Chapter Text
Roar. Clang. “Hull breach.” Thump. Thump. Groan. “Hull breach.” Hiss. Shriek. Thump. “Hull breach. Hull breach. Hull breach.”
Silence. No, faint buzzing. Bright light. Sterile white; not green, not red. Cold air forcing its way into his nostrils, burning.
Something on his face. He reached - no hand. A sickening feeling like stepping into a void while expecting solid ground. He reached again. Other arm. Grabbed plastic. Pulled.
“Eye movement detected,” a cool, robotic, feminine voice said. “Please remain still while-”
Simon sat up. The sub rocked beneath him - had to be the sub. He had to still be in the sub. Alone. No rescue. Never a rescue. This was an execution.
A hand on his good shoulder. Gentle pressure.
“Easy there- ack!”
Simon’s remaining hand wrapped around warm flesh, contact searing through him, every nerve a frayed, exposed livewire. Everything in him lurched. Fell forward. An impact shocked his bones, driving a harsh growl from him.
Eyes focusing, he squinted in the harsh light. A man lay beneath him. Light hair and glasses. Wide eyes. Lips tinged purple. Simon’s hand around his throat. The man clutched at Simon’s fingers, trying in vain to pry him away.
“Grace! Coming!” Another robotic voice. Something unyielding slammed into his side. Tilting again. A shower of sparks exploded in his vision as his head hit the floor. His throat hurt. Was he screaming? Everything was distant, underwater. Under blood.
His body moved on its own, thrashing against the pile of rocks that now sat solidly on his chest, appendages pinning down his legs, shoulders, remaining arm.
“Fuck are you?” Simon spat. “Let me go!”
“Only if you no hurt Grace,” the pile of rocks said. Its voice was musical, unintelligible, resonating strangely in Simon’s bones. Mechanical voice dubbing over it. Another hallucination? Could he understand aliens now?
The human - Grace, Simon realized - tried to say something and was cut off by a harsh cough and a desperate choking gasp. Then he appeared in Simon’s vision, staring at him with open concern. Pity? Fuck, he hoped not.
The pain in his body took on a draining, aching quality beneath the livewire sparks. His legs and arm fell limp and his chest spasmed. Blood scalded its way down his face. The SM-13 roiled beneath him, every organ and muscle in his body pulling from side to side.
Grace motioned to the rock alien, gesticulating wildly until his meaning got through. The alien reluctantly let Simon go, the crushing weight disappearing from his chest.
Rolling over, he vomited black bile. The scorching liquid that dripped down his cheeks spattered to the ground. Clear. He blinked, and more tears streamed out. Just tears. No blood. His chest spasmed again. He swayed against the rocking of the SM-13. Hand on his arm. Stopping him.
He tore away from the scalding touch, scrambling backwards until his back hit the wall. Grace stared at his own hand as if just noticing it for the first time. Crossed his arms tightly across his chest. Made no move to restrain him again. Just watched while Simon’s stuttering breaths stopped tearing through his throat, while his lungs filled with oxygen again.
“Guess we… gave you a scare, huh?” Grace asked in a rough whisper. “You’re… safe now. Shockingly. Touch and go for a bit. Been out for… week or so. This is the Hail Mary. Little beat up after that… blood stuff… but statistically safer than-”
This guy just kept talking. The skin around his throat was blooming dark with bruises and he kept talking.
“COI,” Simon growled, bringing one knee up and shifting his weight, struggling to remember how to stand. The ground bucked beneath him, sending him onto all fours, the impact jarring every nerve. “Not done feeding me to it, keep chewing and spitting.”
He gagged on his next words, choking back a sob. "'M’not a person, am I? Just a machine to you. Patch me up, send me in again..." Every muscle seized in a violent, cramping tremor. His breath shook. Cold sank into his bones while his skin seared hot.
“I don’t know who this COI is,” Grace said evenly. A cough. A few deep, wheezing breaths. “Wow, you really did a number on me.”
“Rocky explain,” the alien said firmly, tapping Grace’s knee not too gently before turning back to Simon. “You in danger. You hurt. We hear distress call through wormhole. We help.”
“Fucking… wormhole?” Simon shook his head, feeling jags of pain through his entire skull. This was one motherfucker of a concussion. No way had he survived that. He was dying. This was… some endorphin-fueled hallucination? Heaven? Hell?
“Grace explain better in English,” Rocky said apologetically. “Safe now. Rest. No move.”
“Or else what?” Simon growled, moved to stand again, and his vision went white. He lowered himself until he sat with his knees drawn to his chest.
Grace shook his head. “Or else you’ll… pull stitches… and skin grafts.” His brows creased. Even as he gingerly poked at the furious purple marks circling his throat, he asked, “Are you in pain? I can get pain meds. I have a… whole smorgasbord.”
“A… what?” Simon blinked, numb with confusion.
Grace shrugged, a wry smirk twisting his face. “Sorry… being rude… What’s your name?”
“Simon,” he answered automatically. Then his breath caught in his throat. He couldn’t swallow past the stricture that had formed there.
Grace had asked his name. Apologized, even, for not asking earlier. Hadn’t called him “convict” or “butcher.” Didn’t even seem to know about those other names.
What did that even mean?
Tears scorched down his face like hot blood.
But there was no blood. No rust. No COI logos, either. Just three beds in a sterile room, with some sort of robotic arm standing sentry in the middle. Grace wore a “What Part Of (absurdly long equation) Don’t You Understand?” shirt under his lab coat. No COI operative would ever be allowed to look that… dorky.
