Chapter Text
Simon doesn’t know how he got here.
Well, he knows the facts. That three months ago, Ryland Grace, an unwilling astronaut from an Earth clearly different to the one Simon thought was gone forever, had picked up a faint signal from moon AT-5 while en route to an alien planet called Erid. Along with his alien compatriot, a fact that Simon is still struggling to process. He knows that Grace and Rocky managed to pull what remained of the SM-13 from the depths of the trench he thought he would die in, and brought what remained of Simon to the welcoming robotic pincers of Armando. He knows that he lost an arm (a memory he prefers to leave untouched – he can still feel the tearing of flesh, the creaking of bone, the blinding pain of muscle rending), and that he sustained massive organ damage and radiation sickness from the submarine’s camera. Luckily for him, Armando was able to stave off the worst of the internal damage, and the Hail Mary came equipped with a stash of potassium iodide, which Grace theorizes his boss, Stratt, threw in as a “just in case” measure in the event of unforeseen complications of interstellar travel. After a while in a hastily cobbled together, Astrophage-lined room for decontamination and a blood transfusion, his physical prognosis is positive, even if the healing is a slow and painful process.
The facts, however, do not erase the feeling deep in Simon’s gut that he simply should not be here.
Grace and Rocky have brainstormed for hours on how their situations are so different. After all, as far as Simon knew, all stars and planets capable of holding life had simply… disappeared. And indeed, the area surrounding AT-5 had been devoid of other astral bodies, a fact that had deeply puzzled Grace. The leading theory the two have produced is a rapid mutation of Astrophage that became so aggressive, so fast, that it simply destroyed the star it fed on, and that this mutation also allowed it to “eat” the other nearby planets in the hopes of survival before it died out. The presence of what was undoubtably human blood on AT-5 was something Grace simply couldn’t fathom though, and had caused him many sleepless nights poring over data points and microscopes.
Efforts had also been made to establish contact with the COI, in the hopes of guiding the small remaining fleet of stations to a habitable planet, but every transmission had been met only with radio silence. Simon still didn’t know if he was disappointed or relieved; everyone he cared about had died in the disaster at Filament Station, and he wasn’t exactly eager to face Ava again.
Following the resounding failure to find any other life forms near AT-5, the decision had been made to resume course to Erid. Although the food supply had been stretched with the introduction of Taumoeba to Grace’s dietary plan, there were now two human souls to feed and a palpable air of dread hanging over the crew every time the food supply was counted, every time Grace calculated their caloric intakes. Simon wasn’t a stranger to starvation – a long time in space prison in the middle of an apocalyptic event will do that to you – but even he shuddered as Grace explained the likely side effects of the vitamin and mineral deficiencies they would suffer by the time they reached Erid.
For now, though, they had remaining rations from Grace’s food store, and enough coma slurry to last them at least 3 of the 4 years it would take them to get to Erid with a new supplemental Taumoeba diet. A meagre supply of multivitamins had also been dug out of the medical provisions from a previously unexplored cabinet, and Grace was hopeful they would be able to make a full recovery from any deficiency-induced illness once the Eridians synthesised them on Erid – which Rocky assured them they could. He had already analysed their food extensively and even came up with the exact procedure necessary to create the essential nutrients, but simply couldn’t make them on the Mary given the limited materials and equipment. Simon often saw him wringing his claws, calculating and recalculating to ensure his plans would work flawlessly as soon as they landed down.
Simon’s stomach twists with guilt every time he thinks of it. No matter how grateful he is to be alive, the fact remains that without another hungry mouth to feed onboard, Grace could have made it to Erid with far fewer side effects than he is now certainly going to suffer.
Now, he stares into a small hand mirror rescued from Ilyukhina’s personal effects that he has stuck to the wall. His hand drifts up to touch the healing scars stretching from the corner of his mouth towards his ear. Rocky had told him, despite Grace’s shushing, that when they had recovered his body from the SM-13, teeth had been sprouting in the gash, sharp and vicious as a shark’s. Armando had removed them and sewn the wound shut. Simon is grateful it did – he didn’t think he could have handled seeing that creature shaping him into its image. At least his arm is simply gone, with no mutation left in its wake.
