Chapter Text
The first thing Simon is aware of upon waking is a voice.
He blearily opens his eyes, and the world is nothing more than a miasma of blurry smears. He blinks, but his hazy vision doesn't clear. For some reason, the realization makes him want to laugh. He hears a muffled, faint voice, but he struggles to hear it over the strange whooshing sound in his ears. It was a constant beat, echoing over and over, sounding almost like the waves of the ocean. He realizes he should probably be worried about where he is, if the ocean he is hearing is the one made of blood, but he can't find it within himself to care too much about it. Everything seems very far away, like he's watching his vision several steps removed from himself.
The whooshing in his ears dies down as he hears the soft voice again, melodic yet incomprehensible. Simon tries to focus on what its saying, eyes drifting to find its source, when he sees the outline of a person enter his vision. Their face is indistinguishable, the bright light behind them keeping their features a mystery to Simon's blurry eyes. Its clear that this person is the one speaking to him, the words muffled and strange.
Simon feels a hand brush his cheek, fingertips ghosting over his cheekbones before settling to fully hold the side of his face. The touch felt sweet, caring, and Simon hasn't felt such care in a long time. No one aside from his mother has touched him like this; like he is precious, like he is worth something. Simon suddenly remembers his youth; of how the teachers on Eden spoke of angels, divine messengers and warriors that helped souls pass on into the next world.
"-gonna be okay, yeah? Just hold on." The words the angel is speaking suddenly make sense, and Simon feels himself relax. "Don't worry, I got you. I'm here." Simon can feel the pull of sleep beginning to overtake him, feels his vision becoming more and more blurry and abstract. As much as he wants to stay here, he can feel himself being pulled away.
"An Angel…" Simon mouths the words, unsure if he actually spoke them aloud. He wants to keep speaking, to thank them, to apologize, to ask them questions, but his voice refuses to cooperate. The pull towards unconsciousness is too great, and he feels his eyes shut, the feeling of the hand on his face the last thing he can sense before he goes back under.
The first thing Simon is aware of, upon waking for the second time, is the silence.
He remembers how loud it was, right before the end. The groaning and creaking of metal, the rushing of liquid, the alarms blaring, unceasing, and the voices; howling, begging, screaming. He can still remember the sound of his flesh tearing and ripping, contentiously echoing in his ears.
But wherever he is now, it was silent.
The second thing Simon becomes aware of is the heat, or, more importantly, the lack thereof. The Iron Lung was boiling hot, the blood that surrounded it even hotter, but the air around him now, wherever he is, was cool. Room temperature, or maybe even slightly warmer than that. Which doesn't make any sense, because all of the stations Simon has ever been on were usually freezing cold. No one would waste resources on heat unless it was absolutely necessary, so everything was always heated only just enough to keep everyone alive. So, given that, why doesn't he feel cold? The only place Simon could ever recall such normal temperatures were inside the gardens on Eden.
Its that thought that finally brings him to try and wake up. If he was back on Eden… however impossible that outcome may be, he needs to see the trees again. One glance, however illusory, would be worth it. It takes a herculean effort, but he opens his eyes to gain his bearings, to find out where the hell he was.
And then he promptly closes them, squeezing his eyes in discomfort. It was so fucking bright. For a moment he thinks he's inside that horrifying light, back under the ocean, and no, god no, the very thought makes him freeze up in fear. He tries to slowly open his eyes in order to properly discern if it really is that freaky ass light, wrenching his eyes open just a sliver and, little by little, adjusting to the brightness.
He's in… some kind of white room. Considering he was expecting the garden, its a shock to the senses. Simon's never seen a room look so clean before. The walls and ceiling are a stark white, like they never experienced any kind of damage. He quickly realizes he's lying down, and that there is some kind of breathing apparatus on his nose and mouth. He follows the cord with his eyes, seeing that they led into the very walls. They're wasting oxygen on me? Simon thinks, the very idea of it shocking him. The fact someone is spending time and resources on keeping him alive only heightens Simon's fear. It means that they must want something else from him, and whatever it is, it can't be good.
