Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Two hours after Grace takes his final breath, Rocky finds himself preoccupied by a tuneless ringing that echoes throughout the house. 

Its piercing tone slices through his carapace like a superheated knife, robbing him of the opportunity to succumb to the numb void of his grief. He quickly scans each room of the house without bothering to move from his spot, but the source of his torment refuses to reveal itself. Armando stands still and silent in the next room – his services no longer required – and beneath the floorboards, heating and life-support systems function as normal. Beyond the house’s walls, Rocky can hear the gentle rush of ocean waves and the cry of gulls emanating from concealed speakers, alongside the tentative pacing of Eridian bodies at the far end of the biodome, likely awaiting his permission to approach.  

Everything sounds exactly as it should, aside from... well, aside from the absence of Grace.  

Absence. It strikes Rocky then that the sound he is perceiving is not a new stimulus, but the sudden loss of noises he has learned to take for granted. The constant drone is merely the dying echo of lungs that no longer respire and a voice that no longer rambles at length and a heart that no longer beats. Grace’s body lies still beside him as a physical husk, but the sounds that made him him will never emanate from his fragile human form again, and the renewed grief that ignites within Rocky at that realisation makes him keen like a wounded child. 

Grace has spent the majority of the past three months trying to prepare Rocky for this exact moment. As soon as the true nature of his sickness became undeniable, he had walked Rocky through each step in thorough detail, from the biological processes of death and decomposition to specific funeral rites, and he had done so with an impressive calmness that nonetheless failed to disguise the waver in his voice. His efforts had been valiant, but so too had been Rocky’s denial over the pain that was to come. He suspects that even with a clearer mind and more time to prepare, the acuteness of losing Grace would always have resembled the agony of a severed limb. 

Death had come quicker than expected in the end. On the one hand Rocky is almost grateful for this. Grace had been so terrified of a slow, drawn-out deterioration that the knowledge that he was spared such a fate is the only form of comfort Rocky can cling to now. 

Only this morning, Grace had risen from his bed bright and early and wandered to the cove to teach his students with the same enthusiasm as always. While he now relied on a stick to walk and his vision had deteriorated to such an extent that his glasses provided little relief, the lesson had progressed as normal and childish laughter had echoed throughout the biodome. Grace no longer had the stamina to teach for a full day so Rocky had come to his rescue after three hours as per their new routine, and they had settled on their usual spot once the kids had all gone home, watching the waves crash upon the shore in companionable silence. 

There had been no sign of anything untoward. No indication that this would be their final moment of true solace. Grace had made a passing reference to a headache and his speech was a little more slurred than the week prior, but those details were hardly new phenomena. Even the moment of his collapse and the onset of a seizure upon his arrival home had been almost routine. As much as Rocky hated to perceive his best friend in such a state, his reaction had been dutiful – clinical even – and he’d helped Armando ease Grace into bed as the robot administered medication resynthesised from the Hail Mary’s supply. 

On at least five prior occasions, this medication had proved sufficient to resolve the seizure and allow Grace to wake in the aftermath, a little groggy but ultimately alert. Today, however, the shaking of Grace’s limbs and the fragile gasps emanating from his throat had persisted for fifteen minutes before he settled into the stillness of sleep, and true consciousness had never returned. Armando had hurriedly performed a scan of his brain and shared his findings in painstaking detail, but the only words that Rocky could truly comprehend were ‘bleeding’ and ‘oedema’ and ‘palliation’. Words that Grace had tried to prepare him for, but that Rocky could barely force himself to acknowledge when reality hit. 

He’d sent word to Adrian, but his message had been clear. Rocky wanted to be alone. Wanted to ensure that Grace’s passing was as quiet and peaceful as possible. He’d propped his friend onto his side and draped his favourite patchwork blanket over his slender frame; had rested in the crook of his arm and simply listened, on high alert for any signs of pain that would warrant Armando’s intervention. Such noises never came. There were no whimpers or cries or signs of overt distress, only the rush of shallow breaths that grew more spaced out as the hours drifted by. 

