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After 3 months with Simon, Grace had fallen into a routine.
He’d get out of bed with the morning light cycle. He’d do some stretches, take a walk along the beach, and hop through the shower. Armando would prepare a synthesized egg breakfast, and Grace would pour two mugs of nutrient slurry.
Simon slept… well, like a rock. He’d lie still, breathing deep and steady. Each morning, Grace would let him sleep in. He’d place the breakfast by Simon's door, and eventually, find Armando cleaning the dishes.
Some days, that was the extent of their interaction. Simon would stay in his room, Grace would work, and they’d never so much as pass each other in the hall. Days like that made it easy to forget there was another human on Erid. Quiet, comfortable, but lonely.
The other days were still far from perfect, though.
Simon would quietly slip from his room around noon, and they’d spend the day in tense silence. Grace knew the lack of talking didn’t necessarily mean Simon was upset- he was just a quiet person. Regardless, it felt wrong. He’d gone 20 years without another human. He’d hoped for someone a little bit… warmer?
Anyway.
Grace and Simon orbited each other like two lost stars, never touching, never coming too close. Just stuck in each other's gravity. On the days when Simon felt more social, it came in short bursts. Grace would come home from work and find him waiting on the couch, leg bouncing in anticipation. He’d always start by asking in that low, unused voice, “How were the kids?”
They’d talk for a bit about anything at all. Simon would ask questions- so many questions -about Earth, or the stars. It almost felt like teaching another class. Every now and then, Simon would slip in some information about himself. Grace kept a mental list.
Simon liked the color green. He enjoyed working out, but hated the feeling of being sweaty. He wanted to climb the trees in the biodome once he was stronger. He wished he could spend more time with Adrian. He couldn’t stand the cold.
And that was the bulk of it. Simon would speak in fast, fleeting sentences, preferring to listen instead of talk. Of course, the Social-Simon days were few and far between.
It was fine, though. Grace had his kids. He had Rocky. He’d made it this far without other humans; he could handle this.
Today started off like any other. Grace woke up. He stretched, walked, and showered. He left breakfast at Simon’s door and sat down with his own. The “eggs” were bland as always, and the nutrient slurry tasted like metal and chalk. Better than dying, at least. Grace thanked the stars every day that the Eridians managed to meet all those pesky, human-biology needs.
There was no class, so he settled into the armchair and wrote lesson plans. An hour passed, then two, and Grace lost himself in his work. He’d always enjoyed this part of teaching. Planning was structured and predictable. Easier than managing the classroom. He let himself go through the motions until a short, sharp sound echoed through the house.
Grace perked up. He checked his watch. In Earth time, it was 10:46 am. Simon must be up early. He smiled and packed up his supplies, hoping he’d be in a social mood that day.
Ten minutes passed.
Twenty minutes.
Grace waited for Armando to retrieve the dirty dishes, but he didn’t. That was fine. Simon was just taking his time!
Thirty.
Another sound carried down the hall, clearer this time. It was a muffled yelp. Grace's heart skipped a beat, and he quickly worked to settle it down. Simon’s fine. Probably just dropped something. If he needed help, he’d ask for it.
It was a rule they’d established early on. Once Simon was healed enough to move out of the med bay, he’d had one main request. He wanted his own space, physically and emotionally. While the Eridians built an extra room into the house, Simon had asked Grace to talk. It was a rare act of vulnerability.
“I need to be alone,” Simon had said, his gaze low and distant. “You have to give me room to think. Please.”
They’d laid out simple guidelines. No coddling. No prying into Simon’s past. No constant check-ins and sad looks. Most importantly, no coming into his room uninvited. Simon was very particular about his space. Grace didn’t know why, and of course, didn’t ask. He just knew that Simon needed space, and that was enough.
The image of Simon in those first few days would never leave his mind. He didn’t know what happened to him, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered now was that he felt safe.
So, Grace sat back down in his armchair. It was fine. Everything was fine.
Until the choked-off scream.
He shot to his feet. The sound was clearly a pained one, and Simon had tried to stifle it. He chewed anxiously at his fingernails. Don’t pry, don’t pry…
But this was different. Something was wrong, Grace knew it! Hesitantly, he walked towards Simon’s room.
Another sound.
This one was lower, more growl-like. Grace quickened his pace.
When he arrived at the door, the breakfast sat untouched outside of it. Armando buzzed quietly nearby, unable to enter.
That was another rule from Simon, put slightly harsher than the others. Something along the lines of “That freaky robot thing will NOT be fucking with my stuff.”
Grace waited for a moment, listening. There was a shuffle, then a sharp hiss. The pit in his stomach grew.
He reached one hand out, knocking lightly. The voice inside responded almost immediately.
“What?”