He struggles to reconcile the facts with his own psyche. He often wakes up screaming in a cold sweat, grasping at the twinging space where his arm should be, sure that he is dead and waking up in whatever semblance of hell could be worse than the submarine he certainly perished in. Grace is always there, though, either rushing from his desk in the lab or blearily stirring from sleep across the room to smooth the hair back from his face and reassure him in low tones that he isn’t dead, that he is on the Hail Mary with Ryland Grace and Rocky on the way to his new home. The first time Grace said that, Simon burst into frantic tears. As Grace fumbled to apologise, hovering warm hands over Simon’s shoulders, he bit out through sobs that he had never thought he would have a home again. Grace’s face softened at that, agitated hands finally settling comfortingly at the base of Simon’s neck, tugging him into the first hug Simon had experienced in years. His own hand had fluttered helplessly at his side, before wrapping tight around Grace’s waist, his face tucking neatly into the crook of his neck. The two hadn’t talked about it the following morning, though Simon thought he had spotted a rising flush high on Grace’s cheekbones at breakfast.
He must admit, though, that it is nice to be around another person again. His holding cell on one of the COI’s stations was lonely. He had once had a roommate, likely due to the rapid influx of survivors from Eden’s attack on Filament Station that were due to receive justice, but he had been taken for convict realisation mere days after they had arrived. Simon didn’t like to remember his face. He never learned his name.
Grace, on the other hand, is like every human interaction Simon ever had dialled up to 11. He is enthusiastic and outspoken where people in Eden had been reserved and withdrawn. He gesticulates wildly when he’s excited about something, laughs with such gusto it can be heard from the other end of the Mary, and cries at the push of a button. Rocky tells Simon one night while Grace is sleeping at his desk, head pillowed on his arms, that Grace has become happier now that Simon is on board. Simon understands. Not seeing a human face in years must have taken a toll on someone as social as Grace.
Rocky has a hell of a personality too, although Simon is still trying to acclimate to the idea of five-legged rock aliens that see through sound. In the relative downtime of the travel back to Erid, he had been refining his xenonite ball into a suit that allowed him to roam freely throughout the Mary without destroying everything in his path. His quarters had been accordingly sectioned off to a part of the lab, and the tunnels that he had constructed throughout the ship had been dismantled, the xenonite reused. Now he was often found getting under Grace and Simon’s feet and rummaging through their belongings to do “important human research, Rocky need understand Grace Simon for Grace Simon habitat on Erid”.
Simon had been mildly surprised by the warmth growing in his chest for the little guy. He was whip-smart, even if the cobbled-together translator meant his explanations came across as a little rudimentary at times. Simon, who had worked on the engines back in Eden, helped to expand some of the engineering vocabulary in Grace’s spreadsheet, and he and Rocky often chattered about maintenance aboard the Mary, which Grace was all too happy to turn over to the two. He would watch with a fond smile on his face as the two tinkered with mechanisms and puzzled over the intricacies of improvements they could make to the Mary’s equipment.
Simon is starting to get used to watching Grace. He likes that he can’t hide a single emotion, that every feeling he has plays across his face like a movie in high definition. He gets to see the joy of Grace figuring out a complex equation or recalling a fond memory, most often of the kids he taught as a middle school teacher. Simon likes to ask Grace about those to see his face soften and tense shoulders relax, to hear about his skills at engaging with a group of children vying for his attention and approval, eager to learn.
Grace’s openness, however, means that Simon is also privy to his heartbreak. He sees Grace go glassy-eyed and still when he remembers how Ilyukhina took her coffee, or how Yáo always carried a picture of his wife and kids in the breast pocket of his flight suit. Even worse, he has to see him shudder and shut down when the memory of his capture inevitably rises to the surface. When that happens, Grace hides away in the lab, throwing himself into mapping galaxies or sampling the Taumoeba, refusing to eat or drink until Rocky, and now Simon, drag him from the desk to a warm meal and bed. He normally sleeps restlessly, although if you asked Simon if he sat there watching Grace sleep by Rocky’s side, he would deny it ‘til the cows come home.
Watching Grace so closely means that Simon also notices his funny habits – how Grace taps rhythms onto tabletops with his fingertips as he thinks through a problem, his idle nail-biting habit he keeps trying to kick, the way his glasses never seem to stay on the bridge of his nose, instead dangling from a lone ear or tucked beneath his chin. One of the habits that piqued his interest more than the other though, is how Grace holds himself.
