting myself on fire is the fun part, dude.”
Ryland shook himself away from the memory, opening his laptop and catching a glimpse of himself on the black screen, but for whatever reason, his brain registered it not as himself but as-
The Stuntman.
The Stuntman with my face.
With that horrifying realization opening a pit in his stomach as his mind turning up blank with any other additional memories that might’ve been helpful, he retreated into the Don’t Go Crazy room. Wordlessly, he started the movie and leaned back against one of the screens. Okay, mystery stuntman with my face, a girlfriend, and a Miami Vice Stunt Team jacket, who are you? Why do I care about you?
He finally let it go for the night, looking up at the movie, and seeing Tom Ryder’s face, his brain unhelpfully distracting him with a list of criticisms about the actor in the stuntman’s voice. Ryland glanced at Rocky, “Liking it, bud?”
“Grace look like Tom, statement.”
Ryland blinked. “Excuse me?” He choked out, immediately leaning forward to stare at the Eridian in disbelief. There was no way that he was trying to compare plain old Dr. Ryland Grace to the global brand of the A-List star, model, People Magazine’s sexiest man alive, The Tom Ryder.
Tom Ryder’s a dick, the voice stuntman unhelpfully huffed inside his brain.
“Do you need to get your eyes checked, buddy?” He laughed, shaking his head.
“Rocky no have eyes. How long since last sleep, question?”
He sighed, burying his face in his hands. “It’s an expression, Rocky,” he groaned. “Besides, Tom Ryder is a movie star. He was a model, he was in magazines. I taught middle school. There’s no way we could ever be compared.”
“What jobs have to do with looking like Tom, question?”
Ryland threw up his hands. “Nothing really, but seriously, Rocky, dude-” he turned to look at the movie, the scene focusing on a close-up of Tom Ryder’s face, and froze.
Rocky might have a point.
On the surface at least, it was still Tom fucking Ryder, but there was a subtle, almost unsettling familiarity in his features. All of it looked scarily similar to him, to the level that Ryland could almost believe that he and Tom Ryder had been long-lost twins separated at birth. All of it.
Except the chin. That wasn’t his chin.
“Ryder made you do the stunt again because your chin was in the shot?”
The stuntman shrugged from his hospital bed. “I mean, I get it. I’m his stuntman, and he’s very committed to having everyone believe that he does his own stunts. So yeah, too much face in the shot. So he made me do it backwards for less face, and bam, hit the ground.”
Ryland blinked. “Because of your chin?” He asked incredulously.
“Gail said it clearly wasn’t his chin.”
Ryland stared at the screen for a moment, trying to think back to the stuntman with his face, trying to pull any other information out about him. When nothing came up, he groaned, tucking his head between his knees.
“Why Grace turn into ball, question?” Rocky trilled, bumping his ball against Ryland’s knees.
He sighed again, “I’m fine, Rock. Just,” he waved his hand dismissively, “memory stuff.” And then, under his breath, “I hate being an amnesiac.”
“What word mean, question?”
“Amnesiac?” Ryland asked, sighed. “Basically, I can’t remember things from my time on Earth, so I have these weird gaps in my memory where I’ve forgotten something.”
Rocky tilted his carapace to the side as though he was tilting his head. “Where memories go, question.”
“I dunno. They’re in my brain, I’ve just forgotten them for right now.”
The Eridian trilled mournfully, rolling to get closer to his only other companion alone in the vast void of space, far away from both their stars, from both their families. Far away from his mate.
“Will Grace forget Rocky, question?”
He blinked, placing an arm on top of his xenonite ball. “Are you kidding me? I could never forget you, Rocky.”
“Are you kidding me? You’re my __________, I could never forget you, ____.”
The stuntman rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. “Fine then, Ry.” He placed a hand on his shoulder, his arm still covered in that red striping from his Miami Vice Stunt Team jacket- Did he own other clothes? -shaking Ryland lightly. “Go save the world, __________. I’ll be here when you get back.”