Simon sounded frantic. Grace picked at his skin. Don’t pry. Just… ask something normal. Neutral.
“You, uh, you awake?”
Nice.
There was a beat of silence, then a sharp reply.
“Yeah?”
“Ok,” Grace said. “Ok. You gonna eat?”
“M’not hungry.”
“Ok.”
That was it. Grace didn’t want to overstep. No dramatic “are you ok” or “oh my god please don’t be dying in there.” Just a simple exchange, and then space.
Well, sorta space.
Grace had intended to walk away; he really did, but he found himself on the floor instead. Simon would kill him if he knew, but Grace just couldn’t bring himself to walk away. Something inside him kept screaming that he needed help, but he wouldn't overstep the boundaries. He couldn't. It was too risky to break whatever fragile bond they already had.
Grace wasn’t sure how long he sat in the hall. He heard the occasional noise from Simon, each one sounding more pained than the last. His chest burned, and he waited.
Finally, after a long time, Simon spoke. He knew Grace was right outside. Of course he knew.
“...Ryland?”
It was such a defeated sound. Grace didn’t wait to respond.
“Yeah, Simon?”
“Could you come in?”
Within a breath, Grace was opening the door.
The first thing he noticed was the blood.
It was smeared across the floor like a crime scene. The trail went back and forth between the bathroom and the bed.
The second thing he noticed was Simon. He was curled on the bed, back pressed against the wall. His bare shoulders were wrapped in a blanket, the left side of it soaked in blood. Grace hadn't seen blood like that since the day Simon was pulled from the submarine. It made him nauseous.
In seconds, Grace was kneeling on the floor by the bed. His hands stayed pinned at his sides, trying desperately not to poke and prod. Simon pressed his head back against the wall and breathed deeply.
“What happened?” Grace asked, trying and failing not to let his panic show.
“S’my arm. It-” He stuttered suddenly, eyes squeezing shut through a wave of pain. “-I think it opened.”
“Opened?? What do you mean it opened?!”
And like a flash, it all came rushing back to him. That final year on the Hail Mary. Long-healed burns tearing like paper, scars splitting in agonizing bursts. Losing more blood than his body could afford.
Scurvy.
No. It couldn’t be. That’s what the nutrient slurry was for, and Simon had been drinking one every morning!
Right?
Oh god.
“Simon?” Grace started, voice wary. “You have been drinking the slurry, right?”
He said nothing, just looked away into the middle distance. His body shook with the effort of staying upright.
“Ffff..udge. Ok. Alright, we’ll figure this out, just lemme take a look.” Grace clenched his teeth. He was feeling a lot of things. Angry. Confused. Mostly scared, though. Scared for his friend, scared that he was going through what had nearly killed Grace himself.
After a few moments, Simon carefully pulled back the blanket. It was worse than he could’ve imagined.
Long gone were the clean lines from the Eridian surgeon’s stitches. Instead, there was a gaping hole across the stump of his left shoulder. It leaked blood in a steady flow, bright-red and freshly oxygenated. It looked more like meat than anything human. Ripped flesh. Exposed muscle. Grace could’ve sworn he could see the bone in there. He held back a gag.
“Ok.” Grace ran a hand through his hair, pulling tightly at his scalp. He focused on breathing. “Ok. Yeah, alright. That’s… uh, that's not great.”
Simon let out a sharp exhale. His face contorted as the blanket brushed his wound. Still, he didn’t speak, but Grace could’ve sworn he saw his eyes grow damp.
He considered his next moves carefully. Every fiber of his being was screaming in panic. He’s gonna die. Simon’s gonna die. Oh my god, I’m gonna lose him, I can’t lose him, I can’t-
Grace forced his chest to rise, then fall. There wasn’t time for this. He shifted, leaning a bit closer, and Simon pressed himself firmly against the wall. The movement spurred another fresh gush of blood. Grace wondered briefly how he hadn’t passed out yet.
“Do you mind if Armando comes in? I’m sure he could help.” He asked. Simon shook his head in a fast, jerking motion.
Something stirred in Grace’s memory. A young girl in the back of the classroom, desperately clutching her freshly broken wrist. She was shaking her head and crying at the thought of the hospital. He remembered instinct taking over, pushing panic to the side. He was crouched in front of her, reassuring her in a voice so calm and confident it hardly registered as his own. Teacher Mode, one of his coworkers had called it after the fact. Bad things happen, and it just takes over.
Grace rolled his shoulders back, breathing deep. “Look,” he started, glancing around the room. “We’re gonna need help. You’ll need stitches.” He spotted a towel in the bathroom and rushed to it. It probably wasn’t sterile, but that was a problem for later. He hurried back to Simon and climbed next to him, choosing to look past the way he flinched. “First, though, we gotta work on that bleeding.”
