Chapter Text
They reached an ultimate dead end two months into the journey to Erid.
Which is fine, both of them were quite busy to confront any complex emotional problems at the time. Moving Rocky into the Hail Mary permanently was not an easy feat, despite the fact that everything, and Grace means everything, that happened before was nothing but a deadly paced marathon for survival. Their trip to 40 Eridani A promised to be long and tedious, so they needed to be very considerate of what to take with them from Blip-A. Apart from Rocky’s remaining tools and building materials, his Taumoeba farms (nicely sealed to prevent contamination) and accommodation, there were a variety of things important for the future of a current mission. Eridian transmitters, for example, would be very handy for communicating with people of Erid once the Hail Mary becomes within their ‘radio’ range. As much Grace wants to be a cool alien surprise he also doesn't wish to become a moving target and get Mary shot with some orbital space laser upon arrival. Not that he thinks that Rocky’s species have one, but you never know. Better to warn guys in advance. They also couldn’t take too much with them, considering the Hail Mary's general size and durability — Petrova Taskforce and the Baikonur people were in a hurry making this ship. It is sturdy, a state of art and technological progress, but at the same time not assembled with such prolonged longevity in mind. Its body was already patched up from many struggles. They need to be careful with their only home of five years.
So he and Rocky spend some time carefully tending to Mary’s needs. Checking and double-checking that everything they take will serve their journey best, rearranging internal systems and making sure that external hull and fuel tanks are working perfectly as at the day of the launch. Then they set their course and move attention to other important matters. Specifically ‘Grace not dying’ matters.
The issue is nerve-wracking if Grace allows himself to think about it too much, but he is a scientist. He could force himself to think clinically, almost unobjectively, about his own mortality, before it starts biting him in the soft places. It will be a long time before he faces starvation and other not fun stuff that comes with it anyway. For now he just needs to do some groundwork, meaning math.
The numbers are good. Again, they are not giving a happy picture — eating coma slurry and Taumoeba will definitely prove to be miserable, but Grace will survive. Most likely. He actually considers not only biological factors, but psychological ones too. Case on point, he is glad to be going to Erid with his best friend. And yet there are those really scary alarms in the form of possible cabin fever, touch-starvation, plain and simple depression in the face of never seeing another human ever again. He couldn’t just dismiss them with some goofy jokes, as much as both he and Rocky want. It will be rough. Oh, and he surely would become unbearable once the last burrito inevitably runs out (Grace actually plans to eat it in a form of grand funeral ceremony, just for personal morbid fun). By the way, his gag reflex is abysmal, which only makes it all more gloom for him. Yay. He tests Taumoeba several times and it refuses to stay inside for long, too slimy and vaguely bitter to swallow without gagging. Grace calculates two future options — consume Taumoeba by putting a feeding tube down his throat or inserting it directly into his stomach by catheter. Both of them are invasive and absolutely not exciting, but nothing about his situation is. This all will affect him and a relationship on the ship.
This is why they were where they were now. Arguing for two days in a row about chances of human (him) not surviving the last stretch of their travel after all. It's a painful, but extremely important topic. Grace needs to make sure that Rocky fully understands all the risks. This is essential, what if he wouldn’t be in a conscious enough state to pilot the Hail Mary to planet’s orbit? What if his body simply gives up too early and Rocky will be the one to tend to him, all alone? The numbers are solid, Grace will get basic proteins to the end, with some small reserves remaining. But you could never predict when some feeble internal part will betray you in a state of weakness. And he will be very, very weak and moody during most of the last year, maybe more. Anything is possible, and his friend should realize it, better now then later.
The amount “Grace not die, we fix, Rocky fix” is numbing his ears. Sure, it would be nice, pal. Unfortunately you could hope for best outcome only for so long. Reality still remains ugly, no matter how you butter it. And it’s not like Grace is dying right freaking now! They are just discussing all possibilities! Good and bad!
“Come on, bud, this is silly. We are both adults. Can we, like, talk about my crippling health in a serious way?”
“No crippling. No Grace crippling, Rocky Grace find way make more human food, with more vitamins and important minerlas.” Rocky thumps at him in a very stubborn fashion, three appendages out of five. “Have lab. Do science together, save Grace.”