His posture, as is expected for anyone who leans over a desk as much as he does, is abysmal. But that’s not what captured Simon’s attention. He will often see Grace absentmindedly wrap an arm around his own waist, thumb rubbing circles into the fabric of his shirt, or run his hands rhythmically through his hair. Once, he walked into the bedroom to see Grace with his hand cupping his own cheek, caressing his face. Grace had jumped up at once, face and neck flushing with embarrassment as he stammered excuses before exiting the room in a rush to go “check on some, uh, on the fuel? I- I need to, um, yeah”.
Simon frowns thinking of it now. If there’s something wrong with Grace, he wants to know. If he can help the man who saved his life, he’ll do anything.
He decides to consult Rocky on the matter.
Grace had gone for a nap after they had eaten, pushing his glasses up to his forehead as he rubbed at tired eyes. He had been up late the night before trying to devise a way to make the Taumoeba slightly more… edible. Although the Taumoeba would give them the calories to keep their bodies running, the texture and taste certainly left many things to be desired. With little other research to do now that the major obstacles of the trip have been overcome, Grace has thrown himself into experimenting with a small vat of Taumoeba and a steady supply of Rocky’s xenonite contraptions to see if he can make it any more enticing. Unfortunately for the two humans who will rely on it as their main food source for a while, he has seen limited success so far.
Simon peeks in the door of the bedroom on his way past, letting a small smile play across his face at the sight of Grace sleeping peacefully. He’s curled up into a ball, practically as small as he can get, with one hand tucked neatly under his head and the other hugging his stomach. His glasses sit skew-ways on his face, and Simon steps closer to gently tug them off and set them aside. For someone with only one spare pair of glasses, Grace loves to play fast and loose with their safety.
Once he’s sure Grace is settled and comfortable, Simon resumes his journey. He gently raps on the entryway of the lab, where Rocky is labelling wires in a wall panel with raised Eridian symbols. Given that he can't see colours like Simon and Grace can, he's taken to wandering the ship with a scanner to help identify the wire types and tagging them for easier future maintainance. At his knock, Rocky tilts his carapace in his direction, waving a claw to encourage Simon into the room. “Friend Simon, hello! Grace is sleeping, question?” Simon perches on a stool, picking up a small screwdriver from the workbench to keep his hands busy. “Yeah, out like a light”, he chuckles “I figured he would be, he was about two seconds from falling face-first into his food at dinner”. Rocky chirps in amusement. “Grace need to sleep more, especially now mission over. Rocky Simon tell Grace when Grace wake up”. Simon huffs a laugh at the idea of he and Rocky teaming up to strongarm Grace back to bed. “Yeah bud, we’ll tell him.” There’s a pause for a second before Simon decides how he wants to phrase his next question.
“Hey Rock, have you noticed anything odd about Grace lately?”
Rocky pauses his labelling work, turning more of his attention to Simon. He had found it odd at first, trying to figure out what a creature with no face was focusing on, but the more time he spends around Rocky, the easier it is to tell where he’s “looking”.
“Odd how question? Grace okay question?”
Simon scrubs a hand through his hair, considering his next words. “Nothing’s wrong, per se, but he’s just been acting… weird I guess?”
“Simon give example question?” The sentence is punctuated by Rocky’s two questioning taps on the floor, slightly more irritated sounding than usual.
“Well, he’s always, uh, touching himself?” Simon cringes at the phrasing. “Like he sort of hugs himself sometimes, and I saw him holding his own face the other day?”
Rocky chirps in what sounds like relief, placing his labeller on the floor before he skitters over to Simon. “Yes yes yes, Rocky knows! Grace told Rocky before Simon rescue, is called touch-starved! Nothing wrong with Grace.” Simon tilts his head in confusion. That’s not a phrase he’s ever heard before. Rocky notices, hopping up on a lower xenonite lab stool he’d made for himself and nudging a laptop across the surface. “Simon look up on human thinking machine, Rocky not able explain well. Human touch make humans happy, but Grace not have for long time. So Grace hug self to imagine! Very simple!”
Simon furrows his brow, flipping open the lid of the laptop. Thank the Tree this thing has a decent search engine, or he wouldn’t even know where to being looking. He gets a few results and has a quick scroll through the first one. Rocky hops up on the workbench, grabbing his screen reader and settling next to Simon to read. Simon hums in thought as he skims the page, eyes catching on “depression”, “difficulty sleeping” and “cognitive decline”.
