Archive of Our Own

Grace stands at the lab bench with his hands braced on the edge of the table. His chest feels tight again, the familiar band that has been tightening and loosening for days now. He draws a breath in through his nose and tries to make it slow and even.

The flutter in his chest starts the same way it always has been lately for some reason that he can't place.

It'll pass, he tells himself.

It always passes if he stays still and breathes through it.

But this time the pause stretches a lot longer than usual. When the weird beat returns it comes hard and fast, one heavy thud after another that seems to echo through his whole torso. His lungs suddenly feel too small for the air he needs. He tries to pull in a deeper breath and cannot quite manage it. The next one comes quicker instead, shallow and quick at the top of his chest.

He straightens up from the bench. The movement makes the rapid breaths worse. His ribs rise and fall in a fast, uneven rhythm that he can't slow no matter how hard he concentrates. Each inhale feels incomplete, like the air stops short before it reaches where it needs to go. His heart keeps hammering against his palm, skipping and then racing to catch up. Sweating breaks out across his upper lip and the back of his neck even though the ship is the same cool temperature it always has been.

Grace grips the edge of the bench harder. He tells himself to slow down, to count the breaths the way he has done during bad nights in his bed.

One.

Two.

Three...

But his count falls apart almost immediately. His breathing keeps speeding up, shallow and rapid, the sound of it loud and pounding hard in his own ears. The edges of his vision soften and the lab bench seems farther away than it should be.

A strange lightheaded feeling rises behind his eyes, not quite dizziness but close, like the floor is tilting without warning.

He lowers himself onto the nearest stool when standing suddenly feels uncertain. His legs feel heavy and distant. The fast breathing continues, his chest working hard with each shallow pull of air.

He can feel the rapid rise and fall under his shirt, can hear the quick wet sound of it when he focuses. His heart keeps its own frantic, irregular pattern underneath. Skips. Extra beats. Long pauses that make the next breath even more desperate.

Rocky rolls forward in his xenonite ball, the motion small but urgent.

"Grace," Rocky says more firmly. "You are breathing fast. Too fast. Heart sounds worse than before. What is happening, question?"

Grace tries to answer, but he can't get the words out between the quick breaths. He shakes his head instead, one hand still pressed hard to the center of his chest. The rapid rhythm of his breathing fills the space between them. He can feel sweat gathering at his temples now. The lightheaded sensation grows stronger when he closes his eyes, so he opens them again and tries his best to concentrate on Rocky.

His eyes blur slightly at the edges.

"Grace," Rocky says again, closer now. One limb presses against the inner wall, claws splayed. "Grace breathe slow if can. Rocky hears heart racing and skipping bad. Grace chest moving too quick. Tell Rocky what feels wrong, question?"

Grace manages a short, shaky sound that is supposed to be words. "Just...need a minute. It will...settle." The sentence breaks into another series of fast, shallow breaths. His ribs ache with the effort. The air still doesn't feel like enough no matter how many times he pulls it in. A cold, clammy feeling spreads across his palms and the back of his neck. The ship's constant low hum seems louder than usual, or maybe it's just the blood moving too fast in his ears.

Lifting his hands, he's slightly horrified to find that his fingers are starting to turn blue, and he isn't even that cold.

"My fingers are turning...blue?" he whispers to himself. No matter how quiet he is, Rocky can still hear him.

"Blue is color, question?"

Right. Rocky can't see color.

"Yes. Blue is a color," he confirms. "It means I'm not getting enough oxygen."

Oxygen. The thing that he needs to stay alive.

Also the thing that almost killed his best friend.

But Rocky doesn't bring that up. It's something they'd both rather forget.

Rocky makes a huff kind of sound. "Rocky hate blue color."

Grace smiles, but then hunches forward slightly without thinking, shoulders curling in, the way his body wants to fold when the breathing gets like this. It eases the sensation a fraction, the same way sitting up helped before. His heart still stutters and races under his palm. The fast breathing continues for what feels like a long time, each inhale short and high in his chest, each exhale quick and unsatisfying.

Rocky's limbs shift restlessly inside the ball, the small movements visible even through the xenonite. "Grace not settling. Breathing faster now. Grace tell truth now."

Grace nods once because he can't lie through rapid breaths anymore. The lightheaded feeling has turned into a faint ringing in his ears. His fingers tingle where they grip the bench. He keeps his head down, breathing fast and shallow, and waits for the spell to pass the way the smaller ones have before. This one feels bigger. Harder to ride out.

Rocky trills once, a short sharp sound of distress. "Grace stay. Rocky will help. Rocky listens. Rocky finds what is wrong inside. Grace does not have to pretend now."