The aforementioned object of saving frowns, red marker still in hand. He was hoping that today they are finally going somewhere. Grace even prepared a little presentation, scribbled various notes on white board describing numerous symptoms of body failures during malnutrition. Dreary, but at least he added pictures of cats and memes. Rocky likes Earth memes. But not enough to distract him from his unyielding denial, apparently. Bugger.
“With what? Look, we are not on the Entreprise, it’s not like we can replicate stuff here out of nothing.”
He tries to turn away from Rocky and back to the board. The board shifts away with a thud, met with a heavy xenonite ball. This is irritating.
“No nothing. Rocky learn about starvation on Earth sea ships. Many materials to survive from in extreme circumstances.”
“Have you been watching The Terror without me again? I’m confiscating your thinking machine back.” Grace grumbles and returns the board to its standing place with unnecessary force. “I’m not eating my own shoes or whatever. Will need them on Erid, remember? Now, we must stay on the objective.”
Thud.
The board moves again. Grace huff.
“Check how much human food left then, ration better.”
“We triple-checked, pal, it’s still the same.” He abandons his attempts to keep this conversation in lecture format. So much for playing mature. “Listen. We agreed, I’m eating my Earth food stock first, in normal rations. Not trying to spread them into impossibly tiny bites. I will be at my full strength for a long, long time.”
Grace hopes that appealing to his emotions works. That his bravery and reassurance are enough (frankly, he hopes they are enough for himself also, at least for now. Logic and sensibilities are not gonna be his best buddies forever. Once his hair starts to go thin due to lack of D’s and B’s in the blood… Well, his vanity will kick him in the butt, and then it’s over).
What he gets in response guts his acting at its root.
“Not long.”
Grace’s shoulders go down. He looks nowhere in particular, then slowly faces Rocky, his sadly tilted carapace. Of course for his friend these couple of years will be nothing but a fraction of time. His whole short, fragile life is just a speck in a grand scheme of things. But his existence, this speck, is all that Rocky has now. They are bonded by deadly circumstances, the cosmos itself, the red string of Petrova Line, heck, even fate by this point. The pair of them are inseparable, whether it’s healthy or not. So leaving Rocky to watch him wither away is nothing but a cruel prospect. Pretending that everything is dandy even more so.
The thing is, Rocky might be a little possessive in regards to Grace's safety. It would be cute in any other setting, but right now it’s just concerning. Ryland can’t be the sole reason for Rocky to push forward. They are in deep space, who knows what could happen to one of them at any given moment. There has to be some semblance of rationality.
“Alright. Not very long. That’s why we are talking about what comes next now. So we are both not freak out. Look, I’m cool, not freaking out at all,” he wiggles his hips about, trying to ease Rocky in some comfortable delusion at least. “And maybe I will be like a ship captain at sea. It might be even interesting, science wise, to observe how my body changes through time.”
“Uuuuuh, Grace mouth-opening bones fall out, not interesting! Scary scary scary. Bad.”
Yeah, agreed. Not a pleasing picture. But very possible.
Gosh, his so-called bravery is slipping. Too soon.
“Well, let’s hope some of them remain. And teeth are not bones.” Grace sighs and drops his useless marker to the unknown depths of the lab. “Fine. Maybe we leave a talk about scurvy for later.”
“Yes, good.”
Too amenable, is what Grace is. So easy to give up harder truths in the face of his friend’s discomfort. But how much time do they have? Actually, they both can tell how much exactly. Thank you, Archimedes, Father of Mathematics and patron saint of starving space explorers. The cursed numbers are dancing inside Grace’s skull in some macabre circles right at this moment, over and over. If he could ponder and share their weight with the only living being near him, it would not be so daunting. But he is not so desperate yet to beg Rocky to hold his hand through imminent fear of bodily degradation. They will surely get there though. Just not now.
Now he could only try (and fail) to coax Rocky to some sort of acknowledgement of his future fate. Bit by bit.
“It’s not just my body that stops working properly that's gonna be the problem, you know.” Grace starts to tear away notes and prints of miserable looking cats off board one by one. “My head will go to some darker places too. Imagine me, but stupider, more whiny, irritable and leaky.”
“Hardly can. Grace already all of it. All of time.”
“Yeah, haha. Nice one. But I'm dead serious, Rock. Cognitive deterioration and emotional disbalance are not a joke,” Grace turns around and points at him.“I’m not saying I’m not going to fight to the bitter end. But, uh… just so you can be prepared. I will probably become unpleasant to be around. Mean. But whatever I will say or act as not fully myself — I don’t actually mean it. My brain is going to go ill for a while, that’s all.”