Rocky yelps as he navigates to a section discussing higher cortisol release. “No touch mean higher infection risk question? Grace not tell Rocky this!” He sounds utterly indignant. “Simon Rocky need to fix! Grace not get sick.” His pure determination is contagious, and Simon finds himself puffing up in shared outrage at Grace’s silent suffering. He shuts the laptop and turns to Rocky.
“Did he say anything specific? I want to help but I don’t want to… overwhelm him, I guess?”
Rocky contemplates for a second before he replies. “Grace say Grace miss hugs most. And hold hands. Grace also say this not happen often, but Grace like having hair touched.” Simon nods solemnly, brain already replaying every time Grace had leant into casual touch a little more than Simon had expected or pouted in a way that didn’t make Simon’s heart flutter even a little bit when Simon got up from sitting beside him on their makeshift couch. He looks up when Rocky places a gentle claw on top of his hands, stopping their motion as he fiddled with the screwdriver.
“Simon need initiate touch with Grace. Rocky cannot, Rocky Eridian. Human touch important for Grace, and will help Simon too!” He seems jubilant at this turn of events, until a thought occurs to him. “But Grace stubborn, will not want help. Rocky Simon need keep secret.” He ponders for a second before coming to a conclusion. “Rocky Simon do subterfuge!”
Simon sputters out a laugh, vacillating between the hilarity of that statement and wondering where on earth (or in space, he supposed) Rocky had learned that word. “Subterfuge? You make it sound like we’re on a secret mission, Rock.”
Rocky leans forward, tapping a claw on the table to emphasise his point. “Rocky Simon need be subtle! Grace stubborn!” Simon relents, throwing his hands up in the air. “Yeah okay, he’s stubborn, but how do we go about this in secret? I start hugging him without letting him know about it?”
Rocky thinks for a second, then, “Rocky hatch plan, Simon just need take opportunity.” Without further ado, he hops off the workbench, scuttling to the hallway. “Rocky go watch Grace sleep!”
Simon is left in the lab, head in his hands, wondering what on earth he has gotten himself into.
A few days pass before Rocky decides to create an opportunity for Simon. The two human crew members have just finished eating their daily rations, which for today was a luxurious dinner of lukewarm burritos. Rocky watches with disgust, as per usual, but perks up once the two begin disposing of the packaging. “Rocky Grace Simon movie night question? Grace promised show Rocky funny robot movie.” Grace laughs as he dropped the burrito wrapper into the rubbish bin. “Yeah bud, I did promise that didn’t I? We can watch it now if you want. How about you, Simon, feeling up to a movie night?” He tilts his head teasingly towards Simon, mirth dancing in his eyes. Simon feels his stomach twist and his face heat as he grins back, charmed. He follows the two to the pile of storage boxes, cushions and blankets they generously called a couch, getting comfortable while Grace sets up the makeshift projector he had rigged. He scrolls through a laptop for a minute before clicking on a video named “Big Hero 6” and flopping down next to Simon. Rocky settles on the floor in front of them with his screen reader, legs folded neatly around him. As the opening rolls and Grace shifts around to find a comfortable spot, Simon feels a nudge at his shin. He glances down to see Rocky deliver another firm kick to his leg. He subtly points at Grace, then Simon, then back at Grace again. It dawns on Simon that Rocky had finally held true to his word, and that he was expected – no, required (that alien knows where he sleeps) to carry out his part of the “subterfuge”.
Next to him, Grace is still squirming in his seat in an effort to find an acceptable position. Steeling his nerves, Simon tries to do the same, stretching out his legs, and then his arm, laying it across the back of the couch. Grace finally pulls his legs up to sit cross-legged, jolting in surprise to find Simon’s arm behind his head. He glances towards Simon, who in immediate regret begins to apologise and pull his arm back until Grace lays his head back with more force, pinning Simon’s arm. “It’s fine, Si, just wasn’t expecting it. Besides, you’re comfy.” As if to illustrate his point, he stretches his shoulders out and rests his head closer to Simon’s shoulder so he’s better cushioned, melting into his seat as he focuses back on the movie. Simon flushes at the nickname, flexing his grip on the improvised couch cushion and trying desperately to focus on the boy on screen visiting his brother.