Simon arcs his head around to try and see more of the room. He quickly deduces that he's in some kind of medbay, the various instruments and tools lining the walls seeming to correlate with that purpose. It would also make sense that this room is so clean if it's a med-bay; its the one place where things being clean would be a necessity, but even the med-bay on Eden wasn't this well-kept. He turns his head to see the other side of the room when-
Oh. There's a man sleeping next to him.
The guy is slumped in a rickety looking chair pulled up adjacent to the bed, clearly in the midst of a deep sleep. He looks… vaguely familiar, in a way Simon cannot place. The first thing about him that strikes Simon as odd is that he's wearing fucking glasses. No one has glasses anymore, unless you're someone really important. The resource is just too valuable to waste on just anybody, so whoever's sleeping next to Simon has to be some kind of bigshot. His hair is a sandy blonde, and he seems relatively healthy, no signs of starvation evident on his person, which yeah, if this guys important than no wonder they're feeding him well. Simon tries to look at his clothes to try and see some kind of rank or station, to get some kind of gauge on just how important this guy is. He's wearing stark white pants (which, wow, they are even using good cleaner on this guys fucking clothes, Simon is so fucked.) and a t-shirt that says 'Don't trust Atoms, they make up everything!' with a… weird smiling blob thing on it?
What the fuck? Simon's thoughts scream at him. Just who the fuck is this guy?? Simon stares at the still sleeping man. If he's C.O.I., than Simon is really screwed, because that means that maybe Simon's work isn't finished. That they'll send him back. The very thought sends shivers down his spine, and he quickly dismisses the distressing notion in order not to freak the fuck out. If this guy isn't C.O.I., then just who the hell is he? He's certainly not from Eden. Simon would have known this guy if he was from Eden. Is he even real? Simon isn't sure. He's seen shit that wasn't there before, but could he really have made up a whole other person? (Was Ava real, at the end? Did his offer to escape the submarine even exist to begin with?)
Simon observes him for a few moments more before deciding that even if sleeping guy isn't C.O.I., even if he isn't actually there, he's not taking his chances. Simon should take this opportunity to get the hell out of this room before the guy wakes up. He moves his arm to try and use it to prop himself up, only for nothing to happen. He looks over and… yep, he's missing his fucking arm. Still. He was almost starting to forgot about that.
Simon can feel himself starting to freak out a little, so he thumps his head back and tries to calm down. He tries to lift his other arm, and thankfully, it rises with no resistance. He rubs at his face and considers the fact that he wasn't handcuffed or restrained to the table he's laying on. Weird… None of this makes any fucking sense. He lets out a weary sigh. He should be dead at the bottom of that fucking blood ocean, how the fuck did he get here? As he rubs his face, his fingers brush against something unfamiliar. He maps out his face, and realizes that the weird texture he's feeling on his left side must mean that he must have some heavy scarring there, the same side in which he lost his arm. He figures that he should probably look in a mirror at some point, and thanks whatever God is listening that he is still able to still see out of his left eye, at least.
The pull to find a mirror also reminds him to focus up and get the hell out of the room before the sleeping guy notices. The time to ask questions could come later; he needs to leave this place right fucking now.
He sits up, and can't resist letting out a pained groan. His whole body feels sore, like he got hit by a shuttle, or better yet, an entire fucking asteroid. He aims a look at the sleeping guy, to make sure he wasn't stirring awake at the noise, and thankfully he only manages a sleepy grumble in response. The guy's out cold, and Simon prays he stays that way.
Simon looks down at his own body for the first time, noting that he's… under a blanket? A large quilt has been laid across his body, providing him some warmth, the patterns inlaid in the fabric so colorful they almost hurt to stare at. He peels the fabric back gingerly to see that underneath the fabric, he's dressed in nothing but a pair of plain, black shorts. He's got bandages wrapped around his waist and a bunch piled up next to the stump on his arm, which makes sense.