The fast breathing slowly begins to ease after several more minutes. The shallow pulls gradually lengthen, though they still come quicker than normal. The hammering in his chest slows by small degrees. The lightheadedness recedes enough that the lab bench stops blurring at the edges. Grace stays hunched forward on the stool, one hand still flat against his sternum, feeling the exhausted rhythm underneath. Sweat cools on his skin. His ribs ache from the effort of breathing so fast for so long.

He lifts his head at last and looks across at Rocky's ball. The words come out rough and quiet. "It's been getting worse. Breathing feels harder. The way my heart feels. I thought if I just rested more it would stop happening like this."

"Grace tells truth now. Good. Rocky will not let this keep happening. Rocky will find the wrong thing inside Grace heart and fix it. Grace rests now. Rocky stays close and listens."

Grace nods again. He doesn't try to stand yet. The aftermath of the fast breathing episode lingers in the ache across his chest and the faint tremor in his hands. The ship hums on around them, steady and indifferent. Rocky remains pressed close in his ball, every limb still except for the small, constant listening movements.

Grace has started sleeping more.

The change comes gradually at first, then becomes impossible to miss. He finishes his work at the lab bench earlier than usual and moves to his bed. He lies down, pulling the quilt over his shoulders, and is asleep within minutes. His breathing slows into the deeper rhythm of true rest instead of the restless half sleep he's had for weeks.

Rocky notices immediately. He always notices when Grace sleeps, because he stands watch every time. He positions his ball as close as he can get, staying awake through the hours Grace rests. He listens to the steady sounds of Grace's body settling into stillness. The low, even pull of breath. The reliable beat of the heart underneath. The small shifts of limbs against the bed. Rocky has learned the pattern of these sounds the way he learned the patterns of the ship's systems.

They mean Grace is safe for a while. They mean Rocky can watch and protect without Grace needing to be alert.

Now the pattern has changed. Grace sleeps longer into what should be the active part of the cycle. He wakes later, moves slower when he does rise, and often returns to the bed for shorter stretches of sleep during the hours he used to spend working. His body asks for more rest than it ever has before.

During one of these extended sleep periods, Rocky listens more closely than usual. The fast breathing episode from before still sits in his memory, the way Grace's chest had moved too quickly and the heart had raced with wrong rhythms. Rocky wants to understand what is happening inside his friend. He presses two limbs against the inner wall of the ball and focuses every sense on the quiet ship across from him.

Grace lies on his side, one arm tucked under the pillow, the blanket pulled up to his chest. His breathing is deeper and slower than when he is awake, but it is not the easy rhythm it used to be. There is effort underneath the slowness. The heart beneath it all beats with the same irregular pattern Rocky has been hearing for days.

Skips, extra beats and longer pauses.

But now, in the stillness of sleep, Rocky hears something new beneath those irregularities. He concentrates, zoning in on the heart itself.

There's sound between the beats. It's a soft, continuous whooshing that doesn't belong. It moves in time with the heart but comes from the space between the lower chambers, the bottom rooms where blood should stay separated. Blood is flowing where it should not flow. The sound is wrong, a turbulence that speaks of an opening that was never meant to be there. Rocky has heard Grace's heart for months. He knows every normal variation.

This is not normal.

Rocky stills completely inside the ball. Every limb stops moving. He listens again, longer this time, making certain. The whooshing continues, clear now that Grace is still and the ship's background noises are at their lowest. Blood crossing between the bottom chambers.

Oxygen poor blood mixing where it should not mix. The right side of the heart working harder than it should to push blood forward. The sound explains the fatigue that has been growing in Grace's body. It explains why sleep comes so easily and lasts so long. The heart is not moving blood the way a heart is meant to move blood.

"Grace," Rocky says softly, even though Grace is deeply asleep. The word is more for himself than for waking his friend. "There is hole. Between bottom heart rooms. Blood moves wrong way. That is why Grace tires. That is why Grace sleeps long now. Rocky hears it clearly while Grace rests."

He rocks the ball once, a small motion of confirmation and worry. The protective vigil feels heavier now. Grace sleeps on, unaware, his breathing deep and slow, the wrong sound of blood moving through the opening continuing steady beneath it. Rocky stays exactly where he is, limbs pressed to the wall, listening to every beat and every whoosh, making sure nothing changes while Grace rests.

When Grace finally stirs hours later, Rocky is still there. The ball has not moved. The moment Grace's eyes open and he pushes himself up on one elbow, Rocky speaks.

"Grace slept long again. Rocky watched. Rocky listened closer this time. Heart has hole between bottom chambers. Blood flows where it should not. That is new wrong thing Rocky hears. Grace body works too hard because of hole. That is why sleep comes easy and stays long. Grace feels this, question?"

Grace sits on the edge of the bed, nodding. Rationing the last of his food probably isn't helping, either.