As the film progresses, Simon becomes more engrossed, and his hand begins to slide from the top of the cushion. As it does, he drops more weight on Grace’s shoulder, pulling him in closer. Simon notices when his hand brushes the soft knit of Grace’s cardigan, and for a second considers moving it back to the safe, neutral territory of the couch, but the way Grace fits so perfectly into the nook under his arm captivates Simon. He finds it almost impossible to pull away, so gives in to his idiotic impulses and tightens his fingers almost imperceptibly around Grace’s shoulder. In response, Grace, seemingly involuntarily, nestles closer, the warmth of his side now firmly pressed against Simon’s. His head leans closer to Simon’s shoulder, and now Simon can smell his shampoo, and oh shit maybe he’s more invested in this plan than he thought-
He attempts to return his attention to the movie, where 6 brightly coloured armoured characters are now undergoing a complicated training montage, and tries to figure out the 5 minutes of plot he just missed in his panicked state.
By the end of the movie, Simon is so enraptured that he’s almost forgotten he’s holding Grace. As the tension ticks up, his grip tenses, and Grace, also paying rapt attention to the movie, slips closer and closer to his chest. His head is now lying in the crook of Simon’s neck, and his hand shoots up to grasp Simon’s knee at a particularly nerve-wracking moment. Simon’s whole body tingles.
Before long, Hiro and Baymax are in dire straits. Simon’s jaw tenses as the two realise Baymax needs to sacrifice himself, and as the emotional scene plays out, he hears a muffled sob from next to him and feels Grace shudder against his ribs. His head whips to the side to see Grace with his fist muffling his mouth and tears streaming down his cheeks. Without thinking, Simon twists his hand from where it lay on Grace’s shoulder to wipe the moisture from his skin, only to freeze when he realises what he’s doing. Grace has turned to stare back at him, blue eyes wide and cheeks flushing, tear tracks shining against the pretty pink. Simon can’t break the eye contact, turned to stone where he sits, and from the warped reflection of himself he can see in the lenses of Grace’s glasses, he looks just as starstruck as he feels. He feels Grace’s breath puff against his face as his mouth slips open, warm and sweet. Almost in a trance, Simon pulls his arm back to cup Grace’s face, just like he walked in on him doing that day in the bedroom. He traces a hesitant thumb over the trail of tears making its stalwart way to the corner of Grace’s lips, the skin under his palm heating as he blushes even more. Grace’s eyes slip half-closed, head leaning further into Simon’s hand, and Simon could swear it’s like holding the sun. He feels like his whole existence has narrowed to the points of contact of his fingertips and Grace’s skin, scratchy with stubble.
The two are startled by a loud noise from the floor, practically jumping away from each other to opposite ends of the couch. Rocky beats a claw on the floor, turning to point accusingly at Grace. “Grace say this is funny movie! Grace not say robot die! Grace betray betray betray!” However invested Rocky had been in their plan, it seemed his indignance at Grace’s omission far outweighed any goodwill he had for his wellbeing. Simon lets out a shaky breath as Grace gathers himself before replying. “Sorry bud, I forgot this is how the end goes. It gets happier, keep watching.” Rocky lets out a musical huff before throwing himself back down on the floor, focused once again on his screen reader.
The rest of the movie is a blur, and Simon barely processes the happy ending, too busy missing the warmth of Grace under his arm. His hand lies in the warm spot in the middle of the couch the two had been occupying, and as the credits begin to roll, he feels a nudge against his pinkie finger. His eyes dart down to see Grace’s pinkie link with his, and when he glances at Grace’s face, he only sees his eyes fixed on the screen and the flush steadily rising up his neck.
Simon doesn’t sleep very well that night.
It’s three more days before Rocky manufactures another opportunity for Simon. After labelling every accessible wire in the Mary, he had turned to aimlessly researching human culture to keep himself busy. He has taken a particular interest in music for the past day, playing snippets of almost every genre he can find on the laptop. Grace will occasionally chime in from the lab with suggestions, but mostly the two humans just try to carry on with their daily tasks while Rocky switches from rap to classical to heavy metal quicker than they can keep track of. He likes the vibrations of bass-heavy music best so far, piping plenty of house and EDM tracks through the ship’s speaker system. Simon bites his tongue and tries his best not to comment on how much he thinks the alien would enjoy rock music.