“Is it… is it okay to touch you?” Grace asked, shifting forward. “I know this is… a huge shock. I get it. More than you’d think… But you’re safe now, really. You’re not… going back there.”
Simon immediately knew that was a fucking lie. But something pulled at him, a deep, long-dormant yearning for the touch of another human. He remembered the cool hand on his shoulder as he woke, searing against raw skin, grounding against the sway of the blood ocean.
No, this wasn’t the blood ocean. It was deep space, if Grace was telling the truth. Deep space had no wind, no currents. So why was everything moving?
Had to be a hallucination.
Simon’s nod was more of a tremor of his head, so he forced out a “fine” through his parched throat.
Grace’s hand came toward him, fingers blurring into blades, and he sucked in a sharp breath, suddenly rigid. Grace paused, withdrew. Simon swallowed his wordless protest, nearly choking on it. Grace’s hand moved slower, his gaze studying Simon with the intensity of a microscope, leaving him exposed. He paused again when the first brush of contact made Simon wince. Held his hand there, shaking, until Simon’s face relaxed again. Grace let out an exhale of his own.
Simon couldn’t stop himself from leaning into it. Past the initial jolt of protest from his nerves, a steady pressure sank into him from the point of contact. Enough to lift some of the white haze that had settled over his vision. He studied Grace’s face, but his eyes quickly found the bruises around his throat.
“I’m sorry,” he rasped. The innocent mechanic - Jack - “I’m so fucking sorry. I’m sorry.” Ava- I…” his voice cracked and he hung his head, flinching when he found it resting on Grace’s shoulder. But he was soaked through, his skin tacky as if still covered with blood. He couldn’t move. Just tried to brace against the impossible swaying of the ground beneath him. “I’m sorry,” came out in every exhale, and it would never be enough - he was a fucking idiot who didn’t read the - couldn’t bring back Filament Station and the tree-
“I’ll be fine,” Grace murmured, “just some bruising. You were scared. I get it.” He gently rubbed Simon’s back, pulling forward vague memories of someone - his mother? Fuck, when had he last seen her?
Pathetic. He was pathetic. And it didn’t matter. He was dying or gonna be sent back to his death anyway and it had been a lifetime since he’d felt this softness. He kept whispering apologies between sobs that shook his whole body as the lights dimmed around him.
“Guilt heavy,” Rocky added quietly, straining the limits of the translator’s inflection - that’s what the layered voice had to be. A translator. “Move forward. That’s all,” the alien added, somehow managing to effect a solemn tone.
“Why? What for?” Simon’s words came out as a low moan. He flexed his fingers, realizing at some point he had reached out and clutched the fabric of Grace’s worn sweater. “There’s nothing.”
Simon felt more than heard Grace’s heavy sigh. “Been there, man. You have us, now. For what it’s worth.”
“Grace stubborn,” Rocky confirmed. “Can’t get away. I tried.”
Grace’s laugh rumbled in his chest. Indulgent, familiar, like a shared joke between the odd pair.
Simon pulled back, regretting it immediately as the world spun. A flash of sadness crossed Grace's face, quickly buried by concern.
“Whoa!” Rocky called, reaching up to stabilize Simon. “Bed. Now. Rest.”
“Yeah,” Grace said with a smile that didn't quite fit. “Doctor’s orders. I mean, I’m not a medical doctor.” He coughed, part-awkwardness and part-pain response. “Molecular biologist. Rocky’s an engineer.”
And I’m The Butcher, Simon thought bitterly. They didn’t know. Couldn’t. If they had, he’d be out the airlock. He needed to tell them. They’d kill him and he’d find peace.
Or they’d send him back and he’d never escape.
“C’mon,” Grace said, standing up and offering his hand to Simon. “I got you. Just take it slow.”
“Where…?” Simon swallowed hard, suddenly unable to speak.
“Just back up… on the bed.” Grace gestured to the place Simon had just fallen out of. “More comfortable… than the floor.”
Something tickled the inside of his elbow. He glanced down to see a smear of his own blood, bruising around a tiny pinprick. An IV line. Rashes from sensors strapped to his skin. What else had been done to him?
“I’ll stay here.”
Grace sat back down with a sigh. “You sure? Promise there won’t be… poking and prodding this time.”
“I’m sure.” Simon pressed himself harder against the wall behind him, setting his jaw.
Grace nodded slowly, wincing at the movement. “Alright. I’ll bring you some blankets. Might have books lying around. Oh, water too. You hungry? I might have something for that, too.”
Simon was numb again. Almost a relief except for the ringing in his ears. Food? Blankets? Books? Was Grace trying to run a damn hotel? What did he want from Simon that was so awful that he’d bribe him with luxury?
“I’ll give you some space,” Grace decided, slowly standing again, knees popping with the effort. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Just try to relax, okay?”
Relax. What a joke. Simon almost laughed when Grace and Rocky disappeared, gently closing the door behind them, leaving behind a faint hissing. From the ship, or from Simon’s own abused ears? He didn’t know, and doubted it mattered.
Simon dragged himself across the floor until his back hit the smooth, cool surface of a wall. He shuddered, used to the feverish heat of the blood ocean. Leaning his head against the wall, he closed his eyes, lulled to fitful sleep by the rocking of the waves that were no longer there but somehow still felt in his bones.