His movements are slower than they used to be. He rubs a hand over his face and then lets it rest against his chest without thinking. The whooshing sound Rocky described isn't something Grace can hear himself, but the tiredness that lives in his bones answers for him.

He has been sleeping more. He has felt the pull toward rest even when there is work to finish. The fast breathing episode still sits in his memory, the way his chest had refused to slow down.

He looks across at Rocky's ball. "A hole," he repeats quietly. "Between the ventricles." The medical word feels strange in his mouth here, on the ship, with only Rocky to hear it. "That would explain a lot. The fatigue. The way my heart feels like it is working against itself sometimes. I probably have a murmur, too."

Rocky trills again, low and steady. "Yes, that explains whooshing sound. Based on the videos and symptoms, this condition is tet-ralogy-fallout."

Grace blinks. He's not that kind of doctor, but he remembers hearing about it before. "You mean Tetralogy of Fallot?"

Rocky moves closer in confirmation.

Grace stares down at his hands that are still tinged with blue.

"Baby humans sometimes born with blue skin," Rocky trills. "But can sometimes go undiagnosed to adult human."

Rocky can't see color, but he probably heard about it in one of the videos he watched.

Grace takes a deep breath. "This whole time, I had no idea I had it. I mean, I did get kind of tired as a kid, but not this tired. My hands never turned blue, either."

"Sometimes symptoms worsen undiagnosed," Rocky says. "May not survive adulthood. But Grace survived." Grace doesn't want him to stop. His trills are so calming. "Rocky will help fix hole. Rocky will find way. Grace does not carry this alone anymore."

Grace sits very still on the edge of the bed. The words settle in the quiet space between them. He keeps his hand over his chest, feeling the tired rhythm underneath. The idea forms slowly, then lands with a kind of strange clarity.

"Rocks," he says, voice low. "Are you saying you want to do open heart surgery on me?"

"Yes," Rocky trills, more confident than Grace cares to admit. "Rocky will do open heart surgery. Can see more easily when chest open. Rocky will open chest and fix hole between bottom chambers. Rocky will make blood move right way again. Rocky has studied. PVCs are making heart skip beats."

Grace lets out a slow breath. "Premature ventricular contractions."

His fingers curl slightly against his shirt. The ship hums on around them, steady and indifferent. Rocky remains pressed close, every limb still except for the small movements that mean he is listening to every beat and every breath Grace takes.

Grace closes his eyes. He and Rocky are so close to Erid now.

Just two more weeks in Earth time.

He wants to see Erid so badly. If they don't do this...

"Rocky can replace valve. Rocky cannot replace Grace."

He can't imagine leaving his best friend alone.

"Okay," he says. The word feels heavier than it should. "If that's what it takes...I trust you. If I survived the Hail Mary launch with an undiagnosed heart condition, then I can survive surgery. I have the best doctor right here with me."

"Doctor Rocky," Rocky trills proudly. Grace lets out a small chuckle.

Looking back, it's a good thing the condition was undiagnosed. He'd have never become an unintentional astronaut then, or maybe yes, he still would have.

He wouldn't put it past Stratt to still force him on the ship even with a bad heart. It also makes sense why his condition seems aggravated now.

Space isn't for someone with an undiagnosed heart condition.

Rocky trills again. "Grace trusts Rocky with open heart. Rocky will not fail. Rocky will make Grace heart right again."

Grace's chuckle fades fast. A wave of lightheadedness rolls through him sudden and strong. His vision tunnels at the edges. The medical bay lights blur and tilt. His heart does a hard skip, then races uneven, the old whooshing turbulence surging louder in his ears.

"Rocky," Grace manages, voice thin. He reaches out blindly for the nearest limb. The ball makes it hard for him to grab onto Rocky, but that's something he'll never be able to do.

Rocky trills sharp with alarm, the notes urgent. His limb catches Grace as the human sways. "Grace, question? Breathing fast. Heart wrong rhythm again. Lie down now."

Grace tries to answer, but his words slip away.

His knees buckle.

Blackness rushes in soft and heavy, pulling him under before he can fight it.

His body goes limp against Rocky's support through the ball.

Grace wakes up slowly. The ship is dim, the lights turned low the way they are during rest cycles. His body feels heavy against the bed, limbs loose and unresponsive at first.

There's a dull ache sitting across his chest and radiates into his shoulders. He remembers the rapid pounding, the way his vision narrowed, the sound of Rocky's distressed trills.

Then nothing. Hours must have passed. The portable thinking machine on the table is closed. The air feels the same recycled metallic coolness, but something else in the ship has changed.

He turns his head. Rocky is no longer inside the thick xenonite ball. Instead, Rocky stands just on the other side in a very thin xenonite suit. The material clings close to his carapace and limbs, flexible and almost translucent in places, allowing full range of movement. It covers him completely, sealed at every joint with careful precision. The suit lets him move freely without the bulk of the ball.