Simon’s head hung between his knees, his bare chest rising and falling quickly. His body jerked in another wave of pain. The sharp teeth protruding from his cheek ground together with a sickening squeak. Grace drew closer.
“I’m gonna put pressure on it. This is gonna suck, but just try to breathe through it, ok?”
Simon let out a soft hum of acknowledgment. His fear filled the room like smoke.
Carefully, Grace placed a hand just above the wound. Then, with a quick breath, he used his other hand to force the towel down hard.
Simon’s scream was barely human. It tore from his throat in desperation. He slumped down into the corner, legs flailing, right hand scrambling for any form of purchase. His fingers found a soft shape and latched on.
Grace winced as Simon’s grasp tightened around his arm. The towel quickly turned deep red. He needed more pressure.
Grace used the new position to his advantage. With Simon curled low into the bed, he rose to his knees and pressed the towel down with his full body weight.
Simon gagged and kicked wildly. The gills along his ribs flared. He felt something burst in his eye. He couldn’t breathe; there wasn’t enough oxygen left. It was just him and the blood. So much fucking blood. It was everywhere, smeared against the walls, soaking his skin. It’d be in his lungs, soon. He’d choke on it. It was for the better, though- dying. Better than this. Better than one more minute in the fucking submarine with that goddamn eel. He was ready to go. Ready to die. Ready to see his mom again, if there was an afterlife. Damn it, just let him die, please just let him die-
“You’re not gonna die, breathe, Simon-” the voice was too soft, too gentle. The Convict looked up through pooling tears. There was an angel above him. He gasped a burning lungful of air.
Grace kept steady pressure. He mumbled a quiet string of I’m-sorry-I’m-sorry-I’m-sorry-I’m-sorry-I’m-sorry.
Simon’s wild thrashing began to slow below him, either from exhaustion, blood loss, or both. The two sat in heavy silence, only broken by desperate huffs of air.
“Armando.” Grace panted. “ Call the medical team.”
Armando beeped and disappeared from the doorway. A soft sound below Grace caught his attention.
Simon was lying on his side, crying.
He’d only seen him cry once. The day he’d shown him the stars. Those cries were desperate, angry sounds. These were different. These were soft. These were broken. They shook his whole body, rolling in like waves. He looked so scared.
Still pressing his weight against him, Grace spoke. “‘I’m so sorry, Simon.”
The crying grew more desperate. He let out a heartbreaking whine. When he finally found his voice, it was fractured and weak.
“I shouldn’t be here.”
This time, Grace was the one to stay silent. He just… waited.
“I should’ve-” Simon hiccuped. “I should’ve died. S’not fair.
“Simon.” He spoke gently. The contrast was stark- his blood-covered hands pressed harder into his shoulder. “Don’t say that. We’ll fix this, you’ll be ok, yeah?” It was as much a question to Simon as it was to himself. Simon trembled, breath coming in short bursts between tears. The adrenaline was wearing off.
“It hurts.” He said.
“I know. Just hang on, the team’ll be here soon. They’ll have painkillers, and-”
“No, it hurts-” Simon’s chest hitched, “being alive. Hurts.”
Oh. Grace, impossibly, tensed up even more. His chest ached with the weight of it all. He watched as Simon’s blinking grew slower and longer. Stay awake. Stay alive.
“What do you mean?” He asked carefully.
“It’s too much. I can’t- I don’t know how to do it.” His voice was thinning. His eyes glazed over for a moment, seemingly lost in thought, before more tears slipped through. “You’re so good. You make living look so fucking good. I’m not like you, Ryland. I can’t even keep myself together.” Simon let his gaze wander down towards his arm, then over the blood that covered the sheets. He chewed at his lip.
The question still gnawed at the back of Grace’s mind. He spoke as if approaching a panicked animal. “Why didn’t you drink the slurry?”
“It’s a stupid reason-”
“It’s not.”
Simon sniffled. “Too iron-y. Tastes like blood.”
They sat in the silence together. It was heavy. Not unbearable, just weighted.
Grace let one hand drift from the towel, still pressing with the other. He ran it slowly up Simon’s shoulder, behind his head, and into his hair. His fingers carded through it with a gentleness Simon hadn’t felt in years. They stayed like that for a while. Two humans, lightyears from earth, yet more home than they’d ever been.
Grace rumbled a sound low in his chest. Then another. A higher note, after that. It was a simple Eridian lullaby Rocky had taught him. The translation was still rusty. The song was more a feeling than a message, but it didn’t matter. He couldn’t make the right sounds, anyway. He emphasized the words he did recognize. Safe. Rest. Stars. Whenever Simon’s eyes closed for too long, or his breath fell too soft, Grace would shake him and hum louder.
The medical team didn’t knock when they arrived. Eridians never did.