What doesn't make sense to Simon as he moves to stand is realizing that he's also wearing a pair of strange looking socks. He stares down at them in confusion, noting how they appear to have a pattern of black and white stripes stitched onto them. He's never seen socks look so… unique? Why waste dye, wool, time, and effort on making a pair of socks look like this? He thinks, and then looks at the quilt. It's clear the fabric has been well loved, and had many resources wasted in order to create its colors and stitching. Simon is suddenly reminded of a story he was told on Eden; A story of a man with a coat made up of shining, brilliant colors, gifted to him by his father in order to denote him as the favored son. I may be even more screwed than I thought if this guy is important enough that they let him keep these useless, pretty things.
Simon files away thoughts of home, and he stares at his socked feet as he hesitantly puts his weight onto them. Unfortunately, the soreness he's feeling practically doubles. He's hurting, that's for sure, but it's somewhat manageable the longer he stays up. I tore my own fucking arm off, this is nothing. He tries to internalize the pain as he gets used to standing. His balance is completely fucked, thanks to said arm-being-ripped-off, but he manages by holding onto the bed and compensating. He carefully and delicately takes off the oxygen mask on his face, feeling bad about wasting such a precious resource for only a moment before putting it aside. He doesn't have time to try and turn the tank off to save some for the next person, he needs to leave.
He tries to stand without the bed for a moment, walks a few steps, and nearly falls. It's only thanks to his quick reflexes he manages to shift his weight for him to slump onto the wall next to him rather than end up sprawled out on the floor. It makes a solid thump noise, but its not loud enough to wake sleeping glasses guy.
Simon takes a breath, and a few more for good measure. He's aching all over, his stomach feeling like it's been twisted into knots, and his arm stings like a bitch. But he can walk, and that's all that currently matters to him. Simon takes hesitant steps out of the room, one foot in front of the other, leaving the sleeping man behind.
He ends up in some kind of hallway, but not any kind he recognizes. The walls are pristine, like they've never been touched, and he only just now notices the floor is made out of some kind of stone material which… is definitely odd. Simon brushes it off, looking back up to see where else he can escape to. He sees a few doorways too his left and right, and hesitates. An ancient memory surfaces;
So, if you ever get lost in the station and I'm not there, just follow the left wall with your hands, okay? The voice of his mother, soft and low, echos through Simon's mind. It's so raw, visceral, he can almost hear it. No matter where you are, it will help you find the way home.
Simon presses his hand to his eyes, rubbing his face roughly to rid himself of the memory, of the voice. He cannot think about his mom right now, he needs to find a fucking way out. Still, he follows this old advice, hugging and leaning on the left wall. He notices three doorways at the end of the hallway, and endeavors to try the leftmost one as soon as he reaches it.
He gets about 3/4ths of the way towards the first doorway when he hears it. A strange, loud thumping noise, coming closer, right behind him.
Simon whirls around to face the oncoming threat. Before Simon can even think to hide, the creature, whatever it is, turns into the hallway and stops to look at him. It's some kind of… rock thing? It's multiple legs are made out of some kind of jagged stone material, and it moves jerkily, almost like a spider. (Simon hasn't seen a spider in decades). The scariest part about it is that it doesn't seem to have any kind of face. Simon has never seen anything like it before in his entire life. Its encased in some kind of glass, which shines and sparkles as the lights hit it.
Whatever the thing is, it clearly freezes at the sight of Simon. The two stare at each other for a beat, and Simon tries to be as still as possible. Its not real. That's not real, his mind screams at him. You're seeing things again, because you're fucking crazy now. Just ignore it. He takes in a deep breath and tries to back further away.
At his motion, the thing emits a terrifying whine, the pitch high and shrill. Simon is suddenly reminded of the radio feedback in the sub, the static that invaded his senses. Simon lets out an unintentional, undignified moan, overcome by fear, and backs further away from it. Its not real, its not fucking real… he repeats, trying not to freak out.