Grace pushes himself up to sit against the wall. His head spins for a moment, then steadies. "Rocks," he says, voice rough from sleep. "What... what happened? How long was I out?"

Rocky moves closer. The thin suit makes soft sounds as the material flexes. "Grace fainted. Heart raced too fast. Rocky watched for hours. Grace breathed steady after first minutes. Rocky stayed close. Rocky worked fast while Grace rested."

Grace rubs a hand over his face. The ache in his chest has settled into a tired heaviness. He looks at the suit again, taking in the way it fits Rocky's form so closely. "That's new. You're not in your ball anymore."

The suit moves with him like a second skin. "Rocky worked on thin suit for long time. Secret. After first bad breathing episode. Rocky wanted way to be closer if Grace needed help. To touch if necessary. To protect better. Finished most of it weeks ago. Rushed final seals and tests while Grace slept this time. Safe for both. Thin enough for precise work."

Grace stares. The implications settle slowly. The suit means Rocky can cross the barrier. It means Rocky can reach him directly during the procedure. "You built it... for this. For the surgery Because I keep fainting."

"Yes," Rocky says simply. "Rocky watched videos. Rocky knows steps. Armando puts Grace under. Thin suit lets Rocky enter medical bay. Lets Rocky open chest. Lets Rocky reach hole between bottom chambers and fix it. Lets Rocky close everything right. No barriers between Rocky and Grace heart. Rocky will not fail. Suit makes it possible."

Grace draws a careful breath. The idea of Rocky in that suit, working inside his chest, feels enormous and intimate at once. "That makes sense. You always learn fast."

"Armando will put Grace under. Armando will watch heart and breathing and blood while Rocky works."

Grace opens his mouth to answer, but the words don't come. A sudden flutter starts deep in his chest, quick and insistent. It turns into a rapid, hard pounding that makes his breath catch. His heart is beating much faster than normal, racing in a tight, uneven rhythm that feels like it is trying to escape his ribs. The tightness he has grown used to sharpens into something sharper. He presses both hands flat against his sternum now, feeling the frantic beat beneath his palms.

A sharp, high trill bursts from him. "Grace heart fast again. Too fast. Wrong rhythm. Skipping again. More PVCs. Rocky hears them. Rocky hears it wrong. Grace hurt, question? Grace heart breaking, question?"

Grace forces his voice to stay even as the rapid beats keep on hammering. "Rocks. It's okay. It's just... one of the episodes. It happened before. It'll slow down." He draws a breath in through his nose, trying to make it slow and steady even though his chest wants to rise and fall too quickly. "I'm still here. I'm talking to you. See? I'm calm."

But Rocky is the complete opposite. "Not calm. Heart too fast. Grace body not right. Rocky must fix now. Rocky cannot wait. Grace tell Rocky what to do. Rocky listens."

Grace keeps his hands on his chest. The pounding is making his vision narrow at the edges. A cold sweat has started at his hairline. He can feel the lightheadedness beginning to rise, the same feeling that came during the fast breathing episode. He fights to keep his voice steady for Rocky's sake. "Breathe with me, Rocks. Just listen to my voice. It's going to slow down. It always does. I'm okay. I'm right here."

Grace knows Rocky doesn't really breathe, but that's beside the point. Pretending that someone is breathing with him helps him relax.

The words are still leaving his mouth when the edges of his vision go dark. The rapid pounding in his chest seems to surge once more, then everything tilts. Grace's hands slip from his chest. His body goes slack against the wall and he slides sideways on the bed. His eyes close. The fast, uneven rhythm of his heart continues for a few more beats, then begins to ease as unconsciousness takes him.

A long, distressed trill fills the ship, layered and urgent. "Grace. Grace wake up. Grace heart slowing now but Grace not answering. Grace wake, question? Grace wake up now. Please."

His last word comes out in a small beg.

But Grace doesn't move. His breathing has slowed but remains shallow. Rocky presses his arms against Grace, pushing gently, but his friend still doesn't wake up.

Grace wakes up hours later again, and just like always, Rocky is right by his side.

His hand finds its way to his chest again, pressing lightly against the tired rhythm there. The faint whooshing Rocky described earlier seems louder in his mind now. He can't physically hear it himself, but Rocky's hearing is ten times better than a human's.

"And heart lung machine to help during surgery. Grace safe now. When Grace feels strong enough we begin. Rocky will fix hole. Make heart right. Grace does not carry wrong sound anymore."

Rocky also made a heart lung machine? The guy is a genius.

