Chapter Text
He wakes not to the sound of his usual alarm, but to the bio domes alarm—he'd been shown it not long after he regained consciousness from the induced coma just as like…a precaution, maybe? Just a little demonstration so that he didn't panic when whatever section of the dome he's in becomes locked down, while some other part of the dome is opened up to the human-inhospitable levels of burning hot atmospheric ammonia for…something important. Probably.
But Rocky hadn't mentioned anything…or maybe he had? It's all a little foggy given the, uh…moderate emaciation he's still…yeah. So, maybe Rock did mention it? It'd probably be rude to jump to conclusions while his memory is compromised. And it is definitely that. The journey to Erid is fuzzy at best, especially after his food rations ran out. He knows he held out for a while on taumoeba mixed with coma slurry, but it wasn't ideal, exactly? So, basically—he can't remember how long he held out for until Rock had Armando put him in a coma again.
When he woke up again he was already on Erid in his own personal bio dome. Pretty neat.
It'd be nice to actually—oh, you know—enjoy the scenery at some point? But as it stands…he can't. Stand, that is. Or enjoy the scenery. Those muscles he'd been so fond of are decidedly gone; turns out they didn't get along so well with the nutrient deficiency caused by the taumoeba. So when it moved in, muscles moved out—didn't even leave a note…they may have also taken some of his cardiac mass with them, so…yeah—no walking around willy-nilly.
…God, he's so tired. And he feels so guilty for it in the moments he is awake because he knows how much Rocky and Adrian worry about him. Personal space hasn't stopped being a rare commodity, because now he shares a room with: not one, but two, sapient rocks. And Adrian is much, uh…bigger than Rocky? He doesn't want any of them stepping on his toes given that the gravity on Erid makes them so much heavier, but he especially doesn't want Adrian stepping on them. He's not sure there would be bones left to salvage…it'd just be dust. Skin paste and bone dust where his foot used to…what's happening, again? Why—?
Grace is awake, question?
…right. The alarm. Or…not anymore? It's quiet again now. Crisis averted, he supposes. Mustering up all the effort he can find, Grace lifts a hand in greeting before letting it fall back onto the mattress. "Yeah, pal. 'M here."
Good, good, good. Happy. How Grace sleep, question?
"Bit of a rude awakening from the bio dome team," he says, laying his finger out flat with some effort. "What's going on out there?"
The Eridian climbs onto the bed carefully, somehow keeping the movements light enough not to jostle the fragile human—Rocky's words, not his. Yes—apology, apology. Need changes quickly, no time explain.
"Well now you're making me nervous," he tries to jest, chuckling weakly. As the silence stretches on—broken only by the sound of his own wheezing and the soft clicking of Rocky's claws—the statement starts to become less of a joke. Another moment passes, and he tries to get an elbow under him; maybe he can get a look out the window. "Rocky?"
No, no—Grace not get up. Is okay. The concerned notes he's come to understand are delivered with a gentle touch to his upper arm, the pressure just enough to guide him back down.
The modified xenonite 'suit' the Eridian uses instead of the ball nowadays sits close enough to Rocky's body that heat transfer happens faster, so it's almost like feeling the warmth of an actual touch…and he's only slightly ashamed to admit that it makes the hairs on his arm stand on end. He aborts all efforts of sitting up immediately—not because of the touch thing, though. Because he wants to. For sure.
…he wishes he had the energy to hold Rocky's hand there. But he learnt early on that if he doesn't pace the mornings carefully then it has a knock-on effect that ends up costing him what little energy he might've had later on. Lucky for him, Rock decides not to move.
How Grace feel—better today or yesterday, question?
He hums, considering. Does he feel better? It's…hard to tell this early. Whether or not the day will be a—quote, unquote—good one usually doesn't become apparent until a few hours after eating…or maybe drinking, is a more accurate description. Being fed? Whatever—it doesn't matter. What does matter is that he has food again. They're working on cultivating the plants that were on The Hail Mary, and the Eridian scientists have a couple of other meat-based avenues open for exploration that…honestly, he's trying not to think too much about. The main thing is: he's not going to starve to death. That's something, right? He says as much.
"Still kicking, so yeah—I'm good."
Grace.
