Work Text:
He rested his head on the desk, trying not to gag from the way his sweat clung stickily between his forehead and the metal.
It had been a tiring day—well, probably more than a day, he’d lost count of the hours long before now. Time passed erratically without his sun for guidance.
Sometimes, the days passed normally. He was able to lean into his abilities, solve mysteries, and go about his routine like normal. Other days, like today, the hours seemed to drag on or get cut short at random. Logically, any given hour couldn’t be more or less than the next, he was sure of that, but going so long without a definitive day and night cycle distorted his bodily functions.
This time dilation, a product of his overworked and confused brain, caused what he was experiencing now: sickness, a horrible side effect of his deregulated system. He didn’t know the science behind it (he’s a scientist, not a doctor), but this inability to “right his rhythm” was making him teeter out of control.
Most days, especially recently, he was consumed by this illness. It resembled the flu, but without fever or clear treatment. Checking his vitals in the Medbay didn’t help his situation, it just raised more questions. There was nothing out of the ordinary, according to the monitors and numerous other devices.
He wrapped his arms around his waist, gripping the soft fabric of his t-shirt in an attempt to stop thinking about how sick he felt. It didn’t help, but A+ for effort, he supposed.
Breathing out of his nose, he gently rested his chin on the desk. The task alone was enough to make him wince, a dull, throbbing sensation blooming outwards from the back of his skull. It didn’t help that the computer screen shone through his eyelids. The brightness, despite not being turned up past a third of the way, was like tiny crayons being crammed into his eye sockets. Everything hurt.
A series of heavy, scuttling sounds echoed off the hallway to his right, stopping just inside the doorway.
“Grace sick, statement,” Rocky hummed, his voice quieter than normal.
Grace shook his head, but even that minuscule movement pained him. He tensed before forcing himself to relax when he’d suffered another wave of hot poker-red nausea.
Rocky took note of this, walking over to rest a three-fingered claw on Grace’s sweat-soaked back. Gently, like trying to calm a scared animal, he rubbed small circles into his skin, something the human had done for him when he was struggling.
“Grace lie to Rocky. Grace not well, try to say is, but not,” Rocky started, “Rocky help Grace. Will make healthy.”
The Eridian grabbed his elbow, steady pressure attempting to get Grace to stand.
“Can you stop?” Grace groaned, “You’re gonna make me sick.”
Rocky warbled a quick string of chords, probably some kind of profanity that wasn’t in the computer yet, seeing as how he couldn’t understand, “Grace already sick. Dumb dumb dumb.”
Grace swatted him away, raising his head to frown at the creature.
“Don’t hit,” demanded the alien, “Rocky assist, Grace will endure. Stand, statement.”
“Just go away. If I sit here long enough it’ll go away,” he managed, curling in on himself, “I just have to wait.”
Rocky did not take no for an answer.
“Will solve. Grace not move, return soon.” Rocky stated with a determined chirp, disappearing into the bowels of the spaceship.
He rested his cheek on the table with a frustrated sigh, because as much as he enjoyed Rocky’s presence, today was not the day. He was exhausted, exasperated, and downright irritable, things he really didn’t want to be.
He hated how he was making more work for Rocky, hated that he was treating his friend poorly because he couldn’t control his stupid brain. But at the end of the day—whenever that was—he couldn’t muster the energy to act more agreeable. Oh, how badly he hated that.
A silent tear streaked down his cheek, mixing with the sweat as it collected on the desk. He bunched up his fists, bit his lip, and desperately tried to stifle a sob. It came out choked, slipping out of chapped lips.
One tear became two, two became three, and from there it seemed like they wouldn’t stop.
Grace dug his fingernails into his side, a calloused hand wrapping around his mouth in another attempt to silence himself.
He felt so sick, so lost. Years had passed since he’d been forced into this mission, years since he was able to see another human. To tell time. To not just survive, but to thrive. It was wearing him down, dragging him into a deep pit of insanity that yawned bigger every moment. He now stood at the precipice, looking down into the abyss, wondering when he could finally jump and just…cease to exist.
Grace wasn’t suicidal, not yet. But sometimes, he’d sit at the edge of his bed with his head in hands, and come to the conclusion that dying would be better than this. Anything would be better than this.
It didn’t take long before he’d fully broken down.
He was violently shaking, knees pulled up to his face to hide his shame. His glasses laid crooked on his hair, the computer light glinting off of the lenses as he suffered through another wave of panic. Loud cries resonated and bounced off the walls, the loudest they’ve ever been, but Grace didn’t care anymore.
Ashamed, alone, and terrified. Those were the only things occupying his isolated, fractured mind as he rocked back and forth.
Ryland Grace had been reduced to a wailing, babbling baby.