As if “that’s all” could fully encompass the full dread of his mental breakdown probability. This stuff is the most scary thing for Grace to embrace right now, if he wishes to really dip himself into the matter. A chance that he will lose control over not just his body functions, but also his mind, his thoughts. Will his head be in such a thick fog for most of the time that his memory starts to betray him? Will he hallucinate? How much of him will even remain when they get to Erid?
In such case, is there anything worth saving at all?
Jeepers creepers, this is bad.
The fact that Rocky didn’t steer away in his hamster ball with some loud wailing is a somewhat hopeful change at least. He quietly clicks and shifts side to side in careful thought.
“Will brain get better later, question?”
Oh rats, is this the time to start crying already? No, pull yourself together, Grace admonished himself. He wanted to talk about all the ugly ways they will bring each other emotional pain. Wanted to be honest. So talk.
“I dunno, buddy. There weren’t such cases of being lost in deep space and malnutritioned before,” he tries and fails to sound nonchalant. “We shall see. As if some space PTSD wasn’t enough.”
“No understand.”
Grace tosses a stack of small papers to the nearest surface and glances at his meek-looking friend. Well, he for once listens without outburst. Some starting point. Grace takes this opportunity and positions himself on a sliding stool nearby, hands in his lap. Rocky follows his motions with attention.
“PTSD? It stands for Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. It’s a mental health condition, triggered by some traumatic or horrifying event. One big or set of continuous things for a long stretch of time. This is the brain's attempt to deal with something it cannot easily fix by simply crying out or sleeping it off, I guess,” he brushes his fingers over his face, misplacing glasses a bit. “Like it's trying so hard to mend something already too broken and ends up hurting even more, just by avoiding the gruesome reality all together.”
“Such inefficient way to deal with internal struggles.” Rocky sings with tones of genuine concern. “Human mind is so fragile and cruel to its own master. Bad at everything, even staying healthy!”
“Come on, this is just a price for its amazing plasticity. The brain tries to do what it can, just makes some mistakes along the way. Not its fault.” Grace chuckles and gently spins on the seat left and right. “I know Eridian crystalline brains are superior at information storage and not so malleable. Impressive stuff, truly. But our soft tissue makes us susceptible to change and helps us recover from almost anything. Remember I told you about the guy who’s been shot at the head and not only survived but continued to live a perfectly normal life?”
Rocky made a sharp noise at that. He was affected by some insane stories about human durability. Eridians were sturdy, but if brain damage, infection get inside or limb torn off — it’s basically over for them. 1:0 to gentle leaky humanity, we really know how to endure.
“Do not remind Rocky, awful awful awful. Too fantastical.” he moves with his two limbs and presses closer. “This disorder can be cured then, question? What symptoms, questions?”
Now he’s suddenly invested, how interesting.
“You know, I’m not sure… it's not curable, I guess, but it is highly manageable. With the right amount of treatment.” Grace concedes. “We have people traumatised for one reason or another for centuries, and we figured ways to process stuff so that symptoms can go into complete remission. If a person in need is lucky to get help, that is.”
Which Grace is definitely not. Oh, well. Let’s hope Mary has some therapy talking protocols in her systems in case everything goes really bad for him. Or when.
“Hmm, and about the symptoms — it ranges from human to human. But general ones… Experiencing flashbacks to past trauma, intrusive thoughts, feeling constantly on edge, detachment from others. Depression,” he heaves a breath. “Trouble sleeping, severe nightmares. All that jazz.”
Grace knows what comes next and he’s not disappointed. Rocky jumps on all his ‘feet’ and bursts with multitonal chirping and growling, almost immediately fuming hard out of all his vents. He’s like his little kettle boiling with apprehension and judgment on five jittering limbs. Cute, if it was a fun reason for him to be so expressive.
“Grace have nightmares! More bad than before! Making Rocky sick with worry!” he all but attacks stool Graces perked on. “Grace said not make fuss, not even mention that is human brain disorder!”
“Alright, alright. Don’t dramatise it.” Grace scrumbles on his seat, not thrilled to get bruises from a heavy xenonite ball of anxiety. “My dreams are just probably delayed reaction from all the ‘almost dying’ situations we were put through in the last couple of months. Not a big deal.”