He’s doing his daily inspection of the fuel tanks, making sure the levels of Astrophage are as expected, when he realises it’s been quiet for a while. After ticking the last few checks off his list, he meanders up to the lab, lingering in the doorway rather than entering. Grace sits with his back to him, inspecting a sample under the microscope, spine curved in a way that tells Simon he’ll be complaining about back pain again at dinner. Rocky sits in front of the laptop, which is now playing low piano music. He seems to be fixated on his screen reader, but waves when he spots Simon. “Rocky has found human dance videos! Amaze! Didn’t know humans could move so nice, Simon come look!” Simon steps over the clutter on the floor to peer over Rocky’s… shoulder? He’s watching a video of two people twirling across a dance floor, graceful and light. Their movements flow like water, and they’re so in sync it almost looks like they’ve become extensions of each other’s bodies. Delicate string music swells through the tinny laptop speakers. Simon is so mesmerised that he doesn’t realise Grace has risen from his lab stool (back cracking loudly in the process) until he’s standing beside him, shoulder brushing his. A smile breaks out on Grace’s face when he sees the video, and he leans in closer to get a better look. “That’s called a waltz, Rock. God, I used to teach my students that.” At Simon’s questioning look, wondering why a middle school science teacher would teach dancing, Grace starts to explain how helpful it was in getting the kids to remember how mitosis works and that “movement breaks are important for growing brains”. It’s endearing to watch his eyes light up as he mimes the actions of the dance, arms held aloft as he expounds on cell division.
Rocky chitters in excitement. “Grace Simon dance together question? Rocky want see dance!” Simon is instantly shaking his head. He loves Grace and Rocky, but there comes a point at which he has to draw the line. He doesn’t think he can handle the specific humiliation ritual of tripping over Grace’s feet. Grace, however, is already clearing a space on the floor, kicking aside xenonite detritus he and Rocky had left strewn around. He turns back to the pair after he deems his cleaning job acceptable, holding out a hand to Simon. His expression is bright as he says, “C’mon Si, let me be a teacher again for a bit.”
Simon feels his resolve start to crumble at the hopeful look on Grace’s face, and his shoulders slump in defeat when Grace pouts comically at him. He grunts assent, eyes fixed on the floor as he reaches for Grace’s hand, only to stumble when he’s pulled closer faster than he had expected. Grace lets out an “oof!” as he takes Simon’s weight unexpectedly, other hand slipping around his waist to keep him upright. As Simon rights himself, blushing, Grace adjusts his grip on his hand, holding it out from their bodies. The hand on Simon’s waist settles to gently cradle his ribs, and Simon could swear he feels Grace’s pulse through the fabric of his shirt. Or maybe it’s his own, with the way his blood is beating in his ears.
Soft horns start to play through the ship speakers, and Simon glances over Grace’s shoulder to see Rocky has pressed play on the laptop, shooting him a quick thumbs down. When his gaze slips back to Grace’s face, he feels breathless all of a sudden. Those blue eyes are focused on him, and his glasses have fallen lopsidedly down his nose, balancing precariously. Grace takes a breath, looking down.
“Okay, just follow what I do.”
He moves his left foot forward, nudging Simon’s right foot backwards. Simon steps back accordingly, bringing his left foot backwards when Grace shifts to bring his feet back next to each other. The two step back and forth for a minute, finding a rhythm. Simon can only imagine that his face is the very picture of focus, peeking down at the ground to make sure he doesn’t somehow tangle his ankles with Grace’s. As he begins to relax into the repetitive motions, Grace begins to rotate their steps, bringing the two in a wide circle. Simon tenses at the extra factor of motion, but the hand on his side soothes him gently, guiding his movement.
A glance back up at Grace’s face has Simon turning red again. His expression is almost giddy, eyes sparkling like they do when he solves a problem he’s been on the cusp of figuring out for days. He lets go of Simon’s waist to spin him under their joined hands, pulling him back in closer so their chests are almost touching.
The music swells to a crescendo, Grace steps towards him, and the world falls out from under his feet. He screws up his face, bracing to hit the ground hard, but he stops short. The hand at his waist had slipped around his back, holding him up in a dramatic dip. Simon feels his jaw drop, face turning even redder than before, as Grace shoots him a devastating grin, ears and cheeks blooming pink with embarrassment even as he pulls off the smoothest manoeuvre Simon has experienced in his life.
Grace tugs him back up to his feet as the orchestra fades out and Simon tries his best to compose himself and pick his jaw up off the floor, steadying himself by moving his hand to Grace’s shoulder. Grace laughs breathily, dropping his newly freed hand to mirror the other on Simon’s waist.
“I always wanted to try that.”
He leans his head forward, pillowing his forehead on Simon’s shoulder. His hair tickles the side of Simon’s face, and he can smell that goddamn shampoo again why does this guy smell so good?? Simon swears the shampoo never smells this nice when he’s washing his own hair.