Which works for all of two seconds before it starts to move towards him.
Simon doesn't think; he runs. Fight or flight mode kicks in, his instincts firmly locked in on flight. Pain forgotten, he pushes himself to the limit, running down to the end of the hallway and opening up the first door he sees. He enters the room and slams the door shut behind him, praying that the thing, if its real, can't open doors. He whirls around to see what room he found himself in, and realizes its some kind of bathroom. No place to exit from. Shit. Simon thinks dully.
Before he can analyze anymore of the room, the door is being banged on. The thing is slamming itself against the door, eager to get in, and fuck, Simon is terrified out of his mind. He leans his body weight against the door, doing his best to keep the thing from getting inside. The knocks against the door feel real, and the realization that this thing might be real and actively trying to kill him sends Simon into an outright panic. It lets out several whines and musical chitters, each sound more terrifying than the last. Simon feels his desperation climb, the feeling overwhelming, and oh god, this rock thing is going to fucking kill him. He's trapped in some kind of nightmare, he never left the ocean, he's still down there. All of this is some kind of trick to get him to lower his guard so that thing can torture him even more than it already has. Simon feels himself choke out a fearful sob, his singular hand clutching the door handle like a lifeline. please god don't come in here please god, his thoughts scream. It's a hauntingly familiar mantra.
"HEY!" A voice cuts through the chaos in his head, a shout that suddenly puts a stop on the terrifying thumping against the door. There is a charged silence, and then the voice continues. "What is going on in here!? Rocky-"
Simon hears that same musical whining he heard earlier, the noise cutting off the human-sounding voice. A high note that ends low, then rockets back up in pitch.
"Wait, he's -he's awake? In there? Wh… Why didn't you tell me!?" The humming quickly rises in pitch and tone, the noise almost painful to hear. Whatever the noise was, the voice from before replies to it, clearly agitated. "Ugh, okay, okay, sorry! Sheesh! I just… I closed my eyes for like, a second." So… that's sleeping guy talking. Simon realizes. Okay. Not the voice he was expecting, honestly. Simon hears a few more musical hums before the guy speaks again.
"Okay, yeah, I should've been awake, but you are probably freaking him out really badly right now!" More musical notes, then, "Just… chill for a second, okay? Back away from the door a bit, at least." The large thumping Simon heard earlier echos through the door, and Simon can feel the creature, whatever it is, moving away. More of the strange whining sound follows. "Yeah, yeah, I got this, don't worry."
Simon hears softer footsteps coming closer, and he tightens his grip on the door. There's a knock at the door, and then… sleeping guy starts to talk to him.
"Um… Hello?" The voice asks. "You… you okay in there? I know this whole thing must be… really shocking, trust me, I know. But everything's totally fine! We're not… we're not going to hurt you, okay?"
Simon is almost tempted to respond, but… he's been tricked by voices before. He's not gonna fall for that again. He looks around the bathroom, trying to see if he can use anything as a weapon. He doesn't find much, though he is thrown by the presence of fucking toilet paper. He hasn't seen proper toilet paper in fucking years. He puts it out of his mind and tries to focus on finding a weapon as the guy continues to ramble.
"I know Rocky looks scary, but he's really not. He was just excited, right Rock?" The strange soft humming noise from the creature carries through the door. Simon tries not to focus on the voices coming through the door, continuing his search. He decides to take his chances and backs away just a bit so he can rifle through the drawers. He props his foot against the door at least, so he can leap back to keep the door shut if he needs to. He curses the fact this thing doesn't have a lock, which, what kind of a bathroom doesn't have a fucking lock on it?
"He says he's sorry for scaring you." The man says. "And I'm sorry too, for the record. I had this, like, whole plan for when you woke up on what to say, but… well, I can't really remember it right now, so! Just uh." The man clears his throat, and its clear he sounds a little hysteric. "But you know, I would very much like having my bathroom back at some point, so. Is it okay if I come in? We aren't going to hurt you." Simon doesn't believe him for a second.