It was some kind of deal. Waking up screaming and sweating every other night wasn’t Grace’s ideal after all the saving world business, but what could you do? Nothing. It pains that Rocky, so unused to human dreams in general, forced to witness their worst cases up close. As a silent observant of his human’s night trashes and weak crying, unable to comfort with proper touch. Only with soft singing and cooing (which is at least something, he should be grateful). Grace wishes he can take this burden off him. Relieve him of at least some part of his unending stress. But the only way he can stop having nightmares about Stratt, about Astrophage leaking into the ship’s systems, of Rocky dying in his atmosphere is just to stop sleeping at all. And, no, he is not doing that. Even if he is tired of his own jambled brain, the urge to hurt himself even more is not winning yet.
All Grace has in his defence is his words and they are not sufficient.
“Much deal. Grace say bad dreams delayed reaction to almost dying, repeatedly. Is trauma. Definition correct. Grace want to talk about his health all the time, making Rocky hurt, making Rocky plea to stop. And yet disclose his already present illness in his brain. Dishonest, not friend-like and cruel. Rocky not deserve.”
Oh shoot, Mary and Joseph. He really sounds heartbroken. This is so hard to navigate. Why did Grace decide it was even a good idea to discuss complex human conditions, when they both already are not the best examples of objectivity? It’s like laying train tracks from a locomotive already on fire. They should have had this conversion earlear. Okay, but they are having it now.
“Rocky, I’m going down. Stop banging for a second.” Grace lowers himself on the floor and faces him as close as he can. “I’m sorry, this is messy. Trust me, I’m not happy about my nightmares too, I just can’t categorize them yet to make a true diagnosis. Maybe they will go away soon, my brain just temporarily crazed that we are not working on pure adrenaline all the time anymore. It's trying to process everything that happened at its own pace. We just have to observe. I’m not broken.”
“You lie.”
“I’m not broken enough that we should be very concerned about it,” Grace ducks his head and lightly touches one of the transparent panels. “Will you forgive me? Look, I admit, I’m scared too. A little bit.”
Rocky warbles some dissatisfied tune but answers with his own press of claws on his side. It’s a small consolation.
“No human help for Grace in space in case of disorder,” his miserable whistles go straight to the heart. “Rocky no help. Not a mind-mender.”
“Mind-mender, eh? Like a therapist? You have those?” Grace desperately wants to make him feel better, so he tries to lean on the ball with his casual curiosity. “So you do deal with complex emotions not by just burning them inside your internal furnaces. Cool, I didn’t know.”
“Trying to steer away conversation not work, Rocky see what Grace do. Not very sneaky.” he does an approximation of a tired sigh. “Yes, sometimes Eridian become disconnected from others. Can not function in collective as before. Singing within its community no help, talking no help. Then appointed to Healing House, meet mind-mender. Mandatory. Mind-mender help with its own special song, Eridian return be productive member of collective once more.”
Eridian society is all about working in the collective, Grace learned. Personal strives and achievements are praised, but only through lenses of being good and useful for the community. That’s why their identifying markings and names were all about clans, ranks and statuses rather than individual traits — it was essential for understanding the place of one in the hierarchy. Such a dedicated species of half-hivemind communists. It was bizarre, but not necessarily wrong. This is how Rocky’s people survived and prospered in harsh Erid’s conditions through millenia after all, deeply interconnected. Still feels weird though. It’s like the personal mental state of the patient is not a priority at all there. Just its readiness to be part of the bigger whole.
“Sounds like conditioning in a way. Uh, ignore me. Not important.” Grace waves his free hand, he really shouldn’t judge how other species live. “So you do have similar mental illnesses that need to be treated by others? Disorders?”
“Some. There were Eridians… During Thermal and Chemical Wars, long ago. Many Eridians returned from frontlines changed. Can not reconnect with others. Even their mates. Was bad. Non-violence Act was declared since then. Illegal to hurt other Eridian knowingly, judged very very very harsh to this day.”
Grace perks despite himself. It’s so fascinating to discover something new from Rocky, science or not! His kind had wars, like any civilization. They learned how to deal with struggles. And they are very against killing or hurting others on every societal level, which is awesome.
“Wow, this is so… And what happened to those soldiers? Eridians from frontlines? I gather they had some sort of severe case of PTSD then.”