Rocky scurries over from the laptop, doing enthusiastic jazz hands. “Amaze amaze amaze! Rocky surprised Grace not fall over!” Grace guffaws and aims a joking kick at Rocky that he easily dodges, chirruping with glee. His hands are still on Simon’s waist, and his laughter is vibrating through his collarbone, and Simon thinks he might explode a little bit. His chest feels full and warm in a way it hasn’t in a long time, and his hand skims across Grace’s shoulder blades to rest at the base of his skull and thread gentle fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. It’s getting long, he thinks as he cards through the strands. It takes a second before he processes that Grace has gone quiet, muscles lax. His hands rest heavier on Simon’s hips, tensing when Simon scratches at his scalp with blunt nails.
Then those hands tentatively slip all the way around to his back, hugging him properly.
Well, they really are just holding each other now, huh?
Simon can’t find it in himself to be too perturbed at this turn of events.
They stand there for what feels to Simon like hours, but according to Rocky, who sneakily made a hasty exit once he realised the two needed a little space, was only about 5 minutes. Simon expresses his joking disbelief that the alien is in fact capable of tact, which earns him a mildly trampled foot and a stern talking to on how situationally aware Rocky is.
The third time, Rocky doesn’t even need to intervene.
Grace succeeds in improving the texture of the Taumoeba, turning what was originally a sludgy paste into something he says is more similar to tofu. Simon has never had tofu, but he has to admit the new texture is a hell of an improvement, even if the taste is still… not great.
In celebration of this new achievement, Grace digs out a bag of vodka from Ilyukhina’s stash, declaring that they need to unwind. Rocky, as per usual, frets like a mother hen about “stupid leaky flesh blobs, why poison self?”, but Grace is undeterred and pours them both a generous serving to enjoy with their new and improved Taumoeba dinner. Simon tilts the glass, inspecting the clear liquid, before taking a sip. It burns like hell on the way down, but it’s much smoother than whatever liquor could be scavenged on Eden or smuggled into the COI holding cells. He coughs a little, but savours the warmth in his stomach, ignoring Grace’s amused smirk from across the table.
Two glasses later, the pair are definitively drunk.
The combination of neither of them drinking in a while (Simon doesn’t count the ethanol he stupidly drank on the SM-13) along with their restricted diet means it doesn’t take a lot to get them under the influence.
Grace has gone boneless in his chair, arm slung over the back as his head lolls forward, laughing at some offhand comment Simon made. The sleeve of his t-shirt pulls further up his shoulder as he leans towards the table, revealing more of his scars, and Simon finds himself transfixed by them in a way he hasn’t been before. He knows that Grace got them saving Rocky, leveraging him desperately back into his atmosphere after Rocky had attempted to sacrifice himself for Grace, but he’s never really… asked about them. He wonders if they hurt still. He wonders if the heat of Rocky’s carapace killed the nerve endings there, whether Grace would feel it if Simon gently ran his fingers along the mottled tissue.
His train of thought is interrupted by Grace waving a hand in front of his eyes. “Simon? You still with me bud?”
His eyes drag languidly to Grace’s face. His nose and cheeks are tinged with pink from the liquor, and his eyes are glistening with tears of laughter from his giggle fit. Simon focuses on his lips as they curl around his next sentence.
“Si? You good?”
Grace’s brows are furrowed now, and Simon feels the urge to reach out and smooth away the line between them with his thumb. His hand is extended before he even realises it, clumsily soothing away the crease.
“Simon, what-?”
“Stop worrying s’much.” Simon mutters, running his thumb along the skin again with more pressure. Grace lets out a snort of laughter, reaching up to twine Simon’s fingers with his own.
“Ok big guy, you’ve had enough. Let’s get you to bed, huh?”
The two stumble to the living quarters, Rocky following behind them whistling what Simon can only presume are Eridian curses Grace has refused to translate at their incompetence. Their sleeping setup is rudimentary but comfortable, two makeshift mattresses dragged from the coma beds and set up on the floor. Grace said he couldn’t bear to sleep in the same place he woke up with no memory of who he was. It made him feel like he was going to get accosted by Armando again.