"Armando hasn't fed me yet," he defends, fingers twitching with the ghost of a gesture. "You know I can't think on an empty stomach."
As if on cue he hears the faint sound of the pump whirring to life and, if he turns his head, he'd probably be able to see the feeding tube filling up with whatever concoction the Eridian scientists had managed to reverse-engineer for him. And, hey—whatever it is? He doesn't have to taste it and it's keeping him alive, so no complaints here.
Rocky gently shuffles closer then, the movement punctuated by a note sad enough that it has his throat tightening in sympathy. "C'mon, bud…it's okay."
Not okay. Grace is still…not enough.
"Well, geez—way to kick a guy when he's down," he laughs, his breathing muscles protesting the levity almost immediately.
Need word. Rocky's claws graze his ribs through the layers of clothing and blankets surrounding him. Not enough. Too small.
"…I know," he sighs, chest aching with guilt. "But trust me, okay? I'm fine—this just…isn't something you can fix in a day."
Want Grace feel comfortable and safe.
"I do—of course I do. Where's this coming from?"
Rocky's claws click softly, clearly trying to calculate something. Then, in a slow series of notes, humans not meant to be alone.
"…I mean—no arguments there," Grace allows, a faint grimace pulling at his lips. "But I'm not alone, am I? Not really. I…I have you. And Adrian, and the rest of the science team…"
Not same.
"It is the same," he says, the words forced from his lungs with a ferocity he doesn't have the reserves for. His heart rate spikes immediately and his breaths become much harder won. God, this is the worst part—the chest pains from stress-induced arrhythmia. Emotional or physical—his body isn't picky about the kind of stress, so long as he's feeling it…and—oh, boy—is he feeling it. "It's the same…to me, it's…the same."
Rocky chitters, the notes a little frantic. Apology, apology—I understand, is same. No more talking…Grace is in pain, question?
He really doesn't have the energy or breath to give a verbal reply, so he settles for a weak nod—no point in denying it and he's sure it'll pass in a few minutes, anyway. Hoping to convey that second part in some capacity, he curls his fingers into a loose thumbs up…ish. It's close enough.
Rocky makes a soft purring sound then, claws reaching out to gently scratch at the nape of his neck. Grace closes his eyes against the sudden sting in them, not wanting to worry his friend more than he already has. Instead he focuses on taking deep, steady breaths, fighting through the urge to allow himself any shallower ones.
Grace.
"Yeah…?"
More claw tapping, then: space team find something.
"O-okay, well…what'd they find?"
Another human.
It takes a long moment for the words to fully reach him because…huh? He tries for a laugh despite the way it makes his ribs ache. "We, uh…need to work on your sense of humour, pal. That's not a great joke, I gotta' be honest—"
Is not joke. Space team find another human.
"…sorry, how exactly—?" Erid is, what—sixteen-point-three light years away from Earth, give or take? Not to mention the amount of fuel required to reach him…or the fact that they would need a second intergalactic space ship capable of travelling at near light speed. It doesn't make sense.
Do not know. Texture monitors find…need word for long hole. Like ramen, singular. Open in space, then gone.
"…a wormhole?"
Maybe, question? No understand word.
"A wormhole, it's—well, it's like you said: a long sort of…hole. In space. Very much a theory on Earth with no actual proof of existence, by the way—"
Not see often. Or know why happen.
This is one of those frustrating moments where he wishes he weren't so tired. This definitely requires attention that he isn't sure he can give at the moment. Okay, so…first things first, he supposes—"are they on Erid?"
Yes.
Hmm, no…maybe first should have been—"are they alive?"
Yes.
"So, I'm…getting a neighbour? A roommate?"
Rocky makes a worried note, shifting closer. Team think new human should live with Grace while new room built…I do not know. Don't like plan.
"Why not? It makes sense, right? Two humans, living it up in the purpose-built bio dome…"
The Eridian hunches inward, letting out a series of chitters that usually signify the kind of concern that doesn't have a room for humour or deflection on Grace's part. For whatever reason, Rock is genuinely worried about this.
New human much bigger than Grace. Scary. What if Grace get hurt, question?