“They died.”
“I beg your pardon?”
This.
This is clearly some mistake in the translation. Has to be.
“What Rocky said. Ugh, this talk is sad. Will go do something else.”
He abruptly moves away, rattling to the dormitory direction at speed. Grace rushes right behind him, because what.
“Rocky, you can’t just go. What do you mean died?! What happened?”
His mad banging and rattling seem to only grow louder. He is running away.
“Not good part of history, do not want share.” Rocky cuts the corner, almost smashing into the corridor wall, but manages to turn at the last second. “Later.”
“We are going to your home! This is important!” Grace is out of breath but manages to reach him just before the dormitory room entrance. “Tell me what you do to your disabled members of society right… fudging… now!”
Rocky turns around sharply, ‘facing’ him by his predominant side with clear confusion. Well, they are even at that reaction!
“Do nothing! What Grace mean??”
“You’ve told me you folks can’t function outside of the community of others, that those who severed are basically have no value. And that Eridians returned from the war were disconnected… and died!” he shakes his hands around, panic raising. “Well, I just thought!”
Rocky all but shriek, shocked.
“We do not harm them! Severed do not mean unimportant! Grace say horror!” Rocky dramatically flails. “Just say we do not harm, what so hard understand, question? ♫♪♬♪♫!”
Alright, his cursing of him was deserved. But it was a scary moment!
“If this mind-mender treatment was implemented after the war, it's only fair to assume… Many heavy things are happening during the war! I dunno!”
“War is very dignified affair!”
“Agree to disagree!”
“It seems that you are having an argument.”
“Mary, shush. Thank you.”
“ʸᵒᵘ ᵃʳᵉ ʷᵉˡᶜᵒᵐᵉ, ᴰʳ ᴳʳᵃᶜᵉ.”
He and Rocky look at each other, one up and one down, with emotions a little less volatile between them. Grace forces a laugh.
“Very well, I overreacted. You do not shoot your own veterans. Phew.” He nervously gestures, inviting them to go into the room together and continue their talk. “Can you explain how they died though? Just for my peace of mind.”
Rocky makes his strange half-grumble, half-whine but follows suit. The room is a controlled mess. There is a pillow and blanket on the cold white floor from where Grace left them after a late day napping. Some tablets and papers litter every other panel, empty bags of coffee and dirty clothes spotted in every corner. Rocky politely doesn't repeat his cussing this time. He makes his adorable loafing near the unkempt bed, readjusting positioning of his ball for a few moments in silence. Grace sits across him, his hands grabbing the blanket’s edge automatically.
“Sometimes when Eridian overwhelmed with big negative emotions… usual burning of excess sensations is not enough. Hurt just not go anywhere no matter how hard try, stay inside.” Rocky sings in a low tones. “Those affected burn hotter with much pain. Not happen before wars and almost never do after them. Is very dangerous. That is why Healing Houses were introduced. Why mind-menders in every city, every commune. Is important to be around others when heal and sing songs of grieving together. So never repeat old losses again."
“You literally die of extreme emotional pain,” breath out Grace, already feeling a pulse in his throat.
Rocky’s tiny claws moves with weak dismissal.
“Need really specific circumstances to be. Almost no occurrences of such deaths in modern day Eridan. Even when mate or hatchling suddenly die, or scary accidents happen. Still recover with help of others.”
Grace slowly straightens himself. Oh. This is… this does not feel good.
Why are they talking about it only now?
At what point every problem they have or will potentially have begun to be connected to him and him only?
When Rocky clearly had a fundamental flaw in his beautiful alien system all along, before their theme of starvation and mental deterioration even arrived?
Oh my gosh.
“Rocky… What are the specific circumstances for Eridian to suffer such affliction?”
His friend froze, suddenly caught. His vents ripple, dealing with the increased pressure. Grace swallows his unease down and tries to appear calm.
He is not calm.
“Rock, I’m doing my best to prepare for the worst, but I’m a bad friend, apparently. I’m only thinking of myself. Please let me fix that and tell me about this disorder of yours.”
His dear friend, who already pushed through so much, shivers in an almost animal manner. His humming is almost inaudible to the human ear, but Grace can feel it by the hairs on his skin. It’s so, so sorrowful.
“When Eridian separated from others for too long, can not sing to others and no one respond. When experience immense lose of community. Trauma. Then is bad.”