Simon fumbles his way into his pyjamas, a worn t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants graciously donated by Grace. He does his best to ignore the horrible pun on the t-shirt, a cartoonish image of small stick figures sitting on a row of swings with a larger figure at the end pulling the outermost swing upwards, reminiscent of a Newton’s cradle. The text below reads, “Physicists make the best parents!”. Simon rolls his eyes. Grace really does have the worst taste in jokes.
He turns around to see Grace with his back to him, pulling his t-shirt over his head to replace it with his own sleepwear. His eyes catch once again on the scars twisting their way over the apex of his shoulder, flexing with the muscles of Grace’s back as he rummages in a storage container for a clean shirt. Simon feels his face grow hot and hopes it can be excused by the alcohol in his system.
The words are out of his mouth before he can process that he’s saying it.
“Do they hurt?”
Grace’s spine stiffens. “The scars?”
Simon makes an affirmative noise, taking a step closer. Rocky chirrups sadly from where he had settled on his own little cushion pile in the corner. Pulling a shirt from the box at random, Grace tugs it over his head and turns to face Simon, conflict playing across his features. “They, uh… sometimes.” He shoots a sharp glance at Rocky, who sags guiltily. “But I would do it a million times over with no regrets, Rocky. You know that.”
“Rocky knows.” His tone is defeated. Grace has clearly worked hard to get it through to him.
“Besides, Rock, you have scars of your own. Your leg still isn’t right after you saved me, you just had to get me back for it.” Grace’s tone is more jovial now, trying to lighten the dour mood that had settled heavily like a blanket over the room.
“Rocky Grace matching. Rocky Grace save each other.” The translator somehow picks up on the softness of Rocky’s words, and Simon has a feeling Rocky isn’t just referring to what they dubbed the “Excessive Centrifugal Force Incident”. It’s a tender moment, and Simon almost feels like he’s intruding on it. Until Grace’s attention turns back to him, gaze slipping from Simon’s face to what’s left of his arm. “Do yours hurt?”
Simon nods mutely. They’ve gotten better, the phantom pains have been less frequent, but there’s an ache that he isn’t sure is quite physical that seems to linger constantly. Not enough to hinder his movements, but enough to keep him aware. Keep him frightened.
Grace’s hand lands gently on his shoulder, massaging small circles into the fabric. They don’t say anything else, which Simon is grateful for. He knows Grace and Rocky understand.
In a moment of impulse, he steps closer again, pulling Grace towards him for a hug. Grace winds his arms around Simon’s shoulders, holding him tightly. The two sway back and forth for a second, before Grace speaks, muffled, into the side of Simon’s neck.
“Is this still subterfuge?”
Simon freezes. “Uh…”
He feels Grace start shaking, pulling his head back to find in relief that he’s laughing. Rocky chimes in from his perch, indignant. “Grace know about Rocky Simon subterfuge question?”
Grace laughs harder when he sees the deer-in-headlights look on Simon’s face. “Come on now, the two of you are hardly quiet, not to mention the fact there’s no doors on this ship. Honestly, I’m kinda flattered you guys wanted to help me feel better.” His laugh peters out, replaced by a soft, affectionate look over the rims of his glasses. “And it has made me feel better. Thank you, guys. I, uh, hadn’t realised how much I needed that.”
That red tint is climbing up Grace’s cheekbones again, and he hesitates before he speaks again. “Is it, though? Is it just you trying to make me feel better?”
Simon’s brain kicks back into gear all in one moment, replaying the moments he and Grace had shared over the past week. He’s been feeling… happier since he and Rocky started plotting to help Grace. There’s a warm feeling in his chest where an empty pit used to sit. He’s slept better too, for the most part, waking up feeling better rested and less like his mind is set to float off into the empty void of space at any given moment.
“No.”
The word escapes him without him even meaning it to. He tightens his arm around Grace again, pulling him back in so he can nestle his nose at the juncture of his neck and shoulder.
“I wanted it too. It’s been… it’s been nice. I feel better than I did before.”
Grace relaxes back into him at his words, a satisfied huff warming Simon’s shoulder. “I’m glad.”
There’s blissful silence for a moment, and then-
“Rocky plan great! Grace Simon happy happy happy! Rocky best at taking care of humans.”
Even muffled in fabric, the sound of Simon and Grace’s laughter rings through the Hail Mary.
An hour later, all is quiet aboard the ship.
Rocky sits quietly, knitting intricate xenonite patterns together for a new project, watching over his companions. And on two mattresses pulled together on the floor lie Simon and Grace, legs intertwined and foreheads touching, sound asleep.
All is well.