…the implications of the size comment aside—in an ideal world, he'd be able to comfort his friend and offer platitudes. Something like: it's okay, buddy! This new human has no reason to hurt me, so I'm sure we'll get along great! But now that he's thinking about it…
Grace is okay, question? The set of claws that had been gently brushing against the nape of his neck pull away, coming to rest instead against his blanket-covered ribs. Heart too fast. Not good—not good at all.
Well, it's not an unfounded observation. He hadn't made peace with the fact that he would never see another human again, exactly, but…look—the odds were never in his favour, were they? He knew that. Rationally he knew that. Hadn't quite worked up to admitting it out loud yet, but he knew. Or, he thought he knew. He's once again faced with the fact that: he's wrong about everything, and everything is wrong. Because there are humans—plural—on Erid. Sixteen-point-three light years away from earth. Against all odds and without an explanation that his inner scientist can accept…or his outer scientist, for that matter.
There's a part of him that knows he should be excited—it's great news, right? So why is he so…terrified? He really doesn't have an answer for that question…not one that comes easily, at least. It leaves him with the realisation that, perhaps, he should've spent a bit more time unpacking his last memories of being on earth rather than trying his hardest to forget them. Hindsight's always twenty-twenty, and all that.
It's not that he doesn't forgive Stratt for what she did—he does…he thinks he does. At the very least he understands, and there's at least some part of him that is grateful for the belief she has in him. He just wishes that things had been a little…different? That's not an unreasonable thing to want, right?
…either way—in the aftermath of that Rocky was—no, is—everything he could've asked for in a companion. Does that mean that he's trauma bonded to a sentient rock? Quite possibly. Is he now realising all this because the prospect of seeing a human again, of being touched, chased, or caught w-would—
Hug time now, statement. The notes come as Rocky carefully lifts the blankets, then shimmies beneath them. He can feel the warmth radiating through the xenonite suit—still a work in progress, though making them hug-safe had been a priority once the idea had been proven viable.
His arms wrap firmly around the Eridian now wedged against his chest, both wiry appendages trembling almost as much as his breaths. The cortisol and adrenaline are making him shake—his body doesn't have the reserves to handle emotions like this right now…unfortunately, his body is also in a state primed for spiralling…biology really is a barrel of laughs, huh? But at least it's not so cruel as to disregard the effects of a hug just because it's being administered through a layer of solidified gas.
Rocky wasn't a fan at first, but there's been a significant amount of time invested into honing the art since. Like now—he's not sure exactly how it works, but Rocky can…purr, sort of? It's a low hum, more vibration than sound, really. He can't remember why the Eridian started doing it, but Grace is pretty sure it continues to be a thing because he told Rocky it was nice while he was, uh…not doing so great on the journey back to Erid.
Grace calm down, question?
He tightens his hold, muscles burning with the effort. "Y-yeah, I'm good…thanks, pal."
I don't want thanks, I want Grace be okay.
"I'm…working on it," he promises. Then, quieter, "this is nice—helps."
Then I keep doing. The notes taper into silence for a while, comfortable in a way he can't really explain. But after a while—suspiciously close to the time Grace's heart returns to a rhythm that doesn't hurt—Rocky sings again. Does this mean Grace not want other human share room, question?
He swallows. "No, I—that's not…I don't know. Been a while since I've seen a human, you know? It didn't really…go so well for me last time. So, uh…"
Scary.
"I mean…yeah—a little," he admits meekly. But more than that, he feels it would be wrong not to meet this person as soon as possible. He would've given anything not to have woken up alone on The Hail Mary…to have had someone there with him. So, maybe—"it could be like a quarantine situation, right? Is that something you could, you know…figure out?"
Hm, no understand word.
"Quarantine? It's like, ah—here, but separate. Close enough to hear and see but not…touch. You know—at first."
Oh, yes—understand. That way Grace and new human can feel comfortable and safe. Together, separately.
Grace lets out a relieved sigh, eyelids suddenly heavy. "Together, separately—exactly."
Adrian and team will build…I watch Grace sleep, question?
"…yeah. Thanks, pal."
He really is tired…hopefully sleeping some more now will give him some energy for later. At least enough to face whoever the new human is. Or—hey—maybe this was all just a dream. At this point, he's not sure which he'd prefer.