“But you experienced an immense loss. Your crew.” Grace reduces to whisper, because he’s struck with numbing fear. “And then you were stuck on your ship for so many years with…”
With no one to watch you sleep, he’s willing himself to speak, but the words remain trapped in his lungs. Darn it, he’s hardly breathing.
“Rocky knows. Was trained to endure big stress during journey through Soundless Void like every Eridian on mission. Was expected to be hard.”
Grace immediately slumps down. Of course he was trained. He is a volunteer, a brave space explorer. Any space program sends the most daring and strong, this is just universal practice! Just because Grace hasn't chosen to be a part of his project, doesn’t mean others weren’t ready to face the scary unknown.
“Oh…kay. So you are probably out of any real danger. Right?”
Rocky seems to hesitate with his answer. The air is sucked out of the room once again.
“Not know. Did not expect all crew die. We took many Eridian on ship in case something happen. Half of crew die, still can work on a mission fine. Can grieve together, sing to each other. Watch sleep. Did not expect so many die,” he repeats with warbling shakes in his melody. “Rocky thought he die too. If not out of mysterious illness of crew then of loneliness later. Should die.”
“No. Please stop saying ‘die’ over and over.”
“Is truth. Was feeling all pain pain pain for years. Try to burn it away, try all soothing techniques that learn on Erid. Pain remains, deep within, can not… rid,” he starts to sound half coherent with his distortions. “So logically conclude Rocky fell ill to old war sickness. Wait to die. But death not come. Mmm… Not know why, still hurt. But no death. Why, why not.”
His instincts tell Grace that he should scoot closer and hug the heck out of him. But in truth it only helps if you have soft sensitive skin. In any other case it’s just sentimental. And he viciously feels the need to do something tangible. Anything good for his tortured companion. Holy smokes, how did Rocky even hold on?
“Aplogy, apology, not mean to distress. Rocky is fine, not in danger of immediate dying. Swear.” His poor friend seemes to notice Grace's shallow breathing and leans closer to the border between them. “Much time pass, notice if something drastic happen inside Rocky body. Is okay. Promise.”
“You can’t ‘okay’ out of this one, bud. Shirt. How are you… Are you in pain even now?”
His little claw scratches on the xenonite a couple of times, close to his face.
‘Is manageable.’
Means ‘yes’. He was in some sort of anguish the whole time, even when they shared their victories and happy discoveries. Grace wants to prematurely puke his guts out. Why does he have to be so empathetic? Sometimes it’s just inconvenient.
He presses both of his sweaty palms to the ball and just breathes for a minute. Alright, Rylie. First put a mask on yourself, then on your child/alien roommate. They will figure it out. They always do. Even if Rocky is a lone Eridian, so far from home and forever changed by the horrific deaths of his friends, which voices are so detrimental to his health… They are together in this. The plan was to save Grace from a sad pathetic death of starvation, but two of them need to reevaluate some things. Facts at hand — Grace has his math, he has time to do some miracle science, and he has support. The best one he could ever ask.
New proposition? He needs to fix his main support ASAP before it’s actually needed. As best as he could. Only one struggling individual on the Hail Mary allowed.
Yes, they will withstand. They simply must.
Grace feels a new sense of strength in himself.
“New sets of rules for interpersonal regulation,” he braves at last, palms still on a ball. “Not hiding any possible illnesses, conditions or just inklings about internal problems from one another. Even when it’s shameful or too weird. I help you, you help me. Honesty even in weakness.”
“Agreed.” Rocky makes human nod, but something in his pose betrays his hesitance. Or shyness. “Apology for not telling early about state of self. Rocky simply not know what could be done. No understand how to describe. Enigma even to Rocky, so Rocky not share.”
Good, that’s the step forward.
“Got it. That’s fine, we will work through it.” Grace really needs his whiteboard back, but moving with his hands will do for now. “Let’s make a deal. I need you when I’m at my lowest, pal. Let’s just accept that the time for it will come, without any morbid details for now, yeah? I will need your strength. Can you lend me some? Am I relying on you?”
“Yes, yes, rely all way. Rocky help, always.”
Grace just smiles despite himself. It’s such a relief to hear that, every time. Knowing that they truly have each other. Ready to be open and vulnerable, like with no one else. Certainly not like with anyone on Earth. It makes Grace feel giddy.