He stays sitting up in the bed, watching the way the thin xenonite suit lets Rocky move with much more freedom than the ball ever did. The ship hums around them, steady and patient. The ache in his chest lingers, but for the first time the weight of it feels shared. Across the small space, Rocky stands close in the new suit, every limb ready, the protective watch unbroken even now that Grace is awake.

He swings his legs over the side of his bed. The floor tilts for a moment, then steadies. He stands slowly, one hand on the wall for balance. Rocky is already through the thin xenonite suit, moving beside him without hesitation. Rocky's limbs shift as he makes sure not to hurt Grace with his full weight. One front limb rests gently against Grace's back, claws retracted so only the smooth curve touches fabric and skin.

"Grace walks slow," Rocky says. "Rocky stays right here. If Grace feels faint again, Rocky catches. Heart still skipping. Rocky hears every small wrong beat."

They move together down the corridor. Grace's steps are careful and measured. His heart keeps doing the little skips, each one a sudden pause followed by a quick extra thud that he feels in his throat and fingertips. The sensation is not painful but insistent, a reminder of the hole and the wrong flow inside. Every skip of his heart draws a small trill from Rocky, low and concerned.

"Skip again," Rocky notes. "And another. Blood moves wrong through hole. Grace heart working too hard. Almost to medical bay."

Armando helps him change from his shirt and pants into a hospital like gown that they find in the medical bay drawers.

Grace is still surprised at how much more freedom Rocky has in the suit compared to his ball. When the suit brushes against his skin unintentionally, it feels almost like the skin of another human being.

The thin suit lets Rocky stay even closer than before, his carapace patterns visible beneath the translucent layer.

They reach the medical bay. The lights brighten automatically as they enter. Armando's frame waits beside the main bed, arms extended and ready. Grace lowers himself onto the bed with Rocky's help.

The surface is firm but padded. He lies back, head supported, and lets out a long breath. The skips continue in his chest, small and frequent.

Rocky positions himself  near Grace's shoulder, another near his hand. "Grace lies still now. Armando prepares. Rocky stays here whole time."

Armando moves efficiently, placing a needle in the back of Grace's left hand. The IV line goes in with a small sting that fades quickly. Saline begins to flow.

Grace tastes metal on his tongue, sharp and unmistakable, spreading through his mouth as the fluid pushes in. He swallows against it. Monitors come to life around the bed, soft beeps tracking the irregular rhythm. Armando adjusts settings under Rocky's quiet instructions.

"Armando gives Propofol to make Grace sleep deep and safe," Rocky explains. He must have studied everything there is to study here in the medical bay. "Heart and lungs stay steady. Rocky watches everything. No pain for Grace. Rocky works while Grace rests."

Propofol. One of the most common, modern IV anesthetics for inducing and maintaining general anesthesia.

Of course Stratt would have something like that aboard the Hail Mary.

She prepared for even the smallest thing, even in case one of them needed surgery for some reason before saving Earth.

They may have been sent to die, but not before completing the mission.

For a second, Grace wonders why Armando can't just do the surgery, but the thought leaves him just as fast.

He'd rather have Rocky do it than a robot who can't see with sonar like Rocky can.

He's truly in the best claws, and there's no one else that he'd rather have doing this. Rocky will be able to see every little detail.

Grace lies there with the IV in place and the metallic taste lingering. His heart does another small skip. He feels it, and Rocky trills softly in the same moment. The tight flutter in his stomach has nothing to do with his heart.

This is real. His chest will be opened. Rocky's claws will be moving around inside it, sharp but careful.

"Grace scared, question?" Rocky asks.

He won't lie. The idea of going under again terrifies him like nothing else.

But Rocky isn't forcing anything. He could choose not to do this.

But then he might...

"...Yeah," Grace admits quietly. He really doesn't have a choice in this, if his symptoms are anything to go by. His fingers curl slightly against the bed sheet.

He can't leave Rocky.

Not after all they've been through together. "About all of it. But I trust you more than anything, Rocks. I meant what I said. I'm letting you do this. I trust you."

No cameras needed to see in there.

Rocky is the camera.

Rocky's left three pointed claw hover just above Grace's hand without touching, then settle gently on the sheet beside it. "Grace trusts Rocky. Good. Rocky feels this trust. Rocky will fix hole between bottom chambers. Blood will move right. Grace heart will sound like Grace heart again. Rocky stays right here whole time. Then Rocky works. Grace not alone. Not forcing sleep like bad people."

Apart from being forced onto the ship, he's never been put under for surgery before in his life.

They stay close together like that for several quiet minutes. Grace's breathing slows as he focuses on the presence beside him, the thin xenonite suit gleaming faintly under the lights, Rocky's limbs close and steady.

Rocky trills, soft and reassuring. "Ready when Grace is ready."