When the end finally came, it did so quietly – escaping Grace in a gentle sigh as Rocky sang him to sleep. All in all, it was a good death; the kind that Grace had explicitly wished for. And yet, the suddenness of it had been immobilising. As the quiet set in and Rocky slowly adjusted to the absence of his friend’s steady heartbeat, the mercury in his blood had hardened to ice and his grief had erupted in a hollow wail that no doubt Adrian had heard from beyond the enclosure’s walls.  

A gentle knock on the door disrupts Rocky’s reverie, but he cannot bring himself to move. He’d forgotten just how heavy loss could feel, how it pressed down upon the limbs and left one fighting for air. The prospect of lifting his carapace or even uttering a greeting feels like an insurmountable chore, and he is grateful that Adrian knows him well enough to appreciate this and push their way into the house without waiting for a welcome. 

“Beloved?” they hum, their voice low and warbling as they wait by the door to Grace’s room. Their own grief radiates from them like smoke, but Rocky can tell from the stiffness of their posture that they are fighting to remain strong. “The medical team has arrived.” 

“To take Grace away?” Rocky asks, surprising himself with how hollow and empty his voice sounds. All the beauty and love he had summoned for his friend’s final moments seems to have abandoned the world alongside Grace’s soul. 

“Yes,” Adrian confirms, edging closer to the bed and resting a gentle claw upon one of Rocky’s own. He wishes he could feel it. The twin xenonite suits protecting their frames is a necessary evil in Grace’s atmosphere, but Rocky thinks he would happily burn alive if it meant he got to lean into Adrian’s embrace. “And we must let them.” 

They are right, of course they are, but Rocky wants to protest anyway. Wants to cry like a child and lay waste to the entire house, leaving debris that would take weeks to clear. He wants to guard Grace’s body from anyone who would dare to take him away. Wants to curse Earth for sending Grace into space to die, and Erid for failing to develop technology and medicine that could have saved him, and himself for failing to notice the signs of Grace’s illness until it had already spread and rendered itself fatal. 

Rocky finds he lacks the energy for rage, however, so instead he merely surrenders to despair and climbs down into Adrian’s waiting arms. He doesn’t howl – he no longer has the strength to do so – but his grief escapes his diaphragm as a strangled whimper as Adrian signals to their waiting companions to enter, soothing Rocky with a gentle, wordless song.  

“You do not need to be here for this,” Adrian whispers, as a pair of fellow Eridians draw close to the bed, wielding a xenonite stretcher designed to prepare Grace’s body for burial. “Let us go to the beach while we wait.”  

“I can’t,” Rocky says, his carapace trembling as his voice becomes resolute. “Not yet. I won’t leave him here to suffer alone.” 

“Oh, my love,” Adrian sighs, and even through their suit Rocky can sense the tension in their limbs; the pain they must be suppressing in order to hold themself together. Adrian had loved Grace too after all, and grief is more of a stranger to them than it is to Rocky. “He is not suffering. Not anymore. Nothing can harm him now, I promise you.”  

Rocky knows deep down that what Adrian is saying is true, and yet the notion of leaving Grace’s side still sears like a brand. He’s reminded of the fraught discussions he and Grace had had a month ago regarding what should happen after his death. Ever the scientist, Grace had initially wanted to donate his body for study and dissection. As the only human on Erid, such a specimen would be of great interest to the scientific community, particularly those who had fought so hard to save him from malnutrition upon his arrival on Erid. 

Rocky would not allow it, however. No matter how much logic Grace lobbed his way, the idea of his best friend being torn apart and treated as a mere curiosity was too horrifying to bear. Erid had gathered everything it could possibly need to know about human biology from the data compiled on the Hail Mary’s computers and various scans that had been performed on Grace over the years. There was little more to be gained from defiling Grace’s body, and Rocky would hear no arguments to the contrary. 

In the end, Grace had relented with little protest. He already carried immense guilt over the knowledge that he would be subjecting Rocky to a lifetime of grief; he had little desire to cause him further distress in the aftermath of his death.  