“So we are on the same page. We need you to be mentally strong, so I could be in good hands. To make your promise work,” he gestures their ‘together’ sign and looks at Rocky pointedly. “Which means for the half of our journey I will take care of you. Then we switch.”
Ball shifts as Rocky moves away just a tad. He trills in bashfulness, like a musical instrument played by a surprised cat.
“Guess good deal. But how, even Rocky think there no help. And Grace no Eridian.”
“That’s true. But you know what, we both changed beings. Like hybrids. I’m not the same human, you are no longer the ordinary Eridian. Maybe this is how we assist each other, by meeting in the middle.”
“Hmm, Rocky indeed changed,” he thinks for a while. “Perhaps much to be accepted at home. Rocky… worry. Different from others mean bad. Not right.”
Oh, boy. This is definitely something internalised, isn’t it?
“Think more like ‘unique’. It’s not good or bad, just new. Maybe you can’t be fully fixed, but that’s okay. You just need to figure out how to play by new guidelines,” and just to reassure Grace moves closer to his ball again. “I will help to figure out.”
Rocky purrs and they stay like that for a while, in the heartwarming company of one another. Sure there are a lot of unknown factors. This is a new territory for both of them. But hey, they are still here, alive. It’s giving hope.
“I have some ideas for making you feel better.”
“Oh! Spill girl.”
“Who even taught you this?” Grace snorts but continues. “Remeber the suit you made for me to go around your ship? I just thought, you should probably make something similar for yourself. Easy to move around, good precaution in case you'll need to take over Mary’s controls. Without risking yourself going to my atmosphere again.”
“Good good good! Grace smart, perfect new project for Rocky!”
“Yes, well, it’s not only for safety reasons. It would be nice for you to get out of your clanky ball and… and get closer to me while I sleep. You know, near my chest, as you wanted it.” Grace kinda feels warm all over. “I know it’s still not the same. But if it helps you feel more safe and calm, I think we should do it.”
Rocky startles, all quite for a moment. Maybe he overstepped. And then Rocky just bonks his heavy body against xenonite, hurting Grace’s bent knees a little with a sudden impact. But he takes that. His chest and half of the pressed face are buzzing with the sounds coming from the opposite side. It’s sweet.
“Thank. Mean lot to Rocky. Would be good for human hugs too.”
“Hah. You don’t have to!”
“Give Grace thousands hugs,” he counters with a playful threat. “You help me, I help you.”
He’s quoting him, almost. Grace's face hurts from smiling. Aw, this is more than he dared to wish.
It takes a while to pull apart, but they are not finished.
“I can’t sing like you do, my vocal cords are not made for it. But maybe we try a human way?” Grace readjusts his glasses and taps against the barrier with soft fondness. “You can talk to me about your crew. I’m sorry, should have asked more about them earlier. They were your friends.”
Rocky sits with a nervous chirping.
“What talking do, question? They far away now. Deep in space and Rocky memory.”
Grace didn’t even ask if Rocky buried his crew. Is there some kind of funeral customs on Eridan? Do you commend dead bodies to the stars too? Did Rocky just leave their carcases behind and Blip-A became their silent tomb? He went away somewhere deep at some point, to manage private matters when he and Grace were moving him over to the Hail Mary. Grace just thought it was too insensitive to pry. Now he wants to beat himself over the head for not even asking about them at all.
“Talking things aloud usually alleviates some pain, especially if there is someone near. Even if it seems silly or obvious… Sometimes it’s a great way to release stuff that is stuck inside.”
Grace was never good at following his own advices. Didn’t let anyone too close to himself, guarded his heart like a treasure. Served him well for a time. But he vaguely remembers he helped a lot of his children in between classes and after school. Some shy boy or teary-eyed girl seemed to always come to him for simple company and consolation. Teenagers are always struggling with something, so young but so full of emotions. Grace doubts that he was all that amazing with actual comforting, but they felt like they could trust him with their problems. He listened. He could listen to his friend just fine. And maybe try and do something more this time.
No need to guard the fortress with gold inside anymore.
Grace is afraid that he once again stepped too far though. Rocky remains unmoving for far too long.
“Maybe later. Yes, will talk. But not now, is much. Plea.”
Yes, fair. Tiny steps. Hand in alien hand.
“Sure, buddy. Anytime you feel ready.”
An ultimate dead end gives a way for small light up ahead.