He shook his head and whispered things he couldn’t understand. Over and over he repeated some sort of mantra, his voice deaf to his own ears. If he was saying anything intelligible, he didn’t comprehend it.
It felt like he was floating in space without a suit to protect him, drifting farther and farther away from his body. He felt numb and overwhelmed all at the same time.
For the first time since he was little, he heaved. And heaved, and heaved. Vomit coated his lap and his hands, which he stared at with wide eyes.
Throat burning, he stood up, looking around his study like a lost child. Grace wasn’t looking for anything, he was just…terrified. In shock.
A whimper escaped him as he tried to rub the substance off, a heavy wheeze soon after when the vomit coated deeper into the fibers of his shirt. He tried and tried to wipe it off, crying harder and harder when it didn’t work. He remained covered in this disgusting mess. He was a disgusting mess.
His knees slammed into the floor and his hands gripped his hair. He wailed into the ground, open-mouthed and wet. A string of saliva danced between his bottom lip and the metal paneling as his body convulsed, painfully and uncontrollably, whenever he sobbed.
“I can’t do it, I can’t do it. Please, I can’t do it,” Grace found himself begging, “Mama, take me home. Please, please, please. I just wanna go home.”
Grace cried until Rocky returned, an excruciating fifteen minutes later.
He held a screwdriver in one claw, and Grace’s twin-sized mattress in two others. Rocky had taken his bunk bed off the wall and brought it to the study room.
“Rocky heard scared noise from Grace. Rocky ran fast as leg go.” Rocky chittered, leaning the mattress against the doorframe. He carefully crept closer, but stopped when his friend whimpered in fear.
Rocky hugged the ground, slowly drawing his legs closer to his body. His friend was scared, and Rocky didn’t want to make him more scared. “Grace,” he quietly stated, “Rocky here. Why heart go fast, question. Why Grace scared, question.”
Grace didn’t answer. He only looked at the Eridian with blown pupils and a pounding heart, limbs petrified like the boulders on Erid.
It made Rocky’s hearts hurt, knowing that his friend was…horrified at something he could not fix by himself, yet detested help with. He would have to take this situation slowly, one step at a time, or he would scare Grace off. Rocky would never be allowed to help again if that happened.
Rocky stood up and grabbed the mattress, aware of how his every move was studied. Tenderly, he laid the mattress a few feet away from Grace, slow movements all the way.
The screwdriver was discarded onto Grace’s chair, where Rocky noticed a dark patch of foul-smelling liquid seeping into the seat. He said nothing, his urge to care for Grace more important than verbalizing his disgust of human bodily fluids.
He turned to said human, who still watched him with those wide, frightened eyes. “Sleep. Bed,” Rocky urged, trying to coax his only friend into finding someplace more comfortable to have his mental breakdown.
Grace opened his mouth, a hoarse mumble making its way past his lips, “M’ scared, R-Rocky. I wanna go ho-me.”
Rocky knew what that felt like.
“Rocky assist Grace. We go home, statement.” He tried to sound as reassuring as he could, but his facade must have been transparent, as Grace let out a sob.
“Please, please, pl-ease,” he cried, digging his forehead into the floor, “Take me home, I wanna g-go home.”
His carapace shuddered when Grace pleaded:
“Rocky, please.”
Rocky had never been more scared.
His insides burned, and his guts seemed to curl themselves into knots. He needed to fix Grace, before they both crumbled to star dust.
He wrapped his arms around the astronaut; his anchor, his best friend, his reason for continuing on. He squeezed, ignoring the slimy feeling of Grace’s hands gripping onto his body as his heavy shaking wrung his body dry.
“Grace safe,” Rocky said with finality, “Grace strong, like Rocky. Not muscle strong, or heavy strong, but mind strong.”
With gentle claws, Grace was lifted onto Rocky’s back and laid on top of the mattress. The vomit still clung to his shirt, but with Rocky taking a place beside him, sifting through his hair, he suddenly felt…okay.
He still cried, still hurt, still felt sick—but he had Rocky.
And Rocky meant more than anything.
“Can you—“ Grace stuttered, “—can you be here..?” He patted the space next to him, a spot nestled in the empty crescent his body formed.
Rocky shuffled into place, rustling when Grace wrapped his arms around him and buried his face into his rough carapace. It couldn’t be comfortable by any means, but Grace appeared to find solace in it. His heart rate slowed, and his lips stopped quivering.
“Rocky help Grace…question,” Rocky meekly asked, leaning into the touch.
Grace breathed with relief, finally letting himself relax into the mattress.
“Yes, Rocky. You helped.”
“…”
“I love you,” Grace whispered, finding comfort in knowing Rocky wouldn’t understand until Grace was ready to tell him.
If he could only find the courage to.