His second suggestion had been far more agreeable to them both. A simple burial beside the tree he loved so much, overlooking the waters below and resting close to the little garden that had flourished from surviving plants on the Hail Mary. Grace will rest in the same spot that brought him so much contentment during his short time on Erid, and Rocky can pay him a visit whenever he wishes. 

Rocky clings to that notion, even as every cell in his body protests his inaction as he watches the medics ease Grace into the stretcher, keeping him wrapped in his blanket’s embrace as though afraid of waking him from a deep slumber. Part of Rocky yearns for him to wake, to twitch, to let out a confused moan; anything that would carry the promise of more life. 

But there’s nothing. As he and Adrian watch the stretcher get sealed and wheeled away by their comrades, accepting their condolences with as much grace as they can muster, any remaining trace of life abandons the little house like pressure being sucked out of an airlock, and the ringing tone of absence once again pervades Rocky’s senses until he can focus on nothing else. 

“I have something to show you,” Adrian admits once the burial ceremony has ended and the gathered mourners have left them to their grief. 

The funeral was pleasant, all things considered. While the entirety of Erid has gone into mourning for their human saviour, with several events and thrums scheduled to pay tribute over the coming weeks, the actual burial had remained a private affair as per Grace’s wishes. Rocky suspects his friend would have baulked at the idea of an entire planet coming to a standstill in the wake of his death, and he himself has made an effort to avoid as much of the fanfare as possible, but he could never miss this final goodbye.  

The turnout had been small on account of the limited suits available. Adrian and Rocky had been accompanied by a handful of Grace’s students as well as the chief scientists and engineers who had helped build his life on Erid. The shared remembrances and choral songs had been beautiful enough to pierce the veil of numbness that has draped itself over Rocky’s soul in the wake of his friend’s death. Even in the midst of grief, Grace’s students had struggled to contain their laughter as they shared tales of the joy their teacher brought them on a daily basis, and Adrian had spoken at length of their gratitude to Grace for not only saving Erid, but for bringing their love back home to them. 

Rocky himself had remained silent. Not that anyone had judged him for that. Death may be an ever-present companion for humans, but it is still a relative stranger for Eridians and navigating loss is uncharted territory for many. Rocky may be more familiar with grief than his peers, but that does little to lessen the sting that comes with it and his wounds are still gaping and raw.  

In time, he will share stories of Grace with the masses and ensure that the whole planet remembers his actions and bravery. Today, however, Rocky’s memories had remained locked away as his best friend was lowered into the earth. 

And now he can only sit upon the clifftop, hearing the crash of waves below as Adrian’s words seep into his consciousness. Everything has seemed slower since Grace died. His mind has become thick like the fog his friend loved so much, and it isn’t lost on Rocky that he is overdue a proper sleep. 

“Beloved?” Adrian sings. The sound of their voice is so pleasant that Rocky snaps out of his funk and turns towards his love with a quiet hum of apology. “Follow me. There is something Friend Grace wanted me to show you.”  

Rocky can’t decide if Adrian’s words sound hopeful or ominous, but when his mate makes their way towards the beach house, he instinctively follows. He hasn’t been back inside Grace’s home since the day he died and the quiet smashes into him like a wall as he enters, although he finds with some relief that the tuneless ringing has dimmed. Rocky has had several days to adjust to the absence of his friend’s heartbeat, long enough for the ice-cold shock of it to wear off.  

At a loss for what to do, he merely stands still as Adrian greets Armando, waking the robot from its sleep and asking it to set up a device that they and Grace had been working on. The robot drifts towards a screen on the wall – a blend of computer equipment from the Hail Mary and more durable xenonite components – and the machinery trills as Armando taps away at a keyboard. The screen turns out to be textured, and Rocky watches as Armando accesses a folder filled to the brim with saved files before turning towards Adrian.  

“Which file would you like to view first?” Armando asks. While deep down Rocky knows the robot is incapable of true emotion, its usually chirpy voice strikes him as muted and grave.

“The earliest,” Adrian says quietly, turning back towards Rocky and motioning for him to come closer. “Friend Grace wanted us to watch that one first.” 