Three familiar doctors came rushing into the room. Leading them was a ‘face’ Grace had come to know well. Adrian. Shortly after his arrival on Erid, they’d stepped up as Chief of Medical Humanology. If anyone could help, it was them.
Grace waited until the final moment to step away, allowing the flurry of claws to get to work. Adrian stood behind, watching the team as they shifted from leg to leg. They’d always had some strange soft spot for Simon. Grace never really understood why.
“♪ Mechanism of injury, question? ♬” Their voice was low, nearly beyond Grace’s hearing range. They sang a higher trilling sound over it to adapt, but the rumble was always present.
“Scurvy, I think.” His voice shook as his bravery wore away. God, he was scared.
“♩Remember Savior Grace’s scurvy. Very dangerous. Will work hard to fix Simon, statement. ♫ ”
“Adrian?” He asked.
“♬ Yes, Savior Grace?♩”
“I know it’s a lot to ask, but once all this is over, could we maybe–?”
“♪♫ Doctor Adrian. ♪” One of the others chirped suddenly. Grace’s gaze fell briefly on Simon before looking away. They already had him hooked up to various fluids and devices. He was so pale. “♪♬ Human Patient ready for stitches. ♬”
Adrian hummed in acknowledgement. “♩Talk when work is done. Grace wash now. ♫” They sang before hurrying to Simon’s side.
Grace showered. He went for a walk on the beach. He stretched. He waited. Eventually, he got the chance to speak with Adrian again. After that, he waited some more.
Simon didn’t fully wake up for nearly two days.
When he did, Grace fell back into routine.
Stretch. Walk. Shower. Wait for breakfast.
He poured two mugs of nutrient slurry. One read “Universe’s Greatest Teacher.” The other was painted in a scene of apple trees. This time, rather than leaving it at the door, Grace shouldered his way into Simon’s room with both trays.
Simon was propped up with pillows. Every surface around him was covered. Soapstone-carved ‘get well soon's’ from the children. Precious stones gathered by the medical team. A bouquet of xenonite flowers crafted by Rocky.
His arm was wrapped tightly in layers of gauze and elevated with even more pillows. Fluid bags hung on a nearby pole, with IV’s running down to his inner arm. He stared silently out the window, watching as the simulated waves fell across the beach. His right eye burned with a vibrant red from his still-healing burst blood vessel.
Grace cleared his throat, and Simon turned to him with a faint smile.
“Morning, Simon. You’re up early!” He glanced at the clock on the wall: 9:33.
“Yeah.” His voice was still hoarse despite all the rest. “Had a dream.”
“Another bad one?”
“No.” Simon glanced outside again. “No, it was good. Saw my mom.”
Grace slid one tray onto the bedside table, then settled in the nearby armchair with the other. He blew on his eggs before eating a few mouthfuls.
“How’re you feeling?” He asked between bites. The question was still a painfully vulnerable one; there was always the chance that Simon would bite back. This time, though, he didn’t. He shrugged, wincing as the action pulled at his arm.
“Been worse,” Simon said, accompanied by a noise that almost sounded like a laugh.
“You should eat, it’ll help.” Grace gestured towards the tray. Simon cringed at the sight of the nutrient slurry. He managed a few forkfuls of egg before backing down.
“I’m good now, thanks,” he mumbled, pointedly looking anywhere but the mug. Grace scooted toward the edge of his seat and put on his favorite Sad Eyes.
“Simon, please, just have a little?”
Simon pursed his lips. “I really don’t think I-”
“Please? Just… trust me.” Grace begged.
Finally, with a heavy sigh, Simon lifted the mug. Grace tried (and failed) to hold back his grin. He watched as he tensed, squeezed his eyes closed, and tipped the mug back.
For a moment, neither moved. Simon suddenly went in for another sip. Then another. He pulled back with a toothy smile, wiping a hand across his lips.
“Shit, Ryland, this is good!” He said quickly, diving back in for more. Grace leaned his head back and laughed. Simon could’ve sworn the light of it filled the room.
“I talked to Adrian about changing the recipe. It’s got all the same nutrients, but a little extra flavor.” He took a sip himself, basking in pride. “We tried to replicate chocolate. It’s not perfect, but hey, it’s pretty darn close! A little strong for my liking, but we wanted it to cover up the iron.”
Simon was only half-listening as he licked the inside of his mug. “What’s chocolate?”
Grace quirked his head. “You’ve never had it?” He asked.
“Nope. I like it though.”
Grace smiled. “I guess we’ll work on making bars next!”
Simon set the mug down with a soft clink. He closed his eyes, lost in some sort of thought. He looked… happy. Tired, hurt, but strangely peaceful. Something in the air shifted, and a weight fell from Erid’s shoulders.
“Can I have another?” He asked.