Simon almost gives up on his search for a weapon until he finds an electric razor blade, perfectly placed within the drawer. He takes the thing out and fiddles with it on the counter, trying to find a good angel to get the blade out without fucking up his hand. Taking the razor out with one hand is a bitch, but he's determined to find himself a weapon for when this guy stops talking.
"I promise, we aren't. We… shoot, I should've probably introduce us, um. Oh god I'm so bad at this." The man lets out a nervous sounding exhale. "Well, you met Rocky already, but… I'm Dr. Grace. Uh, Ryland Grace, but no one calls me that, really, I mean, especially not here, y'know! Um."
Simon finally wrenches the razor out of the contraption, holding it up to the light. Its this action that draws his attention to the mirror, perfectly placed above the sink counter. The very sight causes his arm to fall, nearly dropping the razor as he stares at himself.
"This is usually the part where you say your name, yeah?" The voice continues, oblivious to Simon's inner turmoil. "You…. doing okay in there?"
The entire side of his face is a jagged twist of scar tissue, the flesh stretched and strange. Simon's gaze drifts down, realizing that he's got heavy scarring on most parts of his body that were covered in the blood, his forearms especially. But he can't drag his eyes away from his face; his hair is a mess, His left eye is a pale white color, so alien and strange it takes Simon's breath away. It's a slitted eye, reflecting strangely in the light, animalistic and inhuman. He sees a few strange bone white divots in his cheek, and realizes they are the beginnings of… teeth? Growing on the outside of his face. The realization sends a whole new shock of fear through him. He hears the guy on the other side of the door say something, but its muffled, far away. Simon can't stop staring at what he's become, what the ocean turned him into. He lifts a hand to touch at the flesh on his face. What did it do to me? Simon thinks, dully. Am I even human anymore?
What interrupts his thought spiral, out of the corner of his eye, is movement. Simon forgot to focus on barricading the door.
Simon whirls around, lifting the razor in his hand and holding it in front of him like its a sword rather than a 1 inch blade. But he isn't worried. He's killed people with less. Simon's gaze lands on the sleeping guy, now awake, standing in the now open doorway. He's got his arms up in surrender, blue eyes wide behind those expensive glasses.
"Woah, heterochromia! Um…" The man (Dr. Grace, he said his name was Dr. Grace) comments, face a little awestruck. Which doesn't really make sense, considering Simon's got a weapon pointed directly at him. Simon hears humming, and sees the rock thing behind Dr. Grace, its body language looking somehow angry despite it not having a face.
"It's okay, Rocky, it's fine. We're good." Dr. Grace says, consoling the weird thing behind him while still not letting his eyes drift from Simon's form. He throws Simon a disarming smile, hands raised in the air in a casual surrender. "Uh… please don't stab me with my razor? You're not in any danger here, I promise." He says it in a purposely calming way, posture completely relaxed. It only succeeds in getting Simon's hackles raised. "Can you understand me?"
Simon doesn't really want to respond. In part because it's a way to gain more information, but also because he knows his throat hurts like a bitch, and he really doesn't want to try to talk and end up making like, animal sounds or something. Considering he looks like a monster, he thinks its a reasonable concern to have. The guy keeps on talking though.
"Shoot, um…¿Hola? Bonjour?" Dr. Grace says, clearly deep in thought. The words don't make any sense, but he keeps going. "No? It's been a while since I've had to remember other languages, uh…Guten tag? Привет? 你好?" The guy just keeps on espousing shit that makes no sense, and yeah, Simon can't get out of this by being silent. Otherwise this dudes just gonna talk himself in circles.
"Where-" Is all Simon can get out before he feels his throat close up. He lets out a cough, his throat feeling sore and painful.