Grace lies still on the medical bay bed with the IV line ready in the back of his left hand. The metallic taste from the saline lingers on his tongue. His heart does another small skip, faint but noticeable. Rocky stays right beside him in the thin xenonite suit. One limb extends carefully. The three pointed claws retract fully, and the smooth, warm curve of the limb settles gently around Grace's hand. The contact is careful, the suit material flexible and warm from Rocky's body heat. It feels solid and real, no barrier between them for the first time.

Grace curls his fingers around the limb as best he can. The touch grounds him. "Rocks," he says softly. "Promise me something. When I wake up... we get to hug. With the new thin suit. Really hug. For real. Just us."

Rocky's grip tightens slightly, steady and sure. The suit makes a faint soft sound as the material shifts. "Rocky promises. When Grace wakes, Rocky hugs Grace. Thin suit makes it safe. No more waiting. Grace wants real hug. Rocky gives it."

Grace lets out a slow breath, giving Rocky a small smile. The nervousness sits in his chest alongside the skips, but the promise to hug and the warm limb around his hand keep it from spreading. He squeezes Rocky's limb once more. He turns his head toward Armando's frame. "Armando, I'm ready."

Armando moves with quiet efficiency. The robot adjusts the IV line and administers the anesthesia. The Propofol enters and Grace feels it spread, starting out cool in his hand but then turning into a heavy warmth that moves up his arm and into his chest. His eyelids grow heavy. The beeps of the monitors soften in his ears. His heart does one last small skip, and Rocky trills softly in response.

He tightens his fingers around Rocky's limb one last time, fighting the pull of the anesthesia just long enough to ask.

It's a stupid question, really. Rocky is the surgeon. Of course he'll be there the whole time.

But he just wants to make sure.

"Will you watch me the whole time, Rocks? The whole surgery?"

"Rocky watches Grace whole time. Never leaves. Listens to every beat. Every breath. Grace safe. Rocky promise nothing bad will happen."

Grace lets out a small sound of relief. His grip loosens as the heaviness takes him. "Good," he says, his voice already far away. "Thank you."

"Grace sleeps now," Rocky says softly. "Rocky stays. Rocky fixes heart. Grace wakes to hug."

"Goodnight, Rocks..." Grace whispers. His voice sounds far away even to himself. His fingers stay curled around Rocky's limb as long as he can manage.

His body starts to feel a heavy tingling sensation starting at his hand where the IV was administered, traveling upwards towards his chest.

Rocky leans closer in the thin suit as Grace's fingers loosen. "Goodnight, friend Grace."

The ship's voice comes through the speakers, calm and familiar. "Sleep well, Dr. Grace."

Grace's eyes close fully.

The weight of the anesthesia pulls him under, deep and dreamless. His breathing evens out. His hand relaxes around Rocky's limb but doesn't let go completely. Rocky stays exactly where he is, holding on, the thin xenonite suit allowing him to remain close without any barrier. The monitors continue their steady rhythm.

Rocky traces a claw over the burn mark on Grace's right arm that he'd left back on Planet Adrian.

Grace doesn't even move a muscle in response, and Rocky knows it's safe to begin.

The medical bay lights dim slightly.

Armando moves beside the bed. "Armando inserts breathing tube now. Grace cannot breathe on own during surgery. Heart must stop for short time so Rocky can work inside bottom chambers without movement. But Grace stays alive whole time. Ship systems and Armando connect Grace to heart lung machine. Machine takes over completely. Pumps blood and oxygen to every part of Grace body. Keeps brain and all organs safe and alive. Grace never without circulation. Never in danger."

The robot tilts Grace's head back gently. A thin tube slides past relaxed lips and down into the throat. It goes in smooth and steady, guided by Armando's programming under Rocky's direction. A soft click connects it to the ventilator. The machine takes over immediately.

Grace's chest rises and falls in a slow, mechanical rhythm now, no longer driven by his own effort. The sound is steady and artificial, a quiet whoosh of air pushed in and pulled out at perfect intervals. Monitors adjust with small beeps as the bypass system engages, circulating and oxygenating blood through the ship's adapted lines.

Rocky's limb stays wrapped gently around Grace's hand. "Heart stops only with special medicine. Armando delivers cold cardioplegia solution through the aortic cannula. He medicine floods the coronary arteries. Makes heart still and relaxed so Rocky sees clearly to close hole between bottom chambers. Machine does all heart work until repair finished. Then Rocky warms heart and starts it again. Grace body stays safe and alive entire time. Rocky studied this carefully. Armando monitors every second."

The thin xenonite suit flexes as Rocky positions himself at the prepared surgical field. His claws, cleaned and precise, move with the knowledge from the videos and his own adaptations. The medical bay hums with the combined sounds of the ventilator, the bypass machine, and the monitors. Grace lies completely still, chest rising and falling only with the machine's help, hand still loosely held in Rocky's grip.