Rocky doesn’t get a chance to ask what any of this means before the textured screen suddenly comes to life, painting an image that is at once achingly familiar and so unexpected that Rocky can only let out a sharp cry.  

On the screen, as alive and whole as Rocky remembers, is Grace. Only the outline of him really – the image lacks the detail painted by his heartbeat and lungs and creaking joints – but Rocky would recognise that silhouette anywhere. He watches, frozen, as the echo of his best friend fiddles with the camera for a few seconds, mumbling under his breath, before giving a thumbs up and settling on his mattress once he’s satisfied.  

The backdrop is unmistakably Grace’s bedroom, and yet the slightness of his frame and the tone of his voice as he speaks implies the video was recorded years ago, perhaps as early as his first year on Erid.  

“Hey Rocky!” Grace says cheerfully, waving a hand towards the camera in greeting. “If you’re watching this, that means I’m dead. Which... now that I say that out loud, does sound rather melodramatic. Not to mention insensitive, considering... well, considering you’re probably not feeling too great at the moment. Sorry about that. Guess that phrase only works in the movies.” 

He huffs a laugh before running a hand through his hair in that sheepish way he always did whenever he caught himself rambling, and the familiarity of the gesture makes Rocky’s hearts ache.  

“I’ll start again. I’m planning on making a bunch of these, but this’ll be the first so I really want to get it right. Basically, I’ve been thinking about our vastly different lifespans and the fact that the last couple of years have been rough for my health, to say the least. And that’s made me consider the fact that no matter what I do or how long I live, I’m still going to have to... to leave you one day, which I know is going to hurt. So I want to do something to alleviate that pain in some way. I’ll admit, this is all a little presumptuous of me. I’m going to be cautiously optimistic and assume you won’t need to watch this for another fifty years or so. Maybe by then I’ll have driven you nuts and you’ll be glad to see the back of me...”  

The Grace onscreen lets out another self-deprecating chuckle, but Rocky barely hears it over the pang of grief that strikes his limbs like a snapped rubber band. Adrian must notice his flinch, for they edge closer and rest a gentle claw upon his carapace, but their suits once again prevent any comfort from being shared.  

Rocky can only linger on this echo of a youthful, forty-year-old Grace, who had yearned for fifty more years yet only lived a further sixteen. No amount of research into the intricacies of the human lifespan had prepared Rocky for the injustice of an untimely death or the pain of a terminal illness acquired far too young; none of his discussions with the medical teams into maximising Grace’s life expectancy had accounted for the cancer that grew within his brain and stole him away too early. 

Even by conservative standards, dying at fifty-six was considered a tragedy for humans. To Eridians it was borderline unthinkable; a life cut so short that the grief left in its wake was insurmountable.  

“... although, knowing my luck, I’m far more likely to trip on the steps outside and break my neck within a week or so. Especially now that I’ve jinxed things with the whole ‘death video’ setup. Hopefully not. I’m a klutz, but for both our sakes, I hope I’m not that much of a klutz... Sorry, I’m getting distracted again. I keep telling you I talk too much. The point is, whether I trip and break my neck next week or I slip away in my sleep in fifty years, I know that my death is going to hurt you. And while I wish more than anything that I could find a way to prevent that, I know it’s an inevitability. I’d be a mess if I lost you, so I can only imagine...  

“But I can try and help in some way. Try and ease the pain a little, maybe even keep you company after I’m gone. Do you remember those video logs we used to record on Mary? It occurred to me that those will serve as the last memory anyone on Earth will ever have of me, and I’m weirdly okay with that. So why don’t I make more for you? Why don’t I make little videos and messages over the years so you’ve always got something to remember me by?” 

Even in the fog of his grief, Rocky feels a spark light within him as Grace’s words sink in. He remembers the long list of files that Armando had scrolled through and now appreciates what they are; video after video of Grace alive and well, joking with him, sharing memories of their time together or new discoveries they’ve learned.  