"Oh! You do speak English!" Dr. Grace says, a smile on his face. The expression throws Simon for a loop; no ones smiled at him in… god knows how long. "Thank goodness, it would've been just my luck if you spoke like, Nepali, or something. Not that that would've been bad, of course, but it definitely would've been a challenge, I mean-"
"Where. Am I." Simon repeats, his voice pained, like he's been gargling broken glass. He steps forward, his razor closer to Dr. Grace. He knows he looks scary, and Simon learned a long time ago that violence is a language anyone can understand. He sees Dr. Grace's eyes widen in fear, his posture looking tense, like he just remembered Simon had a fucking weapon pointed right at his face.
"Erid! You're on Erid." Simon's never heard of that station before, but before he can ask, Dr. Grace keeps right on talking. "We found you… Well, I didn't find you, the Eridian scientists did, but… they found you barely alive in this… submarine thing? And-" The mention of the Iron Lung sets Simon's hackles up, and he cuts the guy off in order to ask his most burning question, one he's wanted an answer to since he woke up.
"You're not C.O.I.?" Simon growls out, and Dr. Grace just stares at him, confusion evident on his features.
"Uh… What's that?"
"Don't play fucking dumb." Simon spits out, but the expression on the guy's face doesn't change. He… genuinely doesn't know? Simon scoffs, and explains; "The Coalition of Iron?"
"Never heard of it, honest." Dr. Grace responds, shrugging his shoulders. "Is it like NASA?"
More nonsense. Simon lowers the razor just a tad, taking a step back. How does this guy not know who the fucking C.O.I. is? Simon tries to think of any other stations he knows of, tries to remember hearing of a station named Erid. He comes up empty. These guys have some serious cloaking technology, to have stayed hidden from the other stations all this time. Either that, or Simon is somewhere quite far away, far enough that Eden's sensors couldn't have seen this station.
"Look, I'm sure you have a lot of questions. I mean, I have a lot for you, obviously! So… could we have this talk over coffee maybe? And not with a razor pointed at my neck?" Dr. Grace gives a nervous smile, but Simon just sees a person trying to placate him. Just like the rest of them did, once he got into that fucking deathtrap.
"You won't send me back?" Simon asks, because god, he really, really needs to be sure. Even if its a lie, he can't… he can't do this if he has to go back. He'll slit his throat right now if he has to, he's not going back.
"Send you back where?"
"The fucking blood ocean." Simon almost snarls, his grip tightening on the razor blade.
"What? No!" Dr. Grace sounds so taken aback by the notion, so horrified, that it gives Simon pause. "What? It was… you were actually in an ocean? Made of blood?"
"That wasn't where you found me?"
"No, you were just… lying on T-14's surface." Some confusion must show on Simon's face, because Dr. Grace quickly goes onto to explain "The moons surface, sorry. That's where we found you, on moon T-14. But there wasn't… did you say ocean of blood? Like, actual human bl-"
"So you're not sending me back." Simon clarifies. This guy clearly isn't C.O.I. if he doesn't know about the oceans. Eden only barely knows about them as is, it makes sense another station would be oblivious to their existence.
"No! Even if I could, I mean, why would I? No, no way." The Rock thing hums a note, and Dr. Grace shoots the thing a look. "Don't be mean, Rocky."
"You understand that thing?" Simon asks without thinking about it.
"Hey." Dr. Grace looks offended. "That thing is my friend, actually, and he has a name. Which I told you."
"You're friends with a robot?" Simon asks. He doesn't have any other explanation for its current existence.
"Rocky's not a robot!" A flood of notes come out of Rocky at the same time as Dr. Grace's correction, and it causes the guy to turn fully around from Simon to look back at Rocky. "Okay, okay, lets not fight, guys, we are getting off track. Just…" he turns back to Simon, and looks at him like he's something precious. Simon's never seen someone look at him like that since… he can't recall. "Can you put the razor down? Please? I promise I will explain literally everything to you if you want."