Rocky trills softly, a private sound meant only for the quiet space around them. "Grace sleeps safe. Machine keeps Grace alive. Rocky works now. Grace comes back to hug and right heart. Rocky promises."

The medical bay settles into a new, quieter rhythm. The heart lung machine that he built himself hums steadily, taking over every beat and breath Grace's body needs. Rocky works with complete focus. The thin xenonite suit flexes with each precise movement of his limbs. His claws, cleaned to perfect smoothness, make the first careful incision through the prepared skin and muscle of Grace's chest. The xenonite tools he built slice cleanly, guided by the knowledge from the videos and his own adaptations.

Rocky trills softly and continuously while he works, a low, steady sound that fills the space around the mechanical whoosh of the ventilator. "Rocky opens chest now. Ribs spread gentle. Heart visible. Machine keeps Grace safe. Blood moves through tubes instead of heart for now."

The exposed heart lies still and quiet under the cold cardioplegia solution. Rocky sees the defect clearly with his colorless sonar. The hole between the bottom chambers where blood has mixed wrong for so long, the narrowed pathway on the right side that has made Grace's body work so hard. He works methodically, one claw holding tissue aside while another shapes a small xenonite patch. The claws move with incredible delicacy, closing the opening layer by careful layer.

Every stitch and seal is exact.

Next he turns to the narrowed pulmonary valve. Rocky shapes the final piece: a thin, flexible xenonite membrane he prepared earlier. The same thin xenonite that he used for his suit. It forms three delicate leaflets that will open and close with each beat, replacing the insufficient native valve. The material bonds seamlessly to the surrounding tissue, calibrated by Rocky to match Grace's biology exactly.

"New valve made from xenonite, not bovine. Strong. Flexible. Will move right with blood flow. No leak. No narrowing. Grace heart will work easy now."

Time stretches in the quiet hum of the bay. Armando monitors every value without pause. Rocky's trills never stop, a constant thread of presence while Grace sleeps deep and unaware. "Patch holds strong. Blood will stay separate now. Right path opens wider. Grace heart will not tire anymore."

Finally Rocky completes the last repair inside the chambers. He warms the heart with careful irrigation. The bypass machine begins to ease its support. A small electrical pulse from Armando's systems restarts the muscle. The heart gives a single hesitant beat, then another, then finds its rhythm again, steady and strong, no skips, no wrong whooshing flow. Rocky listens closely.

It sounds right.

It sounds like Grace's heart again.

"Repair complete," Rocky says, voice low with satisfaction. "Hole closed. New valve working. Blood moves correct way. Grace heart sounds good now."

He closes the chest with the same precise care, sealing layers and protecting the new repairs. The thin suit stays spotless. Rocky's limbs move with gentle final touches before he steps back only far enough to let Armando finish closing the external sites.

The ventilator continues its steady work. Monitors show stable numbers. Rocky returns immediately to Grace's side and wraps one claw around his hand once more.

"Grace did good," Rocky says. "Surgery finished. Heart fixed. Now Grace wakes when ready. Rocky stays right here."

"Eye movement detected," Mary's voice seems to echo from far away.

Grace wakes slowly in his own bed. The ship feels familiar and dim, the lights set low the way they are during rest cycles. His body feels heavy, limbs weighted down as if gravity has increased.

A faint dizziness lingers when he turns his head.

To him it feels like he only blinked with no sense of how much time had passed.

One moment he was saying goodnight to Rocky, the next he's here, waking with the faint mechanical taste still on his tongue and a dull ache across his chest. Looking down, clean bandages are covering the top part of him. He's also not wearing an oxygen mask. He can breathe perfectly fine on his own. The only pain he feels is soreness in his throat from the breathing tube and in his chest.

Armando offers him water from a separate tube, and he takes slow and careful sips. The coolness eases his sore throat.

Rocky is already with him, positioned right beside the bed in the thin xenonite suit. His claw rests gently on the edge of the mattress, close and waiting. The suit gleams faintly under the low lights.

Grace reaches out a hand. Rocky meets it immediately, his claw sliding carefully into Grace's palm.

"How does Grace feel, question?"

Grace curls his fingers around the limb and squeezes back gently. He realizes only then that Rocky's claw has already been there, waiting for him to reach. The squeeze feels good, grounding. His chest rises and falls with his own breath now, the tube long removed. The new rhythm inside is different.

Stronger.

The constant little skips and the wrong whooshing are gone. Instead there is a steady, even beat that feels clean and effortless. The band of tightness has loosened into something almost normal, just a surgical ache layered over healthy movement. Blood flows smooth and separate, the xenonite valve and patch doing their quiet work with every pulse. His lungs pull air easier already. The fatigue that lived in his bones for weeks feels lighter, as if his heart no longer has to fight itself.