It won’t be the same as having him close. Grace will never be able to respond to Rocky or Adrian, will never be able to interact with them ever again. But he won’t simply disappear either. He won’t become a ghost or a faded memory relegated to the past. If Rocky is careful, if he rations appropriately and makes multiple copies of each log to ensure they survive decades - centuries even - his best friend will always have more to say to him. More moments to share, more memories to form.  

The prospect is so beautiful and painful that Rocky wishes he could cry as easily as Grace always did. 

“Of course, this project is entirely vanity-driven. I’m a selfish man at heart. I want you to remember me, even hundreds of years from now when Eridians and humans have become best friends and you’ve found younger, hotter Earthlings to hang out with. I can’t have you forgetting that I was ‘ere first!” 

He adopts a crotchety tone of voice that is so absurd, so heightened, that it accomplishes the impossible.  

Rocky laughs.  

It’s a delicate, fragile thing, but it escapes him with the lightness of a breeze, mirroring the breathy chuckle that Grace lets out onscreen. Rocky can feel Adrian turn to him and he scoots closer, craving their embrace as his giggles start to subside and the pain of his grief creeps back. Its looming presence does little to dim the joy of his laughter, however, nor the precious gift that Grace has just bestowed upon him. Rocky hasn’t been able to laugh in months, not since Grace sat him down and explained the exact nature of his sickness in detail. He had been willing to accept that he may never laugh again, and yet Grace has succeeded in bringing him momentary relief even while locked in death’s clutches. 

“What it comes down to though is this; you’re my best friend and meeting you is the greatest thing that has ever happened to me. And while I wish I had far more time, I know that even in the best-case scenario, I will never have enough. So this is my solution. It’s not a great solution, but it’ll need to do until we find a way to invent immortality. Which, now that I think about it, does sound like something you lot would be capable of... 

“Right, I’ve rambled at you enough for now. If this does end up being the first video you watch after I... well, if I am gone, I just want you to know that I love you and I need you to look after yourself. Let Adrian take care of you, because I know they’ll want to. I’ll try and rope them into this little scheme because I’m not sure I trust human technology to last my lifetime and I’ll need a smart Eridian to help me out. Although you’re still the smartest Eridian I know, no matter how much you try to deny it. 

“Anyway, I’ll speak to you soon. Bye Rock.” 

Grace ends the video by performing an Eridian farewell on his arm, his face moulded into an unmistakable smile, and within a matter of seconds the textured screen goes blank. Rocky and Adrian sit silently in the aftermath, torn between joy and pain and soul-crushing grief, but the weight resting upon Rocky’s carapace does feel a little lighter than it did mere hours ago. The lingering echo of Grace’s voice soothes the ache of his soul more than he thought possible, and he finds himself overcome with the childish desire to hear him again; to power through every video without restraint.  

“How many logs did Grace record in the end?” he asks tentatively. 

“I don’t know for sure,” Adrian admits. “Hundreds, I think. He wanted them to last a long time.” 

Rocky hums. Perhaps he should feel betrayed over the fact that Adrian knew about Grace’s plan all along, but there is no room for anger in this moment. No degree of secrecy and plotting behind his back can conceal the fact that the actions of both Grace and Adrian were borne of love.  

“Do... do you want to watch another?” Adrian asks, their voice a soft, hesitant chirrup like the call of a bird on Earth.  

As much as the answer is a resounding yes, Rocky knows he will never forgive himself if he surrenders to temptation and binges the files in one go. The grief he carries will not merely vanish within a few days; what right does he have to deny his future self the comfort of a new memory of Grace? 

“No, not yet,” he sighs, feeling the weight of the day settle upon his limbs as the call of slumber finally sets in. “We should go home.” 

Adrian offers no protest to that proposal, and quietly shuts down the computer, descending the house into silence once more. As they wander out the door and slowly make their way down the sheer clifftop, Rocky allows himself one moment to linger by Grace’s burial site, feeling the thick numbness of his loss wrestle with the lightness brought about in the wake of his friend’s parting gift. He suspects that battle will rage for many years yet, but for now he lets the echo of his joy win out and rests a claw upon the freshly dug earth, singing a gentle ‘thank you’ into the air that he hopes Grace’s soul can hear.