Simon considers the offer. His track record in trusting people is… not great. Everyone he has ever put his trust in has either died or let him down, at one point or another. He isn't even really sure if Ava kept up her end of the bargain, if she was even real. Simon is fairly sure this is real, though, but… he should definitely be sure, shouldn't he? Before he agrees to anything, he should be sure.
"You're a real person, right?" Simon feels childish as soon as the words leave his lips. Like he's asking about if the monsters under the bed are real.
"Yes," Dr. Grace says with a laugh, and god, this guy smiles way too much. "Yeah, I'm real. Are you real?"
"I dunno." Simon admits, looking down at the scarring racing up his side. "Probably." I'm not sure. he finishes in his head.
"You seem plenty real to me." Dr. Grace says, and god, this guy is a piece of work. Simon's not used to people being so… nice to him. He's literally pointing a weapon at this guy and he's saying shit like that to him. Simon's gaze drifts to the razor in his hand and… he's just so sick and tired of hurting people. He's tired of fighting. The pain and soreness from earlier leaks in, and the effort of holding it suddenly seems too much to bear.
Even if this is a trick… Simon doesn't want to hurt this guy. The realization is a bit shocking, Simon's hurt plenty of other people, why is this guy any different?
Dr. Grace seem to sense his hesitation and walks forward, hand outstretched. Simon freezes as he draws closer, a little wary. But the man moves slowly, cautiously, like you would approach a frightened animal. His hand makes contact with Simon's, both of their grips on the razor, fingers brushing. Simon doesn't know why the touch effects him so much, but it stops him dead.
"Don't worry," Dr. Grace says, and the voice is suddenly so, achingly familiar. "I got it." But Simon finally remembers where he's seen this guy before, why his voice was so familiar. Simon remembers seeing an angel, one that had Dr. Grace's face, remembers it saying; 'I got you. I'm here.'
While Simon is distracted by this realization, Dr. Grace slowly but surely takes the razor out of his slack grip. He gingerly places it into the sink, where Simon could still reach for it, if he wanted to. He strangely doesn't.
"There. Now no one will get hurt, yeah?" Dr. Grace shoots him a reassuring smile, and fuck, no one's looked at Simon like this. "You okay?" He looks so worried, so genuinely upset for him, that Simon can't help but respond.
"Y-Yeah." Simon says. "I'm fine." He's a little thrown he's even being asked that in the first place, considering he was just threatening to kill the guy a few moments ago.
"Good! That's… That's great!" Dr. Grace suddenly backs away from him, his expression looking… embarrassed? "I… Could you tell me your name?" Dr. Grace asks, and then winces. "Sorry, you don't have to, I've just… I've been like, dying to know."
"Why?" Why do you care? Simon wants to say, but he holds it in. The people who put him in that fucking submarine didn't know his name, so why should this guy?
"I mean, you were out cold for weeks, so me and Rocky have been wondering. And… well, I need to call you something other than 'patient' if you're gonna be staying here." Dr. Grace says.
"You're… letting me stay? Here?" Simon is blown away. It doesn't make any sense. He's a convict, another mouth to feed, another resource drain, why would they waste it on him? What else do they want from him?
"Of course! If you want to stay, obviously. You aren't like, trapped here, or anything." Dr. Grace says it like it's nothing, but it means everything to Simon. Dr. Grace does have a forced casualness to his tone, like he doesn't care, but its very clear he does.
Simon realizes the strangest thing; it sounds like Dr. Grace wants him to stay. Wants him there. The realization leads Simon to finally understand why the looks Dr. Grace has been giving him has felt so strange. No one has looked at Simon like he was a fucking person in years. But this guy is staring at him like… like he actually, genuinely, cares about him.
It doesn't make any sense. But none of this makes sense. If this is a dream, it is a good one, and Simon doesn't want to wake up.
"Simon."
"Huh?"
"My name. I'm Simon."
"Oh!" Dr. Grace says, and his smile lights up the room. "Nice to meet you, Simon."