His fingers are back to their normal color, no longer blue.

"It feels... right," Grace says, voice still rough. He squeezes Rocky's limb again, a little firmer this time. "Steady. No skips. No weird fluttering. It's like my heart finally knows what it's supposed to do. Just a little sore." He lets out a slow breath and smiles faintly despite the residual dizziness. "You did it, Rocks."

Rocky's trills are like music to his ears. "Surgery success. Worked about five hours. Xenonite patch closes hole. Xenonite valve replaces pulmonary valve. Three leaflets. Flexible. Blood flows correct now. No more stenosis. No more wrong shunting."

Grace blinks his eyes open fully when it feels like he won't fall over while still laying down. He lifts a hand, slow and heavy, and presses it over the center of his chest. The beat answers immediately. Strong. Regular. Beneath the ache he feels something else, something foreign and alien, yet perfectly fitted like it was always meant to be a part of him.

"The valve," Grace says. His fingers trace the bandaged area, careful. "You really did it. I guess xenonite is a part of me now."

The same material that keeps him and Rocky apart is now keeping his heart together.

Rocky trills warmly, the sound low and steady. His grip answers the squeeze with careful pressure. "Grace heart sounds right now. No hole. New valve works perfect. Rocky stayed close whole time. Grace rests more if needs. Hug comes when Grace ready. Rocky promised."

Grace keeps his palm there, feeling the rhythm push steady against his hand. It feels right. The mild murmur lingers, a soft reminder of the repair, but it carries none of the old strain. His fingers feel warmer already, the cyanosis faded. He draws another breath, deeper this time, and the ship air tastes cleaner somehow.

"How long will it last?" Grace asks anyway, voice rough but steady, even as the answer echoes in his mind.

"Designed strong. Better than Earth materials. Last rest of Grace life," Rocky confirms confidently.

Grace keeps his other hand wrapped around Rocky's limb. The heaviness in his body lingers, but the steady beat in his chest makes everything feel possible again.

That he'll get to live and see Erid.

They're so close.

They're almost home.

Grace keeps his palm pressed lightly over the center of his chest. The steady beat answers, strong and clean beneath the surgical ache. He looks at Rocky in the thin xenonite suit, at the way the material clings close and allows every small movement. The promise hangs between them, warm and waiting.

"Rocky," he says softly. "Can we hug now?"

He realizes that he has to pee really bad, probably a side effect from the anesthesia, but he can hold it for now.

He imagines all the future hugs they'll get to share on the way to Erid, and on Erid itself.

"Rocky remembers promise. Rocky will be gentle. Grace chest sore. Rocky knows."

Rocky moves closer onto the bed. One limb slides carefully behind Grace's back, the smooth warm curve supporting without pressure. Another limb rests lightly across his shoulders. Grace leans in slowly, mindful of the bandages and the dull throb across his chest. They'll need to be changed later, but Grace isn't worried about it at all.

Not when Rocky is here with him. Bandages are nothing compared to a human surgery that Rocky had learned just by watching videos in a matter of hours.

Grace's fingers brush lightly over the bandages on his chest. Beneath them he can feel the raised line of the fresh scar, still tender and warm from the surgery. A straight vertical mark down the center of his sternum.

Proof that Rocky had been inside his heart.

"Scar..." he whispers. He'll have a scar on his chest for the rest of his life.

"Rocky closed everything careful. Reminder that Rocky fixed Grace heart."

Grace smiles faintly and leans further into the hug. "Yeah. It means you were there."

If he hadn't met Rocky...he might not even be here right now.

He rests his cheek against the side of Rocky's carapace where the suit allows it, feeling the faint texture through the flexible material.

Grace's heart beats steady and strong against the contact.

Still no skips.

Rocky presses himself closer, listening closely. If he had ears, he'd probably press one against his chest. "Can still hear murmur. But heart no longer strained. One heart, but strong now. Rocky five hearts all beat faster when Grace safe."

Grace hopes that Rocky himself won't need open heart(s) surgery anytime soon.

He sighs softly, trying to process what just happened.

He just underwent open heart surgery.

In a ship in outer space.

And his surgeon was an alien.

No appointment scheduling or long wait time needed; maybe there are some advantages to being sent to outer space against your will.

Grace lets out a long breath that trembles just a little. "This is real," he whispers. "I can feel you, Rocks."

He can't even remember the last person he hugged, but he's pretty sure it was nothing close to this.

"Rocky can feel Grace," Rocky whispers in a trill that vibrates gently into Grace's chest. "Grace heart fixed. Rocky here. Always."

Grace smiles again. Even during recovery, Rocky will be here with him through all of it.

Maybe home is closer than he thought.